Norton Anthology of American Literature (Shorter Sixth Edition)

SHORTER

S I X T H

EDITION

The Norton Anthology of American Literature SHORTER SIXTH EDITION Nina Baym, General

Editor

j

SWANLUND CHAIR AND CENTER ADVANCED STUDY PROFESSOR OF

FOR ENGLISH

JUBILEE PROFESSOR OF LIBERAL ARTS AND UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT

SCIENCES

URBANA-CHAMPAIGN

W • W • N O R T O N & C O M P A N Y • New York •

London

Copyright © 2003, 1999, 1995, 1989, 1985, 1979 by W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Since this page cannot legibly accommodate all the copyright notices, the Permissions Acknowledgments constitute an extension of the copyright page. Editor: Julia Reidhead Project Editor: Anne Hellman Assistant Editor: Brian Baker Production Manager: Diane O'Connor Permissions Manager: Nancy Rodwan Permissions Clearing: Margaret Corenstein Text Design: Antonina Krass Art Research: Neil Ryder Hoos The text ol this book is composed in Fairfield Medium with the display set in Bernhard Modern. Composition by Binghamton Valley Composition. Manufacturing by R. R. Donnelley & Sons, Inc. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The Norton anthology of American literature / Nina Baym, general editor. — Shorter 6 l h ed. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. I S B N 0 - 3 9 3 - 9 7 9 6 9 - 5 (PBK.)

1. American literature. 2. United States—Literary collections. I. Baym, Nina. PS507.N65 2002b 810.8—dc21 2002032417 W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 500 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 101 10 www.wwnorton.com W. W. Norton & Company Ltd., Castle House, 75/76 Wells Street, London WIT 3QT 3 4567890

Native American Literatures • K R U P A T Literature to 1700 • F R A N K L I N American Literature 1 7 0 0 - 1 8 2 0 • G U R A • M U R P H Y American Literature 1 8 2 0 - 1 8 6 5 • P A R K E R American Literature 1 8 6 5 - 1 9 1 4 • G O T T E S M A N American Literature between the Wars, 1 9 1 4 - 1 9 4 5 BAYM

•

HOLLAND

American Prose since 1945 • K L I N K O W I T Z American Poetry since 1945 • W A L L A C E

• •

PRITCHARD KALSTONE

W a y n e Franklin NORTHEASTERN

UNIVERSITY

Ronald Gottesman UNIVERSITY OF S O U T H E R N

CALIFORNIA

Philip F. G u r a UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA, C H A P E L

HILL

L a u r e n c e B. H o l l a n d LATE OF THE J O H N S HOPKINS UNrVERSITY

David K a l s t o n e LATE OF R U T G E R S , T H E STATE UNIVERSITY OF N E W J E R S E Y

J e r o m e Klinkowitz U N I V E R S I T Y O F N O R T H E R N IOWA

Arnold K r u p a t SARAH L A W R E N C E

COLLEGE

Francis Murphy EMERITUS, SMITH

COLLEGE

H e r s h e l Parker E M E R I T U S , UNIVERSITY OF DELAWARE

William H . Pritchard AMHERST COLLEGE

Patricia B. W a l l a c e VASSAR

COLLEGE

The Norton Anthology of American Literature S H O R T E R S I X T H

E D I T I O N

Contents P R E F A C E TO T H E S H O R T E R SIXTH EDITION ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

XXIX XXXI11

Literature to

1700 1

Introduction

15

Timeline STORIES OF THE BEGINNING OF THE WORLD T h e Iroquois Creation Story (version by David C u s i c k ) 17 Pima Stories of the Beginning of the World (versions by J . W . Lloyd) T h e Story of the Creation 22

17 21

CHRISTOPHER C O L U M B U S (1451-1506) From Letter to Luis de Santangel Regarding the First Voyage [February 15, 1493] 26 From Letter to Ferdinand and Isabella Regarding the Fourth Voyage [July 7, 1503] 27

25

ALVAR N U N E Z C A B E Z A D E VACA (c. 1 4 9 0 - 1 5 5 8 ) T h e Relation of Alvar N u n e z C a b e z a de Vaca 30 [Dedication] 30 [The M a l h a d o Way of Life] 31 [Our Life a m o n g the Avavares and Arbadaos] 33 [ C u s t o m s of That Region] 34 [The First Confrontation] 35 [The Falling-Out with O u r C o u n t r y m e n ] 35

29

G A R C I L A S O D E LA V E G A ( 1 5 3 9 - 1 6 1 6 ) 37 T h e Florida of the Inca ( 1 6 0 5 ) 38 C h a p t e r IV. Of the Magnanimity of the C u r a c a or C a c i q u e M u c o c o , to whom the Captive C o m m e n d e d Himself 38 C h a p t e r V. T h e Governor S e n d s for J u a n Ortiz 40 JOHN SMITH (1580-1631) T h e General History of Virginia, New E n g l a n d , and the S u m m e r Isles 44 T h e Third Book. From C h a p t e r 2. What H a p p e n e d till the First Supply 44 T h e Fourth Book. [Smith's Farewell to Virginia] 53

42

viii

/

CONTENTS

From A Description of New England From N e w England's Trials 57

53

NATIVE AMERICAN TRICKSTER TALES

59

WINNEBAGO 61 Felix White Sr.'s Introduction to Wakjankaga (transcribed and translated by Kathleen Danker and Felix White) 62 F r o m T h e W i n n e b a g o Trickster Cycle (edited by Paul Radin) 65 KOASATI 70 T h e Bungling Host (versions by Bel Abbey and Selin Williams; recorded and translated by J o h n R. Swanton and Geoffrey Kimball) 70

WILLIAM BRADFORD (1590-1657) 75 O f Plymouth Plantation 76 Book I C h a p t e r IX. O f Their Voyage and How They P a s s e d the S e a ; and of Their S a f e Arrival at C a p e C o d 76 From C h a p t e r X. Showing How They S o u g h t O u t a Place of Habitation; and VvTiat Befell T h e m T h e r e a b o u t 79 Book II C h a p t e r XI. T h e Remainder of Anno 1 6 2 0 84 [The Mayflower C o m p a c t ] 84 [The Starving T i m e ] 85 [Indian Relations] 86 C h a p t e r XII. Anno 1621 [First Thanksgiving] 89 C h a p t e r XIX. Anno D o m : 1628 [ T h o m a s Morton of Merrymount] 89 C h a p t e r XXIII. Anno D o m : 1 6 3 2 [Prosperity Brings Dispersal of Population] 93 JOHN WINTHROP( 1588-1649) A Model of Christian Charity 95 From T h e Journal of J o h n Winthrop

94 106

A N N E B R A D S T R E E T (c. 1 6 1 2 - 1 6 7 2 ) T h e Prologue 115 T o Her Father with S o m e Verses 117 Contemplations 117 T h e Author to Her Book 124 Before the Birth of O n e of Her Children 124 T o My Dear and Loving H u s b a n d 125 A Letter to Her H u s b a n d , Absent upon Public Employment In Memory of My D e a r Grandchild Elizabeth Bradstreet Here Follows S o m e Verses upon the Burning of O u r H o u s e T o My D e a r Children 128

114

125 126 127

CONTENTS

/

ix

In Honor of that High and Mighty Princess Queen Elizabeth of Happy Memory 131 MARY R O W L A N D S O N (c. 1 6 3 6 - 1 7 1 1 ) A Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of M r s . Mary Rowlandson 136 T h e First Remove 138 T h e S e c o n d Remove 138 T h e Third Remove 139 T h e Twelfth Remove 142 T h e Twentieth Remove 143

135

E D W A R D T A Y L O R (c. 1 6 4 2 - 1 7 2 9 )

152

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS

153

Prologue 153 Meditation 8 (First Series) 154 Meditation 2 2 (First Series) 155 Meditation 4 2 (First Series) 156 Upon Wedlock, and Death of Children Upon a W a s p Chilled with C o l d 159 Huswiferv 160

1 57

COTTON MATHER (1663-1728) MAGNALIA CHRISTI AMERICANA

161 163

Galeacius Secundus: T h e Life of William Bradford, E s q . , Governor of Plymouth Colony 163

American Literature

1700-1820

Introduction

171

Timeline

180

JONATHAN EDWARDS (1703-1758) Personal Narrative 183 A Divine and Supernatural Light 194 Sinners in the H a n d s of an Angry G o d

182

207

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN (1706-1790) T h e Way to Wealth 221 Remarks C o n c e r n i n g the S a v a g e s of North America T h e Autobiography 231 [Part O n e ] 231 [Part Two] 276 SAMSON O C C O M (1723-1792) A Short Narrative of My Life

219 227

293 294

J . H E C T O R S T . J O H N D E C R E V E C O E U R ( 1 7 3 5 1813) Letters from an American F a r m e r 300 Letter III. What Is an American 300 Letter IX. Description of Charles-Town 310

299

x

/

CONTENTS

ANNIS BOUDINOT STOCKTON (1736-1801) 5 A S a r c a s m against the ladies in a newspaper; An impromptu answer 316 T o my B u r r i s s a — 316 T o L a u r a — a card 317 An O d e on the birth day of the illustrious G e o r g e Washington, President of the United S t a t e s 317 Sensibilityt,] an ode 319 T e a r s of friendship^] Elegy the third.—to a friend j u s t married, and who promised to write, on parting, but had neglected it. 319 T H O M A S PAINE (1737-1809) Common Sense 321 Introduction 321 From III. T h o u g h t s on the Present S t a t e of American Affairs T h e Crisis, N o . 1 328 THOMAS JEFFERSON (1743-1826) T h e Autobiography of T h o m a s Jefferson 336 From T h e Declaration of Independence 336 Notes on the State of Virginia 342 Query XVII. Religion 342 Letter to J o h n A d a m s (October 2 8 , 1 8 1 3 ) [The Natural Aristocrat]

320

322

334

346

OLAUDAH EQUIANO (1745-1797) From T h e Interesting Narrative of the Life of O l a u d a h E q u i a n o , or G u s t a v u s V a s s a , the African, Written by Himself 351

350

PHILIP FRENEAU (1752-1832) On the Emigration to America and Peopling the Western Country On Mr. Paine's Rights of M a n 364 On the Religion of N a t u r e 365

361 362

P H I L L I S W H E A T L E Y (c. 1 7 5 3 - 1 7 8 4 ) On Being Brought from Africa to America 367 T o the University of C a m b r i d g e , in N e w England 368 O n the Death of the Rev. Mr. G e o r g e Whitefield, 1 7 7 0 368 T h o u g h t s on the Works of Providence 370 T o S . M . , A Young African Painter, on S e e i n g His Works 373 T o His Excellency General Washington 374 T o the Right Honorable William, Earl of Dartmouth 375 To Maecenus 376

366

ROYALL TYLER ( 1 7 5 7 - 1 8 2 6 ) The Contrast 379

378

B R I T O N H A M M O N (fl. 1760) 419 Narrative Of the U n c o m m o n Sufferings, and Surprizing Deliverance of Briton H a m m o n , a Negro M a n 420

CONTENTS

American Literature

1820—1865

Introduction Timeline W A S H I N G T O N IRVING (1783-1859) Rip Van Winkle 448 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER (1789-1851) T h e Pioneers 462 C h a p t e r III. [The Slaughter of the Pigeons]

462

WILLIAM C U L L E N BRYANT (1794-1878) Thanatopsis 470 T o a Waterfowl 472 T h e Prairies 473 WILLIAM APESS (1798-1839) An Indian's Looking-Glass for the White M a n

477

RALPH WALDO E M E R S O N (1803-1882) Nature 485 T h e American Scholar 514 T h e Divinity School Address 527 Self-Reliance 539 Experience 556

THE CHEROKEE MEMORIALS [Note on the Accompanying M e m o r i a l s , February 15, 1 8 3 0 ] [Memorial of the C h e r o k e e C o u n c i l , N o v e m b e r 5, 1829] [Memorial of the C h e r o k e e Citizens, D e c e m b e r 18, 1829] NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (1804-1864) My K i n s m a n , Major Molineux 584 Roger Malvin's Burial 597 Young G o o d m a n Brown 610 T h e May-Pole of Merry M o u n t 619 T h e Minister's Black Veil 626 T h e Birth-Mark 635 Rappaccini's Daughter 647 HENRY WADSWORTH L O N G F E L L O W (1807-1882) A P s a l m of Life 668 T h e Slave's D r e a m 669 T h e Jewish C e m e t e r y at Newport 671 J O H N GREENLEAF WHITTIER (1807-1892) Ichabod! 674 S n o w - B o u n d : A Winter Idyl 675

573 574 578

xii

/

CONTENTS

EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849) Sonnet—To Science 696 T o Helen 697 T h e Raven 697 To . U l a l u m e : A Ballad 701 Annabel L e e 703 Ligeia 704 T h e Fall of the H o u s e of Usher 714 T h e Tell-Tale Heart 727 T h e Purloined Letter 731 T h e C a s k of Amontillado 743 T h e Philosophy of C o m p o s i t i o n 748

694

ABRAHAM L I N C O L N (1809-1865) Address Delivered at the Dedication of the C e m e t e r y at Gettysburg, November 19, 1863 758 S e c o n d Inaugural Address, M a r c h 4, 1865 759

757

MARGARET FULLER (1810-1850) T h e Great Lawsuit. MAN versus MEN. WOMAN WOMEN. 763 [Four Kinds of Equality] 763 [The Great Radical Dualism] 767

760 versus

HARRIET B E E C H E R STOWE (1811-1896) U n c l e T o m ' s C a b i n ; or, Life a m o n g the Lowly 774 C h a p t e r VII. T h e Mother's Struggle 774 C h a p t e r IX. In Which It Appears that a S e n a t o r Is but a M a n C h a p t e r XII. Select Incident of Lawful T r a d e 794

771

783

FANNY F E R N (SARAH WILLIS PARTON) ( 1 8 1 1 - 1 8 7 2 ) M a l e Criticism on L a d i e s ' Books 808 " F r e s h Leaves, by Fanny F e r n " 809 A Law More Nice Than Just 810

806

H A R R I E T J A C O B S (c. 1 8 1 3 - 1 8 9 7 ) Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl 813 I. Childhood 813 VII. T h e Lover 816 X. A Perilous P a s s a g e in the Slave Girl's Life XIV. Another Link to Life 824 XXI. T h e Loophole of Retreat 826 X L I . Free at Last 829

812

H E N R Y DAVID T H O R E A U ( 1 8 1 7 - 1 8 6 2 ) Resistance to Civil Government 837 Walden, or Life in the W o o d s 853 Economy 853 Where I Lived, and What I Lived For Sounds 905 Solitude 915

820

834

895

CONTENTS

/

xiii

Spring 920 Conclusion 931 FREDERICK DOUGLASS (1818-1895) 939 Narrative of the Life of Frederick D o u g l a s s , an American Slave, Written by Himself 942 Chapter I 942 C h a p t e r VI 945 C h a p t e r VII 947 C h a p t e r IX 951 Chapter X 954 LOUISA AMELIA SMITH CLAPPE (1819-1906) California, in 1 8 5 2 : R e s i d e n c e in the M i n e s 974 Letter 12 (January 2 7 , 1852) 974 Letter 22 (October 2 7 , 1 8 5 2 ) 979

973

WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892) Preface to Leaves of Grass ( 1 8 5 5 ) 989 S o n g of Myself ( 1 8 8 1 ) 1003 Letter to Ralph Waldo E m e r s o n (August 1856) [Whitman's 1856 Manifesto] 1047 Live Oak, with M o s s 1054

985

CHILDREN

O F ADAM

1058

Spontaneous Me 1058 O n c e I Pass'd through a Populous City Facing West from California's S h o r e s CALAMUS

1060

Trickle Drops 1060 Here the Frailest Leaves of M e C r o s s i n g Brooklyn Ferry 1061 SEA-DRIFT

1061

1066

Out of the C r a d l e Endlessly Rocking li\

I III

1060 1060

ROADSIDE

1066

1070

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer DRUM-TAPS

1070

1071

Beat! Beat! D r u m s ! 1071 Cavalry C r o s s i n g a Ford 1072 The Wound-Dresser 1072 Reconciliation 1074 MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN

1074

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd WHISPERS

OF HEAVENLY DEATH

A Noiseless Patient Spider

1

1074

080

1080

HERMAN MELVILLE (1819-1891) Bartleby, the Scrivener 1086 Benito C e r e n o 1111

1081

xiv

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CONTENTS

EMILY D I C K I N S O N ( 1 8 3 0 - 1 8 8 6 ) 4 9 ("I never lost as m u c h but twice") 1171 6 7 ( " S u c c e s s is counted sweetest") 1171 1172 130 " T h e s e are the days when Birds c o m e b a c k — " ) ' F a i t h ' i s a fine invention") 1172 185 1172 2 1 4 "I taste a liquor never b r e w e d — " ) 1173 2 1 6 " S a f e in their Alabaster C h a m b e r s — " ) 1174 2 4 1 "I like a look of Agony") 1174 2 4 9 "Wild Nights—Wild Nights!") 1174 2 5 8 "There's a certain Slant of light") 1175 2 8 7 "A C l o c k s t o p p e d — " ) 1175 3 0 3 "The Soul selects her own Society—") 1176 3 2 8 "A Bird c a m e down the W a l k — " ) 1176 341 "After great pain, a formal feeling c o m e s — " ) 1177 3 4 8 "I dreaded that first Robin, so") 1178 4 3 5 " M u c h M a d n e s s is divinest S e n s e — " ) 1178 4 4 1 "This is my letter to the World") 1178 4 4 8 "This was a Poet—It is T h a t " ) 1179 4 4 9 "I died for B e a u t y — b u t was scarce") 1179 4 6 5 "I heard a Fly buzz—when I d i e d — " ) 1180 501 "This World is not C o n c l u s i o n " ) 505 "I would not p a i n t — a picture—") 1180 5 1 0 "It was not D e a t h , for I stood up") 1181 6 3 2 " T h e Brain—is wider than the Sky—") 1182 6 4 0 "I cannot live with Y o u — " ) 1182 6 5 0 " P a i n — h a s an Element of B l a n k — " ) 1183 7 1 2 " B e c a u s e I could not stop for D e a t h — " ) 1184 7 5 4 " M y Life had s t o o d — a L o a d e d G u n — " ) 1184 9 8 6 "A narrow Fellow in the G r a s s " ) 1185 1078 ("The Bustle in a H o u s e " ) 1186 1186 1129 ("Tell all the Truth but tell it s l a n t — " ) 1624 ("Apparently with no surprise") 1187 1 7 3 2 ("My life closed twice before its close;") 1187 Letters to T h o m a s Wentworth Higginson 1187 [Say If My Verse Is Alive?] (April 15, 1 8 6 2 ) 1187 [My B u s i n e s s Is Circumference] (July 1 8 6 2 ) 1188 R E B E C C A H A R D I N G DAVIS ( 1 8 3 1 - 1 9 1 0 ) Life in the Iron-Mills 1191 E M M A LAZARUS (1849-1887) In the Jewish Cemetery at Newport 1492 1220 T h e New C o l o s s u s 1221

1219

American Literature

1865—1914

Introduction Timeline M A R K T W A I N ( S a m u e l L. C l e m e n s ) ( 1 8 3 5 - 1 9 1 0 ) T h e Notorious J u m p i n g Frog of Calaveras County

1240

CONTENTS

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xv

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn 1244 Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offenses 1432 W. D. H O W E L L S ( 1 8 3 7 - 1 9 2 0 ) Editha 1443

1441

AMBROSE BIERCE (1842-1914?) O c c u r r e n c e at Owl Creek Bridge

1453 1454

NATIVE AMERICAN ORATORY

1460

C O C H I S E (c. 1 8 1 2 - 1 8 7 4 ) [I am alone] 1462

1461

CHARLOT(c. 1831-1900) [He has filled graves with our bones]

1463 1464

S A R A H M O R G A N BRYAN P I A T T ( 1 8 3 6 - 1 9 1 9 ) T h e Palace Burner 1468 A Pique at Parting 1469 In a Queen's D o m a i n 1470 Her Word of Reproach 1471 Army of O c c u p a t i o n 1471 Answering a Child 1472

1467

BRET HARTE (1836-1902) T h e O u t c a s t s of Poker Flat

1473 1474

CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON (1840-1894) Miss Grief 1483

1482

HENRY JAMES (1843-1916) Daisy Miller: A Study 1501 T h e Real T h i n g 1539 T h e Beast in the J u n g l e 1556

1498

SARAH O R N E J E W E T T (1849-1909) A White Heron 1587

1586

KATE C H O P I N ( 1 8 5 0 - 1 9 0 4 ) 1 596 At the 'Cadian Ball The Storm 1603 Desiree's Baby 1607

1594

MARY E . W I L K I N S F R E E M A N ( 1 8 5 2 - 1 9 3 0 ) A New England Nun 1612

1611

B O O K E R T. W A S H I N G T O N ( 1 8 5 6 ? - 1 9 1 5 ) U p from Slavery 1622 C h a p t e r XIV. T h e Atlanta Exposition Address

1621 1622

xvi

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CONTENTS

C H A R L E S W. C H E S N U T T ( 1 8 5 8 - 1 9 3 2 ) T h e G o o p h e r e d Grapevine 1632 T h e Wife of His Youth 1639

1630

ABRAHAM CAHAN (1860-1951) A Sweat-Shop Romance 1649

1647

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN (1860-1935) T h e Yellow Wall-paper 1659

1658

EDITH WHARTON (1862-1937) S o u l s Belated 1673

1671

S U I S I N FAR (Edith M a u d Eaton) ( 1 8 6 7 - 1 9 1 4 ) M r s . Spring Fragrance 1693

1692

W. E . B. D U B O I S ( 1 8 6 8 - 1 9 6 3 ) T h e S o u l s of Black Folk 1703 T h e Forethought 1703 I. Of Our Spiritual Strivings 1704 III. O f Mr. Booker T . Washington and Others

1702

1710

STEPHEN CRANE (1871-1900) T h e Open Boat 1721 T h e Blue Hotel 1738 An E p i s o d e of War 1758

1719

JACK LONDON (1876-1916) T o Build a Fire 1762

1761

NATIVE AMERICAN CHANTS AND SONGS T H E NAVAJO N I G H T C H A N T The S a c r e d M o u n t a i n s 1774 D a n c e of the Atsalei, Thunderbirds

1773 1773

1776

CHIPPEWA S O N G S S o n g of the C r o w s 1781 My Love H a s Departed 1782 Love-Charm S o n g 1783 T h e Approach of the Storm 1784 1 784 T h e Sioux W o m e n G a t h e r Up Their W o u n d e d T h e Sioux W o m a n Defends Her Children 1785 S o n g of the Captive Sioux W o m a n 1785

1780

GHOST DANCE SONGS S o n g s of the Arapaho 1786 [Father, have pity on me] 1786 [When I met him approaching] 1787 S o n g s of the Sioux 1788

1786

CONTENTS

[The father says so] 1788 [Give me my knife] 1788 [The whole world is coming]

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xvii

1789

WOVOKA(c. 1856-1932) T h e M e s s i a h Letter: C h e y e n n e Version 1791 T h e M e s s i a h Letter: Mooney's Free Rendering

1789 1792

ZITKALA SA (Gertrude S i m m o n s Bonnin) ( 1 8 7 6 - 1 9 3 8 ) Impressions of an Indian Childhood 1794

American Literature between the Wars

1792

1914-1945

Introduction

1807

Timeline

1821

B L A C K E L K ( 1 8 6 3 - 1 9 5 0 ) a n d J O H N G. N E I H A R D T ( 1 8 8 1 - 1 9 7 3 ) Black Elk S p e a k s 1824 III. T h e Great Vision 1824

1823

EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON (1869-1935) L u k e Havergal 1837 Richard Cory 1838 Miniver Cheevy 1838 Mr. Flood's Party 1839

1836

WILLACATHER (1873-1947) Neighbour Rosicky 1843 T h e Sculptor's Funeral 1863

1841

AMY L O W E L L ( 1 8 7 4 - 1 9 2 5 ) The Captured Goddess 1874 Venus Transiens 1875 M a d o n n a of the Evening Flowers S e p t e m b e r , 1918 1877 St. Louis 1877

1873

ROBERT FROST (1874-1963) T h e Pasture 1879 Mowing 1880 Mending Wall 1880 T h e Death of the Hired M a n 1881 After Apple-Picking 1885 T h e Wood-Pile 1886 T h e Road Not T a k e n 1887 T h e Oven Bird 1888 Birches 1888 "Out, O u t — " 1889 Fire and Ice 1890 Nothing Gold C a n Stay 1890

1876

1878

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CONTENTS

Stopping by Woods-on a Snowy Evening Desert Places 1891 Design 1892 T h e Gift Outright 1892

1891

SUSAN GLASPELL (1876-1882) Trifles 1894

1893

SHERWOOD ANDERSON (1876-1941)

1903

WINESBURG, OHIO

Mother "Queer"

1905

1905 1910

CARL SANDBURG (1878-1967) Chicago 1917 Fog 1918 Grass 1918

1916

WALLACE STEVENS (1879-1955) The Snow Man 1920 A High-Toned Old Christian W o m a n 1921 T h e E m p e r o r of Ice-Cream 1922 Disillusionment of T e n O ' c l o c k 1922 S u n d a y Morning 1923 Anecdote of the J a r 1926 Peter Quince at the Clavier 1926 Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird 1928 T h e Idea of Order at Key W e s t 1930 Of M o d e r n Poetry 1931 T h e Plain S e n s e of Things 1932 A Quiet N o r m a l Life 1932

1919

WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS (1883-1963) T h e Young Housewife 1935 Portrait of a Lady 1935 Queen-Anne's-Lace 1936 T h e Widow's L a m e n t in Springtime 1936 Spring and All 1937 T o Elsie 1938 T h e Red Wheelbarrow 1940 This Is J u s t to Say 1940 A Sort of a S o n g 1941 T h e D a n c e ("In Brueghel's great picture, T h e K e r m e s s " ) Burning the C h r i s t m a s G r e e n s 1941 Lear 1943 L a n d s c a p e with the Fall of Icarus 1944 T h e D a n c e ("When the snow falls the flakes") 1945

1933

EZRA P O U N D ( 1 8 8 5 - 1 9 7 2 ) Portrait d'une F e m m e 1948 A Pact 1949

1941

1946

In a Station of the Metro 1949 T h e River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter THE CANTOS

1949

1950

I ("And then went down to the ship") X L V ("With Usura") 1952

1950

H. D. ( H I L D A D O O L I T T L E ) ( 1 8 8 6 - 1 9 6 1 ) Mid-day 1955 Oread 1956 Helen 1956 T h e Walls D o Not Fall 1957 1-2 1957 21-24 1959 41-43 1961 ROBINSON JEFFERS (1887-1962) T o the Stone-Cutters 1964 S h i n e , Perishing Republic 1965 Carmel Point 1965 Birds and Fishes 1966 MARIANNE MOORE (1887-1972) Poetry 1968 T h e Paper Nautilus 1969 T h e M i n d Is an E n c h a n t i n g T h i n g In Distrust of Merits 1971 O to B e a Dragon 1973

1970

T . S. E L I O T ( 1 8 8 8 - 1 9 6 5 ) T h e Love S o n g of J . Alfred Prufrock Gerontion 1979 The Waste Land 1981 T h e Hollow M e n 1994 Journey of the Magi 1997 FOUR QUARTETS

Burnt Norton

1975

1998

1998

E U G E N E O'NEILL (1888-1953) L o n g Day's Journey into Night

2005

C L A U D E MCKAY (1889-1948) Africa 2084 T h e Harlem D a n c e r 2084 T h e Lynching 2084 Harlem S h a d o w s 2085 America 2085 If W e M u s t Die 2086 KATHERINE ANNE PORTER (1890-1980) Flowering J u d a s 2088

xx

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CONTENTS

ZORA N E A L E H U R S T O N ( 1 8 9 1 - 1 9 6 0 ) H o w It Feels to B e Colored M e 2097 T h e Gilded Six-Bits 2100

2096

E D N A ST. V I N C E N T MILLAY (1892-1950) Recuerdo 2109 I Think I S h o u l d Have Loved You Presently Apostrophe to M a n 2110 In the Grave N o Flower 2111 I T o o beneath Your M o o n , Almighty Sex I Forgot for a M o m e n t 2112

2109 2110

2111

E. E. C U M M I N G S ( 1 8 9 4 - 1 9 6 2 ) in Just2113 0 sweet s p o n t a n e o u s 2114 Buffalo B i l l ' s 2115 "next to of c o u r s e god america i 2115 1 sing of Olaf glad and big 2116 somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond anyone lived in a pretty how town 2117 my father moved through d o o m s of love 2118

2112

2117

JEAN T O O M E R (1894-1967) Cane 2121 Georgia D u s k 2121 Fern 2122 Portrait in Georgia 2125 Seventh Street 2125

2120

F. S C O T T F I T Z G E R A L D ( 1 8 9 6 - 1 9 4 0 ) Winter D r e a m s 2127 Babylon Revisited 2143

2126

WILLIAM FAULKNER (1897-1962) A Rose for Emily 2160 That Evening S u n 2166 Barn Burning 2178

2157

HART CRANE (1899-1932) Chaplinesque 2191 At Melville's T o m b 2192

2190

THE BRIDGE

2193

T o Brooklyn Bridge 2193 II. Powhatan's Daughter 2194 T h e River 2194 The Dance 2198 VII. T h e T u n n e l 2201 VIII. Atlantis 2204 ERNEST HEMINGWAY(1899-1961) T h e Snows of Kilimanjaro 2209

2206

CONTENTS

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xxi

LANGSTON HUGHES (1902-1967) T h e Negro S p e a k s of Rivers 2227 Mother to S o n 2227 I, T o o 2228 Mulatto 2228 S o n g for a Dark Girl 2229 Silhouette 2230 Visitors to the Black Belt 2230 N o t e on C o m m e r c i a l Theatre 2231 Democracy 2231

2225

JOHN STEINBECK (1902-1968) T h e G r a p e s of Wrath 2233 C h a p t e r 11 2233 C h a p t e r 12 2234 C h a p t e r 15 2238

2232

COUNTEE C U L L E N (1903-1946) Yet D o I Marvel 2245 Incident 2246 Heritage 2246

2245

D'ARCY M C N I C K L E ( 1 9 0 4 - 1 9 7 7 ) Hard Riding 2250

2249

RICHARD WRIGHT (1908-1960) T h e M a n W h o W a s Almost a Man

2255 2257

C A R L O S B U L O S A N (191 1 - 1 9 5 6 ) B e American 2266 MURIEL RUKEYSER (1913-1980) Effort at S p e e c h Between T w o People "Long Enough" 2273 Myth 2274

2265

2271 2272

American Prose since

1945

Introduction

2275

Timeline

2286

EUDORA WELTY (1909-2001) Petrified M a n 2289

2288

T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS (1911-1983) A Streetcar N a m e d Desire 2301

2298

JOHN CHEEVER (1912-1982) The Swimmer 2365

2363

xxii

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CONTENTS

RALPH E L L I S O N (1914-1994) Invisible M a n 2374 C h a p t e r I [Battle Royal] 2374

2373

S A U L B E L L O W (b. 1 9 1 5 ) Looking for Mr. Green

2384 2386

G R A C E P A L E Y (b. 1922) A Conversation with My Father

2400 2401

K U R T V O N N E G U T (b. 1922) Fates Worse T h a n Death 2407

2405

JAMES BALDWIN (1924-1987) G o i n g to M e e t the M a n 2415

2414

FLANNERY O'CONNOR (1925-1964) G o o d Country People 2428

2427

P A U L E M A R S H A L L (b. 1 9 2 9 ) Reena 2443

2442

T O N I M O R R I S O N (b. 1931) Recitatif 2457

2455

J O H N U P D I K E (b. 1932) Separating 2472

2470

P H I L I P R O T H (b. 1933) Defender of the Faith

2480 2481

N. S C O T T M O M A D A Y (b. 1 9 3 4 ) T h e Way to Rainy M o u n t a i n Headwaters 2504 Introduction 2504 IV 2509 XIII 2509 XVII 2510 XXIV 2511 Epilogue 2512 Rainy M o u n t a i n C e m e t e r y

2503 2504

2513

R U D O L F O A. ANAYA (b. 1937) T h e C h r i s t m a s Play 2515

2514

T H O M A S P Y N C H O N (b. 1 9 3 7 ) Entropy 2522

2521

R A Y M O N D C A R V E R (b. 1 9 3 8 ) Cathedral 2533

2532

TONI CADE BAMBARA (1939-1995) Medley 2544 M A X I N E H O N G K I N G S T O N (b. 1940) No Name Woman 2557 G L O R I A A N Z A L D U A (b. 1 9 4 2 ) How to T a m e a Wild T o n g u e El sonavabitche 2575

2567

A L I C E W A L K E R (b. 1 9 4 4 ) Everyday U s e 2581 L E S L I E M A R M O N S I L K O (b. 1 9 4 8 ) Lullaby 2588 S A N D R A C I S N E R O S (b. 1954) My Lucy Friend who Smells Like C o r n

2595

L O U I S E E R D R I C H (b. 1954) Fleur 2598

American Poetry since

1945

Introduction Timeline S T A N L E Y K U N I T Z (b. 1905) Father and S o n 2625 After the Last Dynasty 2626 T h e Wellfleet W h a l e 2627 ROBERT PENN WARREN (1905-1989) Bearded Oaks 2633 Audubon 2634 I. W a s Not the Lost D a u p h i n 2634 VI. Love and Knowledge 2635 VII. Tell M e a Story 2635 A c q u a i n t a n c e with T i m e in Early A u t u m n After the Dinner Party 2637 THEODORE ROETHKE (1908-1963) Cuttings 2639 Cuttings (later) 2640 My Papa's Waltz 2640 Night Crow 2641 I Knew a W o m a n 2641 Wish for a Young Wife 2642 In a Dark T i m e 2642 T h e Waking 2643

2636

xxiv

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CONTENTS

CHARLES OLSON (1910-1970) THE MAXIMUS POEMS 2645 M a x i m u s , to Himself 2645 Celestial Evening, October 1967

2643

2646

ELIZABETH BISHOP (1911-1979) T h e Unbeliever 2649 T h e Fish 2650 At the F i s h h o u s e s 2652 T h e Armadillo 2653 Sestina 2655 In the Waiting R o o m 2656 The Moose 2658 O n e Art 2662

2648

ROBERT HAYDEN (1913-1980) Middle P a s s a g e 2664 H o m a g e to the E m p r e s s of the B l u e s T h o s e Winter S u n d a y s 2669

2662

RANDALL JARRELL (1914-1965) T h e Death of the Ball Turret G u n n e r S e c o n d Air Force 2671 Well Water 2673 Thinking of the Lost World 2673 J O H N BERRYMAN (1914-1972) H o m a g e to Mistress Bradstreet 17-39 DREAM SONGS 2683 2 9 ("There sat down, o n c e , a thing 45 ("He stared at ruin. Ruin stared 3 8 5 ("My daughter's heavier. Light

2669

2670 2671

2675 2676

on Henry's heart") 2683 straight back") 2683 leaves are flying") 2684

ROBERT LOWELL (1917-1977) T h e Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket Mr. Edwards and the Spider 2691 M e m o r i e s of West Street and Lepke Skunk H o u r 2693 For the Union D e a d 2695

2684 2687 2692

GWENDOLYN BROOKS (1917-2000) A S T R E E T IN B R O N Z E V I L L E 2698 kitchenette building 2698 the mother 2698 T h e White T r o o p s H a d Their Orders But the N e g r o e s Looked Like Men 2699 T h e B e a n Eaters 2700 T h e Last Quatrain of the Ballad of E m m e t t Till 2700 T o the Diaspora 2700

,2697

1 CONTENTS

/

xxv

T h e C o o r a Flower 2701 W e Real Cool 2702 R I C H A R D W I L B U R (b. 1921) T h e Death of a T o a d 2703 Ceremony 2704 T h e Beautiful C h a n g e s 2704 Love Calls U s to the Things of This World

2702

2705

D E N I S E L E V E R T O V (b. 1 9 2 3 ) T o the S n a k e 2707 The Jacob's Ladder 2708 In Mind 2708 Death in Mexico 2709

2706

A. R. A M M O N S ( 1 9 2 6 - 2 0 0 1 ) S o I S a i d I Am Ezra 2712 C o r s o n s Inlet 2712 Easter Morning 2715 Garbage 2717 Section 2 2717

2710

JAMES MERRILL (1926-1995) An Urban C o n v a l e s c e n c e 2722 Family Week at Oracle Ranch 2724

2721

ALLEN GINSBERG (1926-1997) Howl 2732 A Supermarket in California 2739

2730

GALWAY K I N N E L L (b. 1927) T h e Porcupine 2741 After M a k i n g Love W e H e a r Footsteps ( 1 9 8 0 )

2740 2744

J O H N A S H B E R Y (b. 1927) Illustration 2746 Soonest Mended 2747 Myrtle 2749 JAMES WRIGHT (1927-1980) A u t u m n Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio T o the Evening Star: Central M i n n e s o t a A Blessing 2752

2744

2749 2751 2751

ANNE SEXTON (1928-1974) T h e Starry Night 2753 Sylvia's Death 2754 Little Girl, My String B e a n , My Lovely W o m a n T h e Death of Fathers 2758 2. H o w W e D a n c e d 2758

2752

2756

xxvi

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CONTENTS

A D R I E N N E R I C H (b. 1929) Storm Warnings 2761 S n a p s h o t s of a Daughter-in-Law A Valediction Forbidding M o u r n i n g Diving into the Wreck 2766 Power 2768 Transcendental E t u d e 2769

2759 2762 2766

GARY S N Y D E R (b. 1930) Riprap 2774 August on S o u r d o u g h , A Visit from Dick Brewer 2775 Beneath My H a n d and Eye the Distant Hills. Your Body

2773

2775

SYLVIA P L A T H ( 1 9 3 2 - 1 9 6 3 ) Morning S o n g 2778 Lady Lazarus 2778 Daddy 2781 Blackberrying 2783 Child 2784

2776

AUDRE LORDE (1934-1992) Coal 2786 The Woman Thing 2786 Harriet 2787

2784

A M I R I B A R A K A (LeRoi J o n e s ) (b. 1934) An Agony. As Now. 2789 A P o e m for Willie Best 2790

2788

M I C H A E L S. H A R P E R (b. 1938) Dear J o h n , Dear Coltrane 2796 American History 2798 Deathwatch 2798 Martin's B l u e s 2799

2795

R O B E R T P I N S K Y (b. 1940) T h e Street 2802 Shirt 2803 At Pleasure Bay 2805

2800

B I L L Y C O L L I N S (b. 1 9 4 1 ) 2807 Forgetfulness 2808 Tuesday, J u n e 4, 1991 2809 I C h o p S o m e Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey's Version of "Three Blind M i c e " 2810 T h e Night H o u s e 2811 S I M O N J . O R T I Z (b. 1941) Earth and Rain, the Plants & S u n Vision S h a d o w s 2815 Poems from the Veterans Hospital

2814 2816

2812

CONTENTS

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xxvii

8:50 A M Ft. Lyons VAH 2816 Travelling 2817 F r o w From S a n d C r e e k 2817 J O R I E G R A H A M (b. 1 9 5 0 ) The Geese 2820 At L u c a Signorelli's Resurrection of the Body RITA D O V E (b. 1952) Banneker 2825 Parsley 2826 Adolescence—I 2828 Adolescence—II 2828 THOMAS AND BEULAH 2829 T h e Event 2829 Straw Hat 2830 Dusting 2831 Poem in Which I Refuse Contemplation J O Y H A R J O ( b . 1951) Call It Fear 2834 White Bear 2835 S H E HAD S O M E H O R S E S

III. Drowning Horses A L B E R T O R I O S (b. 1952) Madre Sofia 2837 Wet C a m p 2839 Advice to a First C o u s i n Domingo Limon 2840

2818 2821 2823

2832 2833

2836 2836 2836

2839

C A T H Y S O N G (b. 1955) T h e White Porch 2844 Lost Sister 2845 Heaven 2847

2843

L I - Y O U N G L E E (b. 1957) Persimmons 2849 Eating Alone 2851 Eating Together 2852 This Room and Everything in It

2848

2852

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

2855

PERMISSIONS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

2913

INDEX

2921

Preface to tke Skorter Sixtk Edition

L i k e earlier editions of the o n e - v o l u m e , shorter Norton Anthology of American Literature, this Sixth Edition is d e s i g n e d for the o n e - s e m e s t e r c o u r s e a n d draws on the full r e s o u r c e s of the five-volume p a r e n t edition. It a i m s to p r e s e n t a selection of works sufficiently rich, diverse, a n d c o m p l e t e to e n a b l e the b o o k to s t a n d a l o n e for t e a c h e r s who prefer to u s e a single anthology, while serving a s a c o r e text for t h o s e who wish to a s s i g n additional individual works as well. As with earlier editions, the editors have worked closely with t e a c h e r s w h o a s s i g n the book a n d , t h r o u g h t h e s e t e a c h e r s , with the s t u d e n t s w h o u s e it. F r o m the anthology's i n c e p t i o n , three goals have b e e n p a r a m o u n t : first, to p r e s e n t a variety of works rich a n d s u b s t a n t i a l e n o u g h to e n a b l e t e a c h e r s to build their own c o u r s e s a c c o r d i n g to their own ideals (thus, t e a c h e r s are offered m o r e a u t h o r s a n d m o r e s e l e c t i o n s t h a n they will probably c h o o s e to t e a c h ) ; s e c o n d , to m a k e the anthology self-sufficient by featuring m a n y works in their entirety a n d longer selections s o that individual a u t h o r s c a n be covered in d e p t h ; a n d third, to b a l a n c e traditional interests with d e v e l o p i n g critical c o n c e r n s . T h i s c o m m i t m e n t to b a l a n c e has b e e n evident from the first edition of 1 9 7 9 , w h e r e , in r e s p o n s e to t e a c h e r s w h o f o u n d that the traditional c a n o n w a s insufficiently representative of A m e r i c a n literary history, we i n c l u d e d A n n e B r a d s t r e e t , M a r y R o w l a n d s o n , S a r a h K e m b l e Knight, Phillis Wheatley, M a r g a r e t Fuller, Harriet B e e c h e r S t o w e , F r e d e r i c k D o u g l a s s , S a r a h O r n e J e w e t t , K a t e C h o p i n , M a r y E . Wilkins F r e e m a n , B o o k e r T . W a s h i n g t o n , C h a r l e s C h e s n u t t , Edith W h a r t o n , W . E . B. D u B o i s , a n d m a n y o t h e r s . Yet we did not s h o r t c h a n g e writers like F r a n k l i n , E m e r s o n , T h o r e a u , H a w t h o r n e , P o e , Melville, H e m i n g w a y , Fitzgerald, or F a u l k n e r , w h o m t e a c h e r s then a n d now would not think of d o i n g without. T h a t the " u n t r a d i t i o n a l " a u t h o r s listed a b o v e have now b e c o m e part of the A m e r i c a n literary c a n o n s h o w s that c a n o n s are not fixed, but e m e r g e a n d c h a n g e . At the s a m e t i m e , t e a c h e r s over the last thirty years have s e e n a striking expansion in the extent a n d diversity of the a u t h o r s they a r e e x p e c t e d a n d want to t e a c h . In e n d e a v o r i n g to e n s u r e that our i n c l u s i o n s — e x t e n s i v e as they a r e — d o not o u t r u n what might conceivably b e of u s e in the c l a s s r o o m , we have always revised our selections in r e s p o n s e to d e t a i l e d s u g g e s xxix

xxx

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PREFACE

TO THE S H O R T E R

SIXTH

EDITION

tions from m a n y t e a c h e r s . F o r this S h o r t e r Sixth E d i t i o n , we have drawn on the careful c o m m e n t a r y of 111 reviewers. W e are delighted with the n e w m a t e r i a l s we bring to this S h o r t e r Sixth Edition, which take several f o r m s : U n d e r the new rubric L i t e r a t u r e to 1 7 0 0 , for the o p e n i n g section, we i n c o r p o r a t e Native A m e r i c a n a n d explorer materials with settler literature up through the S a l e m witchcraft e p i s o d e . T h i s configuration c o r r e s p o n d s to the new e m p h a s i s in early A m e r i c a n literary studies on the Atlantic R i m , on the multiethnicity of the early c o l o n i e s , a n d on the p o s i t i o n of P u r i t a n N e w E n g l a n d as a key but not the only d e t e r m i n a n t in early A m e r i c a n writing. T h e multilingual, multiethnic colonies are s t r e s s e d in the e x p a n d e d period introduction a n d in the newly i n c l u d e d biographical narrative of G a r c i l a s o de la V e g a . A m e r i c a n L i t e r a t u r e 1 7 0 0 - 1 8 2 0 In this section, newly edited by Philip F. G u r a , University of N o r t h C a r o l i n a at C h a p e l Hill, we distinguish the eighteenth c e n t u r y as a period of c o n s o l i d a t i o n a n d d e v e l o p m e n t in a n emergent A m e r i c a n literature. Newly i n c l u d e d to better convey the r a n g e of genres a n d writers that found readers in early A m e r i c a are v o i c e s , free a n d slave, from the Atlantic R i m : the slave Briton H a m m o n , the p o e t A n n i s B o u d i n o t S t o c k t o n , a n d the playwright Royall Tyler, r e p r e s e n t e d by his c o m e d y The Contrast. A m e r i c a n L i t e r a t u r e 1 8 2 0 — 1 8 6 5 b r o a d e n s our g e o g r a p h i c a l s c o p e by i n t r o d u c i n g the California writer, L o u i s e A m e l i a S m i t h C l a p p e . C l a p p e ' s " D a m e Shirley" letters, a m o n g the earliest c l a s s i c s for s t u d e n t s of w e s t e r n A m e r i c a n literature, c o n s t i t u t e a vivid report from the gold m i n e s . T h e e s t e e m e d p o e t E m m a L a z a r u s is newly i n c l u d e d with p o e m s , m o s t f a m o u s l y " T h e N e w C o l o s s u s , " that gave a highly c u l t u r e d voice to J e w i s h A m e r i c a n identity. S e l e c t i o n s by P o e , S t o w e , a n d D o u g l a s s d e e p e n the r e p r e s e n t a t i o n of t h e s e central figures. A m e r i c a n L i t e r a t u r e 1 8 6 5 — 1 9 1 4 S a r a h M o r g a n Bryan Piatt, i n c r e a s ingly recognized a s a m a j o r w o m a n p o e t in the era, is newly r e p r e s e n t e d in this s e c t i o n , a s are fiction writers C o n s t a n c e F e n i m o r e W o o l s o n , A b r a h a m C a h a n , a n d S u i S i n Far. T h e s e three writers extend this period's regional a n d ethnic r e p r e s e n t a t i o n , while d e m o n s t r a t i n g a n e w the c a p a c i o u s p o s s i bilities of A m e r i c a n r e a l i s m . A m e r i c a n L i t e r a t u r e b e t w e e n t h e W a r s , 1 9 1 4 — 1 9 4 5 , now i n c l u d e s c h a p t e r s from J o h n S t e i n b e c k ' s The Grapes of Wrath; two stories by Willa C a t h e r , " T h e S c u l p t o r ' s F u n e r a l " a n d " N e i g h b o u r Rosicky"; a s e c o n d story by F. S c o t t Fitzgerald, the 1 9 2 2 Metropolitan Magazine version of "Winter D r e a m s " ; a n d two new fiction writers, the Native A m e r i c a n writer D'Arcy M c N i c k l e a n d the Filipino A m e r i c a n C a r l o s R u l o s a n . Trifles, S u s a n G l a s pell's t e a c h a b l e short play, is newly i n c l u d e d . A m e r i c a n P r o s e s i n c e 1 9 4 5 s t r e n g t h e n s the anthology's offerings by L a t i n o a n d L a t i n a writers with the addition of R u d o l f o A. Anaya's short story " T h e C h r i s t m a s Play," a n d s e l e c t i o n s from G l o r i a A n z a l d u a ' s influential work of theory, Borderlands ILa Frontera. A m e r i c a n P o e t r y s i n c e 1 9 4 5 newly anthologizes work by three important p o e t s : U n i t e d S t a t e s Poet L a u r e a t e Billy C o l l i n s , S t a n l e y Kunitz, a n d J o r i e G r a h a m . R e c e n t work by G a l w a y Kinnell a n d Rita D o v e is newly anthologized. 6

P R E F A C E TO THE

SHORTER

SIXTH

EDITION

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T h e s t u d e n t W e b site to a c c o m p a n y the anthology ( w w w . w w n o r t o n . c o m / n a a l ) , by B r u c e M i c h e l s o n , offers timelines, outlines of the period i n t r o d u c tions, over 4 0 0 a n n o t a t e d links, a u t h o r r e s o u r c e p a g e s for 1 6 0 writers in the anthology, s e a r c h a b l e " E x p l o r a t i o n s " that provide q u e s t i o n s a n d r e s e a r c h p r o j e c t s , a n d , a n e w f e a t u r e , self-grading quizzes. Teaching with T h e N o r t o n Anthology of A m e r i c a n Literature: A Guide for Instructors, by B r u c e M i c h e l son a n d Marjorie Pryse, is a lively, practical r e s o u r c e for q u e s t i o n s to motivate c l o s e r e a d i n g a n d d i s c u s s i o n , a s well as c o n c i s e t e a c h i n g notes for individual p e r i o d s , a u t h o r s , a n d works; m o d e l e x a m q u e s t i o n s a n d e s s a y topics; a n d r e a d i n g lists for a wide variety of c o u r s e s u s i n g the anthology. A s in p a s t editions, editorial f e a t u r e s — p e r i o d i n t r o d u c t i o n s , h e a d n o t e s , a n d a n n o t a t i o n — a r e d e s i g n e d to be c o n c i s e yet full a n d to give s t u d e n t s the information n e e d e d without i m p o s i n g an interpretation. In the S h o r t e r Sixth Edition, m u c h of this editorial material has b e e n revised in r e s p o n s e to new s c h o l a r s h i p . Several period i n t r o d u c t i o n s have b e e n entirely or substantially rewritten, a n d a n u m b e r of h e a d n o t e s have b e e n tightened or rewritten to be m o r e useful to s t u d e n t s . T h e S e l e c t e d B i b l i o g r a p h i e s have b e e n thoroughly u p d a t e d . T h e S h o r t e r Sixth Edition retains two editorial f e a t u r e s that help s t u d e n t s p l a c e their r e a d i n g in historical a n d cultural c o n t e x t — e n d p a p e r m a p s a n d a T e x t s / C o n t e x t s timeline following e a c h period introduction. O u r policy has b e e n to reprint e a c h text in the form that a c c o r d s , a s far as it is p o s s i b l e to d e t e r m i n e , to the intention of its a u t h o r . T h e r e is o n e exception: we have m o d e r n i z e d m o s t spellings a n d (very sparingly) the p u n c tuation in the s e c t i o n s Literature to I 700 a n d American Literature I 700— 1820 on the principle that a r c h a i c spellings a n d typography p o s e u n n e c e s sary p r o b l e m s for b e g i n n i n g s t u d e n t s . W e have u s e d s q u a r e b r a c k e t s to indic a t e titles s u p p l i e d by the editors for the c o n v e n i e n c e of s t u d e n t s . W h e n e v e r a portion of a text h a s b e e n o m i t t e d , we have i n d i c a t e d that o m i s s i o n with three asterisks. T h e editors of this anthology were s e l e c t e d on the b a s i s of their e x p e r t n e s s in their individual a r e a . W e note with p l e a s u r e the addition to the editorial t e a m of Philip F. G u r a , William S. N e w m a n D i s t i n g u i s h e d P r o f e s s o r of A m e r i c a n L i t e r a t u r e a n d C u l t u r e a n d A d j u n c t P r o f e s s o r of Religious S t u d i e s at the University of N o r t h C a r o l i n a at C h a p e l Hill. H e s u c c e e d s F r a n c i s M u r p h y a s period editor of American Literature I 700—1820. E a c h editor w a s given ultimate responsibility for his or her period, but all c o l l a b o r a t e d in the final enterprise. Arnold K r u p a t edited Native A m e r i c a n L i t e r a t u r e s a n d the oratory, s o n g s , a n d c h a n t s , E a s t m a n , O s k i s o n , a n d B l a c k E l k s e l e c t i o n s . Ronald G o t t e s m a n p r e p a r e d the texts a n d i n t r o d u c t i o n s for A b r a h a m L i n c o l n a n d F r e d e r i c k D o u g l a s s ; a n d N i n a B a y m p r e p a r e d the texts a n d i n t r o d u c t i o n s for Harriet B e e c h e r S t o w e a n d Harriet J a c o b s . W e take this opportunity to thank the h u n d r e d s of t e a c h e r s t h r o u g h o u t the country who have a n s w e r e d our q u e s t i o n s . T h o s e t e a c h e r s w h o p r e p a r e d detailed critiques, or w h o offered special help in p r e p a r i n g texts, are listed u n d e r A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s , on a s e p a r a t e p a g e . T h e editors would like to

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PREFACE

TO T H E

SHORTER

SIXTH

EDITION

express a p p r e c i a t i o n for their a s s i s t a n c e to K e n n e t h L. B a u g h m a n , B r a d C a m p b e l l , S a m u e l L. G l a d d e n , V i n c e G o t e r a , T i m G u s t a f s o n , K a t r i n a Huffm a n , J u l i e Huffman-Klinkowitz, J u l i e H u s b a n d , J u d i t h Kicinski, D a n i e l L a n e , M a u r i c e L e e , David W e i Li, B r e n d a L i n , Allison M c C a b e , A n n e Myles, J a m e s O'Loughlin, Steven Olsen-Smith, Julian Rice, Todd Richardson, H e d d y Richter, M o n i c a R o d r i g u e z , J a c o b S c h o e n l y , B e t h S h u b e , Alan S h u card, J e s s e Swan, J o h n Swope, Karen Tracey, Catherine Waitinas, Jennie W a n g , R a c h e l W a t s o n , a n d T h o m a s W o l f e . W e a l s o t h a n k the m a n y p e o p l e at N o r t o n w h o c o n t r i b u t e d to the Sixth E d i t i o n : J u l i a R e i d h e a d , w h o supervised the Sixth E d i t i o n ; M a r i a n J o h n s o n , d e v e l o p m e n t editor; C a n d a c e Levy, A n n e H e l l m a n , a n d C a r o l F l e c h n e r , m a n u s c r i p t editors; Brian B a k e r , w h o p r e p a r e d timelines a n d m a p s ; E i l e e n C o n n e l l , W e b site editor; D i a n e O ' C o n n o r , p r o d u c t i o n m a n a g e r ; T o n i K r a s s , d e s i g n e r ; Neil Ryder H o o s , art researcher; Nancy Rodwan, permissions manager; and Margaret Gorenstein, who cleared p e r m i s s i o n s . W e a l s o wish to a c k n o w l e d g e our d e b t to the late G e o r g e P. Brockway, former p r e s i d e n t a n d c h a i r m a n at N o r t o n , w h o invented this anthology, a n d to M . H . A b r a m s , N o r t o n ' s advisor on E n g l i s h texts. All have h e l p e d u s to c r e a t e a n anthology that, m o r e than ever, is testimony to the c o n t i n u i n g r i c h n e s s of A m e r i c a n literary traditions. NINA

•

•

•

BAYM

Acknowledgments D o n n a Allego (Adrian C o l l e g e ) , Gilbert Allen ( F u r m a n University), G e o r g e F. B a g b y , J r . ( H a m p d e n - S y d n e y C o l l e g e ) , Philip D . B e i d l e r (University of A l a b a m a ) , R i c h a r d R. B o l l e n b a c h e r ( E d i s o n C o m m u n i t y C o l l e g e ) , L e o n o r a Brodwin ( S t . J o h n ' s University), D e b r a B u r g a u e r (Bradley University), Vicki B u r s e y ( C u e s t a C o l l e g e ) , G e o r g e C h a m b e r s ( B r a d l e y University), S u e C o o k (Wilmington C o l l e g e ) , David C o w a r t (University of S o u t h C a r o l i n a ) , J o s e p h C o s e n z a ( S t . J o h n ' s University), C h r i s t i n e L. C r a n f o r d ( E a s t C a r o l i n a University), W a l t D a r r i n g (University of S o u t h A l a b a m a ) , C y n t h i a D a v i s ( U n i versity of S o u t h C a r o l i n a ) , D e l m e r Davis (Andrews University), C h r i s t o p h e r R. D o u g l a s ( F u r m a n University), T e d E d e n ( H a n o v e r C o l l e g e ) , G r e g o r y W . Fowler (Pennsylvania S t a t e University E r i e - B e h r e n d C o l l e g e ) , Granville G a n t e r ( S t . J o h n ' s University), William T . H a m i l t o n ( M e t r o p o l i t a n S t a t e C o l lege of D e n v e r ) , G r e g H o r u ( S o u t h w e s t Virginia C o m m u n i t y C o l l e g e ) , L a w r e n c e Ianni ( S a n F r a n c i s c o S t a t e University), Robert I n c h a u s t i (California Polytechnic S t a t e University), S t e v e n H . J o b e ( H a n o v e r C o l l e g e ) , R e b e c c a King ( M i d d l e T e n n e s s e e S t a t e University), David R. J a r r a w a y (University of O t t a w a ) , Kris L a c k e y (University of N e w O r l e a n s ) , M . L a w m a n ( P e n s a c o l a C h r i s t i a n C o l l e g e ) , Lori L u c a s (University of C o l o r a d o ) , M i c h a e l E . Nowlin (University of Victoria), S c o t t P e e p l e s ( C o l l e g e of C h a r l e s t o n ) , L a u r a P o g u e ( H a r d i n S i m m o n s University), T a m a r a M . Powell ( L o u i s i a n a T e c h n i c a l University), David R a m p t o n (University of O t t a w a ) , G a r y N . Richa r d s (University of N e w O r l e a n s ) , Valerie A. Rohy ( B o w l i n g G r e e n S t a t e University), T i m S c h r o e d e r ( M a r t i n L u t h e r C o l l e g e ) , E u g e n e L. S t a r t z m a n ( B e r e a C o l l e g e ) , Kevin S t e i n (Bradley University), M i c h a e l Strysick ( W a k e F o r e s t University), Robert A. Taylor (Florida Institute of T e c h n o l o g y ) B a r b Thompson (Columbus State Community College), Andrew Tomko (Bergen C o m m u n i t y C o l l e g e ) , K a r e n T r a c e y (University of N o r t h e r n I o w a ) , Kathryn V a n S p a n c k e r e n (University of T a m p a ) , J a n e Varley ( M u s k i n g u m C o l l e g e ) , S u e W a l k e r (University of S o u t h A l a b a m a ) , H e l e n A. W e i n b e r g ( C l e v e l a n d Institute of Art), A i m e e W e s t (University of M a r y l a n d B a l t i m o r e C o u n t y ) , Kristin Bailey W i l s o n ( M o b e r l y Area C o m m u n i t y C o l l e g e ) , S c o t t D . Yarb r o u g h ( C h a r l e s t o n S o u t h e r n University).

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E D I T I O N

Literature to 1 7 0 0 THE MARVELS OF SPAIN—AND

AMERICA

In 1 4 9 4 a m a n w h o h a d c r o s s e d the Atlantic in a large ship returned h o m e to a m a z e t h o s e w h o m he h a d left behind with tales of a new world full of "marv e l s . " N o n e of t h o s e w h o listened to him h a d a c c o m p l i s h e d anything remotely like this. N o n e had h e a r d of this other world, let a l o n e s e e n it, a n d n o n e c o u l d begin to c o m p r e h e n d what its discovery might m e a n for their own familiar univ e r s e . As they listened with rapt attention, the voyager told of things u n d r e a m e d of, p l a n t s a n d a n i m a l s a n d m o s t of all s t r a n g e p e o p l e s w h o s e u n c a n n y c u s t o m s , c o s t u m e s , a n d beliefs a s t o n i s h e d all who h e a r d him. T h e m a n in q u e s t i o n might have b e e n C h r i s t o p h e r C o l u m b u s or any of the d o z e n s of E u r o p e a n s w h o a c c o m p a n i e d him on his first voyage, b u t h e w a s not. In fact, this teller of tales did j o i n in that voyage, but he h a d not sailed from P a l o s , S p a i n , with the other m e n on A u g u s t 6, 1 4 9 2 , a n d h a d not b e e n with t h e m w h e n , at two in the m o r n i n g of O c t o b e r 12, they sighted the B a h a m i a n island they n a m e d S a n S a l v a d o r . T w i c e h e c r o s s e d the Atlantic with C o l u m b u s , but in reverse: first to S p a i n from the Indies a n d then b a c k a g a i n . W e d o not know his original n a m e , but we know that he w a s a T a i n o Indian from the B a h a m a s , o n e of seven natives w h o m C o l u m b u s seized a n d took to S p a i n . T h e r e h e w a s baptized a n d r e n a m e d D i e g o C o l o n , after the son of C o l u m b u s himself. ( C o l o n w a s the S p a n i s h version of the family's n a m e . ) O f the other natives, all of w h o m were similarly r e c h r i s t e n e d , o n e r e m a i n e d in S p a i n , w h e r e h e died within a few years. F o u r others died of s i c k n e s s on the p a s s a g e b a c k to A m e r i c a with C o l u m b u s a n d C o l o n . C o l o n a n d the sixth m a n e s c a p e d the s a m e fate only "by a hair's b r e a d t h , " a s the fleet's p h y s i c i a n , D i e g o Alvarez C h a n c a , wrote in his i m p o r t a n t letter on the s e c o n d voyage. R e t u r n e d to the C a r i b b e a n , the two served a s translators for the m u c h larger party of S p a n i a r d s , p e r h a p s fifteen h u n d r e d strong, w h o arrived in s e v e n t e e n s h i p s early in N o v e m b e r 1 4 9 3 . C o l o n himself already had s e e n service a s a n intermediary during the first voyage. O f the two m e n , only C o l o n is reported by the historian A n d r e s B e r n a l d e z , w h o knew C o l u m b u s a n d u s e d the mariner's own lost a c c o u n t of the s e c o n d voyage, to have regaled the other natives with tales of "the things which h e h a d s e e n in C a s t i l e a n d the marvels of S p a i n , . . . the great cities a n d fortresses a n d c h u r c h e s , . . . the p e o p l e a n d h o r s e s a n d a n i m a l s , . . . the great nobility a n d wealth of the sovereigns a n d great lords, . . . the kinds of food, . . . the festivals a n d t o u r n a m e n t s [and] bull-fighting." P e r h a p s the other m a n h a d died by this point in the s e c o n d voyage. P e r h a p s C o l u m b u s singled out C o l o n for special m e n t i o n b e c a u s e C o l o n had learned C a s t i l i a n well e n o u g h to s p e a k it a n d had s h o w n himself to be a n intelligent m a n a n d a g o o d g u i d e . H e w a s to a c c o m p a n y C o l u m b u s on the w h o l e of this voyage, which lasted three years. 1

2

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LITERATURE

TO

1700

T h e story of C o l o n c a t c h e s in m i n i a t u r e the extraordinary c h a n g e s that were to o c c u r a s natives of the O l d W o r l d e n c o u n t e r e d natives of the N e w for the first time in r e c o r d e d history. His story r e m i n d s us first that discovery w a s m u t u a l rather t h a n o n e s i d e d . T o be s u r e , far m o r e E u r o p e a n s voyaged to A m e r i c a than A m e r i c a n s to E u r o p e , a n d they sent h o m e t h o u s a n d s of reports a n d letters detailing what they s a w a n d did in the N e w W o r l d . B e c a u s e m a n y of t h e s e E u r o p e a n travelers c a m e to A m e r i c a to stay, however, the Indians s o o n h a d a colonial imitation of E u r o p e d e v e l o p i n g before their eyes, c o m p l e t e with fortresses, c h u r c h e s , h o r s e s , n e w foods (on the s e c o n d voyage, C o l u m b u s brought w h e a t , m e l o n s , o n i o n s , r a d i s h e s , s a l a d g r e e n s , g r a p e v i n e s , s u g a r c a n e , a n d various fruit t r e e s ) , a n d m u c h else that C o l o n in 1 4 9 3 c o u l d have f o u n d only in E u r o p e . Over t i m e the natives of A m e r i c a could discover E u r o p e e n c r o a c h i n g on their villages a n d fields as the i m p o r t e d E u r o p e a n l a n d s c a p e vied with their own. E u r o p e w a s p r e s e n t in the textiles on the c o l o n i s t s ' b o d i e s , in the tools in their h a n d s (for both of which the A m e r i c a n Indians t r a d e d ) , a n d in the institutions of the c h u r c h a n d state (slavery b e i n g the m o s t obvious e x a m p l e ) that h a d b e g u n to r e s h a p e the identities a n d reorganize the lives of Native A m e r i c a n p e o p l e s . In s u c h c o n c r e t e t e r m s a n e w world w a s b e i n g c r e a t e d in the W e s t I n d i e s . It was not the new world C o l u m b u s h i m s e l f w a s s p e a k i n g of near the e n d of his life when h e wrote in 1 5 0 0 to the S p a n i s h sovereigns F e r d i n a n d a n d Isabella that he h a d " b r o u g h t u n d e r [their] d o m i n i o n . . . a n o t h e r world, whereby S p a i n , which w a s called poor, is now m o s t r i c h . " T h e n e w world that mattered w a s not j u s t a n e x p a n s e of s p a c e previously u n k n o w n to E u r o p e a n s ; it w a s a genuinely new set of social relationships that would evolve over the next c e n t u r i e s a s E u r o p e a n d the A m e r i c a s c o n t i n u e d to interact. With the E u r o p e a n introduction of African slaves early in the sixteenth century, the terms of this new world b e c a m e m u c h m o r e c o m p l e x . T h e cultural a n d social relations of A m e r i c a n s t o o k their origin in a great mixing of p e o p l e s from the whole Atlantic b a s i n d u r i n g the first c e n t u r y a n d a half after 1 4 9 2 . Discovery b e g a n with w o n d e r — t h a t of C o l o n ' s listeners o n his return in 1 4 9 4 a n d that of C o l u m b u s a s he d e s c a n t e d on the green b e a u t y of the i s l a n d s — e v o k i n g a m o o d that has r e m a i n e d s t r o n g in A m e r i c a n writing ever s i n c e : he saw "trees of a t h o u s a n d k i n d s " on S a n S a l v a d o r in N o v e m b e r 1 4 9 2 , trees that s e e m e d to " t o u c h the sky . . . as green a n d a s lovely a s they are in S p a i n in M a y . " B u t beyond that t r a n s c e n d e n t m o m e n t , discovery entailed a many-sided p r o c e s s of influence a n d e x c h a n g e that ultimately p r o d u c e d the hybrid cultural universe of the Atlantic world, of which the E n g l i s h colonies were o n e small part. M u c h of this universe c a m e through struggle rather than c o o p e r a t i o n . E a c h p e o p l e u s e d its own traditions or e l e m e n t s recently borrowed from others to e n d u r e or c o n q u e r or outwit its o p p o s i t e n u m b e r s , a n d violence often swallowed up the primal w o n d e r g l i m p s e d in the earliest d o c u m e n t s . With g u n p o w d e r a n d steel, E u r o p e a n s h a d the t e c h n o l o g i c a l e d g e in warfare, a n d it would s e e m t h a t — d e s p i t e c e n t u r i e s of p r o p a g a n d a to the c o n t r a r y — t h e y took violence m o r e seriously than did the A m e r i c a n I n d i a n s . T h e natives at first f o u n d the s c a l e of E u r o p e a n warfare a p p a l l i n g . In N e w E n g l a n d , the c o l o n i s t s ' native allies a g a i n s t the P e q u o t tribe in 1 6 3 7 c o m p l a i n e d that the E n g l i s h m a n n e r of fighting, a s soldier J o h n Underhill noted in his Newes from America ( 1 6 3 8 ) , "[was] too f u r i o u s , a n d slay[ed] too m a n y m e n . " T h e natives were q u i c k to a d o p t E u r o p e a n w e a p o n s a n d tactics,

INTRODUCTION

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3

however, applying t h e m to their own d i s p u t e s a n d to their d i s p u t e s with the E u r o p e a n s . T h e ferocity of what E u r o p e a n s have called the " I n d i a n w a r s " w a s the violent recoil in the f a c e of violence from interlopers who t h r e a t e n e d the very life of the native p e o p l e s . A l m o s t literally from 1 4 9 2 , native p e o p l e s b e g a n to die in large n u m b e r s , if not from war then from e n s l a v e m e n t , brutal m i s t r e a t m e n t , d e s p a i r , or d i s e a s e . O n e of the m o r e insidious forms of " e x c h a n g e " involved the transfer to the A m e r i c a n I n d i a n s of the m i c r o b e s to which E u r o p e a n s h a d b e c o m e inured but to which the Indians h a d virtually no r e s i s t a n c e . N o t h i n g better displays the isolation of the c o n t i n e n t s a n d the d r a m a of e n c o u n t e r that b e g a n in 1 4 9 2 than the e p i d e m i c disasters that smallpox, m e a s l e s , typhus, a n d other Old World m a l a d i e s u n l e a s h e d on the Native A m e r i c a n s . W h o l e p o p u l a t i o n s p l u m m e t e d as s u c h d i s e a s e s , c o m b i n e d with the other severe s t r e s s e s p l a c e d o n the natives, s p r e a d t h r o u g h o u t the C a r i b b e a n a n d then on the m a i n l a n d of C e n t r a l a n d S o u t h A m e r i c a . T h e institutional d i s e a s e of slavery further d e c i m a t e d the native p e o p l e s . It is widely a g r e e d that the original p o p u l a t i o n of the island of H i s p a n i o l a ( e s t i m a t e d at anywhere from o n e h u n d r e d t h o u s a n d to eight million in 1 4 9 2 ) p l u n g e d o n c e the S p a n i s h took over the island, partly through d i s e a s e a n d partly through the a b u s e s of the encomienda system of virtual e n s l a v e m e n t . In the face of this s u d d e n d e c l i n e in available native labor, S p a i n i n t r o d u c e d African slavery into Hisp a n i o l a a s early as 1 5 0 1 . By the middle of the sixteenth century the native p o p u l a t i o n h a d b e e n so c o m p l e t e l y d i s p l a c e d by African slaves that the S p a n ish historian A n t o n i o de H e r r e r a called the island "an effigy or a n i m a g e of E t h i o p i a itself." T h u s the d e s t r u c t i o n of o n e p e o p l e w a s a c c o m p a n i e d by the d i s p l a c e m e n t a n d e n s l a v e m e n t of a n o t h e r . By that point, the naive " w o n d e r " of discovery w a s all but u n r e c o v e r a b l e . It would be i n a c c u r a t e to picture the I n d i a n s , however, a s merely victims, suffering d e c l i n e . T h e natives m a d e shrewd u s e of the E u r o p e a n p r e s e n c e in A m e r i c a to forward their own a i m s , as C o l o n r e m i n d s u s . In 1 5 1 9 the disaffected natives in the Aztec E m p i r e clearly threw their lot in with C o r t e s b e c a u s e they saw in him a c h a n c e to settle the s c o r e with their overlord M o n t e z u m a , which they a s s u r e d l y did. In N e w E n g l a n d , the P e q u o t W a r of 1 6 3 7 saw a similar a l i g n m e n t on the E n g l i s h side of tribes s u c h a s the Narr a g a n s e t t s a n d the M o h e g a n s , w h o h a d g r i e v a n c e s with the fierce P e q u o t s , interlopers in the region. U n d e r ordinary c i r c u m s t a n c e s , a s a m o n g the Iroq u o i s in the N o r t h e a s t , E u r o p e a n technology a n d the E u r o p e a n market were seized o n a s a m e a n s of c o n s o l i d a t i n g a d v a n t a g e s g a i n e d before the arrival of the colonists. T h e Iroquois h a d b e g u n to organize their f a m o u s L e a g u e of the Five N a t i o n s before E u r o p e a n s e t t l e m e n t , but they solidified their earlier victories over other native p e o p l e s by forging c a n n y a l l i a n c e s with the D u t c h a n d then the English in N e w York. In the S o u t h e a s t , r e m n a n t p e o p l e s b a n d e d together in the early eighteenth century to c r e a t e the C a t a w b a , a n e w political g r o u p that c o n s t r u c t e d what o n e historian has called a " n e w world" for itself. N o longer known by a bewildering diversity of n a m e s , the former N a s saw a n d Suttirie a n d C h a r r a a n d S u c c a p e o p l e s b a n d e d together with several others in an a t t e m p t to deal m o r e effectively with the e n c r o a c h i n g E u r o A m e r i c a n s of C h a r l e s t o n a n d the L o w C o u n t r y . T h i s hardly w a s a c a s e of d i m i n i s h m e n t or r e d u c t i o n . Even a s fewer a n d fewer of the original millions r e m a i n e d , they s h o w e d t h e m s e l v e s resourceful in resisting, t r a n s f o r m i n g ,

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and exploiting the exotic c u l t u r e s the E u r o p e a n s were i m p o s i n g on their original l a n d s c a p e .

NATIVE AMERICAN

ORAL

LITERATURE

W h e n C o l u m b u s sailed from E u r o p e in 1 4 9 2 , h e left b e h i n d him a n u m b e r of relatively centralized nation-states with largely agricultural e c o n o m i e s . E u r o p e a n s s p o k e s o m e two or three dozen l a n g u a g e s , m o s t of t h e m closely related; a n d they were generally C h r i s t i a n in religious belief a n d worldview, a l t h o u g h m a n y g r o u p s h a d h a d c o n t a c t — a n d conflict—with a d h e r e n t s of J u d a i s m a n d I s l a m . A written a l p h a b e t h a d b e e n u s e d by E u r o p e a n s to preserve a n d c o m m u n i c a t e information for m a n y c e n t u r i e s a n d G u t e n b e r g ' s invention of m o v e a b l e type in the m i d - 1 4 0 0 s h a d s h o w n the way to a m e c h a n i c a l m e a n s of "writing"; by 1 4 9 2 , E u r o p e w a s on its way to b e c o m i n g a print c u l t u r e . By c o n t r a s t , in 1 4 9 2 in N o r t h A m e r i c a , native p e o p l e s p o k e h u n d r e d s of l a n g u a g e s , b e l o n g i n g to entirely different linguistic families (e.g., A t h a p a s c a n , U t o - A z t e c a n , C h i n o o k a n , S i o u a n , a n d A l g o n q u i a n ) a n d s t r u c t u r e d their c u l t u r e s in extraordinarily diverse e c o n o m i c a n d political f o r m s . In the G r e a t B a s i n of the W e s t , s m a l l , loosely organized b a n d s of U t e s e k e d o u t a b a r e s u b s i s t e n c e by h u n t i n g a n d gathering, while the s e d e n t a r y P u e b l o p e o p l e s of the S o u t h w e s t a n d the I r o q u o i a n s of the N o r t h e a s t h a d both highly develo p e d agricultural e c o n o m i e s a n d c o m p l e x m o d e s of political organization. In spite of s o m e c o m m o n f e a t u r e s , religious a n d mythological beliefs were also diverse. A m o n g N o r t h A m e r i c a n p e o p l e s a l o n e , eight different types of creation stories have b e e n d o c u m e n t e d , with wide variations a m o n g t h e m . All of t h e s e differ substantially from the c r e a t i o n stories of J u d a i s m , Christianity, and Islam. Also unlike E u r o p e a n c u l t u r e s , N o r t h A m e r i c a n p e o p l e s did not u s e a written a l p h a b e t . T h e i r s were oral c u l t u r e s , relying on the s p o k e n w o r d — w h e t h e r c h a n t e d , s u n g , or p r e s e n t e d in lengthy n a r r a t i v e s — a n d the m e m o r y of t h o s e words to preserve i m p o r t a n t cultural i n f o r m a t i o n . T h e term literature c o m e s from the L a t i n littera, "letter." N a t i v e A m e r i c a n literatures were not, until long after the arrival of the E u r o p e a n s , written "littera-tures." I n d e e d , a s the p h r a s e oral literature might a p p e a r to be a c o n t r a d i c t i o n in t e r m s , s o m e have c h o s e n to call the e x p r e s s i o n s of the oral tradition orature. T h e s e e x p r e s s i o n s were, like the l a n g u a g e s , political e c o n o m i e s , a n d relig i o u s beliefs of Native A m e r i c a n p e o p l e s , extremely v a r i o u s . E u r o p e a n s in 1 4 9 2 c o u l d n a m e the tragedy, the c o m e d y , the e p i c , the o d e , a n d a variety of lyric f o r m s a s types of literature. In Native A m e r i c a t h e r e w e r e a l m o s t surely (almost, b e c a u s e we have no a c t u a l r e c o r d s that p r e d a t e 1 4 9 2 ) s u c h things a s Kwakiutl winter c e r e m o n i e s , W i n n e b a g o trickster tale c y c l e s , A p a c h e j o k e s , H o p i p e r s o n a l n a m i n g a n d g r i e v a n c e c h a n t s , Yaqui d e e r s o n g s , Y u m a n d r e a m s o n g s , P i m a n s h a m a n i c c h a n t s , I r o q u o i s c o n d o l e n c e rituals, N a v a j o c u r i n g a n d b l e s s i n g c h a n t s , a n d C h i p p e w a s o n g s of the G r e a t M e d icine S o c i e t y , to n a m e only s o m e of the types of N a t i v e A m e r i c a n verbal expression. T h a t there are m a n y s u c h types is u n q u e s t i o n a b l e , b u t a r e t h e s e literary types? T h i s q u e s t i o n would not m a k e s e n s e to traditional native p e o p l e s , w h o

INTRODUCTION

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5

do not have a category of l a n g u a g e u s e c o r r e s p o n d i n g to our category of literature. F r o m a W e s t e r n p e r s p e c t i v e , however, the types of native verbal expression c o u l d only be c o n s i d e r e d as literature after that late-eighteentha n d early-nineteenth-century revolution in E u r o p e a n c o n s c i o u s n e s s known as R o m a n t i c i s m . In that period the c o n c e p t of literature shifted away from being defined by the medium of expression (all l a n g u a g e preserved in letters) to the kind of expression (those texts that e m p h a s i z e d the imaginative a n d e m o t i o n a l possibilities of l a n g u a g e ) . With this shift in the m e a n i n g of literature, m a n y Native A m e r i c a n verbal types c o u l d quite comfortably be considered literary. W e read t h e s e f o r m s on the p a g e , but it b e a r s r e p e a t i n g that traditional Native A m e r i c a n literatures originate a s oral p e r f o r m a n c e s . T h e y are offered to a u d i e n c e s a s d r a m a t i c events in t i m e , l a n g u a g e for the ear, rather than o b j e c t s in s p a c e for the eye. A n d in p e r f o r m a n c e , a p a u s e , a q u i c k e n i n g of p a c e or a s u d d e n retardation, a g e s t u r e , or a lowering of the voice affects m e a n i n g . N o t surprisingly, s c h o l a r s differ a b o u t the b e s t way to transfer p e r f o r m a n c e to the p a g e . S o m e have o p t e d for a stylized typography where type size and a r r a n g e m e n t s e e k to convey s o m e t h i n g of the feeling of what an a c t u a l p e r f o r m a n c e might have b e e n like. O t h e r s , a c k n o w l e d g i n g that b l a c k m a r k s on a white p a g e c a n n o t r e p r o d u c e a living v o i c e , have left it to the r e a d e r to i m a g i n e t h e s e words in p e r f o r m a n c e . T h i s matter of translating the words effectively is controversial. W h e n we know that the original p e r f o r m a n c e u s e d a r c h a i c a n d u n f a m i l i a r t e r m s , s h o u l d we u s e a r c h a i c a n d unfamiliar t e r m s in the translation, even t h o u g h they may a p p e a r stiff a n d old-fashioned on the p a g e ? W h a t would the c o n temporary reader think of the following excerpt from J . N. B. Hewitt's rendition of the Iroquois creation story: " T h r o u g h the crafty m a c h i n a t i o n s of the Fire D r a g o n of the W h i t e Body, the c o n s u m i n g j e a l o u s y of the a g e d presiding chief w a s kindled a g a i n s t his y o u n g s p o u s e . " S h o u l d we instead opt for the n o n s t a n d a r d E n g l i s h , the Red E n g l i s h , or R e s e r v a t i o n E n g l i s h a s it h a s b e e n c a l l e d , of native c o l l a b o r a t o r s in the translation p r o c e s s — e v e n if it may strike s o m e readers not a s lively a n d colloquial but illiterate? H e r e are a few lines from a c o n t e m p o r a r y translation in Red E n g l i s h of a folktale from the N o r t h w e s t : " H e told the chief: 'Yes, I r e m e m b e r , I t h o u g h t of it, I have a worker[,] a boy, a n d I a s k e d him [to c o m e ] but n o , he didn't want to leave his work a n d his e a t i n g s . ' " O f c o u r s e , if we t r a n s l a t e t h e s e texts into standard, or "literary," E n g l i s h , we may have substantially m i s r e p r e s e n t e d verbal expression that, in the original, would surely strike u s a s s t r a n g e . C o n s i d e r the following translation: You have b e e n falling falling H a v e you fallen from the top of the s a l m o n berry b u s h e s falling falling

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This is attractive by c o n t e m p o r a r y s t a n d a r d s , but, for the s a k e of a e s t h e t i c s , it gives u p a g o o d deal of fidelity to the original, w h i c h never a p p e a r e d o n the p a g e . While the q u e s t i o n of how best to t r a n s l a t e Native A m e r i c a n verbal expression m u s t r e m a i n o p e n , r e a d i n g the w o r d s of native oral literature conveys s o m e s e n s e of i n d i g e n o u s literary e x p r e s s i o n a s it m a y have b e e n before the c o m i n g of the E u r o p e a n s .

VOYAGES OF

DISCOVERY

C o l u m b u s w a s still m a k i n g voyages to A m e r i c a ( 1 4 9 2 - 9 3 ; 1 4 9 3 - 9 6 ; 1 4 9 8 ; a n d 1 5 0 2 - 0 4 ) a s other E u r o p e a n s , following his e x a m p l e , f o u n d their way to the W e s t Indies. G i o v a n n i C a b o t o (known a s J o h n C a b o t to the E n g l i s h for w h o m he sailed) a n d his fellow Italian A m e r i g o V e s p u c c i both c r o s s e d the o c e a n before 1 5 0 0 , a s did the P o r t u g u e s e native P e d r o C a b r a l . After that d a t e the voyagers b e c a m e too m a n y to track. Unlike the Viking invasion of five h u n d r e d years b e f o r e , which h a d e s t a b l i s h e d m o d e s t c o a s t a l s e t t l e m e n t s in N o r t h A m e r i c a that Native A m e r i c a n s s o o n w i p e d o u t , this s e c o n d E u r o p e a n wave quickly gathered m o m e n t u m a n d e x t e n d e d itself far to the north a n d s o u t h of the C a r i b b e a n b a s i n that C o l u m b u s explored. C a b o t w a s n e a r the m o u t h of the S t . L a w r e n c e in C a n a d a the year before V e s p u c c i f o u n d that of the A m a z o n , nearly five t h o u s a n d miles away in S o u t h A m e r i c a . S o o n the E u r o p e a n s were e s t a b l i s h i n g c o l o n i e s everywhere. T h e first c o l o n i s t s lingered on the C a r i b b e a n island of H i s p a n i o l a following the d e p a r t u r e of C o l u m b u s in 1 4 9 3 . A l t h o u g h that small s e t t l e m e n t of L a N a v i d a d w a s soon destroyed in a c l a s h with T a i n o natives u n d e r the c a c i q u e C a o n a b o of M a g u a n a , the m a s s i v e s e c o n d voyage in 1 4 9 3 c a m e e q u i p p e d to stay, a n d from that point on S p a i n a n d E u r o p e generally m a i n t a i n e d a n a g g r e s s i v e p r e s e n c e in the W e s t Indies. T h e c o n s t a n t battles a l o n g v a g u e frontiers with Native A m e r i c a n s a d d e d fuel to the d i s s e n s i o n a n d political in-fighting a m o n g the settlers t h e m s e l v e s , w h o s e riots a n d m u t i n i e s nearly ruined s e t t l e m e n t after s e t t l e m e n t . J o h n S m i t h ' s e x p e r i e n c e d u r i n g the first J a m e s t o w n voyage of 1 6 0 7 provides probably the m o s t f a m o u s e x a m p l e from A n g l o - A m e r i c a . Arrested a n d nearly e x e c u t e d (probably for offending his " b e t t e r s , " s o m e t h i n g he h a d the habit of doing) en route to A m e r i c a in 1 6 0 7 , S m i t h w a s r e l e a s e d in Virginia w h e n the colony's s e a l e d instructions were o p e n e d , revealing that this apparently m o d e s t soldier h a d b e e n n a m e d to the p r e s t i g i o u s governing council even before the s h i p s h a d left E n g l a n d . C o l u m b u s himself b e c a m e the f o c u s of fierce c o m p e t i t i o n s a m o n g greedy settlers a n d officials in Hisp a n i o l a by the time of his third voyage a n d , stripped of his property a n d p o w e r s by a royal official m a d d e n e d by the u p r o a r , went b a c k to S p a i n in c h a i n s in 1 5 0 0 . E u r o p e c o n t i n u e d to e x p a n d in the N e w W o r l d a m i d the disorder within s e t t l e m e n t walls a n d the great violence o u t s i d e . C o l u m b u s f o u n d the mainland of S o u t h A m e r i c a in 1 4 9 8 a n d C e n t r a l A m e r i c a in 1 5 0 2 , by which time J o h n C a b o t a n d the P o r t u g u e s e C o r t e - R e a l b r o t h e r s , G a s p a r a n d M i g u e l , h a d b e e n d o w n the c o a s t of N o r t h A m e r i c a from L a b r a d o r to the C h e s a p e a k e , a n d C a b r a l a n d V e s p u c c i h a d c o v e r e d the e a s t c o a s t of S o u t h A m e r i c a from the O r i n o c o River in p r e s e n t - d a y V e n e z u e l a to well s o u t h of the Rio de la Plata on the border of p r e s e n t - d a y U r u g u a y a n d A r g e n t i n a . B e t w e e n 1 5 1 5

INTRODUCTION

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7

a n d the 1 5 2 0 s , S p a i n , u n d e r the reign of C h a r l e s V, aggressively r e a c h e d o u t over the G u l f of M e x i c o , toward the Y u c a t a n p e n i n s u l a a n d M e x i c o a n d Florida a n d the I s t h m u s of P a n a m a , then s e n t expeditions into the heart of N o r t h A m e r i c a from the 1 5 2 0 s to the 1 5 4 0 s , c o v e r i n g a vast region s t r e t c h i n g from Florida to the G u l f of C a l i f o r n i a a n d north a s far a s K a n s a s a n d the T e n n e s s e e River. At the s a m e t i m e , other S p a n i s h explorers a n d c o n q u i s t a dors s p r e a d out over S o u t h A m e r i c a , especially its west c o a s t , w h e r e in imitation of C o r t e s ' s C o n q u e s t of M e x i c o a d e c a d e earlier J u a n Pizarro overc a m e the I n c a n E m p i r e , recently b e s e t with violent civil war. In that s a m e period, the P o r t u g u e s e e s t a b l i s h e d their first p e r m a n e n t s e t t l e m e n t s in Brazil, a n d the F r e n c h explorer J a c q u e s C a r t i e r sailed into the G u l f of S t . L a w r e n c e , then u p its c h i e f river a s far a s the site of the future M o n t r e a l . Within fifty years of 1 4 9 2 , then, the e a s t c o a s t s of m u c h of b o t h c o n t i n e n t s h a d b e e n explored, a n d m a n y of their m a j o r r e g i o n s had b e e n t r a v e r s e d ; the m o s t s p e c t a c u l a r of their p e o p l e s , the Aztecs a n d the I n c a s , h a d b e e n c o n q u e r e d ; a n d E u r o p e h a d settled in for a l o n g stay. S p a i n u n d e r F e r d i n a n d a n d Isabella a n d their g r a n d s o n C h a r l e s V took the m o s t aggressively expansive role in A m e r i c a . O t h e r E u r o p e a n n a t i o n s , m o s t c o n s p i c u o u s l y F r a n c e a n d E n g l a n d , were m o r e s e l f - a b s o r b e d , awake n i n g slowly to what w a s h a p p e n i n g a c r o s s the s e a . T h e i r first explorers enjoyed b a d luck a n d i n c o n s i s t e n t s u p p o r t . J o h n a n d S e b a s t i a n C a b o t h a d sailed for E n g l i s h m e r c h a n t s a n d the m o n a r c h s H e n r y VII a n d H e n r y VIII, b u t the first C a b o t w a s lost on his voyage in 1 4 9 8 , a n d the s e c o n d kept his interest in A m e r i c a alive only by e n t e r i n g the service of the S p a n i s h C r o w n after 1 5 1 2 . A return to his a d o p t e d h o m e l a n d of E n g l a n d a n d a royal p e n s i o n from E d w a r d VI c a m e to him only in the 1 5 4 0 s , by w h i c h p o i n t he h a d c o m m i t t e d h i m s e l f to the s e a r c h for an e a s t w a r d route to C h i n a via the s e a s north of R u s s i a . In F r a n c e , C a r t i e r enjoyed early s u p p o r t from F r a n c i s I, but his failure to find gold a n d other riches in the S t . L a w r e n c e valley a n d his d i s p u t e with the n o b l e m a n Roberval, w h o m the king a p p o i n t e d to c o m m a n d Cartier's third voyage in 1 5 4 1 , led to p r o f o u n d d i s e n c h a n t m e n t in F r a n c e . F i s h e r m e n from b o t h n a t i o n s c o n t i n u e d to harvest the f a b u l o u s riches of the s h o a l s off N o r t h A m e r i c a a n d s u m m e r e d on the s h o r e , drying their c a t c h . B u t not until the 1 5 7 0 s for E n g l a n d a n d the b e g i n n i n g of the next c e n t u r y for F r a n c e , a s a n e w g e n e r a t i o n of a d v e n t u r e r s a r o s e a n d a p e r i o d of c o m mercial e x p a n s i o n set in, did b r o a d p u b l i c s u p p o r t a n d g o v e r n m e n t a l s a n c tion c o m b i n e to stir lasting curiosity a n d i n v e s t m e n t . A series of l u c k l e s s N o r t h A m e r i c a n voyages by the E n g l i s h u n d e r Martin F r o b i s h e r , H u m p h r e y Gilbert, a n d then W a l t e r R a l e g h e n d e d in the tragedy of the " L o s t C o l o n y " of R o a n o k e I s l a n d in t h e 1 5 8 0 s . F o r a n o t h e r twenty y e a r s few E n g l i s h explorers m a d e s e r i o u s new efforts, a l t h o u g h the p r e s s b u b b l e d with p u b l i c a t i o n s regarding the N e w W o r l d , particularly the works of R i c h a r d Hakluyt the younger, w h o s e great c o l l e c t i o n s g a t h e r e d t h e fugitive r e c o r d s of E n g l i s h , a n d i n d e e d E u r o p e a n , e x p a n s i o n o v e r s e a s . Hakluyt's m a s t e r w o r k , The Principall Navigations ( 1 5 9 8 — 1 6 0 0 ) , b r o u g h t the literary p r o d u c t i o n s of c o u n t less E u r o p e a n m a r i n e r s to the attention of a public newly stirred by w h a t S h a k e s p e a r e s o o n w a s to call this "brave n e w w o r l d " of E u r o - A m e r i c a . H a k luyt n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g , only in 1 6 0 6 did a s e c o n d Virginia c o l o n y set forth, a n d this o n e faltered grievously at the start with a s h i p w r e c k on B e r m u d a (which w a s to inspire S h a k e s p e a r e ' s The Tempest), riots at J a m e s t o w n , n e a r starvation, a n d violent e n c o u n t e r s . By 1 6 0 3 F r e n c h interest h a d revived u n d e r the

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direction of a g r o u p of explorers a n d e x p a n s i o n i s t s , S a m u e l d e C h a m p l a i n m o s t significantly, w h o h o p e d for profit from the N e w W o r l d a n d , even m o r e , a r o u t e through it to the fabled riches of A s i a . S e a s o n e d from his voyages to S p a n i s h A m e r i c a , C h a m p l a i n picked up w h e r e C a r t i e r h a d left off sixty years earlier, f o u n d e d p e r m a n e n t s e t t l e m e n t s in the S t . L a w r e n c e valley, a n d through his a g e n t s a n d followers p u s h e d F r e n c h exploration a s far west as L a k e S u p e r i o r at a time w h e n the E n g l i s h were still struggling in Virginia a n d N e w E n g l a n d s e t t l e m e n t h a d j u s t b e g u n at P l y m o u t h .

LITERARY C O N S E Q U E N C E S

OF

1492

T h e period of E u r o p e a n exploration in the N e w W o r l d p r o d u c e d a surprisingly large a n d intriguing body of literature. W h i l e m a n y m a n u s c r i p t s were archived a n d out of r e a c h until the n i n e t e e n t h century, a n u m b e r of texts f o u n d their way into print a n d were widely d i s p e r s e d , t h a n k s to the establishm e n t of printing in the half century before 1 4 9 2 . Shortly after C o l u m b u s ' s return to S p a i n in early 1 4 9 3 , there a p p e a r e d in print his letter to the court official L u i s de S a n t a n g e l , narrating the voyage a n d lushly d e s c r i b i n g the perpetual spring C o l u m b u s h a d f o u n d in the W e s t Indies the previous a u t u m n . F r o m the a p p e a r a n c e of that letter o n , the printing p r e s s a n d the E u r o p e a n e x p a n s i o n into A m e r i c a were reciprocal p a r t s of a single e n g i n e . W i t h o u t the ready d i s p e r s a l of texts rich with imagery that stirred individual i m a g i n a t i o n a n d national a m b i t i o n in regard to the W e s t I n d i e s , E u r o p e ' s m o v e m e n t westward would have b e e n b l u n t e d a n d p e r h a p s thwarted. T h e sword of c o n q u e s t found in the p e n , a n d in the printing p r e s s , a n i n d i s p e n s a b l e ally. T h e great m a s s of early A m e r i c a n writings c a m e from the h a n d s of Euro p e a n s rather than the native p e o p l e s of the N e w W o r l d . I m p o r t a n t exceptions happily exist. T h e natives h a d a lively oral c u l t u r e that v a l u e d m e m o r y over m e c h a n i c s as a m e a n s of preserving texts, a l t h o u g h a m o n g s o m e g r o u p s s u c h as the Aztecs written traditions existed (in N o r t h A m e r i c a t h e s e r e c o r d s included shellwork belts a n d p a i n t e d a n i m a l h i d e s , t e p e e s , a n d shields) a n d m a n y m o r e g r o u p s u s e d visual r e c o r d s in s u b t l e a n d s o p h i s t i c a t e d ways. S u c h c a t a c l y s m s a s the C o n q u e s t of M e x i c o p r o d u c e d not only the S p a n i s h narratives of C o r t e s , Bernal Diaz del C a s t i l l o , a n d o t h e r s b u t a l s o native r e s p o n s e s , m a n y of which p e r i s h e d with t h o s e w h o knew t h e m . T h o s e that survived in original native c h a r a c t e r s or in transliterated form have inestim a b l e e t h n o g r a p h i c a n d literary v a l u e . F o r i n s t a n c e , a n o n y m o u s native writers working in the N a h u a t l l a n g u a g e of the Aztecs in 1 5 2 8 — s i g n i f i c a n t l y , they u s e d the R o m a n a l p h a b e t i n t r o d u c e d by the S p a n i s h — l a m e n t e d the fall of their capital to C o r t e s in the following lines: Rroken s p e a r s lie in the r o a d s ; we have torn o u r hair in our grief. T h e h o u s e s are roofless now, a n d their walls are red with blood. N o o n e r e a d i n g t h e s e four lines will easily glorify the C o n q u e s t of M e x i c o or of the A m e r i c a s m o r e generally. T h e story of the t r a n s o c e a n i c e n c o u n t e r , however, c e a s e s to be a m a t t e r of e a s y c o n t r a s t s o n c e o n e r e a d s widely in

INTRODUCTION

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9

the texts on either s i d e . A l t h o u g h E u r o p e a n s c o m m i t t e d atrocities in the N e w World, often they did s o a s a result of b l u n d e r i n g a n d m i s c o m m u n i c a t i o n rather than cool, deliberate policy. In fact, the split b e t w e e n policy a n d action g o e s to the heart of the infant Atlantic world of the sixteenth century a n d is mirrored in a n d influenced by the c h a r a c t e r of the writing that survives from the period. T h e great d i s t a n c e s e p a r a t i n g the h e m i s p h e r e s m a d e the coordination of intention a n d p e r f o r m a n c e extremely difficult. T h e authorities at h o m e lacked the k n o w l e d g e to form p r u d e n t or practical policy; a s a result m a n y texts written by explorers or colonists were i n t e n d e d a s " b r i e f s " m e a n t to inform or influence policy d e c i s i o n s m a d e at a d i s t a n c e . T o cite a s i m p l e e x a m p l e , C o l u m b u s h i m s e l f wrote a point-by-point description of his s e c o n d voyage in 1 4 9 5 , a d d r e s s e d to F e r d i n a n d a n d Isabella in a series of " i t e m s " to which the specific r e s p o n s e s of the sovereigns were a d d e d by a court s c r i b e . M o r e complexly, C o r t e s s o u g h t to justify his patently illegal invasion of Mexico in 1 5 1 9 by s e n d i n g several long letters to C h a r l e s V d e f e n d i n g his a c t i o n s a n d p r o m i s i n g lavish returns if his c o n q u e s t c o u l d p r o c e e d . M o s t d o c u m e n t s sent from A m e r i c a to the E u r o p e a n p o w e r s reveal s u c h generally political intentions. E u r o p e r e s p o n d e d by i s s u i n g directives a i m e d at controlling events a c r o s s the s e a . Even w h e n g o o d policies were a r t i c u l a t e d in E u r o p e , however, applying t h e m in the N e w World entailed further p r o b l e m s . By the time instructions arrived in H i s p a n i o l a , M e x i c o , J a m e s t o w n , or Q u e b e c , new events in the colony might have r e n d e r e d t h e m p o i n t l e s s . Dist a n c e m a d e control both crucial a n d difficult. W h e r e a s formal authority typically resided in E u r o p e , power a s a n informal fact of life a n d e x p e r i e n c e a n d c i r c u m s t a n c e b e l o n g e d to A m e r i c a , to t h o s e w h o c o u l d seize a n d u s e it or w h o a c q u i r e d it by virtue of what they did rather than the official investitures they bore. M u t i n y b e c a m e s o pervasive a fact or fear in A m e r i c a precisely b e c a u s e individuals a n d g r o u p s h a d , morally a n d geographically, great latitude in the thinly p o p u l a t e d colonial e n c l a v e s . If writing served in this a m b i g u o u s universe as a m e a n s to influence official policy at h o m e , it a l s o e m e r g e d as a m e a n s of justifying a c t i o n s (as with C o r t e s ) that violated or ignored E u r o p e a n directives.

fluid,

Early A m e r i c a n writing h a d , t h o u g h , a third a n d m o r e c o m p e l l i n g p u r p o s e as a literature of w i t n e s s . T h a t we know so m u c h a b o u t the E u r o p e a n devastation of the W e s t Indies c o m e s from the fact that s o m e E u r o p e a n s r e s p o n d e d powerfully to that devastation in writing. A l t h o u g h no o n e typifies this m o o d better than B a r t o l o m e de las C a s a s , w h o a s s a i l e d S p a i n ' s r u t h l e s s destruction of whole p e o p l e s in A m e r i c a , it is the rare E u r o p e a n d o c u m e n t that d o e s not reveal the bloody truths of E u r o p e ' s colonial d r e a m s . S t a r t i n g on the C o l u m b i a n voyages t h e m s e l v e s a n d flowering in the S p a n i s h W e s t Indies, especially in the 1 5 4 0 s a n d 1 5 5 0 s w h e n d e b a t e s a b o u t the mistreatm e n t of the natives earnestly m o v e d the clerics a n d g o v e r n m e n t officials at h o m e , the N e w World inspired an o u t p o u r i n g of written e x p r e s s i o n . N o t all the literature of witness s p e a k s to specific i s s u e s of policy, or particular p u b lic d e b a t e s , but in m a n y of the texts o n e s e n s e s a critical eye, a point of view not likely to be swayed by the s l o g a n s of e m p i r e or faith or even wealth. Writers s u c h as D i a z del C a s t i l l o , the chronicler of C o r t e s , a n d E n g l a n d ' s J o h n S m i t h c a m e from the u n d e r c l a s s of their native c o u n t r i e s , where but for the opportunities r e p r e s e n t e d by A m e r i c a they might well have s p e n t their days in s i l e n c e . As a result, their writing c o u l d be subversive, even m u t i n o u s ,

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achieving its g r e a t e s t d e p t h w h e n it c a p t u r e d a vision of A m e r i c a a s m o r e than a d e p e n d e n t province of the O l d W o r l d , rather a s a p l a c e w h e r e m u c h that w a s genuinely new might b e l e a r n e d .

PILGRIM

A N D

PURITAN

T h e e s t a b l i s h m e n t of P l y m o u t h P l a n t a t i o n on the s o u t h s h o r e of M a s s a c h u s e t t s in 1 6 2 0 b r o u g h t to N o r t h A m e r i c a a n e w kind of E n g l i s h settler. T h e f o u n d e r s of the colony (later called Pilgrims by their l e a d e r a n d historian William B r a d f o r d ) s h a r e d with their allies, the P u r i t a n s , a wish to purify C h r i s t i a n belief a n d p r a c t i c e . W h e r e a s the P u r i t a n s initially were willing to work within the confines of the e s t a b l i s h e d C h u r c h of E n g l a n d , the Pilgrims t h o u g h t it so c o r r u p t that they w i s h e d to s e p a r a t e t h e m s e l v e s from it completely. W h i l e still in E n g l a n d , they set u p their own secret congregation in the village of S c r o o b y in N o t t i n g h a m s h i r e . Often s u b j e c t to p e r s e c u t i o n a n d i m p r i s o n m e n t , the S c r o o b y S e p a r a t i s t s (as they were also called) saw little c h a n c e for r e m a i n i n g true to their faith a s long a s they r e m a i n e d in E n g l a n d . In 1 6 0 8 , five years after Q u e e n Elizabeth h a d b e e n s u c c e e d e d by J a m e s S t u a r t , a n e n e m y of all s u c h r e f o r m e r s , the S c r o o b y c o n g r e g a t i o n left E n g l a n d a n d settled in T h e N e t h e r l a n d s , w h e r e , William B r a d f o r d tells u s , they saw "fair a n d beautiful c i t i e s " — b u t , a s foreigners, they were c o n f r o n t e d by the "grisly f a c e of poverty." I s o l a t e d by their lang u a g e a n d u n a b l e to farm, they took u p t r a d e s like weaving, Bradford's c h o i c e , that p r o m i s e d a living. Eventually, fearing that they m i g h t l o s e their religious identity a s their children were s w a l l o w e d u p in D u t c h c u l t u r e , they petitioned for the right to settle in the vast A m e r i c a n territories of E n g l a n d ' s Virginia C o m p a n y . B a c k e d by E n g l i s h investors, the v e n t u r e w a s c o m m e r cial as well a s religious in n a t u r e . A m o n g the h u n d r e d p e o p l e on the Mayflower there were a l m o s t three t i m e s a s m a n y s e c u l a r settlers a s S e p a r a t i s t s . T h i s initial g r o u p , set d o w n on the raw M a s s a c h u s e t t s s h o r e in N o v e m b e r 1 6 2 0 , m a d e hasty a r r a n g e m e n t s to f a c e the winter. T h e colonists were h e l p e d over this "starving t i m e " by their own fortitude a n d the essential aid of the nearby W a m p a n o a g I n d i a n s a n d their leader, M a s s a s o i t . F r o m t h e s e " s m a l l b e g i n n i n g s , " a s B r a d f o r d w a s e a g e r to d e c l a r e , grew a c o m m u n i t y of mythical import to the later n a t i o n . M u c h larger at the start w a s the well-financed effort that b r o u g h t a contingent of P u r i t a n s u n d e r J o h n W i n t h r o p to M a s s a c h u s e t t s B a y , not far north of P l y m o u t h , in 1 6 3 0 . A l t h o u g h t h e s e settlers initially e x p r e s s e d no overt intention to sever their ties with the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d , a n d they are generally r e g a r d e d a s n o n s e p a r a t i n g d i s s e n t e r s , the d i s t a n c e they p u t b e t w e e n t h e m s e l v e s a n d that c h u r c h ' s hierarchy w a s e l o q u e n t t e s t i m o n y of a different p u r p o s e . O n other i s s u e s , they s h a r e d with the Pilgrims the s a m e b a s i c beliefs: both a g r e e d with M a r t i n L u t h e r that no p o p e or b i s h o p h a d a right to i m p o s e any law on a C h r i s t i a n without c o n s e n t a n d both a c c e p t e d J o h n Calvin's view that G o d freely c h o s e (or " e l e c t e d " ) t h o s e he w o u l d save a n d t h o s e h e would d a m n eternally. By 1 6 9 1 , w h e n a n e w c h a r t e r s u b s u m e d P l y m o u t h a s a n i n d e p e n d e n t colony u n d e r M a s s a c h u s e t t s B a y , the Pilgrims a n d P u r i t a n s h a d m e r g e d in all b u t m e m o r y . T o o m u c h c a n b e m a d e of the Calvinist doctrine of e l e c t i o n ; t h o s e w h o have not read the a c t u a l Puritan s e r m o n s often c o m e away from s e c o n d a r y

INTRODUCTION

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11

s o u r c e s with the m i s t a k e n notion that Puritans talked a b o u t n o t h i n g but d a m n a t i o n . P u r i t a n s did indeed hold that G o d h a d c h o s e n , before their birth, t h o s e w h o m he w i s h e d to s a v e ; but it d o e s not follow that P u r i t a n s c o n s i d e r e d m o s t of u s to be born d a m n e d . P u r i t a n s a r g u e d that A d a m broke the " C o v e n a n t of W o r k s " (the p r o m i s e G o d m a d e to A d a m that he w a s i m m o r t a l a n d c o u l d live in P a r a d i s e forever a s long as he obeyed G o d ' s c o m m a n d m e n t s ) when he disobeyed a n d a t e of the tree of knowledge of g o o d a n d evil, thereby bringing sin a n d d e a t h into the world. T h e i r central d o c t r i n e , however, w a s the n e w " C o v e n a n t of G r a c e , " a b i n d i n g a g r e e m e n t that C h r i s t m a d e with all p e o p l e who believed in him a n d that he s e a l e d with his Crucifixion, p r o m ising t h e m eternal life. P u r i t a n s t h u s a d d r e s s e d t h e m s e l v e s not to the h o p e lessly u n r e g e n e r a t e but to the indifferent, a n d they a d d r e s s e d the heart m o r e often than the m i n d , always d i s t i n g u i s h i n g b e t w e e n " h i s t o r i c a l " or rational u n d e r s t a n d i n g a n d heartfelt "saving f a i t h . " T h e r e is m o r e joy in Puritan life a n d t h o u g h t than we often credit, a n d this joy is the direct result of m e d i tation on the doctrine of Christ's r e d e e m i n g power. E d w a r d Taylor is not a l o n e in m a k i n g his r a p t u r o u s litany of Christ's a t t r i b u t e s : " H e is altogether lovely in everything, lovely in His p e r s o n , lovely in H i s n a t u r e s , lovely in H i s properties, lovely in His offices, lovely in His titles, lovely in His p r a c t i c e , lovely in His p u r c h a s e s a n d lovely in His r e l a t i o n s . " All of Taylor's art is a meditation on the m i r a c u l o u s gift of the I n c a r n a t i o n , a n d in this r e s p e c t his sensibility is typically P u r i t a n . A n n e B r a d s t r e e t , w h o is remarkably frank a b o u t c o n f e s s i n g her religious d o u b t s , told her children that it w a s " u p o n this rock C h r i s t J e s u s " that s h e built her faith. N o t surprisingly, the P u r i t a n s held to the strictest r e q u i r e m e n t s regarding c o m m u n i o n , or, a s they preferred to call it, the Lord's S u p p e r . It w a s the m o r e i m p o r t a n t of the two s a c r a m e n t s they recognized ( b a p t i s m b e i n g the o t h e r ) , a n d they g u a r d e d it with a zeal that set t h e m apart from all other d i s s e n t e r s . In the b e g i n n i n g c o m m u n i o n w a s r e g a r d e d as a sign of election, to be taken only by t h o s e w h o h a d b e c o m e c h u r c h m e m b e r s by s t a n d i n g before their minister a n d elders a n d giving a n a c c o u n t of their conversion. T h i s i n s i s t e n c e on c h a l l e n g i n g their m e m b e r s m a d e t h e s e N e w E n g l a n d c h u r c h e s m o r e rigorous than any others a n d c o n f i r m e d the feeling that they were a special few. T h u s w h e n J o h n W i n t h r o p a d d r e s s e d the i m m i g r a n t s to the Bay C o l o n y a b o a r d the flagship Arbella in 1 6 3 0 , he told t h e m that the eyes of the world were on t h e m a n d that they would be a n e x a m p l e for all, a "city u p o n a hill." Like William B r a d f o r d for the Pilgrims, W i n t h r o p in his history of the P u r i t a n s w i s h e d to record the a c t u alization of that d r e a m .

W R I T I N G

IN

T O N G U E S

While the N e w E n g l a n d c o l o n i e s have conventionally b e e n r e g a r d e d a s the c e n t e r p i e c e of early A m e r i c a n literature, the first N o r t h A m e r i c a n settlem e n t s h a d b e e n f o u n d e d e l s e w h e r e years, even d e c a d e s , earlier. S t . A u g u s tine, J a m e s t o w n , S a n t a F e , Albany, a n d N e w York, for i n s t a n c e , are all older than B o s t o n . M o r e important, E n g l i s h w a s not the only l a n g u a g e in which early N o r t h A m e r i c a n texts were written. I n d e e d , it w a s a tardy arrival in A m e r i c a , a n d its eventual e m e r g e n c e as the d o m i n a n t l a n g u a g e of c l a s s i c A m e r i c a n literature hardly w a s inevitable. T o s o m e extent, the large initial

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immigration to B o s t o n in the 1 6 3 0 s , the high articulation of Puritan cultural ideals, a n d the early e s t a b l i s h m e n t of a college a n d a printing p r e s s in C a m bridge all gave N e w E n g l a n d a s u b s t a n t i a l e d g e . L a t e r political events w o u l d m a k e E n g l i s h a useful lingua f r a n c a for the c o l o n i e s at large a n d , in t i m e , the literary m e d i u m of c h o i c e . B e f o r e 1 7 0 0 , however, a n d often long after it, other l a n g u a g e s r e m a i n e d actively in u s e not only for m u n d a n e p u r p o s e s but a l s o a s expressive vehicles. Particularly beyond the v a g u e b o r d e r s of the E n g l i s h colonial world (the shifting lines b e t w e e n F r e n c h C a n a d a a n d N e w E n g l a n d a n d the s o u t h e r n colonies a n d S p a n i s h Florida, for e x a m p l e ) , t h o s e other l a n g u a g e s were c o m pletely d o m i n a n t . Even within the limits of the eventual thirteen c o l o n i e s , however, large e n c l a v e s of s p e a k e r s of other l a n g u a g e s existed, especially in the m i d d l e c o l o n i e s . A m o n g the noteworthy settlers of N e w N e t h e r l a n d , for i n s t a n c e , were B e l g i a n W a l l o o n s , near n e i g h b o r s of the D u t c h in E u r o p e b u t s p e a k e r s of a radically different l a n g u a g e . T h e mix of " f o r e i g n e r s " in Albany, b e g u n a s a fur trade p o s t by N e t h e r l a n d e r m e r c h a n t s o n the u p p e r H u d s o n , m a d e it a minority D u t c h town, its p o p u l a t i o n m a d e u p of settlers of S c a n dinavian, F r e n c h , P o r t u g u e s e , E n g l i s h , Irish, S c o t s , G e r m a n , A f r i c a n , a n d W e s t Indian d e r i v a t i o n — e v e n p e o p l e from S p a i n , then the e n e m y of the N e t h e r l a n d e r s , a n d from faraway C r o a t i a . F o r two c e n t u r i e s after N e w N e t h erland w a s c o n q u e r e d by the E n g l i s h in 1 6 6 4 a n d r e n a m e d N e w York, D u t c h a n d other l a n g u a g e s were widely u s e d there in public a n d private life before eventually dying out. S i m i l a r linguistic t r a n s f o r m a t i o n s , with the social a n d personal losses they bring, o c c u r r e d in other E n g l i s h - c o n t r o l l e d regions that would eventually form the U n i t e d S t a t e s . In P e n n s y l v a n i a , w h e r e large g r o u p s of P r o t e s t a n t s from continental E u r o p e w e r e w e l c o m e d by William P e n n , G e r m a n in particular r e m a i n s a vital l a n g u a g e to this day, a l t h o u g h the friction b e t w e e n G e r m a n c o m m u n i t i e s there a n d "the E n g l i s h " r e m i n d s u s that l a n g u a g e is a g r o u n d of c o n t e s t b e t w e e n e t h n i c g r o u p s , not j u s t of self-expression within e a c h . In fact, the first item printed in P e n n s y l v a n i a , a l t h o u g h it i s s u e d from the p r e s s e s t a b l i s h e d by a n i m m i g r a n t E n g l i s h m a n , was in G e r m a n , a n d the largest b o o k printed in any of the c o l o n i e s before the Revolution w a s in the s a m e l a n g u a g e . W h e n we read A m e r i c a n history b a c k w a r d , looking for early p r e c e d e n t s of national institutions, p r a c t i c e s , a n d v a l u e s , we are likely to m i s s the radical linguistic a n d cultural diversity of the colonial world. R e a d e r s of the colonial record n e e d to a t t e n d to the m a n y t o n g u e s t h r o u g h which the c o l o n i s t s articulated their e x p e r i e n c e s , vision, a n d v a l u e s . It is to this e n d that t r a n s l a t e d s e l e c t i o n s from works written by n o n - E n g l i s h colonists are i n c l u d e d a l o n g with E n g l i s h texts to represent the first full century of N o r t h A m e r i c a n writing. Part of the u s e f u l n e s s of s u c h a b r o a d survey is the insight it offers into the t h e m e s , f o r m s , a n d c o n c e r n s s h a r e d by many p e o p l e s involved in the cultural a n d territorial e x p a n s i o n of E u r o p e a n p e o p l e s at the t i m e .

AMERICAN

LITERATURE

IN

1700

Along the e a s t e r n s e a b o a r d by 1 7 0 0 , m o s t of the c o l o n i e s that were to unite in s e e k i n g i n d e p e n d e n c e from Britain toward the e n d of the e i g h t e e n t h century h a d b e e n f o u n d e d — G e o r g i a w a s to follow in the 1 7 3 0 s . As Britain

INTRODUCTION

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13

s o u g h t to c o n s o l i d a t e a n d unify its overseas p o s s e s s i o n s , the m a p b e g a n to r e s e m b l e that of 1 7 7 6 , a n d E n g l i s h had already e m e r g e d a s a powerful intercolonial tool. B u t up a n d d o w n the c o a s t , a s u r p r i s i n g variety of p e o p l e s w a s in e v i d e n c e , m o s t of w h o m h a d b e c o m e a c c u s t o m e d to the transatlantic or local publication of their writings. At the e n d of the first full century of E u r o p e a n colonization, the printing p r e s s w a s active in m a n y a r e a s , from C a m b r i d g e a n d B o s t o n to N e w York, Philadelphia, a n d A n n a p o l i s . F r o m 1 6 9 6 to 1 7 0 0 , to be s u r e , only a b o u t 2 5 0 s e p a r a t e i t e m s were i s s u e d in all these p l a c e s c o m b i n e d . Although this is a small n u m b e r c o m p a r e d to the o u t p u t of the printers of L o n d o n at the t i m e , it m u s t be r e m e m b e r e d that printing w a s e s t a b l i s h e d in the A m e r i c a n c o l o n i e s before it w a s allowed in m o s t of E n g l a n d , where restrictive laws, the last of t h e m r e p e a l e d a s late a s 1 6 9 3 , had long confined printing to four locations: L o n d o n , York, Oxford, a n d C a m b r i d g e . In this regard, if only b e c a u s e of the isolation of the American provinces by the o c e a n , they ventured into the m o d e r n world earlier than their provincial E n g l i s h c o u n t e r p a r t s . T h e literary situation in A m e r i c a three c e n t u r i e s a g o is s u g g e s t e d by a brief examination of the p r o d u c t s of the p r e s s e s then in o p e r a t i o n . A m o n g t h o s e 2 5 0 items p u b l i s h e d at the century's e n d w a s a whole library of texts by the m o s t prolific colonial a u t h o r , C o t t o n M a t h e r . In this period, he p u b l i s h e d m o r e than three dozen titles, i n c l u d i n g s u c h things a s his a c c o u n t of the "tearful d e c a d e " (1688—98) of warfare b e t w e e n N e w E n g l a n d a n d N e w F r a n c e a n d the latter's Indian allies, which incorporated his f a m o u s narrative of the bloody e s c a p e of H a n n a h D u s t a n from her c a p t o r s . M a t h e r also p u b lished several b i o g r a p h i e s of N e w E n g l a n d ' s f o u n d i n g ministers a n d p e n n e d treatises on the p r o p e r behavior of servants toward their m a s t e r s , on the "well-ordered family," a n d on the spiritual risks run by s e a m e n . H e a l s o i s s u e d a w a r n i n g a g a i n s t " i m p o s t o r s p r e t e n d i n g to be m i n i s t e r s . " A n d he wrote Pillars of Salt, a venture into criminal biography that had religious origins but that also reflected the i m p o r t a n c e of an e m e r g e n t p o p u l a r (as o p p o s e d to elite) literary c u l t u r e on both sides of the Atlantic. D e s p i t e their t e n d e n c y to mirror the self-regarding a s p e c t of Puritan t h o u g h t , even M a t h e r ' s works remind u s that A m e r i c a in 1 7 0 0 w a s o p e n i n g o u t w a r d . In the Magnalia Christi Americana, p u b l i s h e d j u s t after the start of the new century, M a t h e r himself told a n a n e c d o t e that conveys the c h a n g e at h a n d . A newly trained minister w h o h a d j o u r n e y e d north from M a s s a c h u setts Bay to M a i n e was p r e a c h i n g to a g r o u p of h a r d e n e d fishermen. H e w a s urging his listeners not to " c o n t r a d i c t the m a i n end of Planting this Wildern e s s , " the service of G o d a n d G o d ' s p u r p o s e s , w h e n a m e m b e r of the m a k e shift gathering h a d the effrontery to contradict him: "Sir, you are m i s t a k e n , you think you are P r e a c h i n g to the P e o p l e at the Bay; our m a i n e n d w a s to c a t c h F i s h . " Even in N e w E n g l a n d , M a t h e r s u g g e s t s , m a i n e n d s differed profoundly from p l a c e to p l a c e a n d from c o m m u n i t y to c o m m u n i t y . E l s e where, the rich array of p u r p o s e s w a s reflected in the diverse items i s s u e d by A m e r i c a n printers at the time when M a t h e r ' s Magnalia w a s j u s t a p p e a r i n g (this large book w a s first p u b l i s h e d in L o n d o n , not in B o s t o n , it might be n o t e d ) . T h e r e was a pair of texts, for i n s t a n c e , d e a l i n g with the Native Ameri c a n s of N e w York that s u g g e s t how colonialism was altered by the drive toward cross-cultural interaction. O n e reported on a c o n f e r e n c e held in 1 6 9 6 between the governor of that " p r o v i n c e , " a s all the c o l o n i e s were then b e i n g

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called, a n d the "Five . . . N a t i o n s of I n d i a n s , " the I r o q u o i s , a d y n a m i c confederacy of p e o p l e s who h a d long controlled m u c h of N e w York's territory a n d exacted tribute from far distant native p e o p l e s a s well. T h i s w a s a kind of text that proliferated t h r o u g h o u t N e w York's colonial era, w h e n the governor a n d his a g e n t s m a d e regular visits to the important Iroquois capital at O n o n d a g a to listen to the c o n c e r n s of t h e s e E n g l i s h allies. T h e s e c o n d text c o n c e r n i n g native p e o p l e s in N e w York a l s o reflected this u n i q u e c r o s s cultural pattern. In the 1 6 9 0 s , w h e n the F r e n c h a n d E n g l i s h e m p i r e s were c o m i n g into s e r i o u s conflict in A m e r i c a , native p e o p l e s were frequently swept up in the fray. T h e " P r o p o s i t i o n s M a d e by the Five N a t i o n s of I n d i a n s " to N e w York's governor in 1 6 9 8 accordingly e n t r e a t e d him to protect the Iroq u o i s from h a r a s s m e n t by N e w F r a n c e ' s Indian allies, w h o were moving e a s t w a r d into Iroquoia a n d fiercely raiding the villages t h e r e . S u c h texts, r e a c h i n g a c r o s s the b o u n d a r i e s b e t w e e n the I n d i a n nations a n d colonial p o w e r s , c a t c h the d i p l o m a t i c t o n e of c r o s s - c u l t u r a l relations in the M i d a t l a n t i c region. T h e complexity of the political c u l t u r e in early America is b o r n e out in other texts of the era a s well, s u c h a s God's Protecting Providence ( 1 6 9 9 ) , P h i l a d e l p h i a n J o n a t h a n D i c k i n s o n ' s m u c h reprinted a c c o u n t of his shipwreck a n d Indian captivity in S p a n i s h F l o r i d a , which c o m b i n e d piety, a d v e n t u r e , a n d e x o t i c i s m . Similarly exotic w a s Barbarian Cruelties ( 1 7 0 0 ) , which told of E u r o p e a n c a p t i v e s in N o r t h Africa, a n a r e a of the g l o b e that w a s long to be the f o c u s of W e s t e r n e r s ' anxieties a n d , in the post-Revolutionary era, an A m e r i c a n war or two. B u t s u c h a d v e n t u r o u s narratives were not all sited in exotic a n d d i s t a n t l o c a l e s . S o m e , like the seemingly m u n d a n e textbook in the E n g l i s h l a n g u a g e written by F r a n c i s D a n i e l P a s t o r i u s a n d a i m e d not only at y o u n g A m e r i c a n s but a l s o (as the author's own G e r m a n i c - s o u n d i n g E n g l i s h s u g g e s t e d ) at " t h o s e w h o from foreign c o u n t r i e s a n d nations c o m e to settle a m o n g s t u s , " s u g g e s t less d r a m a t i c but still i m p o r t a n t cross-cultural c o n c e r n s . Religion, a d o m i n a n t t h e m e in the A m e r i c a n p r e s s in 1 7 0 0 , w a s itself linked to strong social i s s u e s , a s was d e m o n s t r a t e d by D a n i e l G o u l d ' s a c c o u n t of the e x e c u t i o n of Quaker diss e n t e r s in B o s t o n fifty years earlier, a work that a p p e a r e d in N e w York in 1 7 0 0 . T h e printer of G o u l d ' s book, in fact, a l s o i s s u e d a pair of d i s s e n t i n g tracts by Quaker a n d S a l e m m e r c h a n t T h o m a s M a u l e , i n c l u d i n g o n e called New England's Persecutors Mauled with Their Own Weapons. M a u l e ' s n a m e b e c a m e f a m o u s to later g e n e r a t i o n s of r e a d e r s t h r o u g h N a t h a n i e l Hawthorne's n o n e too a c c u r a t e a s s o c i a t i o n of it with the c u r s e d o o m i n g the Pync h e o n family in his S a l e m novel The House of the Seven Gables. Finally, r o u n d i n g out the century, c a m e The Selling of Joseph by S a m u e l Sewall, a m o n g the earliest antislavery tracts written a n d p u b l i s h e d in A m e r i c a a n d t h u s a work of growing i m p o r t a n c e in the future. A l t h o u g h the p u b l i s h e d items from this half d e c a d e of the s e v e n t e e n t h century also c o m p r i s e d a l m a n a c s a n d g o v e r n m e n t a l p u b l i c a t i o n s , s u c h i t e m s c o n t r i b u t e d a s well to the e s t a b l i s h m e n t of print c u l t u r e a n d , ultimately, of literary traditions in British A m e r i c a . It w a s to be the a l m a n a c , o n e recalls, that h e l p e d m a k e B e n j a m i n Franklin's fortune a s a printer, a n d it w a s Franklin w h o c o n v e r t e d that everyday form into a vehicle of rare wit a n d sturdy E n g l i s h .

LITERATURE TO TEXTS

1700 CONTEXTS

Peoples indigenous to the Americas orally perform and transmit a variety of "literary" genres that include, among others, speeches, songs, and stories 1000—1300 Anasazi communities inhabit southwestern regions. 1492 Christopher Columbus arrives in the Bahamas • between 4 and 7 million Native Americans estimated in present-day United States, including Alaska 1493 Columbus, "Letter to Luis de Santangel Regarding the First Voyage" 1500 Native American populations begin to be ravaged by European diseases 1514 Bartolome de las Casas petitions Spanish crown to treat Native American peoples like other human (subject) populations 1519—21 Cortes conquers Aztecs in Mexico I 526 Spanish explorers bringfirstAfrican slaves to South Carolina 1539 First printing press in the Americas set up in Mexico City • Hernando de Soto invades Florida 1542 Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca, The Relation of Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca

1552 Bartolome de las Casas, The Very Brief Relation of the Devastation of the Indies

1558-1603

Reign of Elizabeth I

c. 1 568 Bernal Diaz del Castillo composes The True History of the Conquest of New Spain (pub. 1632)

1 584 Walter Ralegh lands on "island" of Roanoke; names it "Virginia" for Queen Elizabeth 1588 Thomas Harriot, A Brief and True Report of the New Found Land of Virginia

1603—13 Samuel de Champlain explores the St. Lawrence River; founds Quebec 1605 Garcilaso de la Vega, The Florida of the Inca

Boldface titles indicateworks in the anthology.

1 5

CONTEXTS

TEXTS

1607 Jamestown is established in Virginia • Powhatan confederacy prevents colonists from starving; teaches them to plant tobacco 1613 Samuel de Champlain, The Voyages of Sietir de Champlain

1619 Twenty Africans arrive in Jamestown on a Dutch vessel as indentured servants 1620 Mayflower drops anchor in Plymouth Harbor 1621 First Thanksgiving, at Plymouth 1624 John Smith, The General History of Virginia, New England, and the Summer Isles

1630-43 Immigration of English Puritans to Massachusetts Bay

1630 John Winthrop delivers his sermon A Model of Christian Charity (pub. 1838)

1630-50 William Bradford writes Of Plymouth Plantation (pub. 1856)

1637 PequotWar

1637 Thomas Morton, New England Canaan

1638 Anne Hutchinson banished from Bay Colony for challenging Puritan beliefs. 1643 Roger Williams, A Key into the Langitage of America

1650 Anne Bradstreet, The Tenth Muse 1655 Adriaen Van der Donck, A Description of New Netherland

1661 Jacob Steendam, "The Praise of New Netherland" 1662 Michael Wigglesworth, Tlte Day of Doom

1673-1729 Samuel Sewall keeps his Diary (pub. 1878-82) 1675—78 King Philip's War destroys power of Native American tribes in New England 1681 William Penn founds Pennsylvania 1682 Mar) Rowlandson's Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration

1682—1 725 Edward Taylor continues his Preparatory Meditations (pub. 1939, 1960)

1684 Francis Daniel Pastorius, Positive Information from America

1692 Salem witch trials 1702 Cotton Mather, Magtialia Christi Americana

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S t o r i e s

o f

t h e

B e g i n n i n g

o f

t h e

W o r l d

Stories about the creation of the world tell people who they are by telling them where they come from. Native American creation stories, although never written down or gathered into a bible, serve for native cultures in much the same way as the Book of Genesis serves for the Judeo-Christian world: they posit a general cultural outlook and offer perspectives on what life is and how to understand it. All native peoples have stories of the earliest times; reprinted here are two, one from the Iroquois of the Northeast and one from the Akimel O'odham or Pima of the Southwest. These peoples encountered European explorers, missionaries, and colonists very early in the period of contact, and information and conjecture about the Iroquois and the Pima appear in European texts that go back almost four hundred years. But these early records offer only bare sketches of what native people said, sang, chanted, and narrated; and of course, North American Indians did not themselves write down their stories. It was not until the mid- to late nineteenth century that Euro-Americans developed the linguistic skills and cultural understanding necessary to translate and transcribe Native American creation stories in a manner that begins to do justice to them. It was also not until then that native people collaborated extensively in recording the myths and legends of their people. In the Southwest, the army doctor Washington Matthews began to work on the Navajo Night Chant and Mountain Chant in the 1880s, while Frank Hamilton Cushing, employed by the Bureau of American Ethnology, had installed himself among the Zuni and begun to record their legends in 1879. J . W. Fewkes, after the turn of the century, and J. W. Lloyd, somewhat later, both worked with the Pima man Thin Leather to record stories of the earliest times. Among the Iroquois, David Cusick, a Tuscarora (the Tuscarora joined the Iroquois Confederacy early in the eighteenth century), had begun to document the legends of his people as early as 1825. He was followed by the distinguished Tuscarora anthropologist J . N. B. Hewitt shortly after the turn of the century.

T H E

I R O Q U O I S

C R E A T I O N

S T O R Y

The people known collectively as the Iroquois were made up of the Mohawk, Seneca, Oneida, Onondaga, and Cayuga nations. Joined in the early eighteenth century by the Tuscarora of North Carolina, the Five Nations became the Six Nations. The original Five Nations occupied lands that ranged from the area northeast of lakes Ontario_and F.rie around the St. Lawrence and Ottawa rivers, then south of the lakes, and eastward almost to the Hudson River. Named Iroquois by the f r p n r h (the Dutch and English called all these peoples Mohawk", Maqua, or Seneca), the Six Nations called themselves People of the Longhouse (Haudenosaunee in Seneca, Kanosoni in Mohawk), in reference to their primary type of dwelling. Iroquois Ionghouses were some twenty feet wide and from forty to two hundred feet long, accommodating several families who shared cooking fires. The largest towns of the Iroquois contained as many as two thousand people. Warfare was an important element of Iroquois life. Late in the fifteenth century, in response to the terrible consequences of ongoing wars, a man named Hiawatha founded the_League, or Confederacy, of the Five Nations. According to Iroquois 17

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THE

IROQUOIS

CREATION

STORY

^ ^ - ^ / ^

legend, having lost all of his daughters in war, Hiawatha, in a rage of grief and despair, went by himself into the forest. There he encountered a supernatural being named Deganawirlah, the Pearrmskpr, p e r h a p c a reincarnation of the Good Twin of the Iroquois creation story. Deganawidah comforted Hiawatha and taught him Rituals of Condolence that were to be the core of a new creed, the Good News of Peace and Power. Thus the cultural ideal of peace was established. While war continued as a central reality of Iroquois life, there were now ritual means of comforting the bereaved—and an ongoing hope for more lasting peace. Of special note is the importance of women in Iroquois life. Women owned the property and took responsibility for major decisions of social life (indeed, society is referred to as "she"), attending to agricultural duties in the clearings while the men hunted in the woods or warred against traditional enemies such as the Huron to the north. The principal male figure in an Iroquois child's life was not the father but the mother's brother, and the image of mother-dominated families is established strongly in the creation legend. In the version printed here males are entirely absent at the beginning of the tale, appearing neither as husbands nor as fathers. Indeed, stories of fatherless boys who become heroes are common in Iroquois folk history. The Iroquois creation myth exists in some twenty-five versions, the earliest of which was taken down by the Frenchman Gabriel Sagard in 1623 from the Huron. Other early accounts derive from the Mohawk and the Seneca. There is, however, no actual transcription and translation of an Iroquois cosmogonic myth—a narrative of the establishment of the world—until that of David Cusick, a Tuscarora, in the nineteenth century. Little is known about Cusick. He was born in Madison County, New York, before 1800, when his family moved to the lands granted the Tuscarora by the Seneca and Oneida in Niagara County, New York. Most likely, he attended a mission school where he learned to read and write English. He died in 1840. Cusick's Tuscarora version shares many elements with the creation stories of other members of the Iroquois League; indeed, it has surely been influenced by them. But it also omits much material that other versions include. Other accounts begin with a man and a woman who live together in the sky world on opposite sides of a fire. Although these two do not sleep together, the woman finds herself pregnant and eventually gives birth to a daughter. The man falls ill and dies, and the daughter grieves intensely for him. When the young woman is grown, her father's spirit instructs her to make a difficult journey to a place where she will meet the man destined to become her husband. When at last she finds this man, he too is ill, but the young woman cures him. The two marry but do not sleep together; nonetheless, as had happened to her mother, she becomes pregnant. It is at this point that Cusick picks up the story of the woman who "would have the twin born." Other versions continue past the point where Cusick's terminates. Some tell, for example, of a toad that hoards water long enough to cause a flood. Cusick's English, as the phrase quoted above makes clear, is not standard. Aware of that, he noted in the preface to his work that he found himself "so small educated that it was impossible for me to compose the work without much difficulty." His style is a curious combination of an Indian-inflected English and what the Euro-American culture of the period would have defined as polite literary style. We have selected Cusick's version of the Iroquois creation story because it is early, because it is by a native person (Cusick was the first Native American to record on his own the founding myths of his own people), and because it is fairly accessible to the contemporary reader.

THE

IROQUOIS CREATION STORY

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19

T h e Iroquois Creation Story1 A Tale of the Foundation of the Great Island, Now North America;— the Two Infants Born, and the Creation of the Universe A m o n g t h e a n c i e n t s there were two worlds in e x i s t e n c e . T h e lower world w a s in great d a r k n e s s ; — t h e p o s s e s s i o n of the great m o n s t e r ; b u t t h e u p p e r world w a s inhabited by m a n k i n d ; a n d there w a s a w o m a n c o n c e i v e d 2 a n d would have t h e twin born. W h e n her travail drew near, a n d her situation s e e m e d to p r o d u c e a great distress on her m i n d , a n d s h e w a s i n d u c e d by s o m e o f her relations to lay herself on a m a t t r e s s which w a s p r e p a r e d , s o a s to gain r e f r e s h m e n t s to her wearied body; b u t while s h e w a s a s l e e p t h e very p l a c e s u n k d o w n towards t h e dark w o r l d . 1 T h e m o n s t e r s 4 o f t h e great water were a l a r m e d at her a p p e a r a n c e o f d e s c e n d i n g to t h e lower world; in cons e q u e n c e all t h e s p e c i e s of the c r e a t u r e s were i m m e d i a t e l y c o l l e c t e d into where it w a s e x p e c t e d s h e would fall. W h e n the m o n s t e r s were a s s e m b l e d , a n d they m a d e c o n s u l t a t i o n , o n e of t h e m w a s a p p o i n t e d in h a s t e to s e a r c h the great d e e p , in order to p r o c u r e s o m e earth, if it c o u l d b e o b t a i n e d ; a c c o r d ingly the m o n s t e r d e s c e n d s , which s u c c e e d s , a n d returns to t h e p l a c e . Another requisition w a s p r e s e n t e d , w h o would b e c a p a b l e to s e c u r e t h e w o m a n from t h e terrors of t h e great water, but n o n e w a s a b l e to c o m p l y except a large turtle c a m e forward a n d m a d e proposal to t h e m to e n d u r e her lasting weight, which w a s a c c e p t e d . T h e w o m a n w a s yet d e s c e n d i n g from a great d i s t a n c e . T h e turtle e x e c u t e s u p o n t h e spot, a n d a small quantity o f earth w a s varnished on t h e back part of the turtle. T h e w o m a n alights on the seat p r e p a r e d , a n d s h e receives a s a t i s f a c t i o n . 5 While h o l d i n g her, t h e turtle i n c r e a s e d every m o m e n t a n d b e c a m e a c o n s i d e r a b l e island of e a r t h , a n d apparently covered with small b u s h e s . T h e w o m a n r e m a i n e d in a state of unlimited d a r k n e s s , a n d s h e w a s overtaken by her travail to which s h e w a s s u b j e c t . While s h e w a s in t h e limits of distress o n e of t h e infants in her w o m b w a s moved by a n evil opinion a n d h e w a s d e t e r m i n e d to p a s s o u t u n d e r the side o f t h e parent's a r m , a n d t h e other infant in vain e n d e a v o u r e d to prevent his d e s i g n . 6 T h e w o m a n w a s in a painful condition d u r i n g t h e time of their d i s p u t e s , a n d t h e infants entered t h e dark world by c o m p u l s i o n , a n d their p a r e n t expired in a few m o m e n t s . T h e y h a d t h e p o w e r o f s u s t e n a n c e without a n u r s e , a n d r e m a i n e d in t h e dark regions. After a time t h e turtle i n c r e a s e d to a great Island a n d t h e infants were grown u p , a n d o n e o f t h e m p o s s e s s e d w i t h a gentle disposition, a n d n a m e d E N I G O R I O , i.e. the ppnd m i n d T h e other youth p o s s e s s e d a n i n s o l e n c e of c h a r a c t e r ' ~ a n d w a s n a m e d E N I 1. The text is from Sketches of the Ancient History

of the Six Nations (1827). 2. The woman who conceives is, in most Iroquois accounts of the creation, the second generation of sky women to become pregnant without sexual activity. "Mankind": i.e., humans rather than "monsters"—undefined creatures of a time before the world as we know it was established—although these humans have powers quite different from those humans usuallv possess. 3. Other versions have Sky Woman either being pushed out of the upper world or accidentally falling. 4. In other versions the monsters are a variety of

familiar animals. Cusick conveys the mysterious and dangerous state of affairs in the as-yetunformed universe. 5. I.e., she lands safely, without harm. 6. Other versions of the story have Sky Woman give birth to a daughter, who again becomes supernaturally pregnant (perhaps by the spirit of the turtle), and it is she who conceives the twins. The tw ins argue even in the womb, the Evil Twin deciding not to be born in the normal way but to burst through his mother's side, which leads to her death. The theme of rival twins is widespread in the Americas.

20

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THE

IROQUOIS

CREATION

STORY

i.e. the bad m i n d . 7 T h e g o o d m i n d w a s not c o n t e n t e d to remain in a dark situation, a n d he w a s a n x i o u s to c r e a t e a great light in the dark world; but the b a d mind w a s d e s i r o u s that the world s h o u l d r e m a i n in a natural s t a t e . T h e good m i n d d e t e r m i n e s to p r o s e c u t e his d e s i g n s , a n d therefore c o m m e n c e s the work of c r e a t i o n . At first he took the parent's h e a d , (the d e c e a s e d ) of which he c r e a t e d an orb, a n d e s t a b l i s h e d it in the c e n t r e of the f i r m a m e n t , a n d it b e c a m e of a very superior n a t u r e to b e s t o w light to the new world, (now the s u n ) a n d again he took the r e m n a n t of the body a n d f o r m e d a n o t h e r orb, which w a s inferior to the light (now m o o n ) . In the orb a c l o u d of legs a p p e a r e d to prove it w a s the body of the g o o d m i n d , ( p a r e n t ) . T h e former w a s to give light to the day a n d the latter to the night; a n d he a l s o c r e a t e d n u m e r o u s spots of light, (now s t a r s ) : t h e s e were to regulate the days, nights, s e a s o n s , years, e t c . W h e n e v e r the light e x t e n d e d to the dark world the m o n s t e r s were d i s p l e a s e d a n d i m m e d i a t e l y c o n c e a l e d t h e m s e l v e s in the d e e p p l a c e s , lest they s h o u l d be d i s c o v e r e d by s o m e h u m a n b e i n g s . T h e g o o d m i n d c o n t i n u e d the works of c r e a t i o n , a n d he f o r m e d n u m e r o u s creeks a n d rivers on the G r e a t Island, a n d then c r e a t e d n u m e r o u s s p e c i e s of a n i m a l s of the s m a l l e s t a n d the greatest, to inhabit the forests, a n d fishes of all kinds to inhabit the w a t e r s . W h e n he h a d m a d e the universe h e w a s in d o u b t r e s p e c t i n g s o m e being to p o s s e s s the G r e a t I s l a n d ; a n d he f o r m e d two i m a g e s of the d u s t of the g r o u n d in his own likeness, m a l e a n d f e m a l e , a n d by his b r e a t h i n g into their nostrils he gave t h e m the living s o u l s , a n d n a m e d t h e m E A - G W E - H O W E , i.e., a real p e o p l e ; " a n d he gave the G r e a t Island all the a n i m a l s of g a m e for their m a i n t e n a n c e a n d he a p p o i n t e d thunder to water the earth by frequent r a i n s , a g r e e a b l e of the n a t u r e of the syst e m ; after this the Island b e c a m e fruitful a n d vegetation afforded the a n i m a l s s u b s i s t e n c e . T h e b a d m i n d , while his brother w a s m a k i n g the u n i v e r s e , went t h r o u g h o u t the Island a n d m a d e n u m e r o u s high m o u n t a i n s a n d falls of water, a n d great s t e e p s , a n d a l s o c r e a t e s various reptiles which would be injurious to m a n k i n d ; but the g o o d m i n d restored the Island to its former condition. T h e bad mind p r o c e e d e d further in his motives a n d h e m a d e two i m a g e s of clay in the form of m a n k i n d ; but while h e w a s giving t h e m exist e n c e they b e c a m e apes; 1 ' a n d when h e h a d not the p o w e r to c r e a t e m a n k i n d he w a s e n v i o u s a g a i n s t his brother; a n d again he m a d e two of clay. T h e g o o d mind discovered his brothers c o n t r i v a n c e s , a n d aided in giving t h e m living s o u l s , (it is s a i d t h e s e h a d the m o s t k n o w l e d g e of good a n d evil). T h e g o o d mind now a c c o m p l i s h e s the works of c r e a t i o n , n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g the imaginations of the b a d mind were continually evil; a n d he a t t e m p t e d to e n c l o s e all the a n i m a l s of g a m e in the earth, s o a s to deprive t h e m from m a n k i n d ; but the good mind r e l e a s e d t h e m from c o n f i n e m e n t , (the a n i m a l s were disp e r s e d , a n d traces of t h e m were m a d e on the rocks n e a r the c a v e w h e r e it G£>FTIHAHETGEA,

7. MORE COMMONLY, THE GOOD TWIN IS CALLED THARONHIAWAGON (SKY-GRASPER, CREATOR, OR UPHOLDER OF THE FLEAVENS), AND THE EVIL TWIN IS NAMED TAWISCARON (EVIL-MINDED, FLINT, ICE, PATRON OF WINTER, AND OTHER DISASTERS). CUSICK'S ENIGORIO IS A ROUGH TRANSLATION OF THE TUSCARORA WORD FOR"GOOD MINDED" INTO MOHAWK, AND HIS ENIGONHAHETGEA IS AN EQUALLY ROUGH TRANSLATION INTO SENECA, ONONDAGA, OR CAYUGA OF THE TUSCARORA WORD FOR "BAD MINDED." CUSICK HAS PROBABLY CHANGED THE TUSCARORA WORDS BEST KNOWN TO HIM INTO THESE OTHER IROQUOIS LANGUAGES, BECAUSE THEY WERE CONSIDERED TO BE MORE PRESTIGIOUS THAN TUSCARORA, THE TUS-

CARORAS ONLY RECENTLY HAVING JOINED THE IROQUOIS CONFEDERACY. 8. HUMANS. " E a - g w e - h o w e " : TUSCARORA TERM USED BY SPEAKERS OF ALL THE LANGUAGES OF THE SIX NATIONS; TODAY, IT SIMPLY MEANS INDIAN, OR INDIANS. 9 . CUSICK MAY HAVE SEEN AN APE OR A DEPICTION OT APES (THERE ARE NO APES NATIVE TO THE NEW WORLD) AND DECIDED TO NAME THEM AS THE CREATURES MADE BY THE EVIL TWIN IN CONTRAST TO THE HUMANS MADE BY THE GOOD TWIN. JOHN BUCK AND CHIEF JOHN GIBSON, IN THEIR LATER RENDITIONS OF THE IROQUOIS CREATION NARRATIVE, ALSO REFER TO APES AT THIS POINT IN THE NARRATIVE.

PIMA

STORIES OF THE

BEGINNING

OF THE W O R L D

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21

was c l o s e d ) . T h e g o o d mind experiences that his brother w a s at variance with the works of c r e a t i o n , a n d feels not d i s p o s e d to favor a n y of his p r o c e e d i n g s , b u t gives a d m o n i t i o n s of his future s t a t e . Afterwards the g o o d m i n d r e q u e s t e d his brother to a c c o m p a n y him, a s h e w a s p r o p o s e d to i n s p e c t the g a m e , e t c . , but w h e n a short d i s t a n c e from their m o n i n a l 1 [sic] r e s i d e n c e , the b a d m i n d b e c a m e so u n m a n l y that he c o u l d not c o n d u c t his brother any m o r e . 2 T h e b a d m i n d offered a c h a l l e n g e to his brother a n d resolved that who g a i n s the victory s h o u l d govern the u n i v e r s e ; a n d a p p o i n t e d a day to m e e t the c o n t e s t . T h e g o o d m i n d w a s willing to s u b m i t to the offer, a n d he enters the reconciliation with his brother; which he falsely m e n t i o n s that by whipping with flags would destroy his temporal life; 3 a n d he earnestly solicits his brother also to notice the i n s t r u m e n t of d e a t h , which he manifestly relates by the u s e of d e e r h o r n s , b e a t i n g his body he w o u l d expire. O n the day a p p o i n t e d the e n g a g e m e n t c o m m e n c e d , which lasted for two days: after pulling u p the trees a n d m o u n t a i n s a s the track of a terrible whirlwind, at last the g o o d m i n d g a i n e d the victory by u s i n g the h o r n s , as m e n t i o n e d the i n s t r u m e n t of d e a t h , which h e s u c c e e d e d in deceiving his brother a n d he c r u s h e d him in the e a r t h ; a n d the last words uttered from the b a d mind were, that he would have equal power over the s o u l s of m a n k i n d after d e a t h ; a n d he sinks down to eternal d o o m , a n d b e c a m e the Evil S p i r i t . 4 After this t u m u l t the g o o d m i n d repaired to the battle g r o u n d , a n d then visited the p e o p l e a n d retires from the e a r t h . 5 1827 1. CUSICK PERHAPS MEANS nominal, THEIR NAMED OR DESIGNATED RESIDENCE. 2. I.E., THE EVIL TWIN BECAME SO RUDE AND OBNOXIOUS THAT THE GOOD TWIN COULD NOT LEAD ("CONDUCT") HIS BROTHER TO THE APPOINTED PLACE ANY LONGER. 3. THE GOOD TWIN TELLS HIS BROTHER THAT HE CAN BE KILLED BY BEING BEATEN WITH CORN STALKS, RUSHES, REEDS, OR CATTAILS. CUSICK CALLS THIS A DECEPTION;

PIMA

STORIES OF

OF

THE

OTHER ACCOUNTS TREAT IT AS A CONFESSION OF WEAKNESS. BELOW, THE EVIL TWIN ADMITS THAT HE WOULD DIE IF BEATEN WITH THE ANTLERS OF DEER. 4 . THIS MAY REFLECT AN AWARENESS OF THE CHRISTIAN BELIEF IN THE DEVIL AS THE EVIL SPIRIT, RULER OVER THE LOWER DEPTHS. 5. OTHER VERSIONS GO ON TO SAY THAT THE GOOD TWIN TEACHES THE PEOPLE HOW TO GROW CORN AND HOW TO KEEP FROM HARM BY MEANS OF PRAYER AND RITUAL.

THE

BEGINNING

WORLD

The Akimel O'odham, or Pima, live along the Gila and Salt Rivers in the desert of central Arizona and are close relations of the Tohono O'odham (formerly known as the Papago), who occupy lands in the mostly riverless desert to the south of them. Farming close to the rivers, the Akimel O'odham grew corn and beans, gathered wild plants, and hunted small game. Late in the sixteenth century, they encountered the Spanish, who named them "Pima" sometime around 1600. Because of their remoteness from Spanish and Mexican centers of power, the Pima were not immediately subjected to strong European influence. In 1694 Spanish missionaries were sent out to convert them. Today, like many native peoples, most Pima are Christian, although their Christianity both includes and exists alongside traditional beliefs and practices. The first Pima mythological narrative to be recorded dates from a 1694 journal account written by the Spaniard Juan Manje; Pedro Font, another Spaniard, also recorded a Pima story in 1775. These stories concern the ancestors of the Pima, the

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PIMA

STORIES OF THE

B E G I N N I N G OF THE

WORLD

Hohokam (meaning, roughly, the "finished ones" or "those who are gone"). Of great importance to the Pima, the narratives offer an account of how the cultural practices of everyday Pima life came to be established. But these earliest stories do not tell of the creation of the world, of the origins of things, or the actions of the most distant ancestors. Such tales were not recorded until the turn of the twentieth century. At the Pan-American Fair in Buffalo, New York, in July 1901, J. W. Lloyd met a man named Edward H. Wood, a full-blood Pima, who told him that his greatest dream was to preserve the ancient legends and tales of his people. Wood's grand-uncle, Thin a recognized master who knew all the ancient stories. Leather, was a see-nee-yaw-kum, Thin Leather, as Wood told Lloyd, had no successor and feared that with his death the stories would be lost to his people and to the world. Wood persuaded Lloyd to go to the Southwest and work with him and his uncle to record the stories in English. In 1903 Lloyd traveled to Sacaton, Arizona, where he met Thin Leather and, with Wood acting as interpreter, recorded a number of his tales. Lloyd published the results of his work with Wood and Thin Leather privately in 1911, as Aw-aw-tam, Indian

Nights,

Being

the Myths and Legends

of the Pimas

of Arizona.

The title refers

to the fact that these stories were traditionally told over a period of four nights. Although the Stoiy of the Creation was not narrated until the twentieth century, it is little influenced by the origin story in Genesis, which, however, Thin Leather probably knew. The important animals and vegetation, the chief protagonists, and their personalities and actions are all specific to Pima culture. The text is from Aw-aw-tam, Pimas of Arizona (1911).

Indian

Nights,

Being

the Myths and Legends

of the

T h e Story of the Creation1 In the b e g i n n i n g there w a s no earth, n o w a t e r — n o t h i n g . T h e r e w a s only a P e r s o n . fuh-wert-a-Mah-kai (The^Doctor of the- E a r t h ) . 2 H e j u s f f l o a t e d , forThere w a s n o p l a c e for him to s t a n d u p o n . T h e r e w a s no s u n , no light, a n d h e j u s t floated a b o u t in the d a r k n e s s , which w a s Darkn e s s itself. H e w a n d e r e d a r o u n d in t h e n o w h e r e till h e t h o u g h t h e h a d w a n d e r e d e n o u g h . T h e n h e r u b b e d on his b r e a s t a n d r u b b e d o u t moah-haht-tack, that is perspiration, or greasy e a r t h . T h i s h e r u b b e d o u t on t h e p a l m of his h a n d a n d held o u t . It tipped over three t i m e s , b u t t h e fourth t i m e 3 it staid straight in t h e m i d d l e of the air a n d there it r e m a i n s n o w a s t h e world. T h e first b u s h h e c r e a t e d w a s t h e g r e a s e w o o d b u s h . 4 A n d h e m a d e a n t s , little tiny a n t s , to live on that b u s h , on its g u m which c o m e s o u t of its s t e m . B u t t h e s e little ants did not d o any g o o d , s o h e c r e a t e d white a n t s , a n d t h e s e worked a n d enlarged t h e e a r t h ; a n d they kept on i n c r e a s i n g it, larger a n d larger, until at last it w a s b i g e n o u g h for himself to rest o n .

1. T h e e d i t o r is i n d e b t e d t o D o n a l d B a h r f o r h i s help with t h e a n n o t a t i o n of t h e P i m a selections. 2. This title is e q u i v a l e n t t o r e s p e c t f u l l y c a l l i n g Juhvvertamahkai a medicine person, or shaman, w i t h g r e a t p o w e r s , a l t h o u g h h i s p o w e r s s e e m , in a W e s t e r n s e n s e , to b e godlike. 3 . T h i s i s t h e first o f s e v e r a l a c t i o n s t h a t m u s t b e a t t e m p t e d f o u r t i m e s b e f o r e it is a c h i e v e d | a d a p t e d

f r o m L l o y d ' s n o t e ] . F o u r is t h e p a t t e r n n u m b e r ol t h e P i m a , a s it i s o f a g r e a t m a n y n a t i v e p e o p l e s ; it corresponds to the importance of three a n d seven a s p a t t e r n n u m b e r s in W e s t e r n c u l t u r e s . 4 . " T h e l o c a l t o u c h in m a k i n g t h e g r e a s e w o o d h u s h t h e First v e g e t a t i o n i s v e r y s t r o n g " [ L l o y d ' s n o t e ] . G r e a s e w o o d b u s h e s a r e a b u n d a n t in t h e Pima homelands.

THE

STORY

OF THE

CREATION

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23

T h e n he c r e a t e d a P e r s o n . H e m a d e him out of his eye, out of the s h a d o w of his eyes, to assist him, to be like him, a n d to help him in c r e a t i n g trees a n d h u m a n beings a n d everything that w a s to be on the e a r t h . T h e n a m e of this being w a s Noo-ee (the B u z z a r d ) . 5 N o o e e was given all power, but he did not do the work h e w a s c r e a t e d for. H e did not c a r e to help J u h w e r t a m a h k a i , but let him go by himself. And so the D o c t o r of the E a r t h himself c r e a t e d the m o u n t a i n s a n d everything that has s e e d a n d is good to eat. F o r if he h a d c r e a t e d h u m a n b e i n g s first they would have h a d nothing to live on. B u t after m a k i n g N o o e e a n d before m a k i n g the m o u n t a i n s a n d s e e d for food, J u h w e r t a m a h k a i m a d e the s u n . In order to m a k e the s u n h e first m a d e water, a n d this h e p l a c e d in a hollow vessel, like a n earthen dish (hwas-hah-ah) to h a r d e n into s o m e t h i n g like ice. A n d this h a r d e n e d ball he p l a c e d in the sky. First he p l a c e d it in the N o r t h , but it did not work; then he p l a c e d it in the W e s t , but it did not work; then he p l a c e d it in the S o u t h , but it did not work; then he p l a c e d it in the E a s t a n d there it worked a s h e w a n t e d it to. A n d the m o o n he m a d e in the s a m e way a n d tried in the s a m e p l a c e s , with the s a m e results. B u t when he m a d e the stars he took the water in his m o u t h a n d s p u r t e d it up into the sky. B u t the first night his stars did not give light e n o u g h . S o he took the Doctor-stone'' ( d i a m o n d ) , the tone-dum-haw-teh, and smashed it u p , a n d took the p i e c e s a n d threw t h e m intcTthe sky to mix with the water in the s t a r s , a n d then there w a s light e n o u g h . Juhwertamahkai

s Song of

Creation

J u h w e r t a m a h k a i m a d e the w o r l d — C o m e a n d s e e it a n d m a k e it useful! H e m a d e it r o u n d — C o m e a n d s e e it a n d m a k e it useful! A n d now J u h w e r t a m a h k a i , r u b b e d again on his b r e a s t , a n d from the s u b s t a n c e he o b t a i n e d there m a d e two little dolls, a n d t h e s e h e laid on the e a r t h . A n d they were h u m a n b e i n g s , m a n a n d w o m a n . And now for a time the p e o p l e i n c r e a s e d till they filled the e a r t h . F o r the first p a r e n t s were perfect, a n d there w a s no s i c k n e s s a n d no d e a t h . B u t w h e n the earth was full, then there was nothing to eat, so they killed a n d a t e e a c h other. B u t J u h w e r t a m a h k a i did not like the way his p e o p l e a c t e d , to kill a n d eat e a c h other, a n d s o he let the sky fall to kill t h e m . B u t w h e n the sky d r o p p e d h e , himself, took a staff a n d broke a hole thru, thru which he a n d N o o e e e m e r g e d a n d e s c a p e d , leaving b e h i n d t h e m all the p e o p l e d e a d . And J u h w e r t a m a h k a i , being now on the top of this fallen sky, a g a i n m a d e a m a n a n d a w o m a n , in the s a m e way a s b e f o r e . B u t this m a n a n d w o m a n

5. HE IS A PERSON AND ALSO A BUZZARD, WHICH, IN THE EARLIEST TIMES, IS NOT A CONTRADICTION OR PARADOX. 6. I.E., IT IS A PARTICULARLY POWERFUL STONE. LLOYD'S

INTERPRETER CALLED IT A DIAMOND, BUT AS DIAMONDS ARE UNCOMMON IN NORTH AMERICA, THIS IS PROBABLY A QUARTZ CRYSTAL.

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PIMA

STORIES

OF THE

BEGINNING

OF THE

WORLD

b e c a m e grey w h e n old, a n d their children b e c a m e grey still younger, a n d their children b e c a m e grey y o u n g e r still, a n d so on till the b a b i e s were grey in their c r a d l e s . A n d J u h w e r t a m a h k a i , w h o h a d m a d e a new earth a n d sky, j u s t a s there h a d b e e n before, did not like his p e o p l e b e c o m i n g grey in their c r a d l e s , so he let the sky fall on t h e m a g a i n , a n d again m a d e a hole a n d e s c a p e d , with N o o e e , as b e f o r e . A n d J u h w e r t a m a h k a i , on top of this s e c o n d sky, again m a d e a n e w h e a v e n a n d a new e a r t h , j u s t a s he h a d d o n e b e f o r e , a n d n e w p e o p l e . B u t t h e s e new p e o p l e m a d e a vice of s m o k i n g . B e f o r e h u m a n b e i n g s h a d never s m o k e d till they were old, but now they s m o k e d y o u n g e r , a n d e a c h g e n e r a t i o n still y o u n g e r , till the infants w a n t e d to s m o k e in their c r a d l e s . A n d J u h w e r t a m a h k a i did not like this, a n d let the sky fall a g a i n , a n d created everything n e w a g a i n in the s a m e way, a n d this time h e c r e a t e d the earth as it is now. B u t at first the w h o l e slope of the world w a s w e s t w a r d , 7 a n d tho there were p e a k s rising from this s l o p e there were n o true valleys, a n d all the water that fell ran away a n d there w a s no water for the p e o p l e to drink. S o J u h w e r t a m a h k a i sent N o o e e to fly a r o u n d a m o n g the m o u n t a i n s , a n d over the earth, to c u t valleys with his wings, so that the water c o u l d b e c a u g h t a n d distribu t e d a n d there might be e n o u g h for the p e o p l e to drink. N o w the s u n w a s m a l e a n d the m o o n w a s f e m a l e a n d they m e t o n c e a m o n t h . A n d the m o o n b e c a m e a m o t h e r a n d went to a m o u n t a i n called Tahsmy-et-tahn Toe-ahk (sun striking m o u n t a i n ) a n d there w a s b o r n her baby. B u t s h e h a d d u t i e s to attend to, to turn a r o u n d a n d give light, s o s h e m a d e a p l a c e for the child by t r a m p i n g d o w n the w e e d y b u s h e s a n d there left it. A n d the child, having no milk, w a s n o u r i s h e d on the e a r t h . A n d this child w a s the c o y o t e , 8 a n d a s h e grew, he went out to walk a n d in his walk c a m e to the h o u s e of J u h w e r t a m a h k a i a n d N o o e e , w h e r e they lived. A n d w h e n h e c a m e there J u h w e r t a m a h k a i knew him a n d called him Toehahvs,9 b e c a u s e he w a s laid o n the w e e d y b u s h e s of that n a m e . B u t now o u t of the N o r t h c a m e a n o t h e r powerful p e r s o n a g e , w h o h a s two n a m e s , See-ur-huh a n d Ee-ee-toy.] N o w S e e u r h u h m e a n s older brother, a n d w h e n this p e r s o n a g e c a m e to J u h w e r t a m a h k a i , N o o e e a n d T o e h a h v s he called t h e m his y o u n g e r brothers. B u t they c l a i m e d to have b e e n here first, a n d to b e older t h a n h e , a n d there w a s a d i s p u t e b e t w e e n t h e m . B u t finally, b e c a u s e h e insisted s o strongly, a n d j u s t to p l e a s e h i m , they let h i m be called older brother. 1911 7. A SPECIFICALLY LOCAL ELEMENT OF THE PIMA STORY, AS BOTH THE GILA AND THE SALT RIVERS, IMPORTANT TO THE PIMA, FLOW WESTWARD [ADAPTED FROM LLOYD'S NOTE]. 8. IT IS APPROPRIATE THAT THE NIGHT-PROWLING COYOTE IS BORN OF THE MOON, AND THERE IS A SYMMETRY IN HAVING THE BUZZARD SERVE AS JUHWERTAMAHKAI'S AGENT OF THE SKY AND THE COYOTE AS HIS AGENT OF THE EARTH [ADAPTED FROM LLOYD'S NOTE], 9. OR TOHAWES; BRITTLEBUSH, A COMMON PLANT IN PIMA COUNTRY. 1. THE NAME EITHER MEANS "DRINK IT ALL UP" OR,

ACCORDING TO PRESENT-DAY PIMAS, JUST SOUNDS LIKE THE WORD THAT MEANS "DRINK IT ALL UP," I.E., IT IS NOT TRANSLATABLE. THIS CHARACTER IS "THE MOST ACTIVE AND MYSTERIOUS PERSONALITY IN PIMAN MYTHOLOGY. OUT OF THE NORTH, APPARENTLY SELF-EXISTENT, BUT LITTLE INFERIOR IN POWER TO JUHWERTAMAHKAI, AND CLAIMING GREATER AGE, HE APPEARS, BY PURE 'BLUFF,' AND PERSISTENT PUSH AND WHEEDLING, TO HAVE INDUCED THE REALLY MORE POWERFUL, BUT GOOD-NATURED AND RATHER LAZY JUHWERTAMAHKAI TO GIVE OVER MOST OF THE REAL WORK AND GOVERNMENT OF THE WORLD TO HIM" [LLOYD'S NOTE].

CHRISTOPHER

COLUMBUS

1451-1506 Born into a family of wool workers near the once supreme Mediterranean port of Genoa, Christopher Columbus turned to the sea as a young man; developed a plan to find a commercially viable Atlantic route to Asia; and in 1492 won the support of the Spanish monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, for this "enterprise of the Indies." His series of four voyages between 1492 and 1504 produced a brief moment of wonder followed by a long series of disasters and disenchantments. Apparently friendly relations with the Taino Indians on the island of Hispaniola in 1492 turned sour as the settlers Columbus left behind demanded gold and sexual partners from their hosts; on his return there in 1494, none of the Europeans were alive. A new settlement established on the island following this discovery fell into such disorder during the absence of Columbus in Cuba and Jamaica that in 1496 he was forced to return to Spain to clear his name of politically motivated charges made against him by other Europeans in the Indies. A third voyage, begun in 1498, took him for the first time to the South American mainland; the lushness of nature there made him believe himself near Paradise, but that illusion vanished when, on his return to Hispaniola, he encountered Spanish settlers there in open rebellion against his authority. Able to reach a truce only at the expense of the Taino Indians, who were to be virtually enslaved by the rebels, Columbus soon found himself under arrest, sent in chains to Spain in 1500 to answer yet more charges. His last voyage, intended to recoup his tarnished reputation, resulted in a long period of suffering in Panama and shipwreck in Jamaica, and these outer woes were accompanied by nearly delusional periods as Columbus underwent a virtual breakdown. Rescued at last from this extremity, he returned to Europe, where soon afterward he died. The West Indies, as his discoveries were called, remained disordered and bloody. Several documents regarding the four voyages survive from Columbus's hand. The supposed Journal of his first voyage is actually a summary prepared by the cleric and reformer Bartolome de las Casas. A letter sent by Columbus to Luis de Santangel, a royal official and an early supporter of his venture, provides a more authentic account and served as the basis for the first printed description of America, issued in 1493 in Spain and widely translated and reprinted across Europe. A memorandum regarding the second voyage, intended by Columbus for the Spanish monarchs (whose responses to each point also survive), offers useful insights into the emerging ambiguities and problems of the colony on Hispaniola. For the third and fourth voyages, three letters from Columbus, two sent to the Crown and one to a woman of the Spanish court, detail his deepening worldly and spiritual troubles. The texts are from Select Documents Illustrating the Four Voyages of Columbus, translated and edited by Cecil Jane ( 1 9 3 0 - 3 3 ) .

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From

CHRISTOPHER

COLUMBUS

L e t t e r to L u i s d e S a n t a n g e l 1 R e g a r d i n g t h e F i r s t V o y a g e [At s e a , F e b r u a r y 1 5 , 1 4 9 3 ]

Sir, As I know that you will be p l e a s e d at the great victory with which O u r L o r d has c r o w n e d my voyage, I write this to you, from which you will learn how in thirty-three d a y s , I p a s s e d from the C a n a r y Islands to the Indies with the fleet which the m o s t illustrious king a n d q u e e n our sovereigns gave to m e . A n d there I f o u n d very m a n y i s l a n d s filled with p e o p l e i n n u m e r a b l e , a n d of t h e m all I have taken p o s s e s s i o n for their h i g h n e s s e s , by p r o c l a m a t i o n m a d e a n d with the royal s t a n d a r d unfurled, a n d n o o p p o s i t i o n w a s offered to m e . T o the first island which I f o u n d I gave the n a m e San Salvador,2 in r e m e m b r a n c e of the Divine M a j e s t y , W h o has marvelously b e s t o w e d all this; the Indians call it " G u a n a h a n i . " T o the s e c o n d I gave the n a m e Isla de Santa Maria de Conception; to the third, Fernandina; to the fourth, Isabella; to the fifth, Isla Juana,1, a n d so to e a c h o n e I gave a n e w n a m e . W h e n I r e a c h e d J u a n a I followed its c o a s t to the w e s t w a r d , a n d I found it to be s o extensive that I thought that it m u s t be the m a i n l a n d , the province of C a t a y o . 4 A n d s i n c e there were neither towns nor villages on the s e a s h o r e , but only small h a m l e t s , with the p e o p l e of which I c o u l d not have s p e e c h b e c a u s e they all fled immediately, I went forward on the s a m e c o u r s e , thinking that I s h o u l d not fail to find great cities a n d t o w n s . And at the end of m a n y l e a g u e s , s e e i n g that there w a s no c h a n g e a n d that the c o a s t w a s b e a r i n g m e n o r t h w a r d s , which I w i s h e d to avoid s i n c e winter w a s already b e g i n n i n g a n d I p r o p o s e d to m a k e from it to the s o u t h , a n d a s moreover the wind w a s carrying m e forward, I d e t e r m i n e d not to wait for a c h a n g e in the w e a t h e r a n d retraced my p a t h a s far a s a certain harbor known to m e . A n d from that point I sent two m e n inland to learn if there were a king or great cities. T h e y traveled three d a y s ' j o u r n e y a n d f o u n d an infinity of small h a m l e t s a n d p e o p l e without n u m b e r , but n o t h i n g of i m p o r t a n c e . F o r this r e a s o n they returned. I u n d e r s t o o d sufficiently from other I n d i a n s , w h o m I h a d already taken, that this land was n o t h i n g but an island. A n d therefore I followed its c o a s t e a s t w a r d s for o n e h u n d r e d a n d seven l e a g u e s to the point w h e r e it e n d e d . And from that c a p e I saw a n o t h e r island distant e i g h t e e n l e a g u e s from the former, to the e a s t , to which I at o n c e g a v e the n a m e " E s p a f t o l a . " 5 And I went there a n d followed its northern c o a s t , a s I h a d in the c a s e of J u a n a , to the e a s t w a r d for o n e h u n d r e d a n d eighty-eight great l e a g u e s in a straight line. T h i s island a n d all the others a r e very fertile to a limitless d e g r e e , a n d this island is extremely s o . In it there are m a n y h a r b o r s o n the c o a s t of the s e a , beyond c o m p a r i s o n with others which I know in C h r i s t e n d o m , a n d m a n y rivers, good a n d large, which is m a r v e l o u s . Its l a n d s are high, a n d there are in it very m a n y sierras a n d very lofty m o u n t a i n s , beyond c o m p a r i s o n with 1. A former merchant and a court official since 1478 who had supported Columbus's proposal to the Spanish Crown and had helped secure financing for thefirstvoyage. 2. The precise identity of the Bahamian island Columbus named San Salvador is not known today, although many theories have been put for-

ward. 3. Of these four islands, only the identity of Juana (Cuba) is today certain. 4. I.e., China (or "Cathay"). 5. I.e., Hispaniola, where the countries of Haiti and the Dominican Republic are located.

LETTER

TO F E R D I N A N D AND I S A B E L L A

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the island of T e n e r i f e . 6 All are most beautiful, of a t h o u s a n d s h a p e s , a n d all a r e a c c e s s i b l e a n d filled with trees of a t h o u s a n d kinds and tall, a n d they s e e m to t o u c h the sky. A n d I a m told that they never lose their foliage, a s I c a n u n d e r s t a n d , for I s a w t h e m a s green a n d as lovely a s they a r e in S p a i n in M a y , a n d s o m e of t h e m were flowering, s o m e b e a r i n g fruit, a n d s o m e in a n o t h e r s t a g e , a c c o r d i n g to their n a t u r e . A n d the nightingale w a s s i n g i n g a n d other birds of a t h o u s a n d kinds in the m o n t h of N o v e m b e r there w h e r e I went. T h e r e are six or eight kinds of p a l m , which are a w o n d e r to b e h o l d on a c c o u n t of their beautiful variety, but so are the otheTTrelsS^ncTrruits a n d p l a n t s . In it are m a r v e l o u s pine groves, a n d there are very large tracts of cultivatable l a n d s , a n d there is h o n e y , 7 a n d there are birds of m a n y kinds a n d fruits in great diversity. In the interior are m i n e s of m e t a l s , a n d the population is without n u m b e r . E s p a n o l a is a marvel.1493

From

L e t t e r to F e r d i n a n d a n d I s a b e l l a R e g a r d i n g the Fourth Voyage1 [ J a m a i c a , J u l y 7, 1 5 0 3 ]

O f E s p a n o l a , P a r i a , 2 and the other l a n d s , I never think without weeping. I believed that their e x a m p l e would have b e e n to the profit of o t h e r s ; on the contrary, they are in a n e x h a u s t e d s t a t e ; a l t h o u g h they a r e not d e a d , the infirmity is incurable or very extensive; let him w h o b r o u g h t t h e m to this s t a t e c o m e now with the remedy if he c a n or if h e knows it; in d e s t r u c t i o n , everyone is a n a d e p t . It w a s always the c u s t o m to give t h a n k s a n d p r o m o t i o n to him who imperiled his p e r s o n . It is not j u s t that he who h a s b e e n so hostile to this undertaking s h o u l d enjoy its fruits or that his children s h o u l d . T h o s e w h o left the Indies, flying from toils a n d s p e a k i n g evil of the m a t t e r a n d of m e , have returned with official e m p l o y m e n t . 1 S o it has now b e e n ordained in the c a s e of V e r a g u a . 4 It is a n ill e x a m p l e a n d without profit for the b u s i n e s s a n d for j u s t i c e in the world. T h e fear of this, with other sufficient r e a s o n s , which I saw clearly, led m e to pray your h i g h n e s s e s before I went to discover these i s l a n d s a n d T e r r a F i r m a , that you would leave t h e m to m e to govern in your royal n a m e . It p l e a s e d you; it w a s a privilege a n d a g r e e m e n t , a n d u n d e r seal a n d o a t h , a n d you granted m e the title of viceroy a n d admiral a n d governor g e n e r a l of all. A n d you fixed the b o u n d a r y , a h u n d r e d l e a g u e s beyond the Azores a n d the 6. The largest of the Canary Islands. 7. The honeybee, presumably the source of the honey found on the island, is not native to the Western Hemisphere. Nor is the nightingale, mentioned above. 1. Written on J a m a i c a in 1503, this letter was hand-carried from there to Hispaniola by Diego Mendez. 2. Paria was the mainland region of what is now

Venezuela, near the island of Trinidad. C o l u m b u s , who had first landed in South America ("Terra Firma," as he terms it later) in 1498, argued that the terrestrial paradise lay nearby. 3. Although it appears that C o l u m b u s has specific personal enemies in mind, it is not clear who he means. 4. I.e., Panama, where C o l u m b u s was shipwrecked earlier in this voyage.

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CHRISTOPHER

COLUMBUS

C a p e V e r d e I s l a n d s , by a line p a s s i n g from pole to pole, a n d you gave m e wide p o w e r over this a n d over all that I might further discover. T h e d o c u m e n t states this very fully. T h e other m o s t i m p o r t a n t matter, which calls aloud for r e d r e s s , r e m a i n s inexplicable to this m o m e n t . S e v e n years I was at your royal c o u r t , where all to w h o m this u n d e r t a k i n g w a s m e n t i o n e d , u n a n i m o u s l y d e c l a r e d it to be a d e l u s i o n . N o w all, down to the very tailors, s e e k p e r m i s s i o n to m a k e discoveries. It c a n be believed that they go forth to p l u n d e r , a n d it is g r a n t e d to t h e m to d o s o , so that they greatly p r e j u d i c e my h o n o r a n d d o very great d a m a g e to the enterprise. It is well to give to G o d that which is His d u e a n d to C a e s a r that which b e l o n g s to him. T h i s is a j u s t s e n t i m e n t a n d b a s e d on justice. T h e l a n d s which here obey Your H i g h n e s s e s are m o r e extensive a n d richer than all other C h r i s t i a n l a n d s . After I, by the divine will, h a d p l a c e d t h e m u n d e r your royal a n d exalted lordship, a n d w a s on the point of s e c u r i n g a very great r e v e n u e , s u d d e n l y , while I w a s waiting for ships to c o m e to your high p r e s e n c e with victory a n d with great news of gold, b e i n g very s e c u r e a n d joyful, I w a s m a d e a p r i s o n e r a n d with my two brothers w a s thrown into a ship, laden with fetters, stripped to the skin, very ill-treated, a n d without b e i n g tried or c o n d e m n e d . W h o will believe that a p o o r foreigner could in s u c h a p l a c e rise a g a i n s t Your H i g h n e s s e s , without c a u s e , a n d without the s u p p o r t of s o m e other p r i n c e , a n d b e i n g a l o n e a m o n g your v a s s a l s a n d natural s u b j e c t s , a n d having all my children at your royal c o u r t ? I c a m e to serve at the a g e of twenty-eight years, a n d n o w I have not a hair on my body that is not gray, a n d my body is infirm, a n d whatever r e m a i n e d to m e from t h o s e years of service has b e e n spent a n d t a k e n away from m e a n d sold, a n d from my b r o t h e r s , d o w n to my very c o a t , without my b e i n g h e a r d or s e e n , to my great dishonor. It m u s t be believed that this was not d o n e by your royal c o m m a n d . T h e restitution of my honor, the reparation of my l o s s e s , a n d the p u n i s h m e n t of him w h o did this, will s p r e a d a b r o a d the f a m e of your royal nobility. T h e s a m e p u n i s h m e n t is d u e to h i m who robbed m e of the p e a r l s , a n d to him w h o infringed my rights a s a d m i r a l . ' Very great will b e your merit, f a m e without parallel will be y o u r s , if you do this, a n d there will r e m a i n in S p a i n a glorious m e m o r y of Y o u r H i g h n e s s e s , as grateful and just princes. T h e p u r e devotion which I have ever b o r n e to the service of Your Highn e s s e s , a n d the u n m e r i t e d w r o n g that I have s u f f e r e d , will not p e r m i t m e to r e m a i n silent, a l t h o u g h I would fain do s o ; I pray Your H i g h n e s s e s to p a r d o n m e . I a m so ruined a s I have said; hitherto I have w e p t for o t h e r s ; now, H e a v e n have mercy u p o n m e , a n d m a y the earth w e e p for m e . O f worldly g o o d s , I have not even a b l a n c a 6 for an offering in spiritual t h i n g s . H e r e in the Indies I have b e c o m e c a r e l e s s of the p r e s c r i b e d f o r m s of religion. A l o n e in my t r o u b l e , sick, in daily expectation of d e a t h , a n d e n c o m p a s s e d a b o u t by a million s a v a g e s , full of cruelty a n d our foes, a n d s o s e p a r a t e d from the holy S a c r a m e n t s of Holy C h u r c h , my soul will b e forgotten if it here leaves my body. W e e p for m e , whoever h a s charity, truth, a n d j u s t i c e . I did not sail u p o n this voyage to gain h o n o r or w e a l t h ; this is c e r t a i n , for 5. T h e reference is to Alonso de Ojeda (c. 1 4 6 8 c. 1516), who had taken pearls (part of what was reserved to C o l u m b u s under his agreement with

the Spanish Crown) from Paria to Espanola. 6. A small S p a n i s h coin.

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already all h o p e of that was d e a d . I c a m e to Your H i g h n e s s e s with true devotion a n d with ready zeal, a n d I d o not lie. I h u m b l y pray Your H i g h n e s s e s that if it p l e a s e G o d to bring m e forth from this p l a c e , that you will be p l e a s e d to permit m e to go to R o m e a n d to other p l a c e s of p i l g r i m a g e . M a y the Holy Trinity preserve your life a n d high e s t a t e , a n d grant you i n c r e a s e of prosperity. D o n e in the Indies in the island of J a m a i c a , o n the s e v e n t h of July, in the year o n e t h o u s a n d five h u n d r e d a n d three. 1505

ALVAR

NUNEZ c.

CABEZA

DE

VACA

< ^

X „

(

l

r ^

1490-1558

Among those who may have witnessed the disgrace of Columbus as he passed in-, \y&\^{" chains through Cadiz in 1498 was a boy from the nearby village of Jerez de la FronteraU^jri^^i Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca was the son of the village a l d e r m a n , grandson ot the conqueror of the Guanache people of Grand Canary Island, and a descendant on his mother's side from a hero of the wars against the Moors who was given the family name "Cabeza de Vaca" (or "cow'shead") when he used a cow's skull to mark a strategic route through an unguarded mountain pass. Mindful of this family heritage, as a young man Cabeza de Vaca went off to the wars in Italy (he later was to say that the American Indians of Texas were as shrewd in battle "as if they had been reared in Italy in continual feuds"), then fought in Spain itself before, in 1527, he sailed on Panfilo de Narvaez's Florida expedition as acjuacil mayor (provost marshal) and treasurer. The expedition endured many disasters. Narvaez, an impetuous, self-centered man and a poor leader^ first took his six hundred men to Hispaniola, where a quarter of them deserted, and then to Cuba, where two of the six ships were lost in a hurricane. Ten months after leaving Spain the expedition landed in the vicinity of Sarasota Bay, on Florida's west coast. Against Cabeza de Vaca's advice, Narvaez sent the ships farther along the shore in search of a rumored port where his army might rejoin them, but the ships were never seen again. Effectually stranded, Narvaez took possession of Florida while the inhabitants of Sarasota Bay (probably Calusa Indians) made "many signs and threats [that] left little doubt that they were bidding us to go." Soon the expedition, reduced to eating its horses, sought to escape other groups of Florida Indians, from the Timnrnan of the Suwannee River area to the Apalachees of the Panhandle, by building clumsy "barges" and retreating to the sea. Narvaez took the best oarsmen in his own craft and left the other barges behind him as they neared Mobile Bay; when he pulled away from the others he told them, with false magnanimity, that "it was no longer a time when one should command another"—that is, every man for himself! With that, Narvaez and his crew disappeared, apparently lost at sea. The other rafts passed the mouth of what must have been the Mississippi, and finally wrecked on Galveston Island, now Texas, in November 1528. Here began a further whittling away of the survivors and a time of extraordinary struggles for Cabeza de Vaca and the three men who survived with him: the Spaniards Andres Dorantes and Alonso del Castillo Maldonado, and Dorantes's black slave, hstevanico, a native"

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of the Moroccan town of Azemmor. The itinerary of Cabeza de Vaca's North American odyssey was long and involved. Alone or with drifting groups of other survivors, he spent his first two years on the Texas coast as a prisoner and slave of the Han and Capoque clans of the Karankawa Indian^anH then gradually progressed north and West, gaining Status allcHpower among t h T C a d d os, Atakapas, Coahuiltecans, and other natives from his activities as a merchant and especially his skill as a healer. By 1 535, he reached present-day New Mexico, where he encountered the Jumanos and Conchos, then headed southwest into Mexico as the leader of a vast crowd of Pimas and Opatas who, revering him, followed him from village to village. The heady mood of the journey dissipated the following March, however, when the wanderers encountered a party of Spanish slave hunters under Diego de Alcaraz in western Mexico. Seeing the terror of his American Indian escorts at these "Christian slavers," as he acerbically called them, Cabeza de Vaca became openly critical of Alcaraz, who arrested him, sent him south, and seized as slaves the six hundred natives in his company. From Mexico City, where he agitated against the cruel (and strictly illegal) activities of the likes of Alcaraz, Cabeza de Vaca went to Spain in 1 537, intent on making similar representations to F . m p p m r Charles V A l l m v p r l \n lead an expe- . dition back to the New World himsell, (Jabeza de Vaca hoped to enact an enlightened American Indian policy, but his Rio He la Plata colonists, profiting from the old injustices, removed him forcibly from office and sent him in chains back to Spain in 1 545. Afterlonp, delays in setjjingthe dispute, in 1551 he was exiled to modern Algeria and forbidden to return to America. During the three years he spent in Spain before his departure for Rio de la Plata in 1 540, Cabeza de Vaca completed his first narrative of the Narvaez expedition. It was published in Spain in 1 542; a corrected and expanded version that includes the story of his later American experience appeared in 1555. Addressed to Charles V, the 1 542 account sought to justify his conclusions regarding Spanish policy and behavior in America as well as to argue for renewed explorations and settlement in the regions he had traversed (several later Spanish expeditions, including those of Coronado and de Soto, clearly drew on Cabeza de Vaca's arguments and knowledge). More important, however, The Relation of Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca sought to recount (with remarkable understatement) his sufferings and many brushes with death and to explore his complex feelings regarding the Native Americans and his own countrymen's dealings with them.

From

T h e R e l a t i o n o f Alvar N u n e z C a b e z a d e V a c a 1 [DEDICATION]

Sacred Caesarian Catholic Majesty: A m o n g all t h e p r i n c e s w h o have reigned, I know o f n o n e w h o h a s enjoyed the universal e s t e e m o f Your M a j e s t y 2 at this day, w h e n s t r a n g e r s vie in a p p r o b a t i o n with t h o s e motivated by religion a n d loyalty. Although everyone w a n t s what a d v a n t a g e m a y b e g a i n e d from a m b i t i o n a n d a c t i o n , w e s e e everywhere great inequalities of f o r t u n e , b r o u g h t a b o u t not by c o n d u c t b u t by a c c i d e n t , a n d not through anybody's fault b u t a s t h e will of G o d . T h u s the d e e d s o f o n e far e x c e e d his e x p e c t a t i o n , while a n o t h e r c a n s h o w n o higher p r o o f o f p u r p o s e than his fruitless effort, a n d even t h e effort m a y g o u n n o t i c e d . 1. The text is based on Adventures in the Unknown Interior of America, edited and translated by Cyclone Covey ( 1 9 6 1 ) .

2. Emperor Charles V (1500—1558), grandson and successor of Ferdinand and Isabella.

THE

RELATION

OF A L V A R N U N E Z C A B E Z A

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I c a n say for myself that I u n d e r t o o k the m a r c h a b r o a d , on royal a u t h o r i zation, with a firm trust that my service would be as evident a n d d i s t i n g u i s h e d a s my a n c e s t o r s ' , a n d that I would not n e e d to s p e a k to be c o u n t e d a m o n g t h o s e Your M a j e s t y h o n o r s for diligence a n d fidelity in affairs of s t a t e . B u t my c o u n s e l a n d c o n s t a n c y availed nothing toward t h o s e objectives w e set out to gain, in your interests, for our sins. In fact, no other of the m a n y a r m e d expeditions into t h o s e parts has found itself in s u c h dire straits a s o u r s , or c o m e to so futile a n d fatal a c o n c l u s i o n . M y only r e m a i n i n g duty is to transmit what I s a w a n d h e a r d in the nine years I w a n d e r e d lost a n d m i s e r a b l e over m a n y r e m o t e l a n d s . I h o p e in s o m e m e a s u r e to convey to Your M a j e s t y not merely a report of p o s i t i o n s a n d d i s t a n c e s , flora a n d f a u n a , but of the c u s t o m s of the n u m e r o u s , b a r b a r o u s p e o p l e I talked with a n d dwelt a m o n g , as well a s any other m a t t e r s I could hear of or o b s e r v e . M y h o p e of going out from a m o n g t h o s e n a t i o n s was always small; n e v e r t h e l e s s , I m a d e a point of r e m e m b e r i n g all the particulars, so that s h o u l d G o d our L o r d eventually p l e a s e to bring m e where I a m now, I might testify to my exertion in the royal behalf. S i n c e this narrative, in my opinion, is of n o trivial v a l u e for t h o s e who go in your n a m e to s u b d u e t h o s e c o u n t r i e s a n d bring t h e m to a knowledge of the true faith a n d true L o r d a n d bring t h e m u n d e r the imperial d o m i n i o n , I have written very exactly. Novel or, for s o m e p e r s o n s , difficult to believe t h o u g h the things narrated may b e , I a s s u r e you they c a n b e a c c e p t e d without hesitation a s strictly factual. Better than to e x a g g e r a t e , I have minimized all things; it is e n o u g h to say that the relation is offered Your M a j e s t y for truth. I b e g that it m a y be received a s h o m a g e , s i n c e it is the m o s t o n e c o u l d bring who returned t h e n c e n a k e d . *

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[ T H E M A L H A D O WAY O F

LIFE]

T h e p e o p l e ' we c a m e to know there are tall a n d well-built. T h e i r only w e a p o n s are bows a n d arrows, which they u s e with great dexterity. T h e m e n bore through o n e of their nipples, s o m e b o t h , a n d insert a joint of c a n e two and a half p a l m s long by two fingers thick. T h e y also b o r e their lower lip a n d wear a p i e c e of c a n e in it half a finger in d i a m e t e r . Their w o m e n toil incessantly. F r o m O c t o b e r to the e n d of February every year, which is the s e a s o n these Indians live on the island, they s u b s i s t on the roots I have m e n t i o n e d , 4 which the w o m e n get from u n d e r water in N o v e m b e r a n d D e c e m b e r . Only in these two m o n t h s , too, do they take fish in their c a n e weirs. W h e n the fish is c o n s u m e d , the roots furnish the o n e s t a p l e . At the e n d of F e b r u a r y the islanders go into other parts to s e e k s u s t e n a n c e , for then the root is b e g i n n i n g to grow a n d is not edible. T h e s e p e o p l e love their offspring m o r e than any in the world a n d treat t h e m very mildly. If a son dies, the whole village j o i n s the p a r e n t s a n d kindred in w e e p i n g . T h e p a r e n t s set off the wails e a c h day b e f o r e d a w n , again at n o o n , a n d at 3. T h e C a p o q u e s and Hans of coastal Texas, near today's Galveston Island, which Cabeza de Vaca calls Malhado, or the Island of Doom.

4. I.e., "certain roots which taste like nuts, mostly grubbed from [under] the water with great labor."

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s u n s e t , for o n e year. T h e funeral rites o c c u r w h e n the year of m o u r n i n g is u p . Following t h e s e rites, the survivors w a s h off the s m o k e stain of the cere m o n y in a symbolic purgation. All the d e a d a r e l a m e n t e d this way except the a g e d , who merit n o regrets. T h e d e a d are b u r i e d , except m e d i c i n e - m e n , w h o a r e c r e m a t e d . Everybody in the village d a n c e s a n d m a k e s merry while the pyre of a m e d i c i n e - m a n kindles, a n d until his b o n e s b e c o m e p o w d e r . A year later, w h e n his rites are c e l e b r a t e d , the entire village again participating, this p o w d e r is p r e s e n t e d in water for the relatives to drink. E a c h m a n h a s an a c k n o w l e d g e d wife, except the m e d i c i n e - m e n , w h o m a y have two or three wives a p i e c e . T h e several wives live together in perfect amity. W h e n a d a u g h t e r m a r r i e s , s h e m u s t take everything her h u s b a n d kills in h u n t i n g or c a t c h e s in fishing to the h o u s e of her father, without d a r i n g to eat or to withhold any part of it, a n d the h u s b a n d gets provided by f e m a l e carrier from his father-in-law's h o u s e . N e i t h e r the bride's father nor m o t h e r m a y enter the son-in-law's h o u s e after the m a r r i a g e , nor h e theirs; a n d this holds for the children of the respective c o u p l e s . If a m a n a n d his in-laws s h o u l d c h a n c e to be walking s o they w o u l d m e e t , they turn silently a s i d e from e a c h other a n d go a c r o s s b o w - s h o t o u t of their way, averting their g l a n c e to the g r o u n d . T h e w o m a n , however, is free to fraternize with the p a r e n t s a n d relatives of her h u s b a n d . T h e s e m a r r i a g e c u s t o m s prevail for m o r e than fifty l e a g u e s inland from the island. At a h o u s e where a son or brother may die, no o n e g o e s o u t for food for three m o n t h s , the n e i g h b o r s a n d other relatives providing w h a t is e a t e n . B e c a u s e of this c u s t o m , which the I n d i a n s literally w o u l d not b r e a k to save their lives, great h u n g e r reigned in m o s t h o u s e s while we resided there, it b e i n g a time of r e p e a t e d d e a t h s . T h o s e w h o s o u g h t food w o r k e d h a r d , b u t they c o u l d get little in that severe s e a s o n . T h a t is why I n d i a n s w h o kept m e left the island by c a n o e for oyster bays on the m a i n . T h r e e m o n t h s out of every year they e a t nothing b u t oysters a n d drink very b a d water. W o o d is s c a r c e ; m o s q u i t o e s , plentiful. T h e h o u s e s a r e m a d e of m a t s ; their floors c o n s i s t of m a s s e s of oyster shells. T h e natives s l e e p o n t h e s e s h e l l s — i n a n i m a l skins, t h o s e w h o h a p p e n to own s u c h . M a n y a time I would have to g o three days without eating, a s w o u l d the natives. I t h o u g h t it i m p o s s i b l e that life c o u l d be so p r o l o n g e d in s u c h protracted h u n g e r ; t h o u g h afterwards I f o u n d myself in yet g r e a t e r w a n t , a s shall be seen. T h e I n d i a n s w h o h a d A l o n s o del C a s t i l l o , A n d r e s D o r a n t e s , a n d the o t h e r s of their b a r g e w h o r e m a i n e d alive, s p o k e a different d i a l e c t a n d c l a i m e d a different d e s c e n t from t h e s e I lived a m o n g . T h e y f r e q u e n t e d the o p p o s i t e s h o r e of the m a i n to e a t oysters, staying till the first of April, t h e n returning. T h e d i s t a n c e to the m a i n is two l e a g u e s at the widest part of the c h a n n e l . T h e island itself, which s u p p o r t s the two tribes c o m m o d i o u s l y , is half a l e a g u e wide by five long. T h e i n h a b i t a n t s of all t h e s e p a r t s g o n a k e d , except that the w o m e n cover s o m e part of their p e r s o n s with a wool that grows o n t r e e s , 5 a n d d a m s e l s d r e s s in d e e r s k i n . T h e p e o p l e a r e g e n e r o u s to e a c h other with what little they have. T h e r e 5. I.e., Spanish moss.

THE

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is n o chief. All b e l o n g i n g to the s a m e lineage keep together. T h e y s p e a k two languages: Capoque and Han. T h e y have a s t r a n g e c u s t o m w h e n a c q u a i n t a n c e s m e e t or o c c a s i o n a l l y visit, of w e e p i n g for half a n hour before they s p e a k . T h i s over, the o n e w h o is visited rises a n d gives his visitor all h e h a s . T h e latter a c c e p t s it a n d , after a while, carries it away, often without a word. T h e y have other s t r a n g e c u s t o m s , b u t I have told the principal a n d m o s t r e m a r k a b l e of t h e m . In April [ 1 5 2 9 ] we went to the s e a s h o r e a n d a t e blackberries all m o n t h , a time of [ d a n c e c e r e m o n i e s ] a n d fiestas a m o n g the I n d i a n s .

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*

[OUR L I F E A M O N G T H E AVAVARES A N D ARBADAOS]

All the I n d i a n s of this r e g i o n 6 are ignorant of t i m e , either by the s u n or m o o n ; nor d o they reckon by the m o n t h or year. T h e y u n d e r s t a n d the s e a s o n s in t e r m s of the ripening of fruits, the dying of fish, a n d the position of stars, in which d a t i n g they are a d e p t . T h e Avavares always treated u s well. W e lived a s free a g e n t s , d u g our own food, a n d l u g g e d o u r l o a d s of wood a n d water. T h e h o u s e s a n d our diet were like t h o s e of the nation we h a d j u s t c o m e from, b u t the Avavares suffer yet greater want, having no c o r n , a c o r n s , or p e c a n s . W e always went n a k e d like t h e m a n d covered ourselves at night with d e e r s k i n s . Six of the eight m o n t h s we dwelled with t h e s e p e o p l e we e n d u r e d a c u t e h u n g e r ; for fish are not f o u n d where they a r e either. At the e n d of the eight m o n t h s , w h e n the prickly p e a r s were j u s t b e g i n n i n g to ripen again [ m i d - J u n e 1 5 3 5 ] , I traveled with the N e g r o 7 — u n k n o w n to o u r h o s t s — t o o t h e r s a day's j o u r n e y farther on: the M a l i a c o n e s . 8 W h e n three days h a d p a s s e d , I sent E s t e v a n i c o to fetch C a s t i l l o a n d D o r a n t e s . W h e n they got there, the four of u s set out with the M a l i a c o n e s , w h o were going to find the small fruit of certain trees which they s u b s i s t o n for ten or twelve days while the prickly p e a r s are m a t u r i n g . T h e y j o i n e d a n o t h e r tribe, the A r b a d a o s , w h o a s t o n i s h e d u s by their weak, e m a c i a t e d , swollen c o n d i tion. W e told the M a l i a c o n e s with w h o m we h a d c o m e that we w a n t e d to s t o p with t h e s e A r b a d a o s . T h e M a l i a c o n e s d e s p o n d e n t l y r e t u r n e d the way they c a m e , leaving u s a l o n e in the b r u s h l a n d n e a r the A r b a d a o h o u s e s . T h e observing A r b a d a o s talked a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s a n d c a m e u p to u s in a body. F o u r of t h e m took e a c h of u s by the h a n d a n d led u s to their dwellings. A m o n g t h e m we u n d e r w e n t fiercer h u n g e r t h a n a m o n g the Avavares. W e a t e not m o r e t h a n two h a n d f u l s of prickly p e a r s a day, a n d they were still s o green a n d milky they b u r n e d our m o u t h s . In our lack of water, e a t i n g b r o u g h t great thirst. At nearly the e n d of our e n d u r a n c e we b o u g h t two d o g s for s o m e n e t s , with other things, a n d a skin I u s e d for cover. I have already s a i d that we went n a k e d t h r o u g h all this country; not b e i n g a c c u s t o m e d to g o i n g s o , we s h e d our skins twice a year like s n a k e s . T h e s u n a n d air raised g r e a t , painful s o r e s o n our c h e s t s a n d s h o u l d e r s , a n d our heavy l o a d s 6. At this point in his story, having escaped from his captivity among the C a p o q u e s and H a n s , Cabeza de Vaca is among the Avavares and Arbadaos in inland Texas.

7. Estevanico, a Moorish slave from the west coast of Morocco. 8. Neighbors of the Avavares and Arbadaos.

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c a u s e d the c o r d s to c u t o u r a r m s . T h e region is so b r o k e n a n d so overgrown that often, when we g a t h e r e d w o o d , b l o o d flowed from u s in m a n y p l a c e s w h e r e the thorns a n d s h r u b s tore our flesh. At t i m e s , w h e n my turn c a m e to get wood a n d I h a d c o l l e c t e d it at heavy c o s t in blood, I c o u l d neither d r a g nor b e a r it out. M y only s o l a c e in t h e s e labors w a s to think of the sufferings of our R e d e e m e r , J e s u s C h r i s t , a n d the blood H e s h e d for m e . H o w m u c h w o r s e m u s t have b e e n his t o r m e n t from the thorns t h a n m i n e h e r e ! I bartered with t h e s e Indians in c o m b s I m a d e for t h e m a n d in b o w s , arrows, a n d n e t s . W e m a d e m a t s , which are what their h o u s e s c o n s i s t of a n d for which they feel a keen necessity. A l t h o u g h they know how to m a k e t h e m , they prefer to devote their full time to finding food; w h e n they do not, they g e t too p i n c h e d with h u n g e r . S o m e days the I n d i a n s would set m e to s c r a p i n g a n d s o f t e n i n g skins. T h e s e were my days of g r e a t e s t prosperity in that p l a c e . I w o u l d s c r a p e thoroughly e n o u g h to s u s t a i n myself two or three days on the s c r a p s . W h e n it h a p p e n e d that t h e s e or any p e o p l e we h a d left b e h i n d gave us a p i e c e of m e a t , we a t e it raw. H a d we put it to roast, the first native w h o c a m e a l o n g w o u l d have filched it. N o t only did w e think it better not to risk this, we were in s u c h a c o n d i t i o n that r o a s t e d m e a t would have given u s p a i n . W e c o u l d digest it m o r e easily raw. S u c h w a s our life there, w h e r e we e a r n e d our m e a g e r s u b s i s t e n c e by trade in i t e m s which were the work of our own h a n d s . [ C U S T O M S OF THAT REGION]

F r o m the Island of D o o m to this land, all the I n d i a n s we s a w have the c u s t o m of not s l e e p i n g with their wives from the t i m e they are d i s c o v e r e d p r e g n a n t to two years after giving birth. C h i l d r e n are s u c k l e d until they are twelve, w h e n they a r e old e n o u g h to find their own s u p p o r t . W e a s k e d why they t h u s p r o l o n g e d the n u r s i n g p e r i o d , a n d they said that the poverty of the land frequently m e a n t — a s we w i t n e s s e d — g o i n g two or three days without eating, s o m e t i m e s four; if children were not allowed to s u c k l e in s e a s o n s of scarcity, t h o s e w h o did not f a m i s h would b e weaklings. Anyone w h o c h a n c e s to fall sick on a f o r a g i n g trip a n d c a n n o t k e e p u p with the rest is left to die, u n l e s s he be a son or brother; him they will help, even to carrying on their b a c k . It is c o m m o n a m o n g t h e m all to leave their wives w h e n there is d i s a g r e e m e n t , a n d directly r e c o n n e c t with w h o m e v e r they p l e a s e . T h i s is the c o u r s e of m e n who are c h i l d l e s s . T h o s e w h o have children never a b a n d o n their wives. W h e n Indian m e n get into a n a r g u m e n t in their villages, they fist-fight until e x h a u s t e d , then s e p a r a t e . S o m e t i m e s the w o m e n will g o b e t w e e n a n d part t h e m , but m e n never interfere. N o m a t t e r w h a t the disaffection, they d o not resort to b o w s a n d arrows. After a fight, the d i s p u t a n t s t a k e their h o u s e s (and families) a n d g o live apart from e a c h other in the s c r u b w o o d until they have c o o l e d off; then they return a n d from that m o m e n t a r e friends a s if nothing h a d h a p p e n e d . N o intermediary is n e e d e d to m e n d their friendship. In c a s e the q u a r r e l e r s are single m e n , they repair to s o m e n e i g h b o r i n g p e o p l e (instead of the s c r u b w o o d ) , w h o , even if e n e m i e s , w e l c o m e t h e m warmly a n d give so largely of what they have that w h e n the q u a r r e l e r s ' animosity s u b s i d e s , they return to their h o m e village rich.

THE

RELATION

OF ALVAR N U N E Z C A B E Z A

DE VACA

/

35

[THE FIRST CONFRONTATION]

W h e n we s a w for certain that we were drawing n e a r the C h r i s t i a n s , w e gave t h a n k s to G o d our L o r d for c h o o s i n g to bring us o u t of s u c h a m e l a n choly a n d wretched captivity. T h e joy we felt c a n only b e c o n j e c t u r e d in terms of the time, the suffering, a n d the peril we h a d e n d u r e d in that land. T h e evening of the day we r e a c h e d the r e c e n t c a m p s i t e , I tried hard to get C a s t i l l o or D o r a n t e s to hurry on three days, u n e n c u m b e r e d , after the C h r i s tians w h o were now circling b a c k into the a r e a we h a d a s s u r e d p r o t e c t i o n . T h e y both r e a c t e d negatively, e x c u s i n g t h e m s e l v e s for w e a r i n e s s , t h o u g h y o u n g e r a n d m o r e athletic than I; but they b e i n g unwilling, I took the N e g r o a n d eleven I n d i a n s next m o r n i n g to track the C h r i s t i a n s . W e went ten l e a g u e s , p a s t three villages where they h a d slept. T h e day after that, I overtook four of t h e m on their h o r s e s . T h e y were d u m b f o u n d e d at the sight of m e , strangely u n d r e s s e d a n d in c o m p a n y with I n d i a n s . T h e y j u s t s t o o d staring for a long t i m e , not thinking to hail m e or c o m e closer to a s k q u e s t i o n s . " T a k e m e to your c a p t a i n , " I at last r e q u e s t e d ; a n d we went together half a l e a g u e to a p l a c e where we f o u n d their c a p t a i n , D i e g o d e A l c a r a z . W h e n we h a d talked awhile, he c o n f e s s e d to m e that h e w a s c o m p l e t e l y u n d o n e , having b e e n u n a b l e to c a t c h any I n d i a n s in a long t i m e ; he did not know which way to turn; his m e n were getting too hungry a n d e x h a u s t e d . I told him of C a s t i l l o a n d D o r a n t e s ten l e a g u e s away with a n e s c o r t i n g multitude. H e i m m e d i a t e l y d i s p a t c h e d three of his h o r s e m e n to t h e m , a l o n g with fifty of his Indian allies. T h e N e g r o went, too, a s a g u i d e ; I stayed b e h i n d . I a s k e d the C h r i s t i a n s to furnish m e a certificate of the year, m o n t h , a n d day I arrived h e r e , a n d the m a n n e r of my c o m i n g ; which they did. 1 ' F r o m this river to the C h r i s t i a n town, S a n t M i g u e l 1 within the g o v e r n m e n t of the recently c r e a t e d province of N e w G a l i c i a , is a d i s t a n c e of thirty l e a g u e s . [THE F A L L I N G - O U T WITH OUR

COUNTRYMEN]

After five days, A n d r e s D o r a n t e s a n d A l o n s o del C a s t i l l o arrived with t h o s e who h a d g o n e for t h e m ; a n d they b r o u g h t m o r e than 6 0 0 natives of the vicinity w h o m the Indians w h o h a d b e e n e s c o r t i n g u s drew out of the w o o d s a n d took to the m o u n t e d C h r i s t i a n s , w h o t h e r e u p o n d i s m i s s e d their own escort. W h e n they arrived, Alcaraz b e g g e d u s to order the villagers of this river out of the w o o d s in the s a m e way to get u s food. It w o u l d b e u n n e c e s s a r y to c o m m a n d t h e m to bring food, if they c a m e at all; for the I n d i a n s were always diligent to bring us all they c o u l d . W e sent o u r heralds to call t h e m , a n d presently there c a m e 6 0 0 Indians with all the corn they p o s s e s s e d . T h e y b r o u g h t it in clay-sealed e a r t h e n p o t s which h a d b e e n buried. T h e y a l s o b r o u g h t whatever else they h a d ; but we w i s h e d only a m e a l , so gave the rest to the C h r i s t i a n s to divide a m o n g t h e m selves. After this we h a d a hot a r g u m e n t with t h e m , for they m e a n t to m a k e slaves of the I n d i a n s in our train. W e got so angry that we went off forgetting the m a n y T u r k i s h - s h a p e d b o w s , the m a n y p o u c h e s , a n d the five e m e r a l d arrowh e a d s , e t c . , which we t h u s lost. And to think we h a d given t h e s e C h r i s t i a n s a 9. It was probably March 1536. 1. I.e., Culiacan, the northernmost Spanish set-

tlement in Mexico at that time, located in Sinaloa near the mouth of the Gulf of California.

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supply of c o w h i d e s a n d other things that our retainers h a d carried a long distance! It proved difficult to p e r s u a d e our e s c o r t i n g I n d i a n s to go b a c k to their h o m e s , to feel a p p r e h e n s i v e no longer, a n d to plant their c o r n . B u t they did not w a n t to do anything until they h a d first delivered u s into the h a n d s of other I n d i a n s , a s c u s t o m b o u n d t h e m . T h e y feared they w o u l d die if they returned without fulfiling this obligation w h e r e a s , with u s , they said they feared neither C h r i s t i a n s nor l a n c e s . T h i s s e n t i m e n t r o u s e d our c o u n t r y m e n ' s j e a l o u s y . A l c a r a z b a d e his interpreter tell the I n d i a n s that we were m e m b e r s of his r a c e w h o h a d b e e n long lost; that his g r o u p were the lords of the l a n d w h o m u s t be o b e y e d a n d served, while we were i n c o n s e q u e n t i a l . T h e I n d i a n s p a i d n o attention to this. C o n ferring a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s , they replied that the C h r i s t i a n s lied: W e h a d c o m e from the s u n r i s e , they from the s u n s e t ; we h e a l e d the sick, they killed the s o u n d ; we c a m e n a k e d a n d b a r e f o o t , they c l o t h e d , h o r s e d , a n d l a n c e d ; we coveted nothing b u t gave whatever we were given, while they r o b b e d w h o m ever they f o u n d a n d b e s t o w e d n o t h i n g on a n y o n e .

T o the last I c o u l d not c o n v i n c e the I n d i a n s that we were of the s a m e p e o p l e as the C h r i s t i a n slavers. Only with the g r e a t e s t effort were we able to i n d u c e t h e m to g o b a c k h o m e . W e o r d e r e d t h e m to fear n o m o r e , reestablish their t o w n s , a n d f a r m . Already the c o u n t r y s i d e h a d grown r a n k from neglect. T h i s is, n o d o u b t , the m o s t prolific land in all t h e s e I n d i e s . It p r o d u c e s three c r o p s a year; the trees b e a r a great variety of fruit; a n d beautiful rivers a n d b r i m m i n g springs a b o u n d t h r o u g h o u t . T h e r e a r e gold- a n d silver-bearing o r e s . T h e p e o p l e a r e well d i s p o s e d , serving s u c h C h r i s t i a n s a s are their friends with great g o o d will. T h e y are c o m e l y , m u c h m o r e so t h a n the M e x i c a n s . T h i s l a n d , in short, lacks n o t h i n g to be r e g a r d e d a s blest. W h e n the I n d i a n s took their leave of u s they s a i d they w o u l d do a s we c o m m a n d e d a n d rebuild their towns, if the C h r i s t i a n s let t h e m . A n d I solemnly s w e a r that if they have not d o n e s o it is the fault of the C h r i s t i a n s . After we h a d d i s m i s s e d the Indians in p e a c e a n d t h a n k e d t h e m for their toil in our behalf, the C h r i s t i a n s subtly s e n t u s o n our way in the c h a r g e of a n alcalde n a m e d C e b r e r o s , a t t e n d e d by two h o r s e m e n . 2 T h e y took u s t h r o u g h forests a n d w a s t e s s o we w o u l d not c o m m u n i c a t e with the natives a n d would neither s e e nor learn of their crafty s c h e m e afoot. T h u s we often m i s j u d g e the motives of m e n ; we t h o u g h t w e h a d effected the I n d i a n s ' liberty, w h e n the C h r i s t i a n s were but p o i s i n g to p o u n c e . *

c. 1 5 3 6 - 4 0

2. I.e., they were, in effect, under arrest.

#

#

1542

37

GARCILASO

DE

LA

VEGA

1539-1616 With his origins equally in the culture of Spain and that of the lncas who were conquered by Francisco Pizarro, the historian Garcilaso de la Vega well might be seen as the first distinctively American writer. Child of a conquistador and the Inca princess Chimpu Ocllo, he was baptized Gomez Suarez de Figueroa in April of 1539 in Cuzco, Peru's old imperial capital. His mother, whose family and culture he memorialized in Royal Commentaries of the lncas and General History of Peru (1609—17), was the granddaughter of an Incan emperor; her family dynasty, already riven by internal violence, was brought to an end by Pizarro's conquest. Like many Inca survivors, Chimpu Ocllo was converted to Catholicism, taking the name Isabel Suarez and uniting with one of Pizarro's followers, Sebastian Garcilaso de la Vega. A veteran of the Spanish imperial service in Mexico and Guatemala, he was descended on both sides from knights who had achieved fame in the Spanish wars against the Moors. To signify his mixed ancestry, Gomez Suarez de Figeroa proudly called himself Garcilaso de la Vega, "EI Inca." He drew his character, his values, and his literary inspiration from the crossing of cultures and families that he himself represented. The Royal Commentaries tells how he questioned his mother's family about the Inca kings and "the old times," learning stories that had been preserved in the quipu, an archive composed of knotted strings whose intricacies recorded key data. He also heard stories from the conquistadors in his father's circle. After he moved to Spain as a young man in 1560, he wove this diverse lore into the Royal Commentaries and The Florida of the Inca, his account of Hernando de Soto's illfated expedition of 1539—43. Well educated in Peru but denied full recognition as the son of a conqueror, the mestizo author saw himself as a defender of Native American character and intellect against Old World prejudice. Although he never returned to Peru, while in Spain he circulated among and corresponded with "Americans," among them veterans of the de Soto expedition, who provided him with the narratives that he shaped into The Florida of the Inca. The Florida of the Inca interweaves several historical accounts—a genealogy of the author's ancestor, the knight Garci Perez de Vargas, as well as tales of encounter relayed by members of the Narvaez and de Soto expeditions to the Florida peninsula and north and west into the continent. It was completed by 1596, when the author was fifty-seven, and was published in Lisbon in 1605. The selection printed here is a quasi-independent narrative, derived from Alonso de Carmona, recounting the misfortunes of Juan Ortiz, a Spanish soldier taken prisoner by the Florida chief Hirrihigua during the Narvaez expedition (in which Cabeza de Vaca also took part). Saved from execution by a young Indian woman— an episode long predating John Smith's fabled rescue by Pocahontas—Ortiz endured his own array of troubles in Florida while Cabeza de Vaca and his three colleagues labored westward. When finally liberated, he provided de Soto with a skilled interpreter until he took sick and died at the new expedition's winter camp near present-day Fort Smith, Arkansas, in 1 5 4 1 - 4 2 .

38

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G A R C I L A S O D E LA V E G A

From

T h e Florida of the I n c a 1

C H A P T E R IV. O F T H E M A G N A N I M I T Y O F T H E C U R A C A O R M U C O C O , TO W H O M T H E CAPTIVE C O M M E N D E D

CACIQUE

HIMSELF

J u a n Ortiz, a s a m a n w h o w a s fleeing, r e a c h e d the p l a c e b e f o r e d a w n but, for fear of c a u s i n g a d i s t u r b a n c e , did not d a r e e n t e r it. W h e n it w a s day he s a w two I n d i a n s c o m e o u t from the p u e b l o a l o n g the s a m e r o a d that he was taking. T h e y a t t e m p t e d to s h o o t him with their b o w s a n d a r r o w s , a s they always go a r m e d with t h e s e w e a p o n s . J u a n Ortiz, w h o a l s o h a d t h e m , p u t an arrow in his b o w to d e f e n d h i m s e l f from t h e m a n d a l s o to a t t a c k t h e m . H o w p o t e n t is a little favor, especially if it b e from a lady! F o r we s e e that shortly before h e did not know where to hide himself, b e i n g in fear of d e a t h ; now he d a r e d give it [death] to o t h e r s with his own h a n d , simply b e c a u s e of having b e e n favored by a pretty, d i s c r e e t a n d g e n e r o u s girl, w h o s e favor e x c e e d s all other h u m a n gifts. With w h i c h , having r e c o v e r e d spirit a n d strength a n d even p r i d e , h e told t h e m that h e w a s not a n e n e m y but that h e w a s c o m i n g with a m e s s a g e from a lady for the lord of that p l a c e . H e a r i n g this, the I n d i a n s did not s h o o t him but r e t u r n e d with him to the p u e b l o a n d notified the c a c i q u e that the slave of Hirrihigua w a s t h e r e with a m e s s a g e for h i m . M u c o f o or M 0 C 0 5 0 — f o r it is the s a m e — i n f o r m e d of this, w e n t o u t to the plaza to receive t h e m e s s a g e J u a n Ortiz w a s b r i n g i n g to him. After having s a l u t e d him a s b e s t he c o u l d after the m a n n e r of t h e I n d i a n s t h e m s e l v e s , J u a n Ortiz told him briefly of the m a r t y r d o m his m a s t e r h a d i m p o s e d u p o n h i m , a s e v i d e n c e of w h i c h he s h o w e d on his body the s c a r s of the b u r n s , blows a n d w o u n d s they h a d given h i m , a n d h o w now finally his lord w a s d e t e r m i n e d to kill him in order to c e l e b r a t e a n d s o l e m n i z e with his d e a t h s u c h a n d s u c h a feast day, w h i c h h e e x p e c t e d to hold s o o n . H e told how the wife a n d d a u g h t e r s of t h e c a c i q u e , his m a s t e r , t h o u g h they h a d often saved his life, did not now d a r e to s p e a k in his favor b e c a u s e of t h e lord's having forbidden it u n d e r p e n a l t y of his a n g e r ; a n d how t h e eldest d a u g h t e r of his lord, d e s i r i n g that he s h o u l d not d i e , a s t h e last a n d b e s t r e m e d y h a d o r d e r e d a n d e n c o u r a g e d him to flee a n d , giving him a g u i d e , h a d set him o n his way to his p u e b l o a n d h o u s e . In her n a m e h e p r e s e n t e d h i m s e l f before h i m , w h o m he s u p p l i c a t e d by the love that h e h a d for her to receive him u n d e r his p r o t e c t i o n , a n d a s a thing c o m m e n d e d by her to favor h i m , a s he o u g h t to d o . M u c o c o received him affably a n d h e a r d h i m with pity at l e a r n i n g of the a b u s e s a n d t o r m e n t s that h e h a d e x p e r i e n c e d , w h i c h w e r e plainly s h o w n by t h e s c a r s on his body, for, d r e s s e d after the m a n n e r of the I n d i a n s of the country, he wore only a loincloth. A l o n s o de C a r m o n a 2 tells at this p o i n t , in addition to w h a t we h a v e s a i d , that he e m b r a c e d him a n d k i s s e d him o n t h e f a c e a s a sign of p e a c e . H e [the c a c i q u e ] replied that h e w a s w e l c o m e a n d told him to try to forget the fears of his p a s t life; that in his c o m p a n y a n d h o u s e he w o u l d have a very I. T h e text is based on the translation prepared by Charmion Shelby in the 1930s and first published in The De Soto Chronicles: The Expedition of Hernando de Soto ( 1 9 9 3 ) , ed. Lawrence A. Clayton, Vernon J a m e s Knight Jr., and Edward C . Moore.

T h e selection is from the second book, first part of The Florida of the Inca. 2. O n e of the men from whom Garcilaso de la Vega gathered stories of the de Soto expedition in Spain.

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different a n d o p p o s i t e e x i s t e n c e ; that for the s a k e of serving the p e r s o n w h o h a d sent him, a n d for him w h o h a d c o m e to his p e r s o n a n d h o u s e for s u c c o r , h e would d o all he c o u l d , a s he would s e e by future a c t i o n s ; a n d that h e might be certain that while he lived n o o n e would be allowed to m o l e s t h i m . All that this good c a c i q u e said in favor of J u a n Ortiz h e p e r f o r m e d , a n d i n d e e d m u c h m o r e than h e p r o m i s e d , for h e i m m e d i a t e l y m a d e him his steward a n d kept him c o n s t a n t l y with h i m , day a n d night, d o i n g him m u c h honor, m o r e particularly after h e learned that he h a d killed the lion with the dart. In short, h e treated him like a well-beloved brother (for there are brothers w h o love o n e a n o t h e r like water a n d fire), a n d a l t h o u g h Hirrihigua, s u s p e c t i n g that he h a d g o n e to M o c o c o for p r o t e c t i o n , a s k e d for him m a n y t i m e s , M u c o ^ o always m a d e an e x c u s e for not giving him u p , saying finally, a m o n g other things, that s i n c e h e h a d c o m e to his h o u s e to let him b e , a n d that h e w a s s o o d i o u s that h e [Hirrihigua] h a d lost very little in losing s u c h a slave. H e m a d e the s a m e reply to a n o t h e r c a c i q u e , his brother-in-law, n a m e d Urribarracuxi, t h r o u g h w h o m Hirrihigua m a d e the r e q u e s t . S e e i n g that his m e s s a g e s were of n o effect, he went personally to a s k him, a n d in his p r e s e n c e M o c o c o replied the s a m e a s in his a b s e n c e , a d d i n g other angry w o r d s , a n d told him that s i n c e h e w a s his brother-inlaw it w a s u n j u s t to order him to d o a thing a g a i n s t his r e p u t a t i o n a n d honor; that h e would not be d o i n g his duty if h e s h o u l d turn over to his own e n e m y an u n f o r t u n a t e w h o h a d c o m e to him for refuge, so that the Hirrihigua might sacrifice a n d kill him like a wild b e a s t for his own entertainment and pastime. M o c o c o d e f e n d e d J u a n Ortiz from t h e s e two c a c i q u e s , w h o a s k e d for him so urgently a n d insistently, with s u c h generosity that he w a s willing to forgo (as he did) the m a r r i a g e h e affectionately desired to m a k e with the d a u g h t e r of Hirrihigua, a n d the relationship a n d friendship of the father-in-law, rather than return the slave to him who a s k e d for him in order to kill h i m . M 0 C 0 5 0 kept the latter c o n s t a n t l y with him, m u c h e s t e e m e d a n d well treated, until G o v e r n o r H e r n a n d o de S o t o e n t e r e d L a Florida. J u a n Ortiz w a s a m o n g t h o s e Indians for ten years, o n e a n d a half in the power of Hirrihigua a n d the rest with the g o o d M 0 C 0 5 0 . T h o u g h a b a r b a r i a n , he dealt with this C h r i s t i a n in quite a n o t h e r m a n n e r than t h o s e m o s t f a m o u s m e n of the T r i u m v i r a t e w h o at L a y n o , a p l a c e n e a r B o l o g n a , m a d e that never sufficiently c o n d e m n e d proscription a n d a g r e e m e n t to give a n d e x c h a n g e their relatives, friends, a n d d e f e n d e r s for e n e m i e s a n d a d v e r s a r i e s . A n d h e did m u c h better than other C h r i s t i a n p r i n c e s w h o later have c o m m i t t e d here other a c t s a s a b o m i n a b l e a n d worse than that o n e , c o n s i d e r i n g the i n n o c e n c e of t h o s e given u p , the r a n k of s o m e of t h e m , a n d the faith that their betrayers s h o u l d have h a d a n d kept with t h e m ; c o n s i d e r i n g a l s o that the former were h e a t h e n a n d the latter prided t h e m s e l v e s on the C h r i s t i a n n a m e a n d religion. T h e s e latter, b r e a k i n g the laws a n d s t a t u t e s of their k i n g d o m s a n d not r e s p e c t i n g their own position a n d rank, they b e i n g kings a n d great p r i n c e s , a n d d i s r e g a r d i n g their sworn a n d p r o m i s e d word (a thing unworthy of s u c h n a m e s ) , simply for the p u r p o s e of a v e n g i n g their own anger, delivered u p t h o s e w h o h a d not offended t h e m in order to obtain the offenders, exchanging the i n n o c e n t for the guilty, a s both a n c i e n t a n d m o d e r n historians will testify. B u t we shall leave t h e m , s o a s not to offend powerful ears a n d distress the p i o u s .

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It suffices to d e s c r i b e the m a g n a n i m i t y of a h e a t h e n so that faithful p r i n c e s may be forced to imitate a n d excel him if they c a n , not in his h e a t h e n i s m , a s do s o m e w h o are unworthy of that n a m e , but in virtue a n d similar noble qualities, to which they are m o r e o b l i g a t e d b e c a u s e of their higher e s t a t e . Certainly, c o n s i d e r i n g wejl the c i r c u m s t a n c e s of the c o u r a g e o u s action of this Indian, a n d s e e i n g by w h o m a n d a g a i n s t w h o m it w a s p e r f o r m e d , a n d the a m o u n t that h e w a s willing to p u t a s i d e a n d l o s e , g o i n g even a g a i n s t his own affection a n d desires in refusing the s u c c o r a n d favor d e m a n d e d a n d p r o m i s e d by h i m , it will be s e e n that it a r o s e from a m o s t g e n e r o u s a n d heroic m i n d , which did not d e s e r v e to have b e e n b o r n a n d to live a m i d s t the b a r b a r o u s h e a t h e n d o m of that country. B u t G o d a n d h u m a n n a t u r e often p r o d u c e s u c h spirits in s u c h uncultivated a n d sterile d e s e r t s for the greater humiliation a n d s h a m e of t h o s e w h o are born a n d reared in l a n d s that are fertile a n d a b o u n d in all good d o c t r i n e , s c i e n c e s , a n d the C h r i s t i a n religion. C H A P T E R V. T H E G O V E R N O R 1 S E N D S F O R J U A N O R T I Z

T h e governor h e a r d this a c c o u n t , which we have given, of the life of J u a n Ortiz, a l t h o u g h in a c o n f u s e d form, in the p u e b l o of the c a c i q u e Hirrihigua, where we have left him at p r e s e n t ; a n d he had heard it b e f o r e , m o r e briefly, in L a H a v a n a from o n e of the four I n d i a n s w h o m we said that the a c c o u n t ant, J u a n d e A n a s c o , 4 h a d seized when he w a s sent to explore the c o a s t of L a Florida, a n d w h o h a p p e n e d to be a s u b j e c t of this c a c i q u e . W h e n this Indian m e n t i o n e d J u a n Ortiz in the a c c o u n t that h e gave in L a H a v a n a , leaving off the n a m e J u a n , b e c a u s e he did not know it, h e said Ortiz, a n d as to the p o o r s p e e c h of the Indian w a s a d d e d the w o r s e u n d e r s t a n d i n g of the g o o d interpreters w h o stated what h e w a s trying to say, a n d a s all the listeners had for their chief p u r p o s e g o i n g to seek gold, on h e a r i n g the Indian say " O r o t i z , " without waiting for further s t a t e m e n t s on his part they thought that h e w a s plainly saying that in his country there w a s m u c h oro, or gold, a n d they c o n g r a t u l a t e d t h e m s e l v e s a n d rejoiced merely at h e a r i n g it m e n t i o n e d , a l t h o u g h with s u c h a different significance a n d s e n s e . B u t when the governor a s c e r t a i n e d that J u a n Ortiz w a s in the p o w e r of the c a c i q u e M u c o £ o , he t h o u g h t it would b e well to s e n d for h i m , alike in order to deliver him from the power of the I n d i a n s a n d b e c a u s e he w a s in n e e d of a s p e a k e r a n d interpreter u p o n w h o m he c o u l d d e p e n d . H e therefore c h o s e a g e n t l e m a n from Sevilla n a m e d B a l t a s a r de G a l l e g o s , 5 w h o w a s serving a s alguacil mayor of the fleet a n d the a r m y — w h o b e c a u s e of his great virtue, strength a n d valor d e s e r v e d to b e g e n e r a l of a greater army than that o n e — a n d told him to take sixty l a n c e r s with him a n d go to M u c o ^ o , a n d tell him on his b e h a l f how gratified were h e a n d all the S p a n i a r d s w h o a c c o m p a n i e d him by the h o n o r a n d favors he h a d s h o w n to J u a n Ortiz, a n d how m u c h he d e s i r e d that he might have a n o p p o r t u n i t y of requiting t h e m . At p r e s e n t he b e g g e d that h e give him [ J u a n Ortiz] to him [de S o t o ] , for h e n e e d e d him for very i m p o r t a n t m a t t e r s , a n d h e a s k e d 3. I.e., Hernando de Soto. 4. Sent to reconnoiter the Florida coast while the de Soto expedition lingered in C u b a the year before, he brought back four native captives to

serve as guides and interpreters. 5. A kinsman of C a b e z a de Vaca who served the expedition as provost marshal, or head of the military police.

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when it would b e convenient for him to m a k e him a visit, a s it would give him great p l e a s u r e to know a n d have him for a friend. In a c c o r d a n c e with the orders given him, B a l t a s a r de G a l l e g o s left the c a m p with the sixty l a n c e r s a n d a n Indian g u i d e . T h e c a c i q u e Mucocjo, on the other h a n d , having l e a r n e d of the c o m i n g of the governor H e r n a n d o d e S o t o with s u c h a force of m e n a n d h o r s e s , a n d that he h a d l a n d e d so n e a r his own country, a n d f e a r i n g that he might do him s o m e h a r m there, desired very prudently a n d advisedly to avert the evil that might c o m e to him. In order to do s o , he s u m m o n e d J u a n Ortiz a n d said to h i m : "You m u s t know, brother, that in the p u e b l o of your g o o d friend Hirrihigua there is a S p a n i s h c a p t a i n with a t h o u s a n d fighting m e n a n d m a n y h o r s e s , w h o are c o m i n g to c o n q u e r this country. You well know what I have d o n e for you, a n d how in order to save your life a n d not deliver you to him who held you a s a slave a n d desired to kill y o u , I c h o s e rather to fall into d i s g r a c e with all my relatives a n d n e i g h b o r s than to d o what they a s k e d m e a g a i n s t you. N o w a time a n d o c c a s i o n h a s c o m e in which you can repay m e for the g o o d r e c e p t i o n , e n t e r t a i n m e n t a n d friendship I have a c c o r d e d you, t h o u g h I never did it with the expectation of any reward, but s i n c e events have h a p p e n e d t h u s it will be w i s e not to lose what is offered u s . " G o to the S p a n i s h general a n d on your b e h a l f a n d my own b e g him that, in return for the service that I have d o n e him a n d his w h o l e nation through you (since I would do the s a m e for any of t h e m ) , he be p l e a s e d not to do m e h a r m in this small land that I h a v e , a n d that he deign to receive m e into his friendship a n d service; that from this time forth I offer him my p e r s o n , h o u s e a n d e s t a t e to be p l a c e d u n d e r his g u a r d i a n s h i p a n d p r o t e c t i o n ; a n d s o that you may b e e s c o r t e d as b e c o m e s both you a n d m e , I s e n d with you fifty nobles of my h o u s e h o l d , a n d you will p r o t e c t t h e m a n d m e a s our friendship obligates you to d o . " J u a n Ortiz, rejoicing at the g o o d news a n d inwardly giving t h a n k s to G o d for it, replied to M U C 0 9 0 that he w a s m u c h p l e a s e d that a time a n d o c c a sion h a d arisen in which to repay the k i n d n e s s a n d benefits that he h a d d o n e him, not only in saving his life, but a l s o in the m a n y favors, a n d the e s t e e m a n d h o n o r he h a d received from his great virtue a n d courtesy. H e would give a very full a c c o u n t a n d report of all this to the S p a n i s h c a p t a i n a n d all his p e o p l e , so that h e might c o n c e d e to a n d reward him with that which h e a s k e d of t h e m now in his n a m e , a n d in what might c o m e u p in the future. H e w a s very confident that the g e n e r a l on his part would do what h e a s k e d , for the S p a n i s h nation prided itself u p o n b e i n g a p e o p l e grateful for favors received, a n d t h u s certainly he c o u l d confidently h o p e to obtain that which h e sent to a s k of the governor. T h e fifty Indians w h o m the c a c i q u e h a d ordered to p r e p a r e c a m e at o n c e , a n d with J u a n Ortiz they took the public road that g o e s from o n e p u e b l o to the other; a n d they set out on the s a m e day that B a l t a s a r de G a l l e g o s left the c a m p to find him [Ortiz]. It h a p p e n e d that, after the S p a n i a r d s h a d m a r c h e d m o r e than three l e a g u e s a l o n g the wide a n d straight highway that went to the p u e b l o of M u c o c o , the Indian w h o g u i d e d t h e m , thinking that it w a s not a g o o d thing to b e h a v e so loyally toward p e o p l e w h o were c o m i n g to s u b j u g a t e t h e m a n d take away their lands a n d f r e e d o m , a n d w h o long before h a d

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s h o w n t h e m s e l v e s to b e d e c l a r e d e n e m i e s — t h o u g h u p to the p r e s e n t they h a d not received injuries of which they c o u l d c o m p l a i n from that a r m y — c h a n g e d his p l a n in g u i d i n g t h e m a n d took the first f o o t p a t h h e s a w that led into the highway. After following it a short d i s t a n c e , he left it, a s it w a s not straight, a n d t h u s he led t h e m m o s t of the day without a road a n d lost, drawing t h e m always in a n arc toward the s e a c o a s t with the d e s i g n of c o m ing u p o n s o m e s w a m p , creek, or bay in which to drown t h e m , if p o s s i b l e . T h e C a s t i l i a n s did not discover the d e c e p t i o n of the I n d i a n , s i n c e they were not a c q u a i n t e d with the country, until o n e of t h e m saw, t h r o u g h the trees of a n o p e n forest t h r o u g h w h i c h they were m a r c h i n g , the topsails of the s h i p s they h a d left a n d s a w that they were very n e a r the c o a s t , of which fact he advised C a p t a i n B a l t a s a r de G a l l e g o s . T h e latter, s e e i n g the guide's iniquity, t h r e a t e n e d him with d e a t h , m a k i n g a g e s t u r e of throwing a l a n c e at him. F e a r i n g that they w o u l d kill him, the I n d i a n i n d i c a t e d with signs a n d s u c h w o r d s a s he c o u l d that they s h o u l d return to the highway, but that it w a s n e c e s s a r y to retrace all their route that lay off the road, a n d thus they returned by the s a m e way to s e e k i t . 6 1605 6. In subsequent chapters, de la Vega explains how Ortiz escaped further dangers before arriving at de Soto's c a m p , where a great celebration was held.

JOHN

SMITH

1580-1631 Under the patent granted to Sir Walter Ralegh by Queen Elizabeth I in 1584, the English undertook their first serious effort at colonization in Virginia. By 1590 this attempt, in the vicinity of Roanoke, had ended in disaster. When the English renewed their involvement in America in the 1600s, they replaced the older heroic model of exploration and colonization with a more corporate one. Under this new model, the single controlling figure of Ralegh's era was replaced by larger companies of investors (often merchants), who had more capital to support costly expansion overseas. In fact, King James I split the vaguely defined region of Virginia, which ran from Florida to Canada, into two more manageable parts, giving the direction of each to separate but related groups of investors who together composed the Virginia Company. The southern part (including the area now known as the state of Virginia) came under the care of the company's members from London, while the northern part (from which New England was to be developed) fell to members in the West Country towns of Bristol, Plymouth, and Exeter. Although the so-called First Charter was succeeded by new ones in 1609 and 1612, its broad base of formalized support set the standard for English colonial practice over the next hundred years. As a compromise between large-scale governmental action and isolated individual effort, the format of the colonial "company" proved both useful and enduring. The push toward corporate structures did not mean that interesting individuals disappeared. Indeed, one of the most colorful of all the Englishmen ever involved in America, the legendary Captain John Smith, proved by his crucial role in the establishment and continuance of the new colony at Jamestown that success in such ven-

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tures still required individual initiative and commitment. Few people had more pertinent preparation to reteach the English this old lesson. When named by the London partners to the ruling council (that is, the local governing committee) for the Virginia colony sent out in late December 1606, John Smith brought rich experience to his charge. His early life was deceptively sedate: born into a farmer's family in Lincolnshire, he was apprenticed at fifteen to a shopkeeper near his home. But tales of exploration, piracy, and military adventure already had stirred his imagination. In 1593 he may have tried to join a punitive expedition Sir Francis Drake was thought to be readying against England's enemy Spain, although his father apparently intervened. Shortly after his father's death in 1596, the fiery sixteen-year-old managed to have his indenture to the shopkeeper canceled and went to The Netherlands as a volunteer soldier to fight for the Dutch in their long war of independence from Philip II. Following his tour of duty in The Netherlands, he saw action in the Mediterranean on a privateer, winning a good share of the prize money when a Venetian galley was captured. Smith next joined the Austrian army in its continuing war (1593—1606) against the Turks, and while in the Austrian service, he fought valiantly in Hungary and was promoted to a captaincy. Eventually, after defeating and beheading a succession of three Turkish officers in single combat in Rumania (his coat of arms, awarded later, showed the three severed heads), Smith was wounded in battle, taken prisoner, and sold into slavery to a Turk. Smith was passed from place to place until, held prisoner on the Black Sea, he murdered his master and fled back to Rumania via Russia and Poland, returning to England in the winter of 1604—05. Many of these details come to us only through Smith's own at times garbled narratives, most of them penned long after the events. But when the Jamestown backers encountered him as they readied their expedition, he must have had the air of someone deeply experienced in the skills that the quasi-military venture would require. Smith's military background (and temperament), however, also carried liabilities in that age when warfare was brutal and soldiers were far from professional: he sometimes used force unnecessarily, and his hard-to-control temper and stubborn selfreliance made him an often troublesome companion. Already on the voyage over, Smith ran afoul of those in charge, was placed under arrest while the fleet was near the Canary Islands in February 1607, and was threatened with execution in the West Indies the following month. By June 10, some weeks after the arrival in Virginia and the opening of the heretofore secret list of the council members (not revealed sooner so as to prevent difficulties on shipboard), Smith had been given a reprieve and was sworn in to his seat on the council. From then until his final departure for England in October 1609, he was in the middle of the tumultuous colony's affairs. Smith survived the grim period of sickness in 1607 and missed the bleaker "starving time" that came shortly after his departure, but during his years there, he was always at the epicenter of the various political earthquakes that rocked early Virginia. Placed in charge of its supplies in the fall of 1607, he was elected president of the council—in effect, the colony's governor—the following year, after a series of wideranging explorations that made him the most knowledgeable of the settlers regarding the new land. The explorations also led to his imprisonment at the hands of Powhatan, overlord of the Chesapeake Bay Indians, from whom he claimed (much later) that the king's young daughter Pocahontas rescued him. Whatever the role Pocahontas played, what Smith took to be his impending execution may have been nothing more than a harmless adoption ceremony inducting him into Powhatan's tribe. In this episode as in others, Smith's volatile and unpredictable relations with the Native Americans were characteristic. Also characteristic was the fact that as a writer Smith milked the story of his rescue by Pocahontas. Although he failed to have the lasting influence on Virginia's affairs that he sought, in recasting that story fifteen years after the fact he found the immortality that otherwise eluded him. How easily we forget that on his return to Jamestown from Powhatan's village he was charged with the loss of two soldiers and would have been hanged had a fleet with much-needed supplies

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not arrived from England. Or that when he left Virginia in 1609 (never to return), it was because he had been severely injured when his gunpowder bag mysteriously exploded in his lap while he napped on the deck of an exploring vessel. Smith and his works form an important bridge between the first two permanent English colonies in North America. The first of his publications, A True Relation of Such

Occurrences

and Accidents

of Note as Hath Happened

in Virginia

(1608), was a

badly edited version of a letter he had sent back from the colony without intending that it be published. It was followed by a work to which many colonists including Smith contributed, A Map of Virginia,

with a Description

of the Country

. . . [and]

The Proceedings of those Colonies {sic) (1612). Some years later, Smith enlarged this book by adding more texts by other hands, expanding his own prose, and extending its geographical range and chronological coverage. More its editor than its author, Smith published the resulting General

History

of Virginia,

New England,

and the

Summer Isles (that is, Bermuda) in 1624. This book demonstrated the later reach of Smith's American ambitions beyond Virginia proper, for his knowledge of New England was based on a voyage he made there in 1614 and on his continuing involvement with the region—which in fact he, not the Puritans, named. During his life, Smith published more works on New England than on Virginia (A Description of New England,

1616; New England's

Inexperienced

Planters

Trials,

1620 and 1622; and Advertisements

of New England,

or Anywhere,

for the

1631). But for some unfortu-

nate setbacks (bad weather several times forced him to abandon other voyages for New England), he might well have become more famous for this second aspect of his American career than for the first. An energetic promoter of the potential of this new region for English settlers, Smith offered the Pilgrims his services as guide for their voyage in 1620, but they chose instead to put Smith's helpful books in the hands of the more temperate Myles Standish. From that point on Smith's America was not the geographical realm about which he had entertained such bright hopes at the century's start but rather the verbal domain he continued to explore in his later writings. When he closed the Virginia part of his General History by writing "Thus far have I travelled in this Wilderness of Virginia," he was revealing how much like a country of his mind Virginia had become. Long gone from that still-struggling colony by then, he had internalized it so well that he helped to make it a permanent part of the English— and the Anglo-American—imagination. The texts are from The Complete

Works of Captain

John

Smith,

edited by Philip L.

Barbour (1986).

From

General History of Virginia, N e w E n g l a n d , a n d the S u m m e r Isles' F r o m The Third

FROM

C H A P T E R 2.

Book.

WHAT HAPPENED TILL T H E FIRST

SUPPLY

B e i n g t h u s left to o u r f o r t u n e s , it f o r t u n e d that within ten d a y s , 2 s c a r c e ten a m o n g s t u s c o u l d either g o or well s t a n d , s u c h e x t r e m e w e a k n e s s a n d 1. T h e Bermuda Islands. T h e Third Book is titled "The Proceedings and Accidents of the English Colony in Virginia" and is derived from Smith's Virginia book of 1612. T h e bulk of this chapter, which opens with an account of the sickness whose dire results were chronicled by George Percy, may have been written by John Smith himself, although at its publication in 1612 it was credited solely to T h o m a s Studley, chief storekeeper of the colony. In 1624, Smith added to Studley's signature at the end of this section of the text not only his own

initials but also the names of Robert Fenton and Edward Harrington as part authors. According to Percy, Studley died early in the first year, on August 2 8 , 1607, four days after Harrington, so neither could have written much of what is in part attributed to them. Of Robert Fenton nothing is known. 2. By the end of J u n e 1607, after Captain Christopher Newport (d. 1617) left to fetch new supplies from England. "Fortuned": happened.

VIRGINIA, NEW ENGLAND,

AND T H E S U M M E R

ISLES

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s i c k n e s s o p p r e s s e d u s . A n d thereat n o n e n e e d marvel if they c o n s i d e r the c a u s e a n d r e a s o n which w a s this: While the s h i p s stayed, o u r a l l o w a n c e w a s s o m e w h a t bettered by a daily proportion of biscuit which the sailors would pilfer to sell, give, or e x c h a n g e with u s for m o n e y , s a s s a f r a s , 1 furs, or love. B u t w h e n they d e p a r t e d , there r e m a i n e d neither tavern, b e e r - h o u s e , nor p l a c e of relief but the c o m m o n kettle. 4 H a d we b e e n a s free from all sins as [we were free from] gluttony a n d d r u n k e n n e s s we might have b e e n c a n o n i z e d for s a i n t s , but our P r e s i d e n t would never have b e e n a d m i t t e d for e n g r o s s i n g to his private, o a t m e a l , s a c k , oil, a q u a vitae, beef, e g g s , or w h a t not b u t the kettle; 5 that i n d e e d he allowed equally to b e distributed, a n d that w a s half a pint of wheat a n d a s m u c h barley boiled with water for a m a n a day, a n d this, having fried s o m e twenty-six w e e k s in the ship's hold, c o n t a i n e d a s m a n y w o r m s a s grains s o that we might truly call it rather so m u c h b r a n than corn; our drink w a s w a t e r , 6 our lodgings c a s t l e s in the air. With this lodging a n d diet, our extreme toil in b e a r i n g a n d p l a n t i n g palis a d e s so strained a n d b r u i s e d u s a n d our c o n t i n u a l labor in the extremity of the heat h a d s o w e a k e n e d u s , a s were c a u s e sufficient to have m a d e u s a s m i s e r a b l e in our native country or any other p l a c e in the world. F r o m M a y to S e p t e m b e r , t h o s e that e s c a p e d lived u p o n s t u r g e o n a n d s e a c r a b s . Fifty in this time we buried; the rest s e e i n g the P r e s i d e n t ' s 7 projects to e s c a p e t h e s e m i s e r i e s in o u r p i n n a c e by flight (who all this time h a d neither felt want nor s i c k n e s s ) so m o v e d our d e a d spirits a s we d e p o s e d him a n d e s t a b l i s h e d Ratcliffe in his p l a c e ( G o s n o l d b e i n g d e a d ) , Kendall d e p o s e d . S m i t h newly recovered, M a r t i n 8 a n d Ratcliffe were by his c a r e preserved a n d relieved, a n d the m o s t of the soldiers recovered with the skillful diligence of M a s t e r T h o m a s W o t t o n our s u r g e o n g e n e r a l . B u t now w a s all our provision s p e n t , the s t u r g e o n g o n e , all helps a b a n d o n e d , e a c h h o u r expecting the fury of the s a v a g e s , w h e n G o d , the patron of all g o o d e n d e a v o r s , in that d e s p e r a t e extremity s o c h a n g e d the hearts of the s a v a g e s that they b r o u g h t s u c h plenty of their fruits a n d provision a s no man wanted.9 A n d now w h e r e s o m e affirmed it w a s ill d o n e of the C o u n c i l to s e n d forth m e n s o badly provided, this i n c o n t r a d i c t a b l e r e a s o n will s h o w t h e m plainly they are too ill a d v i s e d to n o u r i s h s u c h ill c o n c e i t s : First, the fault of our going w a s our o w n ; what c o u l d be thought fitting or n e c e s s a r y we h a d , but what we s h o u l d find, or w a n t , or w h e r e we s h o u l d b e , we were all ignorant a n d s u p p o s i n g to m a k e our p a s s a g e in two m o n t h s , with victual to live a n d the a d v a n t a g e of the spring to work; we were at s e a five m o n t h s w h e r e we both spent o u r victual a n d lost the opportunity of the time a n d s e a s o n to 3. T h e bark of the sassafras tree, sold for its supposed medicinal qualities, was a valuable commodity in London. 4. The communal resources. 5. I.e., President Edward Maria Wingfield (c. 1560—1613), a man of high connections in England, would not have been canonized as a saint because he diverted many supplies (everything except the contents of the c o m m o n kettle) for his own use, including sack (wine) and aqua vitae (brandy). 6. It was more customary to drink wine or beer. "Corn": grain. 7. I.e., Wingfield.

8. Captain John Martin (c. 1 5 6 7 - 1 6 3 2 ? ) was a colonist best known for his contentiousness. " C a p tain John Ratcliffe" was an alias of J o h n Sicklemore, master of one ol the vessels on the voyage over and a member of the local council. T h e most enigmatic figure in J a m e s t o w n , he was elected president of the council in September 1607, but later fell out with Smith. Captain Bartholomew Gosnold (c. 1572—1607), who had explored NewEngland before the first Jamestown voyage, probably had been responsible for Smith's recruitment to the venture. Captain George Kendall (d. 1607) was executed for mutiny later in the year. 9. I.e., was in want.

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plant, by the unskillful p r e s u m p t i o n of our ignorant t r a n s p o r t e r s that unders t o o d not at all what they u n d e r t o o k . S u c h a c t i o n s have ever s i n c e the world's b e g i n n i n g b e e n s u b j e c t to s u c h a c c i d e n t s , a n d everything of worth is f o u n d full of difficulties, b u t n o t h i n g [is] so difficult a s to e s t a b l i s h a c o m m o n w e a l t h so far r e m o t e from m e n a n d m e a n s a n d w h e r e m e n ' s m i n d s are s o u n t o w a r d 1 a s neither d o well themselves nor suffer o t h e r s . B u t to p r o c e e d . T h e n e w P r e s i d e n t a n d M a r t i n , b e i n g little beloved, of w e a k j u d g m e n t in d a n g e r s , a n d less industry in p e a c e , c o m m i t t e d the m a n a g i n g of all things a b r o a d 2 to C a p t a i n S m i t h , w h o , by his own e x a m p l e , g o o d w o r d s , a n d fair p r o m i s e s , set s o m e to m o w , others to bind t h a t c h , s o m e to build h o u s e s , others to t h a t c h t h e m , h i m s e l f always b e a r i n g the greatest t a s k for his own s h a r e , so that in short time he provided m o s t of t h e m lodgings, n e g l e c t i n g any for himself. T h i s d o n e , s e e i n g the s a v a g e s ' superfluity begin to d e c r e a s e , [ S m i t h ] (with s o m e of his w o r k m e n ) s h i p p e d h i m s e l f in the shallop to s e a r c h the country for t r a d e . T h e w a n t of 3 the l a n g u a g e , k n o w l e d g e to m a n a g e his b o a t without sails, the want of a sufficient power (knowing the m u l t i t u d e of the s a v a g e s ) , a p p a r e l for his m e n , a n d other n e c e s s a r i e s , were infinite i m p e d i m e n t s yet no discouragement. B e i n g b u t six or seven in c o m p a n y h e went d o w n the river to K e c o u g h t a n 4 where at first they s c o r n e d h i m a s a f a m i s h e d m a n a n d would in derision offer him a handful of c o r n , a p i e c e of b r e a d for their swords a n d m u s k e t s , a n d s u c h like proportions a l s o for their a p p a r e l . B u t s e e i n g by trade a n d c o u r t e s y there w a s n o t h i n g to be h a d , he m a d e bold to try s u c h c o n c l u s i o n s a s n e c e s s i t y e n f o r c e d ; t h o u g h contrary to his c o m m i s s i o n , [he] let fly'i his m u s k e t s , ran his boat on s h o r e ; w h e r e a t they all fled into the w o o d s . S o m a r c h i n g towards their h o u s e s , they might s e e great h e a p s of corn; m u c h a d o he h a d to restrain his hungry soldiers from p r e s e n t taking of it, expecting a s it h a p p e n e d that the s a v a g e s w o u l d a s s a u l t t h e m , a s not long after they did with a m o s t h i d e o u s n o i s e . Sixty or seventy of t h e m , s o m e black, s o m e red, s o m e white, s o m e p a r t i c o l o r e d , c a m e in a s q u a r e o r d e r , 6 singing a n d d a n c i n g out of the w o o d s with their O k e e (which w a s an idol m a d e of skins, stuffed with m o s s , all p a i n t e d a n d h u n g with c h a i n s a n d c o p p e r ) b o r n e before t h e m , a n d in this m a n n e r , b e i n g well a r m e d with c l u b s , targets, b o w s , a n d arrows, they c h a r g e d the E n g l i s h that so kindly 7 received t h e m with their m u s k e t s loaded with pistol shot that down fell their g o d , a n d divers lay sprawling on the g r o u n d ; the rest fled a g a i n to the w o o d s a n d ere long sent o n e of their Q u i y o u g h k a s o u c k s 8 to offer p e a c e a n d r e d e e m their Okee. S m i t h told t h e m if only six of t h e m w o u l d c o m e u n a r m e d a n d l o a d his boat, h e would not only be their friend b u t restore t h e m their O k e e a n d give t h e m b e a d s , c o p p e r , a n d h a t c h e t s b e s i d e s , which o n both s i d e s w a s to their c o n t e n t s 9 p e r f o r m e d , a n d then they b r o u g h t him v e n i s o n , turkeys, wild fowl, 1. Intractable. 2. I.e., outside the palisade. 3. Inability to speak. "Shallop": an open boat. 4. A village near the mouth of the J a m e s River whose inhabitants, the Kecoughtans, were members of the Powhatan Confederacy. 5. Fired. 6. Formation. "Particolored": i.e., painted for the

battle. 7. In such a way. "Targets": small shields. 8. Smith elsewhere defines this term as referring to the "petty g o d s " of the Algonquian-speaking peoples, but here it may be used to mean priests. "Divers": several. 9. I.e., in mutual contentment.

VIRGINIA, NEW ENGLAND,

AND T H E S U M M E R

ISLES

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47

b r e a d , a n d what they h a d , singing a n d d a n c i n g in sign of friendship till they departed. In his return h e d i s c o v e r e d the town a n d country of W a r r a s k o y a c k . 1 T h u s G o d u n b o u n d l e s s by His power, M a d e t h e m t h u s kind, would u s devour. S m i t h , perceiving (notwithstanding their late misery) not any r e g a r d e d but from h a n d to m o u t h , 2 (the c o m p a n y b e i n g well recovered) c a u s e d the pinn a c e to be provided with things fitting to get provision for the year following, but in the interim he m a d e three or four j o u r n e y s a n d d i s c o v e r e d the p e o p l e of C h i c k a h o m i n y , 3 yet w h a t he carefully provided the rest c a r e l e s s l y s p e n t . Wingfield a n d K e n d a l l , living in d i s g r a c e * * * s t r e n g t h e n e d t h e m s e l v e s with the sailors a n d other c o n f e d e r a t e s to regain their former credit a n d authority, or at least s u c h m e a n s a b o a r d the p i n n a c e ( b e i n g fitted to sail a s S m i t h h a d a p p o i n t e d for t r a d e ) , to alter her c o u r s e a n d to g o for E n g l a n d . S m i t h , u n e x p e c t e d l y returning, h a d the plot discovered to him, m u c h trouble he h a d to prevent it, till with store of saker* a n d m u s k e t shot he f o r c e d t h e m [to] stay or sink in the river: which a c t i o n c o s t the life of C a p t a i n Kendall. T h e s e brawls are so disgustful, a s s o m e will say they were better forgotten, yet all m e n of g o o d j u d g m e n t will c o n c l u d e it were better their b a s e n e s s s h o u l d be m a n i f e s t to the world, than the b u s i n e s s b e a r the scorn a n d s h a m e of their e x c u s e d d i s o r d e r s . 5 T h e P r e s i d e n t a n d C a p t a i n A r c h e r 6 not long after i n t e n d e d also to have a b a n d o n e d the country, which project a l s o w a s c u r b e d a n d s u p p r e s s e d by Smith. T h e S p a n i a r d never m o r e greedily desired gold than he victual, nor his soldiers m o r e to a b a n d o n the country than he to keep it. B u t [he f o u n d ] plenty of c o r n in the river of C h i c k a h o m i n y , w h e r e h u n d r e d s of s a v a g e s in divers p l a c e s stood with b a s k e t s expecting his c o m i n g . A n d now the winter a p p r o a c h i n g , the rivers b e c a m e so covered with s w a n s , g e e s e , d u c k s , a n d c r a n e s that we daily f e a s t e d with g o o d b r e a d , Virginia p e a s , p u m p k i n s , a n d p u t c h a m i n s , fish, fowl, a n d divers sort of wild b e a s t s as fast a s we c o u l d eat t h e m , so that n o n e of our tuftaffety h u m o r i s t s 7 desired to go for E n g l a n d . B u t our c o m e d i e s never e n d u r e d long without a tragedy, s o m e idle exceptions" b e i n g m u t t e r e d a g a i n s t C a p t a i n S m i t h for not d i s c o v e r i n g the h e a d of C h i c k a h o m i n y river a n d [he being] taxed by the C o u n c i l to b e too slow in s o worthy an a t t e m p t . T h e next voyage h e p r o c e e d e d s o far that with m u c h labor by c u t t i n g of trees a s u n d e r he m a d e his p a s s a g e , b u t w h e n his b a r g e c o u l d p a s s n o farther, he left her in a b r o a d bay out of d a n g e r of shot, 1. A village on the south side of the J a m e s River near the mouth of the modern Pagan River, approximately opposite Smithfield. 2. I.e., none of the settlers, despite their recent sufferings, gave any thought to gathering a store of provision for the future. 3. T h e region along the Chickahominy River, which empties into the J a m e s River a short distance west of Jamestown. 4. Shot for a small cannon used in sieges and on shipboard. "Discovered": revealed. 5. I.e., it is necessary to rehearse the troubles to lay the blame on the responsible individuals

(Wingfield and Kendall), rather than let the whole "business" of the colony suffer ill repute. 6. Gabriel Archer (c. 1 5 7 5 - 1 6 0 9 ? ) had been an associate of Bartholomew Gosnold before the Jamestown voyage. Having gone hack to England in 1608 as a confirmed opponent of Smith, he showed up in Virginia again the following year to head an anti-Smith faction but died during the starving time the next winter. Ratcliffe (Sicklemore) was still president. 7. Self-indulgent persons who might be given to wearing lace. " P u t c h a m i n s " : persimmons. 8. Objections.

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c o m m a n d i n g n o n e s h o u l d go a s h o r e till his return; h i m s e l f with two E n g l i s h a n d two s a v a g e s went u p higher in a c a n o e , but he w a s not long a b s e n t but his m e n went a s h o r e , w h o s e want of g o v e r n m e n t gave both o c c a s i o n a n d opportunity to the s a v a g e s to surprise o n e G e o r g e C a s s e n w h o m they slew a n d m u c h failed not to have c u t off the b o a t a n d all the r e s t . 9 S m i t h little d r e a m i n g of that a c c i d e n t , b e i n g got to the m a r s h e s at the river's h e a d twenty miles in the desert, 1 h a d his two m e n slain (as is s u p p o s e d ) s l e e p i n g by the c a n o e , while himself by fowling s o u g h t t h e m victual, w h o finding he w a s b e s e t with 2 0 0 s a v a g e s , two of t h e m h e slew, still d e f e n d i n g h i m s e l f with the aid of a s a v a g e his g u i d e , w h o m he b o u n d to his a r m with his garters a n d u s e d him a s a b u c k l e r , 2 yet he w a s shot in his thigh a little, a n d h a d m a n y arrows that s t u c k in his c l o t h e s but no great hurt, till at last they took him prisoner. W h e n this n e w s c a m e to J a m e s t o w n , m u c h w a s their sorrow for his loss, few expecting what e n s u e d . Six or seven w e e k s t h o s e b a r b a r i a n s kept him prisoner, m a n y s t r a n g e triu m p h s a n d c o n j u r a t i o n s they m a d e of h i m , yet h e s o d e m e a n e d * h i m s e l f a m o n g s t t h e m , a s h e not only diverted t h e m from s u r p r i s i n g the fort, but p r o c u r e d his own liberty, a n d got h i m s e l f a n d his c o m p a n y s u c h e s t i m a t i o n a m o n g s t t h e m , that t h o s e s a v a g e s a d m i r e d him m o r e than their own Quiyoughkasoucks. T h e m a n n e r how they u s e d a n d delivered him is a s followeth: T h e s a v a g e s having drawn from G e o r g e C a s s e n whither C a p t a i n S m i t h w a s g o n e , p r o s e c u t i n g that opportunity they followed him with 3 0 0 b o w m e n , c o n d u c t e d by the King of P a m u n k e y , w h o in divisions s e a r c h i n g the t u r n i n g s of the river f o u n d R o b i n s o n a n d E m i y 1 by the fireside; t h o s e they shot full of arrows a n d slew. T h e n finding the C a p t a i n , a s is said, that u s e d the s a v a g e that w a s his g u i d e a s his shield (three of t h e m b e i n g slain a n d divers o t h e r s s o g a l l e d 5 ) , all the rest would not c o m e n e a r h i m . T h i n k i n g t h u s to have r e t u r n e d to his b o a t , regarding t h e m , a s h e m a r c h e d , m o r e t h a n his way, [he] slipped up to the m i d d l e in a n oozy c r e e k a n d his s a v a g e with h i m , yet d a r e d they not c o m e to him till b e i n g near d e a d with cold he threw away his a r m s . T h e n a c c o r d i n g to their c o m p o s i t i o n 6 they d r e w him forth a n d led h i m to the fire w h e r e his m e n were slain. Diligently they c h a f e d his b e n u m b e d limbs. H e d e m a n d i n g for their c a p t a i n , they s h o w e d him O p e c h a n c a n o u g h , 7 King of P a m u n k e y , to w h o m he gave a r o u n d ivory d o u b l e c o m p a s s dial. M u c h they marveled at the playing of the fly 8 a n d n e e d l e , which they c o u l d s e e s o plainly a n d yet not t o u c h it b e c a u s e of the g l a s s that covered t h e m . B u t w h e n h e d e m o n s t r a t e d by that globe-like j e w e l the r o u n d n e s s of the earth a n d skies, the s p h e r e of the s u n , m o o n , a n d s t a r s , a n d how the s u n did c h a s e the night r o u n d a b o u t the world continually, the g r e a t n e s s of the l a n d a n d s e a , 9. I.e., only through fault of their own did they fail to wipe out Cassen's whole party. "Government": discipline. 1. Wilderness. 2. Shield. "Garters": laces used for tying clothing. 3. Behaved. 4. T h e two men mentioned above as having been killed while they slept. T h o m a s Emry was a carpenter. John Robinson was a "gentleman."

5. Wounded. 6. Agreement for surrender. 7. Powhatan's younger half-brother and Smith's captor, O p e c h a n c a n o u g h (d. 1644) was to lead the Indian Confederacy's attack on the colonists in 1622 and as late as 1644 attempted one last time to expel them from the country. 8. C o m p a s s card.

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the diversity of n a t i o n s , variety of c o m p l e x i o n s , a n d how we were to t h e m a n t i p o d e s 9 a n d m a n y other s u c h like m a t t e r s , they all stood a s a m a z e d with admiration. N o t w i t h s t a n d i n g , within a n hour after, they tied him to a tree, a n d a s m a n y a s c o u l d s t a n d a b o u t him p r e p a r e d to shoot him, b u t the King h o l d i n g up the c o m p a s s in his h a n d , they all laid down their b o w s a n d arrows a n d in a t r i u m p h a n t m a n n e r led him to O r a p a k s 1 w h e r e he w a s after their m a n n e s kindly f e a s t e d a n d well u s e d . T h e i r order in c o n d u c t i n g him w a s t h u s : D r a w i n g t h e m s e l v e s all in file, the King in the m i d s t h a d all their p i e c e s a n d s w o r d s b o r n e before h i m . C a p t a i n S m i t h w a s led after him by three great s a v a g e s holding h i m fast by e a c h a r m , a n d on e a c h side six went in file with their arrows n o c k e d . 2 B u t arriving at the town (which w a s but only thirty or forty h u n t i n g h o u s e s m a d e of m a t s , which they remove a s they p l e a s e , a s we our t e n t s ) , all the w o m e n a n d children staring to b e h o l d him, the soldiers first all in file p e r f o r m e d the form of a b i s s o m * so well a s c o u l d b e , a n d on e a c h flank, officers a s s e r g e a n t s to s e e t h e m keep their orders. A good time they c o n t i n u e d this exercise a n d then c a s t t h e m s e l v e s in a ring, d a n c i n g in s u c h several p o s t u r e s a n d singing a n d yelling out s u c h hellish notes a n d s c r e e c h e s ; b e i n g strangely p a i n t e d , every o n e [had] his quiver of arrows a n d at his b a c k a c l u b , on his a r m a fox or an otter's skin or s o m e s u c h m a t t e r for his v a m b r a c e , their h e a d s a n d s h o u l d e r s p a i n t e d red with oil a n d p o c o n e s mingled together, which scarletlike color m a d e an e x c e e d i n g h a n d s o m e show, his bow in his h a n d a n d the skin of a bird with her wings a b r o a d , 4 dried, tied on his h e a d , a p i e c e of c o p p e r , a white shell, a long feather with a small rattle growing at the tails of their s n a k e s tied to it, or s o m e s u c h like toy. All this while, S m i t h a n d the King stood in the m i d s t , g u a r d e d a s before is s a i d , a n d after three d a n c e s they all d e p a r t e d . S m i t h they c o n d u c t e d to a long h o u s e w h e r e thirty or forty tall fellows did g u a r d him, a n d ere long m o r e bread a n d venison w a s b r o u g h t him than would have served twenty m e n . I think his s t o m a c h at that time w a s not very g o o d ; what he left they put in b a s k e t s a n d tied over his h e a d . A b o u t midnight they set the m e a t again before him; all this time not o n e of them would eat a bit with him, till the next m o r n i n g they b r o u g h t him a s m u c h m o r e , a n d then did they eat all the old a n d reserved the new a s they h a d d o n e the other, which m a d e him think they would fat him to eat h i m . Yet in this d e s p e r a t e e s t a t e , to defend him from the cold, o n e M a o c a s s a t e r brought him his gown in r e q u i t a l 5 of s o m e b e a d s a n d toys S m i t h h a d given him at his first arrival in Virginia. T w o days after, a m a n w o u l d have slain him (but that the g u a r d p r e v e n t e d it) for the d e a t h of his s o n , to w h o m they c o n d u c t e d him to recover the p o o r m a n then b r e a t h i n g his last. S m i t h told t h e m that at J a m e s t o w n he h a d a water would d o it, if they would let him fetch it, but they w o u l d not permit that, but m a d e all the p r e p a r a t i o n s they c o u l d to a s s a u l t J a m e s t o w n , craving his advice, a n d for r e c o m p e n c e he s h o u l d have life, liberty, land, a n d w o m e n . In part of a table b o o k 6 he wrote his mind to t h e m at the fort, what w a s 9. On the opposite side of the globe. 1. A village located farther inland, later the residence of Powhatan. 2. Notched; i.e.. with their arrows fitted on the bowstring ready to use. 3. From an Italian term denoting a snakelike for-

mation. 4. Outspread. "Vambrace": forearm protection. "Pocones": a dye of vegetative origin. 5. Payment. 6. A notebook.

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i n t e n d e d , how they s h o u l d follow that direction to affright the m e s s e n g e r s , a n d without fail s e n d him s u c h things a s he wrote for. A n d a n inventory with t h e m . T h e difficulty a n d d a n g e r , h e told the s a v a g e s , of the m i n e s , great g u n s , a n d other e n g i n e s 7 exceedingly affrighted t h e m , yet a c c o r d i n g to his r e q u e s t they went to J a m e s t o w n in a s bitter w e a t h e r a s c o u l d b e of frost a n d snow, a n d within three days returned with a n a n s w e r . B u t w h e n they c a m e to J a m e s t o w n , s e e i n g m e n sally out a s h e h a d told t h e m they w o u l d , they fled, yet in the night they c a m e again to the s a m e p l a c e where he h a d told t h e m they s h o u l d receive a n a n s w e r a n d s u c h things a s he h a d p r o m i s e d t h e m , which they f o u n d accordingly, a n d with which they returned with n o small expedition to the w o n d e r of t h e m all that h e a r d it, that he c o u l d either divine 8 or the p a p e r c o u l d s p e a k . T h e n they led him to the Y o u g h t a n u n d s , the M a t t a p a n i e n t s , the Piankat a n k s , the N a n t a u g h t a c u n d s , a n d O n a w m a n i e n t s 9 u p o n the rivers of R a p p a h a n n o c k a n d P o t o m a c , over all t h o s e rivers a n d b a c k again by divers other several n a t i o n s ' to the King's habitation at P a m u n k e y w h e r e they e n t e r t a i n e d him with m o s t s t r a n g e a n d fearful c o n j u r a t i o n s : 2 As if near led to hell A m o n g s t the devils to dwell. N o t long after, early in a m o r n i n g , a great fire w a s m a d e in a l o n g - h o u s e a n d a m a t s p r e a d on the o n e side as o n the other; o n the o n e they c a u s e d him to sit, a n d all the g u a r d went out of the h o u s e , a n d presently c a m e skipping in a great grim fellow all p a i n t e d over with coal* m i n g l e d with oil, a n d m a n y s n a k e s ' a n d w e a s e l s ' skins stuffed with m o s s , a n d all their tails tied together s o a s they m e t o n the crown of his h e a d in a tassel, a n d r o u n d a b o u t the tassel w a s a s a c o r o n e t of f e a t h e r s , the skins h a n g i n g r o u n d a b o u t his h e a d , b a c k , a n d s h o u l d e r s a n d in a m a n n e r c o v e r e d his f a c e , with a hellish voice, a n d a rattle in his h a n d . With m o s t s t r a n g e g e s t u r e s a n d p a s s i o n s b e b e g a n his invocation a n d e n v i r o n e d 4 the fire with a circle of m e a l ; which d o n e , three m o r e s u c h like devils c a m e r u s h i n g in with the like antic tricks, p a i n t e d half black, half red, but all their eyes were p a i n t e d white a n d s o m e red strokes like m u s t a c h e s a l o n g their c h e e k s . R o u n d a b o u t him t h o s e fiends d a n c e d a pretty while, a n d then c a m e in three m o r e a s ugly a s the rest, with red eyes a n d white strokes over their b l a c k f a c e s . At last they all sat d o w n right a g a i n s t him, three of t h e m on the o n e h a n d of the chief priest a n d three on the other. T h e n all with their rattles b e g a n a s o n g ; w h i c h e n d e d , the chief priest laid d o w n five wheat c o r n s ; 5 then straining his a r m s a n d h a n d s with s u c h violence that h e sweat a n d his veins swelled, he b e g a n a short o r a t i o n ; 6 at the c o n c l u s i o n they all gave a short g r o a n a n d then laid d o w n t h r e e grains m o r e . After that, b e g a n their s o n g a g a i n , a n d then a n o t h e r oration, ever laying d o w n so m a n y c o r n s a s before till they h a d twice e n c i r c l e d the fire; that d o n e , they took a b u n c h of little sticks p r e p a r e d for that p u r p o s e , continuing still their devotion, a n d at the e n d of every s o n g a n d oration they laid d o w n a stick betwixt the divisions of c o r n . Till night, neither h e nor they did either e a t or drink, a n d then they f e a s t e d merrily with the b e s t provisions 7. Weaponry. 8. Perform magic. "Expedition": speed. 9. T h e s e groups were part of the confederacy that was under the rule of Powhatan. 1. Other Algonquian-speaking groups. 2. Incantations; but the following couplet Smith

derived from a translation of S e n e c a published by Bishop Martin Fotherby in his Atheomastix ( 1 6 2 2 ) . 3. I.e., charcoal. 4. Encircled. 5. I.e., five kernels of Indian corn. 6. Prayer.

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they c o u l d m a k e . T h r e e days they u s e d this c e r e m o n y ; the m e a n i n g whereof, they told him, w a s to know if he i n t e n d e d t h e m well or n o . T h e circle of m e a l signified their country, the circles of corn the b o u n d s of the s e a , a n d the sticks his country. T h e y i m a g i n e d the world to be flat a n d r o u n d , like a t r e n c h e r , 7 a n d they in the midst. After this they b r o u g h t him a b a g of g u n p o w d e r , which they carefully preserved till the next spring, to plant as they did their c o r n , b e c a u s e they would b e a c q u a i n t e d with the n a t u r e of that s e e d . O p i t c h a p a m , the King's b r o t h e r , 8 invited him to his h o u s e , w h e r e , with a s m a n y platters of b r e a d , fowl, a n d wild b e a s t s a s did environ him, h e bid him w e l c o m e , but not any of t h e m would eat a bit with him but put u p all the r e m a i n d e r in b a s k e t s . At his return to O p e c h a n c a n o u g h ' s , all the King's w o m e n a n d their children flocked a b o u t him for their p a r t s , 9 a s a d u e by c u s t o m , to be merry with such fragments: B u t his waking m i n d in h i d e o u s d r e a m s did oft s e e w o n d r o u s s h a p e s , O f b o d i e s s t r a n g e , a n d h u g e in growth, a n d of s t u p e n d o u s m a k e s . 1 At last they b r o u g h t him to W e r o w o c o m o c o , 2 where w a s P o w h a t a n , their E m p e r o r . H e r e m o r e than two h u n d r e d of t h o s e grim c o u r t i e r s s t o o d wondering at him, a s [if] he h a d b e e n a m o n s t e r , till P o w h a t a n a n d his train h a d p u t t h e m s e l v e s in their greatest b r a v e r i e s . 3 B e f o r e a fire u p o n a s e a t like a b e d s t e a d , h e sat covered with a great r o b e m a d e of r a c c o o n skins a n d all the tails h a n g i n g by. O n either h a n d did sit a y o u n g w e n c h of sixteen or e i g h t e e n years a n d a l o n g o n e a c h side [of] the h o u s e , two rows of m e n a n d b e h i n d t h e m a s m a n y w o m e n , with all their h e a d s a n d s h o u l d e r s p a i n t e d red, m a n y of their h e a d s b e d e c k e d with the white d o w n of b i r d s , b u t every o n e with s o m e t h i n g , a n d a great chain of white b e a d s a b o u t their n e c k s . At his e n t r a n c e before the King, all the p e o p l e g a v e a great s h o u t . T h e Q u e e n of A p p o m a t t o c 4 w a s a p p o i n t e d to bring him water to w a s h his h a n d s , a n d a n o t h e r b r o u g h t him a b u n c h of f e a t h e r s , i n s t e a d of a towel, to dry t h e m ; having f e a s t e d him after their b e s t b a r b a r o u s m a n n e r they c o u l d , a long c o n s u l t a t i o n w a s held, but the c o n c l u s i o n w a s , two great s t o n e s were b r o u g h t before P o w h a t a n ; then as m a n y a s c o u l d , laid h a n d s o n h i m , d r a g g e d him to t h e m , a n d thereon laid his h e a d a n d b e i n g ready with their c l u b s to b e a t out his b r a i n s , P o c a h o n t a s , 5 the King's d e a r e s t d a u g h t e r , w h e n n o entreaty c o u l d prevail, got his h e a d in her a r m s a n d laid her own u p o n his to save him from d e a t h , whereat the E m p e r o r w a s c o n t e n t e d h e s h o u l d live to m a k e him h a t c h e t s , a n d her bells, b e a d s , a n d c o p p e r , for they t h o u g h t him a s well of all o c c u p a t i o n s as t h e m s e l v e s . 6 F o r the King h i m s e l f will m a k e his own r o b e s , s h o e s , b o w s , a r r o w s , p o t s ; plant, h u n t , or do anything s o well a s the rest. 7. A flat wood dish. 8. Actually the c h i e f s half-brother; he succeeded Powhatan in 1618. 9. Gifts. 1. From a translation of Lucretius by Fotherby. 2. Powhatan's village on the north shore of the York River, almost due north of Jamestown. 3. Finery; i.e., costumes. 4. Opossunoquonuske was the weroansqua, or leader, of a small village (Appamatuck) near the

future site of Petersburg, Virginia. In 1610, she was killed by the English in retaliation for the deaths of fourteen settlers. 5. Daughter of Powhatan (c. 1 591—1617), s h e w a s mentioned in Smith's earlier versions of his captivity narrative, but first emerged as its heroine only in the History, which was published seven years after her death in England. 6. I.e., they thought him as variously skilled as themselves.

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T h e y say he bore a p l e a s a n t show, B u t s u r e his heart w a s s a d . F o r w h o c a n p l e a s a n t b e , a n d rest, T h a t lives in fear a n d d r e a d : A n d having life s u s p e c t e d , doth It still s u s p e c t e d l e a d . 7 T w o days after, P o w h a t a n , having d i s g u i s e d h i m s e l f in the m o s t fearfulest m a n n e r h e c o u l d , c a u s e d C a p t a i n S m i t h to b e b r o u g h t forth to a great h o u s e in the w o o d s a n d there u p o n a m a t by the fire to be left a l o n e . N o t long after, from b e h i n d a m a t that divided the h o u s e , w a s m a d e the m o s t dolefulest noise h e ever h e a r d ; then P o w h a t a n m o r e like a devil t h a n a m a n , with s o m e two h u n d r e d m o r e a s b l a c k a s himself, c a m e u n t o him a n d told him now they were friends, a n d presently he s h o u l d g o to J a m e s t o w n to s e n d him two great g u n s a n d a g r i n d s t o n e for which he would give him the country of C a p a h o w a s i c a n d forever e s t e e m him a s his son N a n t a q u o u d . 8 S o to J a m e s t o w n with twelve g u i d e s P o w h a t a n s e n t him. T h a t night they q u a r t e r e d in the w o o d s , he still e x p e c t i n g (as h e h a d d o n e all this long time of his i m p r i s o n m e n t ) every h o u r to be p u t to o n e d e a t h or other, for all their feasting. B u t almighty G o d (by His divine p r o v i d e n c e ) h a d mollified the hearts of t h o s e stern b a r b a r i a n s with c o m p a s s i o n . T h e next m o r n i n g b e t i m e s they c a m e to the fort, w h e r e S m i t h having u s e d the s a v a g e s with what kindn e s s h e c o u l d , he s h o w e d R a w h u n t , P o w h a t a n ' s trusty servant, two d e m i c u l v e r i n s 9 a n d a millstone to carry [to] P o w h a t a n ; they f o u n d t h e m s o m e w h a t too heavy, but w h e n they did s e e him d i s c h a r g e t h e m , b e i n g l o a d e d with s t o n e s , a m o n g the b o u g h s of a great tree l o a d e d with icicles, the ice a n d b r a n c h e s c a m e so t u m b l i n g d o w n that the p o o r s a v a g e s ran away half d e a d with fear. B u t at last we r e g a i n e d s o m e c o n f e r e n c e with t h e m a n d gave t h e m s u c h toys a n d sent to P o w h a t a n , his w o m e n , a n d children s u c h p r e s e n t s a s gave t h e m in g e n e r a l full c o n t e n t . N o w in J a m e s t o w n they were all in c o m b u s t i o n , the s t r o n g e s t p r e p a r i n g o n c e m o r e to run away with the p i n n a c e ; w h i c h , with the hazard of his life, with saker f a l c o n 1 a n d m u s k e t s h o t , S m i t h forced now the third time to stay or sink. S o m e , n o better than they s h o u l d b e , h a d plotted with the P r e s i d e n t the next day to have him p u t to d e a t h by the Levitical l a w , 2 for the lives of R o b i n s o n a n d E m r y ; p r e t e n d i n g the fault w a s his that had led t h e m to their e n d s ; but h e quickly took s u c h order with s u c h lawyers that he laid t h e m by the heels till he sent s o m e of t h e m p r i s o n e r s for E n g l a n d . N o w every o n c e in four or five d a y s , P o c a h o n t a s with her a t t e n d a n t s b r o u g h t him so m u c h provision that saved m a n y of their lives, that else for all this h a d starved with h u n g e r . T h u s from n u m b d e a t h our g o o d G o d sent relief, T h e sweet a s s u a g e r of all other grief.* 7. Derived from a translation of Euripides by Fotherby. 8. I.e., Powhatan would esteem him as highly as his own son N a n t a q u o u d . Capahowasic was along the York River near where Smith was held prisoner. 9. Large cannons. I. Small falcon.

2. "And he that killeth any man shall surely be put to death" (Leviticus 2 4 . 1 7 ) . 3. Apparently the first line is Smith's own, based on Fotherby, but the second is borrowed directly from Fotherby's translation from a quotation of Euripides found in Plutarch.

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His relation o f the plenty h e h a d s e e n , especially at W e r o w o c o m o c o , a n d of the s t a t e a n d b o u n t y o f P o w h a t a n (which till that time w a s u n k n o w n ) , s o revived their d e a d spirits (especially the love of P o c a h o n t a s ) 4 as all m e n ' s fear w a s a b a n d o n e d . T h u s you m a y s e e what difficulties still c r o s s e d any g o o d e n d e a v o r ; a n d the g o o d s u c c e s s of the b u s i n e s s b e i n g t h u s oft b r o u g h t to t h e very period of d e s t r u c t i o n ; yet you s e e by what s t r a n g e m e a n s G o d h a t h still delivered it. #

#

*

F r o m The Fourth [SMITH'S

FAREWELL

TO

Book VIRGINIA]

T h u s far I have traveled in this W i l d e r n e s s o f Virginia, not b e i n g ignorant for all m y p a i n s this d i s c o u r s e will b e w r e s t e d , t o s s e d a n d t u r n e d a s m a n y ways as there is l e a v e s ; 5 that I have written t o o m u c h o f s o m e , t o o little of o t h e r s , a n d m a n y s u c h like o b j e c t i o n s . T o s u c h I m u s t a n s w e r , in the C o m pany's n a m e I w a s r e q u e s e d to d o i t , 6 if a n y have c o n c e a l e d their a p p r o v e d experiences from my k n o w l e d g e , they m u s t e x c u s e m e : a s for every fatherless or stolen relation, 7 or whole v o l u m e s of s o p h i s t i c a t e d r e h e a r s a l s , I leave t h e m to the c h a r g e o f t h e m that desire t h e m . I t h a n k G o d I never u n d e r t o o k anything yet [for which] a n y c o u l d tax m e o f c a r e l e s s n e s s or d i s h o n e s t y , a n d w h a t 8 is h e to w h o m I a m indebted or t r o u b l e s o m e ? A h ! were t h e s e m y a c c u s e r s b u t to c h a n g e c a s e s a n d p l a c e s with m e [for] b u t two years, or till they h a d d o n e b u t s o m u c h a s I, it m a y b e they would j u d g e m o r e charitably of m y i m p e r f e c t i o n s . B u t h e r e I m u s t leave all to the trial o f t i m e , both myself, Virginia's p r e p a r a t i o n s , p r o c e e d i n g s a n d g o o d e v e n t s , praying to that great G o d the p r o t e c t o r of all g o o d n e s s to s e n d t h e m a s g o o d s u c c e s s as the goodn e s s of the a c t i o n 9 a n d country d e s e r v e t h , a n d m y heart d e s i r e t h . 1624

From

A Description of N e w England

W h o c a n desire m o r e c o n t e n t , that hath small m e a n s ; or b u t only his merit to a d v a n c e his fortune, t h a n to tread, a n d plant that g r o u n d h e h a t h purc h a s e d by the hazard of his life? If he have b u t the taste o f virtue, a n d m a g n a n i m i t y , 1 what to s u c h a m i n d c a n b e m o r e p l e a s a n t , t h a n p l a n t i n g a n d building a f o u n d a t i o n for his posterity, got from the r u d e e a r t h , by G o d ' s b l e s s i n g a n d his own industry, without p r e j u d i c e 2 to any? If h e have a n y grain of faith or zeal in religion, what c a n h e d o less hurtful to a n y ; or m o r e a g r e e able to G o d , t h a n to s e e k to convert t h o s e p o o r s a v a g e s to know C h r i s t , a n d 4. I.e., the evident affection of Pocahontas for Smith and the English was instrumental in reviving the colonists' spirits. 5. Pages. 6. Smith was not requested to write the whole General History by the Virginia Company, so it is not clear what his reference is here. Possibly the discourse to which he refers is the brief summary of recommendations for the "reformation" of Vir-

ginia that ends T h e Fourth Book and that he drew up at the request of the royal commissioners charged with effecting that reformation. or "fugitive" narratives. 7. I.e., anonymous "Approved": proven. 8. Who; i.e., he has been a burden to nobody. 9. Venture. "Events": results. 1. Greatness of spirit. 2. Harm.

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h u m a n i t y , w h o s e labors with discretion will triple r e q u i t e thy c h a r g e a n d p a i n s ? W h a t so truly suits with honor a n d honesty, a s the d i s c o v e r i n g things u n k n o w n ? erecting t o w n e s , p e o p l i n g c o u n t r i e s , i n f o r m i n g the ignorant, reforming things u n j u s t , t e a c h i n g virtue; a n d gainfing] to our native m o t h e r country a k i n g d o m to a t t e n d her; find[ing] e m p l o y m e n t for t h o s e that a r e idle, b e c a u s e they k n o w not what to d o : so far from w r o n g i n g any, a s to c a u s e posterity to r e m e m b e r t h e e ; a n d r e m e m b e r i n g thee, ever h o n o r that r e m e m b r a n c e with p r a i s e ? *

*

*

T h e n , w h o w o u l d live at h o m e idly (or think in himself any worth to live) only to eat, drink, a n d s l e e p , a n d so die? O r by c o n s u m i n g that carelessly, [which] his friends got worthily? O r by u s i n g that miserably, [which] m a i n t a i n e d virtue honestly? Or, for b e i n g d e s c e n d e d nobly, p i n e with the vain vaunt of great kindred, in p e n u r y ? ' O r (to m a i n t a i n a silly s h o w of bravery) toil o u t thy heart, s o u l , a n d t i m e , basely, by shifts, 4 tricks, c a r d s , a n d dice? O r by relating n e w s of o t h e r s ' a c t i o n s , s h a r k 5 here or there for a dinner, or s u p p e r ; deceive thy friends, by fair p r o m i s e s , a n d d i s s i m u l a t i o n , in b o r r o w i n g w h e r e thou never i n t e n d e s t to pay; offend the laws, surfeit with e x c e s s , burden thy country, a b u s e thyself, d e s p a i r in want, a n d then c o z e n 6 thy kindred, yea even thine own brother, a n d wish thy p a r e n t s ' d e a t h (I will not say d a m nation) to have their e s t a t e s ? t h o u g h thou s e e s t w h a t h o n o r s , a n d rewards, the world yet hath for t h e m will s e e k t h e m a n d worthily deserve t h e m .

Let this m o v e you to e m b r a c e e m p l o y m e n t , for t h o s e w h o s e e d u c a t i o n s , spirits, a n d j u d g m e n t s , w a n t but your p u r s e s ; not only to prevent s u c h a c c u s t o m e d d a n g e r s , but a l s o to gain m o r e thereby than you have. A n d you fathers that are either so foolishly f o n d , or so miserably c o v e t o u s , or so wilfully ignorant, or so negligently c a r e l e s s , a s that you will rather m a i n t a i n your children in idle w a n t o n n e s s , till they grow your m a s t e r s ; or b e c o m e so basely unkind, a s they wish n o t h i n g but your d e a t h s ; so that both sorts grow diss o l u t e : a n d a l t h o u g h you would wish t h e m a n y w h e r e to e s c a p e the gallows, a n d e a s e your c a r e s ; t h o u g h they s p e n d you h e r e o n e , two, or three h u n d r e d p o u n d a year; you would g r u d g e to give half s o m u c h in a d v e n t u r e with t h e m , to obtain a n e s t a t e , which in a small time but with a little a s s i s t a n c e of your p r o v i d e n c e , 7 might be better than your own. B u t if a n a n g e l s h o u l d tell you, that any p l a c e yet u n k n o w n c a n afford s u c h f o r t u n e s ; you w o u l d not believe h i m , no m o r e than C o l u m b u s w a s believed there w a s any s u c h land a s is now the well-known a b o u n d i n g A m e r i c a ; m u c h less s u c h large regions a s are yet u n k n o w n , a s well in A m e r i c a , as in Africa, a n d Asia, a n d T e r r a I n c o g n i t a ; w h e r e were c o u r s e s for g e n t l e m e n (and t h e m that would be s o r e p u t e d ) m o r e suiting their q u a l i t i e s , t h a n b e g g i n g from their Prince's g e n e r o u s d i s p o s i t i o n , the labors of his s u b j e c t s , a n d the very m a r r o w of his m a i n t e n a n c e . I have not b e e n s o ill bred, but I have t a s t e d of plenty a n d p l e a s u r e , a s well a s want a n d misery: nor doth necessity yet, or o c c a s i o n of d i s c o n t e n t , force m e to t h e s e e n d e a v o r s : nor a m I ignorant what small t h a n k I shall have for my p a i n s ; or that m a n y would have the world i m a g i n e t h e m to b e of great 3. I.e., live in poverty while claiming great ancestors. 4. Expedients. "Bravery": fine appearances.

5. Sponge. 6. Deceive. "Excess": overindulgence. 7. Provision.

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j u d g m e n t , that c a n but b l e m i s h t h e s e my d e s i g n s , by their witty o b j e c t i o n s a n d d e t r a c t i o n s : yet (I h o p e ) my r e a s o n s with my d e e d s , will s o prevail with s o m e , that I shall not w a n t 8 e m p l o y m e n t in t h e s e affairs, to m a k e the m o s t blind s e e his own s e n s e l e s n e s s , a n d incredulity; h o p i n g that gain will m a k e t h e m affect that, which religion, charity, a n d the c o m m o n g o o d c a n n o t . It were but a p o o r device in m e , to deceive myself; m u c h m o r e the king, a n d s t a t e , my friends, a n d country, with t h e s e i n d u c e m e n t s : w h i c h , s e e i n g his M a j e s t y hath given p e r m i s s i o n , I wish all sorts of worthy, h o n e s t , i n d u s t r i o u s spirits, would u n d e r s t a n d : a n d if they desire any further s a t i s f a c t i o n , I will d o my b e s t to give it: N o t to p e r s u a d e t h e m to g o only; 9 but go with t h e m : N o t leave t h e m there; b u t live with t h e m there. I will not say, but by ill providing a n d u n d u e m a n a g i n g , s u c h c o u r s e s m a y be t a k e n , m a y m a k e u s m i s e r a b l e e n o u g h : 1 B u t if I m a y have the execution of w h a t I have p r o j e c t e d ; if they w a n t to eat, let t h e m eat or never digest m e . 2 If I p e r f o r m w h a t I say, I desire but that reward o u t of the g a i n s m a y suit my p a i n s , quality, a n d condition. A n d if I a b u s e you with my t o n g u e , take my h e a d for s a t i s f a c t i o n . If any dislike at the year's e n d , defraying their c h a r g e , * by my c o n s e n t they s h o u l d freely return. I fear not w a n t of c o m p a n y sufficient, were it but known what I know of t h o s e c o u n t r i e s ; a n d by the p r o o f of that wealth I h o p e yearly to return, if G o d p l e a s e to b l e s s m e from s u c h a c c i d e n t s , a s are beyond my p o w e r in r e a s o n to prevent: For, I a m not s o s i m p l e , to think, that ever any other motive than wealth, will ever erect there a C o m m o n w e a l t h ; or draw c o m p a n y from their e a s e a n d h u m o r s at h o m e , to stay in N e w E n g l a n d to effect my p u r p o s e s . And lest any s h o u l d think the toil might be i n s u p p o r t a ble, t h o u g h t h e s e things m a y be h a d by labor, a n d d i l i g e n c e : I a s s u r e myself there are [those] who delight extremely in vain p l e a s u r e , that take m u c h m o r e p a i n s in E n g l a n d , to enjoy it, than I s h o u l d do here to gain wealth sufficient: a n d yet I think they s h o u l d not have half s u c h sweet c o n t e n t : for, o u r pleasure here is still g a i n s ; in E n g l a n d , c h a r g e s a n d loss. H e r e n a t u r e a n d liberty afford u s that freely, which in E n g l a n d we want, or it c o s t s u s dearly. W h a t p l e a s u r e c a n be m o r e , than (being tired with any o c c a s i o n a - s h o r e ) 4 in planting vines, fruits, or h e r b s , in contriving their own g r o u n d s , to the p l e a s u r e of their own m i n d s , their fields, g a r d e n s , o r c h a r d s , b u i l d i n g s , s h i p s , a n d other works, e t c . , to r e c r e a t e t h e m s e l v e s before their own d o o r s , in their own b o a t s u p o n the s e a , where m a n , w o m a n a n d child, with a s m a l l h o o k a n d line, by angling, may take diverse sorts of excellent fish, at their p l e a s u r e s ? A n d is it not pretty sport, to pull up two p e n c e , six p e n c e , a n d twelve p e n c e , a s fast a s you c a n haul a n d veer 5 a line? H e is a very b a d fisher [who] c a n n o t kill in o n e day with his h o o k a n d line, o n e , two, or three h u n d r e d c o d s : which d r e s s e d a n d dried, if they be sold there for ten shillings the h u n d r e d ( t h o u g h in E n g l a n d they will give m o r e then twenty); m a y not both the servant, the m a s t e r , a n d m e r c h a n t , be well c o n t e n t with this g a i n ? If a m a n work but three days in seven, h e m a y get m o r e than he c a n s p e n d , u n l e s s he will be excessive. N o w that c a r p e n t e r , m a s o n , g a r d e n e r , tailor, s m i t h , sailor, forge r s , 6 or w h a t other, m a y they not m a k e this a pretty recreation t h o u g h they fish but an h o u r in a day, to take m o r e than they eat in a week: or if they

8. Lack. 9. Alone. 1. I.e., he won't promise that even with bad management they'll succeed. 2. I.e., or never read Smith's works.

3. I.e., once they have paid the cost of their support for the year. 4. S o m e casual occurrence. 5. I.e., fish. 6. I.e., ironworkers.

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will not eat it, b e c a u s e there is so m u c h better c h o i c e ; yet sell it, or c h a n g e it, with the fishermen, or m e r c h a n t s , for anything they want. A n d what sport d o t h yield a m o r e p l e a s i n g c o n t e n t , a n d l e s s hurt or c h a r g e t h a n angling with a hook, a n d c r o s s i n g the sweet air from isle to isle, over the silent s t r e a m s of a c a l m s e a , wherein the m o s t c u r i o u s m a y find p l e a s u r e , profit, a n d content. T h u s , t h o u g h all m e n be not fishers: yet all m e n , w h a t s o e v e r , m a y in other m a t t e r s do a s well. F o r n e c e s s i t y doth in t h e s e c a s e s s o rule a C o m m o n w e a l t h , a n d e a c h in their several f u n c t i o n s , a s their l a b o r s in their qualities may be a s profitable, b e c a u s e there is a n e c e s s a r y m u t u a l u s e of all. F o r G e n t l e m e n , what exercise s h o u l d m o r e delight t h e m , t h a n r a n g i n g daily t h o s e u n k n o w n p a r t s , u s i n g fowling a n d fishing, for h u n t i n g a n d hawking? a n d yet you shall s e e the wild hawks give you s o m e p l e a s u r e , in s e e i n g t h e m s t o o p 7 (six or seven after o n e a n o t h e r ) a n h o u r or two together, at the s c h o o l s of fish in the fair h a r b o r s , a s t h o s e a s h o r e at a fowl; a n d never trouble nor t o r m e n t yourselves, with w a t c h i n g , m e w i n g , feeding, a n d a t t e n d i n g t h e m : nor kill h o r s e a n d m a n with r u n n i n g a n d crying, S e e you not a h a w k ? 8 F o r h u n t i n g a l s o : the w o o d s , l a k e s , a n d rivers, afford not only c h a s e sufficient, for a n y that delights in that kind of toil, or p l e a s u r e ; b u t s u c h b e a s t s to h u n t , that b e s i d e s the delicacy of their b o d i e s for food, their skins a r e s o rich, a s m a y well r e c o m p e n c e thy daily labor, with a c a p t a i n ' s pay. F o r laborers, if t h o s e that sow h e m p , r a p e , 9 t u r n i p s , p a r s n i p s , c a r r o t s , c a b b a g e , a n d s u c h like; give twenty, thirty, forty, fifty shillings yearly for a n a c r e of g r o u n d , a n d m e a t , drink, a n d w a g e s to u s e it, a n d yet grow rich: w h e n better, or at least a s g o o d g r o u n d , m a y b e h a d a n d c o s t n o t h i n g b u t labor; it s e e m s s t r a n g e to m e , any s u c h s h o u l d there grow poor. M y p u r p o s e is not to p e r s u a d e children [to go] from their p a r e n t s ; m e n from their wives; nor servants from their m a s t e r s : only, s u c h a s with free c o n s e n t m a y b e s p a r e d : B u t that e a c h p a r i s h , or village, in city, or country, that will but a p p a r e l their fatherless children, of thirteen or fourteen years of a g e , or y o u n g m a r r i e d p e o p l e , that have s m a l l wealth to live o n ; here by their labor m a y live exceedingly well: provided always that first there be a sufficient power to c o m m a n d t h e m , h o u s e s to receive t h e m , m e a n s to d e f e n d t h e m , a n d m e e t provisions for t h e m ; for, any p l a c e m a y b e overlain: 1 a n d it is m o s t n e c e s s a r y to have a fortress (ere this grow to p r a c t i c e ) a n d sufficient m a s t e r s (as, c a r p e n t e r s , m a s o n s , fishers, fowlers, g a r d e n e r s , h u s b a n d m e n , sawyers, s m i t h s , s p i n s t e r s , tailors, w e a v e r s , a n d s u c h like) to t a k e ten, twelve, or twenty, or a s there is o c c a s i o n , for a p p r e n t i c e s . T h e m a s t e r s by this may quickly grow rich; t h e s e m a y learn their t r a d e s t h e m s e l v e s , to d o the like; to a general a n d a n incredible benefit, for king, a n d country, m a s t e r , a n d servant. 1616

7. Swoop down. 8. Smith contrasts the delight of watching wild hawks hunt their prey in America with the tedious care that keepers of trained hawks in England must

give their birds—as when such birds fly away and must be hunted for all over the countryside. 9. I.e., the rape plant. 1. Overcome.

NEW

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ENGLAND'S TRIALS

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New England's Trials1

H e r e I m u s t e n t r e a t e a little your favors to d i g r e s s . T h e y did not kill the E n g l i s h b e c a u s e they were C h r i s t i a n s , 2 but for their w e a p o n s a n d c o m m o d ities, that were rare novelties; but n o w they fear we m a y b e a t t h e m o u t of their d e n s , which lions a n d tigers would not a d m i t but by f o r c e . B u t m u s t this be a n a r g u m e n t for a n E n g l i s h m a n , 3 or d i s c o u r a g e any either in Virginia or N e w E n g l a n d ? N o : for I have tried t h e m both. F o r Virginia, I kept that country with thirty-eight, a n d h a d n o t 4 to eat but w h a t we h a d from the s a v a g e s . W h e n I h a d ten m e n a b l e to g o a b r o a d , our c o m m o n w e a l t h w a s very strong: with s u c h a n u m b e r I r a n g e d that u n k n o w n country f o u r t e e n w e e k s ; I h a d but e i g h t e e n to s u b d u e t h e m all, with which great a r m y I stayed six w e e k s before their greatest king's h a b i t a t i o n s , till they h a d g a t h e r e d together all the power they c o u l d ; a n d yet the D u t c h m e n sent at a n e e d l e s s excessive c h a r g e did help P o w h a t a n how to betray m e . 5

* ' *' * F o r w r o n g i n g a soldier but the value of a penny, I have c a u s e d P o w h a t a n [to] s e n d his own m e n to J a m e s t o w n to receive their p u n i s h m e n t at my discretion. It is true in our g r e a t e s t extremity they shot m e , slew three of my m e n , a n d by the folly of t h e m that fled took m e p r i s o n e r ; yet G o d m a d e P o c a h o n t a s the king's d a u g h t e r the m e a n s to deliver m e : a n d thereby t a u g h t m e to know their treacheries to preserve the rest. It w a s a l s o my c h a n c e in single c o m b a t to take the king of P a s p a h e g h 6 prisoner, a n d by k e e p i n g h i m , [I] f o r c e d his s u b j e c t s to work in c h a i n s , till I m a d e all the country pay contribution, having little e l s e w h e r e o n to live. T w i c e in this time I w a s their p r e s i d e n t , 7 a n d n o n e c a n say in all that time I h a d a m a n slain: but for k e e p i n g t h e m in that fear I w a s m u c h b l a m e d both there a n d here: yet I left 5 0 0 b e h i n d m e that t h r o u g h their c o n f i d e n c e in six m o n t h s c a m e m o s t to c o n f u s i o n , a s you m a y read at large in the d e s c r i p t i o n of Virginia. 8 W h e n I went first to t h o s e d e s p e r a t e d e s i g n s , it c o s t m e m a n y a forgotten p o u n d to hire m e n to g o ; a n d p r o c r a s t i n a t i o n c a u s e d m o r e [to] run away than went. B u t after the ice w a s broken, c a m e m a n y brave voluntaries: n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g s i n c e I c a m e from t h e n c e , the h o n o r a b l e C o m p a n y have b e e n h u m b l e suitors to his M a j e s t y to get v a g a b o n d s a n d c o n d e m n e d m e n to go thither; nay s o m u c h s c o r n e d w a s the n a m e of Virginia, s o m e did 1. I.e., tests or experiments, not sufferings. 2. Smith here is speaking of the massacre of settlers in Virginia in March 1622, news of which reached New England sometime in May of that year. In mustering support for settlement in New England, he obviously had to take into account the dampening effect of events in Virginia. 3. I.e., such events are not strong enough to dissuade an Englishman. "Admit": allow. 4. Nothing. "With thirty-eight": i.e., he protected or secured Virginia by means of a very modest force. 5. Several " D u t c h " (probably G e r m a n ) skilled workers had been shipped to Virginia in 1608. Sent to build a house for Powhatan, they hinted to him that they would take his side against the English, and soon were plotting against Smith and the col-

ony. Arrested by the English and brought back to Jamestown for execution, they were saved when a new ship arrived from England, bringing fresh supplies and important new instructions for President Smith and Virginia's governing council. 6. Paspahegh was the Algonquian name for the region around J a m e s t o w n . Smith took its chief, Wowinchopunck, prisoner in 1609. An engraving in the 1st edition of the General History shows this episode. 7. Smith was president of the Virginia council for only a single term; editors generally a s s u m e that he here means "twice during the time I was their president these things happened," although the passage may have been garbled. 8. I.e., Smith's first book, which contains a section so titled. "Confidence": i.e., overconfidence.

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c h o o s e to be h a n g e d ere they would go thither, a n d were: yet for all the worst of spite, detraction a n d d i s c o u r a g e m e n t , a n d this l a m e n t a b l e m a s s a c r e , there is m o r e h o n e s t m e n now suitors to g o , t h a n ever hath b e e n c o n s t r a i n e d k n a v e s ; a n d it is not u n k n o w n to m o s t m e n of u n d e r s t a n d i n g , how h a p p y m a n y of t h o s e c a l u m n i a t o r s do think t h e m s e l v e s , that they m i g h t be admitted, a n d yet pay for their p a s s a g e to go now to Virginia: a n d h a d I b u t m e a n s to transport a s m a n y a s would g o , I might have c h o i c e of 1 0 , 0 0 0 that would gladly be in any of t h o s e new p l a c e s , which were so basely c o n d e m n e d by ungrateful b a s e m i n d s . T o range this country of N e w E n g l a n d in like m a n n e r I h a d but eight, a s is said, a n d a m o n g s t their b r u t e 9 c o n d i t i o n s I met m a n y of their silly e n c o u n ters, a n d without any hurt, G o d be t h a n k e d ; w h e n your W e s t country m e n were m a n y of t h e m w o u n d e d a n d m u c h t o r m e n t e d with the s a v a g e s that a s s a u l t e d their s h i p , a s they did say t h e m s e l v e s , in the first year I w a s there 1 6 1 4 , a n d t h o u g h M a s t e r H u n t then m a s t e r with m e did m o s t basely in stealing s o m e s a v a g e s from that c o a s t to sell, w h e n he w a s directed to have g o n e for S p a i n . 1 * * * I s p e a k not this o u t of vainglory, a s it m a y be s o m e g l e a n e r s , 2 or s o m e w a s never there m a y c e n s u r e m e , but to let all m e n be a s s u r e d by t h o s e e x a m p l e s , w h a t t h o s e s a v a g e s a r e that t h u s strangely do m u r d e r a n d betray our c o u n t r y m e n . B u t to the p u r p o s e . W h a t is already written of the h e a l t h f u l n e s s of the air, the r i c h n e s s of the soil, the g o o d n e s s of the w o o d s , the a b u n d a n c e of fruits, fish, a n d fowl in their s e a s o n , they still affirm that have b e e n there now near two years, a n d at o n e d r a u g h t * they have taken 1 0 0 0 b a s s e s , a n d in o n e night twelve hogsh e a d s of herring. T h e y a r e building a strong fort, they h o p e shortly to finish, in the interim they are well provided: their n u m b e r is a b o u t a h u n d r e d pers o n s , all in h e a l t h , a n d well n e a r sixty a c r e s of g r o u n d well p l a n t e d with corn, b e s i d e s their g a r d e n s well r e p l e n i s h e d with useful fruits; a n d if their adventurers would but furnish t h e m with n e c e s s a r i e s for fishing, their w a n t s w o u l d quickly be s u p p l i e d . 4 T o supply t h e m this sixteen of O c t o b e r is g o i n g the Paragon with sixty-seven p e r s o n s , a n d all this is d o n e by private m e n ' s p u r s e s . A n d to c o n c l u d e in their own w o r d s , s h o u l d they write of all p l e n t i e s they have f o u n d , they think they s h o u l d not be believed.

T h u s you may s e e plainly the yearly s u c c e s s from N e w E n g l a n d (by Virg i n i a ) s which hath b e e n so costly to this k i n g d o m a n d s o d e a r to m e , which either to s e e perish or b u t bleed, p a r d o n m e t h o u g h it p a s s i o n a t e m e beyond the b o u n d s of m o d e s t y , to have b e e n sufficiently a b l e to f o r e s e e it, a n d h a d neither power nor m e a n s how to prevent it. By that a c q u a i n t a n c e I have with t h e m , I m a y call t h e m my children, for they have b e e n my wife, my hawks, 9. Tough. 1. Smith here refers to the tough going among earlier English voyagers to New England, especially Sir Ferdinando Gorges (1568—1647), a backer of Smith, and T h o m a s Hunt, who had been with Smith on the latter's 1614 voyage to the region. Hunt had stirred up much trouble with the local American Indians by kidnapping more than twenty of them, including the Native American Tisquantum (called " S q u a n t o " by the Pilgrims) to sell into slavery in Spain.

2. T h o s e who pick through events in search of bits of scandal. 3. A single haul of the fish net. 4. Here Smith speaks of the Plymouth settlers. "Adventurers": the investors who backed the Pilgrim venture. 5. I.e., by Virginia's example; Plymouth had barely been settled, hut the longer experience of the English in Virginia (with all its faults) could be used to suggest the probable course of events in New England.

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my h o u n d s , my c a r d s , my d i c e , a n d in total my b e s t c o n t e n t , a s indifferent to my heart a s m y left h a n d to my right; 6 a n d n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g all t h o s e m i r a c l e s of d i s a s t e r s have c r o s s e d both t h e m a n d m e , yet were there not o n e E n g l i s h m a n r e m a i n i n g (as G o d be t h a n k e d there is s o m e t h o u s a n d s ) I would yet begin again with a s small m e a n s a s I did at the first; not for that I have any secret e n c o u r a g e m e n t from any I protest, m o r e than l a m e n t a b l e exper i e n c e s : for all their discoveries I c a n yet hear of, are but pigs of my own s o w ; 7 nor m o r e s t r a n g e to m e than to hear o n e tell m e he h a t h g o n e from Billingsgate a n d discovered G r e e n w i c h , G r a v e s e n d , Tilbury, Q u e e n b o r o u g h , Leigh a n d M a r g a t e , which to t h o s e did never h e a r of t h e m , t h o u g h they dwell in E n g l a n d , might be m a d e s e e m s o m e rare s e c r e t s a n d great c o u n t r i e s u n k n o w n , except the relations of M a s t e r D i r m e r . 8 *

*

*

W h a t here I have written by relation, if it b e not right, I h u m b l y entreat your p a r d o n s , b u t I have not s p a r e d any diligence to learn the truth of t h e m that have b e e n actors or s h a r e r s in t h o s e voyages: in s o m e p a r t i c u l a r s they might deceive m e , but in the s u b s t a n c e s they c o u l d not, for few c o u l d tell m e anything, except w h e r e they fished: but s e e i n g all t h o s e [that] have lived there, d o confirm m o r e than I have written, I d o u b t not but all t h o s e testim o n i e s with t h e s e n e w - b e g u n e x a m p l e s of p l a n t a t i o n , will move both city a n d country freely to a d v e n t u r e with m e a n d my p a r t n e r s m o r e than p r o m i s e s , s e e i n g I have from his M a j e s t y letters p a t t e n t , s u c h h o n e s t , free a n d large c o n d i t i o n s a s s u r e d m e from his c o m m i s s i o n e r s , a s I h o p e will satisfy any h o n e s t u n d e r s t a n d i n g . 1622 6. I.e., as equally dear to me as one hand or the other. 7. T h e offspring of Smith's deeds; i.e., the accomplishments of others would not have been possible had he not gone before. 8. These are all well-known places in England. Smith's point is that once he had led the way into America, the English who followed him had

N a t i v e

A m e r i c a n

accomplished nothing truly bold. The exception was Master T h o m a s Dermer (d. 1621), who had accompanied Smith to New England in 1614, had spent two years in Newfoundland ( 1 6 1 6 - 1 8 ) , and had returned to New England in 1619—in the process acquiring more knowledge about the region than Smith.

T r i c k s t e r

T a l e s

Trickster is the term first used by Dame 1 G—Rrinfrm in the nineteenth century to describe a mythic character who appears in the oral tales of the peoples of Native America. A wandering, excessive, bawdy, gluttonous, and obscene figure—usually male but able to alter his sex whenever necessarv----ready to copulate with his own daughter or daughter-in-law or to send his penis swimming across rivers in search of sexua"! adventure, trickster is selfish, amoral, toolish, and destructive, a threat to order ~everywhe~fe7Yet trickster is also a culture hero and transformer whose actions, in the earhesMlmes—the time of myth when the earth was yet "soft" and incompletely formed—helped give to the world just that order which humans would historically come to know. Wakjankaga, the Winnebago trickster, for example, not only is "the Foolish One" but also, as in one of the stories reprinted here, is Kunuga, First Son of rVla'una, the

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Earthmaker, sent to instruct or destro) monsters w ho would be harmful to the people (a mission he foolishly forgets). Iktomi, the Sioux trickster, is also among the first beings created, and surprisingly does aid the people. It is trickster, too, who, in a Clatsop Chinook tale, establishes the taboos that humans will need to observe if fishing is to be engaged in successfully. In still other stories, trickster is the one who steals fire for the benefit of humankind and who introduces death into the world so that human beings may truly know the value of life. Even in the case of those stories that are broadly comic or bawdy, trickster tales have the power associated with the sacred. Traditional native peoples, in the past and in the present, believe that the stories have real effects in the world; thus they often restrict their narration to the winter, the time between the first killing frost and the first thunderstorm, a period when the earth is still. Brinton's term, trickster, it should be said, has no equivalent in any native language. Rather, the trickster figure is called Coyote in California, Oregon, the inland plateau, the Great Basin, the Southwest, and the southern plains; Rabbit or Hare in the Southeast; Spider in the northern plains; Raven in the Arctic and sub-Arctic; and Jay or Wolverine in parts of Canada. All of these are names for animals: is the trickster, then, an animal? The answer is a definite yes and no. As Barre Toelken (transcriber and translator of a Navajo Coyote tale) puts it, for the Navajo: There is no possible distinction between Ma'i, the animal we recognize as a coyote in the fields, and Ma'i the personification of Coyote power in all coyotes, and Ma'i the character (trickster, creator, and buffoon) in legends and tales, and Ma'i, the symbolic character of disorder in the myths. Ma'i is not a composite but a complex; a Navajo would see no reason to distinguish separate aspects. Indeed, in the age of myth the distinction between animals and humans was not nearly so great as we find it today. Paiute Coyote stories, for example, begin, Sumu onosu numeka nan quane ynas, "Once long ago when we were all the same." Thus when visualizing Coyote or Rabbit, Bear or Raven, it is entirely appropriate to see them as appearing more or less in the animal shapes with which we are familiar. This is not the case with Iktomi, who, although his name is translated as Spider, does not have the shape of a spider. (And how to visualize Wakjankaga; Manabush of the Great Lakes area; or Gluskabe, a trickster figure from Maine, is much less clear.) Trickster tales are among the most ancient elements of Native American cultures, and they have survived because they have over the years provided both great pleasure and important instruction. In some degree, any listener (or, as here, any reader) may enjoy and learn from them. As the Winnebago storyteller Felix White Sr. has phrased it, "The story character, he does so many unthought of things in there that it causes the listener to start thinking, 'Why does he do that?' It's a process of making somebody exercise his mind to think." But the kind of "thinking" a listener must do to learn and even to enjoy is culturally prepared thinking; the listener must be aware, that is, of whether "the story character" is behaving in a manner that his culture views with approval or disapproval. Thus, although some trickster stories do have an etiological element—so that's why coyotes have yellow eyes!—many Native American audiences do not take them to show the way in which specific actions have served as causes for specific effects. Rather, a more usual response is to understand that it is because Coyote or Rabbit or Raven violated cultural norms that sickness or calamity ensued—or that trickster wound up in some comical mess. Awareness of the cultural norms that provide the unspoken context for each of these tales thus is important for understanding the moral lessons that they teach, as it also increases one's enjoyment of them. (Not all cultures find the same things funny.) The stories printed here come from the WinqebagQjf the Great Lakes and the Muskogean Koasati of the Southeast- Trickster tales vary in their appearance on the page. From the end of the nineteenth century to just past the middle of the twentieth century, those who wrote down Native American narratives, influenced by German-

F E L I X W H I T E S R . ' S INTRODUCTION TO WAKJANKAGA

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American anthropologist Franz Boas's commitment to linguistic accuracy, presented their transcriptions and translations in highly literal prose. Since that time, however, following the pioneering work of the anthropologists and linguists Dell Hymes and Dennis Tedlock, many "mythographers"—transcribers and translators of oral storytelling—have opted for verse forms that attempt to convey the dramatic structure and even the performative dynamics of oral narration, which may include the pace, volume, and pitch of the narrator's voice as well as the audience's response. In one instance, we present the same tale as told by one narrator around 1910 and by another around 1977. Thus the reader can see how the "same" tale may actually differ, traditional and original elements both shaping an actual oral performance (as, indeed, the gender and historical circumstances of the two narrators may also inflect their performances). The editors of this anthology have specifically requested and been granted permission to reprint these stories from surviving family members of Bel Abbey and Felix White Sr. A word of warning before proceeding: trickster figures are found throughout the world; and although there are undoubtedly similarities among them, it is wise to be cautious before venturing cross-cultural generalizations. In addition, the term trickster has become fashionable in some contemporary fiction and criticism, in which it has been used to signify virtually anything disruptive or unconventional. Whatever interest this development may have, it is best to think of it separately from the culturespecific traditional tricksters and their tales.

WINNEBAGO A Siouan-speaking people who came to their homelands at the western end of what is now Green Bay, Wisconsin, from some more southeasterly location perhaps a thousand years ago, the Winnebago lived by hunting large and small game; by fishing; by planting corn, squash, and beans; and by gathering_wijd p f * an^ h p r r i p ^ . W i n n p h a g n culture is rich in trickster tales, with stories not only of Wakjankaga, the "Foolish One," but of Hare the trickster as well. The stories reprinted here come from The Trickster: A Study in American Indian Mythology (1956), a collection of forty-nine Winnebago trickster stories edited by anthropologist Paul Radin. Radin, a student of Franz Boas, had begun collecting stories about Wakjankaga as early as ljLL2r-and the manner in which they came into English on the page is of some interest. Radin himself did not hear any of the tales narrated, nor did he know the identity of the narrator. Rather, a Winnebago consultant of Radin's named Sam Blowsnake persuaded "an older individual," as Radin notes, to tell the stories to him in the Winnebago language. Blowsnake wrote them down; and then Radin, Blowsnake, and another Winnebago man, Oliver LaMere, collaborated on the translation into English, which Radin, consistent with Boasian practice, published in quite literal prose. It was Radin's stated belief that "the identity of the narrator . . . is not really of great importance"; and, it is safe to assume, the dynamics of the stories' actual performance (about which he knew nothing) would also have seemed to him "not really of great importance." But critical opinion has changed considerably. Today it is widely recognized that the storyteller's individuality very much affects the tale and the way in which it is told—and that the way in which it is told affects the way in which it is understood. Thus we supplement the seven tales from Radin's Trickster with material from a contemporary Winnebago storyteller, Felix White Sr. His Introduction to Wakjankaga serves as a preface to several trickster tales he narrated in the Winnebago

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language in 1983. The transcription and translation were prepared by Kathleen Danker and White himself. The format in which Danker presents the story on the page is much indebted to the work of Dell Hymes and Dennis Tedlock.

Felix W h i t e S r . ' s I n t r o d u c t i o n to W a k j a n k a g a Stories

about

Wakjankaga

Ah Wakjankaga, the stories they u s e d to tell a b o u t h i m , those, to begin w i t h —

5

Ah— I will do t h e m . A b o u t four, 1 perhaps. T h i s evening, I will tell t h e m .

i° His

Name

Yes, yes! and— Wakjankaga, Wakjankaga, they u s e d to call h i m .

5

W h e n It W a s All N e w . 2 As I said in w h i t e m a n ' s talk, this is how it w a s — Ma'una (The Earthmaker)— T h e s o n s he m a d e , that's w h o he w a s : h e w a s k u n u n a (the first s o n ) . People, t h o s e w h o walk o n two l e g s , 3 w h e n , on e a r t h , they were g o i n g t h r o u g h difficulties—

io

is

T h a t ' s what h a p p e n e d , somehow, then, that's what h a p p e n e d — 1. Perhaps a reference to the pattern number frequently found in Native American stories. Trickster, as we shall see, is the first son of Ma'una, the Earthmaker—who, however, has four more sons,

five in all. 2. In the earliest, mythic, or sacred time. 3. I.e., humans, not animal people; in particular, Winnebago people.

FELIX WHITE SR.'S

I N T R O D U C T I O N TO W A K J A N K A G A

B a d things, big t h i n g s —

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20

B e c a u s e they 4 were playing r o u g h with the p e o p l e , so it w a s — Ma'una, it w a s b e c a u s e he s a w t h e m —

25

H e m a d e for himself a p e r s o n , a n d , w h e n he sent him to the earth, that's what h a p p e n e d — H e w a s called W a k j a n k a g a .

30

Until that time h e w a s called, t h e n , K u n u g a (First S o n ) , h e w a s called, t h o u g h . O n arriving, well, s o m e t h i n g wakjanka (foolish), b e c a u s e he did i t 5 —

35

S o it w a s W a k j a n k a g a (the F o o l i s h O n e ) h e w a s called.

40

H e b r o u g h t the n a m e on himself. His

Duties

Yes, When It Was All New— W h e n he arrived h e r e , it w a s in order to w a t c h over this e a r t h , that's what, t h e n , he s h o u l d have d o n e —

5

T h o s e that were playing r o u g h with p e o p l e , this is how it w a s — H e w a s s u p p o s e d to kill t h e m . Then again— Good— if they would do anything at all g o o d , he w a s to t e a c h t h e m things, t o o . 4. Unspecified evil beings. 5. The foolish thing he did—forgetting to kill the

io

evil beings if they could not be taught not to hurt the people—will be described a bit later on.

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Not teachable— if they weren't, well, h e w a s s u p p o s e d to kill t h e m ; that's h o w it w a s —

'5

H e c a m e to do it, m a y b e . 6 His Folly and His

Travels

Yes, W h e n It W a s All N e w , w h e n h e arrived h e r e , it h a p p e n e d like t h i s — The people, because he saw them, t h e n — T h e s e w h o walk on two legs, b e c a u s e h e w a s f a s c i n a t e d by t h e m , t h e n , he started to t e a s e t h e m , m a y b e . Again, b e c a u s e h e a c t e d like that, wellW h a t e v e r he w a s d o i n g , t o o H e forgot a b o u t it, a n d then all over the earth h e went traveling. 7 His

H

Longing

Yes, finally, he would arrive s o m e p l a c e , a n d then— Yes a n d then—

5

The Winnebagoes, again it w a s to t h e m h e would start to go b a c k , t h e n — People, people, b e c a u s e h e l o n g e d for t h e m . 6. Like the phrase often translated "it is said" in other tales, "maybe" indicates that the narrator has no personal or direct knowledge of these things. It is not meant to introduce the possibility of any

io

doubt. 7. This tendency to travel or wander over the earth is c o m m o n to all tricksters,

THE WINNEBAGO TRICKSTER CYCLE

From

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T h e Winnebago Trickster Cycle 19

A s [Trickster] c o n t i n u e d his a i m l e s s w a n d e r i n g u n e x p e c t e d l y , m u c h to his s u r p r i s e , h e m e t a little fox. "Well, my y o u n g e r brother, here you a r e ! You are travelling, aren't y o u ? " "Yes, yes, here I a m ! " a n s w e r e d the littleToxl " T h e world is g o i n g to b e a difficult p l a c e to live in a n d I a m trying to find s o m e c l e a n p l a c e in which to dwell. T h a t is w h a t I a m looking for." " O h , oh, my y o u n g e r brother, what you have said is very true. I, too, w a s thinking of the very s a m e thing. I have always w a n t e d to have a c o m p a n i o n , s o let u s live t o g e t h e r . " Trickster c o n s e n t e d , a n d so they went o n to look for a p l a c e in which to dwell. A s they ran a l o n g they e n c o u n t e r e d a jay. "Well, well, my y o u n g e r brother, what are you d o i n g ? " a s k e d Trickster. " O l d e r brother, I a m looking for a p l a c e to live in b e c a u s e the world is s o o n g o i n g to b e a difficult p l a c e in which to dwell." " W e a r e looking for the very s a m e thing. W h e n I h e a r d my y o u n g e r brother s p e a k i n g of this I envied him very m u c h . S o let u s live together, for we a l s o are h u n t i n g for s u c h a p l a c e . " T h u s s p o k e Trickster. T h e n they went on together a n d s o o n they c a m e a c r o s s a ftgtgggfljgfl (nit), "Well, well, my y o u n g e r brother, what a r e you d o i n g ? " they a s k e d . " O l d e r brothers, I a m looking for a p l e a s a n t p l a c e to live i n , " the bird a n s w e r e d . "Younger brother, we a r e travelling a b o u t looking for the s a m e thing. W h e n I h e a r d t h e s e others saying that they w a n t e d to live together a s c o m p a n i o n s I liked it. L e t u s , therefore, live t o g e t h e r , " said Trickster. T h e y were all a g r e e d a n d s o o n they c a m e to a p l a c e w h e r e the river forked a n d w h e r e there w a s a lovely p i e c e of l a n d with red o a k s growing u p o n it. It w a s i n d e e d a beautiful p l a c e . T h i s , they a g r e e d , w a s a delightful p l a c e to live in, a n d so they s t o p p e d there a n d built t h e m s e l v e s a l o d g e . In the fall, w h e n everything w a s ripe, they h a d , of c o u r s e , all they w a n t e d to eat. However, winter s o o n a p p r o a c h e d a n d not long after it b e g a n , a d e e p s n o w fell. T h e situation of the four now b e c a m e i n d e e d very difficult. T h e y h a d n o t h i n g to e a t a n d they were getting q u i t e hungry. T h e n T r i c k s t e r s p o k e , " Y o u n g e r b r o t h e r s , it is g o i n g to be very difficult. H o w e v e r , if we d o the thing I a m a b o u t to s u g g e s t , it will be g o o d . S o , at least, I think." "All right, if it is indeed s o m e t h i n g g o o d that our older brother m e a n s we certainly will d o it, for otherwise s o m e of u s will starve to d e a t h . W h a t is it that we s h o u l d d o that is g o o d a n d by which we c a n get s o m e t h i n g to e a t ? " " L i s t e n . T h e r e is a village yonder, w h e r e they a r e enjoying great b l e s s i n g s . T h e c h i e f h a s a son w h o is killing m a n y a n i m a l s . H e is not married yet but is thinking of it. Let u s g o over there. I will d i s g u i s e myself a s a w o m a n a n d marry h i m . T h u s we c a n live in p e a c e until spring c o m e s . " " G o o d ! " they e j a c u l a t e d . All were willing a n d delighted to p a r t i c i p a t e . 20 Trickster n o w took a n elk's liver a n d m a d e a vulva from it. T h e n h e took s o m e elk's kidneys a n d m a d e b r e a s t s from t h e m . Finally h e p u t o n a w o m a n ' s d r e s s . In this d r e s s his friends e n c l o s e d him very firmly. T h e d r e s s e s he w a s

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u s i n g were t h o s e that the w o m e n w h o h a d taken him for a r a c c o o n h a d given h i m . 1 H e now s t o o d there t r a n s f o r m e d into a very pretty w o m a n i n d e e d . T h e n h e let the fox have i n t e r c o u r s e with him a n d m a k e h i m p r e g n a n t , 2 then the jaybird a n d , finally, the nit. After that h e p r o c e e d e d toward the village. N o w , at the e n d of the village, lived a n old w o m a n * a n d s h e i m m e d i a t e l y a d d r e s s e d him, saying, " M y g r a n d d a u g h t e r , what is your p u r p o s e in travelling a r o u n d like this? Certainly it is with s o m e object in view that you are travelling!" T h e n the old w o m a n went o u t s i d e a n d s h o u t e d , " H o ! H o ! T h e r e is s o m e o n e here w h o h a s c o m e to court the chief's s o n . " 4 T h i s , at least, is what the old w o m a n s e e m e d to be saying. T h e n the chief s a i d to his d a u g h t e r s , " H o ! T h i s clearly is what this w o m a n w a n t s a n d is the r e a s o n for her c o m i n g ; so, my d a u g h t e r s , g o a n d bring your sister-in-law h e r e . " T h e n they went after her. S h e certainly w a s a very h a n d s o m e w o m a n . T h e chief's son liked her very m u c h . I m m e d i a t e l y they p r e p a r e d dried c o r n for her a n d they boiled slit b e a r - r i b s . 5 T h a t w a s why T r i c k s t e r w a s getting m a r r i e d , of c o u r s e . W h e n this food was ready they put it in a dish, c o o l e d it, a n d p l a c e d it in front of Trickster. H e d e v o u r e d it at o n c e . 6 T h e r e s h e (Trickster) r e m a i n e d . N o t long after Trickster b e c a m e p r e g n a n t . 7 T h e chief's son w a s very happy a b o u t the fact that h e w a s to b e c o m e a father. N o t long after that Trickster gave birth to a boy. T h e n again h e b e c a m e p r e g n a n t a n d gave birth to a n o t h e r boy. Finally for the third time he b e c a m e p r e g n a n t a n d gave birth to a third boy. 21 T h e last child cried as s o o n as it w a s born a n d n o t h i n g c o u l d s t o p it. 8 T h e crying b e c a m e very s e r i o u s a n d s o it w a s d e c i d e d to s e n d for a n old w o m a n w h o h a d the r e p u t a t i o n for b e i n g able to pacify children. S h e c a m e , but s h e , likewise, c o u l d not pacify h i m . Finally the little child cried o u t a n d s a n g : "If I only c o u l d play with a little p i e c e of white cloudT' T h e y went in s e a r c h of a s h a m a n , for it w a s the chief's son w h o w a s a s k i n g for this a n d , c o n s e q u e n t l y , no m a t t e r what the c o s t , it h a d to b e o b t a i n e d . H e h a d a s k e d for a p i e c e of white c l o u d , a n d a p i e c e of white c l o u d , a c c o r d ingly, they tried to obtain. B u t how c o u l d they obtain a p i e c e of white c l o u d ? All tried very hard a n d , finally, they m a d e it snow. T h e n , w h e n the s n o w w a s quite d e e p , they gave him a p i e c e of s n o w to play with a n d he s t o p p e d crying. After a while he again cried out a n d s a n g : "If I c o u l d only play with erpiece of blue_sky!" T h e n they tried to obtain a p i e c e of b l u e sky for h i m . Very hard they tried, but were not able to obtain any. In the spring of the year, however, they gave him a p i e c e of b l u e g r a s s a n d he s t o p p e d crying. After a while he b e g a n to cry a g a i n . T h i s time he a s k e d for s o m e b l u e 1. In an earlier story of the cycle. 2. It is no problem at all for the male trickster to become pregnant and later to give birth. 3. This is a parody of the conventional type of Winnebago folktale which always has an old woman living at the end of the village [adapted from Radin's note]. 4. This paragraph describes things being done in an inappropriate manner, e.g., the son should be doing the courting not the other way around, nor

would a chief permit his son to marrv a stranger. 5. This is the proper food tor a "bridal" meal [Radin's note]. 6. It is completely against Winnebago etiquette to eat in this fashion [Radin's note]. 7. Remember that trickster was already pregnant by fox, jay, and nit. 8. It is not usual for Winnebago children to cry. Continuous crying implied something serious and had to be interpreted [Radin's note].

THE WINNEBAGO TRICKSTER

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(green) leaves. T h e n the fourth time he asked_for s o m e r o a s t i n g e a r s . T h e y gave him g r e e n leaves a n d roasting e a r s of corn a n d h e s t o p p e d crying. O n e day later, a s They were s t e a m i n g c o r n , the c h i e f s wife t e a s e d her sister-in-law. 9 S h e c h a s e d her a r o u n d the pit w h e r e they were s t e a m i n g c o r n . Finally, the chief's son's wife (Trickster) j u m p e d over the pit a n d s h e d r o p p e d s^omething very rotten. T h e p e o p l e s h o u t e d at her, "It is TnclSterT'' T h e m e n were all a s h a m e d , especially the chief's s o n . T h e a n i m a l s w h o h a d b e e n with Trickster, the fox, the jaybird a n d the nit, all of t h e m now ran away. 1 22 Trickster a l s o ran away. S u d d e n l y he said to himself, "Well, why a m I doing all this? It is a b o u t time that I went b a c k to the w o m a n to w h o m I a m really m a r r i e d . K u n u m u s t b e a pretty big boy by this t i m e . " T h u s s p o k e Trickster. T h e n he went a c r o s s the lake to the w o m a n to w h o m h e w a s really m a r r i e d . W h e n h e got there he f o u n d , m u c h to his s u r p r i s e , that the boy that had b e e n born to him was i n d e e d q u i t e grown u p . T h e chief w a s very happy w h e n Trickster c a m e h o m e . " M y son-in-law h a s c o m e h o m e , " he e j a c u l a t e d . H e w a s very happy i n d e e d . Trickster h u n t e d g a m e for his child a n d killed very m a n y a n i m a l s . T h e r e he stayed a long time until his child had b e c o m e a grown-up m a n . T h e n , w h e n he saw that his child was able to take c a r e of himself, he said, "Well, it is a b o u t time for m e to start travelling again for my boy is q u i t e grown u p n o w . 2 I will go a r o u n d the earth a n d visit p e o p l e for I a m tired of staying here. I u s e d to w a n d e r a r o u n d the world in p e a c e . H e r e I a m j u s t giving myself a lot of t r o u b l e . " 23 As he went w a n d e r i n g a r o u n d aimlessly h e s u d d e n l y heard s o m e o n e speaking. H e listened very carefully a n d it s e e m e d to say, " H e w h o c h e w s m e will d e f e c a t e ; h e will d e f e c a t e ! " * T h a t w a s what it w a s saying. "Well, why is this p e r s o n talking in this m a n n e r ? " said Trickster. S o he walked in the direction from which h e h a d heard the s p e a k i n g a n d a g a i n he h e a r d , q u i t e near him, s o m e o n e saying: " H e w h o c h e w s m e , h e will d e f e c a t e ; h e will d e f e c a t e ! " T h i s is what w a s said. "WelF, why d o e s this p e r s o n talk in s u c h f a s h i o n ? " said Trickster. T h e n he walked to the other s i d e . S o h e c o n t i n u e d walking a l o n g . T h e n right at his very s i d e , a voice s e e m e d to say, " H e w h o c h e w s m e , he will d e f e c a t e ; he will d e f e c a t e ! " "Well, I w o n d e r who it is w h o is s p e a k i n g . I know very well that if I c h e w it, I will not d e f e c a t e . " B u t he kept looking a r o u n d for the s p e a k e r a n d finally d i s c o v e r e d , m u c h to his a s t o n i s h m e n t , that it w a s a b u l b on a b u s h . T h e bulb it was that w a s s p e a k i n g . S o he seized 9. By our reckoning she would he her daughterin-law, but "sister-in-law" is used because, as Radin explains, if trickster had married into the c h i e f s family without changing sex, he would have been the chief's wife's son-in-law and joking between son-in-law and mother-in-law "is simply unthinkable," a very powerful taboo. Joking and teasing between sisters-in-law, however, is a common practice. 1. The three Iriends run away b e c a u s e the taboos that trickster's disguise has caused to be broken— in general, making a mockery of the chief's family; in particular, causing the chief's son to have

engaged in homosexual a c t s — a r e very serious. Even trickster himself, in the next segment of the cycle, runs away, soberly questioning his actions rather than merely laughing. 2. Again the reverse of what is appropriate: it is the young man who should venture out into the world [adapted from Radin's note]. 3. T h e tale of the talking "laxative bulb" is widespread throughout Native American cultures. Apart from its entertainment value as gross, scatological humor, it teaches a number of lessons, such as; do not he gullible and do not think yourself superior to natural forces.

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it, p u t it in his m o u t h , c h e w e d it, a n d then swallowed it. H e did j u s t this a n d then went o n . "Well, w h e r e is the b u l b g o n e that talked so m u c h ? W h y , i n d e e d , s h o u l d I d e f e c a t e ? W h e n I feel like d e f e c a t i n g , then I shall d e f e c a t e , n o s o o n e r . H o w c o u l d s u c h a n object m a k e m e d e f e c a t e ! " T h u s s p o k e Trickster. E v e n a s h e s p o k e , however, h e b e g a n to b r e a k w i n d . "Well this, I s u p p o s e , is w h a t it m e a n t . Yet the b u l b said I would d e f e c a t e , a n d I a m merely expelling g a s . In any c a s e I a m a great m a n even if I d o expel a little g a s ! " T h u s h e s p o k e . As h e w a s talking h e a g a i n broke w i n d . T h i s t i m e it w a s really q u i t e strong. "Well, what a foolish o n e I a m . T h i s is why I a m called F o o l i s h O n e , Trickster." N o w h e b e g a n to b r e a k wind again a n d a g a i n . " S o this is why the b u l b s p o k e a s it did, I s u p p o s e . " O n c e m o r e he b r o k e wind. T h i s t i m e it w a s very loud a n d his r e c t u m b e g a n to s m a r t . "Well, it surely is a great t h i n g ! " T h e n h e broke wind a g a i n , this time with s o m u c h f o r c e , that h e w a s propelled forward. "Well, well, it m a y even m a k e m e give a n o t h e r p u s h , b u t it won't m a k e m e d e f e c a t e , " s o h e e x c l a i m e d defiantly. T h e next time he b r o k e wind, the hind part of his body w a s raised u p by the force of the explosion a n d he l a n d e d o n his k n e e s a n d h a n d s . "Well, g o a h e a d a n d do it a g a i n ! G o a h e a d a n d do it a g a i n ! " T h e n , a g a i n , h e b r o k e wind. T h i s time the force of the expulsion sent him far up in the air a n d h e l a n d e d on the g r o u n d , on his s t o m a c h . T h e next time he broke wind, h e h a d to h a n g o n to a log, s o high w a s h e thrown. H o w e v e r , he r a i s e d h i m s e l f u p a n d , after a while, l a n d e d on the g r o u n d , the log o n top of h i m . H e w a s a l m o s t killed by the fall. T h e next time he broke wind, h e h a d to hold o n to a tree that s t o o d n e a r by. It w a s a p o p l a r a n d he held o n with all his might yet, n e v e r t h e l e s s , even then, his feet flopped u p in the air. A g a i n , a n d for the s e c o n d t i m e , h e held on to it w h e n h e broke wind a n d yet h e pulled the tree u p by the r o o t s . T o protect himself, the next t i m e , he went on until h e c a m e to a large tree, a large o a k tree. A r o u n d this h e put b o t h his a r m s . Yet, w h e n h e b r o k e wind, h e w a s s w u n g u p a n d his t o e s s t r u c k a g a i n s t the tree. H o w e v e r , h e held o n . After that h e ran to a p l a c e w h e r e p e o p l e were living. W h e n h e got there, he s h o u t e d , " S a y , hurry u p a n d take your lodge d o w n , for a big warparty is u p o n you a n d you will surely be killed! C o m e let u s get a w a y ! " H e s c a r e d t h e m all s o m u c h that they quickly took d o w n their l o d g e , piled it on Trickster, a n d then got on him t h e m s e l v e s . 4 T h e y likewise p l a c e d all the little d o g s they h a d o n top of Trickster. J u s t then he b e g a n to b r e a k wind again a n d the force of the e x p u l s i o n s c a t t e r e d the things o n top of him in all directions. T h e y fell far a p a r t from o n e a n o t h e r . S e p a r a t e d , the p e o p l e w e r e s t a n d i n g a b o u t a n d s h o u t i n g to o n e a n o t h e r ; a n d the d o g s , s c a t t e r e d h e r e a n d t h e r e , howled at o n e a n o t h e r . T h e r e s t o o d T r i c k s t e r l a u g h i n g at t h e m till h e a c h e d . N o w h e p r o c e e d e d o n w a r d . H e s e e m e d to have g o t t e n over his t r o u b l e s . "Well, this b u l b did a lot of talking," he said to himself, "yet it c o u l d not m a k e m e d e f e c a t e . " B u t even a s he s p o k e he b e g a n to have the d e s i r e to d e f e c a t e , j u s t a very little. "Well, I s u p p o s e this is w h a t it m e a n t . It certainly b r a g g e d a g o o d d e a l , however." As he s p o k e he d e f e c a t e d a g a i n . "Well, w h a t a braggart it w a s ! I s u p p o s e this is why it s a i d t h i s . " A s h e s p o k e t h e s e last w o r d s , h e b e g a n to d e f e c a t e a g o o d d e a l . After a while, a s h e w a s sitting d o w n , his body would t o u c h the e x c r e m e n t . T h e r e u p o n he got o n top of a 4. These things are contrary to what is appropriate: one does not destroy a lodge that would serve as protection, nor is one expected to run from the enemy.

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log a n d sat down there but, even then, he t o u c h e d the e x c r e m e n t . Finally, he c l i m b e d u p a log that w a s l e a n i n g a g a i n s t a tree. H o w e v e r , his body still t o u c h e d the e x c r e m e n t , s o he went up higher. Even t h e n , however, h e t o u c h e d it s o he c l i m b e d still higher u p . H i g h e r a n d higher he h a d to g o . N o r was he a b l e to s t o p d e f e c a t i n g . N o w he w a s on top of the tree. It w a s small a n d q u i t e u n c o m f o r t a b l e . M o r e o v e r , the e x c r e m e n t b e g a n to c o m e u p to him. 24 Even on the limb on which he w a s sitting he b e g a n to d e f e c a t e . S o he tried a different position. S i n c e the limb, however, w a s very slippery he fell right down into the e x c r e m e n t . D o w n he fell, down into the d u n g . In fact he d i s a p p e a r e d in it, a n d it w a s only with very great difficulty that he w a s able to get out of it. His raccoon-skin blanket w a s covered with filth, a n d h e c a m e out d r a g g i n g it after him. T h e p a c k he w a s carrying on his b a c k w a s covered with d u n g , a s w a s also the box c o n t a i n i n g his p e n i s . 5 T h e box he e m p t i e d a n d then p l a c e d it on his b a c k a g a i n . 25 T h e n , still blinded by the filth, he started to run. H e c o u l d not s e e anything. As he ran he k n o c k e d a g a i n s t a tree. T h e old m a n 6 cried out in p a i n . H e r e a c h e d out a n d felt the tree a n d s a n g : " T r e e , what kind of a tree are you? Tell m e s o m e t h i n g a b o u t yourself!" A n d the tree a n s w e r e d , " W h a t kind of a tree do you think I a m ? I a m an o a k tree. I a m the forked o a k tree that u s e d to s t a n d in the m i d d l e of the valley. I a m that o n e , " it said. " O h , my, is it p o s s i b l e that there might be s o m e water a r o u n d h e r e ? " Trickster a s k e d . T h e tree a n s w e r e d , " G o straight o n . " T h i s is what it told h i m . As he went a l o n g he b u m p e d u p a g a i n s t a n o t h e r tree. H e w a s k n o c k e d b a c k w a r d s by the collision. Again he s a n g : " T r e e , what kind of a tree are you? Tell m e s o m e t h i n g a b o u t yourself!" " W h a t kind of a tree d o you think I a m ? T h e red o a k tree that u s e d to s t a n d at the e d g e of the valley, I a m that o n e . " " O h , my, is it p o s s i b l e that there is water a r o u n d h e r e ? " a s k e d Trickster. T h e n the tree a n s w e r e d a n d said, " K e e p straight o n , " a n d so h e went a g a i n . S o o n he k n o c k e d a g a i n s t another tree. H e s p o k e to the tree a n d s a n g : " T r e e , what kind of a tree are you? Tell m e s o m e t h i n g a b o u t yourself!" " W h a t kind of a tree d o you think I a m ? T h e slippery elm tree that u s e d to s t a n d in the m i d s t of the o t h e r s , I a m that o n e . " T h e n T r i c k s t e r a s k e d , " O h , my, is it p o s s i b l e that there would be s o m e water n e a r h e r e ? " A n d the tree a n s w e r e d a n d said, " K e e p right o n . " O n he went a n d s o o n he b u m p e d into a n o t h e r tree a n d h e t o u c h e d it a n d s a n g : " T r e e , what kind of a tree are you? Tell m e s o m e t h i n g a b o u t yourself!" " W h a t kind of a tree do you think I a m ? I a m the b a s s w o o d tree that u s e d to s t a n d on the e d g e of the water. T h a t is the o n e I a m . " " O h , my, it is g o o d , " said Trickster. S o there in the water he j u m p e d a n d lay. H e w a s h e d himself thoroughly. 5. That trickster carries his penis in a box was established in earlier stories. It is this box that he washes at the end of the next section of the story.

6. T h e term "old m a n , " instead of First-born, is occasionally applied to Trickster [Radin's note).

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It is said that the old m a n a l m o s t died that t i m e , for it w a s only with the g r e a t e s t difficulty that h e f o u n d the water. If the trees h a d not s p o k e n to him h e certainly w o u l d have died. Finally, after a long time a n d only after great exertions, did he c l e a n himself, for the d u n g h a d b e e n on h i m a long time a n d h a d dried. After he h a d c l e a n s e d h i m s e l f h e w a s h e d his r a c c o o n skin blanket a n d his box.

KOASATI Koasati is the name for a branch of the Muskogean language group and also for the five hundred to a thousari3j5£QrjIe of southwestern Louisiana arid eastern Texas who peak il today. Rabbit, Cokfi, is the Koasati trickster, and stories about him, generally told by older men and women considered to have a special talent for narration, may be related in any season, not only in winter. S o long as the events in a traditional tale occur in prescribed order, narrators have considerable leeway in what they wish to embellish, condense, or even omit. As elsewhere throughout indigenous America, these trickster stories are understood by the audience to illustrate and reaffirm, through positive or negative examples, culturally appropriate behavior. For the Koasati, as also for the Okanogan, trickster tales are taken as explaining the origins of some feature of the natural world. Anthropologist John R. Swanton recorded nearly fifty narratives from two Koasati people in 1910, one ofWhojrjJjjaj Selin Williamf ( 1 8 4 1 - 1 9 1 7 ) . Her narration of the story type referred to as The Bungling Host" appears hpre jn a retranslat'on oLSwanton's material by anthropologist and linguist Geoffrey Kimball. Kimball has been collecting stories from Koasati speakers in Louisiana since 1977. The version of "The Bungling Host" story told by Bel Abbey ( 1 9 1 6 - 1 9 9 2 ) is from a tape recording Kimball made in 1977. The translation is Kimball's, with the assistance of the narrator. It is Kimball's supposition that the versions differ so greatly in their length because this is a tale Abbey especially liked (he seems particularly interested in Bear), whereas it was not one of Williams's favorites. Other of her recorded stories are much richer in detail, and she probably agreed to tell this one chiefly because Swanton urged her to tell him all the stories she knew.

The Bungling Host by Bel Abbey SCENE

I: B E A R

by Selin INVITES

la N o w , B e a r u s e d to dwell s o m e where, b a n d h e a n d Rabbit u s e d to visit e a c h other, s o it is said. 2 Thereupon, 3 "Visit m e later!" h e said, 4 "Visit m e later!" h e said to Rabbit.1

RABBIT TO

Williams

DINNER

B e a r a n d Rabbit w e r e friends i with e a c h other, s o it is s a i d . Then, 2a Bear spoke, b " G o a n d visit m e later," he s a i d 3 and went.

1. Abbey's interest in Bear is indicated by his elaboration of Bear's thought.

THE

BUNGLING

HOST

Thereupon, "I w a s a b o u t to visit y o u , " said Rabbit to B e a r . S C E N E II: B E A R F E E D S R A B B I T W I T H H I M S E L F

7a T h e r e u p o n , b h e went over there to visit him, c a n d after the two of t h e m were sitting, a he h a d nothing to give to him to eat; e " W h a t am I g o i n g to feed him?" he thought, f a n d then he knew. 8a Well, b e c a u s e B e a r w a s fat, b h e pulled out his s t o m a c h , c a n d p i c k i n g u p a knife, d a n d c u t t i n g off a p i e c e , e c o o k e d it, f a n d fed R a b b i t with it, s o it is s a i d . 2 9a T h e r e u p o n , b Rabbit really sat a n d w a t c h e d , s o it is said.

Rabbit went a n d arrived over there, A n d B e a r , having sliced himself u p the m i d d l e , took o u t s o m e fat, a n d fried it, a n d it is s a i d that R a b b i t a t e it.

1

S C E N E III: R A B B I T INVITES B E A R TO D I N N E R

ioa T h e r e u p o n , b having merely j u s t visited him, h e returned h o m e , i I "You too g o over to my p l a c e later!" h e s a i d . 12 "You too g o over to my p l a c e later!" he said, 13 A n d B e a r went to visit Rabbit, s o it is said. i4a Well, he went over to visit Rabbit, b a n d after he sat down. . . . i5a N o w , Bear's h o u s e was the inside of a hollow tree, b the two of t h e m sat dwelling in the hollow tree, c a n d after the two of t h e m dwelt there, a h e went over to Rabbit's dwelling p l a c e . i6a R a b b i t dwelt within a little g r a s s dwelling; b within that w a s his dwelling,

Thereupon, Rabbit spoke, "You too g o over to my p l a c e later!" h e s a i d .

6a b 7

2. Bear can cut away a piece of himself without being hurt not only because he is fat but b e c a u s e — a s the audience would know—he has magic power that allows him to do this.

+

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s o it is said. Over there the two of t h e m sat. S C E N E IV: R A B B I T I N J U R E S H I M S E L F I M I T A T I N G B E A R

is Rabbit s p o k e , 19a " P l e a s e sit d o w n ! I shall c o o k ! " he said, b a n d after the two of t h e m stayed t h e r e , 20a H e h i m s e l f did w h a t h e had seen, b he picked up a knife a n d cut out a p i e c e , c h e c u t his s t o m a c h , so it is said. 2ia N o w he himself b e i n g scrawny a n d lean, b he injured h i m s e l f c u t t i n g himself, c "Help me! Help me! I need h e l p ! " he said. 22 B e a r ran over. 23 " W h a t is i t ? " 24 "I a m injured. It is the c a s e that I have c u t myself," he said. 25 Thereupon, 26a "I intend to look for a doctor, t h e n , " B e a r said, b a n d it is said that he ran out. 27a T h e other lay on the g r o u n d , b he had c u t his s t o m a c h .

B e a r having arrived over there to visit him Rabbit sliced himself u p the middle a n d there w a s n o t h i n g there. B e a r having sliced h i m s e l f u p the middle again fried it a n d they a t e . ' Afterwards, Rabbit w a s a b o u t to d i e . 4

Thereupon, after he had run a ways, h e c a u g h t sight of him sitting on a b r a n c h , d he c a u g h t sight of Vulture sitting on a b r a n c h , e he a s k e d q u e s t i o n s of h i m , s o it is said. 29 Thereupon, 3. Kimball notes that this is a "major stylistic Haw" because Bear's preparation of another meal is inconsistent with the main concern of this scene, Rabbit's serious injury. This may be an indication of Williams's general lack of interest in this particular story. 4. Rabbit, a typical trickster, misunderstands who he is and what he can do: not only that Bear is fat while Rabbit is lean but that Bear's immunity to harm results from special power that Rabbit does not possess.

la b

§1$

•

S C E N E V: V U L T U R E I S

28a b c

1

ENCOUNTERED

H e w a s laying on the g r o u n d , And they 6 went a r o u n d looking for a doctor, A n d they sent for Vulture.

12 13 14

5. Although Vulture was once considered a legitimate doctor, with genuine power to heal, by the time these tales were told this was no longer the case. For both Williams and Abbey, Vulture is a fraud. It is Hymes's belief that scenes V through VII in both versions actually c o m e from "The S h a m Doctor," another type of story widespread in Native American cultures. 6. Williams's error; Rabbit is lying on the ground and only Bear is looking for the doctor.

THE

30 31 32 33

37 38 39 40 41a b 42;. b 43a b 44;, b

45a b 46a b

48 49

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After he said, "I n e e d h e l p . " " W h a t is it that you w a n t ? " "I a m looking for a d o c t o r . " "Why do you want to look for help?" "It is the c a s e that my friend Rabbit is i n j u r e d , " he s a i d . "It is the c a s e that R a b b i t is injured, it is the c a s e that h e h a s suffered a knife w o u n d , " he said. "If you tell m e a b o u t it, I will p e r h a p s help him, a n d it is the c a s e that I will d o c t o r h i m , " he said. S C E N E : VI: V U L T U R E

36

BUNGLING HOST

After they arrived over there, Thereupon, " W h e r e is he lying?" he said. " H e lies over h e r e , " he s a i d . Thereupon, " W h a t are you d o i n g ? W h a t do you w a n t ? " h e said. " F e n c e in his h o u s e p e r h a p s ! W o u l d that it b e e n c i r c l e d ! " h e said " L o o k for p a l m e t t o leaves, F e n c e it all in a n d m a k e a h o u s e encircling it!" " E n o u g h now! G o out! H e will follow you u p o n my d o c t o r i n g h i m , " he s a i d . T h e r e u p o n , well, Vulture m a d e Rabbit cry out, s o it is s a i d . W h e n Rabbit cried out, B e a r said, "Why is he m a k i n g a sound?" "It is nothing. H e d o e s not want the m e d i c i n e from m e , " h e said. Thereupon, "Why is it that he doesn't want i t ? " he said. "It is the c a s e that he doesn't

7. Williams's interest in Vulture encourages her to elaborate here. Although Vulture has his own reasons for not wanting anyone to watch him work his

DOCTORS

RABBIT

Vulture spoke, "You all are to c l o s e m e u p in his h o u s e with h i m , a n d there a r e to b e no c r a c k s , n o o n e c a n look at m e , 7 only s o c a n I d o c t o r h i m , " he said. T h e y c l o s e d him u p with h i m . A n d t h e n , for a t i m e , Rabbit cried o u t , a n d then it ceased. "Why is i t ? " they s a i d . "It is nothing! H e is really afraid of the m e d i c i n e , " he said. Then, " O p e n ye the d o o r for m e ! " h e said. T h e y o p e n e d it for him, a n d h e flew over there a n d p e r c h e d on a b r a n c h .

15 16a

23a b

medicine, the details given in both versions may also reflect the practice of legitimate medicine persons who insisted on secrecy.

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b 51 52 53 54a b c d e

KOASATI

w a n t m e to give him my medicine, and he made noise," he said. Thereupon, " W h a t else do you n e e d ? " h e said. Then, "Nothing, I a m a b o u t to finish d o c t o r i n g him. B u t now h e is g o o d . N o w it is the c a s e that he is good," he said. A n d flying u p went a n d p e r c h e d on a tree branch.

•

•

S C E N E VII: V U L T U R E I S

55a b c d e f g

h 56a b c d e

Thereupon, after B e a r went in a n d s a w it, that he h a d e a t e n R a b b i t all up, that he h a d e a t e n u p his flesh, that he h a d thrown d o w n n o t h i n g but b o n e s , B e a r b e c a m e extremely angry, he took o u t the knife that h e carried, a n d h e threw it overh a n d at V u l t u r e . After he threw it at h i m , it went t h r o u g h his b e a k , it p i e r c e d his beak, it went through his b e a k , a n d he took it, h e t o o k the knife a n d threw it away, so it is said.

ASSAULTED

T h e y went a n d s a w R a b b i t , 24 A n d it is s a i d that he h a d laid 25 down nothing but bones. Thereupon, 26a they l o a t h e d vulture a n d shot b at h i m , T h e y shot a n d hit a n d m a d e it 27 p a s s t h r o u g h only his b e a k . Vulture spoke, 28 " O h ! I will like a n o s e - r i n g , " h e 29 said. • •

S C E N E VIII: T H E R E S U L T O F B E A R ' S A C T I O N 8

57a H e would have killed him, b he missed, c a n d it is said that he p i e r c e d his beak. 58a T h e r e u p o n , b he was pierce-beaked,

8. Williams ends with Vulture pleased with his meal, his safe escape, and his pierced beak. S h e does not, in this telling, add the etiological or

explanatory feature generally expected by the Koasati—that birds ever since have had pierced b e a k s — a s does Abbey.

WILLIAM BRADFORD

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c

it is the c a s e that B e a r pierced it on h i m ; d it s e e m s he carried it a s his p o s s e s s i o n unceasingly, it is said that they carried it all the time. 59 J u s t like that, any kind of bird is pierce-beaked. 60 J u s t so it is said that they are pierced. 61 J u s t so m u c h [is what I know of this]. 62 Finis!

WILLIAM

BRADFORD

1 590-1657 William Bradford epitomizes the spirit of determination and self-sacrifice that seems to us characteristic of our first "Pilgrims," a word Bradford himself used to describe the community of believers who sailed from Southampton, England, on the Mayflower and settled in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1 6 2 0 . For Bradford, as well as for the other members of this community, the decision to settle at Plymouth was the last step in a long march of exile from England, and the hardships they suffered in the new land were tempered with the knowledge that they were in a place they had chosen for themselves, where they were safe from persecution. Shortly after their arrival Bradford was elected governor. His duties involved more than that title might imply today: he was chief judge and jury, superintended agriculture and trade, and made allotments of land. It would be hard to imagine a historian better prepared to write the history of this colony. Bradford's own life provides a model of the life of the community as a whole. He was born in Yorkshire, in the town of Austerfield, of parents who were modestly well off. Bradford's father died when he was an infant. His mother remarried in 1 5 9 3 , and he was brought up by his paternal grandparents and uncles. He did not receive a university education; instead, he was taught the arts of farming. When he was only twelve or thirteen, he heard the sermons of the Nonconformist minister Richard Clyfton, who preached in a neighboring parish; these sermons changed Bradford's life. For Clyfton was the religious guide of a small community of believers who met at the house of William Brewster in Scrooby, Nottinghamshire, and it was with this group, in 1 6 0 6 , that Bradford wished to be identified. Much against the opposition of uncles and grandparents, he left home and joined them. They were known as "Separatists," because unlike the majority of Puritans, they saw no hope of reforming the Church of England from within. They wished to follow Calvin's model and to set up "particular" churches, each one founded on a formal covenant, entered into by those who professed their faith and swore to the covenant. Their model was the Old Testament covenant God made with Adam and that Christ renewed. In their covenanted churches God offered himself as a contractual partner to each believer; it was a contract freely initiated but perpetually binding. They were not sympathetic to the idea of a national church. Sepa-

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BRADFORD

rating was, however, by English law an act of treason, and many believers paid a high price for their dreams of purity. Sick of the hidden life that the Church of England forced on them, the Scrooby community took up residence in The Netherlands. Bradford joined them in 1609 and there learned to be a weaver. When he came into his inheritance he went into business for himself. Living in a foreign land was not easy, and eventually the Scrooby community petitioned for a grant of land in the New World. Their original grant was for land in the Virginia territory, but high seas prevented them from reaching those shores and they settled at Plymouth, Massachusetts, instead. In the second book of Bradford's history he describes the signing of the Mayflower Compact, a civil covenant designed to allow the temporal state to serve the godly citizen. It was the first of a number of plantation covenants designed to protect the rights of citizens beyond the reach of established governments. Bradford was a self-educated man, deeply committed to the Puritan cause. In his ecclesiastical history of New England, Cotton Mather describes him as "a person for study as well as action; and hence notwithstanding the difficulties which he passed in his youth, he attained unto a notable skill in languages. . . . But the Hebrew he most of all studied, because, he said, he would see with his own eyes the ancient oracles of God in their native beauty. . . . The crown of all his life was his holy, prayerful, watchful and fruitful walk with God, wherein he was exemplary." Bradford served as governor for all but five of the remaining years of his life. The manuscript of Bradford's History, although known to early historians, disappeared from Boston after the Revolution. The first book (through chapter IX) had been copied into the Plymouth church records and was thus preserved, but the second book was assumed lost. The manuscript was found in the residence of the bishop of London and published for the first time in 1856. In 1897 it was returned to this country by ecclesiastical decree and was deposited in the State House in Boston.

From

Of Plymouth Plantation1 F r o m Book I

C H A P T E R IX.

OF T H E I R VOYAGE A N D H O W THEY P A S S E D T H E SEA; A N D OF T H E I R S A F E ARRIVAL AT C A P E C O D

September 6. T h e s e t r o u b l e s 2 b e i n g blown over, a n d now all b e i n g c o m p a c t together in o n e s h i p , they put to s e a a g a i n with a p r o s p e r o u s wind, which c o n t i n u e d divers days together, which w a s s o m e e n c o u r a g e m e n t u n t o t h e m ; yet, a c c o r d i n g to the u s u a l m a n n e r , m a n y were afflicted with s e a s i c k n e s s . A n d I may not omit here a special work of G o d ' s p r o v i d e n c e . T h e r e w a s a p r o u d a n d very p r o f a n e y o u n g m a n , o n e of the s e a m e n , of a lusty, 3 able body, which m a d e him the m o r e haughty; he would always b e c o n d e m n i n g the poor p e o p l e in their s i c k n e s s a n d c u r s i n g t h e m daily with grievous execrations; a n d did not let 4 to tell t h e m that he h o p e d to help to c a s t half of t h e m overboard before they c a m e to their j o u r n e y ' s e n d , a n d to m a k e merry with what they h a d ; a n d if he were by any gently reproved, h e would c u r s e a n d swear m o s t bitterly. B u t it p l e a s e d G o d before they c a m e half s e a s over, to 1. The text is from Of Plymouth Plantation, edited by Samuel Eliot Morison ( 1 9 5 3 ) . 2. S o m e of the Scrooby community originally sailed from Delftshaven about August I, 1620. on board the Speedwell, but it proved unseaworthy

and it was necessary to transfer everything to the Mayflower. 3. Strong, energetic. 4. Hesitate.

OF

PLYMOUTH PLANTATION

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s m i t e this y o u n g m a n with a grievous d i s e a s e , of which h e died in a d e s p e r a t e m a n n e r , a n d so w a s himself the first that w a s thrown o v e r b o a r d . T h u s his c u r s e s light on his own h e a d , a n d it w a s an a s t o n i s h m e n t to all his fellows for they n o t e d it to b e the j u s t h a n d of G o d u p o n h i m . After they h a d enjoyed fair winds a n d w e a t h e r for a s e a s o n , they were e n c o u n t e r e d m a n y times with c r o s s winds a n d m e t with m a n y fierce s t o r m s with which the ship was s h r o u d l y ' s h a k e n , a n d her u p p e r works m a d e very leaky; a n d o n e of the m a i n b e a m s in the m i d s h i p s w a s b o w e d a n d c r a c k e d , which p u t t h e m in s o m e fear that the ship c o u l d not be a b l e to p e r f o r m the voyage. S o s o m e of the chief of the c o m p a n y , perceiving the m a r i n e r s to fear the sufficiency of the ship as a p p e a r e d by their m u t t e r i n g s , they e n t e r e d into serious c o n s u l t a t i o n with the m a s t e r a n d other officers of the s h i p , to c o n sider in time of the d a n g e r , a n d rather to return than to c a s t t h e m s e l v e s into a d e s p e r a t e a n d inevitable peril. A n d truly there w a s great distraction a n d difference of opinion a m o n g s t the m a r i n e r s t h e m s e l v e s ; fain would they do what c o u l d b e d o n e for their w a g e s ' s a k e (being now n e a r half the s e a s over) a n d on the other h a n d they were loath to hazard their lives too desperately. B u t in e x a m i n i n g of all o p i n i o n s , the m a s t e r a n d o t h e r s affirmed they knew the ship to be s t r o n g a n d firm u n d e r water; a n d for the b u c k l i n g of the m a i n b e a m , there w a s a great iron screw the p a s s e n g e r s b r o u g h t o u t of H o l l a n d , which would raise the b e a m into his p l a c e ; the which b e i n g d o n e , the carpenter a n d m a s t e r affirmed that with a post p u t u n d e r it, set firm in the lower d e c k a n d otherways b o u n d , h e would m a k e it sufficient. A n d a s for the d e c k s a n d u p p e r works, they would c a u l k t h e m a s well a s they c o u l d , a n d t h o u g h with the working of the s h i p they would not long k e e p s t a u n c h , 6 yet there would otherwise be no great d a n g e r , if they did not o v e r p r e s s her with sails. S o they c o m m i t t e d t h e m s e l v e s to the will of G o d a n d resolved to p r o c e e d . In sundry of t h e s e s t o r m s the winds were so fierce a n d the s e a s so high, as they c o u l d not b e a r a knot of sail, but were forced to h u l l 7 for divers days together. A n d in o n e of t h e m , a s they t h u s lay at hull in a mighty s t o r m , a lusty y o u n g m a n called J o h n H o w l a n d , c o m i n g u p o n s o m e o c c a s i o n a b o v e the gratings w a s , with a s e e l e 8 of the s h i p , thrown into s e a ; but it p l e a s e d G o d that he c a u g h t hold of the topsail halyards which h u n g overboard a n d ran out at length. Yet he held his hold (though he w a s s u n d r y f a t h o m s u n d e r water) till he w a s h a u l e d u p by the s a m e rope to the brim of the water, a n d then with a boat h o o k a n d other m e a n s got into the ship again a n d his life saved. A n d t h o u g h he w a s s o m e t h i n g ill with it, yet h e lived m a n y years after a n d b e c a m e a profitable m e m b e r both in c h u r c h a n d c o m m o n w e a l t h . In all this voyage there died but o n e of the p a s s e n g e r s , which w a s William B u t t e n , a youth, servant to S a m u e l Fuller, when they drew n e a r the c o a s t . B u t to omit other things (that I may be brief) after long b e a t i n g at s e a they fell with that land which is called C a p e C o d ; the which b e i n g m a d e a n d certainly known to b e it, they were not a little joyful. After s o m e deliberation h a d a m o n g s t t h e m s e l v e s a n d with the m a s t e r of the ship, they t a c k e d a b o u t a n d resolved to s t a n d for the s o u t h w a r d (the wind a n d w e a t h e r b e i n g fair) to find s o m e p l a c e a b o u t H u d s o n ' s River for their habitation. B u t after they h a d sailed that c o u r s e a b o u t half the day, they fell a m o n g s t d a n g e r o u s s h o a l s 5. Shrewdly, in its original sense of wickedly. 6. Watertight.

7. Drift with the wind under short sail. 8. Roll.

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a n d roaring b r e a k e r s , a n d they were so far e n t a n g l e d therewith a s they conceived t h e m s e l v e s in great d a n g e r ; a n d the wind shrinking u p o n t h e m withal, they resolved to b e a r u p again for the C a p e a n d t h o u g h t t h e m s e l v e s happy to get out of t h o s e d a n g e r s before night overtook t h e m , a s by G o d ' s g o o d p r o v i d e n c e they did. A n d the next day they got into the C a p e H a r b o r 9 where they rid in safety. A word or two by the way of this c a p e . It w a s t h u s first n a m e d by C a p t a i n G o s n o l d a n d his c o m p a n y , A n n o 1 1 6 0 2 , a n d after by C a p t a i n S m i t h w a s called C a p e J a m e s ; b u t it retains the former n a m e a m o n g s t s e a m e n . A l s o , that point which first s h o w e d t h o s e d a n g e r o u s s h o a l s u n t o t h e m they called Point C a r e , a n d T u c k e r ' s Terror; but the F r e n c h a n d D u t c h to this day call it M a l a b a r 2 by r e a s o n of t h o s e perilous s h o a l s a n d the l o s s e s they have suffered there. B e i n g t h u s arrived in a g o o d harbor, a n d b r o u g h t s a f e to land, they fell u p o n their k n e e s a n d b l e s s e d the G o d of H e a v e n w h o h a d b r o u g h t t h e m over the vast a n d furious o c e a n , a n d delivered t h e m from all the perils a n d miseries thereof, again to set their feet on the firm a n d s t a b l e e a r t h , their proper e l e m e n t . A n d no marvel if they were t h u s joyful, s e e i n g wise S e n e c a w a s so affected with sailing a few miles on the c o a s t of his own Italy, a s h e affirmed, that h e h a d rather r e m a i n twenty years on his way by land t h a n p a s s by s e a to any p l a c e in a short t i m e , so t e d i o u s a n d dreadful w a s the s a m e u n t o h i m . 5 B u t here I c a n n o t but stay a n d m a k e a p a u s e , a n d s t a n d half a m a z e d at this p o o r people's p r e s e n t c o n d i t i o n ; a n d so I think will the reader, too, w h e n h e well c o n s i d e r s the s a m e . B e i n g t h u s p a s s e d the vast o c e a n , a n d a s e a of troubles before in their p r e p a r a t i o n (as may be r e m e m b e r e d by that which went b e f o r e ) , they h a d now no friends to w e l c o m e t h e m nor i n n s to entertain or refresh their w e a t h e r b e a t e n b o d i e s ; n o h o u s e s or m u c h less towns to repair to, to s e e k for s u c c o r . It is r e c o r d e d in S c r i p t u r e a s a mercy to the A p o s t l e a n d his s h i p w r e c k e d c o m p a n y , that the b a r b a r i a n s s h o w e d t h e m no small k i n d n e s s in refreshing t h e m , 4 b u t t h e s e s a v a g e b a r b a r i a n s , w h e n they m e t with t h e m (as after will a p p e a r ) were readier to fill their sides full of arrows than o t h e r w i s e . A n d for the s e a s o n it w a s winter, a n d they that know the winters of that country know t h e m to b e s h a r p a n d violent, a n d s u b j e c t to cruel a n d fierce s t o r m s , d a n g e r o u s to travel to known p l a c e s , m u c h m o r e to s e a r c h a n u n k n o w n c o a s t . B e s i d e s , w h a t c o u l d they s e e b u t a h i d e o u s a n d d e s o l a t e w i l d e r n e s s , full of wild b e a s t s a n d wild m e n — a n d w h a t m u l t i t u d e s there might b e of t h e m they knew not. N e i t h e r c o u l d they, a s it w e r e , go u p to the top of P i s g a h 5 to view from this w i l d e r n e s s a m o r e goodly country to feed their h o p e s ; for which way soever they t u r n e d their eyes (save u p w a r d to the h e a v e n s ) they c o u l d have little s o l a c e or c o n t e n t in r e s p e c t of any outward o b j e c t s . F o r s u m m e r b e i n g d o n e , all things s t a n d u p o n t h e m with a w e a t h e r b e a t e n f a c e , a n d the whole country, full of w o o d s a n d thickets, rep9. C a p e Harbor is now Provincetown Harbor; they arrived on November 11, 1620, the journey from England having taken sixty-five days. 1. In the year (Latin). 2. T h e prefix mal means "bad"; the reference here is to the dangerous sandbars. 3. Bradford notes that this remark may be found in the Moral Epistles to Lucilius, line 5, of the Roman Stoic philosopher (4r B.C.E.—65 C.E.).

4. "And when they were escaped, then they knew that the island was called Melita. And the barbarous people showed us no little kindness: for they kindled a fire, and received us every one, b e c a u s e of the present rain, and b e c a u s e of the cold" (Acts 28.1-2). 5. Mountain from which M o s e s saw the Promised Land (Deuteronomy 34.1—4).

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r e s e n t e d a wild a n d s a v a g e h u e . If they looked b e h i n d t h e m , there w a s the mighty o c e a n which they h a d p a s s e d a n d w a s now a s a m a i n bar a n d gulf to s e p a r a t e t h e m from all the civil p a r t s of the world. If it b e said they h a d a ship to s u c c o r t h e m , it is t r u e ; b u t what h e a r d they daily from the m a s t e r a n d c o m p a n y ? B u t that with s p e e d they s h o u l d look out a p l a c e (with their s h a l l o p ) 6 w h e r e they would b e , at s o m e n e a r d i s t a n c e ; for the s e a s o n w a s s u c h a s h e would not stir from t h e n c e till a s a f e harbor w a s d i s c o v e r e d by t h e m , w h e r e they would b e , a n d he might go without d a n g e r ; a n d that victu a l s c o n s u m e d a p a c e but h e m u s t a n d would k e e p sufficient for t h e m s e l v e s a n d their return. Yea, it w a s m u t t e r e d by s o m e that if they got not a p l a c e in t i m e , they would turn t h e m a n d their g o o d s a s h o r e a n d leave t h e m . L e t it also b e c o n s i d e r e d what w e a k h o p e s of supply a n d s u c c o r they left b e h i n d t h e m , that might b e a r u p their m i n d s in this s a d c o n d i t i o n a n d trials they were u n d e r ; a n d they c o u l d not but b e very s m a l l . It is true, i n d e e d , the affections a n d love of their brethren at L e y d e n 7 w a s cordial a n d entire toward t h e m , b u t they h a d little power to help t h e m or t h e m s e l v e s ; a n d how the c a s e stood b e t w e e n t h e m a n d the m e r c h a n t s at their c o m i n g away hath already b e e n d e c l a r e d . W h a t c o u l d n o w s u s t a i n t h e m but the Spirit of G o d a n d His g r a c e ? M a y not a n d o u g h t not the children of t h e s e fathers rightly say " O u r fathers were E n g l i s h m e n which c a m e over this great o c e a n , a n d were ready to p e r i s h in this w i l d e r n e s s ; b u t they cried unto the L o r d , a n d H e h e a r d their voice a n d looked on their adversity," 8 e t c . " L e t t h e m therefore p r a i s e the L o r d , b e c a u s e H e is g o o d : a n d His m e r c i e s e n d u r e forever." "Yea, let t h e m which have b e e n r e d e e m e d of the L o r d , s h o w how H e hath delivered t h e m from the h a n d of the o p p r e s s o r . W h e n they w a n d e r e d in the d e s e r t w i l d e r n e s s o u t of the way, a n d f o u n d n o city to dwell in, both hungry a n d thirsty, their s o u l w a s overw h e l m e d in t h e m . L e t t h e m c o n f e s s before the L o r d His loving k i n d n e s s a n d His wonderful works before the s o n s of m e n . " 9 FROM

C H A P T E R X.

SHOWING HOW THEY SOUGHT OUT A PLACE OF

HABITATION; AND WHAT B E F E L L T H E M T H E R E A B O U T

B e i n g t h u s arrived at C a p e C o d the 11th of N o v e m b e r , a n d n e c e s s i t y calling t h e m to look out a p l a c e for habitation (as well a s the m a s t e r ' s a n d m a r i n e r s ' importunity); they having b r o u g h t a large s h a l l o p with t h e m o u t of E n g l a n d , stowed in q u a r t e r s in the ship, they now got her out a n d set their c a r p e n t e r s to work to trim her u p ; but b e i n g m u c h b r u i s e d a n d s h a t t e r e d in the ship with foul weather, they saw s h e would be long in m e n d i n g . W h e r e u p o n a few of t h e m t e n d e r e d t h e m s e l v e s to go by l a n d a n d discover t h o s e n e a r e s t p l a c e s , whilst the shallop w a s in m e n d i n g ; a n d the rather b e c a u s e a s they went into that harbor there s e e m e d to b e a n o p e n i n g s o m e two or three l e a g u e s off, which the m a s t e r j u d g e d to b e a river. 1 It w a s 6. Small boat fitted with one or more masts. 7. In T h e Netherlands, where a substantial number of Separatists remained. 8. "And the Egyptians evil entreated us, and afflicted us, and laid upon us hard bondage: And when we cried unto the Lord God of our fathers, the Lord heard our voice, and looked on our affliction, and our labor and our oppression: And the Lord brought us forth out of Egypt with a mighty

hand" (Deuteronomy 26.6—8). 9. " O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever. Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy; And gathered them out of the lands, from the east, and from the west, from the north, and from the s o u t h " (Psalm 107.1—5). I. Morison observes that "Looking south from Provincetown Harbor where the Pilgrims were, the

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c o n c e i v e d there might b e s o m e d a n g e r in the a t t e m p t , yet s e e i n g t h e m reso l u t e , they were p e r m i t t e d to g o , b e i n g sixteen of t h e m well a r m e d u n d e r the c o n d u c t of C a p t a i n S t a n d i s h , 2 having s u c h i n s t r u c t i o n s given t h e m a s w a s thought meet. T h e y set forth the 15 th of N o v e m b e r ; a n d w h e n they h a d m a r c h e d a b o u t the s p a c e of a mile by the s e a s i d e , they e s p i e d five or six p e r s o n s with a d o g c o m i n g towards t h e m , w h o were s a v a g e s ; but they fled from t h e m a n d ran u p into the w o o d s , a n d the E n g l i s h followed t h e m , partly to s e e if they c o u l d s p e a k with t h e m , a n d partly to discover if there might not b e m o r e of t h e m lying in a m b u s h . B u t the Indians s e e i n g t h e m s e l v e s t h u s followed, they a g a i n forsook the w o o d s a n d ran away o n the s a n d s a s h a r d * a s they c o u l d , s o a s they c o u l d not c o m e n e a r t h e m but followed t h e m by the t r a c k of their feet s u n d r y miles a n d s a w that they h a d c o m e the s a m e way. S o , night c o m i n g o n , they m a d e their r e n d e z v o u s a n d set out their s e n t i n e l s , a n d rested in quiet that night; a n d the next m o r n i n g followed their track till they h a d h e a d e d a great c r e e k a n d s o left the s a n d s , a n d t u r n e d a n o t h e r way into the w o o d s . B u t they still followed t h e m by g u e s s , h o p i n g to find their dwellings; but they s o o n lost b o t h t h e m a n d t h e m s e l v e s , falling into s u c h thickets a s were ready to tear their c l o t h e s a n d a r m o r in p i e c e s ; but were m o s t d i s t r e s s e d for w a n t of drink. B u t at length they f o u n d water a n d refreshed t h e m s e l v e s , being the first N e w E n g l a n d water they d r u n k of, a n d w a s now in their great thirst a s p l e a s a n t u n t o t h e m a s wine or b e e r h a d b e e n in f o r e t i m e s . Afterwards they directed their c o u r s e to c o m e to the other s h o r e , for they knew it w a s a n e c k of land they were to c r o s s Over, a n d s o at length got to the s e a s i d e a n d m a r c h e d to this s u p p o s e d river, a n d by the way f o u n d a p o n d 4 of clear fresh water, a n d shortly after a g o o d quantity of clear g r o u n d w h e r e the I n d i a n s h a d formerly set c o r n , a n d s o m e of their graves. A n d p r o c e e d i n g further they saw n e w s t u b b l e w h e r e corn h a d b e e n set the s a m e year; a l s o they f o u n d w h e r e lately a h o u s e h a d b e e n , w h e r e s o m e p l a n k s a n d a great kettle w a s r e m a i n i n g , a n d h e a p s of s a n d newly p a d d l e d with their h a n d s . W h i c h , they digging u p , f o u n d in t h e m divers fair Indian b a s k e t s filled with c o r n , a n d s o m e in e a r s , fair a n d g o o d , of divers c o l o r s , w h i c h s e e m e d to t h e m a very goodly sight (having never s e e n any s u c h b e f o r e ) . T h i s w a s near the p l a c e of that s u p p o s e d river they c a m e to seek, u n t o which they went a n d f o u n d it to o p e n itself into two a r m s with a high cliff of s a n d in the e n t r a n c e 5 but m o r e like to be creeks of salt water than any fresh, for a u g h t they saw; a n d that there w a s g o o d h a r b o r a g e for their s h a l l o p , leaving it further to b e discovered by their s h a l l o p , w h e n s h e w a s ready. S o , their time limited t h e m b e i n g expired, they r e t u r n e d to the ship lest they s h o u l d b e in fear of their safety; a n d took with t h e m part of the corn a n d buried u p the rest. And s o , like the m e n from E s h c o l , carried with t h e m of the fruits of the l a n d a n d s h o w e d their b r e t h r e n ; 6 of w h i c h , a n d their r e t u r n , they were m a r v e l o u s l y glad a n d their hearts e n c o u r a g e d . After this, the s h a l l o p b e i n g got ready, they set o u t a g a i n for the better high land near Plymouth looks like an island on clear days, suggesting that there is a river or arm of the sea between it and C a p e C o d . " 2. Myles Standish ( 1 5 8 4 ? - 1 6 5 6 ) was a professional soldier who had fought in T h e Netherlands; he was not a Pilgrim. 3. Fast.

4. T h e pond from which Pond Village, Truro, Massachusetts, gets its name. 5. A salt creek known as Pamet River. 6. In N u m b e r s 13.23—26, Moses' scouts, after searching the wilderness for forty days, brought back clusters of grapes, which they found near the brook that they called " E s h c o l . "

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discovery of this p l a c e , a n d the m a s t e r of the ship desired to g o himself. S o there went s o m e thirty m e n but f o u n d it to be no harbor for s h i p s but only for b o a t s . T h e r e w a s a l s o found two of their h o u s e s c o v e r e d with m a t s , a n d sundry of their i m p l e m e n t s in t h e m , but the p e o p l e were run away a n d c o u l d not be s e e n . 7 Also there w a s found m o r e of their corn a n d of their b e a n s of various colors; the c o r n a n d b e a n s they b r o u g h t away, p u r p o s i n g to give t h e m full satisfaction w h e n they s h o u l d m e e t with any of t h e m a s , a b o u t s o m e six m o n t h s afterward they did, to their g o o d c o n t e n t . A n d here is to be n o t e d a special p r o v i d e n c e of G o d , a n d a great m e r c y to this p o o r p e o p l e , that here they got s e e d to plant t h e m corn the next year, or else they might have starved, for they h a d n o n e nor any likelihood to get any till the s e a s o n h a d b e e n p a s t , a s the s e q u e l did m a n i f e s t . N e i t h e r is it likely they h a d h a d this, if the first voyage h a d not b e e n m a d e , for the g r o u n d w a s now all covered with s n o w a n d hard frozen; but the Lord is never w a n t i n g u n t o H i s in their g r e a t e s t n e e d s ; let H i s holy n a m e have all the p r a i s e . T h e m o n t h of N o v e m b e r b e i n g spent in t h e s e affairs, a n d m u c h foul w e a t h e r falling in, the 6 t h of D e c e m b e r they sent o u t their s h a l l o p again with ten of their principal m e n a n d s o m e s e a m e n , u p o n further discovery, intending to c i r c u l a t e that d e e p bay of C a p e C o d . T h e w e a t h e r w a s very cold a n d it froze s o hard as the spray of the s e a lighting on their c o a t s , they were a s if they h a d b e e n glazed. Yet that night b e t i m e s they got d o w n into the b o t t o m of the bay, a n d a s they drew n e a r the s h o r e 8 they s a w s o m e ten or twelve Indians very busy a b o u t s o m e t h i n g . T h e y l a n d e d a b o u t a l e a g u e or two from t h e m , a n d h a d m u c h a d o to put a s h o r e a n y w h e r e — i t lay so full of flats. B e i n g l a n d e d , it grew late a n d they m a d e t h e m s e l v e s a b a r r i c a d o with logs a n d b o u g h s a s well a s they c o u l d in the t i m e , a n d set out their sentinel a n d b e t o o k t h e m to rest, a n d saw the s m o k e of the fire the s a v a g e s m a d e that night. W h e n m o r n i n g w a s c o m e they divided their c o m p a n y , s o m e to c o a s t a l o n g the s h o r e in the boat, a n d the rest m a r c h e d through the w o o d s to s e e the land, if any fit p l a c e might be for their dwelling. T h e y c a m e also to the p l a c e w h e r e they saw the I n d i a n s the night before, a n d f o u n d they h a d b e e n c u t t i n g u p a great fish like a g r a m p u s , 9 being s o m e two i n c h e s thick of fat like a hog, s o m e p i e c e s w h e r e o f they h a d left by the way. A n d the shallop f o u n d two m o r e of t h e s e fishes d e a d on the s a n d s , a thing u s u a l after s t o r m s in that p l a c e , by r e a s o n of the great flats of s a n d that lie off. S o they r a n g e d u p a n d d o w n all that day, but f o u n d no p e o p l e , nor a n y p l a c e they liked. W h e n the s u n grew low, they h a s t e d o u t of the w o o d s to m e e t with their s h a l l o p , to w h o m they m a d e signs to c o m e to t h e m into a c r e e k 1 hard by, the which they did at high water; of which they were very glad, for they h a d not s e e n e a c h other all that day s i n c e the m o r n i n g . S o they m a d e t h e m a b a r r i c a d o a s usually they did every night, with logs, stakes a n d thick pine b o u g h s , the height of a m a n , leaving it o p e n to leeward, partly to shelter t h e m frqm the cold a n d wind ( m a k i n g their fire in the m i d d l e a n d lying r o u n d a b o u t it) a n d partly to defend t h e m from any s u d d e n a s s a u l t s of the s a v a g e s , if they s h o u l d s u r r o u n d t h e m ; s o b e i n g very weary, they b e t o o k t h e m to rest. B u t a b o u t midnight they h e a r d a h i d e o u s a n d great cry, a n d 7. Descendants of these Nauset Indians may still be found today at Mashpee on C a p e C o d . 8. Somewhere near Eastham, Massachusetts.

9. Probably a blackfish {Globicephala meliena). 1. T h e mouth of Herring River in Eastham.

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their sentinel called " A r m ! a r m ! " S o they bestirred t h e m a n d s t o o d to their a r m s a n d shot off a c o u p l e of m u s k e t s , a n d then the noise c e a s e d . T h e y c o n c l u d e d it w a s a c o m p a n y of wolves or s u c h like wild b e a s t s , for o n e of the s e a m e n told t h e m he h a d often h e a r d s u c h a n o i s e in N e w f o u n d l a n d . S o they rested till a b o u t five of the c l o c k in the m o r n i n g ; for the tide, a n d their p u r p o s e to go from t h e n c e , m a d e t h e m be stirring b e t i m e s . S o after prayer they p r e p a r e d for b r e a k f a s t , a n d it b e i n g day d a w n i n g it w a s t h o u g h t b e s t to be carrying things d o w n to the b o a t . B u t s o m e s a i d it w a s not b e s t to carry the a r m s d o w n , others said they w o u l d be the readier, for they h a d l a p p e d t h e m u p in their c o a t s from the dew; b u t s o m e three or four would not carry theirs till they went t h e m s e l v e s . Yet a s it fell out, the water b e i n g n o t high e n o u g h , they laid t h e m d o w n on the b a n k side a n d c a m e u p to breakfast. B u t presently, all on the s u d d e n , they h e a r d a great a n d s t r a n g e cry, which they knew to be the s a m e voices they h e a r d in the night, t h o u g h they varied their n o t e s ; a n d o n e of their c o m p a n y b e i n g a b r o a d c a m e r u n n i n g in a n d cried, " M e n , I n d i a n s ! I n d i a n s ! " A n d withal, their arrows c a m e flying a m o n g s t t h e m . T h e i r m e n ran with all s p e e d to recover their a r m s , a s by the g o o d p r o v i d e n c e of G o d they did. In the m e a n t i m e , of t h o s e that were there ready, two m u s k e t s were d i s c h a r g e d at t h e m , a n d two m o r e s t o o d ready in the e n t r a n c e of their r e n d e z v o u s b u t were c o m m a n d e d not to s h o o t till they c o u l d take full aim at t h e m . A n d the other two c h a r g e d a g a i n with all s p e e d , for there were only four h a d a r m s there, a n d d e f e n d e d the b a r r i c a d o , which w a s first a s s a u l t e d . T h e cry of the I n d i a n s w a s dreadful, especially w h e n they s a w the m e n run o u t of the r e n d e z v o u s toward the s h a l l o p to recover their a r m s , the Indians w h e e l i n g a b o u t u p o n t h e m . B u t s o m e r u n n i n g o u t with c o a t s of mail o n , a n d c u t l a s s e s in their h a n d s , they s o o n got their a r m s a n d let fly a m o n g s t t h e m a n d quickly s t o p p e d their v i o l e n c e . Yet there w a s a lusty m a n , a n d no less valiant, s t o o d b e h i n d a tree within half a m u s k e t shot, a n d let his arrows fly at t h e m ; h e w a s s e e n [to] s h o o t three a r r o w s , w h i c h were all avoided. H e stood three s h o t s of a m u s k e t , till o n e taking full a i m at him a n d m a d e the b a r k or splinters of the tree fly a b o u t his e a r s , after which he gave a n extraordinary shriek a n d away they w e n t , all of t h e m . T h e y 2 left s o m e to k e e p the s h a l l o p a n d followed t h e m a b o u t a q u a r t e r of a mile a n d s h o u t e d o n c e or twice, a n d shot off two or three p i e c e s , a n d s o r e t u r n e d . T h i s they did that they might c o n c e i v e that they were not afraid of t h e m or any way discouraged. T h u s it p l e a s e d G o d to v a n q u i s h their e n e m i e s a n d give t h e m d e l i v e r a n c e ; a n d by H i s special p r o v i d e n c e s o to d i s p o s e that not any o n e of t h e m were either hurt or hit, t h o u g h their arrows c a m e c l o s e by t h e m a n d o n every side [of] t h e m ; a n d sundry of their c o a t s , which h u n g u p in the b a r r i c a d o , were shot t h r o u g h a n d t h r o u g h . Afterwards they g a v e G o d s o l e m n t h a n k s a n d p r a i s e for their d e l i v e r a n c e , a n d g a t h e r e d u p a b u n d l e of their arrows a n d sent t h e m into E n g l a n d afterward by the m a s t e r of the s h i p , a n d called that p l a c e the First E n c o u n t e r . F r o m h e n c e they d e p a r t e d a n d c o a s t e d all a l o n g b u t d i s c e r n e d n o p l a c e likely for harbor; a n d therefore h a s t e d to a p l a c e that their pilot (one M r . 2. I.e., the English.

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C o p p i n w h o h a d b e e n in the country before) did a s s u r e t h e m w a s a g o o d harbor, which he h a d b e e n in, a n d they might fetch it before night; of which they were glad for it b e g a n to be foul weather. After s o m e h o u r s ' sailing it b e g a n to s n o w a n d rain, a n d a b o u t the m i d d l e of the afternoon the wind i n c r e a s e d a n d the s e a b e c a m e very r o u g h , a n d they broke their rudder, a n d it w a s a s m u c h a s two m e n c o u l d do to steer her with a c o u p l e of o a r s . B u t their pilot b a d e t h e m b e of g o o d c h e e r for h e s a w the harbor; but the s t o r m i n c r e a s i n g , a n d night drawing o n , they b o r e w h a t sail they c o u l d to get in, while they c o u l d s e e . B u t herewith they broke their m a s t in three p i e c e s a n d their sail fell overboard in a very grown s e a , s o a s they h a d like to have b e e n c a s t away. Yet by G o d ' s m e r c y they recovered t h e m s e l v e s , a n d having the f l o o d ' with t h e m , s t r u c k into the harbor. B u t w h e n it c a m e to, the pilot w a s deceived in the p l a c e , a n d said the L o r d be merciful u n t o t h e m for his eyes never s a w that p l a c e b e f o r e ; a n d he a n d the m a s t e r ' s m a t e would have run her a s h o r e in a cove full of b r e a k e r s before the wind. B u t a lusty s e a m a n which s t e e r e d b a d e t h o s e which rowed, if they were m e n , a b o u t with her or else they were all c a s t away; the which they did with s p e e d . S o he bid t h e m be of g o o d c h e e r a n d row lustily, for there w a s a fair s o u n d before t h e m , a n d he d o u b t e d not but they s h o u l d find o n e p l a c e or other w h e r e they might ride in safety. A n d t h o u g h it w a s very dark a n d rained s o r e , yet in the e n d they got u n d e r the lee of a small island a n d r e m a i n e d there all that night in safety. B u t they knew not this to be a n island till m o r n i n g , b u t were divided in their m i n d s ; s o m e would keep the b o a t for fear they might be a m o n g s t the I n d i a n s , others were so wet a n d cold they c o u l d not e n d u r e but got a s h o r e , a n d with m u c h a d o got fire (all things b e i n g so w e t ) ; a n d the rest were glad to c o m e to t h e m , for after m i d n i g h t , the wind shifted to the northwest a n d it froze hard. B u t t h o u g h this h a d b e e n a day a n d night of m u c h trouble a n d d a n g e r unto t h e m , yet G o d gave t h e m a m o r n i n g of c o m f o r t a n d refreshing (as usually H e doth to H i s children) for the next day w a s a fair, s u n s h i n i n g day, a n d they f o u n d t h e m s e l v e s to b e on a n island s e c u r e from the I n d i a n s , w h e r e they might dry their stuff, fix their p i e c e s 4 a n d rest t h e m s e l v e s ; a n d gave G o d thanks for His m e r c i e s in their manifold d e l i v e r a n c e s . A n d this b e i n g the last day of the week, they p r e p a r e d there to keep the S a b b a t h . O n M o n d a y they s o u n d e d the harbor a n d f o u n d it fit for s h i p p i n g , a n d m a r c h e d into the land a n d found divers cornfields a n d little r u n n i n g b r o o k s , a p l a c e (as they s u p p o s e d ) fit for s i t u a t i o n . 5 At least it w a s the b e s t they c o u l d find, a n d the s e a s o n a n d their p r e s e n t necessity m a d e t h e m glad to a c c e p t of it. S o they returned to their ship again with this n e w s to the rest of their p e o p l e , which did m u c h c o m f o r t their h e a r t s . O n the 15 th of D e c e m b e r they weighed a n c h o r to go to the p l a c e they h a d discovered, a n d c a m e within two l e a g u e s of it, but were fain to b e a r up a g a i n ; but the 16th day, the wind c a m e fair, a n d they arrived safe in this harbor. A n d afterwards took better view of the p l a c e , a n d resolved where to pitch their dwelling; a n d the 2 5 t h day b e g a n to erect the first h o u s e for c o m m o n u s e to receive t h e m a n d their g o o d s . 3. I.e., the flood tide. 4. Armaments. 5. Morison notes that this is "the only contem-

porary authority for the 'Landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock' on December 2 1 , 1 6 2 0 " (New Style). " S o u n d e d " : measured the depth of.

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Book II FROM

CHAPTER XI.6 THE REMAINDER [THE MAYFLOWER

OF ANNO

1620

COMPACT]

I shall a little return b a c k , a n d begin with a c o m b i n a t i o n 7 m a d e by t h e m before they c a m e a s h o r e ; b e i n g the first f o u n d a t i o n of their g o v e r n m e n t in this p l a c e . O c c a s i o n e d partly by the d i s c o n t e n t e d a n d m u t i n o u s s p e e c h e s that s o m e of the s t r a n g e r s 8 a m o n g s t t h e m h a d let fall from t h e m in the ship: T h a t w h e n they c a m e a s h o r e they would u s e their own liberty, for n o n e h a d power to c o m m a n d t h e m , the p a t e n t they h a d b e i n g for Virginia a n d not for N e w E n g l a n d , which b e l o n g e d to a n o t h e r g o v e r n m e n t , with which the Virginia C o m p a n y h a d n o t h i n g to d o . A n d partly that s u c h a n act by t h e m d o n e , this their condition c o n s i d e r e d , might be a s firm a s any p a t e n t , 9 a n d in s o m e r e s p e c t s m o r e s u r e . T h e form w a s a s followeth: IN T H E N A M E OF G O D ,

AMEN.

W e w h o s e n a m e s are underwritten, the loyal s u b j e c t s of our d r e a d Sovereign L o r d King J a m e s , by the G r a c e of G o d of G r e a t Britain, F r a n c e , a n d Ireland King, D e f e n d e r of the F a i t h , e t c . H a v i n g u n d e r t a k e n , for the Glory of G o d a n d a d v a n c e m e n t of the C h r i s tian Faith a n d H o n o r of our K i n g a n d C o u n t r y , a Voyage to plant the First C o l o n y in the N o r t h e r n Parts of Virginia, d o by t h e s e p r e s e n t s solemnly a n d mutually in the p r e s e n c e of G o d a n d o n e of a n o t h e r , C o v e n a n t a n d C o m b i n e ourselves together into a Civil Body Politic, for our better ordering a n d preservation a n d f u r t h e r a n c e of the e n d s a f o r e s a i d ; a n d by virtue hereof to e n a c t , constitute and frame such just and equal Laws, Ordinances, Acts, Constitutions a n d Offices, from t i m e to t i m e , a s shall b e thought m o s t m e e t a n d c o n v e n i e n t for the general g o o d of the C o l o n y , u n t o which we p r o m i s e all d u e s u b m i s s i o n a n d o b e d i e n c e . In witness w h e r e o f we have h e r e u n d e r s u b scribed our n a m e s at C a p e C o d , the 11th of N o v e m b e r , in the year of the reign of our Sovereign L o r d K i n g J a m e s , of E n g l a n d , F r a n c e a n d Ireland the e i g h t e e n t h , a n d of S c o t l a n d the fifty-fourth. A n n o D o m i n i 1 1 6 2 0 . After this they c h o s e , or rather c o n f i r m e d , M r . J o h n C a r v e r 2 (a m a n godly a n d well a p p r o v e d a m o n g s t t h e m ) their G o v e r n o r for that year. And after they h a d provided a p l a c e for their g o o d s , or c o m m o n store (which were long in u n l a d i n g 3 for want of b o a t s , f o u l n e s s of the winter w e a t h e r a n d s i c k n e s s of divers) a n d b e g u n s o m e small c o t t a g e s for their h a b i t a t i o n ; a s time would a d m i t , they met a n d c o n s u l t e d of laws a n d o r d e r s , both for their civil a n d military g o v e r n m e n t a s the necessity of their c o n d i t i o n did r e q u i r e , still a d d ing there u n t o a s u r g e n t o c c a s i o n in several t i m e s , a n d a s c a s e s did require. In t h e s e hard a n d difficult b e g i n n i n g s they f o u n d s o m e d i s c o n t e n t s a n d 6. Bradford numbered only the first ten chapters of his manuscript. 7. A form of uniun, a joining together. S. Puritans called themselves "saints" and those outside their church "strangers." Many of those who c a m e to Plymouth with them were not church members but adventurers looking forward to business success and making new lives in the New World.

9. A document signed by a sovereign granting privileges to those named in it. 1. In the year of the Lord (Latin). 2. Carver, like Bradford, was an original member of the group who went to Holland and, like Bradford, a tradesman. Bradford was elected governor after Carver's death. 3. Unloading.

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m u r m u r i n g s arise a m o n g s t s o m e , a n d m u t i n o u s s p e e c h e s a n d c a r r i a g e s in other; but they were s o o n quelled a n d o v e r c o m e by the w i s d o m , p a t i e n c e , a n d j u s t a n d e q u a l c a r r i a g e of things, by the G o v e r n o r a n d better p a r t , w h i c h c l a v e 4 faithfully together in the m a i n . [THE STARVING T I M E ]

B u t that which w a s m o s t s a d a n d l a m e n t a b l e w a s , that in two or three m o n t h s ' time half of their c o m p a n y died, especially in J a n u a r y a n d F e b r u a r y , b e i n g the depth of winter, a n d w a n t i n g h o u s e s a n d other c o m f o r t s ; b e i n g infected with the scurvy a n d other d i s e a s e s which this long voyage a n d their i n a c c o m m o d a t e c o n d i t i o n h a d b r o u g h t u p o n t h e m . S o a s there died s o m e times two or three of a day in the foresaid t i m e , that of 1 0 0 a n d o d d p e r s o n s , s c a r c e fifty r e m a i n e d . A n d of t h e s e , in the time of m o s t d i s t r e s s , there was but six or seven p e r s o n s w h o to their great c o m m e n d a t i o n s , b e it s p o k e n , s p a r e d no p a i n s night nor day, b u t with a b u n d a n c e of toil a n d hazard of their own health, f e t c h e d t h e m w o o d , m a d e t h e m fires, d r e s s e d t h e m m e a t , m a d e their b e d s , w a s h e d their l o a t h s o m e c l o t h e s , c l o t h e d a n d u n c l o t h e d t h e m . In a word, did all the h o m e l y 5 a n d n e c e s s a r y offices for t h e m w h i c h dainty a n d q u e a s y s t o m a c h s c a n n o t e n d u r e to hear n a m e d ; a n d all this willingly a n d cheerfully, without any g r u d g i n g in the least, s h o w i n g herein their true love u n t o their friends a n d b r e t h r e n ; a rare e x a m p l e a n d worthy to b e r e m e m b e r e d . T w o of t h e s e seven were M r . William Brewster, their reverend Elder, a n d Myles S t a n d i s h , their C a p t a i n a n d military c o m m a n d e r , u n t o w h o m myself a n d m a n y others were m u c h b e h o l d e n in o u r low a n d sick c o n d i t i o n . A n d yet the L o r d so u p h e l d t h e s e p e r s o n s a s in this general c a l a m i t y they were not at all infected either with s i c k n e s s or l a m e n e s s . A n d what I have said of t h e s e I m a y say of m a n y others w h o d i e d in this g e n e r a l visitation, a n d others yet living; that whilst they h a d h e a l t h , yea, or any strength c o n tinuing, they were not w a n t i n g 6 to any that h a d n e e d of t h e m . A n d I d o u b t not but their r e c o m p e n s e is with the L o r d . B u t I m a y not here p a s s by a n o t h e r r e m a r k a b l e p a s s a g e not to b e forgotten. As this calamity fell a m o n g the p a s s e n g e r s that were to b e left h e r e to plant, a n d were h a s t e d a s h o r e a n d m a d e to drink water that the s e a m e n might have the m o r e beer, a n d o n e 7 in his s i c k n e s s d e s i r i n g but a small c a n of beer, it was a n s w e r e d that if h e were their own father he s h o u l d have n o n e . T h e d i s e a s e b e g a n to fall a m o n g s t t h e m a l s o , s o as a l m o s t half of their c o m p a n y died before they went away, a n d m a n y of their officers a n d lustiest m e n , a s the b o a t s w a i n , g u n n e r , three q u a r t e r m a s t e r s , the c o o k a n d o t h e r s . At which the M a s t e r w a s s o m e t h i n g s t r u c k e n a n d sent to the sick a s h o r e a n d told the G o v e r n o r h e s h o u l d s e n d for b e e r for t h e m that h a d n e e d of it, t h o u g h he d r u n k water h o m e w a r d b o u n d . B u t now a m o n g s t his c o m p a n y there w a s far a n o t h e r kind of carriage in this misery than a m o n g s t the p a s s e n g e r s . F o r they that b e f o r e h a d b e e n b o o n c o m p a n i o n s in drinking a n d jollity in the time of their health a n d welfare, b e g a n n o w to desert o n e a n o t h e r in this calamity, saying they would not hazard their lives for t h e m , they s h o u l d b e infected by c o m i n g to h e l p t h e m 4. Past tense of cleave. 5. Intimate. 6. Lacking in attention.

7. Which was this author himself [Bradford's note].

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in their c a b i n s ; a n d s o , after they c a m e to lie by it, would do little or n o t h i n g for t h e m b u t , "if they d i e d , let them d i e . " B u t s u c h of the p a s s e n g e r s a s were yet a b o a r d s h o w e d t h e m what mercy they c o u l d , which m a d e s o m e of their h e a r t s relent, as the b o a t s w a i n (and s o m e others) w h o w a s a p r o u d y o u n g m a n a n d would often c u r s e a n d scoff at the p a s s e n g e r s . B u t w h e n h e grew w e a k , they had c o m p a s s i o n on him a n d h e l p e d h i m ; then he c o n f e s s e d h e did not deserve it at their h a n d s , h e h a d a b u s e d t h e m in word a n d d e e d . " O h ! " (saith he) "you, I now s e e , s h o w your love like C h r i s t i a n s i n d e e d o n e to a n o t h e r , but we let o n e a n o t h e r lie a n d die like d o g s . " A n o t h e r lay c u r s i n g his wife, saying if it h a d not b e e n for her he h a d never c o m e this unlucky voyage, a n d a n o n c u r s i n g his fellows, saying h e h a d d o n e this a n d that for s o m e of t h e m ; h e h a d spent so m u c h a n d s o m u c h a m o n g s t t h e m , a n d they were now weary of him a n d did not help h i m , having n e e d . A n o t h e r gave his c o m p a n i o n all he h a d , if he died, to help him in his w e a k n e s s ; h e went a n d got a little s p i c e a n d m a d e him a m e s s of m e a t o n c e or twice. A n d b e c a u s e h e died not s o s o o n as h e e x p e c t e d , he went a m o n g s t his fellows a n d swore the r o g u e would c o z e n 8 h i m , he would s e e him c h o k e d before h e m a d e him any m o r e m e a t ; a n d yet the p o o r fellow died b e f o r e m o r n i n g . [INDIAN RELATIONS]

All this while the Indians c a m e skulking a b o u t t h e m , a n d would s o m e t i m e s s h o w t h e m s e l v e s aloof off, b u t w h e n any a p p r o a c h e d n e a r t h e m , they would run away; a n d o n c e they stole away their tools w h e r e they h a d b e e n at work a n d were g o n e to dinner. B u t a b o u t the 16th of M a r c h , a certain Indian c a m e boldly a m o n g s t t h e m a n d s p o k e to t h e m in b r o k e n E n g l i s h , which they could well u n d e r s t a n d but marveled at it.'* At length they u n d e r s t o o d by disc o u r s e with him, that h e w a s not of t h e s e p a r t s , but b e l o n g e d to the e a s t e r n parts w h e r e s o m e E n g l i s h s h i p s c a m e to fish, with w h o m he w a s a c q u a i n t e d a n d c o u l d n a m e sundry of t h e m by their n a m e s , a m o n g s t w h o m he h a d got his l a n g u a g e . H e b e c a m e profitable to t h e m in a c q u a i n t i n g t h e m with m a n y things c o n c e r n i n g the s t a t e of the c o u n t r y in the east p a r t s where h e lived, which w a s afterwards profitable u n t o t h e m ; a s also of the p e o p l e h e r e , of their n a m e s , n u m b e r a n d s t r e n g t h , of their situation a n d d i s t a n c e from this p l a c e , a n d w h o w a s c h i e f a m o n g s t t h e m . His n a m e w a s S a m o s e t . H e told t h e m also of a n o t h e r Indian w h o s e n a m e w a s S q u a n t o , a native of this p l a c e , who h a d b e e n in E n g l a n d a n d c o u l d s p e a k better E n g l i s h t h a n himself. B e i n g , after s o m e time of e n t e r t a i n m e n t a n d gifts d i s m i s s e d , a while after he c a m e a g a i n , a n d five m o r e with him, a n d they b r o u g h t a g a i n all the tools that were stolen away b e f o r e , a n d m a d e way for the c o m i n g of their great S a c h e m , called M a s s a s o i t . W h o , a b o u t four or five days after, c a m e with the c h i e f of his friends a n d other a t t e n d a n c e , with the a f o r e s a i d S q u a n t o . W i t h w h o m , after friendly e n t e r t a i n m e n t a n d s o m e gifts given h i m , they m a d e a p e a c e with him (which hath now c o n t i n u e d this 2 4 y e a r s ) 1 in t h e s e t e r m s : 1. T h a t neither he nor any of his s h o u l d injure or d o hurt to any of their people. 8. Cheat. 9. S a m o s e t was an Algonquin sagamore of Pemaquid Point, Maine, a region much frequented hy English fishermen. He probably shipped with Captain Dernier from Monhegan to C a p e C o d shortly

before the Pilgrims landed and worked his way overland to Plymouth [Morison's note], 1. Morison notes that this passage "dates Bradford's writing of this chapter not earlier than 1644."

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2. T h a t if any of his did hurt to any of theirs, he s h o u l d s e n d the offender, that they might p u n i s h him. . , , ri 3. T h a t if anything were taken away from any of theirs, h e s h o u l d c a u s e it to be r e s t o r e d ; a n d they s h o u l d do the like to his. 4. If any did unjustly war a g a i n s t him, they would aid him; if any did war a g a i n s t t h e m , he s h o u l d aid t h e m . 5. H e s h o u l d s e n d to his n e i g h b o r s c o n f e d e r a t e s to certify t h e m of this, that they might not w r o n g t h e m , but might be likewise c o m p r i s e d in the c o n d i t i o n s of p e a c e . 6. T h a t w h e n their m e n c a m e to t h e m , they s h o u l d leave their b o w s and arrows b e h i n d t h e m . After t h e s e things he returned to his p l a c e called S o w a m s , s o m e 4 0 miles from this p l a c e , but S q u a n t o c o n t i n u e d with t h e m a n d w a s their interpreter a n d w a s a special i n s t r u m e n t sent of G o d for their g o o d beyond their expectation. H e directed t h e m how to set their c o r n , w h e r e to take fish, a n d to p r o c u r e other c o m m o d i t i e s , a n d w a s a l s o their pilot to bring t h e m to u n k n o w n p l a c e s for their profit, a n d never left t h e m till h e died. H e w a s a native of this p l a c e , a n d s c a r c e any left alive b e s i d e s himself. H e w a s carried away with divers others by o n e H u n t , a m a s t e r of a s h i p , w h o t h o u g h t to sell t h e m for slaves in S p a i n . B u t he got away for E n g l a n d a n d w a s e n t e r t a i n e d by a m e r c h a n t in L o n d o n , a n d e m p l o y e d to N e w f o u n d l a n d a n d other p a r t s , a n d lastly b r o u g h t hither into t h e s e parts by o n e Mr. D e r m e r , a g e n t l e m a n e m p l o y e d by Sir F e r d i n a n d o G o r g e s a n d others for discovery a n d other d e s i g n s in these parts. O f w h o m I shall say s o m e t h i n g , b e c a u s e it is m e n tioned in a book set forth A n n o 1 6 2 2 by the P r e s i d e n t a n d C o u n c i l for N e w E n g l a n d , 2 that he m a d e the p e a c e b e t w e e n the s a v a g e s of t h e s e p a r t s a n d the English, of which this plantation, a s it is i n t i m a t e d , h a d the benefit; but what a p e a c e it w a s m a y a p p e a r by what befell him a n d his m e n . T h i s Mr. D e r m e r w a s here the s a m e year that t h e s e p e o p l e c a m e , a s a p p e a r s by a relation written by him a n d given m e by a friend, b e a r i n g d a t e J u n e 3 0 , A n n o 1 6 2 0 . A n d they c a m e in N o v e m b e r following, so there w a s but four m o n t h s difference. In which relation to his h o n o r e d friend, he hath these p a s s a g e s of this very p l a c e : I will first begin (saith he) with that p l a c e from w h e n c e S q u a n t o or T i s q u a n t u m , w a s taken away; which in C a p t a i n S m i t h ' s m a p 3 is called P l y m o u t h ; a n d I would that P l y m o u t h h a d the like c o m m o d i t i e s . I would that the first plantation might here be s e a t e d , if there c o m e to the n u m ber of 5 0 p e r s o n s , or u p w a r d . O t h e r w i s e , C h a r l t o n , 4 b e c a u s e there the savages are less to be feared. T h e P o c a n o c k e t s , 5 which live to the west of P l y m o u t h , b e a r a n inveterate m a l i c e to the E n g l i s h , a n d are of m o r e strength than all the s a v a g e s from t h e n c e to P e n o b s c o t . T h e i r desire of revenge was o c c a s i o n e d by an E n g l i s h m a n , w h o having m a n y of t h e m on b o a r d , m a d e a greater s l a u g h t e r with their m u r d e r e r s 6 a n d small shot w h e n as (they say) they offered no injury on their p a r t s . W h e t h e r they 2. Bradford is referring to Sir Ferdinando Gorges (c. 1 5 6 6 - 1 6 4 7 ) , whose A Brie/e Relation of the Discovery and Plantation of New England was published in 1622. 3. Captain John Smith ( 1 5 8 0 - 1 6 3 1 ) published his Description of New England in 1616, following

his 1614 voyage. Tisquantum is Squanto's Indian name. 4. Near the mouth of the Charles River. 5. Identical to the W a m p a n o a g s , the tribe of Massasoit. S a m o s e t was an Algonquin. 6. Small cannons.

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were E n g l i s h or no it m a y b e d o u b t e d ; yet they believe they w e r e , for the F r e n c h have so p o s s e s s e d t h e m . F o r w h i c h c a u s e S q u a n t o c a n n o t deny b u t they w o u l d have killed m e w h e n I w a s at N a m a s k e t , h a d h e not e n t r e a t e d h a r d for m e . T h e soil of the b o r d e r s of this great bay m a y b e c o m p a r e d to m o s t of the p l a n t a t i o n s which I have s e e n in Virginia. T h e l a n d is of divers sorts, for Patuxet is a hardy b u t s t r o n g soil; N a u s e t a n d S a t u c k e t are for the m o s t part a b l a c k i s h a n d d e e p m o u l d m u c h like that w h e r e groweth the b e s t t o b a c c o in Virginia. 7 In the b o t t o m of that great bay is store of c o d a n d b a s s or m u l l e t , etc. B u t a b o v e all he c o m m e n d s P o c a n o c k e t for the richest soil, a n d m u c h o p e n g r o u n d fit for E n g l i s h grain, e t c . M a s s a c h u s e t t s is a b o u t nine l e a g u e s from P l y m o u t h , a n d s i t u a t e d in the m i d s t b e t w e e n b o t h , is full of i s l a n d s a n d p e n i n s u l a s , very fertile for the m o s t part. W i t h s u n d r y s u c h relations w h i c h I forbear to t r a n s c r i b e , b e i n g now better known than they were to h i m . H e w a s taken p r i s o n e r by the I n d i a n s at M a n a m o y i c k , 8 a p l a c e not far from h e n c e , now well k n o w n . H e g a v e t h e m what they d e m a n d e d for his liberty, but w h e n they h a d got what they d e s i r e d , they kept h i m still, a n d e n d e a v o r e d to kill his m e n . B u t h e w a s freed by seizing o n s o m e of t h e m a n d kept t h e m b o u n d till they g a v e h i m a c a n o e ' s load of c o r n . O f w h i c h , s e e Purchas, lib. 9 , fol. 1 7 7 8 . 9 B u t this w a s A n n o 1 6 1 9 . After the writing of the former relation, he c a m e to the Isle of C a p a w a c k 1 (which lies s o u t h of this p l a c e in the way to Virginia) a n d the a f o r e s a i d S q u a n t o with h i m , w h e r e he g o i n g a s h o r e a m o n g s t the I n d i a n s to t r a d e , a s he u s e d to d o , w a s b e t r a y e d a n d a s s a u l t e d by t h e m , a n d all his m e n slain, but o n e that kept the b o a t . B u t h i m s e l f got a b o a r d very sore w o u n d e d , a n d they h a d c u t off his h e a d u p o n the c u d d y of the b o a t , h a d not the m a n r e s c u e d him with a sword. A n d s o they got away a n d m a d e shift to get into Virginia w h e r e he d i e d , w h e t h e r of his w o u n d s or the d i s e a s e s of the country, or both together, is u n c e r t a i n . By all w h i c h it m a y a p p e a r how far t h e s e p e o p l e were from p e a c e , a n d with w h a t d a n g e r this p l a n t a t i o n w a s b e g u n , save a s the powerful h a n d of the L o r d did protect t h e m . T h e s e things were partly the r e a s o n why they 2 kept a l o o f a n d w e r e s o l o n g b e f o r e they c a m e to the E n g l i s h . A n o t h e r r e a s o n a s after t h e m s e l v e s m a d e known w a s h o w a b o u t three years b e f o r e , a F r e n c h ship w a s c a s t a w a y at C a p e C o d , b u t the m e n got a s h o r e a n d s a v e d their lives, a n d m u c h of their victuals a n d other g o o d s . B u t after the I n d i a n s h e a r d of it, they g a t h e r e d together from t h e s e p a r t s a n d never left w a t c h i n g a n d d o g g i n g t h e m till they got a d v a n t a g e a n d killed t h e m all b u t three or four which they kept, a n d sent from o n e s a c h e m to a n o t h e r to m a k e sport with, a n d u s e d t h e m w o r s e t h a n 7. Morison notes that Dermer's description of the soil of C a p e C o d would not accurately describe the soil today. Patuxet ("at the little falls") was the Indian name for the site of Plymouth. Nauset, named for the Indian tribe, was near present-day Eastham. Satucket ("near the mouth of the stream") was a Nauset village close to the town of Brewster. 8. Or Monomoit, once a harbor near Pleasant Bay in contemporary Orleans and Harwich.

9. S a m u e l Purchas (1577—1626) was an English clergyman and compiler of travel literature, famous for his publication of the papers of Richard Hakluyt (c. 1552—1616) in four volumes in 1625. Bradford's reference is to volume 4, book 9, p. 1778 of Purchase His Pilgrimes. "Lib.": abbreviation for liher, or "book" (Latin). "Fol.": abbreviation for folio, or "sheet" (Latin). 1. Martha's Vineyard. 2. T h e Indians.

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slaves. O f which the aforesaid M r . D e r m e r r e d e e m e d two of t h e m ; a n d they c o n c e i v e d this s h i p ' w a s now c o m e to revenge it. Also, a s after w a s m a d e known, before they c a m e to the E n g l i s h to m a k e friendship, they got all the P o w a c h s 4 of the country, for three days together in a horrid a n d devilish m a n n e r , to c u r s e a n d execrate t h e m with their c o n j u r a t i o n s , which a s s e m b l y a n d service they held in a dark a n d d i s m a l s w a m p . B u t to return. T h e spring now a p p r o a c h i n g , it p l e a s e d G o d the mortality b e g a n to c e a s e a m o n g s t t h e m , a n d the sick a n d l a m e r e c o v e r e d a p a c e , which p u t a s [it] were new life into t h e m , t h o u g h they h a d b o r n e their s a d affliction with m u c h p a t i e n c e a n d c o n t e n t e d n e s s a s I think any p e o p l e c o u l d d o . B u t it w a s the L o r d which u p h e l d t h e m , a n d h a d b e f o r e h a n d p r e p a r e d t h e m ; m a n y having long b o r n e the yoke, yea from their youth. M a n y other s m a l l e r m a t t e r s I o m i t , sundry of t h e m having b e e n already p u b l i s h e d in a j o u r n a l m a d e by o n e of the c o m p a n y , 5 a n d s o m e other p a s s a g e s of j o u r n e y s a n d relations already p u b l i s h e d , to which I refer t h o s e that are willing to know t h e m m o r e particularly. A n d b e i n g now c o m e to the 2 5 t h of M a r c h , I shall begin the year 1 6 2 1 . FROM

C H A P T E R XII.

* [FIRST

*

ANNO

1621

*

THANKSGIVING]

T h e y b e g a n now to g a t h e r in the small harvest they h a d , a n d to fit u p their h o u s e s a n d dwellings a g a i n s t winter, b e i n g all well recovered in health a n d strength a n d h a d all things in g o o d plenty. F o r a s s o m e were t h u s e m p l o y e d in affairs a b r o a d , others were exercised in fishing, a b o u t c o d a n d b a s s a n d other fish, of which they took g o o d s t o r e , of which every family h a d their portion. All the s u m m e r there w a s no w a n t ; 6 a n d now b e g a n to c o m e in store of fowl, as winter a p p r o a c h e d , of which this p l a c e did a b o u n d w h e n they c a m e first (but afterward d e c r e a s e d by d e g r e e s ) . A n d b e s i d e s waterfowl there was great store of wild turkeys, of which they took m a n y , b e s i d e s v e n i s o n , etc. B e s i d e s they h a d a b o u t a p e c k a m e a l a week to a p e r s o n , or now s i n c e harvest, Indian corn to that proportion. W h i c h m a d e m a n y afterwards write so largely of their plenty here to their friends in E n g l a n d , which were not feigned but true reports. FROM

C H A P T E R XIX.

[THOMAS

MORTON

ANNO DOM:

OF

1628

MERRYMOUNT]7

A b o u t s o m e three or four years before this t i m e , there c a m e over o n e C a p t a i n W o l l a s t o n (a m a n of pretty parts") a n d with him three or four m o r e 3. I.e., the Mayflower. 4. Medicine men. 5. Mourt's Relation ( 1 6 2 2 ) . 6. Lack. 7. Almost nothing is known of either T h o m a s Morton or Captain Wollaston other than what Bradford tells us. By all accounts Morton left England with a bad reputation and a history of

unrest behind him. Unlike the Puritans, however, Morton relished the sensuality of the wild and took great pleasure in the American landscape. Bradford tells us that Morton did not think that "in all the world it could be paralleled" for its plenitude and beauty. 8. I.e., of a clever nature.

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of s o m e e m i n e n c y , w h o brought with t h e m a great m a n y servants, with provisions a n d other i m p l e m e n t s for to begin a p l a n t a t i o n . A n d p i t c h e d t h e m selves in a p l a c e within the M a s s a c h u s e t t s which they called after their Captain's name, Mount Wollaston. Amongst whom was one Mr. Morton, w h o it s h o u l d s e e m h a d s o m e small a d v e n t u r e of his own or other m e n ' s a m o n g s t t h e m , but h a d little r e s p e c t a m o n g s t t h e m , a n d w a s slighted by the m e a n e s t servants. H a v i n g c o n t i n u e d t h e r e s o m e t i m e , a n d not finding things to a n s w e r their e x p e c t a t i o n s nor profit to arise a s they looked for, C a p t a i n W o l l a s t o n takes a great part of the s e r v a n t s 9 a n d t r a n s p o r t s t h e m to Virginia, where h e p u t s t h e m off at g o o d rates, selling their time to other m e n ; a n d writes b a c k to o n e Mr. R a s d a l l (one of his c h i e f p a r t n e r s a n d a c c o u n t e d their m e r c h a n t ) to bring a n o t h e r part of t h e m to Virginia likewise, i n t e n d i n g to put t h e m off there a s h e h a d d o n e the rest. A n d h e , with the c o n s e n t of the said R a s d a l l , a p p o i n t e d o n e Fitcher to be his L i e u t e n a n t a n d govern the r e m a i n s of the Plantation till he or Rasdall r e t u r n e d to take further order t h e r e a b o u t . B u t this M o r t o n a b o v e s a i d , having m o r e craft than honesty (who h a d b e e n a kind of pettifogger of Furnival's Inn) in the o t h e r s ' a b s e n c e w a t c h e s a n opportunity ( c o m m o n s b e i n g but hard a m o n g s t t h e m ) 1 a n d got s o m e strong drink a n d other j u n k e t s 2 a n d m a d e t h e m a feast; a n d after they were merry, he b e g a n to tell t h e m h e would give t h e m g o o d c o u n s e l . "You s e e , " saith h e , "that m a n y of your fellows a r e carried to Virginia, a n d if you stay till this R a s d a l l return, you will also b e carried away a n d sold for slaves with the rest. T h e r e f o r e I w o u l d advise you to thrust o u t this L i e u t e n a n t Fitcher, a n d I, having a part in the P l a n t a t i o n , will receive you a s my p a r t n e r s a n d c o n s o c i a t e s ; s o m a y you be free from service, a n d w e will c o n v e r s e , p l a n t , trade, a n d live together a s e q u a l s a n d s u p p o r t a n d protect o n e a n o t h e r , " or to like effect. T h i s c o u n s e l w a s easily received, so they took o p p o r t u n i t y a n d thrust L i e u t e n a n t Fitcher out o' d o o r s , a n d w o u l d suffer him to c o m e n o m o r e a m o n g s t t h e m , but forced him to s e e k b r e a d to e a t a n d other relief from his n e i g h b o r s till he c o u l d get p a s s a g e for E n g l a n d . After this they fell to great l i c e n t i o u s n e s s a n d led a d i s s o l u t e life, p o u r i n g out t h e m s e l v e s into all p r o f a n e n e s s . A n d M o r t o n b e c a m e L o r d of M i s r u l e , * a n d m a i n t a i n e d (as it were) a S c h o o l of A t h e i s m . A n d after they had got s o m e g o o d s into their h a n d s , a n d got m u c h by t r a d i n g with the I n d i a n s , they spent it as vainly in quaffing a n d drinking, both wine a n d s t r o n g w a t e r s in great e x c e s s ( a n d , a s s o m e reported) £ 1 0 worth in a m o r n i n g . T h e y a l s o set u p a m a y p o l e , drinking a n d d a n c i n g a b o u t it m a n y days together, inviting the Indian w o m e n for their c o n s o r t s , d a n c i n g a n d frisking together like s o m a n y fairies, or furies, rather; a n d w o r s e p r a c t i c e s . As if they h a d a n e w revived a n d c e l e b r a t e d the feasts of the R o m a n g o d d e s s F l o r a , or the beastly p r a c t i c e s of the m a d B a c c h a n a l i a n s . 4 M o r t o n likewise, to s h o w his poetry c o m p o s e d sundry rhymes a n d v e r s e s , s o m e t e n d i n g to l a s c i v i o u s n e s s , a n d 9. A servant was anyone who worked for another in agriculture or domestic economy. An indentured servant was one who agreed to work for another for seven years to pay for transportation to the New World. 1. I.e., there were few responsible citizens a m o n g them. "Pettifogger": a shifty lawyer. Furnival's Inn was a lawyers' building in the city of London. 2. Delicacies; food for banqueting. 3. One who presides over games and revels, usu-

ally at Christmastime in a great person's house; here one who presides over revelry and licentiousness. 4. At the Bacchanalia, or revels in honor of Bacchus (god of wine), frenzied worshipers drank, danced, and even tore apart wild animals and devoured them. Flora was the Roman goddess of flowers and vegetation whose cult was celebrated with highly indecent farces.

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others to the detraction a n d s c a n d a l of s o m e p e r s o n s , which h e affixed to this idle or idol m a y p o l e . T h e y c h a n g e d a l s o the n a m e of their p l a c e , a n d i n s t e a d of calling it M o u n t W o l l a s t o n they call it M e r r y - m o u n t , a s if this jollity would have lasted ever. B u t this c o n t i n u e d not long, for after M o r t o n w a s sent for E n g l a n d fas follows to b e d e c l a r e d ) shortly after c a m e over that worthy g e n t l e m a n M r . J o h n E n d i c o t t , who b r o u g h t over a p a t e n t u n d e r the b r o a d seal for the g o v e r n m e n t of the M a s s a c h u s e t t s . W h o , visiting t h o s e p a r t s , c a u s e d that m a y p o l e to be c u t d o w n a n d r e b u k e d t h e m for the prof a n e n e s s a n d a d m o n i s h e d t h e m to look there s h o u l d b e better walking. S o they or others now c h a n g e d the n a m e of their p l a c e a g a i n a n d called it M o u n t Dagon.5 N o w to m a i n t a i n this riotous prodigality a n d p r o f u s e e x c e s s , M o r t o n , thinking h i m s e l f lawless, a n d hearing what gain the F r e n c h a n d fishermen m a d e by trading of p i e c e s , 6 p o w d e r a n d shot to the I n d i a n s , h e a s the h e a d of this c o n s o r t s h i p b e g a n the p r a c t i c e of the s a m e in t h e s e p a r t s . A n d first he taught t h e m how to u s e t h e m , to c h a r g e a n d d i s c h a r g e , a n d what proportion of p o w d e r to give the p i e c e , a c c o r d i n g to the size or b i g n e s s of the s a m e ; a n d what shot to u s e for fowl a n d what for deer. A n d having t h u s instructed t h e m , he e m p l o y e d s o m e of t h e m to hunt a n d fowl for him, s o a s they b e c a m e far m o r e active in that e m p l o y m e n t than any of the E n g l i s h , by r e a s o n of their swiftness of foot a n d n i m b l e n e s s of body, b e i n g also quicksighted a n d by c o n t i n u a l exercise well knowing the h a u n t s of all sorts of g a m e . S o a s w h e n they s a w the e x e c u t i o n that a p i e c e w o u l d d o , a n d the benefit that might c o m e by the s a m e , they b e c a m e m a d (as it were) after them a n d would not stick to give any price they c o u l d attain to for t h e m ; a c c o u n t i n g their b o w s a n d arrows but b a u b l e s in c o m p a r i s o n of t h e m . *

*

8

This M o r t o n having t h u s t a u g h t t h e m the u s e of p i e c e s , h e sold t h e m all he c o u l d s p a r e , a n d he a n d his c o n s o r t s d e t e r m i n e d to s e n d for m a n y o u t of E n g l a n d a n d h a d by s o m e of the s h i p s sent for a b o v e a s c o r e . T h e which being k n o w n , a n d his n e i g h b o r s m e e t i n g the I n d i a n s in the w o o d s a r m e d with g u n s in this sort, it w a s a terror u n t o t h e m w h o lived stragglingly 7 a n d were of no strength in any p l a c e . A n d other p l a c e s ( t h o u g h m o r e r e m o t e ) saw this m i s c h i e f would quickly s p r e a d over all, if not p r e v e n t e d . B e s i d e s , they saw they s h o u l d keep no servants, for M o r t o n would entertain any, how vile soever, a n d all the s c u m of the country or any d i s c o n t e n t s would flock to him from all p l a c e s , if this nest w a s not b r o k e n . A n d they s h o u l d s t a n d in m o r e fear of their lives a n d g o o d s in short time from this wicked a n d d e b a s e d crew than from the s a v a g e s t h e m s e l v e s . S o sundry of the chief of the straggling p l a n t a t i o n s , m e e t i n g together, a g r e e d by m u t u a l c o n s e n t to solicit t h o s e of P l y m o u t h (who were then of m o r e strength than t h e m all) to j o i n with t h e m to prevent the further growth of this mischief, a n d s u p p r e s s M o r t o n a n d his c o n s o r t s before they grew to further head a n d strength. T h o s e that j o i n e d in this a c t i o n , a n d after c o n tributed to the c h a r g e of s e n d i n g him for E n g l a n d , were from P i s c a t a q u a , 5. Named after the god of the Philistines: "Then the lords of the Philistines gathered them together for to offer a great sacrifice unto Dagon their god, and to rejoice: for they said, Our god hath delivered

S a m s o n our enemy into our hand" (Judges 16.23). 6. G u n s . 7. Spread out in a scattered fashion; far apart.

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N a u m k e a g , W i n n i s i m m e t , W e s s a g u s s e t , N a n t a s k e t a n d other p l a c e s w h e r e any E n g l i s h were s e a t e d . T h o s e of P l y m o u t h b e i n g t h u s s o u g h t to by their m e s s e n g e r s a n d letters, a n d w e i g h i n g b o t h their r e a s o n s a n d the c o m m o n d a n g e r , were willing to afford t h e m their help t h o u g h t h e m s e l v e s h a d least c a u s e of fear or hurt. S o , to b e short, they first resolved jointly to write to h i m , a n d in a friendly a n d neighborly way to a d m o n i s h him to f o r b e a r t h o s e c o u r s e s , a n d sent a m e s s e n g e r with their letters to bring his a n s w e r . B u t he w a s s o high a s he s c o r n e d all advice, a n d a s k e d w h o h a d to do with h i m , he h a d a n d would trade p i e c e s with the I n d i a n s , in d e s p i t e of all, with m a n y other s c u r r i l o u s t e r m s full of d i s d a i n . T h e y sent to him a s e c o n d time a n d b a d e him b e better advised a n d m o r e t e m p e r a t e in his t e r m s , for the country c o u l d not b e a r the injury h e did. It w a s a g a i n s t their c o m m o n safety a n d a g a i n s t the King's p r o c l a m a t i o n . H e a n s w e r e d in high t e r m s a s b e f o r e ; a n d that the King's p r o c l a m a t i o n w a s n o law, d e m a n d i n g w h a t penalty w a s u p o n it. It w a s a n s w e r e d , m o r e t h a n h e c o u l d b e a r — H i s M a j e s t y ' s displeas u r e . B u t insolently h e p e r s i s t e d a n d s a i d the King w a s d e a d a n d his disp l e a s u r e with him, a n d m a n y the like t h i n g s . A n d t h r e a t e n e d withal that if any c a m e to m o l e s t him, let t h e m look to t h e m s e l v e s for h e w o u l d p r e p a r e for t h e m . U p o n which they s a w there w a s n o way b u t to take him by force; a n d having s o far p r o c e e d e d , n o w to give over w o u l d m a k e him far m o r e haughty a n d insolent. S o they m u t u a l l y resolved to p r o c e e d , a n d o b t a i n e d of the G o v e r n o r of P l y m o u t h to s e n d C a p t a i n S t a n d i s h a n d s o m e other aid with h i m , to take M o r t o n by f o r c e . T h e w h i c h a c c o r d i n g l y w a s d o n e . B u t they found him to s t a n d stiffly in his d e f e n s e , having m a d e fast his d o o r s , a r m e d his c o n s o r t s , set divers d i s h e s of p o w d e r a n d bullets ready o n the t a b l e ; a n d if they h a d not b e e n over-armed with drink, m o r e hurt m i g h t have b e e n d o n e . T h e y s u m m o n e d him to yield, b u t he kept his h o u s e a n d they c o u l d get n o t h i n g but scoffs a n d s c o r n s from h i m . B u t at l e n g t h , fearing they w o u l d do s o m e violence to the h o u s e , he a n d s o m e of his c r e w c a m e out, b u t not to yield b u t to s h o o t ; but they were s o s t e e l e d 8 with drink a s their p i e c e s were too heavy for t h e m . H i m s e l f with a c a r b i n e , o v e r c h a r g e d a n d a l m o s t half filled with p o w d e r a n d shot, as w a s after f o u n d , h a d t h o u g h t to have shot C a p t a i n S t a n d i s h ; b u t h e s t e p p e d to him a n d p u t by his p i e c e a n d t o o k t h e m . N e i t h e r w a s there any hurt d o n e to any of either s i d e , save that o n e w a s so d r u n k that he r a n his own n o s e u p o n the point of a sword that o n e held b e f o r e h i m , a s he e n t e r e d the h o u s e ; but he lost b u t a little of his hot blood.9 M o r t o n they b r o u g h t away to P l y m o u t h , w h e r e he w a s kept till a ship went from the Isle of S h o a l s for E n g l a n d , with which h e w a s sent to the C o u n c i l of N e w E n g l a n d , a n d letters written to give t h e m i n f o r m a t i o n of his c o u r s e a n d c a r r i a g e . A n d a l s o o n e w a s s e n t at their c o m m o n c h a r g e to inform their H o n o r s m o r e particularly a n d to p r o s e c u t e a g a i n s t h i m . B u t h e fooled of the m e s s e n g e r , after h e w a s g o n e from h e n c e , a n d t h o u g h h e w e n t for E n g l a n d yet n o t h i n g w a s d o n e to him, not so m u c h a s r e b u k e d , for a u g h t w a s h e a r d , 8. Insensible. 9. Morton refers to Captain Standish in his New English Canaan ( 1 6 3 7 ) as "Captain S h r i m p , " and tells us that it would have been easy for him to destroy these nine "worthies" like a "flock of wild

g e e s e " but that he loathed violence and asked for his freedom to leave. H e suggests that he was treated brutally b e c a u s e the Puritans wished to s h a m e him before the Nausets.

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but returned the next year. S o m e of the worst of the c o m p a n y were d i s p e r s e d a n d s o m e of the m o r e m o d e s t kept the h o u s e till he s h o u l d be heard from. B u t 1 have b e e n too long a b o u t so unworthy a p e r s o n , a n d b a d a c a u s e .

FROM

C H A P T E R XXIII. a

[PROSPERITY

BRINGS

*

ANNO DOM:

1632

*

DISPERSAL

OF

POPULATION]

A l s o the p e o p l e of the P l a n t a t i o n b e g a n to grow in their o u t w a r d e s t a t e s , by r e a s o n of the flowing of m a n y p e o p l e into the country, especially into the Bay of the M a s s a c h u s e t t s . By which m e a n s c o r n a n d cattle rose to a great p r i c e , by which m a n y were m u c h e n r i c h e d a n d c o m m o d i t i e s grew plentiful. A n d yet in other regards this benefit turned to their hurt, a n d this a c c e s s i o n of strength to their w e a k n e s s . F o r now a s their stocks i n c r e a s e d a n d the i n c r e a s e v e n d i b l e , 1 there w a s no longer any holding t h e m together, b u t now they m u s t of n e c e s s i t y go to their great lots. T h e y c o u l d not otherwise keep their cattle, a n d having oxen grown they m u s t have land for plowing a n d tillage. A n d n o m a n now thought he c o u l d live except he h a d cattle a n d a great deal of g r o u n d to k e e p t h e m , all striving to i n c r e a s e their s t o c k s . By which m e a n s they were s c a t t e r e d all over the Bay quickly a n d the town in which they lived c o m p a c t l y till now w a s left very thin a n d in a short time almost desolate. A n d if this h a d b e e n all, it h a d b e e n l e s s , t h o u g h too m u c h ; b u t the c h u r c h m u s t a l s o be divided, a n d t h o s e that h a d lived so long together in C h r i s t i a n a n d c o m f o r t a b l e fellowship m u s t now part a n d suffer m a n y divisions. First, those that lived on their lots on the other side of the Bay, called Duxbury, they c o u l d not long bring their wives a n d children to the p u b l i c w o r s h i p a n d c h u r c h m e e t i n g s h e r e , b u t with s u c h b u r t h e n a s , growing to s o m e c o m p e t e n t n u m b e r , they s u e d to b e d i s m i s s e d a n d b e c o m e a body of t h e m s e l v e s . A n d so they were d i s m i s s e d a b o u t this t i m e , t h o u g h very unwillingly. B u t to t o u c h this s a d matter, a n d h a n d l e things together that fell o u t afterward; to prevent any further s c a t t e r i n g from this p l a c e a n d w e a k e n i n g of the s a m e , it w a s thought b e s t to give o u t s o m e g o o d f a r m s to special p e r s o n s that would p r o m i s e to live at P l y m o u t h , a n d likely to be helpful to the c h u r c h or c o m m o n w e a l t h , a n d so tie the lands to P l y m o u t h a s f a r m s for the s a m e ; a n d there they might keep their cattle a n d tillage by s o m e servants a n d retain their dwellings h e r e . A n d s o s o m e special l a n d s were g r a n t e d at a p l a c e general called G r e e n ' s H a r b o r , where no a l l o t m e n t s h a d b e e n in the former division, a p l a c e very well m e a d o w e d a n d fit to k e e p a n d rear cattle g o o d store. B u t a l a s , this remedy proved worse than the d i s e a s e ; for within a few years t h o s e that had t h u s got footing there rent t h e m s e l v e s away, partly by force a n d partly w e a r i n g the rest with importunity a n d p l e a s of n e c e s s i t y , s o a s they m u s t either suffer t h e m to go or live in c o n t i n u a l o p p o s i t i o n a n d c o n t e n t i o n . And other still, as they c o n c e i v e d t h e m s e l v e s s t r a i t e n e d 2 or to want a c c o m m o d a t i o n , broke away u n d e r o n e p r e t e n c e or other, thinking their own c o n c e i v e d necessity a n d the e x a m p l e of others a warrant sufficient

I. Saleable.

2. Financially hampered.

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for t h e m . A n d this I fear will be the ruin of N e w E n g l a n d , at least of the c h u r c h e s of G o d there, a n d will provoke the Lord's d i s p l e a s u r e a g a i n s t t h e m .

1635

1637

JOHN

WINTHROP

1588-1649 John Winthrop, the son of Adam Winthrop, a lawyer, and Anne Browne, the daughter of a tradesman, was born in Groton, England, on an estate that his father purchased from Henry VIII. It was a prosperous farm, and Winthrop had all the advantages that his father's social and economic position would allow. He went to Cambridge University for two years and married at the age of seventeen. It was probably at Cambridge University that Winthrop was exposed to Puritan ideas. Unlike Bradford and the Pilgrims, however, Winthrop was not a Separatist; that is, he wished to reform the national church from within, purging it of everything that harked back to Rome, especially the hierarchy of the clergy and all the traditional Catholic rituals. For a time Winthrop thought of becoming a clergyman himself, but instead he turned to the practice of law. In the 1620s severe economic depression in England made Winthrop realize that he could not depend on the support of his father's estate. The ascension of Charles 1 to the throne—who was known to be sympathetic to Roman Catholicism and impatient with Puritan reformers—was also taken as an ominous sign for Puritans, and Winthrop was not alone in predicting that "God will bring some heavy affliction upon the land, and that speedily." Winthrop came to realize that he could not antagonize the king by expressing openly the Puritan cause without losing all that he possessed. The only recourse seemed to be to obtain the king's permission to emigrate. In March of 1629 a group of enterprising merchants, all sympathetic believers, were able to get a charter from the Council for New England for land in the New World. They called themselves "The Company of Massachusetts Bay in New England." From four candidates, Winthrop was chosen governor in October 1629; for the next twenty years most of the responsibility for the colony rested in his hands. On April 8, 1630, an initial group of some seven hundred emigrants sailed from England. The ship carrying Winthrop was called the Arbella. Either just before departing from England or on the high seas, Winthrop delivered his sermon A Model of Christian Charity. It set out clearly and eloquently the ideals of a harmonious Christian community and reminded all those on board that they would stand as an example to the world either of the triumph or else the failure of this Christian enterprise. When Cotton Mather wrote his history of New England some fifty years after Winthrop's death, he chose Winthrop as his model of the perfect earthly ruler. Although the actual history of the colony showed that Winthrop's ideal of a perfectly selfless community was impossible to realize in fact, Winthrop emerges from the story as a man of unquestioned integrity and deep humanity.

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A Model of Christian Charity1 1 A

MODEL

HEREOF

G o d Almighty in His m o s t holy a n d wise p r o v i d e n c e , h a t h s o d i s p o s e d of the condition of m a n k i n d , a s in all times s o m e m u s t be rich, s o m e poor, s o m e high a n d e m i n e n t in power a n d dignity; others m e a n a n d in s u b j e c t i o n . THE

REASON

HEREOF

First, to hold conformity with the rest of His works, being delighted to show forth the glory of His w i s d o m in the variety a n d difference of the creat u r e s ; a n d the glory of His power, in ordering all t h e s e differences for the preservation a n d good of the w h o l e ; a n d the glory of His g r e a t n e s s , that as it is the glory of p r i n c e s to have m a n y officers, s o this great K i n g will have m a n y s t e w a r d s , c o u n t i n g H i m s e l f m o r e h o n o r e d in d i s p e n s i n g His gifts to m a n by m a n , than if H e did it by His own i m m e d i a t e h a n d s . S e c o n d l y , that H e might have the m o r e o c c a s i o n to m a n i f e s t the work of His Spirit: first u p o n the wicked in m o d e r a t i n g a n d restraining t h e m , s o that the rich a n d mighty s h o u l d not eat u p the poor, nor the p o o r a n d d e s p i s e d rise up a g a i n s t their superiors a n d s h a k e off their yoke; secondly in the regenerate, in exercising H i s g r a c e s , in t h e m , a s in the great o n e s , their love, mercy, g e n t l e n e s s , t e m p e r a n c e , e t c . , in the p o o r a n d inferior sort, their faith, patience, obedience, etc. Thirdly, that every m a n might have n e e d of other, a n d from h e n c e they might be all knit m o r e nearly together in the b o n d s of brotherly affection. F r o m h e n c e it a p p e a r s plainly that n o m a n is m a d e m o r e h o n o r a b l e t h a n a n o t h e r or m o r e wealthy, e t c . , o u t of any particular a n d s i n g u l a r r e s p e c t to himself, but for the glory of his C r e a t o r a n d the c o m m o n g o o d of the c r e a ture, m a n . T h e r e f o r e G o d still reserves the property of t h e s e gifts to H i m s e l f as [in] Ezekiel: 1 6 . 1 7 . H e there calls wealth His gold a n d His silver. 2 [In] Proverbs: 3.9, he c l a i m s their service a s H i s d u e : h o n o r the L o r d with thy r i c h e s , e t c . ' All m e n being t h u s (by divine providence) ranked into two sorts, rich a n d poor; under the first a r e c o m p r e h e n d e d all s u c h as are a b l e to live comfortably by their own m e a n s duly improved; a n d all others are p o o r a c c o r d i n g to the former distribution. T h e r e are two rules whereby we are to walk o n e towards a n o t h e r : j u s t i c e and mercy. T h e s e are always d i s t i n g u i s h e d in their act a n d in their o b j e c t , yet m a y they both c o n c u r in the s a m e s u b j e c t in e a c h r e s p e c t ; a s s o m e t i m e s there m a y be a n o c c a s i o n of s h o w i n g mercy to a rich m a n in s o m e s u d d e n d a n g e r of distress, a n d a l s o doing of m e r e j u s t i c e to a p o o r m a n in regard of s o m e particular c o n t r a c t , etc. 1. T h e text is from Old South Leaflets, Old South Association, Old South Meetinghouse, Boston, Massachusetts, No. 207, edited by Samuel Fliot Morison. The original manuscript for Winthrop's sermon is lost, but a copy made during Winthrop's lifetime was published by the Massachusetts Historical Society in 1838. 2. "Thou hast also taken thy fair jewels of my gold

and of my silver, which I had given thee, and madest to thyself images of men, and didst commit whoredom with them." 3. "Honour the Lord with thy substance, and with the firstfruits of all thine increase: S o shall thy barns be filled with plenty, and thy presses shall burst out with new wine" (Proverbs 3.9—10).

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T h e r e is likewise a d o u b l e law by w h i c h we are r e g u l a t e d in our conversation o n e towards a n o t h e r in both the former r e s p e c t s : the law of n a t u r e a n d the law of g r a c e , or the moral law or the law of t h e G o s p e l , to o m i t the rule of j u s t i c e as not properly b e l o n g i n g to this p u r p o s e otherwise than it m a y fall into c o n s i d e r a t i o n in s o m e p a r t i c u l a r c a s e s . B y the first of t h e s e laws m a n a s he w a s e n a b l e d so withal [is] c o m m a n d e d to love his n e i g h b o r a s himself. 4 U p o n this g r o u n d s t a n d s all the p r e c e p t s of the m o r a l law, which c o n c e r n s o u r d e a l i n g s with m e n . T o apply this to the works of m e r c y , this law r e q u i r e s two things: first, that every m a n afford his help to a n o t h e r in every want or d i s t r e s s ; secondly, that he p e r f o r m e d this o u t of the s a m e affection w h i c h m a k e s him careful of his own g o o d s , a c c o r d i n g to that of o u r Savior. M a t t h e w : " W h a t s o e v e r ye w o u l d that m e n s h o u l d do to y o u . " 5 T h i s w a s p r a c t i c e d by A b r a h a m a n d L ot in e n t e r t a i n i n g the A n g e l s a n d the old m a n of G i b e a h . 6 T h e law of g r a c e or the G o s p e l hath s o m e difference from the former, a s in t h e s e r e s p e c t s : First, the law of n a t u r e w a s given to m a n in the e s t a t e of i n n o ce n cy; this of the G o s p e l in the e s t a t e of r e g e n e r a c y . 7 S e c o n d l y , the former p r o p o u n d s o n e m a n to another, a s t h e s a m e flesh a n d i m a g e of G o d ; this a s a brother in C h r i s t a l s o , a n d in the c o m m u n i o n of the s a m e spirit a n d s o t e a c h e t h u s to p u t a difference b e t w e e n C h r i s t i a n s a n d o t h e r s . Do good to all, especially to the household of faith: U p o n this g r o u n d the Israelites were to p u t a difference b e t w e e n the b r e t h r e n of s u c h a s were s t r a n g e r s t h o u g h not of C a n a a n i t e s . " Thirdly, the law of n a t u r e c o u l d give no rules for d e a l i n g with e n e m i e s , for all are to b e c o n s i d e r e d a s friends in the state of i n n o c e n c y , but the G o s p e l c o m m a n d s love to a n e n e m y . Proof. If thine E n e m y h u n g e r , feed h i m ; L o v e your E n e m i e s , d o g o o d to t h e m that hate you. M a t t h e w : 5 . 4 4 . T h i s law of the G o s p e l p r o p o u n d s likewise a difference of s e a s o n s a n d o c c a s i o n s . T h e r e is a time w h e n a C h r i s t i a n m u s t sell all a n d give to the poor, a s they did in the A p o s t l e s ' t i m e s . 9 T h e r e is a time a l s o w h e n a C h r i s t i a n ( t h o u g h they give not all yet) m u s t give b e y o n d their ability, a s they of M a c e d o n i a , C o r i n t h i a n s : 2 . 8 . 1 L i k e w i s e c o m m u n i t y of perils calls for extraordinary liberality, a n d so doth c o m m u n i t y in s o m e special service for the C h u r c h . Lastly, w h e n there is no other m e a n s w h ereb y o u r C h r i s t i a n brother 4. Matthew 5.43; 19.19. 5. "Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law of the prophets" (Matthew 7.12). 6. Abraham entertains the angels in Genesis 18: "And the Lord appeared unto him in the plains of Mamre: and he sat in the tent door in the heat of the day; And he lift up his eyes and looked, and, Io, three men stood by him: and when he saw them, he ran to meet t h e m " (Genesis 1 8 . 1 - 2 ) . Lot was Abraham's nephew, and he escaped the destruction of the city of S o d o m b e c a u s e he defended two angels who were his guests from a mob (Genesis 1 9 . 1 - 1 4 ) . In J u d g e s 1 9 . 1 6 - 2 1 , an old citizen of Gibeah offered shelter to a traveling priest or Levite and defended him from enemies from a neighboring city. 7. Humanity lost its natural innocence when Adam and Eve fell; that state is called unregenerate. When Christ c a m e to ransom humankind for

Adam and Eve's sin, he offered salvation for those who believed in him and who thus became regenerate, or saved. 8. People who lived in C a n a a n , the Land of Promise for the Israelites. 9. In Luke, J e s u s tells a ruler who asks him what he must do to gain eternal life: "sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and c o m e , follow m e " (Luke 18.22). I. "Moreover, brethren, we do you to wit of the grace of G od bestowed on the churches of Macedonia; How that in a great trial of affliction, the a b u n d a n c e of their joy and their deep poverty abounded unto the riches of their liberality. For to their power, I bear record, yea, and beyond their power they were willing of themselves; Praying us with much intreaty that we would receive the gift, and take upon us the fellowship of the ministering to the saints" (2 Corinthians 8.1—4).

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may be relieved in his d i s t r e s s , we m u s t help him b e y o n d o u r ability, rather than t e m p t G o d in p u t t i n g him u p o n help by m i r a c u l o u s or extraordinary means. T h i s duty of mercy is exercised in the kinds, giving, lending a n d forgiving.— Quest. W h a t rule shall a m a n observe in giving in r e s p e c t of the m e a s u r e ? Ans. If the time a n d o c c a s i o n be ordinary, he is to give o u t of his a b u n d a n c e . L e t him lay a s i d e a s G o d hath b l e s s e d h i m . If t h e t i m e a n d o c c a s i o n b e extraordinary, h e m u s t b e ruled by t h e m ; taking this withal, that then a m a n c a n n o t likely d o too m u c h , especially if he may leave h i m s e l f a n d his family u n d e r p r o b a b l e m e a n s of c o m f o r t a b l e s u b s i s t e n c e . Objection. A m a n m u s t lay up for posterity, the fathers lay u p for posterity a n d children a n d he "is w o r s e than an infidel" that "provideth not for his own." Ans. F o r the first, it is plain that it b e i n g s p o k e n by way of c o m p a r i s o n , it m u s t be m e a n t of the ordinary a n d u s u a l c o u r s e of fathers a n d c a n n o t extend to t i m e s a n d o c c a s i o n s extraordinary. F o r the other p l a c e , the A p o s t l e s p e a k s a g a i n s t s u c h a s walked inordinately, a n d it is without q u e s t i o n , that h e is w o r s e than a n infidel w h o t h r o u g h his own sloth a n d v o l u p t u o u s n e s s shall neglect to provide for his family. Objection. " T h e wise m a n ' s eyes are in his h e a d " saith S o l o m o n , " a n d foreseeth the p l a g u e , " 2 therefore we m u s t f o r e c a s t a n d lay u p a g a i n s t evil times w h e n he or his may s t a n d in n e e d of all h e c a n gather. Aws. T h i s very a r g u m e n t S o l o m o n u s e t h to p e r s u a d e to liberality, E c c l e s i a s t e s : " C a s t thy b r e a d u p o n the w a t e r s , " a n d "for thou k n o w e s t not w h a t evil m a y c o m e u p o n the l a n d . " 3 L u k e : 1 6 . 9 . " M a k e you friends of the riches of iniquity." 4 You will a s k how this shall b e ? very well. F o r first he that gives to the poor, lends to the L o r d a n d H e will repay him even in this life a n h u n d r e d fold to him or h i s — T h e r i g h t e o u s is ever merciful a n d l e n d e t h a n d his s e e d enjoyeth the b l e s s i n g ; a n d b e s i d e s we k n o w what a d v a n t a g e it will b e to u s in the day of a c c o u n t w h e n m a n y s u c h w i t n e s s e s shall s t a n d forth for us to w i t n e s s the i m p r o v e m e n t of our t a l e n t . 5 A n d I w o u l d know of t h o s e w h o p l e a d s o m u c h for laying u p for time to c o m e , w h e t h e r they hold that to be G o s p e l , M a t t h e w : 6 . 1 9 : " L a y not up for yourselves t r e a s u r e s u p o n e a r t h , " 6 etc. If they a c k n o w l e d g e it, what extent will they allow it? if only to t h o s e primitive t i m e s , let t h e m c o n s i d e r the r e a s o n w h e r e u p o n o u r Savior g r o u n d s it. T h e first is that they are s u b j e c t to t h e m o t h , t h e rust, the thief. S e c o n d l y , they will steal away the h ea rt ; w h e r e the t r e a s u r e is there will the heart b e a l s o . T h e r e a s o n s are of like force at all t i m e s . T h e r e f o r e the exhortation m u s t be general a n d p e r p e t u a l , with always in r e s p e c t of the love a n d 2. Ecclesiastes 2.14. Solomon was the son of David and successor to David as king of all Israel. 3. "Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days. Give a portion to seven, and also to eight; for thou knowest not what evil shall be upon the earth" (Ecclesiastes 11.1—2). Winthrop either makes his own translations from the Bible or uses the King J a m e s or Geneva versions; his quotations, therefore, differ occasionally from the King J a m e s version used in these notes. 4. T h e passage in Luke refers to the servant who, removed from his stewardship, resolves to be

received in the houses of his master's debtors and cuts their bills in half. "And I say unto you, Make to yourselves friends of the m a m m o n of unrighte o u s n e s s ; that, when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations" (Luke 16.9). 5. Originally a measure of money. 6. "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal" (Matthew 6.19—20).

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affection to riches a n d in regard of the things t h e m s e l v e s w h e n any special service for the c h u r c h or p a r t i c u l a r d i s t r e s s of o u r b r o t h e r do call for the u s e of t h e m ; otherwise it is not only lawful but n e c e s s a r y to lay u p as J o s e p h 7 did to have ready u p o n s u c h o c c a s i o n s , a s t h e L o r d ( w h o s e s t e w a r d s we are of t h e m ) shall call for t h e m from u s . C h r i s t gives u s an i n s t a n c e of the first, w h e n H e sent his d i s c i p l e s for the a s s , a n d bids them a n s w e r t h e owner t h u s , the L o r d hath n e e d of h i m . 8 S o w h e n the t a b e r n a c l e w a s to b e built H e s e n d s to His p e o p l e to call for their silver a n d gold, e t c . ; a n d yields t h e m n o other r e as o n but that it w a s for H i s work. W h e n E l i s h a c o m e s to the widow of S a r e p t a h a n d finds her p r e p a r i n g to m a k e ready her p i t t a n c e for herself a n d family, H e bids her first provide for H i m ; he c h a l l e n g e t h first G o d ' s part which s h e m u s t first give before s h e m u s t serve her own family. 1 ' All t h e s e t e a c h us that t h e L o r d looks that w h e n H e is p l e a s e d to call for His right in anything we h a v e , o u r own interest we have m u s t s t a n d a s i d e till His turn b e served. For the other, we n e e d look no further than to that of J o h n : 1: " H e who hath this world's g o o d s a n d seeth his brother to n e e d a n d s h u t s up his c o m p a s s i o n from h i m , how dwelleth the love of G o d in h i m , " w h i c h c o m e s p u n c t u a l l y to this c o n c l u s i o n : if thy brother be in want a n d thou c a n s t help h i m , thou n e e d s t not m a k e d o u b t , what thou s h o u l d s t d o , if thou lovest G o d thou m u s t help h i m . Quest. W h a t rule m u s t we o b s e r v e in lending? Aws. T h o u m u s t o b s e r v e w h e t h e r thy brother hath p r e s e n t or p r o b a b l e , or p o s s i b l e m e a n s of repaying t h e e , if there b e n o n e of t h e s e , thou m u s t give him a c c o r d i n g to his necessity, rather than lend him a s h e r e q u i r e s . If he hath p r e s e n t m e a n s of repaying t h e e , thou art to look at him not a s an act of mercy, but by way of c o m m e r c e , wherein thou art to walk by the rule of j u s t i c e ; but if his m e a n s of repaying t h e e b e only p r o b a b l e or p o s s i b l e , then is he a n object of thy mercy, thou m u s t lend him, t h o u g h there b e d a n g e r of losing it, D e u t e r o n o m y : 1 5 . 7 : "If any of thy b r e t h r e n b e p o o r , " e t c . , " t h o u shalt lend him sufficient." 1 T h a t m e n might not shift off this duty by the a p p a r e n t h a z a r d , H e tells t h e m that t h o u g h t h e year of J u b i l e e 2 were at h a n d (when he m u s t remit it, if h e were not a b l e to repay it before) yet h e m u s t lend him a n d that cheerfully: "It may not grieve t h e e to give h i m " saith H e ; a n d b e c a u s e s o m e might o b j e c t ; "why s o I s h o u l d s o o n impoverish myself a n d my family," H e a d d s "with all thy w o r k , " ' e t c . ; for o u r Savior, M a t t h e w : 5 . 4 2 : " F r o m him that would borrow of t h e e turn not a w a y . " Quest. W h a t rule m u s t we o b s e r v e in forgiving? Ans. W h e t h e r thou didst lend by way of c o m m e r c e or in m e r c y , if h e have n o t h i n g to pay t h e e , [you] m u s t forgive, (except in c a u s e w h e r e thou hast a surety or a lawful p l e d g e ) D e u t e r o n o m y : 1 5 . 2 . Every s e v e n t h year the cred7. J o s e p h , the son of J a c o b and Rachel, stored up the harvest in the seven good years before the famine (Genesis 4 1 ) . 8. Matthew 2 1 . 5 - 7 . 9. 1 Kings 1 7 . 8 - 2 4 . I. "If there he among you a poor man ol one of thy brethren within anv of thv gates in thy land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not harden thine heart, nor shut thine hand from thy poor brother: But thou shalt open thine hand wide unto him, and shalt surely lend him sufficient for his need, in that which he wanteth" (Deuteronomv 15.7-8).

2. According to Mosaic law, every seventh year the lands would lie fallow, all work would c e a s e , and all debts would be canceled. T h e Jubilee year concluded a cycle of seven sabbatical years. 3. "The seventh year, the year of release, is at hand; and thine eye be evil against thy poor brother, and thou givest him nought; and he cry unto the Lord against thee, and it be sin unto thee. Thou shalt surely give him, and thine heart shall not be grieved when thou givest unto him: because that for this thing the Lord thy G od shall bless thee in all thy works, and in ail that thou puttest thine hand unto" (Deuteronomy 15.9—10).

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itor w a s to quit that which he lent to his brother if he were p o o r a s a p p e a r s — verse 8: " S a v e when there shall b e n o p o o r with t h e e . " In all t h e s e a n d like c a s e s , C h r i s t was a general rule, M a t t h e w : 7 . 2 2 : " W h a t s o e v e r ye would that men s h o u l d do to you, do ye the s a m e to them a l s o . " Quest. W h a t rule m u s t we observe a n d walk by in c a u s e of c o m m u n i t y of peril? Aws. T h e s a m e a s b e f o r e , but with m o r e e n l a r g e m e n t towards others a n d less r e s p e c t towards ourselves and our own right. H e n c e it w a s that in the primitive c h u r c h they sold all, had all things in c o m m o n , neither did any m a n say that which he p o s s e s s e d w a s his o w n . Likewise in their return out of the captivity, b e c a u s e the work w a s great for the restoring of the c h u r c h a n d the d a n g e r of e n e m i e s w a s c o m m o n to all, N e h e m i a h exhorts the J e w s to liberality a n d r e a d i n e s s in remitting their d e b t s to their b r e t h r e n , a n d d i s p o s i n g liberally of his own to s u c h a s w a n t e d , a n d s t a n d not u p o n his own d u e , which he might have d e m a n d e d of t h e m . 4 T h u s did s o m e of our forefathers in times of p e r s e c u t i o n in E n g l a n d , a n d so did m a n y of the faithful of other c h u r c h e s , whereof we keep an h o n o r a b l e r e m e m b r a n c e of t h e m ; a n d it is to be o b s e r v e d that both in S c r i p t u r e s a n d later stories of the c h u r c h e s that s u c h a s have b e e n m o s t bountiful to the p o o r s a i n t s , especially in t h e s e extraordinary times a n d o c c a s i o n s , G o d hath left t h e m highly c o m m e n d e d to posterity, as Z a c h e u s , C o r n e l i u s , D o r c a s , B i s h o p H o o p e r , the C u t t l e r of B r u s s e l l s 5 a n d divers o t h e r s . O b s e r v e again that the S c r i p t u r e gives no c a u t i o n to restrain any from being over liberal this way; but all m e n to the liberal a n d cheerful practice hereof by the s w e e t e s t p r o m i s e s ; a s to i n s t a n c e o n e for m a n y , Isaiah: 5 8 . 6 : "Is not this the fast I have c h o s e n to loose the b o n d s of w i c k e d n e s s , to take off the heavy b u r d e n s , to let the o p p r e s s e d go free a n d to break every yoke, to deal thy b r e a d to the hungry a n d to bring the p o o r that w a n d e r into thy h o u s e , w h e n thou seest the naked to cover t h e m . A n d then shall thy light b r e a k forth as the m o r n i n g , and thy health shall grow speedily, thy r i g h t e o u s n e s s shall go before G o d , a n d the glory of the Lord shall e m b r a c e t h e e ; then thou shalt call a n d the L o r d shall a n s w e r t h e e " e t c . [Verse] 10: "If thou p o u r out thy soul to the hungry, then shall thy light spring o u t in d a r k n e s s , a n d the Lord shall g u i d e t h e e continually, a n d satisfy thy soul in d r o u g h t , and m a k e fat thy b o n e s ; thou shalt be like a watered g a r d e n , a n d they shalt be of thee that shall build the old w a s t e p l a c e s " e t c . O n the contrary, m o s t heavy c u r s e s a r e laid u p o n s u c h a s are s t r a i g h t e n e d towards the L o r d a n d His p e o p l e , J u d g e s : 5 . [ 2 3 ] : " C u r s e ye M e r o s h e b e c a u s e ye c a m e not to help the L o r d , " e t c . Proverbs: [ 2 1 . 1 3 ] : " H e w h o s h u t t e t h his ears from hearing the cry of the poor, he shall cry a n d shall not be h e a r d . " M a t t h e w : 2 5 : " G o ye c u r s e d into everlasting fire" e t c . "I w a s hungry a n d ye fed m e n o t . " 2 C o r i n t h i a n s : 9 . 6 : " H e that s o w e t h sparingly shall reap sparingly." H a v i n g already set forth the p r a c t i c e of mercy a c c o r d i n g to the rule of G o d ' s law, it will be useful to lay o p e n the g r o u n d s of it a l s o , b e i n g the other part of the c o m m a n d m e n t , a n d that is the affection from which this exercise of mercy m u s t arise. T h e apostle 1 ' tells us that this love is the fulfilling of the 4. Nehemiah was sent by King Artaxerxes to repair the wails of the city of Jerusalem: he saved the city as governor when he persuaded those lending money to charge no interest, and to think first of

the c o m m o n good (see Nehemiah 3). 5. Christian martyrs. 6. St. Paul in his Epistle to the Romans 9 . 3 1 .

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law, not that it is e n o u g h to love our brother a n d so no further; but in regard of the excellency of his p a r t s giving any m o t i o n to the other a s the soul to the body a n d the p o w e r it hath to set all the faculties o n work in the o u t w a r d exercise of this duty. A s w h e n we bid o n e m a k e the c l o c k strike, h e doth not lay h a n d on the h a m m e r , which is the i m m e d i a t e i n s t r u m e n t of the s o u n d , b u t s e t s on work the first mover or m a i n wheel, k n o w i n g that will certainly p r o d u c e the s o u n d which he i n t e n d s . S o the way to draw m e n to works of mercy, is not by force of a r g u m e n t from the g o o d n e s s or necessity of the work; for t h o u g h this c o u r s e may e n f o r c e a rational m i n d to s o m e p r e s e n t act of mercy, a s is f r e q u e n t in e x p e r i e n c e , yet it c a n n o t work s u c h a habit in a soul, a s shall m a k e it p r o m p t u p o n all o c c a s i o n s to p r o d u c e the s a m e effect, b u t by f r a m i n g t h e s e affections of love in the heart which will a s natively bring forth the other, a s any c a u s e doth p r o d u c e effect. T h e definition which the S c r i p t u r e gives u s of love is this: " L o v e is the b o n d of p e r f e c t i o n . " First, it is a b o n d or l i g a m e n t . S e c o n d l y it m a k e s the work perfect. T h e r e is no body but c o n s i s t s of p a r t s a n d that which knits t h e s e parts together gives the body its p e r f e c t i o n , b e c a u s e it m a k e s e a c h part s o c o n t i g u o u s to others as thereby they d o mutually p a r t i c i p a t e with e a c h other, both in strength a n d infirmity, in p l e a s u r e a n d p a i n . T o i n s t a n c e in the m o s t perfect of all b o d i e s : C h r i s t a n d H i s c h u r c h m a k e o n e body. T h e several p a r t s of this body, c o n s i d e r e d apart before they were u n i t e d , were a s d i s p r o p o r t i o n a t e a n d a s m u c h d i s o r d e r i n g a s s o m a n y contrary qualities or e l e m e n t s , b u t w h e n C h r i s t c o m e s a n d by H i s spirit a n d love knits all t h e s e parts to H i m s e l f a n d e a c h to other, it is b e c o m e the m o s t p e r f e c t a n d b e s t p r o p o r t i o n e d body in the world. E p h e s i a n s : 4 . 1 6 : " C h r i s t , by w h o m all the body b e i n g knit together by every j o i n t for the furniture thereof, a c c o r d i n g to the effectual power which is the m e a s u r e of every p e r f e c t i o n of p a r t s , " " a glorious body without spot or w r i n k l e , " the l i g a m e n t s hereof b e i n g C h r i s t , or His love, for C h r i s t is love (1 J o h n : 4 . 8 ) . S o this definition is right: " L o v e is the b o n d of p e r f e c t i o n . " 46 F r o m h e n c e we m a y f r a m e t h e s e c o n c l u s i o n s . 1. First of all, true C h r i s t i a n s are of o n e body in C h r i s t , 1 C o r i n t h i a n s : 1 2 . 1 2 , 2 7 : "Ye are the b o d y of C h r i s t a n d m e m b e r s of their p a r t . " S e c o n d l y : T h e l i g a m e n t s of this body which knit together are love. Thirdly: N o body c a n be perfect which w a n t s its p r o p e r ligament. Fourthly. All the p a r t s of this body b e i n g t h u s u n i t e d are m a d e so c o n t i g u o u s in a special relation a s they m u s t n e e d s p a r t a k e of e a c h other's strength a n d infirmity; j o y a n d sorrow, weal a n d w o e . 1 C o r i n t h i a n s : 1 2 . 2 6 : "If o n e m e m b e r suffers, all suffer with it, if o n e b e in h o n o r , all rejoice with it." Fifthly. T h i s s e n s i b l e n e s s a n d s y m p a t h y of e a c h other's c o n d i t i o n s will n e c e s s a r i l y infuse into e a c h part a native desire a n d e n d e a v o r to s t r e n g t h e n , d e f e n d , preserve a n d c o m f o r t the other. T o insist a little on this c o n c l u s i o n b e i n g the p r o d u c t of all the former, the truth h e r e o f will a p p e a r both by p r e c e p t a n d p a t t e r n . 1 J o h n : 3 . 1 0 : "Ye o u g h t to lay d o w n your lives for the b r e t h r e n . " G a l a t i a n s : 6 . 2 : " b e a r ye o n e another's b u r t h e n s a n d so fulfill the law of C h r i s t . " F o r p a t t e r n s w e have that first of our Savior w h o out of His g o o d will in o b e d i e n c e to His father, b e c o m i n g a part of this body, a n d b e i n g knit with it in the b o n d of love, f o u n d s u c h a native s e n s i b l e n e s s of our infirmities a n d sorrows a s H e willingly yielded H i m s e l f to d e a t h to e a s e the infirmities of the rest of H i s body, a n d s o h e a l e d their sorrows. F r o m the like s y m p a t h y of p a r t s did the a p o s t l e s a n d

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m a n y t h o u s a n d s of the saints lay down their lives for C h r i s t . A g a i n , the like we may s e e in the m e m b e r s of this body a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s . R o m a n s : 9. Paul could have b e e n c o n t e n t e d to have b e e n s e p a r a t e d from C h r i s t , that the J e w s might not be c u t off from the body. It is very o b s e r v a b l e what h e p r o f e s s e t h of his affectionate partaking with every m e m b e r : " w h o is w e a k " saith he " a n d I a m not weak? who is offended a n d I burn n o t ; " 7 a n d a g a i n , 2 C o r i n t h i a n s : 7 . 1 3 . "therefore we are c o m f o r t e d b e c a u s e ye were c o m f o r t e d . " O f E p a p h r o d i t u s 8 he s p e a k e t h , Philippians: 2 . 3 0 . that he regarded not his own fife to do him service. S o P h o e b e 9 a n d others are called the servants of the c h u r c h . N o w it is a p p a r e n t that they served not for w a g e s , or by c o n s t r a i n t , but out of love. T h e like we shall find in the histories of the c h u r c h in all a g e s , the sweet s y m p a t h y of affections which was in the m e m b e r s of this body o n e towards another, their c h e e r f u l n e s s in serving a n d suffering together, how liberal they were without repining, h a r b o r e r s without g r u d g i n g a n d helpful without r e p r o a c h i n g ; a n d all from h e n c e , b e c a u s e they h a d fervent love a m o n g s t t h e m , which only m a k e the p r a c t i c e of m e r c y c o n s t a n t a n d easy. T h e next c o n s i d e r a t i o n is how this love c o m e s to be w r o u g h t . A d a m in his first e s t a t e 1 w a s a perfect m o d e l of m a n k i n d in all their g e n e r a t i o n s , a n d in him this love was perfected in regard of the habit. B u t A d a m rent h i m s e l f from his creator, rent all his posterity also o n e from a n o t h e r ; w h e n c e it c o m e s that every m a n is born with this principle in him, to love a n d s e e k h i m s e l f only, a n d t h u s a m a n c o n t i n u e t h till C h r i s t c o m e s a n d takes p o s s e s s i o n of the soul a n d infuseth a n o t h e r principle, love to G o d a n d o u r brother. A n d this latter having c o n t i n u a l supply from C h r i s t , a s the h e a d a n d root by which he is united, gets the p r e d o m i n i n g in the soul, so by little a n d little expels the former. 1 J o h n : 4 . 7 . "love c o m e t h of G o d a n d every o n e that loveth is b o r n e of G o d , " so that this love is the fruit of the n e w birth, a n d n o n e c a n have it but the new c r e a t u r e . N o w w h e n this quality is t h u s f o r m e d in the souls of m e n , it works like the spirit u p o n the dry b o n e s . Ezekiel: 3 7 : " b o n e c a m e to b o n e . " It gathers together the s c a t t e r e d b o n e s , of perfect old m a n A d a m , a n d knits t h e m into o n e body again in C h r i s t , whereby a m a n is b e c o m e again a living s o u l . T h e third c o n s i d e r a t i o n is c o n c e r n i n g the exercise of this love which is twofold, inward or outward. T h e outward hath b e e n h a n d l e d in the former p r e f a c e of this d i s c o u r s e . F o r unfolding the other we m u s t take in our way that maxim of p h i l o s o p h y simile simili gaudet, or like will to like; for a s it is things which are turned with disaffection to e a c h other, the g r o u n d of it is from a dissimilitude arising from the contrary or different n a t u r e of the things t h e m s e l v e s ; for the g r o u n d of love is an a p p r e h e n s i o n of s o m e r e s e m b l a n c e in things loved to that which affects it. T h i s js'the c a u s e why the L o r d loves the c r e a t u r e , so far a s it hath any of His i m a g e in it; H e loves His elect b e c a u s e they are like Himself, H e b e h o l d s t h e m in His beloved s o n . S o a mother loves her child, b e c a u s e s h e thoroughly c o n c e i v e s a r e s e m b l a n c e of herself in it. T h u s it is between the m e m b e r s of C h r i s t . E a c h d i s c e r n s , by 7. 2 Corinthians 11.29. 8. St. Paul tells the Philippians that he will send to them as a spiritual guide "Lpaphroditus, my brother, and companion in labour, and fellow soldier, but vour messenger, and he that ministered

to my wants" (Philippians 2.25). 9. A Christian woman praised Romans 16.1. 1. I.e., in his innocence.

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the work of the spirit, his own i m a g e a n d r e s e m b l a n c e in a n o t h e r , a n d therefore c a n n o t but love him a s h e loves himself. N o w w h e n the soul, which is of a s o c i a b l e n a t u r e , finds anything like to itself, it is like A d a m w h e n E v e was b r o u g h t to h i m . S h e m u s t have it o n e with herself. T h i s is flesh of my flesh (saith the soul) a n d b o n e of my b o n e . S h e c o n c e i v e s a great delight in it, therefore s h e d e s i r e s n e a r n e s s a n d familiarity with it. S h e h a t h a great propensity to d o it g o o d a n d receives s u c h c o n t e n t in it, a s fearing the miscarriage of her beloved s h e b e s t o w s it in the i n m o s t closet of her h e a r t . S h e will not e n d u r e that it shall want any g o o d w h i c h s h e c a n give it. If by o c c a s i o n s h e b e withdrawn from the c o m p a n y of it, s h e is still looking towards the p l a c e w h e r e s h e left her beloved. If s h e h e a r d it g r o a n , s h e is with it presently. If she find it s a d a n d d i s c o n s o l a t e , s h e sighs a n d m o a n s with it. S h e hath no s u c h j o y a s to s e e her beloved merry a n d thriving. If s h e s e e it w r o n g e d , s h e c a n n o t h e a r it without p a s s i o n . S h e s e t s n o b o u n d s to her affections, nor hath any t h o u g h t of reward. S h e finds r e c o m p e n s e e n o u g h in the exercise of her love towards it. W e may s e e this a c t e d to life in J o n a t h a n a n d D a v i d . 2 J o n a t h a n a valiant m a n e n d o w e d with the spirit of C h r i s t , so s o o n a s he discovers the s a m e spirit in David h a d presently his heart knit to him by this l i n e a m e n t of love s o that it is s a i d h e loved him as his own s o u l . H e takes s o great p l e a s u r e in h i m , that h e strips h i m s e l f to adorn his beloved. His father's k i n g d o m w a s not so p r e c i o u s to h i m a s his beloved David. David shall have it with all his heart, h i m s e l f d e s i r e s n o m o r e b u t that h e m a y b e n e a r to h i m to rejoice in his g o o d . H e c h o o s e t h to c o n v e r s e with h i m in the wilderness even to the h a z a r d of his own life, rather than with the great courtiers in his father's p a l a c e . W h e n h e s e e s d a n g e r towards him, he s p a r e s neither rare p a i n s nor peril to direct it. W h e n injury w a s offered his beloved D a v i d , h e w o u l d not b e a r it, t h o u g h f r o m his own father; a n d w h e n they m u s t part for a s e a s o n only, they t h o u g h t their hearts would have broke for sorrow, h a d not their affections f o u n d vent by a b u n d a n c e of tears. O t h e r i n s t a n c e s might be b r o u g h t to s h o w the n a t u r e of this affection, as of R u t h a n d N a o m i , 3 a n d m a n y o t h e r s ; b u t this truth is c l e a r e d e n o u g h . If any shall object that it is not p o s s i b l e that love s h o u l d be b r e d or u p h e l d without h o p e of requital, it is g r a n t e d ; b u t that is not our c a u s e ; for this love is always u n d e r reward. It never gives, b u t it always receives with a d v a n t a g e ; first, in regard that a m o n g the m e m b e r s of the s a m e body, love a n d affection are reciprocal in a m o s t e q u a l a n d sweet kind of c o m m e r c e . S e c o n d l y , in regard of the p l e a s u r e a n d c o n t e n t that the exercise of love c a r r i e s with it, a s we m a y s e e in the natural body. T h e m o u t h is at all the p a i n s to receive a n d m i n c e the food which serves for the n o u r i s h m e n t of all the other p a r t s of the body, yet it h a t h no c a u s e to c o m p l a i n ; for first the other p a r t s s e n d b a c k by several p a s s a g e s a d u e p r o p o r t i o n of the s a m e n o u r i s h m e n t , in a better form for the s t r e n g t h e n i n g a n d c o m f o r t i n g the m o u t h . S e c o n d l y , the labor of the m o u t h is a c c o m p a n i e d with s u c h p l e a s u r e a n d c o n t e n t a s far e x c e e d s the p a i n s it t a k e s . S o is it in all the labor of love a m o n g C h r i s t i a n s . T h e party loving, r e a p s love a g a i n , a s w a s s h o w e d b e f o r e , w h i c h the soul covets m o r e than all the wealth in the world. Thirdly: N o t h i n g yields m o r e p l e a s u r e a n d c o n t e n t to the soul than w h e n it finds that w h i c h it m a y love 2. T h e story of David and J o n a t h a n is told in 1 Samuel 19ff. 3. Naomi was the mother-in-law of Ruth, whom

Ruth refused to leave when her husband died, telling her, "For whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge" (Ruth 1.16).

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fervently, for to love a n d live beloved is the soul's p a r a d i s e , b o t h here a n d in heaven. In the state of wedlock there be m a n y c o m f o r t s to b e a r o u t the troubles of that c o n d i t i o n ; but let s u c h a s have tried the m o s t , say if there be any s w e e t n e s s in that condition c o m p a r a b l e to the exercise of m u t u a l love. F r o m former c o n s i d e r a t i o n s arise t h e s e c o n c l u s i o n s . First: T h i s love a m o n g C h r i s t i a n s is a real thing, not imaginary. S e c o n d l y : T h i s love is a s absolutely n e c e s s a r y to the b e i n g of the body of C h r i s t , a s the sinews a n d other l i g a m e n t s of a natural body a r e to the b e i n g of that body. Thirdly: T h i s love is a divine, spiritual n a t u r e free, active, strong, c o u r a g e o u s , p e r m a n e n t ; u n d e r v a l u i n g all things b e n e a t h its p r o p e r o b j e c t ; a n d of all the g r a c e s , this m a k e s u s nearer to r e s e m b l e the virtues of our Heavenly Father. Fourthly: It rests in the love a n d welfare of its beloved. F o r the full a n d certain knowledge of t h e s e truths c o n c e r n i n g the n a t u r e , u s e , a n d excellency of this g r a c e , that which the Holy G h o s t hath left r e c o r d e d , 1 C o r i n t h i a n s : 1 3 , may give full satisfaction, which is needful for every true m e m b e r of this lovely body of the L o r d J e s u s , to work u p o n their hearts by prayer, m e d i t a t i o n , continual exercise at least of the special [influence] of H i s g r a c e , till C h r i s t b e f o r m e d in t h e m a n d they in H i m , all in e a c h other, knit together by this b o n d of love.

It rests now to m a k e s o m e application of this d i s c o u r s e by the p r e s e n t design, which gave the o c c a s i o n of writing of it. H e r e i n are four things to b e p r o p o u n d e d : first the p e r s o n s , s e c o n d l y the work, thirdly the e n d , fourthly the m e a n s . y First, For the p e r s o n s . W e a r e a c o m p a n y p r o f e s s i n g ourselves fellow m e m bers of C h r i s t , in which r e s p e c t only t h o u g h we were a b s e n t from e a c h other many miles, a n d h a d our e m p l o y m e n t s a s far distant, yet we o u g h t to a c c o u n t ourselves knit together by this b o n d of love, a n d live in the exercise of it, if we would have c o m f o r t of our being in C h r i s t . T h i s w a s n o t o r i o u s in the practice of the C h r i s t i a n s in former t i m e s ; a s is testified of the W a l d e n s e s , 4 from the m o u t h of o n e of the adversaries /Eneas Sylvius5 " m u t u o [ a m e n t ] p e n e a n t e q u a m n o r u n t , " they u s e d to love any of their own religion even before they were a c q u a i n t e d with t h e m . S e c o n d l y , for the work we have in h a n d . It is by a m u t u a l c o n s e n t , t h r o u g h a special overvaluing p r o v i d e n c e a n d a m o r e than an ordinary a p p r o b a t i o n of the C h u r c h e s of C h r i s t , to s e e k out a p l a c e of c o h a b i t a t i o n a n d c o n s o r t s h i p u n d e r a d u e form of g o v e r n m e n t both civil a n d e c c l e s i a s t i c a l . In s u c h c a s e s a s this, the c a r e of the public m u s t oversway all private r e s p e c t s , by w h i c h , not only c o n s c i e n c e , but m e r e civil policy, doth bind u s . F o r it is a true rule that particular e s t a t e s c a n n o t s u b s i s t in the ruin of the p u b l i c . 4. The Waldenses took their name from Pater Valdes, an early French reformer of the church. They still survive as a religious community. 5. Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini (1405—1464), Pope

Pius II. was a historian and scholar. Solent amare is a closer approximation of the Latin than Morison's suggestion of anient.

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Thirdly. T h e e n d is to improve our lives to do m o r e service to the L o r d ; the c o m f o r t a n d i n c r e a s e of the body of C h r i s t w h e r e o f we are m e m b e r s ; that ourselves a n d posterity may be the better preserved from the c o m m o n c o r r u p t i o n s of this evil world, to serve the L o r d a n d work o u t our salvation u n d e r the power a n d purity of His holy o r d i n a n c e s . Fourthly, for the m e a n s whereby this m u s t be effected. T h e y a r e twofold, a conformity with the work a n d e n d we a i m at. T h e s e we s e e a r e extraordinary, therefore we m u s t not c o n t e n t ourselves with u s u a l ordinary m e a n s . W h a t s o e v e r we did or o u g h t to have d o n e w h e n we lived in E n g l a n d , the s a m e m u s t we d o , a n d m o r e a l s o , w h e r e we go. T h a t which the m o s t in their c h u r c h e s m a i n t a i n a s a truth in profession only, we m u s t bring into familiar a n d c o n s t a n t p r a c t i c e , a s in this duty of love. W e m u s t love brotherly without d i s s i m u l a t i o n ; we m u s t love o n e a n o t h e r with a p u r e heart fervently. W e m u s t bear o n e another's b u r t h e n s . W e m u s t not look only on our own things, but also on the things of our brethren, neither m u s t we think that the L o r d will b e a r with s u c h failings at our h a n d s a s he doth from t h o s e a m o n g w h o m we have lived; a n d that for three r e a s o n s . First, In regard of the m o r e near b o n d of m a r r i a g e b e t w e e n H i m a n d u s , where-in H e hath taken u s to be His after a m o s t strict a n d p e c u l i a r m a n n e r , which will m a k e H i m the m o r e j e a l o u s of o u r love a n d o b e d i e n c e . S o H e tells the p e o p l e of Israel, you only have I known of all the families of the earth, therefore will I p u n i s h you for your t r a n s g r e s s i o n s . S e c o n d l y , b e c a u s e the L o r d will be sanctified in t h e m that c o m e near H i m . W e know that there were m a n y that c o r r u p t e d the service of the L o r d , s o m e setting up altars before His o w n , others offering both s t r a n g e fire a n d s t r a n g e sacrifices a l s o ; yet there c a m e no fire from h e a v e n or other s u d d e n j u d g m e n t u p o n t h e m , a s did u p o n N a d a b a n d A b i h u , 6 w h o yet we m a y think did not sin p r e s u m p tuously. Thirdly. W h e n G o d gives a special c o m m i s s i o n H e looks to have it strictly observed in every article. W h e n H e gave S a u l a c o m m i s s i o n to destroy A m a l e c k , H e i n d e n t e d with him u p o n certain a r t i c l e s , 7 a n d b e c a u s e he failed in o n e of the least, a n d that u p o n a fair p r e t e n s e , it lost him the k i n g d o m which s h o u l d have b e e n his reward if he h a d o b s e r v e d his c o m m i s s i o n . T h u s s t a n d s the c a u s e b e t w e e n G o d a n d u s . W e are e n t e r e d into c o v e n a n t 8 with H i m for this work. W e have taken out a c o m m i s s i o n , the L o r d h a t h given u s leave to draw our own articles. W e have p r o f e s s e d to e n t e r p r i s e t h e s e a c t i o n s , u p o n t h e s e a n d t h o s e e n d s , w e have h e r e u p o n b e s o u g h t H i m of favor a n d blessing. N o w if the L o r d shall p l e a s e to h e a r u s , a n d b r i n g u s in p e a c e to the p l a c e we d e s i r e , then hath H e ratified this c o v e n a n t and sealed our c o m m i s s i o n , [and] will expect a strict p e r f o r m a n c e of the articles c o n t a i n e d in it; but if we shall neglect the o b s e r v a t i o n of t h e s e articles which are the e n d s we have p r o p o u n d e d , a n d , d i s s e m b l i n g with our G o d , shall fall to e m b r a c e this p r e s e n t world a n d p r o s e c u t e our c a r n a l i n t e n t i o n s , s e e k i n g 6. "And N a d a b and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, took either of theni his censer, and put lire therein, and put incense thereon, and offered strange fire before the Lord, which he c o m m a n d e d them not. And there went out fire from the Lord, and devoured them, and they died before the Lord" (Leviticus 1 0 . 1 - 2 ) . Winthrop's point is that the chosen people are often punished more severely than unbelievers. 7. I.e., made an agreement with him on parts of a

contract or agreement. Saul was instructed to destroy the Amalekites and all that they possessed, but he spared their sheep and oxen, and in doing so disobeyed the Lord's c o m m a n d m e n t and was rejected as king (1 S a m u e l 15.1—34). 8. A legal contract; the Israelites entered into a covenant with God in which he promised to protect them if they kept his word and were faithful to him.

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great things for ourselves a n d our posterity, the Lord will surely b r e a k o u t in wrath a g a i n s t u s ; be revenged of s u c h a p e r j u r e d p e o p l e a n d m a k e u s know the price of the b r e a c h of s u c h a c o v e n a n t . Jfc N o w the only way to avoid this shipwreck, a n d to provide for our posterity, is to follow the c o u n s e l of M i c a h , 9 to d o justly, to love mercy, to walk h u m b l y with our G o d . F o r this e n d , we m u s t be knit together in this work as o n e m a n . W e m u s t entertain e a c h other in brotherly affection, we m u s t be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the supply of other's n e c e s s i t i e s . W e m u s t u p h o l d a familiar c o m m e r c e together in all m e e k n e s s , g e n t l e n e s s , p a t i e n c e a n d liberality^We m u s t delight in e a c h other, m a k e other's conditions o u r o w n , rejoice together, m o u r n together, labor a n d suffer together, always having before our eyes our c o m m i s s i o n a n d c o m m u n i t y in the work, our c o m m u n i t y as m e m b e r s of the s a m e body. S o shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the b o n d of p e a c e . T h e Lord will be our G o d , a n d delight to dwell a m o n g us as His own p e o p l e , a n d will c o m m a n d a b l e s s i n g u p o n u s in all our ways, s o that we shall s e e m u c h m o r e of H i s w i s d o m , power, g o o d n e s s a n d truth, than formerly we have b e e n a c q u a i n t e d with. W e shall find that the G o d of Israel is a m o n g u s , when ten of u s shall b e able to resist a thous a n d of our e n e m i e s ; when H e shall m a k e u s a p r a i s e a n d glory that m e n shall say of s u c c e e d i n g p l a n t a t i o n s , "the L o r d m a k e it like that of of N E W E N G L A N D . " F o r we m u s t c o n s i d e r that we shall be a s a city upon a hill. 1 T h e eyes of all p e o p l e are upon u s , s o that if we shall deal falsely with our G o d in this work we have u n d e r t a k e n , a n d so c a u s e H i m to withdraw His p r e s e n t help from u s , we shall be m a d e a story a n d a by-word t h r o u g h the world. W e shall o p e n the m o u t h s of e n e m i e s to s p e a k evil of the ways of G o d , a n d all p r o f e s s o r s for G o d ' s s a k e . W e shall s h a m e the f a c e s of m a n y of G o d ' s worthy servants, a n d c a u s e their prayers to be turned into c u r s e s u p o n u s till we b e c o n s u m e d out of the g o o d land whither we are a g o i n g . And to shut up this d i s c o u r s e with that exhortation of M o s e s , that faithful servant of the L o r d , in his last farewell to Israel, D e u t e r o n o m y 3 0 . 2 B e l o v e d , there is now set before u s life a n d g o o d , d e a t h a n d evil, in that we are c o m m a n d e d this day to love the L o r d our G o d , a n d to love o n e a n o t h e r , to walk in His ways a n d to k e e p H i s c o m m a n d m e n t s a n d His o r d i n a n c e a n d H i s laws, a n d the articles of our c o v e n a n t with H i m , that we may live a n d b e multiplied, a n d that our L o r d o u r G o d may b l e s s u s in the land whither we go to p o s s e s s it. B u t if our hearts shall turn away, so that we will not obey, but shall be s e d u c e d , a n d w o r s h i p other g o d s , our p l e a s u r e s a n d profits, a n d serve t h e m ; it is p r o p o u n d e d u n t o u s this day, we shall surely perish out of the g o o d land whither we p a s s over this vast s e a to p o s s e s s it. 9. The Book of Mieah preserves the words of this 8th-century-B.c.E. prophet. Mieah speaks continually of the judgment of God on his people and the necessity to hope for salvation: "I will hear the indignation of the Lord, b e c a u s e I have sinned against him, until he plead my c a u s e , and execute judgment for me: he will bring me forth to the light, and I shall behold his righteousness" (Micah 7.9). I. "Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house" (Matthew 5 . 1 4 - 1 5 ) .

2. "And it shall come to pass, when all these things are come upon thee, the blessing and the curse, which I have set before thee, and thou shalt call them to mind among all the nations, whither the Lord thy God hath driven thee, and shalt return unto the Lord thy God, and shalt obey his voice according to all that I c o m m a n d thee this day, thou and thy children, with all thine heart, and with all thy soul; That then the Lord thy God will turn thy captivity, and have compassion upon thee, and will return and gather thee from all the nations, whither the Lord thy God hath scattered thee" (Deuteronomy 30.1—3).

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T h e r e f o r e let u s c h o o s e life, that we a n d our s e e d m a y live by obeying H i s voice a n d cleaving to H i m , for H e is our life a n d our prosperity. 1630

1838

From

T h e Journal of J o h n Winthrop1

[SIGHTING MOUNT DESERT ISLAND,

MAINE]

[ J u n e 8, 1 6 3 0 ] A b o u t 3 in the afternoon we h a d sight of l a n d to the N W a b o u t 15 l e a g u e s , which we s u p p o s e d w a s the Isles of M o n h e g e n , but it proved M o u n t M a n s e l l . 2 T h e n we t a c k e d a n d s t o o d W S W . W e h a d now fair s u n s h i n e w e a t h e r a n d so p l e a s a n t a sweet e t h e r 3 a s did m u c h refresh u s , a n d there c a m e a smell off the s h o r e like the smell of a g a r d e n . T h e r e c a m e a wild pigeon into our ship a n d a n o t h e r small land bird. [OVERCOMING

SATAN]

[July 5, 1 6 3 2 ] At W a t e r t o w n there w a s (in the view of d i v e r s 4 w i t n e s s e s ) a great c o m b a t between a m o u s e a n d a s n a k e , a n d after a long fight the m o u s e prevailed a n d killed the s n a k e . T h e p a s t o r of B o s t o n , M r . W i l s o n , 5 a very s i n c e r e , holy m a n , h e a r i n g of it gave this interpretation: that the s n a k e w a s the devil, the m o u s e w a s a p o o r c o n t e m p t i b l e p e o p l e which G o d h a d brought hither, which s h o u l d o v e r c o m e S a t a n h e r e a n d d i s p o s s e s s him of his k i n g d o m . U p o n the s a m e o c c a s i o n h e told the g o v e r n o r 6 that before h e w a s resolved to c o m e into this country he d r e a m e d he w a s h e r e , a n d that h e saw a c h u r c h arise out of the earth, which grew u p a n d b e c a m e a m a r v e l o u s goodly c h u r c h . [CHARGES MADE AGAINST ROGER

WILLIAMS]

[ D e c e m b e r 2 7 , 1 6 3 3 ] T h e governor a n d a s s i s t a n t s met at B o s t o n a n d took into c o n s i d e r a t i o n a treatise which Mr. W i l l i a m s 7 (then of S a l e m ) h a d sent to t h e m , a n d which he h a d formerly written to the governor 8 a n d C o u n c i l of P l y m o u t h , wherein a m o n g other things he d i s p u t e s their right to the l a n d s they p o s s e s s e d h e r e , a n d c o n c l u d e d that c l a i m i n g by the King's grant they c o u l d have no title, nor otherwise except they c o m p o u n d e d 9 with the natives. F o r this, taking advice with s o m e of the m o s t j u d i c i o u s ministers (who m u c h c o n d e m n e d M r . Williams's error a n d p r e s u m p t i o n ) , they gave order that h e s h o u l d be c o n v e n t e d 1 at the next C o u r t to be c e n s u r e d , etc. T h e r e were 3 1. T h e text used here is from The Journal of John Winthrop, 1630-1649, abridged ed.. edited byRichard S. Dunn and Laetitia Yeandle ( 1 9 9 6 ) . 2. What Winthrop saw was Mount Desert Island, Maine. T h e English named it after a British admiral, Sir Robert Mansell ( 1 5 7 3 - 1 6 5 6 ) . 3. Air. 4. Several. 5. T h e Reverend John Wilson ( 1 5 8 8 - 1 6 6 7 ) was beginning a pastorate that would last thirty-seven

years. 6. Winthrop himself. 7. Roger Williams (c. 1 6 0 3 - 1 6 8 3 ) , who had emigrated to New England in 1 6 3 0 and refused a call to the First Church of Boston because he would not preach to "an unseparated people." 8. In 1633 Edward Winslow ( 1 5 9 5 - 1 6 5 5 ) was governor in Plymouth. 9. Arranged to make a financial settlement. I. S u m m o n e d to appear.

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/ p a s s a g e s chiefly whereat they were m u c h offended: 1. F o r that he c h a r g e t h King J a m e s to have told a s o l e m n public lie, b e c a u s e in his p a t e n t he b l e s s e d G o d that he w a s the first C h r i s t i a n prince that had d i s c o v e r e d this land; 2 . F o r that h e c h a r g e t h him a n d others with b l a s p h e m y for calling E u r o p e C h r i s t e n d o m or the C h r i s t i a n world; 3. F o r that he did personally apply to our p r e s e n t King C h a r l e s t h e s e 3 p l a c e s in the Revelation, viz. 2 M r . E n d e c o t t 3 b e i n g a b s e n t , the governor wrote to him to let him know what w a s d o n e , a n d withal a d d e d divers a r g u m e n t s to c o n f u t e the said errors, wishing him to deal with Mr. Williams to retract the s a m e , e t c . W h e r e u n t o he returned a very m o d e s t a n d discreet answer. M r . W i l l i a m s a l s o wrote very submissively, p r o f e s s i n g his intent to have b e e n only to have written for the private satisfaction of the governor, e t c . , of P l y m o u t h without any p u r p o s e to have stirred any further in it if the governor here h a d not required a copy of him; withal offering his book or any part of it to be burnt, e t c . S o it w a s left a n d nothing d o n e in it. [A S M A L L P O X

EPIDEMIC]

[January 2 0 , 1 6 3 4 ] Hall a n d the 2 o t h e r s 4 w h o went to C o n n e c t i c u t N o v e m b e r 3 c a m e now h o m e , having lost t h e m s e l v e s a n d e n d u r e d m u c h misery. T h e y informed u s that the smallpox w a s g o n e as far a s any Indian plantation w a s known to the W., a n d m u c h p e o p l e d e a d of it, by r e a s o n w h e r e o f they c o u l d have n o t r a d e . At N a r r a g a n s e t t by the I n d i a n s ' report there died 7 0 0 , but beyond P a s c a t a q u a c k n o n e to the E . [A W A R R A N T F O R R O G E R

WILLIAMS]

[January 1 1 , 1 6 3 6 ] T h e g o v e r n o r 5 a n d a s s i s t a n t s m e t at B o s t o n to c o n s u l t a b o u t Mr. W i l l i a m s , for that they were credibly i n f o r m e d that n o t w i t h s t a n d ing the injunction laid upon him ( u p o n the liberty g r a n t e d him to stay till the spring) not to g o a b o u t to draw others to his o p i n i o n s , he did u s e to entertain c o m p a n y in his h o u s e a n d to p r e a c h to t h e m , even of s u c h p o i n t s a s he h a d b e e n c e n s u r e d for; a n d it w a s a g r e e d to s e n d him into E n g l a n d by a ship then ready to depart. T h e r e a s o n was b e c a u s e he h a d drawn a b o v e 2 0 p e r s o n s to his opinion a n d they were i n t e n d e d to erect a p l a n t a t i o n a b o u t the N a r r a g a n s e t t Bay, from w h e n c e the i n f e c t i o n 6 would easily s p r e a d into these c h u r c h e s (the p e o p l e being m a n y of t h e m m u c h taken with the a p p r e hension of his g o d l i n e s s ) . W h e r e u p o n a warrant w a s sent to him to c o m e presently to B o s t o n to be s h i p p e d , 7 etc. H e r e t u r n e d a n s w e r (and divers of S a l e m c a m e with it) that he c o u l d not c o m e without hazard of his life, e t c . , whereupon a p i n n a c e 8 w a s s e n t with c o m m i s s i o n to C a p t a i n Underhill, e t c . , to a p p r e h e n d him a n d carry him a b o a r d the ship (which then r o d e at N a n tasket), but w h e n they c a m e at his h o u s e they f o u n d he h a d b e e n g o n e 3 days before, but whither they c o u l d not learn. 2. Abbreviation for videlicet: namely (Latin). 3. John Endecott (c. 1588—1665) served as governor to the Massachusetts Bay Colony's advance settlement in Salem from 1628 until Winthrop arrived. 4. Not further identified. 5. John Hays (1 5 9 4 - 1 6 5 4 ) . Winthrop was elected governor again in 1637.

6. Misguided teachings. Providence Plantation in Rhode Island received its patent in 1644. 7. I.e., returned to Boston by ship. 8. John Underhill (c. 1 5 9 7 - 1 6 7 2 ) c a m e to Massachusetts to organize the M a s s a c h u s e t t s Bay Colony militia. "Pinnace": a small, light vessel, usually with two masts.

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[THE CASE OF ANNE

HUTCHINSON]

[ O c t o b e r 2 1 , 1 6 3 6 ] * * * O n e M r s . H u t c h i n s o n , 9 a m e m b e r of the c h u r c h of B o s t o n , a w o m a n of a ready wit a n d bold spirit, brought over with her two d a n g e r o u s errors: 1 . T h a t the p e r s o n of the Holy G h o s t dwells in a justified' p e r s o n . 2 . T h a t no sanctification c a n help to e v i d e n c e to u s o u r justificat i o n . 2 — F r o m t h e s e two grew m a n y b r a n c h e s ; a s , 1 , O u r union with the Holy G h o s t , so a s a C h r i s t i a n r e m a i n s d e a d to every spiritual a c t i o n , a n d hath no gifts nor g r a c e s , other than s u c h a s are in hypocrites, nor any other sanctification but the Holy G h o s t Himself. T h e r e j o i n e d with her in t h e s e o p i n i o n s a brother of hers, o n e M r . W h e e l wright, 1 a silenced minister s o m e t i m e s in E n g l a n d . [REV. J O H N

COTTON

EXPLAINS

HIS

POSITION]

[ O c t o b e r 2 5 , 1 6 3 6 ] T h e other m i n i s t e r s in the bay, hearing of t h e s e things, c a m e to B o s t o n at the time of a general c o u r t , a n d e n t e r e d c o n f e r e n c e in private with t h e m , to the e n d they might know the certainty of these things; that if n e e d were, they might write to the c h u r c h of B o s t o n a b o u t t h e m , to prevent (if it were p o s s i b l e ) the d a n g e r s which s e e m e d hereby to h a n g over that a n d the rest of the c h u r c h e s . At this c o n f e r e n c e , M r . C o t t o n w a s present, a n d g a v e s a t i s f a c t i o n 4 to t h e m , s o a s h e a g r e e d with t h e m all in the point of sanctification, a n d s o did Mr. W h e e l w r i g h t ; s o a s they all did hold that sanctification did help to e v i d e n c e j u s t i f i c a t i o n . T h e s a m e h e h a d delivered plainly in p u b l i c , divers t i m e s ; b u t , for the indwelling of the p e r s o n of the Holy G h o s t , he held that still, but not u n i o n with the p e r s o n of the Holy G h o s t , s o a s to a m o u n t to a p e r s o n a l u n i o n . [CHARGES

BROUGHT AGAINST MRS. HUTCHINSON

AND

OTHERS]

[ N o v e m b e r 1 , 1 6 3 7 ] * * * T h e r e w a s great h o p e that the late g e n e r a l a s s e m b l y w o u l d have h a d s o m e g o o d effect in pacifying the troubles a n d d i s s e n s i o n s a b o u t m a t t e r s of religion; but it fell o u t otherwise. F o r t h o u g h Mr. Wheelwright a n d t h o s e of his party h a d b e e n clearly c o n f u t e d a n d conf o u n d e d in the a s s e m b l y , yet they p e r s i s t e d in their o p i n i o n s , a n d were a s busy in n o u r i s h i n g c o n t e n t i o n s (the principal of t h e m ) as b e f o r e . * * * T h e court a l s o sent for M r s . H u t c h i n s o n , a n d c h a r g e d her with divers m a t t e r s , a s her k e e p i n g two public l e c t u r e s every w e e k in her h o u s e , whereto sixty or eighty p e r s o n s did usually resort, a n d for r e p r o a c h i n g m o s t of the ministers (viz., all except Mr. C o t t o n ) for not p r e a c h i n g a c o v e n a n t of free g r a c e , a n d that they h a d not the seal of the spirit, nor were able m i n i s t e r s of the N e w T e s t a m e n t ; which were clearly proved against her, t h o u g h s h e s o u g h t to shift it off. 5 A n d after m a n y s p e e c h e s to a n d fro, at last s h e w a s s o 9. Anne Hutchinson (I 59 I — 1643), originally a follower of John Cotton (1584—1652), soon pursued an extreme position, believing that the elect were joined in personal union with God and superior to those lacking Inner Light. S h e also denied that good works were in any way a sign of God's favor, arguing that justification was by faith alone and had nothing to do with either piety or worldly success. 1. I.e., one elected or chosen for salvation by G o d . 2. I.e., that proper moral conduct is no sign of jus-

tification. 3. John Wheelwright (c. 1 5 9 2 - 1 6 7 9 ) had been a vicar near Alford, England, where the Hutehinsons lived. He was removed from his ministry, probably b e c a u s e he refused to sign an oath of loyalty to the C h u r c h of England, and c a m e to Boston in 1636. 4. Satisfied their doubts about him. Cotton's sermons were admired by the Hutehinsons and this worried his fellow ministers. 5. T o qualify her statements.

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full a s s h e c o u l d not c o n t a i n , but vented her revelations; a m o n g s t which this w a s o n e , that s h e h a d it revealed to her that s h e s h o u l d c o m e into N e w E n g l a n d , a n d s h e s h o u l d here be p e r s e c u t e d , a n d that G o d would ruin u s a n d our posterity a n d the whole state for the s a m e . S o the c o u r t p r o c e e d e d a n d b a n i s h e d her; but b e c a u s e it w a s winter, they c o m m i t t e d her to a private h o u s e where s h e w a s well provided, a n d her own friends a n d the elders p e r m i t t e d to go to her, but n o n e else. T h e court called a l s o C a p t . Underhill a n d s o m e five or six m o r e of the principal, w h o s e h a n d s were to the said petition; a n d b e c a u s e they s t o o d to justify it they were d i s f r a n c h i s e d , a n d s u c h a s h a d public p l a c e s were put from t h e m . T h e court also o r d e r e d , that the rest, w h o h a d s u b s c r i b e d the petition, (and would not a c k n o w l e d g e their fault, a n d which n e a r twenty of t h e m did,) a n d s o m e o t h e r s , w h o had b e e n c h i e f stirrers in t h e s e c o n t e n t i o n s , e t c . , s h o u l d be d i s a r m e d . 6 T h i s troubled s o m e of t h e m very m u c h , especially b e c a u s e they were to bring t h e m in t h e m s e l v e s ; b u t at last, w h e n they saw no remedy, they obeyed. All the p r o c e e d i n g s of this court a g a i n s t t h e s e p e r s o n s were set d o w n at large, with the r e a s o n s a n d other o b s e r v a t i o n s , a n d were sent into E n g l a n d to be p u b l i s h e d there, to the end that our godly friends might not b e disc o u r a g e d from c o m i n g to u s , e t c . * * * [MRS.

HUTCHINSON

ADMONISHED

FURTHER]

[ M a r c h 1 6 3 8 ] While M r s . H u t c h i n s o n c o n t i n u e d at Roxbury, 7 divers of the elders a n d others resorted to her, a n d finding her to persist in m a i n t a i n i n g t h o s e g r o s s errors b e f o r e m e n t i o n e d a n d m a n y others to the n u m b e r of thirty or t h e r e a b o u t , s o m e of t h e m wrote to the c h u r c h at B o s t o n , offering to m a k e proof of the s a m e before the c h u r c h , e t c . , [ M a r c h ] 1 5 ; w h e r e u p o n s h e w a s called, (the m a g i s t r a t e s b e i n g desired to give her l i c e n s e to c o m e , ) a n d the lecture w a s a p p o i n t e d to begin at ten. ( T h e general court b e i n g then at N e w town, the governor" a n d the treasurer, b e i n g m e m b e r s of B o s t o n , were permitted to c o m e d o w n , but the rest of the court c o n t i n u e d at N e w t o w n . ) W h e n she a p p e a r e d , the errors were read to her. T h e first w a s that the s o u l s of m e n are mortal by g e n e r a t i o n , 9 but after m a d e immortal by C h r i s t ' s purc h a s e . T h i s s h e m a i n t a i n e d a long t i m e ; but at length s h e was s o clearly c o n v i n c e d by r e a s o n a n d s c r i p t u r e , a n d the whole c h u r c h a g r e e i n g that sufficient h a d b e e n delivered for her conviction, that she yielded she h a d b e e n in an error. T h e n they p r o c e e d e d to three other errors: T h a t there w a s n o resurrection of t h e s e b o d i e s , a n d that t h e s e b o d i e s were not united to C h r i s t , but every p e r s o n united hath a new body, etc. T h e s e were a l s o clearly c o n futed, but yet s h e held her own; so a s the c h u r c h (all but two of her s o n s ) 1 a g r e e d s h e s h o u l d be a d m o n i s h e d , a n d b e c a u s e her s o n s would not a g r e e to it, they were a d m o n i s h e d a l s o . M r . C o t t o n p r o n o u n c e d the s e n t e n c e of a d m o n i t i o n with great solemnity, a n d with m u c h zeal a n d detestation of her errors a n d pride of spirit. T h e 6. Seventy-five people were disarmed, a severe punishment for this time and place. 7. Near Boston. 8. Winthrop himself. Newtown was shortly to be renamed Cambridge.

9. I.e., from the beginning. Orthodox believers hold the soul immortal always. 1. Her son Edward Hutchinson and her son-inlaw T h o m a s Savage, both of whom moved to Rhode Island.

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a s s e m b l y c o n t i n u e d till eight at night, a n d all did a c k n o w l e d g e the special p r e s e n c e of G o d ' s spirit therein; a n d s h e w a s a p p o i n t e d to a p p e a r again the next lecture d a y . * * * [MRS.

HUTCHINSON

BANISHED]

[March 22, 1638] Mrs. Hutchinson appeared again; (she had been l i c e n s e d by the c o u r t , in regard she h a d given h o p e of her r e p e n t a n c e , to be at Mr. C o t t o n ' s h o u s e that both h e a n d M r . D a v e n p o r t 2 m i g h t have the m o r e opportunity to deal with her;) a n d the articles b e i n g again read to her, a n d her a n s w e r r e q u i r e d , s h e delivered it in writing, wherein s h e m a d e a retractation of n e a r all, b u t with s u c h e x p l a n a t i o n s a n d c i r c u m s t a n c e s a s gave n o satisfaction to the c h u r c h ; s o a s she w a s r e q u i r e d to s p e a k further to t h e m . T h e n she d e c l a r e d that it w a s j u s t with G o d to leave her to herself, as H e h a d d o n e , for her slighting His o r d i n a n c e s , both m a g i s t r a c y a n d ministry;' a n d c o n f e s s e d that what she h a d s p o k e n a g a i n s t the m a g i s t r a t e s at the court (by way of revelation) w a s rash a n d u n g r o u n d e d ; a n d d e s i r e d the c h u r c h to pray for her. T h i s gave the c h u r c h g o o d h o p e of her r e p e n t a n c e ; but w h e n s h e w a s e x a m i n e d a b o u t s o m e p a r t i c u l a r s , a s that s h e h a d d e n i e d inherent r i g h t e o u s n e s s , e t c . , s h e affirmed that it w a s never her j u d g m e n t ; a n d t h o u g h it w a s proved by m a n y t e s t i m o n i e s that s h e h a d b e e n of that j u d g m e n t , a n d so h a d p e r s i s t e d a n d m a i n t a i n e d it by a r g u m e n t a g a i n s t divers, yet s h e i m p u dently p e r s i s t e d in her affirmation, to the a s t o n i s h m e n t of all the a s s e m b l y . S o that after m u c h time a n d m a n y a r g u m e n t s h a d b e e n s p e n t to bring her to s e e her sin, b u t all in vain, the c h u r c h with o n e c o n s e n t c a s t her out. S o m e m o v e d to have her a d m o n i s h e d o n c e m o r e ; b u t , it b e i n g for manifest evil in m a t t e r of c o n v e r s a t i o n , it w a s a g r e e d o t h e r w i s e ; a n d for that reason also the s e n t e n c e w a s d e n o u n c e d by the pastor,' 1 m a t t e r of m a n n e r s belonging properly to his p l a c e . After she w a s e x c o m m u n i c a t e d , 5 her spirits which s e e m e d before to be s o m e w h a t d e j e c t e d revived a g a i n , a n d s h e gloried in her sufferings, saying that it w a s the greatest h a p p i n e s s next to C h r i s t that ever befell her. I n d e e d it w a s a h a p p y day to the c h u r c h e s of C h r i s t h e r e , a n d to m a n y p o o r s o u l s w h o h a d b e e n s e d u c e d by her, w h o by w h a t they heard a n d s a w that day were (through the g r a c e of G o d ) b r o u g h t off q u i t e from her errors, a n d settled again in the truth. At this time the good p r o v i d e n c e of G o d s o d i s p o s e d , divers of the c o n gregation (being the chief m e n of the party, her h u s b a n d 6 b e i n g o n e ) were g o n e to N a r r a g a n s e t t to s e e k out a new p l a c e for p l a n t a t i o n , a n d taking liking of o n e in P l y m o u t h p a t e n t , they went thither to have it g r a n t e d t h e m ; but the m a g i s t r a t e s there, knowing their spirit, gave t h e m a denial, but c o n s e n t e d they might buy of the Indians an island in the N a r r a g a n s e t t Bay. After two or three days the governor sent a warrant to M r s . H u t c h i n s o n to d e p a r t this j u r i s d i c t i o n before the last of this m o n t h , a c c o r d i n g to the order of c o u r t , a n d for that e n d set her at liberty from her former constraint, s o a s s h e w a s not to g o forth of her own h o u s e till her d e p a r t u r e ; a n d u p o n 2. John Davenport (1 597—1670), a minister. 3. B e c a u s e Mrs. Hutchinson's beliefs threatened both civil and ecclesiastical law. 4. John Wilson. "Admonished": warned. " D e nounced": read in public.

5. Banished. 6. William Hutchinson, who along with several others laid out plans for the town of Portsmouth, Rhode Island.

T H E JOURNAL OF JOHN W I N T H R O P

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the 2 8 t h s h e went by water to her farm at the M o u n t , w h e r e s h e w a s to take water with M r . Wheelwright's wife a n d family to go to P a s c a t a q u a c k ; b u t s h e c h a n g e d her m i n d , a n d went by land to P r o v i d e n c e , a n d s o to the i s l a n d in the N a r r a g a n s e t t Bay which her h u s b a n d a n d the rest of that sect h a d purc h a s e d of the I n d i a n s , a n d p r e p a r e d with all s p e e d to r e m o v e u n t o . F o r the court h a d o r d e r e d , that except they were g o n e with their families by s u c h a time they s h o u l d be s u m m o n e d to the general c o u r t , e t c . [MRS.

HUTCHINSON

DELIVERS

A

CHILD]

[ S e p t e m b e r 1 6 3 8 ] * * * M r s . H u t c h i n s o n , b e i n g r e m o v e d to the Isle of A q u i d a y 7 in the N a r r a g a n s e t t Bay, after her time w a s fulfilled that s h e e x p e c t e d deliverance of a child, w a s delivered of a m o n s t r o u s birth. H e r e u p o n the governor wrote to Mr. C l a r k e , 8 a physician a n d a p r e a c h e r to t h o s e of the i s l a n d , to know the certainty thereof, w h o returned him this answer: M r s . H u t c h i n s o n , six w e e k s before her delivery, perceived her body to be greatly d i s t e m p e r e d a n d her spirits failing a n d in that regard doubtful of life, s h e sent to m e e t c . , a n d not long after (in immoderate) fluore uterino)9 it w a s b r o u g h t to light, a n d I w a s called to s e e it, w h e r e I b e h e l d i n n u m e r a b l e distinct b o d i e s in the form of a g l o b e , not m u c h unlike the s w i m s ' of s o m e fish, s o c o n f u s e d l y knit together by so m a n y several strings (which I conceive were the b e g i n n i n g of veins a n d nerves) so that it w a s i m p o s s i b l e either to n u m b e r the small r o u n d p i e c e s in every l u m p , m u c h less to discern from w h e n c e every string did fetch its original, they were s o s n a r l e d o n e within a n o t h e r . T h e small g l o b e s I likewise o p e n e d , a n d perceived the m a t t e r of t h e m (setting a s i d e the m e m b r a n e in which it w a s involved) to be partly wind a n d partly water. T h e governor, not satisfied with this relation, s p a k e after with the said M r . C l a r k e , w h o t h u s c l e a r e d all the d o u b t s : T h e l u m p s were twenty-six or twenty-seven, distinct a n d not j o i n e d together; there c a m e no s e c u n d i n e 2 after t h e m ; six of t h e m were a s great a s his fist, a n d the s m a l l e s t a b o u t the b i g n e s s of the top of his t h u m b . T h e globes were r o u n d things, i n c l u d e d in the l u m p s , a b o u t the b i g n e s s of a small Indian b e a n , a n d like the pearl in a m a n ' s eye. T h e two l u m p s which differed from the rest were like liver or c o n g e a l e d blood, a n d h a d no small g l o b e s in t h e m , a s the rest h a d . [AN E A R T H Q U A K E

AT

AQUIDAY]

[ M a r c h 16, 1 6 3 9 ] * * * At A q u i d a y a l s o M r s . H u t c h i n s o n e x e r c i s e d ' p u b licly, a n d s h e a n d her party ( s o m e three or four families) w o u l d have n o magistracy. S h e sent a l s o a n a d m o n i t i o n to the c h u r c h of B o s t o n ; but the elders would not read it publicly b e c a u s e s h e w a s e x c o m m u n i c a t e d . By t h e s e e x a m p l e s we m a y s e e how d a n g e r o u s it is to slight the c e n s u r e s of the c h u r c h ; for it was a p p a r e n t that G o d h a d given t h e m u p to s t r a n g e d e l u s i o n s . . . . M r s . H u t c h i n s o n a n d s o m e of her a d h e r e n t s h a p p e n e d to be at prayer w h e n the e a r t h q u a k e w a s at Aquiday, e t c . , a n d the h o u s e b e i n g s h a k e n thereby, they were p e r s u a d e d (and b o a s t e d of it) that the Holy G h o s t did s h a k e it in c o m i n g d o w n u p o n t h e m , a s H e did u p o n the a p o s t l e s . 7. Aquidneck Island. Rhode Island. 8. Dr. John Clarke c a m e to Boston in 1637 and was disarmed, having been declared an antinomian.

9. In a heavy discharge from the womb (Latin). 1. Swimming bladders. 2. Afterbirth. 3. Lectured.

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[THE

DEATH OF MRS.

HUTCHINSON

AND

OTHERS]

[ S e p t e m b e r 1 6 4 3 ] T h e I n d i a n s near the D u t c h , having killed 15 m e n , b e g a n to set u p o n the E n g l i s h w h o dwelt u n d e r the D u t c h . T h e y c a m e to M r s . H u t c h i n s o n ' s 4 in way of friendly n e i g h b o r h o o d , a s they h a d b e e n a c c u s t o m e d , a n d taking their opportunity, killed her a n d M r . C o l l i n s , her son-inlaw (who h a d b e e n kept p r i s o n e r in B o s t o n , a s is before r e l a t e d ) , a n d all her family, a n d s u c h [other] families as were at h o m e ; in all sixteen, a n d put their cattle into their h o u s e s a n d there burnt t h e m . T h e s e p e o p l e h a d c a s t off o r d i n a n c e s a n d c h u r c h e s , a n d now at last their o w n p e o p l e , a n d for larger a c c o m m o d a t i o n h a d s u b j e c t e d t h e m s e l v e s to the D u t c h a n d dwelt scatteringly near a mile a s u n d e r . * * * [WINTHROPS

SPEECH

TO THE

GENERAL

COURT]

[July 3, 1 6 4 5 ] * * * T h e n w a s the d e p u t y g o v e r n o r d e s i r e d by the C o u r t to go up a n d take his p l a c e a g a i n u p o n the b e n c h , which he did accordingly. And the C o u r t b e i n g a b o u t to rise, h e d e s i r e d leave for a little s p e e c h w h i c h w a s to this effect. 5

I s u p p o s e s o m e t h i n g may be e x p e c t e d from m e u p o n this c h a r g e that is befallen m e , w h i c h m o v e s m e to s p e a k now to y o u . Yet I i n t e n d not to interm e d d l e in the p r o c e e d i n g s of the C o u r t , or with any of the p e r s o n s c o n c e r n e d therein. Only I bless G o d that I s e e an i s s u e 6 of this t r o u b l e s o m e b u s i n e s s . I also a c k n o w l e d g e the j u s t i c e of the C o u r t , a n d for m i n e own part I a m well satisfied. I w a s publicly c h a r g e d , a n d I a m publicly a n d legally a c q u i t t e d , which is all I did expect or d e s i r e . A n d t h o u g h this b e sufficient for my justification before m e n , yet not s o before the L o r d , w h o hath s e e n so m u c h a m i s s in any d i s p e n s a t i o n s ( a n d even in this affair) a s calls m e to b e h u m b l e d . For to be publicly a n d criminally c h a r g e d in this C o u r t is m a t t e r of humiliation (and I desire to m a k e a right u s e of it), n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g I be t h u s a c q u i t t e d . If her father h a d spit in her f a c e (saith the L o r d c o n c e r n i n g Miri a m ) , s h o u l d s h e not have b e e n a s h a m e d 7 d a y s ? 7 S h a m e h a d Iain u p o n her whatever the o c c a s i o n h a d b e e n . I a m unwilling to stay you from your urgent affairs, yet give m e leave ( u p o n this s p e c i a l o c c a s i o n ) to s p e a k a little m o r e to this a s s e m b l y . It may be of s o m e g o o d u s e to inform a n d rectify the j u d g m e n t s of s o m e of the p e o p l e , a n d m a y prevent s u c h d i s t e m p e r s a s have arisen a m o n g s t u s . T h e great q u e s t i o n s that have t r o u b l e d t h e country are a b o u t the authority of the m a g i s t r a t e s a n d the liberty of the p e o p l e . It is yourselves w h o have called us to this office, a n d b e i n g called by you we have our authority from G o d in way of an o r d i n a n c e , s u c h a s h a t h t h e i m a g e of G o d e m i nently s t a m p e d u p o n it, the c o n t e m p t a n d violation w h e r e o f h a t h b e e n 4. After the death of her husband, William, in 1642 Anne Hutchinson moved to Dutch territory: Pelham Bay, Long Island, now a part of the Bronx in New York. 5. Winthrop. The governor in 1645 was T h o m a s Dudley (1 5 7 6 - 1 6 5 3 ) . The "little s p e e c h " that follows is one of Winthrop's most important meditations on Christian liberty. Several residents of the town of Hingham argued that "words spoken against the General C o u r t " had been unfairly used against them by Winthrop and others, and they

hoped that Winthrop would be impeached for misusing his power as deputy. Winthrop was fully acquitted. 6. Termination. 7. Miriam was the sister of Moses and Aaron. "And the Lord said unto M o s e s . If her father had but spit in her face, should she not be ashamed seven days? let her be shut out from the c a m p seven days, and after that let her be received in again" ( N u m b e r s 12.14).

THE

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vindicated with e x a m p l e s of divine v e n g e a n c e . I entreat you to c o n s i d e r that when you c h o o s e m a g i s t r a t e s you take t h e m from a m o n g yourselves, m e n subject to like p a s s i o n s a s you a r e . T h e r e f o r e , w h e n you s e e infirmities in u s , you s h o u l d reflect u p o n your own, a n d that w o u l d m a k e you b e a r the m o r e with u s , a n d not b e severe c e n s u r e r s of the failings of your m a g i s t r a t e s w h e n you have c o n t i n u a l experience of the like infirmities in yourselves a n d o t h e r s . W e a c c o u n t him a g o o d servant w h o b r e a k s not his c o v e n a n t . T h e c o v e n a n t b e t w e e n you a n d u s is the oath you have taken of u s , which is to this p u r p o s e , that we shall govern you a n d j u d g e your c a u s e s by the rules of G o d ' s laws a n d our own, a c c o r d i n g to o u r best skill. W h e n you a g r e e with a w o r k m a n to build you a ship or h o u s e , e t c . , h e u n d e r t a k e s a s well for his skill a s for his faithfulness, for it is his p r o f e s s i o n , a n d you pay him for b o t h . B u t w h e n you call o n e to be a m a g i s t r a t e , he doth not p r o f e s s nor u n d e r t a k e to have sufficient skill for that office, nor c a n you furnish him with gifts, e t c . T h e r e f o r e you m u s t run the hazard of his skill a n d ability. B u t if he fail in faithfulness, which by his oath he is b o u n d u n t o , that he m u s t a n s w e r for. If it fall out that the c a s e be clear to c o m m o n a p p r e h e n s i o n a n d the rule clear a l s o , if he t r a n s g r e s s here the error is not in the skill but in the evil of the will; it m u s t be required of him. B u t if the c a s e be doubtful, or the rule doubtful, to m e n of s u c h u n d e r s t a n d i n g a n d parts a s your m a g i s t r a t e s a r e , if your m a g i s t r a t e s s h o u l d err here yourselves m u s t b e a r it. F o r the other point c o n c e r n i n g liberty, I o b s e r v e a great m i s t a k e in the country a b o u t that. T h e r e is a twofold liberty: natural (I m e a n a s our n a t u r e is now c o r r u p t ) , " a n d civil or federal. T h e first is c o m m o n to m a n with b e a s t s a n d other c r e a t u r e s . By this, m a n as he s t a n d s in relation to m a n simply, hath liberty to do what he list. It is a liberty to evil a s well a s to g o o d . T h i s liberty is i n c o m p a t i b l e a n d i n c o n s i s t e n t with authority, a n d c a n n o t e n d u r e the least restraint of the m o s t j u s t authority. T h e exercise a n d m a i n t a i n i n g of this liberty m a k e s m e n grow m o r e evil, a n d in time to be worse than brute b e a s t s , omnes S H I W H S licentia deteriores.'1 T h i s is that great e n e m y of truth and p e a c e , that wild b e a s t which all the o r d i n a n c e s of G o d are bent a g a i n s t , to restrain a n d s u b d u e it. T h e other kind of liberty I call civil or federal. It m a y a l s o be t e r m e d moral, in reference to the c o v e n a n t between G o d a n d m a n in the moral law, a n d the politic c o v e n a n t s a n d c o n s t i t u t i o n s a m o n g s t m e n t h e m s e l v e s . T h i s liberty is the proper end a n d object of authority a n d c a n n o t s u b s i s t without it, a n d it is a liberty to that only which is g o o d , j u s t , a n d h o n e s t . T h i s liberty you are to stand for, with the hazard not only of your g o o d s but of your lives, if n e e d b e . W h a t s o e v e r c r o s s e t h this is not authority, but a d i s t e m p e r thereof. T h i s liberty is m a i n t a i n e d a n d exercised in a way of s u b j e c t i o n to authority. It is of the s a m e kind of liberty wherewith C h r i s t hath m a d e u s f r e e . 1 T h e w o m a n ' s own c h o i c e m a k e s s u c h a m a n her h u s b a n d , yet b e i n g so c h o s e n he is her lord a n d she is to be s u b j e c t to him, yet in a way of liberty, not of b o n d a g e , a n d a true wife a c c o u n t s her s u b j e c t i o n her h o n o r a n d f r e e d o m , a n d would not think her condition safe a n d free but in her s u b j e c t i o n to her h u s b a n d ' s authority. S u c h is the liberty of the c h u r c h u n d e r the authority of 8. B e c a u s e we are fallen and subject to death. 9. We are all the worse for license (Latin). From Terence (c. 190—159 B.C.E.), Ueuuton Timorumenos (The Self-Tormentor) 3.1.74.

1. "Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage" (Galatians 5.1).

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C h r i s t her King a n d h u s b a n d . H i s yoke is so easy a n d sweet to her as a bride's o r n a m e n t s , 2 a n d if t h r o u g h f r o w a r d n e s s or w a n t o n n e s s , e t c . , s h e s h a k e it off at any t i m e , s h e is at n o rest in her spirit until s h e take it u p a g a i n . And w h e t h e r her L o r d s m i l e s u p o n her a n d e m b r a c e t h her in His a r m s , or w h e t h e r H e frowns, or r e b u k e s , or s m i t e s her, s h e a p p r e h e n d s the s w e e t n e s s of His love in all a n d is refreshed, s u p p o r t e d , a n d i n s t r u c t e d by every s u c h d i s p e n s a t i o n of His authority over her. O n the other s i d e , you know w h o they are that c o m p l a i n of this yoke a n d say: let u s b r e a k their b a n d s , e t c . ; we will not have this m a n to rule over u s . E v e n s o , b r e t h r e n , it will be b e t w e e n you a n d your m a g i s t r a t e s . If you s t a n d for your natural corrupt liberties, a n d will d o w h a t is g o o d in your own eyes, you will not e n d u r e the least weight of authority, but wi\\ m u r m u r a n d o p p o s e a n d be always striving to s h a k e off that yoke. B u t if you will be satisfied to enjoy s u c h civil a n d lawful liberties, s u c h a s C h r i s t allows you, then will you quietly a n d cheerfully s u b m i t u n t o that authority which is set over you in all the a d m i n i s t r a t i o n s of it for your g o o d ; wherein if we fail at a n y t i m e , w e h o p e we shall b e willing (by G o d ' s a s s i s t a n c e ) to h e a r k e n to g o o d advice from any of you, or in any other way of G o d . S o shall your liberties be preserved in u p h o l d i n g the h o n o r a n d power of authority a m o n g s t you. T h e d e p u t y governor having e n d e d his s p e e c h , the C o u r t a r o s e , a n d the m a g i s t r a t e s a n d d e p u t i e s retired to a t t e n d their other a f f a i r s . * * * [A D A U G H T E R

RETURNED]

[July 1 6 4 6 ] * * * A d a u g h t e r of M r s . H u t c h i n s o n w a s carried away by the Indians n e a r the D u t c h , w h e n her m o t h e r a n d others were killed by t h e m ; a n d u p o n the p e a c e c o n c l u d e d b e t w e e n the D u t c h a n d the s a m e I n d i a n s , she w a s returned to the D u t c h governor, w h o restored her to her friends here. S h e w a s a b o u t 8 years old w h e n s h e w a s taken, a n d c o n t i n u e d with t h e m a b o u t 4 years, a n d s h e h a d forgot her own l a n g u a g e , a n d all her friends, a n d w a s loath to have c o m e from the I n d i a n s . 1630-49

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2. "For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (Matthew 1 1 . 3 0 ) . "And 1 J o h n saw the holy city, new J e r u s a l e m , coming down out of heaven from G o d , prepared as a bride adorned for her h u s b a n d " (Revelation 21.2).

ANNE c.

BRADSTREET \612-1672

Anne Bradstreet's father, Thomas Dudley, was the manager of the country estate of the Puritan earl of Lincoln, and his daughter was very much the apple of his eye. He took great care to see that she received an education superior to that of most young women of the time. When she was only sixteen she married the young Simon Bradstreet, a recent graduate of Cambridge University, who was associated with her father

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in conducting the affairs of the earl of Lincoln's estate. He also shared her father's Puritan beliefs. A year after the marriage her husband was appointed to assist in the preparations of the Massachusetts Bay Company, and the following year the Bradstreets and the Dudleys sailed with Winthrop's fleet. Bradstreet tells us that when she first "came into this country" she "found a new world and new manners," at which her "heart rose" in resistance. "But after I was convinced it was the way of God, 1 submitted to it and joined the church at Boston." We know very little of Bradstreet's daily life, except that it was a hard existence. The wilderness, Samuel Eliot Morison once observed, "made men stern and silent, children unruly, servants insolent." William Bradford's wife, Dorothy, staring at the barren dunes of Cape Cod is said to have preferred the surety of drowning to the unknown life ashore. Added to the hardship of daily living was the fact that Bradstreet was never very strong. She had rheumatic fever as a child and as a result suffered recurrent periods of severe fatigue; nevertheless, she risked death by childbirth eight times. Her husband was secretary to the company and later governor of the Bay Colony; he was always involved in the colony's diplomatic missions; and in 1661 he went to England to renegotiate the Bay Company charter with Charles II. All of Simon's tasks must have added to her responsibilities at home. And like any good Puritan she added to the care of daily life the examination of her conscience. She tells us in one of the "Meditations" written for her children that she was troubled many times about the truth of the Scriptures, that she never saw any convincing miracles, and that she always wondered if those of which she read "were feigned." What proved to her finally that God exists was not her reading but the evidence of her own eyes. She is the first in a long line of American poets who took their consolation not from theology but from the "wondrous works," as she wrote, "that I see, the vast frame of the heaven and the earth, the order of all things, night and day, summer and winter, spring and autumn, the daily providing for this great household upon the earth, the preserving and directing of all to its proper end." When Bradstreet was a young girl she had written poems to please her father, and he made much of their reading them together. After her marriage she continued writing. Quite unknown to her, her brother-in-law, John Woodbridge, pastor of the Andover church, brought with him to London a manuscript collection of her poetry and had it printed there in 1650. The Tenth Muse was the first published volume of poems written by a resident in the New World and was widely read. Reverend Edward Taylor, also a poet and living in the frontier community of Westfield, Massachusetts, had a copy of the second edition of Bradstreet's poems (1678) in his library. Although she herself probably took greatest pride in her long meditative poems on the ages of humankind and on the seasons, the poems that have attracted present-day readers are the more intimate ones, which reflect her concern for her family and home and the pleasures she took in everyday life rather than in the life to come. Nevertheless, Bradstreet was an ambitious poet whose imagination was firmly grounded in English religious, political, and cultural history; and she was a firm believer in the Puritan experiment in America. The text is from the Works of Anne Bradstreet, edited by Jeannine Hensley (1967).

The Prologue i

T o sing of wars, of c a p t a i n s , a n d of kings, O f cities f o u n d e d , c o m m o n w e a l t h s b e g u n , F o r my m e a n 1 p e n are too s u p e r i o r things: 1. Humble.

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O r how they all, or e a c h their d a t e s have run L e t p o e t s a n d historians set t h e s e forth, M y o b s c u r e lines shall not so dim their worth.

But w h e n my wond'ring eyes a n d envious heart G r e a t B a r t a s ' 2 s u g a r e d lines d o but read o'er, Fool I do g r u d g e the M u s e s * did not part 'Twixt him a n d m e that overfluent s t o r e ; A B a r t a s c a n d o what a B a r t a s will B u t s i m p l e I a c c o r d i n g to my skill.

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F r o m schoolboy's t o n g u e n o rhet'ric we expect, N o r yet a sweet c o n s o r t 4 from broken strings, N o r perfect b e a u t y where's a m a i n d e f e c t : My foolish, broken, b l e m i s h e d M u s e s o s i n g s , A n d this to m e n d , a l a s , n o art is a b l e , ' C a u s e n a t u r e m a d e it s o irreparable.

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N o r c a n I, like that fluent sweet t o n g u e d G r e e k , W h o lisped at first, in future t i m e s s p e a k plain." By art he gladly f o u n d what he did seek, A full requital of his striving p a i n . Art c a n d o m u c h , but this maxim's m o s t s u r e : A w e a k or w o u n d e d brain a d m i t s no c u r e . 5 I a m o b n o x i o u s to e a c h c a r p i n g t o n g u e W h o says my h a n d a n e e d l e better fits, A poet's pen all scorn I s h o u l d t h u s wrong, F o r s u c h d e s p i t e they c a s t o n f e m a l e wits: If what I d o prove well, it won't a d v a n c e , They'll say it's stol'n, or else it w a s by c h a n c e .

B u t sure the a n t i q u e G r e e k s were far m o r e mild E l s e of our sex, why feigned they t h o s e nine A n d poesy m a d e Calliope's' 1 own child; S o 'mongst the rest they p l a c e d the arts divine: B u t this w e a k knot they w\\\ full soon u n t i e . T h e G r e e k s did n o u g h t , but play the fools a n d lie.

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7 Let G r e e k s be G r e e k s , a n d w o m e n what they a r e ; M e n have p r e c e d e n c y a n d still excel, 2. Guillaume du Bartas ( 1 5 4 4 - 1 5 9 0 ) , a French writer much admired by the Puritans. He was most famous as the author of The Divine Weeks, ah epic poem translated by J o s h u a Sylvester and intended to recount the great moments in Christian history. 3. In Greek mythology, the nine goddesses of the

arts and sciences. "Fool": i.e., like a fool. 4. Accord, harmony of sound. 5. The Greek orator Demosthenes (c. 383—322 B.C.IE.) conquered a speech defect. 6. The m u s e of epic poetr\'.

CONTEMPLATIONS

It is but vain unjustly to w a g e war; M e n c a n do best, a n d w o m e n know it well P r e e m i n e n c e in all a n d e a c h is yours; Yet grant s o m e small a c k n o w l e d g m e n t of o u r s . 8 A n d oh ye high flown q u i l l s 7 that soar the s k i e s , A n d ever with your prey still c a t c h your p r a i s e , If e'er you deign t h e s e lowly lines your eyes Give thyme or parsley w r e a t h , I a s k no b a y s ; 8 T h i s m e a n a n d unrefined ore of m i n e Will m a k e your glist'ring gold but m o r e to s h i n e .

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T o H e r F a t h e r with S o m e V e r s e s M o s t truly h o n o r e d , a n d a s truly d e a r , If worth in m e or o u g h t 1 I d o a p p e a r , W h o c a n of right better d e m a n d the s a m e T h a n m a y your worthy self from w h o m it c a m e ? T h e p r i n c i p a l 2 might yield a greater s u m , Yet h a n d l e d ill, a m o u n t s but to this c r u m b ; M y stock's s o small I know not how to pay, M y b o n d 3 r e m a i n s in force u n t o this day; Yet for part p a y m e n t take this s i m p l e m i t e , 4 W h e r e nothing's to b e h a d , kings l o o s e their right. S u c h is my debt I may not say forgive, B u t a s I c a n , I'll pay it while I live; S u c h is my b o n d , n o n e c a n d i s c h a r g e but I, Yet paying is not paid until I d i e .

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Contemplations

S o m e time now p a s t in the a u t u m n a l tide, W h e n P h o e b u s ' w a n t e d but o n e hour to b e d , T h e trees all richly c l a d , yet void of pride, W e r e gilded o'er by his rich golden h e a d . T h e i r leaves a n d fruits s e e m e d p a i n t e d , b u t was true, O f g r e e n , of red, of yellow, mixed h u e ; Rapt were my s e n s e s at this d e l e c t a b l e view. 7. Pens. 8. Garlands of laurel, used to crown the head of a poet. 1. Anything at all.

2. 3. 4. 1.

T h e capital that yields interest. I.e., contract. T h e smallest possible denomination. Apollo, the sun god.

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2

I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I, If so m u c h e x c e l l e n c e a b i d e below. H o w excellent is H e that dwells on high, W h o s e power a n d beauty by His works we know? S u r e H e is g o o d n e s s , w i s d o m , glory, light, T h a t hath this u n d e r world so richly d i g h t r M o r e heaven than earth was h e r e , no winter a n d no night. 3 T h e n on a stately o a k I c a s t m i n e eye, W h o s e ruffling top the c l o u d s s e e m e d to a s p i r e ; H o w long s i n c e thou wast in thine infancy? Thy strength, a n d s t a t u r e , m o r e thy years a d m i r e , H a t h h u n d r e d winters p a s t s i n c e thou wast b o r n ? O r t h o u s a n d s i n c e thou brakest thy shell of h o r n ? If s o , all t h e s e a s n o u g h t , eternity doth s c o r n . 4 T h e n higher on the glistering S u n I gazed. W h o s e b e a m s was s h a d e d by the leafy t r e e ; T h e m o r e I looked, the m o r e I grew a m a z e d , A n d softly said, " W h a t glory's like to t h e e ? " S o u l of this world, this universe's eye, N o w o n d e r s o m e m a d e t h e e a deity; H a d I not better k n o w n , a l a s , the s a m e h a d I.

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T h o u a s a b r i d e g r o o m from thy c h a m b e r r u s h e s . A n d a s a strong m a n , joys to run a r a c e ; ' T h e m o r n doth u s h e r thee with s m i l e s a n d b l u s h e s ; T h e Earth reflects her g l a n c e s in thy f a c e . B i r d s , i n s e c t s , a n i m a l s with vegative, T h y heat from d e a t h a n d d u l l n e s s doth revive, A n d in the d a r k s o m e w o m b of fruitful n a t u r e dive. 6 T h y swift a n n u a l a n d diurnal c o u r s e , T h y daily straight a n d yearly o b l i q u e p a t h . T h y p l e a s i n g fervor a n d thy s c o r c h i n g force, All mortals here the leeling knowledge hath. T h y p r e s e n c e m a k e s it day, thy a b s e n c e night, Quaternal s e a s o n s c a u s e d by thy might: Hail c r e a t u r e , full of s w e e t n e s s , b e a u t y , a n d delight.

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Art t h o u so full of glory that n o eye H a t h strength thy s h i n i n g rays o n c e to b e h o l d ? 2. Furnished, adorned. 3. The sun "is as a bridegroom coming out of his

chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race" (Psalm 19.5).

CONTEMPLATIONS

A n d is thy splendid throne erect so high, As to a p p r o a c h it, c a n no earthly m o l d ? H o w full of glory then m u s t thy C r e a t o r b e , W h o gave this bright light luster u n t o thee? A d m i r e d , a d o r e d for ever, be that M a j e s t y .

Silent a l o n e , w h e r e n o n e or saw, or h e a r d , In p a t h l e s s p a t h s I lead my wand'ring feet, M y h u m b l e eyes to lofty skies I reared T o sing s o m e s o n g , my m a z e d 4 M u s e t h o u g h t m e e t . M y great C r e a t o r I would magnify, T h a t n a t u r e had t h u s d e c k e d liberally; B u t Ah, a n d A h , a g a i n , my imbecility! 9 I heard the merry g r a s s h o p p e r then sing. T h e black-clad cricket b e a r a s e c o n d part; T h e y kept o n e t u n e a n d played on the s a m e string, S e e m i n g to glory in their little art. Shall c r e a t u r e s a b j e c t t h u s their voices raise And in their kind r e s o u n d their M a k e r ' s p r a i s e Whilst I, as m u t e , c a n warble forth no higher lays?

W h e n present times look b a c k to a g e s p a s t , And men in b e i n g fancy t h o s e are d e a d , It m a k e s things g o n e perpetually to last, And calls b a c k m o n t h s a n d years that long s i n c e fled. It m a k e s a m a n m o r e a g e d in c o n c e i t T h a n w a s M e t h u s e l a h , 5 or's grandsire great, While of their p e r s o n s a n d their a c t s his mind doth treat.

S o m e t i m e s in E d e n fair h e s e e m s to b e , S e e s glorious A d a m there m a d e lord of all, F a n c i e s the a p p l e , d a n g l e on the tree, T h a t turned his sovereign to a n a k e d thrall. 6 W h o like a m i s c r e a n t ' s driven from that p l a c e , T o get his b r e a d with pain a n d sweat of f a c e , A penalty i m p o s e d on his b a c k s l i d i n g r a c e .

H e r e sits our g r a n d a m e in retired p l a c e , A n d in her lap her bloody C a i n new-born; T h e w e e p i n g imp oft looks her in the f a c e , Bewails his u n k n o w n h a p 7 a n d fate forlorn; His m o t h e r sighs to think of P a r a d i s e , 4. Amazed. 5. Thought to have lived 9 6 9 years (Genesis 5.27). "Conceit": apprehension, the processes of

thought. 6. Slave. 7. Fortune, circumstances.

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A n d how s h e lost her bliss to be m o r e w i s e , Believing him that w a s , a n d is, father of l i e s . 8 •3 H e r e C a i n a n d Abel c o m e to sacrifice, Fruits of the e a r t h a n d f a d i n g s 9 e a c h do bring. O n Abel's gift the fire d e s c e n d s from skies, B u t no s u c h sign on false C a i n ' s offering; With sullen hateful looks h e g o e s his ways, H a t h t h o u s a n d t h o u g h t s to e n d his brother's d a y s , Upon w h o s e blood his future g o o d h e h o p e s to r a i s e . 14

T h e r e Abel k e e p s his s h e e p , no ill h e thinks; H i s brother c o m e s , then a c t s his fratricide: T h e virgin E a r t h of blood her first d r a u g h t drinks, B u t s i n c e that t i m e s h e often h a t h b e e n cloyed. T h e wretch with ghastly f a c e a n d dreadful m i n d T h i n k s e a c h h e s e e s will serve him in his kind, T h o u g h n o n e o n earth b u t kindred n e a r then c o u l d h e find.

W h o f a n c i e s not his looks now at the bar, H i s f a c e like d e a t h , his heart with horror fraught, N o r malefactor ever felt like war, W h e n d e e p d e s p a i r with wish of life hath fought, B r a n d e d with guilt a n d c r u s h e d with treble w o e s , A v a g a b o n d to L a n d of N o d 1 h e g o e s . A city b u i l d s , that walls might him s e c u r e from f o e s . 16

W h o thinks not oft upon the father's a g e s , T h e i r long d e s c e n t , how n e p h e w ' s s o n s they saw, T h e starry o b s e r v a t i o n s of t h o s e s a g e s , A n d how their p r e c e p t s to their s o n s were law, H o w A d a m s i g h e d to s e e his p r o g e n y , C l o t h e d all in his b l a c k sinful livery, W h o neither guilt nor yet the p u n i s h m e n t c o u l d fly. •7 O u r life c o m p a r e we with their length of days W h o to the tenth of theirs doth now arrive? A n d t h o u g h t h u s short, we s h o r t e n m a n y w a y s , Living so little while we a r e alive; In e a t i n g , drinking, s l e e p i n g , vain delight S o u n a w a r e s c o m e s on p e r p e t u a l night, A n d p u t s all p l e a s u r e s vain u n t o e t e r n a l flight. 8. By believing in the "father of lies," Eve lost Paradise in her desire to gain wisdom (Genesis 3); her elder son, Cain, slew his brother, Abel (Genesis 4.8).

9. Animals for slaughter. 1. An unidentified region east of Eden where C dwelled after slaying Abel (Genesis 4 . 1 6 ) .

CONTEMPLATIONS

18

W h e n I b e h o l d the h e a v e n s a s in their p r i m e , A n d then the earth ( t h o u g h old) still c l a d in g r e e n , T h e s t o n e s a n d trees, insensible of t i m e , N o r a g e nor wrinkle o n their front a r e s e e n ; If winter c o m e a n d g r e e n n e s s then d o f a d e , A spring returns, a n d they m o r e youthful m a d e ; B u t m a n grows old, lies d o w n , r e m a i n s where o n c e he's laid. •9 By birth m o r e noble than t h o s e c r e a t u r e s all, Yet s e e m s by n a t u r e a n d by c u s t o m c u r s e d , N o s o o n e r b o r n , but grief a n d c a r e m a k e s fall T h a t state obliterate h e h a d at first; N o r y o u t h , nor strength, nor w i s d o m s p r i n g a g a i n , N o r h a b i t a t i o n s long their n a m e s retain, B u t in oblivion to the final day r e m a i n . 20

Shall I then p r a i s e the h e a v e n s , the trees, the earth B e c a u s e their b e a u t y a n d their strength last longer? Shall I wish there, or never to h a d birth, B e c a u s e they're bigger, a n d their b o d i e s s t r o n g e r ? Nay, they shall d a r k e n , p e r i s h , f a d e a n d die, A n d w h e n u n m a d e , so ever shall they lie, B u t m a n w a s m a d e for e n d l e s s immortality. 21

U n d e r the c o o l i n g s h a d o w of a stately elm C l o s e sat I by a goodly river's s i d e , W h e r e gliding s t r e a m s the rocks did overwhelm, A lonely p l a c e , with p l e a s u r e s dignified. I o n c e that loved the shady w o o d s s o well, N o w t h o u g h t the rivers did the trees excel, And if the s u n w o u l d ever s h i n e , there would I dwell. 22

While on the stealing s t r e a m I fixt m i n e eye, W h i c h to the longed-for o c e a n held its c o u r s e , I m a r k e d , nor c r o o k s , nor r u b s , 2 that there did lie C o u l d hinder a u g h t , ' but still a u g m e n t its f o r c e . " O happy flood," q u o t h I, "that holds thy r a c e Till thou arrive at thy beloved p l a c e , N o r is it rocks or s h o a l s that c a n o b s t r u c t thy p a c e ,

N o r is't e n o u g h , that t h o u a l o n e m a y s t slide B u t h u n d r e d brooks in thy clear waves d o m e e t , S o h a n d in h a n d a l o n g with thee they glide Difficulties.

3. Anything.

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T o T h e t i s ' h o u s e , 4 w h e r e all e m b r a c e a n d greet. Thou e m b l e m true of what I c o u n t the b e s t , O could I lead my rivulets to rest, S o may we p r e s s to that vast m a n s i o n , ever b l e s t . "

160

24

Ye fish, which in this liquid region 'bide, T h a t for e a c h s e a s o n have your h a b i t a t i o n , N o w salt, now fresh w h e r e you think b e s t to glide T o u n k n o w n c o a s t s to give a visitation, In lakes a n d p o n d s you leave your n u m e r o u s fry; S o n a t u r e taught, a n d yet you know not why, You wat'ry folk that know not your felicity.

i6s

25

Look how the w a n t o n s frisk to t a s t e the air, T h e n to the colder b o t t o m straight they dive; E f t s o o n to N e p t u n e ' s 5 glassy hall repair T o s e e what trade they great o n e s there do drive, W h o forage o'er the s p a c i o u s s e a - g r e e n field, A n d take the t r e m b l i n g prey before it yield, W h o s e armor is their s c a l e s , their s p r e a d i n g fins their shield.

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26

W h i l e m u s i n g t h u s with c o n t e m p l a t i o n fed, A n d t h o u s a n d f a n c i e s buzzing in my brain, T h e s w e e t - t o n g u e d P h i l o m e l 6 p e r c h e d o'er my h e a d A n d c h a n t e d forth a m o s t m e l o d i o u s strain W h i c h rapt m e s o with w o n d e r a n d delight, I j u d g e d my h e a r i n g better than my sight, A n d wished m e wings with her a while to take my flight.

iso

27

" O merry B i r d , " said I, " t h a t fears no s n a r e s , T h a t neither toils nor h o a r d s u p in thy barn, F e e l s no s a d t h o u g h t s nor c r u c i a t i n g 7 c a r e s T o gain m o r e g o o d or s h u n what might thee h a r m . Thy c l o t h e s ne'er wear, thy m e a t is everywhere, T h y bed a b o u g h , thy drink the water clear, R e m i n d s not what is p a s t , nor what's to c o m e dost fear."

iss

28

" T h e d a w n i n g m o r n with s o n g s thou dost p r e v e n t , 8 S e t s h u n d r e d notes u n t o thy f e a t h e r e d crew, S o e a c h o n e t u n e s his pretty i n s t r u m e n t , A n d warbling out the old, begin a n e w , A n d thus they p a s s their youth in s u m m e r s e a s o n , 4. I.e., the sea. Thetis, a sea nymph, was Achilles' mother. 5. Roman god of the ocean. "Kftsoon": soon afterward. 6. I.e., the nightingale. Philomela, the daughter of

190

nightingale King Attica, was transformed into a after her hrother-in-law raped her and tore out her tongue. 7. I.e., excruciating, painful. 8. Anticipate.

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123

T h e n follow thee into a better region, W h e r e winter's never felt by that sweet airy l e g i o n . " 29

M a n at the b e s t a c r e a t u r e frail a n d vain, In k n o w l e d g e ignorant, in strength but weak, S u b j e c t to s o r r o w s , l o s s e s , s i c k n e s s , pain, E a c h storm his s t a t e , his m i n d , his body break, F r o m s o m e of these he never finds c e s s a t i o n , B u t day or night, within, without, vexation, T r o u b l e s from foes, from friends, from d e a r e s t , near'st relation. 30

A n d yet this sinful c r e a t u r e , frail a n d vain, T h i s l u m p of w r e t c h e d n e s s , of sin a n d sorrow, T h i s w e a t h e r b e a t e n vessel w r a c k e d with p a i n , J o y s not in h o p e of an eternal morrow; N o r all his l o s s e s , c r o s s e s , a n d vexation, In weight, in f r e q u e n c y a n d long duration C a n m a k e him deeply g r o a n for that divine t r a n s l a t i o n . 9

31

T h e mariner that on s m o o t h waves doth glide S i n g s merrily a n d steers his bark with e a s e , As if he h a d c o m m a n d of wind a n d tide, And now b e c o m e great m a s t e r of the s e a s : B u t s u d d e n l y a s t o r m spoils all the sport, And m a k e s him long for a m o r e quiet port, W h i c h gainst all a d v e r s e winds may serve for fort. 3

2

S o he that saileth in this world of p l e a s u r e , F e e d i n g on s w e e t s , that never bit of th' sour, T h a t ' s full of friends, of honor, a n d of t r e a s u r e , F o n d fool, he takes this earth ev'n for heav'n's bower. B u t s a d affliction c o m e s a n d m a k e s him s e e Here's neither honor, wealth, nor safety; Only a b o v e is f o u n d all with security. 33

O T i m e the fatal wrack 1 of mortal things, T h a t draws oblivion's c u r t a i n s over kings; T h e i r s u m p t u o u s m o n u m e n t s , m e n know t h e m not, T h e i r n a m e s without a record are forgot, Their p a r t s , their ports, their p o m p ' s - all laid in th' d u s t N o r wit nor gold, nor buildings s c a p e times rust;

9. Transformation. ]. Destroyer.

2. Vanity. "Parts": features. "Ports": places of refuge.

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B u t h e w h o s e n a m e is graved in the white s t o n e 3 Shall last a n d shine w h e n all of t h e s e are g o n e . 1678

T h e A u t h o r to H e r B o o k 1 Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, W h o after birth didst by my side r e m a i n , Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than t r u e , W h o t h e e a b r o a d , e x p o s e d to p u b l i c view, M a d e t h e e in r a g s , halting to th' p r e s s to t r u d g e , W h e r e errors were not l e s s e n e d (all m a y j u d g e ) . At thy return my b l u s h i n g w a s not s m a l l , M y r a m b l i n g brat (in print) s h o u l d m o t h e r call, I c a s t thee by a s o n e unfit for light, T h y visage w a s s o i r k s o m e in my sight; Yet b e i n g m i n e own, at length affection would Thy b l e m i s h e s a m e n d , if s o I c o u l d : I w a s h e d thy f a c e , but m o r e d e f e c t s I saw, A n d r u b b i n g off a spot still m a d e a flaw. I s t r e t c h e d thy j o i n t s to m a k e t h e e even f e e t , 2 Yet still thou run'st m o r e h o b b l i n g than is m e e t ; In better d r e s s to trim t h e e w a s my m i n d , B u t n o u g h t save h o m e s p u n cloth i' th' h o u s e I find. In this array 'mongst v u l g a r s 3 may'st thou r o a m . In critic's h a n d s b e w a r e thou dost not c o m e , A n d take thy way w h e r e yet t h o u art not k n o w n ; If for thy father a s k e d , say t h o u h a d s t n o n e ; A n d for thy m o t h e r , s h e alas is poor, W h i c h c a u s e d her t h u s to s e n d t h e e out of door.

5

10

B

20

1678

B e f o r e t h e B i r t h o f O n e of H e r C h i l d r e n All things within this fading world hath end, Adversity doth still our joys attend; N o ties s o strong, n o friends s o d e a r a n d sweet, B u t with d e a t h ' s p a r t i n g blow is s u r e to m e e t . T h e s e n t e n c e p a s t is most irrevocable, A c o m m o n thing, yet o h , inevitable. H o w s o o n , my D e a r , d e a t h m a y my s t e p s a t t e n d , H o w soon't may be thy lot to lose thy friend, 3. "To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new n a m e written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it" (Revelation 2.17). 1. The Tenth Muse was published in 1650 without

5

Bradstreet's knowledge. S h e is thought to have written this poem in 1666 when a 2nd edition was contemplated. 2. I.e., metrical feet; thus, to smooth out the lines. 3. T h e c o m m o n people.

A

L E T T E R TO H E R

HUSBAND, ABSENT UPON

PUBLIC

EMPLOYMENT

W e both are ignorant, yet love bids m e T h e s e farewell lines to r e c o m m e n d to t h e e , T h a t w h e n that knot's untied that m a d e u s o n e , I may s e e m thine, who in effect a m n o n e . A n d if I see not half my days that's d u e , W h a t n a t u r e w o u l d , G o d grant to yours a n d you; T h e m a n y faults that well you know I have Let b e interred in my oblivious grave; If any worth or virtue were in m e , Let that live freshly in thy m e m o r y A n d w h e n thou feel'st no grief, as I no h a r m s , Yet love thy d e a d , w h o long lay in thine a r m s , A n d w h e n thy loss shall be repaid with g a i n s L o o k to my little b a b e s , my d e a r r e m a i n s . A n d if thou love thyself, or loved'st m e , T h e s e O protect from s t e p d a m e ' s 1 injury. A n d if c h a n c e to thine eyes shall bring this verse, With s o m e s a d sighs honor my a b s e n t h e a r s e ; A n d kiss this p a p e r for thy love's d e a r s a k e , W h o with salt tears this last farewell did t a k e .

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2S

1678

T o My Dear and Loving H u s b a n d If ever two were o n e , then surely w e . If ever m a n were loved by wife, then t h e e ; If ever wife w a s happy in a m a n , C o m p a r e with m e , ye w o m e n , if you c a n . I prize thy love m o r e than w h o l e m i n e s of gold O r all the riches that the E a s t doth hold. N o r o u g h t b u t love from t h e e , give r e c o m p e n s e . M y love is s u c h that rivers c a n n o t q u e n c h , Thy love is s u c h I c a n no way repay, T h e h e a v e n s reward t h e e manifold, I pray. T h e n while we live, in love let's s o p e r s e v e r e T h a t w h e n we live no m o r e , we m a y live ever.

5

10

1678

A L e t t e r to H e r H u s b a n d , Absent upon Public Employment M y h e a d , my heart, m i n e e y e s , my life, nay, m o r e , M y joy, my m a g a z i n e ' of earthly s t o r e , If two b e o n e , a s surely thou a n d I, H o w stayest t h o u there, whilst I at I p s w i c h 2 lie? S o m a n y s t e p s , h e a d from the heart to sever, 1. I.e., stepmother's. 1. Warehouse, storehouse.

2. Ipswich, M a s s a c h u s e t t s , is north of Boston.

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If but a neck, s o o n s h o u l d we b e together. I, like the Earth this s e a s o n , m o u r n in b l a c k , M y S u n is g o n e s o far in's z o d i a c , W h o m whilst I j o y e d , nor s t o r m s , nor frost I felt, His w a r m t h s u c h frigid c o l d s did c a u s e to m e l t . M y chilled limbs now n u m b e d lie forlorn; R e t u r n , return, sweet S o l , from C a p r i c o r n ; ' In this d e a d time, a l a s , what c a n I more T h a n view those fruits which through thy heat I b o r e ? W h i c h sweet c o n t e n t m e n t yield m e for a s p a c e , T r u e living p i c t u r e s of their father's face. 0 s t r a n g e effect! now t h o u art s o u t h w a r d g o n e , 1 weary grow the tedious day s o long; B u t w h e n thou northward to m e shalt return, I wish my S u n m a y never set, but burn Within the C a n c e r 4 of my glowing breast, T h e w e l c o m e h o u s e of him my d e a r e s t g u e s t . W h e r e ever, ever stay, a n d go not t h e n c e , Till nature's s a d d e c r e e shall call thee h e n c e ; F l e s h of thy flesh, b o n e of thy b o n e , I h e r e , thou there, yet both but o n e .

10

is

20

25 1678

In M e m o r y o f M y D e a r G r a n d c h i l d E l i z a b e t h B r a d s t r e e t , W h o D e c e a s e d August, 1 6 6 5 , Being a Year a n d a Half Old

Farewell dear b a b e , my heart's too m u c h c o n t e n t , Farewell sweet b a b e , the p l e a s u r e of m i n e eye, Farewell fair flower that for a s p a c e was lent, T h e n ta'en away u n t o eternity. Blest b a b e , why s h o u l d I o n c e bewail thy fate, O r sigh thy days so s o o n were t e r m i n a t e , S i t h 1 thou art settled in an everlasting s t a t e .

5

2

By n a t u r e trees d o rot when they are grown, A n d p l u m s a n d a p p l e s thoroughly ripe do fall, And corn a n d g r a s s a r e in their s e a s o n m o w n , A n d time brings d o w n what is both strong a n d tall. B u t p l a n t s new set to be e r a d i c a t e , And b u d s new blown to have so short a d a t e , Is by His h a n d a l o n e that g u i d e s n a t u r e a n d fate.

ID

1678 3. Capricorn, the tenth sign of the zodiac, represents winter. "Sol": sun. 4. Cancer, the fourth sign of the zodiac, repre-

sents summer. 1. Since.

UPON

THE BURNING OF O U R

HOUSE

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H e r e F o l l o w s S o m e V e r s e s u p o n t h e B u r n i n g of O u r H o u s e July 10th, 1666 Copied

Out of a Loose

Paper

In silent night when rest I took F o r sorrow near I did not look I w a k e n e d was with thund'ring noise A n d p i t e o u s shrieks of dreadful voice. T h a t fearful s o u n d of " F i r e ! " and " F i r e ! " L e t no m a n know is my d e s i r e . I, starting u p , the light did spy, A n d to my G o d my heart did cry T o strengthen m e in my distress And not to leave m e s u c c o r l e s s . T h e n , c o m i n g out, beheld a s p a c e T h e flame c o n s u m e my dwelling p l a c e . A n d w h e n I c o u l d no longer look, I blest His n a m e that gave a n d took, 1 T h a t laid my g o o d s now in the d u s t . Yea, so it w a s , a n d so 'twas j u s t . It w a s His o w n , it was not m i n e , F a r be it that I s h o u l d r e p i n e ; H e might of all justly bereft B u t yet sufficient for us left. W h e n by the ruins oft I past My sorrowing eyes a s i d e did c a s t , A n d here a n d there the p l a c e s spy W h e r e oft I sat a n d long did lie: H e r e stood that trunk, a n d there that c h e s t , T h e r e lay that store I c o u n t e d best. M y p l e a s a n t things in a s h e s lie. A n d t h e m behold no m o r e shall I. U n d e r thy roof no g u e s t shall sit, N o r at thy table eat a bit. N o p l e a s a n t tale shall e'er b e told, N o r things r e c o u n t e d d o n e of old. N o c a n d l e e'er shall shine in t h e e , N o r b r i d e g r o o m ' s voice e'er heard shall b e . In silence ever shall thou lie, Adieu, A d i e u , all's vanity. 2 T h e n straight I 'gin my heart to c h i d e , A n d did thy wealth on earth a b i d e ? Didst fix thy h o p e on mold'ring d u s t ? T h e arm of flesh didst m a k e thy trust? R a i s e up thy t h o u g h t s a b o v e the sky T h a t dunghill mists away may fly. T h o u hast an h o u s e on high erect, F r a m e d by that mighty Architect, 1. "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1.21).

2. Empty, worthless,

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With glory richly furnished, S t a n d s p e r m a n e n t t h o u g h this b e fled. It's p u r c h a s e d a n d paid for too By H i m w h o hath e n o u g h to do. A price s o vast a s is u n k n o w n Yet by His gift is m a d e thine own; T h e r e ' s wealth e n o u g h , I n e e d no m o r e , Farewell, my pelf, 3 farewell my store. T h e world no longer let m e love, M y h o p e a n d t r e a s u r e lies a b o v e .

4S

so

1867

To My Dear Children This book by any yet unread, 1 leave for you when I am dead, That being gone, here you may find What was your living mother's mind. Make use of what I leave in love, And God shall bless you from above. A. B.

My dear children, I, k n o w i n g by e x p e r i e n c e that the exhortations of p a r e n t s take m o s t effect w h e n the s p e a k e r s leave to s p e a k , 1 a n d t h o s e especially sink d e e p e s t w h i c h are s p o k e latest, a n d b e i n g ignorant w h e t h e r on my d e a t h b e d I shall h a v e opportunity to s p e a k to a n y of you, m u c h less to all, t h o u g h t it the b e s t , whilst I w a s a b l e , to c o m p o s e s o m e short m a t t e r s (for what e l s e to call t h e m I know not) a n d b e q u e a t h to you, that w h e n I a m n o m o r e with you, yet I m a y b e daily in your r e m e m b r a n c e ( a l t h o u g h that is the least in my a i m in w h a t I now d o ) , but that you m a y gain s o m e spiritual a d v a n t a g e by my exper i e n c e . I have not studied in this you r e a d to s h o w my skill, b u t to d e c l a r e the truth, not to set forth myself, b u t the glory of G o d . If I h a d m i n d e d the former, it h a d b e e n p e r h a p s better p l e a s i n g to you, b u t s e e i n g the last is the b e s t , let it be b e s t p l e a s i n g to you. T h e m e t h o d I will o b s e r v e shall be this: I will begin with G o d ' s d e a l i n g with m e from my c h i l d h o o d to this day. In my y o u n g years, a b o u t 6 or 7 a s I take it, I b e g a n to m a k e c o n s c i e n c e of my ways, a n d what I k n e w w a s sinful, a s lying, d i s o b e d i e n c e to p a r e n t s , e t c . , I avoided it. If at any time I w a s overtaken with the like evils, it w a s a s a great trouble, a n d I c o u l d not b e at rest till by prayer I h a d c o n f e s s e d it u n t o G o d . I w a s a l s o troubled at the n e g l e c t of private d u t i e s t h o u g h t o o often tardy that way. I a l s o f o u n d m u c h c o m f o r t in r e a d i n g the S c r i p t u r e s , especially t h o s e p l a c e s I t h o u g h t m o s t c o n c e r n e d my c o n d i t i o n , a n d a s I grew to have m o r e u n d e r s t a n d i n g , so the m o r e s o l a c e I took in t h e m . In a long fit of s i c k n e s s which I h a d on my b e d I often c o m m u n e d with 3. Possessions, usually in the sense of being falsely gained.

1. I.e., stop speaking.

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my heart a n d m a d e my s u p p l i c a t i o n to the m o s t High w h o set m e free from that affliction. B u t as I grew up to be a b o u t 14 or 1 5 , 1 f o u n d my heart m o r e c a r n a l , 2 a n d sitting loose from G o d , vanity a n d the follies of youth take hold of m e . A b o u t 1 6 , the L o r d laid H i s h a n d sore u p o n m e a n d s m o t e m e with the smallpox. W h e n I w a s in my affliction, I b e s o u g h t the L o r d a n d c o n f e s s e d my pride a n d vanity, a n d H e w a s entreated of m e a n d again restored m e . B u t I rendered not to H i m a c c o r d i n g to the benefit received. After a short time I c h a n g e d my condition a n d w a s m a r r i e d , a n d c a m e into this country, w h e r e I f o u n d a new world a n d n e w m a n n e r s , at which my heart r o s e . B u t after I w a s c o n v i n c e d it w a s the way of G o d , I s u b m i t t e d to it a n d j o i n e d to the c h u r c h at B o s t o n . After s o m e time I fell into a lingering s i c k n e s s like a c o n s u m p t i o n together with a l a m e n e s s , which correction I saw the L o r d sent to h u m b l e a n d try m e a n d d o m e g o o d , a n d it w a s not altogether ineffectual. It p l e a s e d G o d to keep m e a long time without a child, which w a s a great grief to m e a n d c o s t m e m a n y prayers a n d tears before I o b t a i n e d o n e , a n d after him gave m e m a n y m o r e of w h o m I now take the c a r e , that a s I have b r o u g h t you into the world, a n d with great p a i n s , w e a k n e s s , c a r e s , a n d fears b r o u g h t you to this, I now travail* in birth again of you till C h r i s t b e f o r m e d in y o u . A m o n g all my experiences of G o d ' s g r a c i o u s d e a l i n g s with m e , I have c o n stantly observed this, that H e h a t h never suffered m e long to sit loose from H i m , b u t by o n e affliction or other hath m a d e m e look h o m e , a n d s e a r c h what w a s a m i s s ; so usually t h u s it hath b e e n with m e that I have no s o o n e r felt my heart out of order, but I have expected correction for it, which m o s t c o m m o n l y hath b e e n u p o n my own p e r s o n in s i c k n e s s , w e a k n e s s , p a i n s , s o m e t i m e s on my soul, in d o u b t s a n d fears of G o d ' s d i s p l e a s u r e a n d my sincerity towards H i m ; s o m e t i m e s H e hath s m o t e a child with a s i c k n e s s , s o m e t i m e s c h a s t e n e d by l o s s e s in e s t a t e , 4 a n d t h e s e times (through His great mercy) have b e e n the times of my greatest getting a n d a d v a n t a g e ; yea, I have found them the times w h e n the L o r d hath m a n i f e s t e d the m o s t love to m e . T h e n have I g o n e to s e a r c h i n g a n d have said with David, " L o r d , s e a r c h m e a n d try m e , s e e w h a t ways of w i c k e d n e s s are in m e , a n d lead m e in the way everlasting," 5 a n d s e l d o m or never but I have f o u n d either s o m e sin I lay u n d e r which G o d would have r e f o r m e d , or s o m e duty n e g l e c t e d which H e w o u l d have p e r f o r m e d , a n d by H i s help I have laid vows a n d b o n d s u p o n my soul to perform H i s righteous c o m m a n d s . If at any time you are c h a s t e n e d of G o d , take it a s thankfully a n d joyfully a s in g r e a t e s t m e r c i e s , for if ye b e H i s , ye shall r e a p the g r e a t e s t benefit by it. It hath b e e n n o small s u p p o r t to m e in t i m e s of d a r k n e s s w h e n the Almighty h a t h hid H i s f a c e from m e that yet I have h a d a b u n d a n c e of sweetn e s s a n d r e f r e s h m e n t after affliction a n d m o r e c i r c u m s p e c t i o n 6 in my walking after I have b e e n afflicted. I have b e e n with G o d like a n u n t o w a r d child, that no longer than the rod has b e e n on my b a c k (or at least in sight) but I have b e e n apt to forget H i m a n d myself, too. B e f o r e I w a s afflicted, I went astray, but now I keep Thy s t a t u t e s . 7 2. I.e., worldly. 3. Toil, labor. 4. Financial losses.

5. Psalm 1 3 9 . 2 3 - 2 4 . 6. Prudence. 7. Psalm 119.8.

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I have h a d great e x p e r i e n c e of G o d ' s h e a r i n g my prayers a n d r e t u r n i n g c o m f o r t a b l e a n s w e r s to m e , either in granting the thing I prayed for, or else in satisfying my mind without it, a n d I have b e e n confident it hath b e e n from H i m , b e c a u s e I have f o u n d my heart t h r o u g h H i s g o o d n e s s e n l a r g e d in t h a n k f u l n e s s to H i m . I have often b e e n perplexed that I have not f o u n d that c o n s t a n t j o y in my p i l g r i m a g e a n d refreshing which I s u p p o s e d m o s t of the servants of G o d have, a l t h o u g h H e hath not left m e altogether without the witness of H i s holy spirit, w h o hath oft given m e H i s word a n d set to H i s seal that it shall b e well with m e . I have s o m e t i m e s tasted of that hidden m a n n a that the world k n o w s not, a n d have set u p my E b e n e z e r , " a n d have resolved with myself that a g a i n s t s u c h a p r o m i s e , s u c h tastes of s w e e t n e s s , the g a t e s of hell shall never prevail; yet have I m a n y times sinkings a n d d r o o p i n g s , a n d not enjoyed that felicity that s o m e t i m e s I have d o n e . B u t w h e n I have b e e n in d a r k n e s s a n d s e e n no light, yet have I desired to stay myself u p o n the L o r d , a n d w h e n I have b e e n in s i c k n e s s a n d pain, I have t h o u g h t if the L o r d w o u l d but lift u p the light of H i s c o u n t e n a n c e u p o n m e , a l t h o u g h H e g r o u n d m e to powder, it would b e b u t light to m e ; yea, oft have I thought were I in hell itself a n d c o u l d there find the love of G o d toward m e , it would b e a h e a v e n . A n d c o u l d I have b e e n in heaven without the love of G o d , it would have b e e n a hell to m e , for in truth it is the a b s e n c e a n d p r e s e n c e of G o d that m a k e s h e a v e n or hell. M a n y t i m e s hath S a t a n troubled m e c o n c e r n i n g t h e verity of the S c r i p t u r e s , m a n y times by a t h e i s m h o w I c o u l d know w h e t h e r there w a s a G o d ; I never s a w any m i r a c l e s to confirm m e , a n d t h o s e which I read of, how did I know b u t they were f e i g n e d ? T h a t there is a G o d my r e a s o n w o u l d s o o n tell m e by t h e w o n d r o u s works that I s e e , the vast f r a m e of t h e h e a v e n a n d the earth, the order of all things, night a n d day, s u m m e r a n d winter, s p r i n g a n d a u t u m n , the daily providing for this great h o u s e h o l d u p o n the e a r t h , the preserving a n d directing of all to its p r o p e r e n d . T h e c o n s i d e r a t i o n of t h e s e things would with a m a z e m e n t certainly resolve m e that there is a n E t e r n a l B e i n g . B u t how s h o u l d I know H e is s u c h a G o d a s I w o r s h i p in Trinity, a n d s u c h a Savior a s I rely u p o n ? T h o u g h this hath t h o u s a n d s of times b e e n s u g g e s t e d to m e , yet G o d hath h e l p e d m e over. I have a r g u e d t h u s with myself. T h a t there is a G o d , I s e e . If ever this G o d hath revealed himself, it m u s t b e in H i s word, a n d this m u s t be it or n o n e . H a v e I not f o u n d that o p e r a t i o n by it that no h u m a n invention c a n work u p o n t h e soul, hath not j u d g m e n t s befallen divers who have s c o r n e d a n d c o n t e m n e d it, hath it not b e e n preserved through all a g e s m a u g r e ' ) all the h e a t h e n tyrants a n d all of the e n e m i e s w h o have o p p o s e d it? Is there any story b u t that which s h o w s the b e g i n n i n g s of t i m e s , a n d how the world c a m e to b e a s w e s e e ? D o we not know the p r o p h e c i e s in it fulfilled which c o u l d not have b e e n so long foretold by any b u t G o d H i m s e l f ? W h e n I have got over this block, then have I a n o t h e r p u t in my way, that a d m i t this b e the true G o d w h o m w e w o r s h i p , a n d that b e his word, yet why m a y not the P o p i s h religion b e the right? T h e y have the s a m e G o d , the s a m e C h r i s t , the s a m e word. T h e y only interpret it o n e way, w e a n o t h e r . 8. In 1 S a m u e l 7 . 1 2 . a stone monument to commemorate a victory over the Philistines. " M a n n a " : the "bread Irom heaven" (Exodus 16.4) that fed the

Israelites in the wilderness, 9. In spite of. " C o n t e m n e d " : despised,

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T h i s hath s o m e t i m e s s t u c k with m e , a n d m o r e it w o u l d , hut the vain fooleries that are in their religion together with their iying m i r a c l e s a n d cruel p e r s e c u t i o n s of the s a i n t s , which a d m i t were they a s they term t h e m , yet not so to be dealt withal. T h e c o n s i d e r a t i o n of these things a n d m a n y the like would s o o n turn m e to my own religion again. B u t s o m e new troubles I have h a d s i n c e the world has b e e n filled with b l a s p h e m y a n d s e c t a r i e s , 1 a n d s o m e w h o have b e e n a c c o u n t e d s i n c e r e C h r i s tians have b e e n carried away with t h e m , that s o m e t i m e s I have said, "Is there faith u p o n the e a r t h ? " a n d I have not known what to think; but then I have r e m e m b e r e d the works of C h r i s t that so it m u s t b e , a n d if it were p o s s i b l e , the very elect s h o u l d be deceived. " B e h o l d , " saith o u r Savior, "I have told you b e f o r e . " T h a t hath stayed my heart, a n d I c a n n o w say, " R e t u r n , O my S o u l , to thy rest, u p o n this rock C h r i s t J e s u s will I build my faith, a n d if I p e r i s h , I p e r i s h " ; but I know all the Powers of Hell shall never prevail a g a i n s t it. I know w h o m I have trusted, and w h o m I have believed, a n d that H e is able to keep that I have c o m m i t t e d to His c h a r g e . N o w to the King, i m m o r t a l , eternal a n d invisible, the only wise G o d , be honor, a n d glory for ever a n d ever, A m e n . T h i s was written in m u c h s i c k n e s s a n d w e a k n e s s , a n d is very weakly a n d imperfectly d o n e , but if you c a n pick any benefit out of it, it is the m a r k which I a i m e d at. 1867

In H o n o r o f T h a t H i g h a n d M i g h t y P r i n c e s s Q u e e n of H a p p y M e m o r y The

Proem1

A l t h o u g h , great Q u e e n , thou now in silence lie, Yet thy loud herald F a m e doth to the sky Thy w o n d r o u s worth proclaim in every c l i m e , And so hath vowed while there is world or t i m e . S o great's thy glory a n d thine e x c e l l e n c e , T h e s o u n d thereof r a p t s 3 every h u m a n s e n s e , T h a t m e n a c c o u n t it no impiety, T o say thou wert a fleshly deity. T h o u s a n d s bring offerings ( t h o u g h out of d a t e ) Thy world of h o n o r s to a c c u m u l a t e ; ' M o n g s t h u n d r e d h e c a t o m b s of roaring 4 v e r s e , M i n e bleating s t a n d s before thy royal h e a r s e . 5 T h o u never didst nor c a n s t thou now d i s d a i n T a c c e p t the tribute of a loyal brain. Thy c l e m e n c y did erst e s t e e m a s m u c h 1. Unbelievers, heretics. 1. Elizabeth 1 ( 1 5 3 3 - 1 6 0 3 ) , queen of ascended to the throne in I 558. 2. Prelude. 3. Enraptures.

England,

Elizabeth1

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4. Loud. " H e c a t o m b s " : sacrificial offerings of one hundred beasts, made in ancient Greece. 5. An elaborate framework erected over a royal tomb to which verses or epitaphs were attached.

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T h e a c c l a m a t i o n s of the p o o r a s rich, W h i c h m a k e s m e d e e m my r u d e n e s s is n o wrong, T h o u g h I r e s o u n d thy p r a i s e s 'mongst t h e throng. The

Poem

N o Phoenix p e n , nor S p e n s e r ' s poetry, N o S p e e d ' s nor C a m d e n ' s 6 l e a r n e d history, Eliza's works, w a r s , p r a i s e , c a n e'er c o m p a c t ; 7 T h e world's the theatre w h e r e s h e did a c t . N o m e m o r i e s nor v o l u m e s c a n c o n t a i n T h e 'leven O l y m p i a d s 8 of her h a p p y reign. W h o w a s so g o o d , so j u s t , s o learn'd, s o w i s e , F r o m all the kings on earth s h e w o n the prize. N o r say I m o r e t h a n duly is her d u e , M i l l i o n s will testify that this is t r u e . S h e h a t h wiped off th' a s p e r s i o n of her sex, T h a t w o m e n w i s d o m lack to play the rex. 9 S p a i n ' s m o n a r c h , says not s o , nor yet his h o s t ; S h e t a u g h t t h e m better m a n n e r s , to their c o s t . 1 T h e S a l i c l a w , 2 in force now h a d not b e e n , If F r a n c e h a d ever h o p e d for s u c h a q u e e n . B u t c a n you, d o c t o r s , 3 now this point d i s p u t e , S h e ' s a r g u m e n t e n o u g h to m a k e you m u t e . S i n c e first the S u n did run his ne'er run r a c e , 4 A n d earth h a d , o n c e a year, a n e w old f a c e , 5 S i n c e time w a s t i m e , a n d m a n u n m a n l y m a n , C o m e s h o w m e s u c h a Phoenix if you c a n . W a s ever p e o p l e better ruled than h e r s ? W a s ever l a n d m o r e h a p p y freed from s t i r s ? 6 D i d ever wealth in E n g l a n d m o r e a b o u n d ? H e r victories in foreign c o a s t s r e s o u n d ; S h i p s m o r e invincible t h a n S p a i n ' s , her f o e , S h e w r a c k e d , s h e s a c k e d , s h e s u n k his A r m a d o ; H e r stately troops a d v a n c e d to L i s b o n ' s wall, D o n A n t h o n y 7 in's right there to install. S h e frankly h e l p e d Frank's brave d i s t r e s s e d k i n g ; 8 T h e s t a t e s u n i t e d 9 now her f a m e d o sing. 6. William C a m d e n ( 1 5 5 1 - 1 6 2 3 ) , the author of Annates, translated in 1630 as The History' of the Elizabeth. Most Renowned and Victorious Princess " N o Phoenix pen": perhaps a reference to the English poet Sir Philip Sidney ( 1 5 5 4 - 1 5 8 6 ) , the subject of one of Bradstreet's p o e m s , but she may also be referring to any immortal poet's work. T h e phoenix is a mythological bird that dies in flames and rises from its ashes. E d m u n d S p e n s e r (c. 1 5 5 2 - 1 5 9 9 ) , author of The Faerie Queen ( 1 5 9 0 , 1 5 9 6 ) , whose title honors Elizabeth. John Speed (1 5 5 2 ? - 1 6 2 9 ) , who published his Historie of Great Britain in 1 6 1 1 . 7. Reduce to manageable space. 8. Four-year intervals between Olympic games; in ancient G r e e c e dates were calculated by them. Elizabeth I reigned for forty-four years. 9. King (Latin).

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1. Philip II ( 1 5 2 7 - 1 5 9 8 ) was Spain's monarch when Queen Elizabeth's navy defeated his "host" (the many ships of the Spanish Armada) in 1 5 8 8 . 2. A law of the Salian Franks that excluded women from succession to the French crown. 3. Learned men. 4. I.e., never-finished course. 5. I.e., earth has a new face each spring. 6. Disturbances. 7. Don Antonio of C r a t o ( 1 5 3 1 - 1 5 9 5 ) , who laid claim to the Portuguese throne. 8. Henri IV ( 1 5 5 3 - 1 6 1 0 ) , Protestant king of France. 9. A reference to T h e Netherlands, whose national assembly was called the States General. Elizabeth I c a m e to their aid in the wars against Spain.

IN

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S h e their protectrix w a s ; they well d o know U n t o our d r e a d virago,' what they o w e . H e r n o b l e s sacrificed their noble blood, N o r m e n nor coin s h e s p a r e d to d o t h e m g o o d . T h e r u d e u n t a m e d Irish, s h e did quell, B e f o r e her picture the p r o u d T y r o n e 2 fell. H a d ever p r i n c e s u c h c o u n s e l l o r s a s s h e ? H e r s e l f M i n e r v a 3 c a u s e d t h e m s o to b e . S u c h c a p t a i n s a n d s u c h soldiers never s e e n , As were the s u b j e c t s of our P a l l a s q u e e n . H e r s e a m e n through all straits the world did r o u n d ; Terra incognita4 might know the s o u n d . H e r D r a k e c a m e laden h o m e with S p a n i s h gold; H e r E s s e x took C a d i z , their H e r c u l e a n h o l d . 3 B u t time would fail m e , so my t o n g u e would t o o , T o tell of half s h e did, or s h e c o u l d d o . S e m i r a m i s 6 to her is but o b s c u r e , M o r e infamy than f a m e s h e did p r o c u r e . S h e built her glory but on Babel's walls, 7 World's w o n d e r for a while, b u t yet it falls. Fierce Tomris (Cyrus' headsman) Scythians'queen,8 H a d p u t her h a r n e s s off, h a d s h e but s e e n O u r A m a z o n in th' C a m p of T i l b u r y , 9 J u d g i n g all valor a n d all majesty Within that p r i n c e s s to have r e s i d e n c e , And p r o s t r a t e yielded to her e x c e l l e n c e . Dido, first f o u n d r e s s of p r o u d C a r t h a g e walls' (Who living c o n s u m m a t e s her f u n e r a l s ) , A great Eliza, b u t c o m p a r e d with o u r s , H o w v a n i s h e t h her glory, wealth, a n d p o w e r s . Profuse, proud Cleopatra, whose wrong n a m e , 2 I n s t e a d of glory, proved her country's s h a m e , O f her what worth in stories to b e s e e n , B u t that s h e w a s a rich Egyptian q u e e n . Z e n o b y a , 3 p o t e n t e m p r e s s of the E a s t , 1. Female warrior. 2. The Irish chieftain Hugh O'Neill (c. 1 5 4 0 1616). second earl of Tyrone, who was defeated hy English forces in 1 6 0 1 . 3. The Roman goddess of war, wisdom, chastity, the arts, and justice. In G r e e c e she is known as Pallas Athena. 4. Unknown land (Latin). 5. Robert Devereux ( 1 5 6 6 - 1 6 0 1 ) . second earl of Essex, captured the Spanish port Cadiz in I 5 9 6 . The hold was " H e r c u l e a n " b e c a u s e Cadi/ was exceptionally well defended. Sir Francis Drake ( 1 5 4 0 ? - ! 596) brought back to England Spanish gold trom Chile and Peru. 6. Late-9th-century queen of Assyria; she is said to have built Babylon. 7. T h e tower of Babel was built to win tame for its builders (Genesis 11). 8. Tomyris was queen of the M a s s a g e t a e , a Scythian tribe, whose armies in 529 B.C.E. defeated Cyrus the Great of Persia. According to some

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a c c o u n t s , she had him beheaded and his head thrown into a pot of blood because it was a fitting end to a bloodthirsty man. 9. It is reported that Elizabeth I, dressed like the mythological female warriors known as Amazons, wore a silver breastplate when she addressed the English troops at Tilbury on the north bank of the T h a m e s Riverin 1 5 8 8 . anticipatinga Spanish invasion. 1. The Latin poet Virgil ( 7 0 - 1 9 B.C.E.), in his Aeneid (book 4 ) , tells the tale of the fabled queen of C a r t h a g e and her self-immolation after she was abandoned by Aeneas. 2. In Greek C l e o p a t r a — t h e name of the famous, but licentious, Egyptian queen (69—30 B . C . E . ) — means "glory to the father." Bradstreet extends the meaning to "fatherland." 3. Queen of Palmyra in Syria, famous for her wars of expansion and defeated by the R o m a n emperor Aurelian in 2 7 3 . S h e died sometime shortly after that date.

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And of all t h e s e without c o m p a r e the b e s t , W h o m n o n e b u t great A u r e l i u s c o u l d quell; Yet for our Q u e e n is n o fit parallel. S h e w a s a Phoenix q u e e n , so shall s h e b e , H e r a s h e s not revived, m o r e Phoenix s h e . H e r p e r s o n a l p e r f e c t i o n s , w h o w o u l d tell M u s t dip his p e n in th' H e l e c o n i a n well, 4 W h i c h I m a y not, my pride doth b u t a s p i r e T o r e a d what o t h e r s write a n d s o a d m i r e . N o w say, have w o m e n worth? or have they n o n e ? O r h a d they s o m e , b u t with our Q u e e n is't g o n e ? N a y m a s c u l i n e s , you have t h u s taxed u s long, B u t s h e , t h o u g h d e a d , will vindicate our w r o n g . L e t s u c h a s say our sex is void of r e a s o n , K n o w 'tis a s l a n d e r now but o n c e w a s t r e a s o n . B u t happy E n g l a n d which h a d s u c h a q u e e n ; Yea happy, happy, h a d t h o s e days still b e e n . B u t h a p p i n e s s lies in a higher s p h e r e , T h e n w o n d e r not Eliza m o v e s not h e r e . Full fraught with honor, riches a n d with days S h e set, s h e set, like T i t a n 5 in his rays. N o m o r e shall rise or set so glorious s u n Until the heaven's great revolution; 6 If then n e w things their old f o r m s shall retain, Eliza shall rule A l b i o n 7 o n c e a g a i n . Her

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H e r e s l e e p s the q u e e n , this is the royal b e d O f th' d a m a s k r o s e , s p r u n g from the white a n d r e d , 8 W h o s e sweet p e r f u m e fills the all-filling air. T h i s rose is withered, o n c e so lovely fair. O n neither tree did grow s u c h rose b e f o r e , T h e greater w a s our gain, our loss the m o r e . Another H e r e lies the pride of q u e e n s , p a t t e r n of k i n g s , S o blaze it, F a m e , here's f e a t h e r s for thy w i n g s . H e r e lies the envied, yet u n p a r a l l e l e d p r i n c e , W h o s e living virtues s p e a k ( t h o u g h d e a d l o n g s i n c e ) . If m a n y worlds, a s that f a n t a s t i c f r a m e d , In every o n e b e her great glory f a m e d . 1643 4. T h e Hippocrene spring on Mount Helican, home of the M u s e s , was the source of poetic inspiration. 5. T h e Latin poets' name for the sun god. 6. "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more s e a " (Revelation 21.1). 7. England.

1650 8. Queen Elizabeth's father, Henry VIII ( 1 4 9 1 1547), descended from the H o u s e of Lancaster, identified with the symbol of the red rose; her mother, Anne Boleyn (1 507?—1 536), was from the H o u s e of York, identified with a white rose. T h e two houses were at war with each other for many years. Bradstreet suggests that the d a m a s k rose of Elizabeth is formed by the interweaving of these two colors.

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c. 1 6 3 6 - 1 7 1 1 On June 20, 1675, Metacomet, who was called Philip by the colonists, led the first of a series of attacks on colonial settlements that lasted for more than a year. Before they were over, more than twelve hundred houses had been burned, about six hundred English colonials were dead, and three thousand American Indians killed. These attacks have become known as "King Philip's War." It was the direct result of the execution in Plymouth, Massachusetts, of three of Philip's Wampanoag tribesmen, but the indirect causes were many; not the least was the fact that the native Americans were starving and desperate to retain their lands. In a sense, the war may be seen as a last-ditch effort by the Wampanoags and their allies against further expansion by the colonists. By the time the war was over, in August of 1676, with Philip slain and his wife and children sold into slavery in the West Indies, the independent power of the New England American Indians had ended. Probably the most famous victim of these attacks is the author of A Narrative of the Captivity

and Restoration

of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson,

the wife of the minister of

the town of Lancaster. With the exception of the eleven weeks she spent as a captive among the Wampanoags, however, almost everything about Mrs. Rowlandson's life remains conjectural. She was probably born in England and brought to this country at an early age. Her father, John White, was a wealthy landholder in the Massachusetts Bay Colony who settled in Lancaster. About 1656 she married Joseph Rowlandson and for the next twenty years led a busy life as mother and minister's wife. The attack on Lancaster occurred on February 20, 1676, and she was not released until the second of May, having been ransomed for twenty pounds. The following year she went with her husband to Wethersfield, Connecticut; Mr. Rowlandson died there in 1678. The town voted to pay her an annuity "so long as she remains a widow among us." For lack of any further information, most biographical entries conclude here. Recently, David Greene has verified that Mary Rowlandson married Captain Samuel Talcott in Wethersfield on August 6, 1679, and that she died in that Connecticut Valley town on January 5, 1711, thirty-five years after her famous ordeal. Shortly after her return to Lancaster, Mrs. Rowlandson began to make a record of her life in captivity. Her Narrative (published in 1682) is the only evidence we have of her skill as a writer. The account of her captivity became one of the most popular prose works of the seventeenth century, both in this country and in England. It combined high adventure, heroism, and exemplary piety and is the first and, in its narrative skill and delineation of character, the best of what have become popularly known as "Indian captivities." As transformed into fictional form by writers like James Fenimore Cooper (in The Last of the Mohicans) and William Faulkner (in Sanctuary), it is a genre that has proven to be an integral part of our I American literary corisciousness.

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From

ROWLANDSON

A N a r r a t i v e of t h e C a p t i v i t y a n d R e s t o r a t i o n o f Mrs. Mary Rowlandson1

O n the tenth of F e b r u a r y 1 6 7 5 , 2 c a m e the I n d i a n s with great n u m b e r s u p o n L a n c a s t e r : ' their first c o m i n g w a s a b o u t sunrising; h e a r i n g the noise of s o m e g u n s , we looked out; several h o u s e s were b u r n i n g , a n d the s m o k e a s c e n d i n g to h e a v e n . T h e r e were five p e r s o n s taken in o n e h o u s e ; the father, a n d the m o t h e r a n d a s u c k i n g child, they k n o c k e d on the h e a d ; the other two they took a n d carried away alive. T h e r e were two o t h e r s , w h o being out of their g a r r i s o n 4 u p o n s o m e o c c a s i o n were set u p o n ; o n e w a s k n o c k e d on the h e a d , the other e s c a p e d ; a n o t h e r there w a s w h o r u n n i n g a l o n g w a s shot a n d w o u n d e d , a n d fell d o w n ; h e b e g g e d of t h e m his life, p r o m i s i n g t h e m m o n e y (as they told m e ) but they would not h e a r k e n to him but k n o c k e d him in h e a d , a n d stripped him n a k e d , a n d split o p e n his b o w e l s . 5 Another, s e e i n g m a n y of the Indians a b o u t his b a r n , v e n t u r e d a n d went out, but w a s quickly shot down. T h e r e were three o t h e r s b e l o n g i n g to the s a m e garrison w h o were killed; the Indians getting u p u p o n the roof of the b a r n , h a d advantage to shoot down u p o n t h e m over their fortification. T h u s t h e s e m u r d e r o u s wretches went o n , b u r n i n g , a n d destroying before t h e m . At length they c a m e a n d b e s e t our own h o u s e , a n d quickly it w a s the dolefulest day that ever m i n e eyes saw. T h e h o u s e s t o o d u p o n the e d g e of a hill; s o m e of the Indians got b e h i n d the hill, o t h e r s into the b a r n , a n d others behind a n y t h i n g that could shelter t h e m ; from all which p l a c e s they shot a g a i n s t the h o u s e , s o that the bullets s e e m e d to fly like hail; a n d quickly they w o u n d e d o n e m a n a m o n g u s , then a n o t h e r , a n d then a third. A b o u t two hours ( a c c o r d i n g to my observation, in that a m a z i n g time) they h a d b e e n a b o u t the h o u s e before they prevailed to fire it (which they did with flax: a n d h e m p , which they brought out of the b a r n , a n d there b e i n g no d e f e n s e a b o u t the h o u s e , only two flankers'' at two o p p o s i t e c o r n e r s a n d o n e of t h e m not finished); they fired it o n c e a n d o n e v e n t u r e d out a n d q u e n c h e d it, but they quickly fired it a g a i n , a n d that took. N o w is the dreadful hour c o m e , that I have often h e a r d of (in time of war, a s it w a s the c a s e of o t h e r s ) , but now m i n e eyes s e e it. S o m e in our h o u s e were fighting for their lives, others wallowing in their blood, the h o u s e o n fire over our h e a d s , a n d the bloody h e a t h e n ready to knock us on the h e a d , if we stirred out. N o w might we hear m o t h e r s a n d children crying out for t h e m s e l v e s , a n d o n e a n o t h e r , " L o r d , what shall we d o ? " T h e n I took my children (and o n e of my sisters', hers) to

1. T h e text used is Original Narratives of Early American History, Narratives of Indian Wars 1675— J 6 9 9 , vol. 14, edited by C. H. Lincoln ( 1 9 5 2 ) . All copies of the first edition have been lost. Like most modern editors, Lincoln has chosen to reprint the second "addition," printed in Cambridge, Massachusetts, by Samuel Green in 1682. The full title is The sovereignty and goodness of GOD, together with the faithfulness of his promises displayed; being a narrative of the captivity and restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, commended by her, to all that desires to know the Lord's doings to, and dealings with her. Especially to her dear children and relations. The second Addition Corrected and amended. Written by her own hand for her private use, and

now made public at the earnest desire of some friends, and for the benefit of the afflicted. Dent. 3 2 . 3 9 . See now that I. even I am he, and there is no god with me; I kill and / make alive, I wound and I heal, neither is there any can deliver out of my hand. 2. A Thursday. Using the present Gregorian calendar, adopted in 1752, February 20, 1676. 3. Lancaster, M a s s a c h u s e t t s , was a frontier town ol approximately fifty iamilies, about thirty miles west of Boston. 4. I.e.. houses in the town where people gathered for defense. 5.

Belly.

6. Projecting

fortifications.

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go forth and leave the h o u s e : but a s s o o n a s we c a m e to the door a n d a p p e a r e d , the Indians shot so thick that the bullets rattled a g a i n s t the h o u s e , a s if o n e h a d taken a n handful of s t o n e s a n d threw t h e m , s o that we were fain to give b a c k . W e h a d six stout dogs b e l o n g i n g to our g a r r i s o n , but n o n e of t h e m would stir, t h o u g h a n o t h e r t i m e , if any Indian h a d c o m e to the door, they were ready to fly u p o n him a n d tear him d o w n . T h e L o r d hereby would m a k e u s the m o r e a c k n o w l e d g e His h a n d , a n d to s e e that our help is always in H i m . B u t out we m u s t g o , the fire increasing, a n d c o m i n g a l o n g b e h i n d u s , roaring, a n d the Indians g a p i n g before u s with their g u n s , s p e a r s , a n d h a t c h e t s to d e v o u r u s . N o s o o n e r were we out of the h o u s e , but my brotherin-law (being before w o u n d e d , in d e f e n d i n g the h o u s e , in or near the throat) fell d o w n d e a d , whereat the Indians scornfully s h o u t e d , a n d hallowed, a n d were presently upon him, stripping off his c l o t h e s , the bullets flying thick, o n e went.through my s i d e , a n d the s a m e (as would s e e m ) t h r o u g h the bowels a n d h a n d of my dear child in my a r m s . O n e of my elder sisters' children, n a m e d William, h a d then his leg broken, which the I n d i a n s perceiving, they k n o c k e d him on [his] h e a d . T h u s were we b u t c h e r e d by t h o s e m e r c i l e s s h e a t h e n , s t a n d i n g a m a z e d , with the blood r u n n i n g d o w n to our h e e l s . M y eldest sister b e i n g yet in the h o u s e , a n d s e e i n g t h o s e woeful sights, the infidels h a u l i n g m o t h e r s o n e way, a n d children a n o t h e r , a n d s o m e wallowing in their blood: a n d her elder son telling her that her son William w a s d e a d , a n d myself w a s w o u n d e d , s h e said, "And Lord, let m e die with t h e m , " which w a s no s o o n e r said, but s h e w a s struck with a bullet, a n d fell d o w n d e a d over the threshold. I h o p e s h e is r e a p i n g the fruit of her g o o d labors, b e i n g faithful to the service of G o d in her p l a c e . In her y o u n g e r years s h e lay u n d e r m u c h trouble u p o n spiritual a c c o u n t s , till it p l e a s e d G o d to m a k e that p r e c i o u s scripture take hold of her heart, "And he said unto m e , my G r a c e is sufficient for t h e e " (2 C o r i n t h i a n s 1 2 . 9 ) . M o r e than twenty years after, I have heard her tell how sweet a n d c o m f o r t a b l e that p l a c e w a s to her. B u t to return: the Indians laid hold of us, pulling m e o n e way, a n d the children another, a n d said, " C o m e go a l o n g with u s " ; I told t h e m they would kill m e : they a n s w e r e d , if I were willing to go a l o n g with t h e m , they would not hurt m e . O h the doleful sight that now w a s to behold at this h o u s e ! " C o m e , behold the works of the L o r d , what d e s o l a t i o n s he has m a d e in the e a r t h . " 7 O f thirtyseven p e r s o n s who were in this o n e h o u s e , n o n e e s c a p e d either p r e s e n t d e a t h , or a bitter captivity, save only o n e , who might say a s h e , "And I only a m e s c a p e d a l o n e to tell the N e w s " (Job 1.15). T h e r e were twelve killed, s o m e shot, s o m e s t a b b e d with their s p e a r s , s o m e k n o c k e d down with their h a t c h e t s . W h e n we are in prosperity, O h the little that we think of s u c h dreadful sights, a n d to s e e our dear friends, a n d relations lie b l e e d i n g out their heart-blood u p o n the g r o u n d . T h e r e w a s o n e w h o w a s c h o p p e d into the h e a d with a h a t c h e t , a n d stripped naked, a n d yet w a s crawling up a n d down. It is a s o l e m n sight to s e e so m a n y C h r i s t i a n s lying in their blood, s o m e here, a n d s o m e there, like a c o m p a n y of s h e e p torn by wolves, all of t h e m stripped naked by a c o m p a n y of h e l l - h o u n d s , roaring, singing, ranting, a n d insulting, as if they would have torn our very hearts o u t ; yet the L o r d by His almighty power preserved a n u m b e r of u s from d e a t h , for there were twenty-four of u s taken alive a n d carried captive. 7. Psalm 4 6 . 8 .

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I h a d often before this said that if the I n d i a n s s h o u l d c o m e , I s h o u l d c h o o s e rather to be killed by t h e m than taken alive, but w h e n it c a m e to the trial my mind c h a n g e d ; their glittering w e a p o n s s o d a u n t e d my spirit, that I c h o s e rather to go a l o n g with t h o s e (as I m a y say) r a v e n o u s b e a s t s , t h a n that m o m e n t to e n d my d a y s ; a n d that I m a y the better d e c l a r e w h a t h a p p e n e d to m e d u r i n g that grievous captivity, I shall particularly s p e a k of the several r e m o v e s 8 we h a d up a n d d o w n the w i l d e r n e s s . The hirst

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N o w away we m u s t go with t h o s e b a r b a r o u s c r e a t u r e s , with our b o d i e s w o u n d e d a n d b l e e d i n g , a n d our hearts no less than our b o d i e s . A b o u t a mile we went that night, up u p o n a hill within sight of the town, where they i n t e n d e d to l o d g e . T h e r e w a s hard by a v a c a n t h o u s e ( d e s e r t e d by the E n g l i s h b e f o r e , for fear of the I n d i a n s ) . I a s k e d t h e m w h e t h e r I might not lodge in the h o u s e that night, to which they a n s w e r e d , " W h a t , will you love E n g l i s h m e n still?" T h i s w a s the dolefulest night that ever my eyes saw. O h the roaring, a n d singing a n d d a n c i n g , a n d yelling of t h o s e b l a c k c r e a t u r e s in the night, which m a d e the p l a c e a lively r e s e m b l a n c e of hell. A n d a s m i s e r a b l e was the w a s t e that w a s there m a d e of h o r s e s , c a t t l e , s h e e p , s w i n e , calves, l a m b s , roasting p i g s , a n d fowl (which they h a d p l u n d e r e d in the t o w n ) , s o m e roasting, s o m e lying a n d b u r n i n g , a n d s o m e boiling to feed our merciless e n e m i e s ; w h o were joyful e n o u g h , t h o u g h we were d i s c o n s o l a t e . T o a d d to the d o l e f u l n e s s of the former day, a n d the d i s m a l n e s s of the p r e s e n t night, my t h o u g h t s ran u p o n my l o s s e s a n d s a d b e r e a v e d c o n d i t i o n . All w a s g o n e , my h u s b a n d g o n e (at least s e p a r a t e d from m e , he b e i n g in the B a y ; 9 a n d to a d d to my grief, the I n d i a n s told m e they w o u l d kill him a s h e c a m e h o m e w a r d ) , my children g o n e , my relations a n d friends g o n e , o u r h o u s e a n d h o m e a n d all our c o m f o r t s — w i t h i n door a n d w i t h o u t — a l l w a s g o n e (except my life), a n d I knew not b u t the next m o m e n t that might g o t o o . T h e r e r e m a i n e d nothing to m e but o n e p o o r w o u n d e d b a b e , a n d it s e e m e d at p r e s e n t worse than d e a t h that it w a s in s u c h a pitiful c o n d i t i o n , b e s p e a k i n g c o m p a s s i o n , a n d I h a d no refreshing for it, n o r s u i t a b l e things to revive it. Little do m a n y think w h a t is the s a v a g e n e s s a n d b r u t i s h n e s s of this b a r b a r o u s e n e m y , Ay, even t h o s e that s e e m to p r o f e s s m o r e t h a n others a m o n g t h e m , w h e n the E n g l i s h have fallen into their h a n d s . T h o s e seven that were killed at L a n c a s t e r the s u m m e r b e f o r e u p o n a S a b b a t h day, a n d the o n e that w a s afterward killed u p o n a weekday, were slain a n d m a n g l e d in a b a r b a r o u s m a n n e r , by one-eyed J o h n , a n d M a r l b o r o u g h ' s Praying I n d i a n s , which C a p t . M o s e l y b r o u g h t to B o s t o n , a s the Indians told me.' The Second

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B u t now, the next m o r n i n g , I m u s t turn my b a c k u p o n the town, a n d travel with t h e m into the vast a n d d e s o l a t e w i l d e r n e s s , I k n e w not whither. It is 8. I.e., departures; movings from place to place. 9. I.e., Boston, or M a s s a c h u s e t t s Bay. 1. On August 30, 1675, Captain Samuel Mosely, encouraged by a number of people who were skeptical of converted American Indians, brought to Boston by force fifteen Christianized American

Indians who lived on their own lands in Marlborough, M a s s a c h u s e t t s , and accused them of an attack on the town of Lancaster on August 22. 2. T o Princeton, Massachusetts, near Mount Wachusett.

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not my t o n g u e , or p e n , c a n express the sorrows of my heart, a n d bitterness of my spirit that I h a d at this d e p a r t u r e : but G o d was with m e in a wonderful m a n n e r , carrying m e along, a n d b e a r i n g up my spirit, that it did not q u i t e fail. O n e of the Indians carried my p o o r w o u n d e d b a b e u p o n a h o r s e ; it went m o a n i n g all along, "I shall die, I shall d i e . " I went on foot after it, with sorrow that c a n n o t be e x p r e s s e d . At length I took it off the h o r s e , a n d carried it in my a r m s till my strength failed, a n d I fell down with it. T h e n they set m e u p o n a h o r s e with my w o u n d e d child in my lap, a n d there b e i n g no furniture u p o n the horse's back, a s we were going down a s t e e p hill we both fell over the horse's h e a d , at which they, like i n h u m a n e c r e a t u r e s , l a u g h e d , a n d rejoiced to s e e it, t h o u g h I thought we s h o u l d there have e n d e d our days, a s o v e r c o m e with so m a n y difficultiesT^But the L o r d r e n e w e d my strength still, a n d carried m e along, that I might s e e m o r e of His power; yea, s o m u c h that I c o u l d never have t h o u g h t of, h a d I not e x p e r i e n c e d it. After this it quickly b e g a n to snow, a n d when night c a m e on, they s t o p p e d , a n d n o w down I m u s t sit in the snow, by a little fire, a n d a few b o u g h s b e h i n d m e , with my sick child in my lap; a n d calling m u c h for water, b e i n g now (through the w o u n d ) fallen into a violent fever. M y own w o u n d a l s o growing so stiff that I c o u l d s c a r c e sit down or rise u p ; yet s o it m u s t b e , that I m u s t sit all this cold winter night u p o n the cold snowy g r o u n d , with my sick child in my a r m s , looking that every h o u r would b e the last of its life; a n d having no C h r i s t i a n friend n e a r m e , either to c o m f o r t or help m e . O h , I m a y s e e the wonderful power of G o d , that my Spirit did not utterly sink u n d e r my affliction: still the Lord u p h e l d m e with His g r a c i o u s a n d merciful spirit, a n d we were both alive to s e e the light of the next morning. The Third

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T h e m o r n i n g b e i n g c o m e , they p r e p a r e d to go on their way. O n e of the Indians got u p u p o n a h o r s e , a n d they set m e up b e h i n d him, with my p o o r sick b a b e in my lap. A very w e a r i s o m e a n d tedious day I h a d of it; w h a t with my own w o u n d , a n d my child's being s o e x c e e d i n g sick, a n d in a l a m e n t a b l e condition with her w o u n d . It may be easily j u d g e d what a p o o r feeble c o n dition we were in, there b e i n g not the least c r u m b of refreshing that c a m e within either of our m o u t h s from W e d n e s d a y night to S a t u r d a y night, except only a little cold water. T h i s day in the a f t e r n o o n , a b o u t a n hour by s u n , we c a m e to the p l a c e where they i n t e n d e d , viz. a n Indian town, called W e n i m e s s e t , northward of Q u a b a u g . W h e n we were c o m e , O h the n u m b e r of p a g a n s (now m e r c i l e s s e n e m i e s ) that there c a m e a b o u t m e , that I m a y say a s David, "I had fainted, u n l e s s I h a d believed, e t c " ( P s a l m 2 7 . 1 3 ) . T h e next day w a s the S a b b a t h . I then r e m e m b e r e d how c a r e l e s s I h a d b e e n of G o d ' s holy t i m e ; how m a n y S a b b a t h s I h a d lost a n d m i s s p e n t , a n d how evilly I h a d walked in G o d ' s sight; which lay so c l o s e u n t o my spirit, that it w a s e a s y for m e to s e e how r i g h t e o u s it w a s with G o d to c u t off the thread of my life a n d c a s t m e out of His p r e s e n c e forever. Yet the L o r d still s h o w e d mercy to m e , a n d upheld m e ; a n d a s H e w o u n d e d m e with o n e h a n d , so he h e a l e d m e with the other. T h i s day there c a m e to m e o n e Robert P e p p e r (a m a n belonging to Roxburv) who w a s taken in C a p t a i n B e e r s ' s fight, a n d h a d b e e n now a c o n s i d e r a b l e time with the I n d i a n s ; a n d u p with t h e m a l m o s t a s far a s 3. February 12—27; they stopped at a Native American village on the Ware River near New Braintree.

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Albany, to s e e King Philip, a s he told m e , a n d w a s n o w very lately c o m e into these p a r t s . 4 H e a r i n g , I say, that I w a s in this Indian town, h e o b t a i n e d leave to c o m e a n d s e e m e . H e told m e he himself w a s w o u n d e d in the leg at C a p t a i n Beer's fight; a n d w a s not able s o m e time to g o , but a s they carried him, a n d as h e took o a k e n leaves a n d laid to his w o u n d , a n d t h r o u g h the b l e s s i n g of G o d he w a s able to travel a g a i n . T h e n I took o a k e n leaves a n d laid to my side, a n d with the blessing of G o d it c u r e d m e a l s o ; yet before the c u r e was wrought, I m a y say, as it is in P s a l m 38.5—6 " M y w o u n d s stink a n d are corrupt, I a m t r o u b l e d , I a m b o w e d down greatly, I go m o u r n i n g all the day long." I sat m u c h a l o n e with a p o o r w o u n d e d child in my lap, which m o a n e d night a n d day, having n o t h i n g to revive the body, or c h e e r the spirits of her, but instead of that, s o m e t i m e s o n e I n d i a n would c o m e a n d tell m e o n e h o u r that "your m a s t e r will k n o c k your child in the h e a d , " a n d then a s e c o n d , a n d then a third, "your m a s t e r will quickly k n o c k your child in the head." T h i s was the comfort I h a d from t h e m , m i s e r a b l e c o m f o r t e r s are ye all, a s h e 5 said. T h u s nine days I sat u p o n my k n e e s , with my b a b e in my lap, till my flesh w a s raw a g a i n ; my child b e i n g even ready to depart this sorrowful world, they b a d e m e carry it out to a n o t h e r w i g w a m (I s u p p o s e b e c a u s e they would not be troubled with s u c h s p e c t a c l e s ) whither I went with a very heavy heart, a n d d o w n I sat with the picture of d e a t h in my lap. A b o u t two hours in the night, my sweet b a b e like a l a m b d e p a r t e d this life on F e b . 18, 1 6 7 5 . It being a b o u t six years, a n d five m o n t h s old. It w a s nine days from the first w o u n d i n g , in this m i s e r a b l e condition, without any refreshing of o n e nature or other, except a little cold water. I c a n n o t but take notice how at a n o t h e r time I c o u l d not b e a r to be in the r o o m w h e r e any d e a d p e r s o n w a s , but now the c a s e is c h a n g e d ; I m u s t a n d c o u l d lie d o w n by my d e a d b a b e , side by side all the night after. I have thought s i n c e of the wonderful g o o d n e s s of G o d to m e in preserving m e in the u s e of my r e a s o n a n d s e n s e s in that d i s t r e s s e d t i m e , that I did not u s e wicked a n d violent m e a n s to e n d my own m i s e r a b l e life. In the m o r n i n g , w h e n they u n d e r s t o o d that my child w a s d e a d they sent for m e h o m e to my m a s t e r ' s w i g w a m (by my m a s t e r in this writing, m u s t be u n d e r s t o o d Q u i n n a p i n , w h o w a s a S a g a m o r e , 6 a n d married King Philip's wife's sister; not that he first took m e , but I w a s sold to him by a n o t h e r N a r r a g a n s e t t Indian, w h o took m e w h e n first I c a m e out of the g a r r i s o n ) . I went to take up my d e a d child in my a r m s to carry it with m e , but they bid m e let it a l o n e ; there w a s no resisting, but g o I m u s t a n d leave it. W h e n I h a d b e e n at my m a s t e r ' s w i g w a m , I took the first opportunity I c o u l d get to go look after my d e a d child. W h e n I c a m e I a s k e d t h e m what they h a d d o n e with it; then they told m e it w a s u p o n the hill. T h e n they went a n d s h o w e d m e where it w a s , where I s a w the g r o u n d w a s newly digged, a n d there they told m e they had buried it. T h e r e I left that child in the w i l d e r n e s s , a n d m u s t c o m m i t it, a n d myself a l s o in this wilderness c o n d i t i o n , to H i m w h o is a b o v e all. G o d having taken away this dear child, I went to s e e my d a u g h t e r M a r y , w h o was at this s a m e Indian town, at a w i g w a m not very far off, t h o u g h we h a d little liberty or opportunity to s e e o n e a n o t h e r . S h e w a s 4. Captain Beers had attempted to save the garrison of Northtield, Massachusetts, on September 4. 1675. 5. I.e., as Job said. "I have heard many such

things: miserable 6. A subordinate ans. Quinnapin and Rowlandson

comforters are ye all" (Job 16.2). chief among the Algonquin Indiwas the husband of Weetamoo, became her servant.

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a b o u t ten years old, a n d taken from the door at first by a Praying Ind. a n d afterward sold for a g u n . W h e n I c a m e in sight, she would fall a w e e p i n g ; at which they were provoked, a n d would not let m e c o m e near her, but b a d e m e be g o n e ; which w a s a heart-cutting word to m e . I h a d o n e child d e a d , a n o t h e r in the w i l d e r n e s s , I knew not w h e r e , the third they would not let m e c o m e near to: " M e (as he said) have ye b e r e a v e d of my C h i l d r e n , J o s e p h is not, a n d S i m e o n is not, a n d ye will take B e n j a m i n a l s o , all t h e s e things are against m e . " 7 1 c o u l d not sit still in this condition, but kept walking from o n e p l a c e to another. And a s I was going along, my heart was even overwhelmed with the t h o u g h t s of my condition, a n d that I s h o u l d have children, a n d a nation which I knew not, ruled over t h e m . W h e r e u p o n I earnestly e n t r e a t e d the L o r d , that H e would c o n s i d e r my low e s t a t e , a n d s h o w m e a token for g o o d , a n d if it were His b l e s s e d will, s o m e sign a n d h o p e of s o m e relief. A n d indeed quickly the Lord a n s w e r e d , in s o m e m e a s u r e , my p o o r prayers; for a s I w a s going up a n d down m o u r n i n g a n d l a m e n t i n g my condition, my son c a m e to m e , a n d a s k e d m e how I did. I h a d not seen him before, s i n c e the destruction of the town, a n d I knew not w h e r e he w a s , till I was i n f o r m e d by himself, that he w a s a m o n g s t a s m a l l e r parcel of I n d i a n s , w h o s e p l a c e was a b o u t six miles off. With tears in his eyes, he a s k e d m e w h e t h e r his sister S a r a h w a s d e a d ; a n d told m e he h a d s e e n his sister Mary; a n d prayed m e , that I would not be troubled in reference to himself. T h e o c c a s i o n of his c o m i n g to s e e m e at this t i m e , was this: there w a s , as I said, a b o u t six miles from u s , a small plantation of I n d i a n s , where it s e e m s he h a d b e e n d u r i n g his captivity; a n d at this t i m e , there were s o m e forces of the Ind. g a t h e r e d out of our c o m p a n y , a n d s o m e a l s o from t h e m ( a m o n g w h o m w a s my son's m a s t e r ) to go to a s s a u l t a n d burn M e d f i e l d . 8 In this time of the a b s e n c e of his m a s t e r , his d a m e b r o u g h t him to s e e m e . I took this to be s o m e g r a c i o u s a n s w e r to my e a r n e s t a n d u n f e i g n e d desire. T h e next day, viz. to this, the Indians returned from M e d f i e l d , all the c o m p a n y , for t h o s e that b e l o n g e d to the other small c o m p a n y , c a m e through the town that now we were at. B u t before they c a m e to u s , O h ! the o u t r a g e o u s roaring a n d h o o p i n g that there w a s . T h e y b e g a n their din a b o u t a mile before they c a m e to u s . By their noise a n d h o o p i n g they signified how m a n y they h a d destroyed (which w a s at that time twenty-three). T h o s e that were with u s at h o m e were g a t h e r e d together as s o o n a s they h e a r d the hooping, a n d every time that the other went over their n u m b e r , t h e s e at h o m e gave a s h o u t , that the very earth r u n g a g a i n . And t h u s they c o n t i n u e d till t h o s e that h a d b e e n u p o n the expedition were c o m e up to the S a g a m o r e ' s w i g w a m ; a n d t h e n , O h , the h i d e o u s insulting a n d t r i u m p h i n g that there was over s o m e E n g l i s h m e n ' s s c a l p s that they h a d taken (as their m a n n e r is) a n d brought with t h e m . I c a n n o t but take notice of the wonderful mercy of G o d to m e in t h o s e afflictions, in s e n d i n g m e a Bible. O n e of the Indians that c a m e from Medfield fight, h a d b r o u g h t s o m e plunder, c a m e to m e , a n d a s k e d m e , if I would have a B i b l e , h e h a d got o n e in his basket. I was glad of it, a n d a s k e d him, whether he t h o u g h t the Indians would let m e read? H e a n s w e r e d , yes. S o I took the Bible, a n d in that melancholy time, it c a m e into my mind to read first the 2 8 t h c h a p t e r of D e u t e r o n o m y , 9 which I did, a n d w h e n I h a d read it, my dark heart wrought on 7. Jacob's lamentation in Genesis 4 2 . 3 6 . 8. The attack on Medfield, Massachusetts, occurred on February 2 1 .

9. This chapter of Deuteronomy is concerned with blessings for obedience to God and curses for disobedience.

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this m a n n e r : that there w a s no mercy for m e , that the b l e s s i n g s were g o n e , a n d the c u r s e s c o m e in their r o o m , a n d that I h a d lost my opportunity. B u t the L o r d helped m e still to go on r e a d i n g till 1 c a m e to C h a p . 3 0 , the seven first v e r s e s , w h e r e I f o u n d , there w a s mercy p r o m i s e d a g a i n , if we w o u l d return to H i m by r e p e n t a n c e ; ' a n d t h o u g h we were s c a t t e r e d from o n e e n d of the earth to the other, yet the L o r d would g a t h e r u s together, a n d turn all t h o s e c u r s e s u p o n our e n e m i e s . I do not desire to live to forget this S c r i p t u r e , a n d what c o m f o r t it w a s to m e . N o w the Ind. b e g a n to talk of removing from this p l a c e , s o m e o n e way, a n d s o m e a n o t h e r . T h e r e were now b e s i d e s myself nine E n g l i s h captives in this p l a c e (all of t h e m children, except o n e w o m a n ) . I got an opportunity to go a n d take my leave of t h e m . T h e y b e i n g to go o n e way, a n d I a n o t h e r , I a s k e d t h e m w h e t h e r they were e a r n e s t with G o d for d e l i v e r a n c e . T h e y told m e the\ did as they wore able, and it was S O N I C c o m f o r t to m e , that the Lord stirred up children to look to H i m . T h e w o m a n , viz. g o o d w i f e 2 J o s l i n , told m e she s h o u l d never s e e m e a g a i n , a n d that s h e c o u l d find in her heart to run away. I w i s h e d her not to run away by any m e a n s , for we were near thirty miles from any E n g l i s h town, a n d she very big with child, a n d h a d but o n e week to r e c k o n , a n d a n o t h e r child in her a r m s , two years old, a n d b a d rivers there were to go over, a n d we were f e e b l e , with o u r p o o r a n d c o a r s e entert a i n m e n t . I h a d my Bible with m e , I pulled it o u t , a n d a s k e d her whether s h e would r e a d . W e o p e n e d the Bible a n d lighted on P s a l m 2 7 , in which P s a l m we especially took notice of that, ver. ult., "Wait on the L o r d , B e of g o o d c o u r a g e , a n d he shall s t r e n g t h e n thine H e a r t , wait I say o n the L o r d . " ' *

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It w a s u p o n a S a b b a t h - d a y - m o r n i n g , that they p r e p a r e d for their travel. T h i s m o r n i n g I a s k e d my m a s t e r w h e t h e r he would sell m e to my h u s b a n d . H e a n s w e r e d m e " N u x , " 5 which did m u c h rejoice my spirit. M y m i s t r e s s , before we went, w a s g o n e to the burial of a p a p o o s e , a n d returning, she found m e sitting a n d r e a d i n g in my B i b l e ; s h e s n a t c h e d it hastily o u t of my h a n d , a n d threw it o u t of d o o r s . I ran out a n d c a t c h e d it u p , a n d p u t it into my p o c k e t , a n d never let her s e e it afterward. T h e n they p a c k e d u p their things to be g o n e , a n d gave m e my load. I c o m p l a i n e d it w a s too heavy, w h e r e u p o n she gave m e a slap in the f a c e , a n d b a d e m e g o ; I lifted u p my heart to G o d , h o p i n g the r e d e m p t i o n w a s not far off; a n d the rather b e c a u s e their insolency grew w o r s e a n d w o r s e . B u t the t h o u g h t s of my g o i n g h o m e w a r d (for so we b e n t o u r c o u r s e ) m u c h c h e e r e d my spirit, a n d m a d e my b u r d e n s e e m light, a n d a l m o s t n o t h i n g at all. B u t (to my a m a z e m e n t a n d great perplexity) the s c a l e w a s s o o n t u r n e d ; for w h e n we h a d g o n e a little way, on a s u d d e n my m i s t r e s s gives o u t ; s h e would g o no further, but turn b a c k a g a i n , a n d said I m u s t g o b a c k a g a i n with her, a n d s h e called her sannup, a n d would have h a d him g o n e b a c k a l s o , but h e would not, but said he would go o n , a n d c o m e to u s a g a i n in three days. 1. "That then the Lord thy God will turn thy captivity, and have compassion upon thee, and will return and gather thee from all the nations" (Deuteronomy 30.3). 2. I.e., the mistress of a house.

3. Verse 14. "Ver. ult.": last verse (Latin abbreviation). 4. Sunday, April 9. 5. Yes.

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M y spirit w a s , u p o n this, I c o n f e s s , very impatient, a n d a l m o s t o u t r a g e o u s . I t h o u g h t I c o u l d a s well have died a s went b a c k ; I c a n n o t d e c l a r e the trouble that I w a s in a b o u t it; but yet b a c k again I m u s t g o . As s o o n a s I h a d the opportunity, I took my Bible to r e a d , a n d that q u i e t i n g S c r i p t u r e c a m e to my h a n d , " B e still, a n d know that I a m G o d " ( P s a l m 4 6 . 1 0 ) . W h i c h stilled my spirit for the p r e s e n t . B u t a sore time of trial, I c o n c l u d e d , I h a d to g o t h r o u g h , my m a s t e r b e i n g g o n e , who s e e m e d to m e the b e s t friend that I h a d of a n Indian, both in cold a n d hunger, a n d quickly so it proved. D o w n I sat, with my heart a s full a s it c o u l d hold, a n d yet so hungry that I c o u l d not sit neither; but going out to s e e w h a t I c o u l d find, a n d walking a m o n g the trees, I f o u n d six a c o r n s , a n d two c h e s t n u t s , which were s o m e r e f r e s h m e n t to m e . T o w a r d s night I g a t h e r e d s o m e sticks for my own c o m f o r t , that I might not lie a-cold; but when we c a m e to lie down they b a d e m e to g o o u t , a n d lie s o m e w h e r e e l s e , for they had c o m p a n y (they said) c o m e in m o r e t h a n their own. I told t h e m , I c o u l d not tell where to g o , they b a d e m e go look; I told t h e m , if I went to a n o t h e r wigwam they would be angry, a n d s e n d m e h o m e a g a i n . T h e n o n e of the c o m p a n y drew his sword, a n d told m e h e would run m e t h r o u g h if I did not g o presently. T h e n w a s I fain to s t o o p to this r u d e fellow, a n d to go out in the night, I knew not whither. M i n e eyes have s e e n that fellow afterwards walking u p a n d down B o s t o n , u n d e r the a p p e a r a n c e of a F r i e n d Indian, a n d several others of the like c u t . I went to o n e w i g w a m , a n d they told m e they h a d no r o o m . T h e n I went to a n o t h e r , a n d they s a i d the s a m e ; at last a n old Indian b a d e m e to c o m e to h i m , a n d his s q u a w gave m e s o m e g r o u n d n u t s ; s h e gave m e a l s o s o m e t h i n g to lay u n d e r my h e a d , a n d a g o o d fire we h a d ; a n d through the g o o d p r o v i d e n c e of G o d , I h a d a c o m f o r t a b l e lodging that night. In the m o r n i n g , a n o t h e r Indian b a d e m e c o m e at night, a n d h e would give m e six g r o u n d n u t s , w h i c h I did. W e were at this p l a c e a n d time a b o u t two miles from [the] C o n n e c t i c u t river. W e went in the m o r n i n g to gather g r o u n d n u t s , to the river, a n d went b a c k a g a i n that night. I went with a good load at my b a c k (for they w h e n they w e n t , t h o u g h but a little way, would carry all their trumpery with t h e m ) . I told them the skin w a s off my back, but I h a d n o other c o m f o r t i n g a n s w e r from t h e m than this: that it would b e no m a t t e r if my h e a d were off too. *

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The Twentieth

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It w a s their u s u a l m a n n e r to r e m o v e , w h e n they h a d d o n e any mischief, lest they s h o u l d b e f o u n d o u t ; a n d so they did at this t i m e . W e went a b o u t three or four m i l e s , a n d there they built a great w i g w a m , big e n o u g h to hold a n h u n d r e d I n d i a n s , which they did in p r e p a r a t i o n to a great day of d a n c i n g . T h e y would say n o w a m o n g s t t h e m s e l v e s , that the governor would be s o angry for his loss at S u d b u r y , that he would s e n d no m o r e a b o u t the c a p t i v e s , which m a d e m e grieve a n d t r e m b l e . M y sister b e i n g not far from the p l a c e w h e r e we now w e r e , a n d hearing that I w a s h e r e , desired her m a s t e r to let her c o m e a n d s e e m e , a n d h e w a s willing to it, a n d would go with her; but s h e being ready before him, told him s h e would go b e f o r e , a n d w a s c o m e within a mile or two of the p l a c e . T h e n he overtook her, a n d b e g a n to rant 6. April 28 to May 2, to an e n c a m p m e n t at the southern end of Wachusett Lake, Princeton, M a s s a c h u s e t t s .

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a s if he h a d b e e n m a d , a n d m a d e her go b a c k again in the rain; so that I never s a w her till I saw her in C h a r l e s t o w n . B u t the L o r d requited m a n y of their ill d o i n g s , for this Indian her m a s t e r , was h a n g e d afterward at B o s t o n . T h e I n d i a n s now b e g a n to c o m e from all q u a r t e r s , a g a i n s t their merry d a n c ing day. A m o n g s o m e of t h e m c a m e o n e goodwife Kettle. I told her my heart w a s s o heavy that it w a s ready to break. " S o is m i n e t o o , " said s h e , but yet said, "I h o p e we shall hear s o m e g o o d news shortly." I c o u l d h e a r how earnestly my sister desired to s e e m e , a n d I a s earnestly desired to s e e her; a n d yet neither of u s c o u l d get an opportunity. M y d a u g h t e r w a s a l s o now a b o u t a mile off, a n d I h a d not seen her in nine or ten w e e k s , a s I h a d not s e e n my sister s i n c e our first taking. I earnestly desired t h e m to let m e go a n d s e e t h e m : yea, I e n t r e a t e d , b e g g e d , a n d p e r s u a d e d t h e m , but to let m e s e e my d a u g h t e r ; a n d yet s o hard-hearted were they, that they would not suffer it. T h e y m a d e u s e of their tyrannical power whilst they h a d it; but through the Lord's wonderful mercy, their time w a s now b u t short. O n a S a b b a t h day, the s u n b e i n g a b o u t a n h o u r high in the afternoon, c a m e Mr. J o h n H o a r (the c o u n c i l p e r m i t t i n g him, a n d his own foreward spirit inclining h i m ) , together with the two f o r e m e n t i o n e d I n d i a n s , T o m a n d Peter, with their third letter from the c o u n c i l . W h e n they c a m e near, I w a s a b r o a d . T h o u g h I saw t h e m not, they presently called m e in, a n d b a d e m e sit down a n d not stir. T h e n they c a t c h e d up their g u n s , a n d away they r a n , a s if a n e n e m y had been at h a n d , a n d the g u n s went off a p a c e . I m a n i f e s t e d s o m e great t r o u b l e , a n d they a s k e d m e w h a t w a s the matter? I told t h e m I thought they h a d killed the E n g l i s h m a n (for they h a d in the m e a n t i m e informed m e that an E n g l i s h m a n w a s c o m e ) . T h e y said, n o . T h e y shot over his h o r s e a n d u n d e r a n d before his h o r s e , a n d they p u s h e d him this way a n d that way, at their p l e a s u r e , s h o w i n g what they c o u l d do. T h e n they let t h e m c o m e to their w i g w a m s . I begged of t h e m to let m e s e e the E n g l i s h m a n , but they would not. B u t there w a s I fain to sit their p l e a s u r e . W h e n they h a d talked their fill with him, they suffered m e to go to him. W e a s k e d e a c h other of our welfare, a n d how my h u s b a n d did, a n d all my friends? H e told m e they were all well, a n d would be glad to s e e m e . A m o n g s t other things which my h u s b a n d sent m e , there c a m e a p o u n d of t o b a c c o , which I sold for nine shillings in m o n e y ; for many of the Indians for want of t o b a c c o , s m o k e d h e m l o c k , a n d g r o u n d ivy. It w a s a great m i s t a k e in any, w h o t h o u g h t I sent for t o b a c c o ; for t h r o u g h the favor of G o d , that desire w a s o v e r c o m e . I now a s k e d t h e m w h e t h e r I s h o u l d go h o m e with M r . H o a r ? T h e y a n s w e r e d n o , o n e a n d a n o t h e r of t h e m , a n d it b e i n g night, we lay down with that answer. In the m o r n i n g M r . H o a r invited the S a g a m o r e s to dinner; but w h e n we went to get it ready we found that they had stolen the greatest part of the provision Mr. H o a r h a d brought, out of his b a g s , in the night. A n d we m a y s e e the wonderful power of G o d , in that o n e p a s s a g e , in that when there w a s s u c h a great n u m b e r of the Indians together, a n d so greedy of a little g o o d food, a n d no E n g l i s h there but Mr. H o a r a n d myself, that there they did not k n o c k u s in the h e a d , a n d take what we h a d , there b e i n g not only s o m e provision, but a l s o trading-cloth, 8 a part of the twenty p o u n d s a g r e e d u p o n . B u t i n s t e a d 7. John Hoar was from Concord, Massachusetts. I le had been delegated by Rowlandson's husband to represent him at the council lor the Sagamore

Indians, and to bargain for Rowlandson's redemption. 8. Cloth used lor barter.

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of d o i n g u s any mischief, they s e e m e d to be a s h a m e d of the fact, a n d said, it were s o m e m a t c h i t ' Indian that did it. O h , that we c o u l d believe that there is nothing too hard for G o d ! G o d s h o w e d His power over the h e a t h e n in this, a s H e did over the hungry lions w h e n Daniel was c a s t into the d e n . 1 Mr. H o a r called t h e m b e t i m e to dinner, but they a t e very little, they b e i n g so busy in d r e s s i n g t h e m s e l v e s , a n d getting ready for their d a n c e , which w a s carried on by eight of t h e m , four m e n a n d four s q u a w s . M y m a s t e r a n d m i s t r e s s b e i n g two. H e w a s d r e s s e d in his h o l l a n d 2 shirt, with great l a c e s sewed at the tail of it; he h a d his silver b u t t o n s , his white s t o c k i n g s , his garters were h u n g r o u n d with shillings, a n d he h a d girdles of w a m p u m 1 u p o n his h e a d a n d s h o u l d e r s . S h e had a kersey 4 coat, a n d covered with girdles of w a m p u m from the loins u p w a r d . H e r a r m s from her elbows to her h a n d s were covered with b r a c e l e t s ; there were handfuls of n e c k l a c e s a b o u t her neck, a n d several sorts of j e w e l s in her e a r s . S h e h a d fine red s t o c k i n g s , a n d white s h o e s , her hair p o w d e r e d a n d f a c e painted red, that w a s always before black. A n d all the d a n c e r s were after the s a m e m a n n e r . T h e r e were two others singing a n d k n o c k i n g on a kettle for their m u s i c . T h e y kept h o p p i n g up a n d down o n e after a n o t h e r , with a kettle of water in the midst, s t a n d i n g warm u p o n s o m e e m b e r s , to drink of w h e n they were dry. T h e y held on till it w a s a l m o s t night, throwing out w a m p u m to the s t a n d e r s by. At night I a s k e d t h e m a g a i n , if I s h o u l d go h o m e ? T h e y all a s o n e s a i d no, e x c e p t s my h u s b a n d would c o m e for m e . W h e n we were lain d o w n , my m a s t e r went out of the w i g w a m , a n d by a n d by sent in an Indian called J a m e s the Printer,'' w h o told Mr. H o a r , that my m a s t e r would let m e go h o m e t o m o r r o w , if he would let him have o n e pint of liquors. T h e n Mr. H o a r called his own India n s , T o m a n d Peter, a n d bid t h e m go a n d s e e whether he would p r o m i s e it before t h e m three; a n d if he would, he s h o u l d have it; which he did, a n d he h a d it. T h e n P h i l i p 7 smelling the b u s i n e s s called m e to h i m , a n d a s k e d m e what I would give him, to tell m e s o m e good n e w s , a n d s p e a k a g o o d word for m e . J told him I c o u l d not tell what to give him. I would [give him] anything I h a d , a n d a s k e d him what he would have? H e said two c o a t s a n d twenty shillings in m o n e y , a n d half a b u s h e l of s e e d c o r n , a n d s o m e t o b a c c o . I t h a n k e d him for his love; but I knew the g o o d news a s well a s the crafty fox. M y m a s t e r after he h a d h a d his drink, quickly c a m e ranting into the w i g w a m a g a i n , a n d called for Mr. H o a r , drinking to him, a n d saying, he w a s a good m a n , a n d then again he would say, " h a n g him r o g u e . " B e i n g a l m o s t drunk, he would drink to him, a n d yet presently say he s h o u l d be h a n g e d . T h e n he called for m e . I trembled to h e a r him, yet I w a s fain to go to him, a n d he d r a n k to m e , s h o w i n g no incivility. H e w a s the first Indian I saw d r u n k all the while that I w a s a m o n g s t t h e m . At last his s q u a w ran out, a n d he after her, r o u n d the w i g w a m , with his m o n e y jingling at his k n e e s . B u t she e s c a p e d him. B u t having an old s q u a w he ran to her; a n d s o t h r o u g h t h e Lord's mercy, we were no m o r e troubled that night. Yet I h a d not a c o m 9. Bad. 1. The prophet Daniel was cast into a den ol lions, hut they did not harm him (see Daniel 6 . 1 - 2 9 ) . 2. Linen. 3. Beads of polished shells used by some American Indians as currency. 4. C o a r s e cloth woven from long wool and usually

ribbed. 5. Unless. 6. An American Indian who assisted the Rev. John Eliot in his printing of the Bible. 7. An American Indian who aided Rowlandson earlier on the journey.

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fortable night's rest; for I think I c a n say, I did not s l e e p for three nights together. T h e night before the letter c a m e from the c o u n c i l , I c o u l d not rest, I w a s s o full of fears a n d t r o u b l e s , G o d m a n y times leaving u s m o s t in the dark, w h e n deliverance is n e a r e s t . Yea, at this time I c o u l d not rest night nor day. T h e next night I w a s overjoyed, M r . H o a r b e i n g c o m e , a n d that with s u c h g o o d tidings. T h e third night I w a s even swallowed u p with the t h o u g h t s of things, viz. that ever I s h o u l d g o h o m e a g a i n ; a n d that I m u s t g o , leaving my children b e h i n d m e in the w i l d e r n e s s ; so that s l e e p w a s now a l m o s t d e p a r t e d from m i n e eyes. O n T u e s d a y m o r n i n g they called their general court ( a s they call it) to c o n s u l t a n d d e t e r m i n e , w h e t h e r I s h o u l d g o h o m e or no. A n d they all a s o n e m a n did seemingly c o n s e n t to it, that I s h o u l d go h o m e ; except Philip, w h o would not c o m e a m o n g t h e m . B u t before I g o any further, I would take leave to m e n t i o n a few r e m a r k a b l e p a s s a g e s of p r o v i d e n c e , which I took special n o t i c e of in my afflicted time. 1. O f the fair opportunity lost in the l o n g m a r c h , a little after the fort fight, w h e n our E n g l i s h a r m y w a s so n u m e r o u s , a n d in p u r s u i t of the e n e m y , a n d so n e a r a s to take several a n d destroy t h e m , a n d the e n e m y in s u c h distress for food that our m e n might track t h e m by their rooting in the earth for g r o u n d n u t s , whilst they were flying for their lives. I say, that then our army s h o u l d want provision, a n d be forced to leave their p u r s u i t a n d return h o m e w a r d ; a n d the very next week the e n e m y c a m e u p o n our town, like b e a r s bereft of their w h e l p s , or s o m a n y r a v e n o u s wolves, r e n d i n g u s a n d our l a m b s to d e a t h . B u t what shall I say? G o d s e e m e d to leave his P e o p l e to t h e m s e l v e s , a n d order all things for H i s own holy e n d s . Shall t h e r e be evil in the City a n d the L o r d hath not d o n e i t ? 8 T h e y are not grieved for the affliction of J o s e p h , therefore shall they go c a p t i v e , with the first that go c a p t i v e . 9 It is the Lord's d o i n g , a n d it s h o u l d b e m a r v e l o u s in o u r eyes. 2. I c a n n o t but r e m e m b e r how the I n d i a n s d e r i d e d the s l o w n e s s , a n d d u l l n e s s of the E n g l i s h army, in its setting out. F o r after the d e s o l a t i o n s at L a n c a s t e r a n d M e d f i e l d , a s I went a l o n g with t h e m , they a s k e d m e w h e n I thought the E n g l i s h army would c o m e after t h e m ? I told t h e m I c o u l d not tell. "It may b e they will c o m e in M a y , " said they. T h u s did they scoff at u s , a s if the E n g l i s h would be a q u a r t e r of a year getting ready. 3. W h i c h a l s o I have hinted b e f o r e , w h e n the E n g l i s h a r m y with new s u p p l i e s were sent forth to p u r s u e after the e n e m y , a n d they u n d e r s t a n d i n g it, fled before t h e m till they c a m e to B a n q u a u g river, w h e r e they forthwith went over safely; that that river s h o u l d b e i m p a s s a b l e to the E n g l i s h . I c a n but a d m i r e to s e e the wonderful p r o v i d e n c e of G o d in p r e s e r v i n g the h e a t h e n for further affliction to our p o o r country. T h e y c o u l d go in great n u m b e r s over, but the E n g l i s h m u s t s t o p . G o d h a d a n over-ruling h a n d in all t h o s e things. 4. It w a s t h o u g h t , if their corn were c u t d o w n , they w o u l d starve a n d die with h u n g e r , a n d all their corn that c o u l d b e f o u n d , w a s d e s t r o y e d , a n d they driven from that little they h a d in s t o r e , into the w o o d s in the m i d s t of winter; a n d yet how to a d m i r a t i o n did the L o r d preserve t h e m for H i s holy e n d s , a n d the d e s t r u c t i o n of m a n y still a m o n g s t the E n g l i s h ! strangely did the L o r d

8. Amos 3.6.

9. Amos 6 . 6 - 7 .

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provide for t h e m ; that I did not s e e (all the time I w a s a m o n g t h e m ) o n e m a n , w o m a n , or child, die with h u n g e r . T h o u g h m a n y times they would eat that, that a h o g or a d o g would hardly t o u c h ; yet by that G o d s t r e n g t h e n e d t h e m to be a s c o u r g e to H i s p e o p l e . T h e c h i e f a n d c o m m o n e s t food w a s g r o u n d n u t s . T h e y e a t a l s o n u t s a n d a c o r n s , a r t i c h o k e s , lilly roots, g r o u n d b e a n s , a n d several other w e e d s a n d roots, that I know not. T h e y would p i c k u p old b o n e s , a n d c u t t h e m to p i e c e s at the j o i n t s , a n d if they were full of w o r m s a n d m a g g o t s , they would s c a l d t h e m over the fire to m a k e the vermine c o m e o u t , a n d then boil t h e m , a n d drink u p the liquor, a n d then beat the great e n d s of t h e m in a mortar, a n d s o e a t t h e m . T h e y would eat horse's g u t s , a n d e a r s , a n d all sorts of wild birds which they c o u l d c a t c h ; a l s o bear, v e n i s o n , beaver, tortoise, frogs, squirrels, d o g s , s k u n k s , ratt l e s n a k e s ; yea, the very bark of trees; b e s i d e s all sorts of c r e a t u r e s , a n d provision which they p l u n d e r e d from the E n g l i s h . I c a n b u t s t a n d in a d m i r a t i o n to s e e the wonderful power of G o d in providing for s u c h a vast n u m b e r of our e n e m i e s in the w i l d e r n e s s , where there w a s nothing to b e s e e n , but from h a n d to m o u t h . M a n y times in a m o r n i n g , the generality of t h e m would eat up all they h a d , a n d yet have s o m e further supply a g a i n s t they w a n t e d . It is said, " O h , that my P e o p l e h a d h e a r k e n e d to m e , a n d Israel h a d walked in my ways, I s h o u l d s o o n have s u b d u e d their E n e m i e s , a n d turned my h a n d a g a i n s t their A d v e r s a r i e s " ( P s a l m 8 1 . 1 3 - 1 4 ) . B u t now o u r perverse a n d evil carriages in the sight of the L o r d , have so o f f e n d e d H i m , that i n s t e a d of turning His h a n d a g a i n s t t h e m , the L o r d f e e d s a n d n o u r i s h e s t h e m up to b e a s c o u r g e to the whole l a n d . 5. A n o t h e r thing that I would observe is the s t r a n g e p r o v i d e n c e of G o d , in turning things a b o u t w h e n the I n d i a n s w a s at the highest, a n d the E n g l i s h at the lowest. I w a s with the e n e m y eleven w e e k s a n d five days, a n d not o n e week p a s s e d without the fury of the e n e m y , a n d s o m e d e s o l a t i o n by fire a n d sword u p o n o n e p l a c e or other. T h e y m o u r n e d (with their b l a c k f a c e s ) for their own l o s s e s , yet t r i u m p h e d a n d rejoiced in their i n h u m a n e , a n d m a n y times devilish cruelty to the E n g l i s h . T h e y would b o a s t m u c h of their victories; saying that in two h o u r s time they h a d destroyed s u c h a c a p t a i n a n d his c o m p a n y at s u c h a p l a c e ; a n d b o a s t how m a n y towns they h a d destroyed, a n d then scoff, a n d say they h a d d o n e t h e m a g o o d turn to s e n d t h e m to H e a v e n so s o o n . Again, they would say this s u m m e r that they w o u l d k n o c k all the r o g u e s in the h e a d , or drive t h e m into the s e a , or m a k e t h e m fly the country; thinking surely, Agag-like, " T h e bitterness of D e a t h is p a s t . " 1 N o w the h e a t h e n begins to think all is their own, a n d the p o o r C h r i s t i a n s ' h o p e s to fail (as to m a n ) a n d n o w their eyes are m o r e to G o d , a n d their h e a r t s sigh heaven-ward; a n d to say in g o o d e a r n e s t , " H e l p L o r d , or we p e r i s h . " W h e n the L o r d h a d b r o u g h t H i s p e o p l e to this, that they s a w no h e l p in anything but Himself; then H e takes the quarrel into His own h a n d ; a n d t h o u g h they h a d m a d e a pit, in their own i m a g i n a t i o n s , a s d e e p a s hell for the C h r i s t i a n s that s u m m e r , yet the L o r d hurled t h e m s e l v e s into it. A n d the L o r d h a d not so m a n y ways before to preserve t h e m , but now H e h a t h a s m a n y to destroy them. 1. 1 S a m u e l 15.32. Agag was the king of Amalek; he was defeated by Saul and thought himself spared, but was slain by S a m u e l (see 1 Samuel 15).

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B u t to return again to my going h o m e , w h e r e we m a y s e e a r e m a r k a b l e c h a n g e of p r o v i d e n c e . At first they were all a g a i n s t it, except my h u s b a n d would c o m e for m e , but afterwards they a s s e n t e d to it, a n d s e e m e d m u c h to rejoice in it; s o m e a s k e d m e to s e n d t h e m s o m e b r e a d , others s o m e t o b a c c o , others s h a k i n g m e by the h a n d , offering m e a h o o d a n d s c a r f e to ride in; not o n e moving hand or t o n g u e a g a i n s t it. T h u s hath the L o r d a n s w e r e d my p o o r desire, a n d the m a n y e a r n e s t r e q u e s t s of others p u t u p u n t o G o d for m e . In my travels a n Indian c a m e to m e a n d told m e , if I were willing, he a n d his s q u a w would run away, a n d go h o m e a l o n g with m e . I told him n o : I was not willing to run away, but desired to wait G o d ' s t i m e , that I might go h o m e quietly, a n d without fear. And now G o d hath g r a n t e d m e my d e s i r e . O the wonderful power of G o d that I have s e e n , a n d the experience that I have had. I have b e e n in the midst of t h o s e roaring lions, a n d s a v a g e b e a r s , that feared neither G o d , nor m a n , nor the devil, by night a n d day, a l o n e a n d in c o m p a n y , s l e e p i n g all sorts together, a n d yet not o n e of t h e m ever offered m e the least a b u s e of unchastity to m e , in word or a c t i o n . T h o u g h s o m e are ready to say I s p e a k it for my own credit; but I s p e a k it in the p r e s e n c e of G o d , a n d to His Glory. G o d ' s power is a s great now, a n d a s sufficient to save, a s w h e n H e preserved D a n i e l in the lion's d e n ; or the three children in the fiery f u r n a c e . 2 I may well say a s his P s a l m 1 0 7 . 1 2 " O h give t h a n k s u n t o the L o r d for he is g o o d , for his mercy e n d u r e t h for ever." Let the r e d e e m e d of the L o r d say s o , w h o m H e hath r e d e e m e d from the h a n d of the e n e m y , especially that I s h o u l d c o m e away in the midst of s o m a n y h u n d r e d s of e n e m i e s quietly a n d p e a c e a b l y , a n d not a d o g m o v i n g his t o n g u e . S o I took my leave of t h e m , a n d in c o m i n g a l o n g my heart m e l t e d into tears, more than all the while I w a s with t h e m , a n d I w a s a l m o s t swallowed u p with the t h o u g h t s that ever I s h o u l d go h o m e a g a i n . A b o u t the s u n g o i n g down, Mr. H o a r , a n d myself, a n d the two Indians c a m e to L a n c a s t e r , a n d a s o l e m n sight it w a s to m e . T h e r e h a d I lived m a n y c o m f o r t a b l e years a m o n g s t my relations a n d n e i g h b o r s , a n d now not o n e C h r i s t i a n to b e s e e n , nor o n e h o u s e left s t a n d i n g . W e went on to a f a r m h o u s e that w a s yet s t a n d i n g , where we lay all night, a n d a c o m f o r t a b l e lodging we h a d , t h o u g h n o t h i n g but straw to lie on. T h e L o r d preserved u s in safety that night, a n d raised u s up again in the m o r n i n g , a n d carried u s along, that before n o o n , w e c a m e to C o n c o r d . N o w was I full of joy, a n d yet not without sorrow; j o y to s e e s u c h a lovely sight, so m a n y C h r i s t i a n s together, a n d s o m e of t h e m my n e i g h b o r s . T h e r e I m e t with my brother, a n d my brother-in-law, w h o a s k e d m e , if I knew where his wife w a s ? Poor heart! he h a d h e l p e d to bury her, a n d knew it not. S h e b e i n g shot d o w n by the h o u s e w a s partly burnt, so that t h o s e w h o were at B o s t o n at the d e s o l a t i o n of the town, a n d c a m e b a c k afterward, a n d buried the d e a d , did not know her. Yet I w a s not without sorrow, to think how many were looking a n d longing, a n d my own children a m o n g s t the rest, to enjoy that deliverance that I h a d now received, a n d I did not know w h e t h e r ever I s h o u l d s e e t h e m a g a i n . B e i n g r e c r u i t e d 1 with food a n d r a i m e n t we went to B o s t o n that day, where I met with my d e a r h u s b a n d , but the t h o u g h t s of our d e a r children, o n e being d e a d , a n d the other we c o u l d not tell w h e r e , a b a t e d our c o m f o r t e a c h to other. I w a s not before so m u c h h e m m e d in with the 2 . Shadrach, M e s h a c h , and Abednego refused to worship false gods and were east into a fiery furnace but saved from death by an angel (see Daniel

3.13-30). 3. Relreshed.

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m e r c i l e s s a n d cruel h e a t h e n , but now a s m u c h with pitiful, t e n d e r - h e a r t e d a n d c o m p a s s i o n a t e C h r i s t i a n s . In that poor, a n d d i s t r e s s e d , a n d beggarly condition I w a s received in; I w a s kindly e n t e r t a i n e d in several h o u s e s . S o m u c h love I received from several ( s o m e of w h o m I knew, a n d o t h e r s I k n e w not) that I a m not c a p a b l e to d e c l a r e it. B u t the L o r d knows t h e m all by n a m e . T h e L o r d reward t h e m sevenfold into their b o s o m s of H i s spirituals, for their t e m p o r a l s . 4 T h e twenty p o u n d s , the price of my r e d e m p t i o n , w a s raised by s o m e B o s t o n g e n t l e m e n , a n d M r s . U s h e r , w h o s e b o u n t y a n d religious charity, I would not forget to m a k e m e n t i o n of. T h e n M r . T h o m a s S h e p a r d of C h a r l e s t o w n received u s into his h o u s e , w h e r e we c o n t i n u e d eleven w e e k s ; a n d a father a n d m o t h e r they were to u s . A n d m a n y m o r e tender-hearted friends we m e t with in that p l a c e . W e were n o w in the m i d s t of love, yet not without m u c h a n d f r e q u e n t h e a v i n e s s of heart for our p o o r children, a n d other relations, who were still in affliction. T h e w e e k following, after my c o m i n g in, the governor a n d c o u n c i l sent forth to the I n d i a n s a g a i n ; and that not without s u c c e s s ; for they b r o u g h t in my sister, a n d goodwife Kettle. T h e i r not knowing w h e r e our children were w a s a sore trial to u s still, a n d yet we were not without secret h o p e s that we s h o u l d s e e t h e m a g a i n . T h a t which w a s d e a d lay heavier u p o n my spirit, than t h o s e which were alive a n d a m o n g s t the h e a t h e n : thinking how it suffered with its w o u n d s , a n d I w a s n o way a b l e to relieve it; a n d how it w a s b u r i e d by the h e a t h e n in the wilderness from a m o n g all C h r i s t i a n s . W e were hurried u p a n d d o w n in our t h o u g h t s , s o m e t i m e we s h o u l d hear a report that they were g o n e this way, a n d s o m e t i m e s that; a n d that they were c o m e in, in this p l a c e or that. W e kept inquiring a n d listening to hear c o n c e r n i n g t h e m , b u t n o certain news a s yet. A b o u t this time the c o u n c i l h a d ordered a day of p u b l i c thanksgiving. T h o u g h I thought I h a d still c a u s e of m o u r n i n g , a n d b e i n g u n s e t t l e d in o u r m i n d s , we thought w e would ride toward the e a s t w a r d , to s e e if we c o u l d hear anything c o n c e r n i n g our children. A n d a s we were riding a l o n g ( G o d is the wise d i s p o s e r of all things) b e t w e e n Ipswich a n d Rowley we m e t with M r . William H u b b a r d , w h o told u s that o u r son J o s e p h w a s c o m e in to M a j o r W a l d r o n ' s , a n d a n o t h e r with him, which w a s my sister's s o n . I a s k e d h i m how he knew it? H e said the major himself told him s o . S o a l o n g we went till we c a m e to N e w b u r y ; a n d their minister b e i n g a b s e n t , they desired my h u s b a n d to p r e a c h the thanksgiving for t h e m ; but h e w a s not willing to stay there that night, but w o u l d go over to S a l i s b u r y , to h e a r further, a n d c o m e again in the m o r n i n g , which he did, a n d p r e a c h e d there that day. At night, w h e n he h a d d o n e , o n e c a m e a n d told him that his d a u g h t e r w a s c o m e in at Providence. H e r e w a s mercy o n both h a n d s . N o w hath G o d fulfilled that p r e c i o u s S c r i p t u r e which w a s s u c h a c o m f o r t to m e in my d i s t r e s s e d condition. W h e n my heart w a s ready to sink into the earth (my children b e i n g g o n e , I c o u l d not tell whither) a n d my k n e e s t r e m b l i n g u n d e r m e , a n d I w a s walking t h r o u g h the valley of the s h a d o w of d e a t h ; then the L o r d b r o u g h t , a n d now h a s fulfilled that reviving word u n t o m e : " T h u s saith the L o r d , Refrain thy voice from w e e p i n g , a n d thine eyes from tears, for thy W o r k shall b e r e w a r d e d , saith the L o r d , a n d they shall c o m e a g a i n from the L a n d of the E n e m y . " 5 N o w we were b e t w e e n t h e m , the o n e on the e a s t , a n d the other on the west. O u r son b e i n g n e a r e s t , we went to him first, to P o r t s m o u t h , 4. Worldly goods and gifts.

5. Jeremiah 3 1 . 1 6 .

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where we met with him, a n d with the M a j o r a l s o , who told us h e h a d d o n e what he c o u l d , but c o u l d not r e d e e m him u n d e r seven p o u n d s , which the g o o d p e o p l e t h e r e a b o u t s were p l e a s e d to pay. T h e Lord reward the major, a n d all the rest, though u n k n o w n to m e , for their labor of L o v e . M y sister's s o n w a s r e d e e m e d for four p o u n d s , which the c o u n c i l gave order for the p a y m e n t of. H a v i n g now received o n e of o u r children, we h a s t e n e d toward the other. G o i n g b a c k through N e w b u r y my h u s b a n d p r e a c h e d there on the S a b b a t h day; for which they rewarded him many fold. O n M o n d a y we c a m e to C h a r l e s t o w n , w h e r e we h e a r d that the governor of R h o d e Island h a d sent over for our d a u g h t e r , to take c a r e of her, b e i n g now within his j u r i s d i c t i o n ; which s h o u l d not p a s s without our a c k n o w l e d g m e n t s . B u t s h e b e i n g n e a r e r R e h o b o t h than R h o d e I s l a n d , M r . N e w m a n went over, a n d took c a r e of her a n d b r o u g h t her to his own h o u s e . And the g o o d n e s s of G o d w a s a d m i r a b l e to u s in our low e s t a t e , in that H e raised up p a s s i o n a t e * friends o n every side to u s , w h e n we h a d nothing to r e c o m p e n s e any for their love. T h e Indians were now g o n e that way, that it was a p p r e h e n d e d d a n g e r o u s to go to her. B u t the carts which carried provision to the English army, b e i n g g u a r d e d , b r o u g h t her with t h e m to D o r c h e s t e r , w h e r e we received her s a f e . B l e s s e d be the L o r d for it, for great is H i s power, a n d H e c a n do w h a t s o e v e r s e e m e t h H i m g o o d . H e r c o m i n g in w a s after this m a n n e r : s h e w a s traveling o n e day with the I n d i a n s , with her b a s k e t at her b a c k ; the c o m p a n y of Indians were got before her, a n d g o n e out of sight, all except o n e s q u a w ; s h e followed the s q u a w till night, and then b o t h of t h e m lay down, having nothing over t h e m but the h e a v e n s a n d u n d e r t h e m but the earth. T h u s s h e traveled three days together, not knowing whither s h e w a s going; having nothing to eat or drink b u t water, a n d green hirtle-berries. At last they c a m e into P r o v i d e n c e , w h e r e s h e was kindly e n t e r t a i n e d by several of that town. T h e Indians often said that I s h o u l d never have her under twenty p o u n d s . B u t now the Lord hath b r o u g h t her in u p o n free-cost, a n d given her to m e the s e c o n d t i m e . T h e L o r d m a k e us a b l e s s i n g i n d e e d , e a c h to o t h e r s . N o w have I s e e n that S c r i p t u r e a l s o fulfilled, "If any of thine be driven out to the o u t m o s t parts of h e a v e n , from t h e n c e will the L o r d thy G o d gather t h e e , a n d from t h e n c e will he fetch t h e e . A n d the L o r d thy G o d will put all t h e s e c u r s e s u p o n thine e n e m i e s , a n d on t h e m which h a t e t h e e , which p e r s e c u t e d t h e e " ( D e u t e r o n o m y 30.4—7). T h u s hath the L o r d brought m e a n d m i n e out of that horrible pit, a n d hath set u s in the m i d s t of tenderh e a r t e d a n d c o m p a s s i o n a t e C h r i s t i a n s . It is the desire of my soul that we m a y walk worthy of the m e r c i e s received, a n d which we are receiving. O u r family b e i n g now g a t h e r e d together ( t h o s e of u s that were living), the S o u t h C h u r c h in B o s t o n hired an h o u s e for u s . T h e n we r e m o v e d from Mr. S h e p h a r d ' s , t h o s e cordial friends, a n d went to B o s t o n , w h e r e we c o n t i n u e d a b o u t three-quarters of a year. Still the L o r d went a l o n g with u s , a n d provided g r a c i o u s l y for u s . I t h o u g h t it s o m e w h a t s t r a n g e to set u p h o u s e k e e p i n g with bare walls; but as S o l o m o n says, " M o n e y a n s w e r s all things "7 a n d that we h a d through the b e n e v o l e n c e of C h r i s t i a n friends, s o m e in this town, a n d s o m e in that, a n d o t h e r s ; a n d s o m e from E n g l a n d ; that in a little time we might look, a n d s e e the h o u s e furnished with love. T h e L o r d hath b e e n e x c e e d i n g good to us in o u r low e s t a t e , in that w h e n we h a d neither 6. C o m p a s s i o n a t e .

/. Ecclesiastes 10.19.

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h o u s e nor h o m e , nor other n e c e s s a r i e s , the L o r d s o moved the hearts of t h e s e a n d t h o s e towards u s , that we w a n t e d neither food, nor r a i m e n t for ourselves or o u r s : " T h e r e is a Friend which sticketh c l o s e r than a B r o t h e r " (Proverbs 1 8 . 2 4 ) . A n d how m a n y s u c h friends have we f o u n d , a n d now living a m o n g s t ? A n d truly s u c h a friend have we found him to be u n t o u s , in w h o s e h o u s e we lived, viz. Mr. J a m e s W h i t c o m b , a friend u n t o u s near h a n d , a n d afar off. I c a n r e m e m b e r the time w h e n I u s e d to sleep quietly without workings in my t h o u g h t s , w h o l e nights together, but now it is other ways with m e . W h e n all are fast a b o u t m e , a n d no eye o p e n , but His w h o ever w a k e t h , my t h o u g h t s are upon things p a s t , u p o n the awful d i s p e n s a t i o n of the L o r d towards u s , u p o n H i s wonderful power a n d might, in carrying of us t h r o u g h so m a n y difficulties, in returning us in safety, a n d suffering n o n e to hurt u s . I r e m e m b e r in the night s e a s o n , how the other day I w a s in the midst of t h o u s a n d s of e n e m i e s , a n d nothing but d e a t h before m e . It is then hard work to p e r s u a d e myself, that ever I s h o u l d be satisfied with b r e a d a g a i n . B u t now we are fed with the finest of the wheat, a n d , as I may say, with honey out of the r o c k . s I n s t e a d of the h u s k , we have the fatted calf. 1 ' T h e t h o u g h t s of t h e s e things in the p a r t i c u l a r s of t h e m , a n d of the love a n d g o o d n e s s of G o d towards u s , m a k e it true of m e , what David said of himself, "I w a t e r e d my C o u c h with my t e a r s " ( P s a l m 6 . 6 ) . O h ! the wonderful power of G o d that m i n e eyes have s e e n , affording matter e n o u g h for my t h o u g h t s to run in, that w h e n others a r e s l e e p i n g m i n e eyes are weeping. I have s e e n the extreme vanity of this world: O n e h o u r I have b e e n in h e a l t h , a n d wealthy, w a n t i n g nothing. B u t the next h o u r in s i c k n e s s a n d w o u n d s , a n d d e a t h , having nothing but sorrow a n d affliction. B e f o r e I knew what affliction m e a n t , I w a s ready s o m e t i m e s to wish for it. W h e n I lived in prosperity, having the c o m f o r t s of the world a b o u t m e , my relations by m e , my heart cheerful, a n d taking little c a r e for anything, a n d yet s e e i n g many, w h o m I preferred before myself, u n d e r m a n y trials a n d afflictions, in s i c k n e s s , w e a k n e s s , poverty, l o s s e s , c r o s s e s , a n d c a r e s of the world, I s h o u l d be s o m e t i m e s j e a l o u s least I s h o u l d have my portion in this life, a n d that S c r i p t u r e would c o m e to my m i n d , " F o r w h o m the L o r d loveth he c h a s t e n e t h , a n d s c o u r g e t h every S o n w h o m he r e c e i v e t h " ( H e b r e w s 1 2 . 6 ) . B u t now I see the L o r d h a d His time to s c o u r g e a n d c h a s t e n m e . T h e portion of s o m e is to have their afflictions by d r o p s , now o n e drop a n d then a n o t h e r ; but the d r e g s of the c u p , the wine of a s t o n i s h m e n t , like a s w e e p i n g rain that leaveth no food, did the L o r d p r e p a r e to b e my portion. Affliction I w a n t e d , and affliction I h a d , full m e a s u r e (I t h o u g h t ) , p r e s s e d d o w n a n d r u n n i n g over. Yet I s e e , when G o d calls a p e r s o n to anything, a n d t h r o u g h never so m a n y difficulties, yet H e is fully able to carry t h e m t h r o u g h a n d m a k e t h e m s e e , a n d say they have b e e n gainers thereby. A n d I h o p e I c a n say in s o m e m e a s u r e , a s David did, "It is good for m e that I have b e e n afflicted." 1 T h e L o r d hath s h o w e d m e the vanity of t h e s e o u t w a r d things. T h a t they are the vanity of vanities, a n d vexation of spirit, that they are but a s h a d o w , a blast, a b u b b l e , a n d things of no c o n t i n u a n c e . T h a t we m u s t rely on G o d Himself, a n d our whole d e p e n d a n c e m u s t be u p o n H i m . If trouble from s m a l l e r matters begin to arise in m e , I have s o m e t h i n g at h a n d to c h e c k myself with, finest 8. " H e should have fed them also with the of the wheat: and with honey out of the rock should I have satisfied thee" (Psalm 8 1 . 1 6 ) .

9. "And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it: and let us eat, and be merry" (Luke 15.23). 1. Psalm 1 1 9 . 7 1 .

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a n d say, why a m I t r o u b l e d ? It w a s but the other day that if I h a d h a d the world, I would have given it for my f r e e d o m , or to have b e e n a servant to a C h r i s t i a n . I have learned to look b e y o n d p r e s e n t a n d s m a l l e r t r o u b l e s , a n d to b e q u i e t e d u n d e r t h e m . As M o s e s s a i d , " S t a n d still a n d s e e the salvation of the L o r d " ( E x o d u s 1 4 . 1 3 ) . Finis. 1682

EDWARD c.

TAYLOR

1642-1729

Given the importance of Edward Taylor's role in the town in which he lived for fiftyeight years, it is curious that we should know so little about his life. Taylor was probably born in Sketchly, Leicestershire County, England; his father was a "yeoman farmer"—that is, he was not a "gentleman" with large estates, but an independent landholder with title to his farm. Although his poetry contains no images that reflect his boyhood in Leicestershire, the dialect of that farming country is ever-present and gives his verse an air of provincial charm but also, it must be admitted, makes it difficult and complex for the modern reader. Taylor did not enter Harvard until he was twenty-nine years old and stayed only three years. It is assumed, therefore, that he had some university education in England, but it is not known where. We do know that he taught school and that he left his family and sailed to New England in 1668 because he would not sign an oath of loyalty to the Church of England. Rather than compromise his religious principles as a Puritan, he preferred exile in what he once called a "howling wilderness." It was at Harvard that he must have decided to leave teaching and prepare himself for the ministry. In 1671 a delegation from the frontier town of Westfield, Massachusetts, asked Taylor to join them as their minister, and after a good deal of soul-searching he journeyed with them the hundred miles west to Westfield, where he remained the rest of his life. As by far the most educated member of that community, he served as minister, physician, and public servant. Taylor married twice and had fourteen children, many of whom died in infancy. A rigorous observer of all churchly functions, Taylor did not shy away from the religious controversies of the period. He was a strict observer of the "old" New England way, demanding a public account of conversion before admission to church membership and the right to partake of the sacrament of communion. Taylor was a learned man as well as a pious one. Like most Harvard ministers, he knew Latin, Hebrew, and Greek. He had a passion for books and copied out in his own hand volumes that he borrowed from his college roommate, Samuel Sewall. He was known to Sewall and others as a good preacher, and on occasion he sent poems and letters to Boston friends, some parts of which were published during his lifetime. But Taylor's work as a poet was generally unknown until, in the 1930s, Thomas H. Johnson discovered that most of Taylor's poems had been deposited in the Yale University Library by Taylor's grandson, Ezra Stiles, a former president of Yale. It was one of the major literary discoveries of the twentieth century and revealed a body of work by a Puritan divine that was remarkable both in its quantity and quality. Taylor's interest in poetry was lifelong, and he tried his hand at a variety of poetic genres: elegies on the death of public figures; lyrics in the manner of Elizabethan

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songs; a long poem, God's Determinations, in the tradition of the medieval debate; and an almost unreadable five-hundred-page Metrical History of Christianity, primarily a book of martyrs. But Taylor's best verse is to be found in a series called Preparatory Meditations. These poems, written for his own pleasure and never a part of any religious service, followed chiefly upon his preparation for a sermon to be delivered at monthly communion. They gave the poet an occasion to summarize the emotional and intellectual content of his sermon and to speak directly and fervently to God. Sometimes these poems are gnarled and difficult to follow, but they also reveal a unique voice, unmistakably Taylor's. They are written in an idiom that harks back to the verse Taylor must have known as a child in England—the Metaphysical lyrics of John Donne and George Herbert—and so delight in puns and paradoxes and a rich profusion of metaphors and images. Nothing previously discovered about Puritan literature had suggested that there was a writer in New England who had sustained such a long-term love affair with poetry.

FROM

PREPARATORY

MEDITATIONS'

Prologue Lord, Can a Crumb of Dust the Earth outweigh, Outmatch all mountains, nay, the Crystal sky? Embosom in't designs that shall Display And trace into the Boundless Deity? Yea, hand a Pen whose moisture doth guide o'er Eternal Glory with a glorious glore.2 If it its Pen had of an Angel's Quill, And sharpened on a Precious Stone ground tight, And dipped in liquid Gold, and moved by Skill In Crystal leaves should golden Letters write, It would but blot and blur, yea, jag, and jar Scrivener. Unless Thou mak'st the Pen, and I am this Crumb of Dust which is designed To make my Pen unto Thy Praise alone, And my dull Fancy3 I would gladly grind Unto an Edge on Zion's4 Precious Stone. And Write in Liquid Gold upon Thy Name My Letters till Thy glory forth doth flame. Let not th' attempts break down my Dust, I pray, Nor laugh Thou them to scorn but pardon give. Inspire this crumb of Dust till it display I. The full title is Preparatory' Meditations before my Approach to the Lord s Supper. Chiefly upon the Doctrine preached upon the Day of Administration [of Communion], Taylor administered communion once a month to those members of his congregation who had made a declaration of their faith. H e wrote these meditations in private; they are primarily the result of his contemplation of the biblical texts that served as the basis for the

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communion sermon. A total of 2 1 7 meditations survive, dating from 1682 to 1725. The text used here is from Poems of Edward Taylor, edited by Donald E. Stanford ( 1 9 6 0 ) . 2. Glory (Scottish). 3. I.e., imagination. 4. The hill in J e r u s a l e m on which Solomon built his temple; the City of God on earth.

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Thy Glory through't: and then Thy dust shall live. Its failings then Thou'lt overlook, I trust, They being Slips slipped from Thy Crumb of Dust. Thy Crumb of Dust breathes two words from its breast, That Thou wilt guide its pen to write aright To Prove Thou art, and that Tliou art the best And show Tliy Properties to shine most bright. And then Thy Works will shine as flowers on Stems Or as in Jewelry Shops, do gems. c.1682

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3Q 1939

Meditation 8 (First Series) John

6 . 5 1 . / am the Living

Bread.1

I k e n n i n g t h r o u g h A s t r o n o m y Divine T h e World's bright B a t t l e m e n t , 2 w h e r e i n I spy A G o l d e n Path my Pencil c a n n o t line, F r o m that bright T h r o n e u n t o my T h r e s h o l d lie. A n d while my puzzled t h o u g h t s a b o u t it p o u r , I find the B r e a d of Life in't at my door. W h e n that this Bird of P a r a d i s e * put in T h i s Wicker C a g e (my C o r p s e ) to t w e e d l e p r a i s e H a d p e c k e d the Fruit f o r b a d e : a n d so did fling Away its F o o d ; a n d lost its golden d a y s ; It fell into Celestial F a m i n e s o r e : And never c o u l d attain a m o r s e l m o r e . Alas! alas! P o o r Bird, what wilt thou d o ? T h e C r e a t u r e s ' field no food for S o u l s e'er g a v e . And if thou k n o c k at A n g e l s ' d o o r s they s h o w An E m p t y Barrel: they no soul b r e a d have. Alas! Poor Bird, the World's W h i t e L o a f is d o n e . A n d c a n n o t yield thee here the s m a l l e s t C r u m b . In this s a d s t a t e , G o d ' s T e n d e r B o w e l s 4 run O u t s t r e a m s of G r a c e : a n d H e to e n d all strife T h e P u r e s t W h e a t in H e a v e n His d e a r - d e a r son G r i n d s , a n d k n e a d s up into this B r e a d of Life. W h i c h B r e a d of Life from H e a v e n d o w n c a m e a n d s t a n d s D i s h e d on T h y T a b l e up by A n g e l s ' H a n d s . 1. "The Jews then murmured at him, because he said, 1 am the bread which c a m e down Irom heaven. And they said. Is not this J e s u s , the son oi J o s e p h , whose father and mother we know? how is it then that he saith, 1 c a m e down from heaven? J e s u s therefore answered[,] . . . Verily, verily, I say unto you. He that believeth on me hath everlasting life. I am that bread of life" (John 6 . 4 1 - 4 8 ) . J e s u s offers a "New Covenant of Faith" in place of the "Old Covenant of Works," which Adam broke

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when he disobeyed C o d ' s c o m m a n d m e n t . 2. I.e., discerning, by means of "divine astronomy," the towers of heaven. Taylor goes on to suggest that there is an invisible golden path Irom this world to the Gates of Heaven. 3. I.e., the soul, which is like a bird kept in the body's cage. 4. Here used in the sense of the interior of the body, the "seat ol the tender and sympathetic emotions." the heart.

MEDITATION 2 2

(FIRST

SERIES)

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Did G o d mold up this B r e a d in H e a v e n , a n d b a k e , W h i c h from His T a b l e c a m e , a n d to thine g o e t h ? D o t h H e b e s p e a k thee t h u s , T h i s S o u l B r e a d take. C o m e Eat thy fill of this thy G o d ' s W h i t e L o a f ? It's F o o d too fine for A n g e l s , yet c o m e , take A n d Eat thy fill. It's H e a v e n ' s S u g a r C a k e .

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W h a t G r a c e is this k n e a d in this L o a f ? T h i s thing S o u l s are but petty things it to a d m i r e . Ye A n g e l s , help: T h i s fill would to the brim H e a v ' n s w h e l m e d - d o w n 5 Crystal meal Bowl, yea a n d higher. T h i s B r e a d of Life d r o p p e d in thy m o u t h , doth Cry: E a t , Eat m e , S o u l , a n d thou shalt never die. June 8 , 1 6 8 4

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1939

Meditation 2 2 (First Series) Philippians

2.9.

God hath highly exalted

Him.'

W h e n Thy Bright B e a m s , my L o r d , do strike m i n e E y e , M e t h i n k s I then c o u l d truly C h i d e outright M y H i d e - b o u n d S o u l that s t a n d s so niggardly T h a t s c a r c e a thought gets glorified by't. M y Q u a i n t e s t 2 m e t a p h o r s are ragged Stuff, M a k i n g the S u n s e e m like a Mullipuff.* It's my d e s i r e , T h o u s h o u l d s t be glorified: B u t w h e n Thy Glory s h i n e s before m i n e eye, I p a r d o n C r a v e , lest my desire b e P r i d e , O r b e d T h y Glory in a C l o u d y Sky. T h e S u n grows w a n ; a n d A n g e l s p a l e f a c e d shrink, B e f o r e T h y S h i n e , which I b e s m e a r with Ink. B u t shall the Bird sing forth Thy P r a i s e , a n d shall T h e little B e e p r e s e n t her thankful H u m ? B u t I who s e e T h y s h i n i n g Glory fall B e f o r e mine E y e s , s t a n d B l o c k i s h , Dull, a n d D u m b ? W h e t h e r I s p e a k , or s p e e c h l e s s s t a n d , I spy, I fail T h y Glory: therefore p a r d o n Cry. But this I find; M y R h y m e s do better suit M i n e own D i s p r a i s e than t u n e forth p r a i s e to T h e e . Yet b e i n g C h i d , whether C o n s o n a n t , 4 or M u t e , 5. Turned over. T h e Oxford English Dictionary quotes a passage from Dryden that is relevant: "That the earth is like a trencher and the Heavens a dish whelmed over it." 1. "Let this mind be in vou. which was also in Christ J e s u s : Who, being in the lorm of God. thought it not robbery to he equal with God: But made himself no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and b e c a m e obedient unto

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death, even the death of the cross. Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name: That at the name of J e s u s every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; And that every tongue should confess that J e s u s Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father" (Philippians 2 . 5 - 1 1). 2. Most skilled, wise. 3. Fuzz ball. 4. Talkative, making sounds.

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I force my T o n g u e to tattle, as You s e e . T h a t I T h y glorious P r a i s e m a y T r u m p e t right, B e T h o u my S o n g , a n d m a k e , L o r d , m e T h y p i p e . T h i s s h i n i n g Sky will fly away a p a c e , W h e n T h y bright Glory splits the s a m e to m a k e Thy Majesty a Pass, whose Fairest F a c e T o o foul a P a t h is for T h y F e e t to t a k e . W h a t Glory then, shall tend T h e e t h r o u g h the Sky D r a i n i n g the H e a v e n m u c h of A n g e l s dry? W h a t Light then f l a m e will in T h y J u d g m e n t S e a t , 'Fore which all m e n a n d A n g e l s shall a p p e a r ? H o w shall T h y G l o r i o u s R i g h t e o u s n e s s t h e m treat, Rend'ring to e a c h after his W o r k s d o n e h e r e ? T h e n S a i n t s with A n g e l s T h o u wilt glorify: A n d b u r n L e w d ' M e n , a n d Devils Gloriously.

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O n e g l i m p s e , my L o r d , of T h y bright J u d g m e n t D a y , A n d Glory p i e r c i n g t h r o u g h , like fiery D a r t s , All Devils, doth m e m a k e for G r a c e to pray, F o r filling G r a c e h a d I ten t h o u s a n d H e a r t s . I'd t h r o u g h ten Hells to s e e T h y J u d g m e n t D a y W o u l d s t T h o u but gild my S o u l with T h y bright Ray. June 12,1687

40

I960

Meditation 4 2 (First Series) Revelation

3.21.

I will give Him to sit with Me in my

Throne.'

A p p l e s of gold, in silver p i c t u r e s s h r i n e d 2 E n c h a n t the a p p e t i t e , m a k e m o u t h s to water. And L o v e l i n e s s in L u m p s , t u n n ' d , a n d e n r i n e d 3 In J a s p e r 4 C a s k , w h e n t a p p e d , doth briskly vapor: B r i n g forth a birth of Keys t'unlock Love's C h e s t , T h a t L o v e , like B i r d s , m a y fly to't from its n e s t . S u c h is my L o r d , a n d m o r e . B u t what s t r a n g e thing A m I b e c o m e ? S i n r u s t s my L o c k all o'er. T h o u g h H e ten t h o u s a n d Keys all on a string T a k e s o u t , s c a r c e o n e is f o u n d u n l o c k s the D o o r . W h i c h o p e , my L o v e c r i n c h e d 5 in a C o r n e r lies L i k e s o m e s h r u n k C r i c k l i n g 6 a n d s c a r c e c a n rise. L o r d , o p e the D o o r : rub off my R u s t , R e m o v e M y sin, a n d Oil my L o c k . ( D u s t there doth s h e l f ) . M y W a r d s will trig 7 before T h y Key: my L o v e 5. Worthless, fallen. 1. "To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even a s I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne. He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches" (Revelation 3.21—22). 2. Enshrined, enclosed.

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3. Rendered, melted down. "Tunn'd": placed in a casket. 4. A precious stone, usually green in color. 5. Shrunken, gnarled up. 6. Properly "crinkling," a small, withered apple. 7. Open. "Wards": the protective ridges of a lock that prevent any but the proper key to open it.

UPON

W E D L O C K , AND D E A T H OF C H I L D R E N

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T h e n , a s enlivened, leap will on Thyself. It n e e d s m u s t b e , that giving h a n d s receive Again Receivers H e a r t s furled in L o v e W r e a t h . U n k e y my H e a r t ; u n l o c k T h y W a r d r o b e : bring O u t royal R o b e s : adorn my S o u l , L o r d : s o , M y L o v e in rich attire shall on my K i n g A t t e n d , a n d h o n o r o n H i m well b e s t o w . In Glory H e p r e p a r e s for H i s a p l a c e W h o m H e doth all beglory here with G r a c e . H e takes t h e m to the s h i n i n g t h r e s h o l d clear O f His bright P a l a c e , c l o t h e d in G r a c e ' s f l a m e . T h e n takes t h e m in thereto, not only there T o have a P r o s p e c t , 8 b u t p o s s e s s the s a m e . T h e C r o w n of Life, the throne of Glory's P l a c e , T h e Father's H o u s e b l a n c h e d o'er with orient G r a c e . C a n a a n 9 in gold print enwalled with g e m s : A K i n g d o m r i m m e d with Glory r o u n d : in fine1 A glorious C r o w n p a l e d 2 thick with all the s t e m s O f G r a c e , a n d of all Properties Divine. H o w h a p p y wilt T h o u m a k e m e w h e n t h e s e shall A s a blest H e r i t a g e u n t o m e fall? Adorn m e , L o r d , with Holy Huswifry. 3 All b l a n c h my R o b e s with C l u s t e r s of T h y G r a c e s : T h u s lead m e to T h y threshold: give m i n e E y e A P e e p h o l e there to s e e Bright Glory's C h a s e s . 4 T h e n take m e in: I'll pay, w h e n I p o s s e s s T h y T h r o n e , to T h e e the R e n t in H a p p i n e s s . August 2, 1691

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1939

U p o n W e d l o c k , a n d D e a t h of C h i l d r e n ' A C u r i o u s K n o t 2 G o d m a d e in P a r a d i s e , A n d drew it out e n a m e l e d 3 neatly F r e s h . It w a s the T r u e - L o v e Knot, m o r e sweet than s p i c e , A n d set with all the flowers of G r a c e ' s d r e s s . It's W e d d e n ' s 4 Knot, that ne're c a n be u n t i e d : N o Alexander's S w o r d 5 c a n it divide.

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T h e s l i p s 6 here p l a n t e d , gay a n d glorious grow: U n l e s s a n Hellish breath d o s i n g e their P l u m e s . 8. View, range of vision. 9. T h e land promised by God to Abraham; the biblical name of Jerusalem (cf. Genesis 12.5—8). 1. In essence. 2. Striped. 3. Cloth woven in the home, and the traditional task of the housewife. 4. T h e settings of precious stones. 1. The text used here is from Poems of Edward

Taylor, edited by Donald E. Stanford ( 1 9 6 0 ) . 2. Flower bed. 3. Polished, shining. 4. I.e., wedding's. 5. Alexander the Great cut the Gordian knot devised by the king of Phyrgia when he learned that anyone who could undo it would rule Asia. 6. Cuttings.

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H e r e P r i m r o s e , C o w s l i p s , R o s e s , Lilies b l o w 7 With Violets a n d Pinks that void" p e r f u m e s : W h o s e b e a u t e o u s leaves o'erlaid with H o n e y D e w , And C h a n t i n g birds C h i r p o u t sweet M u s i c true. W h e n in this Knot I p l a n t e d w a s , my S t o c k 9 S o o n knotted, a n d a manly flower out b r a k e . ' A n d after it, my b r a n c h again did knot, B r o u g h t out a n o t h e r Flower, its s w e e t - b r e a t h e d m a t e . O n e knot gave o n e t o t h e r 2 the tother's p l a c e . W h e n c e C h u c k l i n g s m i l e s fought in e a c h other's f a c e . B u t O h ! a glorious h a n d from glory c a m e G u a r d e d with A n g e l s , s o o n did c r o p this flower 3 W h i c h a l m o s t tore the root u p of the s a m e , At that u n l o o k e d for, D o l e s o m e , d a r k s o m e h o u r . In Prayer to C h r i s t p e r f u m e d it did a s c e n d , A n d A n g e l s bright did it to h e a v e n 'tend. B u t p a u s i n g on't, this sweet p e r f u m e d my t h o u g h t : C h r i s t would in Glory have a Flower, C h o i c e , P r i m e , A n d having C h o i c e , c h o s e this my b r a n c h forth b r o u g h t . L o r d take't. I t h a n k T h e e , T h o u tak'st o u g h t of m i n e : It is my p l e d g e in glory, part of m e Is now in it, L o r d , glorified with T h e e . B u t praying o're my b r a n c h , my b r a n c h did s p r o u t , A n d bore a n o t h e r manly flower, a n d g a y , 4 A n d after that a n o t h e r , sweet b r a k e 5 o u t , T h e which the former h a n d s o o n got away. B u t O h ! the tortures, V o m i t , s c r e e c h i n g s , g r o a n s , a n d six week's Fever would p i e r c e hearts like s t o n e s . 6 G r i e f o're doth flow: a n d n a t u r e fault would find W e r e not T h y Will, my S p e l l , C h a r m , J o y , a n d G e m : T h a t a s I said, I say, take, L o r d , they're T h i n e . I p i e c e m e a l p a s s to Glory bright in t h e m . In joy, may I sweet flowers for glory b r e e d , W h e t h e r thou get'st t h e m g r e e n , or lets t h e m s e e d . c.1682

7. Bloom. 8. Emit. 9. S t e m . 1. Samuel Taylor was born on August 27, 1675, and lived to maturity. 2. To the other. 3. Elizabeth Taylor was born on December 27,

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1676, and died on D e c e m b e r 2 5 , 1677. 4. J a m e s Taylor was born on October 12, 1678, and lived to maturity. 5. I.e., broke out. 6. Abigail Taylor was born on August 6, 1681, and died on August 2 2 , 1682.

UPON A WASP

C H I L L E D WITH C O L D

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U p o n a W a s p C h i l l e d with C o l d 1 T h e B e a r that b r e a t h e s the N o r t h e r n b l a s t 2 Did n u m b , T o r p e d o - l i k e , ' a W a s p W h o s e stiffened limbs e n c r a m p e d , lay b a t h i n g In S o l ' s 4 w a r m breath a n d shine a s saving, W h i c h with her h a n d s s h e c h a f e s a n d s t a n d s R u b b i n g her L e g s , S h a n k s , T h i g h s , a n d h a n d s . H e r petty toes, a n d fingers' e n d s N i p p e d with this breath, s h e out extends U n t o the S u n , in great desire T o w a r m her digits at that fire. D o t h hold her T e m p l e s in this state W h e r e p u l s e doth beat, a n d h e a d doth a c h e . D o t h turn, a n d stretch her body small, D o t h C o m b her velvet C a p i t a l . 5 As if her little brain pan were A V o l u m e of C h o i c e p r e c e p t s clear. As if her satin j a c k e t hot C o n t a i n e d Apothecary's S h o p O f N a t u r e ' s r e c e i p t s , 6 that prevails T o r e m e d y all her s a d ails, As if her velvet helmet high Did turret 7 rationality. S h e fans her wing up to the W i n d As if her Pettycoat were lined, With r e a s o n ' s fleece, a n d hoists sails And h u m m i n g flies in thankful gales U n t o her d u n C u r l e d " p a l a c e Hall H e r w a r m thanks offering for all. L o r d , clear my misted sight that I M a y h e n c e view T h y Divinity, S o m e s p a r k s w h e r e o f T h o u up dost h a s p 9 Within this little downy W a s p In w h o s e small C o r p o r a t i o n 1 we A school a n d a s c h o o l m a s t e r s e e , W h e r e we may learn, a n d easily A n i m b l e Spirit bravely m i n d H e r work in every limb: a n d lace It u p neat with a vital g r a c e , Acting e a c h part t h o u g h ne'er so small I. The text used here is from Poems of Edward Taylor, edited by Donald E. Stanford (1960). 2. The northern constellation the Big Dipper, also called Ursa Major, or the Great Bear. 3. The torpedo is a fish, like a stingray, and discharges a shock to one who touches it, causing numbness. Sir T h o m a s Browne writes: "Torpedoes deliver their opium at a distance and stupify beyond themselves" ( 1 6 4 6 ) .

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4. The sun personified. 5. Head. 6. Remedies, prescriptions. "Apothecary's Shop": what we would now call a drugstore or pharmacy. 7. Contain, e n c o m p a s s . 8. Dark curved. 9. Enclose, confine. 1. Body.

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H e r e of this F u s t i a n 2 a n i m a l , Till I e n r a v i s h e d C l i m b into T h e G o d h e a d on this L a d d e r d o , W h e r e all my p i p e s inspired u p r a i s e An H e a v e n l y m u s i c f u r r e d 3 with p r a i s e .

-to

1960

Huswifery' Make me, O Lord, Thy Spinning Wheel complete. Thy Holy W o r d my Distaff m a k e for m e . M a k e m i n e Affections T h y Swift Flyers n e a t A n d m a k e my S o u l T h y holy S p o o l to b e . M y c o n v e r s a t i o n m a k e to b e T h y Reel A n d reel the yarn thereon s p u n of T h y W h e e l . 2

5

M a k e m e T h y L o o m t h e n , knit therein this T w i n e : A n d m a k e T h y Holy Spirit, L o r d , wind q u i l l s : 3 T h e n weave the W e b Thyself. T h e yarn is fine. T h i n e O r d i n a n c e s m a k e my F u l l i n g M i l l s . 4 T h e n dye the s a m e in H e a v e n l y C o l o r s C h o i c e , All p i n k e d with Varnished 5 * F l o w e r s of P a r a d i s e . T h e n clothe therewith m i n e U n d e r s t a n d i n g , Will, Affections, J u d g m e n t , C o n s c i e n c e , M e m o r y , M y W o r d s , a n d A c t i o n s , that their s h i n e may M y ways with glory a n d T h e e glorify. T h e n m i n e a p p a r e l shall display b e f o r e Ye T h a t I a m C l o t h e d in Holy r o b e s for glory.

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2. Coarse-clothed. 3. Trimmed or embellished, as with fur. 1. Housekeeping: used here to mean weaving. In Taylor's Treatise Concerning the Lord's Supper (see p. 3 6 2 ) he considers the significance of the sacrament of communion and takes as his text a passage from the New Testament: "And he saith unto him. Friend, how earnest thou in hither not having a wedding garment? And he was speechless" (Matthew 2 2 . 1 2 ) . Taylor argues that the wedding garment is the proper sign of the regenerate Christian.

T h e text used here is from Poems of Edward Taylor, edited by Donald E. Stanford ( 1 9 6 0 ) . 2. In the lines above Taylor refers to the working parts of a spinning wheel: the "distaff" holds the raw wool or flax; the "flyers" regulate the spinning; the "spool" twists the yarn; and the "reel" takes up the finished thread. 3. I.e., be like a spool or bobbin. 4. Where cloth is beaten and cleansed with fullers earth, or soap. 5. Glossy, sparkling. "Pinked": adorned.

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COTTON

MATHER

1663-1728 Cotton Mather, as the eldest son of Increase Mather and the grandson of Richard Mather and John Cotton, was the heir apparent to the Congregational hierarchy that had dominated the churches of New England for almost fifty years. Like his father before him, Cotton Mather attended Harvard College. He was admitted at the age of twelve, and when he graduated in 1678, President Urian Oakes told the commencement audience that his hope was great that "in this youth, Cotton and Mather shall, in fact as well as name, joint together and once more appear in life." He was expected by his family to excel and did not disappoint them, but there is no doubt he had to pay a price for his ambition: he stammered badly when young, so much so that it was assumed he could never be a preacher, and he was subject all his life to nervous disorders that drove him alternatively to ecstasy and despair. His enemies often complained that he was vain and aggressive. But he was also a genius of sorts, competent in the natural sciences and gifted in the study of ancient languages. He possessed a strong mind, and by the time he had stopped writing he could boast that he had published more than four hundred separate works. A worthy successor to his father's position as pastor of the Second Church of Boston, he remained connected with that church from 1685, when he was ordained, until his death. Like Benjamin Franklin, Mather found great satisfaction in doing good works and organized societies for building churches, supported schools for the children of slaves, and worked to establish funds for indigent clergy. But for all his worldly success, Mather's life was darkened by disappointment and tragedy. He lost two wives and saw his third wife go insane, and of his fifteen children, only two lived until his death. More than one of his contemporaries observed that he never overcame his bitterness at being rejected for the presidency of Harvard. It was the one thing his father had achieved that he could not succeed in doing. Although he was a skillful preacher and an eminent theologian, it is his work as a historian that has earned Mather a significant place in American literature. No one has described more movingly the hopes of the first generation of Puritans, and what gives Mather's best writing its urgency is the sense that the Puritan community as he knew it was fading away. By the time that Mather was writing his history of New England, the issues that seemed most pressing to his parishioners were political and social rather than theological. In his diary of 1700 he noted that "there was hardly any but my father and myself to appear in defense of our invaded churches." Everything that Mather wrote can be seen as a call to defend the old order of church authority against the encroachment of an increasingly secular world. As an apologist for the "old New England way" there is no doubt that Mather left himself open to attack, and by the end of the seventeenth century he had become a scapegoat for the worst in Puritan culture. He is often blamed for the Salem witch trials, for example, but he never actually attended one of them; his greatest crime was in not speaking out against those who he knew had exceeded the limits of authority. Mather saw the devil's presence in Salem as a final effort to undermine and destroy religious community. In spite of its rambling and sometimes self-indulgent nature, the Magnalia Christi Americana (the title may be translated as "A history of the wonderful works of Christ in America") remains Mather's most impressive work. It is described on the title page as an "ecclesiastical history of New England," and in the course of its seven books, Mather attempts to record for future readers not only a history of the New England churches and the college (Harvard) where its ministers were trained but representative biographies of "saint's" lives. Although it is true that Mather was so caught up in his vision of a glorious past that he was sometimes quite blind to the suffocating

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realities of the world in which he lived, no one has set forth more clearly the history of a people who transformed a wilderness into a garden and the ideal of a harmonious community that has been characterized time and again as the American dream. It is, however, in Mather's biographical sketches—his lives of Bradford, Winthrop, Eliot, and Phips—that the Magnalia is most arresting, for it is in his account of a particular saint's reconciliation with God on earth that New England's story is most eloquently realized. In addition to defending Puritan beliefs and attempting to record New England's Mather experimented in a variety of forms that served history in the epic Magnalia, the tastes of an emergent popular literary culture. Certainly that was the case in his handling of such tales as Hannah Dustan's, since the Indian captivity narrative was to be a prolific source for later American writers eager to reach a wide public. But Mather's reach went further. His many forays into what in essence were "conduct books" (such as Ornaments

for the Daughters

of Zion,

1692, and Bonifacius,

1710,

later reprinted as Essays to Do Good), even as they showed him seeking to replace the old political power of the clergy with moral chastisement and persuasion, pioneered a kind of writing that proliferated in England and America across the following century, helping ordinary people imitate the manners and values of the elite and thus rise in the world. Here, too, Mather shared an interest with Benjamin Franklin, whose Poor Richard provided similar guidance for commoners. Likewise, in a book such as Pillars of Salt (1 700), a collection of solemn anecdotes about the last days of criminals condemned to execution, Mather intended to induce meditation on the awful costs of sin. Yet at the same time he unwittingly satisfied the curiosity of the ordinary reader about such transgressive characters—the ones who failed to rise, except to the gallows. The criminal biographies just beginning to pour from the English and American press at the time would soon lead to such literary inventions as Daniel Defoe's Moll Flanders, of whom Cotton Mather was in his own small way an unlikely godfather. In Mather's day, court records were usually mere summaries, often only stating the verdict, and there was virtually no press coverage of trials. Thus the fact that he gave such a man as the convicted murderer James Morgan some opportunity to speak his mind as the two of them walked together to the gallows on Boston Common and then recorded his "last speech" there, was more of an innovation than we may imagine: those Bostonians who had heard of the trial must have been eager for such details. We may suspect that Morgan was coached, or worse, that Mather put words into his mouth, but in some ways we can recognize in their dramatic exchange a voice from the underside of Puritan New England, reminding us of the social realities that existed beneath the level usually occupied by the likes of Mather. That Mather is, from our perspective, transgressive in his own way—scornful of the Indians in many texts, scornful here of the Jews (who, Mather tells Morgan, did worse to Christ than Massachusetts authorities are about to do to Morgan himself)—draws a subtle line of connection between the minister and his lowly companion.

MAGNALIA CHRISTI AMERICANA

FROM

Galeacius

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AMERICANA1

Secundus:2 T h e L i f e of W i l l i a m B r a d f o r d , E s q . , Governor of Plymouth Colony

Omnium Somnos illius vigilantia defendit; omnium otium, illius Labor; omnium Delicias, illius Industrie; omnium vacationem, illius occupation

It has b e e n a m a t t e r of s o m e observation, that a l t h o u g h Yorkshire b e o n e of the largest shires in E n g l a n d ; yet for all the fires of martyrdom which were kindled in the days of Queen M a r y , 4 it afforded no m o r e fuel than o n e poor leaf; namely, J o h n Leaf, an a p p r e n t i c e , w h o suffered for the d o c t r i n e of the R e f o r m a t i o n at the s a m e time a n d stake with the f a m o u s J o h n B r a d f o r d . s B u t w h e n the reign of Queen Elizabeth* would not a d m i t the reformation of worship to p r o c e e d unto t h o s e d e g r e e s , which were p r o p o s e d a n d p u r s u e d by no small n u m b e r of the faithful in t h o s e days, Yorkshire w a s not the least of the shires in E n g l a n d that afforded suffering w i t n e s s e s t h e r e u n t o . T h e c h u r c h e s there g a t h e r e d were quickly m o l e s t e d with s u c h a raging p e r s e c u t i o n , that if the spirit of s e p a r a t i o n in t h e m did carry t h e m unto a further extreme than it s h o u l d have d o n e , o n e b l a m a b l e c a u s e thereof will be f o u n d in the extremity of that p e r s e c u t i o n . T h e i r troubles m a d e that cold country too hot for t h e m , so that they were u n d e r a necessity to s e e k a retreat in the L o w C o u n t r i e s ; 7 a n d yet the watchful m a l i c e a n d fury of their adversaries r e n d e r e d it a l m o s t i m p o s s i b l e for t h e m to find what they s o u g h t . F o r them to leave their native soil, their lands a n d their friends, a n d go into a s t r a n g e p l a c e , where they m u s t hear foreign l a n g u a g e , a n d live meanly* a n d hardly, and in other e m p l o y m e n t s than that of h u s b a n d r y , wherein they had b e e n e d u c a t e d , these m u s t n e e d s have b e e n s u c h d i s c o u r a g e m e n t s as c o u l d have b e e n c o n q u e r e d by n o n e , save t h o s e w h o s o u g h t first the k i n g d o m of G o d , and the r i g h t e o u s n e s s thereof. But that which would have m a d e t h e s e disc o u r a g e m e n t s the m o r e u n c o n q u e r a b l e unto a n ordinary faith, w a s the terrible zeal of their e n e m i e s to g u a r d all ports, and s e a r c h all s h i p s , that n o n e of t h e m s h o u l d be carried off. I will not relate the s a d things of this kind 1. A History of the Wonderful Works of Christ in America (Latin). Mather's book is subtitled The ecclesiastical History of New England from its first planting, in the year 1620, unto the year of our Lord, 1698. The Magnalia contains seven books. The first book is concerned with the landing of the first Europeans in America and the founding and history of the New England settlements. T h e second book contains lives of governors of New England, and the lives of Bradford and Winthrop may be found there; the third book contains lives of sixty famous "Divines, by whose ministry the churches of New England have been planted and continued." Other books contain a history of Harvard College, a record of church ordinances passed in synods, and a record of "illustrious" and "wonderous" events that have been witnessed bv people in New England. First published in London in 1702, the text used here is taken from that edited by T h o m a s Robbins. with translations from the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin by Lucius F. Robinson (185J-55).

2. T h e second Galeazzo (Latin). Galeazzo Caraccioli (1517—1586) was a Neapolitan nobleman who left home and country to follow the example of Calvin in Geneva. 3. His vigilance defends the sleep of all; his labor, their rest; his industry, their pleasures; and his diligence, their leisure (Latin). 4. During the reign of Mary Tudor (1 553—58) an effort was made to restore Roman Catholicism to the position of a national church, and a number of Protestants were executed. 5. Bradford (I 5 10?— I 555), burned at the stake with Leaf on July I, 1555. Their story was well known from John Foxe's Book of Martyrs. 6. Followed Mary Tudor to the throne ( 1 5 5 8 1603) and by virtue of the Act of Uniformity prescribed traditional church ritual. 7. A number of English Puritans went to Holland to form their own churches without being accused of treason. 8. In poverty.

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then s e e n a n d felt by this p e o p l e of G o d ; but only exemplify t h o s e trials with o n e short story. Divers of t h e s e p e o p l e having hired a D u t c h m a n , then lying at Hull, to carry t h e m over to H o l l a n d , h e p r o m i s e d faithfully to take t h e m in, b e t w e e n G r i m s b y a n d H u l l ; but they c o m i n g to the p l a c e a day or two too s o o n , the a p p e a r a n c e of s u c h a m u l t i t u d e a l a r m e d the officers of the town adjoining, w h o c a m e with a great body of soldiers to seize u p o n t h e m . N o w it h a p p e n e d that o n e boat full of m e n h a d b e e n c a r r i e d a b o a r d , while the w o m e n were yet in a bark that lay a g r o u n d in a c r e e k at low water. T h e D u t c h m a n perceiving the storm that w a s t h u s b e g i n n i n g a s h o r e , swore by the s a c r a m e n t that he would stay no longer for any of t h e m ; a n d s o taking the a d v a n t a g e of a fair wind then blowing, h e p u t o u t to s e a for Z e e l a n d 9 T h e w o m e n t h u s left n e a r G r i m s b y - c o m m o n , b e r e a v e d of their h u s b a n d s , w h o h a d b e e n hurried from t h e m , a n d forsaken of their n e i g h b o r s , of w h o m n o n e d u r s t in this fright stay with t h e m , were a very rueful s p e c t a c l e ; s o m e crying for fear, s o m e s h a k i n g for c o l d , all d r a g g e d by t r o o p s of a r m e d a n d angry m e n from o n e J u s t i c e to a n o t h e r , till not k n o w i n g w h a t to d o with t h e m , they even d i s m i s s e d t h e m to shift a s well a s they c o u l d for t h e m s e l v e s . B u t by their singular afflictions, a n d by their C h r i s t i a n b e h a v i o r s , the c a u s e for which they e x p o s e d t h e m s e l v e s did gain c o n s i d e r a b l y . In the m e a n t i m e , the m e n at s e a f o u n d r e a s o n to be glad that their families were not with t h e m , for they were s u r p r i s e d with an horrible t e m p e s t , which h e l d t h e m for fourteen days together, in seven w h e r e o f they s a w not s u n , m o o n or star, b u t were driven u p o n the c o a s t of Norway. T h e m a r i n e r s often d e s p a i r e d of life, a n d o n c e with doleful shrieks g a v e over all, a s thinking the vessel w a s found e r e d : b u t the vessel rose a g a i n , a n d w h e n the m a r i n e r s with s u n k hearts often cried o u t , " W e sink! we s i n k ! " the p a s s e n g e r s , without s u c h distraction of m i n d , even while the water w a s r u n n i n g into their m o u t h s a n d e a r s , would cheerfully s h o u t , "Yet, L o r d , t h o u c a n s t s a v e ! Yet, L o r d , t h o u c a n s t s a v e ! " A n d the L o r d accordingly b r o u g h t t h e m at last s a f e u n t o their d e s i r e d haven: a n d not long after h e l p e d their d i s t r e s s e d relations thither after t h e m , w h e r e i n d e e d they f o u n d u p o n a l m o s t all a c c o u n t s a n e w world, b u t a world in which they f o u n d that they m u s t live like s t r a n g e r s a n d pilgrims. A m o n g t h e s e devout p e o p l e w a s our W i l l i a m B r a d f o r d , w h o w a s b o r n Anno 1 5 8 8 , in a n o b s c u r e village called Austerfield, w h e r e the p e o p l e were a s u n a c q u a i n t e d with the B i b l e , a s the J e w s d o s e e m to have b e e n with part of it in the days of J o s i a h ; ' a m o s t ignorant a n d licentious p e o p l e , a n d like u n t o their priest. H e r e , a n d in s o m e other p l a c e s , he h a d a c o m f o r t a b l e inherit a n c e left him of his h o n e s t p a r e n t s , w h o died while he w a s yet a child, a n d c a s t him o n the e d u c a t i o n , 2 first of his g r a n d p a r e n t s , a n d then of his u n c l e s , w h o devoted him, like his a n c e s t o r s , u n t o the affairs of h u s b a n d r y . S o o n a long s i c k n e s s kept h i m , a s h e w o u l d a f t e r w a r d s thankfully say, from the vanities of y o u t h , a n d m a d e h i m the fitter for w h a t he w a s afterwards to u n d e r g o . W h e n he w a s a b o u t a d o z e n years old, the r e a d i n g of the S c r i p t u r e s b e g a n to c a u s e great i m p r e s s i o n s u p o n h i m ; a n d t h o s e i m p r e s s i o n s were m u c h a s s i s t e d a n d i m p r o v e d , w h e n h e c a m e to enjoy M r . R i c h a r d Clifton's* illuminating ministry, not far from his a b o d e ; he w a s then a l s o further b e f r i e n d e d , by b e i n g b r o u g h t into the c o m p a n y a n d fellowship of s u c h a s 9. I.e., T h e Netherlands. 1. King of J u d a h (c. 6 3 8 - 6 0 8 B.C.E.), who was ignorant of the book of the law of the God of Israel and worshiped false gods (see 2 Kings 22f.). ''Anno": in the year (Latin).

2. I.e., m a d e his education dependent on. 3. A Puritan minister (d. 1616) in the town of Scrooby, who also settled in Amsterdam with the Scrooby Separatists.

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were then called p r o f e s s o r s ; 4 t h o u g h the y o u n g m a n that b r o u g h t him into it did after b e c o m e a p r o f a n e a n d wicked a p o s t a t e . ' N o r c o u l d the wrath of his u n c l e s , nor the scoff of his n e i g h b o r s , now turned u p o n h i m , as o n e of the P u r i t a n s , divert him from his p i o u s inclinations. At last, b e h o l d i n g how fearfully the evangelical a n d a p o s t o l i c a l c h u r c h form, whereinto the c h u r c h e s of the primitive times were c a s t by the g o o d spirit of G o d , had b e e n d e f o r m e d by the a p o s t a c y of the s u c c e e d i n g t i m e s ; a n d what little p r o g r e s s the Reformation h a d yet m a d e in m a n y p a r t s of C h r i s t e n d o m towards its recovery, he set h i m s e l f by reading, by d i s c o u r s e , by prayer, to learn w h e t h e r it w a s not his duty to withdraw from the c o m m u n i o n of the p a r i s h - a s s e m b l i e s , a n d e n g a g e with s o m e society of the faithful, that s h o u l d keep c l o s e u n t o the written W o r d of G o d , a s the rule of their worship. A n d after m a n y d i s t r e s s e s of m i n d c o n c e r n i n g it, h e took u p a very deliberate a n d u n d e r s t a n d i n g resolution, of d o i n g s o ; which resolution he cheerfully p r o s e c u t e d , a l t h o u g h the provoked rage of his friends tried all the ways i m a g i n a b l e to reclaim him from it, unto all w h o m his a n s w e r w a s : W e r e I like to e n d a n g e r my life, or c o n s u m e my e s t a t e by any ungodly c o u r s e s , your c o u n s e l s to m e were very s e a s o n a b l e ; but you know that I have b e e n diligent a n d provident in my calling, a n d not only d e s i r o u s to a u g m e n t what 1 have, but also to enjoy it in your c o m p a n y ; to part from which will be a s great a c r o s s as can befall m e . N e v e r t h e l e s s , to keep a good c o n s c i e n c e , a n d walk in s u c h a way a s G o d h a s p r e s c r i b e d in His W o r d ; is a thing which I m u s t prefer before you all, a n d a b o v e life itself. W h e r e f o r e , s i n c e 'tis for a g o o d c a u s e that I a m like to suffer the d i s a s t e r s which you lay before m e , you have no c a u s e to be either angry with m e , or sorry for m e ; yea, I a m not only willing to part with every thing that is dear to m e in this world for this c a u s e , but I a m a l s o thankful that G o d has given m e an heart so to d o , a n d will a c c e p t m e s o to suffer for Him. S o m e l a m e n t e d him, s o m e derided him, all d i s s u a d e d h i m : n e v e r t h e l e s s , the m o r e they did it, the m o r e fixed he w a s in his p u r p o s e to s e e k the ordin a n c e s of the G o s p e l , w h e r e they s h o u l d be d i s p e n s e d with most of the c o m m a n d e d purity; a n d the s u d d e n d e a t h s of the chief relations which t h u s lay at h i m , 6 quickly after c o n v i n c e d him what a folly it h a d b e e n to have quitted his p r o f e s s i o n , in expectation of any satisfaction from t h e m . S o to H o l l a n d he a t t e m p t e d a removal. Having with a great c o m p a n y of C h r i s t i a n s hired a ship to transport t h e m for Holland, the m a s t e r perfidiously betrayed t h e m into the h a n d s of t h o s e p e r s e c u t o r s , w h o rifled a n d r a n s a c k e d their g o o d s , a n d c l a p p e d their p e r s o n s into prison at B o s t o n , 7 where they lay for a m o n t h together. B u t Mr. Bradford being a y o u n g m a n of a b o u t e i g h t e e n , w a s d i s m i s s e d s o o n e r t h a n the rest, so that within a while he h a d opportunity with s o m e others to get over to Z e e l a n d , through perils, both by land a n d s e a not i n c o n s i d e r a b l e ; w h e r e he was not long a s h o r e ere a viper seized on his h a n d — t h a t is, an officer—who carried him u n t o the m a g i s t r a t e s , u n t o w h o m a n envious p a s s e n g e r h a d a c c u s e d him a s having fled out of E n g l a n d . W h e n the m a g i s t r a t e s u n d e r s t o o d 4. I.e.. those who declared their faith. 5 . One who denies what he formerly professed. 6. I.e., struck out at him and tried to make him

change his heliefs. 7. In England.

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the true c a u s e of his c o m i n g thither, they were well satisfied with h i m ; a n d so he repaired joyfully u n t o his b r e t h r e n at A m s t e r d a m , w h e r e the difficulties to which he afterwards s t o o p e d in l e a r n i n g a n d serving of a F r e n c h m a n at the working of silks, were a b u n d a n t l y c o m p e n s a t e d by the delight wherewith h e sat u n d e r the s h a d o w of o u r L o r d , in H i s purely d i s p e n s e d o r d i n a n c e s . At the e n d of two years, he did, b e i n g of a g e to d o it, convert his estate in E n g l a n d into m o n e y ; but setting u p for himself, he f o u n d s o m e of his d e s i g n s by the P r o v i d e n c e of G o d frowned u p o n , w h i c h h e j u d g e d a correction b e s t o w e d by G o d u p o n him for certain d e c a y s of internal piety, whereinto he h a d fallen; the c o n s u m p t i o n of his e s t a t e h e t h o u g h t c a m e to prevent a c o n s u m p t i o n in his virtue. B u t after h e h a d r e s i d e d in H o l l a n d a b o u t half a s c o r e y e a r s , h e w a s o n e of t h o s e w h o b o r e a part in that h a z a r d o u s a n d g e n e r o u s e n t e r p r i s e of r e m o v i n g into N e w E n g l a n d , with part of the E n g l i s h c h u r c h at L e y d e n , w h e r e , at their first l a n d i n g , his d e a r e s t c o n s o r t 8 accidently falling o v e r b o a r d , w a s d r o w n e d in the harbor; a n d the rest of his days were s p e n t in the services, a n d the t e m p t a t i o n s , of that A m e r i c a n w i l d e r n e s s . H e r e w a s Mr. B r a d f o r d , in the year 1 6 2 1 , u n a n i m o u s l y c h o s e n the governor of the p l a n t a t i o n ; the difficulties w h e r e o f were s u c h , that if h e h a d not b e e n a p e r s o n of m o r e than ordinary piety, w i s d o m a n d c o u r a g e , h e m u s t have s u n k u n d e r t h e m . H e h a d , with a l a u d a b l e industry, b e e n laying u p a t r e a s u r e of e x p e r i e n c e s , a n d he h a d now o c c a s i o n to u s e it; i n d e e d , n o t h i n g but a n e x p e r i e n c e d m a n c o u l d have b e e n s u i t a b l e to the n e c e s s i t i e s of the p e o p l e . T h e p o t e n t n a t i o n s of the I n d i a n s , into w h o s e c o u n t r y they were c o m e , would have c u t t h e m off, if the b l e s s i n g of G o d u p o n his c o n d u c t h a d not q u e l l e d t h e m ; a n d if his p r u d e n c e , j u s t i c e a n d m o d e r a t i o n h a d not overruled t h e m , they h a d b e e n ruined by their own d i s t e m p e r s . O n e s p e c i m e n of his d e m e a n o r is to this day particularly s p o k e n of. A c o m p a n y of y o u n g fellows that were newly arrived were very unwilling to c o m p l y with the governor's order for working a b r o a d on the p u b l i c a c c o u n t ; a n d therefore o n C h r i s t m a s Day, w h e n h e h a d called u p o n t h e m , they e x c u s e d t h e m s e l v e s , with a p r e t e n s e that it w a s a g a i n s t their c o n s c i e n c e to work s u c h a d a y . 9 T h e governor gave t h e m n o a n s w e r , only that h e would s p a r e t h e m till they were better i n f o r m e d ; b u t by a n d by he f o u n d t h e m all at play in the street, sporting t h e m s e l v e s with various diversions; w h e r e u p o n c o m m a n d i n g the instrum e n t s of their g a m e s to b e taken from t h e m , h e effectually g a v e t h e m to u n d e r s t a n d that it w a s a g a i n s t his c o n s c i e n c e that they s h o u l d play whilst others were at work, a n d that if they h a d a n y devotion to the day, they s h o u l d s h o w it at h o m e in the exercises of religion, a n d not in the s t r e e t s with p a s t i m e a n d frolics; a n d this g e n t l e r e p r o o f p u t a final s t o p to all s u c h disorders for the future. F o r two years together after the b e g i n n i n g of the colony, w h e r e o f h e w a s now governor, the p o o r p e o p l e h a d a great e x p e r i m e n t of " m a n ' s not living by b r e a d a l o n e " ; ' for w h e n they were left all together w i t h o u t o n e m o r s e l of b r e a d for m a n y m o n t h s , o n e after a n o t h e r , still the g o o d P r o v i d e n c e of G o d relieved t h e m , a n d s u p p l i e d t h e m , a n d this for the m o s t part o u t of the s e a . In this low condition of affairs, there w a s no little e x e r c i s e for the p r u d e n c e a n d p a t i e n c e of the governor, w h o cheerfully b o r e his part in all; a n d , that industry might not flag, h e quickly set h i m s e l f to settle propriety a m o n g the 8. Wife. 9. Puritans did not observe Christmas as a holi-

day. 1. Luke 4.4.

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new planters, f o r e s e e i n g that while the whole country l a b o r e d u p o n a c o m m o n stock, the h u s b a n d r y a n d b u s i n e s s of the plantation c o u l d not flourish, a s P l a t o 2 a n d others long s i n c e d r e a m e d that it would if a c o m m u n i t y were e s t a b l i s h e d . Certainly, if the spirit which dwelt in the old P u r i t a n s , h a d not inspired t h e s e n e w p l a n t e r s , they h a d s u n k u n d e r the b u r d e n of t h e s e difficulties; but our Bradford h a d a d o u b l e portion of that spirit. T h e plantation w a s quickly thrown into a storm that a l m o s t o v e r w h e l m e d it, by the u n h a p p y a c t i o n s of a minister sent over from E n g l a n d by the advent u r e r s 3 c o n c e r n e d for the p l a n t a t i o n ; but by the b l e s s i n g of H e a v e n on the c o n d u c t of the governor, they w e a t h e r e d out that s t o r m . Only the adventurers, h e r e u p o n b r e a k i n g to p i e c e s , threw up all their c o n c e r n m e n t s with the infant colony; w h e r e o f they gave this a s o n e r e a s o n , that the p l a n t e r s d i s s e m bled with his M a j e s t y a n d their friends in their petition, wherein they d e c l a r e d for a c h u r c h discipline, a g r e e i n g with the F r e n c h a n d others of the reforming c h u r c h e s in E u r o p e . 4 W h e r e a s 'twas now urged, that they h a d a d m i t t e d into their c o m m u n i o n a p e r s o n w h o at his a d m i s s i o n utterly r e n o u n c e d the c h u r c h e s of E n g l a n d , (which p e r s o n , by the way, w a s that very m a n w h o h a d m a d e the c o m p l a i n t s a g a i n s t t h e m ) a n d therefore, t h o u g h they d e n i e d the n a m e of B r o w n i s t s , 5 yet they were the thing. In a n s w e r h e r e u n t o , the very w o r d s written by the governor were t h e s e : W h e r e a s you tax u s with d i s s e m b l i n g a b o u t the F r e n c h d i s c i p l i n e , you d o u s wrong, for we both hold a n d p r a c t i c e the discipline of the F r e n c h a n d other R e f o r m e d C h u r c h e s (as they have p u b l i s h e d the s a m e in the H a r m o n y of C o n f e s s i o n s ) a c c o r d i n g to our m e a n s , in effect a n d s u b s t a n c e . B u t w h e r e a s you would tie u s up to the F r e n c h discipline in every c i r c u m s t a n c e , you d e r o g a t e from the liberty we have in C h r i s t J e s u s . T h e Apostle P a u l would have n o n e to follow him in any thing, but wherein he follows C h r i s t ; m u c h less o u g h t any C h r i s t i a n or c h u r c h in the world to do it. T h e F r e n c h m a y err, we m a y err, a n d other c h u r c h e s m a y err, a n d d o u b t l e s s do in m a n y c i r c u m s t a n c e s . T h a t h o n o r therefore b e l o n g s only to the infallible W o r d of G o d , a n d p u r e T e s t a m e n t of C h r i s t , to b e p r o p o u n d e d a n d followed as the only rule a n d pattern for direction herein to all c h u r c h e s a n d C h r i s t i a n s . A n d it is too great arrog a n c y for any m a n or c h u r c h to think that he or they have so s o u n d e d the W o r d of G o d u n t o the b o t t o m , a s precisely to set d o w n the c h u r c h ' s discipline without error in s u b s t a n c e or c i r c u m s t a n c e , that n o other without b l a m e m a y digress or differ in any thing from the s a m e . A n d it is not difficult to s h o w that the reformed c h u r c h e s differ in m a n y circumstances among themselves. By which words it a p p e a r s how far h e w a s free from that rigid spirit of separation, which broke to p i e c e s the S e p a r a t i s t s t h e m s e l v e s in the L o w C o u n t r i e s , u n t o the great s c a n d a l of the r e f o r m i n g c h u r c h e s . 6 H e w a s i n d e e d 2. Greek philosopher ( 4 2 7 ? - 3 4 7 B.C.E.). "propriety": i.e., property. " C o m m o n stock": property held in common. 3. English investors. 4. In Europe states were declared as either Protestant or Catholic; in France the Edict of Nantes (1598) provided liberty of conscience for all without denying the authority of the Crown. 5. Robert Browne (c. 1 5 5 0 - 1 6 3 3 ) was a Separatist clergyman and identified with Congregation-

alism, a system whereby each church is independent of any national church. 6. By the time the movement for reform had come to an end, the movement for separating ended in dissension and mutual recrimination, with particular churches arguing they were more pure than others. Two English Puritans baptized themselves on the grounds that there were no pure churches to baptize them.

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a p e r s o n of a well-tempered spirit, or else it had b e e n s c a r c e p o s s i b l e for him to have kept the affairs of Plymouth in s o good a t e m p e r for thirty-seven years together; in every o n e of which he was c h o s e n their governor, except the three years wherein Mr. Winslow, a n d the two years wherein Mr. P r i n c e , 7 at the c h o i c e of the p e o p l e , took a turn with him. T h e leader of a p e o p l e in a wilderness had n e e d b e a M o s e s ; 8 a n d if a M o s e s h a d not led the p e o p l e of P l y m o u t h C o l o n y , w h e r e this worthy p e r s o n w a s the governor, the p e o p l e had never with s o m u c h u n a n i m i t y a n d importunity still called him to lead t h e m . A m o n g many i n s t a n c e s thereof, let this o n e p i e c e of self-denial b e told for a m e m o r i a l of h i m , w h e r e s o e v e r this history shall be c o n s i d e r e d : the p a t e n t of the colony w a s taken in his n a m e , running in t h e s e t e r m s : " T o William B r a d f o r d , his heirs, a s s o c i a t e s , a n d a s s i g n s , " but w h e n the n u m b e r of the f r e e m e n 9 ; was m u c h i n c r e a s e d , a n d m a n y n e w t o w n s h i p s e r e c t e d , the G e n e r a l C o u r t there desired of M r . Bradford that he would m a k e a s u r r e n d e r of the s a m e into their h a n d s , which he willingly a n d presently a s s e n t e d u n t o , a n d c o n f i r m e d it a c c o r d i n g to their desire by his h a n d a n d seal, reserving no m o r e for h i m s e l f than w a s his proportion, with o t h e r s , by a g r e e m e n t . B u t as h e f o u n d the P r o v i d e n c e of H e a v e n m a n y ways r e c o m p e n s i n g his m a n y a c t s of self-denial, s o he gave this testimony to the faithfulness of the Divine P r o m i s e s : that he h a d fors a k e n friends, h o u s e s a n d lands for the s a k e of the G o s p e l , a n d the L o r d gave t h e m him again. H e r e he p r o s p e r e d in his e s t a t e ; a n d b e s i d e s a worthy son which he h a d by a former wife, he h a d a l s o two s o n s a n d a d a u g h t e r by another, w h o m he married in this l a n d . H e w a s a p e r s o n for study a s well a s a c t i o n ; a n d h e n c e , n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g the difficulties through which he p a s s e d in his y o u t h , h e a t t a i n e d u n t o a notable skill in l a n g u a g e s : the D u t c h t o n g u e w a s b e c o m e a l m o s t a s vernacular to him a s the E n g l i s h ; the F r e n c h t o n g u e h e c o u l d a l s o m a n a g e ; the Latin a n d the G r e e k h e had m a s t e r e d ; but the H e b r e w he m o s t of all s t u d i e d , b e c a u s e he s a i d he would s e e with his own eyes the a n c i e n t o r a c l e s of G o d in their native beauty. H e w a s a l s o well skilled in history, in antiquity, a n d in philosophy; a n d for theology h e b e c a m e s o versed in it, that he w a s a n irrefragable d i s p u t a n t a g a i n s t the errors, especially t h o s e of A n a b a p t i s m , 1 which with trouble h e saw rising in his colony; wherefore h e wrote s o m e significant things for the confutation of t h o s e errors. B u t the crown of all w a s his holy, prayerful, watchful, a n d fruitful walk with G o d , wherein h e w a s very exemplary. At length h e fell into a n i n d i s p o s i t o n of body, w h i c h r e n d e r e d him u n h e a l t h y for a w h o l e winter; a n d a s the spring a d v a n c e d , his health yet m o r e d e c l i n e d ; yet he felt himself not what he c o u n t e d sick, till o n e day, in the night after w h i c h , the G o d of H e a v e n s o filled his m i n d with ineffable c o n s o l a t i o n s , that he s e e m e d little short of P a u l , rapt u p u n t o the u n u t t e r a b l e e n t e r t a i n m e n t s of P a r a d i s e . 2 T h e next m o r n i n g h e told his friends that the g o o d spirit of G o d had given him a p l e d g e of his h a p p i n e s s in a n o t h e r world, 7. T h o m a s Prince ( 1 6 0 0 - 1 6 7 3 ) . Edward Winslow (1595-1655). 8. The Hebrew lawgiver and prophet who led the Israelites out of Egypt. 9. I.e., those who are not indentured servants and are able to work for themselves. 1. Anabaptists opposed the baptism of children

and advocated separation of church and state. 2. In 2 Corinthians 12.2—I Paul describes a man (himself) who experienced a moment in which he "was caught up into paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter."

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a n d t h e first fruits of his eternal glory; a n d on the day following h e d i e d , M a y 9, 1 6 5 7 , in the 6 9 t h year o f his a g e — l a m e n t e d by all t h e colonies o f N e w E n g l a n d a s a c o m m o n blessing a n d father to t h e m all. O tnihi si Similis Contingat Clausula Vitae!* Plato's brief description o f a governor, is all that I will n o w leave a s his c h a r a c t e r , in a n EPITAPH. No^iEvg Tpoijiog ayt\i-\<; av0p(umvr|c,.4

M e n a r e but flocks: Bradford b e h e l d their n e e d , A n d long did t h e m at o n c e both rule a n d feed. 1702

3. O h , that such an end of life might come to me (Latin).

4. Shepherd and provider of the human flock (Greek).

American Literature 1700-1820 AN E X P A N D I N G W O R L D A N D U N I V E R S E By t h e time of C o t t o n M a t h e r ' s d e a t h in 1 7 2 8 , which symbolically m a r k s t h e p a s s i n g o f P u r i t a n i s m a s t h e colonists h a d e x p e r i e n c e d it, t h e imaginative world h e a n d other clerical writers strove to m a i n t a i n w a s c h a l l e n g e d in a variety of ways. T h e eighteenth century s a w e n o r m o u s c h a n g e s — e c o n o m i c , social, p h i l o s o p h i c a l , a n d scientific—that inevitably affected the influence a n d authority of clergymen like M a t h e r a n d t r a n s f o r m e d t h e ways in which they u n d e r s t o o d t h e world. M o s t important, m a n y intellectuals now believed in the power o f the h u m a n m i n d to c o m p r e h e n d t h e universe a s never b e f o r e , particularly through t h e laws o f physics a s they recently h a d b e e n d e s c r i b e d by t h e great I s a a c N e w t o n ( 1 6 4 2 — 1 7 2 7 ) . Inevitably, t h e n , s c r i p t u r e b e c a m e more a h a n d m a i d e n than a g u i d e to m e t a p h y s i c s . S e c o n d , a n d of e q u a l i m p o r t a n c e , through t h e influence of the E n g l i s h m e t a p h y s i c i a n John L o c k e ( 1 6 3 2 — 1 7 0 4 ) there a r o s e j p w p s y r h n l o c r i r a l p a r a d i g m s that p r o m u l g a t e d h u m a n sympatriyTTatherlhan s u p e r n a t u r a l g r a c e , a s t h e b a s i s for t h e moral HfeTAs e l a b o r a t e d by A d a m S m i t h a n d other thinkers, this reliance on h u m a n sympathy or " s e n t i m e n t " a s t h e catalyst for moral c h o i c e a n d action c o n c o m itantly e n c o u r a g e d t h e belief that e a c h individual h a d t h e power to control his or her spiritual destiny. S u c h c h a l l e n g e s to t h e t h e o c e n t r i c world of t h e colonial clergy were part o f the i m m e n s e c h a n g e s in W e s t e r n t h o u g h t d e s c r i b e d by historians a s t h e E n l i g h t e n m e n t . T h e E n l i g h t e n m e n t h a d political a s well a s scientific a n d religious implic a t i o n s . By the e n d of the century, colonists were in t h e p r o c e s s of e s t a b lishing a polity t h e likes of which the world h a d not yet s e e n . T h e r e w o u l d be a religious e l e m e n t to this n e w nation, but it would b e only o n e c o m p o n e n t of a state w h o s e destiny, while still thought o f a s divinely g u a r a n t e e d , w a s u n d e r s t o o d to b e a c h i e v a b l e on earth through t h e s p r e a d o f d e m o c r a t i c principles. T h e literature of this century reflected a n d e x t e n d e d t h e s e a n d other new e m p h a s e s in W e s t e r n thought a n d c u l t u r e . T h e eighteenth century b r o u g h t a n e w world into b e i n g in t h e m o s t b a s i c a n d striking ways. T h e i n c r e a s e in p o p u l a t i o n a l o n e helps a c c o u n t for t h e greater diversity o f opinion in religious a s well a s in political life that m a r k e d it a n d its literature. In 1 6 7 0 , for e x a m p l e , t h e p o p u l a t i o n o f t h e colonies n u m b e r e d approximately 1 1 1 , 0 0 0 . Thirty years later it w a s m o r e than 2 5 0 , 0 0 0 ; by 1 7 6 0 , if o n e i n c l u d e s G e o r g i a , it r e a c h e d 1 , 6 0 0 , 0 0 0 — a n d the settled a r e a h a d tripled. T h e d e m a n d for a n d price o f colonial g o o d s i n c r e a s e d in E n g l a n d , a n d vast fortunes were to b e m a d e in N e w E n g l a n d with any b u s i n e s s c o n n e c t e d with shipbuilding: especially timber, tar, a n d 171

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LITERATURE

1 7 0 0 - 1 8 2 0

pitch. Virginia planters b e c a m e rich through t o b a c c o ; a n d rice a n d indigo from the C a r o l i n a s were in c o n s t a n t d e m a n d . Further, c o m p a r e d with s u c h c r o w d e d cities as L o n d o n , the colonies were healthier a n d c h e a p e r , a n d promotional literature as well as p e r s o n a l testimony p a i n t e d British N o r t h America a s a region in which o n e c o u l d take c h a r g e of a n d t r a n s f o r m one's life. T h u s t h o s e w h o c o u l d a r r a n g e their p a s s a g e , either by paying for it outright or m o r t g a g i n g it through i n d e n t u r e d service, arrived in great n u m b e r s : B o s ton, for e x a m p l e , a l m o s t d o u b l e d in size from 1 7 0 0 to 1 7 2 0 . T h e c o l o n i e s were ethnically diverse; the great migration during the first half of the eighteenth century w a s not primarily E n g l i s h . D u t c h a n d G e r m a n s c a m e in large n u m b e r s a n d so did F r e n c h P r o t e s t a n t s . By this t i m e , too, J e w i s h m e r c h a n t s a n d c r a f t s m e n e s t a b l i s h e d t h e m s e l v e s in N e w York a n d P h i l a d e l p h i a . T h i s rapidly e x p a n d i n g t r a d e — h a l l m a r k of what we now recognize as the b e g i n n i n g of m o d e r n c o n s u m e r i s m — l i n k e d the c o l o n i e s to other a r e a s in what historians call the Atlantic R i m , a region e n c o m p a s s i n g E u r o p e , Africa, a n d the C a r i b b e a n basin a s well a s N o r t h a n d S o u t h A m e r i c a . T h e rim h a d a complex, m u l t i e t h n i c , multiracial p o p u l a t i o n u n i t e d by their status a s laborers. T h u s even a s the new a n d s e e m i n g l y insatiable d e s i r e for g o o d s brought great wealth to planters a n d m e r c h a n t s , it c r e a t e d at the other e n d of the social s p e c t r u m the world's first multiethnic working c l a s s , o n e w h o s e m e m b e r s often had to e n d u r e great cruelty. T h e n u m b e r s of e n s l a v e d Afric a n s i n c r e a s e d in this p e r i o d , for e x a m p l e , even a s s o m e of t h e m , typified here by O l a u d a h E q u i a n o , b e g a n to s p e a k o u t a b o u t their e x p e r i e n c e s a n d condition. O t h e r g r o u p s like the N e w E n g l a n d I n d i a n s suffered in different ways. E s t i m a t e d to n u m b e r 2 5 , 0 0 0 in 1 6 0 0 , they already h a d b e e n r e d u c e d by one-third d u r i n g the p l a g u e of 1616—18 a n d d e c l i n e d steadily thereafter; m a n y Native A m e r i c a n c o m m u n i t i e s d i s a p p e a r e d entirely d u r i n g this period of e x p a n s i o n in the N o r t h e a s t . T h e i r fate in the s o u t h e r n c o l o n i e s a n d the C a r i b b e a n i s l a n d s , often linked to p l a n t a t i o n slavery, w a s no better. T h i s e c o n o m i c take-off affected the very warp a n d w o o f of social organization. N e w E n g l a n d towns, for e x a m p l e , long viewed a s pillars of stability, often were full of a c r i m o n i o u s d e b a t e b e t w e e n first settlers a n d n e w c o m e r s as they bickered over d i m i n i s h i n g land or the p r o p e r form a n d s u b s t a n c e of worship. W h e n the c o l o n i e s ' first towns were f o r m e d , for e x a m p l e , a c r e a g e w a s a p p o r t i o n e d to settlers a n d allotted free; b u t by 1 7 1 3 s p e c u l a t o r s in land were hard at work, buying a s m u c h a s p o s s i b l e for a s little a s p o s s i b l e a n d selling high. M a n y a town history r e c o r d s the wrangling of splinter g r o u p s a n d the e s t a b l i s h m e n t of a " s e c o n d " c h u r c h a n d the inevitable removal of families a n d g r o u p s w h o s o u g h t richer farm l a n d s . U n d e r n e w e c o n o m i c a n d religious p r e s s u r e s , the idea of a " c o m m u n i t y " of m u t u a l l y helpful s o u l s w a s fast d i s a p p e a r i n g , a n d the c o l o n i s t s ' g r a d u a l a w a k e n i n g to the incongruity of the slavery that they tolerated or e n c o u r a g e d only further s t r e t c h e d the c a p a c i t y of their rhetoric of C h r i s t i a n charity. W h i l e life in m a n y parts of the c o l o n i e s r e m a i n e d difficult, the h a r d s h i p s a n d d a n g e r s the first settlers f a c e d were mostly o v e r c o m e , a n d m o r e a n d m o r e c o l o n i s t s , particularly t h o s e a l o n g the c o a s t , e m u l a t e d the c u l t u r e of m e t r o p o l i t a n L o n d o n . C o n c o m i t a n t l y , o n c e c o l o n i s t s b e g a n to expect the refinements m a d e available by their extensive trading n e t w o r k s , they better u n d e r s t o o d what w a s special or u n i q u e a b o u t their e x p e r i e n c e in the N e w W o r l d . U n i t e d by the c o m m o n e x p e r i e n c e of o c e a n p a s s a g e a n d the desire

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to m a k e new lives for t h e m s e l v e s , t h e s e t h o u s a n d s of e m i g r a n t s slowly but inexorably b e g a n to realize that they had m o r e in c o m m o n a s i n h a b i t a n t s of A m e r i c a than they did a s citizens of a E u r o p e that rapidly r e c e d e d into m e m ory. In 1 7 0 2 no o n e would have d r e a m e d of an i n d e p e n d e n t union of colonies, but by the 1 7 5 0 s it w a s a distinct possibility.

ENLIGHTENMENT

IDEALS

By the early eighteenth century, scientists a n d p h i l o s o p h e r s had p o s e d great c h a l l e n g e s to seventeenth-century beliefs, a n d the " m o d e r n " period a s we u n d e r s t a n d it e m e r g e d from their efforts to c o n c e i v e h u m a n s a n d their universe in new t e r m s , even a s they struggled to yoke this brave new world to what they learned in s c r i p t u r e . I n d e e d , scientists like N e w t o n a n d philosophers like L o c k e s o u g h t to resolve implicit conflicts b e t w e e n their discoveries a n d traditionally held C h r i s t i a n truths. B e c a u s e they believed that G o d worked in r e a s o n a b l e , c o m p r e h e n s i b l e ways with h u m a n k i n d u p p e r m o s t , they saw nothing heretical in a r g u i n g that the universe w a s an orderly s y s t e m s u c h that by the application of r e a s o n h u m a n i t y would c o m p r e h e n d its laws, or that one's s u p r e m e obligation w a s to relate to one's fellows through an innate a n d thus natural power of sympathy. B u t the inevitable result of s u c h inquiries m a d e the universe s e e m m o r e rational a n d benevolent than it had b e e n r e p r e s e n t e d in Puritan doctrine. Similarly, p e o p l e increasingly defined their highest duties in social rather than in spiritual t e r m s . B e c a u s e s c i e n c e m a d e the world s e e m m o r e c o m p r e h e n s i b l e , m a n y put less s t o c k in revealed religion. Often t h e s e new scientists a n d p h i l o s o p h e r s were avowedly, or were called, D e i s t s ; they d e d u c e d the existence of a s u p r e m e b e i n g from the c o n s t r u c t i o n of the universe itself rather than from the Bible. "A c r e a t i o n , " as o n e d i s t i n g u i s h e d historian has put it, " p r e s u p p o s e s a c r e a t o r . " A h a r m o n i o u s universe p r o c l a i m e d the b e n e f i c e n c e of G o d . A n u m b e r of seventeenth-century m o d e s of t h o u g h t — B r a d f o r d ' s a n d Winthrop's p e n c h a n t for the allegorical a n d e m b l e m a t i c , s e e i n g every natural and h u m a n event as a m e s s a g e from G o d , for i n s t a n c e — s e e m e d a n a c h r o nistic a n d q u a i n t . P e o p l e were less interested in the m e t a p h y s i c a l w i s d o m of introspective divines than in the p r o g r e s s of ordinary individuals, relating now to their fellow beings t h r o u g h e m o t i o n s a n d e x p e r i e n c e s they s h a r e d a s colonists. T h i s no d o u b t a c c o u n t s for the popularity of B e n j a m i n Franklin's Autobiography. M a n y now a s s u m e d that h u m a n k i n d was naturally g o o d a n d thus dwelt on neither the Fall nor the I n c a r n a t i o n , but rather on how thinking, feeling p e o p l e s h a r e d the b o n d s of their c o m m o n h u m a n i t y . T h e y were not interested in theology but in h u m a n k i n d ' s own n a t u r e , a n d frequently cited Alexander P o p e ' s f a m o u s c o u p l e t : Know then thyself, p r e s u m e not G o d to s c a n , T h e p r o p e r study of m a n k i n d is m a n . L o c k e said that " o u r b u s i n e s s " here o n earth "is not to know all things, but t h o s e which c o n c e r n our c o n d u c t . " In s u g g e s t i n g that we are not born with a set of innate i d e a s of good or evil a n d that the mind is rather like a blank wax tablet (a tabula rasa) on which e x p e r i e n c e s are inscribed, L o c k e qualified traditional belief a n d s u g g e s t e d that the m o r e that we u n d e r s t o o d

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a n d s y m p a t h i z e d with our fellow m e n a n d w o m e n , the richer our social a n d spiritual lives would b e .

R E A S O N

AND

RELIGION:

T H E

G R E A T

A W A K E N I N G

B u t the old beliefs did not die easily, a n d a s early as the 1 7 3 0 s a conservative reaction a g a i n s t the worldview of the n e w s c i e n c e a n d psychology followed a s s o m e intellectuals, a w a r e of the n e w t h o u g h t but intent on m a i n t a i n i n g the final truth of revealed religion, resisted the religious i m p l i c a t i o n s of E n l i g h t e n m e n t principles. B u t the g e n i e h a d e s c a p e d from the bottle, a n d this reaction w a s indelibly m a r k e d by the new t h o u g h t it o p p o s e d . O n e unexp e c t e d result, for e x a m p l e , w a s that the first half of the e i g h t e e n t h century w i t n e s s e d a n u m b e r of religious revivals in both E n g l a n d a n d A m e r i c a that in part were fueled by the new e m p h a s i s on e m o t i o n a s a c o m p o n e n t of h u m a n e x p e r i e n c e . A l t h o u g h s o m e historians view the revivals a s d e s p e r a t e efforts to r e a s s e r t o u t m o d e d Puritan v a l u e s in the f a c e of the new, in fact the religious fires that b u r n e d so intensely b e t w e e n 1 7 3 5 a n d 1 7 5 0 were t h e m s e l v e s the direct p r o d u c t of the n e w cult of feeling w h o s e f o u n d a t i o n L o c k e h a d laid. N o w ministers a s well a s p h i l o s o p h e r s a r g u e d that our greatest p l e a s u r e w a s derived from the g o o d we did for o t h e r s , a n d that our s y m p a t h e t i c e m o t i o n s (our joys as well a s our tears) were not signs of h u m a n kind's fallen state but rather a g u a r a n t e e of our glorious f u t u r e . T h e African A m e r i c a n p o e t Phillis Wheatley, for e x a m p l e , w h o s e p o e m o n the d e a t h of the itinerant M e t h o d i s t G e o r g e Whitefield ( 1 7 1 4 — 1 7 7 0 ) m a d e her f a m o u s , said that Whitefield prayed that " g r a c e in every heart might dwell" a n d longed to s e e " A m e r i c a excell." Following his m a n y s u c c e s s f u l religious revivals in E n g l a n d , Whitefield e m b a r k e d on a p r e a c h i n g tour a l o n g the Atlantic seab o a r d colonies in 1739—40, a visit that w a s p u n c t u a t e d by great e m o t i o n a l i s m . B u t in this he only followed the similarly "extraordinary c i r c u m s t a n c e s " that h a d o c c u r r e d in N o r t h a m p t o n , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , u n d e r the l e a d e r s h i p of J o n a t h a n E d w a r d s in the 1 7 3 0 s a n d that have c o m e to be s y n o n y m o u s with the " G r e a t A w a k e n i n g . " E d w a r d s a l s o h a d read his L o c k e a n d u n d e r s t o o d that if his p a r i s h i o n e r s were to b e a w a k e n e d from their spiritual s l u m b e r s they h a d to e x p e r i e n c e religion in a m o r e heartfelt way, not j u s t strive to c o m p r e h e n d it intellectually. T h u s , from his time a s a y o u n g minister u n d e r the t u t e l a g e of his eminent g r a n d f a t h e r , the Reverend S o l o m o n S t o d d a r d , E d w a r d s b e g a n to rejuvenate the b a s i c tenets of C a l v i n i s m , i n c l u d i n g that of u n c o n d i t i o n a l election, the o n e doctrine m o s t difficult for e i g h t e e n t h - c e n t u r y m i n d s to a c c e p t . E d w a r d s insisted that s u c h d o c t r i n e s m a d e s e n s e in t e r m s of Enlighte n m e n t s c i e n c e . H a m m e r i n g at his a u d i e n c e t h r o u g h what o n e historian h a s called a "rhetoric of s e n s a t i o n , " he p e r s u a d e d his c o n g r e g a t i o n that G o d ' s sovereignty w a s not only a m o s t r e a s o n a b l e d o c t r i n e but a l s o the m o s t "delightful," a n d a p p e a r e d to him in a n a l m o s t s e n s u o u s way a s " e x c e e d i n g p l e a s a n t , bright, a n d s w e e t . " In carefully r e a s o n e d , calmly a r g u e d p r o s e , a s h a r m o n i o u s a n d a s ordered a s anything the a g e p r o d u c e d , E d w a r d s brought m a n y in his a u d i e n c e to u n d e r s t a n d that "if the great things of religion a r e rightly u n d e r s t o o d , they will affect the h e a r t . " T h u s , while m o s t p e o p l e r e m e m b e r E d w a r d s for his frightening s e r m o n Sinners in the Hands of an

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Angry God, he w a s m u c h m o r e m o v e d by the experience of j o y that his faith b r o u g h t h i m . M o r e typical is his " P e r s o n a l N a r r a t i v e " or his a p o s t r o p h e to S a r a Pierpont ( w h o m he would marry), for both testify to how experientially moving h e f o u n d true religious feeling. T h e s e are f o u n d a t i o n a l texts for u n d e r s t a n d i n g the rise of the s e n t i m e n t a l in literature a n d W e s t e r n c u l t u r e generally. T h e A w a k e n i n g in turn e n g e n d e r e d a s m a n y critics a s s u p p o r t e r s , for m a n y believed that revivalists were too given over to " e n t h u s i a s m " at the e x p e n s e of their r e a s o n . T h u s E d w a r d s a n d others w h o believed in the new light that G o d h a d s h e d over t h e m h a d to expend m u c h time a n d energy in p a m p h l e t wars with p r o m i n e n t clergy s u c h a s B o s t o n ' s C h a r l e s C h a u n c y w h o , from his pulpit in that city's First C h u r c h , c o m p a r e d the antics of the revived to the hysteria that A n n e H u t c h i n s o n earlier h a d instigated. H e i r s to a rapid expansion of print c u l t u r e that fueled the controversies over revival, o p p o n e n t s like E d w a r d s a n d C h a u n c y , a n d others on both sides of the religious q u e s t i o n , u s e d the p r e s s e s a s never before to win over public opinion. Inevitably, the fires of revival b u r n e d lower; w h e n E d w a r d s h i m s e l f tried to c o n s o l i d a t e his s u c c e s s in N o r t h a m p t o n a n d in 1 7 4 9 d e m a n d e d from a p p l i c a n t s p e r s o n a l a c c o u n t s of conversion before admitting t h e m to c h u r c h m e m b e r s h i p , he w a s a c c u s e d of b e i n g a reactionary, removed from his pulpit, a n d effectively s i l e n c e d . H e spent the next few years a s a m i s s i o n a r y to the A m e r i c a n I n d i a n s in S t o c k b r i d g e , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , a town forty miles west of N o r t h a m p t o n , imitating the call of the Reverend David B r a i n a r d , a y o u n g m a n who, h a d he lived, would have married E d w a r d s ' s d a u g h t e r J e r u s h a . T h e r e E d w a r d s r e m a i n e d until invited to b e c o m e p r e s i d e n t of the C o l l e g e of N e w J e r s e y . H i s d e a t h in Princeton w a s the direct result of his b e i n g i n o c u l a t e d a g a i n s t smallpox, which he h a d d o n e to set a n e x a m p l e for his frightened a n d s u p e r s t i t i o u s s t u d e n t s ; it serves a s a vivid r e m i n d e r of how c o m p l i c a t e d in any o n e individual the r e s p o n s e to the " n e w s c i e n c e " c o u l d b e c o m e .

IMPERIAL

POLITICS

If religion o c c u p i e d m a n y colonists in the first half of the e i g h t e e n t h century, after 1 7 6 3 , w h e n G r e a t Britain h a d c o n s o l i d a t e d its e m p i r e in the N e w W o r l d with victory over the F r e n c h in C a n a d a , politics d o m i n a t e d its s e c o n d half. O n J u n e 7, 1 7 7 6 , at the s e c o n d C o n t i n e n t a l C o n g r e s s , R i c h a r d H e n r y L e e of Virginia m o v e d that " t h e s e united c o l o n i e s a r e , a n d of a right o u g h t to b e , free a n d i n d e p e n d e n t s t a t e s . " A c o m m i t t e e w a s duly a p p o i n t e d to p r e p a r e a declaration of i n d e p e n d e n c e , a n d it w a s i s s u e d o n J u l y 4. A l t h o u g h t h e s e m o t i o n s a n d their swiftness took s o m e d e l e g a t e s by s u r p r i s e — t h e p u r p o s e of the c o n g r e s s h a d , after all, not b e e n to d e c l a r e i n d e p e n d e n c e but to protest the u s u r p a t i o n of rights by king a n d P a r l i a m e n t a n d to effect a c o m p r o m i s e with the h o m e l a n d — o t h e r s s a w t h e m a s the inevitable c o n s e q u e n c e of the events of the p r e c e d i n g d e c a d e . T h e S t a m p Act of 1 7 6 4 , taxing all n e w s p a p e r s , legal d o c u m e n t s , a n d l i c e n s e s , h a d infuriated B o s t o n i a n s a n d r e s u l t e d in the b u r n i n g of the governor's p a l a c e ; the Virginian Patrick H e n r y h a d taken the o c c a s i o n to s p e a k with p a s s i o n a g a i n s t taxation without r e p r e s e n tation. In 1 7 7 0 a B o s t o n m o b h a d b e e n fired on by British soldiers. T h r e e years later w a s the f a m o u s " T e a Party," w h e n colonists d r e s s e d a s N a t i v e

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LITERATURE

1700-1820

A m e r i c a n s a n d d u m p e d E n g l i s h tea into B o s t o n h a r b o r a s a protest a g a i n s t paying taxes on it. T h i s event tested the limits of British rule. In a d o p t i n g the c o s t u m e of Native A m e r i c a n s , t h e s e protesters d e c l a r e d t h e m s e l v e s antithetical to everything British. T h e news of the April 1 7 7 5 c o n f r o n t a t i o n with the British in C o n c o r d a n d L e x i n g t o n , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , w a s still o n everyone's t o n g u e in Philadelphia w h e n the S e c o n d C o n t i n e n t a l C o n g r e s s c o n v e n e d that M a y . Although the d r a m a of t h e s e events a n d the p e r s o n a l suffering they c a u s e d c a n n o t be u n d e r e s t i m a t e d , colonists a l s o were t r a n s f o r m e d into revolutionaries through the power of the word. T h o m a s Paine's p a m p h l e t Common Sense, p u b l i s h e d in J a n u a r y 1 7 7 6 , has b e e n credited with tipping the s c a l e s toward revolution; but it w a s p r e c e d e d by a vast literature that took to heart the a r g u m e n t s of the W h i g opposition in E n g l a n d . T h e W h i g s , the so-called country a s o p p o s e d to court party, inveighed a g a i n s t luxury a n d tyranny in t e r m s that r e s o n a t e d a c r o s s the Atlantic. W e s e e W h i g party principles applied to the A m e r i c a n strand in Royall Tyler's play The Contrast ( 1 7 8 7 ) . In a r g u i n g that s e p a r a t i o n from E n g l a n d w a s the only r e a s o n a b l e c o u r s e a n d that "the A l m i g h t y " h a d p l a n t e d t h e s e feelings in us "for g o o d a n d wise purp o s e s , " P a i n e a p p e a l e d to b a s i c t e n e t s of the E n l i g h t e n m e n t . His clarion call to t h o s e that "love m a n k i n d , " t h o s e "that d a r e o p p o s e not only the tyranny but the tyrant, stand forth!" did not g o u n h e e d e d . A m e r i c a n s n e e d e d an apologist for the Revolution, a n d in D e c e m b e r 1 7 7 6 , w h e n W a s h i n g t o n ' s troops were at their m o s t d e m o r a l i z e d , it w a s , a g a i n , P a i n e ' s first Crisis p a p e r — p o p u l a r l y called The American Crisis—that w a s read to all the regim e n t s a n d w a s said to have inspired their future s u c c e s s . P a i n e first c a m e to A m e r i c a in 1 7 7 4 with a note from B e n j a m i n Franklin r e c o m m e n d i n g him to p u b l i s h e r s a n d editors. H e w a s only o n e of a n u m b e r of y o u n g writers w h o took a d v a n t a g e of the revolution in print c u l t u r e that w a s to m a k e a u t h o r s h i p a s we know it p o s s i b l e . T h i s w a s , in fact, the great a g e of the n e w s p a p e r a n d the moral e s s a y ; Franklin tells us that he m o d e l e d his own style o n the clarity, g o o d s e n s e , a n d simplicity of the E n g l i s h essayists J o s e p h Addison a n d Richard S t e e l e . T h e first n e w s p a p e r in the colonies a p p e a r e d in 1 7 0 4 , a n d by the time of the Revolution there were a l m o s t fifty p a p e r s a n d forty m a g a z i n e s . T h e great cry w a s for a " n a t i o n a l literature" ( m e a n i n g anti-British), a n d the political events of the 1 7 7 0 s were advantag e o u s for a c a r e e r in letters. Even w o m e n like J u d i t h S a r g e n t M u r r a y , S a r a h W e n t w o r t h M o r t o n , a n d o t h e r s got into the act, a n d all f o u n d e a g e r audie n c e s for their work in periodicals like Isaiah T h o m a s ' s Massachusetts Magazine. A l t h o u g h the c o n v e n t i o n s of the day r e q u i r e d anonymity, the w o m e n u s e d f e m i n i n e p e n - n a m e s , t h u s p r o c l a i m i n g the right of all w o m e n to o p i n e in print on public events. Actually, the identity of t h e s e w o m e n writers w a s generally known; their literary efforts a d d e d to the c a m p a i g n for a true realization of the principle of equality. Similarly, other writers p u b l i s h e d utilitarian political a n d p o l i t e — a e s t h e t ically e n j o y a b l e — l i t e r a t u r e s i m u l t a n e o u s l y . Philip F r e n e a u , for e x a m p l e , s u c c e e d e d first a s a writer of satires of the British; after p u b l i s h i n g his Poems Written Chiefly during the Late War ( 1 7 8 6 ) h e t u r n e d to n e w s p a p e r work, editing the New York Daily Advertiser a n d writing anti—Federalist Party e s s a y s , m a k i n g himself a n e n e m y of Alexander H a m i l t o n in the p r o c e s s . O t h e r a u t h o r s , A n n i s B o u d i n o t S t o c k t o n a m o n g t h e m , c u t a different profile,

INTRODUCTION

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177

p u b l i s h i n g in local periodicals a n d n e w s p a p e r s but also c o n t r i b u t i n g significantly to a n extensive m a n u s c r i p t culture in which literary efforts were s h a r e d with a coterie of like-minded p e o p l e . B u t , as the c a r e e r of F r e n e a u s u g g e s t s , d e s p i t e the a m o u n t of belletristic writing extant from the late eighteenth century, the m o s t significant writings of the period are political, like the e s s a y s H a m i l t o n , J o h n J a y , a n d J a m e s M a d i s o n wrote for N e w York newsp a p e r s in 1 7 8 7 a n d 1 7 8 8 in s u p p o r t of the new federal c o n s t i t u t i o n , collectively known a s The Federalist Papers. T h e y provided a n e l o q u e n t d e f e n s e of the framework of the republic a n d remind u s that in g o o d m e a s u r e the u n i q u e n e s s of the new U n i t e d S t a t e s of A m e r i c a resided in the l a n g u a g e of the d o c u m e n t s , the very w o r d s , on which the nation w a s b a s e d . T o g e t h e r with s u c h self-consciously A m e r i c a n works a s B e n j a m i n Franklin's Autobiography a n d H e c t o r S t . J o h n d e C r e v e c o e u r ' s Letters from an American Farmer, they m a r k the b e g i n n i n g of a new s e n s e of national identity a s colonists from greatly different b a c k g r o u n d s a n d of varied nationalities now f o u n d r e a s o n s to call t h e m s e l v e s " A m e r i c a n s . " T h i s t r a n s f o r m a t i o n w a s not easy. W a s h i n g t o n Irving's fictional c h a r a c t e r Rip V a n Winkle f o u n d the world radically different w h e n , finally a w a k e n e d from his s l u m b e r s , he tried to m a k e s e n s e of what he had m i s s e d , the A m e r i c a n Revolution: " G o d k n o w s , I'm not myself—I'm s o m e b o d y e l s e — t h a t ' s m e y o n d e r — n o — t h a t ' s s o m e b o d y else got into my s h o e s — I w a s myself last night, but I fell a s l e e p o n the m o u n t a i n . . . a n d everything's c h a n g e d , a n d I'm c h a n g e d , a n d I can't tell what's my n a m e , or w h o I a m ! " B e c a u s e neither the technological nor the e c o n o m i c infrastructure w a s yet in p l a c e to s u p p o r t a national a u d i e n c e , b e c a u s e p e o p l e lived in widely s e p a r a t e d a n d poorly c o n n e c t e d villages or on r e m o t e f a r m s , n o n e of these early A m e r i c a n writers, i n c l u d i n g s u c h p o p u l a r novelists a s S u s a n n a R o w s o n a n d C h a r l e s B r o c k d e n Brown, c o u l d live by their p e n s a l o n e . T h e crisis in A m e r i c a n life c a u s e d by the Revolution h a d m a d e artists s e l f - c o n s c i o u s a b o u t A m e r i c a n s u b j e c t s , but it w a s W a s h i n g t o n Irving who b e s t learned how to exploit this n a s c e n t s e l f - c o n s c i o u s n e s s , w h o h a d the distinction of being the first A m e r i c a n writer to live on the i n c o m e p r o d u c e d by his p u b l i c a t i o n s . H i s generation discovered ways of b e i n g A m e r i c a n without c o m p r o m i s i n g their integrity, a n d they s u c c e s s f u l l y h a r n e s s e d the world of print to their a m b i t i o n to s p e a k through the p r o f e s s i o n of a u t h o r s h i p .

PURSUING

HAPPINESS

W h e n J o h n W i n t h r o p d e s c r i b e d his " m o d e l " for a C h r i s t i a n c o m m u n i t y , he envisioned a g r o u p of m e n a n d w o m e n working together for the c o m m o n g o o d , e a c h of w h o m knew his or her p l a c e in the s t a b l e social s t r u c t u r e d e c r e e d by G o d . At all t i m e s , he said, " s o m e m u s t be rich, s o m e poor, s o m e high a n d e m i n e n t in power a n d dignity," others low a n d "in s u b j e c t i o n . " Ideally, it w a s to be a c o m m u n i t y of love, all m a d e e q u a l by their fallen n a t u r e a n d their c o n c e r n for the salvation of their s o u l s , but it w a s to b e a s t a b l e c o m m u n i t y . B u t President J o h n A d a m s w i t n e s s e d social mobility of a kind a n d to an extent that W i n t h r o p would not have d r e a m e d p o s s i b l e . A s historians have observed, E u r o p e a n critics of A m e r i c a in the e i g h t e e n t h a n d nineteenth centuries never u n d e r s t o o d that great social c h a n g e w a s p o s s i b l e

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1700-1820

without social u p h e a v a l primarily b e c a u s e there w a s n o feudal hierarchy to overthrow. W h e n C r e v e c o e u r w a n t e d to distinguish A m e r i c a from E u r o p e , it w a s the medievalism of t h e latter that he wished to s t r e s s . T h e visitor to A m e r i c a , he said, "views not the hostile c a s t l e , a n d the h a u g h t y m a n s i o n , c o n t r a s t e d with the clay-built h u t a n d m i s e r a b l e c a b i n , w h e r e cattle a n d m e n help to k e e p e a c h other w a r m , a n d dwell in m e a n n e s s , s m o k e a n d i n d i g e n c e . " O f course, in 1 8 2 0 , m a n y A m e r i c a n s were still n o t free. S o m e of the F o u n d i n g F a t h e r s , like G e o r g e W a s h i n g t o n a n d T h o m a s J e f f e r s o n , were slave owners t h e m s e l v e s . M e n c o u l d not vote u n l e s s they o w n e d property; w o m e n c o u l d not vote at all. W o m e n wgre^vards o f their fathers until marriage, u p o n which their legal identity w a s m e r g e d with their h u s b a n d s , s o that they c o u l d not o w h ^ r o p e r W l j r j e e p a n y wagesThev might earnTEduc a t e d at h o m e for d o m e s t i c d u t i e s , y o u n g w o m e n were supposed" to b e e x c l u d e d from p u b l i c , intellectual life. B u t , by_the e n d o f the e i g h t e e n t h century, a m o v e m e n t to e d u c a t e w o m e n like m e n — s o that they coTjTJprope j l y n m l j u e t h e i r y o u n g children vyTfrTpatriotic i d e a l s — h a d g a i n e d consiHerahle_strength. Every liteTary w o m a n testifiecfin h e r own way t o t h e l i s e f u l n e s s of all w o m e n in the public s p h e r e . Fired by E n l i g h t e n m e n t ideals of r e a s o n a n d equality, w o m e n like J u d i t h S a r g e n t M u r r a y a n d H a n n a h F o s t e r b e g a n to s p e a k a n d write o n public s u b j e c t s a n d to agitate for their rights a s citizens. T h e condition of Native A m e r i c a n s c o n t i n u e d to deteriorate t h r o u g h o u t the nineteenth century. Well u n d e r s t a n d i n g their vulnerability to colonial expansionist drives, m a n y e a s t e r n tribes s i d e d with the British d u r i n g the Revolution. After the British d e f e a t , they were exposed both to white veng e a n c e a n d white g r e e d . E n t i r e tribes were systematically d i s p l a c e d from their traditional territories, p u s h e d ever farther a n d farther west. N e v e r t h e l e s s , the s a m e forces that earlier h a d u n d e r m i n e d c h u r c h authority in N e w E n g l a n d gradually affected the A m e r i c a n s ' u n d e r s t a n d i n g o f w h a t constituted the g o o d society. If, a s R u s s e l N y e o n c e p u t it, t h e two a s s u m p t i o n s held to b e true by m o s t eighteenth-century A m e r i c a n s were "the perfectibility of m a n , a n d t h e p r o s p e c t of his future p r o g r e s s , " A m e r i c a n citizens h a d to g r o u n d t h o s e a s s u m p t i o n s in t h e reality o f their day-to-day relations with others w h o s e plight h a d not yet b e e n t o u c h e d by t h e c o n t a g i o n o f liberty. T h u s m u c h imaginative energy in the late e i g h t e e n t h a n d early n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r i e s w a s e x p e n d e d in b e g i n n i n g to correct institutional a n d social injustices: the tyranny o f m o n a r c h y , the t o l e r a n c e o f slavery, the m i s u s e of priso n s , the p l a c e o f w o m e n . E v e n a s they a g i t a t e d for a n extension o f the principles o f liberty codified by the Revolutionary g e n e r a t i o n , few d o u b t e d that with the application of intelligence the h u m a n lot c o u l d b e i m p r o v e d . Writers like F r e n e a u , Franklin, a n d C r e v e c o e u r a r g u e d that, if it w a s n o t too late, the t r a n s p l a n t e d E u r o p e a n m i g h t learn s o m e t h i n g a b o u t fellowship a n d m a n n e r s from " t h e n o b l e s a v a g e s " rather t h a n from r u d e white settlers, slave owners, and backwoods pioneers. F o r m a n y , Franklin b e s t r e p r e s e n t s the p r o m i s e o f the E n l i g h t e n m e n t in A m e r i c a , even a s his long a n d fruitful life a l s o testified to the pitfalls that a c c o m p a n i e d a n uncritical a d o p t i o n of principles that e n s h r i n e d t h e individual's c o n c e r n s above t h o s e of the c o m m u n i t y . Franklin w a s s e l f - e d u c a t e d , social, a s s u r e d , a m a n of the world, a m b i t i o u s a n d public-spirited, s p e c u l a tive a b o u t the n a t u r e o f the universe, a n d in m a t t e r s o f religion c o n t e n t " t o observe the actual c o n d u c t of h u m a n i t y rather than to d e b a t e s u p e r n a t u r a l

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179

m a t t e r s that are u n p r o v a b l e . " W h e n Ezra Stiles a s k e d him a b o u t his religion, he said h e believed in the "creator of the u n i v e r s e " but he d o u b t e d the "divinity of J e s u s . " H e would never be d o g m a t i c a b o u t it, however, b e c a u s e — a s he wryly put i t — h e expected s o o n "an opportunity of k n o w i n g the truth with less t r o u b l e . " Franklin always p r e s e n t s himself as a m a n d e p e n d i n g on firsth a n d e x p e r i e n c e , too worldly-wise to be c a u g h t off g u a r d , a n d always m i n d i n g " t h e m a i n c h a n c e , " a s o n e c h a r a c t e r in Tyler's The Contrast c o u n s e l s . T h i s a s p e c t of Franklin's p e r s o n a , however, belies a n o t h e r s i d e of him a n d of the eighteenth century: t h o s e idealistic a s s u m p t i o n s in which the great public d o c u m e n t s of the A m e r i c a n Revolution, especially the D e c l a r a t i o n of Indep e n d e n c e , are g r o u n d e d . Given the representative n a t u r e of Franklin's character, it s e e m s right that of the d o c u m e n t s m o s t closely a s s o c i a t e d with the formation of the A m e r i c a n r e p u b l i c — t h e D e c l a r a t i o n of I n d e p e n d e n c e , the treaty of alliance with F r a n c e , the Treaty of Paris, a n d the C o n s t i t u t i o n — only he s i g n e d all four. T h e fact that A m e r i c a n s in the last quarter of the e i g h t e e n t h century held that "certain truths are self-evident, that all m e n are c r e a t e d e q u a l , that they are e n d o w e d by their C r e a t o r with certain u n a l i e n a b l e R i g h t s , that a m o n g these are Life, Liberty a n d the p u r s u i t of H a p p i n e s s " w a s the result of their reading the S c o t t i s h p h i l o s o p h e r s , particularly F r a n c i s H u t c h e s o n a n d L o r d Karnes (Henry H o m e ) , w h o a r g u e d that all p e o p l e in all p l a c e s p o s s e s s a s e n s e c o m m o n to a l l — a m o r a l s e n s e — t h a t c o n t r a d i c t e d the notion of the m i n d a s an e m p t y vessel awaiting experience. T h i s i d e a l i s m p a v e d the way for writers like Bryant, E m e r s o n , T h o r e a u , a n d W h i t m a n , b u t in the 1 7 7 0 s its p r e s e n c e is f o u n d chiefly in politics a n d e t h i c s . T h e a s s u r a n c e of a universal s e n s e of right a n d w r o n g m a d e p o s s i b l e both the overthrow of tyrants a n d the restoration of order, a n d it allowed h u m a n k i n d to m a k e n e w earthly c o v e n a n t s , not, a s w a s the c a s e with Bradford a n d W i n t h r o p , for the glory of G o d , b u t , a s T h o m a s J e f f e r s o n a r g u e d , for an individual's right to happin e s s on e a r t h . H o w A m e r i c a n s u s e d a n d a b u s e d that right in the service of self-interest would b e c o m e the t h e m e of c o u n t l e s s writers after 1 8 2 0 , a s a market revolution p e r m a n e n t l y e n s h r i n e d liberal principles over t h o s e of the civic r e p u b l i c a n i s m that h a d informed the previous g e n e r a t i o n ' s behavior.

AMERICAN LITERATURE

1700-1820 CONTEXTS

TEXTS 1704—05

Sarah Kemhle Knight keeps Tlie

Private Journal

of a journey from Boston to

New York (pub. 1825) 1718

French found New Orleans

1726—56 1728

T h e "Great Awakening"

William Byrd writes his History-of

the Dividing Line (pub. 1841) 1735

"The Speech of Moses Bon S a a m "

published in London periodical 1741

Jonathan Edwards, Sinners

Hands

of an Angry

1741

in the

Vitus Bering discovers Alaska

God 1755—63

1760

Briton H a m m o n , Narrative Sufferings,

Uncommon

and

French and Indian Wars

of the

Surprizing

Deliverance 1764

J a m e s Grainger, Tlte Sugar

1768

S a m s o n O c c o m , A Short

Cane Narrative

of My Life 1771—90

Benjamin Franklin continues his

Autobiography 1773

(Part 1 pub. 1818)

Phillis Wheatlcy, Poems on

Various

John Woolman, rYhe Journal

of John

1773

Boston Tea Party

Subjects 1 774

Woolnutn I 774-83

John and Abigail Adams

exchange letters (pub. 1840, 1875) 1 775—83 1776 1780s

T h o m a s Paine, Common

Sense

War for American Independence

1776

Declaration of Independence

1783

Britain opens "Old Northwest" to

Annis Boudinot Stockton publishes

p o e m s in magazines and newspapers 1782

J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur,

Letters from

an American

Farmer United States after Treaty of Paris ends American Revolution

1786

Philip Freneau, Poems

1787

T h o m a s Jefferson, Notes on the

State of Virginia

1787

U.S. Constitution adopted

• Royal! Tyler, The

Contrast 1787—88

Tl\e Federalist

papers

Boldface title indicate works in the anthology.

1

8 0

TEXTS 1789

Olaudah Equiano, The

Narrative

CONTEXTS 1789

Interesting

of the Life of Olaudah

Equiano

George Washington elected first

president

• Sarah Went worth Morton publishes her first poem; pub. My Mind and Its Thoughts 1823 1790

Judith Sargent Murray, On the

Equality of the Sexes 1791

S u s a n n a Rowson, Charlotte:

A Tale

1791

of Truth 1798

Washington D . C . established as

U.S. capital

Charles Brockden Brown, Wieland 1803

United States buys Louisiana

Territory from France 1812— 14 1819

S e c o n d war against England

Spain exchanges Florida for U . S .

assumption of $5 million in claims

181

182

JONATHAN

EDWARDS

1703-1758 Although it is certainly true that, as Perry Miller once put it, the real life of Jonathan Edwards is the life of a mind, the circumstances surrounding Edwards's career are not \\ ithout their drama, and his rise to eminence and fall from power remain one of the most moving stories in American literature. Edwards was born in East Windsor, Connecticut, a town not far from Hartford, the son of the Reverend Timothy Edwards and Esther Stoddard Edwards. There was little doubt from the beginning as to his career. Edwards's mother was the daughter of the Reverend Solomon Stoddard of Northampton, Massachusetts, one of the most influential and independent figures in the religious life of New England. Western Massachusetts clergymen were so anxious for his approval that he was sometimes called the "Pope of the Connecticut Valley," and his gifted grandson, the only male child in a family of eleven children, was groomed to be his heir. Edwards was a studious and dutiful child and from an early age showed remarkablegifts of observation and exposition. When he was eleven he wrote an essay on the flying spider, which is still very readable. Most of Edwards's early education was at home. In 1716, when he was thirteen, Edwards was admitted to Yale College; he stayed on to read theology in New Haven for two years after his graduation in 1720. Like Benjamin Franklin, Edwards determined to perfect himself, and in one of his early notebooks he resolved "never to lose one moment of time, but to improve it in the most profitable way" he could. As a student he always rose at four in the morning, studied thirteen hours a day, and reserved part of each day for walking. It was a routine that Edwards varied little, even when, after spending two years in New York, he came to Northampton to assist his grandfather in his church.^He married in 1727. In 1729 Solomon Stoddard died, and Edwards was named to succeed him. In the twenty-four years that Edwards lived in Northampton he managed to tend his duties as pastor of a growing congregation and deliver brilliant sermons, to write some of his most important books—concerned primarily with defining the nature of true religious experience—and watch his eleven children grow up. Until the mid-1740s his relations with the town were harmonious. In spite of the awesome—even imposing—quality of Edwards's mind, all of his work is of a piece and, in essence, readily graspable. Edwards was trying to restore to his congregation and to his readers that original sense of religious commitment that he felt had been lost since the first days of the Puritan exodus, and he wanted to do this by transforming his congregation from mere believers who understood the logic of Christian doctrine to converted Christians who were genuinely moved by the principles of their belief. Edwards says that he read the work of the English philosopher John Locke (1632—1704) with more pleasure "than the greedy miser finds when gathering up handfuls of silver and gold, from some newly discovered treasure." For Locke confirmed Edwards's conviction that we must do more than comprehend religious ideas; we must be moved by them, we must know them experientially: the difference, as he says, is like that between reading the word fire and actually being burned. Basic to this newly felt belief is the recognition that nothing that an individual can do warrants his or her salvation—that people are motivated entirely by self-love, and that it is only supernatural grace that alters their natural depravity. In his progress as a Christian, Edwards says that he experienced several steps toward conversion but that his true conversion came only when he had achieved a "full and constant sense of the absolute sovereignty of God, and a delight in that sovereignty." The word delight reminds us that Edwards is trying to inculcate and describe a religious feeling that approximates a physical sensation, recognizing always that supernatural feelings and natural ones are actually very different. The word links him to the transatlantic community of those who recognized sentiment as the basic emotion that connects indi-

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viduals to each other in manifold ways. In his patient and lucid prose Edwards became a master at the art of persuading his congregation that it could—and must—possess this intense awareness of humanity's precarious condition. The exaltation that his parishioners felt when they experienced delight in God's sovereignty was the characteristic fervid emotion of religious revivalism. For fifteen years, beginning in 1734, this spirit of revivalism transformed complacent believers all along the eastern seaboard. This period of new religious fervor has been called the "Great Awakening," and in its early years Edwards could do no wrong. His meetinghouse was filled with newly converted believers, and the details of the spiritual life of Edwards and his congregation were the subject of inquiry by Christian believers everywhere as his works describing his own experience in the revivals were widely published and distributed in a period of expanding print culture. But in his attempt to restore the church to the position of authority it held in the years of his grandfather's reign, Edwards went too far. When he named backsliders from his pulpit—including members of the best families in town—and tried to return to the old order of communion, permitting the sacrament to be taken only by those who had publicly declared themselves to be saved, the people of the town turned against him. Residents of the Connecticut Valley everywhere were tired of religious controversy, and the hysterical behavior of a few fanatics turned many against the spirit of revivalism. On June 22, 1750, by a vote of two hundred to twenty, Edwards was dismissed * from his church and effectively silenced. Although the congregation had difficulty naming a successor to Edwards, they preferred to have no sermons rather than let Edwards preach. For the next seven years he served as missionary to the Housatonnuck Indians in Stockbridge, Massachusetts, a town thirty-five miles to the west of Northampton. There he wrote his monumental treatises debating the doctrine of the freedom of the will and defining the nature of true virtue: "that consent, propensity and union of heart to Being in general, that is immediately exercised in a general good will." It was in Stockbridge that Edwards received, very reluctantly, a call to become president of the College of New Jersey (later called Princeton). Three months after his arrival in Princeton, Edwards died of smallpox, the result of the inoculation taken to prevent infection.

Personal Narrative1 I had a variety of c o n c e r n s a n d exercises a b o u t my soul from my c h i l d h o o d ; but h a d two m o r e r e m a r k a b l e s e a s o n s of a w a k e n i n g 2 before I met with that c h a n g e , by which I w a s b r o u g h t to t h o s e new d i s p o s i t i o n s , a n d that n e w s e n s e of things, that I h a v e s i n c e h a d . T h e first time w a s w h e n I was a boy, s o m e years b e f o r e I went to c o l l e g e , at a t i m e of r e m a r k a b l e a w a k e n i n g in my father's c o n g r e g a t i o n . I w a s then very m u c h affected* for m a n y m o n t h s , a n d c o n c e r n e d a b o u t the things of religion, a n d my soul's salvation; a n d w a s a b u n d a n t in d u t i e s . I u s e d to pray five t i m e s a day in s e c r e t , a n d to s p e n d m u c h time in religious talk with other boys; a n d u s e d to m e e t with t h e m to 1. B e c a u s e of Edwards's reference to an evening in January 1739, this essay must have been written after that date. Edwards's reasons for w riting it are not known, and it was not published in his liletime. After his death his friend Samuel Hopkins had access to his manuscripts and prepared The Life and Character of the Late Rei: Mr. Jonathan Edwards, which was published in 1765. In that volume the Personal Narrative appeared in section IV as a chapter titled "An account of his conversion.

experiences, and religious exercises, given by himself.'' T h e text here is from the Yale University Press Works of Jonathan Edwards, vol. 16, edited by George Claghorn. 2. I.e., spiritual awakenings, renewals. "Exercises": agitations. 3. Emotionally aroused, as opposed to merely understanding rationally the arguments for Christian faith.

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pray together. I e x p e r i e n c e d I know not what kind of delight in religion. M y m i n d w a s m u c h e n g a g e d in it, a n d h a d m u c h self-righteous p l e a s u r e ; a n d it w a s my delight to a b o u n d in religious d u t i e s . I, with s o m e of my s c h o o l m a t e s j o i n e d together, a n d built a b o o t h in a s w a m p , in a very secret a n d retired p l a c e , for a p l a c e of prayer. A n d b e s i d e s , I h a d particular secret p l a c e s of my own in the w o o d s , w h e r e I u s e d to retire by myself; a n d u s e d to b e from time to time m u c h affected. M y affections s e e m e d to be lively a n d easily m o v e d , a n d I s e e m e d to be in my e l e m e n t , w h e n e n g a g e d in religious d u t i e s . A n d I a m ready to think, m a n y are d e c e i v e d with s u c h affections, a n d s u c h a kind of delight, a s I then h a d in religion, a n d m i s t a k e it for g r a c e . B u t in p r o c e s s of t i m e , my convictions a n d affections w o r e off; a n d I entirely lost all t h o s e affections a n d d e l i g h t s , a n d left off s e c r e t prayer, at least as to any c o n s t a n t p e r f o r m a n c e of it; a n d returned like a d o g to his vomit, a n d went o n in ways of s i n . 4 I n d e e d , I w a s at s o m e times very u n e a s y , especially towards the latter part of the time of my b e i n g at c o l l e g e . ' Till it p l e a s e d G o d , in my last year at c o l l e g e , at a t i m e w h e n I w a s in the m i d s t of m a n y u n e a s y t h o u g h t s a b o u t the state of my s o u l , to seize m e with a p l e u r i s y ; 6 in w h i c h h e b r o u g h t m e nigh to the grave, a n d s h o o k m e over the pit of hell. B u t yet, it w a s not long after my recovery, b e f o r e I fell again into my old ways of sin. B u t G o d would not suffer m e to go on with any q u i e t n e s s ; b u t I had great a n d violent inward s t r u g g l e s : till after m a n y conflicts with wicked inclinations, a n d r e p e a t e d r e s o l u t i o n s , a n d b o n d s that I laid myself u n d e r by a kind of vows to G o d , I w a s b r o u g h t wholly to b r e a k off all former wicked ways, a n d all ways of known o u t w a r d sin; a n d to apply myself to s e e k my salvation, a n d p r a c t i c e the d u t i e s of religion: but without that kind of affection a n d delight, that I h a d formerly e x p e r i e n c e d . M y c o n c e r n now w r o u g h t m o r e by inward s t r u g g l e s a n d conflicts, a n d self-reflections. I m a d e s e e k i n g my salvation the m a i n b u s i n e s s of my life. B u t yet it s e e m s to m e , I s o u g h t after a m i s e r a b l e m a n n e r : which has m a d e m e s o m e t i m e s s i n c e to q u e s t i o n , whether ever it i s s u e d in that w h i c h w a s s a v i n g ; 7 b e i n g ready to d o u b t , whether s u c h m i s e r a b l e s e e k i n g w a s ever s u c c e e d e d . B u t yet I w a s b r o u g h t to s e e k salvation, in a m a n n e r that I never w a s b e f o r e . I felt a spirit to part with all things in the world, for an interest in C h r i s t . M y c o n c e r n c o n t i n u e d a n d prevailed, with m a n y exercising things a n d inward s t r u g g l e s ; but yet it never s e e m e d to be p r o p e r to e x p r e s s my c o n c e r n that I h a d , by the n a m e of terror. F r o m my c h i l d h o o d u p , my m i n d h a d b e e n wont to b e full of o b j e c t i o n s a g a i n s t the doctrine of G o d ' s sovereignty, in c h o o s i n g w h o m H e would to eternal life a n d rejecting w h o m h e p l e a s e d ; leaving t h e m eternally to p e r i s h , a n d be everlastingly t o r m e n t e d in hell. It u s e d to a p p e a r like a horrible d o c trine to m e . B u t I r e m e m b e r the time very well, w h e n I s e e m e d to b e c o n vinced, a n d fully satisfied, a s to this sovereignty of G o d , a n d his j u s t i c e in t h u s eternally d i s p o s i n g of m e n , a c c o r d i n g to his sovereign p l e a s u r e . B u t never c o u l d give an a c c o u n t , how, or by w h a t m e a n s , I w a s t h u s c o n v i n c e d ; not in the least i m a g i n i n g , in the time of it, nor a long time after, that there 4. "As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly" (Proverbs 2 6 . 1 1 ) . 5. Edwards was an undergraduate at Yale from 1716 to 1720 and a divinity student from 1720 to

1722. 6. A respiratory disorder. 7. I.e., truly redeeming, capable of making the penitent a "saint."

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was any extraordinary influence of G o d ' s Spirit in it: b u t only that now I s a w further, a n d my reason a p p r e h e n d e d the j u s t i c e a n d r e a s o n a b l e n e s s of it. However, my m i n d rested in it; a n d it put an end to all t h o s e cavils a n d o b j e c t i o n s , that h a d till then a b o d e with m e , all the p r e c e e d i n g part of my life. A n d there has b e e n a wonderful alteration in my m i n d , with r e s p e c t to the doctrine of G o d ' s sovereignty, from that day to this; s o that I s c a r c e ever have f o u n d so m u c h a s the rising of an objection a g a i n s t G o d ' s sovereignty, in the m o s t a b s o l u t e s e n s e , in showing mercy on w h o m he will s h o w m e r c y , a n d h a r d e n i n g a n d eternally d a m n i n g w h o m h e will. 8 G o d ' s a b s o l u t e sovereignty, a n d j u s t i c e , with r e s p e c t to salvation a n d d a m n a t i o n , is what my m i n d s e e m s to rest a s s u r e d of, a s m u c h a s of anything that I s e e with my eyes; at least it is s o at t i m e s . B u t I have oftentimes s i n c e that first conviction, h a d q u i t e a n o t h e r kind of s e n s e of G o d ' s sovereignty, than I h a d then. I have often s i n c e , not only h a d a conviction, but a delightful conviction. T h e d o c trine of G o d ' s sovereignty h a s very often a p p e a r e d , a n e x c e e d i n g p l e a s a n t , bright a n d sweet doctrine to m e : a n d a b s o l u t e sovereignty is what I love to a s c r i b e to G o d . B u t my first conviction was not with this. T h e first that I r e m e m b e r that ever I f o u n d anything of that sort of inward, sweet delight in G o d a n d divine things, that I have lived m u c h in s i n c e , w a s o n r e a d i n g t h o s e w o r d s , 1 T i m . 1 . 1 7 , " N o w u n t o the King eternal, i m m o r t a l , invisible, the only wise G o d , be h o n o r a n d glory for ever a n d ever, A m e n . " As I r e a d the w o r d s , there c a m e into my s o u l , a n d w a s as it were diffused through it, a s e n s e of the glory of the divine being, a n e w s e n s e , q u i t e different from anything I ever e x p e r i e n c e d before. Never any w o r d s of S c r i p t u r e s e e m e d to m e a s t h e s e words did. I t h o u g h t with myself, how excellent a B e i n g that w a s ; a n d how h a p p y I s h o u l d b e , if I might enjoy that G o d , a n d be w r a p t 9 u p to G o d in h e a v e n , a n d b e a s it were swallowed u p in h i m . I kept saying, a n d a s it were singing over t h e s e w o r d s of S c r i p t u r e to myself; a n d went to prayer, to pray to G o d that I might enjoy h i m ; a n d prayed in a m a n n e r quite different from what I u s e d to d o , with a n e w sort of affection. B u t it never c a m e into my t h o u g h t , that there w a s anything spiritual, or of a saving n a t u r e in this. F r o m a b o u t that t i m e , I b e g a n to have a n e w kind of a p p r e h e n s i o n s a n d ideas of C h r i s t , a n d the work of r e d e m p t i o n , a n d the glorious way of salvation by h i m . I h a d an inward, sweet s e n s e of t h e s e things, that at times c a m e into my heart; a n d my soul w a s led away in p l e a s a n t views a n d c o n t e m p l a t i o n s of t h e m . A n d my m i n d w a s greatly e n g a g e d , to s p e n d my time in r e a d i n g a n d m e d i t a t i n g on C h r i s t ; a n d the b e a u t y a n d excellency of his p e r s o n , a n d the lovely way of salvation, by free g r a c e in h i m . I f o u n d n o b o o k s s o delightful to m e , a s t h o s e that treated of t h e s e s u b j e c t s . T h o s e w o r d s ( C a n t . 2 : 1 ) u s e d to be a b u n d a n t l y with m e : "I a m the rose of S h a r o n , the lily of the valleys." T h e w o r d s s e e m e d to m e , sweetly to r e p r e s e n t , the loveliness a n d b e a u t y of J e s u s C h r i s t . A n d the whole b o o k of C a n t i c l e s ' u s e d to be p l e a s a n t to m e ; a n d 1 u s e d to be m u c h in r e a d i n g it, a b o u t that time. A n d f o u n d , from time to t i m e , a n inward s w e e t n e s s , that u s e d , a s it w e r e , to carry m e away in my c o n t e m p l a t i o n s ; in what I know not how to express o t h e r w i s e , t h a n by a c a l m , sweet a b s t r a c t i o n of soul from all the c o n c e r n s o[f] this world; a n d a kind of 8. "Therefore hath he mercy on whom he will have mercy, and whom he will be hardeneth" (Romans 9.18).

9. Lifted. 1. I.e., S o n g of Solomon.

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vision, or fixed ideas a n d i m a g i n a t i o n s , of being a l o n e in the m o u n t a i n s , or s o m e solitary w i l d e r n e s s , far from all m a n k i n d , sweetly c o n v e r s i n g with C h r i s t , a n d wrapt a n d swallowed up in G o d . T h e s e n s e I h a d of divine things, would often of a s u d d e n a s it were, kindle up a s w e e t b u r n i n g in my heart; an ardor of my soul, that I know not how to e x p r e s s . N o t long after I first b e g a n to e x p e r i e n c e t h e s e things, I gave a n a c c o u n t to my father, of s o m e things that had p a s s e d in my m i n d . I w a s pretty m u c h affected by the d i s c o u r s e we had together. And w h e n the d i s c o u r s e w a s e n d e d , I walked a b r o a d a l o n e , in a solitary p l a c e in my father's p a s t u r e , for c o n t e m p l a t i o n . A n d a s I w a s walking there, and looked u p on the sky a n d c l o u d s ; there c a m e into my m i n d , a sweet s e n s e of the glorious majesty a n d g r a c e of G o d , that I know not how to e x p r e s s . I s e e m e d to s e e t h e m both in a sweet c o n j u n c t i o n : majesty a n d m e e k n e s s j o i n e d together: it w a s a sweet a n d gentle, a n d holy majesty; a n d also a m a j e s t i c m e e k n e s s ; a n awful sweetn e s s ; a high, a n d great, a n d holy g e n t l e n e s s . After this my s e n s e of divine things gradually i n c r e a s e d , a n d b e c a m e m o r e a n d m o r e lively, a n d had m o r e of that inward s w e e t n e s s . T h e a p p e a r a n c e of everything w a s altered: there s e e m e d to b e , a s it w e r e , a c a l m , s w e e t c a s t , or a p p e a r a n c e of divine glory, in a l m o s t everything. G o d ' s excellency, his wisd o m , his purity a n d love, s e e m e d to a p p e a r in everything; in the s u n , m o o n a n d s t a r s ; in the c l o u d s , a n d b l u e sky; in the g r a s s , flowers, t r e e s ; in the water, a n d all n a t u r e ; which u s e d greatly to fix my m i n d . I often u s e d to sit a n d view the m o o n , for a long t i m e ; a n d s o in the d a y t i m e , s p e n t m u c h time in viewing the c l o u d s a n d sky, to b e h o l d the sweet glory of G o d in t h e s e things: in the m e a n t i m e , s i n g i n g forth with a low voice, my c o n t e m p l a t i o n s of the C r e a t o r a n d R e d e e m e r . And s c a r c e anything, a m o n g all the works of n a t u r e , w a s s o sweet to m e a s t h u n d e r a n d lightning. Formerly, nothing h a d b e e n s o terrible to m e . I u s e d to be a p e r s o n u n c o m m o n l y terrified with t h u n d e r : a n d it u s e d to strike m e with terror, w h e n I s a w a t h u n d e r s t o r m rising. B u t now, on the contrary, it rejoiced m e . I felt G o d at the first a p p e a r a n c e of a t h u n d e r s t o r m . And u s e d to take the opportunity at s u c h t i m e s , to fix myself to view the c l o u d s , a n d see the lightnings play, a n d hear the m a j e s tic a n d awful voice of G o d ' s t h u n d e r : which often t i m e s w a s e x c e e d i n g entertaining, leading m e to sweet c o n t e m p l a t i o n s of my great a n d glorious G o d . And while 1 viewed, u s e d to s p e n d my t i m e , a s it always s e e m e d natural to m e , to sing or c h a n t forth my m e d i t a t i o n s ; to s p e a k my t h o u g h t s in soliloq u i e s , a n d s p e a k with a s i n g i n g voice. I felt then a great satisfaction as to my g o o d e s t a t e . 2 B u t that did not content m e . 1 h a d v e h e m e n t longings of soul after G o d a n d C h r i s t , a n d after m o r e h o l i n e s s ; wherewith my heart s e e m e d to be full, a n d ready to break: which often brought to my m i n d , the w o r d s of the P s a l m i s t , P s . 1 1 9 : 2 8 , " M y soul breaketh for the longing it h a t h . " I often felt a m o u r n i n g a n d l a m e n t i n g in my heart, that I h a d not turned to G o d s o o n e r , that I might have h a d m o r e time to grow in g r a c e . M y m i n d w a s greatly fixed o n divine t h i n g s ; I w a s a l m o s t perpetually in the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of t h e m . S p e n t m o s t of my t i m e in thinking of divine things, year after year. A n d u s e d to s p e n d a b u n d a n c e of my t i m e , in walking a l o n e in the w o o d s , a n d solitary p l a c e s , for m e d i t a t i o n , soliloquy a n d prayer, a n d c o n v e r s e with G o d . A n d it w a s always my m a n n e r , 2. Condition of being.

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at s u c h t i m e s , to sing forth my c o n t e m p l a t i o n s . A n d was a l m o s t constantly in ejaculatory prayer, wherever I w a s . Prayer s e e m e d to be n a t u r a l to m e ; a s the breath, by which the inward burnings of my heart h a d vent. T h e delights which I now felt in things of religion, were of a n e x c e e d i n g different kind, from t h o s e f o r e m e n t i o n e d , that I h a d w h e n I w a s a boy. T h e y were totally of a n o t h e r kind; and what I then had no m o r e notion or idea of, than o n e born blind h a s of p l e a s a n t a n d beautiful c o l o r s . T h e y were of a m o r e inward, p u r e , s o u l - a n i m a t i n g a n d refreshing n a t u r e . T h o s e former delights, never r e a c h e d the heart; a n d did not arise from any sight of the divine excellency of the things of G o d ; or any t a s t e of the soul-satisfying, a n d life-giving g o o d , there is in t h e m . M y s e n s e of divine things s e e m e d gradually to i n c r e a s e , till I went to p r e a c h at N e w York; which w a s a b o u t a year a n d a half after they b e g a n . While I w a s there, 1 felt t h e m , very sensibly,* in a m u c h higher d e g r e e , than I h a d d o n e before. My longings after G o d a n d h o l i n e s s , were m u c h i n c r e a s e d . P u r e a n d h u m b l e , holy a n d heavenly Christianity, a p p e a r e d e x c e e d i n g a m i able to m e . I felt in m e a b u r n i n g desire to b e in everything a c o m p l e t e C h r i s t i a n ; a n d c o n f o r m e d to the b l e s s e d i m a g e of C h r i s t : a n d that I might live in all things, a c c o r d i n g to the p u r e , sweet a n d b l e s s e d rules of the g o s p e l . I h a d an e a g e r thirsting after p r o g r e s s in these things. M y longings after it, put m e u p o n p u r s u i n g a n d p r e s s i n g after t h e m . It w a s my c o n t i n u a l strife day a n d night, a n d c o n s t a n t inquiry, how I s h o u l d be m o r e holy, a n d live m o r e holily, a n d m o r e b e c o m i n g a child of G o d , a n d disciple of C h r i s t . I s o u g h t a n i n c r e a s e of g r a c e a n d h o l i n e s s , a n d that I might live an holy life, with vastly m o r e e a r n e s t n e s s , than ever I s o u g h t g r a c e , before I h a d it. I u s e d to b e continually e x a m i n i n g myself, a n d studying a n d contriving for likely ways a n d m e a n s , how I s h o u l d live holily, with far greater diligence a n d e a r n e s t n e s s , than ever I p u r s u e d anything in my life: but with too great a d e p e n d e n c e on my own strength, which afterwards proved a great d a m a g e to m e . M y e x p e r i e n c e h a d not then taught m e , a s it h a s d o n e s i n c e , my extreme f e e b l e n e s s a n d i m p o t e n c e , every m a n n e r of way; a n d the i n n u m e r able a n d b o t t o m l e s s d e p t h s of secret corruption a n d deceit, that there w a s in my heart. However, I went on with my e a g e r p u r s u i t after m o r e h o l i n e s s ; a n d sweet conformity to C h r i s t . T h e H e a v e n I desired w a s a h e a v e n of h o l i n e s s ; to be with G o d , a n d to s p e n d my eternity in divine love, a n d holy c o m m u n i o n with C h r i s t . M y m i n d w a s very m u c h taken u p with c o n t e m p l a t i o n s on h e a v e n , a n d the e n j o y m e n t s of t h o s e there; a n d living there in perfect h o l i n e s s , humility a n d love. A n d it u s e d at that time to a p p e a r a great part of the h a p p i n e s s of h e a v e n , that there the saints c o u l d express their love to C h r i s t . It a p p e a r e d to m e a great c l o g a n d h i n d r a n c e a n d b u r d e n to m e , that what I felt within, I c o u l d not express to G o d , a n d give vent to, as I d e s i r e d . T h e inward ardor of my soul, s e e m e d to be hindered a n d p e n t u p , a n d c o u l d not freely flame out a s it w o u l d . I u s e d often to think, how in h e a v e n , this sweet principle s h o u l d freely a n d fully vent a n d express itself. H e a v e n a p p e a r e d to m e e x c e e d i n g delightful a s a world of love. It a p p e a r e d to m e , that all h a p p i n e s s c o n s i s t e d in living in p u r e , h u m b l e , heavenly, divine love. I r e m e m b e r the t h o u g h t s I u s e d then to have of h o l i n e s s . I r e m e m b e r I 3. Feelingly. Edwards was in New York from August I 722 to April 1723, assisting at a Presbyterian church.

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then said s o m e t i m e s to myself, I do certainly know that I love h o l i n e s s , s u c h a s the g o s p e l p r e s c r i b e s . It a p p e a r e d to m e , there w a s nothing in it b u t what w a s ravishingly lovely. It a p p e a r e d to m e , to be the h i g h e s t b e a u t y a n d a m i a b l e n e s s , a b o v e all other b e a u t i e s : that it w a s a divine b e a u t y ; far p u r e r than anything here u p o n e a r t h ; a n d that everything e l s e , w a s like m i r e , filth a n d defilement, in c o m p a r i s o n of it. H o l i n e s s , a s I then wrote down s o m e of my c o n t e m p l a t i o n s on it, a p p e a r e d to m e to b e of a sweet, p l e a s a n t , c h a r m i n g , s e r e n e , c a l m n a t u r e . It s e e m e d to m e , it b r o u g h t a n inexpressible purity, b r i g h t n e s s , p e a c e f u l n e s s a n d ravi s h m e n t to the s o u l : a n d that it m a d e the soul like a field or g a r d e n of G o d , with all m a n n e r of p l e a s a n t flowers; that is all p l e a s a n t , delightful a n d u n d i s t u r b e d ; enjoying a sweet c a l m , a n d the gently vivifying b e a m s of the s u n . T h e soul of a true C h r i s t i a n , a s I then wrote my m e d i t a t i o n s , a p p e a r e d like s u c h a little white flower, a s we s e e in the s p r i n g of the year; low a n d h u m b l e on the g r o u n d , o p e n i n g its b o s o m , to receive the p l e a s a n t b e a m s of the sun's glory; rejoicing a s it were, in a c a l m r a p t u r e ; diffusing a r o u n d a sweet fragrancy; s t a n d i n g peacefully a n d lovingly, in the m i d s t of other flowers r o u n d a b o u t ; all in like m a n n e r o p e n i n g their b o s o m s , to drink in the light of the sun. T h e r e w a s no part of c r e a t u r e - h o l i n e s s , that I t h e n , a n d at other t i m e s , h a d so great a s e n s e of the loveliness of, a s humility, b r o k e n n e s s of heart a n d poverty of spirit: a n d there w a s n o t h i n g that I h a d s u c h a spirit to long for. M y heart, a s it w e r e , p a n t e d after this to lie low before G O D , a n d in the d u s t ; that I might be nothing, a n d that G o d might b e all; that I m i g h t b e c o m e a s a little c h i l d . 4 While I w a s there at N e w York, I s o m e t i m e s w a s m u c h affected with reflections on my p a s t life, c o n s i d e r i n g how late it w a s , before I b e g a n to be truly religious; a n d how wickedly I h a d lived till t h e n : a n d o n c e s o a s to w e e p a b u n d a n t l y , a n d for a c o n s i d e r a b l e time together. O n J a n u a r y 1 2 , 1 7 2 2 - 3 , 1 m a d e a s o l e m n d e d i c a t i o n of myself to G o d , a n d wrote it d o w n ; giving up myself, a n d all that I h a d to G o d ; to be for the future in no r e s p e c t my o w n ; to act a s o n e that h a d n o right to himself, in any r e s p e c t . A n d s o l e m n l y vowed to take G o d for my w h o l e portion a n d felicity; looking on n o t h i n g else a s any part of my h a p p i n e s s , nor a c t i n g a s if it w e r e : a n d his law for the c o n s t a n t rule of my o b e d i e n c e ; e n g a g i n g to fight with all my might, a g a i n s t the world, the flesh a n d the devil, to the e n d of my life. B u t have r e a s o n to be infinitely h u m b l e d , w h e n I c o n s i d e r , how m u c h I have failed of a n s w e r i n g my obligation. I h a d then a b u n d a n c e of s w e e t religious c o n v e r s a t i o n in the family w h e r e I lived, with Mr. J o h n S m i t h , a n d his p i o u s m o t h e r . M y heart w a s knit in affection to t h o s e , in w h o m were a p p e a r a n c e s of true piety; a n d I c o u l d b e a r the t h o u g h t s of no other c o m p a n i o n s , but s u c h a s were holy, a n d the disciples of the b l e s s e d J e s u s . I h a d great longings for the a d v a n c e m e n t of Christ's k i n g d o m in the world. M y secret prayer u s e d to be in great part t a k e n u p in praying for it. If I h e a r d the least hint of anything that h a p p e n e d in any part of the world, that a p p e a r e d to m e , in s o m e r e s p e c t or other, to have a favorable a s p e c t on the 4. "Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein" (Mark 10.15).

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interest of C h r i s t ' s k i n g d o m , my soul eagerly c a t c h e d at it; a n d it w o u l d m u c h a n i m a t e a n d refresh m e . I u s e d to be e a r n e s t to read public news-letters, mainly for that e n d ; to s e e if I c o u l d not find s o m e n e w s favorable to the interest of religion in the world. I very frequently u s e d to retire into a solitary p l a c e , o n the b a n k s of H u d son's River, at s o m e d i s t a n c e from the city, for c o n t e m p l a t i o n on divine things, a n d secret c o n v e r s e with G o d ; a n d h a d m a n y sweet h o u r s there. S o m e t i m e s Mr. S m i t h a n d I walked there together, to c o n v e r s e of the things of G o d ; a n d our conversation u s e d m u c h to turn on the a d v a n c e m e n t of Christ's k i n g d o m in the world, a n d the glorious things that G o d would a c c o m p l i s h for his c h u r c h in the latter days. I h a d t h e n , a n d at other t i m e s , the greatest delight in the holy S c r i p t u r e s , of any b o o k whatsoever. O f t e n t i m e s in r e a d i n g it, every word s e e m e d to t o u c h my heart. I felt a n h a r m o n y b e t w e e n s o m e t h i n g in my heart, a n d t h o s e sweet a n d powerful words. I s e e m e d often to s e e so m u c h light, exhibited by every s e n t e n c e , a n d s u c h a refreshing ravishing food c o m m u n i c a t e d , that I c o u l d not get a l o n g in reading. U s e d oftentimes to dwell long on o n e s e n t e n c e , to s e e the w o n d e r s c o n t a i n e d in it; a n d yet a l m o s t every s e n t e n c e s e e m e d to be full of w o n d e r s . I c a m e away from N e w York in the m o n t h of April 1 7 2 3 , a n d h a d a m o s t bitter parting with M a d a m S m i t h a n d her s o n . M y heart s e e m e d to sink within m e , at leaving the family a n d city, w h e r e I h a d enjoyed s o m a n y sweet a n d p l e a s a n t days. I went from N e w York to W e a t h e r s f i e l d 5 by water. A s I sailed away, I kept sight of the city a s long a s I c o u l d ; a n d w h e n I w a s out of sight of it, it would affect m e m u c h to look that way, with a kind of m e l a n c h o l y mixed with s w e e t n e s s . However, that night after this sorrowful parting, I w a s greatly c o m f o r t e d in G o d at W e s t c h e s t e r , w h e r e we went a s h o r e to lodge: a n d h a d a p l e a s a n t time of it all the voyage to S a y b r o o k . 6 It w a s sweet to m e to think of m e e t i n g d e a r C h r i s t i a n s in h e a v e n , w h e r e we s h o u l d never part m o r e . At S a y b r o o k we went a s h o r e to lodge o n S a t u r d a y , a n d there kept s a b b a t h ; w h e r e I h a d a sweet a n d r e f r e s h i n g s e a s o n , walking a l o n e in the fields. After I c a m e h o m e to W i n d s o r , r e m a i n e d m u c h in a like f r a m e of my m i n d , a s I h a d b e e n in at N e w York; but only s o m e t i m e s felt my heart ready to sink, with the t h o u g h t s of my friends at N e w York. A n d my refuge a n d s u p p o r t was in c o n t e m p l a t i o n s on the heavenly s t a t e ; a s I find in my diary of M a y 1, 1 7 2 3 . It w a s my c o m f o r t to think of that s t a t e , w h e r e there is fulness of joy; where reigns heavenly, sweet, c a l m a n d delightful love, without alloy; w h e r e there a r e continually the d e a r e s t e x p r e s s i o n s of this love; w h e r e is the enjoym e n t of the p e r s o n s loved, without ever parting; w h e r e t h e s e p e r s o n s that a p p e a r so lovely in this world, will really be inexpressibly m o r e lovely, a n d full of love to u s . A n d how sweetly will the m u t u a l lovers j o i n t o g e t h e r to sing the p r a i s e s of G o d a n d the L a m b ! 7 H o w full will it fill u s with joy, to think, that this e n j o y m e n t , t h e s e sweet exercises will never c e a s e or c o m e to a n e n d ; but will last to all eternity! C o n t i n u e d m u c h in the s a m e f r a m e in the g e n e r a l , that I h a d b e e n in at N e w York, till I went to N e w H a v e n , to live there a s T u t o r of the C o l l e g e ; 5. Wethersfield, Connecticut, is very near his father's home in Windsor. 6. Westchester and Saybrook are in New York and

Connecticut, respectively. 7. In Revelation the symbol of Christ.

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having s o m e special s e a s o n of u n c o m m o n s w e e t n e s s : particularly o n c e at Bolton, in a j o u r n e y from B o s t o n , walking out a l o n e in the fields. After I went to N e w H a v e n , I s u n k in religion; my m i n d b e i n g diverted from my e a g e r a n d violent p u r s u i t s after h o l i n e s s , by s o m e affairs that greatly perplexed a n d d i s t r a c t e d my m i n d . In S e p t e m b e r 1 7 2 5 , w a s taken ill at N e w H a v e n ; a n d e n d e a v o r i n g to go h o m e to W i n d s o r , was s o ill at the N o r t h Village, that I c o u l d go no further: w h e r e I lay sick for a b o u t a q u a r t e r of a year. And in this s i c k n e s s , G o d w a s p l e a s e d to visit m e again with the sweet influences of his spirit. M y mind was greatly e n g a g e d there on divine, p l e a s a n t c o n t e m p l a t i o n s , a n d longings of s o u l . I observed that t h o s e w h o w a t c h e d with m e , would often be looking o u t for the m o r n i n g , a n d s e e m e d to wish for it. W h i c h b r o u g h t to my mind t h o s e words of the P s a l m i s t , which my s o u l with s w e e t n e s s m a d e its own l a n g u a g e , " M y soul waiteth for the L o r d m o r e than they that w a t c h for the morning: I say, m o r e than they that w a t c h for the m o r n i n g " [Ps. 1 3 0 : 6 ] . 8 And when the light of the m o r n i n g c a m e , a n d the b e a m s of the s u n c a m e in at the windows, it refreshed my soul from o n e m o r n i n g to a n o t h e r . It s e e m e d to m e to be s o m e i m a g e of the sweet light of G o d ' s glory. I r e m e m b e r , a b o u t that t i m e , I u s e d greatly to long for the c o n v e r s i o n of s o m e that I w a s c o n c e r n e d with. It s e e m e d to m e , I c o u l d gladly h o n o r t h e m , a n d with delight be a servant to t h e m , a n d lie at their feet, if they were but truly holy. B u t s o m e t i m e after this, I w a s again greatly diverted in my m i n d , with s o m e t e m p o r a l c o n c e r n s , that exceedingly took u p my t h o u g h t s , greatly to the w o u n d i n g of my soul: a n d went on t h r o u g h various e x e r c i s e s , that it would be t e d i o u s to relate, that g a v e m e m u c h m o r e e x p e r i e n c e of my own heart, than ever I h a d before. S i n c e I c a m e to this town, I have often h a d sweet c o m p l a c e n c y 9 in G o d in views of his glorious p e r f e c t i o n s , a n d the excellency of J e s u s C h r i s t . G o d has a p p e a r e d to m e , a glorious a n d lovely b e i n g , chiefly o n the a c c o u n t of his holiness. T h e holiness of G o d has always a p p e a r e d to m e the m o s t lovely of all his a t t r i b u t e s . T h e d o c t r i n e s of G o d ' s a b s o l u t e sovereignty, a n d free g r a c e , in s h o w i n g mercy to w h o m he would s h o w m e r c y ; a n d m a n ' s a b s o l u t e d e p e n d e n c e on the o p e r a t i o n s of G o d ' s Holy Spirit, have very often a p p e a r e d to m e as sweet a n d glorious d o c t r i n e s . T h e s e d o c t r i n e s have b e e n m u c h my delight. G o d ' s sovereignty has ever a p p e a r e d to m e , a s great part of his glory. It has often b e e n sweet to m e to go to G o d , a n d a d o r e him a s a sovereign G o d , a n d a s k sovereign mercy of h i m . I have loved the doctrines of the g o s p e l : they have b e e n to my soul like green p a s t u r e s . T h e g o s p e l h a s s e e m e d to m e to b e the richest t r e a s u r e ; the t r e a s u r e that I have m o s t d e s i r e d , a n d longed that it might dwell richly in m e . T h e way of salvation by C h r i s t , h a s a p p e a r e d in a g e n e r a l way, g l o r i o u s a n d excellent, a n d m o s t p l e a s a n t a n d beautiful. It has often s e e m e d to m e , that it would in a great m e a s u r e spoil h e a v e n , to receive it in any other way. T h a t text has often b e e n affecting a n d delightful to m e , Is. 3 2 : 2 , "A m a n shall be an hiding p l a c e from the wind, a n d a covert from the t e m p e s t , " e t c . It h a s often a p p e a r e d sweet to m e , to be u n i t e d to C h r i s t ; to have him for 8. Psalm 130.6. 9. Contentment. "This town": Northampton, Massachusetts, where, in 1726, Edwards c a m e to

help his grandfather in conducting the affairs of his parish.

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my h e a d , a n d to be a m e m b e r of his body: a n d also to have C h r i s t for my t e a c h e r a n d p r o p h e t . I very often think with s w e e t n e s s a n d longings a n d p a n t i n g s of soul, of being a little child, taking hold of C h r i s t , to be led by him through the wilderness of this world. T h a t text, M a t t . 18 at the beginning, has often b e e n sweet to m e , " E x c e p t ye be c o n v e r t e d , a n d b e c o m e a s little c h i l d r e n , " etc. 1 love to think of c o m i n g to C h r i s t , to receive salvation of him, poor in spirit, a n d q u i t e empty of self; h u m b l y exalting him a l o n e ; cut entirely off from my own root, a n d to grow into, a n d out of C h r i s t : to have G o d in C h r i s t to be all in all; a n d to live by faith in the S o n of G o d , a life of h u m b l e , unfeigned c o n f i d e n c e in him. T h a t S c r i p t u r e h a s often b e e n sweet to m e , P s . 1 1 5 : 1 , " N o t unto u s , O L o r d , not u n t o u s , but u n t o thy n a m e give glory, for thy mercy, a n d for thy truth's s a k e . " A n d t h o s e words of C h r i s t , L u k e 1 0 : 2 1 , "In that h o u r J e s u s rejoiced in spirit, a n d said, I thank thee, O F a t h e r , L o r d of h e a v e n a n d earth, that thou hast hid t h e s e things from the wise a n d p r u d e n t , a n d hast revealed t h e m u n t o b a b e s : even s o F a t h e r , for s o it s e e m e d g o o d in thy s i g h t . " T h a t sovereignty of G o d that Christ rejoiced in, s e e m e d to m e to be worthy to be rejoiced in; a n d that rejoicing of C h r i s t , s e e m e d to m e to s h o w the excellency of C h r i s t , a n d the spirit that he w a s of. S o m e t i m e s only m e n t i o n i n g a single word, c a u s e s my heart to burn within m e : or only s e e i n g the n a m e of C h r i s t , or the n a m e of s o m e attribute of G o d . And G o d has a p p e a r e d glorious to m e , on a c c o u n t of the Trinity. It has m a d e me have exalting t h o u g h t s of G o d , that he s u b s i s t s in t h r e e p e r s o n s ; F a t h e r , S o n , a n d Holy G h o s t . T h e sweetest joys a n d delights I have e x p e r i e n c e d , have not b e e n t h o s e that have arisen from a h o p e of my own good e s t a t e ; but in a direct view of the glorious things of the gospel. W h e n I enjoy this s w e e t n e s s , it s e e m s to carry m e a b o v e the t h o u g h t s of my own safe e s t a t e . It s e e m s at s u c h t i m e s a loss that I c a n n o t bear, to take off my eye from the g l o r i o u s , p l e a s a n t object I behold without m e , to turn my eye in u p o n myself, a n d my own g o o d e s t a t e . M y heart has b e e n m u c h on the a d v a n c e m e n t of C h r i s t ' s k i n g d o m in the world. T h e histories of the past a d v a n c e m e n t of C h r i s t ' s k i n g d o m , have b e e n sweet to m e . W h e n I have read histories of p a s t a g e s , the p l e a s a n t e s t thing in all my reading h a s b e e n , to read of the k i n g d o m of C h r i s t b e i n g p r o m o t e d . And when I have e x p e c t e d in my reading, to c o m e to any s u c h thing, I have lotted 1 u p o n it all the way a s I read. A n d my m i n d has b e e n m u c h e n t e r t a i n e d a n d delighted, with the S c r i p t u r e p r o m i s e s a n d p r o p h e c i e s , of the future glorious a d v a n c e m e n t of Christ's k i n g d o m on e a r t h . I have s o m e t i m e s had a s e n s e of the excellent fullness of C h r i s t , a n d his m e e t n e s s a n d s u i t a b l e n e s s a s a Savior; whereby h e h a s a p p e a r e d to m e , far above all, the chief of ten t h o u s a n d s . 2 A n d his blood a n d a t o n e m e n t has a p p e a r e d sweet, a n d his r i g h t e o u s n e s s s w e e t ; which is always a c c o m p a n i e d with an a r d e n c y of spirit, a n d inward strugglings a n d b r e a t h i n g s a n d g r o a n ings, that c a n n o t be uttered, to be e m p t i e d of myself, a n d swallowed u p in Christ. O n c e , a s I rid out into the woods for my health, anno* 1 7 3 7 ; a n d having lit from my h o r s e in a retired p l a c e , a s my m a n n e r c o m m o n l y h a s b e e n , to 1. Rejoiced. 2. "My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest

among ten thousand" (Song of Solomon 5 . 1 0 ) . 5. In the year (Latin).

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walk for divine c o n t e m p l a t i o n a n d prayer; I h a d a view, that for m e w a s extraordinary, of the glory of the S o n of G o d ; a s m e d i a t o r b e t w e e n G o d a n d m a n ; a n d his wonderful, great, full, p u r e a n d sweet g r a c e a n d love, a n d m e e k a n d gentle c o n d e s c e n s i o n . T h i s g r a c e , that a p p e a r e d to m e s o c a l m a n d sweet, a p p e a r e d great a b o v e the h e a v e n s . T h e p e r s o n of C h r i s t a p p e a r e d ineffably excellent, with a n excellency great e n o u g h to swallow u p all thought a n d c o n c e p t i o n . W h i c h c o n t i n u e d , a s n e a r as I c a n j u d g e , a b o u t an hour; which kept m e , the bigger part of the t i m e , in a flood of t e a r s , a n d w e e p i n g a l o u d . I felt withal, a n a r d e n c y of soul to b e , w h a t I k n o w not otherwise how to express, than to be e m p t i e d a n d a n n i h i l a t e d ; to lie in the d u s t , a n d to b e full of C h r i s t a l o n e ; to love him with a holy a n d p u r e love; to trust in h i m ; to live u p o n him; to serve a n d follow h i m , a n d to b e totally wrapt u p in the fullness of C h r i s t ; a n d to b e perfectly sanctified a n d m a d e p u r e , with a divine a n d heavenly purity. I have several other t i m e s , h a d views very m u c h of the s a m e n a t u r e , a n d that have h a d the s a m e effects. I have m a n y t i m e s h a d a s e n s e of the glory of the third p e r s o n in the Trinity, in his office of Sanctifier; in his holy o p e r a t i o n s c o m m u n i c a t i n g divine light a n d life to the s o u l . G o d in the c o m m u n i c a t i o n s of his Holy Spirit, h a s a p p e a r e d as an infinite fountain of divine glory a n d s w e e t n e s s ; b e i n g full a n d sufficient to fill a n d satisfy the s o u l : p o u r i n g forth itself in sweet c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , like the s u n in its glory, sweetly a n d p l e a s a n t l y diffusing light a n d life. I have s o m e t i m e s h a d a n affecting s e n s e of the excellency of the word of G o d , a s a word of life; a s the light of life; a s w e e t , excellent, life-giving word: a c c o m p a n i e d with a thirsting after that word, that it might dwell richly in my heart. I have often s i n c e I lived in this town, h a d very affecting views of my own sinfulness a n d vileness; very frequently so a s to hold m e in a kind of loud w e e p i n g , s o m e t i m e s for a c o n s i d e r a b l e time together: s o that I have often b e e n forced to s h u t myself u p . 4 I have h a d a vastly greater s e n s e of my w i c k e d n e s s , a n d the b a d n e s s of my heart, s i n c e my c o n v e r s i o n , t h a n ever I h a d before. It h a s often a p p e a r e d to m e , that if G o d s h o u l d m a r k iniquity a g a i n s t m e , I s h o u l d a p p e a r the very worst of all m a n k i n d ; of all that have b e e n s i n c e the b e g i n n i n g of the world of this t i m e : a n d that I s h o u l d have by far the lowest p l a c e in hell. W h e n others that have c o m e to talk with m e a b o u t their soul c o n c e r n s , have e x p r e s s e d the s e n s e they have h a d of their own w i c k e d n e s s , by saying that it s e e m e d to t h e m , that they were a s b a d a s the devil himself; I t h o u g h t their e x p r e s s i o n s s e e m e d e x c e e d i n g faint a n d feeble, to r e p r e s e n t my w i c k e d n e s s . I t h o u g h t I s h o u l d w o n d e r , that they s h o u l d c o n t e n t t h e m s e l v e s with s u c h e x p r e s s i o n s a s t h e s e , if I h a d any r e a s o n to i m a g i n e , that their sin b o r e any proportion to m i n e . It s e e m e d to m e , I s h o u l d w o n d e r at myself, if I s h o u l d e x p r e s s my w i c k e d n e s s in s u c h f e e b l e t e r m s a s they did. M y w i c k e d n e s s , a s I a m in myself, h a s long a p p e a r e d to m e perfectly ineffable, a n d infinitely swallowing u p all t h o u g h t a n d i m a g i n a t i o n ; like a n infinite d e l u g e , or infinite m o u n t a i n s over my h e a d . I k n o w not how to e x p r e s s better, what my sins a p p e a r to m e to b e , than by h e a p i n g infinite u p o n infinite, a n d multiplying infinite by infinite. I go a b o u t very often, for this m a n y 4. I.e., retire to his study.

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years, with t h e s e e x p r e s s i o n s in my m i n d , a n d in my m o u t h , "Infinite u p o n infinite. Infinite u p o n infinite!" W h e n I look into my heart, a n d take a view of my w i c k e d n e s s , it looks like a n a b y s s infinitely d e e p e r t h a n hell. A n d it a p p e a r s to m e , that were it not for free g r a c e , exalted a n d r a i s e d u p to the infinite height of all the fullness a n d glory of the great J e h o v a h , 5 a n d the a r m of his power a n d g r a c e s t r e t c h e d forth, in all the m a j e s t y of his p o w e r , a n d in all the glory of his sovereignty; I s h o u l d a p p e a r s u n k d o w n in my sins infinitely below hell itself, far beyond sight of everything, b u t the p i e r c i n g eye of G o d ' s g r a c e , that c a n p i e r c e even down to s u c h a d e p t h , a n d to the b o t t o m of s u c h a n a b y s s . A n d yet, I ben't in the least inclined to think, that I have a greater conviction of sin than ordinary. It s e e m s to m e , my conviction of sin is e x c e e d i n g small, a n d faint. It a p p e a r s to m e e n o u g h to a m a z e m e , that I have no m o r e s e n s e of my sin. I know certainly, that I have very little s e n s e of my s i n f u l n e s s . T h a t my sins a p p e a r to m e so great, don't s e e m to m e to b e , b e c a u s e I have so m u c h m o r e conviction of sin than other C h r i s t i a n s , b u t b e c a u s e I a m s o m u c h w o r s e , a n d have so m u c h m o r e w i c k e d n e s s to b e c o n v i n c e d of. W h e n I have h a d t h e s e turns of w e e p i n g a n d crying for my s i n s , I t h o u g h t I k n e w in the time of it, that my r e p e n t a n c e w a s n o t h i n g to my sin. I have greatly longed of late, for a b r o k e n heart, a n d to lie low before G o d . A n d w h e n I a s k for humility of G o d , I can't b e a r the t h o u g h t s of b e i n g no m o r e h u m b l e , than other C h r i s t i a n s . It s e e m s to m e , that t h o u g h their d e g r e e s of humility m a y be s u i t a b l e for t h e m ; yet it would b e a vile selfexaltation in m e , not to be the lowest in humility of all m a n k i n d . O t h e r s s p e a k of their longing to be h u m b l e d to the d u s t . T h o u g h that m a y b e a p r o p e r expression for t h e m , I always think for myself, that I o u g h t to be h u m b l e d d o w n below hell. 'Tis a n expression that it h a s long b e e n n a t u r a l for m e to u s e in prayer to G o d . I o u g h t to lie infinitely low before G o d . It is affecting to m e to think, how ignorant I w a s , w h e n I w a s a y o u n g C h r i s t i a n , of the b o t t o m l e s s , infinite d e p t h s of w i c k e d n e s s , p r i d e , hypocrisy a n d deceit left in my heart. I have vastly a greater s e n s e , of my universal, e x c e e d i n g d e p e n d e n c e o n G o d ' s g r a c e a n d s t r e n g t h , a n d m e r e g o o d p l e a s u r e , of late, t h a n I u s e d formerly to h a v e ; a n d have e x p e r i e n c e d m o r e of a n a b h o r r e n c e of my own righte o u s n e s s . T h e t h o u g h t of any c o m f o r t or joy, arising in m e , on a n y c o n s i d e r a t i o n , or reflection on my own a m i a b l e n e s s , or any of my p e r f o r m a n c e s or e x p e r i e n c e s , or any g o o d n e s s of heart or life, is n a u s e o u s a n d detestable to m e . A n d yet I a m greatly afflicted with a p r o u d a n d self-righteous spirit; m u c h m o r e sensibly, than I u s e d to be formerly. I s e e that s e r p e n t rising a n d p u t t i n g forth its h e a d , continually, everywhere, all a r o u n d m e . T h o u g h it s e e m s to m e , that in s o m e r e s p e c t s I was a far better C h r i s t i a n , for two or three years after my first c o n v e r s i o n , than I a m now; a n d lived in a m o r e c o n s t a n t delight a n d p l e a s u r e : yet of late years, I have h a d a m o r e full a n d c o n stant s e n s e of the a b s o l u t e sovereignty of G o d , a n d a delight in that sovereignty; a n d have h a d m o r e of a s e n s e of the glory of C h r i s t , a s a m e d i a t o r , as revealed in the G o s p e l . O n o n e S a t u r d a y night in particular, h a d a p a r t i c u l a r discovery of the excellency of the g o s p e l of C h r i s t , a b o v e all other d o c t r i n e s ; s o that I c o u l d not b u t say to myself; " T h i s is my c h o s e n light, my c h o s e n d o c 5. T h e name used for God in the Old Testament.

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trine": a n d of C h r i s t , " T h i s is my c h o s e n p r o p h e t . " It a p p e a r e d to m e to b e sweet beyond all e x p r e s s i o n , to follow C h r i s t , a n d to b e t a u g h t a n d e n l i g h t e n e d a n d instructed by h i m ; to learn of h i m , a n d live to h i m . A n o t h e r S a t u r d a y night, J a n u a r y 1 7 3 8 - 9 , had s u c h a s e n s e , how sweet a n d b l e s s e d a thing it w a s , to walk in the way of duty, to d o that which w a s right a n d m e e t to be d o n e , a n d a g r e e a b l e to the holy m i n d of G o d ; that it c a u s e d m e to b r e a k forth into a kind of a loud w e e p i n g , which held m e s o m e t i m e ; so that I w a s forced to s h u t myself u p , a n d fasten the d o o r s . I c o u l d not but a s it were cry out, " H o w happy are they which do that which is right in the sight of G o d ! T h e y are b l e s s e d i n d e e d , they are the h a p p y o n e s ! " I h a d at the s a m e t i m e , a very affecting s e n s e , how m e e t a n d s u i t a b l e it was that G o d s h o u l d govern the world, a n d order all things a c c o r d i n g to his own p l e a s u r e ; a n d I rejoiced in it, that G o d reigned, a n d that his will w a s d o n e .

c. 1 7 4 0

1765

A Divine and Supernatural Light1 IMMEDIATELY

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Matthew

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16.17

And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona;2 for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, hut my Father which is in heaven.

C h r i s t a d d r e s s e s t h e s e words to Peter u p o n o c c a s i o n of his p r o f e s s i n g his faith in H i m a s the S o n of G o d . O u r L o r d w a s i n q u i r i n g of H i s d i s c i p l e s , w h o m m e n said that H e w a s ; not that H e n e e d e d to b e i n f o r m e d , but only to i n t r o d u c e a n d give o c c a s i o n to what follows. T h e y a n s w e r that s o m e s a i d H e was J o h n the B a p t i s t , a n d s o m e E l i a s , a n d o t h e r s J e r e m i a s , or o n e of the p r o p h e t s . * W h e n they h a d t h u s given an a c c o u n t w h o m others said that H e w a s , C h r i s t a s k s t h e m , w h o m they said that H e w a s ? S i m o n Peter, w h o m w e find always z e a l o u s a n d forward, w a s the first to a n s w e r : he readily replied to the q u e s t i o n , T h o u art C h r i s t , the S o n of the living G o d . U p o n this o c c a s i o n , C h r i s t says as H e d o e s to him a n d of him in the text: in which we m a y o b s e r v e . 1. T h a t Peter is p r o n o u n c e d b l e s s e d on this a c c o u n t . — B l e s s e d art t h o u — " T h o u art a n happy m a n , that thou art not ignorant of this, that I a m C h r i s t , the S o n of the living G o d . T h o u art distinguishingly h a p p y . O t h e r s are blinded, a n d have dark a n d d e l u d e d a p p r e h e n s i o n s , a s you have now given a n a c c o u n t , s o m e thinking that I a m E l i a s , a n d s o m e that I a m J e r e m i a s , a n d s o m e o n e thing, a n d s o m e a n o t h e r : but n o n e of t h e m thinking right, all of t h e m are m i s l e d . H a p p y art t h o u , that art s o d i s t i n g u i s h e d a s to k n o w the truth in this m a t t e r . " I. Edwards delivered this sermon in Northampton, Massachusetts, in 1733; it was published the following year at the request of his congregation. T h e text here is from The Works of Jonathan Edwards ( 1 8 2 9 - 3 0 ) . vol. 6, edited by Sereno E.

Dwight. 2. T h e apostle Peter (Simon, son of J o n a ) . 3. Matthew 16.14. Elias is the name used in the New Testament lor the prophet Elijah.

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2. T h e e v i d e n c e of this his h a p p i n e s s d e c l a r e d , viz., T h a t G o d , a n d H e only, h a d revealed it to h i m . T h i s is a n e v i d e n c e of his being b l e s s e d . First. As it s h o w s how peculiarly favored he was of G o d a b o v e o t h e r s ; q . d . , 4 " H o w highly favored art t h o u , that o t h e r s , wise a n d great m e n , the s c r i b e s , Pharisees, 1 1 a n d rulers, a n d the nation in g e n e r a l , are left in d a r k n e s s , to follow their own m i s g u i d e d a p p r e h e n s i o n s ; a n d that thou s h o u l d s t be singled out, a s it w e r e , by n a m e , that M y heavenly F a t h e r s h o u l d t h u s set His love on thee, S i m o n B a r - j o n a . — T h i s a r g u e s t h e e b l e s s e d , that thou s h o u l d s t t h u s b e the object of G o d ' s d i s t i n g u i s h i n g love." S e c o n d l y . It e v i d e n c e s his b l e s s e d n e s s a l s o , a s it i n t i m a t e s that this knowle d g e is a b o v e any that flesh a n d blood c a n reveal. " T h i s is s u c h k n o w l e d g e as only my F a t h e r which is in heaven c a n give. It is too high a n d excellent to be c o m m u n i c a t e d by s u c h m e a n s a s other k n o w l e d g e is. T h o u art b l e s s e d , that thou knowest what G o d a l o n e c a n t e a c h t h e e . " T h e original of this k n o w l e d g e is here d e c l a r e d , both negatively a n d p o s itively. Positively, a s G o d is here d e c l a r e d the a u t h o r of it. Negatively, a s it is d e c l a r e d , that flesh a n d blood h a d not revealed it. G o d is the a u t h o r of all knowledge a n d u n d e r s t a n d i n g whatsoever. H e is the a u t h o r of all moral prud e n c e , a n d of the skill that m e n have in their s e c u l a r b u s i n e s s . T h u s it is said of all in Israel that were wise-hearted a n d skilled in e m b r o i d e r i n g , that G o d h a d filled t h e m with the spirit of w i s d o m . E x o d u s 2 8 . 3 . ' ' G o d is the a u t h o r of s u c h k n o w l e d g e ; yet so that flesh a n d blood reveals it. M o r t a l m e n are c a p a b l e of i m p a r t i n g the k n o w l e d g e of h u m a n arts a n d s c i e n c e s , a n d skill in t e m p o r a l affairs. G o d is the a u t h o r of s u c h k n o w l e d g e by t h o s e m e a n s : flesh a n d blood is e m p l o y e d a s the m e d i a t e or s e c o n d c a u s e of it; H e conveys it by the power a n d influence of natural m e a n s . B u t this spiritual knowledge, s p o k e n of in the text, is what G o d is the a u t h o r of, a n d n o n e else: H e reveals it, a n d flesh a n d blood reveals it not. H e i m p a r t s this knowledge immediately, not m a k i n g u s e of any i n t e r m e d i a t e natural c a u s e s , as H e d o e s in other k n o w l e d g e . W h a t had p a s s e d in the p r e c e d i n g d i s c o u r s e naturally o c c a s i o n e d C h r i s t to observe this; b e c a u s e the disciples had b e e n telling how others did not know H i m , but were generally m i s t a k e n a b o u t him, divided a n d c o n f o u n d e d in their o p i n i o n s of H i m : but Peter h a d d e c l a r e d his a s s u r e d faith, that H e w a s the S o n of G o d . N o w it w a s natural to observe how it w a s not flesh a n d blood that h a d revealed it to him, but G o d ; for if this k n o w l e d g e w e r e d e p e n d ent on natural c a u s e s or m e a n s , how c a m e it to p a s s that they, a c o m p a n y of poor fishermen, illiterate m e n , a n d p e r s o n s of low e d u c a t i o n , attained to the k n o w l e d g e of the truth, while the S c r i b e s a n d P h a r i s e e s , m e n of vastly higher a d v a n t a g e s , a n d greater k n o w l e d g e a n d sagacity, in other m a t t e r s , r e m a i n e d in i g n o r a n c e ? T h i s c o u l d be owing only to the g r a c i o u s d i s t i n g u i s h ing influence a n d revelation of the Spirit of G o d . H e n c e , what I would m a k e the s u b j e c t of my p r e s e n t d i s c o u r s e from t h e s e w o r d s , is this:

4. I.e., quasi dicat; as if he should say (Latin). 5. A sect hostile to J e s u s and known for their arrogance and pride (Matthew 9.9—13). "Scribes": interpreters of the Jewish law.

6. this passage Irom Exodus refers to God's command to the people ol Israel to make proper garments for Aaron's priesthood.

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Doctrine T h a t there is s u c h a thing as a spiritual a n d divine light, i m m e d i a t e l y i m p a r t e d to the soul by G o d , of a different n a t u r e from any that is o b t a i n e d by natural m e a n s . A n d on this s u b j e c t I w o u l d , I. S h o w what this divine light is. II. H o w it is given i m m e d i a t e l y by G o d , a n d not o b t a i n e d by n a t u r a l means. III. S h o w the truth of the d o c t r i n e . A n d then c o n c l u d e with a brief i m p r o v e m e n t . 7 r

I. I would s h o w what this spiritual a n d divine light is. A n d in order to it would show, First, In a few things, w h a t it is not. A n d h e r e , 1. T h o s e convictions that n a t u r a l m e n m a y have of their sin a n d misery, is not this spiritual a n d divine light. M e n , in a n a t u r a l c o n d i t i o n , m a y have convictions of the guilt that lies u p o n t h e m , a n d of the a n g e r of G o d , a n d their d a n g e r of divine v e n g e a n c e . S u c h c o n v i c t i o n s are from the light of truth. T h a t s o m e s i n n e r s have a greater conviction of their guilt a n d misery than others is b e c a u s e s o m e have m o r e light, or m o r e of a n a p p r e h e n s i o n of truth than o t h e r s . A n d this light a n d conviction m a y be from the Spirit of G o d ; the Spirit c o n v i n c e s m e n of sin; b u t yet n a t u r e is m u c h m o r e c o n c e r n e d in it than in the c o m m u n i c a t i o n of that spiritual a n d divine light that is s p o k e n of in the d o c t r i n e ; it is from the Spirit of G o d only a s a s s i s t i n g natural principles, a n d not a s i n f u s i n g any n e w p r i n c i p l e s . C o m m o n g r a c e differs from s p e c i a l in that it i n f l u e n c e s only by a s s i s t i n g of n a t u r e , a n d not by i m p a r t i n g g r a c e , or b e s t o w i n g a n y t h i n g a b o v e n a t u r e . T h e light that is o b t a i n e d is wholly natural, or of no s u p e r i o r kind to w h a t m e r e n a t u r e attains to, t h o u g h m o r e of that kind be o b t a i n e d than w o u l d b e o b t a i n e d if m e n were left wholly to t h e m s e l v e s ; or, in other w o r d s , c o m m o n g r a c e only a s s i s t s the faculties of the soul to d o that m o r e fully w h i c h they do by n a t u r e , a s natural c o n s c i e n c e or r e a s o n will by m e r e n a t u r e m a k e a m a n s e n s i b l e of guilt, a n d will a c c u s e a n d c o n d e m n him w h e n h e h a s d o n e a m i s s . C o n s c i e n c e is a principle natural to m e n ; a n d the work that it doth naturally, or of itself, is to give an a p p r e h e n s i o n of right a n d wrong, a n d to s u g g e s t to the m i n d the relation that there is b e t w e e n right a n d w r o n g a n d a retribution. T h e Spirit of G o d , in t h o s e c o n v i c t i o n s w h i c h u n r e g e n e r a t e m e n 8 s o m e t i m e s h a v e , a s s i s t s c o n s c i e n c e to d o this work in a further d e g r e e t h a n it w o u l d d o if they were left to t h e m s e l v e s . H e helps it a g a i n s t t h o s e things that t e n d to stupify it, a n d o b s t r u c t its e x e r c i s e . B u t in the r e n e w i n g a n d sanctifying work of the Holy G h o s t , t h o s e things are w r o u g h t in the soul that a r e a b o v e n a t u r e , a n d of which there is n o t h i n g of the like kind in the soul by n a t u r e ; a n d they are c a u s e d to exist in the soul habitually, a n d a c c o r d i n g to s u c h a s t a t e d c o n s t i t u t i o n or law, that lays s u c h a f o u n d a t i o n for e x e r c i s e s in a c o n t i n u e d c o u r s e , a s is called a principle of n a t u r e . N o t only a r e r e m a i n i n g p r i n c i p l e s a s s i s t e d to d o their work m o r e freely a n d fully, b u t t h o s e p r i n c i p l e s are 7. Literally, turning something to profit; here used in the sense of the lesson to be learned.

8. T h o s e who are not yet saved,

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restored that were utterly destroyed by the fall; a n d the m i n d t h e n c e f o r w a r d habitually exerts t h o s e a c t s that the d o m i n i o n of sin h a d m a d e it a s wholly destitute of a s a d e a d body is of vital a c t s . T h e Spirit of G o d a c t s in a very different m a n n e r in the o n e c a s e , from what H e doth in the other. H e may, i n d e e d , act u p o n the m i n d of a natural m a n , but H e a c t s in the mind of a s a i n t 9 a s an indwelling vital principle. H e acts u p o n the mind of an u n r e g e n e r a t e p e r s o n a s a n extrinsic o c c a s i o n a l a g e n t ; for, in a c t i n g u p o n t h e m , H e doth not unite h i m s e l f to t h e m : for, notwithstanding all His influences that they m a y p o s s e s s , they a r e still s e n sual, having not the Spirit. J u d e 19.' B u t H e unites himself with the m i n d of a saint, takes him for His t e m p l e , a c t u a t e s a n d influences him a s a new s u p e r n a t u r a l principle of life a n d a c t i o n . T h e r e is this difference, that the Spirit of G o d , in a c t i n g in the soul of a godly m a n , exerts a n d c o m m u n i c a t e s H i m s e l f there in His own p r o p e r n a t u r e . H o l i n e s s is the p r o p e r n a t u r e of the Spirit of G o d . T h e Holy Spirit o p e r a t e s in the m i n d s of the godly, by uniting H i m s e l f to t h e m , a n d living in t h e m , a n d exerting H i s own n a t u r e in the exercise of their faculties. T h e Spirit of G o d m a y act u p o n a c r e a t u r e , a n d yet not in a c t i n g c o m m u n i c a t e Himself. T h e Spirit of G o d may act u p o n i n a n i m a t e c r e a t u r e s , a s , the Spirit m o v e d u p o n the f a c e of the w a t e r s , 2 in the beginning of the creation; s o the Spirit of G o d m a y act u p o n the m i n d s of m e n m a n y ways, a n d c o m m u n i c a t e H i m s e l f n o m o r e than w h e n H e a c t s u p o n an i n a n i m a t e c r e a t u r e . F o r i n s t a n c e , H e may excite t h o u g h t s in t h e m , may assist their natural reason a n d u n d e r s t a n d i n g , or m a y a s s i s t other natural principles, a n d this without any union with the s o u l , b u t may a c t , a s it were, u p o n an external object. B u t a s H e a c t s in His holy influences a n d spiritual o p e r a t i o n s , H e a c t s in a way of p e c u l i a r c o m m u n i c a t i o n of Himself; so that the s u b j e c t is t h e n c e d e n o m i n a t e d spiritual. 2 . T h i s spiritual a n d divine light d o e s not c o n s i s t in any i m p r e s s i o n m a d e upon the i m a g i n a t i o n . It is no i m p r e s s i o n u p o n the m i n d , a s t h o u g h o n e s a w anything with the bodily eyes. It is no i m a g i n a t i o n or idea of a n o u t w a r d light or glory, or any b e a u t y of form or c o u n t e n a n c e , or a visible luster or brightn e s s of any object. T h e imagination may be strongly i m p r e s s e d with s u c h things; but this is not spiritual light. Indeed w h e n the m i n d h a s a lively discovery of spiritual things, a n d is greatly affected with the power of divine light, it may, a n d probably very c o m m o n l y d o t h , m u c h affect the i m a g i n a t i o n ; so that i m p r e s s i o n s of an o u t w a r d b e a u t y or brightness m a y a c c o m p a n y t h o s e spiritual discoveries. B u t spiritual light is not that i m p r e s s i o n u p o n the imagination, but an exceedingly different thing. N a t u r a l m e n may have lively i m p r e s s i o n s on their i m a g i n a t i o n s ; a n d we c a n n o t d e t e r m i n e but that the devil, w h o t r a n s f o r m s himself into an angel of light, may c a u s e i m a g i n a t i o n s of a n outward beauty, or visible glory, a n d of s o u n d s a n d s p e e c h e s , a n d other s u c h things; but t h e s e are things of a vastly inferior n a t u r e to spiritual light. 3. T h i s spiritual light is not the s u g g e s t i n g of any new truths or propositions not c o n t a i n e d in the word of G o d . T h i s s u g g e s t i n g of n e w truths or doctrines to the m i n d , i n d e p e n d e n t of any a n t e c e d e n t revelations of t h o s e 9. Here, a living Christian who has passed from mere understanding of Christ's doctrine to heartfelt commitment; such people were often called "visible saints."

1. "These be they who separate themselves, sensual, having not the Spirit." 2. Genesis 1.2.

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p r o p o s i t i o n s , either in word or writing, is inspiration; s u c h a s the p r o p h e t s a n d a p o s t l e s h a d , a n d s u c h a s s o m e e n t h u s i a s t s 3 p r e t e n d to. B u t this spiritual light that I a m s p e a k i n g of, is quite a different thing from inspiration. It reveals no n e w d o c t r i n e , it s u g g e s t s n o n e w p r o p o s i t i o n to the m i n d , it t e a c h e s no new thing of G o d , or C h r i s t , or a n o t h e r world, not t a u g h t in the B i b l e , but only gives a d u e a p p r e h e n s i o n of t h o s e things that are t a u g h t in the word of G o d . 4 . It is not every affecting view that m e n have of religious things that is this spiritual a n d divine light. M e n by m e r e p r i n c i p l e s of n a t u r e a r e c a p a b l e of b e i n g affected with things that have a s p e c i a l relation to religion a s well a s other things. A p e r s o n by m e r e n a t u r e , for i n s t a n c e , m a y b e liable to b e affected with the story of J e s u s C h r i s t , a n d the sufferings h e u n d e r w e n t , a s well a s by any other tragical story. H e m a y b e the m o r e a f f e c t e d with it from the interest h e c o n c e i v e s m a n k i n d to have in it. Yea, h e m a y b e affected with it without believing it; a s well a s a m a n m a y b e affected with what h e r e a d s in a r o m a n c e , or s e e s a c t e d in a s t a g e play. H e m a y b e affected with a lively a n d e l o q u e n t description of m a n y p l e a s a n t things that a t t e n d the state of the b l e s s e d in h e a v e n , a s well a s his i m a g i n a t i o n b e e n t e r t a i n e d by a r o m a n t i c 4 description of the p l e a s a n t n e s s of fairyland, or the like. A n d a c o m m o n belief of the truth of s u c h things, from e d u c a t i o n or o t h e r w i s e , m a y help forward their affection. W e r e a d in S c r i p t u r e of m a n y that were greatly affected with things of a religious n a t u r e , w h o yet are t h e r e r e p r e s e n t e d a s wholly g r a c e l e s s , a n d m a n y of t h e m very ill 5 m e n . A p e r s o n therefore m a y have affecting views of the things of religion, a n d yet be very d e s t i t u t e of spiritual light. F l e s h a n d blood may b e the a u t h o r of this; o n e m a n may give a n o t h e r a n affecting view of divine things with but c o m m o n a s s i s t a n c e ; but G o d a l o n e c a n give a spiritual discovery of t h e m . — B u t I p r o c e e d to show. S e c o n d l y , Positively w h a t this spiritual a n d divine light is. A n d it m a y b e t h u s d e s c r i b e d : A true s e n s e of the divine excellency of the things revealed in the word of G o d , a n d a conviction of the truth a n d reality of t h e m t h e n c e arising. T h i s spiritual light primarily c o n s i s t s in the former of t h e s e , viz., a real s e n s e a n d a p p r e h e n s i o n of the divine excellency of things revealed in the word of G o d . A spiritual a n d s a v i n g conviction of the truth a n d reality of t h e s e things, a r i s e s from s u c h a sight of their divine excellency a n d glory; s o that this conviction of their truth is a n effect a n d natural c o n s e q u e n c e of this sight of their divine glory. T h e r e is therefore in this spiritual light, 1. A true s e n s e of the divine a n d superlative excellency of the things of religion; a real s e n s e of the excellency of G o d a n d J e s u s C h r i s t , a n d of the work of r e d e m p t i o n , a n d the ways a n d works of G o d r e v e a l e d in the g o s p e l . T h e r e is a divine a n d superlative glory in t h e s e t h i n g s ; a n excellency that is of a vastly higher kind, a n d m o r e s u b l i m e n a t u r e t h a n in other t h i n g s ; a glory greatly d i s t i n g u i s h i n g t h e m from all that is earthly a n d t e m p o r a l . H e that is spiritually e n l i g h t e n e d truly a p p r e h e n d s a n d s e e s it, or h a s a s e n s e of it. H e d o e s not merely rationally believe that G o d is g l o r i o u s , b u t h e h a s a s e n s e of the g l o r i o u s n e s s of G o d in his heart. T h e r e is not only a rational belief that G o d is holy, a n d that h o l i n e s s is a g o o d thing, b u t there is a s e n s e of the 3. People who erroneously claim to be inspired by the spirit of God.

4. Fanciful, imaginary, 5. I.e., evil.

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loveliness of G o d ' s holiness. T h e r e is not only a speculatively j u d g i n g that G o d is g r a c i o u s , but a s e n s e how a m i a b l e G o d is on a c c o u n t of the b e a u t y of this divine attribute. T h e r e is a twofold knowledge of g o o d of which G o d h a s m a d e the m i n d of m a n c a p a b l e . T h e first, that which is merely notional; a s w h e n a p e r s o n only speculatively j u d g e s that anything is, which by the a g r e e m e n t of m a n kind, is called g o o d or excellent, viz., that which is m o s t to g e n e r a l a d v a n t a g e , a n d b e t w e e n which a n d a reward there is a s u i t a b l e n e s s , — a n d the like. A n d the other is, that which c o n s i s t s in the s e n s e of the heart; a s w h e n the heart is s e n s i b l e 6 of p l e a s u r e a n d delight in the p r e s e n c e of the idea of it. In the former is exercised merely the speculative faculty, or the u n d e r s t a n d i n g , in distinction from the will or disposition of the soul. In the latter, the will, or inclination, or heart, are mainly c o n c e r n e d . T h u s there is a difference between having an o p i n i o n , that G o d is holy a n d g r a c i o u s , a n d having a s e n s e of the loveliness a n d b e a u t y of that h o l i n e s s a n d g r a c e . T h e r e is a difference b e t w e e n having a rational j u d g m e n t that honey is sweet, a n d having a s e n s e of its s w e e t n e s s . A m a n m a y have the former, that knows not how honey t a s t e s ; b u t a m a n c a n n o t have the latter u n l e s s he h a s an idea of the taste of honey in his m i n d . S o there is a differe n c e b e t w e e n believing that a p e r s o n is beautiful, a n d having a s e n s e of his beauty. T h e former may be o b t a i n e d by hearsay, b u t the latter only by s e e i n g the c o u n t e n a n c e . W h e n the heart is s e n s i b l e of the b e a u t y a n d a m i a b l e n e s s of a thing, it necessarily feels p l e a s u r e in the a p p r e h e n s i o n . It is implied in a p e r s o n ' s being heartily s e n s i b l e of the loveliness of a thing, that the idea of it is p l e a s a n t to his s o u l ; which is a far different thing from having a rational opinion that it is excellent. 2 . T h e r e arises from this s e n s e of the divine excellency of things c o n t a i n e d in the word of G o d , a conviction of the truth a n d reality of t h e m ; a n d that, either indirectly or directly. First, Indirectly, a n d that two ways: 1. A s the p r e j u d i c e s of the heart, a g a i n s t the truth of divine things, a r e hereby r e m o v e d ; s o that the m i n d b e c o m e s s u s c e p t i v e of the d u e force of rational a r g u m e n t s for their truth. T h e mind of m a n is naturally full of preju d i c e s a g a i n s t divine truth. It is full of enmity a g a i n s t the d o c t r i n e s of the g o s p e l ; which is a d i s a d v a n t a g e to t h o s e a r g u m e n t s that prove their truth, a n d c a u s e s t h e m to lose their force u p o n the m i n d . B u t w h e n a p e r s o n h a s d i s c o v e r e d to him the divine excellency of C h r i s t i a n d o c t r i n e s , this destroys the enmity, r e m o v e s t h o s e p r e j u d i c e s , sanctifies the r e a s o n , a n d c a u s e s it to lie o p e n to the force of a r g u m e n t s for their truth. H e n c e w a s the different effect that Christ's m i r a c l e s h a d to c o n v i n c e the d i s c i p l e s , from what they h a d to c o n v i n c e the S c r i b e s a n d P h a r i s e e s . N o t that they had a stronger r e a s o n , or h a d their r e a s o n m o r e i m p r o v e d ; but their r e a s o n was sanctified, a n d t h o s e blinding p r e j u d i c e s , that the S c r i b e s a n d P h a r i s e e s were u n d e r , were r e m o v e d by the s e n s e they h a d of the excellency of C h r i s t , a n d his d o c t r i n e . It not only r e m o v e s the h i n d r a n c e s of r e a s o n , but positively helps r e a s o n . It m a k e s even the s p e c u l a t i v e notions m o r e lively. It e n g a g e s the attention of the m i n d , with m o r e fixedness a n d i n t e n s e n e s s to that kind of o b j e c t s ; 6. Aware.

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which c a u s e s it to have a clearer view of t h e m , a n d e n a b l e s it m o r e clearly to see their m u t u a l relations, a n d o c c a s i o n s it to take m o r e notice of t h e m . T h e ideas t h e m s e l v e s that otherwise are dim a n d o b s c u r e are by this m e a n s i m p r e s s e d with the greater strength, a n d have a light c a s t u p o n t h e m , so that the mind c a n better j u d g e of t h e m . As h e that b e h o l d s o b j e c t s on the f a c e of the earth, w h e n the light of the s u n is c a s t u p o n t h e m , is u n d e r greater a d v a n t a g e to d i s c e r n t h e m in their true f o r m s a n d natural relations, than he that s e e s t h e m in a dim twilight. T h e m i n d , b e i n g s e n s i b l e of the excellency of divine o b j e c t s , dwells u p o n t h e m with delight; a n d the p o w e r s of the soul are m o r e a w a k e n e d a n d enlive n e d to e m p l o y t h e m s e l v e s in the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of t h e m , a n d exert t h e m selves m o r e fully a n d m u c h m o r e to the p u r p o s e . T h e b e a u t y of the o b j e c t s draws on the faculties, a n d draws forth their e x e r c i s e s ; s o that r e a s o n itself is u n d e r far greater a d v a n t a g e s for its p r o p e r a n d free e x e r c i s e s , a n d to attain its p r o p e r e n d , free of d a r k n e s s a n d d e l u s i o n . — B u t , S e c o n d l y , A true s e n s e of the divine excellency of the things of G o d ' s word doth m o r e directly a n d i m m e d i a t e l y c o n v i n c e u s of their truth; a n d that b e c a u s e the excellency of t h e s e things is s o superlative. T h e r e is a b e a u t y in them so divine a n d godlike, that it greatly a n d evidently d i s t i n g u i s h e s t h e m from things merely h u m a n , or that of which m e n are the inventors a n d a u t h o r s ; a glory s o high a n d great, that w h e n clearly s e e n , c o m m a n d s a s s e n t to their divine reality. W h e n there is a n a c t u a l a n d lively discovery of this beauty a n d excellency, it will not allow of any s u c h thought a s that it is the fruit of m e n ' s invention. T h i s is a kind of intuitive a n d i m m e d i a t e e v i d e n c e . T h e y believe the d o c t r i n e s of G o d ' s w o r d to be divine, b e c a u s e they s e e a divine, a n d t r a n s c e n d e n t , a n d m o s t evidently d i s t i n g u i s h i n g glory in t h e m ; s u c h a glory a s , if clearly s e e n , d o e s not leave r o o m to d o u b t of their b e i n g of G o d , a n d not of m e n . S u c h a conviction of the truths of religion a s this, arising from a s e n s e of their divine excellency, is i n c l u d e d in saving faith. And this original of it is that by which it is m o s t essentially d i s t i n g u i s h e d from that c o m m o n a s s e n t , of which u n r e g e n e r a t e m e n a r e c a p a b l e . II. I p r o c e e d now to the s e c o n d thing p r o p o s e d , viz., to s h o w how this light is immediately given by G o d , a n d not o b t a i n e d by natural m e a n s . And here, 1. It is not i n t e n d e d that the natural faculties are not u s e d in it. T h e y a r e the s u b j e c t of this light: a n d in s u c h a m a n n e r , that they are not merely p a s s i v e , but active in it. G o d , in letting in this light into the s o u l , d e a l s with m a n a c c o r d i n g to his n a t u r e , a n d m a k e s u s e of his rational faculties. B u t yet this light is not the less i m m e d i a t e l y from G o d for that; the faculties are m a d e u s e of a s the s u b j e c t , a n d not a s the c a u s e . As the u s e we m a k e of our eyes in b e h o l d i n g various o b j e c t s , w h e n the s u n a r i s e s , is not the c a u s e of the light that discovers t h o s e o b j e c t s to u s . 2. It is not i n t e n d e d that o u t w a r d m e a n s have no c o n c e r n in this affair. It is not in this affair, a s in inspiration, w h e r e new truths a r e s u g g e s t e d ; for, by this light is given only a d u e a p p r e h e n s i o n of the s a m e truths that are revealed in the word of G o d , a n d therefore it is not given without the word. T h e gospel is e m p l o y e d in this affair. T h i s light is the "light of the glorious

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g o s p e l of C h r i s t " (2 C o r i n t h i a n s 4.3—4). 7 T h e g o s p e l is a s a g l a s s , by which this light is conveyed to u s (1 C o r i n t h i a n s 1 3 . 1 2 ) : " N o w we s e e t h r o u g h a glass."8—But, 3. W h e n it is said that this light is given i m m e d i a t e l y by G o d , a n d not o b t a i n e d by natural m e a n s , hereby is intended that it is given by G o d without m a k i n g u s e of any m e a n s that o p e r a t e by their own power or natural force. G o d m a k e s u s e of m e a n s ; but it is not a s m e d i a t e c a u s e s to p r o d u c e this effect. T h e r e are not truly any s e c o n d c a u s e s of it; but it is p r o d u c e d by G o d immediately. T h e word of G o d is no proper c a u s e of this effect, but is m a d e u s e of only to convey to the m i n d the s u b j e c t matter of this saving instruction: And this i n d e e d it doth convey to u s by natural force or i n f l u e n c e . It conveys to our m i n d s t h e s e d o c t r i n e s ; it is the c a u s e of a notion of t h e m in our h e a d s , but not of the s e n s e of their divine excellency in our h e a r t s . I n d e e d a p e r s o n c a n n o t have spiritual light without the word. B u t that d o e s not a r g u e , that the word properly c a u s e s that light. T h e m i n d c a n n o t s e e the excellency of any d o c t r i n e , u n l e s s that doctrine be first in the m i n d ; but s e e i n g the excellency of the doctrine may be i m m e d i a t e l y from the Spirit of G o d ; t h o u g h the conveying of the d o c t r i n e , or proposition, itself, may be by the word. S o that the notions which are the s u b j e c t m a t t e r of this light a r e conveyed to the mind by the word of G o d ; but that d u e s e n s e of the heart, wherein this light formally c o n s i s t s , is immediately by the Spirit of G o d . A s , for i n s t a n c e , the notion that there is a C h r i s t , a n d that C h r i s t is holy a n d g r a c i o u s , is conveyed to the mind by the word of G o d : B u t the s e n s e of the excellency of C h r i s t , by r e a s o n of that holiness a n d g r a c e , is n e v e r t h e l e s s , i m m e d i a t e l y the work of the Holy S p i r i t . — I c o m e now, III. T o s h o w the truth of the d o c t r i n e ; that is, to s h o w that there is s u c h a thing a s that spiritural light that has b e e n d e s c r i b e d , t h u s i m m e d i a t e l y let into the m i n d by G o d . A n d here I would s h o w , briefly, that this d o c t r i n e is both scriptural a n d rational. First, It is scriptural. M y text is not only full to the p u r p o s e , but it is a doctrine with which the S c r i p t u r e a b o u n d s . W e are there a b u n d a n t l y t a u g h t , that the saints differ from the ungodly in this; that they have the k n o w l e d g e of G o d , a n d a sight of G o d , a n d of J e s u s C h r i s t . I shall m e n t i o n but few texts out of m a n y : 1 J o h n 3.6: " W h o s o e v e r s i n n e t h , hath not s e e n him, nor known h i m . " 3 J o h n 1 1 : " H e that doeth g o o d , is of G o d : but he that d o e t h evil, hath not s e e n G o d . " J o h n 1 4 . 1 9 : " T h e world s e e t h m e no m o r e ; but ye s e e m e . " J o h n 1 7 . 3 : "And this is eternal life, that they might know t h e e , the only true G o d , a n d J e s u s C h r i s t w h o m thou h a s t s e n t . " T h i s k n o w l e d g e , or sight of G o d a n d C h r i s t , c a n n o t be a m e r e speculative k n o w l e d g e , b e c a u s e it is spoken of a s that wherein they differ from the ungodly. A n d by t h e s e s c r i p t u r e s , it m u s t not only be a different k n o w l e d g e in d e g r e e a n d c i r c u m s t a n c e s , a n d different in its effects, but it m u s t be entirely different in n a t u r e a n d kind. A n d this light a n d knowledge is always s p o k e n of a s i m m e d i a t e l y given of G o d ; M a t t h e w 1 1 . 2 5 - 2 7 : "At that t i m e , J e s u s a n s w e r e d a n d s a i d , I thank 7. "Bui if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost: In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is

the image of God, should shine unto them." 8. "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face."

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t h e e , O F a t h e r , L o r d of heaven a n d e a r t h , b e c a u s e thou hast hid t h e s e things from the wise a n d p r u d e n t , a n d h a s t revealed t h e m u n t o b a b e s . Even s o , F a t h e r , for s o it s e e m e d g o o d in thy sight. All things are delivered u n t o m e of my F a t h e r : a n d no m a n knoweth the F a t h e r , save the S o n , a n d he to w h o m s o e v e r the S o n will reveal h i m . " H e r e this effect is a s c r i b e d exclusively to the arbitrary o p e r a t i o n a n d gift of G o d b e s t o w i n g this k n o w l e d g e on w h o m H e will, a n d d i s t i n g u i s h i n g t h o s e with it w h o have the least n a t u r a l a d v a n t a g e or m e a n s for k n o w l e d g e , even b a b e s , w h e n it is d e n i e d to the wise a n d prudent. A n d i m p a r t i n g this knowledge is here a p p r o p r i a t e d to the S o n of G o d , a s His sole prerogative. A n d a g a i n , 2 C o r i n t h i a n s 4 . 6 : " F o r G o d , w h o c o m m a n d e d the light to shine o u t of d a r k n e s s , h a t h s h i n e d in o u r h e a r t s , to give the light of the k n o w l e d g e of the glory of G o d , in the face of J e s u s C h r i s t . " T h i s plainly s h o w s , that there is a discovery of the divine superlative glory a n d excellency of G o d a n d C h r i s t , p e c u l i a r to the s a i n t s : a n d , a l s o , that it is a s i m m e d i a t e l y from G o d , a s light from the s u n , a n d that it is the i m m e d i a t e effect of His power a n d will. F o r it is c o m p a r e d to G o d ' s c r e a t i n g the light by his powerful word in the b e g i n n i n g of the c r e a t i o n ; a n d is said to be by the Spirit of the L o r d , in the 18th verse of the p r e c e d i n g c h a p t e r . G o d is s p o k e n of a s giving the k n o w l e d g e of C h r i s t in c o n v e r s i o n , a s of what before w a s hidden a n d u n s e e n ; G a l a t i a n s 1 . 1 5 - 1 6 : " B u t w h e n it p l e a s e d G o d , w h o s e p a r a t e d m e from my mother's w o m b , a n d called m e by his g r a c e , to reveal his son in m e . " T h e s c r i p t u r e a l s o s p e a k s plainly of s u c h a k n o w l e d g e of the word of G o d , a s has b e e n d e s c r i b e d a s the i m m e d i a t e gift of G o d ; P s a l m 1 1 9 . 1 8 : " O p e n thou m i n e e y e s , that I m a y b e h o l d w o n d r o u s things out of thy law." W h a t c o u l d the P s a l m i s t m e a n , w h e n h e b e g g e d of G o d to o p e n his eyes? W a s he ever blind? M i g h t he not have resort to the law, a n d s e e every word a n d s e n t e n c e in it w h e n he p l e a s e d ? A n d w h a t c o u l d he m e a n by t h o s e w o n d r o u s things? W e r e they the wonderful stories of the c r e a t i o n , a n d d e l u g e , a n d Israel's p a s s i n g through the R e d S e a , 9 a n d the like? W e r e not his eyes o p e n to read t h e s e s t r a n g e things w h e n he w o u l d ? D o u b t l e s s , by w o n d r o u s things in G o d ' s law, he h a d r e s p e c t to t h o s e d i s t i n g u i s h i n g a n d wonderful e x c e l l e n c i e s , a n d m a r v e l o u s m a n i f e s t a t i o n s of the divine perfections a n d glory c o n t a i n e d in the c o m m a n d s a n d d o c t r i n e s of the word, a n d t h o s e works a n d c o u n s e l s of G o d that were there revealed. S o the scripture s p e a k s of a k n o w l e d g e of G o d ' s d i s p e n s a t i o n , a n d c o v e n a n t of mercy, 1 a n d way of g r a c e towards His p e o p l e , as p e c u l i a r to the s a i n t s , a n d given only by G o d ; P s a l m 2 5 . 1 4 : " T h e secret of the L o r d is with t h e m that fear h i m ; a n d he will s h o w t h e m his c o v e n a n t . " A n d that a true a n d saving belief of the truth of religion is that which arises from s u c h a discovery is, a l s o , w h a t the s c r i p t u r e t e a c h e s . As J o h n 6 . 4 0 : " A n d this is the will of him that sent m e , that every o n e w h o s e e t h the S o n , a n d believeth on him, m a y have everlasting life"; w h e r e it is plain that a true faith is what a r i s e s from a spiritual sight of C h r i s t . A n d J o h n 17.6—8: "I have m a n i f e s t e d thy n a m e u n t o the m e n which t h o u g a v e s t m e o u t of the world. N o w , they have k n o w n , that all things w h a t s o e v e r thou h a s t given m e , a r e of t h e e . F o r I have given u n t o t h e m the w o r d s w h i c h t h o u gavest m e , a n d they have received t h e m , a n d have k n o w n surely, that I c a m e o u t from 9. T h e waters of the Red Sea divided for the Israelites in their exodus from Egypt (Exodus 14.21). 1. T h e agreement between Christ and those who

believe in him that they would be saved; also known as the Covenant of Faith, as distinct from the Covenant of Works, which Adam broke.

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thee, a n d they have believed that thou didst s e n d m e " ; w h e r e C h r i s t ' s m a n ifesting G o d ' s n a m e to the d i s c i p l e s , or giving t h e m the k n o w l e d g e of G o d , was that whereby they knew that Christ's doctrine w a s of G o d , a n d that C h r i s t H i m s e l f p r o c e e d e d from H i m , a n d w a s sent by H i m . A g a i n , J o h n 12.44—46: " J e s u s cried, a n d said, H e that believeth on m e , believeth not on m e b u t o n him that sent m e . A n d he that s e e t h m e , s e e t h h i m that s e n t m e . I a m c o m e a light into the world, that w h o s o e v e r believeth o n m e , s h o u l d not abide in d a r k n e s s . " T h e i r believing in C h r i s t , a n d spiritually s e e i n g H i m , are parallel. C h r i s t c o n d e m n s the J e w s , that they did not know that H e w a s the M e s siah, a n d that His doctrine w a s true, from an inward d i s t i n g u i s h i n g taste a n d relish of what w a s divine, in L u k e 12.56—57. H e having there b l a m e d the J e w s , that, t h o u g h they c o u l d discern the f a c e of the sky a n d of the e a r t h , a n d signs of the weather, that yet they c o u l d not d i s c e r n t h o s e t i m e s — o r , a s it is e x p r e s s e d in M a t t h e w , the signs of t h o s e t i m e s — a d d s , "yea, a n d why even of your o w n s e l v e s , j u d g e ye not w h a t is r i g h t ? " i.e., without extrinsic signs. W h y have ye not that s e n s e of true excellency, whereby ye m a y distinguish that which is holy a n d divine? W h y have ye not that savor of the things of G o d , by which you m a y s e e the d i s t i n g u i s h i n g glory, a n d evident divinity of m e a n d my d o c t r i n e ? T h e a p o s t l e Peter m e n t i o n s it as what gave him a n d his c o m p a n i o n s g o o d a n d well-grounded a s s u r a n c e of the truth of the g o s p e l , that they h a d s e e n the divine glory of C h r i s t . 2 Peter 1.16: " F o r we have not followed c u n n i n g l y devised fables, w h e n we m a d e known u n t o you the power a n d c o m i n g of our Lord J e s u s C h r i s t , but were eye-witnesses of his m a j e s t y . " T h e a p o s t l e has respect to that visible glory of C h r i s t which they s a w in His transfiguration. That glory was s o divine, having s u c h an ineffable a p p e a r a n c e a n d s e m b l a n c e of divine h o l i n e s s , majesty, a n d g r a c e , that it evidently d e n o t e d H i m to b e a divine p e r s o n . B u t if a sight of Christ's o u t w a r d glory might give a rational a s s u r a n c e of His divinity, why may not an a p p r e h e n s i o n of His spiritual glory do so too? D o u b t l e s s Christ's spiritual glory is in itself a s d i s t i n g u i s h i n g , a n d a s plainly s h o w s His divinity, a s His o u t w a r d glory—nay, a great deal m o r e , for H i s spiritual glory is that wherein His divinity c o n s i s t s ; a n d the o u t w a r d glory of His transfiguration s h o w e d H i m to be divine, only a s it w a s a remarkable i m a g e or r e p r e s e n t a t i o n of that spiritual glory. D o u b t l e s s , therefore, he that has h a d a clear sight of the spiritual glory of C h r i s t , may say, "I have not followed c u n n i n g l y devised fables, b u t have b e e n a n eyewitness of His majesty, u p o n a s g o o d g r o u n d s a s the a p o s t l e , w h e n he h a d r e s p e c t to the o u t w a r d glory of C h r i s t that he h a d s e e n . " B u t this brings m e to what w a s p r o p o s e d next, viz., to s h o w that, S e c o n d l y , T h i s d o c t r i n e is rational. 2 1. It is rational to s u p p o s e , that there is really s u c h a n excellency in divine t h i n g s — s o t r a n s c e n d e n t a n d exceedingly different from what is in other t h i n g s — t h a t if it were s e e n , would m o s t evidently distinguish t h e m . W e c a n n o t rationally d o u b t but that things divine, which a p p e r t a i n to the s u p r e m e B e i n g , are vastly different from things that a r e h u m a n ; that there is a high, glorious, a n d godlike excellency in t h e m that d o e s m o s t remarkably difference t h e m from the things that are of m e n , i n s o m u c h that if the dif2. Capable of being grasped by the mind, understandable.

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f e r e n c e were but s e e n , it would have a convincing, satisfying influence u p o n a n y o n e that they a r e divine. W h a t r e a s o n c a n be offered a g a i n s t it u n l e s s we would a r g u e that G o d is not remarkably d i s t i n g u i s h e d in glory from m e n . If Christ s h o u l d now a p p e a r to any o n e a s he did on the m o u n t at His transfiguration,* or if H e s h o u l d a p p e a r to the world in His heavenly glory, a s H e will do at the Day of J u d g m e n t , 4 without d o u b t , His glory a n d m a j e s t y would be s u c h a s would satisfy everyone that H e w a s a divine p e r s o n , a n d that His religion w a s t r u e ; a n d it would be a m o s t r e a s o n a b l e , a n d well g r o u n d e d conviction too. A n d why may there not be that s t a m p of divinity or divine glory on the word of G o d , o n the s c h e m e a n d d o c t r i n e of the g o s p e l , that m a y be in like m a n n e r d i s t i n g u i s h i n g a n d a s rationally convincing, provided it be but s e e n ? It is rational to s u p p o s e , that w h e n G o d s p e a k s to the world, there s h o u l d be s o m e t h i n g in H i s word vastly different from m e n ' s word. S u p p o s i n g that G o d never h a d s p o k e n to the world, but we h a d notice that H e w a s a b o u t to reveal H i m s e l f from h e a v e n a n d s p e a k to us i m m e d i ately Himself, or that H e s h o u l d give u s a b o o k of H i s own inditing; 5 after what m a n n e r s h o u l d we expect that H e would s p e a k ? W o u l d it not be rational to s u p p o s e , that His s p e e c h would be e x c e e d i n g different from m e n ' s s p e e c h , that there s h o u l d be s u c h a n excellency a n d sublimity in His word, s u c h a s t a m p of w i s d o m , h o l i n e s s , majesty, a n d other divine p e r f e c t i o n s , that the word of m e n , yea of the wisest of m e n , s h o u l d a p p e a r m e a n a n d b a s e in c o m p a r i s o n of it? D o u b t l e s s it would be t h o u g h t rational to expect this, a n d u n r e a s o n a b l e to think otherwise. W h e n a wise m a n s p e a k s in the exercise of His w i s d o m , there is s o m e t h i n g in everything H e says, that is very disting u i s h a b l e from the talk of a little child. S o , without d o u b t , a n d m u c h m o r e is the s p e e c h of G o d , to be d i s t i n g u i s h e d from that of the wisest of m e n ; a g r e e a b l e to J e r e m i a h 2 3 . 2 8 — 2 9 . G o d , having there b e e n reproving the false p r o p h e t s that p r o p h e s i e d in his n a m e , a n d p r e t e n d e d that what they s p a k e w a s His word, w h e n indeed it w a s their own word, says, " T h e p r o p h e t that hath a d r e a m , let him tell a d r e a m ; a n d he that h a t h my word let him s p e a k my word faithfully: what is the chaff to the w h e a t ? saith the L o r d . Is not my word like a s a fire? saith the L o r d : a n d like a h a m m e r that b r e a k e t h the rock in p i e c e s ? " 2 . If there b e s u c h a d i s t i n g u i s h i n g excellency in divine things, it is rational to s u p p o s e that there may b e s u c h a thing a s s e e i n g it. W h a t s h o u l d hinder but that it may b e s e e n ? It is n o a r g u m e n t that there is no s u c h d i s t i n g u i s h i n g excellency, or that it c a n n o t be s e e n , b e c a u s e s o m e d o not s e e it, t h o u g h they may be d i s c e r n i n g m e n in t e m p o r a l m a t t e r s . It is not rational to s u p p o s e , if there be any s u c h excellency in divine things, that wicked m e n s h o u l d s e e it. Is it rational to s u p p o s e that t h o s e w h o s e m i n d s are full of spiritual pollution, a n d u n d e r the power of filthy l u s t s , s h o u l d have a n y relish or s e n s e of divine b e a u t y or excellency; or that their m i n d s s h o u l d be s u s ceptive of that light that is in its own n a t u r e s o p u r e a n d heavenly? It n e e d not s e e m at all s t r a n g e that sin s h o u l d s o blind the m i n d , s e e i n g that m e n ' s particular natural t e m p e r s a n d d i s p o s i t i o n s will so m u c h blind t h e m in s e c ular m a t t e r s ; a s w h e n m e n ' s natural t e m p e r is m e l a n c h o l y , j e a l o u s , fearful, p r o u d , or the like. 3. In Matthew 1 7 . 1 - 8 , Christ appeared to Peter, J a m e s , and John shining "as the s u n " and his garments "white as the light."

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3. It is rational to s u p p o s e that this knowledge s h o u l d b e given i m m e d i ately by G o d , a n d not be o b t a i n e d by natural m e a n s . U p o n w h a t a c c o u n t s h o u l d it s e e m u n r e a s o n a b l e that there s h o u l d be any i m m e d i a t e c o m m u nication b e t w e e n G o d a n d the c r e a t u r e ? It is s t r a n g e , that m e n s h o u l d m a k e any m a t t e r of difficulty of it. Why s h o u l d not H e that m a d e all things still have s o m e t h i n g i m m e d i a t e l y to do with the things that H e h a s m a d e ? W h e r e lies the great difficulty, if we own the b e i n g of a G o d , a n d that H e c r e a t e d all things o u t of nothing, of allowing s o m e i m m e d i a t e i n f l u e n c e of G o d on the creation still? A n d if it be r e a s o n a b l e to s u p p o s e it with r e s p e c t to any part of the c r e a t i o n , it is especially so with r e s p e c t to r e a s o n a b l e , intelligent c r e a t u r e s ; w h o are next to G o d in the gradation of the different o r d e r s of beings, a n d w h o s e b u s i n e s s is m o s t immediately with G o d ; a n d r e a s o n t e a c h e s that m a n w a s m a d e to serve a n d glorify his C r e a t o r . And if it be rational to s u p p o s e that G o d immediately c o m m u n i c a t e s H i m s e l f to m a n in any affair, it is in this. It is rational to s u p p o s e that G o d would reserve that knowledge a n d w i s d o m , which is of s u c h a divine a n d excellent n a t u r e , to be b e s t o w e d i m m e d i a t e l y by Himself, a n d that it s h o u l d not b e left in the power of s e c o n d c a u s e s . Spiritual w i s d o m a n d g r a c e is the highest a n d m o s t excellent gift that ever G o d b e s t o w s on any c r e a t u r e ; in this, the highest excellency a n d perfection of a rational c r e a t u r e c o n s i s t s . It is a l s o i m m e n s e l y the m o s t i m p o r t a n t of all divine gifts: it is that wherein m a n ' s h a p p i n e s s c o n s i s t s , a n d on which his everlasting welfare d e p e n d s . H o w rational is it to s u p p o s e that G o d , however H e has left lower gifts to s e c o n d c a u s e s , a n d in s o m e sort in their power, yet s h o u l d reserve this m o s t excellent, divine, a n d important of all divine c o m m u n i c a t i o n s in H i s own h a n d s to be b e s t o w e d immediately by Himself, a s a thing too great for s e c o n d c a u s e s to be conc e r n e d in. It is rational to s u p p o s e that this b l e s s i n g s h o u l d b e i m m e d i a t e l y from G o d , for there is no gift or benefit that is in itself s o nearly related to the divine n a t u r e . N o t h i n g which the c r e a t u r e receives is s o m u c h a participation of the Deity; it is a kind of e m a n a t i o n of G o d ' s beauty, a n d is related to G o d a s the light is to the s u n . It is, therefore, c o n g r u o u s a n d fit, that w h e n it is given of G o d , it s h o u l d be i m m e d i a t e l y from Himself, a n d by Himself, a c c o r d i n g to H i s own sovereign will. It is rational to s u p p o s e , that it s h o u l d be beyond m a n ' s power to obtain this light by the m e r e strength of natural r e a s o n ; for it is not a thing that b e l o n g s to reason to s e e the b e a u t y a n d loveliness of spiritual t h i n g s ; it is not a speculative thing, but d e p e n d s on the s e n s e of the heart. R e a s o n , i n d e e d , is n e c e s s a r y , in order to it, a s it is by r e a s o n only that we a r e b e c o m e the s u b j e c t s of the m e a n s of it; which m e a n s , I have already s h o w n to b e n e c e s s a r y in order to it, t h o u g h they have no proper c a u s a l influence in the affair. It is by r e a s o n that we b e c o m e p o s s e s s e d of a notion of t h o s e d o c t r i n e s that are the s u b j e c t m a t t e r of this divine light or k n o w l e d g e ; a n d r e a s o n may m a n y ways b e indirectly a n d remotely an a d v a n t a g e to it. R e a s o n h a s a l s o to do in the a c t s that are immediately c o n s e q u e n t on this discovery: for, s e e i n g the truth of religion from h e n c e , is by r e a s o n , t h o u g h it be but by o n e s t e p , a n d the inference be i m m e d i a t e . S o r e a s o n has to d o in that a c c e p t i n g of a n d trusting in C h r i s t that is c o n s e q u e n t on it. B u t if we take r e a s o n strictly— not for the faculty of mental p e r c e p t i o n in g e n e r a l , but for ratiocination, or a power of inferring by a r g u m e n t s — t h e perceiving of spiritual b e a u t y a n d excellency n o m o r e b e l o n g s to r e a s o n than it b e l o n g s to the s e n s e of feeling

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to perceive c o l o r s , or to the power of s e e i n g to p e r c e i v e t h e s w e e t n e s s of food. It is out of r e a s o n ' s p r o v i n c e to perceive the b e a u t y or loveliness of anything; s u c h a p e r c e p t i o n d o e s not b e l o n g to that faculty. R e a s o n ' s work is to perceive truth a n d not excellency. It is not ratiocination that gives m e n the p e r c e p t i o n of the b e a u t y a n d a m i a b l e n e s s of a c o u n t e n a n c e , t h o u g h it m a y b e m a n y ways indirectly an a d v a n t a g e to it; yet it is n o m o r e r e a s o n that i m m e d i a t e l y perceives it than it is r e a s o n that p e r c e i v e s the s w e e t n e s s of honey; it d e p e n d s on the s e n s e of the heart. R e a s o n m a y d e t e r m i n e that a c o u n t e n a n c e is beautiful to o t h e r s , it may d e t e r m i n e that h o n e y is sweet to o t h e r s , but it will never give m e a p e r c e p t i o n of its s w e e t n e s s . I will c o n c l u d e with a very brief i m p r o v e m e n t of what h a s b e e n said. First, this d o c t r i n e may lead u s to reflect on the g o o d n e s s of G o d , that h a s s o ordered it, that a saving e v i d e n c e of t h e truth of the G o s p e l is s u c h a s is a t t a i n a b l e by p e r s o n s of m e a n c a p a c i t i e s a n d a d v a n t a g e s , a s well a s t h o s e that are of t h e greatest p a r t s a n d learning. If the e v i d e n c e of t h e G o s p e l d e p e n d e d only on history a n d s u c h r e a s o n i n g s a s l e a r n e d m e n only are c a p a ble of, it w o u l d b e a b o v e the r e a c h of far the greatest part of m a n k i n d . B u t p e r s o n s with an ordinary d e g r e e of k n o w l e d g e are c a p a b l e , without a long a n d s u b t l e train of r e a s o n i n g , to s e e the divine excellency of the things of religion; they are c a p a b l e of b e i n g t a u g h t by the Spirit of G o d , a s well a s l e a r n e d m e n . T h e e v i d e n c e that is this way o b t a i n e d is vastly better a n d m o r e satisfying t h a n all that c a n be o b t a i n e d by the a r g u i n g s of t h o s e that are m o s t learned a n d g r e a t e s t m a s t e r s of r e a s o n . A n d b a b e s are a s c a p a b l e of knowing t h e s e things a s the wise a n d p r u d e n t ; a n d they a r e often hid from t h e s e w h e n they are revealed to t h o s e . 1 C o r i n t h i a n s 1 . 2 6 - 2 7 : " F o r ye s e e your calling, brethren, how that not m a n y wise m e n , after the flesh, not m a n y mighty, not m a n y n o b l e , a r e called. B u t G o d hath c h o s e n the foolish things of the w o r l d . " S e c o n d l y , T h i s doctrine may well p u t u s u p o n e x a m i n i n g o u r s e l v e s , whether we have ever h a d this divine light let into o u r s o u l s . If there be s u c h a thing, d o u b t l e s s it is of great i m p o r t a n c e w h e t h e r we have t h u s b e e n taught by t h e Spirit of G o d ; w h e t h e r the light of the glorious g o s p e l of C h r i s t , w h o is the i m a g e of G o d , hath s h i n e d u n t o u s , giving us the light of the knowledge of the glory of G o d in the f a c e of J e s u s C h r i s t ; w h e t h e r we h av e s e e n the S o n , a n d believed on H i m , or have that faith of g o s p e l d o c t r i n e s w h i c h arises from a spiritual sight of C h r i s t . Thirdly, All may h e n c e b e exhorted earnestly to s e e k this spiritual light. T o influence a n d m o v e to it, the following things m a y be c o n s i d e r e d . 1 . T h i s is the m o s t excellent a n d divine w i s d o m that any c r e a t u r e is c a p a ble of. It is m o r e excellent than any h u m a n learning; it is far m o r e excellent than all the k n o w l e d g e of the greatest p h i l o s o p h e r s or s t a t e s m e n . Y e a , the least g l i m p s e of the glory of G o d in the f a c e of C h r i s t doth m o r e exalt a n d e n n o b l e the soul than all the k n o w l e d g e of t h o s e that have the g r e a t e s t s p e c ulative u n d e r s t a n d i n g in divinity without g r a c e . T h i s k n o w l e d g e h a s t h e m o s t n o b l e o b j e c t that c a n b e , viz., the divine glory a n d excellency of G o d a n d C h r i s t . T h e k n o w l e d g e of t h e s e o b j e c t s is that wherein c o n s i s t s the m o s t excellent k n o w l e d g e of the a n g e l s , yea, of G o d Himself. 2. T h i s k n o w l e d g e is that w h i c h is a b o v e all o t h e r s s w e e t a n d joyful. M e n h a ve a great deal of p l e a s u r e in h u m a n k n o w l e d g e , in s t u d i e s of n a t u r a l things; but this is n o t h i n g to that j o y w h i c h arises from this divine light s h i n i n g into t h e s o u l . T h i s light gives a view of t h o s e things that are

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i m m e n s e l y the m o s t exquisitely beautiful a n d c a p a b l e of delighting the eye of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g . T h e spiritual light is the d a w n i n g of the light of glory in the heart. T h e r e is nothing so powerful a s this to s u p p o r t p e r s o n s in affliction, a n d to give the m i n d p e a c e a n d brightness in this stormy a n d dark world. 3. T h i s light is s u c h a s effectually influences the inclination a n d c h a n g e s the n a t u r e of the soul. It a s s i m i l a t e s our n a t u r e to the divine n a t u r e , a n d c h a n g e s the soul into a n i m a g e of the s a m e glory that is b e h e l d . 2 C o r i n t h i a n s 3 . 1 8 : " B u t we all with o p e n f a c e , b e h o l d i n g a s in a g l a s s the glory of the L o r d , are c h a n g e d into the s a m e i m a g e , from glory to glory, even a s by the Spirit of the L o r d . " T h i s knowledge will w e a n f r o m 6 the world, a n d raise the inclination to heavenly things. It will turn the heart to G o d a s the fountain of g o o d , a n d to c h o o s e H i m for the only portion. T h i s light, a n d this only, will bring the soul to a saving c l o s e with C h r i s t . It c o n f o r m s the heart to the g o s p e l , mortifies its enmity a n d opposition a g a i n s t the s c h e m e of salvation therein revealed; it c a u s e s the heart to e m b r a c e the joyful tidings, a n d entirely to a d h e r e to, a n d a c q u i e s c e in, the revelation of C h r i s t a s our Savior; it c a u s e s the whole soul to a c c o r d a n d s y m p h o n i z e with it, a d m i t t i n g it with entire credit a n d r e s p e c t , cleaving to it with full inclination a n d affection; a n d it effectually d i s p o s e s the soul to give up itself entirely to C h r i s t . 4. T h i s light, a n d this only, has its fruit in an universal h o l i n e s s of life. N o merely notional or speculative u n d e r s t a n d i n g of the d o c t r i n e s of religion will ever bring to this. B u t this light, a s it r e a c h e s the b o t t o m of the heart, a n d c h a n g e s the n a t u r e , so it will effectually d i s p o s e to a n universal obedie n c e . It s h o w s G o d a s worthy to be obeyed a n d served. It d r a w s forth the heart in a s i n c e r e love to G o d , which is the only principle of a true, g r a c i o u s , a n d universal o b e d i e n c e , a n d it c o n v i n c e s of the reality of t h o s e glorious rewards that G o d h a s p r o m i s e d to t h e m that obey H i m . 1733

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S i n n e r s in t h e H a n d s of a n A n g r y G o d 1 Deuteronomy

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Their foot shall slide in due time.2 In this verse is t h r e a t e n e d the v e n g e a n c e of G o d on the wicked u n b e l i e v i n g Israelites, w h o were G o d ' s visible p e o p l e , a n d w h o lived u n d e r the m e a n s of g r a c e , 3 but w h o , n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g all G o d ' s wonderful works towards t h e m , r e m a i n e d (as in verse 2 8 ) 4 void of c o u n s e l , having n o u n d e r s t a n d i n g in t h e m . 6. Draw us away from. 1 . Edwards delivered this sermon in Enfield, Connecticut, a town about thirty miles south of Northampton, on Sunday, July 8, 1 7 4 1 . In Benjamin Trumbull's A Complete History of Connecticut ( 1 7 9 7 , 1818) we are told that Edwards read his sermon in a level voice with his sermon book in his left hand, and in spite of his calm, "there was such a breathing of distress, and weeping, that the preacher was obliged to speak to the people and desire silence, that he might be heard." T h e text here is from The Works of Jonathan Edwards ( 1 8 2 9 - 3 0 ) , vol. 7, edited by Sereno E. Dwight.

2. "To me belongeth vengeance, and recompense; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste." 3. I.e., the Ten C o m m a n d m e n t s . For Protestants following the Westminster Confession ( 1 6 4 6 ) , the "means of grace" consist of "preaching of the word and the administration of the sacraments of baptism and the Lord's S u p p e r . " 4. "For they are a nation void of counsel, neither is there any understanding in them" (Deuteronomy 32.28).

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U n d e r all the cultivations of heaven, they brought forth bitter a n d p o i s o n o u s fruit, as in the two verses next p r e c e d i n g the text. 5 T h e expression I have c h o s e n for my text, "Their foot shall slide in d u e t i m e , " s e e m s to imply the following things, relating to the p u n i s h m e n t a n d d e s t r u c t i o n to which t h e s e wicked Israelites were e x p o s e d . 1. T h a t they were always e x p o s e d to d e s t r u c t i o n ; a s o n e that s t a n d s or walks in slippery p l a c e s is always e x p o s e d to fall. T h i s is implied in the m a n ner of their d e s t r u c t i o n c o m i n g u p o n t h e m , b e i n g r e p r e s e n t e d by their foot sliding. T h e s a m e is e x p r e s s e d , P s a l m 7 3 . 1 8 : " S u r e l y thou didst set t h e m in slippery p l a c e s ; thou c a s t e d s t t h e m d o w n into d e s t r u c t i o n . " 2. It implies that they were always e x p o s e d to s u d d e n u n e x p e c t e d d e s t r u c tion. As he that walks in slippery p l a c e s is every m o m e n t liable to fall, he c a n n o t f o r e s e e o n e m o m e n t w h e t h e r he shall s t a n d or fall the next; a n d w h e n he d o e s fall, he falls at o n c e without w a r n i n g : which is a l s o e x p r e s s e d in P s a l m 73.18—19: " S u r e l y thou didst set t h e m in slippery p l a c e s ; thou c a s t e d s t t h e m down into d e s t r u c t i o n : H o w are they b r o u g h t into d e s o l a t i o n a s in a moment!" 3. A n o t h e r thing implied is, that they a r e liable to fall of t h e m s e l v e s , without b e i n g thrown down by the h a n d of a n o t h e r ; a s h e that s t a n d s or walks on slippery g r o u n d n e e d s n o t h i n g but his own weight to throw him down. 4. T h a t the r e a s o n why they are not fallen already, a n d do not fall now, is only that G o d ' s a p p o i n t e d time is not c o m e . F o r it is said that w h e n that d u e time, or a p p o i n t e d t i m e s c o m e s , their foot shall slide. T h e n they shall be left to fall, a s they are inclined by their own weight. G o d will not hold t h e m up in t h e s e slippery p l a c e s any longer, but will let t h e m g o ; a n d t h e n , at that very instant, they shall fall into d e s t r u c t i o n ; as he that s t a n d s on s u c h slippery declining g r o u n d , on the e d g e of a pit, he c a n n o t s t a n d a l o n e , w h e n he is let go h e i m m e d i a t e l y falls a n d is lost. T h e observation from the w o r d s that I w o u l d now insist u p o n is this. " T h e r e is nothing that k e e p s wicked m e n at any o n e m o m e n t o u t of hell, but the m e r e p l e a s u r e of G o d . " By the m e r e p l e a s u r e of G o d , I m e a n His sovereign p l e a s u r e , His arbitrary will, restrained by no obligation, hindered by no m a n n e r of difficulty, any m o r e than if n o t h i n g else b u t G o d ' s m e r e will had in the least d e g r e e , or in any r e s p e c t whatsoever, any h a n d in the preservation of wicked men o n e m o m e n t . T h e truth of this observation may a p p e a r by the following c o n s i d e r a t i o n s . 1. T h e r e is no want of power in G o d to c a s t wicked m e n into hell at any m o m e n t . M e n ' s h a n d s c a n n o t be strong w h e n G o d rises u p . T h e s t r o n g e s t have no power to resist H i m , not c a n any deliver'' o u t of H i s h a n d s . H e is not only able to c a s t wicked m e n into hell, but H e c a n m o s t easily do it. S o m e t i m e s a n earthly p r i n c e m e e t s with a great deal of difficulty to s u b d u e a rebel, w h o has f o u n d m e a n s to fortify himself, a n d h a s m a d e h i m s e l f s t r o n g by the n u m b e r s of his followers. B u t it is not s o with G o d . T h e r e is n o fortress that is any d e f e n s e from the power of G o d . T h o u g h h a n d j o i n in h a n d , a n d vast m u l t i t u d e s of G o d ' s e n e m i e s c o m b i n e a n d a s s o c i a t e t h e m s e l v e s , they are easily broken in p i e c e s . T h e y are a s great h e a p s of light c h a f f before the whirlwind; or large q u a n t i t i e s of dry s t u b b l e before d e v o u r i n g f l a m e s . W e 5. "For their vine is of the vine of S o d o m , and the fields of Gomorrah: their grapes are grapes of gall, their clusters are hitter: Their wine is the poison of dragons, and the cruel venom of asps" (Deuter-

onomy 3 2 . 3 2 - 3 3 ) . S o d o m and Gomorrah were wicked cities destroyed hy a rain of fire and sulfur from heaven (Genesis 19.24). 6. I.e., rescue others.

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find it easy to tread on a n d c r u s h a worm that we s e e crawling on the e a r t h ; so it is easy for us to c u t or singe a slender thread that any thing h a n g s by: t h u s easy is it for G o d , w h e n he p l e a s e s , to c a s t His e n e m i e s d o w n to hell. W h a t are w e , that we s h o u l d think to s t a n d before H i m , at w h o s e r e b u k e the earth t r e m b l e s , a n d before w h o m the rocks are thrown d o w n ? 2. T h e y deserve to be c a s t into hell; s o that divine j u s t i c e never s t a n d s in the way, it m a k e s no objection a g a i n s t G o d ' s u s i n g His power at any m o m e n t to destroy t h e m . Yea, on the contrary, j u s t i c e calls a l o u d for an infinite p u n i s h m e n t of their sins. Divine j u s t i c e says of the tree that brings forth s u c h g r a p e s of S o d o m , " C u t it d o w n , why c u m b e r e t h it the g r o u n d ? " L u k e 1 3 . 7 . T h e sword of divine j u s t i c e is every m o m e n t b r a n d i s h e d over their h e a d s , a n d it is n o t h i n g but the hand of arbitrary mercy, a n d G o d ' s will, that holds it b a c k . 3. T h e y are already u n d e r a s e n t e n c e of c o n d e m n a t i o n to hell. T h e y d o not only justly deserve to be c a s t down thither, but the s e n t e n c e of the law of G o d , that eternal a n d i m m u t a b l e rule of r i g h t e o u s n e s s that G o d has fixed b e t w e e n H i m a n d m a n k i n d , is g o n e out a g a i n s t t h e m , a n d s t a n d s a g a i n s t t h e m ; so that they are b o u n d over already to hell. J o h n 3 . 1 8 : " H e that believeth not is c o n d e m n e d a l r e a d y . " S o that every u n c o n v e r t e d m a n properly b e l o n g s to hell; that is his p l a c e ; from t h e n c e he is, J o h n 8 . 2 3 : "Ye are from b e n e a t h . " And thither he is b o u n d ; it is the p l a c e that j u s t i c e , a n d G o d ' s word, a n d the s e n t e n c e of his u n c h a n g e a b l e law a s s i g n to h i m . 4. T h e y are now the o b j e c t s of that very s a m e a n g e r a n d wrath of G o d that is expressed in the t o r m e n t s of hell. And the r e a s o n why they do not go down to hell at e a c h m o m e n t is not b e c a u s e G o d , in w h o s e power they a r e , is not then very angry with t h e m a s H e is with m a n y m i s e r a b l e c r e a t u r e s now t o r m e n t e d in hell, w h o there feel a n d b e a r the fierceness of His wrath. Yea, G o d is a great deal m o r e angry with great n u m b e r s that are now on e a r t h : yea, d o u b t l e s s , with m a n y that are now in this c o n g r e g a t i o n , who it m a y be are at e a s e , than H e is with m a n y of t h o s e w h o are now in the flames of hell. S o that it is not b e c a u s e G o d is u n m i n d f u l of their w i c k e d n e s s , a n d d o e s not resent it, that H e d o e s not let loose His h a n d a n d c u t t h e m off. G o d is not altogether s u c h an o n e a s t h e m s e l v e s , t h o u g h they may i m a g i n e H i m to be so. T h e wrath of G o d b u r n s a g a i n s t t h e m , their d a m n a t i o n d o e s not s l u m ber; the pit is p r e p a r e d , the fire is m a d e ready, the f u r n a c e is now hot, ready to receive t h e m ; the flames d o now rage a n d glow. T h e glittering sword is w h e t , 7 a n d held over t h e m , a n d the pit hath o p e n e d its m o u t h u n d e r t h e m . 5. T h e devil s t a n d s ready to fall u p o n t h e m , a n d seize t h e m a s his o w n , at what m o m e n t G o d shall permit h i m . T h e y b e l o n g to h i m ; he h a s their s o u l s in his p o s s e s s i o n , a n d u n d e r his d o m i n i o n . T h e S c r i p t u r e r e p r e s e n t s t h e m a s his g o o d s , L u k e 1 1 . 1 2 . " T h e devils watch t h e m ; they are ever by t h e m at their right h a n d ; they s t a n d waiting for t h e m , like greedy hungry lions that see their prey, a n d expect to have it, but are for the p r e s e n t kept b a c k . If G o d s h o u l d withdraw His h a n d , by which they are r e s t r a i n e d , they would in o n e m o m e n t fly u p o n their p o o r s o u l s . T h e old s e r p e n t is g a p i n g for t h e m ; hell o p e n s its m o u t h wide to receive t h e m ; a n d if G o d s h o u l d permit it, they would be hastily swallowed u p a n d lost. 6. T h e r e are in the s o u l s of wicked m e n t h o s e hellish principles reigning 7. Sharpened. 8. "Or if he shall ask an egg, will he offer him a

scorpion?

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that w o u l d presently kindle a n d flame out into hell fire, if it were not for G o d ' s restraints. T h e r e is laid in the very n a t u r e of carnal m e n a f o u n d a t i o n for the t o r m e n t s of hell. T h e r e are t h o s e c o r r u p t principles, in reigning power in t h e m , a n d in full p o s s e s s i o n of t h e m , that are s e e d s of hell fire. T h e s e principles are active a n d powerful, e x c e e d i n g violent in their n a t u r e , a n d if it were not for the restraining h a n d of G o d u p o n t h e m , they w o u l d s o o n b r e a k o u t , they would flame out after the s a m e m a n n e r a s the s a m e corruptions, the s a m e enmity d o e s in the hearts of d a m n e d s o u l s , a n d would beget the s a m e t o r m e n t s a s they do in t h e m . T h e s o u l s of the wicked are in Scripture c o m p a r e d to the troubled s e a , I s a i a h 5 7 . 2 0 . 9 F o r the p r e s e n t , G o d restrains their w i c k e d n e s s by H i s mighty p o w e r , a s H e d o e s the raging waves of the troubled s e a , saying, " H i t h e r t o shalt t h o u c o m e , but no further;" 1 but if G o d s h o u l d withdraw that restraining power, it would s o o n carry all before it. S i n is the ruin a n d misery of the s o u l ; it is destructive in its n a t u r e ; a n d if G o d s h o u l d leave it without restraint, there would n e e d n o t h i n g else to m a k e the soul perfectly m i s e r a b l e . T h e c o r r u p t i o n of the heart of m a n is i m m o d e r a t e a n d b o u n d l e s s in its fury; a n d while wicked m e n live h e r e , it is like fire p e n t u p by G o d ' s restraints, w h e r e a s if it were let l o o s e , it w o u l d set on fire the c o u r s e of n a t u r e ; a n d as the heart is now a sink of sin, so if sin w a s not r e s t r a i n e d , it would i m m e d i a t e l y turn the soul into a fiery oven, or a f u r n a c e of fire a n d b r i m s t o n e . 7. It is n o security to wicked m e n for o n e m o m e n t that there a r e n o visible m e a n s of d e a t h at h a n d . It is n o security to a n a t u r a l 2 m a n that h e is now in health a n d that h e d o e s not s e e which way he s h o u l d now i m m e d i a t e l y g o o u t of the world by any a c c i d e n t , a n d that t h e r e is no visible d a n g e r in any r e s p e c t in his c i r c u m s t a n c e s . T h e manifold a n d c o n t i n u a l e x p e r i e n c e of the world in all a g e s , s h o w s this is no e v i d e n c e that a m a n is not on the very brink of eternity, a n d that the next s t e p will not b e into a n o t h e r world. T h e u n s e e n , u n t h o u g h t - o f ways a n d m e a n s of p e r s o n s g o i n g s u d d e n l y out of the world are i n n u m e r a b l e a n d i n c o n c e i v a b l e . U n c o n v e r t e d m e n walk over the pit of hell o n a rotten covering, a n d there are i n n u m e r a b l e p l a c e s in this covering s o w e a k that they will not b e a r their weight, a n d t h e s e p l a c e s are not s e e n . T h e arrows of d e a t h fly u n s e e n at n o o n d a y ; * the s h a r p e s t sight c a n n o t d i s c e r n t h e m . G o d h a s s o m a n y different u n s e a r c h a b l e ways of taking wicked m e n o u t of the world a n d s e n d i n g t h e m to hell, that there is n o t h i n g to m a k e it a p p e a r that G o d h a d n e e d to be at the e x p e n s e of a m i r a c l e , or go o u t of the ordinary c o u r s e of His p r o v i d e n c e , to destroy any wicked m a n at any m o m e n t . All the m e a n s that there a r e of s i n n e r s g o i n g out of the world are so in G o d ' s h a n d s , a n d s o universally a n d absolutely s u b j e c t to H i s power a n d d e t e r m i n a t i o n , that it d o e s not d e p e n d at all the less on the m e r e will of G o d w h e t h e r s i n n e r s shall at any m o m e n t g o to hell t h a n if m e a n s were never m a d e u s e of or at all c o n c e r n e d in the c a s e . 8. N a t u r a l m e n ' s p r u d e n c e a n d c a r e to preserve their own lives, or the c a r e of others to preserve t h e m , do not s e c u r e t h e m a m o m e n t . T o this, divine p r o v i d e n c e a n d universal e x p e r i e n c e d o a l s o b e a r testimony. T h e r e is this clear e v i d e n c e that m e n ' s own w i s d o m is n o security to t h e m from d e a t h ; that if it were otherwise we s h o u l d s e e s o m e difference b e t w e e n the wise 9 . "But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt." I. Job 3 8 . 1 1 .

2. I.e., unregenerate, unsaved. 3. "Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day" (Psalm 9 1 . 5 ) .

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a n d politic m e n of the world, a n d o t h e r s , with regard to their l i a b l e n e s s to early a n d u n e x p e c t e d d e a t h : but how is it in fact? E c c l e s i a s t e s 2 . 1 6 : " H o w dieth the wise m a n ? even a s the fool." 9. All wicked m e n ' s p a i n s a n d contrivance which they u s e to e s c a p e hell, while they c o n t i n u e to reject C h r i s t , a n d so r e m a i n wicked m e n , d o not s e c u r e t h e m from hell o n e m o m e n t . A l m o s t every n a t u r a l m a n that h e a r s of hell, flatters himself that h e shall e s c a p e it; he d e p e n d s u p o n h i m s e l f for his own security; he flatters h i m s e l f in what he h a s d o n e , in w h a t h e is now doing, or what h e i n t e n d s to d o . Every o n e lays o u t m a t t e r s in his own m i n d how he shall avoid d a m n a t i o n , a n d flatters himself that h e contrives well for himself, a n d that his s c h e m e s will not fail. T h e y hear i n d e e d that there are but few s a v e d , a n d that the greater part of m e n that have died heretofore are g o n e to hell; but e a c h o n e i m a g i n e s that h e lays out m a t t e r s better for his own e s c a p e than others have d o n e . H e d o e s not intend to c o m e to that p l a c e of torment; he says within h i m s e l f that he i n t e n d s to take effectual c a r e , a n d to order m a t t e r s so for h i m s e l f a s not to fail. B u t the foolish children of m e n miserably d e l u d e t h e m s e l v e s in their own s c h e m e s , a n d in c o n f i d e n c e in their own strength a n d w i s d o m ; they trust to nothing but a s h a d o w . T h e greater part of t h o s e w h o heretofore have lived u n d e r the s a m e m e a n s of g r a c e , a n d are now d e a d , are u n d o u b t e d l y g o n e to hell; a n d it w a s not b e c a u s e they were not a s wise a s t h o s e w h o a r e n o w alive: it w a s not b e c a u s e they did not lay o u t m a t t e r s a s well for t h e m s e l v e s to s e c u r e their own e s c a p e . If we c o u l d s p e a k with t h e m , a n d i n q u i r e of t h e m , o n e by o n e , w h e t h e r they e x p e c t e d w h e n alive, a n d w h e n they u s e d to hear a b o u t hell, ever to b e the s u b j e c t s of that misery, we d o u b t l e s s , s h o u l d hear o n e a n d a n o t h e r reply, " N o , I never i n t e n d e d to c o m e h e r e : I h a d laid out m a t t e r s otherwise in my m i n d ; I thought I s h o u l d contrive well for myself: I thought my s c h e m e g o o d . I i n t e n d e d to take effectual c a r e ; b u t it c a m e u p o n m e u n e x p e c t e d ; I did not look for it at that t i m e , a n d in that m a n n e r ; it c a m e as a thief: D e a t h outwitted m e : G o d ' s wrath w a s too q u i c k for m e . O h , my c u r s e d f o o l i s h n e s s ! I w a s flattering myself, a n d p l e a s i n g myself with vain d r e a m s of what I would do hereafter; a n d w h e n I w a s saying, p e a c e a n d safety, then s u d d e n l y d e s t r u c t i o n c a m e u p o n m e . " 10. G o d h a s laid H i m s e l f u n d e r n o obligation by any p r o m i s e to k e e p any natural m a n out of hell o n e m o m e n t . G o d certainly h a s m a d e n o p r o m i s e s either of eternal life or of any deliverance or preservation from eternal d e a t h but what are c o n t a i n e d in the c o v e n a n t of g r a c e , 4 the p r o m i s e s that are given in C h r i s t , in w h o m all the p r o m i s e s are yea a n d a m e n . B u t surely they have no interest in the p r o m i s e s of the c o v e n a n t of g r a c e w h o a r e not the children of the c o v e n a n t , w h o d o not believe in any of the p r o m i s e s , a n d have n o interest in the M e d i a t o r of the c o v e n a n t . 5 S o that, whatever s o m e have i m a g i n e d a n d p r e t e n d e d 6 a b o u t p r o m i s e s m a d e to natural m e n ' s e a r n e s t s e e k i n g a n d knocking, it is plain a n d m a n i f e s t that whatever p a i n s a natural m a n takes in religion, whatever prayers he m a k e s , till he believes in C h r i s t , G o d is u n d e r no m a n n e r of obligation to k e e p him a m o m e n t from eternal d e s t r u c t i o n . 4. The original covenant God made with Adam is called the Covenant of Works; the second covenant Christ made with fallen humanity—declaring that if they believed in him they would be saved—is

called the Covenant of G r a c e . 5. I.e., Christ, who took upon himself the sins of the world and suffered for them. 6. Claimed.

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S o that, t h u s it is that natural m e n are held in the h a n d of G o d , over the pit of hell; they have deserved the fiery pit, a n d are already s e n t e n c e d to it; a n d G o d is dreadfully provoked. His a n g e r is as great t o w a r d s t h e m a s to t h o s e that are actually suffering the e x e c u t i o n s of the fierceness of H i s wrath in hell, a n d they have d o n e nothing in the least to a p p e a s e or a b a t e that a n g e r , neither is G o d in the least b o u n d by any p r o m i s e to hold t h e m up o n e m o m e n t ; the devil is waiting for t h e m , hell is g a p i n g for t h e m , the flames gather a n d flash a b o u t t h e m , a n d would fain lay hold on t h e m , a n d swallow them u p ; the fire pent up in their own hearts is struggling to b r e a k out: a n d they have no interest in any M e d i a t o r , there are no m e a n s within r e a c h that can be any security to t h e m . In short, they have no refuge, n o t h i n g to take hold of; all that preserves t h e m every m o m e n t is the m e r e arbitrary will, a n d u n c o v e n a n t e d , u n o b l i g e d f o r b e a r a n c e of an i n c e n s e d G o d . Application T h e u s e of this awful s u b j e c t may be for a w a k e n i n g u n c o n v e r t e d p e r s o n s in this c o n g r e g a t i o n . T h i s that you have h e a r d is the c a s e of every o n e of you that are o u t of C h r i s t . T h a t world of misery, that lake of b u r n i n g b r i m s t o n e , is extended a b r o a d u n d e r you. T h e r e is the dreadful pit of the glowing f l a m e s of the wrath of G o d ; there is hell's wide g a p i n g m o u t h o p e n ; a n d you have nothing to s t a n d u p o n , nor any thing to take hold of; there is n o t h i n g b e t w e e n you a n d hell but the air; it is only the power a n d m e r e p l e a s u r e of G o d that holds you u p . You probably are not s e n s i b l e " of this; you find you are kept out of hell, but do not s e e the h a n d of G o d in it; but look at other t h i n g s , a s the g o o d state of your bodily c o n s t i t u t i o n , your c a r e of your own life, a n d the m e a n s you u s e for your own preservation. B u t i n d e e d t h e s e things are nothing; if G o d s h o u l d withdraw His h a n d , they would avail no m o r e to k e e p you from falling, t h a n the thin air to hold up a p e r s o n that is s u s p e n d e d in it. Your w i c k e d n e s s m a k e s you a s it were heavy a s lead, a n d to tend downwards with great weight a n d p r e s s u r e towards hell; a n d if G o d s h o u l d let you g o , you would immediately sink a n d swiftly d e s c e n d a n d p l u n g e into the b o t t o m l e s s gulf, a n d your healthy c o n s t i t u t i o n , a n d your own c a r e a n d prud e n c e , a n d b e s t c o n t r i v a n c e , a n d all your r i g h t e o u s n e s s , w o u l d have no m o r e influence to u p h o l d you a n d keep you out of hell, than a spider's web would have to s t o p a fallen rock. W e r e it not for the sovereign p l e a s u r e of G o d , the earth would not b e a r you o n e m o m e n t ; for you a r e a b u r d e n to it; the creation g r o a n s with you; the c r e a t u r e is m a d e s u b j e c t to the b o n d a g e of your corruption, not willingly; the s u n d o e s not willingly s h i n e u p o n you to give you light to serve sin a n d S a t a n ; the earth d o e s not willingly yield her i n c r e a s e to satisfy your lusts; nor is it willingly a s t a g e for your w i c k e d n e s s to be a c t e d u p o n ; the air d o e s not willingly serve you for breath to m a i n t a i n the flame of life in your vitals, while you s p e n d your life in the service of G o d ' s e n e m i e s . G o d ' s c r e a t u r e s are g o o d , a n d were m a d e for m e n to serve G o d with, a n d do not willingly s u b s e r v e to any other p u r p o s e , a n d g r o a n w h e n they a r e a b u s e d to p u r p o s e s so directly contrary to their n a t u r e a n d e n d . A n d the world would s p e w you o u t , were it not for the sovereign h a n d of H i m w h o h a t h s u b j e c t e d 7

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it in h o p e . T h e r e a r e black c l o u d s of G o d ' s wrath n o w h a n g i n g directly over your h e a d s , full of the dreadful s t o r m , a n d big with thunder; a n d were it not for the restraining h a n d of G o d , it would i m m e d i a t e l y b u r s t forth u p o n y o u . T h e sovereign p l e a s u r e of G o d , for the p r e s e n t , stays H i s r o u g h w i n d ; otherwise it w o u l d c o m e with fury, a n d your d e s t r u c t i o n would c o m e like a whirlwind, a n d you would be like the chaff of the s u m m e r t h r e s h i n g floor. T h e wrath of G o d is like great waters that are d a m m e d for the p r e s e n t ; they i n c r e a s e m o r e a n d m o r e , a n d rise higher a n d higher, till a n outlet is given; a n d the longer the s t r e a m is s t o p p e d , the m o r e rapid a n d mighty is its c o u r s e w h e n o n c e it is let l o o s e . It is true that j u d g m e n t a g a i n s t your evil works h a s not b e e n e x e c u t e d hitherto; the floods of G o d ' s v e n g e a n c e have b e e n withheld; but your guilt in the m e a n t i m e is c o n s t a n t l y i n c r e a s i n g , a n d you are every day t r e a s u r i n g u p m o r e wrath; the waters are constantly rising, a n d waxing m o r e a n d m o r e mighty; a n d there is n o t h i n g but the m e r e pleas u r e of G o d that holds the w a t e r s back, that are unwilling to be s t o p p e d , a n d p r e s s hard to g o forward. If G o d s h o u l d only withdraw H i s h a n d from the floodgate, it would i m m e d i a t e l y fly o p e n , a n d the fiery floods of the fierceness a n d wrath of G o d , would r u s h forth with i n c o n c e i v a b l e fury, a n d would c o m e u p o n you with o m n i p o t e n t power; a n d if your strength were ten t h o u s a n d times greater than it is, yea, ten t h o u s a n d times greater than the strength of the s t o u t e s t , sturdiest devil in hell, it would be n o t h i n g to w i t h s t a n d or e n d u r e it. T h e bow of G o d ' s wrath is b e n t , a n d the arrow m a d e ready on the string, a n d j u s t i c e b e n d s the arrow at your heart, a n d strains the bow, a n d it is nothing but the m e r e p l e a s u r e of G o d , a n d that of a n angry G o d , without any p r o m i s e or obligation at all, that k e e p s the arrow o n e m o m e n t from b e i n g m a d e d r u n k with your blood. T h u s all you that never p a s s e d u n d e r a great c h a n g e of heart, by the mighty power of the Spirit of G o d u p o n your s o u l s , all you that were never born a g a i n , a n d m a d e new c r e a t u r e s , a n d raised from b e i n g d e a d in sin, to a state of new, a n d before altogether u n e x p e r i e n c e d light a n d life, a r e in the h a n d s of an angry G o d . H o w e v e r you m a y have reformed your life in m a n y things, a n d m a y have h a d religious affections, a n d m a y keep up a form of religion in your families a n d c l o s e t s , 9 a n d in the h o u s e of G o d , it is n o t h i n g b u t H i s m e r e p l e a s u r e that k e e p s you from b e i n g this m o m e n t swallowed u p in everlasting d e s t r u c t i o n . H o w e v e r u n c o n v i n c e d you m a y now be of the truth of what you hear, by a n d by you will b e fully c o n v i n c e d of it. T h o s e that are g o n e from b e i n g in the like c i r c u m s t a n c e s with you s e e that it w a s s o with t h e m ; for d e s t r u c t i o n c a m e s u d d e n l y u p o n m o s t of t h e m ; w h e n they e x p e c t e d nothing of it a n d while they were saying, p e a c e a n d safety: now they s e e that t h o s e things on which they d e p e n d e d for p e a c e a n d safety, were n o t h i n g b u t thin air a n d e m p t y s h a d o w s . T h e G o d that holds you over the pit of hell, m u c h a s o n e holds a spider or s o m e l o a t h s o m e insect over the fire, a b h o r s you, a n d is dreadfully provoked: His wrath towards you b u r n s like fire; H e looks u p o n you a s worthy of n o t h i n g else b u t to be c a s t into the fire; H e is of p u r e r eyes t h a n to b e a r to have you in His sight; you are ten t h o u s a n d t i m e s m o r e a b o m i n a b l e in His eyes than the m o s t hateful v e n o m o u s s e r p e n t is in o u r s . You have o f f e n d e d H i m infinitely m o r e than ever a s t u b b o r n rebel did his p r i n c e ; a n d yet it is 9. Studies; rooms for meditation. "Affections": feelings.

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nothing but H i s h a n d that holds you from falling into the fire every m o m e n t . It is to b e a s c r i b e d to nothing e l s e , that you did not go to hell the last night; that you w a s suffered to a w a k e again in this world, after you c l o s e d your eyes to s l e e p . A n d there is no other r e a s o n to be given, why you have not d r o p p e d into hell s i n c e you a r o s e in the m o r n i n g , but that G o d ' s h a n d h a s held you u p . T h e r e is no other reason to be given why you have not g o n e to hell, s i n c e you have sat here in the h o u s e of G o d , provoking His p u r e eyes by your sinful wicked m a n n e r of a t t e n d i n g His s o l e m n worship. Y e a , there is n o t h i n g else that is to be given a s a reason why you d o not this very m o m e n t d r o p d o w n into hell. O sinner! C o n s i d e r the fearful d a n g e r you are in: it is a great f u r n a c e of wrath, a wide a n d b o t t o m l e s s pit, full of the fire of w r a t h , that you are held over in the h a n d of that G o d , w h o s e wrath is provoked a n d i n c e n s e d a s m u c h a g a i n s t you, a s a g a i n s t m a n y of the d a m n e d in hell. You h a n g by a slender thread, with the flames of divine wrath flashing a b o u t it, a n d ready every m o m e n t to s i n g e it, a n d burn it a s u n d e r ; a n d you have no interest in any M e d i a t o r , a n d nothing to lay hold of to save yourself, n o t h i n g to k e e p off the flames of w r a t h , nothing of your own, nothing that you ever have d o n e , n o t h i n g that you c a n d o , to i n d u c e G o d to s p a r e you o n e m o m e n t . And c o n s i d e r here m o r e particularly. 1. W h o s e wrath it is: it is the wrath of the infinite G o d . If it were only the wrath of m a n , though it were of the m o s t potent p r i n c e , it would be c o m paratively little to be r e g a r d e d . T h e wrath of kings is very m u c h d r e a d e d , especially of a b s o l u t e m o n a r c h s , w h o have the p o s s e s s i o n s a n d lives of their s u b j e c t s wholly in their power, to b e d i s p o s e d of at their m e r e will. Proverbs 2 0 . 2 : " T h e fear of a king is a s the roaring of a lion: W h o s o provoketh him to anger, s i n n e t h a g a i n s t his own s o u l . " T h e s u b j e c t that very m u c h e n r a g e s a n arbitrary p r i n c e is liable to suffer the m o s t e x t r e m e t o r m e n t s that h u m a n art can invent, or h u m a n power c a n inflict. B u t the g r e a t e s t earthly p o t e n t a t e s in their g r e a t e s t majesty, a n d s t r e n g t h , a n d when c l o t h e d in their greatest terrors, are but f e e b l e , d e s p i c a b l e w o r m s of the d u s t , in c o m p a r i s o n of the great a n d almighty C r e a t o r a n d King of heaven a n d e a r t h . It is but little that they c a n d o , w h e n m o s t e n r a g e d , a n d w h e n they have exerted the u t m o s t of their fury. All the kings of the earth, before G o d , are a s g r a s s h o p p e r s ; they are nothing, a n d less than nothing: both their love a n d their hatred is to be d e s p i s e d . T h e wrath of the great K i n g of kings, is a s m u c h m o r e terrible than theirs, a s His majesty is greater. L u k e 12.4—5: " A n d I say u n t o you, my friends, B e not afraid of t h e m that kill the body, a n d after that, have no m o r e that they c a n do. B u t I will forewarn you w h o m you shall fear: fear him, which after he hath killed, hath p o w e r to c a s t into hell: yea, I say u n t o y o u , Fear him." 2. It is the fierceness of His wrath that you are e x p o s e d to. W e often read of the fury of G o d ; as in Isaiah 5 9 . 1 8 : " A c c o r d i n g to their d e e d s , accordingly h e will repay fury to his a d v e r s a r i e s . " S o Isaiah 6 6 . 1 5: " F o r b e h o l d , the L o r d will c o m e with fire, a n d with his c h a r i o t s like a whirlwind, to r e n d e r his a n g e r with fury, a n d his r e b u k e with f l a m e s of fire." And in m a n y other p l a c e s . S o , Revelation 1 9 . 1 5 : we read of "the wine p r e s s of the f i e r c e n e s s a n d wrath of Almighty G o d . " 1 T h e w o r d s are e x c e e d i n g terrible. If it h a d only b e e n said, 1. "He treadeth the winepress of the liereeness and wrath of Almighty G o d . "

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"the wrath of G o d , " the words would have implied that which is infinitely dreadful: but it is "the fierceness a n d wrath of G o d . " T h e fury of G o d ! the fierceness of J e h o v a h ! 2 O h , how dreadful m u s t that b e ! W h o can utter or conceive w h a t s u c h e x p r e s s i o n s carry in t h e m ! B u t it is a l s o "the fierceness a n d wrath of Almighty G o d . " As t h o u g h there would be a very great m a n i festation of H i s almighty power in what the fierceness of H i s wrath s h o u l d inflict, as t h o u g h o m n i p o t e n c e s h o u l d be a s it were e n r a g e d , a n d exerted, a s men are wont to exert their strength in the fierceness of their wrath. O h ! then, what will be the c o n s e q u e n c e ! W h a t will b e c o m e of the p o o r w o r m s that shall suffer it! W h o s e h a n d s c a n be strong? A n d w h o s e heart c a n e n d u r e ? T o what a dreadful, inexpressible, inconceivable d e p t h of misery m u s t the poor c r e a t u r e be s u n k who shall be the s u b j e c t of this! C o n s i d e r this, you that are here p r e s e n t that yet remain in a n u n r e g e n e r a t e state. T h a t G o d will e x e c u t e the fierceness of His a n g e r implies that H e will inflict wrath without any pity. W h e n G o d b e h o l d s the ineffable extremity of your c a s e , a n d s e e s your t o r m e n t to b e s o vastly d i s p r o p o r t i o n e d to your strength, a n d s e e s how your p o o r soul is c r u s h e d , a n d sinks d o w n , a s it were, into an infinite g l o o m ; H e will have no c o m p a s s i o n u p o n you, H e will not forbear the e x e c u t i o n s of H i s wrath, or in the least lighten His h a n d ; there shall be no m o d e r a t i o n or mercy, nor will G o d then at all stay His rough wind; H e will have no regard to your welfare, nor be at all careful lest you s h o u l d suffer too m u c h in any other s e n s e , than only that you shall not suffer beyond what strict j u s t i c e r e q u i r e s . N o t h i n g shall be withheld b e c a u s e it is so hard for you to bear. Ezekiel 8 . 1 8 : " T h e r e f o r e will I a l s o deal in fury: m i n e eye shall not s p a r e , neither will I have pity; a n d t h o u g h they cry in m i n e e a r s with a loud voice, yet I will not hear t h e m . " N o w G o d s t a n d s ready to pity you; this is a day of mercy; you m a y cry now with s o m e e n c o u r a g e m e n t of obtaining mercy. B u t w h e n o n c e the day of mercy is p a s t , your m o s t l a m e n table a n d d o l o r o u s cries a n d shrieks will b e in vain; you will b e wholly lost a n d thrown away of G o d a s to any regard to your welfare. G o d will have no other u s e to put you to, but to suffer misery; you shall be c o n t i n u e d in b e i n g to n o other e n d ; for you will b e a vessel of wrath fitted to d e s t r u c t i o n ; a n d there will be no other u s e of this vessel, but to be filled full of wrath. G o d will be s o far from pitying you when you cry to H i m , that it is said H e will only " l a u g h a n d m o c k . " Proverbs 1 . 2 5 - 2 6 , e t c . 3 H o w awful are t h o s e w o r d s , Isaiah 6 3 . 3 , which are the w o r d s of the great G o d : "I will tread t h e m in m i n e anger, a n d will t r a m p l e t h e m in my fury, a n d their blood shall be sprinkled u p o n my g a r m e n t s , a n d I will stain all my r a i m e n t . " It is p e r h a p s i m p o s s i b l e to c o n c e i v e of w o r d s that carry in them greater m a n i f e s t a t i o n s of t h e s e three things, viz., c o n t e m p t , a n d h a t r e d , a n d fierceness of indignation. If you cry to G o d to pity you, H e will b e s o far from pitying you in your doleful c a s e , or s h o w i n g you the least regard or favor, that instead of that, H e will only tread you u n d e r foot. And t h o u g h H e will know that you c a n n o t b e a r the weight of o m n i p o t e n c e treading u p o n you, yet H e will not regard that, but H e will c r u s h you u n d e r H i s feet without mercy; H e will c r u s h out your blood, a n d m a k e it fly a n d it shall be sprinkled on His g a r m e n t s , so a s to stain all His raiment. H e will not only hate you, 2. T h e name used for God in the Old Testament. 3. "But ye have set at nought all my counsel, and

would none ol my reproof: I also will laugh at your calamity: I will mock you when your fear c o m e t h . "

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but H e will have you in t h e u t m o s t c o n t e m p t : no p l a c e shall b e t h o u g h t fit for y o u , but u n d e r H i s feet to b e t r o d d e n down as the mire of the s t r e e t s . 3. T h e misery you a r e e x p o s e d to is that w h i c h G o d will inflict to that e n d , that H e might s h o w w h a t that wrath of J e h o v a h is. G o d hath h a d it o n H i s heart to s h o w to a n g e l s a n d m e n b o t h how excellent H i s love is, a n d also how terrible H i s wrath is. S o m e t i m e s earthly kings h a v e a m i n d to s h o w how terrible their wrath is, by the e x t r e m e p u n i s h m e n t s they w o u l d e x e c u t e o n t h o s e that w o u l d provoke t h e m . N e b u c h a d n e z z a r , that mighty a n d h a u g h t y m o n a r c h of the C h a l d e a n e m p i r e , w a s willing to s h o w his wrath w h e n e n r a g e d with S h a d r a c h , M e s h e c h , a n d A b e d n e g o ; a n d a c c o r d i n g l y gave orders that t h e b u r n i n g fiery f u r n a c e s h o u l d b e h e a t e d seven t i m e s hotter than it w a s b e f o r e ; d o u b t l e s s , it w a s raised to the u t m o s t d e g r e e of fierceness that h u m a n art c o u l d raise it.' 1 B u t the great G o d is a l s o willing to s h o w H i s wrath, a n d m a g n i f y H i s awful m a j e s t y a n d mighty p o w e r in t h e e x t r e m e sufferings of H i s e n e m i e s . R o m a n s 9 . 2 2 : " W h a t if G o d , willing to s h o w his wrath, a n d to m a k e his p o w e r k n o w n , e n d u r e with m u c h long-suffering the v e s s e l s of wrath fitted to d e s t r u c t i o n ? " A n d s e e i n g this is H i s d e s i g n , a n d what H e h a s d e t e r m i n e d , even to s h o w how terrible the r e s t r a i n e d w r a t h , the fury a n d fierceness of J e h o v a h is, H e will do it to effect. T h e r e will b e s o m e t h i n g a c c o m p l i s h e d a n d b r o u g h t to p a s s that will b e dreadful with a w i t n e s s . W h e n the great a n d angry G o d h a t h risen u p a n d e x e c u t e d H i s awful v e n g e a n c e on the p o o r sinner, a n d the w r e t c h is actually suffering the infinite weight a n d p o w e r of H i s i n d i g n a t i o n , then will G o d call u p o n the whole universe to b e h o l d that awful m a j e s t y a n d mighty p o w e r that is to b e s e e n in it. I s a i a h 33.12—14: "And t h e p e o p l e shall b e a s the b u r n i n g s of lime, a s thorns c u t u p shall they b e b u r n t in the fire. H e a r ye that a r e far off, w h a t I have d o n e ; a n d ye that are n e a r , a c k n o w l e d g e my might. T h e s i n n e r s in Zion are afraid; f e a r f u l n e s s hath s u r p r i s e d the h y p o c r i t e s , " e t c . T h u s it will b e with you that are in an u n c o n v e r t e d s t a t e , if you c o n t i n u e in it; the infinite m i g h t , a n d majesty, a n d t e r r i b l e n e s s of the o m n i p o t e n t G o d shall b e m a g n i f i e d u p o n y o u , in the ineffable strength of your t o r m e n t s . You shall b e t o r m e n t e d in the p r e s e n c e of the holy a n g e l s , a n d in the p r e s e n c e of the L a m b ; a n d w h e n you shall b e in this state of suffering, the glorious i n h a b i t a n t s of h e a v e n shall g o forth a n d look o n t h e awful s p e c t a c l e , that they may s e e what the wrath a n d fierceness of the Almighty is; a n d w h e n they have s e e n it, they will fall d o w n a n d a d o r e that great p o w e r a n d majesty. I s a i a h 66.23—24: "And it shall c o m e to p a s s , that from o n e n e w m o o n to a n o t h e r , a n d from o n e s a b b a t h to a n o t h e r , shall all flesh c o m e to w o r s h i p before m e , saith the L o r d . A n d they shall g o forth a n d look u p o n the carc a s s e s of t h e m e n that have t r a n s g r e s s e d a g a i n s t m e ; for their w o r m shall not d i e , n e i t h e r shall their fire b e q u e n c h e d , a n d they shall b e a n a b h o r r i n g u n t o all f l e s h . " 4 . It is everlasting w r a t h . It w o u l d b e dreadful to suffer this fierceness a n d wrath of Almighty G o d o n e m o m e n t ; but you m u s t suffer it to all eternity. T h e r e will b e n o e n d to this exquisite horrible misery. W h e n you look forw a r d , you shall s e e a l o n g forever, a b o u n d l e s s d u r a t i o n b e f o r e y o u , which will swallow u p your t h o u g h t s , a n d a m a z e your s o u l ; a n d you will a b s o l u t e l y d e s p a i r of ever having any d e l i v e r a n c e , any e n d , any m i t i g a t i o n , any rest at 4. See Daniel 3.1-30.

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all. You will know certainly that you m u s t wear out long a g e s , millions of millions of a g e s , in wrestling a n d conflicting with this almighty m e r c i l e s s v e n g e a n c e ; a n d then w h e n you have so d o n e , w h e n so m a n y a g e s have a c t u ally b e e n s p e n t by you in this m a n n e r , you will know that all is but a point to what r e m a i n s . S o that your p u n i s h m e n t will i n d e e d be infinite. O h , w h o c a n express what the state of a soul in s u c h c i r c u m s t a n c e s is! All that we c a n possibly say a b o u t it gives but a very feeble, faint r e p r e s e n t a t i o n of it; it is inexpressible a n d i n c o n c e i v a b l e : F o r "who knows the p o w e r of G o d ' s anger? 5 H o w dreadful is the s t a t e of t h o s e that are daily a n d hourly in the d a n g e r of this great wrath a n d infinite misery! B u t this is the d i s m a l c a s e of every soul in this c o n g r e g a t i o n that h a s not b e e n b o r n a g a i n , however m o r a l a n d strict, s o b e r a n d religious, they may otherwise b e . O h that you would c o n sider it, w h e t h e r you be y o u n g or old! T h e r e is r e a s o n to think that there are m a n y in this c o n g r e g a t i o n now h e a r i n g this d i s c o u r s e that will actually b e the s u b j e c t s of this very misery to all eternity. W e know not w h o they a r e , or in what s e a t s they sit, or w h a t t h o u g h t s they now have. It m a y be they are now at e a s e , a n d hear all t h e s e things without m u c h d i s t u r b a n c e , a n d are now flattering t h e m s e l v e s that they a r e not the p e r s o n s , p r o m i s i n g t h e m selves that they shall e s c a p e . If they knew that there w a s o n e p e r s o n , a n d but o n e , in the whole c o n g r e g a t i o n , that w a s to b e the s u b j e c t of this misery, w h a t a n awful thing would it be to think of! If we k n e w w h o it w a s , what a n awful sight would it b e to s e e s u c h a p e r s o n ! H o w might all the rest of the c o n g r e g a t i o n lift u p a l a m e n t a b l e a n d bitter cry over him! B u t , a l a s ! i n s t e a d of o n e , how m a n y is it likely will r e m e m b e r this d i s c o u r s e in hell? A n d it would b e a wonder, if s o m e that are now p r e s e n t s h o u l d not b e in hell in a very short t i m e , even b e f o r e this year is out. A n d it w o u l d b e no w o n d e r if s o m e p e r s o n s , that now sit h e r e , in s o m e s e a t s of this m e e t i n g h o u s e , in health, quiet a n d s e c u r e , s h o u l d be there before t o m o r r o w m o r n i n g . T h o s e of you that finally c o n t i n u e in a n a t u r a l c o n d i t i o n , that shall k e e p out of hell longest will b e there in a little time! your d a m n a t i o n d o e s not s l u m b e r ; it will c o m e swiftly, a n d , in all probability, very s u d d e n l y u p o n m a n y of y o u . You have r e a s o n to w o n d e r that you are not already in hell. It is d o u b t l e s s the c a s e of s o m e w h o m you have s e e n a n d k n o w n , that never d e s e r v e d hell m o r e than you, a n d that heretofore a p p e a r e d a s likely to have b e e n now alive as you. T h e i r c a s e is p a s t all h o p e ; they are crying in e x t r e m e misery a n d perfect despair; but here you are in the land of the living a n d in the h o u s e of G o d , a n d have a n opportunity to obtain salvation. W h a t would not t h o s e poor d a m n e d h o p e l e s s s o u l s give for o n e day's opportunity s u c h a s you now enjoy! A n d now you have a n extraordinary opportunity, a day wherein C h r i s t h a s thrown the door of mercy wide o p e n , a n d s t a n d s in calling a n d crying with a loud voice to p o o r s i n n e r s ; a day wherein m a n y are flocking to H i m , a n d p r e s s i n g into the k i n g d o m of G o d . M a n y a r e daily c o m i n g from the e a s t , west, north a n d s o u t h ; m a n y that were very lately in the s a m e m i s e r a b l e condition that you are in are now in a h a p p y s t a t e , with their hearts filled with love to H i m who has loved t h e m , a n d w a s h e d t h e m from their sins in His own blood, a n d rejoicing in h o p e of the glory of G o d . H o w awful is it to b e left b e h i n d at s u c h a day! T o s e e s o m a n y others feasting, while you are 5. "Who knoweth the power of thine anger? even according to thy fear, so is thy wrath" (Psalm 9 0 . I I ) .

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p i n i n g a n d perishing! T o s e e so many rejoicing a n d s i n g i n g for joy of heart, while you have c a u s e to m o u r n for sorrow of heart, a n d howl for vexation of spirit! H o w c a n you rest o n e m o m e n t in s u c h a c o n d i t i o n ? Are not your s o u l s a s p r e c i o u s a s the s o u l s of the p e o p l e at Suffield, 6 w h e r e they are flocking from day to day to C h r i s t ? Are there not m a n y here w h o have lived long in the world, a n d are not to this day born a g a i n ? a n d s o are aliens from the c o m m o n w e a l t h of I s r a e l , 7 a n d have d o n e n o t h i n g ever s i n c e they have lived, but t r e a s u r e u p wrath a g a i n s t the day of wrath? O h , sirs, your c a s e , in a n e s p e c i a l m a n n e r , is extremely d a n g e r o u s . Your guilt a n d h a r d n e s s of heart is extremely great. D o you not s e e how generally p e r s o n s of your years are p a s s e d over a n d left, in the p r e s e n t r e m a r k a b l e a n d wonderful d i s p e n s a t i o n of G o d ' s mercy? You h a d n e e d to c o n s i d e r yourselves, a n d a w a k e thoroughly o u t of s l e e p . You c a n n o t b e a r the fierceness a n d wrath of the infinite G o d . A n d you, y o u n g m e n , a n d y o u n g w o m e n , will you neglect this p r e c i o u s s e a s o n which you now enjoy, w h e n so m a n y o t h e r s of your a g e are r e n o u n c i n g all youthful vanities, a n d flocking to C h r i s t ? You especially have n o w an extraordinary opportunity; but if you n e g l e c t it, it will s o o n be with you a s with t h o s e p e r s o n s w h o spent all the p r e c i o u s days of youth in sin, a n d a r e now c o m e to s u c h a dreadful p a s s in b l i n d n e s s a n d h a r d n e s s . And you, c h i l d r e n , w h o are u n c o n v e r t e d , d o not you know that you are g o i n g down to hell, to b e a r the dreadful wrath of that G o d , w h o is now angry with you every day a n d every night? Will you b e c o n t e n t to be the children of the devil, w h e n so m a n y other children in the land are c o n v e r t e d , a n d are b e c o m e the holy a n d happy children of the K i n g of kings? And let every o n e that is yet of C h r i s t , a n d h a n g i n g over the pit of hell, whether they be old m e n a n d w o m e n , or m i d d l e - a g e d , or y o u n g p e o p l e , or little children, now hearken to the loud calls of G o d ' s word a n d p r o v i d e n c e . T h i s a c c e p t a b l e year of the L o r d , a day of s u c h great favors to s o m e , will d o u b t l e s s b e a day of as r e m a r k a b l e v e n g e a n c e to others. M e n ' s hearts harde n , a n d their guilt i n c r e a s e s a p a c e at s u c h a day a s this, if they neglect their s o u l s ; a n d never was there so great d a n g e r of s u c h p e r s o n b e i n g given u p to h a r d n e s s of heart a n d b l i n d n e s s of m i n d . G o d s e e m s now to b e hastily gathering in His elect in all p a r t s of the land; a n d probably the greater part of adult p e r s o n s that ever shall be saved, will be b r o u g h t in now in a little t i m e , a n d that it will b e a s it w a s on the great o u t p o u r i n g of the Spirit upon the J e w s in the a p o s t l e s ' days;" the election will o b t a i n , a n d the rest will be blinded. If this s h o u l d b e the c a s e with you, you will eternally c u r s e this day, a n d will c u r s e the day that ever you was born, to s e e s u c h a s e a s o n of the p o u r i n g out of G o d ' s Spirit, a n d will wish that you h a d died a n d g o n e to hell before you h a d seen it. N o w u n d o u b t e d l y it is, a s it w a s in the days of J o h n the B a p t i s t , the ax is in an extraordinary m a n n e r laid at the root of the trees, 1 ' that every tree which brings not forth g o o d fruit, m a y be hewn d o w n a n d c a s t into the fire. T h e r e f o r e , let everyone that is out of C h r i s t , now a w a k e a n d fly from the 6. A town in the neighborhood [Edwards's note]. 7. I.e., not among the chosen people, the saved. 8. In Acts 2 the apostle Peter admonishes a crowd to repent and be converted, saying, "Save yourselves from this untoward generation. Then they that gladly received his word were baptized: and

the s a m e day there were added unto them about three thousand souls" (Acts 2.40—II). 9, "And now also the ax is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the lire'' (Matthew 3.10).

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wrath to c o m e . T h e wrath of Almighty G o d is now u n d o u b t e d l y h a n g i n g over a great part of this c o n g r e g a t i o n : Let everyone fly out of S o d o m : " H a s t e a n d e s c a p e for your lives, look not behind you, e s c a p e to the m o u n t a i n , lest you be c o n s u m e d . " 1 1741 1. Genesis 19.17.

BENJAMIN

FRANKLIN

1706-1790 Benjamin Franklin was born on Milk Street in Boston, the tenth son in a family of fifteen children. His father, Josiah, was a tallow chandler and soap boiler who came to Boston in 1682 from Ecton in Northamptonshire, England, and was proud of his Protestant ancestors. He married Abiah Folger, whose father was a teacher to Native Americans. Josiah talked of offering his son Benjamin as his "tithe" to the church and enrolled him in Boston Grammar School as a preparation for the study of the ministry; but his plans were too ambitious, and Benjamin was forced to leave school and work for his father. He hated his father's occupation and threatened to run away to sea. A compromise was made, and when Benjamin was twelve he was apprenticed to his brother, a printer. He must have been a natural student of the printing trade; he loved books and reading, he learned quickly, and he liked to write. His brother unwittingly published Benjamin's first essay when he printed an editorial left on his desk signed "Silence Dogood." When his brother was imprisoned in 1722 for offending Massachusetts officials, Franklin carried on publication of the paper by himself. In 1 723 Franklin broke with his brother and ran away to Philadelphia. It was a serious act for an apprentice, and his brother was justly indignant and angry. But the break was inevitable; for Franklin was proud and independent by nature and too clever for his brother by far. At seventeen, with little money in his pocket but already an expert printer, he proceeded to make his way in the world, subject to the usual "errata," as he liked to call his mistakes, but confident that he could profit from lessons learned and not repeat them. His most serious error was in trusting a foolish man who wanted to be important to everyone. As a result of Governor Keith's "favors," Benjamin found himself alone and without employment in London in 1 724. He returned to the colonies two years later, at the very time when the colonies' print culture experienced a remarkable take-off that marked a period of increasing dependence on the printer as a disseminator of information. Franklin, ever an astute businessman, turned this to his advantage. Franklin had an uncanny instinct for success and knew that the new commercialism demanded that anyone in business assume a public persona that best served his and his clients' interests, even if it masked one's true self. He taught himself French, Spanish, Italian, and Latin and yet was shrewd enough to know that people did not like to do business with merchants who were smarter than they. He dressed plainly and sometimes carried his own paper in a w heelbarrow through Philadelphia streets to assure future customers that he was hardworking and not above doing things for himself. By the time he was twenty-four he was the sole owner of a successful printing shop and editor and publisher of the Pennsylvania Gazette. He offered his Poor Richard's Almanac for sale in 1733 and made it an American institution, filling it with

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maxims for achieving wealth and preaching hard work and thrift. In 1730 he married Deborah Read, the daughter of his first landlady, and they had two children. Franklin had two illegitimate children, and Deborah took Franklin's son William into the household. William was later to become governor of New Jersey and a Loyalist during the Revolution; Franklin addressed the first part of his Autobiography to him. Before he retired from business at the age of forty-two, Franklin had founded a library, invented a stove, established a fire company, subscribed to an academy that was to become the University of Pennsylvania, and served as secretary to the American Philosophical Society. It was his intention when he retired to devote himself to public affairs and his lifelong passion for the natural sciences, especially the phenomena of sound, vapors, earthquakes, and electricity. Franklin's observations on electricity were published in London in 1751 and, despite his disclaimers in the Autobiography, brought him the applause of British scientists. Science was Franklin's great passion, the only thing, the American historian Charles Beard once said, about which Franklin was not ironic. His inquiring mind was challenged most by the mechanics of the ordinary phenomena of the world, and he was convinced that the mind's rational powers would enable him to solve riddles that had puzzled humankind for centuries. Franklin believed that people were naturally innocent, that all the mysteries that charmed the religious mind could be explained to our advantage and that education, properly undertaken, would transform our lives and set us free from the tyrannies of church and monarchy. Franklin had no illusions about the errata of humankind, but his metaphor suggests that we can change and alter our past in a way that the word sins does not. Franklin's remaining years, however, were not spent in a laboratory, but at the diplomatic table in London, Paris, and Philadelphia, where his gift for irony served him well. For he was a born diplomat, detached, adaptable, witty, urbane, charming, and clever; and of the slightly more than forty years left to him after his retirement, more than half were spent abroad. In 1757 he went to England to represent the colonies and stayed for five years, returning in 1763. It was in England in 1768 that Franklin first noted his growing sense of alienation and the impossibility of compromise with the homeland. Parliament can make all laws for the colonies or none, he said, and "I think the arguments for the latter more numerous and weighty, than those for the former." When he returned to Philadelphia in May 1775, he was chosen as a representative to the Second Continental Congress, and he served on the committee to draft the Declaration of Independence. In October 1776, he was appointed minister to France, where he successfully negotiated a treaty of allegiance and became something of a cult hero. In 1781 he was a member of the American delegation to the Paris peace conference, and he signed the Treaty of Paris, which brought the Revolutionary War to an end. Franklin protested his too-long stay in Europe and returned to Philadelphia in 1785, serving as a delegate to the Constitutional Convention. When he died in 1790, he was one of the most beloved Americans. Twenty thousand people attended his funeral. This hero of the eighteenth century, however, has not universally charmed our own time. To a number of readers, Franklin is a garrulous but insensitive man of the world, too adaptable for a man of integrity and too willing to please. D. H. Lawrence is only one of a number of Franklin's critics who have charged him with insensitivity and indifference to the darker recesses of the soul. There is no question but that Franklin, like Emerson, has been reduced by his admirers—the hero of those who seek only the way to wealth. But such single-mindedness does not do justice to Franklin's complexity. A reading of his finest prose will serve as a proper antidote; for the voice we find there is fully alert to the best and worst in all of humankind. The Franklin texts used here—with the exception of The Autobiography—are from The Writings of Benjamin Franklin, edited by Albert Henry Smyth (1907).

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T h e W a y to W e a l t h 1 Preface

to Poor Richard

Improved

Courteous Reader, I have h e a r d that nothing gives an a u t h o r s o great p l e a s u r e , a s to find his works respectfully q u o t e d by other learned a u t h o r s . T h i s p l e a s u r e I have s e l d o m enjoyed; for t h o u g h I have b e e n , if I m a y say it without vanity, a n e m i n e n t a u t h o r of a l m a n a c s annually n o w a full q u a r t e r of a century, my brother a u t h o r s in the s a m e way, for what r e a s o n I know not, have ever b e e n very s p a r i n g in their a p p l a u s e s , a n d no other a u t h o r has t a k e n the least notice of m e , so that did not my writings p r o d u c e m e s o m e solid p u d d i n g , the great deficiency of p r a i s e would have quite d i s c o u r a g e d m e . I c o n c l u d e d at length, that the p e o p l e were the b e s t j u d g e s of my merit; for they buy my works; a n d b e s i d e s , in my r a m b l e s , w h e r e I a m not p e r s o n a l l y k n o w n , I have frequently heard o n e or other of my a d a g e s r e p e a t e d with " a s P o o r R i c h a r d s a y s " at the e n d o n 't; this gave m e s o m e s a t i s f a c t i o n , a s it s h o w e d not only that my instructions were r e g a r d e d , b u t d i s c o v e r e d likewise s o m e r e s p e c t for my authority; a n d I own, that to e n c o u r a g e the p r a c t i c e of r e m e m b e r i n g a n d r e p e a t i n g t h o s e wise s e n t e n c e s , I have s o m e t i m e s q u o t e d myself with great gravity. J u d g e , then, how m u c h I m u s t have b e e n gratified by a n incident I a m going to relate to y o u . I s t o p p e d my h o r s e lately w h e r e a great n u m b e r of p e o p l e were collected at a v e n d u e 2 of m e r c h a n t g o o d s . T h e h o u r of s a l e not b e i n g c o m e , they were c o n v e r s i n g on the b a d n e s s of the t i m e s a n d o n e of the c o m p a n y called to a plain c l e a n old m a n , with white locks, "Pray, F a t h e r A b r a h a m , what think you of the t i m e s ? Won't t h e s e heavy taxes q u i t e ruin the country? H o w shall we b e ever able to pay t h e m ? W h a t would you advise u s t o ? " F a t h e r A b r a h a m s t o o d u p , a n d replied, "If you'd have my a d v i c e , I'll give it you in short, for a word to the wise is enough, and many words won't fill a bushel, as P o o r R i c h a r d s a y s . " T h e y j o i n e d in d e s i r i n g him to s p e a k his m i n d , a n d g a t h e r i n g r o u n d h i m , he p r o c e e d e d a s follows: " F r i e n d s , " says h e , " a n d n e i g h b o r s , the taxes a r e i n d e e d very heavy, a n d if t h o s e laid on by the g o v e r n m e n t were the only o n e s we h a d to pay, we might m o r e easily d i s c h a r g e t h e m ; but we have m a n y o t h e r s , a n d m u c h m o r e grievo u s to s o m e of u s . W e are taxed twice a s m u c h by our i d l e n e s s , three times as m u c h by our p r i d e , a n d four times a s m u c h by our folly; a n d from t h e s e taxes the c o m m i s s i o n e r s c a n n o t e a s e or deliver u s by allowing a n a b a t e m e n t . However, let u s h e a r k e n to g o o d advice, a n d s o m e t h i n g m a y b e d o n e for u s ; God helps them that help themselves, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says, in his A l m a n a c of 1 7 3 3 . "It would b e t h o u g h t a hard g o v e r n m e n t that s h o u l d tax its p e o p l e o n e tenth part of their t i m e , to be e m p l o y e d in its service. B u t i d l e n e s s taxes m a n y of u s m u c h m o r e , if we reckon all that is s p e n t in a b s o l u t e sloth, or I. Franklin composed this essay for the twentyfifth anniversary issue of his Almanac, the first issue of which, under the fictitious editorship of "Richard S a u n d e r s , " appeared in 1733. For this essay Franklin brought together the best of his

maxims in the guise of a speech by Father Abraham. It is frequently reprinted as The Way to Wealth, but is also known by earlier titles: Poor Richard Improved and Father Abraham's Speech. 2. Auction or sale.

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d o i n g of n o t h i n g , with that which is spent in idle e m p l o y m e n t s , or a m u s e m e n t s , that a m o u n t to nothing. S l o t h , by bringing o n d i s e a s e s , absolutely s h o r t e n s life. Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears; while the used key is always bright, a s Poor R i c h a r d says. But dost thou love life, then do not squander time, for that's the stuff life is made of, as P o o r R i c h a r d s a y s . H o w m u c h m o r e than is n e c e s s a r y do we s p e n d in s l e e p , forgetting that the sleeping fox catches no poultry a n d that there will be sleeping enough in the grave, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says. "If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be, as P o o r R i c h a r d says, the greatest prodigality; s i n c e , a s h e e l s e w h e r e tells u s , lost time is never found again; and what we call time enough, always proves little enough: let u s then u p a n d be d o i n g , a n d d o i n g to the p u r p o s e ; so by diligence shall we do m o r e with less perplexity. Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says; and he that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night; while laziness travels so slowly, that poverty soon overtakes him, a s we read in P o o r R i c h a r d , w h o a d d s , drive thy business, let not that drive thee, a n d early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. " S o w h a t signifies w i s h i n g a n d h o p i n g for better t i m e s . W e may m a k e t h e s e times better, if we bestir ourselves. Industry need not wish, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says, and he that lives upon hope will die fasting. There are no gains without pains; then help hands, for I have no lands, or if I h a v e , they a r e smartly taxed. A n d , as P o o r R i c h a r d likewise o b s e r v e s , he that hath a trade hath an estate; and he that hath a calling, hath an office of profit and honor; b u t then the trade m u s t be worked at, a n d the calling well followed, or neither the e s t a t e nor the office will e n a b l e u s to pay o u r taxes. If we are i n d u s t r i o u s , we shall never starve; for, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says, at the workingman's house hunger looks in, but dares not enter. N o r will the bailiff or the c o n s t a b l e enter, for industry pays debts, while despair increaseth them, says P o o r R i c h a r d . W h a t t h o u g h you have f o u n d no t r e a s u r e , nor h a s any rich relation left you a legacy, diligence is the mother of good luck, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says, a n d God gives all things to industry. Then plow deep, while sluggards sleep, and you shall have corn to sell and to keep, says P o o r Dick. W o r k while it is called today, for you know not how m u c h you m a y b e h i n d e r e d t o m o r r o w , w h i c h m a k e s P o o r R i c h a r d says, one today is worth two tomorrows, a n d farther, have you somewhat to do tomorrow, do it today. If you were a servant, w o u l d you not b e a s h a m e d that a g o o d m a s t e r s h o u l d c a t c h you idle? Are you then your own m a s t e r , be ashamed to catch yourself idle, a s P o o r D i c k s a y s . W h e n there is s o m u c h to b e d o n e for yourself, your family, your country, a n d your g r a c i o u s king, b e u p by p e e p of day; let not the sun look down and say, inglorious here he lies. H a n d l e your tools without m i t t e n s ; r e m e m b e r that the cat in gloves catches no mice, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says. 'Tis true there is m u c h to be d o n e , a n d p e r h a p s you are w e a k - h a n d e d , b u t stick to it steadily; a n d you will s e e great effects, for constant dropping wears away stones, a n d by diligence and patience the mouse ate in two the cable; a n d little strokes fell great oaks, as P o o r R i c h a r d says in his A l m a n a c , the year I c a n n o t j u s t now r e m e m b e r . " M e t h i n k s I hear s o m e of you say, ' m u s t a m a n afford h i m s e l f no l e i s u r e ? ' I will tell t h e e , my friend, what P o o r R i c h a r d says, employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure; and, since thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour. L e i s u r e is time for d o i n g s o m e t h i n g u s e f u l ; this leisure the

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diligent m a n will o b t a i n , but the lazy m a n never; so that, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says a life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things. D o you i m a g i n e that sloth will afford you m o r e c o m f o r t than labor? N o , for as P o o r R i c h a r d says, trouble springs from idleness, and grievous toil from needless ease. Many without labor, would live by their wits only, but they break for want of stock. W h e r e a s industry gives c o m f o r t , a n d plenty, a n d r e s p e c t : fry pleasures, and they'll follow you. The diligent spinner has a large shift;* and now 1 have a sheep and a cow, everybody bids me good morrow; all of which is well said by Poor R i c h a r d . " B u t with our industry, we m u s t likewise be steady, settled, a n d careful, and oversee our own affairs with our own eyes, a n d not trust too m u c h to others; for, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says J never saw an oft-removed tree, Nor yet an oft-removed family, That throve so well as those that settled

be.

A n d a g a i n , three removes4 is as bad as afire; a n d again, keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee; a n d a g a i n , if you would have your business done, go; if not, send. A n d a g a i n , He that by the plow would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive. And a g a i n , the eye of a master will do more work than both his hands; a n d again, want of care does us more damage than want of knowledge; a n d a g a i n , not to oversee workmen is to leave them your purse open. T r u s t i n g too m u c h to others' c a r e is the ruin of many; for, a s the A l m a n a c says, in the affairs of this world, men are saved, not by faith, but by the want of it; but a m a n ' s own c a r e is profitable; for, saith P o o r Dick, learning is to the studious, a n d riches to the careful, as well as power to the bold, a n d heaven to the virtuous, a n d farther, if you would have a faithful servant, and one that you like, serve yourself. A n d a g a i n , he adviseth to c i r c u m s p e c t i o n a n d c a r e , even in the s m a l l e s t m a t t e r s , b e c a u s e s o m e t i m e s a little neglect may breed great mischief; a d d i n g , for want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was lost, being overtaken and slain by the enemy; all for want of care about a horseshoe nail. " S o m u c h for industry, my friends, a n d attention to one's own b u s i n e s s ; but to t h e s e we m u s t a d d frugality, if we would m a k e our industry m o r e certainly s u c c e s s f u l . A m a n may, if h e knows not how to save a s he g e t s , keep his n o s e all his life to the g r i n d s t o n e , a n d die not worth a g r o a t 5 at last. A fat kitchen makes a lean will, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says; a n d Many estates are spent in the getting, Since women for tea forsook spinning and knitting, And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting. If you would be wealthy, says h e , in a n o t h e r A l m a n a c , think of saving as well as of getting: the Indies have not made Spain rich, because her outgoes are greater than her incomes. "Away then with your expensive follies, a n d you will not then have so m u c h 3. Wardrobe. 4. Moves.

5. A silver coin worth about four pence.

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c a u s e to c o m p l a i n of hard t i m e s , heavy taxes, a n d c h a r g e a b l e families; for, as P o o r D i c k says, Women and wine, game and deceit, Make the wealth small and the wants

great.

A n d farther, what maintains one vice would bring up two children. You m a y think p e r h a p s , that a little tea, or a little p u n c h now a n d t h e n , diet a little m o r e costly, c l o t h e s a little finer, a n d a little e n t e r t a i n m e n t now a n d t h e n , c a n b e n o great matter; b u t r e m e m b e r w h a t P o o r R i c h a r d says, many a little makes a micklef a n d farther, Beware of little expenses; a small leak will sink a great ship; a n d a g a i n , who dainties love shall beggars prove; a n d moreover, fools make feasts, and wise men eat them. " H e r e you are all got together at this v e n d u e of fineries a n d k n i c k n a c k s . You call t h e m g o o d s ; but if you do not take c a r e , they will prove evils to s o m e of y o u . You expect they will b e sold c h e a p , a n d p e r h a p s they m a y for less than they c o s t ; but if you have no o c c a s i o n for t h e m , they m u s t b e d e a r to y o u . R e m e m b e r what P o o r R i c h a r d says; buy what thou hast no need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy necessaries. A n d a g a i n , at a great penny-worth pause a while: h e m e a n s , that p e r h a p s the c h e a p n e s s is a p p a r e n t only, a n d not real; or the b a r g a i n , by straightening t h e e in thy b u s i n e s s , m a y do t h e e m o r e h a r m t h a n g o o d . F o r in a n o t h e r p l a c e h e says, many have been ruined by buying good pennyworths. A g a i n , P o o r R i c h a r d says, 'tis foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repentance; a n d yet this folly is p r a c t i c e d every day at v e n d u e s , for want of m i n d i n g the A l m a n a c . Wise men, as P o o r D i c k says, learn by others' harms, fools scarcely by their own; b u t felix quern faciunt aliena pericula cautum.1 M a n y a o n e , for the s a k e of finery o n the b a c k , have g o n e with a hungry belly, a n d half-starved their families. Silks and satins, scarlet and velvets, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says, put out the kitchen fire. " T h e s e a r e not the n e c e s s a r i e s of life; they c a n scarcely b e called the c o n v e n i e n c e s ; a n d yet only b e c a u s e they look pretty, how m a n y w a n t to have t h e m ! T h e artificial w a n t s of m a n k i n d t h u s b e c o m e m o r e n u m e r o u s than the n a t u r a l ; a n d , a s P o o r D i c k says, for one poor person, there are an hundred indigent. By t h e s e , a n d other e x t r a v a g a n c i e s , the g e n t e e l are r e d u c e d to poverty, a n d forced to borrow of t h o s e w h o m they formerly d e s p i s e d , but w h o t h r o u g h industry a n d frugality have m a i n t a i n e d their s t a n d i n g ; in which c a s e it a p p e a r s plainly, that a plowman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on his knees, a s P o o r R i c h a r d s a y s . P e r h a p s they have h a d a s m a l l e s t a t e left t h e m , which they knew not the getting of; they think, " 'Tis day, a n d will never b e night"; that a little to b e s p e n t o u t of so m u c h is not worth m i n d i n g ; a child and a fool, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says, imagine twenty shillings and twenty years can never be spent b u t , always taking out of the meal-tub, and never putting in, soon comes to the bottom; a s P o o r D i c k s a y s , when the well's dry, they know the worth of water. B u t this they m i g h t h a v e k n o w n b e f o r e , if they h a d t a k e n his advice; if you would know the value of money, go and try to borrow some; for, he that goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing; a n d i n d e e d s o d o e s h e that lends to s u c h p e o p l e , w h e n h e g o e s to get it in a g a i n . P o o r D i c k farther a d v i s e s , a n d says, Fond pride of dress is sure a very curse; E'er fancy you consult, consult your purse. 6.

Lot.

7. A Latin version of the proverb just quoted.

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A n d a g a i n , pride is as loud a beggar as want, and a great deal more saucy. W h e n you have b o u g h t o n e fine thing, you m u s t buy ten m o r e , that your a p p e a r a n c e m a y b e all of a p i e c e ; but Poor D i c k says, 'tis easier to suppress the first desire, than to satisfy all that follow it. A n d 'tis a s truly folly for the p o o r to a p e the rich, a s for the frog to swell, in order to e q u a l the ox. Great estates may venture more, But little boats should keep near shore. 'Tis, however, a folly s o o n p u n i s h e d ; for pride that dines on vanity sups on contempt, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says. A n d in a n o t h e r p l a c e , pride breakfasted with plenty, dined with poverty, and supped with infamy. A n d after all, of what u s e is this pride of a p p e a r a n c e , for which so m u c h is risked s o m u c h is suffered? It c a n n o t p r o m o t e health, or e a s e p a i n ; it m a k e s no i n c r e a s e of merit in the p e r s o n , it c r e a t e s envy, it h a s t e n s m i s f o r t u n e . What is a butterfly? At best He's but a caterpillar dressed. The gaudy fop's his picture just, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says. " B u t what m a d n e s s m u s t it be to run in debt for t h e s e superfluities! W e are offered, by the t e r m s of this v e n d u e , six months' credit; a n d that p e r h a p s h a s i n d u c e d s o m e of us to attend it, b e c a u s e we c a n n o t s p a r e the ready money, a n d h o p e now to be fine without it. B u t , a h , think w h a t you do w h e n you run in d e b t ; you give to a n o t h e r power over your liberty. If you c a n n o t pay at the time, you will be a s h a m e d to s e e your creditor; you will be in fear when you s p e a k to h i m ; you will m a k e p o o r pitiful s n e a k i n g e x c u s e s , a n d by d e g r e e s c o m e to l o s e your veracity, a n d sink into b a s e downright lying; for, as P o o r R i c h a r d says, the second vice is lying, the first is running in debt. A n d a g a i n , to the s a m e p u r p o s e , lying rides upon debt's back. W h e r e a s a free-born E n g l i s h m a n o u g h t not to be a s h a m e d or afraid to s e e or s p e a k to any m a n living. B u t poverty often deprives a m a n of all spirit a n d virtue: 'tis hard for an empty bag to stand upright, as Poor Richard truly says. " W h a t would you think of that p r i n c e , or that g o v e r n m e n t , w h o s h o u l d i s s u e a n edict forbidding you to d r e s s like a g e n t l e m a n or a g e n t l e w o m a n , on pain of i m p r i s o n m e n t or servitude? W o u l d you not say, that you were free, have a right to d r e s s a s you p l e a s e , a n d that s u c h a n edict would b e a b r e a c h of your privileges, a n d s u c h a g o v e r n m e n t tyrannical? A n d yet you are a b o u t to p u t yourself u n d e r that tyranny, w h e n you run in debt for s u c h d r e s s ! Your creditor h a s authority, at his p l e a s u r e to deprive you of your liberty, by confining you in gaol" for life, or to sell you for a servant, if you s h o u l d not b e a b l e to pay him! W h e n you have got your b a r g a i n , you may, p e r h a p s , think little of p a y m e n t ; b u t creditors, P o o r R i c h a r d tells u s , have better memories than debtors; a n d in a n o t h e r p l a c e says, creditors are a superstitious sect, great observers of set days and times. T h e day c o m e s r o u n d before you are a w a r e , a n d the d e m a n d is m a d e before you are p r e p a r e d to satisfy it, or if you b e a r your debt in m i n d , the term which at first s e e m e d s o long will, as it l e s s e n s , a p p e a r extremely short. T i m e will s e e m to have a d d e d wings to his heels a s well a s s h o u l d e r s . Those have a short Lent, saith P o o r R i c h a r d , who owe money to be paid at Easter. T h e n s i n c e , a s he says, The borrower is 8.

Jail.

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a slave to the lender, and the debtor to the creditor, d i s d a i n the c h a i n , preserve your f r e e d o m ; a n d m a i n t a i n your i n d e p e n d e n c y : be i n d u s t r i o u s a n d free; b e frugal a n d free. At p r e s e n t , p e r h a p s , you may think yourself in thriving circ u m s t a n c e s , a n d that you c a n bear a little e x t r a v a g a n c e without injury; b u t , F o r age and want, save while you may; N o morning sun lasts a whole day, a s Poor R i c h a r d says. G a i n m a y be temporary a n d u n c e r t a i n , b u t ever while you live, e x p e n s e is c o n s t a n t a n d certain; a n d 'tis easier to build two chimneys than to keep one in fuel, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says. S o , rather go to bed supperless than rise in debt. Get what you can, and what you get hold; 'Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold, a s P o o r Richard says. A n d w h e n you have got the p h i l o s o p h e r ' s s t o n e , 9 s u r e you will no longer c o m p l a i n of b a d t i m e s , or the difficulty of p a y i n g taxes. " T h i s d o c t r i n e , my friends, is r e a s o n a n d w i s d o m ; but after all, do not d e p e n d too m u c h u p o n your own industry, a n d frugality, a n d p r u d e n c e , t h o u g h excellent things, for they may all b e b l a s t e d without the b l e s s i n g of h e a v e n ; a n d therefore, a s k that b l e s s i n g humbly, a n d be not u n c h a r i t a b l e to t h o s e that at p r e s e n t s e e m to want it, but c o m f o r t a n d help t h e m . R e m e m b e r , J o b 1 suffered, a n d w a s afterwards p r o s p e r o u s . "And now to c o n c l u d e , experience keeps a dear2 school, but fools will learn in no other, and scarce in that; for it is t r u e , we may give advice, but we cannot give conduct, as P o o r Richard says: however, r e m e m b e r this, they that won't be counseled, can't be helped, a s P o o r R i c h a r d says: a n d farther, that, if you will not hear reason, she'll surely rap your knuckles." T h u s the old g e n t l e m a n e n d e d his h a r a n g u e . T h e p e o p l e h e a r d it, a n d a p p r o v e d the d o c t r i n e , a n d i m m e d i a t e l y p r a c t i c e d the contrary, j u s t a s if it h a d b e e n a c o m m o n s e r m o n ; for the v e n d u e o p e n e d , a n d they b e g a n to buy extravagantly, n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g his c a u t i o n s a n d their own fear of taxes. I f o u n d the g o o d m a n h a d thoroughly s t u d i e d my a l m a n a c s , a n d digested all I h a d d r o p p e d on these topics d u r i n g the c o u r s e of five a n d twenty years. T h e frequent m e n t i o n he m a d e of m e m u s t have tired any o n e e l s e , but my vanity w a s wonderfully delighted with it, t h o u g h I w a s c o n s c i o u s that not a tenth part of the w i s d o m w a s my own, which he a s c r i b e d to m e , but rather the g l e a n i n g s I had m a d e of the s e n s e of all a g e s a n d n a t i o n s . H o w e v e r , I resolved to be the better for the e c h o of it; a n d t h o u g h I had at first determ i n e d to b u y stuff for a new c o a t , I went away resolved to wear my old o n e a little longer. R e a d e r , if thou wilt do the s a m e , thy profit will b e a s great a s m i n e . I a m , a s ever, thine to serve t h e e , Richard Saunders J u l y 7, 1 7 5 7 1757

9. A substance thought to transform base metals into gold, much sought alter bv alchemists. I. T h e Old Testament patriarch whose faith was

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Remarks Concerning the Savages of North America S a v a g e s we call t h e m , b e c a u s e their m a n n e r s differ from o u r s , which we think the perfection of civility; they think the s a m e of theirs. P e r h a p s , if we c o u l d e x a m i n e the m a n n e r s of different n a t i o n s with impartiality, we s h o u l d find no p e o p l e so r u d e , as to be without any rules of politen e s s ; nor any so polite, as not to have s o m e r e m a i n s of r u d e n e s s . T h e Indian m e n , w h e n young, are hunters a n d warriors; w h e n old, c o u n selors; for all their g o v e r n m e n t is by c o u n s e l of the s a g e s ; there is no force, there are no p r i s o n s , no officers to c o m p e l o b e d i e n c e , or inflict p u n i s h m e n t . H e n c e they generally study oratory, the best s p e a k e r having the m o s t influe n c e . T h e Indian w o m e n till the g r o u n d , d r e s s the food, n u r s e a n d bring u p the children, a n d preserve a n d h a n d down to posterity the m e m o r y of publict r a n s a c t i o n s . T h e s e e m p l o y m e n t s of m e n a n d w o m e n are a c c o u n t e d natural and h o n o r a b l e . H a v i n g few artificial w a n t s , they have a b u n d a n c e of leisure for i m p r o v e m e n t by c o n v e r s a t i o n . O u r laborious m a n n e r of life, c o m p a r e d with theirs, they e s t e e m slavish a n d b a s e ; a n d the learning, o n which we value o u r s e l v e s , they regard a s frivolous a n d u s e l e s s . An i n s t a n c e of this o c c u r r e d at the Treaty of L a n c a s t e r , in Pennsylvania, anno 1 7 4 4 , b e t w e e n the government of Virginia a n d the Six N a t i o n s . 1 After the principal b u s i n e s s w a s settled, the c o m m i s s i o n e r s from Virginia a c q u a i n t e d the Indians by a s p e e c h , that there w a s at W i l l i a m s b u r g a college, with a fund for e d u c a t i n g Indian youth; a n d that, if the Six N a t i o n s would s e n d down half a dozen of their young lads to that c o l l e g e , the g o v e r n m e n t would take c a r e that they should be well provided for, a n d instructed in all the learning of the white p e o p l e . It is o n e of the Indian rules of p o l i t e n e s s not to a n s w e r a publicproposition the s a m e day that it is m a d e ; they think it would b e treating it as a light matter, a n d that they s h o w it r e s p e c t by taking time to c o n s i d e r it, a s of a matter important. T h e y therefore deferred their a n s w e r till the day following; w h e n their s p e a k e r b e g a n , by e x p r e s s i n g their d e e p s e n s e of the kindness of the Virginia g o v e r n m e n t , in m a k i n g t h e m that offer; "for we know," says h e , "that you highly e s t e e m the kind of learning t a u g h t in t h o s e C o l l e g e s , a n d that the m a i n t e n a n c e of our y o u n g m e n , while with you, would b e very expensive to y o u . W e are c o n v i n c e d , therefore, that you m e a n to do u s good by your p r o p o s a l ; a n d we thank you heartily. B u t you, w h o are wise, m u s t know that different n a t i o n s have different c o n c e p t i o n s of things; a n d you will therefore not take it a m i s s , if o u r ideas of this kind of e d u c a t i o n h a p p e n not to be the s a m e with yours. W e have had s o m e e x p e r i e n c e of it; several of our y o u n g p e o p l e were formerly brought u p at the c o l l e g e s of the northern p r o v i n c e s ; they were instructed in all your s c i e n c e s ; but, w h e n they c a m e back to u s , they were b a d r u n n e r s , ignorant of every m e a n s of living in the w o o d s , u n a b l e to b e a r either cold or h u n g e r , knew neither how to build a c a b i n , take a deer, or kill an e n e m y , s p o k e our l a n g u a g e imperfectly, were therefore neither fit for h u n t e r s , warriors, nor c o u n s e l o r s ; they were totally good for nothing. W e are however not the less obliged by your kind 1. A confederation of Iroquois tribes: Seneca. Cayuga, Oneida, Onondaga, Mohawk, and Tuscarora. "Anno": in the year (Latin).

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offer, t h o u g h we d e c l i n e a c c e p t i n g it; a n d , to s h o w o u r grateful s e n s e of it, if the g e n t l e m e n of Virginia will s e n d u s a dozen of their s o n s , we will take great c a r e of their e d u c a t i o n , instruct them in all w e know, a n d m a k e men of t h e m . " H a v i n g f r e q u e n t o c c a s i o n s to hold public c o u n c i l s , they have a c q u i r e d great order a n d d e c e n c y in c o n d u c t i n g t h e m . T h e old m e n sit in the f o r e m o s t r a n k s , that warriors in the next, and the w o m e n a n d children in the h i n d m o s t . T h e b u s i n e s s of the w o m e n is to take exact notice of w h a t p a s s e s , imprint it in their m e m o r i e s (for they have no writing), a n d c o m m u n i c a t e it to their children. T h e y are the r e c o r d s of the c o u n c i l , a n d they preserve traditions of the stipulations in treaties 100 years b a c k ; w h i c h , w h e n we c o m p a r e with o u r writings, w e always find exact. H e that w o u l d s p e a k , rises. T h e rest o b s e r v e a p r o f o u n d s i l e n c e . W h e n he h a s finished a n d sits d o w n , they leave him 5 or 6 m i n u t e s to recollect, that, if h e has o m i t t e d anything he i n t e n d e d to say, or h a s anything to a d d , he m a y rise again a n d deliver it. T o interrupt a n o t h e r , even in c o m m o n c o n v e r s a t i o n , is r e c k o n e d highly i n d e c e n t . H o w different this from the c o n d u c t of a polite British H o u s e of C o m m o n s , where s c a r c e a day p a s s e s without s o m e c o n f u s i o n , that m a k e s the s p e a k e r h o a r s e in calling to order; a n d how different from the m o d e of c o n v e r s a t i o n in m a n y polite c o m p a n i e s of E u r o p e , w h e r e , if you do not deliver your s e n t e n c e with great rapidity, you are c u t off in the m i d d l e of it by the i m p a t i e n t loquacity of t h o s e you c o n v e r s e with, a n d never suffered to finish it! T h e p o l i t e n e s s of t h e s e s a v a g e s in c o n v e r s a t i o n is i n d e e d carried to e x c e s s , s i n c e it d o e s not p e r m i t t h e m to c o n t r a d i c t or deny the truth of what is a s s e r t e d in their p r e s e n c e . By this m e a n s they i n d e e d avoid d i s p u t e s ; but then it b e c o m e s difficult to know their m i n d s , or w h a t i m p r e s s i o n you m a k e u p o n t h e m . T h e m i s s i o n a r i e s w h o have a t t e m p t e d to convert t h e m to C h r i s tianity all c o m p l a i n of this as o n e of the great difficulties of their m i s s i o n . T h e I n d i a n s hear with p a t i e n c e the truths of the G o s p e l explained to t h e m , a n d give their u s u a l t o k e n s of a s s e n t a n d a p p r o b a t i o n ; you w o u l d think they were c o n v i n c e d . N o s u c h matter. It is m e r e civility. A S w e d i s h minister, having a s s e m b l e d the chiefs of the S u s q u e h a n a h India n s , m a d e a s e r m o n to t h e m , a c q u a i n t i n g t h e m with the principal historical facts on which our religion is f o u n d e d ; s u c h a s the fall of our first p a r e n t s by e a t i n g a n a p p l e , the c o m i n g of C h r i s t to repair the mischief, H i s m i r a c l e s a n d suffering, e t c . W h e n he h a d finished, an Indian orator s t o o d u p to t h a n k h i m . " W h a t you have told u s , " he says, "is all very g o o d . It is i n d e e d b a d to eat a p p l e s . It is better to m a k e t h e m all into cider. W e a r e m u c h obliged by your k i n d n e s s in c o m i n g so far, to tell u s t h e s e things w h i c h you have heard from your m o t h e r s . In return, I will tell you s o m e of t h o s e we have heard from o u r s . In the b e g i n n i n g , our fathers h a d only the flesh of a n i m a l s to s u b s i s t on; a n d if their h u n t i n g w a s u n s u c c e s s f u l , they were starving. T w o of our y o u n g h u n t e r s , having killed a deer, m a d e a fire in the w o o d s to broil s o m e part of it. W h e n they were a b o u t to satisfy their h u n g e r , they b e h e l d a beautiful y o u n g w o m a n d e s c e n d from the c l o u d s , a n d s e a t herself on that hill, which you s e e yonder a m o n g the b l u e m o u n t a i n s . T h e y said to e a c h other, it is a spirit that h a s s m e l l e d our broiling v e n i s o n , a n d w i s h e s to eat of it; let u s offer s o m e to her. T h e y p r e s e n t e d her with the t o n g u e ; s h e w a s p l e a s e d with the taste of it, a n d said, 'Your k i n d n e s s shall b e r e w a r d e d ; c o m e to this p l a c e after thirteen m o o n s , a n d you shall find s o m e t h i n g that will b e

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of great benefit in n o u r i s h i n g you a n d your children to the latest g e n e r a t i o n s . ' T h e y did s o , a n d , to their s u r p r i s e , f o u n d plants they h a d never s e e n b e f o r e ; but which, from that a n c i e n t t i m e , have been constantly cultivated a m o n g u s , to o u r great a d v a n t a g e . W h e r e her right hand h a d t o u c h e d t h e g r o u n d , they f o u n d m a i z e ; where h e r left h a n d h a d t o u c h e d it, they f o u n d kidneyb e a n s ; a n d where her b a c k s i d e h a d sat on it, they f o u n d t o b a c c o . " T h e g o o d missionary, d i s g u s t e d with this idle tale, said, " W h a t I delivered to you were s a c r e d truths; b u t what you tell m e is m e r e fable, fiction, a n d f a l s e h o o d . " T h e Indian, o f f e n d e d , replied, " M y brother, it s e e m s your friends have n o t d o n e you j u s t i c e in your e d u c a t i o n ; they have not well i n s t r u c t e d you in t h e rules of c o m m o n civility. You s a w that w e , w h o u n d e r s t a n d a n d p r a c t i c e those rules, believed all your stories; why d o you refuse to believe o u r s ? " W h e n any of t h e m c o m e into our towns, our p e o p l e are a p t to crowd r o u n d t h e m , gaze upon t h e m , a n d i n c o m m o d e t h e m , where they desire to b e private; this they e s t e e m great r u d e n e s s , a n d t h e effect of the want of instruction in the rules of civility a n d good m a n n e r s . " W e h a v e , " say they, " a s m u c h curiosity a s you, a n d w h e n you c o m e into o u r towns, we wish for o p p o r t u nities of looking at you, but for this p u r p o s e we hide ourselves b e h i n d b u s h e s , where you a r e to p a s s , a n d never intrude ourselves into your c o m p a n y . " T h e i r m a n n e r of e n t e r i n g o n e another's village h a s likewise its rules. It is reckoned uncivil in traveling strangers to enter a village abruptly, without giving notice o f their a p p r o a c h . T h e r e f o r e , a s s o o n a s they arrive within hearing, they s t o p a n d hollow, 2 r e m a i n i n g there till invited to enter. T w o old men usually c o m e o u t to t h e m , a n d lead t h e m i n . T h e r e is in every village a vacant dwelling, called the stranger's house. H e r e they a r e p l a c e d , while t h e old men g o round from hut to hut, a c q u a i n t i n g the i n h a b i t a n t s , that strangers are arrived, who a r e probably hungry a n d weary; a n d every o n e s e n d s t h e m what he c a n s p a r e o f victuals, a n d skins to r e p o s e o n . W h e n t h e strangers are refreshed, pipes a n d t o b a c c o are brought; a n d then, b u t n o t before, conversation b e g i n s , with inquiries w h o they a r e , whither b o u n d , what news, etc.; a n d it usually e n d s with offers of service, if the s t r a n g e r s have o c c a s i o n of g u i d e s , or a n y n e c e s s a r i e s for c o n t i n u i n g their j o u r n e y ; a n d nothing is exacted for the e n t e r t a i n m e n t . T h e s a m e hospitality, e s t e e m e d a m o n g t h e m a s a principal virtue, is practiced by private p e r s o n s ; of which C o n r a d W e i s e r , o u r interpreter, gave m e the following i n s t a n c e s . H e had b e e n naturalized a m o n g t h e Six N a t i o n s , a n d spoke well t h e M o h a w k l a n g u a g e . In g o i n g through t h e Indian country, to carry a m e s s a g e from our G o v e r n o r to the C o u n c i l at O n o n d a g a , h e called at the habitation of C a n a s s a t e g o , a n old a c q u a i n t a n c e , w h o e m b r a c e d him, s p r e a d furs for h i m to sit o n , p l a c e d before h i m s o m e boiled b e a n s a n d venison, a n d mixed s o m e r u m a n d water for his drink. W h e n h e w a s well refreshed, a n d h a d lit his p i p e , C a n a s s a t e g o b e g a n to c o n v e r s e with h i m ; a s k e d h o w h e h a d fared t h e m a n y years s i n c e they h a d s e e n e a c h other; w h e n c e h e then c a m e ; what o c c a s i o n e d the j o u r n e y , e t c . C o n r a d a n s w e r e d all his q u e s t i o n s ; a n d when t h e d i s c o u r s e b e g a n to flag, t h e Indian, to c o n tinue it, said, " C o n r a d , you have lived long a m o n g t h e white p e o p l e , a n d know s o m e t h i n g of their c u s t o m s ; I have b e e n s o m e t i m e s at Albany, a n d have o b s e r v e d , that o n c e in seven days they s h u t u p their s h o p s , a n d a s s e m 2.

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ble all in the great h o u s e ; tell m e what it is for? W h a t d o they d o t h e r e ? " " T h e y m e e t t h e r e , " says C o n r a d , "to hear a n d learn good things." "I d o not d o u b t , " s a y s the Indian, "that they tell you s o ; they have told m e the s a m e ; but I d o u b t the truth of what they say, a n d I will tell you my r e a s o n s . I w e n t lately to A l b a n y to sell my skins a n d buy b l a n k e t s , knives, p o w d e r , r u m , e t c . You know I u s e d generally to deal with H a n s H a n s o n ; but I w a s a little inclined this t i m e to try s o m e other m e r c h a n t . H o w e v e r , I c a l l e d first u p o n H a n s , a n d a s k e d him what he would give for beaver. H e s a i d h e c o u l d not give any m o r e t h a n four shillings a p o u n d ; 'but,' says h e , 'I c a n n o t talk on b u s i n e s s now; this is the day w h e n we m e e t together to learn good things, a n d I a m going to the meeting.' S o I t h o u g h t to myself, ' S i n c e we c a n n o t do any b u s i n e s s today, I may a s well go to the m e e t i n g too,' a n d I went with h i m . T h e r e s t o o d u p a m a n in black, a n d b e g a n to talk to the p e o p l e very angrily. I did not u n d e r s t a n d what he said; b u t , perceiving that he looked m u c h at m e a n d at H a n s o n , I i m a g i n e d h e w a s angry at s e e i n g m e t h e r e ; s o I went o u t , sat d o w n near the h o u s e , s t r u c k fire, a n d lit my p i p e , waiting till the m e e t i n g s h o u l d b r e a k u p . I t h o u g h t too, that the m a n h a d m e n t i o n e d s o m e t h i n g of beaver, a n d I s u s p e c t e d it might be the s u b j e c t of their m e e t i n g . S o , w h e n they c a m e out, I a c c o s t e d my m e r c h a n t . 'Well, H a n s , ' says I, 'I h o p e you have a g r e e d to give m o r e t h a n four shillings a p o u n d . ' ' N o , ' says h e , 'I c a n n o t give so m u c h ; I c a n n o t give m o r e t h a n t h r e e shillings a n d s i x p e n c e . ' I then s p o k e to several other d e a l e r s , b u t they all s u n g the s a m e s o n g , — t h r e e a n d s i x p e n c e , — t h r e e a n d s i x p e n c e . T h i s m a d e it clear to m e , that my s u s p i c i o n w a s right; a n d , that whatever they p r e t e n d e d of m e e t i n g to learn good things, the real p u r p o s e w a s to c o n s u l t h o w to c h e a t I n d i a n s in the price of beaver. C o n s i d e r but a little, C o n r a d , a n d you m u s t b e of my o p i n i o n . If they met so often to learn good things, they w o u l d certainly have l e a r n e d s o m e before this t i m e . B u t they are still ignorant. You k n o w our p r a c t i c e . If a white m a n , in traveling t h r o u g h our c o u n t r y , e n t e r s o n e of our c a b i n s , we all treat him a s I treat y o u ; w e dry him if h e is wet, w e w a r m h i m if he is c o l d , we give him m e a t a n d drink, that h e m a y allay his thirst a n d h u n g e r ; a n d we s p r e a d soft furs for him to rest a n d s l e e p o n ; w e d e m a n d n o t h i n g in return. B u t , if I go into a white m a n ' s h o u s e at Albany, a n d a s k for victuals a n d drink, they say, 'Where is your m o n e y ? ' a n d if I have n o n e , they say, ' G e t out, you I n d i a n d o g . ' You s e e they have not yet l e a r n e d t h o s e little good things, that we n e e d n o m e e t i n g s to be i n s t r u c t e d in, b e c a u s e o u r m o t h e r s t a u g h t t h e m to u s w h e n we w e r e children; a n d therefore it is i m p o s sible their m e e t i n g s s h o u l d b e , a s they say, for any s u c h p u r p o s e , or have any s u c h effect; they are only to contrive the cheating of Indians in the price of beaver."* 1784

3. "It is remarkable that in all ages and countries hospitality has been allowed as the virtue of those whom the civilized were pleased to call barbarians. T h e Greeks celebrated the Scythians for it. T h e S a r a c e n s possessed it eminently, and it is to this day the reigning virtue of the wild Arabs. St. Paul, too, in the relation of his voyage and shipwreck on

the island of Melit£ says the barbarous people showed us no little kindness; for they kindled a fire, and received us every one, b e c a u s e of the present rain, and b e c a u s e of the cold" [Franklin's note]. St. Paul's account of his visit to Melita may be found in Acts 2 8 . T h e Scythians were nomadic tribes of southeastern Europe known for their plundering.

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The Autobiography Franklin turned to the manuscript of The Autobiography on four different occasions over a period of nineteen years. The first part, addressed to his son William Franklin ( 1 7 3 1 - 1 8 1 3 ) , governor of New Jersey when Franklin was writing this section, was composed while Franklin was visiting the country home of Bishop Jonathan Shipley at Twyford, a village about fifty miles from London. It was begun on July 30 and concluded on or about August 13, 1771. Franklin did not work on the manuscript again until he was living in France and was minister of the newly formed United States, about thirteen years later. The last two sections were written in August 1788 and the winter of 1789—90, when Franklin stopped because of illness. Before he died he carried his life up to the year 1758. The account ends, therefore, before Franklin's great triumphs as a diplomat and public servant. The first part of The Autobiography was published in 1791 by Jacques Buisson in a French translation; William Temple Franklin, Franklin's grandson, published an edition of The Autobiography in 1818, but he did not possess the last section that his grandfather wrote because he unwittingly exchanged it for the French translator's Part One. It was not until 1868 that John Bigelow published The Autobiography as we know it, with all four sections complete. The text for The Autobiography here reprinted is the first to have been taken directly from the manuscript itself (all other editors have merely corrected earlier printed texts). It was established by J . A. Leo Lemay and Paul Zall for the Norton Critical Edition of The Autobiography and is here reprinted with their permission. The text has been only slightly modernized. All manuscript abbreviations and symbols have been expanded. The editors note that they have omitted short dashes, which Franklin often wrote after sentences, and punctuation marks that "have been clearly superseded by revisions or additions." Careless slips have been corrected silently but may be found in the section on emendations in their complete text. Lemay and Zall have been generous in letting us consult their footnotes and biographical sketches. Every student of The Autobiography must also acknowledge the helpful edition of Leonard W. Labaree et al. (1964).

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T h e Autobiography [PART O N E ]

Twyford, at the Bishop of St. Asaph's 1 7 7 1 . Dear Son, I have ever h a d a P l e a s u r e in obtaining a n y little A n e c d o t e s o f my A n c e s tors. Y o u m a y r e m e m b e r t h e E n q u i r i e s I m a d e a m o n g t h e R e m a i n s ' o f my R e l a t i o n s w h e n you were with m e in E n g l a n d ; a n d t h e J o u r n e y I took for that p u r p o s e . N o w i m a g i n i n g it m a y b e equally a g r e e a b l e t o you to k n o w t h e C i r c u m s t a n c e s of my L i f e , m a n y of which you a r e yet u n a c q u a i n t e d with; a n d expecting a W e e k ' s u n i n t e r r u p t e d L e i s u r e in my p r e s e n t C o u n t r y Retirem e n t , I sit down to write t h e m for you. T o which I have b e s i d e s s o m e other I n d u c e m e n t s . H a v i n g e m e r g ' d from the Poverty a n d O b s c u r i t y in which I w a s born a n d b r e d , to a S t a t e of Affluence a n d s o m e D e g r e e o f R e p u t a t i o n in t h e W o r l d , a n d having g o n e s o far thro' Life with a c o n s i d e r a b l e S h a r e o f Felicity, t h e c o n d u c t i n g M e a n s I m a d e u s e of, w h i c h , with t h e B l e s s i n g o f G o d , s o well s u c c e e d e d , my Posterity m a y like to know, a s they m a y find s o m e of t h e m suitable to their o w n S i t u a t i o n s , a n d therefore fit to b e imi1. I.e., the remaining representatives of a family. Franklin and his son toured England in 1758 and visited ancestral homes at Ecton and Banbury.

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tated. T h a t Felicity, w h e n I reflected on it, has i n d u c ' d m e s o m e t i m e s to say, that were it offer'd to my C h o i c e , I s h o u l d have no O b j e c t i o n to a Repetition of the s a m e Life from its B e g i n n i n g , only a s k i n g the A d v a n t a g e A u t h o r s have in a s e c o n d Edition to correct s o m e F a u l t s of the first. S o would I if I might, b e s i d e s c o r r e c t i n g the F a u l t s , c h a n g e s o m e sinister A c c i d e n t s a n d E v e n t s of it for others m o r e favorable, b u t t h o ' this were d e n i e d , I s h o u l d still a c c e p t the Offer. However, s i n c e s u c h a Repetition is not to b e e x p e c t e d , the T h i n g m o s t like living one's Life over a g a i n , s e e m s to b e a Recollection of that Life; a n d to m a k e that Recollection as d u r a b l e a s p o s s i b l e , the p u t t i n g it down in Writing. Hereby, too, I shall i n d u l g e the Inclination so n a t u r a l in old M e n , to be talking of t h e m s e l v e s a n d their own past A c t i o n s , a n d I shall indulge it, without b e i n g t r o u b l e s o m e to others w h o thro' r e s p e c t to A g e might think t h e m s e l v e s bblig'd to give m e a H e a r i n g , s i n c e this m a y b e read or not a s any o n e p l e a s e s . A n d lastly, (I may a s well c o n f e s s it, s i n c e my D e n i a l of it will be believ'd by no body) p e r h a p s I shall a good deal gratify my own Vanity. I n d e e d I s c a r c e ever h e a r d or s a w the introductory W o r d s , Without Vanity I may say, etc. but s o m e vain thing i m m e d i a t e l y follow'd. M o s t P e o p l e dislike Vanity in o t h e r s whatever S h a r e they have of it t h e m s e l v e s , but I give it fair Quarter wherever I m e e t with it, b e i n g p e r s u a d e d that it is often p r o d u c t i v e of G o o d to the P o s s e s s o r a n d to others that are within his S p h e r e of A c t i o n : And therefore in many C a s e s it w o u l d not b e quite a b s u r d if a M a n were to thank G o d for his Vanity a m o n g the other C o m f o r t s of L i f e . A n d now I s p e a k o f t h a n k i n g G o d , I desire with all Humility to acknowle d g e , that I owe the m e n t i o n ' d H a p p i n e s s of my p a s t Life to his kind Provi d e n c e , which led m e to the M e a n s I us'd a n d gave t h e m S u c c e s s . M y Belief of T h i s , i n d u c e s m e to hope, tho' I m u s t not presume, that the s a m e G o o d n e s s will still be exercis'd towards m e in c o n t i n u i n g that H a p p i n e s s , or in e n a b l i n g m e to b e a r a fatal R e v e r s o , 2 which I may e x p e r i e n c e a s o t h e r s have d o n e , the C o m p l e x i o n of my future F o r t u n e b e i n g known to him only: a n d in w h o s e Power it is to bless to u s even our Afflictions. T h e N o t e s o n e of my U n c | e s (who h a d the s a m e kind of C u r i o s i t y in collecting Family A n e c d o t e s ) o n c e put into my H a n d s , furnish'd m e with several Particulars, relating to our A n c e s t o r s . F r o m t h o s e N o t e s I learned that the Family had liv'd in tfie s a m e Village, E c t o n in N o r t h a m p t o n s h i r e , for 3 0 0 Years, a n d how m u c h longer h e knew not, ( p e r h a p s from the T i m e w h e n the N a m e Franklin that before w a s the N a m e of a n O r d e r of P e o p l e , ' w a s a s s u m ' d by t h e m for a S u r n a m e , w h e n others took S u r n a m e s all over the K i n g d o m ) 4 on a F r e e h o l d of a b o u t 3 0 A c r e s , aided by the S m i t h ' s B u s i n e s s which h a d c o n t i n u e d in' the Family till his T i m e , the e l d e s t S o n b e i n g always bred to that B u s i n e s s . A C u s t o m which he a n d my F a t h e r both followed a s to their eldest S o n s . W h e n I s e a r c h ' d the R e g i s t e r at E c t o n , I found an A c c o u n t of their Births, M a r r i a g e s a n d B u r i a l s , from the Year 1 5 5 5 only, there b e i n g no Register kept in that P a r i s h at any time p r e c e d i n g . By that Register I perceiv'd that I w a s the y o u n g e s t S o n of the y o u n g e s t S o n for 5 G e n e r a t i o n s b a c k . M y G r a n d f a t h e r T h o m a s , w h o w a s born in 1 5 9 8 , lived at E c t o n till he grew too old to follow B u s i n e s s longer, w h e n he went to live 2. I.e., a backhanded stroke, a word used in dueling with rapiers. 3. A "franklin" was a freeholder—an individual

who owned land but was not of noble birth. 4. Here a note (Franklin intended to insert a note here, but did not].

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with his S o n J o h n , a Dyer at B a n b u r y in Oxfordshire, with w h o m my F a t h e r serv'd an A p p r e n t i c e s h i p . T h e r e my G r a n d f a t h e r died a n d lies b u r i e d . W e saw his G r a v e s t o n e in 1 7 5 8 . His eldest S o n T h o m a s liv'd in the H o u s e at E c t o n , a n d left it with the L a n d to his only C h i l d , a D a u g h t e r , w h o with her H u s b a n d , o n e F i s h e r of W e l l i n g b o r o u g h , sold it to M r . Isted, now L o r d of the M a n o r t h e r e . My G r a n d f a t h e r had 4 S o n s that grew u p , viz., T h o m a s , J o h n , B e n j a m i n a n d J o s i a h . I will give you what A c c o u n t I c a n of t h e m at this d i s t a n c e from my P a p e r s , a n d if t h o s e a r e not lost in my A b s e n c e , you will a m o n g t h e m find m a n y m o r e Particulars. T h o m a s w a s bred a S m i t h u n d e r his F a t h e r , but b e i n g i n g e n i o u s , a n d e n c o u r a g ' d in L e a r n i n g (as all his B r o t h e r s likewise were,) by a n E s q u i r e 5 P a l m e r then the principal G e n t l e m a n in that P a r i s h , he qualified h i m s e l f for the B u s i n e s s of S c r i v e n e r , 6 b e c a m e a c o n s i d e r a b l e M a n in the C o u n t y Affairs, w a s a chief M o v e r of all p u b l i c Spirited U n d e r takings for the C o u n t y or T o w n of N o r t h a m p t o n a n d his own Village, of which m a n y I n s t a n c e s were told us at E c t o n , a n d he w a s m u c h taken N o t i c e of a n d patroniz'd by the then L o r d Halifax. H e died in 1 7 0 2 , J a n . 6, old S t i l e , 7 j u s t 4 Years to a Day before I w a s b o r n . T h e A c c o u n t we receiv'd of his Life a n d C h a r a c t e r from s o m e old P e o p l e at E c t o n , I r e m e m b e r s t r u c k you as s o m e t h i n g extraordinary from its Similarity to what you knew of m i n e . H a d he died on the s a m e Day, you said o n e might have s u p p o s ' d a T r a n s migration.8 J o h n w a s bred a Dyer, I believe of W o o l l e n s . B e n j a m i n w a s bred a Silk Dyer, serving an A p p r e n t i c e s h i p at L o n d o n . H e w a s an i n g e n i o u s M a n . I r e m e m b e r him well, for w h e n I was a Boy he c a m e over to my F a t h e r in B o s t o n , a n d lived in the H o u s e with u s s o m e Years. H e lived to a great A g e . His G r a n d s o n S a m u e l Franklin now lives in B o s t o n . H e left b e h i n d him two Q u a r t o 9 V o l u m e s , M a n u s c r i p t of his own Poetry, c o n s i s t i n g of little o c c a sional P i e c e s a d d r e s s ' d to his F r i e n d s a n d R e l a t i o n s , of which the following sent to m e , is a S p e c i m e n . 1 H e h a d form'd a S h o r t h a n d of his o w n , which he taught m e , but never p r a c t i c i n g it I have now forgot it. I was n a m ' d after this U n c l e , there b e i n g a particular Affection b e t w e e n him a n d my F a t h e r . H e was very p i o u s , a great Attender of S e r m o n s of the b e s t P r e a c h e r s , which he took d o w n in his S h o r t h a n d a n d h a d with him m a n y V o l u m e s of t h e m . H e was also m u c h of a Politician, too m u c h p e r h a p s for his S t a t i o n . T h e r e fell latejy into my H a n d s in L o n d o n a C o l l e c t i o n he h a d m a d e of all the principal P a m p h l e t s relating to Public Affairs from 1 6 4 1 to 1 7 1 7 . M a n y of the V o l u m e s are wanting, a s a p p e a r s by the N u m b e r i n g , but there still r e m a i n s 8 V o l u m e s Folio, a n d 2 4 in Quarto a n d O c t a v o . A D e a l e r in old B o o k s met with t h e m , a n d knowing m e by my s o m e t i m e s buying of him, he 5. An honorific originally extended to a young man of gentle birth, but extended as a courtesy to any gentleman. 6. A professional copier of documents. 7. Until 1752 England used the Julian calendar, in which the new year began on March 2 5 . Because the Julian calendar did not have leap years, it had fallen behind the astronomical year; the English skipped eleven days when adopting the Gregorian calendar. Franklin's birthday is either January 6, 1705—06, "old Stile," or January 17,

I 7 0 6 , New Style. 8. T h e passage of the soul to another's body upon death. 9. T h e terms folio, quarto, and octavo designate book sizes from large to small. A single sheet folded once makes a folio, or four sides for printing; a quarto is obtained if the sheet is folded again; an octavo is the sheet folded once more. 1. Here insert it [Franklin's note, but the example was not included].

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b r o u g h t t h e m to m e . It s e e m s my U n c l e m u s t have left t h e m here w h e n he went to A m e r i c a , which w a s a b o v e 5 0 Years s i n c e . T h e r e are m a n y of his N o t e s in the M a r g i n s . T h i s o b s c u r e F a m i l y of o u r s w a s early in the R e f o r m a t i o n , a n d c o n t i n u ' d P r o t e s t a n t s thro' the Reign of Q u e e n M a r y , 2 w h e n they were s o m e t i m e s in D a n g e r of T r o u b l e on A c c o u n t of their Zeal a g a i n s t Popery. T h e y h a d got a n E n g l i s h B i b l e , ' a n d to c o n c e a l a n d s e c u r e it, it w a s f a s t e n e d o p e n with T a p e s u n d e r a n d within the F r a m e of a J o i n t S t o o l . 4 W h e n my G r e a t G r e a t G r a n d f a t h e r r e a d in it to his Family, he turn'd u p the J o i n t S t o o l u p o n his K n e e s , t u r n i n g over the L e a v e s then u n d e r the T a p e s . O n e of the C h i l d r e n s t o o d at the D o o r to give N o t i c e if h e s a w the A p p a r i t o r 5 c o m i n g , w h o w a s a n Officer of the Spiritual C o u r t . In that C a s e the S t o o l w a s turn'd d o w n again u p o n its feet, w h e n the Bible r e m a i n ' d c o n c e a l ' d u n d e r it a s b e f o r e . T h i s A n e c d o t e I h a d from my U n c l e B e n j a m i n . T h e F a m i l y c o n t i n u ' d all of the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d till a b o u t the E n d of C h a r l e s the S e c o n d ' s R e i g n , 6 w h e n s o m e of the M i n i s t e r s that h a d b e e n o u t e d for N o n c o n f o r m i t y , holding C o n v e n t i c l e s 7 in N o r t h a m p t o n s h i r e , B e n j a m i n a n d J o s i a h a d h e r ' d to t h e m , a n d s o c o n t i n u ' d all their L i v e s . T h e rest of the F a m i l y remain'd with the E p i s c o p a l C h u r c h . J o s i a h , my F a t h e r , married y o u n g , a n d carried his Wife with three Children u n t o N e w E n g l a n d , a b o u t 1 6 8 2 . 8 T h e C o n v e n t i c l e s h a v i n g b e e n forbidden by L a w , a n d frequently d i s t u r b e d , i n d u c e d s o m e c o n s i d e r a b l e M e n of his A c q u a i n t a n c e to r e m o v e to that C o u n t r y , a n d h e w a s prevail'd with to a c c o m p a n y t h e m thither, w h e r e they e x p e c t e d to enjoy their M o d e of Religion with F r e e d o m . By the s a m e Wife h e h a d 4 C h i l d r e n m o r e born there, a n d by a s e c o n d Wife ten m o r e , in all 1 7 , of which I r e m e m b e r 1 3 sitting at o n e time at his T a b l e , w h o all grew u p to b e M e n a n d W o m e n , a n d married. I w a s the y o u n g e s t S o n a n d the y o u n g e s t C h i l d but two, a n d w a s b o r n in Boston, New England. M y M o t h e r the s e c o n d Wife w a s A b i a h F o l g e r , a D a u g h t e r of P e t e r Folger, o n e of the first Settlers of N e w E n g l a n d , of w h o m h o n o r a b l e m e n t i o n is m a d e by C o t t o n M a t h e r , in his C h u r c h History of that C o u n t r y , (entitled M a g n a l i a Christi A m e r i c a n a ) a s a godly learned Englishman, if I r e m e m b e r the W o r d s rightly. 9 I have h e a r d that h e wrote s u n d r y small o c c a s i o n a l P i e c e s , but only o n e of t h e m w a s printed which I s a w now m a n y Years s i n c e . It w a s written in 1 6 7 5 , in the h o m e s p u n V e r s e of that T i m e a n d P e o p l e , a n d a d d r e s s ' d to t h o s e then c o n c e r n ' d in the G o v e r n m e n t there. It w a s in favor of Liberty of C o n s c i e n c e , a n d in b e h a l f of the B a p t i s t s , Q u a k e r s , a n d other S e c t a r i e s , ' that h a d b e e n u n d e r P e r s e c u t i o n ; a s c r i b i n g the I n d i a n W a r s a n d other D i s t r e s s e s that h a d befallen the C o u n t r y to that P e r s e c u t i o n , a s s o m a n y J u d g m e n t s of G o d , to p u n i s h s o h e i n o u s a n O f f e n c e ; a n d exhorting a 2. From 1553 to 1558, Mary, the older sister of Elizabeth I , tried to restore Roman Catholicism as the national church. 3. A Bible known as the " G e n e v a " version, translated by Reformed English Protestants living in Switzerland; this version, used by the Puritans, was outlawed by the C h u r c h of England. 4. A small four-legged stool. 5. An officer of an ecclesiastical court, in this case a court established to eliminate heresy. 6. Charles I I ( 1 6 3 0 - 1 6 8 5 ) reigned from 1660 to 1685.

7. Secret and illegal meetings of Nonconformists, outlawed in 1664. Nonconformists refused to adopt the rituals and acknowledge the hierarchy of the C h u r c h of England. 8. More correctly, October 1683. 9. Cotton Mather's ecclesiastical history The Wonderful Work of Christ in America, which was published in London in 1702; the quotation is properly "an Able Godly Englishman." 1. Believers or followers of a particular religious teaching.

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R e p e a l of t h o s e u n c h a r i t a b l e L a w s . T h e whole a p p e a r ' d to m e a s written with a g o o d deal of D e c e n t P l a i n n e s s a n d manly F r e e d o m . T h e six last c o n c l u d i n g L i n e s I r e m e m b e r , tho' I have forgotten the two first of the S t a n z a , b u t the and Purport of t h e m w a s that his C e n s u r e s p r o c e e d e d from Goodwill, therefore h e would be known a s the Author, b e c a u s e to be a Libeler, (says he) I hate it with my H e a r t . F r o m S h e r b u r n e T o w n 2 where n o w I dwell, M y N a m e I do put h e r e , W i t h o u t O f f e n c e , your real F r i e n d , It is Peter Folgier. M y elder B r o t h e r s were all p u t A p p r e n t i c e s to different T r a d e s . I w a s p u t to the G r a m m a r S c h o o l at Eight Years of A g e , my F a t h e r i n t e n d i n g to devote m e a s the T i t h e 3 of his S o n s to the S e r v i c e of the C h u r c h . M y early R e a d i n e s s in learning to read (which m u s t have b e e n very early, a s I do not r e m e m b e r when I c o u l d not read) a n d the O p i n i o n of all his F r i e n d s that I s h o u l d certainly m a k e a g o o d S c h o l a r , e n c o u r a g ' d him in this P u r p o s e of his. M y U n c l e B e n j a m i n too approv'd of it, a n d p r o p o s ' d to give m e all his S h o r t h a n d V o l u m e s of S e r m o n s , I s u p p o s e a s a S t o c k to set u p with, if I would learn his Character.'' I c o n t i n u ' d however at the G r a m m a r S c h o o l not q u i t e o n e Year, tho' in that time I h a d risen gradually from the M i d d l e of the C l a s s of that Year to be the H e a d of it, a n d farther w a s remov'd into the next C l a s s above it, in order to g o with that into the third at the E n d of the Year. B u t my F a t h e r in the m e a n t i m e , from a View of the E x p e n s e of a C o l l e g e E d u cation w h i c h , having so large a Family, h e c o u l d not well afford, a n d the m e a n Living m a n y so e d u c a t e d were afterwards able to o b t a i n , R e a s o n s that h e gave to his F r i e n d s in my H e a r i n g , altered his first Intention, took m e from the G r a m m a r S c h o o l , a n d sent m e to a S c h o o l for Writing a n d Arithm e t i c kept by a then f a m o u s M a n , Mr. G e o r g e Brownell, very s u c c e s s f u l in his P r o f e s s i o n generally, a n d that by mild e n c o u r a g i n g M e t h o d s . U n d e r h i m I a c q u i r e d fair Writing pretty s o o n , b u t I fail'd in the A r i t h m e t i c , a n d m a d e n o P r o g r e s s in it. At T e n Years old, I was taken h o m e to assist my F a t h e r in his B u s i n e s s , which w a s that of a T a l l o w C h a n d l e r a n d S o a p - B o i l e r . 5 A B u s i n e s s h e w a s not bred to, but h a d a s s u m e d on his Arrival in N e w E n g l a n d a n d on finding his Dying T r a d e would not m a i n t a i n his Family, b e i n g in little R e q u e s t . Accordingly I w a s e m p l o y e d in cutting W i c k for the C a n d l e s , filling the D i p p i n g M o l d , a n d the M o l d s for c a s t C a n d l e s , a t t e n d i n g the S h o p , g o i n g of E r r a n d s , etc. I dislik'd the T r a d e a n d h a d a s t r o n g Inclination for the S e a ; but my F a t h e r declar'd a g a i n s t it; however, living n e a r the W a t e r , I w a s m u c h in a n d a b o u t it, learned early to swim well, a n d to m a n a g e B o a t s , a n d w h e n in a B o a t or C a n o e with other Boys I w a s c o m m o n l y allow'd to g o v e r n , 6 especially in any c a s e of Difficulty; a n d u p o n other O c c a s i o n s I w a s generally a L e a d e r a m o n g the B o y s , a n d s o m e t i m e s led t h e m into S c r a p e s , of which I will m e n t i o n o n e I n s t a n c e , a s it s h o w s a n early p r o j e c t i n g public Spirit, tho' not then justly c o n d u c t e d . T h e r e w a s a S a l t M a r s h that b o u n d e d part of the 2. In the Island of Nantucket [Franklin's note]. 3. I.e., as if his son were the tenth part of his income, traditionally given to the church.

4. Here, his system of shorthand. 5. Maker of candles and soap, 6. Steer.

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Mill P o n d , o n the E d g e of which at H i g h w a t e r , we us'd to s t a n d to fish for M i n n o w s . By m u c h T r a m p l i n g , we h a d m a d e it a m e r e Q u a g m i r e . M y Prop o s a l was to build a W h a r f there fit for u s to s t a n d u p o n , a n d I show'd my C o m r a d e s a large H e a p of S t o n e s which were i n t e n d e d for a new H o u s e near the M a r s h , a n d which would very well suit our P u r p o s e . Accordingly in the E v e n i n g w h e n the W o r k m e n were g o n e , I a s s e m b l e d a N u m b e r of my Playfellows, a n d working with t h e m diligently like so m a n y E m m e t s , 7 s o m e t i m e s two or three to a S t o n e , we b r o u g h t t h e m all away a n d built our little Wharf. T h e next M o r n i n g the W o r k m e n were surpris'd at M i s s i n g the S t o n e s ; which were f o u n d in our Wharf; E n q u i r y w a s m a d e after the R e m o v e r s ; we were discovered a n d c o m p l a i n ' d of; several of u s were c o r r e c t e d by our F a t h e r s ; a n d tho' I p l e a d e d the U s e f u l n e s s of the Work, m i n e convinc'd m e that nothing w a s useful which w a s not h o n e s t . I think you may like to know s o m e t h i n g of his P e r s o n a n d C h a r a c t e r . H e h a d a n excellent C o n s t i t u t i o n of B o d y , w a s of m i d d l e S t a t u r e , b u t well set a n d very strong. H e w a s i n g e n i o u s , c o u l d draw prettily, w a s skill'd a little in M u s i c a n d h a d a clear p l e a s i n g V o i c e , s o that w h e n h e play'd P s a l m T u n e s on his Violin a n d s u n g withal a s h e s o m e times did in an E v e n i n g after the B u s i n e s s of the Day w a s over, it was extremely a g r e e a b l e to hear. H e h a d a m e c h a n i c a l G e n i u s t o o , a n d on o c c a s i o n w a s very handy in the U s e of other T r a d e s m e n ' s T o o l s . B u t his great Excellence lay in a s o u n d U n d e r s t a n d i n g , a n d solid J u d g m e n t in prudential M a t t e r s , both in private a n d public Affairs. In the latter i n d e e d he w a s never e m p l o y e d , the n u m e r o u s Family h e h a d to e d u c a t e a n d the Straitn e s s of his C i r c u m s t a n c e s , k e e p i n g him c l o s e to his T r a d e , b u t I r e m e m ber well his b e i n g frequently visited by l e a d i n g P e o p l e , w h o c o n s u l t e d him for his O p i n i o n on Affairs of the T o w n or of the C h u r c h he belong'd to a n d show'd a g o o d deal of R e s p e c t for his J u d g m e n t a n d Advice. H e w a s a l s o m u c h c o n s u l t e d by private P e r s o n s a b o u t their Affairs w h e n any Difficulty o c c u r ' d , a n d frequently c h o s e n a n Arbitrator b e t w e e n c o n t e n d ing Parties. At his T a b l e he lik'd to have a s often a s h e c o u l d , s o m e sensible Friend or N e i g h b o r , to c o n v e r s e with, a n d always t o o k c a r e to start s o m e i n g e n i o u s or useful T o p i c for D i s c o u r s e , which might tend to improve the M i n d s of his C h i l d r e n . By this m e a n s h e turn'd our Attention to what w a s g o o d , j u s t , a n d p r u d e n t in the C o n d u c t of Life; a n d little or n o N o t i c e w a s ever taken of what related to the V i c t u a l s on the T a b l e , w h e t h e r it w a s well or ill d r e s t , in or out of s e a s o n , of g o o d or b a d flavor, p r e f e r a b l e or inferior to this or that other thing of the kind; so that I w a s b r o u g h t u p in s u c h a perfect Inattention to t h o s e M a t t e r s a s to be q u i t e Indifferent what kind of F o o d w a s set before m e ; a n d so u n o b servant of it, that to this Day, if I a m ask'd I c a n s c a r c e tell, a few H o u r s after D i n n e r , what I din'd u p o n . T h i s has b e e n a C o n v e n i e n c e to m e in traveling, where my C o m p a n i o n s have b e e n s o m e t i m e s very u n h a p p y for want of a suitable Gratification of their m o r e d e l i c a t e b e c a u s e better instructed T a s t e s a n d A p p e t i t e s . M y M o t h e r h a d likewise a n excellent C o n s t i t u t i o n . S h e s u c k l e d all her 10 C h i l d r e n . I never knew either my F a t h e r or M o t h e r to have any S i c k n e s s but that of which they died, he at 8 9 a n d s h e at 8 5 Years of a g e . T h e y lie buried 7. Ants.

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together at B o s t o n , w h e r e I s o m e Years s i n c e plac'd a M a r b l e s t o n e over their G r a v e with this Inscription: J o s i a h Franklin A n d Abiah his Wife Lie here interred. T h e y lived lovingly together in W e d l o c k Fifty-five Y e a r s . Without a n E s t a t e or any gainful E m p l o y m e n t , 8 By c o n s t a n t L a b o r a n d Industry, With G o d ' s B l e s s i n g , T h e y m a i n t a i n e d a large Family Comfortably; A n d b r o u g h t up thirteen C h i l d r e n , And seven G r a n d c h i l d r e n Reputably. F r o m this I n s t a n c e , R e a d e r , B e e n c o u r a g e d to D i l i g e n c e in thy C a l l i n g , A n d distrust not P r o v i d e n c e . He was a pious and prudent M a n , S h e a discreet a n d virtuous W o m a n . Their youngest Son, In filial R e g a r d to their M e m o r y , P l a c e s this S t o n e . J . F . born 1 6 5 5 — D i e d 1 7 4 4 . ^ 1 t a t 9 8 9 A.F. born 1667—died 1752 85. By my r a m b l i n g D i g r e s s i o n s I perceive myself to be grown old. I us'd to write m o r e methodically. B u t o n e d o e s not d r e s s for private C o m p a n y a s for a public Ball. 'Tis p e r h a p s only N e g l i g e n c e . T o return. I continu'd t h u s employ'd in my F a t h e r ' s B u s i n e s s for two Y e a r s , that is till I w a s 12 Years old; a n d my B r o t h e r J o h n 1 w h o w a s bred to that B u s i n e s s having left my F a t h e r , married a n d set u p for h i m s e l f at R h o d e Island, there w a s all A p p e a r a n c e that I w a s destin'd to supply his P l a c e a n d b e a T a l l o w C h a n d l e r . B u t my Dislike to the T r a d e c o n t i n u i n g , my F a t h e r w a s u n d e r A p p r e h e n s i o n s that if he did not find o n e for m e m o r e a g r e e a b l e , I s h o u l d b r e a k away a n d get to S e a , a s his S o n J o s i a h h a d d o n e to his great Vexation. H e therefore s o m e t i m e s took m e to walk with him, a n d s e e J o i n e r s , Bricklayers, T u r n e r s , B r a z i e r s , 2 etc. at their Work, that he might o b s e r v e my Inclination, a n d e n d e a v o r to fix it on s o m e T r a d e or other on L a n d . It h a s ever s i n c e b e e n a P l e a s u r e to m e to see g o o d W o r k m e n h a n d l e their T o o l s ; a n d it has b e e n useful to m e , having learned so m u c h by it, a s to be able to do little J o b s myself in my H o u s e , w h e n a W o r k m a n c o u l d not readily be got; a n d to c o n s t r u c t little M a c h i n e s for my E x p e r i m e n t s while the Intention of m a k i n g the E x p e r i m e n t w a s fresh a n d w a r m in my M i n d . M y F a t h e r at last fix'd u p o n the C u t l e r ' s T r a d e , a n d my U n c l e B e n j a m i n ' s S o n S a m u e l w h o was bred to that B u s i n e s s in L o n d o n b e i n g a b o u t that time establish'd in B o s t o n , I w a s sent to be with him s o m e time o n liking. B u t his E x p e c t a t i o n s of a F e e with m e d i s p l e a s i n g my F a t h e r , I w a s taken h o m e a g a i n . 8. Privileged employment. 9. Aged. 1. John Franklin (1690—1756), Franklin's favorite

brother; he was to become postmaster of Boston. 2. Woodworkers, bricklayers, latheworkers, brassworkers.

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F r o m a C h i l d I w a s fond of R e a d i n g , a n d all the little M o n e y that c a m e into my H a n d s w a s ever laid o u t in B o o k s . Pleas'd with the Pilgrim's P r o g r e s s , my first C o l l e c t i o n w a s of J o h n B u n y a n ' s 3 W o r k s , in s e p a r a t e little V o l u m e s . I afterwards sold t h e m to e n a b l e m e to buy R. B u r t o n ' s 4 Historical C o l l e c tions; they were small C h a p m e n ' s B o o k s 5 a n d c h e a p , 4 0 or 5 0 in all. M y Father's little Library c o n s i s t e d chiefly of B o o k s in p o l e m i c Divinity, m o s t of which I r e a d , a n d have s i n c e often regretted, that at a time w h e n I h a d s u c h a Thirst for K n o w l e d g e , m o r e p r o p e r B o o k s h a d not fallen in my W a y , s i n c e it w a s now resolv'd I s h o u l d not b e a C l e r g y m a n . P l u t a r c h ' s L i v e s 6 t h e r e w a s , in which I r e a d a b u n d e n t l y , a n d I still think that time s p e n t to great Advantage. T h e r e w a s a l s o a B o o k of D e f o e ' s called a n E s s a y o n P r o j e c t s 7 a n d a n o t h e r of Dr. M a t h e r ' s call'd E s s a y s to do G o o d , 8 w h i c h p e r h a p s gave m e a T u r n of T h i n k i n g that h a d a n I n f l u e n c e o n s o m e of the principal future E v e n t s of my L i f e . T h i s B o o k i s h Inclination at length d e t e r m i n ' d my F a t h e r to m a k e m e a Printer, tho' he h a d already o n e S o n , ( J a m e s ) of that P r o f e s s i o n . In 1 7 1 7 my B r o t h e r J a m e s return'd from E n g l a n d with a P r e s s a n d L e t t e r s 9 to set u p his B u s i n e s s in B o s t o n . I lik'd it m u c h better t h a n that of my F a t h e r , b u t still h a d a H a n k e r i n g for the S e a . T o prevent the a p p r e h e n d e d Effect of s u c h a n Inclination, my F a t h e r w a s i m p a t i e n t to have m e b o u n d 1 to my Brother. I stood o u t s o m e t i m e , but at last w a s p e r s u a d e d a n d s i g n e d the I n d e n t u r e s , 2 w h e n I w a s yet b u t 1 2 Years old. I w a s to serve a s a n A p p r e n t i c e till I w a s 2 1 Years of A g e , only I w a s to b e allow'd J o u r n e y m a n ' s W a g e s ' d u r i n g the last Year. In a little time I m a d e great Proficiency in the B u s i n e s s , a n d b e c a m e a useful H a n d to my Brother. I now h a d A c c e s s to better B o o k s . A n A c q u a i n t a n c e with the A p p r e n t i c e s of B o o k s e l l e r s e n a b l e d m e s o m e t i m e s to borrow a small o n e , which I w a s careful to return s o o n a n d c l e a n . O f t e n I sat up in my R o o m r e a d i n g the g r e a t e s t Part of the N i g h t , w h e n the B o o k w a s borrow'd in the E v e n i n g a n d to be return'd early in the M o r n i n g lest it s h o u l d be miss'd or w a n t e d . A n d after s o m e time a n i n g e n i o u s T r a d e s m a n 4 who h a d a pretty 5 C o l l e c t i o n of B o o k s , a n d w h o f r e q u e n t e d our PrintingH o u s e , took N o t i c e of m e , invited m e to his Library, a n d very kindly lent m e s u c h B o o k s a s I c h o s e to r e a d . I now t o o k a F a n c y to Poetry, a n d m a d e s o m e little P i e c e s . M y Brother, thinking it might turn to a c c o u n t e n c o u r a g ' d m e , a n d p u t m e o n c o m p o s i n g two o c c a s i o n a l B a l l a d s . O n e w a s called the Light House Tragedy, a n d c o n t a i n ' d a n A c c o u n t of the d r o w n i n g of C a p t . WorthiIake with his T w o D a u g h t e r s ; the other w a s a S a i l o r S o n g o n the T a k i n g of Teach or B l a c k b e a r d the P i r a t e . 6 T h e y were w r e t c h e d Stuff, in the G r u b s t r e e t 3. John Bunyan ( 1 6 2 8 - 1 6 8 8 ) published Pilgrim's Progress in 1678; his works were enormously popular and available in cheap one-shilling editions. T h e book is an allegory in which the hero, Christian, flees the City of Destruction and makes his way to the Celestial City with the help of Mr. Worldly-Wiseman, Faithful, Hopeful, etc. 4. "Burton" was a pseudonym for Nathaniel Crouch (c. 1632—1725), a popularizer of British history. 5. Peddlers' books, hence inexpensive. 6. Plutarch (c. 46—120 C . E . ) , Greek biographer who wrote Parallel Lives of noted Greek and Roman figures. 7. Daniel Defoe's (1659?—1731) Essay on Projects

( 1 6 9 7 ) offered suggestions for economic improvement (see also n. 2, p. 2 4 5 ) . 8. Cotton Mather published Bonifacius: An Essay upon the Good in 1710. 9. Type. 1. Apprenticed. 2. A contract binding him to work for his brother for nine years. J a m e s Franklin (1697—1735) had learned the printer's trade in England. 3. I.e., be paid for each day's work, having served his apprenticeship. 4. Mr. Matthew A d a m s [Franklin's note]. 5. Exceptionally fine. 6. T h e full texts of these ballads cannot be found; George Worthylake, lighthouse keeper on Beacon

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B a l l a d S t y l e , 7 a n d w h e n they were printed he sent m e a b o u t the T o w n to sell t h e m . T h e first sold wonderfully, the Event being r e c e n t , having m a d e a great N o i s e . T h i s flatter'd my Vanity. B u t my F a t h e r d i s c o u r a g ' d m e , by ridiculing my P e r f o r m a n c e s , a n d telling m e V e r s e - m a k e r s were generally B e g g a r s ; s o I e s c a p ' d b e i n g a Poet, m o s t probably a very b a d o n e . B u t a s P r o s e Writing has b e e n of great U s e to m e in the C o u r s e of my Life, a n d w a s a principal M e a n s of my A d v a n c e m e n t , I shall tell you how in s u c h a S i t u a t i o n I a c q u i r ' d what little Ability I have in that W a y . T h e r e w a s a n o t h e r B o o k i s h L a d in the T o w n , J o h n C o l l i n s by N a m e , with w h o m I w a s intimately a c q u a i n t e d . W e s o m e t i m e s d i s p u t e d , a n d very fond we were of A r g u m e n t , a n d very d e s i r o u s of c o n f u t i n g o n e a n o t h e r . W h i c h d i s p u t a t i o u s T u r n , by the way, is apt to b e c o m e a very b a d H a b i t , m a k i n g P e o p l e often extremely d i s a g r e e a b l e in C o m p a n y , by the C o n t r a d i c t i o n that is n e c e s s a r y to bring it into P r a c t i c e , a n d t h e n c e , b e s i d e s s o u r i n g a n d spoiling the C o n v e r s a t i o n , is p r o d u c t i v e of D i s g u s t s a n d p e r h a p s E n m i t i e s w h e r e you may have o c c a s i o n for F r i e n d s h i p . I h a d c a u g h t it by r e a d i n g my F a t h e r ' s B o o k s of D i s p u t e a b o u t Religion. P e r s o n s of g o o d S e n s e , I have s i n c e observ'd, s e l d o m fall into it, except L a w y e r s , University M e n , a n d M e n of all S o r t s that have b e e n bred at E d i n b u r g h . " A Question w a s o n c e s o m e how or other started b e t w e e n C o l l i n s a n d m e , of the Propriety of e d u c a t i n g the F e m a l e S e x in L e a r n i n g , a n d their Abilities for S t u d y . H e w a s of O p i n i o n that it was i m p r o p e r ; a n d that they were naturally u n e q u a l to it. I took the contrary S i d e , p e r h a p s a little for D i s p u t e s a k e . H e w a s naturally m o r e eloq u e n t , h a d a ready Plenty of W o r d s , a n d s o m e t i m e s a s I t h o u g h t bore m e down m o r e by his F l u e n c y than by the S t r e n g t h of his R e a s o n s . As we p a r t e d without settling the Point, a n d were not to s e e o n e a n o t h e r again for s o m e t i m e , I sat down to put my A r g u m e n t s in Writing, w h i c h I c o p i e d fair a n d sent to him. H e answer'd a n d I replied. T h r e e or four L e t t e r s of a S i d e h a d p a s s ' d , w h e n my F a t h e r h a p p e n ' d to find my P a p e r s , a n d read t h e m . W i t h o u t e n t e r i n g into the D i s c u s s i o n , h e took o c c a s i o n to talk to m e a b o u t the M a n ner of my Writing, observ'd that tho' I h a d the A d v a n t a g e of my A n t a g o n i s t in correct S p e l l i n g a n d p o i n t i n g 9 (which I ow'd to the P r i n t i n g - H o u s e ) I fell far short in e l e g a n c e of E x p r e s s i o n , in M e t h o d a n d in Perspicuity, of which he convinc'd m e by several I n s t a n c e s . I s a w the J u s t i c e of his R e m a r k s , a n d ' t h e n c e grew m o r e attentive to the Manner in Writing, a n d d e t e r m i n ' d to e n d e a v o r at I m p r o v e m e n t . A b o u t this time I m e t with a n o d d V o l u m e of the S p e c t a t o r . 1 I h a d never before s e e n any of t h e m . I b o u g h t it, read it over a n d over, a n d w a s m u c h delighted with it. I t h o u g h t the Writing excellent, a n d wish'd if p o s s i b l e to imitate it. With that View, I took s o m e of the P a p e r s , a n d m a k i n g short H i n t s of the S e n t i m e n t in e a c h S e n t e n c e , laid t h e m by a few D a y s , a n d then without looking at the B o o k , tried to c o m p l e t e the P a p e r s a g a i n , by e x p r e s s i n g Island, Boston Harbor, and his wife and daughter were drowned on November 3, 1718; the pirate Blackbeard, Edward Teach, was killed off the Carolina coast on November 2 2 , 1718. 7. Grub Street in London was inhabited by poor literary hacks who capitalized on poems of topical interest. 8. Scottish Presbyterians were noted for their argumentative nature.

9. Punctuation. Spelling and punctuation were not standardized at this time. I. An English periodical published daily from March 1, 1 7 1 1 , to December 6, 1712, and revived in 1714. It contained essays by J o s e p h Addison ( 1 6 7 2 - 1 7 1 9 ) and Richard Steele ( 1 6 7 2 - 1 7 2 9 ) . It addressed itself primarily to matters of literature and morality. Its aim was to "enliven morality with wit" and "temper wit with morality."

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e a c h hinted S e n t i m e n t at length a n d a s fully a s it h a d b e e n express'd b e f o r e , in any suitable W o r d s that s h o u l d c o m e to h a n d . T h e n I c o m p a r ' d my S p e c t a t o r with the Original, discover'd s o m e of my F a u l t s a n d c o r r e c t e d t h e m . B u t I f o u n d I w a n t e d a S t o c k of W o r d s or a R e a d i n e s s in recollecting a n d u s i n g t h e m , which I t h o u g h t I s h o u l d have acquir'd before that t i m e , if I h a d g o n e on m a k i n g V e r s e s , s i n c e the c o n t i n u a l O c c a s i o n for W o r d s of the s a m e Import but of different L e n g t h , to suit the M e a s u r e , ' or of different S o u n d for the R h y m e , would have laid m e u n d e r a c o n s t a n t N e c e s s i t y of s e a r c h i n g for Variety, a n d a l s o have t e n d e d to fix that Variety in my M i n d , a n d m a k e m e M a s t e r of it. T h e r e f o r e I took s o m e of the T a l e s a n d turn'd t h e m into V e r s e : A n d after a t i m e , w h e n I h a d pretty well forgotten the P r o s e , turn'd t h e m b a c k a g a i n . I a l s o s o m e t i m e s j u m b l e d my C o l l e c t i o n s of H i n t s into C o n f u s i o n , a n d after s o m e W e e k s , endeavor'd to r e d u c e t h e m into the best O r d e r , before I b e g a n to form the full S e n t e n c e s , a n d c o m p l e t e the Paper. T h i s w a s to t e a c h m e M e t h o d in the A r r a n g e m e n t of T h o u g h t s . By c o m p a r i n g my W o r k afterwards with the original, I discover'd m a n y faults a n d a m e n d e d t h e m ; b u t I s o m e t i m e s h a d the P l e a s u r e of F a n c y i n g that in certain P a r t i c u l a r s of small Import, I h a d b e e n lucky e n o u g h to improve the M e t h o d or the L a n g u a g e a n d this e n c o u r a g ' d m e to think I might possibly in time c o m e to be a tolerable E n g l i s h Writer, of w h i c h I was extremely a m b i t i o u s . M y T i m e for t h e s e E x e r c i s e s a n d for R e a d i n g , w a s at Night after W o r k , or before W o r k b e g a n in the M o r n i n g ; or on S u n d a y s , w h e n I contrived to be in the P r i n t i n g - H o u s e a l o n e , e v a d i n g a s m u c h a s I c o u l d the c o m m o n Attend a n c e on public W o r s h i p , which my F a t h e r u s e d to exact of m e w h e n I w a s u n d e r his C a r e : A n d which i n d e e d I still t h o u g h t a Duty; tho' I c o u l d not, a s it s e e m e d to m e , afford the T i m e to p r a c t i c e it. W h e n a b o u t 16 Years of A g e , I h a p p e n ' d to m e e t with a B o o k written by o n e Tryon,* r e c o m m e n d i n g a V e g e t a b l e Diet. I d e t e r m i n e d to go into it. M y Brother b e i n g yet u n m a r r i e d , did not keep H o u s e , but b o a r d e d himself a n d his A p p r e n t i c e s in a n o t h e r Family. M y refusing to e a t F l e s h o c c a s i o n e d a n Inconveniency, a n d I w a s frequently chid for my singularity. I m a d e myself a c q u a i n t e d with Tryon's M a n n e r of p r e p a r i n g s o m e of his D i s h e s , s u c h a s Boiling P o t a t o e s or R i c e , m a k i n g H a s t y P u d d i n g , 4 a n d a few o t h e r s , a n d then p r o p o s ' d to my Brother, that if he w o u l d give m e Weekly half the M o n e y h e paid for my B o a r d , I would b o a r d myself. H e instantly a g r e e d to it, a n d I presently f o u n d that I c o u l d save half w h a t h e p a i d m e . T h i s w a s a n additional F u n d for buying B o o k s : B u t I h a d a n o t h e r A d v a n t a g e in it. M y Brother a n d the rest g o i n g from the P r i n t i n g - H o u s e to their M e a l s , I remain'd there a l o n e , a n d d i s p a t c h i n g presently my light R e p a s t , (which often w a s no m o r e than a Biscuit or a S l i c e of B r e a d , a H a n d f u l of B a i s i n s or a T a r t from the Pastry C o o k ' s , a n d a G l a s s of W a t e r ) h a d the rest of the T i m e till their R e t u r n , for S t u d y , in which I m a d e the greater P r o g r e s s from that greater C l e a r n e s s of H e a d a n d q u i c k e r A p p r e h e n s i o n which usually a t t e n d T e m p e r a n c e in E a t i n g a n d Drinking. A n d n o w it w a s that being o n s o m e O c c a s i o n m a d e a s h a m ' d of my I g n o r a n c e in F i g u r e s , which I h a d twice fail'd in l e a r n i n g

2. Meter. 3. T h o m a s Tryon, whose Way to Health, Wealth, and Happiness appeared in 1682; a digest titled

Wisdom's Dictates appeared in 1 6 9 1 . 4. I.e., cornmeal or oatmeal mush.

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w h e n at S c h o o l , I took C o c k e r ' s B o o k of A r i t h m e t i c , s a n d went thro' the whole by myself with great E a s e . I also read Seller's a n d S t u r m y ' s B o o k s of N a v i g a t i o n , 6 a n d b e c a m e a c q u a i n t e d with the little G e o m e t r y they c o n t a i n , but never p r o c e e d e d far in that S c i e n c e . A n d I read a b o u t this T i m e L o c k e on H u m a n U n d e r s t a n d i n g a n d the Art of T h i n k i n g by M e s s r s . du Port Royal. 7 While I was intent on improving my L a n g u a g e , I met with a n E n g l i s h G r a m m a r (1 think it w a s G r e e n w o o d ' s " ) at the E n d of which there were two little S k e t c h e s of the Arts of Rhetoric a n d L o g i c , the latter finishing with a S p e c i m e n of a D i s p u t e in the S o c r a t i c M e t h o d . 9 And s o o n after I procur'd X e n o p h o n ' s M e m o r a b l e T h i n g s of S o c r a t e s , 1 wherein there are m a n y I n s t a n c e s of the s a m e M e t h o d . I was c h a r m ' d with it, a d o p t e d it, d r o p p e d my a b r u p t C o n t r a d i c t i o n a n d positive A r g u m e n t a t i o n , a n d put on the h u m b l e E n q u i r e r a n d D o u b t e r . A n d being then, from r e a d i n g S h a f t e s b u r y a n d C o l lins, 2 b e c a m e a real D o u b t e r in m a n y Points of our Religious D o c t r i n e , I found this M e t h o d safest for myself a n d very e m b a r r a s s i n g to t h o s e a g a i n s t w h o m I u s e d it, therefore I took a Delight in it, practic'd it continually a n d grew very artful a n d expert in drawing P e o p l e even of s u p e r i o r K n o w l e d g e into C o n c e s s i o n s the C o n s e q u e n c e s of which they did not f o r e s e e , e n t a n gling t h e m in Difficulties out of which they c o u l d not extricate t h e m s e l v e s , a n d s o o b t a i n i n g Victories that neither myself nor my C a u s e always d e s e r v e d . I continu'd this M e t h o d s o m e few Years, but gradually left it, retaining only the H a b i t of e x p r e s s i n g myself in T e r m s of m o d e s t Diffidence, never u s i n g w h e n I a d v a n c e any thing that may possibly be d i s p u t e d , the W o r d s , Certainly, undoubtedly, or any others that give the Air of P o s i t i v e n e s s to an O p i n i o n ; but rather say, / conceive, or J apprehend a T h i n g to be s o or s o , It appears to me, or J should think it so or so for such and such Reasons, or I imagine it to be s o , or it is so if I am not mistaken. T h i s H a b i t I believe has b e e n of great A d v a n t a g e to m e , w h e n I have h a d o c c a s i o n to i n c u l c a t e my O p i n i o n s a n d p e r s u a d e M e n into M e a s u r e s that I have b e e n from t i m e to time engag'd in p r o m o t i n g . And a s the chief E n d s of C o n v e r s a t i o n a r e to inform, or to be informed, to please or to persuade, I wish w e l l - m e a n i n g sensible M e n would not lessen their Power of d o i n g G o o d by a Positive a s s u m i n g M a n n e r that s e l d o m fails to d i s g u s t , tends to c r e a t e O p p o s i t i o n , a n d to d e f e a t every o n e of t h o s e P u r p o s e s for which S p e e c h w a s given u s , to wit, giving or receiving Information, or P l e a s u r e : F o r If you would inform, a positive dogmatical M a n n e r in a d v a n c i n g your S e n t i m e n t s , may provoke C o n t r a d i c t i o n a n d prevent a c a n d i d Attention. If you wish Information a n d I m p r o v e m e n t from the K n o w l e d g e of others a n d yet at the s a m e time e x p r e s s yourself as firmly fix'd in your p r e s e n t O p i n i o n s , m o d e s t s e n s i b l e M e n , w h o do not love D i s p u t a t i o n , will probably leave you u n d i s t u r b ' d in the P o s s e s s i o n of your 5. Edward Cocker's Arithmetic, published in 1677, was reprinted twenty times by 1700. 6. John Seller published An Epitome of the Art of Navigation in 1681. Samuel Sturmy published 77ie Mariner's Magazine: Or Sturmy's Mathematical ami Practical Arts in 1699. 7. John Locke ( 1 6 3 2 - 1 7 0 4 ) published An Essay Concerning Human Understanding in 1690. Anloine Arnauld ( 1 6 1 2 - 1 6 9 4 ) and Pierre Nicole ( 1 6 2 5 ? - 1 6 9 5 ) , of Port Royal, published the English edition of Logic: Or the Art of Tliinking in 1687. It was originally published in Latin in 1662. 8. J a m e s Greenwood, An Essay towards a Practical

English Grammar ( 1 7 1 1 ) . 9. I.e., in the form of a debate. 1. Xenophon's ( 4 3 4 r - 3 5 5 B.C.E.) The Memorable Tilings of Socrates was translated by Edward Bysshe in 1712. 2. Anthony Ashley Cooper, third earl of Shaftesbury (1671 — 1713), was a religious skeptic. Anthony Collins ( 1 6 7 6 - 1 7 2 9 ) argued that the world could satisfactorily be explained in terms ol itself. Perhaps franklin read Shaftesbury's Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times ( 1 7 1 1 ) and Collins's A Discourse of Free Thinking (1713).

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Error; a n d by s u c h a M a n n e r you c a n s e l d o m h o p e to r e c o m m e n d yourself in pleasing your H e a r e r s , or to p e r s u a d e t h o s e w h o s e C o n c u r r e n c e you d e s i r e . P o p e says, j u d i c i o u s l y . Men should be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown propos'd as things forgot, farther r e c o m m e n d i n g it to u s , To speak tho'sure,

with seeming

Diffidence.*

A n d h e m i g h t have c o u p l e d with this L i n e that w h i c h he h a s c o u p l e d with another, I think less properly, F o r want ofJ Modesty J is want ofJ Sense. If you a s k why less properly, I m u s t r e p e a t the L i n e s ; " I m m o d e s t W o r d s a d m i t of no D e f e n c e ; For W a n t of M o d e s t y is W a n t of S e n s e . " 4 N o w is not Want of Sense, (where a M a n is s o u n f o r t u n a t e a s to w a n t it) s o m e A p o l o g y for his Want of Modesty? a n d w o u l d not the L i n e s s t a n d m o r e justly t h u s ? I m m o d e s t W o r d s a d m i t but this D e f e n c e , T h a t W a n t of M o d e s t y is W a n t of S e n s e . T h i s however I s h o u l d s u b m i t to better J u d g m e n t s . M y B r o t h e r h a d in 1 7 2 0 or 2 1 , b e g u n to print a N e w s p a p e r . It w a s the s e c o n d 5 that a p p e a r ' d in A m e r i c a , a n d w a s c a l l e d The New England Courant. T h e only o n e before it, w a s The Boston News Letter. I r e m e m b e r his b e i n g d i s s u a d e d by s o m e of his F r i e n d s from the U n d e r t a k i n g , a s not likely to s u c c e e d , o n e N e w s p a p e r b e i n g in their J u d g m e n t e n o u g h for A m e r i c a . At this time 1 7 7 1 there a r e not less t h a n five a n d twenty. H e went on however with the U n d e r t a k i n g , a n d after h a v i n g work'd in c o m p o s i n g the T y p e s a n d printing off the S h e e t s I w a s employ'd to carry the P a p e r s thro' the S t r e e t s to the C u s t o m e r s . H e h a d s o m e i n g e n i o u s M e n a m o n g his F r i e n d s w h o a m u s ' d t h e m s e l v e s by writing little P i e c e s for this P a p e r , which gain'd it C r e d i t , a n d m a d e it m o r e in D e m a n d ; a n d t h e s e G e n t l e m e n often visited u s . H e a r i n g their C o n v e r s a t i o n s , a n d their A c c o u n t s of the A p p r o b a t i o n their P a p e r s were receiv'd with, I w a s excited to try my H a n d a m o n g t h e m . B u t b e i n g still a Boy, a n d s u s p e c t i n g that m y B r o t h e r w o u l d object to printing any T h i n g of m i n e in his P a p e r if h e k n e w it to b e m i n e , I contriv'd to d i s g u i s e my H a n d , a n d writing a n a n o n y m o u s P a p e r I p u t it in at N i g h t u n d e r the D o o r of the P r i n t i n g - H o u s e . It w a s f o u n d in the M o r n i n g a n d c o m m u n i c a t e d to his Writing F r i e n d s w h e n they call'd in a s U s u a l . T h e y r e a d it, c o m m e n t e d o n it in m y H e a r i n g , a n d I h a d the exquisite P l e a s u r e , of finding it m e t with their A p p r o b a t i o n , 3. From Alexander Pope's An Essay on Criticism ( 1 7 1 1 ) , lines 574—75 and 567, respectively. Franklin is quoting from memory. T h e first line should read, " M e n must be taught as if you taught them not," and the third, "And speak, tho' sure, with seeming Diffidence." 4. Franklin is mistaken here: the lines are from

Wentworth Dillon, fourth earl of R o s c o m m o n (1633?—1685), from his Essay on Translated Verse ( 1 6 8 4 ) , lines 1 1 3 - 1 4 . T h e second line should read, "For want of decency is want of s e n s e . " "Want": lack. 5. Actually the fifth; J a m e s Franklin's paper appeared on August 7, 1 7 2 1 .

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a n d that in their different G u e s s e s at the A u t h o r n o n e were n a m e d b u t M e n of s o m e C h a r a c t e r a m o n g u s for L e a r n i n g a n d Ingenuity. I s u p p o s e now that I w a s rather lucky in my J u d g e s : A n d that p e r h a p s they were not really s o very g o o d o n e s a s I then e s t e e m ' d t h e m . E n c o u r a g ' d however by this, I wrote a n d convey'd in the s a m e W a y to the P r e s s several m o r e P a p e r s , 6 w h i c h were equally approv'd, a n d I kept my S e c r e t till my small F u n d of S e n s e for s u c h P e r f o r m a n c e s w a s pretty well e x h a u s t e d , a n d then I d i s c o v e r e d 7 it; w h e n I b e g a n to be c o n s i d e r e d a little m o r e by my Brother's A c q u a i n t a n c e , a n d in a m a n n e r that did not q u i t e p l e a s e him, a s he t h o u g h t , p r o b a b l y with r e a s o n , that it t e n d e d to m a k e m e too vain. A n d p e r h a p s this might b e o n e O c c a s i o n of the D i f f e r e n c e s that we b e g a n to have a b o u t this T i m e . T h o ' a Brother, h e c o n sidered h i m s e l f a s my M a s t e r , a n d m e a s his A p p r e n t i c e ; a n d a c c o r d i n g l y expected the s a m e S e r v i c e s from m e a s he w o u l d from a n o t h e r ; while I thought he d e m e a n ' d m e too m u c h in s o m e he requir'd of m e , w h o from a B r o t h e r expected m o r e I n d u l g e n c e , O u r D i s p u t e s were often b r o u g h t before o u r F a t h e r , a n d I fancy I w a s either generally in the right, or e l s e a better P l e a d e r , b e c a u s e the J u d g m e n t w a s generally in my favor. B u t my B r o t h e r w a s p a s s i o n a t e a n d h a d often b e a t e n m e , which I took extremely a m i s s ; a n d thinking my A p p r e n t i c e s h i p very t e d i o u s , I w a s continually wishing for s o m e O p p o r t u n i t y of s h o r t e n i n g it, which at length offered in a m a n n e r u n e x p e c t e d . 8 O n e of the P i e c e s in o u r N e w s p a p e r , on s o m e political Point which I have now forgotten, gave O f f e n c e to the A s s e m b l y . H e w a s taken u p , c e n s u r ' d a n d i m p r i s o n ' d 9 for a M o n t h by the S p e a k e r ' s W a r r a n t , I s u p p o s e b e c a u s e h e would not discover his Author. I too w a s taken up a n d examin'd before the C o u n c i l ; but tho' I did not give t h e m any S a t i s f a c t i o n , they c o n t e n t e d t h e m selves with a d m o n i s h i n g m e , a n d d i s m i s s ' d m e ; c o n s i d e r i n g m e p e r h a p s a s an A p p r e n t i c e w h o w a s b o u n d to k e e p his M a s t e r ' s S e c r e t s . D u r i n g my Brother's C o n f i n e m e n t , which I r e s e n t e d a g o o d deal, n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g o u r private D i f f e r e n c e s , I h a d the M a n a g e m e n t of the P a p e r , a n d I m a d e bold to give our R u l e r s s o m e R u b s ' in it, which my Brother took very kindly, while others b e g a n to c o n s i d e r m e in a n unfavorable Light, a s a y o u n g G e n i u s that h a d a T u r n for L i b e l i n g a n d S a t i r e . 2 M y Brother's D i s c h a r g e w a s a c c o m p a nied with a n O r d e r of the H o u s e , (a very o d d o n e ) that James Franklin should no longer print the Paper called the New England Courant. T h e r e w a s a C o n s u l t a t i o n held in o u r P r i n t i n g - H o u s e a m o n g his F r i e n d s what h e s h o u l d d o in this C a s e . S o m e p r o p o s ' d to evade the O r d e r by c h a n g i n g the N a m e of the P a p e r ; but my B r o t h e r s e e i n g I n c o n v e n i e n c e s in that, it w a s finally c o n c l u d e d on a s a better W a y , to let it be printed for the future u n d e r the N a m e of Benjamin Franklin. A n d to avoid the C e n s u r e of the A s s e m b l y that might fall on h i m , a s still printing it by his A p p r e n t i c e , the C o n t r i v a n c e w a s , that my old I n d e n t u r e s h o u l d b e return'd to m e with a full D i s c h a r g e on the B a c k of it, to be s h o w n on O c c a s i o n ; but to s e c u r e to him the Benefit of my S e r v i c e I w a s to sign n e w I n d e n t u r e s for the R e m a i n d e r of the T e r m , w h i c h were to 6. The Silence Dogood Letters (April 1 2 - O c t o b e r 8, 1722) were the earliest essay series in America. 7. Revealed. 8. I fancy his harsh and tyrannical Treatment of me, might be a means of impressing me with that Aversion to arbitrary Power that has stuck to me thro' my whole Life [Franklin's note]. 9. O n J u n e 11, 1722, the Courant hinted that

there was collusion between local authorities and pirates raiding off Boston Harbor. J a m e s Franklin was jailed from J u n e 12 to July 7. "Assembly": Massachusetts legislative body; the lower house, with representatives elected by towns of the M a s s a c h u setts General Court. 1. Insults, annoyances. 2. Satirizing.

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be kept private. A very flimsy S c h e m e it w a s , but however it w a s i m m e d i a t e l y e x e c u t e d , a n d the P a p e r went on a c c o r d i n g l y u n d e r my N a m e for several M o n t h s . * At length a fresh Difference arising b e t w e e n my B r o t h e r a n d m e , I took u p o n m e to a s s e r t my F r e e d o m , p r e s u m i n g that he w o u l d not venture to p r o d u c e the new I n d e n t u r e s . It w a s not fair in m e to take this A d v a n t a g e , a n d this I therefore reckon o n e of the first E r r a t a 4 of my L i f e : B u t the Unfairn e s s of it weigh'd little with m e , w h e n u n d e r the I m p r e s s i o n s of R e s e n t m e n t , for the Blows his P a s s i o n too often urg'd him to b e s t o w u p o n m e . T h o ' he was otherwise not a n ill-natur'd M a n : P e r h a p s I w a s too s a u c y a n d provoking. W h e n h e f o u n d I would leave h i m , h e took c a r e to prevent my getting E m p l o y m e n t in any other P r i n t i n g - H o u s e of the T o w n , by g o i n g r o u n d a n d s p e a k i n g to every M a s t e r , w h o accordingly refus'd to give m e Work. I then thought of g o i n g to N e w York a s the n e a r e s t P l a c e w h e r e there w a s a Printer: a n d I w a s the rather inclin'd to leave B o s t o n , w h e n I reflected that I h a d already m a d e myself a little o b n o x i o u s to the governing Party; a n d from the arbitrary P r o c e e d i n g s of the A s s e m b l y in my Brother's C a s e it w a s likely I might if I stay'd s o o n bring myself into S c r a p e s ; a n d farther that my indiscreet D i s p u t a t i o n s a b o u t Religion b e g a n to m a k e m e p o i n t e d at with H o r r o r by good P e o p l e , as an Infidel or Atheist; I d e t e r m i n ' d on the Point: but my F a t h e r now siding with my Brother, I w a s s e n s i b l e that if I a t t e m p t e d to go openly, M e a n s would be u s e d to prevent m e . M y Friend C o l l i n s therefore u n d e r t o o k to m a n a g e a little for m e . H e a g r e e d with the C a p t a i n of a N e w York S l o o p for my P a s s a g e , u n d e r the N o t i o n of my b e i n g a y o u n g A c q u a i n t a n c e of his that h a d got a n a u g h t y Girl with C h i l d , w h o s e F r i e n d s w o u l d c o m p e l m e to marry her, a n d therefore I c o u l d not a p p e a r or c o m e away publicly. S o I sold s o m e of my B o o k s to raise a little M o n e y , w a s taken on board privately, a n d a s we h a d a fair W i n d , in three D a y s I f o u n d myself in N e w York n e a r 3 0 0 M i l e s from h o m e , a Boy of b u t 17, without the least R e c o m m e n d a t i o n to or K n o w l e d g e of any P e r s o n in the P l a c e , a n d with very little M o n e y in my P o c k e t . M y Inclinations for the S e a , were by this time worn o u t , or I might now have gratified t h e m . B u t having a T r a d e , a n d s u p p o s i n g myself a pretty g o o d W o r k m a n , I offer'd my S e r v i c e to the Printer of the P l a c e , old Mr. W i l l i a m B r a d f o r d . 5 H e c o u l d give m e no E m p l o y m e n t , having little to do, a n d H e l p e n o u g h already: B u t , says h e , my S o n at P h i l a d e l p h i a h a s lately lost his principal H a n d , Aquila R o s e , by D e a t h . If you go thither I believe h e m a y e m p l o y you. Philadelphia w a s 100 M i l e s farther. I set o u t , however, in a B o a t for Amboy;' 1 leaving my C h e s t a n d T h i n g s to follow m e r o u n d by S e a . In c r o s s i n g the Bay we met with a S q u a l l that tore our rotten S a i l s to p i e c e s , prevented our getting into the Kill, 7 a n d drove u s u p o n L o n g Island. In our W a y a d r u n k e n D u t c h m a n , w h o w a s a P a s s e n g e r too, fell overboard; w h e n he w a s sinking I reach'd thro' the W a t e r to his s h o c k P a t e " a n d drew h i m up so that we got him in a g a i n . His D u c k i n g sober'd him a little, a n d he went to s l e e p , taking first out of his P o c k e t a B o o k which he desir'd I w o u l d dry for him. It prov'd to be my old favorite A u t h o r B u n y a n ' s Pilgrim's P r o g r e s s 9 3. The paper continued under Franklin's name until 1 7 2 6 . nearly three years after he left Boston. 4. Printer's term for errors (Latin). 5. William Bradford ( 1 6 6 3 - 1 7 5 2 ) , one of the first American printers and father of Andrew Bradford (1686—1742). Franklin's future competitor in Phil-

adelphia. 6. Perth Amboy, New Jersey. 7. T h e narrow channel that separates Island, New York, from New Jersey. 8. Shaggv head of hair. 9. S e e n. 3, p. 2 3 8 .

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in D u t c h , finely printed on g o o d P a p e r with c o p p e r C u t s , ' a D r e s s better than I h a d ever s e e n it w e a r in its own L a n g u a g e . I have s i n c e f o u n d that it has b e e n t r a n s l a t e d into m o s t of the L a n g u a g e s of E u r o p e , a n d s u p p o s e it has b e e n m o r e generally read than any other B o o k except p e r h a p s the Bible. H o n e s t J o h n w a s the first that I know of who mix'd N a r r a t i o n a n d D i a l o g u e , a M e t h o d of Writing very e n g a g i n g to the R e a d e r , w h o in the m o s t interesting Parts finds h i m s e l f as it were b r o u g h t into the C o m p a n y , a n d p r e s e n t at the D i s c o u r s e . D e f o e in his C r u s o e , his Moll F l a n d e r s , R e l i g i o u s C o u r t s h i p , Family Instructor, a n d other P i e c e s , h a s imitated it with S u c c e s s . 2 A n d Richa r d s o n h a s d o n e the s a m e in his P a m e l a , 3 etc. W h e n we drew n e a r the Island we f o u n d it w a s at a P l a c e w h e r e t h e r e c o u l d be no L a n d i n g , there b e i n g a great S u r f on the stony B e a c h . S o w e d r o p p e d A n c h o r a n d s w u n g r o u n d towards the S h o r e . S o m e P e o p l e c a m e down to the W a t e r E d g e a n d hallow'd to u s , a s we did to t h e m . B u t the W i n d was so high a n d the S u r f s o loud, that we c o u l d not h e a r so a s to u n d e r s t a n d e a c h other. T h e r e were C a n o e s o n the S h o r e , a n d we m a d e S i g n s a n d hallow'd that they s h o u l d fetch u s , but they either did not u n d e r s t a n d u s , or t h o u g h t it i m p r a c t i c a b l e . S o they went away, a n d Night c o m i n g o n , we h a d no R e m e d y but to wait till the W i n d s h o u l d a b a t e , a n d in the m e a n t i m e the B o a t m a n a n d I c o n c l u d e d to sleep if we c o u l d , a n d s o c r o w d e d into the S c u t t l e 4 with the D u t c h m a n w h o w a s still wet, a n d the S p r a y b e a t i n g over the H e a d of our B o a t , leak'd thro' to u s , so that we were s o o n a l m o s t a s wet as h e . In this M a n n e r we lay all Night with very little R e s t . B u t the W i n d a b a t i n g the next Day, we m a d e a Shift to r e a c h A m b o y b e f o r e N i g h t , having b e e n 3 0 h o u r s on the W a t e r without V i c t u a l s , or any D r i n k but a Bottle of filthy R u m : T h e W a t e r we sail'd on b e i n g salt. In the E v e n i n g I f o u n d myself very feverish, a n d went ill to B e d . B u t having read s o m e w h e r e that c o l d W a t e r drank plentifully w a s g o o d for a Fever, I follow'd the Prescription, sweat plentifully m o s t of the N i g h t , my Fever left m e , a n d in the M o r n i n g c r o s s i n g the Ferry, p r o c e e d e d on my J o u r n e y , o n foot, having 5 0 M i l e s to B u r l i n g t o n , 5 w h e r e I w a s told I s h o u l d find B o a t s that would carry m e the rest of the W a y to P h i l a d e l p h i a . It rain'd very hard all the D a y , I w a s thoroughly soak'd, a n d by N o o n a good deal tir'd, so I s t o p p e d at a p o o r Inn, w h e r e I stayed all N i g h t , b e g i n n i n g now to wish I h a d never left h o m e . I c u t so m i s e r a b l e a F i g u r e too, that I f o u n d by the Q u e s t i o n s ask'd m e I w a s s u s p e c t e d to b e s o m e r u n a w a y Servant, a n d in d a n g e r of b e i n g taken u p on that S u s p i c i o n . H o w e v e r I proc e e d e d the next Day, a n d got in the E v e n i n g to a n Inn within 8 or 10 M i l e s of B u r l i n g t o n , kept by o n e Dr. B r o w n e . 6 H e e n t e r e d into C o n v e r s a t i o n with m e while I took s o m e R e f r e s h m e n t , a n d finding I h a d read a little, b e c a m e very s o c i a b l e a n d friendly. O u r A c q u a i n t a n c e c o n t i n u ' d a s long as he liv'd. H e h a d b e e n , I i m a g i n e , a n itinerant D o c t o r , for there w a s n o T o w n in E n g l a n d , or C o u n t r y in E u r o p e , of 1. Engravings. 2. Daniel Defoe ( 1 6 5 9 ? - 1 7 3 1 ) published Robinson Crusoe in 1719, Moll Flanders in 1722, Religious Courtship in 1772, and The Family Instructor in 1 7 1 5 - 1 8 . 3. Samuel Richardson (1689—1761) published his novel Pamela: Or Virtue Rewarded in 1740. Franklin reprinted Richardson's first novel in 1744 and

in doing so published the first novel in America. 4. A hole or opening in a ship's deck provided with a movable cover or lid. 5. Then the capital of West Jersey, about eighteen miles north of Philadelphia. 6. Dr. John Browne (c. 1 6 6 7 - 1 7 3 7 ) , innkeeperin Burlington, and a noted religious skeptic as well as physician.

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which he c o u l d not give a very particular A c c o u n t . H e h a d s o m e L e t t e r s , 7 a n d w a s i n g e n i o u s , but m u c h of an Unbeliever, a n d wickedly u n d e r t o o k s o m e Years after to travesty the Bible in doggerel V e r s e a s C o t t o n h a d d o n e Virgil. K By this m e a n s h e set m a n y of the F a c t s in a very r i d i c u l o u s Light, a n d might have hurt w e a k m i n d s if his W o r k h a d b e e n p u b l i s h ' d : but it never w a s . At his H o u s e I lay that N i g h t , a n d the next M o r n i n g r e a c h ' d B u r l i n g t o n . — B u t h a d the Mortification to find that the regular B o a t s were g o n e a little before my c o m i n g , a n d no other e x p e c t e d to go till T u e s d a y , this b e i n g S a t u r d a y . W h e r e f o r e I return'd to an old W o m a n in the T o w n of w h o m I h a d b o u g h t G i n g e r b r e a d to e a t on the W a t e r , a n d ask'd her A d v i c e ; s h e invited m e to lodge at her H o u s e till a P a s s a g e by W a t e r s h o u l d offer; a n d b e i n g tired with my foot Traveling, I a c c e p t e d the Invitation. S h e u n d e r s t a n d i n g I w a s a Printer, would have h a d m e stay at that T o w n a n d follow my B u s i n e s s , b e i n g ignorant of the S t o c k n e c e s s a r y to begin with. S h e w a s very h o s p i t a b l e , g a v e m e a D i n n e r of Ox C h e e k with great G o o d w i l l , a c c e p t i n g only of a Pot of Ale in return. A n d I thought myself fix'd till T u e s d a y s h o u l d c o m e . H o w e v e r walking in the E v e n i n g by the S i d e of the River a B o a t c a m e by, which I f o u n d w a s g o i n g towards P h i l a d e l p h i a with several P e o p l e in her. T h e y took m e in, a n d a s there w a s n o W i n d , we row'd all the W a y ; a n d a b o u t M i d n i g h t not having yet s e e n the City, s o m e of the C o m p a n y were confident w e m u s t have p a s s ' d it, a n d would row no farther, the others k n e w not w h e r e we w e r e , s o we p u t towards the S h o r e , got into a C r e e k , l a n d e d n e a r a n old F e n c e with the Rails of which we m a d e a F i r e , the Night b e i n g cold, in O c t o b e r , a n d there we remain'd till Daylight. T h e n o n e of the C o m p a n y knew the P l a c e to be C o o p e r ' s C r e e k a little a b o v e P h i l a d e l p h i a , which w e s a w a s s o o n a s we got out of the C r e e k , a n d arriv'd t h e r e a b o u t 8 or 9 a C l o c k , on the S u n d a y m o r n i n g , a n d l a n d e d at the M a r k e t S t r e e t W h a r f . 9 I have b e e n the m o r e particular in this D e s c r i p t i o n of my J o u r n e y , a n d shall be so of my first Entry into that City, that you m a y in your M i n d c o m p a r e s u c h unlikely B e g i n n i n g with the F i g u r e I have s i n c e m a d e t h e r e . I w a s in my working D r e s s , my best C l o t h e s b e i n g to c o m e r o u n d by S e a . I w a s dirty from my J o u r n e y ; my P o c k e t s were stuff'd o u t with S h i r t s a n d Stockings; I knew no S o u l , nor w h e r e to look for L o d g i n g . I w a s fatigu'd with Traveling, R o w i n g a n d W a n t of R e s t . I w a s very hungry, a n d my whole S t o c k of C a s h c o n s i s t e d of a D u t c h Dollar a n d a b o u t a Shilling in C o p p e r . T h e latter I gave the P e o p l e of the B o a t for my P a s s a g e , w h o at first refus'd it on A c c o u n t of my Rowing; but I insisted on their taking it, a M a n b e i n g s o m e times m o r e g e n e r o u s w h e n he has but a little M o n e y than w h e n he has plenty, p e r h a p s thro' F e a r of b e i n g t h o u g h t to have b u t little. T h e n I walk'd up the S t r e e t , gazing a b o u t , till n e a r the M a r k e t H o u s e I m e t a Boy with B r e a d . I h a d m a d e m a n y a M e a l on B r e a d , a n d i n q u i r i n g w h e r e he got it, I went i m m e d i a t e l y to the Baker's h e directed m e to in S e c o n d Street; a n d ask'd for B i s c u i t , i n t e n d i n g s u c h a s we h a d in B o s t o n , but they it s e e m s were not m a d e in P h i l a d e l p h i a , then I ask'd for a three-penny Loaf, a n d w a s told they h a d n o n e s u c h : so not c o n s i d e r i n g or k n o w i n g the D i f f e r e n c e of M o n e y a n d the g r e a t e r C h e a p n e s s nor the N a m e s of his B r e a d , I bad him give m e 7. I.e., education. 8. Charles Cotton ( 1 6 3 0 - 1 6 8 7 ) , who parodied the first and fourth books of the Aeneid in his Scarronides ( 1 6 6 4 ) . T h e opening lines are: "I sing the

Man (read it who list), / A Trojan true a s ever pissed." 9. October 6, 1723.

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three pennyworth of any sort. H e gave m e a c c o r d i n g l y three great Puffy Rolls. I w a s surpris'd at the Quantity, but took it, a n d having n o R o o m in my P o c k e t s , walk'd off, with a Roll u n d e r e a c h A r m , a n d eating the other. T h u s I went u p M a r k e t S t r e e t a s far a s F o u r t h S t r e e t , p a s s i n g by the D o o r of M r . R e a d , my future Wife's F a t h e r , when s h e s t a n d i n g at the D o o r saw m e , a n d thought I m a d e a s I certainly did a m o s t awkward r i d i c u l o u s A p p e a r a n c e . T h e n I turn'd a n d went d o w n C h e s t n u t Street a n d part of W a l n u t S t r e e t , eating my Roll all the Way, a n d c o m i n g round found myself a g a i n at M a r k e t Street Wharf, n e a r the B o a t I c a m e in, to which I went for a D r o u g h t of the River Water, a n d b e i n g fill'd with o n e of my Rolls, gave the other two to a W o m a n a n d her C h i l d that c a m e down the River in the B o a t with u s a n d were waiting to g o farther. T h u s refresh'd I walk'd again up the S t r e e t , which by this time had m a n y c l e a n dress'd P e o p l e in it w h o were all walking the s a m e Way; I join'd t h e m , a n d thereby w a s led into the great M e e t i n g H o u s e of the Quakers n e a r the M a r k e t . I sat down a m o n g t h e m , a n d after looking round a while a n d hearing n o t h i n g said, b e i n g very drowsy thro' L a b o r a n d want of Rest the p r e c e d i n g Night, I fell fast a s l e e p , a n d c o n t i n u ' d s o till the M e e t i n g broke u p , w h e n o n e w a s kind e n o u g h to r o u s e m e . T h i s w a s therefore the first H o u s e I w a s in or slept in, in P h i l a d e l p h i a . W a l k i n g again d o w n towards the River, a n d looking in the F a c e s of P e o p l e , I met a y o u n g Quaker M a n w h o s e C o u n t e n a n c e I lik'd, a n d a c c o s t i n g him r e q u e s t e d he would tell m e w h e r e a S t r a n g e r c o u l d get L o d g i n g . W e were then n e a r the Sign of the T h r e e M a r i n e r s . H e r e , says h e , is o n e P l a c e that entertains S t r a n g e r s , but it is not a r e p u t a b l e H o u s e ; if t h e e wilt walk with m e , I'll s h o w t h e e a better. H e brought m e to the C r o o k e d Billet in W a t e r Street. H e r e I got a D i n n e r . A n d while I w a s eating it, several sly Q u e s t i o n s were ask'd m e , a s it s e e m ' d to be s u s p e c t e d from my youth a n d A p p e a r a n c e , that I might b e s o m e R u n a w a y . After D i n n e r my S l e e p i n e s s return'd: a n d b e i n g s h o w n to a B e d , I lay d o w n without u n d r e s s i n g , a n d slept till Six in the E v e n i n g ; was call'd to S u p p e r ; went to B e d again very early a n d slept soundly till the next M o r n i n g . T h e n I m a d e myself as tidy a s I c o u l d , a n d went to A n d r e w B r a d f o r d the Printer's. I f o u n d in the S h o p the old M a n his F a t h e r , w h o m I h a d s e e n at N e w York, a n d w h o traveling on horse b a c k h a d got to Philadelphia before m e . H e introduc'd m e to his S o n , w h o receiv'd m e civilly, gave m e a B r e a k f a s t , b u t told m e he did not at p r e s e n t want a H a n d , being lately s u p p l i e d with o n e . B u t there w a s a n o t h e r Printer in town lately set u p , o n e K e i m e r , 1 w h o p e r h a p s might e m p l o y m e ; if not, I s h o u l d be w e l c o m e to lodge at his H o u s e , a n d he would give m e a little Work to d o now a n d then till fuller B u s i n e s s s h o u l d offer. T h e old G e n t l e m a n s a i d , he would go with m e to the new Printer: And w h e n we found him, N e i g h b o r , says B r a d f o r d , I have b r o u g h t to s e e you a y o u n g M a n of your B u s i n e s s , p e r h a p s you m a y want s u c h a O n e . H e ask'd m e a few Q u e s t i o n s , put a C o m p o s i n g S t i c k 2 in my H a n d to s e e how I work'd, a n d then said he would e m p l o y m e s o o n , tho' he h a d j u s t then n o t h i n g for m e to d o . A n d taking old Bradford w h o m he had never s e e n b e f o r e , to be o n e of the T o w n s p e o p l e that had a Goodwill for h i m , enter'd into a C o n v e r sation on his p r e s e n t U n d e r t a k i n g a n d P r o s p e c t s ; while Bradford not disI . Samuel Keimer (c. 1 6 8 8 - 1 7 4 2 ) was a printer in London before coming to Philadelphia.

2. An instrument of adjustable width in which type is set before being put on a galley.

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covering that h e w a s the other Printer's F a t h e r ; o n K e i m e r ' s S a y i n g he e x p e c t e d s o o n to get the g r e a t e s t Part of the B u s i n e s s into his own H a n d s , drew him o n by artful Q u e s t i o n s a n d starting little D o u b t s , to explain all his Views, w h a t Interest he relied o n , a n d in w h a t m a n n e r he i n t e n d e d to proc e e d . I w h o s t o o d by a n d h e a r d all, s a w i m m e d i a t e l y that o n e of t h e m w a s a crafty old S o p h i s t e r , ' a n d the other a m e r e N o v i c e . B r a d f o r d left m e with K e i m e r , w h o w a s greatly surpris'd w h e n I told h i m w h o the old M a n w a s . K e i m e r ' s P r i n t i n g - H o u s e I f o u n d , c o n s i s t e d of a n old shatter'd P r e s s a n d o n e small worn-out F o n t of E n g l i s h , 4 which h e w a s then u s i n g himself, c o m p o s i n g in it a n Elegy o n A q u i l a R o s e 5 b e f o r e - m e n t i o n e d , a n i n g e n i o u s y o u n g M a n of excellent C h a r a c t e r m u c h r e s p e c t e d in the T o w n , C l e r k of the A s s e m b l y , 6 a n d a pretty Poet. K e i m e r m a d e V e r s e s , too, but very indifferently. H e c o u l d not b e said to write t h e m , for his M a n n e r w a s to c o m p o s e t h e m in the T y p e s directly o u t of his H e a d ; so t h e r e b e i n g no C o p y , but o n e Pair of C a s e s , 7 a n d the Elegy likely to require all the Letter, n o o n e c o u l d help h i m . I endeavor'd to p u t his P r e s s (which h e h a d not yet u s ' d , a n d of which h e u n d e r s t o o d nothing) into O r d e r fit to b e work'd with; a n d p r o m i s i n g to c o m e a n d print off his Elegy a s s o o n a s h e s h o u l d have got it ready, I return'd to Bradford's w h o g a v e m e a little J o b to do for the p r e s e n t , a n d there I lodged a n d d i e t e d . 8 A few D a y s after K e i m e r sent for m e to print off the Elegy. A n d now h e h a d got a n o t h e r Pair o f C a s e s , a n d a P a m p h l e t to reprint, on w h i c h h e set m e to work. T h e s e two Printers I f o u n d poorly qualified for their B u s i n e s s . Bradford h a d not b e e n bred to it, a n d w a s very illiterate; a n d K e i m e r t h o ' s o m e t h i n g of a S c h o l a r , w a s a m e r e C o m p o s i t o r , k n o w i n g n o t h i n g of Presswork. H e h a d b e e n o n e of the F r e n c h P r o p h e t s 9 a n d c o u l d act their e n t h u s i a s t i c Agitations. At this time h e did not p r o f e s s any p a r t i c u l a r Religion, b u t s o m e t h i n g of all on o c c a s i o n ; w a s very ignorant of the W o r l d , a n d h a d , a s I afterwards f o u n d , a g o o d deal of the K n a v e in his C o m p o s i t i o n . H e did not like my L o d g i n g at Bradford's while I work'd with h i m . H e h a d a H o u s e i n d e e d , but without F u r n i t u r e , so h e c o u l d not l o d g e m e : B u t h e got m e a L o d g i n g at M r . R e a d ' s b e f o r e - m e n t i o n e d , w h o w a s the O w n e r of his H o u s e . A n d my C h e s t a n d C l o t h e s b e i n g c o m e by this t i m e , I m a d e rather a m o r e r e s p e c t a b l e A p p e a r a n c e in the E y e s of M i s s R e a d , than I h a d d o n e w h e n s h e first h a p pen'd to s e e m e e a t i n g my Roll in the S t r e e t . I b e g a n now to have s o m e A c q u a i n t a n c e a m o n g the y o u n g P e o p l e of the T o w n , that were L o v e r s of R e a d i n g with w h o m I spent my E v e n i n g s very p l e a s a n t l y a n d g a i n i n g M o n e y by my Industry a n d Frugality, I lived very agreeably, forgetting B o s t o n a s m u c h a s I c o u l d , a n d not d e s i r i n g that any there s h o u l d know where I resided except my F r i e n d C o l l i n s w h o w a s in my S e c r e t , a n d kept it w h e n I wrote to h i m . At length a n I n c i d e n t h a p p e n e d that sent m e b a c k again m u c h s o o n e r than I h a d i n t e n d e d . I h a d a Brother-in-law, Robert H o m e s , 1 M a s t e r of a S l o o p that t r a d e d 3. Trickster, rationalizer. 4. An oversized type, not practicable for books and newspapers. 5. Journeyman printer (c. 1 6 9 5 - 1 7 2 3 ) for AndrewBradford; his son J o s e p h apprenticed with Franklin. 6. O n e who has charge of the records, documents, and correspondence of any organized body; here,

the Pennsylvania legislative council. 7. Two shallow trays that contain uppercase and lowercase type. 8. Boarded. 9. An English sect that preached doomsday and cultivated emotional fits. 1. H u s b a n d of Franklin's sister Mary, and a ship's captain (d. before 1 7 4 3 ) .

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b e t w e e n B o s t o n a n d D e l a w a r e . H e b e i n g at N e w C a s t l e 4 0 M i l e s b e l o w Philadelphia, h e a r d there of m e , a n d wrote m e a Letter, m e n t i o n i n g the C o n c e r n of my F r i e n d s in B o s t o n at my a b r u p t D e p a r t u r e , a s s u r i n g m e of their Goodwill to m e , a n d that everything would b e a c c o m m o d a t e d to my M i n d if I would return, to which he exhorted m e very earnestly. I wrote a n A n s w e r to his Letter, thank'd him for his Advice, b u t stated my R e a s o n s for quitting B o s t o n fully, a n d in s u c h a Light a s to c o n v i n c e h i m I w a s not s o w r o n g a s he h a d a p p r e h e n d e d . Sir William K e i t h 2 G o v e r n o r of the Province, w a s then at N e w C a s t l e , * a n d C a p t a i n H o m e s h a p p e n i n g to be in C o m p a n y with him w h e n my Letter c a m e to h a n d , s p o k e to him of m e , a n d show'd him the Letter. T h e G o v e r n o r read it, a n d s e e m ' d surpris'd w h e n h e w a s told my A g e . H e said I a p p e a r ' d a y o u n g M a n of p r o m i s i n g P a r t s , a n d therefore s h o u l d b e e n c o u r a g e d : T h e Printers at P h i l a d e l p h i a were w r e t c h e d o n e s , a n d if I would set u p there, h e m a d e no d o u b t I s h o u l d s u c c e e d ; for his Part, h e would p r o c u r e m e the public B u s i n e s s , a n d do m e every other S e r v i c e in his Power. T h i s my Brother-in-Law afterwards told m e in B o s t o n . B u t I k n e w a s yet nothing of it; when o n e D a y K e i m e r a n d I b e i n g at W o r k together n e a r the W i n d o w , we s a w the G o v e r n o r a n d a n o t h e r G e n t l e m a n (which prov'd to b e C o l o n e l F r e n c h , of N e w C a s t l e ) finely dress'd, c o m e directly a c r o s s the Street to our H o u s e , a n d h e a r d t h e m at the D o o r . K e i m e r ran d o w n immediately, thinking it a Visit to h i m . B u t the G o v e r n o r enquir'd for m e , c a m e u p , a n d with a C o n d e s c e n s i o n 4 a n d P o l i t e n e s s I h a d b e e n quite u n u s ' d to, m a d e m e m a n y C o m p l i m e n t s , d e s i r e d to be a c q u a i n t e d with m e , b l a m ' d m e kindly for not having m a d e myself known to h i m w h e n I first c a m e to the P l a c e , a n d would have m e away with him to the T a v e r n where h e w a s g o i n g with C o l o n e l F r e n c h to taste as h e said s o m e excellent M a d e i r a . I w a s not a little surpris'd, a n d K e i m e r star'd like a P i g p o i s o n ' d . I went however with the G o v e r n o r a n d C o l o n e l F r e n c h , to a T a v e r n the C o r n e r of Third S t r e e t , a n d over the M a d e i r a he p r o p o s ' d my S e t t i n g u p my B u s i n e s s , laid before m e the Probabilities of S u c c e s s , a n d both he a n d C o l o n e l F r e n c h a s s u r ' d m e I s h o u l d have their Interest a n d Influence in p r o c u r i n g the P u b l i c B u s i n e s s of both G o v e r n m e n t s . O n my d o u b t i n g w h e t h e r my F a t h e r w o u l d assist m e in it, Sir W i l l i a m s a i d he would give m e a L e t t e r to h i m , in w h i c h he would state the A d v a n t a g e s , a n d h e did not d o u b t of prevailing with h i m . S o it w a s c o n c l u d e d I s h o u l d return to B o s t o n in the first V e s s e l with the Governor's L e t t e r r e c o m m e n d i n g m e to my F a t h e r . In the m e a n t i m e the Intention w a s to be kept s e c r e t , a n d I went o n working with K e i m e r a s u s u a l , the G o v e r n o r s e n d i n g for m e now a n d then to d i n e with him, a very great H o n o r I t h o u g h t it, a n d c o n v e r s i n g with m e in the m o s t affable, familiar, a n d friendly m a n n e r i m a g i n a b l e . A b o u t the E n d of April 1 7 2 4 , a little V e s s e l offer'd for B o s t o n . I took L e a v e of K e i m e r a s g o i n g to s e e my F r i e n d s . T h e G o v e r n o r gave m e a n a m p l e Letter, saying m a n y flattering things of m e to my F a t h e r , a n d strongly r e c o m m e n d i n g the P r o j e c t of my setting up at P h i l a d e l p h i a , a s a T h i n g that m u s t m a k e my F o r t u n e . W e s t r u c k o n a S h o a l in g o i n g down the Bay a n d s p r u n g a L e a k , we h a d a blustring time at S e a , a n d were oblig'd to p u m p a l m o s t continually, at w h i c h I took my T u r n . W e arriv'd s a f e however at B o s t o n in a b o u t a Fortnight. I h a d b e e n 2. Keith ( 1 6 8 0 - 1 7 4 9 ) was governor of Pennsylvania from 1717 to 1726; he fled to England in 1728 to escape debtor's prison.

3. Delaware 4. A disregard for difference in rank or station.

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a b s e n t S e v e n M o n t h s a n d my F r i e n d s h a d h e a r d nothing of m e , for my B r o t h e r H o m e s w a s not yet return'd; a n d h a d not written a b o u t m e . M y u n e x p e c t e d A p p e a r a n c e surpris'd the Family; all were however very glad to s e e m e a n d m a d e m e W e l c o m e , except my Brother. I went to s e e him at his P r i n t i n g - H o u s e : I w a s better dress'd than ever while in his S e r v i c e , having a genteel new S u i t from H e a d to foot, a W a t c h , a n d my P o c k e t s lin'd with n e a r Five P o u n d s Sterling in Silver. H e receiv'd m e not very frankly, look'd m e all over, a n d turn'd to his W o r k a g a i n . T h e J o u r n e y m e n were inquisitive where I had b e e n , what sort of a C o u n t r y it w a s , a n d how I lik'd it? I prais'd it m u c h , a n d the happy Life I led in it; e x p r e s s i n g strongly my Intention of r e t u r n i n g to it; a n d o n e of t h e m a s k i n g what kind of M o n e y we h a d there, I p r o d u c ' d a handful of Silver a n d s p r e a d it before t h e m , which w a s a kind of R a r e e - S h o w s they h a d not b e e n us'd to, P a p e r b e i n g the M o n e y of B o s t o n . T h e n I took an O p p o r t u n i t y of letting t h e m s e e my W a t c h : a n d lastly, (my B r o t h e r still g r u m a n d sullen) I gave t h e m a P i e c e of Eight to drink'' a n d took my L e a v e . T h i s Visit of m i n e offended him extremely. F o r w h e n my M o t h e r s o m e time after s p o k e to him of a R e c o n c i l i a t i o n , a n d of her W i s h e s to s e e u s on g o o d T e r m s together, a n d that we might live for the future a s B r o t h e r s , he said, I h a d insulted him in s u c h a M a n n e r before his P e o p l e that h e c o u l d never forget or forgive it. In this however he w a s m i s t a k e n . M y F a t h e r receiv'd the Governor's Letter with s o m e a p p a r e n t S u r p r i s e ; but said little of it to m e for s o m e D a y s ; w h e n C a p t a i n H o m e s returning, he show'd it to him, ask'd if he knew Keith, a n d what kind of a M a n he w a s : A d d i n g his O p i n i o n that he m u s t be of small D i s c r e t i o n , to think of setting a Boy u p in B u s i n e s s w h o w a n t e d yet 3 Years of b e i n g at M a n ' s E s t a t e . H o m e s said what h e c o u l d in favor of the Project; but my F a t h e r w a s clear in the Impropriety of it; a n d at last gave a flat D e n i a l to it. T h e n h e wrote a civil Letter to Sir William t h a n k i n g him for the P a t r o n a g e he h a d s o kindly offered m e , but d e c l i n i n g to a s s i s t m e a s yet in S e t t i n g u p , I b e i n g in his O p i n i o n too y o u n g to be trusted with the M a n a g e m e n t of a B u s i n e s s so important; a n d for which the P r e p a r a t i o n m u s t be so e x p e n s i v e . M y F r i e n d a n d C o m p a n i o n C o l l i n s , w h o w a s a C l e r k at the Post-Office, pleas'd with the A c c o u n t I gave him of my new C o u n t r y , determin'd to g o thither a l s o : A n d while I waited for my Father's D e t e r m i n a t i o n , 7 he set o u t before m e by L a n d to R h o d e I s l a n d , leaving his B o o k s which were a pretty C o l l e c t i o n of M a t h e m a t i c s a n d N a t u r a l Philosophy," to c o m e with m i n e a n d m e to N e w York where he p r o p o s ' d to wait for m e . M y F a t h e r , tho' h e did not a p p r o v e Sir William's P r o p o s i t i o n , w a s yet p l e a s ' d that I h a d b e e n able to obtain s o a d v a n t a g e o u s a C h a r a c t e r from a P e r s o n of s u c h N o t e w h e r e I h a d r e s i d e d , a n d that I h a d b e e n so i n d u s t r i o u s a n d careful a s to e q u i p myself s o h a n d s o m e l y in so short a t i m e : therefore s e e i n g no P r o s p e c t of a n A c c o m m o d a t i o n b e t w e e n my B r o t h e r a n d m e , h e gave his C o n s e n t to my R e t u r n i n g again to P h i l a d e l p h i a , advis'd m e to b e h a v e respectfully to the P e o p l e t h e r e , e n d e a v o r to obtain the general E s t e e m , a n d avoid l a m p o o n i n g a n d libeling to which he thought I h a d too m u c h Inclination; telling m e , that by s t e a d y Industry a n d a p r u d e n t P a r s i m o n y , I might save e n o u g h by the t i m e I w a s O n e a n d Twenty to set m e u p , a n d that if I c a m e near the M a t t e r he would 5. A sidewalk peep show; silver coins were rare in the colonies. 6. A Spanish dollar with which they could buy

drinks. 7. Decision. 8. I.e., natural science.

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help m e out with the R e s t . T h i s w a s all I c o u l d o b t a i n , except s o m e small Gifts a s T o k e n s of his a n d my M o t h e r ' s L o v e , w h e n I e m b a r k ' d again for N e w York, now with their A p p r o b a t i o n a n d their B l e s s i n g . T h e S l o o p p u t t i n g in at N e w p o r t , R h o d e Island, I visited my B r o t h e r J o h n , w h o h a d b e e n married a n d settled there s o m e Years. H e received m e very affectionately, for he always lov'd m e . A F r i e n d of his, o n e V e r n o n , having s o m e M o n e y d u e to him in Pennsylvania, a b o u t 3 5 P o u n d s C u r r e n c y , d e s i r e d I would receive it for him, a n d keep it till I h a d his D i r e c t i o n s what to remit it in. Accordingly he gave m e a n Order. T h i s afterwards o c c a s i o n ' d m e a g o o d deal of U n e a s i n e s s . At N e w p o r t we took in a N u m b e r of P a s s e n g e r s for N e w York: A m o n g which were two y o u n g W o m e n , C o m p a n i o n s , a n d a grave, s e n s i b l e Matron-like Q u a k e r - W o m a n with her A t t e n d a n t s . I h a d s h o w n an obliging R e a d i n e s s to d o her s o m e little S e r v i c e s which i m p r e s s ' d her I s u p p o s e with a d e g r e e of Goodwill towards m e . T h e r e f o r e w h e n she s a w a daily growing Familiarity b e t w e e n m e a n d the two Y o u n g W o m e n , which they appear'd to e n c o u r a g e , s h e took m e a s i d e a n d said, Y o u n g M a n , I a m c o n cern'd for t h e e , a s thou h a s no Friend with t h e e , a n d s e e m s not to know m u c h of the World, or of the S n a r e s Youth is expos'd to; d e p e n d u p o n it t h o s e are very b a d W o m e n , I c a n see it in all their A c t i o n s , a n d if t h e e art not u p o n thy G u a r d , they will draw t h e e into s o m e D a n g e r : they a r e S t r a n g e r s to t h e e , a n d I advise thee in a friendly C o n c e r n for thy W e l f a r e , to have no A c q u a i n t a n c e with t h e m . A s I s e e m ' d at first not to think s o ill of t h e m a s she did, s h e m e n t i o n ' d s o m e T h i n g s she h a d observ'd a n d h e a r d that had e s c a p ' d my N o t i c e ; but now convinc'd m e s h e w a s right. I thank'd her for her kind Advice, a n d promis'd to follow it. W h e n we arriv'd at N e w York, they told m e where they liv'd, a n d invited m e to c o m e a n d s e e t h e m : but I avoided it. And it w a s well I did: F o r the next Day, the C a p t a i n miss'd a Silver S p o o n a n d s o m e other T h i n g s that h a d b e e n taken out of his C a b i n , a n d knowing that t h e s e were a C o u p l e of S t r u m p e t s , he got a W a r r a n t to s e a r c h their L o d g i n g s , found the stolen G o o d s , a n d had the T h i e v e s p u n i s h ' d . S o tho' we h a d e s c a p ' d a s u n k e n R o c k which we s c r a p ' d u p o n in the P a s s a g e , I thought this E s c a p e of rather m o r e I m p o r t a n c e to m e . At N e w York I found my F r i e n d C o l l i n s , w h o h a d arriv'd there s o m e T i m e before m e . W e h a d b e e n intimate f r o m 9 C h i l d r e n , a n d h a d read the s a m e B o o k s together. B u t h e h a d the A d v a n t a g e of m o r e t i m e for R e a d i n g , a n d S t u d y i n g a n d a wonderful G e n i u s for M a t h e m a t i c a l L e a r n i n g in which he far o u t s t r i p p e d m e . W h i l e I liv'd in B o s t o n m o s t of my H o u r s of L e i s u r e for C o n v e r s a t i o n were spent with him, a n d he c o n t i n u ' d a s o b e r a s well a s a n i n d u s t r i o u s L a d ; was m u c h r e s p e c t e d for his L e a r n i n g by several of the Clergy a n d other G e n t l e m e n , a n d s e e m ' d to p r o m i s e m a k i n g a g o o d F i g u r e in Life: but d u r i n g my A b s e n c e h e h a d acquir'd a H a b i t of S o t t i n g with 1 Brandy; a n d I f o u n d by his own A c c o u n t a n d what I h e a r d from o t h e r s , that he h a d b e e n d r u n k every day s i n c e his Arrival at N e w York, a n d behav'd very oddly. H e h a d g a m ' d too a n d lost his M o n e y , s o that I w a s oblig'd to disc h a r g e 2 his L o d g i n g s , a n d defray his E x p e n c e s to a n d at P h i l a d e l p h i a : W h i c h prov'd extremely inconvenient to m e . T h e then G o v e r n o r of N e w York, Burn e t , 3 S o n of B i s h o p B u r n e t , h e a r i n g form the C a p t a i n that a y o u n g M a n , o n e of his P a s s e n g e r s , h a d a great m a n y B o o k s , desired he would bring m e 9. I.e., since we were. 1. Getting stupefied on. 2. T o release him from debt by paying his bills.

3. William Burnet ( 1 6 8 8 - 1 7 2 9 ) , governor of NewYork and New Jersey from 1720 to 1728, and governor of Massachusetts from 1728 to 1729.

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to s e e h i m . I waited u p o n him accordingly, a n d s h o u l d have taken C o l l i n s with m e but that h e w a s not s o b e r . T h e G o v e r n o r treated m e with great Civility, show'd m e his Library, w h i c h w a s a very large o n e , a n d w e h a d a g o o d deal of C o n v e r s a t i o n a b o u t B o o k s a n d A u t h o r s . T h i s w a s the s e c o n d G o v e r n o r w h o h a d d o n e m e the H o n o r to take N o t i c e of m e , which to a p o o r Boy like m e w a s very p l e a s i n g . W e p r o c e e d e d to P h i l a d e l p h i a . I received o n the W a y V e r n o n ' s M o n e y , without which we c o u l d hardly have finish'd our J o u r n e y . C o l l i n s wish'd to be employ'd in s o m e C o u n t i n g H o u s e ; b u t w h e t h e r they discover'd his D r a m m i n g by his B r e a t h , or by his Behavior, tho' h e h a d s o m e R e c o m m e n d a t i o n s , he met with n o S u c c e s s in any A p p l i c a t i o n , a n d c o n t i n u ' d L o d g i n g a n d B o a r d i n g at the s a m e H o u s e with m e a n d at my E x p e n s e . K n o w i n g I h a d that M o n e y of V e r n o n ' s h e w a s continually borrowing of m e , still p r o m i s i n g R e p a y m e n t a s s o o n a s he s h o u l d b e in R u s i n e s s . At length h e h a d got s o m u c h of it, that I w a s distress'd to think w h a t I s h o u l d d o , in c a s e of b e i n g call'd on to remit it. H i s Drinking c o n t i n u ' d , a b o u t which we s o m e t i m e s quarrel'd, for w h e n a little intoxicated he w a s very f r a c t i o u s . O n c e in a B o a t on the D e l a w a r e with s o m e other y o u n g M e n , h e r e f u s e d to row in his T u r n : I will b e row'd h o m e , says h e . W e will not row you, says I. You m u s t , says he, or stay all Night on the W a t e r , j u s t a s you p l e a s e . T h e o t h e r s s a i d , L e t u s row; W h a t signifies it? B u t my M i n d b e i n g s o u r e d with his other C o n d u c t , I continu'd to r e f u s e . S o he swore h e w o u l d m a k e m e row, or throw m e overboard; a n d c o m i n g a l o n g s t e p p i n g on the T h w a r t s 4 t o w a r d s m e , w h e n h e c a m e u p a n d s t r u c k at m e , I c l a p p e d my H a n d u n d e r his C r o t c h , a n d rising, pitch'd him h e a d f o r e m o s t into the River. I k n e w he w a s a g o o d S w i m m e r , a n d so w a s u n d e r little C o n c e r n a b o u t h i m ; but before h e c o u l d get r o u n d to lay hold of the B o a t , we h a d with a few S t r o k e s pull'd her o u t of his R e a c h . A n d ever w h e n he drew near the B o a t , we ask'd if he w o u l d row, striking a few S t r o k e s to slide her away from h i m . H e w a s ready to die with Vexation, a n d obstinately would not p r o m i s e to row; however s e e i n g h i m at last beginning to tire, we lifted him in; a n d b r o u g h t him h o m e d r i p p i n g wet in the Evening. W e hardly e x c h a n g ' d a civil W o r d afterwards; a n d a W e s t India C a p t a i n w h o h a d a C o m m i s s i o n to p r o c u r e a T u t o r for the S o n s of a G e n t l e m a n at B a r b a d o s , 5 h a p p e n i n g to m e e t with h i m , a g r e e d to carry him thither. H e left m e t h e n , p r o m i s i n g to remit m e the first M o n e y he s h o u l d receive in order to d i s c h a r g e the D e b t . B u t I never h e a r d of h i m after. T h e B r e a k i n g into this M o n e y of V e r n o n ' s w a s o n e of the first great Errata of my Life. A n d this Affair show'd that my F a t h e r w a s not m u c h o u t in his J u d g m e n t w h e n h e s u p p o s ' d m e too Y o u n g to m a n a g e B u s i n e s s of Import a n c e . B u t Sir William, on r e a d i n g his Letter, s a i d he w a s t o o p r u d e n t . T h e r e w a s great D i f f e r e n c e in P e r s o n s , a n d D i s c r e t i o n did not always a c c o m p a n y Y e a r s , nor w a s Y o u t h always without it. A n d s i n c e h e will not set you u p , says h e , I will d o it myself. Give m e an Inventory of the T h i n g s n e c e s s a r y to b e h a d from E n g l a n d , a n d I will s e n d for t h e m . You shall repay m e w h e n you are a b l e ; I a m resolv'd to have a g o o d Printer h e r e , a n d I a m s u r e you m u s t s u c c e e d . T h i s w a s s p o k e n with s u c h a n A p p e a r a n c e of Cordiality, that I h a d not the least d o u b t of his m e a n i n g w h a t he s a i d . I h a d hitherto kept the P r o p o s i t i o n of my S e t t i n g up a S e c r e t in P h i l a d e l p h i a , a n d I still kept it. H a d it b e e n known that I d e p e n d e d on the G o v e r n o r , probably s o m e F r i e n d 4. T h e seat on which an oarsman sits.

5. Island in the British West Indies.

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that knew him better would have advis'd m e not to rely o n h i m , a s I afterw a r d s h e a r d it a s his known C h a r a c t e r to b e liberal of P r o m i s e s which h e never m e a n t to k e e p . Yet unsolicited a s he w a s by m e , h o w c o u l d I think his g e n e r o u s Offers i n s i n c e r e ? I believ'd him o n e of the b e s t M e n in the W o r l d . I p r e s e n t e d him a n Inventory of a little P r i n t i n g - H o u s e , a m o u n t i n g by my C o m p u t a t i o n to a b o u t 1 0 0 P o u n d s Sterling. H e lik'd it, b u t ask'd m e if my b e i n g on the S p o t in E n g l a n d to c h o o s e the T y p e s a n d s e e that everything w a s g o o d of the kind, m i g h t not be of s o m e A d v a n t a g e . T h e n , says h e , w h e n there, you m a y m a k e A c q u a i n t a n c e s a n d establish C o r r e s p o n d e n c e s in the Bookselling, a n d S t a t i o n e r y W a y . I a g r e e d that this might b e a d v a n t a g e o u s . T h e n says h e , get yourself ready to go with A n n i s ; 6 which w a s the a n n u a l S h i p , a n d the only o n e at that T i m e usually p a s s i n g b e t w e e n L o n d o n a n d P h i l a d e l p h i a . B u t it would be s o m e M o n t h s before A n n i s sail'd, s o I c o n t i n u ' d working with K e i m e r , fretting a b o u t the M o n e y C o l l i n s h a d got from m e , a n d in daily A p p r e h e n s i o n s of b e i n g call'd u p o n by V e r n o n , w h i c h however did not h a p p e n for s o m e Years after. I believe I have o m i t t e d m e n t i o n i n g that in my first V o y a g e from B o s t o n , b e i n g b e c a l m ' d off B l o c k I s l a n d , 7 our P e o p l e set a b o u t c a t c h i n g C o d a n d haul'd u p a great m a n y . Hitherto I h a d s t u c k to my R e s o l u t i o n of not e a t i n g a n i m a l F o o d ; a n d on this O c c a s i o n , I c o n s i d e r ' d with my M a s t e r T r y o n , the taking every F i s h a s a kind of unprovok'd M u r d e r , s i n c e n o n e of t h e m h a d or ever c o u l d do u s any Injury that might justify the S l a u g h t e r . All this s e e m ' d very r e a s o n a b l e . B u t I h a d formerly b e e n a great Lover of F i s h , a n d w h e n this c a m e hot out of the Frying P a n , it s m e l t admirably well. I b a l a n c ' d s o m e time b e t w e e n Principle a n d Inclination: till I recollected, that w h e n the F i s h were o p e n e d , I s a w s m a l l e r F i s h taken o u t of their S t o m a c h s : T h e n , t h o u g h t I, if you e a t o n e a n o t h e r , I don't s e e why we mayn't eat y o u . S o I din'd u p o n C o d very heartily a n d c o n t i n u ' d to eat with other P e o p l e , r e t u r n i n g only n o w a n d then o c c a s i o n a l l y to a vegetable Diet. S o c o n v e n i e n t a thing it is to b e a reasonable Creature, s i n c e it e n a b l e s o n e to find or m a k e a R e a s o n for everything o n e h a s a m i n d to d o . K e i m e r a n d I liv'd on a pretty good familiar F o o t i n g a n d a g r e e d tolerably well: for h e s u s p e c t e d n o t h i n g of my S e t t i n g u p . H e retain'd a great deal of his old E n t h u s i a s m s , a n d lov'd a n A r g u m e n t a t i o n . W e therefore h a d m a n y D i s p u t a t i o n s . I us'd to work h i m s o with my S o c r a t i c M e t h o d , a n d h a d trap a n n ' d 8 him so often by Q u e s t i o n s a p p a r e n t l y so distant from any Point we h a d in h a n d , a n d yet by d e g r e e s led to the Point, a n d b r o u g h t h i m into Difficulties a n d C o n t r a d i c t i o n s , that at last h e grew ridiculously c a u t i o u s , a n d would hardly a n s w e r m e the m o s t c o m m o n Question, without a s k i n g first, What do you intend to infer from that? H o w e v e r it gave him s o high a n O p i n i o n of my Abilities in the C o n f u t i n g Way, that he seriously p r o p o s ' d my being his C o l l e a g u e in a Project he h a d of setting u p a n e w S e c t . H e w a s to p r e a c h the D o c t r i n e s , a n d I w a s to c o n f o u n d all O p p o n e n t s . W h e n he c a m e to explain with m e u p o n the D o c t r i n e s , I f o u n d several C o n u n d r u m s 9 which I o b j e c t e d to, u n l e s s I might have my W a y a little too, a n d i n t r o d u c e s o m e of m i n e . K e i m e r wore his B e a r d at full L e n g t h , b e c a u s e s o m e w h e r e in the M o s a i c L a w it is said, thou shalt not mar the Corners of thy Beard.1 H e like6. T h o m a s Annis, captain of the London Hope, the packet boat on which Franklin sailed to London in 1724. 7. Off the coast of Rhode Island.

8. Trapped. 9. Puzzles, difficult questions. 1. "Ye shall not round the corners of your heads, neither shalt thou mar the corners of thy beard"

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wise kept the seventh-day S a b b a t h ; a n d these two Points were E s s e n t i a l s with h i m . I dislik'd b o t h , but a g r e e d to a d m i t t h e m u p o n C o n d i t i o n of his a d o p t i n g the D o c t r i n e of u s i n g no a n i m a l F o o d . I d o u b t , says h e , my C o n stitution will not b e a r that. I a s s u r ' d him it w o u l d , a n d that he would be the better for it. H e w a s usually a great G l u t t o n , a n d I p r o m i s ' d myself s o m e Diversion in half-starving h i m . H e a g r e e d to try the P r a c t i c e if I w o u l d keep him C o m p a n y . I did s o a n d we held it for three M o n t h s . W e h a d o u r Victuals dress'd a n d b r o u g h t to u s regularly by a W o m a n in the N e i g h b o r h o o d , w h o h a d from m e a List of 4 0 D i s h e s to be prepar'd for u s at different t i m e s , in all which there w a s neither F i s h F l e s h nor Fowl, a n d the W h i m suited m e the better at this time from the C h e a p n e s s of it, not c o s t i n g us a b o u t 18 P e n c e Sterling e a c h , per W e e k . I have s i n c e kept several L e n t s m o s t strictly, leaving the c o m m o n Diet for that, a n d that for the c o m m o n , abruptly, without the least I n c o n v e n i e n c e : S o that I think there is little in the Advice of m a k i n g t h o s e C h a n g e s by easy G r a d a t i o n s . I went on pleasantly, but P o o r K e i m e r suffer'd grievously, tir'd of the Project, long'd for the F l e s h Pots of E g y p t , 2 a n d order'd a roast Pig. H e invited m e a n d two W o m e n F r i e n d s to dine with him, but it being b r o u g h t too s o o n u p o n t a b l e , he c o u l d not resist the T e m p t a t i o n , a n d ate it all up before we c a m e . I h a d m a d e s o m e C o u r t s h i p d u r i n g this time to M i s s R e a d . I h a d a great R e s p e c t a n d Affection for her, a n d h a d s o m e R e a s o n to believe s h e h a d the s a m e for m e : but a s I w a s a b o u t to take a long V o y a g e , a n d w e were both very young, only a little a b o v e 18, it w a s t h o u g h t m o s t p r u d e n t by her M o t h e r to prevent our going too far at p r e s e n t , a s a M a r r i a g e if it w a s to take p l a c e would b e m o r e c o n v e n i e n t after my R e t u r n , w h e n I s h o u l d b e a s I e x p e c t e d set up in my B u s i n e s s . P e r h a p s too s h e t h o u g h t my E x p e c t a t i o n s not so well f o u n d e d a s I i m a g i n e d t h e m to b e . M y chief A c q u a i n t a n c e s at this time w e r e , C h a r l e s O s b o r n e , J o s e p h W a t s o n , a n d J a m e s R a l p h ; 3 All L o v e r s of R e a d i n g . T h e two first were C l e r k s to a n e m i n e n t S c r i v e n e r or C o n v e y a n c e r in the T o w n , C h a r l e s B r o c k d e n ; 4 the other w a s C l e r k to a M e r c h a n t . W a t s o n w a s a p i o u s s e n s i b l e y o u n g M a n , of great integrity. T h e others rather m o r e lax in their Principles of Religion, particularly R a l p h , w h o a s well as C o l l i n s h a d b e e n u n s e t t l e d by m e , for which they both m a d e m e suffer. O s b o r n e w a s s e n s i b l e , c a n d i d , frank, sinc e r e , a n d affectionate to his F r i e n d s ; but in literary M a t t e r s too fond of Criticizing. R a l p h , w a s i n g e n i o u s , g e n t e e l in his M a n n e r s , a n d extremely e l o q u e n t ; I think I never knew a prettier Talker. B o t h of t h e m great Admirers of Poetry, a n d b e g a n to try their H a n d s in little P i e c e s . M a n y p l e a s a n t Walks we four had together, on S u n d a y s into the W o o d s n e a r Skuylkill, 5 where we read to o n e a n o t h e r a n d conferr'd on what we r e a d . R a l p h w a s inclin'd to p u r s u e the S t u d y of Poetry, not d o u b t i n g but he might b e c o m e e m i n e n t in it a n d m a k e his F o r t u n e by it, a l l e d g i n g that the b e s t P o e t s m u s t w h e n they first b e g a n to write, m a k e a s m a n y F a u l t s a s he did. O s b o r n e d i s s u a d e d h i m , (Leviticus 19.27). Keimer probably also wore his hair long. 2. "And the whole congregation of the children of Israel murmured against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness: And the children of Israel said unto them, Would to God we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the flesh pots, and when we did eat bread to the full"

(Exodus 1 6 . 2 - 3 ) . 3. Charles Osborne's dates are unknown. Joseph Watson died about 1728. J a m e s Ralph (c. 1 6 9 5 1762) b e c a m e well known as a political journalist. 4. Brockden ( 1 6 8 3 - 1 7 6 9 ) c a m e to Philadelphia in 1 706. "Conveyancer": one who draws up leases and deeds. 5. Schuylkill River, at Philadelphia.

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a s s u r ' d him he h a d n o G e n i u s for Poetry, a n d advis'd him to think of n o t h i n g beyond the B u s i n e s s h e w a s bred to; that in the m e r c a n t i l e way tho' h e h a d no S t o c k , he might by his Diligence a n d Punctuality r e c o m m e n d h i m s e l f to E m p l o y m e n t a s a Factor,'' a n d in time a c q u i r e wherewith to t r a d e on his own A c c o u n t . I approv'd the a m u s i n g o n e s e l f with Poetry now a n d t h e n , s o far a s to improve one's L a n g u a g e , but n o farther. O n this it w a s p r o p o s ' d that we s h o u l d e a c h of u s at our next M e e t i n g p r o d u c e a P i e c e of our own C o m posing, in order to improve by our m u t u a l O b s e r v a t i o n s , C r i t i c i s m s a n d C o r rections. As L a n g u a g e a n d E x p r e s s i o n w a s what we h a d in View, we e x c l u d e d all C o n s i d e r a t i o n s of Invention, 7 by a g r e e i n g that the T a s k s h o u l d b e a Version of the 18th P s a l m , which d e s c r i b e s the D e s c e n t of a Deity. 8 W h e n the T i m e of our M e e t i n g drew nigh, Ralph call'd on m e first, a n d let m e know his P i e c e was ready. I told him I had b e e n busy, a n d having little Inclination h a d d o n e nothing. H e then show'd m e his P i e c e for my O p i n i o n ; a n d I m u c h approv'd it, a s it appear'd to m e to have great Merit. N o w , says h e , O s b o r n e never will allow the least Merit in any thing of m i n e , but m a k e s 1 0 0 0 Criticisms out of m e r e Envy. H e is not so j e a l o u s of y o u . I wish therefore you would take this P i e c e , a n d p r o d u c e it a s yours. I will p r e t e n d not to have h a d time, a n d so p r o d u c e nothing. W e shall then s e e what he will say to it. It was a g r e e d , a n d I immediately transcrib'd it that it might a p p e a r in my own hand. We met. W a t s o n ' s P e r f o r m a n c e w a s read: there were s o m e B e a u t i e s in it: b u t m a n y D e f e c t s . O s b o r n e ' s w a s read: It w a s m u c h better. R a l p h did it J u s t i c e , remark'd s o m e F a u l t s , but a p p l a u d e d the B e a u t i e s . H e h i m s e l f h a d n o t h i n g to p r o d u c e . I w a s b a c k w a r d , s e e m ' d d e s i r o u s of b e i n g e x c u s ' d , h a d not had sufficient T i m e to correct; e t c . , but n o E x c u s e could b e a d m i t t e d , p r o d u c e I m u s t . It was read a n d r e p e a t e d ; W a t s o n a n d O s b o r n e g a v e up the C o n t e s t ; a n d join'd in a p p l a u d i n g it immoderately. R a l p h only m a d e s o m e C r i t i c i s m s a n d p r o p o s ' d s o m e A m e n d m e n t s , but I d e f e n d e d my Text. O s b o r n e w a s a g a i n s t R a l p h , a n d told him he w a s no better a Critic than P o e t ; s o he d r o p p e d the A r g u m e n t . As they two went h o m e together, O s b o r n e express'd himself still m o r e strongly in favor of what he thought my P r o d u c t i o n , having restrain'd himself before a s he said, lest I s h o u l d think it Flattery. B u t w h o would have imagin'd, says h e , that Franklin had b e e n c a p a b l e of s u c h a P e r f o r m a n c e ; s u c h Painting, s u c h F o r c e ! s u c h Fire! H e h a s even improv'd the Original! In his c o m m o n C o n v e r s a t i o n , he s e e m s to have no C h o i c e of W o r d s ; he hesitates a n d b l u n d e r s ; a n d yet, g o o d G o d , how he writes! W h e n we next m e t , Ralph discover'd the T r i c k we h a d played h i m , a n d O s b o r n e w a s a little l a u g h e d at. T h i s T r a n s a c t i o n fix'd R a l p h in his R e s o l u tion of b e c o m i n g a Poet. I did all I c o u l d to d i s s u a d e him from it, but he continu'd scribbling V e r s e s , till P o p e 9 c u r d him. H e b e c a m e however a pretty g o o d Prose Writer. M o r e of him hereafter. B u t a s I may not have o c c a s i o n again to m e n t i o n the other two, I shall j u s t r e m a r k h e r e , that W a t s o n died in my A r m s a few Years after, m u c h l a m e n t e d , b e i n g the b e s t of our S e t . 6. Business agent. 7. I.e., originality. 8. " H e bowed the heavens also, and c a m e down: and darkness was under his feet" (Psalm 18.9). 9. In the 2nd edition of the Dunciad ( 1 7 2 8 ) , a poem that attacks ignorance of all kinds, Alexander Pope responded to Ralph's slur against him in Saw-

ney: "Silence, ye Wolves: while Ralph to Cynthia howls. / And makes Night hideous—Answer him ye Owls" (book 3, lines 1 5 9 - 6 0 ) . In the 1 742 edition Pope included another dig at Ralph: "And see: T h e very Gazeteers give o'er, / Ev'n Ralph repents" (book I, lines 2 1 5 - 1 6 ) .

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O s b o r n e went to the W e s t Indies, w h e r e he b e c a m e a n e m i n e n t Lawyer a n d m a d e M o n e y , but died y o u n g . H e a n d I h a d m a d e a s e r i o u s A g r e e m e n t , that the o n e w h o h a p p e n ' d first to die, s h o u l d if p o s s i b l e m a k e a friendly Visit to the other, a n d a c q u a i n t him how h e f o u n d things in that s e p a r a t e S t a t e . B u t he never fulfill'd his P r o m i s e . T h e G o v e r n o r , s e e m i n g to like my C o m p a n y , h a d m e frequently to his H o u s e ; a n d his S e t t i n g m e up w a s always m e n t i o n ' d a s a fix'd thing. I was to take with m e L e t t e r s r e c o m m e n d a t o r y to a N u m b e r of his F r i e n d s , b e s i d e s the Letter of C r e d i t to furnish m e with the n e c e s s a r y M o n e y for p u r c h a s i n g the P r e s s a n d T y p e s , P a p e r , e t c . F o r t h e s e L e t t e r s I w a s a p p o i n t e d to call at different t i m e s , w h e n they were to b e ready, b u t a future time w a s still 1 n a m e d . T h u s we went on till the ship w h o s e D e p a r t u r e too h a d b e e n several times p o s t p o n e d w a s on the Point of sailing. T h e n w h e n I call'd to take my L e a v e a n d receive the L e t t e r s , his S e c r e t a r y , Dr. B a r d , 2 c a m e out to m e a n d said the G o v e r n o r was extremely busy, in writing, but would b e d o w n at N e w C a s t l e before the S h i p , a n d there the L e t t e r s would be delivered to m e . R a l p h , t h o ' married a n d having o n e C h i l d , h a d d e t e r m i n e d to a c c o m p a n y m e in this V o y a g e . It w a s t h o u g h t h e i n t e n d e d to e s t a b l i s h a C o r r e s p o n d e n c e , a n d obtain G o o d s to sell on C o m m i s s i o n . B u t I f o u n d afterwards, that thro' s o m e D i s c o n t e n t with his Wife's R e l a t i o n s , he p u r p o s e d to leave her o n their H a n d s , a n d never return a g a i n . H a v i n g taken leave of my F r i e n d s , a n d interc h a n g ' d s o m e P r o m i s e s with M i s s R e a d , I left P h i l a d e l p h i a in the S h i p , which a n c h o r ' d at N e w C a s t l e . T h e G o v e r n o r w a s t h e r e . B u t w h e n I went to his L o d g i n g , the S e c r e t a r y c a m e to m e from him with the civilest M e s s a g e in the W o r l d , that he c o u l d not then s e e m e b e i n g e n g a g ' d in B u s i n e s s of the u t m o s t I m p o r t a n c e , but s h o u l d s e n d the L e t t e r s to m e o n b o a r d , wish'd m e heartily a g o o d V o y a g e a n d a s p e e d y R e t u r n , e t c . I return'd o n b o a r d , a little puzzled, but still not d o u b t i n g . M r . A n d r e w H a m i l t o n , * a f a m o u s Lawyer of P h i l a d e l p h i a , h a d taken P a s s a g e in the s a m e S h i p for h i m s e l f a n d S o n : a n d with M r . D e n h a m 4 a Quaker M e r c h a n t , a n d M e s s r s . O n i o n a n d R u s s e l M a s t e r s of a n Iron W o r k in Maryland, h a d e n g a g ' d the G r e a t C a b i n ; s o that R a l p h a n d I were forc'd to take up with a Berth in the S t e e r a g e : A n d n o n e on b o a r d k n o w i n g u s , were c o n sidered a s ordinary P e r s o n s . B u t M r . H a m i l t o n a n d his S o n (it w a s J a m e s , s i n c e G o v e r n o r ) return'd from N e w C a s t l e to P h i l a d e l p h i a the F a t h e r b e i n g recall'd by a great F e e to p l e a d for a seized S h i p . A n d j u s t before we sail'd C o l o n e l F r e n c h c o m i n g on b o a r d , a n d s h o w i n g m e great R e s p e c t , I w a s m o r e taken N o t i c e of, a n d with my F r i e n d R a l p h invited by the other G e n t l e m e n to c o m e into the C a b i n , there b e i n g now R o o m . A c c o r d i n g l y we remov'd thither. U n d e r s t a n d i n g that C o l o n e l F r e n c h h a d b r o u g h t o n b o a r d the Governor's D i s p a t c h e s , I ask'd the C a p t a i n for t h o s e L e t t e r s that were to b e u n d e r my C a r e . H e said all were put into the B a g together; a n d h e c o u l d not then c o m e at t h e m ; but before we l a n d e d in E n g l a n d , I s h o u l d have a n O p p o r t u n i t y of p i c k i n g t h e m out. S o I w a s satisfied for the p r e s e n t , a n d w e p r o c e e d e d on 1. Always. 2. Patrick Bard, or Baird, resided in Philadelphia as port physician after 1720. 3. Andrew Hamilton (c. 1 6 7 8 - 1 7 4 1 ) , Americanborn lawyer; his successful defense of John Peter Zenger against a charge of libel established freedom of the press in the colonies and earned for

Hamilton the sobriquet "the Philadelphia Lawyer." His son J a m e s Hamilton (c. 1 7 1 0 - 1 7 8 3 ) was governor of Pennsylvania four times between 1748 and 1 7 7 3 . 4. T h o m a s Denham (d. 1728), merchant and benefactor, left Bristol, England, in 1715.

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our Voyage. W e h a d a s o c i a b l e C o m p a n y in the C a b i n , a n d lived u n c o m monly well, having the Addition of all Mr. H a m i l t o n ' s S t o r e s , w h o h a d laid in plentifully. In this P a s s a g e Mr. D e n h a m c o n t r a c t e d a F r i e n d s h i p for m e that c o n t i n u e d d u r i n g his L i f e . T h e V o y a g e w a s otherwise not a p l e a s a n t o n e , a s we h a d a great deal of b a d W e a t h e r . W h e n we c a m e into the C h a n n e l , the C a p t a i n kept his W o r d with m e , a n d gave m e a n O p p o r t u n i t y of e x a m i n i n g the B a g for the G o v e r n o r ' s Letters. I f o u n d n o n e u p o n which my N a m e w a s p u t , as u n d e r my C a r e ; I pick'd out 6 or 7 that by the H a n d w r i t i n g I t h o u g h t might b e the promis'd L e t t e r s , especially a s o n e of t h e m was directed to B a s k e t 5 the King's Printer, a n d a n o t h e r to s o m e Stationer. W e arriv'd in L o n d o n the 2 4 t h of D e c e m b e r , 1 7 2 4 . I waited u p o n the S t a t i o n e r w h o c a m e first in my Way, delivering the Letter a s from G o v e r n o r Keith. I don't know s u c h a P e r s o n , says h e : but o p e n i n g the Letter, O , this is from R i d d l e s d e n ; 6 I have lately found him to be a c o m p l e t e R a s c a l , a n d I will have n o t h i n g to d o with him, nor receive any L e t t e r s from h i m . S o p u t t i n g the Letter into my H a n d , he turn'd o n his H e e l a n d left m e to serve s o m e C u s t o m e r . I w a s surprised to find t h e s e were not the G o v e r n o r ' s L e t t e r s . A n d after recollecting a n d c o m p a r i n g C i r c u m s t a n c e s , I b e g a n to d o u b t his Sincerity. I f o u n d my Friend D e n h a m , a n d o p e n e d the whole Affair to h i m . H e let m e into Keith's C h a r a c t e r , told m e there w a s not the least Probability that he h a d written any L e t t e r s for m e , that no o n e w h o k n e w h i m h a d the smallest D e p e n d e n c e o n h i m , a n d h e l a u g h e d at the N o t i o n of the G o v e r n o r ' s giving m e a Letter of C r e d i t , having a s h e said no C r e d i t to give. O n my e x p r e s s i n g s o m e C o n c e r n a b o u t what I s h o u l d d o : H e advis'd m e to e n d e a v o r getting s o m e E m p l o y m e n t in the W a y of my B u s i n e s s . A m o n g the Printers h e r e , says h e , you will improve yourself; a n d w h e n you return to A m e r i c a , you will set u p to greater A d v a n t a g e . W e both of u s h a p p e n ' d to know, as well a s the S t a t i o n e r , that R i d d l e s d e n the Attorney, w a s a very K n a v e . H e h a d half ruin'd M i s s R e a d ' s F a t h e r by drawing him in to be b o u n d 7 for h i m . By his Letter it a p p e a r ' d , there w a s a secret S c h e m e on foot to the P r e j u d i c e of H a m i l t o n , ( S u p p o s ' d to be then c o m i n g over with us,) a n d that Keith w a s c o n c e r n ' d in it with R i d d l e s d e n . D e n h a m , w h o w a s a F r i e n d of H a m i l t o n ' s , t h o u g h t he o u g h t to b e a c q u a i n t e d with it. S o w h e n he arriv'd in E n g l a n d , which w a s s o o n after, partly from R e s e n t m e n t a n d Ill-Will to Keith a n d R i d d l e s d e n , a n d partly from G o o d w i l l to him: I waited on h i m , a n d gave him the Letter. H e thank'd m e cordially, the I n f o r m a t i o n b e i n g of I m p o r t a n c e to h i m . A n d from that time he b e c a m e my F r i e n d , greatly to my A d v a n t a g e afterwards o n m a n y O c c a s i o n s . B u t what shall we think of a Governor's playing s u c h pitiful T r i c k s , a n d i m p o s i n g s o grossly on a p o o r ignorant Boy! It w a s a H a b i t he h a d a c q u i r e d . H e wish'd to p l e a s e everybody; a n d having little to give, h e gave E x p e c t a t i o n s . H e w a s otherwise a n i n g e n i o u s s e n s i b l e M a n , a pretty g o o d Writer, a n d a g o o d G o v e r n o r for the P e o p l e , tho' not for his C o n s t i t u e n t s the Proprietari e s , 8 w h o s e Instructions h e s o m e t i m e s d i s r e g a r d e d . Several of our b e s t L a w s were of his P l a n n i n g , a n d p a s s ' d d u r i n g his A d m i n i s t r a t i o n . 5. John Basket! (d. 1742). 6. William Riddlesden (d. before 1733), well known in Maryland as a man of "infamy." 7. I.e., as a cosigner of a document and legally bound to be responsible for his debts. 8. Members of the Penn family were the Propri-

etors of Pennsylvania and its legal owners. " C o n stituents": those who appointed him their representative; in this case, the Penn family, which retained control of Pennsylvania until the Revolution.

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R a l p h a n d I were i n s e p a r a b l e C o m p a n i o n s . W e took L o d g i n g s together in Little B r i t a i n 9 at 3 shillings 6 p e n c e p e r W e e k , a s m u c h a s we c o u l d then afford. H e f o u n d s o m e R e l a t i o n s , but they were p o o r a n d u n a b l e to a s s i s t him. H e now let m e know his I n t e n t i o n s of r e m a i n i n g in L o n d o n , a n d that he never m e a n t to return to P h i l a d e l p h i a . H e h a d b r o u g h t no M o n e y with him, the whole he c o u l d m u s t e r having b e e n e x p e n d e d in paying his P a s s a g e . I h a d 15 P i s t o l e s . 1 S o he borrowed o c c a s i o n a l l y of m e , to s u b s i s t while he w a s looking o u t for B u s i n e s s . H e first endeavor'd to get into the P l a y h o u s e , believing himself qualified for an Actor; but W i l k e s , 2 to w h o m h e applied, advis'd him candidly not to think of that E m p l o y m e n t , a s it w a s i m p o s s i b l e h e s h o u l d s u c c e e d in it. T h e n he p r o p o s ' d to R o b e r t s , a P u b l i s h e r in Paternoster R o w , ' to write for him a Weekly P a p e r like the S p e c t a t o r , on certain C o n d i t i o n s , which R o b e r t s did not a p p r o v e . T h e n he endeavor'd to get E m p l o y m e n t a s a H a c k n e y W r i t e r 4 to copy for the S t a t i o n e r s a n d L a w y e r s a b o u t the T e m p l e 5 but c o u l d find no V a c a n c y . I i m m e d i a t e l y got into W o r k at P a l m e r ' s , then a f a m o u s P r i n t i n g - H o u s e in B a r t h o l o m e w C l o s e ; 6 a n d here I c o n t i n u ' d near a Year. I w a s pretty diligent; but s p e n t with R a l p h a g o o d deal of my E a r n i n g s in g o i n g to Plays a n d other P l a c e s of A m u s e m e n t . W e h a d together c o n s u m ' d all my P i s t o l e s , a n d now j u s t r u b b ' d 7 on from h a n d to m o u t h . H e s e e m ' d q u i t e to forget his W i f e a n d C h i l d , a n d I by d e g r e e s my E n g a g e m e n t s with M i s s R e a d , to w h o m I never wrote m o r e than o n e Letter, a n d that w a s to let her know I w a s not likely s o o n to return. T h i s w a s a n o t h e r of the great E r r a t a of my L i f e , which I s h o u l d wish to correct if I were to live it over a g a i n . In fact, by our E x p e n s e s , I w a s c o n s t a n t l y kept u n a b l e to pay my P a s s a g e . At P a l m e r ' s I w a s employ'd in C o m p o s i n g for the s e c o n d E d i t i o n of Wollaston's Religion of Nature.* 1 S o m e of his R e a s o n i n g s not a p p e a r i n g to m e well-founded, I wrote a little m e t a p h y s i c a l P i e c e , in which I m a d e R e m a r k s on t h e m . It w a s entitled, A Dissertation on Liberty and Necessity, Pleasure and Pain.1' I inscrib'd it to my F r i e n d R a l p h . I printed a small N u m b e r . I o c c a s i o n ' d my b e i n g m o r e c o n s i d e r ' d by M r . P a l m e r , a s a y o u n g M a n of s o m e Ingenuity, t h o ' he seriously e x p o s t u l a t e d with m e u p o n the Principles of my P a m p l e t which to him a p p e a r ' d a b o m i n a b l e . M y printing this P a m p h l e t w a s another Erratum. While I lodg'd in Little Britain I m a d e a n A c q u a i n t a n c e with o n e Wilcox a Bookseller, w h o s e S h o p w a s at the next D o o r . H e h a d an i m m e n s e C o l l e c tion of s e c o n d - h a n d B o o k s . C i r c u l a t i n g L i b r a r i e s were not then in U s e ; but we a g r e e d that on certain r e a s o n a b l e T e r m s which I have now forgotten, I might take, read a n d return any of his B o o k s . T h i s I e s t e e m ' d a great Advant a g e , a n d I m a d e a s m u c h U s e of it a s I c o u l d . M y P a m p h l e t by s o m e m e a n s falling into the H a n d s of o n e L y o n s , 1 a 9. A street in London near St. Paul's Cathedral. 1. A Spanish gold coin worth approximately eighteen shillings. 2. Robert Wilks ( 1 6 6 5 ? - 1 7 3 2 ) , an Irish actor, dominated London theater life from 1 7 0 9 to 1730. 3. I he tenter ol tile 1 inulon printing business. 4. A copyist. 5. T h e Inner and Middle T e m p l e s were two of four buildings in London that were centers for the legal profession. 6. Just off Little Britain, and a square known for its printers and typesetters.

7. Proceeded with difficulty. 8. William Wollaston's Religion of Nature was first published in 1725. Franklin set the type for the 4th edition, which appeared in April 1 726. 9. Franklin's pamphlet, of which only four copies are known to survive. By denying the existence of virtue and vice Franklin laid himself open to accusations of atheism. 1. William Lyons, a surgeon and author of The Infallibility, Dignity, and Excellence of Human Judgment ( 1 7 1 9 ) .

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S u r g e o n , A u t h o r of a B o o k entitled The Infallibility of Tinman judgment, it o c c a s i o n e d an A c q u a i n t a n c e b e t w e e n u s ; he took great N o t i c e of m e , call'd on m e often, to c o n v e r s e on t h e s e S u b j e c t s , carried m e to the H o r n s a pale A l e - H o u s e in [blank] L a n e , C h e a p s i d e , a n d introduc'd m e to Dr. M a n d e ville, 2 A u t h o r of the F a b l e of the B e e s w h o h a d a C l u b there, of which he was the S o u l , b e i n g a m o s t f a c e t i o u s e n t e r t a i n i n g C o m p a n i o n . L y o n s too introduc'd m e to Dr. P e m b e r t o n , at B a t s o n ' s C o f f e e H o u s e , 3 w h o promis'd to give m e an O p p o r t u n i t y s o m e time or other of s e e i n g Sir I s a a c N e w t o n , 4 of which I w a s extremely d e s i r o u s ; but this never h a p p e n e d . I h a d brought over a few C u r i o s i t i e s a m o n g which the principal w a s a P u r s e m a d e of the A s b e s t o s , which purifies by Fire. Sir H a n s S l o a n e 5 heard of it, c a m e to s e e m e , a n d invited m e to his H o u s e in B l o o m s b u r y S q u a r e ; where he show'd m e all his C u r i o s i t i e s , a n d p e r s u a d e d m e to let him a d d that to the N u m b e r , for which he paid m e h a n d s o m e l y . In our H o u s e there lodg'd a y o u n g W o m a n , a Millener, w h o I think had a s h o p in the Cloisters.'' S h e had b e e n genteelly b r e d , w a s s e n s i b l e a n d lively, a n d of m o s t p l e a s i n g C o n v e r s a t i o n . Ralph read Plays to her in the E v e n i n g s , they grew intimate, s h e took a n o t h e r L o d g i n g , a n d he follow'd her. T h e y liv'd together s o m e t i m e , but he b e i n g still out of R u s i n e s s , a n d her I n c o m e not sufficient to m a i n t a i n t h e m with her C h i l d , h e took a R e s o l u t i o n of g o i n g from L o n d o n , to try for a C o u n t r y S c h o o l , which he thought h i m s e l f well qualified to u n d e r t a k e , as he wrote a n excellent H a n d , a n d w a s a M a s t e r of Arithmetic a n d A c c o u n t s . T h i s however h e d e e m ' d a B u s i n e s s below him, a n d confident of future better F o r t u n e w h e n he s h o u l d be unwilling to have it known that he o n c e w a s so meanly employ'd, he c h a n g ' d his N a m e , a n d did m e the H o n o r to a s s u m e m i n e . F o r I s o o n after had a Letter from him, a c q u a i n t i n g m e , that he w a s settled in a small Village in B e r k s h i r e , I think it w a s , w h e r e he taught r e a d i n g a n d writing to 10 or a dozen Boys at 6 p e n c e e a c h per W e e k , r e c o m m e n d i n g M r s . T . to my C a r e , a n d d e s i r i n g m e to write to him directing lor Mr. Franklin S c h o o l m a s t e r at s u c h a P l a c e . H e continu'd to write frequently, s e n d i n g m e large S p e c i m e n s of a n E p i c P o e m , which he w a s then c o m p o s i n g , a n d desiring my R e m a r k s a n d C o r r e c t i o n s . T h e s e I gave him from time to t i m e , but endeavor'd rather to d i s c o u r a g e his P r o c e e d i n g . O n e of Young's S a t i r e s w a s then j u s t p u b l i s h ' d . 7 1 c o p i e d a n d sent him a great Part of it, which set in a strong Light the Folly of p u r s u i n g the M u s e s with any H o p e of A d v a n c e m e n t by t h e m . All w a s in vain. S h e e t s of the P o e m continu'd to c o m e by every Post. In the m e a n time M r s . T . having on his A c c o u n t lost her F r i e n d s a n d B u s i n e s s , w a s often in D i s t r e s s e s , a n d us'd to s e n d for m e , a n d borrow what I c o u l d s p a r e to help her out of t h e m . I grew fond of her C o m p a n y , a n d b e i n g at this time u n d e r no Religious R e s t r a i n t s , a n d p r e s u m i n g on my I m p o r t a n c e to her, I a t t e m p t e d Familiarities, ( a n o t h e r E r r a t u m ) which s h e repuls'd with a p r o p e r R e s e n t m e n t , a n d a c q u a i n t e d him 2. Bernard Mandeville (c. 1 6 7 0 - 1 7 3 3 ) , a Dutch physician and man ol letters residing in London. His Fable of the Bees was published in I 7 2 3 . 3. Batson's in Cornhill was a favorite meeting place of physicians. Henry Pemberton (1694— 1771) was a friend of Isaac Newton's and a member of the Royal Society. 4. Isaac Newton ( 1 6 4 2 - 1 7 2 7 ) , best known for explaining the theories of gravity, light, and color, was president of the Royal Society from 1703 to

1727. 5. Physician and naturalist (1660—1753), was the successor to Newton as president of the Royal Society; his library and museum served as the basis for the present collection at the British M u s e u m . 6. Probably near St. Bartholomew's Church. London. 7. Edward Young (1 6 8 3 - 1 765) published the first four parts of Love of Fame, the Universal Passion in 1725.

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with my B e h a v i o r . T h i s m a d e a B r e a c h b e t w e e n u s , a n d w h e n he return'd again to L o n d o n , h e let m e know h e t h o u g h t I h a d c a n c e l ' d all the Obligations he h a d b e e n u n d e r to m e . S o I f o u n d I w a s never to expect his R e p a y i n g m e what I lent to h i m or a d v a n c ' d for h i m . T h i s w a s however not then of m u c h C o n s e q u e n c e , a s h e w a s totally u n a b l e . A n d in the L o s s of his Friendship I f o u n d myself reliev'd from a B u r d e n . I now b e g a n to think of getting a little M o n e y b e f o r e h a n d ; a n d e x p e c t i n g better W o r k , I left P a l m e r ' s to work at W a t t s ' s 8 n e a r L i n c o l n ' s Inn F i e l d s , a still greater P r i n t i n g - H o u s e . H e r e I c o n t i n u ' d all the rest of my Stay in L o n d o n . At my first A d m i s s i o n into this P r i n t i n g - H o u s e , I took to working at P r e s s , i m a g i n i n g I felt a W a n t of the Bodily E x e r c i s e I h a d b e e n u s ' d to in A m e r i c a , where P r e s s w o r k is mix'd with C o m p o s i n g . I d r a n k only W a t e r ; the other W o r k m e n , n e a r 5 0 in N u m b e r , were great Guzzlers of B e e r . O n o c c a s i o n I carried u p a n d d o w n S t a i r s a large F o r m of T y p e s 9 in e a c h h a n d , w h e n others carried b u t o n e in both H a n d s . T h e y w o n d e r ' d to s e e from this a n d several I n s t a n c e s that the W a t e r - A m e r i c a n a s they call'd m e w a s stronger than t h e m selves w h o d r u n k strong' B e e r . W e h a d a n A l e h o u s e Boy w h o a t t e n d e d always in the H o u s e to s u p p l y the W o r k m e n . M y C o m p a n i o n at the P r e s s d r a n k every day a Pint before B r e a k f a s t , a Pint at B r e a k f a s t with his B r e a d a n d C h e e s e ; a Pint b e t w e e n B r e a k f a s t a n d D i n n e r ; a Pint at D i n n e r ; a Pint in the Afternoon a b o u t Six o'clock, a n d a n o t h e r w h e n he h a d d o n e his Day's Work. I t h o u g h t it a d e t e s t a b l e C u s t o m . B u t it w a s n e c e s s a r y , h e s u p p o s ' d , to drink strong B e e r that h e m i g h t b e strong to labor. I e n d e a v o r ' d to c o n v i n c e him that the Bodily S t r e n g t h afforded by B e e r c o u l d only b e in proportion to the G r a i n or F l o u r of the Barley dissolved in the W a t e r of w h i c h it w a s m a d e ; that t h e r e w a s m o r e F l o u r in a Penny-worth of B r e a d , a n d therefore if h e would e a t that with a Pint of W a t e r , it w o u l d give him m o r e S t r e n g t h than a Quart of B e e r . H e d r a n k o n however, a n d h a d 4 or 5 Shillings to pay out of his W a g e s every S a t u r d a y N i g h t for that m u d d l i n g L i q u o r ; a n E x p e n s e I w a s free from. A n d t h u s t h e s e p o o r Devils k e e p t h e m s e l v e s always u n d e r . 2 W a t t s after s o m e W e e k s d e s i r i n g to have m e in the C o m p o s i n g - R o o m , I left the P r e s s m e n . A n e w Bienvenu3 or S u m for Drink, b e i n g 5 Shillings, w a s d e m a n d e d of m e by the C o m p o s i t o r s . 4 I t h o u g h t it a n I m p o s i t i o n , a s I h a d paid below. T h e M a s t e r t h o u g h t so too, a n d forbad my P a y i n g it. I s t o o d o u t two or t h r e e W e e k s , w a s accordingly c o n s i d e r e d a s a n E x c o m m u n i c a t e , a n d h a d so m a n y little P i e c e s of private M i s c h i e f d o n e m e , by mixing my S o r t s , 5 t r a n s p o s i n g my P a g e s , b r e a k i n g my M a t t e r , 6 e t c . , e t c . if I were ever s o little out of the R o o m , a n d all ascrib'd to the C h a p e l 7 G h o s t , w h i c h they said ever h a u n t e d t h o s e not regularly a d m i t t e d , that n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g the M a s t e r ' s Protection, I f o u n d myself oblig'd to c o m p l y a n d pay the M o n e y ; convinc'd of the Folly of b e i n g o n ill T e r m s with t h o s e o n e is to live with continually. I w a s now o n a fair F o o t i n g with t h e m , a n d s o o n a c q u i r ' d c o n s i d e r a b l e Influe n c e . I p r o p o s ' d s o m e r e a s o n a b l e Alterations in their C h a p e l L a w s , a n d carried t h e m a g a i n s t all O p p o s i t i o n . F r o m my E x a m p l e a great Part of t h e m , left their m u d d l i n g B r e a k f a s t of B e e r a n d B r e a d a n d C h e e s e , finding they 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4.

J o h n Watts (c. 1 6 7 8 - 1 7 6 3 ) . Type set and locked in metal frames. With high alcohol content. I.e., in poverty. W e l c o m e (French, literal trans.). Typesetters.

5. Type, letters. 6. Type set up for printing. 7. " A Printing H o u s e is always called a Chapel by the Workmen" [Franklin's note]. T h e workers set their own c u s t o m s , practices, and fines.

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could with m e be supplied from a neighboring H o u s e with a large Porringer of hot Water-gruel, sprinkled with P e p p e r , c r u m b ' d with B r e a d , a n d a Bit of Butter in it, for the Price of a Pint of B e e r , viz., three h a l f p e n c e . T h i s w a s a m o r e c o m f o r t a b l e as well a s c h e a p e r B r e a k f a s t , a n d kept their H e a d s clearer. T h o s e w h o c o n t i n u ' d sotting with B e e r all day, w e r e often, by not paying, out of C r e d i t at the A l e h o u s e , a n d us'd to m a k e Interest with m e to get B e e r , their Light, a s they phras'd it, being out. I watch'd the Pay table on S a t u r d a y Night, a n d collected what I stood engag'd for t h e m , having to pay s o m e times near Thirty Shillings a W e e k on their A c c o u n t s . T h i s a n d my b e i n g e s t e e m ' d a pretty g o o d Riggite," that is a j o c u l a r verbal Satirist, s u p p o r t e d my C o n s e q u e n c e in the Society. M y c o n s t a n t A t t e n d a n c e , (I never m a k i n g a S t . M o n d a y ) , 9 r e c o m m e n d e d m e to the M a s t e r ; a n d my u n c o m m o n Q u i c k n e s s at C o m p o s i n g , o c c a s i o n ' d my b e i n g put u p o n all W o r k of D i s p a t c h , which was generally better p a i d . S o I went on now very agreeably. M y L o d g i n g in Little Britain being too r e m o t e , I f o u n d a n o t h e r in D u k e Street o p p o s i t e to the R o m i s h C h a p e l . 1 It w a s two pair of S t a i r s b a c k w a r d s at an Italian W a r e h o u s e . A W i d o w L a d y kept the H o u s e ; s h e h a d a D a u g h t e r a n d a M a i d Servant, a n d a J o u r n e y m a n w h o a t t e n d e d the W a r e h o u s e , b u t lodg'd a b r o a d . After s e n d i n g to e n q u i r e my C h a r a c t e r at the H o u s e w h e r e I last lodg'd, s h e a g r e e d to take m e in at the s a m e R a t e , 3 Shillings 6 P e n c e per W e e k , c h e a p e r a s she said from the Protection s h e e x p e c t e d in having a M a n lodge in the H o u s e . S h e w a s a W i d o w , an elderly W o m a n , h a d b e e n bred a Protestant, b e i n g a C l e r g y m a n ' s D a u g h t e r , but w a s converted to the C a t h o l i c Religion by her H u s b a n d , w h o s e M e m o r y s h e m u c h revered, h a d lived m u c h a m o n g P e o p l e of Distinction, a n d knew a 1 0 0 0 A n e c d o t e s of them a s far b a c k as the T i m e s of C h a r l e s the s e c o n d . S h e was l a m e in her K n e e s with the G o u t , a n d therefore s e l d o m stirr'd out of her R o o m , so s o m e times w a n t e d C o m p a n y ; a n d hers w a s so highly a m u s i n g to m e that I w a s sure to s p e n d an E v e n i n g with her whenever s h e desired it. O u r S u p p e r w a s only half an Anchovy e a c h , on a very little Strip of B r e a d a n d B u t t e r , a n d half a Pint of Ale b e t w e e n u s . B u t the E n t e r t a i n m e n t w a s in her C o n v e r s a tion. M y always keeping good H o u r s , a n d giving little T r o u b l e in the Family, m a d e her unwilling to part with m e ; so that w h e n I talk'd of a L o d g i n g I had heard of, nearer my B u s i n e s s , for 2 Shillings a W e e k , w h i c h , intent as I now was on saving M o n e y , m a d e s o m e D i f f e r e n c e ; s h e bid m e not think of it, for she would a b a t e m e two Shillings a W e e k for the future, s o I r e m a i n ' d with her at 1 Shilling 6 P e n c e a s long a s I stayed in L o n d o n . In a G a r r e t of her H o u s e there lived a M a i d e n L a d y of 7 0 in the m o s t retired M a n n e r , of w h o m my L a n d l a d y gave m e this A c c o u n t , that s h e w a s a R o m a n C a t h o l i c , h a d been sent a b r o a d w h e n y o u n g a n d lodg'd in a N u n nery with a n Intent of b e c o m i n g a N u n : but the C o u n t r y not a g r e e i n g with her, s h e return'd to E n g l a n d , where there b e i n g no N u n n e r y , s h e h a d vow'd to lead the Life of a N u n as near a s might be d o n e in t h o s e C i r c u m s t a n c e s : Accordingly S h e h a d given all her E s t a t e to c h a r i t a b l e U s e s , reserving only Twelve P o u n d s a year to live on, a n d out of this S u m she still gave a great deal in Charity, living herself on W a t e r g r u e l only, a n d u s i n g no Fire but to boil it. S h e h a d lived m a n y Years in that G a r r e t , b e i n g p e r m i t t e d to r e m a i n 8. One who makes fun of others. 9. Taking Monday off as if it were a religious holiday.

I. The Roman Catholic Chapel of St. Anselm and St. Cecilia.

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there gratis by s u c c e s s i v e catholic T e n a n t s of the H o u s e below, a s they d e e m ' d it a B l e s s i n g to have her t h e r e . A Priest visited her, to c o n f e s s her every Day. I have ask'd her, says my L a n d l a d y , h o w s h e , a s s h e liv'd, c o u l d possibly find s o m u c h E m p l o y m e n t for a C o n f e s s o r ? O , says s h e , it is i m p o s sible to avoid vain Thoughts. I w a s p e r m i t t e d o n c e to visit her: S h e w a s cheerful a n d polite, a n d convers'd pleasantly. T h e R o o m w a s c l e a n , but h a d n o other F u r n i t u r e than a M a t t r e s s , a T a b l e with a Crucifix a n d B o o k , a S t o o l , w h i c h s h e gave m e to sit o n , a n d a P i c t u r e over the C h i m n e y of St. Veronica,2 displaying her H a n d k e r c h i e f with the m i r a c u l o u s F i g u r e of Christ's b l e e d i n g F a c e o n it, which s h e explain'd to m e with great S e r i o u s n e s s . S h e look'd p a l e , b u t w a s never sick, a n d I give it a s a n o t h e r I n s t a n c e on how small a n I n c o m e Life a n d H e a l t h m a y b e s u p p o r t e d . At W a t t s ' s P r i n t i n g - H o u s e I c o n t r a c t e d a n A c q u a i n t a n c e with an ingenious y o u n g M a n , o n e W y g a t e , w h o having wealthy R e l a t i o n s , h a d b e e n better e d u c a t e d t h a n m o s t Printers, w a s a tolerable Latinist, s p o k e F r e n c h , a n d lov'd R e a d i n g . I t a u g h t h i m , a n d a F r i e n d of his, to swim at twice going into the River, a n d they s o o n b e c a m e g o o d S w i m m e r s . T h e y introduc'd m e to s o m e G e n t l e m e n from the C o u n t r y w h o went to C h e l s e a by W a t e r to s e e the C o l l e g e a n d D o n Saltero's C u r i o s i t i e s . 3 In our R e t u r n , at the R e q u e s t of the C o m p a n y , w h o s e C u r i o s i t y W y g a t e h a d excited, I stripped a n d l e a p e d into the River, a n d s w a m from n e a r C h e l s e a to B l a c k f r i a r s , 4 p e r f o r m i n g on the W a y m a n y F e a t s of Activity both u p o n a n d u n d e r W a t e r , that surpris'd a n d p l e a s ' d t h o s e to w h o m they were N o v e l t i e s . I h a d from a C h i l d b e e n ever delighted with this E x e r c i s e , h a d s t u d i e d a n d p r a c t i c ' d all T h e v e n o t ' s 5 M o t i o n s a n d P o s i t i o n s , a d d e d s o m e of my o w n , a i m i n g at the graceful a n d easy, a s well a s the U s e f u l . All t h e s e I took this O c c a s i o n of exhibiting to the C o m p a n y , a n d w a s m u c h flatter'd by their A d m i r a t i o n . A n d W y g a t e , w h o w a s d e s i r o u s of b e c o m i n g a M a s t e r , grew m o r e a n d m o r e a t t a c h ' d to m e o n that a c c o u n t , a s well as from the Similarity of our S t u d i e s . H e at l e n g t h p r o p o s ' d to m e traveling all over E u r o p e together, s u p p o r t i n g o u r s e l v e s every w h e r e by working at our B u s i n e s s . I w a s o n c e inclin'd to it. B u t m e n t i o n i n g it to my g o o d F r i e n d M r . D e n h a m , with w h o m I often s p e n t a n H o u r w h e n I h a d L e i s u r e , h e d i s s u a d e d m e from it; advising m e to think only of returning to P e n n s y l v a n i a , w h i c h h e w a s now a b o u t to d o . I m u s t record o n e T r a i t of this g o o d M a n ' s C h a r a c t e r . H e h a d formerly b e e n in B u s i n e s s at Bristol, b u t fail'd in D e b t to a N u m b e r of P e o p l e , c o m p o u n d e d 6 a n d went to A m e r i c a . T h e r e , by a c l o s e A p p l i c a t i o n to B u s i n e s s a s a M e r c h a n t , h e acquir'd a plentiful F o r t u n e in a few Y e a r s . R e t u r n i n g to E n g l a n d in the S h i p with m e , H e invited his old C r e d i t o r s to a n Entertainm e n t , at which h e thank'd t h e m for the e a s y C o m p o s i t i o n 7 they h a d favor'd him with, a n d w h e n they e x p e c t e d n o t h i n g b u t the T r e a t , every M a n at the first R e m o v e 8 f o u n d u n d e r his P l a t e a n O r d e r o n a B a n k e r for the full A m o u n t of the u n p a i d R e m a i n d e r with Interest. H e now told m e h e w a s a b o u t to return to P h i l a d e l p h i a , a n d s h o u l d carry 2. According to tradition, as Christ bore the cross, St. Veronica wiped his face with a cloth that miraculously retained the image of his face. 3. J a m e s Salter was a former barber for Sir Hans Sloane; he kept supposed relics, tike Job's tears and pieces of the True C r o s s , on view. H e was dubbed Don Saltero by the Tatter. "College": i.e., C h e l s e a Hospital, erected on the site of the former C h e l s e a

College. 4. I.e., more than three miles. 5. Melchisedeck de Thevenot, The Art of Swimming ( 1 6 9 9 ) . 6. Settled part payment on his debts. 7. Conditions for accepting a declaration of bankruptcy. 8. I.e., the first time the plates were cleared.

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over a great Quantity of G o o d s in order to o p e n a S t o r e t h e r e : H e p r o p o s ' d to take m e over a s his Clerk, to k e e p his B o o k s (in which he w o u l d instruct m e ) , copy his L e t t e r s , a n d a t t e n d the S t o r e . H e a d d e d , that a s s o o n a s I s h o u l d be a c q u a i n t e d with m e r c a n t i l e B u s i n e s s h e would p r o m o t e m e by s e n d i n g m e with a C a r g o of F l o u r a n d B r e a d , e t c . , to the W e s t I n d i e s , a n d p r o c u r e m e C o m m i s s i o n s from o t h e r s ; which would be profitable, a n d if I m a n a g ' d well, would e s t a b l i s h m e h a n d s o m e l y . T h e T h i n g p l e a s ' d m e , for I w a s grown tired of L o n d o n , r e m e m b e r ' d with P l e a s u r e the h a p p y M o n t h s I h a d spent in Pennsylvania, a n d wish'd again to s e e it. T h e r e f o r e I i m m e diately a g r e e d , on the T e r m s of Fifty P o u n d s a Year, P e n n s y l v a n i a M o n e y ; less i n d e e d than my then G e t t i n g s a s a C o m p o s i t o r , but affording a better Prospect. I now took L e a v e of Printing, a s I thought for ever, a n d w a s daily employ'd in my n e w B u s i n e s s ; g o i n g a b o u t with M r . D e n h a m a m o n g the T r a d e s m e n , to p u r c h a s e various Articles, a n d s e e t h e m pack'd u p , d o i n g E r r a n d s , calling u p o n W o r k m e n to d i s p a t c h , e t c . , a n d w h e n all w a s on b o a r d , I h a d a few D a y s ' L e i s u r e . O n o n e of t h e s e D a y s I w a s to my S u r p r i s e sent for by a great M a n I knew only by N a m e , a Sir William W y n d h a m a n d I waited u p o n h i m . H e h a d h e a r d by s o m e m e a n s or other of my S w i m m i n g from C h e l s e y to Blackfriars, a n d of my t e a c h i n g W y g a t e a n d a n o t h e r y o u n g M a n to swim in a few H o u r s . H e h a d two S o n s a b o u t to set o u t on their T r a v e l s ; h e wish'd to have t h e m first t a u g h t S w i m m i n g ; a n d p r o p o s ' d to gratify m e h a n d s o m e l y if I would t e a c h t h e m . T h e y were not yet c o m e to T o w n a n d my S t a y w a s u n c e r t a i n , s o I c o u l d not u n d e r t a k e it. B u t from this Incident I t h o u g h t it likely, that if I were to r e m a i n in E n g l a n d a n d o p e n a S w i m m i n g S c h o o l , I might get a g o o d deal of M o n e y . A n d it s t r u c k m e so strongly, that h a d the Overture b e e n s o o n e r m a d e m e , probably I s h o u l d not s o s o o n have r e t u r n e d to A m e r i c a . After M a n y Y e a r s , you a n d I h a d s o m e t h i n g of m o r e I m p o r t a n c e to do with o n e of t h e s e S o n s of Sir William W y n d h a m , 9 b e c o m e Earl of E g r e m o n t , which I shall m e n t i o n in its P l a c e . 1 T h u s I spent a b o u t 18 M o n t h s in L o n d o n . M o s t Part of the T i m e , I work'd hard at my B u s i n e s s , a n d s p e n t but little u p o n myself except in s e e i n g Plays, a n d in B o o k s . M y F r i e n d R a l p h h a d kept m e poor. H e o w e d m e a b o u t 2 7 P o u n d s ; which I w a s now never likely to receive; a great S u m o u t of my s m a l l E a r n i n g s . I lov'd him notwithstanding, for he h a d m a n y a m i a b l e Qualities. T h o ' I h a d by no m e a n s improv'd my F o r t u n e , I h a d pick'd u p s o m e very i n g e n i o u s A c q u a i n t a n c e w h o s e C o n v e r s a t i o n w a s of great A d v a n t a g e to m e , a n d I h a d read considerably. W e sail'd from G r a v e s e n d on the 2 3 d of J u l y 1 7 2 6 . F o r T h e I n c i d e n t s of the Voyage, I refer you to my J o u r n a l , w h e r e you will find t h e m all minutely related. P e r h a p s the m o s t i m p o r t a n t Part of that J o u r n a l is the Plan2 to b e f o u n d in it which I f o r m e d at S e a for r e g u l a t i n g my future C o n d u c t in L i f e . It is the m o r e r e m a r k a b l e , a s b e i n g form'd w h e n I w a s s o y o u n g , a n d yet b e i n g pretty faithfully a d h e r e d to quite thro' to old A g e . W e l a n d e d in Phila d e l p h i a the 11th of O c t o b e r , where I f o u n d s u n d r y A l t e r a t i o n s . Keith w a s no longer G o v e r n o r , b e i n g s u p e r s e d e d by M a j o r G o r d o n : 3 1 m e t h i m walking the S t r e e t s a s a c o m m o n Citizen. H e s e e m ' d a little a s h a m ' d at s e e i n g m e , 9. Chancellor of the exchequer and Tory leader in Parliament ( 1 6 8 7 - 1 7 4 0 ) . I. Franklin does not mention Charles Wyndham ( 1 7 1 0 - 1 7 6 3 ) again.

2. Only the "Outline" and " P r e a m b l e " of Franklin's Plan survive. 3. Patrick Gordon (1644—1736), governor of Pennsylvania from 1726 to 1736.

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but p a s s ' d without saying anything. I s h o u l d have b e e n a s m u c h a s h a m ' d at s e e i n g M i s s R e a d , h a d not her F r i e n d s d e s p a i r i n g with Reasrin of my R e t u r n , after the Receipt of my Letter, p e r s u a d e d her to marry a n o t h e r , o n e R o g e r s , a Potter, which w a s d o n e in my A b s e n c e . With him however s h e w a s never happy, a n d s o o n p a r t e d from him, refusing to c o h a b i t with h i m , or b e a r his N a m e . It b e i n g now said that he h a d a n o t h e r Wife. H e w a s a w o r t h l e s s Fellow tho' an excellent W o r k m a n which w a s the T e m p t a t i o n to her F r i e n d s . H e got into D e b t , a n d ran away in 1 7 2 7 or 2 8 , went to the W e s t I n d i e s , a n d died there. K e i m e r h a d got a better H o u s e , a S h o p well s u p p l i e d with S t a tionery, plenty of new T y p e s , a n u m b e r of H a n d s t h o ' n o n e g o o d , a n d s e e m ' d to have a great deal of B u s i n e s s . Mr. D e n h a m took a S t o r e in W a t e r S t r e e t , w h e r e we open'd our G o o d s . I a t t e n d e d the B u s i n e s s diligently, s t u d i e d A c c o u n t s , a n d grew in a little T i m e expert at selling. W e lodg'd a n d b o a r d e d together, h e c o u n s e l ' d m e a s a F a t h e r , having a sincere R e g a r d for m e : I r e s p e c t e d a n d lov'd h i m : a n d we might have g o n e on together very happily: B u t in the B e g i n n i n g of F e b r u a r y 1 7 2 6 / 7 w h e n I h a d j u s t p a s s ' d my 2 1 s t Year, we both were taken ill. M y D i s t e m p e r w a s a Pleurisy, 4 which very nearly carried m e off: I suffered a g o o d deal, g a v e up the P o i n t 5 in my own m i n d , a n d w a s rather d i s a p p o i n t e d w h e n I f o u n d myself recovering; regretting in s o m e d e g r e e that I m u s t now s o m e t i m e or other have all that d i s a g r e e a b l e W o r k to d o over a g a i n . I forget what his D i s t e m p e r w a s . It held him a long t i m e , a n d at length carried him off. H e left m e a small L e g a c y in a n u n c u p a t i v e Will, 6 a s a T o k e n of his K i n d n e s s for m e , a n d he left m e o n c e m o r e to the wide W o r l d . F o r the S t o r e w a s taken into the C a r e of his E x e c u t o r s , a n d my E m p l o y m e n t u n d e r h i m e n d e d : M y Brother-in-law H o m e s , b e i n g now at P h i l a d e l p h i a , advis'd my R e t u r n to my B u s i n e s s . A n d K e i m e r t e m p t e d m e with a n Offer of large W a g e s by the Year to c o m e a n d take the M a n a g e m e n t of his P r i n t i n g - H o u s e that he might better a t t e n d his S t a t i o n e r ' s S h o p . I h a d h e a r d a b a d C h a r a c t e r of him in L o n d o n , from his Wife a n d her F r i e n d s , a n d w a s not fond of having any m o r e to do with h i m . I tried for farther E m p l o y m e n t a s a M e r c h a n t ' s C l e r k ; but not readily m e e t i n g with any, I clos'd again with K e i m e r . I found in his H o u s e t h e s e H a n d s ; H u g h M e r e d i t h 7 a W e l s h - P e n n s y l vanian, 3 0 Years of A g e , bred to C o u n t r y W o r k : h o n e s t , s e n s i b l e , h a d a great deal of solid O b s e r v a t i o n , w a s s o m e t h i n g of a R e a d e r , b u t given to drink: S t e p h e n P o t t s , 8 a y o u n g C o u n t r y M a n of full A g e , bred to the S a m e , of u n c o m m o n natural P a r t s 9 a n d great Wit a n d H u m o r , b u t a little idle. T h e s e he h a d a g r e e d with at e x t r e m e low W a g e s , per W e e k , to b e rais'd a Shilling every 3 M o n t h s , a s they would d e s e r v e by improving in their B u s i n e s s , a n d the E x p e c t a t i o n of t h e s e high W a g e s to c o m e on hereafter w a s w h a t h e h a d drawn t h e m in with. M e r e d i t h w a s to work at P r e s s , Potts at B o o k b i n d i n g , which h e by A g r e e m e n t , w a s to t e a c h t h e m , tho' h e k n e w neither o n e nor t'other. J o h n a wild I r i s h m a n b r o u g h t u p to no B u s i n e s s , w h o s e Service for 4 Years K e i m e r had p u r c h a s ' d 1 from the C a p t a i n of a S h i p . H e too w a s to be m a d e a P r e s s m a n . G e o r g e W e b b , 2 an Oxford S c h o l a r , w h o s e T i m e 4. A disease of the lungs. 5. End; i.e., resigned himself to death. 6. An oral will. 7. Hugh Meredith (c. 1 6 9 6 - 1 7 4 9 ) , later a husiness partner of Franklin's. 8. Later a bookseller and innkeeper (d. 17S8).

9. I.e., handsome. 1. I.e., Keimer had paid for his passage in exchange for his service. 2. Later a member of Franklin's J u n t o C l u b and printer ( 1 7 0 8 - 1 7 3 6 ? ) .

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for 4 Years he had likewise b o u g h t , intending him for a C o m p o s i t o r : of w h o m m o r e presently. A n d David Harry,* a C o u n t r y Boy, w h o m h e h a d taken A p p r e n t i c e . I s o o n perceiv'd that the Intention of e n g a g i n g m e at W a g e s s o m u c h higher than he h a d b e e n us'd to give, w a s to have t h e s e raw c h e a p H a n d s form'd thro' m e , a n d a s s o o n a s I h a d instructed t h e m , then, they being all articled to him, he s h o u l d be able to do without m e . I went on however, very cheerfully; p u t his P r i n t i n g - H o u s e in Order, which h a d b e e n in great C o n f u s i o n , a n d b r o u g h t his H a n d s by d e g r e e s to m i n d their B u s i n e s s a n d to do it better. It w a s an odd T h i n g to find an Oxford S c h o l a r in the S i t u a t i o n of a b o u g h t S e r v a n t . H e w a s not m o r e than 18 Years of A g e , a n d gave m e this A c c o u n t of himself; that he w a s born in G l o u c e s t e r , e d u c a t e d at a G r a m m a r S c h o o l there, h a d b e e n distinguish'd a m o n g the S c h o l a r s for s o m e a p p a r e n t S u p e riority in p e r f o r m i n g his Part w h e n they exhibited Plays; belong'd to the Witty C l u b there, a n d h a d written s o m e P i e c e s in P r o s e a n d V e r s e which were printed in the G l o u c e s t e r N e w s p a p e r s . T h e n c e h e w a s sent to Oxford; there he continu'd a b o u t a Year, but not well-satisfied, w i s h i n g of all things to s e e L o n d o n a n d b e c o m e a Player. At length receiving his Quarterly A l l o w a n c e of 1 5 G u i n e a s , instead of d i s c h a r g i n g his D e b t s , he walk'd out of T o w n , hid his G o w n in a F u r z B u s h , 4 a n d footed it to L o n d o n , w h e r e having no F r i e n d to advise him, he fell into b a d C o m p a n y , s o o n spent his G u i n e a s , found no m e a n s of being introduc'd a m o n g the Players, grew n e c e s s i t o u s , pawn'd his C l o t h e s a n d w a n t e d B r e a d . W a l k i n g the S t r e e t very hungry, a n d not knowing what to do with himself, a C r i m p ' s Bill 5 w a s put into his H a n d , offering i m m e d i a t e E n t e r t a i n m e n t a n d E n c o u r a g e m e n t to s u c h a s would bind t h e m selves to serve in A m e r i c a . H e went directly, sign'd the I n d e n t u r e s , was put into the S h i p a n d c a m e over; never writing a L i n e to a c q u a i n t his F r i e n d s what was b e c o m e of him. H e w a s lively, witty, good-natur'd a n d a p l e a s a n t C o m p a n i o n , but idle, t h o u g h t l e s s a n d i m p r u d e n t to the last D e g r e e . J o h n the I r i s h m a n s o o n ran away. With the rest I b e g a n to live very a g r e e ably; for they all r e s p e c t e d m e , the m o r e a s they f o u n d K e i m e r i n c a p a b l e of instructing t h e m , a n d that from m e they learned s o m e t h i n g daily. W e never work'd on a S a t u r d a y , that b e i n g Keimer's S a b b a t h . S o I h a d two D a y s for R e a d i n g . M y A c q u a i n t a n c e with i n g e n i o u s P e o p l e in the T o w n i n c r e a s e d . K e i m e r himself treated m e with great Civility a n d a p p a r e n t R e g a r d ; a n d nothing now m a d e m e u n e a s y but my D e b t to V e r n o n , which I w a s yet u n a b l e to pay, being hitherto but a p o o r E c o n o m i s t . H e however kindly m a d e n o D e m a n d of it. O u r P r i n t i n g - H o u s e often w a n t e d Sorts,'' a n d there w a s n o Letter F o u n d e r in A m e r i c a . I h a d s e e n T y p e s c a s t at J a m e s ' s 7 in L o n d o n , but without m u c h Attention to the M a n n e r : However I now contriv'd a M o l d , m a d e u s e of the Letters we h a d a s P u n c h e o n s , struck the M a t r i c e s 8 in L e a d , a n d t h u s s u p plied in a pretty tolerable way all D e f i c i e n c i e s . I a l s o engrav'd several T h i n g s on o c c a s i o n . I m a d e the Ink, I w a s W a r e h o u s e - m a n a n d everything, in short quite a F a c t o t u m . 9 3. A Welsh Quaker ( 1 7 0 8 - 1 7 6 0 ) and later first printer in Barbados. 4. An evergreen shrub; gorse. "Gown": academic robe worn regularly by Oxford students. 5. An advertisement for free passage to the colonies lor those who would work as indentured ser-

vants. 6. Letters of type. 7. T h o m a s J a m e s ' s foundry in London. 8. Molds for casting type. "Puncheons": stamping tools. 9. Jack-of-all-trades.

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B u t however serviceable I might b e , I f o u n d that my S e r v i c e s b e c a m e every D a y of less I m p o r t a n c e , a s the other H a n d s improv'd in the B u s i n e s s . A n d w h e n K e i m e r p a i d my s e c o n d Quarter's W a g e s , h e let m e k n o w that h e felt t h e m too heavy, a n d t h o u g h t I s h o u l d m a k e a n A b a t e m e n t . H e grew by d e g r e e s less civil, p u t on m o r e of the M a s t e r , frequently f o u n d F a u l t , w a s c a p t i o u s a n d s e e m ' d ready for a n O u t - b r e a k i n g . I w e n t o n n e v e r t h e l e s s with a g o o d deal of P a t i e n c e , thinking that his e n c u m b e r ' d C i r c u m s t a n c e s were partly the C a u s e . At length a Trifle s n a p p e d our C o n n e c t i o n . F o r a great N o i s e h a p p e n i n g n e a r the C o u r t h o u s e , I p u t my H e a d o u t of the W i n d o w to s e e what w a s the M a t t e r . K e i m e r b e i n g in the S t r e e t look'd u p a n d s a w m e , call'd out to m e in a loud V o i c e a n d angry T o n e to m i n d my B u s i n e s s , a d d i n g s o m e reproachful W o r d s , that nettled m e the m o r e for their Publicity, all the N e i g h b o r s w h o were looking o u t o n the s a m e O c c a s i o n b e i n g W i t n e s s e s h o w I w a s t r e a t e d . H e c a m e u p i m m e d i a t e l y into the P r i n t i n g - H o u s e , c o n tinu'd the Quarrel, high W o r d s p a s s ' d o n b o t h S i d e s , h e gave m e the Quarter's W a r n i n g we h a d s t i p u l a t e d , e x p r e s s i n g a W i s h that h e h a d not b e e n oblig'd to so l o n g a W a r n i n g : I told him his W i s h w a s u n n e c e s s a r y for I w o u l d leave him that I n s t a n t ; a n d s o taking my H a t walk'd out of D o o r s ; desiring M e r e d i t h w h o m I s a w below to take c a r e of s o m e T h i n g s I left, a n d bring t h e m to my L o d g i n g . M e r e d i t h c a m e a c c o r d i n g l y in the E v e n i n g , w h e n we talk'd my Affair over. H e h a d conceiv'd a great R e g a r d for m e , a n d w a s very unwilling that I s h o u l d leave the H o u s e while h e r e m a i n ' d in it. H e d i s s u a d e d m e from returning to my native C o u n t r y 1 which I b e g a n to think of. H e r e m i n d e d m e that K e i m e r w a s in debt for all he p o s s e s s ' d , that his C r e d i t o r s b e g a n to b e u n e a s y , that he kept his S h o p miserably, sold often without Profit for ready M o n e y , a n d often t r u s t e d without k e e p i n g A c c o u n t . T h a t he m u s t therefore fail; which would m a k e a V a c a n c y I m i g h t profit of. I o b j e c t e d my W a n t of M o n e y . H e then let m e know, that his F a t h e r h a d a high O p i n i o n of m e , a n d from s o m e D i s c o u r s e that h a d p a s s ' d b e t w e e n t h e m , h e w a s s u r e w o u l d a d v a n c e M o n e y to set u s u p , if I would enter into P a r t n e r s h i p with h i m . M y T i m e , says h e , will b e o u t with K e i m e r in the S p r i n g . By that t i m e we m a y have our P r e s s a n d T y p e s in from L o n d o n : I a m s e n s i b l e I a m n o W o r k m a n . If you like it, Your Skill in the B u s i n e s s shall b e set a g a i n s t the S t o c k I furnish; a n d we will s h a r e the Profits e q u a l l y . — T h e P r o p o s a l w a s a g r e e a b l e , a n d I c o n s e n t e d . H i s F a t h e r w a s in T o w n , a n d approv'd of it, the m o r e a s h e s a w I h a d great I n f l u e n c e with his S o n , h a d prevail'd o n h i m to a b s t a i n l o n g from D r a m drinking, 2 a n d h e hop'd m i g h t b r e a k h i m of that w r e t c h e d H a b i t entirely, w h e n we c a m e to b e s o closely c o n n e c t e d . I g a v e a n Inventory to the F a t h e r , w h o carried it to a M e r c h a n t ; the T h i n g s were sent for; the S e c r e t w a s to b e kept till they s h o u l d arrive, a n d in the m e a n time I w a s to get W o r k if I c o u l d at the other P r i n t i n g - H o u s e . B u t I f o u n d n o V a c a n c y t h e r e , a n d s o r e m a i n ' d idle a few D a y s , w h e n K e i m e r , on a P r o s p e c t of b e i n g employ'd to print s o m e P a p e r - m o n e y , in N e w J e r s e y , which w o u l d r e q u i r e C u t s a n d various T y p e s that I only c o u l d supply, a n d a p p r e h e n d i n g B r a d f o r d m i g h t e n g a g e m e a n d get the J o b from h i m , sent m e a very civil M e s s a g e , that old F r i e n d s s h o u l d not part for a few W o r d s , the Effect of s u d d e n P a s s i o n , a n d w i s h i n g m e to return. M e r e d i t h p e r s u a d e d m e to comply, a s it w o u l d give m o r e O p p o r t u n i t y 1. I.e., Boston.

2. Frequently drinking small measures of alcohol.

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for his I m p r o v e m e n t u n d e r my daily I n s t r u c t i o n s . S o I return'd, a n d w e went on m o r e s m o o t h l y than for s o m e time b e f o r e . T h e N e w J e r s e y J o b w a s obtain'd. I contriv'd a C o p p e r - P l a t e P r e s s for it, the first that h a d b e e n s e e n in the C o u n t r y . I c u t several O r n a m e n t s a n d C h e c k s for the Bills. W e went together to B u r l i n g t o n , 3 w h e r e I e x e c u t e d the W h o l e to S a t i s f a c t i o n , a n d h e received so large a S u m for the Work, a s to b e e n a b l e d thereby to k e e p his H e a d m u c h longer a b o v e W a t e r . At Burlington I m a d e an A c q u a i n t a n c e with m a n y principal P e o p l e of the Province. Several of t h e m h a d b e e n a p p o i n t e d by the A s s e m b l y a C o m m i t t e e to attend the P r e s s , a n d take C a r e that no m o r e Bills were printed t h a n the L a w directed. T h e y were therefore by T u r n s c o n s t a n t l y with u s , a n d generally h e w h o a t t e n d e d b r o u g h t with him a Friend or two for C o m p a n y . M y M i n d having b e e n m u c h m o r e improv'd by R e a d i n g than K e i m e r ' s , I s u p p o s e it w a s for that R e a s o n my C o n v e r s a t i o n s e e m ' d to b e m o r e valu'd. T h e y h a d m e to their H o u s e s , introduc'd m e to their F r i e n d s a n d show'd m e m u c h Civility, while h e , tho' the M a s t e r , w a s a little n e g l e c t e d . In truth he w a s a n o d d F i s h , ignorant of c o m m o n Life, fond of rudely o p p o s i n g receiv'd O p i n i o n s , slovenly to extreme dirtiness, e n t h u s i a s t i c 4 in s o m e Points of Religion, a n d a little Knavish withal. W e c o n t i n u ' d there n e a r 3 M o n t h s , a n d by that time I c o u l d reckon a m o n g my a c q u i r e d F r i e n d s , J u d g e Allen, S a m u e l Bustill, the S e c retary of the Province, I s a a c P e a r s o n , J o s e p h C o o p e r a n d several of the S m i t h s , M e m b e r s of A s s e m b l y , a n d I s a a c D e c o w the Surveyor G e n e r a l . T h e latter w a s a shrewd s a g a c i o u s old M a n , w h o told m e that h e b e g a n for h i m s e l f w h e n y o u n g by w h e e l i n g C l a y for the B r i c k m a k e r s , learned to write after h e w a s of A g e , carried the C h a i n for Surveyors, w h o t a u g h t him Surveying, a n d he h a d n o w by his Industry acquir'd a g o o d E s t a t e ; a n d says h e , I f o r e s e e , that you will s o o n work this M a n out of his B u s i n e s s a n d m a k e a F o r t u n e in it at P h i l a d e l p h i a . H e h a d not then the least Intimation of my Intention to set u p there or a n y w h e r e . T h e s e F r i e n d s were afterwards of great U s e to m e , a s I o c c a s i o n a l l y w a s to s o m e of t h e m . T h e y all c o n t i n u e d their R e g a r d for m e a s long as they lived. B e f o r e I enter u p o n my public A p p e a r a n c e in B u s i n e s s , it m a y b e well to let you know the then S t a t e of my M i n d , with regard to my Principles a n d M o r a l s , that you may s e e how far t h o s e influenc'd the future E v e n t s of my Life. M y P a r e n t s h a d early given m e religious I m p r e s s i o n s , a n d b r o u g h t m e through my C h i l d h o o d piously in the D i s s e n t i n g W a y . 5 B u t I w a s s c a r c e 1 5 w h e n , after d o u b t i n g by turns of several Points a s I f o u n d t h e m d i s p u t e d in the different B o o k s I r e a d , I b e g a n to d o u b t of Revelation itself. S o m e B o o k s a g a i n s t D e i s m fell into my H a n d s ; they were said to b e the S u b s t a n c e of S e r m o n s p r e a c h e d at Boyle's L e c t u r e s . 6 It h a p p e n e d that they w r o u g h t a n Effect on m e q u i t e contrary to what w a s i n t e n d e d by t h e m : F o r the Argum e n t s of the D e i s t s which were q u o t e d to b e refuted, a p p e a r e d to m e m u c h S t r o n g e r than the R e f u t a t i o n s . In short I s o o n b e c a m e a t h o r o u g h D e i s t . M y A r g u m e n t s perverted s o m e o t h e r s , particularly C o l l i n s a n d R a l p h : b u t e a c h of t h e m having afterwards wrong'd m e greatly without the least C o m p u n c 3. 4. 5. as 6.

New Jersey. Highly emotional. I.e., in the Congregational or Presbyterian way, opposed to the C h u r c h of England. Robert Boyle ( 1 6 2 7 - 1 6 9 1 ) , English physicist

and chemist, endowed annual lectures for preaching eight sermons a year against "infidels." Deism accepts a supreme being as the author of finite existence, but denies Christian doctrines of revelation and supernaturalism.

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tion, a n d recollecting Keith's C o n d u c t towards m e , (who w a s a n o t h e r F r e e thinker) a n d my own towards V e r n o n a n d M i s s R e a d which at T i m e s gave m e great T r o u b l e , I b e g a n to s u s p e c t that this D o c t r i n e tho' it might b e true, w a s not very useful. M y L o n d o n p a m p h l e t , which h a d for its M o t t o t h o s e L i n e s of D r y d e n Whatever is, is right Tho' purblind Man Sees but a Part of The Chain, the nearest Link, His Eyes not carrying to the equal Beam, That poizes all, above.7 A n d from the Attributes of G o d , his infinite W i s d o m , G o o d n e s s a n d Power c o n c l u d e d that n o t h i n g c o u l d possibly b e w r o n g in the W o r l d , a n d that V i c e a n d Virtue were e m p t y D i s t i n c t i o n s , n o s u c h T h i n g s existing: a p p e a r ' d n o w not so clever a P e r f o r m a n c e as I o n c e t h o u g h t it; a n d I d o u b t e d w h e t h e r s o m e Error h a d not i n s i n u a t e d itself unperceiv'd into my A r g u m e n t , s o a s to infect all that follow'd, a s is c o m m o n in m e t a p h y s i c a l R e a s o n i n g s . I grew convinc'd that Truth, Sincerity a n d Integrity in D e a l i n g s b e t w e e n M a n a n d M a n , were of the u t m o s t I m p o r t a n c e to the Felicity of L i f e , a n d I form'd written R e s o l u t i o n s , (which still r e m a i n in my J o u r n a l B o o k ) to p r a c t i c e t h e m ever while I lived. Revelation h a d i n d e e d n o weight with m e a s s u c h ; but I entertain'd an O p i n i o n , that tho' certain A c t i o n s might not b e b a d because they were forbidden by it, or good because it c o m m a n d e d t h e m ; yet probably t h o s e A c t i o n s might be forbidden because they were b a d for u s , or c o m m a n d e d because they were beneficial to u s , in their own N a t u r e s , all the C i r c u m s t a n c e s of things c o n s i d e r e d . A n d this P e r s u a s i o n , with the kind h a n d of P r o v i d e n c e , or s o m e g u a r d i a n Angel, or a c c i d e n t a l favorable C i r c u m s t a n c e s a n d S i t u a t i o n s , or all together, p r e s e r v e d m e (thro' this d a n g e r o u s T i m e of Youth a n d the h a z a r d o u s S i t u a t i o n s I w a s s o m e t i m e s in a m o n g S t r a n g e r s , r e m o t e from the Eye a n d Advice of my F a t h e r ) without any willful gross Immorality or Injustice that might have b e e n e x p e c t e d from my W a n t of Religion. I say willful, b e c a u s e the I n s t a n c e s I have m e n t i o n e d , had s o m e thing of Necessity in t h e m , from my Y o u t h , I n e x p e r i e n c e , a n d the Knavery of others. I h a d therefore a tolerable C h a r a c t e r to begin the W o r l d with, I valued it properly, a n d d e t e r m i n ' d to preserve it. W e h a d not b e e n long return'd to P h i l a d e l p h i a , b e f o r e the N e w T y p e s arriv'd from L o n d o n . W e settled with K e i m e r , a n d left him by his C o n s e n t before he h e a r d of it. W e f o u n d a H o u s e to hire n e a r the M a r k e t , a n d took it. T o l e s s e n the R e n t , (which w a s then b u t 2 4 P o u n d s a Year tho' I have s i n c e known it let for 7 0 ) we took in T h o m a s G o d f r e y a G l a z i e r , 8 a n d his Family, w h o were to pay a c o n s i d e r a b l e Part of it to u s , a n d we to b o a r d with t h e m . W e h a d s c a r c e o p e n e d our L e t t e r s a n d put o u r P r e s s in Order, before G e o r g e H o u s e , a n A c q u a i n t a n c e of m i n e , b r o u g h t a C o u n t r y m a n to u s ; w h o m he h a d m e t in the S t r e e t e n q u i r i n g for a Printer. All o u r C a s h w a s now e x p e n d e d in the Variety of P a r t i c u l a r s we h a d b e e n obliged to p r o c u r e , a n d this C o u n t r y m a n ' s Five S h i l l i n g s , b e i n g our First F r u i t s a n d c o m i n g so s e a s o n a b l y , gave m e m o r e P l e a s u r e than any C r o w n 9 I have s i n c e e a r n ' d ; a n d 7. The first line is not from John Dryden (1631— 1700) but from Alexander Pope's Essay on Man (1733), Epistle I, line 2 9 4 ; however, Dryden's line is close: "Whatever is, is in its C a u s e s j u s t . " T h e

rest of the poem is recalled accurately from Drvden's Oedipus ( 3 . 1 . 2 4 4 - 4 8 ) . 8. A man who sets glass for windowpanes. 9. A coin worth five shillings.

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from the G r a t i t u d e I felt towards H o u s e , h a s m a d e m e often m o r e ready t h a n p e r h a p s I s h o u l d otherwise have b e e n to assist y o u n g B e g i n n e r s . T h e r e are C r o a k e r s in every C o u n t r y always b o d i n g its R u i n . S u c h a o n e then lived in P h i l a d e l p h i a , a P e r s o n of N o t e , a n elderly M a n , with a wise L o o k a n d very grave M a n n e r of S p e a k i n g . His N a m e w a s S a m u e l M i c k l e . T h i s G e n t l e m a n , a S t r a n g e r to m e , s t o p p e d o n e Day at my D o o r , a n d ask'd m e if I was the y o u n g M a n who had lately o p e n e d a new P r i n t i n g - H o u s e : B e i n g answer'd in the Affirmative; H e said he w a s sorry for m e ; b e c a u s e it was an expensive U n d e r t a k i n g , a n d the E x p e n s e would b e lost, for Philadelphia w a s a sinking 1 P l a c e , the P e o p l e already half B a n k r u p t s or n e a r b e i n g so; all A p p e a r a n c e s of the contrary s u c h a s new B u i l d i n g s a n d the R i s e of R e n t s , b e i n g to his certain K n o w l e d g e fallacious, for they were in fact a m o n g the T h i n g s that would soon ruin u s . A n d he gave m e s u c h a Detail of M i s fortunes now existing or that were s o o n to exist, that h e left m e halfmelancholy. H a d I known him before I e n g a g ' d in this B u s i n e s s , probably I never s h o u l d have d o n e it. T h i s M a n c o n t i n u ' d to live in this d e c a y i n g P l a c e , a n d to d e c l a i m in the s a m e S t r a i n , refusing for m a n y Years to buy a H o u s e there, b e c a u s e all w a s g o i n g to D e s t r u c t i o n , a n d at last I h a d the P l e a s u r e of s e e i n g him give five times a s m u c h for o n e a s he might have b o u g h t it for w h e n he first b e g a n his C r o a k i n g . I s h o u l d have mention'd before, that in the A u t u m n of the p r e c e d i n g Year, I h a d form'd m o s t of my i n g e n i o u s A c q u a i n t a n c e into a C l u b , for m u t u a l I m p r o v e m e n t , which we call'd the J u n t o . 2 W e m e t on Friday E v e n i n g s . T h e R u l e s I drew u p , requir'd that every M e m b e r in his T u r n s h o u l d p r o d u c e o n e or m o r e Queries on any Point of M o r a l s , Politics or N a t u r a l Philosophy, to be d i s c u s s ' d by the C o m p a n y , a n d o n c e in three M o n t h s p r o d u c e a n d read a n E s s a y of his own Writing on any S u b j e c t he p l e a s e d . O u r D e b a t e s were to be u n d e r the Direction of a P r e s i d e n t , a n d to be c o n d u c t e d in the s i n c e r e Spirit of E n q u i r y after T r u t h , without f o n d n e s s for D i s p u t e , or D e s i r e of Victory; a n d to prevent W a r m t h , all e x p r e s s i o n s of Positiveness in O p i n i o n , or of direct C o n t r a d i c t i o n , were after s o m e time m a d e c o n t r a b a n d a n d prohibited u n d e r small p e c u n i a r y P e n a l t i e s . T h e first M e m b e r s w e r e , J o s e p h Breintnall,* a C o p i e r of D e e d s for the S c r i v e n e r s ; a good-natur'd friendly middle-ag'd M a n , a great Lover of Poetry, r e a d i n g all he c o u l d m e e t with, a n d writing s o m e that w a s tolerable; very i n g e n i o u s in m a n y little N i c k n a c k eries, a n d of s e n s i b l e C o n v e r s a t i o n . T h o m a s G o d f r e y , 4 a self-taught M a t h e m a t i c i a n , great in his Way, a n d afterwards Inventor of what is n o w call'd Hadley's Q u a d r a n t . 5 B u t he knew little out of his way, a n d w a s not a p l e a s i n g C o m p a n i o n , as like m o s t G r e a t M a t h e m a t i c i a n s I have met with, he e x p e c t e d u n u s u a l Precision in everything said, or was forever denying or d i s t i n g u i s h i n g u p o n Trifles, to the D i s t u r b a n c e of all C o n v e r s a t i o n . H e s o o n left u s . N i c h olas S c u l l , 6 a Surveyor, afterwards S u r v e y o r - G e n e r a l , W h o lov'd B o o k s , a n d s o m e t i m e s m a d e a few V e r s e s . William P a r s o n s , 7 bred a S h o e m a k e r , but loving R e a d i n g , h a d acquir'd a c o n s i d e r a b l e S h a r e of M a t h e m a t i c s , which he first studied with a View to Astrology that he afterwards l a u g h e d at. H e also b e c a m e Surveyor G e n e r a l . William M a u g r i d g e , a J o i n e r , 8 a n d a m o s t 1. Economically declining. 2. I.e., a small, select group (the name is taken from the Spanish word junta, "fraternity"). 3. Brientnal (d. 1746) shared Franklin's interest in science. 4. Godfrey ( 1 7 0 4 - 1 7 4 9 ) .

5. An instrument for measuring altitudes in navigation and astronomv. 6. Nicholas Scull II '(1687—1761). 7. Parsons (1701 — 1757) became surveyor general in 1741 and librarian of the Library Company. 8. A ship's carpenter (d. 1766).

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exquisite M e c h a n i c , a n d a solid s e n s i b l e M a n . H u g h M e r e d i t h , S t e p h e n P o t t s , a n d G e o r g e W e b b , I have C h a r a c t e r i s ' d b e f o r e . R o b e r t G r a c e , 9 a y o u n g G e n t l e m a n of s o m e F o r t u n e , g e n e r o u s , lively a n d witty, a Lover of P u n n i n g a n d of his F r i e n d s . A n d William C o l e m a n , 1 then a M e r c h a n t ' s C l e r k , a b o u t my A g e , w h o h a d the c o o l e s t c l e a r e s t H e a d , the b e s t H e a r t , a n d the e x a c t e s t M o r a l s , of a l m o s t any M a n I ever m e t with. H e b e c a m e afterwards a Merc h a n t of great N o t e , a n d o n e of o u r Provincial J u d g e s : O u r F r i e n d s h i p cont i n u e d without Interruption to his D e a t h , u p w a r d s of 4 0 Years. A n d the C l u b c o n t i n u ' d a l m o s t a s long a n d w a s the b e s t S c h o o l of Philosophy, M o r a l s a n d Politics that then existed in the P r o v i n c e ; for our Queries w h i c h were read the W e e k p r e c e d i n g their D i s c u s s i o n , p u t u s on r e a d i n g with Attention u p o n the several S u b j e c t s , that we might s p e a k m o r e to the p u r p o s e : a n d here too we a c q u i r e d better H a b i t s of C o n v e r s a t i o n , everything b e i n g s t u d i e d in our R u l e s which might prevent our d i s g u s t i n g e a c h other. F r o m h e n c e the l o n g C o n t i n u a n c e of the C l u b , which I shall have f r e q u e n t O c c a s i o n to s p e a k farther of hereafter; B u t my giving this A c c o u n t of it h e r e , is to show s o m e thing of the Interest I h a d , everyone of t h e s e exerting t h e m s e l v e s in r e c o m m e n d i n g B u s i n e s s to u s . Breintnall particularly procur'd u s from the Q u a k e r s , the Printing 4 0 S h e e t s of their History, the rest b e i n g to b e d o n e by K e i m e r : a n d u p o n this we work'd e x c e e d i n g h a r d , for the Price w a s low. It w a s a F o l i o , Pro Patria S i z e , in P i c a with L o n g P r i m e r N o t e s . 2 I c o m p o s ' d of it a S h e e t a Day, a n d M e r e d i t h work'd it off at P r e s s . It w a s often 11 at Night a n d s o m e t i m e s later, before I h a d finish'd my D i s t r i b u t i o n * for the next day's W o r k : F o r the little J o b s sent in by our other F r i e n d s now a n d then put u s b a c k . B u t so determin'd I w a s to c o n t i n u e d o i n g a S h e e t a D a y of the F o l i o , that o n e N i g h t w h e n having i m p o s ' d my F o r m s , 4 I t h o u g h t my Day's W o r k over, o n e of t h e m by a c c i d e n t w a s broken a n d two P a g e s r e d u c ' d to P i e , 5 1 i m m e d i a t e l y distribu t e d a n d c o m p o s ' d it over again before I went to b e d . A n d this Industry visible to our N e i g h b o r s b e g a n to give u s C h a r a c t e r a n d C r e d i t ; particularly I w a s told, that m e n t i o n b e i n g m a d e of the n e w Printing Office at the M e r c h a n t s ' Every-night-Club, the g e n e r a l O p i n i o n w a s that it m u s t fail, there b e i n g already two Printers in the P l a c e , K e i m e r a n d B r a d f o r d ; b u t D o c t o r B a i r d ( w h o m you a n d I s a w m a n y Years after at his native P l a c e , S t . A n d r e w s in S c o t l a n d ) gave a contrary O p i n i o n ; for the Industry of that F r a n k l i n , says h e , is s u p e r i o r to anything I ever saw of the kind: I s e e h i m still at work w h e n I go h o m e from C l u b ; a n d h e is at W o r k a g a i n before his N e i g h b o r s are out of b e d . T h i s s t r u c k the rest, a n d we s o o n after h a d O f f e r s from o n e of t h e m to supply u s with Stationery. B u t a s yet we did not c h o o s e to e n g a g e in S h o p Business. I m e n t i o n this Industry the m o r e particularly a n d the m o r e freely, t h o ' it s e e m s to b e talking in my own P r a i s e , that t h o s e of my Posterity w h o shall r e a d it, may know the U s e of that Virtue, w h e n they s e e its E f f e c t s in my Favor t h r o u g h o u t this Relation. G e o r g e W e b b , w h o h a d f o u n d a F r i e n d that lent him wherewith to pur9. Franklin's landlord for thirty-seven years. 1. C o l e m a n ( 1 7 0 4 - 1 7 6 9 ) . 2. A book of large size, with the main text in twelve-point type and the notes in ten-point type. 3. I.e., of type, returning letters to their eases so

that they may be used again. 4. Locked the type into its form and readied it for printing. 5. A confused pile.

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c h a s e his T i m e of K e i m e r , now c a m e to offer h i m s e l f a s a J o u r n e y m a n to u s . W e c o u l d not then e m p l o y him, but I foolishly let him know, a s a S e c r e t , that I s o o n i n t e n d e d to begin a N e w s p a p e r , a n d might then have W o r k for h i m . M y H o p e s of S u c c e s s a s I told him were f o u n d e d o n this, that the then only N e w s p a p e r , 6 printed by Bradford w a s a paltry thing, wretchedly m a n a g ' d , n o way entertaining; a n d yet w a s profitable to h i m . I therefore t h o u g h t a g o o d P a p e r c o u l d scarcely fail of g o o d E n c o u r a g e m e n t . I r e q u e s t e d W e b b not to m e n t i o n it, b u t h e told it to K e i m e r , w h o i m m e d i a t e l y , to b e b e f o r e h a n d with m e , p u b l i s h e d P r o p o s a l s for Printing o n e himself, on which W e b b w a s to be employ'd. I r e s e n t e d this, a n d to c o u n t e r a c t t h e m , a s I c o u l d not yet begin our P a p e r , I wrote several P i e c e s of E n t e r t a i n m e n t for B r a d ford's P a p e r , u n d e r the Title of the B u s y Body which Breintnall c o n t i n u ' d s o m e M o n t h s . 7 By this m e a n s the Attention of the Public w a s fix'd o n that P a p e r , a n d K e i m e r ' s P r o p o s a l s which we b u r l e s q u ' d a n d ridicul'd, were disr e g a r d e d . H e b e g a n his P a p e r however, a n d after carrying it o n t h r e e Quarters of a Year, with at m o s t only 9 0 S u b s c r i b e r s , h e offer'd it to m e for a Trifle, a n d I having b e e n ready s o m e time to g o on with it, took it in h a n d directly, a n d it prov'd in a few Years extremely profitable to m e . 8 I perceive that I a m a p t to s p e a k in the singular N u m b e r , t h o u g h our P a r t n e r s h i p still c o n t i n u ' d . T h e R e a s o n m a y b e , that in fact the w h o l e M a n a g e m e n t of the B u s i n e s s lay u p o n m e . M e r e d i t h w a s n o C o m p o s i t o r , a p o o r P r e s s m a n , a n d s e l d o m s o b e r . M y F r i e n d s l a m e n t e d my C o n n e c t i o n with h i m , b u t I w a s to m a k e the b e s t of it. O u r first P a p e r s m a d e a quite different A p p e a r a n c e from any before in the Province, a better T y p e a n d better printed: but s o m e spirited R e m a r k s of my Writing o n the D i s p u t e then g o i n g on b e t w e e n G o v e r n o r B u r n e t 9 a n d the M a s s a c h u s e t t s A s s e m b l y , s t r u c k the principal P e o p l e , o c c a s i o n ' d the P a p e r a n d the M a n a g e r of it to be m u c h talk'd of, a n d in a few W e e k s b r o u g h t t h e m all to b e our S u b s c r i b e r s . T h e i r E x a m p l e w a s follow'd by m a n y , a n d our N u m b e r went o n growing continually. T h i s w a s o n e of the first g o o d Effects of my having l e a r n e d a little to scribble. A n o t h e r w a s , that the l e a d i n g M e n , s e e i n g a N e w s p a p e r n o w in the h a n d s of o n e w h o c o u l d a l s o h a n d l e a P e n , t h o u g h t it c o n v e n i e n t to oblige a n d e n c o u r a g e m e . B r a d f o r d still p r i n t e d the V o t e s a n d L a w s a n d other Public B u s i n e s s . H e h a d printed a n A d d r e s s of the H o u s e 1 to the G o v e r n o r in a c o a r s e b l u n d e r i n g m a n n e r ; W e reprinted it elegantly a n d correctly, a n d sent o n e to every M e m b e r . T h e y were s e n s i b l e of the D i f f e r e n c e , it strengthen'd the H a n d s of our F r i e n d s in the H o u s e , a n d they voted u s their Printers for the Year e n s u i n g . A m o n g my F r i e n d s in the H o u s e I m u s t not forget M r . H a m i l t o n 2 beforem e n t i o n e d , w h o w a s then r e t u r n e d from E n g l a n d a n d h a d a S e a t in it. H e interested himself 3 for m e strongly in that I n s t a n c e , a s he did in m a n y o t h e r s afterwards, c o n t i n u i n g his P a t r o n a g e till his D e a t h . Mr. V e r n o n a b o u t this time p u t m e in m i n d of the D e b t I ow'd him: but did not p r e s s m e . I wrote h i m a n i n g e n u o u s Letter of A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s , crav'd his F o r b e a r a n c e a little 6. T h e American Weekly Mercury. 7. From February 4, 1728, to September 2 5 , 1729. 8. Franklin took over Keimer's The Universal Instructor in All Arts and Sciences: and Pennsylvania Gazette in October 1729 and shortened the name to the Pennsylvania Gazette.

9. S e e n. 3, p. 2 5 1 . 1. I.e., the Pennsylvania Assembly. 2. Andrew Hamilton (see n. 3, p. 2 5 6 ) . 3. "I got his Son once £ 5 0 0 " [Franklin's note]. Franklin was able to get the legislature to pay Governor J a m e s Hamilton his salary when they were at odds with him.

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longer which he allow'd m e , a n d a s s o o n a s I w a s a b l e I paid the Principal with Interest a n d m a n y T h a n k s . S o that E r r a t u m w a s in s o m e d e g r e e corrected. B u t now a n o t h e r Difficulty c a m e u p o n m e , w h i c h I h a d never the least R e a s o n to expect. M r . M e r e d i t h ' s F a t h e r , w h o w a s to have paid for o u r Printi n g - H o u s e a c c o r d i n g to the E x p e c t a t i o n s given m e , w a s able to a d v a n c e only o n e H u n d r e d P o u n d s , C u r r e n c y , which h a d b e e n p a i d , a n d a H u n d r e d m o r e w a s d u e to the M e r c h a n t ; w h o grew i m p a t i e n t a n d su'd u s all. W e g a v e Bail, but saw that if the M o n e y c o u l d not b e rais'd in t i m e , the S u i t m u s t c o m e to a J u d g m e n t a n d E x e c u t i o n , a n d o u r hopeful P r o s p e c t s m u s t with u s b e ruined, a s the P r e s s a n d L e t t e r s m u s t be sold for P a y m e n t , p e r h a p s at halfPrice. In this D i s t r e s s two true F r i e n d s w h o s e K i n d n e s s I have never forgotten nor ever shall forget while I c a n r e m e m b e r anything, c a m e to m e separately u n k n o w n to e a c h other, a n d without any A p p l i c a t i o n from m e , offering e a c h of t h e m to a d v a n c e m e all the M o n e y that s h o u l d b e n e c e s s a r y to e n a b l e m e to take the whole B u s i n e s s u p o n myself if that s h o u l d be p r a c ticable, but they did not like my c o n t i n u i n g the P a r t n e r s h i p with M e r e d i t h , w h o a s they said w a s often s e e n d r u n k in the S t r e e t s , a n d playing at low G a m e s in A l e h o u s e s , m u c h to our D i s c r e d i t . T h e s e two F r i e n d s were William Coleman a n d Robert Grace. I told t h e m I c o u l d not p r o p o s e a S e p a r a t i o n while any P r o s p e c t remain'd of the M e r e d i t h s fulfilling their Part of our A g r e e m e n t . B e c a u s e I thought myself u n d e r great O b l i g a t i o n s to t h e m for what they h a d d o n e a n d would do if they c o u l d . B u t if they finally fail'd in their P e r f o r m a n c e , a n d our Partnership m u s t b e dissolv'd, I s h o u l d then think myself at Liberty to a c c e p t the A s s i s t a n c e of my F r i e n d s . T h u s the m a t t e r rested for s o m e t i m e . W h e n I said to my Partner, p e r h a p s your F a t h e r is dissatisfied at the Part you have undertaken in this Affair of o u r s , a n d is unwilling to a d v a n c e for you a n d m e what he would for you a l o n e : If that is the C a s e , tell m e , a n d I will resign the whole to you a n d go a b o u t my B u s i n e s s . N o — s a y s h e , my F a t h e r has really b e e n d i s a p p o i n t e d a n d is really u n a b l e ; a n d I a m unwilling to distress him farther. I s e e this is a B u s i n e s s I a m not fit for. I w a s bred a F a r m e r , a n d it w a s a Folly in m e to c o m e to T o w n a n d p u t myself at 3 0 Years of A g e a n A p p r e n t i c e to learn a n e w T r a d e . M a n y of our W e l s h P e o p l e are g o i n g to settle in N o r t h C a r o l i n a w h e r e L a n d is c h e a p : I a m inclin'd to go with t h e m , a n d follow my old E m p l o y m e n t . You may find F r i e n d s to assist y o u . If you will take the D e b t s of the C o m p a n y u p o n you, return to my F a t h e r the h u n dred P o u n d he h a s a d v a n c ' d , pay my little p e r s o n a l D e b t s , a n d give m e Thirty P o u n d s a n d a n e w S a d d l e , I will relinquish the P a r t n e r s h i p a n d leave the whole in your H a n d s . I a g r e e d to this P r o p o s a l . It w a s d r a w n u p in Writing, sign'd a n d seal'd i m m e d i a t e l y . I gave him what he d e m a n d e d a n d he went s o o n after to C a r o l i n a ; from w h e n c e he sent m e next Year two long L e t t e r s , c o n t a i n i n g the best A c c o u n t that h a d b e e n given of that C o u n t r y , the Clim a t e , Soil, H u s b a n d r y , e t c . , for in t h o s e M a t t e r s h e w a s very j u d i c i o u s . I printed t h e m in the P a p e r s , 4 a n d they gave great S a t i s f a c t i o n to the P u b l i c . As s o o n a s he was g o n e , I recurr'd to my two F r i e n d s ; a n d b e c a u s e I w o u l d not give an unkind P r e f e r e n c e to either, I took half what e a c h h a d offered a n d I w a n t e d , of o n e , a n d half of the other; paid off the C o m p a n y D e b t s , 4. In the Pennsylvania

Gazette, May 6 and 13, 1732.

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a n d went on with the B u s i n e s s in my own N a m e , advertising that the Partnership w a s dissolved. I think this w a s in or a b o u t the Year 1 7 2 9 . 5 A b o u t this T i m e there w a s a Cry a m o n g the P e o p l e for m o r e P a p e r - M o n e y , only 1 5 , 0 0 0 P o u n d s b e i n g extant in the Province a n d that s o o n to b e sunk.'' T h e wealthy I n h a b i t a n t s o p p o s ' d any Addition, b e i n g a g a i n s t all P a p e r C u r rency, from an A p p r e h e n s i o n that it would d e p r e c i a t e a s it h a d d o n e in NewE n g l a n d to the P r e j u d i c e of all C r e d i t o r s . W e h a d d i s c u s s ' d this Point in our J u n t o , where I w a s on the S i d e of an Addition, b e i n g p e r s u a d e d that the first small S u m s t r u c k in 1 7 2 3 h a d d o n e m u c h g o o d , by i n c r e a s i n g the T r a d e , E m p l o y m e n t , a n d N u m b e r of I n h a b i t a n t s in the Province, s i n c e I now saw all the old H o u s e s inhabited, a n d m a n y new o n e s building, w h e r e a s I r e m e m ber'd well, that w h e n I first walk'd a b o u t the S t r e e t s of P h i l a d e l p h i a , e a t i n g my Roll, I saw m o s t of the H o u s e s in W a l n u t Street b e t w e e n S e c o n d a n d Front S t r e e t s with B i l l s 7 on their D o o r s , to be let; a n d m a n y likewise in C h e s t n u t S t r e e t , a n d other S t r e e t s ; which m a d e m e then think the Inhabitants of the City were o n e after a n o t h e r d e s e r t i n g it. O u r D e b a t e s p o s s e s s ' d me so fully of the S u b j e c t , that I wrote a n d printed a n a n o n y m o u s P a m p h l e t on it, entitled, The Nature and Necessity of a Paper Currency.* It w a s well receiv'd by the c o m m o n P e o p l e in general; but the Rich M e n dislik'd it; for it increas'd a n d strengthen'd the C l a m o r for m o r e M o n e y ; a n d they h a p p e n ing to have no Writers a m o n g t h e m that were able to a n s w e r it, their O p p o sition slacken'd, a n d the Point w a s carried by a Majority in the H o u s e . M y F r i e n d s there, who conceiv'd I h a d b e e n of s o m e S e r v i c e , t h o u g h t fit to reward m e , by e m p l o y i n g m e in printing the Money,'' a very profitable J o b , a n d a great H e l p to m e . T h i s w a s a n o t h e r A d v a n t a g e gain'd by my b e i n g able to write. T h e Utility of this C u r r e n c y b e c a m e by T i m e a n d E x p e r i e n c e so evident, a s never afterwards to b e m u c h d i s p u t e d , s o that it grew s o o n to 5 5 , 0 0 0 P o u n d s , a n d in 1 7 3 9 to 8 0 , 0 0 0 P o u n d s , s i n c e which it a r o s e d u r i n g W a r to u p w a r d s of 3 5 0 , 0 0 0 P o u n d s — T r a d e , B u i l d i n g a n d I n h a b i t a n t s all the while i n c r e a s i n g . T h o ' I now think there are Limits beyond which the Quantity may be hurtful. I s o o n after obtain'd, thro' my F r i e n d H a m i l t o n , the Printing of the N e w C a s t l e ' P a p e r M o n e y , a n o t h e r profitable J o b , a s I then t h o u g h t it; small T h i n g s a p p e a r i n g great to t h o s e in small C i r c u m s t a n c e s . A n d t h e s e to m e were really great A d v a n t a g e s , a s they were great E n c o u r a g e m e n t s . H e proc u r e d m e a l s o the Printing of the L a w s a n d V o t e s of that G o v e r n m e n t which continu'd in my H a n d s a s long as I follow'd the B u s i n e s s . I now open'd a little Stationer's S h o p . 2 I h a d in it B l a n k s of all S o r t s the correctest that ever a p p e a r ' d a m o n g u s , b e i n g a s s i s t e d in that by my F r i e n d Breintnall; I h a d also P a p e r , P a r c h m e n t , C h a p m e n ' s B o o k s , * etc. O n e Whitm a r s h 4 a C o m p o s i t o r I h a d known in L o n d o n , an excellent W o r k m a n now c a m e to m e a n d work'd with m e constantly a n d diligently, a n d I took a n 5. More accurately, July 14, 1730. 6. Destroyed. In 1723 paper money had become so scarce that the Assembly issued new moneysecured by real estate mortgages; when the mortgages were paid off, the bills were "sunk." But by 1 7 2 9 the value of the currency was so low that the money was recalled before the mortgages were paid. 7. Signs. 8. A Modest Inquiry into the Nature and Necessity

of a Paper Currency (April 3, 1729). 9. Franklin received the contract to print monev in 1 7 3 1 . 1. New Castle, Delaware. Delaware had a separate legislature but the s a m e proprietary governor as Pennsylvania. 2. In July 1730. 3. Inexpensive paper pamphlets. 4. T h o m a s Whitmarsh (d. 1733); the following year Whitmarsh went to South Carolina.

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A p p r e n t i c e the S o n of Aquila R o s e . I b e g a n now gradually to pay off the D e b t I w a s u n d e r for the P r i n t i n g - H o u s e . In order to s e c u r e my C r e d i t a n d C h a r a c t e r a s a T r a d e s m a n , I took c a r e not only to b e in Reality I n d u s t r i o u s a n d frugal, but to avoid all Appearances of the contrary. I d r e s s e d plainly; I w a s s e e n at no P l a c e s of idle Diversion; I never went o u t a-fishing or s h o o t i n g ; a B o o k , i n d e e d , s o m e t i m e s d e b a u c h ' d m e from my W o r k ; b u t that w a s s e l d o m , s n u g , a n d g a v e n o S c a n d a l : a n d to s h o w that I w a s not a b o v e my B u s i n e s s , I s o m e t i m e s b r o u g h t h o m e the P a p e r I p u r c h a s ' d at the S t o r e s , thro' the S t r e e t s o n a W h e e l b a r r o w . T h u s b e i n g e s t e e m ' d a n i n d u s t r i o u s thriving y o u n g M a n , a n d paying duly for what I b o u g h t , the M e r c h a n t s w h o imported S t a t i o n e r y solicited my C u s t o m , others p r o p o s ' d s u p p l y i n g m e with B o o k s , a n d I went o n swimmingly. In the m e a n t i m e K e i m e r ' s C r e d i t a n d B u s i n e s s d e c l i n i n g daily, h e w a s at last forc'd to sell his P r i n t i n g - H o u s e to satisfy his C r e d i t o r s . H e went to B a r b a d o s , a n d there lived s o m e Y e a r s , in very p o o r Circumstances. His A p p r e n t i c e David Harry, w h o m I h a d i n s t r u c t e d while I work'd with him, set u p in his P l a c e at P h i l a d e l p h i a , having b o u g h t his M a t e r i a l s . I w a s at first a p p r e h e n s i v e of a powerful Rival in Harry, a s his F r i e n d s were very a b l e , a n d h a d a g o o d deal of Interest. I therefore p r o p o s ' d a P a r t n e r s h i p to h i m ; w h i c h h e , fortunately for m e , rejected with S c o r n . H e w a s very p r o u d , dress'd like a G e n t l e m a n , liv'd expensively, took m u c h Diversion a n d Pleasure a b r o a d , ran in debt, a n d n e g l e c t e d his B u s i n e s s , u p o n w h i c h all B u s i n e s s left h i m ; a n d finding n o t h i n g to d o , h e follow'd K e i m e r to B a r b a d o s ; taking the P r i n t i n g - H o u s e with h i m . T h e r e this A p p r e n t i c e employ'd his former M a s t e r a s a J o u r n e y m a n . T h e y quarrel'd often. Harry went continually b e h i n d - h a n d , a n d at length w a s forc'd to sell his T y p e s , a n d return to his C o u n t r y W o r k in P e n n s y l v a n i a . T h e P e r s o n that b o u g h t t h e m employ'd Keim e r to u s e t h e m , b u t in a few years h e died. T h e r e r e m a i n ' d n o w no C o m petitor with m e at P h i l a d e l p h i a , b u t the old o n e , B r a d f o r d , w h o w a s rich a n d easy, did a little Printing now a n d then by straggling H a n d s , but w a s not very anxious a b o u t the B u s i n e s s . H o w e v e r , a s he kept the P o s t Office, it w a s i m a g i n e d h e h a d better O p p o r t u n i t i e s of o b t a i n i n g N e w s , his P a p e r w a s t h o u g h t a better Distributer of A d v e r t i s e m e n t s t h a n m i n e , a n d therefore h a d m a n y m o r e , w h i c h w a s a profitable thing to h i m a n d a D i s a d v a n t a g e to m e . F o r t h o ' I did i n d e e d receive a n d s e n d P a p e r s by the P o s t , yet the p u b l i c O p i n i o n w a s o t h e r w i s e ; for w h a t I did s e n d w a s by B r i b i n g the R i d e r s 5 w h o took t h e m privately: B r a d f o r d b e i n g u n k i n d e n o u g h to forbid it: which o c c a sion'd s o m e R e s e n t m e n t o n my Part; a n d I t h o u g h t s o m e a n l y of h i m for it, that w h e n I afterwards c a m e into his S i t u a t i o n , 6 I took c a r e never to imitate it. I h a d hitherto c o n t i n u ' d to b o a r d with G o d f r e y w h o lived in Part of my H o u s e with his Wife a n d C h i l d r e n , a n d h a d o n e S i d e of the S h o p for his Glazier's B u s i n e s s , tho' h e work'd little, b e i n g always a b s o r b ' d in his M a t h e m a t i c s . M r s . G o d f r e y p r o j e c t e d a M a t c h for m e with a R e l a t i o n ' s D a u g h t e r , took O p p o r t u n i t i e s of bringing u s often together, till a s e r i o u s C o u r t s h i p on my Part e n s u ' d , the Girl b e i n g in h e r s e l f very d e s e r v i n g . T h e old F o l k s e n c o u r a g ' d m e by c o n t i n u a l Invitations to S u p p e r , a n d by leaving u s together, 5. I.e., the postal riders or carriers. Franklin did this to have his papers delivered on the s a m e day as Bradford's.

6. Franklin a s s u m e d Bradford's office as postmaster of Philadelphia in October 1737.

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till at length it w a s time to explain. M r s . G o d f r e y m a n a g ' d o u r little Treaty. I let her know that I e x p e c t e d a s m u c h M o n e y with their D a u g h t e r a s w o u l d pay off my R e m a i n i n g D e b t for the P r i n t i n g - H o u s e , which I believe w a s not then a b o v e a H u n d r e d P o u n d s . 7 S h e b r o u g h t m e W o r d they h a d n o s u c h S u m to s p a r e . I said they might m o r t g a g e their H o u s e in the L o a n Office. T h e A n s w e r to this after s o m e D a y s w a s , that they did not a p p r o v e the M a t c h ; that on E n q u i r y of B r a d f o r d they h a d b e e n inform'd the Printing B u s i n e s s w a s not a profitable o n e , the T y p e s would s o o n be worn o u t a n d m o r e w a n t e d , that S . K e i m e r a n d D . Harry h a d fail'd o n e after the other, a n d I s h o u l d probably s o o n follow t h e m ; a n d therefore I w a s forbidden the H o u s e , a n d the D a u g h t e r shut u p . W h e t h e r this w a s a real C h a n g e of S e n t i m e n t , or only Artifice, on a S u p position of our b e i n g too far e n g a g ' d in Affection to retract, a n d therefore that we s h o u l d steal a M a r r i a g e , which would leave t h e m at Liberty to give or withhold w h a t they p l e a s ' d , I know not: B u t I s u s p e c t e d the latter, r e s e n t e d it, a n d went no m o r e . M r s . G o d f r e y b r o u g h t m e afterwards s o m e m o r e favorable A c c o u n t s of their D i s p o s i t i o n , a n d w o u l d have d r a w n m e on a g a i n : B u t I d e c l a r e d absolutely my R e s o l u t i o n to have n o t h i n g m o r e to d o with that Family. T h i s w a s r e s e n t e d by the G o d f r e y s , we differ'd, a n d they r e m o v e d , leaving m e the w h o l e H o u s e , a n d I resolved to take n o m o r e I n m a t e s . B u t this Affair having turn'd my T h o u g h t s to M a r r i a g e , I look'd r o u n d m e , a n d m a d e O v e r t u r e s of A c q u a i n t a n c e in other P l a c e s ; b u t s o o n f o u n d that the B u s i n e s s of a Printer b e i n g generally t h o u g h t a p o o r o n e , I w a s not to expect M o n e y with a Wife u n l e s s with s u c h a o n e , a s I s h o u l d not otherwise think a g r e e a b l e . In the m e a n t i m e , that hard-to-be-govern'd P a s s i o n of Youth, h a d hurried m e frequently into Intrigues with low W o m e n that fell in my W a y , which were a t t e n d e d with s o m e E x p e n s e a n d great I n c o n v e n i e n c e , b e s i d e s a c o n t i n u a l Risk to my H e a l t h by a D i s t e m p e r 8 which of all T h i n g s I d r e a d e d , tho' by great g o o d L u c k I e s c a p e d it. A friendly C o r r e s p o n d e n c e a s N e i g h b o r s a n d old A c q u a i n t a n c e s , h a d c o n t i n u e d b e t w e e n m e a n d M r s . R e a d ' s F a m i l y w h o all h a d a R e g a r d for m e from the time of my first L o d g i n g in their H o u s e . I w a s often invited there a n d c o n s u l t e d in their Affairs, wherein I s o m e t i m e s w a s of S e r v i c e . I pitied poor M i s s R e a d ' s u n f o r t u n a t e S i t u a t i o n , w h o w a s generally d e j e c t e d , s e l d o m cheerful, a n d avoided C o m p a n y . I c o n s i d e r ' d my G i d d i n e s s a n d I n c o n s t a n c y w h e n in L o n d o n a s in a great d e g r e e the C a u s e of her U n h a p p i n e s s ; t h o ' the M o t h e r w a s g o o d e n o u g h to think the F a u l t m o r e her own t h a n m i n e , a s s h e h a d prevented our Marrying before I went thither, a n d p e r s u a d e d the other M a t c h in my A b s e n c e . O u r m u t u a l Affection w a s revived, b u t there were now great O b j e c t i o n s to our U n i o n . T h a t M a t c h w a s i n d e e d look'd u p o n a s invalid, a p r e c e d i n g Wife b e i n g said to be living in E n g l a n d ; b u t this c o u l d not easily b e prov'd, b e c a u s e of the D i s t a n c e , etc. A n d t h o ' there w a s a Report of his D e a t h , it w a s not certain. T h e n , tho' it s h o u l d be t r u e , he h a d left m a n y D e b t s which his S u c c e s s o r might b e call'd u p o n to pay. W e v e n t u r e d however, over all t h e s e Difficulties, a n d I took her to Wife S e p t . 1, 1 7 3 0 . 9 N o n e of the I n c o n v e n i e n c i e s h a p p e n e d that we h a d a p p r e h e n d e d , s h e prov'd 7. Franklin's expectations were not unusual: marriages were often arranged on agreeable financial considerations. 8. I.e.. syphilis.

9. B e c a u s e there was no proof that J o h n Rogers, Deborah Read's first husband, was dead, she and Franklin entered into a common-law marriage without civil ceremony.

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a good a n d faithful H e l p m a t e , a s s i s t e d m e m u c h by a t t e n d i n g the S h o p , we throve together, a n d have ever m u t u a l l y endeavor'd to m a k e e a c h other happy. T h u s I c o r r e c t e d that great E r r a t u m a s well as I c o u l d . A b o u t this T i m e our C l u b m e e t i n g , not at a T a v e r n , but in a little R o o m of Mr. G r a c e ' s set apart for that P u r p o s e ; a P r o p o s i t i o n w a s m a d e by m e , that s i n c e our B o o k s were often referr'd to in o u r D i s q u i s i t i o n s u p o n the Queries, it might be convenient to us to have t h e m all together where we met, that u p o n O c c a s i o n they might be c o n s u l t e d ; a n d by t h u s c l u b b i n g our B o o k s to a c o m m o n Library, we s h o u l d , while we lik'd to k e e p t h e m together, have e a c h of u s the A d v a n t a g e of u s i n g the B o o k s of all the other M e m b e r s , which would b e nearly a s beneficial a s if e a c h o w n e d the w h o l e . It was lik'd a n d a g r e e d to, a n d we fill'd o n e E n d of the R o o m with s u c h B o o k s as we c o u l d b e s t s p a r e . T h e N u m b e r w a s not so great a s we e x p e c t e d ; a n d tho' they h a d b e e n of great U s e , yet s o m e I n c o n v e n i e n c i e s o c c u r r i n g for want of d u e C a r e of t h e m , the C o l l e c t i o n after a b o u t a Year w a s s e p a r a t e d , a n d e a c h took his B o o k s h o m e a g a i n . A n d now I set on foot my first Project of a public N a t u r e , that for a S u b scription Library. I drew u p the P r o p o s a l s , got t h e m put into F o r m by our great S c r i v e n e r B r o c k d e n , a n d by the help of my F r i e n d s in the J u n t o , procur'd Fifty S u b s c r i b e r s of 4 0 Shillings e a c h to begin with a n d 10 Shillings a Year for 5 0 Years, the T e r m our C o m p a n y w a s to c o n t i n u e . W e afterwards obtain'd a C h a r t e r , the C o m p a n y b e i n g i n c r e a s ' d to 100. T h i s w a s the M o t h e r of all the N o r t h A m e r i c a n S u b s c r i p t i o n Libraries now so n u m e r o u s . It is b e c o m e a great thing itself, a n d continually i n c r e a s i n g . T h e s e L i b r a r i e s have improv'd the general C o n v e r s a t i o n of the A m e r i c a n s , m a d e the c o m m o n T r a d e s m e n a n d F a r m e r s a s intelligent a s m o s t G e n t l e m e n from other C o u n tries, a n d p e r h a p s have c o n t r i b u t e d in s o m e d e g r e e to the S t a n d s o generally m a d e t h r o u g h o u t the C o l o n i e s in D e f e n s e of their Privileges. Memo. T h u s far w a s written with the Intention express'd in the B e g i n n i n g a n d therefore c o n t a i n s several little family A n e c d o t e s of n o I m p o r t a n c e to o t h e r s . W h a t follows w a s written m a n y Years after in c o m p l i a n c e with the Advice contain'd in these L e t t e r s , a n d a c c o r d i n g l y i n t e n d e d for the P u b l i c . T h e Affairs of the Revolution o c c a s i o n ' d the Interruption. [Part LETTER

FROM

MR.

ABEL JAMES,2

Two]1

WITH

NOTES

ON

MY

LIFE,

(RECEIVED

IN

PARIS)

M y dear a n d h o n o r e d F r i e n d . I have often b e e n d e s i r o u s of writing to t h e e , b u t c o u l d not be reconciled to the T h o u g h t that the L e t t e r might fall into the H a n d s of the British,* lest s o m e Printer or busy Body s h o u l d p u b l i s h s o m e Part of the C o n t e n t s a n d give our F r i e n d s Pain a n d myself C e n s u r e . 1. Franklin wrote the second part of his autobiography at the Hotel de Valentenois in Passy, a Paris suburb. He had been sent to Paris as American representative to the peace treaty, ending the war with Britain, September 3, 1783. Franklin remained in Paris until July 1785, when T h o m a s

Jefferson replaced him as minister. 2. A Quaker merchant in Philadelphia (c. 1726— 1790). 3. James's letterwas written in 1 7 8 2 , when Britain was still at war with the colonies.

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S o m e T i m e s i n c e there fell into my H a n d s to my great J o y a b o u t 2 3 S h e e t s in thy own handwriting c o n t a i n i n g a n A c c o u n t of the P a r e n t a g e a n d Life of thyself, directed to thy S o n e n d i n g in the Year 1 7 3 0 with which there were N o t e s 4 likewise in thy writing, a C o p y of which I e n c l o s e in H o p e s it may b e a m e a n s if thou c o n t i n u e d s t it u p to a later p e r i o d , that the first a n d latter part may b e put together; a n d if it is not yet c o n t i n u e d , I h o p e thou wilt not delay it. Life is u n c e r t a i n a s the P r e a c h e r tells u s , a n d what will the W o r l d say if kind, h u m a n e a n d b e n e v o l e n t B e n Franklin s h o u l d leave his F r i e n d s a n d the W o r l d deprived of s o p l e a s i n g a n d profitable a W o r k , a W o r k which w o u l d be useful a n d e n t e r t a i n i n g not only to a few, but to millions. T h e Influence Writings u n d e r that C l a s s have o n the M i n d s of Youth is very great, a n d h a s no w h e r e a p p e a r e d so plain a s in our p u b l i c F r i e n d s ' J o u r n a l s . It a l m o s t insensibly leads the Youth into the R e s o l u t i o n of e n d e a v o r i n g to b e c o m e a s g o o d a n d a s e m i n e n t a s the J o u r n a l i s t . S h o u l d thine for I n s t a n c e w h e n p u b l i s h e d , a n d I think it c o u l d not fail of it, lead the Youth to e q u a l the Industry a n d T e m p e r a n c e of thy early Y o u t h , w h a t a B l e s s i n g with that C l a s s would s u c h a W o r k b e . I k n o w of no C h a r a c t e r living nor m a n y of t h e m put together, w h o has s o m u c h in his Power a s T h y s e l f to p r o m o t e a greater Spirit of Industry a n d early Attention to B u s i n e s s , Frugality a n d T e m p e r a n c e with the A m e r i c a n Y o u t h . N o t that I think the W o r k would have no other Merit a n d U s e in the W o r l d , far from it, b u t the first is of s u c h vast I m p o r t a n c e , that I know nothing that c a n e q u a l it. T h e foregoing letter a n d the m i n u t e s a c c o m p a n y i n g it b e i n g s h o w n to a friend, I received from h i m the following: LETTER

FROM

MR. BENJAMIN

VAUGHAN5

Paris, January 31,1783. W h e n I h a d read over your s h e e t s of m i n u t e s of the principal i n c i d e n t s of your life, recovered for you by your Quaker a c q u a i n t a n c e ; I told you I would s e n d you a letter e x p r e s s i n g my r e a s o n s why I t h o u g h t it w o u l d b e useful to c o m p l e t e a n d p u b l i s h it a s he d e s i r e d . V a r i o u s c o n c e r n s have for s o m e time p a s t prevented this letter b e i n g written, a n d I d o not know w h e t h e r it w a s worth any e x p e c t a t i o n : h a p p e n i n g to b e at leisure however at p r e s e n t , I shall by writing at least interest a n d instruct myself; b u t a s the t e r m s I a m inclined to u s e may tend to offend a p e r s o n of your m a n n e r s , I shall only tell you how I would a d d r e s s any other p e r s o n , w h o w a s a s g o o d a n d a s great as yourself, but less diffident. I w o u l d say to him, Sir, I solicit the history of your life from the following m o t i v e s . MY D E A R E S T SIR,

Your history is s o r e m a r k a b l e , that if you do not give it, s o m e b o d y else will certainly give it; a n d p e r h a p s so a s nearly to do a s m u c h h a r m , a s your own m a n a g e m e n t of the thing might do g o o d . It will m o r e o v e r p r e s e n t a table of the internal c i r c u m s t a n c e s of your country, which will very m u c h t e n d to invite to it settlers of virtuous a n d manly m i n d s . A n d c o n s i d e r i n g the e a g e r n e s s with which s u c h informa4. Franklin's outline for his Autobiography, written in 1 7 7 1 . Reprinted in the Yale University edition ( 1 9 6 4 ) . 5. The wealthy son ( 1 7 5 1 - 1 8 3 5 ) of a J a m a i c a n

merchant and Maine mother; private secretary to Lord Shelburne, and personal emissary to Franklin during the Paris peace talks ( 1 7 8 2 - 8 5 ) .

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tion is s o u g h t by t h e m , a n d the extent of your r e p u t a t i o n , I do not know of a m o r e efficacious a d v e r t i s e m e n t than your B i o g r a p h y would give. All that has h a p p e n e d to you is a l s o c o n n e c t e d with the detail of the m a n n e r s a n d situation of a rising p e o p l e ; a n d in this r e s p e c t I d o not think that the writings of C a e s a r a n d T a c i t u s 6 c a n be m o r e interesting to a true j u d g e of h u m a n n a t u r e a n d society. B u t t h e s e , Sir, a r e small r e a s o n s in my o p i n i o n , c o m p a r e d with the c h a n c e which your life will give for the forming of future great m e n ; a n d in c o n j u n c t i o n with your Art of Virtue,1 (which you d e s i g n to p u b l i s h ) of improving the f e a t u r e s of private c h a r a c t e r , a n d c o n s e q u e n t l y of aiding all h a p p i n e s s both public a n d d o m e s t i c . T h e two works I a l l u d e to, Sir, will in particular give a noble rule a n d e x a m p l e of self-education. S c h o o l a n d other e d u c a t i o n c o n s t a n t l y proc e e d u p o n false principles, a n d s h o w a c l u m s y a p p a r a t u s p o i n t e d at a false mark; but your a p p a r a t u s is s i m p l e , a n d the m a r k a true o n e ; a n d while p a r e n t s a n d y o u n g p e r s o n s a r e left d e s t i t u t e of other j u s t m e a n s of e s t i m a t i n g a n d b e c o m i n g p r e p a r e d for a r e a s o n a b l e c o u r s e in life, your discovery that the thing is in m a n v a m a n ' s private power, will be invaluable! Influence u p o n the private c h a r a c t e r late in life, is not only a n influe n c e late in life, but a w e a k influence. It is in youth that we plant our chief habits a n d p r e j u d i c e s ; it is in youth that we take our party" a s to p r o f e s s i o n , p u r s u i t s , a n d m a t r i m o n y . In youth therefore the turn is given; in youth the e d u c a t i o n even of the next g e n e r a t i o n is given; in youth the private a n d public c h a r a c t e r is d e t e r m i n e d : a n d the term of life e x t e n d i n g from youth to a g e , life o u g h t to begin well from y o u t h ; a n d m o r e especially before we take our party a s to our principal o b j e c t s . B u t your Biography will not merely t e a c h s e l f - e d u c a t i o n , but the e d u c a t i o n of a wise man; a n d the wisest m a n will receive lights a n d improve his p r o g r e s s , by s e e i n g detailed the c o n d u c t of a n o t h e r wise m a n . A n d why are w e a k e r m e n to be deprived of s u c h h e l p s , when we s e e our r a c e has b e e n b l u n d e r i n g on in the dark, a l m o s t without a g u i d e in this particular, from the farthest trace of time. S h o w then, Sir, how m u c h is to be d o n e , both to sons and fathers; a n d invite all wise m e n to b e c o m e like yourself; a n d other m e n to b e c o m e w i s e . W h e n we see how cruel s t a t e s m e n a n d warriors c a n be to the h u m b l e r a c e , a n d how a b s u r d d i s t i n g u i s h e d m e n c a n b e to their a c q u a i n t a n c e , it will be instructive to o b s e r v e the i n s t a n c e s multiply of pacific a c q u i e s c i n g m a n n e r s ; a n d to find how c o m p a t i b l e it is to be great a n d domestic; enviable a n d yet good-humored. T h e little private i n c i d e n t s which you will a l s o have to relate, will have c o n s i d e r a b l e u s e , a s we want a b o v e all things, rules of prudence in ordinary affairs; a n d it will b e c u r i o u s to s e e how you have a c t e d in t h e s e . It will be so far a sort of key to life, a n d explain m a n y things that all m e n o u g h t to have o n c e explained to t h e m , to give t h e m a c h a n c e of b e c o m i n g wise by foresight. 6. Gaius Julius C a e s a r (100—14 B.C.E.) and Publius Cornelius Tacitus (late 1st and early 2nd centuries C.E.). 7. Vaughan is referring to Franklin's intention to write "a little work for the benefit of youth" to be

called The Art of Virtue. Part Two of the Autobiography is, in part, an answer to Vaughan's reminder. 8. Make our decision.

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T h e nearest thing to having experience of one's o w n , is to have other people's affairs brought before u s in a s h a p e that is interesting; this is sure to h a p p e n from your p e n . Your affairs a n d m a n a g e m e n t will have an air of simplicity or i m p o r t a n c e that will not fail to strike; a n d I a m c o n v i n c e d you have c o n d u c t e d t h e m with a s m u c h originality a s if you had b e e n c o n d u c t i n g d i s c u s s i o n s in politics or p h i l o s o p h y ; a n d w h a t m o r e worthy of e x p e r i m e n t s a n d s y s t e m , (its i m p o r t a n c e a n d its errors c o n s i d e r e d ) than h u m a n life! S o m e m e n have b e e n virtuous blindly, others have s p e c u l a t e d fantastically, a n d others have b e e n shrewd to b a d p u r p o s e s ; b u t y o u , Sir, I a m s u r e , will give u n d e r your h a n d , nothing but what is at the s a m e m o m e n t , wise, practical, a n d g o o d . Your a c c o u n t of yourself (for I s u p p o s e the parallel I a m d r a w i n g for Dr. Franklin, will hold not only in point of c h a r a c t e r b u t of private history), will s h o w that you are a s h a m e d of no origin; a thing the m o r e i m p o r t a n t , a s you prove how little n e c e s s a r y all origin is to h a p p i n e s s , virtue, or g r e a t n e s s . As no e n d likewise h a p p e n s without a m e a n s , s o w e shall find, Sir, that even you yourself f r a m e d a plan by which you b e c a m e c o n s i d e r a b l e ; but at the s a m e time we may s e e that t h o u g h the event is flattering, the m e a n s are a s s i m p l e a s w i s d o m c o u l d m a k e t h e m ; that is, d e p e n d i n g u p o n n a t u r e , virtue, t h o u g h t , a n d habit. Another thing d e m o n s t r a t e d will be the propriety of every m a n ' s waiting for his time for a p p e a r i n g u p o n the s t a g e of the world. O u r s e n s a t i o n s b e i n g very m u c h fixed to the m o m e n t , we a r e apt to forget that m o r e m o m e n t s are to follow the first, a n d c o n s e q u e n t l y that m a n s h o u l d a r r a n g e his c o n d u c t so a s to suit the whole of a life. Your attribution a p p e a r s to have b e e n applied to your life, a n d the p a s s i n g m o m e n t s of it have b e e n enlivened with c o n t e n t a n d e n j o y m e n t , i n s t e a d of b e i n g t o r m e n t e d with foolish i m p a t i e n c e or regrets. S u c h a c o n d u c t is easy for t h o s e who m a k e virtue a n d t h e m s e l v e s their s t a n d a r d , a n d w h o try to k e e p t h e m s e l v e s in c o u n t e n a n c e by e x a m p l e s of other truly great m e n , of w h o m p a t i e n c e is so often the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c . Your Quaker c o r r e s p o n d e n t , Sir (for here again I will s u p p o s e the s u b j e c t of my letter r e s e m b l i n g Dr. Franklin,) p r a i s e d your frugality, diligence, a n d t e m p e r a n c e , which he c o n s i d e r e d a s a pattern for all youth: but it is singular that he s h o u l d have forgotten your m o d e s t y , a n d your d i s i n t e r e s t e d n e s s , without which you never c o u l d have waited for your a d v a n c e m e n t , or f o u n d your situation in the m e a n time comforta b l e ; which is a strong l e s s o n to show the poverty of glory, a n d the i m p o r t a n c e of regulating our m i n d s . If this c o r r e s p o n d e n t had known the n a t u r e of your r e p u t a t i o n a s well a s I d o , he would have said; your former writings a n d m e a s u r e s would s e c u r e attention to your Biography, a n d Art of Virtue; a n d your Biography a n d Art of Virtue, in return, would s e c u r e attention to t h e m . T h i s is a n a d v a n t a g e a t t e n d a n t u p o n a various c h a r a c t e r , a n d which brings all that b e l o n g s to it into greater play; a n d it is the m o r e useful, a s p e r h a p s m o r e p e r s o n s are at a loss for the means of improving their m i n d s a n d c h a r a c t e r s , than they are for the time or the inclination to do it. But there is o n e c o n c l u d i n g reflection, Sir, that will s h o w the u s e of

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your life a s a m e r e p i e c e of biography. T h i s style of writing s e e m s a little g o n e out of v o g u e , a n d yet it is a very useful o n e ; a n d your s p e c i m e n of it may be particularly s e r v i c e a b l e , a s it will m a k e a s u b j e c t of c o m p a r i s o n with the lives of various public cut-throats a n d intriguers, a n d with a b s u r d m o n a s t i c s e l f - t o r m e n t o r s , or vain literary triflers. If it e n c o u r a g e s m o r e writings of the s a m e kind with your o w n , a n d i n d u c e s m o r e m e n to s p e n d lives fit to b e written; it will b e worth all P l u t a r c h ' s Lives p u t together. B u t b e i n g tired of figuring to myself a c h a r a c t e r of which every f e a t u r e suits only o n e m a n in the world, without giving him the p r a i s e of it; I shall e n d my letter, my d e a r Dr. F r a n k l i n , with a p e r s o n a l a p p l i c a t i o n to your p r o p e r self. I a m earnestly d e s i r o u s t h e n , my d e a r Sir, that you s h o u l d let the world into the traits of your g e n u i n e c h a r a c t e r , a s civil broils m a y otherwise tend to d i s g u i s e or t r a d u c e it. C o n s i d e r i n g your great a g e , the c a u t i o n of your c h a r a c t e r , a n d your p e c u l i a r style of thinking, it is not likely that any o n e b e s i d e s yourself c a n be sufficiently m a s t e r of the facts of your life, or the intentions of your m i n d . B e s i d e s all this, the i m m e n s e revolution of the p r e s e n t period, will n e c e s s a r i l y turn our attention towards the a u t h o r of it; a n d when virtuo u s principles have b e e n p r e t e n d e d in it, it will b e highly i m p o r t a n t to s h o w that s u c h have really i n f l u e n c e d ; a n d , a s your own c h a r a c t e r will be the principal o n e to receive a scrutiny, it is p r o p e r (even for its effects u p o n your vast a n d rising country, a s well a s u p o n E n g l a n d a n d u p o n E u r o p e ) , that it s h o u l d s t a n d r e s p e c t a b l e a n d eternal. F o r the furthera n c e of h u m a n h a p p i n e s s , I have always m a i n t a i n e d that it is n e c e s s a r y to prove that m a n is not even at p r e s e n t a vicious a n d d e t e s t a b l e a n i m a l ; a n d still m o r e to prove that g o o d m a n a g e m e n t m a y greatly a m e n d h i m ; a n d it is for m u c h the s a m e r e a s o n , that I a m a n x i o u s to s e e the o p i n i o n e s t a b l i s h e d , that there are fair c h a r a c t e r s existing a m o n g the individuals of the r a c e ; for the m o m e n t that all m e n , without e x c e p t i o n , shall be c o n c e i v e d a b a n d o n e d , g o o d p e o p l e will c e a s e efforts d e e m e d to b e h o p e l e s s , a n d p e r h a p s think of taking their s h a r e in the s c r a m b l e of life, or at least of m a k i n g it c o m f o r t a b l e principally for t h e m s e l v e s . T a k e t h e n , my d e a r Sir, this work m o s t speedily into h a n d : s h o w yourself g o o d a s you are g o o d , t e m p e r a t e a s you are t e m p e r a t e ; a n d a b o v e all things, prove yourself a s o n e w h o from your infancy have loved j u s t i c e , liberty, a n d c o n c o r d , in a way that h a s m a d e it n a t u r a l a n d c o n s i s t e n t for you to have a c t e d , a s we have s e e n you act in the last s e v e n t e e n years of your life. L e t E n g l i s h m e n b e m a d e not only to r e s p e c t , but even to love you. W h e n they think well of individuals in your native country, they will go n e a r e r to thinking well of your country; a n d w h e n your c o u n t r y m e n s e e t h e m s e l v e s well t h o u g h t of by E n g l i s h m e n , they will go nearer to thinking well of E n g l a n d . Extend your views even further; do not s t o p at t h o s e w h o s p e a k the E n g l i s h t o n g u e , b u t after h a v i n g settled s o m a n y points in n a t u r e a n d politics, think of b e t t e r i n g the w h o l e r a c e of m e n . A s I have not r e a d any part of the life in q u e s t i o n , but know only the c h a r a c t e r that lived it, I write s o m e w h a t at h a z a r d . I a m s u r e however, that the life, a n d the treatise I a l l u d e to (on the Art of Virtue), will

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necessarily fullfil the chief of my e x p e c t a t i o n s ; a n d still m o r e s o if you take u p the m e a s u r e of suiting t h e s e p e r f o r m a n c e s to the several views a b o v e s t a t e d . S h o u l d they even prove u n s u c c e s s f u l in all that a s a n g u i n e a d m i r e r of yours h o p e s from t h e m , you will at least have f r a m e d p i e c e s to interest the h u m a n m i n d ; a n d whoever gives a feeling of p l e a s u r e that is i n n o c e n t to m a n , h a s a d d e d so m u c h to the fair side of a life otherwise too m u c h d a r k e n e d by anxiety, a n d too m u c h injured by p a i n . In the h o p e therefore that you will listen to the prayer a d d r e s s e d to you in this letter, I b e g to s u b s c r i b e myself, my d e a r e s t Sir, e t c . , e t c . Signed BENJ. VAUGHAN. CONTINUATION OF T H E A C C O U N T O F MY B E G U N AT PASSY,

LIFE.

1784.

It is s o m e time s i n c e I receiv'd the a b o v e L e t t e r s , but I have b e e n too b u s y till now to think of c o m p l y i n g with the R e q u e s t they c o n t a i n . It might too be m u c h better d o n e if I were at h o m e a m o n g my P a p e r s , which w o u l d aid my M e m o r y , a n d help to a s c e r t a i n D a t e s . B u t my R e t u r n b e i n g u n c e r t a i n , a n d having j u s t now a little L e i s u r e , I will e n d e a v o r to recollect a n d write what I c a n ; if I live to get h o m e , it may there b e c o r r e c t e d a n d improv'd. N o t having any C o p y here of what is already written, I k n o w not w h e t h e r an A c c o u n t is given of the m e a n s I u s e d to establish the P h i l a d e l p h i a p u b l i c Library, which from a small B e g i n n i n g is now b e c o m e s o c o n s i d e r a b l e , t h o u g h I r e m e m b e r to have c o m e down to n e a r the T i m e of that T r a n s a c t i o n , 1 7 3 0 . I will therefore begin h e r e , with a n A c c o u n t of it, which m a y be s t r u c k out if found to have b e e n already given. At the time I establish'd myself in P e n n s y l v a n i a , there w a s not a g o o d Bookseller's S h o p in any of the C o l o n i e s to the S o u t h w a r d of B o s t o n . In N e w York a n d P h i l a d e l p h i a the Printers were i n d e e d S t a t i o n e r s , they sold only P a p e r , e t c . , A l m a n a c s , B a l l a d s , a n d a few c o m m o n S c h o o l B o o k s . T h o s e w h o lov'd R e a d i n g were oblig'd to s e n d for their B o o k s from E n g l a n d . T h e M e m bers of the J u n t o h a d e a c h a few. W e h a d left the A l e h o u s e w h e r e we first m e t , a n d hired a R o o m to hold our C l u b in. I p r o p o s ' d that we s h o u l d all of u s bring our B o o k s to that R o o m , where they would not only b e ready to c o n s u l t in our C o n f e r e n c e s , b u t b e c o m e a c o m m o n Benefit, e a c h of u s b e i n g at Liberty to borrow s u c h a s h e wish'd to read at h o m e . T h i s w a s a c c o r d i n g l y d o n e , a n d for s o m e time c o n t e n t e d u s . F i n d i n g the A d v a n t a g e of this little C o l l e c t i o n , I p r o p o s ' d to r e n d e r the Benefit from B o o k s m o r e c o m m o n by c o m m e n c i n g a Public S u b s c r i p t i o n Library. I drew a S k e t c h of the P l a n a n d R u l e s that would be n e c e s s a r y , a n d got a skillful C o n v e y a n c e r M r . C h a r l e s B r o c k d e n 9 to put the whole in F o r m of Articles of A g r e e m e n t to be s u b scribed, by which e a c h S u b s c r i b e r e n g a g ' d to pay a certain S u m d o w n for the first P u r c h a s e of B o o k s a n d an a n n u a l C o n t r i b u t i o n for i n c r e a s i n g t h e m . S o few were the R e a d e r s at that time in P h i l a d e l p h i a , a n d the Majority of u s so poor, that I w a s not able with great Industry to find m o r e than Fifty P e r s o n s , mostly y o u n g T r a d e s m e n , willing to pay d o w n for this p u r p o s e Forty shillings e a c h , a n d T e n Shillings p e r A n n u m . O n this little F u n d we b e g a n . T h e B o o k s were i m p o r t e d . T h e Library w a s o p e n o n e D a y in the W e e k for 9. Philadelphia's leading drafter of legal d o c u m e n t s (1683—1769). "Conveyancer": an attorney who specializes in the transfer of real estate and property.

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lending t h e m to the S u b s c r i b e r s , o n their P r o m i s s o r y N o t e s to pay D o u b l e the V a l u e if not duly r e t u r n e d . T h e Institution soon m a n i f e s t e d its Utility, w a s imitated by other T o w n s a n d in other P r o v i n c e s , the Libraries were a u g m e n t e d by D o n a t i o n s , R e a d i n g b e c a m e f a s h i o n a b l e , a n d our P e o p l e having no public A m u s e m e n t s to divert their Attention from S t u d y b e c a m e better a c q u a i n t e d with B o o k s , a n d in a few Years were observ'd by S t r a n g e r s to b e better instructed a n d m o r e intelligent t h a n P e o p l e of the s a m e R a n k generally are in other C o u n t r i e s . W h e n we were a b o u t to sign the a b o v e - m e n t i o n e d Articles, which were to be b i n d i n g on u s , our H e i r s , e t c . , for fifty Y e a r s , M r . B r o c k d e n , the Scrivener, said to u s , "You are y o u n g M e n , but it is s c a r c e p r o b a b l e that any of you will live to s e e the Expiration of the T e r m fix'd in this I n s t r u m e n t . " A N u m b e r of u s , however, are yet living: B u t the I n s t r u m e n t w a s after a few Years r e n d e r e d null by a C h a r t e r that i n c o r p o r a t e d a n d g a v e Perpetuity to the C o m p a n y . T h e O b j e c t i o n s , a n d R e l u c t a n c e s I m e t with in Soliciting the S u b s c r i p tions, m a d e m e s o o n feel the Impropriety of p r e s e n t i n g o n e s e l f a s the Prop o s e r of any useful Project that might be s u p p o s ' d to raise one's R e p u t a t i o n in the s m a l l e s t d e g r e e a b o v e that of one's N e i g h b o r s , w h e n o n e has n e e d of their A s s i s t a n c e to a c c o m p l i s h that Project. I therefore p u t myself a s m u c h a s I c o u l d o u t of sight, a n d s t a t e d it a s a S c h e m e of a Number of Friends, who h a d r e q u e s t e d m e to go a b o u t a n d p r o p o s e it to s u c h a s they thought Lovers of R e a d i n g . In this way my Affair went o n m o r e s m o o t h l y , a n d I ever after practic'd it on s u c h O c c a s i o n s ; a n d from my f r e q u e n t S u c c e s s e s , c a n heartily r e c o m m e n d it. T h e p r e s e n t little Sacrifice of your Vanity will afterwards b e a m p l y repaid. If it r e m a i n s a while u n c e r t a i n to w h o m the Merit b e l o n g s , s o m e o n e m o r e vain than yourself will b e e n c o u r a g ' d to claim it, a n d then even Envy will be d i s p o s ' d to do you J u s t i c e , by p l u c k i n g t h o s e a s s u m ' d F e a t h e r s , a n d restoring t h e m to their right O w n e r . T h i s Library afforded m e the M e a n s of I m p r o v e m e n t by c o n s t a n t S t u d y , for which I set apart an H o u r or two e a c h D a y ; a n d t h u s repair'd in s o m e D e g r e e the L o s s of the L e a r n e d E d u c a t i o n my F a t h e r o n c e i n t e n d e d for m e . R e a d i n g w a s the only A m u s e m e n t I allow'd myself. I s p e n t no time in Tave r n s , G a m e s , or Frolics of any kind. A n d my Industry in my B u s i n e s s c o n tinu'd a s indefatigable a s it w a s n e c e s s a r y . I w a s in d e b t for m y P r i n t i n g - H o u s e , I h a d a y o u n g F a m i l y 1 c o m i n g on to be e d u c a t e d , a n d I h a d to c o n t e n d with for B u s i n e s s two Printers w h o were e s t a b l i s h ' d in the P l a c e before m e . M y C i r c u m s t a n c e s however grew daily easier: my original H a b i t s of Frugality c o n t i n u i n g . A n d My F a t h e r having a m o n g his I n s t r u c t i o n s to m e w h e n a Boy, frequently r e p e a t e d a Proverb of S o l o m o n , "Seest thou a Man diligent in his Calling, he shall stand before Kings, he shall not stand before mean Men."2 I from t h e n c e c o n s i d e r ' d Industry a s a M e a n s of o b t a i n i n g W e a l t h a n d D i s t i n c t i o n , which e n c o u r a g ' d m e : t h o ' I did not think that I s h o u l d ever literally s t a n d before K i n g s , which however h a s s i n c e h a p p e n e d ; for I have stood before five,* a n d even h a d the h o n o r of sitting d o w n with o n e , the K i n g of D e n m a r k , to D i n n e r . W e have an E n g l i s h Proverb that says, 1. Franklin had three children: William, born c. 1 7 3 1 ; Francis, born in 1 7 3 2 ; Sarah, born in 1743. 2. Proverbs 2 2 . 2 9 .

3. Louis XV7 and Louis XVI of France, George II and George III of England, and Christian VI of Denmark.

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H e that would thrive M u s t a s k his W i f e , 4 it was lucky for m e that I h a d o n e as m u c h dispos'd to Industry a n d Frugality as myself. S h e a s s i s t e d m e cheerfully in my B u s i n e s s , folding a n d stitching P a m p h l e t s , tending S h o p , p u r c h a s i n g old Linen R a g s for the P a p e r - m a k e r s , etc., etc. W e kept no idle S e r v a n t s , our T a b l e w a s plain a n d s i m p l e , o u r Furniture of the c h e a p e s t . F o r i n s t a n c e my B r e a k f a s t was a l o n g time B r e a d a n d Milk, (no T e a , ) a n d I ate it out of a two penny e a r t h e n Porringer 5 with a Pewter S p o o n . B u t m a r k how Luxury will enter F a m i l i e s , a n d m a k e a Prog r e s s , in S p i t e of Principle. B e i n g Call'd o n e M o r n i n g to B r e a k f a s t , I f o u n d it in a C h i n a 6 Bowl with a S p o o n of Silver. T h e y h a d b e e n b o u g h t for m e without my K n o w l e d g e by my W i f e , a n d h a d cost her the e n o r m o u s S u m of three a n d twenty Shillings, for which s h e had no other E x c u s e or Apology to m a k e , but that s h e thought her H u s b a n d deserv'd a Silver S p o o n a n d C h i n a Bowl a s well a s any of his N e i g h b o r s . T h i s was the first A p p e a r a n c e of P l a t e 7 a n d C h i n a in our H o u s e , which afterwards in a C o u r s e of Years a s our W e a l t h increas'd, a u g m e n t e d gradually to several H u n d r e d P o u n d s in V a l u e . 1 h a d b e e n religiously e d u c a t e d a s a Presbyterian, a n d t h o ' s o m e of the D o g m a s of that P e r s u a s i o n , s u c h as the Eternal D e c r e e s of G o d , E l e c t i o n , R e p r o b a t i o n , 8 e t c . , a p p e a r ' d to m e unintelligible, others d o u b t f u l , a n d I early a b s e n t e d myself from the Public A s s e m b l i e s of the S e c t , S u n d a y b e i n g my S t u d y i n g - D a y , I never w a s without s o m e religious P r i n c i p l e s ; I never d o u b t e d , for i n s t a n c e , the E x i s t e n c e of the Deity, that he m a d e the W o r l d , a n d govern'd it by his P r o v i d e n c e ; that the m o s t a c c e p t a b l e S e r v i c e of G o d was the doing G o o d to M a n ; that our S o u l s are i m m o r t a l ; a n d that all C r i m e will be p u n i s h e d a n d Virtue rewarded either here or hereafter; t h e s e I e s t e e m ' d the E s s e n t i a l s of every Religion, a n d b e i n g to b e f o u n d in all the Religions we h a d in our C o u n t r y I r e s p e c t e d t h e m all, tho' with different d e g r e e s of R e s p e c t a s I f o u n d t h e m m o r e or less mix'd with other Articles which without any T e n d e n c y to inspire, p r o m o t e or confirm Morality, serv'd principally to divide u s a n d m a k e u s unfriendly to o n e a n o t h e r . T h i s R e s p e c t to all, with an O p i n i o n that the worst h a d s o m e g o o d E f f e c t s , induc'd m e to avoid all D i s c o u r s e that might tend to lessen the g o o d O p i n i o n a n o t h e r might have of his own Religion; a n d a s our Province increas'd in P e o p l e a n d newP l a c e s of worship were continually w a n t e d , a n d generally e r e c t e d by voluntary C o n t r i b u t i o n , my M i t e 9 for s u c h p u r p o s e , whatever might b e the S e c t , was never refused. T h o ' I s e l d o m a t t e n d e d any Public W o r s h i p , I h a d still a n O p i n i o n of its Propriety, a n d of its Utility w h e n rightly c o n d u c t e d , a n d I regularly paid my a n n u a l S u b s c r i p t i o n for the S u p p o r t of the only Presbyterian M i n i s t e r or M e e t i n g we h a d in Philadelphia. H e us'd to visit m e s o m e t i m e s as a F r i e n d , a n d a d m o n i s h m e to attend his A d m i n i s t r a t i o n s , a n d I w a s now a n d then prevail'd on to do s o , o n c e for five S u n d a y s successively. H a d he b e e n , in my Opinion, a good P r e a c h e r p e r h a p s I might have c o n t i n u e d , n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g 4. More commonly: "He that will thrive must ask leave of his wife." 5. Bowl. 6. I.e., porcelain.

7. 8. to 9.

Silver. Punishment. "Election": God's choosing who is be saved and who is to be damned. Small contribution.

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the o c c a s i o n I h a d for the S u n d a y ' s L e i s u r e in my C o u r s e of S t u d y : B u t his D i s c o u r s e s were chiefly either p o l e m i c A r g u m e n t s , or E x p l i c a t i o n s of the p e c u l i a r D o c t r i n e s of o u r S e c t , a n d were all to m e very dry, u n i n t e r e s t i n g a n d unedifying, s i n c e not a single m o r a l Principle w a s i n c u l c a t e d or enforc'd, their Aim s e e m i n g to be rather to m a k e u s P r e s b y t e r i a n s t h a n g o o d C i t i z e n s . At length he took for his Text that V e r s e of the 4 t h C h a p t e r of P h i l i p p i a n s , Finally, Brethren, Whatsoever Things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely, or of good report, if there be any virtue, or any praise, think on these Things;1 a n d I imagin'd in a S e r m o n o n s u c h a Text, we c o u l d not m i s s of having s o m e Morality: B u t he confin'd h i m s e l f to five P o i n t s only a s m e a n t by the A p o s t l e , viz., 1. K e e p i n g holy the S a b b a t h Day. 2. B e i n g diligent in R e a d i n g the Holy S c r i p t u r e s . 3. A t t e n d i n g duly the P u b l i c W o r s h i p . 4. P a r t a k i n g of the S a c r a m e n t . 5. P a y i n g a d u e R e s p e c t to G o d ' s M i n i s t e r s . T h e s e might b e all g o o d T h i n g s , b u t a s they were not the kind of g o o d T h i n g s that I e x p e c t e d from that Text, I d e s p a i r e d of ever m e e t i n g with t h e m from any other, w a s disg u s t e d , a n d a t t e n d e d his P r e a c h i n g no m o r e . I h a d s o m e Years before c o m pos'd a little Liturgy or F o r m of Prayer for my own private U s e , viz., in 1 7 2 8 , I return'd to the U s e of this, entitled, Articles of Belief and Acts of Religion.2 a n d went no m o r e to the public A s s e m b l i e s . M y C o n d u c t might b e b l a m e a b l e , b u t I leave it without a t t e m p t i n g farther to e x c u s e it, my p r e s e n t purp o s e b e i n g to relate F a c t s , a n d not to m a k e A p o l o g i e s for t h e m . It w a s a b o u t this time that I conceiv'd the bold a n d a r d u o u s Project of arriving at m o r a l Perfection. I wish'd to live w i t h o u t c o m m i t t i n g any F a u l t at a n y t i m e ; I would c o n q u e r all that either N a t u r a l Inclination, C u s t o m , or C o m p a n y might lead m e into. As I knew, or t h o u g h t I knew, what w a s right a n d wrong, I did not s e e why I might not always d o the o n e a n d avoid the other. B u t I s o o n f o u n d I h a d u n d e r t a k e n a T a s k of m o r e Difficulty than I h a d i m a g i n e d : W h i l e my C a r e w a s employ'd in g u a r d i n g a g a i n s t o n e F a u l t , I w a s often surpris'd by a n o t h e r . H a b i t t o o k the A d v a n t a g e of Inattention. Inclination w a s s o m e t i m e s too s t r o n g for R e a s o n . I c o n c l u d e d at l e n g t h , that the m e r e s p e c u l a t i v e C o n v i c t i o n that it w a s o u r Interest to b e c o m p l e t e l y v i r t u o u s , w a s not sufficient to prevent our S l i p p i n g , a n d that the contrary H a b i t s m u s t b e b r o k e n a n d g o o d O n e s a c q u i r e d a n d e s t a b l i s h e d , b e f o r e we c a n have any D e p e n d e n c e on a s t e a d y u n i f o r m R e c t i t u d e of C o n d u c t . F o r this p u r p o s e I therefore contriv'd the following M e t h o d . In the various E n u m e r a t i o n s of the m o r a l Virtues I h a d m e t with in my R e a d i n g , I f o u n d the C a t a l o g m o r e or less n u m e r o u s , a s different Writers i n c l u d e d m o r e or fewer I d e a s u n d e r the s a m e N a m e . T e m p e r a n c e , for E x a m ple, w a s by s o m e confin'd to E a t i n g a n d Drinking, while by others it w a s extended to m e a n the m o d e r a t i n g every other P l e a s u r e , A p p e t i t e , Inclination or P a s s i o n , bodily or m e n t a l , even to our Avarice a n d A m b i t i o n . I p r o p o s ' d to myself, for the s a k e of C l e a r n e s s , to u s e rather m o r e N a m e s with fewer I d e a s annex'd to e a c h , than a few N a m e s with m o r e I d e a s ; a n d I i n c l u d e d after T h i r t e e n N a m e s of Virtues all that at that t i m e o c c u r r ' d to m e a s n e c e s s a r y or d e s i r a b l e , a n d annex'd to e a c h a short P r e c e p t , w h i c h fully express'd the E x t e n t I gave to its M e a n i n g . 1. A paraphrase of Philippians 4.8. 2 . Only the first part of Franklin's Articles of Belief and Acts of Religion survives. It can be found in

The Papers of Benjamin Franklin, vol. 1, edited by Leonard W. Labaree et al. ( 1 9 6 4 ) .

THE

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T h e s e N a m e s of Virtues with their P r e c e p t s were 1.

TEMPERANCE.

E a t not to D u l l n e s s . Drink not to Elevation. 2.

SILENCE.

S p e a k not b u t w h a t may benefit others or yourself. Avoiding trifling C o n versation. 3.

ORDER.

Let all your T h i n g s have their P l a c e s . Let e a c h Part of your B u s i n e s s have its T i m e . 4.

RESOLUTION.

Resolve to perform what you o u g h t . Perform without fail w h a t you resolve. 5.

FRUGALITY.

M a k e n o E x p e n s e but to do g o o d to others or yourself: i.e., W a s t e nothing. 6.

INDUSTRY.

L o s e no T i m e . B e always employ'd in s o m e t h i n g useful. C u t off all u n n e c essary A c t i o n s . 7.

SINCERITY.

U s e no hurtful D e c e i t . T h i n k innocently a n d justly; a n d , if you s p e a k ; s p e a k accordingly. 8.

JUSTICE.

W r o n g n o n e , by d o i n g Injuries or omitting the Benefits that are your Duty. 9.

MODERATION.

Avoid E x t r e m e s . F o r b e a r r e s e n t i n g Injuries so m u c h a s you think they deserve. 10.

CLEANLINESS.

T o l e r a t e no U n c l e a n n e s s in Body, C l o t h e s or H a b i t a t i o n . 11.

TRANQUILITY.

B e not d i s t u r b e d at Trifles, or A c c i d e n t s c o m m o n or u n a v o i d a b l e . 12.

CHASTITY.

Rarely u s e Venery but for H e a l t h or Offspring; Never to D u l l n e s s , W e a k n e s s , or the Injury of your own or another's P e a c e or R e p u t a t i o n . 13.

HUMILITY.

Imitate J e s u s a n d S o c r a t e s . of all t h e s e Virtues, I j u d g ' d M y intention being to a c q u i r e the Habitude3 it w o u l d b e well not to distract my Attention by a t t e m p t i n g the whole at o n c e , but to fix it on o n e of t h e m at a t i m e , a n d w h e n I s h o u l d b e M a s t e r of that, then to p r o c e e d to another, a n d s o on till I s h o u l d have g o n e thro' the thirteen. A n d a s the previous A c q u i s i t i o n of s o m e might facilitate the A c q u i sition of certain o t h e r s , I arrang'd t h e m with that View a s they s t a n d a b o v e . Temperance first, a s it t e n d s to p r o c u r e that C o o l n e s s a n d C l e a r n e s s of H e a d , which is so n e c e s s a r y w h e r e c o n s t a n t V i g i l a n c e w a s to b e kept u p , a n d G u a r d 3. I.e., making these virtues an integral part of his nature.

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m a i n t a i n e d , a g a i n s t the u n r e m i t t i n g Attraction of a n c i e n t H a b i t s , a n d the F o r c e of p e r p e t u a l T e m p t a t i o n s . T h i s b e i n g acquir'd a n d establish'd, Silence would be m o r e easy, a n d my D e s i r e b e i n g to gain K n o w l e d g e at the s a m e time that I improv'd in Virtue, a n d c o n s i d e r i n g that in C o n v e r s a t i o n it w a s obtain'd rather by the U s e of the E a r s than of the T o n g u e , a n d therefore wishing to break a H a b i t I w a s getting into of Prattling, P u n n i n g a n d J o k i n g , which only m a d e m e a c c e p t a b l e to trifling C o m p a n y , I gave Silence the s e c o n d P l a c e . T h i s , a n d the next, Order, I expected would allow m e m o r e T i m e for a t t e n d i n g to my Project a n d my s t u d i e s ; R E S O L U T I O N o n c e b e c o m e habitual, would keep m e firm in my E n d e a v o r s to obtain all the s u b s e q u e n t Virt u e s ; Frugality a n d Industry, by freeing m e from my r e m a i n i n g D e b t , a n d p r o d u c i n g Affluence a n d I n d e p e n d e n c e would m a k e m o r e e a s y the P r a c t i c e of Sincerity a n d Justice, etc., etc. C o n c e i v i n g then that a g r e e a b l e to the Advice of P y t h a g o r a s 4 in his G o l d e n V e r s e s , daily E x a m i n a t i o n would b e n e c e s s a r y , I contriv'd the following M e t h o d for c o n d u c t i n g that E x a m i n a t i o n . I m a d e a little B o o k in which I allotted a P a g e for e a c h of the Virtues. I rul'd e a c h P a g e with red Ink so a s to have seven C o l u m n s , o n e for e a c h Day of the W e e k , m a r k i n g e a c h C o l u m n with a Letter for the Day. I c r o s s ' d t h e s e C o l u m n s with thirteen red L i n e s , m a r k i n g the B e g i n n i n g of e a c h L i n e with the first L e t t e r of o n e of the Virtues, o n which L i n e a n d in its p r o p e r C o l u m n I might m a r k by a little b l a c k S p o t every F a u l t I f o u n d u p o n E x a m i n a t i o n , to have b e e n c o m m i t t e d r e s p e c t i n g that Virtue u p o n that Day. I d e t e r m i n e d to give a W e e k ' s strict Attention to e a c h of the Virtues s u c cessively. T h u s in the first W e e k my great G u a r d w a s to avoid every the least O f f e n c e a g a i n s t T e m p e r a n c e , leaving the other Virtues to their ordinary C h a n c e , only m a r k i n g every E v e n i n g the F a u l t s of the Day. T h u s if in the first W e e k I c o u l d keep my first L i n e m a r k e d T c l e a r of S p o t s , I s u p p o s ' d the Habit of that Virtue so m u c h s t r e n g t h e n ' d a n d its o p p o s i t e w e a k e n ' d , that I might v e n t u r e extending my Attention to i n c l u d e the next, a n d for the following W e e k keep both L i n e s clear of S p o t s . P r o c e e d i n g t h u s to the last, I could go thro' a C o u r s e c o m p l e t e in T h i r t e e n W e e k s , a n d four C o u r s e s in a Year. A n d like him w h o having a G a r d e n to w e e d , d o e s not a t t e m p t to eradicate all the b a d H e r b s at o n c e , which would e x c e e d his R e a c h a n d his S t r e n g t h , but works on o n e of the B e d s at a t i m e , a n d having a c c o m p l i s h ' d the first p r o c e e d s to a s e c o n d ; s o I s h o u l d have, (I h o p e d ) the e n c o u r a g i n g P l e a s u r e of s e e i n g on my P a g e s the P r o g r e s s I m a d e in V i r t u e , by c l e a r i n g s u c c e s s i v e l y my L i n e s of their S p o t s , till in the E n d by a N u m b e r of C o u r s e s , I s h o u l d be h a p p y in viewing a c l e a n B o o k after a thirteen W e e k s ' daily Examination. T h i s my little B o o k had for its M o t t o t h e s e L i n e s from Addison's Cato* Here will I hold: If there is a Pow'r above us, (And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Thro' all her Works) he must delight in Virtue, 4. Pythagoras (6th century B.C.E.) was a Greek philosopher and mathematician. Franklin added a note here: "Insert those Lines that direct it in a Note," and wished to include verses translated: "Let sleep not close your eyes till you have thrice examined the transactions of the day: where have

1 strayed, what have I done, what good have I omitted?" 5. J o s e p h Addison, Caio, a Tragedy (171 3; 5.1.15— 18). Franklin also used these lines as an epigraph for his Articles ttf Belief and Acts of Religion.

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And that which he delights Another from

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Cicero.6

0 Vitae Philosophia Dux! O Virtutum indagatrix, expultrixque Unus dies bene, et ex preceptis tuis actus, peccanti immortalitati ponendus.

vitiorum! est ante-

A n o t h e r from the Proverbs of S o l o m o n s p e a k i n g of W i s d o m or V i r t u e ; L e n g t h of D a y s is in her right h a n d , a n d in her Left H a n d R i c h e s a n d H o n o r s ; H e r W a y s are W a y s of P l e a s a n t n e s s , a n d all her P a t h s a r e Peace. I l l , 16, 17 A n d c o n c e i v i n g G o d to b e the F o u n t a i n of W i s d o m , I t h o u g h t it right a n d n e c e s s a r y to solicit his A s s i s t a n c e for o b t a i n i n g it; to this E n d I form'd the following little Prayer, which w a s prefix'd to my T a b l e s of E x a m i n a t i o n , for daily U s e . O Powerful Goodness! bountiful Father! merciful Guide! Increase that Wisdom which discovers my truest Interests; Strengthen my tions to perform what that Wisdom dictates. Accept my kind Offices other Children, as the only Return in my Power for thy continual to me. I us'd a l s o s o m e t i m e s a little Prayer which I took from Thomson's7 viz.,

in me Resoluto thy Favors Poems,

Father of Light and Life, thou Good supreme, O teach me what is good, teach me thy self. Save me from Folly, Vanity and Vice, From every low Pursuit, and fill my Soul With Knowledge, conscious Peace, and Virtue pure, Sacred, substantial, neverfading Bliss! T h e P r e c e p t of Order requiring that every Part of my Business should have its allotted Time, o n e P a g e in my little B o o k c o n t a i n ' d the following S c h e m e of E m p l o y m e n t for the Twenty-four H o u r s of a n a t u r a l Day. 1 enter'd u p o n the E x e c u t i o n of this P l a n for S e l f - e x a m i n a t i o n , a n d c o n tinu'd it with o c c a s i o n a l I n t e r m i s s i o n s for s o m e t i m e . I w a s surpris'd to find myself so m u c h fuller of F a u l t s t h a n I h a d i m a g i n e d , b u t I h a d the S a t i s f a c tion of s e e i n g t h e m d i m i n i s h . T o avoid the T r o u b l e of r e n e w i n g now a n d then my little B o o k , w h i c h by s c r a p i n g o u t the M a r k s o n the P a p e r of old F a u l t s to m a k e r o o m for n e w O n e s in a n e w C o u r s e , b e c a m e full of H o l e s : I transferr'd my T a b l e s a n d P r e c e p t s to the Ivory L e a v e s of a M e m o r a n d u m B o o k , on w h i c h the L i n e s were d r a w n with red Ink that m a d e a d u r a b l e S t a i n , a n d o n t h o s e L i n e s I mark'd my F a u l t s with a b l a c k L e a d Pencil, which M a r k s I c o u l d easily wipe o u t with a wet S p o n g e . After a while I went thro' o n e C o u r s e only in a Year, a n d afterwards only o n e in several Y e a r s ; till at 6. M a r c u s Tullius Cicero ( 1 0 6 ^ 1 3 B.C.E.), Roman philosopher and orator. T h e quotation is from Tusculun Disputations (5.2.5), but several lines are omitted after vitiorum: Oh, philosophy, guide of life: Oh, searcher out of virtues and expeller of

vices! . . . One day lived well and according to thy precepts is to be preferred to an eternity of sin (Latin). 7. J a m e s Thomson ( 1 7 0 0 - 1 7 4 8 ) , The Seasons, "Winter" ( 1 7 2 6 ) , lines 2 1 8 - 2 3 .

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length I o m i t t e d t h e m entirely, b e i n g employ'd in V o y a g e s a n d B u s i n e s s a b r o a d with a Multiplicity of Affairs, that interfered. B u t I always carried my little B o o k with m e . M y S c h e m e of O R D E R , gave m e the m o s t T r o u b l e , a n d I f o u n d , that t h o ' it might b e p r a c t i c a b l e w h e r e a M a n ' s B u s i n e s s w a s s u c h a s to leave him the D i s p o s i t i o n of his T i m e , that of a J o u r n e y m a n Printer for i n s t a n c e , it w a s not p o s s i b l e to b e exactly observ'd by a M a s t e r , who m u s t mix with the W o r l d , a n d often receive P e o p l e of B u s i n e s s at their own H o u r s . Order too, with regard to P l a c e s for T h i n g s , P a p e r s , e t c . , I f o u n d extremely difficult to a c q u i r e . I had not b e e n early a c c u s t o m e d to it, a n d having a n e x c e e d i n g g o o d M e m o r y , I w a s not so s e n s i b l e of the I n c o n v e n i e n c e a t t e n d i n g W a n t of M e t h o d . T h i s Article therefore c o s t m e so m u c h painful Attention a n d my F a u l t s in it vex'd m e s o m u c h , a n d I m a d e s o little P r o g r e s s in A m e n d m e n t , a n d h a d s u c h f r e q u e n t R e l a p s e s , that I w a s a l m o s t ready to give u p the A t t e m p t , a n d c o n t e n t myself with a faulty C h a r a c t e r in that r e s p e c t . L i k e the M a n who in buying a n Ax of a S m i t h my N e i g h b o r , d e s i r e d to have the whole of its S u r f a c e a s bright as the E d g e ; the S m i t h c o n s e n t e d to grind it bright for him if h e would turn the W h e e l . H e turn'd while the S m i t h p r e s s ' d the b r o a d F a c e of the Ax hard a n d heavily on the S t o n e , which m a d e the T u r n i n g of it very fatiguing. T h e M a n c a m e every now a n d then from the W h e e l to s e e how the W o r k went o n ; a n d at length w o u l d take his Ax a s it w a s without farther G r i n d i n g . N o , says the S m i t h , T u r n o n , turn o n ; we shall have it bright by a n d by; a s yet 'tis only s p e c k l e d . Yes, says the M a n ; b u t — I think I like a speckled Ax best.—And I believe this m a y have b e e n the C a s e with m a n y w h o having for w a n t of s o m e s u c h M e a n s a s I employ'd f o u n d the Difficulty of o b t a i n i n g g o o d , a n d b r e a k i n g b a d H a b i t s , in other Points of Vice a n d Virtue, have given u p the S t r u g g l e , a n d c o n c l u d e d that a speckled Ax was best. F o r s o m e t h i n g that p r e t e n d e d to be R e a s o n w a s every now a n d then s u g g e s t i n g to m e , that s u c h extreme Nicety a s I exacted of myself m i g h t be a kind of F o p p e r y in M o r a l s , which if it were known w o u l d m a k e m e ridiculous; that a perfect C h a r a c t e r might b e a t t e n d e d with the I n c o n v e n ience of b e i n g envied a n d h a t e d ; a n d that a b e n e v o l e n t M a n s h o u l d allow a few F a u l t s in himself, to k e e p his F r i e n d s in C o u n t e n a n c e . In T r u t h I f o u n d myself incorrigible with r e s p e c t to Order; a n d now I a m grown old, a n d my M e m o r y b a d , I feel very sensibly the want of it. B u t on the whole, tho' I never arrived at the Perfection I h a d b e e n so a m b i t i o u s of obtaining, but fell far short of it, yet I w a s by the E n d e a v o r m a d e a better a n d a h a p p i e r M a n t h a n I otherwise s h o u l d have b e e n , if I h a d not a t t e m p t e d it; As t h o s e who aim at perfect Writing by imitating the e n g r a v e d C o p i e s , 8 tho' they never reach the wish'd for E x c e l l e n c e of t h o s e C o p i e s , their H a n d is m e n d e d by the E n d e a v o r , a n d is tolerable while it c o n t i n u e s fair a n d legible. A n d it may be well my Posterity s h o u l d b e i n f o r m e d , that to this little Artifice, with the B l e s s i n g of G o d , their A n c e s t o r ow'd the c o n s t a n t Felicity of his Life d o w n to his 7 9 t h Year in which this is written. W h a t R e v e r s e s may attend the R e m a i n d e r is in the H a n d of P r o v i d e n c e : B u t if they arrive, the Reflection o n p a s t H a p p i n e s s enjoy'd o u g h t to help his B e a r i n g t h e m with m o r e R e s i g n a t i o n . T o Temperance he a s c r i b e s his long-continu'd 8. I.e., the models in the printed book.

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The Morning Question, What Good

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E x a m i n a t i o n o f t h e Day.

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H e a l t h , a n d what is still left to him of a good C o n s t i t u t i o n . T o Industry a n d Frugality the early E a s i n e s s of his C i r c u m s t a n c e s , and A c q u i s i t i o n of his F o r t u n e , with all that K n o w l e d g e which e n a b l e d him to be a n useful Citizen, a n d obtain'd for him s o m e D e g r e e of R e p u t a t i o n a m o n g the L e a r n e d . T o Sincerity and Justice the C o n f i d e n c e of his C o u n t r y , a n d the h o n o r a b l e E m p l o y s it conferr'd u p o n h i m . And to the joint Influence of the w h o l e M a s s of the Virtues, even in their imperfect S t a t e he was able to a c q u i r e t h e m , all that E v e n n e s s of T e m p e r , a n d that C h e e r f u l n e s s in C o n v e r s a t i o n which m a k e s his C o m p a n y still s o u g h t for, and a g r e e a b l e even to his y o u n g e r A c q u a i n t a n c e . I h o p e therefore that s o m e of my D e s c e n d a n t s may follow the E x a m p l e a n d reap the Benefit. It will b e remark'd' 1 that, t h o ' my S c h e m e w a s not wholly without Religion there w a s in it no M a r k of any of the d i s t i n g u i s h i n g T e n e t s of any particular S e c t . I had p u r p o s e l y avoided t h e m ; for being fully p e r s u a d e d of the Utility and Excellency of my M e t h o d , a n d that it might be serviceable to P e o p l e in all Religions, a n d intending s o m e time or other to p u b l i s h it, I would not have anything in it that s h o u l d p r e j u d i c e a n y o n e of any S e c t a g a i n s t it. I p u r p o s e d writing a little C o m m e n t on e a c h Virtue, in which I would have shown the A d v a n t a g e s of p o s s e s s i n g it, a n d the M i s c h i e f s a t t e n d i n g its o p p o site V i c e ; a n d I s h o u l d have called my B o o k the A R T of Virtue, b e c a u s e it would have s h o w n the Means and Manner of o b t a i n i n g Virtue; which would have distinguish'd it from the m e r e Exhortation to b e g o o d , that d o e s not instruct a n d indicate the M e a n s ; but is like the Apostle's M a n of verbal Charity, w h o only, without showing to the N a k e d a n d the H u n g r y how or where they might get C l o t h e s or V i c t u a l s , exhorted t h e m to b e fed a n d clothed. James II, 15, 16.' But it s o h a p p e n e d that my Intention of writing and p u b l i s h i n g this C o m m e n t w a s never fulfilled. I did indeed, from time to time put down short Hints of the S e n t i m e n t s , R e a s o n i n g s , e t c . , to b e m a d e u s e of in it; s o m e of which I have still by m e : B u t the n e c e s s a r y c l o s e Attention to private B u s i n e s s in the earlier part of Life, a n d public B u s i n e s s s i n c e , have o c c a s i o n e d my p o s t p o n i n g it. For it being c o n n e c t e d in my M i n d with a great and extensive Project that required the whole M a n to e x e c u t e , a n d which an u n f o r e s e e n S u c c e s s i o n of E m p l o y s prevented my a t t e n d i n g to, it h a s hitherto r e m a i n ' d unfinish'd. In this P i e c e it w a s my D e s i g n to explain a n d e n f o r c e this D o c t r i n e , that vicious Actions are not hurtful b e c a u s e they are forbidden, but forbidden b e c a u s e they are hurtful, the N a t u r e of M a n a l o n e consider'd: T h a t it w a s therefore every one's Interest to be virtuous, w h o wish'd to b e happy even in this World. A n d I s h o u l d from this C i r c u m s t a n c e (there b e i n g always in the World a N u m b e r of rich M e r c h a n t s , Nobility, S t a t e s a n d P r i n c e s , w h o have n e e d of honest I n s t r u m e n t s lor the M a n a g e m e n t of their Affairs, a n d s u c h b e i n g so rare) have e n d e a v o r e d to c o n v i n c e y o u n g P e r s o n s , that no Qualities were so likely to m a k e a p o o r M a n ' s F o r t u n e as t h o s e of Probity a n d Integrity. M y List of Virtues contain'd at first but twelve: B u t a Quaker Friend having kindly inform'd m e that I w a s generally thought p r o u d ; that my Pride show'd itself frequently in C o n v e r s a t i o n ; that I w a s not c o n t e n t with being in the 9. Observed. 1. "If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food. And one of you say unto them. Depart

in peace, be ye warmed and filled: notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the bodv: what doth it profit?"

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BENJAMIN

FRANKLIN

right when d i s c u s s i n g any Point, b u t w a s overbearing a n d rather insolent; of which h e convinc'd m e by m e n t i o n i n g several I n s t a n c e s ; I d e t e r m i n e d e n d e a v o r i n g to c u r e myself if I c o u l d of this V i c e or Folly a m o n g the rest, a n d I a d d e d Humility to my L i s t , giving a n extensive M e a n i n g to the W o r d . I c a n n o t b o a s t of m u c h S u c c e s s in a c q u i r i n g the Reality of this V i r t u e ; b u t I h a d a g o o d deal with regard to the Appearance of it. I m a d e it a R u l e to forbear all direct C o n t r a d i c t i o n to the S e n t i m e n t s of o t h e r s , a n d all positive Assertion of my own. I even forbid myself, a g r e e a b l e to the old L a w s of our J u n t o , the U s e of every W o r d or E x p r e s s i o n in the L a n g u a g e that i m p o r t e d 2 a fix'd O p i n i o n ; s u c h a s certainly, undoubtedly, e t c . , a n d I a d o p t e d i n s t e a d of t h e m , I conceive, I apprehend, or I imagine a thing to be s o or s o , or it so a p p e a r s to m e at p r e s e n t . W h e n a n o t h e r a s s e r t e d s o m e t h i n g that I thought a n Error, I d e n i e d myself the P l e a s u r e of c o n t r a d i c t i n g him abruptly, a n d of s h o w i n g i m m e d i a t e l y s o m e Absurdity in his P r o p o s i t i o n ; a n d in a n s w e r i n g I b e g a n by o b s e r v i n g that in certain C a s e s or C i r c u m s t a n c e s his O p i n i o n would be right, b u t that in the p r e s e n t c a s e there appeard or seemd to m e s o m e D i f f e r e n c e , e t c . , I s o o n f o u n d the A d v a n t a g e of this C h a n g e in my M a n n e r s . T h e C o n v e r s a t i o n s I e n g a g ' d in went o n m o r e p l e a s a n t l y . T h e m o d est way in which I p r o p o s ' d my O p i n i o n s , p r o c u r ' d t h e m a r e a d i e r R e c e p t i o n a n d less C o n t r a d i c t i o n ; I h a d less Mortification w h e n I w a s f o u n d to b e in the wrong, a n d I m o r e easily prevail'd with o t h e r s to give u p their M i s t a k e s a n d j o i n with m e w h e n I h a p p e n ' d to b e in the right. A n d this M o d e , which I at first p u t o n , with s o m e violence to n a t u r a l I n c l i n a t i o n , b e c a m e at length s o e a s y a n d s o habitual to m e , that p e r h a p s for t h e s e Fifty Y e a r s p a s t no o n e has ever h e a r d a d o g m a t i c a l E x p r e s s i o n e s c a p e m e . A n d to this H a b i t (after my C h a r a c t e r of Integrity) I think it principally owing, that I h a d early s o m u c h W e i g h t with my Fellow C i t i z e n s , w h e n I p r o p o s e d n e w Institutions, or Alterations in the old; a n d s o m u c h I n f l u e n c e in public C o u n c i l s w h e n I b e c a m e a M e m b e r . F o r I w a s but a b a d S p e a k e r , never e l o q u e n t , s u b j e c t to m u c h H e s i t a t i o n in my c h o i c e of W o r d s , hardly correct in L a n g u a g e , a n d yet I generally carried my P o i n t s . In reality there is p e r h a p s n o o n e of our natural P a s s i o n s s o h a r d to s u b d u e a s Pride. D i s g u i s e it, struggle with it, b e a t it d o w n , stifle it, mortify it a s m u c h a s o n e p l e a s e s , it is still alive, a n d will every now a n d then p e e p o u t a n d s h o w itself. You will s e e it p e r h a p s often in this History. F o r even if I c o u l d c o n ceive that I h a d c o m p l e t e l y o v e r c o m e it, I s h o u l d probably b e p r o u d of my Humility. T h u s far written at P a s s y , 1 7 8 4 .

SAMSON

OCCOM

1723-1792 Bom in New London, Connecticut, Samson Occom was a Mohegan, a member of the northernmost branch of the Pequot tribe. In 1725, two years after Occom's birth, the Mohegans numbered no more than 351 persons; disease and the stress of the colonists' encroachment had caused the tribe to dwindle. When he was sixteen, Occom writes, Christian evangelical preachers came among the Indians and so impressed him that he eventually was moved to conversion. In 1743 Occom was accepted as a pupil by the Beverend Eleazar Wheelock, known to be particularly interested in training young Indian men to become missionaries to their brethren. Wheelock was following in the footsteps of other missionaries to the Indians such as John Eliot of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in the mid-seventeenth century, the Mayhews of Martha's Vineyard toward the end of the seventeenth century, James Fitch of Norwich, Connecticut, and John Sergeant (whose successor, and Wheelock's contemporary, was Jonathan Edwards) at Stockbridge, Massachusetts, early in the eighteenth century. Like them, Wheelock was surely sincere in his desire to bring the Indians into the fold of Christianity, and, also like them, he was as surely aware of the advantage to the colonists of having Indian converts. Christian Indians, he wrote, would serve as "a far better defense than all our expensive Fortresses" against those native people still hostile to the settlers. With these ends in mind, Wheelock founded his Moors Indian-Charity School in 1754. Occom, whose studies with Wheelock predated the formal establishment of the school by more than a decade, left him to become a teacher and missionary: first to the Indians in New London, and then to the Indians of Montauk, Long Island, with whom he remained for eleven years. It was there that he met and married Mary Fowler, a Montauk, with whom he had ten children. It was on Long Island as well that he was ordained a minister by the Presbytery of Suffolk in 1759. Occom had kept in regular touch with his mentor, and in 1765 he traveled to England along with the Reverend Nathaniel Whitaker to raise funds for Wheelock's Indian school. In England and Scotland, Occom delivered some three hundred sermons and collected nearly twelve thousand pounds. Upon his return from England, Occom found his family sickly and in extreme poverty, despite Wheelock's promise to care for them in his absence. When Wheelock asked him to set out on a mission to the Iroquois, Occom refused. Then, when he learned that Wheelock intended to use the money he had helped raise to move the charity school from Lebanon, Connecticut, to Hanover, New Hampshire, where it was to become Dartmouth College, Occom angrily wrote Wheelock that the new school would soon "be Naturally ashamed to suckle the Tawnees [the Indians] for she is already equal in Power, Honor and Authority to any College in Europe, [sic] 1 think your College has too much Worked by Grandeur for the Poor Indians, they'll never have much benefit of it." He was right; Dartmouth soon ceased to minister to Indian students, and Occom and Wheelock broke off their long relation. In dire straits financially, having broken with Wheelock, and feeling the vulnerability of his position as an "Indian preacher" in the church, Occom wrote a ten-page autobiography by way of self-justification. Dated September 17, 1768, the text remained unpublished in the Dartmouth archives until 1982. The autobiography, one of the earliest texts written by a Native American, gives fascinating details of the dayto-day life of a rural minister in the eighteenth century. Occom attends to his garden, his animals, and his parish; he preaches to the Indians and he teaches their children, shrewdly innovating to help those "who were Some what Dull" to learn their letters. Occom, however, is an Indian preacher and teacher who does not shrink from wondering whether criticisms leveled against him are simply because, as he writes, "I am a poor Indian."

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Occom's unpublished autobiography was read by very few, but he soon was to have a local audience as large as any he had had abroad. In September 1 7 7 2 , he preached a sermon promoting morality and condemning the effects of strong drink before the execution, for the crime of murder, of Moses Paul, a Mohegan and formerly a convert to Christianity. Published the same year as its delivery, Occom's Sermon at the Execution of Moses Paul was sufficiently popular to run through some nineteen editions, which extended into the nineteenth century. Occom's only other publication was A Choice Collection of Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Intended for the Edification of Sincere Christians of All Denominations ( 1 7 7 4 ) . As the American colonists approached the Revolutionary War with England, it was Occom's sense that neutrality was best for the Indians, and he urged his brethren "not to intermeddle in these Quarrils among the White People." In the years after American independence was achieved, Occom served as minister to the Indians at New Stockbridge; he was a teacher of the Tuscarora in New York State at the time of his death in 1 7 9 2 .

A S h o r t N a r r a t i v e of M y L i f e 1 From

my Birth

till I received

the Christian

Religion

I w a s B o r n a H e a t h e n a n d B r o u g h t u p In H e a t h e n i s m , till I w a s b e t w e e n 16 & 17 years of a g e , at a P l a c e C a l l d M o h e g a n , in N e w L o n d o n , C o n n e c t icut, in N e w E n g l a n d . M y P a r e n t s Livd a w a n d e r i n g life, for did all the Indians at M o h e g a n , they Chiefly D e p e n d e d u p o n H u n t i n g , F i s h i n g , & Fowling for their Living a n d h a d no C o n n e c t i o n with the E n g l i s h , e x c e p t i n g to T r a f f i c 2 with t h e m in their small Trifles; a n d they Strictly m a i n t a i n e d a n d followed their H e a t h e n i s h W a y s , C u s t o m s & Religion, t h o u g h there w a s S o m e P r e a c h i n g a m o n g t h e m . O n c e a F o r t n i g h t , in y e 3 S u m m e r S e a s o n , a Minister from N e w L o n d o n u s e d to c o m e u p , a n d the I n d i a n s to a t t e n d ; not that they r e g a r d e d the C h r i s t i a n Religion, b u t they h a d B l a n k e t s given to t h e m every Fall of the Year a n d for t h e s e things they would a t t e n d a n d there w a s a S o r t of S c h o o l kept, w h e n I w a s q u i t e y o u n g , but I believe there never w a s o n e that ever L e a r n t to read any t h i n g , — a n d w h e n I w a s a b o u t 10 Years of a g e t h e r e w a s a m a n w h o went a b o u t a m o n g the I n d i a n W i g w a m s , a n d wherever h e C o u l d find the Indian C h i l d r e n , w o u l d m a k e t h e m r e a d ; b u t the C h i l d r e n U s e d to take C a r e to k e e p o u t of his w a y ; — a n d h e u s e d to C a t c h m e S o m e t i m e s a n d m a k e m e S a y over my L e t t e r s ; a n d I believe I learnt S o m e of t h e m . B u t this w a s S o o n over t o o ; a n d all this T i m e t h e r e w a s not o n e a m o n g s t u s , that m a d e a P r o f e s s i o n of C h r i s t i a n i t y — N e i t h e r did we C u l t i v a t e o u r L a n d , nor kept any S o r t of C r e a t u r e s e x c e p t D o g s , which we u s e d in H u n t i n g ; a n d we Dwelt in w i g w a m s . T h e s e a r e a S o r t of T e n t s , C o v e r e d with M a t t s , m a d e of F l a g s . 4 A n d to this T i m e w e w e r e u n a c q u a i n t e d with the E n g l i s h T o n g u e in g e n e r a l t h o u g h there were a few, w h o u n d e r s t o o d a little of it. I. T h e text, an unedited transcription of Occom's autobiography that preserves the original spelling and punctuation, is from The Elders Wrote: An Anthology of Early Prose by North American Indians, 1768-1931 ( 1 9 8 2 ) , edited by Bernd Peyer.

2 . To trade. 3. T h e . 4. T h e long, sword-shaped leaves of a variety of plants of the flag family.

A

From

SHORT

the Time of our Reformation

NARRATIVE OF MY

till I left Mr.

LIFE

/

295

Wheelocks

W h e n I w a s 1 6 years of a g e , we h e a r d a S t r a n g e R u m o r a m o n g the E n g l i s h , that there were Extraordinary Ministers P r e a c h i n g from P l a c e to P l a c e a n d a S t r a n g e C o n c e r n a m o n g the W h i t e P e o p l e . T h i s w a s in the S p r i n g of the Year. B u t we S a w n o t h i n g of these things, till S o m e T i m e in the S u m m e r , when S o m e M i n i s t e r s b e g a n to visit u s a n d P r e a c h the W o r d of G o d ; a n d the C o m m o n P e o p l e all C a m e frequently a n d exhorted u s to the things of G o d , which it p l e a s e d the L o r d , a s I h u m b l y h o p e , to B l e s s a n d a c c o m p a n y with Divine Influence to the Conviction a n d S a v i n g C o n v e r s i o n of a N u m b e r of u s ; a m o n g s t w h o m I w a s o n e that w a s I m p r e s t with the things we h a d h e a r d . T h e s e P r e a c h e r s did not only c o m e to u s , but we frequently went to their m e e t i n g s a n d C h u r c h e s . After I w a s a w a k e n e d 5 & c o n v e r t e d , I went to all the m e e t i n g s , I c o u l d c o m e at; & C o n t i n u e d u n d e r T r o u b l e of M i n d a b o u t 6 m o n t h s ; at which time I b e g a n to L e a r n the E n g l i s h L e t t e r s ; got m e a Primer, a n d u s e d to go to my E n g l i s h N e i g h b o u r s frequently for A s s i s t a n c e in R e a d i n g , but went to no S c h o o l . A n d w h e n I w a s 1 7 years of a g e , I h a d , as I trust, a Discovery of the way of Salvation through J e s u s C h r i s t , a n d w a s enabl'd to p u t my trust in him a l o n e for Life & Salvation. F r o m this T i m e the D i s t r e s s a n d B u r d e n of my m i n d w a s r e m o v e d , a n d I f o u n d Serenity a n d P l e a s u r e of S o u l , in Serving G o d . By this time I j u s t b e g a n to R e a d in the N e w T e s t a m e n t without S p e l l i n g , — a n d I h a d a S t r o n g e r D e s i r e Still to L e a r n to read the W o r d of G o d , a n d at the S a m e T i m e h a d a n u n c o m m o n Pity a n d C o m p a s s i o n to my P o o r B r e t h r e n A c c o r d i n g to the F l e s h . I u s e d to wish I w a s c a p a b l e of Instructing my p o o r Kindred. I u s e d to think, if I C o u l d o n c e L e a r n to R e a d I would Instruct the p o o r C h i l d r e n in R e a d i n g , — a n d u s e d frequently to talk with our Indians C o n c e r n i n g Religion. T h i s c o n t i n u e d till I w a s in my 19th year: by this T i m e I C o u l d R e a d a little in the B i b l e . At this T i m e my P o o r M o t h e r w a s g o i n g to L e b a n o n , [ C o n n e c t i c u t , ] a n d having h a d S o m e K n o w l e d g e of M r . W h e e l o c k a n d h e a r i n g h e h a d a N u m b e r of E n g l i s h youth u n d e r his T u i t i o n , 6 I h a d a great Inclination to go to h i m a n d be with him a w e e k or a Fortnight, a n d D e s i r e d my M o t h e r to A s k M r . W h e e l o c k whether h e would take m e a little while to Instruct m e in R e a d i n g . M o t h e r did s o ; a n d w h e n S h e C a m e B a c k , S h e S a i d M r . W h e e l o c k w a n t e d to S e e m e as S o o n as p o s s i b l e . S o I went u p , thinking I S h o u l d be b a c k again in a few D a y s ; w h e n I got u p there, h e received m e With k i n d n e s s a n d C o m p a s sion a n d in S t e a d of S t a y i n g a Forthnight or 3 W e e k s , I S p e n t 4 Years with h i m . — A f t e r I h a d b e e n with him S o m e T i m e , h e b e g a n to a c q u a i n t his F r i e n d s of my b e i n g with h i m , a n d of his I n t e n t i o n s of E d u c a t i n g m e , a n d my C i r c u m s t a n c e s . A n d the g o o d P e o p l e b e g a n to give S o m e A s s i s t a n c e to Mr. W h e e l o c k , a n d gave m e S o m e old a n d S o m e N e w C l o t h e s . T h e n h e r e p r e s e n t e d the C a s e to the H o n o r a b l e C o m m i s s i o n e r s at B o s t o n , w h o were C o m m i s s i o n ' d by the H o n o r a b l e Society in L o n d o n for P r o p a g a t i n g the g o s pel a m o n g the I n d i a n s in N e w E n g l a n d a n d p a r t s a d j a c e n t , a n d they allowed him 6 0 £ in old T e n d e r , which w a s a b o u t 6 £ S t e r l i n g , 7 a n d they C o n t i n u ' d 5. I.e., spiritually awakened to a sense of sin. 6. Tutelage, instruction. 7. About $ 1 , 2 0 0 in today's currency. O c c o m throughout the Narrative refers regularly to his

income and his expenses, giving figures in several different currencies (pounds, shillings, "old Tender," and "York currency") in use in his time.

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it 2 or 3 years, I cant't tell exactly.—While I was at Mr. W h e e l o c k ' s , I w a s very weakly a n d my H e a l t h m u c h i m p a i r e d , a n d at the E n d of 4 Y e a r s , I over S t r a i n e d my E y e s to s u c h a D e g r e e , I C o u l d not p e r s u e my S t u d i e s any L o n g e r ; a n d o u t of these 4 years I L o s t J u s t a b o u t o n e y e a r ; — A n d w a s obliged to quit my S t u d i e s . From

the Time I left Mr. Wheelock

till I went to

Europe

As s o o n a s I left Mr. W h e e l o c k , I e n d e a v o r e d to find S o m e E m p l o y a m o n g the I n d i a n s ; went to N a h a n t u c k , thinking they m a y w a n t a S c h o o l M a s t e r , but they h a d o n e ; then went to N a r r a g a n s e t , a n d they were Indifferent a b o u t a S c h o o l , a n d went b a c k to M o h e g a n , a n d h e a r d a n u m b e r of our Indians were g o i n g to M o n t a u k , on L o n g I s l a n d , a n d I went with t h e m , a n d the Indians there were very d e s i r o u s to have m e keep a S c h o o l a m o n g s t t h e m , a n d I C o n s e n t e d , a n d went b a c k a while to M o h e g a n a n d S o m e time in N o v e m b e r I went on the I s l a n d , I think it is 17 years a g o last N o v e m b e r . I a g r e e d to k e e p S c h o o l with t h e m H a l f a Year, a n d left it with t h e m to give m e what they P l e a s e d ; a n d they took turns to Provide F o o d for m e . I h a d n e a r 3 0 S c h o l a r s this winter; I h a d a n evening S c h o o l too for t h o s e that c o u l d not a t t e n d the Day S c h o o l — a n d b e g a n to C a r r y on their m e e t i n g s , they h a d a Minister, o n e Mr. H o r t o n , the S c o t c h Society's M i s s i o n a r y ; but he S p e n t , I think two thirds of his T i m e at S h e e n e c o c k , 3 0 M i l e s from M o n tauk. W e m e t together 3 times for Divine W o r s h i p every S a b b a t h a n d o n c e on every W e d n e s d a y evening. I ( u s e d ) to r e a d the S c r i p t u r e s to t h e m a n d u s e d to e x p o u n d u p o n S o m e particular P a s s a g e s in my own T o n g u e . Visited the S i c k a n d a t t e n d e d their B u r i a l s . — W h e n the half year expired, they D e s i r e d m e to C o n t i n u e with t h e m , which I c o m p l i e d with, for a n o t h e r half year, w h e n I h a d fulfilled that, they were urgent to have m e S t a y L o n g e r . S o I c o n t i n u e d a m o n g s t t h e m till I w a s M a r r i e d , which w a s a b o u t 2 years after I went t h e r e . A n d C o n t i n u e d to Instruct t h e m in the S a m e m a n n e r a s I did before. After I w a s married a while, I f o u n d there w a s n e e d of a S u p p o r t m o r e than I n e e d e d while I was S i n g l e , — a n d m a d e my C a s e K n o w n to M r . B u e l l 8 a n d to Mr. W h e e l o c k , a n d a l s o the N e e d y C i r c u m s t a n c e s a n d the D e s i r e s of t h e s e Indians of my C o n t i n u i n g a m o n g s t t h e m , a n d the C o m m i s sioners were so g o o d a s to grant £ 1 5 a year S t e r l i n g — A n d I kept on in my Service a s u s u a l , yea I h a d additional S e r v i c e ; I kept S c h o o l a s I did before a n d C a r r i e d on the R e l i g i o u s M e e t i n g s a s often a s ever, a n d a t t e n d e d the S i c k a n d their F u n e r a l s , a n d did what Writings they w a n t e d , a n d often S a t a s a J u d g e to r e c o n c i l e a n d D e c i d e their M a t t e r s B e t w e e n t h e m , a n d h a d visitors of I n d i a n s from all Quarters; a n d , a s o u r C u s t o m is, we freely Entertain all Visitors. A n d w a s f e t c h e d often from my T r i b e a n d from others to s e e into their Affairs B o t h R e l i g i o u s , T e m p o r a l , — B e s i d e s my D o m e s t i c C o n c e r n s . A n d it P l e a s e d the L o r d to I n c r e a s e my F a m i l y f a s t — a n d S o o n after I w a s M a r r i e d , Mr. H o r t o n left t h e s e I n d i a n s a n d the S h e n e c o c k & after this I w a s (alone) a n d then I h a d the w h o l e c a r e of t h e s e I n d i a n s at M o n t a u k , a n d visited the S h e n e c o c k Indians often. U s e d to set out S a t u r d a y s towards Night a n d c o m e b a c k again M o n d a y s . I have b e e n obliged to S e t o u t from 8. The Reverend Samuel Buell ( 1 7 1 6 - 1 7 9 8 ) was a Presbyterian minister, ordained, as was O c c o m , on Long Island. T h e renowned Jonathan Edwards

had preached Buell's ordination sermon, and Buell preached Occom's. Buell later wrote of O c c o m , " H e is the glory of the Indian nation."

A

SHORT

NARRATIVE OF MY

LIFE

H o m e after S u n S e t , a n d Ride 3 0 Miles in the Night, to P r e a c h to these I n d i a n s . And S o m e Indians at S h e n e c o c k S e n t their Children to my S c h o o l at M o n t a u k , I kept o n e of t h e m S o m e T i m e , a n d h a d a Y o u n g M a n a half year from M o h e g a n , a L a d from N a h a n t u c k , w h o w a s with m e almost a year; a n d h a d little or n o t h i n g for keeping t h e m . M y M e t h o d in the S c h o o l w a s , a s S o o n a s the C h i l d r e n got together, a n d took their proper S e a t s , I Prayed with t h e m , then b e g a n to hear t h e m . I generally b e g a n (after s o m e of t h e m C o u l d Spell a n d R e a d , ) With t h o s e that were yet in their A l p h a b e t s , S o a r o u n d , a s they were properly S e a t e d till I got through a n d I obliged t h e m to S t u d y their B o o k s , a n d to help o n e a n o t h e r . W h e n they c o u l d not m a k e out a hard word they B r o u g h t it to m e — a n d I usually h e a r d t h e m , in the S u m m e r S e a s o n 8 T i m e s a D a y 4 in the morning, a n d in ye after N o o n . — I n the W i n t e r S e a s o n 6 T i m e s a Day, As S o o n as they c o u l d Spell, they were obliged to Spell when ever they w a n t e d to go out. I c o n c l u d e d with Prayer; I generally h e a r d my E v e n i n g S c h o l a r s 3 T i m e s R o u n d , A n d a s they go out the S c h o o l , every o n e , that C a n Spell, is obliged to Spell a W o r d , a n d to go out Leisurely o n e after a n o t h e r . I C a t e chised 3 or 4 T i m e s a W e e k a c c o r d i n g to the A s s e m b l y ' s S h o u t or C a t e c h i s m , a n d m a n y T i m e s P r o p o s e d Q u e s t i o n s of my own, a n d in my own T o n g u e . I found Difficulty with S o m e C h i l d r e n , who were S o m e what Dull, m o s t of these c a n s o o n learn to S a y over their L e t t e r s , they D i s t i n g u i s h the S o u n d s by the E a r , but their Eyes can't D i s t i n g u i s h the L e t t e r s , a n d the way I took to c u r e t h e m was by m a k i n g a n A l p h a b e t on S m a l l bits of p a p e r , a n d g l u e d them on S m a l l C h i p s of C e d a r after this m a n n e r A B & C . I put t h e s e on Letters in order on a B e n c h then point to o n e Letter a n d bid a C h i l d to take notice of it, a n d then I order the C h i l d to fetch m e the Letter from the B e n c h ; if h e Brings the Letter, it is well, if not he m u s t go again a n d again till he brings ye right Letter. W h e n they c a n bring any L e t t e r s this way, then I j u s t J u m b l e t h e m together, a n d bid t h e m to set t h e m in A l p h a b e t i c a l order, a n d it is a P l e a s u r e to t h e m ; a n d they soon L e a r n their L e t t e r s this w a y . — I frequently D i s c u s s e d or Exhorted my S c h o l a r s , in Religious m a t t e r s . — M y M e t h o d in our R e l i g i o u s M e e t i n g s w a s this; S a b b a t h M o r n i n g we A s s e m b l e together a b o u t 10 o'C a n d begin with S i n g i n g ; we generally S u n g Dr. W a t t ' s P s a l m s or H y m n s . I distinctly read the P s a l m or H y m n first, a n d then gave the m e a n i n g of it to t h e m , after that S i n g , then Pray, a n d S i n g again after Prayer. T h e n p r o c e e d to R e a d from S u i t a b l e portion of S c r i p t u r e , a n d so J u s t give the plain S e n s e of it in F a m i l i a r D i s c o u r s e a n d apply it to t h e m . S o c o n t i n u e d with Prayer a n d S i n g i n g . In the after N o o n a n d E v e n i n g we Proc e e d in the S a m e M a n n e r , a n d s o in W e d n e s d a y E v e n i n g . S o m e T i m e after Mr. Horton left t h e s e I n d i a n s , there w a s a r e m a r k a b l e revival of religion a m o n g these Indians a n d m a n y were hopefully c o n v e r t e d to the S a v i n g knowledge of G o d in J e s u s . It is to be o b s e r v e d before Mr. H o r t o n left t h e s e Indians they h a d S o m e P r e j u d i c e s infused in their m i n d s , by S o m e E n t h u siastical Exhorters from N e w E n g l a n d , a g a i n s t M r . H o r t o n , a n d m a n y of t h e m h a d left h i m ; by this m e a n s h e was D i s c o u r a g e d , a n d w a s d i s p o s e d from t h e s e Indians. A n d being a c q u a i n t e d with the E n t h u s i a s t s in N e w E n g l a n d & the m a k e a n d the D i s p o s i t i o n of the Indians I took a mild way to reclaim t h e m . I o p p o s e d t h e m not openly but let t h e m go on in their way, and whenever I had an opportunity, I would read S u c h p a g e s of the S c r i p -

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t u r e s , a n d I thought would c o n f o u n d their N o t i o n s , a n d I w o u l d c o m e to t h e m with all Authority, S a y i n g " t h e s e S a i t h the L o r d " ; a n d by this m e a n s , the L o r d w a s p l e a s e d to B l e s s my p o o r E n d e a v o u r s , a n d they w e r e r e c l a i m e d , a n d B r o u g h t to hear a l m o s t any of the m i n i s t e r s . 1 a m n o w to give a n A c c o u n t of my C i r c u m s t a n c e s a n d m a n n e r of Living. I Dwelt in a W i g w a m , a S m a l l H u t with S m a l l P o l e s a n d C o v e r e d with M a t t s m a d e of F l a g s , a n d I w a s obligd to r e m o v e twice a Year, a b o u t 2 miles D i s t a n c e , by r e a s o n of the S c a r c i t y of w o o d , for in o n e N e c k of L a n d they P l a n t e d their C o r n , a n d in a n o t h e r , they h a d their w o o d , a n d I w a s obligd to have my C o r n c a r t e d a n d my H a y a l s o , — a n d I got my G r o u n d Plow'd every year, which C o s t m e a b o u t 1 2 shillings an a c r e ; a n d I kept a C o w a n d a H o r s e , for which I p a i d 2 1 shillings every year York c u r r e n c y , 9 a n d went 18 miles to Mill for every D u s t of m e a l we u s e d in my family. I H i r e d or J o i n e d with my N e i g h b o u r s to go to Mill, with a H o r s e or ox C a r t , or o n H o r s e B a c k , a n d S o m e time went myself. M y Family I n c r e a s i n g fast, a n d my Visitors a l s o . I w a s obligd to contrive every way to S u p p o r t my Family; I took all o p p o r t u n i t i e s , to get S o m e thing to feed my F a m i l y Daily. I P l a n t e d my own C o r n , P o t a t o e s , a n d B e a n s ; I u s e d to be o u t h o e i n g my C o r n S o m e t i m e s before S u n R i s e a n d after my S c h o o l is D i s m i s t , a n d by this m e a n s I w a s a b l e to raise my own Pork, for I w a s allowed to keep 5 S w i n e . S o m e m o r n i n g s & E v e n i n g s I w o u l d b e out with my H o o k a n d L i n e to C a t c h fish a n d in the Fall of Year a n d in the S p r i n g , I u s e d my g u n , a n d fed my F a m i l y with F o w l s . I C o u l d m o r e t h a n pay for my P o w d e r & S h o t with F e a t h e r s . 1 At other T i m e s I B o u n d old B o o k s for E a s t h a m p t o n P e o p l e , m a d e w o o d e n S p o o n s a n d L a d l e s , S t o c k e d G u n s , & worked o n C e d a r to m a k e P a i l s , ( P i g g i n s ) , 2 a n d C h u r n s & C . B e s i d e s all t h e s e Difficulties I m e t with advers P r o v i d e n c e , I b o u g h t a M a r e , h a d it b u t a little while, a n d s h e fell into the Quick S a n d a n d D i e d . After a while B o u g h t another, I kept her a b o u t half year, a n d s h e w a s g o n e , a n d I never have h e a r d of nor s e e n her from that D a y to this; it w a s S u p p o s e d S o m e R o g u e S t o l e her. I got a n o t h e r a n d D i e d with a D i s t e m p e r , a n d last of all I B o u g h t a Y o u n g M a r e , a n d kept her till S h e h a d o n e C o l t , a n d S h e broke her L e g a n d D i e d , a n d Presently after the C o l d 3 D i e d a l s o . In the w h o l e I L o s t 5 H o r s e Kind; all t h e s e L o s s e s h e l p e d to pull m e d o w n ; a n d by this T i m e I got greatly in D e b t a n d a c q u a i n t e d my C i r c u m s t a n c e s to S o m e of my F r i e n d s , a n d they R e p r e s e n t e d my C a s e to the C o m m i s s i o n e r s of B o s t o n , a n d I n t e r c e d e d with t h e m for m e , a n d they were p l e a s e d to vote 15 £ for my H e l p , a n d S o o n after S e n t a Letter to my g o o d Friend at N e w L o n d o n , a c q u a i n t i n g h i m that they h a d S u p e r s e d e d 4 their V o t e ; a n d my F r i e n d s were s o g o o d a s to r e p r e s e n t my N e e d y C i r c u m s t a n c e s Still to t h e m , a n d they were s o g o o d at L a s t , a s to Vote £ 1 5 a n d S e n t it, for w h i c h I a m very thankful; a n d the R e v d M r . B u e l l w a s s o kind as to write in my b e h a l f to the g e n t l e m e n of B o s t o n ; a n d he told m e they were m u c h D i s p l e a s e d with h i m , a n d h e a r d a l s o o n c e again that they b l a m e d m e for b e i n g E x t r a v a g a n t ; I C a n ' t C o n c e i v e h o w t h e s e gentlem e n would have m e Live. I a m ready to (forgive) their I g n o r a n c e , a n d I would wish they h a d C h a n g e d C i r c u m s t a n c e s with m e b u t o n e m o n t h , that they m a y know, by e x p e r i e n c e w h a t my C a s e really w a s ; b u t I a m now fully c o n 9. J u s t less than $ 5 0 in today's currency. 1. Either he could trade feathers (used to stuff pillows, mattresses, etc.) for his powder and shot or he could earn enough by selling feathers to pay for

them. 2. Small pails, 3. I.e., the colt, 4. Annulled.

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vinced, that it w a s not I g n o r a n c e , F o r I believe it c a n be proved to the world that t h e s e S a m e G e n t l e m e n gave a y o u n g M i s s i o n a r y a S i n g l e m a n , one Hundred Pounds for o n e year, a n d fifty P o u n d s for a n Interpreter, a n d thirty P o u n d s for an Introducer; so it C o s t t h e m o n e H u n d r e d & Eighty P o u n d s in o n e S i n g l e Year, a n d they S e n t too where there w a s no N e e d of a Missionary. N o w you S e e what difference they m a d e b e t w e e n m e a n d other missionaries; they gave m e 180 P o u n d s for 12 years S e r v i c e , which they gave for o n e years Services in a n o t h e r M i s s i o n . — I n my S e r v i c e (I s p e a k like a fool, but I a m C o n s t r a i n e d ) I w a s my own Interpreter. I w a s both a S c h o o l m a s t e r a n d Minister to the I n d i a n s , yea I w a s their E a r , Eye & H a n d , a s Well a s M o u t h . I leave it with the World, a s wicked a s it is, to J u d g e w h e t h e r I o u g h t not to have h a d half a s m u c h , they gave a y o u n g m a n J u s t m e n t i o n e d which would have b e e n but £ 50 a year; a n d if they o u g h t to have given m e that, I a m not u n d e r obligations to t h e m , I owe t h e m n o t h i n g at all; what c a n b e the R e a s o n that they u s e d m e after this m a n n e r ? I can't think of any thing, b u t this as a Poor Indian Boy S a i d , W h o was B o u n d out to an E n g l i s h Family, a n d he u s e d to Drive Plow for a y o u n g m a n , a n d he whipt a n d B e a t him allmost every Day, a n d the y o u n g m a n f o u n d fault with h i m , a n d C o m p l a i n e d of him to his m a s t e r a n d the p o o r Boy w a s C a l l e d to a n s w e r for h i m s e l f before his m a s t e r , a n d he w a s a s k e d , what it w a s he did, that he w a s S o C o m p l a i n e d of a n d b e a t a l m o s t every Day. H e S a i d , he did not know, b u t he S u p p o s e d it w a s b e c a u s e h e c o u l d not drive any better; but says h e , I Drive a s well a s I know how; a n d at other T i m e s he B e a t s m e , b e c a u s e h e is of a m i n d to beat m e ; but says he believes h e B e a t s m e for the m o s t of the T i m e "because I am an Indian." S o I a m ready to S a y , they have u s e d m e t h u s , b e c a u s e I C a n ' t I n f l u e n c e the Indians so well a s other m i s s i o n a r i e s ; but I c a n a s s u r e t h e m I have e n d e a voured to teach t h e m a s well a s I know h o w ; — b u t I must Say, "I believe it is b e c a u s e I a m a p o o r I n d i a n . " I C a n ' t help that G o d h a s m a d e m e S o ; I did not m a k e my self s o . — 1768

1982

J.

HECTOR

ST. J O H N

DE

CREVECOEUR

1735-1813 Crevecoeur was a man with a mysterious past, and a number of details of his life have puzzled his biographers. He was born Michel-Guillaume Jean de Crevecoeur in Caen, Normandy, in 1735. When he was nineteen, he sailed to England, where he lived with distant relatives. He planned to marry, but his fiancee died before the ceremony could take place, and in 1 7 5 5 he went to Canada; he enlisted in the Canadian militia, served the government as a surveyor and cartographer, and was wounded in the defense of Quebec. His military career came to an end in 1759, at which time he traveled to New York and changed his name to Hector St. John, later expanding his

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surname to St. John de Crevecoeur and adding an initial. For the next ten years Crevecoeur traveled extensively in the colonies as a surveyor and trader with American Indians. In 1769 he bought land in Orange County, New York, and, newly married, settled into the life of an American farmer. Given Crevecoeur's restlessness, it is hard to know whether he would have been happy forever at Pine Hill, but the advent of the American Revolution and his Tory sympathies were enough to determine his return to France. He claimed that he wished to reestablish ownership of family lands, and it is ironic, given his political sympathies, that he was arrested and imprisoned as a rebel spy when he tried to sail from the port of New York. Not until 1780 did Crevecoeur succeed in reaching London. He remained in France until 1783, when he returned as French consul to New York, Connecticut, and New Jersey, only to learn that his farm had been burned in an Indian attack, his wife was dead, and his children were housed with strangers. Crevecoeur was a great success as a diplomat—he was made an honorary citizen of a number of American cities, and the town of St. Johnsbury, Vermont, was named in his honor—but he did not remain long in America. He returned to France in 1785 and after 1790 remained there permanently, first living in Paris and retiring, after 1793, to Normandy. He died at his daughter's home outside Paris. The first year that Crevecoeur spent at Pine Hill he began to write a series of essays about America based on his travels and experience as a farmer. In some he assumed the persona of "Farmer James," which lends an air of fiction to what otherwise appear straightforward letters. He brought them to London in 1 780 and, suppressing those essays most unsympathetic to the American cause, sold them to the bookseller Thomas Davies. Letters from an American

Farmer

appeared in 1782 and was an immediate

success. Crevecoeur found himself a popular hero when the expanded French edition (dated 1784) appeared. Its publication followed close enough on the American Revolution to satisfy an almost insatiable demand for things American and confirmed, for most readers, a vision of a new land, rich and promising, where industry prevailed over class and fashion. George Washington said the book was "too flattering" to be true, but careful readers of the twelve letters will take note of an ambiguous attitude throughout: Crevecoeur's hymn to the land does not make him blind to the ignorant frontier settlers or the calculating slaveholder. His final letter, "Distresses of a Frontiersman," affirms the possibility of a harmonious relationship with nature, but he writes from an American Indian village and with no successful historical models in mind.

From

Letters from an A m e r i c a n F a r m e r 1 F r o m Letter

III. What Is an

American

I wish I c o u l d b e a c q u a i n t e d with the feelings a n d t h o u g h t s w h i c h m u s t agitate t h e heart a n d p r e s e n t t h e m s e l v e s to t h e m i n d of a n e n l i g h t e n e d E n g l i s h m a n , when h e first lands on this c o n t i n e n t . H e m u s t greatly rejoice that he lived at a time to s e e this fair country d i s c o v e r e d a n d s e t t l e d ; h e m u s t necessarily feel a s h a r e of national pride, w h e n h e views t h e c h a i n o f settlem e n t s which e m b e l l i s h e s t h e s e extended s h o r e s . W h e n h e says to himself, this is t h e work of my c o u n t r y m e n , w h o , w h e n c o n v u l s e d by f a c t i o n s , 2 afflicted by a variety o f m i s e r i e s a n d w a n t s , r e s t l e s s a n d i m p a t i e n t , took refu g e h e r e . T h e y brought a l o n g with t h e m their national g e n i u s / to which they principally o w e what liberty they enjoy, a n d what s u b s t a n c e they p o s s e s s . I. From Letters from an American Fanner, edited by Albert Boni and Charles Boni ( 1 9 2 5 ) .

2. Disputes. 3. Spirit; distinctive national character.

LETTERS

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H e r e he s e e s the industry of his native country displayed in a new m a n n e r , a n d traces in their works the e m b r y o s of all the arts, s c i e n c e s , a n d ingenuity which flourish in E u r o p e . H e r e he b e h o l d s fair cities, s u b s t a n t i a l villages, extensive fields, a n i m m e n s e country filled with d e c e n t h o u s e s , g o o d r o a d s , o r c h a r d s , m e a d o w s , a n d b r i d g e s , where an h u n d r e d years a g o all w a s wild, woody, a n d uncultivated! W h a t a train of p l e a s i n g ideas this fair s p e c t a c l e m u s t s u g g e s t ; it is a p r o s p e c t which m u s t inspire a good citizen with the m o s t heartfelt p l e a s u r e . T h e difficulty c o n s i s t s in the m a n n e r of viewing s o extensive a s c e n e . H e is arrived o n a new continent; a m o d e r n society offers itself to his c o n t e m p l a t i o n , different from what he h a d hitherto s e e n . It is not c o m p o s e d , as in E u r o p e , of great lords w h o p o s s e s s everything, a n d of a herd of p e o p l e who have nothing. H e r e are no aristocratical families, no c o u r t s , no kings, no b i s h o p s , n o e c c l e s i a s t i c a l d o m i n i o n , no invisible power giving to a few a very visible o n e ; no great m a n u f a c t u r e r s e m p l o y i n g t h o u s a n d s , no great refinements of luxury. T h e rich a n d the p o o r are not so far r e m o v e d from e a c h other a s they are in E u r o p e . S o m e few towns e x c e p t e d , we a r e all tillers of the earth, from N o v a S c o t i a to W e s t Florida. W e are a p e o p l e of cultivators, s c a t t e r e d over an i m m e n s e territory, c o m m u n i c a t i n g with e a c h other by m e a n s of g o o d roads a n d navigable rivers, united by the silken b a n d s of mild g o v e r n m e n t , all r e s p e c t i n g the laws, without d r e a d i n g their power, b e c a u s e they are e q u i t a b l e . W e are all a n i m a t e d with the spirit of a n industry which is unfettered a n d u n r e s t r a i n e d , b e c a u s e e a c h p e r s o n works for himself. If he travels t h r o u g h our rural districts he views not the hostile c a s t l e , a n d the h a u g h t y m a n s i o n , c o n t r a s t e d with the clay-built hut a n d m i s e r a b l e c a b i n , where cattle a n d m e n help to keep e a c h other w a r m , a n d dwell in m e a n n e s s , s m o k e , a n d i n d i g e n c e . |A p l e a s i n g uniformity of d e c e n t c o m p e t e n c e a p p e a r s t h r o u g h o u t our habitations. T h e m e a n e s t of our l o g - h o u s e s is a dry a n d c o m f o r t a b l e habitation. Lawyer or m e r c h a n t a r e the fairest titles our towns afford; that of a farmer is the only appellation of the rural i n h a b itants of our country. It m u s t take s o m e time ere he c a n r e c o n c i l e h i m s e l f to our dictionary, which is but short in words of dignity, a n d n a m e s of honor. T h e r e , on a S u n d a y , he s e e s a c o n g r e g a t i o n of r e s p e c t a b l e f a r m e r s a n d their wives, all clad in neat h o m e s p u n , well m o u n t e d , or riding in their own h u m ble w a g o n s . T h e r e is not a m o n g t h e m an e s q u i r e , saving the u n l e t t e r e d m a g istrate. T h e r e he s e e s a p a r s o n a s s i m p l e as his flock, a farmer who d o e s not riot 4 on the labor of others. W e have n o p r i n c e s , for w h o m we toil, starve, a n d bleed; we are the m o s t perfect society now existing in the world. H e r e m a n is free as he o u g h t to b e ; nor is this p l e a s i n g equality s o transitory a s m a n y others a r e . M a n y a g e s will not s e e the s h o r e s of our great lakes replenished with inland n a t i o n s , nor the u n k n o w n b o u n d s of N o r t h A m e r i c a entirely p e o p l e d . W h o c a n tell how far it extends? W h o c a n tell the millions of m e n w h o m it will feed a n d c o n t a i n ? for no E u r o p e a n foot has as yet traveled half the extent of this mighty c o n t i n e n t ! T h e next wish of this traveler will be to know w h e n c e c a m e all t h e s e p e o ple? T h e y are a mixture of E n g l i s h , S c o t c h , Irish, F r e n c h , D u t c h , G e r m a n s a n d S w e d e s . F r o m this p r o m i s c u o u s b r e e d , that r a c e now called A m e r i c a n s have arisen. T h e e a s t e r n p r o v i n c e s 5 m u s t indeed be e x c e p t e d , as b e i n g the 4. I.e., indulge himself.

5. New England.

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u n m i x e d d e s c e n d a n t s of E n g l i s h m e n . I have h e a r d m a n y wish that they h a d b e e n m o r e intermixed a l s o : for my p a r t , I a m n o wisher, a n d think it m u c h better a s it h a s h a p p e n e d . T h e y exhibit a most c o n s p i c u o u s figure in this great a n d variegated p i c t u r e ; they too enter for a great s h a r e in the p l e a s i n g p e r s p e c t i v e displayed in t h e s e thirteen provinces. I know it is f a s h i o n a b l e to reflect 6 on t h e m , b u t r e s p e c t t h e m for what they have d o n e ; for the a c c u r a c y a n d w i s d o m with which they have settled their territory; for the d e c e n c y of their m a n n e r s ; for their early love of letters; their a n c i e n t c o l l e g e , 7 the first in this h e m i s p h e r e ; for their industry, which to m e w h o a m b u t a farmer is the criterion of everything. T h e r e never w a s a p e o p l e , s i t u a t e d a s they a r e , w h o with so ungrateful a soil have d o n e m o r e in s o short a t i m e . D o you think that the m o n a r c h i c a l ingredients which are m o r e prevalent in other g o v e r n m e n t s have p u r g e d t h e m from all foul s t a i n s ? T h e i r histories a s s e r t the contrary. In this great A m e r i c a n a s y l u m , the p o o r of E u r o p e have by s o m e m e a n s m e t together, a n d in c o n s e q u e n c e of various c a u s e s ; to what p u r p o s e s h o u l d they a s k o n e a n o t h e r what c o u n t r y m e n they are? A l a s , two thirds of t h e m h a d n o country. C a n a wretch w h o w a n d e r s a b o u t , w h o works a n d starves, w h o s e life is a c o n t i n u a l s c e n e of sore affliction or p i n c h i n g penury, c a n that m a n call E n g l a n d or any other k i n g d o m his country? A c o u n t r y that h a d no b r e a d for him, w h o s e fields p r o c u r e d him no harvest, w h o m e t with nothing but the frowns of the rich, the severity of the laws, with jails a n d p u n i s h m e n t s ; w h o o w n e d not a single foot of the extensive s u r f a c e of this p l a n e t ? N o ! U r g e d by a variety of motives, h e r e they c a m e . Everything h a s t e n d e d to r e g e n e r a t e t h e m ; new laws, a new m o d e of living, a n e w social s y s t e m ; h e r e they a r e b e c o m e m e n : in E u r o p e they were a s so m a n y u s e l e s s p l a n t s , wanting vegetative m o l d a n d refreshing s h o w e r s ; they withered, a n d were m o w e d d o w n by want, h u n g e r , a n d war; but now by the p o w e r of t r a n s p l a n t a t i o n , like all other p l a n t s they have taken root a n d flourished! Formerly they w e r e not n u m b e r e d in any civil lists 8 of their country, e x c e p t in t h o s e of the p o o r ; here they rank a s citizens. By what invisible power h a s this s u r p r i s i n g m e t a m o r p h o s i s b e e n p e r f o r m e d ? By that of the laws a n d that of their industry. T h e laws, the indulgent laws, protect t h e m a s they arrive, s t a m p i n g o n t h e m the symbol of a d o p t i o n ; they receive a m p l e rewards for their l a b o r s ; t h e s e a c c u m u l a t e d rewards p r o c u r e t h e m l a n d s ; t h o s e l a n d s c o n f e r on t h e m the title of f r e e m e n , a n d to that title every benefit is affixed which m e n c a n possibly require. T h i s is the great o p e r a t i o n daily p e r f o r m e d by our laws. F r o m w h e n c e p r o c e e d t h e s e laws? F r o m o u r g o v e r n m e n t . W h e n c e the gove r n m e n t ? It is derived from the original g e n i u s a n d s t r o n g d e s i r e of the p e o p l e ratified a n d c o n f i r m e d by the c r o w n . T h i s is the great c h a i n which links u s all, this is the picture which every province exhibits, N o v a S c o t i a e x c e p t e d . T h e r e the crown h a s d o n e all; 9 either there were n o p e o p l e w h o h a d g e n i u s , or it w a s not m u c h a t t e n d e d to: the c o n s e q u e n c e is that the province is very thinly inhabited i n d e e d ; the power of the crown in c o n j u n c t i o n with the m o s q u i t o e s h a s prevented m e n from settling t h e r e . Yet s o m e p a r t s of it flouri s h e d o n c e , a n d it c o n t a i n e d a mild, h a r m l e s s set of p e o p l e . B u t for the fault 6. C e n s u r e or blame. 7. Harvard College was founded in 1636. 8. Recognized employees of the civil government: ambassadors, j u d g e s , secretaries, etc.

9. In 1755 the French Acadians were banished from Nova Scotia by the British, who had taken it in 1710.

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of a few l e a d e r s , t h e whole were b a n i s h e d . T h e g r e a t e s t political error t h e crown ever c o m m i t t e d in A m e r i c a w a s to c u t off m e n from a country which wanted nothing but men! W h a t a t t a c h m e n t c a n a p o o r E u r o p e a n e m i g r a n t have for a country w h e r e he h a d n o t h i n g ? T h e k n o w l e d g e o f t h e l a n g u a g e , t h e love o f a few kindred a s poor a s himself, were t h e only cords that tied him: his c o u n t r y is n o w that which gives h i m land, b r e a d , protection, a n d c o n s e q u e n c e : Ubi panis ibi patria[ is t h e m o t t o o f all e m i g r a n t s . W h a t then is t h e A m e r i c a n , this n e w m a n ? H e is either a E u r o p e a n , or the d e s c e n d a n t of a E u r o p e a n , h e n c e that s t r a n g e mixture o f blood, which you will find in n o other country. I c o u l d point o u t to you a family w h o s e g r a n d f a t h e r w a s a n E n g l i s h m a n , w h o s e wife was D u t c h , w h o s e s o n married a F r e n c h w o m a n , a n d w h o s e p r e s e n t four s o n s have n o w four wives o f different n a t i o n s . He is a n A m e r i c a n , w h o , leaving b e h i n d him all his a n c i e n t p r e j u d i c e s a n d m a n n e r s , receives n e w o n e s from the new m o d e o f life h e h a s e m b r a c e d , t h e new g o v e r n m e n t h e o b e y s , a n d t h e n e w rank h e h o l d s . H e b e c o m e s a n A m e r i c a n by b e i n g received in the b r o a d lap o f o u r great Alma Mater.2 H e r e individuals o f all n a t i o n s a r e m e l t e d into a new r a c e o f m e n , w h o s e labors a n d posterity will o n e day c a u s e great c h a n g e s in t h e world. A m e r i c a n s a r e t h e w e s t e r n pilgrims, w h o a r e carrying a l o n g with t h e m that great m a s s of arts, s c i e n c e s , vigor, a n d industry which b e g a n long s i n c e in t h e e a s t ; they will finish t h e great circle. T h e A m e r i c a n s were o n c e s c a t t e r e d all over E u r o p e ; here they a r e i n c o r p o r a t e d into o n e o f t h e finest s y s t e m s o f p o p u l a t i o n which h a s ever a p p e a r e d , a n d which will hereafter b e c o m e distinct by t h e p o w e r o f the different c l i m a t e s they inhabit. T h e A m e r i c a n o u g h t therefore to love this country m u c h better than that wherein either h e or his forefathers were born. H e r e t h e rewards of his industry follow with e q u a l s t e p s t h e p r o g r e s s o f his labor; his labor is f o u n d e d o n t h e b a s i s o f n a t u r e , self-interest; c a n it w a n t a s t r o n g e r allurem e n t jfWives a n d children, w h o before in vain d e m a n d e d o f him a m o r s e l of b r e a d , now, fat a n d f r o l i c s o m e , gladly help their father to clear t h o s e fields w h e n c e e x u b e r a n t c r o p s a r e to arise to feed a n d to c l o t h e t h e m all; without any part b e i n g c l a i m e d , either by a d e s p o t i c p r i n c e , a rich a b b o t , or a mighty l o r d . H e r e religion d e m a n d s b u t little of h i m ; a small voluntary salary to t h e minister, a n d g r a t i t u d e to G o d ; c a n h e refuse t h e s e ? T h ^ A r n e r i c a n is a n e w m a r i j j y j K ) a c t s u p r j i n j i e w p r i n c i p l e s ^ h e m u s t therefjprp e n r e r ~ j ^ » r i r i e w icjfias..^

andJojjTjjjeMcrjTjimons. F r o m irrvoT^rijtaryjdleness, servile d e p e n d e n c e , r j e j i j ury, a n d u s e l e s s ^ l a b o r , h e has_passed^toJfgfliLrrf'~a^^ nature, r e w a r d e 3 By"ample s u b s i s t e n c e . — T h i s is a n A m e r i c a n . TJritlsTTAmerica is divided into m a r i y p r o v i n c e s , f o r m i n g a large a s s o c i a tion, s c a t t e r e d a l o n g a c o a s t 1 , 5 0 0 miles extent a n d a b o u t 2 0 0 wide. T h i s society I would fain e x a m i n e , a t least s u c h a s it a p p e a r s in t h e m i d d l e provi n c e s ; if it d o e s n o t afford that variety o f tinges a n d g r a d a t i o n s which m a y be o b s e r v e d in E u r o p e , w e have colors p e c u l i a r to o u r s e l v e s . F o r i n s t a n c e , it is n a t u r a l to c o n c e i v e that t h o s e w h o live n e a r the s e a m u s t b e very different from t h o s e w h o live in t h e w o o d s ; t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e s p a c e will afford a separate a n d distinct c l a s s . M e n a r e like p l a n t s ; t h e g o o d n e s s a n d flavor o f t h e fruit p r o c e e d s from 1. Where there is bread, there is one's fatherland (Latin).

2 . Dear mother (Latin, literal trans.).

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the p e c u l i a r soil a n d exposition in which they grow. W e a r e n o t h i n g but what we derive f r o m the air we b r e a t h e , the climate we inhabit, the g o v e r n m e n t we obey, t h e s y s t e m of religion we p r o f e s s , a n d the n a t u r e of o u r employm e n t . H e r e you will find b u t few c r i m e s ; t h e s e have a c q u i r e d a s yet no root a m o n g u s . I wish I w a s able to trace all my ideas; if m y i g n o r a n c e prevents m e from d e s c r i b i n g t h e m properly, I h o p e I shall b e a b l e to d e l i n e a t e a few of the outlines, which are all I p r o p o s e . T h o s e w h o live near the s e a feed m o r e on fish t h a n on flesh, a n d often e n c o u n t e r that b o i s t e r o u s e l e m e n t . T h i s renders t h e m m o r e bold a n d enterprising; this leads t h e m to neglect the confined o c c u p a t i o n s of the land. T h e y s e e a n d c o n v e r s e with a variety of p e o p l e , their i n t e r c o u r s e with m a n k i n d b e c o m e s extensive. T h e s e a inspires t h e m with a love of traffic, a desire of transporting p r o d u c e from o n e p l a c e to a n o t h e r ; a n d leads t h e m to a variety of r e s o u r c e s which supply t h e p l a c e of labor. T h o s e w h o inhabit the middle s e t t l e m e n t s , by far the m o s t n u m e r o u s , m u s t b e very different; the s i m p l e cultivation of the earth purifies t h e m , b u t the i n d u l g e n c e s of t h e g o v e r n m e n t , the soft r e m o n s t r a n c e s of religion, the rank of i n d e p e n d e n t freeholders, m u s t necessarily inspire them with s e n t i m e n t s , very little known in E u r o p e a m o n g p e o p l e of t h e s a m e c l a s s . W h a t d o I say? E u r o p e h a s no s u c h c l a s s of m e n ; the early knowledge they a c q u i r e , the early bargains they m a k e , give t h e m a great d e g r e e of sagacity. As f r e e m e n they will b e litigious; pride a n d obstinancy a r e often t h e c a u s e of lawsuits; the n a t u r e of o u r laws a n d g o v e r n m e n t s may b e another. As citizens it is easy to i m a g i n e that they will carefully read the n e w s p a p e r s , enter into every political disquisition, freely b l a m e or c e n s u r e governors a n d others. A s f a r m e r s they will b e careful a n d a n x i o u s to get a s m u c h a s they c a n , b e c a u s e what they get is their o w n . As northern m e n they will love t h e cheerful c u p . As C h r i s t i a n s , religion c u r b s t h e m not in their o p i n i o n s ; the general i n d u l g e n c e leaves everyone to think for themselves in spiritual m a t t e r s ; the laws i n s p e c t o u r a c t i o n s , o u r t h o u g h t s are left to Gojk^hrdjisUy^good living, s e l f i s h n e s s , l i t i g i o u s n e s j ^ j M J u r r t r y politics, t h e p r j d g _ j f fre^TmenT^eligious l u x n f T e r e n c e ~ ^ r e t h ^ i r ~ ^ a r a c t e n s t i c s . I f V o u r e c e d e still farther from the s e a , you will c o m e into more~"lnoderiT settlem e n t s ; they exhibit the s a m e strong l i n e a m e n t s , in a r u d e r a p p e a r a n c e . Religion s e e m s to have still less influence, a n d their m a n n e r s a r e less i m p r o v e d . N o w we arrive n e a r the great w o o d s , n e a r the last inhabited d i s t r i c t s ; 1 there m e n s e e m to b e p l a c e d still farther b e y o n d the reach of g o v e r n m e n t , w h i c h in s o m e m e a s u r e leaves t h e m to t h e m s e l v e s . H o w c a n it pervade every c o r n e r ; as they were driven there by m i s f o r t u n e s , n e c e s s i t y of b e g i n n i n g s , d e s i r e of a c q u i r i n g large tracts of land, i d l e n e s s , f r e q u e n t want of e c o n o m y , 4 a n c i e n t d e b t s ; the reunion of s u c h p e o p l e d o e s not afford a very p l e a s i n g s p e c t a c l e . W h e n discord, want of unity a n d f r i e n d s h i p ; w h e n either d r u n k e n n e s s or idleness prevail in s u c h r e m o t e districts; c o n t e n t i o n , inactivity, a n d wretche d n e s s m u s t e n s u e . T h e r e a r e not the s a m e r e m e d i e s to t h e s e evils a s in a long-established c o m m u n i t y . T h e few m a g i s t r a t e s they have a r e in general little better than the rest; they are often in a perfect s t a t e of war; that of m a n a g a i n s t m a n , s o m e t i m e s d e c i d e d by b l o w s , s o m e t i m e s by m e a n s of t h e law; that of m a n a g a i n s t every wild i n h a b i t a n t of t h e s e v e n e r a b l e w o o d s , of which 3. I.e.. the frontier; the land west of the original colonies and east of the Mississippi.

4. I.e., they were improvident and spent beyond their means.

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they a r e c o m e to d i s p o s s e s s t h e m . T h e r e m e n a p p e a r to be no better t h a n carnivorous a n i m a l s of a s u p e r i o r rank, living on the flesh of wild a n i m a l s w h e n they c a n c a t c h t h e m , a n d when they are not a b l e , they s u b s i s t on grain. H e w h o would wish to s e e A m e r i c a in its p r o p e r light, a n d have a true idea of its feeble b e g i n n i n g s a n d b a r b a r o u s r u d i m e n t s , m u s t visit our e x t e n d e d line of frontiers w h e r e the last settlers dwell, a n d w h e r e h e m a y s e e the first labors of s e t t l e m e n t , the m o d e of clearing the earth, in all their different a p p e a r a n c e s ; w h e r e m e n are wholly left d e p e n d e n t on their native t e m p e r s a n d on the s p u r of u n c e r t a i n industry, which often fails w h e n not sanctified by the efficacy of a few moral rules. T h e r e , r e m o t e from the p o w e r of e x a m p l e a n d c h e c k of s h a m e , m a n y families exhibit the m o s t h i d e o u s p a r t s of our society. T h e y are a kind of forlorn h o p e , p r e c e d i n g by ten or twelve years the m o s t r e s p e c t a b l e army of veterans which c o m e after t h e m . In that s p a c e , prosperity will polish s o m e , vice a n d the law will drive off the rest, w h o uniting again with others like t h e m s e l v e s will r e c e d e still farther; m a k i n g room for m o r e i n d u s t r i o u s p e o p l e , w h o will finish their i m p r o v e m e n t s , convert the l o g h o u s e into a c o n v e n i e n t habitation, a n d rejoicing that the first heavy labors are finished, will c h a n g e in a few years that hitherto b a r b a r o u s country into a fine fertile, well-regulated district. S u c h is our p r o g r e s s , s u c h is the m a r c h of the E u r o p e a n s toward the interior p a r t s of this c o n t i n e n t . In all societies these are offcasts; this i m p u r e part serves a s o u r p r e c u r s o r s or p i o n e e r s ; my father h i m s e l f w a s o n e of that c l a s s , 5 b u t h e c a m e u p o n h o n e s t principles, a n d w a s therefore o n e of the few w h o held fast; by g o o d c o n d u c t a n d t e m p e r a n c e , he t r a n s m i t t e d to m e his fair i n h e r i t a n c e , w h e n not a b o v e o n e in fourteen of his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s h a d the s a m e g o o d f o r t u n e . Forty years a g o his smiling country w a s t h u s i n h a b i t e d ; it is now p u r g e d , a general d e c e n c y of m a n n e r s prevails t h r o u g h o u t , a n d s u c h h a s b e e n the fate of our b e s t c o u n t r i e s . Exclusive of t h o s e general c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s , e a c h province h a s its o w n , f o u n d e d on the g o v e r n m e n t , c l i m a t e , m o d e of h u s b a n d r y , c u s t o m s , a n d peculiarity of c i r c u m s t a n c e s . E u r o p e a n s s u b m i t insensibly to t h e s e great powers, a n d b e c o m e , in the c o u r s e of a few g e n e r a t i o n s , not only A m e r i c a n s in general, b u t either P e n n s y l v a n i a n s , Virginians, or provincials u n d e r s o m e other n a m e . W h o e v e r traverses the c o n t i n e n t m u s t easily o b s e r v e t h o s e strong differences, which will grow m o r e evident in t i m e . T h e i n h a b i t a n t s of C a n a d a , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , the middle p r o v i n c e s , the s o u t h e r n o n e s will b e a s different a s their c l i m a t e s ; their only points of unit will b e t h o s e of religion and language. ' A s I have e n d e a v o r e d to s h o w you how E u r o p e a n s b e c o m e A m e r i c a n s , it m a y not b e d i s a g r e e a b l e to s h o w you likewise how the v a r i o u s C h r i s t i a n s e c t s i n t r o d u c e d wear out, a n d h o w religious indifference b e c o m e s prevalent. W h e n any c o n s i d e r a b l e n u m b e r of a particular sect h a p p e n to dwell contigu o u s to e a c h other, they i m m e d i a t e l y erect a t e m p l e , a n d there w o r s h i p the Divinity agreeably to their own p e c u l i a r i d e a s . N o b o d y d i s t u r b s t h e m . If any new sect springs u p in E u r o p e it m a y h a p p e n that m a n y of its p r o f e s s o r s 6 will c o m e a n d settle in A m e r i c a . As they bring their zeal with t h e m , they are at liberty to m a k e proselytes if they c a n , a n d to build a m e e t i n g a n d to follow the dictates of their c o n s c i e n c e s ; for neither the g o v e r n m e n t nor any other 5. His father never c a m e to America.

6. Believers.

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power interferes. If they are p e a c e a b l e s u b j e c t s , a n d a r e i n d u s t r i o u s , what is it to their neighbors h o w a n d in what m a n n e r they think fit to a d d r e s s their prayers to the S u p r e m e B e i n g ? B u t if the s e c t a r i e s a r e not settled c l o s e together, if they are mixed with other d e n o m i n a t i o n s , their zeal will cool for w a n t of fuel, a n d will b e extinguished in a little t i m e . T h e n the A m e r i c a n s b e c o m e a s to religion what they are a s to country, allied to all. In t h e m the n a m e of E n g l i s h m a n , F r e n c h m a n , a n d E u r o p e a n is lost, a n d in like m a n n e r , the strict m o d e s of Christianity a s p r a c t i c e d in E u r o p e a r e lost a l s o . T h i s effect will extend itself still farther hereafter, a n d t h o u g h this m a y a p p e a r to you a s a s t r a n g e i d e a , yet it is a very true o n e . I shall b e a b l e p e r h a p s hereafter to explain myself better; in the m e a n w h i l e , let the following e x a m p l e serve as my first justification. L e t u s s u p p o s e you a n d I to be traveling; we o b s e r v e that in this h o u s e , to the right, lives a C a t h o l i c , w h o prays to G o d a s h e h a s b e e n t a u g h t , a n d believes in t r a n s u b s t a n t i a t i o n ; 7 h e works a n d r a i s e s w h e a t , h e h a s a large family of children, all hale a n d r o b u s t ; his belief, his prayers offend n o b o d y . A b o u t o n e mile farther o n the s a m e r o a d , his next n e i g h b o r m a y b e a g o o d h o n e s t p l o d d i n g G e r m a n L u t h e r a n , w h o a d d r e s s e s h i m s e l f to the s a m e G o d , the G o d of all, agreeably to the m o d e s h e h a s b e e n e d u c a t e d in, a n d believes in c o n s u b s t a n t i a t i o n ; 8 by so d o i n g he s c a n d a l i z e s nobody; h e a l s o works in his fields, e m b e l l i s h e s the earth, c l e a r s s w a m p s , e t c . W h a t h a s the world to d o with his L u t h e r a n p r i n c i p l e s ? H e p e r s e c u t e s n o b o d y , a n d n o b o d y p e r s e c u t e s h i m , he visits his n e i g h b o r s , a n d his n e i g h b o r s visit h i m . N e x t to him lives a s e c e d e r , the m o s t e n t h u s i a s t i c of all s e c t a r i e s ; 9 his zeal is hot a n d fiery, but s e p a r a t e d a s he is from others of the s a m e c o m p l e x i o n , h e h a s n o congregation of his own to resort to, w h e r e he might c a b a l a n d m i n g l e religious pride with worldly obstinacy. H e likewise raises g o o d c r o p s , his h o u s e is h a n d s o m e l y p a i n t e d , his o r c h a r d is o n e of the fairest in the n e i g h b o r h o o d . H o w d o e s it c o n c e r n the welfare of the country, or of the province at large, what this m a n ' s religious s e n t i m e n t s a r e , or really w h e t h e r h e h a s any at all? H e is a g o o d farmer, he is a sober, p e a c e a b l e , g o o d citizen: William P e n n 1 h i m s e l f would not wish for m o r e . T h i s is the visible c h a r a c t e r , the invisible o n e is only g u e s s e d at, a n d is nobody's b u s i n e s s . Next a g a i n lives a L o w D u t c h m a n , w h o implicitly believes the rules laid d o w n by the synod of D o r t . 2 H e c o n c e i v e s n o other idea of a c l e r g y m a n than that of a hired m a n ; if he d o e s his work well he will pay him the s t i p u l a t e d s u m ; if not h e will d i s m i s s h i m , a n d d o without his s e r m o n s , a n d let his c h u r c h b e s h u t u p for years. B u t n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g this c o a r s e idea, you will find his h o u s e a n d farm to be the n e a t e s t in all the country; a n d you will j u d g e by his w a g o n a n d fat h o r s e s that he thinks m o r e of the affairs of this world t h a n of t h o s e of the next. H e is s o b e r a n d l a b o r i o u s , therefore he is all he o u g h t to b e a s to the affairs of this life; a s for t h o s e of the next, he m u s t trust to the great C r e a t o r . E a c h of 7. T h e doctrine followed by Roman Catholics that the substance of the bread and wine used in the sacrament of c o m m u n i o n is changed at the consecration to the substance of the body and blood of Christ. 8. As distinguished from transubstantiation; the doctrine that affirms that Christ's body is not present in or under the elements of bread and wine, but that the bread and wine are signs of Christ's presence through faith.

9. O n e who dissents or withdraws from an established church. " S e c e d e r " : a Presbyterian who has separated from the established C h u r c h of Scotland. 1. English Quaker and founder of Pennsylvania (1644-1718). 2. T h e Synod of Dort met in Holland in 1618 and attempted to settle disputes between Protestant reformed churches. "Low D u t c h m a n " : someone from Holland, not Belgium.

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t h e s e p e o p l e instruct their children a s well a s they c a n , b u t t h e s e i n s t r u c t i o n s are feeble c o m p a r e d to t h o s e which are given to the youth of the p o o r e s t c l a s s in E u r o p e . T h e i r children will therefore grow u p less z e a l o u s a n d m o r e indifferent in m a t t e r s of religion than their p a r e n t s . T h e foolish vanity, or rather the fury of m a k i n g proselytes, is u n k n o w n h e r e ; they have n o t i m e , the s e a s o n s call for all their attention, a n d t h u s in a few y e a r s , this mixed n e i g h b o r h o o d will exhibit a s t r a n g e religious medley, that will b e neither p u r e C a t h o l i c i s m nor p u r e C a l v i n i s m . A very p e r c e p t i b l e indifference, even in the first g e n e r a t i o n , will b e c o m e a p p a r e n t ; a n d it m a y h a p p e n that the d a u g h t e r of the C a t h o l i c will marry the son of the s e c e d e r , a n d settle by t h e m s e l v e s at a d i s t a n c e from their p a r e n t s . W h a t religious e d u c a t i o n will they give their children? A very imperfect o n e . If there h a p p e n s to b e in the n e i g h b o r h o o d any p l a c e of worship, we will s u p p o s e a Quaker's m e e t i n g ; rather t h a n not s h o w their fine c l o t h e s , they will go to it, a n d s o m e of t h e m m a y p e r h a p s a t t a c h t h e m s e l v e s to that society. O t h e r s will r e m a i n in a p e r f e c t state of indifference; the children of t h e s e zealous p a r e n t s will not b e able to tell what their religious principles a r e , a n d their g r a n d c h i l d r e n still l e s s . T h e n e i g h b o r h o o d of a p l a c e of w o r s h i p generally leads t h e m to it, a n d the a c t i o n of going thither is the s t r o n g e s t evidence they c a n give of their a t t a c h m e n t to any s e c t . T h e Quakers are the only p e o p l e w h o retain a f o n d n e s s for their own m o d e of w o r s h i p ; for b e they ever s o far s e p a r a t e d from e a c h other, they hold a sort of c o m m u n i o n with the society, a n d s e l d o m d e p a r t from its r u l e s , at least in this country. T h u s all sects are mixed a s well as all n a t i o n s ; t h u s religious indifference is imperceptibly d i s s e m i n a t e d from o n e e n d of the continent to the other; which is at p r e s e n t o n e of the s t r o n g e s t c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of the A m e r i c a n s . W h e r e this will r e a c h no o n e c a n tell, p e r h a p s it m a y leave a v a c u u m fit to receive other s y s t e m s . P e r s e c u t i o n , religious pride, the love of c o n t r a d i c t i o n are the food of what the world c o m m o n l y calls religion. T h e s e motives have c e a s e d h e r e ; zeal in E u r o p e is c o n f i n e d ; here it evaporates in the great d i s t a n c e it h a s to travel; there it is a grain of p o w d e r i n c l o s e d , h e r e it b u r n s away in the o p e n air, a n d c o n s u m e s w i t h o u t effect. B u t to return to o u r b a c k settlers. I m u s t tell you that there is s o m e t h i n g in the proximity of the w o o d s which is very singular. It is with m e n a s it is with the p l a n t s a n d a n i m a l s that grow a n d live in the f o r e s t s ; they are entirely different from t h o s e that live in the p l a i n s . I will candidly tell you all my t h o u g h t s but you are not to expect that I shall a d v a n c e a n y r e a s o n s . By living in or near the w o o d s , their a c t i o n s are r e g u l a t e d by the w i l d n e s s of the neighb o r h o o d . T h e d e e r often c o m e to eat their grain, the wolves to destroy their s h e e p , the b e a r s to kill their h o g s , the foxes to c a t c h their poultry. T h i s s u r r o u n d i n g hostility i m m e d i a t e l y p u t s the g u n into their h a n d s ; they w a t c h these a n i m a l s , they kill s o m e ; a n d t h u s by d e f e n d i n g their property, they s o o n b e c o m e p r o f e s s e d h u n t e r s ; this is the p r o g r e s s ; o n c e h u n t e r s , farewell to the plow. T h e c h a s e r e n d e r s t h e m f e r o c i o u s , gloomy, a n d u n s o c i a b l e ; a h u n t e r w a n t s n o neighbor, he rather h a t e s t h e m , b e c a u s e h e d r e a d s the c o m p e t i t i o n . In a little time their s u c c e s s in the w o o d s m a k e s t h e m n e g l e c t their tillage. T h e y trust to the natural fecundity of the e a r t h , a n d therefore do little; c a r e l e s s n e s s in f e n c i n g often e x p o s e s w h a t little they s o w to d e s t r u c tion; they are not at h o m e to w a t c h ; in order therefore to m a k e u p the deficiency, they g o oftener to the w o o d s . T h a t n e w m o d e of life brings a l o n g with it a new set of m a n n e r s , which I c a n n o t easily d e s c r i b e . T h e s e n e w

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m a n n e r s , b e i n g grafted on the old stock, p r o d u c e a s t r a n g e sort of lawless profligacy, the i m p r e s s i o n s of which are indelible. T h e m a n n e r s of the Indian natives are r e s p e c t a b l e , c o m p a r e d with this E u r o p e a n medley. T h e i r wives a n d children live in sloth a n d inactivity; a n d having no p r o p e r p u r s u i t s , you may j u d g e what e d u c a t i o n the latter receive. Their tender m i n d s have nothing else to c o n t e m p l a t e but the e x a m p l e of their p a r e n t s ; like t h e m they grow u p a mongrel b r e e d , half civilized, half s a v a g e , except n a t u r e s t a m p s on t h e m s o m e constitutional p r o p e n s i t i e s . T h a t rich, that v o l u p t u o u s s e n t i m e n t is g o n e that s t r u c k t h e m s o forcibly; the p o s s e s s i o n of their f r e e h o l d s * no longer conveys to their m i n d s the s a m e p l e a s u r e a n d pride. T o all t h e s e r e a s o n s you m u s t a d d their lonely s i t u a t i o n , a n d you c a n n o t i m a g i n e what a n effect on m a n n e r s the great d i s t a n c e s they live from e a c h other h a s ! C o n s i d e r o n e of the last s e t t l e m e n t s in its first view: of w h a t is it c o m p o s e d ? E u r o p e a n s w h o have not that sufficient s h a r e of k n o w l e d g e they o u g h t to h a v e , in order to p r o s p e r ; p e o p l e w h o have s u d d e n l y p a s s e d from o p p r e s s i o n , d r e a d of gove r n m e n t , a n d fear of laws into the u n l i m i t e d f r e e d o m of the w o o d s . T h i s s u d d e n c h a n g e m u s t have a very great effect on m o s t m e n , a n d o n that c l a s s particularly. E a t i n g of wild m e a t , whatever you may think, t e n d s to alter their t e m p e r : t h o u g h all the p r o o f I c a n a d d u c e is that I have s e e n it: a n d having n o p l a c e of w o r s h i p to resort to, what little society this might afford is d e n i e d t h e m . T h e S u n d a y m e e t i n g s , exclusive of religious benefits, were the only social b o n d s that might have inspired t h e m with s o m e d e g r e e of e m u l a t i o n in n e a t n e s s . Is it then s u r p r i s i n g to s e e m e n t h u s s i t u a t e d , i m m e r s e d in great a n d heavy labors, d e g e n e r a t e a little? It is rather a w o n d e r the effect is not m o r e diffusive. T h e M o r a v i a n s 4 a n d the Q u a k e r s are the only i n s t a n c e s in exception to w h a t I have a d v a n c e d . T h e first never settle singly, it is a colony of the society which e m i g r a t e s ; they carry with t h e m their f o r m s , w o r s h i p , rules, a n d d e c e n c y : the others never begin so h a r d , they a r e always able to buy i m p r o v e m e n t s , in which there is a great a d v a n t a g e , for by that time the country is recovered from its first barbarity. T h u s our b a d p e o p l e are t h o s e w h o are half cultivators a n d half h u n t e r s ; a n d the worst of t h e m are t h o s e w h o have d e g e n e r a t e d altogether into the h u n t i n g s t a t e . A s old p l o w m e n a n d new m e n of the w o o d s , a s E u r o p e a n s a n d n e w - m a d e I n d i a n s , they c o n t r a c t the vices of b o t h ; they a d o p t the m o r o s e n e s s a n d ferocity of a native, without his m i l d n e s s , or even his industry at h o m e . If m a n n e r s are not refined, at least they a r e r e n d e r e d s i m p l e a n d inoffensive by tilling the earth; all o u r w a n t s are s u p p l i e d by it, our time is divided b e t w e e n labor a n d rest, a n d leaves n o n e of the c o m m i s s i o n of great m i s d e e d s . As h u n t e r s it is divided b e t w e e n the toil of the c h a s e , the i d l e n e s s of r e p o s e , or the i n d u l g e n c e of inebriation. H u n t i n g is b u t a licentious idle life, a n d if it d o e s not always pervert g o o d d i s p o s i t i o n s ; yet, w h e n it is u n i t e d with b a d luck, it leads to want: want s t i m u l a t e s that propensity to rapacity a n d i n j u s t i c e , too natural to needy m e n , which is the fatal g r a d a t i o n . After this explanation of the effects which follow by living in the w o o d s , shall we yet vainly flatter ourselves with the h o p e of converting the I n d i a n s ? W e s h o u l d rather begin with converting our back-settlers; a n d now if I d a r e m e n t i o n the n a m e of religion, 3. Land held outright for a specified period of time. 4. Followers of J a c o b Hutter, who was executed in 1536. They were Christian family communities

who gave up private property and were noted for their industry and thrift. They suffered a number of persecutions in the 1 7th century and emigrated to other lands.

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its sweet a c c e n t s w o u l d be lost in the i m m e n s i t y of t h e s e w o o d s . M e n t h u s p l a c e d are not fit either to receive or r e m e m b e r its mild i n s t r u c t i o n s ; they w a n t 5 t e m p l e s a n d m i n i s t e r s , but a s s o o n as m e n c e a s e to r e m a i n at h o m e , a n d begin to lead an erratic life, let t h e m b e either tawny or white, they c e a s e to be its d i s c i p l e s . #

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E u r o p e c o n t a i n s hardly any other distinctions but lords a n d t e n a n t s ; this fair country a l o n e is settled by freeholders, the p o s s e s s o r s of the soil they cultivate, m e m b e r s of the g o v e r n m e n t they obey, a n d the f r a m e r s of their own laws, by m e a n s of their representatives. T h i s is a t h o u g h t which you have t a u g h t m e to c h e r i s h ; o u r difference from E u r o p e , far from d i m i n i s h i n g , rather a d d s to our u s e f u l n e s s a n d c o n s e q u e n c e a s m e n a n d s u b j e c t s . H a d our forefathers r e m a i n e d t h e r e , they would only have c r o w d e d it, a n d perh a p s p r o l o n g e d t h o s e c o n v u l s i o n s which h a d s h o o k it s o long. Every i n d u s trious E u r o p e a n w h o transports h i m s e l f here may be c o m p a r e d to a s p r o u t growing at the foot of a great tree; it enjoys a n d draws but a little portion of s a p ; w r e n c h it from the p a r e n t roots, t r a n s p l a n t it, a n d it will b e c o m e a tree b e a r i n g fruit a l s o . C o l o n i s t s are therefore entitled to the c o n s i d e r a t i o n d u e to the m o s t useful s u b j e c t s ; a h u n d r e d families barely existing in s o m e p a r t s or S c o t l a n d will h e r e in six years c a u s e an a n n u a l exportation of 1 0 , 0 0 0 b u s h e l s of w h e a t ; 1 0 0 b u s h e l s b e i n g b u t a c o m m o n quantity for a n i n d u s trious family to sell, if they cultivated g o o d l a n d . It is h e r e then that fY\? j d l p m a y be e m p l o y e d , the u s e l e s s b e c o m e useful, a n d the p o o r became tifchj k " f "By riches T d o not m e a n gold a n d silver, we have b u t little of t h o s e m e t a l s ; I fnSdii a bcttci noil uf wealth, cleared l a n d s , cattle, g o o d h o u s e s , g o o d c l o t h e s , and~a~rr1ncrease of people*^ p n j o v t h e m . T h e r e is n o w o n d e r that this country h a s s o m a n y c h a r m s , a n d p r e s e n t s to E u r o p e a n s so m a n y t e m p t a t i o n s to r e m a i n in it. A traveler in E u r o p e b e c o m e s a stranger a s s o o n a s he quits his own k i n g d o m ; but it is otherwise h e r e . W e know, properly s p e a k i n g , n o s t r a n g e r s ; this is every p e r s o n ' s c o u n try; the variety of our soils, s i t u a t i o n s , c l i m a t e s , g o v e r n m e n t s , a n d p r o d u c e hath s o m e t h i n g which m u s t p l e a s e everybody. N o s o o n e r d o e s a E u r o p e a n arrive, no m a t t e r of what condition, than his eyes a r e o p e n e d u p o n the fair p r o s p e c t ; he h e a r s his l a n g u a g e s p o k e n , h e retraces m a n y of his own country m a n n e r s , h e perpetually h e a r s the n a m e s of families a n d towns with w h i c h he is a c q u a i n t e d ; h e s e e s h a p p i n e s s a n d prosperity in all p l a c e s d i s s e m i n a t e d ; he m e e t s with hospitality, k i n d n e s s , a n d plenty everywhere; h e b e h o l d s hardly any poor; he s e l d o m h e a r s of p u n i s h m e n t s a n d e x e c u t i o n s ; a n d he w o n d e r s at the e l e g a n c e of o u r towns, t h o s e m i r a c l e s of industry a n d f r e e d o m . H e c a n n o t a d m i r e e n o u g h our rural districts, our c o n v e n i e n t r o a d s , g o o d taverns, a n d our m a n y a c c o m m o d a t i o n s ; h e involuntarily loves a c o u n t r y w h e r e everything is so lovely.

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After a foreigner from any part of E u r o p e is arrived, a n d b e c o m e a citizen, let him devoutly listen to the voice of our great p a r e n t , which says to h i m , " W e l c o m e to my s h o r e s , d i s t r e s s e d E u r o p e a n ; b l e s s the h o u r in w h i c h t h o u 5. Lack.

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didst s e e my verdant fields, my fair navigable rivers, a n d my green m o u n t a i n s ! — I f thou wilt work, I have b r e a d for t h e e ; if t h o u wilt b e h o n e s t , sober, a n d i n d u s t r i o u s , I have greater rewards to confer on t h e e — e a s e a n d indep e n d e n c e . I will give thee fields to feed a n d clothe t h e e ; a c o m f o r t a b l e fires i d e to sit by, a n d tell thy children by what m e a n s t h o u h a s t p r o s p e r e d ; a n d a d e c e n t b e d to r e p o s e o n . I shall e n d o w thee beside with t h e i m m u n i t i e s o f a f r e e m a n . If thou wilt carefully e d u c a t e thy children, t e a c h t h e m gratitude to G o d , a n d reverence to that g o v e r n m e n t , the p h i l a n t h r o p i c g o v e r n m e n t , w h i c h h a s collected h e r e s o m a n y m e n a n d m a d e t h e m happy. I will a l s o provide for thy progeny; a n d to every g o o d m a n this o u g h t to be t h e m o s t holy, t h e m o s t powerful, t h e m o s t e a r n e s t wish h e c a n possibly form, a s well a s t h e m o s t c o n s o l a t o r y p r o s p e c t w h e n h e dies. G o t h o u a n d work a n d till; thou shalt p r o s p e r , provided thou b e j u s t , grateful, a n d i n d u s t r i o u s . " r o m Letter IX. Description of Charles-Town; on Slavery; on Physical Evil; A Melancholy

Tlioughts Scene

C h a r l e s - T o w n is, in t h e north, what L i m a is in the s o u t h ; b o t h are c a p i t a l s of t h e richest provinces of their respective h e m i s p h e r e s : you m a y therefore c o n j e c t u r e , that both cities m u s t exhibit t h e a p p e a r a n c e s n e c e s s a r i l y resulting from riches. P e r u a b o u n d i n g in gold, L i m a is filled with i n h a b i t a n t s w h o enjoy all t h o s e g r a d a t i o n s of p l e a s u r e , refinement, a n d luxury, w h i c h p r o c e e d from w e a l t h . C a r o l i n a p r o d u c e s c o m m o d i t i e s , m o r e valuable_j3ejjiaps4han gold, b e c a u s e they a r e g a i n e d by greater industry; it exhibits a l s o on o u r northern s t a g e , a display of riches a n d luxury, inferior i n d e e d to t h e former, but far s u p e r i o r to w h a t a r e to he s e e n in o u r northern towns. Its situation is a d m i r a b l e , b e i n g built at t h e c o n f l u e n c e of two large rivers, w h i c h receive in their c o u r s e a great n u m b e r of inferior s t r e a m s ; all navigable in t h e spring, for flat-boats. H e r e t h e p r o d u c e of this extensive territory c o n c e n t e r s ; here therefore is t h e seat of t h e m o s t v a l u a b l e exportation; their w h a r f s , their d o c k s , their m a g a z i n e s , 6 a r e extremely c o n v e n i e n t to facilitate this great c o m mercial b u s i n e s s . T h e i n h a b i t a n t s a r e t h e gayest in A m e r i c a ; it is called t h e c e n t e r of o u r b e a u m o n d e , a n d it [is] always filled with the richest p l a n t e r s of t h e p r o v i n c e , w h o resort hither in a q u e s t of health a n d p l e a s u r e . H e r e are always to b e s e e n a great n u m b e r o f v a l e t u d i n a r i a n s from the W e s t I n d i e s , s e e k i n g for t h e renovation of h e a l t h , e x h a u s t e d by t h e debilitating n a t u r e o f their s u n , air, a n d m o d e s of living. M a n y o f t h e s e W e s t Indians have I s e e n , at thirty, l o a d e d with t h e infirmities of old a g e ; for n o t h i n g is m o r e c o m m o n in t h o s e c o u n t r i e s of wealth, than for p e r s o n s to lose the abilities o f enjoying the c o m f o r t s of life, at a time w h e n we northern m e n j u s t begin to t a s t e t h e fruits of o u r labor a n d p r u d e n c e . T h e r o u n d of p l e a s u r e , a n d t h e e x p e n s e s of t h o s e citizens' t a b l e s , a r e m u c h s u p e r i o r to what you w o u l d i m a g i n e : i n d e e d t h e growth of this town a n d province h a s b e e n astonishingly rapid. It is [a] pity that t h e n a r r o w n e s s of the neck on which it s t a n d s prevents it from i n c r e a s i n g ; a n d which is t h e r e a s o n why h o u s e s a r e s o d e a r . T h e heat of t h e c l i m a t e , which is s o m e t i m e s very great in t h e interior p a r t s of t h e country, is always t e m p e r a t e in C h a r l e s - T o w n ; t h o u g h s o m e t i m e s w h e n they have n o s e a breezes t h e s u n is too powerful. T h e c l i m a t e r e n d e r s e x c e s s e s o f all kinds 6 . Warehouses.

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very d a n g e r o u s , particularly t h o s e of the table; a n d yet, i n s e n s i b l e or fearless of d a n g e r , they live o n , a n d enjoy a short a n d a merry life: the rays of their s u n s e e m to urge them irresistably to dissipation a n d p l e a s u r e : o n the c o n trary, the w o m e n , f t o m j j e j n g a b s t e m i o u s , r e a c h to a longer period of life, a n c L s e l d o m die without having h a d several h u s b a n d s . An E u r o p e a n at his first arrival muSfTJe greatly surprised when he Sees f h e " e i e g a n c e of their h o u s e s , their s u m p t u o u s furniture, a s well a s the m a g n i f i c e n c e of their tables. C a n he i m a g i n e h i m s e l f in a country, the e s t a b l i s h m e n t of which is so recent? T h e three principal c l a s s e s of i n h a b i t a n t s a r e , lawyers, p l a n t e r s , a n d merc h a n t s ; this is the province which has afforded to the first the richest spoils, lor nothing c a n exceed their wealth, their power, a n d their i n f l u e n c e . T h e y have r e a c h e d the ne -plus ultra7 of worldly felicity; no p l a n t a t i o n is s e c u r e d , no title is g o o d , no will is valid, but what they d i c t a t e , r e g u l a t e , a n d a p p r o v e . T h e whole m a s s of provincial property is b e c o m e tributary to this society; which, far a b o v e priests a n d b i s h o p s , disdain to be satisfied with the p o o r M o s a i c a l portion of the t e n t h . 8 I a p p e a l to the m a n y i n h a b i t a n t s , w h o , while c o n t e n d i n g p e r h a p s for their right to a few h u n d r e d a c r e s , have lost by the m a z e s of the law their whole patrimony. T h e s e m e n are m o r e properly law givers than interpreters of the law; a n d have u n i t e d h e r e , a s well a s in m o s t other provinces, the skill a n d dexterity of the scribe with the p o w e r a n d a m b i t i o n of the p r i n c e : w h o c a n tell where this m a y lead in a future day? T h e n a t u r e of our laws, a n d the spirit of f r e e d o m , which often t e n d s to m a k e us litigious, m u s t n e c e s s a r i l y throw the g r e a t e s t part of the property of the colonies into the h a n d s of t h e s e g e n t l e m e n . In a n o t h e r century, the law will p o s s e s s in the north, what now the c h u r c h p o s s e s s e s in Peru a n d M e x i c o . While all is joy, festivity, a n d h a p p i n e s s in C h a r l e s - T o w n , would you i m a g ine that s c e n e s of misery o v e r s p r e a d in the country? T h e i r e a r s by habit are b e c o m e deaf, their hearts are h a r d e n e d ; they neither s e e , hear, nor feel for the w o e s of their poor slaves, from w h o s e painful labors all their wealth p r o c e e d s . H e r e the horrors of slavery, the h a r d s h i p of i n c e s s a n t toils, a r e u n s e e n ; a n d no o n e thinks with c o m p a s s i o n of t h o s e s h o w e r s of sweat a n d of tears which from the b o d i e s of A f r i c a n s , daily d r o p , a n d m o i s t e n the g r o u n d they till. T h e c r a c k s of the whip urging t h e s e m i s e r a b l e b e i n g s to excessive labor, a r e far too distant from the gay capital to be h e a r d . The. c h o s e n r a c e eat, drink. a " d liyp happy, w h i l p t h e u n f o r t u n a t e o n e g r u b s u p the g r o u n d , raises indigo, or h u s k s the rice; e x p o s e d 1 0 a s u n tull'as s c o r c h i n g a s their native o n e : without the s u p p o r t of g o o d food, without the cordials o f _ a n y c h e e n n g l i q u o r . T h i s great c o n t r a s t h a s often afforded m e s u b j e c t s of the m o s t attlicting m e d i t a t i o n . O n the o n e s i d e , b e h o l d a p e o p l e enjoying all that life affords m o s t bewitching a n d p l e a s u r a b l e , without labor, without fatigue, hardly s u b j e c t e d to the trouble of wishing. With gold, d u g from Peruvian m o u n t a i n s , they order v e s s e l s to the c o a s t s of G u i n e a ; by virtue of that gold, w a r s , m u r d e r s , a n d d e v a s t a t i o n s are c o m m i t t e d in s o m e h a r m l e s s , p e a c e a b l e African n e i g h b o r h o o d , where dwelt i n n o c e n t p e o p l e , w h o even knew not but that all m e n were black. T h e d a u g h t e r torn from her w e e p i n g 7. No more beyond (Latin, literal trans.); the point of highest achievement. 8. T h e practice of tithing (offering one-tenth of one's worldly goods to God) was begun by Abraham

(Genesis 14.20). It is " M o s a i c a l " b e c a u s e the first five books of the Old Testament are traditionally ascribed to M o s e s .

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m o t h e r , the child from the w r e t c h e d p a r e n t s , the wife from the loving h u s b a n d ; w h o s e families swept away a n d b r o u g h t t h r o u g h s t o r m s a n d t e m p e s t s to this rich metropolis! T h e r e , a r r a n g e d like horses at a fair, they are b r a n d e d like cattle, a n d then driven to toil, to starve, a n d to l a n g u i s h for a few years o n the different p l a n t a t i o n s of t h e s e citizens. A n d for w h o m m u s t they w o r k : F o r p e r s o n s they know not, a n d w h o have no other power over t h e m than that of v i o l e n c e ; n o other right t h a n what this a c c u r s e d m e t a l h a s given t h e m ! S t r a n g e order of things! O h , N a t u r e , w h e r e are t h o u ? — A r e not t h e s e b l a c k s thy children a s well as w e ? O n the other s i d e , n o t h i n g is to b e s e e n b u t the m o s t diffusive misery a n d w r e t c h e d n e s s , unrelieved even in t h o u g h t or wish! D a y after day they d r u d g e on without any p r o s p e c t of ever r e a p i n g for t h e m selves; they are obliged to devote their lives, their l i m b s , their will, a n d every vital exertion to swell the w e a l t h of m a s t e r s ; w h o look not u p o n t h e m with half the k i n d n e s s a n d affection with which they c o n s i d e r their d o g s a n d h o r s e s . K i n d n e s s a n d affection a r e not the portion of t h o s e w h o till the e a r t h , who carry the b u r d e n s , w h o convert the logs into useful b o a r d s . T h i s reward, s i m p l e a n d natural as o n e would c o n c e i v e it, would b o r d e r o n h u m a n i t y ; a n d p l a n t e r s m u s t have n o n e of it! *

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A c l e r g y m a n settled a few years a g o at G e o r g e - T o w n , a n d feeling as I d o now, warmly r e c o m m e n d e d to the p l a n t e r s , from the pulpit, a relaxation of severity; h e i n t r o d u c e d the benignity of Christianity, a n d pathetically m a d e u s e of the a d m i r a b l e p r e c e p t s of that s y s t e m to melt the hearts of his congregation into a g r e a t e r d e g r e e of c o m p a s s i o n toward their slaves t h a n h a d b e e n hitherto c u s t o m a r y ; " S i r (said o n e of his h e a r e r s ) we pay you a genteel salary to read to u s the prayers of the liturgy, a n d to explain to u s s u c h p a r t s of the G o s p e l a s the rule of the c h u r c h d i r e c t s ; b u t we d o not w a n t you to t e a c h u s w h a t we are to do with our b l a c k s . " T h e c l e r g y m a n f o u n d it p r u d e n t to withhold any farther a d m o n i t i o n . W h e n c e this a s t o n i s h i n g right, or rather this b a r b a r o u s c u s t o m , for m o s t certainly we have no kind of right beyond that of force? W e are told, it is t r u e , that slavery c a n n o t b e s o r e p u g n a n t to h u m a n n a t u r e a s we at first i m a g i n e , b e c a u s e it h a s b e e n p r a c t i c e d in all a g e s , a n d in all n a t i o n s : the L a c e d e m o n i a n s 9 t h e m s e l v e s , t h o s e great assertors of liberty, c o n q u e r e d the H e l o t e s with the d e s i g n of m a k i n g t h e m their slaves; the R o m a n s , w h o m we c o n s i d e r a s our m a s t e r s in civil a n d military policy, lived in the exercise of the m o s t horrid o p p r e s s i o n ; they c o n q u e r e d to p l u n d e r a n d to e n s l a v e . W h a t a h i d e o u s a s p e c t the f a c e of the e a r t h m u s t then have exhibited! P r o v i n c e s , towns, districts, often d e p o p u l a t e d ; their i n h a b i t a n t s driven to R o m e , the g r e a t e s t m a r k e t in the world, a n d there sold by t h o u s a n d s ! T h e R o m a n d o m i n i o n s were tilled by the h a n d s of u n f o r t u n a t e p e o p l e , w h o h a d o n c e b e e n , like their victors free, rich, a n d p o s s e s s e d of every benefit society c a n confer; until they b e c a m e s u b j e c t to the cruel right of war, a n d to lawless force. Is there then no s u p e r i n t e n d i n g power w h o c o n d u c t s the moral o p e r a t i o n s of the world, a s well a s the p h y s i c a l ? T h e s a m e s u b l i m e h a n d which g u i d e s the p l a n e t s r o u n d the s u n with so m u c h e x a c t n e s s , which preserves the a r r a n g e m e n t of the w h o l e with s u c h exalted w i s d o m a n d p a t e r n a l c a r e , a n d p r e v e n t s the vast s y s t e m from falling into 9. Another name for the Spartans, who enslaved the people of Helos, a town in Laconia.

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c o n f u s i o n ; d o t h it a b a n d o n m a n k i n d to all the errors, the follies, a n d the m i s e r i e s , which their m o s t frantic rage, a n d their m o s t d a n g e r o u s vices a n d passions can produce? *

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Everywhere o n e part of the h u m a n s p e c i e s a r e t a u g h t the art of s h e d d i n g the blood of the other; of setting fire to their dwellings; of leveling the works of their industry: half of the existence of n a t i o n s regularly e m p l o y e d in destroying other n a t i o n s . W h a t little political felicity is to b e m e t with here a n d there, h a s c o s t o c e a n s of blood to p u r c h a s e ; a s if g o o d w a s never to b e the portion of u n h a p p y m a n . R e p u b l i c s , k i n g d o m s , m o n a r c h i e s , f o u n d e d either o n fraud or s u c c e s s f u l violence, i n c r e a s e by p u r s u i n g the s t e p s of the s a m e policy, until they are destroyed in their turn, either by the i n f l u e n c e of their own c r i m e s , or by m o r e s u c c e s s f u l b u t equally criminal e n e m i e s . If from this general review of h u m a n n a t u r e , we d e s c e n d to the examination of w h a t is called civilized society; there the c o m b i n a t i o n of every natural a n d artificial want, m a k e s u s pay very dear for w h a t little s h a r e of political felicity we enjoy. It is a s t r a n g e h e t e r o g e n e o u s a s s e m b l a g e of vices a n d virtues, a n d of a variety of other principles, forever at war, forever j a r r i n g , forever p r o d u c i n g s o m e d a n g e r o u s , s o m e d i s t r e s s i n g e x t r e m e . W h e r e do you c o n c e i v e then that n a t u r e i n t e n d e d we s h o u l d b e h a p p y ? W o u l d you prefer the s t a t e of m e n in the w o o d s , to that of m e n in a m o r e i m p r o v e d s i t u a t i o n ? Evil p r e p o n d e r a t e s in b o t h ; in the first they often eat e a c h other for want of food, a n d in the other they often starve e a c h other for want of r o o m . F o r my part, I think the vices a n d m i s e r i e s to b e f o u n d in the latter, e x c e e d t h o s e of the former; in which real evil is m o r e s c a r c e , m o r e s u p p o r t a b l e , a n d less e n o r m o u s . Yet we wish to s e e the earth p e o p l e d ; to a c c o m p l i s h the h a p p i n e s s of k i n g d o m s , which is said to c o n s i s t in n u m b e r s . G r a c i o u s G o d ! to what e n d is the introduction of s o m a n y b e i n g s into a m o d e of e x i s t e n c e in which they m u s t g r o p e a m i d s t a s m a n y errors, c o m m i t a s m a n y c r i m e s , a n d m e e t with as m a n y d i s e a s e s , w a n t s , a n d sufferings! T h e following s c e n e will I h o p e a c c o u n t for t h e s e m e l a n c h o l y reflections, a n d apologize for the g l o o m y t h o u g h t s with w h i c h I have filled this letter: my m i n d is, a n d always h a s b e e n , o p p r e s s e d s i n c e I b e c a m e a w i t n e s s to it. I w a s not long s i n c e invited to dine with a p l a n t e r w h o lived three miles from , where h e then r e s i d e d . In order to avoid the h e a t of the s u n , I resolved to go on foot, sheltered in a small p a t h , l e a d i n g t h r o u g h a p l e a s a n t w o o d . I was leisurely traveling along, attentively e x a m i n i n g s o m e p e c u l i a r p l a n t s which I h a d collected, w h e n all at o n c e I felt the air strongly a g i t a t e d ; t h o u g h the day w a s perfectly c a l m a n d sultry. I i m m e d i a t e l y c a s t my eyes toward the c l e a r e d g r o u n d , from which I was b u t at a s m a l l d i s t a n c e , in order to s e e w h e t h e r it w a s not o c c a s i o n e d by a s u d d e n shower; w h e n at that instant a s o u n d r e s e m b l i n g a d e e p r o u g h voice, u t t e r e d , a s I t h o u g h t , a few inarticulate m o n o s y l l a b l e s . A l a r m e d a n d s u r p r i s e d , I precipitately looked all r o u n d , w h e n I p e r c e i v e d at a b o u t six rods d i s t a n c e s o m e t h i n g r e s e m b l i n g a c a g e , s u s p e n d e d to the limbs of a tree; all the b r a n c h e s of which a p p e a r e d c o v e r e d with large birds of prey, fluttering a b o u t , a n d anxiously e n d e a v o r i n g to p e r c h on the c a g e . A c t u a t e d by an involuntary m o t i o n of my h a n d s , m o r e t h a n by any d e s i g n of my m i n d , I fired at t h e m ; they all flew to a short d i s t a n c e , with a m o s t h i d e o u s n o i s e : w h e n , horrid to think a n d painful to r e p e a t , I p e r c e i v e d

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a N e g r o , s u s p e n d e d in the c a g e , a n d left there to expire! I s h u d d e r w h e n I recollect that the birds h a d already p i c k e d out his eyes, his c h e e k b o n e s were b a r e ; his a r m s h a d b e e n a t t a c k e d in several p l a c e s , a n d his body s e e m e d c o v e r e d with a m u l t i t u d e of w o u n d s . F r o m the e d g e s of the hollow s o c k e t s a n d from the l a c e r a t i o n s with which he w a s disfigured, the b l o o d slowly d r o p p e d , a n d tinged the g r o u n d b e n e a t h . N o s o o n e r were the birds flown, t h a n s w a r m s of i n s e c t s c o v e r e d the whole body of this u n f o r t u n a t e w r e t c h , e a g e r to feed on his m a n g l e d flesh a n d to drink his blood. I f o u n d myself s u d d e n l y a r r e s t e d by the power of affright a n d terror; my nerves were c o n v u l s e d ; I t r e m b l e d , I stood m o t i o n l e s s , involuntarily c o n t e m p l a t i n g the fate of this N e g r o , in all its d i s m a l latitude. T h e living s p e c t e r , t h o u g h deprived of his eyes, c o u l d still distinctly hear, a n d in his u n c o u t h dialect b e g g e d m e to give him s o m e water to allay his thirst. H u m a n i t y herself would have recoiled b a c k with horror; s h e w o u l d have b a l a n c e d w h e t h e r to l e s s e n s u c h reliefless d i s t r e s s , or mercifully with o n e blow to e n d this dreadful s c e n e of agonizing torture! H a d I h a d a ball in my g u n , I certainly s h o u l d have disp a t c h e d h i m ; but finding myself u n a b l e to perform s o kind an office, I s o u g h t , t h o u g h trembling, to relieve h i m a s well a s I c o u l d . A shell ready fixed to a p o l e , which h a d b e e n u s e d by s o m e N e g r o e s , p r e s e n t e d itself to m e ; filled it with water, a n d with t r e m b l i n g h a n d s I g u i d e d it to the quivering lips of the w r e t c h e d sufferer. U r g e d by the irresistible power of thirst, h e e n d e a v o r e d to m e e t it, a s he instinctively g u e s s e d its a p p r o a c h by the n o i s e it m a d e in p a s s i n g t h r o u g h the b a r s of the c a g e . " T a n k e , you white m a n , tanke you, p u t e s o m e p o i s o n a n d give m e . " " H o w long have you b e e n h a n g i n g t h e r e ? " I a s k e d h i m . " T w o d a y s , a n d m e no die; the birds, the b i r d s ; a a a h m e ! " O p p r e s s e d with the reflections which this s h o c k i n g s p e c t a c l e afforded m e , I m u s t e r e d strength e n o u g h to walk away, a n d s o o n r e a c h e d the h o u s e at w h i c h I i n t e n d e d to d i n e . T h e r e I h e a r d that the r e a s o n for this slave b e i n g t h u s p u n i s h e d w a s on a c c o u n t of his having killed the overseer of the plantation. T h e y told m e that the laws of self-preservation r e n d e r e d s u c h exec u t i o n s n e c e s s a r y ; a n d s u p p o r t e d the d o c t r i n e of slavery with the a r g u m e n t s generally m a d e u s e of to justify the p r a c t i c e ; with the repetition of which I shall not trouble you at p r e s e n t . Adieu. c.1769-80

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1736-1801 British Americans, hoping to demonstrate their familiarity with the norms that defined a person of learning and sociability, expressed themselves in many of the same poetic forms—elegies, odes, epithalamiums, sonnets, satire, pastoral, for example—that defined English literature in the Augustan Age. But to think of authorship primarily in terms of print publication greatly limits our understanding of such eighteenth-century writing. In fact, colonial Americans prepared a considerable amount

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of belletristic literature for oral presentation or manuscript circulation among friends and like-minded acquaintances. Some of these provincials took as their model the famous English social clubs in which politics and literature were mixed in the headiest concoctions. At such American incarnations of club culture as the Tuesday Club of Annapolis, Maryland ( 1 7 4 5 - 5 6 ) , whose elaborate history was left in manuscript by Dr. Alexander Hamilton, both women and men shared hospitality, conversation, and writing. Equally important, writers who traveled in such circles often prepared fair copies of poetry for literati at a distance from their meetings. For these literary types, manuscripts were the equivalent of print. This kind of literary culture existed all along the Atlantic seaboard but flourished particularly in large port cities or near the few institutions of higher learning that dotted the provincial landscape. The center of one such circle was Princeton, New Jersey, where the poet Annis Boudinot Stockton opened her husband's family manor, Morven, to intellectuals and politicians in the region. Daughter of a well-to-do Philadelphia family that had recently moved to Princeton, Annis married the attorney Richard Stockton, scion of a prominent local family, in 1757 or early 1758. Richard quickly became a favorite of New Jersey governor William Franklin and through such patronage held various offices in the colonial government. Eventually espousing the patriots' cause, he signed the Declaration of Independence. The Stocktons' intellectual and political network ensured their high visibility, and Annis used her social position to establish a literary salon on the model of that of her childhood friend Elizabeth Graeme Fergusson in Philadelphia. Like so many other colonists with close ties to British government, the Stocktons found their lives overturned by the turmoil of politics and war. Forced to leave Morven as battles raged nearby, they soon found themselves under suspicion by the Crown, and, subsequently, Richard was jailed and made to sign an oath not to participate further in resistance to the king. After General Washington recaptured the area, the Stocktons were able to return to their home, which Annis reopened to the kind of company, including Washington himself, that she had known since her youth in Philadelphia. After the death of her husband in 1781 deprived her of her staunchest supporter, poetry continued to bring her solace; several of her most moving poems were written on anniversaries of his death. Stockton's skill as a poet was not totally unknown in the wider world, for eventually she published twenty-one poems in monthly magazines or weekly newspapers (she signed them "Mrs. A.S." or "Mrs. S."), most in the 1780s. The bulk of her oeuvre, however, remained in manuscript, primarily in a volume titled Only for the Eye of a Friend, recently acquired by the New Jersey Historical Society. Her poems' subjects vary from the overtly political to the deeply personal, and all display the wit and intelligence that characterizes the best eighteenth-century writing. In one selection printed here she indicts males for not welcoming women's poetic efforts, stinging verse reminiscent of Anne Bradstreet's "Prologue" to her first book. Other poems, including one on the topic of sensibility—perhaps the topic of the age—speak eloquently of the subject of female friendship and the obligations incumbent on it. Another poem celebrates Washington's presidency and demonstrates how cleverly Stockton was able to negotiate the boundaries between public and private life, as she wrote movingly of her acquaintance and hero. Clearly, as these selections indicate, Stockton thought that writing was indeed publication, albeit in a form that prevented her widespread recognition. Testament to a culture that prided itself on its sense and sensibility, her verse and its appreciation by those in her circle remind us that, despite the undeniable restrictions on eighteenth-century women, some found an audience that valued their skill and intelligence. The texts are from Only for the Eye of a Friend:

Stockton

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A S a r c a s m 1 a g a i n s t t h e l a d i e s in a n e w s p a p e r ; An impromptu answer A S a r c a s m a g a i n s t the ladies in a n e w s p a p e r W o m a n are b o o k s in w h i c h we often spy S o m e bloted lines a n d s o m e t i m e s lines awry A n d tho p e r h a p s s o m e strait o n e s intervene In all of t h e m erata m a y b e s e e n If it be so I wish my wife were An a l m a n a c k — t o c h a n g e her every year

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An i m p r o m p t u a n s w e r " W o m a n are b o o k s " — i n this I d o a g r e e B u t m e n there are that c a n t r e a d A B C A n d m o r e w h o have not g e n i u s to d i s c e r n T h e b e a u t i e s of t h o s e b o o k s they a t t e m p t to learn F o r these an a l m a n a c k m a y always hold As m u c h of S c i e n c e a s they c a n u n f o l d — B u t t h a n k our s t a r s , our C r i t i c s are not these T h e m e n of s e n s e a n d t a s t e we always p l e a s e W h o know to c h o o s e a n d then to prize their b o o k s N o r leave the strait lines for to s e a r c h for c r o o k s A n d from t h e s e b o o k s their n o b l e s t p l e a s u r e s flow Altho p e r f e c t i o n s never f o u n d below W i t h t h e m into a world of error thrown A n d our e r a t a s p l a c e a g a i n s t their own Emelia

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T o my B u r r i s s a — 1 Lovliest of W o m e n ! C o u l d I gain T h y F r i e n d s h i p , which I prize Above the t r e a s u r e s of the M a i n C o m p l e a t w o u l d b e my J o y s B u r r i s s a O h my soul a s p i r e s A n d c l a m e s a kin with yours A daring E m u l a t i o n F i r e s M y M i n d a n d all its p o w e r s P a r d o n the Bold a t t e m p t it m e a n s Only to C o p y you A n d thro' L i f e s V a r i o u s Shiftings S c e n e s Will hold t h e e Still in View O let thy Virtue b e my g u i d e 1. Here, a jest, a jocular presentation. 1. T o Stockton's friend and fellow writer, Esther Edwards Burr, wife of the president of the College

of New Jersey (Princeton) and part of her literary circle.

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DAY O F G E O R G E W A S H I N G T O N

T h y p r e s e p t s I'll improve D o t h o u ore all my ways p r e s i d e R e p r o v e m e & I'll L o v e — W h e n first I knew thy Heavenly M i n d I felt the S a c r e d F l a m e O f F r i e n d s h i p rising in my B r e s t B u t D a r e s t not it p r o c l a i m e B u t now I m p a t i e n t of restraint M y E y e s D e c l a r e Its force A n d Every friendly L o o k a t t e s t s F r o m w h e n c e they take their s i o u r c e — April 1 1 , 1 7 5 7

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To Laura—a card.—1 P e r m i t a sister m u s e to s o a r T o heights s h e never k n e w b e f o r e , A n d then look u p to t h e e ; F o r s u r e e a c h f e m a l e virtue j o i n ' d , C o n s p i r e to m a k e thy lovely m i n d T h e seat of h a r m o n y . Thy f a m e h a s reach'd the c a l m retreat, W h e r e I, s e c l u d e d from the g r e a t , H a v e leisure for my lays; It rais'd a m b i t i o n in my b r e a s t , N o t s u c h a s envious s o u l s p o s s e s s , W h o hate another's p r a i s e . B u t that which m a k e s m e strive to g a i n , And ever-grateful I'd retain, T h y friendship a s a prize; F o r friendship s o a r s a b o v e low rules, T h e formal fetters of the s c h o o l s , S h e wisely c a n d e s p i s e —

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A n o d e o n t h e b i r t h d a y of t h e i l l u s t r i o u s G e o r g e W a s h i n g t o n , P r e s i d e n t of t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s F a i r rise the M o r n that gave o u r h e r o e birth, A n d with it p e a c e d e s c e n d to b l e s s the earth, 1. T o Stockton's friend Elizabeth G r a e m e Ferguson, an accomplished Philadelphia writer.

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A n d hail his natal d a y — Fly d i s c o r d far from t h e s e enlighten'd s h o r e s L e t not fell A t t e 1 with destructive powers, Shed one malignant ray.— B u t let the loves a n d all the g r a c e s C o m e , L e t n a t u r e s m i l i n g S h e d a rich p e r f u m e , And a n t e d a t e the S p r i n g — With M y r t l e 2 crown'd fair F r e e d o m hail the m o r n , O n which your friend our m u c h lov'd chief w a s b o r n , A n d all ye M u s e s S i n g . — L e t venal b a r d s a d e s p o t s brow a d o r n , In every wreath they find a r u g g e d thorn, And praise a Satire proves— B u t our bright t h e m e will m a k e the g a r l a n d s h i n e , T o sweetest flowers his virtues we C o m b i n e , And a d d to t h o s e our l o v e s — W h a t noble qualities enrich his m i n d ; H i s ardent zeal his policy refine'd, His watchfulness and c a r e — W h e n e'er his C o u n t r y n e e d s a faithful g u a r d , N o dire event c a n find him u n p r e p a r ' d , F o r arts of p e a c e or w a r . — W h e n S a v a g e h e r d s invade our fertile p l a i n s , A n d u n d i s t i n g u i s h d S c a l p the p e a c e f u l s w a i n s , His energy is s e e n — C o l l e c t s the h e r o e s from their rural h o m e , T h e i r long n e g l e c t e d h e l m e t s they a s s u m e , A n d p e a c e is h e a r d a g a i n . — W h e n a n c i e n t n a t i o n s p a s t their zenith drive T o that fixed point at which they m u s t arrive, A n d all their glory c l o u d — C o n t e n d i n g a r m i e s c r o u d the e n s a n g u i n d field, T h e glittering a r m s are s e e n the sword the shield, And g a r m e n t s rolld in b l o o d — O n N a t u r e s theatre a l m o s t a l o n e — C o l u m b i a S i t t i n g on a p e a c e f u l t h r o n e — B e c l i n e s her b e a u t e o u s form, U p o n the b o s o m of her favourite S o n — S e e s him C o m p l e a t the work w h i c h h e b e g a n — A n d turn the i m p e n d i n g s t o r m . L o n g may this bright a u s p i c i o u s day a p p e a r , And gild with lucid rays o u r h e m i s p h e r e , Reflecting o n his b r e a s t — T h a t C o n s c i o u s p e a c e that ever m u s t a r i s e , F r o m g o o d n e s s u s e f u l n e s s a n d great e m p r i z e , By which his C o u n t r i e s b l e s t . — A n d w h e n the arbiter of life a n d d e a t h , Shall s e n d his angel to d e m a n d his b r e a t h , A n d S p e e d his heavenly flight— May humble hope and Sacred Joy impart, 1. Daughter of Zeus, who exemplified moral obtuseness, the inability to distinguish between

right and wrong. 2. O n e of the leaves used to crown a poet.

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S t r e a m s of celestial p l e a s u r e to his heart, Incommunicably bright.— c. F e b r u a r y 1 7 9 0

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Sensibility^,] a n o d e S w e e t Sensibility Celestial p o w e r R a i s e in my heart thy altar a n d thy throne N o r p u n i s h m e with o n e u n f e e l i n g hour B u t t e m p e r all my soul, a n d m a r k m e for thy own Give m e to feel the tender t r e m b l i n g tear G l i d e down my c h e e k at sight of h u m a n w o e A n d when I c a n t relieve the p a n g severe T h e m e l t i n g sigh of s y m p a t h y to know T o stretch the h a n d to sorrows tutor'd child T o wipe the tear from off the o r p h a n s eye T o turn from error by instruction mild And s n a t c h from vice the offspring of the sky By t h e e inspir'd oh may I never d a r e T o j o i n the herd in s c a n d a l s groveling vale R e p e a t the whisper in my n e i g h b o u r s ear And give a s a n c t i o n to the s l a n d e r o u s tale B u t let m e feel the sisters m o t h e r s heart W h e n e'er I view my s p e c i e s ' go astray N o r with the pride of virtue plant a dart T o fright returning prodigals a w a y . — And m a y I too participate e a c h J o y T h a t mixes with the c u p of h u m a n life N o r by the s t o i c s ' frown the b a l m alloy T h e b a l m that s w e e t e n s all this mortal strife M a y sprightly wit a n d true b e n e v o l e n c e Give relish to e a c h good which heaven b e s t o w s M a y c h e e r f u l n e s s with smiling i n n o c e n c e I n c r e a s e the c h a r m s that o'er creation glows Nor to t h e s e only do thy laws extend F o r love a n d friendship claim an a m p l e part Ah now I feel t h e m with my b e i n g blend A n d with my A n n a ' s i m a g e fill my heart

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T e a r s of f r i e n d s h i p [ . ] E l e g y t h e t h i r d . — t o a f r i e n d j u s t m a r r i e d , a n d w h o h a d p r o m i s e d to w r i t e , o n p a r t i n g , b u t h a d neglected it.— W h y h a s my A n n a t h u s forgot her friend? Did we not m e e t at friendship's s a c r e d s h r i n e ? 1. School of Greek philosophy founded by Zeno thai emphasized a detachment from passion and luxury as the way to align oneself with the natural order.

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D i d not our m u t u a l vows of truth a s c e n d , A grateful offering to the p o w e r d i v i n e ? — B u t a h ! ev'n t h e r e , I s a w the p a l s i a n q u e e n 1 W i t h strong r e s e n t m e n t in her b e a u t e o u s eyes; S h e walk'd disorder'd near her sister's f a n e , " C u p i d , my s o n , this m u s t not b e ! s h e c r i e s ; W a s not this A n n a to our altars led, By H y m e n 2 lately with a favour'd s w a i n ? D i d not his p u r p l e wings the pair o ' e r s p r e a d ? A n d m u s t his g o l d e n torch b e lit in vain? M u s t s h e n e g l e c t my rites a n d sacrifice B e f o r e my rival, with a f e m a l e friend? C u p i d , it m u s t not b e ; part t h e m s h e c r i e s , A n d s o o n their airy s c h e m e s of bliss will e n d . 'Tis d o n e , a n d m e m o r y with a p a n g s e v e r e , N o w swells my heart with m a n y a rising sigh; T h o ' you, my A n n a , c h e c k ' d the p a r t i n g tear, 'Twas paid with interest w h e n you p a s s ' d m e by. 1. T h e Greek goddess Pallas Athena, patron of Athens, who had great beauty.

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PAINE

1737-1809 The author of two of the most popular books in eighteenth-century America, and the most persuasive rhetorician of the cause for independence, Thomas Paine was born in England in 1737, the son of a Quaker father and an Anglican mother, and did not come to America until he was thirty-seven years old. Paine's early years prepared him to be a supporter of the Revolution. The discrepancy between his high intelligence and the limitations imposed on him by poverty and caste made him long for a new social order. He once said that a sermon he heard at the age of eight impressed him with the cruelty inherent in Christianity and made him a rebel forever. When he arrived in Philadelphia with letters of introduction from Benjamin Franklin, recommending him as an "ingenious, worthy young man," he had already had a remarkably full life. Until he was thirteen he went to grammar school and then was apprenticed in his father's corset shop; at nineteen he ran away from home to go to sea. From 1757 to 1774 he was a corset maker, a tobacconist and grocer, a schoolteacher, and an exciseman (a government employee who taxed goods). His efforts to organize the excisemen and make Parliament raise their salary was unprecedented. He lost his job when he admitted he had stamped as examined goods that had not been opened. His first wife died less than a year after his marriage, and he was separated from his second wife after three years. Scandals about his private life and questions about his integrity when he was employed as an exciseman provided his critics with ammunition for the rest of his life. Franklin was right, however, in recognizing Paine's genius; for, like Franklin himself, he was a remarkable man, self-taught and curious about everything, from the philosophy of law to natural science. In Philadelphia he found himself as a journalist, and he made his way quickly in that city, first as a spokesman against slavery and then as the anonymous author of

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Common Sense, the first pamphlet published in the colonies to urge immediate independence from Britain7*Paine was obviously the right man in the right place at the right time. Relations with England were at their lowest ebb: Boston was under siege, and the Second Continental Congress had convened in Philadelphia. Common Sense sold almost half a million copies, and its authorship (followed by the charge of traitor) could not be kept a secret for long. Paine enlisted in the Revolutionary Army and served as an aide-de-camp in battles in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. He followed the triumph of Common Sense with the first of sixteen pamphlets titled Crisis. The first Crisis paper ("These are the times that try men's souls") was read to Washington's troops at Trenton and did much to shore up the spirits of the Revolutionary soldiers. Paine received a number of political appointments as rewards for his services as a writer for the American cause, but he misused his privileges and lost the most lucrative offices.^He was too indiscreet and hot tempered for public employment. In 1787 he returned to England, determined to get financial assistance to construct an iron bridge for which he had devised plans. It came to nothing. But in England he wrote his second most successful work, his Rights of Man (1791—92), an impassioned plea against hereditary monarchy, the traditional institution Paine never tired of arguing against. Paine was charged with treason and fled to France, where he was made a citizen and lionized as a spokesman for revolution. The horrors of the French Revolution, however, brought home to Paine the fact that the mere overthrow of monarchy did not usher in light and order. When he protested the execution of Louis XVI, he was accused of sympathy with the Crown and imprisoned. He was saved from trial by the American ambassador, James Monroe, who offered him American citizenship and safe passage back to New York. Paine spent the last years of his life in New York City and in New Rochelle, New York. They were unhappy, impoverished years, and his reputation suffered enormously as a result of The Age of Reason (1794). Paine's attempt to define his beliefs was viewed as an attack on Christianity and, by extension, on conventional society. He was ridiculed and despised. Even George Washington, who had supported Paine's early writing, thought English criticism of him was "not a bad thing." Paine had clearly outlived his time or was living ahead of it, for soon enough his deistic ideas assumed new life and form in American Romanticism. He was buried on his farm at New Rochelle after his request for a Quaker grave site was refused. Ten years later an enthusiastic admirer exhumed his bones with the intention of having him reburied in England. The admirer's plans came to nothing, and the whereabouts of Paine's remains is, at present, unknown. Paine's great gift as a stylist was "plainness." He said he needed no "ceremonious expressions." "It is my design," he wrote, "to make those who can scarcely read understand," to put arguments in a language "as plain as the alphabet," and to shape everything "to fit the powers of thinking and the turn of language to the subject, so as to bring out a clear conclusion that shall hit the point in question and nothing else."

From

Common Sense1 Introduction

P e r h a p s the s e n t i m e n t s c o n t a i n e d in the following p a g e s a r e not yet sufficiently f a s h i o n a b l e to p r o c u r e t h e m general favor; a long habit of not think1. T h e full title is Common Sense: Addressed to the Interesting Inhabitants of America, on the following Subjects: viz.: 1. Of the Origin and Design of Government in General; with Concise Remarks on the English Constitution. II. Of Monarchy and Hered-

itary Succession. 111. Thoughts on the Present State Affairs. IV. Of the Present Ability of of American America; with some Miscellaneous Reflections. T h e text used here is from The Writings of Thomas Paine ( 1 8 9 4 - 9 6 ) , vol. 1, edited by M. D. Conway.

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ing a thing w r o n g gives it a superficial a p p e a r a n c e of b e i n g right, a n d raises at first a formidable outer}' in d e f e n c e of c u s t o m . B u t the t u m u l t s o o n s u b s i d e s . T i m e m a k e s m o r e converts than r e a s o n . As a long a n d violent a b u s e of power is generally the m e a n s of calling the right of it in q u e s t i o n (and in m a t t e r s too which might never have b e e n t h o u g h t of, h a d not the sufferers b e e n a g g r a v a t e d into the inquiry), a n d as the King of E n g l a n d h a t h u n d e r t a k e n in his own right, to s u p p o r t the Parliament in w h a t he calls theirs, a n d a s the g o o d p e o p l e of this country are grievously o p p r e s s e d by the c o m b i n a t i o n , they have a n u n d o u b t e d privilege to inquire into the p r e t e n s i o n s of b o t h , a n d equally to reject the u s u r p a t i o n of either. In the following s h e e t s , the a u t h o r hath studiously avoided everything which is p e r s o n a l a m o n g o u r s e l v e s . C o m p l i m e n t s a s well a s c e n s u r e to individuals m a k e no part thereof. T h e wise a n d the worthy n e e d not the t r i u m p h of a p a m p h l e t ; a n d t h o s e w h o s e s e n t i m e n t s are i n j u d i c i o u s or unfriendly will c e a s e of t h e m s e l v e s , u n l e s s too m u c h p a i n s is b e s t o w e d u p o n their conversions. p T h e c a u s e of A m e r i c a is in a great m e a s u r e the c a u s e of all m a n k i n d . M a n y c i r c u m s t a n c e s have, a n d will, arise which are not local, but universal, a n d t h r o u g h which the principles of all lovers of m a n k i n d are a f f e c t e d , a n d in the event of which their affections are i n t e r e s t e d . T h e laying a country desolate with fire a n d sword, d e c l a r i n g war a g a i n s t the natural rights of all m a n kind, a n d extirpating the d e f e n d e r s t h e r e o f from the f a c e of the earth, is the c o n c e r n of every m a n to w h o m n a t u r e hath given the p o w e r of feeling; of which c l a s s , r e g a r d l e s s of party c e n s u r e , is T h e Author F r o m III. Thoughts

on the Present

State

of American

Affairs

In the following p a g e s I offer n o t h i n g m o r e than s i m p l e f a c t s , plain argum e n t s , a n d c o m m o n s e n s e : a n d have no other p r e l i m i n a r i e s to settle with the reader, than that h e will divest h i m s e l f of p r e j u d i c e a n d p r e p o s s e s s i o n , a n d suffer his r e a s o n a n d his feelings to d e t e r m i n e for t h e m s e l v e s : that h e will p u t o n , or rather that he will not put off, the true c h a r a c t e r of a m a n , a n d g e n e r o u s l y e n l a r g e his views beyond the p r e s e n t day. V o l u m e s have b e e n written on the s u b j e c t of the struggle b e t w e e n E n g l a n d a n d A m e r i c a . _Men of all ranks have e m b a r k e d in the controversy, from different motives, a n d with various d e s i g n s ; but all have b e e n ineffectual, a n d the period of d e b a t e is c l o s e d . A r m s as the last r e s o u r c e d e c i d e the c o n t e s t ; the a p p e a l was the c h o i c e of the King, a n d the c o n t i n e n t h a s a c c e p t e d the challenge. * It hath b e e n reported of the late M r . P e l h a m 2 (who t h o u g h an a b l e minister w a s not without his faults) that on his b e i n g a t t a c k e d in the H o u s e of C o m m o n s on the s c o r e that his m e a s u r e s were only of a t e m p o r a r y kind, replied, "they will last my t i m e . " S h o u l d a t h o u g h t s o fatal a n d u n m a n l y p o s s e s s the c o l o n i e s in the p r e s e n t c o n t e s t , the n a m e of a n c e s t o r s will b e r e m e m b e r e d by future g e n e r a t i o n s with d e t e s t a t i o n . - y T h e s u n never s h i n e d o n a c a u s e of greater worth. 'Tis not the affair of a 2. Henry Pelham ( 1 6 9 6 - 1 754), prime minister of Britain (1 7 4 3 - 5 4 ) .

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city, a county, a province, or a k i n g d o m ; but of a c o n t i n e n t — o f at least o n e eighth part of the habitable g l o b e . 'Tis not the c o n c e r n of a day, a year, or an a g e ; posterity are virtually involved in the c o n t e s t , a n d will be m o r e or less affected even to the e n d of t i m e , by the p r o c e e d i n g s now. N o w is the seed time of continental u n i o n , faith a n d honor. Xhe least fracture now will be like a n a m e engraved with the point of a pin on the t e n d e r rind of a y o u n g oak; the w o u n d would enlarge with the tree, a n d posterity read it in full grown c h a r a c t e r s . By referring the matter from a r g u m e n t to a r m s , a n e w era for politics is s t r u c k — a new m e t h o d of thinking hath arisen. All p l a n s , p r o p o s a l s , e t c . , prior to the n i n e t e e n t h of April, i.e., to the c o m m e n c e m e n t of hostilities,* are like the a l m a n a c s of the last year; which t h o u g h p r o p e r t h e n , are supers e d e d a n d u s e l e s s now. W h a t e v e r w a s a d v a n c e d by the a d v o c a t e s on either side of the q u e s t i o n then, t e r m i n a t e d in o n e a n d the s a m e point, viz., a union with G r e a t Britain; the only difference b e t w e e n the parties w a s the m e t h o d of effecting it; the o n e p r o p o s i n g force, the other friendship; but it hath so far h a p p e n e d that the first hath failed, a n d the s e c o n d hath withdrawn her influence. A s m u c h hath b e e n said of the a d v a n t a g e s ot reconciliation, which, like an a g r e e a b l e d r e a m , hath p a s s e d away a n d left us a s we were, it is but right that we s h o u l d e x a m i n e the contrary side of the a r g u m e n t , a n d inquire into s o m e of the m a n y material injuries which t h e s e c o l o n i e s s u s t a i n , a n d always will s u s t a i n , by b e i n g c o n n e c t e d with a n d d e p e n d e n t on G r e a t Britain. T o e x a m i n e that c o n n e c t i o n a n d d e p e n d e n c e , on the principles of n a t u r e a n d c o m m o n s e n s e , to s e e what we have to trust to, if s e p a r a t e d , a n d what we are to expect, if d e p e n d e n t . - I have heard it a s s e r t e d by s o m e , that a s A m e r i c a has flourished u n d e r her former c o n n e c t i o n with G r e a t Britain, the s a m e c o n n e c t i o n is n e c e s s a r y towards her future h a p p i n e s s , a n d will always have the s a m e effect. N o t h i n g c a n be m o r e fallacious than this kind of a r g u m e n t . W e may a s well a s s e r t that b e c a u s e a child has thrived u p o n milk, that it is never to have m e a t , or that the first twenty years of o u r lives is to b e c o m e a p r e c e d e n t for the next twenty. B u t even this is a d m i t t i n g m o r e than is t r u e ; for I a n s w e r roundly, that A m e r i c a would have flourished as m u c h , a n d probably m u c h m o r e , h a d no E u r o p e a n power taken any notice of her. T h e c o m m e r c e by which s h e hath e n r i c h e d herself are the n e c e s s a r i e s of life, a n d will always have a market while eating is the c u s t o m of E u r o p e . B u t s h e h a s p r o t e c t e d u s , say s o m e . T h a t she hath e n g r o s s e d 4 u s is true, and d e f e n d e d the continent at o u r e x p e n s e a s well a s her o w n , is a d m i t t e d ; a n d s h e would have d e f e n d e d Turkey from the s a m e motive, viz., for the s a k e of trade a n d d o m i n i o n . Alas! we have b e e n long led away by a n c i e n t p r e j u d i c e s a n d m a d e large sacrifices to superstition. W e have b o a s t e d the protection of G r e a t Britain without c o n s i d e r i n g that her motive w a s interest not a t t a c h m e n t ; a n d that she did not protect u s from our e n e m i e s on our a c c o u n t ; but from her e n e m i e s on her own a c c o u n t , from t h o s e w h o had no quarrel with u s on any other a c c o u n t , a n d w h o will always be our e n e m i e s on the s a m e a c c o u n t . 3. T h e " M i n u t e m e n " of Lexington, M a s s a c h u setts, defended their ammunition stores against the British on April 19, 1775, and engaged in

the first armed conflict of the American Revolution. 4. Dominated.

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L e t Britain waive her p r e t e n s i o n s to the c o n t i n e n t , or the c o n t i n e n t throw off the d e p e n d e n c e , a n d we s h o u l d be at p e a c e with F r a n c e a n d S p a i n , were they at war with Britain. T h e miseries of Hanover's last w a r 5 o u g h t to warn us against connections. It h a t h lately b e e n a s s e r t e d in P a r l i a m e n t , that the c o l o n i e s have no relation to e a c h other b u t t h r o u g h the p a r e n t country, i.e., that P e n n s y l v a n i a a n d the J e r s e y s , 6 a n d so on for the rest, a r e sister c o l o n i e s by the way of E n g l a n d ; this is certainly a very r o u n d a b o u t way of proving r e l a t i o n s h i p , but it is the n e a r e s t a n d only true way of proving enmity (or e n e m y s h i p , if I may so call it). F r a n c e a n d S p a i n never w e r e , nor p e r h a p s ever will b e , our e n e m i e s a s A m e r i c a n s , but a s our b e i n g the s u b j e c t s of G r e a t Britain. B u t Britain is the p a r e n t country, say s o m e . T h e n the m o r e s h a m e u p o n her c o n d u c t . E v e n b r u t e s d o not d e v o u r their y o u n g , nor s a v a g e s m a k e war u p o n their families; w h e r e f o r e , the a s s e r t i o n , if t r u e , t u r n s to her r e p r o a c h ; b u t it h a p p e n s not to be t r u e , or only partly s o , a n d the p h r a s e p a r e n t or m o t h e r country h a t h b e e n j e s u i t i c a l l y 7 a d o p t e d by the K i n g a n d his p a r a s i t e s , with a low papistical d e s i g n of g a i n i n g an unfair bias on the c r e d u l o u s weakn e s s of our m i n d s . E u r o p e , a n d not E n g l a n d , is the p a r e n t country of America. T h i s new world hath b e e n the a s y l u m for the p e r s e c u t e d lovers of civil a n d religious liberty from every part of E u r o p e . H i t h e r have they fled, not from the tender e m b r a c e s of the m o t h e r , b u t from the cruelty of the m o n s t e r ; a n d it is s o far true of E n g l a n d , that the s a m e tyranny which drove the first e m i g r a n t s from h o m e , p u r s u e s their d e s c e n d a n t s still. In this extensive q u a r t e r of the g l o b e , we forget the narrow limits of three h u n d r e d a n d sixty m i l e s (the extent of E n g l a n d ) a n d carry o u r friendship on a larger s c a l e ; we c l a i m b r o t h e r h o o d with every E u r o p e a n C h r i s t i a n , a n d t r i u m p h in the generosity of the s e n t i m e n t . It is p l e a s a n t to o b s e r v e by w h a t r e g u l a r g r a d a t i o n s w e s u r m o u n t the force of local p r e j u d i c e s , a s we e n l a r g e o u r a c q u a i n t a n c e with the world. A m a n b o r n in any town in E n g l a n d divided into p a r i s h e s , will naturally a s s o c i a t e m o s t with his fellow p a r i s h i o n e r s ( b e c a u s e their interests in m a n y c a s e s will b e c o m m o n ) a n d distinguish him by the n a m e of n e i g h b o r ; if h e m e e t him b u t a few m i l e s from h o m e , he d r o p s the narrow idea of a street, a n d s a l u t e s him by the n a m e of t o w n s m a n ; if h e travel o u t of the c o u n t y a n d m e e t him in any other, he forgets the minor divisions of street a n d town, a n d calls him c o u n t r y m a n , i.e., c o u n t y m a n : b u t if in their foreign e x c u r s i o n s they s h o u l d a s s o c i a t e in F r a n c e , or any other part of E u r o p e , their local r e m e m b r a n c e w o u l d b e e n l a r g e d into that of E n g l i s h m e n . A n d by a j u s t parity of r e a s o n i n g , all E u r o p e a n s m e e t i n g in A m e r i c a , or any other q u a r t e r of the g l o b e , are c o u n t r y m e n ; for E n g l a n d , H o l l a n d , G e r m a n y , or S w e d e n , w h e n c o m p a r e d with the w h o l e , s t a n d in the s a m e p l a c e s on the larger s c a l e , w h i c h the divisions of street, town, a n d c o u n t y do on the s m a l l e r o n e s ; distinctions too limited for c o n t i n e n t a l m i n d s . N o t o n e third of the i n h a b i t a n t s , even of this p r o v i n c e , 8 a r e of E n g l i s h d e s c e n t . W h e r e f o r e , I r e p r o b a t e the p h r a s e of parent or m o t h e r c o u n t r y a p p l i e d to E n g l a n d only, a s b e i n g false, selfish, narrow and ungenerous. 5. King George III of Great Britain was a descendant of the Prussian H o u s e of Hanover. Paine is referring to the Seven Years' War (1756—63), which originally involved Prussia and Austria and grew to involve all the major European powers. American losses in what is also called the French

and Indian Wars were heavy, even though the war was settled in Britain's favor. 6. T h e colony was divided into East and West Jersey. 7. I.e., cunningly. 8. I.e., Pennsylvania.

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B u t , a d m i t t i n g that we were all of E n g l i s h d e s c e n t , w h a t d o e s it a m o u n t to? N o t h i n g . Britain, b e i n g now an o p e n e n e m y , e x t i n g u i s h e s every other n a m e a n d title: a n d to say that reconciliation is o u r duty is truly farcical. T h e first King of E n g l a n d of the p r e s e n t line (William the C o n q u e r o r ) w a s a F r e n c h m a n , a n d half the p e e r s of E n g l a n d a r e d e s c e n d a n t s from the s a m e country; wherefore, by the s a m e m e t h o d of r e a s o n i n g , E n g l a n d o u g h t to be governed by F r a n c e . > M u c h hath b e e n said of the united strength of Britain a n d the c o l o n i e s , that in c o n j u n c t i o n they might bid defiance to tfie world: but this is m e r e p r e s u m p t i o n ; the fate of war is u n c e r t a i n , neither do the e x p r e s s i o n s m e a n anything; for this c o n t i n e n t would never suffer itself to be d r a i n e d of inhabitants to s u p p o r t the British a r m s in either A s i a , Africa, or E u r o p e . B e s i d e s , what have we to do with setting the world at d e f i a n c e ? O u r plan is c o m m e r c e , a n d that, well a t t e n d e d to, will s e c u r e u s the p e a c e a n d friendship of all E u r o p e ; b e c a u s e it is the interest of all E u r o p e to have A m e r i c a a free port. H e r trade will always be a protection, a n d her b a r r e n n e s s of gold a n d silver s e c u r e her from invaders. * I c h a l l e n g e the w a r m e s t a d v o c a t e for reconciliation to s h o w a single advantage that this c o n t i n e n t c a n reap by b e i n g c o n n e c t e d with G r e a t Britain. I repeat the c h a l l e n g e ; not a single a d v a n t a g e is derived. O u r corn 1 ' will fetch its price in any market in E u r o p e , a n d our i m p o r t e d g o o d s m u s t be paid for buy t h e m w h e r e we will. But the injuries a n d d i s a d v a n t a g e s which we s u s t a i n by that c o n n e c t i o n , are without n u m b e r ; a n d our duty to m a n k i n d at large, a s well as to o u r s e l v e s , instruct us to r e n o u n c e the a l l i a n c e : b e c a u s e , any s u b m i s s i o n to, or d e p e n d e n c e on, G r e a t Britain t e n d s directly to involve this c o n t i n e n t in E u r o p e a n wars a n d q u a r r e l s , a n d set u s at variance with n a t i o n s w h o would otherwise s e e k our friendship, a n d a g a i n s t w h o m we have neither a n g e r nor c o m p l a i n t . As E u r o p e is our m a r k e t for trade, we o u g h t to form no partial c o n n e c t i o n with any part of it. It is the true interest of A m e r i c a to steer clear of E u r o p e a n c o n t e n t i o n s , which s h e never c a n do, while, by her d e p e n d e n c e on Britain, she is m a d e the makeweight in the s c a l e of British politics. E u r o p e is too thickly p l a n t e d with k i n g d o m s to be long at p e a c e , a n d whenever a war b r e a k s out b e t w e e n E n g l a n d a n d any foreign power, the t r a d e of A m e r i c a g o e s to ruin, b e c a u s e of her c o n n e c t i o n with Britain. T h e next war may not turn out like the last, 1 a n d s h o u l d it not, the a d v o c a t e s for reconciliation now will be w i s h i n g for s e p a r a t i o n then, b e c a u s e neutrality in that c a s e would be a safer convoy than a m a n of war. Everything that is right or r e a s o n a b l e p l e a d s for s e p a r a t i o n . T h e blood of the slain, the w e e p i n g voice of n a t u r e cries, " 'Tis time to p a r t . " Even the d i s t a n c e at which the Almighty hath p l a c e d E n g l a n d a n d A m e r i c a is a strong a n d natural p r o o f that the authority of the o n e over the other was never the design of H e a v e n . T h e time likewise at which the c o n t i n e n t w a s d i s c o v e r e d a d d s weight to the a r g u m e n t , a n d the m a n n e r in which it w a s p e o p l e d i n c r e a s e s the force of it. T h e Refo r m a t i o n was p r e c e d e d by the discovery of A m e r i c a : a s if the Almighty graciously m e a n t to open a s a n c t u a r y to the p e r s e c u t e d in future years, w h e n h o m e s h o u l d afford neither friendship nor safety. T h e authority of G r e a t Britain over this c o n t i n e n t is a form of g o v e r n m e n t 9. I.e., corn. 1. T h e

wheat, not

what Americans

now

call

Seven Years' War concluded with the

Treaty of Paris ( 1 7 6 3 ) , hy which Britain gained C a n a d a from France.

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which s o o n e r or later m u s t have a n e n d : a n d a s e r i o u s m i n d c a n draw no true p l e a s u r e by looking forward, u n d e r the painful a n d positive conviction that what h e calls "the p r e s e n t c o n s t i t u t i o n " is merely t e m p o r a r y . A s p a r e n t s , we c a n have n o joy, k n o w i n g that this g o v e r n m e n t is not sufficiently lasting to insure anything which w e may b e q u e a t h to posterity: a n d by a plain m e t h o d of a r g u m e n t , a s we are r u n n i n g the next g e n e r a t i o n into d e b t , we o u g h t to d o the work of it, otherwise we u s e t h e m m e a n l y a n d pitifully. In order to discover the line of our duty rightly, we s h o u l d take o u r children in our h a n d , a n d fix our station a few years farther into life; that e m i n e n c e will p r e s e n t a p r o s p e c t w h i c h a few p r e s e n t fears a n d p r e j u d i c e s c o n c e a l from o u r sight. T h o u g h I would carefully avoid giving u n n e c e s s a r y o f f e n s e , yet I a m inclined to believe that all t h o s e w h o e s p o u s e the d o c t r i n e of reconciliation m a y b e i n c l u d e d within the following d e s c r i p t i o n s . - Interested m e n w h o are not to b e t r u s t e d , w e a k m e n w h o c a n n o t s e e , p r e j u d i c e d m e n w h o will not s e e , a n d a certain set of m o d e r a t e m e n w h o think better of the E u r o p e a n world t h a n it d e s e r v e s ; a n d this last c l a s s , by a n ill-judged deliberation, will b e the c a u s e of m o r e c a l a m i t i e s to this continent than all the other t h r e e . It is the g o o d f o r t u n e of m a n y to live d i s t a n t from the s c e n e of p r e s e n t sorrow; the evil is not sufficiently b r o u g h t to their d o o r s to m a k e t h e m feel the p r e c a r i o u s n e s s with which all A m e r i c a n property is p o s s e s s e d . B u t let our i m a g i n a t i o n s transport u s a few m o m e n t s to B o s t o n ; 2 that seat of wretche d n e s s will t e a c h u s w i s d o m , a n d i n s t r u c t u s forever to r e n o u n c e a power in w h o m w e c a n have n o trust. T h e i n h a b i t a n t s of that u n f o r t u n a t e city, w h o b u t a few m o n t h s a g o were in e a s e a n d a f f l u e n c e , have now n o other alternative t h a n to stay a n d starve, or turn o u t to b e g . E n d a n g e r e d by the fire of their friends if they c o n t i n u e within the city, a n d p l u n d e r e d by the soldiery if they leave it, in their p r e s e n t situation they are p r i s o n e r s without the h o p e of r e d e m p t i o n , a n d in a g e n e r a l a t t a c k for their relief they w o u l d b e e x p o s e d to the fury of b o t h a r m i e s . M e n of p a s s i v e t e m p e r s look s o m e w h a t lightly over the o f f e n s e s of G r e a t Britain, a n d , still h o p i n g for the b e s t , are a p t to call out, " C o m e , c o m e , we shall be friends a g a i n for all t h i s . " B u t e x a m i n e the p a s s i o n s a n d feelings of m a n k i n d : bring the doctrine of reconciliation to the t o u c h s t o n e of n a t u r e , a n d then tell m e w h e t h e r you c a n hereafter love, honor, a n d faithfully serve the power that h a t h carried fire a n d sword into your land? If you c a n n o t do all t h e s e , then a r e you only deceiving yourselves, a n d by y o u r delay bringing ruin u p o n posterity. Your future c o n n e c t i o n with Britain, w h o m you c a n neither love nor honor, will b e forced a n d u n n a t u r a l , a n d , b e i n g f o r m e d only on the plan of p r e s e n t c o n v e n i e n c e , will in a little time fall into a r e l a p s e m o r e w r e t c h e d t h a n the first. B u t if you say, you c a n still p a s s the violations over, then I ask, h a t h your h o u s e b e e n b u r n t ? H a t h your property b e e n destroyed before your f a c e ? Are your wife a n d children d e s t i t u t e of a b e d to lie o n , or b r e a d to live o n ? H a v e you lost a p a r e n t or a child by their h a n d s , a n d yourself the r u i n e d a n d w r e t c h e d survivor? If you have not, then are you not a j u d g e of t h o s e w h o have. B u t if you have, a n d c a n still s h a k e h a n d s with the m u r d e r e r s , then are you unworthy the n a m e of h u s b a n d , father, 2. Boston was under British military occupation and was blockaded for six months.

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friend, or lover, a n d whatever m a y be your rank or title in life, you have the heart of a c o w a r d , a n d the spirit of a s y c o p h a n t . T h i s is not inflaming or exaggerating m a t t e r s , but trying t h e m by t h o s e feelings a n d affections which n a t u r e justifies, a n d without w h i c h we s h o u l d be i n c a p a b l e of d i s c h a r g i n g the social d u t i e s of life, or enjoying the felicities of it. I m e a n not to exhibit horror for the p u r p o s e of provoking r e v e n g e , but to a w a k e n u s from fatal a n d u n m a n l y s l u m b e r s , that we may p u r s u e determinately s o m e fixed object. T i s not in the power of Britain or of E u r o p e to c o n q u e r A m e r i c a , if s h e doth not c o n q u e r herself by delay a n d timidity. T h e p r e s e n t winter is worth a n a g e if rightly e m p l o y e d , but if lost or n e g l e c t e d the w h o l e c o n t i n e n t will p a r t a k e of the m i s f o r t u n e ; a n d there is n o p u n i s h m e n t which that m a n doth not deserve, b e h e w h o , or what, or w h e r e he will, that may be the m e a n s of sacrificing a s e a s o n s o p r e c i o u s a n d useful. T i s r e p u g n a n t to r e a s o n , to the universal order of t h i n g s , to all e x a m p l e s from former a g e s , to s u p p o s e that this c o n t i n e n t c a n long r e m a i n s u b j e c t to any external power. T h e m o s t s a n g u i n e in Britain doth not think s o . T h e u t m o s t stretch of h u m a n w i s d o m c a n n o t , at this t i m e , c o m p a s s a p l a n , short of s e p a r a t i o n , which c a n p r o m i s e the c o n t i n e n t even a year's security. R e c onciliation is now a fallacious d r e a m . N a t u r e hath d e s e r t e d the c o n n e c t i o n , a n d art c a n n o t s u p p l y her p l a c e . For, as M i l t o n wisely e x p r e s s e s , "never c a n true r e c o n c i l e m e n t grow w h e r e w o u n d s of deadly h a t e have p i e r c e d s o deep."3

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A g o v e r n m e n t of our own is our natural right: a n d w h e n a m a n seriously reflects o n the p r e c a r i o u s n e s s of h u m a n affairs, he will b e c o m e c o n v i n c e d that it is infinitely wiser a n d safer to form a c o n s t i t u t i o n of o u r own in a cool deliberate m a n n e r , while we have it in o u r power, t h a n to trust s u c h a n interesting event to time a n d c h a n c e . If we o m i t it now, s o m e M a s s a n e l l o 4 m a y hereafter arise, w h o , laying hold of p o p u l a r d i s q u i e t u d e s , m a y collect together the d e s p e r a t e a n d the d i s c o n t e n t e d , a n d by a s s u m i n g to t h e m s e l v e s the p o w e r s of g o v e r n m e n t , finally s w e e p away the liberties of the c o n t i n e n t like a d e l u g e . S h o u l d the g o v e r n m e n t of A m e r i c a return again into the h a n d s of Britain, the tottering situation of things will b e a t e m p t a t i o n for s o m e d e s p e r a t e adventurer to try his f o r t u n e ; a n d in s u c h a c a s e , w h a t relief c a n Britain give? E r e s h e c o u l d h e a r the n e w s , the fatal b u s i n e s s m i g h t be d o n e ; a n d ourselves suffering like the w r e t c h e d B r i t o n s u n d e r the o p p r e s s i o n of the c o n q u e r o r . Ye that o p p o s e i n d e p e n d e n c e now, ye k n o w not w h a t ye d o : ye are o p e n i n g a d o o r to eternal tyranny by k e e p i n g v a c a n t the seat of gove r n m e n t . T h e r e a r e t h o u s a n d s a n d tens of t h o u s a n d s , w h o w o u l d think it glorious to expel from the c o n t i n e n t that b a r b a r o u s a n d hellish p o w e r , w h i c h hath stirred u p the I n d i a n s a n d the N e g r o e s to destroy u s ; the cruelty hath a d o u b l e guilt: it is d e a l i n g brutally by u s , a n d t r e a c h e r o u s l y by t h e m . T o talk of friendship with t h o s e in w h o m o u r r e a s o n forbids u s to have faith, a n d our affections w o u n d e d t h r o u g h a t h o u s a n d p o r e s instruct u s to d e t e s t , is m a d n e s s a n d folly. Every day w e a r s out the little r e m a i n s of kindred 3. Paradise Lost ( 1 6 6 7 ) , 4 . 9 8 - 9 9 . 4. T h o m a s Anello, otherwise Massanello, a fisherman of Naples, who after spiriting up his countrymen in the public market place, against the

oppression of the Spaniards, to whom the place was then subject, prompted them to revolt, and in the space of a day b e c a m e King [Paine's note].

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b e t w e e n u s a n d t h e m ; a n d c a n there b e any r e a s o n to h o p e , that a s the relationship expires, the affection will i n c r e a s e , or that we shall a g r e e better w h e n we have ten times m o r e a n d g r e a t e r c o n c e r n s to quarrel over than ever? Ye that tell u s of h a r m o n y a n d reconciliation, c a n ye restore to u s the time that is p a s t ? C a n ye give to prostitution its former i n n o c e n c e ? N e i t h e r c a n ye r e c o n c i l e Britain a n d A m e r i c a . T h e last cord now is b r o k e n , the p e o p l e of E n g l a n d are p r e s e n t i n g a d d r e s s e s a g a i n s t u s . T h e r e are injuries w h i c h n a t u r e c a n n o t forgive; s h e would c e a s e to be n a t u r e if she did. As well c a n the lover forgive the ravisher of his m i s t r e s s , a s the c o n t i n e n t forgive the m u r d e r s of Britain. T h e Almighty hath i m p l a n t e d in u s t h e s e u n e x t i n g u i s h a b l e feelings for g o o d a n d wise p u r p o s e s . T h e y a r e the g u a r d i a n s of His i m a g e in our h e a r t s . T h e y distinguish u s from the herd of c o m m o n a n i m a l s . T h e social c o m p a c t would dissolve, a n d j u s t i c e be extirpated from the earth, or have only a c a s u a l existence were we c a l l o u s to the t o u c h e s of affection. T h e robber a n d the m u r d e r e r would often e s c a p e u n p u n i s h e d , did not the injuries which our t e m p e r s s u s t a i n provoke us into j u s t i c e . O ! ye that love m a n k i n d ! Ye that d a r e o p p o s e not only the tyranny but the tyrant, s t a n d forth! Every spot of the old world is overrun with o p p r e s s i o n . F r e e d o m hath b e e n h u n t e d r o u n d the g l o b e . Asia a n d Africa have long expelled her. E u r o p e r e g a r d s her like a stranger, a n d E n g l a n d h a t h given her w a r n i n g to depart. O! receive the fugitive, a n d p r e p a r e in t i m e a n a s y l u m for mankind.

The Crisis,1 No. 1 T h e s e are the t i m e s that try m e n ' s s o u l s . T h e s u m m e r soldier a n d the s u n s h i n e patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that s t a n d s it now, d e s e r v e s the love a n d t h a n k s of m a n a n d w o m a n . Tyranny, like hell, is not easily c o n q u e r e d ; yet we have this c o n s o l a t i o n with u s , that the harder the conflict, the m o r e glorious the t r i u m p h . W h a t we obtain too c h e a p , we e s t e e m too lightly: it is d e a r n e s s only that gives everything its v a l u e . H e a v e n k n o w s how'to p u t a p r o p e r price u p o n its g o o d s ; a n d it would b e s t r a n g e i n d e e d if so celestial a n article a s f r e e d o m s h o u l d not b e highly rated. Britain, with a n army to e n f o r c e her tyranny, h a s d e c l a r e d that s h e has a right (not only to tax) but "to bind us in all c a s e s w h a t s o e v e r , " a n d if b e i n g b o u n d in that m a n n e r is not slavery, then is there not s u c h a thing a s slavery u p o n e a r t h . Even the e x p r e s s i o n is i m p i o u s ; for s o unlimited a power c a n b e l o n g only to G o d . W h e t h e r the i n d e p e n d e n c e of the c o n t i n e n t w a s d e c l a r e d too s o o n , or delayed too long, I will not now enter into a s an a r g u m e n t ; my own s i m p l e opinion is, that h a d it b e e n eight m o n t h s earlier, it would have b e e n m u c h better. W e did not m a k e a p r o p e r u s e of last winter, neither c o u l d w e , while 1. T h e first of sixteen pamphlets that appeared under this title. Paine sometimes referred to this Crisis. There particular essay as The American were three pamphlet editions in one week: one

undated, one dated D e c e m b e r 19, and the one reprinted here, dated D e c e m b e r 2 3 . T h e text used here is from llie Writings of Thomas Paine 1 8 9 4 96. vol. 1, edited by M. D. Conway.

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we were in a d e p e n d e n t state. However, the fault, if it were o n e , w a s all our o w n ; 2 we have n o n e to b l a m e but ourselves. B u t no great deal is lost yet. All that H o w e * has been doing for this m o n t h p a s t is rather a ravage than a c o n q u e s t , which the spirit of the J e r s e y s , 4 a year a g o , w o u l d have quickly r e p u l s e d , a n d which time a n d a little resolution will s o o n recover. T I have as little superstition in m e a s any m a n living, but my secret opinion has ever b e e n , a n d still is, that G o d Almighty will not give u p a p e o p l e to military' d e s t r u c t i o n , or leave t h e m u n s u p p o r t e d l y to p e r i s h , w h o have so earnestly a n d s o repeatedly s o u g h t to avoid the c a l a m i t i e s of war, by every d e c e n t m e t h o d which w i s d o m c o u l d invent. N e i t h e r have I s o m u c h of the infidel in m e a s to s u p p o s e that H e h a s r e l i n q u i s h e d the g o v e r n m e n t of the world, a n d given u s up to the c a r e of devils; a n d a s I d o not, I c a n n o t s e e on what g r o u n d s the King of Britain c a n look up to heaven for help a g a i n s t u s : a c o m m o n m u r d e r e r , a h i g h w a y m a n , or a h o u s e b r e a k e r h a s a s g o o d a pret e n s e a s he. 'Tis surprising to s e e how rapidly a p a n i c will s o m e t i m e s run t h r o u g h a country. All n a t i o n s a n d a g e s have b e e n s u b j e c t to t h e m : Britain h a s t r e m b l e d like a n a g u e 5 at the report of a F r e n c h fleet of flat-bottomed b o a t s ; a n d in the f o u r t e e n t h century the w h o l e E n g l i s h army, after ravaging the k i n g d o m of F r a n c e , w a s driven b a c k like m e n petrified with fear; a n d this brave exploit was p e r f o r m e d by a few broken forces collected a n d h e a d e d by a w o m a n , J o a n of A r c . 6 W o u l d that heaven might inspire s o m e J e r s e y m a i d to spirit u p her c o u n t r y m e n , a n d save her fair fellow sufferers from ravage a n d ravishm e n t ! Yet p a n i c s , in s o m e c a s e s , have their u s e s ; they p r o d u c e a s m u c h good as hurt. T h e i r d u r a t i o n is always short; the mind s o o n grows t h r o u g h t h e m , a n d a c q u i r e s a firmer habit than before. B u t their p e c u l i a r a d v a n t a g e is that they are the t o u c h s t o n e s of sincerity a n d hypocrisy, a n d bring things a n d men to light, which might otherwise have lain forever u n d i s c o v e r e d . In fact, they have the s a m e effect on secret traitors, which a n imaginary apparition would have u p o n a private m u r d e r e r . T h e y sift out the hidden t h o u g h t s of m a n , a n d hold t h e m up in public to the world. M a n y a d i s g u i s e d tory 7 h a s lately s h o w n his h e a d , that shall penitentially s o l e m n i z e with c u r s e s the day on which H o w e arrived u p o n the D e l a w a r e . As I w a s with the troops at Fort L e e , a n d m a r c h e d with t h e m to the e d g e of Pennsylvania, I a m well a c q u a i n t e d with m a n y c i r c u m s t a n c e s , which t h o s e who live at a d i s t a n c e know but little or n o t h i n g of. O u r situation there w a s exceedingly c r a m p e d , the p l a c e b e i n g a narrow n e c k of land b e t w e e n the N o r t h River" a n d the H a c k e n s a c k . O u r force w a s i n c o n s i d e r a b l e , b e i n g not o n e fourth so great a s H o w e c o u l d bring a g a i n s t u s . W e h a d no army at h a n d to have relieved the garrison, h a d we shut o u r s e l v e s u p a n d s t o o d on our d e f e n s e . O u r a m m u n i t i o n , light artillery, a n d the best part of our stores h a d b e e n removed on the a p p r e h e n s i o n that H o w e would e n d e a v o r to p e n e t r a t e 2. "The present winter is worth an age, if rightly employed; hut, if lost or neglected, the whole continent will partake of the evil; and there is no punishment that man does not deserve, be he who, or what, or where he will, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious and useful" (Paine's note, taken from Common Sense], Paine wanted an immediate declaration of independence, uniting the colonies and enlisting the aid of France and Spain.

3. Lord William Howe ( 1 7 2 9 - 1 8 1 4 ) was commander of the British Armv in America from 1775 to 1778. 4. T h e colony was divided into East and West Jersey. 5. I.e., like one who is chilled. 6. S h e led the French to victory over the English in 1429 (not the "fourteenth century"). 7. I.e., supporter of the king. 8. I.e., the Hudson River.

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the J e r s e y s , in which c a s e Fort L e e c o u l d be of no u s e to u s ; for it m u s t o c c u r to every thinking m a n , whether in the army or not, that t h e s e kind of field forts are only for t e m p o r a r y p u r p o s e s , a n d last in u s e no longer than the e n e m y directs his force a g a i n s t the particular o b j e c t , which s u c h forts a r e raised to d e f e n d . S u c h w a s our situation a n d c o n d i t i o n at Fort L e e o n the m o r n i n g of the 2 0 t h of N o v e m b e r , w h e n a n officer arrived with inform a t i o n that the e n e m y with 2 0 0 b o a t s h a d l a n d e d a b o u t seven miles a b o v e : M a j o r G e n e r a l G r e e n , 9 w h o c o m m a n d e d the garrison, i m m e d i a t e l y ordered t h e m u n d e r a r m s , a n d sent express to G e n e r a l W a s h i n g t o n at the town of H a c k e n s a c k , d i s t a n t , by the way of the ferry, six m i l e s . O u r first object w a s to s e c u r e the bridge over the H a c k e n s a c k , which laid u p the river b e t w e e n the e n e m y a n d u s , a b o u t six miles from u s , a n d t h r e e from t h e m . G e n e r a l W a s h i n g t o n arrived in a b o u t three q u a r t e r s of an hour, a n d m a r c h e d at the h e a d of the troops towards the b r i d g e , which p l a c e I e x p e c t e d we s h o u l d have a b r u s h for; however, they did not c h o o s e to d i s p u t e it with u s , a n d the greatest part of our troops went over the b r i d g e , the rest over the ferry, except s o m e which p a s s e d at a mill o n a small creek, b e t w e e n the bridge a n d the ferry, a n d m a d e their way t h r o u g h s o m e m a r s h y g r o u n d s u p to the town of H a c k e n s a c k , a n d there p a s s e d the river. W e b r o u g h t off as m u c h b a g g a g e a s the w a g o n s c o u l d c o n t a i n , the rest w a s lost. T h e s i m p l e object w a s to bring off the garrison, a n d m a r c h t h e m on till they c o u l d be s t r e n g t h e n e d by the J e r s e y or Pennsylvania militia, s o a s to b e e n a b l e d to m a k e a s t a n d . W e staid four days at N e w a r k , c o l l e c t e d our o u t p o s t s with s o m e of the J e r s e y militia, a n d m a r c h e d o u t twice to m e e t the e n e m y , on b e i n g i n f o r m e d that they were a d v a n c i n g , t h o u g h our n u m b e r s were greatly inferior to theirs. H o w e , in my little o p i n i o n , c o m m i t t e d a great error in g e n e r a l s h i p in not throwing a body of forces off from S t a t e n Island t h r o u g h A m b o y , by which m e a n s he might have seized all our stores at B r u n s w i c k , a n d i n t e r c e p t e d o u r m a r c h into Pennsylvania; but if we believe the p o w e r of hell to be limited, we m u s t likewise believe that their a g e n t s are u n d e r s o m e providential control. 1 I shall not now a t t e m p t to give all the p a r t i c u l a r s of our retreat to the D e l a w a r e ; suffice it for the p r e s e n t to say, that both officers a n d m e n , t h o u g h greatly h a r a s s e d a n d f a t i g u e d , frequently without rest, covering, or provision, the inevitable c o n s e q u e n c e s of a long retreat, b o r e it with a manly a n d martial spirit. All their w i s h e s c e n t e r e d in o n e , which w a s that the c o u n t r y would turn out a n d help t h e m to drive the e n e m y b a c k . Voltaire h a s r e m a r k e d that King William never a p p e a r e d to full a d v a n t a g e b u t in difficulties a n d in a c t i o n ; 2 the s a m e r e m a r k m a y b e m a d e on G e n e r a l W a s h i n g t o n , for the c h a r a c t e r fits h i m . T h e r e is a n a t u r a l firmness in s o m e m i n d s which c a n n o t be u n l o c k e d by trifles, b u t w h i c h , w h e n u n l o c k e d , d i s c o v e r s a c a b i n e t 5 of fortitude; a n d I reckon it a m o n g t h o s e kind of public b l e s s i n g s , w h i c h we d o not i m m e d i a t e l y s e e , that G o d hath b l e s s e d him with u n i n t e r r u p t e d h e a l t h , a n d given him a m i n d that c a n even flourish u p o n c a r e . I shall c o n c l u d e this p a p e r with s o m e m i s c e l l a n e o u s r e m a r k s o n the state of our affairs; a n d shall begin with a s k i n g the following q u e s t i o n : W h y is it 9. Paine was aide-de-camp to Major General Nathanael Greene ( 1 7 4 2 - 1 7 8 6 ) . 1. T h e American losses were larger than Paine implies. General Howe took three thousand prisoners and a large store of military supplies when he captured Fort Lee. Paine wrote The Crisis,

No. 1 while serving with Washington's army as it retreated through New Jersey. 2. Voltaire ( 1 6 9 4 - 1 7 7 8 ) m a d e this remark about King William III of England ( 1 6 5 0 - 1 7 0 2 ) in his Histor}' of Louis the Fourteenth (1751). 3. Storehouse.

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that the e n e m y have left the N e w E n g l a n d p r o v i n c e s , a n d m a d e t h e s e m i d d l e o n e s the s e a t of war? T h e a n s w e r is easy: N e w E n g l a n d is not infested with tories, a n d we a r e . I have b e e n tender in raising the cry a g a i n s t t h e s e m e n , a n d u s e d n u m b e r l e s s a r g u m e n t s to show t h e m their d a n g e r , but it will not do to sacrifice a world either to their folly or their b a s e n e s s . T h e period is now arrived, in which either they or we m u s t c h a n g e o u r s e n t i m e n t s , or o n e or both m u s t fall. A n d what is a tory? G o o d G o d ! what is h e ? I s h o u l d not be afraid to go with a h u n d r e d w h i g s 4 a g a i n s t a t h o u s a n d tories, were they to a t t e m p t to get into a r m s . Every tory is a c o w a r d ; for servile, slavish, selfinterested fear is the f o u n d a t i o n of toryism; a n d a m a n u n d e r s u c h i n f l u e n c e , though he m a y be cruel, never c a n b e brave. B u t , before the line of irrecoverable s e p a r a t i o n be d r a w n b e t w e e n u s , let us r e a s o n the m a t t e r together: Your c o n d u c t is a n invitation to the e n e m y , yet not o n e in a t h o u s a n d of you h a s heart e n o u g h to j o i n h i m . H o w e is a s m u c h d e c e i v e d by you as the A m e r i c a n c a u s e is injured by y o u . H e e x p e c t s you will all take u p a r m s , a n d flock to his s t a n d a r d , with m u s k e t s on your s h o u l d e r s . Your o p i n i o n s are of n o u s e to h i m , u n l e s s you s u p p o r t him personally, for 'tis soldiers, a n d not tories, that h e w a n t s . I o n c e felt all that kind of a n g e r , which a m a n o u g h t to feel, a g a i n s t the m e a n principles that are held by the tories: a n o t e d o n e , w h o kept a tavern at A m b o y , 5 w a s s t a n d i n g at his door, with a s pretty a child in his h a n d , a b o u t eight or nine years old, a s I ever saw, a n d after s p e a k i n g his m i n d a s freely a s he t h o u g h t was p r u d e n t , finished with this unfatherly e x p r e s s i o n , "Well! give m e p e a c e in my d a y . " N o t a m a n lives on the c o n t i n e n t b u t fully believes that a s e p a r a t i o n m u s t s o m e time or other finally take p l a c e , a n d a g e n e r o u s p a r e n t s h o u l d have said, "If there m u s t be t r o u b l e , let it be in my day, that my child may have p e a c e " ; a n d this single reflection, well a p p l i e d , is sufficient to a w a k e n every m a n to duty. N o t a p l a c e u p o n e a r t h m i g h t b e so h a p p y a s A m e r i c a . H e r situation is r e m o t e from all the wrangling world, a n d s h e h a s nothing to d o but to t r a d e with t h e m . A m a n c a n d i s t i n g u i s h h i m s e l f b e t w e e n t e m p e r a n d principle, a n d I a m a s confident, a s I a m that G o d governs the world, that Ajnerica will never be h a p p y till s h e g e t s clear of « foreign d o m i n i o n . W a r s , without c e a s i n g , will b r e a k out till that period arrives, a n d the c o n t i n e n t m u s t in the e n d be c o n q u e r o r ; for t h o u g h the flame of liberty may s o m e t i m e s c e a s e to s h i n e , the coal c a n never expire. A m e r i c a did not, nor d o e s not, want force; but s h e w a n t e d a p r o p e r application of that force. W i s d o m is not the p u r c h a s e of a day, a n d it is no w o n d e r that we s h o u l d err at the first setting off. F r o m a n e x c e s s of t e n d e r n e s s , we were unwilling to raise a n army, a n d t r u s t e d our c a u s e to the t e m p o r a r y d e f e n s e of a w e l l - m e a n i n g militia. A s u m m e r ' s e x p e r i e n c e h a s now t a u g h t u s better; yet with t h o s e t r o o p s , while they were c o l l e c t e d , we w e r e a b l e to set b o u n d s to the p r o g r e s s of the e n e m y , a n d t h a n k G o d ! they a r e again a s s e m bling. I always c o n s i d e r e d militia as the b e s t troops in the world for a s u d d e n exertion, but they will not do for a long c a m p a i g n . H o w e , it is p r o b a b l e , will m a k e a n a t t e m p t on this city; 6 s h o u l d he fail o n this side of the D e l a w a r e , h e is ruined: if h e s u c c e e d s , o u r c a u s e is not ruined. H e s t a k e s all on his side a g a i n s t a part o n o u r s ; a d m i t t i n g he s u c c e e d s , the c o n s e q u e n c e will b e 4. Supporters of the Revolution. 5. Paine was stationed at Perth Amboy, New Jer-

sey, while in the Continental Army. 6. I.e., Philadelphia.

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that a r m i e s from both e n d s of the c o n t i n e n t will m a r c h to a s s i s t their suffering friends in the m i d d l e s t a t e s ; for h e c a n n o t go everywhere, it is i m p o s sible. I c o n s i d e r H o w e a s the greatest e n e m y the tories have; he is bringing a war into their country, w h i c h , h a d it not b e e n for him a n d partly for t h e m selves, they h a d b e e n clear of. S h o u l d he now be expelled, I wish with all the devotion of a C h r i s t i a n , that the n a m e s of whig a n d tory may never m o r e be m e n t i o n e d ; but s h o u l d the tories give him e n c o u r a g e m e n t to c o m e , or a s s i s t a n c e if he c o m e , I a s sincerely wish that our next year's a r m s may expel t h e m from the c o n t i n e n t , a n d the c o n g r e s s a p p r o p r i a t e their p o s s e s s i o n s to the relief of t h o s e w h o have suffered in well-doing. A single s u c c e s s f u l battle next year will settle the w h o l e . A m e r i c a c o u l d carry o n a two years' war by the confiscation of the property of disaffected p e r s o n s , a n d be m a d e h a p p y by their e x p u l s i o n . S a y not that this is r e v e n g e ; call it rather the soft resentm e n t of a suffering p e o p l e , w h o , having no object in view but the g o o d of all, have staked their own all u p o n a s e e m i n g l y doubtful event. Yet it is folly to a r g u e a g a i n s t d e t e r m i n e d h a r d n e s s ; e l o q u e n c e may strike the ear, a n d the l a n g u a g e of sorrow draw forth the tear of c o m p a s s i o n , but n o t h i n g c a n r e a c h the heart that is steeled with p r e j u d i c e . Quitting this c l a s s of m e n , I turn with the w a r m a r d o r of a friend to t h o s e who have nobly s t o o d , a n d a r e yet d e t e r m i n e d to s t a n d the m a t t e r out: I call not u p o n a few, but u p o n all: not on this state or that s t a t e , but on every state: up a n d help u s ; lay your s h o u l d e r s to the wheel; better have too m u c h force than too little, w h e n so great a n object is at s t a k e . Let it b e told to the future world that in the d e p t h of winter, w h e n n o t h i n g but h o p e a n d virtue could survive, that the city a n d the country, a l a r m e d at o n e c o m m o n d a n g e r , c a m e forth to m e e t a n d to r e p u l s e it. S a y not that t h o u s a n d s are g o n e , turn out your tens of t h o u s a n d s ; 7 throw not the b u r d e n of the day u p o n Provid e n c e , but " s h o w your faith by your w o r k s " " that G o d m a y b l e s s y o u . It m a t t e r s not w h e r e you live, or what r a n k of life you hold, the evil or the b l e s s i n g will r e a c h you all. T h e far a n d the near, the h o m e c o u n t i e s a n d the b a c k , 9 the rich a n d p o o r will suffer or rejoice alike. T h e heart that feels not now is d e a d : the blood of his children will c u r s e his c o w a r d i c e w h o shrinks b a c k at a time w h e n a little might have s a v e d the w h o l e , a n d m a d e t h e m happy. I love the m a n that c a n smile in t r o u b l e , that c a n g a t h e r s t r e n g t h from d i s t r e s s , a n d grow brave by reflection. T i s the b u s i n e s s of little m i n d s to shrink; but he w h o s e heart is firm, a n d w h o s e c o n s c i e n c e a p p r o v e s h i s c o n d u c t , will p u r s u e his principles u n t o d e a t h . M y own line of r e a s o n i n g is to myself a s straight a n d c l e a r as a ray of light. N o t all the t r e a s u r e s of the world, s o far a s I believe, c o u l d have i n d u c e d m e to s u p p o r t a n offensive war, for I think it m u r d e r ; but if a thief breaks into my h o u s e , b u r n s a n d destroys my property, a n d kills or t h r e a t e n s to kill m e , or t h o s e that are in it, a n d to "bind m e in all c a s e s w h a t s o e v e r " 1 to his a b s o l u t e will, a m I to suffer it? W h a t signifies it to m e , w h e t h e r he w h o d o e s it is a king or a c o m m o n m a n ; my c o u n t r y m a n or not my c o u n t r y m a n ; w h e t h e r it be d o n e by a n individual villain, or a n a r m y of t h e m ? If we r e a s o n to the root of t h i n g s we shall find no difference; neither c a n any j u s t c a u s e b e a s s i g n e d why we s h o u l d p u n i s h 7. "Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his ten t h o u s a n d s " (1 Samuel 18.7). 8. "Shew me thy faith without thy works, and I will shew thee my faith by my works" (James 2.18).

9. I.e., the backwoods. 1. From the Declaratory Act of Parliament, February 24, 1766, establishing British authority over the American colonies.

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in the o n e c a s e a n d p a r d o n in the other. .Let t h e m call m e rebel, a n d welc o m e , I feel n o c o n c e r n from it; but I s h o u l d suffer the misery of devils were I to m a k e a whore of my soul by s w e a r i n g a l l e g i a n c e to o n e w h o s e c h a r a c t e r is that of a sottish, s t u p i d , s t u b b o r n , worthless, brutish m a n . 1 c o n c e i v e likewise a horrid idea in receiving mercy from a being, w h o at the last day shall be shrieking to the rocks a n d m o u n t a i n s to cover him, a n d fleeing with terror from the o r p h a n , the widow, a n d the slain of A m e r i c a . T h e r e are c a s e s which c a n n o t b e overdone by l a n g u a g e , a n d this is o n e . T h e r e a r e p e r s o n s , too, w h o s e e not the full extent of the evil which t h r e a t e n s t h e m ; they s o l a c e t h e m s e l v e s with h o p e s that the e n e m y , if he s u c c e e d , will be merciful. It is the m a d n e s s of folly to expect mercy from t h o s e w h o have refused to d o j u s t i c e ; a n d even mercy, w h e r e c o n q u e s t is the o b j e c t , is only a trick of war; the c u n n i n g of the fox is a s m u r d e r o u s a s the v i o l e n c e of the wolf, a n d we ought to g u a r d equally a g a i n s t b o t h . H o w e ' s first object is, partly by threats a n d partly by p r o m i s e s , to terrify or s e d u c e the p e o p l e to deliver up their a r m s a n d receive mercy. T h e ministry r e c o m m e n d e d the s a m e plan to G a g e , 2 a n d this is what the tories call m a k i n g their p e a c e , "a p e a c e which p a s s e t h all u n d e r s t a n d i n g " 5 i n d e e d ! A p e a c e which would b e the i m m e d i a t e forerunner of a w o r s e ruin than any we have yet t h o u g h t of. Ye m e n of Pennsylvania, d o r e a s o n u p o n t h e s e things! W e r e the b a c k c o u n t i e s to give u p their a r m s , they would fall an easy prey to the I n d i a n s , w h o a r e all a r m e d : this p e r h a p s is what s o m e tories w o u l d not b e sorry for. W e r e the h o m e c o u n t i e s to deliver u p their a r m s , they would b e e x p o s e d to the r e s e n t m e n t of the b a c k c o u n t i e s , w h o would then have it in their power to c h a s t i s e their defection at p l e a s u r e . A n d were any o n e state to give u p its a r m s , that s t a t e m u s t be garrisoned by all H o w e ' s army of B r i t o n s a n d H e s s i a n s 4 to preserve it from the a n g e r of the rest. M u t u a l fear is the principal link in the c h a i n of m u t u a l love, a n d w o e be to that state that b r e a k s the c o m p a c t . H o w e is mercifully inviting you to b a r b a r o u s d e s t r u c t i o n , a n d m e n m u s t b e either r o g u e s or fools that will not s e e it. I dwell not u p o n the vapors of i m a g i n a t i o n : I bring r e a s o n to your e a r s , a n d , in l a n g u a g e a s plain a s A, B, C , hold up truth to your eyes. I thank G o d that I fear not. I s e e n o real c a u s e for fear. I know o u r situation well, a n d c a n s e e the way out of it. W h i l e o u r army w a s c o l l e c t e d , H o w e dared not risk a battle; a n d it is no credit to him that he d e c a m p e d from the W h i t e P l a i n s , 5 a n d waited a m e a n opportunity to ravage the d e f e n s e l e s s Jerseys; but it is great credit to u s , that, with a handful of m e n , we s u s t a i n e d an orderly retreat for near an h u n d r e d m i l e s , b r o u g h t off our a m m u n i t i o n , all our field p i e c e s , the greatest part of o u r s t o r e s , a n d h a d four rivers to p a s s . N o n e c a n say that our retreat w a s p r e c i p i t a t e , for we were n e a r three weeks in p e r f o r m i n g it, that the c o u n t r y 6 might have time to c o m e in. T w i c e we m a r c h e d b a c k to m e e t the e n e m y , a n d r e m a i n e d o u t till dark. T h e sign of fear w a s not s e e n in our c a m p , a n d h a d not s o m e of the cowardly a n d disaffected i n h a b i t a n t s s p r e a d false a l a r m s through the country, the J e r s e y s h a d never b e e n ravaged. O n c e m o r e we a r e a g a i n c o l l e c t e d a n d collecting; 2. General T h o m a s G a g e (1721 — 1787), who commanded the British armies in America from 1 763 to 1775, before Howe. 3. "And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ J e s u s " (Philippians 4.7).

4. German mercenaries. 5. At White Plains, New York, on October 28, 1776, General Howe successfully overcame Washington's troops but failed to take full advantage of his victory. 6. I.e., the local volunteers.

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our new a r m y at both e n d s of the c o n t i n e n t is recruiting fast, a n d we shall be able to o p e n the next c a m p a i g n with sixty t h o u s a n d m e n , well a r m e d a n d c l o t h e d . T h i s is our situation, a n d w h o will may know it. By p e r s e v e r a n c e a n d fortitude we have the p r o s p e c t of a glorious i s s u e ; by c o w a r d i c e a n d s u b m i s s i o n , the s a d c h o i c e of a variety of evils—-a r a v a g e d c o u n t r y — a d e p o p u l a t e d c i t y — h a b i t a t i o n s without safety, a n d slavery without h o p e — o u r h o m e s t u r n e d into b a r r a c k s a n d b a w d y h o u s e s for H e s s i a n s , a n d a future r a c e to provide for, w h o s e fathers we shall d o u b t of. L o o k o n this p i c t u r e a n d w e e p over it! a n d if there yet r e m a i n s o n e t h o u g h t l e s s wretch w h o believes it not, let him suffer it u n l a m e n t e d . Common Sense 1776

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1743-1826 President of the United States, first secretary of state, and minister to France, governor of Virginia, and congressman, Thomas Jefferson once said that he wished to be remembered for only three things: drafting the Declaration of Independence, writing and supporting the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom (1786), and founding the University of Virginia. Jefferson might well have included a number of other accomplishments in this list: he was a remarkable architect and designed the Virginia state capitol, his residence Monticello, and the original buildings for the University of Virginia; he farmed thousands of acres and built one of the most beautiful plantations in America; he had a library of some ten thousand volumes, which served as the basis for the Library of Congress, and a collection of paintings and sculpture that made him America's greatest patron of the arts; and he was known the world over for his spirit of scientific inquiry and as the creator of a number of remarkable inventions. The three acts for which he wished to be remembered, however, have this in common: they all testify to Jefferson's lifelong passion to liberate the human mind from tyranny, whether imposed by the state, the church, or our own ignorance. Jefferson was born at Shadwell, in what is now Albermarle County, Virginia. His mother, Jane Randolph, came from one of the most distinguished families in Virginia. Peter Jefferson, his father, was a county official and surveyor. He made the first accurate map of Virginia, something of which Jefferson was always proud. When his father died Thomas was only fourteen. Peter Jefferson left his son 2,750 acres of land, and Jefferson added to this acreage until he died; at one time he owned almost ten thousand acres. Jefferson tells us in his Autobiography that his father's education had been "quite neglected" but that he was always "eager after information" and determined to improve himself. In 1760, when Jefferson entered the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia, he had mastered Latin and Greek, played the violin respectably, and was a skilled horseman. Williamsburg was the capital of Virginia as well as a college town, and Jefferson was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of three men who strongly influenced his life: Governor Francis Fauquier, a fellow of the Royal Society; George Wythe, one of the best teachers of law in the country; and Dr. William Small, an emigrant from Scotland who taught mathematics and philosophy and who introduced Jefferson, as Garry Wills has put it, "to the invigorating realms of the Scot-

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tish Enlightenment," especially the work of Francis Hutcheson, author of Aw Inquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue (1725), and Lord Karnes (Henry Home), author of Essays on the Principles of Morality and Natural Religion (1751).

Jefferson stayed on in Williamsburg to read law after graduation and was admitted to the bar. In 1769 he was elected to the Virginia House of Burgesses and began a distinguished career in the legislature. In 1774 he wrote an influential and daringpamphlet called A Summary

View oft he Rights ofBritish

America,

denying all parliamentary

authority over America and arguing that ties to the British monarchy were voluntary and not irrevocable. Jefferson's reputation as a writer preceded him to Philadelphia, where he was a delegate to the Second Continental Congress, and on June 11,1776, he was appointed to join Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Roger Sherman, and Robert Livingston in drafting a declaration of independence. Although committee members made suggestions, the draft was very much Jefferson's own. As Wills has recently shown, Jefferson was unhappy with the changes made by Congress to his draft, and rightly so; for congressional changes went contrary to some of his basic arguments. Jefferson wished to place the British people on record as the ultimate cause of the Revolution, because they tolerated a corrupt Parliament and king; and he wished to include a strong statement against slavery. Congress tolerated neither passage. Jefferson was justified, however, in asking that he be remembered as the author of the Declaration. It was, as Dumas Malone, Jefferson's biographer, once put it, a "dangerous but glorious opportunity." Whether as the result of these frustrations or merely Jefferson's wish to be nearer his family, he left the Congress in September 1776 and entered the Virginia House of Delegates. In 1779 he was elected governor, and although reelected the following year, Jefferson's term of office came to an ignominious end when he resigned. After the British captured Richmond in 1781, Jefferson and the legislature moved to Charlottesville, and he and the legislators barely escaped imprisonment when the pursuing British Army descended on them at Monticello. Jefferson's resignation and the lack of preparations for the defense of the city were held against him, and it was some time before he regained the confidence of Virginians.

From 1781 to 1784 Jefferson withdrew from public life and remained at Monticello, completing his only book, Notes on the State of Virginia. In 1784 he was appointed minister to France and served with Benjamin Franklin on the commission that signed the Treaty of Paris, ending the Revolutionary War. He returned to Monticello in 1789, and in 1790 Washington appointed him the first secretary of state under the newly adopted Constitution. After three years he announced his retirement once again and withdrew to Monticello, where he rotated his crops and built a grist mill. But Jefferson's political blood was too thick for retirement, and in 1796 he ran for the office of president, losing to John Adams and taking the office of vice president instead. In 1800 he was elected president, the first to be inaugurated in Washington. He named Benjamin Latrobe surveyor of public buildings and worked with Latrobe in planning a great city. When Jefferson returned to Monticello in 1809, he knew that his public life was over. For the final seventeen years of his life he kept a watchful eye on everything that grew in Monticello. But Jefferson was never far from the world. He rose every morning to attack his voluminous correspondence. The Library of Congress holds more than fifty-five thousand Jefferson manuscripts and letters, and the most recent edition of his writings will run to sixty volumes. Jefferson left no treatise on political philosophy and, in a sense, was no political thinker. He was always more interested in the practical consequences of ideas. Although in drafting the Declaration and elsewhere he had argued for the freedom of slaves, he partook of the same prejudices as most of his contemporaries in the colonies and then the United States. Unable to imagine blacks integrated into American society, he counseled their colonization in a separate place. He remained an agrarian aristocrat all his life, and it is to the liberty of mind and the values of the land that he always returned. As Dumas Malone puts it, he was a "homely aristocrat in manner of life

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and personal tastes; he distrusted all rulers and feared the rise of an industrial proletariat, but more than any of his eminent contemporaries, he trusted the common man, if measurably enlightened and kept in rural virtue." Jefferson died a few hours before John Adams on the Fourth of July, 1826.

From

T h e A u t o b i o g r a p h y of T h o m a s J e f f e r s o n 1 From The Declaration *

*

of

Independence

*

It a p p e a r i n g in the c o u r s e of t h e s e d e b a t e s , that the c o l o n i e s of N e w York, N e w J e r s e y , P e n n s y l v a n i a , D e l a w a r e , M a r y l a n d , a n d S o u t h C a r o l i n a were not yet m a t u r e d for falling from the p a r e n t s t e m , but that they were fast a d v a n c i n g to that s t a t e , it w a s thought m o s t p r u d e n t to wait a while for t h e m , a n d to p o s t p o n e the final d e c i s i o n to J u l y 1st; but, that this might o c c a s i o n a s little delay a s p o s s i b l e , a c o m m i t t e e w a s a p p o i n t e d to p r e p a r e a D e c l a r a tion of I n d e p e n d e n c e . T h e c o m m i t t e e were J o h n A d a m s , Dr. F r a n k l i n , R o g e r S h e r m a n , Robert R. Livingston, a n d myself. C o m m i t t e e s were a l s o a p p o i n t e d , at the s a m e t i m e , to p r e p a r e a plan of c o n f e d e r a t i o n for the colo n i e s , a n d to s t a t e the t e r m s p r o p e r to b e p r o p o s e d for foreign a l l i a n c e . T h e c o m m i t t e e for drawing the D e c l a r a t i o n of I n d e p e n d e n c e , desired m e to do it. It w a s accordingly d o n e , a n d b e i n g a p p r o v e d by t h e m , I reported it to the H o u s e on Friday, the 2 8 t h of J u n e , w h e n it w a s r e a d , a n d o r d e r e d to lie on the table. O n M o n d a y , the 1st of July, the H o u s e resolved itself into a c o m mittee of the w h o l e , a n d r e s u m e d the c o n s i d e r a t i o n of the original motion m a d e by the d e l e g a t e s of Virginia, w h i c h , b e i n g again d e b a t e d t h r o u g h the day, w a s carried in the affirmative by the votes of N e w H a m p s h i r e , C o n n e c t i c u t , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , R h o d e I s l a n d , N e w J e r s e y , M a r y l a n d , Virginia, N o r t h C a r o l i n a a n d G e o r g i a . S o u t h C a r o l i n a a n d P e n n s y l v a n i a voted a g a i n s t it. D e l a w a r e h a d b u t two m e m b e r s p r e s e n t , a n d they were divided. T h e dele g a t e s from N e w York d e c l a r e d they were for it t h e m s e l v e s , a n d were a s s u r e d their c o n s t i t u e n t s were for it; but that their instructions having b e e n drawn n e a r a twelve-month before, w h e n reconciliation w a s still the general object, they were e n j o i n e d by t h e m to do n o t h i n g which s h o u l d i m p e d e that object. T h e y , therefore, thought t h e m s e l v e s not justifiable in voting on either s i d e , a n d a s k e d leave to withdraw from the q u e s t i o n : which w a s given t h e m . T h e c o m m i t t e e rose a n d reported their r e s o l u t i o n to the H o u s e . Mr. E d w a r d R u t l e d g e , of S o u t h C a r o l i n a , then r e q u e s t e d the d e t e r m i n a t i o n might be p u t off to the next day, a s he believed his c o l l e a g u e s , t h o u g h they d i s a p p r o v e d of the resolution, would then j o i n in it for the s a k e of u n a n i m i t y . T h e u l t i m a t e q u e s t i o n , w h e t h e r the H o u s e would a g r e e to the resolution of the c o m m i t t e e , I. On J u n e 7, 1776, Richard Henry Lee of Virginia proposed to the Second Continental Congress, meeting in Philadelphia, that "these united Colonies are, and of a right ought to he, free and independent states." O n J u n e 1 I, a committee of five—John Adams of Massachusetts, Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania, Roger Sherman of Connecticut, Robert Livingston of New York, and Thomas Jefferson of Virginia—was instructed to draft a declaration of independence. The draft pre-

sented to Congress on J u n e 28 was primarily the work of Jefferson. Lee's resolution was passed on July 2, and the Declaration was adopted on July 4 with the changes noted by Jefferson in this text, taken from his Autobiography. On August 2 a copy in parchment was signed by all the delegates but three; they signed later. T h e text used here is from The Writings of Thomas Jefferson, edited by A. A. Lipscomb and A. E. Bergh ( 1 9 0 3 ) .

THE

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was accordingly p o s t p o n e d to the next day, w h e n it w a s a g a i n m o v e d , a n d S o u t h C a r o l i n a c o n c u r r e d in voting for it. In the m e a n t i m e , a third m e m b e r h a d c o m e p o s t 2 from the D e l a w a r e c o u n t i e s , a n d t u r n e d the vote of that colony in favor of the resolution. M e m b e r s of a different s e n t i m e n t a t t e n d i n g that m o r n i n g from Pennsylvania a l s o , her vote was c h a n g e d , so that the whole twelve c o l o n i e s w h o were authorized to vote at all, g a v e their voices for it; a n d , within a few d a y s , the convention of N e w York a p p r o v e d of it, a n d thus s u p p l i e d the void o c c a s i o n e d by the withdrawing of her d e l e g a t e s from the vote. C o n g r e s s p r o c e e d e d the s a m e day to c o n s i d e r the D e c l a r a t i o n of I n d e p e n d e n c e , which h a d b e e n reported a n d lain o n the table the Friday p r e c e d i n g , a n d on M o n d a y referred to a c o m m i t t e e of the w h o l e . T h e p u s i l l a n i m o u s idea that we had friends in E n g l a n d worth k e e p i n g t e r m s with, still h a u n t e d the m i n d s of many. F o r this r e a s o n , t h o s e p a s s a g e s which conveyed c e n s u r e s on the p e o p l e of E n g l a n d were s t r u c k o u t , lest they s h o u l d give t h e m o f f e n s e . T h e c l a u s e too, r e p r o b a t i n g the enslaving the i n h a b i t a n t s of Africa, w a s struck o u t in c o m p l a i s a n c e to S o u t h C a r o l i n a a n d G e o r g i a , w h o had never a t t e m p t e d to restrain the importation of slaves, a n d w h o , o n the contrary, still w i s h e d to c o n t i n u e it. O u r northern brethren a l s o , I believe, felt a little tender u n d e r t h o s e c e n s u r e s ; for t h o u g h their p e o p l e h a d very few slaves t h e m s e l v e s , yet they had b e e n pretty c o n s i d e r a b l e carriers of t h e m to o t h e r s . T h e d e b a t e s , having taken u p the greater p a r t s of the 2 d , 3 d , a n d 4 t h days of July, were, on the e v e n i n g of the last, c l o s e d ; the D e c l a r a t i o n w a s reported by the c o m m i t t e e , a g r e e d to by the H o u s e , a n d s i g n e d by every m e m b e r p r e s e n t , except M r . D i c k i n s o n . 5 As the s e n t i m e n t s of m e n a r e known not only by what they receive, b u t what they reject a l s o , I will state the form of the D e c l a r a t i o n as originally reported. T h e parts s t r u c k out by C o n g r e s s shall be d i s t i n g u i s h e d by a b l a c k line drawn u n d e r t h e m , a n d t h o s e inserted by t h e m shall b e p l a c e d in the m a r g i n , or in a c o n c u r r e n t c o l u m n . A DECLARATION

BY T H E

AMERICA,

REPRESENTATIVES OF THE

IN G E N E R A L

CONGRESS

UNITED STATES

W h e n , in the c o u r s e of h u m a n events, it b e c o m e s n e c e s s a r y for o n e p e o p l e to dissolve the political b a n d s which have connected t h e m with a n o t h e r , a n d to a s s u m e a m o n g the p o w e r s of the earth the s e p a r a t e a n d e q u a l station to which the laws of n a t u r e a n d of nature's G o d entitle t h e m , a d e c e n t r e s p e c t to the opinions of m a n k i n d requires that they s h o u l d d e c l a r e the c a u s e s which impel t h e m to the s e p a r a t i o n . W e hold these truths to b e self evident: that all m e n a r e c r e a t e d equal;" 1 that they a r e e n d o w e d by their C r e a t o r with inherent a n d inalienable rights; that a m o n g t h e s e are life, liberty, a n d the p u r s u i t of h a p p i n e s s ; 5 that to s e c u r e t h e s e rights, 2. Speedily, posthaste. 3. J o h n Dickinson of Pennsylvania, who opposed it. 4. Garry Wills, in his study of the Declaration (Inventing America, 1978), tells us that Jefferson means equal in possessing a moral sense: "The moral sense is not only man's highest faculty, hut the one that is equal to all m e n . " 5. In his Second Treatise on Government ( 1 6 8 9 )

OF

ASSEMBLED.

certain

J o h n Locke defined man's natural rights to "life, liberty, and property." Jefferson's substitution of "pursuit of happiness" has puzzled a number of critics. Wills suggests that Jefferson was less influenced by Locke than by the'Scottish philosophers, particularly Francis Hutcheson and his Inquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue ( 1 7 2 5 ) . Wills tells us that "the pursuit of happiness is a phenomenon both obvious and paradoxical. It

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g o v e r n m e n t s a r e instituted a m o n g m e n , deriving their j u s t p o w e r s from the c o n s e n t of the g o v e r n e d ; that w h e n e v e r any form of g o v e r n m e n t b e c o m e s destructive of t h e s e e n d s , it is the right of the p e o p l e to alter or to a b o l i s h it, a n d to institute n e w g o v e r n m e n t , laying its f o u n d a t i o n o n s u c h p r i n c i p l e s , a n d organizing its powers in s u c h form, a s to t h e m shall s e e m m o s t likely to effect their safety a n d h a p p i n e s s . P r u d e n c e , i n d e e d , will dictate that g o v e r n m e n t s long e s t a b l i s h e d s h o u l d not b e c h a n g e d for light a n d transient c a u s e s ; a n d a c c o r d i n g l y all e x p e r i e n c e h a t h s h o w n that m a n k i n d a r e m o r e d i s p o s e d to suffer while evils a r e s u f f e r a b l e , than to right t h e m s e l v e s by a b o l i s h i n g the f o r m s to which they a r e a c c u s t o m e d . B u t w h e n a long train o f a b u s e s a n d u s u r p a t i o n s , b e g u n at a disting u i s h e d 6 period a n d p u r s u i n g invariably the s a m e o b j e c t , evinces a d e s i g n to r e d u c e t h e m u n d e r a b s o l u t e d e s p o t i s m , it is their right, it is their duty to throw off s u c h governm e n t , a n d to provide n e w g u a r d s for their future security. S u c h h a s b e e n the p a t i e n t s u f f e r a n c e o f t h e s e c o l o n i e s ; a n d s u c h is n o w the necessity w h i c h c o n s t r a i n s t h e m to e x p u n g e their former s y s t e m s o f g o v e r n m e n t . T h e history o f the p r e s e n t king of G r e a t B r i t a i n 7 is a history o f u n r e m i t t i n g injuries a n d u s u r p a t i o n s , a m o n g which a p p e a r s n o solitary fact to c o n tradict the u n i f o r m tenor o f the rest, b u t all have in direct o b j e c t the e s t a b l i s h m e n t o f a n a b s o l u t e tyranny over t h e s e s t a t e s . T o prove this, let facts b e s u b m i t t e d to a c a n d i d world for t h e truth of which we p l e d g e a faith yet unsullied by f a l s e h o o d .

alter repeated all having

H e h a s r e f u s e d his a s s e n t to laws t h e m o s t w h o l e s o m e a n d n e c e s s a r y for t h e public g o o d . H e h a s forbidden his governors to p a s s laws o f i m m e d i a t e a n d p r e s s i n g i m p o r t a n c e , u n l e s s s u s p e n d e d in their o p e r a t i o n till his a s s e n t s h o u l d b e o b t a i n e d ; a n d , w h e n s o s u s p e n d e d , h e h a s utterly n e g l e c t e d to a t t e n d to t h e m . H e h a s r e f u s e d to p a s s other laws for t h e a c c o m m o d a t i o n of large districts of p e o p l e , u n l e s s t h o s e p e o p l e w o u l d relinq u i s h the right of r e p r e s e n t a t i o n in the l e g i s l a t u r e , a right inestimable to t h e m , a n d f o r m i d a b l e to tyrants only. H e h a s called together legislative b o d i e s at p l a c e s u n u s u a l , u n c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d d i s t a n t from the depository of their p u b l i c r e c o r d s , for the sole p u r p o s e o f fatiguing t h e m into c o m p l i a n c e with his m e a s u r e s . H e h a s dissolved representative h o u s e s r e p e a t e d l y a n d c o n tinually for o p p o s i n g with manly firmness his invasions on t h e rights o f the p e o p l e . H e h a s r e f u s e d for a long time after s u c h d i s s o l u t i o n s to c a u s e o t h e r s to b e e l e c t e d , whereby the legislative p o w e r s ,

supplies us with the ground of human right and the goal of human virtue. It is the basic drive of the self, and the only m e a n s given for transcending the self. . . . M e n in the eighteenth century felt they could become conscious of their freedom only

by discovering how they were bound: When they found what they must pursue, they knew they had a right to pursue it." 6. I.e., discernible. 7. King George III ( 1 7 3 8 - 1 8 2 0 ) .

THE

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THOMAS J E F F E R S O N

i n c a p a b l e of annihilation, have returned to the p e o p l e at large for their e x e r c i s e , the s t a t e r e m a i n i n g , in the m e a n t i m e , e x p o s e d to all the d a n g e r s of invasion from without a n d c o n vulsions within. H e h a s e n d e a v o r e d to prevent the p o p u l a t i o n of t h e s e s t a t e s ; for that p u r p o s e o b s t r u c t i n g the laws for naturalization of foreigners, refusing to p a s s others to e n c o u r a g e their m i g r a t i o n s hither, a n d raising the c o n d i t i o n s of n e w a p p r o p r i a t i o n s of lands. H e h a s suffered the a d m i n i s t r a t i o n of j u s t i c e totally to c e a s e in s o m e of t h e s e states refusing his a s s e n t to laws for e s t a b l i s h i n g j u d i c i a r y p o w e r s . H e has m a d e our j u d g e s d e p e n d e n t on his will a l o n e for the tenure of their offices, a n d the a m o u n t a n d p a y m e n t of their salaries. H e h a s e r e c t e d a m u l t i t u d e of n e w offices, by a s e l f - a s s u m e d power a n d sent hither s w a r m s of n e w officers to h a r a s s our p e o p l e a n d eat out their s u b s t a n c e . H e h a s kept a m o n g u s in t i m e s of p e a c e s t a n d i n g a r m i e s a n d ships of war without the c o n s e n t of our legislatures. H e h a s affected to r e n d e r the military i n d e p e n d e n t of, a n d s u p e r i o r to, the civil power. H e h a s c o m b i n e d with o t h e r s 8 to s u b j e c t u s to a j u r i s d i c t i o n foreign to our c o n s t i t u t i o n s a n d u n a c k n o w l e d g e d by our laws, giving his a s s e n t to their a c t s of p r e t e n d e d legislation for q u a r tering large bodies of a r m e d troops a m o n g u s ; for p r o t e c t i n g t h e m by a m o c k trial from p u n i s h m e n t for any m u r d e r s which they s h o u l d c o m m i t on the i n h a b i t a n t s of t h e s e s t a t e s ; for c u t t i n g off o u r trade with all p a r t s of the world; for i m p o s i n g taxes on u s without our c o n s e n t ; for depriving u s [ ] of the benefits of trial by jury; for t r a n s p o r t i n g u s beyond s e a s to be tried for p r e t e n d e d o f f e n s e s ; for a b o l i s h i n g the free s y s t e m of E n g l i s h laws in a n e i g h b o r i n g p r o v i n c e , 9 e s t a b l i s h i n g therein a n arbitrary g o v e r n m e n t , a n d enlarging its b o u n d a r i e s , so a s to r e n d e r it at o n c e a n e x a m p l e a n d fit i n s t r u m e n t for introd u c i n g the s a m e a b s o l u t e rule into t h e s e s t a t e s ; for taking away our c h a r t e r s , a b o l i s h i n g our m o s t v a l u a b l e laws, a n d altering f u n d a m e n t a l l y the f o r m s of our g o v e r n m e n t s ; for s u s p e n d i n g our own legislatures, a n d d e c l a r i n g t h e m s e l v e s invested with p o w e r to legislate for u s in all c a s e s w h a t s o e v e r . H e h a s a b d i c a t e d g o v e r n m e n t here withdrawing his governors, a n d d e c l a r i n g u s o u t of his a l l e g i a n c e a n d p r o t e c t i o n . H e h a s p l u n d e r e d our s e a s , ravaged our c o a s t s , b u r n t o u r towns, a n d destroyed the lives of our p e o p l e . H e is at this time t r a n s p o r t i n g large a r m i e s of foreign merc e n a r i e s 1 to c o m p l e t e the works of d e a t h , d e s o l a t i o n a n d tyr8. I.e., the British Parliament. 9. T h e Quebec Act of 1774 recognized the Roman Catholic religion in Quebec and extended the borders of the province to the Ohio River; it restored French civil law and thus angered the New

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obstructed by

in many cases

colonies:

by declaring us out of his protection, and waging war against us.

England colonies. It was often referred to as one of the "intolerable a c t s . " 1. G e r m a n soldiers hired by the king for colonial

r

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a n n y already b e g u n with c i r c u m s t a n c e s of cruelty a n d perfidy [ ] unworthy the h e a d of a civilized n a t i o n . H e has c o n s t r a i n e d o u r fellow citizens taken captive on the high s e a s , to b e a r a r m s a g a i n s t their country, to b e c o m e the e x e c u t i o n e r s of their friends a n d b r e t h r e n , or to fall t h e m selves by their h a n d s . H e has [ ] e n d e a v o r e d to bring on the i n h a b i t a n t s of our frontiers, the m e r c i l e s s Indian s a v a g e s , w h o s e known rule of warfare is an u n d i s t i n g u i s h e d d e s t r u c t i o n of all a g e s , sexes a n d c o n d i t i o n s of existenceH e has incited t r e a s o n a b l e insurrections of our fellow citizens, with the a l l u r e m e n t s of forfeiture a n d confiscation of our property. H e h a s w a g e d cruel war a g a i n s t h u m a n n a t u r e itself, violating its most s a c r e d rights of life a n d liberty in the p e r s o n s of a distant p e o p l e who never offended h i m , captivating a n d carrying t h e m into slavery in a n o t h e r h e m i s p h e r e , or to incur m i s e r a b l e d e a t h in their transportation thither. T h i s piratical warfare, the o p p r o b r i u m of I N F I D E L p o w e r s , is the warfare of the C H R I S T I A N king of G r e a t Britain. D e t e r m i n e d to k e e p o p e n a market w h e r e M E N s h o u l d b e b o u g h t a n d sold, he h a s p r o s tituted his negative for s u p p r e s s i n g every legislative a t t e m p t to prohibit or to restrain this execrable c o m m e r c e . And t h a t this a s s e m b l a g e of horrors might want no fact of d i s t i n g u i s h e d die, he is now exciting t h o s e very p e o p l e to rise in a r m s a m o n g u s , a n d to p u r c h a s e that liberty of which h e has deprived t h e m , by m u r d e r i n g the p e o p l e on w h o m he a l s o o b t r u d e d t h e m : t h u s paying off former c r i m e s c o m m i t t e d a g a i n s t the L I B E R T I E S of o n e p e o p l e , with c r i m e s which he u r g e s t h e m to c o m m i t a g a i n s t the L I V E S of a n o t h e r . In every s t a g e of t h e s e o p p r e s s i o n s w e have petitioned for r e d r e s s in the m o s t h u m b l e t e r m s : our r e p e a t e d petitions have b e e n a n s w e r e d only by r e p e a t e d injuries. A prince w h o s e c h a r a c t e r is t h u s m a r k e d by every act which may define a tyrant is unfit to be the ruler of a [ ] p e o p l e w h o m e a n to be free. F u t u r e a g e s will scarcely believe that the h a r d i n e s s of o n e m a n a d v e n t u r e d , within the short c o m p a s s of twelve years only, to lay a f o u n d a t i o n s o b r o a d a n d s o u n d i s g u i s e d for tyranny over a p e o p l e fostered a n d fixed in principles of f r e e d o m . N o r have we b e e n w a n t i n g in attentions to o u r British brethren. W e have w a r n e d t h e m from time to time of a t t e m p t s by their legislature to extend a j u r i s d i c t i o n over t h e s e our s t a t e s . W e have r e m i n d e d t h e m of the c i r c u m s t a n c e s of our e m i g r a tion a n d s e t t l e m e n t h e r e , no o n e of which c o u l d warrant so s t r a n g e a p r e t e n s i o n : that t h e s e were effected at the e x p e n s e of our own blood a n d t r e a s u r e , u n a s s i s t e d by the wealth or the strength of G r e a t Britain: that in c o n s t i t u t i n g indeed our several forms of g o v e r n m e n t , we h a d a d o p t e d o n e c o m m o n king, thereby laying a f o u n d a t i o n for p e r p e t u a l l e a g u e a n d amity with t h e m : but that s u b m i s s i o n to their p a r l i a m e n t was no part

scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally excited domestic insurrection among us, and has

free

an unwarrantable/us

THE

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THOMAS J E F F E R S O N

of our c o n s t i t u t i o n , nor ever in idea, if history may be c r e d i t e d : a n d , we [ ] a p p e a l e d to their native j u s t i c e a n d m a g n a n i m i t y as well a s to the ties of our c o m m o n kindred to disavow t h e s e u s u r p a t i o n s which were likely to interrupt our c o n n e c t i o n a n d c o r r e s p o n d e n c e . T h e y too have b e e n d e a f to the voice of j u s tice a n d of c o n s a n g u i n i t y , a n d w h e n o c c a s i o n s have b e e n given t h e m , by the regular c o u r s e of their laws, of r e m o v i n g from their c o u n c i l s the disturbers of our harmony, they h a v e , by their free election, r e e s t a b l i s h e d t h e m in power. At this very time too, they are p e r m i t t i n g their chief m a g i s t r a t e to s e n d over not only soldiers of o u r c o m m o n b l o o d , but S c o t c h a n d foreign m e r c e n a r i e s to invade a n d destroy u s . T h e s e facts have given the last s t a b to agonizing affection, a n d manly spirit bids u s to r e n o u n c e forever t h e s e unfeeling b r e t h r e n . W e m u s t e n d e a v o r to forget our former love for t h e m , a n d hold t h e m a s we hold the rest of m a n k i n d , e n e m i e s in war, in p e a c e friends. W e might have b e e n a free a n d a great p e o p l e together; but a c o m m u n i c a t i o n of g r a n d e u r a n d of f r e e d o m , it s e e m s , is below their dignity. B e it s o , s i n c e they will have it. T h e road to h a p p i n e s s a n d to glory is o p e n to u s , too. W e will tread it apart from t h e m , a n d a c q u i e s c e in the necessity w h i c h d e n o u n c e s 2 our eternal s e p a r a t i o n [ ]!

W e therefore the representatives of the U n i t e d S t a t e s of A m e r i c a in G e n e r a l C o n g r e s s a s s e m b l e d , do in the n a m e , a n d by the authority of the good p e o p l e of t h e s e states reject a n d r e n o u n c e all a l l e g i a n c e a n d s u b j e c tion to the kings of G r e a t Britain a n d all others who m a y hereafter claim by, through or u n d e r t h e m ; we utterly dissolve all political c o n n e c tion which may heretofore have s u b sisted between us a n d the p e o p l e or p a r l i a m e n t of G r e a t Britain: a n d finally we do a s s e r t a n d d e c l a r e t h e s e colonies to b e free a n d i n d e p e n d e n t s t a t e s , a n d that a s free a n d i n d e p e n dent s t a t e s , they have full power to levy war, c o n c l u d e p e a c e , c o n t r a c t alliances, e s t a b l i s h c o m m e r c e , a n d to do all other a c t s a n d things which i n d e p e n d e n t states may of right d o . A n d for the s u p p o r t of this decla-

2. Proclaims.

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have and we have conjured them by would inevitably

We must therefore and hold them as we hold the rest of mankind, enemies in war, in peace friends.

W e , therefore, the r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s of the U n i t e d S t a t e s of A m e r i c a in General Congress assembled, app e a l i n g to the s u p r e m e j u d g e of the world for the r e c t i t u d e of our intentions, do in the n a m e , a n d by the authority of the g o o d p e o p l e of t h e s e colonies, solemnly publish and d e c l a r e , that t h e s e u n i t e d c o l o n i e s are, a n d of right o u g h t to b e free a n d i n d e p e n d e n t s t a t e s ; that they are a b s o l v e d from all a l l e g i a n c e to the British c r o w n , a n d that all political c o n n e c t i o n b e t w e e n t h e m a n d the state of G r e a t Britain is, a n d o u g h t to b e , totally dissolved; a n d that as free a n d i n d e p e n d e n t s t a t e s , they have full power to levy war, c o n c l u d e peace, contract alliances, establish c o m m e r c e , a n d to do all other a c t s a n d things which i n d e p e n d e n t s t a t e s may of right d o .

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ration, we mutually p l e d g e to e a c h other o u r lives, o u r f o r t u n e s , a n d o u r s a c r e d honor.

And for the s u p p o r t of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine p r o v i d e n c e , we mutually p l e d g e to e a c h other o u r lives, o u r f o r t u n e s , a n d o u r s a c r e d honor.

T h e D e c l a r a t i o n t h u s s i g n e d o n the 4 t h , on p a p e r , w a s e n g r o s s e d * on p a r c h m e n t , a n d signed again on the 2d of A u g u s t . 1829

1821

From

N o t e s on the S t a t e of Virginia1 Query XVII.

Religion

T h e first settlers in this country were e m i g r a n t s from E n g l a n d , of t h e E n g l i s h c h u r c h , j u s t at a point of time w h e n it w a s flushed with c o m p l e t e victory over the religious of all other p e r s u a s i o n s . P o s s e s s e d , a s they b e c a m e , of the p o w e r s of m a k i n g , a d m i n i s t e r i n g , a n d e x e c u t i n g t h e laws, they s h o w e d e q u a l intolerance in this country with their Presbyterian b r e t h r e n , w h o had e m i g r a t e d to the northern g o v e r n m e n t . T h e poor Q u a k e r s were flying from p e r s e c u t i o n in E n g l a n d . T h e y c a s t their eyes on t h e s e new c o u n t r i e s a s asyl u m s of civil a n d religious f r e e d o m ; b u t they f o u n d t h e m free only for the reigning sect. Several a c t s of the Virginia a s s e m b l y of 1 6 5 9 , 1 6 6 2 , a n d 1 6 9 3 , h a d m a d e it penal in p a r e n t s to refuse to have their children b a p t i z e d ; had prohibited the unlawful a s s e m b l i n g of Q u a k e r s ; h a d m a d e it p e n a l for any m a s t e r of a vessel to bring a Quaker into the s t a t e ; h a d o r d e r e d t h o s e already here, a n d s u c h as s h o u l d c o m e thereafter, to b e i m p r i s o n e d till they s h o u l d a b j u r e the country; provided a milder p u n i s h m e n t for their first a n d s e c o n d return, b u t d e a t h for their third; h a d inhibited all p e r s o n s from suffering their m e e t i n g s in or near their h o u s e s , e n t e r t a i n i n g t h e m individually, or d i s p o s i n g of b o o k s which s u p p o r t e d their t e n e t s . If no capital e x e c u t i o n took p l a c e h e r e , as did in N e w E n g l a n d , it w a s not owing to the m o d e r a t i o n of the c h u r c h , or spirit of the legislature, a s m a y b e inferred from the law itself; but to historical c i r c u m s t a n c e s which have not b e e n h a n d e d d o w n to u s . T h e A n g l i c a n s retained full p o s s e s s i o n of the country a b o u t a c e n t u r y . O t h e r o p i n i o n s b e g a n then to c r e e p in, a n d the great c a r e of t h e g o v e r n m e n t to s u p p o r t their own c h u r c h , having b e g o t t e n an e q u a l d e g r e e of i n d o l e n c e in its clergy, two-thirds of the p e o p l e h a d b e c o m e d i s s e n t e r s at the c o m m e n c e m e n t of the p r e s e n t revolution. T h e laws i n d e e d were still o p p r e s s i v e o n t h e m , b u t the spirit of the o n e party h a d s u b s i d e d into m o d e r a t i o n , a n d of the other h a d risen to a d e g r e e of d e t e r m i n a t i o n which c o m m a n d e d r e s p e c t . 3. Written in it legal hand. I. In 1 7 8 1 , the year Jefferson resigned as governor ol Virginia, he received a request from the Marquis de Barbe-Marbois, secretary of the French legation at Philadelphia, to answer twenty-three questions concerning the geographical boundaries, the ecology, and the social history of Virginia. Jefferson look the occasion to make some observations on slavery, manufacturing, and government. He

wanted especially to counter the notion, prevalent a m o n g European naturalists, that species in North America had degenerated and were inferior to Old World types. Jefferson's replies were published privately in 1784—85. T h e threat of an unauthorized French translation prompted Jefferson to publish an authorized edition in London in 1 7 8 7 . T h e text used here is from the Norton edition, edited by William Peden ( 1 9 5 4 ) .

NOTES

ON THE

STATE

OF VIRGINIA

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3 4 3

T h e p r e s e n t s t a t e of our laws o n the s u b j e c t of religion is this. T h f ^ c o n vention of M a y 1 7 7 6 , in their declaration of rights, d e c l a r e d it to b e a trjrth, arTcTirrTatural right, that the exercise of religion s h o u l d b e free: hut when they p r o c e e d e d to form on~Tliatdeclaration the o r d i n a n c e of g o v e r n m e n t , i n s t e a d of' taking u p every principle d e c l a r e d in the bill of rights^and g u a r d i n g it by legislative sanction""~frey~passe - cTover that which a s s e r t e d our religious rights^" leaving therrTas they f o u n d ~ t h e m . J T h e s a m e c o n v e n t i o n , however, when they m e t a s a m e m b e r o f t h l T general a s s e m b l y in O c t o b e r 1 7 7 6 , r e p e a l e d all acts of parliament which had r e n d e r e d criminal the m a i n t a i n i n g any opinions in m a t t e r s of religion, the forbearing to repair to c h u r c h , a n d the exercising any m o d e of w o r s h i p ; a n d s u s p e n d e d the laws giving salaries to the clergy, which s u s p e n s i o n was m a d e p e r p e t u a l in O c t o b e r 1 7 7 9 . Statutory o p p r e s s i o n s in religion being t h u s w i p e d away, w e r e m a i n at p r e s e n t u n d e r t h o s e only i m p o s e d by the c o m m o n law, or by o u r own a c t s of a s s e m bly. At the c o m m o n law, heresy w a s a capital o f f e n s e , p u n i s h a b l e by b u r n i n g . Its definition w a s left to the e c c l e s i a s t i c a l j u d g e s , before w h o m the conviction w a s , till the statute of the 1 El. c. I . 3 c i r c u m s c r i b e d it, by d e c l a r i n g , that nothing s h o u l d b e d e e m e d heresy, but what h a d b e e n so d e t e r m i n e d by authority of the c a n o n i c a l s c r i p t u r e s , or by o n e of the four first general c o u n cils, or by s o m e other c o u n c i l having for the g r o u n d s of their declaration the express a n d plain w o r d s of the s c r i p t u r e s . H e r e s y , t h u s c i r c u m s c r i b e d , b e i n g a n offense at the c o m m o n law, our act of a s s e m b l y of O c t o b e r 1 7 7 7 , c. 17. gives c o g n i z a n c e of it to the general c o u r t , by d e c l a r i n g , that the j u r i s d i c t i o n of that court shall b e general in all m a t t e r s at the c o m m o n law. T h e e x e c u t i o n is by the writ De hseretico comburendo.4 By our own act of a s s e m b l y of 1 7 0 5 , c. 3 0 , if a p e r s o n b r o u g h t u p in the C h r i s t i a n religion d e n i e s the b e i n g of a G o d , or the Trinity, or a s s e r t s there are m o r e G o d s than o n e , or d e n i e s the C h r i s t i a n religion to b e t r u e , or the s c r i p t u r e s to be of divine authority, he is p u n i s h a b l e on the first offense by incapacity to hold any office or employm e n t e c c l e s i a s t i c a l , civil, or military; on the s e c o n d by disability to s u e , to take any gift or legacy, to be g u a r d i a n , executor, or a d m i n i s t r a t o r , a n d by three years' i m p r i s o n m e n t , without bail. A father's right to the c u s t o d y of his own children b e i n g f o u n d e d in law on his right of g u a r d i a n s h i p , this b e i n g taken away, they may of c o u r s e be severed from him, a n d p u t , by the authority of a c o u r t , into m o r e orthodox h a n d s . T h i s is a s u m m a r y view of that religious slavery, u n d e r which a p e o p l e have b e e n willing to r e m a i n , w h o have lavished their lives a n d fortunes for the e s t a b l i s h m e n t of their civil freedom. T h e error s e e m s not sufficiently e r a d i c a t e d , that the o p e r a t i o n s of the m i n d , a s well a s the a c t s of the body, are s u b j e c t to the c o e r c i o n of the l a w s . 5 B u t our rulers c a n have authority over s u c h natural rights only a s we have s u b m i t t e d to t h e m . T h e rights of c o n s c i e n c e we never s u b m i t t e d , we c o u l d not s u b m i t . W e are a n s w e r a b l e for t h e m to our G o d . T h e legitimate p o w e r s of g o v e r n m e n t extend to s u c h a c t s only a s are injurious to o t h e r s . B u t it d o e s m e no injury for my n e i g h b o r to say there are twenty g o d s , or no g o d . It 2. Jefferson is referring to Article XVI of Virginia's Declaration of Rights. 3. That is, chapter 1 of the first year ( 1 5 5 8 - 1 559) of the reign of Elizabeth [Peden's note]. 4. On the burning of a heretic (Latin).

5. "Furneaux p a s s i m " [Jefferson's note]. Philip Furneaux (1726—1783), English minister and author of Letters to the Honorable Mr. Justice Bluckstone ( 1 7 7 0 ) .

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neither p i c k s my p o c k e t nor b r e a k s my leg. If it b e s a i d , his t e s t i m o n y in a c o u r t of j u s t i c e c a n n o t b e relied o n , reject it then, a n d b e the s t i g m a o n h i m . C o n s t r a i n t m a y m a k e him w o r s e by m a k i n g him a hypocrite, b u t it will never m a k e him a truer m a n . It m a y fix him obstinately in his errors, b u t will not c u r e t h e m . R e a s o n a n d free enquiry are the only e f f e c t u a l a g e n t s a g a i n s t error. G i v e a l o o s e to t h e m , they will s u p p o r t the true religion, by bringing every false o n e to their tribunal, to the test of their investigation. T h e y are t h e n a t u r a l e n e m i e s of error, a n d of error only. H a d not the R o m a n governm e n t p e r m i t t e d free inquiry, Christianity c o u l d never h a v e b e e n i n t r o d u c e d . H a d not free inquiry b e e n i n d u l g e d , at the era of the R e f o r m a t i o n , the corr u p t i o n s of C h r i s t i a n i t y c o u l d not have b e e n p u r g e d away. If it b e r e s t r a i n e d now, the p r e s e n t c o r r u p t i o n s will b e p r o t e c t e d , a n d new o n e s e n c o u r a g e d . W a s t h e g o v e r n m e n t to p r e s c r i b e to u s o u r m e d i c i n e a n d diet, o u r bodies w o u l d b e in s u c h k e e p i n g a s o u r s o u l s a r e now. T h u s in F r a n c e t h e e m e t i c w a s o n c e forbidden a s a m e d i c i n e , a n d the p o t a t o a s a n article of f o o d . G o v e r n m e n t is j u s t a s infallible too w h e n it fixes s y s t e m s in p h y s i c s . G a l i l e o 6 w a s s e n t to the Inquisition for affirming that the e a r t h w a s a s p h e r e : the g o v e r n m e n t h a d d e c l a r e d it to b e a s flat a s a t r e n c h e r , a n d G a l i l e o w a s o b l i g e d to a b j u r e his error. T h i s error however at length prevailed, the earth b e c a m e a g l o b e , a n d D e s c a r t e s 7 d e c l a r e d it w a s whirled r o u n d its axis by a vortex. T h e g o v e r n m e n t in w h i c h h e lived w a s wise e n o u g h to s e e that this w a s no q u e s t i o n of civil j u r i s d i c t i o n , or we s h o u l d all h a v e b e e n involved by authority in vortices. In fact, the vortices have b e e n e x p l o d e d , a n d the N e w t o n i a n p r i n c i p l e of gravitation is n o w m o r e firmly e s t a b l i s h e d , on the b a s i s of r e a s o n , t h a n it w o u l d b e w e r e the g o v e r n m e n t to s t e p in, a n d to m a k e it a n article of n e c e s s a r y faith. R e a s o n a n d e x p e r i m e n t h a v e b e e n i n d u l g e d , a n d error h a s fled b e f o r e t h e m . It is error a l o n e w h i c h n e e d s the s u p p o r t of g o v e r n m e n t : $ T r u t h c a n s t a n d by itself. S u b j e c t o p i n i o n to c o e r c i o n : w h o m will you m a k e your i n q u i s i t o r s ? Fallible m e n ; m e n g o v e r n e d by b a d p a s s i o n s , by private a s well as p u b l i c r e a s o n s . A n d why s u b j e c t it to c o e r c i o n ? T o p r o d u c e uniformity. B u t is uniformity of opinion d e s i r a b l e ? N o m o r e t h a n of f a c e a n d s t a t u r e . I n t r o d u c e the b e d of P r o c r u s t e s 8 t h e n , a n d a s there is d a n g e r that t h e large m e n m a y b e a t the s m a l l , m a k e u s all of a size, by l o p p i n g t h e f o r m e r a n d s t r e t c h i n g the latter. D i f f e r e n c e of opinion is a d v a n t a g e o u s in religion. T h e several s e c t s p e r f o r m the office of a C e n s o r m o r u m 9 over e a c h other. Is uniformity a t t a i n a b l e ? M i l l i o n s of i n n o c e n t m e n , w o m e n , a n d c h i l d r e n , s i n c e the i n t r o d u c t i o n of C h r i s t i a n i t y , h a v e b e e n b u r n t , tortured, fined, i m p r i s o n e d ; yet we have not a d v a n c e d o n e inch t o w a r d s uniformity. W h a t h a s b e e n the effect of c o e r c i o n ? T o m a k e o n e half the world fools, a n d t h e other half h y p o c r i t e s . T o s u p p o r t roguery a n d error all over t h e e a r t h . L e t u s reflect that it is i n h a b i t e r l b y a t h o u s a n d millions of p e o p l e . T h a t t h e s e p r o f e s s p r o b a b l y a t h o u s a n d different s y s t e m s of religion. T h a t o u r s is b u t o n e of t h a L t h o i i s a n d T h a t if thgrg_be b u t o n e right, a n d o u r s thatTone, we s h o u l d w i s h to s e e t h g . 9 9 9 w a n d e x i n g s e c t s g a t h e r e d i n t o j h e fold ofJTi~irTT. B u t a g a i n s t s u c h a majority we c a n n o t effect this by f o r c e . R e a s o n a n d per6. Italian scientist ( 1 5 6 4 - 1 6 4 2 ) , taught mathematics at P a d u a a n d appeared before the Inquisition in 1632. 7. Rene Descartes (1 5 9 6 - 1 6 5 0 ) , French scientist and philosopher.

8. A highwayman in classical mythology who either stretched or cut off the legs of his captors to fit his iron bed. 9. Critic of morals or c u s t o m s (Latin).

NOTES

ON T H E STATE

OF VIRGINIA

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s u a s i o n are t h e only p r a c t i c a b l e i n s t r u m e n t s . T o m a k e way for t h e s e , free inquiry m u s t b e i n d u l g e d ; a n d h o w c a n w e wish others to i n d u l g e it while we refuse it o u r s e l v e s . B u t every s t a t e , says a n inquisitor, h a s e s t a b l i s h e d s o m e religion. N o two, say I, have e s t a b l i s h e d t h e s a m e . Is thisflTproof o f the infallibility of e s t a b l i s h m e n t s ? O u r sister s t a t e s of Pennsylvania a n d N e w York, however, have long^^ufJsTsted without a n y e s t a b l i s h m e n t at all. T h e experiment w a s n e w a n d doubtful w h e n they m a d e it. It h a s a n s w e r e d beyond c o n c e p t i o n . T h e y flourish infinitely. Beligion is well s u p p o r t e d ; of various kinds, i n d e e d , b u t all g o o d e n o u g h ; all sufficient to preserve p e a c e a n d order: or if a s e c t arises, w h o s e tenets would subvert m o r a l s , g o o d s e n s e h a s fair play, a n d r e a s o n s a n d l a u g h s it out of doors, without suffering t h e state to b e troubled with it. T h e y d o not h a n g m o r e m a l e f a c t o r s t h a n w e d o . T h e y are not m o r e d i s t u r b e d with religious d i s s e n s i o n s . O n t h e contrary, their h a r m o n y is u n p a r a l l e l e d , a n d c a n b e a s c r i b e d to n o t h i n g b u t their u n b o u n d e d t o l e r a n c e , b e c a u s e there is n o other c i r c u m s t a n c e in which they differ from every nation o n earth. T h e y have m a d e t h e h a p p y discovery, that the way to silence religious d i s p u t e s , is to take n o notice of t h e m . L e t u s t o o give this experiment fair play, a n d get rid, while w e m a y , of t h o s e tyrannical laws. It is true, w e a r e a s yet s e c u r e d a g a i n s t t h e m by t h e spirit o f the t i m e s . I d o u b t w h e t h e r t h e p e o p l e of this country would suffer a n e x e c u t i o n for heresy, or a three years' i m p r i s o n m e n t for not c o m p r e h e n d i n g t h e mysteries of the Trinity. B u t is t h e spirit of the p e o p l e a n infallible, a p e r m a n e n t relia n c e ? Is it g o v e r n m e n t ? Is this t h e kind o f protection w e receive in return for t h e rights w e give u p ? B e s i d e s , the spirit o f the t i m e s m a y alter, will alter. O u r rulers will b e c o m e c o r r u p t , o u r p e o p l e c a r e l e s s . A single zealot m a y c o m m e n c e p e r s e c u t o r , a n d better m e n b e his victims. It c a n never b e t o o often r e p e a t e d , that t h e t i m e for fixing every essential right o n a legaTbasis is while o u r rulers a r e h o n e s t , a n d ourselves~united. f r o m t h e c o n c l u s i o n of this war we shalFbe g o i n g downhill. It will not then b e n e c e s s a r y to resort every m o m e n t to t h e p e o p l e for support. T h e y will b e forgotten, therefore, a n d their rights d i s r e g a r d e d . T h e y will forget t h e m s e l v e s , b u t in the sole faculty of m a k i n g m o n e y , a n d will never think o f uniting to effect a d u e r e s p e c t for their rights. T h e s h a c k l e s , therefore, which shall not b e k n o c k e d off at the c o n c l u s i o n of this war, will r e m a i n on u s long, will b e m a d e heavier a n d heavier, till o u r rights shall revive or expire in a c o n v u l s i o n . 1780-81

1787

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L e t t e r to J o h n A d a m s ' [The Natural

Aristocrat]

Monticello, October 28, 1813 D e a r S i r , — A c c o r d i n g to t h e r e s e r v a t i o n b e t w e e n u s , of t a k i n g u p o n e o f t h e s u b j e c t s of o u r c o r r e s p o n d e n c e at a t i m e , I turn to y o u r letters of A u g u s t t h e 1 6 t h a n d S e p t e m b e r t h e 2 d . * * * I a g r e e with you t h a t t h e r e is a n a t u r a l a r i s t o c r a c y a m o n g m e n . T h e g r o u n d s o f this a r e virtue a n d t a l e n t s . F o r m e r l y , bodily p o w e r s g a v e p l a c e a m o n g t h e a r i s t o i . 2 B u t s i n c e t h e invention of g u n p o w d e r h a s a r m e d t h e w e a k a s well a s t h e s t r o n g with m i s s i l e d e a t h , bodily s t r e n g t h , like b e a u t y , g o o d h u m o r , p o l i t e n e s s a n d o t h e r a c c o m p l i s h m e n t s , h a s b e c o m e b u t an auxiliary g r o u n d of d i s t i n c tion. T h e r e is a l s o a n artificial a r i s t o c r a c y , f o u n d e d on w e a l t h a n d b i r t h , w i t h o u t e i t h e r virtue or t a l e n t s ; for with t h e s e it w o u l d b e l o n g to t h e first c l a s s . T h e n a t u r a l a r i s t o c r a c y I c o n s i d e r a s the m o s t p r e c i o u s gift of n a t u r e for t h e i n s t r u c t i o n , t h e t r u s t s , a n d g o v e r n m e n t of society. A n d i n d e e d , it w o u l d hav e b e e n i n c o n s i s t e n t in c r e a t i o n to h a v e f o r m e d m a n for the s o c i a l s t a t e , a n d not to h a v e p r o v i d e d virtue a n d w i s d o m e n o u g h to m a n a g e t h e c o n c e r n s o f t h e society. M a y we not e v e n say that that form o f g o v e r n m e n t is t h e b e s t w h i c h p r o v i d e s the m o s t ef f ec t u a l l y for a p u r e s e l e c t i o n of t h e s e n a t u r a l aristoi into t h e offices o f g o v e r n m e n t ? T h e artificial a r i s t o c r a c y is a m i s c h i e v o u s ingredient in g o v e r n m e n t , a n d provision s h o u l d b e m a d e to p r e v e n t its a s c e n d e n c y . O n t h e q u e s t i o n , w h a t is t h e b e s t p r o v i s i o n , you a n d I differ; b u t we differ a s rational f r i e n d s , u s i n g t h e free e x e r c i s e of o u r o w n r e a s o n , a n d m u t u a l l y i n d u l g i n g its e r r o r s . Y o u think it b e s t to p u t t h e p s e u d o - a r i s t o i into a s e p a r a t e c h a m b e r of l e g i s l a t i o n , w h e r e they m a y b e h i n d e r e d f r o m d o i n g m i s c h i e f by their c o - o r d i n a t e b r a n c h e s , a n d w h e r e , a l s o , they m a y b e a p r o t e c t i o n to w e a l t h a g a i n s t t h e a g r a r i a n a n d p l u n d e r i n g e n t e r p r i s e s of t h e majority o f t h e p e o p l e . I think that to give t h e m p o w e r in o r d e r to p r e v e n t t h e m f r o m d o i n g m i s c h i e f is a r m i n g t h e m for it, a n d i n c r e a s i n g i n s t e a d of r e m e d y i n g t h e evil. F o r if t h e c o - o r d i n a t e b r a n c h e s c a n a r r e s t their a c t i o n , s o m a y they that of t h e c o - o r d i n a t e s . M i s c h i e f m a y b e d o n e negatively a s well a s positively. O f this, a c a b a l in t h e S e n a t e of t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s h a s f u r n i s h e d m a n y p r o o f s . N o r d o I believe t h e m n e c e s s a r y to p r o t e c t t h e w e a l t h y ; b e c a u s e e n o u g h of t h e s e will find their way into every b r a n c h of t h e legislation, to p r o t e c t t h e m s e l v e s . F r o m fifteen to twenty l e g i s l a t u r e s o f o u r o w n , in a c t i o n for thirty y e a r s p a s t , h a v e p r o v e d t h a t n o f e a r s of a n e q u a l i z a t i o n o f property a r e to b e a p p r e h e n d e d from t h e m . I think t h e b e s t r e m e d y is exactly that p r o v i d e d by all o u r c o n s t i t u t i o n s , to leave to

1. T h o m a s Jefferson and John Adams (1735— 1826) hecame estranged when Adams was elected second president in 1796. Adams's federalist positions were opposed by Jefferson, who succeeded him as president in 1 8 0 1 . In 1812 they began to correspond and were able to debate their differences. The text used here is from The Writings of Thomus Jefferson, vol. 1 3, edited bv A. A. Lipscomb and A. E. Bergh ( 1 9 0 3 ) . 2. T h e best (Greek). On July 9, 1813, Adams

wrote to Jefferson that he recalled a maxim from the work of the Greek elegiac poet Theognis (6th century B.C.) that said that " 'nobility in men is worth as much as it is in horses, a s s e s , or rams; but the meanest [i.e., poorest] blooded puppy in the world, if he gets a little money is as good a man as the best of them." Yet birth and wealth together have prevailed over virtue and talents in all ages. The many will acknowledge no other aristoi."

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the citizens the free e l e c t i o n a n d s e p a r a t i o n of the aristoi f r o m the p s e u d o aristoi, of the w h e a t from the chaff. In g e n e r a l they will e l e c t the really g o o d a n d w i s e . In s o m e i n s t a n c e s , w e a l t h may c o r r u p t , a n d birth blind t h e m ; b u t not in sufficient d e g r e e to e n d a n g e r the society. It is p r o b a b l e that o u r d i f f e r e n c e of o p i n i o n m a y , in s o m e m e a s u r e , be p r o d u c e d by a d i f f e r e n c e of c h a r a c t e r in t h o s e a m o n g w h o m w e live. F r o m w h a t I have s e e n of M a s s a c h u s e t t s a n d C o n n e c t i c u t myself, a n d still m o r e from w h a t I have h e a r d , a n d the c h a r a c t e r given of the f o r m e r by y o u r s e l f , ' w h o k n o w t h e m s o m u c h better, t h e r e s e e m s to b e in t h o s e two s t a t e s a traditionary r e v e r e n c e for c e r t a i n f a m i l i e s , w h i c h h a s r e n d e r e d the offices of the g o v e r n m e n t nearly hereditary in t h o s e f a m i l i e s . I p r e s u m e that from a n early p e r i o d of your history, m e m b e r s o f t h o s e f a m i l i e s h a p p e n i n g to p o s s e s s virtue a n d t a l e n t s , h a v e honestly e x e r c i s e d t h e m for the g o o d of the p e o p l e , a n d by their s e r v i c e s h a v e e n d e a r e d their n a m e s to t h e m . In c o u p l i n g C o n n e c t i c u t with y o u , I m e a n it politically only, not morally. F o r having m a d e the B i b l e the c o m m o n law of their l a n d , they s e e m to have m o d e l e d their morality o n the story o f J a c o b a n d L a b a n . 4 B u t a l t h o u g h this hereditary s u c c e s s i o n to office with y o u , may, in s o m e d e g r e e , b e f o u n d e d in real family merit, yet in a m u c h h i g h e r d e g r e e , it h a s p r o c e e d e d from y o u r strict a l l i a n c e of C h u r c h a n d S t a t e . T h e s e f a m i l i e s a r e c a n o n i z e d in the eyes o f the p e o p l e o n c o m m o n p r i n c i p l e s , "you tickle m e , a n d I will tickle y o u . " In Virginia we have n o t h i n g of t h i s . O u r clergy, before the R e v o l u t i o n , h a v i n g b e e n s e c u r e d a g a i n s t rivalship by fixed s a l a r i e s , did not give t h e m s e l v e s the t r o u b l e of a c q u i r i n g i n f l u e n c e over the p e o p l e . O f w e a l t h , t h e r e w e r e g r e a t a c c u m u l a t i o n s in p a r t i c u l a r f a m i l i e s , h a n d e d d o w n from g e n e r a t i o n to g e n e r a t i o n , u n d e r t h e E n g l i s h law of e n t a i l s . 5 B u t the only o b j e c t of a m b i t i o n for the w e a l t h y w a s a s e a t in the King's C o u n c i l . 6 All their c o u r t t h e n w a s p a i d to the c r o w n a n d its c r e a t u r e s ; a n d they p h i l i p p i z e d 7 in all c o l l i s i o n s b e t w e e n the K i n g a n d the p e o p l e . H e n c e they w e r e u n p o p u l a r ; a n d that u n p o p u l a r i t y c o n t i n u e s a t t a c h e d to their n a m e s . A R a n d o l p h , a C a r t e r , or a B u r w e l l 8 m u s t have great p e r s o n a l superiority over a c o m m o n c o m p e t i t o r to be e l e c t e d by the p e o p l e even at this day. At the first s e s s i o n of o u r l e g i s l a t u r e after the D e c l a r a t i o n of I n d e p e n d e n c e , w e p a s s e d a law a b o l i s h i n g e n t a i l s . A n d this w a s followed by o n e a b o l i s h i n g the privilege of p r i m o g e n i t u r e , a n d dividing the l a n d s of intestates'* e q u a l l y a m o n g all their c h i l d r e n , or o t h e r r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s . T h e s e laws, d r a w n by myself, laid the axe to the foot o f p s e u d o - a r i s t o c r a c y . A n d h a d a n o t h e r w h i c h I p r e p a r e d b e e n a d o p t e d by the l e g i s l a t u r e , o u r work w o u l d have b e e n c o m p l e t e . It w a s a bill for the m o r e g e n e r a l diffusion of l e a r n i n g . T h i s p r o p o s e d to divide every c o u n t y into w a r d s of five or six m i l e s s q u a r e , like y o u r t o w n s h i p s ; to e s t a b l i s h in e a c h w a r d a free s c h o o l for r e a d i n g , writing a n d c o m m o n a r i t h m e t i c ; to provide for the a n n u a l s e l e c t i o n of t h e b e s t s u b j e c t s from t h e s e s c h o o l s , 3. "Vol, 1, page 1 1 1 " [Jefferson's note]. A reference to Adams's Defense of the Constitutions of Government of the United States of America, 3 vols. ( 1 7 9 7 ) . This work was first published in 1787. 4. I.e., a dynastic family, founded on the marital relations between the daughters of J a c o b and Laban (Genesis 24—31). 5. An estate that cannot be willed but must pass from a prescribed list of successors.

6. T h e Privy Council, a select group of advisers, appointed by the king. 7. Argued against liberty for the people; spoke corrupted by their desire to please the king. 8. John Randolph, Landon Carter, and Lewis Burwell were all Virginia aristocrats. 9. T h o s e who died without wills. "Primogeniture": a law that gives estates to the eldest son.

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THOMAS

JEFFERSON

w h o m i g h t receive, at t h e p u b l i c e x p e n s e , a h i g h e r d e g r e e o f e d u c a t i o n at a district s c h o o l ; a n d from t h e s e district s c h o o l s to s e l e c t a c e r t a i n n u m b e r o f t h e m o s t p r o m i s i n g s u b j e c t s , to b e c o m p l e t e d a t a n university, w h e r e all t h e u s e f u l s c i e n c e s s h o u l d b e t a u g h t . W o r t h a n d g e n i u s w o u l d t h u s h a v e b e e n s o u g h t o u t f r o m every c o n d i t i o n of life, a n d c o m p l e t e l y p r e p a r e d by e d u c a t i o n for d e f e a t i n g t h e c o m p e t i t i o n of w e a l t h a n d birth for p u b l i c t r u s t s . M y p r o p o s i t i o n h a d , for a further o b j e c t , to i m p a r t to t h e s e w a r d s t h o s e p o r t i o n s of s e l f - g o v e r n m e n t for w h i c h they a r e b e s t qualified, by c o n f i d i n g to t h e m t h e c a r e of their p o o r , their r o a d s , p o l i c e , e l e c t i o n s , t h e n o m i n a t i o n of j u r o r s , a d m i n i s t r a t i o n of j u s t i c e in s m a l l c a s e s , e l e m e n t a r y e x e r c i s e s o f militia; in short, to h a v e m a d e t h e m little r e p u b l i c s , with a w a r d e n a t t h e h e a d of e a c h , for all t h o s e c o n c e r n s w h i c h , b e i n g u n d e r their e y e , they w o u l d b e t t e r m a n a g e t h a n t h e l a r g e r r e p u b l i c s of t h e c o u n t y or s t a t e . A g e n e r a l call of w a r d m e e t i n g s by their w a r d e n s on t h e s a m e d a y t h r o u g h t h e s t a t e , w o u l d at a n y t i m e p r o d u c e t h e g e n u i n e s e n s e of t h e p e o p l e o n a n y r e q u i r e d p o i n t , a n d w o u l d e n a b l e t h e s t a t e to a c t in m a s s , a s y o u r p e o p l e h a v e s o often d o n e , a n d with s o m u c h effect by their town m e e t i n g s . T h e law for religious f r e e d o m , 1 w h i c h m a d e a part of this s y s t e m , h a v i n g p u t d o w n the a r i s t o c r a c y o f t h e clergy, a n d r e s t o r e d to t h e citizen t h e f r e e d o m of t h e m i n d , a n d t h o s e o f entails a n d d e s c e n t s n u r t u r i n g a n e q u a l i t y of c o n d i t i o n a m o n g t h e m , this o n e d u c a t i o n w o u l d h a v e r a i s e d t h e m a s s of t h e p e o p l e to t h e high g r o u n d of m o r a l r e s p e c t a b i l i t y n e c e s s a r y to their o w n safety, a n d to orderly g o v e r n m e n t ; a n d w o u l d h a v e c o m p l e t e d t h e g r e a t o b j e c t o f qualifying t h e m to s e l e c t t h e veritable aristoi, for t h e t r u s t s of g o v e r n m e n t , to t h e e x c l u s i o n of t h e p s e u d a l i s t s ; a n d t h e s a m e T h e o g n i s w h o h a s f u r n i s h e d t h e e p i g r a p h s of y o u r two letters, a s s u r e s u s that " O u 5 e L u a v Ttco, Rupv', ayaGcu 7io"A.iv eo/Veaav avSpeZ." A l t h o u g h this law h a s n o t yet b e e n a c t e d o n b u t in a s m a l l a n d inefficient d e g r e e , it is still c o n s i d e r e d a s b e f o r e t h e l e g i s l a t u r e , with o t h e r bills of t h e revised c o d e , n o t yet t a k e n u p , a n d I h a v e g r e a t h o p e that s o m e patriotic spirit will, a t a f a v o r a b l e m o m e n t , call it u p , a n d m a k e it t h e k e y s t o n e o f t h e a r c h o f o u r g o v e r n m e n t . 2

W i t h r e s p e c t to a r i s t o c r a c y , w e s h o u l d further c o n s i d e r , that b e f o r e t h e e s t a b l i s h m e n t of t h e A m e r i c a n s t a t e s , n o t h i n g w a s k n o w n to history b u t the m a n of t h e old world, c r o w d e d within limits either s m a l l or o v e r c h a r g e d , a n d s t e e p e d in t h e v i c e s w h i c h that s i t u a t i o n g e n e r a t e s . A g o v e r n m e n t a d a p t e d to s u c h m e n w o u l d b e o n e t h i n g ; b u t a very different o n e , that for t h e m a n of t h e s e s t a t e s . H e r e every o n e m a y h a v e l a n d to labor for himself, if h e c h o o s e s ; or, p r e f e r r i n g t h e e x e r c i s e of any o t h e r industry, m a y exact for it s u c h c o m p e n s a t i o n a s n o t only to afford a c o m f o r t a b l e s u b s i s t e n c e , b u t w h e r e w i t h to provide for a c e s s a t i o n from l a b o r in old a g e . Every o n e , by his property, or by his s a t i s f a c t o r y s i t u a t i o n , is i n t e r e s t e d in t h e s u p p o r t of law a n d order. A n d s u c h m e n m a y safely a n d a d v a n t a g e o u s l y reserve to t h e m s e l v e s a w h o l e s o m e c o n t r o l over their p u b l i c affairs, a n d a d e g r e e of f r e e d o m , w h i c h , in t h e h a n d s of t h e c a n a i l l e ' o f t h e cities o f E u r o p e , w o u l d b e i n s t a n t l y p e r v e r t e d to t h e d e m o l i t i o n a n d d e s t r u c t i o n of everything p u b l i c a n d p r i v a t e . T h e history o f t h e last twenty-five years of F r a n c e , 4 a n d of t h e last forty y e a r s in 1. Passed in 1786. 2. Curnis, good men have never harmed any city (Greek).

1. Mob. 4. I.e., since the French Revolution ( 1 7 8 9 ) .

LETTER

TO J O H N A D A M S

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A m e r i c a , nay of its last two h u n d r e d y e a r s , p r o v e s the t r u t h o f b o t h p a r t s of this o b s e r v a t i o n . » B u t even in E u r o p e a c h a n g e h a s sensibly t a k e n p l a c e in the m i n d of m a n . S c i e n c e h a d l i b e r a t e d the i d e a s of t h o s e w h o r e a d a n d reflect, a n d the A m e r i c a n e x a m p l e h a d kindled feelings of right in the p e o p l e . A n i n s u r r e c t i o n h a s c o n s e q u e n t l y b e g u n , of s c i e n c e , t a l e n t s , a n d c o u r a g e , a g a i n s t rank a n d birth, w h i c h have fallen into c o n t e m p t . It h a s failed in its first effort, b e c a u s e the m o b s of the cities, the i n s t r u m e n t u s e d for its a c c o m p l i s h m e n t , d e b a s e d by i g n o r a n c e , poverty, a n d v i c e , c o u l d not b e r e s t r a i n e d to rational a c t i o n . B u t the world will r e c o v e r f r o m the p a n i c of this first c a t a s t r o p h e . S c i e n c e is p r o g r e s s i v e , a n d t a l e n t s a n d e n t e r p r i s e o n the alert. R e s o r t m a y b e h a d to the p e o p l e of the c o u n t r y , a m o r e g o v e r n a b l e p o w e r from their p r i n c i p l e s a n d s u b o r d i n a t i o n ; a n d rank, a n d birth, a n d t i n s e l - a r i s t o c r a c y will finally s h r i n k into i n s i g n i f i c a n c e , even t h e r e . T h i s , however, we h a v e n o right to m e d d l e with. It s u f f i c e s for u s , if the m o r a l a n d p h y s i c a l c o n d i t i o n o f o u r own citizens qualifies t h e m to s e l e c t the a b l e a n d g o o d for the direction of their g o v e r n m e n t , with a r e c u r r e n c e of e l e c t i o n s at s u c h short p e r i o d s a s will e n a b l e t h e m to d i s p l a c e a n unfaithful s e r v a n t , b e f o r e the m i s c h i e f h e m e d i t a t e s m a y b e irremediable. I have t h u s s t a t e d my o p i n i o n o n a point on w h i c h w e differ, not with a view to controversy, for w e a r e both t o o old to c h a n g e o p i n i o n s w h i c h a r e the result of a l o n g life of inquiry a n d reflection; b u t o n the s u g g e s t i o n s of a f o r m e r letter of y o u r s , that w e o u g h t not to die b e f o r e w e h a v e e x p l a i n e d o u r s e l v e s to e a c h other. W e a c t e d in p e r f e c t h a r m o n y , t h r o u g h a l o n g a n d p e r i l o u s c o n t e s t for o u r liberty a n d i n d e p e n d e n c e . A c o n s t i t u t i o n h a s b e e n a c q u i r e d , w h i c h , t h o u g h n e i t h e r of u s thinks p e r f e c t , yet b o t h c o n s i d e r a s c o m p e t e n t to r e n d e r o u r fellow citizens the h a p p i e s t a n d the s e c u r e s t o n w h o m the s u n h a s ever s h o n e . If we d o not think exactly alike a s to its i m p e r f e c t i o n s , it m a t t e r s little to o u r c o u n t r y , w h i c h , after d e v o t i n g to it long lives of d i s i n t e r e s t e d labor, w e have delivered over to o u r s u c c e s s o r s in life, w h o will b e a b l e to t a k e c a r e of it a n d of t h e m s e l v e s . O f the p a m p h l e t o n a r i s t o c r a c y w h i c h h a s b e e n s e n t to y o u , or w h o m a y b e its a u t h o r , I h a v e h e a r d n o t h i n g but t h r o u g h y o u r letter. If the p e r s o n you s u s p e c t , it m a y b e k n o w n from the q u a i n t , m y s t i c a l , a n d hyperbolical i d e a s , involved in a f f e c t e d , n e w f a n g l e d a n d p e d a n t i c t e r m s w h i c h s t a m p his writings. W h a t e v e r it b e , I h o p e your q u i e t is not to b e a f f e c t e d at this day by the r u d e n e s s or i n t e m p e r a n c e o f s c r i b b l e r s ; b u t t h a t you m a y c o n t i n u e in tranquility to live a n d to rejoice in the p r o s p e r i t y of o u r c o u n t r y , until it shall b e y o u r own wish to take your s e a t a m o n g t h e aristoi w h o have g o n e b e f o r e y o u . Ever a n d affectionately y o u r s . 1813

350

OLAUDAH

EQUIANO

1 745?-l797 The Interesting

Narrative

of the Life of Olaudah

Equiano,

or Gustavus

Vassa, the Afri-

can was published in London in 1789 and found an enthusiastic American audience when it was reprinted in New York in 1791. In the next five years it went through eight more editions, and it was reprinted again in the nineteenth century. This publication history suggests its centrality to the antislavery cause. To offset its importance, proslavery apologists questioned the Narrative's veracity, attacking in particular Equiano's claim to have been born in Africa. Scholars agree that Equiano himself left conflicting evidence about his origins; but no black voice before Frederick Douglass spoke so movingly to American readers about inhumanity, and no work before Douglass's own Narrative had such an impact. Incorporating the vocabulary and ideals of the Enlightenment—particularly the belief that sentiment linked all human beings and thus argued for the university of human rights—Equiano spoke for the countless disenfranchised and exploited workers whose labor fueled the new mercantilism. In a literature replete with self-made figures who voyage from innocence to experience— some Active, some not—Equiano's story stands, in view of the actual horrors he suffered, in a class quite by itself. He defined himself as neither African American (his first owner in the New World was a Virginian) nor Anglo African (with London as his adopted home), and he stands as an exemplary inhabitant of the Atlantic Rim, someone who at various times called Africa, North America, South America, and Europe his home. Equiano writes that he was born in about 1745 in what is now Nigeria, in an unlocated Ibo village called Essaka; he was sold to British slavers in 1756 and transported first to the Barbadoes in the West Indies and then to a plantation in Virginia. He was with his second owner, Lt. Michael Henry Pascal, throughout the Seven Years' War between England and France and was present at the siege of Fort Louisburg on Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia. Eventually, he was sold to a Quaker merchant from Philadelphia, Robert King, who carried on much of his business in the West Indies. King often traded in "live cargo," or slaves, and Equiano saw much that made him grateful for his Quaker master's treatment of him, without having any illusions about what the loss of freedom entailed. He saw the ugliest side of American life in both the North and the South. Even in Philadelphia, a city built on the premise of "brotherly love," Equiano observed that the freed black was treated with profound contempt, "plundered" and "universally insulted," with no possibility of redress. King, however, did make it possible for Equiano to purchase his freedom in 1766. Once having gained his freedom by paying forty pounds—earned by his own instincts for enterprise, carrying on his own business while managing King's—he never set foot on American soil again. It was Equiano's intention to settle in London for the rest of his life. He made his living there as a free servant, a musician (he played the French horn), and a barber. But Equiano's skill as a seaman, and his always remarkable curiosity, made him restless for new adventures, and before he died he had traveled as far as Turkey; had heard opera in Rome; and had seen Jamaica, Honduras, and Nicaragua. In 1 783 Equiano brought the case of the infamous ship Zong to the British public: the owners had thrown overboard 1 32 shackled slaves and later made insurance claims against their loss. He lectured widely on the abolition of slavery and approved a project to resettle poor blacks in Sierra Leone, Africa. He was, in fact, given an official post in this undertaking, but lost it after he made accusations of misdeeds against some officials. Although he always spoke about his desire to return to the place of his birth, Africa always lay beyond his reach. In a letter written to his hosts in Birmingham, England, after lecturing there, he wrote:

NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE

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These acts of kindness and hospitality have filled me with a longing desire to see these worthy friends on my own estate in Africa, where the richest produce of it should be devoted to their entertainment. There they should partake of the luxuriant pineapples, and the well-flavored virgin palm-wine, and to heighten the bliss I would burn a certain tree, that would afford us light as clear and brilliant as the virtue of my guests. In 1 7 9 2 Equiano married Susanna Cullcn, and their marriage was duly noticed in the London Gentleman's Magazine. He died on March 3 1 , 1 7 9 7 , and one of his daughters died shortly after him.

From T h e I n t e r e s t i n g N a r r a t i v e of t h e L i f e of O l a u d a h E q u i a n o , or G u s t a v a s V a s s a , t h e A f r i c a n , W r i t t e n by H i m s e l f F r o m Chapter

H

I h o p e the reader will not think I have t r e s p a s s e d on his p a t i e n c e in introd u c i n g myself to him, with s o m e a c c o u n t of the m a n n e r s a n d c u s t o m s of my country. T h e y h a d b e e n i m p l a n t e d in m e with great c a r e , a n d m a d e an impression on my m i n d , which time could not e r a s e , a n d which all the adversity a n d variety of fortune I have s i n c e e x p e r i e n c e d , served only to rivet a n d record; for, whether the love of one's country b e real or imaginary, or a l e s s o n of r e a s o n , or an instinct of n a t u r e , I still look b a c k with p l e a s u r e on the first s c e n e s of my life, though that p l e a s u r e has b e e n for the m o s t part mingled with sorrow. I have already a c q u a i n t e d the reader with the time a n d p l a c e of my birth. M y father, b e s i d e s m a n y slaves, h a d a n u m e r o u s family, of which seven lived to grow u p , including myself a n d a sister, w h o w a s the only d a u g h t e r . A s I was the y o u n g e s t of the s o n s , I b e c a m e , of c o u r s e , the g r e a t e s t favorite with my mother, a n d w a s always with her; a n d s h e u s e d to take p a r t i c u l a r p a i n s to form my m i n d . I w a s trained up from my earliest years in the art of war: my daily exercise w a s s h o o t i n g a n d throwing j a v e l i n s ; a n d my m o t h e r a d o r n e d m e with e m b l e m s , after the m a n n e r of our g r e a t e s t warriors. In this way I grew u p till I was turned the a g e of eleven, w h e n a n e n d w a s p u t to my h a p p i n e s s in the following m a n n e r : — g e n e r a l l y w h e n the grown p e o p l e in the n e i g h b o r h o o d were g o n e far in the fields to labor, the children a s s e m b l e d together in s o m e of the neighboring p r e m i s e s to play; a n d c o m m o n l y s o m e of u s u s e d to get u p a tree to look out for any a s s a i l a n t , or k i d n a p p e r , that might c o m e u p o n u s — f o r they s o m e t i m e s took t h o s e o p p o r t u n i t i e s of our p a r e n t s ' a b s e n c e , to a t t a c k a n d carry off a s many a s they c o u l d seize. O n e day a s I w a s w a t c h i n g at the top of a tree in our yard, I s a w o n e of t h o s e p e o p l e c o m e into the yard of our next n e i g h b o r b u t o n e to k i d n a p , there being m a n y s t o u t 2 y o u n g p e o p l e in it. I m m e d i a t e l y on this I gave the a l a r m of the r o g u e , a n d he was s u r r o u n d e d by the s t o u t e s t of t h e m , who e n t a n g l e d him with c o r d s , so that he c o u l d not e s c a p e till s o m e of the grown p e o p l e c a m e a n d s e c u r e d him. B u t , alas! ere long it w a s my fate to be t h u s a t t a c k e d , a n d to b e carried off, w h e n n o n e of the grown p e o p l e were nigh. O n e day, w h e n all our p e o p l e were g o n e out to their works a s u s u a l , a n d only I a n d 1. T h e text used here is taken from the I st edition, published in two volumes for the author in London in 1789. The original paragraphing has been

altered to facilitate reading, 2. Strong,

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my d e a r sister were left to mind the h o u s e , two m e n a n d a w o m a n got over our walls, a n d in a m o m e n t seized u s b o t h , a n d , without giving u s time to cry o u t , or m a k e r e s i s t a n c e , they s t o p p e d our m o u t h s , a n d ran off with u s into the n e a r e s t w o o d . H e r e they tied o u r h a n d s , a n d c o n t i n u e d to carry u s a s far a s they c o u l d , till night c a m e o n , w h e n we r e a c h e d a s m a l l h o u s e , w h e r e the robbers halted for r e f r e s h m e n t , a n d spent the night. W e w e r e then u n b o u n d , but were u n a b l e to take any f o o d ; a n d , b e i n g q u i t e o v e r p o w e r e d by fatigue a n d grief, our only relief w a s s o m e s l e e p , which allayed o u r misf o r t u n e for a short t i m e . T h e next m o r n i n g we left the h o u s e , a n d c o n t i n u e d traveling all the day. F o r a long time we h a d kept the w o o d s , b u t at last we c a m e into a r o a d which I believed I knew. I h a d now s o m e h o p e s of b e i n g delivered; for we h a d a d v a n c e d but a little way before I d i s c o v e r e d s o m e p e o p l e at a d i s t a n c e , o n w h i c h 1 b e g a n to cry out for their a s s i s t a n c e ; but my cries h a d n o other effect t h a n to m a k e t h e m tie m e f a s t e r a n d s t o p my m o u t h , a n d then they put m e into a large sack. T h e y also s t o p p e d my sister's m o u t h , a n d tied her h a n d s ; a n d in this m a n n e r we p r o c e e d e d till we were o u t of sight of t h e s e p e o p l e . W h e n we went to rest the following night, they offered u s s o m e victuals, b u t we r e f u s e d it; a n d the only c o m f o r t we h a d w a s in b e i n g in o n e a n o t h e r ' s a r m s all that night, a n d b a t h i n g e a c h other with o u r t e a r s . B u t alas! we were s o o n deprived of even the small c o m f o r t of w e e p i n g together. T h e next day proved a day of greater sorrow t h a n I h a d yet exper i e n c e d ; for my sister a n d I were then s e p a r a t e d , while we lay c l a s p e d in e a c h other's a r m s . It w a s in vain that we b e s o u g h t t h e m not to part u s ; s h e w a s torn from m e , a n d i m m e d i a t e l y carried away, while I w a s left in a s t a t e of distraction not to b e d e s c r i b e d . I cried a n d grieved continually; a n d for several days did not eat any thing but what they forced into my m o u t h . At l e n g t h , after m a n y days traveling, d u r i n g w h i c h I h a d often c h a n g e d m a s t e r s , I got into the h a n d s of a chieftain, in a very p l e a s a n t country. T h i s m a n h a d two wives a n d s o m e children, a n d they all u s e d m e extremely well, a n d did all they c o u l d to c o m f o r t m e ; particularly the first wife, w h o w a s s o m e t h i n g like my m o t h e r . A l t h o u g h I w a s a great m a n y days' j o u r n e y from my father's h o u s e , yet t h e s e p e o p l e s p o k e exactly the s a m e l a n g u a g e with u s . T h i s first m a s t e r of m i n e , a s I m a y call him, w a s a s m i t h , 3 a n d my principal employm e n t w a s working his bellows, which were the s a m e kind a s I h a d s e e n in my vicinity. T h e y were in s o m e r e s p e c t s not unlike the stoves h e r e in g e n t l e m e n ' s k i t c h e n s , a n d were covered over with leather; a n d in the m i d d l e of that leather a stick w a s fixed, a n d a p e r s o n s t o o d u p , a n d w o r k e d it in the s a m e m a n n e r a s is d o n e to p u m p water o u t of a c a s k with a h a n d p u m p . I believe it w a s gold he worked, for it w a s of a lovely bright yellow color, a n d w a s worn by the w o m e n on their wrists a n d a n k l e s . I w a s t h e r e I s u p p o s e a b o u t a m o n t h , a n d they at last u s e d to trust m e s o m e little d i s t a n c e f r o m the h o u s e . T h i s liberty I u s e d in e m b r a c i n g every o p p o r t u n i t y to inquire the way to my own h o m e ; a n d I a l s o s o m e t i m e s , for the s a m e p u r p o s e , went with the m a i d e n s , in the cool of the e v e n i n g s , to b r i n g p i t c h e r s of water from the springs for the u s e of the h o u s e . I h a d a l s o r e m a r k e d w h e r e the s u n rose in the m o r n i n g , a n d set in the evening, a s I h a d traveled a l o n g ; a n d I h a d o b s e r v e d that my father's h o u s e w a s towards the rising of the s u n . I therefore d e t e r m i n e d to seize the first opportunity of m a k i n g my e s c a p e , a n d to s h a p e 3. A metalworker; here, a goldsmith.

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my c o u r s e for that q u a r t e r ; for I w a s quite o p p r e s s e d a n d w e i g h e d down by grief after my m o t h e r a n d friends; a n d my love of liberty, ever great, w a s s t r e n g t h e n e d by the mortifying c i r c u m s t a n c e of not d a r i n g to eat with the free-born children, a l t h o u g h I w a s mostly their c o m p a n i o n . W h i l e I w a s projecting my e s c a p e o n e day, a n unlucky event h a p p e n e d , which q u i t e disc o n c e r t e d my plan, a n d p u t a n e n d to my h o p e s . I u s e d to be s o m e t i m e s e m p l o y e d in a s s i s t i n g a n elderly slave to c o o k a n d take c a r e of the poultry; a n d o n e m o r n i n g , while I w a s feeding s o m e c h i c k e n s , I h a p p e n e d to toss a small p e b b l e at o n e of t h e m , which hit it on the m i d d l e , a n d directly killed it. T h e old slave, having s o o n after m i s s e d the c h i c k e n , i n q u i r e d after it; a n d on my relating the a c c i d e n t (for I told her the truth, for my m o t h e r would never suffer m e to tell a lie), s h e flew into a violent p a s s i o n , a n d t h r e a t e n e d that I s h o u l d suffer for it; a n d , my m a s t e r b e i n g out, s h e i m m e d i a t e l y went a n d told her m i s t r e s s what I h a d d o n e . T h i s a l a r m e d m e very m u c h , a n d I expected a n instant flogging, which to m e w a s u n c o m m o n l y dreadful, for I h a d s e l d o m b e e n b e a t e n at h o m e . I therefore resolved to fly; a n d accordingly I ran into a thicket that w a s hard by, a n d hid myself in the b u s h e s . S o o n afterwards my m i s t r e s s a n d the slave r e t u r n e d , a n d , not s e e i n g m e , they s e a r c h e d all the h o u s e , but not finding m e , a n d I not m a k i n g a n s w e r w h e n they called to m e , they t h o u g h t I h a d run away, a n d the w h o l e n e i g h b o r h o o d w a s raised in the p u r s u i t of m e . In that part of the country, a s in o u r s , the h o u s e s a n d villages were skirted with w o o d s , or s h r u b b e r i e s , a n d the b u s h e s were s o thick that a m a n c o u l d readily c o n c e a l h i m s e l f in t h e m , s o a s to e l u d e the strictest s e a r c h . T h e n e i g h b o r s c o n t i n u e d the w h o l e day looking for m e , a n d several times m a n y of t h e m c a m e within a few yards of the p l a c e w h e r e I lay hid. I e x p e c t e d every m o m e n t , w h e n I h e a r d a rustling a m o n g the trees, to be f o u n d o u t , a n d p u n i s h e d by my m a s t e r ; b u t they never discovered m e , t h o u g h they were often s o n e a r that I even h e a r d their c o n j e c tures as they were looking a b o u t for m e ; a n d I now l e a r n e d from t h e m that any a t t e m p t s to return h o m e would be h o p e l e s s . M o s t of t h e m s u p p o s e d I h a d fled towards h o m e ; but the d i s t a n c e w a s s o great, a n d the way so intric a t e , that they t h o u g h t I c o u l d never r e a c h it, a n d that I s h o u l d b e lost in the w o o d s . W h e n I h e a r d this I w a s seized with a violent p a n i c , a n d a b a n d o n e d myself to d e s p a i r . N i g h t , too, b e g a n to a p p r o a c h , a n d a g g r a v a t e d all my fears. I h a d before e n t e r t a i n e d h o p e s of getting h o m e , a n d h a d determ i n e d w h e n it s h o u l d b e dark to m a k e the a t t e m p t ; b u t I w a s now c o n v i n c e d it w a s fruitless, a n d b e g a n to c o n s i d e r that, if possibly I c o u l d e s c a p e all other a n i m a l s , I c o u l d not t h o s e of the h u m a n kind; a n d that, not knowing the way, I m u s t perish in the w o o d s . T h u s w a s I like the h u n t e d d e e r — — " E v e r y leaf a n d every whisp'ring b r e a t h , Convey'd a foe, a n d every foe a d e a t h . " I h e a r d f r e q u e n t rustlings a m o n g the leaves, a n d b e i n g pretty s u r e they were s n a k e s , I e x p e c t e d every instant to be s t u n g by t h e m . T h i s i n c r e a s e d my a n g u i s h , a n d the horror of my situation b e c a m e n o w q u i t e i n s u p p o r t a b l e . I at length quitted the thicket, very faint a n d hungry, for I h a d not e a t e n or d r a n k any thing all the day, a n d crept to my m a s t e r ' s k i t c h e n , from w h e n c e I set o u t at first, which w a s a n o p e n s h e d , a n d laid myself down in the a s h e s with an anxious wish for d e a t h , to relieve m e from all my p a i n s . I w a s scarcely a w a k e in the m o r n i n g , w h e n the old w o m a n slave, who w a s the first u p , c a m e

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to light the fire, a n d s a w m e in the fire p l a c e . S h e w a s very m u c h s u r p r i s e d to s e e m e , a n d c o u l d scarcely believe her own eyes. S h e now p r o m i s e d to intercede for m e , a n d went for her m a s t e r , w h o s o o n after c a m e , a n d , having slightly r e p r i m a n d e d m e , o r d e r e d m e to be taken c a r e of, a n d not ill treated. S o o n after this, my m a s t e r ' s only d a u g h t e r , a n d child by his first wife, s i c k e n e d a n d died, which affected him s o m u c h that for s o m e t i m e he w a s a l m o s t frantic, a n d really would have killed himself, h a d h e not b e e n w a t c h e d a n d p r e v e n t e d . H o w e v e r , in short time afterwards he recovered, a n d I w a s a g a i n sold. I w a s now carried to the left of the s u n ' s rising, t h r o u g h m a n y dreary w a s t e s a n d d i s m a l w o o d s , a m i d s t the h i d e o u s roarings of wild b e a s t s . T h e p e o p l e I w a s sold to u s e d to carry m e very often, w h e n I w a s tired, either on their s h o u l d e r s or o n their b a c k s . I s a w m a n y c o n v e n i e n t well built s h e d s a l o n g the road, at p r o p e r d i s t a n c e s , to a c c o m m o d a t e the m e r c h a n t s a n d travelers, w h o lay in t h o s e b u i l d i n g s a l o n g with their wives, w h o often a c c o m pany t h e m ; a n d they always go well a r m e d . F r o m the time I left my own nation, I always f o u n d s o m e b o d y that unders t o o d m e till I c a m e to the s e a c o a s t . T h e l a n g u a g e s of different n a t i o n s did not totally differ, nor were they s o c o p i o u s a s t h o s e of the E u r o p e a n s , particularly the E n g l i s h . T h e y were therefore, easily l e a r n e d ; a n d , while I w a s j o u r n e y i n g t h u s t h r o u g h Africa, I a c q u i r e d two or three different t o n g u e s . In this m a n n e r I h a d b e e n traveling for a c o n s i d e r a b l e t i m e , w h e n , o n e evening, to my great s u r p r i s e , w h o m s h o u l d I s e e b r o u g h t to the h o u s e w h e r e I w a s but my dear sister! As s o o n a s s h e saw m e , s h e gave a loud shriek, a n d ran into my a r m s — I w a s q u i t e o v e r p o w e r e d : neither of u s c o u l d s p e a k ; b u t , for a c o n s i d e r a b l e t i m e , c l u n g to e a c h other in m u t u a l e m b r a c e s , u n a b l e to d o any thing but w e e p . O u r m e e t i n g affected all w h o saw u s ; a n d , i n d e e d , I m u s t a c k n o w l e d g e , in h o n o r of t h o s e s a b l e destroyers of h u m a n rights, that I never met with any ill t r e a t m e n t , or s a w any offered to their s l a v e s , except tying t h e m , w h e n n e c e s s a r y , to k e e p t h e m from r u n n i n g away. W h e n t h e s e p e o p l e knew we were brother a n d sister, they i n d u l g e d u s to be together; a n d the m a n , to w h o m I s u p p o s e d we b e l o n g e d , lay with u s , he in the m i d d l e , while s h e a n d I held o n e a n o t h e r by the h a n d s a c r o s s his b r e a s t all night; a n d t h u s for a while we forgot our m i s f o r t u n e s , in the joy of b e i n g together; b u t even this small c o m f o r t w a s s o o n to have a n e n d ; for scarcely h a d the fatal m o r n i n g a p p e a r e d w h e n s h e w a s a g a i n torn from m e forever! I w a s now m o r e m i s e r a b l e , if p o s s i b l e , than before. T h e s m a l l relief which her p r e s e n c e g a v e m e from pain w a s g o n e , a n d the w r e t c h e d n e s s of my situation w a s r e d o u b l e d by my anxiety after her fate, a n d my a p p r e h e n s i o n s lest her sufferings s h o u l d be greater than m i n e , w h e n I c o u l d not b e with her to alleviate t h e m . Yes, thou dear p a r t n e r of all my childish s p o r t s ! thou s h a r e r of my j o y s a n d sorrows! h a p p y s h o u l d I have ever e s t e e m e d myself to e n c o u n t e r every misery for you a n d to p r o c u r e your f r e e d o m by the sacrifice of my o w n . — T h o u g h you were early forced from my a r m s , your i m a g e has b e e n always riveted in my heart, from which neither t i m e nor f o r t u n e have b e e n a b l e to r e m o v e it; s o that, while the t h o u g h t s of your sufferings have d a m p e d my prosperity, they have mingled with adversity a n d i n c r e a s e d its b i t t e r n e s s . T o that H e a v e n which p r o t e c t s the w e a k from the strong, I c o m m i t the c a r e of your i n n o c e n c e a n d virtues, if they have not already received their full reward, a n d if your youth a n d delicacy have not long s i n c e fallen victims to the v i o l e n c e of the African trader, the pestilential s t e n c h of a G u i n e a s h i p ,

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the s e a s o n i n g in the E u r o p e a n c o l o n i e s , or the lash a n d lust of a brutal a n d unrelenting overseer. I did not long remain after my sister. I w a s again sold, a n d carried t h r o u g h a n u m b e r of p l a c e s , till after traveling a c o n s i d e r a b l e t i m e , I c a m e to a town called T i n m a h , in the m o s t beautiful country I h a d yet s e e n in Africa. It w a s extremely rich, a n d there were m a n y rivulets which flowed through it, a n d s u p p l i e d a large p o n d in the c e n t e r of the town, w h e r e the p e o p l e w a s h e d . H e r e I first saw a n d tasted c o c o a n u t s , which I t h o u g h t s u p e r i o r to any nuts I h a d ever tasted b e f o r e ; a n d the trees which were loaded, were a l s o inters p e r s e d a m o n g the h o u s e s , which h a d c o m m o d i o u s s h a d e s adjoining, a n d were in the s a m e m a n n e r a s o u r s , the insides b e i n g neatly p l a s t e r e d a n d w h i t e w a s h e d . H e r e I also saw a n d tasted for the first t i m e , s u g a r c a n e . T h e i r m o n e y c o n s i s t e d of little white shells, the size of the finger nail. I w a s sold here for o n e h u n d r e d a n d seventy-two of t h e m , by a m e r c h a n t w h o lived a n d b r o u g h t m e there. I had b e e n a b o u t two or three days at his h o u s e , w h e n a wealthy widow, a n e i g h b o r of his, c a m e there o n e evening, a n d b r o u g h t with her a n only s o n , a y o u n g g e n t l e m a n a b o u t my own a g e a n d size. H e r e they saw m e ; a n d , having taken a fancy to m e , I w a s b o u g h t of the m e r c h a n t , a n d went h o m e with t h e m . H e r h o u s e a n d p r e m i s e s were s i t u a t e d c l o s e to o n e of t h o s e rivulets I have m e n t i o n e d , a n d were the finest I ever s a w in Africa: they were very extensive, a n d she had a n u m b e r of slaves to a t t e n d her. T h e next day I w a s w a s h e d a n d p e r f u m e d , a n d w h e n m e a l t i m e c a m e , I w a s led into the p r e s e n c e of my m i s t r e s s , a n d ate a n d d r a n k before her with her s o n . T h i s filled m e with a s t o n i s h m e n t ; a n d I c o u l d s c a r c e help e x p r e s s i n g my s u r p r i s e that the y o u n g g e n t l e m a n s h o u l d suffer 4 m e , w h o w a s b o u n d , to e a t with him who was free; a n d not only s o , but that he would not at any time either eat or drink till I h a d taken first, b e c a u s e I w a s the eldest, which w a s a g r e e a b l e to our c u s t o m . I n d e e d , every thing h e r e , a n d all their t r e a t m e n t of m e , m a d e m e forget that I w a s a slave. T h e l a n g u a g e of t h e s e p e o p l e r e s e m bled o u r s s o nearly, that we u n d e r s t o o d e a c h other perfectly. T h e y h a d also the very s a m e c u s t o m s as w e . T h e r e were likewise slaves daily to a t t e n d u s , while my y o u n g m a s t e r a n d I, with other boys, s p o r t e d with o u r darts a n d b o w s a n d arrows, a s I h a d b e e n u s e d to d o at h o m e . In this r e s e m b l a n c e to my former happy s t a t e , I p a s s e d a b o u t two m o n t h s ; a n d I now b e g a n to think I w a s to be a d o p t e d into the family, a n d w a s b e g i n n i n g to be r e c o n c i l e d to my situation, a n d to forget by d e g r e e s my m i s f o r t u n e s , w h e n all at o n c e the d e l u s i o n v a n i s h e d ; for, without the least p r e v i o u s k n o w l e d g e , o n e m o r n i n g early, while my dear m a s t e r a n d c o m p a n i o n w a s still a s l e e p , I w a s a w a k e n e d out of my reverie to fresh sorrow, a n d hurried away even a m o n g s t the uncircumcised. T h u s , at the very m o m e n t I d r e a m e d of the g r e a t e s t h a p p i n e s s , I f o u n d myself most m i s e r a b l e ; a n d it s e e m e d a s if f o r t u n e w i s h e d to give m e this taste of joy only to render the reverse m o r e p o i g n a n t . — T h e c h a n g e I now e x p e r i e n c e d , w a s a s painful as it w a s s u d d e n a n d u n e x p e c t e d . It w a s a c h a n g e i n d e e d , from a state of bliss to a s c e n e which is inexpressible by m e , a s it discovered to m e a n e l e m e n t I h a d never before b e h e l d , a n d till then had no idea of, a n d wherein s u c h i n s t a n c e s of h a r d s h i p a n d cruelty continually o c c u r r e d , a s I c a n never reflect on but with horror. 4. Allow.

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All the n a t i o n s a n d p e o p l e I h a d hitherto p a s s e d t h r o u g h , r e s e m b l e d our own in their m a n n e r s , c u s t o m s , a n d l a n g u a g e : b u t I c a m e at length to a country, the i n h a b i t a n t s of which differed f r o m u s in all t h o s e p a r t i c u l a r s . I w a s very m u c h s t r u c k with this d i f f e r e n c e , especially w h e n I c a m e a m o n g a p e o p l e w h o did not c i r c u m c i s e , a n d a t e w i t h o u t w a s h i n g their h a n d s . T h e y c o o k e d a l s o in iron p o t s , a n d h a d E u r o p e a n c u t l a s s e s a n d c r o s s b o w s , which were u n k n o w n to u s , a n d fought with their fists a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s . T h e i r w o m e n were not s o m o d e s t a s o u r s , for they a t e , a n d drank, a n d slept with their m e n . B u t a b o v e all, I w a s a m a z e d to s e e no sacrifices or offerings a m o n g t h e m . In s o m e of t h o s e p l a c e s the p e o p l e o r n a m e n t e d t h e m s e l v e s with s c a r s , a n d likewise filed their teeth very s h a r p . T h e y w a n t e d s o m e t i m e s to o r n a m e n t m e in the s a m e m a n n e r , b u t I w o u l d not suffer t h e m ; h o p i n g that I might s o m e time b e a m o n g a p e o p l e w h o did not t h u s disfigure t h e m s e l v e s , a s I t h o u g h t they did. At last I c a m e to the b a n k s of a large river which w a s covered with c a n o e s , in which the p e o p l e a p p e a r e d to live with their h o u s e hold u t e n s i l s , a n d provisions of all kinds. I w a s b e y o n d m e a s u r e a s t o n i s h e d at this, a s I h a d never b e f o r e s e e n any water larger t h a n a p o n d or a rivulet: a n d my s u r p r i s e w a s m i n g l e d with n o small fear w h e n I w a s p u t into o n e of t h e s e c a n o e s , a n d we b e g a n to p a d d l e a n d m o v e a l o n g the river. W e continu e d g o i n g on t h u s till night, a n d w h e n w e c a m e to l a n d , a n d m a d e fires o n the b a n k s , e a c h family by t h e m s e l v e s ; s o m e d r a g g e d their c a n o e s o n s h o r e , others stayed a n d c o o k e d in theirs, a n d laid in t h e m all night. T h o s e on the land h a d m a t s , of which they m a d e t e n t s , s o m e in the s h a p e of little h o u s e s ; in t h e s e we slept; a n d after the m o r n i n g m e a l , we e m b a r k e d a g a i n a n d proc e e d e d as b e f o r e . I w a s often very m u c h a s t o n i s h e d to s e e s o m e of the w o m e n , a s well a s the m e n , j u m p into the water, dive to the b o t t o m , c o m e u p a g a i n , a n d swim a b o u t . — T h u s I c o n t i n u e d to travel, s o m e t i m e s by land, s o m e t i m e s by water, through different c o u n t r i e s a n d v a r i o u s n a t i o n s , till, at the e n d of six or seven m o n t h s after I h a d b e e n k i d n a p p e d , I arrived at the s e a c o a s t . It w o u l d b e t e d i o u s a n d u n i n t e r e s t i n g to relate all the i n c i d e n t s which befell m e d u r i n g this j o u r n e y , a n d which I have not yet forgotten; of the various h a n d s I p a s s e d t h r o u g h , a n d the m a n n e r s a n d c u s t o m s of all the different p e o p l e a m o n g w h o m I lived—I shall therefore only o b s e r v e , that in all the p l a c e s w h e r e I w a s , the soil w a s exceedingly rich; the p u m p k i n s , e a d a s , 5 p l a i n t a i n s , y a m s , e t c . , e t c . , were in great a b u n d a n c e , a n d of incredible size. T h e r e were a l s o vast q u a n t i t i e s of different g u m s , t h o u g h not u s e d for any p u r p o s e , a n d every w h e r e a great deal of t o b a c c o . T h e c o t t o n even grew q u i t e wild, a n d there w a s plenty of red-wood. I s a w n o m e c h a n i c s 6 whatever in all the way, except s u c h a s I have m e n t i o n e d . T h e c h i e f employm e n t in all t h e s e c o u n t r i e s w a s a g r i c u l t u r e , a n d both the m a l e s a n d f e m a l e s , a s with u s , were b r o u g h t u p to it, a n d trained in the arts of war. T h e first object which s a l u t e d my eyes w h e n I arrived o n the c o a s t , w a s the s e a , a n d a slave s h i p , which w a s then riding at a n c h o r , a n d waiting for its c a r g o . T h e s e filled m e with a s t o n i s h m e n t , which w a s s o o n c o n v e r t e d into terror, w h e n I w a s carried on b o a r d . I w a s i m m e d i a t e l y h a n d l e d , a n d t o s s e d u p to s e e if I were s o u n d , by s o m e of the crew; a n d I w a s n o w p e r s u a d e d that I h a d g o t t e n into a world of b a d spirits, a n d that they were g o i n g to kill 5. More commonly spelled "eddoes": edible roots found in the tropics.

6. Artisans, manual workers,

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m e . T h e i r c o m p l e x i o n s , too, differing so m u c h from o u r s , their long hair, a n d the l a n g u a g e they s p o k e (which was very different from any I h a d ever h e a r d ) , united to confirm m e in this belief. I n d e e d , s u c h were the horrors of my views a n d fears at the m o m e n t , that, if ten t h o u s a n d worlds h a d b e e n my o w n , I would have freely p a r t e d with t h e m all to have e x c h a n g e d my condition with that of the m e a n e s t slave in my own country. W h e n I looked r o u n d the ship too, a n d saw a large f u r n a c e of c o p p e r boiling, a n d a m u l t i t u d e of black p e o p l e of every description c h a i n e d together, every o n e of their c o u n t e n a n c e s e x p r e s s i n g dejection a n d sorrow, I no longer d o u b t e d of my fate; a n d , q u i t e overpowered with horror a n d a n g u i s h , I fell m o t i o n l e s s o n the d e c k a n d fainted. W h e n I recovered a little, I f o u n d s o m e b l a c k p e o p l e a b o u t m e , who I believed w e r e s o m e of t h o s e w h o h a d b r o u g h t m e on b o a r d , a n d h a d b e e n receiving their pay; they talked to m e in order to c h e e r m e , but all in vain. I a s k e d t h e m if we were not to be e a t e n by t h o s e white m e n with horrible looks, red f a c e s , a n d long hair. T h e y told m e I w a s not: a n d o n e of the c r e w b r o u g h t m e a small portion of s p i r i t u o u s liquor in a wine g l a s s , b u t , being afraid of him, I would not take it out of his h a n d . O n e of the b l a c k s , therefore, took it from him a n d gave it to m e , a n d I took a little d o w n my p a l a t e , which, instead of reviving m e , a s they thought it w o u l d , threw m e into the greatest c o n s t e r n a t i o n at the s t r a n g e feeling it p r o d u c e d , having never tasted any s u c h liquor before. S o o n after this, the b l a c k s w h o b r o u g h t m e on b o a r d went off, a n d left m e a b a n d o n e d to despair. I now s a w myself deprived of all c h a n c e of r e t u r n i n g to my native country, or even the least g l i m p s e of h o p e of g a i n i n g the s h o r e , which I now c o n s i d ered a s friendly; a n d I even wished for my former slavery in p r e f e r e n c e to my p r e s e n t s i t u a t i o n , which w a s filled with horrors of every kind, still heighte n e d by my i g n o r a n c e of what I w a s to u n d e r g o . I w a s not long suffered to indulge my grief; I w a s s o o n put down u n d e r the d e c k s , a n d there I received sucfi a salutation in my nostrils a s I had never e x p e r i e n c e d in my life: s o that, with the l o a t h s o m e n e s s of the s t e n c h , a n d crying together, I b e c a m e s o sick a n d low that I w a s not a,ble to eat, nor had I the least desire to t a s t e any thing. I now w i s h e d for the last friend, d e a t h , to relieve m e ; but s o o n , to my grief, two of the white m e n offered m e e a t a b l e s ; a n d , on my refusing to eat, o n e of t h e m held m e fast by the h a n d s , a n d laid m e a c r o s s , I think the w i n d l a s s , a n d tied my feet, while the other flogged m e severely. I h a d never e x p e r i e n c e d any thing of this kind before, a n d a l t h o u g h not b e i n g u s e d to the water, I naturally feared that e l e m e n t the first time I s a w it, yet, nevert h e l e s s , c o u l d I have got over the nettings, I would have j u m p e d over the side, but I could not; a n d b e s i d e s , the crew u s e d to w a t c h u s very closely w h o were not c h a i n e d down to the d e c k s , lest we s h o u l d leap into the water; a n d I have s e e n s o m e of t h e s e poor African p r i s o n e r s m o s t severely c u t , for a t t e m p t i n g to do s o , a n d hourly w h i p p e d for not eating. T h i s i n d e e d w a s often the c a s e with myself. In a little time after, a m o n g s t the poor c h a i n e d m e n , I f o u n d s o m e of my own nation, which in a small d e g r e e gave e a s e to my m i n d . I inquired of t h e s e what w a s to be d o n e with u s ? T h e y gave m e to u n d e r s t a n d we were to be carried to t h e s e white people's c o u n t r y to work for t h e m . I then w a s a little revived, a n d t h o u g h t , if it were no worse than working, my situation w a s not so d e s p e r a t e ; but still I feared I s h o u l d be put to d e a t h , the white p e o p l e looked a n d a c t e d , a s I t h o u g h t , in s o s a v a g e a m a n ner; for 1 h a d never seen a m o n g any p e o p l e s u c h i n s t a n c e s of brutal cruelty;

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a n d this not only s h o w n towards u s b l a c k s , b u t a l s o to s o m e of the whites t h e m s e l v e s . O n e white m a n in p a r t i c u l a r I saw, w h e n we were p e r m i t t e d to b e o n d e c k , flogged s o unmercifully with a large r o p e n e a r the f o r e m a s t , that h e d i e d in c o n s e q u e n c e of it; a n d they t o s s e d h i m over the side a s they w o u l d have d o n e a b r u t e . T h i s m a d e m e fear t h e s e p e o p l e the m o r e ; a n d I e x p e c t e d n o t h i n g less t h a n to b e treated in the s a m e m a n n e r . I c o u l d not help e x p r e s s ing my fears a n d a p p r e h e n s i o n s to s o m e of my c o u n t r y m e n ; I a s k e d t h e m if t h e s e p e o p l e h a d n o country, b u t lived in this hollow p l a c e (the ship)? T h e y told m e they did not, b u t c a m e from a d i s t a n t o n e . " T h e n , " said I, " h o w c o m e s it in all o u r country we never h e a r d of t h e m ? " T h e y told m e b e c a u s e they lived s o very far off. I then a s k e d w h e r e were their w o m e n ? h a d they any like t h e m s e l v e s ? I w a s told they h a d . " A n d why," s a i d I, " d o w e not s e e t h e m ? " T h e y a n s w e r e d , b e c a u s e they were left b e h i n d . I a s k e d h o w the vessel c o u l d go? they told m e they c o u l d not tell; b u t that there w a s c l o t h p u t u p o n the m a s t s by the help of the r o p e s I s a w , a n d t h e n the vessel w e n t o n ; a n d the white m e n h a d s o m e spell or m a g i c they p u t in the water w h e n they liked, in order to s t o p the vessel. I w a s exceedingly a m a z e d at this a c c o u n t , a n d really t h o u g h t they were spirits. I therefore w i s h e d m u c h to be from a m o n g s t t h e m , for I e x p e c t e d they w o u l d sacrifice m e ; b u t my w i s h e s were v a i n — f o r we were s o q u a r t e r e d that it w a s i m p o s s i b l e for any of u s to m a k e our e s c a p e . W h i l e we stayed o n the c o a s t I w a s mostly o n d e c k ; a n d o n e day, to my great a s t o n i s h m e n t , I s a w o n e of t h e s e v e s s e l s c o m i n g in with the sails u p . A s s o o n a s the whites s a w it, they gave a great s h o u t , at w h i c h we were a m a z e d ; a n d the m o r e s o , a s the v e s s e l a p p e a r e d larger by a p p r o a c h i n g nearer. At last, s h e c a m e to a n a n c h o r in my sight, a n d w h e n the a n c h o r w a s let g o , I a n d my c o u n t r y m e n w h o s a w it, were lost in a s t o n i s h m e n t to observe the vessel s t o p — a n d were n o w c o n v i n c e d it w a s d o n e by m a g i c . S o o n after this the other ship got her b o a t s o u t , a n d they c a m e on b o a r d of u s , a n d the p e o p l e of b o t h s h i p s s e e m e d very g l a d to s e e e a c h o t h e r . — S e v e r a l of the s t r a n g e r s a l s o s h o o k h a n d s with u s b l a c k p e o p l e , a n d m a d e m o t i o n s with their h a n d s , signifying I s u p p o s e , we were to g o to their c o u n t r y , b u t we did not u n d e r s t a n d t h e m . At last, w h e n the ship we were in h a d got in all her c a r g o , they m a d e ready with m a n y fearful n o i s e s , a n d w e were all p u t u n d e r d e c k , s o t h a t we c o u l d not s e e how they m a n a g e d the vessel. B u t this d i s a p p o i n t m e n t w a s the least of my sorrow. T h e s t e n c h of the hold while we were on the c o a s t w a s s o intolerably l o a t h s o m e , that it w a s d a n g e r o u s to r e m a i n t h e r e for any t i m e , a n d s o m e of u s h a d b e e n p e r m i t t e d to stay on the d e c k for the f r e s h air; b u t now that the w h o l e ship's c a r g o were c o n f i n e d together, it b e c a m e a b s o l u t e l y pestilential. T h e c l o s e n e s s of the p l a c e , a n d the h e a t of the c l i m a t e , a d d e d to the n u m b e r in the s h i p , w h i c h w a s s o c r o w d e d that e a c h h a d scarcely r o o m to turn himself, a l m o s t s u f f o c a t e d u s . T h i s p r o d u c e d c o p i o u s perspirations, s o that the air s o o n b e c a m e unfit for r e s p i r a t i o n , f r o m a variety of l o a t h s o m e s m e l l s , a n d b r o u g h t o n a s i c k n e s s a m o n g the slaves, of which m a n y d i e d — t h u s falling victims to the improvident a v a r i c e , a s I m a y call it, of their p u r c h a s e r s . T h i s w r e t c h e d situation w a s a g a i n a g g r a v a t e d by the galling of the c h a i n s , now b e c o m e i n s u p p o r t a b l e , a n d the filth of the n e c e s s a r y t u b s , into w h i c h the children often fell, a n d were a l m o s t s u f f o c a t e d . T h e s h r i e k s of the w o m e n , a n d the g r o a n s of the dying, r e n d e r e d the w h o l e

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a s c e n e of horror a l m o s t i n c o n c e i v a b l e . H a p p i l y p e r h a p s , for myself, I w a s s o o n r e d u c e d s o low here that it w a s t h o u g h t n e c e s s a r y to k e e p m e a l m o s t always on d e c k ; a n d from my e x t r e m e youth I w a s not p u t in fetters. In this situation I e x p e c t e d every h o u r to s h a r e the fate of my c o m p a n i o n s , s o m e of w h o m were a l m o s t daily b r o u g h t u p o n d e c k at the point of d e a t h , which I b e g a n to h o p e would s o o n p u t a n e n d to my m i s e r i e s . O f t e n did I think m a n y of the i n h a b i t a n t s of the d e e p m u c h m o r e h a p p y t h a n myself. I envied t h e m the f r e e d o m they enjoyed, a n d a s often w i s h e d I c o u l d c h a n g e my c o n d i t i o n for theirs. Every c i r c u m s t a n c e I m e t with, served only to r e n d e r my s t a t e m o r e painful, a n d h e i g h t e n e d my a p p r e h e n s i o n s , a n d my o p i n i o n of the cruelty of the whites. O n e day they h a d taken a n u m b e r of fishes; a n d w h e n they h a d killed a n d satisfied t h e m s e l v e s with a s m a n y a s they t h o u g h t fit, to our a s t o n i s h m e n t who were o n d e c k , rather than give any of t h e m to u s to eat, a s we e x p e c t e d , they t o s s e d the r e m a i n i n g fish into the s e a a g a i n , a l t h o u g h we b e g g e d a n d prayed for s o m e a s well a s we c o u l d , but in vain; a n d s o m e of my c o u n t r y m e n , b e i n g p r e s s e d by h u n g e r , took a n opportunity, w h e n they t h o u g h t n o o n e s a w t h e m , of trying to get a little privately; but they were d i s c o v e r e d , a n d the a t t e m p t p r o c u r e d t h e m s o m e very severe floggings. O n e day, w h e n we h a d a s m o o t h s e a a n d m o d e r a t e wind, two of my w e a r i e d c o u n t r y m e n w h o were c h a i n e d together (I w a s n e a r t h e m at the t i m e ) , preferring d e a t h to s u c h a life of misery, s o m e h o w m a d e t h r o u g h the nettings a n d j u m p e d into the s e a : immediately, a n o t h e r q u i t e d e j e c t e d fellow, w h o , o n a c c o u n t of his illness, w a s suffered to b e out of irons, a l s o followed their e x a m p l e ; a n d I believe m a n y m o r e would very s o o n have d o n e the s a m e , if they h a d not b e e n p r e vented by the ship's crew, w h o were instantly a l a r m e d . T h o s e of u s that were the m o s t active, were in a m o m e n t put d o w n u n d e r the d e c k , a n d there w a s s u c h a noise a n d c o n f u s i o n a m o n g s t the p e o p l e of the ship a s I never h e a r d b e f o r e , to s t o p her, a n d get the b o a t o u t to go after the slaves. H o w e v e r , two of the w r e t c h e s were d r o w n e d , but they got the other, a n d afterwards flogged him unmercifully, for t h u s a t t e m p t i n g to prefer d e a t h to slavery. In this m a n ner w e c o n t i n u e d to u n d e r g o m o r e h a r d s h i p s than I c a n n o w relate, hards h i p s which are i n s e p a r a b l e from this a c c u r s e d t r a d e . M a n y a t i m e we were n e a r suffocation from the want of fresh air, which we were often without for w h o l e days together. T h i s , a n d the s t e n c h of the n e c e s s a r y t u b s , carried off many. D u r i n g our p a s s a g e , I first s a w flying fishes, which s u r p r i s e d m e very m u c h ; they u s e d frequently to fly a c r o s s the s h i p , a n d m a n y of t h e m fell on the deck. I a l s o now first saw the u s e of the q u a d r a n t ; I h a d often with a s t o n i s h m e n t s e e n the m a r i n e r s m a k e o b s e r v a t i o n s with it, a n d I c o u l d not think what it m e a n t . T h e y at last took notice of my s u r p r i s e ; a n d o n e of t h e m , willing to i n c r e a s e it, a s well a s to gratify my curiosity, m a d e m e o n e day look t h r o u g h it. T h e c l o u d s a p p e a r e d to m e to be l a n d , which d i s a p p e a r e d a s they p a s s e d a l o n g . T h i s h e i g h t e n e d my w o n d e r ; a n d I w a s now m o r e p e r s u a d e d than ever, that I w a s in a n o t h e r world, a n d that every thing a b o u t m e w a s m a g i c . At last, we c a m e in sight of the island of B a r b a d o e s , 7 at w h i c h the whites on b o a r d gave a great s h o u t , a n d m a d e m a n y s i g n s of j o y to u s . W e did not know w h a t to think of this; b u t a s the vessel drew nearer, we plainly 7. In the West Indies.

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s a w the harbor, a n d other s h i p s of different kinds a n d sizes, a n d we s o o n a n c h o r e d a m o n g s t t h e m , off B r i d g e t o w n . M a n y m e r c h a n t s a n d p l a n t e r s now c a m e on b o a r d , t h o u g h it w a s in the evening. T h e y p u t u s in s e p a r a t e p a r c e l s , " a n d e x a m i n e d u s attentively. T h e y a l s o m a d e u s j u m p , a n d p o i n t e d to the land, signifying we were to go t h e r e . W e t h o u g h t by this, we s h o u l d be e a t e n by t h e s e ugly m e n , a s they a p p e a r e d to u s ; a n d , w h e n s o o n after we were all put d o w n u n d e r the d e c k a g a i n , there w a s m u c h d r e a d a n d t r e m b l i n g a m o n g u s , a n d nothing but bitter cries to be h e a r d all the night from t h e s e a p p r e h e n s i o n s , i n s o m u c h , that at last the white p e o p l e got s o m e old slaves from the land to pacify u s . T h e y told u s we were not to b e e a t e n , but to work, a n d were s o o n to g o on land, w h e r e we s h o u l d s e e m a n y of our country p e o p l e . T h i s report e a s e d u s m u c h . A n d s u r e e n o u g h , s o o n after w e were l a n d e d , there c a m e to u s Africans of 3II l a n g u a g e s . W e were c o n d u c t e d i m m e d i a t e l y to the m e r c h a n t ' s yard, w h e r e we were all p e n t up together, like s o m a n y s h e e p in a fold, without regard to sex or a g e . As every object w a s n e w to m e , every thing I s a w filled m e with s u r p r i s e . W h a t s t r u c k m e first, w a s , that the h o u s e s were built with bricks a n d s t o r i e s , 9 a n d in every other r e s p e c t different from t h o s e I h a d s e e n in Africa; b u t I w a s still m o r e a s t o n i s h e d on s e e i n g p e o p l e on h o r s e b a c k . I did not know what this c o u l d m e a n ; a n d , i n d e e d , I t h o u g h t t h e s e p e o p l e w e r e full of nothing but m a g i c a l arts. W h i l e I w a s in this a s t o n i s h m e n t , o n e of my fellow p r i s o n e r s s p o k e to a c o u n t r y m a n of his, a b o u t the h o r s e s , w h o s a i d they were the s a m e kind they h a d in their country. I u n d e r s t o o d t h e m , t h o u g h they were from a distant part of Africa; a n d I thought it o d d I h a d not s e e n any h o r s e s t h e r e ; but afterwards, w h e n I c a m e to c o n v e r s e with different Afric a n s , I found they h a d m a n y h o r s e s a m o n g s t t h e m , a n d m u c h larger than t h o s e 1 then saw. W e were not m a n y days in the m e r c h a n t ' s c u s t o d y , before we were sold after their u s u a l m a n n e r , which is t h i s : — O n a signal given (as the beat of a d r u m ) , the buyers r u s h at o n c e into the yard w h e r e the slaves are confined, a n d m a k e c h o i c e of that parcel they like b e s t . T h e n o i s e a n d c l a m o r with which this is a t t e n d e d , a n d the e a g e r n e s s visible in the c o u n t e n a n c e s of the b u y e r s , serve not a little to i n c r e a s e the a p p r e h e n s i o n of terrified A f r i c a n s , w h o m a y well be s u p p o s e d to c o n s i d e r t h e m a s the ministers of that d e s t r u c t i o n to which they think t h e m s e l v e s devoted. In this m a n n e r , without s c r u p l e , a r e relations a n d friends s e p a r a t e d , m o s t of t h e m never to s e e e a c h other a g a i n . I r e m e m b e r , in the vessel in which I w a s b r o u g h t over, in the m e n ' s a p a r t m e n t , t h e r e were several b r o t h e r s , w h o , in the s a l e , were sold in different lots; a n d it w a s very m o v i n g o n this o c c a s i o n , to s e e a n d hear their cries at p a r t i n g . O , ye n o m i n a l C h r i s tians! 1 might not an African a s k y o u — L e a r n e d you this from your G o d , w h o says u n t o you, D o u n t o all m e n a s you would m e n s h o u l d do u n t o you? Is it not e n o u g h that we are torn from our c o u n t r y a n d friends, to toil for your luxury a n d lust of g a i n ? M u s t every t e n d e r feeling b e likewise sacrificed to your avarice? Are the d e a r e s t friends a n d r e l a t i o n s , now rendered m o r e d e a r by their s e p a r a t i o n from their kindred, still to be parted from e a c h other, a n d t h u s prevented from c h e e r i n g the g l o o m of 8. Groups. 9. I.e., the buildings were two-storied.

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slavery, with the small c o m f o r t of b e i n g together, a n d m i n g l i n g their sufferings a n d sorrows? W h y are p a r e n t s to lose their c h i l d r e n , brothers their sisters, or h u s b a n d s their wives? Surely, this is a n e w refinement in cruelty, w h i c h , while it h a s no a d v a n t a g e to a t o n e for it, t h u s a g g r a v a t e s distress, a n d a d d s fresh horrors even to the w r e t c h e d n e s s of slavery. 1789

PHILIP

FRENEAU

1752-1832 Philip Freneau had all the advantages that wealth and social position could bestow, and the Freneau household in Manhattan was frequently visited by well-known writers and painters. Philip received a good education at the hands of tutors and at fifteen entered the sophomore class at the College of New Jersey (now Princeton University). There he became fast friends with his roommate, James Madison, a future president, and a classmate, Hugh Henry Brackenridge, who became a successful novelist. In their senior year Freneau and Brackenridge composed an ode on The Rising Glory of America, and Brackenridge read the poem at commencement. It establishes early in Freneau's career his recurrent vision of a glorious future in which America would fulfill the collective hope of humankind: Paradise anew Shall flourish, by no second Adam lost, No dangerous tree with deadly fruit shall grow, No tempting serpent to allure the soul From native innocence. . . . The lion and the lamb In mutual friendship linked, shall browse the shrub, And timorous deer with softened tigers stray O'er mead, or lofty hill, or grassy plain. For a short time Freneau taught school. He hoped to make a career as a writer, but it was an impractical wish. When he was offered a position as secretary on a plantation in the West Indies in 1776, he sailed to St. Croix and remained there almost three years. It was on that island, where "Sweet orange groves in lonely valleys rise," that Freneau wrote some of his most sensuous lyrics, but as he tells us in To Sir Toh)', he could not talk of "blossoms" and an "endless spring" forever in a land that abounded in poverty and misery and where the owners grew wealthy on a slave economy. In 1778 he returned home and enlisted as a seaman on a blockade runner; two years later he was captured at sea and imprisoned on the British ship Scorpion, anchored in New York harbor. He was treated brutally, and when he was exchanged from the hospital ship Hunter his family feared for his life. Freneau was to spend ten more years of his life at sea, first as a master of a merchant ship in 1784, and again in 1803, but immediately after he regained his health, he moved to Philadelphia to work in the post office, and it was in that city that he gained his reputation as a satirist, journalist, and poet. As editor of the Freeman's journal, Freneau wrote impassioned verse in support of the American Revolution and turned all his rhetorical gifts against anyone thought to be in sympathy with the British monarchy. It was during this period in his life that he became identified as the "Poet of the American Revolution." In 1791, after he returned from duties at sea, Jefferson, as secretary of state, offered him a position as translator in his department, with the

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understanding that Freneau would have plenty of free time to devote to his newspaper, the National Gazette. Like Thomas Paine, Freneau was a strong supporter of the French Revolution, and he had a sharp eye for anyone not sympathetic to the democratic cause. He had a special grudge against Alexander Hamilton, secretary of the treasury, as chief spokesman for the Federalists. President Washington thought it was ironic that "that rascal Freneau" should be employed by his administration when he attacked it so outspokenly. The National Gazette ceased publication in 1793, and after Jefferson resigned his office, Freneau left Philadelphia for good, alternating between ship's captain and newspaper editor in New York and New Jersey. He spent his last years on his New Jersey farm, unable to make it self-supporting and with no hope of further employment. Year after year he sold off the land he inherited from his father and was finally reduced to applying for a pension as a veteran of the American Revolution. He died impoverished and unknown, lost in a blizzard. Freneau's biographer, Lewis Leary, subtitled his book A Study in Literary Failure and began that work by observing that "Philip Freneau failed in almost everything he attempted." Freneau's most sympathetic readers believe that he was born in a time not ripe for poetry and that his genuine lyric gifts were always in conflict with his political pamphleteering. Had he been born fifty years later, perhaps he could have joined Cooper and Irving in a life devoted exclusively to letters. There is no doubt that he did much to pave the way for these later writers. Freneau is not "the father of American poetry" (as his readers, eager for an advocate for a national literary consciousness, liked to call him), but his obsession with the beautiful, transient things of nature and the conflict in his art between the sensuous and the didactic are central to the concerns of American poetry. Texts used are The Poems of Philip Freneau (1902), edited by F. L. Pattee; The Poems of Freneau (1929), edited by H. H. Clark; and The Last Poems of Philip Freneau (1945), edited by Lewis Leary.

O n the Emigration to A m e r i c a a n d Peopling the W e s t e r n Country T o w e s t e r n w o o d s , a n d lonely p l a i n s , P a l e m o n 1 from the crowd d e p a r t s , W h e r e N a t u r e ' s wildest g e n i u s reigns, T o t a m e the soil, a n d plant the a r t s — W h a t w o n d e r s t h e r e shall f r e e d o m s h o w , W h a t mighty s t a t e s s u c c e s s i v e grow! From Europe's proud, despotic shores H i t h e r t h e s t r a n g e r takes his way, A n d in o u r n e w f o u n d world explores A h a p p i e r soil, a milder sway, W h e r e no p r o u d d e s p o t holds h i m d o w n , N o slaves insult h i m with a c r o w n . W h a t c h a r m i n g s c e n e s attract t h e eye, O n wild O h i o ' s s a v a g e s t r e a m ! T h e r e N a t u r e reigns, w h o s e works outvie

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1. Conventionally, any young man setting out on a journey. Palamon appears in C h a u c e r ' s "Knight's T a l e . " an adaptation of Boccaccio's Teseide.

ON

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T h e boldest pattern art c a n f r a m e ; T h e r e a g e s p a s t have rolled away, A n d forests b l o o m e d but to d e c a y . F r o m t h e s e fair p l a i n s , t h e s e rural s e a t s , S o long c o n c e a l e d , so lately k n o w n , T h e u n s o c i a l Indian far retreats, T o m a k e s o m e other c l i m e his o w n , W h e r e other s t r e a m s , less p l e a s i n g flow, A n d darker forests r o u n d him grow. G r e a t s i r e 2 of floods! w h o s e varied wave T h r o u g h c l i m e s a n d c o u n t r i e s takes its way, T o w h o m c r e a t i n g N a t u r e gave T e n t h o u s a n d s t r e a m s to swell thy sway! N o longer shall they u s e l e s s prove, N o r idly t h r o u g h the forests rove; N o r longer shall your princely flood F r o m d i s t a n t lakes be swelled in vain, N o r longer t h r o u g h a d a r k s o m e wood A d v a n c e , u n n o t i c e d , to the m a i n , 3 F a r other e n d s , the h e a v e n s d e c r e e — A n d c o m m e r c e p l a n s new freights for t h e e . W h i l e virtue w a r m s the g e n e r o u s b r e a s t , T h e r e heaven-born f r e e d o m shall r e s i d e , N o r shall the voice of war m o l e s t , N o r E u r o p e ' s all-aspiring p r i d e — T h e r e R e a s o n shall n e w laws devise, A n d order from c o n f u s i o n rise. F o r s a k i n g kings a n d regal s t a t e , With all their p o m p a n d f a n c i e d bliss, T h e traveler o w n s , 4 c o n v i n c e d t h o u g h late, N o r e a l m so free, s o b l e s s e d a s t h i s — T h e east is half to slaves c o n s i g n e d , W h e r e kings a n d priests e n c h a i n the m i n d . O c o m e the t i m e , a n d h a s t e the day, W h e n m a n shall m a n no longer c r u s h , * ' W h e n R e a s o n shall e n f o r c e her sway, N o r t h e s e fair r e g i o n s raise our b l u s h , W h e r e still the African c o m p l a i n s , A n d m o u r n s his yet u n b r o k e n c h a i n s . F a r brighter s c e n e s a future a g e , T h e m u s e p r e d i c t s , t h e s e s t a t e s will hail, W h o s e g e n i u s m a y the world e n g a g e , Mississippi [Freneau's note]. Ocean.

4. Admits.

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W h o s e d e e d s m a y over d e a t h prevail, And h a p p i e r s y s t e m s bring to view, T h a n all the e a s t e r n s a g e s knew.

60 1785

O n M r . Paine's Rights of M a n 1 T h u s briefly s k e t c h e d the s a c r e d rights of m a n , H o w i n c o n s i s t e n t with the royal plan! W h i c h for itself exclusive h o n o r c r a v e s , W h e r e s o m e are m a s t e r s b o r n , a n d millions slaves. With what c o n t e m p t m u s t every eye look d o w n O n that b a s e , childish b a u b l e called a crown, T h e gilded bait, that lures the c r o w d , to c o m e , B o w down their n e c k s , a n d m e e t a slavish d o o m ; T h e s o u r c e of half the m i s e r i e s m e n e n d u r e , T h e q u a c k 2 that kills t h e m , while it s e e m s to c u r e , R o u s e d by t h e r e a s o n of his manly p a g e , O n c e m o r e shall P a i n e a listening world e n g a g e : F r o m R e a s o n ' s s o u r c e , a bold reform he brings, In raising u p mankind, he pulls d o w n kings, W h o , s o u r c e of d i s c o r d , p a t r o n s of all wrong, O n blood a n d m u r d e r have b e e n fed too long: Hid from the world, a n d tutored to b e b a s e , T h e c u r s e , the s c o u r g e , t h e ruin of o u r r a c e , T h e i r s w a s the task, a dull d e s i g n i n g few, T o s h a c k l e beings that they scarcely knew, W h o m a d e this g l o b e the r e s i d e n c e of slaves, A n d built their t h r o n e s on s y s t e m s f o r m e d by knaves — A d v a n c e , bright years, to work their final fall, A n d h a s t e t h e period that shall c r u s h t h e m all. W h o , that h a s read a n d s c a n n e d t h e historic p a g e B u t glows, at every line, with kindling r a g e , T o s e e by t h e m the rights of m e n a s p e r s e d , F r e e d o m r e s t r a i n e d , a n d N a t u r e ' s law reversed, M e n , ranked with b e a s t s , by m o n a r c h s willed away, And b o u n d y o u n g fools, or m a d m e n to obey: N o w driven to w a r s , a n d n o w o p p r e s s e d at h o m e , C o m p e l l e d in c r o w d s o'er d i s t a n t s e a s to r o a m , F r o m India's c l i m e s the p l u n d e r e d prize to b r i n g T o glad the s t r u m p e t , or to glut the king. C o l u m b i a / hail! i m m o r t a l b e thy reign: W i t h o u t a king, we till the s m i l i n g plain; W i t h o u t a king, we trace the u n b o u n d e d s e a , 1. The original title was "To a Republican w ith Mr. Paine's Rights of M a n . " T h o m a s Paine read E d m u n d Burke's "Reflections on the French Revolution" ( 1 7 9 0 ) . a defense of monarchy and an attack on revolution, when he was living in England. In The Rights of Man ( 1 7 9 1 - 9 2 ) Paine

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argued for the overthrow of monarchy and the right of the people to govern themselves. 2. O n e pretending to be a physician. 3. T h e personification of America (from Christopher C o l u m b u s ) .

ON

THE RELIGION OF NATURE

A n d traffic r o u n d the g l o b e , t h r o u g h e a c h d e g r e e ; E a c h foreign clime our h o n o r e d flag reveres, W h i c h a s k s no m o n a r c h , to s u p p o r t the s t a r s : W i t h o u t a king, the laws m a i n t a i n their sway, W h i l e h o n o r bids e a c h g e n e r o u s heart obey. B e o u r s the task the a m b i t i o u s to restrain, A n d this great lesson t e a c h — t h a t kings are vain; T h a t warring r e a l m s to certain ruin h a s t e , T h a t kings s u b s i s t by war, a n d w a r s a r e w a s t e : S o shall o u r nation, formed on Virtue's p l a n , R e m a i n the g u a r d i a n of the Rights of M a n , A vast r e p u b l i c , f a m e d t h r o u g h every c l i m e , W i t h o u t a king, to s e e the e n d of t i m e .

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O n the Religion of N a t u r e T h e power, that gives with liberal h a n d T h e b l e s s i n g s m a n enjoys, while h e r e , A n d s c a t t e r s through a smiling land A b u n d a n t p r o d u c t s of the year; T h a t power of n a t u r e , ever b l e s s e d , B e s t o w e d religion with the rest. Born with o u r s e l v e s , her early sway Inclines the tender mind to take T h e path of right, fair virtue's way Its own felicity to m a k e . T h i s universally extends A n d leads to no m y s t e r i o u s e n d s . Religion, s u c h a s n a t u r e t a u g h t , With all divine perfection s u i t s ; H a d all m a n k i n d this system s o u g h t S o p h i s t s ' would c e a s e their vain d i s p u t e s , A n d from this s o u r c e would n a t i o n s know All that c a n m a k e their heaven below. T h i s deals not c u r s e s on m a n k i n d , O r d o o m s them to p e r p e t u a l grief, If from its aid no joys they find, It d a m n s t h e m not for unbelief; U p o n a m o r e exalted plan C r e a t r e s s n a t u r e dealt with m a n — J o y to the day, w h e n all a g r e e O n s u c h g r a n d s y s t e m s to p r o c e e d , Teachers of philosophy.

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F r o m f r a u d , d e s i g n , a n d error free, A n d w h i c h to truth a n d g o o d n e s s lead: T h e n p e r s e c u t i o n will retreat A n d m a n ' s religion be c o m p l e t e .

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PHILLIS c.

WHEATLEY

1753-1784

Phillis Wheatley was either nineteen or twenty years old when her Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral was published in London in 1773. At the time of its publication she was the object of considerable public attention because, in addition to being a child prodigy, Wheatley was a black slave, born in Africa (probably in present-day Senegal or Gambia) and brought to Boston in 1761. She had been purchased by a wealthy tailor, John Wheatley, for his wife, Susannah, as a companion, and named for the vessel that carried her to our shores. Wheatley was fortunate in her surroundings, for Susannah Wheatley was sympathetic toward this very frail and remarkably intelligent child. In an age in which few white women were given an education, Wheatley was taught to read and write, and in a short time began to read Latin writers. She came to know the Bible well, and three English poets—Milton, Pope, and Gray—touched her deeply and exerted a strong influence on her verse. The Wheatleys moved in a circle of enlightened Boston Christians, and Phillis, as James Levernier has recently shown, was introduced early on to a community that challenged the role of slavery as incompatible with Christian life. Wheatley's poem on the death of the Reverend George Whitefield, the great egalitarian English evangelist who frequently toured New England, made her famous. In June 1773, she arrived in London with her manuscript in the company of the Wheatleys' son Nathaniel. She went to England partly for reasons of health and partly to seek support for her first book. Benjamin Franklin and the lord mayor of London were among those who paid their respects. Her literary gifts, intelligence, and piety were a striking example to her English and American admirers of the triumph of the human spirit over the circumstances of birth. Her poems appeared early in September, and the governor of Massachusetts and John Wheatley and John Hancock were among the eighteen prominent citizens testifying that "under the Disadvantage of serving as a Slave in a Family in this Town," Wheatley "had been examined and thought qualified to write them." Wheatley did not remain long enough in London to witness their publication; she was called back to Boston with the news that Susannah Wheatley was dying. Early in the fall of 1773 she was manumitted. Susannah Wheatley died in 1774, and John Wheatley, four years later. In that same year, 1778, she married John Peters, a freedman, about whom almost nothing is known other than that the Wheatleys did not like him, that he petitioned for a license to sell liquor in 1784, and that he may have been in debtor's prison when Wheatley died, having endured poverty and the loss of two children in her last years. On her deathbed her third child lay ill beside her and succumbed shortly after Wheatley herself. They were buried together in an unmarked grave. Five years earlier, and only one year after her marriage, a proposal appeared for a second volume of poetry to include thirteen letters and thirty-three poems. The volume was never published, and most of the poems and letters have yet to be found.

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Wheatley's poetry was rediscovered in the 1830s by the New England abolitionists, but it is no exaggeration to say that she has never been better understood than at the present. Her recent critics have not only corrected a number of biographical errors but, more important, have provided a context in which her work can be best read and her life understood. This reconsideration shows Wheatley to be a bold and canny spokesperson for her faith and her politics; she early joined the cause of American independence and the abolition of slavery, anticipating her friend the Reverend Samuel Hopkins's complaint that when American Negroes first heard the "sons of liberty" cry for freedom they were shocked by indifference to their own "abject slavery and utter wretchedness." It doesn't take a philosopher, Wheatley told Samson Occom, a Presbyterian minister and Mohegan tribesman, to see that the exercise of slavery cannot be reconciled with a "principle" that God has implanted in every human breast, "Love of Freedom." In the poem, "To the Right Honorable William, Earl of Dartmouth, printed here, she was mistaken in thinking that the conservative earl of Dartmouth (William Legge) might be sympathetic to the American cause but correct in reminding him that there could be no justice anywhere if people in authority were deaf to the history of human sorrow. With the publication of Wheatley's Poems, Henry Louis Gates Jr. has argued, "Wheatley launched two traditions at once—the black American literary tradition and the black woman's literary tradition. It is extraordinary that not just one but both of these traditions were founded simultaneously by a black woman—certainly an event unique in the history of literature—it is also ironic that this important fact of common, coterminous literary origin seems to have escaped most scholars." The text used here is The Poems of Phillis Wheatley (1966, rev. 1989) edited by Julian D. Mason.

O n B e i n g B r o u g h t f r o m A f r i c a to A m e r i c a 'Twas mercy b r o u g h t m e from my p a g a n land, T a u g h t my b e n i g h t e d soul to u n d e r s t a n d T h a t there's a G o d , that there's a Savior too: O n c e I r e d e m p t i o n neither s o u g h t nor knew. S o m e view our s a b l e ' r a c e with scornful eye. " T h e i r color is a diabolic d y e . " R e m e m b e r , C h r i s t i a n s , N e g r o e s , black a s C a i n , 2 M a y b e refined, a n d join the angelic train.

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T o t h e U n i v e r s i t y o f C a m b r i d g e , in N e w E n g l a n d 1 W h i l e a n intrinsic ardor p r o m p t s to write, T h e m u s e s p r o m i s e to a s s i s t my p e n ; T w a s not long s i n c e I left my native s h o r e T h e land of e r r o r s , 2 a n d Egyptian g l o o m : 3 1. Black. 2. Cain slew his brother Abel and was "marked" by God for doing so. This mark has sometimes been taken to be the origin of dark-skinned peoples (Genesis 4 . 1 - 1 5 ) . 1. Harvard.

2. I.e., theological errors, b e c a u s e Africa was unconverted. 3. "And Moses stretched forth his hand toward heaven; and there was a thick darkness in all the land of Egypt three days" (Exodus 10.22).

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F a t h e r of mercy, 'twas T h y g r a c i o u s h a n d B r o u g h t m e in safety from t h o s e dark a b o d e s . S t u d e n t s , to you 'tis given to s c a n the heights Above, to traverse the ethereal s p a c e , And m a r k the s y s t e m s of revolving worlds. Still m o r e , ye s o n s of s c i e n c e 4 ye receive T h e blissful n e w s by m e s s e n g e r s from H e a v ' n , H o w J e s u s ' blood for your r e d e m p t i o n flows. S e e H i m with h a n d s o u t s t r e t c h e d u p o n the c r o s s ; I m m e n s e c o m p a s s i o n in H i s b o s o m glows; H e h e a r s revilers, nor r e s e n t s their s c o r n : W h a t m a t c h l e s s mercy in the S o n of G o d ! W h e n the whole h u m a n r a c e by sin h a d fall'n, H e d e i g n e d to die that they might rise a g a i n , And s h a r e with H i m in the s u b l i m e s t skies, Life without d e a t h , a n d glory without e n d . I m p r o v e 5 your privileges while they stay, Ye p u p i l s , a n d e a c h h o u r r e d e e m , that b e a r s O r g o o d or b a d report of you to Heav'n. L e t s i n , that baneful evil to the soul, By you b e s h u n n e d , nor o n c e remit your g u a r d ; S u p p r e s s the deadly s e r p e n t in its e g g . Ye b l o o m i n g p l a n t s of h u m a n r a c e divine, An Ethiop 1 ' tells you 'tis your greatest f o e ; Its transient s w e e t n e s s t u r n s to e n d l e s s p a i n , And in i m m e n s e perdition sinks the s o u l .

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O n the D e a t h of the Rev. M r . G e o r g e Whitefield,1

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Hail, happy saint, on thine i m m o r t a l t h r o n e , P o s s e s s e d of glory, life, a n d bliss u n k n o w n ; W e hear no m o r e the m u s i c of thy t o n g u e . T h y w o n t e d auditories- c e a s e to throng. T h y s e r m o n s in u n e q u a l e d a c c e n t s flowed, A n d every b o s o m with devotion g l o w e d ; T h o u didst in strains of e l o q u e n c e refined Inflame the heart, a n d captivate t h e m i n d . 4. Knowledge. 5 . Take advantage of. 6. Ethiopian. In Wheatley's time "Ethiopian" was a conventional name for the black peoples of Africa. I. British clergyman (I 7 14-1 7 7 0 ) and follower ol

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J o h n Wesley, the best-known revivalist in the 18th century. He made several visits to America and died in Newburyport, M a s s a c h u s e t t s . This was Wheatley's first published p o e m , and it made her famous. 2. Listeners. "Wonted": a c c u s t o m e d .

ON

THE DEATH OF THE REV.

MR.

GEORGE WHITEFIELD

U n h a p p y we the setting s u n d e p l o r e , S o glorious o n c e , but ah! it shines no m o r e . B e h o l d the p r o p h e t in his towering flight! H e leaves the earth for heav'n's u n m e a s u r e d height, A n d worlds u n k n o w n receive him from our sight. T h e r e Whitefield wings with rapid c o u r s e his way, A n d sails to Zion* through vast s e a s of day. Thy prayers, great saint, a n d thine i n c e s s a n t cries H a v e pierced the b o s o m of thy native skies. T h o u m o o n h a s t s e e n , a n d all the stars of light, H o w h e h a s wrestled with his G o d by night. H e prayed that g r a c e in every heart might dwell, H e longed to s e e A m e r i c a excel; H e c h a r g e d 4 its youth that every g r a c e divine S h o u l d with full luster in their c o n d u c t s h i n e ; T h a t Savior, which his soul did first receive, T h e greatest gift that ev'n a G o d c a n give, H e freely offered to the n u m e r o u s throng, T h a t on his lips with listening p l e a s u r e h u n g . *

" T a k e H i m , ye w r e t c h e d , for your only g o o d , T a k e H i m ye starving s i n n e r s , for your f o o d ; Ye thirsty, c o m e to this life-giving s t r e a m , Ye p r e a c h e r s , take H i m for your joyful t h e m e ; T a k e H i m my dear A m e r i c a n s , " he said, " B e your c o m p l a i n t s on His kind b o s o m laid: T a k e H i m , ye A f r i c a n s , H e longs for you, Impartial Savior is His title d u e : W a s h e d in the fountain of r e d e e m i n g blood, You shall be s o n s , a n d kings, a n d priests to G o d . " G r e a t Countess* we A m e r i c a n s revere Thy n a m e , a n d mingle in thy grief s i n c e r e ; N e w E n g l a n d deeply feels, the o r p h a n s m o u r n , T h e i r m o r e than father will no m o r e return. B u t , though arrested by the hand of d e a t h , Whitefield no m o r e exerts his laboring b r e a t h . Yet let u s view him in the eternal s k i e s , Let every heart to this bright vision rise; While the t o m b s a f e retains its s a c r e d trust, Till life divine r e - a n i m a t e s his d u s t .

1770

3. Here, the heavenly city of God. 4. Exhorted. 5. Selina Shirley Hastings (I 7 0 7 - 1 7 9 1 ) , countess

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of I luntington, was a strong supporter of George Whitefield and active in Methodist church affairs. Wheatley visited her in England in 1773.

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T h o u g h t s o n t h e W o r k s of P r o v i d e n c e Arise, my s o u l , o n wings e n r a p t u r e d , rise T o p r a i s e the m o n a r c h of the e a r t h a n d s k i e s , Whose goodness and beneficence appear As r o u n d its c e n t e r m o v e s the rolling year, O r w h e n the m o r n i n g glows with rosy c h a r m s , O r the s u n s l u m b e r s in the o c e a n ' s a r m s : O f light divine by a rich portion lent T o g u i d e my soul, a n d favor my intent. C e l e s t i a l m u s e , my a r d u o u s flight s u s t a i n , A n d raise my m i n d to a s e r a p h i c 1 strain! A d o r e d forever b e the G o d u n s e e n , W h i c h r o u n d the s u n revolves this vast m a c h i n e , T h o u g h to H i s eye its m a s s a point a p p e a r s : A d o r e d the G o d that whirls s u r r o u n d i n g s p h e r e s , W h i c h first o r d a i n e d that mighty S o l 2 s h o u l d reign T h e p e e r l e s s m o n a r c h of the e t h e r e a l train: O f m i l e s twice forty millions is his height, A n d yet his r a d i a n c e dazzles mortal sight S o far b e n e a t h — f r o m h i m the e x t e n d e d e a r t h Vigor derives, a n d every flowery birth: V a s t t h r o u g h her orb s h e m o v e s with easy g r a c e A r o u n d her P h c e b u s ' in u n b o u n d e d s p a c e ; T r u e to her c o u r s e the i m p e t u o u s s t o r m d e r i d e s , T r i u m p h a n t o'er the w i n d s , a n d s u r g i n g tides. Almighty, in t h e s e w o n d r o u s works of T h i n e , W h a t Power, what W i s d o m , a n d w h a t G o o d n e s s s h i n e ! A n d are T h y w o n d e r s , L o r d , by m e n explored, A n d yet c r e a t i n g glory u n a d o r e d ! C r e a t i o n s m i l e s in various b e a u t y gay, W h i l e day to night, a n d night s u c c e e d s to day: T h a t W i s d o m , which a t t e n d s J e h o v a h ' s ways, S h i n e s m o s t c o n s p i c u o u s in the s o l a r rays: W i t h o u t t h e m , d e s t i t u t e of heat a n d light, T h i s world w o u l d be the reign of e n d l e s s night: In their e x c e s s h o w w o u l d our r a c e c o m p l a i n , A b h o r r i n g life! how h a t e its l e n g t h e n e d c h a i n ! F r o m air a d u s t 4 what n u m e r o u s ills w o u l d rise? W h a t dire c o n t a g i o n taint the b u r n i n g skies? W h a t pestilential v a p o r s , f r a u g h t with d e a t h , W o u l d rise, a n d o v e r s p r e a d the l a n d s b e n e a t h ? Hail, s m i l i n g m o r n , that from the orient m a i n A s c e n d i n g dost a d o r n the heavenly plain Angelic. T h e sun. Apollo, the Greek sun god.

4. Dried up. 5. O c e a n . "Orient": eastern.

THOUGHTS

ON THE WORKS

OF

PROVIDENCE

S o rich, so various are thy b e a u t e o u s dyes, T h a t s p r e a d t h r o u g h all the circuit of the skies, T h a t , full of t h e e , my soul in r a p t u r e s o a r s , A n d thy great G o d , the c a u s e of all a d o r e s . O'er b e i n g s infinite H i s love e x t e n d s , H i s W i s d o m rules t h e m , a n d H i s P o w e r d e f e n d s . W h e n tasks d i u r n a l 6 tire the h u m a n f r a m e , T h e spirits faint, a n d d i m the vital f l a m e , T h e n too that ever active b o u n t y s h i n e s , W h i c h not infinity of s p a c e c o n f i n e s . T h e s a b l e veil, that Night in s i l e n c e d r a w s , C o n c e a l s effects, b u t s h o w s the Almighty C a u s e ; N i g h t s e a l s in s l e e p the wide creation fair, A n d all is p e a c e f u l but the brow of c a r e . A g a i n , gay Phoebus, as the day b e f o r e , W a k e s every eye, but what shall w a k e no m o r e ; A g a i n the f a c e of n a t u r e is r e n e w e d , W h i c h still a p p e a r s h a r m o n i o u s , fair, a n d g o o d . M a y grateful strains s a l u t e the s m i l i n g m o r n , B e f o r e its b e a m s the e a s t e r n hills a d o r n ! Shall day to day, a n d night to night c o n s p i r e T o s h o w the g o o d n e s s of the Almighty S i r e ? T h i s m e n t a l voice shall m a n r e g a r d l e s s hear, A n d never, never raise the filial prayer? T o d a y , O h e a r k e n , nor your folly m o u r n F o r time m i s s p e n t , that never will return. B u t s e e the s o n s of vegetation rise, A n d s p r e a d their leafy b a n n e r s to the skies. All-wise Almighty p r o v i d e n c e we trace In t r e e s , a n d p l a n t s , a n d all the flowery r a c e ; As clear a s in the nobler f r a m e of m a n , All lovely c o p i e s of the M a k e r ' s p l a n . T h e power the s a m e that f o r m s a ray of light, T h a t called c r e a t i o n from eternal night. " L e t there be light," H e said. F r o m his p r o f o u n d 7 O l d C h a o s h e a r d , a n d t r e m b l e d at the s o u n d : Swift a s the word, inspired by p o w e r divine, B e h o l d the light a r o u n d its m a k e r s h i n e , T h e first fair p r o d u c t of the omnific G o d , A n d now t h r o u g h all H i s works diffused a b r o a d . A s r e a s o n ' s p o w e r s by day o u r G o d d i s c l o s e , S o we m a y trace H i m in the night's r e p o s e : S a y w h a t is s l e e p ? a n d d r e a m s h o w p a s s i n g s t r a n g e ! W h e n action c e a s e s , a n d i d e a s r a n g e L i c e n t i o u s a n d u n b o u n d e d o'er the p l a i n s , 6. Daily. 7. Depths. "And G o d said, Let there be light: and there was light" (Genesis 1.3).

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W h e r e F a n c y ' s " q u e e n in giddy t r i u m p h reigns. H e a r in soft strains the d r e a m i n g lover sigh T o a kind fair, 1 ' or rave in j e a l o u s y ; O n p l e a s u r e now, a n d now o n v e n g e a n c e bent, T h e laboring p a s s i o n s struggle for a vent. W h a t power, O m a n ! thy r e a s o n then r e s t o r e s , S o long s u s p e n d e d in n o c t u r n a l h o u r s ? W h a t secret h a n d r e t u r n s the m e n t a l train, A n d gives improved thine active p o w e r s a g a i n ? F r o m t h e e , O m a n , what g r a t i t u d e s h o u l d rise! A n d , w h e n from balmy sleep t h o u op'st thine eyes, Let thy first t h o u g h t s be p r a i s e s to the skies. H o w merciful our G o d w h o t h u s i m p a r t s O'erflowing tides of joy to h u m a n h e a r t s , W h e n w a n t s a n d w o e s might be our r i g h t e o u s lot, O u r G o d forgetting, by our G o d forgot!

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A m o n g the m e n t a l p o w e r s a q u e s t i o n r o s e , " W h a t m o s t the i m a g e of the E t e r n a l s h o w s ? " W h e n t h u s to R e a s o n (so let F a n c y rove) H e r great c o m p a n i o n s p o k e , i m m o r t a l L o v e . " S a y , mighty power, h o w long shall strife prevail, A n d with its m u r m u r s load the w h i s p e r i n g gale? Refer the c a u s e to R e c o l l e c t i o n ' s s h r i n e , W h o loud p r o c l a i m s my origin divine, T h e c a u s e w h e n c e h e a v e n a n d earth b e g a n to b e , And is not m a n immortalized by m e ? R e a s o n let this m o s t c a u s e l e s s strife s u b s i d e . " T h u s L o v e p r o n o u n c e d , a n d R e a s o n t h u s replied. " T h y birth, celestial q u e e n ! 'tis m i n e to own, In thee r e s p l e n d e n t is the G o d h e a d s h o w n ; T h y w o r d s p e r s u a d e , my soul e n r a p t u r e d feels R e s i s t l e s s beauty which thy s m i l e r e v e a l s . " Ardent s h e s p o k e , a n d , kindling at her c h a r m s , S h e c l a s p e d the b l o o m i n g g o d d e s s in her a r m s . Infinite L o v e wher'er we turn our eyes A p p e a r s : this every c r e a t u r e ' s w a n t s s u p p l i e s ; T h i s m o s t is heard in N a t u r e ' s c o n s t a n t voice, T h i s m a k e s the m o r n , a n d this the eve rejoice; T h i s bids the fostering rains a n d d e w s d e s c e n d T o n o u r i s h all, to serve o n e general e n d , T h e g o o d of m a n : yet m a n ungrateful pays B u t little h o m a g e , a n d but little p r a i s e . T o H i m , w h o s e works arrayed with mercy s h i n e , W h a t s o n g s s h o u l d rise, how c o n s t a n t , how divine! 1773 8. T h e imagination in its image-making aspect.

9. Woman.

To

S.

M.,

A YOUNG

AFRICAN

PAINTER,

ON S E E I N G

H I S WORKS

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T o S . M . , 1 a Young African Painter, on Seeing His Works T o s h o w the laboring b o s o m ' s d e e p intent, A n d thought in living c h a r a c t e r s to p a i n t , W h e n first thy pencil did t h o s e b e a u t i e s give, A n d b r e a t h i n g figures learnt from t h e e to live, H o w did t h o s e p r o s p e c t s give my soul delight, A new creation r u s h i n g on my sight? Still, w o n d ' r o u s youth! e a c h noble p a t h p u r s u e , O n d e a t h l e s s glories fix thine a r d e n t view: Still m a y the painter's a n d the poet's fire T o aid thy pencil, a n d thy verse c o n s p i r e ! A n d m a y the c h a r m s of e a c h s e r a p h i c 2 t h e m e C o n d u c t thy f o o t s t e p s to i m m o r t a l f a m e ! High to the blissful w o n d e r s of the skies E l a t e thy soul, a n d raise thy wishful eyes. T h r i c e happy, w h e n exalted to survey T h a t s p l e n d i d city, c r o w n e d with e n d l e s s day, W h o s e twice six g a t e s ' on radiant h i n g e s ring: C e l e s t i a l S a l e m 4 b l o o m s in e n d l e s s spring. C a l m a n d s e r e n e thy m o m e n t s glide a l o n g , A n d m a y the m u s e inspire e a c h future s o n g ! Still, with the s w e e t s of c o n t e m p l a t i o n blest, M a y p e a c e with balmy wings your soul invest! B u t w h e n t h e s e s h a d e s of time are c h a s e d away, A n d d a r k n e s s e n d s in everlasting day, O n w h a t s e r a p h i c p i n i o n s shall we m o v e , A n d view the l a n d s c a p e in the r e a l m s a b o v e ? T h e r e shall thy t o n g u e in heavenly m u r m u r s flow, A n d there my m u s e with heavenly transport glow: N o m o r e to tell of D a m o n 1 ? tender s i g h s , O r rising r a d i a n c e of A u r o r a ' s 6 e y e s , F o r nobler t h e m e s d e m a n d a nobler strain, A n d p u r e r l a n g u a g e on the ethereal p l a i n . 7 C e a s e , g e n t l e m u s e ! the s o l e m n g l o o m of night N o w s e a l s the fair creation from m y sight.

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1. Scipio Moorhead, a servant to the Reverend John Moorhead of Boston. 2. Angelic. 3. Heaven, like the city of J e r u s a l e m , is thought to have had twelve gates (as many gates as tribes of Israel).

4. 5. for 6. 7.

Heavenly J e r u s a l e m . In classical mythology D a m o n pledged his life his friend Pythias. T h e R o m a n goddess of the dawn. In the heavens.

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T o His Excellency General Washington1 Sir. I have taken the f r e e d o m to a d d r e s s your E x c e l l e n c y in the e n c l o s e d p o e m , a n d entreat your a c c e p t a n c e , t h o u g h I a m not i n s e n s i b l e of its inacc u r a c i e s . Your b e i n g a p p o i n t e d by the G r a n d C o n t i n e n t a l C o n g r e s s to be G e n e r a l i s s i m o of the a r m i e s of N o r t h A m e r i c a , together with the f a m e of y o u r virtues, excite s e n s a t i o n s not e a s y to s u p p r e s s . Your generosity, therefore, I p r e s u m e , will p a r d o n the a t t e m p t . W i s h i n g your Excellency all p o s s i b l e s u c c e s s in the great c a u s e you are s o g e n e r o u s l y e n g a g e d in. I a m , Your Excellency's m o s t o b e d i e n t h u m b l e servant, Phillis W h e a t l e y Providence, Oct. 26, 1775. His Excellency G e n . W a s h i n g t o n . C e l e s t i a l choir! e n t h r o n e d in r e a l m s of light, C o l u m b i a ' s 2 s c e n e s of glorious toils I write. W h i l e f r e e d o m ' s c a u s e her a n x i o u s breast a l a r m s , S h e flashes dreadful in refulgent a r m s . S e e m o t h e r earth her offspring's fate b e m o a n , And n a t i o n s gaze at s c e n e s b e f o r e u n k n o w n ! S e e the bright b e a m s of h e a v e n ' s revolving light Involved in sorrows a n d the veil of night! T h e g o d d e s s c o m e s , s h e m o v e s divinely fair, Olive a n d laurel* b i n d s her g o l d e n hair: W h e r e v e r s h i n e s this native of the s k i e s , U n n u m b e r e d c h a r m s a n d r e c e n t g r a c e s rise. M u s e ! bow propitious while my pen relates H o w p o u r her a r m i e s t h r o u g h a t h o u s a n d g a t e s , As w h e n E o l u s 4 heaven's fair f a c e d e f o r m s , E n w r a p p e d in t e m p e s t a n d a night of s t o r m s ; A s t o n i s h e d o c e a n feels the wild u p r o a r , T h e refluent s u r g e s b e a t the s o u n d i n g s h o r e ; O r thick as leaves in A u t u m n ' s g o l d e n reign, S u c h , a n d s o m a n y , m o v e s the warrior's train. In bright array they s e e k the work of war, W h e r e high unfurled the e n s i g n ' waves in air. Shall I to W a s h i n g t o n their praise recite? E n o u g h thou know'st t h e m in the fields of fight. T h e e , first in p l a c e a n d h o n o r s — w e d e m a n d T h e g r a c e a n d glory of thy martial b a n d . F a m e d for thy valor, for thy virtues m o r e , H e a r every t o n g u e thy g u a r d i a n aid implore! O n e century s c a r c e p e r f o r m e d its d e s t i n e d r o u n d , W h e n Gallic'' p o w e r s C o l u m b i a ' s fury f o u n d ; A n d so may you, whoever d a r e s d i s g r a c e 1. This poem was first published in the Pennsylvania Magazine when T h o m a s Paine was editor. After reading it. Washington invited Wheatley to meet him in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in February 1 776. 2. This reference to America as "the land Columbus found" is believed to be the first in print.

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3. E m b l e m s of victory. 4. Huler ol the winds. 5. Flag or banner. 6. T h e French and Indian Wars (1754—63), between France and England, ended the French colonial empire in North America.

To

THE RIGHT HONORABLE WILLIAM,

EARL

OF DARTMOUTH

T h e land of f r e e d o m ' s h e a v e n - d e f e n d e d r a c e ! Fixed a r e the eyes of n a t i o n s on the s c a l e s , F o r in their h o p e s C o l u m b i a ' s a r m prevails. A n o n B r i t a n n i a d r o o p s the pensive h e a d , While r o u n d i n c r e a s e the rising hills of d e a d . Ah! cruel b l i n d n e s s to C o l u m b i a ' s s t a t e ! L a m e n t thy thirst of b o u n d l e s s power too late. P r o c e e d , great chief, with virtue o n thy s i d e , Thy every action let the g o d d e s s g u i d e . A c r o w n , a m a n s i o n , a n d a t h r o n e that s h i n e , With gold u n f a d i n g , W A S H I N G T O N ! be thine. 1775-76

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T o t h e R i g h t H o n o r a b l e W i l l i a m , E a r l of D a r t m o u t h , 1 H i s M a j e s t y ' s P r i n c i p a l S e c r e t a r y o f S t a t e for N o r t h A m e r i c a , & c Hail, happy day, w h e n , s m i l i n g like the m o r n , Fair F r e e d o m rose N e w E n g l a n d to a d o r n : T h e northern clime b e n e a t h her genial ray, D a r t m o u t h , c o n g r a t u l a t e s thy blissful sway: E l a t e with h o p e her r a c e no longer m o u r n s , E a c h soul e x p a n d s , e a c h grateful b o s o m b u r n s , W h i l e in thine h a n d with p l e a s u r e we b e h o l d T h e silken reins, a n d F r e e d o m ' s c h a r m s unfold. L o n g lost to r e a l m s b e n e a t h the northern skies S h e s h i n e s s u p r e m e , while h a t e d faction d i e s : S o o n a s a p p e a r e d the G o d d e s s long d e s i r e d , S i c k at the view, s h e 2 l a n q u i s h e d a n d expired; T h u s from the s p l e n d o r s of the m o r n i n g light T h e owl in s a d n e s s seeks the c a v e s of night.

5

10

N o m o r e , A m e r i c a , in m o u r n f u l strain O f w r o n g s , a n d grievance u n r e d r e s s e d c o m p l a i n , I N o longer shalt thou dread the iron c h a i n , J W h i c h w a n t o n Tyranny with lawless h a n d H a d m a d e , a n d with it m e a n t t' e n s l a v e the l a n d .

is

S h o u l d you, my lord, while you p e r u s e my s o n g , W o n d e r from w h e n c e my love of F r e e d o m s p r u n g , W h e n c e flow t h e s e w i s h e s for the c o m m o n g o o d , By feeling hearts a l o n e b e s t u n d e r s t o o d , I, y o u n g in life, by s e e m i n g cruel fate W a s s n a t c h ' d from Afric's f a n c i e d h a p p y s e a t : What pangs excruciating must molest, W h a t sorrows labor in my parent's b r e a s t ?

20

1. William Legge ( 1 7 3 1 - 1 8 0 1 ) , second earl of Dartmouth, was appointed secretary in charge of the American colonies in August 1772. Though sympathetic to the Methodist movement in

25

England, he was not sympathetic to the c a u s e of the American Revolution, 2. Faction. "The G o d d e s s " : freedom,

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S t e e l e d w a s that soul a n d by n o misery m o v e d T h a t from a father seized his b a b e beloved: S u c h , s u c h my c a s e . A n d c a n I then b u t pray O t h e r s m a y never feel tyrannic sway? F o r favors p a s t , great Sir, o u r t h a n k s a r e d u e , A n d t h e e we a s k thy favors to renew, S i n c e in thy pow'r,* a s in thy will b e f o r e , T o s o o t h the griefs, which t h o u did'st o n c e d e p l o r e . M a y heav'nly g r a c e the s a c r e d s a n c t i o n give T o all thy works, a n d t h o u forever live N o t only on the wings of fleeting F a m e , T h o u g h p r a i s e i m m o r t a l c r o w n s t h e patriot's n a m e , B u t to c o n d u c t to heav'ns refulgent f a n e , 4 M a y fiery c o u r s e r s s w e e p th' e t h e r e a l p l a i n , 5 A n d b e a r t h e e u p w a r d s to that blest a b o d e , W h e r e , like t h e p r o p h e t , t h o u shalt find thy G o d .

30

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1773

To Maecenas1 M a e c e n a s , y o u , b e n e a t h the myrtle s h a d e , R e a d o'er what p o e t s s u n g , a n d s h e p h e r d s , played. W h a t felt t h o s e p o e t s b u t you feel the s a m e ? D o e s not your soul p o s s e s s the s a c r e d f l a m e ? T h e i r n o b l e strains your e q u a l g e n i u s s h a r e s In softer l a n g u a g e , a n d diviner airs.

5

1

W h i l e H o m e r p a i n t s lo! c i r c u m f u s e d 2 in air, C e l e s t i a l G o d s in moral f o r m s a p p e a r ; Swift a s they m o v e h e a r e a c h r e c e s s r e b o u n d , * Heav'n q u a k e s , earth t r e m b l e s , a n d the s h o r e s r e s o u n d . G r e a t S i r e of verse, b e f o r e my mortal e y e s , T h e lightnings blaze a c r o s s t h e vaulted s k i e s , A n d , a s the t h u n d e r s h a k e s the heav'nly p l a i n s , A deep-felt horror thrills t h r o u g h all m y veins. W h e n gentler strains d e m a n d thy graceful s o n g , T h e length'ning line m o v e s l a n g u i s h i n g a l o n g . W h e n great P a t r o c l u s c o u r t s A c h i l l e s ' 4 aid, T h e grateful tribute of m y t e a r s is p a i d ; P r o n e o n the s h o r e he feels t h e p a n g s of love, And stern P e l i d e s 5 tend'rest p a s s o n s m o v e . 3. I.e., since it is in thy power. 4. Shining temple. 5. T h e heavens. " C o u r s e r s " : steeds; horses. 1. G a i u s Cilnius Maecenas (d. 8 B . C . E . ) , Roman aristocrat and statesman most famous as a patron of letters, especially poetry. 2. Enveloped. "Homer": the Greek poet traditionally named as author of the 9th-century B . C . E . epic p o e m s the Iliad and the Odyssey.

10

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20

3. I.e., each withdrawal reverberate. 4. In the Iliad, the greatest warrior of the Greeks. When in his anger at the leader of the expedition Achilles refuses to fight, his closest friend, Patroclus, goes into battle wearing Achilles' armor and is killed. 5. Another name for Achilles (literally, "son of Peleus"), who weeps for Patroclus.

To

MAECENAS

G r e a t M a r o ' s strain in heav'nly n u m b e r s flows, T h e N i n e inspire, a n d all the b o s o m glows. O c o u l d I rival thine a n d Virgil's p a g e , O r c l a i m the M u s e s with the M a n t u a n S a g e ; 6 S o o n the s a m e b e a u t i e s s h o u l d my m i n d a d o r n , A n d the s a m e ardors in my soul s h o u l d b u r n : T h e n s h o u l d m y s o n g in bolder n o t e s arise, A n d all m y n u m b e r s pleasingly surprize; B u t here I sit, a n d m o u r n a grov'ling m i n d , T h a t fain would m o u n t , a n d ride u p o n the wind. N o t y o u , my friend, t h e s e plaintive strains b e c o m e , N o t y o u , w h o s e b o s o m is the M u s e s h o m e ; W h e n they from tow'ring H e l i c o n retire, T h e y fan in you the bright i m m o r t a l fire, B u t I less happy, c a n n o t raise the s o n g , T h e fault'ring m u s i c dies u p o n my t o n g u e . T h e h a p p i e r T e r e n c e 7 all the choir i n s p i r e d , His soul r e p l e n i s h e d , a n d his b o s o m fired; B u t say, ye M u s e s , why this partial g r a c e , T o o n e a l o n e of Afric's s a b l e 8 r a c e F r o m a g e to a g e transmitting t h u s his n a m e W i t h the first glory in the rolls of f a m e ? Thy virtues, great M a e c e n a s ! shall b e s u n g In p r a i s e of h i m , from w h o m t h o s e virtues s p r u n g : W h i l e b l o o m i n g wreaths a r o u n d thy t e m p l e s s p r e a d , 9 ] I'll s n a t c h a laurel from thine h o n o r e d h e a d , \ While you indulgent smile u p o n the d e e d . J As long as T h a m e s in s t r e a m s m a j e s t i c flows, O r N a i a d s ' in their oozy b e d s r e p o s e , W h i l e Phoebus reigns a b o v e the starry train, W h i l e bright A u r o r a p u r p l e s o'er the m a i n , 2 S o long, great Sir, the m u s e thy p r a i s e shall s i n g , S o long thy p r a i s e shall m a k e P a r n a s s u s 1 ring: T h e n grant, M a e c e n a s , thy p a t e r n a l rays, H e a r m e p r o p i t i o u s , a n d d e f e n d my lays. 4

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55 1773

6. T h e Roman poet Publius Vergilius Maro, or Virgil ( 7 0 - 1 9 B.C.E.). was born near Mantua. " N u m b e r s " : meter. " M u s e s " : in Greek mythology the nine m u s e s were g o d d e s s e s of learning and the creative arts. They lived on Helicon, one of the two peaks of Mount P a r n a s s u s . 7. " H e was an African by birth" [Wheatley's note]. Terence ( c 190—159 B.C.E.), who c a m e to Rome as a slave from North Africa, gained great fame as a writer of comic plays in Latin.

8. Black. 9. In ancient times victors and heroes were crowned with wreaths of laurel or bay leaves. 1. In classical mythology the nymphs of rivers and lakes. " T h a m e s " : England's largest river. 2. Sea. In R o m a n mythology Aurora was the goddess of the dawn, who goes forth before the sun god, Phoebus Apollo. 3. T h e home of the nine M u s e s . S e e n. 6, above. 4. Songs; p o e m s .

3 7 8

ROYALL

TYLER

1757-1826 The colonial period was by no means conducive to English-speaking theater, let alone drama, and it says something about the theater's strength as an institution that it was able to exist at all. For one thing, settlers were too busy wresting a life from soil to be entertained; more important, both Puritans and Quakers disapproved in principle of what Jonathan in The Contrast calls "the devil's drawing-room." Nevertheless, British acting companies occasionally toured the principal cities, amateur theatricals were staged in southern colonies, and college students performed dramatic readings. Even those activities virtually ceased during the Revolution, when Americans were too busy fighting for their new country. After the Revolution, however, as the theater historian Walter J . Meserve has pointed out, "it became clear that the theatre was to be part of a new nation and that a playwright might even elicit some slight fame and fortune," for a national drama would be part of the search for a cultural identity. Bans against theater were lifted, older acting companies returned, and new ones were formed to occupy the new playhouses. One of the few new playwrights to emerge was Royall Tyler, whose play The Contrast was performed in 1787. It was our first English-speaking comedy and an immediate hit. Tyler was not a dramatist with a mission but an accomplished young man with a flair for letters. He earned degrees simultaneously at Harvard College and Yale College in 1776. He served in the Revolutionary War; he enjoyed playing man about town (in his case, Boston); he paid court to Abigail Adams, John and Abigail's daughter. At length he became a lawyer, and an intelligent and successful one; in his later years, he was both chief justice of the Supreme Court of Vermont and professor of law at the University of Vermont. He also—in the same year Tlie Contrast was produced—was a member of the militia that put down Shays's Rebellion, an incident mentioned twice in the play. And he dashed off The Contrast in three weeks. Although its author was an amateur, the play, most readers agree, reads like a polished professional product of the time. It is based, to be sure, on Richard Brinsley Sheridan's famous comedy The School for Scandal (1777), which Tyler saw produced in New York in 1787. From Sheridan's play Tyler took the basic story line that contrasts a mean and shallow fashionable demimonde with a world of honest and wholesome sentiment: the latter, of course, triumphs. He repays his debt handsomely in the scene where the comic Jonathan thinks he has witnessed real life in a privatehome but has actually been watching The School for Scandal itself. What was revolutionary was that Tyler totally Americanized the story. His fashionable New Yorkers ape British modes—most especially the deceitful villain, a young man who runs his life according to Lord Chesterfield's dictates. The hero, Captain Manly, is a model of thoughtful rectitude; a veteran of the Revolution, he may well embody the idea, current at the time, that these officer veterans were America's best hope. His servant Jonathan is one of the first examples of an enduring dramatic type, the comic Yankee: he is the butt of fun because of his ignorance of city ways, but he is also shrewd, honorable, and squarely on the side of homespun good. The critic William L. Hedges notes that Manly and Jonathan embody two American myths— "Publius and Yankee Doodle teamed up to save American virtue from the seductions of British luxury." "Contrasts" run throughout the play. Tyler continued to write for the rest of his life: other plays, satirical essays, verses, and a picaresque novel, The Algerine Captive (1797), one of the first works by an American to be also published in England. None, however, equals The Contrast, with its good humor and its brash, sunny nationalism: Exult each patriot heart!—this night is shewn A piece, which we may fairly call our own.

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The new country wanted a national literature, and in Tyler's play got an excellent example of it. Moreover, because social comedy is so topical, we can also read The Contrast for a vivid idea of what it was like to be an American when this country was still young.

The Contrast' Prologue [Written by a

YOUNG GENTLEMAN

of New York, and Spoken

by

MR. WIGNELL]

Exult e a c h patriot h e a r t ! — t h i s night is shewn A p i e c e , which we m a y fairly call our o w n ; W h e r e the p r o u d titles of " M y Lord! Your G r a c e ! " T o h u m b l e M r . a n d plain Sir give p l a c e . O u r A u t h o r p i c t u r e s not from foreign c l i m e s T h e f a s h i o n s , or the follies of the t i m e s ; B u t has confin'd the s u b j e c t of his work T o the gay s c e n e s — t h e circles of N e w York. O n native t h e m e s his M u s e displays her pow'rs; If o u r s the faults, the virtues too a r e o u r s . W h y s h o u l d our t h o u g h t s to distant c o u n t r i e s r o a m , W h e n e a c h refinement may be f o u n d at h o m e ? W h o travels now to a p e the rich or great, T o d e c k a n e q u i p a g e a n d roll in s t a t e ; T o court the g r a c e s , 2 or to d a n c e with e a s e , O r by hypocrisy to strive to p l e a s e ? O u r free-born a n c e s t o r s s u c h arts d e s p i s ' d ; G e n u i n e sincerity a l o n e they priz'd; T h e i r m i n d s , with h o n e s t e m u l a t i o n fir'd. T o solid g o o d — n o t o r n a m e n t — a s p i r ' d ; Or, if a m b i t i o n rous'd a bolder f l a m e , Stern virtue throve, w h e r e i n d o l e n c e w a s s h a m e . • B u t m o d e r n y o u t h s , with imitative s e n s e , D e e m taste in d r e s s the proof of e x c e l l e n c e ; And s p u r n the m e a n n e s s of your h o m e s p u n arts, S i n c e h o m e s p u n habits would o b s c u r e their p a r t s ; Whilst all, which a i m s at s p l e n d o r a n d p a r a d e , M u s t c o m e from E u r o p e , a n d b e ready m a d e . S t r a n g e ! we s h o u l d t h u s our native worth d i s c l a i m , A n d c h e c k the p r o g r e s s of our rising f a m e . Yet o n e , whilst imitation b e a r s the sway, Aspires to nobler heights, a n d points the way, B e rous'd, my friends! his bold e x a m p l e view; L e t your own B a r d s be p r o u d to copy you! S h o u l d rigid critics r e p r o b a t e our play, At least the patriotic heart will say, 1. First performed in 1787, it was published in 1 7 9 0 by T h o m a s Wignell, which is the source of the text. Wignell, a prominent comic actor and George Washington's favorite comedian, later ran one of the new country's most successful theaters.

the Chestnut Street Theatre, in Philadelphia. He played the part of Jonathan in New York. 2. Greek goddesses, personifications of loveliness or grace. "Equipage": coach.

3 8 0

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ROYALL

TYLER

" G l o r i o u s our fall, s i n c e in a n o b l e c a u s e . " T h e bold a t t e m p t a l o n e d e m a n d s a p p l a u s e . " Still m a y the w i s d o m of the C o m i c M u s e Exalt your m e r i t s , or your faults a c c u s e . B u t think not, 'tis her aim to b e s e v e r e ; — W e all are m o r t a l s , a n d a s m o r t a l s err. If c a n d o r p l e a s e s , we are truly blest; Vice t r e m b l e s , w h e n c o m p e l l ' d to s t a n d c o n f e s s ' d . L e t not light C e n s u r e o n your faults offend, W h i c h a i m s not to e x p o s e t h e m , b u t a m e n d . T h u s d o e s our A u t h o r to your c a n d o r trust; C o n s c i o u s , the free are g e n e r o u s , a s j u s t . Act

First

SCENE

An apartment [CHARLOTTE

at and

1.

CHARLOTTE'S, LETITIA

discovered.]

A n d s o , C h a r l o t t e , you really think t h e p o c k e t - h o o p ' u n b e c o m i n g . N o , I don't say s o : It m a y b e very b e c o m i n g to s a u n t e r r o u n d the h o u s e of a rainy day; to visit m y g r a n d - m a m m a , or g o to Q u a k e r s ' m e e t i n g : b u t to s w i m in a m i n u e t , with the e y e s of fifty w e l l - d r e s s e d b e a u x u p o n m e , to trip it in the M a l l , or walk o n the b a t t e r y , 4 give m e the l u x u r i o u s , j a u n t y , flowing, b e l l - h o o p . It w o u l d h a v e d e l i g h t e d y o u to have s e e n m e the last e v e n i n g , my c h a r m i n g girl! I w a s d a n g l i n g o'er the battery with Billy D i m p l e ; a k n o t of y o u n g fellows w e r e u p o n the p l a t f o r m ; a s I p a s s e d t h e m I f a u l t e r e d with o n e of t h e m o s t b e w i t c h i n g f a l s e s t e p s you ever s a w , a n d t h e n r e c o v e r e d m y s e l f with s u c h a pretty c o n f u s i o n , flirting m y h o o p to d i s c o v e r a j e t b l a c k s h o e a n d brilliant b u c k l e . G a d ! h o w m y little h e a r t thrilled to h e a r the c o n f u s e d r e p t u r e s o f — " D e r a r a e V Jack, what a delicate foot!" " H a ! General, what a well-turn'd—" LETITIA F i e ! fie! C h a r l o t t e [stopping her mouth], I p r o t e s t y o u a r e q u i t e a libertine. CHARLOTTE W h y , my d e a r little p r u d e , a r e w e n o t all s u c h libertines? D o you think, w h e n I sat t o r t u r e d two h o u r s u n d e r the h a n d s o f my friseur, a n d a n h o u r m o r e at my t o i l e t , 6 that I h a d a n y t h o u g h t s o f m y a u n t S u s a n , or my c o u s i n B e t s e y ? t h o u g h they a r e b o t h a l l o w e d to b e critical j u d g e s of d r e s s . LETITIA W h y , w h o s h o u l d w e d r e s s to p l e a s e , b u t t h o s e w h o a r e j u d g e s of its m e r i t s ? CHARLOTTE W h y a c r e a t u r e w h o d o e s n o t k n o w Buffon f r o m Souflee7— M a n ! — m y L e t i t i a — M a n ! for w h o m w e d r e s s , walk, d a n c e , talk, l i s p , l a n g u i s h , a n d s m i l e . D o e s n o t t h e grave S p e c t a t o r 8 a s s u r e u s , t h a t e v e n

LETITIA

CHARLOTTE

3. Hoopskirts b e c a m e fashionable about 1700; the "pocket hoop," confined to the hips, was smaller than the "bell hoop," mentioned a few-lines later. 4. Area at the southernmost tip of Manhattan Island (formerly a Dutch fortification, hence the name). "Beaux": i.e., dandies. "The Mall": fashionable promenade. 5. Affected version of damn me.

6. Dressing table, vanity. "Friseur": hairdresser, 7. I.e., souffle, a puffy dish m a d e with eggs and sauce. "Buffon": a pun on Georges Buffon, 18thcentury French naturalist, and "bouffant," puffed out, as in a hairdo. 8. A popular periodical written and published by J o s e p h Addison and Richard Steele, which provided "a wholesome and pleasant regimen" of essays on morals, manners, and literature.

THE

CONTRAST, ACT

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381

o u r m u c h b e p r a i s e d d i f f i d e n c e , m o d e s t y , a n d b l u s h e s , a r e all d i r e c t e d to m a k e o u r s e l v e s g o o d wives a n d m o t h e r s a s fast a s w e c a n . W h y , I'll u n d e r t a k e with o n e flirt of this h o o p to b r i n g m o r e b e a u x to m y feet in o n e w e e k , t h a n the grave M a r i a , a n d her s e n t i m e n t a l c i r c l e , c a n d o , by s i g h i n g s e n t i m e n t till their hairs a r e grey. LETITIA W e l l , I won't a r g u e with y o u ; you always o u t talk m e ; let u s c h a n g e t h e s u b j e c t . I h e a r t h a t M r . D i m p l e a n d M a r i a a r e s o o n to b e m a r r i e d . CHARLOTTE Y O U h e a r t r u e . I w a s c o n s u l t e d in the c h o i c e o f the w e d d i n g c l o t h e s . S h e is to be m a r r i e d in a d e l i c a t e white s a t i n , a n d h a s a m o n s t r o u s pretty b r o c a d e d l u t e s t r i n g 9 for the s e c o n d day. It w o u l d h a v e d o n e you g o o d to h a v e s e e n with w h a t a n a f f e c t e d i n d i f f e r e n c e the d e a r s e n t i m e n t a l i s t t u r n e d over a t h o u s a n d pretty t h i n g s , j u s t a s if her h e a r t did not p a l p i t a t e with her a p p r o a c h i n g h a p p i n e s s , a n d at last m a d e her c h o i c e , a n d a r r a n g e d her d r e s s with s u c h a p a t h y , a s if s h e did not k n o w that plain white s a t i n , a n d a s i m p l e b l o n d l a c e , w o u l d s h e w her c l e a r skin, a n d d a r k hair, to t h e g r e a t e s t a d v a n t a g e . LETITIA B u t they s a y her i n d i f f e r e n c e to d r e s s , a n d e v e n to the g e n t l e m a n himself, is not entirely a f f e c t e d . CHARLOTTE

HOW?

It is w h i s p e r e d , t h a t if M a r i a gives her h a n d to M r . D i m p l e , it will b e w i t h o u t her h e a r t . CHARLOTTE T h o u g h the giving the h e a r t is o n e of t h e last of all l a u g h a b l e c o n s i d e r a t i o n s in the m a r r i a g e of a girl o f spirit, yet I s h o u l d like to h e a r w h a t a n t i q u a t e d n o t i o n s the d e a r little p i e c e o f old f a s h i o n e d p r u d e r y h a s got in her h e a d . LETITIA W h y you k n o w t h a t old M r . J o h n - R i c h a r d - R o b e r t - J a c o b - I s a a c A b r a h a m - C o r n e l i u s V a n D u m p l i n g , Billy D i m p l e ' s f a t h e r (for h e h a s t h o u g h t fit to soften his n a m e , a s well a s m a n n e r s , d u r i n g his E n g l i s h t o u r ) w a s the m o s t i n t i m a t e friend of M a r i a ' s father. T h e old folks, a b o u t a y e a r b e f o r e M r . V a n D u m p l i n g ' s d e a t h , p r o p o s e d this m a t c h : the y o u n g folks w e r e a c c o r d i n g l y i n t r o d u c e d , a n d told they m u s t love o n e a n o t h e r . Billy w a s t h e n a g o o d n a t u r e d , d e c e n t , d r e s s i n g y o u n g fellow, with a little d a s h of the c o x c o m b , 1 s u c h a s o u r y o u n g fellows of f o r t u n e u s u a l l y h a v e . At this t i m e , I really believe s h e t h o u g h t s h e loved h i m ; a n d h a d they t h e n b e e n m a r r i e d , I d o u b t not, they m i g h t have j o g g e d o n , to the e n d of the c h a p t e r , a g o o d kind of a s i n g - s o n g l a c k - a - d a y s a i c a l life, a s o t h e r h o n e s t m a r r i e d folks d o . LETITIA

W h y did they not t h e n marry? U p o n the d e a t h of his father, Billy w e n t to E n g l a n d to s e e the world, a n d r u b off a little of the p a t r o o n r u s t . 2 D u r i n g his a b s e n c e , M a r i a like a g o o d girl, to k e e p h e r s e l f c o n s t a n t to her nown* true-love, a v o i d e d c o m p a n y , a n d b e t o o k herself, for her a m u s e m e n t , to h e r b o o k s , a n d her d e a r Billy's letters. B u t , a l a s ! h o w m a n y ways h a s t h e m i s c h i e v o u s d e m o n of i n c o n s t a n c y of s t e a l i n g into a w o m a n ' s heart! H e r love w a s d e s t r o y e d by the very m e a n s s h e t o o k to s u p p o r t it. CHARLOTTE H o w ? — O h ! I have i t — s o m e likely y o u n g b e a u f o u n d the way to her s t u d y . LETITIA Be patient, Charlotte—your head so runs upon b e a u x . — W h y she CHARLOTTE LETITIA

9 . A glossy silk. 1. Conceitedness.

2. I.e., old-fashioned country style or manners. 3. I.e., "own" (probably from a popular song).

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r e a d S i r C h a r l e s G r a n d i s o n , C l a r i s s a H a r l o w , S h e n s t o n e , a n d the S e n t i m e n t a l J o u r n e y , 4 a n d b e t w e e n w h i l e s , a s I s a i d , Billy's l e t t e r s . B u t a s her t a s t e i m p r o v e d , her love d e c l i n e d . T h e c o n t r a s t w a s s o striking betwixt the g o o d s e n s e of her b o o k s , a n d the f l i m s i n e s s of h e r love-letters, that s h e d i s c o v e r e d s h e h a d u n t h i n k i n g l y e n g a g e d her h a n d w i t h o u t her h e a r t ; a n d t h e n the w h o l e t r a n s a c t i o n m a n a g e d by the old folks, now a p p e a r e d s o u n s e n t i m e n t a l , a n d l o o k e d s o like b a r g a i n i n g for a b a l e of g o o d s , that s h e f o u n d s h e o u g h t to h a v e r e j e c t e d , a c c o r d i n g to every rule of r o m a n c e , e v e n the m a n o f h e r c h o i c e , if i m p o s e d u p o n her in that m a n n e r — C l a r y H a r l o w w o u l d have s c o r n e d s u c h a m a t c h . CHARLOTTE W e l l , h o w w a s it o n M r . D i m p l e ' s r e t u r n ? D i d h e m e e t a m o r e favorable r e c e p t i o n t h a n his letters? LETITIA M u c h the s a m e . S h e s p o k e of h i m with r e s p e c t a b r o a d , a n d with c o n t e m p t in h e r c l o s e t . 5 S h e w a t c h e d his c o n d u c t a n d c o n v e r s a t i o n , a n d f o u n d that h e h a d by traveling a c q u i r e d t h e w i c k e d n e s s of L o v e l a c e ' ' w i t h o u t his wit, a n d the p o l i t e n e s s of S i r C h a r l e s G r a n d i s o n w i t h o u t his g e n e r o s i t y . T h e ruddy y o u t h w h o w a s h e d his f a c e at t h e c i s t e r n every m o r n i n g , a n d s w o r e a n d l o o k e d e t e r n a l love a n d c o n s t a n c y , w a s n o w m e t a m o r p h o s e d into a flippant, p a l i d , polite b e a u , w h o d e v o t e s the m o r n i n g to his toilet, r e a d s a few p a g e s of C h e s t e r f i e l d ' s l e t t e r s , 7 a n d then m i n c e s o u t , to p u t the i n f a m o u s p r i n c i p l e s in p r a c t i c e u p o n every w o m a n he meets. CHARLOTTE B u t , if s h e is s o a p t at c o n j u r i n g u p t h e s e s e n t i m e n t a l b u g b e a r s , why d o e s s h e not d i s c a r d h i m at o n c e ? LETITIA W h y , s h e thinks her w o r d t o o s a c r e d to b e trifled w i t h . B e s i d e s , her father, w h o h a s a great r e s p e c t for the m e m o r y of his d e c e a s e d friend, is ever telling her how h e shall r e n e w his years in their u n i o n , a n d r e p e a t i n g the dying i n j u n c t i o n s of old V a n D u m p l i n g . CHARLOTTE A mighty pretty story! A n d s o y o u w o u l d m a k e m e b e l i e v e , that the s e n s i b l e M a r i a w o u l d give u p D u m p l i n g m a n o r , a n d the alla c c o m p l i s h e d D i m p l e a s a h u s b a n d , for the a b s u r d , r i d i c u l o u s r e a s o n , f o r s o o t h , b e c a u s e s h e d e s p i s e s a n d a b h o r s h i m . J u s t a s if a lady c o u l d not b e privileged to s p e n d a m a n ' s f o r t u n e , ride in his c a r r i a g e , b e c a l l e d after his n a m e , a n d call him her nown dear lovee w h e n s h e w a n t s m o n e y , w i t h o u t loving a n d r e s p e c t i n g the great h e - c r e a t u r e . O h ! my d e a r girl, you a r e a m o n s t r o u s p r u d e . LETITIA I don't say w h a t I w o u l d d o ; I only i n t i m a t e h o w I s u p p o s e s h e w i s h e s to a c t . CHARLOTTE N o , n o , n o ! A fig for s e n t i m e n t . If s h e b r e a k s , or w i s h e s to b r e a k , with M r . D i m p l e , d e p e n d u p o n it, s h e h a s s o m e o t h e r m a n in her eye. A w o m a n rarely d i s c a r d s o n e lover, until s h e is s u r e of a n o t h e r . — L e t i t i a little t h i n k s w h a t a c l u e I have to D i m p l e ' s c o n d u c t . T h e g e n e r o u s m a n s u b m i t s to r e n d e r h i m s e l f d i s g u s t i n g to M a r i a , in o r d e r that s h e m a y leave h i m at liberty to a d d r e s s m e . I m u s t c h a n g e the s u b j e c t [Aside, and rings a bell.] 4. All sentimental works of the 18th century: Sir Charles Grandison and Clarissa (Harlowe) are novels hy Samuel Richardson, a n d A Sentimental Journey is by Laurence Sterne. William Shenstone was a popular poet. Novel reading was then considered a woman's occupation. 5. Private apartment or room.

6. T h e h a n d s o m e dashing villain in Clarissa. 7. Letters written to his illegitimate son by Philip Stanhope, earl of Chesterfield, on deportment and manners in polite society; published in 1 7 7 4 , they were described by Samuel J o h n s o n as teaching "the morals of a w hore and the manners of a dancing master."

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[Enter S E R V A N T . ] F r a n k , o r d e r the h o r s e s t o . — T a l k i n g of m a r r i a g e — d i d you h e a r that Sally B l o o m s b u r y is g o i n g to b e m a r r i e d next w e e k to M r . I n d i g o , the rich Carolinian? LETITIA S a l l y B l o o m s b u r y m a r r i e d ! — W h y , s h e is not yet in h e r t e e n s . CHARLOTTE I d o not k n o w h o w that is, b u t , you m a y d e p e n d u p o n it, 'tis a d o n e affair. I have it f r o m the b e s t authority. T h e r e is m y a u n t Wyerley's H a n n a h (you k n o w H a n n a h — t h o u g h a b l a c k , s h e is a w e n c h t h a t w a s never c a u g h t in a lie in her life); n o w H a n n a h h a s a b r o t h e r w h o c o u r t s S a r a h , M r s . C a t g u t the milliner's girl, a n d s h e told H a n n a h ' s b r o t h e r , a n d H a n n a h , w h o , a s I s a i d b e f o r e , is a girl of u n d o u b t e d veracity, told it directly to m e , that M r s . C a t g u t w a s m a k i n g a n e w c a p for M i s s B l o o m s b u r y , w h i c h , a s it w a s very d r e s s y , it is very p r o b a b l e is d e s i g n e d for a w e d d i n g c a p : now, a s s h e is to b e m a r r i e d , w h o c a n it b e t o , but to M r . I n d i g o ? W h y , t h e r e is n o o t h e r g e n t l e m a n t h a t visits at her papa's. LETITIA S a y not a word m o r e , C h a r l o t t e . Y o u r i n t e l l i g e n c e 8 is s o d i r e c t a n d well g r o u n d e d , it is a l m o s t a pity that it is not a p i e c e of s c a n d a l . CHARLOTTE O h ! I a m the p i n k of p r u d e n c e . T h o u g h I c a n n o t c h a r g e m y s e l f with ever h a v i n g d i s c r e d i t e d a tea-party by my s i l e n c e , yet I t a k e c a r e never to report a n y t h i n g of my a c q u a i n t a n c e , e s p e c i a l l y if it is to their credit,—discredit, I m e a n — u n t i l I h a v e s e a r c h e d to the b o t t o m of it. It is t r u e , t h e r e is infinite p l e a s u r e in this c h a r i t a b l e p u r s u i t . O h ! h o w d e l i c i o u s to g o a n d c o n d o l e with the friends of s o m e b a c k s l i d i n g sister, or to retire with s o m e old d o w a g e r or m a i d e n a u n t of the family, w h o love s c a n d a l s o well, that they c a n n o t f o r b e a r gratifying their a p p e t i t e at the e x p e n c e o f the r e p u t a t i o n of their n e a r e s t r e l a t i o n s ! A n d then to return full f r a u g h t with a rich c o l l e c t i o n of c i r c u m s t a n c e s , to retail to the next circle of o u r a c q u a i n t a n c e u n d e r the s t r o n g e s t i n j u n c t i o n s o f s e c r e c y , — h a , h a , h a ! — i n t e r l a r d i n g the m e l a n c h o l y tale with s o m a n y doleful s h a k e s of the h e a d , a n d m o r e doleful, " A h ! w h o w o u l d h a v e t h o u g h t it! s o a m i a b l e , s o p r u d e n t a y o u n g lady, a s w e all t h o u g h t her, w h a t a m o n s t r o u s pity! well, I have n o t h i n g to c h a r g e m y s e l f with; I a c t e d the part of a friend, I w a r n e d her of the p r i n c i p l e s of that r a k e , 9 I told her w h a t w o u l d b e the c o n s e q u e n c e ; I told her s o , I told her s o . " — H a , ha, ha! H a , h a , ha! W e l l , b u t C h a r l o t t e , you don't tell m e w h a t you think of M i s s B l o o m s b u r y ' s m a t c h . CHARLOTTE T h i n k ! why I think it is p r o b a b l e s h e cried for a p l a y t h i n g , a n d they h a v e given her a h u s b a n d . W e l l , well, well, the p u l i n g c h i t 1 shall not be d e p r i v e d o f her plaything: 'tis only e x c h a n g i n g L o n d o n dolls for A m e r i c a n b a b i e s — A p r o p o s , of b a b i e s , have you h e a r d w h a t M r s . Affable's high-flying n o t i o n s of d e l i c a c y have c o m e to? LETITIA W h o , s h e that w a s M i s s Lovely? CHARLOTTE T h e s a m e ; s h e m a r r i e d B o b A f f a b l e of S c h e n e c t a d y . D o n ' t you remember? [Enter S E R V A N T . ] SERVANT M a d a m , the c a r r i a g e is ready. LETITIA

8. I.e.. news. 9. Or "rakehell," a libertine or dissolute man.

1. Whimpering child or young woman.

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S h a l l w e g o to t h e s t o r e s first, or visiting? I s h o u l d t h i n k it r a t h e r t o o early to visit; e s p e c i a l l y M r s . P r i m : y o u k n o w s h e is s o p a r t i c u l a r . LETITIA W e l l , b u t w h a t of M r s . A f f a b l e ? CHARLOTTE O h , I'll tell you a s w e g o ; c o m e , c o m e , let u s h a s t e n . I h e a r M r s . C a t g u t h a s s o m e of the p r e t t i e s t c a p s arrived, y o u ever s a w . I shall die if I h a v e n o t the first s i g h t of t h e m . [Exeunt.] LETITIA

CHARLOTTE

SCENE

A room in [MARIA

VAN R O U G H ' S

sitting disconsolate

2.

house. at a Table, with Books, etc.] SONG I

T h e s u n sets in night, a n d the stars s h u n the day; B u t glory r e m a i n s w h e n their lights f a d e away! B e g i n , ye t o r m e n t o r s ! your threats are in vain, F o r the s o n of A l k n o m o o k 2 shall never c o m p l a i n .

R e m e m b e r the arrows h e shot from his b o w ; R e m e m b e r your chiefs by his h a t c h e t laid low: W h y so s l o w ? — d o you wait till I s h r i n k from the p a i n ? N o — t h e s o n of A l k n o m o o k will never c o m p l a i n . in

R e m e m b e r the w o o d w h e r e in a m b u s h we lay; A n d the s c a l p s which we b o r e from your n a t i o n away N o w the flame rises fast, you exult in my p a i n ; B u t the s o n of A l k n o m o o k c a n never c o m p l a i n . r

I g o to the land w h e r e my father is g o n e ; H i s g h o s t shall rejoice in the f a m e of his s o n : D e a t h c o m e s like a friend, h e relieves m e f r o m p a i n ; A n d thy s o n , O h A l k n o m o o k ! h a s scorn'd to c o m p l a i n . T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g in this s o n g which ever calls forth my a f f e c t i o n s . T h e m a n l y virtue of c o u r a g e , that fortitude w h i c h steels the heart a g a i n s t the k e e n e s t m i s f o r t u n e s , which interweaves the laurel of glory a m i d s t the instrum e n t s of torture a n d d e a t h , displays s o m e t h i n g s o n o b l e , s o exalted, that in d e s p i t e of the p r e j u d i c e s of e d u c a t i o n , I c a n n o t b u t a d m i r e it, even in a s a v a g e . T h e p r e p o s s e s s i o n which our sex is s u p p o s e d to e n t e r t a i n for the c h a r a c t e r of a soldier, is, I know, a s t a n d i n g p i e c e of raillery a m o n g the wits. A c o c k a d e , a lapel'd c o a t , a n d a f e a t h e r , 3 they will tell you, are irresistible by a f e m a l e heart. L e t it be s o . — W h o is it that c o n s i d e r s the h e l p l e s s situation 2. An Indian name. T h e authorship of the song is unknown.

3. I.e., military dress. " C o c k a d e " : badge worn on a hat.

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of our sex, that d o e s not s e e we e a c h m o m e n t s t a n d in n e e d of a protector, a n d that a brave o n e too. F o r m e d of the m o r e delicate m a t e r i a l s of n a t u r e , e n d o w e d only with the softer p a s s i o n s , i n c a p a b l e , from o u r i g n o r a n c e of the world, to g u a r d a g a i n s t the wiles of m a n k i n d , our security for h a p p i n e s s often d e p e n d s u p o n their generosity a n d c o u r a g e : — A l a s ! how little of the former do we find. H o w i n c o n s i s t e n t ! that m a n s h o u l d be l e a g u e d to destroy that honor, u p o n w h i c h , solely rests his r e s p e c t a n d e s t e e m . T e n t h o u s a n d t e m p tations allure u s , ten t h o u s a n d p a s s i o n s betray u s ; yet the s m a l l e s t deviation from the p a t h of rectitude is followed by the c o n t e m p t a n d insult of m a n , a n d the m o r e r e m o r s e l e s s pity of w o m a n : years of p e n i t e n c e a n d tears c a n n o t w a s h away the stain, nor a life of virture obliterate its r e m e m b r a n c e . R e p u tation is the life of w o m a n ; yet c o u r a g e to p r o t e c t it, is m a s c u l i n e a n d disg u s t i n g ; a n d the only safe a s y l u m a w o m a n of delicacy c a n find, is in the a r m s of a m a n of honor. H o w naturally then, s h o u l d we love the brave, a n d the g e n e r o u s ; how gratefully s h o u l d we bless the a r m raised for our protection, w h e n nerv'd by virtue, a n d directed by honor! H e a v e n g r a n t that the m a n with w h o m I m a y be c o n n e c t e d — m a y be c o n n e c t e d ! — W h i t h e r h a s my i m a g i n a t i o n t r a n s p o r t e d m e — w h i t h e r d o e s it n o w lead m e ? — A m I not indissolubly e n g a g e d by every obligation of honor, which my own c o n s e n t , a n d my father's a p p r o b a t i o n c a n give, to a m a n w h o c a n never s h a r e my affections, a n d w h o m a few days h e n c e , it will b e criminal for m e to d i s a p p r o v e — to d i s a p p r o v e ! would to h e a v e n that were a l l — t o d e s p i s e . F o r , c a n the m o s t frivolous m a n n e r s , a c t u a t e d by the m o s t depraved heart, m e e t , or merit, anything but c o n t e m p t from every w o m a n of delicacy a n d s e n t i m e n t ? without.] Mary! H a , my father's v o i c e — S i r ! [Enter V A N R O U G H . ] VAN R O U G H W h a t , M a r y , always s i n g i n g doleful ditties, a n d m o p i n g over these plaguy4 books. MARIA I h o p e , Sir, t h a t it is not c r i m i n a l to i m p r o v e m y m i n d with b o o k s ; or to divert my m e l a n c h o l y with s i n g i n g at my l e i s u r e h o u r s . VAN R O U G H W h y , I don't k n o w that, c h i l d ; I don't k n o w that. T h e y u s ' d to s a y w h e n I w a s a y o u n g m a n , that if a w o m a n k n e w h o w to m a k e a p u d d i n g , a n d to k e e p h e r s e l f o u t of fire a n d w a t e r , s h e k n e w e n o u g h for a wife. N o w , w h a t g o o d h a v e t h e s e b o o k s d o n e y o u ? h a v e they not m a d e you m e l a n c h o l y ? a s you call it. Pray, w h a t right h a s a girl of y o u r a g e to be in the d u m p s ? haven't you every t h i n g y o u r h e a r t c a n w i s h ; ain't you g o i n g to b e m a r r i e d to a y o u n g m a n of great f o r t u n e ; ain't you g o i n g to have t h e q u i t - r e n t s o f twenty m i l e s s q u a r e ? MARIA O n e h u n d r e d t h part of the l a n d , a n d a l e a s e for life of the h e a r t of a m a n I c o u l d love, w o u l d satisfy m e . VAN R O U G H Pho, pho, pho! child; n o n s e n s e , downright n o n s e n s e , child. T h i s c o m e s of y o u r r e a d i n g your s t o r y - b o o k s ; y o u r C h a r l e s G r a n d i s o n s , your S e n t i m e n t a l J o u r n a l s , a n d y o u r R o b i n s o n C r u s o e s , a n d s u c h o t h e r t r u m p e r y . 6 N o , n o , n o ! c h i l d , it is m o n e y m a k e s the m a r e g o ; k e e p y o u r eye u p o n t h e m a i n c h a n c e , 7 M a r y . MARIA M a r r i a g e , Sir, is, i n d e e d , a very s e r i o u s affair. [VAN R O U G H ,

MARIA.

4. Annoying, irritating. 5. Small fixed rent. 6. Worthless nonsense. Robinson Crusoe was pub-

lished by Daniel Defoe in 1719. 7. I.e., the biggest advantage.

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You a r e right, c h i l d ; you a r e right. I a m s u r e I f o u n d it s o to my c o s t . MARIA I m e a n , Sir, t h a t a s m a r r i a g e is a p o r t i o n for life, a n d s o i n t i m a t e l y involves o u r h a p p i n e s s , w e c a n n o t b e t o o c o n s i d e r a t e in the c h o i c e o f our companion. VAN R O U G H Right, c h i l d ; very right. A y o u n g w o m a n s h o u l d b e very s o b e r w h e n s h e is m a k i n g h e r c h o i c e , b u t w h e n s h e h a s o n c e m a d e it, a s you have d o n e , I don't s e e w h y s h e s h o u l d not b e a s merry a s a g r i g , 8 I a m s u r e s h e h a s r e a s o n e n o u g h to b e s o — S o l o m o n s a y s , t h a t " t h e r e is a t i m e to l a u g h , a n d a t i m e to w e e p " ; 9 n o w a t i m e for a y o u n g w o m a n to l a u g h is w h e n s h e h a s m a d e s u r e of a g o o d rich h u s b a n d . N o w a t i m e to cry, a c c o r d i n g to y o u , M a r y , is w h e n s h e is m a k i n g c h o i c e of h i m : b u t , I s h o u l d think, that a y o u n g w o m a n ' s t i m e to cry w a s , w h e n s h e d e s p a i r e d of getting o n e . — W h y , t h e r e w a s y o u r m o t h e r n o w ; to b e s u r e w h e n I p o p p ' d t h e q u e s t i o n to her, s h e did l o o k a little silly; b u t w h e n s h e h a d o n c e l o o k e d d o w n o n her a p r o n - s t r i n g s , a s all m o d e s t y o u n g w o m e n u s ' d to d o , a n d d r a w l e d o u t ye-s, s h e w a s a s brisk a n d a s merry as a bee. MARIA M y h o n o r e d m o t h e r , Sir, h a d n o m o t i v e to m e l a n c h o l y ; s h e m a r r i e d t h e m a n of her c h o i c e . VAN R O U G H T h e m a n of her c h o i c e ! A n d pray, M a r y , ain't you g o i n g to m a r r y the m a n of y o u r c h o i c e — w h a t t r u m p e r y n o t i o n is t h i s ? — I t is t h e s e vile b o o k s [throwing them away]. I'd have you to k n o w , M a r y , if y o u won't m a k e y o u n g V a n D u m p l i n g the m a n o f your c h o i c e , you shall marry h i m a s the m a n of my c h o i c e . MARIA You terrify m e , Sir. I n d e e d , Sir, I a m all s u b m i s s i o n . M y will is yours. VAN R O U G H W h y , that is t h e way y o u r m o t h e r u s ' d to talk. " M y will is y o u r s , my d e a r M r . V a n R o u g h , my will is y o u r s " : b u t s h e t o o k s p e c i a l c a r e to have h e r own way t h o u g h for all that. MARIA D o not reflect u p o n my m o t h e r ' s m e m o r y , S i r — VAN R O U G H W h y not, M a r y , why n o t ? S h e k e p t m e f r o m s p e a k i n g my m i n d all her life, a n d d o you think s h e shall h e n p e c k m e n o w s h e is dead t o o ? C o m e , c o m e ; don't g o to sniveling: b e a g o o d girl, a n d m i n d the m a i n c h a n c e . I'll s e e you well s e t t l e d in t h e world. MARIA I d o not d o u b t y o u r love, Sir; a n d it is my duty to o b e y y o u . — I will e n d e a v o r to m a k e my duty a n d i n c l i n a t i o n g o h a n d in h a n d . VAN R O U G H W e l l , well, M a r y ; d o you be a g o o d girl, m i n d the m a i n c h a n c e , a n d never m i n d i n c l i n a t i o n . — W h y , d o you k n o w that I have b e e n d o w n in t h e c e l l a r this very m o r n i n g to e x a m i n e a p i p e of M a d e i r a 1 w h i c h I p u r c h a s e d the w e e k you w e r e b o r n , a n d m e a n to t a p o n y o u r w e d d i n g d a y . — T h a t p i p e c o s t m e fifty p o u n d s sterling. It w a s well w o r t h sixty p o u n d s ; b u t I o v e r - r e a c h e d B e n B u l k h e a d , the s u p e r c a r g o . 2 I'll tell you the w h o l e story. You m u s t k n o w t h a t — [Enter S E R V A N T . ]

VAN R O U G H

H. Lighthearted young person. 9. "A time to weep, and a time to laugh" (Ecclesiastes 3.4); Ecclesiastes is thought to have been written by Solomon.

1. Big cask of wine. 2. Officer of merchant ship concerned with the voyage's commercial aspects.

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Sir, M r . T r a n s f e r , the broker, is b e l o w . [ E x i t . ] W e l l , M a r y , I m u s t g o . — R e m e m b e r , a n d b e a g o o d girl, a n d m i n d the m a i n c h a n c e . [Exit.] MARIA [alone] H o w d e p l o r a b l e is my s i t u a t i o n ! H o w d i s t r e s s i n g for a d a u g h t e r to find her heart militating with her filial duty! I k n o w m y father loves m e tenderly, why then do 1 r e l u c t a n t l y o b e y h i m ? H e a v e n k n o w s ! with w h a t r e l u c t a n c e I s h o u l d o p p o s e the will o f a p a r e n t , or set a n e x a m p l e of filial d i s o b e d i e n c e ; at a p a r e n t ' s c o m m a n d I c o u l d w e d awkw a r d n e s s a n d d e f o r m i t y . W e r e the h e a r t of my h u s b a n d g o o d , I w o u l d s o m a g n i f y his g o o d q u a l i t i e s with the eye of c o n j u g a l a f f e c t i o n , that the d e f e c t s of his p e r s o n a n d m a n n e r s s h o u l d b e lost in the e m a n a t i o n of his v i r t u e s . At a father's c o m m a n d , I c o u l d e m b r a c e poverty. W e r e the p o o r m a n my h u s b a n d , I w o u l d learn r e s i g n a t i o n to my lot; I w o u l d enliven o u r frugal m e a l with g o o d h u m o r , a n d c h a s e a w a y m i s f o r t u n e from o u r c o t t a g e with a s m i l e . At a father's c o m m a n d , I c o u l d a l m o s t s u b m i t , to w h a t every f e m a l e heart k n o w s to b e the m o s t mortifying, to marry a w e a k m a n , a n d b l u s h at my h u s b a n d ' s folly in every c o m p a n y I v i s i t e d . — B u t to m a r r y a d e p r a v e d w r e t c h , w h o s e only virtue is a p o l i s h e d exterior; w h o is a c t u a t e d by the u n m a n l y a m b i t i o n of c o n q u e r i n g t h e d e f e n c e l e s s ; w h o s e h e a r t , i n s e n s i b l e to the e m o t i o n s of p a t r i o t i s m , dilates at the p l a u d i t s of every u n t h i n k i n g girl: w h o s e l a u r e l s a r e the s i g h s a n d t e a r s o f the m i s e r a b l e v i c t i m s o f his s p e c i o u s b e h a v i o r . — C a n h e , w h o h a s n o r e g a r d for the p e a c e a n d h a p p i n e s s of o t h e r f a m i l i e s , ever have a d u e r e g a r d for the p e a c e a n d h a p p i n e s s o f his o w n ? W o u l d to h e a v e n that my f a t h e r w e r e not s o h a s t y in his t e m p e r ! S u r e l y , if I w e r e to s t a t e my r e a s o n s for d e c l i n i n g this m a t c h , he w o u l d not c o m p e l m e to m a r r y a m a n — w h o m , t h o u g h my lips m a y s o l e m n l y p r o m i s e to h o n o r , I find my heart m u s t ever d e s p i s e . [Exit.] SERVANT

VAN R O U G H

Act

Second

SCENE CHARLOTTE'S

[Enter

1.

apartment.

CHARLOTTE

and

LETITIA.]

[at entering] Betty, t a k e t h o s e t h i n g s o u t of the c a r r i a g e a n d carry t h e m to my c h a m b e r ; s e e that you don't t u m b l e 3 t h e m . — M y d e a r , I p r o t e s t , I think it w a s the h o m e l i e s t of the w h o l e . I d e c l a r e I w a s a l m o s t t e m p t e d to return a n d c h a n g e it. LETITIA W h y w o u l d you t a k e it? CHARLOTTE Didn't M r s . C a t g u t say it w a s the m o s t f a s h i o n a b l e ? LETITIA B u t , my d e a r , it will never sit b e c o m i n g l y o n y o u . CHARLOTTE I k n o w t h a t ; b u t did not you h e a r M r s . C a t g u t say it w a s fashionable? LETITIA D i d you s e e that s w e e t airy c a p with the white s p r i g ? CHARLOTTE Y e s , a n d I l o n g e d to t a k e it; b u t , my d e a r , w h a t c o u l d I d o ? — CHARLOTTE

3. Rumple, disorder.

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D i d not M r s . C a t g u t s a y it w a s the m o s t f a s h i o n a b l e ; a n d if I h a d n o t t a k e n it, w a s not t h a t a w k w a r d gawky, S a l l y S l e n d e r , ready to p u r c h a s e it i m m e d i a t e l y ? LETITIA D i d y o u o b s e r v e h o w s h e t u m b l e d over the t h i n g s at t h e next s h o p , a n d t h e n w e n t off w i t h o u t p u r c h a s i n g a n y t h i n g , n o r e v e n t h a n k i n g the p o o r m a n for his t r o u b l e ? — B u t o f all the a w k w a r d c r e a t u r e s , did you s e e M i s s B l o u z e , e n d e a v o r i n g to t h r u s t h e r u n m e r c i f u l a r m into t h o s e s m a l l kid g l o v e s ? CHARLOTTE

Ha,

ha,

ha,

ha!

T h e n did y o u t a k e n o t i c e , with w h a t a n a f f e c t e d w a r m t h of friends h i p s h e a n d M i s s W a s p m e t ? w h e n all their a c q u a i n t a n c e s k n o w h o w m u c h p l e a s u r e they t a k e in a b u s i n g e a c h o t h e r in every c o m p a n y ? CHARLOTTE L u d ! 4 L e t i t i a , is t h a t s o e x t r a o r d i n a r y ? W h y , m y d e a r , I h o p e y o u a r e n o t g o i n g to t u r n s e n t i m e n t a l i s t . — S c a n d a l , y o u k n o w , is b u t a m u s i n g o u r s e l v e s with the f a u l t s , f o i b l e s , follies, a n d r e p u t a t i o n s of o u r f r i e n d s ; — i n d e e d , I don't k n o w why w e s h o u l d h a v e f r i e n d s , if w e a r e n o t at liberty to m a k e u s e of t h e m . B u t n o p e r s o n is s o i g n o r a n t of t h e world a s to s u p p o s e , b e c a u s e I a m u s e m y s e l f with a lady's f a u l t s , t h a t I a m o b l i g e d to q u a r r e l with her p e r s o n , every t i m e w e m e e t ; b e l i e v e m e , my d e a r , w e s h o u l d h a v e very few a c q u a i n t a n c e s at t h a t r a t e . [ S E R V A N T enters and delivers a letter to C H A R L O T T E , and exits.] CHARLOTTE You'll e x c u s e m e , my d e a r . [O-pens and reads to herself.] LETITIA O h , quite excusable. CHARLOTTE A s I h o p e to b e m a r r i e d , m y b r o t h e r H e n r y is in the city. LETITIA What, your brother, Colonel Manly? CHARLOTTE Y e s , my d e a r ; the only b r o t h e r I h a v e in t h e world. LETITIA W a s h e never in this city? CHARLOTTE N e v e r n e a r e r t h a n H a r l e m H e i g h t s , 5 w h e r e h e lay with his regiment. LETITIA W h a t sort of a b e i n g is this b r o t h e r of y o u r s ? If h e is a s c h a t t y , a s pretty, a s sprightly a s y o u , h a l f t h e b e l l e s in t h e city will b e p u l l i n g c a p s 6 for h i m . CHARLOTTE M y b r o t h e r is the very c o u n t e r p a r t a n d r e v e r s e of m e : I a m gay, h e is g r a v e ; I a m airy, h e is s o l i d ; I a m e v e r s e l e c t i n g the m o s t p l e a s i n g o b j e c t s for my l a u g h t e r , h e h a s a tear for every pitiful o n e . A n d t h u s , whilst h e is p l u c k i n g the b r i a r s a n d t h o r n s f r o m the p a t h of the u n f o r t u n a t e , I a m s t r e w i n g o n m y o w n p a t h with r o s e s . LETITIA M y s w e e t friend, not q u i t e s o p o e t i c a l , a n d little m o r e p a r t i c u l a r . CHARLOTTE H a n d s off, L e t i t i a . I feel t h e r a g e o f s i m i l e 7 u p o n m e ; I can't talk to y o u in a n y o t h e r way. M y b r o t h e r h a s a h e a r t r e p l e t e with the n o b l e s t s e n t i m e n t s , b u t t h e n , it is l i k e — i t is l i k e — O h ! y o u p r o v o k i n g girl, y o u h a v e d e r a n g e d all m y i d e a s — i t is l i k e — O h ! I h a v e i t — h i s h e a r t is like a n old m a i d e n lady's b a n d - b o x ; 8 it c o n t a i n s m a n y c o s t l y t h i n g s , a r r a n g e d with t h e m o s t s c r u p u l o u s nicety, yet t h e m i s f o r t u n e is, that they a r e t o o d e l i c a t e , costly, a n d a n t i q u a t e d , for c o m m o n u s e .

LETITIA

4. I.e., Lord. 5. Then north of New York City and site of a Revolutionary War battle. 6. I.e., setting their caps.

7. I.e., desire to make poetic comparisons. 8. Cylindrical box for clothes: its lid was held on by a band of ribbon.

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By w h a t I c a n pick out of y o u r flowery d e s c r i p t i o n , y o u r b r o t h e r is no b e a u . CHARLOTTE N O , i n d e e d ; he m a k e s no p r e t e n s i o n to the c h a r a c t e r . H e ' d ride, or r a t h e r fly, a n h u n d r e d miles to relieve a d i s t r e s s e d o b j e c t , or to d o a g a l l a n t a c t in the service of his c o u n t r y : b u t , s h o u l d you d r o p y o u r fan or b o u q u e t in his p r e s e n c e , it is ten to o n e that s o m e b e a u at the farther e n d of the r o o m w o u l d have the h o n o r of p r e s e n t i n g it to y o u , b e f o r e he h a d o b s e r v e d that it fell. I'll tell you o n e o f his a n t i q u a t e d , antig a l l a n t n o t i o n s . — H e s a i d o n c e in my p r e s e n c e , in a r o o m full of c o m p a n y — w o u l d you believe i t — i n a large circle of l a d i e s , that the b e s t e v i d e n c e a g e n t l e m a n c o u l d give a y o u n g lady of his r e s p e c t a n d a f f e c t i o n , w a s , to e n d e a v o r in a friendly m a n n e r to rectify her f o i b l e s . I p r o t e s t I w a s c r i m s o n to the e y e s , u p o n reflecting that I w a s k n o w n a s his sister. LETITIA I n s u p p o r t a b l e c r e a t u r e ! tell a lady of her f a u l t s ! If h e is s o g r a v e , I fear I have no c h a n c e of c a p t i v a t i n g h i m . CHARLOTTE H i s c o n v e r s a t i o n is like a rich old f a s h i o n e d b r o c a d e , 9 it will s t a n d a l o n e ; every s e n t e n c e is a s e n t i m e n t . N o w you m a y j u d g e w h a t a t i m e I h a d with h i m in my twelve m o n t h s ' visit to my father. H e r e a d m e s u c h l e c t u r e s , o u t of p u r e brotherly a f f e c t i o n , a g a i n s t the e x t r e m e s of f a s h i o n , d r e s s , flirting, a n d c o q u e t r y , a n d all the o t h e r d e a r t h i n g s w h i c h he k n o w s I d o a t u p o n , that, I p r o t e s t , his c o n v e r s a t i o n m a d e m e a s mela n c h o l y a s if I h a d b e e n at c h u r c h ; a n d h e a v e n k n o w s , t h o u g h I never p r a y e d to g o t h e r e b u t on o n e o c c a s i o n , yet I w o u l d have e x c h a n g e d his c o n v e r s a t i o n for a p s a l m a n d a s e r m o n . C h u r c h is rather m e l a n c h o l y , to b e s u r e ; but then I c a n o g l e the b e a u x , a n d b e r e g a l e d with " h e r e e n d e t h the first l e s s o n " ; but his brotherly here, you w o u l d think h a d n o e n d . You c a p t i v a t e him! W h y , my d e a r , he w o u l d a s s o o n fall in love with a box of Italian flowers. T h e r e is M a r i a now, if s h e w e r e not e n g a g e d , s h e m i g h t d o s o m e t h i n g . — O h , h o w I s h o u l d like to s e e that pair of p e n s o r o s o s 1 t o g e t h e r , looking a s grave a s two s a i l o r s ' wives of a s t o r m y night, with a flow of s e n t i m e n t m e a n d e r i n g t h r o u g h their c o n v e r s a t i o n like p u r l i n g s t r e a m s in m o d e r n poetry. LETITIA

O h ! my d e a r f a n c i f u l — H u s h ! I h e a r s o m e p e r s o n c o m i n g t h r o u g h the entry, i [Enter S E R V A N T . ] SERVANT M a d a m , there's a g e n t l e m a n b e l o w w h o calls h i m s e l f C o l o n e l M a n l y ; d o you c h u s e to be at h o m e ? CHARLOTTE S h e w h i m in. [Exit S E R V A N T . ] N O W for a s o b e r f a c e . [Enter C O L O N E L M A N L Y . ] MANLY M y d e a r C h a r l o t t e , I a m h a p p y that I o n c e m o r e e n f o l d you within the a r m s of fraternal affection. I know you a r e g o i n g to a s k ( a m i a b l e i m p a t i e n c e ! ) h o w o u r p a r e n t s d o , — t h e v e n e r a b l e pair t r a n s m i t you their b l e s s i n g by m e — t h e y totter on the verge of a w e l l - s p e n t life, a n d wish only to s e e their c h i l d r e n settled in the world, to d e p a r t in p e a c e . CHARLOTTE I a m very h a p p y to h e a r that they a r e well. [Coolly.] B r o t h e r , will you give m e leave to i n t r o d u c e you to o u r u n c l e ' s w a r d , o n e of my most intimate friends. LETITIA

CHARLOTTE

9 . Rich stiff fabric. I. Melancholy, thoughtful people (from the title

of John Milton's poem about such a person, "II Penseroso").

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[saluting L E T I T I A ] I o u g h t to r e g a r d your f r i e n d s a s m y o w n . C o m e , L e t i t i a , d o give u s a little d a s h o f y o u r vivacity; m y b r o t h e r is s o s e n t i m e n t a l , a n d s o g r a v e , t h a t I p r o t e s t he'll give u s t h e vapors.2 MANLY T h o u g h s e n t i m e n t a n d gravity, I k n o w , a r e b a n i s h e d the p o l i t e world, yet, I h o p e d , they m i g h t find s o m e c o u n t e n a n c e in t h e m e e t i n g o f s u c h n e a r c o n n e c t i o n s a s b r o t h e r a n d sister. CHARLOTTE Positively, b r o t h e r , if you g o o n e s t e p further in this s t r a i n , y o u will set m e crying, a n d t h a t , you know, w o u l d spoil m y e y e s ; a n d t h e n I s h o u l d never g e t the h u s b a n d w h i c h o u r g o o d p a p a a n d m a m m a h a v e s o kindly w i s h e d m e — n e v e r b e e s t a b l i s h e d in the world. MANLY F o r g i v e m e , my s i s t e r — I a m n o e n e m y to m i r t h ; I love y o u r s p r i g h t l i n e s s ; a n d I h o p e it will o n e day enliven t h e h o u r s o f s o m e worthy m a n ; b u t w h e n I m e n t i o n t h e r e s p e c t a b l e a u t h o r s o f my e x i s t e n c e , — t h e c h e r i s h e r s a n d p r o t e c t o r s of my h e l p l e s s infancy, w h o s e h e a r t s glow with s u c h f o n d n e s s a n d a t t a c h m e n t , that they w o u l d willingly lay d o w n their lives for m y w e l f a r e , you will e x c u s e m e , if I a m s o u n f a s h i o n a b l e a s to s p e a k o f t h e m with s o m e d e g r e e o f r e s p e c t a n d r e v e r e n c e . CHARLOTTE W e l l , well, b r o t h e r ; if you won't b e gay, we'll n o t differ; I will b e a s grave a s you w i s h . [Affects gravity.] A n d s o , b r o t h e r , y o u h a v e c o m e to the city to e x c h a n g e s o m e o f y o u r c o m m u t a t i o n n o t e s ' for a little pleasure. MANLY I n d e e d , you a r e m i s t a k e n ; my e r r a n d is not of a m u s e m e n t , b u t b u s i n e s s ; a n d a s I n e i t h e r drink n o r g a m e , m y e x p e n c e s will b e s o trivial, I shall h a v e n o o c c a s i o n to sell my n o t e s . CHARLOTTE T h e n you won't h a v e o c c a s i o n to d o a very g o o d t h i n g . W h y , there was the Vermont General-—he c a m e down s o m e time since, sold all his m u s t y n o t e s at o n e s t r o k e , a n d t h e n laid the c a s h o u t in trinkets for his d e a r F a n n y . I w a n t a d o z e n pretty t h i n g s myself; h a v e y o u got the n o t e s with y o u ? MANLY I shall b e ever willing to c o n t r i b u t e a s far a s it is in m y p o w e r , to a d o r n , or in a n y way to p l e a s e m y sister; yet, I h o p e , I shall n e v e r b e o b l i g e d for this, to sell my n o t e s . I m a y b e r o m a n t i c , b u t I p r e s e r v e t h e m a s a s a c r e d d e p o s i t . T h e i r full a m o u n t is j u s t l y d u e to m e , b u t a s e m b a r r a s s m e n t s , t h e n a t u r a l c o n s e q u e n c e s of a l o n g w a r , d i s a b l e m y c o u n t r y f r o m s u p p o r t i n g its c r e d i t , I shall wait with p a t i e n c e until it is rich e n o u g h to d i s c h a r g e t h e m . If that is n o t in m y day, t h e y shall b e t r a n s m i t t e d a s a n h o n o r a b l e certificate to posterity, t h a t I h a v e h u m b l y imit a t e d o u r i l l u s t r i o u s W A S H I N G T O N , in h a v i n g e x p o s e d m y h e a l t h a n d life in t h e s e r v i c e of m y c o u n t r y , w i t h o u t r e a p i n g a n y o t h e r r e w a r d t h a n the glory of c o n q u e r i n g in s o a r d u o u s a c o n t e s t . CHARLOTTE W e l l s a i d h e r o i c s . W h y , my d e a r H e n r y , y o u h a v e s u c h a lofty w a y of s a y i n g t h i n g s , t h a t I p r o t e s t I a l m o s t t r e m b l e at t h e t h o u g h t of i n t r o d u c i n g you to the polite c i r c l e s in t h e city. T h e b e l l e s w o u l d t h i n k you w e r e a p l a y e r 4 r u n m a d , with y o u r h e a d filled with old s c r a p s of tragedy: a n d , a s to t h e b e a u x , they m i g h t a d m i r e , b e c a u s e t h e y w o u l d n o t u n d e r s t a n d y o u . — B u t , h o w e v e r , I m u s t , I b e l i e v e , v e n t u r e to i n t r o d u c e you to two or t h r e e l a d i e s of my a c q u a i n t a n c e . MANLY

CHARLOTTE

2. I.e., depress us. 3. Notes given to Continental Army officers after the Revolution, promising payment of a pension

when the notes c a m e d u e ; they could be cashed in earlier, for less than the face amount. 4. Actor.

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A n d t h a t will m a k e him a c q u a i n t e d with thirty or forty b e a u x . O h ! b r o t h e r , you don't k n o w w h a t a f u n d o f h a p p i n e s s you have in s t o r e . MANLY I fear, sister, I h a v e not r e f i n e m e n t sufficient to e n j o y it. CHARLOTTE O h ! y o u c a n n o t fail b e i n g p l e a s e d . LETITIA O u r ladies are so delicate and dressy. CHARLOTTE And our beaux so dressy and delicate. LETITIA O u r l a d i e s c h a t a n d flirt s o a g r e e a b l y . CHARLOTTE A n d o u r b e a u x s i m p e r a n d b o w s o gracefully. LETITIA W i t h their hair s o trim a n d n e a t . CHARLOTTE A n d their f a c e s s o soft a n d s l e e k . LETITIA T h e i r b u c k l e s s o t o n i s h 5 a n d bright. CHARLOTTE A n d their h a n d s s o s l e n d e r a n d w h i t e . LETITIA I vow, C h a r l o t t e , w e a r e q u i t e p o e t i c a l . CHARLOTTE A n d t h e n , b r o t h e r , the f a c e s of the b e a u x a r e o f s u c h a lily white h u e ! N o n e of that horrid r o b u s t n e s s of c o n s t i t u t i o n , t h a t v u l g a r corn-fed glow of h e a l t h , w h i c h c a n only serve to a l a r m a n u n m a r r i e d lady with a p p r e h e n s i o n s , a n d p r o v e a m e l a n c h o l y m e m e n t o to a m a r r i e d o n e , that s h e c a n never h o p e for the h a p p i n e s s of b e i n g a w i d o w . I will s a y this to the c r e d i t o f o u r city b e a u x , t h a t s u c h is the d e l i c a c y of their c o m p l e x i o n , d r e s s , a n d a d d r e s s , t h a t , even h a d I n o r e l i a n c e u p o n t h e h o n o r of the d e a r A d o n i s e s , 6 I w o u l d trust m y s e l f in any p o s s i b l e s i t u a t i o n with t h e m , w i t h o u t the least a p p r e h e n s i o n s o f r u d e n e s s . MANLY Sister Charlotte! CHARLOTTE N O W , n o w , n o w b r o t h e r [interrupting him], n o w don't g o to spoil m y mirth with a d a s h of your gravity; I a m s o g l a d to s e e y o u , I a m in tip-top spirits. O h ! that you c o u l d b e with u s at a little s n u g party. T h e r e is Billy S i m p e r , J a c k C h a s s e , a n d C o l o n e l V a n T i t t e r , M i s s Prom o n a d e , a n d the two M i s s T a m b o u r s , s o m e t i m e s m a k e a party, with s o m e other l a d i e s , in a s i d e - b o x 7 at the play. E v e r y t h i n g is c o n d u c t e d with s u c h d e c o r u m , — f i r s t w e b o w r o u n d to the c o m p a n y in g e n e r a l , t h e n to e a c h o n e in p a r t i c u l a r , t h e n w e h a v e s o m a n y i n q u i r i e s after e a c h other's h e a l t h , a n d w e a r e s o h a p p y to m e e t with e a c h o t h e r , a n d it is s o m a n y a g e s s i n c e w e last h a d that p l e a s u r e , a n d , if a m a r r i e d lady is in c o m p a n y , w e h a v e s u c h a s w e e t d i s s e r t a t i o n u p o n her s o n B o b b y ' s c h i n c o u g h , then the c u r t a i n r i s e s , t h e n o u r sensibility" is all a w a k e , a n d t h e n by t h e m e r e force o f a p p r e h e n s i o n , w e t o r t u r e s o m e h a r m l e s s e x p r e s s i o n into a d o u b l e m e a n i n g , w h i c h the p o o r a u t h o r never d r e a m t of, a n d t h e n w e h a v e r e c o u r s e to o u r f a n s , a n d t h e n w e b l u s h , a n d t h e n t h e g e n t l e m e n j o g o n e a n o t h e r , p e e p u n d e r the f a n , a n d m a k e the p r e t t i e s t r e m a r k s ; a n d t h e n w e g i g g l e a n d they s i m p e r , a n d they g i g g l e a n d w e s i m p e r , a n d then t h e c u r t a i n d r o p s , a n d t h e n for n u t s a n d o r a n g e s , a n d t h e n w e b o w , a n d it's pray M a ' a m t a k e it, a n d pray S i r k e e p it, a n d o h ! not for the w o r l d , Sir: a n d t h e n the c u r t a i n rises a g a i n , a n d t h e n w e b l u s h , a n d g i g g l e , a n d s i m p e r , a n d b o w , all over a g a i n . O h ! t h e s e n t i m e n t a l c h a r m s of a side-box c o n v e r s a t i o n ! [All laugh.] M A N L Y . W e l l , sister, I j o i n heartily with y o u in the l a u g h ; for, in my o p i n LETITIA

CHARLOTTE

5. Smart, fashionable (from the French ton). 6. I.e., handsome youths, named for the beautiful young man beloved by Venus in classical myth. "Address": bearing.

7. Fashionable box seats, near the stage. 8. Responsiveness. "Chin-cough": whooping cough.

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ion, it is a s j u s t i f i a b l e to l a u g h at folly, a s it is r e p r e h e n s i b l e to ridicule misfortune. CHARLOTTE. W e l l , b u t b r o t h e r , positively, I can't i n t r o d u c e you in t h e s e c l o t h e s : why, your c o a t looks a s if it w e r e c a l c u l a t e d for t h e v u l g a r p u r p o s e of k e e p i n g y o u r s e l f c o m f o r t a b l e . M A N L Y . T h i s c o a t w a s my r e g i m e n t a l c o a t in the late war. T h e p u b l i c t u m u l t s of o u r s t a t e 9 h a v e i n d u c e d m e to b u c k l e o n the s w o r d in s u p p o r t of that g o v e r n m e n t w h i c h I o n c e f o u g h t to e s t a b l i s h . I c a n only say, sister, that t h e r e w a s a t i m e w h e n this c o a t w a s r e s p e c t a b l e , a n d s o m e p e o p l e even t h o u g h t that t h o s e m e n w h o h a d e n d u r e d s o m a n y winter c a m p a i g n s in the s e r v i c e of their c o u n t r y , w i t h o u t b r e a d , c l o t h i n g , or pay, at least d e s e r v e d that t h e poverty of their a p p e a r a n c e s h o u l d not b e ridiculed. CHARLOTTE. W e a g r e e in o p i n i o n entirely, b r o t h e r , t h o u g h it w o u l d n o t have d o n e for m e to have s a i d it: it is the c o a t m a k e s the m a n r e s p e c t a b l e . In the t i m e of the war, w h e n w e w e r e a l m o s t f r i g h t e n e d to d e a t h , w h y , y o u r c o a t w a s r e s p e c t a b l e , t h a t is, f a s h i o n a b l e ; n o w a n o t h e r kind o f c o a t is f a s h i o n a b l e , that is, r e s p e c t a b l e . A n d pray direct the taylor to m a k e y o u r s the height of the f a s h i o n . M A N L Y . T h o u g h it is of little c o n s e q u e n c e to m e of w h a t s h a p e my c o a t is, yet, a s to the h e i g h t of the f a s h i o n , t h e r e y o u will p l e a s e to e x c u s e m e , sister. You k n o w my s e n t i m e n t s on that s u b j e c t . I h a v e often l a m e n t e d the a d v a n t a g e w h i c h the F r e n c h h a v e over u s in the p a r t i c u l a r . In P a r i s , the f a s h i o n s have their d a w n i n g s , their r o u t i n e a n d d e c l e n s i o n s , 1 a n d d e p e n d a s m u c h u p o n the c a p r i c e of the d a y a s in o t h e r c o u n t r i e s ; but t h e r e every lady a s s u m e s a right to d e v i a t e f r o m the g e n e r a l ton, a s far a s will be of a d v a n t a g e to her own a p p e a r a n c e . In A m e r i c a , the cry is, w h a t is the f a s h i o n ? a n d we follow it, i n d i s c r i m i n a t e l y , b e c a u s e it is s o . CHARLOTTE. T h e r e f o r e it is, that w h e n large h o o p s a r e in f a s h i o n , we often s e e m a n y a p l u m p girl lost in the i m m e n s i t y of a h o o p p e t t i c o a t , w h o s e w a n t of height a n d em-bon-point2 w o u l d never h a v e b e e n r e m a r k e d in a n y other d r e s s . W h e n the high h e a d - d r e s s is the m o d e , h o w then d o we s e e a lofty c u s h i o n , with a p r o f u s i o n o f g a u z e , f e a t h e r s , a n d r i b b a n d , s u p p o r t e d by a f a c e no b i g g e r t h a n a n a p p l e ; whilst a b r o a d full-faced lady, w h o really w o u l d have a p p e a r e d tolerably h a n d s o m e in a large h e a d d r e s s , looks with her s m a r t chapeau* a s m a s c u l i n e a s a soldier. MANLY. B u t r e m e m b e r , my d e a r sister, a n d I w i s h all my fair countryw o m e n w o u l d r e c o l l e c t , that the only e x c u s e a y o u n g lady c a n have for g o i n g extravagantly into a f a s h i o n , is, b e c a u s e it m a k e s her look extravagantly h a n d s o m e . — L a d i e s , I m u s t wish you a g o o d m o r n i n g . CHARLOTTE B u t , b r o t h e r , you a r e g o i n g to m a k e h o m e with u s . MANLY I n d e e d , I c a n n o t . I have s e e n my u n c l e , a n d e x p l a i n e d t h a t m a t t e r . CHARLOTTE C o m e a n d d i n e with u s , t h e n . W e h a v e a family d i n n e r a b o u t half p a s t four o'clock. 9. T h e young nation's problems, especially the financial ones, were by no means solved by the Revolution. Manly may be referring specifically to Shays's Rebellion (I 7 8 7 ) in Massachusetts. Daniel Shays, a war veteran, led an armed protest against high taxes and the lack of paper money; it was

quickly put dow n by the militia, of w hich Tyler was at the time a member. 1. I.e., pattern and fall. 2. Stoutness. "Want": lack. 3. Hat.

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I a m e n g a g e d to d i n e with the S p a n i s h a m b a s s a d o r . I w a s introd u c e d to h i m by a n old brother officer; a n d i n s t e a d of freezing m e with a c o l d c a r d of compliment" 1 to d i n e with h i m ten d a y s h e n c e , h e , with the true old C a s t i l i a n f r a n k n e s s , in a friendly m a n n e r , a s k e d m e to d i n e with h i m t o - d a y — a n h o n o r I c o u l d not r e f u s e . S i s t e r , a d i e u — M a d a m , your most obedient—[Exit.] CHARLOTTE I will wait u p o n you to the d o o r , b r o t h e r ; I h a v e s o m e t h i n g p a r t i c u l a r to s a y to y o u . [Exit.] LETITIA [alone] W h a t a p a i r ! — S h e the pink of flirtation, h e the e s s e n c e o f everything that is outre* a n d g l o o m y . — I think I have c o m p l e t e l y d e c e i v e d C h a r l o t t e by my m a n n e r of s p e a k i n g of M r . D i m p l e ; s h e ' s t o o m u c h the friend of M a r i a to b e c o n f i d e d in. H e is c e r t a i n l y r e n d e r i n g h i m s e l f d i s a g r e e a b l e to M a r i a , in o r d e r to b r e a k with her a n d proffer his h a n d to m e . T h i s is w h a t the d e l i c a t e fellow h i n t e d in o u r last convers a t i o n . [Exit.] MANLY

SCENE

2

The Mall. [Enter J E S S A M Y . ] Positively this M a l l is a very pretty p l a c e . I h o p e the city won't ruin it by repairs. T o be s u r e , it won't d o to s p e a k of in the s a m e day with R a n e l a g h or V a u x h a l l ; 6 however, it's a fine p l a c e for a y o u n g fellow to display his p e r s o n to a d v a n t a g e . I n d e e d , n o t h i n g is lost h e r e ; the girls have t a s t e , a n d I a m very h a p p y to find they have a d o p t e d the e l e g a n t L o n d o n f a s h i o n of l o o k i n g b a c k , after a g e n t e e l fellow like m e h a s p a s s e d t h e m . Ah! w h o c o m e s h e r e ! T h i s , by his a w k w a r d n e s s , m u s t b e the Yank e e c o l o n e l ' s servant. I'll a c c o s t h i m . [Enter J O N A T H A N . ] Votre tres—humble serviteur, M o n s i e u r . 7 I u n d e r s t a n d C o l o n e l M a n l v , the Y a n k e e officer, h a s the h o n o r of your s e r v i c e s . JONATHAN Sir!— JESSAMY I say, Sir, I u n d e r s t a n d that C o l o n e l M a n l y h a s the h o n o r o f h a v i n g you for a s e r v a n t . JONATHAN S e r v a n t ! Sir, d o you t a k e m e for a n e g e r , — I a m C o l o n e l M a n l y ' s waiter.8 JESSAMY A true Y a n k e e distinction e g a d , w i t h o u t a d i f f e r e n c e . W h y , Sir, do you not p e r f o r m all the offices of a s e r v a n t ? D o you not even b l a c k e n his b o o t s ? JONATHAN Y e s ; I d o g r e a s e t h e m a bit s o m e t i m e s ; but 1 a m a true b l u e s o n of liberty, for all that. F a t h e r s a i d I s h o u l d c o m e a s C o l o n e l M a n l y ' s waiter to s e e the world, a n d all that; but no m a n shall m a s t e r m e : my father h a s a s g o o d a f a r m a s the c o l o n e l . JESSAMY W e l l , Sir, w e will not q u a r r e l a b o u t t e r m s u p o n the eve of a n a c q u a i n t a n c e , from w h i c h I p r o m i s e m y s e l f s o m u c h s a t i s f a c t i o n , — t h e r e f o r e sans ceremonie^— JESSAMY

4. Invitation card. 5. Bizarre (French). 6. London pleasure gardens.

7 . Your very humble servant, sir (French). 8 . Valet, manservant. 9 . Without ceremony (French).

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What?—

I say, I a m e x t r e m e l y h a p p y to s e e C o l o n e l M a n l y ' s w a i t e r . JONATHAN W e l l , a n d I vow, t o o , I a m pretty c o n s i d e r a b l y g l a d to s e e y o u — b u t w h a t the d o g s n e e d of all this o u t l a n d i s h l i n g o ? W h o m a y y o u b e , Sir, if I m a y b e s o b o l d ? JESSAMY I h a v e t h e h o n o r to b e M r . D i m p l e ' s s e r v a n t , or, if y o u p l e a s e , waiter. W e l o d g e u n d e r t h e s a m e roof, a n d s h o u l d b e g l a d of the h o n o r of your a c q u a i n t a n c e . JONATHAN You a waiter! B y the living j i n g o , y o u look s o t o p p i n g , I t o o k you for o n e of the a g e n t s to C o n g r e s s . 1 JESSAMY T h e b r u t e h a s d i s c e r n m e n t n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g his a p p e a r a n c e . — G i v e m e l e a v e to s a y I w o n d e r t h e n at y o u r familiarity. JONATHAN W h y , a s to t h e m a t t e r of t h a t , M r . — p r a y , w h a t ' s y o u r n a m e ? JESSAMY J e s s a m y , at y o u r s e r v i c e . JONATHAN W h y , I s w e a r w e don't m a k e a n y g r e a t m a t t e r o f d i s t i n c t i o n in o u r s t a t e , b e t w e e n quality a n d o t h e r folks. JESSAMY T h i s is, i n d e e d , a leveling p r i n c i p l e . I h o p e , M r . J o n a t h a n , y o u h a v e n o t t a k e n part with the i n s u r g e n t s . JONATHAN W h y , s i n c e G e n e r a l S h a y s h a s s n e a k e d off, a n d given u s the b a g to h o l d , I don't c a r e to give my o p i n i o n ; b u t you'll p r o m i s e n o t to t e l l — p u t y o u r e a r this w a y — y o u won't t e l l ? — I vow, I did t h i n k the sturg e o n s 2 w e r e right. JESSAMY I thought, Mr. J o n a t h a n , you M a s s a c h u s e t t s m e n always argued with a g u n in y o u r h a n d . — W h y didn't y o u j o i n t h e m ? JONATHAN W h y , the c o l o n e l is o n e o f t h o s e folks c a l l e d the S h i n — s h i n — d a n g it all, I c a n ' t s p e a k t h e m lignum vitae w o r d s — y o u k n o w w h o I m e a n — t h e r e is a c o m p a n y of t h e m — t h e y w e a r a C h i n a g o o s e at their b u t t o n h o l e — a kind o f gilt t h i n g . 3 — N o w t h e c o l o n e l told f a t h e r a n d b r o t h e r , — y o u m u s t k n o w t h e r e a r e , let m e s e e — t h e r e is E l n a t h a n , S i l a s , and Barnabas, T a b i t h a — n o , no, she's a she—tarnation, now I have it— there's E l n a t h a n , S i l a s , B a r n a b a s , J o n a t h a n , that's I — s e v e n of u s , six w e n t into the w a r s , a n d I s t a i d at h o m e to t a k e c a r e of m o t h e r . C o l o n e l s a i d that it w a s b u r n i n g s h a m e for the t r u e b l u e B u n k e r - h i l l s o n s of liberty, w h o h a d f o u g h t G o v e r n o r H u t c h i n s o n , L o r d N o r t h , 4 a n d the Devil, to h a v e a n y h a n d in k i c k i n g u p a c u r s e d d u s t a g a i n s t a g o v e r n m e n t , w h i c h we h a d every m o t h e r ' s s o n o f u s a h a n d in m a k i n g . JESSAMY B r a v o ! — W e l l , h a v e y o u b e e n a b r o a d in the city s i n c e y o u r arrival? W h a t h a v e you s e e n t h a t is c u r i o u s a n d e n t e r t a i n i n g ? JONATHAN O h ! I h a v e s e e n a p o w e r o f fine s i g h t s . I w e n t to s e e two m a r b l e s t o n e m e n a n d a l e a d e n h o r s e , t h a t s t a n d s o u t in d o o r s in all w e a t h e r s ; a n d w h e n I c a m e w h e r e they w a s , o n e h a d got n o h e a d , a n d t'other wer'nt t h e r e . T h e y s a i d a s h o w the l e a d e n m a n w a s a d a m n ' d tory, 5 a n d t h a t h e t o o k wit in his a n g e r a n d r o d e off in the t i m e o f the t r o u b l e s . JESSAMY

1. Ambassador. 2. Jonathan's awkward mispronunciation of J e s samy's insurgents, above; being from M a s s a c h u setts, he is on Shays's side. 3. T h e badge of the Society of the Cincinnati, a Revolutionary officers fraternal group, was a gold eagle. "Lignum vitae": staff of life (Latin, literal trans.); here, the tough wood of a tropical tree

recently introduced into New England. 4. Lord Frederick North was prime minister of England from 1 7 7 0 to 1 7 8 2 . Bunker Hill, then outside of Boston, was the site of the first engagement in the Revolution. T h o m a s Hutchinson was British governor of M a s s a c h u s e t t s from 1771 to 1774. 5. British loyalist.

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B u t this w a s not the e n d of y o u r e x c u r s i o n . O h , n o ; I w e n t to a p l a c e they call Holy G r o u n d . N o w I c o u n t e d this w a s a p l a c e w h e r e folks g o to m e e t i n g , 6 s o I p u t m y h y m n b o o k in my p o c k e t , a n d w a l k e d softly a n d grave a s a m i n i s t e r ; a n d w h e n I c a m e t h e r e , the d o g s a bit of a m e e t i n g - h o u s e c o u l d I s e e . At last I s p i e d a y o u n g g e n t l e w o m a n s t a n d i n g by o n e of the s e a t s , w h i c h they h a v e h e r e at the d o o r s — I t o o k her to b e the d e a c o n ' s d a u g h t e r , a n d s h e l o o k e d s o kind, a n d s o obliging, t h a t I t h o u g h t I w o u l d g o a n d a s k h e r t h e w a y to l e c t u r e , a n d w o u l d you think i t — s h e c a l l e d m e d e a r , a n d s w e e t i n g , a n d h o n e y , j u s t a s if we w e r e m a r r i e d ; by the living j i n g o , I h a d a m o n t h ' s m i n d to b u s s 7 her. JESSAMY W e l l , b u t how did it e n d ? JONATHAN W h y , a s I w a s s t a n d i n g talking with her, a p a r c e l of sailor m e n a n d boys got r o u n d m e , the snarl h e a d e d c u r s fell a-kicking a n d c u r s i n g of m e at s u c h a t a r n a l 8 r a t e , that, I vow, I w a s g l a d to t a k e to my h e e l s a n d split h o m e , right off, tail o n e n d like a s t r e a m o f c h a l k . JESSAMY W h y , my d e a r friend, you a r e not a c q u a i n t e d with the city; that girl you s a w w a s a—[Whispers.] JONATHAN M e r c y o n my s o u l ! w a s that y o u n g w o m a n a h a r l o t ! — W e l l , if this is N e w York Holy G r o u n d , w h a t m u s t the Holy-day G r o u n d b e ! JESSAMY W e l l , you s h o u l d not j u d g e of the city t o o rashly. W e have a n u m b e r of e l e g a n t fine girls h e r e , that m a k e a m a n ' s l e i s u r e h o u r s p a s s very a g r e e a b l y . I w o u l d e s t e e m it a n h o n o r to a n n o u n c e 9 you to s o m e of t h e m . — G a d ! that a n n o u n c e is a s e l e c t w o r d ; I w o n d e r w h e r e I p i c k e d it up. JONATHAN I don't w a n t to k n o w t h e m . JESSAMY C o m e , c o m e , my d e a r friend, I s e e t h a t I m u s t a s s u m e the h o n o r of b e i n g the d i r e c t o r of y o u r a m u s e m e n t s . N a t u r e h a s given u p p a s s i o n s , a n d y o u t h a n d o p p o r t u n i t y s t i m u l a t e to gratify t h e m . It is n o s h a m e , my d e a r B l u e s k i n , 1 for a m a n to a m u s e h i m s e l f with a little gallantry. JONATHAN Girl huntry! I don't a l t o g e t h e r u n d e r s t a n d . I never p l a y e d at that g a m e . I k n o w h o w to play h u n t the squirrel, b u t I c a n ' t play a n y t h i n g with the girls; I a m a s g o o d a s m a r r i e d . JESSAMY V u l g a r , horrid b r u t e ! M a r r i e d , a n d a b o v e a h u n d r e d m i l e s f r o m his wife, a n d think that a n o b j e c t i o n to his m a k i n g love to every w o m a n he m e e t s ! H e never c a n have r e a d , n o , h e never c a n h a v e b e e n in a r o o m with a v o l u m e of the divine C h e s t e r f i e l d . — S o you a r e m a r r i e d ? JONATHAN N o , I don't s a y s o ; I s a i d I w a s a s g o o d a s m a r r i e d , a kind of promise. JESSAMY As good as married!— JONATHAN W h y , y e s ; there's T a b i t h a W y m e n , t h e d e a c o n ' s d a u g h t e r , at h o m e , s h e a n d I h a v e b e e n c o u r t i n g a g r e a t w h i l e , a n d folks s a y a s h o w w e a r e to b e m a r r i e d ; a n d s o I b r o k e a p i e c e of m o n e y with her w h e n w e p a r t e d , 2 a n d s h e p r o m i s e d not to s p a r k it with S o l o m o n Dyer while I a m g o n e . You w o u l d n ' t h a v e m e f a l s e to my t r u e love, w o u l d y o u ? JESSAMY

JONATHAN

6. Church service. "Holy Ground": New York's whorehouse district, apparently so called b e c a u s e Trinity Church owned much of the land. 7. Kiss. 8. Mild oath (from eternal). "Parcel": pack.

9 . Present. 1. I.e., Yankee (from the blue of the Revolutionary Army uniform); also, possibly, mulatto. 2. A country custom: a coin was broken by a parting couple, and each kept one of the pieces.

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M a y b e you have a n o t h e r r e a s o n for c o n s t a n c y ; p o s s i b l y the y o u n g lady h a s a f o r t u n e ? H a ! M r . J o n a t h a n , the solid c h a r m s ; the c h a i n s of love a r e never s o b i n d i n g a s w h e n the links a r e m a d e of g o l d . JONATHAN W h y , a s to f o r t u n e , I m u s t n e e d s say h e r father is pretty d u m b rich; h e w e n t r e p r e s e n t a t i v e for o u r town last year. H e will give h e r — l e t m e s e e — f o u r t i m e s s e v e n i s — s e v e n t i m e s f o u r — n o u g h t a n d carry o n e ; — h e will give her twenty a c r e s of l a n d — s o m e w h a t rocky t h o u g h — a B i b l e , and a cow. JESSAMY T w e n t y a c r e s of rock, a B i b l e , a n d a c o w ! W h y , my d e a r M r . J o n a t h a n , w e have s e r v a n t m a i d s , or, a s you w o u l d m o r e e l e g a n t l y e x p r e s s it, w a i t ' r e s s e s , in this city, w h o collect m o r e in o n e year f r o m their m i s tress' c a s t ' clothes. JESSAMY

You don't s a y s o ! — Y e s , a n d I'll i n t r o d u c e you to o n e of t h e m . T h e r e is a little l u m p of flesh a n d d e l i c a c y that lives at next d o o r , wait'ress to M i s s M a r i a ; w e often s e e her on the s t o o p . JONATHAN B u t a r e you s u r e s h e w o u l d b e c o u r t e d by m e ? JESSAMY N e v e r d o u b t it; r e m e m b e r a faint h e a r t n e v e r 4 — b l i s t e r s of my t o n g u e — I w a s g o i n g to b e guilty o f a vile p r o v e r b ; flat a g a i n s t t h e a u t h o r ity of C h e s t e r f i e l d . — I s a y t h e r e c a n b e n o d o u b t , that t h e brilliancy of y o u r merit will s e c u r e you a f a v o r a b l e r e c e p t i o n . JONATHAN W e l l , b u t w h a t m u s t I say to h e r ? JESSAMY S a y to her! why, my d e a r friend, t h o u g h I a d m i r e y o u r p r o f o u n d k n o w l e d g e o n every o t h e r s u b j e c t , yet, you will p a r d o n my s a y i n g , t h a t your w a n t of o p p o r t u n i t y h a s m a d e the f e m a l e h e a r t e s c a p e the p o i g n a n c y of your p e n e t r a t i o n . S a y to h e r ! — W h y , w h e n a m a n g o e s a - c o u r t i n g , a n d h o p e s for s u c c e s s , he m u s t b e g i n with d o i n g , a n d not s a y i n g . JONATHAN Well, what must I do? JESSAMY W h y , w h e n you a r e i n t r o d u c e d you m u s t m a k e five or six e l e g a n t bows. JONATHAN Six e l e g a n t b o w s ! I u n d e r s t a n d t h a t ; six, you say? W e l l — JESSAMY T h e n you m u s t p r e s s a n d kiss her h a n d ; t h e n p r e s s a n d k i s s , a n d s o on to her lips a n d c h e e k s ; t h e n talk a s m u c h a s you c a n a b o u t h e a r t s , d a r t s , f l a m e s , n e c t a r a n d a m b r o s i a — t h e m o r e i n c o h e r e n t the b e t t e r . JONATHAN W e l l , but s u p p o s e s h e s h o u l d b e angry with I? JESSAMY W h y , if s h e s h o u l d p r e t e n d — p l e a s e to o b s e r v e , M r . J o n a t h a n — if s h e s h o u l d p r e t e n d to b e o f f e n d e d , you m u s t — B u t I'll tell you how my m a s t e r a c t e d in s u c h a c a s e : H e w a s s e a t e d by a y o u n g lady of e i g h t e e n u p o n a s o f a , p l u c k i n g with a w a n t o n h a n d the b l o o m i n g s w e e t s of youth a n d b e a u t y . W h e n the lady t h o u g h t it n e c e s s a r y to c h e c k his a r d o r , s h e c a l l e d u p a frown u p o n her lovely f a c e , s o irresistably a l l u r i n g , that it w o u l d have w a r m e d the frozen b o s o m of a g e : r e m e m b e r , s a i d s h e , p u t t i n g her d e l i c a t e a r m u p o n his, r e m e m b e r y o u r c h a r a c t e r a n d my h o n o r . M y m a s t e r instantly d r o p p e d u p o n his k n e e s , with e y e s s w i m m i n g with love, c h e e k s g l o w i n g with d e s i r e , a n d in the g e n t l e s t m o d u l a t i o n of v o i c e , h e s a i d — M y d e a r C a r o l i n e , in a few m o n t h s o u r h a n d s will b e i n d i s s o l u b l y u n i t e d at the altar; o u r h e a r t s I feel a r e a l r e a d y s o — t h e favors you n o w g r a n t a s e v i d e n c e of your a f f e c t i o n , a r e favors i n d e e d ; yet w h e n the cer-

JONATHAN JESSAMY

3. I.e.. cast-off.

4 . I.e., a faint heart never won a fair lady.

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e m o n y is o n c e p a s t , w h a t will now be received with r a p t u r e , will t h e n b e a t t r i b u t e d to duty. JONATHAN Well, and what was the c o n s e q u e n c e ? JESSAMY T h e c o n s e q u e n c e ! — A h ! forgive m e , my d e a r friend, b u t you N e w E n g l a n d g e n t l e m e n have s u c h a l a u d a b l e c u r i o s i t y o f s e e i n g the b o t t o m of every t h i n g ; — w h y , to the h o n e s t , I c o n f e s s I s a w t h e b l o o m i n g c h e r u b of a c o n s e q u e n c e s m i l i n g in its a n g e l i c m o t h e r ' s a r m s , a b o u t t e n m o n t h s afterwards. JONATHAN W e l l , if I follow all your p l a n s , m a k e t h e m six b o w s , a n d all t h a t ; shall I have s u c h little c h e r u b i m c o n s e q u e n c e s ? JESSAMY U n d o u b t e d l y . — W h a t are you m u s i n g u p o n ? JONATHAN You s a y you'll certainly m a k e m e a c q u a i n t e d ? — W h y , I w a s t h i n k i n g then h o w I s h o u l d contrive to p a s s this b r o k e n p i e c e o f s i l v e r — won't it buy a s u g a r - d r a m ? s JESSAMY W h a t is that, the love-token f r o m the d e a c o n ' s d a u g h t e r ? — Y o u c o m e o n bravely. B u t I m u s t h a s t e n to my m a s t e r . A d i e u , my d e a r friend. JONATHAN Stay, M r . J e s s a m y — m u s t I b u s s her w h e n I a m i n t r o d u c e d to her? JESSAMY I told y o u , you m u s t kiss her. JONATHAN W e l l , b u t m u s t I b u s s her? JESSAMY W h y , kiss a n d b u s s , a n d b u s s a n d k i s s , is all o n e . JONATHAN O h ! my d e a r friend, t h o u g h you h a v e a p r o f o u n d k n o w l e d g e of all, a p u g n a n c y 6 of t r i b u l a t i o n , you don't k n o w everything. [Exit.] JESSAMY [alone] W e l l , certainly I i m p r o v e ; my m a s t e r c o u l d not have insinu a t e d h i m s e l f with m o r e a d d r e s s into the heart of a m a n h e d e s p i s e d . — N o w will this b l u n d e r i n g d o g s i c k e n J e n n y with his n a u s e o u s p a w i n g s , until s h e flies into my a r m s for very e a s e . H o w s w e e t will the c o n t r a s t b e , b e t w e e n the b l u n d e r i n g J o n a t h a n , a n d the courtly a n d a c c o m p l i s h e d Jessamy. Act

Third

SCENE DIMPLE'S [DIMPLE

1.

room. discovered at a Toilet,7

reading.]

" W o m e n have in g e n e r a l b u t o n e o b j e c t , w h i c h is their b e a u t y . " Very t r u e , my lord; positively very t r u e . " N a t u r e h a s hardly f o r m e d a w o m a n ugly e n o u g h to b e i n s e n s i b l e to flattery u p o n her p e r s o n . " Extremely j u s t , my lord; every day's delightful e x p e r i e n c e c o n f i r m s this. "If her f a c e is s o s h o c k i n g , that s h e m u s t , in s o m e d e g r e e , b e c o n s c i o u s of it, her figure a n d air, s h e t h i n k s , m a k e a m p l e a m e n d s for it." T h e s a l l o w M i s s W a n is a p r o o f of t h i s . — U p o n my telling the d i s t a s t e f u l w r e t c h , the o t h e r day, that her c o u n t e n a n c e s p o k e the p e n s i v e l a n g u a g e of s e n t i m e n t , a n d that L a d y Wortley M o n t a g u e " d e c l a r e d , t h a t if the ladies

DIMPLE

5. I.e., a small amount of sugar. 6 . Another awkward mispronunciation—of samy's poignancy, above.

Jes-

7. I.e., revealed sitting at a dressing table. He is reading Chesterfield's Letters. 8. English poet and letter writer ( 1 6 8 9 - 1 7 6 2 ) .

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w e r e a r r a y e d in the g a r b of i n n o c e n c e , the f a c e w o u l d b e the last p a r t w h i c h w o u l d b e a d m i r e d a s M o n s i e u r M i l t o n e x p r e s s e s it, s h e grin'd horribly a g h a s t l y s m i l e . 9 "If her figure is d e f o r m e d , s h e thinks h e r f a c e c o u n t e r b a l a n c e s it." [Enter J E S S A M Y with letters.] DIMPLE W h e r e got y o u t h e s e , J e s s a m y ? JESSAMY Sir, the E n g l i s h p a c k e t 1 is arrived. [ D I M P L E opens and reads a letter enclosing notes.] "SIR,

"I have d r a w n bills o n y o u in favor of M e s s r s . V a n C a s h a n d C o . a s p e r m a r g i n . I h a v e t a k e n u p y o u r n o t e to C o l . P i q u e t , a n d d i s c h a r g e d y o u r d e b t s to my L o r d L u r c h e r a n d S i r H a r r y R o o k . I h e r e w i t h e n c l o s e y o u c o p i e s of the bills, w h i c h I h a v e n o d o u b t will b e i m m e diately h o n o r e d . O n f a i l u r e , I shall e m p o w e r s o m e lawyer in y o u r c o u n t r y to r e c o v e r the a m o u n t s . "I a m , Sir, "Your most h u m b l e servant, "JOHN

HAZARD."

N o w , did n o t my lord e x p r e s s l y say, t h a t it w a s u n b e c o m i n g a wellb r e d m a n to b e in a p a s s i o n , I c o n f e s s I s h o u l d b e ruffled. [Reads.] " T h e r e is n o a c c i d e n t s o u n f o r t u n a t e , w h i c h a w i s e m a n m a y not turn to his a d v a n t a g e ; n o r a n y a c c i d e n t s o f o r t u n a t e , w h i c h a fool will not turn to his d i s a d v a n t a g e . " T r u e , m y lord: b u t h o w a d v a n t a g e c a n b e derived f r o m this, I c a n ' t s e e . C h e s t e r f i e l d h i m s e l f , w h o m a d e , however, the w o r s t p r a c t i c e of t h e m o s t e x c e l l e n t p r e c e p t s , w a s never in s o e m b a r r a s s i n g a s i t u a t i o n . I love t h e p e r s o n of C h a r l o t t e , a n d it is n e c e s s a r y I s h o u l d c o m m a n d the f o r t u n e of L e t i t i a . A s to M a r i a ! — I d o u b t n o t by m y sang-froid2 b e h a v i o r I shall c o m p e l h e r to d e c l i n e the m a t c h ; b u t the b l a m e m u s t n o t fall u p o n m e . A p r u d e n t m a n , a s my lord s a y s , s h o u l d t a k e all the c r e d i t of a g o o d a c t i o n to h i m s e l f , a n d t h r o w t h e d i s c r e d i t of a b a d o n e u p o n o t h e r s . I m u s t b r e a k with M a r i a , m a r r y L e t i t i a , a n d a s for C h a r l o t t e — w h y , C h a r l o t t e m u s t b e a c o m p a n i o n to my w i f e . — H e r e , J e s s a m y ! [Enter J E S S A M Y . ] folds and seals two letters.] H e r e , J e s s a m y , t a k e this letter to my love. [Gives one.] JESSAMY T O w h i c h of y o u r h o n o r ' s l o v e s ? — O h ! [reading] to M i s s L e t i t i a , y o u r h o n o r ' s rich love. DIMPLE A n d this [delivers another] to M i s s C h a r l o t t e M a n l y . S e e that you deliver t h e m privately. JESSAMY Y e s , y o u r h o n o r . [Going.] DIMPLE J e s s a m y , w h o a r e t h e s e s t r a n g e l o d g e r s t h a t c a m e to the h o u s e last night? JESSAMY W h y , the m a s t e r is a Y a n k e e c o l o n e l ; I h a v e not s e e n m u c h of h i m ; b u t the m a n is the m o s t u n p o l i s h e d a n i m a l y o u r h o n o r ever disg r a c e d y o u r e y e s by l o o k i n g u p o n . I h a v e h a d o n e o f t h e m o s t outre [DIMPLE

DIMPLE

9. "Death / Grinned horrible a ghastly smile." Puradise Lost 2 . 8 4 5 - 4 6 , by J o h n Milton ( 1 6 0 8 - 1 6 7 4 ) .

1. Passenger boat carrying mail and cargo. 2. Cool, unperturbable (French).

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c o n v e r s a t i o n s with h i m ! — H e really h a s a m o s t p r o d i g i o u s effect u p o n my risibility. DIMPLE I o u g h t , a c c o r d i n g to every rule of C h e s t e r f i e l d , to wait o n h i m ' a n d i n s i n u a t e m y s e l f i n t o his g o o d g r a c e s . — J e s s a m y , wait o n the c o l o n e l with my c o m p l i m e n t s , a n d if he is d i s e n g a g e d , I will d o m y s e l f t h e h o n o r of p a y i n g h i m my r e s p e c t s . — S o m e i g n o r a n t u n p o l i s h e d b o o r — ( J E S S A M A Y goes off and returns.] JESSAMY Sir, the c o l o n e l is g o n e o u t , a n d J o n a t h a n , his s e r v a n t , s a y s t h a t h e is g o n e to s t r e t c h his legs u p o n the M a l l — S t r e t c h his l e g s ! w h a t a n i n d e l i c a c y of d i c t i o n ! DIMPLE Very well. R e a c h m e my h a t a n d s w o r d . I'll a c c o s t h i m t h e r e , in m y way to L e t i t i a ' s , a s by a c c i d e n t ; p r e t e n d to b e s t r u c k with his p e r s o n a n d a d d r e s s , a n d e n d e a v o r to steal into his c o n f i d e n c e . J e s s a m y , I h a v e n o b u s i n e s s for you at p r e s e n t . [Exit.] J E S S A M Y [taking up the book] My master and I obtain our knowledge from the s a m e s o u r c e ; — t h o u g h , g a d ! I t h i n k m y s e l f m u c h the prettier fellow o f the two. [Surveying himself in the glass.] T h a t w a s a brilliant t h o u g h t , to i n s i n u a t e that I f o l d e d my m a s t e r ' s letters for h i m ; t h e f o l d i n g is s o n e a t , that it d o e s h o n o r to the o p e r a t o r . I o n c e i n t e n d e d to h a v e insinu a t e d that I wrote his letters t o o ; b u t that w a s b e f o r e I s a w t h e m ; it won't d o now! n o h o n o r t h e r e , p o s i t i v e l y . — " N o t h i n g looks m o r e v u l g a r [reading affectedly], ordinary, a n d illiberal, t h a n ugly, u n e v e n , a n d r a g g e d n a i l s ; the e n d s of w h i c h s h o u l d b e k e p t e v e n a n d c l e a n , not t i p p e d with b l a c k , a n d c u t in s m a l l s e g m e n t s of c i r c l e s " — S e g m e n t s o f c i r c l e s ! surely m y lord did not c o n s i d e r t h a t h e w r o t e for the b e a u x . S e g m e n t s o f c i r c l e s ! w h a t a c r a b b e d t e r m ! N o w I d a r e a n s w e r , t h a t m y m a s t e r , with all his l e a r n i n g , d o e s not k n o w t h a t this m e a n s , a c c o r d i n g to the p r e s e n t m o d e , to let the nails g r o w l o n g , a n d then c u t t h e m off e v e n at t o p . [Laughing without.] H a ! that's J e n n y ' s titter. I p r o t e s t I d e s p a i r of ever t e a c h i n g t h a t girl to l a u g h ; s h e h a s s o m e t h i n g s o e x e c r a b l y n a t u r a l in her l a u g h , t h a t I d e c l a r e it a b s o l u t e l y d i s c o m p o s e s my n e r v e s . H o w c a m e s h e into o u r house!—[Calls.] J e n n y ! [Enter J E N N Y . ] P r y t h e e , J e n n y , don't spoil y o u r fine f a c e with l a u g h i n g . Why, mustn't I laugh, Mr. Jessamy? JESSAMY You m a y s m i l e ; b u t , a s my lord s a y s , n o t h i n g c a n a u t h o r i z e a laugh.4 JENNY W e l l , b u t I can't h e l p l a u g h i n g — H a v e you s e e n h i m , M r . J e s s a m y ? H a , ha, ha! JESSAMY Seen w h o m ? — JENNY W h y , J o n a t h a n , the N e w E n g l a n d c o l o n e l ' s s e r v a n t . D o y o u k n o w h e w a s at the play last night, a n d the s t u p i d c r e a t u r e don't k n o w w h e r e h e h a s b e e n . H e w o u l d n o t g o to a play for the w o r l d ; h e t h i n k s it w a s a s h o w , a s h e c a l l s it. JESSAMY A s i g n o r a n t a n d u n p o l i s h e d a s h e is, d o y o u k n o w , M i s s J e n n y , that I p r o p o s e to i n t r o d u c e him to the h o n o r of y o u r a c q u a i n t a n c e . JENNY I n t r o d u c e h i m to m e ! for w h a t ? JESSAMY JENNY

3. Pay him a formal call.

so ill-bred, as audible laughter"—Chesterfield's

4.

Letters.

T o my mind, there is nothing so illiberal and

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W h y , my lovely girl, t h a t you m a y t a k e h i m u n d e r your p r o t e c t i o n , a s M a d a m R a m b o u l l i e t did y o u n g S t a n h o p e ; that you m a y , by y o u r p l a s t i c 5 h a n d , m o u l d this u n c o u t h c u b into a g e n t l e m a n . H e is to m a k e love to y o u .

JESSAMY

M a k e love to m e ! — Y e s , M i s t r e s s J e n n y , m a k e love to y o u ; a n d , I d o u b t not, w h e n h e shall b e c o m e d o m e s t i c a t e d in y o u r k i t c h e n , that this b o o r , u n d e r y o u r a u s p i c e s , will s o o n b e c o m e un aimable petit Jonathan.* JENNY I m u s t say, M r . J e s s a m y , if h e c o p i e s after m e , h e will b e vastly monstrously polite. JESSAMY S t a y h e r e o n e m o m e n t , a n d I will call h i m . — J o n a t h a n ! — M r . Jonathan!—[Calls.] JONATHAN [within] H o l l a ! there—[Enters.] You p r o m i s e to s t a n d by m e — six b o w s you say. [Bows.] JESSAMY M r s . J e n n y , 1 have the h o n o r of p r e s e n t i n g M r . J o n a t h a n , C o l o n e l M a n l y ' s waiter, to y o u . I a m extremely h a p p y t h a t I h a v e it in m y p o w e r to m a k e two worthy p e o p l e a c q u a i n t e d with e a c h other's m e r i t . JENNY S o M r . J o n a t h a n , I h e a r y o u w e r e at the play last n i g h t . JONATHAN At the play! why, did you t h i n k I w e n t to t h e devil's d r a w i n g room! JENNY T h e devil's d r a w i n g - r o o m ! JONATHAN Y e s ; why ain't c a r d s a n d d i c e the devil's d e v i c e ; a n d the playh o u s e the s h o p w h e r e the devil h a n g s out the vanities o f the world, u p o n the t e n t e r h o o k s of t e m p t a t i o n . I believe y o u h a v e not h e a r d h o w they w e r e a c t i n g the old boy o n e night, a n d the w i c k e d o n e c a m e a m o n g t h e m s u r e e n o u g h ; a n d went right off in a s t o r m , a n d c a r r i e d o n e q u a r t e r of the p l a y - h o u s e with h i m . O h ! n o , n o , n o ! you won't c a t c h m e at a playhouse, I warrant you. JENNY W e l l , M r . J o n a t h a n , t h o u g h I don't s c r u p l e y o u r veracity, I have s o m e r e a s o n s for believing you w e r e t h e r e ; pray, w h e r e w e r e you a b o u t six o'clock? JONATHAN W h y , I went to s e e o n e M r . M o r r i s o n , the hocus pocus m a n ; they s a i d a s h o w h e c o u l d e a t a c a f e k n i f e . 7 JENNY W e l l , a n d h o w did you find t h e p l a c e ? JONATHAN A s I w a s g o i n g a b o u t h e r e a n d t h e r e , to a n d a g a i n , to find it, I s a w a g r e a t c r o u d of folks g o i n g into a l o n g entry, that h a d l a n t h e r n s over the d o o r ; s o I a s k e d a m a n , w h e t h e r that w a s not t h e p l a c e w h e r e they p l a y e d hocus pocus} H e w a s a very civil kind m a n , t h o u g h h e did s p e a k like the H e s s i a n s , 8 h e lifted u p his eyes a n d s a i d — " t h e y play hocus pocus tricks e n o u g h t h e r e , G o t k n o w s , m i n e f r i e n d . " JENNY Well— JONATHAN S o I w e n t right in, a n d they s h e w e d m e a w a y c l e a n u p to the g a r r e t , j u s t like a m e e t i n g - h o u s e gallery. A n d s o I s a w a p o w e r o f t o p p i n g folks, all sitting r o u n d in little c a b i n s , 9 j u s t like father's c o r n c r i b s ; — a n d then t h e r e w a s s u c h a s q u e a k i n g with the f i d d l e s , a n d s u c h a tarnal b l a z e JENNY

JESSAMY

5. Creative. 6. A well-behaved little Jonathan (French). 7. I.e., a restaurant knife: Morrison was evidently not only a conjurer (^hocus-pocus man") but also a sword-swallower.

8. G e r m a n s , especially from H e s s e , had been hired by the British as mercenary troops for the Revolutionary War. 9 . I.e., in boxes in the theater.

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with the lights, m y h e a d w a s n e a r t u r n e d . At last t h e p e o p l e that s a t n e a r m e set u p s u c h a h i s s i n g — h i s s — l i k e s o m a n y m a d c a t s ; a n d t h e n they went t h u m p , t h u m p , t h u m p , j u s t like o u r P e l e g t h r e s h i n g w h e a t , a n d s t a m p t away, j u s t like t h e n a t i o n ; ' a n d c a l l e d o u t for o n e M r . L a n g o l e e , — I s u p p o s e he h e l p s a c t t h e tricks. JENNY W e l l , a n d w h a t did you d o all this t i m e ? JONATHAN. G o r , I — I liked t h e f u n , a n d s o I t h u m p t away, a n d hiss'd a s lustily a s t h e b e s t o f ' e m . O n e sailor-looking m a n that s a t by m e , s e e i n g m e s t a m p , a n d k n o w i n g I w a s a c u t e fellow, b e c a u s e I c o u l d m a k e a r o a r i n g n o i s e , c l a p t m e o n the s h o u l d e r a n d s a i d , y o u a r e a d — d hearty c o c k , s m i t e m y t i m b e r s ! I told h i m s o I w a s , b u t I t h o u g h t h e n e e d not swear so, a n d m a k e u s e of s u c h naughty words. JESSAMY T h e s a v a g e ! — W e l l , a n d did you s e e t h e m a n with h i s tricks? JONATHAN Why, I vow, a s I w a s l o o k i n g o u t for h i m , they lifted u p a g r e a t g r e e n c l o t h , a n d let u s look right into t h e next n e i g h b o r ' s h o u s e . H a v e you a g o o d m a n y h o u s e s in N e w York m a d e s o in t h a t 'ere way? JENNY N o t m a n y : b u t did y o u s e e t h e family? JONATHAN Y e s , s w a m p it; I s e e ' d t h e family. JENNY W e l l , and. h o w did y o u like t h e m ? JONATHAN W h y , I vow they w e r e pretty m u c h like o t h e r f a m i l i e s ; — t h e r e was a poor, good natured, curse of a h u s b a n d , and a sad rantipole2 of a wife. JENNY B u t did you s e e n o other folks? JONATHAN Y e s . T h e r e w a s o n e y o u n g s t e r , they c a l l e d h i m M r . J o s e p h ; h e talked a s s o b e r a n d a s p i o u s a s a m i n i s t e r ; b u t like s o m e m i n i s t e r s that I know, h e w a s a fly t i k e 1 in his heart for all that: H e w a s g o i n g to a s k a y o u n g w o m a n to s p a r k it with h i m , a n d — t h e L o r d h a v e m e r c y on my s o u l ! — s h e w a s a n o t h e r m a n ' s wife! JESSAMY The Wabash!4 JENNY A n d did you s e e a n y m o r e folks? JONATHAN W h y they c a m e o n a s thick a s m u s t a r d . F o r my p a r t , I t h o u g h t the h o u s e w a s h a u n t e d . T h e r e w a s a soldier fellow, w h o talked a b o u t his row d e d o w d o w , a n d c o u r t e d a y o u n g w o m a n : 5 b u t o f all t h e c u t e folk I s a w , I liked o n e little f e l l o w — JENNY

Aye!

who

was

he?

W h y , h e h a d red hair, a n d a little r o u n d p l u m p f a c e like m i n e , only n o t a l t o g e t h e r s o h a n d s o m e . H i s n a m e w a s D a r b y : — t h a t w a s h i s b a p t i z i n g n a m e , h i s o t h e r n a m e I forgot. O h ! it w a s , W i g — W a g — W a g a l l , D a r b y W a g a l l ; 6 — p r a y , d o y o u k n o w h i m ? — I s h o u l d like to t a k e a fling 7 with h i m , or a d r a p o f c y d e r with a p e p p e r - p o d in it, to m a k e it w a r m and comfortable. JENNY I c a n ' t say I have that p l e a s u r e . JONATHAN I wish y o u d i d , h e is a c u t e fellow. B u t t h e r e w a s o n e t h i n g I JONATHAN

1. I.e., damnation. 2. Unruly, wild person. 3. I.e., artful kid. T h e "rantipole" wife and the "pious" J o s e p h had by this time clued in contemporary audiences to the fact that the play Jonathan has taken for real life is Richard Brinsley Sheridan's Tlie School for Scandal ( 1 7 7 7 ) , which had been performed in New York the previous month— a production that Tyler saw.

4. Perhaps "the scoundrel." 5. As there is no "soldier fellow" in The School for Scandal, Jonathan is probably now talking about The Poor Soldier ( 1 7 8 3 ) , a comic opera played on the s a m e bill as Sheridan's play. "Row de dow dow": noisy disturbance. 6. I.e., T h o m a s Wignell, one of whose famous parts was Darbv in 77ie Poor Soldier. 7. Other texts read "sling"—an alcoholic drink.

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didn't like in t h a t M r . D a r b y ; a n d t h a t w a s , h e w a s a f r a i d o f s o m e o f t h e m 'ere s h o o t i n g i r o n s , s u c h a s y o u r t r o o p e r s w e a r o n t r a i n i n g d a y s . N o w , I'm a t r u e b o r n Y a n k e e A m e r i c a n s o n of liberty, a n d I never w a s a f r a i d o f a g u n yet in all my life. JENNY W e l l , M r . J o n a t h a n , y o u w e r e c e r t a i n l y at the p l a y - h o u s e . JONATHAN I at t h e p l a y - h o u s e ! — W h y didn't I s e e the play t h e n ? JENNY Why, the people you saw were players. JONATHAN M e r c y o n my s o u l ! did I s e e t h e w i c k e d p l a y e r s ? — M a y h a p t h a t 'ere D a r b y t h a t I liked s o , w a s the old s e r p e n t himself, a n d h a d his c l o v e n foot in his p o c k e t . W h y , I vow, n o w I c o m e to t h i n k o n ' t , t h e c a n d l e s s e e m e d to b u r n b l u e , a n d I a m s u r e w h e r e I s a t it s m e l t tarnally of b r i m stone. JESSAMY W e l l , M r . J o n a t h a n , f r o m y o u r a c c o u n t , w h i c h I c o n f e s s is very a c c u r a t e , y o u m u s t h a v e b e e n at the p l a y - h o u s e . JONATHAN W h y , I vow I b e g a n to s m e l l a rat. W h e n I c a m e a w a y , I w e n t to the m a n for m y m o n e y a g a i n : y o u w a n t y o u r m o n e y , s a y s h e ; y e s , s a y s I; for w h a t , says h e ; why, s a y s I, n o m a n shall j o c k y m e o u t of my m o n e y ; I p a i d m y m o n e y to s e e s i g h t s , a n d t h e d o g s a bit of a s i g h t h a v e I s e e n , u n l e s s y o u call l i s t e n i n g to p e o p l e ' s p r i v a t e b u s i n e s s a s i g h t . W h y says h e , it is t h e S c h o o l for S c a n d a l i z a t i o n . — T h e S c h o o l for S c a n d a l i z a t i o n — O h , h o ! n o w o n d e r y o u N e w York folks a r e s o c u t e at it, w h e n you g o to s c h o o l to l e a r n it: a n d s o I j o g g e d off. 8 JESSAMY My dear Jenny, my master's business drags m e from you; would to h e a v e n I k n e w n o o t h e r s e r v i t u d e t h a n to y o u r c h a r m s . JONATHAN W e l l , b u t don't g o ; y o u won't l e a v e m e s o . — JESSAMY E x c u s e m e . — R e m e m b e r t h e c a s h . [Aside to him, and—Exit.] JENNY M r . J o n a t h a n , won't y o u p l e a s e to sit d o w n . M r . J e s s a m y tells m e you w a n t e d to h a v e s o m e c o n v e r s a t i o n with m e . [Having brought forward two chairs, they sit.] JONATHAN Ma'am!— JENNY Sir!— JONATHAN Ma'am!— JENNY Pray, h o w d o you like t h e city, S i r ? JONATHAN Ma'am!— JENNY I say, Sir, h o w d o y o u like N e w York? JONATHAN Ma'am!— JENNY T h e s t u p i d c r e a t u r e ! b u t I m u s t p a s s s o m e little t i m e w i t h h i m , if it is only to e n d e a v o r to l e a r n , w h e t h e r it w a s his m a s t e r t h a t m a d e s u c h a n a b r u p t e n t r a n c e into o u r h o u s e , a n d m y y o u n g m i s t r e s s ' s h e a r t , this m o r n i n g . [Aside.] A s y o u don't s e e m to like to talk, M r . J o n a t h a n — d o you sing? JONATHAN G o r , I — I a m g l a d s h e a s k e d t h a t , for I forgot w h a t M r . J e s s a m y bid m e say, a n d I d a r e a s well b e h a n g e d a s a c t w h a t h e bid m e d o , I'm s o a s h a m e d . [Aside.] Y e s , M a ' a m , I c a n s i n g — I c a n s i n g M e a r , O l d H u n dred, and Bangor.9 JENNY O h , I d o n ' t m e a n p s a l m t u n e s . H a v e y o u n o little s o n g to p l e a s e t h e l a d i e s ; s u c h a s R o s l i n C a s t l e , or t h e M a i d of t h e M i l l ? 1 8. Trotted off. 9. Popular n a m e s for hymn tunes: " M e a r " is probably " M e a e Animac Amator" (Jesus, lover of my soul); "Old H u n d r e d " is "All People That on Earth

Do Dwell"; " B a n g o r " is "Eternal God, We Look to Thee." 1. Popular songs of the time.

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W h y , all my t u n e s g o to m e e t i n g t u n e s , s a v e o n e , a n d I c o u n t you won't a l t o g e t h e r like that 'ere. JENNY W h a t is it c a l l e d ? JONATHAN I a m s u r e y o u have h e a r d folks talk a b o u t it, it is c a l l e d Y a n k e e Doodle. JENNY O h ! it is t h e t u n e I a m fond of; a n d , if I k n o w a n y t h i n g of my m i s t r e s s , s h e w o u l d b e g l a d to d a n c e to it. Pray, s i n g ? JONATHAN [sings] JONATHAN

F a t h e r a n d I went to c a m p , — A l o n g with C a p t a i n G o o d w i n ; A n d there we saw the m e n a n d boys, A s thick a s hasty p u d d i n g . 2 Y a n k e e D o o d l e d o , etc. A n d there we saw a s w a m p i n g g u n , B i g a s log of m a p l e , O n a little d e u c e d cart, A load for father's c a t t l e . 3 Y a n k e e D o o d l e d o , etc. A n d every time they fired it off, It took a horn of powder, It m a d e a n o i s e — l i k e father's g u n , Only a nation louder. Y a n k e e D o o d l e d o , etc. T h e r e w a s a m a n in our town, His name w a s — N o , n o , that won't d o . N o w , if I w a s with T a b i t h a W y m e n a n d J e m i m a Cawley, d o w n at father C h a s e ' s , I shouldn't m i n d singing this all out before t h e m — y o u would b e affronted if I w a s to s i n g that, t h o u g h that's a lucky thought; if you s h o u l d be affronted, I have s o m e t h i n g d a n g ' d c u t e , which J e s s a m y told m e to say to you. JENNY Is that all! I a s s u r e you I like it of all things. JONATHAN N o , n o ; I c a n s i n g m o r e , s o m e other t i m e , w h e n you a n d I a r e better a c q u a i n t e d , I'll sing the w h o l e of i t — n o , n o — t h a t ' s a fib—I can't sing b u t a h u n d r e d a n d ninety v e r s e s ; our T a b i t h a at h o m e c a n s i n g it all.— [Sings] M a r b l e h e a d ' s a rocky p l a c e , A n d C a p e - C o d is sandy; C h a r l e s t o n is b u r n t d o w n , B o s t o n is the dandy. Yankee Doodle do, etc. I vow, my own town s o n g h a s p u t m e into s u c h t o p p i n g spirits, that I believe I'll begin to do a little, a s J e s s a m y says we m u s t w h e n we g o a courti n g — [ R u n s and kisses her.] B u r n i n g rivers! c o o l i n g f l a m e s ! red hot r o s e s ! pignuts! hasty-pudding and ambrosia! 2. Breakfast water.

dish made from

Indian corn and

3. I.e., oxen. "Swamping": " D e u c e d " : i.e., damned.

big,

overwhelming,

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W h a t m e a n s this f r e e d o m ! you insulting wretch. [Strikes him.] A r e you affronted? JENNY Affronted ! with what looks shall 1 e x p r e s s my a n g e r ? JONATHAN L o o k s ! why, a s to the m a t t e r of looks, you look a s c r o s s a s a witch. JENNY H a v e you no feeling for the delicacy of my sex? JONATHAN Feeling! G o r , I—I feel the delicacy of your sex pretty smartly [rubbing his cheek], t h o u g h , I vow, I t h o u g h t w h e n you city ladies c o u r t e d a n d m a r r i e d , a n d all that, you p u t feeling out of the q u e s t i o n . B u t 1 want to know w h e t h e r you are really affronted, or only p r e t e n d to b e s o ? ' C a u s e , if you are certainly right d o w n affronted, I a m at the e n d of my t e t h e r ; — J e s s a m y didn't tell m e what to say to you. JENNY Pretend to b e affronted! JONATHAN Aye, a y e , if you only p r e t e n d , you shall hear how I'll go to work to m a k e c h e r u b i m c o n s e q u e n c e s [Runs up to her.] JENNY B e g o n e , you brute! JONATHAN T h a t looks like m a d ; but I won't l o s e m y s p e e c h . M y d e a r e s t J e n n y — y o u r n a m e is J e n n y , I think? My d e a r e s t J e n n y , t h o u g h I have the highest e s t e e m for the sweet favors you have j u s t n o w g r a n t e d m e — G o r , that's a fib t h o u g h , b u t J e s s a m y says it is not wicked to tell lies to the w o m e n . [Aside.] I say, t h o u g h I have the highest e s t e e m for the favors you have j u s t now g r a n t e d m e , yet, you will c o n s i d e r , that a s s o o n a s the dissolvable knot is tied, they will no longer b e favors, but only m a t t e r s of duty, a n d m a t t e r s of c o u r s e . JENNY Marry you! you a u d a c i o u s m o n s t e r ! get o u t of my sight, or rather let m e fly from you. [Exit hastily.] JONATHAN G o r ! she's g o n e off in a swinging p a s s i o n , before I h a d time to think of c o n s e q u e n c e s . If this is the way with your city l a d i e s , give m e the twenty a c r e s of r o c k s , the Bible, the c o w , a n d T a b i t h a , a n d a \itt\e p e a c e a b l e bundling.4 JENNY

JONATHAN

SCENE

Vie

Mall.

2. •

[Enter M A N L Y . ] It m u s t b e s o , M o n t a g u e ! a n d it is n o t at all the tribe of M a n d e villes 5 shall c o n v i n c e m e , that a n a t i o n , to b e c o m e g r e a t , m u s t first b e c o m e d i s s i p a t e d . L u x u r y is s u r e l y t h e b a n e of a n a t i o n : L u x u r y ! w h i c h e n e r v a t e s b o t h s o u l a n d body, by o p e n i n g a t h o u s a n d n e w s o u r c e s of e n j o y m e n t , o p e n s , a l s o , a t h o u s a n d n e w s o u r c e s of c o n t e n t i o n a n d w a n t : L u x u r y ! w h i c h r e n d e r s a p e o p l e w e a k at h o m e , a n d a c c e s s i b l e to bribery, c o r r u p t i o n , a n d f o r c e from a b r o a d . W h e n t h e G r e c i a n s t a t e s k n e w n o o t h e r tools t h a n t h e axe a n d t h e s a w , t h e G r e c i a n s w e r e a g r e a t , a free, a n d a h a p p y p e o p l e . T h e k i n g s of G r e e c e d e v o t e d their lives to t h e service of their c o u n t r y , a n d h e r s e n a t o r s k n e w n o o t h e r superiority over their fellow-citizens t h a n a g l o r i o u s p r e e m i n e n c e in d a n g e r a n d virtue. T h e y exhibited to t h e world a n o b l e s p e c t a c l e , — a n u m b e r of i n d e p e n d e n t

MANLY

4 . An old courtship c u s t o m , in which .1 couple occupied the s a m e bed without undressing. 5 . Edward Montague and Bernard Mandeville.

1 8th-century authors of books on the decline of civilizations and the fo\\y of mankind.

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s t a t e s u n i t e d by a similarity of l a n g u a g e , s e n t i m e n t , m a n n e r s , c o m m o n interest, a n d c o m m o n c o n s e n t , in o n e g r a n d m u t u a l l e a g u e o f p r o t e c t i o n . — A n d , t h u s u n i t e d , l o n g m i g h t they h a v e c o n t i n u e d the c h e r i s h e r s o f arts a n d s c i e n c e s , the p r o t e c t o r s of t h e o p p r e s s e d , the s c o u r g e of tyrants, a n d the s a f e a s y l u m of liberty: B u t w h e n f o r e i g n g o l d , a n d still m o r e p e r n i c i o u s , foreign luxury, h a d c r e p t a m o n g t h e m , they s a p p e d the vitals of their virtue. T h e virtues of their a n c e s t o r s w e r e only f o u n d in their w r i t i n g s . Envy a n d s u s p i c i o n , the vices of little m i n d s , p o s s e s s e d t h e m . T h e v a r i o u s s t a t e s e n g e n d e r e d j e a l o u s i e s of e a c h o t h e r ; a n d , m o r e u n f o r t u n a t e l y , g r o w i n g j e a l o u s o f their g r e a t federal c o u n c i l , t h e A m p h i c t y o n s , 6 they forgot that their c o m m o n safety h a d e x i s t e d , a n d w o u l d exist, in giving t h e m a n h o n o r a b l e extensive p r e r o g a t i v e . T h e c o m m o n g o o d w a s lost in the p u r s u i t of private interest; a n d that p e o p l e , w h o , by uniting, m i g h t h a v e s t o o d a g a i n s t the world in a r m s , by dividing, c r u m b l e d into r u i n ; — t h e i r n a m e is n o w only k n o w n in the p a g e o f the h i s t o r i a n , a n d w h a t they o n c e w e r e , is all w e have left to a d m i r e . O h ! t h a t A m e r i c a ! O h ! that my c o u n t r y , w o u l d in this her day, learn t h e t h i n g s w h i c h b e l o n g to her p e a c e ! [Enter D I M P L E . ] You a r e C o l o n e l M a n l y , I p r e s u m e ? MANLY At your s e r v i c e , Sir. DIMPLE M y n a m e is D i m p l e , Sir. I have the h o n o r to b e a l o d g e r in the s a m e h o u s e with y o u , a n d h e a r i n g you w e r e in t h e M a l l , c a m e hither to take the liberty of j o i n i n g y o u . MANLY You a r e very o b l i g i n g , Sir. DIMPLE A s I u n d e r s t a n d you a r e a s t r a n g e r h e r e , Sir, I h a v e t a k e n the liberty to i n t r o d u c e m y s e l f to your a c q u a i n t a n c e , a s p o s s i b l y I m a y have it in my p o w e r to p o i n t o u t s o m e things in this city worthy your n o t i c e . MANLY An a t t e n t i o n to s t r a n g e r s is worthy a liberal m i n d , a n d m u s t ever be gratefully r e c e i v e d . B u t to a soldier, w h o h a s n o fixed a b o d e , s u c h attentions are particularly pleasing. DIMPLE Sir, t h e r e is n o c h a r a c t e r s o r e s p e c t a b l e a s that of a soldier. A n d , i n d e e d , w h e n w e reflect h o w m u c h w e o w e to t h o s e b r a v e m e n w h o have s u f f e r e d s o m u c h in the s e r v i c e of their c o u n t r y , a n d s e c u r e d to u s t h o s e i n e s t i m a b l e b l e s s i n g s t h a t w e n o w enjoy, o u r liberty a n d i n d e p e n d e n c e , they d e m a n d every a t t e n t i o n w h i c h g r a t i t u d e c a n pay. F o r my own p a r t , I never m e e t a n officer, but I e m b r a c e h i m a s my friend, n o r a private in d i s t r e s s , b u t I i n s e n s i b l y e x t e n d my charity to h i m . — I h a v e hit the B u m p k i n 7 off very tolerably. [Aside.] MANLY G i v e m e y o u r h a n d , Sir! I d o not proffer this h a n d to everybody; b u t you steal into my h e a r t . I h o p e I a m a s i n s e n s i b l e to flattery a s m o s t m e n ; b u t I d e c l a r e (it m a y b e my w e a k s i d e ) , that I never h e a r the n a m e of soldier m e n t i o n e d with r e s p e c t , b u t I e x p e r i e n c e a thrill o f p l e a s u r e , w h i c h I never feel on a n y o t h e r o c c a s i o n . DIMPLE Will you give m e l e a v e , my d e a r c o l o n e l , to c o n f e r a n o b l i g a t i o n o n myself, by s h e w i n g you s o m e civilities d u r i n g y o u r stay h e r e , a n d giving a similar o p p o r t u n i t y to s o m e of my f r i e n d s ? MANLY Sir, I t h a n k y o u ; b u t I believe my stay in this city will b e very s h o r t . DIMPLE

6. Religious associations of Greek states.

7. Rustic.

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I c a n i n t r o d u c e you to s o m e m e n o f excellent s e n s e , in w h o s e c o m p a n y you will e s t e e m y o u r s e l f h a p p y ; a n d , by way of a m u s e m e n t , to s o m e fine girls, w h o will listen to y o u r soft t h i n g s with p l e a s u r e . MANLY Sir, I s h o u l d b e p r o u d of the h o n o r o f b e i n g a c q u a i n t e d with t h o s e g e n t l e m e n ; — b u t , a s for t h e l a d i e s , 1 don't u n d e r s t a n d y o u . DIMPLE W h y , Sir, I n e e d not tell y o u , t h a t w h e n a y o u n g g e n t l e m a n is a l o n e with a y o u n g lady, he m u s t s a y s o m e soft t h i n g s to h e r fair c h e e k — i n d e e d the lady will e x p e c t it. T o b e s u r e , t h e r e is not m u c h p l e a s u r e , w h e n a m a n of the world a n d a finished c o q u e t t e m e e t , w h o perfectly k n o w e a c h other; b u t h o w d e l i c i o u s is it to excite t h e e m o t i o n s o f j o y , h o p e , e x p e c t a t i o n , a n d d e l i g h t , in the b o s o m of a lovely girl, w h o believes every tittle of w h a t you say to b e s e r i o u s . MANLY S e r i o u s , Sir! In my o p i n i o n , the m a n , w h o , u n d e r p r e t e n s i o n s of m a r r i a g e , c a n plant t h o r n s in the b o s o m of a n i n n o c e n t , u n s u s p e c t i n g girl, is m o r e d e t e s t a b l e t h a n a c o m m o n robber, in the s a m e p r o p o r t i o n , a s private v i o l e n c e is m o r e d e s p i c a b l e t h a n o p e n f o r c e , a n d m o n e y o f l e s s value than happiness. DIMPLE H O W h e a w e s m e by the superiority of his s e n t i m e n t s . [Aside.] As y o u say, Sir, a g e n t l e m a n s h o u l d b e c a u t i o u s h o w h e m e n t i o n s m a r r i a g e . MANLY C a u t i o u s , Sir! N o p e r s o n m o r e a p p r o v e s of a n i n t e r c o u r s e b e t w e e n the s e x e s t h a n I d o . F e m a l e c o n v e r s a t i o n s o f t e n s o u r m a n n e r s , whilst o u r d i s c o u r s e , from t h e superiority of o u r literary a d v a n t a g e s , i m p r o v e s their m i n d s . B u t , in o u r y o u n g c o u n t r y , w h e r e t h e r e is n o s u c h t h i n g a s gallantry, w h e n a g e n t l e m a n s p e a k s o f love to a lady, w h e t h e r h e m e n tions m a r r i a g e , or not, s h e o u g h t to c o n c l u d e , e i t h e r that h e m e a n t to i n s u l t her, or, that his i n t e n t i o n s a r e the m o s t s e r i o u s a n d h o n o r a b l e . H o w m e a n , how c r u e l , is it, by a t h o u s a n d t e n d e r a s s i d u i t i e s , to win the a f f e c t i o n s o f an a m i a b l e girl, a n d t h o u g h you leave her virtue u n s p o t t e d , to betray her into the a p p e a r a n c e of s o m a n y t e n d e r p a r t i a l i t i e s , that every m a n of d e l i c a c y w o u l d s u p p r e s s his i n c l i n a t i o n t o w a r d s her, by s u p p o s i n g her h e a r t e n g a g e d ! C a n any m a n , for the trivial g r a t i f i c a t i o n of his l e i s u r e h o u r s , affect the h a p p i n e s s of a w h o l e life! H i s not h a v i n g s p o k e n o f m a r r i a g e , m a y a d d to his perfidy, b u t c a n b e n o e x c u s e for his conduct. DIMPLE

Sir, I a d m i r e your s e n t i m e n t s ; — t h e y a r e m i n e . T h e light o b s e r v a t i o n s that fell f r o m m e , w e r e only a principle of the t o n g u e ; they c a m e not from the h e a r t — m y p r a c t i c e h a s ever d i s a p p r o v e d t h e s e p r i n c i p l e s . MANLY I believe y o u , Sir. I s h o u l d with r e l u c t a n c e s u p p o s e t h a t t h o s e p e r n i c i o u s s e n t i m e n t s c o u l d find a d m i t t a n c e into t h e h e a r t o f a g e n t l e man. DIMPLE I a m now, Sir, g o i n g to visit a family, w h e r e , if you p l e a s e , I will h a v e t h e h o n o r of i n t r o d u c i n g y o u . M r . M a n l y ' s w a r d , M i s s L e t i t i a , is a y o u n g lady of i m m e n s e f o r t u n e ; a n d his n i e c e , M i s s C h a r l o t t e M a n l y is a y o u n g lady of great s p r i g h t l i n e s s a n d b e a u t y . MANLY T h a t g e n t l e m a n . Sir, is my u n c l e , a n d M i s s M a n l y is my sister. DIMPLE T h e devil s h e is! [Aside.] M i s s M a n l y y o u r s i s t e r , S i r ? I r e j o i c e to h e a r it, a n d feel a d o u b l e p l e a s u r e in b e i n g k n o w n to y o u . — P l a g u e on h i m ! I wish h e w a s at B o s t o n a g a i n with all my s o u l . [Aside.] MANLY C o m e , Sir, will you g o ? DIMPLE I will follow you in a m o m e n t , Sir. [Exit M A N L Y . ] DIMPLE

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P l a g u e o n it! this is u n l u c k y . A fighting b r o t h e r is a c u r s e d a p p e n d a g e to a fine girl. E g a d ! I j u s t s t o p p e d in t i m e ; h a d h e not d i s c o v e r e d himself, in two m i n u t e s m o r e I s h o u l d have told him h o w well I w a s with his s i s t e r . — I n d e e d , I c a n n o t s e e the s a t i s f a c t i o n of a n i n t r i g u e , if o n e c a n ' t have the p l e a s u r e of c o m m u n i c a t i n g it to o u r f r i e n d s . [Exit.] Act

Fourth

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leading in Maria.] T h i s is s o kind, my s w e e t friend, to c o m e to s e e m e at this m o m e n t . I d e c l a r e , if I w e r e g o i n g to be m a r r i e d in a few d a y s , a s you a r e , I s h o u l d s c a r c e have f o u n d t i m e to visit my f r i e n d s . MARIA D o you t h i n k t h e n that t h e r e is a n impropriety in i t ? — H o w s h o u l d you d i s p o s e of y o u r t i m e ? CHARLOTTE W h y , I s h o u l d b e s h u t u p in m y c h a m b e r ; a n d my h e a d w o u l d s o run u p o n — u p o n — u p o n the s o l e m n c e r e m o n y that I w a s to p a s s t h r o u g h — I d e c l a r e it w o u l d t a k e m e a b o v e two h o u r s m e r e l y to learn t h a t little monosyllable—Yes. A h ! my d e a r , y o u r s e n t i m e n t a l i m a g i n a t i o n d o e s not c o n c e i v e w h a t that little tiny w o r d i m p l i e s . MARIA S p a r e m e y o u r raillery, my s w e e t friend; I s h o u l d love your a g r e e a b l e vivacity at any o t h e r t i m e . CHARLOTTE W h y this is the very t i m e to a m u s e y o u . You grieve m e to s e e you look so u n h a p p y . MARIA H a v e I not r e a s o n to look s o ? CHARLOTTE W h a t n e w grief d i s t r e s s e s y o u ? MARIA O h ! h o w s w e e t it is, w h e n the heart is b o r n e d o w n with m i s f o r t u n e , to r e c l i n e a n d r e p o s e o n t h e b o s o m of f r i e n d s h i p ! H e a v e n k n o w s , that, a l t h o u g h it is i m p r o p e r for a y o u n g lady to p r a i s e a g e n t l e m a n , yet I have ever c o n c e a l e d M r . D i m p l e ' s f o i b l e s , a n d s p o k e of h i m a s o f o n e w h o s e r e p u t a t i o n I e x p e c t e d w o u l d b e linked with m i n e : but his late c o n d u c t t o w a r d s m e , h a s t u r n e d my c o o l n e s s into c o n t e m p t . H e b e h a v e s a s if h e m e a n t to i n s u l t a n d d i s g u s t m e ; whilst my father, in t h e last c o n v e r s a t i o n o n the s u b j e c t of o u r m a r r i a g e , s p o k e of it a s a m a t t e r w h i c h laid n e a r his h e a r t , a n d in w h i c h h e w o u l d not b e a r c o n t r a d i c t i o n . CHARLOTTE T h i s works well: o h ! the g e n e r o u s D i m p l e . I'll e n d e a v o r to excite her to d i s c h a r g e h i m . [Aside.] B u t , my d e a r friend, y o u r h a p p i n e s s d e p e n d s o n y o u r s e l f : — W h y don't you d i s c a r d h i m ? T h o u g h the m a t c h h a s b e e n of long s t a n d i n g , I w o u l d not b e f o r c e d to m a k e m y s e l f misera b l e : n o p a r e n t in the world s h o u l d o b l i g e m e to m a r r v the m a n I did not like. MARIA O h ! my d e a r , you never lived with y o u r p a r e n t s , a n d d o not k n o w w h a t i n f l u e n c e a father's frowns h a v e u p o n a d a u g h t e r ' s h e a r t . B e s i d e s , w h a t have I to a l l e g e a g a i n s t M r . D i m p l e , to justify m y s e l f to t h e world? H e c a r r i e s h i m s e l f s o s m o o t h l y , t h a t every o n e w o u l d i m p u t e the b l a m e to m e , a n d call m e c a p r i c i o u s . CHARLOTTE A n d call her c a p r i c i o u s ! D i d ever s u c h a n o b j e c t i o n start into the heart of w o m a n ? F o r my part, I w i s h I h a d fifty lovers to d i s c a r d , for [CHARLOTTE

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n o other r e a s o n , t h a n b e c a u s e I did not f a n c y t h e m . M y d e a r M a r i a , you will forgive m e ; I k n o w y o u r c a n d o r a n d c o n f i d e n c e in m e ; b u t I h a v e at t i m e s , I c o n f e s s , b e e n led to s u p p o s e , t h a t s o m e other g e n t l e m a n w a s the c a u s e of your a v e r s i o n to M r . D i m p l e . MARIA N o , my s w e e t friend, you m a y b e a s s u r e d , that t h o u g h I h a v e s e e n m a n y g e n t l e m e n I c o u l d prefer to M r . D i m p l e , yet I never s a w o n e that I t h o u g h t I c o u l d give my h a n d t o , until this m o r n i n g . CHARLOTTE This morning! MARIA Y e s ; — o n e of t h e s t r a n g e s t a c c i d e n t s in t h e world. T h e o d i o u s D i m p l e , after d i s g u s t i n g m e with his c o n v e r s a t i o n , h a d j u s t left m e , w h e n a g e n t l e m a n , w h o , it s e e m s , b o a r d s in the s a m e h o u s e with h i m , s a w h i m c o m i n g o u t of o u r d o o r , a n d the h o u s e s l o o k i n g very m u c h a l i k e , h e c a m e into our h o u s e i n s t e a d of his l o d g i n g s ; n o r did h e d i s c o v e r his m i s t a k e until h e got into the parlor, w h e r e I w a s : h e t h e n b o w e d s o gracefully; m a d e such a genteel apology, and looked so manly and n o b l e ! — CHARLOTTE I s e e s o m e folks, t h o u g h it is s o g r e a t a n i m p r o p r i e t y , c a n p r a i s e a g e n t l e m a n , w h e n h e h a p p e n s to b e t h e m a n o f their fancy. [Aside.] MARIA I don't k n o w h o w it w a s , — I h o p e h e did not think m e i n d e l i c a t e — b u t I a s k e d h i m , I b e l i e v e , to sit d o w n , or p o i n t e d to a c h a i r . H e sat d o w n a n d i n s t e a d of h a v i n g r e c o u r s e to o b s e r v a t i o n s u p o n t h e w e a t h e r , or h a c k n e y e d c r i t i c i s m s u p o n t h e t h e a t e r , h e e n t e r e d readily into a convers a t i o n worthy a m a n of s e n s e to s p e a k , a n d a lady of d e l i c a c y a n d s e n t i m e n t to h e a r . H e w a s not strictly h a n d s o m e , b u t h e s p o k e t h e l a n g u a g e of s e n t i m e n t , a n d his eyes l o o k e d t e n d e r n e s s a n d h o n o r . CHARLOTTE O h ! [eagerly] you s e n t i m e n t a l grave girls, w h e n your h e a r t s a r e o n c e t o u c h e d , b e a t u s rattles a bar's l e n g t h . A n d s o , you a r e q u i t e in love with this h e - a n g e l ? MARIA In love with h i m ! H o w c a n y o u rattle s o , C h a r l o t t e ? a m I not g o i n g to b e m i s e r a b l e ? [Sighs.] In love with a g e n t l e m a n I never s a w b u t o n e h o u r in my life, a n d don't k n o w his n a m e ! — N o : I only w i s h e d t h a t the m a n I shall marry, m a y look, a n d talk, a n d a c t , j u s t like h i m . B e s i d e s , m y d e a r , h e is a m a r r i e d m a n . CHARLOTTE W h y , t h a t w a s g o o d n a t u r e d . — H e told you s o , I s u p p o s e , in m e r e charity, to p r e v e n t y o u r falling in love with h i m ? MARIA H e didn't tell m e s o [peevishly]; h e l o o k e d a s if h e w a s m a r r i e d . CHARLOTTE H o w , my d e a r , did h e l o o k s h e e p i s h ? MARIA I a m s u r e h e h a s a s u s c e p t i b l e h e a r t , a n d t h e l a d i e s of his a c q u a i n t a n c e m u s t b e very s t u p i d not t o — CHARLOTTE Hush! I hear some person coming. [Enter L E T I T I A . ] LETITIA M y d e a r M a r i a , I a m h a p p y to s e e y o u . L u d ! w h a t a pity it is t h a t you p u r c h a s e d your wedding clothes. MARIA I t h i n k s o . [Sighing.] LETITIA W h y , my d e a r , t h e r e is t h e s w e e t e s t p a r c e l o f silks c o m e over y o u ever s a w . N a n c y Brilliant h a s a full s u i t c o m e ; s h e s e n t over h e r m e a s u r e , a n d it fits her to a hair; it is i m m e n s e l y d r e s s y , a n d m a d e for a courth o o p . I t h o u g h t they s a i d the l a r g e h o o p s w e r e g o i n g o u t of f a s h i o n . CHARLOTTE D i d y o u s e e the h a t ? — I s it a f a c t , t h a t t h e d e e p l a c e s r o u n d the b o r d e r is still t h e f a s h i o n ?

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[WttJiiw] U p o n my h o n o r , Sir! H a ! D i m p l e ' s v o i c e ! M y d e a r , I m u s t t a k e leave o f y o u . T h e r e a r e s o m e t h i n g s n e c e s s a r y to b e d o n e at o u r h o u s e . — C a n ' t I g o t h r o u g h the other room? [Enter D I M P L E and M A N L Y . ] DIMPLE L a d i e s , your m o s t o b e d i e n t . CHARLOTTE M i s s V a n R o u g h , shall I p r e s e n t my b r o t h e r H e n r y to y o u ? Colonel Manly, M a r i a , — M i s s Van R o u g h , brother. MARIA H e r b r o t h e r ! [Turns and sees M A N L Y . ] O h ! my heart! T h e very g e n t l e m a n I have b e e n p r a i s i n g . MANLY T h e s a m e a m i a b l e girl I s a w this m o r n i n g ! CHARLOTTE W h y , you look a s if you w e r e a c q u a i n t e d . MANLY I u n i n t e n t i o n a l l y i n t r u d e d into this lady's p r e s e n c e this m o r n i n g , for w h i c h s h e w a s s o g o o d a s to p r o m i s e m e her f o r g i v e n e s s . CHARLOTTE O h ! h o ! is t h a t the c a s e ! H a v e t h e s e two p e n s e r o s o s b e e n t o g e t h e r ? W e r e they H e n r y ' s eyes that l o o k e d s o t e n d e r l y ? [Aside.] A n d s o y o u p r o m i s e d to p a r d o n h i m ? a n d c o u l d you b e s o g o o d n a t u r e d ? — h a v e y o u really forgiven h i m ? I b e g y o u w o u l d d o it for my s a k e . [Whisp e r i n g loud to M A R I A . ] B u t , m y d e a r , a s you a r e in s u c h h a s t e , it w o u l d b e cruel to d e t a i n y o u : I c a n s h o w you t h e way t h r o u g h the o t h e r r o o m . MARIA S p a r e m e , sprightly friend. MANLY T h e lady d o e s not, I h o p e , i n t e n d to deprive u s of t h e p l e a s u r e of her c o m p a n y s o s o o n . CHARLOTTE S h e h a s only a m a n t u a - m a k e r 8 w h o w a i t s for h e r at h o m e . B u t , a s I a m to give my o p i n i o n of t h e d r e s s , I think s h e c a n n o t g o yet. W e w e r e talking of the f a s h i o n s w h e n y o u c a m e in; b u t I s u p p o s e the s u b j e c t m u s t b e c h a n g e d to s o m e t h i n g of m o r e i m p o r t a n c e n o w . — M r . D i m p l e , will you favor u s with a n a c c o u n t of t h e p u b l i c e n t e r t a i n m e n t s ? DIMPLE W h y , really, M i s s M a n l y , you c o u l d not h a v e a s k e d m e a q u e s t i o n F o r my part, I m u s t c o n f e s s , that to a m a n w h o h a s m o r e mal-apropos.9 traveled, t h e r e is n o t h i n g that is worthy the n a m e of a m u s e m e n t to b e f o u n d in this city. CHARLOTTE E x c e p t visiting the l a d i e s . DIMPLE P a r d o n m e , M a d a m ; that is the a v o c a t i o n o f a m a n of t a s t e . B u t , for a m u s e m e n t , I positively k n o w of n o t h i n g that c a n b e c a l l e d s o , u n l e s s you dignify with t h a t title the h o p p i n g o n c e a fortnight to the s o u n d of two or t h r e e s q u e a k i n g fiddles, a n d the c l a t t e r i n g of the old tavern wind o w s , or sitting to s e e the m i s e r a b l e m u m m e r s , w h o m you call a c t o r s , m u r d e r c o m e d y , a n d m a k e a f a r c e of tragedy. MANLY D O you never a t t e n d the t h e a t e r , S i r ? DIMPLE I was tortured there o n c e . CHARLOTTE Pray, M r . D i m p l e , w a s it a t r a g e d y or a c o m e d y ? DIMPLE F a i t h , M a d a m , I c a n n o t tell; for I sat with my b a c k to the s t a g e all the t i m e , a d m i r i n g a m u c h better a c t r e s s t h a n a n y t h e r e ; — a lady w h o p l a y e d the fine w o m a n to p e r f e c t i o n ; — t h o u g h , by the l a u g h o f the horrid c r e a t u r e s a r o u n d m e , I s u p p o s e it w a s c o m e d y . Yet, o n s e c o n d t h o u g h t s , it m i g h t b e s o m e h e r o in a tragedy, dying s o c o m i c a l l y a s to set the w h o l e h o u s e in a n u p r o a r . — C o l o n e l , I p r e s u m e you h a v e b e e n in E u r o p e ? DIMPLE MARIA

8. I.e.. dressmaker.

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I n d e e d , Sir, I w a s never ten l e a g u e s f r o m t h e c o n t i n e n t . Believe m e , C o l o n e l , you have a n i m m e n s e p l e a s u r e to c o m e ; a n d w h e n you shall h a v e s e e n the brilliant exhibitions of E u r o p e , you will learn to d e s p i s e the a m u s e m e n t s of this c o u n t r y a s m u c h a s I d o . MANLY T h e r e f o r e I d o not wish to s e e t h e m ; for I c a n never e s t e e m that k n o w l e d g e v a l u a b l e , w h i c h t e n d s to give m e a d i s t a s t e for my native country. DIMPLE W e l l , C o l o n e l , t h o u g h y o u h a v e n o t traveled, you h a v e r e a d . MANLY I h a v e , a little; a n d by it have d i s c o v e r e d that t h e r e is a l a u d a b l e partiality, w h i c h i g n o r a n t , u n t r a v e l e d m e n e n t e r t a i n for everything that b e l o n g s to their native c o u n t r y . I call it l a u d a b l e ; — i t i n j u r e s n o o n e ; a d d s to their own h a p p i n e s s ; a n d , w h e n e x t e n d e d , b e c o m e s the n o b l e p r i n c i p l e of p a t r i o t i s m . T r a v e l e d g e n t l e m e n rise s u p e r i o r , in their o w n o p i n i o n , to this: b u t , if t h e c o n t e m p t w h i c h they c o n t r a c t for their c o u n t r y is t h e m o s t v a l u a b l e a c q u i s i t i o n of their travels, I a m far f r o m t h i n k i n g that their t i m e a n d m o n e y a r e well s p e n t . MARIA What noble sentiments! CHARLOTTE L e t my b r o t h e r set o u t f r o m w h e r e h e will in t h e fields of c o n v e r s a t i o n , h e is s u r e to e n d his t o u r in the t e m p l e of gravity. MANLY F o r g i v e m e , m y sister. I love my c o u n t r y ; it h a s its foibles u n d o u b t e d l y ; — s o m e f o r e i g n e r s will with p l e a s u r e r e m a r k t h e m — b u t s u c h r e m a r k s fall very u n g r a c e f u l l y f r o m the lips of h e r c i t i z e n s . DIMPLE You a r e perfectly in the right, C o l o n e l — A m e r i c a h a s h e r f a u l t s . MANLY Y e s , S i r ; a n d w e , h e r c h i l d r e n , s h o u l d b l u s h for t h e m in p r i v a t e , a n d e n d e a v o r , a s i n d i v i d u a l s , to r e f o r m t h e m . B u t , if o u r c o u n t r y h a s its errors in c o m m o n with o t h e r c o u n t r i e s , I a m p r o u d to s a y A m e r i c a , I m e a n the U n i t e d S t a t e s , have d i s p l a y e d virtues a n d a c h i e v e m e n t s w h i c h m o d e r n n a t i o n s m a y a d m i r e , b u t of w h i c h they h a v e s e l d o m set u s the example. CHARLOTTE B u t , b r o t h e r , w e m u s t i n t r o d u c e you to s o m e o f o u r gay folks, a n d let you s e e the city, s u c h a s it is. M r . D i m p l e is k n o w n to a l m o s t every family in t o w n ; — h e will d o u b t l e s s t a k e a p l e a s u r e in i n t r o d u c i n g you. DIMPLE I shall e s t e e m every s e r v i c e I c a n r e n d e r your b r o t h e r a n h o n o r . MANLY I fear the b u s i n e s s I a m u p o n will t a k e u p all my t i m e , a n d my family will be a n x i o u s to h e a r f r o m m e . MARIA H i s family! B u t w h a t is it to m e that h e is m a r r i e d ! [Aside.] Pray, h o w did you leave y o u r lady, S i r ? CHARLOTTE M y b r o t h e r is not m a r r i e d [observing her anxiety]; it is only a n o d d way h e h a s of e x p r e s s i n g h i m s e l f . — P r a y , b r o t h e r , is this b u s i n e s s w h i c h you m a k e your c o n t i n u a l e x c u s e , a s e c r e t ? MANLY N o sister, I c a m e hither to solicit the h o n o r a b l e C o n g r e s s that a n u m b e r of my b r a v e old s o l d i e r s may b e p u t u p o n the p e n s i o n - l i s t , w h o w e r e , at first, not j u d g e d to b e s o materially w o u n d e d a s to n e e d the p u b l i c a s s i s t a n c e . — M y s i s t e r s a y s t r u e : [To M A R I A . ] I call my late s o l d i e r s my f a m i l y . — T h o s e w h o w e r e not in the field in the late g l o r i o u s c o n t e s t , a n d t h o s e w h o w e r e , have their r e s p e c t i v e m e r i t s ; b u t , I c o n f e s s , my old b r o t h e r - s o l d i e r s a r e d e a r e r to m e t h a n t h e f o r m e r d e s c r i p t i o n . F r i e n d s h i p s m a d e in adversity a r e l a s t i n g ; o u r c o u n t r y m e n m a y forget u s ; b u t that is n o r e a s o n why w e s h o u l d forget o n e a n o t h e r . B u t I m u s t leave y o u ; my t i m e of e n g a g e m e n t a p p r o a c h e s . MANLY

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W e l l , b u t b r o t h e r , if you will g o , will you p l e a s e to c o n d u c t my fair friend h o m e ? You live in the s a m e s t r e e t ; — I w a s to h a v e g o n e with her m y s e l f — [ A s i d e . ] A lucky t h o u g h t . MARIA I a m o b l i g e d to y o u r sister, Sir, a n d w a s j u s t i n t e n d i n g to g o . [Going.] MANLY I shall a t t e n d her with p l e a s u r e . [Exit with M A R I A , followed by D I M P L E and C H A R L O T T E . ] MARIA N o w , pray don't betray m e to your b r o t h e r . CHARLOTTE [just as she sees him make a motion to take his leave]. O n e word with y o u , b r o t h e r , if you p l e a s e . [Follows them out.] [Manent D I M P L E and L E T I T I A . ] DIMPLE Y O U r e c e i v e d the b i l l e t 2 I s e n t y o u , 1 p r e s u m e ? LETITIA Hush!—Yes. DIMPLE W h e n shall I pay my r e s p e c t s to y o u ? LETITIA At eight I shall be u n e n g a g e d . [Reenter C H A R L O T T E . ] DIMPLE D i d my lovely a n g e l receive my billet? [To C H A R L O T T E . ] CHARLOTTE

1

CHARLOTTE

Yes.

W h a t h o u r shall I expect with i m p a t i e n c e ? CHARLOTTE At eight I shall be at h o m e , u n e n g a g e d . DIMPLE U n f o r t u n a t e ! I have a horrid e n g a g e m e n t of b u s i n e s s at that h o u r . — C a n ' t you finish your visit earlier, a n d let six b e t h e h a p p y h o u r ? CHARLOTTE You k n o w y o u r i n f l u e n c e over m e . [Exeunt severally.] DIMPLE

SCENE VAN R O U G H ' S

2.

house.

alone.] It c a n n o t p o s s i b l y b e t r u e ! T h e s o n of my old friend can't h a v e a c t e d s o u n a d v i s e d l y . S e v e n t e e n t h o u s a n d p o u n d s ! in b i l l s ! — M r . T r a n s fer m u s t h a v e b e e n m i s t a k e n . H e always a p p e a r e d s o p r u d e n t , a n d t a l k e d s o well u p o n m o n e y - m a t t e r s , a n d even a s s u r e d m e that he i n t e n d e d to c h a n g e his d r e s s for a suit of c l o t h e s w h i c h w o u l d not c o s t s o m u c h , a n d look m o r e s u b s t a n t i a l , a s s o o n a s h e m a r r i e d . N o , n o , n o ! it c a n ' t b e ; it c a n n o t b e . — B u t , however, I m u s t look o u t s h a r p . I did n o t c a r e w h a t his p r i n c i p l e s or his a c t i o n s w e r e , s o l o n g a s h e m i n d e d the m a i n c h a n c e . S e v e n t e e n t h o u s a n d p o u n d s ! — I f h e h a d lost it in t r a d e , why t h e b e s t m e n may have ill-luck; b u t to g a m e it a w a y , a s T r a n s f e r s a y s — w h y , at this rate, his w h o l e e s t a t e m a y go in o n e night, a n d , w h a t is ten t i m e s w o r s e , m i n e into the b a r g a i n . N o , n o ; M a r y is right. L e a v e w o m e n to look o u t in t h e s e m a t t e r s ; for all they look a s if they didn't k n o w a j o u r n a l f r o m a ledger, w h e n their interest is c o n c e r n e d , they k n o w w h a t ' s w h a t ; they m i n d the m a i n c h a n c e a s well a s t h e b e s t o f u s . — I w o n d e r M a r y did not tell m e s h e k n e w of his s p e n d i n g his m o n e y s o foolishly. S e v e n t e e n t h o u s a n d p o u n d s ! W h y , if my d a u g h t e r w a s s t a n d i n g u p to b e m a r ried, I w o u l d forbid the b a n n s , if I f o u n d it w a s to a m a n w h o did not mind the m a i n c h a n c e . — H u s h ! I h e a r s o m e b o d y c o m i n g . 'Tis M a r y ' s voice: a m a n with her too! I s h o u l d n ' t b e s u r p r i z e d if this s h o u l d b e the o t h e r string to her b o w . — A y e , a y e , let t h e m a l o n e ; w o m e n u n d e r s t a n d [VAN R O U G H ,

VAN R O U G H

I. I.e., Dimple and Letitia remain.

2. Letter, note.

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t h e m a i n c h a n c e . — T h o u g h , i' faith, I'll listen a little. [Retires into a closet.] [ M A N L Y leading in M A R I A . ] MANLY I h o p e y o u will e x c u s e m y s p e a k i n g u p o n s o i m p o r t a n t a s u b j e c t , s o abruptly; b u t the m o m e n t I e n t e r e d y o u r r o o m , you s t r u c k m e a s the lady w h o m I h a d l o n g loved in i m a g i n a t i o n , a n d never h o p e d to s e e . MARIA I n d e e d , Sir, I h a v e b e e n led to h e a r m o r e u p o n this s u b j e c t t h a n I ought. MANLY D o y o u t h e n d i s a p p r o v e my suit, M a d a m , or the a b r u p t n e s s of my i n t r o d u c i n g it? If the latter, my p e c u l i a r s i t u a t i o n , b e i n g o b l i g e d to leave the city in a few d a y s , will, I h o p e , b e my e x c u s e ; if t h e f o r m e r , I will retire: for I a m s u r e I w o u l d not give a m o m e n t ' s i n q u i e t u d e to her, w h o m I c o u l d d e v o t e m y life to p l e a s e . I a m not s o i n d e l i c a t e a s to s e e k y o u r i m m e d i a t e a p p r o b a t i o n ; p e r m i t m e only to b e n e a r y o u , a n d by a t h o u s a n d t e n d e r a s s i d u i t i e s to e n d e a v o r to excite a grateful r e t u r n . MARIA I h a v e a father, w h o m I w o u l d die to m a k e h a p p y — h e will d i s a p prove— MANLY D o you t h i n k m e s o u n g e n e r o u s a s to s e e k a p l a c e in y o u r e s t e e m w i t h o u t his c o n s e n t ? Y o u m u s t — y o u ever o u g h t to c o n s i d e r t h a t m a n a s u n w o r t h y of y o u , w h o s e e k s a n interest in y o u r h e a r t , c o n t r a r y to a father's a p p r o b a t i o n . A y o u n g lady s h o u l d reflect, t h a t the l o s s of a lover m a y b e s u p p l i e d , b u t n o t h i n g c a n c o m p e n s a t e for t h e l o s s of a p a r e n t ' s a f f e c t i o n . Yet, why d o you s u p p o s e y o u r f a t h e r w o u l d d i s a p p r o v e ? In o u r c o u n t r y , the a f f e c t i o n s a r e n o t s a c r i f i c e d to r i c h e s , or family a g g r a n d i z e m e n t : — s h o u l d you a p p r o v e , my family is d e c e n t , a n d m y r a n k h o n o r a b l e . MARIA You d i s t r e s s m e , Sir. MANLY T h e n I will s i n c e r e l y b e g y o u r e x c u s e for o b t r u d i n g s o d i s a g r e e a b l e a s u b j e c t a n d retire. [Going.] MARIA S t a y , Sir! Y o u r g e n e r o s i t y a n d g o o d o p i n i o n of m e d e s e r v e a r e t u r n ; b u t why m u s t I d e c l a r e w h a t , for t h e s e few h o u r s , I h a v e s c a r c e s u f f e r e d m y s e l f to t h i n k ? — I a m — MANLY What?— MARIA E n g a g e d , S i r ; — a n d , in a few d a y s , to b e m a r r i e d to the g e n t l e m a n y o u s a w at y o u r sister's. MANLY E n g a g e d to b e m a r r i e d ! A n d h a v e I b e e n b a s e l y i n v a d i n g the rights o f a n o t h e r ? W h y h a v e you p e r m i t t e d t h i s — I s this the r e t u r n for the partiality I d e c l a r e d for y o u ? MARIA You d i s t r e s s m e , Sir. W h a t w o u l d y o u h a v e m e to say? You are t o o g e n e r o u s to w i s h the truth: o u g h t I to s a y that I d a r e d n o t suffer m y s e l f to t h i n k of my e n g a g e m e n t , a n d that I a m g o i n g to give m y h a n d w i t h o u t m y h e a r t ? — W o u l d you h a v e m e c o n f e s s a partiality for y o u ? If s o , y o u r t r i u m p h is c o m p l e t e ; a n d c a n b e only m o r e s o , w h e n d a y s o f m i s e r y , with the m a n I c a n n o t love, will m a k e m e think of h i m w h o m I c o u l d prefer. MANLY [after a pause] W e a r e b o t h u n h a p p y ; b u t it is y o u r d u t y to o b e y your p a r e n t , — m i n e to o b e y my h o n o r . L e t u s , t h e r e f o r e , b o t h follow the p a t h of r e c t i t u d e ; a n d o f this w e m a y b e a s s u r e d , t h a t if w e a r e not h a p p y , w e shall, at least d e s e r v e to b e s o . A d i e u ! I d a r e n o t t r u s t m y s e l f l o n g e r with y o u . [Exeunt severally.3] 3. Separately.

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lodgings.

meeting J O N A T H A N . ] W e l l , M r . J o n a t h a n , w h a t s u c c e s s with the fair? JONATHAN W h y , s u c h a tarnal c r o s s t i k e 4 y o u never s a w ! — Y o u w o u l d have c o u n t e d s h e h a d lived u p o n c r a b a p p l e s a n d v i n e g a r for a fortnight. B u t w h a t the rattle m a k e s you look s o t a r n a t i o n g l u m ? JESSAMY I w a s thinking, M r . J o n a t h a n , w h a t c o u l d b e t h e r e a s o n o f her carrying h e r s e l f s o coolly to y o u . JONATHAN C o o l l y , d o y o u call it? W h y , I vow, s h e w a s fire-hot angry: m a y be it w a s b e c a u s e I b u s s ' d her. JESSAMY N o , n o , M r . J o n a t h a n ; t h e r e m u s t b e s o m e o t h e r c a u s e : I never yet k n e w a lady angry at b e i n g k i s s e d . JONATHAN W e l l , if it is n o t the y o u n g w o m a n ' s b a s h f u l n e s s , I vow I c a n ' t c o n c e i v e why s h e s h o u ' d n't like m e . JESSAMY M a y b e it is b e c a u s e you h a v e n o t the G r a c e s , M r . J o n a t h a n . JONATHAN G r a c e ! W h y , d o e s the y o u n g w o m a n e x p e c t I m u s t b e c o n v e r t e d before I court her?5 JESSAMY I m e a n g r a c e s of p e r s o n ; for i n s t a n c e , my lord tells u s that we m u s t c u t off o u r nails even at t o p , in s m a l l s e g m e n t s of c i r c l e s ; — t h o u g h you won't u n d e r s t a n d t h a t — I n the next p l a c e , y o u m u s t r e g u l a t e y o u r laugh. JONATHAN M a p l e - l o g sieze it! don't I l a u g h n a t u r a l ? JESSAMY T h a t ' s the very fault, M r . J o n a t h a n . B e s i d e s , y o u a b s o l u t e l y m i s p l a c e it. I w a s told by a friend of m i n e that you l a u g h e d o u t r i g h t at the play t h e o t h e r night, w h e n y o u o u g h t only to h a v e tittered. JONATHAN G o r ! I — w h a t d o e s o n e g o to s e e fun for if they can't l a u g h ? JESSAMY Y O U m a y l a u g h ; — b u t you m u s t l a u g h by r u l e . JONATHAN S w a m p i t — l a u g h by rule! W e l l , I s h o u l d like t h a t tarnally. JESSAMY W h y you k n o w , M r . J o n a t h a n , that to d a n c e , a lady to play with her f a n , or a g e n t l e m a n with his c a n e , a n d all o t h e r n a t u r a l m o t i o n s , a r e r e g u l a t e d by art. M y m a s t e r h a s c o m p o s e d a n i m m e n s e l y p r e t t y g a m u t , 6 by w h i c h a n y lady, or g e n t l e m a n , with a few y e a r s ' c l o s e a p p l i c a t i o n , m a y learn to l a u g h a s gracefully a s if they w e r e b o r n a n d b r e d to it. JONATHAN M e r c y o n my s o u l ! A g a m u t for l a u g h i n g — j u s t like fa, la, s o l ? JESSAMY Y e s . It c o m p r i s e s every p o s s i b l e d i s p l a y o f j o c u l a r i t y , f r o m a n affetuoso s m i l e to a piano titter, or full c h o r u s fortissimo7 ha, ha, ha! My m a s t e r e m p l o y s his l e i s u r e - h o u r s in m a r k i n g o u t t h e p l a y s , like a c a t h e dral c h a n t i n g - b o o k , 8 t h a t the i g n o r a n t m a y k n o w w h e r e to l a u g h ; a n d t h a t pit, box, a n d g a l l e r y 9 m a y k e e p t i m e t o g e t h e r , a n d not h a v e a s n i g g e r in o n e part of t h e h o u s e , a b r o a d grin in the o t h e r , a n d a d — d g r u m 1 look in the third. H o w delightful to s e e the a u d i e n c e all s m i l e t o g e t h e r , [JESSAMY

JESSAMY

4. Here, churlish person. "The fair": i.e., the fair sex. 5. Jonathan takes "grace" in its religious sense. 6. Full range (of musical notes). 7. Very loud. "Affetuoso": passionate. "Piano": soft.

T h e s e are all musical terms. 8. I.e., hymnal. 9. I.e. balcony. "Pit": playhouse area nearest the stage. 1. Surly, grim.

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then look o n their b o o k s , then twist their m o u t h s into a n a g r e e a b l e s i m per, then a l t o g e t h e r s h a k e the h o u s e with a g e n e r a l h a , h a , h a ! l o u d a s a full c h o r u s of H a n d e l ' s , at a n A b b e y - c o m m e m o r a t i o n . 2 JONATHAN H a , h a , h a ! that's d a n g ' d c u t e , I swear. JESSAMY T h e g e n t l e m e n , you s e e , will l a u g h the t e n o r ; the l a d i e s will play the c o u n t e r - t e n o r ; the b e a u x will s q u e a k the t r e b l e ; a n d o u r jolly f r i e n d s in the gallery a t h o r o u g h b a s s , ' h o , h o , h o ! JONATHAN W e l l , can't you let m e s e e t h a t g a m u t ? JESSAMY O h ! y e s , M r . J o n a t h a n ; h e r e it is. [Takes out a book.} O h ! n o , this is only a titter with its v a r i a t i o n s . A h , h e r e it is. [Takes out another.] Now you m u s t k n o w , M r . J o n a t h a n , this is a p i e c e written by B e n J o n s o n , 4 w h i c h I have set to my m a s t e r ' s g a m u t . T h e p l a c e s w h e r e you m u s t s m i l e , look g r a v e , or l a u g h o u t r i g h t , a r e m a r k e d b e l o w the line. N o w look over m e . — " T h e r e was a certain m a n " — n o w you m u s t smile. JONATHAN W e l l , r e a d it a g a i n ; 1 w a r r a n t I'll m i n d m y e y e . JESSAMY "There was a certain man, who had a sad scolding wife,"—now you m u s t l a u g h . JONATHAN Tarnation! That's no laughing matter, though. JESSAMY " A n d s h e lay s i c k a - d y i n g " ; — n o w you m u s t titter. JONATHAN W h a t , s n i g g e r w h e n the g o o d w o m a n ' s a-dying! G o r , I — JESSAMY Y e s ; the n o t e s say y o u m u s t — " A n d s h e a s k e d her h u s b a n d leave to m a k e a w i l l , " — n o w y o u m u s t b e g i n to look g r a v e ; — " a n d h e r h u s b a n d said"— JOHNATHAN Ay, w h a t did her h u s b a n d s a y ? — S o m e t h i n g d a n g ' d c u t e , I reckon. JESSAMY " A n d her h u s b a n d s a i d , you h a v e h a d y o u r will all y o u r life t i m e , a n d w o u l d you h a v e it after y o u a r e d e a d t o o ? " JONATHAN H o , h o , h o ! T h e r e the old m a n w a s even with her; h e w a s u p to the n o t c h — h a , h a , h a ! JESSAMY B u t , M r . J o n a t h a n , you m u s t not l a u g h s o . W h y , you o u g h t to h a v e tittered piano, a n d you have l a u g h e d fortissimo. L o o k h e r e ; you s e e t h e s e m a r k s , A . B . C . a n d s o o n ; t h e s e a r e the r e f e r e n c e s to t h e o t h e r part of the b o o k . L e t u s turn to it, a n d you will s e e the d i r e c t i o n s h o w to m a n a g e t h e m u s c l e s . T h i s [turns over] w a s n o t e D you b l u n d e r e d a t . — "You m u s t p u r s e the m o u t h into a s m i l e , t h e n titter, d i s c o v e r i n g t h e lower part of the t h r e e front u p p e r t e e t h . " JONATHAN H o w ! r e a d it a g a i n . JESSAMY "There was a certain man"—very well!—"who had a sad scolding w i f e , " — w h y don't you l a u g h ? JONATHAN N o w , that s c o l d i n g wife s t i c k s in my gizzard s o pluckily, t h a t I can't l a u g h for the b l o o d a n d n o w n s 5 of m e . L e t m e l o o k g r a v e h e r e , a n d I'll l a u g h y o u r belly full w h e r e t h e old c r e a t u r e ' s a - d y i n g . — JESSAMY " A n d s h e a s k e d her h u s b a n d " — [ B e l l rings.] M y m a s t e r ' s bell! he's r e t u r n e d , I f e a r — H e r e , M r . J o n a t h a n , t a k e this g a m u t ; a n d , I m a k e n o 2. I.e., in an oratorio by George Frederick Handel ( 1 6 8 5 - 1 7 5 9 ) , British composer, performed at Westminster Abbey in London. 3. In Baroque music, the bass part. 4. British dramatist ( 1 5 7 2 - 1 6 3 7 ) .

5. From the oath "God's blood and wounds." "Pluckily" may be a pun to go with "gizzard," for pluck means not only courage but also the heart, liver, and lungs of a slaughtered animal.

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d o u b t but with a few y e a r s ' c l o s e a p p l i c a t i o n , you m a y b e a b l e to s m i l e gracefully. [Exeunt severally.] SCENE CHARLOTTE'S

[Enter

2.

apartment. MANLY]

W h a t , n o o n e at h o m e ? H o w u n f o r t u n a t e to m e e t the only lady my h e a r t w a s ever m o v e d by, to find her e n g a g e d to a n o t h e r , a n d c o n f e s s i n g her partiality for m e ! Yet e n g a g e d to a m a n , w h o , by her i n t i m a tion, a n d his libertine c o n v e r s a t i o n with m e , I fear, d o e s not merit her. Aye! there's the sting; for, w e r e I a s s u r e d that M a r i a w a s h a p p y , my heart is not s o selfish, b u t that it w o u l d dilate in k n o w i n g it, even t h o u g h it w e r e with a n o t h e r . — B u t to k n o w s h e is u n h a p p y ! — I m u s t drive t h e s e t h o u g h t s f r o m m e . C h a r l o t t e h a s s o m e b o o k s ; a n d this is w h a t I believe s h e c a l l s her little library. [Enters a closet.] [Enter D I M P L E leading L E T I T I A . ] LETITIA A n d will you p r e t e n d to say, now, M r . D i m p l e , t h a t you p r o p o s e to b r e a k with M a r i a ? Are not the b a n n s p u b l i s h e d ? 6 A r e not the c l o t h e s p u r c h a s e d ? Are not the f r i e n d s invited? In s h o r t , is it not a d o n e affair? DIMPLE Believe m e , my d e a r Letitia, I w o u l d not m a r r y her. LETITIA W h y h a v e you not b r o k e with h e r b e f o r e this, a s you all a l o n g d e l u d e d m e by s a y i n g you w o u l d ? DIMPLE B e c a u s e I w a s in h o p e s s h e w o u l d ere this h a v e b r o k e with m e . LETITIA You c o u l d not e x p e c t it. DIMPLE N a y , b u t b e c a l m a m o m e n t ; 'twas f r o m my r e g a r d to you t h a t I did not d i s c a r d her. LETITIA R e g a r d to m e ! DIMPLE Y e s ; I have d o n e everything in my p o w e r to b r e a k with her, but the foolish girl is s o fond of m e , that n o t h i n g c a n a c c o m p l i s h it. B e s i d e s , h o w c a n I offer her my h a n d , w h e n my heart is i n d i s s o l u b l y e n g a g e d to you?— LETITIA T h e r e m a y b e r e a s o n in this; b u t why s o a t t e n t i v e to M i s s M a n l y ? DIMPLE Attentive to M i s s M a n l y ! F o r h e a v e n ' s s a k e , if you h a v e n o b e t t e r o p i n i o n of my c o n s t a n c y , pay not s o ill a c o m p l i m e n t to my t a s t e . LETITIA D i d I not s e e you w h i s p e r her to-day? DIMPLE Possibly I m i g h t — b u t s o m e t h i n g of s o very trifling a n a t u r e , t h a t I have already forgot w h a t it w a s . LETITIA I b e l i e v e , s h e h a s not forgot it. DIMPLE M y d e a r c r e a t u r e , h o w c a n you for a m o m e n t s u p p o s e I s h o u l d have a n y s e r i o u s t h o u g h t s of that trifling, gay, flighty c o q u e t t e , that disagreeable— [Enter C H A R L O T T E . ] DIMPLE M y d e a r M i s s M a n l y , I rejoice to s e e y o u ; t h e r e is a c h a r m in y o u r c o n v e r s a t i o n t h a t always m a r k s your e n t r a n c e into c o m p a n y a s f o r t u n a t e . LETITIA W h e r e h a v e you b e e n , my d e a r ? MANLY

6 . I.e., the marriage been publicly announced.

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W h y , I h a v e b e e n a b o u t to twenty s h o p s , t u r n i n g over pretty t h i n g s , a n d s o h a v e left twenty visits u n p a i d . I w i s h y o u w o u l d s t e p into the c a r r i a g e a n d w h i s k r o u n d , m a k e my a p o l o g y , a n d leave m y c a r d s w h e r e o u r friends a r e n o t at h o m e ; t h a t you k n o w will s e r v e a s a visit. C o m e , do go. LETITIA S O a n x i o u s to g e t m e o u t ! b u t I'll w a t c h y o u . [Aside.] O h ! y e s , I'll g o ; I w a n t a little e x e r c i s e . — P o s i t i v e l y [ D I M P L E offering to accompany her], M r . D i m p l e , y o u shall not g o , why, h a l f m y visits a r e c a k e a n d c a u d l e 7 visits; it won't d o , you k n o w , for you to g o . — [Exit, hut returns to the door in the back scene and listens.] DIMPLE T h i s a t t a c h m e n t of y o u r b r o t h e r to M a r i a is f o r t u n a t e . CHARLOTTE H O W did you c o m e to the k n o w l e d g e o f it? DIMPLE I r e a d it in their e y e s . CHARLOTTE A n d I h a d it f r o m her m o u t h . It w o u l d h a v e a m u s e d y o u to have s e e n her! S h e that t h o u g h t it s o g r e a t a n i m p r o p r i e t y to p r a i s e a g e n t l e m a n , t h a t s h e c o u l d not b r i n g o u t o n e w o r d in your favor, f o u n d a r e d u n d a n c y to p r a i s e h i m . DIMPLE I h a v e d o n e everything in my p o w e r to a s s i s t his p a s s i o n t h e r e : y o u r d e l i c a c y , m y d e a r e s t girl, w o u l d b e s h o c k e d at h a l f t h e i n s t a n c e s of neglect and misbehavior. CHARLOTTE I don't k n o w h o w I s h o u l d b e a r n e g l e c t ; b u t M r . D i m p l e m u s t m i s b e h a v e h i m s e l f i n d e e d , to forfeit my g o o d o p i n i o n . DIMPLE Y o u r g o o d o p i n i o n , m y a n g e l , is t h e p r i d e a n d p l e a s u r e of my h e a r t ; a n d if the m o s t r e s p e c t f u l t e n d e r n e s s for y o u a n d a n utter indiff e r e n c e for all y o u r sex b e s i d e s , c a n m a k e m e w o r t h y o f y o u r e s t e e m , I shall richly merit it. CHARLOTTE All m y sex b e s i d e s , M r . D i m p l e — y o u forgot y o u r tete-d-tete8 with L e t i t i a . DIMPLE H o w c a n y o u , m y lovely a n g e l , c a s t a t h o u g h t o n t h a t i n s i p i d , wrym o u t h e d , ugly c r e a t u r e ! CHARLOTTE But her fortune may have c h a r m s ? DIMPLE N o t to a h e a r t like m i n e . T h e m a n w h o h a s b e e n b l e s s e d with the g o o d o p i n i o n of m y C h a r l o t t e , m u s t d e s p i s e t h e a l l u r e m e n t s of fortune. CHARLOTTE I a m satisfied. DIMPLE L e t u s t h i n k no m o r e o n t h e o d i o u s s u b j e c t , b u t d e v o t e t h e p r e s e n t h o u r to h a p p i n e s s . CHARLOTTE C a n I b e h a p p y , w h e n I s e e t h e m a n I p r e f e r g o i n g to b e m a r r i e d to a n o t h e r ? DIMPLE H a v e I not a l r e a d y satisfied my c h a r m i n g a n g e l t h a t I c a n never think of m a r r y i n g t h e p u l i n g M a r i a . B u t , even if it w e r e s o , c o u l d t h a t b e a n y b a r to o u r h a p p i n e s s ; for, a s the p o e t s i n g s —

CHARLOTTE

L o v e , free a s air, at sight of h u m a n ties, S p r e a d s his light wings, a n d in a m o m e n t flies. 9 C o m e t h e n , my c h a r m i n g a n g e l ! w h y d e l a y o u r b l i s s ! T h e m o m e n t is o u r s ; the next is in the h a n d o f f a t e . [Kissing her.] 7. Warm ale or wine, mixed with bread, sugar, eggs, and spices. 8. Private conversation of two people.

present

9. "Eloisa to Abelard" ( 1 7 1 7 ) , lines 7 5 - 7 6 , by Alexander Pope, British poet.

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B e g o n e , Sir! By your d e l u s i o n s you h a d a l m o s t lulled my h o n our asleep. DIMPLE L e t m e lull the d e m o n to s l e e p a g a i n with k i s s e s . [He struggles with her; she screams.] [Enter M A N L Y . ] MANLY T u r n , villain! a n d d e f e n d y o u r s e l f . — [Draws, V A N R O U G H enters and beats down their swords.] VAN R O U G H I S the devil in y o u ? a r e you g o i n g to m u r d e r o n e a n o t h e r ? [Holding D I M P L E . ] DIMPLE H o l d h i m , hold h i m , — I c a n c o m m a n d my p a s s i o n . [Enter J O N A T H A N . ] JONATHAN W h a t a r e the rattle ails y o u ? Is the old o n e 1 in y o u ? L e t the c o l o n e l a l o n e , c a n ' t y o u ? I feel c h o c k full of fight,—do you w a n t to kill the c o l o n e l ? — MANLY B e still, J o n a t h a n ; the g e n t l e m a n d o e s not w a n t to h u r t m e . JONATHAN G o r ! I — I w i s h h e d i d ; I'd s h e w h i m Y a n k e e boys play, pretty q u i c k — D o n ' t y o u s e e y o u h a v e f r i g h t e n e d the y o u n g w o m a n into the hystrikes2 VAN R O U G H Pray, s o m e of you explain t h i s ; w h a t h a s b e e n t h e o c c a s i o n o f all this r a c k e t ? MANLY T h a t g e n t l e m a n c a n explain it to y o u ; it will b e a very diverting story for a n i n t e n d e d father-in-law to h e a r . VAN R O U G H H o w w a s this m a t t e r , M r . V a n D u m p l i n g ? DIMPLE Sir, u p o n my h o n o r — a l l I k n o w is, t h a t I w a s talking to this y o u n g lady, a n d this g e n t l e m a n b r o k e in o n u s , in a very e x t r a o r d i n a r y m a n n e r . VAN R O U G H W h y , all this is n o t h i n g to t h e p u r p o s e : c a n you explain it, M i s s ? [To C H A R L O T T E . ] [Enter L E T I T I A through the back scene.]* LETITIA I c a n explain it to t h a t g e n t l e m a n ' s c o n f u s i o n . T h o u g h l o n g b e t r o t h e d to y o u r d a u g h t e r [to V A N R O U G H ] , yet a l l u r e d by my f o r t u n e , it s e e m s (with s h a m e d o I s p e a k it), h e h a s privately p a i d his a d d r e s s e s to m e . I w a s d r a w n in to listen to h i m by his a s s u r i n g m e that the m a t c h w a s m a d e by his father w i t h o u t his c o n s e n t , a n d t h a t h e p r o p o s e d to b r e a k with M a r i a , w h e t h e r h e m a r r i e d m e or not. B u t w h a t e v e r w e r e his i n t e n t i o n s r e s p e c t i n g your d a u g h t e r , Sir, e v e n to m e h e w a s f a l s e ; for h e h a s r e p e a t e d the s a m e story, with s o m e cruel reflections u p o n my p e r s o n , to M i s s M a n l y . JONATHAN W h a t a tarnal c u r s e ! LETITIA N o r is this all, M i s s M a n l y . W h e n h e w a s with m e this very m o r n ing, h e m a d e t h e s a m e u n g e n e r o u s r e f l e c t i o n s u p o n t h e w e a k n e s s of y o u r m i n d a s h e h a s s o recently d o n e u p o n the d e f e c t s o f my p e r s o n . JONATHAN W h a t a tarnal c u r s e a n d d a m n too! DIMPLE H a ! s i n c e I h a v e lost L e t i t i a , I believe I h a d a s g o o d m a k e it u p wdth M a r i a — M r . V a n R o u g h , at p r e s e n t I c a n n o t e n t e r into p a r t i c u l a r s ; b u t , I believe I c a n explain everything to y o u r s a t i s f a c t i o n in p r i v a t e . VAN R O U G H T h e r e is a n o t h e r m a t t e r , M r . V a n D u m p l i n g , w h i c h I w o u l d CHARLOTTE

1. I.e., the devil. 2. Awkward pronunciation of hysterics.

3. I.e., from the rear of the acting area.

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h a v e you e x p l a i n : — p r a y , Sir, h a v e M e s s r s . V a n C a s h a n d C o . p r e s e n t e d you t h o s e bills for a c c e p t a n c e ? DIMPLE T h e d e u c e ! H a s h e h e a r d o f t h o s e bills! N a y , t h e n , all's u p with M a r i a , t o o ; b u t a n affair of this sort c a n never p r e j u d i c e m e a m o n g the l a d i e s ; they will r a t h e r l o n g to k n o w w h a t t h e d e a r c r e a t u r e p o s s e s s e s to m a k e h i m s o a g r e e a b l e . [Aside.] Sir, you'll h e a r f r o m m e . [To M A N L Y . ] MANLY A n d you from m e , S i r . — DIMPLE Sir, you w e a r a s w o r d . — MANLY Y e s , S i r : — T h i s s w o r d w a s p r e s e n t e d to m e by t h a t brave G a l l i c h e r o , t h e M a r q u i s D e L a F a y e t t e . 4 I h a v e d r a w n it in t h e s e r v i c e of my c o u n t r y , a n d in private life, o n t h e only o c c a s i o n w h e r e a m a n is j u s t i f i e d in d r a w i n g his s w o r d , in d e f e n c e of a lady's h o n o r . I h a v e f o u g h t t o o m a n y b a t t l e s in t h e s e r v i c e of m y c o u n t r y to d r e a d t h e i m p u t a t i o n o f c o w a r d i c e . — D e a t h from a m a n of h o n o r w o u l d b e a glory you d o n o t merit; you shall live to b e a r t h e insult of m a n , a n d t h e c o n t e m p t of that sex, w h o s e g e n e r a l s m i l e s a f f o r d e d y o u all y o u r h a p p i n e s s . DIMPLE Y O U won't m e e t m e , S i r ? — T h e n I'll p o s t y o u 5 a c o w a r d . MANLY I'll v e n t u r e t h a t , S i r . — T h e r e p u t a t i o n of m y life d o e s not d e p e n d u p o n t h e b r e a t h of a M r . D i m p l e . I w o u l d h a v e y o u to k n o w , however, Sir, that I h a v e a c a n e to c h a s t i s e t h e i n s o l e n c e o f a s c o u n d r e l , a n d a s w o r d a n d t h e g o o d laws o f my c o u n t r y , to p r o t e c t m e f r o m t h e a t t e m p t s of a n a s s a s s i n . — DIMPLE M i g h t y well! Very fine, i n d e e d ! — l a d i e s a n d g e n t l e m e n , I t a k e my leave, a n d you will p l e a s e to o b s e r v e , in t h e c a s e of my d e p o r t m e n t , t h e c o n t r a s t b e t w e e n a g e n t l e m a n , w h o h a s r e a d C h e s t e r f i e l d a n d received t h e p o l i s h of E u r o p e , a n d a n u n p o l i s h e d , u n t r a v e l e d A m e r i c a n . [Exit.] [Enter M A R I A . ] MARIA IS he indeed g o n e ? — LETITIA I h o p e n eve r to r e t u r n . VAN R O U G H I a m g l a d I h e a r d of t h o s e bills; t h o u g h it's p l a g u y u n l u c k y ; I h o p e d to s e e M a r y m a r r i e d b e f o r e I d i e d . MANLY Will you p e r m i t a g e n t l e m a n , Sir, to offer h i m s e l f a s a s u i t o r to your d a u g h t e r ? T h o u g h a s t r a n g e r to y o u , h e is not a l t o g e t h e r s o to her, or u n k n o w n in this city. You m a y find a s o n - i n - l a w of m o r e f o r t u n e , b u t you c a n n ever m e e t with o n e w h o is r i c h e r in love for her, or r e s p e c t for you. VAN R O U G H W h y , M a r y , you h a v e not let this g e n t l e m a n m a k e love t o 6 you w i t h o u t my leave? MANLY I did not say, S i r — MARIA S a y , S i r ! — I — t h e g e n t l e m a n , to b e s u r e , m e t m e a c c i d e n t a l l y . VAN R O U G H H a , h a , h a ! M a r k m e , M a r y ; y o u n g folks t h i n k old folks to b e f o o l s ; b u t old folks k n o w y o u n g folks to b e f o o l s . — W h y , I k n e w all a b o u t this a f f a i r : — T h i s w a s only a c u n n i n g w a y I h a d to b r i n g it a b o u t — H a r k ye! I w a s in t h e c l o s e t w h e n you a n d h e w e r e at o u r h o u s e . [Twrws to the company.] I h e a r d t h a t little b a g g a g e say s h e loved h e r old f a t h e r , a n d w o u l d die to m a k e h i m h a p p y ! O h ! h o w I loved t h e little b a g g a g e ! — A n d you t a l k e d very p r u d e n t l y , y o u n g m a n . I h a v e i n q u i r e d i n t o y o u r char4. French statesman and genera] who fought with the Continental Army in 1780 and 1 7 8 1 .

5. I.e., denounce you as. 6. I.e., court.

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a c t e r , a n d find you to b e a m a n of p u n c t u a l i t y a n d m i n d the m a i n c h a n c e . A n d s o , a s you love M a r y , a n d M a r y loves y o u , you shall have my c o n s e n t i m m e d i a t e l y to be m a r r i e d . I'll settle my f o r t u n e on y o u , a n d g o a n d live with you the r e m a i n d e r of my life. MANLY Sir, I h o p e — VAN R O U G H C o m e , c o m e , no fine s p e e c h e s ; m i n d the m a i n c h a n c e , y o u n g m a n , a n d you a n d I shall always a g r e e . LETITIA I sincerely w i s h you j o y [advancing to M A R I A ] ; a n d h o p e your pard o n for my c o n d u c t . MARIA I t h a n k you for y o u r c o n g r a t u l a t i o n s , a n d h o p e w e shall at o n c e forget the wretch w h o h a s given u s s o m u c h d i s q u i e t , a n d the t r o u b l e that he has occasioned. CHARLOTTE A n d I, my d e a r M a r i a , — h o w shall I look u p to you for forg i v e n e s s ? I, w h o , in the p r a c t i c e of the m e a n e s t a r t s , h a v e violated the m o s t s a c r e d rights of f r i e n d s h i p ? I c a n never forgive myself, or h o p e charity f r o m the world, b u t I c o n f e s s I h a v e m u c h to h o p e f r o m s u c h a brother! a n d I a m h a p p y that I m a y s o o n say, s u c h a s i s t e r . — MARIA M y d e a r , you d i s t r e s s m e ; you have all my love. MANLY And mine. CHARLOTTE If r e p e n t a n c e c a n entitle m e to f o r g i v e n e s s , I have a l r e a d y m u c h merit; for I d e s p i s e the littleness of my p a s t c o n d u c t . I n o w find, that the heart of a n y worthy m a n c a n n o t b e g a i n e d by invidious a t t a c k s u p o n the rights a n d c h a r a c t e r s of o t h e r s ; — b y c o u n t e n a n c i n g the a d d r e s s e s o f a t h o u s a n d ; — o r that the finest a s s e m b l a g e of f e a t u r e s , the g r e a t e s t t a s t e in d r e s s , the g e n t e e l e s t a d d r e s s , or the m o s t brilliant wit, c a n n o t eventually s e c u r e a c o q u e t t e from c o n t e m p t a n d r i d i c u l e . MANLY A n d I h a v e l e a r n e d that probity, v i r t u e , h o n o r , t h o u g h they s h o u l d not h a v e r e c e i v e d the p o l i s h of E u r o p e , will s e c u r e to a n h o n e s t A m e r i c a n the g o o d g r a c e s of his fair c o u n t r y w o m a n , a n d , I h o p e , the a p p l a u s e of THE

PUBLIC.

[curtain]

1787, 1790

BRITON fl.

HAMMON 1760

We tend to associate Indian captivity narratives with Puritan colonists in New England, but Briton Hammon's account of his capture and incarceration challenges this preconception. The title page of his Narrative of the Uncommon Sufferings, and Surprizing Deliverance (1760) reveals not only that he is "a Negro Man," and thus that Native Americans were quite as willing to capture African Americans if opportunity arose, but also that he was captured in Florida, which indicates that captivity could occur anywhere along the Atlantic coast. However, save for one line on the title page announcing his condition, "Servant to General Winslow, of Marshfield, in

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New England," Hammon's Narrative gives no other clue to his heritage. Published in Boston in 1760, in its day the pamphlet was but another example of the kind of story that since the 1680s had fascinated readers who often lived under the threat of Indian captivity. But for modern readers Hammon's account is not only a geographically atypical example of its genre but also the first known autobiographical text by an African American. All that we know of Hammon we learn from his Narrative. Securing permission from General Winslow to work on a ship bound for Jamaica, presumably under the condition that some of his salary go to his master, he sailed from Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1747. On the return the ship went aground on a reef off Florida. Ordered ashore, he and several other crewmen were subsequently attacked and captured by Native Americans. After five weeks in captivity, Hammon was rescued by the crew of a Spanish ship and brought to Havana. His troubles were not over, however, for there he was jailed for several years because he refused service on Spanish vessels. Eventually he got aboard an English vessel and was carried to Jamaica and thence to London, where he continued to work in the sea trades. Serendipitously, one day he discovered that he was on the same boat with his old master, General Winslow. After returning with him to Boston, he provided an account of his tribulations (probably at Winslow's suggestion) to a public eager to hear of such adventures. Along with its details of captivity, Hammon's Narrative offers a striking example of life along what historians have come to call the Atlantic Rim, the transatlantic coasts along which thousands of slaves, servants, and common laborers—"hewers of wood and drawers of water," as they were known—expedited the trade on which nations enlarged their treasuries and empires. Hammon's trip to the Caribbean on a coasting vessel to secure "logwood," extended as it was by lengthy imprisonment in Cuba and subsequent work in "the King's service" during what in Europe was called the Seven Years' War, outlines a shadowy world whose parameters are only now being explored by historians. A pioneering example of African American autobiography, Hammon's Narrative also marks the beginning of a literature associated with an emergent class consciousness.

Narrative of the U n c o m m o n Sufferings, and Surprizing Deliverance of Briton H a m m o n , a N e g r o M a n 1 T o the B e a d e r , As my Capacities and Condition of Life are very low, it cannot be expected that I should make those Remarks on the Sufferings I have met with, or the kind Providence of a good GOD for my Preservation, as one in a higher Station; but shall leave that to the Reader as he goes along, and so I shall only relate Matters of Fact as they occur to my Mind— O n M o n d a y , 2 5 t h Day of December, 1 7 4 7 , with the leave of my M a s t e r , I went from Marshfield,2 with a n Intention to go a V o y a g e to S e a , a n d the next D a y , the 2 6 t h , got to Plymouth, w h e r e I i m m e d i a t e l y ship'd myself on b o a r d of a S l o o p , C a p t . John Howland, M a s t e r , b o u n d to Jamaica a n d the Bay.—We sailed from Plymouth in a short T i m e , a n d after a p l e a s a n t P a s s a g e of a b o u t 3 0 D a y s , arrived at Jamaica; we w a s detain'd at Jamaica only 5 D a y s , 1. T h e text is from the first edition of Narrative of the Uncommon Sufferings, and Surprizing Deliv-

erance of Briton Hammon, a Negro Man (1760). 2. Town on the south shore of M a s s a c h u s e t t s .

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from w h e n c e we sailed for the Bay, where we arrived s a f e in 10 D a y s . W e l o a d e d our V e s s e l with L o g w o o d , a n d sailed from the Bay the 2 5 t h D a y of May following, a n d the 1 5th Day of June, we were c a s t away o n Cave-Florida, a b o u t 5 L e a g u e s from the S h o r e ; being now d e s t i t u t e of every H e l p , we knew not what to do or what C o u r s e to take in this our s a d C o n d i t i o n : — T h e C a p t a i n w a s advised, intreated, a n d beg*d o n , by every P e r s o n on b o a r d , to heave over but only 2 0 T o n of the Wood, a n d we s h o u l d get clear, which if he h a d d o n e , might have sav'd his V e s s e l a n d C a r g o , a n d not only s o , but his own Life, a s well a s the Lives of the M a t e a n d N i n e H a n d s , a s I shall presently relate. After b e i n g u p o n this R e e f two D a y s , the C a p t a i n order'd the B o a t to be hoisted out, a n d then ask'd w h o were willing to tarry on b o a r d ? T h e whole C r e w w a s for g o i n g on S h o r e at this T i m e , but a s the B o a t w o u l d not carry 12 P e r s o n s at o n c e , a n d to prevent a n y U n e a s i n e s s , the C a p t a i n , a P a s s e n g e r , a n d o n e H a n d tarry'd o n b o a r d , while the M a t e , with S e v e n H a n d s b e s i d e s myself, were order'd to go on S h o r e in the B o a t , which a s s o o n a s we h a d r e a c h e d , o n e half were to be L a n d e d , a n d the other four to return to the S l o o p , to fetch the C a p t a i n a n d the others on S h o r e . T h e C a p t a i n order'd u s to take with u s our A r m s , A m m u n i t i o n , Provisions a n d N e c e s s a r i e s for C o o k i n g , a s a l s o a Sail to m a k e a T e n t of, to shelter u s from the W e a t h e r ; after having left the S l o o p we s t o o d towards the S h o r e , a n d b e i n g within T w o L e a g u e s of the s a m e , we espy'd a N u m b e r of C a n o e s , which we at first took to be R o c k s , but s o o n f o u n d our M i s t a k e , for we perceiv'd they m o v e d towards u s ; we presently saw a n E n g l i s h C o l o u r hoisted in o n e of the C a n o e s , at the Sight of which we were not a little rejoiced, but on our a d v a n c i n g yet nearer, we f o u n d t h e m , to our very great S u r p r i z e , to be Indians of which there were Sixty; b e i n g now so near t h e m we c o u l d not possibly m a k e our E s c a p e ; they s o o n c a m e u p with a n d b o a r d e d u s , took away all our A r m s [ , ] A m m u n i t i o n , a n d Provision. T h e whole N u m b e r of C a n o e s ( b e i n g a b o u t Twenty,) then m a d e for the S l o o p , except T w o which they left to g u a r d u s , w h o order'd u s to follow on with t h e m ; the E i g h t e e n which m a d e for the S l o o p , went so m u c h faster than we that they got on b o a r d a b o v e T h r e e H o u r s before we c a m e a l o n g s i d e , a n d h a d kill'd C a p t a i n Howland, the P a s s e n g e r a n d the other h a n d ; we c a m e to the L a r b o a r d side of the S l o o p , a n d they order'd u s r o u n d to the S t a r b o a r d , a n d a s we were p a s s i n g r o u n d the B o w , we s a w the w h o l e N u m b e r of Indians, a d v a n c i n g forward a n d loading their G u n s , u p o n which the M a t e s a i d , "my Lads we are all dead men," a n d before we h a d got r o u n d , they d i s c h a r g e d their S m a l l A r m s u p o n u s , a n d kill'd T h r e e of our h a n d s , viz. Reuben Young of Cape-Cod, M a t e ; Joseph Little a n d Lemuel Doty of Plymouth, u p o n which I immediately j u m p ' d o v e r b o a r d , c h u s i n g rather to be d r o w n e d , than to be kill'd by t h o s e b a r b a r o u s a n d inhum a n S a v a g e s . In three or four M i n u t e s after, I heard a n o t h e r Volley which Rich, both d i s p a t c h e d the other five, viz. John Nowland, a n d Nathaniel b e l o n g i n g to Plymouth, a n d Elkanah Collymore, a n d James Webb, S t r a n g e r s , a n d Moses Newmock, M o l a t t o . As s o o n a s they h a d kill'd the w h o l e of the P e o p l e , o n e of the C a n o e s p a d l e d after m e , a n d s o o n c a m e u p with m e , hawled m e into the C a n o e , a n d beat m e m o s t terribly with a C u t l a s s , after that they ty'd m e d o w n , then this C a n o e stood for the S l o o p again a n d as s o o n a s s h e c a m e a l o n g s i d e , the Indians on b o a r d the S l o o p betook t h e m selves to their C a n o e s , then set the Vessel on Fire, m a k i n g a p r o d i g i o u s

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s h o u t i n g a n d hallowing like s o m a n y Devils. As s o o n a s the V e s s e l w a s b u r n t d o w n to the W a t e r ' s e d g e , the Indians s t o o d for the S h o r e , together with our B o a t , on b o a r d of which they p u t 5 h a n d s . After we c a m e to the S h o r e , they led m e to their H u t t s , w h e r e I e x p e c t e d n o t h i n g but i m m e d i a t e D e a t h , a n d a s they s p o k e b r o k e n E n g l i s h , were often telling m e , while c o m i n g from the S l o o p to the S h o r e , that they i n t e n d e d to r o a s t m e alive. B u t the P r o v i d e n c e of G o d order'd it o t h e r w a y s , for H e a p p e a r e d for my H e l p , in this Mount of Difficulty, a n d they w e r e better to m e then my F e a r s , a n d s o o n u n b o u n d m e , but set a G u a r d over m e every N i g h t . T h e y kept m e with t h e m a b o u t five W e e k s , d u r i n g which T i m e they us'd m e pretty well, a n d gave m e boil'd C o r n , which w a s w h a t they often eat t h e m s e l v e s . T h e W a y I m a d e my E s c a p e from these Villains w a s this; A S p a n i s h S c h o o n e r arriving there from St. Augustine,3 the M a s t e r of w h i c h , w h o s e N a m e w a s Romond, a s k e d the Indians to let m e go on b o a r d his V e s s e l , w h i c h they g r a n t e d , a n d the C a p t a i n 4 k n o w i n g m e very well, weigh'd A n c h o r a n d carry'd m e off to the Havanna, a n d after b e i n g there four D a y s the Indians c a m e after m e , a n d insisted o n h a v i n g m e a g a i n , a s I w a s their P r i s o n e r ; — T h e y m a d e A p p l i c a t i o n to the G o v e r n o r , a n d d e m a n d e d m e a g a i n from h i m ; in a n s w e r to w h i c h the G o v e r n o r told t h e m , that a s they h a d p u t the w h o l e C r e w to D e a t h , they s h o u l d not have m e a g a i n , a n d s o p a i d t h e m T e n Dollars for m e , a d d i n g , that h e w o u l d not have t h e m kill any P e r s o n hereafter, b u t take a s m a n y of t h e m a s they c o u l d , of t h o s e that s h o u l d b e c a s t away, a n d bring t h e m to h i m , for w h i c h h e would pay t h e m T e n Dollars a - h e a d . At the Havanna I lived with the G o v e r n o r in the C a s t l e a b o u t a T w e l v e - m o n t h , w h e r e I w a s walking thro' the S t r e e t , I m e t with a P r e s s - G a n g 5 w h o i m m e d i a t e l y p r e s t m e , a n d p u t m e into G o a l , a n d with a N u m b e r of others I w a s confin'd till next M o r n i n g , w h e n we were all b r o u g h t out, a n d ask'd w h o w o u l d g o o n b o a r d the King's S h i p s , four of which having b e e n lately built, were b o u n d to Old-Spain, a n d o n my refusing to serve on b o a r d , they p u t m e in a c l o s e D u n g e o n , w h e r e I w a s confin'd Four Years and seven months; d u r i n g w h i c h T i m e I often m a d e a p p l i c a t i o n to the G o v e r n o r , by P e r s o n s w h o c a m e to s e e the P r i s o n e r s , b u t they never a c q u a i n t e d him with it, nor did he k n o w all this T i m e w h a t b e c a m e of m e , w h i c h w a s the m e a n s of my b e i n g confin'd there s o long. B u t kind P r o v i d e n c e s o order'd it, that after I h a d b e e n in this P l a c e s o l o n g a s the T i m e m e n t i o n ' d a b o v e the C a p t a i n of a M e r c h a n t m a n , b e l o n g i n g to Boston, h a v i n g s p r u n g a L e a k w a s obliged to p u t into the Havanna to refit, a n d while h e w a s at D i n n e r at M r s . Betty Howard's, she told the C a p t a i n of my d e p l o r a b l e C o n d i t i o n , a n d said s h e w o u l d be g l a d , if h e c o u l d by s o m e m e a n s or other relieve m e ; T h e C a p t a i n told M r s . Howard he w o u l d u s e his b e s t E n d e a v o u r s for my Relief a n d E n l a r g e m e n t . Accordingly, after D i n n e r , c a m e to the P r i s o n , a n d ask'd the K e e p e r if h e might s e e m e ; u p o n his R e q u e s t I w a s b r o u g h t o u t of the D u n g e o n , a n d after the C a p t a i n h a d Interrogated m e , told m e , h e w o u l d i n t e r c e d e with the Governor for my Relief o u t of that m i s e r a b l e P l a c e , w h i c h h e did, a n d the next Day the G o v e r n o r sent a n O r d e r to r e l e a s e m e ; I lived with the G o v e r n o r a b o u t a Year after I w a s delivered from the D u n g e o n , in w h i c h T i m e I endeav3. Seaport on the northeast coast of Florida. 4. T h e Way I c a m e to know this Gentleman was, by his being taken last War by an English Privateer, and brought into Jamaica, while 1 was there [Ham-

mon's note]. 5. Men charged with finding able-bodied men who were forced to serve the king's navy, particularly in times of war.

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our'd three T i m e s to m a k e my E s c a p e , the last of w h i c h proved effectual; the first T i m e I got on b o a r d of C a p t a i n Marsh, a n English T w e n t y G u n S h i p , with a N u m b e r of o t h e r s , a n d lay on b o a r d c o n c e a l ' d that N i g h t ; a n d the next D a y the S h i p b e i n g u n d e r sail, I t h o u g h t myself s a f e , a n d s o m a d e my A p p e a r a n c e u p o n D e c k , but a s s o o n a s we were d i s c o v e r e d the C a p t a i n o r d e r e d the B o a t out, a n d sent u s all on S h o r e — I intreated the C a p t a i n to let m e , in particular, tarry o n b o a r d , begging, a n d crying to h i m , to c o m m i s erate my u n h a p p y C o n d i t i o n , a n d a d d e d , that I h a d b e e n confin'd a l m o s t five Years in a close D u n g e o n , b u t the C a p t a i n w o u l d not h e a r k e n to any Intreaties, for fear of having the Governor's D i s p l e a s u r e , a n d s o w a s obliged to g o on S h o r e . After b e i n g on S h o r e a n o t h e r Twelve m o n t h , I e n d e a v o u r ' d to m a k e my E s c a p e the s e c o n d T i m e , by trying to get on b o a r d of a S l o o p b o u n d to Jamaica, a n d a s I w a s g o i n g from the City to the S l o o p , w a s u n h a p p i l y t a k e n by the G u a r d , a n d o r d e r e d b a c k to the C a s t l e , a n d there c o n f i n e d . — H o w ever, in a short T i m e I w a s set at Liberty, a n d order'd with a N u m b e r of others to carry t h e 6 Bishop from the C a s t l e , thro' the C o u n t r y , to confirm the old P e o p l e , baptize C h i l d r e n , & c . for which he receives large S u m s of M o n e y . — I w a s employ'd in this S e r v i c e a b o u t S e v e n M o n t h s , d u r i n g which T i m e I lived very well, a n d then returned to the C a s t l e a g a i n , w h e r e I h a d my Liberty to walk a b o u t the City, a n d d o W o r k for my s e l f ; — T h e Beaver, a n English M a n of W a r then lay in the H a r b o u r , a n d having b e e n i n f o r m e d by s o m e of the S h i p ' s C r e w that she w a s to sail in a few D a y s , I h a d n o t h i n g now to d o , but to s e e k a n O p p o r t u n i t y how I s h o u l d m a k e my E s c a p e . Accordingly o n e S u n d a y N i g h t the L i e u t e n a n t of the S h i p with a N u m b e r of the B a r g e C r e w were in a T a v e r n , a n d M r s . Howard w h o h a d b e f o r e b e e n a F r i e n d to m e , i n t e r c e d e d with the L i e u t e n a n t to carry m e o n b o a r d : the L i e u t e n a n t said he would with all his H e a r t , a n d i m m e d i a t e l y I went o n b o a r d in the B a r g e . T h e next D a y the Spaniards c a m e a l o n g side the Beaver, a n d d e m a n d e d m e a g a i n , with a N u m b e r of others w h o h a d m a d e their E s c a p e from t h e m , a n d got on b o a r d the S h i p , but j u s t before I did; b u t the C a p t a i n , w h o w a s a true Englishman, refus'd t h e m , a n d said h e c o u l d not a n s w e r it, to deliver u p any Englishmen u n d e r English C o l o u r s . — I n a few D a y s w e set Sail for Jamaica, w h e r e we arrived s a f e , after a short a n d p l e a s a n t P a s s a g e . After b e i n g at Jamaica a short T i m e w e sail'd for London, a s convoy to a Fleet of M e r c h a n t m e n , w h o all arrived safe in the Downs,71 w a s t u r n e d over to a n o t h e r S h i p , the Arcenceil, a n d there r e m a i n e d a b o u t a M o n t h . F r o m this S h i p I went o n b o a r d the Sandwich of 9 0 G u n s ; on b o a r d the Sandwich, I tarry'd 6 W e e k s , a n d then w a s order'd on b o a r d the Hercules, C a p t . John Porter, a 7 4 G u n S h i p , we sail'd o n a C r u i z e , a n d m e t with a French 8 4 G u n S h i p , a n d h a d a very s m a r t E n g a g e m e n t , 8 in which a b o u t 7 0 of our H a n d s were kill'd a n d W o u n d e d , the C a p t a i n lost his L e g in the E n g a g e m e n t , a n d I w a s W o u n d e d in the H e a d by a small S h o t . W e s h o u l d have t a k e n this S h i p , if they h a d not c u t away the m o s t of our Rigging; however, in a b o u t three H o u r s after, a 6 4 G u n S h i p , c a m e u p with a n d took h e r . — I w a s disc h a r g e d from the Hercules the 1 2 t h D a y o f May 1 7 5 9 ( h a v i n g b e e n o n b o a r d 6. H e is carried (by Way of Respect) in a large Two-arm Chair; the Chair is lin'd with crimson Velvet, and supported by eight Persons [ H a m m o n ' s note].

7. Southeast coastal area of England, near Dover. 8. A particular Account of this Engagement, has been Publish'd in the Boston News-Papers [Hammon's note].

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of that S h i p 3 M o n t h s ) o n a c c o u n t of my b e i n g d i s a b l e d in the A r m , a n d render'd i n c a p a b l e of S e r v i c e , after b e i n g honorably paid the W a g e s d u e to m e . I w a s p u t into the Greenwich H o s p i t a l w h e r e I stay'd a n d s o o n recove r e d . — I then ship'd myself a C o o k on b o a r d C a p t a i n Martyn, a n a r m ' d S h i p in the King's S e r v i c e . I w a s on b o a r d this S h i p a l m o s t T w o M o n t h s , a n d after b e i n g paid my W a g e s , w a s discharg'd in the M o n t h of October.—After my d i s c h a r g e from C a p t a i n Martyn, I w a s t a k e n sick in London of a Fever, a n d w a s confin'd a b o u t 6 W e e k s , w h e r e I e x p e n d e d all my M o n e y , a n d left in very poor C i r c u m s t a n c e s ; a n d u n h a p p y for m e I knew n o t h i n g of my good Master's b e i n g in London at this my very difficult T i m e . After I got well of my s i c k n e s s , I ship'd myself on b o a r d of a large S h i p b o u n d to Guinea,'* a n d b e i n g in a p u b l i c k H o u s e o n e E v e n i n g , I overheard a N u m b e r of P e r s o n s talking a b o u t R i g g i n g a V e s s e l b o u n d to New-England, I ask'd t h e m to w h a t Part of New-England this V e s s e l w a s b o u n d ? they told m e , to Boston; a n d having ask'd t h e m w h o w a s C o m m a n d e r ? they told m e , C a p t . Watt; in a few M i n u t e s after this the M a t e of the S h i p c a m e in, a n d I ask'd him if C a p t a i n Watt did not want a C o o k , w h o told m e h e did, a n d that the C a p t a i n w o u l d b e in, in a few M i n u t e s ; a n d in a b o u t half a n H o u r the C a p t a i n c a m e in, a n d then I ship'd myself at o n c e , after b e g g i n g off from the S h i p b o u n d to Guinea; I work'd on b o a r d C a p t a i n Watt's S h i p a l m o s t T h r e e M o n t h s , before s h e sail'd, a n d o n e Day b e i n g at W o r k in the H o l d , 1 overheard s o m e P e r s o n s on b o a r d m e n t i o n the N a m e of Winslow, at the N a m e of w h i c h I w a s very inquisitive, a n d having ask'd what Winslow they were talking a b o u t ? T h e y told m e it w a s General Winslow; a n d that h e w a s o n e of the P a s s e n g e r s , I ask'd t h e m w h a t General Winslow? F o r 1 never knew my good Master, by that Title b e f o r e ; but after e n q u i r i n g m o r e particularly I f o u n d it m u s t b e Master, a n d in a few D a y s T i m e the T r u t h w a s joyfully verify'd by a h a p p y S i g h t of his P e r s o n , which s o o v e r c o m e m e , that I c o u l d not s p e a k to him for s o m e Time—My good Master w a s e x c e e d i n g glad to s e e m e , telling m e that I w a s like o n e a r o s e from the D e a d , for he t h o u g h t I h a d b e e n D e a d a great m a n y Y e a r s , having h e a r d n o t h i n g of m e for a l m o s t T h i r t e e n Y e a r s . I think I have not deviated from T r u t h , in any particular of this my Narrative, a n d t h o ' I have o m i t t e d a great m a n y T h i n g s , yet what is wrote may suffice to c o n v i n c e the R e a d e r , that I have b e e n m o s t grievously afflicted, a n d yet thro' the Divine G o o d n e s s , a s m i r a c u l o u s l y p r e s e r v e d , a n d delivered out of m a n y D a n g e r s ; of which I desire to retain a grateful Remembrance, as long a s I live in the W o r l d . ,. And now, That in the Providence of that GOD, who delivered his Servant David out of the Paw of the L i o n a n d out of the P a w of the B e a r , / am freed from a long and dreadful Captivity, a m o n g w o r s e S a v a g e s t h a n they; And am return d to my own Native L a n d , to S h e w how G r e a t T h i n g s the L o r d hoth d o n e for M e ; J would call upon all Men, and Say, O M a g n i f i e the L o r d with M e , a n d let u s Exalt his N a m e t o g e t h e r ! — O that M e n w o u l d P r a i s e the L o r d for His G o o d n e s s , a n d for his W o n d e r f u l W o r k s to the C h i l d r e n of M e n ! 1760

9. Country on the equatorial coast of West Africa, well known to slaving vessels.

American Literature 1820-1865 THE LITERARY HERITAGE OF THE YOUNG

REPUBLIC

E d u c a t e d A m e r i c a n s in the new R e p u b l i c were m o r e familiar with G r e e k a n d R o m a n history, a n d E u r o p e a n history a n d literature, than with A m e r i c a n writers of the colonial a n d Revolutionary e r a s . M a n y now-familiar works of early A m e r i c a n literature were not a c c e s s i b l e — s o m e still u n p u b l i s h e d ( E d w a r d Taylor's p o e m s ) , s o m e available only in i n c o m p l e t e texts ( B e n j a m i n Franklin's a u t o b i o g r a p h y ) , s o m e extremely rare ( C o t t o n M a t h e r ' s Magnalia Christi Americana, printed in L o n d o n in 1 7 0 2 , first printed in the U n i t e d S t a t e s in a s m a l l edition at Hartford in 1 8 2 0 , a n d not generally available until 1 8 5 3 ) . E d u c a t e d A m e r i c a n boys a n d s o m e girls l e a r n e d G r e e k a n d Latin literature in c h i l d h o o d — e p i c s , t r a g e d i e s , c o m e d i e s , p a s t o r a l p o e m s , histories, satires. T h e E n g l i s h - l a n g u a g e tradition that A m e r i c a n s s h a r e d , w h e t h e r N o r t h e r n e r s or S o u t h e r n e r s , w a s B r i t k k r j m s t i t i i t e d hy S p e n s e r V T j i e J ^ T i p Oweene.__Shakespeare's p l a y s ^ a n d Midori's Paradise Lost a s wglL_as eighteenth-centurv literature^includinp; e s s a y s by J o s e p h A d d i s o n , R i c h a r d Steele, S a m u e l Johnson, andtJfive?~GoTdsmith, and m u c h now-neglected poetry s u c h a s P o p e ' s The Dunciad, J a m e s T h o m s o n ' s The Seasons, a n d G o l d smith's The Deserted Village. D e s p i t e their political i n d e p e n d e n c e , A m e r i c a n s from M a i n e to G e o r g i a (the s o u t h e r n m o s t Atlantic s t a t e until Florida was a d m i t t e d to the union in 1 8 4 5 ) a c k n o w l e d g e d m u c h the s a m e literary c a n o n , a l t h o u g h the i n h a b i t a n t s ( r t t h e regions settled hv P u r i t a n s t e n d e d t n c h e r i s h the d i s s e n t e r J o h n B u n y a n ' s Pilgrim's Progress m o r e than literarym i n d e d S o u t h e r n e r s , w h o s e Colonial a n c e s t o r s r n " " » n f t p n had hplnngpd tn the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d . F u r t h e r m o r e , by the s e c o n d q u a r t e r of the n i n e t e e n t h century, after the w a r t i m e d i s r u p t i o n s to trade were over, A m e r i c a n s h a d q u i c k a c c e s s to c o n temporary British literature a n d criticism. C r o s s i n g the Atlantic o n sailing ships or s t e a m e r s , any b o o k or m a g a z i n e c o u l d be r e p u b l i s h e d , a m o n t h or less after its a p p e a r a n c e in L o n d o n , in the larger c o a s t a l c i t i e s — B o s t o n , N e w York, P h i l a d e l p h i a , a n d C h a r l e s t o n . V o l u m e s of poetry by the well-loved S c o t s poet Robert B u r n s a n d by the E n g l i s h R o m a n t i c s ( W o r d s w o r t h , C o l e ridge, Byron, M o o r e , Shelley, a n d K e a t s ) , then T e n n y s o n , a n d a little later Elizabeth Barrett a n d Robert B r o w n i n g were reprinted in the U n i t e d S t a t e s a l m o s t a s soon a s they a p p e a r e d in E n g l a n d . T h e great British quarterly reviews (which m a d e a point of j u d g i n g new literary works by fixed literary principles, thereby e x p o s i n g their readers to literary criticism written from a theoretical s t a n c e ) were reprinted even in s u c h inland cities a s Albany a n d 425

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18 2 0 - 1 865

C i n c i n n a t i in t h e 1 8 4 0 s . T h e better n e w s p a p e r s o f the s e a c o a s t cities h a d c o r r e s p o n d e n t s in E u r o p e a n c a p i t a l s s u c h a s L o n d o n a n d Paris, a n d the p o s t office initiated c h e a p m a i l i n g rates for printed m a t e r i a l . F r o m t h e 1 8 4 0 s o n w a r d , t h e network of railroads t r a n s p o r t e d b o o k s over the A p p a l a c h i a n s to the M i d w e s t . With g o o d r e a s o n , E m i l y D i c k i n s o n in her h o m e in A m h e r s t or William G i l m o r e S i m m s in h i s h o m e o u t s i d e C h a r l e s t o n c o u l d feel in t o u c h with the latest L o n d o n literary n e w s . G e n d e r differences in literary k n o w l e d g e were m o r e o b v i o u s than regional differences, for a t least into the m i d d l e o f the c e n t u r y efforts were m a d e to c e n s o r the r e a d i n g o f girls a n d y o u n g w o m e n . O n e s i m p l e way w a s to deny t h e m c l a s s i c a l e d u c a t i o n a n d thereby p r o t e c t t h e m J T o m _ s e x u a H y frank writings in G r e e k a n d L a t i n . S o m e w o m e n writers in this p e r i o d , notably C a r o l i n e KirkJand a n d M a r g a r e t Fuller, d i d receive informal c l a s s i c a l e d u c a t i o n s t h r o u g h t h e a i d o f fathers or b r o t h e r s ; s o m e m e n , i n c l u d i n g t h e workingc l a s s W a l t W h i t m a n a n d the well-born b u t i m p o v e r i s h e d H e r m a n Melville, received little formal e d u c a t i o n — F r e d e r i c k D o u g l a s s least o f all. W i t h i n e a c h social c l a s s , in g e n e r a l , however, fewer girls w e r e e d j j c ^ t e ^ t l i a r ^ b o y s , a n d c a r e w a s t a k e n to k e e p all y o u n g w o m e n away from E n g l i s h novels o f t h g j r e v i o u s c e n t u r y t h a t m i g h t p o l l u t e their m i n d s . A t thg_beginning o f the p e r i o d , fiction w a s generally held to i n f l a m e the i m a g i n a t i o n a n d p a s s i o n s of susceptihle_young r e a d e r s , especially_young w o m e n . In fact, m o v e m e n t s for w o m e n ' s e d u c a t i o n often s t r e s s e d that s e r i o u s l e a r n i n g w o u l d k e e p y o u n g girls away from novels. In h e r N e w E n g l a n d novels H a r r i e t B e e c h e r S t o w e e n u m e r a t e d t h e few b o o k s that a y o u n g w o m a n m i g h t have in her r o o m in the first d e c a d e s of the century: S a m u e l R i c h a r d s o n ' s S i r Charles Grandison, a b o u t a m o d e l g e n t l e m a n , w a s allowed, b u t not his s e d u c t i o n novel Clarissa. M a r g a r e t Fuller's conflicting feelings toward S i r W a l t e r S c o t t s p r a n g from her father's o p p o s i t i o n to her r e a d i n g novels a n d t a l e s , a n d even in the next generation E m i l y D i c k i n s o n r e a d fiction a g a i n s t h e r father's w i s h e s . Y o u n g m e n like D i c k i n s o n ' s brother were a l s o w a r n e d o f t h e evil effects novels might have o n their m o r a l s , b u t with less u r g e n c y . Still, in this p e r i o d even s u c h a n o w - s t a n d a r d British work a s J o n a t h a n Swift's Gulliver's Travels w a s available only in e x p u r g a t e d e d i t i o n s . M o r a l opposition t o fiction w a n e d r>iiei^tJw»-dwM»4^ .JWLjiAzac-nfH" dparFpyen at the o u t b r e a k of the Civil l

War. O t h e r s p e c i e s of writing were t h o u g h t to i n c u l c a t e the h i g h e s t civic virtues. F r o m the early years of the r e p u b l i c , m a n y w e l l - e d u c a t e d A m e r i c a n s believed that the n e w nation m u s t have its own national p o e m , a n d d o z e n s o f p o e m s of great length a n d s u r p a s s i n g d u l l n e s s were p u b l i s h e d . J o e l B a r l o w , o n e of the g r o u p of p o e t s k n o w n a s " t h e C o n n e c t i c u t W i t s " in p o s t - R e v o l u t i o n a r y A m e r i c a , in 1 8 0 7 p u b l i s h e d The Columhiad, m e a n t a s t h e epic p o e m of C o l u m b i a , t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s , w h e r e h e might t e a c h t h e love o f national liberty a n d the d e p e n d e n c e o f g o o d m o r a l s a n d g o o d g o v e r n m e n t o n r e p u b lican p r i n c i p l e s . S i g n i n g h i s p r e f a c e in G r e a t C r o s s i n g , K e n t u c k y , in 1 8 2 7 , R i c h a r d E m m o n s n a m e d h i s f o u r - v o l u m e Fredoniad; or, Independence Preserved, an Epick Poem on the Late War of 1812 in h o n o r of h i s A m e r i c a n m u s e , t h e G o d d e s s o f F r e e d o m . T h r o u g h o u t t h e first h a l f o f the century, critics called for writers to c e l e b r a t e t h e n e w c o u n t r y in poetry or p r o s e , repeatedly g o i n g s o far a s to a d v i s e w o u l d - b e writers o n potentially fruitful s u b j e c t s s u c h a s A m e r i c a n Indian l e g e n d s , stories o f colonial b a t t l e s , a n d

INTRODUCTION

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c e l e b r a t i o n s of the A m e r i c a n Revolution ( a l t h o u g h o n e r e s p e c t e d literary theory held that writers would be better setting their works in a r e m o t e r p a s t , rather than a period s o n e a r to the p r e s e n t ) . Early calls for the e x i s t e n c e of an A m e r i c a n literature were altered by the popularity in the U n i t e d S t a t e s of Sir W a l t e r S c o t t , first a s the a u t h o r of widely read p o e m s s u c h a s The Lady of the Lake, t h e n , decisively, a s a historical novelist. After 1 8 1 4 , w h e n he p u b l i s h e d Waverley a n o n y m o u s l y , S c o t t p r o d u c e d a n e w novel a l m o s t every year. Until the secret of his a u t h o r s h i p w a s revealed in 1 8 2 6 , the novels were a s c r i b e d to " T h e a u t h o r of Waverley" or, by reviewers, to "the G r e a t U n k n o w n . " In the U n i t e d S t a t e s , w h e r e a n e w novel by the a u t h o r of Waverley w a s a l m o s t a national event, literary critics a n d aspiring novelists instantly s a w the a p p e a l of S c o t t ' s u s e of historical settings a n d his c r e a t i n g i m a g i n e d s c e n e s in which real historical p e o p l e intermingled with fictional c h a r a c t e r s . S c o t t ' s e x a m p l e not only m a d e the novel a r e s p e c t a b l e , even elevated, g e n r e , it h a d m u c h to d o with redirecting the literary efforts of a m b i t i o u s A m e r i c a n s from epic poetry toward p r o s e fiction. J a m e s F e n i m o r e C o o p e r h a d already written a novel in imitation of J a n e A u s t e n , b u t his s u c c e s s c a m e in the historical novel, after h e imitated S c o t t ' s The Pirate in The Spy ( 1 8 2 1 ) , w h e r e G e o r g e W a s h i n g t o n w a s a character. Lydia M a r i a F r a n c i s (later C h i l d ) b e g a n to write Hobomok ( 1 8 2 4 ) after r e a d i n g J . G . Palfrey's review of Yamoyden, " a metrical tale in six c a n t o s , after the m a n n e r of S c o t t " — m e a n i n g the poetry of S c o t t . B u t s h e h a d read the S c o t t novels a s they a p p e a r e d , a n d set Hobomok in s e v e n t e e n t h - c e n t u r y M a s s a c h u s e t t s , her equivalent of S c o t t ' s S c o t l a n d of a p r e v i o u s century. Following S c o t t a n d C o o p e r , C a t h a r i n e M a r i a S e d g w i c k in The Linwoods ( 1 8 3 5 ) b r o u g h t Revolutionary h e r o e s , i n c l u d i n g W a s h i n g t o n , into her plot a l o n g with fictional c h a r a c t e r s . F r o m a d o l e s c e n c e H a w t h o r n e w a s s t e e p e d in S c o t t , a n d Melville's r e a d i n g of S c o t t e m e r g e d as late a s his 1 8 7 6 epic p o e m , Clarel. In old a g e W a l t W h i t m a n lovingly d e s c r i b e d a b o o k he h a d c h e r i s h e d for fifty years, S c o t t ' s p o e m s , c o m p l e t e in o n e v o l u m e . B e f o r e the mid-century, w h e n every up-to-date A m e r i c a n read D i c k e n s , every literate A m e r i c a n read S c o t t , a n d all a p p e a l s for the creation of a great A m e r i c a n literature were infused with the k n o w l e d g e that S c o t t h a d invented a n infinitely a d a p t a b l e g e n r e of historical fiction. A n o t h e r a d a p t a b l e g e n r e w a s the p e r s o n a l travel book. T h e y o u n g American W a s h i n g t o n Irving h a d b e c o m e friends with the great W a l t e r S c o t t through his C e r v a n t e s - i n f l u e n c e d p a r o d i c History of New York ( 1 8 0 9 ) . Irving's The Sketch Book ( 1 8 1 9 - 2 0 ) w a s a p e c u l i a r intermingling of tales a n d highly p e r s o n a l e s s a y s in which the narrator, " G e o f f r e y C r a y o n , " w a s c o m p a r e d to a n idiosyncratic l a n d s c a p e p a i n t e r w h o travels E u r o p e s k e t c h i n g "in n o o k s , a n d c o r n e r s , a n d b y - p l a c e s , " but n e g l e c t i n g "to paint S t . Peter's, or the C o l i s e u m ; the c a s c a d e of T e r n i , or the bay of N a p l e s . " C a p t i v a t e d by the genial sensibility t h u s displayed, A m e r i c a n r e a d e r s a c k n o w l e d g e d Irving a s the first great writer of the U n i t e d S t a t e s a n d c h e r i s h e d The Sketch Book for d e c a d e s . H e n r y T . T u c k e r m a n ' s Italian Sketch Book ( 1 8 3 5 ) frankly imitated it, a n d N a t h a n i e l Parker Willis's Pencillings by the Way (1835—36) w a s m o d eled on it. In tone a n d s t r u c t u r e H e r m a n Melville's Redburn ( 1 8 4 9 ) w a s deeply i n d e b t e d to it. K n o w i n g that Willis h a d financed his travels in part by s e n d i n g letters h o m e to n e w s p a p e r s , the p e n n i l e s s y o u n g B a y a r d Taylor imitated his strategy in w h a t b e c a m e Views A-foot ( 1 8 4 6 ) ; a n d Willis w a s a l s o a

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1 8 2 0 - 1 8 6 5

m o d e l for C a r o l i n e Kirkland's Holidays Abroad ( 1 8 4 9 ) a n d L o u i s e C l a p p e ' s Residence in the Mines (the " D a m e S h i r l e y " letters, 1 8 5 4 ) . Melville's first two b o o k s , Typee ( 1 8 4 6 ) a n d Omoo ( 1 8 4 7 ) , p u r p o r t e d to b e a c c u r a t e a c c o u n t s of e x p e r i e n c e s in the M a r q u e s a s a n d Tahiti a n d were valued primarily a s s u c h . Similarly, C a r o l i n e Kirkland's two b o o k s on frontier M i c h i g a n , A New Home—Who'll Follow? ( 1 8 3 9 ) a n d Western Clearings (1845), were not only entertaining, but were v a l u e d a s useful s o u r c e s of general information for potential e m i g r a n t s . B a y a r d Taylor's letters h o m e from California in 1 8 4 9 a n d 1 8 5 0 , c o l l e c t e d in Eldorado ( 1 8 5 0 ) , were infused with b u o y a n t c h a r m , b u t his p u r p o s e w a s d o c u m e n t a r y : to let E a s t e r n e r s know what life w a s already like for the forty-niners a n d what they might experience if they t h e m s e l v e s s o u g h t their f o r t u n e s in C a l i f o r n i a . At W a l d e n P o n d outside C o n c o r d , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , Henry David T h o r e a u read Melville's first book, Typee, very soberly, a s a s o u r c e of a n t h r o p o l o g i c a l i n f o r m a t i o n a b o u t natives in the S o u t h S e a I s l a n d s . T h e n , in Walden, h e t u r n e d the travel g e n r e on its h e a d , a n n o u n c i n g that he w a s writing a travel b o o k himself, having traveled a g o o d deal in C o n c o r d . Exploring himself, T h o r e a u wrote the classic A m e r i c a n travel book.

THE SHIFTING

CANON

OF AMERICAN

WRITERS

A p a i n t i n g p o p u l a r d u r i n g the late n i n e t e e n t h century w a s C h r i s t i a n S c h u s sele's reverential Washington Irving and His Literary Friends at Sunnyside. W o r k i n g in 1 8 6 3 , four years after Irving's d e a t h , S c h u s s e l e portrayed a n u m b e r of elegantly clad n o t a b l e s in Irving's small study in his G o t h i c c o t t a g e - c a s t l e o n the H u d s o n River, north of N e w York City. A m o n g t h e m were several writers w h o s e works a p p e a r in this anthology: Irving himself, N a t h a n i e l H a w t h o r n e , Henry W a d s w o r t h Longfellow, R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n , William C u l l e n Bryant, a n d J a m e s F e n i m o r e C o o p e r . Intermingled with t h e s e m e n were p o e t s a n d novelists now s e l d o m read: William G i l m o r e S i m m s , F i t z - G r e e n e H a l l e c k , N a t h a n i e l Parker Willis, J a m e s Kirke Paulding, J o h n P e n d l e t o n K e n n e d y , a n d Henry T . T u c k e r m a n , a l o n g with the historians William H . P r e s c o t t a n d G e o r g e B a n c r o f t . T h e p a i n t i n g w a s a p i o u s hoax, for t h e s e g u e s t s never a s s e m b l e d together at o n e t i m e , at S u n nyside or a n y w h e r e e l s e ; a n d while a few of t h o s e d e p i c t e d were i n d e e d Irving's friends, he barely knew s o m e of t h e m a n d never m e t others at all. Yet the p a i n t i n g s u g g e s t s that W a s h i n g t o n Irving, beloved by ordinary readers a n d by m o s t of his fellow writers, w a s the central A m e r i c a n literary figu r e b e t w e e n 1 8 0 9 (the year of his parody History of New York) a n d his d e a t h in 1 8 5 9 , j u s t before the Civil W a r . H e h a d d e m o n s t r a t e d in The Sketch Book (1819—20) that m e m o r a b l e fiction—Rip Van Winkle a n d The Legend of Sleepy Hollow—could be set in the villages or rural a r e a s of the U n i t e d S t a t e s (thereby initiating what b e c a m e b a c k w o o d s h u m o r a n d later the local-color m o v e m e n t ) ; he a l s o s e e m e d to prove, by the book's international s u c c e s s , that a n A m e r i c a n writer c o u l d win a British a n d C o n t i n e n t a l a u d i ence. Irving's legion of imitators i n c l u d e d several of the m e n in the painting; a n d a m o n g his fellow writers, Irving's r e p u t a t i o n w a s e n h a n c e d by his generosity, as in his gallantly r e l i n q u i s h i n g the s u b j e c t of the c o n q u e s t of M e x i c o

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to Prescott or in urging the p u b l i s h e r G e o r g e P. P u t n a m to bring o u t an A m e r i c a n edition of the first b o o k by the u n k n o w n H e r m a n Melville. Although J a m e s F e n i m o r e C o o p e r ' s Leather-Stocking novels h a d a great v o g u e in E u r o p e (where they b e c a m e a m a j o r s o u r c e of i n f o r m a t i o n a n d m i s i n f o r m a t i o n a b o u t the U n i t e d S t a t e s ) , a n d his f a m e a s a fiction writer rivaled Irving's in this country, his influence on A m e r i c a n writers never a p p r o a c h e d the b r e a d t h of Irving's. Irving a n d C o o p e r both s p e n t years a b r o a d , Irving in E n g l a n d a n d S p a i n , C o o p e r in F r a n c e . A m e r i c a n s never held Irving's a b s e n c e a g a i n s t him, for his w i n n i n g the friendship of great foreigners ( s u c h a s S i r W a l t e r S c o t t ) s e e m e d to reflect glory on his country; a n d for years he w a s honorably r e p r e s e n t i n g his country, a s secretary of the legation in L o n d o n , a s minister to S p a i n . F u r t h e r m o r e , he h a d a way of d e m o n s t r a t i n g his A m e r i c a n i s m , a s in 1 8 3 2 , w h e n on r e t u r n i n g from E u r o p e he c a u g h t the public's i m a g i n a t i o n with his a r d u o u s trip to p r e s e n t - d a y O k l a h o m a . W h e n C o o p e r returned to the U n i t e d S t a t e s in 1 8 3 3 after a l m o s t a d e c a d e a b r o a d , h e w a s a p p a l l e d at the s p r e a d of excessively d e m o c r a t i c attitudes a n d lectured his fellow citizens in A Letter to His Countrymen ( 1 8 3 4 ) a n d a satirical novel, The Monikins ( 1 8 3 5 ) . C o o p e r e m b r o i l e d h i m s e l f in lawsuits, a n d public opinion t u r n e d a g a i n s t him a s p a p e r s , i n c l u d i n g Hora c e Greeley's N e w York Tribune, w a g e d a c a m p a i g n a g a i n s t him, literally d e f a m i n g him a s a would-be aristocrat. Irving's p e r s o n a l popularity w a s s u c h that late in 1 8 4 9 , w h e n h e w a s c h a r g e d with plagiarizing his biography of G o l d s m i t h from two recent British b i o g r a p h i e s , n e w s p a p e r s from M a i n e to L o u i s i a n a d e n o u n c e d his a c c u s e r without even e x a m i n i n g the e v i d e n c e . N o r did the influence of R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n rival Irving's, d e s p i t e his profoundly provocative effects on s u c h writers a s M a r g a r e t Fuller, Henry David T h o r e a u , W a l t W h i t m a n , H e r m a n Melville, a n d Emily D i c k i n s o n — e f f e c t s that m a k e m o d e r n literary historians s e e him a s the s e m i n a l writer of the century. T h e S c h u s s e l e p a i n t i n g tells m o r e than the artist c o u l d have i n t e n d e d a b o u t the fragile s t a t u s of literary r e p u t a t i o n s , for while i n c l u d i n g m a n y writers now all but forgotten, it e x c l u d e s m a n y o t h e r s in this anthology. T o begin with, it e x c l u d e s all w o m e n , even t h o s e w h o h a d d o n e s u b s t a n t i a l work already, s u c h a s C a t h a r i n e M a r i a S e d g w i c k , C a r o l i n e Kirkland, Lydia M a r i a C h i l d , F a n n y F e r n , M a r g a r e t Fuller, a n d m o s t f a m o u s of all, Harriet B e e c h e r S t o w e (Emily D i c k i n s o n ' s g r e a t e s t burst of poetic c r e a t i o n h a d already o c c u r r e d by 1 8 6 3 , but s h e r e m a i n e d an u n p u b l i s h e d p o e t ) . T h e p a i n t i n g a l s o e x c l u d e s several m a l e writers w h o now s e e m a m o n g the m o s t i m p o r t a n t of the century: J o h n G r e e n l e a f Whittier ( w h o s e militant a b o l i t i o n i s m ruled him out of s u c h g o o d c o m p a n y ) , E d g a r Allan P o e , Henry David T h o r e a u , W a l t W h i t m a n , a n d H e r m a n Melville. F u r t h e r m o r e , while the M a r y l a n d e r Kennedy w a s i n c l u d e d , all other S o u t h e r n e r s were e x c l u d e d , a m o n g t h e m writers s u c h a s A u g u s t u s Baldwin L o n g s t r e e t ( w h o s e i m p u l s e to record d i s a p p e a r i n g p h a s e s of G e o r g i a life parallels a recurrent i m p u l s e in S e d g w i c k ' s writing) and George Washington Harris (whose exuberant prose has drawn readers for a century a n d a half). S c h u s s e l e ' s arraying of literary n o t a b l e s offers a powerful lesson in the c o n s t a n t shifting of literary r e p u t a t i o n s . T h i s edition of the anthology d o e s not offer s e l e c t i o n s f r o m , for a few e x a m p l e s , the S o u t h e r n e r s L o n g s t r e e t a n d Harris or from a northern writer of striking psychological fiction, Elizabeth B a r s t o w S t o d d a r d . It a l s o o m i t s two of the

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m o s t f a m o u s n a m e s of the n i n e t e e n t h century: the M a s s a c h u s e t t s writers Oliver W e n d e l l H o l m e s a n d J a m e s R u s s e l l Lowell, neither of w h o m s p e a k s powerfully to m a n y r e a d e r s at the p r e s e n t m o m e n t . Yet a s taste c h a n g e s they m a y b e valued a g a i n , a n d p e r h a p s in new ways. H o l m e s , for i n s t a n c e , m a y be read for what he called his " m e d i c a t e d n o v e l s " (realistic p s y c h o l o g i c a l fictions), p e r h a p s in a n era w h e n attention a l s o shifts to S t o w e ' s N e w E n g l a n d novels, which s o m e think have never b e e n sufficiently p r a i s e d for their own merits or a c k n o w l e d g e d for their influence o n later w o m e n ' s fiction. It s e e m s s a f e to say that d e s p i t e his historical i m p o r t a n c e Lowell will not s o o n b e given ninety p a g e s , a s h e w a s in s o m e a n t h o l o g i e s of the 1 9 6 0 s , but any writers o m i t t e d n o w may b e called b a c k in later e d i t i o n s , a l o n g with others never before i n c l u d e d .

T H E S M A L L W O R L D OF A M E R I C A N

WRITERS

T h e writers in S c h u s s e l e ' s p a i n t i n g would never have fitted into Irving's s n u g r o o m ; b u t the A m e r i c a n literary world w a s very s m a l l i n d e e d , s o small that m a n y of the writers in this period knew e a c h other, often intimately, or else knew m u c h a b o u t e a c h other. At Litchfield, C o n n e c t i c u t , the y o u n g G e o r gian L o n g s t r e e t greatly a d m i r e d o n e of the minister L y m a n B e e c h e r ' s d a u g h ters (not Harriet, then a s m a l l c h i l d ) . O t h e r writers lived, if not in e a c h other's p o c k e t s , at least in e a c h other's h o u s e s , or b o a r d i n g h o u s e s : L e m u e l S h a w , from 1 8 3 0 to 1 8 6 0 chief j u s t i c e of the M a s s a c h u s e t t s S u p r e m e C o u r t a n d H e r m a n Melville's father-in-law after 1 8 4 7 , for a t i m e stayed in a B o s t o n b o a r d i n g h o u s e run by R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n ' s widowed m o t h e r ; the L o n g fellows s u m m e r e d in the 1 8 4 0 s at the Pittsfield b o a r d i n g h o u s e run by M e l ville's c o u s i n , a h o u s e in which Melville h a d stayed in his early t e e n s . Lydia M a r i a Child's h u s b a n d owed m o n e y to Melville's B o s t o n g r a n d f a t h e r ; a n d the e x e c u t o r of the e s t a t e , L e m u e l S h a w , called to collect the debt, m u c h to M r s . C h i l d ' s c h a g r i n . In N e w York, the S e d g w i c k family (which i n c l u d e d C a t h a r i n e M a r i a S e d g w i c k part of the year) w a s o n i n t i m a t e t e r m s with a n o t h e r native of w e s t e r n M a s s a c h u s e t t s , William C u l l e n Bryant; a n d J a m e s F e n i m o r e C o o p e r b o r r o w e d m o n e y from a S e d g w i c k . T h e g u a r d i a n of the o r p h a n e d L o u i s e A m e l i a S m i t h (later " D a m e Shirley") w a s a c l a s s m a t e of E m i l y D i c k i n s o n ' s father. In the 1 8 4 0 s the n e w s p a p e r editor Bryant s o m e times took walks with a n o t h e r editor, y o u n g W a l t W h i t m a n . In Pittsfield in the early 1 8 5 0 s Melville a n d his family e x c h a n g e d visits with C h a r l e s a n d Elizabeth S e d g w i c k of Lenox, in w h o s e h o u s e C a t h a r i n e M a r i a S e d g w i c k spent part of the year; until his d e a t h C h a r l e s w a s the clerk of c o u r t w h e n J u d g e S h a w held his s e s s i o n in L e n o x e a c h S e p t e m b e r ; a n d E l i z a b e t h S e d g wick h a d t a u g h t Melville's older sister H e l e n at her s c h o o l . In Pittsfield a n d L e n o x , H a w t h o r n e a n d Melville paid e a c h other overnight visits; in C o n c o r d the H a w t h o r n e s rented the O l d M a n s e , the E m e r s o n a n c e s t r a l h o m e , a n d later b o u g h t a h o u s e there from the e d u c a t o r B r o n s o n Alcott a n d m a d e it f a m o u s a s the W a y s i d e ; in C o n c o r d the E m e r s o n s w e l c o m e d m a n y g u e s t s , i n c l u d i n g M a r g a r e t Fuller (who a l s o visited with the H a w t h o r n e s ) ; a n d w h e n E m e r s o n w a s away, T h o r e a u , a native of C o n c o r d , s o m e t i m e s stayed in the h o u s e to help M r s . E m e r s o n . E m e r s o n r e p e a t e d l y r e s c u e d B r o n s o n Alcott

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from financial disaster, a n d B r o n s o n ' s d a u g h t e r L o u i s a M a y Alcott took less o n s in E m e r s o n ' s h o u s e (and revered her n a t u r e g u i d e , T h o r e a u ) . F a n n y Fern's brother, N a t h a n i e l Parker Willis, w h o m s h e satirically d e p i c t e d a s " H y a c i n t h " in Ruth Hall, w a s a c l o s e friend of Melville for a t i m e ; in the winter of 1 8 4 7 , Willis a n d Melville's friend, editor Evert A. D u y c k i n c k , t o o k the train u p to F o r d h a m together to a t t e n d the funeral of Virginia P o e , the wife of E d g a r P o e , w h o , like Melville a n d H a w t h o r n e , w a s o n e of D u y c k i n c k ' s a u t h o r s in his Wiley & P u t n a m series, Library of A m e r i c a n B o o k s . T h e p o p ular M a n h a t t a n h o s t e s s A n n e L y n c h a s s i g n e d the y o u n g travel writer B a y a r d Taylor to write a valentine for a slightly older travel writer, H e r m a n Melville, in 1 8 4 8 ; a n d three years later, a p p a r e n t l y with m a t c h m a k i n g in m i n d , b r o u g h t together Taylor's i n t i m a t e friend R. H. S t o d d a r d a n d Elizabeth Barstow, a d i s t a n t relative of H a w t h o r n e . Melville took C a r o l i n e Kirkland's Holidays Abroad on s h i p b o a r d with him in 1 8 4 9 , a n d the next year s h e w a s delighted with his White-Jacket; they probably were a c q u a i n t e d . E m e r s o n s h a r e d his e n t h u s i a s m for Leaves of Grass with B r o n s o n Alcott a n d H e n r y David T h o r e a u , w h o , d u r i n g a stay in N e w York, took the Brooklyn ferry to call on W h i t m a n . Lydia M a r i a C h i l d a n d J o h n G r e e n l e a f Whittier were longtime friends, v e t e r a n s in the great c a u s e of abolition. O n a visit to W a s h i n g ton after the Civil W a r h a d broken o u t , the still r e c l u s i v e , a n d ailing, H a w t h o r n e seriously c o n s i d e r e d m a k i n g the h a z a r d o u s trip to W h e e l i n g to m e e t the extraordinary n e w c o n t r i b u t o r to the Atlantic Monthly, R e b e c c a H a r d i n g ; later he w e l c o m e d her at W a y s i d e . M a n y of the m a l e writers of this period c a m e together c a s u a l l y for d i n i n g a n d drinking, the hospitality at Evert D u y c k i n c k ' s h o u s e in N e w York b e i n g f a m o u s , o p e n to S o u t h e r n e r s like William G i l m o r e S i m m s a s well a s N e w Yorkers like Melville a n d B o s t o n i a n s like the elder R i c h a r d H e n r y D a n a , the father of the a u t h o r of the p o p u l a r Two Years before the Mast. O f the c l u b s f o r m e d by m a l e writers, artists, a n d other n o t a b l e s , the two m o s t m e m o r a b l e are the B r e a d a n d C h e e s e C l u b , which C o o p e r organized in 1 8 2 4 in the b a c k r o o m of his publisher's M a n h a t t a n b o o k s t o r e , a n d the S a t u r d a y C l u b , a c o n vivial B o s t o n g r o u p f o r m e d in 1 8 5 6 a n d especially a s s o c i a t e d with the Atlantic Monthly a n d the p u b l i s h i n g h o u s e of T i c k n o r a n d F i e l d s . M e m b e r s of the B r e a d a n d C h e e s e C l u b i n c l u d e d the poet W i l l i a m C u l l e n Bryant, S a m u e l F. B . M o r s e (the painter w h o later invented the t e l e g r a p h ) , the p o e t FitzG r e e n e H a l l e c k , a n d T h o m a s C o l e (the E n g l i s h - b o r n p a i n t e r of the A m e r i c a n l a n d s c a p e ) . E m e r s o n w a s a m o n g the m e m b e r s of the S a t u r d a y C l u b , a l o n g with J a m e s R u s s e l l Lowell, H e n r y W a d s w o r t h Longfellow, Oliver W e n d e l l H o l m e s , a n d the historians J o h n L o t h r o p Motley a n d William H . P r e s c o t t ; N a t h a n i e l H a w t h o r n e a t t e n d e d s o m e m e e t i n g s . A l o n g with m o r e formal organizations, informal a s s o c i a t i o n s flourished. In 1 8 3 6 a small g r o u p of B o s t o n - b a s e d U n i t a r i a n s b e g a n to m e e t to study G e r m a n p h i l o s o p h y ; at first simply called H e d g e ' s c l u b , from the organizer, F r e d e r i c H e d g e , the g r o u p p a s s e d into literary history a s the " T r a n s c e n d e n t a l C l u b . " M a r g a r e t Fuller c o n d u c t e d a series of " c o n v e r s a t i o n s " in the late 1 8 3 0 s a n d early 1 8 4 0 s that f o r e s h a d o w e d m a n y w o m e n ' s c l u b s of the f u t u r e . In the late 1 8 5 0 s a B o h e m i a n g r o u p of n e w s p a p e r a n d theater p e o p l e a n d writers d r a n k together at P f a f f s s a l o o n on B r o a d w a y a b o v e B l e e c k e r S t r e e t ; for a time W h i t m a n w a s a fixture there.

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E X P A N D I N G — C O U N T R Y

S u c h intimacy w a s inevitable in a country that h a d only a few literary a n d p u b l i s h i n g c e n t e r s , a l m o s t all of t h e m a l o n g the Atlantic s e a b o a r d . D e s p i t e the a c q u i s i t i o n of the L o u i s i a n a Territory from F r a n c e in 1 8 0 3 a n d the vast s o u t h w e s t from M e x i c o in 1 8 4 8 , m o s t of the writers w e still read lived all their lives in the original thirteen s t a t e s , except for trips a b r o a d , a n d their practical e x p e r i e n c e w a s of a c o m p a c t country: in 1 8 4 0 the " n o r t h w e s t e r n " s t a t e s were t h o s e c o v e r e d by the N o r t h w e s t O r d i n a n c e of 1 7 8 7 ( O h i o , India n a , Illinois, a n d M i c h i g a n ; W i s c o n s i n w a s still a territory), while the " s o u t h w e s t e r n " h u m o r writers s u c h a s G e o r g e W a s h i n g t o n H a r r i s , T h o m a s B a n g s T h o r p e , a n d J o h n s o n J o n e s H o o p e r wrote in the region b o u n d e d by G e o r g i a , Louisiana, Arkansas, and Tennessee. I m p r o v e m e n t s in transportation were shrinking the c o u n t r y — e v e n while territorial g a i n s were enlarging it. W h e n Irving went from M a n h a t t a n to Albany in 1 8 0 0 , s t e a m b o a t s h a d not yet b e e n invented; the H u d s o n voyage was slow a n d d a n g e r o u s , a n d in 1 8 0 3 the w a g o n s of Irving's C a n a d a - b o u n d party barely m a d e it t h r o u g h the b o g s b e y o n d U t i c a . T h e Erie C a n a l , c o m pleted in 1 8 2 5 , c h a n g e d t h i n g s : in the 1 8 3 0 s a n d 1 8 4 0 s H a w t h o r n e , Melville, a n d Fuller took the c a n a l b o a t s in safety, suffering only from c r o w d e d a n d stuffy s l e e p i n g c o n d i t i o n s . W h e n Irving went buffalo h u n t i n g in Indian territory (now O k l a h o m a ) in 1 8 3 2 , h e left the s t e a m b o a t at S t . L o u i s a n d went on h o r s e b a c k , c a m p i n g out at night except w h e n his party r e a c h e d o n e of the line of m i s s i o n s built to a c c o m m o d a t e whites w h o were Christianizing the Plains I n d i a n s . A r o u n d the first of O c t o b e r 1 8 3 2 , L y m a n B e e c h e r of B o s t o n , having a c c e p t e d the p r e s i d e n c y of L a n e T h e o l o g i c a l S e m inary in C i n c i n n a t i , set out in at least o n e s t a g e c o a c h with several m e m b e r s of his family, i n c l u d i n g Harriet, later the a u t h o r of Uncle Tom's Cabin. T h e y s t o p p e d in N e w York City a n d P h i l a d e l p h i a (apparently l e a d i n g a milk c o w ) , then had to leave the s t a g e c o a c h for w a g o n s w h e n they r e a c h e d the Alleg h e n i e s , west of H a r r i s b u r g . I n t e n d i n g to take a s t e a m b o a t from W h e e l i n g (then in Virginia), they delayed b e c a u s e of c h o l e r a in C i n c i n n a t i a n d ultimately took a s t a g e c o a c h , arriving in m i d - N o v e m b e r . By the 1 8 4 0 s railroads h a d r e p l a c e d s t a g e c o a c h e s b e t w e e n m a n y e a s t e r n towns, a l t h o u g h to get to N e w O r l e a n s in 1 8 4 8 W h i t m a n h a d to c h a n g e from railroad to s t a g e c o a c h to s t e a m b o a t . D e s p i t e f r e q u e n t train w r e c k s , s t e a m b o a t e x p l o s i o n s , a n d Atlantic s h i p w r e c k s , by the 1 8 5 0 s travel b e t w e e n m a j o r cities h a d c e a s e d to be the h a z a r d o u s a d v e n t u r e it h a d b e e n at the b e g i n n i n g of the p e r i o d . T h e exception w a s travel to a n d from S a n F r a n c i s c o . T h a t old S p a n i s h M e x i c a n port b e c a m e an a l m o s t instant m e t r o p o l i s in the G o l d R u s h of 1 8 4 9 , w h e n t h o u s a n d s of gold s e e k e r s a n d o t h e r s p o u r e d in from all over the world. A m e r i c a n s a n d E u r o p e a n s often took the long a n d p e r i l o u s voyage a r o u n d C a p e H o r n , a s L o u i s e C l a p p e ( " D a m e Shirley") a n d her d o c t o r - h u s b a n d did in 1849—50. M u c h faster w a s the route by ship from a n e a s t e r n port to C h a g r e s , then a c r o s s the i s t h m u s by h o r s e b a c k a n d c a n o e to P a n a m a City ( t o u g h , y o u n g B a y a r d Taylor m a d e it in five days in 1 8 5 0 ) , a n d by s h i p to S a n F r a n c i s c o . T h o u s a n d s set off for California from M i s s o u r i or T e x a s in w a g o n s , on h o r s e b a c k , or simply on foot, walking b e s i d e w a g o n s , c r o s s i n g the central p l a i n s , the Rocky M o u n t a i n s , a n d w e s t e r n d e s e r t s .

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T h e e a s t e r n c i t i e s — N e w York, P h i l a d e l p h i a , a n d B o s t o n — t h o u g h the largest in the nation, were tiny in c o m p a r i s o n to their m o d e r n size. T h e site of B r o o k F a r m , now long s i n c e a b s o r b e d by B o s t o n , w a s c h o s e n b e c a u s e it w a s nine miles r e m o t e from the S t a t e H o u s e a n d two miles a w a y from the n e a r e s t farm. T h e p o p u l a t i o n of N e w York City at the start o f the 1 8 4 0 s w a s only a third of a million ( a b o u t 5 p e r c e n t of its c u r r e n t size) a n d w a s c o n c e n t r a t e d in lower M a n h a t t a n : U n i o n S q u a r e w a s the n o r t h e r n e d g e of town. H o r a c e Greeley, the editor of the N e w York Tribune, e s c a p e d the b u s t l e of the city by living on a ten-acre farm u p the E a s t River on T u r t l e Bay, w h e r e the E a s t Fifties a r e now; there he a n d his wife provided a b u c o l i c retreat for M a r g a r e t Fuller w h e n s h e w a s his literary critic a n d metropolitan reporter. In 1 8 5 3 the Crystal P a l a c e , a n exposition of arts, crafts, a n d scie n c e s c r e a t e d in imitation of the great Crystal P a l a c e at the L o n d o n World's Fair of 1 8 5 1 , failed—largely b e c a u s e it w a s too far out of town, u p west of the C r o t o n W a t e r Reservoir (which h a d m a d e p u r e r u n n i n g water available for a d e c a d e , already). T h e reservoir was on the s p o t w h e r e the N e w York Public Library now s t a n d s , at Forty-second S t r e e t a n d Fifth A v e n u e , a n d the Crystal P a l a c e w a s on the site of the m o d e r n Bryant Park (for d e c a d e s a n ironic p l a c e to be n a m e d for the n a t u r e p o e t , it has b e e n r e c l a i m e d for s a f e public e n j o y m e n t ) . T h e writers in this period t e n d e d to look east for their a u d i e n c e s — s o m e of the writers, in earlier d e c a d e s , to E n g l a n d , all of t h e m to the p u b l i s h i n g c e n t e r s on the e a s t c o a s t , even t h o s e w h o had lived in what w a s called the west (Kirkland in M i c h i g a n , S t o w e in O h i o ) . Several of the writers c o u l d r e m e m b e r clearly w h e n news c a m e in 1 8 0 3 that P r e s i d e n t J e f f e r s o n h a d b o u g h t an e n o r m o u s territory, i m p o s s i b l e to visualize; all of t h e m knew that a c q u i r i n g O r e g o n might have c o s t a third war with G r e a t Britain in the mid1 8 4 0 s ; a n d all of t h e m lived through the a c q u i s i t i o n of the S o u t h w e s t , i n c l u d i n g C a l i f o r n i a , in 1 8 4 8 . In varying ways, m a n y of the writers were affected by the e x p a n s i o n w e s t w a r d . C o o p e r propelled his a g e d h e r o L e a t h e r stocking a c r o s s the M i s s i s s i p p i in The Prairie ( 1 8 2 7 ) before Irving outdid C o o p e r by g o i n g a c r o s s the M i s s i s s i p p i himself. T h r o u g h m u c h of her childhood, Harriet Prescott's father w a s away, trying to m a k e his fortune in O r e g o n . In The Oregon Trail, a series of articles in the N e w York Knickerbocker ( 1 8 4 7 ) , F r a n c i s P a r k m a n r e c o u n t e d his j o u r n e y w e s t w a r d a s far a s W y o m i n g ; in 1 8 4 9 , he capitalized on the a c q u i s i t i o n of the S o u t h w e s t by p u b l i s h i n g it a s a b o o k with an e x p a n d e d , m i s l e a d i n g title, The California and Oregon Trail. Melville, w h o h a d traveled a s far west a s the M i s s i s s i p p i before g o i n g whaling a n d w h o h a d s e e n native p e o p l e s m i s t r e a t e d in the Pacific islands a n d a l o n g the Pacific c o a s t of S o u t h A m e r i c a , r e a c t e d hostilely to P a r k m a n ' s disdain for the A m e r i c a n Indians he e n c o u n t e r e d : " W h o c a n swear that a m o n g the n a k e d British b a r b a r i a n s sent to R o m e to b e stared at m o r e than 1 5 0 0 years a g o , the a n c e s t o r of B a c o n might not have b e e n f o u n d ? — W h y , a m o n g the very T h u g s of India, or the bloody D y a k s of Born e o , exists the g e r m of all that is intellectually elevated a n d g r a n d . W e a r e all of u s — A n g l o - S a x o n s , Dyaks a n d I n d i a n s — s p r u n g from o n e h e a d a n d m a d e in o n e i m a g e . " F r o m northern California the y o u n g B a y a r d Taylor sent h o m e reports on the G o l d R u s h to the N e w York Tribune a n d p u b l i s h e d t h e m early in 1 8 5 0 a s Eldorado. Apparently not trying to find an e a s t e r n outlet, L o u i s e C l a p p e ( " D a m e Shirley") p u b l i s h e d her letters a b o u t her

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" R e s i d e n c e in the M i n e s " ( 1 8 5 1 - 5 2 ) only belatedly, in 1 8 5 4 , in a friend's short-lived S a n F r a n c i s c o literary m a g a z i n e , The Pioneer; c o n s e q u e n t l y , her f a m e w a s never truly national in her lifetime. L o n g f e l l o w relied o n b o o k s for his d e s c r i p t i o n s of the M i s s i s s i p p i region in Evangeline ( 1 8 4 7 ) , b u t if the E a s t h a d cried o u t to b e p u t into literature early in the century, n o w the M i s s i s s i p p i cried out to b e put into literature by s o m e o n e w h o knew it. At mid-century the boy-printer S a m u e l C l e m e n s in H a n n i b a l , M i s s o u r i , on the great river, set into type m a n y stories by writers of the old S o u t h w e s t . W h e n the Civil W a r c a m e , C l e m e n s f o u n d r e a s o n for g o i n g west to N e v a d a a n d C a l i f o r n i a , then to H a w a i i ; a n d in 1 8 7 2 h e b r o u g h t a version of his adventures into print in the E a s t , in H a r t f o r d , C o n n e c t i c u t , a s Roughing It. S o o n , in 1 8 7 5 , he would write the s p l e n d i d " O l d T i m e s on the M i s s i s s i p p i " for the Atlantic Monthly a n d at least o n e great b o o k set o n the river, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn ( 1 8 8 4 ) .

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G e o g r a p h y a n d m o d e s of t r a n s p o r t a t i o n b o r e directly o n p u b l i s h i n g p r o c e d u r e s in the U n i t e d S t a t e s of this p e r i o d . F o r a l o n g time writers w h o w a n t e d to p u b l i s h a b o o k carried the m a n u s c r i p t to a local printer, p a i d j o b rates to have it printed a n d b o u n d , a n d m a d e their own a r r a n g e m e n t s for distribution a n d s a l e s . Longfellow w o r k e d in this f a s h i o n with a firm in B r u n s w i c k , M a i n e , w h e n he printed his translation of Elements of French Grammar a n d other textbooks d u r i n g his first years a s a t e a c h e r . Over the y e a r s , however, true p u b l i s h i n g c e n t e r s d e v e l o p e d in the m a j o r s e a p o r t s that c o u l d receive the latest British b o o k s by the fastest s h i p s a n d , hastily reprinting t h e m , distribute t h e m inland by river traffic a s well a s in c o a s t a l cities. After 1 8 2 0 the l e a d i n g p u b l i s h i n g towns were N e w York a n d P h i l a d e l p h i a , with the Erie C a n a l s o o n giving N e w York a n a d v a n t a g e in the O h i o t r a d e . B o s t o n r e m a i n e d only a provincial p u b l i s h i n g c e n t e r until after 1 8 5 0 , w h e n publishers realized the value of the d e c a d e - o l d railroad c o n n e c t i o n s to the W e s t . ( S h i p p e d by s e a , c o p i e s of Melville's early b o o k s r e a c h e d N e w O r l e a n s two w e e k s or so after p u b l i c a t i o n in N e w York.) D e s p i t e the a g g r e s s i v e m e r c h a n dising t e c h n i q u e s of a few firms, the c r e a t i o n of a national b o o k - b u y i n g market for literature, especially A m e r i c a n literature, w a s l o n g d e l a y e d . T h e p r o b l e m w a s that the e c o n o m i c interests of A m e r i c a n p u b l i s h e r b o o k s e l l e r s were antithetical to the interests of A m e r i c a n writers. A n a t i o n a l copyright law b e c a m e effective in the U n i t e d S t a t e s in 1 7 9 0 , b u t it w a s 1 8 9 1 before A m e r i c a n writers h a d international p r o t e c t i o n a n d foreign writers received p r o t e c t i o n in the U n i t e d S t a t e s . T h r o u g h a l m o s t all the century, A m e r i c a n printers routinely pirated E n g l i s h writers, p a y i n g n o t h i n g to Sir W a l t e r S c o t t or C h a r l e s D i c k e n s or later writers for their novels, w h i c h were r u s h e d into print a n d sold very c h e a p l y in N e w York, P h i l a d e l p h i a , a n d other cities. A m e r i c a n r e a d e r s benefited from the s i t u a t i o n , for they c o u l d b u y the b e s t British a n d C o n t i n e n t a l writings c h e a p l y ; b u t A m e r i c a n writers s u f f e r e d , b e c a u s e if they were to receive royalties, their b o o k s h a d to b e p r i c e d a b o v e the p r i c e s c h a r g e d for works of the m o s t f a m o u s British writers. A m e r i c a n p u b l i s h e r s were willing to carry a few native novelists a n d p o e t s a s p r e s t i g e i t e m s for a while, but they were b u s i n e s s p e o p l e , not p h i l a n t h r o p i s t s .

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T o c o m p o u n d the p r o b l e m , Irving's a p p a r e n t c o n q u e s t of the British p u b lishing s y s t e m , by which he received large s u m s for The S k e t c h Book a n d s u c c e e d i n g v o l u m e s , proved delusory. C o o p e r a n d o t h e r s followed in Irving's track for a time a n d were paid by m a g n a n i m o u s British p u b l i s h e r s u n d e r a system whereby works first printed in G r e a t Britain were p r e s u m e d to hold a British copyright. B u t this p r a c t i c e w a s ruled illegal by a British j u d g e in 1 8 4 9 , a n d the British m a r k e t dried u p for A m e r i c a n writers. T h r o u g h o u t this period, like our own, m a k i n g a serious A m e r i c a n contribution to the literature of the world w a s n o g u a r a n t e e at all of m o n e t a r y r e w a r d s . E x c e p t for the few a u t h o r s of best-sellers like S t o w e a n d , later, Alcott (both p u b l i s h i n g after mid-century), the U n i t e d S t a t e s w a s not a c o u n try in which o n e c o u l d m a k e a living by writing fiction a n d poetry: F a n n y Fern's financial t r i u m p h (also after 1 8 5 0 ) w a s a s a c o l u m n i s t ; a n d a l t h o u g h he p u b l i s h e d poetry a n d fiction, B a y a r d Taylor's m a i n i n c o m e c a m e from his n e w s p a p e r articles written h o m e from exotic l o c a t i o n s (then c o l l e c t e d into travel b o o k s ) a n d , later, from his very p o p u l a r l e c t u r e s . S e r i o u s a u t h o r s c o u l d not always find p u b l i s h e r s for their work. Unlike m o s t other m a l e writers, Irving c o u l d always find a p u b l i s h e r , a n d in 1 8 4 9 his c a r e e r w a s revived by P u t n a m ' s lavish p r o m o t i o n of his life of Oliver G o l d s m i t h ; C o o p e r c o u l d a l s o get his n e w b o o k s p u b l i s h e d , a n d the r e i s s u e of s o m e of his earlier s u c c e s s e s restored s o m e of his popularity before his d e a t h late in 1 8 5 1 . O t h e r writers for periods of time b e c a m e editors of m a g a z i n e s or n e w s p a p e r s (there were d o z e n s of n e w s p a p e r s in M a n h a t t a n in the 1 8 4 0 s ) , w h e r e they c o u l d p u b l i s h t h e m s e l v e s . T h e s e editors i n c l u d e d P o e , L o n g s t r e e t , H a r r i s , T h o r p e , J o h n s o n J o n e s H o o p e r of A l a b a m a , Lowell, a n d other n o t a b l e e x a m p l e s : Fuller, w h o for several years reported for the N e w York Tribune at h o m e a n d from E u r o p e ; W h i t m a n , w h o for m u c h of the 1 8 4 0 s a n d 1 8 5 0 s w a s free to editorialize in o n e Brooklyn or M a n h a t t a n n e w s p a p e r or a n o t h e r ; Whittier, w h o for m o r e t h a n two d e c a d e s before the Civil W a r w a s c o r r e s p o n d i n g editor of the W a s h i n g t o n National Era; C h i l d , w h o edited the N e w York Anti-Slavery Standard a n d wrote letters to the B o s t o n Courier; Kirkland, w h o e d i t e d the N e w York Union a n d wrote for other m a g a z i n e s ; a n d , m o s t c o n s p i c u o u s , Bryant, long-time owner of the N e w York Evening Post. F a n n y Fern's brother N a t h a n i e l Willis Parker w a s a celebrity writer of poetry, fiction, a n d travel s k e t c h e s ; but he e a r n e d his living d u r i n g this period a s the editor of the N e w York Home Journal. W h i t m a n w a s his own p u b l i s h e r for m o s t editions of Leaves of Grass a n d filled mail orders himself, a s T h o r e a u a l s o did w h e n an o c c a s i o n a l r e q u e s t c a m e for o n e of the seven h u n d r e d c o p i e s of his first book, which the p u b l i s h e r h a d returned to h i m . At crucial m o m e n t s in his career, Melville felt c o n s t r a i n e d not to write what h e w a n t e d to write, a s w h e n h e sacrificed his literary a s p i r a t i o n s after the failure of Mardi a n d wrote Redburn a n d White-Jacket, which he r e g a r d e d a s m e r e drudgery; a n d at other times h e w a s "prevented from p u b l i s h i n g " works he h a d c o m p l e t e d , i n c l u d i n g The Isle of the Cross, which he p r o b a b l y destroyed. Ironically, the writer freest to p u r s u e literary g r e a t n e s s in this period w a s probably Emily D i c k i n s o n , w h o s e "letter to the w o r l d " r e m a i n e d u n m a i l e d d u r i n g her lifetime. F a n n y F e r n broke all the rules by b e i n g paid lavishly for her c o l u m n s in the N e w York Ledger.

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CONFORMITY,

MATERIALISM, AND THE

ECONOMY

T h e eccentricity of A m e r i c a n s , especially in rural a r e a s a n d s m a l l e r towns, w a s n o t o r i o u s a m o n g visitors from a b r o a d a n d w a s r e c o r d e d in s o m e of its a s p e c t s by diverse writers. In Stowe's N e w E n g l a n d novels of the late 1 8 5 0 s a n d early 1 8 6 0 s , there is a gallery of portraits of mentally a n g u l a r or gnarled c h a r a c t e r s . In A m h e r s t , Emily D i c k i n s o n o u t - T h o r e a u e d T h o r e a u in her reso l u t e privacy, i d i o s y n c r a c i e s , a n d individuality. B u t s h e c o u l d b e u n d e r s t o o d in relation to real a n d fictional c h a r a c t e r s . T h e night her c o r r e s p o n d e n t T h o m a s W e n t w o r t h H i g g i n s o n m e t her in 1 8 7 0 , he strove to convey her chara c t e r in a letter to his wife: "if you h a d read M r s . S t o d d a r d ' s novels you c o u l d u n d e r s t a n d a h o u s e w h e r e e a c h m e m b e r runs his or h e r own s e l v e s . " D e s p i t e s u c h powerful individualists, it s e e m e d to s o m e of the writers that A m e r i c a n s , even while d e l u d i n g t h e m s e l v e s that they were the m o s t selfreliant p o p u l a c e in t h e world, were systematically selling o u t their individualities. E m e r s o n s o u n d e d the a l a r m : " S o c i e t y everywhere is in c o n s p i r a c y a g a i n s t the m a n h o o d of every o n e of its m e m b e r s . S o c i e t y is a j o i n t - s t o c k c o m p a n y which the m e m b e r s a g r e e for the better s e c u r i n g of his b r e a d to e a c h s h a r e h o l d e r , to s u r r e n d e r the liberty a n d c u l t u r e of t h e eater. T h e virtue in m o s t r e q u e s t is c o n f o r m i t y . " In Tlw Celestial Railroad H a w t h o r n e satirically d e s c r i b e d the condition at the Vanity Fair of m o d e r n A m e r i c a , w h e r e there w a s a " s p e c i e s of m a c h i n e for the w h o l e s a l e m a n u f a c t u r e of individual morality." H e went o n : " T h i s excellent result is effected by s o c i e t i e s for all m a n n e r of virtuous p u r p o s e s ; with which a m a n h a s merely to c o n n e c t himself, throwing, a s it w e r e , his q u o t a of virtue into the c o m m o n stock; a n d the p r e s i d e n t a n d directors will take c a r e that the a g g r e g a t e a m o u n t b e well a p p l i e d . " T h o r e a u repeatedly satirized A m e r i c a a s a nation of j o i n e r s that tried to force every n e w c o m e r "to b e l o n g to their d e s p e r a t e odd-fellow society": to T h o r e a u , m e m b e r s of the O d d Fellows a n d other social organizations were simply not o d d e n o u g h , not individual e n o u g h . B u t n o n e of the writers f o u n d anything c o m i c a l in the w h o l e s a l e loss of Yankee individualism a s both m e n a n d w o m e n d e s e r t e d w o r n o u t f a r m s for factories, w h e r e m a n y b e g a n to feel what E m e r s o n called " t h e disproportion b e t w e e n their faculties a n d the work offered t h e m . " F a r too often, the s e a r c h for a better life had d e g e n e r a t e d into a desire to p o s s e s s f a c t o r y - m a d e o b j e c t s . " T h i n g s are in the s a d d l e , " E m e r s o n said sweepingly, " a n d ride m a n k i n d . " In elaboration of that a c c u s a t i o n , T h o r e a u wrote Walden a s a treatise o n e x p a n d i n g the spiritual life by simplifying material w a n t s . Informing T h o reau's o u t r a g e at the m a t e r i a l i s m of his time w a s the bitter k n o w l e d g e that even t h e m o s t i m p o v e r i s h e d were b e i n g led to w a s t e their m o n e y ( a n d , therefore, their lives) o n trumpery. In a v o c a b u l a r y e c h o i n g B e n j a m i n F r a n k lin, he c o n d e m n e d the e m e r g i n g c o n s u m e r e c o n o m y that w a s d e v o t e d , even in the infancy of advertising, to the creation of "artificial w a n t s " for things that were u n n e e d e d or outright p e r n i c i o u s . A n d to c o u n t e r the loss of a n archetypal Y a n k e e virtue, he m a d e h i m s e l f into a jack-of-all-trades a n d s t r o n g m a s t e r of o n e , the art of writing. T h e difference in the social s t a t u s (and the e a r n i n g power) of m e n a n d w o m e n did not p e n e t r a t e the c o n s c i o u s n e s s of all writers, even all w o m e n writers, but C h i l d p r o d u c e d the c o m p r e h e n s i v e , p i o n e e r i n g History of the

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Condition of Women, in Various Ages and Nations, a n d after her own h a r s h e x p e r i e n c e at trying to s u p p o r t herself a n d her d a u g h t e r s by the c o n v e n t i o n a l f e m i n i n e skill of sewing, F a n n y Fern m i s s e d no c h a n c e to e x p o s e the cruel myth that any i n d u s t r i o u s w o m a n c o u l d earn a d e c e n t living. After his own failure to earn a living in A m e r i c a w a s painfully o b v i o u s to h i m , Melville m e d i t a t e d on the exploitation of f e m a l e millworkers in The Tartarus of Maids. D o u g l a s s portrayed h i m s e l f a s never b e i n g without h o p e , a l t h o u g h a slave; H a r d i n g portrayed wage-slaves in the iron mills, m a l e a n d f e m a l e , a s utterly without r e a s o n a b l e h o p e . In strangely different ways the writers to s p e a k out m o s t profoundly a b o u t the e m e r g i n g A m e r i c a n e c o n o m i c s y s t e m were C h i l d , S t o w e , F e r n , T h o r e a u , D o u g l a s s , Melville, W h i t m a n , a n d D a v i s .

ORTHODOX RELIGION AND

TRANSCENDENTALISM

All the m a j o r writers f o u n d t h e m s e l v e s at o d d s with the d o m i n a n t religion of their t i m e , a P r o t e s t a n t Christianity that exerted practical control over what c o u l d be printed in b o o k s a n d m a g a z i n e s . S e d g w i c k , a U n i t a r i a n , a s befitted her high social s t a t u s , w a s a p p a l l e d at the u n s e e m l i n e s s of backw o o d s M e t h o d i s t revivals; m o r e often, writers, even n o m i n a l U n i t a r i a n s , were a p p a l l e d at the c o l d n e s s of c h u r c h e s , not the w i l d n e s s . T h i s c h u r c h , E m e r s o n said, a c t e d " a s if G o d were d e a d . " W h i t m a n , bred a s a Quaker, w a s even m o r e bitter toward all P r o t e s t a n t c h u r c h e s : " T h e c h u r c h e s a r e o n e vast lie; the p e o p l e do not believe t h e m , a n d they do not believe t h e m s e l v e s . " Still, the writers all c a m e from P r o t e s t a n t b a c k g r o u n d s in which C a l v i n i s m w a s m o r e or less w a t e r e d d o w n (less s o in the c a s e s of Melville a n d Dicki n s o n ) , a n d they knew their theology. E m e r s o n , T h o r e a u , a n d C h i l d (who p u b l i s h e d a history of all religions in 1 8 5 1 ) , regularly tried to p l a c e P r o t e s t a n t Christianity in relation to other religions, while Melville t e n d e d to j u d g e c o n t e m p o r a r y Christianity by the a b s o l u t e s t a n d a r d s of the N e w T e s t a m e n t . In The Celestial Railroad H a w t h o r n e m e m o r a b l y satirized the A m e r i c a n urge to be progressive a n d liberal in theology as well as in politics, a n d Melville extended the satire t h r o u g h o u t an entire book, The Confidence-Man. A w a r e n e s s of the fact of religious e c s t a s y w a s not at i s s u e . E m e r s o n , for i n s t a n c e , s h o w e d in The Over-Soul a clinical s e n s e of the varieties of religious experience, the "varying f o r m s of that s h u d d e r of a w e a n d delight with which the individual soul always m i n g l e s with the universal s o u l . " Similarly, T h o reau a c k n o w l e d g e d the validity of the " s e c o n d birth a n d p e c u l i a r religious e x p e r i e n c e " available to the "solitary hired m a n on a farm in the outskirts of C o n c o r d " but felt that any religious d e n o m i n a t i o n in A m e r i c a w o u l d pervert that mystical experience into s o m e t h i n g available only u n d e r its a u s p i c e s a n d in a c c o r d a n c e with its particular d o c t r i n e s . L i k e T h o r e a u , W h i t m a n s a w all religious e c s t a s y as equally valid a n d c a m e forth in S o n g o / M y s e l / o u t b i d d i n g "the old c a u t i o u s h u c k s t e r s " like J e h o v a h , K r o n o s , Z e u s , a n d H e r c u l e s , g o d s w h o held too low a n e s t i m a t e of the value of m e n a n d w o m e n . A m o n g t h e s e writers Melville w a s a l o n e in his a n g u i s h i n g conviction that true Christianity w a s i m p r a c t i c a b l e . Melville a l s o felt the brutal power of the Calvinistic J e h o vah with special k e e n n e s s : h u m a n beings were " g o d - b u l l i e d " even a s the hull of the Pequod was in Moby-Dick, a n d the b e s t way p e o p l e h a d of d e m o n strating their own divinity lay in defying the o m n i p o t e n t tyrant. T o D i c k i n s o n

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a l s o , G o d w a s often a b u l l y — a " M a s t i f f , " w h o m s u b s e r v i e n c e might, or might not, a p p e a s e . In a series of novels Harriet B e e c h e r S t o w e compellingly d e s c r i b e d the way rigid C a l v i n i s m c o u l d cripple y o u n g m i n d s . T r a n s c e n d e n t a l i s m in the late 1 8 3 0 s a n d early 1 8 4 0 s w a s treated in m o s t m a i n s t r e a m n e w s p a p e r s a n d m a g a z i n e s a s s o m e t h i n g b e t w e e n a national l a u g h i n g s t o c k a n d a clear m e n a c e to organized religion. T h e r u n n i n g journalistic j o k e , which H a w t h o r n e e c h o e d in The Celestial Railroad, was that no o n e c o u l d define the t e r m , other than that it w a s highfalutin, foreign, a n d o b s c u r e l y d a n g e r o u s . T h e conservative C h r i s t i a n view is well r e p r e s e n t e d by a p a s s a g e that a p p e a r e d in S t o w e ' s n e w s p a p e r serialization of Uncle Tom's Cabin ( 1 8 5 1 ) but w a s o m i t t e d from the book version, a s a r c a s t i c i n d i c t m e n t of the r e a d e r w h o might find it hard to believe that T o m c o u l d b e stirred by a p a s s a g e in the Bible: "I m e n t i o n this, of c o u r s e , p h i l o s o p h i c friend, a s a psychological p h e n o m e n o n . Very likely it would d o n o s u c h a thing for y o u , b e c a u s e you are an e n l i g h t e n e d m a n , a n d have out-grown the old myths of p a s t c e n t u r i e s . B u t then you have E m e r s o n ' s E s s a y s a n d Carlyle's M i s c e l l a n i e s , a n d other p r o d u c t i o n s of the latter day, s u i t e d to your a d v a n c e d d e v e l o p m e n t . " S u c h early observers u n d e r s t o o d well e n o u g h that T r a n s c e n d e n t a l i s m w a s m o r e p a n t h e i s t i c than C h r i s t i a n . T h e "defiant P a n t h e i s m " infusing T h o r e a u ' s shorter p i e c e s helped keep t h e m out of the m a g a z i n e s , a n d J a m e s Russell Lowell for the Atlantic Monthly p u b l i c a t i o n of a section of The Maine Woods c e n s o r e d a s e n t e n c e in which T h o r e a u d e c l a r e d that a pine tree w a s a s i m m o r t a l a s he w a s a n d p e r c h a n c e would " g o to a s high a heaven." Melville a l s o w a s at least o n c e kept from p u b l i c a t i o n by the religious scruples of the m a g a z i n e s , a n d often he w a s harshly c o n d e m n e d for what he h a d m a n a g e d to p u b l i s h . F o r years he bore the wrath of reviewers s u c h as the o n e w h o d e n o u n c e d him for writing Moby-Dick a n d the H a r p e r s for p u b lishing it: " T h e J u d g m e n t day will hold him liable for not t u r n i n g his talents to better a c c o u n t , w h e n , too, both a u t h o r s a n d p u b l i s h e r s of injurious books will be cojointly a n s w e r a b l e for the influence of t h o s e b o o k s u p o n the wide circle of immortal m i n d s on which they have written their mark. T h e bookm a k e r a n d the b o o k - p u b l i s h e r h a d better d o their work with a view to the trial it m u s t u n d e r g o at the bar of G o d . " T h e ultimate result w a s that Melville w a s s i l e n c e d . T h i s w a s e x t r e m e , but E m e r s o n , T h o r e a u , a n d W h i t m a n all suffered for t r a n s g r e s s i n g the c o d e of the D o c t o r s of Divinity ( T h o r e a u s a i d he w i s h e d it were not the D . D . ' s but the c h i c k a d e e - d e e s w h o a c t e d a s c e n s o r s ) . T h o r e a u , W h i t m a n , a n d S t o d d a r d all h a d works c e n s o r e d before p u b lication in the Atlantic Monthly.

I M M I G R A T I O N

A N D

X E N O P H O B I A

H o w e v e r t h r e a t e n e d conservative P r o t e s t a n t s felt by T r a n s c e n d e n t a l i s m a n d by religious s p e c u l a t i o n s like Melville's, they felt far m o r e t h r e a t e n e d by C a t h o l i c i s m when refugees from the N a p o l e o n i c W a r s were followed by refu g e e s from o p p r e s s e d a n d f a m i n e - s t r u c k Ireland. In B o s t o n , L y m a n B e e c h e r , father of Harriet B e e c h e r S t o w e , t h u n d e r e d o u t a n t i p a p i s t s e r m o n s , then p r o f e s s e d d i s m a y when in 1 8 3 4 a m o b in C h a r l e s t o w n , a c r o s s the Charles River from B o s t o n , b u r n e d the U r s u l i n e C o n v e n t S c h o o l where d a u g h t e r s

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of m a n y wealthy families were e d u c a t e d . F o r a time L o u i s a M a y Alcott's m o t h e r devoted herself to n e e d y Irish i m m i g r a n t s in B o s t o n , in effect defining the j o b of social worker, all the time a p p a l l e d at the u n s t o p p a b l e tide of popery. T h r o u g h the 1 8 3 0 s a n d 1 8 4 0 s a n d long afterward, the U n i t e d S t a t e s was s a t u r a t e d with lurid books a n d p a m p h l e t s p u r p o r t i n g to reveal the truth a b o u t sexual p r a c t i c e s in n u n n e r i e s a n d m o n a s t e r i e s ( a c c o u n t s of how priests a n d n u n s d i s p o s e d of their b a b i e s were specially prized) a n d a b o u t the p o p e ' s s c h e m e s to take over the M i s s i s s i p p i Valley ( S a m u e l F. B. M o r s e a n d others warned that J e s u i t s were prowling the O h i o Valley, in d i s g u i s e ) . An e x t r e m e of x e n o p h o b i a w a s r e a c h e d in the s u m m e r of 1 8 4 4 , w h e n rioters in Philadelphia (the City, everyone p o i n t e d out, of Brotherly Love) b u r n e d C a t h o l i c c h u r c h e s a n d a s e m i n a r y . S c h o o l e d in cultural relativism by his S o u t h S e a e x p e r i e n c e s , Melville was r e s p o n d i n g to the c u r r e n t hostility w h e n he described the pestilent c o n d i t i o n s of s t e e r a g e p a s s e n g e r s in e m i g r a n t s h i p s and then m a d e this plea: " L e t u s waive that agitated national t o p i c , a s to whether s u c h m u l t i t u d e s of foreign p o o r s h o u l d be l a n d e d on our A m e r i c a n s h o r e s ; let u s waive it, with the o n e only t h o u g h t , that if they c a n get h e r e , they have G o d ' s right to c o m e ; t h o u g h they bring all Ireland a n d her m i s e r i e s with t h e m . F o r the whole world is the p a t r i m o n y of the w h o l e world; there is no telling w h o d o e s not own a s t o n e in the G r e a t Wall of C h i n a . " S o m e j o b s by definition were d e e m e d unfit for m o s t native-born Americ a n s . In Moiry-Dicfe ( c h a p t e r 2 7 ) Melville said that fewer than half the m e n on whaling s h i p s were A m e r i c a n - b o r n , a l t h o u g h a l m o s t all the officers were. T h e n he a d d e d : " H e r e i n it is the s a m e with the A m e r i c a n w h a l e fishery a s with the A m e r i c a n army a n d military a n d m e r c h a n t navies, a n d the engineering forces e m p l o y e d in the c o n s t r u c t i o n of the A m e r i c a n C a n a l s a n d R a i l r o a d s , " the "native A m e r i c a n " providing the brains, the "rest of the w o r l d " supplying the m u s c l e s . T h e P a n a m a Railroad w a s c o m p l e t e d in 1 8 5 5 at the cost of t h o u s a n d s of lives of c h e a p laborers from the O r i e n t , E u r o p e ( e s p e cially Ireland), a n d the C a r i b b e a n . An article on the railroad in the J a n u a r y 1 8 5 9 Harper's New MowtWy Magazine m e n t i o n e d m a n y " C o o l i e s from Hind o s t a n " a n d recalled that a t h o u s a n d C h i n a m e n had b e c o m e "affected with a m e l a n c h o l i c , suicidal t e n d e n c y , a n d s c o r e s of t h e m e n d e d their u n h a p p y existence by their own h a n d s , " while m a n y others died of d i s e a s e s . T h i s article treated workers a s d i s p o s a b l e p r o d u c t s , saying that the n u m b e r of t h o s e w h o died c o u l d b e r e p l e n i s h e d with, for i n s t a n c e , "freshly i m p o r t e d Irishmen a n d F r e n c h m e n . " F o r the first t r a n s c o n t i n e n t a l railroad in the United S t a t e s , c o m p l e t e d at P r o m o n t o r y Point, U t a h , on M a y 10, 1 8 6 9 , the Union P a c i f i c — w o r k i n g w e s t w a r d — d r e w laborers from Ireland, G e r m a n y , a n d the S c a n d i n a v i a n c o u n t r i e s , a m o n g other E u r o p e a n s o u r c e s ; the C e n t r a l Pacific—working e a s t w a r d — i m p o r t e d p e r h a p s 1 5 , 0 0 0 C h i n e s e for the m o s t h a z a r d o u s j o b s . W h a t w a s to b e c o m e of t h o s e still alive w h e n the work w a s c o m p l e t e d ? A n d , now that t h e s e A s i a n s were h e r e , what was to k e e p others from following t h e m ? T h o s e of E u r o p e a n ancestry c o u l d not i m a g i n e how the C h i n e s e might be integrated into the national public life. C o n t r a d i c t o r y efforts both to u s e i m m i g r a n t labor a n d to pretend the i m m i g r a n t s were not here c h a l l e n g e d the thinking a n d the ethics of native-born white A m e r i c a n s , p r o d u c i n g waves of anti-immigrant p r o p a g a n d a a n d violence t h r o u g h o u t the period. F o r all his h u m a n i t a r i a n e l o q u e n c e , Melville, like the other writers,

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realized that the new i m m i g r a n t s were c h a n g i n g the country from the cozy, h o m o g e n e o u s l a n d it h a d s e e m e d to b e to the m o r e fortunate whites. In fact, the country h a d never b e e n h o m o g e n e o u s ; even before the great Irish migration of the 1 8 4 0 s , p e o p l e had arrived from m a n y E u r o p e a n c o u n t r i e s , a n d the idea of s t o p p i n g i m m i g r a t i o n selectively a n d s h i p p i n g b a c k s o m e i m m i g r a n t s proved a s i m p r a c t i c a b l e a s the p r e w a r " s o l u t i o n " of colonizing black A m e r i c a n s " b a c k " to Africa. B u t the p a c e of i m m i g r a t i o n had i n c r e a s e d radically after the Civil W a r , a s did the p e r c e n t a g e of i m m i g r a n t s arriving from s o u t h e r n a n d e a s t e r n E u r o p e a n c o u n t r i e s . M a n y native-born white p e o p l e s h a r e d Harriet B e e c h e r S t o w e ' s post—Civil W a r nostalgia for the days b e f o r e railroads, C a t h o l i c s , a n d e a s t e r n E u r o p e a n i m m i g r a t i o n . In the early 1 8 8 0 s , p o g r o m s in R u s s i a drove t h o u s a n d s of J e w s into exile, m a n y to w e s t e r n E u r o p e , m a n y to the U n i t e d S t a t e s , w h e r e immigration officials d e t a i n e d a large n u m b e r of t h e m at W a r d ' s Island in the E a s t River, d e e m i n g t h e m unfit to be d i s e m b a r k e d at C a s t l e G a r d e n , on the Battery, with m o s t other i m m i g r a n t s . In r e s p o n s e , E m m a L a z a r u s in I88i founded the Society for the I m p r o v e m e n t a n d C o l o n i z a t i o n of E a s t e r n E u r o p e a n J e w s .

N A T I O N A L

SINS

S o m e of the writers of thjsj>eriod lived with the a n g u i s h i n g p a r a d o x that the rrijjsiJdjiaTistic nation in the world w a s implicated in c o n t i n u i n g national sins: the n e a r - g e n o c i d e of the A m e r i c a n I n d i a n s (whole tribes in colonial t i m e s T i a d a l r e a d y - b e c o m e T T n Melvitte^^rToneous p h r a s e for the P e q u o t s , a s extinct as the a n c i e n t M e d e s ) , the e n s l a v e m e n t of b l a c k s , a n d (partly a by-product of slavery) the s t a g e d " E x e c u t i v e ' s W a r " a g a i n s t M e x i c o , started by P r e s i d e n t Polk before b e i n g d e c l a r e d by C o n g r e s s . T h e imperialistic Mexican W a r s e e m e d s o gaudily e x o t i c — a n d s o d i s t a n t — t h a t only a s m a l l minority of A m e r i c a n writers v o i c e d m o r e than perfunctory o p p o s i t i o n ; a n exception w a s T h o r e a u , w h o s p e n t a night in the C o n c o r d jail in symbolic protest a g a i n s t b e i n g taxed to s u p p o r t the war. E m e r s o n w a s a n exception, earlier, w h e n m o s t writers were silent a b o u t the s u c c e s s i v e removal of eastern Indian tribes to less d e s i r a b l e lands west of the M i s s i s s i p p i River, a s legislated by the Indian R e m o v a l Act of 1 8 3 0 . A m e r i c a n destiny plainly required a \itt\e p r a c t i c a l c a l l o u s n e s s , m o s t whites felt, in a s e c u l a r version of the colonial notion that G o d h a d willed the extirpation of the A m e r i c a n Indian. Henry W . B e l l o w s , the very p o p u l a r U n i t a r i a n minister of the C h u r c h of All S o u l s in N e w York City (pastoral adviser of W i l l i a m C u l l e n Bryant a n d M r s . H e r m a n Melville), h a d b e e n p r e s i d e n t of the U n i t e d S t a t e s Sanitary C o m m i s s i o n , the a g e n c y c h a r g e d with the welfare of the U n i o n volunteer army. In The Old World in Its New Face ( 1 8 6 8 ) , Bellows told of m e e t i n g a C a l i f o r n i a n on s h i p b o a r d in the M e d i t e r r a n e a n w h o h a d "just e s c a p e d s c a l p ing on the p l a i n s " in 1 8 6 7 a n d w h o t h o u g h t "extermination the only h u m a n e r e m e d y for Indian t r o u b l e s . " Bellows a d d e d : "It is a s t o n i s h i n g how bloodthirsty a little p e r s o n a l e x p e r i e n c e of the I n d i a n s m a k e s m o s t A m e r i c a n s ! I have never known any body c r o s s i n g the P l a i n s w h o s e h u m a n i t y survived the p a s s a g e . " L a t e r , he c a s u a l l y a l l u d e d to the "American Indian p a s s i o n for blood a n d extinction of their e n e m i e s . " It w a s black slavery, w h a t Melville called " m a n ' s foulest c r i m e , " which m o s t stirred the c o n s c i e n c e s of the white writers, a n d in describing his own

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e n s l a v e m e n t , the fugitive F r e d e r i c k D o u g l a s s d e v e l o p e d a n o t a b l e capacity to stir readers a s well a s a u d i e n c e s in the lecture halls. W h e n the Fugitive Slave L a w w a s e n f o r c e d in B o s t o n in 1 8 5 1 (by Melville's father-in-law, C h i e f J u s t i c e S h a w ) , T h o r e a u worked his o u t r a g e into his j o u r n a l s ; then after a n o t h e r f a m o u s c a s e in 1 8 5 4 h e c o m b i n e d the e x p e r i e n c e s into his m o s t s c a t h i n g s p e e c h , Slavery in Massachusetts, for delivery at a F o u r t h of J u l y c o u n t e r c e r e m o n y at which a c o p y of the C o n s t i t u t i o n w a s b u r n e d b e c a u s e slavery w a s written into it. In that s p e e c h T h o r e a u s u m m e d u p the disillus i o n m e n t that m a n y of his g e n e r a t i o n s h a r e d . H e h a d felt a vast b u t indefinite loss after the 1 8 5 4 c a s e , h e s a i d : "I did not k n o w at first w h a t ailed m e . At last it o c c u r r e d to m e that what I h a d lost w a s a c o u n t r y . " O n the very eve of the Civil W a r , Harriet J a c o b s r e c o r d e d the a n g u i s h of a fugitive slave m o t h e r w h o s e " o w n e r s " were always on the prowl to find her a n d turn her into the hard c a s h they n e e d e d . M o r e obliquely than T h o r e a u , Melville explored b l a c k slavery in B e n i t o C e r e n o as an index to the e m e r g i n g national character. At his bitterest, h e felt in the m i d - 1 8 5 0 s that "free A m e r i k y " w a s "intrepid, u n p r i n c i p l e d , r e c k l e s s , predatory, with b o u n d l e s s a m b i t i o n , civilized in externals b u t a s a v a g e at h e a r t . " J o h n Brown's raid o n H a r p e r s Ferry in 1 8 5 9 , i m m e d i a t e l y r e p u d i a t e d by the n e w R e p u b l i c a n Party, drew from the now t u b e r c u l a r T h o r e a u a p a s sionate d e f e n s e . D u r i n g the Civil W a r itself, L i n c o l n f o u n d the g e n i u s to suit diverse o c c a s i o n s with right l a n g u a g e a n d length of u t t e r a n c e , but the major writers fell silent. W h e n the war b e g a n on April 12, 1 8 6 1 , with the firing of C o n f e d e r a t e g u n s o n Fort S u m t e r , in C h a r l e s t o n harbor, Irving, C o o p e r , P o e , a n d Fuller were d e a d (the y o u n g e r two earlier t h a n the older two), a n d before Robert E . L e e ' s s u r r e n d e r to U l y s s e s S . G r a n t at A p p o m a t tox, Virginia, on April 9, 1 8 6 5 , T h o r e a u a n d H a w t h o r n e h a d also died. S o m e writers in this anthology h a d in their way, directly a n d indirectly, h e l p e d to bring the war on: L i n c o l n w a s not wholly t e a s i n g if in fact h e c a l l e d S t o w e "the little w o m a n w h o h a d started the big war"; C h i l d a n d Whittier h a d by 1 8 6 1 devoted d e c a d e s of their lives to the struggle a g a i n s t slavery, a r o u s i n g furious r e s i s t a n c e to t h e m both in the N o r t h a n d in the S o u t h ; a n d D o u g lass's oratory h a d revealed to m a n y white N o r t h e r n e r s a s e n s e of the evils of slavery a n d the h u m a n n e s s of t h o s e of a n o t h e r r a c e (or of mixed r a c e s ) . F i r e b r a n d Y a n k e e s s u c h a s T h o r e a u a n d firebrand S o u t h e r n e r s s u c h a s G . W . Harris h a d r o u s e d the p a s s i o n s of at least s o m e m e m b e r s of their own c o m munities a n d regions. W h e n the war c a m e , m o s t northern writers were slow to have a s e n s e of its reality a n d , like S o u t h e r n e r s , e r r o n e o u s l y e x p e c t e d it to last only a few m o n t h s . Visiting B o s t o n a n d C o n c o r d in 1 8 6 2 , fresh from the newly f o r m e d W e s t Virginia (the portion of a slave s t a t e that h a d c h o s e n to stay with the U n i o n ) , R e b e c c a H a r d i n g Davis s a w that E m e r s o n h a d n o notion what suffering w a s involved. H a w t h o r n e , w h o received her with e n t h u s i a s m , h a d f a c e d the start of the war a s a s o u t h e r n sympathizer in a village that had w e l c o m e d J o h n B r o w n , then h a d s e e n W a s h i n g t o n in wartime, a n d retained, a s he always did, a practical politician's s e n s e of t h i n g s . A m o n g the a n t e b e l l u m writers the war did not evoke great fiction, but Melville's u n e v e n Battie-Pieces ( 1 8 6 6 ) i n c l u d e d s o m e r e m a r k a b l e meditative p o e m s as well a s the technically interesting Doneison, in which he conveyed vividly the anxiety of civilians awaiting news during a p r o l o n g e d a n d d u b i o u s battle a n d eagerly r e a d i n g aloud the latest bulletins p o s t e d o u t s i d e the telegraph office. W h i t m a n ' s Drum-Taps ( 1 8 6 5 ) a l s o is u n e v e n b u t c o n t a i n s

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several great p o e m s . After a few c o p i e s h a d b e e n d i s p e r s e d , W h i t m a n held b a c k the edition for a s e q u e l mainly c o n s i s t i n g of newly written poems on L i n c o l n , among them When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd, the g r e a t e s t literary work to c o m e out of the war a n d o n e of the world's great e l e g i e s . Both volumes summed u p the national e x p e r i e n c e . B o t h writers looked a h e a d a s well a s b a c k w a r d , W h i t m a n calling " r e c o n c i l i a t i o n " the "word over a l l , " a n d Melville urging in his Supplement to Battle-Pieces that the victorious N o r t h "be C h r i s t i a n s toward our fellow-whites, a s well a s p h i l a n t h r o p i s t s toward the b l a c k s , o u r f e l l o w - m e n . " L a t e r in Specimen Days Whitman m a d e a m e m o r a b l e a t t e m p t to d o the i m p o s s i b l e — t o put the real war realistically into a book. B e f o r e s h e died, Child saw how little R e c o n s t r u c t i o n h a d d o n e to a c h i e v e her h o p e s for e d u c a t i o n a n d financial uplifting of former slaves. B o t h Whitm a n a n d Melville, especially in their later years, saw A m e r i c a n politics c e a s e to be c o n c e r n e d with great national s t r u g g l e s over m o m e n t o u s i s s u e s ; rather, politics m e a n t c o r r u p t i o n , on a petty or a grand s c a l e . Melville lived out the G i l d e d A g e a s an e m p l o y e e at the notoriously c o r r u p t c u s t o m h o u s e in N e w York City. In Clarel, foreseeing a d e s c e n t from the p r e s e n t "civic b a r b a r i s m " to "the D a r k Ages of D e m o c r a c y , " h e portrayed his A m e r i c a n pilgrims to the Holy Land a s recognizing sadly that the time might c o m e to h o n o r the g o d of limitations in what h a d b e e n the land of opportunity, a time w h e n Ameri c a n s might cry: " T o T e r m i n u s build f a n e s ! / C o l u m b u s e n d e d earth's r o m a n c e : / N o N e w W o r l d to m a n k i n d r e m a i n s ! " Written self-consciously a s a c o u n t e r c e n t e n n i a l p o e m , Clarel w a s p u b l i s h e d early in J u n e 1 8 7 6 ( G e o r g e C u s t e r a n d his m e n were riding toward M o n t a n a Territory; o n e of the first reviews of Clarel ran in the N e w York World on J u n e 2 6 , the day after the battle at Little Big H o r n ) . N o o n e would have t h o u g h t to invite Melville to c o m p o s e the public C e n t e n n i a l O d e for the great celebration in P h i l a d e l p h i a on J u l y 4, but there were s o m e w h o knew that Walt Whitman, a true national poet, might well have b e e n invited i n s t e a d of B a y a r d Taylor, w h o so long before had written a valentine for Melville.

T H E

C H A N C E

FOR

G R E A T N E S S

T h e A m e r i c a n Revolution h a d h e l p e d to incite the F r e n c h Revolution a n d , a s it s e e m e d to m a n y A m e r i c a n s , its d i s a s t r o u s c o n s e q u e n c e s , a n d in the p o s t - N a p o l e o n i c era A m e r i c a n s struggled to m a k e s s e n s e of p r o f o u n d political a n d social c h a n g e s in E u r o p e a s well a s a new scientific k n o w l e d g e . In 1 7 9 9 N a p o l e o n ' s soldiers in Egypt h a d taken p o s s e s s i o n of a large p i e c e of basalt, the R o s e t t a S t o n e ; a F r e n c h civilian h a d d e c i p h e r e d its hieroglyphics, thereby initating m o d e r n Egyptology a n d influencing the study of the Bible by s u b j e c t i n g it to historical principles. Archaeological excavations in Italy a n d e l s e w h e r e were t r a n s f o r m i n g historical a n d a e s t h e t i c k n o w l e d g e of classical G r e e c e a n d R o m e . T h e G e r m a n aristocrat B a r o n Alexander von H u m boldt (1769—1859), on his voyage to C e n t r a l a n d S o u t h A m e r i c a in 1799— 1 8 0 4 , h a d m a d e s t u n n i n g d i s c o v e r i e s in botany, biology, geology, physical g e o g r a p h y , meteorology, climatology, a n d even a s t r o n o m y ; he p u b l i s h e d his discoveries in m a n y v o l u m e s , starting in 1 8 0 7 . L o n g before Darwin published his On t/ie Origin of Species ( 1 8 S 9 ) , biologists were p u b l i s h i n g evidence of

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plant a n d a n i m a l evolution, a n d geologists were c h a l l e n g i n g religious chronologies that set the creation of the world a r o u n d 5 0 0 0 B . C . E . K n o w l e d g e of the physical universe w a s i n c r e a s i n g explosively. At the s a m e t i m e , vast parts of the earth were b e i n g seized, not s t u d i e d , a s E u r o p e a n s t a t e s e m b a r k e d on a f e r o c i o u s q u e s t for n e w c o l o n i e s . O n e A m e r i c a n writer, H e r m a n Melville, h a d b e e n on the spot w h e n the F r e n c h seized the M a r q u e s a s a n d had arrived in Tahiti j u s t after the F r e n c h in their warships extended the benefits of their protection to that island. Melville w a s in H o n o l u l u w h e n E n g l a n d relinquished its brief control of the H a w a i i a n I s l a n d s . H e then sailed u n d e r the c o m m a n d of the m a n w h o h a d seized California for the U n i t e d S t a t e s in 1 8 4 3 , only to relinquish it the next day, when he received c o r r e c t e d reports of British i n t e n t i o n s . T h e R u s s i a n s h a d control of an e n o r m o u s h u n k of the N o r t h A m e r i c a n c o n t i n e n t — A l a s k a . G r e a t Britain, F r a n c e , the N e t h e r l a n d s , B u s s i a — a n y n u m b e r of E u r o p e a n powers might at any m o m e n t seize any part of the Pacific, Africa, A s i a , or even C e n t r a l or S o u t h A m e r i c a . E n g l a n d was already c h a l l e n g i n g B o s t o n a n d N e w York m e r c h a n t s for m a s t e r y of trade with C h i n a , a n d any o n e of several other c o u n t r i e s might force J a p a n to o p e n its h a r b o r s to t h e m , not the U n i t e d S t a t e s . T h e seizure of land after the M e x i c a n W a r h a d s e e m e d , to a few A m e r i c a n s , d e p l o r a b l e , but within m o n t h s gold h a d b e e n d i s c o v e r e d in C a l ifornia, clear e v i d e n c e of divine b l e s s i n g on the war. After C a l i f o r n i a , what s h o u l d the U n i t e d S t a t e s seize next? Writing Mofcy-Dicfe d u r i n g the G o l d R u s h , drawing on his p e r s o n a l experiences with i m p e r i a l i s m in the Pacific, Melville defined A m e r i c a ' s o p p o r t u n i t i e s in whaling t e r m s ( c h a p t e r 8 9 ) : " W h a t to that apostolic lancer, B r o t h e r J o n a t h a n [the U n i t e d S t a t e s ] , is T e x a s but a F a s t - F i s h ? " Melville foresaw (chapter 14) the time w h e n A m e r i c a would " a d d M e x i c o to T e x a s , a n d pile C u b a u p o n C a n a d a " in its piratical acquisitiveness. At mid-century Irving w a s a n old m a n a n d s o m e d a r e d to think a n overrated writer. Most of the writers in this period did their b e s t work a s y o u n g m e n a n d w o m e n , fiercely a m b i t i o u s , a n d in spirit "essentially w e s t e r n " (as Melville said in c h a p t e r 2 2 of Israel Potter). Literary g r e a t n e s s in A m e r i c a was u p for g r a b s , there for the seizing a s m u c h a s the M a r q u e s a s I s l a n d s a n d California had been. In his whaling book, Melville h o p e d to m a k e literary g r e a t n e s s a " F a s t - F i s h " forever. W a l t W h i t m a n a few years later m a d e the s a m e gigantic attempt to b e c o m e the poet for A m e r i c a . In the early 1 8 6 0 s , Emily D i c k i n s o n , to w h o m the gold of g e n i u s h a d b e e n given in c h i l d h o o d (poem 4 5 4 [ 4 5 5 ] ) , a n d who h a d m a d e her farewells to friends b o u n d for the G o l d e n S t a t e , knew that she w a s not only the Queen of Calvary ( p o e m 3 4 8 [ 3 4 7 ] ) , but also the Queen of California in literary g r e a t n e s s — a " S o v r e i g n on a M i n e " (poem 8 0 1 [ 8 5 6 ] ) , the " P r i n c e of M i n e s " ( p o e m 4 6 6 [ 5 9 7 ] ) . T h o r e a u , in Life without Principle, characteristically d e n o u n c e d the " r u s h to California," preferring to m i n e the " a u r i f e r o u s " regions within. T h e critic Sydney S m i t h h a d a s k e d c o n t e m p t u o u s l y in the E d i n b u r g h Review ( 1 8 2 0 ) : "In the four q u a r t e r s of the g l o b e , who r e a d s an A m e r i c a n b o o k ? " ; T h o r e a u , who had b e g u n so m o d e s t l y by a d d r e s s i n g his neighbors in C o n c o r d , at the end of Walden a d d r e s s e d the b o o k to both J o h n Bull a n d B r o t h e r J o n a t h a n — to a n y o n e in the four q u a r t e r s of the g l o b e w h o c o u l d read the E n g l i s h l a n g u a g e . T h a t was exuberant " w e s t e r n " a m b i t i o u s n e s s — w h a t Melville called the "true A m e r i c a n " spirit.

AMERICAN LITERATURE

1820-IS65 CONTEXTS

TEXTS 1820

Washington Irving, The Sketch

1821

William Cullen

Book 1821

Bryant,

Sequoyah

(George

Guess)

invents

syllabary in which Cherokee language can

"Thanatopsis"

be written 1821-22 \S2i

James

Fenimore

Cooper,

1823

The

Santa Fe Trail Monroe

Doctrine

opens warns all

European powers not to establish new

Pioneers

colonies on either American continent 1825

Erie Canal opens, connecting

Great

Lakes region with the Atlantic 1827

1827

David Cusick, Sketches of Ancient

History of the Six

Baltimore

and Ohio, nrst U . S .

railroad

Nations

1827—28

Cherokee

Nation ratifies its new

constitution • T h e newspaper the Cherokee Phoenix 182S—30

Cherokee

Council

founded

composes

Memorials 1829

William Apess. A Son of the Forest •

David Walker, Appeal

1829—37

President

Andrew

encourages

westward

movement

Jackson of white

population 1830

Congress

passes

Indian

Removal

Act, allowing J a c k s o n to relocate eastern Indians west of the Mississippi 1831

William Lloyd Garrison

Liberator, antislavery 1834

Catharine

Reminiscence 1836

Maria Sedgwick,

starts The

journal

"A

of Federalism"

Ralph Waldo Emerson,

1836

Nature

Transcendentalists

meet informally

in Boston and Concord 1838

Underground Railroad aids

escaping

north, often to

1838-39

slaves

Canada

"Trail of Tears':

Cherokees

forced from their homelands

by federal

troops \S39

Caroline

Home—Who'll 1841

Stanshury

Kirkland, A New

Follow?

T. B. Thorpe,

"The Big Bear of

Arkansas" \S4i

Margaret

Fuller, ,lThe

Great

Lawsuit"

1845

Edgar Allan Poe, " T h e R a v e n " •

Frederick Douglass, Narrative Frederick

1844

Samuel

1845

United States annexes Texas

Morse invents

telegraph

of the Life of

Douglass 1846—48

United States wages war against

Mexico; Treaty of G u a d a l u p e Hidalgo cedes entire southwest to United States

Boldface

lilies indicate works

444

in the anthology.

TEXTS 1847

CONTEXTS

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

1847

Evangeline

Brigham Young leads Mormons from

Nauvoo, Illinois, to Salt Lake, Utah Territory 1848

S e n e c a Falls Convention

inaugurates campaign for women's rights 1848-^»9 1850

Nathaniel Hawthorne, The

Letter • Bayard Taylor,

Scarlet

1850

Eldorado

California Gold Rush

Fugitive Slave Act compromise of

1850 obliges free states to return escaped slaves to slaveholders

1851

Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

1852

Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle

Tom's

Cabin

1854

Henry David Thoreau, Walden

1854

Republican Party formed,

consolidating antislavery factions 1855

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass •

Louise Amelia Smith Clappe, " C a l i f o r n i a , in 1 8 5 1 a n d 1 8 5 2 . R e s i d e n c e in the Mines" 1857

Fanny Fern (Sarah Willis Parton),

1857

Fresh

Leaves

denies citizenship to African Americans

1858

Abraham Lincoln, "A House

1858

Divided" 1859

Lydia Maria Child, "Letter to Mrs.

1859

First successful U.S. oil well drilled,

in Pennsylvania

Harriet Prescott Spofford,

I860

"Circumstance" 1860—65

Transatlantic cable fails after twenty-

seven days

Margaretta M a s o n " 1860

S u p r e m e Court Dred Scott decision

Short-lived Pony Express runs from

Missouri to California

Emily Dickinson writes several

hundred p o e m s 1861

Harriet J a c o b s , Incidents

in the Life

1861

South Carolina batteries fire on U . S .

of a Slave Girl • Rebecca Harding Davis,

fort, initiating the Civil War; Southern

Life in the Iron-Mills

states secede from the Union and found the Confederate States of America 1861-65 1863

Civil War

Emancipation Proclamation • Battle

of Gettysburg 1866

1866

John Greenleaf Whittier, S n o w -

Completion of two successful

transatlantic cables

Bound: A Winter Idyl

1869

First transcontinental railroad

completed; Central Pacific construction crews composed largely of C h i n e s e laborers 1873

Louisa May Alcott, "Transcendental

Wild O a t s " 1883

E m m a Lazarus, " T h e N e w C o l o s s u s "

445

WASHINGTON

IRVING

\783-\859

Washington Irving, the first American to achieve an international literary reputation, was born in New York City on April 3, \ 783, the last of eleven children of a Scottishborn father and English-born mother. Well into his thirties his brothers routinely tried to make plans for him, and his own devotion to his family was a dominant emotion throughout his life. He read widely in English literature at home, modeling his early prose on the graceful Spectator papers by Joseph Addison, but delighted by many other writers, including Shakespeare, Oliver Goldsmith, and Laurence Sterne. His brothers enjoyed writing poems and essays as pleasant, companionable recreation, and at nineteen Irving wrote a series of satirical essays on the theater and New York society for his brother Peter's newspaper, the Morning Courier. When Irving showed signs of tuberculosis in 1804, his brothers sent him abroad for a two-year tour of Europe, where in his notebooks he steadily became an acute observer and felicitous recorder of what he witnessed. On his return, he began studying law with Judge Josiah Hoffman; but more important for his career, he and his brother William (along with William's brother-in-law, James Kirke Paulding) started (the name of a spicy hash), which ran an anonymous satirical magazine, Salmagundi through 1807 with sketches and poems on politics and drama as well as familiar essays on a great range of topics. Then in 1808 Irving began work on A History of New York, at first conceiving it as a parody of Samuel Latham Mitchell's pompously titled The Picture

of New-York;

or, The Traveller's

Guide

through

the

Commercial

Metropolis of the United States, then taking on a variety of satiric targets, including President Jefferson, whom he portrayed as an early Dutch governor of New Amsterdam, William the Testy. Exuberant, broadly comic, the History spoofed historians' pedantries but was itself the result of many months of antiquarian reading in local libraries, where his researches gave Irving refuge from grief over the sudden death of Judge Hoffman's daughter Matilda, to whom he had become engaged. Then the History was launched by a charming publicity campaign. First a newspaper noted the disappearance of a "small elderly gentleman, dressed in an old black coat and cocked hat, by the name of K N I C K E R B O C K E R , " adding that there were "some reasons for believing he is not entirely in his right mind." After further "news" items the old man's fictitious landlord announced that he had found in Knickerbocker's room a "very curious kind of a written book" which he intended to dispose of to pay the bill that was owed him, and the book at last appeared, ascribed to Diedrich Knickerbocker. With its publication Irving became an American celebrity. Reprinted in England, the History reached Sir Walter Scott, who declared that it made his sides hurt from laughter. Like all but the rarest of topical satires, however, it has become increasingly inaccessible to later generations of readers, who can hardly comprehend Irving's strategies and targets without precisely the sort of antiquarian footnotes he found delight in mocking. During the War of 1812 Irving was editor of the Analectic Magazine, which he filled mainly with essays from British periodicals but in which he printed his own timely series of patriotic biographical sketches of American naval heroes. Toward the end of the war he was made a colonel in the New York State Militia. Then in May 1815, a major break occurred in his life: he left for Europe and stayed away for seventeen years. At first he worked in Liverpool with his brother Peter, an importer of English hardware. In 1818 Peter went bankrupt, shortly after their mother died in New York; profoundly grieved and shamed, Irving once again took refuge in writing. During his work on The Sketch Book he met Scott, who buoyed him by admiration for the History and helpfully directed Irving's attention to the wealth of unused literary material in German folktales; there, as scholars have shown, Irving found the source

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for "Rip Van Winkle," some passages of which are close paraphrases of the original. In 1819 Irving began sending The Sketch Book to the United States for publication in installments. When the full version was printed in England the next year, it made Irving famous and brought him the friendship of many of the leading British writers of the time. His new pseudonym, Geoffrey Crayon, became universally recognized, and over the next years selections from The Sketch Book entered the classroom as models of English prose just as selections from Addison had long been used. As Irving knew, part of his British success derived from general astonishment that a man born in the United States could write in such an English way about English scenes: Addison lay behind the sketches of English country life, just as Oliver Goldsmith's essays on the Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap and on Westminster Abbey lay behind Irving's on the same topics. But in among the graceful, tame tributes to English scenes and characters were two vigorous tales set in rural New York, "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." Everyone who read them knew instantly that they were among the literary treasures of the language, and it very soon became hard to remember that they had not always been among the English classics. Hall (1822), a worshipful tribute to old-fashioned Irving's next book, Bracebridge English country life, was, as the author realized, a feeble follow-up, and Tales of a Traveller (1824) was widely taken as a sign that he had written himself out. At a loss to sustain his career, Irving gambled on accepting an invitation from an acquaintance, the American minister to Spain: he was to come to Spain as an attache of the legation (a device for giving him entree into manuscript collections) and translate Martin Fernandez de Navarrete's new compilation of accounts of the voyages of Columbus, including Columbus's own lost journals as copied by an earlier historian. Helped by the American consul in Madrid, Obadiah Rich, who owned a magnificent collection of books and manuscripts on Spanish and Latin American history, Irving worked intensely and in 1828 published The Life and Voyages of Christopher

Columbus,

not

a translation of Navarrete (though the Spaniard's volume supplied most of the facts) but a biography of Irving's own, shaped by his skill at evocative re-creation of history. Out of these Spanish years came also Tire Conquest of Granada (1829), Voyages and Discoveries

of the Companions

of Columbus

became known as "the Spanish Sketch

(1831), and The Alhambra

Book."

(1832), which

In 1829 Irving was appointed secretary to the American legation in London, where he became a competent, hardworking diplomat, aided by his access to the highest levels of British society. No longer the latest rage, Irving by now was a solidly established author. On his return to the United States in 1832 his reputation was in need of redemption from a different charge—that of becoming too Europeanized. As if in an effort to make amends, Irving turned to three studies of the American West: A Tour on the Prairies (1835), based on his horseback journey into what is now Oklahoma; Astoria (1836), an account of John Jacob Astor's fur-trading colony in Oregon, written in Astor's own library and based on published accounts as well as research in Astor's archives (in which task Irving was assisted by his nephew Pierre); and The Adventures

of Captain

Bonneville,

U.S.A. ( 1 8 3 7 ) , an account of a French-

man's explorations in the Bockies and the Far West.

In the late 1830s Irving bought and began refurbishing a house near Tarrytown, along the Hudson, north of New York City, just where he had dreamed of settling down in "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." At Sunnyside he made a home for several members of his family, including as many as five nieces at a time, but he wrote little. From this somewhat purposeless stage of his life he was rescued by appointment as minister to Spain in 1842; he served four years in-Madrid with great success. After his return he arranged with G. P. Putnam to publish a collected edition of his writings and took the occasion to revise some of them. Using essays he had written years before, he also prepared for the edition a derivative biography of Oliver Goldsmith (1849), after which critics more than ever compared him to the Irish prince of hackwriters. Irving's main work after 1851 was his long-contemplated life of George

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Washington. He worked in libraries, read old newspapers, studied government records, and visited battlefields, but once again he drew very heavily on published biographies, especially the recent one by Jared Sparks. He forced himself, in the most heroic effort of his career, to complete the successive five volumes, the first of which was published in 1855. Just after finishing the last he collapsed and died a few months later, on November 28, 1859. Decades before his death, Irving had achieved the status of a classic writer; in his own country he had no rival as a stylist. As schoolboys, Hawthorne and Longfellow were inspired by the success of The Sketch Book; and their prose, as well as that of a horde of now-unread writers, owed much to Irving. Although Melville, in his essay on Hawthorne's Mosses from an Old Manse, declared his preference for creative geniuses over adept imitators like Irving, he could not escape Irving's influence, which emerges both in his short stories and in a late poem, "Rip Van Winkle's Lilacs," which showed he saw Rip as an archetypal artist figure. (Melville's debt was even more tangible, for early in 1846 Irving had passed the word to Putnam that Typee was worth reprinting in New York; but then Irving had been generous to younger writers all his life, as in his supervision of the London publication of Bryant's poems in 1832.) The southwestern humorists of the 1840s, whom Irving read and enjoyed, were much more robust than Irving in his mature years, yet they learned from him that realistic details of rural life in America could be worked memorably into fiction. From the beginning, Americans identified with Rip as a counterhero, an anti-Franldinian who made a success of failure, and successive generations have responded profoundly to Irving's pervasive theme of mutability, especially as localized in his portrayal of the bewildering and destructive rapidity of change in American life.

Rip Van Winkle1 T h e following T a l e w a s f o u n d a m o n g the p a p e r s of the late D i e d r i c h K n i c k e r b o c k e r , a n old g e n t l e m a n of New-York, w h o w a s very c u r i o u s in the D u t c h history of the p r o v i n c e , a n d the m a n n e r s of the d e s c e n d a n t s from its primitive settlers. His historical r e s e a r c h e s , however, did not lay so m u c h a m o n g b o o k s , a s a m o n g m e n ; for the f o r m e r are l a m e n t a b l y s c a n t y o n his favourite t o p i c s ; w h e r e a s h e f o u n d the old b u r g h e r s , a n d still m o r e , their wives, rich in that legendary lore, s o i n v a l u a b l e to true history. W h e n e v e r , therefore, h e h a p p e n e d u p o n a g e n u i n e D u t c h family, snugly s h u t up in its low-roofed farm h o u s e , u n d e r a s p r e a d i n g s y c a m o r e , he looked u p o n it a s a little c l a s p e d v o l u m e of black-letter, 2 a n d s t u d i e d it with the zeal of a bookworm. T h e result of all t h e s e r e s e a r c h e s w a s a history of the p r o v i n c e , d u r i n g the reign of the D u t c h g o v e r n o r s , which h e p u b l i s h e d s o m e years s i n c e . T h e r e have b e e n v a r i o u s o p i n i o n s a s to the literary c h a r a c t e r of his work, a n d , to tell the truth, it is not a whit better t h a n it s h o u l d b e . Its c h i e f merit is its s c r u p u l o u s a c c u r a c y , w h i c h , i n d e e d , w a s a little q u e s t i o n e d , on its first a p p e a r a n c e , but h a s s i n c e b e e n c o m p l e t e l y e s t a b l i s h e d ; 3 a n d it is n o w a d m i t ted into all historical c o l l e c t i o n s , a s a b o o k of u n q u e s t i o n a b l e authority. 1. "Rip Van Winkle" was the last of the sketches printed in the May 1819 first installment of The Sketch Book, the source of the present text. 2. Typeface in early printed books, resembling medieval script; such books, b e c a u s e of theirvalue, were often equipped with clasps so they could be

shut tightly and even locked. 3. Irving knew that most of his first readers would remember with delight the wildly inaccurate Knickerbocker History. He is also echoing Cervantes's h u m o r o u s assurance of accuracy at the outset of Don Quixote.

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T h e old g e n t l e m a n died shortly after the p u b l i c a t i o n of his work, a n d now, that he is d e a d a n d g o n e , it c a n n o t do m u c h h a r m to his m e m o r y , to say, that his time might have b e e n m u c h better e m p l o y e d in weightier l a b o u r s . H e , however, w a s apt to ride his hobby his own way; a n d t h o u g h it did now a n d then kick u p the d u s t a little in the eyes of his n e i g h b o u r s , a n d grieve the spirit of s o m e friends, for w h o m he felt the truest d e f e r e n c e a n d affection; yet his errors a n d follies are r e m e m b e r e d " m o r e in sorrow than in a n g e r , " 4 a n d it b e g i n s to be s u s p e c t e d , that he never i n t e n d e d to injure or offend. B u t however his m e m o r y may be a p p r e c i a t e d by critics, it is still held d e a r a m o n g m a n y folk, w h o s e good opinion is well worth having; particularly certain biscuit b a k e r s , w h o have g o n e s o far as to imprint his likeness o n their n e w year c a k e s , a n d have t h u s given him a c h a n c e for immortality, a l m o s t e q u a l to b e i n g s t a m p e d on a W a t e r l o o m e d a l , or a Q u e e n A n n e ' s farthing. 5 Rip Van Winkle A P o s t h u m o u s Writing of Diedrich Knickerbocker By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, Truth is a thing that ever I will keep Unto thylke day in which I creep into My sepulchre— —CARTWRIGHT"

W h o e v e r h a s m a d e a voyage u p the H u d s o n , m u s t r e m e m b e r the Kaatskill m o u n t a i n s . T h e y are a d i s m e m b e r e d b r a n c h of the great A p p a l a c h i a n family, a n d are s e e n away to the west of the river, swelling u p to a n o b l e height, a n d lording it over the s u r r o u n d i n g country. Every c h a n g e of s e a s o n , every c h a n g e of weather, indeed, every hour of the day, p r o d u c e s s o m e c h a n g e in the m a g i c a l h u e s a n d s h a p e s of t h e s e m o u n t a i n s , a n d they a r e r e g a r d e d by all the g o o d wives, far a n d near, a s perfect b a r o m e t e r s . W h e n the w e a t h e r is fair a n d settled, they are clothed in b l u e a n d p u r p l e , a n d print their bold outlines on the clear e v e n i n g sky; b u t s o m e t i m e s , w h e n the rest of the l a n d s c a p e is c l o u d l e s s , they will gather a h o o d of gray v a p o u r s a b o u t their s u m m i t s , w h i c h , in the last rays of the setting s u n , will glow a n d light u p like a crown of glory. At the foot of t h e s e fairy m o u n t a i n s , the voyager m a y have d e s c r i e d the light s m o k e curling u p from a village, w h o s e shingle roofs g l e a m a m o n g the trees, j u s t w h e r e the b l u e tints of the u p l a n d melt away into the fresh green of the nearer l a n d s c a p e . It is a little village of great antiquity, having b e e n f o u n d e d by s o m e of the D u t c h c o l o n i s t s , in the early times of the province, j u s t a b o u t the b e g i n n i n g of the g o v e r n m e n t of the g o o d P e t e r S t u y v e s a n t , 7 4. Shakespeare's Hamlet 1.1.231—32. T o this quotation Irving appended the following footnote: "Vide [see] the excellent discourse of G. C . Verplanck, Esq. before the New-York Historical Society." If Irving's friend Gulian C. Verplanck ever made such an address, it was in fun. 5. Irving's irony cuts in different directions: Waterloo medals were minted liberally after the defeat of Napoleon in 1815, whereas farthings (tiny coins) from the reign of Queen Anne of England (1702—14) were commonly, though

wTongly, considered rare, one story saying only three were minted. 6. In this quotation from The Ordinary, 3 . 1 . 1 0 5 0 54, a play by the English writer William Cartwright ( 1 6 1 1 — 1643), the speaker is a pedant named Moth. Woden was the Norse god of war. 7. Last governor of the Dutch province of New Netherlands ( 1 5 9 2 - 1 6 7 2 ) , in 1655 (as mentioned below) defeated Swedish colonists at Fort Christina, near what is now Wilmington, Delaware.

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(may he rest in p e a c e ! ) a n d there were s o m e of the h o u s e s of the original settlers s t a n d i n g within a few years, with lattice w i n d o w s , g a b l e fronts surm o u n t e d with w e a t h e r c o c k s , a n d built of small yellow bricks b r o u g h t from Holland. In that s a m e village, a n d in o n e of t h e s e very h o u s e s , (which, to tell the p r e c i s e truth, w a s sadly time worn a n d w e a t h e r b e a t e n , ) there lived m a n y years s i n c e , while the country w a s yet a province of G r e a t Britain, a s i m p l e g o o d natured fellow, of the n a m e of Rip V a n W i n k l e . H e w a s a d e s c e n d a n t of the V a n W i n k l e s w h o figured s o gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter S t u y v e s a n t , a n d a c c o m p a n i e d him to the siege of Fort C h r i s t i n a . H e inherited, however, but little of the martial c h a r a c t e r of his a n c e s t o r s . I have o b s e r v e d that he w a s a s i m p l e good n a t u r e d m a n ; h e w a s m o r e o v e r a kind neighbour, a n d an o b e d i e n t , h e n p e c k e d h u s b a n d . I n d e e d , to the latter circ u m s t a n c e might be owing that m e e k n e s s of spirit which g a i n e d him s u c h universal popularity; for t h o s e m e n a r e m o s t apt to be o b s e q u i o u s a n d conciliating a b r o a d , w h o are u n d e r the discipline of shrews at h o m e . T h e i r temp e r s , d o u b t l e s s , a r e r e n d e r e d pliant a n d m a l l e a b l e in the fiery f u r n a c e of d o m e s t i c tribulation, a n d a curtain l e c t u r e " is worth all the s e r m o n s in the world for t e a c h i n g the virtues of p a t i e n c e a n d long suffering. A t e r m a g a n t wife may, therefore, in s o m e r e s p e c t s , b e c o n s i d e r e d a tolerable b l e s s i n g ; a n d if s o , Rip V a n Winkle w a s thrice b l e s s e d . C e r t a i n it is, that h e w a s a great favourite a m o n g all the g o o d wives of the village, w h o , as u s u a l with the a m i a b l e sex, took his part in all family s q u a b bles, a n d never failed, whenever they talked t h o s e m a t t e r s over in their evening g o s s i p p i n g s , to lay all the b l a m e on D a m e V a n W i n k l e . T h e children of the village, too, would s h o u t with j o y w h e n e v e r h e a p p r o a c h e d . H e a s s i s t e d at their s p o r t s , m a d e their playthings, t a u g h t t h e m to fly kites a n d s h o o t m a r b l e s , a n d told t h e m long stories of g h o s t s , w i t c h e s , a n d I n d i a n s . W h e n ever he went d o d g i n g a b o u t the village, he w a s s u r r o u n d e d by a troop of t h e m , h a n g i n g o n his skirts, c l a m b e r i n g on his b a c k , a n d playing a t h o u s a n d tricks on him with impunity; a n d not a d o g would bark at him t h r o u g h o u t the n e i g h b o u r h o o d . T h e great error in Rip's c o m p o s i t i o n w a s a n i n s u p e r a b l e aversion to all kinds of profitable labour. It c o u l d not be for the want of a s s i d u i t y or pers e v e r a n c e ; for h e w o u l d sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long a n d heavy a s a Tartar's l a n c e , a n d fish all day without a m u r m u r , even t h o u g h he s h o u l d not be e n c o u r a g e d by a single nibble. H e w o u l d carry a fowling p i e c e on his s h o u l d e r , for h o u r s together, trudging t h r o u g h w o o d s a n d s w a m p s , a n d up hill a n d d o w n d a l e , to s h o o t a few squirrels or wild p i g e o n s . H e would never even refuse to a s s i s t a n e i g h b o u r in the r o u g h e s t toil, a n d w a s a f o r e m o s t m a n at all country frolicks for h u s k i n g Indian c o r n , or b u i l d i n g s t o n e f e n c e s ; the w o m e n of the village, too, u s e d to e m p l o y him to run their e r r a n d s , a n d to do s u c h little o d d j o b s a s their less obliging h u s b a n d s w o u l d not do for t h e m ; — i n a word, Rip w a s ready to a t t e n d to any body's b u s i n e s s but his o w n ; but a s to d o i n g family duty, a n d k e e p i n g his farm in order, it w a s impossible. In fact, he d e c l a r e d it w a s no u s e to work o n his f a r m ; it w a s the m o s t pestilent little p i e c e of g r o u n d in the w h o l e country; every t h i n g a b o u t it 8. Tirade delivered by a wife after the curtains around the four-poster bed have been drawn for the night.

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went wrong, a n d would go wrong, in spite of h i m . His f e n c e s were continually falling to p i e c e s ; his cow would either go astray, or get a m o n g the c a b b a g e s ; w e e d s were s u r e to grow quicker in his fields t h a n any w h e r e e l s e ; the rain always m a d e a point of setting in j u s t a s he h a d s o m e o u t - d o o r work to d o . S o that t h o u g h his patrimonial e s t a t e had dwindled away u n d e r his m a n a g e m e n t , a c r e by a c r e , until there w a s little m o r e left than a m e r e p a t c h of I n d i a n corn a n d p o t a t o e s , yet it w a s the worst c o n d i t i o n e d farm in the neighbourhood. ... ; q ; His children, too, were a s ragged a n d wild a s if they b e l o n g e d to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin b e g o t t e n in his own l i k e n e s s , p r o m i s e d to inherit the h a b i t s , with the old c l o t h e s of his father. H e w a s generally s e e n t r o o p i n g like a colt at his mother's h e e l s , e q u i p p e d in a pair of his father's cast-off gallig a s k i n s , 9 which he h a d m u c h a d o to hold u p with o n e h a n d , as a fine lady does her train in b a d weather. Rip V a n W i n k l e , however, w a s o n e of t h o s e happy m o r t a l s , of foolish, welloiled d i s p o s i t i o n s , w h o take the world easy, eat white bread or brown, which ever c a n be got with least t h o u g h t or t r o u b l e , a n d would rather starve on a penny than work for a p o u n d . If left to himself, h e would have whistled life away, in perfect c o n t e n t m e n t ; but his wife kept continually d i n n i n g in his e a r s a b o u t his i d l e n e s s , his c a r e l e s s n e s s , a n d the ruin he was bringing on his family. M o r n i n g , n o o n , a n d night, her t o n g u e w a s i n c e s s a n t l y going, a n d every thing he said or did was s u r e to p r o d u c e a torrent of h o u s e h o l d eloq u e n c e . Rip h a d but o n e way of replying to all l e c t u r e s of the kind, a n d that, by f r e q u e n t u s e , h a d grown into a habit. H e s h r u g g e d his s h o u l d e r s , s h o o k his h e a d , c a s t u p his eyes, but said n o t h i n g . T h i s , however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife, so that he w a s fain to draw off his f o r c e s , a n d take to the o u t s i d e of the h o u s e — t h e only side w h i c h , in truth, b e l o n g s to a henpecked husband. Rip's sole d o m e s t i c a d h e r e n t was his d o g Wolf, w h o w a s a s m u c h henp e c k e d as his m a s t e r ; for D a m e Van Winkle regarded t h e m a s c o m p a n i o n s in i d l e n e s s , a n d even looked u p o n W o l f with an evil eye, a s the c a u s e of his m a s t e r ' s so often g o i n g astray. T r u e it is, in all points of spirit befitting an h o n o u r a b l e d o g , h e was as c o u r a g e o u s a n a n i m a l a s ever s c o u r e d the w o o d s — b u t what c o u r a g e c a n withstand the ever-during a n d all-besetting terrors of a w o m a n ' s t o n g u e ? T h e m o m e n t Wolf entered the h o u s e , his crest fell, his tail d r o o p e d to the g r o u n d , or c u r l e d b e t w e e n his legs, he s n e a k e d a b o u t with a gallows air, c a s t i n g m a n y a s i d e l o n g g l a n c e at D a m e V a n Winkle, a n d at the least flourish of a b r o o m s t i c k or ladle, would fly to the door with yelping precipitation. T i m e s grew w o r s e a n d worse with Rip V a n Winkle a s years of m a t r i m o n y rolled o n ; a tart t e m p e r never mellows with a g e , a n d a s h a r p t o n g u e is the onlv e d g e tool that grows k e e n e r by c o n s t a n t u s e . F o r a long while he u s e d to c o n s o l e himself, when driven from h o m e , by f r e q u e n t i n g a kind of perpetual c l u b of the s a g e s , p h i l o s o p h e r s , a n d other idle p e r s o n a g e s of the village, that held its s e s s i o n s on a b e n c h before a small inn, d e s i g n a t e d by a r u b i c u n d portrait of his majesty G e o r g e the T h i r d . H e r e they u s e d to sit in the s h a d e , of a long lazy s u m m e r ' s day, talk listlessly over village g o s s i p , or tell e n d l e s s sleepy stories a b o u t nothing. B u t it would have b e e n worth any 9. Loose, wide breeches.

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s t a t e s m a n ' s m o n e y to have h e a r d the p r o f o u n d d i s c u s s i o n s that s o m e t i m e s took p l a c e , w h e n by c h a n c e a n old n e w s p a p e r fell into their h a n d s , from s o m e p a s s i n g traveller. H o w s o l e m n l y they would listen to the c o n t e n t s , a s drawled o u t by Derrick V a n B u m m e l , the s c h o o l m a s t e r , a d a p p e r learned little m a n , w h o w a s not to b e d a u n t e d by the m o s t gigantic word in the dictionary; a n d how sagely they would deliberate u p o n p u b l i c events s o m e m o n t h s after they h a d t a k e n p l a c e . T h e o p i n i o n s of this j u n t o ' were c o m p l e t e l y controlled by N i c h o l a s V e d d e r , a patriarch of the village, a n d landlord of the inn, at the d o o r of which h e took his seat from m o r n i n g till night, j u s t m o v i n g sufficiently to avoid the s u n , a n d keep in the s h a d e of a large t r e e ; s o that the n e i g h b o u r s c o u l d tell the h o u r by his m o v e m e n t s a s a c c u r a t e l y a s by a s u n dial. It is true, he w a s rarely h e a r d to s p e a k , b u t s m o k e d his p i p e incessantly. H i s a d h e r e n t s , however, (for every great m a n h a s his a d h e r e n t s , ) perfectly u n d e r s t o o d him, a n d knew how to gather his o p i n i o n s . W h e n any thing that w a s r e a d or related d i s p l e a s e d h i m , he w a s observed to s m o k e his p i p e v e h e m e n t l y , a n d s e n d forth short, f r e q u e n t , a n d angry p u f f s ; b u t w h e n p l e a s e d , h e w o u l d inhale the s m o k e slowly a n d tranquilly, a n d emit it in light a n d placid c l o u d s , a n d s o m e t i m e s taking the p i p e from his m o u t h , a n d letting the fragrant v a p o u r curl a b o u t his n o s e , would gravely n o d his h e a d in token of perfect a p p r o bation. • F r o m even this s t r o n g hold the unlucky Rip w a s at length r o u t e d by his t e r m a g a n t wife, w h o would s u d d e n l y b r e a k in u p o n the tranquillity of the a s s e m b l a g e , call the m e m b e r s all to n o u g h t , nor w a s that a u g u s t p e r s o n a g e , N i c h o l a s V e d d e r himself, s a c r e d from the d a r i n g t o n g u e of this terrible virago, w h o c h a r g e d him outright with e n c o u r a g i n g her h u s b a n d in habits of idleness. P o o r Rip w a s at last r e d u c e d a l m o s t to d e s p a i r ; a n d his only alternative to e s c a p e from the l a b o u r of the farm a n d the c l a m o u r of his wife, w a s to take g u n in h a n d , a n d stroll away into the w o o d s . H e r e h e w o u l d s o m e t i m e s s e a t h i m s e l f at the foot of a tree, a n d s h a r e the c o n t e n t s of his w a l l e t 2 with Wolf, with w h o m he s y m p a t h i s e d a s a fellow sufferer in p e r s e c u t i o n . " P o o r W o l f , " he w o u l d say, "thy m i s t r e s s l e a d s t h e e a d o g s ' life of it; b u t never m i n d , my lad, while I live thou shalt never w a n t a friend to s t a n d by t h e e ! " W o l f would w a g his tail, look wistfully in his m a s t e r ' s f a c e , a n d if d o g s c a n feel pity, I verily believe he r e c i p r o c a t e d the s e n t i m e n t with all his heart. In a long r a m b l e of the kind on a fine a u t u m n a l day, Rip h a d u n c o n s c i o u s l y s c r a m b l e d to o n e of the h i g h e s t p a r t s of the Kaatskill m o u n t a i n s . H e w a s after his favourite sport of squirrel s h o o t i n g , a n d the still s o l i t u d e s h a d e c h o e d a n d r e - e c h o e d with the reports of his g u n . P a n t i n g a n d f a t i g u e d , h e threw himself, late in the a f t e r n o o n , on a g r e e n knoll, c o v e r e d with m o u n t a i n herba g e , that c r o w n e d the brow of a p r e c i p i c e . F r o m a n o p e n i n g b e t w e e n the t r e e s , h e c o u l d overlook all the lower c o u n t r y for m a n y a mile of rich woodland. H e s a w at a d i s t a n c e the lordly H u d s o n , far, far b e l o w h i m , m o v i n g o n its silent but m a j e s t i c c o u r s e , the reflection of a p u r p l e c l o u d , or the sail of a l a g g i n g bark, here a n d there s l e e p i n g o n its glassy b o s o m , a n d at last l o s i n g itself in the b l u e h i g h l a n d s . O n the other side h e looked d o w n into a d e e p m o u n t a i n glen, wild, lonely, 1. Ruling committee (Spanish).

2.

Knapsack.

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a n d s h a g g e d , the b o t t o m filled with f r a g m e n t s from the i m p e n d i n g cliffs, a n d scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting s u n . F o r s o m e time Rip lay m u s i n g on this s c e n e , evening w a s gradually a d v a n c i n g , the m o u n t a i n s b e g a n to throw their long blue s h a d o w s over the valleys, h e saw that it would be dark long before he c o u l d r e a c h the village, a n d he h e a v e d a heavy sigh when h e thought of e n c o u n t e r i n g the terrors of D a m e V a n W i n k l e . As he w a s a b o u t to d e s c e n d , he heard a voice from a d i s t a n c e , hallooing, " R i p Van W i n k l e ! Rip V a n W i n k l e ! " H e looked a r o u n d , but c o u l d s e e n o t h i n g but a c r o w winging its solitary flight a c r o s s the m o u n t a i n . H e t h o u g h t his fancy m u s t have d e c e i v e d him, a n d turned again to d e s c e n d , w h e n he h e a r d the s a m e cry ring through the still e v e n i n g air; " R i p V a n W i n k l e ! Rip V a n W i n k l e ! " — a t the s a m e time W o l f bristled u p his back, a n d giving a low growl, skulked to his m a s t e r ' s s i d e , looking fearfully d o w n into the glen. Rip now felt a v a g u e a p p r e h e n s i o n stealing over him; he looked anxiously in the s a m e direction, a n d perceived a s t r a n g e figure slowly tojling u p the r o c k s , a n d b e n d i n g u n d e r the weight of s o m e t h i n g he carried on his b a c k . H e w a s surprised to s e e any h u m a n b e i n g in this lonely a n d u n f r e q u e n t e d p l a c e , but s u p p o s i n g it to be s o m e o n e of the n e i g h b o u r h o o d in n e e d of his a s s i s t a n c e , he h a s t e n e d down to yield it. O n nearer a p p r o a c h , h e w a s still m o r e s u r p r i s e d at the singularity of the stranger's a p p e a r a n c e . H e w a s a short s q u a r e built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, a n d a grizzled b e a r d . H i s d r e s s w a s of the a n t i q u e D u t c h fashi o n — a cloth jerkin* s t r a p p e d r o u n d the w a i s t — s e v e r a l pair of b r e e c h e s , the outer o n e of a m p l e v o l u m e , d e c o r a t e d with rows of b u t t o n s d o w n the s i d e s , a n d b u n c h e s at the k n e e s . H e b o r e on his s h o u l d e r a stout keg, that s e e m e d full of liquor, a n d m a d e signs for Rip to a p p r o a c h a n d a s s i s t him with the load. T h o u g h rather shy a n d distrustful of this new a c q u a i n t a n c e , Rip c o m plied with his u s u a l alacrity, a n d mutually relieving e a c h other, they c l a m b e r e d u p a narrow gully, apparently the dry b e d of a m o u n t a i n torrent. As they a s c e n d e d , Rip every now a n d then heard long rolling p e a l s , like distant thunder, that s e e m e d to i s s u e out of a d e e p ravine, or rather cleft b e t w e e n lofty rocks, toward which their r u g g e d p a t h c o n d u c t e d . H e p a u s e d for an instant, but s u p p o s i n g it to b e the m u t t e r i n g of o n e of t h o s e transient t h u n d e r s h o w e r s which often take p l a c e in m o u n t a i n heights, h e p r o c e e d e d . P a s s i n g t h r o u g h the ravine, they c a m e to a hollow, like a s m a l l a m p h i t h e a t r e , surr o u n d e d by p e r p e n d i c u l a r p r e c i p i c e s , over the brinks of which i m p e n d i n g trees shot their b r a n c h e s , so that you only c a u g h t g l i m p s e s of the azure sky, a n d the bright e v e n i n g c l o u d . D u r i n g the whole t i m e , Rip a n d his c o m p a n i o n h a d l a b o u r e d on in s i l e n c e ; for t h o u g h the former marvelled greatly what could be the object of carrying a keg of liquor u p this wild m o u n t a i n , yet there w a s s o m e t h i n g s t r a n g e a n d i n c o m p r e h e n s i b l e a b o u t the u n k n o w n , that inspired a w e , a n d c h e c k e d familiarity. O n e n t e r i n g the a m p h i t h e a t r e , new o b j e c t s of w o n d e r p r e s e n t e d t h e m selves. O n a level spot in the c e n t r e w a s a c o m p a n y of odd-looking p e r s o n a g e s playing at nine-pins. T h e y were d r e s s e d in a q u a i n t , o u t l a n d i s h f a s h i o n : s o m e wore short doublets," 1 others j e r k i n s , with long knives in their belts, a n d m o s t h a d e n o r m o u s b r e e c h e s , of similar style with that of the g u i d e ' s . T h e i r vis3. Jacket fitted tightly at the waist. 4 . Male garment covering from neck to upper

thighs, where it hooked to hose.

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a g e s , too, were p e c u l i a r : o n e h a d a large h e a d , b r o a d f a c e , a n d s m a l l piggish eyes; the f a c e of a n o t h e r s e e m e d to c o n s i s t entirely of n o s e , a n d w a s surm o u n t e d by a white s u g a r l o a f hat, set off with a little red c o c k s t a i l . T h e y all h a d b e a r d s , of various s h a p e s a n d c o l o u r s . T h e r e w a s o n e w h o s e e m e d to b e the c o m m a n d e r . H e w a s a stout old g e n t l e m a n , with a w e a t h e r - b e a t e n c o u n t e n a n c e ; h e w o r e a l a c e d d o u b l e t , b r o a d belt a n d h a n g e r , 5 high c r o w n e d hat a n d feather, red s t o c k i n g s , a n d high h e e l e d s h o e s , with r o s e s in t h e m . T h e w h o l e g r o u p r e m i n d e d Rip of the figures in an old F l e m i s h p a i n t i n g , in the p a r l o u r of D o m i n i e 6 V a n S c h a i c k , the village p a r s o n , a n d w h i c h h a d b e e n b r o u g h t over from H o l l a n d at the t i m e of the s e t t l e m e n t . W h a t s e e m e d particularly o d d to R i p , w a s , that t h o u g h t h e s e folks were evidently a m u s i n g t h e m s e l v e s , yet they m a i n t a i n e d the gravest f a c e s , the m o s t m y s t e r i o u s s i l e n c e , a n d w e r e , withal, the m o s t m e l a n c h o l y party of p l e a s u r e he h a d ever w i t n e s s e d . N o t h i n g i n t e r r u p t e d the stillness of the s c e n e , b u t the n o i s e of the balls, w h i c h , whenever they were rolled, e c h o e d a l o n g the m o u n t a i n s like r u m b l i n g p e a l s of t h u n d e r . A s Rip a n d his c o m p a n i o n a p p r o a c h e d t h e m , they s u d d e n l y d e s i s t e d from their play, a n d stared at h i m with s u c h fixed statue-like g a z e , a n d s u c h s t r a n g e , u n c o u t h , lack lustre c o u n t e n a n c e s , that his heart t u r n e d within h i m , a n d his k n e e s s m o t e together. H i s c o m p a n i o n now e m p t i e d the c o n t e n t s of the k e g into large flagons, a n d m a d e signs to him to wait u p o n the c o m p a n y . H e o b e y e d with fear a n d t r e m b l i n g ; they q u a f f e d the liquor in p r o f o u n d s i l e n c e , a n d then r e t u r n e d to their g a m e . By d e g r e e s , Rip's a w e a n d a p p r e h e n s i o n s u b s i d e d . H e even v e n t u r e d , w h e n n o eye w a s fixed u p o n h i m , to t a s t e the b e v e r a g e , w h i c h h e f o u n d h a d m u c h of the flavour of excellent H o l l a n d s . 7 H e w a s naturally a thirsty s o u l , a n d w a s s o o n t e m p t e d to repeat the d r a u g h t . O n e t a s t e p r o v o k e d a n o t h e r , a n d h e reiterated his visits to the flagon s o often, that at length his s e n s e s were overpowered, his eyes s w a m in his h e a d , his h e a d gradually d e c l i n e d , a n d he fell into a d e e p s l e e p . O n a w a k i n g , h e f o u n d h i m s e l f o n the g r e e n knoll f r o m w h e n c e he h a d first s e e n the old m a n of the glen. H e r u b b e d his e y e s — i t w a s a bright s u n n y m o r n i n g . T h e birds were h o p p i n g a n d twittering a m o n g the b u s h e s , a n d the eagle w a s w h e e l i n g aloft, a n d b r e a s t i n g the p u r e m o u n t a i n b r e e z e . " S u r e l y , " t h o u g h t Rip, "I have not slept h e r e all n i g h t . " H e r e c a l l e d the o c c u r r e n c e s before h e fell a s l e e p . T h e s t r a n g e m a n with the k e g of l i q u o r — t h e m o u n t a i n r a v i n e — t h e wild retreat a m o n g the r o c k s — t h e w o - b e g o n e party at ninep i n s — t h e f l a g o n — " O h ! that flagon! that wicked f l a g o n ! " t h o u g h t R i p — "what e x c u s e shall I m a k e to D a m e V a n W i n k l e ? " •>

H e looked r o u n d for his g u n , but in p l a c e of the c l e a n well-oiled fowlingp i e c e , h e f o u n d a n old firelock lying by h i m , the barrel e n c r u s t e d with r u s t , the lock falling off, a n d the s t o c k w o r m - e a t e n . H e n o w s u s p e c t e d that the grave roysters of the m o u n t a i n h a d p u t a trick u p o n h i m , a n d h a v i n g d o s e d him with liquor, h a d r o b b e d him of his g u n . Wolf, too, h a d d i s a p p e a r e d , b u t h e might have strayed away after a squirrel or p a r t r i d g e . H e whistled after h i m , s h o u t e d his n a m e , but all in vain; the e c h o e s r e p e a t e d his whistle a n d s h o u t , but n o d o g w a s to b e s e e n . 5. Short, curved sword. 6.

Minister.

7. Kind of gin.

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H e d e t e r m i n e d to revisit the s c e n e of the last evening's g a m b o l , a n d if he m e t with any of t h e party, to d e m a n d his d o g a n d g u n . A s he a r o s e to walk he f o u n d h i m s e l f stiff in the j o i n t s , a n d w a n t i n g in his u s u a l activity. " T h e s e m o u n t a i n b e d s d o not a g r e e with m e , " t h o u g h t R i p , " a n d if this frolick s h o u l d lay m e u p with a fit of the r h e u m a t i s m , I shall have a b l e s s e d t i m e with D a m e V a n W i n k l e . " W i t h s o m e difficulty he got d o w n into the g l e n : h e f o u n d the gully u p w h i c h h e a n d his c o m p a n i o n h a d a s c e n d e d t h e p r e c e d i n g evening, b u t to his a s t o n i s h m e n t a m o u n t a i n s t r e a m w a s n o w f o a m i n g d o w n it, l e a p i n g from rock to rock, a n d filling the glen with b a b b l i n g m u r m u r s . H e , however, m a d e shift to s c r a m b l e u p its s i d e s , working his t o i l s o m e way t h r o u g h thickets of birch, s a s s a f r a s , a n d witch hazle, a n d s o m e t i m e s tripped u p or e n t a n gled by the wild g r a p e vines that twisted their coils a n d tendrils from tree to tree, a n d s p r e a d a kind of network in his p a t h . At length he r e a c h e d to w h e r e the ravine h a d o p e n e d t h r o u g h t h e cliffs, to t h e a m p h i t h e a t r e ; b u t n o t r a c e s of s u c h o p e n i n g r e m a i n e d . T h e r o c k s pres e n t e d a high i m p e n e t r a b l e wall, over w h i c h the torrent c a m e t u m b l i n g in a s h e e t of feathery f o a m , a n d fell into a b r o a d d e e p b a s i n , b l a c k f r o m the s h a d ows of the s u r r o u n d i n g forest. H e r e , t h e n , p o o r Rip w a s b r o u g h t to a s t a n d . H e a g a i n c a l l e d a n d w h i s t l e d after his d o g ; h e w a s only a n s w e r e d by t h e c a w ing of a flock of idle c r o w s , s p o r t i n g high in air a b o u t a dry tree that o v e r h u n g a s u n n y p r e c i p i c e ; a n d w h o , s e c u r e in their elevation, s e e m e d to look d o w n a n d scoff at the p o o r m a n ' s perplexities. W h a t w a s to b e d o n e ? the m o r n i n g w a s p a s s i n g away, a n d Rip felt f a m i s h e d for his b r e a k f a s t . H e grieved to give u p his d o g a n d g u n : h e d r e a d e d to m e e t his wife; b u t it w o u l d not d o to starve a m o n g t h e r n 0 l i n f a ; " c H p s b " n l / his h e a d , s h o u l d e r e d the rusty firelock, a n d , w i t n a heart full of t r o u b l e a n d anxiety, t u r n e d his s t e p s h o m e w a r d . As he a p p r o a c h e d the village, h e m e t a n u m b e r of p e o p l e , b u t n o n e that he knew, w h i c h s o m e w h a t s u r p r i s e d h i m , for h e h a d t h o u g h t h i m s e l f a c q u a i n t e d with every o n e in the c o u n t r y r o u n d . T h e i r d r e s s , too, w a s of a different f a s h i o n from that to w h i c h he w a s a c c u s t o m e d . T h e y all s t a r e d at him w i t l i e g u a l m a r k s of s u r p r i s e , a n d w h e n e v e r they c a s t eyes u p o n h i m , tnvariabTy stroked their c h i n s , t h e c o n s t a n t r e c u r r e n c e of this g e s t u r e , i n d u c e d R i p , involuntarily, to d o the s a m e , w h e n , to his a s t o n i s h m e n t , he f o u n d his b e a r d h a d g r o w n a foot long! H e h a d now e n t e r e d the skirts of t h e village. A troop of s t r a n g e c h i l d r e n ran at his h e e l s , h o o t i n g after h i m , a n d p o i n t i n g at his gray b e a r d . T h e d o g s , too, not o n e of w h i c h h e r e c o g n i z e d for his old a c q u a i n t a n c e s , b a r k e d at h i m a s he p a s s e d . T h e very village s e e m e d altered: it w a s larger a n d m o r e p o p u l o u s . T h e r e w e r e rows of h o u s e s w h i c h h e h a d never s e e n h e t o r e T a n d t h o s e which h a d b e e n his familiar h a u n t s h a d d i s a p p e a r e j - S t r a n g e n a m e s w e r e 'ttvefme d o o r s — s t r a n g e f a c e s at the w i n d o w s — e v e r y thing w a s s t r a n g e . H i s m i n d now b e g a n to m i s g i v e h i m , that both h e a n d the world a r o u n d him were b e w i t c h e d . S u r e l y this w a s his native village, w h i c h he h a d left b u t the day b e f o r e . T h e r e s t o o d the Kaatskill m o u n t a i n s — t h e r e r a n t h e silver H u d s o n at a d i s t a n c e — t h e r e w a s every hill a n d d a l e p r e c i s e l y a s it h a d always b e e n — R i p w a s sorely p e r p l e x e d — " T h a t flagon last n i g h t , " t h o u g h t h e , " h a s a d d l e d my p o o r h e a d s a d l y ! " It w a s with s o m e difficulty h e f o u n d the way to his own h o u s e , w h i c h h e a p p r o a c h e d with silent a w e , e x p e c t i n g every m o m e n t to h e a r the shrill voice of D a m e V a n W i n k l e . H e fgjind t h " hnnsff g o n e to d e c a y — t h e r o o f f a l l e n in,

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and the doors off the h i n g e s . A half starved d o g , that looked like Wolf, w a s skulking a b o u t it. Rip called h i m by n a m e , b u t t h e c u r s n a r l e d , s h o w e d his teeth, a n d p a s s e d o n . T h i s w a s a n u n k i n d c u t i n d e e d — " M y very d o g , " s i g h e d p o o r R i p , " h a s forgotten m e ! " ' H e e n t e r e d the h o u s e , w h i c h , to tell the truth, D a m e V a n W i n k l e h a d always kept in neat order. Itjyjrs_empty, forlorn, and_apparently a b a n d o n e d . T h i s d e s o l a t e n e s s o v e r c a m e all his c o n n u b i a l f e a r s — h e c a l l e d loudly for his wife a n d c h i l d r e n — t h e lonely c h a m b e r s r u n g for a m o m e n t with his v o i c e , a n d then all a g a i n w a s s i l e n c e .

jh^vinfjiTw^_shnttPrpfl,

H e now hurried forth, a n d h a s t e n e d to his old resort, the little village i n n — but it too w a s g o n e . A large rickety w o o d e n b u i l d i n g s t o o d in its p l a c e , with great g a p i n g w i n d o w s , s o m e of t h e m b r o k e n , a n d m e n d e d with old h a t s a n d p e t t i c o a t s , a n d over the d o o r w a s p a i n t e d , " T h e U n i o n H o t e l , by J o n a t h a n D o o l i t t l e . " I n s t e a d of the great tree that u s e d to s h e l t e r the q u i e t little D u t c h inn of yore, there now w a s r e a r e d a tall n a k e d p o l e , with s o m e t h i n g on top that looked like a red night c a p , s a n d from it w a s fluttering a flag, o n which w a s a s i n g u l a r a s s e m b l a g e of s t a r s a n d s t r i p e s — a l l this w a s s t r a n g e a n d i n c o m p r e h e n s i b l e . H e r e c o g n i s e d on the sign, however, t h e ruby f a c e o f K i n g G e o r g e , u n d e r w h i c h he h a d s m o k e d s o m a n y a p e a c e f u l p i p e , b u t even this " w a s s l n g u j ^ r j ^ r n ^ a m o r p h o s e j j n i e _ r e d c o a t w a s T h a n g e a for o n e o f Blue" "aTTcTrjuTrV' a s w o r d w a s stuck~TrTthe_h^n31nst^^ th!Thelid~was ;

^ec^oratetTwith a c o c k e d hat, a n a u n d e r n e a t h was p a i n t e d in large c h a r a c t e r s ? * * GENERAL

WASHINGTON

T h e r e w a s , as u s u a l , a c r o w d of folk a b o u t the d o o r , b u t n o n e that Rip r e c o l l e c t e d . T h e very c h a r a c t e r of the p e o p l e s e e m e d c h a n g e d . T h e r e w a s a busy, b u s t l i n g , d i s p u t a t i o u s t o n e a b o u t it, i n s t e a d of the a c c u s t o m e d p h l e g m a n d drowsy tranquillity. H e l o o k e d in vain for the s a g e N i c h o l a s V e d d e r , with his b r o a d f a c e , d o u b l e c h i n , a n d fair l o n g p i p e , u t t e r i n g c l o u d s of t o b a c c o s m o k e i n s t e a d of idle s p e e c h e s ; or V a n B u m m e l , the s c h o o l m a s t e r , doling forth the c o n t e n t s of a n a n c i e n t n e w s p a p e r . In p l a c e of t h e s e , a lean bilious looking fellow, with his p o c k e t s full of h a n d b i l l s , w a s h a r a n g u i n g v e h e m e n t l y a b o u t rights of c i t i z e n s — e l e c t i o n — m e m b e r s of c o n g r e s s — l i b e r t y — B u n k e r ' s h i l l — h e r p e s of s e v e n t y - s i x — a n d other w o r d s , that were a p e r f e c t B a b y l o n i s h j a r g o n 1 to the b e w i l d e r e d V a n W i n k l e . T h e a p p e a r a n c e of R i p , with his l o n g grizzled b e a r d , his rusty fowling p i e c e , his u n c o u t h d r e s s , a n d the a r m y of w o m e n a n d c h i l d r e n that h a d g a t h e r e d at his h e e l s , s o o n a t t r a c t e d the a t t e n t i o n of the t a v e r n j s o l i t i c i a n s . T h e y c r o w d e d a r o u n d h i m , eyeing him from h e a d to foot, witk«great curiosity. T h e orator b u s t l e d u p to h i m , a n d d r a w i n g him partly a s i d e , inquired " w h i c h s i d e h e v o t e d ? " Rip stared in y a c a n t stupidity. A n o t h e r short b u t b u s y little fellow p u l l e d him by t h e a r m , a n d r a i s i n g on tiptoe, i n q u i r e d in his ear, " w h e t h e r he was F e d e r a l or D e m o c r a t . " 2 Rip w a s equally at a loss to c o m p r e h e n d t h e q u e s t i o n ; w h e n a k n o w i n g , s e l f - i m p o r t a n t old g e n t l e m a n , in a 8 . Limp, close-fitting cap adopted during the French Revolution as a symbol of liberty. The pole is a "liberty pole"—i.e., a tall flagstaff topped by a liberty cap. 9. Colors of the Revolutionary uniform. Irving's joke is that the new proprietor, being a Yankee, is so parsimonious that he will only touch up the sign, not replace it with a true portrait of Wash-

ington. 1. Cf. G e n e s i s 11.1 —9, Babel being confused w ith Babylon. 2 . Political parties that developed in the Washington administrations, Alexander Hamilton leading the Federalists and T h o m a s Jefferson, the D e m o crats.

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s h a r p c o c k e d hat, m a d e his way through the c r o w d , p u t t i n g t h e m to the right a n d left with his elbows a s he p a s s e d , a n d p l a n t i n g h i m s e l f before V a n Winkle, with o n e a r m a k i m b o , the other resting on his c a n e , his keen eyes a n d s h a r p hat p e n e t r a t i n g , as it were, into his very soul, d e m a n d e d , in a n a u s t e r e t o n e , "what brought him to the election with a g u n on his s h o u l d e r , a n d a m o b at his h e e l s , a n d w h e t h e r he m e a n t to b r e e d a riot in the v i l l a g e ? " "Alas! g e n t l e m e n , " cried Rip, s o m e w h a t d i s m a y e d , "I a m a p o o r q u i e t m a n , a native of the p l a c e , a n d a loyal s u b j e c t of the King, G o d b l e s s h i m ! " H e r e a general s h o u t b u r s t from the b y s t a n d e r s — " A tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! h u s t l e him! away with h i m ! " It was with great difficulty that the selfimportant m a n in the c o c k e d hat restored order; a n d having a s s u m e d a tenfold austerity of brow, d e m a n d e d again of the u n k n o w n culprit, w h a t he c a m e there for, a n d w h o m he w a s seeking. T h e p o o r m a n h u m b l y a s s u r e d t h e m that h e m e a n t no h a r m ; but merely c a m e there in s e a r c h of s o m e of his n e i g h b o u r s , w h o u s e d to keep a b o u t the tavern. "Well—who are they?—name them." Rip b e t h o u g h t h i m s e l f a m o m e n t , a n d i n q u i r e d , "where's N i c h o l a s Vedder?" T h e r e w a s a s i l e n c e for a little while, w h e n a n old m a n replied, in a thin piping voice, " N i c h o l a s V e d d e r ? why h e is d e a d a n d g o n e t h e s e eighteen y e a r s ! , T h e r e w a s a w o o d e n t o m b s t o n e in the c h u r c h yard that u s e d to tell all a b o u t him, but that's rotted a n d g o n e t o o . " "Where's Brom Dutcher?" " O h he went o f f t n ' b e army in the b e g i n n i n g n f the war: s o m e say h e w a s killed at the battle of S t o n e y - P o i n f — o t h e r s say he w a s d r o w n e d in a s q u a l l , aTTJTefoot of Antony's N o s e . ' I don't k n o w — h e never c a m e b a c k a g a i n . " " W h e r e s V a n B u m m e l , the s c h o o l m a s t e r ? " " H e went off to the wars too, w a s a great militia g e n e r a l , a n d is now in Congress." * " Bip's heart died away, at h e a r i n g of t h e s e s a d c h a n g e s in his h o m e a n d friends, a n d finding himself t h u s a l o n e in the world. Every a n s w e r puzzled him, too, by treating of s u c h e n o r m o u s l a p s e s of t i m e , a n d of m a t t e r s which he c o u l d not-Onderstand: w a r — c o n g r e s s — S t o n e y - P o i n t ; — h e h a d n o coura g e to a s k after any m o r e friends, but cried out in d e s p a i r , " d o e s nobody here know Rip Van W i n k l e ? " " O h , Rip V a n W i n k l e ! " e x c l a i m e d two or three, " O h , to be s u r e ! that's Rip Van Winkle,yonder, l e a n i n g a g a i n s t the t r e e . " Rip looked, •arid b e h e l d a p r e c i s e c o u n t e r p a r t of himself, a s he went u p the m o u n t a i n : apparently a s lazy, a n d certainly a s r a g g e d . T h e p o o r fellow w a s now c o m p l e t e l y c o n f o u n d e d . H e d o u b t e d his own identity, a n d w h e t h e r he was h i m s e l f or a n o t h e r m a n . In the midst of his b e w i l d e r m e n t , the m a n in the c o c k e d hat d e m a n d e d w h o he w a s , a n d what w a s his n a m e ? " G o d k n o w s , " e x c l a i m e d h e , at his wit's e n d ; "I'm not m y s e l f — I ' m s o m e body e l s e — t h a t ' s m e y o n d e r — n o — t h a t ' s s o m e b o d y e l s e , got into my s h o e s — I w a s myself last night, but I fell a s l e e p on the m o u n t a i n , a n d they've c h a n g e d my g u n , a n d every thing's c h a n g e d , a n d I'm c h a n g e d , a n d I can't tell what's my n a m e , or w h o I a m ! " 3. A mountain near West Point. Stoney Point, on the west hank of the H u d s o n south of West Point, was captured by General Anthony Wayne ( 1 7 4 5 - 1 7 9 6 ) during the Revolution.

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T h e b y s t a n d e r s b e g a n now to look at e a c h other, n o d , wink significantly, a n d tap their fingers a g a i n s t their f o r e h e a d s . T h e r e w a s a w h i s p e r , a l s o , a b o u t s e c u r i n g the g u n , a n d k e e p i n g the old fellow from d o i n g m i s c h i e f . At the very s u g g e s t i o n of w h i c h , t h e s e l f - i m p o r t a n t m a n in t h e c o c k e d hat retired with s o m e p r e c i p i t a t i o n . At this critical m o m e n t a fresh likely w o m a n p r e s s e d t h r o u g h the t h r o n g to get a p e e p at the g r a y b e a r d e d m a n . S h e h a d a c h u b b y child in h e r a r m s , w h i c h , frightened at his l o o k s , b e g a n to cry. " H u s h , R i p , " cried s h e , " h u s h , you little fool, the old m a n wont hurt y o u . " T h e n a m e of t h e child, the air of the m o t h e r , the t o n e of her v o i c e , all a w a k e n e d a train of r e c o l l e c t i o n s in his m i n d . " W h a t is your n a m e , m y g o o d w o m a n ? " a s k e d h e . "ludith Gardenier," "And your father's n a m e ? " " A h , p o o r m a n , his n a m e w a s Rip V a n W i n k l e ; it's twenty years s i n c e h e went away from h o m e with his g u n , a n d never h a s b e e n h e a r d of s i n c e — h i s d o g c a m e h o m e w i t h o u t h i m ; b u t w h e t h e r h e s h o t himself, or w a s c a r r i e d away by the I n d i a n s , n o b o d y c a n tell. I w a s t h e n b u t a little girl." Rip h a d b u t o n e q u e s t i o n m o r e to a s k ; b u t h e p u t it with a faltering voice: " W h e r e ' s your m o t h e r ? " O h , s h e t o o h a d died b u t a short t i m e s i n c e ; s h e b r o k e a b l o o d v e s s e l in a fir_.nf p n r r i < - » r | a N e w - E n g l a n d pedlar. T h e r e w a s a d r o p of c o m f o r t , at l e a s t , in this i n t e l l i g e n c e . T h e h o n e s t m a n c o u l d c o n t a i n h i m s e l f no l o n g e r . — H e c a u g h t his d a u g h t e r a n d her child in his a r m s . — " I a m your f a t h e r ! " cried h e — " Y o u n g Rip V a n W i n k l e once—-old Rip V a n W i n k l e n o w ! — D o e s n o b o d y k n o w p o o r Rip V a n W i n k l e ! " All s t o o d a m a z e d , until a n old w o m a n , tottering o u t from a m o n g t h e crowd, p u t her h a n d to her brow, a n d p e e r i n g u n d e r it in his f a c e for a m o m e n t , e x c l a i m e d , " S u r e e n o u g h ! it is Rip V a n W i n k l e — i t is himself. W e l c o m e h o m e a g a i n , old n e i g h b o u r — W h y , w h e r e h a v e you b e e n t h e s e twenty l o n g y e a r s ? " Rip's story w a s s o o n told, for the w h o l e twenty y e a r s h a d b e e n to him b u t a s o n e night. T h e n e i g h b o u r s s t a r e d w h e n they h e a r d it; s o m e w e r e s e e n to wink at e a c h other, a n d p u t their t o n g u e s in their c h e e k s ; a n d the selfi m p o r t a n t m a n in the c o c k e d h a t , w h o , w h e n t h e a l a r m w a s over, h a d r e t u r n e d to the field, s c r e w e d d o w n the c o r n e r s of his m o u t h , a n d s h o o k his h e a d — u p o n w h i c h there w a s a g e n e r a l s h a k i n g of the h e a d t h r o u g h o u t the assemblage. It w a s d e t e r m i n e d , however, to take the o p i n i o n of old P e t e r V a n d e r d o n k , w h o w a s s e e n slowly a d v a n c i n g u p the r o a d . H e w a s a d e s c e n d a n t of the historian of that name," 1 w h o wrote o n e of the earliest a c c o u n t s of t h e provi n c e . P e t e r w a s the m o s t a n c i e n t i n h a b i t a n t of the village, a n d well v e r s e d in all the wonderful e v e n t s a n d traditions of t h e n e i g h b o u r h o o d . H e recollected Rip at o n c e , a n d c o r r o b o r a t e d his story in t h e m o s t s a t i s f a c t o r y m a n ner. H e a s s u r e d the c o m p a n y that it w a s a fact, h a n d e d d o w n from his a n c e s t o r the historian, that t h e Kaatskill m o u n t a i n s h a d always b e e n h a u n t e d by s t r a n g e b e i n g s . T h a t it w a s affirmed that t h e g r e a t H e n d r i c k H u d s o n , t h e first d i s c o v e r e r of the river a n d c o u n t r y , kept a kind of vigil there every twenty y e a r s , with his c r e w of the H a l f - m o o n , b e i n g p e r m i t t e d in this way to revisit 4. Adriaen Van der Donck ( 1 6 2 0 - 1 6 5 5 ? ) wrote a history of New Netherlands ( 1 6 5 5 ) .

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the s c e n e s of his enterprize, a n d keep a g u a r d i a n eye u p o n the river, a n d the great city 5 called by his n a m e . T h a t his father h a d o n c e s e e n t h e m in their old D u t c h d r e s s e s playing at nine pins in a hollow of the m o u n t a i n ; a n d that he himself h a d h e a r d , o n e s u m m e r a f t e r n o o n , the s o u n d of their b a l l s , like long p e a l s of t h u n d e r . T o m a k e a long story short, the c o m p a n y broke u p , a n d r e t u r n e d to the m o r e i m p o r t a n t c o n c e r n s of the election. Rip's d a u g h t e r took h i m h o m e to live with her; she h a d a s n u g , well-furnished h o u s e , a n d a stout cheery f a r m e r for a h u s b a n d , w h o m Rip recollected for o n e of the u r c h i n s that u s e d to c l i m b u p o n his b a c k . As to Rip's son a n d heir, w h o w a s the ditto of himself, s e e n l e a n i n g a g a i n s t the tree, he w a s e m p l o y e d to work o n the f a r m ; but evinced a n hereditary disposition to a t t e n d to a n y thing else b u t his b u s i n e s s . Rip now r e s u m e d his old walks a n d h a b i t s ; h e s o o n f o u n d m a n y of his former c r o n i e s , t h o u g h all rather the w o r s e for the wear a n d tear of t i m e ; a n d preferred m a k i n g friends a m o n g the rising g e n e r a t i o n , with w h o m he s o o n grew into great favour. H a v i n g n o t h i n g to do at h o m e , a n d b e i n g arrived at that h a p p y a g e w h e n a m a n c a n do n o t h i n g with impunity, h e took his p l a c e o n c e m o r e on the b e n c h , at the inn door, a n d w a s r e v e r e n c e d a s o n e of the p a t r i a r c h s of the village, a n d a c h r o n i c l e of the old t i m e s " b e f o r e the w a r . " It w a s s o m e time before he c o u l d get into the regular track of g o s s i p , or c o u l d b e m a d e to c o m p r e h e n d the s t r a n g e events that h a d taken p l a c e d u r i n g his torpor. H o w that there h a d b e e n a revolutionary w a r — t h a t the country h a d thrown off U j e j o k e of old E n g l a n d — a n d t h a t 7 i n s t e a d nf hpinpj a s u b j e c t of his M a j e s t y G e o r g e the T h i r d , h e w a s n o w a free citizen of the U n i t e d S t a t e s . Rip, in fact, w a s n o politician; the c h a n g e s of s t a t e s a n d e m p i r e s m a d e b u t little i m p r e s s i o n on h i m . B u t there w a s o n e s p e c i e s of d e s p o t i s m u n d e r w h i c h he h a d long g r o a n e d , a n d that w a s — p e t t i c o a t g o v e r n m e n t . Happily, that wag.at an e n d ; he had got his neck nut nf t h f yoke of m a t r i m o n y , a n d c o u l d go in a n d ouL-wJienever bp p l e a s e d , without Hrradinp; the tyranny of D a m e V a n . \Vjnkle. W h e n e v e r her n a m e w a s m e n t i o n e d , however, he s h o o k his h e a d , s h r u g g e d his s h o u l d e r s , a n d c a s t u p his eyes; w h i c h might p a s s either for a n expression of resignation to his fate, or j o y at his d e l i v e r a n c e . H e u s e d to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at M r . Doolittle's hotel. H e w a s o b s e r v e d , at first, to vary on s o m e points every t i m e h e told it, which w a s , d o u b t l e s s , owing to his having s o recently a w a k e d . It at last settled down precisely to the tale I have related, a n d not a m a n , w o m a n , or child in the n e i g h b o u r h o o d , b u t knew it by heart. S o m e always p r e t e n d e d to d o u b t the reality of it, a n d insisted that Rip h a d b e e n o u t of his h e a d , a n d that this w a s o n e point on which he always r e m a i n e d flighty. T h e old D u t c h i n h a b i t a n t s , however, a l m o s t universally gave it full credit. E v e n to this day they never h e a r a t h u n d e r storm of a s u m m e r a f t e r n o o n , a b o u t the Kaatskill, but they say H e n d r i c k H u d s o n a n d his crew are at their g a m e of n i n e p i n s ; a n d it is a c o m m o n wish of all h e n p e c k e d h u s b a n d s in the n e i g h b o u r h o o d , w h e n life h a n g s heavy o n their h a n d s , that they m i g h t have a q u i e t i n g d r a u g h t out of Rip V a n Winkle's flagon. 5. Henry H u d s o n (d. 1611). English navigator in the service of the Dutch. "Great city" is ironic, for the town named for him on the east bank of the H u d s o n River was flourishing but not a metropolis.

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NOTE

T h e foregoing tale, o n e would s u s p e c t , h a d b e e n s u g g e s t e d to M r . Knicke r b o c k e r by a little G e r m a n superstition a b o u t C h a r l e s V . 6 a n d the Kypp h a u s e r m o u n t a i n ; the s u b j o i n e d n o t e , however, which h e h a d a p p e n d e d to the tale, s h o w s that it is an a b s o l u t e fact, narrated with his u s u a l fidelity: " T h e story of Rip V a n Winkle may s e e m incredible to m a n y , but nevert h e l e s s I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of o u r old D u t c h s e t t l e m e n t s to have b e e n very s u b j e c t to marvellous events a n d a p p e a r a n c e s . I n d e e d , I have h e a r d m a n y s t r a n g e r stories than this, in the villages a l o n g the H u d s o n ; all of which were too well a u t h e n t i c a t e d to a d m i t of a d o u b t . I have even talked with Rip V a n W i n k l e myself, w h o , w h e n last I saw h i m , was a very v e n e r a b l e old m a n , a n d s o perfectly rational a n d c o n s i s t e n t on every other point, that I think no c o n s c i e n t i o u s p e r s o n c o u l d refuse to take this into the b a r g a i n ; nay, I have s e e n a certificate on the s u b j e c t taken before a country j u s t i c e , a n d signed with a c r o s s , in the j u s t i c e ' s own h a n d writing. T h e story, therefore, is beyond the possibility of d o u b t . D.K." 6. Later Irving changed "Charles V." (Holy Roman emperor, 1519—56) t o ' T h e Emperor Fredericktfer Rothbart" (i.e.. Frederick Barbarossa: Holy Roman emperor. 1 1 5 2 - 9 0 ) . ("Rothbart" and " B a r b a r o s s a " both mean "redbeard.") In either form, the allusion

JAMES

is a red herring, a disarming way of suggesting indebtedness to a G e r m a n source w hile concealing the most specific source, the story of Peter Klaus in the folktales of J . C . C . N . Otmar.

FENIMORE

COOPER

1789-1851 i

James Fenimore Cooper, the first successful American novelist, was born on September 15, 1789, in Burlington, New Jersey, but taken in infancy to Cooperstown, on Otsego Lake in central New York, where his wealthy father owned great tracts of land. A few years before, the region had been wilderness; but during Cooper's boyhood, there were few of the early backwoods settlers left, and fewer American Indians. In his novels the information about Indian tribes came from older people and from books. In 1801 his father sent him to study in Albany in preparation for Yale, where he spent two years in his midteens before being expelled for pranks, thereby acquiring a lifelong distaste for New Englanders. He became a sailor in 1806, then two years later a midshipman in the navy. At twenty he inherited a fortune from his father and married Susan De Lancey, whose family had lost possessions by siding with the British in the Revolution but still owned lands in Westchester County. For several years Cooper and his wife wavered between Scarsdale and Otsego as a permanent home. Wherever they settled, Cooper seemed certain to live as a landed gentleman. His first book, Precaution (1820), a novel dealing with English high society, was the result of his casual bet with his wife that he could write a better book than the one he had been reading to her. Following that insignificant start, he wrote The Spy (1821), the first important historical romance of the Revolution; and on its success he moved to New York City to take up his new career. From the first his faults (such as syntactical awkwardness, arbitrary plotting, and heavy-handed attempts at humor) were obvious enough, but so were his genuine achievements in opening up new American scenes and themes for fiction. Founding the Bread and Cheese Club, he became the center

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of a circle that included notable painters of the Hudson River School as well as writers (William Cullen Bryant among them) and professionals. In 1823 he published The Pioneers, the first of what eventually consisted of five books about Natty Bumppo, known collectively as the Leather-Stocking

Tales; the second, The Last of the Mohi-

cans, followed in 1826. Cooper has other claims to fame—the virtual creation of the sea novel (starting with The Pilot, 1824), authorship of the first serious American novels of manners and the first American sociopolitical novels—but with Natty Bumppo, the aged hunter, he had created one of the most popular characters in world literature. In 1826, at the height of his fame, Cooper sailed for Europe. In Paris, where he became intimate with the aged Lafayette, he wrote The Prairie (1827) and Notions of the Americans (1828), a defense of the United States against the attacks of European travelers. Smarting under the half-complimentary, half-patronizing epithet of "The American Scott," he wrote three historical novels set in medieval Europe as a realistic corrective to Sir Walter Scott's glorifications of the past. On his return to the United States in 1833, Cooper was so stung by a review of one of these novels that he renounced novel writing in the angry Letter to His Countrymen (1834). Then at Cooperstown he gave notice that a point of land on Otsego Lake where the townspeople had been picnicking was private property and not to be used without permission. Newspapers began attacking him as a would-be aristocrat poisoned by his residence abroad, and for years Cooper embroiled himself in lawsuits designed not to gain damages for the journalistic libels but to tame the irresponsible press. Legally in the right, Cooper sacrificed his peace of mind to establish the principle that reviewers must work within the bounds of truth when they deal with the author rather than the book. Even as he was becoming the great national scold of his time, Cooper managed to write book after book—social and political satires growing out of his experiences with the press, a reactionary primer, The American Democrat (1838), and despite his avowal in 1834, a series of sociopolitical novels and two more Leather-Stocking Tales: The Pathfinder (1840), and The Deerslayer (1841). His monumental History of the Naxy of the United States of America (1839) became the focus of new quarrels and a new lawsuit. When Cooper died on September 14, 185 1, a day before his sixty-second birthday, he was a byword for litigiousness and social pretentiousness. A lifelong defender of American democracy as he knew it in his youth against European aristocracy and then against what American democracy had become, he was out of step with his countrypeople. Yet throughout the century and into the next his Leather-Stocking Tales had an incalculable vogue in the United States and abroad. In his own time and shortly afterward, major European writers as diverse as Honore de Balzac and Leo Tolstoy were profoundly moved by The Pioneers and the subsequent Natty Bumppo novels, but gradually the Leather-Stocking Tales became something only schoolchildren read. Not until the 1920s did scholars begin to see Cooper's value as the country's first great social critic. It now seems clear that no revolution in taste will lead to widespread admiration of Cooper as a literary artist, but he will always be a major source for the student of ideas in America. Some of his opinions now seem hopelessly reactionary, as when he defends American slavery as legal and, after all, mild ("physical suffering cannot properly be enumerated among its evils") or when he deplores the dangers of universal manhood suffrage and argues for restricting voting on certain issues to property owners, who have the greater stake in society. What most appeals to modern readers are his profoundly ambivalent dramatizations of such enduring American conflicts as natural right versus legal right, order versus change, primeval wilderness versus civilization. And new readers will always encounter the Leather-Stocking Tales with a sense of something long known and loved, for if Cooper is no longer read even by children, everyone has read books—and seen films—that are directly and indirectly influenced by his grand conception of Natty Bumppo.

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The Pioneers The Pioneers; or, The Sources of the Susquehanna; A Descriptive Tale ( 1 8 2 3 ) , is the first of five Cooper novels in which Natty Bumppo is the major character. The Pioneers begins in December 1 7 9 3 at the settlement of Templeton (modeled on Cooperstown, founded by Cooper's father) at Otsego Lake in central New York, some fifty miles west of Albany. A detailed (and unpartisan) history of the real Cooperstown (including the questions of "extinguished" Indian title, patents of royal governors, and acts of the state legislature, all referred to defensively in the first episode) is in Alan Taylor's William Cooper's Town: Power and Persuasion on the Frontier of the Early American Republic ( 1 9 9 5 ) . The episode reprinted here occurs in the spring of 1 7 9 4 . Natty Bumppo is in his early seventies; six feet tall (then a great height); gray eyed, with lank, sandy hair; sunburned; robust, but thin almost to emaciation. One yellow tooth survives in his enormous mouth, and he gives forth a remarkable kind of inward laugh. He wears a foxskin hat and is clad in deerskin—coat, moccasins, and even the leggings, which fasten over the knees of his buckskin breeches and give him the nickname of "Leatherstocking." For his old and unusually long rifle he carries gunpowder in a large ox horn slung over his shoulder by a strap of deerskin. This was the unprepossessing figure who captured the imagination of readers in the United States and Europe. Besides Natty Bumppo, the other characters in the episodes reprinted here are Judge Marmaduke Temple, a retired Quaker-born merchant and the leading landowner of Otsego County, New York (where the town of Templeton is named for him), and his daughter and only child, Elizabeth Temple. Richard (Dickon) Jones, the sheriff, is an officious cousin of Marmaduke Temple who superintends "all the minor concerns of Temple's business" and familiarly calls his cousin " 'duke." Benjamin Penquillan (called Ben Pump) is a Cornishman, a former steward (body servant and food server to a captain) on shipboard, and now majordomo or steward under Jones. Monsieur Le Quoi, once a West Indian planter, is now a refugee, displaced by the French Revolution. Oliver Edwards is a mysterious young stranger; and Billy Kirby is a woodchopper, previously beaten by Bumppo in a turkey-shooting contest. The text is from the first edition, volume 2 , chapter 3 (chapter 2 2 in later, onevolume editions).

From

T h e Pioneers Chapter

[THE

SLAUGHTER

III

OF THE

PIGEONS]

"Men, boys, and girls. Desert th' unpeopled village; and wild crowds Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy driven.' —SoMERVILLE

F r o m this time to the c l o s e o f April, the w e a t h e r c o n t i n u e d to b e a s u c c e s s i o n of great a n d rapid c h a n g e s . O n e day, the soft airs of s p r i n g w o u l d s e e m to b e s t e a l i n g a l o n g the valley, a n d , in u n i s o n with a n invigorating s u n , a t t e m p t i n g , covertly, to r o u s e the d o r m a n t p o w e r s of t h e v e g e t a b l e world; while on the next, the surly blasts from the north w o u l d s w e e p a c r o s s the lake, a n d e r a s e every i m p r e s s i o n left by their g e n t l e a d v e r s a r i e s . T h e s n o w , however, finally d i s a p p e a r e d , a n d the g r e e n w h e a t fields were s e e n in every 1. From "The C h a c e " 2 . 1 9 7 - 9 9 , by the English poet William Somerville ( 1 6 7 5 - 1 7 4 2 ) . T h e last word should be seized, not "driven."

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direction, s p o t t e d with the dark a n d c h a r r e d s t u m p s that h a d , the p r e c e d i n g s e a s o n , s u p p o r t e d s o m e of the p r o u d e s t trees of the f o r e s t . 2 P l o u g h s were in m o t i o n , wherever t h o s e useful i m p l e m e n t s c o u l d be u s e d , a n d the s m o k e s of the s u g a r - c a m p s 3 were n o longer s e e n i s s u i n g from the s u m m i t s of the w o o d s of m a p l e . T h e lake h a d lost all the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c b e a u t y of a field of ice, but still a dark a n d g l o o m y covering c o n c e a l e d its w a t e r s , for the a b s e n c e of c u r r e n t s left t h e m yet hid u n d e r a p o r o u s c r u s t , w h i c h , s a t u r a t e d with the fluid, barely retained e n o u g h of its strength to preserve the contiguity of its p a r t s . L a r g e flocks of wild g e e s e were s e e n p a s s i n g over the country, w h i c h would hover, for a t i m e , a r o u n d the h i d d e n sheet of water, a p p a r e n t l y s e a r c h ing for a n o p e n i n g , w h e r e they might obtain a r e s t i n g - p l a c e ; a n d t h e n , o n finding t h e m s e l v e s e x c l u d e d by the chill covering, would s o a r away to the north, filling the air with their d i s c o r d a n t s c r e a m s , a s if v e n t i n g their c o m plaints at the tardy o p e r a t i o n s of n a t u r e . F o r a week, the dark covering of the O t s e g o w a s left to the u n d i s t u r b e d p o s s e s s i o n of two e a g l e s , w h o alighted on the c e n t r e of its field, a n d sat proudly eyeing the extent of their u n d i s p u t e d territory. D u r i n g the p r e s e n c e of t h e s e m o n a r c h s of the air, the flocks of m i g r a t i n g birds a v o i d e d c r o s s i n g the plain of i c e , by t u r n i n g into the hills, a n d a p p a r e n t l y s e e k i n g the p r o t e c tion of the forests, while the white a n d bald h e a d s of the t e n a n t s of the lake were t u r n e d u p w a r d , with a look of m a j e s t i c c o n t e m p t , a s if p e n e t r a t i n g to the very h e a v e n s , with the a c u t e n e s s of their vision. B u t the t i m e h a d c o m e , w h e n even t h e s e kings of birds were to be d i s p o s s e s s e d . An o p e n i n g h a d b e e n gradually i n c r e a s i n g , at the lower extremity of the lake, a n d a r o u n d the dark spot w h e r e the c u r r e n t of the river h a d prevented the f o r m a t i o n of i c e , d u r i n g even the c o l d e s t w e a t h e r ; a n d the fresh southerly w i n d s , that n o w b r e a t h e d freely u p the valley, o b t a i n e d a n i m p r e s s i o n o n the w a t e r s . M i m i c waves b e g u n to curl over the m a r g i n of the frozen field, which exhibited an outline of crystallizations, that slowly r e c e d e d t o w a r d s the north. At e a c h step the p o w e r of the w i n d s a n d the w a v e s i n c r e a s e d , until, after a struggle of a few h o u r s , the t u r b u l e n t little billows s u c c e e d e d in setting the w h o l e field in a n u n d u l a t i n g m o t i o n , w h e n it w a s driven beyond the r e a c h of the eye, with a rapidity, that w a s a s m a g i c a l a s the c h a n g e p r o d u c e d in the s c e n e by this expulsion of the lingering r e m n a n t of winter. J u s t a s the last s h e e t of agitated ice w a s d i s a p p e a r i n g in the d i s t a n c e , the e a g l e s rose over the b o r d e r of crystals, a n d s o a r e d with a wide s w e e p far a b o v e the c l o u d s , while the waves t o s s e d their little c a p s of s n o w into the air, a s if rioting in their r e l e a s e from a t h r a l d o m of five m o n t h s d u r a t i o n . T h e following m o r n i n g Elizabeth w a s a w a k e n e d by the exhilarating s o u n d s of the m a r t i n s , w h o were quarrelling a n d c h a t t e r i n g a r o u n d the little b o x e s which were s u s p e n d e d a b o v e her w i n d o w s , a n d the cries of R i c h a r d , w h o w a s calling, in tones a s a n i m a t i n g a s the signs of the s e a s o n itself— "Awake! a w a k e ! my lady fair! the gulls are hovering over the lake already, a n d the h e a v e n s are alive with the p i g e o n s . You m a y look a n h o u r b e f o r e you c a n find a hole, through w h i c h , to get a p e e p at the s u n . A w a k e ! a w a k e ! lazy o n e s ! B e n j a m i n is overhauling the a m m u n i t i o n , a n d we only wait for our b r e a k f a s t s , a n d away for the m o u n t a i n s a n d p i g e o n - s h o o t i n g . " 2. The practice was to chop timber down in the spring, let it dry through the summer, then burn the cleared area so that only blackened logs and

stumps remained. Nothing was salvaged except some ashes used as the basis for potash, 3. Where sugar was m a d e from maple sap.

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F E N I M O R E

C O O P E R

T h e r e w a s no resisting this a n i m a t e d a p p e a l , a n d in a few m i n u t e s M i s s T e m p l e a n d her friend d e s c e n d e d to the parlour. T h e d o o r s of the hall were thrown o p e n , a n d the mild, balmy air of a clear s p r i n g m o r n i n g w a s ventilating the a p a r t m e n t , where the vigilance of the ex-steward h a d b e e n s o long m a i n t a i n i n g an artificial h e a t , with s u c h u n r e m i t t e d d i l i g e n c e . All of the g e n t l e m e n , we d o not i n c l u d e M o n s i e u r L e Quoi, were impatiently waiting their m o r n i n g ' s r e p a s t , e a c h b e i n g e q u i p t in the g a r b of a s p o r t s m a n . M r . J o n e s m a d e m a n y visits to the s o u t h e r n door, a n d w o u l d c r y — " S e e , c o u s i n B e s s ! s e e , 'duke! the p i g e o n - r o o s t s of the s o u t h have b r o k e n up! T h e y a r e growing m o r e thick every instant. H e r e is a flock that the eye c a n n o t s e e the e n d of. T h e r e is food e n o u g h in it to k e e p the army of X e r x e s 4 for a m o n t h , a n d feathers e n o u g h to m a k e b e d s for the w h o l e county. X e r x e s , M r . E d w a r d s , w a s a G r e c i a n king, w h o — n o , h e w a s a T u r k , or a P e r s i a n , w h o w a n t e d to c o n q u e r G r e e c e , j u s t the s a m e a s t h e s e r a s c a l s will overrun our wheat-fields, w h e n they c o m e b a c k in the fall.—Away! away! B e s s ; I long to p e p p e r t h e m from the m o u n t a i n . " In this wish both M a r m a d u k e a n d y o u n g E d w a r d s s e e m e d equally to participate, for really the sight w a s m o s t exhilarating to a s p o r t s m a n ; a n d the ladies s o o n d i s m i s s e d the party, after a hasty b r e a k f a s t . If the h e a v e n s were alive with p i g e o n s , the w h o l e village s e e m e d equally in m o t i o n , with m e n , w o m e n , a n d children. Every s p e c i e s of fire-arms, from the F r e n c h d u c k i n g - g u n , with its barrel of n e a r six feet in l e n g t h , to the c o m m o n h o r s e m a n ' s pistol, w a s to be s e e n in the h a n d s of the m e n a n d boys; while b o w s a n d arrows, s o m e m a d e of the s i m p l e stick of a w a l n u t sapling, a n d others in a r u d e imitation of the a n c i e n t c r o s s - b o w s , were carried by m a n y of the latter. T h e h o u s e s , a n d the signs of life a p p a r e n t in the village, drove the a l a r m e d birds from the direct line of their flight, towards the m o u n t a i n s , a l o n g the sides a n d near the b a s e s of which they were g l a n c i n g in d e n s e m a s s e s , that were equally wonderful by the rapidity of their m o t i o n , a s by their incredible numbers. W e have already said, that a c r o s s the inclined p l a n e which fell from the s t e e p a s c e n t of the m o u n t a i n to the b a n k s of the S u s q u e h a n n a , ran the highway, on either side of which a c l e a r i n g of m a n y a c r e s h a d b e e n m a d e , at a very early day. O v e r t h o s e c l e a r i n g s , a n d up the e a s t e r n m o u n t a i n , a n d a l o n g the d a n g e r o u s p a t h that w a s c u t into its s i d e , the different individuals p o s t e d t h e m s e l v e s , a s suited their i n c l i n a t i o n s ; a n d in a few m o m e n t s the attack commenced. A m o n g s t the s p o r t s m e n w a s to be s e e n the tall, g a u n t form of L e a t h e r s t o c k i n g , w h o w a s walking over the field, with his rifle h a n g i n g o n his a r m , his d o g s following c l o s e at his h e e l s , n o w s c e n t i n g the d e a d or w o u n d e d birds, that were b e g i n n i n g to t u m b l e from the flocks, a n d then c r o u c h i n g u n d e r the legs of their m a s t e r , a s if they p a r t i c i p a t e d in his feelings, at this wasteful and unsportsmanlike execution. T h e reports of the fire-arms b e c a m e rapid, w h o l e volleys rising from the plain, a s flocks of m o r e t h a n ordinary n u m b e r s d a r t e d over the o p e n i n g , covering the field with d a r k n e s s , like an i n t e r p o s i n g c l o u d ; a n d then the light s m o k e of a single p i e c e would i s s u e from a m o n g the leafless b u s h e s o n the 4. Xerxes the Great ( 5 1 9 ? - 4 6 5 B . c . E . ) was king of Persia ( 4 8 6 - 4 6 5 B . C . E . ) .

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m o u n t a i n , a s d e a t h w a s h u r l e d on the retreat of the affrighted birds, w h o would rise from a volley, for m a n y feet into the air, in a vain effort to e s c a p e the a t t a c k s of m a n . Arrows, a n d missiles of every kind, were s e e n in the m i d s t of the flocks; a n d so n u m e r o u s were the birds, a n d s o low did they take their flight, that even long p o l e s , in the h a n d s of t h o s e o n the sides of the m o u n tain, were u s e d to strike t h e m to the e a r t h . D u r i n g all this t i m e , M r . J o n e s , who d i s d a i n e d the h u m b l e a n d ordinary m e a n s of destruction u s e d by his c o m p a n i o n s , w a s busily o c c u p i e d , aided by B e n j a m i n , in m a k i n g a r r a n g e m e n t s for a n a s s a u l t of a m o r e than ordinarily fatal c h a r a c t e r . A m o n g the relics of the old military e x c u r s i o n s , that o c c a sionally are discovered t h r o u g h o u t the different districts of the w e s t e r n part of New-York, there h a d b e e n f o u n d in T e m p l e t o n , at its s e t t l e m e n t , a small swivel, 5 which would carry a ball of a p o u n d weight. It w a s t h o u g h t to have b e e n d e s e r t e d by a war-party of the whites, in o n e of their i n r o a d s into the Indian s e t t l e m e n t s , w h e n , p e r h a p s , their c o n v e n i e n c e or their n e c e s s i t i e s i n d u c e d them to leave s u c h an e n c u m b r a n c e to the rapidity of their m a r c h , behind t h e m in the w o o d s . T h i s m i n i a t u r e c a n n o n h a d b e e n r e l e a s e d from the rust, a n d m o u n t e d on little w h e e l s , in a state for a c t u a l service. F o r several years, it w a s the sole organ for extraordinary rejoicings that w a s u s e d in t h o s e m o u n t a i n s . O n the m o r n i n g s of the F o u r t h of J u l y , it would be h e a r d , with its e c h o e s ringing a m o n g the hills, a n d telling forth its s o u n d s , for thirteen t i m e s , with all the dignity of a two-and-thirty p o u n d e r ; a n d even C a p t a i n Hollister, 6 w h o w a s the highest authority in that part of the country on all s u c h o c c a s i o n s , affirmed that, c o n s i d e r i n g its d i m e n s i o n s , it w a s no d e s p i c a b l e g u n for a s a l u t e . It w a s s o m e w h a t the worse for the service it h a d p e r f o r m e d , it is true, there b e i n g b u t a trifling difference in size b e t w e e n the touch-hole a n d the m u z z l e . 7 Still, the grand c o n c e p t i o n s of R i c h a r d h a d s u g g e s t e d the i m p o r t a n c e of s u c h an i n s t r u m e n t , in h u r l i n g d e a t h at his n i m b l e e n e m i e s . T h e swivel w a s d r a g g e d by a h o r s e into a part of the o p e n s p a c e , that the sheriff t h o u g h t m o s t eligible for p l a n t i n g a battery of the kind, a n d Mr. P u m p p r o c e e d e d to load it. Several h a n d f u l s of d u c k - s h o t were p l a c e d on top of the p o w d e r , a n d the M a j o r - d o m o s o o n a n n o u n c e d that his p i e c e w a s ready for service. T h e sight of s u c h a n i m p l e m e n t c o l l e c t e d all the idle s p e c t a t o r s to the spot, w h o , b e i n g mostly boys, filled the air with their cries of exultation a n d delight. T h e g u n w a s p o i n t e d on high, a n d R i c h a r d , holding a coal of fire in a pair of tongs, patiently took his seat on a s t u m p , awaiting the a p p e a r a n c e of a flock that w a s worthy of his notice. S o p r o d i g i o u s w a s the n u m b e r of the birds, that the s c a t t e r i n g fire of the g u n s , with the hurling of m i s s i l e s , a n d the cries of the b o y s , h a d no other 7ffect than to b r e a k off small flocks from the i m m e n s e m a s s e s that c o n t i n u e d to dart a l o n g the valley, as if the whole creation of the f e a t h e r e d tribe were p o u r i n g t h r o u g h that o n e p a s s f ' N o n e p r e t e n d e d to collect the g a m e , which lay s c a t t e r e d over the fields in s u c h p r o f u s i o n , a s to cover the very g r o u n d with the fluttering victims. L e a t h e r - s t o c k i n g w a s a silent, but u n e a s y s p e c t a t o r of all t h e s e p r o c e e d 5. Small cannon capable of being swung higher or lower. 6. T h e landlord of the major village inn. T h e Bold Dragoon; his rank comes from his having been an

early c o m m a n d e r of local militia. 7. Ordinarily the muzzle (or mouth) would be considerably larger than the touchhole, the vent by which fire is communicated to the powder.

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ings, b u t w a s able to k e e p his s e n t i m e n t s to h i m s e l f until h e s a w the introd u c t i o n of the swivel into the s p o r t s . " T h i s c o m e s of settling a c o u n t r y " he s a i d — " h e r e have I k n o w n the p i g e o n s to fly for forty long y e a r s , a n d , till you m a d e your c l e a r i n g s , there w a s nobody to s c a r e or to hurt t h e m . I loved to s e e t h e m c o m e into the w o o d s , for they were c o m p a n y to a body; hurting n o t h i n g ; being, a s it w a s , a s h a r m l e s s a s a g a r t e r - s n a k e . B u t n o w it gives m e s o r e t h o u g h t s w h e n I hear the frighty things whizzing t h r o u g h the air, for I know it's only a m o t i o n to b r i n g o u t all the brats in the village at t h e m . Well! the L o r d won't s e e the w a s t e of his c r e a t e r s for nothing, a n d right will b e d o n e to the p i g e o n s , a s well a s o t h e r s , by-andb y . — T h e r e ' s M r . Oliver, a s b a d a s the rest of t h e m , firing into the flocks as if he w a s s h o o t i n g d o w n n o t h i n g but the M i n g o 8 w a r r i o r s . " A m o n g the s p o r t s m e n w a s Billy Kirby, w h o , a r m e d with a n old m u s k e t , w a s loading, a n d , without even looking into the air, w a s firing, a n d s h o u t i n g a s his victims fell even on his own p e r s o n . H e h e a r d the s p e e c h of Natty, a n d took u p o n h i m s e l f to r e p l y — " W h a t ' s that, old L e a t h e r - s t o c k i n g ! " he cried; " g r u m b l i n g at the loss of a few p i g e o n s ! If you h a d to sow your w h e a t twice, a n d t h r e e t i m e s , a s I have d o n e , you wouldn't b e so massyfully 9 feeling'd to'ards the d i v i l s . — H u r r a h , boys! scatter the f e a t h e r s . T h i s is better t h a n s h o o t i n g at a turkey's h e a d a n d neck, old fellow." "It's better for you, m a y b e , Billy Kirby," r e t u r n e d the i n d i g n a n t old h u n t e r , " a n d all t h e m a s don't k n o w h o w to p u t a ball d o w n a rifle-barrel, or how to bring it u p ag'in with a true a i m ; but it's wicked to b e s h o o t i n g into flocks in this wastey m a n n e r ; a n d n o n e do it, w h o know h o w to k n o c k over a single bird. If a body h a s a craving for p i g e o n ' s flesh, why! it's m a d e the s a m e a s all other c r e a t e r s , for m a n ' s e a t i n g , but not to kill twenty a n d e a t o n e . W h e n I want s u c h a thing, I go into the w o o d s till I find o n e to my liking, a n d then I s h o o t him off the b r a n c h e s without t o u c h i n g a f e a t h e r of a n o t h e r , t h o u g h there might b e a h u n d r e d on the s a m e tree. B u t you c o u l d n ' t do s u c h a thing, Billy Kirby—you couldn't do it if you tried." " W h a t ' s that you say, you old, dried cornstalk! you s a p l e s s s t u b ! " cried the w o o d - c h o p p e r . "You've grown mighty b o a s t i n g , s i n 1 you killed the turkey; b u t if you're for a single s h o t , h e r e g o e s at that bird which c o m e s o n by himself." T h e fire from the d i s t a n t part of the field h a d driven a single p i g e o n below the flock to which it h a d b e l o n g e d , a n d , frightened with the c o n s t a n t reports of the m u s k e t s , it w a s a p p r o a c h i n g the s p o t w h e r e the d i s p u t a n t s s t o o d , darting first from o n e s i d e , a n d then to the other, c u t t i n g the air with the swiftness of lightning, a n d m a k i n g a n o i s e with its w i n g s , not unlike the r u s h i n g of a bullet. U n f o r t u n a t e l y for the w o o d - c h o p p e r , n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g his v a u n t , h e did not s e e his bird until it w a s too late for him to fire a s it a p p r o a c h e d , a n d he pulled his trigger at the u n l u c k y m o m e n t w h e n it w a s darting i m m e d i a t e l y over his h e a d . T h e bird c o n t i n u e d its c o u r s e with incredible velocity. N a t t y h a d d r o p p e d his p i e c e from his a r m , w h e n the c h a l l e n g e w a s m a d e , a n d , waiting a m o m e n t , until the terrified victim h a d got in a line with his e y e s , a n d h a d d r o p p e d n e a r the b a n k of the l a k e , h e r a i s e d his rifle with 8. In the Leather-Stocking novels set in New York, the Mingos (Iroquois) are made out to be the "bad Indians," whereas the Delawares are the "good

Indians." 9. Mercifully. 1. Since.

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u n c o m m o n rapidity, a n d fired. It might have b e e n c h a n c e , or it m i g h t have b e e n skill, that p r o d u c e d the result; it w a s probably a u n i o n of b o t h ; b u t the p i g e o n whirled over in the air, a n d fell into the lake, with a b r o k e n wing. At the s o u n d of his rifle, both his d o g s started from his feet, a n d in a few m i n u t e s the " s l u t " 2 b r o u g h t o u t the bird, still alive. T h e wonderful exploit of L e a t h e r - s t o c k i n g w a s n o i s e d t h r o u g h the field with great rapidity, a n d the s p o r t s m e n g a t h e r e d in to learn the truth of the report. " W h a t , " said y o u n g E d w a r d s , "have you really killed a p i g e o n on the wing, Natty, with a single b a l l ? " " H a v e n ' t I killed loons before now, lad, that dive at the f l a s h ? " r e t u r n e d the hunter. "It's m u c h better to kill only s u c h a s you want, without w a s t i n g your p o w d e r a n d l e a d , t h a n to b e firing into G o d ' s c r e a t e r s in s u c h a w i c k e d m a n n e r . B u t I c o m e o u t for a bird, a n d you know the r e a s o n why I like s m a l l g a m e , M r . Oliver, a n d now I have got o n e I will g o h o m e , for I don't like to s e e t h e s e wasty ways that you are all practysing, a s if the least thing w a s not m a d e for u s e , a n d not to d e s t r o y . " " T h o u sayest well, L e a t h e r - s t o c k i n g , " cried M a r m a d u k e , " a n d I begin to think it time to put a n e n d to this work of d e s t r u c t i o n . " " P u t a n ind, J u d g e , to your clearings._An't the w o o d s his work a s well a s ^ the p i g e o n s ? U s e , b u t d o n ' t w a s t e . W a s n ' t the w o o d s m a d e for the b e a s t s a n d birds to h a r b o u r in? a n d w h e n m a n w a n t e d their flesh, their s k i n s , or their f e a t h e r s , there's the p l a c e to s e e k t h e m . B u t I'll go to the hut with my own g a m e , for I wouldn't t o u c h o n e of the h a r m l e s s things that kiver the g r o u n d here, looking u p with their eyes at m e , a s if they only w a n t e d t o n g u e s to s a y their t h o u g h t s . " W i t h this s e n t i m e n t in his m o u t h , L e a t h e r - s t o c k i n g threw his rifle over his a r m , a n d , followed by his d o g s , s t e p p e d a c r o s s the c l e a r i n g with great c a u t i o n , taking c a r e not to tread on o n e , of the h u n d r e d s of the w o u n d e d birds that lay in his p a t h . H e s o o n e n t e r e d the b u s h e s on the m a r g i n of the lake, a n d was hid from view. W h a t e v e r might b e the i m p r e s s i o n the morality of N a t t y m a d e on the J u d g e , it w a s utterly lost on R i c h a r d . H e availed h i m s e l f of the g a t h e r i n g of the s p o r t s m e n , to lay a p l a n for o n e "fell s w o o p " ' of d e s t r u c t i o n . T h e m u s k e t m e n were d r a w n u p in battle array, in a line e x t e n d i n g on e a c h s i d e o f his artillery, with orders to await the signal of firing from himself. " S t a n d by, my l a d s , " said B e n j a m i n , w h o a c t e d a s a n a i d - d e - c a m p o n this m o m e n t o u s o c c a s i o n , " s t a n d by, my h e a r t i e s , a n d w h e n S q u i r e D i c k e n s h e a v e s out the signal for to begin the firing, d'ye s e e , you m a y o p e n u p o n t h e m in a b r o a d s i d e . T a k e c a r e a n d fire low, boys, a n d you'll b e s u r e to hull the flock." " F i r e low!" s h o u t e d K i r b y — " h e a r the old fool! If w e fire low, w e m a y hit the s t u m p s , b u t not ruffle a p i g e o n . " " H o w s h o u l d you know, you l u b b e r ? " 4 cried B e n j a m i n , with a very u n b e c o m i n g h e a t , for a n officer o n the eve of b a t t l e — " h o w s h o u l d you know, you g r a m p u s ? Havn't I sailed a b o a r d of the B o a d i s h y 5 for five y e a r s ? a n d wasn't 2. Bitch, female dog. 3. Shakespeare's Macbeth 4 . 3 . 2 1 9 , in M a c d u f f s lament for his dead wife and children. 4. Landlubber, clumsy fellow.

5. T h e Boadicea, a ship named for the British queen who led a rebellion against the Roman rulers in 62 C.E. " G r a m p u s " : variety of small whale, used here as a term of contempt.

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it a s t a n d i n g order to fire low, a n d to hull your e n e m y ? K e e p silence at your g u n s , b o y s , a n d mind the order that is p a s s e d . " T h e loud l a u g h s of the m u s k e t m e n were silenced by the authoritative voice of R i c h a r d , w h o called to t h e m for attention a n d o b e d i e n c e to his signals. S o m e millions of p i g e o n s were s u p p o s e d to have already p a s s e d , that m o r n i n g , over the valley of T e m p l e t o n ; but nothing like the flock that w a s now a p p r o a c h i n g h a d b e e n s e e n before. It extended from m o u n t a i n to m o u n tain in o n e solid b l u e m a s s , a n d the eye looked in vain over the s o u t h e r n hills to find its t e r m i n a t i o n . T h e front of this living c o l u m n w a s distinctly m a r k e d by a line, but very slightly i n d e n t e d , s o r e g u l a r a n d even w a s the flight. E v e n M a r m a d u k e forgot the morality of L e a t h e r - s t o c k i n g a s it a p p r o a c h e d , a n d , in c o m m o n with the rest, brought his m u s k e t to his shoulder. " F i r e ! " cried the Sheriff, c l a p p i n g his coal to the p r i m i n g of the c a n n o n . As half of B e n j a m i n ' s c h a r g e e s c a p e d t h r o u g h the t o u c h - h o l e , the whole volley of the m u s k e t r y p r e c e d e d the report of the swivel. O n receiving this u n i t e d d i s c h a r g e of s m a l l - a r m s , the front of the flock d a r t e d u p w a r d , while, at the s a m e i n s t a n t , m y r i a d s of t h o s e in their rear r u s h e d with a m a z i n g rapidity into their p l a c e s , s o that w h e n the c o l u m n of white s m o k e g u s h e d from the m o u t h of the little c a n n o n , a n a c c u m u l a t e d m a s s of o b j e c t s w a s gliding over its point of direction. T h e roar of the g u n e c h o e d a l o n g the m o u n t a i n s , a n d died away to the north, like d i s t a n t t h u n d e r , while the w h o l e flock of a l a r m e d birds s e e m e d , for a m o m e n t , thrown into o n e disorderly a n d agitated m a s s . T h e air w a s filled with their irregular flights, layer rising over layer, far a b o v e the tops of the highest p i n e s , n o n e d a r i n g to a d v a n c e b e y o n d the d a n g e r o u s p a s s ; w h e n , s u d d e n l y , s o m e of the l e a d e r s of the f e a t h e r e d tribe shot a c r o s s the valley, taking their flight directly over the village, a n d the h u n d r e d s of t h o u s a n d s in their rear followed their e x a m p l e , d e s e r t i n g the e a s t e r n side of the plain to their p e r s e c u t o r s a n d the fallen. "Victory!" s h o u t e d R i c h a r d , "victory! we have driven the e n e m y from the field." " N o t s o , D i c k o n , " s a i d M a r m a d u k e ; "the field is covered with t h e m ; a n d , like the L e a t h e r - s t o c k i n g , I s e e n o t h i n g but eyes, in every direction, a s the i n n o c e n t sufferers turn their h e a d s in terror, to e x a m i n e my m o v e m e n t s . Full o n e half of t h o s e that have fallen are yet alive: a n d I think it is time to e n d the sport; if sport it b e . " " S p o r t ! " cried the Sheriff; "it is princely sport. T h e r e are s o m e t h o u s a n d s of the b l u e - c o a t e d boys on the g r o u n d , s o that every old w o m a n in the village may have a pot-pie for the a s k i n g . " "Well, we have happily frightened the birds from this p a s s , " s a i d M a r m a d u k e , " a n d our c a r n a g e m u s t of n e c e s s i t y e n d , for the p r e s e n t . — B o y s , I will give t h e e s i x p e n c e a h u n d r e d for the p i g e o n s ' h e a d s only; s o go to work, a n d bring t h e m into the village, w h e n I will pay t h e e . " T h i s expedient p r o d u c e d the desired effect, for every u r c h i n o n the g r o u n d went industriously to work to wring the n e c k s of the w o u n d e d b i r d s . J u d g e T e m p l e retired towards his dwelling with that kind of feeling, that m a n y a m a n h a s e x p e r i e n c e d before h i m , w h o d i s c o v e r s , after the e x c i t e m e n t of the m o m e n t has p a s s e d , that he h a s p u r c h a s e d p l e a s u r e at the price of misery to o t h e r s . H o r s e s were l o a d e d with the d e a d ; a n d , after this first burst of sporting, the s h o o t i n g of p i g e o n s b e c a m e a b u s i n e s s , for the r e m a i n d e r of

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the s e a s o n , m o r e in proportion to the w a n t s of the p e o p l e . 6 R i c h a r d , however, b o a s t e d for m a n y a year, of his shot with the " c r i c k e t ; " 7 a n d B e n j a m i n gravely a s s e r t e d , that he t h o u g h t that they killed nearly a s m a n y p i g e o n s on that day, a s there were F r e n c h m e n destroyed on the m e m o r a b l e o c c a s i o n of Rodney's victory. 8 6. T h e pigeons described in this chapter—the passenger pigeons—are extinct, the last known specimen dying in 1914 at the Cincinnati Zoological Garden. 7. I.e., the little cannon. 8. T h e British admiral George Brydges, Baron

WILLIAM

Rodney ( 1 7 1 9 - 1 7 9 2 ) , defeated the French off Dominica, in the West Indies, in April 1782. Penguillan's nickname " P u m p " c o m e s from his tall tale about manning the p u m p s to keep the ship from sinking after Rodney's victory.

CULLEN

BRYANT

1794-1878 William Cullen Bryant was born in the backwoods of Massachusetts, at Cummington, but his father was a physician who loved the classics, and Cullen, as the boy was called, was trained early in Greek and Latin. For religion he was taught a harsh Calvinism that held that the Fall of Adam and Eve had brought about the Fall of Nature as well. But Bryant's first published poem was political, not about nature and religion: when he wrote an anti-Jefferson lampoon, "The Embargo," his Federalist father printed it as a pamphlet (1808). Bryant entered Williams College in 1810 but dropped out after a few months with the expectation of entering Yale. His father could not afford that expense, and instead Bryant read for the law, being admitted to practice in 1815. Meanwhile, in 1813 or 1814, Bryant wrote the first, shorter version of "Thanatopsis," the poem by which he is best remembered. Since his early teens Bryant had been reading the melancholy and sometimes scarifying meditations of the British "graveyard poets" of the previous decades, especially Bobert Blair ("The Grave"), Thomas Gray ("Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard"), Bishop Beilby Porteus ("Death"), and various poems by Henry Kirke White. In 1810 or soon afterward Bryant read Lyrical Ballads and responded strongly to Wordsworth's nearpantheistic view of nature. "Thanatopsis" as published in the North American Review in 1817 is nondoctrinally meditative. The fuller version of 1821 concludes with a fervent injunction to trust in something or someone who remains unspecified: Bryant's Calvinistic earnestness was outliving his commitment to particular doctrines. (Symptomatically, a reference to the Fall of Nature in the first version of "The Prairies," 1834, was later removed.) "Thanatopsis" won Bryant immediate acknowledgment in 1817, but a full-time career as a poet was economically impossible. In 1820, the year his father died, Bryant was appointed justice of the peace in Berkshire County. Early in 1821 he married Frances Fairchild in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, and later that year published the very slim volume Poems. Stirred by the conflict between his literary ambition and his need to support his family, Bryant in 1825 chanced a move to New York City as an editor of the NewYork Review and Atheneum Magazine. He was welcomed as a literary celebrity and quickly fitted into metropolitan life, becoming an early member of James Fenimore Cooper's Bread and Cheese Club. His magazine failed, as almost all periodicals did at that time, but Bryant stayed on in New York as editorial assistant on the Evening Post (1826), then soon became part owner and editor-in-chief. Bryant was not immune to the pettier temptations of the then-brawling occupation of journalism,

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but over the decades he made the Evening Post one of the most respected newspapers in the country, mainly through editorials in which he argued out his position on many momentous issues. A deeply committed Jacksonian Democrat, despite his youthful Federalism, Bryant rarely let party loyalty interfere with principle. He led the antislavery Free-Soil movement within the Democratic Party as long as this seemed a feasible way of achieving his ends, then helped to form the Republican Party. In 1 8 6 0 he was an influential advocate of Abraham Lincoln. As he prospered with his newspaper, Bryant became a great traveler, at home and abroad, and through his letters to the Evening Post he helped to shape a sense of the world for his countrypeople. Letters of a Traveller appeared in 1 8 5 0 ; Letters of a Traveller,

Second

Series,

in 1 8 5 9 ; and Letters from

the East

(that is, the Mideast) in

1 8 6 9 . His community service took many forms, most tangibly in his campaign for the creation of Central Park. His private life was happy. In 1 8 4 4 he moved his family to a fine old farmhouse on the Sound in then-rural Long Island, and for many years he relieved his strenuous urban activity with peaceful respites at his estate, Cedarmere. Left a widower in 1 8 6 6 , Bryant continued to work at the Evening Post. Blessed with patriarchal fame and great wealth as well as astonishing health, which owed much to a daily set of vigorous exercises, Bryant in his seventies undertook the remarkably ambitious task of translating Homer. His version of the Iliad was published in 1 8 7 0 , and that of the Odyssey two years later. Together with the 1 8 7 6 printing of his Poems (a new accumulation of many old and a few new verses), these translations crowned his career. Bryant died of the consequences of a fall suffered after he gave a speech at the unveiling of a statue of the Italian patriot Joseph Mazzini in Central Park. In New York city flags were lowered to half mast, and he was mourned throughout the country as a great poet and editor.

Thanatopsis

Sr-

?

T o h i m w h o in t h e love o f N a t u r e holds C o m m u n i o n with her visible f o r m s , s h e s p e a k s A various l a n g u a g e ; for his gayer h o u r s S h e h a s a voice of g l a d n e s s , a n d a s m i l e And e l o q u e n c e o f b e a u t y , a n d s h e glides Into his darker m u s i n g s , with a mild A n d gentle sympathy, that s t e a l s away T h e i r s h a r p n e s s , e r e h e is a w a r e . W h e n t h o u g h t s O f the last bitter h o u r c o m e like a blight O v e r thy spirit, a n d s a d i m a g e s O f the stern agony, a n d s h r o u d , a n d pall, A n d b r e a t h l e s s d a r k n e s s , a n d t h e narrow h o u s e , M a k e t h e e to s h u d d e r , a n d grow sick at h e a r t ; — G o forth u n d e r j h e o p e n sky, a n d list T o Nature's t e a c h i n g s , while from all a r o u n d E a r t h a n d her w a t e r s , a n d t h e d e p t h s of a i r , — C o m e s a still v o i c e — Y e t a few d a y s , a n d t h e e T h e all-beholding s u n shall s e e n o m o r e In all his c o u r s e ; n o r yet in t h e cold g r o u n d ,

1. T h e text is that of the first full printing, in Bryant's Poems ( 1 8 2 1 ) . T h e title ("Meditation on death") was supplied by an editor for the central

5

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is

section of the poem (lines 1 7—73) when that section was printed in the North American Review (September 1817).

THANATOPSIS

W h e r e thy pale form w a s laid, with m a n y tears, N o r in the e m b r a c e of o c e a n shall exist T h y i m a g e . Fiarth, that n o u r i s h e d t h e e , shall claim T h y growth, to b e resolv'd to earth a g a i n ; A n d , lost e a c h h u m a n trace, surrend'ring u p T h i n e individual being, shalt thou go T o mix forever with the e l e m e n t s , T o be a brother to th' insensible rock A n d to the s l u g g i s h clod, which the r u d e swain T u r n s with his s h a r e , 2 a n d treads u p o n . T h e o a k Shall s e n d his roots a b r o a d , a n d p i e r c e thy m o u l d . ' Yet not to thy eternal resting p l a c e S h a l t thou retire a l o n e — n o r c o u l d s t thou wish C o u c h m o r e magnificent. T h o u shalt lie d o w n With p a t r i a r c h s of the infant w o r l d — w i t h kings T h e powerful of the e a r t h — t h e w i s e , the g o o d , Fair f o r m s , a n d hoary seers of a g e s p a s t , All in o n e mighty s e p u l c h r e . — T h e hills Rock-ribb'd a n d a n c i e n t as the s u n , — t h e vales S t r e t c h i n g in pensive q u i e t n e s s b e t w e e n ; T h e v e n e r a b l e w o o d s — r i v e r s that m o v e In majesty, a n d the c o m p l a i n i n g brooks T h a t m a k e the m e a d o w s g r e e n ; a n d pour'd r o u n d all, O l d o c e a n ' s grey a n d m e l a n c h o l y w a s t e , — Are but the s o l e m n d e c o r a t i o n s all O f the great t o m b of m a n . T h e g o l d e n s u n , T h e p l a n e t s , all the infinite host of h e a v e n , Are s h i n i n g on the s a d a b o d e s of d e a t h , T h r o u g h the still l a p s e of a g e s . All that tread T h e globe are but a handful to the tribes T h a t s l u m b e r in its b o s o m . — T a k e the wings O f m o r n i n g — a n d the B a r c a n d e s e r t * p i e r c e , O r lose thyself in the c o n t i n u o u s w o o d s W h e r e rolls the O r e g a n , 4 a n d h e a r s n o s o u n d , S a v e his own d a s h i n g s — y e t — t h e d e a d a r e there, A n d millions in t h o s e s o l i t u d e s , s i n c e first T h e flight of years b e g a n , have laid t h e m d o w n In their last s l e e p — t h e d e a d reign there a l o n e . — S o shalt thou r e s t — a n d what if t h o u shalt fall U n n o t i c e d by the l i v i n g — a n d n o friend T a k e note of thy d e p a r t u r e ? All that b r e a t h e Will s h a r e thy destiny. T h e gay will laugh W h e n thou art g o n e , the s o l e m n brood of c a r e Plod on, a n d e a c h o n e a s before will c h a s e His favourite p h a n t o m ; yet all t h e s e shall leave T h e i r mirth a n d their e m p l o y m e n t s , a n d shall c o m e , A n d m a k e their b e d with t h e e . As the long train O f a g e s glide away, the s o n s of m e n , T h e youth in life's green spring, a n d he w h o g o e s 2. Plowshare. "Swain": farmer. 3 . In Barca {northeast Libya). 4. An early variant spelling of Oregon; now the

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60

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Columbia River. (For his distant examples Bryant ranges across the Atlantic and then westward across the North American continent.)

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W I L L I A M C U L L E N BRYANT

In the full strength of y e a r s , m a t r o n , a n d m a i d , T h e bow'd with a g e , the infant in the smiles A n d b e a u t y of its i n n o c e n t a g e c u t off,— Shall o n e by o n e b e g a t h e r e d to thy s i d e , By t h o s e , w h o in their turn shall follow t h e m . S o live, that w h e n thy s u m m o n s c o m e s to j o i n T h e i n n u m e r a b l e c a r a v a n , that m o v e s T o the pale r e a l m s of s h a d e , w h e r e e a c h shall t a k e H i s c h a m b e r in the silent halls of d e a t h , T h o u g o not, like the quarry-slave at night, S c o u r g e d to his d u n g e o n , but s u s t a i n ' d a n d sooth'd By a n u n f a l t e r i n g trust, a p p r o a c h thy grave, L i k e o n e w h o w r a p s the drapery of his c o u c h A b o u t h i m , a n d lies d o w n to p l e a s a n t d r e a m s . 1814

•

To a Waterfowl1 W h i t h e r , 'midst falling dew, W h i l e glow the h e a v e n s with the last s t e p s of day, F a r , t h r o u g h their rosy d e p t h s , d o s t t h o u p u r s u e T h y solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye M i g h t m a r k thy distant flight to do thee w r o n g , A s , darkly p a i n t e d on the c r i m s o n sky, T h y figure floats a l o n g . S e e k ' s t thou the p l a s h y 2 brink O f weedy l a k e , or m a r g e of river w i d e , O r w h e r e the rocking billows rise a n d sink O n the c h a f e d o c e a n side? T h e r e is a Power w h o s e c a r e T e a c h e s thy way a l o n g that p a t h l e s s c o a s t , — T h e d e s e r t a n d illimitable a i r , — L o n e w a n d e r i n g , b u t not lost. All day thy w i n g s have fann'd At that far height, the c o l d thin a t m o s p h e r e : Yet s t o o p not, weary, to the w e l c o m e l a n d , T h o u g h the d a r k night is near. A n d s o o n that toil shall e n d , S o o n shalt thou find a s u m m e r h o m e , a n d rest, A n d s c r e a m a m o n g thy fellows; r e e d s shall b e n d S o o n o'er thy s h e l t e r e d n e s t . T h e text is that of the printing in Poems ( 1 8 2 1 ) ; poem was drafted in Bridgewater, M a s s a c h u -

setts, during July 1 8 1 5 . 2. Marshy; a plash is a pool.

THE PRAIRIES

T h o u ' r t g o n e , the abyss of h e a v e n H a t h s w a l l o w e d u p thy f o r m ; yet, o n m y heart D e e p l y h a t h s u n k the l e s s o n thou hast given, A n d shall not s o o n d e p a r t . H e , w h o , from z o n e to z o n e , G u i d e s t h r o u g h the b o u n d l e s s sky thy certain flight, In the l o n g way that I m u s t tread a l o n e , jjfWill lead m y s t e p s aright. j' i, 1^

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T h e Prairies1 T h e s e a r e the G a r d e n s of the D e s e r t , t h e s e T h e u n s h o r n fields, b o u n d l e s s a n d b e a u t i f u l , A n d fresh a s the y o u n g e a r t h , ere m a n h a d s i n n e d — T h e Prairies. I b e h o l d t h e m for the first, A n d my heart swells, while the dilated sight T a k e s in the e n c i r c l i n g v a s t n e s s . L o ! they s t r e t c h In airy u n d u l a t i o n s , far away, As if the o c e a n , in his gentlest swell, S t o o d still, with all his r o u n d e d billows fixed, A n d m o t i o n l e s s for e v e r . — M o t i o n l e s s ? — N o — t h e y a r e all u n c h a i n e d a g a i n . T h e c l o u d s S w e e p over with their s h a d o w s , a n d b e n e a t h T h e s u r f a c e rolls a n d f l u c t u a t e s to the eye; D a r k hollows s e e m to glide a l o n g a n d c h a s e T h e s u n n y ridges. B r e e z e s of the S o u t h ! W h o t o s s the g o l d e n a n d the flame-like flowers, A n d p a s s the prairie-hawk that, p o i s e d o n h i g h , F l a p s his b r o a d w i n g s , yet m o v e s n o t — y e have played A m o n g the p a l m s of M e x i c o a n d vines O f T e x a s , a n d have c r i s p e d the l i m p i d b r o o k s T h a t from the f o u n t a i n s of S o n o r a 2 glide Into the c a l m P a c i f i c — h a v e ye f a n n e d A nobler or a lovelier s c e n e t h a n this? M a n h a t h n o part in all this g l o r i o u s work: T h e h a n d that built the firmament h a t h h e a v e d A n d s m o o t h e d t h e s e verdant swells, a n d s o w n their s l o p e s W i t h h e r b a g e , p l a n t e d t h e m with i s l a n d g r o v e s , A n d h e d g e d t h e m r o u n d with f o r e s t s . F i t t i n g floor F o r this m a g n i f i c e n t t e m p l e of the s k y — With flowers w h o s e glory a n d w h o s e m u l t i t u d e Rival the c o n s t e l l a t i o n s ! T h e great h e a v e n s S e e m to s t o o p d o w n u p o n the s c e n e in l o v e , — 1. From the first printing in Poems ( 1 8 3 4 ) . Bryant wrote the poem over a year after visiting his brothers in Illinois during 1832. Later he removed the reference to the Fall of Adam and Eve by substituting this as the third line: " F o r which the speech

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of England has no n a m e — " (alluding to the fact that the word prairies was adopted from French explorers and trappers). 2. River in northwest Mexico.

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A n e a r e r vault, a n d of a tenderer b l u e , T h a n that which b e n d s a b o v e the e a s t e r n hills. As o'er the verdant w a s t e I g u i d e my s t e e d , A m o n g the high rank g r a s s that s w e e p s his s i d e s , T h e hollow b e a t i n g of his footstep s e e m s A s a c r i l e g i o u s s o u n d . I think of t h o s e U p o n w h o s e rest he t r a m p l e s . Are they h e r e — T h e d e a d of other d a y s ! — a n d did the d u s t O f t h e s e fair s o l i t u d e s o n c e stir with life A n d burn with p a s s i o n ? L e t the mighty m o u n d s ' T h a t overlook the rivers, or that rise In the d i m forest c r o w d e d with old o a k s , Answer. A r a c e , that long has p a s s e d away, Built t h e m ; — a disciplined a n d p o p u l o u s r a c e H e a p e d , with long toil, the earth, while yet the G r e e k W a s hewing the P e n t e l i c u s 4 to f o r m s O f symmetry, a n d rearing o n its rock T h e glittering P a r t h e n o n . T h e s e a m p l e fields N o u r i s h e d their harvests, here their herds were fed, W h e n haply by their stalls the bison lowed, A n d b o w e d his m a n e d s h o u l d e r to the yoke. All day this d e s e r t m u r m u r e d with their toils, Till twilight b l u s h e d a n d lovers w a l k e d , a n d w o o e d In a forgotten l a n g u a g e , a n d old t u n e s , F r o m i n s t r u m e n t s of u n r e m e m b e r e d form, G a v e the soft winds a voice. T h e red m a n c a m e — T h e r o a m i n g h u n t e r tribes, warlike a n d fierce, And the m o u n d - b u i l d e r s v a n i s h e d from the e a r t h . T h e solitude of c e n t u r i e s untold H a s settled w h e r e they dwelt. T h e prairie wolf H u n t s in their m e a d o w s , a n d his fresh d u g d e n Yawns by my p a t h . T h e g o p h e r m i n e s the g r o u n d W h e r e s t o o d their s w a r m i n g cities. All is g o n e — A l l — s a v e the piles of earth that hold their b o n e s — T h e p l a t f o r m s w h e r e they w o r s h i p p e d u n k n o w n g o d s — T h e barriers which they builded from the soil T o keep the foe at bay—till o'er the walls T h e wild b e l e a g u e r e r s broke, a n d , o n e by o n e , T h e s t r o n g holds of the plain were forced, a n d h e a p e d With c o r p s e s . T h e brown vultures of the wood F l o c k e d to t h o s e vast u n c o v e r e d s e p u l c h r e s , A n d sat, u n s c a r e d a n d silent, at their feast. Haply s o m e solitary fugitive, L u r k i n g in m a r s h a n d forest, till the s e n s e O f desolation a n d of fear b e c a m e Bitterer than d e a t h , yielded himself to die. M a n ' s better n a t u r e t r i u m p h e d . Kindly words W e l c o m e d a n d s o o t h e d him; the r u d e c o n q u e r o r s 3. The burial mounds c o m m o n in Illinois. Bryant follows a contemporary theory that they were built by a culture older than the American Indians. 4. Greek mountain from which a fine white mar-

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ble was quarried, including that used in building the Parthenon, the temple of Athena on the Acropolis in Athens.

T H E

P R A I R I E S

S e a t e d the captive with their chiefs. H e c h o s e A bride a m o n g their m a i d e n s . And at length S e e m e d to forget,—yet ne'er f o r g o t , — t h e wife O f his first love, a n d her sweet little o n e s B u t c h e r e d , a m i d their shrieks, with all his r a c e . T h u s c h a n g e the f o r m s of being. T h u s arise R a c e s of living things, glorious in strength, And p e r i s h , a s the q u i c k e n i n g breath of G o d Fills t h e m , or is withdrawn. T h e red m a n t o o — H a s left the b l o o m i n g wilds he r a n g e d so long, And, nearer to the Rocky M o u n t a i n s , s o u g h t A wider h u n t i n g g r o u n d . T h e beaver builds N o longer by t h e s e s t r e a m s , b u t far away, O n waters w h o s e b l u e s u r f a c e ne'er gave b a c k T h e white m a n ' s f a c e — a m o n g M i s s o u r i ' s s p r i n g s , A n d p o o l s w h o s e i s s u e s swell the O r e g a n , s H e rears his little V e n i c e . 6 In t h e s e plains T h e bison feeds no m o r e . T w i c e twenty l e a g u e s B e y o n d r e m o t e s t s m o k e of hunter's c a m p , R o a m s the m a j e s t i c b r u t e , in h e r d s that s h a k e T h e earth with t h u n d e r i n g s t e p s — y e t here I m e e t His a n c i e n t footprints s t a m p e d b e s i d e the pool. Still this great solitude is q u i c k with life. Myriads of i n s e c t s , g a u d y a s the flowers T h e y flutter over, gentle q u a d r u p e d s , And birds, that s c a r c e have learned the fear of m a n Are here, a n d sliding reptiles of the g r o u n d , Startlingly beautiful. T h e graceful d e e r B o u n d s to the w o o d at my a p p r o a c h . T h e b e e , A m o r e a d v e n t u r o u s colonist t h a n m a n , With w h o m he c a m e a c r o s s the e a s t e r n d e e p , Fills the s a v a n n a s with his m u r m u r i n g s , And hides his s w e e t s , as in the g o l d e n a g e , Within the hollow oak. I listen long T o his d o m e s t i c h u m , a n d think I hear T h e s o u n d of that a d v a n c i n g m u l t i t u d e W h i c h s o o n shall fill t h e s e d e s e r t s . F r o m the g r o u n d C o m e s u p the l a u g h of children, the soft voice O f m a i d e n s , a n d the sweet a n d s o l e m n hymn O f S a b b a t h w o r s h i p p e r s . T h e low of herds B l e n d s with the rustling of the heavy grain O v e r the dark-brown furrows. All at o n c e A fresher wind s w e e p s by, a n d b r e a k s my d r e a m , A n d I a m in the wilderness a l o n e . 1833

5. T h e Columbia River.

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6. I.e., builds a city in the water.

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WILLIAM

APESS

1798-1839 Little is known of William Apess's life other than what he tells us in A Son of the Forest (1829), the first extensive autobiography published by a Native American. His grandfather, says Apess, was a white man who married the granddaughter of the Wampanoag leader King Philip, or Metacom, the loser, in 1678, of "King Philip's War." Philip increasingly occupied Apess's thoughts during his lifetime, serving as the subject of his last published work. Apess's father, although of mixed blood, joined the Pequot tribe and married an Indian woman. Born in Colrain, Massachusetts, Apess drops from public record after 1838. Only recently have obituaries in the New York Sun and the New York Observer been found recording his death, from alcoholism, in New York, in the spring of 1839. In A Son of the Forest, Apess details the pains of his early life: at three he was taken into the home of his poor, alcoholic maternal grandparents; he was severely beaten and, at four or five, sold as an indentured laborer. His first master allowed him to attend school for six years, which constituted his entire formal education; he also introduced Apess to Christianity. Apess served as a soldier in the abortive American attack on Montreal in the War of 1812 and converted to evangelical Methodism after leaving the army. At the conclusion of A Son of the Forest, Apess writes that he achieved an "exhorter's" license from his church, enabling him to earn a living as an itinerant preacher; only later would he realize his goal of ordination as a Methodist minister. A fervent Christian, Apess early understood Christianity as incompatible with any form of race prejudice, sounding a note that presages Christian abolitionists later in the nineteenth century. In 1833, Apess went to preach at Mashpee, the only remaining Indian town in Massachusetts. There he became involved in the Mashpees' struggle to preserve their resources and rights, which were threatened by the overseers imposed on them by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. The Mashpee eventually drew up petitions, probably composed by Apess, requiring that no whites cut wood or hay on Mashpee lands without the Indians' consent for "we, as a tribe, will rule ourselves, and have the right to do so; for all men are born free and equal, says the Constitution of the Country." Such unprecedented assertiveness on the part of the Indians alarmed the governor of Massachusetts, who announced his readiness to put down the unrest with troops. Apess's version of the controversy appears in his Indian Nullification

of the Unconstitutional

Laws of Massachusetts,

Relative

to the

Marshpee

[sic] Tribe; or, The Pretended Riot Explained (1835). A year before the book appeared, its case was won when the state legislature granted the Mashpee the same rights of self-governance that other Massachusetts townships possessed.

Apess's career as a preacher and an author comes to a close with his "Eulogy on King Philip," delivered in 1836 at the Odeon in Boston, one of the city's largest public lecture halls, and published that same year. In the "Eulogy" Apess meditates on his distant relation, naming Philip the foremost man that America had thus far produced. He reminds his audience, descendants of the Pilgrims, of the crimes of their ancestors, although "you and I have to rejoice that we have not to answer for our fathers' crimes; neither shall we do right to charge them one to another." Nonetheless, he notes, "in vain have I looked for the Christian to take me by the hand and bid me welcome to his cabin, as my fathers did them [the Christians], before we were born." Apess concludes that a "different course must be pursued. . . . And while you ask yourselves, 'What do they, the Indians, want?' you have only to look at the unjust laws made for them and say, 'They want what I want' ": justice and Christian fellowship. Our selection comes from The Experiences

of Five Christian

Indians

of the

Pequo'd

Tribe, published in 1833, the year Apess came to Mashpee. The first of these "expe-

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riences" is Apess's own, an account of his life and conversion that repeats some of the material in A Son of the Forest but intensifies considerably the condemnation of Euro-American treatment of native peoples. Apess concludes this book with the text anthologized here, "An Indian's Looking-Glass for the White Man," a searing indictment of race prejudice against people of color generally and Native Americans particularly. The forceful beginning of "Indian's Looking-Glass" is marked by the hortatory style of the practiced preacher as well as by a sense of the power of the spoken word in native cultures. Although his punctuation and syntax do not conform to the conventions of standard written English, Apess writes in a style that powerfully imitates oral performance. His provocative, ironic voice calls to mind that of the later moralist and orator for justice, Henry David Thoreau. The text is from The Experiences of Five Christian Indians of the Pequo'd Tribe (1833), reprinted in On Our Own Ground: The Complete Writings of William Apess, a Pequot, edited by Barry O'Connell (1992).

A n I n d i a n ' s L o o k i n g - G l a s s for t h e W h i t e M a n H a v i n g a desire to p l a c e a few things before my fellow c r e a t u r e s w h o are traveling with m e to the grave, a n d to that G o d w h o is the m a k e r a n d p r e server both of the white m a n a n d the I n d i a n , w h o s e abilities are the s a m e a n d w h o are to b e j u d g e d by o n e G o d , w h o will s h o w no favor to o u t w a r d a p p e a r a n c e s but will j u d g e r i g h t e o u s n e s s . N o w I a s k if d e g r a d a t i o n h a s not b e e n h e a p e d long e n o u g h u p o n the I n d i a n s ? A n d if s o , c a n there not b e a c o m p r o m i s e ? Is it right to hold a n d p r o m o t e p r e j u d i c e s ? If not, why not p u t t h e m all away? I m e a n h e r e , a m o n g t h o s e w h o are civilized. It may b e that m a n y are ignorant of the situation of m a n y of my b r e t h r e n within the limits of N e w E n g l a n d . L e t m e for a few m o m e n t s turn your attention to the reservations in the different s t a t e s of N e w E n g l a n d , a n d , with b u t few e x c e p tions, we shall find t h e m as follows: the^most m e a n , a b j e c t j i i s e r a b l e race^ nf hpirtftsJn tpp_nmrld n r o r n p W p p l a c e of prodigality a n d j j r o s t i t u t i o n . L e t a g e n t l e m a n a n d lady of integrity a n d respectability visit t h e s e p l a c e s , a n d they would be s u r p r i s e d ; a s they w a n d e r e d from o n e h u t to the other they would view, with the f e m a l e s w h o are left a l o n e , c h i l d r e n half-starvpd a n d s o m e a l m o s t a s nakpd .aTrriey c a m e into t h e l v o r l d . Alid'lt'is a fact that rfTave s e e n t h e m a s m u c h so—vjjiile the f e m a l e s a r e left without p r o t e c t i o n , a n d a r e s e d u c e d by white m e n , a n d are fimuly left to b e c o m m o n p r o s t i t u t e s for t h e m a n c l t o b e d e s t r o y e d ' b y that b u r n i n g , fiery c u r s e , that h a s s w e p t millions, both of red a n d white m e n , into the grave with sorrow a n d disg r a c e — r u m . O n e r e a s o n why they are left s o is b e c a u s e their m o s t s e n s i b l e a n d active m e n are a b s e n t at s e a . A n o t h e r r e a s o n is b e c a u s e they are m a d e to believe they are m i n o r s a n d have not the abilities given t h e m from G o d to take c a r e of t h e m s e l v e s , without it is to s e e to a few little articles, s u c h a s b a s k e t s a n d b r o o m s . T h e i r land is in c o m m o n stock, a n d they have n o t h i n g to m a k e t h e m enterprising. A n o t h e r r e a s o n is b e c a u s e t h o s e m e n w h o a r e A g e n t s , 1 m a n y of t h e m are unfaithful a n d c a r e not w h e t h e r the I n d i a n s live or die; they are m u c h i m p o s e d u p o n by their n e i g h b o r s , w h o have no principle. T h e y w o u l d think 1. T h o s e appointed by the Commonwealth of M a s s a c h u s e t t s to oversee Indian affairs in such towns as Mashpee.

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it n o c r i m e to go u p o n Indian lands a n d c u t and carry off their m o s t v a l u a b l e timber, or anything else they c h o s e ; a n d I d o u b t not but they think it clear gain. A n o t h e r r e a s o n is b e c a u s e they have no e d u c a t i o n to take c a r e of t h e m selves; if they h a d , I would risk t h e m to take c a r e of their own property. N o w I will a s k if the I n d i a n s are not called the most i n g e n i o u s p e o p l e a m o n g u s . A n d are they not said to b e m e n of talents? A n d I would ask: C o u l d there b e a m o r e efficient way to distress a n d m u r d e r t h e m by i n c h e s than the way they have t a k e n ? A n d there is no p e o p l e in the world but w h o m a y be destroyed in the s a m e way. N o w , if these p e o p l e are w h a t they a r e held up in our view to b e , I would take the liberty to a s k why they are not b r o u g h t forward a n d p a i n s taken to e d u c a t e t h e m , to give t h e m all a c o m m o n e d u c a t i o n , a n d t h o s e of the brightest a n d first-rate talents put forward a n d held up to office. P e r h a p s s o m e unholy, u n p r i n c i p l e d m e n would cry o u t , " T h e skin w a s not g o o d e n o u g h " ; but s t o p , f r i e n d s — I a m not talking a b o u t the skin but a b o u t principles. I would a s k if there c a n n o t b e a s g o o d feelings a n d principles u n d e r a red skin a s there c a n be u n d e r a white. A n d let m e ask: Is it not on the a c c o u n t of a b a d principle that we w h o are red children have h a d to suffer s o m u c h a s we have? And let m e ask: Did not this b a d principle p r o c e e d from the whites or their forefathers? A n d I w o u l d ask: Is it worthwhile to nourish it any longer? If not, then let u s have a c h a n g e , a l t h o u g h s o m e m e n no d o u b t will s p o u t their corrupt principles a g a i n s t it, that are in the halls of legislation a n d e l s e w h e r e . B u t I p r e s u m e this kind of talk will s e e m s u r p r i s i n g a n d horrible. I d o not s e e why it s h o u l d s o long a s they (the whites) say that they think a s m u c h of us a s they d o of t h e m s e l v e s . T h i s I have h e a r d repeatedly, from the m o s t r e s p e c t a b l e g e n t l e m e n a n d l a d i e s — a n d having h e a r d so m u c h p r e c e p t , I s h o u l d now wish to s e e the e x a m p l e . A n d I would a s k w h o has a better right to look for t h e s e things than the n a t u r a l i s t 2 h i m s e l f — t h e c a n d i d m a n would say n o n e . I know that m a n y say that they a r e willing, p e r h a p s the majority of the p e o p l e , that we s h o u l d enjoy our rights a n d privileges as they d o . If s o , I would ask, W h y are not we p r o t e c t e d in our p e r s o n s a n d property t h r o u g h o u t the U n i o n ? Is it not b e c a u s e there reigns in the b r e a s t of m a n y w h o are l e a d e r s a m o s t u n r i g h t e o u s , u n b e c o m i n g , a n d i m p u r e b l a c k principle, a n d a s corrupt a n d unholy a s it c a n b e — w h i l e t h e s e very s a m e u n f e e l i n g , selfe s t e e m e d c h a r a c t e r s p r e t e n d to take the skin as a pretext to k e e p u s from our u n a l i e n a b l e a n d lawful rights? I would a s k you if you would like to b e d i s f r a n c h i s e d from all your rights, merely b e c a u s e your skin is white, a n d for no other c r i m e . I'll venture to say, t h e s e very c h a r a c t e r s w h o hold the skin to be s u c h a barrier in the way would b e the first to cry o u t , " I n j u s t i c e ! awful injustice!" B u t , reader, I a c k n o w l e d g e that this is a c o n f u s e d world, a n d I a m not s e e k i n g for office, but merely p l a c i n g b e f o r e y o u the b l a c k i n c q n s i s t e a c y that r vojx4?lacaJjefore m e — w h i c h is fpp tim^s findin the u m v e r s e ^ A n d now let m e exhort you to do a w a y that principle, a s it a p p e a r s ten times w o r s e in the sight of G o d a n d c a n d i d m e n than skins of c o l o r — m o r e disgraceful than all the skins that J e h o v a h ever m a d e . If black or red skins or any other skin of color is disgraceful to G o d , it a p p e a r s that

\[^ ^?^4ri^ry3X^3^-thatwill

2. I.e., the American Indian; a play on the view of Indians as children of nature (or "sons of the forest").

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he h a s d i s ^ r ^ e d l n ^ s e j j l a _ g r e a t d e a l — f o r he h a s m a d e j i f t e e n coloredrjeorjle. Xo-one-whiteancTptaxed t h e m here u p o n this earth, N o w let m e a s k y o u , white m a n , if it is a d i s g r a c e for to eat, drink, a n d s l e e p with the i m a g e of G o d , or sit, or walk a n d talk with t h e m . O r have you the folly to think that t h e white m a n , b e i n g o n e in fifteen or sixteen, a r e the only beloved i m a g e s of G o d ? A s s e m b l e all n a t i o n s t o g e t h e r in your imagination, a n d then let the whites b e s e a t e d a m o n g t h e m , a n d t h e n let u s look for the w h i t e s , a n d I d o u b t not it would be hard finding t h e m ; for to the rest of the n a t i o n s , they a r e still but a handful. N o w s u p p o s e t h e s e skins were p u t together, a n d e a c h skin h a d its national c r i m e s written u p o n i t — w h i c h skin do you think w o u l d have the g r e a t e s t ? I will a s k o n e q u e s t i o n m o r e . C a n you c h a r g e the I n d i a n s with r o b b i n g a n a t i o n a l m o s t of their whole c o n t i n e n t , a n d m u r d e r i n g their w o m e n a n d children, a n d then depriving the r e m a i n d e r of their lawful rights, that n a t u r e a n d G o d require t h e m to h a v e ? A n d to c a p the climax, rob a n o t h e r nation to till their g r o u n d s a n d welter out their days u n d e r the lash with h u n g e r a n d fatigue u n d e r the s c o r c h i n g rays of a b u r n i n g s u n ? * I s h o u l d look at all the s k i n s , a n d I know that w h e n I c a s t my eye u p o n that white skin, a n d if I saw t h o s e c r i m e s written u p o n it, I s h o u l d e n t e r my protest a g a i n s t it i m m e d i a t e l y a n d cleave to that w h i c h is m o r e h o n o r a b l e . A n d I c a n tell you that I a m satisfied with the m a n n e r of m y c r e a t i o n , fully— whether o t h e r s are or not. B u t we will strive to p e n e t r a t e m o r e fully into the c o n d u c t of t h o s e w h o profess to have p u r e p r i n c i p l e s a n d w h o tell u s to follow J e s u s C h r i s t a n d imitate him a n d have his Spirit. L e t u s s e e if they c o m e a n y w h e r e n e a r him a n d his a n c i e n t d i s c i p l e s . T h e first thing we are to look at a r e j i i s nrerepts^. of w h i c h we w i l ] _ g i £ n > i r > " ^fp^yThmi shalt love t h e J - X H g L L b ^ ^ j ^ c L w i t h all thy h e a r t J j m t J 3 j r t j j h 3 ! _ s j ^ l , j > v ^ all thy sjr^rjgtfi^l'he s e c o n d is like u n t o it. T h o u shalt love thy n e i g f i ^ r a s j h y s e l F r O n t h e s e two p r e c e p t s h a n g all the l a ^ a n c T the p r o p h e t s " ( I V l a t t h e w 2 2 3 7 , 3 8 , 3 9 , 4 0 ) . " B y this shall all m e n know that they are my d i s c i p l e s , if ye h a v e love o n e to a n o t h e r " (John 1 3 . 3 5 ) . O u r L o r d left this s p e c i a l c o m m a n d with his followers, that they s h o u l d love o n e another. A g a i n , J o h n in his E p i s t l e s says, " H e w h o loveth G o d loveth his b r o t h e r a l s o " (1 J o h n 4 . 2 1 ) . " L e t u s not love in word b u t in d e e d " (1 J o h n 3 . 1 8 ) . " L e t your love b e without d i s s i m u l a t i o n . S e e that ye love o n e a n o t h e r with a p u r e heart fervently" (1 P e t e r 1.22). "If any m a n say, I love G o d , a n d h a t e t h his brother, he is a liar" (1 J o h n 4 . 2 0 ) . " W h o s o e v e r h a t e t h his b r o t h e r is a murderer, a n d no m u r d e r e r hath eternal life a b i d i n g in h i m " (1 J o h n 3 . 1 5 ) . T h e first thing that takes o u r attention is the saying of J e s u s , " T h o u shalt love," etc. T h e first q u e s t i o n I w o u l d a s k my brethren in the ministry, as well a s that of the m e m b e r s h i p : W h a t is love, or its effects? N o w , if they w h o t e a c h are not essentially affected with p u r e love, the love of G o d , how c a n they t e a c h a s they o u g h t ? A g a i n , the holy t e a c h e r s of old s a i d , " N o w if any m a n have not t h e spirit of C h r i s t , he is n o n e of h i s " ( B o m a n s 8 . 9 ) . N o w , my brethren in the ministry, let m e a s k you a few s i n c e r e q u e s t i o n s . Did you ever hear or r e a d of C h r i s t t e a c h i n g his d i s c i p l e s that they o u g h t to d e s p i s e 3. T h e reference is to the "nation" of Africa, many of whose people were brought to the United States as slaves.

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o n e b e c a u s e his skin w a s different from theirs? J e s u s C h r i s t b e i n g a J e w , a n d t h o s e of his A p o s t l e s certainly were not w h i t e s — a n d did not h e w h o c o m p l e t e d the p l a n of salvation c o m p l e t e it for t h e whites a s well a s for t h e J e w s , a n d o t h e r s ? A n d were not t h e whites the m o s t d e g r a d e d p e o p l e o n the e a r t h at that t i m e ? A n d n o n e were m o r e s o , for they sacrificed their children to d u m b i d o l s ! 4 A n d did not S t . P a u l labor m o r e a b u n d a n t l y for b u i l d i n g u p a C h r i s t i a n n a t i o n a m o n g you t h a n any of t h e A p o s t l e s ? A n d you know a s well a s I that you are not i n d e b t e d to a principle b e n e a t h a white skin for your religious services b u t to a c o l o r e d o n e . W h a t t h e n is the m a t t e r now? Is not religion the s a m e n o w u n d e r a c o l o r e d skin a s it ever w a s ? If s o , I w o u l d ask, why is not a m a n of c o l o r r e s p e c t e d ? You m a y say, a s m a n y say, w e have white m e n e n o u g h . B u t w a s this the spirit of C h r i s t a n d his A p o s t l e s ? If it h a d b e e n , there w o u l d not h av e b e e n o n e white p r e a c h e r in t h e w o r l d — f o r J e s u s C h r i s t never w o u l d h av e i m p a r t e d his g r a c e or word to t h e m , for h e c o u l d forever h av e withheld it from t h e m . B u t we find that J e s u s C h r i s t a n d his A p o s t l e s never looked at t h e outward a p p e a r a n c e s . J e s u s in p a r t i c u l a r looked at the h e a r t s , a n d his A p o s t l e s t h r o u g h h i m , b e i n g d i s c e r n e r s of the spirit, looked at their fruit without any regard to the skin, color, or nation; a s S t . P a u l h i m s e l f s p e a k s , " W h e r e there is neither G r e e k nor J e w , c i r c u m c i s i o n nor u n c i r c u m c i s i o n , B a r b a r i a n n o r S c y t h i a n , b o n d nor f r e e — b u t C h r i s t is all, a n d in a l l " ( C o l o s s i a n s 3 . 1 1 ) . If you c a n find a spirit like J e s u s C h r i s t a n d his A p o s t l e s prevailing n o w in any of the white c o n g r e g a t i o n s , I s h o u l d like to k n o w it. I a s k : Is it not t h e c a s e that everybody that is not white is treated with c o n t e m p t a n d c o u n t e d a s b a r b a r i a n s ? A n d I a s k if the word of G o d jus tif ie s the white m a n in s o doing. W h e n the p r o p h e t s p r o p h e s i e d , of w h o m did they s p e a k ? W h e n they s p o k e of h e a t h e n s , w a s it not the whites a n d o t h e r s w h o were c o u n t e d G e n t i l e s ? A n d I a s k if all n a t i o n s with the e x c e p t i o n of the J e w s were not c o u n t e d h e a t h e n s . A n d a c c o r d i n g to the writings of s o m e , it c o u l d not m e a n the I n d i a n s , for they are c o u n t e d J e w s . 5 A n d now I w o u l d ask: W h y is all this distinction m a d e a m o n g t h e s e C h r i s t i a n s o c i e t i e s ? I w o u l d a s k : W h a t is all this a d o a b o u t m i s s i o n a r y s o c i e t i e s , if it b e not to C h r i s t i a n i z e t h o s e w h o are not C h r i s t i a n s ? A n d what is it for? T o d e g r a d e t h e m w o r s e , to b r i n g t h e m into society w h e r e they m u s t welter o u t their days in d i s g r a c e merely b e c a u s e their skin is of a different c o m p l e x i o n . W h a t folly it is to try to m a k e the state of h u m a n society w o r s e t h a n it is. H o w a s t o n i s h e d s o m e m a y b e at t h i s — b u t let m e a s k : Is it not s o ? L e t m e refer you to the c h u r c h e s only. A n d , my b r e t h r e n , is there any a g r e e m e n t ? D o b r e t h r e n a n d sisters love o n e a n o t h e r ? D o they not rather h a t e o n e a n o t h e r ? O u t w a r d f o r m s a n d c e r e m o n i e s , the lusts of the flesh, t h e lusts of the e y e , a n d p r i d e of life is of m o r e v a l u e to m a n y p r o f e s s o r s 6 than t h e love of G o d s h e d a b r o a d in their h e a r t s , or a n a t t a c h m e n t to his altar, to his o r d i n a n c e s , or to his c h i l d r e n . B u t you m a y ask: W h o are t h e children of G o d ? P e r h a p s you m a y say, n o n e b u t w h i t e . If s o , the word of the L o r d is not t r u e . I will refer you to S t . Peter's p r e c e p t s (Acts 1 0 ) : " G o d is no r e s p e c t e r of p e r s o n s , " e t c . N o w if this is the c a s e , my white b r o t h e r , w h a t b e t t e r are you 4. T h e ancient Hebrews considered various Mideastern peoples idolators whose practices presumably included child sacrifice. 5. A reference to the (mistaken) notion that

Native Americans were d e s c e n d e d from the ten lost tribes of Israel. 6. I.e., those who profess the Christian faith.

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than G o d ? A n d if no better, why d o you, w h o p r o f e s s his G o s p e l a n d to have his spirit, act s o contrary to it? Let m e ask why the m e n of a different skin are so d e s p i s e d . W h y are not they e d u c a t e d a n d p l a c e d in your p u l p i t s ? I a s k if his services well p e r f o r m e d are not as g o o d a s if a white m a n p e r f o r m e d t h e m . I a s k if a m a r r i a g e or a funeral c e r e m o n y or the o r d i n a n c e of the Lord's h o u s e w o u l d not b e a s a c c e p t a b l e in the sight of G o d a s t h o u g h he w a s white. And if s o , why is it not to you? I a s k a g a i n : W h y is it not a s a c c e p t a b l e to have m e n to exercise their office in o n e p l a c e a s well a s in a n o t h e r ? P e r h a p s you will say that if we a d m i t you to all of t h e s e privileges you will w a n t m o r e . I expect that I c a n g u e s s what that i s — W h y , say y o u , there w o u l d b e interm a r r i a g e s . H o w that would b e I a m not a b l e to s a y — a n d if it s h o u l d b e , it would b e n o t h i n g s t r a n g e or new to m e ; for I c a n a s s u r e you that I know a great m a n y that have intermarried, both of the whites a n d the I n d i a n s — a n d m a n y are their s o n s a n d d a u g h t e r s a n d p e o p l e , t o o , of the first respectability. And I c o u l d point to s o m e in the f a m o u s city of B o s t o n a n d e l s e w h e r e . You m a y look now at the disgraceful act in the s t a t u t e law p a s s e d by the legislature of M a s s a c h u s e t t s , a n d b e h o l d the fifty-pound fine levied u p o n any c l e r g y m a n or j u s t i c e of the p e a c e that d a r e to e n c o u r a g e t h e laws of G o d a n d n a t u r e by a legitimate u n i o n in holy w e d l o c k b e t w e e n the I n d i a n s a n d whites. I would a s k how this looks to your l a w m a k e r s . I w o u l d a s k if this c o r r e s p o n d s with your s a y i n g s — t h a t you think as m u c h of t h e I n d i a n s a s you d o of the w h i t e s . I d o not w o n d e r that you b l u s h , m a n y of y o u , while you r e a d ; for m a n y have b r o k e n the ill-fated laws m a d e by m a n to h e d g e u p the laws of G o d a n d n a t u r e . I w o u l d a s k if they w h o have m a d e the law have not broken i t — b u t there is no other s t a t e in N e w E n g l a n d that h a s this law b u t M a s s a c h u s e t t s ; a n d I think, a s m a n y of you d o not, that you have d o n e yourselves no credit. B u t as I a m not looking for a wife, having o n e of the finest c a s t , a s you no d o u b t w o u l d u n d e r s t a n d while you r e a d her e x p e r i e n c e a n d travail of soul in the way to h e a v e n , you will s e e that it is not my o b j e c t . A n d if I h a d n o n e , I s h o u l d not w a n t a n y o n e to take my right from m e a n d c h o o s e a wife for m e ; for I think that I or any of my brethren have a right to c h o o s e a wife for t h e m s e l v e s a s well as the w h i t e s — a n d a s the whites have taken t h e liberty to c h o o s e my b r e t h r e n , the I n d i a n s , h u n d r e d s a n d t h o u s a n d s o f t h e m , a s p a r t n e r s i n life, I believe the I n d i a n s have a m u c h right to c h o o s e their p a r t n e r s a m o n g the whites i f they wish. I w o u l d a s k you i f you c a n s e e anything i n c o n s i s t e n t i n your c o n d u c t a n d talk a b o u t the I n d i a n s . A n d i f you d o , I h o p e you will try to b e c o m e m o r e c o n s i s t e n t . Nnw^ j f t h e I ord J e s u s C h r i s t , wJxt i s c o u n t e d by a l l to foe a j e w — a n d it i s well k n o w n that the Jews^ a r e a c o l o r e i l ^ e e p t e T ^ - e s p e c i a l l v t h o s e living i n t h e E a s t , w h e r e C h r i s t w a s b o r r L = a a d if h e s h o u l d a p p e a r a m o n g u s , w o u l d h e not b e s h u t o u t o f d o o r s by m a n y ^ j e f y - - q t H € k l y ? A n d J a y - t h a ^ - t o o - w i i Q p r p f e s s - j e l i g i « 0 ? By what you read, you m a y learn how d e e p your p r i n c i p l e s a r e . I s h o u l d say they were skin-deep. I s h o u l d not w o n d e r i f s o m e of the m o s t selfish a n d ignorant would s p o u t a c h a r g e o f their p r i n c i p l e s now a n d then at m e . B u t I would ask: H o w are you to love your n e i g h b o r s a s yourself? Is it to c h e a t t h e m ? Is it to w r o n g t h e m i n anything? N o w , t o c h e a t t h e m o u t of any of their rights is robbery. A n d I ask: C a n you d e n y that you are not r o b b i n g the 7. Referring to the belief that Moses and the biblical Hebrews, including J e s u s , were people of color.

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I n d i a n s daily, a n d m a n y o t h e r s ? B u t at last you m a y think I a m w h a t is called a hard a n d u n c h a r i t a b l e m a n . B u t not s o . I believe there a r e m a n y w h o would not h e s i t a t e to a d v o c a t e o u r c a u s e ; a n d t h o s e t o o w h o a r e m e n of f a m e a n d r e s p e c t a b i l i t y — a s well a s ladies of h o n o r a n d virtue. T h e r e is a W e b s t e r , a n Everett, a n d a Wirt, K a n d m a n y others w h o a r e d i s t i n g u i s h e d c h a r a c t e r s — b e s i d e s a host of my fellow citizens, w h o a d v o c a t e o u r c a u s e daily. A n d how I c o n g r a t u l a t e s u c h noble s p i r i t s — h o w they a r e to b e prized a n d v a l u e d ; for they a r e well c a l c u l a t e d to p r o m o t e t h e h a p p i n e s s of m a n k i n d . T h e y well know that m a n w a s m a d e for society, a n d not for h i s s i n g - s t o c k s 9 a n d outc a s t s . A n d w h e n s u c h a principle a s this lies within t h e hearts of m e n , h o w m u c h it is like its , G o d — a n d h o w it h o n o r s its M a k e r — a n d how it imitates the feelings of the G o o d S a m a r i t a n , that h a d his w o u n d s b o u n d u p , w h o h a d b e e n a m o n g thieves a n d r o b b e r s . D o not g e t tired, ye n o b l e - h e a r t e d — o n l y think h o w m a n y p o o r Indians w a n t their w o u n d s d o n e u p daily; t h e L o r d will reward you, a n d pray you s t o p n o t till this tree of distinction shall b e leveled to t h e e a r t h , a n d the m a n t l e of p r e j u d i c e torn from every A m e r i c a n h e a r t — t h e n shall p e a c e pervade the Union. 1833 President William Henrv Harrison. Edward Everett ( 1 7 9 4 - 1 8 6 5 ) , the first Eliot Professor of G r e e k at Harvard and the editor of the prestigious North American Review; he served in C o n g r e s s and as governor of M a s s a c h u s e t t s .

8. William Wirt ( 1 7 7 2 - 1 8 3 4 ) , lawyer, politician, orator, and writer; he served as attorney general under President J a m e s M o n r o e and was nominated by the W h i g Party for president. Daniel Webster ( 1 7 8 2 - 1 8 5 2 ) , orator, legislator, statesman, a n d interpreter of the Constitution; he served as c o n g r e s s m a n from New H a m p s h i r e , senator from M a s s a c h u s e t t s , and secretary of state under

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from the lower-class "rough boys" in his early years and sent at nine to the Boston Public Latin School. So poorly clothed that two brothers had to make do at times with one coat, the boys were encouraged by a brilliant eccentric aunt, Mary Moody Emerson, to regard deprivation as ecstatic self-denial. Emerson showed no remarkable literary promise either in his early prose exercises or in his adolescent satires in imitation of Alexander Pope. His Harvard years, 1 8 1 7 - 2 1 , were frugal, industrious, and undistinguished. After graduation hp_served, he said, as "a hopeless Schoolmaster," unabje t " irppnsp h j ^ a i i t h n r i t y nn hin pnpiU Escaping into the study of theology in 1825, he began preaching in October 1826 and early in 1829 was ortlained as junior pastor of Boston's Second Church, where Increase Mather and Cotton Mather had preached a century and more before. Emerson's dedication to the ministry at the age of twenty-one was to a life of public service through eloquence, not to a life of preserving and disseminating religious dogma. In any case, Boston was no longer a Puritan stronghold. Boston Unitarianism, led in the 1820s by William Ellery Channing, still accepted the Bible as the revelation of God's intentions for humankind, but no longer held that human beings were innately depraved or that Jesus was more than the highest type of mortal individual. Emerson's skepticism toward Christianity was strengthened by his exposure to the German "higher criticism," which heretically interpreted biblical miracles in the light of comparable stories in other cultures. Emerson was gradually developing a faith greater in individual moral sentiment than in revealed religion. Around 1830-31 his reading of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Aids to Reflection provided him with a basic terminology in his postulation of an intuitive "Reason," which is superior to the mere "Understanding," or ordinary rationality operating on the materials of sense experience. Undogmatic about Christianity as he became, Emerson nevertheless seems to have undergone an intense religious experience around these same years, 1830 or 1831, something comparable with the sweet inward burning that the Calvinist Jonathan Edwards had delighted in describing. Emerson's knowledge of this emotion is clear from his later essay "Thp__Oypr- \niil " h u t he felt no impulse to account for it according to the tenets of a particular church. In the year of his ordination, Emerson married a young woman from New Hampshire, Ellen Tucker. She died sixteen months later of tuberculosis, the disease that had already infected Emerson and others in his family. Early in 1832 Emerson notified his church that he had become so skeptical of the validity of the Lord's Supper that he could no longer administer it. A few months later he resigned, keeping the sober goodwill of many in his flock, and embarked on a leisurely European tour, which constituted a postgraduate education in art and natural science. In the custom of that time, he called on well-known writers, meeting Walter Savage Landor in Italy, listening to Coleridge converse with such cogent volubility that he seemed to be reading aloud, and hearing William Wordsworth recite his poetry. Most important for his intellectual growth and for his reputation was his visit to Thomas Carlyle at Craigenputtock in Scotland, beginning a lifelong alliance in which each helped to publish and create an audience for the other. In 1834 Emerson drifted into a quiet retreat at Concord, Massachusetts, where generations of his ancestors had been ministers. That year he received the first installment of his wife's legacy. Soon he was assured of more than a thousand dollars annually, at a time when five thousand would buy a good but not ostentatious house in Boston or New York City. Not needing to hold a steady job again, he continued to preach occasionally and began lecturing at New England lyceums, the public halls that brought a variety of speakers and performers both to the cities and to smaller towns. In 1835, after a prudent courtship, he married Lydia Jackson of Plymouth, having explained to her his work and the conditions under which he must pursue it. One condition was that he must live in rural Concord rather than move into the bustle of Plymouth. Emerson's first little book. Nature (1836), did not establish him as an important American writer (for one thing, it was anonymous, and not every <

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reviewer was in on what became an open secret around Boston), but it did confirm his future as a prose writer, however poetic that prose might be. As the reviewers understood, Nature was not a Christian book, but one influenced by a range of idealistic philosophies, ancient and very modern, Transcendentalism being merely the latest name for an old way of thinking. Although the favorable reception of the book in England encouraged some American journalists, hitherto skeptical, to take Emerson more seriously as a force in modern thought, Emerson's immediate reward was having the book become the unofficial manifesto for "the Symposium" of his likeminded friends, which held its first meeting only a few days after Nature was published. This group (which Emerson thought of as "Hedge's Club," since it tended to meet when his friend F. H. Hedge, an expert in German philosophy, was available to attend its meetings in Boston) became known, somewhat derisively, as the Transcendental ( " l l o h i Yet it had influences, on Emerson and on the intellectual life of"the country^ out of proportion to its small membership and its short life of four years. It was composed mainly of ministers who were repelled by John Locke's views that the mind is a passive receiver of sense impressions and enthusiastic about Coleridge's alternative view of the mind as creative in perception. Among the members were the educator Bronson Alcott, the abolitionist and Unitarian minister Theodore Parker, and the Unitarian minister Orestes A. Brownson (later a major force in American Catholicism). Such friends were welcome, for during the early 1830s deaths broke up the close-knit band of Emerson brothers. Emerson himself had gone south to recover from tuberculosis in 1826-27; weakened by the same disease, Edward Emerson became mentally deranged in 1827 and died in 1834; and the youngest brother, Charles, died in 1836. There was compensation for Emerson in the circle of admirers who began forming about him at the time of his second marriage and the publication of Nature. Alcott, Margaret Fuller, and others sought him out, some paying him frequent and prolonged visits or even settling in Concord to be near him. Nature reached a smaller audience than did many of Emerson's lectures, which were often reported by newspapers in substantial part; his formal Harvard addresses to the Phi Beta Kappa Society in 1837 on the American scholar and to the Divinity School graduates in 1838 on the state of Christianity were both printed as pamphlets, according to the custom of the time. The second of these speeches occasioned a brief, virulent series of attacks in the press for its heresies, giving Emerson a notoriety that barred him from speaking at Harvard for three decades. His unsigned contributions to the Transcendentalists' magazine The Dial did not enhance his reputation; indeed, he sometimes was attacked in newspapers as the author of Alcott's Orphic Sayings, which jocular contemporaries took as the ultimate of Transcendental gibberish. Only with the publication of Essays (1841) did Emerson's lasting reputation begin. Far more than Nature, this book was directed to a popular audience. The essays had been tried out, in whole or large part, in his lectures, so that their final form was shaped by the responses of many audiences. By the early 1840s, Emerson's life had settled into its enduring routine. He gave intermittent lectures in Boston and made lecture tours in the Northeast and, later, in the Middle Atlantic states to supplement the income from his legacy. Early in 1842 his first son, Waldo, died at the age of five, the last of the untimely deaths in Emerson's immediate family; after that Emerson devoted himself more and more to the personal problems of his circle of family and friends. His editing of The Dial from 1842 till 1844, for instance, was undertaken mainly to support his friends, especially Margaret Fuller. He worked steadily at a succession of essays, usually derived from his extensive journals by way of one or more intervening lectures. Essays (1841) was followed by Essays: Second Series (1844). The second collection demonstrated even more thoroughly than the first that Emerson's intellect had sharpened in the years since Nature. In "The Poet" especially his grappling with aesthetic problems was more incisive; he spoke from practical experience as well as theoretical speculation in defining the pres-

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ent state of literature in America, and he brilliantly foretold the nature of the great national poets to come. In "Experience" and other essays he resolutely and realistically faced the conflict between idealism and ordinary life. The deferential minister and the once-tentative lecturer had become a confident American prophet. Emerson slowly gained recognition for his poems, which he collected at the end of 1846. A second trip to Europe (1847-48) capped his secure middle age. As his reputation expanded, he widened his lecture tours into the Midwest. His newer books, among them Representative Men (1849) and Conduct of Life (1860), were less forceful than his earlier ones, though they sold better because of the enlarged market and his established fame. After long resisting attempts by reformers to gain his support for various social issues, Emerson became a fervent advocate in the 1850s for abolitionism, though his efforts were too late and too local to make him a national leader. The rest of Emerson's writing, like the rest of his life, was a slow anticlimax to the intellectual ferment of the years between the mid-1830s and the mid-1840s, though it was only during these later decades that his earlier work first won general recognition. Although Emerson's contemporary reputation rested on his essays, he had all along been writing another masterpiece, his journals, which were not published in full until the late twentieth century under the title Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks. It will take time before readers fully grasp the importance of these writings as the historical record of a response to people and events, the most thorough documentation we possess of the growth of a nineteenth-century American writer, and the remarkable account of a spiritual life. A critic said that Emerson wanted to get his whole philosophy into each e s s a y ; . more than that, he got as much of it as he could into everything he wrote. Emerson's point of view may shift from one pole of a subject to the other even within a single work, for his mind moved like that of a dramatist who embodies felt or imagined moods in various characters, but the subject remains Emersonian. In this there is challenge for the new reader to find pattern in diversity. And for those who have already cherished Emerson through the various stages of life there is the warmth of familiarity, however unsettling this mild-mannered man always remains to any receptive reader.

Nature Since its anonymous publication (1836), a little book paid for by the author himself, Nature has been recognized as a major document in American Romanticism and Transcendentalism. Merton M. Sealts Jr. and Alfred R. Ferguson in their Emerson's "Nature"—Origin, Growth, Meaning point out "how wide the divergence has been over how to read such a work—whether as doctrine or mysticism, philosophy or poetry." The Sealts-Ferguson volume is indispensable to serious study of Nature for, among other virtues, its printing of source passages in the Harvard University Press edition of The Journals

and Miscellaneous

Notebooks

of Ralph

Waldo

Emerson

(abbreviated

here JMN). We have given the journal and lecture citations only when they reveal Emerson's literary borrowings (which are as often as not secondhand—a quotation from a Greek philosopher in a work by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, for example). We have drawn on the Sealts-Ferguson list of emendations for the corrections of a few obvious typographical errors and have followed Sealts and Ferguson in two corrections Emerson made in presentation copies at the beginning of chapter 4, but we have left several oddities of punctuation, spelling, and rough-and-ready subject-verb agreements. The text is thus the one Emerson offered to his circle of American and British friends in the fall of 1836 as his first bid for a national and international reputation.

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Nature "Nature is but an image or imitation of wisdom, the last thing of the soul; nature being a thing which doth only do, but not know." — P L O T I N U S

1

Introduction O u r a g e is r e t r o s p e c t i v e . It b u i l d s t h e s e p u l c h r e s of t h e f a t h e r s . It writes b i o g r a p h i e s , h i s t o r i e s , a n d criticism. T h e foregoing g e n e r a t i o n s b e h e l d G o d a n d n a t u r e f a c e to f a c e ; w e , t h r o u g h their eyes. W h y s h o u l d not we a l s o enjoy a n original relation to the u n i v e r s e ? W h y s h o u l d not we h a v e a p o e t r y a n d p h i l o s o p h y of insight a n d not of tradition, a n d a religion by revelation to u s , a n d not the history of theirs? E m b o s o m e d for a s e a s o n in n a t u r e , w h o s e floods of life s t r e a m a r o u n d a n d t h r o u g h u s , a n d invite u s by t h e p o w e r s they supply, to a c t i o n p r o p o r t i o n e d to n a t u r e , why s h o u l d we g r o p e a m o n g the dry b o n e s of t h e p a s t , 2 or p u t the living g e n e r a t i o n into m a s q u e r a d e o u t of its f a d e d w a r d r o b e ? T h e s u n s h i n e s to-day a l s o . T h e r e is m o r e wool a n d flax in the fields. T h e r e are n e w l a n d s , n e w m e n , new t h o u g h t s . L e t u s d e m a n d o u r own works a n d laws a n d w o r s h i p . U n d o u b t e d l y we have n o q u e s t i o n s to a s k w h i c h a r e u n a n s w e r a b l e . W e m u s t trust the p e r f e c t i o n of the c r e a t i o n s o far, a s to believe that w h a t e v e r curiosity t h e order of things h a s a w a k e n e d in o u r m i n d s , the order of t h i n g s c a n satisfy. Every m a n ' s condition is a solution in hieroglyphic to t h o s e i n q u i r i e s h e w o u l d p u t . H e a c t s it a s life, before h e a p p r e h e n d s it a s truth. In like m a n n e r , n a t u r e is already, in its f o r m s a n d t e n d e n c i e s , d e s c r i b i n g its own d e s i g n . L e t u s interrogate the g r e a t a p p a r i t i o n , that s h i n e s so p e a c e f u l l y a r o u n d u s . L e t u s i n q u i r e , to what e n d is n a t u r e ? All s c i e n c e h a s o n e a i m , n a m e l y , to find a theory of n a t u r e . W e h a v e t h e o r i e s of r a c e s a n d of f u n c t i o n s , b u t scarcely yet a r e m o t e a p p r o x i m a t i o n to a n i d e a of c r e a t i o n . W e are now so far from the r o a d to t r u t h , that religious t e a c h e r s d i s p u t e a n d h a t e e a c h other, a n d s p e c u l a t i v e m e n a r e e s t e e m e d u n s o u n d a n d frivolous. B u t to a s o u n d j u d g m e n t , the m o s t a b s t r a c t truth is t h e m o s t p r a c t i c a l . W h e n e v e r a true theory a p p e a r s , it will b e its own evid e n c e . Its test is, that it will explain all p h e n o m e n a . N o w m a n y a r e t h o u g h t not only u n e x p l a i n e d b u t inexplicable; a s l a n g u a g e , s l e e p , d r e a m s , b e a s t s , sex. P h i l o s o p h i c a l l y c o n s i d e r e d , the u n i v e r s e is c o m p o s e d of N a t u r e a n d t h e S o u l . Strictly s p e a k i n g , t h e r e f o r e , all that is s e p a r a t e from u s , all w h i c h Phil o s o p h y d i s t i n g u i s h e s a s the NOT M E , 3 that is, b o t h n a t u r e a n d art, all other m e n a n d m y o w n body, m u s t b e r a n k e d u n d e r this n a m e , N A T U R E . In e n u m e r a t i n g t h e v a l u e s of n a t u r e a n d c a s t i n g u p their s u m , I shall u s e the word in b o t h s e n s e s ; — i n its c o m m o n a n d in its p h i l o s o p h i c a l i m p o r t . In inquiries so g e n e r a l a s o u r p r e s e n t o n e , the i n a c c u r a c y is not m a t e r i a l ; n o c o n f u s i o n 1. E m e r s o n found the motto from the R o m a n philosopher Plotinus (205?—270?) in his copy of Ralph Cudworth's The True Intellectual System of the Universe ( 1 8 2 0 ) . 2. An echo of Ezekiel 3 7 . 1 - 1 4 , especially 3 7 . 4 , where G o d tells Ezekiel to "Prophesy upon these bones, and say unto them, O ye dry bones, hear

the word of the Lord." E m e r s o n had left the ministry but was still writing as a prophet. 3. E m e r s o n takes "not m e " from T h o m a s Carlyle's Sartor Resartus (1833—34), where it appears as a translation of the recent G e r m a n philosophical term for everything but the self.

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of t h o u g h t will o c c u r . Nature, in the c o m m o n s e n s e , refers to e s s e n c e s u n c h a n g e d by m a n ; s p a c e , the air, the river, the leaf. Art is a p p l i e d to the mixture of his will with the s a m e things, a s in a h o u s e , a c a n a l , a s t a t u e , a p i c t u r e . B u t his o p e r a t i o n s taken together are so insignificant, a little chipping, baking, p a t c h i n g , a n d w a s h i n g , that in a n i m p r e s s i o n s o g r a n d a s that of the world on the h u m a n m i n d , they do not vary the result. Chapter

I.

Nature

T o go into s o l i t u d e , a m a n n e e d s to retire a s m u c h f r o m his c h a m b e r a s from society. I a m not solitary whilst I read a n d write, t h o u g h n o b o d y is with m e . B u t if a m a n w o u l d be a l o n e , let him look at the s t a r s . T h e rays that c o m e from t h o s e heavenly worlds, will s e p a r a t e b e t w e e n h i m a n d vulgar things. O n e might think the a t m o s p h e r e w a s m a d e t r a n s p a r e n t with this d e s i g n , to give m a n , in the heavenly b o d i e s , the p e r p e t u a l p r e s e n c e of the s u b l i m e . S e e n in the streets of cities, how great they a r e ! If the stars s h o u l d a p p e a r o n e night in a t h o u s a n d years, how w o u l d m e n believe a n d a d o r e ; a n d preserve for m a n y g e n e r a t i o n s the r e m e m b r a n c e of the city of G o d which h a d b e e n s h o w n ! B u t every night c o m e o u t t h e s e p r e a c h e r s of b e a u t y , a n d light the universe with their a d m o n i s h i n g s m i l e . ,. T h e j t a r s a w a k e n a certain r e v e r p n r p h e t ^ u s p r h n n p f ) plways p r e s e n t , they are always i n a c c e s s i b l e ; b u t all n a t u r a l o h j e c t s m a k e a kindred i m p r e s s i o n . w h e n the m i n d is o p e n to their ihlrlienceT N a t u r e never w e a r s a m e a n a p p e a r a n c e . N e i t h e r d o e s the wisest m a n extort all her s e c r e t , a n d l o s e his curiosity by finding o u t all her perfection. N a t u r e never b e c a m e a toy to a wise spirit. T h e flowers, the a n i m a l s , the m o u n t a i n s , reflected all the w i s d o m of his b e s t hour, a s m u c h as they h a d delighted the simplicity of his c h i l d h o o d . W h e n we s p e a k of n a t u r e in this m a n n e r , we have a distinct b u t m o s t poetical s e n s e in the m i n d . W e m e a n the integrity of i m p r e s s i o n m a d e by m a n i f o l d n a t u r a l o b j e c t s . It is this which d i s t i n g u i s h e s the stick of t i m b e r of the wood-cutter, from the tree of the poet. T h e c h a r m i n g l a n d s c a p e w h i c h I saw this m o r n i n g , is indubitably m a d e up of s o m e twenty or thirty f a r m s . Miller owns this field, L o c k e that, a n d M a n n i n g the w o o d l a n d b e y o n d . B u t n o n e of t h e m o w n s the l a n d s c a p e . T h e r e is a property in the horizon w h i c h n o m a n h a s but h e w h o s e eye c a n integrate all the p a r t s , that is, the p o e t . T h i s is the b e s t part of t h e s e m e n ' s f a r m s , yet to this their l a n d - d e e d s give t h e m n o title. 4 T o s p e a k truly, few a d u l t p e r s o n s c a n s e e n a t u r e . M o s t p e r s o n s do not s e e the s u n . At least they have a very superficial s e e i n g . T h e s u n i l l u m i n a t e s only the eye of the m a n , b u t s h i n e s into the eye a n d the heart of the child. T h e lover of n a t u r e is h e w h o s e inward a n d o u t w a r d s e n s e s are still truly a d j u s t e d to e a c h other; w h o h a s r e t a i n e d the spirit of infancy even into the era of m a n h o o d . 5 His i n t e r c o u r s e with h e a v e n a n d e a r t h , b e c o m e s part of his daily food. In the p r e s e n c e of n a t u r e , a wild delight r u n s t h r o u g h the m a n , in spite of real sorrows. N a t u r e s a y s , — h e is my c r e a t u r e , a n d m a u g r e 6 all his imper4. Cf. the opening paragraphs of "Where I Lived, and What I Lived For," chapter 2 of Thoreau's Walden. 5. An echo of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Biographia Literaria, ch. 4, in which Coleridge defines

the character and privilege of genius as the ability to carry the feelings of childhood into the powers of adulthood. 6. Despite.

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tinent griefs, he shall be glad with m e . Not the s u n or the s u m m e r a l o n e , but every h o u r a n d s e a s o n yields its tribute of delight; for every h o u r a n d c h a n g e c o r r e s p o n d s to a n d authorizes a different state of t h e m i n d , from b r e a t h l e s s n o o n to g r i m m e s t midnight. N a t u r e is a s e t t i n g that fits equally well a c o m i c or a m o u r n i n g p i e c e . In g o o d health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. C r o s s i n g a b a r e c o m m o n , in s n o w p u d d l e s , at twilight, u n d e r a c l o u d e d sky, without having in my t h o u g h t s any o c c u r r e n c e of s p e cial g o o d fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. A l m o s t I fear to think how glad I a m . In the w o o d s too, a m a n c a s t s off his years, a s the s n a k e his s l o u g h , a n d at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the w o o d s , is p e r p e t u a l youth. Within t h e s e p l a n t a t i o n s of G o d , a d e c o r u m a n d sanctity reign, a perennial festival is d r e s s e d , a n d the g u e s t s e e s not how he s h o u l d tire of t h e m in a t h o u s a n d years. In the w o o d s , we return to r e a s o n a n d faith. T h e r e I feel that n o t h i n g can befal m e in l i f e , — n o d i s g r a c e , no calamity, (leaving m e my eyes,) which n a t u r e c a n n o t repair. S t a n d i n g o n the b a r e g r o u n d , — m y h e a d b a t h e d by the blithe air, a n d uplifted into infinite s p a c e , — all m e a n e g o t i s m v a n i s h e s . I b e c o m e a t r a n s p a r e n t eye-ball. 7 I a m nothing. I s e e all. T h e c u r r e n t s of the Universal B e i n g c i r c u l a t e t h r o u g h m e ; I a m part or particle of G o d . T h e n a m e of the nearest friend s o u n d s then foreign a n d a c c i d e n t a l . T o be b r o t h e r s , to b e a c q u a i n t a n c e s , — m a s t e r or servant, is then a trifle a n d a d i s t u r b a n c e . I a m the lover of u n c o n t a i n e d a n d immortal beauty. In the w i l d e r n e s s , I find s o m e t h i n g m o r e d e a r a n d c o n n a t e 8 than in streets or villages. In the tranquil l a n d s c a p e , a n d e s p e c i a l l y in the d i s t a n t line of the horizon, m a n b e h o l d s s o m e w h a t a s beautiful a s his own n a t u r e . T h e greatest delight which the fields a n d w o o d s minister, is the s u g g e s t i o n of an o c c u l t relation b e t w e e n m a n a n d the v e g e t a b l e . J a m not a l o n e a n d u n a c k n o w l e d g e d . T h e y nod to m e a n d I to t h e m . T h e waving of the b o u g h s jn the s t o r m , is new to m e a n d old. It takes m e by s u r p r i s e , a n d yet is not u n k n o w n . Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better e m o t i o n c o m ing over m e , w h e n 1 d e e m e d I w a s thinking justly or d o i n g right. Yet it is certain that the power to p r o d u c e this delight, d o e s not reside in n a t u r e , but in m a n , or in a h a r m o n y of both. It is n e c e s s a r y to u s e t h e s e p l e a s u r e s with great t e m p e r a n c e . For, n a t u r e is not always tricked in holiday attire, but the s a m e s c e n e which yesterday b r e a t h e d p e r f u m e a n d glittered a s for the frolic of the n y m p h s , is o v e r s p r e a d with m e l a n c h o l y today. N a t u r e always wears the colors of the spirit. 9 T o a m a n laboring u n d e r calamity, the heat of his own fire hath s a d n e s s in it. T h e n , there is a kind of c o n t e m p t of the l a n d s c a p e felt by him w h o h a s j u s t lost by d e a t h a dear friend. T h e sky is less grand a s it s h u t s d o w n over less worth in the p o p u l a t i o n . Chapter

II.

Commodity'

W h o e v e r c o n s i d e r s the final c a u s e 2 of the world, will d i s c e r n a m u l t i t u d e of u s e s that enter a s parts into that result. T h e y all a d m i t of b e i n g thrown 7. T h e most famous phrase in the essay, endlessly ridiculed and explicated. As Sealts says in The Composition of Nature. Emerson is not "merely repeating what he had already said about the implications of the preceding sentence on the bare common." When the speaker leaves the village for the woods, "the level of discourse is significantly shifted along with the setting, and the ensuingepi-

sode takes place on what Emerson would later call another 'platform' of experience." 8. Related. 9. S e e Emerson's maturer broodings on subjectivity in "Experience" (p. 5 5 6 ) . 1. Usefulness. 2. In the sense of "purpose."

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into o n e of the following c l a s s e s ; C o m m o d i t y ; B e a u t y ; L a n g u a g e ; a n d Discipline. U n d e r the g e n e r a l n a m e of C o m m o d i t y , I rank all t h o s e a d v a n t a g e s which our s e n s e s owe to n a t u r e . T h i s , of c o u r s e , is a benefit which is t e m p o r a r y a n d m e d i a t e , not u l t i m a t e , like its service to the soul. Yet a l t h o u g h low, it is perfect in its kind, a n d is the only u s e of n a t u r e which all m e n a p p r e h e n d . T h e misery of m a n a p p e a r s like childish p e t u l a n c e , w h e n we explore the steady a n d prodigal provision that has b e e n m a d e for his s u p p o r t a n d delight on this green ball which floats him t h r o u g h the h e a v e n s . W h a t a n g e l s invented t h e s e splendid o r n a m e n t s , t h e s e rich c o n v e n i e n c e s , this o c e a n of air above, this o c e a n of water b e n e a t h , this firmament of earth b e t w e e n ? this zodiac of lights, this tent of d r o p p i n g c l o u d s , this striped c o a t of c l i m a t e s , this fourfold year? B e a s t s , fire, water, s t o n e s , a n d corn serve h i m . T h e field is at o n c e his floor, his work-yard, his play-ground, his g a r d e n , a n d his b e d . " M o r e servants wait on m a n T h a n he'll take notice of."

1

N a t u r e , in its ministry to m a n , is not only the material, but is a l s o the p r o c e s s a n d the result. All the parts incessantly work into e a c h other's h a n d s for the profit of m a n . T h e wind sows the s e e d ; the s u n e v a p o r a t e s the s e a ; the wind blows the vapor to the field; the i c e , on the other side of the p l a n e t , c o n d e n s e s rain o n this; the rain f e e d s the p l a n t ; the plant feeds the a n i m a l ; a n d t h u s the e n d l e s s c i r c u l a t i o n s of the divine charity n o u r i s h m a n . T h e useful arts are but r e p r o d u c t i o n s or new c o m b i n a t i o n s by the wit of m a n , of the s a m e natural b e n e f a c t o r s . H e no longer waits for favoring g a l e s , but by m e a n s of s t e a m , h e realizes the fable of / B o l u s ' s b a g , 4 a n d carries the two a n d thirty winds in the boiler of his boat. T o diminish friction, he paves the road with iron b a r s , a n d , m o u n t i n g a c o a c h with a ship-load of m e n , a n i m a l s , a n d m e r c h a n d i s e b e h i n d him, he darts through the country, from town to town, like a n eagle or a swallow t h r o u g h the air. By the a g g r e g a t e of t h e s e a i d s , how is the f a c e of the world c h a n g e d , from the era of N o a h to that of N a p o l e o n ! T h e private p o o r m a n hath cities, s h i p s , c a n a l s , b r i d g e s , built for him. H e g o e s to the post-office, a n d the h u m a n r a c e run on his e r r a n d s ; to the b o o k - s h o p , a n d the h u m a n r a c e read a n d write of all that h a p p e n s , for h i m ; to the c o u r t - h o u s e , a n d n a t i o n s repair his w r o n g s . H e s e t s his h o u s e u p o n the r o a d , a n d the h u m a n r a c e go forth every m o r n i n g , a n d shovel out the snow, a n d c u t a p a t h for h i m . B u t there is n o n e e d of specifying p a r t i c u l a r s in this c l a s s of u s e s . T h e c a t a l o g u e is e n d l e s s , a n d the e x a m p l e s so o b v i o u s , that I shall leave t h e m to the reader's reflection, with the general r e m a r k , that this m e r c e n a r y benefit is o n e which has r e s p e c t to a farther g o o d . A m a n is fed, not that he m a y be fed, but that he may work. Chapter

III.

Beauty

A nobler want of m a n is served by n a t u r e , namely, the love of B e a u t y . T h e a n c i e n t G r e e k s called the world K O O U X X ; beauty. S u c h is the consti5

3. From " M a n . " by the English poet George Herbert ( 1 5 9 3 - 1 6 3 3 ) . quoted at length in chapter VIII, "Prospects." 4. In the Odyssey 10, Aeolus, the god of winds, gives Odysseus a bag containing favorable winds.

but they create a storm when his unwary sailors let them all out at once; here, Emerson refers only to the harnessing of the powers of nature by human beings. "Realizes"; brings into real existence. 5. C o s m o s , or order (Greek).

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tution of all t h i n g s , or s u c h the p l a s t i c 6 power of the h u m a n eye, that the primary f o r m s , a s the sky, the m o u n t a i n , the tree, the a n i m a l , give u s a delight in and for themselves; a p l e a s u r e arising from outline, color, m o t i o n , a n d g r o u p i n g . T h i s s e e m s partly owing to the eye itself. T h e eye is the b e s t of artists. By the m u t u a l action of its s t r u c t u r e a n d of the laws of light, p e r s p e c t i v e is p r o d u c e d , w h i c h integrates every m a s s of o b j e c t s , of w h a t c h a r a c t e r soever, into a well c o l o r e d a n d s h a d e d g l o b e , so that w h e r e the particular o b j e c t s a r e m e a n a n d u n a f f e c t i n g , the l a n d s c a p e which they c o m p o s e , is r o u n d a n d s y m m e t r i c a l . A n d a s the eye is the b e s t c o m p o s e r , s o light is the first of p a i n t e r s . T h e r e is no object s o foul that i n t e n s e light will not m a k e beautiful. A n d the s t i m u l u s it affords to the s e n s e , a n d a sort of infini t u d e which it h a t h , like s p a c e a n d t i m e , m a k e all m a t t e r gay. E v e n the c o r p s e h a t h its own beauty. B u t b e s i d e this general g r a c e diffused over n a t u r e , a l m o s t all the individual f o r m s are a g r e e a b l e to the eye, a s is proved by o u r e n d l e s s i m i t a t i o n s 7 of s o m e of t h e m , a s the a c o r n , the g r a p e , the p i n e - c o n e , the wheat-ear, the egg, the w i n g s a n d f o r m s of m o s t b i r d s , the lion's claw, the s e r p e n t , the butterfly, s e a - s h e l l s , f l a m e s , c l o u d s , b u d s , leaves, a n d the f o r m s of m a n y trees, a s the p a l m . F o r better c o n s i d e r a t i o n , w e m a y distribute the a s p e c t s of B e a u t y in a threefold m a n n e r . 1. First, the s i m p l e p e r c e p t i o n of n a t u r a l f o r m s is a delight. T h e influence of the f o r m s a n d a c t i o n s in n a t u r e , is so needful to m a n , that, in its lowest f u n c t i o n s , it s e e m s to lie on the c o n f i n e s of c o m m o d i t y a n d b e a u t y . T o the body a n d m i n d which have b e e n c r a m p e d by n o x i o u s work or c o m p a n y , n a t u r e is m e d i c i n a l a n d restores their t o n e . T h e t r a d e s m a n , the attorney c o m e s out of the din a n d c r a f t 8 of the street, a n d s e e s the sky a n d the w o o d s , a n d is a m a n a g a i n . In their eternal c a l m , he finds himself. T h e health of the eye s e e m s to d e m a n d a horizon. W e are never tired, s o long a s we c a n s e e far e n o u g h . B u t in other h o u r s , N a t u r e satisfies the soul purely by its loveliness, a n d without any mixture of c o r p o r e a l benefit. I h a v e s e e n the s p e c t a c l e of m o r n ing from the hill-top over a g a i n s t my h o u s e , from day-break to s u n - r i s e , with e m o t i o n s w h i c h a n angel might s h a r e . T h e long s l e n d e r b a r s of c l o u d float like fishes in the s e a of c r i m s o n light. F r o m the e a r t h , a s a s h o r e , I look out into that silent s e a . I s e e m to p a r t a k e its rapid t r a n s f o r m a t i o n s : the active e n c h a n t m e n t r e a c h e s my d u s t , a n d I dilate a n d c o n s p i r e w i t h 9 the m o r n i n g wind. H o w d o e s N a t u r e deify u s with a few a n d c h e a p e l e m e n t s ! G i v e m e health a n d a day, a n d I will m a k e the p o m p of e m p e r o r s r i d i c u l o u s . T h e d a w n is my Assyria; the s u n - s e t a n d m o o n - r i s e my P a p h o s , a n d u n i m a g i n a b l e r e a l m s of faerie, b r o a d n o o n shall b e my E n g l a n d of the s e n s e s a n d the u n d e r s t a n d i n g ; the night shall b e my G e r m a n y of mystic p h i l o s o p h y a n d dreams.1 N o t less excellent, except for our less susceptibility in the a f t e r n o o n , w a s the c h a r m , last evening, of a J a n u a r y s u n s e t . T h e w e s t e r n c l o u d s divided a n d subdivided t h e m s e l v e s into p i n k flakes m o d u l a t e d with tints of u n s p e a k a b l e s o f t n e s s ; a n d the air h a d s o m u c h life a n d s w e e t n e s s , t h a t it w a s a p a i n to 6. Creative. 7. As in architectural and furniture design and decoration. 8. Craftiness, materialism. 9. Breathe with. 1. Assyria was an ancient Near Eastern empire.

Paphos was an ancient city in Cyprus (site of worship of Aphrodite). In the next part of the passage E m e r s o n is contrasting the Scottish C o m m o n S e n s e philosophy with G e r m a n post-Kantian idealism.

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c o m e within d o o r s . W h a t w a s it that n a t u r e would say? W a s t h e r e n o m e a n ing in the live r e p o s e of the valley behind the mill, a n d which H o m e r or S h a k s p e a r e c o u l d not re-form for m e in words? T h e leafless trees b e c o m e spires of flame in the s u n s e t , with the b l u e e a s t for their b a c k g r o u n d , a n d the stars of the d e a d c a l i c e s of flowers, a n d every withered s t e m a n d s t u b b l e r i m e d 2 with frost, c o n t r i b u t e s o m e t h i n g to the m u t e m u s i c . T h e i n h a b i t a n t s of cities s u p p o s e that the country l a n d s c a p e is p l e a s a n t only half the year. I p l e a s e myself with observing the g r a c e s of the winter scenery, a n d believe that we are a s m u c h t o u c h e d by it a s by the g e n i a l 3 influences of s u m m e r . T o the attentive eye, e a c h m o m e n t of the year h a s its own b e a u t y , a n d in the s a m e field, it b e h o l d s , every hour, a p i c t u r e which was never s e e n b e f o r e , a n d which shall never be s e e n a g a i n . T h e h e a v e n s c h a n g e every m o m e n t , a n d reflect their glory or g l o o m o n the p l a i n s b e n e a t h . T h e s t a t e of the c r o p in the s u r r o u n d i n g f a r m s alters the e x p r e s s i o n of the earth from w e e k to week. T h e s u c c e s s i o n of native p l a n t s in the p a s t u r e s a n d r o a d s i d e s , which m a k e the silent c l o c k by which time tells the s u m m e r h o u r s , will m a k e even the divisions of the day s e n s i b l e to a keen observer. T h e tribes of birds a n d i n s e c t s , like the p l a n t s p u n c t u a l to their t i m e , follow e a c h other, a n d the year h a s r o o m for all. By w a t e r - c o u r s e s , the variety is greater. In July, the b l u e p o n t e d e r i a or pickerel-weed b l o o m s in large b e d s in the shallow p a r t s of o u r p l e a s a n t river, 4 a n d s w a r m s with yellow butterflies in c o n t i n u a l m o t i o n . Art c a n n o t rival this p o m p of p u r p l e a n d gold. I n d e e d the river is a perpetual gala, and boasts each month a new ornament. B u t this b e a u t y of N a t u r e which is s e e n a n d felt a s beauty, is the least part. T h e s h o w s of day, the dewy m o r n i n g , the rainbow, m o u n t a i n s , o r c h a r d s in b l o s s o m , s t a r s , m o o n l i g h t , s h a d o w s in still water, a n d the like, if too eagerly h u n t e d , b e c o m e s h o w s merely, a n d m o c k u s with their unreality. G o o u t of the h o u s e to s e e the m o o n , a n d ' t is m e r e tinsel; it will not p l e a s e a s w h e n its light s h i n e s u p o n your n e c e s s a r y j o u r n e y . T h e b e a u t y that s h i m m e r s in the yellow a f t e r n o o n s of O c t o b e r , w h o ever c o u l d c l u t c h it? G o forth to find it, a n d it is g o n e : 't is only a m i r a g e a s you look from the w i n d o w s of the diligence. 2. T h e p r e s e n c e of a higher, n a m e l y , of the spiritual e l e m e n t is e s s e n t i a l to its perfection. T h e high a n d divine b e a u t y which c a n be loved without effeminacy, is that which is f o u n d in c o m b i n a t i o n with the h u m a n will, a n d never s e p a r a t e . B e a u t y is the m a r k G o d sets u p o n virtue. Every n a t u r a l a c t i o n is graceful. Every heroic act is a l s o d e c e n t , 5 a n d c a u s e s the p l a c e a n d the b y s t a n d e r s to s h i n e . W e are t a u g h t by great a c t i o n s that the universe is the property of every individual in it. Every rational c r e a t u r e h a s all n a t u r e for his dowry a n d e s t a t e . It is his, if h e will. H e m a y divest h i m s e l f of it; h e may c r e e p into a corner, a n d a b d i c a t e his k i n g d o m , a s m o s t m e n d o , b u t h e is entitled to the world by his c o n s t i t u t i o n . In proportion to the energy of his thought a n d will, he takes u p the world into himself. "All t h o s e things for which m e n p l o u g h , build, or sail, obey v i r t u e ; " said an a n c i e n t h i s t o r i a n . 6 " T h e winds a n d w a v e s , " s a i d G i b b o n , 7 " a r e always on the side of the a b l e s t n a v i g a t o r s . " S o are the s u n a n d m o o n a n d all the stars of h e a v e n . W h e n a 2. of 3. 4. 5.

Coated. "Calices": i.e., calyxes; the outer whorls leaves or sepals at the bases of flowers. Generative, creative. T h e Concord River. Beautiful.

6. Sallust (1 st century B.C.E.), Roman historian, in "The Conspiracy of Cataline," ch. 2. 7. Edward Gibbon ( 1 7 3 7 - 1 7 9 4 ) , English historian, from The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, ch. 6 8 (JMN 5.108).

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n o b l e act is d o n e , — p e r c h a n c e in a s c e n e of great n a t u r a l b e a u t y ; w h e n L e o n idas a n d his three h u n d r e d martyrs c o n s u m e o n e day in dying, a n d the s u n a n d m o o n c o m e e a c h a n d look at t h e m o n c e in the s t e e p defile of T h e r m o pylae; w h e n Arnold W i n k e l r i e d , 8 in the high A l p s , u n d e r the s h a d o w of the a v a l a n c h e , gathers in his side a s h e a f of A u s t r i a n s p e a r s to b r e a k the line for his c o m r a d e s ; are not t h e s e h e r o e s entitled to a d d the b e a u t y of the s c e n e to the b e a u t y of the d e e d ? W h e n the bark of C o l u m b u s n e a r s the shore of A m e r i c a ; — b e f o r e it, the b e a c h lined with s a v a g e s , fleeing out of all their h u t s of c a n e ; the s e a b e h i n d ; a n d the p u r p l e m o u n t a i n s of the Indian Archip e l a g o a r o u n d , c a n we s e p a r a t e the m a n from the living p i c t u r e ? D o e s not the N e w W o r l d c l o t h e his form with her palm-groves a n d s a v a n n a h s a s fit drapery? Ever d o e s natural b e a u t y steal in like air, a n d e n v e l o p e great a c t i o n s . W h e n Sir Harry V a n e 9 w a s d r a g g e d up the Tower-hill, sitting o n a sled, to suffer d e a t h , a s the c h a m p i o n of the E n g l i s h laws, o n e of the m u l t i t u d e cried out to him, "You never sate on so glorious a s e a t . " C h a r l e s II., to intimidate the citizens of L o n d o n , c a u s e d the patriot L o r d R u s s e l 1 to b e drawn in a n o p e n c o a c h , t h r o u g h the principal streets of the city, on his way to the scaffold. " B u t , " to u s e the s i m p l e narrative of his b i o g r a p h e r , "the m u l t i t u d e i m a g i n e d they s a w liberty a n d virtue sitting by his s i d e . " In private p l a c e s , a m o n g sordid o b j e c t s , an act of truth or h e r o i s m s e e m s at o n c e to draw to itself the sky a s its t e m p l e , the s u n a s its c a n d l e . N a t u r e stretcheth out her a r m s to e m b r a c e m a n , only let his t h o u g h t s b e of e q u a l g r e a t n e s s . Willingly d o e s s h e follow his s t e p s with the rose a n d the violet, a n d b e n d her lines of g r a n d e u r a n d g r a c e to the d e c o r a t i o n of her darling child. Only let his t h o u g h t s be of e q u a l s c o p e , a n d the f r a m e will suit the p i c t u r e . A virtuous m a n , is in u n i s o n with her works, a n d m a k e s the central figure of the visible s p h e r e . H o m e r , Pindar, S o c r a t e s , P h o c i o n , 2 a s s o c i a t e t h e m s e l v e s fitly in our m e m o r y with the whole g e o g r a p h y a n d c l i m a t e of G r e e c e . T h e visible heave n s a n d earth s y m p a t h i z e with J e s u s . A n d in c o m m o n life, w h o s o e v e r h a s s e e n a p e r s o n of powerful c h a r a c t e r a n d h a p p y g e n i u s , will have r e m a r k e d how easily he took all things a l o n g with h i m , — t h e p e r s o n s , the o p i n i o n s , a n d the day, a n d n a t u r e b e c a m e ancillary to a m a n . 3. T h e r e is still a n o t h e r a s p e c t u n d e r w h i c h the b e a u t y of the world m a y b e viewed, namely, a s it b e c o m e s an object of the intellect. B e s i d e the relation of things to virtue, they have a relation to t h o u g h t . T h e intellect s e a r c h e s out the a b s o l u t e order of things a s they s t a n d in the m i n d of G o d , a n d without the colors of a f f e c t i o n . ' T h e intellectual a n d the active p o w e r s s e e m to s u c c e e d e a c h other in m a n , a n d the exclusive activity of the o n e , g e n e r a t e s the exclusive activity of the other. T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g unfriendly in e a c h to the other, but they a r e like the alternate p e r i o d s of f e e d i n g a n d working in anim a l s ; e a c h p r e p a r e s a n d certainly will b e followed by the other. T h e r e f o r e d o e s beauty, w h i c h , in relation to a c t i o n s , a s we have s e e n c o m e s u n s o u g h t , a n d c o m e s b e c a u s e it is u n s o u g h t , r e m a i n for the a p p r e h e n s i o n a n d p u r s u i t 8. Arnold von Winkelried, a Swiss hero, was killed (1 386) in a battle against the Austrians at Sempaeh. Leonidas, king of Sparta, was killed (c. 4 8 0 B.C.E.) defending the pass at Thermopylae against the Persian army led by Xerxes. 9. A Puritan, once colonial governor of M a s s a c h u setts; he was executed for treason in 1662. 1. William, Lord Russel (b. 1639) was executed for treason in 1683 after perjurous testimony.JMN

(5.76) cites Emerson's source as Alexander Chalm e r s General Biographical Dictionary: 2. Athenian statesman and general of the 4th century B.C.E. Emerson knew of him from Plutarch's Lives. Homer was the legendary Greek author of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Pindar was a Greek lyric poet of the 5th and 6th centuries B.C.E. Socrates was a Greek philosopher of the 5th century B.C.E. 3. Modifying emotions.

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of the intellect; a n d then a g a i n , in its turn, of the active power. N o t h i n g divine dies. All g o o d is eternally reproductive. T h e b e a u t y of n a t u r e reforms itself in the m i n d , a n d not for barren c o n t e m p l a t i o n , b u t for n e w c r e a t i o n . All m e n are in s o m e d e g r e e i m p r e s s e d by the f a c e of the world. S o m e m e n even to delight. T h i s love of b e a u t y is T a s t e . O t h e r s have the s a m e love in s u c h e x c e s s , that, not c o n t e n t with admiring, they s e e k to e m b o d y it in n e w f o r m s . T h e creation of b e a u t y is Art. T h e p r o d u c t i o n of a work of art throws a light u p o n the mystery of h u m a n ity. A work of art is an a b s t r a c t or e p i t o m e of the world. It is the result or expression of n a t u r e , in m i n i a t u r e . F o r a l t h o u g h the works of n a t u r e are i n n u m e r a b l e a n d all different, the result or the expression of t h e m all is similar a n d single. N a t u r e is a s e a of f o r m s radically alike a n d even u n i q u e . 4 A leaf, a s u n - b e a m , a l a n d s c a p e , the o c e a n , m a k e a n a n a l o g o u s i m p r e s s i o n on the m i n d . W h a t is c o m m o n to t h e m a l l , — t h a t p e r f e c t n e s s a n d h a r m o n y , is beauty. T h e r e f o r e the s t a n d a r d of b e a u t y , is the entire circuit of natural f o r m s , — t h e totality of n a t u r e ; which the Italians e x p r e s s e d by defining beauty "il piu nell' u n o . " ' N o t h i n g is q u i t e beautiful a l o n e : n o t h i n g but is beautiful in the w h o l e . A single object is only so far beautiful a s it s u g g e s t s this universal g r a c e . T h e p o e t , the painter, the s c u l p t o r , the m u s i c i a n , the architect s e e k e a c h to c o n c e n t r a t e this r a d i a n c e of the world o n o n e point, a n d e a c h in his several work to satisfy the love of b e a u t y which s t i m u l a t e s him to p r o d u c e . T h u s is Art, a n a t u r e p a s s e d through the a l e m b i c 6 of m a n . T h u s in art, d o e s n a t u r e work through the will of a m a n filled with the b e a u t y of her first works. T h e world t h u s exists to the soul to satisfy the desire of beauty. Extend this e l e m e n t to the u t t e r m o s t , a n d I call it a n u l t i m a t e e n d . N o r e a s o n c a n be a s k e d or given why the soul s e e k s beauty. B e a u t y , in its largest a n d prof o u n d e s t s e n s e , is o n e e x p r e s s i o n for the u n i v e r s e . G o d is the all-fair. T r u t h , a n d g o o d n e s s , a n d b e a u t y , are but different f a c e s of the s a m e All. B u t b e a u t y in n a t u r e is not u l t i m a t e . It is the herald of inward a n d eternal b e a u t y , a n d is not a l o n e a solid a n d satisfactory g o o d . It m u s t therefore s t a n d a s a part a n d not a s yet the last or highest expression of the final c a u s e of N a t u r e . Chanter

IV.

Language

A third u s e which N a t u r e s u b s e r v e s to m a n is that of L a n g u a g e . N a t u r e is the vehicle of t h o u g h t , a n d in a s i m p l e , d o u b l e , a n d threefold d e g r e e . 1 . W o r d s are signs of natural facts. 2. Particular natural facts are s y m b o l s of particular spiritual facts. 3. N a t u r e is the symbol of spirit. 1 . W o r d s are signs of natural facts. T h e u s e of natural history is to give u s aid in s u p e r n a t u r a l history. T h e u s e of the o u t e r creation is to give u s l a n g u a g e for the b e i n g s a n d c h a n g e s of the inward c r e a t i o n . Every word which is u s e d to express a moral or intellectual fact, if t r a c e d to its root, is found to be borrowed from s o m e material a p p e a r a n c e . Right originally m e a n s straight; wrong m e a n s twisted. Spirit primarily m e a n s wind; transgression, the c r o s s i n g of a line; supercilious, the raising of the eye-brow. W e say the heart 4. Similar to the point of being identical. 5. T h e many in one (Italian); a borrowing from

Coleridge. 6. A distilling apparatus.

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to e x p r e s s e m o t i o n , t h e head to d e n o t e t h o u g h t ; a n d thought a n d emotion a r e , in their turn, w o r d s b o r r o w e d from s e n s i b l e t h i n g s , a n d n o w appropria t e d to spiritual n a t u r e . M o s t of the p r o c e s s by w h i c h this t r a n s f o r m a t i o n is m a d e , is h i d d e n from u s in the r e m o t e t i m e w h e n l a n g u a g e w a s f r a m e d ; b u t t h e s a m e t e n d e n c y m a y b e daily o b s e r v e d in c h i l d r e n . C h i l d r e n a n d s a v a g e s u s e only n o u n s or n a m e s of things, w h i c h they c o n t i n u a l l y c o n v e r t into verbs, a n d apply to a n a l o g o u s m e n t a l a c t s . 2 . B u t this origin of all w o r d s that convey a spiritual i m p o r t , — s o c o n s p i c u o u s a fact in the history of l a n g u a g e , — i s o u r l e a s t d e b t to n a t u r e . It is not words only that a r e e m b l e m a t i c ; it is things w h i c h a r e e m b l e m a t i c . Every n a t u r a l fact is a s y m b o l of s o m e spiritual f a c t . 7 Every a p p e a r a n c e in n a t u r e c o r r e s p o n d s to s o m e s t a t e of the m i n d , a n d that s t a t e of the m i n d c a n only b e d e s c r i b e d by p r e s e n t i n g that n a t u r a l a p p e a r a n c e a s its p i c t u r e . A n e n r a g e d m a n is a lion, a c u n n i n g m a n is a fox, a firm m a n is a rock, a l e a r n e d m a n is a t o r c h . A l a m b is i n n o c e n c e ; a s n a k e is s u b t l e s p i t e ; flowers e x p r e s s to u s the d e l i c a t e a f f e c t i o n s . Light a n d d a r k n e s s are o u r familiar e x p r e s s i o n for k n o w l e d g e a n d i g n o r a n c e ; a n d h e a t for love. Visible d i s t a n c e b e h i n d a n d before u s , is respectively o u r i m a g e of m e m o r y a n d h o p e . W h o looks u p o n a river in a meditative h o u r , a n d is not r e m i n d e d of the flux of all t h i n g s ? T h r o w a s t o n e into t h e s t r e a m , a n d the circles that p r o p a g a t e t h e m s e l v e s are the beautiful type of all i n f l u e n c e . M a n is c o n s c i o u s of a universal soul within or b e h i n d his individual life, w h e r e i n , a s in a firmam e n t , t h e n a t u r e s of J u s t i c e , T r u t h , L o v e , F r e e d o m , arise a n d s h i n e . T h i s universal s o u l , he calls R e a s o n : it is not m i n e or thine or h i s , b u t we are its; we are its property a n d m e n . 8 A n d the b l u e sky in w h i c h the private earth is b u r i e d , the sky with its e t e r n a l c a l m , a n d full of e v e r l a s t i n g o r b s , is the type of R e a s o n . T h a t w h i c h , intellectually c o n s i d e r e d , we call R e a s o n , c o n s i d e r e d in relation to n a t u r e , we call Spirit. Spirit is t h e C r e a t o r . Spirit h a t h life in itself. A n d m a n in all a g e s a n d c o u n t r i e s , e m b o d i e s it in his l a n g u a g e , a s the FATHER.

It is easily s e e n that there is n o t h i n g lucky or c a p r i c i o u s in t h e s e a n a l o g i e s , b u t that they a r e c o n s t a n t , a n d p e r v a d e n a t u r e . T h e s e are not t h e d r e a m s of a few p o e t s , h e r e a n d t h e r e , b u t m a n is a n a n a l o g i s t , a n d s t u d i e s relations in all o b j e c t s . H e is p l a c e d in t h e c e n t r e of b e i n g s , a n d a ray of relation p a s s e s from every o t h e r b e i n g to h i m . A n d neither c a n m a n b e u n d e r s t o o d without t h e s e o b j e c t s , nor t h e s e o b j e c t s without m a n . All t h e f a c t s in n a t u r a l history taken by t h e m s e l v e s , have n o v a l u e , b u t a r e b a r r e n like a single sex. B u t marry it to h u m a n history, a n d it is full of life. W h o l e F l o r a s , all L i n n a e u s ' a n d B u f f o n ' s 9 v o l u m e , a r e b u t dry c a t a l o g u e s of f a c t s ; b u t t h e m o s t trivial of t h e s e f a c t s , the habit of a p l a n t , t h e o r g a n s , or work, or n o i s e of a n i n s e c t , a p p l i e d to the illustration of a fact in i n t e l l e c t u a l p h i l o s o p h y , or, in a n y way a s s o c i a t e d to h u m a n n a t u r e , affects u s in the m o s t lively a n d a g r e e a b l e m a n ner. T h e s e e d of a p l a n t , — t o what a f f e c t i n g a n a l o g i e s in t h e n a t u r e of m a n , is that little fruit m a d e u s e of, in all d i s c o u r s e , u p to t h e voice of P a u l , w h o calls the h u m a n c o r p s e a s e e d , — " I t is s o w n a n a t u r a l b o d y ; it is r a i s e d a spiritual b o d y . " 1 T h e m o t i o n of the earth r o u n d its axis, a n d r o u n d t h e s u n , 7. This p a s s a g e owes m u c h to the Swedish theologian and mystic E m a n u e l Swedenborg (1688— 1772), whose doctrine of correspondence between the inner and outer worlds underlies much of Emerson's thought. 8. As he regularly does, E m e r s o n uses reason to

mean something like what we think of as the intuitive powers of the mind and understanding to mean the rational powers. 9. French naturalist ( 1 7 0 7 - 1 7 8 8 ) . Linnaeus was Carl von Linne ( 1 7 0 7 - 1 7 7 8 ) , Swedish botanist. 1. 1 Corinthians 15.44.

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m a k e s the day, a n d the year. T h e s e are certain a m o u n t s of b r u t e light a n d heat. B u t is there no intent of a n analogy b e t w e e n m a n ' s life a n d the s e a s o n s ? A n d do the s e a s o n s gain n o g r a n d e u r or p a t h o s from that a n a l o g y ? T h e instincts of the a n t are very u n i m p o r t a n t c o n s i d e r e d a s the a n t ' s ; b u t the m o m e n t a ray of relation is s e e n to extend from it to m a n , a n d the little d r u d g e is s e e n to be a m o n i t o r , a little body with a mighty heart, then all its h a b i t s , even that said to be recently o b s e r v e d , that it never s l e e p s , b e c o m e sublime. B e c a u s e of this r a d i c a l 2 c o r r e s p o n d e n c e b e t w e e n visible things a n d h u m a n t h o u g h t s , s a v a g e s , w h o have only what is n e c e s s a r y , c o n v e r s e in figures. As we go b a c k in history, l a n g u a g e b e c o m e s m o r e p i c t u r e s q u e , until its infancy, w h e n it is all poetry; or, all spiritual facts are r e p r e s e n t e d by n a t u r a l s y m b o l s . 1 T h e s a m e symbols a r e f o u n d to m a k e the original e l e m e n t s of all l a n g u a g e s . It has moreover b e e n o b s e r v e d , that the i d i o m s of all l a n g u a g e s a p p r o a c h e a c h other in p a s s a g e s of the greatest e l o q u e n c e a n d power. A n d a s this is the first l a n g u a g e , s o is it the last. T h i s i m m e d i a t e d e p e n d e n c e of l a n g u a g e u p o n n a t u r e , this conversion of a n o u t w a r d p h e n o m e n o n into a type of s o m e what in h u m a n life, never loses its power to affect u s . It is this w h i c h gives that p i q u a n c y to the c o n v e r s a t i o n of a s t r o n g - n a t u r e d f a r m e r or backw o o d s m a n , which all m e n relish. T h u s is n a t u r e a n interpreter, by w h o s e m e a n s m a n c o n v e r s e s with his fellow m e n . A m a n ' s power to c o n n e c t his thought with its p r o p e r symbol, a n d so utter it, d e p e n d s on the simplicity of his c h a r a c t e r , that is, u p o n his love of truth a n d his desire to c o m m u n i c a t e it without l o s s . T h e c o r r u p t i o n of m a n is followed by the corruption of l a n g u a g e . W h e n simplicity of chara c t e r a n d the sovereignty of i d e a s is broken u p by the p r e v a l e n c e of s e c o n d a r y d e s i r e s , the desire of r i c h e s , the desire of p l e a s u r e , the desire of power, the desire of p r a i s e , — a n d duplicity a n d f a l s e h o o d take p l a c e of simplicity a n d truth, the power over n a t u r e a s a n interpreter of the will, is in a d e g r e e lost; n e w imagery c e a s e s to be c r e a t e d , a n d old w o r d s are perverted to s t a n d for things which are not; a p a p e r c u r r e n c y is e m p l o y e d w h e n there is n o bullion in the vaults. In d u e t i m e , the fraud is m a n i f e s t , a n d w o r d s lose all p o w e r to s t i m u l a t e the u n d e r s t a n d i n g or the affections. H u n d r e d s of writers m a y be f o u n d in every long-civilized nation, w h o for a short time believe, a n d m a k e others believe, that they s e e a n d utter truths, w h o do not of t h e m s e l v e s c l o t h e o n e t h o u g h t in its natural g a r m e n t , but w h o feed u n c o n s c i o u s l y u p o n the l a n g u a g e c r e a t e d by the primary writers of the country, t h o s e , n a m e l y , w h o hold primarily o n n a t u r e . B u t wise m e n p i e r c e this rotten diction a n d fasten w o r d s a g a i n to visible things; s o that p i c t u r e s q u e l a n g u a g e is at o n c e a c o m m a n d i n g certificate that h e w h o e m p l o y s it, is a m a n in alliance with truth a n d G o d . T h e m o m e n t our d i s c o u r s e rises a b o v e the g r o u n d line of familiar f a c t s , a n d is inflamed with p a s s i o n or exalted by t h o u g h t , it c l o t h e s itself in i m a g e s . A m a n c o n versing in e a r n e s t , if h e w a t c h his intellectual p r o c e s s e s , will find that always a material i m a g e , m o r e or less l u m i n o u s , a r i s e s in his m i n d , c o n t e m p o r a n e o u s with every t h o u g h t , which furnishes the v e s t m e n t of the t h o u g h t . H e n c e , g o o d writing a n d brilliant d i s c o u r s e a r e p e r p e t u a l allegories. T h i s imagery is s p o n t a n e o u s . It is the b l e n d i n g of e x p e r i e n c e with the p r e s e n t 2. Fundamental (literally "from the root"). 3. T h e superseded theory of language was a Romantic commonplace, familiar to Emerson from

Percy Bysshe Shelley's "A Defense of Poetry" ( 1 8 2 1 ) : "In the infancy of society every author is necessarily a poet."

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a c t i o n of the m i n d . It is p r o p e r c r e a t i o n . It is the working of the Original C a u s e through the i n s t r u m e n t s he h a s already m a d e . T h e s e facts may s u g g e s t the a d v a n t a g e which the country-life p o s s e s s e s for a powerful m i n d , over the artificial a n d curtailed life of cities. W e know m o r e from n a t u r e than we c a n at will c o m m u n i c a t e . Its light flows into the m i n d e v e r m o r e , a n d we forget its p r e s e n c e . T h e p o e t , the orator, b r e d in the w o o d s , w h o s e s c e n e s have b e e n n o u r i s h e d by their fair a n d a p p e a s i n g c h a n g e s , year after year, without d e s i g n a n d without h e e d , — s h a l l not lose their lesson altogether, in the roar of cities or the broil of politics. L o n g hereafter, a m i d s t agitation a n d terror in national c o u n c i l s , — i n the hour of r e v o l u t i o n , — t h e s e s o l e m n i m a g e s shall r e a p p e a r in their m o r n i n g l u s t r e , a s fit symbols a n d w o r d s of the t h o u g h t s which the p a s s i n g events shall a w a k e n . At the call of a n o b l e s e n t i m e n t , again the w o o d s wave, the p i n e s m u r m u r , the river rolls a n d s h i n e s , a n d the cattle low u p o n the m o u n t a i n s , a s h e saw a n d heard t h e m in his infancy. A n d with t h e s e f o r m s , the spells of p e r s u a s i o n , the keys of power a r e put into his h a n d s . 3. W e are t h u s a s s i s t e d by n a t u r a l o b j e c t s in the expression of particular m e a n i n g s . B u t how great a l a n g u a g e to convey s u c h p e p p e r - c o r n informations! Did it n e e d s u c h noble r a c e s of c r e a t u r e s , this profusion of f o r m s , this host of orbs in h e a v e n , to furnish m a n with the dictionary a n d g r a m m a r of his m u n i c i p a l s p e e c h ? Whilst we u s e this g r a n d cipher to expedite the affairs of our pot a n d kettle, we feel that we have not yet p u t it to its u s e , neither are a b l e . W e are like travellers u s i n g the c i n d e r s of a v o l c a n o to roast their e g g s . Whilst we s e e that it always s t a n d s ready to c l o t h e what we would say, we c a n n o t avoid the q u e s t i o n , w h e t h e r the c h a r a c t e r s are not significant of t h e m s e l v e s . H a v e m o u n t a i n s , a n d w a v e s , a n d skies, no s i g n i f i c a n c e but what we c o n s c i o u s l y give t h e m , w h e n we e m p l o y t h e m a s e m b l e m s of our t h o u g h t s ? T h e world is e m b l e m a t i c . P a r t s of s p e e c h are m e t a p h o r s b e c a u s e the w h o l e of n a t u r e is a m e t a p h o r of the h u m a n m i n d . T h e laws of moral n a t u r e a n s w e r to t h o s e of m a t t e r a s f a c e to f a c e in a g l a s s . " T h e visible world a n d the relation of its p a r t s , is the dial p l a t e of the invisible." 4 T h e a x i o m s of physics translate the laws of ethics. 1 1 T h u s , "the w h o l e is greater than its p a r t ; " "reaction is e q u a l to a c t i o n ; " "the s m a l l e s t weight may be m a d e to lift the g r e a t e s t , the difference of weight b e i n g c o m p e n s a t e d by t i m e ; " a n d m a n y the like p r o p o s i t i o n s , which have a n ethical a s well a s physical s e n s e . T h e s e p r o p o s i t i o n s have a m u c h m o r e extensive a n d universal s e n s e w h e n a p p l i e d to h u m a n life, than w h e n confined to t e c h n i c a l u s e . In like m a n n e r , the m e m o r a b l e w o r d s of history, a n d the proverbs of n a t i o n s , c o n s i s t usually of a natural fact, s e l e c t e d as a p i c t u r e or p a r a b l e of a moral truth. T h u s ; A rolling s t o n e g a t h e r s no m o s s ; A bird in the h a n d is worth two in the b u s h ; A cripple in the right way, will b e a t a racer in the wrong; M a k e hay whilst the s u n s h i n e s ; 'T is hard to carry a full c u p even; Vinegar is the son of w i n e ; T h e last o u n c e broke the c a m e l ' s b a c k ; L o n g lived trees m a k e roots f i r s t ; — a n d the l i k e . 6 In their primary s e n s e t h e s e are trivial f a c t s , but we repeat them for the value of their a n a l o g i c a l import. W h a t is true of proverbs, is true of all f a b l e s , p a r a b l e s , a n d allegories. 4. Emerson copied the Swedenborg quotation from the New Jerusalem Magazine (Julv I 8 3 2 ) , 4 3 7 ( J M N 4.33). 5. Adapted from M m e . De Stael's "Germany? ( 1 8 1 3 ) : "Not a mathematical axiom hut is a moral rule" {JMN 3.255).

6. A list of proverbs in JMN (6.1.38-41) includes several of these, the one about the cripple in the race being attributed to Francis Bacon's " T h e Advancement of Learning," II, and the one about the full c u p being attributed to Robert Leighton's Select Works.

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T h i s relation b e t w e e n the m i n d a n d matter is not fancied by s o m e poet, but s t a n d s in the will of G o d , a n d so is free to b e known by all m e n . It a p p e a r s to m e n , or it d o e s not a p p e a r . W h e n in fortunate h o u r s we p o n d e r this m i r a c l e , the wise m a n d o u b t s , if, at all other t i m e s , h e is not blind a n d deaf; " C a n t h e s e things b e , A n d o v e r c o m e u s like a s u m m e r ' s c l o u d , W i t h o u t our special w o n d e r ? " 7 for the universe b e c o m e s t r a n s p a r e n t , a n d the light of higher laws than its own, s h i n e s t h r o u g h it. It is the s t a n d i n g p r o b l e m which h a s exercised the wonder a n d the study of every fine g e n i u s s i n c e the world b e g a n ; from the era of the E g y p t i a n s a n d the B r a h m i n s , to that of P y t h a g o r a s , of P l a t o , of B a c o n , of Leibnitz, of S w e d e n b o r g . 8 T h e r e sits the S p h i n x at the r o a d - s i d e , a n d from a g e to a g e , a s e a c h prophet c o m e s by, he tries his f o r t u n e at r e a d i n g her r i d d l e . 9 T h e r e s e e m s to b e a necessity in spirit to m a n i f e s t itself in m a t e rial f o r m s ; a n d day a n d night, river a n d s t o r m , b e a s t a n d bird, acid a n d alkali, preexist in n e c e s s a r y Ideas in the m i n d of G o d , a n d a r e what they are by virtue of p r e c e d i n g affections, 1 in the world of spirit. A F a c t is the e n d or last i s s u e of spirit. T h e visible creation is the t e r m i n u s or the c i r c u m f e r e n c e of the invisible world. " M a t e r i a l o b j e c t s , " said a F r e n c h p h i l o s o p h e r , " a r e necessarily kinds of scoriae of the s u b s t a n t i a l t h o u g h t s of the C r e a t o r , which m u s t always preserve a n exact relation to their first origin; in other w o r d s , visible n a t u r e m u s t have a spiritual a n d moral s i d e . " 2 T h i s doctrine is a b s t r u s e , a n d t h o u g h the i m a g e s of " g a r m e n t , " "scoriae," "mirror," & c , may s t i m u l a t e the fancy, we m u s t s u m m o n the aid of s u b t l e r a n d m o r e vital expositors to m a k e it plain. "Every scripture is to b e interpreted by the s a m e spirit which gave it f o r t h , " — i s the f u n d a m e n t a l law of c r i t i c i s m . ' A life in h a r m o n y with n a t u r e , the love of truth a n d of virtue, will p u r g e the eyes to u n d e r s t a n d her text. By d e g r e e s we m a y c o m e to know the primitive s e n s e of the p e r m a n e n t o b j e c t s of n a t u r e , s o that the world shall b e to u s an o p e n book, a n d every form significant of its h i d d e n life a n d final cause. A n e w interest s u r p r i s e s u s , whilst, u n d e r the view n o w s u g g e s t e d , we c o n t e m p l a t e the fearful extent a n d m u l t i t u d e of o b j e c t s ; s i n c e "every object rightly s e e n , u n l o c k s a new faculty of the s o u l . " 4 T h a t which w a s u n c o n s c i o u s truth, b e c o m e s , w h e n interpreted a n d defined in an o b j e c t , a part of the d o m a i n of k n o w l e d g e , — a n e w a m o u n t to the m a g a z i n e 5 of power. Chapter

V.

Discipline6

In view of this significance of n a t u r e , we arrive at o n c e at a new fact, that n a t u r e is a discipline. T h i s u s e of the world i n c l u d e s the p r e c e d i n g u s e s , a s parts of itself. 7. Shakespeare's Macbeth 3 . 4 . 1 1 0 - 1 2 (Emerson misquotes "these" for "such"). 8. For Emerson, representatives of "every fine genius since the world b e g a n " {Early Lectures, 1.224). 9. In Greek mythology, the winged monster with a lion's body and the head and breasts of a woman perched on a rock near Thebes and challenged every passerby with a riddle; if they answered incorrectly, she killed them. When Oedipus answered it correctly, she killed herself. 1. Modifying emotions.

2. Guillaume Oegger, " T h e True Messiah" ( 1 8 2 9 ) , which Emerson had seen in a manuscript translation, perhaps by Elizabeth Peabody, "Scoria?": i.e.. scoria; slag or refuse left after metal has been smelted from ore. 3. From the English Quaker George Fox (1624— 1691) (/MN 4 . 3 1 ) . 4. From Coleridge's Aids to Reflection ( 1 8 2 9 ) , 1 5 0 - 5 1 (JMN 5 . 1 8 9 ) . 5. Storehouse. 6. Whicher quotes the American literature anthologists Bradley, Beatty. and Long for their caution

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S p a c e , t i m e , society, labor, c l i m a t e , food, l o c o m o t i o n , the a n i m a l s , the m e c h a n i c a l f o r c e s , give u s s i n c e r e s t l e s s o n s , day by day, w h o s e m e a n i n g is u n l i m i t e d . T h e y e d u c a t e b o t h the U n d e r s t a n d i n g a n d the R e a s o n . Every property of m a t t e r is a s c h o o l for the u n d e r s t a n d i n g , — i t s solidity or resist a n c e , its inertia, its extension, its figure, its divisibility. T h e u n d e r s t a n d i n g a d d s , divides, c o m b i n e s , m e a s u r e s , a n d finds everlasting n u t r i m e n t a n d r o o m for its activity in this worthy s c e n e . M e a n t i m e , R e a s o n transfers all t h e s e l e s s o n s into its own world of t h o u g h t , by perceiving the analogy that m a r r i e s Matter and Mind. 1. N a t u r e is a discipline of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g in intellectual t r u t h s . O u r d e a l i n g with s e n s i b l e o b j e c t s is a c o n s t a n t exercise in the n e c e s s a r y l e s s o n s of difference, of likeness, of order, of b e i n g a n d s e e m i n g , of progressive a r r a n g e m e n t ; 7 of a s c e n t from p a r t i c u l a r to g e n e r a l ; of c o m b i n a t i o n to o n e e n d of m a n i f o l d forces. P r o p o r t i o n e d to the i m p o r t a n c e of the o r g a n to b e f o r m e d , is the extreme c a r e with which its tuition is p r o v i d e d , — a c a r e pret e r m i t t e d 8 in n o single c a s e . W h a t t e d i o u s training, day after day, year after year, never e n d i n g , to form the c o m m o n s e n s e ; w h a t c o n t i n u a l r e p r o d u c t i o n of a n n o y a n c e s , i n c o n v e n i e n c e s , d i l e m m a s ; w h a t rejoicing over u s of little m e n ; w h a t d i s p u t i n g of p r i c e s , what r e c k o n i n g s of i n t e r e s t , — a n d all to form the H a n d of the m i n d ; — t o instruct u s that " g o o d t h o u g h t s are n o better than g o o d d r e a m s , u n l e s s they b e e x e c u t e d ! " 9 T h e s a m e g o o d office is p e r f o r m e d by Property a n d its filial s y s t e m s of d e b t a n d credit. D e b t , grinding debt, w h o s e iron f a c e the widow, the o r p h a n , a n d the s o n s of g e n i u s fear a n d h a t e ; — d e b t , which c o n s u m e s s o m u c h t i m e , which so cripples a n d d i s h e a r t e n s a great spirit with c a r e s that s e e m so b a s e , is a p r e c e p t o r w h o s e l e s s o n s c a n n o t b e f o r e g o n e , a n d is n e e d e d m o s t by t h o s e w h o suffer from it m o s t . M o r e o v e r , property, w h i c h h a s b e e n well c o m p a r e d to s n o w , — " i f it fall level to-day, it will b e b l o w n into drifts t o m o r r o w , " — i s merely the s u r f a c e a c t i o n of internal m a c h i n e r y , like the index o n the f a c e of a clock. Whilst n o w it is the g y m n a s t i c s of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g , it is hiving in the foresight of the spirit, e x p e r i e n c e in p r o f o u n d e r laws. T h e w h o l e c h a r a c t e r a n d f o r t u n e of the individual is affected by the least inequalities in the c u l t u r e of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g ; for e x a m p l e , in the p e r c e p tion of d i f f e r e n c e s . T h e r e f o r e is S p a c e , a n d therefore T i m e , that m a n m a y know that things are not h u d d l e d a n d l u m p e d , b u t s u n d e r e d a n d individual. A bell a n d a p l o u g h have e a c h their u s e , a n d neither c a n d o the office of the other. W a t e r is g o o d to drink, coal to b u r n , wool to wear; b u t wool c a n n o t be drunk, nor w a t e r s p u n , nor coal e a t e n . T h e wise m a n s h o w s his w i s d o m in s e p a r a t i o n , in g r a d a t i o n , a n d his s c a l e of c r e a t u r e s a n d of m e r i t s , is a s wide a s n a t u r e . T h e foolish have n o r a n g e in their s c a l e , b u t s u p p o s e every m a n is as every other m a n . W h a t is not g o o d they call the worst, a n d w h a t is not hateful, they call the b e s t . In like m a n n e r , w h a t g o o d h e e d , n a t u r e f o r m s in u s ! S h e p a r d o n s n o mist a k e s . H e r yea is yea, a n d her nay, nay. T h e first s t e p s in A g r i c u l t u r e , A s t r o n o m y , Zoology, ( t h o s e first s t e p s w h i c h about the term discipline: "A trained ecclesiastic, Emerson utilizes the dualism of this word, signifying at once a controlled obedience to the absolute, and, secondly, the ecclesiastical discipline of practical rules affecting conduct." 7. A borrowing from Coleridge's "The Friend"

( 1 8 1 8 ) . Emerson made a note on "what Coleridge defines Method, viz. progressive arrangement" ( J M N 3.299). 8. Neglected. "Tuition": guardianship. 9. Adapted from Francis Bacon's essay "Of Great Place" (JMN 5 . 1 3 6 ) .

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the farmer, the hunter, a n d the sailor take,) t e a c h that nature's dice are always l o a d e d ; that in her h e a p s a n d r u b b i s h are c o n c e a l e d s u r e a n d useful results. H o w calmly a n d genially the m i n d a p p r e h e n d s o n e after a n o t h e r the laws of physics! W h a t n o b l e e m o t i o n s dilate the mortal a s h e e n t e r s into the c o u n s e l s of the c r e a t i o n , a n d feels by k n o w l e d g e the privilege to BE! H i s insight refines h i m . T h e b e a u t y of n a t u r e s h i n e s in his own b r e a s t . M a n is greater that he c a n s e e this, a n d the universe less, b e c a u s e T i m e a n d S p a c e relations vanish a s laws are known. H e r e again we are i m p r e s s e d a n d even d a u n t e d by the i m m e n s e U n i v e r s e to b e explored. 'What we know, is a point to w h a t we d o not know.' 1 O p e n any r e c e n t j o u r n a l of s c i e n c e , a n d weigh the p r o b l e m s s u g g e s t e d c o n c e r n i n g Light, H e a t , Electricity, M a g n e t i s m , Physiology, G e o l o g y , a n d j u d g e w h e t h e r the interest of natural s c i e n c e is likely to b e s o o n e x h a u s t e d . P a s s i n g by m a n y p a r t i c u l a r s of the discipline of n a t u r e w e m u s t not o m i t to specify two. T h e exercise of the Will or the l e s s o n of p o w e r is t a u g h t in every event. F r o m the child's s u c c e s s i v e p o s s e s s i o n of his several s e n s e s u p to the h o u r w h e n he saith, "thy will be d o n e ! " 2 he is l e a r n i n g the s e c r e t , that he c a n r e d u c e u n d e r his will, not only particular e v e n t s , b u t great c l a s s e s , nay the whole series of events, a n d so c o n f o r m all facts to his c h a r a c t e r . N a t u r e is thoroughly m e d i a t e . It is m a d e to serve. It receives the d o m i n i o n of m a n a s meekly a s the a s s o n which the S a v i o u r r o d e . 3 It offers all its k i n g d o m s to m a n a s the raw material which he m a y m o u l d into what is useful. M a n is never weary of working it u p . H e forges the subtile a n d d e l i c a t e air into wise a n d m e l o d i o u s w o r d s , a n d gives t h e m w i n g a s a n g e l s of p e r s u a s i o n a n d c o m m a n d . M o r e a n d m o r e , with every t h o u g h t , d o e s his k i n g d o m stretch over things, until the world b e c o m e s , at last, only a realized w i l l , — t h e d o u b l e of the m a n . 2. S e n s i b l e o b j e c t s c o n f o r m to the p r e m o n i t i o n s of R e a s o n a n d reflect the c o n s c i e n c e . All things a r e m o r a l ; a n d in their b o u n d l e s s c h a n g e s have a n u n c e a s i n g r e f e r e n c e to spiritual n a t u r e . T h e r e f o r e is n a t u r e glorious with form, color, a n d m o t i o n , that every g l o b e in the r e m o t e s t h e a v e n ; every c h e m ical c h a n g e from the r u d e s t crystal u p to the laws of life; every c h a n g e of vegetation from the first principle of growth in the eye of a leaf, to the tropical forest a n d antediluvian'' c o a l - m i n e ; every a n i m a l function from the s p o n g e u p to H e r c u l e s , 5 shall hint or t h u n d e r to m a n the laws of right a n d w r o n g , a n d e c h o the T e n C o m m a n d m e n t s . T h e r e f o r e is n a t u r e always the ally of Religion: lends all her p o m p a n d riches to the religious s e n t i m e n t . P r o p h e t a n d priest, David, I s a i a h , J e s u s , have d r a w n deeply from this s o u r c e . T h i s ethical c h a r a c t e r s o p e n e t r a t e s the b o n e a n d m a r r o w of n a t u r e , a s to s e e m the e n d for which it w a s m a d e . W h a t e v e r private p u r p o s e is a n s w e r e d by any m e m b e r or part, this is its public a n d universal f u n c t i o n , a n d is never o m i t t e d . N o t h i n g in n a t u r e is e x h a u s t e d in its first u s e . W h e n a thing h a s served an e n d to the u t t e r m o s t , it is wholly n e w for a n ulterior service. In 1. A saying ascribed both to Sir Isaac Newton ( 1 6 4 2 - 1 7 2 7 ) , English mathematician and philosopher, and to Bishop J o s e p h Butler ( 1 6 9 2 - 1 7 5 2 ) , the moralist. 2. Matthew 6.10 and 2 6 . 4 2 .

3. Matthew 2 1 . 5 . 4. Before the Flood, which destroyed all living creatures not in Noah's ark (Genesis 6 - 9 ) . 5. In Greek mythology the hero renowned for feats of strength.

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G o d , every e n d is converted into a new m e a n s . T h u s the u s e of C o m m o d i t y , regarded by itself, is m e a n a n d s q u a l i d . B u t it is to the m i n d an e d u c a t i o n in the great doctrine of U s e , namely, that a thing is g o o d only so far as it s e r v e s ; that a c o n s p i r i n g of parts a n d efforts to the p r o d u c t i o n of an e n d , is e s s e n t i a l to any b e i n g . T h e first a n d g r o s s m a n i f e s t a t i o n of this truth, is o u r inevitable a n d h a t e d training in v a l u e s a n d w a n t s , in corn a n d m e a t . It has already b e e n illustrated, in treating of the s i g n i f i c a n c e of material things, that every n a t u r a l p r o c e s s is but a version of a m o r a l s e n t e n c e . T h e moral law lies at the c e n t r e of n a t u r e a n d radiates to the c i r c u m f e r e n c e . It is the pith a n d marrow of every s u b s t a n c e , every relation, a n d every p r o c e s s . All things with which we deal, p r e a c h to u s . W h a t is a farm b u t a m u t e g o s p e l ? T h e c h a f f a n d the wheat, w e e d s a n d p l a n t s , blight, rain, i n s e c t s , s u n , — i t is a s a c r e d e m b l e m from the first furrow of s p r i n g to the last s t a c k which the s n o w of winter overtakes in the fields. B u t the sailor, the s h e p h e r d , the miner, the m e r c h a n t , in their several r e s o r t s , have e a c h a n e x p e r i e n c e precisely parallel a n d l e a d i n g to the s a m e c o n c l u s i o n s . B e c a u s e all organizations a r e radically alike. N o r c a n it b e d o u b t e d that this m o r a l s e n t i m e n t which t h u s s c e n t s the air, a n d grows in the grain, a n d i m p r e g n a t e s the waters of the world, is c a u g h t by m a n a n d sinks into his s o u l . T h e m o r a l influence of n a t u r e u p o n every individual is that a m o u n t of truth which it illustrates to him. W h o c a n e s t i m a t e this? W h o c a n g u e s s how m u c h firmness the s e a b e a t e n rock has t a u g h t the fisherman? how m u c h tranquillity h a s b e e n reflected to m a n from the azure sky, over w h o s e u n s p o t t e d d e e p s the winds forevermore drive flocks of stormy c l o u d s , a n d leave no wrinkle or stain? how m u c h industry a n d p r o v i d e n c e a n d affection w e have c a u g h t from the p a n t o m i m e of b r u t e s ? W h a t a s e a r c h i n g p r e a c h e r of s e l f - c o m m a n d is the varying p h e n o m e n o n of H e a l t h ! H e r e i n is especially a p p r e h e n d e d the Unity of N a t u r e , — t h e Unity in Varie t y , — w h i c h m e e t s u s everywhere. All the e n d l e s s variety of things m a k e a u n i q u e , an identical i m p r e s s i o n . X e n o p h a n e s ' ' c o m p l a i n e d in his old a g e , that, look w h e r e he w o u l d , all things h a s t e n e d b a c k to Unity. H e w a s weary of s e e i n g the s a m e entity in the t e d i o u s variety of f o r m s . T h e fable of P r o t e u s h a s a c o r d i a l 7 truth. Every p a r t i c u l a r in n a t u r e , a leaf, a d r o p , a crystal, a m o m e n t of t i m e is related to the w h o l e , a n d p a r t a k e s of the perfection of the w h o l e . E a c h particle is a m i c r o c o s m , a n d faithfully r e n d e r s the likeness of the world. N o t only r e s e m b l a n c e s exist in things w h o s e a n a l o g y is o b v i o u s , a s w h e n we d e t e c t the type of the h u m a n h a n d in the flipper of the fossil s a u r u s , but also in o b j e c t s wherein there is great superficial u n l i k e n e s s . T h u s a r c h i t e c ture is called 'frozen m u s i c , ' by D e S t a e l a n d G o e t h e . 8 'A G o t h i c c h u r c h , ' said C o l e r i d g e , 9 'is a petrified religion.' M i c h a e l Arigelo m a i n t a i n e d , that, to an architect, a k n o w l e d g e of a n a t o m y is e s s e n t i a l . 1 In H a y d n ' s 2 o r a t o r i o s , the notes p r e s e n t to the i m a g i n a t i o n not only m o t i o n s , a s , of the s n a k e , the stag, 6. Greek philosopher of 5th and 6th centuries B.C.E. who taught the unity of all existence (JMN 3.369 and 5 . 1 3 6 ) . 7. Vital, heartwarming. Proteus was a sea god who could change his shape to evade any captor. 8. J o h a n n Wolfgang von Goethe ( 1 7 4 9 - 1 8 3 2 ) , in his Conversations with Eckermann (JMN 4 . 3 3 7 ) . M m e . de Stael ( 1 7 6 6 - 1 8 1 7 ) , in Corinne, book 4,

chapter 3 (JMN 4 . 4 0 ) . 9. In his " L e c t u r e on the General Character of the Gothic Mind in the Middle A g e s " ( 1 8 3 6 ) (JMN 5.36). 1. From the sketch of Michelangelo in Lives of Eminent Persons ( 1 8 3 3 ) , p. 57 (JMN 5 . 3 6 7 - 6 8 ) . 2. Franz J o s e p h Haydn ( 1 7 3 2 - 1 8 0 9 ) , Austrian c o m p o s e r (JMN 5.1 37).

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a n d the e l e p h a n t , but colors a l s o ; a s the green g r a s s . T h e granite is differe n c e d in its laws only by the m o r e or less of h e a t , from the river that w e a r s it away. T h e river, a s it flows, r e s e m b l e s the air that flows over it; the air r e s e m b l e s the light which traverses it with m o r e subtile c u r r e n t s ; the light r e s e m b l e s the heat which rides with it through S p a c e . E a c h c r e a t u r e is only a modification of the other; the likeness in t h e m is m o r e t h a n the difference, and their radical law is o n e a n d the s a m e . H e n c e it is, that a rule of o n e art, or a law of o n e organization, holds true t h r o u g h o u t n a t u r e . S o i n t i m a t e is this Unity, that, it is easily s e e n , it lies u n d e r the u n d e r m o s t g a r m e n t of n a t u r e , a n d betrays its s o u r c e in universal Spirit. For, it p e r v a d e s T h o u g h t also. Every universal truth which we express in w o r d s , implies or s u p p o s e s every other truth. Omne verum vero consonat.3 It is like a great circle on a s p h e r e , c o m p r i s i n g all p o s s i b l e circles; w h i c h , however, m a y be d r a w n , a n d c o m p r i s e it, in like m a n n e r . Every s u c h truth is the a b s o l u t e E n s 4 s e e n from o n e side. B u t it has i n n u m e r a b l e s i d e s . T h e s a m e central Unity is still m o r e c o n s p i c u o u s in a c t i o n s . W o r d s are finite o r g a n s of the infinite m i n d . T h e y c a n n o t cover the d i m e n s i o n s of what is in truth. T h e y break, c h o p , a n d impoverish it. An a c t i o n is the perfection a n d publication of t h o u g h t . A right action s e e m s to fill the eye, a n d to be related to all n a t u r e . " T h e wise m a n , in doing o n e thing, d o e s all; or, in the o n e thing he d o e s rightly, he s e e s the likeness of all which is d o n e rightly." 5 W o r d s a n d a c t i o n s a r e not the attributes of m u t e a n d brute n a t u r e . T h e y i n t r o d u c e u s to that singular form which p r e d o m i n a t e s over all other f o r m s . T h i s is the h u m a n . All other organizations a p p e a r to be d e g r a d a t i o n s of the h u m a n form. W h e n this organization a p p e a r s a m o n g so m a n y that s u r r o u n d it, the spirit prefers it to all o t h e r s . It says, ' F r o m s u c h a s this, have I drawn j o y a n d k n o w l e d g e . In s u c h a s this, have I f o u n d a n d b e h e l d myself. I will s p e a k to it. It c a n s p e a k a g a i n . It c a n yield m e t h o u g h t already f o r m e d a n d alive.' In fact, the e y e , — t h e m i n d , — i s always a c c o m p a n i e d by t h e s e f o r m s , m a l e a n d f e m a l e ; a n d t h e s e are i n c o m p a r a b l y the richest i n f o r m a t i o n s 6 of the power a n d order that lie at the heart of things. U n f o r t u n a t e l y , every o n e of t h e m b e a r s the m a r k s a s of s o m e injury; is m a r r e d a n d superficially d e f e c tive. N e v e r t h e l e s s , far different from the d e a f a n d d u m b n a t u r e a r o u n d t h e m , t h e s e all rest like fountain-pipes on the u n f a t h o m e d s e a of t h o u g h t a n d virtue w h e r e t o they a l o n e , of all organizations, are the e n t r a n c e s . It were a p l e a s a n t inquiry to follow into detail their ministry to our e d u cation, but where w o u l d it s t o p ? W e are a s s o c i a t e d in a d o l e s c e n t a n d a d u l t life with s o m e friends, w h o , like skies a n d w a t e r s , a r e c o e x t e n s i v e with o u r i d e a ; who, a n s w e r i n g e a c h to a certain affection of the soul, satisfy our desire on that s i d e ; w h o m we lack power to put at s u c h focal d i s t a n c e from u s , that we c a n m e n d or even analyze t h e m . W e c a n n o t c h u s e b u t love t h e m . W h e n m u c h i n t e r c o u r s e with a friend has s u p p l i e d u s with a s t a n d a r d of e x c e l l e n c e , a n d has i n c r e a s e d our r e s p e c t for the r e s o u r c e s of G o d w h o t h u s s e n d s a real p e r s o n to o u t g o our ideal; w h e n he h a s , moreover, b e c o m e a n object of t h o u g h t , a n d , whilst his c h a r a c t e r retains all its u n c o n s c i o u s effect, is converted in the m i n d into solid a n d sweet w i s d o m , — i t is a sign to u s that his 3. Every truth agrees with every other truth (Latin). "We say every truth supposes or implies every other truth" (JMN 4 . 3 7 6 ) . 4. Abstract being.

5. Paraphrase of Goethe's Wilhelm Meister from Carlyle's translation (JMN 4.75). 6. Products of the inward, form-giving capacity.

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office is closing, a n d he is c o m m o n l y withdrawn from our sight in a short time. Chapter

VI.

Idealism

T h u s is the u n s p e a k a b l e but intelligible a n d p r a c t i c a b l e m e a n i n g of t h e world conveyed to m a n , the i m m o r t a l pupil, in every object of s e n s e . T o this o n e e n d of D i s c i p l i n e , all p a r t s of n a t u r e c o n s p i r e . A noble d o u b t perpetually s u g g e s t s itself, w h e t h e r this e n d b e not the Final C a u s e of the U n i v e r s e ; a n d whether n a t u r e outwardly exists. It is a sufficient a c c o u n t of that A p p e a r a n c e we call the World, that G o d will t e a c h a h u m a n m i n d , a n d so m a k e s it the receiver of a certain n u m b e r of c o n g r u e n t sens a t i o n s , which we call s u n a n d m o o n , m a n a n d w o m a n , h o u s e a n d t r a d e . In my utter i m p o t e n c e to test the authenticity of the report of my s e n s e s , to know w h e t h e r the i m p r e s s i o n s they m a k e on m e c o r r e s p o n d with outlying o b j e c t s , what difference d o e s it m a k e , w h e t h e r O r i o n is u p there in heaven, or s o m e g o d p a i n t s the i m a g e in the firmament of the soul? T h e relations of p a r t s a n d the e n d of the whole r e m a i n i n g the s a m e , w h a t is the difference, w h e t h e r land a n d s e a interact, a n d worlds revolve a n d intermingle without n u m b e r or e n d , — d e e p y a w n i n g u n d e r d e e p , 7 a n d galaxy b a l a n c i n g galaxy, t h r o u g h o u t a b s o l u t e s p a c e , or, whether, without relations of time a n d s p a c e , the s a m e a p p e a r a n c e s are inscribed in the c o n s t a n t faith of m a n . W h e t h e r n a t u r e enjoy a s u b s t a n t i a l existence without, or is only in the a p o c a l y p s e " of the m i n d , it is alike useful a n d alike v e n e r a b l e to m e . B e it w h a t it may, it is ideal to m e , s o long a s I c a n n o t try the a c c u r a c y of my s e n s e s . T h e frivolous m a k e t h e m s e l v e s merry with the Ideal theory,'' a s if its cons e q u e n c e s were b u r l e s q u e ; a s if it affected the stability of n a t u r e . It surely d o e s not. G o d never j e s t s with u s , a n d will not c o m p r o m i s e the e n d of n a t u r e , by p e r m i t t i n g any i n c o n s e q u e n c e in its p r o c e s s i o n . Any d i s t r u s t of the perm a n e n c e of laws, would paralyze the faculties of m a n . T h e i r p e r m a n e n c e is sacredly r e s p e c t e d , a n d his faith therein is perfect. T h e w h e e l s a n d springs of m a n are all set to the hypothesis of the p e r m a n e n c e of n a t u r e . W e a r e not built like a ship to be t o s s e d , but like a h o u s e to s t a n d . It is a n a t u r a l cons e q u e n c e of this s t r u c t u r e , that, so long a s the active p o w e r s p r e d o m i n a t e over the reflective, we resist with indignation any hint that n a t u r e is m o r e short-lived or m u t a b l e than spirit. T h e broker, the wheelwright, the c a r p e n ter, the t o l l m a n , are m u c h d i s p l e a s e d at the intimation. B u t whilst we a c q u i e s c e entirely in the p e r m a n e n c e of n a t u r a l laws, the q u e s t i o n of the a b s o l u t e e x i s t e n c e of n a t u r e , still r e m a i n s o p e n . It is the uniform effect of c u l t u r e on the h u m a n m i n d , not to s h a k e o u r faith in the stability of particular p h e n o m e n a , a s of h e a t , water, a z o t e ; 1 b u t to lead u s to regard n a t u r e a s a p h e n o m e n o n , not a s u b s t a n c e ; to a t t r i b u t e n e c e s s a r y exist e n c e to spirit; to e s t e e m n a t u r e a s a n a c c i d e n t a n d an effect. T o the s e n s e s a n d the u n r e n e w e d u n d e r s t a n d i n g , b e l o n g s a sort of instinctive belief in the a b s o l u t e e x i s t e n c e of n a t u r e . In their view, m a n a n d n a t u r e 7. Prom Psalm 4 2 . 7 : "Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over m e . " 8. Revelation. 9. Emerson uses Bishop George Berkeley (1685—

1753) as representative of the notion that we can only know ideas in the mind and cannot know materia] things in themselves. I. Nitrogen.

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are indissolubly j o i n e d . T h i n g s are u l t i m a t e s , a n d they never look beyond their s p h e r e . T h e p r e s e n c e of R e a s o n m a r s this faith. T h e first effort of thought t e n d s to relax this d e s p o t i s m of the s e n s e s , which b i n d s u s to n a t u r e as if we were a part of it, a n d s h o w s u s n a t u r e aloof, a n d , a s it w e r e , afloat. Until this higher a g e n c y intervened, the a n i m a l eye s e e s , with wonderful a c c u r a c y , s h a r p outlines a n d colored s u r f a c e s . W h e n the eye of R e a s o n o p e n s , to outline a n d s u r f a c e a r e at o n c e a d d e d , g r a c e a n d e x p r e s s i o n . T h e s e p r o c e e d from imagination a n d affection, a n d a b a t e s o m e w h a t of the a n g u l a r d i s t i n c t n e s s of o b j e c t s . If the R e a s o n be s t i m u l a t e d to m o r e e a r n e s t vision, outlines a n d s u r f a c e s b e c o m e t r a n s p a r e n t , a n d are no longer s e e n ; c a u s e s a n d spirits are s e e n through t h e m . T h e best, the h a p p i e s t m o m e n t s of life, are t h e s e delicious a w a k e n i n g s of the higher p o w e r s , a n d the reverential withdrawing of n a t u r e before its G o d . Let u s p r o c e e d to indicate the effects of c u l t u r e . 1. O u r first institutionin the Ideal philosophy is a hint from n a t u r e herself. N a t u r e is m a d e to c o n s p i r e with spirit to e m a n c i p a t e u s . C e r t a i n m e c h a n ical c h a n g e s , a small alteration in our local position apprizes us of a d u a l i s m . W e are strangely affected by s e e i n g the s h o r e from a m o v i n g s h i p , from a b a l l o o n , or through the tints of an u n u s u a l sky. T h e least c h a n g e in our point of view, gives the whole world a pictorial air. A m a n w h o s e l d o m rides, n e e d s only to get into a c o a c h a n d traverse his own town, to turn the street into a p u p p e t - s h o w . T h e m e n , the w o m e n , — t a l k i n g , r u n n i n g , bartering, fighting,— the e a r n e s t m e c h a n i c , the lounger, the beggar, the b o y s , the d o g s , are unreali z e d ' at o n c e , or, at least, wholly d e t a c h e d from all relation to the observer, a n d s e e n a s a p p a r e n t , not s u b s t a n t i a l b e i n g s . W h a t new t h o u g h t s are sugg e s t e d by s e e i n g a f a c e of country q u i t e familiar, in the rapid m o v e m e n t of the rail-road car! Nay, the m o s t wonted o b j e c t s , ( m a k e a very slight c h a n g e in the point of vision,) p l e a s e u s m o s t . In a c a m e r a o b s c u r a , 4 the b u t c h e r ' s cart, a n d the figure of o n e of our own family a m u s e u s . S o a portrait of a well-known f a c e gratifies u s . T u r n the eyes u p s i d e d o w n , by looking at the l a n d s c a p e through your legs, a n d how a g r e e a b l e is the p i c t u r e , t h o u g h you have s e e n it any time t h e s e twenty years! In t h e s e c a s e s , by m e c h a n i c a l m e a n s , is s u g g e s t e d the difference b e t w e e n the observer a n d the s p e c t a c l e , — b e t w e e n m a n a n d n a t u r e . H e n c e a r i s e s a p l e a s u r e mixed with a w e ; I may say, a low d e g r e e of the s u b l i m e is felt from the fact, probably, that m a n is hereby apprized, that, whilst the world is a s p e c t a c l e , s o m e t h i n g in h i m s e l f is s t a b l e . 2 . In a higher m a n n e r , the poet c o m m u n i c a t e s the s a m e p l e a s u r e . By a few strokes he d e l i n e a t e s , a s on air, the s u n , the m o u n t a i n , the c a m p , the city, the h e r o , the m a i d e n , not different from what we know t h e m , b u t only lifted from the g r o u n d a n d float before the eye. H e unfixes the land a n d the s e a , m a k e s t h e m revolve a r o u n d the axis of his primary t h o u g h t , a n d d i s p o s e s t h e m a n e w . P o s s e s s e d himself by a heroic p a s s i o n , he u s e s m a t t e r a s s y m b o l s of it. T h e s e n s u a l m a n c o n f o r m s t h o u g h t s to things; the p o e t c o n f o r m s things to his t h o u g h t s . 5 T h e o n e e s t e e m s n a t u r e a s rooted a n d fast; the other, a s 2. Instruction. "Effects of culture": in the sense of the effects of awakening thought. 3. Made unsubstantial. " M e c h a n i c " : manual laborer. 4. Dark chamber or box with a lens or opening

through which an image is projected in natural colors onto an opposite surface. 5. f r o m Bacon's "The Advancement of Learning" (2.4.2), but more directly from William Hazlitt's adaptation (JMN 6 . 2 2 7 ) .

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fluid, a n d i m p r e s s e s his b e i n g t h e r e o n . T o him, the refractory world is ductile a n d flexible; he invests d u s t s a n d s t o n e s with h u m a n i t y a n d m a k e s t h e m the words of the R e a s o n . T h e i m a g i n a t i o n m a y be defined to b e , the u s e which the R e a s o n m a k e s of the material world. S h a k s p e a r e p o s s e s s e s the power of s u b o r d i n a t i n g n a t u r e for the p u r p o s e s of expression, b e y o n d all p o e t s . H i s imperial m u s e t o s s e s the creation like a b a u b l e from h a n d to h a n d , to e m b o d y any c a p r i c i o u s s h a d e of t h o u g h t that is u p p e r m o s t in his m i n d . T h e r e m o t e s t s p a c e s of n a t u r e are visited, a n d the farthest s u n d e r e d things are b r o u g h t together, by a subtile spiritual c o n n e x i o n . W e are m a d e a w a r e that m a g n i t u d e of material things is merely relative, a n d all o b j e c t s shrink a n d e x p a n d to serve the p a s s i o n of the poet. T h u s , in his s o n n e t s , the lays of birds, the s c e n t s a n d dyes of flowers, h e finds to be the shadow of his b e l o v e d ; t i m e , which k e e p s her from h i m , is his chest; the s u s p i c i o n s h e h a s a w a k e n e d , is her ornament;'' \ i i i i t l * r"\ , • • • • • < • ' / > i > l ' i " ' ? i b i " h l - • ' r b :

T h e o r n a m e n t of b e a u t y is S u s p e c t , A crow which flies in h e a v e n s s w e e t e s t air.

rii

His p a s s i o n is not the fruit of c h a n c e ; it swells, a s he s p e a k s , to a city, or a state. N o , it w a s b u i l d e d far from a c c i d e n t ; It suffers not in s m i l i n g p o m p , nor falls U n d e r the brow of thralling d i s c o n t e n t ; It fears not policy, that h e r e t i c , T h a t works o n l e a s e s of short n u m b e r e d h o u r s , B u t all a l o n e s t a n d s hugely politic." In the strength of his c o n s t a n c y , the P y r a m i d s 9 s e e m to him r e c e n t a n d transitory. A n d the f r e s h n e s s of youth a n d love dazzles him with its r e s e m b l a n c e to m o r n i n g . I ake t h o s e h p s away W h i c h s o sweetly were forsworn; A n d t h o s e e y e s , — t h e b r e a k of day, L i g h t s that do m i s l e a d the m o r n . 1 T h e wild b e a u t y of this hyperbole, I m a y say, in p a s s i n g , it w o u l d not be e a s y to m a t c h in literature. T h i s transfiguration which all material o b j e c t s u n d e r g o t h r o u g h the p a s sion of the p o e t , — t h i s p o w e r which he exerts, at any m o m e n t , to magnify the small, to micrify the g r e a t , — m i g h t b e illustrated by a t h o u s a n d e x a m p l e s 6. Emerson 98:

summarizes

Shakespeare's

Sonnet

From you have I been absent in the spring. When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue. Could make me any summer's story tell. Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; Nor did I wonder at the lily's white. Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose: They were but sweet, but figures of delight.

Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, As with your shadow I with these did play. T h e n Emerson refers to Sonnet 6 5 ("Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?"). 7. Shakespeare's Sonnet 7 0 . 8. Shakespeare's Sonnet 124. 9. Shakespeare's Sonnet 123: " N o , Time, thou shalt not boast that I do c h a n g e : / Thy pyramids built up with newer might / T o me are nothing novel, nothing strange: / They are but dressings of a former sight." 1. From Shakespeare's Measure for Measure 5.1.1-4.

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from his Plays. I have b e f o r e m e the T e m p e s t , a n d will cite only t h e s e few lines. PROSPERO. T h e s t r o n g b a s e d p r o m o n t o r y H a v e I m a d e s h a k e , a n d by the s p u r s p l u c k e d u p The pine and cedar.2 P r o s p e r o calls for m u s i c to s o o t h the frantic A l o n z o , a n d his c o m p a n i o n s ; A s o l e m n air, a n d t h e b e s t c o m f o r t e r T o a n u n s e t t l e d fancy, c u r e thy b r a i n s N o w u s e l e s s , boiled within thy skull. Again; T h e c h a r m dissolves s p a c e A n d , a s the m o r n i n g steals u p o n the night, M e l t i n g the d a r k n e s s , s o their rising s e n s e s B e g i n to c h a s e the ignorant f u m e s that m a n t l e T h e i r clearer r e a s o n . Their understanding B e g i n s to swell: a n d the a p p r o a c h i n g tide Will shortly fill the r e a s o n a b l e s h o r e s T h a t now lie foul a n d m u d d y . T h e p e r c e p t i o n of real affinities b e t w e e n e v e n t s , (that is to say, of ideal affinities, for t h o s e only are real,) e n a b l e s the p o e t t h u s to m a k e free with the m o s t i m p o s i n g f o r m s a n d p h e n o m e n a of the world, a n d to a s s e r t the p r e d o m i n a n c e of the s o u l . 3. W h i l s t t h u s the p o e t delights u s by a n i m a t i n g ' n a t u r e like a creator, with his own t h o u g h t s , he differs from the p h i l o s o p h e r only herein, that the o n e p r o p o s e s B e a u t y a s his m a i n e n d ; the o t h e r T r u t h . B u t , the p h i l o s o p h e r , not less than the p o e t , p o s t p o n e s the a p p a r e n t order a n d relations of things to the e m p i r e of t h o u g h t . " T h e p r o b l e m of p h i l o s o p h y , " a c c o r d i n g to P l a t o , "is, for all that exists conditionally, to find a g r o u n d u n c o n d i t i o n e d a n d a b s o l u t e . " 4 It p r o c e e d s o n the faith that a law d e t e r m i n e s all p h e n o m e n a , w h i c h b e i n g k n o w n , the p h e n o m e n a c a n b e p r e d i c t e d . T h a t law, w h e n in the m i n d , is a n i d e a . Its b e a u t y is infinite. T h e t r u e p h i l o s o p h e r a n d the t r u e p o e t a r e o n e , a n d a b e a u t y , w h i c h is truth, a n d a truth, w h i c h is b e a u t y , is the a i m of b o t h . Is not the c h a r m of o n e of Plato's or Aristotle's definitions, strictly like that of the A n t i g o n e of S o p h o c l e s ? 5 It is, in b o t h c a s e s , that a spiritual life h a s b e e n i m p a r t e d to n a t u r e ; that the solid s e e m i n g b l o c k of m a t t e r h a s b e e n p e r v a d e d a n d dissolved by a t h o u g h t ; that this feeble h u m a n b e i n g h a s p e n etrated the vast m a s s e s of n a t u r e with a n i n f o r m i n g s o u l , a n d r e c o g n i s e d itself in their h a r m o n y , that is, seized their law. In p h y s i c s , w h e n this is a t t a i n e d , the m e m o r y d i s b u r t h e n s itself of its c u m b r o u s c a t a l o g u e s of particulars, a n d c a r r i e s c e n t u r i e s of o b s e r v a t i o n in a single f o r m u l a . 2. Shakespeare's The Tempest 5.1.46—48 (the 1836 text says "Ariel" instead of Prospero, a careless slip not preserved here): later quotations are from 5 . 1 . 5 8 - 6 0 , 6 4 - 6 8 , and 7 9 - 8 2 . 3. Giving life to. 4. Emerson draws this quotation from Coleridge's

"The Friend" ( 1 8 1 8 ) ( J M N 6 . 2 0 2 ) . 5. Greek dramatist of the 5th century b . C . E . , wrote the tragedy Antigone in which the title character chooses death rather than violate her sacred duty to perform funeral rites for her slain brother.

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T h u s even in p h y s i c s , the material is ever d e g r a d e d before the spiritual. T h e a s t r o n o m e r , the g e o m e t e r , rely on their irrefragable analysis, a n d disdain the results of observation. T h e s u b l i m e r e m a r k of E u l e r 6 o n his law of a r c h e s , " T h i s will b e f o u n d contrary to all e x p e r i e n c e , yet it is t r u e ; " h a d already transferred n a t u r e into the m i n d , a n d left matter like a n o u t c a s t c o r p s e . 4 . Intellectual s c i e n c e has b e e n o b s e r v e d to b e g e t invariably a d o u b t of the existence of matter. T u r g o t 7 said, " H e that h a s never d o u b t e d the exist e n c e of matter, may be a s s u r e d h e h a s n o a p t i t u d e for m e t a p h y s i c a l inquiri e s . " It f a s t e n s the attention u p o n i m m o r t a l n e c e s s a r y u n c r e a t e d n a t u r e s , that is, u p o n I d e a s ; a n d in their beautiful a n d m a j e s t i c p r e s e n c e , we feel that our outward b e i n g is a d r e a m a n d a s h a d e . Whilst we wait in this O l y m p u s of g o d s , we think of n a t u r e a s an a p p e n d i x to the s o u l . W e a s c e n d into their region, a n d know that t h e s e are the t h o u g h t s of the S u p r e m e B e i n g . " T h e s e are they w h o were set up from everlasting, from the b e g i n n i n g , or ever the earth w a s . W h e n he p r e p a r e d the h e a v e n s , they were t h e r e ; w h e n he e s t a b lished the c l o u d s a b o v e , w h e n he s t r e n g t h e n e d the f o u n t a i n s of the d e e p . T h e n they were by him, as o n e b r o u g h t u p with h i m . O f t h e m t o o k he c o u n sel."8 T h e i r influence is p r o p o r t i o n a t e . As o b j e c t s of s c i e n c e , they a r e a c c e s s i b l e to few m e n . Yet all m e n a r e c a p a b l e of b e i n g raised by piety or by p a s s i o n , into their region. A n d no m a n t o u c h e s t h e s e divine n a t u r e s , without b e c o m ing, in s o m e d e g r e e , himself divine. L i k e a n e w s o u l , they renew the body. W e b e c o m e physically n i m b l e a n d l i g h t s o m e ; we tread on air; life is no longer i r k s o m e , a n d we think it will never be s o . N o m a n fears a g e or m i s f o r t u n e or d e a t h , in their s e r e n e c o m p a n y , for he is t r a n s p o r t e d o u t of the district of c h a n g e . Whilst we behold unveiled the n a t u r e of J u s t i c e a n d T r u t h , we learn the difference b e t w e e n the a b s o l u t e a n d the conditional or relative. W e a p p r e h e n d the a b s o l u t e . As it w e r e , for the first t i m e , we exist. W e b e c o m e i m m o r t a l , for w e learn that time a n d s p a c e are relations of matter; that, with a p e r c e p t i o n of truth, or a virtuous will, they have no affinity. 9 5 . Finally, religion a n d e t h i c s , which may be fitly c a l l e d , — t h e practice of i d e a s , or the introduction of i d e a s into l i f e , — h a v e an a n a l o g o u s effect with all lower c u l t u r e , in d e g r a d i n g n a t u r e a n d s u g g e s t i n g its d e p e n d e n c e on spirit. E t h i c s a n d religion differ herein; that the o n e is the s y s t e m of h u m a n duties c o m m e n c i n g from m a n ; the other, from G o d . Religion i n c l u d e s the personality of G o d ; E t h i c s d o e s not. T h e y are o n e to our p r e s e n t d e s i g n . T h e y both p u t n a t u r e u n d e r foot. T h e first a n d last l e s s o n of religion is, " T h e things that a r e s e e n , are t e m p o r a l ; the things that are u n s e e n are e t e r n a l . " 1 It p u t s an affront u p o n n a t u r e . It d o e s that for the u n s c h o o l e d , which p h i l o s o p h y d o e s for Berkeley a n d V i a s a . 2 T h e uniform l a n g u a g e that may b e heard in the c h u r c h e s of the m o s t ignorant s e c t s , i s , — ' C o n t e m n the u n s u b s t a n t i a l s h o w s of the world; they are vanities, d r e a m s , s h a d o w s , u n r e a l i t i e s ; s e e k the realities of religion.' T h e d e v o t e e flouts n a t u r e . S o m e t h e o s o p h i s t s 3 have arrived at a certain hostility a n d indignation towards m a t t e r , a s the M a n i 6. Leonhard Euler ( 1 7 0 7 - 1 7 8 3 ) , Swiss mathematician and physicist. Emerson took the quotation from Coleridge's Aids to Reflection ( 1 8 2 9 ) (JMN 4 . 3 2 7 , 3 3 2 ) . 7. Anne Robert J a c q u e s Turgot ( 1 7 2 7 - 1 7 8 1 ) , French economist and author of a book on proofs of the existence of God (JMN 2 . 2 1 2 - 1 3 ) . 8. Cf. Proverbs 8 . 2 3 - 3 0 . 9. An echo of Socrates' speech in the Symposium.

1. 2 Corinthians 4 . 1 8 . 2. Reputed author of the Vedas, the ancient sacred literature of Hinduism (JMN 5.123). George Berkeley ( 1 6 8 5 - 1 7 5 3 ) , Irish idealist philosopher. 3. In the broad sense of those who attempt to establish direct contact with divine principle through contemplation and revelation.

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c h e a n a n d Plotiniis. T h e y distrusted in t h e m s e l v e s any looking b a c k to t h e s e flesh-pots of Egypt. Plotinus w a s a s h a m e d of his b o d y . 4 In short, they might all better say of matter, what M i c h a e l Angelo said of external beauty, "it is the frail a n d weary w e e d , in which G o d d r e s s e s the soul, which he has called into t i m e . " 5 It a p p e a r s that m o t i o n , poetry, physical a n d intellectual s c i e n c e , a n d religion, all tend to affect our convictions of the reality of the external world. But I own there is s o m e t h i n g ungrateful in e x p a n d i n g too c u r i o u s l y the particulars of the general proposition, that all c u l t u r e t e n d s to i m b u e u s with idealism. I have no hostility to n a t u r e , but a child's love to it. I e x p a n d a n d live in the w a r m day like corn a n d m e l o n s . L e t u s s p e a k her fair. I do not wish to fling s t o n e s at my beautiful m o t h e r , nor soil my g e n t l e n e s t . I only wish to indicate the true position of n a t u r e in regard to m a n , wherein to establish m a n , all right e d u c a t i o n t e n d s ; a s the g r o u n d which to attain is the object of h u m a n life, that is, of m a n ' s connexion with n a t u r e . C u l t u r e inverts the vulgar views of n a t u r e , a n d brings the m i n d to call that a p p a r e n t , which it u s e s to call real, a n d that real, which it u s e s to call visionary. C h i l d r e n , it is true, believe in the external world. T h e belief that it a p p e a r s only, is a n afterthought, but with c u l t u r e , this faith will a s surely arise on the m i n d a s did the first. T h e a d v a n t a g e of the ideal theory over the p o p u l a r faith, is this, that it p r e s e n t s the world in precisely that view which is m o s t d e s i r a b l e to the m i n d . It is, in fact, the view which R e a s o n , both s p e c u l a t i v e a n d p r a c t i c a l , that is, philosophy a n d virtue, take. For, s e e n in the light of t h o u g h t , the world always is p h e n o m e n a l ; ' ' a n d virtue s u b o r d i n a t e s it to the m i n d . Idealism s e e s the world in G o d . It b e h o l d s the whole circle of p e r s o n s a n d things, of a c t i o n s a n d events, of country a n d religion, not a s painfully a c c u m u l a t e d , a t o m after a t o m , a c t after act, in an a g e d c r e e p i n g P a s t , but a s o n e vast p i c t u r e , which G o d p a i n t s on the instant eternity, for the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of the soul. T h e r e f o r e the soul holds itself off from a too trivial a n d m i c r o s c o p i c study of the universal tablet. It r e s p e c t s the e n d too m u c h , to i m m e r s e itself in the m e a n s . It s e e s s o m e t h i n g m o r e i m p o r t a n t in Christianity, than the s c a n d a l s of ecclesiastical history or the niceties of criticism; a n d , very i n c u r i o u s conc e r n i n g p e r s o n s or m i r a c l e s , a n d not at all d i s t u r b e d by c h a s m s of historical e v i d e n c e , it a c c e p t s from G o d the p h e n o m e n o n , a s it finds it, a s the p u r e and awful form of religion in the world. It is not hot a n d p a s s i o n a t e at the a p p e a r a n c e of what it calls its own g o o d or b a d f o r t u n e , at the union or opposition of other p e r s o n s . N o m a n is its e n e m y . It a c c e p t s w h a t s o e v e r befalls, a s part of its l e s s o n . It is a w a t c h e r m o r e t h a n a doer, a n d it is a doer, only that it m a y the better w a t c h . Chapter

VII.

Spirit

It is essential to a true theory of n a t u r e a n d of m a n , that it s h o u l d c o n t a i n s o m e w h a t progressive. U s e s that are e x h a u s t e d or that m a y b e , a n d facts that 4. Plotinus, C r e e k neoplatonieal philosopher of the 3rd century, was not so much "ashamed of his body" as of the fact that his soul had to be contained in a body (JMN 3.25 I). (Neoplatonism is a mystical religious system, combining features of Platonic and other Greek philosophies with features of J u d a i s m and Christianity.) "Manichean":

from Mani or M a n e s , 3rd-century Persian who founded a religion based on the dualism of good and evil. The Israelites yearned for the "flesh pots of Egypt" while in the wilderness (Exodus 16.3). 5. Michelangelo's Sonnet 51 (Emerson's Early Lectures 1.229). 6. Only an appearance.

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e n d in the s t a t e m e n t , c a n n o t b e all that is true of this brave lodging wherein m a n is h a r b o r e d , a n d wherein all his faculties find a p p r o p r i a t e a n d e n d l e s s exercise. A n d all the u s e s of n a t u r e a d m i t of b e i n g s u m m e d in o n e , w h i c h yields the activity of m a n a n infinite s c o p e . T h r o u g h all its k i n g d o m s , to the s u b u r b s a n d outskirts of things, it is faithful to the c a u s e w h e n c e it h a d its origin. It always s p e a k s of Spirit. It s u g g e s t s the a b s o l u t e . It is a p e r p e t u a l effect. It is a great s h a d o w pointing always to the s u n b e h i n d u s . T h e a s p e c t of n a t u r e is devout. L i k e the figure o f J e s u s , s h e s t a n d s with b e n d e d h e a d , a n d h a n d s folded u p o n the b r e a s t . T h e h a p p i e s t m a n is h e w h o learns from n a t u r e the l e s s o n of w o r s h i p . O f that ineffable e s s e n c e which we call Spirit, h e that thinks m o s t , will say least. W e c a n f o r e s e e G o d in the c o a r s e a n d , a s it w e r e , d i s t a n t p h e n o m e n a of matter; but w h e n we try to define a n d d e s c r i b e himself, both l a n g u a g e a n d t h o u g h t d e s e r t u s , a n d we are a s h e l p l e s s a s fools a n d s a v a g e s . T h a t e s s e n c e r e f u s e s to b e r e c o r d e d in p r o p o s i t i o n s , but w h e n m a n h a s wors h i p p e d him intellectually, the n o b l e s t ministry of n a t u r e is to s t a n d a s the a p p a r i t i o n 7 of G o d . It is the great o r g a n t h r o u g h which the universal spirit s p e a k s to the individual, a n d strives to lead b a c k the individual to it. W h e n we c o n s i d e r Spirit, we s e e that the views already p r e s e n t e d d o not i n c l u d e the w h o l e c i r c u m f e r e n c e of m a n . W e m u s t a d d s o m e related thoughts. T h r e e p r o b l e m s a r e p u t by n a t u r e to the m i n d ; W h a t is m a t t e r ? W h e n c e is it? a n d W h e r e t o ? T h e first of t h e s e q u e s t i o n s only, the ideal theory a n s w e r s . I d e a l i s m saith: m a t t e r is a p h e n o m e n o n , not a s u b s t a n c e . Idealism a c q u a i n t s u s with the total disparity b e t w e e n the e v i d e n c e of o u r own being, a n d the evidence of the world's b e i n g . T h e o n e is perfect, the other, i n c a p a b l e of any a s s u r a n c e ; the m i n d is a part of the n a t u r e of t h i n g s ; the world is a divine d r e a m , from which we m a y presently a w a k e to the glories a n d certainties of day. Idealism is a hypothesis to a c c o u n t for n a t u r e by other principles than t h o s e of carpentry a n d chemistry. Yet, if it only deny the existence of matter, it d o e s not satisfy the d e m a n d s of the spirit. It leaves G o d o u t of m e . It leaves m e in the s p l e n d i d labyrinth of my p e r c e p t i o n s , to w a n d e r without e n d . T h e n the heart resists it, b e c a u s e it b a u l k s the affections in denying s u b s t a n t i v e b e i n g to m e n a n d w o m e n . N a t u r e is so p e r v a d e d with h u m a n life, that there is s o m e t h i n g of h u m a n i t y in all, a n d in every particular. B u t this theory m a k e s n a t u r e foreign to m e , a n d d o e s not a c c o u n t for that c o n s a n g u i n i t y which we a c k n o w l e d g e to it. L e t it s t a n d t h e n , in the p r e s e n t s t a t e of o u r k n o w l e d g e , merely a s a useful introductory h y p o t h e s i s , serving to apprize u s of the e t e r n a l distinction b e t w e e n the soul a n d the world. B u t w h e n , following the invisible s t e p s of t h o u g h t , we c o m e to inquire, W h e n c e is m a t t e r ? a n d W h e r e t o ? m a n y truths a r i s e to u s o u t of the r e c e s s e s of c o n s c i o u s n e s s . W e learn that the h i g h e s t is p r e s e n t to the soul of m a n , that the d r e a d universal e s s e n c e , w h i c h is not w i s d o m , or love, or beauty, or p o w e r , b u t all in o n e , a n d e a c h entirely, is that for w h i c h all things exist, a n d that by which they a r e ; that spirit c r e a t e s ; that b e h i n d n a t u r e , t h r o u g h o u t n a t u r e , spirit is p r e s e n t ; that spirit is o n e a n d not c o m p o u n d ; that spirit d o e s not a c t u p o n u s from without, that is, in s p a c e a n d t i m e , but spiritually, or 7. Visible state.

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through o u r s e l v e s . T h e r e f o r e , that spirit, that is, the S u p r e m e B e i n g , d o e s not build up n a t u r e a r o u n d u s , but p u t s it forth through u s , a s the life of the tree p u t s forth n e w b r a n c h e s a n d leaves through the p o r e s of the old. A s a plant u p o n the earth, so a m a n rests u p o n the b o s o m of G o d : h e is n o u r i s h e d by unfailing f o u n t a i n s , a n d d r a w s , at his n e e d , i n e x h a u s t i b l e power. W h o c a n set b o u n d s to the possibilities of m a n ? O n c e inspire the infinite, by b e i n g a d m i t t e d to behold the a b s o l u t e n a t u r e s of j u s t i c e a n d truth, a n d we learn that m a n h a s a c c e s s to the entire m i n d of the C r e a t o r , is h i m s e l f the c r e a t o r in the finite. T h i s view, which a d m o n i s h e s m e w h e r e the s o u r c e s of w i s d o m a n d power lie, a n d points to virtue as to " T h e g o l d e n key W h i c h o p e s the p a l a c e of eternity," 8 carries u p o n its f a c e the highest certificate of truth, b e c a u s e it a n i m a t e s m e to c r e a t e my own world t h r o u g h the purification of my s o u l . T h e world p r o c e e d s from the s a m e spirit a s the b o d y of m a n . It is a r e m o t e r a n d inferior incarnation of G o d , a projection of G o d in the u n c o n s c i o u s . B u t it differs from the b o d y in o n e i m p o r t a n t r e s p e c t . It is not, like that, now s u b j e c t e d to the h u m a n will. Its s e r e n e order is inviolable by u s . It is therefore, to u s , the p r e s e n t expositor of the divine m i n d . It is a fixed point whereby we m a y m e a s u r e our d e p a r t u r e . As we d e g e n e r a t e , the c o n t r a s t b e t w e e n u s a n d o u r h o u s e is m o r e evident. W e a r e a s m u c h s t r a n g e r s in n a t u r e , a s we are aliens from G o d . W e do not u n d e r s t a n d the n o t e s of the birds. T h e fox a n d the d e e r run away from u s ; the b e a r a n d tiger rend u s . W e do not know the u s e s of m o r e than a few p l a n t s , a s corn a n d the a p p l e , the p o t a t o a n d the vine. Is not the l a n d s c a p e , every g l i m p s e of which hath a g r a n d e u r , a f a c e of h i m ? Yet this m a y s h o w u s w h a t d i s c o r d is b e t w e e n m a n a n d n a t u r e , for you c a n n o t freely a d m i r e a n o b l e l a n d s c a p e , if laborers are digging in the field hard by. T h e poet finds s o m e t h i n g r i d i c u l o u s in his delight, until h e is out of the sight of m e n . Chapter

VIII.

Prospects

In inquiries r e s p e c t i n g the laws of the world a n d the f r a m e of things, the h i g h e s t r e a s o n is always the truest. T h a t which s e e m s faintly p o s s i b l e — i t is so refined, is often faint a n d d i m b e c a u s e it is d e e p e s t s e a t e d in the m i n d a m o n g the eternal verities. E m p i r i c a l s c i e n c e is apt to c l o u d the sight, a n d , by the very knowledge of functions a n d p r o c e s s e s , to b e r e a v e the s t u d e n t of the m a n l y c o n t e m p l a t i o n of the w h o l e . T h e s a v a n t 9 b e c o m e s u n p o e t i c . B u t the b e s t read naturalist w h o lends a n entire a n d d e v o u t a t t e n t i o n to truth, will s e e that there r e m a i n s m u c h to learn of his relation to the world, a n d that it is not to be learned by any addition or s u b t r a c t i o n or other c o m p a r i s o n of known q u a n t i t i e s , but is arrived at by u n t a u g h t sallies of the spirit, by a c o n t i n u a l self-recovery, a n d by entire humility. H e will perceive that there are far m o r e excellent qualities in the s t u d e n t t h a n p r e c i s e n e s s a n d infallibility; that a g u e s s is often m o r e fruitful t h a n an i n d i s p u t a b l e affirmation, a n d that a d r e a m m a y let u s d e e p e r into the secret of n a t u r e t h a n a h u n d r e d concerted experiments. 8. John Milton's Comus

13-14.

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F o r , the p r o b l e m s to be solved a r e precisely t h o s e which the physiologist a n d the naturalist omit to s t a t e . It is not so pertinent to m a n to k n o w all the individuals of the a n i m a l k i n g d o m , a s it is to know w h e n c e a n d whereto is this tyrannizing unity in his c o n s t i t u t i o n , which e v e r m o r e s e p a r a t e s a n d classifies things, e n d e a v o u r i n g to r e d u c e the m o s t diverse to o n e f o r m . W h e n I b e h o l d a rich l a n d s c a p e , it is less to my p u r p o s e to recite correctly the order a n d super-position of the strata, than to know why all t h o u g h t of m u l t i t u d e is lost in a tranquil s e n s e of unity. I c a n n o t greatly h o n o r m i n u t e n e s s in details, s o long a s there is n o hint to explain the relation b e t w e e n things a n d t h o u g h t s ; no ray u p o n the metaphysics of c o n c h o l o g y , of botany, of the arts, to s h o w the relation of the forms of flowers, shells, a n i m a l s , a r c h i t e c t u r e , to the m i n d , a n d build s c i e n c e u p o n i d e a s . In a c a b i n e t 1 of n a t u r a l history, we b e c o m e s e n s i b l e of a certain occult recognition a n d s y m p a t h y in regard to the m o s t bizarre f o r m s of b e a s t , fish, a n d insect. T h e A m e r i c a n w h o h a s b e e n confined, in his own country, to the sight of buildings d e s i g n e d after foreign m o d e l s , is s u r p r i s e d on e n t e r i n g York M i n s t e r or S t . Peter's at R o m e , by the feeling that t h e s e s t r u c t u r e s are imitations a l s o , — f a i n t c o p i e s of a n invisible a r c h e t y p e . N o r has s c i e n c e sufficient h u m a n i t y , s o long a s the naturalist overlooks that wonderful congruity which s u b s i s t s b e t w e e n m a n a n d the world; of which he is lord, not b e c a u s e he is the m o s t subtile i n h a b i t a n t , but b e c a u s e h e is its h e a d a n d heart, a n d finds s o m e t h i n g of h i m s e l f in every great a n d small thing, in every m o u n t a i n s t r a t u m , in every n e w law of color, fact of a s t r o n o m y , or a t m o s p h e r i c influence which observation or analysis lay o p e n . A p e r c e p t i o n of this mystery inspires the m u s e of G e o r g e H e r b e r t , the beautiful p s a l m i s t of the s e v e n t e e n t h century. T h e following lines are part of his little p o e m on M a n . 2 " M a n is all symmetry, Full of p r o p o r t i o n s , o n e limb to a n o t h e r , A n d to all the world b e s i d e s . E a c h part may call the farthest, brother; F o r h e a d with foot hath private amity, A n d both with m o o n s a n d tides. " N o t h i n g hath got so far B u t m a n hath c a u g h t a n d kept it a s his prey; H i s eyes d i s m o u n t the highest star; H e is in little all the s p h e r e . H e r b s gladly c u r e our flesh, b e c a u s e that they F i n d their a c q u a i n t a n c e t h e r e . " F o r u s , the winds d o blow. T h e earth doth rest, heaven m o v e , a n d f o u n t a i n s flow; N o t h i n g we s e e , but m e a n s o u r g o o d , As our delight, or a s o u r t r e a s u r e ; T h e whole is either our c u p b o a r d of f o o d , O r c a b i n e t of p l e a s u r e . " T h e stars have us to b e d ; Night draws the c u r t a i n ; which the s u n withdraws. 1. Display c a s e , or room containing many display cases.

2. Herbert's " M a n " 1—4 and 6.

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M u s i c a n d light attend our h e a d . All things u n t o our flesh are kind, In their d e s c e n t a n d being; to our m i n d , In their a s c e n t a n d c a u s e . " M o r e servants wait on m a n T h a n he'll take notice of. In every p a t h , H e treads d o w n that which doth befriend h i m W h e n s i c k n e s s m a k e s him pale a n d w a n . O h mighty love! M a n is o n e world, a n d hath A n o t h e r to a t t e n d h i m . " T h e p e r c e p t i o n of this c l a s s of truths m a k e s the eternal attraction which draws m e n to s c i e n c e , but the e n d is lost sight of in attention to the m e a n s . In view of this half-sight of s c i e n c e , we a c c e p t the s e n t e n c e of P l a t o , that, "poetry c o m e s n e a r e r to vital truth than history." 3 Every s u r m i s e a n d vaticin a t i o n 4 of the mind is entitled to a certain r e s p e c t , a n d we learn to prefer imperfect theories, a n d s e n t e n c e s , which c o n t a i n g l i m p s e s of truth, to digested s y s t e m s which have no o n e v a l u a b l e s u g g e s t i o n . A wise writer will feel that the e n d s of study a n d c o m p o s i t i o n are b e s t a n s w e r e d by a n n o u n c i n g u n d i s c o v e r e d regions of t h o u g h t , a n d so c o m m u n i c a t i n g , t h r o u g h h o p e , new activity to the torpid spirit. I shall therefore c o n c l u d e this e s s a y with s o m e traditions of m a n a n d n a t u r e , which a certain p o e t 5 s a n g to m e ; a n d w h i c h , a s they have always b e e n in the world, a n d p e r h a p s r e a p p e a r to every b a r d , may be both history a n d prophecy. ' T h e f o u n d a t i o n s of m a n a r e not in matter, but in spirit. B u t the e l e m e n t of spirit is eternity. T o it, therefore, the longest series of events, the oldest c h r o n o l o g i e s are y o u n g a n d recent. In the cycle of the universal m a n , from w h o m the known individuals p r o c e e d , c e n t u r i e s are p o i n t s , a n d all history is but the e p o c h of o n e d e g r a d a t i o n . 'We distrust a n d deny inwardly our s y m p a t h y with n a t u r e . W e own a n d disown our relation to it, by t u r n s . W e a r e , like N e b u c h a d n e z z a r , d e t h r o n e d , bereft of r e a s o n , a n d eating g r a s s like an ox. 6 B u t w h o c a n set limits to the remedial force of spirit? 'A m a n is a g o d in ruins. W h e n m e n a r e i n n o c e n t , life shall be longer, a n d shall p a s s into the i m m o r t a l , a s gently a s we a w a k e from d r e a m s . N o w , the world would be i n s a n e a n d rabid, if t h e s e d i s o r g a n i z a t i o n s s h o u l d last for h u n d r e d s of years. It is kept in c h e c k by d e a t h a n d infancy. Infancy is the p e r p e t u a l M e s s i a h , which c o m e s into the a r m s of fallen m e n , a n d p l e a d s with t h e m to return to p a r a d i s e . ' M a n is the dwarf of himself. O n c e h e w a s p e r m e a t e d a n d dissolved by spirit. H e filled n a t u r e with his overflowing c u r r e n t s . O u t from him s p r a n g the s u n a n d m o o n ; from m a n , the s u n ; from w o m a n , the m o o n . T h e laws of his m i n d , the periods of his a c t i o n s externized t h e m s e l v e s into day a n d night, into the year a n d the s e a s o n s . B u t , having m a d e for himself this h u g e shell, 3. In copying two quotations from the Edinburgh Review Emerson blurred the attributions; here he quotes not from Plato, but from section 9 of Aristotle's Poetics (JMN 4.261 and 173). 4. Foretelling, prophesying. 5. The poet is Emerson himself, in the s a m e sort of private joke that he later uses in Tile Poet, but

before writing this passage he bad been seeing his neighbor, the arch-Transcendentalist and idealist Bronson Alcott, who was full of his own "Orphic Sayings," so the device is a little joke with Alcott, one of the first readers and admirers of Nature. 6. S e e Daniel 4 . 3 1 - 3 3 .

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his w a t e r s retired; h e no longer fills the veins a n d veinlets; he is s h r u n k to a d r o p . H e s e e s , that the s t r u c t u r e still fits him, b u t fits him colossally. S a y , rather, o n c e it fitted h i m , now it c o r r e s p o n d s to h i m from far a n d o n high. H e a d o r e s timidly his own work. N o w is m a n the follower of the s u n , a n d w o m a n the follower of the m o o n . Yet s o m e t i m e s h e s t a r t s in his s l u m b e r , a n d w o n d e r s at h i m s e l f a n d his h o u s e , a n d m u s e s strangely at the r e s e m b l a n c e betwixt him a n d it. H e perceives that if his law is still p a r a m o u n t , if still h e have e l e m e n t a l p o w e r , "if his word is sterling yet in n a t u r e , " it is not c o n s c i o u s p o w e r , it is not inferior but s u p e r i o r to his will. It is I n s t i n c t . ' T h u s my O r p h i c p o e t s a n g . At p r e s e n t , m a n a p p l i e s to n a t u r e b u t half his force. H e works o n the world with his u n d e r s t a n d i n g a l o n e . H e lives in it, a n d m a s t e r s it by a pennyw i s d o m ; a n d h e that works m o s t in it, is but a h a l f - m a n a n d whilst his a r m s are strong a n d his digestion g o o d , his m i n d is i m b r u t e d a n d he is a selfish s a v a g e . His relation to n a t u r e , his power over it, is t h r o u g h the u n d e r s t a n d ing; a s by m a n u r e ; the e c o n o m i c u s e of fire, wind, water, a n d the mariner's n e e d l e ; s t e a m , c o a l , c h e m i c a l a g r i c u l t u r e ; the repairs of the h u m a n body by the dentist a n d the s u r g e o n . T h i s is s u c h a r e s u m p t i o n of p o w e r , a s if a b a n i s h e d king s h o u l d b u y his territories inch by i n c h , i n s t e a d of vaulting at o n c e into his t h r o n e . M e a n t i m e , in the thick d a r k n e s s , there a r e not w a n t i n g g l e a m s of a better l i g h t , — o c c a s i o n a l e x a m p l e s of the a c t i o n of m a n u p o n n a t u r e with his entire f o r c e , — w i t h r e a s o n a s well a s u n d e r s t a n d i n g . S u c h e x a m p l e s a r e ; the traditions of m i r a c l e s in the earliest antiquity of all n a t i o n s ; the history of J e s u s C h r i s t ; the a c h i e v e m e n t s of a principle, a s in religious a n d political revolutions, a n d in the abolition of the S l a v e - t r a d e ; the miracles of e n t h u s i a s m , 7 a s t h o s e reported of S w e d e n b o r g , H o h e n l o h e , a n d the S h a k e r s ; 8 m a n y o b s c u r e a n d yet c o n t e s t e d f a c t s , now a r r a n g e d u n d e r the n a m e of A n i m a l M a g n e t i s m ; 9 prayer; e l o q u e n c e , self-healing; a n d the w i s d o m of children. T h e s e are e x a m p l e s of R e a s o n ' s m o m e n t a r y g r a s p of the s c e p t r e , the exertions of a p o w e r which exists not in time or s p a c e , b u t a n instantan e o u s i n - s t r e a m i n g c a u s i n g power. T h e difference b e t w e e n the a c t u a l a n d the ideal force of m a n is happily figured by the s c h o o l m e n , ' in saying, that the k n o w l e d g e of m a n is a n e v e n i n g k n o w l e d g e , vespertina cognitio, b u t that of G o d is a m o r n i n g k n o w l e d g e , matutina cognitio. T h e p r o b l e m of restoring to the world original a n d eternal b e a u t y , is solved by the r e d e m p t i o n of the s o u l . T h e ruin or the b l a n k , that we s e e w h e n w e look at n a t u r e , is in our own eye. T h e axis of vision is not c o i n c i d e n t with the axis of things, a n d s o they a p p e a r not t r a n s p a r e n t b u t o p a k e . T h e r e a s o n why the world l a c k s unity, a n d lies b r o k e n a n d in h e a p s , is, b e c a u s e m a n is d i s u n i t e d with himself. H e c a n n o t b e a naturalist, until h e satisfies all the d e m a n d s of the spirit. L o v e is as m u c h its d e m a n d , a s p e r c e p t i o n . I n d e e d , neither c a n b e perfect without the other. In the u t t e r m o s t m e a n i n g of the w o r d s , t h o u g h t is devout, a n d devotion is t h o u g h t . D e e p calls u n t o d e e p . 2 B u t in a c t u a l life, the m a r r i a g e is not c e l e b r a t e d . T h e r e a r e i n n o c e n t m e n w h o w o r s h i p G o d after the tradition of their f a t h e r s , b u t their s e n s e of duty 7. T h o s e in a supernatural ecstasy or possession. 8. An offshoot of the Quakers; the group believed in miraculous cures. Leopold Franz Emmerich, prince of Hohenlohe ( 1 7 9 4 - 1 8 4 9 ) , reputed miracle healer.

9. Hypnotism. 1. Medieval scholastic philosophers (see 6.179). 2. Psalm 4 2 . 7 .

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has not yet e x t e n d e d to the u s e of all their faculties. A n d there a r e patient n a t u r a l i s t s , but they freeze their s u b j e c t u n d e r the wintry light of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g . Is not prayer a l s o a study of t r u t h , — a sally of the soul into the u n f o u n d infinite? N o m a n ever prayed heartily, without learning s o m e t h i n g . B u t w h e n a faithful thinker, resolute to d e t a c h every object from p e r s o n a l relations, a n d s e e it in the light of thought, shall, at the s a m e t i m e , kindle s c i e n c e with the fire of the holiest affections, then will G o d go forth a n e w into the c r e a t i o n . It will not n e e d , w h e n the m i n d is p r e p a r e d for study, to s e a r c h for o b j e c t s . T h e invariable m a r k of w i s d o m is to s e e the m i r a c u l o u s in the c o m m o n . W h a t is a day? W h a t is a year? W h a t is s u m m e r ? W h a t is w o m a n ? W h a t is a child? W h a t is s l e e p ? T o our b l i n d n e s s , t h e s e things s e e m u n a f f e c t i n g . W e m a k e fables to hide the b a l d n e s s of the fact a n d c o n f o r m it, a s we say, to the higher law of the m i n d . B u t w h e n the fact is s e e n u n d e r the light of a n idea, the g a u d y fable f a d e s a n d shrivels. W e b e h o l d the real higher law. T o the wise, therefore, a fact is true poetry, a n d the m o s t beautiful of fables. T h e s e w o n d e r s are b r o u g h t to our own door. You a l s o are a m a n . M a n a n d w o m a n , a n d their social life, poverty, labor, s l e e p , fear, f o r t u n e , a r e known to y o u . L e a r n that n o n e of t h e s e things is superficial, but that e a c h p h e n o m e n o n hath its roots in the faculties a n d affections of the m i n d . W h i l s t the a b s t r a c t q u e s t i o n o c c u p i e s your intellect, n a t u r e brings it in the c o n c r e t e to b e solved by your h a n d s . It were a wise inquiry for the c l o s e t , 3 to c o m p a r e , point by point, especially at r e m a r k a b l e crises in life, our daily history, with the rise a n d p r o g r e s s of ideas in the m i n d . S o shall we c o m e to look at the world with n e w eyes. It shall a n s w e r the e n d l e s s inquiry of the i n t e l l e c t , — W h a t is truth? a n d of the a f f e c t i o n s , — W h a t is g o o d ? by yielding itself p a s s i v e to the e d u c a t e d Will. T h e n shall c o m e to p a s s what my p o e t s a i d ; ' N a t u r e is not fixed but fluid. Spirit alters, m o u l d s , m a k e s it. T h e immobility or b r u t e n e s s of n a t u r e , is the a b s e n c e of spirit; to p u r e spirit, it is fluid, it is volatile, it is o b e d i e n t . Every spirit builds itself a h o u s e ; a n d beyond its h o u s e , a world; a n d beyond its world, a h e a v e n . K n o w then, that the world exists for you. F o r you is the p h e n o m e n o n perfect. W h a t we a r e , that only c a n we s e e . All that A d a m h a d , all that C a s s a r c o u l d , you have a n d c a n d o . A d a m called his h o u s e , h e a v e n a n d e a r t h ; C a s s a r called his h o u s e , R o m e ; you p e r h a p s call yours, a cobler's t r a d e ; a h u n d r e d a c r e s of p l o u g h e d land; or a scholar's garret. Yet line for line a n d point for point, your d o m i n i o n is a s great a s theirs, t h o u g h without fine n a m e s . B u i l d , therefore your own world. A s fast a s you c a n c o n f o r m your life to the p u r e idea in your m i n d , that will unfold its great p r o p o r t i o n s . A c o r r e s p o n d e n t revolution in things will attend the influx of the spirit. S o fast will d i s a g r e e a b l e a p p e a r a n c e s , swine, s p i d e r s , s n a k e s , p e s t s , m a d - h o u s e s , p r i s o n s , e n e m i e s , v a n i s h ; they are temporary a n d shall be no m o r e s e e n . T h e sordor a n d filths of n a t u r e , the s u n shall dry u p , a n d the wind exhale. As w h e n the s u m m e r c o m e s from the s o u t h , the s n o w - b a n k s melt, a n d the f a c e of the earth b e c o m e s g r e e n before it, so shall the a d v a n c i n g spirit c r e a t e its o r n a m e n t s a l o n g its p a t h , a n d carry with it the b e a u t y it visits, a n d the s o n g which e n c h a n t s it; it shall draw beautiful f a c e s , a n d w a r m h e a r t s , a n d wise d i s c o u r s e , a n d heroic a c t s , a r o u n d its way, until evil is no m o r e s e e n . T h e k i n g d o m of m a n over n a t u r e , 3. T h e scholar's private workroom.

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which c o m e t h not with o b s e r v a t i o n , 4 — a d o m i n i o n s u c h a s now is beyond his d r e a m of G o d , — h e shall enter w i t h o u t m o r e w o n d e r t h a n the blind m a n feels who is gradually r e s t o r e d to p e r f e c t sight.' 1836

The American Scholar1 Mr. President, and Gentlemen, I greet you on the r e - c o m m e n c e m e n t of o u r literary year. O u r anniversary is o n e of h o p e , a n d , p e r h a p s , not e n o u g h of labor. W e d o not m e e t for g a m e s of strength or skill, for the recitation of histories, t r a g e d i e s a n d o d e s , like t h e a n c i e n t G r e e k s ; for p a r l i a m e n t s of love a n d p o e s y , like the T r o u b a d o u r s ; 2 nor for the a d v a n c e m e n t of s c i e n c e , like o u r c o t e m p o r a r i e s in t h e British a n d E u r o p e a n c a p i t a l s . T h u s far, o u r holiday h a s b e e n simply a friendly sign of the survival of the love of letters a m o n g s t a p e o p l e too b u s y to give to letters any m o r e . As s u c h , it is p r e c i o u s a s the sign of an i n d e s t r u c t i b l e instinct. P e r h a p s the t i m e is already c o m e , w h e n it o u g h t to b e , a n d will b e s o m e t h i n g e l s e ; w h e n the s l u g g a r d intellect of this c o n t i n e n t will look from u n d e r its iron lids a n d fill the p o s t p o n e d e x p e c t a t i o n of the world with s o m e thing better than the exertions of m e c h a n i c a l skill. O u r day of d e p e n d e n c e , o u r long a p p r e n t i c e s h i p to the l e a r n i n g of other l a n d s , d r a w s to a c l o s e . T h e millions that a r o u n d us a r e r u s h i n g into life, c a n n o t always b e fed on the s e r e r e m a i n s of foreign h a r v e s t s . E v e n t s , a c t i o n s a r i s e , that m u s t b e s u n g , that will s i n g t h e m s e l v e s . W h o c a n d o u b t that poetry will revive a n d lead in a new a g e , a s the star in the c o n s t e l l a t i o n H a r p which now f l a m e s in o u r zenith, a s t r o n o m e r s a n n o u n c e , shall o n e day b e t h e pole-star for a t h o u s a n d years. In the light of this h o p e , I a c c e p t the topic w h i c h not only u s a g e , but the n a t u r e of o u r a s s o c i a t i o n , s e e m to p r e s c r i b e to this d a y , — t h e AMERICAN SCHOLAR. Year by year, we c o m e u p hither to r e a d o n e m o r e c h a p t e r of his biography. Let us inquire what new lights, n e w e v e n t s a n d m o r e days have thrown on his c h a r a c t e r , his d u t i e s a n d his h o p e s . It is o n e of t h o s e f a b l e s , which out of an u n k n o w n antiquity, convey a n u n l o o k e d for w i s d o m , that the g o d s , in the b e g i n n i n g , divided M a n into m e n , that he might b e m o r e helpful to h i m s e l f ; ' j u s t a s the h a n d w a s divided into fingers, the better to a n s w e r its e n d . T h e old fable covers a d o c t r i n e ever n e w a n d s u b l i m e ; that there is O n e M a n , — p r e s e n t to all p a r t i c u l a r m e n only partially, or t h r o u g h o n e faculty; a n d that you m u s t take the w h o l e society to find the w h o l e m a n . M a n is not a farmer, or a p r o f e s s o r , or an e n g i n e e r , b u t h e is all. M a n is priest, a n d s c h o l a r , a n d s t a t e s m a n , a n d p r o d u c e r , a n d soldier. In the divided or social s t a t e , t h e s e f u n c t i o n s are p a r c e l l e d o u t to individuals, e a c h of w h o m a i m s to 4. Luke 17.20. 1. The text printed here is that of the first publication ( 1 8 3 7 ) as a pamphlet titled An Oration, Delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge, August il, 1837. By altering the title to "The American Scholar" when he republished it in Nature, Addresses, and Lectures ( 1 8 4 9 ) , Emer-

son expanded the application to all American college students and all others who dedicate themselves to thought. 2. Courtly poets of southern France, especially Provence, in the 12th and 13th centuries. 3. O n e such fable E m e r s o n knew from Plato's Symposium.

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do his stint of the joint work, whilst e a c h other p e r f o r m s his. T h e fable implies that the individual to p o s s e s s himself, m u s t s o m e t i m e s return from his own labor to e m b r a c e all the other laborers. B u t unfortunately, this original unit, this fountain of power, has b e e n s o distributed to m u l t i t u d e s , h a s b e e n so minutely subdivided a n d peddled out, that it is spilled into d r o p s , a n d c a n n o t be g a t h e r e d . T h e state of society is o n e in which the m e m b e r s have suffered a m p u t a t i o n from the trunk, a n d strut a b o u t so m a n y walking m o n s t e r s , — a g o o d finger, a neck, a s t o m a c h , an elbow, but never a m a n . M a n is t h u s m e t a m o r p h o s e d into a thing, into m a n y things. T h e planter, w h o is M a n sent out into the field to g a t h e r food, is s e l d o m c h e e r e d by any idea of the true dignity of his ministry. H e s e e s his b u s h e l a n d his cart, a n d nothing beyond, a n d sinks into the farmer, instead of M a n on the farm. T h e t r a d e s m a n scarcely ever gives an ideal worth to his work, but is ridden by the routine of his craft, a n d the soul is s u b j e c t to dollars. T h e priest b e c o m e s a form; the attorney, a statute-book; the m e c h a n i c , a m a c h i n e ; the sailor, a rope of a ship. In this distribution of f u n c t i o n s , the s c h o l a r is the d e l e g a t e d intellect. In the right s t a t e , he is, Man Thinking. In the d e g e n e r a t e s t a t e , w h e n the victim of society, he t e n d s to b e c o m e a m e r e thinker, or, still w o r s e , the parrot of other m e n ' s thinking. In this view of h i m , a s M a n T h i n k i n g , the w h o l e theory of his office 4 is c o n t a i n e d . H i m n a t u r e solicits, with all her placid, all her monitory p i c t u r e s . H i m the p a s t instructs. H i m the future invites. Is not, i n d e e d , every m a n a s t u d e n t , a n d do not all things exist for the s t u d e n t ' s b e h o o f ? A n d , finally, is not the true s c h o l a r the only true m a s t e r ? B u t , a s the old oracle said, "All things have two h a n d l e s . B e w a r e of the wrong o n e . " In life, too often, the s c h o l a r errs with m a n k i n d a n d forfeits his privilege. Let u s s e e him in his s c h o o l , a n d c o n s i d e r him in reference to the m a i n i n f l u e n c e s he receives. I. T h e first in time a n d the first in i m p o r t a n c e of the influences u p o n the mind is that of n a t u r e . Every day, the s u n ; a n d , after s u n s e t , night a n d her stars. Ever the winds blow; ever the g r a s s grows. Every day, m e n a n d w o m e n , conversing, b e h o l d i n g a n d b e h o l d e n . T h e s c h o l a r m u s t n e e d s s t a n d wistful a n d a d m i r i n g before this great s p e c t a c l e . H e m u s t settle its value in his m i n d . W h a t is n a t u r e to h i m ? T h e r e is never a b e g i n n i n g , there is never a n e n d to the inexplicable continuity of this web of G o d , but always circular power returning into itself. T h e r e i n it r e s e m b l e s his own spirit, w h o s e b e g i n n i n g , w h o s e e n d i n g he never c a n find—so entire, s o b o u n d l e s s . Far, too, a s her s p l e n d o r s s h i n e , system on system s h o o t i n g like rays, u p w a r d , d o w n w a r d , without c e n t r e , without c i r c u m f e r e n c e , — i n the m a s s a n d in the particle n a t u r e h a s t e n s to render a c c o u n t of herself to the m i n d . C l a s s i f i c a t i o n b e g i n s . T o the y o u n g m i n d , every thing is individual, s t a n d s by itself. By a n d by, it finds how to j o i n two things, a n d s e e in t h e m o n e n a t u r e ; then three, then three t h o u s a n d ; a n d s o , tyrannized over by its own unifying instinct, it g o e s on tying things together, d i m i n i s h i n g a n o m a l i e s , d i s c o v e r i n g roots running u n d e r g r o u n d , whereby contrary a n d r e m o t e things c o h e r e , a n d flower out from o n e s t e m . It presently learns, that, s i n c e the d a w n of history, there h a s b e e n a c o n s t a n t a c c u m u l a t i o n a n d classifying of f a c t s . B u t what is c l a s sification but the perceiving that t h e s e o b j e c t s are not c h a o t i c , a n d are not 4. Function.

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foreign, but have a law which is also a law of the h u m a n m i n d ? T h e astrono m e r discovers that geometry, a p u r e a b s t r a c t i o n of the h u m a n m i n d , is the m e a s u r e of planetary m o t i o n . T h e c h e m i s t finds p r o p o r t i o n s a n d intelligible m e t h o d t h r o u g h o u t matter: a n d s c i e n c e is nothing but the finding of analogy, identity in the m o s t r e m o t e p a r t s . T h e a m b i t i o u s soul sits d o w n before e a c h refractory fact; o n e after a n o t h e r , r e d u c e s all s t r a n g e c o n s t i t u t i o n s , all new p o w e r s , to their c l a s s a n d their law, a n d g o e s on forever to a n i m a t e the last fibre of organization, the outskirts of n a t u r e , by insight. T h u s to h i m , to this school-boy u n d e r the b e n d i n g d o m e of day, is sugg e s t e d , that h e a n d it p r o c e e d from o n e root; o n e is leaf a n d o n e is flower; relation, sympathy, stirring in every vein. A n d what is that R o o t ? Is not that the soul of his s o u l ? — A t h o u g h t too b o l d — a d r e a m too wild. Yet w h e n this spiritual light shall have revealed the law of m o r e earthly n a t u r e s , — w h e n h e has l e a r n e d to w o r s h i p the soul, a n d to s e e that the n a t u r a l p h i l o s o p h y that now is, is only the first gropings of its gigantic h a n d , he shall look forward to a n ever e x p a n d i n g k n o w l e d g e a s to a b e c o m i n g creator. H e shall s e e that n a t u r e is the o p p o s i t e of the soul, a n s w e r i n g to it part for p a r t . O n e is seal, a n d o n e is print. Its b e a u t y is the b e a u t y of his own m i n d . Its laws a r e the laws of his own m i n d . N a t u r e then b e c o m e s to him the m e a s u r e of his attainm e n t s . S o m u c h of n a t u r e a s h e is ignorant of, s o m u c h of his own m i n d d o e s h e not yet p o s s e s s . A n d , in fine, the a n c i e n t p r e c e p t , " K n o w thyself," a n d the m o d e r n p r e c e p t , " S t u d y n a t u r e , " b e c o m e at last o n e m a x i m . II. T h e next great i n f l u e n c e 5 into the spirit of the s c h o l a r , is, the m i n d of the P a s t , — i n whatever f o r m , w h e t h e r of literature, of art, of institutions, that m i n d is i n s c r i b e d . B o o k s are the b e s t type of the influence of the p a s t , a n d p e r h a p s we shall get at the t r u t h — l e a r n the a m o u n t of this influence m o r e c o n v e n i e n t l y — b y c o n s i d e r i n g their v a l u e a l o n e . T h e theory of b o o k s is n o b l e . T h e s c h o l a r of the first a g e received into him the world a r o u n d ; b r o o d e d t h e r e o n ; gave it the n e w a r r a n g e m e n t of his own m i n d , a n d uttered it a g a i n . It c a m e into h i m — l i f e ; it went o u t from h i m — truth. It c a m e to h i m — s h o r t - l i v e d a c t i o n s ; it went o u t from h i m — i m m o r t a l t h o u g h t s . It c a m e to h i m — b u s i n e s s ; it went from h i m — p o e t r y . It w a s — d e a d fact; now, it is q u i c k 6 t h o u g h t . It c a n s t a n d , a n d it c a n g o . It now e n d u r e s , it now flies, it now i n s p i r e s . 7 Precisely in proportion to the d e p t h of m i n d from which it i s s u e d , so high d o e s it soar, s o long d o e s it sing. Or, I might say, it d e p e n d s o n how far the p r o c e s s h a d g o n e , of t r a n s m u t i n g life into truth. In proportion to the c o m p l e t e n e s s of the distillation, so will the purity a n d i m p e r i s h a b l e n e s s of the p r o d u c t b e . B u t n o n e is q u i t e p e r f e c t . As n o a i r - p u m p c a n by any m e a n s m a k e a perfect v a c u u m , s o neither c a n any artist entirely e x c l u d e the c o n v e n t i o n a l , the local, the p e r i s h a b l e from his book, or write a b o o k of p u r e t h o u g h t that shall b e a s efficient, in all r e s p e c t s , to a r e m o t e posterity, a s to c o t e m p o r a r i e s , or rather to the s e c o n d a g e . E a c h a g e , it is f o u n d , m u s t write its own b o o k s ; or rather, e a c h generation for the next s u c c e e d i n g . T h e books of a n older period will not fit this. Yet h e n c e a r i s e s a grave mischief. T h e s a c r e d n e s s w h i c h a t t a c h e s to the act of c r e a t i o n , — t h e act of t h o u g h t , — i s instantly transferred to the r e c o r d . T h e p o e t c h a n t i n g , w a s felt to b e a divine m a n . H e n c e f o r t h the c h a n t is divine a l s o . T h e writer w a s a j u s t a n d wise spirit. H e n c e f o r w a r d it is settled, 5. Inflowing. 6. Living. "Business": busyness, activity.

7. Breathes in. " G o " : walk.

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the book is perfect; a s love of the hero corrupts into worship of his s t a t u e . Instantly, the b o o k b e c o m e s noxious. T h e g u i d e is a tyrant. W e s o u g h t a brother, a n d lo, a governor. T h e sluggish a n d perverted mind of the multit u d e , always slow to o p e n to the incursions of R e a s o n , having o n c e s o o p e n e d , having o n c e received this book, s t a n d s u p o n it, a n d m a k e s a n outcry, if it is d i s p a r a g e d . C o l l e g e s are built on it. B o o k s are written o n it by thinkers, not by M a n T h i n k i n g ; by m e n of talent, that is, w h o start wrong, w h o set out from a c c e p t e d d o g m a s , not from their own sight of p r i n c i p l e s . M e e k y o u n g m e n grow u p in libraries, believing it their duty to a c c e p t the views which C i c e r o , which L o c k e , which B a c o n have given, forgetful that C i c e r o , L o c k e a n d B a c o n were only y o u n g m e n in libraries w h e n they wrote t h e s e b o o k s . " H e n c e , instead of M a n T h i n k i n g , we have the b o o k w o r m . H e n c e , the book-learned c l a s s , who value b o o k s , a s s u c h ; not a s related to n a t u r e a n d the h u m a n c o n s t i t u t i o n , but a s m a k i n g a sort of Third Estate 1 ' with the world a n d the soul. H e n c e , the restorers of r e a d i n g s , the e m e n d a t o r s , the bibliom a n i a c s of all d e g r e e s . T h i s is b a d ; this is w o r s e than it s e e m s . B o o k s are t h e b e s t of things, well u s e d ; a b u s e d , a m o n g the worst. W h a t is the right u s e ? W h a t is the o n e e n d which all m e a n s go to effect? T h e y are for nothing b u t to inspire. I h a d better never s e e a b o o k than to b e w a r p e d by its attraction c l e a n out of m y own orbit, a n d m a d e a satellite instead of a s y s t e m . T h e o n e thing in the world of v a l u e , is, the active s o u l , — t h e soul, free, sovereign, active. T h i s every m a n is entitled to; this every m a n c o n t a i n s within him, a l t h o u g h in a l m o s t all m e n , o b s t r u c t e d , a n d a s yet u n b o r n . T h e soul active s e e s a b s o l u t e truth; a n d utters truth, or c r e a t e s . In this action, it is g e n i u s ; not the privilege of here a n d there a favorite, but the s o u n d e s t a t e of every m a n . In its e s s e n c e , it is progressive. T h e book, the c o l l e g e , the school of art, the institution of any kind, stop with s o m e p a s t u t t e r a n c e of g e n i u s . T h i s is g o o d , say they,—let us hold by this. T h e y pin m e down. T h e y look b a c k w a r d a n d not forward. B u t g e n i u s always looks forward. T h e eyes of m a n are set in his f o r e h e a d , not in his h i n d h e a d . M a n h o p e s . G e n i u s c r e a t e s . T o c r e a t e , — t o c r e a t e , — i s the proof of a divine p r e s e n c e . W h a t e v e r talents m a y b e , if the m a n c r e a t e not, the p u r e efflux 1 of the Deity is not h i s : — c i n d e r s a n d s m o k e , there m a y b e , but not yet flame. T h e r e are creative m a n n e r s , there are creative a c t i o n s , a n d creative w o r d s ; m a n n e r s , a c t i o n s , w o r d s , that is, indicative of no c u s t o m or authority, but springing s p o n t a n e o u s from the m i n d ' s own s e n s e of g o o d a n d fair. On the other part, instead of b e i n g its own seer, let it receive always from a n o t h e r mind its truth, t h o u g h it were in torrents of light, without periods of solitude, i n q u e s t a n d self-recovery, a n d a fatal disservice is d o n e . G e n i u s is always sufficiently the e n e m y of g e n i u s by over-influence. T h e literature of every nation b e a r m e witness. T h e E n g l i s h d r a m a t i c p o e t s have S h a k spearized n o w for two h u n d r e d years. U n d o u b t e d l y , there is a right way of r e a d i n g , — s o it b e sternly subordi8. T h e s e examples are not especially apt. since none of the three wrote books at an unusually precocious age. As a young man Marcus Tullius Cicero ( 1 0 6 - 1 4 3 B.C.E.), Roman statesman, was best known for his oratory. John Locke ( 1 6 3 2 - 1 7 0 4 ) , English philosopher and political thinker, wrote Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690) before he was forty. Sir Francis Bacon ( 1 5 6 1 -

1626), English statesman and philosopher, is best known for his essays. 9. On the analogy of the three-part division of estates of the realm, in which the third estate is the c o m m o n people; the first estate is the clergy and the second, the nobility. I. Flowing forth.

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n a t e d . M a n T h i n k i n g m u s t not b e s u b d u e d by his i n s t r u m e n t s . B o o k s are for the scholar's idle t i m e s . W h e n he c a n read G o d directly, the h o u r is too p r e c i o u s to b e w a s t e d in other m e n ' s transcripts of their r e a d i n g s . B u t w h e n the intervals of d a r k n e s s c o m e , as c o m e they m u s t , — w h e n the soul s e e t h not, w h e n the s u n is hid, a n d the stars withdraw their s h i n i n g , — w e repair to the l a m p s w h i c h were kindled by their ray to g u i d e o u r s t e p s to the E a s t a g a i n , where the d a w n is. W e h e a r that we may s p e a k . T h e A r a b i a n proverb says, "A fig tree looking on a fig tree, b e c o m e t h fruitful." It is r e m a r k a b l e , the c h a r a c t e r of the p l e a s u r e we derive from the b e s t b o o k s . T h e y i m p r e s s u s ever with the conviction that o n e n a t u r e wrote a n d the s a m e r e a d s . W e r e a d the verses of o n e of the great E n g l i s h p o e t s , of C h a u c e r , of Marvell, of D r y d e n , with the m o s t m o d e r n j o y , — w i t h a p l e a s u r e , I m e a n , w h i c h is in great part c a u s e d by the a b s t r a c t i o n of all time from their v e r s e s . T h e r e is s o m e a w e mixed with the joy of our s u r p r i s e , w h e n this poet, w h o lived in s o m e p a s t world, two or three h u n d r e d years a g o , says that which lies c l o s e to my own soul, that which I a l s o h a d well nigh t h o u g h t a n d said. B u t for the e v i d e n c e t h e n c e afforded to the p h i l o s o p h i c a l d o c t r i n e of the identity of all m i n d s , we s h o u l d s u p p o s e s o m e p r e - e s t a b l i s h e d harmony, s o m e foresight of s o u l s that were to b e , a n d s o m e p r e p a r a t i o n of stores for their future w a n t s , like the fact o b s e r v e d in i n s e c t s , w h o lay u p food before d e a t h for the y o u n g g r u b they shall never s e e . I w o u l d not b e hurried by any love of s y s t e m , by any exaggeration of instincts, to u n d e r r a t e the B o o k . W e all know, that as the h u m a n body c a n be n o u r i s h e d o n any food, t h o u g h it were boiled g r a s s a n d the broth of s h o e s , so the h u m a n m i n d c a n b e fed by any k n o w l e d g e . A n d great a n d heroic m e n have existed, w h o h a d a l m o s t n o other i n f o r m a t i o n than by the printed p a g e . I only would say, that it n e e d s a s t r o n g h e a d to b e a r that diet. O n e m u s t b e a n inventor to r e a d well. A s the proverb says, " H e that w o u l d bring h o m e the wealth of the I n d i e s , m u s t carry o u t the wealth of the I n d i e s . " T h e r e is then creative reading, as well a s creative writing. W h e n the m i n d is b r a c e d by labor a n d invention, the p a g e of whatever b o o k we read b e c o m e s l u m i n o u s with m a n i f o l d a l l u s i o n . Every s e n t e n c e is d o u b l y significant, a n d the s e n s e of our a u t h o r is a s b r o a d a s the world. W e then s e e , what is always t r u e , that a s the seer's h o u r of vision is short a n d rare a m o n g heavy days a n d m o n t h s , s o is its r e c o r d , p e r c h a n c e , the least part of his v o l u m e . T h e d i s c e r n i n g will read in his P l a t o or S h a k s p e a r e , only that least p a r t , — o n l y the a u t h e n t i c u t t e r a n c e s of the o r a c l e , — a n d all the rest he r e j e c t s , were it never s o m a n y times Plato's a n d S h a k s p e a r e ' s . O f c o u r s e , there is a portion of r e a d i n g q u i t e i n d i s p e n s a b l e to a wise m a n . History a n d exact s c i e n c e h e m u s t learn by l a b o r i o u s r e a d i n g . C o l l e g e s , in like m a n n e r , have their i n d i s p e n s a b l e o f f i c e , — t o t e a c h e l e m e n t s . B u t they c a n only highly serve u s , w h e n they a i m not to drill, but to c r e a t e ; w h e n they gather from far every ray of v a r i o u s g e n i u s to their h o s p i t a b l e halls, a n d , by the c o n c e n t r a t e d fires, set the h e a r t s of their youth o n f l a m e . T h o u g h t a n d k n o w l e d g e are n a t u r e s in which a p p a r a t u s a n d p r e t e n s i o n avail n o t h i n g . G o w n s , a n d p e c u n i a r y f o u n d a t i o n s , t h o u g h of t o w n s of g o l d , c a n never c o u n tervail the least s e n t e n c e or syllable of wit. F o r g e t this, a n d o u r A m e r i c a n colleges will r e c e d e in their public i m p o r t a n c e whilst they grow richer every year. III. T h e r e g o e s in the world a notion that the s c h o l a r s h o u l d b e a r e c l u s e ,

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a v a l e t u d i n a r i a n , — a s unfit for any handiwork or public labor, a s a penknife for a n axe. T h e s o called "practical m e n " s n e e r at s p e c u l a t i v e m e n , a s if, b e c a u s e they s p e c u l a t e or see, they c o u l d do nothing. I have h e a r d it s a i d that the c l e r g y , — w h o are always m o r e universally than any other c l a s s , the s c h o l a r s of their d a y , — a r e a d d r e s s e d a s w o m e n : that the r o u g h , s p o n t a n e o u s c o n v e r s a t i o n of m e n they d o not hear, but only a m i n c i n g a n d diluted s p e e c h . T h e y are often virtually d i s f r a n c h i s e d ; a n d , i n d e e d , there a r e a d v o c a t e s for their celibacy. As far a s this is true of the s t u d i o u s c l a s s e s , it is not j u s t a n d wise. Action is with the s c h o l a r s u b o r d i n a t e , b u t it is e s s e n t i a l . W i t h o u t it, h e is not yet m a n . W i t h o u t it, thought c a n never ripen into truth. Whilst the world h a n g s before the eye a s a cloud of beauty, we c a n not even s e e its beauty. Inaction is c o w a r d i c e , but there c a n b e no s c h o l a r without the heroic m i n d . T h e p r e a m b l e of t h o u g h t , the transition t h r o u g h which it p a s s e s from the u n c o n s c i o u s to the c o n s c i o u s , is a c t i o n . Only s o m u c h d o I know, a s I have lived. Instantly, we k n o w w h o s e words are l o a d e d with life, a n d w h o s e not. T h e w o r l d , — t h i s s h a d o w of the soul, or other me, lies wide a r o u n d . Its attractions are the keys which unlock my t h o u g h t s a n d m a k e m e a c q u a i n t e d with myself. I l a u n c h eagerly into this r e s o u n d i n g t u m u l t . I g r a s p the h a n d s of t h o s e next m e , a n d take my p l a c e in the ring to suffer a n d to work, t a u g h t by a n instinct that so shall the d u m b abyss be vocal with s p e e c h . I p i e r c e its order; I d i s s i p a t e its fear; I d i s p o s e of it within the circuit of my e x p a n d i n g life. S o m u c h only of life a s I know by e x p e r i e n c e , s o m u c h of the w i l d e r n e s s have I v a n q u i s h e d a n d p l a n t e d , or s o far have I e x t e n d e d my b e i n g , my d o m i n i o n . I do not s e e how any m a n c a n afford, for the s a k e of his nerves a n d his n a p , to s p a r e any action in which he c a n p a r t a k e . It is pearls a n d rubies to his d i s c o u r s e . Drudgery, calamity, e x a s p e r a t i o n , w a n t , are instruct e d in e l o q u e n c e a n d w i s d o m . T h e true s c h o l a r g r u d g e s every opportunity of a c t i o n p a s t by, a s a loss of power. It is the raw material o u t of which the intellect m o u l d s her s p l e n d i d produ c t s . A s t r a n g e p r o c e s s too, this, by which e x p e r i e n c e is c o n v e r t e d into t h o u g h t , a s a mulberry leaf is converted into satin. T h e m a n u f a c t u r e g o e s forward at all h o u r s . T h e a c t i o n s a n d events of our c h i l d h o o d a n d youth are n o w m a t t e r s of c a l m e s t observation. T h e y lie like fair p i c t u r e s in the air. N o t s o with o u r recent a c t i o n s , — w i t h the b u s i n e s s which we now have in h a n d . O n this we are quite u n a b l e to s p e c u l a t e . O u r affections a s yet c i r c u l a t e t h r o u g h it. W e no m o r e feel or know it, than w e feel the feet, or the h a n d , or the brain of our body. T h e new d e e d is yet a part of l i f e , — r e m a i n s for a time i m m e r s e d in our u n c o n s c i o u s life. In s o m e c o n t e m p l a t i v e hour, it d e t a c h e s itself from the life like a ripe fruit, to b e c o m e a t h o u g h t of the m i n d . Instantly, it is raised, transfigured; the corruptible h a s p u t o n i n c o r r u p t i o n . 2 Always now it is a n object of beauty, however b a s e its origin a n d n e i g h b o r h o o d . O b s e r v e , too, the impossibility of a n t e d a t i n g this act. In its g r u b s t a t e , it c a n n o t fly, it c a n n o t s h i n e , — i t is a dull g r u b . B u t s u d d e n l y , without o b s e r v a t i o n , the selfs a m e thing unfurls beautiful w i n g s , a n d is a n a n g e l of w i s d o m . S o is there no fact, no event, in our private history, w h i c h shall not, s o o n e r or later, lose 2. "For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality" (I Corinthians 15.53).

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its a d h e s i v e inert form, a n d a s t o n i s h u s by s o a r i n g from our body into the e m p y r e a n . 3 C r a d l e a n d infancy, school a n d p l a y g r o u n d , the fear of boys, a n d d o g s , a n d f e r u l e s , 4 the love of little m a i d s a n d berries, a n d m a n y a n o t h e r fact that o n c e filled the whole sky, are g o n e already; friend a n d relative, profession a n d party, town a n d country, nation a n d world, m u s t a l s o s o a r a n d sing. O f c o u r s e , he w h o h a s p u t forth his total strength in fit a c t i o n s , h a s the richest return of w i s d o m . I will not s h u t myself out of this g l o b e o f a c t i o n a n d t r a n s p l a n t a n o a k into a flower pot, there to h u n g e r a n d p i n e ; nor trust the revenue of s o m e single faculty, a n d e x h a u s t o n e vein of t h o u g h t , m u c h like t h o s e S a v o y a r d s , 5 w h o , getting their livelihood by carving s h e p h e r d s , s h e p h e r d e s s e s , a n d s m o k i n g D u t c h m e n , for all E u r o p e , went out o n e day to the m o u n t a i n to find stock, a n d d i s c o v e r e d that they h a d whittled u p the last of their p i n e trees. A u t h o r s we have in n u m b e r s , w h o have written out their vein, a n d w h o , m o v e d by a c o m m e n d a b l e p r u d e n c e , sail for G r e e c e or Pale s t i n e , follow the trapper into the prairie, or r a m b l e r o u n d Algiers to replenish their m e r c h a n t a b l e s t o c k . 6 If it were only for a v o c a b u l a r y the s c h o l a r would be c o v e t o u s of a c t i o n . Life is our dictionary. Years are well s p e n t in country l a b o r s ; in t o w n — i n the insight into t r a d e s a n d m a n u f a c t u r e s ; in frank i n t e r c o u r s e with m a n y m e n a n d w o m e n ; in s c i e n c e ; in art; to the o n e e n d of m a s t e r i n g in all their facts a l a n g u a g e , by which to illustrate a n d e m b o d y our p e r c e p t i o n s . I learn i m m e diately from any s p e a k e r how m u c h he h a s already lived, t h r o u g h the poverty or the s p l e n d o r of his s p e e c h . Life lies b e h i n d us a s the quarry from w h e n c e we get tiles a n d c o p e s t o n e s for the m a s o n r y of to-day. T h i s is the way to learn g r a m m a r . C o l l e g e s a n d books only c o p y the l a n g u a g e w h i c h the field a n d the workyard m a d e . B u t the final value of a c t i o n , like that of b o o k s , a n d better t h a n b o o k s , is, that it is a r e s o u r c e . T h a t great principle of U n d u l a t i o n in n a t u r e , that s h o w s itself in the inspiring a n d expiring of the b r e a t h ; in d e s i r e a n d satiety; in the e b b a n d flow of the s e a , in day a n d night, in heat a n d c o l d , a n d a s yet m o r e deeply ingrained in every a t o m a n d every fluid, is known to u s u n d e r the n a m e of P o l a r i t y , — t h e s e "fits of easy t r a n s m i s s i o n a n d reflection," a s Newt o n 7 called t h e m , are the law of n a t u r e b e c a u s e they are the law of spirit. T h e m i n d now thinks; now a c t s ; a n d e a c h fit r e p r o d u c e s the other. W h e n the artist h a s e x h a u s t e d his m a t e r i a l s , w h e n the fancy no longer p a i n t s , w h e n t h o u g h t s a r e no longer a p p r e h e n d e d , a n d b o o k s are a w e a r i n e s s , — h e h a s always the r e s o u r c e to live. C h a r a c t e r is h i g h e r t h a n intellect. T h i n k i n g is the function. Living is the functionary. T h e s t r e a m retreats to its s o u r c e . A great soul will be s t r o n g to live, as well a s s t r o n g to think. D o e s h e lack organ or m e d i u m to impart his truths? H e c a n still fall b a c k on this e l e m e n t a l force of living t h e m . T h i s is a total a c t . T h i n k i n g is a partial a c t . L e t the g r a n d e u r of j u s t i c e s h i n e in his affairs. L e t the b e a u t y of affection c h e e r his lowly roof. T h o s e "far from f a m e " w h o dwell a n d a c t with him, will feel the force of his constitution in the doings a n d p a s s a g e s of the day better than it c a n be 3. T h e highest reaches oi heaven. 4. Rods used for punishing children. 5. Savoy is in the western Alps, where France, Italy, and Switzerland converge. 6. Emerson's contemporaries would have understood a reference to writers now unread, such as Nathaniel Parker Willis, as well as to two still-

famous wTiters, J a m e s Fenimore Cooper, author of "The Prairie" ( 1 8 2 7 ) , and Washington I m n g , author of A Tour tin the Prairies ( 1 8 3 5 ) . 7. From t h e Optics ( 1 7 0 4 ) of Sir Isaac Newton ( 1 6 4 2 - 1 7 2 7 ) , English scientist and mathematician.

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m e a s u r e d by any public a n d d e s i g n e d display. T i m e shall t e a c h him that the s c h o l a r loses no hour which the m a n lives. H e r e i n he u n f o l d s the s a c r e d germ of his instinct s c r e e n e d from influence. W h a t is lost in s e e m l i n e s s is g a i n e d in strength. N o t o u t of those on w h o m s y s t e m s of e d u c a t i o n have e x h a u s t e d their c u l t u r e , c o m e s the helpful giant to destroy the old or to build the new, but o u t of u n h a n d s e l l e d 8 savage n a t u r e , out of terrible D r u i d s a n d Berserkirs, c o m e at last A l f r e d 9 a n d S h a k s p e a r . I hear therefore with j o y whatever is b e g i n n i n g to be said of the dignity a n d necessity of labor to every citizen. T h e r e is virtue yet in the hoe a n d the s p a d e , for learned a s well a s for u n l e a r n e d h a n d s . A n d labor is every w h e r e w e l c o m e ; always we are invited to work; only be this limitation o b s e r v e d , that a m a n shall not for the s a k e of wider activity sacrifice any o p i n i o n to the p o p u l a r j u d g m e n t s a n d m o d e s of a c t i o n . I have now s p o k e n of the e d u c a t i o n of the s c h o l a r by n a t u r e , by b o o k s , a n d by a c t i o n . It r e m a i n s to say s o m e w h a t of his d u t i e s . T h e y are s u c h as b e c o m e M a n Thinking. T h e y may all be c o m p r i s e d in self-trust. T h e office of the s c h o l a r is to cheer, to raise, a n d to g u i d e m e n by s h o w i n g t h e m facts a m i d s t a p p e a r a n c e s . H e plies the slow, u n h o n o r e d , a n d u n p a i d task of observation. F l a m s t e e d a n d H e r s c h e l , in their g l a z e d 1 observatory, may c a t a l o g u e the stars with the p r a i s e of all m e n , a n d the results b e i n g splendid a n d useful, h o n o r is s u r e . B u t h e , in his private observatory, c a t a l o g u i n g o b s c u r e a n d n e b u l o u s stars of the h u m a n m i n d , which as yet no m a n h a s thought of a s s u c h , — w a t c h i n g days a n d m o n t h s , s o m e t i m e s , for a few facts; c o r r e c t i n g still his old r e c o r d s ; — m u s t relinquish display a n d i m m e d i a t e f a m e . In the long period of his p r e p a r a t i o n , he m u s t betray often an i g n o r a n c e a n d s h i f t l e s s n e s s in p o p u l a r arts, incurring the d i s d a i n of the able w h o s h o u l d e r him a s i d e . L o n g he m u s t s t a m m e r in his s p e e c h ; often forego the living for the d e a d . W o r s e yet, h e m u s t a c c e p t — h o w often! poverty a n d solitude. For the e a s e a n d p l e a s u r e of treading the old road, a c c e p t i n g the f a s h i o n s , the e d u c a t i o n , the religion of society, he t a k e s the c r o s s of m a k i n g his own, a n d , of c o u r s e , the self a c c u s a t i o n , the faint heart, the frequent uncertainty a n d loss of time which are the nettles a n d tangling vines in the way of the self-relying a n d self-directed; a n d the s t a t e of virtual hostility in which he s e e m s to s t a n d to society, a n d especially to e d u c a t e d society. F o r all this loss a n d s c o r n , what offset? H e is to find c o n s o l a t i o n in exercising the highest functions of h u m a n n a t u r e . H e is o n e who r a i s e s himself from private c o n s i d e r a t i o n s , a n d b r e a t h e s a n d lives on public a n d illustrious t h o u g h t s . H e is the world's eye. H e is the world's heart. H e is to resist the vulgar prosperity that retrogrades ever to b a r b a r i s m , by preserving a n d c o m m u n i c a t i n g heroic s e n t i m e n t s , noble b i o g r a p h i e s , m e l o d i o u s verse, a n d the c o n c l u s i o n s of history. W h a t s o e v e r o r a c l e s the h u m a n heart in all e m e r g e n c i e s , in all s o l e m n h o u r s has uttered a s its c o m m e n t a r y on the world of a c t i o n s , — t h e s e he shall receive a n d impart. A n d w h a t s o e v e r new verdict R e a s o n from her inviolable seat p r o n o u n c e s on the p a s s i n g m e n a n d events of to-day,—this he shall hear a n d p r o m u l g a t e . 8. A handsel is a gift to express good wishes at the outset of some enterprise; apparently Emerson uses the word to mean something like unauspieious. 9. The enlightened 9th-century king of the West Saxons. "Terrible Druids and Berserkirs": uncivi-

lized Celts and Anglo-Saxons. 1. Glass-roofed. John Flamsteed ( 1 6 4 6 - 1 7 1 9 ) , English astronomer, first royal astronomer at Greenwich Observatory. Sir William Herschel ( 1 7 3 8 - 1 8 2 2 ) , German-born English astronomer, founder of sideral astronomy.

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T h e s e b e i n g his f u n c t i o n s , it b e c o m e s h i m to feel all c o n f i d e n c e in himself, a n d to defer never to the p o p u l a r cry. H e a n d h e only knows the world. T h e world of any m o m e n t is the m e r e s t a p p e a r a n c e . S o m e great d e c o r u m , s o m e fetish of a g o v e r n m e n t , s o m e e p h e m e r a l t r a d e , or war, or m a n , is cried u p by half m a n k i n d a n d cried d o w n by the other half, a s if all d e p e n d e d on this particular u p or d o w n . T h e o d d s are that the w h o l e q u e s t i o n is not worth the p o o r e s t t h o u g h t w h i c h the s c h o l a r h a s lost in listening to the controversy. L e t him not quit his belief that a p o p g u n is a p o p g u n , t h o u g h the a n c i e n t a n d h o n o r a b l e of the earth affirm it to b e the c r a c k of d o o m . In s i l e n c e , in s t e a d i n e s s , in severe a b s t r a c t i o n , let h i m hold by himself; a d d observation to observation; patient of neglect, patient of r e p r o a c h , a n d bide his own t i m e , — happy e n o u g h if h e c a n satisfy h i m s e l f a l o n e that this day h e h a s s e e n s o m e thing truly. S u c c e s s treads on every right s t e p . F o r the instinct is s u r e that p r o m p t s him to tell his brother w h a t he thinks. H e then l e a r n s that in g o i n g down into the s e c r e t s of his own m i n d , h e h a s d e s c e n d e d into the s e c r e t s of all m i n d s . H e learns that h e w h o h a s m a s t e r e d any law in his private t h o u g h t s , is m a s t e r to that extent of all m e n w h o s e l a n g u a g e h e s p e a k s , a n d of all into w h o s e l a n g u a g e his own c a n b e t r a n s l a t e d . T h e p o e t in utter solitude r e m e m b e r i n g his s p o n t a n e o u s t h o u g h t s a n d r e c o r d i n g t h e m , is f o u n d to have r e c o r d e d that w h i c h m e n in "cities v a s t " find true for t h e m a l s o . T h e orator distrusts at first the fitness of his frank c o n f e s s i o n s , — h i s w a n t of k n o w l e d g e of the p e r s o n s h e a d d r e s s e s , — u n t i l h e finds that h e is the c o m p l e m e n t of his h e a r e r s ; — t h a t they drink his w o r d s b e c a u s e h e fulfils for t h e m their own n a t u r e ; the d e e p e r h e dives into his privatest s e c r e t e s t p r e s e n t i m e n t , — t o his w o n d e r he finds, this is the m o s t a c c e p t a b l e , m o s t p u b l i c , a n d universally true. T h e p e o p l e delight in it; the better part of every m a n feels, T h i s is my m u s i c : this is myself. In self-trust, all the virtues are c o m p r e h e n d e d . F r e e s h o u l d the s c h o l a r b e , — f r e e a n d b r a v e . F r e e even to the definition of f r e e d o m , "without any h i n d r a n c e that d o e s not arise o u t of his own c o n s t i t u t i o n . " B r a v e ; for fear is a thing which a s c h o l a r by his very function p u t s b e h i n d h i m . F e a r always springs from i g n o r a n c e . It is a s h a m e to him if his tranquillity, a m i d dangero u s t i m e s , a r i s e from the p r e s u m p t i o n that like c h i l d r e n a n d w o m e n , his is a p r o t e c t e d c l a s s ; or if h e s e e k a t e m p o r a r y p e a c e by the diversion of his t h o u g h t s from politics or vexed q u e s t i o n s , hiding his h e a d like a n ostrich in the flowering b u s h e s , p e e p i n g into m i c r o s c o p e s , a n d turning r h y m e s , as a boy whistles to keep his c o u r a g e u p . S o is the d a n g e r a d a n g e r still: s o is the fear w o r s e . M a n l i k e let h i m turn a n d f a c e it. L e t him look into its eye a n d s e a r c h its n a t u r e , i n s p e c t its o r i g i n — s e e the w h e l p i n g of this l i o n , — w h i c h lies n o great way b a c k ; h e will then find in h i m s e l f a p e r f e c t c o m p r e h e n s i o n of its n a t u r e a n d extent; he will have m a d e his h a n d s m e e t on the other s i d e , a n d c a n h e n c e f o r t h defy it, a n d p a s s o n superior. T h e world is his w h o c a n s e e t h r o u g h its p r e t e n s i o n . W h a t d e a f n e s s , w h a t stone-blind c u s t o m , w h a t overgrown error you b e h o l d , is there only by s u f f e r a n c e , — b y your s u f f e r a n c e . S e e it to b e a lie, a n d you have already dealt it its mortal blow. Y e s , we a r e the c o w e d , — w e the t r u s t l e s s . It is a m i s c h i e v o u s n o t i o n that we a r e c o m e late into n a t u r e ; that the world w a s finished a l o n g t i m e a g o . A s the world w a s plastic a n d fluid in the h a n d s of G o d , s o it is ever to so m u c h of his a t t r i b u t e s a s we bring to it. T o i g n o r a n c e a n d sin, it is flint. T h e y a d a p t t h e m s e l v e s to it a s they may; but in p r o p o r t i o n a s a m a n h a s a n y t h i n g

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in him divine, the f i r m a m e n t flows before him, a n d takes his s i g n e t 2 a n d form. N o t h e is great w h o c a n alter matter, but he w h o c a n alter my s t a t e of m i n d . T h e y are the kings of the world who give the color of their p r e s e n t thought to all n a t u r e a n d all art, a n d p e r s u a d e m e n by the cheerful serenity of their carrying the matter, that this thing which they d o , is the a p p l e which the a g e s have desired to pluck, now at last ripe, a n d inviting n a t i o n s to the harvest. T h e great m a n m a k e s the great thing. W h e r e v e r M a c d o n a l d sits, there is the h e a d of the t a b l e . 3 Linnaeus m a k e s botany the m o s t alluring of studies a n d wins it from the farmer a n d the h e r b - w o m a n . Davy, chemistry: a n d C u v i e r , 4 fossils. T h e day is always his, who works in it with serenity a n d great a i m s . T h e u n s t a b l e e s t i m a t e s of m e n crowd to him w h o s e m i n d is filled with a truth, a s the h e a p e d waves of the Atlantic follow the m o o n . * y F o r this self-trust, the r e a s o n is d e e p e r than c a n be f a t h o m e d , — d a r k e r than c a n be e n l i g h t e n e d . I might not carry with m e the feeling of my audie n c e in stating my own belief. B u t I have already s h o w n the g r o u n d of my h o p e , in adverting to the doctrine that m a n is o n e . I believe m a n h a s b e e n wronged: he has w r o n g e d himself. H e h a s a l m o s t lost the light that c a n lead him b a c k to his prerogatives. M e n are b e c o m e of no a c c o u n t . M e n in history, m e n in the world of to-day are b u g s , are s p a w n , a n d are called "the m a s s " a n d "the h e r d . " In a century, in a m i l l e n i u m , o n e or two m e n ; that is to s a y — o n e or two a p p r o x i m a t i o n s to the right state of every m a n . All the rest b e h o l d in the hero or the p o e t their own green a n d c r u d e b e i n g — r i p e n e d ; yes, a n d are c o n t e n t to be l e s s , so that may attain to its full s t a t u r e . W h a t a testimony—full of g r a n d e u r , full of pity, is b o r n e to the d e m a n d s of his own n a t u r e , by the p o o r c l a n s m a n , the p o o r p a r t i s a n , w h o rejoices in the glory of his chief. T h e p o o r a n d the low find s o m e a m e n d s to their i m m e n s e moral capacity, for their a c q u i e s c e n c e in a political a n d social inferiority. T h e y are c o n t e n t to b e b r u s h e d like flies from the p a t h of a great p e r s o n , s o that j u s t i c e shall b e d o n e by him to that c o m m o n n a t u r e which it is the d e a r e s t d e s i r e of all to s e e enlarged a n d glorified. T h e y s u n t h e m s e l v e s in the great m a n ' s light, a n d feel it to b e their own e l e m e n t . T h e y c a s t the dignity of m a n from their d o w n t r o d selves u p o n the s h o u l d e r s of a h e r o , a n d will perish to a d d o n e drop of blood to m a k e that great heart b e a t , t h o s e giant s i n e w s c o m b a t a n d c o n q u e r . H e lives for u s , a n d we live in h i m . M e n s u c h as they a r e , very naturally s e e k m o n e y or power; a n d p o w e r b e c a u s e it is a s g o o d a s m o n e y , — t h e " s p o i l s , " s o c a l l e d , " o f office." A n d why not? for they a s p i r e to the highest, a n d this, in their sleep-walking, they d r e a m is highest. W a k e t h e m , a n d they shall quit the false g o o d a n d leap to the true, a n d leave g o v e r n m e n t to clerks a n d d e s k s . T h i s revolution is to be w r o u g h t by the g r a d u a l d o m e s t i c a t i o n of the idea of C u l t u r e . T h e m a i n enterp r i s e of the world for s p l e n d o r , for extent, is the u p b u i l d i n g of a m a n . H e r e are the materials strown a l o n g the g r o u n d . T h e private life of o n e m a n shall b e a m o r e illustrious m o n a r c h y , — m o r e f o r m i d a b l e to its e n e m y , m o r e s w e e t a n d s e r e n e in its influence to its friend, than any k i n g d o m in history. F o r a m a n , rightly viewed, c o m p r e h e n d e t h the p a r t i c u l a r n a t u r e s of all m e n . E a c h 2. Seal. 3. An old proverb says, "Where Macgregor sits, there is the head of the table"; Emerson substitutes another typical name for a Scottish chief. 4. Georges Cuvier ( 1 7 6 9 - 1 8 3 2 ) , French pioneer

in comparative anatomy and paleontology. Carl von Linne ("Linnaeus") ( 1 7 0 7 - 1 7 7 8 ) , Swedish botanist. Sir Humphry Davy ( 1 7 7 8 - 1 8 2 9 ) , English chemist.

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p h i l o s o p h e r , e a c h b a r d , e a c h actor, h a s only d o n e for m e , a s by a d e l e g a t e , what o n e day I c a n do for myself. T h e books w h i c h o n c e we valued m o r e than the a p p l e of the eye, we have q u i t e e x h a u s t e d . W h a t is that b u t saying that we have c o m e u p with the point of view which the universal m i n d took t h r o u g h the eyes of that o n e s c r i b e ; we have b e e n that m a n , a n d have p a s s e d o n . First, o n e ; then a n o t h e r ; we drain all c i s t e r n s , a n d waxing greater by all t h e s e s u p p l i e s , we crave a better a n d m o r e a b u n d a n t food. T h e m a n h a s never lived that c a n feed u s ever. T h e h u m a n m i n d c a n n o t b e e n s h r i n e d in a p e r s o n w h o shall set a barrier on any o n e side to this u n b o u n d e d , u n b o u n d able e m p i r e . It is o n e central fire w h i c h flaming now out of the lips of E t n a , lightens the c a p e s of Sicily; a n d now o u t of the throat of V e s u v i u s , 5 illumin a t e s the towers a n d vineyards of N a p l e s . It is o n e light which b e a m s out of a t h o u s a n d s t a r s . It is o n e soul which a n i m a t e s all m e n . B u t I have dwelt p e r h a p s tediously u p o n this a b s t r a c t i o n of the S c h o l a r . I o u g h t not to delay longer to add what I have to say, of nearer reference to the time a n d to this country. Historically, there is thought to be a difference in the i d e a s which pred o m i n a t e over s u c c e s s i v e e p o c h s , a n d there are d a t a for m a r k i n g the g e n i u s of the C l a s s i c , of the R o m a n t i c , a n d now of the Reflective or P h i l o s o p h i c a l a g e . 6 With the views I have i n t i m a t e d of the o n e n e s s or the identity of the m i n d through all individuals, I do not m u c h dwell on t h e s e differences. In fact, I believe e a c h individual p a s s e s through all t h r e e . T h e boy is a G r e e k ; the y o u t h , r o m a n t i c ; the adult, reflective. I deny not, however, that a revolution in the leading idea may be distinctly e n o u g h t r a c e d . O u r a g e is bewailed a s the a g e of Introversion. M u s t that n e e d s b e evil? W e , it s e e m s , are critical. W e are e m b a r r a s s e d with s e c o n d t h o u g h t s . W e c a n n o t enjoy any thing for h a n k e r i n g to know w h e r e o f the p l e a s u r e c o n s i s t s . W e are lined with eyes. W e s e e with our feet. T h e time is infected with Hamlet's unhappiness,— " S i c k l i e d o'er with the p a l e c a s t of t h o u g h t . " 7 Is it s o b a d t h e n ? Sight is the last thing to b e pitied. W o u l d we be blind? D o we fear lest we s h o u l d o u t s e e n a t u r e a n d G o d , a n d drink truth dry? I look u p o n the d i s c o n t e n t of the literary c l a s s a s a m e r e a n n o u n c e m e n t of the fact that they find t h e m s e l v e s not in the state of m i n d of their f a t h e r s , a n d regret the c o m i n g s t a t e a s untried; a s a boy d r e a d s the water before he h a s learned that he c a n swim. If there is any period o n e w o u l d d e s i r e to b e born i n , — i s it not the a g e of R e v o l u t i o n ; w h e n the old a n d the n e w s t a n d side by s i d e , a n d a d m i t of being c o m p a r e d ; w h e n the e n e r g i e s of all m e n are s e a r c h e d by fear a n d by h o p e ; w h e n the historic glories of the old, c a n be c o m p e n s a t e d by the rich possibilities of the n e w era? T h i s t i m e , like all t i m e s , is a very g o o d o n e , if we but know what to d o with it. I read with j o y s o m e of the a u s p i c i o u s signs of the c o m i n g days a s they g l i m m e r already through poetry a n d art, t h r o u g h p h i l o s o p h y a n d s c i e n c e , through c h u r c h a n d s t a t e . O n e of t h e s e signs is the fact that the s a m e m o v e m e n t which effected the elevation of what was called the lowest c l a s s in the s t a t e , a s s u m e d in liter5. Active volcanoes in eastern Sicilv and western Italy. 6. Emerson proceeds to refute the self-excusing

notion that his age was merely a time for criticism, not for genuinely creative achievements. 7. Shakespeare's Hamlet 3.1.85.

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a t u r e a very m a r k e d a n d a s benign a n a s p e c t . I n s t e a d of the s u b l i m e a n d beautiful, the near, the low, the c o m m o n , w a s explored a n d p o e t i s e d . T h a t which h a d b e e n negligently trodden u n d e r foot by t h o s e w h o were h a r n e s s i n g a n d provisioning t h e m s e l v e s for long j o u r n i e s into far c o u n t r i e s , is s u d d e n l y f o u n d to be richer than all foreign p a r t s . T h e literature of the poor, the feelings of the child, the p h i l o s o p h y of the street, the m e a n i n g of h o u s e h o l d life, are the topics of the t i m e . It is a great stride. It is a s i g n — i s it not? of new vigor, w h e n the extremities are m a d e active, w h e n c u r r e n t s of w a r m life run into the h a n d s a n d the feet. I a s k not for the great, the r e m o t e , the r o m a n t i c ; what is d o i n g in Italy or A r a b i a ; w h a t is G r e e k art, or Provencal Minstrelsy; I e m b r a c e the c o m m o n , I explore a n d sit at the feet of the familiar, the low. Give m e insight into to-day, a n d you may have the a n t i q u e a n d future worlds. W h a t would we really know the m e a n i n g of? T h e m e a l in the firkin; the milk in the p a n ; the ballad in the street; the n e w s of the b o a t ; the g l a n c e of the eye; the form a n d the gait of the b o d y ; — s h o w m e the ultimate r e a s o n of t h e s e m a t t e r s ; — s h o w m e the s u b l i m e p r e s e n c e of the highest spiritual c a u s e lurking, as always it d o e s lurk, in t h e s e s u b u r b s a n d extremities of n a t u r e ; let m e s e e every trifle bristling with the polarity that r a n g e s it instantly o n an eternal law; a n d the s h o p , the p l o u g h , a n d the ledger, referred to the like c a u s e by which light u n d u l a t e s a n d p o e t s s i n g ; — a n d the world lies n o longer a dull m i s c e l l a n y a n d l u m b e r r o o m , " but h a s form a n d order; there is n o trifle; there is no puzzle; but o n e d e s i g n unites a n d a n i m a t e s the farthest p i n n a c l e a n d the lowest t r e n c h . T h i s idea has inspired the g e n i u s of G o l d s m i t h , B u r n s , C o w p e r , a n d in a newer t i m e , of G o e t h e , W o r d s w o r t h , a n d Carlyle. T h i s idea they have differently followed a n d with various s u c c e s s . In c o n t r a s t with their writing, the style of P o p e , of J o h n s o n , of G i b b o n , looks c o l d a n d p e d a n t i c . 9 T h i s writing is blood-warm. M a n is s u r p r i s e d to find that things n e a r are not less beautiful a n d w o n d r o u s t h a n things r e m o t e . T h e n e a r explains the far. T h e drop is a small o c e a n . A m a n is related to all n a t u r e . T h i s p e r c e p t i o n of the worth of the vulgar, is fruitful in discoveries. G o e t h e , in this very thing the m o s t m o d e r n of the m o d e r n s , h a s shown u s , a s n o n e ever did, the g e n i u s of the ancients. T h e r e is o n e m a n of g e n i u s w h o h a s d o n e m u c h for this p h i l o s o p h y of life, w h o s e literary value h a s never yet b e e n rightly e s t i m a t e d ; — I m e a n E m a n u e l S w e d e n b o r g . ' T h e m o s t imaginative of m e n , yet writing with the p r e c i s i o n of a m a t h e m a t i c i a n , h e e n d e a v o r e d to engraft a purely p h i l o s o p h i c a l E t h i c s on the p o p u l a r Christianity of his t i m e . S u c h a n a t t e m p t , of c o u r s e , m u s t have difficulty w h i c h no g e n i u s c o u l d s u r m o u n t . B u t h e saw a n d s h o w e d the connexion b e t w e e n n a t u r e a n d the affections of the soul. H e p i e r c e d the e m b l e m a t i c or spiritual c h a r a c t e r of the visible, a u d i b l e , tangible world. Especially did his shade-loving m u s e hover over a n d interpret the lower p a r t s of n a t u r e ; he showed the m y s t e r i o u s b o n d that allies m o r a l evil to the foul 8. J u n k room. 9. Himself nurtured on such "cold and pedantic" writers as Alexander Pope, Samuel Johnson, and Edward Gibbon, in this passage Emerson conventionally contrasts them with the so-called preRomantics such as Oliver Goldsmith, Robert Burns, and William Cowper and Romantics such as Goethe, Wordsworth, and Carlyle, supposedly

marked bv greater attention to aspects of ordinary life. 1. No important critic after Emerson has taken up this advocacy of literary greatness in Swedenborg ( 1 6 8 8 - 1 7 7 2 ) , Swedish scientist and theologian. H e was a passion of Emerson's b e c a u s e of his intellectual and spiritual affinities, not his intrinsic literary merit.

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material f o r m s , a n d h a s given in epical p a r a b l e s a theory of insanity, of b e a s t s , of u n c l e a n a n d fearful things. A n o t h e r sign of our t i m e s , also m a r k e d by a n a n a l o g o u s political m o v e m e n t is, the new i m p o r t a n c e given to the single p e r s o n . Every thing that t e n d s to i n s u l a t e the i n d i v i d u a l , — t o s u r r o u n d him with barriers of natural r e s p e c t , so that e a c h m a n shall feel the world is his, a n d m a n shall treat with m a n a s a sovereign state with a sovereign s t a t e ; — t e n d s to true u n i o n a s well a s g r e a t n e s s . "I l e a r n e d , " said the m e l a n c h o l y Pestalozzi, 2 "that no m a n in G o d ' s wide earth is either willing or able to help any other m a n . " H e l p m u s t c o m e from the b o s o m a l o n e . T h e s c h o l a r is that m a n w h o m u s t take u p into h i m s e l f all the ability of the t i m e , all the c o n t r i b u t i o n s of the p a s t , all the h o p e s of the future. H e m u s t b e a n university of k n o w l e d g e s . If there be o n e l e s s o n m o r e than a n o t h e r w h i c h s h o u l d p i e r c e his ear, it is, T h e world is n o t h i n g , the m a n is all; in yourself is the law of all n a t u r e , a n d you k n o w not yet h o w a g l o b u l e of s a p a s c e n d s ; in yourself s l u m b e r s the w h o l e of R e a s o n ; it is for you to know all, it is for you to d a r e all. Mr. P r e s i d e n t a n d G e n t l e m e n , this c o n f i d e n c e in the u n s e a r c h e d might of m a n , b e l o n g s by all m o t i v e s , by all p r o p h e c y , by all p r e p a r a t i o n , to the A m e r i c a n S c h o l a r . W e have listened too long to the courtly m u s e s of E u r o p e . T h e spirit of the A m e r i c a n f r e e m a n is already s u s p e c t e d to b e timid, imitative, t a m e . P u b l i c a n d private avarice m a k e the air we b r e a t h e thick a n d fat. T h e s c h o l a r is d e c e n t , indolent, c o m p l a i s a n t . 3 S e e already the tragic c o n s e q u e n c e . T h e m i n d of this country t a u g h t to a i m at low o b j e c t s , e a t s u p o n itself. T h e r e is n o work for any but the d e c o r o u s a n d the c o m p l a i s a n t . Y o u n g m e n of the fairest p r o m i s e , w h o begin life u p o n our s h o r e s , inflated by the m o u n t a i n w i n d s , s h i n e d u p o n by all the stars of G o d , find the earth b e l o w not in u n i s o n with t h e s e , — b u t are h i n d e r e d from a c t i o n by the d i s g u s t which the p r i n c i p l e s on which b u s i n e s s is m a n a g e d inspire, a n d turn d r u d g e s , or die of d i s g u s t , — s o m e of t h e m suic i d e s . W h a t is the r e m e d y ? T h e y did not yet s e e , a n d t h o u s a n d s of y o u n g m e n a s hopeful now c r o w d i n g to the barriers for the c a r e e r , do not yet s e e , that if the single m a n plant h i m s e l f i n d o m i t a b l y on his i n s t i n c t s , a n d there a b i d e , the h u g e world will c o m e r o u n d to h i m . P a t i e n c e — p a t i e n c e ; — w i t h the s h a d e s of all the g o o d a n d great for c o m p a n y ; a n d for s o l a c e , the perspective of your own infinite life; a n d for work, the study a n d the c o m m u nication of p r i n c i p l e s , the m a k i n g t h o s e instincts prevalent, the c o n v e r s i o n of the world. Is it not the c h i e f d i s g r a c e in the world, not to be a n u n i t ; — not to b e r e c k o n e d o n e c h a r a c t e r ; — n o t to yield that p e c u l i a r fruit which e a c h m a n w a s c r e a t e d to b e a r , but to be r e c k o n e d in the g r o s s , in the h u n dred, or the t h o u s a n d , of the party, the s e c t i o n , to w h i c h w e b e l o n g ; a n d our opinion p r e d i c t e d geographically, a s the north, or the s o u t h . N o t s o , brothers a n d f r i e n d s , — p l e a s e G o d , o u r s shall not b e s o . W e will walk o n o u r own feet; we will work with o u r own h a n d s ; we will s p e a k o u r own m i n d s . T h e n shall m a n b e no longer a n a m e for pity, for d o u b t , a n d for s e n s u a l i n d u l g e n c e . T h e d r e a d of m a n a n d the love of m a n shall b e a wall of d e f e n c e a n d a w r e a t h of love a r o u n d all. A nation of m e n will for the first time exist, b e c a u s e e a c h believes h i m s e l f inspired by the Divine S o u l w h i c h a l s o inspires all m e n . 1837 2. J o h a n n Heinrich Pestalozzi ( 1 7 4 6 - 1 8 2 7 ) , Swiss educator and benefactor of poor children, whose ideas on education influenced Emerson's

friends Bronson Alcott and Elizabeth Peabody. 3. T o o ready to please others,

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T h e Divinity S c h o o l A d d r e s s 1 In this refulgent s u m m e r it has b e e n a luxury to draw the b r e a t h of life. T h e g r a s s grows, the b u d s b u r s t , the m e a d o w is spotted with fire a n d gold in the tint of flowers. T h e air is full of birds, a n d sweet with the b r e a t h of the p i n e , the b a l m - o f - G i l e a d , 2 a n d the new hay. N i g h t brings n o g l o o m to the heart with its w e l c o m e s h a d e . T h r o u g h the t r a n s p a r e n t d a r k n e s s p o u r the stars their a l m o s t spiritual rays. M a n u n d e r t h e m s e e m s a y o u n g child, a n d his h u g e globe a toy. T h e cool night b a t h e s the world a s with a river, a n d p r e p a r e s his eyes again for the c r i m s o n d a w n . T h e mystery of n a t u r e w a s never displayed m o r e happily. T h e corn a n d the wine have b e e n freely dealt to all c r e a t u r e s , a n d the never-broken silence with which the old b o u n t y g o e s forward, h a s not yielded yet o n e word of e x p l a n a t i o n . O n e is c o n s t r a i n e d to r e s p e c t the perfection of this world, in which our s e n s e s c o n v e r s e . H o w w i d e ; how rich; what invitation from every property it gives to every faculty of m a n ! In its fruitful soils; in its navigable s e a ; in its m o u n t a i n s of m e t a l a n d s t o n e ; in its forests of all w o o d s ; in its a n i m a l s ; in its c h e m i c a l i n g r e d i e n t s ; in the p o w e r s a n d p a t h of light, h e a t , attraction, a n d life, is it well worth the pith a n d heart of great m e n to s u b d u e a n d enjoy it. T h e p l a n t e r s , the m e c h a n i c s , the inventors, the a s t r o n o m e r s , the builders of cities, a n d the c a p t a i n s , history delights to honor. B u t the m o m e n t the m i n d o p e n s , a n d reveals the laws w h i c h traverse the universe, a n d m a k e things what they a r e , then shrinks the great world at o n c e into a m e r e illustration a n d fable of this m i n d . W h a t a m I? a n d W h a t is? a s k s the h u m a n spirit with a curiosity new-kindled, b u t never to b e q u e n c h e d . B e h o l d t h e s e o u t r u n n i n g laws, w h i c h o u r i m p e r f e c t a p p r e h e n s i o n c a n s e e tend this way a n d that, b u t not c o m e full circle. B e h o l d t h e s e infinite relations, so like, s o unlike; many, yet o n e . I would study, I w o u l d know, I would a d m i r e forever. T h e s e works of t h o u g h t have b e e n the e n t e r t a i n m e n t s of the h u m a n spirit in all a g e s . A m o r e s e c r e t , sweet, a n d overpowering b e a u t y a p p e a r s to m a n w h e n his heart a n d m i n d o p e n to the s e n t i m e n t of virtue. T h e n instantly h e is i n s t r u c t e d in what is a b o v e h i m . H e learns that his b e i n g is without b o u n d ; that, to the g o o d , to the perfect, he is b o r n , low a s h e now lies in evil a n d w e a k n e s s . T h a t which he v e n e r a t e s is still his own, t h o u g h h e h a s not realized it yet. He ought. H e knows the s e n s e of that g r a n d word, t h o u g h his analysis fails entirely to r e n d e r a c c o u n t of it. W h e n in i n n o c e n c y , or w h e n by intellectual p e r c e p t i o n , h e a t t a i n s to say,—'I love the Right; T r u t h is beautiful within a n d without, forevermore. Virtue, I a m thine: save m e : u s e m e : t h e e will I serve, day a n d night, in great, in s m a l l , that I m a y b e not v i r t u o u s , b u t v i r t u e ; ' — t h e n is the e n d of the creation a n s w e r e d , a n d G o d is well p l e a s e d . 1. "An Address Delivered before the Senior C l a s s in Divinity College, Cambridge, Sunday Evening 15 July, 1 8 3 8 " was published as a pamphlet in Boston soon after it was given. That original text is followed here, though with the title used in Nature. Addresses, and Lectures ( 1 8 4 9 ) . Outraged attacks appeared in newspapers and pamphlets, and Emerson cautioned himself in his journal to remain "steady." (Perry Miller, in The Transcendentalists, 1950, reprints some of the documents in this brief furor, including the most notorious attack on

Emerson, Andrews Norton's The Latest Form of Infidelity.) Emerson retracted nothing privately or publicly and was not invited back to Harvard for three decades, after the university had become more secular and Emerson's own international reputation had muted the charges against him. 2. An aromatic poplar tree, named for the curative resin associated with Gilead in Jeremiah 8.22: "Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?"

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T h e s e n t i m e n t of virtue is a reverence a n d delight in the p r e s e n c e of certain divine laws. It p e r c e i v e s that this homely g a m e of life w e play, c o v e r s , u n d e r what s e e m foolish details, p r i n c i p l e s that a s t o n i s h . T h e child a m i d s t his b a u b l e s , is learning the action of light, m o t i o n , gravity, m u s c u l a r f o r c e ; a n d in the g a m e of h u m a n life, love, fear, j u s t i c e , a p p e t i t e , m a n , a n d G o d , interact. T h e s e laws refuse to be a d e q u a t e l y stated. T h e y will not by u s or for u s be written out on p a p e r , or s p o k e n by the t o n g u e . T h e y e l u d e , e v a d e our p e r s e v e r i n g t h o u g h t , a n d yet we read t h e m hourly in e a c h other's f a c e s , in e a c h other's a c t i o n s , in o u r own r e m o r s e . T h e m o r a l traits which are all g l o b e d into every virtuous act a n d t h o u g h t , — i n s p e e c h , we m u s t sever, a n d d e s c r i b e or s u g g e s t by painful e n u m e r a t i o n of m a n y p a r t i c u l a r s . Yet, a s this s e n t i m e n t is the e s s e n c e of all religion, let m e g u i d e your eyes to the p r e c i s e o b j e c t s of the s e n t i m e n t , by a n e n u m e r a t i o n of s o m e of t h o s e c l a s s e s of facts in which this e l e m e n t is c o n s p i c u o u s . T h e intuition of the moral s e n t i m e n t is an insight of the perfection of the laws of the s o u l . T h e s e laws e x e c u t e t h e m s e l v e s . T h e y are out of t i m e , o u t of s p a c e , a n d not s u b j e c t to c i r c u m s t a n c e . T h u s ; in the soul of m a n there is a j u s t i c e w h o s e retributions are instant a n d entire. H e w h o d o e s a g o o d d e e d , is instantly e n n o b l e d himself. H e w h o d o e s a m e a n d e e d , is by the action itself c o n t r a c t e d . H e w h o p u t s off impurity, thereby p u t s on purity. If a m a n is at heart j u s t , then in s o far is he G o d ; the safety of G o d , the immortality of G o d , the majesty of G o d do enter into that m a n with j u s t i c e . If a m a n d i s s e m b l e , deceive, he d e c e i v e s himself, a n d g o e s out of a c q u a i n t a n c e with his own being. A m a n in the view of a b s o l u t e g o o d n e s s , a d o r e s , with total humility. Every step so d o w n w a r d , is a step u p w a r d . T h e m a n w h o r e n o u n c e s himself, c o m e s to h i m s e l f by so doing. S e e how this rapid intrinsic energy worketh everywhere, righting w r o n g s , c o r r e c t i n g a p p e a r a n c e s , a n d bringing up facts to a h a r m o n y with t h o u g h t s . Its operation in life, t h o u g h slow to the s e n s e s , is, at last, a s s u r e a s in the soul. By it, a m a n is m a d e the P r o v i d e n c e to himself, d i s p e n s i n g g o o d to his g o o d n e s s , a n d evil to his sin. C h a r a c t e r is always k n o w n . T h e f t s never e n r i c h ; a l m s never impoverish; m u r d e r will s p e a k o u t of s t o n e walls. T h e least admixture of a lie,—for e x a m p l e , the s m a l l e s t mixture of vanity, the least a t t e m p t to m a k e a g o o d i m p r e s s i o n , a favorable a p p e a r a n c e , — w i l l instantly vitiate the effect. B u t s p e a k the truth, a n d all n a t u r e a n d all spirits help you with u n e x p e c t e d f u r t h e r a n c e . S p e a k the truth, a n d all things alive or brute a r e v o u c h e r s , a n d the very roots of the g r a s s u n d e r g r o u n d there, do s e e m to stir a n d move to b e a r you w i t n e s s . S e e a g a i n the perfection of the L a w a s it applies itself to the affections, a n d b e c o m e s the law of society. A s w e a r e , so we a s s o c i a t e . T h e g o o d , by affinity, s e e k the g o o d ; the vile, by affinity, the vile. T h u s of their own volition, s o u l s p r o c e e d into h e a v e n , into hell. T h e s e facts have always s u g g e s t e d to m a n the s u b l i m e c r e e d , that the world is not the p r o d u c t of manifold power, b u t of o n e will, of o n e m i n d ; a n d that o n e m i n d is everywhere, in e a c h ray of the star, in e a c h wavelet of the pool, active; a n d whatever o p p o s e s that will, is everywhere b a u l k e d a n d baffled, b e c a u s e things are m a d e s o , a n d not o t h e r w i s e . G o o d is positive. Evil is merely privative, 3 not a b s o l u t e . It is like c o l d , which is the privation of heat. All evil is so m u c h d e a t h or nonentity. B e n e v o l e n c e is a b s o l u t e a n d 3. I.e., not an active power, hut the absence of a power.

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real. S o m u c h b e n e v o l e n c e a s a m a n hath, so m u c h life h a t h h e . F o r all things p r o c e e d o u t of this s a m e spirit, which is differently n a m e d love, j u s tice, t e m p e r a n c e , in its different a p p l i c a t i o n s , j u s t a s the o c e a n receives different n a m e s on the several s h o r e s which it w a s h e s . All things p r o c e e d out of the s a m e spirit, a n d all things c o n s p i r e with it. Whilst a m a n s e e k s g o o d e n d s , he is strong by the whole strength of n a t u r e . In so far a s he roves from t h e s e e n d s , h e b e r e a v e s h i m s e l f of power, of auxiliaries; his b e i n g shrinks out of all r e m o t e c h a n n e l s , he b e c o m e s less a n d l e s s , a m o t e , a point, until a b s o l u t e b a d n e s s is a b s o l u t e d e a t h . T h e p e r c e p t i o n of this law of laws always a w a k e n s in the m i n d a s e n t i m e n t which we call the religious s e n t i m e n t , a n d which m a k e s our h i g h e s t happin e s s . Wonderful is its power to c h a r m a n d to c o m m a n d . It is a m o u n t a i n air. It is the e m b a l m e r of the world. It is myrrh a n d storax, a n d chlorine a n d rosemary." 1 It m a k e s the sky a n d the hills s u b l i m e , a n d the silent s o n g of the stars is it. By it, is the universe m a d e safe a n d h a b i t a b l e , not by s c i e n c e or power. T h o u g h t m a y work cold a n d intransitive in things, a n d find no e n d or unity. B u t the d a w n of the s e n t i m e n t of virtue on the heart, gives a n d is the a s s u r a n c e that L a w is sovereign over all n a t u r e s ; a n d the worlds, t i m e , s p a c e , eternity, do s e e m to b r e a k out into joy. T h i s s e n t i m e n t is divine a n d deifying. It is the b e a t i t u d e of m a n . It m a k e s him illimitable. T h r o u g h it, the soul first knows itself. It c o r r e c t s the capital m i s t a k e of the infant m a n , w h o s e e k s to be great by following the great, a n d h o p e s to derive a d v a n t a g e s from another,—by s h o w i n g the fountain of all good to be in himself, a n d that h e , equally with every m a n , is a d o o r into the d e e p s of R e a s o n . W h e n he says, "I o u g h t ; " w h e n love w a r m s h i m ; w h e n he c h o o s e s , w a r n e d from on high, the g o o d a n d great d e e d ; t h e n , d e e p m e l o d i e s w a n d e r t h r o u g h his soul from S u p r e m e W i s d o m . T h e n h e c a n w o r s h i p , a n d be enlarged by his w o r s h i p ; for he c a n never go b e h i n d this s e n t i m e n t . In the s u b l i m e s t flights of the soul, rectitude is never s u r m o u n t e d , love is never outgrown. T h i s s e n t i m e n t lies at the f o u n d a t i o n of society, a n d s u c c e s s i v e l y c r e a t e s all forms of w o r s h i p . T h e principle of veneration never dies out. M a n fallen into superstition, into sensuality, is never wholly without the visions of the moral s e n t i m e n t . In like m a n n e r , all the e x p r e s s i o n s of this s e n t i m e n t are s a c r e d a n d p e r m a n e n t in proportion to their purity. T h e e x p r e s s i o n s of this s e n t i m e n t affect u s d e e p e r , greatlier, than all other c o m p o s i t i o n s . T h e sent e n c e s of the oldest t i m e , which e j a c u l a t e this piety, a r e still fresh a n d fragrant. T h i s t h o u g h t dwelled always d e e p e s t in the m i n d s of m e n in the devout a n d c o n t e m p l a t i v e E a s t ; not a l o n e in P a l e s t i n e , w h e r e it r e a c h e d its p u r e s t expression, but in Egypt, in Persia, in India, in C h i n a . E u r o p e h a s always owed to oriental g e n i u s , its divine i m p u l s e s . W h a t t h e s e holy b a r d s said, all s a n e m e n found a g r e e a b l e a n d true. A n d the u n i q u e i m p r e s s i o n of J e s u s u p o n m a n k i n d , w h o s e n a m e is not so m u c h written a s p l o u g h e d into the history of this world, is proof of the subtle virtue of this infusion. M e a n t i m e , whilst the d o o r s of the t e m p l e s t a n d o p e n , night a n d day, before every m a n , a n d the o r a c l e s of this truth c e a s e never, it is g u a r d e d by o n e stern c o n d i t i o n ; this, namely; It is an intuition. It c a n n o t b e received at 4. An aromatic evergreen herb of southern Europe and Asia Minor, used in cookery and perfumery. "Myrrh": one of the gifts the wise men brought to

J e s u s , a perfume made from aromatic resins. "Storax": an aromatic resin. "Chlorine": in this sense, a greenish yellow gas used for purification.

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s e c o n d h a n d . Truly s p e a k i n g , it is not instruction, b u t p r o v o c a t i o n , that I c a n receive from a n o t h e r s o u l . W h a t h e a n n o u n c e s , I m u s t find true in m e , or wholly reject; a n d on his word, or a s his s e c o n d , b e he w h o h e may, I c a n a c c e p t nothing. O n the contrary, the a b s e n c e of this primary faith is the p r e s e n c e of d e g r a d a t i o n . As is the flood s o is the e b b . L e t this faith d e p a r t , a n d the very words it s p a k e , a n d the things it m a d e , b e c o m e false a n d hurtful. T h e n falls the c h u r c h , the s t a t e , art, letters, life. T h e d o c t r i n e of the divine n a t u r e b e i n g forgotten, a s i c k n e s s infects a n d dwarfs the c o n s t i t u t i o n . O n c e m a n w a s all; now h e is a n a p p e n d a g e , a n u i s a n c e . A n d b e c a u s e the indwelling S u p r e m e Spirit c a n n o t wholly be got rid of, the doctrine of it suffers this perversion, that the divine n a t u r e is a t t r i b u t e d to o n e or two p e r s o n s , a n d d e n i e d to all the rest, a n d d e n i e d with fury. T h e d o c t r i n e of inspiration is lost; the b a s e d o c t r i n e of the majority of v o i c e s , u s u r p s the p l a c e of the doctrine of the s o u l . M i r a c l e s , p r o p h e c y , poetry, the ideal life, the holy life, exist a s a n c i e n t history merely; they a r e not in the belief, nor in the aspiration of society; b u t , w h e n s u g g e s t e d , s e e m r i d i c u l o u s . Life is c o m i c or pitiful, a s s o o n a s the high e n d s of b e i n g f a d e o u t of sight, a n d m a n b e c o m e s nears i g h t e d , a n d c a n only attend to what a d d r e s s e s the s e n s e s . T h e s e general views, w h i c h , whilst they a r e g e n e r a l , n o n e will c o n t e s t , find a b u n d a n t illustration in the history of religion, a n d especially in the history of the C h r i s t i a n c h u r c h . In that, all of u s have h a d o u r birth a n d n u r t u r e . T h e truth c o n t a i n e d in that, you, my y o u n g friends, a r e now setting forth to t e a c h . As the C u l t u s , or e s t a b l i s h e d w o r s h i p of the civilized world, it h a s great historical interest for u s . O f its b l e s s e d w o r d s , w h i c h have b e e n the c o n s o l a t i o n of h u m a n i t y , you n e e d not that I s h o u l d s p e a k . I shall e n d e a v o r to d i s c h a r g e my duty to you, on this o c c a s i o n , by p o i n t i n g o u t two errors in its a d m i n i s t r a t i o n , which daily a p p e a r m o r e g r o s s from the p o i n t of view w e have j u s t n o w taken. J e s u s C h r i s t b e l o n g e d to the true r a c e of p r o p h e t s . H e s a w with o p e n eye the mystery of the s o u l . D r a w n by its severe h a r m o n y , ravished with its beauty, h e lived in it, a n d h a d his b e i n g t h e r e . A l o n e in all history, h e estim a t e d the g r e a t n e s s of m a n . O n e m a n w a s true to w h a t is in you a n d m e . H e s a w that G o d i n c a r n a t e s h i m s e l f in m a n , a n d e v e r m o r e g o e s forth a n e w to take p o s s e s s i o n of his world. H e said, in this j u b i l e e of s u b l i m e e m o t i o n , 'I a m divine. T h r o u g h m e , G o d a c t s ; t h r o u g h m e , s p e a k s . W o u l d you s e e G o d , s e e m e ; or, s e e t h e e , w h e n thou a l s o thinkest a s I n o w think.' B u t w h a t a distortion did his doctrine a n d m e m o r y suffer in the s a m e , in the next, a n d the following a g e s ! T h e r e is no d o c t r i n e of the R e a s o n w h i c h will b e a r to b e t a u g h t by the U n d e r s t a n d i n g . 5 T h e u n d e r s t a n d i n g c a u g h t this high c h a n t from the poet's lips, a n d said, in the next a g e , 'This w a s J e h o v a h c o m e down o u t of h e a v e n . I will kill you, if you say h e w a s a m a n . ' T h e i d i o m s of his l a n g u a g e , a n d the figures of his rhetoric, have u s u r p e d the p l a c e of his truth; a n d c h u r c h e s are not built o n his p r i n c i p l e s , b u t o n his t r o p e s . Christianity b e c a m e a M y t h u s , 6 a s the poetic t e a c h i n g of G r e e c e a n d of Egypt, b e f o r e . H e s p o k e of m i r a c l e s ; for he felt that m a n ' s life w a s a m i r a c l e , a n d all that m a n d o t h , a n d he knew that this daily m i r a c l e s h i n e s , a s the m a n is diviner. B u t the very word M i r a c l e , a s p r o n o u n c e d by C h r i s t i a n c h u r c h e s , gives a 5. Emerson reverses the c o m m o n meaning of reason, using it in the s e n s e of intuitive, suprarational knowledge, while by understanding he means

knowledge arrived at through a logical reasoning process. 6. A cult deliberately fostered.

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false i m p r e s s i o n ; it is M o n s t e r . It is not o n e with the blowing clover a n d the falling rain. H e felt r e s p e c t for M o s e s a n d the p r o p h e t s ; but n o unfit t e n d e r n e s s at p o s t p o n i n g their initial revelations, to the hour a n d the m a n that now is; to the eternal revelation in the heart. T h u s w a s h e a true m a n . H a v i n g s e e n that the law in u s is c o m m a n d i n g , h e would not suffer it to b e c o m m a n d e d . Boldly, with h a n d , a n d heart, a n d life, h e d e c l a r e d it w a s G o d . T h u s w a s he a true m a n . T h u s is h e , as I think, the only soul in history w h o has a p p r e ciated the worth of a m a n . 1. In t h u s c o n t e m p l a t i n g J e s u s , we b e c o m e very s e n s i b l e of the first defect of historical Christianity. Historical Christianity h a s fallen into the error that corrupts all a t t e m p t s to c o m m u n i c a t e religion. As it a p p e a r s to u s , a n d a s it has a p p e a r e d for a g e s , it is not the doctrine of the soul, b u t a n exaggeration of the p e r s o n a l , the positive, the ritual. It h a s dwelt, it dwells, with noxious exaggeration a b o u t the person of J e s u s . T h e soul knows no p e r s o n s . It invites every m a n to e x p a n d to the full circle of the u n i v e r s e , a n d will have no p r e f e r e n c e s but t h o s e of s p o n t a n e o u s love. B u t by this e a s t e r n m o n a r c h y of a Christianity, which i n d o l e n c e a n d fear have built, the friend of m a n is m a d e the injurer of m a n . T h e m a n n e r in which his n a m e is s u r r o u n d e d with e x p r e s s i o n s , which were o n c e sallies of a d m i r a t i o n a n d love, b u t are now petrified into official titles, kills all g e n e r o u s s y m p a t h y a n d liking. All w h o hear m e , feel, that the l a n g u a g e that d e s c r i b e s C h r i s t to E u r o p e a n d A m e r i c a , is not the style of friendship a n d e n t h u s i a s m to a g o o d a n d n o b l e heart, but is a p p r o p r i a t e d a n d f o r m a l , — p a i n t s a d e m i g o d , a s the O r i e n t a l s or the G r e e k s would d e s c r i b e Osiris or A p o l l o . 7 A c c e p t the injurious impositions of our early c a t a c h e t i c a l instruction, a n d even h o n e s t y a n d self-denial were but splendid sins, if they did not wear the C h r i s t i a n n a m e . O n e w o u l d rather b e 'A p a g a n s u c k l e d in a c r e e d o u t w o r n , ' 8 than to be d e f r a u d e d of his manly right in c o m i n g into n a t u r e , a n d finding not n a m e s a n d p l a c e s , not land a n d p r o f e s s i o n s , b u t even virtue a n d truth foreclosed a n d m o n o p o l i z e d . You shall not b e a m a n even. You shall not own the world; you shall not d a r e , a n d live after the infinite L a w that is in you, a n d in c o m p a n y with the infinite B e a u t y which h e a v e n a n d e a r t h reflect to you in all lovely f o r m s ; but you m u s t s u b o r d i n a t e your n a t u r e to Christ's n a t u r e ; you m u s t a c c e p t our interpretations; a n d take his portrait as the vulgar draw it. T h a t is always b e s t which gives m e to myself. T h e s u b l i m e is excited in m e by the great stoical d o c t r i n e , O b e y thyself. T h a t which s h o w s G o d in m e , fortifies m e . T h a t which s h o w s G o d out of m e , m a k e s m e a wart a n d a w e n . T h e r e is no longer a n e c e s s a r y r e a s o n for my b e i n g . Already the long s h a d o w s of untimely oblivion c r e e p over m e , a n d I shall d e c e a s e forever. T h e divine b a r d s are the friends of my virtue, of my intellect, of my strength. T h e y a d m o n i s h m e , that the g l e a m s which flash a c r o s s my m i n d , are not m i n e , b u t G o d ' s ; that they h a d the like, a n d were not d i s o b e d i e n t to the heavenly vision. 9 S o I love t h e m . N o b l e p r o v o c a t i o n s g o o u t from t h e m , 7. Emerson associates Egypt (where Osiris was a fertility god) with the Orient and associates Greece (where Apollo was the god of the sun) with European culture.

8. From Wordsworth's sonnet " T h e World Is Too M u c h with U s . " 9. "I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision" (Acts 2 6 . 1 9 ) .

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inviting m e a l s o to e m a n c i p a t e myself; to resist evil; to s u b d u e the world; a n d to B e . A n d t h u s by his holy t h o u g h t s , J e s u s serves u s , a n d t h u s only. T o aim to convert a m a n by m i r a c l e s , is a profanation of the s o u l . A true c o n version, a true C h r i s t , is now, as always, to b e m a d e , by the reception of beautiful s e n t i m e n t s . It is true that a great a n d rich soul, like his, falling a m o n g the s i m p l e , d o e s so p r e p o n d e r a t e , that, a s his did, it n a m e s the world. T h e world s e e m s to t h e m to exist for h i m , a n d they have not yet d r u n k so deeply of his s e n s e , a s to s e e that only by c o m i n g a g a i n to t h e m s e l v e s , or to G o d in t h e m s e l v e s , c a n they grow forevermore. It is a low benefit to give m e s o m e t h i n g ; it is a high benefit to e n a b l e m e to d o s o m e w h a t of myself. T h e time is c o m i n g w h e n all m e n will s e e , that the gift of G o d to the soul is not a vaunting, overpowering, excluding sanctity, but a sweet, n a t u r a l g o o d n e s s , a g o o d n e s s like thine a n d m i n e , a n d that so invites thine a n d m i n e to be a n d to grow. T h e injustice of the vulgar tone of p r e a c h i n g is not l e s s flagrant to J e s u s , than it is to the s o u l s which it p r o f a n e s . T h e p r e a c h e r s d o not s e e that they m a k e his g o s p e l not glad, a n d s h e a r him of the locks of b e a u t y a n d the attributes of heaven. W h e n I s e e a m a j e s t i c E p a m i n o n d a s , ' or W a s h i n g t o n ; w h e n I s e e a m o n g my c o n t e m p o r a r i e s , a true orator, a n upright j u d g e , a d e a r friend; w h e n I vibrate to the melody a n d fancy of a p o e m ; I s e e b e a u t y that is to b e d e s i r e d . A n d s o lovely, a n d with yet m o r e entire c o n s e n t of my h u m a n being, s o u n d s in my ear the severe m u s i c of the b a r d s that have s u n g of the true G o d in all a g e s . N o w do not d e g r a d e the life a n d d i a l o g u e s of C h r i s t out of the circle of this c h a r m , by insulation a n d peculiarity. L e t t h e m lie a s they befel, alive a n d w a r m , part of h u m a n life, a n d of the l a n d s c a p e , a n d of the cheerful day. 2 . T h e s e c o n d defect of the traditionary a n d limited way of u s i n g the m i n d of C h r i s t is a c o n s e q u e n c e of the first; this, namely; that the M o r a l N a t u r e , that L a w of laws, w h o s e revelations i n t r o d u c e g r e a t n e s s , — y e a , G o d himself, into the o p e n soul, is not explored a s the fountain of the e s t a b l i s h e d t e a c h i n g in society. M e n have c o m e to s p e a k of the revelation a s s o m e w h a t long a g o given a n d d o n e , a s if G o d were d e a d . T h e injury to faith throttles the p r e a c h e r ; a n d the goodliest of institutions b e c o m e s an u n c e r t a i n a n d inarticulate voice. It is very certain that it is the effect of conversation with the b e a u t y of the s o u l , to beget a d e s i r e a n d n e e d to impart to others the s a m e k n o w l e d g e a n d love. If u t t e r a n c e is d e n i e d , the t h o u g h t lies like a b u r d e n o n the m a n . Always the s e e r is a sayer. S o m e h o w his d r e a m is told. S o m e h o w h e p u b l i s h e s it with s o l e m n joy. S o m e t i m e s with pencil o n c a n v a s ; s o m e t i m e s with chisel on s t o n e ; s o m e t i m e s in towers a n d aisles of g r a n i t e , his soul's w o r s h i p is b u i l d e d ; s o m e t i m e s in a n t h e m s of indefinite m u s i c ; but c l e a r e s t a n d m o s t p e r m a n e n t , in w o r d s . T h e m a n e n a m o r e d of this excellency, b e c o m e s its priest or poet. T h e office is coeval with the world. B u t o b s e r v e the c o n d i t i o n , the spiritual limitation of the office. T h e spirit only c a n t e a c h . N o t any p r o f a n e m a n , not any s e n s u a l , not any liar, not any slave c a n t e a c h , but only h e c a n give, w h o h a s ; he only c a n c r e a t e , who is. T h e m a n on w h o m the soul d e s c e n d s , through w h o m the soul s p e a k s , a l o n e c a n t e a c h . C o u r a g e , piety, love, w i s d o m , c a n 1. Theban general ( 4 1 8 r - 3 6 2 B.C.E.) whose military innovations helped end Sparta's dominance in Greece.

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t e a c h ; a n d every m a n c a n o p e n his door to t h e s e a n g e l s , a n d they shall bring him the gift of t o n g u e s . B u t the m a n who a i m s to s p e a k a s b o o k s e n a b l e , as s y n o d s u s e , as the fashion g u i d e s , a n d as interest c o m m a n d s , b a b b l e s . L e t him h u s h . T o this holy office, you p r o p o s e to devote yourselves. I wish you m a y feel your call in throbs of desire a n d h o p e . T h e office is the first in the world. It is of that reality, that it c a n n o t suffer the d e d u c t i o n of any f a l s e h o o d . A n d it is my duty to say to you, that the n e e d w a s never greater of new revelation than now. F r o m the views I have already e x p r e s s e d , you will infer the s a d conviction, which I s h a r e , I believe, with n u m b e r s , of the universal d e c a y a n d now a l m o s t d e a t h of faith in society. T h e soul is not p r e a c h e d . T h e C h u r c h s e e m s to totter to its fall, a l m o s t all life extinct. O n this o c c a s i o n , any c o m p l a i s a n c e , would be criminal, which told you, w h o s e h o p e a n d c o m mission it is to p r e a c h the faith of C h r i s t , that the faith of C h r i s t is p r e a c h e d . It is time that this ill-suppressed m u r m u r of all thoughtful m e n a g a i n s t the f a m i n e of our c h u r c h e s ; this m o a n i n g of the heart b e c a u s e it is b e r e a v e d of the c o n s o l a t i o n , the h o p e , the g r a n d e u r , that c o m e a l o n e o u t of the c u l t u r e of the moral n a t u r e ; s h o u l d be h e a r d t h r o u g h the s l e e p of i n d o l e n c e , a n d over the din of r o u t i n e . T h i s great a n d p e r p e t u a l office of the p r e a c h e r is not d i s c h a r g e d . P r e a c h i n g is the expression of the m o r a l s e n t i m e n t in a p p l i c a t i o n to the d u t i e s of life. In how m a n y c h u r c h e s , by how m a n y p r o p h e t s , tell m e , is m a n m a d e s e n s i b l e that h e is a n infinite S o u l ; that the e a r t h a n d h e a v e n s are p a s s i n g into his m i n d ; that he is drinking forever the soul of G o d ? W h e r e now s o u n d s the p e r s u a s i o n , that by its very melody i m p a r a d i s e s my heart, a n d so affirms its own origin in h e a v e n ? W h e r e shall I h e a r w o r d s s u c h a s in elder a g e s drew m e n to leave all a n d follow,—father a n d m o t h e r , h o u s e a n d land, wife a n d c h i l d ? 2 W h e r e shall I hear t h e s e a u g u s t laws of moral b e i n g so p r o n o u n c e d , a s to fill my ear, a n d I feel e n n o b l e d by the offer of my u t t e r m o s t a c t i o n a n d p a s s i o n ? T h e test of the true faith, certainly, s h o u l d be its power to c h a r m a n d c o m m a n d the soul, a s the laws of n a t u r e control the activity of the h a n d s , — s o c o m m a n d i n g that we find p l e a s u r e a n d h o n o r in obeying. T h e faith s h o u l d b l e n d with the light of rising a n d of s e t t i n g s u n s , with the flying c l o u d , the singing bird, a n d the b r e a t h of flowers. B u t now the priest's S a b b a t h has lost the splendor of n a t u r e ; it is unlovely; we are glad when it is d o n e ; we c a n m a k e , we do m a k e , even sitting in o u r p e w s , a far better, holier, sweeter, for ourselves. W h e n e v e r the pulpit is u s u r p e d by a formalist, then is the w o r s h i p p e r d e f r a u d e d a n d d i s c o n s o l a t e . W e shrink a s s o o n as the prayers b e g i n , which do not uplift, but s m i t e a n d offend u s . W e a r e fain to wrap o u r cloaks a b o u t u s , a n d s e c u r e , a s b e s t we c a n , a solitude that h e a r s not. I o n c e h e a r d a p r e a c h e r w h o sorely t e m p t e d m e to say, I would go to c h u r c h n o m o r e . M e n g o , t h o u g h t I, where they are wont to g o , else h a d no soul e n t e r e d the t e m p l e in the afternoon. A s n o w s t o r m w a s falling a r o u n d u s . T h e s n o w s t o r m w a s real; the p r e a c h e r merely spectral; a n d the eye felt the s a d c o n t r a s t in looking at him, a n d then out of the window b e h i n d him, into the beautiful m e t e o r 2. S e e Matthew 1 9 . 2 8 - 2 9 : "And J e s u s said unto them, Verily I say unto you, That ye which have followed me, in the regeneration when the Son of man shall sit in the throne of his glory, ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes

of Israel. And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life."

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of the snow. H e had lived in vain. H e h a d no o n e word i n t i m a t i n g that h e h a d l a u g h e d or wept, w a s married or in love, h a d b e e n c o m m e n d e d , or c h e a t e d , or c h a g r i n e d . If he h a d ever lived a n d a c t e d , we were n o n e the wiser for it. T h e capital secret of his p r o f e s s i o n , namely, to convert life into truth, he h a d not learned. N o t o n e fact in all his e x p e r i e n c e , h a d h e yet i m p o r t e d into his d o c t r i n e . T h i s m a n h a d p l o u g h e d , a n d p l a n t e d , a n d talked, a n d b o u g h t , a n d sold; he had read b o o k s ; he h a d e a t e n a n d d r u n k e n ; his h e a d a c h e s ; his heart t h r o b s ; h e s m i l e s a n d suffers; yet w a s there not a s u r m i s e , a hint, in all the d i s c o u r s e , that he had ever lived at all. N o t a line did he draw out of real history. T h e true p r e a c h e r can always b e known by this, that he d e a l s out to the p e o p l e his life,—life p a s s e d through the fire of t h o u g h t . B u t of the b a d p r e a c h e r , it c o u l d not be told from his s e r m o n , what a g e of the world he fell in; w h e t h e r he h a d a father or a child; w h e t h e r h e w a s a freeholder or a p a u p e r ; w h e t h e r he w a s a citizen or a c o u n t r y m a n ; or any other fact of his biography. It s e e m e d s t r a n g e that the p e o p l e s h o u l d c o m e to c h u r c h . It s e e m e d a s if their h o u s e s were very u n e n t e r t a i n i n g , that they s h o u l d prefer this thoughtless c l a m o r . It s h o w s that there is a c o m m a n d i n g attraction in the moral s e n t i m e n t , that c a n lend a faint tint of light to d u l n e s s a n d i g n o r a n c e , c o m i n g in its n a m e a n d p l a c e . T h e g o o d hearer is s u r e he has b e e n t o u c h e d s o m e t i m e s ; is s u r e there is s o m e w h a t to b e r e a c h e d , a n d s o m e word that c a n r e a c h it. W h e n he listens to t h e s e vain w o r d s , he c o m f o r t s h i m s e l f by their relation to his r e m e m b r a n c e of better h o u r s , a n d so they clatter a n d e c h o unchallenged. I a m not ignorant that w h e n we p r e a c h unworthily, it is not always q u i t e in vain. T h e r e is a g o o d ear, in s o m e m e n , that draws s u p p l i e s to virtue out of very indifferent n u t r i m e n t . T h e r e is poetic truth c o n c e a l e d in all the c o m m o n - p l a c e s of prayer a n d of s e r m o n s , a n d though foolishly s p o k e n , they may b e wisely h e a r d ; for, e a c h is s o m e select expression that broke out in a m o m e n t of piety from s o m e stricken or j u b i l a n t soul, a n d its excellency m a d e it r e m e m b e r e d . T h e prayers a n d even the d o g m a s of o u r c h u r c h , a r e like the z o d i a c of D e n d e r a h , * a n d the a s t r o n o m i c a l m o n u m e n t s of the H i n d o o s , wholly i n s u l a t e d from anything now extant in the life a n d b u s i n e s s of the p e o p l e . T h e y m a r k the height to which the waters o n c e r o s e . B u t this docility is a c h e c k u p o n the m i s c h i e f from the g o o d and devout. In a large portion of the c o m m u n i t y , the religious service gives rise to q u i t e o t h e r t h o u g h t s a n d e m o t i o n s . W e n e e d not c h i d e the negligent servant. W e a r e s t r u c k with pity, rather, at the swift retribution of his sloth. Alas for the u n h a p p y m a n that is called to s t a n d in the pulpit, a n d not give bread of life. Everything that befals, a c c u s e s him. W o u l d he ask c o n t r i b u t i o n s for the m i s s i o n s , foreign or d o m e s tic? Instantly his f a c e is s u f f u s e d with s h a m e , to p r o p o s e to his p a r i s h , that they s h o u l d s e n d m o n e y a h u n d r e d or a t h o u s a n d miles, to furnish s u c h p o o r fare a s they have at h o m e , a n d would do well to go the h u n d r e d or the t h o u s a n d miles, to e s c a p e . W o u l d he urge p e o p l e to a godly way of living;— a n d c a n h e a s k a fellow c r e a t u r e to c o m e to S a b b a t h m e e t i n g s , w h e n he a n d they all know what is the p o o r u t t e r m o s t they c a n h o p e for therein? Will h e invite t h e m privately to the Lord's S u p p e r ? H e d a r e s not. If no heart w a r m 3. At Dandarah, a village in Upper Egypt, the ceiling of a ruined ancient temple is sculpted with astronomical scenes.

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this rite, the hollow, dry, creaking formality is too p l a i n , than that he c a n f a c e a m a n of wit a n d energy, a n d put the invitation without terror. In the street, what has he to say to the bold village b l a s p h e m e r ? T h e village blasp h e m e r s e e s fear in the f a c e , form, a n d gait of the minister. Let m e not taint the sincerity of this p l e a by any oversight of the c l a i m s of g o o d m e n . I know a n d honor the purity a n d strict c o n s c i e n c e of n u m b e r s of the clergy. W h a t life the public worship retains, it o w e s to the s c a t t e r e d c o m p a n y of p i o u s m e n , w h o minister here a n d there in the c h u r c h e s , a n d who, s o m e t i m e s a c c e p t i n g with too great t e n d e r n e s s the tenet of the elders, have not a c c e p t e d from o t h e r s , but from their own heart, the g e n u i n e i m p u l s e s of virtue, a n d so still c o m m a n d our love a n d a w e , to the sanctity of c h a r a c t e r . Moreover, the exceptions are not so m u c h to b e f o u n d in a few e m i n e n t p r e a c h e r s , a s in the better h o u r s , the truer inspirations of a l l , — n a y , in the s i n c e r e m o m e n t s of every m a n . B u t with whatever e x c e p t i o n , it is still true, that tradition c h a r a c t e r i z e s the p r e a c h i n g of this country; that it c o m e s out of the m e m o r y , a n d not out of the s o u l ; that it a i m s at what is u s u a l , a n d not at w h a t is n e c e s s a r y a n d eternal; that t h u s , historical Christianity destroys the power of p r e a c h i n g , by withdrawing it from the exploration of the moral n a t u r e of m a n , where the s u b l i m e is, where a r e the r e s o u r c e s of a s t o n i s h m e n t a n d power. W h a t a cruel injustice it is to that L a w , the j o y of the w h o l e earth, which a l o n e c a n m a k e thought dear a n d rich; that L a w w h o s e fatal s u r e n e s s the a s t r o n o m i c a l orbits poorly e m u l a t e , that it is travestied a n d d e p r e c i a t e d , that it is b e h o o t e d a n d b e h o w l e d , a n d not a trait, not a word of it a r t i c u l a t e d . T h e pulpit in losing sight of this L a w , loses all its inspiration, a n d g r o p e s after it knows not what. A n d for want of this c u l t u r e , the soul of the c o m m u n i t y is sick a n d faithless. It w a n t s n o t h i n g so m u c h as a stern, high, stoical, C h r i s t i a n d i s c i p l i n e , to m a k e it know itself a n d the divinity that s p e a k s through it. N o w m a n is a s h a m e d of himself; h e skulks a n d s n e a k s through the world, to be tolerated, to be pitied, a n d scarcely in a t h o u s a n d years d o e s any m a n d a r e to be wise a n d g o o d , a n d s o draw after him the tears a n d b l e s s i n g s of his kind. Certainly there have b e e n p e r i o d s w h e n , from the inactivity of the intellect on certain truths, a greater faith w a s p o s s i b l e in n a m e s a n d p e r s o n s . T h e P u r i t a n s in E n g l a n d a n d A m e r i c a , f o u n d in the C h r i s t of the C a t h o l i c C h u r c h , a n d in the d o g m a s inherited from Borne, s c o p e for their a u s t e r e piety, a n d their longings for civil f r e e d o m . B u t their c r e e d is p a s s i n g away, a n d n o n e arises in its r o o m . I think no m a n c a n go with his t h o u g h t s a b o u t him, into o n e of our c h u r c h e s , without feeling that what hold the public worship h a d on m e n , is g o n e or going. It has lost its g r a s p on the affection of the g o o d , a n d the fear of the b a d . In the c o u n t r y , — n e i g h b o r h o o d s , half p a r i s h e s are signing off,—to u s e the local term. It is already b e g i n n i n g to indicate c h a r a c t e r a n d religion to withdraw from the religious m e e t i n g s . I have heard a devout p e r s o n , w h o prized the S a b b a t h , say in b i t t e r n e s s of heart, " O n S u n d a y s , it s e e m s wicked to go to c h u r c h . " A n d the motive, that holds the best there, is now only a h o p e a n d a waiting. W h a t w a s o n c e a m e r e c i r c u m s t a n c e , that the best a n d the worst m e n in the p a r i s h , the p o o r a n d the rich, the learned a n d the ignorant, y o u n g a n d old, s h o u l d m e e t o n e day a s fellows in o n e h o u s e , in sign of a n e q u a l right in the s o u l , — h a s c o m e to be a p a r a m o u n t motive for g o i n g thither. M y friends, in t h e s e two errors, I think, I find the c a u s e s of that c a l a m i t y

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of a d e c a y i n g c h u r c h a n d a w a s t i n g unbelief, which are c a s t i n g m a l i g n a n t influences a r o u n d u s , a n d m a k i n g the h e a r t s of g o o d m e n s a d . A n d what greater calamity c a n fall u p o n a nation, t h a n the loss of worship? T h e n all things go to d e c a y . G e n i u s leaves the t e m p l e , to h a u n t the s e n a t e , or the market. L i t e r a t u r e b e c o m e s frivolous. S c i e n c e is cold. T h e eye of youth is not lighted by the h o p e of other worlds, a n d a g e is without honor. S o c i e t y lives to trifles, a n d w h e n m e n d i e , we d o not m e n t i o n t h e m . A n d now, m y b r o t h e r s , you will a s k , W h a t in t h e s e d e s p o n d i n g days c a n b e d o n e by u s ? T h e r e m e d y is already d e c l a r e d in the g r o u n d of o u r c o m p l a i n t of the C h u r c h . W e have c o n t r a s t e d the C h u r c h with the S o u l . In t h e soul, t h e n , let the r e d e m p t i o n b e s o u g h t . In o n e s o u l , in your s o u l , there a r e r e s o u r c e s for the world. W h e r e v e r a m a n c o m e s , there c o m e s revolution. T h e old is for slaves. W h e n a m a n c o m e s , all b o o k s are legible, all things t r a n s p a r e n t , all religions are f o r m s . H e is religious. M a n is the wonderworker. H e is s e e n a m i d m i r a c l e s . All m e n b l e s s a n d c u r s e . H e saith yea a n d nay, only. T h e s t a t i o n a r i n e s s of religion; the a s s u m p t i o n that the a g e of inspiration is p a s t , that the Bible is c l o s e d ; the fear of d e g r a d i n g the c h a r a c t e r of J e s u s by r e p r e s e n t i n g h i m a s a m a n ; i n d i c a t e with sufficient c l e a r n e s s the f a l s e h o o d of o u r theology. It is the office of a true t e a c h e r to s h o w u s that G o d is, not w a s ; that H e s p e a k e t h , not s p a k e . T h e true C h r i s t i a n i t y , — a faith like Christ's in the infinitude of m a n , — i s lost. N o n e believeth in the soul of m a n , b u t only in s o m e m a n or p e r s o n old a n d d e p a r t e d . A h m e ! n o m a n goeth a l o n e . All m e n g o in flocks to this saint or that p o e t , avoiding the G o d who s e e t h in secret. T h e y c a n n o t s e e in s e c r e t ; they love to b e blind in p u b l i c . T h e y think society wiser than their soul, a n d know not that o n e soul, a n d their soul, is wiser than the whole world. S e e how n a t i o n s a n d r a c e s flit by on the s e a of t i m e , a n d leave n o ripple to tell w h e r e they floated or s u n k , a n d o n e g o o d s o u l shall m a k e t h e n a m e of M o s e s , or of Z e n o , or of Z o r o a s t e r , 4 reverend forever. N o n e a s s a y e t h t h e stern a m b i t i o n to b e the S e l f of t h e nation, a n d of n a t u r e , b u t e a c h w o u l d b e a n e a s y s e c o n d a r y to s o m e C h r i s t i a n s c h e m e , or s e c t a r i a n c o n n e x i o n , or s o m e e m i n e n t m a n . O n c e leave your own k n o w l e d g e of G o d , your own s e n t i m e n t , a n d take s e c o n d a r y k n o w l e d g e , a s S t . Paul's, or G e o r g e Fox's, or S w e d e n b o r g ' s , s a n d you get wide from G o d with every year this s e c o n d a r y form l a s t s , a n d if, a s n o w , for c e n t u r i e s , — t h e c h a s m yawns to that b r e a d t h , that m e n c a n scarcely b e c o n v i n c e d there is in t h e m anything divine. L e t m e a d m o n i s h y o u , first of all, to g o a l o n e ; to refuse the g o o d m o d e l s , even t h o s e m o s t s a c r e d in the i m a g i n a t i o n of m e n , a n d d a r e to love G o d without m e d i a t o r or veil. F r i e n d s e n o u g h you shall find w h o will hold u p to your e m u l a t i o n W e s l e y s a n d O b e r l i n s , 6 S a i n t s a n d P r o p h e t s . T h a n k G o d for t h e s e good m e n , b u t say, 'I a l s o a m a m a n . ' Imitation c a n n o t g o a b o v e its m o d e l . T h e imitator d o o m s h i m s e l f to h o p e l e s s mediocrity. T h e inventor did it, b e c a u s e it w a s natural to h i m , a n d so in h i m it h a s a c h a r m . In t h e imitator, 4. Iranian religious reformer (6th century B.C.E.), founder of a religion still practiced by the Parsees. Moses, Hebrew lawgiver who led the exodus from Egypt. Zeno ( 3 4 2 ? - 2 7 0 ? B.C.E.), Greek philosopher and founder of Stoicism. 5. Emanuel Swedenborg (1688—1772), Swedish scientist and theologian. St. Paul, the apostle to the Gentiles, hero of the Book of Acts, and author of other books of the New Testament. George Fox

( 1 6 2 4 - 1 6 9 1 ) , English founder of the Society of Friends (Quakers). 6. J e a n Frederic Oberlin ( 1 7 4 0 - 1 8 2 6 ) , Alsatian Lutheran clergyman and philanthropist, innovator in children's education; the town and college in Ohio are named in his honor. J o h n Wesley ( 1 7 0 3 1791) and his brother C h a r l e s ( 1 7 0 7 - 1 7 8 8 ) founded the Methodist movement in the Church of England.

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s o m e t h i n g else is natural, a n d h e b e r e a v e s himself of his own b e a u t y , to c o m e short of a n o t h e r m a n ' s . Yourself a n e w b o r n b a r d of the Holy G h o s t , — c a s t b e h i n d you all c o n f o r m ity, a n d a c q u a i n t m e n at first h a n d with Deity. B e to t h e m a m a n . L o o k to it first a n d only, that you a r e s u c h ; that f a s h i o n , c u s t o m , authority, p l e a s u r e , a n d m o n e y are nothing to y o u , — a r e not b a n d a g e s over your eyes, that you c a n n o t s e e , — b u t live with the privilege of the i m m e a s u r a b l e m i n d . N o t too anxious to visit periodically all families a n d e a c h family in your p a r i s h conn e x i o n , — w h e n you m e e t o n e of t h e s e m e n or w o m e n , b e to t h e m a divine m a n ; be to t h e m t h o u g h t a n d virtue; let their timid a s p i r a t i o n s find in you a friend; let their t r a m p l e d instincts b e genially t e m p t e d o u t in your a t m o s p h e r e ; let their d o u b t s know that you have d o u b t e d , a n d their w o n d e r feel that you have w o n d e r e d . By trusting your own s o u l , you shall gain a greater c o n f i d e n c e in other m e n . F o r all our p e n n y - w i s d o m , for all our souldestroying slavery to habit, it is not to b e d o u b t e d , that all m e n have s u b l i m e t h o u g h t s ; that all m e n d o value the few real h o u r s of life; they love to be h e a r d ; they love to b e c a u g h t u p into the vision of principles. W e m a r k with light in the m e m o r y the few interviews, we have h a d in the dreary years of routine a n d of sin, with s o u l s that m a d e our s o u l s wiser; that s p o k e what we t h o u g h t ; that told u s what we knew; that gave u s leave to b e w h a t we inly were. D i s c h a r g e to m e n the priestly office, a n d , p r e s e n t or a b s e n t , you shall b e followed with their love a s by a n angel. A n d , to this e n d , let u s not a i m at c o m m o n d e g r e e s of merit. C a n we not leave, to s u c h a s love it, the virtue that glitters for the c o m m e n d a t i o n of society, a n d ourselves p i e r c e the d e e p s o l i t u d e s of a b s o l u t e ability a n d worth? W e easily c o m e u p to the s t a n d a r d of g o o d n e s s in society. Society's p r a i s e c a n be c h e a p l y s e c u r e d , a n d a l m o s t all m e n are c o n t e n t with t h o s e easy m e r i t s ; b u t the instant effect of c o n v e r s i n g with G o d , will b e , to put t h e m away. T h e r e are s u b l i m e m e r i t s ; p e r s o n s w h o are not a c t o r s , not s p e a k e r s , but i n f l u e n c e s ; p e r s o n s too great for f a m e , for display; w h o disdain eloq u e n c e ; to w h o m all we call art a n d artist, s e e m s too nearly allied to s h o w a n d by-ends, to the exaggeration of the finite a n d selfish, a n d loss of the universal. T h e o r a t o r s , the p o e t s , the c o m m a n d e r s e n c r o a c h o n u s only a s fair w o m e n d o , by our a l l o w a n c e a n d h o m a g e . Slight t h e m by p r e o c c u p a t i o n of m i n d , slight t h e m , a s you c a n well afford to d o , by high a n d universal a i m s , a n d they instantly feel that you have right, a n d that it is in lower p l a c e s that they m u s t s h i n e . T h e y a l s o feel your right; for they with you a r e o p e n to the influx of the all-knowing Spirit, which annihilates before its b r o a d n o o n the little s h a d e s a n d g r a d a t i o n s of intelligence in the c o m p o s i t i o n s we call wiser a n d wisest. In s u c h high c o m m u n i o n , let u s study the g r a n d strokes of r e c t i t u d e : a bold b e n e v o l e n c e , a n i n d e p e n d e n c e of friends, so that not the u n j u s t w i s h e s of t h o s e w h o love u s , shall impair our f r e e d o m , b u t we shall resist for truth's s a k e the freest flow of k i n d n e s s , a n d a p p e a l to s y m p a t h i e s far in a d v a n c e ; a n d , — w h a t is the highest form in which we know this beautiful e l e m e n t , — a certain solidity of merit, that h a s n o t h i n g to do with o p i n i o n , a n d which is s o essentially a n d manifestly virtue, that it is taken for g r a n t e d , that the right, the brave, the g e n e r o u s step will be t a k e n by it, a n d n o b o d y thinks of c o m m e n d i n g it. You w o u l d c o m p l i m e n t a c o x c o m b d o i n g a g o o d act, b u t you w o u l d not p r a i s e a n angel. T h e silence that a c c e p t s merit a s the m o s t n a t u r a l

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thing in the world, is the highest a p p l a u s e . S u c h s o u l s , w h e n they a p p e a r , are the Imperial G u a r d of Virtue, the p e r p e t u a l reserve, the dictators of fortune. O n e n e e d s not p r a i s e their c o u r a g e , — t h e y are the heart a n d soul of n a t u r e . O my friends, there are r e s o u r c e s in u s on which we have not d r a w n . T h e r e are m e n w h o rise refreshed on hearing a threat; m e n to w h o m a crisis which i n t i m i d a t e s a n d paralyzes the m a j o r i t y — d e m a n d i n g not the faculties of p r u d e n c e a n d thrift, but c o m p r e h e n s i o n , i m m o v a b l e n e s s , the r e a d i n e s s of s a c r i f i c e , — c o m e s graceful a n d beloved a s a bride. N a p o l e o n said of M a s s e n a , 7 that h e w a s not himself until the battle b e g a n to go a g a i n s t h i m ; t h e n , when the d e a d b e g a n to fall in ranks a r o u n d him, a w o k e his p o w e r s of c o m b i n a t i o n , a n d he p u t o n terror a n d victory a s a r o b e . S o it is in rugged c r i s e s , in u n w e a r i a b l e e n d u r a n c e , a n d in a i m s which p u t s y m p a t h y out of q u e s t i o n , that the angel is s h o w n . B u t t h e s e are heights that we c a n s c a r c e r e m e m b e r a n d look u p to, without contrition a n d s h a m e . L e t u s t h a n k G o d that s u c h things exist. And now let us d o what we c a n to rekindle the s m o u l d e r i n g , nigh q u e n c h e d fire on the altar. T h e evils of that c h u r c h that now is, a r e m a n i f e s t . T h e q u e s t i o n r e t u r n s . W h a t shall we d o ? I c o n f e s s , all a t t e m p t s to project a n d establish a C u l t u s with new rites a n d f o r m s , s e e m to m e vain. Faith m a k e s u s , a n d not we it, a n d faith m a k e s its own f o r m s . All a t t e m p t s to contrive a s y s t e m , a r e a s cold as the new w o r s h i p i n t r o d u c e d by the F r e n c h to the g o d d e s s of R e a s o n , 8 — t o d a y , p a s t e b o a r d a n d fillagree, a n d e n d i n g to-morrow in m a d n e s s a n d m u r d e r . Rather let the b r e a t h of new life b e b r e a t h e d by you through the f o r m s already existing. For, if o n c e you are alive, you shall find they shall b e c o m e p l a s t i c 9 a n d new. T h e r e m e d y to their deformity is, first, soul, a n d s e c o n d , soul, a n d e v e r m o r e , s o u l . A w h o l e p o p e d o m 1 of f o r m s , o n e p u l s a t i o n of virtue c a n uplift a n d vivify. T w o i n e s t i m a b l e a d v a n t a g e s C h r i s tianity h a s given u s ; first; the S a b b a t h , the j u b i l e e of the w h o l e world; w h o s e light d a w n s w e l c o m e alike into the closet of the p h i l o s o p h e r , into the garret of toil, a n d into prison cells, a n d everywhere s u g g e s t s , even to the vile, a t h o u g h t of the dignity of spiritual b e i n g . Let it s t a n d f o r e v e r m o r e , a t e m p l e , which new love, n e w faith, n e w sight shall restore to m o r e than its first s p l e n d o r to m a n k i n d . A n d secondly, the institution of p r e a c h i n g ; — t h e s p e e c h of m a n to m e n , — e s s e n t i a l l y the m o s t flexible of all o r g a n s , of all f o r m s . W h a t hinders that now, everywhere, in p u l p i t s , in l e c t u r e - r o o m s , in h o u s e s , in fields, wherever the invitation of m e n or your own o c c a s i o n s lead you, you s p e a k the very truth, a s your life a n d c o n s c i e n c e t e a c h it, a n d c h e e r the waiting, fainting hearts of m e n with n e w h o p e a n d new revelation. I look for the h o u r w h e n that s u p r e m e B e a u t y , which ravished the s o u l s of t h o s e E a s t e r n m e n , a n d chiefly of t h o s e H e b r e w s , a n d t h r o u g h their lips s p o k e o r a c l e s to all t i m e , shall s p e a k in the W e s t a l s o . T h e H e b r e w a n d G r e e k S c r i p t u r e s c o n t a i n i m m o r t a l s e n t e n c e s , that have b e e n b r e a d of life to millions. B u t they have no epical integrity; are fragmentary; are not s h o w n in their order to the intellect. I look for the new T e a c h e r , that shall follow so far t h o s e s h i n i n g laws, that he shall s e e t h e m c o m e full circle; shall s e e their 7. Andre M a s s e n a ( 1 7 5 8 - 1 8 1 7 ) , marshal of the empire under Napoleon. T h e anecdote is taken from Barry Edward O'Meara's Napoleon in Exile (1823). 8. A reference to the French "worship of R e a s o n "

promulgated in 1793 during the Reign of Terror. 9. Receptive to inlluences, c a p a b l e of receiving new shapes. 1. I.e., rigid hierarchy.

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r o u n d i n g c o m p l e t e g r a c e ; shall s e e the world to be the mirror of the soul; shall s e e the identity of the law of gravitation with purity of heart; a n d shall s h o w that the O u g h t , that Duty, is o n e thing with S c i e n c e , with B e a u t y , a n d with Joy. 1838,1841

Self-Reliance1 Ne te quxsiveris

extra.2

"Man is his own star, and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man, Command all light, all influence, all fate, Nothing to him falls early or too late. Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still." —Epilogue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Honest Man's Fortune' Cast the bantling4 on the rocks, Suckle him with the she-wolf's teat: Wintered with the hawk and fox, Power and speed be hands and feet. I read the other day s o m e verses written by a n e m i n e n t painter which were original a n d not c o n v e n t i o n a l . Always the soul h e a r s a n a d m o n i t i o n in s u c h lines, let the s u b j e c t be what it may. T h e s e n t i m e n t they instil is of m o r e value than any t h o u g h t they m a y c o n t a i n . T o believe your own t h o u g h t , to believe that what is true for you in your private heart, is true for all m e n , — that is g e n i u s . S p e a k your latent conviction a n d it shall be the universal s e n s e ; for always the i n m o s t b e c o m e s the o u t m o s t , — a n d our first t h o u g h t is r e n d e r e d b a c k to us by the t r u m p e t s of the L a s t J u d g m e n t . F a m i l i a r a s the voice of the m i n d is to e a c h , the highest merit we a s c r i b e to M o s e s , Plato, a n d M i l t o n , is that they set at n a u g h t b o o k s a n d traditions, a n d s p o k e not what m e n wrote b u t what they t h o u g h t . A m a n s h o u l d learn to d e t e c t a n d watch that g l e a m of light which flashes a c r o s s his m i n d from within, m o r e than the lustre of the firmament of b a r d s a n d s a g e s . Yet h e d i s m i s s e s without notice his t h o u g h t , b e c a u s e it is his. In every work of g e n i u s w e recognize our own rejected t h o u g h t s : they c o m e b a c k to u s with a certain a l i e n a t e d majesty. G r e a t works of art have no m o r e affecting lesson for u s than this. T h e y t e a c h u s to a b i d e by o u r s p o n t a n e o u s i m p r e s s i o n with g o o d h u m o r e d inflexibility then m o s t when the whole cry of voices is on the other s i d e . E l s e , to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly g o o d s e n s e precisely what we have thought a n d felt all the t i m e , a n d we shall be forced to take with s h a m e our own opinion from a n o t h e r . 1. "Self-Reliance," first published in Essays ( 1 8 4 1 ) , the source of the present text, is even more than most of Emerson's essays a collection of thoughts from his journals, often by way of various lectures over a period of years. T h e earliest of the journal entries reused in this essay is from 1832, the year Emerson renounced his pulpit, and numerous other reused journal entries and lecture

re-workings are from the years 1838—40. when "The Divinity School Address" provided a major test of his own self-trust. 2. Persius, Satire 1.7: " D o not search outside yourself" (Latin), i.e., do not imitate. 3. Published in 1613. 4. Baby. T h e stanza is Emerson's.

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T h e r e is a time in every m a n ' s e d u c a t i o n w h e n h e arrives at the conviction that envy is i g n o r a n c e ; that imitation is s u i c i d e ; that he m u s t take h i m s e l f for better, for w o r s e , a s his portion; that t h o u g h the wide universe is full of g o o d , n o kernel of n o u r i s h i n g corn c a n c o m e to him b u t t h r o u g h his toil b e s t o w e d o n that plot of g r o u n d w h i c h is given to him to till. T h e power which resides in him is n e w in n a t u r e , a n d n o n e b u t h e / k n o w s w h a t that is which h e c a n d o , nor d o e s he know until he h a s tried.^Not for n o t h i n g o n e f a c e , o n e c h a r a c t e r , o n e fact m a k e s m u c h i m p r e s s i o n on h i m , a n d another n o n e . It is not without p r e e s t a b l i s h e d h a r m o n y , this s c u l p t u r e in the m e m ory. T h e eye w a s p l a c e d w h e r e o n e ray s h o u l d fall, that it might testify of that particular ray. Bravely let him s p e a k the u t m o s t syllable of his c o n f e s sion. W e b u t half e x p r e s s o u r s e l v e s , a n d a r e a s h a m e d of that divine idea which e a c h of u s r e p r e s e n t s . It may b e safely t r u s t e d a s p r o p o r t i o n a t e a n d of g o o d i s s u e s , so it b e faithfully i m p a r t e d , b u t G o d will not have his work m a d e m a n i f e s t by c o w a r d s . It n e e d s a divine m a n to exhibit any thing divine. A m a n is relieved a n d gay w h e n h e h a s p u t his heart into his work a n d d o n e his b e s t ; b u t w h a t he h a s said or d o n e o t h e r w i s e , shall give h i m n o p e a c e . It is a deliverance which d o e s not deliver. In the a t t e m p t his g e n i u s d e s e r t s h i m ; n o m u s e b e f r i e n d s ; no invention, n o h o p e . T r u s t thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. A c c e p t the p l a c e the divine P r o v i d e n c e h a s f o u n d for y o u ; the society of your c o n t e m p o r a r i e s , the c o n n e x i o n of e v e n t s . G r e a t m e n have always d o n e so a n d confided t h e m selves childlike to the g e n i u s of their a g e , betraying their p e r c e p t i o n that the Eternal w a s stirring at their heart, working t h r o u g h their h a n d s , p r e d o m i nating in all their b e i n g . A n d we are n o w m e n , a n d m u s t a c c e p t in the highest m i n d the s a m e t r a n s c e n d e n t destiny; a n d not p i n c h e d in a c o r n e r , not cowards fleeing before a revolution, b u t r e d e e m e r s a n d b e n e f a c t o r s , p i o u s aspirants to be noble clay plastic u n d e r the Almighty effort, let u s a d v a n c e a n d a d v a n c e on C h a o s a n d the D a r k . W h a t pretty o r a c l e s n a t u r e yields u s on this text in the f a c e a n d behavior of children, b a b e s a n d even b r u t e s . T h a t divided a n d rebel m i n d , that distrust of a s e n t i m e n t b e c a u s e our a r i t h m e t i c h a s c o m p u t e d the s t r e n g t h a n d m e a n s o p p o s e d to our p u r p o s e , t h e s e have not. T h e i r m i n d b e i n g w h o l e , their eye is a s yet u n c o n q u e r e d , a n d w h e n we look in their f a c e s , we are d i s c o n c e r t e d . Infancy c o n f o r m s to nobody: all c o n f o r m to it, so that o n e b a b e c o m m o n l y m a k e s four or five out of the a d u l t s w h o prattle a n d play to it. S o G o d h a s a r m e d youth a n d puberty a n d m a n h o o d n o less with its own p i q u a n c y a n d c h a r m , a n d m a d e it enviable a n d g r a c i o u s a n d its c l a i m s not to b e p u t by, if it will s t a n d by itself. D o not think the youth h a s n o force b e c a u s e h e c a n n o t s p e a k to you a n d m e . Hark! in the next r o o m , w h o s p o k e s o c l e a r a n d e m p h a t i c ? G o o d H e a v e n ! it is h e ! it is that very l u m p of b a s h f u l n e s s a n d p h l e g m which for w e e k s has d o n e n o t h i n g b u t eat w h e n you w e r e by, that n o w rolls out t h e s e w o r d s like bell-strokes. It s e e m s h e k n o w s how to s p e a k to his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s . B a s h f u l or bold, t h e n , he will k n o w how to m a k e u s seniors very u n n e c e s s a r y . T h e n o n c h a l a n c e of boys w h o a r e s u r e of a dinner, a n d w o u l d d i s d a i n a s m u c h a s a lord to do or say a u g h t to c o n c i l i a t e o n e , is the healthy attitude of h u m a n n a t u r e . H o w is a boy the m a s t e r of society; i n d e p e n d e n t , irresponsible, looking out from his c o r n e r on s u c h p e o p l e a n d facts a s p a s s by, h e tries a n d s e n t e n c e s t h e m o n their m e r i t s , in the swift s u m m a r y way of b o y s , a s g o o d , b a d , interesting, silly, e l o q u e n t , t r o u b l e s o m e . H e c u m b e r s h i m s e l f never a b o u t c o n s e q u e n c e s , a b o u t interests: h e gives a n i n d e p e n d e n t , g e n u i n e

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verdict. You m u s t court h i m : he d o e s not c o u r t you. B u t the m a n is, a s it w e r e , c l a p p e d into jail by his c o n s c i o u s n e s s . As s o o n a s h e h a s o n c e a c t e d or s p o k e n with eclat, he is a c o m m i t t e d p e r s o n , w a t c h e d by the s y m p a t h y or the hatred of h u n d r e d s w h o s e affections m u s t now enter into his a c c o u n t . T h e r e is no L e t h e 5 for this. A h , that he c o u l d p a s s a g a i n into his neutral, godlike i n d e p e n d e n c e ! W h o c a n t h u s lose all p l e d g e , a n d having o b s e r v e d , o b s e r v e again from the s a m e u n a f f e c t e d , u n b i a s e d , u n b r i b a b l e , unaffrighted i n n o c e n c e , m u s t always be f o r m i d a b l e , m u s t always e n g a g e the poet's a n d the m a n ' s r e g a r d s . O f s u c h a n immortal youth the force w o u l d be felt. H e would utter opinions on all p a s s i n g affairs, which b e i n g s e e n to be not private b u t n e c e s s a r y , would sink like darts into the e a r of m e n , a n d p u t t h e m in fear. / T h e s e are the voices which we hear in s o l i t u d e , b u t they grow faint a n d inaudible a s we enter into the world. Society everywhere is in c o n s p i r a c y a g a i n s t the m a n h o o d of every o n e of its m e m b e r s . S o c i e t y is a j o i n t - s t o c k c o m p a n y 6 in which the m e m b e r s a g r e e for the better s e c u r i n g of his b r e a d to e a c h s h a r e h o l d e r , to s u r r e n d e r the liberty a n d c u l t u r e of the eater. T h e virtue in m o s t r e q u e s t is conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities a n d c r e a t o r s , but n a m e s a n d c u s t o m s . W h o s o would b e a m a n m u s t b e a n o n c o n f o r m i s t . H e w h o w o u l d gather immortal p a l m s m u s t not b e hindered by the n a m e of g o o d n e s s , but m u s t explore if it b e g o o d n e s s . N o t h i n g is at last s a c r e d but the integrity of our own m i n d . Absolve you to yourself, a n d you shall have the suffrage of the world. I r e m e m b e r an a n s w e r which w h e n q u i t e y o u n g I w a s p r o m p t e d to m a k e to a v a l u e d adviser w h o w a s wont to i m p o r t u n e m e with the d e a r old doctrines of the c h u r c h . O n my saying, W h a t have I to do with the s a c r e d n e s s of traditions, if I live wholly from within? my friend s u g g e s t e d — " B u t t h e s e i m p u l s e s m a y be from below, not from a b o v e . " I replied, 'They d o not s e e m to m e to be s u c h ; but if I a m the devil's child, I will live then from the devil.' N o law c a n be s a c r e d to m e but that of my n a t u r e . G o o d a n d b a d are b u t n a m e s very readily transferable to that or this; the only right is w h a t is after my c o n s t i t u t i o n , the only w r o n g what is a g a i n s t it. A m a n is to carry h i m s e l f in the p r e s e n c e of all o p p o s i t i o n as if every thing were titular a n d e p h e m e r a l but h e . I a m a s h a m e d to think how easily we c a p i t u l a t e to b a d g e s a n d n a m e s , to large societies a n d d e a d institutions. Every d e c e n t a n d well-spoken individual affects a n d sways m e m o r e t h a n is right. I o u g h t to g o upright a n d vital, a n d s p e a k the r u d e truth in all ways. If m a l i c e a n d vanity wear the c o a t of philanthropy, shall that p a s s ? If a n angry bigot a s s u m e s this bountiful c a u s e of Abolition, a n d c o m e s to m e with his last n e w s from B a r b a d o e s , 7 why s h o u l d I not say to him, ' G o love thy infant; love thy w o o d - c h o p p e r : b e g o o d - n a t u r e d a n d m o d e s t : have that g r a c e ; a n d never varnish your hard, u n c h a r i t a b l e a m b i t i o n with this incredible t e n d e r n e s s for b l a c k folk a thous a n d miles off. T h y love afar is spite at h o m e . ' B o u g h a n d g r a c e l e s s would be s u c h greeting, but truth is h a n d s o m e r than the affectation of love. Your g o o d n e s s m u s t have s o m e e d g e to i t — e l s e it is n o n e . T h e d o c t r i n e of hatred m u s t b e p r e a c h e d as the c o u n t e r a c t i o n of the d o c t r i n e of love w h e n that p u l e s a n d w h i n e s . I s h u n father a n d m o t h e r a n d wife a n d brother, w h e n my

5. Oblivion-producing water from the river of the underworld in Greek mythology'. 6. Business for which the capital is held by its joint owners in transferable shares.

7. Island in the eastern Caribbean where slavery was officially abolished in 1834 and all slaves freed by 1838.

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g e n i u s calls m e . 8 I w o u l d write on the lintels of the d o o r - p o s t , Whim.9 I h o p e it is s o m e w h a t better than whim at last, b u t we c a n n o t s p e n d the day in explanation. E x p e c t m e not to s h o w c a u s e why I s e e k or why I e x c l u d e c o m pany. T h e n , a g a i n , d o not tell m e , a s a g o o d m a n did to-day, of my obligation to p u t all poor m e n in g o o d s i t u a t i o n s . Are they my p o o r ? I tell t h e e , t h o u foolish philanthropist, that I g r u d g e the dollar, the d i m e , the c e n t I give to s u c h m e n a s d o not b e l o n g to m e a n d to w h o m I do not belong. T h e r e is a c l a s s of p e r s o n s to w h o m by all spiritual affinity I a m b o u g h t a n d sold; for t h e m I will go to prison, if n e e d b e ; b u t your m i s c e l l a n e o u s p o p u l a r c h a r i t i e s ; the e d u c a t i o n at c o l l e g e of fools; the b u i l d i n g of m e e t i n g - h o u s e s to the vain e n d to which m a n y now s t a n d ; a l m s to s o t s ; a n d the t h o u s a n d f o l d Relief S o c i e t i e s ; — t h o u g h I c o n f e s s with s h a m e I s o m e t i m e s s u c c u m b a n d give the dollar, it is a wicked dollar which by-and-by I shall have the m a n h o o d to withhold. J Virtues are in the p o p u l a r e s t i m a t e rather the exception than the rule. T h e r e is the m a n and his virtues. M e n do what is called a g o o d a c t i o n , a s s o m e p i e c e of c o u r a g e or charity, m u c h a s they w o u l d pay a fine in expiation of daily n o n - a p p e a r a n c e on p a r a d e . T h e i r works are d o n e a s a n apology or extenuation of their living in the w o r l d , — a s invalids a n d the i n s a n e pay a high b o a r d . T h e i r virtues are p e n a n c e s . I d o not wish to expiate, b u t to live. M y life is not an apology, b u t a life. It is for itself a n d not for a s p e c t a c l e . I m u c h prefer that it s h o u l d be of a lower strain, so it b e g e n u i n e a n d e q u a l , than that it s h o u l d b e glittering a n d u n s t e a d y . I wish it to b e s o u n d a n d sweet, a n d not to n e e d diet a n d b l e e d i n g . 1 M y life s h o u l d be u n i q u e ; it s h o u l d b e a n a l m s , a battle, a c o n q u e s t , a m e d i c i n e . I a s k primary e v i d e n c e that you a r e a m a n , a n d refuse this a p p e a l from the m a n to his a c t i o n s . I know that for myself it m a k e s no difference w h e t h e r I do or forbear t h o s e a c t i o n s which a r e r e c k o n e d excellent. I c a n n o t c o n s e n t to pay for a privilege w h e r e I have intrinsic right. F e w a n d m e a n as my gifts m a y b e , I actually a m , a n d do not n e e d for my own a s s u r a n c e or the a s s u r a n c e of my fellows any s e c o n d a r y testimony. W h a t I m u s t d o , is all that c o n c e r n s m e , not w h a t the p e o p l e think. T h i s rule, equally a r d u o u s in a c t u a l a n d in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction b e t w e e n g r e a t n e s s a n d m e a n n e s s . It is the harder, b e c a u s e you will always find t h o s e w h o think they k n o w what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world's o p i n i o n ; it is e a s y in solitude to live after our o w n ; b u t the great m a n is he w h o in the m i d s t of the crowd k e e p s with perfect s w e e t n e s s the i n d e p e n d e n c e of s o l i t u d e . T h e objection to c o n f o r m i n g to u s a g e s that have b e c o m e d e a d to y o u , is, that it s c a t t e r s your force. It loses your time a n d blurs the i m p r e s s i o n of your c h a r a c t e r . If you m a i n t a i n a d e a d c h u r c h , c o n t r i b u t e to a d e a d Bible-Society, vote with a great party either for the G o v e r n m e n t or a g a i n s t it, s p r e a d your table like b a s e h o u s e k e e p e r s , — u n d e r all t h e s e s c r e e n s , I have difficulty to d e t e c t the p r e c i s e m a n you a r e . A n d , of c o u r s e , so m u c h force is withdrawn from your proper life. B u t do your thing, a n d I shall know y o u . D o your work, a n d you shall reinforce yourself. A m a n m u s t c o n s i d e r what a b l i n d m a n ' s buff is this g a m e of conformity. If I know your sect, I a n t i c i p a t e your argu-

8. For shunning family to obey a divine command see Matthew 10.34-37. 9. S e e Exodus 12 for God's instructions to Moses on marking with blood the "two side posts" and the "upper door post" (or lintel) of houses so that God would spare those within when he passed through

to "smite all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, both man and beast." E m e r s o n equates importunate distractions from other people with a death threat to his intellectual and spiritual life. I. T h e old medical treatment of bloodletting.

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m e n t . I hear a p r e a c h e r a n n o u n c e for his text a n d topic the expediency o f o n e of the institutions of his c h u r c h . D o I not know b e f o r e h a n d that not possibly c a n he say a new a n d s p o n t a n e o u s word? D o I not know that with all this ostentation of e x a m i n i n g the g r o u n d s of the institution, h e will d o no s u c h thing? D o I not know that he is p l e d g e d to himself not to look but at o n e side; the p e r m i t t e d s i d e , not as a m a n , but a s a parish minister? H e is a retained attorney, a n d t h e s e airs of the b e n c h are the e m p t i e s t affectation. Well, m o s t m e n have b o u n d their eyes with o n e or a n o t h e r handkerchief, a n d a t t a c h e d t h e m s e l v e s to s o m e o n e of t h e s e c o m m u n i t i e s of o p i n i o n . T h i s conformity m a k e s t h e m not false in a few p a r t i c u l a r s , a u t h o r s of a few lies, but false in all p a r t i c u l a r s . T h e i r every truth is not quite true. T h e i r two is not the real two, their four not the real four: so that every word they say c h a g r i n s u s , a n d we know not where to begin to set t h e m right. M e a n t i m e n a t u r e is not slow to e q u i p u s in the p r i s o n - u n i f o r m of the party to which we a d h e r e . W e c o m e to wear o n e c u t of f a c e a n d figure, a n d a c q u i r e by d e g r e e s the gentlest a s i n i n e e x p r e s s i o n . T h e r e is a mortifying e x p e r i e n c e in particular which d o e s not fail to w r e a k itself a l s o in the general history; I m e a n , "the foolish face of p r a i s e , " 2 the forced s m i l e which we p u t o n in c o m p a n y where we do not feel at e a s e in a n s w e r to c o n v e r s a t i o n which d o e s not interest u s . T h e m u s c l e s , not s p o n t a n e o u s l y m o v e d , b u t m o v e d by a low u s u r p i n g wilfulness, grow tight a b o u t the outline of the f a c e a n d m a k e the m o s t d i s a g r e e a b l e s e n s a t i o n , a s e n s a t i o n of r e b u k e a n d w a r n i n g which no brave y o u n g m a n will suffer twice. f F o r non-conformity the world whips you with its d i s p l e a s u r e . A n d therefore a m a n m u s t know how to e s t i m a t e a s o u r f a c e . T h e b y s t a n d e r s look a s k a n c e o n him in the public street or in the friend's parlor. If this aversation h a d its origin in c o n t e m p t a n d r e s i s t a n c e like his o w n , he might well g o h o m e with a s a d c o u n t e n a n c e ; but the s o u r f a c e s of the m u l t i t u d e , like their sweet f a c e s , have no d e e p c a u s e , — d i s g u i s e no g o d , b u t are put on a n d off a s the wind blows, a n d a n e w s p a p e r directs. Yet is the d i s c o n t e n t of the m u l t i t u d e m o r e formidable than that of the s e n a t e a n d the c o l l e g e . It is e a s y e n o u g h for a firm m a n w h o knows the world to b r o o k the rage of the cultivated c l a s s e s . T h e i r rage is d e c o r o u s a n d p r u d e n t , for they are timid a s b e i n g very vulnerable t h e m s e l v e s . B u t w h e n to their feminine r a g e the indignation of the p e o p l e is a d d e d , when the ignorant a n d the p o o r are a r o u s e d , w h e n the unintelligent brute force that lies at the b o t t o m of society is m a d e to growl a n d m o w , it n e e d s the habit of m a g n a n i m i t y a n d religion to treat it godlike as a trifle of no c o n c e r n m e n t . T h e other terror that s c a r e s u s from self-trust is o u r c o n s i s t e n c y ; a revere n c e for o u r p a s t act or word, b e c a u s e the eyes of others have no other d a t a for c o m p u t i n g our orbit than our p a s t a c t s , a n d we are loath to d i s a p p o i n t them. But why s h o u l d you k e e p your h e a d over your s h o u l d e r ? W h y drag a b o u t this m o n s t r o u s c o r p s e of your m e m o r y , lest you c o n t r a d i c t s o m e w h a t you have stated in this or that public p l a c e ? S u p p o s e you s h o u l d c o n t r a d i c t yourself; w h a t then? It s e e m s to be a rule of w i s d o m never to rely on your m e m o r y a l o n e , scarcely even in acts of p u r e m e m o r y , but bring the p a s t for j u d g m e n t into the t h o u s a n d - e y e d p r e s e n t , a n d live ever in a new day. T r u s t your e m o tion. In your m e t a p h y s i c s you have d e n i e d personality to the Deity: yet w h e n the devout m o t i o n s of the soul c o m e , yield to t h e m heart a n d life, t h o u g h

2. Alexander Pope's "Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot," line 2 1 2 .

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they s h o u l d clothe G o d with s h a p e a n d color. L e a v e your theory a s J o s e p h his c o a t in the h a n d of the harlot, a n d f l e e . ' A foolish c o n s i s t e n c y is the hobgoblin of little m i n d s , a d o r e d by little s t a t e s m e n a n d p h i l o s o p h e r s a n d divines. W i t h c o n s i s t e n c y a great soul h a s simply n o t h i n g to d o . H e m a y a s well c o n c e r n h i m s e l f with his s h a d o w on the wall. O u t u p o n your g u a r d e d lips! S e w t h e m u p with p a c k t h r e a d , d o . E l s e , if you would b e a m a n , s p e a k w h a t you think to-day in w o r d s a s hard a s c a n n o n balls, a n d to-morrow s p e a k w h a t to-morrow thinks in hard w o r d s a g a i n , t h o u g h it c o n t r a d i c t every thing you said to-day. Ah, t h e n , exclaim the a g e d ladies, you shall b e s u r e to b e m i s u n d e r s t o o d . M i s u n d e r s t o o d ! It is a right fool's word. Is it s o b a d then to be m i s u n d e r s t o o d ? P y t h a g o r a s w a s misunderstood, and Socrates, and J e s u s , and Luther, and Copernicus, and G a l i l e o , a n d N e w t o n , a n d every p u r e a n d wise spirit that ever took flesh. T o be great is to be m i s u n d e r s t o o d . I s u p p o s e no m a n c a n violate his n a t u r e . All the sallies of his will are r o u n d e d in by the law of his b e i n g a s the inequalities of A n d e s a n d H i m m a l e h 4 are insignificant in the curve of the s p h e r e . N o r d o e s it m a t t e r how you g a u g e a n d try h i m . A c h a r a c t e r is like a n acrostic or Alexandrian s t a n z a ; 5 — r e a d it forward, b a c k w a r d , or a c r o s s , it still spells the s a m e thing. In this p l e a s i n g contrite wood-life which G o d allows m e , let m e record day by day my h o n e s t t h o u g h t without p r o s p e c t or r e t r o s p e c t , a n d , I c a n n o t d o u b t , it will b e f o u n d s y m m e t r i c a l , t h o u g h I m e a n it not, a n d s e e it not. M y b o o k s h o u l d smell of p i n e s a n d r e s o u n d with the h u m of i n s e c t s . T h e swallow over my window s h o u l d interweave that thread or straw he carries in his bill into my w e b a l s o . W e p a s s for what we a r e . C h a r a c t e r t e a c h e s a b o v e our wills. M e n i m a g i n e that they c o m m u n i c a t e their virtue or vice only by overt a c t i o n s a n d do not s e e that virtue or vice e m i t a b r e a t h every m o m e n t . F e a r never b u t you shall b e c o n s i s t e n t in whatever variety of a c t i o n s , so they be e a c h h o n e s t a n d n a t u r a l in their hour. F o r of o n e will, the a c t i o n s will b e h a r m o n i o u s , however unlike they s e e m . T h e s e varieties are lost sight of w h e n s e e n at a little d i s t a n c e , at a little height of t h o u g h t . O n e t e n d e n c y unites t h e m all. T h e voyage of the b e s t s h i p is a zigzag line of a h u n d r e d tacks. T h i s is only m i c r o s c o p i c criticism. S e e the line from a sufficient dist a n c e , a n d it s t r a i g h t e n s itself to the a v e r a g e t e n d e n c y . Your g e n u i n e action will explain itself a n d will explain your other g e n u i n e a c t i o n s . Your c o n f o r m ity explains nothing. Act singly, a n d w h a t you have already d o n e singly, will justify you now. G r e a t n e s s always a p p e a l s to the f u t u r e . If I c a n be great e n o u g h now to d o right a n d s c o r n eyes, I m u s t have d o n e so m u c h right before, a s to d e f e n d m e now. B e it h o w it will, d o right now. Always s c o r n a p p e a r a n c e s , a n d you always may. T h e force of c h a r a c t e r is c u m u l a t i v e . All the foregone days of virtue work their health into this. W h a t m a k e s the majesty of the h e r o e s of the s e n a t e a n d the field, which so fills the imagination? T h e c o n s c i o u s n e s s of a train of great days a n d victories b e h i n d . T h e r e they all s t a n d a n d s h e d a n united light o n the a d v a n c i n g a c t o r . H e is a t t e n d e d as by a visible e s c o r t of a n g e l s to every m a n ' s eye. T h a t is it w h i c h throws t h u n d e r into C h a t h a m ' s voice, a n d dignity into W a s h i n g t o n ' s p o r t , a n d America into A d a m s ' s 6 eye. H o n o r is v e n e r a b l e to u s b e c a u s e it is n o e p h e m e r i s . 3. T h e story of J o s e p h and Potiphar's wife is in Genesis 3 9 . 4. Mountain ranges in South America and Asia, the latter (now spelled Himalayas) separates India from China. 5. A palindrome, reading the s a m e backward as

forward. 6. Adams may be S a m u e l A d a m s ( 1 7 2 2 - 1 8 0 3 ) , leader of the Revolutionary movement in M a s s a chusetts, or, more likely, his younger relative John Quincy A d a m s ( 1 7 6 7 - 1 8 4 8 ) , sixth president of the United States and, afterward, long-time member

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It is always a n c i e n t virtue. W e worship it to-day, b e c a u s e it is not of to-day. W e love it a n d pay it h o m a g e , b e c a u s e it is not a trap for o u r love a n d h o m a g e , but is s e l f - d e p e n d e n t , self-derived, a n d therefore of a n old i m m a c u l a t e p e d igree, even if s h o w n in a y o u n g p e r s o n . I h o p e in t h e s e days we have heard the last of conformity a n d c o n s i s t e n c y . L e t the w o r d s b e g a z e t t e d 7 a n d ridiculous h e n c e f o r w a r d . I n s t e a d of the g o n g for dinner, let u s h e a r a whistle from the S p a r t a n fife.8 L e t u s b o w a n d apologize never m o r e . A great m a n is c o m i n g to e a t at my h o u s e . I d o not wish to p l e a s e h i m : I wish that he s h o u l d wish to p l e a s e m e . I will s t a n d h e r e for h u m a n i t y , a n d t h o u g h I would m a k e it kind, I would m a k e it t r u e . L e t u s affront a n d r e p r i m a n d the s m o o t h mediocrity a n d s q u a l i d c o n t e n t m e n t of the t i m e s , a n d hurl in the f a c e of c u s t o m , a n d t r a d e , a n d office, the fact which is the u p s h o t of all history, that there is a great r e s p o n s i b l e T h i n k e r a n d Actor moving wherever m o v e s a m a n ; that a true m a n b e l o n g s to n o other time or p l a c e , but is the c e n t r e of things. W h e r e h e is, there is n a t u r e . H e m e a s u r e s you, a n d all m e n , a n d all events. You are c o n s t r a i n e d to a c c e p t his s t a n d a r d . Ordinarily every body in society r e m i n d s u s of s o m e w h a t else or of s o m e other p e r s o n . C h a r a c t e r , reality, r e m i n d s you of n o t h i n g e l s e . It takes p l a c e of the w h o l e c r e a t i o n . T h e m a n m u s t be s o m u c h that h e m u s t m a k e all c i r c u m s t a n c e s i n d i f f e r e n t , — p u t all m e a n s into the s h a d e . T h i s all great m e n are a n d d o . Every true m a n is a c a u s e , a country, a n d a n a g e ; r e q u i r e s infinite s p a c e s a n d n u m b e r s a n d time fully to a c c o m p l i s h his t h o u g h t ; — a n d posterity s e e m to follow his s t e p s a s a p r o c e s s i o n . A m a n Caesar is b o r n , a n d for a g e s after, we have a R o m a n E m p i r e . C h r i s t is b o r n , a n d millions of m i n d s s o grow a n d cleave to his g e n i u s , that he is c o n f o u n d e d with virtue a n d the p o s s i b l e of m a n . An institution is the l e n g t h e n e d s h a d o w of o n e m a n ; a s , the R e f o r m a t i o n , of L u t h e r ; Q u a k e r i s m , of Fox; M e t h o d i s m , of W e s l e y ; Abolition, of C l a r k s o n . 9 S c i p i o , 1 M i l t o n called " t h e height of R o m e ; " a n d all history resolves itself very easily into the biography of a few stout a n d e a r n e s t p e r s o n s . L e t a m a n then know his worth, a n d keep things u n d e r his feet. L e t him not p e e p or steal, or skulk u p a n d down with the air of a charity-boy, a b a s t a r d , or a n interloper, in the world which exists for h i m . B u t the m a n in the street finding no worth in h i m s e l f which c o r r e s p o n d s to the force which built a tower or s c u l p t u r e d a m a r b l e g o d , feels p o o r w h e n he looks on t h e s e . T o him a p a l a c e , a s t a t u e , or a costly b o o k have a n alien a n d forbidding air, m u c h like a gay e q u i p a g e , a n d s e e m to say like that, 'Who are you, sir?' Yet they all are his, suitors for his notice, petitioners to his faculties that they will c o m e o u t a n d take p o s s e s s i o n . T h e picture waits for my verdict: it is not to c o m m a n d m e , b u t I a m to settle its c l a i m s to p r a i s e . T h a t p o p u l a r fable of the sot w h o w a s p i c k e d u p d e a d d r u n k in the street, carried to the duke's h o u s e , w a s h e d a n d d r e s s e d a n d laid in the duke's b e d , a n d , on his waking, treated with all o b s e q u i o u s c e r e m o n y like the d u k e , a n d a s s u r e d that he h a d b e e n i n s a n e , 2 — o w e s its popularity to the fact, that it symbolizes s o well the

of ihe House of Representatives, known as "Old Man E l o q u e n c e . " William Pitt, first earl of Chatham ( 1 7 0 8 - 1 7 7 8 ) , English statesman and great orator. George Washington ( 1 7 3 2 - 1 7 9 9 ) , first president of the United States. "Port": carriage or physical bearing. 7. Labeled in public as not to be used henceforth. 8. Emerson is associating the gong with lax ease and the Spartan fife with disciplined alertness.

9. These founders are Martin Luther ( 1 4 8 3 1546), George Fox ( 1 6 2 4 - 1 6 9 1 ) , John Wesley ( 1 7 0 3 - 1 7 9 1 ) , and T h o m a s Clarkeson (17601846). 1. Scipio Africanus ( 2 3 7 - 1 8 3 B.C.E.), the conqueror of Carthage. 2. T h e best-known version of the fable is in the "Induction" to Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew.

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s t a t e of m a n , w h o is in the world a sort of sot, b u t now a n d then w a k e s u p , exercises his r e a s o n , a n d finds himself a true p r i n c e . O u r r e a d i n g is m e n d i c a n t a n d s y c o p h a n t i c . In history, o u r i m a g i n a t i o n m a k e s fools of u s , plays u s false. K i n g d o m a n d lordship, power a n d e s t a t e are a g a u d i e r vocabulary than private J o h n a n d E d w a r d in a small h o u s e a n d c o m m o n day's work: b u t the things of life are the s a m e to both: the s u m total of both is the s a m e . W h y all this d e f e r e n c e to Alfred, a n d S c a n d e r b e g , a n d G u s t a v u s ? ' S u p p o s e they were virtuous: did they wear o u t virtue? As great a stake d e p e n d s on your private act to-day, a s followed their p u b l i c a n d r e n o w n e d s t e p s . W h e n private m e n shall act with vast views, the lustre will be transferred from the a c t i o n s of kings to t h o s e of g e n t l e m e n . T h e world h a s i n d e e d b e e n instructed by its kings, w h o have s o m a g n e t i z e d the eyes of n a t i o n s . It has b e e n t a u g h t by this c o l o s s a l symbol the m u t u a l reverence that is d u e from m a n to m a n . T h e joyful loyalty with which m e n have every w h e r e suffered the king, the n o b l e , or the great proprietor to walk a m o n g t h e m by a law of his own, m a k e his own s c a l e of m e n a n d things, a n d reverse theirs, pay for benefits not with m o n e y but with h o n o r , a n d represent the L a w in his p e r s o n , w a s the hieroglyphic by which they o b s c u r e l y signified their c o n s c i o u s n e s s of their own right a n d c o m e l i n e s s , the right of every m a n . T h e m a g n e t i s m which all original a c t i o n exerts is e x p l a i n e d w h e n we inquire the r e a s o n of self-trust. W h o is the T r u s t e e ? W h a t is the aboriginal Self on which a universal reliance may b e g r o u n d e d ? W h a t is the n a t u r e a n d power of that science-baffling star, without parallax, 4 without c a l c u l a b l e elem e n t s , which s h o o t s a ray of b e a u t y even into trivial a n d i m p u r e a c t i o n s , if the least m a r k of i n d e p e n d e n c e a p p e a r ? T h e inquiry leads u s to that s o u r c e , at o n c e the e s s e n c e of g e n i u s , the e s s e n c e of virtue, a n d the e s s e n c e of life, which we call S p o n t a n e i t y or Instinct. W e d e n o t e this primary w i s d o m a s Intuition, whilst all later t e a c h i n g s are tuitions. In that d e e p f o r c e , the last fact b e h i n d which analysis c a n n o t g o , all things find their c o m m o n origin. F o r the s e n s e of b e i n g which in c a l m h o u r s rises, we know not how, in the soul, is not diverse from things, from s p a c e , from light, from t i m e , from m a n , but o n e with t h e m , a n d p r o c e e d e t h obviously from the s a m e s o u r c e w h e n c e their life a n d b e i n g a l s o p r o c e e d e t h . W e first s h a r e the life by which things exist, a n d afterwards s e e t h e m as a p p e a r a n c e s in n a t u r e , a n d forget that we have s h a r e d their c a u s e . H e r e is the fountain of a c t i o n a n d the f o u n t a i n of t h o u g h t . H e r e are the lungs of that inspiration which giveth m a n w i s d o m , of that inspiration of m a n which c a n n o t b e d e n i e d without impiety a n d a t h e i s m . W e lie in the lap of i m m e n s e intelligence, which m a k e s u s o r g a n s of its activity a n d receivers of its truth. W h e n we d i s c e r n j u s t i c e , w h e n we d i s c e r n truth, we do nothing of o u r s e l v e s , b u t allow a p a s s a g e to its b e a m s . If w e a s k w h e n c e this c o m e s , if we s e e k to pry into the soul that c a u s e s , — a l l m e t a p h y s i c s , all p h i l o s o p h y is at fault. Its p r e s e n c e or its a b s e n c e is all w e c a n affirm. Every m a n d i s c e r n s b e t w e e n the voluntary a c t s of his m i n d , a n d his involuntary p e r c e p t i o n s . A n d to his involuntary p e r c e p t i o n s , he k n o w s a perfect r e s p e c t is d u e . H e may err in the e x p r e s s i o n of t h e m , but he knows that t h e s e things a r e s o , like day a n d night, not to b e d i s p u t e d . All my wilful a c t i o n s a n d a c q u i s i t i o n s are but r o v i n g ; — t h e m o s t trivial reverie, the faintest native e m o t i o n are d o m e s t i c a n d divine. T h o u g h t l e s s p e o p l e c o n t r a d i c t a s 3. National heroes: Alfred ( 8 4 9 - 8 9 9 ) , of England; Scanderbeg ( 1 4 0 4 ? - 1 4 6 8 ) , of Albania; and G u s tavis (1 5 9 4 - 1 6 3 2 ) , of Sweden. 4. An apparent change in the direction of an

object caused by a change in the position from which it is observed. Apparently E m e r s o n means without an observational position.

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readily the s t a t e m e n t of p e r c e p t i o n s a s of o p i n i o n s , or rather m u c h m o r e readily; for, they d o not distinguish b e t w e e n p e r c e p t i o n a n d n o t i o n . T h e y fancy that I c h o o s e to s e e this or that thing. But p e r c e p t i o n is not w h i m s i c a l , but fatal. If I s e e a trait, my children will s e e it after m e , a n d in c o u r s e of t i m e , all m a n k i n d , — a l t h o u g h it m a y c h a n c e that no o n e h a s s e e n it before m e . F o r my p e r c e p t i o n of it is a s m u c h a fact a s the s u n . T h e relations of the soul to the divine spirit are so p u r e that it is p r o f a n e to s e e k to i n t e r p o s e helps. It m u s t be that w h e n G o d s p e a k e t h , he s h o u l d c o m m u n i c a t e not o n e thing, but all things; s h o u l d fill the world with his voice; s h o u l d scatter forth light, n a t u r e , t i m e , s o u l s from the c e n t r e of the p r e s e n t thought; a n d new d a t e a n d new c r e a t e the w h o l e . W h e n e v e r a mind is s i m p l e , a n d receives a divine w i s d o m , then old things p a s s a w a y , — m e a n s , t e a c h e r s , texts, t e m p l e s fall; it lives now a n d a b s o r b s past a n d future into the p r e s e n t hour. All things are m a d e s a c r e d by relation to i t , — o n e thing a s m u c h a s a n o t h e r . All things are dissolved to their c e n t r e by their c a u s e , a n d in the universal miracle petty a n d particular m i r a c l e s d i s a p p e a r . T h i s is a n d m u s t b e . If, therefore, a m a n c l a i m s to know a n d s p e a k of G o d , a n d carries you b a c k w a r d to the p h r a s e o l o g y of s o m e old m o u l d e r e d nation in a n o t h e r country, in a n o t h e r world, believe him not. Is the a c o r n better than the oak which is its fulness a n d c o m p l e t i o n ? Is the p a r e n t better than the child into w h o m he has c a s t his ripened being? W h e n c e then this w o r s h i p of the p a s t ? T h e c e n t u r i e s are c o n s p i r a t o r s a g a i n s t the sanity a n d m a j e s t y of the s o u l . T i m e a n d s p a c e are but physiological colors which the eye m a k e t h , but the soul is light; w h e r e it is, is day; w h e r e it w a s , is night; a n d history is a n i m p e r t i n e n c e a n d an injury, if it be anything m o r e than a cheerful a p o l o g u e or p a r a b l e of my b e i n g a n d b e c o m i n g . M a n is timid a n d a p o l o g e t i c . H e is no longer upright. H e d a r e s not say 'I think,' 'I a m , ' but q u o t e s s o m e saint or s a g e . H e is a s h a m e d before the blade of g r a s s or the blowing r o s e . T h e s e roses u n d e r my window m a k e no refere n c e to former r o s e s or to better o n e s ; they a r e for what they a r e ; they exist with G o d to-day. T h e r e is no time to t h e m . T h e r e is simply the r o s e ; it is perfect in every m o m e n t of its e x i s t e n c e . B e f o r e a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life a c t s ; in the full-blown flower, there is no m o r e ; in the leafless root, there is no l e s s . Its n a t u r e is satisfied, a n d it satisfies n a t u r e , in all m o m e n t s alike. T h e r e is no time to it. B u t m a n p o s t p o n e s or r e m e m b e r s ; he d o e s not live in the p r e s e n t , b u t with reverted eye l a m e n t s the p a s t , or, h e e d l e s s of the riches that s u r r o u n d him, s t a n d s on tiptoe to f o r e s e e the future. H e c a n n o t b e happy a n d strong until he too lives with n a t u r e in the p r e s e n t , a b o v e time. T h i s s h o u l d b e plain e n o u g h . Yet s e e what strong intellects d a r e not yet hear G o d himself, u n l e s s he s p e a k the p h r a s e o l o g y of I know not what David, or J e r e m i a h , or P a u l . 5 W e shall not always set so great a price o n a few texts, on a few lines. W e a r e like children w h o repeat by rote the s e n t e n c e s of g r a n d a m e s a n d tutors, a n d , as they grow older, of the m e n of talents a n d c h a r a c t e r they c h a n c e to s e e , — p a i n f u l l y recollecting the exact words they s p o k e ; afterwards, when they c o m e into the point of view which t h o s e h a d w h o uttered t h e s e sayings, they u n d e r s t a n d t h e m , a n d are willing to let the words g o ; for, at any t i m e , they c a n u s e w o r d s a s g o o d , when o c c a s i o n c o m e s . S o w a s it with u s , s o will it b e , if we p r o c e e d . If we live truly, we shall s e e S. Biblical authors of the Book of Psalms, the Book of Jeremiah, both Old Testament, and various New Testament Epistles, respectively.

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truly. It is as easy for the s t r o n g m a n to b e strong, a s it is for the w e a k to b e weak. W h e n we have n e w p e r c e p t i o n , we shall gladly d i s b u r t h e n the m e m o r y of its h o a r d e d t r e a s u r e s a s old r u b b i s h . W h e n a m a n lives with G o d , his voice shall b e as sweet a s the m u r m u r of the b r o o k a n d the rustle of the c o r n . A n d now at last the h i g h e s t truth o n this s u b j e c t r e m a i n s u n s a i d ; p r o b ably, c a n n o t be said; for all that we say is the far off r e m e m b e r i n g of the intuition. T h a t t h o u g h t , by w h a t I c a n now n e a r e s t a p p r o a c h to say it, is this. W h e n g o o d is n e a r y o u , w h e n you have life in y o u r s e l f , — i t is not by any known or a p p o i n t e d way; you shall not d i s c e r n the foot-prints of any other; you shall not s e e the f a c e of m a n ; you shall not h e a r any n a m e ; — the way, the t h o u g h t , the g o o d shall b e wholly s t r a n g e a n d new. It shall exclude all other b e i n g . You take the way from m a n not to m a n . All pers o n s that ever existed a r e its fugitive m i n i s t e r s . T h e r e shall b e n o fear in it. F e a r a n d h o p e are alike b e n e a t h it. It a s k s n o t h i n g . T h e r e is s o m e w h a t low even in h o p e . W e are then in vision. T h e r e is n o t h i n g that c a n b e called gratitude nor properly joy. T h e soul is r a i s e d over p a s s i o n . It s e e t h identity a n d eternal c a u s a t i o n . It is a perceiving t h a t T r u t h a n d Right a r e . H e n c e it b e c o m e s a Tranquillity o u t of the k n o w i n g that all things go well. V a s t s p a c e s of n a t u r e ; the Atlantic O c e a n , the S o u t h S e a ; vast intervals of t i m e , years, c e n t u r i e s , are of n o a c c o u n t . T h i s w h i c h I think a n d feel, u n d e r l a y that former s t a t e of life a n d c i r c u m s t a n c e s , a s it d o e s underlie my p r e s e n t , a n d will always all c i r c u m s t a n c e , a n d w h a t is called life, a n d what is called d e a t h . Life only avails, not the having lived. P o w e r c e a s e s in the instant of r e p o s e ; it resides in the m o m e n t of transition from a p a s t to a n e w s t a t e ; in the s h o o t i n g of the gulf; in the darting to a n a i m . T h i s o n e fact the world h a t e s , that the soul becomes; for, that forever d e g r a d e s the p a s t ; t u r n s all riches to poverty; all r e p u t a t i o n to a s h a m e ; c o n f o u n d s the saint with the r o g u e ; s h o v e s J e s u s a n d J u d a s e q u a l l y a s i d e . W h y then d o we p r a t e of self-reliance? Inasm u c h a s the soul is p r e s e n t , there will b e p o w e r not confident b u t a g e n t . T o talk of r e l i a n c e , is a p o o r external way of s p e a k i n g . S p e a k rather of that which relies, b e c a u s e it works a n d is. W h o h a s m o r e s o u l t h a n I, m a s t e r s m e , t h o u g h he s h o u l d not raise his finger. R o u n d him I m u s t revolve by the gravitation of spirits; w h o has l e s s , I rule with like facility. W e fancy it rhetoric w h e n we s p e a k of e m i n e n t virtue. W e d o not yet s e e that virtue is H e i g h t , a n d that a m a n or a c o m p a n y of m e n p l a s t i c a n d p e r m e a b l e to p r i n c i p l e s , by the law of n a t u r e m u s t overpower a n d ride all cities, n a t i o n s , kings, rich m e n , p o e t s , who are not. T h i s is the u l t i m a t e fact which we s o quickly r e a c h o n this a s o n every topic, the resolution of all into the ever b l e s s e d O N E . Virtue is the governor, the creator, the reality. All things real are s o by s o m u c h of virtue a s they c o n t a i n . H a r d s h i p , h u s b a n d r y , h u n t i n g , whaling, war, e l o q u e n c e , p e r s o n a l weight, are s o m e w h a t , a n d e n g a g e my r e s p e c t a s e x a m p l e s of the soul's prese n c e a n d i m p u r e a c t i o n . I s e e the s a m e law working in the n a t u r e for conservation a n d growth. T h e p o i s e of a p l a n e t , the b e n d e d tree recovering itself from the strong wind, the vital r e s o u r c e s of every v e g e t a b l e a n d a n i m a l , are also d e m o n s t r a t i o n s of the self-sufficing, a n d therefore self-relying s o u l . All history from its h i g h e s t to its trivial p a s s a g e s is the v a r i o u s r e c o r d of this power. T h u s all c o n c e n t r a t e s ; let u s not rove; let u s sit at h o m e with the c a u s e . L e t u s s t u n a n d a s t o n i s h the intruding rabble of m e n a n d b o o k s a n d institutions by a s i m p l e declaration of the divine fact. Bid t h e m take the s h o e s

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from off their feet/' for G o d is here within. Let our simplicity j u d g e t h e m , a n d our docility to our own law d e m o n s t r a t e the poverty of n a t u r e a n d fortune b e s i d e our native riches. B u t now we are a m o b . M a n d o e s not s t a n d in awe of m a n , nor is the soul a d m o n i s h e d to stay at h o m e , to put itself in c o m m u n i c a t i o n with the internal o c e a n , but it g o e s a b r o a d to b e g a c u p of water of the u r n s of m e n . W e m u s t g o a l o n e . Isolation m u s t p r e c e d e true society. I like the silent c h u r c h before the service b e g i n s , better than any p r e a c h i n g . H o w far off, h o w cool, how c h a s t e the p e r s o n s look, begirt e a c h o n e with a precinct or s a n c t u a r y . S o let u s always sit. W h y s h o u l d we a s s u m e the faults of our friend, or wife, or father, or child, b e c a u s e they sit a r o u n d our h e a r t h , or are said to have the s a m e b l o o d ? All m e n have my blood, a n d I have all m e n ' s . N o t for that will I a d o p t their p e t u l a n c e or folly, even to the extent of b e i n g a s h a m e d of it. B u t your isolation m u s t not be m e c h a n i c a l , but spiritual, that is, m u s t b e elevation. At times the whole world s e e m s to be in c o n s p i r a c y to i m p o r t u n e you with e m p h a t i c trifles. F r i e n d , client, child, s i c k n e s s , fear, want, charity, all k n o c k at o n c e at thy closet door a n d say, ' C o m e out u n t o u s . ' — D o not spill thy soul; do not all d e s c e n d ; keep thy s t a t e ; stay at h o m e in thine own h e a v e n ; c o m e not for a m o m e n t into their f a c t s , into their h u b b u b of conflicting a p p e a r a n c e s , but let in the light of thy law on their c o n f u s i o n . T h e power m e n p o s s e s s to a n n o y m e , I give t h e m by a w e a k curiosity. N o m a n c a n c o m e near m e but through my act. " W h a t we love that w e have, b u t by desire we bereave ourselves of the love." If we c a n n o t at o n c e rise to the sanctities of o b e d i e n c e a n d faith, let u s at least resist our t e m p t a t i o n s , let u s enter into the state of war, a n d w a k e T h o r a n d W o d e n , 7 c o u r a g e a n d c o n s t a n c y in our S a x o n b r e a s t s . T h i s is to b e d o n e in our s m o o t h times by s p e a k i n g the truth. C h e c k this lying hospitality a n d lying affection. Live no longer to the expectation of t h e s e d e c e i v e d a n d deceiving p e o p l e with w h o m we c o n v e r s e . S a y to t h e m , O father, O m o t h e r , O wife, O brother, O friend, I have lived with you after a p p e a r a n c e s hitherto. H e n c e f o r w a r d I a m the truth's. B e it known u n t o you that h e n c e f o r w a r d I obey no law less than the eternal law. I will have no c o v e n a n t s but proximities. I shall e n d e a v o r to n o u r i s h my p a r e n t s , to s u p p o r t my family, to be the c h a s t e h u s b a n d of o n e w i f e , — b u t t h e s e relations I m u s t fill after a n e w a n d u n p r e c e d e n t e d way. I a p p e a l from your c u s t o m s . I m u s t b e myself. I c a n n o t b r e a k myself any longer for you, or you. If you c a n love m e for what I a m , we shall be the happier. If you c a n n o t , I will still s e e k to deserve that you s h o u l d . I m u s t be myself. I will not hide my t a s t e s or a v e r s i o n s . I will so trust that what is d e e p is holy, that I will do strongly before the s u n a n d m o o n whatever inly rejoices m e , a n d the heart a p p o i n t s . If you are n o b l e , I will love you; if you are not, I will not hurt you a n d myself by hypocritical attentions. If you are t r u e , but not in the s a m e truth with m e , cleave to your c o m p a n i o n s ; I will s e e k my own. I do this not selfishly, but h u m b l y a n d truly. It is alike your interest a n d m i n e a n d all m e n ' s , however long we have dwelt in lies, to live in truth. D o e s this s o u n d h a r s h to-day? You will s o o n love what is dictated by your n a t u r e a s well as m i n e , a n d if we follow the truth, it will bring u s out s a f e at l a s t . — B u t so you may give t h e s e friends p a i n . Yes, but I c a n n o t sell my liberty a n d my power, to save their sensibility. B e s i d e s , all

6. Exodus 3.5. 7. Norse gods, here taken as ancestral gods of the Anglo-Saxon as well, associated respectively with

courage and endurance. Emerson took seriously the idea of racial traits.

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p e r s o n s have their m o m e n t s of r e a s o n w h e n they look o u t into the region of a b s o l u t e truth; then will they justify m e a n d do the s a m e thing. T h e p o p u l a c e think that your rejection of p o p u l a r s t a n d a r d s is a rejection of all s t a n d a r d , a n d m e r e a n t i n o m i a n i s m ; 8 a n d the bold s e n s u a l i s t will u s e the n a m e of p h i l o s o p h y to gild his c r i m e s . B u t the law of c o n s c i o u s n e s s a b i d e s . T h e r e are two c o n f e s s i o n a l s , in o n e or the other of w h i c h w e m u s t be shriven. You m a y fulfil your r o u n d of d u t i e s by c l e a r i n g yourself in the direct, or, in the reflex way. C o n s i d e r w h e t h e r you have satisfied your relations to father, m o t h e r , c o u s i n , neighbor, town, c a t , a n d d o g ; w h e t h e r any of t h e s e c a n u p b r a i d y o u . B u t I m a y a l s o n e g l e c t this reflex s t a n d a r d , a n d absolve m e to myself. I have my own stern c l a i m s a n d perfect circle. It d e n i e s the n a m e of duty to m a n y offices that a r e called d u t i e s . B u t if I c a n d i s c h a r g e its d e b t s , it e n a b l e s m e to d i s p e n s e with the p o p u l a r c o d e . If any o n e i m a g i n e s that this law is lax, let him k e e p its c o m m a n d m e n t o n e day. And truly it d e m a n d s s o m e t h i n g godlike in him w h o h a s c a s t off the c o m m o n motives of h u m a n i t y , a n d h a s v e n t u r e d to trust h i m s e l f for a taskm a s t e r . H i g h be his heart, faithful his will, clear his sight, that h e m a y in g o o d e a r n e s t be d o c t r i n e , society, law to himself, that a s i m p l e p u r p o s e m a y be to him a s s t r o n g a s iron n e c e s s i t y is to o t h e r s . If any m a n c o n s i d e r the p r e s e n t a s p e c t s of w h a t is called by distinction society, h e will s e e the n e e d of t h e s e e t h i c s . T h e s i n e w a n d heart of m a n s e e m to b e drawn out, a n d we a r e b e c o m e t i m o r o u s d e s p o n d i n g w h i m p e r e r s . W e are afraid of truth, afraid of f o r t u n e , afraid of d e a t h , a n d afraid of e a c h other. O u r a g e yields no great a n d perfect p e r s o n s . W e w a n t m e n a n d w o m e n w h o shall renovate life a n d our social s t a t e , but we s e e that m o s t n a t u r e s a r e insolvent; c a n n o t satisfy their own w a n t s , have a n a m b i t i o n o u t of all proportion to their practical force, a n d s o d o lean a n d b e g day a n d night continually. O u r h o u s e k e e p i n g is m e n d i c a n t , our a r t s , our o c c u p a t i o n s , our m a r r i a g e s , our religion w e have not c h o s e n , but society h a s c h o s e n for u s . W e are parlor soldiers. T h e r u g g e d battle of fate, w h e r e s t r e n g t h is b o r n , we shun. If our y o u n g m e n miscarry in their first e n t e r p r i z e s , they lose all heart. If the y o u n g m e r c h a n t fails, m e n say h e is ruined. If the finest g e n i u s s t u d i e s at o n e of our c o l l e g e s , a n d is not installed in a n office within o n e year afterw a r d s in the cities or s u b u r b s of B o s t o n or N e w York, it s e e m s to his friends a n d to himself that he is right in b e i n g d i s h e a r t e n e d a n d in c o m p l a i n i n g the rest of his life. A sturdy lad from N e w H a m p s h i r e or V e r m o n t , w h o in turn tries all the p r o f e s s i o n s , w h o teams it, farms it, peddles, k e e p s a s c h o o l , p r e a c h e s , edits a n e w s p a p e r , g o e s to C o n g r e s s , b u y s a t o w n s h i p , a n d s o forth, in s u c c e s s i v e years, a n d always, like a cat, falls on his feet, is worth a h u n d r e d of t h e s e city d o l l s . 9 H e walks a b r e a s t with his d a y s , a n d feels n o s h a m e in not 'studying a p r o f e s s i o n , ' for h e d o e s not p o s t p o n e his life, but lives already. H e has not o n e c h a n c e , but a h u n d r e d c h a n c e s . L e t a stoic a r i s e w h o shall reveal the r e s o u r c e s of m a n , a n d tell m e n they are not l e a n i n g willows, b u t c a n a n d m u s t d e t a c h t h e m s e l v e s ; that with the exercise of self-trust, n e w p o w e r s shall a p p e a r ; that a m a n is the w o r d m a d e flesh, b o r n to s h e d healing to the n a t i o n s , that he s h o u l d b e a s h a m e d of our c o m p a s s i o n , a n d that the m o m e n t he a c t s from himself, t o s s i n g the laws, the b o o k s , idolatries, a n d c u s t o m s o u t of the w i n d o w , — w e pity him n o m o r e but t h a n k a n d revere 8. Rejection of moral and religious laws. 9. Emerson's journal entry for May 27,

1839,

shows that this p a s s a g e was originally modeled on the young T h o r e a u .

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h i m , — a n d that t e a c h e r shall restore the life of m a n to s p l e n d o r , a n d m a k e his n a m e d e a r to all History. It is easy to s e e that a greater s e l f - r e l i a n c e , — a new r e s p e c t for the divinity in m a n , — m u s t work a revolution in all the offices a n d relations of m e n ; in their religion; in their e d u c a t i o n ; in their p u r s u i t s ; their m o d e s of living; their a s s o c i a t i o n ; in their property; in their s p e c u l a t i v e views. 1. In what prayers do m e n allow t h e m s e l v e s ! T h a t w h i c h they call a holy office, is not s o m u c h a s brave a n d manly. Prayer looks a b r o a d a n d a s k s for s o m e foreign addition to c o m e t h r o u g h s o m e foreign virtue, a n d l o s e s itself in e n d l e s s m a z e s of natural a n d s u p e r n a t u r a l , a n d mediatorial a n d m i r a c u lous. Prayer that craves a particular c o m m o d i t y — a n y thing less t h a n all g o o d , is vicious. Prayer is the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of the facts of life from the h i g h e s t point of view. It is the soliloquy of a b e h o l d i n g a n d j u b i l a n t s o u l . It is the spirit of G o d p r o n o u n c i n g his works g o o d . B u t prayer a s a m e a n s to effect a private e n d , is theft a n d m e a n n e s s . It s u p p o s e s d u a l i s m a n d not unity in n a t u r e a n d c o n s c i o u s n e s s . A s s o o n a s the m a n is at o n e with G o d , h e will not b e g . H e will then s e e prayer in all a c t i o n . T h e prayer of the farmer kneeling in his field to w e e d it, the prayer of the rower kneeling with the stroke of his oar, are true prayers h e a r d t h r o u g h o u t n a t u r e , t h o u g h for c h e a p e n d s . C a r a t a c h , in Fletcher's B o n d u c a , w h e n a d m o n i s h e d to inquire the m i n d of the god A u d a t e , replies, " H i s h i d d e n m e a n i n g lies in our e n d e a v o r s , O u r valors are our b e s t g o d s . " 1 A n o t h e r sort of false prayers are our regrets. D i s c o n t e n t is the w a n t of self-reliance; it is infirmity of will. Regret c a l a m i t i e s , if you c a n thereby help the sufferer; if not, attend your own work, a n d already the evil b e g i n s to b e repaired. O u r s y m p a t h y is j u s t a s b a s e . W e c o m e to t h e m w h o w e e p foolishly, a n d sit down a n d cry for c o m p a n y , i n s t e a d of i m p a r t i n g to t h e m truth a n d health in r o u g h electric s h o c k s , p u t t i n g t h e m o n c e m o r e in c o m m u n i c a t i o n with the soul. T h e secret of fortune is j o y in our h a n d s . W e l c o m e e v e r m o r e to g o d s a n d m e n is the self-helping m a n . F o r him all d o o r s are flung w i d e . H i m all t o n g u e s greet, all h o n o r s crown, all eyes follow with d e s i r e . O u r love g o e s o u t to him a n d e m b r a c e s him, b e c a u s e h e did not n e e d it. W e solicitously a n d apologetically c a r e s s a n d c e l e b r a t e h i m , b e c a u s e he held o n his way a n d s c o r n e d our d i s a p p r o b a t i o n . T h e g o d s love h i m b e c a u s e m e n h a t e d h i m . " T o the p e r s e v e r i n g m o r t a l , " said Z o r o a s t e r , 2 "the b l e s s e d I m m o r t a l s are swift." A s m e n ' s prayers are a d i s e a s e of the will, s o a r e their c r e e d s a d i s e a s e of the intellect. T h e y say with t h o s e foolish Israelites, 'Let not G o d s p e a k to u s , lest we die. S p e a k t h o u , s p e a k any m a n with u s , a n d we will obey.' 3 Everyw h e r e I a m bereaved of m e e t i n g G o d in my brother, b e c a u s e h e has s h u t his own t e m p l e d o o r s , a n d recites fables merely of his brother's, or his brother's brother's G o d . Every n e w m i n d is a n e w classification. If it prove a m i n d of u n c o m m o n activity a n d power, a L o c k e , a Lavoisier, a H u t t o n , a B e n t h a m , a S p u r z h e i m , 4 it i m p o s e s its classification on other m e n , a n d lo! a new sys1. Lines 1294—95, slightly misquoted. 2. Religious prophet of ancient Persia. 3. S e e the fearful words of the Hebrews after God has given Moses the Ten C o m m a n d m e n t s , Exodus 2 0 . 1 9 : "And they said unto Moses, S p e a k thou with us, and we will hear: but let not God speak

with us, lest we die." 4. T h e s e innovators are John Locke (1632— 1704), English philosopher; Antoine Lavoisier (1726— 1797), French chemist; J a m e s Hutton (1726— 1797), Scottish geologist; Jeremy Bentham (1748— 1832), English philosopher; and J o h a n n Kaspar

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t e m . In proportion always to the d e p t h of the t h o u g h t , a n d s o to the n u m b e r of the o b j e c t s it t o u c h e s a n d brings within r e a c h of the pupil, is his c o m p l a cency. B u t chiefly is this a p p a r e n t in c r e e d s a n d c h u r c h e s , which are a l s o classifications of s o m e powerful mind a c t i n g on the great e l e m e n t a l t h o u g h t of Duty, a n d m a n ' s relation to the H i g h e s t . S u c h is C a l v i n i s m , Q u a k e r i s m , S w e d e n b o r g i a n i s m . 5 T h e pupil takes the s a m e delight in s u b o r d i n a t i n g every thing to the new terminology that a girl d o e s w h o h a s j u s t learned botany, in s e e i n g a new e a r t h a n d new s e a s o n s thereby. It will h a p p e n for a t i m e , that the pupil will feel a real debt to the t e a c h e r , — w i l l find his intellectual power h a s grown by the study of his writings. T h i s will c o n t i n u e until he h a s e x h a u s t e d his m a s t e r ' s m i n d . B u t in all u n b a l a n c e d m i n d s , the classification is idolized, p a s s e s for the e n d , a n d not for a speedily e x h a u s t i b l e m e a n s , s o that the walls of the system b l e n d to their eye in the r e m o t e horizon with the walls of the u n i v e r s e ; the l u m i n a r i e s of h e a v e n s e e m to t h e m h u n g on the arch their m a s t e r built. T h e y c a n n o t i m a g i n e h o w you aliens have any right to s e e , — h o w you c a n s e e ; 'It m u s t be s o m e h o w that you stole the light from u s . ' T h e y d o not yet p e r c e i v e , that, light u n s y s t e m a t i c , i n d o m i t a b l e , will break into any c a b i n , even into theirs. L e t t h e m chirp awhile a n d call it their own. If they are h o n e s t a n d do well, presently their n e a t new pinfold will be too strait a n d low, will crack, will l e a n , will rot a n d v a n i s h , a n d the i m m o r t a l light, all y o u n g a n d joyful, million-orbed, million-colored, will b e a m over the universe a s on the first m o r n i n g . 2 . It is for want of self-culture that the idol of Travelling, the idol of Italy, of E n g l a n d , of Egypt, r e m a i n s for all e d u c a t e d A m e r i c a n s . T h e y w h o m a d e E n g l a n d , Italy, or G r e e c e v e n e r a b l e in the i m a g i n a t i o n , did s o not by rambling r o u n d c r e a t i o n a s a m o t h r o u n d a l a m p , but by sticking fast w h e r e they w e r e , like a n axis of the e a r t h . In manly h o u r s , we feel that duty is our p l a c e , a n d that the m e r r y m e n of c i r c u m s t a n c e s h o u l d follow a s they m a y . T h e soul is n o traveller: the wise m a n stays at h o m e with the soul, a n d when his n e c e s s i t i e s , his d u t i e s , on any o c c a s i o n call him from his h o u s e , or into foreign l a n d s , h e is at h o m e still, a n d is not g a d d i n g a b r o a d from himself, a n d shall m a k e m e n s e n s i b l e by the e x p r e s s i o n of his c o u n t e n a n c e , that he g o e s the m i s s i o n a r y of w i s d o m a n d virtue, a n d visits cities a n d m e n like a sovereign, a n d not like a n interloper or a valet. I have no c h u r l i s h o b j e c t i o n to the c i r c u m n a v i g a t i o n of the g l o b e , for the p u r p o s e s of art, of study, a n d b e n e v o l e n c e , s o that the m a n is first d o m e s ticated, or d o e s not go a b r o a d with the h o p e of finding s o m e w h a t greater than he k n o w s . H e w h o travels to b e a m u s e d , or to get s o m e w h a t which he d o e s not carry, travels away from himself, a n d grows old even in y o u t h a m o n g old things. In T h e b e s , in P a l m y r a , his will a n d m i n d have b e c o m e old a n d dilapidated a s they. H e carries ruins to r u i n s . Travelling is a fool's p a r a d i s e . W e o w e to our first j o u r n e y s the discovery that p l a c e is nothing. At h o m e I d r e a m that at N a p l e s , at R o m e , I c a n be intoxicated with beauty, a n d lose my s a d n e s s . I p a c k my trunk, e m b r a c e my friends, e m b a r k o n the s e a , a n d at last w a k e u p in N a p l e s , a n d there b e s i d e Spurzheim (1776—1832), G e r m a n physician whose work led to the pseudoscience of phrenology, assessing character by "reading" the b u m p s on the skull. 5. Three widely varying religious movements

founded by or based on the teachings of, respectively, John Calvin ( 1 5 0 9 - 1 5 6 4 ) , French theologian; George Fox (1624-1691), English clergyman; and Emanuel Swedenborg (1688— 1772), Swedish scientist and theologian.

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m e is the stern F a c t , the s a d self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I s e e k the V a t i c a n , a n d the p a l a c e s . I affect to b e intoxicated with sights a n d s u g g e s t i o n s , but I a m not intoxicated. M y giant g o e s with m e wherever I g o . 3. B u t the r a g e of travelling is itself only a s y m p t o m of a d e e p e r u n s o u n d n e s s affecting the whole intellectual a c t i o n . T h e intellect is v a g a b o n d , a n d the universal system of e d u c a t i o n fosters r e s t l e s s n e s s . O u r m i n d s travel w h e n our b o d i e s are forced to stay at h o m e . W e imitate; a n d what is imitation but the travelling of the m i n d ? O u r h o u s e s are built with foreign t a s t e ; o u r shelves are g a r n i s h e d with foreign o r n a m e n t s ; our o p i n i o n s , our t a s t e s , o u r w h o l e m i n d s lean, a n d follow the P a s t a n d the D i s t a n t , a s the eyes of a m a i d follow her m i s t r e s s . T h e soul c r e a t e d the arts wherever they have flourished. It was in his own m i n d that the artist s o u g h t his m o d e l . It w a s a n a p p l i c a t i o n of his own t h o u g h t to the thing to be d o n e a n d the c o n d i t i o n s to b e o b s e r v e d . A n d why n e e d we c o p y the Doric or the G o t h i c m o d e l ? 6 B e a u t y , c o n v e n i e n c e , g r a n d e u r of t h o u g h t , a n d q u a i n t expression a r e as n e a r to u s a s to any, a n d if the A m e r i c a n artist will study with h o p e a n d love the p r e c i s e thing to b e d o n e by h i m , c o n s i d e r i n g the c l i m a t e , the soil, the length of the day, the w a n t s of the p e o p l e , the habit a n d form of the g o v e r n m e n t , he will c r e a t e a h o u s e in which all t h e s e will find t h e m s e l v e s fitted, a n d taste a n d s e n t i m e n t will be satisfied a l s o . Insist on yourself; never imitate. Your own gift you c a n p r e s e n t every m o m e n t with the c u m u l a t i v e force of a whole life's cultivation; b u t of the a d o p t e d talent of another, you have only a n e x t e m p o r a n e o u s , half p o s s e s s i o n . T h a t which e a c h c a n do b e s t , n o n e but his M a k e r c a n t e a c h h i m . N o m a n yet knows what it is, nor c a n , till that p e r s o n h a s exhibited it. W h e r e is the m a s t e r w h o c o u l d have t a u g h t S h a k s p e a r e ? W h e r e is the m a s t e r w h o c o u l d have i n s t r u c t e d Franklin, or W a s h i n g t o n , or B a c o n , or N e w t o n . Every great m a n is a n u n i q u e . T h e S c i p i o n i s m 7 of S c i p i o is precisely that part he c o u l d not borrow. If any body will tell m e w h o m the great m a n imitates in the original crisis w h e n he p e r f o r m s a great act, I will tell him w h o else t h a n himself c a n t e a c h h i m . S h a k s p e a r e will never be m a d e by the study of S h a k s p e a r e . D o that which is a s s i g n e d thee, a n d thou c a n s t not h o p e too m u c h or d a r e too m u c h . T h e r e is at this m o m e n t , there is for m e an u t t e r a n c e b a r e a n d g r a n d a s that of the c o l o s s a l chisel of P h i d i a s , 8 or trowel of the E g y p t i a n s , or the p e n of M o s e s , or D a n t e , but different from all t h e s e . N o w possibly will the soul all rich, all e l o q u e n t , with t h o u s a n d - c l o v e n t o n g u e , deign to repeat itself; but if I c a n hear what t h e s e p a t r i a r c h s say, surely I c a n reply to t h e m in the s a m e pitch of voice: for the ear a n d the t o n g u e are two o r g a n s of o n e n a t u r e . Dwell up there in the s i m p l e a n d noble r e g i o n s of thy life, obey thy heart, a n d thou shalt r e p r o d u c e the Foreworld a g a i n . 4. As our Religion, our E d u c a t i o n , our Art look a b r o a d , so d o e s our spirit of society. All m e n p l u m e t h e m s e l v e s on the i m p r o v e m e n t of society, a n d no m a n improves. Society never a d v a n c e s . It r e c e d e s a s fast on o n e side a s it g a i n s on the other. Its p r o g r e s s is only a p p a r e n t , like the workers of a treadmill. It underg o e s c o n t i n u a l c h a n g e s : it is b a r b a r o u s , it is civilized, it is christianized, it is rich, it is scientific; but this c h a n g e is not a m e l i o r a t i o n . F o r every thing that 6. I.e., aneient Greek or medieval European architecture.

7. I.e., the essence of the man. 8. Greek sculptor of the 5th century B.C.E.

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is given, s o m e t h i n g is t a k e n . Society a c q u i r e s new arts a n d l o s e s old i n s t i n c t s . W h a t a c o n t r a s t b e t w e e n t h e well-clad, reading, writing, thinking A m e r i c a n , with a w a t c h , a pencil, a n d a bill of e x c h a n g e in his p o c k e t , a n d the n a k e d N e w Z e a l a n d e r , w h o s e property is a c l u b , a spear, a m a t , a n d a n undivided twentieth of a s h e d to s l e e p u n d e r . B u t c o m p a r e the health of the two m e n , a n d you shall s e e that his aboriginal s t r e n g t h the white m a n h a s lost. If t h e traveller tell u s truly, strike the s a v a g e with a b r o a d a x e , a n d in a day or two the flesh shall unite a n d heal a s if you s t r u c k the blow into soft p i t c h , a n d the s a m e blow shall s e n d the white to his grave. T h e civilized m a n h a s built a c o a c h , b u t h a s lost the u s e of his feet. H e is s u p p o r t e d on c r u t c h e s , b u t l o s e s s o m u c h s u p p o r t of m u s c l e . H e has got a fine G e n e v a w a t c h , b u t h e h a s lost the skill to tell the h o u r by the s u n . A G r e e n w i c h n a u t i c a l a l m a n a c h e h a s , a n d s o b e i n g s u r e of the information w h e n h e w a n t s it, the m a n in the street d o e s not k n o w a star in t h e sky. T h e s o l s t i c e he d o e s not o b s e r v e ; the e q u i n o x h e k n o w s a s little; a n d the w h o l e bright c a l e n d a r of the year is w i t h o u t a dial in his m i n d . H i s n o t e b o o k s impair his m e m o r y ; his libraries overload his wit; the i n s u r a n c e office i n c r e a s e s the n u m b e r of a c c i d e n t s ; a n d it m a y b e a q u e s t i o n w h e t h e r m a c h i n e r y d o e s not e n c u m b e r ; w h e t h e r we have not lost by refinement s o m e energy, by a C h r i s t i a n i t y e n t r e n c h e d in establishm e n t s a n d f o r m s , s o m e vigor of wild virtue. F o r every stoic w a s a s t o i c ; 9 b u t in C h r i s t e n d o m w h e r e is t h e C h r i s t i a n ? T h e r e is no m o r e deviation in the m o r a l s t a n d a r d t h a n in the s t a n d a r d of height or bulk. N o greater m e n a r e n o w t h a n ever w e r e . A s i n g u l a r equality m a y b e o b s e r v e d b e t w e e n the great m e n of t h e first a n d of t h e last a g e s ; nor c a n all the s c i e n c e , art, religion a n d p h i l o s o p h y of t h e n i n e t e e n t h century avail to e d u c a t e greater m e n t h a n P l u t a r c h ' s h e r o e s , 1 three or four a n d twenty c e n t u r i e s a g o . N o t in t i m e is the r a c e p r o g r e s s i v e . P h o c i o n , S o c r a t e s , Anaxa g o r a s , D i o g e n e s , 2 are great m e n , b u t they leave n o c l a s s . H e w h o is really of their c l a s s will not b e called by their n a m e , b u t b e wholly his own m a n , a n d , in his turn the f o u n d e r of a s e c t . T h e arts a n d inventions of e a c h period are only its c o s t u m e , a n d d o not invigorate m e n . T h e h a r m of the improved m a c h i n e r y m a y c o m p e n s a t e its g o o d . H u d s o n a n d B e h r i n g 3 a c c o m p l i s h e d s o m u c h in their fishing-boats, a s to a s t o n i s h Parry a n d F r a n k l i n , 4 w h o s e e q u i p m e n t e x h a u s t e d the r e s o u r c e s of s c i e n c e a n d art. G a l i l e o , with an o p e r a g l a s s , d i s c o v e r e d a m o r e s p l e n d i d series of f a c t s than any o n e s i n c e . C o l u m b u s f o u n d t h e N e w world in a n u n d e c k e d b o a t . It is c u r i o u s to s e e the periodical d i s u s e a n d p e r i s h i n g of m e a n s a n d m a c h i n e r y w h i c h were i n t r o d u c e d with loud l a u d a t i o n , a few years or c e n t u r i e s b e f o r e . T h e great g e n i u s r e t u r n s to e s s e n t i a l m a n . W e r e c k o n e d t h e i m p r o v e m e n t s of the art of war a m o n g t h e t r i u m p h s of s c i e n c e , a n d yet N a p o l e o n c o n q u e r e d E u r o p e by the B i v o u a c , which c o n s i s t e d of falling b a c k o n n a k e d valor, a n d disen9. Emerson refers particularly to the Stoics, members of the Greek school of philosophy founded by Zeno about 3 0 8 b . c . e . It taught the ideal of a calm, passionless existence in which any occurrence is accepted as inevitable. 1. T h e lives of famous Greeks and R o m a n s written by Plutarch ( 4 6 ? - 1 2 0 ? ) , Greek biographer. 2. Four Greek philosophers: Phocion ( 4 0 2 ? - 3 1 7 B . C . E . ) , Socrates (470?—399 B . C . E . ) , Anaxagoras

(500?-428

B.C.E.),

and

Diogenes

(412?-323

B.C.E.).

3. Vitus J o n a s s e n Bering ( 1 6 8 0 - 1 7 4 1 ) , Danish navigator who explored the northern Pacific O c e a n . Henry H u d s o n (d. 1611), English navigator (sometimes in service of the D u t c h ) . 4. Sir William Edward Perry ( 1 7 9 0 - 1 8 5 5 ) and Sir J o h n Franklin (1786—1847), English explorers of the Arctic.

SELF-RELIANCE

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5 5 5

c u m b e r i n g it of all a i d s . T h e E m p e r o r held it i m p o s s i b l e to m a k e a perfect army, says L a s C a s e s , 5 "without a b o l i s h i n g our a r m s , m a g a z i n e s , c o m m i s saries, a n d c a r r i a g e s , until in imitation of the R o m a n c u s t o m , the soldier s h o u l d receive his supply of c o r n , grind it in his hand-mill, a n d b a k e his b r e a d himself." Society is a w a v e . T h e wave m o v e s o n w a r d , but the water of which it is c o m p o s e d , d o e s not. T h e s a m e particle d o e s not rise from the valley to the ridge. Its unity is only p h e n o m e n a l . T h e p e r s o n s w h o m a k e u p a nation today, next year die, a n d their e x p e r i e n c e with t h e m . A n d so the reliance on Property, i n c l u d i n g the reliance o n g o v e r n m e n t s which protect it, is the want of self-reliance. M e n have looked away from t h e m s e l v e s a n d at things s o long, that they have c o m e to e s t e e m what they call the soul's p r o g r e s s , namely, the religious, l e a r n e d , a n d civil institutions, as g u a r d s of property, a n d they d e p r e c a t e a s s a u l t s o n t h e s e , b e c a u s e they feel t h e m to b e a s s a u l t s on property. T h e y m e a s u r e their e s t e e m of e a c h other, by what e a c h h a s , a n d not by w h a t e a c h is. B u t a cultivated m a n b e c o m e s a s h a m e d of his property, a s h a m e d of what h e h a s , o u t of n e w r e s p e c t for his being. Especially, he h a t e s what h e h a s , if h e s e e that it is a c c i d e n t a l , — c a m e to him by i n h e r i t a n c e , or gift, or c r i m e ; then h e feels that it is not having; it d o e s not b e l o n g to him, h a s no root in h i m , a n d merely lies there, b e c a u s e no revolution or no robber takes it away. B u t that w h i c h a m a n is, d o e s always by necessity a c q u i r e , a n d what the m a n a c q u i r e s is p e r m a n e n t a n d living property, which d o e s not wait the b e c k of rulers, or m o b s , or revolutions, or fire, or s t o r m , or b a n k r u p t c i e s , b u t perpetually renews itself wherever the m a n is p u t . " T h y lot or portion of life," s a i d the C a l i p h Ali, 6 "is s e e k i n g after t h e e ; therefore b e at rest from s e e k i n g after it." O u r d e p e n d e n c e on these foreign g o o d s leads u s to our slavish r e s p e c t for n u m b e r s . T h e political parties m e e t in n u m e r o u s c o n v e n t i o n s ; the g r e a t e r the c o n c o u r s e , a n d with e a c h new u p r o a r of a n n o u n c e m e n t , T h e d e l e g a t i o n from E s s e x ! 7 T h e D e m o c r a t s from N e w H a m p s h i r e ! T h e W h i g s of M a i n e ! the y o u n g patriot feels himself stronger than before by a n e w t h o u s a n d of eyes a n d a r m s . In like m a n n e r the reformers s u m m o n c o n v e n t i o n s , a n d vote a n d resolve in m u l t i t u d e . B u t not s o , O friends! will the G o d deign to enter a n d inhabit you, b u t by a m e t h o d precisely the reverse. It is only a s a m a n p u t s off from h i m s e l f all external s u p p o r t , a n d s t a n d s a l o n e , that I s e e h i m to b e strong a n d to prevail. H e is w e a k e r by every recruit to his b a n n e r . Is not a m a n better than a town? Ask n o t h i n g of m e n , a n d in the e n d l e s s m u t a tion, t h o u only firm c o l u m n m u s t presently a p p e a r the u p h o l d e r of all that s u r r o u n d s t h e e . H e w h o knows that power is in the soul, that h e is w e a k only b e c a u s e he h a s looked for g o o d o u t of him a n d e l s e w h e r e , a n d s o perceiving, throws himself unhesitatingly o n his t h o u g h t , instantly rights himself, s t a n d s in the erect position, c o m m a n d s his l i m b s , works m i r a c l e s ; j u s t as a m a n w h o s t a n d s on his feet is stronger than a m a n w h o s t a n d s on his h e a d . S o u s e all that is called F o r t u n e . M o s t m e n g a m b l e with her, a n d gain all, a n d lose all, a s her wheel rolls. B u t d o thou leave a s unlawful t h e s e w i n n i n g s , a n d deal with C a u s e a n d Effect, the c h a n c e l l o r s of G o d . In the Will work 5. C o m t e E m m a n u e l de Las C a s e s (1766—1842), author of a book recording his conversations with the exiled Napoleon at St. Helena.

6. Fourth Muslim caliph of M e c c a ( 6 0 2 ? - 6 6 1 ) . 7. County in M a s s a c h u s e t t s .

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a n d a c q u i r e , a n d t h o u h a s t c h a i n e d the wheel of C h a n c e , a n d shalt always d r a g her after t h e e . A political victory, a rise of r e n t s , the recovery of your sick, or the return of your a b s e n t friend, or s o m e other q u i t e external event, raises your spirits, a n d you think g o o d days are p r e p a r i n g for y o u . D o not believe it. It c a n never be s o . N o t h i n g c a n bring you p e a c e b u t yourself. N o t h i n g c a n bring you p e a c e b u t the t r i u m p h of p r i n c i p l e s . 1841

Experience1 The lords of life, the lords of life,— I saw them pass, In their own guise, Like and unlike, Portly and grim, Use and Surprise, Surface and Dream, Succession swift, and spectral Wrong, Temperament without a tongue, And the inventor of the game Omnipresent without name;— Some to see, some to be guessed, They marched from east to west: Little man, least of all, Among the legs of his guardians tall, Walked about with puzzled look:— Him by the hand dear nature took; Dearest nature, strong and kind, Whispered, 'Darling, never mind! 1 omorrow they will wear another face, The founder thou! these are thv race!" W h e r e d o we find o u r s e l v e s ? In a series of which w e d o not know the e x t r e m e s , a n d believe that it h a s n o n e . W e w a k e a n d find ourselves o n a stair; there are stairs below u s , which we s e e m to have a s c e n d e d ; there are stairs a b o v e u s , m a n y a o n e , which go u p w a r d a n d out of sight. B u t the G e n i u s 2 w h i c h , a c c o r d i n g to the old belief, s t a n d s at the d o o r by which we enter, a n d gives us the l e t h e ' to drink, that we m a y tell no tales, mixed the c u p too strongly, a n d we c a n n o t s h a k e off the lethargy now at n o o n d a y . S l e e p lingers all our lifetime a b o u t our eyes; a s night hovers all day in the b o u g h s of the fir-tree. All things swim a n d g l i m m e r . O u r life is not s o m u c h t h r e a t e n e d a s our p e r c e p t i o n . G h o s t l i k e we glide t h r o u g h n a t u r e , a n d s h o u l d not know our p l a c e a g a i n . D i d our birth fall in s o m e fit of i n d i g e n c e a n d frugality in n a t u r e , that s h e w a s so s p a r i n g of her fire a n d s o liberal of her e a r t h , that it a p p e a r s to us that we lack the affirmative principle, a n d t h o u g h we have health a n d 1. First published in Essays, Second Series ( 1 8 4 4 ) , "Experience" emerged in 1843 and 1844 during Emerson's broodings following the death of his young son Waldo in January 1842, rather than being derived from a lecture, as most of his essays were. David W. Hill has shown that some of the more optimistic passages derive from journal entries made after Waldo's death, while some of the darker passages were first drafted before 1842,

so no simple autobiographical reading is tenable. Still, it is the intensity of concentration following Waldo's death and the new and ruthless determination to tell the truth as he saw it that give the essay a strong claim to being Emerson's masterpiece. T h e epigraph is by Emerson. 2. Governing or guardian spirit. 3. Water from the river of forgetfulness in the underworld of Greek myth.

EXPERIENCE

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r e a s o n , yet we have n o superfluity of spirit for n e w c r e a t i o n ? W e have e n o u g h to live a n d bring the year a b o u t , but not an o u n c e to i m p a r t or to invest. A h that our G e n i u s were a little m o r e of a g e n i u s ! W e are like millers on the lower levels of a s t r e a m , w h e n the factories a b o v e t h e m have e x h a u s t e d the water. W e too fancy that the u p p e r p e o p l e m u s t have raised their d a m s . If any of u s knew what we were doing, or w h e r e we are going, then w h e n we think we b e s t know! W e d o not know today w h e t h e r we a r e b u s y or idle. In times w h e n we t h o u g h t ourselves indolent, we have afterwards d i s c o v e r e d , that m u c h w a s a c c o m p l i s h e d , a n d m u c h w a s b e g u n in u s . All our days are so unprofitable while they p a s s , that 'tis wonderful w h e r e or w h e n w e ever got anything of this which we call w i s d o m , poetry, virtue. W e never got it o n any d a t e d c a l e n d a r day. S o m e heavenly days m u s t have b e e n i n t e r c a l a t e d s o m e w h e r e , like t h o s e that H e r m e s won with dice of the M o o n , that O s i r i s 4 might be born. It is said, all m a r t y r d o m s looked m e a n w h e n they were suffered. Every ship is a r o m a n t i c object, except that we sail in. E m b a r k , a n d the r o m a n c e q u i t s our vessel, a n d h a n g s on every other sail in the horizon. O u r life looks trivial, a n d we s h u n to record it. M e n s e e m to have l e a r n e d of the horizon the art of p e r p e t u a l retreating a n d r e f e r e n c e . 'Yonder u p l a n d s are rich p a s t u r a g e , a n d my n e i g h b o r h a s fertile m e a d o w , but my field,' says the q u e r u l o u s farmer, 'only holds the world together.' I q u o t e a n o t h e r m a n ' s saying; unluckily, that other withdraws h i m s e l f in the s a m e way, a n d q u o t e s m e . 'Tis the trick of n a t u r e t h u s to d e g r a d e today; a g o o d deal of buzz, a n d s o m e w h e r e a result slipped magically in. Every roof is a g r e e a b l e to the eye, until it is lifted; then we find tragedy a n d m o a n i n g w o m e n , a n d hard-eyed h u s b a n d s , a n d d e l u g e s of lethe, a n d the m e n ask, 'What's the n e w s ? ' a s if the old were so b a d . H o w m a n y individuals c a n we c o u n t in society? how m a n y a c t i o n s ? how m a n y o p i n i o n s ? S o m u c h of our t i m e is p r e p a r a t i o n , s o m u c h is routine, a n d s o m u c h retrospect, that the pith of e a c h m a n ' s g e n i u s c o n t r a c t s itself to a very few h o u r s . T h e history of l i t e r a t u r e — t a k e the net result of T i r a b o s c h i , W a r t o n , or S c h l e g e l , 5 — i s a s u m of very few i d e a s , a n d of very few original t a l e s , — a l l the rest b e i n g variation of t h e s e . S o in this great society wide lying a r o u n d u s , a critical analysis would find very few s p o n t a n e o u s a c t i o n s . It is a l m o s t all c u s t o m a n d g r o s s s e n s e . T h e r e are even few o p i n i o n s , a n d t h e s e s e e m organic in the s p e a k e r s , a n d do not d i s t u r b the universal necessity. W h a t o p i u m is instilled into all disaster! It s h o w s f o r m i d a b l e a s we a p p r o a c h it, b u t there is at last n o r o u g h r a s p i n g friction, but the m o s t slippery sliding s u r f a c e s . W e fall soft on a t h o u g h t . Ate Deah is g e n t l e , " O v e r m e n ' s h e a d s walking aloft, With tender feet treading s o s o f t . " 7 P e o p l e grieve a n d b e m o a n t h e m s e l v e s , but it is not half s o b a d with t h e m a s they say. T h e r e are m o o d s in which we c o u r t suffering, in the h o p e that h e r e , at least, we shall find reality, s h a r p p e a k s a n d e d g e s of truth. B u t it turns out to be s c e n e - p a i n t i n g a n d counterfeit. T h e only thing grief h a s t a u g h t m e , is to know how shallow it is. T h a t , like all the rest, plays a b o u t the s u r f a c e , a n d 4. Chief Egyptian god. The following story is told in Plutareh's Morals: the sun god forbade his wife, Rhea, to give birth on any day of the year, but Hermes won five new days from the moon, during which Osiris could be born. 5. Either Friedrich von Schlegel ( 1 7 7 2 - 1 8 2 9 ) or his brother August Wilhelm von Schlegel ( 1 7 6 7 -

1845), historians of European literature. Girolamo Tiraboschi (1731—1794), historian of Italian literature. T h o m a s Warton ( 1 7 2 8 - 1 7 9 0 ) , historian of British literature. 6. T h e goddess of mischief or fatal recklessness. 7. TJte Iliad, book 19.

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never i n t r o d u c e s m e into the reality, for c o n t a c t with w h i c h , we would even pay the costly price of s o n s a n d lovers. W a s it B o s c o v i c h 8 w h o f o u n d o u t that b o d i e s never c o m e in c o n t a c t ? Well, s o u l s never t o u c h their o b j e c t s . A n innavigable s e a w a s h e s with silent waves b e t w e e n u s a n d the things we a i m at a n d c o n v e r s e with. G r i e f too will m a k e u s idealists. In the d e a t h of my s o n , now m o r e than two years a g o , I s e e m to have lost a beautiful e s t a t e , — no m o r e . I c a n n o t get it nearer to m e . If tomorrow I s h o u l d be i n f o r m e d of the b a n k r u p t c y of my principal d e b t o r s , the loss of my property w o u l d b e a great i n c o n v e n i e n c e to m e , p e r h a p s , for m a n y y e a r s ; b u t it would leave m e a s it f o u n d m e , — n e i t h e r better nor w o r s e . S o is it with this calamity: it d o e s not t o u c h m e : s o m e thing which I f a n c i e d w a s a part of m e , which c o u l d not be torn away without tearing m e , nor e n l a r g e d without e n r i c h i n g m e , falls off from m e , a n d leaves no scar. It w a s c a d u c o u s . 9 I grieve that grief c a n t e a c h m e nothing, nor carry m e o n e step into real n a t u r e . T h e Indian w h o w a s laid u n d e r a c u r s e , that the wind s h o u l d not blow on h i m , nor water flow to him, nor fire b u r n h i m , is a type of u s all. T h e d e a r e s t events a r e s u m m e r rain, a n d we the P a r a c o a t s ' that s h e d every d r o p . N o t h i n g is left u s now but d e a t h . W e look to that with a grim s a t i s f a c t i o n , saying, t h e r e at least is reality that will not d o d g e u s . I take this e v a n e s c e n c e a n d lubricity of all o b j e c t s , which lets t h e m slip t h r o u g h our fingers then w h e n we c l u t c h h a r d e s t , to b e the m o s t u n h a n d s o m e part of our condition. N a t u r e d o e s not like to b e o b s e r v e d , a n d likes that we s h o u l d b e her fools a n d p l a y m a t e s . W e m a y have the s p h e r e for our cricket-ball, but not a berry for our p h i l o s o p h y . Direct strokes s h e never gave u s power to m a k e ; all our blows g l a n c e , all our hits a r e a c c i d e n t s . O u r relations to e a c h other a r e o b l i q u e a n d c a s u a l . D r e a m delivers u s to d r e a m , a n d there is n o e n d to illusion. Life is a train of m o o d s like a string of b e a d s , a n d , a s we p a s s t h r o u g h t h e m , they prove to be m a n y - c o l o r e d l e n s e s which paint the world their own h u e , a n d e a c h s h o w s only w h a t lies in its f o c u s . F r o m the m o u n t a i n you s e e the m o u n t a i n . W e a n i m a t e what w e c a n , a n d we s e e only w h a t we a n i m a t e . N a t u r e a n d b o o k s b e l o n g to the eyes that s e e t h e m . It d e p e n d s on the m o o d of the m a n , w h e t h e r h e shall s e e the s u n s e t or the fine p o e m . T h e r e are always s u n s e t s , a n d there is always g e n i u s ; but only a few h o u r s s o s e r e n e that we c a n relish n a t u r e or criticism. T h e m o r e or less d e p e n d s on s t r u c t u r e or t e m p e r a m e n t . T e m p e r a m e n t is the iron wire on which the b e a d s a r e s t r u n g . O f w h a t u s e is f o r t u n e or talent to a c o l d a n d defective n a t u r e ? W h o c a r e s w h a t sensibility or discrimination a m a n h a s at s o m e time s h o w n , if h e falls a s l e e p in his c h a i r ? or if h e laugh a n d giggle? or if h e apologize? or is affected with e g o t i s m ? or thinks of his dollar? or c a n n o t g o by f o o d ? or h a s g o t t e n a child in his boyh o o d ? O f w h a t u s e is g e n i u s , if the o r g a n is too convex or too c o n c a v e , a n d c a n n o t find a focal d i s t a n c e within the a c t u a l horizon of h u m a n life? O f w h a t u s e , if the brain is too cold or too hot, a n d the m a n d o e s not c a r e e n o u g h for r e s u l t s , to s t i m u l a t e him to e x p e r i m e n t , a n d hold h i m u p in it? or if the w e b is too finely woven, too irritable by p l e a s u r e a n d p a i n , so that life stagn a t e s from too m u c h r e c e p t i o n , without d u e o u t l e t ? O f what u s e to m a k e 8. Ruggiero G i u s e p p e Boscovich (1711—1787), Italian physicist who advanced a molecular theory of matter.

9. Not long lasting. 1. Rubber overcoats,

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heroic vows of a m e n d m e n t , if the s a m e old law-breaker is to k e e p t h e m ? W h a t c h e e r c a n the religious s e n t i m e n t yield, w h e n that is s u s p e c t e d to b e secretly d e p e n d e n t on the s e a s o n s of the year, a n d the s t a t e of the b l o o d ? I knew a witty p h y s i c i a n w h o f o u n d theology in the biliary d u c t , a n d u s e d to affirm that if there w a s d i s e a s e in the liver, the m a n b e c a m e a Calvinist, a n d if that organ w a s s o u n d , he b e c a m e a U n i t a r i a n . 2 Very mortifying is the reluctant e x p e r i e n c e that s o m e unfriendly e x c e s s or imbecility neutralizes the p r o m i s e of g e n i u s . W e s e e y o u n g m e n w h o o w e u s a n e w world, s o readily a n d lavishly they p r o m i s e , b u t they never a c q u i t the d e b t ; they d i e y o u n g a n d d o d g e the a c c o u n t : or if they live, they lose t h e m s e l v e s in t h e c r o w d . T e m p e r a m e n t a l s o enters fully into the s y s t e m of illusions, a n d s h u t s u s in a prison of g l a s s which we c a n n o t s e e . T h e r e is a n optical illusion a b o u t every p e r s o n w e m e e t . In truth, they are all c r e a t u r e s of given t e m p e r a m e n t , which will a p p e a r in a given c h a r a c t e r , w h o s e b o u n d a r i e s they will never p a s s : b u t we look at t h e m , they s e e m alive, a n d we p r e s u m e there is i m p u l s e in t h e m . In t h e m o m e n t it s e e m s i m p u l s e ; in the year, in t h e lifetime, it t u r n s o u t to b e a certain uniform t u n e which the revolving barrel of the m u s i c - b o x m u s t play. M e n resist the c o n c l u s i o n in the m o r n i n g , b u t a d o p t it a s t h e evening wears on, that t e m p e r prevails over everything of t i m e , p l a c e , a n d condition, a n d is i n c o n s u m a b l e in the f l a m e s of religion. S o m e m o d i f i c a t i o n s the moral s e n t i m e n t avails to i m p o s e , b u t the individual texture holds its d o m i n i o n , if not to bias t h e moral j u d g m e n t s , yet to fix t h e m e a s u r e of activity a n d of e n j o y m e n t . I t h u s express the law a s it is read from the platform of ordinary life, b u t m u s t not leave it without n o t i c i n g the capital exception. F o r t e m p e r a m e n t is a power which n o m a n willingly h e a r s any o n e p r a i s e b u t himself. O n t h e platform of p h y s i c s , we c a n n o t resist the c o n t r a c t i n g i n f l u e n c e s of so-called s c i e n c e . T e m p e r a m e n t p u t s all divinity to rout. I know the m e n t a l proclivity of p h y s i c i a n s . I hear the c h u c k l e of the p h r e n o l o g i s t s . 3 T h e o r e t i c k i d n a p p e r s a n d slave-drivers, they e s t e e m e a c h m a n the victim of a n o t h e r , w h o w i n d s him r o u n d his finger by knowing the law of his b e i n g , a n d by s u c h c h e a p s i g n b o a r d s a s the color of his b e a r d , or the s l o p e of his o c c i p u t , r e a d s the inventory of his f o r t u n e s a n d c h a r a c t e r . T h e g r o s s e s t i g n o r a n c e d o e s not d i s g u s t like this i m p u d e n t k n o w i n g n e s s . T h e p h y s i c i a n s say, they are not materialists; b u t they a r e : — S p i r i t is m a t t e r r e d u c e d to a n e x t r e m e t h i n n e s s : O so t h i n ! — B u t the definition of spiritual s h o u l d b e , that which is its own evidence. W h a t n o t i o n s d o they a t t a c h to love! w h a t to religion! O n e w o u l d not willingly p r o n o u n c e t h e s e words in their h e a r i n g , a n d give t h e m the o c c a s i o n to p r o f a n e t h e m . I s a w a g r a c i o u s g e n t l e m a n w h o a d a p t s his conversation to the form of the h e a d of the m a n h e talks with! I h a d f a n c i e d that the value of life lay in its i n s c r u t a b l e possibilities; in t h e fact that I never know, in a d d r e s s i n g myself to a new individual, w h a t m a y befall m e . I carry the keys of my c a s t l e in my h a n d , ready to throw t h e m at the feet of my lord, whenever a n d in what d i s g u i s e soever h e shall a p p e a r . I know he is in the n e i g h b o r h o o d h i d d e n a m o n g v a g a b o n d s . Shall I p r e c l u d e my future, by taking a high s e a t , a n d kindly a d a p t i n g my c o n v e r s a t i o n to t h e s h a p e of h e a d s ? 2. I.e., the Calvinistic sense of Original Sin is seen as an intellectual manifestation of a bodily disease; the Unitarian view of humanity has none of the Calvinistic preoccupation with eternal damnation

for all but the select few, the elect, 3. Pseudoscientists who claimed to be able to a s s e s s character by "reading" b u m p s on the skull.

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W h e n I c o m e to that, the d o c t o r s shall buy m e for a c e n t . 'But, sir, m e d i c a l history; the report to the I n s t i t u t e ; the proven f a c t s ! ' — I distrust the facts a n d the i n f e r e n c e s . T e m p e r a m e n t is the veto or limitation-power in the c o n s t i t u t i o n , very justly a p p l i e d to restrain an o p p o s i t e e x c e s s in the constitution, b u t a b s u r d l y offered a s a bar to original equity. W h e n virtue is in p r e s e n c e , all s u b o r d i n a t e p o w e r s s l e e p . O n its own level, or in view of n a t u r e , t e m p e r a m e n t is final. I s e e not, if o n e b e o n c e c a u g h t in this trap of so-called s c i e n c e s , any e s c a p e for the m a n from the links of the c h a i n of physical necessity. Given s u c h an e m b r y o , s u c h a history m u s t follow. O n this platform, o n e lives in a sty of s e n s u a l i s m , a n d would s o o n c o m e to s u i c i d e . B u t it is i m p o s s i b l e that the creative p o w e r s h o u l d e x c l u d e itself. Into every intelligence there is a d o o r which is never c l o s e d , t h r o u g h which the c r e a t o r p a s s e s . T h e intellect, s e e k e r of a b s o l u t e truth, or the heart, lover of a b s o l u t e g o o d , intervenes for our s u c c o r , a n d at o n e w h i s p e r of t h e s e high p o w e r s , we a w a k e from ineffectual s t r u g g l e s with this n i g h t m a r e . W e hurl it into its own hell, a n d c a n n o t a g a i n c o n t r a c t ourselves to so b a s e a s t a t e . T h e secret of the illusoriness is in the n e c e s s i t y of a s u c c e s s i o n of m o o d s or o b j e c t s . Gladly we w o u l d a n c h o r , b u t the a n c h o r a g e is q u i c k s a n d . T h i s onward trick of n a t u r e is too strong for u s : Pero si muove.A W h e n , at night, I look at the m o o n a n d s t a r s , I s e e m stationary, a n d they to hurry. O u r love of the real draws u s to p e r m a n e n c e , b u t health of body c o n s i s t s in circulation, a n d sanity of m i n d in variety or facility of a s s o c i a t i o n . W e n e e d c h a n g e of o b j e c t s . D e d i c a t i o n to o n e t h o u g h t is quickly o d i o u s . W e h o u s e with the i n s a n e , a n d m u s t h u m o r t h e m ; then c o n v e r s a t i o n dies out. O n c e I took s u c h delight in M o n t a i g n e , that I t h o u g h t I s h o u l d not n e e d any other b o o k ; before that, in S h a k s p e a r e ; then in P l u t a r c h ; then in P l o t i n u s ; at o n e t i m e in B a c o n ; afterwards in G o e t h e ; even in B e t t i n e ; 5 but n o w I turn the p a g e s of either of them languidly, whilst I still cherish their g e n i u s . S o with p i c t u r e s ; e a c h will b e a r a n e m p h a s i s of attention o n c e , which it c a n n o t retain, t h o u g h we fain would c o n t i n u e to b e p l e a s e d in that m a n n e r . H o w strongly I have felt of p i c t u r e s , that w h e n you have s e e n o n e well, you m u s t take your leave of it; you shall never s e e it a g a i n . I have h a d g o o d l e s s o n s from p i c t u r e s , which I have s i n c e s e e n without e m o t i o n or r e m a r k . A d e d u c t i o n m u s t be m a d e from the opinion, which even the wise express of a n e w b o o k or o c c u r r e n c e . T h e i r o p i n i o n gives m e tidings of their m o o d , a n d s o m e v a g u e g u e s s at the new fact, but is nowise to be trusted a s the l a s t i n g relation b e t w e e n that intellect a n d that thing. T h e child a s k s , ' M a m m a , why don't I like the story a s well a s w h e n you told it m e yesterday?' A l a s , child, it is even s o with the oldest c h e r u b i m of k n o w l e d g e . B u t will it a n s w e r thy q u e s t i o n to say, B e c a u s e thou wert b o r n to a w h o l e , a n d this story is a p a r t i c u l a r ? T h e r e a s o n of the pain this discovery c a u s e s u s (and we m a k e it late in r e s p e c t to works of art a n d intellect), is the plaint of tragedy which m u r m u r s from it in regard to p e r s o n s , to friendship a n d love. 4 . It moves, all the s a m e (Italian). Galileo's muttered protest after the Inquisition (tribunal of the Roman Catholic C h u r c h charged with suppressing heresy) had forced him to retract the idea that the earth revolves around the sun. 5. Elizabeth ("Bettine") von Arnim ( 1 7 8 5 - 1 8 5 9 ) , whose purported correspondence with Goethe was published in 1835. Michel de Montaigne ( 1 5 3 3 (46?-120?), 1592), French essayist. Plutarch

Greek biographer of famous Greeks and Romans. Plotinus ( 2 0 5 ? - 2 7 0 r ) , Egyptian-born Roman neoplatonist philosopher. (Neoplatonism is a mystic religious system, combining features of Platonic and other Greek philosophies with features of J u d a i s m and Christianity.) Sir Francis Bacon ( 1 5 6 1 - 1 6 2 6 ) , English essayist, philosopher, and statesman. J o h a n n Wolfgang von Goethe (1749— 1832), G e r m a n poet and dramatist.

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T h a t immobility a n d a b s e n c e of elasticity which we find in the arts, we find with m o r e pain in the artist. T h e r e is no power of e x p a n s i o n in m e n . O u r friends early a p p e a r to u s a s representatives of certain i d e a s , which they never p a s s or e x c e e d . T h e y s t a n d on the brink of the o c e a n of t h o u g h t a n d power, but they never take the single step that would b r i n g t h e m t h e r e . A m a n is like a bit of L a b r a d o r s p a r , 6 which has no lustre a s you turn it in your h a n d , until you c o m e to a particular a n g l e ; then it s h o w s d e e p a n d beautiful colors. T h e r e is n o a d a p t a t i o n or universal applicability in m e n , but e a c h h a s his special talent, a n d the m a s t e r y of s u c c e s s f u l m e n c o n s i s t s in adroitly k e e p i n g t h e m s e l v e s where a n d w h e n that turn shall be oftenest to be p r a c tised. W e d o what we m u s t , a n d call it by the b e s t n a m e s we c a n , a n d would fain have the p r a i s e of having intended the result which e n s u e s . I c a n n o t recall any form of m a n w h o is not s u p e r f l u o u s s o m e t i m e s . B u t is not this pitiful? Life is not worth the taking, to do tricks in. O f c o u r s e , it n e e d s the w h o l e society, to give the s y m m e t r y we seek. T h e parti-colored wheel m u s t revolve very fast to a p p e a r white. S o m e t h i n g is learned too by c o n v e r s i n g with so m u c h folly a n d defect. In fine, whoever l o s e s , we are always of the g a i n i n g party. Divinity is b e h i n d o u r failures a n d follies a l s o . T h e plays of children are n o n s e n s e , b u t very e d u c a t i v e n o n s e n s e . S o it is with the largest a n d s o l e m n e s t things, with c o m m e r c e , g o v e r n m e n t , c h u r c h , m a r r i a g e , a n d so with the history of every m a n ' s b r e a d , a n d the ways by which h e is to c o m e by it. Like a bird which alights n o w h e r e , but h o p s perpetually from b o u g h to b o u g h , is the Power which a b i d e s in no m a n a n d in n o w o m a n , but for a m o m e n t s p e a k s from this o n e , a n d for a n o t h e r m o m e n t from that o n e . B u t what help from t h e s e fineries or p e d a n t r i e s ? W h a t help from t h o u g h t ? Life is not d i a l e c t i c s . W e , I think, in t h e s e t i m e s , have h a d l e s s o n s e n o u g h of the futility of criticism. O u r y o u n g p e o p l e have t h o u g h t a n d written m u c h on labor a n d reform, a n d for all that they have written, neither the world nor t h e m s e l v e s have got on a step. Intellectual tasting of life will not s u p e r s e d e m u s c u l a r activity. If a m a n s h o u l d c o n s i d e r the nicety of the p a s s a g e of a p i e c e of b r e a d d o w n his throat, h e would starve. At E d u c a t i o n - F a r m , 7 the noblest theory of life sat o n the noblest figures of y o u n g m e n a n d m a i d e n s , quite p o w e r l e s s a n d m e l a n c h o l y . It would not rake or pitch a ton of hay; it would not rub down a h o r s e ; a n d the m e n a n d m a i d e n s it left pale a n d hungry. A political orator wittily c o m p a r e d our party p r o m i s e s to w e s t e r n r o a d s , which o p e n e d stately e n o u g h , with p l a n t e d trees o n either s i d e , to tempt the traveller, but s o o n b e c a m e n a r r o w a n d narrower, a n d e n d e d in a squirrel-track, a n d ran u p a tree. S o d o e s c u l t u r e with u s ; it e n d s in h e a d a c h e . U n s p e a k a b l y s a d a n d barren d o e s life look to t h o s e , w h o a few m o n t h s a g o were dazzled with the s p l e n d o r of the p r o m i s e of the t i m e s . " T h e r e is now no longer any right c o u r s e of a c t i o n , nor any self-devotion left a m o n g the I r a n i s . " 8 O b j e c t i o n s a n d criticism we have h a d our fill of. T h e r e are o b j e c t i o n s to every c o u r s e of life a n d action, a n d the practical w i s d o m infers an indifferency, from the o m n i p r e s e n c e of objection. T h e w h o l e f r a m e of things p r e a c h e s indifferency. D o not craze yourself with thinking, but go a b o u t your b u s i n e s s a n y w h e r e . Life is not intellectual or critical, but sturdy. 6. Labradorite, crystalline rock. 7. Brook Farm, the Transcendentalist c o m m u n e at West Roxbury, Massachusetts.

8. From the Persian Desatir, ancient scriptures credited to Zoroaster (6th century B.C.E.), founder of the Parsee religion.

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Its chief g o o d is for well-mixed p e o p l e w h o c a n enjoy what they find, without q u e s t i o n . N a t u r e h a t e s p e e p i n g a n d our m o t h e r s s p e a k her very s e n s e w h e n they say, " C h i l d r e n , e a t your victuals, a n d say n o m o r e of it." T o fill the h o u r , — t h a t is h a p p i n e s s ; to fill the hour, a n d leave n o crevice for a r e p e n t a n c e or a n approval. W e live a m i d s u r f a c e s , a n d the true art of life is to skate well on t h e m . U n d e r the oldest m o u l d i e s t c o n v e n t i o n s , a m a n of native force p r o s p e r s j u s t a s well a s in the n e w e s t world, a n d that by skill of h a n d l i n g a n d t r e a t m e n t . H e c a n take hold a n y w h e r e . Life itself is a mixture of p o w e r a n d form, a n d will not b e a r the least e x c e s s of either. T o finish the m o m e n t , to find the j o u r n e y ' s e n d in every s t e p of the r o a d , to live the g r e a t e s t n u m b e r of g o o d h o u r s , is w i s d o m . It is not the part of m e n , b u t of f a n a t i c s , or of m a t h e m a t i c i a n s , if you will, to say, that, the s h o r t n e s s of life c o n s i d e r e d , it is not worth c a r i n g w h e t h e r for s o short a d u r a t i o n w e were sprawling in want, or sitting high. S i n c e our office is with m o m e n t s , let u s h u s b a n d t h e m . Five m i n u t e s of today a r e worth a s m u c h to m e , a s five m i n u t e s in the next m i l l e n n i u m . L e t u s b e p o i s e d , a n d w i s e , a n d our o w n , today. L e t u s treat the m e n a n d w o m e n well: treat t h e m a s if they were real: p e r h a p s they a r e . M e n live in their fancy, like d r u n k a r d s w h o s e h a n d s are too soft a n d t r e m u l o u s for s u c c e s s f u l labor. It is a t e m p e s t of f a n c i e s , a n d the only ballast I know, is a r e s p e c t to the p r e s e n t h o u r . W i t h o u t any s h a d o w of d o u b t a m i d s t this vertigo of s h o w s a n d politics, I settle myself ever the firmer in the c r e e d , that we s h o u l d not p o s t p o n e a n d refer a n d wish, b u t do b r o a d j u s t i c e w h e r e we are, by w h o m s o e v e r we deal with, a c c e p t i n g our a c t u a l c o m p a n i o n s a n d circ u m s t a n c e s , however h u m b l e or o d i o u s , a s the mystic officials to w h o m the universe h a s d e l e g a t e d its w h o l e p l e a s u r e for u s . If t h e s e a r e m e a n a n d malignant, their c o n t e n t m e n t , which is the last victory of j u s t i c e , is a m o r e satisfying e c h o to the heart, than the voice of p o e t s a n d the c a s u a l s y m p a t h y of a d m i r a b l e p e r s o n s . I think that however a thoughtful m a n m a y suffer from the d e f e c t s a n d a b s u r d i t i e s of his c o m p a n y , h e c a n n o t without affectation deny to any set of m e n a n d w o m e n , a sensibility to extraordinary merit. T h e c o a r s e a n d frivolous have an instinct of superiority, if they have not a sympathy, a n d h o n o r it in their blind c a p r i c i o u s way with s i n c e r e h o m a g e . T h e fine y o u n g p e o p l e d e s p i s e life, but in m e , a n d in s u c h a s with m e are free from d y s p e p s i a , a n d to w h o m a day is a s o u n d a n d solid g o o d , it is a great e x c e s s of p o l i t e n e s s to look scornful a n d to cry for c o m p a n y . I a m grown by s y m p a t h y a little e a g e r a n d s e n t i m e n t a l , b u t leave m e a l o n e , a n d I s h o u l d relish every h o u r a n d w h a t it b r o u g h t m e , the p o t l u c k of the day, a s heartily as the oldest g o s s i p in the b a r - r o o m . I a m thankful for small m e r c i e s . I c o m p a r e d n o t e s with o n e of my friends w h o e x p e c t s everything of the univ e r s e , a n d is d i s a p p o i n t e d w h e n anything is less than the b e s t , a n d I f o u n d that I begin at the other e x t r e m e , e x p e c t i n g n o t h i n g , a n d a m always full of t h a n k s for m o d e r a t e g o o d s . I a c c e p t the c l a n g o r a n d j a n g l e of contrary tend e n c i e s . I find my a c c o u n t in s o t s a n d b o r e s a l s o . T h e y give a reality to the c i r c u m j a c e n t p i c t u r e , w h i c h s u c h a v a n i s h i n g m e t e o r o u s a p p e a r a n c e c a n ill s p a r e . In the m o r n i n g I a w a k e , a n d find the old world, wife, b a b e s , a n d m o t h e r , C o n c o r d a n d B o s t o n , the dear old spiritual world, a n d even the d e a r old devil not far off. If we will take the g o o d we find, a s k i n g n o q u e s t i o n s , w e shall have h e a p i n g m e a s u r e s . T h e great gifts a r e not got by a n a l y s i s . Everything g o o d is on the highway. T h e m i d d l e region of o u r being is the t e m p e r a t e z o n e . W e m a y c l i m b into the thin a n d c o l d r e a l m of p u r e g e o m e t r y

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a n d lifeless s c i e n c e , or sink into that of s e n s a t i o n . B e t w e e n t h e s e extremes is the e q u a t o r of life, of t h o u g h t , of spirit, of p o e t r y , — a n a r r o w belt. M o r e over, in p o p u l a r e x p e r i e n c e , everything g o o d is on the highway. A collector p e e p s into all the p i c t u r e - s h o p s of E u r o p e , for a l a n d s c a p e of P o u s s i n , a crayon-sketch of Salvator; b u t the T r a n s f i g u r a t i o n , the L a s t J u d g m e n t , the C o m m u n i o n of S t . J e r o m e , a n d what are a s t r a n s c e n d e n t a s t h e s e , a r e on the walls of the V a t i c a n , the Uffizii, or the L o u v r e , w h e r e every f o o t m a n m a y s e e t h e m ; 9 to say n o t h i n g of nature's p i c t u r e s in every street, of s u n s e t s a n d s u n r i s e s every day, a n d the s c u l p t u r e of the h u m a n body never a b s e n t . A collector recently b o u g h t at public a u c t i o n , in L o n d o n , for o n e h u n d r e d a n d fifty-seven g u i n e a s , 1 an a u t o g r a p h of S h a k s p e a r e : but for n o t h i n g a schoolboy c a n read H a m l e t , a n d c a n d e t e c t s e c r e t s of h i g h e s t c o n c e r n m e n t yet u n p u b l i s h e d therein. I think I will never read any but the c o m m o n e s t b o o k s , — t h e B i b l e , H o m e r , D a n t e , S h a k s p e a r e , a n d M i l t o n . T h e n we are i m p a t i e n t of s o p u b l i c a life a n d p l a n e t , a n d run hither a n d thither for n o o k s a n d s e c r e t s . T h e i m a g i n a t i o n delights in the woodcraft of I n d i a n s , t r a p p e r s , a n d b e e - h u n t e r s . W e fancy that we a r e s t r a n g e r s , a n d not s o intimately d o m e s t i c a t e d in the p l a n e t a s the wild m a n , a n d the wild b e a s t a n d bird. B u t the exclusion r e a c h e s t h e m a l s o ; r e a c h e s the c l i m b i n g , flying, gliding, feathered a n d four-footed m a n . Fox a n d w o o d c h u c k , hawk a n d s n i p e , a n d bittern, w h e n nearly s e e n , have no m o r e root in the d e e p world t h a n m a n , a n d are j u s t s u c h superficial t e n a n t s of the g l o b e . T h e n the n e w m o l e c u l a r philosophy s h o w s a s t r o n o m i c a l i n t e r s p a c e s betwixt a t o m a n d a t o m , s h o w s that the world is all o u t s i d e : it h a s n o inside. T h e mid-world is b e s t . N a t u r e , a s we know her, is no saint. T h e lights of the c h u r c h , the a s c e t i c s , G e n t o o s a n d G r a h a m i t e s , 2 she d o e s not d i s t i n g u i s h by any favor. S h e c o m e s eating a n d drinking a n d s i n n i n g . H e r darlings, the great, the strong, the beautiful, are not children of our law, do not c o m e o u t of the S u n d a y S c h o o l , nor weigh their food, nor p u n c t u a l l y k e e p the c o m m a n d m e n t s . If we will b e strong with her strength, w e m u s t not h a r b o r s u c h d i s c o n s o l a t e c o n s c i e n c e s , borrowed too from the c o n s c i e n c e s of other n a t i o n s . W e m u s t set up the strong p r e s e n t t e n s e a g a i n s t all the r u m o r s of wrath, p a s t or to c o m e . S o m a n y things are u n s e t t l e d which it is of the first i m p o r t a n c e to s e t t l e , — a n d , p e n d i n g their s e t t l e m e n t , we will do a s we d o . Whilst the d e b a t e g o e s forward on the equity of c o m m e r c e , a n d will not b e c l o s e d for a c e n t u r y or two, N e w a n d O l d E n g l a n d m a y k e e p s h o p . L a w of copyright a n d international c o p y r i g h t ' is to b e d i s c u s s e d , a n d , in the interim, we will sell our b o o k s for the m o s t we c a n . E x p e d i e n c y of literature, r e a s o n of literature, lawfulness of writing down a t h o u g h t , is q u e s t i o n e d ; m u c h is to say on both s i d e s , a n d , while the fight waxes hot, t h o u , d e a r e s t s c h o l a r , stick to thy foolish task, a d d a line every hour, a n d b e t w e e n whiles a d d a line. Right to hold land, right of property, is d i s p u t e d , a n d the c o n v e n t i o n s c o n v e n e , a n d before the vote is taken, dig away in your g a r d e n , a n d s p e n d 9. I.e., the collector hunts for minor paintings in out-of-the-way shops while the great paintings are in m u s e u m s , where anyone may see them. Nicolas Poussin ( 1 5 9 4 - 1 6 6 5 ) . French painter. Salvator Rosa ( 1 6 1 5 - 1 6 7 3 ) , Italian painter of wild landscapes. T h e Transfiguration is that by Raphael, in Rome. T h e Last Judgment is Michelangelo's, in Florence. T h e Communion of St. Jerome is that by II Domenichino in Paris.

1. A guinea is a British gold coin worth one shilling more than a pound. 2. Contemporary food-faddists; from Sylvester Graham (1794—1851), vegetarian whose efforts at food reform are memorialized in the graham cracker. "Gentoos": Hindu sectarians. 3. Not passed by the American Congress until 1891.

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your earnings a s a waif or g o d s e n d to all s e r e n e a n d beautiful p u r p o s e s . Life itself is a b u b b l e a n d a s k e p t i c i s m , a n d a s l e e p within a s l e e p . G r a n t it, a n d a s m u c h m o r e a s they w i l l — b u t t h o u , G o d ' s darling! h e e d thy private d r e a m : thou wilt not b e m i s s e d in the s c o r n i n g a n d s k e p t i c i s m : there are e n o u g h of t h e m : stay there in thy closet, a n d toil, until the rest are a g r e e d what to d o a b o u t it. T h y s i c k n e s s , they say, a n d thy p u n y habit, require that thou d o this or avoid that, but k n o w that thy life is a flitting s t a t e , a tent for a night, a n d do t h o u , sick or well, finish that stint. T h o u art sick, but shalt not b e w o r s e , a n d the u n i v e r s e , which holds t h e e dear, shall be the better. H u m a n life is m a d e u p of the two e l e m e n t s , p o w e r a n d form, a n d the proportion m u s t b e invariably kept, if we would have it sweet a n d s o u n d . E a c h of t h e s e e l e m e n t s in e x c e s s m a k e s a m i s c h i e f as hurtful a s its d e f e c t . Everything r u n s to e x c e s s : every g o o d quality is n o x i o u s , if u n m i x e d , a n d , to carry the d a n g e r to the e d g e of ruin, n a t u r e c a u s e s e a c h m a n ' s peculiarity to s u p e r a b o u n d . H e r e , a m o n g the f a r m s , we a d d u c e the s c h o l a r s a s e x a m p l e s of this treachery. T h e y are nature's victims of e x p r e s s i o n . You w h o s e e the artist, the orator, the p o e t , too near, a n d find their life n o m o r e excellent t h a n that of m e c h a n i c s or f a r m e r s , a n d t h e m s e l v e s victims of partiality, very hollow a n d h a g g a r d , a n d p r o n o u n c e t h e m f a i l u r e s , — n o t h e r o e s , b u t q u a c k s , — c o n c l u d e very r e a s o n a b l y , that t h e s e arts are not for m a n , but are d i s e a s e . Yet n a t u r e will not b e a r you out. Irresistible n a t u r e m a d e m e n s u c h , a n d m a k e s legions m o r e of s u c h , every day. You love the boy r e a d i n g in a book, gazing at a drawing, or a c a s t : yet w h a t are t h e s e millions w h o read a n d b e h o l d , but incipient writers a n d s c u l p t o r s ? A d d a little m o r e of that quality which now r e a d s a n d s e e s , a n d they will seize the p e n a n d chisel. And if o n e r e m e m b e r s how innocently he b e g a n to be a n artist, he perceives that n a t u r e j o i n e d with his e n e m y . A m a n is a g o l d e n impossibility. T h e line he m u s t walk is a hair's b r e a d t h . T h e wise t h r o u g h e x c e s s of w i s d o m is m a d e a fool. H o w easily, if fate w o u l d suffer it, we might keep forever t h e s e beautiful limits, a n d a d j u s t o u r s e l v e s , o n c e for all, to the perfect c a l c u l a t i o n of the k i n g d o m of known c a u s e a n d effect. In the street a n d in the n e w s p a p e r s , life a p p e a r s so plain a b u s i n e s s , that m a n l y r e s o l u t i o n a n d a d h e r e n c e to the multiplication-table t h r o u g h all w e a t h e r s , will i n s u r e s u c c e s s . B u t ah! presently c o m e s a day, or is it only a half-hour, with its a n g e l - w h i s p e r i n g , — w h i c h discomfits the c o n c l u s i o n s of n a t i o n s a n d of years! T o m o r r o w a g a i n , everything looks real a n d a n g u l a r , the habitual s t a n d a r d s are r e i n s t a t e d , c o m m o n s e n s e is as rare a s g e n i u s , — i s the b a s i s of g e n i u s , a n d e x p e r i e n c e is h a n d s a n d feet to every e n t e r p r i s e ; — a n d yet, h e w h o s h o u l d do his b u s i n e s s on this u n d e r s t a n d i n g , would be quickly b a n k r u p t . P o w e r k e e p s q u i t e a n o t h e r road than the turnpikes of c h o i c e a n d will, n a m e l y , the s u b t e r r a n e a n a n d invisible t u n n e l s a n d c h a n n e l s of life. It is r i d i c u l o u s that we are d i p l o m a t i s t s , a n d d o c t o r s , a n d c o n s i d e r a t e p e o p l e : there a r e n o d u p e s like t h e s e . Life is a series of s u r p r i s e s , a n d would not be worth taking or k e e p i n g , if it were not. G o d delights to isolate u s every day, a n d hide from u s the p a s t a n d the f u t u r e . W e would look a b o u t u s , but with g r a n d p o l i t e n e s s he d r a w s d o w n before u s a n i m p e n e t r a b l e s c r e e n of p u r e s t sky, a n d a n o t h e r b e h i n d u s of p u r e s t sky. 'You will not r e m e m b e r , ' he s e e m s to say, 'and you will not expect.' All g o o d c o n v e r s a t i o n , m a n n e r s , a n d a c t i o n , c o m e from a s p o n t a n e i t y which forgets

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u s a g e s , a n d m a k e s the m o m e n t great. N a t u r e h a t e s c a l c u l a t o r s ; her m e t h o d s are saltatory a n d i m p u l s i v e . M a n lives by p u l s e s ; our organic m o v e m e n t s are s u c h ; a n d the c h e m i c a l a n d ethereal a g e n t s are u n d u l a t o r y a n d a l t e r n a t e ; a n d the m i n d g o e s a n t a g o n i z i n g on, a n d never p r o s p e r s but by fits. W e thrive by c a s u a l t i e s . O u r chief e x p e r i e n c e s have b e e n c a s u a l . T h e m o s t attractive c l a s s of p e o p l e are t h o s e w h o a r e powerful obliquely, a n d not by the direct stroke: m e n of g e n i u s , but not yet a c c r e d i t e d : o n e gets the c h e e r of their light, without p a y i n g too great a tax. T h e i r s is the b e a u t y of the bird, or the m o r n i n g light, a n d not of art. In the thought of g e n i u s there is always a s u r p r i s e ; a n d the m o r a l s e n t i m e n t is well called "the n e w n e s s , " for it is never other; a s n e w to the oldest intelligence a s to the y o u n g c h i l d . — " t h e kingdom that c o m e t h without o b s e r v a t i o n . ' u In like m a n n e r , for practical s u c c e s s , there m u s t not b e too m u c h d e s i g n . A m a n will not be o b s e r v e d in d o i n g that which h e c a n d o b e s t . T h e r e is a certain m a g i c a b o u t his p r o p e r e s t action, which stupefies your p o w e r s of observation, so that t h o u g h it is d o n e before you, you wist not of it. T h e art of life has a p u d e n c y , a n d will not b e e x p o s e d . Every m a n is a n impossibility, until he is born; every thing i m p o s s i b l e , until we s e e a s u c c e s s . T h e ardors of piety a g r e e at last with the coldest skeptic i s m , — t h a t n o t h i n g is of u s or our w o r k s , — t h a t all is of G o d . N a t u r e will not s p a r e u s the s m a l l e s t leaf of laurel. All writing c o m e s by the g r a c e of G o d , a n d all d o i n g a n d having. I would gladly b e m o r a l , a n d k e e p d u e m e t e s a n d b o u n d s , which I dearly love, a n d allow the m o s t to the will of m a n , but I have set my heart o n h o n e s t y in this c h a p t e r , a n d I c a n s e e n o t h i n g at last, in s u c c e s s or failure, than m o r e or less of vital force s u p p l i e d from the Eternal. T h e results of life a r e u n c a l c u l a t e d a n d u n c a l c u l a b l e . T h e years t e a c h m u c h which the days never know. T h e p e r s o n s who c o m p o s e our c o m p a n y , c o n v e r s e , a n d c o m e a n d g o , a n d d e s i g n a n d execute m a n y things, a n d s o m e w h a t c o m e s of it all, but a n u n l o o k e d for result. T h e individual is always m i s t a k e n . H e d e s i g n e d m a n y things, a n d drew in other p e r s o n s a s c o a d j u t o r s , q u a r r e l l e d with s o m e or all, b l u n d e r e d m u c h , a n d s o m e t h i n g is d o n e ; all are a little a d v a n c e d , but the individual is always m i s t a k e n . It turns out s o m e what n e w , a n d very unlike w h a t he p r o m i s e d himself. T h e a n c i e n t s , s t u c k with this i r r e d u c i b l e n e s s of the e l e m e n t s of h u m a n life to c a l c u l a t i o n , exalted C h a n c e into a divinity, but that is to stay too long at the s p a r k , — w h i c h glitters truly at o n e p o i n t , — b u t the universe is w a r m with the latency of the s a m e fire. T h e miracle of life which will not be e x p o u n d e d , but will r e m a i n a m i r a c l e , i n t r o d u c e s a n e w e l e m e n t . In the growth of the e m b r y o , Sir Everard H o m e , 5 1 think, noticed that the evolution w a s not from o n e central point, b u t co-active from three or m o r e points. Life h a s n o m e m o r y . T h a t which p r o c e e d s in s u c c e s s i o n might be r e m e m b e r e d , but that which is co-existent, or e j a c u l a t e d from a d e e p e r c a u s e , a s yet far from b e i n g c o n s c i o u s , knows not its own tendency. S o it is with u s , now skeptical, or without unity, b e c a u s e i m m e r s e d in f o r m s a n d effects all s e e m ing to b e of e q u a l yet hostile value, a n d now religious, whilst in the reception of spiritual law. B e a r with t h e s e distractions, with this c o e t a n e o u s growth of the p a r t s : they will o n e day b e members, a n d obey o n e will. O n that o n e will, o n that secret c a u s e , they nail our attention a n d h o p e . Life is hereby melted 4. Luke 17.20.

5. Scottish surgeon (1756-1832).

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into a n expectation or a religion. U n d e r n e a t h the i n h a r m o n i o u s a n d trivial p a r t i c u l a r s , is a m u s i c a l p e r f e c t i o n , the Ideal j o u r n e y i n g always with u s , the heaven without rent or s e a m . D o but o b s e r v e the m o d e of our illumination. W h e n I c o n v e r s e with a p r o f o u n d m i n d , or if at any time b e i n g a l o n e I have good t h o u g h t s , I do not at o n c e arrive at s a t i s f a c t i o n s , a s w h e n , b e i n g thirsty, I drink water, or go to the fire, b e i n g cold: n o ! but I a m at first a p p r i s e d of my vicinity to a new a n d excellent region of life. By persisting to read or to think, this region gives further sign of itself, a s it were in flashes of light, in s u d d e n d i s c o v e r i e s of its p r o f o u n d b e a u t y a n d r e p o s e , a s if the c l o u d s that c o v e r e d it p a r t e d at intervals, a n d s h o w e d the a p p r o a c h i n g traveller the inland m o u n t a i n s , with the tranquil eternal m e a d o w s s p r e a d at their b a s e , w h e r e o n flocks g r a z e , a n d s h e p h e r d s p i p e a n d d a n c e . B u t every insight from this r e a l m of t h o u g h t is felt a s initial, a n d p r o m i s e s a s e q u e l . I do not m a k e it; I arrive t h e r e , a n d b e h o l d what w a s there already. I m a k e ! O n o ! I c l a p my h a n d s in infantine joy a n d a m a z e m e n t , before the first o p e n i n g to m e of this a u g u s t m a g n i f i c e n c e , old with the love a n d h o m a g e of i n n u m e r a b l e a g e s , y o u n g with the life of life, the sunbright M e c c a of the desert. A n d what a future it o p e n s ! I feel a new heart b e a t i n g with the love of the new beauty. I a m ready to die o u t of n a t u r e , a n d be born again into this new yet u n a p p r o a c h a b l e A m e r i c a I have f o u n d in the W e s t . " S i n c e neither now nor yesterday b e g a n T h e s e t h o u g h t s , which have b e e n ever, nor yet c a n A m a n be f o u n d w h o their first e n t r a n c e k n e w . " 6 If I have d e s c r i b e d life a s a flux of m o o d s , I m u s t now a d d , that there is that in u s which c h a n g e s not, a n d which ranks all s e n s a t i o n s a n d s t a t e s of m i n d . T h e c o n s c i o u s n e s s in e a c h m a n is a sliding s c a l e , which identifies him now with the First C a u s e , a n d now with the flesh of his body; life a b o v e life, in infinite d e g r e e s . T h e s e n t i m e n t from which it s p r u n g d e t e r m i n e s the dignity of any d e e d , a n d the q u e s t i o n ever is, not, what you have d o n e or forborne, but, at w h o s e c o m m a n d you have d o n e or forborne it. F o r t u n e , M i n e r v a , 7 M u s e , Holy G h o s t , — t h e s e are q u a i n t n a m e s , too narrow to cover this u n b o u n d e d s u b s t a n c e . T h e baffled intellect m u s t still kneel before this c a u s e , which refuses to be n a m e d — i n e f f a b l e c a u s e , which every fine g e n i u s h a s e s s a y e d to r e p r e s e n t by s o m e e m p h a t i c symbol, a s , T h a l e s by water, A n a x i m e n e s by air, A n a x a g o r a s by (Nero?) t h o u g h t , Z o r o a s t e r 8 by fire, J e s u s a n d the m o d e r n s by love: a n d the m e t a p h o r of e a c h has b e c o m e a national religion. T h e C h i n e s e M e n c i u s 9 has not b e e n the least s u c c e s s f u l in his generalization. "I fully u n d e r s t a n d l a n g u a g e , " he said, " a n d n o u r i s h well my vast-flowing vigor."—"I b e g to a s k what you call vast-flowing v i g o r ? " — s a i d his c o m p a n i o n . " T h e e x p l a n a t i o n , " replied M e n c i u s , "is difficult. T h i s vigor is s u p r e m e l y great, a n d in the highest d e g r e e u n b e n d i n g . N o u r i s h it correctly, a n d d o it no injury, a n d it will fill up the v a c a n c y b e t w e e n heaven a n d e a r t h . T h i s vigor a c c o r d s with a n d a s s i s t s j u s t i c e a n d r e a s o n , a n d leaves no h u n g e r . " — I n our m o r e correct writing, we give to this 6. A free translation of the conclusion of one of the heroine's speeches in Sophocles' Antigone, lines 4 5 6 - 5 7 . 7. Roman goddess of wisdom. 8. T h e 6th-century Persian founder of the fire

worship of the Parsees. Thales (7th century B . C . E . ) , Anaximenes (6th century B.C.E.), and Anaxagoras (5th century b . C . E ) , Greek philosophers. 9. Meng-tsu (3rd century B.C.E.), compiler of doctrines of Confucianism.

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generalization the n a m e of Being, a n d thereby c o n f e s s that we have arrived a s far as we can g o . Suffice it for the joy of the universe, that we have not arrived at a wall, but at i n t e r m i n a b l e o c e a n s . O u r life s e e m s not p r e s e n t , s o m u c h a s p r o s p e c t i v e ; not for the affairs on which it is w a s t e d , but a s a hint of this vast-flowing vigor. M o s t of life s e e m s to be m e r e a d v e r t i s e m e n t of faculty: information is given u s not to sell ourselves c h e a p ; that we a r e very great. S o , in p a r t i c u l a r s , our g r e a t n e s s is always in a t e n d e n c y or direction, not in an a c t i o n . It is for u s to believe in the rule, not in the exception. T h e noble are thus known from the ignoble. S o in a c c e p t i n g the l e a d i n g of the s e n t i m e n t s , it is not what we believe c o n c e r n i n g the immortality of the soul, or the like, but the universal impulse to believe, that is the material c i r c u m s t a n c e , a n d is the principal fact in the history of the g l o b e . Shall we d e s c r i b e this c a u s e a s that which works directly? T h e spirit is not h e l p l e s s or needful of m e d i a t e o r g a n s . It has plentiful powers a n d direct effects. I a m explained without explaining, I a m felt without a c t i n g , a n d w h e r e I a m not. T h e r e f o r e all j u s t p e r s o n s are satisfied with their own p r a i s e . T h e y refuse to explain t h e m s e l v e s , a n d are c o n t e n t that n e w a c t i o n s s h o u l d d o t h e m that office. T h e y believe that we c o m m u n i c a t e without s p e e c h , a n d a b o v e s p e e c h , a n d that no right action of o u r s is q u i t e u n a f f e c t i n g to our friends, at whatever d i s t a n c e ; for the influence of action is not to be m e a s u r e d by m i l e s . W h y s h o u l d I fret myself, b e c a u s e a c i r c u m s t a n c e has o c c u r r e d , which hinders my p r e s e n c e where I w a s e x p e c t e d ? If I a m not at the m e e t i n g , my p r e s e n c e where I a m , s h o u l d be a s useful to the c o m m o n w e a l t h of friendship a n d w i s d o m , as would be my p r e s e n c e in that p l a c e . I exert the s a m e quality of power in all p l a c e s . T h u s j o u r n e y s the mighty Ideal before u s ; it never w a s known to fall into the rear. N o m a n ever c a m e to an e x p e r i e n c e which w a s satiating, but his good is tidings of a better. O n w a r d a n d o n w a r d ! In liberated m o m e n t s , we know that a n e w picture of life a n d duty is already p o s s i b l e ; the e l e m e n t s already exist in m a n y m i n d s a r o u n d y o u , of a d o c t r i n e of life which shall t r a n s c e n d any written record we have. T h e new s t a t e m e n t will c o m p r i s e the s k e p t i c i s m s , a s well a s the faiths of society, a n d out of unbeliefs a creed shall be f o r m e d . For, s k e p t i c i s m s are not g r a t u i t o u s or lawless, but are limitations of the affirmative s t a t e m e n t , a n d the new p h i l o s o p h y m u s t take t h e m in, a n d m a k e affirmations o u t s i d e of t h e m , j u s t a s m u c h a s it m u s t i n c l u d e the oldest beliefs. It is very u n h a p p y , but too late to be h e l p e d , the discovery we have m a d e , that we exist. T h a t discovery is called the Fall of M a n . Ever afterwards, we s u s p e c t our i n s t r u m e n t s . W e have learned that we do not s e e directly, but mediately, a n d that we have no m e a n s of c o r r e c t i n g t h e s e c o l o r e d a n d distorting l e n s e s which we a r e , or of c o m p u t i n g the a m o u n t of their errors. P e r h a p s these s u b j e c t - l e n s e s have a creative power; p e r h a p s there are n o o b j e c t s . O n c e we lived in what we saw; now, the r a p a c i o u s n e s s of this n e w power, which t h r e a t e n s to a b s o r b all things, e n g a g e s u s . N a t u r e , art, p e r s o n s , letters, r e l i g i o n s , — o b j e c t s , s u c c e s s i v e l y t u m b l e in, a n d G o d is but o n e of its ideas. N a t u r e a n d literature are subjective p h e n o m e n a ; every evil a n d every good thing is a s h a d o w which we cast. T h e street is full of h u m i l i a t i o n s to the p r o u d . As the fop contrived to d r e s s his bailiffs in his livery, a n d m a k e them wait on his g u e s t s at t a b l e , so the c h a g r i n s ' which the bad heart gives I. Ill-humored feelings.

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off a s b u b b l e s , at o n c e take form a s ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n in the street, s h o p m e n or b a r k e e p e r s in hotels, a n d threaten or insult whatever is threat e n a b l e a n d insultable in u s . " l i s the s a m e with our idolatries. P e o p l e forget that it is the eye which m a k e s the horizon, a n d the r o u n d i n g m i n d ' s eye which m a k e s this or that m a n a type or representative of h u m a n i t y with the n a m e of hero or saint. J e s u s the "providential m a n , " is a g o o d m a n on w h o m m a n y p e o p l e are a g r e e d that t h e s e optical laws shall take effect. By love o n o n e part, a n d by f o r b e a r a n c e to p r e s s objection o n the other p a r t , it is for a time settled, that we will look at h i m in the c e n t r e of the horizon, a n d a s c r i b e to him the properties that will a t t a c h to any m a n s o s e e n . B u t the l o n g e s t love or aversion h a s a s p e e d y t e r m . T h e great a n d c r e s c i v e 2 self, rooted in a b s o l u t e n a t u r e , s u p p l a n t s all relative e x i s t e n c e , a n d ruins the k i n g d o m of mortal friendship a n d love. M a r r i a g e (in what is called the spiritual world) is i m p o s s i b l e , b e c a u s e of the inequality b e t w e e n every s u b j e c t a n d every object. T h e s u b j e c t is the receiver of G o d h e a d , a n d at every c o m p a r i s o n m u s t feel his b e i n g e n h a n c e d by that cryptic might. T h o u g h not in energy, yet by p r e s e n c e , this m a g a z i n e 3 of s u b s t a n c e c a n n o t be otherwise t h a n felt: nor c a n any force of intellect attribute to the o b j e c t the p r o p e r deity w h i c h s l e e p s or w a k e s forever in every s u b j e c t . N e v e r c a n love m a k e c o n s c i o u s n e s s a n d ascription e q u a l in f o r c e . T h e r e will b e the s a m e g u l f b e t w e e n every m e a n d thee, a s b e t w e e n the original a n d the p i c t u r e . T h e universe is the bride of the soul. All private s y m p a t h y is partial. T w o h u m a n b e i n g s are like g l o b e s , which c a n t o u c h only in a point, a n d , whilst they r e m a i n in c o n t a c t , all other points of e a c h of the s p h e r e s are inert; their turn m u s t a l s o c o m e , a n d the longer a particular union l a s t s , the m o r e energy of a p p e t e n c y 4 the p a r t s not in union a c q u i r e . Life will b e i m a g e d , b u t c a n n o t b e divided nor d o u b l e d . Any invasion of its unity would b e c h a o s . T h e soul is not twin-born, b u t the only b e g o t t e n , a n d t h o u g h revealing itself a s child in t i m e , child in a p p e a r a n c e , is of a fatal a n d universal p o w e r , a d m i t t i n g no co-life. Every day, every a c t betrays the ill-concealed deity. W e believe in o u r s e l v e s , a s we do not believe in o t h e r s . W e permit all things to o u r s e l v e s , a n d that which we call sin in o t h e r s , is experiment for u s . It is a n i n s t a n c e of our faith in o u r s e l v e s , that m e n never s p e a k of c r i m e a s lightly a s they think: or, every m a n thinks a latitude s a f e for himself, which is nowise to be i n d u l g e d to a n o t h e r . T h e a c t looks very differently on the i n s i d e , a n d on the o u t s i d e ; in its quality, a n d in its cons e q u e n c e s . M u r d e r in the m u r d e r e r is n o s u c h r u i n o u s t h o u g h t a s p o e t s a n d r o m a n c e r s will have it; it d o e s not u n s e t t l e h i m , or fright h i m from his ordinary notice of trifles: it is a n act q u i t e easy to b e c o n t e m p l a t e d , but in its s e q u e l , it t u r n s out to be a horrible j a n g l e a n d c o n f o u n d i n g of all relations. E s p e c i a l l y the c r i m e s that spring from love, s e e m right a n d fair from the actor's point of view, b u t , w h e n a c t e d , a r e f o u n d d e s t r u c t i v e of society. N o m a n at last believes that he c a n be lost, nor that the c r i m e in him is a s b l a c k a s in the felon. B e c a u s e the intellect qualifies in our own c a s e the m o r a l j u d g m e n t s . F o r there is no c r i m e to the intellect. T h a t is a n t i n o m i a n or hypernomian,' 5 a n d j u d g e s law a s well a s fact. "It is w o r s e t h a n a c r i m e , it is a b l u n d e r , " s a i d N a p o l e o n , s p e a k i n g the l a n g u a g e of the intellect. T o it, the 2. Increasing. 3. Stored supply.

4. Strong impulse toward union. 5. Against or beyond the control of law.

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world is a p r o b l e m in m a t h e m a t i c s or the s c i e n c e of quantity, a n d it leaves o u t p r a i s e a n d b l a m e , a n d all w e a k e m o t i o n s . All stealing is c o m p a r a t i v e . If you c o m e to a b s o l u t e s , pray w h o d o e s not steal? S a i n t s are s a d , b e c a u s e they b e h o l d sin, (even w h e n they s p e c u l a t e , ) from the point of view of the c o n s c i e n c e , a n d not of the intellect; a c o n f u s i o n of t h o u g h t . S i n s e e n from the t h o u g h t , is a d i m i n u t i o n or less: s e e n from the c o n s c i e n c e or will, it is pravity or bad. T h e intellect n a m e s it s h a d e , a b s e n c e of light, a n d n o e s s e n c e . T h e c o n s c i e n c e m u s t feel it a s e s s e n c e , essential evil. T h i s it is not: it h a s a n objective e x i s t e n c e , but no subjective. T h u s inevitably d o e s the universe wear our color, a n d every object fall s u c c e s s i v e l y into the s u b j e c t itself. T h e s u b j e c t exists, the s u b j e c t e n l a r g e s ; all things s o o n e r or later fall into p l a c e . As I a m , so I s e e ; u s e w h a t l a n g u a g e we will, we c a n never say anything but what we a r e ; H e r m e s , C a d m u s , C o l u m b u s , N e w t o n , B u o n a p a r t e , are the m i n d ' s m i n i s t e r s . 6 I n s t e a d of feeling a poverty w h e n we e n c o u n t e r a great m a n , let u s treat the n e w c o m e r like a travelling geologist, w h o p a s s e s through our e s t a t e , a n d s h o w s u s g o o d s l a t e , or l i m e s t o n e , or a n t h r a c i t e , in our b r u s h p a s t u r e . T h e partial a c t i o n of e a c h strong m i n d in o n e direction, is a t e l e s c o p e for the o b j e c t s o n which it is p o i n t e d . B u t every other part of k n o w l e d g e is to b e p u s h e d to the s a m e e x t r a v a g a n c e , ere the soul attains her d u e sphericity. D o you s e e that kitten c h a s i n g so prettily her own tail? If you c o u l d look with her eyes, you might see her s u r r o u n d e d with h u n d r e d s of figures p e r f o r m i n g c o m p l e x d r a m a s , with tragic a n d c o m i c i s s u e s , long c o n v e r s a t i o n s , m a n y c h a r a c t e r s , m a n y u p s a n d d o w n s of f a t e , — a n d m e a n t i m e it is only p u s s a n d her tail. H o w long before o u r m a s q u e r a d e will e n d its noise of t a m b o r i n e s , laughter, a n d s h o u t ing, a n d we shall find it w a s a solitary p e r f o r m a n c e ? — A s u b j e c t a n d a n o b j e c t , — i t takes so m u c h to m a k e the galvanic circuit c o m p l e t e , but m a g n i t u d e a d d s nothing. W h a t imports it w h e t h e r it is Kepler a n d the s p h e r e ; C o l u m b u s a n d A m e r i c a ; a r e a d e r a n d his b o o k ; or p u s s with her tail? It is true that all the m u s e s a n d love a n d religion h a t e t h e s e d e v e l o p m e n t s , a n d will find a way to p u n i s h the c h e m i s t , w h o p u b l i s h e s in the parlor the s e c r e t s of the laboratory. A n d we c a n n o t say too little of our c o n s t i t u t i o n a l necessity of s e e i n g things u n d e r private a s p e c t s , or s a t u r a t e d with o u r h u m o r s . A n d yet is the G o d the native of t h e s e b l e a k r o c k s . T h a t n e e d m a k e s in m o r a l s the capital virtue of self-trust. W e m u s t hold hard to this poverty, however s c a n d a l o u s , a n d by m o r e vigorous self-recoveries, after the sallies of a c t i o n , p o s s e s s our axis m o r e firmly. T h e life of truth is cold, a n d s o far m o u r n f u l ; but it is not the slave of tears, contritions, a n d p e r t u r b a t i o n s . It d o e s not a t t e m p t another's work, nor a d o p t a n o t h e r ' s f a c t s . It is a m a i n l e s s o n of w i s d o m to know your own from a n o t h e r ' s . I have l e a r n e d that I c a n n o t d i s p o s e of other p e o p l e ' s facts; but I p o s s e s s s u c h a key to my own, a s pers u a d e s m e a g a i n s t all their d e n i a l s , that they a l s o have a key to theirs. A s y m p a t h e t i c p e r s o n is p l a c e d in the d i l e m m a of a s w i m m e r a m o n g d r o w n i n g m e n , w h o all c a t c h at him, a n d if h e give s o m u c h a s a leg or a finger, they will drown h i m . T h e y wish to b e s a v e d from the m i s c h i e f s of their vices, but 6. I.e., great gods or men of legend and history are servants of the human mind b e c a u s e our subjectivity uses them to light up areas of our own being. Hermes is the Greek god of invention. C a d m u s is the mythical inventor of the alphabet and creator

of the Thebans by sowing dragon's teeth. Columbus sailed to America. Newton discovered the law of gravity. Napoleon Bonaparte in Emerson's childhood was the conquerer of much of Europe.

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not from their vices. C h a r i t y would b e w a s t e d o n this p o o r waiting on the s y m p t o m s . A wise a n d hardy physician will say, Come out of that, a s the first condition of advice. In this our talking A m e r i c a , we are r u i n e d by our g o o d n a t u r e a n d listening on all s i d e s . T h i s c o m p l i a n c e takes away the power of b e i n g greatly useful. A m a n s h o u l d not be a b l e to look other than directly a n d forthright. A preo c c u p i e d attention is the only a n s w e r to the i m p o r t u n a t e frivolity of other p e o p l e : an attention, a n d to an aim which m a k e s their w a n t s frivolous. T h i s is a divine a n s w e r , a n d leaves no a p p e a l , a n d no hard t h o u g h t s . In F l a x m a n ' s drawing of the E u m e n i d e s of y E s c h y l u s , 7 O r e s t e s s u p p l i c a t e s Apollo, whilst the F u r i e s s l e e p on the t h r e s h o l d . T h e f a c e of the g o d e x p r e s s e s a s h a d e of regret a n d c o m p a s s i o n , b u t c a l m with the conviction of the irreconcilablen e s s of the two s p h e r e s . H e is born into other politics, into the eternal a n d beautiful. T h e m a n at his feet a s k s for his interest in turmoils of the e a r t h , into which his n a t u r e c a n n o t enter. A n d the E u m e n i d e s there lying express pictorially this disparity. T h e g o d is s u r c h a r g e d with his divine destiny. Illusion, T e m p e r a m e n t , S u c c e s s i o n , S u r f a c e , S u r p r i s e , Reality, S u b j e c t i v e n e s s , — t h e s e are t h r e a d s on the l o o m of t i m e , these are the lords of life. I d a r e not a s s u m e to give their order, but I n a m e t h e m a s I find t h e m in my way. I know better than to c l a i m any c o m p l e t e n e s s for my p i c t u r e . I a m a fragment, a n d this is a f r a g m e n t of m e . I c a n very confidently a n n o u n c e o n e or a n o t h e r law, which throws itself into relief a n d f o r m , but I a m too y o u n g yet by s o m e a g e s to c o m p i l e a c o d e . I g o s s i p for my h o u r c o n c e r n i n g the eternal politics. I have s e e n m a n y fair p i c t u r e s not in vain. A wonderful time I have lived in. I a m not the novice I w a s f o u r t e e n , nor yet seven years a g o . L e t who will ask, w h e r e is the fruit? I find a private fruit sufficient. T h i s is a fruit,—that I s h o u l d not a s k for a r a s h effect from m e d i t a t i o n s , c o u n s e l s , a n d the hiving of truths. I s h o u l d feel it pitiful to d e m a n d a result on this town a n d c o u n t y , a n overt effect on the instant m o n t h a n d year. T h e effect is d e e p a n d s e c u l a r 8 a s the c a u s e . It works on p e r i o d s in which mortal lifetime is lost. All I know is r e c e p t i o n ; I a m a n d I have: but I do not get, a n d w h e n I have f a n c i e d I h a d gotten anything, I f o u n d I did not. I w o r s h i p with w o n d e r the great F o r t u n e . M y reception h a s b e e n s o large, that I a m not a n n o y e d by receiving this or that s u p e r a b u n d a n t l y . I say to the G e n i u s , if h e will p a r d o n the proverb, In for a mill, in for a million. W h e n I receive a n e w gift, I d o not m a c e r a t e my body to m a k e the a c c o u n t s q u a r e , for, if I s h o u l d die, I could not m a k e the a c c o u n t s q u a r e . T h e benefit overran the merit the first day, a n d h a s overran the merit ever s i n c e . T h e merit itself, so-called, I reckon part of the receiving. Also, that h a n k e r i n g after an overt or practical effect s e e m s to m e a n a p o s t a s y . In g o o d e a r n e s t , I a m willing to s p a r e this m o s t u n n e c e s s a r y deal of doing. Life wears to m e a visionary f a c e . H a r d e s t , r o u g h e s t a c t i o n is visionary a l s o . It is but a c h o i c e b e t w e e n soft a n d turbulent d r e a m s . P e o p l e disp a r a g e knowing a n d the intellectual life, a n d urge d o i n g . I a m very c o n t e n t 7. John Flaxman ( 1 7 5 5 - 1 8 2 6 ) , English illustrator. In the clearer modern usage, the title of Aeschylus's play The Eumenides would he italicized. In the scene depicted by Flaxman, the Furies, or Eumenides. who have pursued Orestes since his

murder of his adulterous mother, are temporarily lulled by the power of Apollo, who sanctioned the murder. 8. Lasting from century to century.

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with knowing, if only I c o u l d know. T h a t is an a u g u s t e n t e r t a i n m e n t , a n d would suffice m e a great while. T o know a little, would be worth the e x p e n s e of this world. I hear always the law of A d r a s t i a , 9 "that every soul which h a d a c q u i r e d any truth, s h o u l d be safe from h a r m until a n o t h e r p e r i o d . " I know that the world I c o n v e r s e with in the city a n d in the f a r m s , is not the world I think. I observe that difference, a n d shall o b s e r v e it. O n e day, I shall know the value a n d law of this d i s c r e p a n c e . B u t I have not f o u n d that m u c h w a s g a i n e d by m a n i p u l a r a t t e m p t s to realize the world of t h o u g h t . M a n y e a g e r p e r s o n s successively m a k e an experiment in this way, a n d m a k e t h e m s e l v e s r i d i c u l o u s . T h e y a c q u i r e d e m o c r a t i c m a n n e r s , they f o a m at the m o u t h , they hate a n d deny. W o r s e , I o b s e r v e , that, in the history of m a n k i n d , there is never a solitary e x a m p l e of s u c c e s s , — t a k i n g their own tests of s u c c e s s . I say this polemically, or in reply to the inquiry, why not realize your world? B u t far be from m e the despair which p r e j u d g e s the law by a paltry e m p i r i c i s m , — s i n c e there never w a s a right e n d e a v o r , b u t it s u c c e e d e d . P a t i e n c e a n d p a t i e n c e , we shall win at the last. W e m u s t b e very s u s p i c i o u s of the d e c e p t i o n s of the e l e m e n t of t i m e . It takes a g o o d deal of time to eat or to s l e e p , or to e a r n a h u n d r e d dollars, a n d a very little time to entertain a h o p e a n d an insight which b e c o m e s the light of our life. W e d r e s s our g a r d e n , eat our dinners, d i s c u s s the h o u s e h o l d with o u r wives, a n d t h e s e things m a k e no i m p r e s s i o n , are forgotten next week; but in the solitude to which every m a n is always returning, he has a sanity a n d revelations, which in his p a s s a g e into n e w worlds he will carry with h i m . N e v e r m i n d the ridicule, never m i n d the defeat: u p a g a i n , old h e a r t ! — i t s e e m s to s a y , — t h e r e is victory yet for all j u s t i c e ; a n d the true r o m a n c e which the world exists to realize, will b e the transformation of g e n i u s into practical power. 1844 9. Another name for Nemesis or Destiny. The quotation is from the Phaedrus by Plato.

T H E

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In 1829, gold was discovered at Dahlonega, on the western boundary of the Cherokee Nation, in the state of Georgia. Georgia had for some time wished to rid itself of its Indian population; now, the desire to mine Cherokee gold, and the fact that Andrew Jackson had been elected president the previous year, spurred Georgians to press for Indian removal. Jackson, having made his national reputation as an Indian fighter, had made it clear that he favored removing the American Indians from the eastern states to lands west of the Mississippi River. It was also his position, consistent with that of Georgia, that independent governments (like that of the Cherokee Nation) should not exist within the borders of any of the states. In 1830, the Indian Removal Act, authorizing the president to relocate eastern Indians to lands west of the Mississippi, was passed in the Senate by a vote of 28 to 20, and then in the House, by a vote of 103 to 97. As Representative Henry Storrs of New York noted, we might now "break up [the Indians'] society, dissolve their institutions, and drive them into the wilderness." Jackson signed the bill into law on

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May 2 8 , 1 8 3 0 . According to Alexis de Tocqueville, the French social observer, who visited the United States in 1 8 3 1 , The Spaniards by unparalleled atrocities which brand them with indelible shame, did not succeed in exterminating the Indian race and could not even prevent them from sharing their rights; the United States Americans have attained both these results without spilling blood and without violating a single one of the great principles of morality in the eyes of the world. It is impossible to destroy men with more respect to the laws of humanity. The Cherokee were well aware of the intentions of Georgia and of President Jackson. Able to write their own language in the syllabary devised by the mixed-blood Sequoyah (George Guess) in 1 8 2 1 , and with substantial numbers of the population literate in English, the Cherokee took up the pen to fight for their traditional homelands. In 1 8 2 8 , the Cherokee Buck Watie, who had taken the name of Elias Boudinot, founded and edited The Cherokee Phoenix, which, according to the Cherokee scholar Rennard Strickland, "contain[ed] the most articulate presentation of the Cherokee position" against removal. Editorials in the Phoenix were reprinted in newspapers in New Orleans, New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore in the fight against passage of the Removal Act. The Cherokee also engaged directly with the courts, the Congress, and the various officers of the federal government, sending letters, briefs, and petitions. In addition, they presented to Congress "memorials," documents that, in the nineteenth century, had approximately the status of a petition. Bills for the removal of the Cherokee had been introduced into both houses of Congress early in 1 8 3 0 , and debate on the Removal Bill had begun in the House on February 2 4 . On March 1 5 , the Cherokee Council, led by Principal Chief John Ross, aided by Clerk of Council John Ridge and Delegate Lewis Ross, offered an official document, along with twelve other memorials from "the native citizens of the nation themselves." The official document of the council, probably authored mainly by Ridge, opens ^ with what must be an intentional, although unstated, reference to the Declaration of Independence. Where the Declaration made known the "long train of abuses and usurpations" for which the British king George III was responsible, the Cherokee memorial establishes the wrongs done by his namesake state, Georgia, petitioning the Congress of the United States, the same body that had adopted the Declaration, for redress of grievances. But where the colonists had found it necessary to declare their independence, the Cherokee find themselves compelled, instead, to affirm their independence. The writers of the memorial exploit the irony that the Declaration of Independence, the document that had proclaimed the sovereignty of the United States of America, should now be used (as President Jackson and members of his cabinet had done) to undermine the sovereignty of an indigenous nation. Acknowledging that Georgia and the president have the power to force them to unfamiliar lands west of the Mississippi, the Cherokee Council insists that the use of such power would lead to a sorry end. The memorial of the council imagines for the Cherokee a happier fate than forced removal. In the florid language of the period, the Cherokee Council offers a vision of the further advancement of the Cherokee people "in civilized life . . . science and Christian knowledge," on the lands which they have for long occupied. The memorial of the Cherokee citizens is less formal than that of the Cherokee Council. Its rhetorical strategies invoke, in some degree, traditional Cherokee oratorical practices./For example, in the third paragraph, the Cherokee citizens employ -£>a language of kinship: "Brothers—we address you according to usage adopted by our forefathers." This form of familial address, "brother to brother" rather than child to father, returns to the habits of eigJiteewtli-century Indian oratory, when indigenous people and settlers treated one another more nearly as equals ("brother to brother") rather than as inferior to superior ("red children to their white fathers"). Neither the rhetorical sophistication of the official memorial's textual references nor the more

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oral mode of the citizens' memorial kept the Cherokee from being driven from their homelands. After passage of the Removal Act. the government continued to exert pressure on the Cherokee voluntarily to remove.lln 1835, Elias Boudinot, his uncle Major Ridge, and cousin John Ridge, along with other Cherokee who had reluctantly concluded that further resistance was futile, signed the Treaty of New Echota, agreeing to the cession of Cherokee lands in the east in exchange for lands west of the Mississippi. But a majority of the Cherokee nation still did not wish to go. Finally, in the winter of 1838—39, federal troops under the command of General Winfield Scott were sent to enforce the treaty. Some twelve thousand Cherokee people were driven westward on the infamous Trail of Tears. One-third, fully four thousand people, died en route before the survivors reached Indian Country in what would eventually become Oklahoma. All the selections printed here are from the 21st Congress, 1st session, report 3 1 1 .

[Note on the Accompanying Memorials, February 15, 1830] Brown's Hotel, W a s h i n g t o n City Hon. Speaker

of the House

of

Representatives:

Sir: T h e a c c o m p a n y i n g m e m o r i a l s you will p l e a s e lay before the H o u s e over which you p r e s i d e ; the o n e from the late G e n e r a l C o u n c i l of o u r nation, a n d signed by all the m e m b e r s of that body, a n d principal chief, in b e h a l f of the C h e r o k e e n a t i o n , relative to the p r e s e n t u n p l e a s a n t s t a t e of affairs' in c o n s e q u e n c e of certain c a u s e s therein stated; the others, twelve in n u m b e r , are from the native citizens of the nation t h e m s e l v e s , a n d a d o p t e d t h r o u g h out the country, a n d to which are a p p e n d e d u p w a r d s of three t h o u s a n d n a m e s . T h e y have b e e n forwarded to us by mail, to b e laid before C o n g r e s s . T h e i r object, a s will a p p e a r , is to prove to that h o n o r a b l e body, that the m a n y reports of late circulated by officers of the G o v e r n m e n t , that a greater portion of the C h e r o k e e s are favorably d i s p o s e d to a removal W e s t w a r d , a n d a r e only restrained by the threats a n d tyranny of their chiefs, a r e e r r o n e o u s , a n d entirely u n f o u n d e d . T h e y wish to s p e a k of their w i s h e s a n d d e t e r m i n a t i o n in that respect t h e m s e l v e s , a n d to b e heard by t h e representatives of the United S t a t e s ; they wish t h e m to b e c o n v i n c e d , that, to know their feelings a n d interests, is to know that they ardently desire to r e m a i n in p e a c e a n d q u i e t u d e u p o n their a n c i e n t territory, a n d to enjoy the c o m f o r t s a n d advantages of civilization; that t h e great m a s s of o u r citizens are o p p o s e d to removal, (as h a s b e e n plainly d e m o n s t r a t e d by the offers a n d i n d u c e m e n t s lately held out to t h e m ) a n d that it is not t h e fear of chiefs that h a s forced u p o n t h e m their d e t e r m i n a t i o n to r e m a i n ; b u t that it h a s b e e n p r o d u c e d by c a u s e s n o less t h a n convincing e v i d e n c e , that their only a n d best h o p e s of preservation a n d a d v a n c e m e n t in moral a n d civil i m p r o v e m e n t is to r e m a i n vyhere their G r e a t F a t h e r a l o n e p l a c e d t h e m . T h e r e they wish to p u r s u e 1. Refers to the introduction of the Removal Bill into the House and Senate and to Georgia's passage of legislation that would bring any Cherokee

who remained in Georgia under Georgia's laws, a situation that would effectively destroy Cherokee sovereignty as a nation.

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a g r i c u l t u r e , a n d to e d u c a t e their s o n s a n d d a u g h t e r s in the s c i e n c e s a n d k n o w l e d g e of things which pertain to their future h a p p i n e s s . With t h e s e r e m a r k s , we s u b m i t the m e m o r i a l s for the c o n s i d e r a t i o n of C o n g r e s s , h u m b l y h o p i n g that the g r i e v a n c e s of our nation will be h e a r d , a n d duly c o n s i d e r e d .

[ M e m o r i a l of t h e C h e r o k e e C o u n c i l , N o v e m b e r 5 , 1 8 2 9 ] T o the Honorable Senate and Hoiise of Representatives of the States of America in Congress assembled:

United

W e , the representatives of the p e o p l e of the C h e r o k e e nation, in general c o u n c i l c o n v e n e d , c o m p e l l e d by a s e n s e of duty we o w e to ourselves a n d nation, a n d confiding in the j u s t i c e of your h o n o r a b l e b o d i e s , a d d r e s s a n d m a k e known to you the g r i e v a n c e s which disturb the quiet r e p o s e a n d harm o n y of our citizens, a n d the d a n g e r s by which we a r e s u r r o u n d e d . Extraordinary a s this c o u r s e may a p p e a r to you, the c i r c u m s t a n c e s that have i m p o s e d u p o n us this duty we d e e m sufficient to justify the m e a s u r e ; a n d our safety a s individuals, a n d a s a n a t i o n , require that we s h o u l d b e h e a r d by the i m m e diate r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s of the p e o p l e of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , w h o s e h u m a n i t y a n d m a g n a n i m i t y , by p e r m i s s i o n a n d will of H e a v e n , may yet p r e s e r v e u s from ruin a n d extinction.
United States was simply owing to the generosity and goodwill of the federal government and the states in question.

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s p o k e the l a n g u a g e of friendship, a n d they replied in t h e voice of i n d e p e n d e n c e , a n d frequently a s s i s t e d her a s allies, at their c h o i c e to fight her e n e m i e s in their own way a n d discipline, s u b j e c t to the control of their o w n chiefs, a n d u n a c c o u n t a b l e to E u r o p e a n officers a n d military law. S u c h w a s the c o n n e x i o n of this nation to G r e a t Britain, to wit, that of friendship, a n d not a l l e g i a n c e , to the period of the d e c l a r a t i o n of I n d e p e n d e n c e by the U n i t e d S t a t e s , a n d d u r i n g the Revolutionary c o n t e s t , d o w n to the treaty of p e a c e b e t w e e n the U n i t e d S t a t e s a n d G r e a t Britain, forty-six years a g o , w h e n s h e a b a n d o n e d all h o p e s of c o n q u e s t , a n d at the s a m e time a b a n d o n e d her C h e r o k e e allies to the difficulties in which they h a d b e e n involved, either to c o n t i n u e the war, or p r o c u r e p e a c e on the best t e r m s they c o u l d , a n d c l o s e the s c e n e s of c a r n a g e a n d blood, that h a d s o long b e e n w i t n e s s e d a n d experienced by both parties. P e a c e w a s at last c o n c l u d e d at H o p e w e l l , in ' 8 5 , u n d e r the a d m i n i s t r a t i o n of W a s h i n g t o n , by " t h e C o m m i s s i o n e r s , Plenipotentiaries of the U n i t e d S t a t e s in C o n g r e s s a s s e m b l e d " ; a n d the C h e r o k e e s were received "into the favor a n d protection of the U n i t e d S t a t e s of America. "J_t r e m a i n s to be proved, u n d e r a view of all t h e s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s , a n d the knowledge we have of history, how o u r right to s e l f - g o v e r n m e n t w a s affected a n d destroyed by the D e c l a r a t i o n of I n d e p e n d e n c e , w h i c h never noticed the s u b j e c t of C h e r o k e e sovereignty; a n d the treaty of p e a c e , in ' 8 3 , b e t w e e n G r e a t Britain a n d the U n i t e d S t a t e s , to which the C h e r o k e e s were not a party; but m a i n t a i n e d hostilities on their part to the treaty of H o p e well, afterwards c o n c l u d e d . If, a s it is stated by t h e H o n . S e c r e t a r y of W a r , that t h e C h e r o k e e s were m e r e t e n a n t s at will, 2 a n d only p e r m i t t e d to enjoy p o s s e s s i o n of the soil to p u r s u e g a m e ; a n d if the S t a t e s of N o r t h C a r o l i n a a n d G e o r g i a were sovereigns in truth a n d in right over u s ; why did P r e s i d e n t W a s h i n g t o n s e n d " C o m m i s s i o n e r s P l e n i p o t e n t i a r i e s " to treat with the s u b j e c t s of t h o s e S t a t e s ? W h y did they p erm i t the chiefs a n d warriors to enter into treaty, w h e n , if they were s u b j e c t s , they h a d grossly rebelled a n d revolted from their a l l e g i a n c e ? A n d why did not t h o s e s o v e r e i g n s m a k e their lives pay the forfeit of their guilt, a g r e e a b l y to the laws of said S t a t e s ? T h e a n s w e r m u s t b e p l a i n — t h e y were not s u b j e c t s , but a distinct n a t i o n , a n d in that light viewed by W a s h i n g t o n , a n d by all t h e p e o p l e of the U n i o n , at that period. In the first a n d s e c o n d articles of the H o p e w e l l treaty, a n d the third article of the H o l s t o n treaty,' the U n i t e d S t a t e s a n d the C h e r o k e e nation were b o u n d to a m u t u a l e x c h a n g e of p r i s o n e r s taken d u r i n g the war; w h i c h incontrovertibly proves the p o s s e s s i o n of sovereignty by both c o n t r a c t i n g parties. It o u g h t to be r e m e m b e r e d too, in the c o n c l u s i o n s of the treaties to which we have referred, a n d m o s t of the treaties s u b s i s t i n g b e t w e e n the

2. I.e., the will of the states and the federal government "to allow" the Cherokee to live on their own ancestral lands. These lands c a m e into the possession of the United States as a result of the Declaration of Independence and victory in the Revolutionary War. T h e Treaty of Hopewell, signed November 2 8 . 1785, was the first treaty between the Cherokee and the United States enacted after the Revolutionary War. It established the boundaries of Cherokee lands and was negotiated as an agreement between two sovereign nations. T h e Cherokee refer to the treaty to show that they were formerly recognized as an independent nation and should still be treated as such.

This argument remains in force today. 3. Signed July 2, 1 7 9 1 , this treaty gave the federal government (not the states) exclusive right to regulate all citizens' trade with the Cherokee and redrew the boundaries, much encroached on by the settlers, of Cherokee lands. It also affirmed "Perpetual peace between the United States and the Cherokee Nation," and forbade non-Cherokee persons from hunting on or traversing Cherokee lands without a passport issued by the federal government. T h e Cherokee cite this as further evidence of their having been treated as a sovereign nation in the past.

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U n i t e d S t a t e s a n d this n a t i o n , that the p h r a s e o l o g y , c o m p o s i t i o n , e t c . w a s always written by the C o m m i s s i o n e r s , o n the part of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , for o b v i o u s r e a s o n s : a s the C h e r o k e e s were u n a c q u a i n t e d with letters. A g a i n , in the H o l s t o n treaty, eleventh article, the following r e m a r k a b l e e v i d e n c e is c o n t a i n e d that our nation is not u n d e r the j u r i s d i c t i o n of any S t a t e : "If any citizen or i n h a b i t a n t of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , or of either of the territorial districts of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , shall go into any town, s e t t l e m e n t , or territory, b e l o n g i n g to the C h e r o k e e s , a n d shall there c o m m i t any c r i m e u p o n , or t r e s p a s s a g a i n s t , the p e r s o n or property of any p e a c e a b l e a n d friendly Indian or I n d i a n s , w h i c h , if committed within the jurisdiction of any State, or within the jurisdiction of either of the said districts, a g a i n s t a citizen or any white inhabitant thereof, w o u l d be p u n i s h a b l e by the laws of s u c h S t a t e or district, s u c h offender or offenders shall b e p r o c e e d e d a g a i n s t in the s a m e m a n n e r a s if the o f f e n c e h a d b e e n c o m m i t t e d within the jurisdiction of the State or district to w h i c h h e or they m a y b e l o n g , a g a i n s t a citizen or white inhabitant thereof." T h e p o w e r of a S t a t e m a y p u t our national e x i s t e n c e u n d e r its feet, a n d c o e r c e u s into her j u r i s d i c t i o n ; b u t it w o u l d b e contrary to legal right, a n d the plighted faith of the U n i t e d S t a t e s ' G o v e r n m e n t . It is said by G e o r g i a a n d the H o n o r a b l e S e c r e t a r y of W a r , that o n e sovereignty c a n n o t exist within a n o t h e r , a n d , therefore, we m u s t yield to the stronger power; b u t is not this d o c t r i n e favorable to our G o v e r n m e n t , which d o e s not interfere with that of any other? O u r sovereignty a n d right of e n f o r c i n g legal e n a c t m e n t s , extend n o further than o u r territorial limits, a n d that of G e o r gia is, a n d h a s always t e r m i n a t e d at, her limits. T h e c o n s t i t u t i o n of the U n i t e d S t a t e s (article 6 ) c o n t a i n s t h e s e w o r d s : "All treaties m a d e u n d e r the authority of the U n i t e d S t a t e s shall b e the s u p r e m e law of the l a n d , a n d the j u d g e s in every S t a t e shall be b o u n d thereby, a n y thing in the laws or constitution of any S t a t e to the contrary n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g . " T h e s a c r e d n e s s of treaties, m a d e u n d e r the authority of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , is p a r a m o u n t a n d s u p r e m e , stronger t h a n the laws a n d c o n s t i t u t i o n of any S t a t e . T h e j u r i s d i c tion, t h e n , of our n a t i o n over its soil is settled by the laws, treaties, a n d c o n stitution of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , a n d h a s b e e n exercised from time o u t of memory. _jGeorgia h a s o b j e c t e d to the a d o p t i o n , o n our part, of a c o n s t i t u t i o n a l form of g o v e r n m e n t , a n d which h a s in n o wise violated the i n t e r c o u r s e a n d c o n nexion w h i c h bind u s to the U n i t e d S t a t e s , its c o n s t i t u t i o n , a n d the treaties t h e r e u p o n f o u n d e d , a n d in e x i s t e n c e b e t w e e n u s . A s a distinct n a t i o n , notw i t h s t a n d i n g any u n p l e a s a n t feelings it might have c r e a t e d to a n e i g h b o r i n g S t a t e , we h a d a right to improve our G o v e r n m e n t , s u i t a b l e to the m o r a l , civil, a n d intellectual a d v a n c e m e n t of our p e o p l e ; a n d h a d w e a n t i c i p a t e d any notice of it, it w a s the voice of e n c o u r a g e m e n t by a n a p p r o v i n g world. W e w o u l d , a l s o , while o n this s u b j e c t , refer your attention to the m e m o r i a l a n d p r o t e s t s u b m i t t e d b e f o r e your h o n o r a b l e b o d i e s , d u r i n g the last s e s s i o n o f C o n g r e s s , by our d e l e g a t i o n then at W a s h i n g t o n . P e r m i t u s , a l s o , to m a k e known to you the aggrieved a n d u n p l e a s a n t situ a t i o n u n d e r which w e are p l a c e d by the c l a i m which G e o r g i a h a s set u p to a large portion of o u r territory, u n d e r the treaty of the I n d i a n S p r i n g s c o n c l u d e d with the late G e n e r a l M ' I n t o s h 4 a n d his party; a n d w h i c h w a s d e c l a r e d 4. General William Mcintosh was a Creek Indian leader who signed the Treaty of Indian Springs on February 12, 1785. T h e treaty ceded Creek lands

to the state of Georgia and agreed to the removal of the Creek to west of the Mississippi. Rut the Creek had earlier denied Mcintosh's right to act

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void, a n d of no effect, by a s u b s e q u e n t treaty b e t w e e n the C r e e k N a t i o n a n d the U n i t e d S t a t e s , at W a s h i n g t o n City. T h e P r e s i d e n t of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , through the S e c r e t a r y of W a r , a s s u r e d our d e l e g a t i o n , that, s o far a s h e u n d e r s t o o d the C h e r o k e e s h a d rights, protection s h o u l d b e afforded; a n d , r e s p e c t i n g the intrusions on our l a n d s , he h a d b e e n a d v i s e d , " a n d instructions h a d b e e n forwarded to the agent of the C h e r o k e e s , directing him to c a u s e their removal; a n d earnestly h o p e d , that, on this m a t t e r , all c a u s e for future c o m p l a i n t w o u l d c e a s e , a n d the order prove e f f e c t u a l . " In c o n s e q u e n c e of the agent's neglecting to c o m p l y with the i n s t r u c t i o n s , a n d a s u s p e n s i o n of the order m a d e by the S e c r e t a r y afterwards, our b o r d e r citizens are at this time p l a c e d u n d e r the m o s t u n f o r t u n a t e c i r c u m s t a n c e s , by the intrusions of citizens of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , a n d w h i c h are a l m o s t daily i n c r e a s i n g , in c o n s e q u e n c e of the s u s p e n s i o n of the o n c e c o n t e m p l a t e d "effectual o r d e r . " M a n y of our p e o p l e a r e e x p e r i e n c i n g all the evils of personal insult, a n d , in s o m e i n s t a n c e s , expulsion from their h o m e s , a n d loss of property, from the u n r e s t r a i n e d intruders let l o o s e u p o n u s , a n d the e n c o u r a g e m e n t they a r e allowed to enjoy, u n d e r the last order to the a g e n t for this nation, which a m o u n t s to a s u s p e n s i o n of the force of treaties, a n d the w h o l e s o m e operation of the i n t e r c o u r s e l a w s 5 of the U n i t e d S t a t e s . T h e r e a s o n alleged by the W a r D e p a r t m e n t for this s u s p e n s i o n is, that it h a d b e e n r e q u e s t e d so to d o , until the claim the S t a t e of G e o r g i a h a s m a d e to a portion of the C h e r o k e e country be d e t e r m i n e d ; a n d the intruders are to remain u n m o l e s t e d within the border limits of this n a t i o n . W e b e g leave to protest a g a i n s t this u n p r e c e d e n t e d p r o c e d u r e . If the S t a t e of G e o r g i a h a s a claim to any portion of our l a n d s , a n d is entitled by law a n d j u s t i c e to t h e m , let her s e e k through a legal c h a n n e l to establish it; a n d we do h o p e that the U n i t e d S t a t e s will not suffer her to take p o s s e s s i o n of t h e m forcibly, a n d investigate her claim afterwards. _Arguments to effect the emigration of our p e o p l e , a n d to e s c a p e the troubles a n d d i s q u i e t u d e s incident to a r e s i d e n c e c o n t i g u o u s to the whites, have b e e n u r g e d u p o n u s , a n d the a r m of protection h a s b e e n withheld, that we may e x p e r i e n c e still d e e p e r a n d a m p l e r proofs of the c o r r e c t n e s s of the d o c trine; but we still a d h e r e to w h a t is right a n d a g r e e a b l e to o u r s e l v e s ; a n d our a t t a c h m e n t to the soil of our a n c e s t o r s is too s t r o n g to b e s h a k e n . W e have b e e n invited to a retrospective view of the p a s t history of I n d i a n s , w h o have m e l t e d away before the light of civilization, a n d the m o u n t a i n s of difficulties that have o p p o s e d our r a c e in their a d v a n c e m e n t in civilized life. W e have d o n e s o ; a n d , while we d e p l o r e the fate of t h o u s a n d s of our c o m p l e x i o n a n d kind, we rejoice that our nation s t a n d s a n d grows a lasting m o n u m e n t of G o d ' s mercy, a n d a d u r a b l e c o n t r a d i c t i o n to the m i s c o n c e i v e d o p i n i o n that the aborigines are i n c a p a b l e of civilization. T h e o p p o s i n g m o u n t a i n s , that c a s t fearful s h a d o w s in the r o a d of C h e r o k e e i m p r o v e m e n t , have disp e r s e d into vernal c l o u d s ; a n d our p e o p l e s t a n d a d o r n e d with the flowers of a c h i e v e m e n t flourishing a r o u n d t h e m , a n d a r e e n c o u r a g e d to s e c u r e the a t t a i n m e n t of all that is useful in s c i e n c e a n d C h r i s t i a n k n o w l e d g e . U n d e r the fostering c a r e of the U n i t e d S t a t e s we have t h u s p r o s p e r e d ; a n d shall we expect a p p r o b a t i o n , or shall we sink u n d e r the d i s p l e a s u r e a n d rebukes of our e n e m i e s ? on their behalf and did not honor the treaty- Mclntosh was assassinated, and J o h n Ridge and David Vann were engaged to negotiate a new treaty, the

" s u b s e q u e n t treaty" referred to below, 5. Laws regulating trade.

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r W e now look with earnest expectation to your h o n o r a b l e b o d i e s for r e d r e s s , a n d that our national existence m a y not be e x t i n g u i s h e d before a p r o m p t a n d effectual interposition is afforded in o u r behalf. T h e faith of your G o v e r n m e n t is solemnly p l e d g e d for o u r protection a g a i n s t all illegal o p p r e s s i o n s , so long a s we r e m a i n firm to o u r treaties; a n d that we have, for a long series of years, proved to be true a n d loyal friends, the known history of p a s t events a b u n d a n t l y proves. Your C h i e f M a g i s t r a t e h i m s e l f 6 h a s b o r n e testimony of our d e v o t e d n e s s in s u p p o r t i n g the c a u s e of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , d u r i n g their late conflict with a foreign foe. It is with r e l u c t a n t a n d painful feelings that c i r c u m s t a n c e s have at length c o m p e l l e d u s to s e e k from you the p r o m i s e d protection, for the preservation of our rights a n d privileges. T h i s resort to u s is a last o n e , a n d n o t h i n g short of the t h r e a t e n i n g evils a n d d a n g e r s that b e s e t u s c o u l d have forced it u p o n the nation b u t it is a right we surely have, a n d in which we c a n n o t be m i s t a k e n — t h a t of a p p e a l i n g for j u s t i c e a n d h u m a n i t y to the U n i t e d S t a t e s , u n d e r w h o s e kind a n d fostering c a r e we have b e e n led to the p r e s e n t d e g r e e of civilization, a n d the e n j o y m e n t of its c o n s e q u e n t b l e s s i n g s . H a v i n g said t h u s m u c h , with p a t i e n c e we shall await the final i s s u e of your wise d e l i b e r a t i o n s .

[Memorial of the C h e r o k e e Citizens, D e c e m b e r 18, 1 8 2 9 ] T o the Honorable Senate and House of Representatives of the States of America in Congress assembled:

United

T h e u n d e r s i g n e d m e m o r i a l i s t s h u m b l y m a k e known to your h o n o r a b l e b o d i e s , that they are free citizens of the C h e r o k e e n a t i o n . C i r c u m s t a n c e s of late o c c u r r e n c e have troubled our h e a r t s , a n d i n d u c e d u s at this time to a p p e a l to you, knowing that you are g e n e r o u s a n d j u s t . As w e a k a n d p o o r children are a c c u s t o m e d to look to their g u a r d i a n s a n d p a t r o n s for p r o t e c tion, so we w o u l d c o m e a n d m a k e our g r i e v a n c e s k n o w n . Will you listen to u s ? Will you have pity u p o n u s ? You are great a n d r e n o w n e d — t h e nation which you represent is like a mighty m a n w h o s t a n d s in his s t r e n g t h . B u t we are s m a l l — o u r n a m e is not r e n o w n e d . You are wealthy, a n d have n e e d of nothing; but we are p o o r in life, a n d have not the a r m a n d p o w e r of the rich. By the will of our F a t h e r in H e a v e n , the G o v e r n o r of the w h o l e world, the red m a n of A m e r i c a h a s b e c o m e s m a l l , a n d the white m a n great a n d r e n o w n e d . W h e n the a n c e s t o r s of the p e o p l e of t h e s e U n i t e d S t a t e s first c a m e to the s h o r e s of A m e r i c a , they f o u n d the red m a n s t r o n g — t h o u g h h e was ignorant a n d s a v a g e , yet he received t h e m kindly, a n d gave t h e m dry land to rest their weary feet. T h e y m e t in p e a c e , a n d s h o o k h a n d s in token of friendship. W h a t e v e r the white m a n w a n t e d a n d a s k e d of the Indian, the latter willingly gave. At that time the Indian w a s the lord, a n d the white m a n the s u p p l i a n t . B u t now the s c e n e has c h a n g e d . T h e s t r e n g t h of the red m a n has b e c o m e w e a k n e s s . As his n e i g h b o r s i n c r e a s e d in n u m b e r s , his p o w e r b e c a m e less a n d l e s s , a n d now, of the m a n y a n d powerful tribes w h o o n c e covered t h e s e U n i t e d S t a t e s , only a few are to be s e e n — a few w h o m a s w e e p ing p e s t i l e n c e 1 h a s left. T h e N o r t h e r n tribes, w h o were o n c e s o n u m e r o u s 6. John Marshall, chief justice of the S u p r e m e Court. 1. This pestilence is both literal and figurative.

Native populations were severely diminished by exposure to diseases to which the Europeans had developed immunities. T h e figurative reference is

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and powerful, a r e now nearly extinct. T h u s it has h a p p e n e d to the red m a n of A m e r i c a . Shall w e , who are r e m n a n t s , s h a r e the s a m e fate? B r o t h e r s — w e a d d r e s s you a c c o r d i n g to u s a g e a d o p t e d by our forefathers, a n d the great a n d good m e n who have successfully directed the C o u n c i l s of the nation you r e p r e s e n t . W e now m a k e known to you our g r i e v a n c e s . W e are troubled by s o m e of your own p e o p l e . O u r neighbor, the S t a t e of G e o r g i a , is p r e s s i n g hard u p o n u s , a n d urging u s to relinquish our p o s s e s s i o n s for her benefit. W e a r e told, if we d o not leave the country which we dearly love, a n d betake ourselves to the W e s t e r n wilds, the laws of the S t a t e will be extended over u s , a n d the t i m e , 1st of J u n e , 1 8 3 0 , is a p p o i n t e d for the execution of the edict. W h e n we first heard of this, we were grieved, a n d a p p e a l e d to our father the P r e s i d e n t , a n d b e g g e d that protection might b e extended over u s . B u t we were doubly grieved w h e n we u n d e r s t o o d from a letter of the S e c r e t a r y of W a r to our D e l e g a t i o n , d a t e d M a r c h of the p r e s e n t year, that our father the P r e s i d e n t h a d refused u s p r o t e c t i o n , a n d that h e had d e c i d e d in favor of the extension of the laws of the S t a t e over u s . T h i s decision i n d u c e s u s to a p p e a l to the i m m e d i a t e R e p r e s e n t a t i v e s of the American p e o p l e . W e love, we dearly love our country, a n d it is d u e to your h o n orable b o d i e s , a s well as to u s , to m a k e known why we think the country is o u r s , a n d why we wish to remain in p e a c e w h e r e we a r e . T h e land on which we s t a n d we have received as an i n h e r i t a n c e from our fathers, who p o s s e s s e d it from time i m m e m o r i a l , as a gift from our c o m m o n F a t h e r in H e a v e n . W e have already said, that, w h e n the white m a n c a m e to the s h o r e s of A m e r i c a , our a n c e s t o r s were f o u n d in p e a c e a b l e p o s s e s s i o n of this very land. T h e y b e q u e a t h e d it to u s a s their children, a n d we have sacredly kept it, a s c o n t a i n i n g the r e m a i n s of our beloved m e n . T h i s right of inheritance we have never ceded, nor ever forfeited. Permit u s to ask, w h a t better right can the p e o p l e have to a country, than the right of inheritance a n d immemorial peaceable possession? W e know it is said of late by the S t a t e of G e o r g i a , a n d by the Executive of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , that we have forfeited this r i g h t — b u t we think this is said gratuitously. At what t i m e have we m a d e the forfeit? W h a t great c r i m e have we c o m m i t t e d , whereby we m u s t forever be divested of our country a n d rights? W a s it w h e n we were hostile to the U n i t e d S t a t e s , a n d took part with the King of G r e a t Britain, d u r i n g the struggle for I n d e p e n d e n c e ? If s o , why w a s not this forfeiture d e c l a r e d in the first treaty of p e a c e b e t w e e n the U n i t e d S t a t e s a n d our beloved m e n ? W h y w a s not s u c h an article a s the following inserted in the treaty: " T h e U n i t e d S t a t e s give p e a c e to the C h e r o k e e s , b u t , for the part they took in the late war, d e c l a r e t h e m to be but t e n a n t s at will, to be r e m o v e d , when the c o n v e n i e n c e of the S t a t e s within w h o s e c h a r t e r e d limits they live, shall require it." T h a t w a s the p r o p e r time to a s s u m e s u c h a p o s s e s s i o n . B u t it w a s not t h o u g h t of, nor would our forefathers have a g r e e d to any treaty, w h o s e t e n d e n c y w a s to deprive t h e m of their rights a n d their country. All that they have c o n c e d e d a n d relinquished are inserted in the treaties, o p e n to the investigation of all p e o p l e . W e would repeat, then, the right of i n h e r i t a n c e a n d p e a c e a b l e p o s s e s s i o n which we c l a i m , we have never c e d e d nor forfeited. In addition to that first of all rights, the right of i n h e r i t a n c e a n d p e a c e a b l e to the equally devastating effects of conflict with settlers who persistently ventured onto Indian

lands, taking the law into their own hands, and rarely answering to any governmental authority.

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p o s s e s s i o n , we have the faith a n d p l e d g e of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , r e p e a t e d over a n d over a g a i n , in treaties m a d e at various times. By t h e s e treaties, our rights a s a s e p a r a t e p e o p l e are distinctly a c k n o w l e d g e d , a n d g u a r a n t i e s given that they shall be s e c u r e d a n d p r o t e c t e d . S o we have always u n d e r s t o o d the treaties. T h e c o n d u c t of the G o v e r n m e n t towards u s from its organization until very lately, the talks given to our beloved m e n by the P r e s i d e n t s of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , a n d the s p e e c h e s of the A g e n t s a n d C o m m i s s i o n e r s , all c o n c u r to s h o w that w e a r e not m i s t a k e n in our interpretation. S o m e of our beloved m e n who s i g n e d the treaties a r e still living, a n d their t e s t i m o n y t e n d s to the s a m e c o n c l u s i o n . W e have always s u p p o s e d that this u n d e r s t a n d i n g of the treaties was in c o n c o r d a n c e with the views of the G o v e r n m e n t , nor have w e ever i m a g i n e d that any body would interpret t h e m o t h e r w i s e . In what light shall we view the c o n d u c t of the U n i t e d S t a t e s a n d G e o r g i a , in their interc o u r s e with u s , in urging u s to enter into treaties, a n d c e d e l a n d s ? If we were but t e n a n t s at will, why w a s it n e c e s s a r y that our c o n s e n t m u s t first b e o b t a i n e d , before t h e s e G o v e r n m e n t s c o u l d take lawful p o s s e s s i o n of our l a n d s ? T h e a n s w e r is o b v i o u s . T h e s e G o v e r n m e n t s perfectly u n d e r s t o o d our r i g h t s — o u r right to the country, a n d o u r right to self G o v e r n m e n t . O u r u n d e r s t a n d i n g of the treaties is further s u p p o r t e d by the i n t e r c o u r s e law of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , which prohibits all e n c r o a c h m e n t s u p o n o u r territory. T h e u n d e r s i g n e d m e m o r i a l i s t s h u m b l y r e p r e s e n t , that if their interpretation of the treaties has b e e n different from that of the G o v e r n m e n t , then they have ever b e e n d e c e i v e d as to how the G o v e r n m e n t r e g a r d e d t h e m , a n d what s h e has a s k e d a n d p r o m i s e d . M o r e o v e r , they have uniformly m i s u n d e r s t o o d their own a c t s . In view of the strong g r o u n d u p o n which their rights are f o u n d e d , your m e m o r i a l i s t s solemnly protest a g a i n s t b e i n g c o n s i d e r e d a s t e n a n t s at will, or a s m e r e o c c u p a n t s of the soil, without p o s s e s s i n g the sovereignty. W e have already s t a t e d to your h o n o r a b l e b o d i e s , that our forefathers were f o u n d in p o s s e s s i o n of this soil in full sovereignty, by the first E u r o p e a n settlers; a n d as we have never c e d e d nor forfeited the o c c u p a n c y of the soil, a n d the sovereignty over it, we do s o l e m n l y p r o t e s t a g a i n s t b e i n g forced to leave it, either by direct or indirect m e a s u r e s . T o the land, of w h i c h we a r e now in p o s s e s s i o n , we are a t t a c h e d . J l is our fathers' gift; it c o n t a i n s their a s h e s ; it is the land of our nativity, a n d the land of our intellectual birth. W e c a n n o t c o n s e n t to a b a n d o n it for a n o t h e r far inferior, a n d which holds o u t to u s n o i n d u c e m e n t s . W e do m o r e o v e r p r o t e s t a g a i n s t the arbitrary m e a s u r e s of our neighbor, the S t a t e of G e o r g i a , in her a t t e m p t to extend her laws over u s , in surveying our l a n d s without our c o n s e n t , a n d in direct o p p o s i t i o n to the treaties a n d the i n t e r c o u r s e law of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , a n d interfering with our m u n i c i p a l r e g u l a t i o n s in s u c h a m a n n e r a s to d e r a n g e the regular operation of our own laws. T o deliver a n d p r o t e c t t h e m from all t h e s e a n d every e n c r o a c h m e n t u p o n their rights, the u n d e r s i g n e d m e m o r i a l i s t s do m o s t earnestly pray your h o n o r a b l e b o d i e s . T h e i r e x i s t e n c e a n d future h a p p i n e s s are at s t a k e . Divest t h e m of their liberty a n d country, a n d you sink t h e m in d e g r a d a t i o n , a n d p u t a c h e c k , if not a final s t o p , to their p r e s e n t p r o g r e s s in the arts of civilized life, a n d in the k n o w l e d g e of the C h r i s t i a n religion. Y o u r m e m o r i a l i s t s h u m b l y c o n c e i v e , that s u c h a n act w o u l d be in the highest d e g r e e o p p r e s s i v e . F r o m the p e o p l e of t h e s e U n i t e d S t a t e s , w h o , p e r h a p s , of all m e n u n d e r h e a v e n , are the m o s t religious a n d free, it c a n n o t b e e x p e c t e d . Your m e m o r i a l i s t s , therefore, c a n n o t a n t i c i p a t e s u c h a result. You represent

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a virtuous, intelligent, a n d C h r i s t i a n nation. T o you they willingly s u b m i t their c a u s e for your righteous decision.

NATHANIEL

HAWTHORNE

1804-1864 Nathaniel Hawthorne was born on Independence Day, 1804, in Salem, Massachusetts, a descendant of Puritan immigrants; one ancestor had been a judge in the Salem witchcraft trials. The family, like the seaport town, was on the decline. When his seacaptain father died in Dutch Guiana in 1808, his mother's brothers took responsibility for his education. In his early teens he lived three years as free as "a bird of the air" at Sebago Lake, in Maine (then still a part of Massachusetts), acquiring a love of tramping, which he always kept. By his mid-teens he was reading eighteenth-century novelists like Henry Fielding, Tobias Smollett, and Horace Walpole as well as contemporary writers like William Godwin and Sir Walter Scott and forming an ambition to be a writer himself. At Bowdoin College shyness caused him to try to evade the obligatory public declamations, but in social clubs he formed smoking, card-playing, and drinking friendships; two fellow members of the Democratic literary society, Horatio Bridge and Franklin Pierce, later president, became lifelong friends; Longfellow, another classmate, belonged to the rival Federalist society. Hawthorne kept outdoors a good deal at the bucolic college but managed, as he later said, to read "desultorily right and left." At the graduation ceremonies in 1825, Longfellow spoke optimistically on the possibility that "Our Native Writers" could achieve lasting fame. Hawthorne went home to Salem and became a writer, but he was agonizingly s I o w t o winning acclaim. Hawthorne's years between 1825 and 1837 have fascinated his biographers and critics. Hawthorne himself took pains to propagate the notion that he had lived as a hermit who left his upstairs room only for nighttime walks and hardly communicated even with his mother and sisters. In fact, Hawthorne had dedicated himself to writing and was steeping himself in colonial history more than the political issues of his time; he socialized in Salem, had several more or less serious flirtations, keptiin touch with Pierce and Bridge, among others, and spent most of the summers knocking about all over New England (an uncle owned stage lines). He even got as far ks Detroit one year. Often called his apprenticeship, these dozen years in fact encompassed as well his period of most intense creativity. The first surviving piece of his ti"ue apprenticework is the historical novel Fanshawe, which Hawthorne paid to hA'e published in 1828 and then quickly suppressed. M Over the next several years Hawthorne tried unsuccessfully to fiJB a publisher for collections of the tales he was writing. In chagrin he burned Seven Wiles of My Native Land (including one or two stories of witchcraft) although at leas«j|one of the seven, "Alice Doane's Appeal," survives in an altered form. By 1829 h e » v a s negotiating— again fruitlessly—for the publication of a volume called Prov-icial Tales, which included "The Gentle Boy" as well, apparently, as "Roger Malvi J Burial" and "My Kinsman, Major Molineux." In tales like these he had found ff^lspecial—though highly unsatisfactory—outlets for publication: magazines and the literary annuals that were issued each fall as genteel Christmas gifts. For his tales Hawthorne got a few dollars each and no fame at all, since publication in the annuals was anonymous. He continued to strive to interest a bookseller in his tales, offering what c o u \ d have been a remarkable volume called The Story Teller, in which the title characterVwandered

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about New England telling his stories in dramatic settings and circumstances. One story, "Mr. Higginbotham's Catastrophe," reached print in its narrative frame, but the editor of the New-England Magazine scrapped the frame for "Young Goodman Brown" and others that are now known as isolated items instead of interrelated elements in a larger whole. The biographer Randall Stewart plausibly suggests that "The Story Teller would have united in one work Hawthorne's imaginative and reportorial faculties as none of his published writings quite do." In 1836 Hawthorne turned to literary hackwork, making an encyclopedia for the Boston publisher Samuel G. Goodrich, whose annual, The Token, had become the regular market for his tales. In the same year Bridge secretly persuaded Goodrich to publish a collection of Hawthorne's tales by promising to repay any losses. Twice-Told Tales appeared in March 1837, with Hawthorne's name on the title page; the title was a self-deprecating allusion to Shakespeare's King John 3.4: "Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale / Vexing the dull eare of a drowsie man." The book was reviewed in England as well as the United States and opened up what Hawthorne called "an intercourse with the world." A notebook entry written sometime in 1836 was only a little premature: "In this dismal and sordid chamber FAME was won." The year 1837 was the start of Hawthorne's public literary career; it also marked the end of his single-minded dedication to his work. In the fall of 1838 Elizabeth Peabody, a Salemite who was to become a major force in American educational reform, sought out the new local celebrity. When Hawthorne met her sister Sophia, twenty-nine and an invalid, his life abruptly changed course. Within a few months he and Sophia were engaged. To save money for marriage, Hawthorne worked as salt and coal measurer in the Boston Custom House during 1839 and 1840, then the next year invested in the U t o p i a n community Brook Farm, more as a business venture than as a philosophical gesture; the only return, however, was the locale he later used for T r i ^ Blithedale Romance (1852). During his engagement, Hawthorne's main literary productions were letters to Sophia—full of ironical self-deprecation, satirical reportage, and romantic effusions. In December 1841, he wrote Evert A. Duyckinck and Corntelius Mathews, New York magazine editors, that his early stories had grown out of quiltude and seclusion, the lack of which would probably prevent him from writing anv more. Marriage, not literature, became Hawthorne's new career long before the Actual ceremony in July 1842. As he rather severely put it, "When a man has taken uipon himself to beget children, he has no longer any right to a life of his own." k The first three years of marriage, spent at the Old Manse in Concord, the home of Emerson's ancestors, seemed idyllic to the Hawthornes, but a hoped-for novel never materialized.\By now comfortably familiar with accounts of the Puritan and Revolutionary past, f i e wrote a child's history of colonial and revolutionary New England, Grandfather's V2hair (1841), and four years later produced a rewriting of Bridge's fournal of an i\frican Cruiser. Mosses from an Old Manse (1846) consisted mainly of new tales, but a m o n g the early ones first collected in it were "Roger Malvin's Burial" and "Young Go J d m a n Brown." His literary earnings were not rising, but his reputation was, partly through his own shrewd creation of a marketable public persona. In the 1851 edition of Wkvice-Told Tales, Hawthorne observed that the author, "on the internal evidence of S% sketches, came to be regarded as a mild, shy, gentle, melancholic, exceedingly sensAXve, and not very forcible man, hiding his blushes under an assumed name, the q u a i n S e s s of which was supposed, somehow or other, to symbolize his personal and literjrry traits." While summarizing the image critics had conceived of him, he helped fit ;»at image for a century and more as the Hawthorne. Through long i j ^ i c e to the local Democrats, Hawthorne was named surveyor of the Port of Salefm in 1846. The office was something of a sinecure, but his forenoons—alwayy his most productive hours—had to be spent at the Custom House, and he wrote^little. Hawthorne was thrown out of office by the new Whig administration in ] u m \ e 1849, amid a furious controversy in the newspapers. He then spent a

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summer of "great diversity and severity" of emotion climaxed by his mother's death. In September he was at work on The Scarlet Letter, which he planned as a long tale to make up half a volume called Old Time Legends;

together

with Sketches,

Experi-

mental and Ideal. Besides the long introduction, "The Custom House," which was Hawthorne's means of revenging himself on the Salem Whigs who had ousted him, he planned to include some still-uncollected tales. James Fields, the young associate of the publisher William D. Ticknor, persuaded him that a long piece of fiction would sell better than another collection of stories, and Hawthorne obligingly omitted the stories. (Fields was the source of a false story that he also persuaded Hawthorne to expand The Scarlet Letter from a story to a novel.) Although it was frequently denounced as licentious or morbid, The Scarlet Letter (1850) was nevertheless a literary sensation in the United States and Great Britain, and Hawthorne was proclaimed as the finest American romancer. There had already been many novels set in Puritan New England, and many more followed, but The Scarlet Letter remains the single classic of the group, appealing to tastes of changing generations in different ways; perhaps the most powerful appeal has not changed at all: the remarkable way Hawthorne manages to evoke emotional sympathy for the heroine even when he is condemning her actions. During a year and a half in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts, where Melville became his neighbor, Hawthorne wrote The House of the Seven Gables (1851), assembled The Snow Image, mainly from very early pieces, and wrote for children A Wonder-Book (1852). Escaping from the rigors of the Berkshire winters, he wrote The Blithedale Romance (1852) in West Newton; then in the first home he had owned, the Wayside at Concord, he put together a political biography of his friend Franklin Pierce for the campaign of 1852 and worked up The Tanglewood Tales (1853), prettified stories from mythology. This productivity was broken when President Pierce appointed him American consul at Liverpool. The consulship came as a blessing despite the disruption of his new life at Concord, for his literary income was not enough to support his family, which now included a son and two daughters. At Liverpool ( 1 8 5 3 - 5 7 ) Hawthorne was an uncommonly industrious consul; he had always been more comfortable among businesspeople and politicians than among literary people. A stay in Italy—starting in the miserably cold first months of 1858— ate deeply into the more than thirty thousand dollars he had earned at Liverpool, and malaria nearly killed his daughter Una. Except during her illness, he kept up his minutely detailed tourist's account as well as a record of the family's contacts with the English and American colony of painters, sculptors, and writers. Many pages of the notebooks went nearly verbatim into a book that he began in Florence in 1858 and finished late in 1859, after his return to England. This romance, suggested by the statue of a faun attributed to the classical Greek sculptor Praxiteles, was published in London (1860) as Transformation and in the United States under Hawthorne's preferred title, The Marble Faun. The Hawthornes came home in June 1860, during the general acclaim of the new romance, and set about fitting up the Wayside; this project was a considerable drain on Hawthorne's savings, which were already depleted by prolonged residence abroad after resigning his consulship and by generous, though unwise, loans to friends. His literary stature made even his abolitionist neighbors respectful toward him, but Hawthorne was keenly aware that his sympathy for the South ran counter to the mood of neighbors such as Emerson and Thoreau. For the Atlantic Monthly Fields solicited a series of sketches that Hawthorne adapted from his English notebooks. Fields paid well, but he was pressing Hawthorne into overwork. Despite short excursions designed to restore his vigor, Hawthorne's physical and psychic energies waned steadily; apparently he was suffering from an undiagnosed malignancy. Humiliated by his weakness, he intermittently forced himself to work on his literary projects, especially the English sketches, which he published as Our Old Home (1863), loyally dedicating it to Pierce, who because of his Southern sympathies was now anathema to many

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Northerners. Hawthorne began four romances, overlapping attempts to grapple with two major themes: an American claimant to an ancestral English estate and the search for an elixir of life. He finished none of them before his death in May 1864, while traveling in New Hampshire with Pierce. He was buried in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery at Concord. Alcott, Emerson, Fields, Holmes, Longfellow, and Lowell were among his pallbearers.

My Kinsman, Major Molineux1 After the kings of G r e a t Britain h a d a s s u m e d the right of a p p o i n t i n g t h e colonial g o v e r n o r s , 2 the m e a s u r e s of the latter s e l d o m m e t with the ready a n d general a p p r o b a t i o n , which had b e e n paid to t h o s e of their p r e d e c e s s o r s , u n d e r the original c h a r t e r s . T h e p e o p l e looked with m o s t j e a l o u s scrutiny to the exercise of power, which did not e m a n a t e from t h e m s e l v e s , a n d they usually rewarded the rulers with s l e n d e r g r a t i t u d e , for t h e c o m p l i a n c e s , by w h i c h , in softening their instructions from beyond the s e a , they h a d incurred the r e p r e h e n s i o n of t h o s e w h o gave t h e m . T h e a n n a l s of M a s s a c h u s e t t s B a y will inform u s , that of six governors, in the s p a c e of a b o u t forty years from the s u r r e n d e r of the old charter, u n d e r J a m e s II., two were i m p r i s o n e d by a p o p u l a r i n s u r r e c t i o n ; a third, a s H u t c h i n s o n 3 inclines to believe, w a s driven from the province by the whizzing of a m u s k e t ball; a fourth, in the opinion of the s a m e historian, w a s h a s t e n e d to his grave by c o n t i n u a l bickerings with the h o u s e of r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s ; a n d the r e m a i n i n g two, a s well a s their s u c c e s s o r s , till t h e Revolution, were favored with few a n d brief intervals of p e a c e f u l sway. T h e inferior m e m b e r s of the c o u r t party, 4 in t i m e s of high political e x c i t e m e n t , led scarcely a m o r e d e s i r a b l e life. T h e s e r e m a r k s m a y serve a s p r e f a c e to t h e following a d v e n t u r e s , which c h a n c e d u p o n a s u m m e r night, not far from a h u n d r e d years a g o . T h e reader, in order to avoid a l o n g a n d dry detail of colonial affairs, is r e q u e s t e d to d i s p e n s e with a n a c c o u n t of the train of c i r c u m s t a n c e s , that h a d c a u s e d m u c h t e m p o r a r y i n f l a m m a t i o n of the p o p u l a r m i n d . It w a s near nine o'clock of a m o o n l i g h t evening, w h e n a b o a t c r o s s e d the ferry with a single p a s s e n g e r , w h o h a d o b t a i n e d his c o n v e y a n c e , at that u n u s u a l hour, by the p r o m i s e of a n extra fare. W h i l e h e s t o o d on the landingp l a c e , s e a r c h i n g in either p o c k e t for t h e m e a n s of fulfilling his a g r e e m e n t , the ferryman lifted a lantern, by the aid of w h i c h , a n d t h e newly risen m o o n , he took a very a c c u r a t e survey of t h e stranger's figure. H e w a s a youth of barely e i g h t e e n years, evidently country-bred, a n d now, a s it s h o u l d s e e m , u p o n his first visit to town. H e w a s c l a d in a c o a r s e grey c o a t , well worn, b u t in excellent repair; his u n d e r g a r m e n t s were durably c o n s t r u c t e d of leather, a n d sat tight to a pair of serviceable a n d w e l l - s h a p e d l i m b s ; his stockings of b l u e yarn, were the incontrovertible h a n d i w o r k of a m o t h e r or a sister; a n d on his h e a d w a s a three-cornered h a t , w h i c h in its better days h a d p e r h a p s sheltered the graver brow of the lad's father. U n d e r his left a r m w a s a heavy 1. The text here is that of the first printing in The Token for 1832, where the story is identified as being "By the Author of 'Sights from a Steeple.' " 2. I.e., after 1684, when the British government annulled the M a s s a c h u s e t t s charter. 3. T h o m a s Hutchinson ( 1 7 1 1 - 1 7 8 0 ) , the last royal governor. T h e particular annals, or year-by-

year histories, that Hawthorne has in mind are The History of the Colony and Prox'ince of Massachusetts-Bay ( 1 7 6 4 , 1767) by Hutchinson. J a m e s II ( 1 6 3 3 - 1 7 0 1 ) reigned briefly ( 1 6 8 5 - 8 8 ) before being exiled to France in the Glorious Revolution. 4. T h e pro-Crown party.

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c u d g e l , f o r m e d of an o a k sapling, a n d retaining a part of the h a r d e n e d root; a n d his e q u i p m e n t w a s c o m p l e t e d by a wallet, 5 not s o a b u n d a n t l y s t o c k e d as to i n c o m m o d e the vigorous s h o u l d e r s on which it h u n g . B r o w n , curly hair, well-shaped f e a t u r e s , a n d bright, cheerful eyes, were nature's gifts, a n d worth all that art c o u l d have d o n e for his a d o r n m e n t . T h e y o u t h , o n e of w h o s e n a m e s w a s R o b i n , finally drew from his p o c k e t the half of a little province-bill 6 of five shillings, w h i c h , in the d e p r e c i a t i o n of that sort of currency, did but satisfy the ferryman's d e m a n d , with the s u r p l u s of a s e x a n g u l a r p i e c e of p a r c h m e n t v a l u e d at three p e n c e . H e then walked forward into the town, with a s light a s t e p , a s if his day's j o u r n e y h a d not already e x c e e d e d thirty miles, a n d with as eager a n eye, a s if he were entering L o n d o n city, i n s t e a d of the little m e t r o p o l i s of a N e w E n g l a n d colony. B e f o r e Robin h a d p r o c e e d e d far, however, it o c c u r r e d to him, that he knew not whither to direct his s t e p s ; s o he p a u s e d , a n d looked u p a n d d o w n the narrow street, scrutinizing the small a n d m e a n w o o d e n buildings, that were s c a t t e r e d on either side. 'This low hovel c a n n o t b e my k i n s m a n ' s dwelling,' t h o u g h t h e , 'nor yonder old h o u s e , where the moonlight enters at the broken c a s e m e n t ; a n d truly I s e e n o n e h e r e a b o u t s that might be worthy of h i m . It w o u l d have b e e n wise to inquire my way of the ferryman, a n d d o u b t l e s s he would have g o n e with m e , a n d e a r n e d a shilling from the M a j o r for his p a i n s . B u t the next m a n I m e e t will do as well.' H e r e s u m e d his walk, a n d w a s glad to perceive that the street now b e c a m e wider, a n d the h o u s e s m o r e r e s p e c t a b l e in their a p p e a r a n c e . H e s o o n disc e r n e d a figure moving on m o d e r a t e l y in a d v a n c e , a n d h a s t e n e d his s t e p s to overtake it. As Robin drew nigh, he saw that the p a s s e n g e r w a s a m a n in years, with a full periwig of grey hair, a wide-skirted c o a t of dark cloth, a n d silk stockings rolled a b o u t his k n e e s . H e carried a long a n d p o l i s h e d c a n e , which he struck d o w n p e r p e n d i c u l a r l y before him, at every s t e p ; a n d at regular intervals he uttered two s u c c e s s i v e h e m s , of a peculiarly s o l e m n a n d sepulchral intonation. H a v i n g m a d e t h e s e o b s e r v a t i o n s , Robin laid hold of the skirt of the old m a n ' s c o a t , j u s t w h e n the light from the o p e n door a n d windows of a barber's s h o p , fell u p o n both their figures. ' G o o d evening to you, h o n o r e d Sir,' said h e , m a k i n g a low bow, a n d still retaining his hold of the skirt. 'I pray you to tell m e w h e r e a b o u t s is the dwelling of my k i n s m a n , M a j o r M o l i n e u x ? ' T h e youth's q u e s t i o n w a s uttered very loudly; a n d o n e of the b a r b e r s , w h o s e razor w a s d e s c e n d i n g on a well-soaped chin, a n d a n o t h e r w h o w a s d r e s s i n g a Ramillies wig, 7 left their o c c u p a t i o n s , a n d c a m e to the door. T h e citizen, in the m e a n t i m e , turned a long favored c o u n t e n a n c e u p o n R o b i n , a n d a n s w e r e d him in a tone of excessive a n g e r a n d a n n o y a n c e . His two s e p u l c h r a l h e m s , however, broke into the very c e n t r e of his r e b u k e , with m o s t singular effect, like a thought of the cold grave o b t r u d i n g a m o n g wrathful p a s s i o n s . 'Let g o my g a r m e n t , fellow! I tell you. I know not the m a n you s p e a k of. W h a t ! I have authority, I h a v e — h e m , h e m — a u t h o r i t y ; a n d if this be the r e s p e c t you s h o w your betters, your feet shall b e b r o u g h t a c q u a i n t e d with the s t o c k s , 8 by daylight, tomorrow m o r n i n g ! ' 5. Knapsack. 6. Local paper money. 7. Elaborately plaited wig named for Ramillies, Belgium.

8. Instrument of punishment having a heavy wooden frame with holes for confining the ankles and sometimes the wrists as well.

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R o b i n r e l e a s e d the old m a n ' s skirt, a n d h a s t e n e d away, p u r s u e d by a n illm a n n e r e d roar of l a u g h t e r from the b a r b e r ' s s h o p . H e w a s at first considerably s u r p r i s e d by the result of his q u e s t i o n , b u t , b e i n g a s h r e w d y o u t h , s o o n t h o u g h t h i m s e l f able to a c c o u n t for the mystery. 'This is s o m e country representative,' w a s his c o n c l u s i o n , 'who h a s never s e e n the inside of my k i n s m a n ' s door, a n d lacks the b r e e d i n g to a n s w e r a stranger civilly. T h e m a n is old, or verily—I might b e t e m p t e d to turn b a c k a n d smite h i m o n the n o s e . A h , R o b i n , R o b i n ! even t h e b a r b e r ' s boys l a u g h at you, for c h o o s i n g s u c h a g u i d e ! You will b e wiser in t i m e , friend R o b i n . ' H e n o w b e c a m e e n t a n g l e d in a s u c c e s s i o n of c r o o k e d a n d narrow streets, which c r o s s e d e a c h other, a n d m e a n d e r e d at n o great d i s t a n c e from t h e water-side. T h e smell of tar w a s obvious to his nostrils, the m a s t s of v e s s e l s p i e r c e d the m o o n l i g h t a b o v e the t o p s of the b u i l d i n g s , a n d the n u m e r o u s s i g n s , which R o b i n p a u s e d to r e a d , i n f o r m e d h i m that he w a s n e a r the c e n t r e of b u s i n e s s . B u t the streets were e m p t y , t h e s h o p s were c l o s e d , a n d lights were visible only in the s e c o n d stories of a few d w e l l i n g - h o u s e s . At length, on the c o r n e r of a narrow l a n e , t h r o u g h which h e w a s p a s s i n g , h e b e h e l d the b r o a d c o u n t e n a n c e of a British h e r o swinging before t h e d o o r of a n inn, w h e n c e p r o c e e d e d the voices of m a n y g u e s t s . T h e c a s e m e n t of o n e of the lower windows w a s thrown b a c k , a n d a very thin c u r t a i n p e r m i t t e d R o b i n to distinguish a party at s u p p e r , r o u n d a well-furnished t a b l e . T h e f r a g r a n c e of good c h e e r s t e a m e d forth into the outer air, a n d t h e youth c o u l d not fail to recollect, that the last r e m n a n t of his travelling s t o c k of provision h a d yielded to his m o r n i n g a p p e t i t e , a n d that n o o n h a d f o u n d , a n d left h i m , d i n n e r l e s s . ' O h , that a p a r c h m e n t three-penny might give m e a right to sit d o w n at yonder t a b l e , ' said R o b i n , with a sigh. ' B u t t h e M a j o r will m a k e m e w e l c o m e to the b e s t of his victuals; s o I will even step boldly in, a n d i n q u i r e my way to his dwelling.' H e e n t e r e d the tavern, a n d w a s g u i d e d by the m u r m u r of v o i c e s , a n d f u m e s of t o b a c c o , to the public r o o m . It w a s a l o n g a n d low a p a r t m e n t , with o a k e n walls, grown dark in t h e c o n t i n u a l s m o k e , a n d a floor, which w a s thickly s a n d e d , b u t of no i m m a c u l a t e purity. A n u m b e r of p e r s o n s , the larger part of w h o m a p p e a r e d to b e m a r i n e r s , or in s o m e way c o n n e c t e d with t h e s e a , o c c u p i e d the w o o d e n b e n c h e s , or l e a t h e r - b o t t o m e d c h a i r s , c o n v e r s i n g o n various m a t t e r s , a n d o c c a s i o n a l l y l e n d i n g their attention to s o m e topic of general interest. T h r e e or four little g r o u p s were d r a i n i n g a s m a n y bowls of p u n c h , which the great W e s t India trade h a d l o n g s i n c e m a d e a familiar drink in the colony. O t h e r s , w h o h a d the a s p e c t of m e n w h o lived by r e g u l a r a n d laborious handicraft, preferred the i n s u l a t e d bliss of a n u n s h a r e d p o t a tion, a n d b e c a m e m o r e taciturn u n d e r its i n f l u e n c e . N e a r l y all, in short, evinced a predilection for the G o o d C r e a t u r e in s o m e of its v a r i o u s s h a p e s , for this is a vice, to w h i c h , a s t h e F a s t - d a y 9 s e r m o n s of a h u n d r e d years a g o will testify, we have a long hereditary c l a i m . T h e only g u e s t s to w h o m Robin's s y m p a t h i e s inclined h i m , were two or three s h e e p i s h c o u n t r y m e n , w h o were u s i n g t h e inn s o m e w h a t after the f a s h i o n of a T u r k i s h C a r a v a n s a r y ; 1 they h a d gotten t h e m s e l v e s into the darkest c o r n e r of the r o o m , a n d , h e e d l e s s of 9. Days set apart for public penitence. " G o o d Creature": rum. Hawthorne is playing on the warning against food fanatics in I Timothy 4.4: "For every creature of G o d is good, and nothing to be

refused, if it be received with thanksgiving." 1. An inn built around a court for a c c o m m o d a t i n g caravans.

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the N i c o t i a n 2 a t m o s p h e r e , were s u p p i n g on the bread of their own o v e n s , a n d the b a c o n c u r e d in their own c h i m n e y - s m o k e . B u t t h o u g h R o b i n felt a sort of b r o t h e r h o o d with t h e s e strangers, his eyes were a t t r a c t e d from t h e m , to a p e r s o n w h o s t o o d n e a r the door, holding w h i s p e r e d c o n v e r s a t i o n with a g r o u p of ill-dressed a s s o c i a t e s . His features were separately striking a l m o s t to g r o t e s q u e n e s s , a n d the whole f a c e left a d e e p i m p r e s s i o n in the m e m o r y . T h e f o r e h e a d b u l g e d out into a d o u b l e p r o m i n e n c e , with a vale b e t w e e n ; the n o s e c a m e boldly forth in a n irregular c u r v e , a n d its bridge w a s of m o r e than a finger's b r e a d t h ; the eyebrows were d e e p a n d shaggy, a n d the eyes glowed b e n e a t h t h e m like fire in a c a v e . While R o b i n deliberated of w h o m to inquire r e s p e c t i n g his k i n s m a n ' s dwelling, he w a s a c c o s t e d by the innkeeper, a little m a n in a s t a i n e d white apron, w h o h a d c o m e to pay his professional w e l c o m e to the stranger. B e i n g in the s e c o n d g e n e r a t i o n from a F r e n c h p r o t e s t a n t , h e s e e m e d to have inherited the c o u r t e s y of his p a r e n t nation; but n o variety of c i r c u m s t a n c e w a s ever known to c h a n g e his voice from the o n e shrill note in which h e now addressed Bobin. ' F r o m the country, I p r e s u m e , S i r ? ' said h e , with a p r o f o u n d bow. ' B e g to c o n g r a t u l a t e you on your arrival, a n d trust you intend a long stay with u s . F i n e town h e r e , Sir, beautiful buildings, a n d m u c h that m a y interest a stranger. M a y I h o p e for the h o n o r of your c o m m a n d s in r e s p e c t to s u p p e r ? ' 'The m a n s e e s a family likeness! the r o g u e h a s g u e s s e d that I a m related to the Major!' t h o u g h t R o b i n , w h o h a d hitherto e x p e r i e n c e d little s u p e r f l u o u s civility. All eyes were now turned on the country lad, s t a n d i n g at the door, in his worn three-cornered hat, grey c o a t , leather b r e e c h e s , a n d b l u e yarn stockings, l e a n i n g on a n o a k e n c u d g e l , a n d b e a r i n g a wallet on his b a c k . R o b i n replied to the c o u r t e o u s innkeeper, with s u c h an a s s u m p t i o n of c o n s e q u e n c e , a s befitted the Major's relative. 'My h o n e s t friend,' he s a i d , 'I shall m a k e it a point to p a t r o n i s e your h o u s e on s o m e o c c a s i o n , w h e n — ' h e r e he c o u l d not help lowering his v o i c e — ' I m a y have m o r e than a p a r c h m e n t t h r e e - p e n c e in my p o c k e t . M y p r e s e n t b u s i n e s s , ' c o n t i n u e d h e , s p e a k i n g with lofty c o n f i d e n c e , 'is merely to inquire the way to the dwelling of my k i n s m a n , M a j o r M o l i n e u x . ' T h e r e w a s a s u d d e n a n d general m o v e m e n t in the r o o m , w h i c h R o b i n interpreted a s e x p r e s s i n g the e a g e r n e s s of e a c h individual to b e c o m e his g u i d e . B u t the i n n k e e p e r t u r n e d his eyes to a written p a p e r o n the wall, which he read, or s e e m e d to r e a d , with o c c a s i o n a l r e c u r r e n c e s to the y o u n g m a n ' s figure. 'What have we h e r e ? ' said h e , breaking his s p e e c h into little dry f r a g m e n t s , "Left the h o u s e of the s u b s c r i b e r , b o u n d e n s e r v a n t , 3 H e z e k i a h M u d g e — h a d on when he went away, grey c o a t , leather b r e e c h e s , m a s t e r ' s third b e s t hat. O n e p o u n d c u r r e n c y reward to whoever shall lodge him in any jail in the p r o v i n c e . " 'Better t r u d g e , boy, better t r u d g e . ' B o b i n h a d b e g u n to draw his h a n d towards the lighter e n d of the o a k c u d g e l , but a s t r a n g e hostility in every c o u n t e n a n c e , i n d u c e d him to relinq u i s h his p u r p o s e of b r e a k i n g the c o u r t e o u s innkeeper's h e a d . As h e t u r n e d 2. Heavy with tobacco fumes (from J e a n Nicot, who introduced tobacco into France when he was French ambassador at Lisbon).

3. A person bound by contract to servitude for seven years (or another set period), usually in repayment for transportation to the colonies.

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to leave the r o o m , he e n c o u n t e r e d a s n e e r i n g g l a n c e from the b o l d - f e a t u r e d p e r s o n a g e w h o m he h a d before n o t i c e d ; a n d no s o o n e r w a s h e b e y o n d the door, than he h e a r d a general l a u g h , in which the innkeeper's voice might be d i s t i n g u i s h e d , like the d r o p p i n g of s m a l l s t o n e s in a kettle. ' N o w is it not s t r a n g e , ' thought R o b i n , with his u s u a l s h r e w d n e s s , 'is it not s t r a n g e , that the c o n f e s s i o n of a n e m p t y p o c k e t , s h o u l d outweigh the n a m e of my k i n s m a n , M a j o r M o l i n e u x ? O h , if I h a d o n e of t h e s e grinning r a s c a l s in the w o o d s , w h e r e I a n d my oak s a p l i n g grew u p together, I w o u l d t e a c h him that my a r m is heavy, t h o u g h my p u r s e be light!' O n turning the c o r n e r of the narrow l a n e , R o b i n f o u n d h i m s e l f in a s p a c i o u s street, with an u n b r o k e n line of lofty h o u s e s o n e a c h s i d e , a n d a s t e e pled b u i l d i n g at the u p p e r e n d , w h e n c e the ringing of a bell a n n o u n c e d the hour of n i n e . T h e light of the m o o n , a n d the l a m p s from n u m e r o u s s h o p windows, d i s c o v e r e d p e o p l e p r o m e n a d i n g on the p a v e m e n t , a n d a m o n g s t t h e m , R o b i n h o p e d to r e c o g n i s e his hitherto i n s c r u t a b l e relative. T h e result of his former inquiries m a d e him unwilling to hazard a n o t h e r , in a s c e n e of s u c h publicity, a n d h e d e t e r m i n e d to walk slowly a n d silently u p the street, thrusting his f a c e c l o s e to that of every elderly g e n t l e m a n , in s e a r c h of the Major's l i n e a m e n t s . In his p r o g r e s s , R o b i n e n c o u n t e r e d m a n y gay a n d gallant figures. E m b r o i d e r e d g a r m e n t s , of showy c o l o r s , e n o r m o u s periwigs, goldl a c e d h a t s , a n d silver hilted s w o r d s , glided p a s t him a n d dazzled his o p t i c s . Travelled y o u t h s , imitators of the E u r o p e a n fine g e n t l e m e n of the p e r i o d , trod jauntily along, h a l f - d a n c i n g to the f a s h i o n a b l e t u n e s which they h u m m e d , a n d m a k i n g p o o r R o b i n a s h a m e d of his quiet a n d n a t u r a l gait. At length, after m a n y p a u s e s to e x a m i n e the g o r g e o u s display of g o o d s in the s h o p w i n d o w s , a n d after suffering s o m e r e b u k e s for the i m p e r t i n e n c e of his scrutiny into people's f a c e s , the M a j o r ' s k i n s m a n f o u n d h i m s e l f n e a r the steepled building, still u n s u c c e s s f u l in his s e a r c h . A s yet, however, h e h a d s e e n only o n e side of the t h r o n g e d street; so R o b i n c r o s s e d , a n d c o n t i n u e d the s a m e sort of inquisition d o w n the o p p o s i t e p a v e m e n t , with stronger h o p e s t h a n the p h i l o s o p h e r s e e k i n g a n h o n e s t m a n , 4 but with no better fort u n e . H e h a d arrived a b o u t midway towards the lower e n d , from which his c o u r s e b e g a n , w h e n h e overheard the a p p r o a c h of s o m e o n e , w h o s t r u c k d o w n a c a n e on the flag-stones at every s t e p , uttering, at regular intervals, two s e p u l c h r a l h e m s . ' M e r c y on u s ! ' q u o t h R o b i n , r e c o g n i s i n g the s o u n d . T u r n i n g a corner, which c h a n c e d to b e c l o s e at his right h a n d , h e h a s t e n e d to p u r s u e his r e s e a r c h e s , in s o m e other part of the town. H i s p a t i e n c e w a s n o w w e a r i n g low, a n d he s e e m e d to feel m o r e fatigue from his r a m b l e s s i n c e he c r o s s e d the ferry, than from his j o u r n e y of several days on the other side. H u n g e r a l s o p l e a d e d loudly within h i m , a n d R o b i n b e g a n to b a l a n c e the propriety of d e m a n d i n g , violently a n d with lifted c u d g e l , the n e c e s s a r y guida n c e from the first solitary p a s s e n g e r , w h o m he s h o u l d m e e t . W h i l e a resolution to this effect w a s g a i n i n g s t r e n g t h , he e n t e r e d a street of m e a n a p p e a r a n c e , on either side of w h i c h , a row of ill-built h o u s e s w a s straggling towards the harbor. T h e m o o n l i g h t fell u p o n no p a s s e n g e r a l o n g the w h o l e extent, but in the third d o m i c i l e which R o b i n p a s s e d , t h e r e w a s a h a l f - o p e n e d door, a n d his keen g l a n c e d e t e c t e d a w o m a n ' s g a r m e n t within. 4. Diogenes, the Greek philosopher ( 4 1 2 ? - 3 2 3 B.C.E.), carried a lantern about in daytime in his search for an honest man.

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'My luck m a y be better here,' said he to himself. Accordingly, h e a p p r o a c h e d the door, a n d b e h e l d it s h u t c l o s e r a s he did s o ; yet a n o p e n s p a c e r e m a i n e d , sufficing for the fair o c c u p a n t to observe the stranger, without a c o r r e s p o n d i n g display on her part. All that R o b i n could d i s c e r n w a s a strip of scarlet petticoat, a n d the o c c a s i o n a l sparkle of a n eye, a s if the m o o n b e a m s were trembling on s o m e bright thing. 'Pretty m i s t r e s s , ' — f o r I m a y call her so with a g o o d c o n s c i e n c e , thought the shrewd youth, s i n c e I know nothing to the c o n t r a r y — ' m y sweet pretty m i s t r e s s , will you b e kind e n o u g h to tell m e w h e r e a b o u t s I m u s t s e e k the dwelling of my k i n s m a n , M a j o r M o l i n e u x ? ' Robin's voice w a s plaintive a n d winning, a n d the f e m a l e , s e e i n g nothing to be s h u n n e d in the h a n d s o m e country y o u t h , thrust o p e n the door, a n d c a m e forth into the moonlight. S h e w a s a dainty little figure, with a white neck, r o u n d a r m s , a n d a slender waist, at the extremity of which her scarlet petticoat j u t t e d o u t over a h o o p , a s if s h e were s t a n d i n g in a balloon. M o r e over, her f a c e w a s oval a n d pretty, her hair dark b e n e a t h the little c a p , a n d her bright eyes p o s s e s s e d a sly f r e e d o m , which t r i u m p h e d over t h o s e of Robin. ' M a j o r M o l i n e u x dwells h e r e , ' said this fair w o m a n . N o w her voice w a s the sweetest R o b i n h a d h e a r d that night, the airy c o u n terpart of a s t r e a m of m e l t e d silver; yet he c o u l d not h e l p d o u b t i n g w h e t h e r that sweet voice s p o k e g o s p e l truth. H e looked u p a n d d o w n the m e a n street, a n d then surveyed the h o u s e before which they s t o o d . It w a s a small, dark edifice of two stories, the s e c o n d of which p r o j e c t e d over the lower floor; a n d the front a p a r t m e n t h a d the a s p e c t of a s h o p for petty c o m m o d i t i e s . ' N o w truly I a m in luck,' replied Robin, cunningly, 'and so i n d e e d is my k i n s m a n , the M a j o r , in having s o pretty a h o u s e k e e p e r . B u t I prithee trouble him to step to the door; I will deliver him a m e s s a g e from his friends in the country, a n d then go b a c k to my lodgings at the inn.' 'Nay, the M a j o r has b e e n a-bed this h o u r or m o r e , said the lady of the scarlet p e t t i c o a t ; 'and it would b e to little p u r p o s e to disturb him to night, seeing his evening d r a u g h t w a s of the s t r o n g e s t . B u t he is a kind-hearted m a n , a n d it would b e a s m u c h a s my life's worth, to let a k i n s m a n of his turn away from the door. You are the g o o d old g e n t l e m a n ' s very p i c t u r e , a n d I could swear that w a s his rainy-weather hat. A l s o , he has g a r m e n t s very m u c h r e s e m b l i n g t h o s e l e a t h e r — B u t c o m e in, I pray, for I bid you hearty w e l c o m e in his n a m e . ' S o saying, the fair a n d h o s p i t a b l e d a m e took o u r hero by the h a n d ; a n d t h o u g h the t o u c h w a s light, a n d the force was g e n t l e n e s s , a n d t h o u g h Robin read in her eyes what he did not hear in her w o r d s , yet the s l e n d e r w a i s t e d w o m a n , in the scarlet p e t t i c o a t , proved stronger than the athletic country youth. S h e h a d drawn his half-willing footsteps nearly to the t h r e s h o l d , w h e n the o p e n i n g of a door in the n e i g h b o r h o o d , startled the M a j o r ' s h o u s e k e e p e r , a n d , leaving the Major's k i n s m a n , s h e v a n i s h e d speedily into her own d o m icile. A heavy yawn p r e c e d e d the a p p e a r a n c e of a m a n , w h o , like the M o o n shine of P y r a m u s a n d T h i s b e , carried a l a n t e r n , 5 needlessly a i d i n g his sister luminary in the h e a v e n s . As h e walked sleepily u p the street, h e turned his b r o a d , dull f a c e on R o b i n , a n d displayed a long staff, spiked at the e n d . ' H o m e , v a g a b o n d , h o m e ! ' said the w a t c h m a n , in a c c e n t s that s e e m e d to 5. In Shakespeare's Midsummer

Night's Dream 5 . 1 , the craftsmen's play-within-a-play.

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fall a s l e e p as s o o n a s they were uttered. ' H o m e , or we'll set you in the s t o c k s by p e e p of day!' "This is the s e c o n d hint of the kind,' t h o u g h t R o b i n . 'I wish they w o u l d e n d my difficulties, by setting m e there to-night.' N e v e r t h e l e s s , the youth felt a n instinctive antipathy towards the g u a r d i a n of midnight order, which at first p r e v e n t e d him from a s k i n g his u s u a l q u e s tion. B u t j u s t w h e n the m a n w a s a b o u t to vanish b e h i n d the c o r n e r , Robin resolved not to lose the opportunity, a n d s h o u t e d lustily after h i m — 'I say, friend! will you g u i d e m e to the h o u s e of my k i n s m a n , M a j o r Molineux?' T h e w a t c h m a n m a d e no reply, but t u r n e d the c o r n e r a n d w a s g o n e ; yet Robin s e e m e d to h e a r the s o u n d of drowsy laughter s t e a l i n g a l o n g the solitary street. At that m o m e n t , a l s o , a p l e a s a n t titter s a l u t e d him from the o p e n window a b o v e his h e a d ; he looked u p , a n d c a u g h t the sparkle of a s a u c y eye; a r o u n d a r m b e c k o n e d to him, a n d next h e h e a r d light f o o t s t e p s d e s c e n d i n g the s t a i r c a s e within. B u t R o b i n , b e i n g of the h o u s e h o l d of a N e w E n g l a n d c l e r g y m a n , w a s a good y o u t h , a s well a s a shrewd o n e ; s o h e r e s i s t e d t e m p tation, a n d fled away. H e n o w r o a m e d desperately, a n d at r a n d o m , t h r o u g h the town, a l m o s t ready to believe that a spell w a s on h i m , like that, by w h i c h a wizard of his country, h a d o n c e kept three p u r s u e r s w a n d e r i n g , a w h o l e winter night, within twenty p a c e s of the c o t t a g e w h i c h they s o u g h t . T h e streets lay before him, s t r a n g e a n d d e s o l a t e , a n d the lights were extinguished in a l m o s t every h o u s e . T w i c e , however, little p a r t i e s of m e n , a m o n g w h o m R o b i n disting u i s h e d individuals in o u t l a n d i s h attire, c a m e hurrying a l o n g , b u t t h o u g h o n both o c c a s i o n s they p a u s e d to a d d r e s s him, s u c h i n t e r c o u r s e did not at all enlighten his perplexity. T h e y did but utter a few w o r d s in s o m e l a n g u a g e of which R o b i n k n e w n o t h i n g , a n d perceiving his inability to a n s w e r , b e s t o w e d a c u r s e u p o n him in plain E n g l i s h , a n d h a s t e n e d away. Finally, the lad determ i n e d to k n o c k at the d o o r of every m a n s i o n that might a p p e a r worthy to b e o c c u p i e d by his k i n s m a n , t r u s t i n g that p e r s e v e r a n c e w o u l d o v e r c o m e the fatality which h a d hitherto thwarted h i m . F i r m in this resolve, h e w a s p a s s i n g b e n e a t h the walls of a c h u r c h , which f o r m e d the c o r n e r of two s t r e e t s , w h e n , a s he t u r n e d into the s h a d e of its s t e e p l e , he e n c o u n t e r e d a bulky stranger, muffled in a cloak. T h e m a n w a s p r o c e e d i n g with the s p e e d of e a r n e s t b u s i n e s s , b u t R o b i n p l a n t e d himself full before h i m , holding the o a k c u d g e l with b o t h h a n d s a c r o s s his body, a s a bar to further p a s s a g e . 'Halt, h o n e s t m a n , a n d a n s w e r m e a q u e s t i o n , ' said h e , very resolutely, 'Tell m e , this instant, w h e r e a b o u t s is the dwelling of my k i n s m a n , M a j o r Molineux?' ' K e e p your t o n g u e b e t w e e n your teeth, fool, a n d let m e p a s s , ' said a d e e p , gruff voice, which R o b i n partly r e m e m b e r e d . 'Let m e p a s s , I say, or I'll strike you to the earth!' ' N o , n o , neighbor!' cried R o b i n , flourishing his c u d g e l , a n d then t h r u s t i n g its larger e n d c l o s e to the m a n ' s muffled f a c e . ' N o , n o , I'm not the fool y o u take m e for, n o r do you p a s s , till I have a n a n s w e r to my q u e s t i o n . W h e r e a b o u t s is the dwelling of my k i n s m a n , M a j o r M o l i n e u x ? ' T h e stranger, i n s t e a d of a t t e m p t i n g to force his p a s s a g e , stept b a c k into the m o o n l i g h t , u n m u f f l e d his own f a c e a n d s t a r e d full into that of R o b i n . ' W a t c h here an hour, a n d M a j o r M o l i n e u x will p a s s by,' said h e .

MY

KINSMAN,

MAJOR

MOLINEUX

/

591

Robin g a z e d with d i s m a y a n d a s t o n i s h m e n t , o n the u n p r e c e d e n t e d physiognomy of the s p e a k e r . T h e forehead with its d o u b l e p r o m i n e n c e , the b r o a d hooked n o s e , the s h a g g y eyebrows, a n d fiery eyes, were t h o s e which h e h a d noticed at the inn, but the m a n ' s complexion h a d u n d e r g o n e a singular, or m o r e properly, a two-fold c h a n g e . O n e side of the f a c e blazed of a n i n t e n s e red, while the other w a s black as midnight, the division line b e i n g in the broad bridge of the n o s e ; a n d a m o u t h , which s e e m e d to extend from ear to ear, was black or red, in c o n t r a s t to the color of the c h e e k . T h e effect w a s a s if two individual devils, a fiend of fire a n d a fiend of d a r k n e s s , h a d united t h e m s e l v e s to form this infernal visage. T h e stranger g r i n n e d in Robin's f a c e , muffled his party-colored f e a t u r e s , a n d w a s out of sight in a m o m e n t . ' S t r a n g e things we travellers s e e ! ' e j a c u l a t e d R o b i n . H e s e a t e d himself, however, u p o n the s t e p s of the c h u r c h - d o o r , resolving to wait the a p p o i n t e d time for his k i n s m a n ' s a p p e a r a n c e . A few m o m e n t s were c o n s u m e d in philosophical s p e c u l a t i o n s , u p o n the s p e c i e s of thegewws homo, who h a d j u s t left him, but having settled this point shrewdly, rationally, a n d satisfactorily, he w a s c o m p e l l e d to look e l s e w h e r e for a m u s e m e n t . A n d first he threw his eyes a l o n g the street; it w a s of m o r e r e s p e c t a b l e a p p e a r a n c e than m o s t of t h o s e into which h e h a d w a n d e r e d , a n d the m o o n , 'creating, like the imaginative power, a beautiful s t r a n g e n e s s in familiar objects,' gave s o m e t h i n g of r o m a n c e to a s c e n e , that might not have p o s s e s s e d it in the light of day. T h e irregular, a n d often q u a i n t a r c h i t e c t u r e of the h o u s e s , s o m e of w h o s e roofs were broken into n u m e r o u s little p e a k s ; while others a s c e n d e d , s t e e p a n d narrow, into a single point; a n d others again were s q u a r e ; the p u r e milk-white of s o m e of their c o m p l e x i o n s , the aged d a r k n e s s of o t h e r s , a n d the t h o u s a n d sparklings, reflected from bright s u b s t a n c e s in the p l a s t e r e d walls of m a n y ; t h e s e m a t t e r s e n g a g e d Robin's attention for awhile, a n d then b e g a n to grow w e a r i s o m e . Next he endeavored to define the f o r m s of distant o b j e c t s , starting away with a l m o s t ghostly i n d i s t i n c t n e s s , j u s t a s his eye a p p e a r e d to g r a s p t h e m ; a n d finally he took a m i n u t e survey of a n edifice, which stood on the o p p o s i t e side of the street, directly in front of the c h u r c h - d o o r , w h e r e he w a s s t a t i o n e d . It w a s a large s q u a r e m a n s i o n , d i s t i n g u i s h e d from its n e i g h b o r s by a b a l c o n y , which rested on tall pillars, a n d by a n e l a b o r a t e gothic window, c o m m u n i c a t i n g therewith. 'Perhaps this is the very h o u s e I have b e e n seeking,' t h o u g h t R o b i n . T h e n he strove to s p e e d away the t i m e , by listening to a m u r m u r , which swept continually a l o n g the street, yet was scarcely a u d i b l e , except to a n u n a c c u s t o m e d ear like his; it w a s a low, dull, d r e a m y s o u n d , c o m p o u n d e d of m a n y n o i s e s , e a c h of which w a s at too great a d i s t a n c e to b e separately heard. Robin marvelled at this s n o r e of a s l e e p i n g town, a n d marvelled m o r e , whenever its continuity w a s broken, by now a n d then a distant s h o u t , apparently loud where it originated. B u t altogether it w a s a sleep-inspiring s o u n d , a n d to s h a k e off its drowsy i n f l u e n c e , R o b i n a r o s e , a n d c l i m b e d a windowf r a m e , that he might view the interior of the c h u r c h . T h e r e the m o o n b e a m s c a m e trembling in, a n d fell d o w n u p o n the d e s e r t e d p e w s , a n d e x t e n d e d a l o n g the quiet aisles. A fainter, yet m o r e awful r a d i a n c e , w a s hovering r o u n d the pulpit, a n d o n e solitary ray h a d d a r e d to rest u p o n the o p e n e d p a g e of the great bible. H a d N a t u r e , in that d e e p hour, b e c o m e a w o r s h i p p e r in the h o u s e , which m a n h a d b u d d e d ? O r w a s that heavenly light the visible sanctity

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of this p l a c e , visible b e c a u s e no earthly a n d i m p u r e feet were within the walls? T h e s c e n e m a d e Robin's heart shiver with a s e n s a t i o n of l o n e l i n e s s , stronger than he h a d ever felt in the r e m o t e s t d e p t h s of his native w o o d s ; so he t u r n e d away, a n d sat down again before the door. T h e r e were graves a r o u n d the c h u r c h , a n d now an u n e a s y thought o b t r u d e d into Robin's b r e a s t . W h a t if the object of his s e a r c h , which h a d b e e n so often a n d s o strangely thwarted, were all the time m o u l d e r i n g in his s h r o u d ? W h a t if his k i n s m a n s h o u l d glide t h r o u g h yonder g a t e , a n d n o d a n d smile to h i m in p a s s i n g dimly by? ' O h , that any b r e a t h i n g thing were h e r e with m e ! ' said R o b i n . R e c a l l i n g his t h o u g h t s from this u n c o m f o r t a b l e track, h e sent t h e m over forest, hill, a n d s t r e a m , a n d a t t e m p t e d to i m a g i n e h o w that e v e n i n g of a m b i guity a n d w e a r i n e s s , h a d b e e n s p e n t by his father's h o u s e h o l d . H e p i c t u r e d t h e m a s s e m b l e d at the door, b e n e a t h the tree, the great old tree, w h i c h h a d b e e n s p a r e d for its h u g e twisted trunk, a n d venerable s h a d e , w h e n a thous a n d leafy brethren fell. T h e r e , at the g o i n g down of the s u m m e r s u n , it w a s his father's c u s t o m to perform d o m e s t i c worship, that the n e i g h b o r s might c o m e a n d j o i n with him like brothers of the family, a n d that the wayfaring m a n might p a u s e to drink at that f o u n t a i n , a n d keep his heart p u r e by freshe n i n g the m e m o r y of h o m e . R o b i n d i s t i n g u i s h e d the seat of every individual of the little a u d i e n c e ; he saw the good m a n in the m i d s t , holding the scriptures in the g o l d e n light that s h o n e from the w e s t e r n c l o u d s ; h e b e h e l d him c l o s e the book, a n d all rise up to pray. H e h e a r d the old thanksgivings for daily m e r c i e s , the old s u p p l i c a t i o n s for their c o n t i n u a n c e , to which h e h a d s o often listened in w e a r i n e s s , but which were now a m o n g his d e a r r e m e m b r a n c e s . H e perceived the slight inequality of his father's voice w h e n he c a m e to s p e a k of the A b s e n t O n e ; h e noted how his m o t h e r t u r n e d her f a c e to the b r o a d a n d knotted trunk, how his elder brother s c o r n e d , b e c a u s e the b e a r d was r o u g h u p o n his u p p e r lip, to permit his f e a t u r e s to be m o v e d ; h o w his y o u n g e r sister drew d o w n a low h a n g i n g b r a n c h before her eyes; a n d h o w the little o n e of all, w h o s e sports h a d hitherto b r o k e n the d e c o r u m of the s c e n e , u n d e r s t o o d the prayer for her p l a y m a t e , a n d burst into c l a m o r o u s grief. T h e n he saw t h e m g o in at the door; a n d w h e n Robin w o u l d have e n t e r e d a l s o , the latch tinkled into its p l a c e , a n d h e w a s e x c l u d e d from his home. 'Am I h e r e , or t h e r e ? ' cried R o b i n , starting; for all at o n c e , w h e n his t h o u g h t s h a d b e c o m e visible a n d a u d i b l e in a d r e a m , the long, w i d e , solitary street s h o n e out before h i m . H e a r o u s e d himself, a n d e n d e a v o r e d to fix his attention steadily u p o n the large edifice which h e h a d surveyed before. B u t still his m i n d kept vibrating b e t w e e n fancy a n d reality; by turns, the pillars of the b a l c o n y l e n g t h e n e d into the tall, b a r e s t e m s of p i n e s , dwindled down to h u m a n figures, settled again in their true s h a p e a n d size, a n d then c o m m e n c e d a n e w s u c c e s s i o n of c h a n g e s . F o r a single m o m e n t , w h e n he d e e m e d h i m s e l f a w a k e , he c o u l d have sworn that a v i s a g e , o n e which he s e e m e d to r e m e m b e r , yet c o u l d not absolutely n a m e a s his k i n s m a n ' s , w a s looking t o w a r d s him from the G o t h i c window. A d e e p e r s l e e p wrestled with, a n d nearly o v e r c a m e him, but fled at the s o u n d of f o o t s t e p s a l o n g the o p p o s i t e p a v e m e n t . Robin r u b b e d his e y e s , d i s c e r n e d a m a n p a s s i n g at the foot of the b a l c o n y , a n d a d d r e s s e d him in a l o u d , p e e v i s h , a n d l a m e n t a b l e cry.

MY

KINSMAN,

MAJOR

MOLINEUX

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593

' H a l l o o , friend! m u s t I wait here all night for my k i n s m a n , M a j o r Molineux?' T h e s l e e p i n g e c h o e s a w o k e , a n d a n s w e r e d the v o i c e ; a n d the p a s s e n g e r , barely a b l e to discern a figure sitting in the o b l i q u e s h a d e of the s t e e p l e , traversed the street to obtain a nearer view. H e w a s himself a g e n t l e m a n in his p r i m e , of o p e n , intelligent, cheerful a n d altogether p r e p o s s e s s i n g c o u n t e n a n c e . Perceiving a country youth, a p p a r e n t l y h o m e l e s s a n d without friends, h e a c c o s t e d him in a tone of real k i n d n e s s , which h a d b e c o m e s t r a n g e to Robin's e a r s . 'Well, my good lad, why are you sitting h e r e ? ' inquired h e . ' C a n I b e of service to you in any way?' 'I a m afraid not, Sir,' replied R o b i n , d e s p o n d i n g l y ; 'yet I shall take it kindly, if you'll a n s w e r m e a single q u e s t i o n . I've b e e n s e a r c h i n g half the night for o n e M a j o r M o l i n e u x ; now, Sir, is there really s u c h a p e r s o n in t h e s e p a r t s , or a m I d r e a m i n g ? ' ' M a j o r Molineux! T h e n a m e is not altogether s t r a n g e to m e , ' said the gent l e m a n smiling. 'Have you any objection to telling m e the n a t u r e of your b u s i n e s s with h i m ? ' T h e n Robin briefly related that his father w a s a c l e r g y m a n , settled o n a small salary, at a long d i s t a n c e b a c k in the country, a n d that he a n d M a j o r M o l i n e u x were brothers' children. T h e M a j o r , having inherited riches, a n d a c q u i r e d civil a n d military rank, h a d visited his c o u s i n in great p o m p a year or two b e f o r e ; h a d m a n i f e s t e d m u c h interest in Robin a n d a n elder brother, a n d , b e i n g childless himself, h a d thrown out hints r e s p e c t i n g the future e s t a b l i s h m e n t of o n e of t h e m in life. T h e elder brother w a s d e s t i n e d to s u c c e e d to the farm, which his father cultivated, in the interval of s a c r e d d u t i e s ; it w a s therefore d e t e r m i n e d that Robin s h o u l d profit by his k i n s m a n ' s g e n e r o u s intentions, especially a s he h a d s e e m e d to be rather the favorite, a n d w a s t h o u g h t to p o s s e s s other n e c essary e n d o w m e n t s . 'For I have the n a m e of b e i n g a shrewd youth,' o b s e r v e d R o b i n , in this part of his story. 'I d o u b t not you deserve it,' replied his new friend, g o o d naturedly; 'but pray p r o c e e d . ' 'Well, Sir, being nearly e i g h t e e n years old, a n d well grown, as you s e e , ' c o n t i n u e d R o b i n , raising h i m s e l f to his full height, 'I t h o u g h t it high time to begin the world. S o my m o t h e r a n d sister put m e in h a n d s o m e trim, a n d my father gave m e half the r e m n a n t of his last year's salary, a n d five days a g o I started for this p l a c e , to pay the M a j o r a visit. B u t would you believe it, Sir? I c r o s s e d the ferry a little after d u s k , a n d have yet f o u n d nobody that would s h o w m e the way to his dwelling; only an h o u r or two s i n c e , I w a s told to wait h e r e , a n d M a j o r M o l i n e u x would p a s s by.' ' C a n you d e s c r i b e the m a n w h o told you this?' inquired the g e n t l e m a n . ' O h , he w a s a very ill-favored fellow, Sir,' replied R o b i n , 'with two great b u m p s on his f o r e h e a d , a h o o k n o s e , fiery eyes, a n d , what s t r u c k m e a s the s t r a n g e s t , his f a c e was of two different colors. D o you h a p p e n to know s u c h a man, Sir?' ' N o t intimately,' a n s w e r e d the stranger, 'but I c h a n c e d to m e e t him a little time previous to your s t o p p i n g m e . I believe you may trust his word, a n d that the M a j o r will very shortly p a s s t h r o u g h this street. In the m e a n t i m e , a s I

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have a singular curiosity to witness your m e e t i n g , I will sit d o w n here u p o n the s t e p s , a n d b e a r you c o m p a n y . ' H e s e a t e d h i m s e l f accordingly, a n d s o o n e n g a g e d his c o m p a n i o n in anim a t e d d i s c o u r s e . It w a s b u t of brief c o n t i n u a n c e , however, for a noise of s h o u t i n g , which h a d long b e e n remotely a u d i b l e , drew s o m u c h nearer, that Robin inquired its c a u s e . 'What may b e the m e a n i n g of this u p r o a r ? ' a s k e d h e . 'Truly, if your town b e always a s noisy, I shall find little s l e e p , while I a m a n inhabitant.' 'Why, i n d e e d , friend R o b i n , there d o a p p e a r to be three or four riotous fellows a b r o a d to-night,' replied the g e n t l e m a n . 'You m u s t not expect all the stillness of your native w o o d s , here in o u r streets. B u t the w a t c h will shortly b e at the heels of t h e s e l a d s , a n d — ' 'Aye, a n d set t h e m in the s t o c k s by p e e p of day,' interrupted R o b i n , r e c ollecting his own e n c o u n t e r with the drowsy lantern-bearer. ' B u t , dear Sir, if I may trust my e a r s , an a r m y of w a t c h m e n w o u l d never m a k e h e a d a g a i n s t s u c h a m u l t i t u d e of rioters. T h e r e were at least a t h o u s a n d v o i c e s went to m a k e u p that o n e s h o u t . ' ' M a y not o n e m a n have several v o i c e s , R o b i n , a s well a s two c o m p l e x i o n s ? ' s a i d his friend. ' P e r h a p s a m a n may; but h e a v e n forbid that a w o m a n s h o u l d ! ' r e s p o n d e d the shrewd y o u t h , thinking of the s e d u c t i v e t o n e s of the M a j o r ' s h o u s e keeper. T h e s o u n d s of a t r u m p e t in s o m e n e i g h b o r i n g street, n o w b e c a m e so evid e n t a n d c o n t i n u a l , that R o b i n ' s curiosity w a s strongly excited. In addition to the s h o u t s , h e h e a r d f r e q u e n t b u r s t s from m a n y i n s t r u m e n t s of d i s c o r d , a n d a wild a n d c o n f u s e d l a u g h t e r filled u p the intervals. R o b i n rose from the s t e p s , a n d looked wistfully t o w a r d s a p o i n t , whither several p e o p l e s e e m e d to b e h a s t e n i n g . 'Surely s o m e p r o d i g i o u s m e r r y m a k i n g is g o i n g o n , ' e x c l a i m e d h e . 'I have l a u g h e d very little s i n c e I left h o m e , Sir, a n d s h o u l d b e sorry to lose a n opportunity. S h a l l we j u s t s t e p r o u n d the c o r n e r by that darkish h o u s e , a n d take our s h a r e of the f u n ? ' 'Sit down a g a i n , sit d o w n , g o o d R o b i n , ' replied the g e n t l e m a n , laying his h a n d on the skirt of the grey c o a t . 'You forget that we m u s t wait h e r e for your k i n s m a n ; a n d there is r e a s o n to believe that h e will p a s s by, in the c o u r s e of a very few m o m e n t s . ' T h e n e a r a p p r o a c h of the u p r o a r h a d now d i s t u r b e d the n e i g h b o r h o o d ; windows flew o p e n on all s i d e s ; a n d m a n y h e a d s , in the attire of the pillow, a n d c o n f u s e d by s l e e p s u d d e n l y b r o k e n , were p r o t r u d e d to the gaze of whoever h a d leisure to o b s e r v e t h e m . E a g e r voices hailed e a c h other from h o u s e to h o u s e , all d e m a n d i n g the e x p l a n a t i o n , which not a soul c o u l d give. Halfd r e s s e d m e n hurried towards the u n k n o w n c o m m o t i o n , s t u m b l i n g a s they went over the s t o n e s t e p s , that thrust t h e m s e l v e s into the narrow foot-walk. T h e s h o u t s , the laughter, a n d the t u n e l e s s bray, the a n t i p o d e s of m u s i c , c a m e o n w a r d with i n c r e a s i n g din, till s c a t t e r e d individuals, a n d then d e n s e r b o d i e s , b e g a n to a p p e a r r o u n d a corner, at a d i s t a n c e of a h u n d r e d y a r d s . 'Will you r e c o g n i s e your k i n s m a n , R o b i n , if h e p a s s e s in this c r o w d ? ' inquired the g e n t l e m a n . 'Indeed, I can't warrant it, Sir; but I'll take my s t a n d h e r e , a n d k e e p a bright look o u t , ' a n s w e r e d R o b i n , d e s c e n d i n g to the outer e d g e of the p a v e ment.

MY

KINSMAN,

MAJOR

MOLINEUX

/

595

A mighty s t r e a m of p e o p l e now e m p t i e d into the street, a n d c a m e rolling slowly towards the c h u r c h . A single h o r s e m a n w h e e l e d the c o r n e r in the m i d s t of t h e m , a n d c l o s e b e h i n d him c a m e a b a n d of fearful windi n s t r u m e n t s , s e n d i n g forth a fresher d i s c o r d , n o w that n o intervening buildings kept it from the ear. T h e n a redder light d i s t u r b e d the m o o n b e a m s , a n d a d e n s e m u l t i t u d e of t o r c h e s s h o n e a l o n g the street, c o n c e a l i n g by their glare whatever object they illuminated. T h e single h o r s e m a n , c l a d in a military d r e s s , a n d b e a r i n g a drawn sword, rode o n w a r d a s the leader, a n d , by his fierce a n d variegated c o u n t e n a n c e , a p p e a r e d like war p e r s o n i fied; the red of o n e c h e e k w a s a n e m b l e m of fire a n d sword; the b l a c k n e s s of the other b e t o k e n e d the m o u r n i n g which a t t e n d s t h e m . In his train, were wild figures in the I n d i a n d r e s s , a n d m a n y fantastic s h a p e s without a m o d e l , giving the w h o l e m a r c h a visionary air, a s if a d r e a m h a d broken forth from s o m e feverish brain, a n d were s w e e p i n g visibly t h r o u g h the midnight streets. A m a s s of p e o p l e , inactive, except a s a p p l a u d i n g s p e c t a tors, h e m m e d the p r o c e s s i o n in, a n d several w o m e n ran a l o n g the sidewalks, piercing the c o n f u s i o n of heavier s o u n d s , with their shrill v o i c e s of mirth or terror. 'The d o u b l e - f a c e d fellow h a s his eye u p o n m e , ' m u t t e r e d R o b i n , with an indefinite but u n c o m f o r t a b l e idea, that h e w a s h i m s e l f to b e a r a part in the pageantry. T h e leader t u r n e d himself in the s a d d l e , a n d fixed his g l a n c e full u p o n the country youth, a s the steed went slowly by. W h e n R o b i n h a d freed his eyes from t h o s e fiery o n e s , the m u s i c i a n s were p a s s i n g before him, a n d the t o r c h e s were c l o s e at h a n d ; but the u n s t e a d y b r i g h t n e s s of the latter f o r m e d a veil which he c o u l d not p e n e t r a t e . T h e rattling of w h e e l s over the s t o n e s s o m e t i m e s f o u n d its way to his ear, a n d c o n f u s e d t r a c e s of a h u m a n form a p p e a r e d at intervals, a n d then m e l t e d into the vivid light. A m o m e n t m o r e , a n d the leader t h u n d e r e d a c o m m a n d to halt; the t r u m p e t s vomited a horrid b r e a t h , a n d held their p e a c e ; the s h o u t s a n d l a u g h t e r of the p e o p l e d i e d away, a n d there r e m a i n e d only a n universal h u m , nearly allied to s i l e n c e . Right before Robin's eyes w a s a n u n c o v e r e d cart. T h e r e the t o r c h e s blazed the brightest, there the m o o n s h o n e o u t like day, a n d there, in tar-andfeathery dignity, s a t e his k i n s m a n , M a j o r Molineux! H e w a s an elderly m a n , of large a n d m a j e s t i c p e r s o n , a n d strong, s q u a r e f e a t u r e s , b e t o k e n i n g a steady s o u l ; but s t e a d y a s it w a s , his e n e m i e s h a d f o u n d the m e a n s to s h a k e it. H i s f a c e w a s p a l e a s d e a t h , a n d far m o r e ghastly; the b r o a d f o r e h e a d w a s c o n t r a c t e d in his agony, so that the eyebrows f o r m e d o n e dark grey line; his eyes were red a n d wild, a n d the f o a m h u n g white u p o n his quivering lip. His whole f r a m e w a s agitated by a q u i c k , a n d c o n t i n u a l tremor, which his pride strove to quell, even in t h o s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s of overwhelming humiliation. B u t p e r h a p s the bitterest p a n g of all w a s w h e n his eyes m e t t h o s e of R o b i n ; for he evidently k n e w h i m on the instant, a s the youth s t o o d w i t n e s s i n g the foul d i s g r a c e of a h e a d that h a d grown grey in honor. T h e y stared at e a c h other in s i l e n c e , a n d Robin's k n e e s shook, a n d his hair bristled, with a mixture of pity a n d terror. S o o n , however, a bewildering excitement b e g a n to seize u p o n his m i n d ; the p r e c e d i n g a d v e n t u r e s of the night, the u n e x p e c t e d a p p e a r a n c e of the c r o w d , the t o r c h e s , the c o n f u s e d din, a n d the h u s h that followed, the s p e c t r e of his k i n s m a n reviled by that great m u l t i t u d e , all this, a n d m o r e t h a n all, a perc e p t i o n of t r e m e n d o u s ridicule in the whole s c e n e , affected him with a sort

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of m e n t a l inebriety. At that m o m e n t a voice of s l u g g i s h m e r r i m e n t s a l u t e d Robin's e a r s ; h e t u r n e d instinctively, a n d j u s t b e h i n d the c o r n e r of the c h u r c h s t o o d the lantern-bearer, r u b b i n g his eyes, a n d drowsily enjoying the lad's a m a z e m e n t . T h e n h e h e a r d a peal of laughter like the ringing of silvery bells; a w o m a n twitched his a r m , a s a u c y eye m e t his, a n d h e saw the lady of the scarlet p e t t i c o a t . A s h a r p , dry c a c h i n n a t i o n a p p e a l e d to his m e m o r y , a n d , s t a n d i n g on tiptoe in the c r o w d , with his white a p r o n over his h e a d , he b e h e l d the c o u r t e o u s little innkeeper. A n d lastly, there sailed over the h e a d s of the m u l t i t u d e a great, b r o a d l a u g h , b r o k e n in the m i d s t by two d e e p sepulchral hems; t h u s — ' H a w , haw, h a w — h e m , h e m — h a w , haw, haw, haw!' T h e s o u n d p r o c e e d e d from the b a l c o n y of the o p p o s i t e edifice, a n d thither Robin turned his eyes. In front of the G o t h i c w i n d o w s t o o d the old citizen, w r a p p e d in a wide g o w n , his grey periwig e x c h a n g e d for a n i g h t c a p , w h i c h w a s thrust b a c k from his f o r e h e a d , a n d his silk s t o c k i n g s h a n g i n g d o w n a b o u t his legs. H e s u p p o r t e d himself on his p o l i s h e d c a n e in a fit of convulsive m e r r i m e n t , which m a n i f e s t e d itself o n his s o l e m n old f e a t u r e s , like a funny inscription on a t o m b - s t o n e . T h e n R o b i n s e e m e d to h e a r the v o i c e s of the b a r b e r s ; of the g u e s t s of the inn; a n d of all w h o h a d m a d e sport of him that night. T h e c o n t a g i o n w a s s p r e a d i n g a m o n g the m u l t i t u d e , w h e n , all at o n c e , it seized u p o n R o b i n , a n d he sent forth a s h o u t of l a u g h t e r that e c h o e d through the street; every m a n s h o o k his s i d e s , every m a n e m p t i e d his l u n g s , but Robin's s h o u t w a s the l o u d e s t there. T h e cloud-spirits p e e p e d from their silvery i s l a n d s , a s the c o n g r e g a t e d mirth went roaring u p the sky! T h e M a n in the M o o n h e a r d the far bellow; ' O h o , ' q u o t h h e , 'the old E a r t h is frolics o m e to-night!' W h e n there w a s a m o m e n t a r y c a l m in that t e m p e s t u o u s s e a of s o u n d , the leader gave the sign, a n d the p r o c e s s i o n r e s u m e d its m a r c h . O n they went, like fiends that t h r o n g in m o c k e r y r o u n d s o m e d e a d p o t e n t a t e , mighty no m o r e , but m a j e s t i c still in his agony. O n they went, in c o u n terfeited p o m p , in s e n s e l e s s u p r o a r , in frenzied m e r r i m e n t , t r a m p l i n g all on a n old m a n ' s heart. O n swept the t u m u l t , a n d left a silent street behind.

• • • • •

'Well, R o b i n , are you d r e a m i n g ? ' inquired the g e n t l e m a n , laying his h a n d on the youth's s h o u l d e r . R o b i n started, a n d withdrew his a r m from the s t o n e p o s t , to which h e h a d instinctively c l u n g , while the living s t r e a m rolled by h i m . H i s c h e e k w a s s o m e w h a t p a l e , a n d his eye not q u i t e s o lively a s in the earlier part of the evening. 'Will you b e kind e n o u g h to s h o w m e the way to the Ferry?' said h e , after a moment's pause. 'You have then a d o p t e d a n e w s u b j e c t of inquiry?' o b s e r v e d his c o m p a n i o n , with a s m i l e . 'Why, yes, Sir,' replied R o b i n , rather dryly. ' T h a n k s to you, a n d to my other friends, I have at last m e t my k i n s m a n , a n d b e will s c a r c e desire to s e e my face a g a i n . I begin to grow weary of a town life, Sir. Will you s h o w m e the way to the Ferry?' ' N o , my g o o d friend R o b i n , not to-night, at least,' said the g e n t l e m a n . ' S o m e few days h e n c e , if you c o n t i n u e to wish it, I will s p e e d you on your

ROGER

MALVIN'S

BURIAL

/

5 9 7

j o u r n e y . Or, if you prefer to remain with u s , p e r h a p s , a s you are a shrewd youth, you m a y rise in the world, without the help of your k i n s m a n , M a j o r Molineux.' 1832, 1837

Roger Malvin's Burial1 O n e of the few i n c i d e n t s of Indian warfare, naturally s u s c e p t i b l e of the moonlight of r o m a n c e , w a s that expedition, u n d e r t a k e n , for t h e d e f e n c e of the frontiers, in the year 1 7 2 5 , which r e s u l t e d in the w e l l - r e m e m b e r e d 'Lovell's Fight.' 2 I m a g i n a t i o n , by c a s t i n g certain c i r c u m s t a n c e s j u d i c i o u s l y into the s h a d e , m a y s e e m u c h to a d m i r e in the h e r o i s m of a little b a n d , w h o gave battle to twice their n u m b e r in the heart of the e n e m y ' s country. T h e o p e n bravery displayed by both parties w a s in a c c o r d a n c e with civilized i d e a s of valor, a n d chivalry itself might not b l u s h to record the d e e d s of o n e or two individuals. T h e b a t t l e , t h o u g h s o fatal to t h o s e who f o u g h t , w a s not unfort u n a t e in its c o n s e q u e n c e s to the country; for it broke t h e strength of a tribe, a n d c o n d u c e d to the p e a c e which s u b s i s t e d d u r i n g several e n s u i n g years. History a n d tradition a r e u n u s u a l l y m i n u t e in their m e m o r i a l s of this affair; a n d the c a p t a i n of a s c o u t i n g party of frontier-men h a s a c q u i r e d a s a c t u a l a military r e n o w n , a s m a n y a victorious l e a d e r of t h o u s a n d s . S o m e of the incid e n t s c o n t a i n e d in t h e following p a g e s will b e r e c o g n i s e d , n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g the substitution of fictitious n a m e s , by s u c h a s have h e a r d , from old m e n ' s lips, the fate of the few c o m b a t a n t s w h o were in a c o n d i t i o n to retreat, after 'Lovell's Fight.'

T h e early s u n b e a m s hovered cheerfully u p o n the tree-tops, b e n e a t h which two weary a n d w o u n d e d m e n h a d s t r e t c h e d their l i m b s the night b e f o r e . T h e i r b e d of withered o a k leaves w a s strewn u p o n the small level s p a c e , at the foot of a rock, s i t u a t e d n e a r the s u m m i t of o n e of the gentle swells, by which the f a c e of the country is there diversified. T h e m a s s of g r a n i t e , rearing its s m o o t h , flat s u r f a c e , fifteen or twenty feet a b o v e their h e a d s , w a s not unlike a gigantic grave-stone, u p o n which t h e veins s e e m e d to form a n inscription in forgotten c h a r a c t e r s . O n a tract of several a c r e s a r o u n d this rock, o a k s a n d other hard-wood trees h a d s u p p l i e d the p l a c e of the p i n e s , which were t h e u s u a l growth of the l a n d ; a n d a y o u n g a n d vigorous sapling stood close b e s i d e the travellers. T h e severe w o u n d of the elder m a n h a d probably deprived h i m of s l e e p ; for, s o s o o n a s the first ray of s u n s h i n e r e s t e d on t h e top of the h i g h e s t tree, h e reared himself painfully from his r e c u m b e n t p o s t u r e , a n d sat erect. T h e d e e p lines of his c o u n t e n a n c e , a n d t h e s c a t t e r e d grey of his hair, m a r k e d him as p a s t the middle a g e ; b u t his m u s c u l a r f r a m e w o u l d , b u t for the effects of his w o u n d , have b e e n a s c a p a b l e of s u s t a i n i n g f a t i g u e , a s in t h e early vigor of life. L a n g u o r a n d e x h a u s t i o n n o w sat u p o n his h a g g a r d f e a t u r e s , a n d the d e s p a i r i n g g l a n c e which he sent forward through the d e p t h s of t h e forest, 1. T h e text is that of the first printing, in The Token for 1 8 3 2 .

2. An incident in the Penobscot War in Maine (then part of M a s s a c h u s e t t s ) during 1 7 2 5 .

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proved his own conviction that his p i l g r i m a g e w a s at a n e n d . H e next turned his eyes to the c o m p a n i o n , w h o reclined by his s i d e . T h e y o u t h , for he h a d scarcely attained the years of m a n h o o d , lay, with his h e a d u p o n his a r m , in the e m b r a c e of a n u n q u i e t s l e e p , which a thrill of p a i n from his w o u n d s s e e m e d e a c h m o m e n t o n the point of breaking. H i s right h a n d g r a s p e d a m u s k e t , a n d , to j u d g e from the violent action of his f e a t u r e s , his s l u m b e r s were bringing b a c k a vision of the conflict, of which h e w a s o n e of the few survivors. A s h o u t , — d e e p a n d loud to his d r e a m i n g f a n c y , — f o u n d its way in an imperfect m u r m u r to his lips, a n d , starting even at the slight s o u n d of his own voice, he s u d d e n l y a w o k e . T h e first act of reviving r e c o l l e c t i o n , w a s to m a k e anxious inquiries r e s p e c t i n g the c o n d i t i o n of his w o u n d e d fellow traveller. T h e latter s h o o k his h e a d . ' R e u b e n , my boy,' said h e , 'this rock, b e n e a t h which we sit, will serve for an old hunter's grave-stone. T h e r e is m a n y a n d m a n y a long mile of howling wilderness before u s yet; nor w o u l d it avail m e anything, if the s m o k e of my own c h i m n e y were but on the other side of that swell of land. T h e Indian bullet w a s deadlier than I t h o u g h t . ' 'You are weary with o u r three days' travel,' replied the y o u t h , 'and a little longer rest will recruit you. Sit you h e r e , while I s e a r c h the w o o d s for the h e r b s a n d roots, that m u s t be our s u s t e n a n c e ; a n d having e a t e n , you shall lean o n m e , a n d we will turn our f a c e s h o m e w a r d . I d o u b t not, that, with my help, you c a n attain to s o m e o n e of the frontier g a r r i s o n s . ' 'There is not two days' life in m e , R e u b e n , ' said the other, calmly, 'and I will no longer b u r t h e n you with my u s e l e s s body, w h e n you c a n scarcely s u p p o r t your own. Your w o u n d s are d e e p , a n d your strength is failing fast; yet, if you h a s t e n onward a l o n e , you m a y be preserved. F o r m e there is n o h o p e ; a n d I will await d e a t h h e r e . ' 'If it m u s t be s o , I will r e m a i n a n d w a t c h by y o u , ' said R e u b e n , resolutely. ' N o , my s o n , n o , ' rejoined his c o m p a n i o n . 'Let the wish of a dying m a n have weight with you; give m e o n e g r a s p of your h a n d , a n d get you h e n c e . T h i n k you that my last m o m e n t s will b e e a s e d by the t h o u g h t , that I leave you to die a m o r e lingering d e a t h ? I have loved you like a father, R e u b e n , a n d , at a time like this, I s h o u l d have s o m e t h i n g of a father's authority. I c h a r g e you to be g o n e , that I may die in p e a c e . ' 'And b e c a u s e you have b e e n a father to m e , s h o u l d I therefore leave you to p e r i s h , a n d to lie u n b u r i e d in the w i l d e r n e s s ? ' e x c l a i m e d the youth. ' N o ; if your e n d be in truth a p p r o a c h i n g , I will w a t c h by you, a n d receive your parting words. I will dig a grave here by the rock, in w h i c h , if my w e a k n e s s o v e r c o m e m e , we will rest together; or, if H e a v e n gives m e s t r e n g t h , I will s e e k my way h o m e . ' 'In the cities, a n d wherever m e n dwell,' replied the other, 'they bury their d e a d in the e a r t h ; they hide t h e m from the sight of the living; b u t h e r e , w h e r e no s t e p m a y p a s s , p e r h a p s for a h u n d r e d y e a r s , w h e r e f o r e s h o u l d I not rest b e n e a t h the o p e n sky, covered only by the o a k - l e a v e s , w h e n the a u t u m n winds shall strew t h e m ? A n d for a m o n u m e n t , here is this grey rock, on which my dying h a n d shall carve the n a m e of R o g e r M a l v i n : a n d the traveller in days to c o m e will know, that here s l e e p s a h u n t e r a n d a warrior. Tarry not, t h e n , for a folly like this, but h a s t e n away, if not for your own s a k e , for hers w h o will else b e d e s o l a t e . ' Malvin s p o k e the last few words in a faultering voice, a n d their effect u p o n his c o m p a n i o n w a s strongly visible. T h e y r e m i n d e d him that there were

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other, a n d less q u e s t i o n a b l e d u t i e s , than that of s h a r i n g the fate of a m a n w h o m his d e a t h c o u l d not benefit. N o r c a n it be affirmed that no selfish feeling strove to enter R e u b e n ' s heart, t h o u g h the c o n s c i o u s n e s s m a d e him m o r e earnestly resist his c o m p a n i o n ' s e n t r e a t i e s . ' H o w terrible, to wait the slow a p p r o a c h of d e a t h , in this solitude!' exclaimed h e . 'A brave m a n d o e s not shrink in the battle, a n d , w h e n friends s t a n d r o u n d the b e d , even w o m e n may die c o m p o s e d l y ; b u t h e r e ' — 'I shall not shrink, even h e r e , R e u b e n B o u r n e ; ' interrupted M a l v i n , 'I a m a m a n of no w e a k heart; a n d , if I w e r e , there is a s u r e r s u p p o r t t h a n that of earthly friends. You are y o u n g , a n d life is d e a r to you. Your last m o m e n t s will n e e d c o m f o r t far m o r e than m i n e ; a n d w h e n you have laid m e in the earth, a n d are a l o n e , a n d night is settling on the forest, you will feel all the bitterness of the d e a t h that may now be e s c a p e d . B u t I will urge n o selfish motive to your g e n e r o u s n a t u r e . L e a v e m e for my s a k e ; that, having s a i d a prayer for your safety, I may have s p a c e to settle my a c c o u n t , u n d i s t u r b e d by worldly sorrows.' 'And your d a u g h t e r ! H o w shall I d a r e to m e e t her eye?' e x c l a i m e d R e u b e n . ' S h e will a s k the fate of her father, w h o s e life I vowed to d e f e n d with my own. M u s t I tell her, that he travelled three days' m a r c h with m e from the field of battle, a n d that then I left him to perish in the w i l d e r n e s s ? W e r e it not better to lie d o w n a n d die by your s i d e , than to return s a f e , a n d say this to D o r c a s ? ' 'Tell my d a u g h t e r , ' said R o g e r M a l v i n , 'that, t h o u g h yourself sore w o u n d e d , a n d weak, a n d weary, you led my tottering f o o t s t e p s m a n y a mile, a n d left m e only at my e a r n e s t entreaty, b e c a u s e I would not have your b l o o d u p o n my s o u l . Tell her, that through pain a n d d a n g e r you were faithful, a n d that, if your life-blood c o u l d have saved m e , it would have flowed to its last d r o p . A n d tell her, that you will be s o m e t h i n g d e a r e r t h a n a father, a n d that my b l e s s i n g is with you b o t h , a n d that my dying eyes c a n s e e a long a n d p l e a s a n t p a t h , in which you will j o u r n e y together.' As Malvin s p o k e , h e a l m o s t raised himself from the g r o u n d , a n d the energy of his c o n c l u d i n g w o r d s s e e m e d to fill the wild a n d lonely forest with a vision of h a p p i n e s s . B u t w h e n h e s a n k e x h a u s t e d u p o n his b e d of oak-leaves, the light, which h a d kindled in R e u b e n ' s eye, w a s q u e n c h e d . H e felt a s if it were both sin a n d folly to think of h a p p i n e s s at s u c h a m o m e n t . H i s c o m p a n i o n w a t c h e d his c h a n g i n g c o u n t e n a n c e , a n d s o u g h t , with g e n e r o u s art, to wile him to his own g o o d . ' P e r h a p s I deceive myself in regard to the t i m e I have to live,' h e r e s u m e d . 'It may b e , that, with s p e e d y a s s i s t a n c e , I might recover my w o u n d . T h e f o r e m o s t fugitives m u s t , ere this, have carried tidings of our fatal battle to the frontiers, a n d parties will b e out to s u c c o u r t h o s e in like c o n d i t i o n with ourselves. S h o u l d you m e e t o n e of t h e s e , a n d g u i d e t h e m hither, w h o c a n tell but that I m a y sit by my own fireside a g a i n ? ' A mournful smile strayed a c r o s s the f e a t u r e s of the dying m a n , a s h e i n s i n u a t e d that u n f o u n d e d h o p e ; w h i c h , however, w a s not without its effect on R e u b e n . N o merely selfish motive, nor even the d e s o l a t e c o n d i t i o n of D o r c a s , c o u l d have i n d u c e d him to d e s e r t his c o m p a n i o n , at s u c h a m o m e n t . B u t his w i s h e s seized u p o n the t h o u g h t , that Malvin's life might b e p r e s e r v e d , a n d his s a n g u i n e n a t u r e h e i g h t e n e d , a l m o s t to certainty, the r e m o t e possibility of p r o c u r i n g h u m a n aid. 'Surely there is r e a s o n , weighty r e a s o n , to h o p e that friends are not far

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distant,' h e said, half a l o u d . 'There fled o n e c o w a r d , u n w o u n d e d , in the b e g i n n i n g of the fight, a n d m o s t probably he m a d e g o o d s p e e d . Every true m a n o n the frontier would s h o u l d e r his m u s k e t , at the n e w s ; a n d t h o u g h no party may r a n g e so far into the w o o d s a s this, I shall p e r h a p s e n c o u n t e r t h e m in o n e day's m a r c h . C o u n s e l m e faithfully,' h e a d d e d , turning to M a l v i n , in distrust of his own motives. 'Were your situation m i n e , would you d e s e r t m e while life r e m a i n e d ? ' 'It is now twenty years,' replied R o g e r M a l v i n , sighing, however, a s he secretly a c k n o w l e d g e d the wide dissimilarity b e t w e e n the two c a s e s , — ' i t is now twenty y e a r s , s i n c e I e s c a p e d , with o n e d e a r friend, from I n d i a n captivity, near M o n t r e a l . W e j o u r n e y e d m a n y days t h r o u g h the w o o d s , till at length, o v e r c o m e with h u n g e r a n d w e a r i n e s s , my friend lay d o w n , a n d b e s o u g h t m e to leave h i m ; for h e knew, that, if I r e m a i n e d , we both m u s t p e r i s h . A n d , with but little h o p e of o b t a i n i n g s u c c o u r , I h e a p e d a pillow of dry leaves b e n e a t h his h e a d , a n d h a s t e n e d o n . ' 'And did you return in time to save h i m ? ' a s k e d R e u b e n , h a n g i n g o n M a l vin's words, a s if they were to b e p r o p h e t i c of his own s u c c e s s . 'I did,' a n s w e r e d the other, 'I c a m e u p o n the c a m p of a h u n t i n g party, before s u n s e t of the s a m e day. I g u i d e d t h e m to the spot w h e r e my c o m r a d e w a s expecting d e a t h ; a n d h e is n o w a hale a n d hearty m a n , u p o n his own farm, far within the frontiers, while I lie w o u n d e d h e r e , in the d e p t h s of the wilderness.' T h i s e x a m p l e , powerful in effecting R e u b e n ' s d e c i s i o n , w a s a i d e d , u n c o n sciously to himself, by the h i d d e n strength of m a n y a n o t h e r motive. R o g e r Malvin p e r c e i v e d that the victory w a s nearly w o n . ' N o w g o , my s o n , a n d H e a v e n p r o s p e r you!' h e s a i d . 'Turn not b a c k with our friends, w h e n you m e e t t h e m , lest your w o u n d s a n d w e a r i n e s s o v e r c o m e you; b u t s e n d hitherward two or three, that m a y b e s p a r e d , to s e a r c h for m e . A n d believe m e , R e u b e n , my heart will b e lighter with every s t e p you take towards h o m e . ' Yet there w a s p e r h a p s a c h a n g e , both in his c o u n t e n a n c e a n d voice, a s he s p o k e t h u s ; for, after all, it w a s a ghastly fate, to be left expiring in the w i l d e r n e s s . R e u b e n B o u r n e , but half c o n v i n c e d that h e w a s a c t i n g rightly, at length raised himself from the g r o u n d , a n d p r e p a r e d for his d e p a r t u r e . A n d first, t h o u g h contrary to Malvin's w i s h e s , h e c o l l e c t e d a s t o c k of roots a n d herbs, which h a d b e e n their only food d u r i n g the last two days. T h i s u s e l e s s supply h e p l a c e d within r e a c h of the dying m a n , for w h o m , a l s o , h e s w e p t together a fresh b e d of dry oak-leaves. T h e n , c l i m b i n g to the s u m m i t of the rock, which o n o n e side w a s r o u g h a n d b r o k e n , h e b e n t the o a k - s a p l i n g downw a r d s , a n d b o u n d his h a n d k e r c h i e f to the t o p m o s t b r a n c h . T h i s p r e c a u t i o n w a s not u n n e c e s s a r y , to direct any w h o might c o m e in s e a r c h of M a l v i n ; for every part of the rock, except its b r o a d , s m o o t h front, w a s c o n c e a l e d , at a little d i s t a n c e , by the d e n s e u n d e r g r o w t h of the forest. T h e h a n d k e r c h i e f h a d b e e n the b a n d a g e of a w o u n d u p o n R e u b e n ' s a r m ; a n d , a s h e b o u n d it to the tree, h e vowed, by the b l o o d that s t a i n e d it, that he w o u l d r e t u r n , either to save his c o m p a n i o n ' s life, or to lay his body in the grave. H e then d e s c e n d e d , a n d s t o o d , with d o w n c a s t eyes, to receive R o g e r Malvin's p a r t i n g w o r d s . T h e e x p e r i e n c e of the latter s u g g e s t e d m u c h a n d m i n u t e a d v i c e , r e s p e c t i n g the youth's j o u r n e y t h r o u g h the t r a c k l e s s forest. U p o n this s u b j e c t he s p o k e with c a l m e a r n e s t n e s s , a s if he were s e n d i n g R e u b e n to the battle or the

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c h a s e , while he himself r e m a i n e d s e c u r e at h o m e ; a n d not a s if the h u m a n c o u n t e n a n c e , that w a s a b o u t to leave him, were the last h e would ever b e h o l d . B u t his firmness w a s s h a k e n , before he c o n c l u d e d . 'Carry my b l e s s i n g to D o r c a s , a n d say that my last prayer shall b e for her a n d you. Bid her have no hard t h o u g h t s b e c a u s e you left m e h e r e ' — R e u b e n ' s heart s m o t e h i m — ' f o r that your life would not have w e i g h e d with you, if its sacrifice c o u l d have d o n e m e g o o d . S h e will marry you, after s h e h a s m o u r n e d a little while for her father; a n d H e a v e n grant you long a n d h a p p y days! a n d m a y your children's children s t a n d r o u n d your d e a t h - b e d ! A n d , R e u b e n , ' a d d e d h e , a s the w e a k n e s s of mortality m a d e its way at last, 'return, w h e n your w o u n d s a r e healed a n d your w e a r i n e s s refreshed, return to this wild rock, a n d lay my b o n e s in the grave, a n d say a prayer over t h e m . ' An a l m o s t s u p e r s t i t i o u s regard, arising p e r h a p s from the c u s t o m s of the I n d i a n s , w h o s e war w a s with the d e a d , a s well a s the living, w a s p a i d by the frontier i n h a b i t a n t s to the rites of s e p u l t u r e ; a n d there a r e m a n y i n s t a n c e s of the sacrifice of life, in the a t t e m p t to bury t h o s e w h o h a d fallen by the 'sword of the w i l d e r n e s s . ' R e u b e n , therefore, felt the full i m p o r t a n c e of the p r o m i s e , which h e m o s t solemnly m a d e , to return, a n d p e r f o r m R o g e r M a l vin's o b s e q u i e s . It w a s r e m a r k a b l e , that the latter, s p e a k i n g his whole heart in his p a r t i n g w o r d s , n o longer e n d e a v o r e d to p e r s u a d e the y o u t h , that even the s p e e d i e s t s u c c o u r might avail to the preservation of his life. R e u b e n w a s internally c o n v i n c e d , that he s h o u l d s e e Malvin's living f a c e n o m o r e . His g e n e r o u s n a t u r e would fain have delayed h i m , at whatever risk, till the dying s c e n e were p a s t ; b u t the desire of e x i s t e n c e , a n d the h o p e of h a p p i n e s s h a d s t r e n g t h e n e d in his heart, a n d he w a s u n a b l e to resist t h e m . 'It is e n o u g h , ' said R o g e r M a l v i n , having listened to R e u b e n ' s p r o m i s e . ' G o , a n d G o d s p e e d you!' T h e youth p r e s s e d his h a n d in s i l e n c e , t u r n e d , a n d w a s d e p a r t i n g . H i s slow a n d faultering s t e p s , however, h a d b o r n e him b u t a little way, before Malvin's voice recalled h i m . ' R e u b e n , R e u b e n , ' said h e , faintly; a n d R e u b e n t u r n e d a n d knelt d o w n by the dying m a n . ' R a i s e m e a n d let m e lean a g a i n s t the rock,' w a s his last r e q u e s t . ' M y f a c e will be turned towards h o m e , a n d I shall s e e you a m o m e n t longer, a s you p a s s a m o n g the trees.' R e u b e n , having m a d e the d e s i r e d alteration in his c o m p a n i o n ' s p o s t u r e , again b e g a n his solitary p i l g r i m a g e . H e walked m o r e hastily at first, t h a n w a s c o n s i s t e n t with his s t r e n g t h ; for a sort of guilty feeling, which s o m e t i m e s t o r m e n t s m e n in their m o s t justifiable a c t s , c a u s e d him to s e e k c o n c e a l m e n t from Malvin's eyes. B u t , after he h a d trodden far u p o n the rustling forestleaves, h e c r e p t b a c k , i m p e l l e d by a wild a n d painful curiosity, a n d , sheltered by the earthy roots of a n u p t o r n tree, g a z e d earnestly at the d e s o l a t e m a n . T h e m o r n i n g s u n w a s u n c l o u d e d , a n d the trees a n d s h r u b s i m b i b e d the sweet air of the m o n t h of M a y ; yet there s e e m e d a g l o o m o n N a t u r e ' s f a c e , a s if s h e s y m p a t h i z e d with mortal p a i n a n d sorrow. R o g e r Malvin's h a n d s were uplifted in a fervent prayer, s o m e of the w o r d s which stole t h r o u g h the stilln e s s of the w o o d s , a n d entered R e u b e n ' s heart, torturing it with a n unutterable p a n g . T h e y were the broken a c c e n t s of a petition for his own h a p p i n e s s a n d that of D o r c a s ; a n d , a s the youth listened, c o n s c i e n c e , or s o m e t h i n g in its similitude, p l e a d e d strongly with him to return, a n d lie d o w n a g a i n by the

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rock. H e felt how hard w a s the d o o m of the kind a n d g e n e r o u s b e i n g w h o m he h a d d e s e r t e d in his extremity. D e a t h would c o m e , like the slow a p p r o a c h of a c o r p s e , stealing gradually towards him through the forest, a n d showing its ghastly a n d m o t i o n l e s s f e a t u r e s from b e h i n d a nearer, a n d yet a nearer tree. B u t s u c h m u s t have b e e n R e u b e n ' s own fate, h a d h e tarried a n o t h e r s u n s e t ; a n d w h o shall i m p u t e b l a m e to him, if h e s h r a n k from s o u s e l e s s a sacrifice? As h e gave a p a r t i n g look, a breeze waved the little b a n n e r u p o n the sapling-oak, a n d r e m i n d e d R e u b e n of his vow.

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M a n y c i r c u m s t a n c e s c o n t r i b u t e d to retard the w o u n d e d traveller, in his way to the frontiers. O n the s e c o n d day, the c l o u d s , g a t h e r i n g densely over the sky, p r e c l u d e d the possibility of r e g u l a t i n g his c o u r s e by the position of the s u n ; a n d he knew not but that every effort of his a l m o s t e x h a u s t e d strength, w a s removing him farther from the h o m e h e s o u g h t . H i s s c a n t y s u s t e n a n c e w a s s u p p l i e d by the berries, a n d other s p o n t a n e o u s p r o d u c t s of the forest. H e r d s of deer, it is true, s o m e t i m e s b o u n d e d p a s t him, a n d partridges frequently whirred up before his f o o t s t e p s ; b u t his a m m u n i t i o n h a d b e e n e x p e n d e d in the fight, a n d he h a d no m e a n s of slaying t h e m . His w o u n d s , irritated by the c o n s t a n t exertion in which lay the only h o p e of life; wore away his s t r e n g t h , a n d at intervals c o n f u s e d his r e a s o n . B u t , even in the w a n d e r i n g s of intellect, R e u b e n ' s y o u n g heart c l u n g strongly to e x i s t e n c e , a n d it w a s only t h r o u g h a b s o l u t e i n c a p a c i t y of m o t i o n , that h e at last s a n k d o w n b e n e a t h a tree, c o m p e l l e d there to await d e a t h . In this situation he w a s d i s c o v e r e d by a party, w h o , u p o n the first intelligence of the fight, h a d b e e n d e s p a t c h e d to the relief of the survivors. T h e y conveyed him to the n e a r e s t s e t t l e m e n t , which c h a n c e d to b e that of his own r e s i d e n c e . D o r c a s , in the simplicity of the olden t i m e , w a t c h e d by the b e d - s i d e of her w o u n d e d lover, a n d a d m i n i s t e r e d all t h o s e c o m f o r t s , that a r e in the sole gift of w o m a n ' s heart a n d h a n d . D u r i n g several d a y s , R e u b e n ' s recollection strayed drowsily a m o n g the perils a n d h a r d s h i p s t h r o u g h which he h a d p a s s e d , a n d he w a s i n c a p a b l e of returning definite a n s w e r s to the inquiries, with which m a n y were e a g e r to h a r a s s h i m . N o a u t h e n t i c p a r t i c u l a r s of the battle had yet b e e n c i r c u l a t e d ; nor c o u l d m o t h e r s , wives, a n d children tell, w h e t h e r their loved o n e s were d e t a i n e d by captivity, or by the stronger c h a i n of d e a t h . D o r c a s n o u r i s h e d her a p p r e h e n s i o n s in s i l e n c e , till o n e afternoon, w h e n R e u b e n a w o k e from an u n q u i e t s l e e p , a n d s e e m e d to r e c o g n i s e her, m o r e perfectly than at any previous time. S h e saw that his intellect h a d b e c o m e c o m p o s e d , a n d s h e c o u l d no longer restrain her filial anxiety. 'My father, R e u b e n ? ' s h e b e g a n ; but the c h a n g e in her lover's c o u n t e n a n c e m a d e her p a u s e . T h e youth shrank, a s if with a bitter p a i n , a n d the b l o o d g u s h e d vividly into his w a n a n d hollow c h e e k s . H i s first i m p u l s e w a s to cover his f a c e ; b u t , apparently with a d e s p e r a t e effort, he half raised himself, a n d s p o k e v e h e mently, d e f e n d i n g himself a g a i n s t a n imaginary a c c u s a t i o n . 'Your father w a s sore w o u n d e d in the battle, D o r c a s , a n d he b a d e m e not b u r t h e n myself with him, but only to lead him to the l a k e s i d e , that he might q u e n c h his thirst a n d d i e . B u t I would not d e s e r t the old m a n in his extremity, a n d , t h o u g h b l e e d i n g myself, I s u p p o r t e d h i m ; I gave him half my s t r e n g t h , a n d led him away with m e . F o r three days we j o u r n e y e d o n together, a n d

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your father w a s s u s t a i n e d beyond my h o p e s ; b u t , a w a k i n g at s u n r i s e on the fourth day, I f o u n d him faint a n d e x h a u s t e d , — h e w a s u n a b l e to p r o c e e d , — his life h a d e b b e d away f a s t , — a n d ' — ' H e died!' e x c l a i m e d D o r c a s , faintly. R e u b e n felt it i m p o s s i b l e to a c k n o w l e d g e , that his selfish love of life h a d hurried him away, before her father's fate w a s d e c i d e d . H e s p o k e not; he only b o w e d his h e a d ; a n d , b e t w e e n s h a m e a n d e x h a u s t i o n , s a n k b a c k a n d hid his face in the pillow. D o r c a s wept, w h e n her fears were t h u s c o n f i r m e d ; but the shock, as it h a d b e e n long a n t i c i p a t e d , w a s on that a c c o u n t the less violent. 'You d u g a grave for my p o o r father, in the w i l d e r n e s s , R e u b e n ? ' w a s the q u e s t i o n by which her filial piety m a n i f e s t e d itself. 'My h a n d s were weak, but I did what I c o u l d , ' replied the youth in a s m o t h e r e d tone. 'There s t a n d s a noble t o m b - s t o n e a b o v e his h e a d , a n d I would to H e a v e n I slept as s o u n d l y as he!' D o r c a s , perceiving the wildness of his latter w o r d s , inquired no farther at that t i m e ; but her heart f o u n d e a s e in the t h o u g h t , that R o g e r Malvin h a d not lacked s u c h funeral rites a s it w a s p o s s i b l e to b e s t o w . T h e tale of R e u ben's c o u r a g e a n d fidelity lost nothing, w h e n s h e c o m m u n i c a t e d it to her friends; a n d the poor youth, tottering from his sick c h a m b e r to b r e a t h e the s u n n y air, e x p e r i e n c e d from every t o n g u e the m i s e r a b l e a n d h u m i l i a t i n g torture of u n m e r i t e d p r a i s e . All a c k n o w l e d g e d that he might worthily d e m a n d the h a n d of the fair m a i d e n , to w h o s e father h e h a d b e e n 'faithful u n t o d e a t h ; ' a n d , a s my tale is not of love, it shall suffice to say, that, in the s p a c e of two years, R e u b e n b e c a m e the h u s b a n d of D o r c a s M a l v i n . D u r i n g the m a r r i a g e c e r e m o n y , the bride was covered with b l u s h e s , but the b r i d e g r o o m ' s face was pale. T h e r e w a s now in the breast of R e u b e n B o u r n e a n i n c o m m u n i c a b l e thought; s o m e t h i n g which he w a s to c o n c e a l m o s t needfully from her w h o m he m o s t loved a n d trusted. H e regretted, deeply a n d bitterly, the moral cowardice that h a d restrained his w o r d s , w h e n he w a s a b o u t to d i s c l o s e the truth to D o r c a s ; but p r i d e , the fear of losing her affection, the d r e a d of universal s c o r n , f o r b a d e him to rectify this f a l s e h o o d . H e felt, that, for leaving R o g e r Malvin, he deserved n o c e n s u r e . His p r e s e n c e , the g r a t u i t o u s sacrifice of his own life, would have a d d e d only a n o t h e r , a n d a n e e d l e s s agony to the last m o m e n t s of the dying m a n . B u t c o n c e a l m e n t h a d i m p a r t e d to a justifiable act, m u c h of the secret effect of guilt; a n d R e u b e n , while r e a s o n told him that he had d o n e right, e x p e r i e n c e d in no small d e g r e e , the m e n t a l horrors, which p u n i s h the perpetrator of u n d i s c o v e r e d c r i m e . By a certain a s s o c i a t i o n of i d e a s , he at times a l m o s t i m a g i n e d himself a m u r d e r e r . F o r years, a l s o , a thought would o c c a s i o n a l l y recur, w h i c h , t h o u g h he perceived all its folly a n d e x t r a v a g a n c e , he h a d not power to b a n i s h from his m i n d ; it w a s a h a u n t i n g a n d torturing fancy, that his father-in-law w a s yet sitting at the foot of the rock, on the withered forest-leaves, alive, a n d awaiting his p l e d g e d a s s i s t a n c e . T h e s e mental d e c e p t i o n s , however, c a m e a n d went, nor did he ever m i s t a k e t h e m for realities; but in the c a l m e s t a n d clearest m o o d s of his m i n d , he w a s c o n s c i o u s that he had a d e e p vow u n r e d e e m e d , a n d that an u n b u r i e d c o r p s e w a s calling to him, out of the w i l d e r n e s s . Yet, s u c h w a s the c o n s e q u e n c e of his prevarication, that he c o u l d not obey the call. It w a s now too late to require the a s s i s t a n c e of R o g e r Malvin's friends, in p e r f o r m i n g his

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long-deferred s e p u l t u r e ; a n d s u p e r s t i t i o u s fears, of w h i c h n o n e were m o r e s u s c e p t i b l e t h a n the p e o p l e of the o u t w a r d s e t t l e m e n t s , f o r b a d e R e u b e n to go a l o n e . N e i t h e r did he know w h e r e , in the p a t h l e s s a n d illimitable forest, to s e e k that s m o o t h a n d lettered rock, at the b a s e of w h i c h the body lay; his r e m e m b r a n c e of every portion of his travel t h e n c e w a s indistinct, a n d the latter part h a d left no i m p r e s s i o n u p o n his m i n d . T h e r e w a s , however, a continual i m p u l s e , a voice a u d i b l e only to himself, c o m m a n d i n g him to go forth a n d r e d e e m his vow; a n d h e h a d a s t r a n g e i m p r e s s i o n , that, were h e to m a k e the trial, h e w o u l d b e led straight to Malvin's b o n e s . B u t , year after year, that s u m m o n s , u n h e a r d b u t felt, w a s d i s o b e y e d . His o n e s e c r e t t h o u g h t , b e c a m e like a c h a i n , b i n d i n g d o w n his spirit, a n d , like a s e r p e n t , g n a w i n g into his heart; a n d h e w a s t r a n s f o r m e d into a s a d a n d d o w n c a s t , yet irritable m a n . In the c o u r s e of a few years after their m a r r i a g e , c h a n g e s b e g a n to be visible in the external prosperity of R e u b e n a n d D o r c a s . T h e only riches of the former h a d b e e n his stout heart a n d strong a r m ; b u t the latter, her father's sole h e i r e s s , h a d m a d e her h u s b a n d m a s t e r of a f a r m , u n d e r older cultivation, larger, a n d better s t o c k e d than m o s t of the frontier e s t a b l i s h m e n t s . R e u b e n B o u r n e , however, w a s a neglectful h u s b a n d m a n ; a n d while the l a n d s of the other settlers b e c a m e a n n u a l l y m o r e fruitful, his d e t e r i o r a t e d in the s a m e p r o p o r t i o n . T h e d i s c o u r a g e m e n t s to a g r i c u l t u r e were greatly l e s s e n e d by the c e s s a t i o n of Indian war, d u r i n g which m e n held the p l o u g h in o n e h a n d , a n d the m u s k e t in the other; a n d were f o r t u n a t e if the p r o d u c t s of their dangero u s labor were not destroyed, either in the field or in the b a r n , by the s a v a g e e n e m y . B u t R e u b e n did not profit by the altered condition of the country; nor c a n it be d e n i e d , that his intervals of i n d u s t r i o u s attention to his affairs were but scantily rewarded with s u c c e s s . T h e irritability, by w h i c h h e h a d recently b e c o m e d i s t i n g u i s h e d , w a s a n o t h e r c a u s e of his d e c l i n i n g prosperity, a s it o c c a s i o n e d f r e q u e n t q u a r r e l s , in his u n a v o i d a b l e i n t e r c o u r s e with the neighboring settlers. T h e results of t h e s e were i n n u m e r a b l e law-suits; for the p e o ple of N e w E n g l a n d , in the earliest s t a g e s a n d wildest c i r c u m s t a n c e s of the country, a d o p t e d , w h e n e v e r a t t a i n a b l e , the legal m o d e of d e c i d i n g their diff e r e n c e s . T o b e brief, the world did not g o well with R e u b e n B o u r n e , a n d , t h o u g h not till m a n y years after his m a r r i a g e , h e w a s finally a ruined m a n , with b u t o n e r e m a i n i n g expedient a g a i n s t the evil fate that h a d p u r s u e d him. H e w a s to throw sunlight into s o m e d e e p r e c e s s of the forest, a n d s e e k s u b s i s t e n c e from the virgin b o s o m of the w i l d e r n e s s . T h e only child of R e u b e n a n d D o r c a s w a s a s o n , n o w arrived at the a g e of fifteen y e a r s , beautiful in y o u t h , a n d giving p r o m i s e of a g l o r i o u s m a n h o o d . H e w a s peculiarly qualified for, a n d already b e g a n to excel in, the wild a c c o m p l i s h m e n t s of frontier life. H i s foot w a s fleet, his aim t r u e , his a p p r e h e n s i o n q u i c k , his heart glad a n d high; a n d all, w h o a n t i c i p a t e d the return of I n d i a n war, s p o k e of C y r u s B o u r n e a s a future l e a d e r in the l a n d . T h e boy w a s loved by his father, with a d e e p a n d silent s t r e n g t h , a s if w h a t e v e r w a s g o o d a n d h a p p y in his own n a t u r e h a d b e e n transferred to his child, carrying his affections with it. E v e n D o r c a s , t h o u g h loving a n d b e l o v e d , w a s far l e s s d e a r to h i m ; for R e u b e n ' s secret t h o u g h t s a n d i n s u l a t e d e m o t i o n s h a d gradually m a d e him a selfish m a n ; a n d he c o u l d n o longer love deeply, except w h e r e h e saw, or i m a g i n e d , s o m e reflection or likeness of his own m i n d . In C y r u s he r e c o g n i s e d what he had h i m s e l f b e e n in other days; a n d at intervals he

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s e e m e d to p a r t a k e of the boy's spirit, a n d to b e revived with a fresh a n d h a p p y life. R e u b e n w a s a c c o m p a n i e d by his son in the expedition, for the p u r p o s e of selecting a tract of land, a n d felling a n d b u r n i n g the timber, which n e c e s s a r ily p r e c e d e d the removal of the h o u s e h o l d g o d s . ' T w o m o n t h s of a u t u m n were t h u s o c c u p i e d ; after which R e u b e n B o u r n e a n d his y o u n g h u n t e r returned, to s p e n d their last winter in the s e t t l e m e n t s .

It w a s early in the m o n t h of M a y , that the little family s n a p p e d a s u n d e r whatever tendrils of affection h a d c l u n g to i n a n i m a t e o b j e c t s , a n d b a d e farewell to the few, w h o , in the blight of fortune, called t h e m s e l v e s their friends. T h e s a d n e s s of the p a r t i n g m o m e n t h a d , to e a c h of the pilgrims, its p e c u l i a r alleviations. R e u b e n , a m o o d y m a n , a n d m i s a n t h r o p i c b e c a u s e u n h a p p y , strode o n w a r d , with his u s u a l stern brow a n d d o w n c a s t eye, feeling few regrets, a n d d i s d a i n i n g to a c k n o w l e d g e any. D o r c a s , while s h e wept a b u n dantly over the broken ties by which her s i m p l e a n d affectionate n a t u r e h a d b o u n d itself to everything, felt that the i n h a b i t a n t s of her i n m o s t heart m o v e d on with her, a n d that all else would be s u p p l i e d wherever s h e might g o . A n d the boy d a s h e d o n e tear-drop from his eye, a n d thought of the a d v e n t u r o u s p l e a s u r e s of the u n t r o d d e n forest. O h ! w h o , in the e n t h u s i a s m of a dayd r e a m , has not w i s h e d that he were a w a n d e r e r in a world of s u m m e r wildern e s s , with o n e fair a n d gentle b e i n g h a n g i n g lightly o n his a r m ? In youth, his free a n d exulting step would know n o barrier but the rolling o c e a n or the snow-topt m o u n t a i n s ; c a l m e r m a n h o o d would c h o o s e a h o m e , w h e r e N a t u r e h a d strewn a d o u b l e wealth, in the vale of s o m e t r a n s p a r e n t s t r e a m ; a n d w h e n hoary a g e , after long, long years of that p u r e life, stole on a n d f o u n d him there, it would find him the father of a r a c e , the p a t r i a r c h of a p e o p l e , the f o u n d e r of a mighty nation yet to b e . W h e n d e a t h , like the s w e e t s l e e p which we w e l c o m e after a day of h a p p i n e s s , c a m e over him, his far d e s c e n d a n t s would m o u r n over the v e n e r a t e d d u s t . E n v e l o p e d by tradition in m y s t e r i o u s attributes, the m e n of future g e n e r a t i o n s would call him godlike; a n d r e m o t e posterity would s e e him s t a n d i n g , dimly glorious, far up the valley of a h u n dred c e n t u r i e s ! T h e tangled a n d g l o o m y forest, t h r o u g h which the p e r s o n a g e s of my tale were w a n d e r i n g , differed widely from the d r e a m e r ' s L a n d of F a n t a s i e ; yet there w a s s o m e t h i n g in their way of life that N a t u r e a s s e r t e d a s her o w n ; a n d the g n a w i n g c a r e s , which went with t h e m from the world, were all that now o b s t r u c t e d their h a p p i n e s s . O n e stout a n d s h a g g y s t e e d , the b e a r e r of all their wealth, did not shrink from the a d d e d weight of D o r c a s ; a l t h o u g h her hardy b r e e d i n g s u s t a i n e d her, d u r i n g the larger part of e a c h day's j o u r ney, by her h u s b a n d ' s side. R e u b e n a n d his s o n , their m u s k e t s on their s h o u l d e r s , a n d their axes s l u n g b e h i n d t h e m , kept a n u n w e a r i e d p a c e , e a c h w a t c h i n g with a hunter's eye for the g a m e that s u p p l i e d their food. W h e n h u n g e r b a d e , they halted a n d p r e p a r e d their m e a l on the b a n k of s o m e u n p o l l u t e d forest-brook, w h i c h , a s they knelt down with thirsty lips to drink, m u r m u r e d a sweet u n w i l l i n g n e s s , like a m a i d e n , at love's first kiss. T h e y slept b e n e a t h a hut of b r a n c h e s , a n d a w o k e at p e e p of light, r e f r e s h e d for 3. I.e., prized possessions, b e c a u s e of the value placed on personal idols in many cultures. In G e n e s i s 3 1 . 1 9 Rachel, without telling her husband, J a c o b , steals her father's household gods.

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the toils of a n o t h e r day. D o r c a s a n d the boy went o n joyously, a n d even R e u b e n ' s spirit s h o n e at intervals with an o u t w a r d g l a d n e s s ; b u t inwardly there w a s a cold, cold sorrow, which h e c o m p a r e d to the snow-drifts, lying d e e p in the glens a n d hollows of the rivulets, while the leaves were brightly green a b o v e . C y r u s B o u r n e w a s sufficiently skilled in the travel of the w o o d s , to o b s e r v e , that his father did not a d h e r e to the c o u r s e they h a d p u r s u e d , in their expedition of the p r e c e d i n g a u t u m n . T h e y were n o w k e e p i n g farther to the north, striking out m o r e directly from t h e s e t t l e m e n t s , a n d into a region, of which s a v a g e b e a s t s a n d s a v a g e m e n were a s yet the sole p o s s e s s o r s . T h e boy s o m e t i m e s hinted his o p i n i o n s u p o n the s u b j e c t , a n d R e u b e n listened attentively, a n d o n c e or twice altered the direction of their m a r c h in a c c o r d a n c e with his son's c o u n s e l . B u t having s o d o n e , he s e e m e d ill at e a s e . H i s q u i c k a n d w a n d e r i n g g l a n c e s were s e n t forward, a p p a r e n t l y in s e a r c h of e n e m i e s lurking b e h i n d the tree-trunks; a n d s e e i n g n o t h i n g there, he would c a s t his eyes b a c k w a r d , as if in fear of s o m e p u r s u e r . C y r u s , p e r c e i v i n g that his father gradually r e s u m e d the old direction, forbore to interfere; nor, t h o u g h s o m e t h i n g b e g a n to weigh u p o n his heart, did his a d v e n t u r o u s n a t u r e permit him to regret t h e i n c r e a s e d length a n d the mystery of their way. O n the afternoon of the fifth day, they h a l t e d a n d m a d e their s i m p l e e n c a m p m e n t , nearly a n h o u r before s u n s e t . T h e f a c e of the country, for the last few m i l e s , h a d b e e n diversified by swells of land, r e s e m b l i n g h u g e waves of a petrified s e a ; a n d in o n e of the c o r r e s p o n d i n g hollows, a wild a n d r o m a n t i c spot, h a d the family reared their h u t , a n d kindled their fire. T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g chilling, a n d yet h e a r t - w a r m i n g , in the t h o u g h t of three, united by s t r o n g b a n d s of love, a n d i n s u l a t e d from all that b r e a t h e b e s i d e . T h e dark a n d g l o o m y p i n e s looked d o w n u p o n t h e m , a n d , a s t h e wind swept t h r o u g h their t o p s , a pitying s o u n d w a s h e a r d in the forest; or did t h o s e old trees g r o a n , in fear that m e n were c o m e to lay the axe to their roots at last? R e u b e n a n d his s o n , while D o r c a s m a d e ready their m e a l , p r o p o s e d to wander out in s e a r c h of g a m e , of which that day's m a r c h h a d afforded no s u p ply. T h e boy, p r o m i s i n g not to quit t h e vicinity of the e n c a m p m e n t , b o u n d e d off with a step as light a n d elastic a s that of the d e e r he h o p e d to slay; while his father, feeling a transient h a p p i n e s s a s he g a z e d after h i m , w a s a b o u t to p u r s u e a n o p p o s i t e direction. D o r c a s , in the m e a n w h i l e , h a d s e a t e d herself n e a r their fire of fallen b r a n c h e s , u p o n the m o s s - g r o w n a n d m o u l d e r i n g trunk of a tree, u p r o o t e d years b e f o r e . H e r e m p l o y m e n t , diversified by a n o c c a s i o n a l g l a n c e at the pot, n o w b e g i n n i n g to s i m m e r over the blaze, w a s the p e r u s a l of t h e c u r r e n t year's M a s s a c h u s e t t s A l m a n a c , w h i c h , with the exception of a n old black-letter 4 B i b l e , c o m p r i s e d all the literary wealth of the family. N o n e p a y a greater regard to arbitrary divisions of t i m e , t h a n t h o s e w h o are e x c l u d e d from society; a n d D o r c a s m e n t i o n e d , a s if the i n f o r m a t i o n were of i m p o r t a n c e , that it w a s n o w the twelfth of M a y . H e r h u s b a n d started. ' T h e twelfth of M a y ! I s h o u l d r e m e m b e r it well,' m u t t e r e d h e , while m a n y t h o u g h t s o c c a s i o n e d a m o m e n t a r y c o n f u s i o n in his m i n d . ' W h e r e a m I? W h i t h e r a m I w a n d e r i n g ? W h e r e did I leave h i m ? ' 4 . Printed in early type resembling the shapes of letters used by medieval and early R e n a i s s a n c e scribes.

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D o r c a s , too well a c c u s t o m e d to her h u s b a n d ' s wayward m o o d s to note any peculiarity of d e m e a n o r , now laid a s i d e the A l m a n a c , a n d a d d r e s s e d him in that m o u r n f u l t o n e , which the t e n d e r - h e a r t e d a p p r o p r i a t e to griefs long cold and dead. 'It w a s n e a r this t i m e of the m o n t h , e i g h t e e n years a g o , that my p o o r father left this world for a better. H e had a kind a r m to hold his h e a d , a n d a kind voice to c h e e r h i m , R e u b e n , in his last m o m e n t s ; a n d the t h o u g h t of the faithful c a r e you took of him, h a s c o m f o r t e d m e , m a n y a time s i n c e . O h ! d e a t h would have b e e n awful to a solitary m a n , in a wild p l a c e like this!' 'Pray H e a v e n , D o r c a s , ' said R e u b e n , in a b r o k e n voice, 'pray H e a v e n , that neither of u s three die solitary, a n d lie u n b u r i e d , in this howling w i l d e r n e s s ! ' And he h a s t e n e d away, leaving her to w a t c h the fire, b e n e a t h the g l o o m y pines. R e u b e n B o u r n e ' s rapid p a c e gradually s l a c k e n e d , a s the p a n g , unintentionally inflicted by the w o r d s of D o r c a s , b e c a m e less a c u t e . M a n y s t r a n g e reflections, however, t h r o n g e d u p o n h i m ; a n d , straying o n w a r d , rather like a sleep-walker than a hunter, it w a s attributable to no c a r e of his own, that his devious c o u r s e kept him in the vicinity of the e n c a m p m e n t . H i s s t e p s were imperceptibly led a l m o s t in a circle, nor did he o b s e r v e that he w a s on the verge of a tract of land heavily t i m b e r e d , but not with pine-trees. T h e p l a c e of the latter w a s here s u p p l i e d by o a k s , a n d other of the h a r d e r w o o d s ; a n d a r o u n d their roots c l u s t e r e d a d e n s e a n d b u s h y u n d e r g r o w t h , leaving, however, b a r r e n s p a c e s b e t w e e n the trees, thick-strewn with withered leaves. W h e n e v e r the rustling of the b r a n c h e s , or the c r e a k i n g of the trunks m a d e a s o u n d , a s if the forest were waking from s l u m b e r , R e u b e n instinctively raised the m u s k e t that rested on his a r m , a n d c a s t a q u i c k , s h a r p g l a n c e o n every side; b u t , c o n v i n c e d by a partial observation that no a n i m a l w a s near, h e would again give himself u p to his t h o u g h t s . H e w a s m u s i n g on the s t r a n g e i n f l u e n c e , that h a d led him away from his p r e m e d i t a t e d c o u r s e , a n d s o far into the d e p t h s of the w i l d e r n e s s . U n a b l e to p e n e t r a t e to the secret p l a c e of his soul, where his motives lay h i d d e n , he believed that a s u p e r n a t u r a l voice h a d called him o n w a r d , a n d that a s u p e r n a t u r a l p o w e r h a d o b s t r u c t e d his retreat. H e trusted that it w a s H e a v e n ' s intent to afford him a n o p p o r t u n i t y of expiating his sin; he h o p e d that h e might find the b o n e s , so long u n b u r i e d ; a n d that, having laid the earth over t h e m , p e a c e would throw its sunlight into the s e p u l c h r e of his heart. F r o m t h e s e t h o u g h t s he w a s a r o u s e d by a rustling in the forest, at s o m e d i s t a n c e from the spot to which h e h a d w a n d e r e d . Perceiving the motion of s o m e object b e h i n d a thick veil of u n d e r g r o w t h , h e fired, with the instinct of a hunter, a n d the aim of a p r a c t i s e d m a r k s m a n . A low m o a n , which told his s u c c e s s , a n d by which even a n i m a l s c a n express their dying agony, w a s u n h e e d e d by R e u b e n B o u r n e . W h a t were the recollections now b r e a k i n g u p o n him? T h e thicket, into which R e u b e n h a d fired, w a s near the s u m m i t of a swell of land, a n d was c l u s t e r e d a r o u n d the b a s e of a rock, w h i c h , in the s h a p e a n d s m o o t h n e s s of o n e of its s u r f a c e s , w a s not unlike a gigantic g r a v e s t o n e . As if reflected in a mirror, its likeness w a s in R e u b e n ' s m e m o r y . H e even r e c o g n i s e d the veins which s e e m e d to form a n inscription in forgotten c h a r a c t e r s ; everything r e m a i n e d the s a m e , except that a thick covert of b u s h e s s h r o u d e d the lower part of the rock, a n d would have h i d d e n R o g e r M a l v i n , h a d h e still b e e n sitting there. Yet, in the next m o m e n t , R e u b e n ' s eye w a s c a u g h t by a n o t h e r

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c h a n g e , that time h a d effected, s i n c e h e last s t o o d , w h e r e h e w a s n o w s t a n d i n g a g a i n , b e h i n d the earthy roots of the u p t o r n tree. T h e sapling, to which h e h a d b o u n d the b l o o d - s t a i n e d symbol of his vow, h a d i n c r e a s e d a n d s t r e n g t h e n e d into a n oak, far i n d e e d from its maturity, b u t with n o m e a n s p r e a d of s h a d o w y b r a n c h e s . T h e r e w a s o n e singularity, o b s e r v a b l e in this tree, which m a d e R e u b e n t r e m b l e . T h e m i d d l e a n d lower b r a n c h e s were in luxuriant life, a n d an e x c e s s of vegetation h a d fringed the trunk, a l m o s t to the g r o u n d ; but a blight h a d apparently stricken the u p p e r part of the oak, a n d the very t o p m o s t b o u g h w a s withered, s a p l e s s , a n d utterly d e a d . R e u b e n r e m e m b e r e d how the little b a n n e r h a d fluttered on that t o p m o s t b o u g h , w h e n it w a s green a n d lovely, e i g h t e e n years b e f o r e . W h o s e guilt h a d b l a s t e d it?

. ....

D o r c a s , after the d e p a r t u r e of the two h u n t e r s , c o n t i n u e d her p r e p a r a t i o n s for their e v e n i n g r e p a s t . H e r sylvan table w a s the m o s s - c o v e r e d trunk of a large fallen tree, o n the b r o a d e s t part of which s h e h a d s p r e a d a snow-white cloth, a n d a r r a n g e d w h a t were left of the bright p e w t e r v e s s e l s , that h a d b e e n her pride in the s e t t l e m e n t s . It h a d a s t r a n g e a s p e c t — t h a t o n e little spot of homely c o m f o r t , in the d e s o l a t e heart of N a t u r e . T h e s u n s h i n e yet lingered u p o n the higher b r a n c h e s of the trees that grew o n rising g r o u n d ; but the s h a d e s of evening h a d d e e p e n e d into the hollow, w h e r e the e n c a m p m e n t w a s m a d e ; a n d the fire-light b e g a n to r e d d e n a s it g l e a m e d u p the tall trunks of the p i n e s , or hovered on the d e n s e a n d o b s c u r e m a s s of foliage, that circled r o u n d the spot. T h e heart of D o r c a s w a s not s a d ; for s h e felt that it w a s better to j o u r n e y in the w i l d e r n e s s , with two w h o m s h e loved, t h a n to b e a lonely w o m a n in a c r o w d that c a r e d not for her. A s s h e b u s i e d h e r s e l f in a r r a n g i n g s e a t s of m o u l d e r i n g w o o d , c o v e r e d with l e a v e s , for R e u b e n a n d her s o n , her voice d a n c e d t h r o u g h the g l o o m y forest, in the m e a s u r e of a s o n g that s h e h a d learned in youth. T h e r u d e m e l o d y , the p r o d u c t i o n of a b a r d w h o won n o n a m e , w a s descriptive of a winter e v e n i n g in a frontier-cottage, w h e n , s e c u r e d from s a v a g e inroad by the high-piled snow-drifts, the familoy rejoiced by their own fire-side. T h e w h o l e s o n g p o s s e s s e d that n a m e l e s s c h a r m , p e c u l i a r to u n b o r r o w e d t h o u g h t ; b u t four continually-recurring lines s h o n e out from the rest, like the blaze of the h e a r t h w h o s e joys they celeb r a t e d . Into t h e m , working m a g i c with a few s i m p l e w o r d s , the p o e t h a d instilled the very e s s e n c e of d o m e s t i c love a n d h o u s e h o l d h a p p i n e s s , a n d they were poetry a n d p i c t u r e j o i n e d in o n e . A s D o r c a s s a n g , the walls of her fors a k e n h o m e s e e m e d to encircle her; s h e n o longer s a w the g l o o m y p i n e s , nor h e a r d the wind, which still, a s s h e b e g a n e a c h verse, s e n t a heavy b r e a t h t h r o u g h the b r a n c h e s , a n d died away in a hollow m o a n , from the b u r t h e n of the s o n g . S h e w a s a r o u s e d by the report of a g u n , in the vicinity of the e n c a m p m e n t ; a n d either the s u d d e n s o u n d , or her l o n e l i n e s s by the glowing fire, c a u s e d her to t r e m b l e violently. T h e next m o m e n t , s h e l a u g h e d in the pride of a m o t h e r ' s heart. 'My beautiful y o u n g hunter! my boy h a s slain a deer!' s h e e x c l a i m e d , recollecting that, in the direction w h e n c e the shot p r o c e e d e d , C y r u s h a d g o n e to the c h a s e . S h e waited a r e a s o n a b l e t i m e , to h e a r her son's light s t e p b o u n d i n g over the rustling leaves, to tell of his s u c c e s s . B u t h e did not i m m e d i a t e l y a p p e a r , a n d s h e sent her cheerful voice a m o n g the t r e e s , in s e a r c h of h i m .

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'Cyrus! C y r u s ! ' His c o m i n g w a s still delayed, a n d s h e d e t e r m i n e d , a s the report of the g u n h a d apparently b e e n very near, to s e e k for him in p e r s o n . H e r a s s i s t a n c e , a l s o , might b e n e c e s s a r y in bringing h o m e the v e n i s o n , which s h e flattered herself he h a d o b t a i n e d . S h e therefore set forward, directing her s t e p s by the long-past s o u n d , a n d singing as she went, in order that the boy might be a w a r e of her a p p r o a c h , a n d run to m e e t her. F r o m b e h i n d the trunk of every tree, a n d from every hiding p l a c e in the thick foliage of the u n d e r g r o w t h , she h o p e d to discover the c o u n t e n a n c e of her s o n , l a u g h i n g with the sportive m i s c h i e f that is born of affection. T h e s u n w a s now b e n e a t h the horizon, a n d the light that c a m e down a m o n g the trees w a s sufficiently d i m to c r e a t e m a n y illusions in her e x p e c t i n g fancy. Several times she s e e m e d indistinctly to s e e his f a c e gazing out from a m o n g the l e a v e s ; a n d o n c e s h e i m a g i n e d that h e stood b e c k o n i n g to her, at the b a s e of a craggy rock. K e e p i n g her eyes on this object, however, it proved to b e n o m o r e than the trunk of an oak, fringed to the very g r o u n d with little b r a n c h e s , o n e of w h i c h , thrust o u t farther than the rest, w a s s h a k e n by the b r e e z e . M a k i n g her way r o u n d the foot of the rock, s h e s u d d e n l y f o u n d herself c l o s e to her h u s b a n d , w h o h a d a p p r o a c h e d in a n o t h e r direction. L e a n i n g u p o n the butt of his g u n , the m u z zle of which rested u p o n the withered leaves, h e w a s a p p a r e n t l y a b s o r b e d in the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of s o m e object at his feet. ' H o w is this, R e u b e n ? H a v e you slain the deer, a n d fallen a s l e e p over h i m ? ' e x c l a i m e d D o r c a s , l a u g h i n g cheerfully, on her first slight observation of his posture and appearance. H e stirred not, neither did he turn his eyes towards her; a n d a cold, s h u d dering fear, indefinite in its s o u r c e a n d o b j e c t , b e g a n to c r e e p into her blood. S h e now perceived that her h u s b a n d ' s f a c e w a s ghastly p a l e , a n d his f e a t u r e s were rigid, a s if i n c a p a b l e of a s s u m i n g any other expression than the strong d e s p a i r which h a d h a r d e n e d u p o n t h e m . H e gave not the slightest e v i d e n c e that he w a s a w a r e of her a p p r o a c h . 'For the love of H e a v e n , R e u b e n , s p e a k to m e ! ' cried D o r c a s , a n d the s t r a n g e s o u n d of her own voice affrighted her even m o r e than the d e a d silence. H e r h u s b a n d started, stared into her f a c e ; drew her to the front of the rock, a n d p o i n t e d with his finger. O h ! there lay the boy, a s l e e p , but d r e a m l e s s , u p o n the fallen forest-leaves! His c h e e k rested u p o n his a r m , his c u r l e d locks were thrown b a c k from his brow, his l i m b s were slightly relaxed. H a d a s u d d e n w e a r i n e s s o v e r c o m e the youthful h u n t e r ? W o u l d his mother's voice a r o u s e h i m ? S h e knew that it w a s death. 'This b r o a d rock is the grave-stone of your n e a r k i n d r e d , D o r c a s , ' said her h u s b a n d . 'Your tears will fall at o n c e over your father a n d your s o n . ' S h e h e a r d him not. W i t h o n e wild shriek, that s e e m e d to force its way from the sufferer's i n m o s t soul, s h e s a n k i n s e n s i b l e by the side of her d e a d boy. At that m o m e n t , the withered t o p m o s t b o u g h of the o a k l o o s e n e d itself, in the stilly air, a n d fell in soft, light f r a g m e n t s u p o n the rock, u p o n the leaves, u p o n R e u b e n , u p o n his wife a n d child, a n d u p o n R o g e r Malvin's b o n e s . T h e n R e u b e n ' s heart w a s stricken, a n d the tears g u s h e d out like water from a rock. T h e vow that the w o u n d e d youth h a d m a d e , the blighted m a n h a d c o m e to r e d e e m . H i s sin w a s expiated, the c u r s e w a s g o n e from him;

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a n d , in the hour, w h e n he h a d s h e d b l o o d d e a r e r to him t h a n his own, a prayer, the first for y e a r s , went u p to H e a v e n from the lips of R e u b e n B o u r n e . 1832

1846 -

Young Goodman Brown1 Y o u n g g o o d m a n B r o w n c a m e forth, at s u n s e t , into the street of S a l e m village, but p u t his h e a d back, after c r o s s i n g the t h r e s h o l d , to e x c h a n g e a parting kiss with his y o u n g wife. A n d F a i t h , a s the wife w a s aptly n a m e d , thrust her own pretty h e a d into the street, letting the wind play with the g i n k ribbons of her c a p , while s h e called to g o o d m a n B r o w n . '"'Dearest heart,' w h i s p e r e d s h e , softly a n d rather sadly, w h e n her lips were c l o s e to his ear, 'pr'y t h e e , put off your j o u r n e y until s u n r i s e , a n d s l e e p in your own b e d to-night. A lone w o m a n is t r o u b l e d with s u c h d r e a m s a n d s u c h t h o u g h t s , that she's afeard of herself, s o m e t i m e s . Pray, tarry with m e this night, dear h u s b a n d , of all nights in the year!' 'My love a n d my F a i t h , ' replied y o u n g g o o d m a n B r o w n , 'of all nights in the year, this o n e night m u s t I tarry away from t h e e . M y j o u r n e y , a s thou callest it, forth a n d b a c k a g a i n , m u s t n e e d s b e d o n e 'twixt now a n d s u n r i s e . W h a t , my sweet, pretty wife, d o s t thou d o u b t m e already, a n d we but three m o n t h s married!' ' T h e n , G o d b l e s s you!' said F a i t h , with the p i n k r i b b o n s , 'and m a y you find all well, w h e n you c o m e b a c k . ' ' A m e n ! ' cried g o o d m a n B r o w n . 'Say thy prayers, d e a r F a i t h , a n d g o to b e d at d u s k , a n d no h a r m will c o m e to t h e e . ' S o they p a r t e d ; a n d the y o u n g m a n p u r s u e d his way, until, b e i n g a b o u t to turn the c o r n e r by the m e e t i n g - h o u s e , h e looked b a c k , a n d saw the h e a d of Faith still p e e p i n g after h i m , with a m e l a n c h o l y air, in spite of her pink ribbons. 'Poor little F a i t h ! ' t h o u g h t h e , for his heart s m o t e h i m . 'What a wretch a m I, to leave her on s u c h an errand! S h e talks of d r e a m s , too. M e t h o u g h t , as s h e s p o k e , t h e r e w a s trouble in her f a c e , a s if a d r e a m h a d w a r n e d her w h a t work is to b e d o n e to-night. B u t , n o , n o ! 't w o u l d kill her to think it. W e l l ; she's a b l e s s e d a n g e l o n e a r t h ; a n d after this o n e night, I'll cling to her skirts a n d follow her to H e a v e n . ' With this excellent resolve for the future, g o o d m a n B r o w n felt h i m s e l f justified in m a k i n g m o r e h a s t e on his p r e s e n t evil p u r p o s e . H e h a d t a k e n a dreary road, d a r k e n e d by all the g l o o m i e s t trees of the forest, which barely stood a s i d e to let the narrow p a t h c r e e p t h r o u g h , a n d c l o s e d i m m e d i a t e l y b e h i n d . It w a s all a s lonely a s c o u l d b e ; a n d there is this peculiarity in s u c h a s o l i t u d e , that the traveler knows not w h o m a y b e c o n c e a l e d by the innum e r a b l e trunks a n d the thick b o u g h s o v e r h e a d ; s o that, with lonely f o o t s t e p s , h e m a y yet b e p a s s i n g t h r o u g h an u n s e e n m u l t i t u d e . 'There may b e a devilish Indian b e h i n d every tree,' said g o o d m a n B r o w n , I. T h e text followed here is that of the first publication, in the New-England Magazine (April 1835); the story was ascribed to "the author o f ' T h e Gray Champion,' " which had appeared in the same magazine three months earlier. " G o o d m a n " :

Hawthorne puns on the title used to address a man of humble birth and the moral implications of "good m a n . " With "Brown" as a surname, the hero is equivalent to Young Mister Anybody.

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to himself; a n d he g l a n c e d fearfully behind h i m , a s h e a d d e d , 'What if the devil himself s h o u l d b e at my very elbow!' His h e a d b e i n g turned b a c k , he p a s s e d a c r o o k of the r o a d , a n d looking forward a g a i n , b e h e l d the figure of a m a n , in grave a n d d e c e n t attire, s e a t e d at the foot of a n old tree. H e a r o s e , at g o o d m a n Brown's a p p r o a c h , a n d walked o n w a r d , side by side with h i m . 'You are late, g o o d m a n B r o w n , ' said h e . 'The c l o c k of the O l d S o u t h w a s striking as I c a m e t h r o u g h B o s t o n ; a n d that is full fifteen m i n u t e s a g o n e . ' 2 'Faith kept m e b a c k awhile,' replied the y o u n g m a n , with a t r e m o r in his voice, c a u s e d by the s u d d e n a p p e a r a n c e of his c o m p a n i o n , t h o u g h not wholly unexpected. It w a s n o w d e e p d u s k in the forest, a n d d e e p e s t in that part of it w h e r e these two were j o u r n e y i n g . A s nearly a s c o u l d b e d i s c e r n e d , the s e c o n d traveler w a s a b o u t fifty years old, apparently in the s a m e rank of life a s g o o d m a n Brown, a n d b e a r i n g a c o n s i d e r a b l e r e s e m b l a n c e to h i m , t h o u g h p e r h a p s m o r e in expression than f e a t u r e s . Still, they might have b e e n taken for father a n d s o n . And yet, t h o u g h the elder p e r s o n w a s as simply c l a d a s the y o u n g e r , a n d a s s i m p l e in m a n n e r t o o , he h a d a n i n d e s c r i b a b l e air of o n e w h o knew the world, a n d would not have felt a b a s h e d at the governor's d i n n e r - t a b l e , or in king W i l l i a m ' s ' c o u r t , were it p o s s i b l e that his affairs s h o u l d call h i m thither. B u t the only thing a b o u t him, that c o u l d b e fixed u p o n a s r e m a r k a b l e , w a s his staff, which b o r e the likeness of a great black s n a k e , s o curiously wrought, that it might a l m o s t b e seen to twist a n d wriggle itself, like a living serpent. T h i s , of c o u r s e , m u s t have b e e n a n o c u l a r d e c e p t i o n , a s s i s t e d by t h e u n c e r t a i n light. ' C o m e , g o o d m a n B r o w n ! ' cried his fellow-traveler, 'this is a dull p a c e for the b e g i n n i n g of a j o u r n e y . T a k e my staff, if you are s o s o o n weary.' 'Friend,' said the other, e x c h a n g i n g his slow p a c e for a full s t o p , 'having kept c o v e n a n t by m e e t i n g thee here, it is m y p u r p o s e n o w to return w h e n c e I c a m e . I have s c r u p l e s , t o u c h i n g the m a t t e r thou wot'st of.' 'Sayest thou s o ? ' replied he of the s e r p e n t , s m i l i n g apart. ' L e t u s walk o n , nevertheless, r e a s o n i n g a s we g o , a n d if I c o n v i n c e thee not, thou shalt turn b a c k . W e are b u t a little way in the forest, yet.' 'Too far, too far!' e x c l a i m e d the g o o d m a n , u n c o n s c i o u s l y r e s u m i n g his walk. 'My father never went into the w o o d s on s u c h an e r r a n d , nor his father before h i m . W e have b e e n a r a c e of h o n e s t m e n a n d g o o d C h r i s t i a n s , s i n c e the days of the m a r t y r s . 4 A n d shall I b e t h e first of the n a m e of B r o w n , that ever took this p a t h , a n d k e p t ' — ' S u c h c o m p a n y , thou wouldst say,' o b s e r v e d the elder p e r s o n , interpreting his p a u s e . ' G o o d , g o o d m a n Brown! I have b e e n a s well a c q u a i n t e d with your family as with ever a o n e a m o n g the P u r i t a n s ; a n d that's no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the c o n s t a b l e , w h e n he l a s h e d the Quaker w o m a n so smartly through the streets of S a l e m . A n d it w a s I that b r o u g h t your father a pitch-pine knot, kindled at my own h e a r t h , to set fire to an I n d i a n village, in king P h i l i p ' s ' war. T h e y were my g o o d friends, b o t h ; a n d m a n y a p l e a s a n t 2. This speed could only be supernatural. 3. William of Orange, first cousin and husband of Queen Mary II, with whom he jointly ruled England ( 1 6 8 9 - 1 7 0 2 ) . 4. I.e., during the reign of the Catholic Mary Tudor of England ( 1 5 5 3 - 5 8 ) , called "Bloody Mary" for her persecution of Protestants. C o m m o n

reading in New England was J o h n Foxe's Acts and Monuments ( 1 5 6 3 ) , soon known as the Book of Martyrs; it concluded with horrifically detailed accounts of martyrdom under Mary. 5. Leader of the W a m p a n o a g Indians who waged war (1675—76) against the New England colonists.

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walk have we h a d a l o n g this p a t h , a n d returned merrily after midnight. I w o u l d fain be friends with you, for their s a k e . ' 'If it b e a s thou sayest,' replied g o o d m a n Brown, 'I marvel they never s p o k e of t h e s e m a t t e r s . Or, verily, I marvel not, s e e i n g that the least r u m o r of the sort would have driven t h e m from N e w - E n g l a n d . W e a r e a p e o p l e of prayer, a n d g o o d works, to b o o t , a n d a b i d e no s u c h w i c k e d n e s s . ' ' W i c k e d n e s s or not,' s a i d the traveler with the twisted staff, 'I have a very general a c q u a i n t a n c e h e r e in N e w - E n g l a n d . T h e d e a c o n s of m a n y a c h u r c h have d r u n k the c o m m u n i o n wine with m e ; the s e l e c t m e n , of divers towns, m a k e m e their c h a i r m a n ; a n d a majority of the G r e a t a n d G e n e r a l C o u r t 6 are firm s u p p o r t e r s of my interest. T h e governor a n d I, t o o — b u t t h e s e are state-secrets.' ' C a n this b e so!' cried g o o d m a n B r o w n , with a stare of a m a z e m e n t at his u n d i s t u r b e d c o m p a n i o n . ' H o w b e i t , I have n o t h i n g to do with the governor a n d c o u n c i l ; they have their own ways, a n d are no rule for a s i m p l e h u s b a n d m a n , 7 like m e . B u t , were I to g o o n with t h e e , how s h o u l d I m e e t the eye of that g o o d old m a n , our minister, at S a l e m village? O h , his voice would m a k e m e t r e m b l e , both S a b b a t h - d a y a n d lecture-day!' 8 T h u s far, the elder traveler h a d listened with d u e gravity, b u t now burst into a fit of irrepressible mirth, s h a k i n g h i m s e l f so violently, that his s n a k e like staff actually s e e m e d to wriggle in sympathy. ' H a ! ha! ha!' s h o u t e d h e , a g a i n a n d a g a i n ; then c o m p o s i n g himself, 'Well, g o o n , g o o d m a n B r o w n , go o n ; b u t , pr'y t h e e , don't kill m e with l a u g h i n g ! ' 'Well, then, to e n d the m a t t e r at o n c e , ' s a i d g o o d m a n B r o w n , c o n s i d e r a b l y nettled, 'there is my wife, F a i t h . It would b r e a k her d e a r little heart; a n d I'd rather b r e a k my own!' 'Nay, if that b e the c a s e , ' a n s w e r e d the other, 'e'en go thy w a y s , g o o d m a n B r o w n . I would not, for twenty old w o m e n like the o n e h o b b l i n g before u s , that Faith s h o u l d c o m e to any h a r m . ' As he s p o k e , h e p o i n t e d his staff at a f e m a l e figure on the p a t h , in w h o m g o o d m a n B r o w n recognized a very p i o u s a n d exemplary d a m e , w h o h a d t a u g h t him his c a t e c h i s m , in y o u t h , a n d w a s still his m o r a l a n d spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister a n d d e a c o n G o o k i n . 'A marvel, truly, that goody C l o y s e 9 s h o u l d b e s o far in the w i l d e r n e s s , at night-fall!' said h e . ' B u t , with your leave, friend, I shall take a c u t t h r o u g h the w o o d s , until we have left this C h r i s t i a n w o m a n b e h i n d . B e i n g a stranger to you, s h e m i g h t a s k w h o m I w a s c o n s o r t i n g with, a n d whither I w a s going.' 'Be it s o , ' said his fellow-traveler. ' B e t a k e you to the w o o d s , a n d let m e keep the p a t h . ' Accordingly, the y o u n g m a n t u r n e d a s i d e , b u t took c a r e to w a t c h his c o m p a n i o n , w h o a d v a n c e d softly a l o n g the road, until h e h a d c o m e within a staff's length of the old d a m e . S h e , m e a n w h i l e , w a s m a k i n g the b e s t of her way, with singular s p e e d for so a g e d a w o m a n , a n d m u m b l i n g s o m e indistinct w o r d s , a prayer, d o u b t l e s s , a s s h e w e n t . T h e traveler p u t forth his staff, a n d t o u c h e d her withered neck with what s e e m e d the s e r p e n t ' s tail. ' T h e devil!' s c r e a m e d the p i o u s old lady. 6. 7. 8. 9.

T h e legislature. Usually, farmer; here, man of ordinary status. Midweek sermon day, Wednesday or Thursday. Hawthorne uses historical n a m e s of people

involved in the S a l e m witchcraft trials. "Goody"; i.e., goodwife; the polite title for a married woman of humble rank.

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' T h e n goody C l o y s e knows her old friend?' o b s e r v e d the traveler, confronting her, a n d l e a n i n g on his writhing stick. 'Ah, f o r s o o t h , a n d is it your worship, i n d e e d ? ' cried the g o o d d a m e . 'Yea, truly is it, a n d in the very i m a g e of my old g o s s i p , g o o d m a n B r o w n , the g r a n d f a t h e r of the silly fellow that now is. B u t , would your w o r s h i p believe it? my b r o o m s t i c k hath strangely d i s a p p e a r e d , stolen, a s I s u s p e c t , by that u n h a n g e d witch, goody Cory, a n d that, too, w h e n I w a s all a n o i n t e d with the j u i c e of s m a l l a g e a n d cinque-foil a n d w o l f ' s - b a n e ' 1 — ' M i n g l e d with fine wheat a n d the fat of a new-born b a b e , ' said the s h a p e of old g o o d m a n B r o w n . 'Ah, your worship knows the receipt,' cried the old lady, c a c k l i n g a l o u d . ' S o , a s I w a s saying, b e i n g all ready for the m e e t i n g , a n d no h o r s e to ride o n , I m a d e u p my m i n d to foot it; for they tell m e , there is a nice y o u n g m a n to be taken into c o m m u n i o n to-night. B u t now your g o o d w o r s h i p will lend m e your a r m , a n d we shall be there in a twinkling.' 'That c a n hardly b e , ' a n s w e r e d her friend. 'I m a y not s p a r e you my a r m , goody C l o y s e , but here is my staff, if you will.' S o saying, h e threw it down at her feet, w h e r e , p e r h a p s , it a s s u m e d life, being o n e of the rods which its owner h a d formerly lent to the E g y p t i a n M a g i . 2 O f this fact, however, g o o d m a n B r o w n c o u l d not take c o g n i z a n c e . H e h a d c a s t u p his eyes in a s t o n i s h m e n t , a n d looking down a g a i n , b e h e l d neither goody C l o y s e nor the s e r p e n t i n e staff, but his fellow-traveler a l o n e , w h o waited for him a s calmly a s if nothing h a d h a p p e n e d . 'That old w o m a n t a u g h t m e Y c a t e c h i s m ! ' s a i d the y o u n g m a n ; a n d there w a s a world of m e a n i n g in this s i m p l e c o m m e n t . T h e y c o n t i n u e d to walk o n w a r d , while the elder traveler exhorted his c o m p a n i o n to m a k e g o o d s p e e d a n d p e r s e v e r e in the p a t h , d i s c o u r s i n g s o aptly, that his a r g u m e n t s s e e m e d rather to spring u p in the b o s o m of his auditor, than to be s u g g e s t e d by himself. As they went, h e p l u c k e d a b r a n c h of m a p l e , to serve for a walking-stick, a n d b e g a n to strip it of the twigs a n d little b o u g h s , which were wet with e v e n i n g dew. T h e m o m e n t his fingers t o u c h e d t h e m , they b e c a m e strangely withered a n d dried u p , a s with a week's s u n s h i n e . T h u s the pair p r o c e e d e d , at a g o o d free p a c e , until s u d d e n l y , in a gloomy hollow of the r o a d , g o o d m a n B r o w n sat h i m s e l f d o w n on the s t u m p of a tree, a n d refused to go any farther. 'Friend,' said h e , stubbornly, 'my m i n d is m a d e u p . N o t a n o t h e r s t e p will I b u d g e on this e r r a n d . W h a t if a w r e t c h e d old w o m a n d o c h o o s e to go to the devil, w h e n I t h o u g h t s h e w a s g o i n g to H e a v e n ! Is that any r e a s o n why I s h o u l d quit my d e a r F a i t h , a n d go after h e r ? ' 'You will think better of this, by-and-by,' said his a c q u a i n t a n c e , c o m p o s edly. 'Sit here a n d rest yourself awhile; a n d w h e n you feel like m o v i n g a g a i n , there is my staff to help you a l o n g . ' W i t h o u t m o r e w o r d s , h e threw his c o m p a n i o n the m a p l e stick, a n d w a s a s speedily o u t of sight, a s if he h a d v a n i s h e d into the d e e p e n i n g g l o o m . T h e y o u n g m a n sat a few m o m e n t s , by the r o a d s i d e , a p p l a u d i n g h i m s e l f greatly, m

I. Plants associated with witchcraft. "Smallage": wild celery or parsley. "Cinque-foil": a five-lobed plant of the rose family (from the Latin for "five fingers"). " W o l f s-bane": hooded, poisonous plant known as monkshood [bane means "poison").

2. S e e Exodus 7.11 for the magicians of Egypt who duplicated Aaron's feat of casting down his rod before Pharaoh and making it turn into a serpent.

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a n d thinking with how clear a c o n s c i e n c e h e s h o u l d m e e t the minister, in his morning-walk, nor shrink from the eye of g o o d old d e a c o n G o o k i n . A n d w h a t c a l m sleep w o u l d b e his, that very night, w h i c h w a s to have b e e n s p e n t s o wickedly, b u t purely a n d sweetly now, in the a r m s of F a i t h ! A m i d s t t h e s e p l e a s a n t a n d praiseworthy m e d i t a t i o n s , g o o d m a n B r o w n h e a r d the t r a m p of h o r s e s a l o n g the r o a d , a n d d e e m e d it a d v i s a b l e to c o n c e a l himself within the verge of the forest, c o n s c i o u s of the guilty p u r p o s e that h a d b r o u g h t h i m thither, t h o u g h now so happily t u r n e d from it. O n c a m e the h o o f - t r a m p s a n d the voices of the riders, two grave old v o i c e s , c o n v e r s i n g soberly a s they drew n e a r . T h e s e m i n g l e d s o u n d s a p p e a r e d to p a s s a l o n g the r o a d , within a few yards of the y o u n g m a n ' s h i d i n g - p l a c e ; b u t owing, d o u b t l e s s , to the d e p t h of the g l o o m , at that p a r t i c u l a r spot, neither the travelers nor their s t e e d s were visible. T h o u g h their figures b r u s h e d the small b o u g h s by the way-side, it c o u l d not b e s e e n that they i n t e r c e p t e d , even for a m o m e n t , the faint g l e a m from the strip of bright sky, athwart which they m u s t have p a s s e d . G o o d m a n B r o w n alternately c r o u c h e d a n d stood on tip-toe, p u l l i n g a s i d e the b r a n c h e s , a n d t h r u s t i n g forth his h e a d a s far as he d u r s t , without d i s c e r n i n g s o m u c h a s a s h a d o w . It vexed him the m o r e , b e c a u s e he c o u l d have sworn, were s u c h a thing p o s s i b l e , that h e recognized the voices of the m i n i s t e r a n d d e a c o n G o o k i n , j o g g i n g a l o n g quietly, a s they were wont to d o , w h e n b o u n d to s o m e o r d i n a t i o n or e c c l e s i a s tical c o u n c i l . W h i l e yet within h e a r i n g , o n e of the riders s t o p p e d to p l u c k a switch. 'Of the two, reverend Sir,' said the voice like the d e a c o n ' s , 'I h a d rather m i s s a n ordination-dinner than to-night's m e e t i n g . T h e y tell m e that s o m e of our c o m m u n i t y are to b e h e r e from F a l m o u t h a n d b e y o n d , a n d others from C o n n e c t i c u t a n d R h o d e - I s l a n d ; b e s i d e s several of the I n d i a n p o w o w s , 3 w h o , after their f a s h i o n , know a l m o s t a s m u c h deviltry a s the b e s t of u s . M o r e o v e r , there is a goodly y o u n g w o m a n to be taken into c o m m u n i o n . ' 'Mighty well, d e a c o n G o o k i n ! ' replied the s o l e m n old t o n e s of the minister. ' S p u r u p , or w e shall b e late. N o t h i n g c a n be d o n e , you know, until I get on the g r o u n d . ' T h e h o o f s clattered a g a i n , a n d the v o i c e s , talking so strangely in the e m p t y air, p a s s e d on t h r o u g h the forest, w h e r e n o c h u r c h h a d ever b e e n g a t h e r e d , nor solitary C h r i s t i a n prayed. W h i t h e r , t h e n , c o u l d t h e s e holy m e n b e journeying, so d e e p into the h e a t h e n w i l d e r n e s s ? Y o u n g g o o d m a n B r o w n c a u g h t hold of a tree, for s u p p o r t , b e i n g ready to sink d o w n o n the g r o u n d , faint a n d o v e r b u r t h e n e d with the heavy s i c k n e s s of his heart. H e looked u p to the sky, d o u b t i n g w h e t h e r there really w a s a H e a v e n a b o v e h i m . Yet, t h e r e w a s the b l u e a r c h , a n d the stars b r i g h t e n i n g in it. 'With H e a v e n a b o v e , a n d F a i t h below, I will yet s t a n d firm a g a i n s t the devil!' cried g o o d m a n B r o w n . W h i l e h e still g a z e d u p w a r d , into the d e e p a r c h of the firmament, a n d h a d lifted his h a n d s to pray, a c l o u d , t h o u g h n o wind w a s stirring, hurried a c r o s s the zenith, a n d hid the b r i g h t e n i n g s t a r s . T h e b l u e sky w a s still visible, except directly o v e r h e a d , w h e r e this b l a c k m a s s of c l o u d w a s s w e e p i n g swiftly northw a r d . Aloft in the air, a s if from the d e p t h s of the c l o u d , c a m e a c o n f u s e d 3. Medicine men. Usually spelled "pow-wow" and later used to refer to any conference or gathering. Falmouth is a town on C a p e Cod, about seventy miles from S a l e m .

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a n d doubtful s o u n d of voices. O n c e , the listener f a n c i e d that h e c o u l d distinguish the a c c e n t s of town's-people of his o w n , m e n a n d w o m e n , both p i o u s a n d ungodly, m a n y of w h o m he h a d m e t at the c o m m u n i o n - t a b l e , a n d h a d s e e n others rioting at the tavern. T h e next m o m e n t , so indistinct were the s o u n d s , he d o u b t e d w h e t h e r he h a d h e a r d a u g h t but the m u r m u r of the old forest, whispering without a wind. T h e n c a m e a stronger swell of t h o s e familiar t o n e s , h e a r d daily in the s u n s h i n e , at S a l e m village, b u t never, until now, from a c l o u d of night. T h e r e w a s o n e voice, of a y o u n g w o m a n , uttering l a m e n t a t i o n s , yet with a n u n c e r t a i n sorrow, a n d e n t r e a t i n g for s o m e favor, which, p e r h a p s , it would grieve her to obtain. A n d all the u n s e e n m u l t i t u d e , both saints a n d s i n n e r s , s e e m e d to e n c o u r a g e her o n w a r d . 'Faith!' s h o u t e d g o o d m a n B r o w n , in a voice of a g o n y a n d d e s p e r a t i o n ; a n d the e c h o e s of the forest m o c k e d him, c r y i n g — ' F a i t h ! F a i t h ! ' a s if bewildered wretches were s e e k i n g her, all through the w i l d e r n e s s . T h e cry of grief, r a g e , a n d terror, w a s yet p i e r c i n g the night, w h e n the u n h a p p y h u s b a n d held his b r e a t h for a r e s p o n s e . T h e r e w a s a s c r e a m , d r o w n e d i m m e d i a t e l y in a l o u d e r m u r m u r of v o i c e s , fading into far-off l a u g h ter, a s the dark c l o u d swept away, leaving the clear a n d silent sky a b o v e g o o d m a n B r o w n . B u t s o m e t h i n g fluttered lightly d o w n t h r o u g h the air, a n d c a u g h t on the b r a n c h of a tree. T h e y o u n g m a n seized it, a n d b e h e l d a p i n k ribbon. 'My F a i t h is g o n e ! ' cried h e , after o n e stupefied m o m e n t . ' T h e r e is no g o o d on e a r t h ; a n d sin is but a n a m e . C o m e , devil! for to t h e e is this world given.' A n d m a d d e n e d with d e s p a i r , s o that h e l a u g h e d loud a n d long, did g o o d m a n B r o w n g r a s p his staff a n d set forth a g a i n , at s u c h a rate, that h e s e e m e d to fly a l o n g the forest-path, rather t h a n to walk or run. T h e r o a d grew wilder a n d drearier, a n d m o r e faintly t r a c e d , a n d v a n i s h e d at l e n g t h , leaving h i m in the heart of the dark w i l d e r n e s s , still r u s h i n g o n w a r d , with the instinct that g u i d e s mortal m a n to evil. T h e whole forest w a s p e o p l e d with frightful s o u n d s ; the c r e a k i n g of the trees, the howling of wild b e a s t s , a n d the yell of I n d i a n s ; while, s o m e t i m e s , the wind tolled like a d i s t a n t c h u r c h - b e l l , a n d s o m e t i m e s gave a b r o a d roar a r o u n d the traveler, a s if all N a t u r e were laughing him to s c o r n . B u t he w a s h i m s e l f the chief horror of the s c e n e , a n d s h r a n k not from its other horrors. ' H a ! ha! ha!' r o a r e d g o o d m a n B r o w n , w h e n the wind l a u g h e d at h i m . 'Let u s h e a r which will laugh loudest! T h i n k not to frighten m e with your deviltry! C o m e witch, c o m e wizard, c o m e Indian powow, c o m e devil himself! a n d here c o m e s g o o d m a n B r o w n . You m a y a s well fear him a s h e fear you!' In truth, all t h r o u g h the h a u n t e d forest, there c o u l d b e n o t h i n g m o r e frightful t h a n the figure of g o o d m a n B r o w n . O n he flew, a m o n g the b l a c k p i n e s , b r a n d i s h i n g his staff with frenzied g e s t u r e s , n o w giving vent to a n inspiration of horrid b l a s p h e m y , a n d now s h o u t i n g forth s u c h laughter, a s set all the e c h o e s of the forest l a u g h i n g like d e m o n s a r o u n d h i m . T h e fiend in his own s h a p e is less h i d e o u s , than w h e n he r a g e s in the b r e a s t of m a n . T h u s s p e d the d e m o n i a c on his c o u r s e , until, quivering a m o n g the t r e e s , h e s a w a red light before him, a s w h e n the felled trunks a n d b r a n c h e s of a c l e a r i n g have b e e n set o n fire, a n d throw u p their lurid blaze a g a i n s t the sky, at the hour of m i d n i g h t . H e p a u s e d , in a lull of the t e m p e s t that h a d driven him o n w a r d , a n d h e a r d the swell of what s e e m e d a h y m n , rolling s o l e m n l y from a d i s t a n c e , with the weight of m a n y voices. H e k n e w the t u n e ; it w a s a

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familiar o n e in the choir of the village m e e t i n g - h o u s e . T h e verse died heavily away, a n d w a s l e n g t h e n e d by a c h o r u s , not of h u m a n v o i c e s , b u t of all the s o u n d s of the b e n i g h t e d w i l d e r n e s s , p e a l i n g in awful h a r m o n y together. G o o d m a n B r o w n cried o u t ; a n d his cry w a s lost to his own ear, by its u n i s o n with the cry of the desert. In the interval of s i l e n c e , h e stole forward, until the light glared full u p o n his eyes. At o n e extremity of an o p e n s p a c e , h e m m e d in by the dark wall of the forest, a r o s e a rock, b e a r i n g s o m e r u d e , natural r e s e m b l a n c e either to a n altar or a pulpit, a n d s u r r o u n d e d by four blazing p i n e s , their t o p s a f l a m e , their s t e m s u n t o u c h e d , like c a n d l e s at a n e v e n i n g m e e t i n g . T h e m a s s of foliage, that h a d overgrown the s u m m i t of the rock, w a s all o n fire, blazing high into the night, a n d fitfully illuminating the w h o l e field. E a c h p e n d e n t twig a n d leafy festoon w a s in a blaze. As the red light a r o s e a n d fell, a n u m e r o u s c o n g r e g a t i o n alternately s h o n e forth, then d i s a p p e a r e d in s h a d o w , a n d again grew, a s it w e r e , o u t of the d a r k n e s s , p e o p l i n g the heart of the solitary w o o d s at o n c e . 'A grave a n d dark-clad c o m p a n y ! ' q u o t h g o o d m a n B r o w n . In truth, they were s u c h . A m o n g t h e m , quivering to-and-fro, b e t w e e n g l o o m a n d s p l e n d o r , a p p e a r e d f a c e s that w o u l d b e s e e n , next day, at the c o u n c i l - b o a r d of the p r o v i n c e , a n d others w h i c h , S a b b a t h after S a b b a t h , looked devoutly h e a v e n w a r d , a n d benignantly over the c r o w d e d p e w s , from the holiest pulpits in the land. S o m e affirm, that the lady of the governor w a s there. At least, there were high d a m e s well known to her, a n d wives of h o n o r e d h u s b a n d s , a n d widows, a great m u l t i t u d e , a n d a n c i e n t m a i d e n s , all of excellent r e p u t e , a n d fair y o u n g girls, w h o t r e m b l e d , lest their m o t h e r s s h o u l d espy t h e m . Either the s u d d e n g l e a m s of light, flashing over the o b s c u r e field, bedazzled g o o d m a n B r o w n , or h e recognized a s c o r e of the c h u r c h - m e m b e r s of S a l e m village, f a m o u s for their e s p e c i a l sanctity. G o o d old d e a c o n G o o k i n h a d arrived, a n d waited at the skirts of that v e n e r a b l e saint, his revered p a s t o r . B u t , irreverently c o n s o r t i n g with t h e s e grave, repu t a b l e , a n d p i o u s p e o p l e , t h e s e elders of the c h u r c h , t h e s e c h a s t e d a m e s a n d dewy virgins, there were m e n of d i s s o l u t e lives a n d w o m e n of spotted f a m e , w r e t c h e s given over to all m e a n a n d filthy vice, a n d s u s p e c t e d even of horrid c r i m e s . It w a s s t r a n g e to s e e , that the g o o d s h r a n k not from the wicked, nor were the s i n n e r s a b a s h e d by the s a i n t s . S c a t t e r e d , a l s o , a m o n g their p a l e faced e n e m i e s , were the I n d i a n p r i e s t s , or p o w o w s , w h o h a d often s c a r e d their native forest with m o r e h i d e o u s i n c a n t a t i o n s than any known to E n g l i s h witchcraft. 'But, w h e r e is F a i t h ? ' t h o u g h t g o o d m a n B r o w n ; a n d , a s h o p e c a m e into his heart, he t r e m b l e d . A n o t h e r verse of the hymn a r o s e , a slow a n d s o l e m n strain, s u c h a s the p i o u s love, but j o i n e d to w o r d s which e x p r e s s e d all that o u r n a t u r e c a n c o n ceive of sin, a n d darkly hinted at far m o r e . U n f a t h o m a b l e to m e r e m o r t a l s is the lore of fiends. V e r s e after verse w a s s u n g , a n d still the c h o r u s of the d e s e r t swelled b e t w e e n , like the d e e p e s t t o n e of a mighty o r g a n . A n d , with the final peal of that dreadful a n t h e m , there c a m e a s o u n d , a s if the roaring wind, the r u s h i n g s t r e a m s , the howling b e a s t s , a n d every other voice of the u n c o n v e r t e d w i l d e r n e s s , were m i n g l i n g a n d a c c o r d i n g with the voice of guilty m a n , in h o m a g e to the prince of all. T h e four blazing p i n e s threw u p a loftier flame, a n d o b s c u r e l y d i s c o v e r e d s h a p e s a n d v i s a g e s of horror o n the s m o k e -

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w r e a t h s , a b o v e the i m p i o u s a s s e m b l y . At the s a m e m o m e n t , the fire o n the rock shot redly forth, a n d f o r m e d a glowing a r c h a b o v e its b a s e , w h e r e now a p p e a r e d a figure. W i t h reverence be it s p o k e n , the a p p a r i t i o n b o r e no slight similitude, both in garb a n d m a n n e r , to s o m e grave divine of the N e w England churches. 'Bring forth the converts!' cried a voice, that e c h o e d t h r o u g h the field a n d rolled into the forest. At the word, g o o d m a n Brown stept forth from the s h a d o w of the t r e e s , a n d a p p r o a c h e d the c o n g r e g a t i o n , with w h o m he felt a loathful b r o t h e r h o o d , by the s y m p a t h y of all that w a s wicked in his heart. H e c o u l d have well nigh sworn, that the s h a p e of his own d e a d father b e c k o n e d him to a d v a n c e , looking d o w n w a r d from a s m o k e - w r e a t h , while a w o m a n , with d i m f e a t u r e s of d e s p a i r , threw o u t her h a n d to warn him b a c k . W a s it his m o t h e r ? B u t he h a d no p o w e r to retreat o n e s t e p , nor to resist, even in t h o u g h t , w h e n the minister a n d g o o d old d e a c o n G o o k i n , seized his a r m s , a n d led him to the blazing rock. T h i t h e r c a m e a l s o the slender form of a veiled f e m a l e , led b e t w e e n goody C l o y s e , that p i o u s t e a c h e r of the c a t e c h i s m , a n d M a r t h a Carrier, w h o h a d received the devil's p r o m i s e to b e q u e e n of hell. A r a m p a n t h a g w a s s h e ! A n d there s t o o d the proselytes, b e n e a t h the c a n o p y of fire. ' W e l c o m e , my children,' s a i d the dark figure, 'to the c o m m u n i o n of your r a c e ! 4 Ye have f o u n d , t h u s young, your n a t u r e a n d your destiny. M y children, look b e h i n d you!' T h e y t u r n e d ; a n d flashing forth, a s it w e r e , in a sheet of f l a m e , the fiendw o r s h i p p e r s were s e e n ; the smile of w e l c o m e g l e a m e d darkly o n every v i s a g e . 'There,' r e s u m e d the s a b l e form, 'are all w h o m ye have r e v e r e n c e d from youth. Ye d e e m e d t h e m holier than yourselves, a n d s h r a n k from your own sin, c o n t r a s t i n g it with their lives of r i g h t e o u s n e s s , a n d prayerful a s p i r a t i o n s h e a v e n w a r d . Yet, here a r e they all, in my w o r s h i p p i n g a s s e m b l y ! T h i s night it shall be g r a n t e d you to know their secret d e e d s ; how h o a r y - b e a r d e d elders of the c h u r c h have w h i s p e r e d w a n t o n w o r d s to the y o u n g m a i d s of their h o u s e h o l d s ; h o w m a n y a w o m a n , e a g e r for widow's w e e d s , has given her h u s b a n d a drink at b e d - t i m e , a n d let him s l e e p his last s l e e p in her b o s o m ; how b e a r d l e s s y o u t h s have m a d e h a s t e to inherit their fathers' w e a l t h ; a n d how fair d a m s e l s — b l u s h not, sweet o n e s ! — h a v e d u g little graves in the gard e n , a n d b i d d e n m e , the sole g u e s t , to an infant's funeral. B y the s y m p a t h y of your h u m a n hearts for sin, ye shall s c e n t out all the p l a c e s — w h e t h e r in c h u r c h , b e d - c h a m b e r , street, field, or f o r e s t — w h e r e c r i m e h a s b e e n c o m mitted, a n d shall exult to b e h o l d the w h o l e earth o n e stain of guilt, o n e mighty blood-spot. F a r m o r e than this! It shall be your's to p e n e t r a t e , in every b o s o m , the d e e p mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicked arts, a n d w h i c h , inexhaustibly s u p p l i e s m o r e evil i m p u l s e s t h a n h u m a n p o w e r — t h a n my power, at its u t m o s t ! — c a n m a k e m a n i f e s t in d e e d s . A n d now, my children, look u p o n e a c h other.' T h e y did s o ; a n d , by the blaze of the hell-kindled t o r c h e s , the w r e t c h e d m a n b e h e l d his F a i t h , a n d the wife her h u s b a n d , t r e m b l i n g before that u n h a l lowed altar. ' L o ! there ye s t a n d , my children,' said the figure, in a d e e p a n d s o l e m n 4. The New-England Manse ( 1 8 4 6 ) .

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t o n e , a l m o s t s a d , with its d e s p a i r i n g a w f u l n e s s , a s if his o n c e angelic n a t u r e c o u l d yet m o u r n for our m i s e r a b l e r a c e . ' D e p e n d i n g u p o n o n e a n o t h e r ' s h e a r t s , ye h a d still h o p e d , that virtue were not all a d r e a m . N o w are ye u n d e c e i v e d ! Evil is the n a t u r e of m a n k i n d . Evil m u s t b e your only h a p p i n e s s . W e l c o m e , a g a i n , my children, to the c o m m u n i o n of your r a c e ! ' ' W e l c o m e ! ' r e p e a t e d the fiend-worshippers, in o n e cry of d e s p a i r a n d triumph. A n d there they s t o o d , the only pair, a s it s e e m e d , w h o were yet hesitating o n the verge of w i c k e d n e s s , in this dark world. A b a s i n w a s hollowed, n a t u rally, in the rock. D i d it c o n t a i n water, r e d d e n e d by the lurid light? or w a s it b l o o d ? or, p e r c h a n c e , a liquid flame? H e r e i n did the S h a p e of Evil dip his h a n d , a n d p r e p a r e to lay the m a r k of b a p t i s m u p o n their f o r e h e a d s , that they might b e p a r t a k e r s of the mystery of sin, m o r e c o n s c i o u s of the secret guilt of o t h e r s , both in d e e d a n d t h o u g h t , than they c o u l d now b e of their o w n . T h e h u s b a n d c a s t o n e look at his p a l e wife, a n d F a i t h at h i m . W h a t p o l l u t e d w r e t c h e s w o u l d the next g l a n c e s h e w t h e m to e a c h other, s h u d d e r i n g alike at what they d i s c l o s e d a n d what they saw! 'Faith! F a i t h ! ' cried the h u s b a n d . ' L o o k u p to H e a v e n , a n d resist the Wicked One!' W h e t h e r F a i t h o b e y e d , h e knew not. Hardly h a d he s p o k e n , w h e n h e f o u n d himself a m i d c a l m night a n d s o l i t u d e , listening to a roar of the wind, which died heavily away t h r o u g h the forest. H e s t a g g e r e d a g a i n s t the r o c k a n d felt it chill a n d d a m p , while a h a n g i n g twig, that h a d b e e n all on fire, b e s p r i n k l e d his c h e e k with the c o l d e s t dew. T h e next m o r n i n g , y o u n g g o o d m a n B r o w n c a m e slowly into the street of S a l e m village, staring a r o u n d h i m like a bewildered m a n . T h e g o o d old minister w a s taking a walk a l o n g the graveyard, to get a n a p p e t i t e for b r e a k f a s t a n d m e d i t a t e his s e r m o n , a n d b e s t o w e d a b l e s s i n g , as h e p a s s e d , on g o o d m a n B r o w n . H e s h r a n k from the v e n e r a b l e saint, a s if to avoid a n a n a t h e m a . O l d d e a c o n G o o k i n w a s at d o m e s t i c w o r s h i p , a n d the holy w o r d s of his prayer were h e a r d t h r o u g h the o p e n window. 'What G o d doth the wizard pray t o ? ' q u o t h g o o d m a n B r o w n . G o o d y C l o y s e , that excellent old C h r i s t i a n , s t o o d in the early s u n s h i n e , at her own lattice, c a t e c h i s i n g a little girl, w h o h a d b r o u g h t her a pint of m o r n i n g ' s milk. G o o d m a n B r o w n s n a t c h e d away the child, a s from the g r a s p of the fiend himself. T u r n i n g the c o r n e r by the m e e t i n g - h o u s e , he spied the h e a d of F a i t h , with the p i n k r i b b o n s , gazing anxiously forth, a n d b u r s t i n g into s u c h j o y at sight of h i m , that s h e skipt a l o n g the street, a n d a l m o s t k i s s e d her h u s b a n d before the w h o l e village. B u t , g o o d m a n B r o w n looked sternly a n d sadly into her f a c e , a n d p a s s e d o n without a greeting. H a d g o o d m a n B r o w n fallen a s l e e p in the forest, a n d only d r e a m e d a wild d r e a m of a w i t c h - m e e t i n g ? B e it s o , if you will. B u t , alas! it w a s a d r e a m of evil o m e n for y o u n g g o o d m a n B r o w n . A s t e r n , a s a d , a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if n o t a d e s p e r a t e m a n , did h e b e c o m e , from the night of that fearful d r e a m . O n the S a b b a t h - d a y , w h e n the c o n g r e g a t i o n were s i n g i n g a holy p s a l m , h e c o u l d not listen, b e c a u s e a n a n t h e m of sin r u s h e d loudly u p o n his ear, a n d d r o w n e d all the b l e s s e d strain. W h e n the m i n i s t e r s p o k e from the pulpit, with power a n d fervid e l o q u e n c e , a n d , with his h a n d on the o p e n bible, of the s a c r e d truths of our religion, a n d of saint-like lives a n d t r i u m p h a n t d e a t h s , a n d of

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future bliss or misery u n u t t e r a b l e , then did g o o d m a n B r o w n turn p a l e , d r e a d ing, lest the roof s h o u l d t h u n d e r down u p o n the gray b l a s p h e m e r a n d his h e a r e r s . O f t e n , a w a k e n i n g s u d d e n l y at midnight, h e s h r a n k from the b o s o m of F a i t h , a n d at m o r n i n g or eventide, w h e n the family knelt d o w n at prayer, h e s c o w l e d , a n d m u t t e r e d to himself, a n d gazed sternly at his wife, a n d t u r n e d away. A n d w h e n he h a d lived long, a n d w a s b o r n e to his grave, a hoary c o r p s e , followed by F a i t h , an a g e d w o m a n , a n d children a n d grandchildren, a goodly p r o c e s s i o n , b e s i d e s n e i g h b o r s , not a few, they carved no hopeful verse u p o n his t o m b - s t o n e ; for his dying h o u r w a s g l o o m . 1835

T h e May-Pole of Merry M o u n t 1 There is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance, in the curious history of the early settlement of Mount Wallaston, or Merry Mount. In the slight sketch here attempted, the facts, recorded on the grave pages of our New England annalists, have wrought themselves, almost spontaneously, into a sort of allegory. The masques, mummeries, and festive customs, described in the text, are in accordance with the manners of the age. Authority, on these points may be found in Strutt's Book of English Sports and Pastimes.2 Bright were the days at M e r r y M o u n t , w h e n the M a y - P o l e w a s the b a n n e r staff of that gay colony! T h e y w h o reared it, s h o u l d their b a n n e r be triump h a n t , were to p o u r s u n - s h i n e over N e w E n g l a n d ' s r u g g e d hills, a n d s c a t t e r flower-seeds t h r o u g h o u t the soil. Jollity a n d g l o o m were c o n t e n d i n g for a n e m p i r e . M i d s u m m e r e v e 3 h a d c o m e , bringing d e e p verdure to the forest, a n d r o s e s in her lap, of a m o r e vivid h u e than the t e n d e r b u d s of S p r i n g . B u t M a y , or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year r o u n d at M e r r y M o u n t , s p o r t i n g with the S u m m e r m o n t h s , a n d revelling with A u t u m n , a n d b a s k i n g in the glow of Winter's fireside. T h r o u g h a world of toil a n d c a r e , s h e flitted with a d r e a m l i k e s m i l e , a n d c a m e hither to find a h o m e a m o n g the l i g h t s o m e hearts of Merry M o u n t . N e v e r h a d the M a y - P o l e b e e n so gaily d e c k e d a s at s u n s e t on m i d - s u m m e r eve. T h i s v e n e r a t e d e m b l e m w a s a p i n e tree, which h a d p r e s e r v e d the s l e n d e r g r a c e of y o u t h , while it e q u a l l e d the loftiest height of the old w o o d m o n a r c h s . F r o m its top s t r e a m e d a silken b a n n e r , c o l o r e d like the rainbow. D o w n nearly to the g r o u n d , the pole w a s d r e s s e d with b i r c h e n b o u g h s , a n d others of the liveliest g r e e n , a n d s o m e with silvery leaves, f a s t e n e d by r i b b o n s that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different c o l o r s , but no s a d o n e s . G a r d e n flowers, a n d b l o s s o m s of the w i l d e r n e s s , l a u g h e d gladly forth a m i d the verd u r e , so fresh a n d dewy, that they m u s t have grown by m a g i c o n that h a p p y 1. T h e text is that of the first printing in The Token ( 1 8 3 6 ) , where the story is ascribed to "the Author of T h e Gentle Boy.' " "May-pole": in English tradition the tall pole placed in a prominent site in a village where on May 1 flower-bedecked young people could dance around it after a night of gathering new vegetation and blossoms in the woods. Puritans condemned the custom as a sexual orgy.

2. J o s e p h Strutt, The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England ( 1 8 0 1 ) . Hawthorne also knew Nathaniel Morton's New England Memorial ( 1 6 6 9 ) , which drew on William Bradford's manuscript history Of Plymouth Plantation. 3. J u n e 20, the day before the longest day of the year.

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pine tree. W h e r e this green a n d flowery splendor t e r m i n a t e d , the shaft of the M a y - P o l e w a s stained with the seven brilliant h u e s of the b a n n e r at its top. O n the lowest green b o u g h h u n g a n a b u n d a n t w r e a t h of r o s e s , s o m e that h a d b e e n g a t h e r e d in the s u n n i e s t s p o t s of the forest, a n d o t h e r s , of still richer b l u s h , which the c o l o n i s t s h a d r e a r e d from E n g l i s h s e e d . O h , p e o p l e of the G o l d e n A g e , the chief of your h u s b a n d r y , w a s to raise flowers! B u t what w a s the wild throng that s t o o d h a n d in h a n d a b o u t the MayPole? It c o u l d not b e , that the F a u n s a n d N y m p h s , w h e n driven from their c l a s s i c groves a n d h o m e s of a n c i e n t f a b l e , had s o u g h t r e f u g e , a s all the pers e c u t e d did, in the fresh w o o d s of the W e s t . T h e s e were G o t h i c m o n s t e r s , t h o u g h p e r h a p s of G r e c i a n ancestry. O n the s h o u l d e r s of a c o m e l y y o u t h , u p r o s e the h e a d a n d b r a n c h i n g antlers of a stag; a s e c o n d , h u m a n in all other p o i n t s , had the grim visage of a wolf; a third, still with the trunk a n d l i m b s of a mortal m a n , s h o w e d the b e a r d a n d horns of a v e n e r a b l e he-goat. T h e r e w a s the likeness of a b e a r erect, b r u t e in all b u t his hind legs, w h i c h were a d o r n e d with p i n k silk s t o c k i n g s . A n d h e r e a g a i n , a l m o s t a s w o n d r o u s , s t o o d a real b e a r of the dark forest, l e n d i n g e a c h of his fore p a w s to the g r a s p of a h u m a n h a n d , a n d as ready for the d a n c e a s any in that circle. T h i s inferior n a t u r e rose half-way, to m e e t his c o m p a n i o n s as they s t o o p e d . O t h e r f a c e s wore the similitude of m a n or w o m a n , b u t distorted or extravagant, with red n o s e s p e n d u l o u s b e f o r e their m o u t h s , which s e e m e d of awful d e p t h , a n d s t r e t c h e d from ear to ear in a n eternal fit of laughter. H e r e m i g h t be s e e n the S a l v a g e M a n , 4 well known in heraldry, hairy a s a b a b o o n , a n d girdled with g r e e n leaves. By his s i d e , a nobler figure, b u t still a c o u n t e r f e i t , a p p e a r e d an Indian hunter, with feathery crest a n d w a m p u m belt. M a n y o f this s t r a n g e c o m p a n y wore f o o l s - c a p s , a n d h a d little bells a p p e n d e d to their g a r m e n t s , tinkling with a silvery s o u n d , r e s p o n s i v e to the i n a u d i b l e m u s i c of their glees o m e spirits. S o m e youths a n d m a i d e n s were of s o b e r e r g a r b , yet well m a i n tained their p l a c e s in the irregular t h r o n g , by the e x p r e s s i o n of wild revelry u p o n their f e a t u r e s . S u c h were the c o l o n i s t s of M e r r y M o u n t , a s they s t o o d in the b r o a d s m i l e of s u n s e t , r o u n d their v e n e r a t e d M a y - P o l e . H a d a w a n d e r e r , bewildered in the m e l a n c h o l y forest, h e a r d their mirth, a n d stolen a half-affrighted g l a n c e , he might have f a n c i e d t h e m the crew of C o m u s , 5 s o m e already t r a n s f o r m e d to b r u t e s , s o m e midway b e t w e e n m a n a n d b e a s t , a n d the others rioting in the flow of tipsey jollity that foreran the c h a n g e . B u t a b a n d of P u r i t a n s , w h o w a t c h e d the s c e n e , invisible t h e m s e l v e s , c o m p a r e d the m a s q u e s to t h o s e devils a n d ruined s o u l s , with w h o m their superstition p e o p l e d the b l a c k w i l d e r n e s s . Within the ring of m o n s t e r s , a p p e a r e d the two airiest f o r m s , that h a d ever trodden on any m o r e solid footing than a p u r p l e a n d g o l d e n c l o u d . O n e w a s a y o u t h , in glistening a p p a r e l , with a s c a r f of the r a i n b o w p a t t e r n c r o s s w i s e on his breast. H i s right h a n d held a gilded staff, the e n s i g n 6 of high dignity a m o n g the revellous, a n d his left g r a s p e d the slender fingers of a fair m a i d e n , not less gaily d e c o r a t e d than himself. Bright r o s e s g l o w e d in c o n t r a s t with the dark a n d glossy curls of e a c h , a n d were s c a t t e r e d r o u n d their feet, or h a d s p r u n g u p s p o n t a n e o u s l y t h e r e . B e h i n d this l i g h t s o m e c o u p l e , s o c l o s e to the M a y - P o l e that its b o u g h s s h a d e d his jovial f a c e , s t o o d the figure of a n 4. Person clad in foliage to represent a savage, as in medieval and Renaissance pageantry. 5. T h e god of revelry, here associated with Mil-

ton's Comus ( 1 6 3 4 ) . 6. Sign, token.

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E n g l i s h priest, canonically d r e s s e d , yet d e c k e d with flowers, in H e a t h e n fashion, a n d w e a r i n g a c h a p l e t of the native vine leaves. By the riot of his rolling eye, a n d the p a g a n d e c o r a t i o n s of his holy g a r b , h e s e e m e d the wildest m o n ster there, a n d the very C o m u s of the crew. 'Votaries of the M a y - P o l e , ' cried the flower-decked priest, 'merrily, all day long, have the w o o d s e c h o e d to your mirth. B u t be this your merriest hour, my h e a r t s ! L o , here s t a n d the L o r d a n d L a d y of the M a y , w h o m I, a clerk 7 of Oxford, a n d high priest of Merry M o u n t , a m presently to j o i n in holy matrimony. U p with your n i m b l e spirits, ye m o r r i c e - d a n c e r s , g r e e n - m e n , a n d g l e e - m a i d e n s , 8 b e a r s a n d wolves, a n d h o r n e d g e n t l e m e n ! C o m e ; a c h o r u s now, rich with the old mirth of Merry E n g l a n d , a n d the wilder glee of this fresh forest; a n d then a d a n c e , to s h o w the youthful pair w h a t life is m a d e of, a n d how airily they s h o u l d go through it! All ye that love the M a y - P o l e , lend your voices to the nuptial s o n g of the L o r d a n d L a d y of the M a y ! ' T h i s wedlock w a s m o r e s e r i o u s than m o s t affairs of M e r r y M o u n t , where j e s t a n d d e l u s i o n , trick a n d fantasy, kept up a c o n t i n u a l carnival. T h e L o r d a n d L a d y of the M a y , t h o u g h their titles m u s t b e laid d o w n at s u n s e t , were really a n d truly to b e p a r t n e r s for the d a n c e of life, b e g i n n i n g the m e a s u r e that s a m e bright eve. T h e wreath of r o s e s , that h u n g from the lowest green b o u g h of the M a y - P o l e , h a d b e e n twined for t h e m , a n d would b e thrown over both their h e a d s , in symbol of their flowery u n i o n . W h e n the priest h a d s p o k e n , therefore, a riotous u p r o a r burst from the rout of m o n s t r o u s figures. 'Begin you the s t a v e , 9 reverend Sir,' cried they all; 'and never did the w o o d s ring to s u c h a merry p e a l , a s we of the M a y - P o l e shall s e n d u p ! ' I m m e d i a t e l y a p r e l u d e of p i p e , cittern,' a n d viol, t o u c h e d with p r a c t i s e d minstrelsy, b e g a n to play from a n e i g h b o r i n g thicket, in s u c h a mirthful c a d e n c e , that the b o u g h s of the M a y - P o l e quivered to the s o u n d . B u t the M a y L o r d , he of the gilded staff, c h a n c i n g to look into his Lady's eyes, w a s w o n d e r s t r u c k at the a l m o s t p e n s i v e g l a n c e that m e t his own. ' E d i t h , sweet L a d y of the M a y , ' w h i s p e r e d h e , reproachfully, 'is your wreath of r o s e s a g a r l a n d to h a n g a b o v e our graves, that you look so s a d ? O h , E d i t h , this is our golden time! T a r n i s h it not by any p e n s i v e s h a d o w of the m i n d ; for it may b e , that nothing of futurity will be brighter than the m e r e r e m e m b r a n c e of what is now p a s s i n g . ' 'That was the very thought that s a d d e n e d m e ! H o w c a m e it in your m i n d t o o ? ' said E d i t h , in a still lower tone than h e ; for it w a s high t r e a s o n to b e s a d at Merry M o u n t . 'Therefore d o I sigh a m i d this festive m u s i c . A n d b e s i d e s , d e a r E d g a r , I struggle a s with a d r e a m , a n d fancy that t h e s e s h a p e s of our jovial friends are visionary, a n d their mirth unreal, a n d that we are no true L o r d a n d Lady of the M a y . W h a t is the mystery in my h e a r t ? ' J u s t t h e n , a s if a spell h a d l o o s e n e d t h e m , d o w n c a m e a little s h o w e r of withering rose leaves from the M a y - P o l e . A l a s , for the y o u n g lovers! N o s o o n e r h a d their hearts glowed with real p a s s i o n , than they were s e n s i b l e of s o m e t h i n g v a g u e a n d u n s u b s t a n t i a l in their former p l e a s u r e s , a n d felt a dreary p r e s e n t i m e n t of inevitable c h a n g e . F r o m the m o m e n t that they truly loved, they h a d s u b j e c t e d t h e m s e l v e s to earth's d o o m of c a r e , a n d sorrow, 7. In Anglican usage, lay minister who assists the parish clergyman. 8. Girl singers. "Morrice-dancers": participants in an English folk dance, which was originally"Moor-

ish dance." "Green-men": men bedecked in greenery. 9. Stanza. 1. Guitar with pear-shaped body.

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a n d troubled joy, a n d h a d n o m o r e a h o m e at Merry M o u n t . T h a t w a s Edith's mystery. N o w leave we the priest to marry t h e m , a n d the m a s q u e r s to sport r o u n d the M a y - P o l e , till the last s u n b e a m be withdrawn from its s u m m i t , a n d the s h a d o w s of the forest mingle gloomily in the d a n c e . M e a n w h i l e , we m a y discover w h o t h e s e gay p e o p l e w e r e . T w o h u n d r e d years a g o , a n d m o r e , the old world a n d its i n h a b i t a n t s b e c a m e m u t u a l l y weary of e a c h other. M e n voyaged by t h o u s a n d s to the W e s t ; s o m e to barter g l a s s b e a d s , a n d s u c h like j e w e l s , for the furs of the Indian hunter; s o m e to c o n q u e r virgin e m p i r e s ; a n d o n e stern b a n d to pray. B u t n o n e of t h e s e motives h a d m u c h weight with the c o l o n i s t s of Merry M o u n t . T h e i r l e a d e r s were m e n w h o h a d s p o r t e d s o long with life, that w h e n T h o u g h t a n d W i s d o m c a m e , even t h e s e u n w e l c o m e g u e s t s were led astray, by the crowd of vanities which they s h o u l d have p u t to flight. Erring T h o u g h t a n d perverted W i s d o m were m a d e to p u t on m a s q u e s , a n d play the fool. T h e m e n of w h o m we s p e a k , after losing the heart's fresh gaiety, i m a g i n e d a wild p h i l o s o p h y of p l e a s u r e , a n d c a m e hither to act o u t their latest d a y - d r e a m . T h e y g a t h e r e d followers from all that giddy tribe, w h o s e w h o l e life is like the festal days of s o b e r e r m e n . In their train were m i n s t r e l s , not u n k n o w n in L o n d o n s t r e e t s ; w a n d e r i n g players, w h o s e theatres h a d b e e n the halls of n o b l e m e n ; m u m m e r i e s , r o p e - d a n c e r s , a n d m o u n t e b a n k s , 2 w h o would long be m i s s e d at w a k e s , c h u r c h - a l e s , a n d fairs; in a word, m i r t h - m a k e r s of every sort, s u c h a s a b o u n d e d in that a g e , but now b e g a n to b e d i s c o u n t e n a n c e d by the rapid growth of P u r i t a n i s m . Light h a d their f o o t s t e p s b e e n on land, a n d a s lightly they c a m e a c r o s s the s e a . M a n y h a d b e e n m a d d e n e d by their previous troubles into a gay d e s p a i r ; o t h e r s were a s madly gay in the flush of youth, like the M a y L o r d a n d his L a d y ; b u t whatever might b e the quality of their mirth, old a n d y o u n g were gay at M e r r y M o u n t . T h e y o u n g d e e m e d t h e m s e l v e s happy. T h e elder spirits, if they k n e w that mirth w a s but the counterfeit of h a p p i n e s s , yet followed the false s h a d o w wilfully, b e c a u s e at least her g a r m e n t s glittered brightest. S w o r n triflers of a life-time, they would not v e n t u r e a m o n g the s o b e r truths of life, not even to b e truly blest. All the hereditary p a s t i m e s of O l d E n g l a n d were t r a n s p l a n t e d hither. T h e King of C h r i s t m a s w a s duly c r o w n e d , a n d the L o r d of M i s r u l e 3 b o r e p o t e n t sway. O n the eve of S a i n t J o h n , 4 they felled w h o l e a c r e s of the forest to m a k e bonfires, a n d d a n c e d by the blaze all night, c r o w n e d with g a r l a n d s , a n d throwing flowers into the f l a m e . At harvest t i m e , t h o u g h their c r o p w a s of the s m a l l e s t , they m a d e a n i m a g e with the s h e a v e s of Indian c o r n , a n d w r e a t h e d it with a u t u m n a l g a r l a n d s , a n d b o r e it h o m e triumphantly. B u t what chiefly c h a r a c t e r i z e d the c o l o n i s t s of M e r r y M o u n t , w a s their veneration for the M a y - P o l e . It h a s m a d e their true history a p o e t ' s tale. S p r i n g d e c k e d the hallowed e m b l e m with y o u n g b l o s s o m s a n d fresh g r e e n b o u g h s ; S u m m e r b r o u g h t r o s e s of the d e e p e s t b l u s h , a n d the p e r f e c t e d foliage of the forest; A u t u m n e n r i c h e d it with that red a n d yellow g o r g e o u s n e s s , which converts e a c h wildwood leaf into a p a i n t e d flower; a n d W i n t e r silvered it with sleet, a n d h u n g it r o u n d with icicles, till it flashed in the c o l d s u n s h i n e , itself a frozen s u n b e a m . T h u s e a c h alternate s e a s o n did h o m a g e to the MayPole, a n d paid it a tribute of its own richest s p l e n d o r . Its votaries d a n c e d 2. Showmen who "climb on a b e n c h " to hawk medicines or (as here) to tell stories or do tricks. " M u m m e r i e s " : masked actors. "Rope-dancers":

tightrope walkers. 3. Master of the traditional C h r i s t m a s revelry. 4. M i d s u m m e r eve.

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r o u n d it, o n c e , at least, in every m o n t h ; s o m e t i m e s they called it their religion, or their altar; but always, it w a s the b a n n e r - s t a f f of Merry M o u n t . Unfortunately, there were m e n in the n e w world, of a s t e r n e r faith than t h e s e M a y - P o l e w o r s h i p p e r s . N o t far from M e r r y M o u n t w a s a s e t t l e m e n t of P u r i t a n s , m o s t d i s m a l w r e t c h e s , who said their prayers b e f o r e daylight, a n d then w r o u g h t in the forest or the cornfield, till e v e n i n g m a d e it prayer time a g a i n . T h e i r w e a p o n s were always at h a n d , to shoot d o w n the straggling s a v a g e . W h e n they m e t in c o n c l a v e , it w a s never to keep u p the old E n g l i s h mirth, but to hear s e r m o n s three h o u r s long, or to p r o c l a i m b o u n t i e s on the h e a d s of wolves a n d the s c a l p s of I n d i a n s . T h e i r festivals were fast-days, a n d their chief p a s t i m e the singing of p s a l m s . W o e to the youth or m a i d e n , w h o did but d r e a m of a d a n c e ! T h e s e l e c t m a n n o d d e d to the c o n s t a b l e ; a n d there sat the light-heeled r e p r o b a t e in the s t o c k s ; or if he d a n c e d , it w a s r o u n d the whipping-post, which might b e t e r m e d the P u r i t a n M a y - P o l e . A party of t h e s e grim P u r i t a n s , toiling t h r o u g h the difficult w o o d s , e a c h with a horse-load of iron a r m o r to b u r t h e n his f o o t s t e p s , would s o m e t i m e s draw near the s u n n y p r e c i n c t s of M e r r y M o u n t . T h e r e were the silken colonists, s p o r t i n g r o u n d their M a y - P o l e ; p e r h a p s t e a c h i n g a b e a r to d a n c e , or striving to c o m m u n i c a t e their mirth to the grave I n d i a n ; or m a s q u e r a d i n g in the skins of d e e r a n d wolves, which they h a d h u n t e d for that e s p e c i a l purp o s e . O f t e n , the whole colony were playing at b l i n d m a n ' s bluff, m a g i s t r a t e s a n d all with their eyes b a n d a g e d , except a single s c a p e - g o a t , w h o m the blinded s i n n e r s p u r s u e d by the tinkling of the bells at his g a r m e n t s . O n c e , it is said, they were s e e n following a flower-decked c o r p s e , with m e r r i m e n t a n d festive m u s i c , to his grave. B u t did the d e a d m a n l a u g h ? In their q u i e t e s t t i m e s , they s a n g b a l l a d s a n d told tales, for the edification of their p i o u s visiters; or perplexed t h e m with j u g g l i n g tricks; or g r i n n e d at t h e m t h r o u g h horse-collars; a n d w h e n sport itself grew w e a r i s o m e , they m a d e g a m e of their own stupidity, a n d b e g a n a y a w n i n g m a t c h . At the very least of t h e s e enormities, the m e n of iron s h o o k their h e a d s a n d frowned s o darkly, that the revellers looked u p , i m a g i n i n g that a m o m e n t a r y c l o u d h a d overcast the s u n s h i n e , which w a s to b e p e r p e t u a l t h e r e . O n the other h a n d , the P u r i t a n s affirmed, that, w h e n a p s a l m w a s p e a l i n g from their p l a c e of w o r s h i p , the e c h o , which the forest sent t h e m back, s e e m e d often like the c h o r u s of a jolly c a t c h , c l o s i n g with a roar of laughter. W h o but the fiend, a n d his fond slaves, the c r e w of Merry M o u n t , h a d t h u s d i s t u r b e d t h e m ! In d u e t i m e , a feud a r o s e , stern a n d bitter on o n e s i d e , a n d a s s e r i o u s o n the other a s any thing c o u l d b e , a m o n g s u c h light spirits as h a d sworn a l l e g i a n c e to the MayPole. T h e future c o m p l e x i o n of N e w E n g l a n d w a s involved in this i m p o r t a n t quarrel. S h o u l d the grisly saints establish their j u r i s d i c t i o n over the gay sinners, then would their spirits darken all the c l i m e , a n d m a k e it a land of c l o u d e d v i s a g e s , of hard toil, of s e r m o n a n d p s a l m , forever. B u t s h o u l d the b a n n e r - s t a f f of M e r r y M o u n t b e f o r t u n a t e , s u n s h i n e w o u l d b r e a k u p o n the hills, a n d flowers w o u l d beautify the forest, a n d late posterity d o h o m a g e to the M a y - P o l e ! After t h e s e a u t h e n t i c p a s s a g e s from history, we return to the n u p t i a l s of the L o r d a n d L a d y of the M a y . Alas! we have delayed too long, a n d m u s t darken our tale too suddenly. A s w e g l a n c e d again at the M a y - P o l e , a solitary s u n - b e a m is fading from the s u m m i t , a n d leaves only a faint g o l d e n tinge, b l e n d e d with the h u e s of the rainbow b a n n e r . E v e n that d i m light is now

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withdrawn, relinquishing the whole d o m a i n of M e r r y M o u n t to the e v e n i n g g l o o m , which has r u s h e d s o i n s t a n t a n e o u s l y from the b l a c k s u r r o u n d i n g w o o d s . B u t s o m e of t h e s e b l a c k s h a d o w s have r u s h e d forth in h u m a n s h a p e . Yes: with the setting s u n , the last day of mirth h a d p a s s e d from M e r r y M o u n t . T h e ring of gay m a s q u e r s w a s d i s o r d e r e d a n d b r o k e n ; the s t a g lowered his antlers in d i s m a y ; the wolf grew weaker than a l a m b ; the bells of the m o r r i c e - d a n c e r s tinkled with t r e m u l o u s affright. T h e P u r i t a n s h a d played a characteristic part in the M a y - P o l e m u m m e r i e s . T h e i r d a r k s o m e figures were intermixed with the wild s h a p e s of their f o e s , a n d m a d e the s c e n e a picture of the m o m e n t , w h e n waking t h o u g h t s start u p a m i d the s c a t t e r e d f a n t a s i e s of a d r e a m . T h e leader of the hostile party s t o o d in the c e n t r e of the circle, while the rout of m o n s t e r s c o w e r e d a r o u n d h i m , like evil spirits in the p r e s e n c e of a d r e a d m a g i c i a n . N o fantastic foolery c o u l d look h i m in the f a c e . S o stern w a s the energy of his a s p e c t , that the w h o l e m a n , v i s a g e , f r a m e , a n d soul, s e e m e d w r o u g h t of iron, gifted with life a n d t h o u g h t , yet all of o n e s u b s t a n c e with his h e a d - p i e c e a n d b r e a s t - p l a t e . It w a s the Puritan of P u r i t a n s ; it w a s E n d i c o t t 5 himself! ' S t a n d off, priest of B a a l ! ' 6 said h e , with a grim frown, a n d laying no reverent h a n d u p o n the s u r p l i c e . 'I know t h e e , C l a x t o n ! 7 T h o u art the m a n , w h o c o u l d s t not a b i d e the rule even of thine own c o r r u p t e d c h u r c h , 8 a n d h a s t c o m e hither to p r e a c h iniquity, a n d to give e x a m p l e of it in thy life. B u t now shall it be s e e n that the L o r d hath sanctified this w i l d e r n e s s for his p e c u l i a r p e o p l e . W o e u n t o t h e m that w o u l d defile it! A n d first for this flower-decked a b o m i n a t i o n , the altar of thy w o r s h i p ! ' A n d with his keen sword, E n d i c o t t a s s a u l t e d the hallowed M a y - P o l e . N o r long did it resist his a r m . It g r o a n e d with a d i s m a l s o u n d ; it s h o w e r e d leaves a n d r o s e - b u d s u p o n the r e m o r s e l e s s e n t h u s i a s t ; a n d finally, with all its green b o u g h s , a n d r i b b o n s , a n d flowers, symbolic of d e p a r t e d p l e a s u r e s , d o w n fell the b a n n e r - s t a f f of Merry M o u n t . A s it s a n k , tradition says, the evening sky grew darker, a n d the w o o d s threw forth a m o r e s o m b r e s h a d o w . 'There,' cried E n d i c o t t , looking t r i u m p h a n t l y o n his work, 'there lies the only M a y - P o l e in N e w E n g l a n d ! T h e t h o u g h t is s t r o n g within m e , that, by its fall, is s h a d o w e d forth the fate of light a n d idle m i r t h - m a k e r s , a m o n g s t u s a n d our posterity. A m e n , saith J o h n E n d i c o t t ! ' 'Amen!' e c h o e d his followers. B u t the votaries of the M a y - P o l e gave o n e groan for their idol. At the s o u n d , the Puritan leader g l a n c e d at the c r e w of C o m u s , e a c h a figure of b r o a d mirth, yet, at this m o m e n t , strangely expressive of sorrow a n d d i s m a y . 'Valiant c a p t a i n , ' q u o t h Peter Palfrey, the A n c i e n t 9 of the b a n d , 'what order shall be taken with the p r i s o n e r s ? ' 'I thought not to repent m e of c u t t i n g d o w n a M a y - P o l e , ' replied E n d i c o t t , 'yet now I c o u l d find in my heart to plant it a g a i n , a n d give e a c h of t h e s e bestial p a g a n s o n e other d a n c e r o u n d their idol. It w o u l d h a v e served rarely for a whipping-post!' 'But there are pine trees enow,' s u g g e s t e d the l i e u t e n a n t . 5. John Endicott (1 5 8 9 ? - 1 6 6 5 ) , several times governor of the Massachusetts colony. 6. For the slaying of the prophets of the fertility god Baal, see 1 Kings 18. 7. Did Governor Endicott speak less positively, we should suspect a mistake here. T h e Reverend Mr.

Claxton, though an eccentric, is not known to have been an immoral man. W e rather doubt his identity with the priest of Merry Mount [Hawthorne's note]. 8. I.e., the Anglican C h u r c h . 9. Lieutenant.

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' T r u e , g o o d A n c i e n t , ' said the leader. 'Wherefore, bind the h e a t h e n crew, a n d bestow o n t h e m a small m a t t e r of stripes a p i e c e , a s e a r n e s t of our future j u s t i c e . S e t s o m e of the r o g u e s in the s t o c k s to rest t h e m s e l v e s , s o s o o n a s Providence shall bring u s to o n e of our own well-ordered s e t t l e m e n t s , w h e r e such accommodations may be found. Further penalties, such as branding a n d c r o p p i n g of e a r s , shall be thought of hereafter.' ' H o w m a n y stripes for the priest?' i n q u i r e d A n c i e n t Palfrey. ' N o n e a s yet,' a n s w e r e d E n d i c o t t , b e n d i n g his iron frown u p o n the culprit. 'It m u s t be for the G r e a t a n d G e n e r a l C o u r t 1 to d e t e r m i n e , w h e t h e r stripes a n d long i m p r i s o n m e n t , a n d other grievous penalty, m a y a t o n e for his transg r e s s i o n s . Let him look to himself! F o r s u c h a s violate our civil order, it m a y be p e r m i t t e d u s to s h o w mercy. B u t w o e to the w r e t c h that troubleth o u r religion!' 'And this d a n c i n g bear,' r e s u m e d the officer. ' M u s t h e s h a r e the stripes of his fellows?' ' S h o o t him t h r o u g h the h e a d ! ' said the energetic P u r i t a n . 'I s u s p e c t witchcraft in the b e a s t . ' ' H e r e be a c o u p l e of s h i n i n g o n e s , ' c o n t i n u e d Peter Palfrey, pointing his w e a p o n at the L o r d a n d L a d y of the M a y . T h e y s e e m to b e of high station a m o n g t h e s e m i s - d o e r s . M e t h i n k s their dignity will not b e fitted with less than a d o u b l e s h a r e of stripes.' E n d i c o t t r e s t e d on his sword, a n d closely surveyed the d r e s s a n d a s p e c t of the h a p l e s s pair. T h e r e they s t o o d , p a l e , d o w n c a s t , a n d a p p r e h e n s i v e . Yet there w a s a n air of m u t u a l s u p p o r t , a n d of p u r e affection, s e e k i n g aid a n d giving it, that s h o w e d t h e m to b e m a n a n d wife, with the s a n c t i o n of a priest u p o n their love. T h e youth, in the peril of the m o m e n t , h a d d r o p p e d his gilded staff, a n d thrown his a r m a b o u t the L a d y of the M a y , w h o l e a n e d a g a i n s t his b r e a s t , too lightly to b u r t h e n him, but with weight e n o u g h to e x p r e s s that their d e s t i n i e s were linked together, for g o o d or evil. T h e y looked first at e a c h other, a n d then into the grim c a p t a i n ' s f a c e . T h e r e they s t o o d , in the first hour of wedlock, while the idle p l e a s u r e s , of which their c o m p a n i o n s were the e m b l e m s , h a d given p l a c e to the s t e r n e s t c a r e s of life, personified by the dark P u r i t a n s . B u t never h a d their youthful b e a u t y s e e m e d s o p u r e a n d high, a s w h e n its glow w a s c h a s t e n e d by adversity. 'Youth,' said E n d i c o t t , 'ye s t a n d in an evil c a s e , thou a n d thy m a i d e n wife. M a k e ready presently; for I a m m i n d e d that ye shall both have a token to r e m e m b e r your wedding-day!' 'Stern m a n , ' e x c l a i m e d the M a y L o r d , ' H o w c a n I m o v e thee? W e r e the m e a n s at h a n d , I would resist to the d e a t h . B e i n g p o w e r l e s s , I entreat! D o with m e as thou wilt; but let E d i t h go uritouched!' 'Not s o , ' replied the i m m i t i g a b l e zealot. 'We are not wont to s h o w a n idle c o u r t e s y to that sex, which requireth the stricter d i s c i p l i n e . W h a t sayest t h o u , m a i d ? Shall thy silken b r i d e g r o o m suffer thy s h a r e of the penalty, b e s i d e s his o w n ? ' ' B e it d e a t h , ' said E d i t h , 'and lay it all on m e ! ' Truly, a s E n d i c o t t h a d said, the poor lovers s t o o d in a woeful c a s e . T h e i r foes were t r i u m p h a n t , their friends captive a n d a b a s e d , their h o m e d e s o l a t e , the b e n i g h t e d wilderness a r o u n d t h e m , a n d a rigorous destiny, in the s h a p e 1. Massachusetts legislature.

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of the Puritan leader, their only g u i d e . Yet the d e e p e n i n g twilight c o u l d not altogether c o n c e a l , that the iron m a n w a s s o f t e n e d ; h e s m i l e d , at the fair s p e c t a c l e of early love; h e a l m o s t s i g h e d , for the inevitable blight of early hopes. ' T h e troubles of life have c o m e hastily on this y o u n g c o u p l e , ' o b s e r v e d E n d i c o t t . 'We will s e e h o w they c o m p o r t t h e m s e l v e s u n d e r their p r e s e n t trials, ere we b u r t h e n t h e m with greater. If, a m o n g the spoil, there b e any g a r m e n t s of a m o r e d e c e n t f a s h i o n , let t h e m b e p u t u p o n this M a y L o r d a n d his Lady, i n s t e a d of their glistening vanities. L o o k to it, s o m e of y o u . ' 'And shall not the youth's hair b e c u t ? ' a s k e d P e t e r Palfrey, looking with a b h o r r e n c e at the love-lock a n d long glossy curls of the y o u n g m a n . ' C r o p it forthwith, a n d that in the true p u m p k i n shell f a s h i o n , ' 2 a n s w e r e d the c a p t a i n . ' T h e n bring t h e m a l o n g with u s , b u t m o r e gently t h a n their fellows. T h e r e b e qualities in the y o u t h , w h i c h m a y m a k e h i m valiant to fight, a n d sober to toil, a n d p i o u s to pray; a n d in the m a i d e n , that m a y fit her to b e c o m e a m o t h e r in our I s r a e l , 3 bringing u p b a b e s in b e t t e r n u r t u r e t h a n her own hath b e e n . N o r think ye, y o u n g o n e s , that they a r e the h a p p i e s t , even in our lifetime of a m o m e n t , w h o m i s s p e n d it in d a n c i n g r o u n d a M a y - P o l e ! ' A n d E n d i c o t t , the severest P u r i t a n of all w h o laid the rock-foundation of N e w E n g l a n d , lifted the w r e a t h of r o s e s from the ruin of the M a y - P o l e , a n d threw it, with his own g a u n t l e t e d h a n d , over the h e a d s of the L o r d a n d L a d y of the M a y . It w a s a d e e d of p r o p h e c y . A s the m o r a l g l o o m of the world overpowers all s y s t e m a t i c gaiety, even s o w a s their h o m e of wild mirth m a d e d e s o l a t e a m i d the s a d forest. T h e y r e t u r n e d to it n o m o r e . B u t , a s their flowery g a r l a n d w a s w r e a t h e d of the brightest r o s e s that h a d grown there, s o , in the tie t h a t united t h e m , were intertwined all the p u r e s t a n d b e s t of their early j o y s . T h e y went h e a v e n w a r d , s u p p o r t i n g e a c h other a l o n g the difficult p a t h which it w a s their lot to t r e a d , a n d never w a s t e d o n e regretful t h o u g h t on the vanities of M e r r y M o u n t . 1835

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T h e Minister's Black Veil1 A

Parable2

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BY T H E

AUTHOR

OF

'SIGHTS

FROM

A

STEEPLE*

T h e sexton s t o o d in the p o r c h of Milford m e e t i n g - h o u s e , p u l l i n g lustily at the bell-rope. T h e old p e o p l e of the village c a m e s t o o p i n g a l o n g the street. C h i l d r e n , with bright f a c e s , tript merrily b e s i d e their p a r e n t s , or m i m i c k e d a graver gait, in the c o n s c i o u s dignity of their Sunday c l o t h e s . S p r u c e b a c h elors looked s i d e l o n g at the pretty m a i d e n s , a n d f a n c i e d that the s a b b a t h 2. Roundhead style, close-cropped in Puritan fashion. 3. Endicott makes the standard 17th-century Puritan identification of the New England settlers with the Jews, another persecuted, God-chosen minority. 1. T h e text is that of the first printing in The Token (1836). 2. Another clergyman in New-England, Mr.

J o s e p h Moody, of York, M a i n e , who died about eighty years since, m a d e himself remarkable by the s a m e eccentricity that is here related of the Reverend Mr. Hooper. In his c a s e , however, the symbol had a different import. In early life he had accidentally killed a beloved friend; and from that day till the hour of his own death, he hid his face from men [Hawthorne's note].

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s u n s h i n e m a d e t h e m prettier than on week-days. W h e n the t h r o n g h a d mostly s t r e a m e d into the p o r c h , the sexton b e g a n to toll the bell, k e e p i n g his eye on the Reverend M r . H o o p e r ' s door. T h e first g l i m p s e of the clergyman's figure w a s the signal for the bell to c e a s e its s u m m o n s . *=* ' B u t w h a t h a s g o o d P a r s o n H o o p e r got u p o n his f a c e ? ' cried the sexton in astonishment. All within h e a r i n g i m m e d i a t e l y turned a b o u t , a n d b e h e l d the s e m b l a n c e of M r . H o o p e r , p a c i n g slowly his meditative way towards the m e e t i n g - h o u s e . W i t h o n e a c c o r d they started, expressing m o r e w o n d e r t h a n if s o m e s t r a n g e minister were c o m i n g to d u s t the c u s h i o n s of M r . H o o p e r ' s pulpit. 'Are you s u r e it is our p a r s o n ? ' inquired G o o d m a n G r a y of the sexton. — 'Of a certainty it is g o o d M r . H o o p e r , ' replied the sexton. ' H e w a s to have e x c h a n g e d pulpits with P a r s o n S h u t e of W e s t b u r y ; b u t P a r s o n S h u t e sent to e x c u s e himself yesterday, b e i n g to p r e a c h a funeral s e r m o n . ' T h e c a u s e of so m u c h a m a z e m e n t m a y a p p e a r sufficiently slight. M r . H o o p e r , a g e n t l e m a n l y p e r s o n of a b o u t thirty, t h o u g h still a b a c h e l o r , w a s d r e s s e d with d u e clerical n e a t n e s s , a s if a careful wife h a d s t a r c h e d his b a n d , a n d b r u s h e d the weekly d u s t from his S u n d a y ' s g a r b . T h e r e w a s but o n e thing r e m a r k a b l e in his a p p e a r a n c e . S w a t h e d a b o u t his f o r e h e a d , a n d h a n g ing d o w n over his f a c e , s o low a s to b e s h a k e n by his b r e a t h , M r . H o o p e r h a d o n a b l a c k veil. O n a nearer view, it s e e m e d to c o n s i s t of two folds of c r a p e , which entirely c o n c e a l e d his f e a t u r e s , except the m o u t h a n d c h i n , but probably did not intercept his sight, farther than to give a d a r k e n e d a s p e c t to all living a n d i n a n i m a t e things. W i t h this g l o o m y s h a d e before him, g o o d Mr. H o o p e r walked o n w a r d , at a slow a n d quiet p a c e , s t o o p i n g s o m e w h a t a n d looking on the g r o u n d , a s is c u s t o m a r y with a b s t r a c t e d m e n , yet n o d d i n g kindly to t h o s e of his p a r i s h i o n e r s w h o still waited o n the m e e t i n g - h o u s e s t e p s . B u t so w o n d e r - s t r u c k were they, that his g r e e t i n g hardly m e t with a return. 'I can't really feel a s if g o o d M r . H o o p e r ' s f a c e w a s b e h i n d that p i e c e of c r a p e , ' said the sexton. 'I don't like it,' m u t t e r e d a n old w o m a n , a s s h e h o b b l e d into the m e e t i n g h o u s e . ' H e h a s c h a n g e d h i m s e l f into s o m e t h i n g awful, only by hiding his face.' ' O u r p a r s o n has g o n e m a d ! ' cried G o o d m a n Gray, following him a c r o s s the t h r e s h h o l d . A r u m o r of s o m e u n a c c o u n t a b l e p h e n o m e n o n h a d p r e c e d e d M r . H o o p e r into the m e e t i n g - h o u s e , a n d set all the c o n g r e g a t i o n astir. F e w c o u l d refrain from twisting their h e a d s towards the door; m a n y s t o o d upright, a n d t u r n e d directly a b o u t ; while several little boys c l a m b e r e d u p o n the s e a t s , a n d c a m e down again with a terrible racket. T h e r e w a s a g e n e r a l b u s t l e , a rustling of'" the w o m e n ' s g o w n s a n d shuffling of the m e n ' s feet, greatly at v a r i a n c e with that h u s h e d r e p o s e w h i c h s h o u l d attend the e n t r a n c e of the minister. B u t Mr. H o o p e r a p p e a r e d not to notice the p e r t u r b a t i o n of his p e o p l e . H e entered with an a l m o s t n o i s e l e s s s t e p , b e n t his h e a d mildly to the p e w s on e a c h s i d e , a n d b o w e d a s h e p a s s e d his oldest p a r i s h i o n e r , a white-haired great-grandsire, w h o o c c u p i e d a n a r m - c h a i r in the c e n t r e of the a i s l e . It w a s s t r a n g e to o b s e r v e , how slowly this v e n e r a b l e m a n b e c a m e c o n s c i o u s of s o m e t h i n g singular in the a p p e a r a n c e of his p a s t o r . H e s e e m e d not fully to p a r t a k e of the prevailing w o n d e r , till M r . H o o p e r h a d a s c e n d e d the stairs,

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a n d s h o w e d h i m s e l f in the pulpit, f a c e to f a c e with his c o n g r e g a t i o n , except for the b l a c k veil. T h a t m y s t e r i o u s e m b l e m w a s never o n c e w i t h d r a w n . It s h o o k with his m e a s u r e d b r e a t h a s he gave out the p s a l m ; it threw its o b s c u rity b e t w e e n him a n d the holy p a g e , a s h e read the S c r i p t u r e s ; a n d while he prayed, the veil lay heavily on his uplifted c o u n t e n a n c e . D i d he s e e k to hide it from the d r e a d B e i n g w h o m he was a d d r e s s i n g ? S u c h w a s the effect of this s i m p l e p i e c e of c r a p e , that m o r e t h a n o n e w o m a n of delicate nerves w a s forced to leave the m e e t i n g - h o u s e . Yet p e r h a p s the pale-faced c o n g r e g a t i o n w a s a l m o s t a s fearful a sight to the minister, a s his b l a c k veil to t h e m . Mr. H o o p e r h a d the r e p u t a t i o n of a g o o d p r e a c h e r , but not an e n e r g e t i c o n e : h e strove to win his p e o p l e h e a v e n w a r d , by mild p e r s u a s i v e i n f l u e n c e s , rather than to drive t h e m thither, by the t h u n d e r s of the W o r d . T h e s e r m o n which h e n o w delivered, w a s m a r k e d by the s a m e c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of style a n d m a n n e r , a s the general series of his pulpit oratory. B u t there w a s s o m e t h i n g , either in the s e n t i m e n t of the d i s c o u r s e itself, or in the i m a g i n a t i o n of the a u d i t o r s , which m a d e it greatly the m o s t powerful effort that they h a d ever h e a r d from their pastor's lips. It w a s tinged, rather m o r e darkly t h a n u s u a l , with the gentle g l o o m of M r . H o o p e r ' s t e m p e r a m e n t . T h e s u b j e c t h a d refe r e n c e to secret sin, a n d t h o s e s a d mysteries which we hide from our n e a r e s t a n d d e a r e s t , a n d would fain c o n c e a l from our own c o n s c i o u s n e s s , even forgetting that the O m n i s c i e n t c a n d e t e c t t h e m . A s u b t l e power w a s b r e a t h e d into his words. E a c h m e m b e r of the c o n g r e g a t i o n , the m o s t i n n o c e n t girl, a n d the m a n of h a r d e n e d b r e a s t , felt a s if the p r e a c h e r h a d crept u p o n t h e m , b e h i n d his awful veil, a n d d i s c o v e r e d their h o a r d e d iniquity of d e e d or t h o u g h t . M a n y s p r e a d their c l a s p e d h a n d s on their b o s o m s . T h e r e w a s nothing terrible in what M r . H o o p e r s a i d ; at least, no v i o l e n c e ; a n d yet, with every tremor of his m e l a n c h o l y voice, the h e a r e r s q u a k e d . A n u n s o u g h t p a t h o s c a m e h a n d in h a n d with a w e . S o s e n s i b l e were the a u d i e n c e of s o m e u n w o n t e d attribute in their minister, that they l o n g e d for a b r e a t h of wind to blow a s i d e the veil, a l m o s t believing that a stranger's v i s a g e would be discovered, t h o u g h the form, g e s t u r e , a n d voice were t h o s e of M r . H o o p e r . At the c l o s e of the services, the p e o p l e hurried o u t with i n d e c o r o u s confusion, e a g e r to c o m m u n i c a t e their p e n t - u p a m a z e m e n t , a n d c o n s c i o u s of lighter spirits, the m o m e n t they lost sight of the b l a c k veil. S o m e g a t h e r e d in little circles, h u d d l e d closely together, with their m o u t h s all w h i s p e r i n g in the c e n t r e ; s o m e went h o m e w a r d a l o n e , wrapt in silent m e d i t a t i o n ; s o m e talked loudly, a n d p r o f a n e d the S a b b a t h - d a y with o s t e n t a t i o u s l a u g h t e r . A few s h o o k their s a g a c i o u s h e a d s , i n t i m a t i n g that they c o u l d p e n e t r a t e the mystery; while o n e or two affirmed that there w a s n o mystery at all, but only that Mr. H o o p e r ' s eyes were s o w e a k e n e d by the m i d n i g h t l a m p , a s to require a s h a d e . After a brief interval, forth c a m e g o o d M r . H o o p e r a l s o , in the rear of his flock. T u r n i n g his veiled f a c e from o n e g r o u p to a n o t h e r , h e paid d u e reverence to the hoary h e a d s , s a l u t e d the m i d d l e - a g e d with kind dignity, a s their friend a n d spiritual g u i d e , greeted the y o u n g with m i n g l e d authority a n d love, a n d laid his h a n d s on the little children's h e a d s to b l e s s t h e m . S u c h w a s always his c u s t o m on the S a b b a t h - d a y . S t r a n g e a n d b e w i l d e r e d looks repaid him for his courtesy. N o n e , a s o n f o r m e r o c c a s i o n s , a s p i r e d to the honor of walking by their pastor's s i d e . O l d S q u i r e S a u n d e r s , d o u b t l e s s by a n a c c i d e n t a l l a p s e of m e m o r y , n e g l e c t e d to invite M r . H o o p e r to his table,

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where the g o o d clergyman h a d b e e n wont to bless the food, a l m o s t every S u n d a y s i n c e his s e t t l e m e n t . H e r e t u r n e d , therefore, to the p a r s o n a g e , a n d , at the m o m e n t of c l o s i n g the door, w a s o b s e r v e d to look b a c k u p o n the p e o p l e , all of w h o m h a d their eyes fixed u p o n the minister. A s a d s m i l e g l e a m e d faintly from b e n e a t h the b l a c k veil, a n d flickered a b o u t his m o u t h , glimmering as he disappeared. ' H o w s t r a n g e , ' said a lady, 'that a s i m p l e black veil, s u c h a s any w o m a n might wear on her b o n n e t , s h o u l d b e c o m e s u c h a terrible thing on Mr. Hooper's face!' ' S o m e t h i n g m u s t surely b e a m i s s with Mr. H o o p e r ' s intellects,' o b s e r v e d her h u s b a n d , the physician of the village. 'But the s t r a n g e s t part of the affair is the effect of this vagary, even on a s o b e r - m i n d e d m a n like myself. T h e black veil, t h o u g h it covers only our pastor's f a c e , throws its i n f l u e n c e over his whole p e r s o n , a n d m a k e s him ghost-like from h e a d to foot. D o you not feel it s o ? ' 'Truly d o I,' replied the lady; 'and I w o u l d not b e a l o n e with him for the world. I w o n d e r h e is not afraid to be a l o n e with himself!' ' M e n s o m e t i m e s a r e s o , ' s a i d her h u s b a n d . T h e afternoon service w a s a t t e n d e d with similar c i r c u m s t a n c e s . At its c o n c l u s i o n , the bell tolled for the funeral of a y o u n g lady. T h e relatives a n d friends were a s s e m b l e d in the h o u s e , a n d the m o r e d i s t a n t a c q u a i n t a n c e s s t o o d a b o u t the door, s p e a k i n g of the g o o d qualities of the d e c e a s e d , w h e n their talk w a s interrupted by the a p p e a r a n c e of M r . H o o p e r , still c o v e r e d with his black veil. It w a s now a n a p p r o p r i a t e e m b l e m . T h e c l e r g y m a n s t e p p e d into the r o o m w h e r e the c o r p s e w a s laid, a n d b e n t over the coffin, to take a last farewell of his d e c e a s e d p a r i s h i o n e r . As he s t o o p e d , the veil h u n g straight d o w n from his f o r e h e a d , s o that, if her eye-lids h a d not b e e n c l o s e d for ever, the d e a d m a i d e n might have s e e n his f a c e . C o u l d Mr. H o o p e r be fearful of her g l a n c e , that he s o hastily c a u g h t b a c k the b l a c k veil? A p e r s o n , w h o w a t c h e d the interview b e t w e e n the d e a d a n d living, s c r u p l e d not to affirm, that, at the instant w h e n the clergyman's f e a t u r e s were disc l o s e d , the c o r p s e h a d slightly s h u d d e r e d , rustling the s h r o u d a n d m u s l i n c a p , t h o u g h the c o u n t e n a n c e retained the c o m p o s u r e of d e a t h . A superstitious old w o m a n w a s the only witness of this prodigy. F r o m the coffin, Mr. H o o p e r p a s s e d into the c h a m b e r s of the m o u r n e r s , a n d t h e n c e to the h e a d of the s t a i r c a s e , to m a k e the funeral prayer. It w a s a t e n d e r a n d heartdissolving prayer, full of sorrow, yet so i m b u e d with celestial h o p e s , that the m u s i c of a heavenly h a r p , swept by the fingers of the d e a d , s e e m e d faintly to be h e a r d a m o n g the s a d d e s t a c c e n t s of the minister. T h e p e o p l e t r e m b l e d , t h o u g h they but darkly u n d e r s t o o d h i m , w h e n he prayed that they, a n d himself, a n d all of mortal r a c e , might be ready, a s he trusted this y o u n g m a i d e n h a d b e e n , for the dreadful hour that s h o u l d s n a t c h the veil from their f a c e s . T h e b e a r e r s went heavily forth, a n d the m o u r n e r s followed, s a d d e n i n g all the street, with the d e a d before t h e m , a n d Mr. H o o p e r in his black veil behind. 'Why do you look b a c k ? ' said o n e in the p r o c e s s i o n to his partner. 'I h a d a fancy,' replied s h e , 'that the minister a n d the m a i d e n ' s spirit were walking h a n d in h a n d . ' 'And s o h a d I, at the s a m e m o m e n t , ' said the other. T h a t night, the h a n d s o m e s t c o u p l e in Milford village were to b e j o i n e d in

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wedlock. T h o u g h r e c k o n e d a m e l a n c h o l y m a n , M r . H o o p e r h a d a placid c h e e r f u l n e s s for s u c h o c c a s i o n s , w h i c h often excited a s y m p a t h e t i c s m i l e , w h e r e livelier m e r r i m e n t w o u l d have b e e n thrown away. T h e r e w a s no quality of his disposition which m a d e him m o r e beloved t h a n this. T h e c o m p a n y at the w e d d i n g awaited his arrival with i m p a t i e n c e , trusting that the s t r a n g e a w e , which h a d g a t h e r e d over him t h r o u g h o u t the day, would n o w b e dispelled. B u t s u c h w a s not the result. W h e n Mr. H o o p e r c a m e , the first thing that their eyes rested on w a s the s a m e horrible b l a c k veil, which h a d a d d e d d e e p e r g l o o m to the funeral, a n d c o u l d p o r t e n d n o t h i n g b u t evil to the wedding. S u c h w a s its i m m e d i a t e effect on the g u e s t s , that a c l o u d s e e m e d to have rolled duskily from b e n e a t h the b l a c k c r a p e , a n d d i m m e d the light of the c a n d l e s . T h e bridal pair s t o o d u p before the m i n i s t e r . B u t the bride's cold fingers quivered in the t r e m u l o u s h a n d of the b r i d e g r o o m , a n d her death-like p a l e n e s s c a u s e d a whisper, that the m a i d e n w h o h a d b e e n buried a few h o u r s b e f o r e , w a s c o m e from her grave to be m a r r i e d . If ever a n o t h e r w e d d i n g were s o d i s m a l , it w a s that f a m o u s o n e , w h e r e they tolled the wedding-knell.' After p e r f o r m i n g the c e r e m o n y , M r . H o o p e r r a i s e d a glass of wine to his lips, w i s h i n g h a p p i n e s s to the new-married c o u p l e , in a strain of mild pleasantry that o u g h t to have b r i g h t e n e d the f e a t u r e s of the g u e s t s , like a cheerful g l e a m from the hearth. At that instant, c a t c h i n g a g l i m p s e of his figure in the looking-glass, the b l a c k veil involved his own spirit in the horror with which it o v e r w h e l m e d all o t h e r s . His f r a m e s h u d d e r e d — h i s lips grew w h i t e — h e spilt the u n t a s t e d wine u p o n the c a r p e t — a n d r u s h e d forth into the d a r k n e s s . F o r the E a r t h , too, h a d on her B l a c k Veil. T h e next day, the w h o l e village of Milford talked of little e l s e than P a r s o n H o o p e r ' s black veil. T h a t , a n d the mystery c o n c e a l e d b e h i n d it, s u p p l i e d a topic for d i s c u s s i o n b e t w e e n a c q u a i n t a n c e s m e e t i n g in the street, a n d g o o d w o m e n g o s s i p i n g at their o p e n w i n d o w s . It w a s the first item of news that the tavern-keeper told to his g u e s t s . T h e children b a b b l e d of it on their way to s c h o o l . O n e imitative little i m p c o v e r e d his f a c e with a n old black handkerchief, thereby so affrighting his p l a y m a t e s , that the p a n i c seized himself, a n d he well nigh lost his wits by his own waggery. It w a s r e m a r k a b l e , that, of all the b u s y - b o d i e s a n d impertinent p e o p l e in the p a r i s h , not o n e v e n t u r e d to put the plain q u e s t i o n to M r . H o o p e r , wherefore he did this thing. H i t h e r t o , w h e n e v e r there a p p e a r e d the slightest call for s u c h i n t e r f e r e n c e , he h a d never l a c k e d advisers, nor s h o w n h i m s e l f averse to be g u i d e d by their j u d g m e n t . If he erred at all, it w a s by so painful a d e g r e e of self-distrust, that even the mildest c e n s u r e w o u l d l e a d h i m to c o n s i d e r an indifferent action a s a c r i m e . Yet, t h o u g h s o well a c q u a i n t e d with this a m i a b l e w e a k n e s s , no individual a m o n g his p a r i s h i o n e r s c h o s e to m a k e the black veil a s u b j e c t of friendly r e m o n s t r a n c e . T h e r e w a s a feeling of d r e a d , neither plainly c o n f e s s e d nor carefully c o n c e a l e d , which c a u s e d e a c h to shift the responsibility u p o n a n o t h e r , till at length it w a s f o u n d expedient to s e n d a d e p u t a t i o n of the c h u r c h , in order to deal with M r . H o o p e r a b o u t the mystery, before it s h o u l d grow into a s c a n d a l . N e v e r did a n e m b a s s y s o ill d i s c h a r g e its d u t i e s . T h e minister received t h e m with friendly c o u r t e s y , but b e c a m e silent, after they were s e a t e d , leaving to his visitors the w h o l e b u r t h e n 4 of i n t r o d u c i n g their i m p o r t a n t b u s i n e s s . T h e t o p i c , it might be 3. A reference to Hawthorne's own "The Wedding Knell," which appeared in The Token for 1836

along with this story. 4. Burden.

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s u p p o s e d , w a s obvious e n o u g h . T h e r e was the b l a c k veil, s w a t h e d r o u n d Mr. H o o p e r ' s f o r e h e a d , a n d c o n c e a l i n g every f e a t u r e a b o v e his p l a c i d m o u t h , on which, at t i m e s , they c o u l d perceive the g l i m m e r i n g of a m e l a n c h o l y s m i l e . B u t that p i e c e of c r a p e , to their i m a g i n a t i o n , s e e m e d to h a n g d o w n before his heart, the symbol of a fearful secret b e t w e e n him a n d t h e m . W e r e the veil but c a s t a s i d e , they might s p e a k freely of it, but not till t h e n . T h u s they sat a c o n s i d e r a b l e t i m e , s p e e c h l e s s , c o n f u s e d , a n d shrinking uneasily from M r . H o o p e r ' s eye, which they felt to b e fixed u p o n t h e m with a n invisible g l a n c e . Finally, the d e p u t i e s returned a b a s h e d to their c o n s t i t u e n t s , pron o u n c i n g the m a t t e r too weighty to be h a n d l e d , except by a c o u n c i l of the c h u r c h e s , if, i n d e e d , it might not require a general synod. B u t there w a s o n e p e r s o n in the village, u n a p p a l l e d by the a w e with which the b l a c k veil h a d i m p r e s s e d all b e s i d e herself. W h e n the d e p u t i e s r e t u r n e d without a n explanation, or even venturing to d e m a n d o n e , s h e , with the c a l m energy of her c h a r a c t e r , d e t e r m i n e d to c h a s e away the s t r a n g e c l o u d that a p p e a r e d to be settling r o u n d Mr. H o o p e r , every m o m e n t m o r e darkly than b e f o r e . As his plighted wife, it s h o u l d be her privilege to k n o w w h a t the b l a c k veil c o n c e a l e d . At the minister's first visit, therefore, s h e e n t e r e d u p o n the s u b j e c t , with a direct simplicity, which m a d e the task e a s i e r both for him a n d her. After he h a d s e a t e d himself, s h e fixed her eyes steadfastly u p o n the veil, but c o u l d d i s c e r n nothing of the dreadful g l o o m that h a d s o overawed the m u l t i t u d e : it w a s but a d o u b l e fold of c r a p e , h a n g i n g d o w n from his f o r e h e a d to his m o u t h , a n d slightly stirring with his b r e a t h . ' N o , ' said s h e a l o u d , a n d smiling, 'there is n o t h i n g terrible in this p i e c e of c r a p e , except that it hides a f a c e which I a m always glad to look u p o n . C o m e , g o o d sir, let the s u n shine from behind the c l o u d . First lay a s i d e your b l a c k veil: then tell m e why you p u t it on.' M r . H o o p e r ' s smile g l i m m e r e d faintly. 'There is a n h o u r to c o m e , ' said h e , 'when all of u s shall c a s t a s i d e our veils. T a k e it not a m i s s , beloved friend, if I wear this p i e c e of c r a p e till t h e n . ' 'Your words are a mystery too,' returned the y o u n g lady. 'Take away the veil from t h e m , at least.' 'Elizabeth, I will,' said h e , 'so far a s my vow m a y suffer m e . K n o w , t h e n , this veil is a t y p e 5 a n d a symbol, a n d I a m b o u n d to wear it ever, both in light a n d d a r k n e s s , in solitude a n d before the gaze of m u l t i t u d e s , a n d a s with s t r a n g e r s , so with my familiar friends. N o mortal eye will s e e it withdrawn. T h i s d i s m a l s h a d e m u s t s e p a r a t e m e from the world: even y o u , Elizabeth, can never c o m e b e h i n d it!' 'What grievous affliction hath befallen you,' s h e earnestly i n q u i r e d , 'that you s h o u l d t h u s darken your eyes for ever?' 'If it be a sign of m o u r n i n g , ' replied Mr. H o o p e r , 'I, p e r h a p s , like m o s t other m o r t a l s , have sorrows dark e n o u g h to be typified by a b l a c k veil.' 'But what if the world will not believe that it is the type of a n i n n o c e n t sorrow?' urged E l i z a b e t h . 'Beloved a n d r e s p e c t e d a s you a r e , there m a y b e w h i s p e r s , that you hide your f a c e u n d e r the c o n s c i o u s n e s s of secret sin. F o r the s a k e of your holy office, do away this s c a n d a l ! ' T h e color rose into her c h e e k s , a s s h e intimated the n a t u r e of the r u m o r s that were already a b r o a d in the village. B u t M r . H o o p e r ' s m i l d n e s s did not forsake him. H e even smiled a g a i n — t h a t s a m e s a d s m i l e , which always 5. Symbol (the phrase "a type and a symbol" is redundant).

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a p p e a r e d like a faint g l i m m e r i n g of light, p r o c e e d i n g from the o b s c u r i t y b e n e a t h the veil. 'If I hide my f a c e for sorrow, there is c a u s e e n o u g h , ' h e merely replied; 'and if I cover it for s e c r e t sin, w h a t mortal might not do the s a m e ? ' A n d with this gentle, but u n c o n q u e r a b l e obstinacy, did h e resist all her e n t r e a t i e s . At length E l i z a b e t h sat silent. F o r a few m o m e n t s s h e a p p e a r e d lost in t h o u g h t , c o n s i d e r i n g , probably, what new m e t h o d s might b e tried, to withdraw her lover from so d a r k a fantasy, w h i c h , if it h a d no other m e a n i n g , w a s p e r h a p s a s y m p t o m of m e n t a l d i s e a s e . T h o u g h of a firmer c h a r a c t e r than his own, the tears rolled d o w n her c h e e k s . B u t , in a n instant, a s it w e r e , a n e w feeling took the p l a c e of sorrow: her eyes were fixed insensibly on the b l a c k veil, w h e n , like a s u d d e n twilight in the air, its terrors fell a r o u n d her. S h e a r o s e , a n d s t o o d t r e m b l i n g before h i m . 'And do you feel it then at l a s t ? ' said h e mournfully. S h e m a d e no reply, but covered her eyes with her h a n d , a n d t u r n e d to leave the r o o m . H e r u s h e d forward a n d c a u g h t her a r m . 'Have p a t i e n c e with m e , E l i z a b e t h ! ' cried he p a s s i o n a t e l y . ' D o not desert m e , t h o u g h this veil m u s t be b e t w e e n u s h e r e on e a r t h . B e m i n e , a n d hereafter there shall b e n o veil over my f a c e , no d a r k n e s s b e t w e e n our s o u l s ! It is b u t a mortal veil—it is not for eternity! O h , you know not h o w lonely I a m a n d how frightened to be a l o n e b e h i n d my b l a c k veil. D o not leave m e in this m i s e r a b l e obscurity for ever!' 'Lift the veil but o n c e , a n d look m e in the f a c e , ' s a i d s h e . 'Never! It c a n n o t b e ! ' replied M r . H o o p e r . ' T h e n , farewell!' said E l i z a b e t h . S h e withrew her a r m from his g r a s p , a n d slowly d e p a r t e d , p a u s i n g at the door, to give o n e long, s h u d d e r i n g g a z e , that s e e m e d a l m o s t to p e n e t r a t e the mystery of the b l a c k veil. B u t , even a m i d his grief, M r . H o o p e r s m i l e d to think that only a material e m b l e m h a d s e p a r a t e d h i m from h a p p i n e s s , t h o u g h the horrors which it s h a d o w e d forth, m u s t b e drawn darkly b e t w e e n the fondest of lovers. F r o m that time no a t t e m p t s were m a d e to r e m o v e M r . H o o p e r ' s b l a c k veil, or, by a direct a p p e a l , to discover the secret which it w a s s u p p o s e d to hide. By p e r s o n s w h o c l a i m e d a superiority to p o p u l a r p r e j u d i c e , it w a s r e c k o n e d merely a n e c c e n t r i c w h i m , s u c h as often m i n g l e s with the s o b e r a c t i o n s of m e n otherwise rational, a n d tinges t h e m all with its own s e m b l a n c e of insanity. B u t with the m u l t i t u d e , g o o d M r . H o o p e r w a s irreparably a b u g b e a r . 6 H e c o u l d not walk the street with any p e a c e of m i n d , so c o n s c i o u s w a s h e that the gentle a n d timid would turn a s i d e to avoid h i m , a n d that others w o u l d m a k e it a point of h a r d i h o o d to throw t h e m s e l v e s in his way. T h e impertin e n c e of the latter c l a s s c o m p e l l e d h i m to give u p his c u s t o m a r y walk, at s u n s e t , to the burial g r o u n d ; for w h e n h e l e a n e d pensively over the g a t e , there would always be f a c e s b e h i n d the g r a v e - s t o n e s , p e e p i n g at his b l a c k veil. A fable went the r o u n d s , that the stare of the d e a d p e o p l e drove h i m t h e n c e . It grieved h i m , to the very d e p t h of his kind heart, to o b s e r v e how the children fled from his a p p r o a c h , b r e a k i n g u p their m e r r i e s t s p o r t s , while his m e l a n c h o l y figure w a s yet afar off. T h e i r instinctive d r e a d c a u s e d h i m to feel, m o r e strongly than a u g h t e l s e , that a p r e t e r n a t u r a l horror w a s inter6. Object of dread.

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woven with the threads of the black c r a p e . In truth, his own a n t i p a t h y to the veil w a s known to be so great, that he never willingly p a s s e d before a mirror, nor s t o o p e d to drink at a still f o u n t a i n , lest, in its p e a c e f u l b o s o m , he s h o u l d b e affrighted by himself. T h i s w a s what gave plausibility to the w h i s p e r s , that Mr. H o o p e r ' s c o n s c i e n c e tortured him for s o m e great c r i m e , too horrible to be entirely c o n c e a l e d , or otherwise than s o o b s c u r e l y i n t i m a t e d . T h u s , f r o m b e n e a t h the b l a c k veil, there rolled a c l o u d into the s u n s h i n e , a n a m b i g u i t y of sin or sorrow, which e n v e l o p e d the poor minister, s o that love or s y m p a t h y c o u l d never r e a c h h i m . It w a s said, that ghost a n d fiend c o n s o r t e d with him there. W i t h s e l f - s h u d d e r i n g s a n d o u t w a r d terrors, h e walked continually in its s h a d o w , g r o p i n g darkly within his own soul, or gazing t h r o u g h a m e d i u m that s a d d e n e d the whole world. E v e n the lawless wind, it w a s believed, r e s p e c t e d his dreadful s e c r e t , a n d never blew a s i d e the veil. B u t still g o o d Mr. H o o p e r sadly s m i l e d , at the pale visages of the worldly throng a s h e p a s s e d by. A m o n g all its b a d i n f l u e n c e s , the b l a c k veil h a d the o n e d e s i r a b l e effect, of m a k i n g its wearer a very efficient c l e r g y m a n . By the aid of his m y s t e r i o u s e m b l e m — f o r there w a s n o other a p p a r e n t c a u s e — h e b e c a m e a m a n of awful power, over s o u l s that were in agony for sin. H i s converts always r e g a r d e d him with a d r e a d p e c u l i a r to t h e m s e l v e s , affirming, t h o u g h but figuratively, that, before h e b r o u g h t t h e m to celestial light, they h a d b e e n with him b e h i n d the b l a c k veil. Its g l o o m , i n d e e d , e n a b l e d him to s y m p a t h i z e with all dark affections. Dying s i n n e r s cried a l o u d for M r . H o o p e r , a n d w o u l d not yield their breath till h e a p p e a r e d ; t h o u g h ever, as he s t o o p e d to w h i s p e r c o n s o l a t i o n , they s h u d d e r e d at the veiled f a c e s o n e a r their own. S u c h were the terrors of the b l a c k veil, even w h e n d e a t h h a d b a r e d his v i s a g e ! S t r a n g e r s c a m e long d i s t a n c e s to attend service at his c h u r c h , with the m e r e idle purp o s e of gazing at his figure, b e c a u s e it w a s forbidden t h e m to b e h o l d his f a c e . B u t m a n y were m a d e to q u a k e ere they d e p a r t e d ! O n c e , d u r i n g G o v e r n o r B e l c h e r ' s a d m i n i s t r a t i o n , M r . H o o p e r w a s a p p o i n t e d to p r e a c h the election s e r m o n . 7 C o v e r e d with his b l a c k veil, he s t o o d before the chief m a g i s t r a t e , the c o u n c i l , a n d the r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s , a n d w r o u g h t s o d e e p a n i m p r e s s i o n , that the legislative m e a s u r e s of that year, were c h a r a c t e r i z e d by all the g l o o m a n d piety of our earliest a n c e s t r a l sway. In this m a n n e r M r . H o o p e r s p e n t a long life, i r r e p r o a c h a b l e in o u t w a r d act, yet s h r o u d e d in d i s m a l s u s p i c i o n s ; kind a n d loving, t h o u g h unloved, a n d dimly f e a r e d ; a m a n apart from m e n , s h u n n e d in their health a n d joy, b u t ever s u m m o n e d to their aid in mortal a n g u i s h . As years wore on, s h e d d i n g their s n o w s above his s a b l e veil, h e a c q u i r e d a n a m e t h r o u g h o u t the N e w E n g l a n d c h u r c h e s , a n d they called him F a t h e r H o o p e r . N e a r l y all his parishioners, w h o were of m a t u r e a g e w h e n he w a s settled, h a d b e e n b o r n e away by m a n y a funeral: he h a d o n e c o n g r e g a t i o n in the c h u r c h , a n d a m o r e c r o w d e d o n e in the c h u r c h - y a r d ; a n d having w r o u g h t so late into the evening, a n d d o n e his work so well, it w a s n o w g o o d F a t h e r H o o p e r ' s turn to rest. Several p e r s o n s were visible by the s h a d e d c a n d l e l i g h t , in the d e a t h c h a m b e r of the old c l e r g y m a n . N a t u r a l c o n n e c t i o n s he h a d n o n e . B u t there w a s the d e c o r o u s l y grave, t h o u g h u n m o v e d physician, s e e k i n g only to miti7. A sermon was preached at the installing of each new governor (in this case, at one of Belcher's installations for a new term). Jonathan Belcher

(1682—1757) was governor of M a s s a c h u s e t t s and New H a m p s h i r e ( 1 7 3 0 - 4 1 ) .

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g a t e the last p a n g s of the patient w h o m h e could not s a v e . T h e r e were the d e a c o n s , a n d other eminently p i o u s m e m b e r s of his c h u r c h . T h e r e , a l s o , w a s the R e v e r e n d M r . C l a r k , of W e s t b u r y , a y o u n g a n d z e a l o u s divine, w h o h a d ridden in h a s t e to pray by the b e d - s i d e of the expiring minister. T h e r e w a s the n u r s e , no hired h a n d m a i d e n of d e a t h , but o n e w h o s e c a l m affection h a d e n d u r e d thus long, in secresy, in s o l i t u d e , a m i d the chill of a g e , a n d would not p e r i s h , even at the dying hour. W h o , but Elizabeth! A n d there lay the hoary h e a d of g o o d F a t h e r H o o p e r u p o n the death-pillow, with the b l a c k veil still s w a t h e d a b o u t his brow a n d r e a c h i n g d o w n over his f a c e , s o that e a c h m o r e difficult g a s p of his faint breath c a u s e d it to stir. All t h r o u g h life that p i e c e of c r a p e h a d h u n g b e t w e e n him a n d the world: it h a d s e p a r a t e d him from cheerful b r o t h e r h o o d a n d w o m a n ' s love, a n d kept him in that s a d d e s t of all p r i s o n s , his own heart; a n d still it lay u p o n his f a c e , a s if to d e e p e n the g l o o m of his d a r k s o m e c h a m b e r , a n d s h a d e him from the s u n s h i n e of eternity. For s o m e time p r e v i o u s , his m i n d h a d b e e n c o n f u s e d , wavering doubtfully b e t w e e n the p a s t a n d the p r e s e n t , a n d hovering forward, a s it w e r e , at intervals, into the i n d i s t i n c t n e s s of the world to c o m e . T h e r e h a d b e e n feverish turns, which t o s s e d him from side to s i d e , a n d w o r e away w h a t little strength he had. B u t in his m o s t convulsive s t r u g g l e s , a n d in the wildest v a g a r i e s of his intellect, w h e n no other t h o u g h t retained its s o b e r i n f l u e n c e , he still s h o w e d an awful solicitude lest the b l a c k veil s h o u l d slip a s i d e . E v e n if his bewildered s o u l c o u l d have forgotten, there w a s a faithful w o m a n at his pillow, w h o , with averted eyes, w o u l d have c o v e r e d that a g e d f a c e , which s h e h a d last b e h e l d in the c o m e l i n e s s of m a n h o o d . At length the death-stricken old m a n lay quietly in the torpor of m e n t a l a n d bodily e x h a u s t i o n , with a n i m p e r c e p t i b l e p u l s e , a n d b r e a t h that grew fainter a n d fainter, except w h e n a long, d e e p , a n d irregular inspiration s e e m e d to p r e l u d e the flight of his spirit. T h e minister of W e s t b u r y a p p r o a c h e d the b e d s i d e . 'Venerable F a t h e r H o o p e r , ' said h e , 'the m o m e n t of your r e l e a s e is at h a n d . Are you ready for the lifting of the veil, that s h u t s in time from eternity?' F a t h e r H o o p e r at first replied merely by a feeble m o t i o n of his h e a d ; then, a p p r e h e n s i v e , p e r h a p s , that his m e a n i n g might be d o u b t f u l , h e exerted himself to s p e a k . 'Yea,' s a i d h e , in faint a c c e n t s , 'my soul hath a patient w e a r i n e s s until that veil b e lifted.' 'And is it fitting,' r e s u m e d the B e v e r e n d M r . C l a r k , 'that a m a n s o given to prayer, of s u c h a b l a m e l e s s e x a m p l e , holy in d e e d a n d t h o u g h t , s o far a s mortal j u d g m e n t m a y p r o n o u n c e ; is it fitting that a father in the c h u r c h s h o u l d leave a s h a d o w on his m e m o r y , that m a y s e e m to b l a c k e n a life so p u r e ? I pray you, my v e n e r a b l e brother, let not this t h i n g b e ! S u f f e r u s to be g l a d d e n e d by your t r i u m p h a n t a s p e c t , a s you g o to your r e w a r d . B e f o r e the veil of eternity b e lifted, let m e c a s t a s i d e this b l a c k veil from your f a c e ! ' A n d t h u s s p e a k i n g , the reverend M r . C l a r k b e n t forward to reveal the mystery of s o m a n y years. B u t , exerting a s u d d e n energy, that m a d e all the b e h o l d e r s s t a n d a g h a s t , F a t h e r H o o p e r s n a t c h e d both his h a n d s from b e n e a t h the b e d - c l o t h e s , a n d p r e s s e d t h e m strongly on the b l a c k veil, resolute to s t r u g g l e , if the minister of W e s t b u r y would c o n t e n d with a dying m a n . 'Never!' cried the veiled c l e r g y m a n . ' O n e a r t h , never!'

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'Dark old m a n ! ' e x c l a i m e d the affrighted minister, 'with what horrible c r i m e u p o n your soul are you now p a s s i n g to the j u d g m e n t ? ' F a t h e r H o o p e r ' s b r e a t h heaved; it rattled in his throat; b u t , with a mighty effort, g r a s p i n g forward with his h a n d s , he c a u g h t hold of life, a n d held it b a c k till h e s h o u l d s p e a k . H e even raised himself in b e d ; a n d there h e sat, shivering with the a r m s of d e a t h a r o u n d him, while the black veil h u n g d o w n , awful, at that last m o m e n t , in the g a t h e r e d terrors of a life-time. A n d yet the faint, s a d s m i l e , s o often there, now s e e m e d to g l i m m e r from its obscurity, a n d linger o n F a t h e r H o o p e r ' s lips. 'Why do you t r e m b l e at m e a l o n e ? ' cried h e , turning his veiled f a c e r o u n d the circle of p a l e s p e c t a t o r s . ' T r e m b l e also at e a c h other! H a v e m e n a v o i d e d m e , a n d w o m e n s h o w n n o pity, a n d children s c r e a m e d a n d fled, only for my black veil? W h a t , b u t the mystery which it o b s c u r e l y typifies, h a s m a d e this p i e c e of c r a p e s o awful? W h e n the friend s h o w s his i n m o s t heart to his friend; the lover to his best-beloved; w h e n m a n d o e s not vainly s h r i n k from the eye of his C r e a t o r , l o a t h s o m e l y t r e a s u r i n g u p the secret of his sin; then d e e m m e a m o n s t e r , for the symbol b e n e a t h which I have lived, a n d die! I look a r o u n d m e , a n d lo! on every visage a b l a c k veil!' W h i l e his a u d i t o r s s h r a n k from o n e a n o t h e r , in m u t u a l affright, F a t h e r H o o p e r fell b a c k u p o n his pillow, a veiled c o r p s e , with a faint smile lingering on the lips. Still veiled, they laid him in his coffin, a n d a veiled c o r p s e they bore him to the grave. T h e g r a s s of m a n y years has s p r u n g u p a n d withered on that grave, the burial-stone is m o s s - g r o w n , a n d g o o d M r . H o o p e r ' s f a c e is d u s t ; but awful is still the t h o u g h t , that it m o u l d e r e d b e n e a t h the b l a c k veil! 1836

The Birth-Mark1 In the latter part of the last century, there lived a m a n of s c i e n c e — a n e m i n e n t proficient in every b r a n c h of natural p h i l o s o p h y — w h o , not long before our story o p e n s , h a d m a d e e x p e r i e n c e of a spiritual affinity, m o r e attractive than any c h e m i c a l o n e . H e h a d left his laboratory to the c a r e of a n a s s i s t a n t , c l e a r e d his fine c o u n t e n a n c e from the f u r n a c e - s m o k e , w a s h e d the stain of a c i d s from his fingers, a n d p e r s u a d e d a beautiful w o m a n to b e c o m e his wife. In t h o s e d a y s , w h e n the c o m p a r a t i v e l y r e c e n t discovery of electricity, a n d other kindred mysteries of n a t u r e , s e e m e d to o p e n p a t h s into the region of m i r a c l e , it w a s not u n u s u a l for the love of s c i e n c e to rival the love of w o m a n , in its d e p t h a n d a b s o r b i n g energy. T h e higher intellect, the i m a g i n a t i o n , the spirit, a n d even the heart, might all find their c o n g e n i a l aliment in p u r s u i t s w h i c h , as s o m e of their a r d e n t v o t a r i e s 2 believed, would a s c e n d from o n e step of powerful intelligence to a n o t h e r , until the p h i l o s o pher s h o u l d lay his h a n d on the secret of creative force, a n d p e r h a p s m a k e new worlds for himself. W e know not w h e t h e r Aylmer p o s s e s s e d this d e g r e e 1. First published in the Pioneer (March 1843), the source of the present text; the reprinting in Mosses from an Old Manse ( 1 8 4 6 ) contains a few routine variants as well as two corrections (adopted

and noted here). 2. Adherents, believers, nourishment.

devotees.

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of faith in m a n ' s ultimate control over n a t u r e . H e h a d devoted himself, however, too unreservedly to scientific s t u d i e s , ever to be w e a n e d from t h e m by any s e c o n d p a s s i o n . H i s love for his y o u n g wife might prove the stronger of the two; b u t it c o u l d only be by intertwining itself with his love of s c i e n c e , a n d uniting the s t r e n g t h of the latter to its own. S u c h a u n i o n accordingly t o o k p l a c e , a n d w a s a t t e n d e d with truly remarkable c o n s e q u e n c e s , a n d a deeply i m p r e s s i v e m o r a l . O n e day, very s o o n after their m a r r i a g e , Aylmer sat gazing at his wife, with a t r o u b l e in his c o u n t e n a n c e that grew stronger, until h e s p o k e . — ^ " G e o r g i a n a , " said h e , " h a s it never o c c u r r e d to you that the m a r k u p o n your c h e e k might b e r e m o v e d ? " " N o , i n d e e d , " said s h e , smiling; b u t p e r c e i v i n g the s e r i o u s n e s s of his m a n ner, s h e b l u s h e d deeply. " T o tell you the truth, it h a s b e e n s o often called a c h a r m , that I w a s s i m p l e e n o u g h to i m a g i n e it might b e s o . " " A h , u p o n a n o t h e r f a c e , p e r h a p s it m i g h t , " replied her h u s b a n d . " B u t never on yours! N o , d e a r e s t G e o r g i a n a , you c a m e so nearly perfect from the h a n d of N a t u r e , that this slightest p o s s i b l e d e f e c t — w h i c h we h e s i t a t e w h e t h e r to term a d e f e c t or a b e a u t y — s h o c k s m e , a s b e i n g the visible m a r k of earthly imperfection." " S h o c k s you, my h u s b a n d ! " cried G e o r g i a n a , deeply hurt; at first r e d d e n i n g with m o m e n t a r y anger, but then b u r s t i n g into t e a r s . " T h e n why did you take m e from my mother's side? You c a n n o t love w h a t s h o c k s y o u ! " T o explain this c o n v e r s a t i o n , it m u s t be m e n t i o n e d , that, in the c e n t r e of G e o r g i a n a ' s left c h e e k , there w a s a singular m a r k , deeply interwoven, a s it w e r e , with the texture a n d s u b s t a n c e of her f a c e . In the u s u a l state of her c o m p l e x i o n , — a healthy, t h o u g h d e l i c a t e b l o o m , — t h e m a r k wore a tint of d e e p e r c r i m s o n , which imperfectly defined its s h a p e a m i d the s u r r o u n d i n g r o s i n e s s . W h e n she b l u s h e d , it gradually b e c a m e m o r e indistinct, a n d finally v a n i s h e d a m i d the t r i u m p h a n t r u s h of b l o o d , that b a t h e d the w h o l e c h e e k with its brilliant glow. B u t , if any shifting e m o t i o n c a u s e d her to turn p a l e , there w a s the m a r k a g a i n , a c r i m s o n stain u p o n the s n o w , in what Aylmer s o m e t i m e s d e e m e d a n a l m o s t fearful d i s t i n c t n e s s . Its s h a p e b o r e not a little similarity to the h u m a n h a n d , t h o u g h of the s m a l l e s t pigmy size. G e o r g i a n a ' s lovers were wont to say, that s o m e fairy, at her birth-hour, h a d laid her tiny h a n d u p o n the infant's c h e e k , a n d left this i m p r e s s t h e r e , in token of the m a g i c e n d o w m e n t s that were to give her s u c h sway over all h e a r t s . M a n y a d e s p e r a t e swain would have risked life for the privilege of p r e s s i n g his lips to the m y s t e r i o u s h a n d . It m u s t not b e c o n c e a l e d , however, that the i m p r e s sion w r o u g h t by this fairy s i g n - m a n u a l varied exceedingly; a c c o r d i n g to the difference of t e m p e r a m e n t in the b e h o l d e r s . S o m e f a s t i d i o u s p e r s o n s — b u t they were exclusively of her own s e x — a f f i r m e d that the B l o o d y H a n d , a s they c h o s e to call it, q u i t e d e s t r o y e d the effect of G e o r g i a n a ' s b e a u t y , a n d rend e r e d her c o u n t e n a n c e even h i d e o u s . B u t it would b e a s r e a s o n a b l e to say, that o n e of t h o s e small b l u e s t a i n s , which s o m e t i m e s o c c u r in the p u r e s t statuary m a r b l e , would convert the Eve of P o w e r s ' to a m o n s t e r . M a s c u l i n e o b s e r v e r s , if the birth-mark did not h e i g h t e n their a d m i r a t i o n , c o n t e n t e d t h e m s e l v e s with w i s h i n g it away, that the world might p o s s e s s o n e living s p e c i m e n of ideal loveliness, without the s e m b l a n c e of a flaw. After his 3. Eve before the Fall, a sculpture by the American Hiram Powers (1805—1873).

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m a r r i a g e — f o r he t h o u g h t little or nothing of the m a t t e r b e f o r e — A y l m e r discovered that this w a s the c a s e with himself. H a d she b e e n less b e a u t i f u l — i f Envy's self c o u l d have f o u n d a u g h t else to s n e e r a t — h e might have felt his affection h e i g h t e n e d by the p r e t t i n e s s of this m i m i c h a n d , now vaguely portrayed, now lost, now stealing forth a g a i n , a n d g l i m m e r i n g to-and-fro with every p u l s e of e m o t i o n that t h r o b b e d within her heart. B u t , s e e i n g her otherwise s o perfect, he f o u n d this o n e defect grow m o r e a n d m o r e intolerable, with every m o m e n t of their u n i t e d lives. It w a s the fatal flaw of h u m a n i t y , which N a t u r e , in o n e s h a p e or a n o t h e r , s t a m p s ineffaceably on all her p r o d u c t i o n s , either to imply that they are temporary a n d finite, or that their perfection m u s t be w r o u g h t by toil a n d p a i n . T h e C r i m s o n H a n d e x p r e s s e d the includible gripe, in which mortality c l u t c h e s the highest a n d p u r e s t of earthly m o u l d , d e g r a d i n g t h e m into kindred with the lowest, a n d even with the very b r u t e s , like w h o m their visible f r a m e s return to d u s t . In this m a n n e r , s e l e c t i n g it a s the symbol of his wife's liability to sin, sorrow, decay, a n d d e a t h , Aylmer's s o m b r e i m a g i n a t i o n w a s not long in r e n d e r i n g the birth-mark a frightful object, c a u s i n g him m o r e trouble a n d horror than ever G e o r g i a n a ' s beauty, w h e t h e r of s o u l or s e n s e , h a d given him delight. At all the s e a s o n s which s h o u l d have b e e n their h a p p i e s t , he invariably, a n d without intending it—nay, in spite of a p u r p o s e to the c o n t r a r y — reverted to this o n e d i s a s t r o u s topic. Trifling a s it at first a p p e a r e d , it so c o n n e c t e d itself with i n n u m e r a b l e trains of t h o u g h t , a n d m o d e s of feeling, that it b e c a m e the central point of all. W i t h the m o r n i n g twilight, Aylmer o p e n e d his eyes u p o n his wife's f a c e , a n d r e c o g n i s e d the symbol of imperfection; a n d w h e n they sat together at the e v e n i n g h e a r t h , his eyes w a n d e r e d stealthily to her c h e e k , a n d b e h e l d , flickering with the blaze of the wood fire, the spectral H a n d that wrote mortality, w h e r e he would fain have wors h i p p e d . G e o r g i a n a s o o n l e a r n e d to s h u d d e r at his g a z e . It n e e d e d but a g l a n c e , with the p e c u l i a r expression that his f a c e often wore, to c h a n g e the r o s e s of her c h e e k into a deathlike p a l e n e s s , a m i d which the C r i m s o n H a n d w a s b r o u g h t strongly out, like a bas-relief of ruby on the whitest m a r b l e . L a t e , o n e night, w h e n the lights were growing d i m , s o a s hardly to betray the stain on the poor wife's c h e e k , s h e herself, for the first t i m e , voluntarily took u p the s u b j e c t . " D o you r e m e m b e r , my dear A y l m e r , " said s h e , with a feeble a t t e m p t at a s m i l e — " h a v e you any recollection of a d r e a m , last night, a b o u t this o d i o u s Hand?" " N o n e ! — n o n e w h a t e v e r ! " replied Aylmer, starting; b u t then he a d d e d in a dry, cold t o n e , affected for the s a k e of c o n c e a l i n g the real d e p t h of his e m o t i o n : — " I might well d r e a m of it; for, before I fell a s l e e p , it h a d taken a pretty firm hold of my f a n c y . " "And you did d r e a m of it," c o n t i n u e d G e o r g i a n a , hastily; for s h e d r e a d e d lest a g u s h of tears s h o u l d interrupt what s h e h a d to s a y — " A terrible d r e a m ! I w o n d e r that you c a n forget it. Is it p o s s i b l e to forget this o n e e x p r e s s i o n ? — 'It is in her heart n o w — w e m u s t have it o u t ! ' — R e f l e c t , my h u s b a n d ; for by all m e a n s I would have you recall that d r e a m . " T h e m i n d is in a s a d s t a t e , w h e n S l e e p , the all-involving, c a n n o t confine her s p e c t r e s within the dim region of her sway, b u t suffers t h e m to b r e a k forth, affrighting this a c t u a l life with s e c r e t s that p e r c h a n c e b e l o n g to a

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d e e p e r o n e . Aylmer n o w r e m e m b e r e d his d r e a m . H e h a d f a n c i e d himself, with his servant A m i n i d a b , a t t e m p t i n g an operation for the removal of the birth-mark. B u t the d e e p e r went the knife, the d e e p e r s a n k the H a n d , until at length its tiny g r a s p a p p e a r e d to have c a u g h t hold of G e o r g i a n a ' s heart; w h e n c e , however, her h u s b a n d w a s inexorably resolved to c u t or w r e n c h it away. W h e n the d r e a m h a d s h a p e d itself perfectly in his m e m o r y , Aylmer sat in his wife's p r e s e n c e with a guilty feeling. T r u t h often finds its way to the mind close-muffled in r o b e s of s l e e p , a n d then s p e a k s with u n c o m p r o m i s i n g d i r e c t n e s s of m a t t e r s in regard to w h i c h we p r a c t i s e an u n c o n s c i o u s selfd e c e p t i o n , d u r i n g our waking m o m e n t s . Until now, h e h a d not b e e n a w a r e of the tyrannizing influence a c q u i r e d by o n e idea over his m i n d , a n d of the lengths which he might find in his heart to g o , for the s a k e of giving h i m s e l f peace. "Aylmer," r e s u m e d G e o r g i a n a , solemnly, "I know not w h a t m a y b e the cost to both of u s , to rid m e of this fatal birth-mark. P e r h a p s its removal may c a u s e c u r e l e s s deformity. O r , it may b e , the stain g o e s a s d e e p a s life itself. Again, do w e k n o w that there is a possibility, on any t e r m s , of u n c l a s p i n g the firm gripe of this little H a n d , which w a s laid u p o n m e b e f o r e I c a m e into the w o r l d ? " " D e a r e s t G e o r g i a n a , I have s p e n t m u c h t h o u g h t u p o n the s u b j e c t , " hastily interrupted A y l m e r — " I a m c o n v i n c e d of the p e r f e c t practicability of its removal." "If there b e the r e m o t e s t possibility of it," c o n t i n u e d G e o r g i a n a , "let the a t t e m p t be m a d e , at whatever risk. D a n g e r is n o t h i n g to m e ; for life—while this hateful m a r k m a k e s m e the object of your horror a n d d i s g u s t — l i f e is a b u r t h e n 4 which I would fling d o w n with joy. E i t h e r r e m o v e this dreadful H a n d , or take my w r e t c h e d life! You have d e e p s c i e n c e ! All the world bears witness of it. You have a c h i e v e d great w o n d e r s ! C a n n o t you r e m o v e this little, little m a r k , which I cover with the tips of two s m a l l fingers? Is this beyond your p o w e r , for the s a k e of your own p e a c e , a n d to save your p o o r wife from madness?" " N o b l e s t — d e a r e s t — t e n d e r e s t wife!" cried Aylmer, rapturously. " D o u b t not my power. I have already given this m a t t e r the d e e p e s t t h o u g h t — t h o u g h t which might a l m o s t have e n l i g h t e n e d m e to c r e a t e a b e i n g less perfect than yourself. G e o r g i a n a , you have led m e d e e p e r than ever into the heart of s c i e n c e . I feel myself fully c o m p e t e n t to r e n d e r this dear c h e e k a s faultless a s its fellow; a n d t h e n , m o s t beloved, w h a t will b e my t r i u m p h , w h e n I shall have c o r r e c t e d what N a t u r e left i m p e r f e c t , in her fairest work! E v e n Pygm a l i o n , 5 w h e n his s c u l p t u r e d w o m a n a s s u m e d life, felt not g r e a t e r e c s t a s y than m i n e will b e . " "It is resolved, t h e n , " s a i d G e o r g i a n a , faintly s m i l i n g , — " A n d , Aylmer, s p a r e m e not, t h o u g h you s h o u l d find the birth-mark t a k e refuge in my heart at l a s t . " H e r h u s b a n d tenderly k i s s e d her c h e e k — h e r right c h e e k — n o t that which b o r e the i m p r e s s of the C r i m s o n H a n d . T h e next day, Aylmer apprized his wife of a p l a n that he h a d f o r m e d , 4 . Burden. 5 . In Greek myth, a king of Cyprus and sculptor

who fell so deeply in love with his statue that Aphrodite granted his prayers and gave it life.

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whereby he might have opportunity for the i n t e n s e thought a n d c o n s t a n t w a t c h f u l n e s s , which the p r o p o s e d operation w o u l d r e q u i r e ; while G e o r g i a n a , likewise, would enjoy the perfect r e p o s e essential to its s u c c e s s . T h e y were to s e c l u d e t h e m s e l v e s in the extensive a p a r t m e n t s o c c u p i e d by Aylmer a s a laboratory, a n d w h e r e , d u r i n g his toilsome y o u t h , he h a d m a d e discoveries in the e l e m e n t a l p o w e r s of n a t u r e , that h a d r o u s e d the a d m i r a t i o n of all the learned s o c i e t i e s in E u r o p e . S e a t e d calmly in this laboratory, the pale phil o s o p h e r h a d investigated the s e c r e t s of the highest c l o u d - r e g i o n , a n d of the p r o f o u n d e s t m i n e s ; he h a d satisfied h i m s e l f of the c a u s e s that kindled a n d kept alive the fires of the v o l c a n o ; a n d h a d explained the mystery of fountains, a n d h o w it is that they g u s h forth, s o m e so bright a n d p u r e , a n d others with s u c h rich m e d i c i n a l " virtues, from the dark b o s o m of the e a r t h . H e r e , too, at an earlier p e r i o d , he h a d studied the w o n d e r s of the h u m a n f r a m e , a n d a t t e m p t e d to f a t h o m the very p r o c e s s by which N a t u r e a s s i m i l a t e s all her p r e c i o u s i n f l u e n c e s from earth a n d air, a n d from the spiritual world, to create a n d foster M a n , her m a s t e r p i e c e . T h e latter p u r s u i t , however, Aylmer h a d long laid a s i d e , in unwilling recognition of the truth, a g a i n s t which all s e e k e r s s o o n e r or later s t u m b l e , that o u r great creative M o t h e r , while s h e a m u s e s u s with apparently working in the b r o a d e s t s u n s h i n e , is yet severely careful to keep her own s e c r e t s , a n d , in spite of her p r e t e n d e d o p e n n e s s , shows u s nothing but r e s u l t s . S h e p e r m i t s u s , i n d e e d , to m a r , b u t s e l d o m to m e n d , a n d , like a j e a l o u s p a t e n t e e , on n o a c c o u n t to m a k e . N o w , however, Aylmer r e s u m e d t h e s e half-forgotten investigations; not, of c o u r s e , with s u c h h o p e s or w i s h e s a s first s u g g e s t e d t h e m ; but b e c a u s e they involved m u c h physiological truth, a n d lay in the p a t h of his p r o p o s e d s c h e m e for the treatm e n t of G e o r g i a n a . As he led her over the threshold of the laboratory, G e o r g i a n a w a s cold a n d t r e m u l o u s . Aylmer looked cheerfully into her f a c e , with intent to r e a s s u r e her, but w a s so startled with the i n t e n s e glow of the birth-mark u p o n the w h i t e n e s s of her c h e e k , that h e c o u l d not restrain a s t r o n g convulsive s h u d der. His wife fainted. " A m i n i d a b ! A m i n i d a b ! " s h o u t e d Aylmer, s t a m p i n g violently on the floor. Forthwith, there i s s u e d from a n inner a p a r t m e n t a m a n of low s t a t u r e , b u t bulky f r a m e , with s h a g g y hair h a n g i n g a b o u t his v i s a g e , which w a s g r i m e d with the vapors of the f u r n a c e . T h i s p e r s o n a g e h a d b e e n Aylmer's underworker d u r i n g his whole scientific career, a n d w a s admirably fitted for that office by his great m e c h a n i c a l r e a d i n e s s , a n d the skill with w h i c h , while i n c a p a b l e of c o m p r e h e n d i n g a single principle, h e e x e c u t e d all the practical details of his m a s t e r ' s e x p e r i m e n t s . With his vast s t r e n g t h , his s h a g g y hair, his s m o k y a s p e c t , a n d the i n d e s c r i b a b l e e a r t h i n e s s that i n c r u s t e d him, he s e e m e d to r e p r e s e n t m a n ' s physical n a t u r e ; while Aylmer's s l e n d e r figure, a n d p a l e , intellectual f a c e , were n o less apt a type of the spiritual e l e m e n t . " T h r o w o p e n the d o o r of the b o u d o i r , A m i n i d a b , " said Aylmer, " a n d b u r n a pastille."7 "Yes, m a s t e r , " a n s w e r e d A m i n i d a b , looking intently at the lifeless form of G e o r g i a n a ; a n d then he m u t t e r e d to h i m s e l f ; — " I f s h e were my wife, I'd never part with that birth-mark." W h e n G e o r g i a n a recovered c o n s c i o u s n e s s , s h e f o u n d herself b r e a t h i n g a n 6. This 1846 reading replaces the 1843 medical.

7. A tablet burned to perfume the air.

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a t m o s p h e r e of p e n e t r a t i n g f r a g r a n c e , the gentle p o t e n c y of which h a d recalled her from her deathlike f a i n t n e s s . T h e s c e n e a r o u n d her looked like e n c h a n t m e n t . Aylmer h a d converted t h o s e smoky, dingy, s o m b r e r o o m s , w h e r e h e h a d spent his brightest years in r e c o n d i t e p u r s u i t s , into a series of beautiful a p a r t m e n t s , not unfit to b e the s e c l u d e d a b o d e of a lovely w o m a n . T h e walls were h u n g with g o r g e o u s c u r t a i n s , w h i c h i m p a r t e d the c o m b i n a tion of g r a n d e u r a n d g r a c e , that n o other s p e c i e s of a d o r n m e n t c a n a c h i e v e ; a n d as they fell from the ceiling to the floor, their rich a n d p o n d e r o u s folds, c o n c e a l i n g all a n g l e s a n d straight lines, a p p e a r e d to shut in the s c e n e from infinite s p a c e . F o r a u g h t G e o r g i a n a knew, it might be a pavilion a m o n g the c l o u d s . A n d Aylmer, e x c l u d i n g the s u n s h i n e , w h i c h would have interfered with his c h e m i c a l p r o c e s s e s , h a d s u p p l i e d its p l a c e with p e r f u m e d l a m p s , emitting flames of various h u e , b u t all uniting in a soft, e m p u r p l e d r a d i a n c e . H e now knelt by his wife's s i d e , w a t c h i n g her earnestly, b u t without a l a r m ; for h e w a s confident in his s c i e n c e , a n d felt that h e c o u l d draw a m a g i c circle r o u n d her, within which no evil might i n t r u d e . " W h e r e a m I ? — A h , I r e m e m b e r ! " s a i d G e o r g i a n a , faintly; a n d s h e p l a c e d her h a n d over her c h e e k , to hide the terrible m a r k from her h u s b a n d ' s eyes. " F e a r not, d e a r e s t ! " e x c l a i m e d h e , " D o not shrink from m e ! Believe m e , G e o r g i a n a , 1 even rejoice in this single i m p e r f e c t i o n , s i n c e it will be s u c h rapture to r e m o v e it." " O h , s p a r e m e ! " sadly replied his w i f e — " P r a y d o not look at it a g a i n . I never c a n forget that convulsive s h u d d e r . " In order to s o o t h e G e o r g i a n a , a n d , a s it w e r e , to r e l e a s e her m i n d from the b u r t h e n of a c t u a l things, Aylmer n o w p u t in p r a c t i c e s o m e of the light a n d playful s e c r e t s , which s c i e n c e h a d t a u g h t him a m o n g its p r o f o u n d e r l o r e . Airy figures, absolutely b o d i l e s s i d e a s , a n d f o r m s of u n s u b s t a n t i a l beauty, c a m e a n d d a n c e d b e f o r e her, imprinting their m o m e n t a r y f o o t s t e p s on b e a m s of light. T h o u g h s h e h a d s o m e indistinct idea of the m e t h o d of t h e s e optical p h e n o m e n a , still the illusion w a s a l m o s t p e r f e c t e n o u g h to w a r r a n t the belief, that her h u s b a n d p o s s e s s e d sway over the spiritual world. T h e n a g a i n , w h e n s h e felt a wish to look forth from her s e c l u s i o n , i m m e d i a t e l y , a s if her t h o u g h t s were a n s w e r e d , the p r o c e s s i o n of external e x i s t e n c e flitted a c r o s s a s c r e e n . T h e s c e n e r y a n d the figures of a c t u a l life were perfectly repres e n t e d , b u t with that bewitching, yet i n d e s c r i b a b l e difference, w h i c h always m a k e s a p i c t u r e , a n i m a g e , or a s h a d o w , so m u c h m o r e attractive than the original. W h e n w e a r i e d of this, Aylmer b a d e her c a s t her eyes u p o n a vessel, c o n t a i n i n g a quantity of e a r t h . S h e did s o , with little interest at first, but w a s s o o n startled, to p e r c e i v e the g e r m of a p l a n t , s h o o t i n g u p w a r d from the soil. T h e n c a m e the s l e n d e r s t a l k — t h e leaves gradually u n f o l d e d t h e m s e l v e s — a n d a m i d t h e m w a s a perfect a n d lovely flower. "It is m a g i c a l ! " cried G e o r g i a n a , "I d a r e not t o u c h i t . " " N a y , p l u c k it," a n s w e r e d Aylmer, " p l u c k it, a n d i n h a l e its brief p e r f u m e while you may. T h e flower will wither in a few m o m e n t s , a n d leave n o t h i n g save its brown s e e d - v e s s e l s — b u t t h e n c e m a y b e p e r p e t u a t e d a r a c e a s e p h e m e r a l a s itself." B u t G e o r g i a n a h a d n o s o o n e r t o u c h e d the flower t h a n the w h o l e plant suffered a blight, its leaves turning coal-black, a s if by the a g e n c y of fire. " T h e r e w a s too powerful a s t i m u l u s , " said Aylmer thoughtfully. T o m a k e u p for this abortive e x p e r i m e n t , h e p r o p o s e d to take her portrait

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by a scientific p r o c e s s of his own invention. It w a s to be effected by rays of light striking u p o n a p o l i s h e d plate of metal. G e o r g i a n a a s s e n t e d — b u t , on looking at the result, w a s affrighted to find the f e a t u r e s of the portrait blurred a n d indefinable; while the m i n u t e figure of a h a n d a p p e a r e d w h e r e the c h e e k s h o u l d have b e e n . Aylmer s n a t c h e d the metallic p l a t e , a n d threw it into a j a r of corrosive a c i d . S o o n , however, he forgot t h e s e mortifying failures. In the intervals of study a n d c h e m i c a l experiment, h e c a m e to her, flushed a n d e x h a u s t e d , but s e e m e d invigorated by her p r e s e n c e , a n d s p o k e in glowing l a n g u a g e of the r e s o u r c e s of his art. H e gave a history of the long dynasty of the A l c h e m i s t s , who s p e n t s o m a n y a g e s in q u e s t of the universal solvent, by w h i c h the G o l d e n Principle might be elicited from all things vile a n d b a s e . 8 Aylmer a p p e a r e d to believe, that, by the p l a i n e s t scientific logic, it w a s a l t o g e t h e r within the limits of possibility to discover this l o n g - s o u g h t m e d i u m ; b u t , h e a d d e d , a p h i l o s o p h e r w h o s h o u l d go d e e p e n o u g h to a c q u i r e the power, would attain too lofty a w i s d o m to s t o o p to the exercise of it. N o t less singular were his opinions in regard to the Elixir Vitas. 9 H e m o r e t h a n i n t i m a t e d , that it w a s at his option to c o n c o c t a liquid that s h o u l d p r o l o n g life for y e a r s — p e r h a p s i n t e r m i n a b l y — b u t that it would p r o d u c e a d i s c o r d in n a t u r e , which all the world, a n d chiefly the quaffer of the i m m o r t a l n o s t r u m , would find c a u s e to c u r s e . "Aylmer, are you in e a r n e s t ? " a s k e d G e o r g i a n a , looking at him with a m a z e m e n t a n d fear; "it is terrible to p o s s e s s s u c h power, or even to d r e a m of p o s s e s s i n g it!" " O h , d o not t r e m b l e , my love!" said her h u s b a n d , "I would not w r o n g either you or myself, by working s u c h i n h a r m o n i o u s effects u p o n our lives. B u t I would have you c o n s i d e r how trifling, in c o m p a r i s o n , is the skill requisite to remove this little H a n d . " At the m e n t i o n of the birth-mark, G e o r g i a n a , a s u s u a l , s h r a n k , a s if a redhot iron h a d t o u c h e d her c h e e k . Again Aylmer applied h i m s e l f to his l a b o r s . S h e c o u l d h e a r his voice in the distant f u r n a c e - r o o m , giving directions to A m i n i d a b , w h o s e h a r s h , u n c o u t h , m i s s h a p e n tones were a u d i b l e in r e s p o n s e , m o r e like the grunt or growl of a brute than h u m a n s p e e c h . After h o u r s of a b s e n c e , Aylmer rea p p e a r e d , a n d p r o p o s e d that s h e s h o u l d now e x a m i n e his c a b i n e t of c h e m i c a l p r o d u c t s , a n d natural t r e a s u r e s of the e a r t h . A m o n g the f o r m e r he s h o w e d her a s m a l l vial, in w h i c h , he r e m a r k e d , w a s c o n t a i n e d a g e n t l e , yet m o s t powerful f r a g r a n c e , c a p a b l e of i m p r e g n a t i n g all the b r e e z e s that blow a c r o s s a k i n g d o m . T h e y were of i n e s t i m a b l e v a l u e , the c o n t e n t s of that little vial; a n d , a s he said s o , he threw s o m e of the p e r f u m e into the air, a n d filled the r o o m with piercing a n d invigorating delight. "And what is t h i s ? " a s k e d G e o r g i a n a , p o i n t i n g to a s m a l l crystal g l o b e , c o n t a i n i n g a gold-colored liquid. "It is so beautiful to the eye, that I c o u l d i m a g i n e it the Elixir of L i f e . " " I n o n e s e n s e it i s , " replied Aylmer, "or rather the Elixir of Immortality. It is the m o s t p r e c i o u s p o i s o n that ever w a s c o n c o c t e d in this world. By its aid, I c o u l d apportion the lifetime of any mortal at w h o m you might point your 8. T h e goal of many alchemists was to turn base metal into gold.

9. Elixir of life (Latin); a potion with the power to prolong life indefinitely.

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finger. T h e s t r e n g t h of the d o s e w o u l d d e t e r m i n e w h e t h e r he were to linger o u t years, or drop d e a d in the m i d s t of a b r e a t h . N o king, on his g u a r d e d t h r o n e , c o u l d k e e p his life, if I, in my private station, s h o u l d d e e m that the welfare of millions justified m e in depriving him of it." " W h y do you keep s u c h a terrific d r u g ? " inquired G e o r g i a n a in horror. " D o not mistrust m e , d e a r e s t ! " said her h u s b a n d , smiling; "its virtuous p o t e n c y is yet greater t h a n its harmful o n e . B u t , s e e ! here is a powerful c o s m e t i c . W i t h a few d r o p s of this, in a v a s e of water, freckles may b e w a s h e d away a s easily a s the h a n d s are c l e a n s e d . A stronger infusion w o u l d take the b l o o d out of the c h e e k , a n d leave the rosiest b e a u t y a pale g h o s t . " "Is it with this lotion that you intend to b a t h e my c h e e k ? " a s k e d G e o r g i a n a anxiously. " O h , n o ! " hastily replied her h u s b a n d — " t h i s is merely superficial. Your c a s e d e m a n d s a r e m e d y that shall g o d e e p e r . " In his interviews with G e o r g i a n a , Aylmer generally m a d e m i n u t e inquiries a s to her s e n s a t i o n s , a n d whether the c o n f i n e m e n t of the r o o m s , a n d the t e m p e r a t u r e of the a t m o s p h e r e , a g r e e d with her. T h e s e q u e s t i o n s h a d s u c h a particular drift, that G e o r g i a n a b e g a n to c o n j e c t u r e that s h e w a s already s u b j e c t e d to certain physical i n f l u e n c e s , either b r e a t h e d in with the fragrant air, or t a k e n with her food. S h e f a n c i e d , l i k e w i s e — b u t it might b e altogether f a n c y — t h a t there w a s a stirring u p of her s y s t e m , — a s t r a n g e , indefinite sensation c r e e p i n g t h r o u g h her veins, a n d tingling, half painfully, half p l e a s u r ably, at her heart. Still, w h e n e v e r s h e d a r e d to look into the mirror, there s h e b e h e l d herself, pale a s a white r o s e , a n d with the c r i m s o n birth-mark s t a m p e d u p o n her c h e e k . N o t even Aylmer now h a t e d it s o m u c h as s h e . T o dispel the t e d i u m of the h o u r s which her h u s b a n d f o u n d it n e c e s s a r y to devote to the p r o c e s s e s of c o m b i n a t i o n a n d analysis, G e o r g i a n a turned over the v o l u m e s of his scientific library. In m a n y dark old t o m e s , she met with c h a p t e r s full of r o m a n c e a n d poetry. T h e y were the works of the phil o s o p h e r s of the m i d d l e a g e s , s u c h a s A l b e r t u s M a g n u s , C o r n e l i u s Agrippa, P a r a c e l s u s , a n d the f a m o u s friar w h o c r e a t e d the p r o p h e t i c B r a z e n H e a d . 1 All t h e s e a n t i q u e naturalists s t o o d in a d v a n c e of their c e n t u r i e s , yet were i m b u e d with s o m e of their 2 credulity, a n d therefore were believed, a n d perh a p s i m a g i n e d t h e m s e l v e s , to have a c q u i r e d from the investigation of n a t u r e a power a b o v e n a t u r e , a n d from p h y s i c s a sway over the spiritual world. Hardly less c u r i o u s a n d imaginative were the early v o l u m e s of the T r a n s a c tions of the Royal S o c i e t y , ' in which the m e m b e r s , knowing little of the limits of natural possibility, were continually r e c o r d i n g w o n d e r s , or p r o p o s i n g m e t h o d s whereby w o n d e r s might b e w r o u g h t . B u t , to G e o r g i a n a , the m o s t e n g r o s s i n g v o l u m e w a s a large folio from her h u s b a n d ' s own h a n d , in which h e h a d r e c o r d e d every e x p e r i m e n t of his scientific career, with its original a i m , the m e t h o d s a d o p t e d for its d e v e l o p m e n t , a n d its final s u c c e s s or failure, with the c i r c u m s t a n c e s to w h i c h either event w a s attributable. T h e book, in truth, w a s both the history a n d e m b l e m of his a r d e n t , a m b i t i o u s , imaginative, yet p r a c t i c a l a n d l a b o r i o u s , life. H e h a n d l e d physical details, as if there were n o t h i n g b e y o n d t h e m ; yet spiritualized t h e m 1. I.e., Roger Bacon ( 1 2 1 4 ? - 1 2 9 4 ) , English Franciscan monk interested in science and alchemy, who fashioned a head of bronze said to predict changes in climate and health. M a g n u s ( 1 2 0 6 ? 1280), German theologian and alchemist. Agrippa (1486—1 535), G e r m a n theologian and writer. Phi-

lippus Aureolus Paracelsus (1493—1541), Swiss alchemist and physician. 2. This 1846 reading replaces the 1843 its. 3. I.e., the Royal Society of London, chartered in 1662 to advance scientific inquiry.

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all, a n d r e d e e m e d himself from m a t e r i a l i s m , by his s t r o n g a n d e a g e r aspiration towards the infinite. In his g r a s p , the veriest c l o d of earth a s s u m e d a s o u l . G e o r g i a n a , a s s h e r e a d , reverenced Aylmer, a n d loved him m o r e profoundly than ever, but with a less entire d e p e n d e n c e on his j u d g m e n t than heretofore. M u c h a s he h a d a c c o m p l i s h e d , s h e c o u l d not b u t observe that his m o s t splendid s u c c e s s e s were a l m o s t invariably failures, if c o m p a r e d with the ideal at which h e a i m e d . His brightest d i a m o n d s were the m e r e s t p e b b l e s , a n d felt to be s o by himself, in c o m p a r i s o n with the i n e s t i m a b l e g e m s which lay hidden beyond his r e a c h . T h e v o l u m e , rich with a c h i e v e m e n t s that h a d won renown for its a u t h o r , w a s yet a s m e l a n c h o l y a record a s ever mortal h a n d h a d p e n n e d . It w a s the s a d c o n f e s s i o n , a n d c o n t i n u a l exemplification, of the s h o r t - c o m i n g s of the c o m p o s i t e m a n — t h e spirit b u r t h e n e d with clay a n d working in m a t t e r — a n d of the d e s p a i r that a s s a i l s the higher n a t u r e , at finding itself so miserably thwarted by the earthly part. P e r h a p s every m a n of g e n i u s , in whatever s p h e r e , might r e c o g n i s e the i m a g e of his own experience in Aylmer's j o u r n a l . S o deeply did t h e s e reflections affect G e o r g i a n a , that s h e laid her f a c e u p o n the o p e n v o l u m e , a n d b u r s t into t e a r s . In this situation s h e w a s f o u n d by her h u s b a n d . "It is d a n g e r o u s to read in a sorcerer's b o o k s , " said h e , with a s m i l e , t h o u g h his c o u n t e n a n c e w a s u n e a s y a n d d i s p l e a s e d . " G e o r g i a n a , there a r e p a g e s in that v o l u m e , which I c a n scarcely g l a n c e over a n d k e e p my s e n s e s . T a k e h e e d lest it prove as detrimental to y o u ! " "It has m a d e m e worship you m o r e than ever," s a i d s h e . "Ah! wait for this o n e s u c c e s s , " rejoined h e , "then w o r s h i p m e if you will. I shall d e e m myself hardly unworthy of it. B u t , c o m e ! I have s o u g h t you for the luxury of your voice. S i n g to m e , d e a r e s t ! " S o s h e p o u r e d out the liquid m u s i c of her voice to q u e n c h the thirst of his spirit. H e then took his leave, with a boyish e x u b e r a n c e of gaiety, a s s u r i n g her that her s e c l u s i o n would e n d u r e but a little longer, a n d that the result w a s already certain. S c a r c e l y h a d he d e p a r t e d , w h e n G e o r g i a n a felt irresistibly i m p e l l e d to follow him. S h e h a d forgotten to inform Aylmer of a sympt o m , w h i c h , for two or three h o u r s p a s t , h a d b e g u n to excite her attention. It w a s a s e n s a t i o n in the fatal birth-mark, not painful, but which i n d u c e d a r e s t l e s s n e s s t h r o u g h o u t her s y s t e m . H a s t e n i n g after her h u s b a n d , s h e intruded, for the first t i m e , into the laboratory. T h e first thing that s t r u c k her eye was the f u r n a c e , that hot a n d feverish worker, with the intense glow of its fire, w h i c h , by the q u a n t i t i e s of soot clustered a b o v e it, s e e m e d to have b e e n b u r n i n g for a g e s . T h e r e w a s a distilling a p p a r a t u s in full o p e r a t i o n . A r o u n d the r o o m were r e t o r t s , 4 t u b e s , cylinders, c r u c i b l e s , a n d other a p p a r a t u s of c h e m i c a l r e s e a r c h . An electrical m a c h i n e s t o o d ready for i m m e d i a t e u s e . T h e a t m o s p h e r e felt oppressively c l o s e , a n d w a s tainted with g a s e o u s o d o r s , which h a d b e e n t o r m e n t e d forth by the p r o c e s s e s of s c i e n c e . T h e severe a n d homely simplicity of the apartm e n t , with its n a k e d walls a n d brick p a v e m e n t , looked s t r a n g e , a c c u s t o m e d as G e o r g i a n a h a d b e c o m e to the fantastic e l e g a n c e of her boudoir. B u t what chiefly, i n d e e d a l m o s t solely, drew her a t t e n t i o n , w a s the a s p e c t of Aylmer himself. H e was pale as d e a t h , a n x i o u s , a n d a b s o r b e d , a n d h u n g over the f u r n a c e 4. Closed laboratory vessels each with an outlet tube.

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a s if it d e p e n d e d u p o n his u t m o s t w a t c h f u l n e s s w h e t h e r the liquid, which it w a s distilling, s h o u l d be the d r a u g h t of i m m o r t a l h a p p i n e s s or misery. H o w different from the s a n g u i n e a n d j o y o u s m i e n that h e h a d a s s u m e d for G e o r giana's e n c o u r a g e m e n t ! "Carefully now, A m i n i d a b ! Carefully, t h o u h u m a n m a c h i n e ! Carefully, thou m a n of clay!" m u t t e r e d Aylmer, m o r e to h i m s e l f t h a n his a s s i s t a n t . " N o w , if there be a t h o u g h t too m u c h or too little, it is all over!" " H o h ! h o h ! " m u m b l e d A m i n i d a b — " l o o k , m a s t e r , look!" Aylmer raised his eyes hastily, a n d at first r e d d e n e d , then grew p a l e r than ever, o n b e h o l d i n g G e o r g i a n a . H e r u s h e d towards her, a n d seized her a r m with a gripe that left the print of his fingers u p o n it. " W h y do you c o m e hither? H a v e you n o trust in your h u s b a n d ? " cried h e i m p e t u o u s l y . " W o u l d you throw the blight of that fatal birth-mark over my l a b o r s ? It is not well d o n e . G o , prying w o m a n , g o ! " " N a y , Aylmer," s a i d G e o r g i a n a , with the f i r m n e s s of which s h e p o s s e s s e d no stinted e n d o w m e n t , "it is not you that have a right to c o m p l a i n . You m i s t r u s t your wife! You have c o n c e a l e d the anxiety with which you w a t c h the d e v e l o p m e n t of this e x p e r i m e n t . T h i n k n o t s o unworthily of m e , my h u s b a n d ! Tell m e all the risk we run; a n d fear not that I shall shrink, for my s h a r e in it is far less than your o w n ! " " N o , n o , G e o r g i a n a ! " said Aylmer impatiently, "it m u s t not b e . " "I s u b m i t , " replied s h e , calmly. " A n d , Aylmer, I shall q u a f f whatever d r a u g h t you bring m e ; b u t it will be o n the s a m e principle that w o u l d i n d u c e m e to take a d o s e of p o i s o n , if offered by your h a n d . " " M y n o b l e w i f e , " said Aylmer, deeply m o v e d , "I knew not the height a n d d e p t h of your n a t u r e , until now: N o t h i n g shall be c o n c e a l e d . K n o w , t h e n , that this C r i m s o n H a n d , superficial a s it s e e m s , h a s c l u t c h e d its g r a s p , into your being, with a strength of which I h a d no p r e v i o u s c o n c e p t i o n . I have already a d m i n i s t e r e d a g e n t s powerful e n o u g h to d o a u g h t except to c h a n g e your entire physical s y s t e m . Only o n e thing r e m a i n s to be tried. If that fail u s , we are r u i n e d ! " " W h y did you hesitate to tell m e t h i s ? " a s k e d s h e . " B e c a u s e , G e o r g i a n a , " said Aylmer, in a low voice, " t h e r e is d a n g e r ! " " D a n g e r ? T h e r e is b u t o n e d a n g e r — t h a t this horrible s t i g m a shall b e left u p o n my c h e e k ! " cried G e o r g i a n a . " R e m o v e it! r e m o v e i t ! — w h a t e v e r be the c o s t — o r we shall both g o m a d ! " " H e a v e n k n o w s , your w o r d s are too t r u e , " s a i d Aylmer, sadly. "And now, d e a r e s t , return to your b o u d o i r . In a little while, all will b e t e s t e d . " H e c o n d u c t e d her b a c k , a n d took leave of her with a s o l e m n t e n d e r n e s s , which s p o k e far m o r e t h a n his w o r d s h o w m u c h w a s now at s t a k e . After his d e p a r t u r e , G e o r g i a n a b e c a m e wrapt in m u s i n g s . S h e c o n s i d e r e d the c h a r a c t e r of Aylmer, a n d did it c o m p l e t e r j u s t i c e t h a n at any p r e v i o u s m o m e n t . H e r heart exulted, while it t r e m b l e d , at his h o n o r a b l e love, s o p u r e a n d lofty that it would a c c e p t n o t h i n g less than p e r f e c t i o n , nor miserably m a k e itself c o n t e n t e d with an earthlier n a t u r e t h a n he h a d d r e a m e d of. S h e felt how m u c h m o r e p r e c i o u s w a s s u c h a s e n t i m e n t , than that m e a n e r kind w h i c h w o u l d have b o r n e with the i m p e r f e c t i o n for her s a k e , a n d have b e e n guilty of t r e a s o n to holy love, by d e g r a d i n g its perfect idea to the level of the a c t u a l . A n d , with her w h o l e spirit, s h e prayed, that, for a single m o m e n t , s h e might satisfy his h i g h e s t a n d d e e p e s t c o n c e p t i o n . L o n g e r than o n e m o m e n t , s h e well knew, it c o u l d not b e ; for his

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spirit w a s ever on the m a r c h — e v e r a s c e n d i n g — a n d e a c h instant required s o m e t h i n g that w a s beyond the s c o p e of the instant b e f o r e . T h e s o u n d of her h u s b a n d ' s f o o t s t e p s a r o u s e d her. H e b o r e a crystal goblet, c o n t a i n i n g a liquor colorless a s water, but bright e n o u g h to be the d r a u g h t of immortality. Aylmer w a s p a l e ; but it s e e m e d rather the c o n s e q u e n c e of a highly wrought s t a t e of m i n d , a n d tension of spirit, than of fear or d o u b t . " T h e c o n c o c t i o n of the d r a u g h t h a s b e e n p e r f e c t , " s a i d h e , in a n s w e r to G e o r g i a n a ' s look. " U n l e s s all my s c i e n c e have deceived m e , it c a n n o t fail." " S a v e on your a c c o u n t , my d e a r e s t A y l m e r , " o b s e r v e d his wife, "I might wish to p u t off this birth-mark of mortality by r e l i n q u i s h i n g mortality itself, in p r e f e r e n c e to any other m o d e . Life is b u t a s a d p o s s e s s i o n to t h o s e w h o have attained precisely the d e g r e e of moral a d v a n c e m e n t at which I s t a n d . W e r e I weaker a n d blinder, it might be h a p p i n e s s . W e r e I stronger, it might be e n d u r e d hopefully. B u t , b e i n g what I find myself, m e t h i n k s I a m of all mortals the m o s t fit to d i e . " "You are fit for heaven without tasting d e a t h ! " replied her h u s b a n d . " B u t why d o we s p e a k of dying? T h e d r a u g h t c a n n o t fail. B e h o l d its effect u p o n this p l a n t ! " O n the window-seat there s t o o d a g e r a n i u m , d i s e a s e d with yellow b l o t c h e s , which h a d o v e r s p r e a d all its leaves. Aylmer p o u r e d a s m a l l quantity of the liquid u p o n the soil in which it grew. In a little t i m e , w h e n the roots of the plant h a d taken u p the m o i s t u r e , the unsightly b l o t c h e s b e g a n to b e exting u i s h e d in a living v e r d u r e . " T h e r e n e e d e d no proof," said G e o r g i a n a , quietly. " G i v e m e the goblet. I joyfully stake all u p o n your w o r d . " "Drink, then, thou lofty c r e a t u r e ! " e x c l a i m e d Aylmer, with fervid a d m i r a tion. " T h e r e is no taint of imperfection on thy spirit. T h y s e n s i b l e f r a m e , too, shall s o o n be all p e r f e c t ! " S h e q u a f f e d the liquid, a n d returned the goblet to his h a n d . "It is grateful," said s h e with a placid s m i l e . " M e t h i n k s it is like water from a heavenly f o u n t a i n ; for it c o n t a i n s I know not w h a t of u n o b t r u s i v e f r a g r a n c e a n d d e l i c i o u s n e s s . It allays a feverish thirst, that h a d p a r c h e d m e for m a n y days. N o w , d e a r e s t , let m e s l e e p . M y earthly s e n s e s are c l o s i n g over my spirit, like the leaves round the heart of a r o s e , at s u n s e t . " S h e s p o k e the last words with a gentle r e l u c t a n c e , as if it r e q u i r e d a l m o s t m o r e energy than she c o u l d c o m m a n d to p r o n o u n c e the faint a n d lingering syllables. S c a r c e l y h a d they loitered t h r o u g h her lips, ere s h e w a s lost in s l u m ber. Aylmer sat by her s i d e , w a t c h i n g her a s p e c t with the e m o t i o n s p r o p e r to a m a n , the whole value of w h o s e existence w a s involved in the p r o c e s s n o w to be tested. M i n g l e d with this m o o d , however, w a s the p h i l o s o p h i c investigation, characteristic of the m a n of s c i e n c e . N o t the m i n u t e s t s y m p t o m e s c a p e d h i m . A h e i g h t e n e d flush of the c h e e k — a slight irregularity of b r e a t h — a quiver of the eye-lid—a hardly p e r c e p t i b l e t r e m o r t h r o u g h the f r a m e — s u c h were the details w h i c h , a s the m o m e n t s p a s s e d , he wrote d o w n in his folio v o l u m e . I n t e n s e thought h a d set its s t a m p u p o n every previous p a g e of that v o l u m e ; b u t the t h o u g h t s of years were all c o n c e n t r a t e d u p o n the last. While t h u s e m p l o y e d , he failed not to gaze often at the fatal H a n d , a n d not without a s h u d d e r . Yet o n c e , by a s t r a n g e a n d u n a c c o u n t a b l e i m p u l s e , he p r e s s e d it with his lips. His spirit recoiled, however, in the very act, a n d G e o r g i a n a , out of the m i d s t of her d e e p s l e e p , m o v e d uneasily a n d mur-

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m u r e d , a s if in r e m o n s t r a n c e . A g a i n , Aylmer r e s u m e d his w a t c h . N o r w a s it without avail. T h e C r i m s o n H a n d , which at first h a d b e e n strongly visible u p o n the m a r b l e p a l e n e s s of G e o r g i a n a ' s c h e e k , now grew m o r e faintly outlined. S h e r e m a i n e d not less pale than ever; b u t the birth-mark, with every b r e a t h that c a m e a n d w e n t , lost s o m e w h a t of its former d i s t i n c t n e s s . Its p r e s e n c e h a d b e e n awful; its d e p a r t u r e w a s m o r e awful still. W a t c h the stain of the r a i n b o w fading o u t of the sky; a n d you will know how that m y s t e r i o u s symbol p a s s e d away. " B y H e a v e n , it is well nigh g o n e ! " s a i d Aylmer to himself, in a l m o s t irrep r e s s i b l e e c s t a s y . "I c a n scarcely trace it now. S u c c e s s ! S u c c e s s ! A n d now it is like the faintest rose-color. T h e slightest flush of b l o o d a c r o s s her c h e e k would o v e r c o m e it. B u t s h e is s o p a l e ! " H e drew a s i d e the w i n d o w - c u r t a i n , a n d suffered the light of n a t u r a l day to fall into the r o o m , a n d rest u p o n her c h e e k . At the s a m e t i m e , h e h e a r d a g r o s s , h o a r s e c h u c k l e , w h i c h h e h a d long known a s his servant A m i n i d a b ' s expression of delight. "Ah, clod! Ah, earthly m a s s ! " cried Aylmer, l a u g h i n g in a sort of frenzy. "You have served m e well! M a t t e r a n d S p i r i t — E a r t h a n d H e a v e n — h a v e both d o n e their part in this! L a u g h , thing of the s e n s e s ! You have e a r n e d the right to l a u g h . " T h e s e e x c l a m a t i o n s b r o k e G e o r g i a n a ' s s l e e p . S h e slowly u n c l o s e d her eyes, a n d g a z e d into the mirror, w h i c h her h u s b a n d h a d a r r a n g e d for that p u r p o s e . A faint smile flitted over her lips, w h e n s h e r e c o g n i s e d h o w barely p e r c e p t i b l e w a s n o w that C r i m s o n H a n d , w h i c h h a d o n c e blazed forth with s u c h d i s a s trous brilliancy a s to s c a r e away all their h a p p i n e s s . B u t then her eyes s o u g h t Aylmer's f a c e , with a trouble a n d anxiety that h e c o u l d by n o m e a n s a c c o u n t for. " M y p o o r Aylmer!" m u r m u r e d s h e . " P o o r ? N a y , richest! H a p p i e s t ! M o s t f a v o r e d ! " e x c l a i m e d h e . " M y p e e r l e s s bride, it is s u c c e s s f u l ! You a r e p e r f e c t ! " " M y p o o r Aylmer!" s h e r e p e a t e d , with a m o r e than h u m a n t e n d e r n e s s . "You have a i m e d loftily!—you have d o n e nobly! D o not r e p e n t , that, with s o high a n d p u r e a feeling, you have rejected the b e s t that e a r t h c o u l d offer. A y l m e r — d e a r e s t A y l m e r — I a m dying!" A l a s , it w a s too true! T h e fatal H a n d h a d g r a p p l e d with the mystery of life, a n d w a s the b o n d by w h i c h an angelic spirit kept itself in u n i o n with a mortal f r a m e . As the last c r i m s o n tint of the b i r t h - m a r k — t h a t sole token of h u m a n i m p e r f e c t i o n — f a d e d from her c h e e k , the p a r t i n g b r e a t h of the n o w p e r f e c t w o m a n p a s s e d into the a t m o s p h e r e , a n d her s o u l , lingering a m o m e n t near her h u s b a n d , took its h e a v e n w a r d flight. T h e n a h o a r s e , c h u c k l i n g l a u g h w a s h e a r d a g a i n ! T h u s ever d o e s the g r o s s Fatality of E a r t h exult in its invariable t r i u m p h over the i m m o r t a l e s s e n c e , w h i c h , in this d i m s p h e r e of halfd e v e l o p m e n t , d e m a n d s the c o m p l e t e n e s s of a h i g h e r s t a t e . Yet, h a d Aylmer r e a c h e d a p r o f o u n d e r w i s d o m , h e n e e d not t h u s have flung a w a y the h a p p i n e s s , which w o u l d have woven his mortal life of the s e l f - s a m e texture with the celestial. T h e m o m e n t a r y c i r c u m s t a n c e w a s too s t r o n g for h i m ; h e failed to look b e y o n d the s h a d o w y s c o p e of T i m e , a n d living o n c e for all in Eternity, to find the perfect F u t u r e in the p r e s e n t . 1843, 1846

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W e do not r e m e m b e r to have s e e n any translated s p e c i m e n s of the prod u c t i o n s of M . d e l ' A u b e p i n e ; 2 a fact the less to b e w o n d e r e d at, a s his very n a m e is u n k n o w n to m a n y of his own c o u n t r y m e n , a s well a s to the s t u d e n t of foreign literature. A s a writer, h e s e e m s to o c c u p y a n u n f o r t u n a t e position b e t w e e n the T r a n s c e n d e n t a l i s t s (who, u n d e r o n e n a m e or a n o t h e r , have their s h a r e in all the c u r r e n t literature of the world), a n d the great b o d y of penand-ink m e n w h o a d d r e s s the intellect a n d s y m p a t h i e s of the m u l t i t u d e . If not too refined, at all events too r e m o t e , too s h a d o w y a n d u n s u b s t a n t i a l in his m o d e s of d e v e l o p m e n t , to suit the taste of the latter c l a s s , a n d yet too p o p u l a r to satisfy the spiritual or m e t a p h y s i c a l r e q u i s i t i o n s of the former, h e m u s t necessarily find h i m s e l f without an a u d i e n c e ; except here a n d there a n individual, or p o s s i b l y a n isolated c l i q u e . His writings, to d o t h e m j u s t i c e , are not altogether d e s t i t u t e of fancy a n d originality; they might have won him greater r e p u t a t i o n but for a n inveterate love of allegory, which is a p t to invest his plots a n d c h a r a c t e r s with the a s p e c t of s c e n e r y a n d p e o p l e in the c l o u d s , a n d to steal away the h u m a n w a r m t h out of his c o n c e p t i o n s . H i s fictions are s o m e t i m e s historical, s o m e t i m e s of the p r e s e n t day, a n d s o m e t i m e s , s o far a s c a n be d i s c o v e r e d , have little or n o r e f e r e n c e either to t i m e or s p a c e . In any c a s e , he generally c o n t e n t s h i m s e l f with a very slight e m b r o i dery of o u t w a r d m a n n e r s , — t h e faintest p o s s i b l e counterfeit of real l i f e , — a n d e n d e a v o r s to c r e a t e an interest by s o m e less obvious peculiarity of the s u b j e c t . O c c a s i o n a l l y , a b r e a t h of n a t u r e , a rain-drop of p a t h o s a n d tendern e s s , or a g l e a m of h u m o r , will find its way into the m i d s t of his fantastic imagery, a n d m a k e u s feel a s if, after all, we were yet within the limits of our native e a r t h . W e will only a d d to this very cursory n o t i c e , that M . de I'Aubepine's p r o d u c t i o n s , if the r e a d e r c h a n c e to take t h e m in precisely the p r o p e r point of view, m a y a m u s e a leisure h o u r a s well a s t h o s e of a brighter m a n ; if otherwise, they c a n hardly fail to look excessively like n o n s e n s e . O u r a u t h o r is v o l u m i n o u s ; he c o n t i n u e s to write a n d p u b l i s h with a s m u c h praiseworthy a n d indefatigable prolixity, a s if his efforts w e r e c r o w n e d with the brilliant s u c c e s s that so j u s t l y a t t e n d s t h o s e of E u g e n e S u e . ' His first a p p e a r a n c e w a s by a collection of stories, in a long series of v o l u m e s , entitled "Contes deuxfois racontees. "* T h e titles of s o m e of his m o r e r e c e n t works (we q u o t e from m e m o r y ) are a s follows:—"Le Voyage Celeste a Chemin de Fer," 3 torn. 1 8 3 8 . "Le nouveau pere Adam et la nouvelle mere Eve," 2 torn. 1 8 3 9 . "Roderic; ou le Serpent a I'estomac," 2 torn. 1 8 4 0 . "Le Culte da Feu," a folio v o l u m e of p o n d e r o u s r e s e a r c h into the religion a n d ritual of the old P e r s i a n G h e b e r s , p u b l i s h e d in 1 8 4 1 . "La Soiree du Chateau en Espagne," 1 torn. 8vo. 1 8 4 2 ; a n d "LArtiste du Beau; ou le Papillon Mecanique," 5 torn. 4 t o . 1 8 4 3 . 5 1. T h e text is from the first publication in The Democratic Review (December 1844). 2. French for "Hawthorne." What follows is a facetious account of Hawthorne's own career. 3. French novelist ( 1 8 0 4 - 1 8 5 7 ) , author of The Wandering Jew and other popular works. 4. Twice-Told Tales (French), Hawthorne's first volume ( 1 8 3 7 ) , except for the anonymous and sup-

pressed Fanshawe. 5. In these mock bibliographical citations "torn." (French abbreviation for tome, "volume") and "8vo" (octavo) and "4vo" (quarto) are jokes: Hawthorne's tales took up only a few magazine pages each. All but one of these French titles refer to stories by Hawthorne. In order, the titles are "The Celestial Railroad," "The New Adam and

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O u r s o m e w h a t w e a r i s o m e p e r s u a l of this startling c a t a l o g u e of v o l u m e s h a s left b e h i n d it a certain p e r s o n a l affection a n d sympathy, t h o u g h by n o m e a n s a d m i r a t i o n , for M . de l'Aubepine; a n d we w o u l d fain do the little in o u r p o w e r towards i n t r o d u c i n g hirri favorably to the A m e r i c a n p u b l i c . T h e e n s u i n g tale is a translation of his "Beatrice; ou La Belle Empoisonneuse," recently p u b lished in "La Revue Anti-Aristocratique." T h i s j o u r n a l , e d i t e d by the C o m t e d e B e a r h a v e n , 6 h a s , for s o m e years p a s t , led the d e f e n c e of liberal principles a n d p o p u l a r rights, with a faithfulness a n d ability worthy of all p r a i s e . Rappaccini's

Daughter

A y o u n g m a n , n a m e d G i o v a n n i G u a s c o n t i , c a m e , very long a g o , from the m o r e s o u t h e r n region of Italy, to p u r s u e his s t u d i e s at the University of P a d u a . G i o v a n n i , w h o h a d but a s c a n t y supply of gold d u c a t s in his p o c k e t , took lodgings in a high a n d g l o o m y c h a m b e r of an old edifice, w h i c h looked not unworthy to have b e e n the p a l a c e of a P a d u a n n o b l e , a n d w h i c h , in fact, exhibited over its e n t r a n c e the armorial b e a r i n g s of a family long s i n c e extinct. T h e y o u n g stranger, w h o w a s not u n s t u d i e d in the great p o e m of his country, r e c o l l e c t e d that o n e of the a n c e s t o r s of this family, a n d p e r h a p s a n o c c u p a n t of this very m a n s i o n , h a d b e e n p i c t u r e d by D a n t e a s a partaker of the i m m o r t a l a g o n i e s of his Inferno. T h e s e r e m i n i s c e n c e s a n d a s s o c i a t i o n s , together with the t e n d e n c y to heart-break natural to a y o u n g m a n for the first time o u t of his native s p h e r e , c a u s e d G i o v a n n i to sigh heavily, a s he looked a r o u n d the d e s o l a t e a n d ill-furnished a p a r t m e n t . " H o l y Virgin, s i g n o r , " cried old d a m e L i s a b e t t a , w h o , won by the youth's r e m a r k a b l e b e a u t y of p e r s o n , w a s kindly e n d e a v o r i n g to give the c h a m b e r a h a b i t a b l e air, "what a sigh w a s that to c o m e out of a y o u n g m a n ' s heart! D o you find this old m a n s i o n gloomy? F o r the love of h e a v e n , t h e n , p u t your h e a d out of the window, a n d you will s e e a s bright s u n s h i n e a s you have left in N a p l e s . " G u a s c o n t i m e c h a n i c a l l y did a s the old w o m a n a d v i s e d , but c o u l d not quite a g r e e with her that the L o m b a r d s u n s h i n e w a s a s cheerful a s that of s o u t h e r n Italy. S u c h a s it w a s , however, it fell u p o n a g a r d e n b e n e a t h the window, a n d e x p e n d e d its fostering i n f l u e n c e s on a variety of p l a n t s , w h i c h s e e m e d to have b e e n cultivated with e x c e e d i n g c a r e . " D o e s this g a r d e n b e l o n g to the h o u s e ? " a s k e d G i o v a n n i . " H e a v e n forbid, s i g n o r ! — u n l e s s it were fruitful of better pot-herbs t h a n any that grow there n o w , " a n s w e r e d old L i s a b e t t a . " N o : that g a r d e n is cultivated by the own h a n d s of S i g n o r G i a c o m o R a p p a c c i n i , the f a m o u s D o c t o r , w h o , I warrant h i m , h a s b e e n h e a r d of a s far a s N a p l e s . It is s a i d h e distils t h e s e p l a n t s into m e d i c i n e s that a r e as p o t e n t a s a c h a r m . O f t e n t i m e s you m a y s e e the signor D o c t o r at work, a n d p e r c h a n c e the s i g n o r a his d a u g h t e r , too, g a t h e r i n g the s t r a n g e flowers that grow in the g a r d e n . " T h e old w o m a n h a d now d o n e what s h e c o u l d for the a s p e c t of the c h a m ber, a n d , c o m m e n d i n g the y o u n g m a n to the p r o t e c t i o n of the s a i n t s , took her d e p a r t u r e . G i o v a n n i still f o u n d no better o c c u p a t i o n than to look d o w n into the garEve," "Egotism; or, The B o s o m - S e r p e n t , " "FireWorship," "Evening in a C a s t l e in S p a i n " (imaginary), and "The Artist of the Beautiful."

6. Hawthorne's friend J o h n O'Sullivan, editor of Review (here, "La Revue AntiThe Democratic Aristocratique").

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den b e n e a t h his window. F r o m its a p p e a r a n c e , he j u d g e d it to b e o n e of t h o s e b o t a n i c g a r d e n s , which were of earlier d a t e in P a d u a t h a n e l s e w h e r e in Italy, or in the world. Or, not improbably, it might o n c e have b e e n the p l e a s u r e - p l a c e of a n o p u l e n t family; for there w a s the ruin of a m a r b l e fountain in the c e n t r e , s c u l p t u r e d with rare art, b u t so wofully s h a t t e r e d that it w a s i m p o s s i b l e to trace the original d e s i g n from the c h a o s of r e m a i n i n g f r a g m e n t s . T h e water, however, c o n t i n u e d to g u s h a n d sparkle into the sunb e a m s as cheerfully a s ever. A little gurgling s o u n d a s c e n d e d to the y o u n g man's window, a n d m a d e him feel a s if the fountain were a n i m m o r t a l spirit, that s u n g its s o n g u n c e a s i n g l y , a n d without h e e d i n g the v i c i s s i t u d e s a r o u n d it; while o n e century e m b o d i e d it in m a r b l e , a n d a n o t h e r s c a t t e r e d the garniture on the soil. All a b o u t the pool into which the water s u b s i d e d , grew various p l a n t s , that s e e m e d to require a plentiful supply of m o i s t u r e for the n o u r i s h m e n t of gigantic leaves, a n d , in s o m e i n s t a n c e s , flowers g o r g e o u s l y magnificent. T h e r e w a s o n e s h r u b in particular, set in a m a r b l e v a s e in the m i d s t of the pool, that bore a profusion of p u r p l e b l o s s o m s , e a c h of which h a d the lustre a n d r i c h n e s s of a g e m ; a n d the whole together m a d e a s h o w s o r e s p l e n d e n t that it s e e m e d e n o u g h to illuminate the g a r d e n , even h a d there b e e n no s u n s h i n e . Every portion of the soil w a s p e o p l e d with p l a n t s a n d herbs, w h i c h , if less beautiful, still bore tokens of a s s i d u o u s c a r e ; a s if all h a d their individual virtues, known to the scientific m i n d that fostered t h e m . S o m e were p l a c e d in u r n s , rich with old carving, a n d others in c o m m o n g a r d e n - p o t s ; s o m e c r e p t serpent-like a l o n g the g r o u n d , or c l i m b e d on high, u s i n g whatever m e a n s of a s c e n t w a s offered t h e m . O n e plant h a d wreathed itself r o u n d a s t a t u e of V e r t u m n u s , 7 which w a s t h u s quite veiled a n d s h r o u d e d in a drapery of h a n g i n g foliage, so happily a r r a n g e d that it might have served a s c u l p t o r for a study. W h i l e Giovanni s t o o d at t h e window, he h e a r d a rustling b e h i n d a s c r e e n of leaves, a n d b e c a m e a w a r e that a p e r s o n w a s at work in the g a r d e n . H i s figure s o o n e m e r g e d into view, a n d s h o w e d itself to be that of n o c o m m o n laborer, but a tall, e m a c i a t e d , sallow, a n d sickly-looking m a n , d r e s s e d in a scholar's garb of black. H e w a s beyond the m i d d l e term of life, with grey hair, a thin grey b e a r d , a n d a f a c e singularly m a r k e d with intellect a n d cultivation, but which c o u l d never, even in his m o r e youthful days, have expressed m u c h w a r m t h of heart. N o t h i n g c o u l d e x c e e d the i n t e n t n e s s with which this scientific g a r d e n e r e x a m i n e d every s h r u b which grew in his p a t h ; it s e e m e d a s if he w a s looking into their i n m o s t n a t u r e , m a k i n g observations in regard to their creative e s s e n c e , a n d discovering why o n e leaf grew in this s h a p e , a n d a n o t h e r in that, a n d wherefore s u c h a n d s u c h flowers differed a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s in h u e a n d p e r f u m e . N e v e r t h e l e s s , in spite of the d e e p intelligence o n his part, there w a s no a p p r o a c h to intimacy b e t w e e n h i m s e l f a n d t h e s e v e g e t a b l e e x i s t e n c e s . O n the contrary, he avoided their a c t u a l t o u c h , or the direct inhaling of their o d o r s , with a c a u t i o n that i m p r e s s e d G i o v a n n i m o s t disagreeably; for the m a n ' s d e m e a n o r w a s that of o n e walking a m o n g m a l i g n a n t i n f l u e n c e s , s u c h as s a v a g e b e a s t s , or deadly s n a k e s , or evil spirits, w h i c h , s h o u l d he allow t h e m o n e m o m e n t of l i c e n s e , w o u l d wreak u p o n him s o m e terrible fatality. It w a s strangely frightful to the y o u n g m a n ' s i m a g i n a t i o n , to s e e this air of 7. T h e god of the seasons (and vegetation produced by the changing seasons).

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insecurity in a p e r s o n cultivating a g a r d e n , that m o s t s i m p l e a n d i n n o c e n t of h u m a n toils, a n d w h i c h h a d b e e n alike the j o y a n d labor of the u n f a l l e n p a r e n t s of the r a c e . W a s this g a r d e n , t h e n , the E d e n of the p r e s e n t w o r l d ? — a n d this m a n , with s u c h a p e r c e p t i o n of h a r m in w h a t his own h a n d s c a u s e d to grow, w a s h e the A d a m ? T h e distrustful g a r d e n e r , while p l u c k i n g away the d e a d leaves or p r u n i n g the too luxuriant growth of the s h r u b s , d e f e n d e d his h a n d s with a pair of thick gloves. N o r were t h e s e his only a r m o r . W h e n , in his walk t h r o u g h the g a r d e n , he c a m e to the magnificent plant that h u n g its p u r p l e g e m s b e s i d e the m a r b l e f o u n t a i n , h e p l a c e d a kind of m a s k over his m o u t h a n d nostrils, a s if all this b e a u t y did b u t c o n c e a l a deadlier m a l i c e . B u t finding his t a s k still too d a n g e r o u s , h e drew b a c k , r e m o v e d the m a s k , a n d called loudly, b u t in the infirm voice of a p e r s o n affected with inward d i s e a s e : "Beatrice!—Beatrice!" " H e r e a m I, my father! W h a t w o u l d y o u ? " cried a rich a n d youthful voice from the w i n d o w of the o p p o s i t e h o u s e ; a voice a s rich a s a tropical s u n s e t , a n d which m a d e G i o v a n n i , t h o u g h h e k n e w not why, think of d e e p h u e s of p u r p l e or c r i m s o n , a n d of p e r f u m e s heavily d e l e c t a b l e . — " A r e you in the garden?" "Yes, B e a t r i c e , " a n s w e r e d the g a r d e n e r , " a n d I n e e d your h e l p . " S o o n there e m e r g e d from u n d e r a s c u l p t u r e d portal the figure of a y o u n g girl, arrayed with a s m u c h r i c h n e s s of t a s t e a s the m o s t s p l e n d i d of the flowers, beautiful a s the day, a n d with a b l o o m so d e e p a n d vivid that o n e s h a d e m o r e w o u l d have b e e n too m u c h . S h e looked r e d u n d a n t with life, health, a n d energy; all of which a t t r i b u t e s were b o u n d d o w n a n d c o m p r e s s e d , a s it w e r e , a n d girdled tensely, in their l u x u r i a n c e , by her virgin z o n e . 8 Yet Giovanni's fancy m u s t have grown m o r b i d , while he looked d o w n into the g a r d e n ; for the i m p r e s s i o n w h i c h the fair s t r a n g e r m a d e u p o n h i m w a s a s if here were a n o t h e r flower, the h u m a n sister of t h o s e v e g e t a b l e o n e s , a s b e a u tiful a s t h e y — m o r e beautiful t h a n the richest of t h e m — b u t still to b e t o u c h e d only with a glove, nor to b e a p p r o a c h e d without a m a s k . A s B e a t r i c e c a m e d o w n the g a r d e n - p a t h , it w a s o b s e r v a b l e that s h e h a n d l e d a n d i n h a l e d the o d o r of several of the p l a n t s , which her father h a d m o s t s e d u l o u s l y avoided. " H e r e , B e a t r i c e , " said the l a t t e r , — " s e e how m a n y needful offices require to be d o n e to our chief t r e a s u r e . Yet, s h a t t e r e d a s I a m , my life might pay the penalty of a p p r o a c h i n g it s o closely a s c i r c u m s t a n c e s d e m a n d . H e n c e forth, I fear, this plant m u s t b e c o n s i g n e d to your s o l e c h a r g e . " " A n d gladly will I u n d e r t a k e it," cried a g a i n the rich tones of the y o u n g lady, a s s h e b e n t towards the m a g n i f i c e n t p l a n t , a n d o p e n e d her a r m s a s if to e m b r a c e it. "Yes, my sister, my s p l e n d o r , it shall b e B e a t r i c e ' s t a s k to n u r s e a n d serve t h e e ; a n d t h o u shalt reward her with thy k i s s e s a n d p e r f u m e d b r e a t h , which to her is a s the b r e a t h of life!" T h e n , with all the t e n d e r n e s s in her m a n n e r that w a s s o strikingly e x p r e s s e d in her w o r d s , s h e b u s i e d herself with s u c h a t t e n t i o n s a s the plant s e e m e d to r e q u i r e ; a n d G i o v a n n i , at his lofty w i n d o w , r u b b e d his e y e s , a n d a l m o s t d o u b t e d w h e t h e r it were a girl t e n d i n g her favorite flower, or o n e sister p e r f o r m i n g the d u t i e s of affection to a n o t h e r . T h e s c e n e s o o n termi8. Wide girdlelike belt customarily worn by unmarried girls.

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nated. W h e t h e r D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i h a d finished his labors in the g a r d e n , or that his watchful eye h a d c a u g h t the stranger's f a c e , h e now t o o k his d a u g h ter's arm a n d retired. Night w a s already closing in; o p p r e s s i v e exhalations s e e m e d to p r o c e e d from the p l a n t s , a n d steal u p w a r d p a s t the o p e n window; a n d G i o v a n n i , c l o s i n g the lattice, went to his c o u c h , a n d d r e a m e d of a rich flower a n d beautiful girl. Flower a n d m a i d e n were different a n d yet the s a m e , and fraught with s o m e s t r a n g e peril in either s h a p e . B u t there is a n influence in the light of m o r n i n g that t e n d s to rectify whatever errors of fancy, or even of j u d g m e n t , we m a y have incurred d u r i n g the sun's d e c l i n e , or a m o n g the s h a d o w s of the night, or in the less wholes o m e glow of m o o n s h i n e . Giovanni's first m o v e m e n t o n starting from s l e e p , w a s to throw o p e n the window, a n d gaze down into the g a r d e n w h i c h his d r e a m s h a d m a d e so fertile of mysteries. H e w a s s u r p r i s e d , a n d a little a s h a m e d , to find how real a n d matter-of-fact an affair it proved to b e , in the first rays of the s u n , which gilded the dew-drops that h u n g u p o n leaf a n d b l o s s o m , a n d , while giving a brighter b e a u t y to e a c h rare flower, b r o u g h t everything within the limits of ordinary experience. T h e y o u n g m a n rejoiced, that, in the heart of the b a r r e n city, he h a d the privilege of overlooking this spot of lovely a n d luxuriant vegetation. It would serve, h e s a i d to himself, a s a symbolic l a n g u a g e , to keep him in c o m m u n i o n with n a t u r e . N e i t h e r the sickly a n d thought-worn D o c t o r G i a c o m o R a p p a c c i n i , it is t r u e , nor his brilliant d a u g h t e r were n o w visible; so that Giovanni c o u l d not d e t e r m i n e h o w m u c h of the singularity which he attributed to b o t h , w a s d u e to their own qualities, a n d how m u c h to his wonder-working fancy. B u t h e w a s inclined to take a m o s t rational view of the whole matter. In the c o u r s e of the day, he paid his r e s p e c t s to S i g n o r Pietro Baglioni, professor of m e d i c i n e in the University, a physician of e m i n e n t r e p u t e , to w h o m G i o v a n n i h a d b r o u g h t a letter of i n t r o d u c t i o n . T h e p r o f e s s o r w a s a n elderly p e r s o n a g e , apparently of genial n a t u r e , a n d habits that might a l m o s t b e called jovial; he kept the y o u n g m a n to dinner, a n d m a d e h i m s e l f very a g r e e a b l e by the f r e e d o m a n d liveliness of his c o n v e r s a t i o n , especially w h e n w a r m e d by a flask or two of T u s c a n wine. G i o v a n n i , c o n c e i v i n g that m e n of s c i e n c e , i n h a b i t a n t s of the s a m e city, m u s t n e e d s be o n familiar t e r m s with o n e another, took an opportunity to m e n t i o n the n a m e of Dr. R a p p a c c i n i . B u t the professor did not r e s p o n d with so m u c h cordiality a s he h a d anticipated. "Ill would it b e c o m e a t e a c h e r of the divine art of m e d i c i n e , " said P r o f e s s o r Pietro Baglioni, in a n s w e r to a q u e s t i o n of G i o v a n n i , "to withhold d u e a n d well-considered praise of a physician so eminently skilled a s B a p p a c c i n i . B u t , on the other h a n d , I s h o u l d a n s w e r it but scantily to my c o n s c i e n c e , were I to permit a worthy youth like yourself, S i g n o r G i o v a n n i , the s o n of a n a n c i e n t friend, to i m b i b e e r r o n e o u s ideas r e s p e c t i n g a m a n w h o might hereafter c h a n c e to hold your life a n d d e a t h in his h a n d s . T h e truth is, our worshipful D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i has a s m u c h s c i e n c e a s any m e m b e r of the faculty—with p e r h a p s o n e single e x c e p t i o n — i n P a d u a , or all Italy. B u t there are certain grave objections to his p r o f e s s i o n a l c h a r a c t e r . " "And what are t h e y ? " a s k e d the y o u n g m a n . " H a s my friend G i o v a n n i any d i s e a s e of body or heart, that h e is s o inquisitive a b o u t p h y s i c i a n s ? " s a i d the Professor, with a s m i l e . " B u t a s for R a p p a c cini, it is said of h i m — a n d I, w h o know the m a n well, c a n a n s w e r for its

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t r u t h — t h a t he c a r e s infinitely m o r e for s c i e n c e t h a n for m a n k i n d . H i s p a t i e n t s a r e interesting to him only a s s u b j e c t s for s o m e n e w e x p e r i m e n t . H e would sacrifice h u m a n life, his own a m o n g the rest, or whatever e l s e w a s d e a r e s t to h i m , for the s a k e of a d d i n g s o m u c h a s a grain of m u s t a r d - s e e d to the great h e a p of his a c c u m u l a t e d k n o w l e d g e . " " M e t h i n k s h e is a n awful 9 m a n , i n d e e d , " r e m a r k e d G u a s c o n t i , mentally recalling the cold a n d purely intellectual a s p e c t of R a p p a c c i n i . " A n d yet, worshipful P r o f e s s o r , is it not a noble spirit? Are there m a n y m e n c a p a b l e of s o spiritual a love of s c i e n c e ? " " G o d f o r b i d , " a n s w e r e d the Professor, s o m e w h a t t e s t i l y — " a t least, u n l e s s they take s o u n d e r views of the healing art than t h o s e a d o p t e d by R a p p a c c i n i . It is his theory, that all m e d i c i n a l virtues are c o m p r i s e d within t h o s e s u b s t a n c e s which we term vegetable p o i s o n s . T h e s e h e cultivates with his own h a n d s , a n d is s a i d even to have p r o d u c e d new varieties of p o i s o n , m o r e horribly d e l e t e r i o u s than N a t u r e , without the a s s i s t a n c e of this l e a r n e d p e r s o n , would ever have p l a g u e d the world with. T h a t the signor D o c t o r d o e s less m i s c h i e f t h a n might be e x p e c t e d , with s u c h d a n g e r o u s s u b s t a n c e s , is u n d e niable. N o w a n d then, it m u s t be o w n e d , he h a s e f f e c t e d — o r s e e m e d to e f f e c t — a marvellous c u r e . B u t , to tell you my private m i n d , S i g n o r G i o v a n n i , he s h o u l d receive little credit for s u c h i n s t a n c e s of s u c c e s s — t h e y b e i n g p r o b ably the work of c h a n c e — b u t s h o u l d b e held strictly a c c o u n t a b l e for his failures, which may j u s t l y b e c o n s i d e r e d his own w o r k . " T h e youth might have taken Baglioni's o p i n i o n s with m a n y grains of allowa n c e , h a d h e known that there w a s a p r o f e s s i o n a l warfare of long c o n t i n u a n c e b e t w e e n him a n d D o c t o r B a p p a c c i n i , in which the latter w a s generally t h o u g h t to have g a i n e d the a d v a n t a g e . If the r e a d e r be inclined to j u d g e for himself, we refer him to certain black-letter tracts on b o t h s i d e s , p r e s e r v e d in the m e d i c a l d e p a r t m e n t of the University of P a d u a . "I know not, m o s t learned P r o f e s s o r , " r e t u r n e d G i o v a n n i , after m u s i n g o n what h a d b e e n said of R a p p a c c i n i ' s exclusive zeal for s c i e n c e — " I k n o w not h o w dearly this physician may love his art; but surely there is o n e object m o r e d e a r to h i m . H e h a s a d a u g h t e r . " " A h a ! " cries the P r o f e s s o r with a l a u g h . " S o now our friend G i o v a n n i ' s secret is out. You have h e a r d of this d a u g h t e r , w h o m all the y o u n g m e n in P a d u a are wild a b o u t , t h o u g h not half a dozen have ever h a d the g o o d h a p to s e e her f a c e . I know little of the S i g n o r a B e a t r i c e , save that B a p p a c c i n i is s a i d to have i n s t r u c t e d her deeply in his s c i e n c e , a n d that, y o u n g a n d b e a u tiful a s f a m e reports her, s h e is already qualified to fill a p r o f e s s o r ' s chair. P e r c h a n c e her father d e s t i n e s her for m i n e ! O t h e r a b s u r d r u m o r s there b e , not worth talking a b o u t , or listening to. S o now, S i g n o r G i o v a n n i , drink off your g l a s s of L a c r y m a . " 1 G u a s c o n t i returned to his lodgings s o m e w h a t h e a t e d with the wine h e h a d q u a f f e d , a n d which c a u s e d his brain to swim with s t r a n g e f a n t a s i e s in refe r e n c e to D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i a n d the beautiful B e a t r i c e . O n his way, h a p p e n i n g to p a s s by a florist's, h e b o u g h t a fresh b o u q u e t of flowers. A s c e n d i n g to his c h a m b e r , h e s e a t e d himself n e a r the window, but within the s h a d o w thrown by the d e p t h of the wall, s o that he c o u l d look d o w n into 9. T h e word carries s o m e of the sense of "awestriking."

1. An Italian wine grown near Vesuvius,

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the g a r d e n with little risk of being discovered. All b e n e a t h his eye w a s a solitude. T h e s t r a n g e p l a n t s were b a s k i n g in the s u n s h i n e , a n d n o w a n d then n o d d i n g gently to o n e another, as if in a c k n o w l e d g m e n t of s y m p a t h y a n d kindred. In the midst, by the shattered f o u n t a i n , grew the m a g n i f i c e n t s h r u b , with its p u r p l e g e m s c l u s t e r i n g all over it; they g l o w e d in the air, a n d g l e a m e d b a c k again out of the d e p t h s of the pool, which t h u s s e e m e d to overflow with c o l o r e d r a d i a n c e from the rich reflection that w a s s t e e p e d in it. At first, a s we have said, the g a r d e n w a s a solitude. S o o n , h o w e v e r , — a s G i o v a n n i h a d half-hoped, half-feared, would be the c a s e , — a figure a p p e a r e d b e n e a t h the a n t i q u e s c u l p t u r e d portal, a n d c a m e down b e t w e e n the rows of p l a n t s , inhaling their various p e r f u m e s , a s if s h e were o n e of t h o s e b e i n g s of old c l a s s i c fable, that lived u p o n sweet o d o r s . O n again b e h o l d i n g B e a t r i c e , the y o u n g m a n w a s even startled to perceive how m u c h her b e a u t y e x c e e d e d his recollection of it; s o brilliant, so vivid in its c h a r a c t e r , that s h e glowed a m i d the sunlight, a n d , a s G i o v a n n i w h i s p e r e d to himself, positively illuminated the m o r e s h a d o w y intervals of the g a r d e n p a t h . H e r f a c e b e i n g now m o r e revealed than on the former o c c a s i o n , h e w a s s t r u c k by its e x p r e s s i o n of simplicity a n d s w e e t n e s s ; qualities that h a d not entered into his idea of her c h a r a c t e r , a n d which m a d e him a s k a n e w , w h a t m a n n e r of mortal s h e might be. N o r did h e fail again to o b s e r v e , or i m a g i n e , a n a n a l o g y b e t w e e n the beautiful girl a n d the g o r g e o u s s h r u b that h u n g its gem-like flowers over the fountain; a r e s e m b l a n c e which B e a t r i c e s e e m e d to have i n d u l g e d a fantastic h u m o r in heightening, both by the a r r a n g e m e n t of her d r e s s a n d the s e l e c t i o n of its h u e s . A p p r o a c h i n g the s h r u b , s h e threw o p e n her a r m s , a s with a p a s s i o n a t e ardor, a n d drew its b r a n c h e s into a n i n t i m a t e e m b r a c e ; s o i n t i m a t e , that her f e a t u r e s were hidden in its leafy b o s o m , a n d her glistening ringlets all interm i n g l e d with the flowers. " G i v e m e thy b r e a t h , my sister," e x c l a i m e d B e a t r i c e ; "for I a m faint with c o m m o n air! A n d give m e this flower of thine, which I s e p a r a t e with gentlest fingers from the s t e m , a n d p l a c e it c l o s e b e s i d e my h e a r t . " With t h e s e w o r d s , the beautiful d a u g h t e r of R a p p a c c i n i p l u c k e d o n e of the richest b l o s s o m s of the s h r u b , a n d w a s a b o u t to f a s t e n it in her b o s o m . B u t now, u n l e s s Giovanni's d r a u g h t s of wine h a d bewildered his s e n s e s , a singular incident o c c u r r e d . A small o r a n g e - c o l o r e d reptile of the lizard or c h a m e l e o n s p e c i e s , c h a n c e d to be c r e e p i n g a l o n g the p a t h , j u s t at the feet of B e a t r i c e . It a p p e a r e d to G i o v a n n i — b u t , at the d i s t a n c e from which h e gazed, he c o u l d scarcely have s e e n anything so m i n u t e — i t a p p e a r e d to him, however, that a drop or two of m o i s t u r e from the broken s t e m of the flower d e s c e n d e d u p o n the lizard's h e a d . F o r an instant, the reptile c o n t o r t e d itself violently, a n d then lay m o t i o n l e s s in the s u n s h i n e . B e a t r i c e o b s e r v e d this r e m a r k a b l e p h e n o m e n o n , a n d c r o s s e d herself, sadly, but without s u r p r i s e ; nor did s h e therefore hesitate to a r r a n g e the fatal flower in her b o s o m . T h e r e it b l u s h e d , a n d a l m o s t g l i m m e r e d with the dazzling effect of a p r e c i o u s s t o n e , a d d i n g to her d r e s s a n d a s p e c t the o n e a p p r o p r i a t e c h a r m , which n o t h i n g else in the world c o u l d have s u p p l i e d . B u t G i o v a n n i , o u t of the s h a d o w of his window bent forward a n d s h r a n k back, a n d m u r m u r e d a n d t r e m b l e d . "Am I a w a k e ? H a v e I my s e n s e s ? " said he to himself. " W h a t is this b e i n g ? — beautiful, shall I call h e r ? — o r inexpressibly terrible?" B e a t r i c e now strayed carelessly through the g a r d e n , a p p r o a c h i n g c l o s e r

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b e n e a t h Giovanni's window, s o that h e was c o m p e l l e d to thrust his h e a d q u i t e out of its c o n c e a l m e n t in order to gratify the i n t e n s e a n d painful curiosity which s h e excited. At this m o m e n t , there c a m e a beautiful insect over the g a r d e n wall; it h a d p e r h a p s w a n d e r e d t h r o u g h the city a n d f o u n d n o flowers nor verdure a m o n g t h o s e a n t i q u e h a u n t s of m e n , until the heavy p e r f u m e s of D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i ' s s h r u b s h a d lured it from afar. W i t h o u t alighting on the flowers, this w i n g e d b r i g h t n e s s s e e m e d to b e a t t r a c t e d by B e a t r i c e , a n d lingered in the air a n d fluttered a b o u t her h e a d . N o w here it c o u l d not be b u t that G i o v a n n i G u a s c o n t i ' s eyes d e c e i v e d h i m . B e that a s it might, h e f a n c i e d that while B e a t r i c e w a s gazing at the i n s e c t with childish delight, it grew faint a n d fell at her f e e t ! — i t s bright wings shivered! it w a s d e a d ! — f r o m no c a u s e that h e c o u l d d i s c e r n , u n l e s s it were the a t m o s p h e r e of her b r e a t h . Again B e a t r i c e c r o s s e d herself a n d s i g h e d heavily, a s she b e n t over the d e a d insect. A n i m p u l s i v e m o v e m e n t of G i o v a n n i drew her eyes to the w i n d o w . T h e r e she b e h e l d the beautiful h e a d of the y o u n g m a n — r a t h e r a G r e c i a n than an Italian h e a d , with fair, regular f e a t u r e s , a n d a g l i s t e n i n g of gold a m o n g his r i n g l e t s — g a z i n g down u p o n her like a b e i n g that hovered in mid-air. S c a r c e l y knowing w h a t h e did, G i o v a n n i threw d o w n the b o u q u e t w h i c h h e h a d hitherto held in his h a n d . " S i g n o r a , " said h e , " t h e r e a r e p u r e a n d healthful flowers. W e a r t h e m for the s a k e of G i o v a n n i G u a s c o n t i ! " " T h a n k s , S i g n o r , " replied B e a t r i c e , with her rich voice, that c a m e forth a s it were like a g u s h of m u s i c ; a n d with a mirthful expression half childish a n d half w o m a n - l i k e . "I a c c e p t your gift, a n d w o u l d fain r e c o m p e n s e it with this p r e c i o u s p u r p l e flower; b u t if I toss it into the air, it will not r e a c h y o u . S o S i g n o r G u a s c o n t i m u s t even c o n t e n t h i m s e l f with my t h a n k s . " S h e lifted the b o u q u e t from the g r o u n d , a n d then a s if inwardly a s h a m e d at having s t e p p e d a s i d e from her m a i d e n l y reserve to r e s p o n d to a stranger's greeting, p a s s e d swiftly h o m e w a r d t h r o u g h the g a r d e n . B u t , few a s the m o m e n t s w e r e , it s e e m e d to G i o v a n n i w h e n s h e w a s o n the point of v a n i s h i n g b e n e a t h the s c u l p t u r e d portal, that his beautiful b o u q u e t w a s already beginning to wither in her g r a s p . It w a s a n idle t h o u g h t ; there c o u l d b e no p o s s i bility of d i s t i n g u i s h i n g a faded flower from a fresh o n e at s o great a d i s t a n c e . F o r m a n y days after the incident, the y o u n g m a n avoided the w i n d o w that looked into D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i ' s g a r d e n , a s if s o m e t h i n g ugly a n d m o n s t r o u s would have b l a s t e d his eye-sight, h a d h e b e e n betrayed into a g l a n c e . H e felt c o n s c i o u s of having p u t himself, to a certain extent, within the i n f l u e n c e of a n unintelligible power, by the c o m m u n i c a t i o n which h e h a d o p e n e d with B e a t r i c e . T h e wisest c o u r s e w o u l d have b e e n , if his heart w e r e in any real d a n g e r , to quit his lodgings a n d P a d u a itself, at o n c e ; the next wiser, to have a c c u s t o m e d himself, a s far a s p o s s i b l e , to the familiar a n d day-light view of B e a t r i c e ; t h u s bringing her rigidly a n d systematically within the limits of ordinary e x p e r i e n c e . L e a s t of all, while avoiding her sight, s h o u l d G i o v a n n i have r e m a i n e d s o n e a r this extraordinary being, that the proximity a n d p o s sibility even of i n t e r c o u r s e , s h o u l d give a kind of s u b s t a n c e a n d reality to the wild v a g a r i e s w h i c h his i m a g i n a t i o n r a n riot continually in p r o d u c i n g . G u a s conti h a d not a d e e p h e a r t — o r at all e v e n t s , its d e p t h s were not s o u n d e d n o w — b u t he h a d a q u i c k fancy, a n d a n a r d e n t s o u t h e r n t e m p e r a m e n t , w h i c h rose every instant to a higher fever-pitch. W h e t h e r or no B e a t r i c e p o s s e s s e d

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t h o s e terrible a t t r i b u t e s — t h a t fatal b r e a t h — t h e affinity with t h o s e s o b e a u tiful a n d deadly f l o w e r s — w h i c h were i n d i c a t e d by w h a t G i o v a n n i h a d witn e s s e d , s h e h a d at least instilled a fierce a n d s u b t l e p o i s o n into his sytem. It w a s not love, a l t h o u g h her rich b e a u t y w a s a m a d n e s s to h i m ; nor horror, even while h e f a n c i e d her spirit to be i m b u e d with the s a m e b a n e f u l e s s e n c e that s e e m e d to pervade her physical f r a m e ; b u t a wild offspring of both love a n d horror that h a d e a c h p a r e n t in it, a n d b u r n e d like o n e a n d shivered like the other. G i o v a n n i k n e w not what to d r e a d ; still less did h e k n o w w h a t to h o p e ; hope a n d dread kept a c o n t i n u a l warfare in his b r e a s t , alternately vanq u i s h i n g o n e a n o t h e r a n d starting u p afresh to renew the c o n t e s t . B l e s s e d are all s i m p l e e m o t i o n s , b e they dark or bright! It is the lurid intermixture of the two that p r o d u c e s the illuminating blaze of the infernal r e g i o n s . S o m e t i m e s he e n d e a v o r e d to a s s u a g e the fever of his spirit by a rapid walk t h r o u g h the streets of P a d u a , or beyond its g a t e s ; his f o o t s t e p s kept time with the t h r o b b i n g s of his brain, s o that the walk w a s a p t to a c c e l e r a t e itself to a r a c e . O n e day, h e f o u n d himself a r r e s t e d ; his a r m w a s seized by a portly p e r s o n a g e w h o h a d t u r n e d b a c k on recognizing the y o u n g m a n , a n d e x p e n d e d m u c h b r e a t h in overtaking h i m . " S i g n o r G i o v a n n i ! — s t a y , my y o u n g friend!" cried h e . " H a v e you forgotten m e ? T h a t might well b e the c a s e , if I were a s m u c h altered a s yourself." It w a s Baglioni, w h o m G i o v a n n i h a d avoided, ever s i n c e their first m e e t i n g , from a d o u b t that the professor's sagacity would look too deeply into his s e c r e t s . E n d e a v o r i n g to recover himself, h e stared forth wildly from his inner world into the outer o n e , a n d s p o k e like a m a n in a d r e a m : "Yes; I a m G i o v a n n i G u a s c o n t i . You are P r o f e s s o r Pietro B a g l i o n i . N o w let m e p a s s ! " " N o t y e t — n o t yet, S i g n o r G i o v a n n i G u a s c o n t i , " s a i d the P r o f e s s o r , smiling, b u t at the s a m e t i m e scrutinizing the youth with a n e a r n e s t g l a n c e . — " W h a t ; did I grow u p side by side with your father, a n d shall his s o n p a s s m e like a stranger, in t h e s e old streets of P a d u a ? S t a n d still, S i g n o r G i o v a n n i ; for we m u s t have a word or two, before w e p a r t . " " S p e e d i l y , t h e n , m o s t worshipful P r o f e s s o r , speedily!" s a i d G i o v a n n i , with feverish i m p a t i e n c e . " D o e s not your worship s e e that I a m in h a s t e ? " N o w , while he w a s s p e a k i n g , there c a m e a m a n in b l a c k a l o n g the street, s t o o p i n g a n d m o v i n g feebly, like a p e r s o n in inferior h e a l t h . H i s f a c e w a s all o v e r s p r e a d with a m o s t sickly a n d sallow h u e , b u t yet s o p e r v a d e d with an expression of piercing a n d active intellect, that a n observer might easily have overlooked the merely physical attributes, a n d have s e e n only this wonderful energy. A s h e p a s s e d , this p e r s o n e x c h a n g e d a c o l d a n d distant s a l u t a t i o n with B a g l i o n i , but fixed his eyes u p o n G i o v a n n i with a n i n t e n t n e s s that s e e m e d to b r i n g o u t whatever w a s within him worthy of n o t i c e . N e v e r t h e l e s s , there w a s a p e c u l i a r q u i e t n e s s in the look, a s if taking merely a s p e c u l a t i v e , not a h u m a n interest, in the y o u n g m a n . "It is D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i ! " w h i s p e r e d the P r o f e s s o r , w h e n the s t r a n g e r h a d p a s s e d . — " H a s he ever s e e n your f a c e b e f o r e ? " " N o t that I k n o w , " a n s w e r e d G i o v a n n i , starting at the n a m e . " H e has s e e n y o u ! — h e m u s t have s e e n y o u ! " s a i d Baglioni, hastily. " F o r s o m e p u r p o s e or other, this m a n of s c i e n c e is m a k i n g a study of y o u . I know that look of his! It is the s a m e that coldly i l l u m i n a t e s his f a c e , a s he b e n d s over a bird, a m o u s e , or a butterfly, w h i c h , in p u r s u a n c e of s o m e e x p e r i m e n t ,

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he h a s killed by the p e r f u m e of a flower;—a look a s d e e p a s n a t u r e itself, b u t without n a t u r e ' s w a r m t h of love. S i g n o r G i o v a n n i , I will stake my life u p o n it, you a r e the s u b j e c t of o n e of R a p p a c c i n i ' s e x p e r i m e n t s ! " "Will you m a k e a fool of m e ? " cried G i o v a n n i , p a s s i o n a t e l y . "That, S i g n o r Professor, were a n u n t o w a r d e x p e r i m e n t . " " P a t i e n c e , p a t i e n c e ! " replied the i m p e r t u r b a b l e P r o f e s s o r . — " I tell thee, my p o o r G i o v a n n i , that R a p p a c c i n i h a s a scientific interest in t h e e . T h o u h a s t fallen into fearful h a n d s ! A n d the S i g n o r a B e a t r i c e ? W h a t part d o e s s h e a c t in this m y s t e r y ? " B u t G u a s c o n t i , finding Baglioni's pertinacity intolerable, h e r e broke away, a n d w a s g o n e before the P r o f e s s o r c o u l d again seize his a r m . H e looked after the y o u n g m a n intently, a n d s h o o k his h e a d . " T h i s m u s t not b e , " said Baglioni to himself. " T h e youth is the s o n of my old friend, a n d s h o u l d not c o m e to any h a r m from which the a r c a n a of m e d i c a l s c i e n c e c a n preserve h i m . B e s i d e s , it is too insufferable a n impert i n e n c e in R a p p a c c i n i , t h u s to s n a t c h the b u d o u t of my own h a n d s , a s I may say, a n d m a k e u s e of h i m for his infernal e x p e r i m e n t s . T h i s d a u g h t e r of his! It shall b e looked to. P e r c h a n c e , m o s t learned R a p p a c c i n i , I may foil you w h e r e you little d r e a m of it!" M e a n w h i l e , G i o v a n n i h a d p u r s u e d a c i r c u i t o u s r o u t e , a n d at length f o u n d himself at the door of his lodgings. A s he c r o s s e d the t h r e s h o l d , h e w a s m e t by old L i s a b e t t a , w h o smirked a n d s m i l e d , a n d w a s evidently d e s i r o u s to attract his a t t e n t i o n ; vainly, however, a s the ebullition of his feelings h a d m o m e n t a r i l y s u b s i d e d into a cold a n d dull vacuity. H e t u r n e d his eyes full u p o n the withered f a c e that w a s p u c k e r i n g itself into a s m i l e , b u t s e e m e d to behold it not. T h e old d a m e , therefore, laid her g r a s p u p o n his cloak. " S i g n o r ! — S i g n o r ! " w h i s p e r e d s h e , still with a smile over the whole breadth of her visage, s o that it looked not unlike a g r o t e s q u e c a r v i n g in w o o d , darke n e d by c e n t u r i e s — " L i s t e n , Signor! T h e r e is a private e n t r a n c e into the garden!" " W h a t do you s a y ? " e x c l a i m e d G i o v a n n i , turning quickly a b o u t , a s if a n i n a n i m a t e thing s h o u l d start into feverish l i f e . — " A private e n t r a n c e into Doctor Rappaccini's garden!" " H u s h ! h u s h ! — n o t so l o u d ! " w h i s p e r e d L i s a b e t t a , p u t t i n g her h a n d over his m o u t h . "Yes; into the worshipful D o c t o r ' s g a r d e n , w h e r e you m a y s e e all his fine shrubbery. M a n y a y o u n g m a n in P a d u a would give gold to b e admitted a m o n g t h o s e flowers." G i o v a n n i put a p i e c e of gold into her h a n d . " S h o w m e the w a y , " s a i d h e . A s u r m i s e , probably excited by his c o n v e r s a t i o n with B a g l i o n i , c r o s s e d his m i n d , that this interposition of old L i s a b e t t a might p e r c h a n c e be c o n n e c t e d with the intrigue, w h a t e v e r were its n a t u r e , in which the P r o f e s s o r s e e m e d to s u p p o s e that D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i w a s involving h i m . B u t s u c h a s u s p i c i o n , t h o u g h it d i s t u r b e d G i o v a n n i , w a s i n a d e q u a t e to restrain h i m . T h e instant h e w a s a w a r e of the possibility of a p p r o a c h i n g B e a t r i c e , it s e e m e d a n a b s o lute n e c e s s i t y of his e x i s t e n c e to d o s o . It m a t t e r e d not w h e t h e r s h e were angel or d e m o n ; h e w a s irrevocably within her s p h e r e , a n d m u s t obey the law that whirled him o n w a r d , in ever l e s s e n i n g c i r c l e s , t o w a r d s a result which he did not a t t e m p t to f o r e s h a d o w . A n d yet, s t r a n g e to say, t h e r e c a m e a c r o s s him a s u d d e n d o u b t , w h e t h e r this i n t e n s e interest o n his part were not delu-

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s o r y — w h e t h e r it were really of s o d e e p a n d positive a n a t u r e a s to justify him in now thrusting h i m s e l f into an i n c a l c u l a b l e p o s i t i o n — w h e t h e r it were not merely the fantasy of a y o u n g m a n ' s brain, only slightly, or not at all, c o n n e c t e d with his heart! H e p a u s e d — h e s i t a t e d — t u r n e d half a b o u t — b u t again went on. H i s withered g u i d e led him a l o n g several o b s c u r e p a s s a g e s , a n d finally u n d i d a door, through w h i c h , a s it w a s o p e n e d , there c a m e the sight a n d s o u n d of rustling leaves, with the broken s u n s h i n e g l i m m e r i n g a m o n g t h e m . G i o v a n n i s t e p p e d forth, a n d forcing h i m s e l f t h r o u g h the e n t a n g l e m e n t of a s h r u b that w r e a t h e d its tendrils over the hidden e n t r a n c e , h e s t o o d b e n e a t h his own window, in the o p e n a r e a of D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i ' s g a r d e n . H o w often is it the c a s e , that, w h e n impossibilities have c o m e to p a s s , a n d d r e a m s have c o n d e n s e d their misty s u b s t a n c e into tangible realities, we find ourselves c a l m , a n d even coldly s e l f - p o s s e s s e d , a m i d c i r c u m s t a n c e s which it would have b e e n a delirium of j o y or a g o n y to a n t i c i p a t e ! F a t e delights to thwart u s t h u s . P a s s i o n will c h o o s e his own time to r u s h u p o n the s c e n e , a n d lingers sluggishly b e h i n d , w h e n an a p p r o p r i a t e a d j u s t m e n t of events would s e e m to s u m m o n his a p p e a r a n c e . S o w a s it now with G i o v a n n i . D a y after day, his p u l s e s h a d t h r o b b e d with feverish blood, at the i m p r o b a b l e idea of a n interview with B e a t r i c e , a n d of s t a n d i n g with her, f a c e to f a c e , in this very g a r d e n , b a s k i n g in the oriental s u n s h i n e of her b e a u t y , a n d s n a t c h i n g from her full gaze the mystery which he d e e m e d the riddle of his own exist e n c e . B u t now there w a s a singular a n d untimely e q u a n i m i t y within his breast. H e threw a g l a n c e a r o u n d the g a r d e n to discover if B e a t r i c e or her father were p r e s e n t , a n d perceiving that he w a s a l o n e , b e g a n a critical observation of the p l a n t s . T h e a s p e c t of o n e a n d all of t h e m dissatisfied h i m ; their g o r g e o u s n e s s s e e m e d fierce, p a s s i o n a t e , a n d even u n n a t u r a l . T h e r e w a s hardly a n individual s h r u b which a w a n d e r e r , straying by himself through a forest, would not have b e e n startled to find growing wild, as if a n unearthly f a c e h a d glared at him o u t of the thicket. S e v e r a l , a l s o , would have s h o c k e d a d e l i c a t e instinct by a n a p p e a r a n c e of artificialness, indicating that there h a d b e e n s u c h c o m mixture, a n d , a s it w e r e , adultery of various vegetable s p e c i e s , that the prod u c t i o n was no longer of G o d ' s m a k i n g , but the m o n s t r o u s offspring of m a n ' s depraved fancy, glowing with only a n evil mockery of beauty. T h e y were probably the result of experiment, w h i c h , in o n e or two c a s e s , h a d s u c c e e d e d in m i n g l i n g p l a n t s individually lovely into a c o m p o u n d p o s s e s s i n g the q u e s tionable a n d o m i n o u s c h a r a c t e r that d i s t i n g u i s h e d the w h o l e growth of the g a r d e n . In fine, G i o v a n n i recognized but two or three p l a n t s in the collection, a n d t h o s e of a kind that h e well knew to be p o i s o n o u s . W h i l e b u s y with t h e s e c o n t e m p l a t i o n s , he h e a r d the rustling of a silken g a r m e n t , a n d turning, b e h e l d Beatrice e m e r g i n g from b e n e a t h the s c u l p t u r e d portal. G i o v a n n i h a d not c o n s i d e r e d with h i m s e l f what s h o u l d b e his d e p o r t m e n t ; whether he s h o u l d apologize for his intrusion into the g a r d e n , or a s s u m e that he w a s there with the privity, at least, if not the desire of D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i or his d a u g h t e r . B u t Beatrice's m a n n e r p l a c e d him at his e a s e , t h o u g h leaving him still in d o u b t by what a g e n c y h e h a d g a i n e d a d m i t t a n c e . S h e c a m e lightly a l o n g the p a t h , a n d m e t him near the broken f o u n t a i n . T h e r e w a s s u r p r i s e in her f a c e , but b r i g h t e n e d by a s i m p l e a n d kind expression of p l e a s u r e . "You are a c o n n o i s s e u r in flowers, S i g n o r , " s a i d B e a t r i c e with a s m i l e ,

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a l l u d i n g to the b o u q u e t w h i c h h e h a d flung her from the window. "It is n o marvel, therefore, if the sight of my father's rare c o l l e c t i o n h a s t e m p t e d you to take a n e a r e r view. If h e were h e r e , h e c o u l d tell you m a n y s t r a n g e a n d interesting facts a s to the n a t u r e a n d habits of t h e s e s h r u b s , for h e h a s s p e n t a life-time in s u c h s t u d i e s , a n d this g a r d e n is his w o r l d . " " A n d yourself, l a d y " — o b s e r v e d G i o v a n n i — " i f f a m e says t r u e — y o u , likew i s e , are deeply skilled in the virtues i n d i c a t e d by t h e s e rich b l o s s o m s , a n d t h e s e spicy p e r f u m e s . W o u l d you deign to be my i n s t r u c t r e s s , I s h o u l d prove a n apter s c h o l a r than u n d e r S i g n o r R a p p a c c i n i h i m s e l f . " "Are there s u c h idle r u m o r s ? " a s k e d B e a t r i c e , with t h e m u s i c of a p l e a s a n t l a u g h . " D o p e o p l e say that I a m skilled in my father's s c i e n c e of p l a n t s ? W h a t a j e s t is there! N o ; t h o u g h I have grown u p a m o n g t h e s e flowers, I know n o m o r e of t h e m t h a n their h u e s a n d p e r f u m e ; a n d s o m e t i m e s , m e t h i n k s I w o u l d fain rid myself of even that s m a l l k n o w l e d g e . T h e r e are m a n y flowers h e r e , a n d t h o s e not the least brilliant, that s h o c k a n d offend m e , w h e n they m e e t my eye. B u t , pray, S i g n o r , do not believe t h e s e stories a b o u t my s c i e n c e . Believe n o t h i n g of m e save w h a t you s e e with your own e y e s . " "And m u s t I believe all that I have s e e n with my own e y e s ? " a s k e d G i o v a n n i pointedly, while the recollection of f o r m e r s c e n e s m a d e h i m shrink. " N o , S i g n o r a , you d e m a n d too little of m e . B i d m e believe n o t h i n g , save w h a t c o m e s from your own l i p s . " It w o u l d a p p e a r that B e a t r i c e u n d e r s t o o d h i m . T h e r e c a m e a d e e p flush to her c h e e k ; b u t s h e looked full into G i o v a n n i ' s e y e s , a n d r e s p o n d e d to his gaze of u n e a s y s u s p i c i o n with a q u e e n - l i k e h a u g h t i n e s s . "I do s o bid you, S i g n o r ! " s h e replied. " F o r g e t whatever you m a y have f a n c i e d in r e g a r d to m e . If true to the o u t w a r d s e n s e s , still it m a y b e false in its e s s e n c e . B u t the w o r d s of B e a t r i c e R a p p a c c i n i ' s lips a r e true from the heart o u t w a r d . T h o s e you m a y b e l i e v e ! " A fervor glowed in her w h o l e a s p e c t , a n d b e a m e d u p o n G i o v a n n i ' s cons c i o u s n e s s like the light of truth itself. B u t while s h e s p o k e , there w a s a f r a g r a n c e in the a t m o s p h e r e a r o u n d her, rich a n d delightful, t h o u g h evan e s c e n t , yet w h i c h the y o u n g m a n , from a n indefinable r e l u c t a n c e , scarcely d a r e d to draw into his l u n g s . It might b e the o d o r of the flowers. C o u l d it b e B e a t r i c e ' s b r e a t h , which t h u s e m b a l m e d her w o r d s with a s t r a n g e r i c h n e s s , a s if by s t e e p i n g t h e m in her heart? A f a i n t n e s s p a s s e d like a s h a d o w over G i o v a n n i , a n d flitted away; h e s e e m e d to gaze t h r o u g h the beautiful girl's eyes into her t r a n s p a r e n t s o u l , a n d felt no m o r e d o u b t or fear. T h e tinge of p a s s i o n that h a d c o l o r e d B e a t r i c e ' s m a n n e r v a n i s h e d ; s h e b e c a m e gay, a n d a p p e a r e d to derive a p u r e delight from her c o m m u n i o n with the y o u t h , not unlike w h a t the m a i d e n of a lonely i s l a n d m i g h t have felt, c o n v e r s i n g with a voyager from the civilized world. Evidently her e x p e r i e n c e of life h a d b e e n confined within the limits of that g a r d e n . S h e talked now a b o u t m a t t e r s a s s i m p l e a s the day-light or s u m m e r - c l o u d s , a n d now a s k e d q u e s t i o n s in r e f e r e n c e to the city, or Giovanni's d i s t a n t h o m e , his friends, his m o t h e r , a n d his s i s t e r s ; q u e s t i o n s i n d i c a t i n g s u c h s e c l u s i o n , a n d s u c h lack of familiarity with m o d e s a n d f o r m s , that G i o v a n n i r e s p o n d e d a s if to a n infant. H e r spirit g u s h e d out before him like a fresh rill, that w a s j u s t c a t c h i n g its first g l i m p s e of the sunlight, a n d w o n d e r i n g at the reflections of earth a n d sky which were flung into its b o s o m . T h e r e c a m e t h o u g h t s , too, from a d e e p s o u r c e , a n d f a n t a s i e s of a gem-like brilliancy, a s if d i a m o n d s

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a n d r u b i e s sparkled u p w a r d a m o n g the b u b b l e s of the f o u n t a i n . Ever a n d a n o n , there g l e a m e d a c r o s s the y o u n g m a n ' s m i n d a s e n s e of w o n d e r , that he s h o u l d be walking side by side with the being w h o h a d s o w r o u g h t u p o n his i m a g i n a t i o n — w h o m h e h a d idealized in s u c h h u e s of t e r r o r — i n w h o m h e h a d positively w i t n e s s e d s u c h m a n i f e s t a t i o n s of dreadful a t t r i b u t e s — t h a t he s h o u l d b e c o n v e r s i n g with B e a t r i c e like a brother, a n d s h o u l d find her s o h u m a n a n d so maiden-like. B u t s u c h reflections were only m o m e n t a r y ; the effect of her c h a r a c t e r w a s too real, not to m a k e itself familiar at o n c e . In this free i n t e r c o u r s e , they h a d strayed t h r o u g h the g a r d e n , a n d now, after m a n y turns a m o n g its a v e n u e s , were c o m e to the s h a t t e r e d f o u n t a i n , b e s i d e which grew the magnificent s h r u b with its treasury of glowing bloss o m s . A f r a g r a n c e w a s diffused from it, which G i o v a n n i recognized a s identical with that which h e h a d attributed to B e a t r i c e ' s b r e a t h , b u t i n c o m p a r a b l y m o r e powerful. As her eyes fell u p o n it, G i o v a n n i b e h e l d her p r e s s her h a n d to her b o s o m , a s if her heart were t h r o b b i n g s u d d e n l y a n d painfully. " F o r the first time in my life," m u r m u r e d s h e , a d d r e s s i n g the s h r u b , "I h a d forgotten t h e e ! " "I r e m e m b e r , S i g n o r a , " said G i o v a n n i , "that you o n c e p r o m i s e d to reward m e with o n e of t h e s e living g e m s for the b o u q u e t , w h i c h I h a d the h a p p y b o l d n e s s to fling to your feet. Permit m e now to p l u c k it a s a m e m o r i a l of this interview." H e m a d e a step towards the s h r u b , with e x t e n d e d h a n d . B u t B e a t r i c e d a r t e d forward, uttering a shriek that went t h r o u g h his heart like a d a g g e r . S h e c a u g h t his h a n d , a n d drew it b a c k with the w h o l e force of her s l e n d e r figure. G i o v a n n i felt her t o u c h thrilling t h r o u g h his fibres. " T o u c h it n o t ! " e x c l a i m e d s h e , in a voice of agony. " N o t for thy life! It is fatal!" T h e n , hiding her f a c e , s h e fled from him, a n d v a n i s h e d b e n e a t h the s c u l p t u r e d portal. A s G i o v a n n i followed her with his eyes, h e b e h e l d the e m a c i a t e d figure a n d pale intelligence of D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i , w h o h a d b e e n w a t c h i n g the s c e n e , he knew not how long, within the s h a d o w of the e n t r a n c e . N o s o o n e r w a s G u a s c o n t i a l o n e in his c h a m b e r , than the i m a g e of B e a t r i c e c a m e b a c k to his p a s s i o n a t e m u s i n g s , invested with all the witchery that h a d b e e n g a t h e r i n g a r o u n d it ever s i n c e his first g l i m p s e of her, a n d n o w likewise i m b u e d with a t e n d e r w a r m t h of girlish w o m a n h o o d . S h e w a s h u m a n : her n a t u r e w a s e n d o w e d with all g e n t l e a n d feminine q u a l i t i e s ; s h e w a s worthiest to b e w o r s h i p p e d ; s h e w a s c a p a b l e , surely, o n her part, of the height a n d h e r o i s m of love. T h o s e t o k e n s , which he h a d hitherto c o n s i d e r e d a s proofs of a frightful peculiarity in her physical a n d moral s y s t e m , were now either forgotten, or, by the s u b t l e sophistry of p a s s i o n , t r a n s m u t e d into a golden crown of e n c h a n t m e n t , r e n d e r i n g B e a t r i c e the m o r e a d m i r a b l e , by s o m u c h a s she w a s the m o r e u n i q u e . W h a t e v e r h a d looked ugly, w a s now beautiful; or, if i n c a p a b l e of s u c h a c h a n g e , it stole away a n d hid itself a m o n g t h o s e s h a p e l e s s half-ideas, which throng the d i m region beyond the day-light of our perfect c o n s c i o u s n e s s . T h u s did G i o v a n n i s p e n d the night, nor fell a s l e e p , until the d a w n h a d b e g u n to a w a k e the s l u m b e r i n g flowers in D o c t o r R a p p a c c i n i ' s g a r d e n , whither his d r e a m s d o u b t l e s s led h i m . U p r o s e the s u n in his d u e s e a s o n , a n d flinging his b e a m s u p o n the y o u n g m a n ' s eyelids, a w o k e him to a s e n s e of p a i n . W h e n thoroughly a r o u s e d , h e b e c a m e s e n s i b l e of a b u r n i n g a n d tingling agony in his h a n d — i n his right h a n d — t h e very

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h a n d which B e a t r i c e h a d g r a s p e d in her o w n , w h e n h e w a s on the point of p l u c k i n g o n e of the gem-like flowers. O n the b a c k of that h a n d there w a s n o w a p u r p l e print, like that of four s m a l l fingers, a n d the likeness of a slender t h u m b u p o n his wrist. O h , h o w stubbornly d o e s l o v e — o r even that c u n n i n g s e m b l a n c e of love which flourishes in the i m a g i n a t i o n , b u t strikes no d e p t h of root into the h e a r t — h o w s t u b b o r n l y d o e s it hold its faith, until the m o m e n t c o m e , w h e n it is d o o m e d to vanish into thin mist! G i o v a n n i wrapt a h a n d k e r c h i e f a b o u t his h a n d , a n d w o n d e r e d what evil t h i n g h a d s t u n g him, a n d s o o n forgot his p a i n in a reverie of B e a t r i c e . After the first interview, a s e c o n d w a s in the inevitable c o u r s e of what we call fate. A third; a fourth; a n d a m e e t i n g with B e a t r i c e in the g a r d e n w a s n o longer a n incident in G i o v a n n i ' s daily life, b u t the w h o l e s p a c e in w h i c h he might be s a i d to live; for the a n t i c i p a t i o n a n d m e m o r y of that e c s t a t i c hour m a d e u p the r e m a i n d e r . N o r w a s it otherwise with the d a u g h t e r of R a p p a c c i n i . S h e w a t c h e d for the youth's a p p e a r a n c e , a n d flew to his side with c o n f i d e n c e a s u n r e s e r v e d a s if they h a d b e e n p l a y m a t e s from early i n f a n c y — a s if they were s u c h p l a y m a t e s still. If, by any u n w o n t e d c h a n c e , h e failed to c o m e at the a p p o i n t e d m o m e n t , s h e s t o o d b e n e a t h the window, a n d sent u p the rich s w e e t n e s s of her t o n e s to float a r o u n d h i m in his c h a m ber, a n d e c h o a n d reverberate t h r o u g h o u t his h e a r t — " G i o v a n n i ! G i o v a n n i ! W h y tarriest t h o u ? C o m e d o w n ! " — A n d d o w n h e h a s t e n e d into that E d e n of p o i s o n o u s flowers. B u t , with all this i n t i m a t e familiarity, there w a s still a reserve in B e a t r i c e ' s d e m e a n o r , s o rigidly a n d invariably s u s t a i n e d , that the idea of infringing it scarcely o c c u r r e d to his i m a g i n a t i o n . By all a p p r e c i a b l e s i g n s , they loved; they h a d looked love, with eyes that conveyed the holy secret from the d e p t h s of o n e soul into the d e p t h s of the other, a s if it were too s a c r e d to be whisp e r e d by the way; they h a d even s p o k e n love, in t h o s e g u s h e s of p a s s i o n w h e n their spirits d a r t e d forth in a r t i c u l a t e d b r e a t h , like t o n g u e s of longhidden f l a m e ; a n d yet there h a d b e e n no seal of lips, no c l a s p of h a n d s , nor any slightest c a r e s s , s u c h a s love c l a i m s a n d hallows. H e h a d never t o u c h e d o n e of the g l e a m i n g ringlets of her hair; her g a r m e n t — s o m a r k e d w a s the physical barrier b e t w e e n t h e m — h a d never b e e n waved a g a i n s t him by a b r e e z e . O n the few o c c a s i o n s w h e n G i o v a n n i h a d s e e m e d t e m p t e d to overstep the limit, B e a t r i c e grew s o s a d , s o s t e r n , a n d withal w o r e s u c h a look of d e s o l a t e s e p a r a t i o n , s h u d d e r i n g at itself, that not a s p o k e n w o r d w a s requisite to repel him. At s u c h t i m e s , h e w a s startled at the horrible s u s p i c i o n s that r o s e , monster-like, out of the c a v e r n s of his heart, a n d stared him in the f a c e ; his love grew thin a n d faint as the m o r n i n g - m i s t ; his d o u b t s a l o n e h a d s u b s t a n c e . B u t w h e n B e a t r i c e ' s f a c e b r i g h t e n e d a g a i n , after the m o m e n t a r y s h a d o w , s h e w a s t r a n s f o r m e d at o n c e from the m y s t e r i o u s , q u e s t i o n a b l e being, w h o m h e h a d w a t c h e d with s o m u c h a w e a n d horror; s h e w a s now the beautiful a n d u n s o p h i s t i c a t e d girl, w h o m h e felt that his spirit k n e w with a certainty b e y o n d all other k n o w l e d g e . A c o n s i d e r a b l e time h a d now p a s s e d s i n c e G i o v a n n i ' s last m e e t i n g with Baglioni. O n e m o r n i n g , however, h e w a s d i s a g r e e a b l y s u r p r i s e d by a visit from the P r o f e s s o r , w h o m he h a d scarcely t h o u g h t of for w h o l e w e e k s , a n d w o u l d willingly have forgotten still longer. G i v e n u p , as he h a d long b e e n , to a p e r v a d i n g e x c i t e m e n t , he c o u l d tolerate no c o m p a n i o n s , e x c e p t u p o n con-

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dition of their perfect s y m p a t h y with his p r e s e n t s t a t e of feeling. S u c h sympathy w a s not to b e e x p e c t e d from P r o f e s s o r B a g l i o n i . T h e visitor c h a t t e d carelessly, for a few m o m e n t s , a b o u t the g o s s i p of the city a n d the University, a n d then took u p a n o t h e r topic. "I have b e e n r e a d i n g a n old classic a u t h o r lately," said h e , " a n d m e t with a story 2 that strangely interested m e . Possibly you m a y r e m e m b e r it. It is of a n Indian p r i n c e , w h o s e n t a beautiful w o m a n a s a p r e s e n t to A l e x a n d e r the G r e a t . S h e w a s as lovely a s the d a w n , a n d g o r g e o u s a s the s u n s e t ; b u t w h a t especially d i s t i n g u i s h e d her w a s a certain rich p e r f u m e in her b r e a t h — r i c h e r than a g a r d e n of P e r s i a n r o s e s . Alexander, a s w a s natural to a youthful c o n queror, fell in love at first sight with this magnificent stranger. B u t a certain s a g e p h y s i c i a n , h a p p e n i n g to b e p r e s e n t , d i s c o v e r e d a terrible secret in regard to h e r . " "And what w a s t h a t ? " a s k e d G i o v a n n i , turning his eyes d o w n w a r d to avoid t h o s e of the Professor. " T h a t this lovely w o m a n , " c o n t i n u e d B a g l i o n i , with e m p h a s i s , " h a d b e e n n o u r i s h e d with p o i s o n s from her birth u p w a r d , until her w h o l e n a t u r e w a s s o i m b u e d with t h e m , that s h e herself h a d b e c o m e the d e a d l i e s t p o i s o n in e x i s t e n c e . P o i s o n w a s her e l e m e n t of life. With that rich p e r f u m e of her b r e a t h , she b l a s t e d the very air. H e r love w o u l d have b e e n p o i s o n ! — h e r e m b r a c e d e a t h ! Is not this a marvellous t a l e ? " " A childish f a b l e , " a n s w e r e d G i o v a n n i , nervously starting from his chair. "I marvel how your worship finds time to r e a d s u c h n o n s e n s e , a m o n g your graver s t u d i e s . " " B y the by," said the Professor, looking u n e a s i l y a b o u t h i m , "what singular f r a g r a n c e is this in your a p a r t m e n t ? Is it the p e r f u m e of your gloves? It is faint, but d e l i c i o u s , a n d yet, after all, by n o m e a n s a g r e e a b l e . W e r e I to b r e a t h e it long, m e t h i n k s it would m a k e m e ill. It is like the b r e a t h of a f l o w e r — b u t I s e e no flowers in the c h a m b e r . " " N o r are there a n y , " replied G i o v a n n i , w h o h a d t u r n e d p a l e a s the Professor s p o k e ; "nor, I think, is there any f r a g r a n c e , except in your worship's i m a g i n a t i o n . O d o r s , b e i n g a sort of e l e m e n t c o m b i n e d of the s e n s u a l a n d the spiritual, are apt to deceive u s in this m a n n e r . T h e recollection of a perf u m e — t h e b a r e idea of i t — m a y easily be m i s t a k e n for a p r e s e n t reality." "Aye; but my s o b e r i m a g i n a t i o n d o e s not often play s u c h tricks," said B a g lioni; " a n d were I to fancy any kind of odor, it would b e that of s o m e vile a p o t h e c a r y d r u g , wherewith my fingers a r e likely e n o u g h to b e i m b u e d . O u r worshipful friend R a p p a c c i n i , a s I have h e a r d , tinctures his m e d i c a m e n t s with odors richer than t h o s e of Araby. D o u b t l e s s , likewise, the fair a n d learned S i g n o r a B e a t r i c e would minister to her p a t i e n t s with d r a u g h t s a s sweet as a m a i d e n ' s b r e a t h . B u t wo to him that sips t h e m ! " Giovanni's f a c e evinced m a n y c o n t e n d i n g e m o t i o n s . T h e t o n e in which the P r o f e s s o r a l l u d e d to the p u r e a n d lovely d a u g h t e r of R a p p a c c i n i w a s a torture to his soul; a n d yet, the intimation of a view of her c h a r a c t e r , o p p o s i t e to his own, gave i n s t a n t a n e o u s d i s t i n c t n e s s to a t h o u s a n d d i m s u s p i c i o n s , which now g r i n n e d at him like so m a n y d e m o n s . B u t he strove hard to quell t h e m , a n d to r e s p o n d to Baglioni with a true lover's perfect faith. " S i g n o r P r o f e s s o r , " s a i d h e , "you were my father's f r i e n d — p e r c h a n c e , too, 2.

I n S i r T h o m a s B r o w n e ' s Vulgar

Errors

( 1 6 4 6 ) or e l s e w h e r e .

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it is your p u r p o s e to act a friendly part towards his s o n . I w o u l d fain feel n o t h i n g towards you, save r e s p e c t a n d d e f e r e n c e . B u t I pray you to o b s e r v e , Signor, that there is o n e s u b j e c t on w h i c h we m u s t not s p e a k . You know not the S i g n o r a B e a t r i c e . You c a n n o t , therefore, e s t i m a t e the w r o n g — t h e b l a s p h e m y , I may even s a y — t h a t is offered to her c h a r a c t e r by a light or injurious word." " G i o v a n n i ! — m y p o o r G i o v a n n i ! " a n s w e r e d the P r o f e s s o r , with a c a l m expression of pity, "I know this w r e t c h e d girl far better than yourself. You shall hear the truth in r e s p e c t to the p o i s o n e r R a p p a c c i n i , a n d his p o i s o n o u s d a u g h t e r . Yes; p o i s o n o u s a s she is beautiful! L i s t e n ; for even s h o u l d you d o violence to my grey hairs, it shall not s i l e n c e m e . T h a t old fable of the I n d i a n w o m a n has b e c o m e a truth, by the d e e p a n d deadly s c i e n c e of R a p p a c c i n i , a n d in the p e r s o n of the lovely B e a t r i c e ! " Giovanni g r o a n e d a n d hid his f a c e . " H e r father," c o n t i n u e d B a g l i o n i , " w a s not r e s t r a i n e d by n a t u r a l affection from offering u p his child, in this horrible m a n n e r , a s the victim of his i n s a n e zeal for s c i e n c e . F o r — l e t u s d o him j u s t i c e — h e is a s true a m a n of s c i e n c e a s ever distilled his own heart in a n a l e m b i c . W h a t , t h e n , will b e your fate? B e y o n d a d o u b t , you are s e l e c t e d a s the m a t e r i a l of s o m e n e w e x p e r i m e n t . P e r h a p s the result is to be d e a t h — p e r h a p s a fate m o r e awful still! R a p p a c cini, with w h a t h e calls the interest of s c i e n c e b e f o r e his eyes, will h e s i t a t e at n o t h i n g . " "It is a d r e a m ! " m u t t e r e d G i o v a n n i to himself, "surely it is a d r e a m ! " " B u t , " r e s u m e d the p r o f e s s o r , " b e of g o o d cheer, son of my friend! It is not yet too late for the r e s c u e . Possibly, w e m a y even s u c c e e d in bringing b a c k this m i s e r a b l e child within the limits of ordinary n a t u r e , from which her father's m a d n e s s h a s e s t r a n g e d her. B e h o l d this little silver v a s e ! It w a s w r o u g h t by the h a n d s of the r e n o w n e d B e n v e n u t o C e l l i n i , 3 a n d is well worthy to b e a love-gift to the fairest d a m e in Italy. B u t its c o n t e n t s a r e invaluable. O n e little sip of this a n t i d o t e w o u l d have r e n d e r e d the m o s t virulent p o i s o n s of the B o r g i a s 4 i n n o c u o u s . D o u b t not that it will b e a s efficacious a g a i n s t t h o s e of R a p p a c c i n i . B e s t o w the v a s e , a n d the p r e c i o u s liquid within it, o n your B e a t r i c e , a n d hopefully await the r e s u l t . " Baglioni laid a small, exquisitely w r o u g h t silver phial o n the t a b l e , a n d withdrew, leaving what h e h a d said to p r o d u c e its effect u p o n the y o u n g man's mind. " W e will thwart R a p p a c c i n i yet!" t h o u g h t h e , c h u c k l i n g to himself, a s h e d e s c e n d e d the stairs. " B u t , let u s c o n f e s s the truth of him, h e is a wonderful m a n ! — a wonderful m a n indeed! A vile e m p i r i c , however, in his p r a c t i c e , a n d therefore not to b e tolerated by t h o s e w h o r e s p e c t the g o o d old r u l e s of the medical profession!" T h r o u g h o u t Giovanni's w h o l e a c q u a i n t a n c e with B e a t r i c e , he h a d o c c a sionally, a s we have said, b e e n h a u n t e d by dark s u r m i s e s a s to her c h a r a c t e r . Yet, so thoroughly h a d s h e m a d e herself felt by him a s a s i m p l e , n a t u r a l , m o s t affectionate a n d guileless c r e a t u r e , that the i m a g e n o w held u p by P r o f e s s o r B a g l i o n i , looked a s s t r a n g e a n d i n c r e d i b l e , a s if it w e r e not in a c c o r d a n c e with his own original c o n c e p t i o n . T r u e , t h e r e were ugly recol3. 4.

Italian goldsmith and sculptor ( 1 5 0 0 - 1 5 7 1 ) . R e n a i s s a n c e I t a l i a n f a m i l y i n f l u e n t i a l in c h u r c h

and government, licentiousness.

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lections c o n n e c t e d with his first g l i m p s e s of the beautiful girl; h e c o u l d not quite forget the b o u q u e t that withered in her g r a s p , a n d the i n s e c t that p e r i s h e d a m i d the s u n n y air, by no o s t e n s i b l e a g e n c y , save the f r a g r a n c e of her b r e a t h . T h e s e i n c i d e n t s , however, dissolving in the p u r e light of her c h a r a c t e r , h a d no longer the efficacy of f a c t s , but were a c k n o w l e d g e d a s m i s t a k e n f a n t a s i e s , by whatever testimony of the s e n s e s they might a p p e a r to b e s u b s t a n t i a t e d . T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g truer a n d m o r e real, t h a n what we c a n s e e with the eyes, a n d t o u c h with the finger. O n s u c h better e v i d e n c e , h a d G i o v a n n i f o u n d e d his c o n f i d e n c e in B e a t r i c e , t h o u g h rather by the n e c essary force of her high attributes, than by any d e e p a n d g e n e r o u s faith, on his part. B u t , now, his spirit w a s i n c a p a b l e of s u s t a i n i n g itself at the height to which the early e n t h u s i a s m of p a s s i o n h a d exalted it; he fell d o w n , grovelling a m o n g earthly d o u b t s , a n d defiled therewith the p u r e w h i t e n e s s of Beatrice's i m a g e . N o t that he gave her u p ; he did b u t distrust. H e resolved to institute s o m e decisive test that s h o u l d satisfy h i m , o n c e for all, w h e t h e r there were t h o s e dreadful peculiarities in her physical n a t u r e , which c o u l d not be s u p p o s e d to exist without s o m e c o r r e s p o n d i n g monstrosity of s o u l . His eyes, gazing d o w n afar, might have d e c e i v e d him a s to the lizard, the insect, a n d the flowers. B u t if h e c o u l d w i t n e s s , at the d i s t a n c e of a few p a c e s , the s u d d e n blight of o n e fresh a n d healthful flower in B e a t r i c e ' s h a n d , there would be r o o m for no further q u e s t i o n . With this idea, h e h a s t e n e d to the florist's, a n d p u r c h a s e d a b o u q u e t that w a s still g e m m e d with the m o r n ing dew-drops. It w a s now the c u s t o m a r y h o u r of his daily interview with B e a t r i c e . B e f o r e d e s c e n d i n g into the g a r d e n , G i o v a n n i failed not to look at his figure in the mirror; a vanity to b e e x p e c t e d in a beautiful y o u n g m a n , yet, a s displaying itself at that troubled a n d feverish m o m e n t , the token of a certain shallown e s s of feeling a n d insincerity of c h a r a c t e r . H e did g a z e , however, a n d said to himself, that his f e a t u r e s h a d never before p o s s e s s e d so rich a g r a c e , nor his eyes s u c h vivacity, nor his c h e e k s s o w a r m a h u e of s u p e r a b u n d a n t life. "At l e a s t , " t h o u g h t h e , " h e r p o i s o n h a s not yet i n s i n u a t e d itself into my s y s t e m . I a m n o flower to p e r i s h in her g r a s p ! " With that t h o u g h t , h e t u r n e d his eyes on the b o u q u e t , which h e h a d never o n c e laid a s i d e from his h a n d . A thrill of indefinable horror shot t h r o u g h his f r a m e , on perceiving that t h o s e dewy flowers were already b e g i n n i n g to d r o o p ; they wore the a s p e c t of things that h a d b e e n fresh a n d lovely, yesterday. G i o v a n n i grew white a s m a r b l e , a n d s t o o d m o t i o n l e s s b e f o r e the mirror, staring at his own reflection there, a s at the likeness of s o m e t h i n g frightful. H e r e m e m b e r e d Baglioni's r e m a r k a b o u t the f r a g r a n c e that s e e m e d to pervade the c h a m b e r . It m u s t have b e e n the p o i s o n in his b r e a t h ! T h e n he s h u d d e r e d — s h u d d e r e d at himself! R e c o v e r i n g from his s t u p o r , he b e g a n to w a t c h , with c u r i o u s eye, a s p i d e r that w a s busily at work, h a n g i n g its w e b from the a n t i q u e c o r n i c e of the a p a r t m e n t , c r o s s i n g a n d re-crossing the artful system of interwoven lines, a s vigorous a n d active a s p i d e r a s ever d a n g l e d from an old ceiling. G i o v a n n i b e n t towards the insect, a n d e m i t t e d a d e e p , long b r e a t h . T h e s p i d e r s u d d e n l y c e a s e d its toil; the w e b vibrated with a tremor originating in the body of the small artizan. A g a i n G i o v a n n i sent forth a breath, d e e p e r , longer, a n d i m b u e d with a v e n o m o u s feeling out of his heart; he knew not w h e t h e r h e were wicked or only d e s p e r a t e . T h e spider m a d e a convulsive gripe with his limbs, a n d h u n g d e a d a c r o s s the window.

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" A c c u r s e d ! A c c u r s e d ! " m u t t e r e d G i o v a n n i , a d d r e s s i n g himself. " H a s t t h o u grown so p o i s o n o u s , that this deadly i n s e c t p e r i s h e s by the b r e a t h ? " At that m o m e n t , a rich, sweet voice c a m e floating u p from the g a r d e n : — " G i o v a n n i ! G i o v a n n i ! It is p a s t the hour! W h y tarriest t h o u ! C o m e d o w n ! " " Y e s , " m u t t e r e d G i o v a n n i a g a i n . " S h e is the only b e i n g w h o m my b r e a t h m a y not slay! W o u l d that it m i g h t ! " H e r u s h e d d o w n , a n d in an i n s t a n t , w a s s t a n d i n g before the bright a n d loving eyes of B e a t r i c e . A m o m e n t a g o , his wrath a n d d e s p a i r h a d b e e n s o fierce that h e c o u l d have d e s i r e d n o t h i n g s o m u c h a s to wither her by a g l a n c e . B u t , with her a c t u a l p r e s e n c e , t h e r e c a m e i n f l u e n c e s which h a d too real a n e x i s t e n c e to be at o n c e s h a k e n off; recollections of the delicate a n d b e n i g n p o w e r of her f e m i n i n e n a t u r e , which h a d so often e n v e l o p e d him in a religious c a l m ; recollections of m a n y a holy a n d p a s s i o n a t e o u t g u s h of her heart, w h e n the p u r e fountain h a d b e e n u n s e a l e d from its d e p t h s , a n d m a d e visible in its t r a n s p a r e n c y to his m e n t a l eye; recollections w h i c h , had G i o vanni known how to e s t i m a t e t h e m , w o u l d have a s s u r e d him that all this ugly mystery w a s but a n earthly illusion, a n d that, whatever m i s t of evil might s e e m to have g a t h e r e d over her, the real B e a t r i c e w a s a heavenly angel. I n c a p a b l e a s h e w a s of s u c h high faith, still her p r e s e n c e h a d not utterly lost its m a g i c . Giovanni's rage w a s q u e l l e d into a n a s p e c t of sullen insensibility. B e a t r i c e , with a q u i c k spiritual s e n s e , i m m e d i a t e l y felt that t h e r e w a s a gulf of b l a c k n e s s b e t w e e n t h e m , which neither he nor s h e c o u l d p a s s . T h e y walked o n together, s a d a n d silent, a n d c a m e t h u s to the m a r b l e f o u n t a i n , a n d to its pool of water on the g r o u n d , in the m i d s t of w h i c h grew the s h r u b that b o r e gem-like b l o s s o m s . G i o v a n n i w a s affrighted at the e a g e r enjoym e n t — t h e a p p e t i t e , a s it w e r e — w i t h w h i c h h e f o u n d h i m s e l f inhaling the f r a g r a n c e of the flowers. " B e a t r i c e , " a s k e d he abruptly, " w h e n c e c a m e this s h r u b ? " " M y father c r e a t e d it," a n s w e r e d s h e , with simplicity. " C r e a t e d it! c r e a t e d it!" r e p e a t e d G i o v a n n i . " W h a t m e a n y o u , B e a t r i c e ? " " H e is a m a n fearfully a c q u a i n t e d with the s e c r e t s of n a t u r e , " replied Beatrice; " a n d , at the h o u r w h e n I first drew b r e a t h , this p l a n t s p r a n g from the soil, the offspring of his s c i e n c e , of his intellect, while I w a s b u t his earthly child. " A p p r o a c h it n o t ! " c o n t i n u e d s h e , o b s e r v i n g with terror that G i o v a n n i w a s d r a w i n g nearer to the s h r u b . "It h a s qualities that you little d r e a m of. B u t I, d e a r e s t G i o v a n n i , — I grew u p a n d b l o s s o m e d with the p l a n t , a n d w a s n o u r i s h e d with its b r e a t h . It w a s my sister, a n d I loved it with a h u m a n affection: f o r — a l a s ! h a s t thou not s u s p e c t e d it? there w a s a n awful d o o m . " H e r e G i o v a n n i frowned so darkly u p o n her that B e a t r i c e p a u s e d a n d trembled. B u t her faith in his t e n d e r n e s s r e - a s s u r e d her, a n d m a d e her b l u s h that s h e h a d d o u b t e d for a n instant. " T h e r e w a s a n awful d o o m , " s h e c o n t i n u e d , — " t h e effect of my father's fatal love of s c i e n c e — w h i c h e s t r a n g e d m e from all society of any kind. Until H e a v e n s e n t t h e e , d e a r e s t G i o v a n n i , O h ! how lonely w a s thy p o o r B e a t r i c e ! " " W a s it a hard d o o m ? " a s k e d G i o v a n n i , fixing his eyes u p o n her. " O n l y of late have I k n o w n h o w hard it w a s , " a n s w e r e d s h e tenderly. " O h , yes; but my heart w a s torpid, a n d therefore q u i e t . " G i o v a n n i ' s r a g e broke forth from his sullen g l o o m like a lightning-flash out of a d a r k c l o u d . " A c c u r s e d o n e ! " cried h e , with v e n o m o u s s c o r n a n d anger. " A n d finding

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thy solitude w e a r i s o m e , t h o u h a s t severed m e , likewise, from all the w a r m t h of life, a n d e n t i c e d m e into thy region of u n s p e a k a b l e horror!" " G i o v a n n i ! " e x c l a i m e d B e a t r i c e , turning her large bright eyes u p o n his f a c e . T h e force of his words h a d not f o u n d its way into her m i n d ; s h e w a s merely wonder-struck. "Yes, p o i s o n o u s thing!" r e p e a t e d G i o v a n n i , b e s i d e h i m s e l f with p a s s i o n . " T h o u h a s t d o n e it! T h o u h a s t b l a s t e d m e ! T h o u hast filled my veins with p o i s o n ! T h o u h a s t m a d e m e a s hateful, a s ugly, a s l o a t h s o m e a n d deadly a c r e a t u r e a s t h y s e l f , — a world's w o n d e r of h i d e o u s monstrosity! N o w — i f our b r e a t h be happily a s fatal to ourselves a s to all o t h e r s — l e t u s j o i n our lips in o n e kiss of u n u t t e r a b l e h a t r e d , a n d s o d i e ! " " W h a t has befallen m e ? " m u r m u r e d B e a t r i c e , with a low m o a n o u t of her heart. " H o l y Virgin pity m e , a p o o r heart-broken c h i l d ! " " T h o u ! D o s t t h o u p r a y ? " cried G i o v a n n i , still with the s a m e fiendish s c o r n . "Thy very prayers, a s they c o m e from thy lips, taint the a t m o s p h e r e with d e a t h . Y e s , yes; let u s pray! L e t u s to c h u r c h , a n d dip our fingers in the holy water at the portal! T h e y that c o m e after u s will p e r i s h a s by a p e s t i l e n c e . L e t u s sign c r o s s e s in the air! It will be s c a t t e r i n g c u r s e s a b r o a d in the liken e s s of holy s y m b o l s ! " " G i o v a n n i , " said B e a t r i c e calmly, for her grief w a s b e y o n d p a s s i o n , "why dost thou j o i n thyself with m e t h u s in t h o s e terrible w o r d s ? I, it is t r u e , a m the horrible thing t h o u n a m e s t m e . B u t t h o u ! — w h a t h a s t thou to d o , save with o n e other s h u d d e r at my h i d e o u s misery, to go forth o u t of the g a r d e n a n d m i n g l e with thy r a c e , a n d forget that there ever crawled on earth s u c h a monster as poor Beatrice?" " D o s t thou p r e t e n d i g n o r a n c e ? " a s k e d G i o v a n n i , s c o w l i n g u p o n her. " B e h o l d ! T h i s p o w e r have I g a i n e d from the p u r e d a u g h t e r of R a p p a c c i n i ! " T h e r e w a s a s w a r m of s u m m e r - i n s e c t s flitting t h r o u g h the air, in s e a r c h of the food p r o m i s e d by the flower-odors of the fatal g a r d e n . T h e y circled r o u n d Giovanni's h e a d , a n d were evidently a t t r a c t e d t o w a r d s him by the s a m e influence which h a d d r a w n t h e m , for an instant, within the s p h e r e of several of the s h r u b s . H e sent forth a b r e a t h a m o n g t h e m , a n d s m i l e d bitterly at B e a t r i c e , a s at least a s c o r e of the i n s e c t s fell d e a d u p o n the g r o u n d . "I s e e it! I s e e it!" shrieked B e a t r i c e . "It is my father's fatal s c i e n c e ! N o , n o , G i o v a n n i ; it w a s not I! Never, never! I d r e a m e d only to love t h e e , a n d b e with t h e e a little t i m e , a n d so to let thee p a s s away, leaving but thine i m a g e in m i n e heart. For, G i o v a n n i — b e l i e v e i t — t h o u g h my body be n o u r i s h e d with p o i s o n , my spirit is G o d ' s c r e a t u r e , a n d c r a v e s love a s its daily food. B u t my f a t h e r ! — h e has u n i t e d us in this fearful sympathy. Y e s ; s p u r n m e ! — t r e a d u p o n m e ! — k i l l m e ! O h , w h a t is d e a t h , after s u c h w o r d s a s thine? B u t it w a s not I! N o t for a world of bliss w o u l d I have d o n e it!" Giovanni's p a s s i o n h a d e x h a u s t e d itself in its o u t b u r s t from his lips. T h e r e now c a m e a c r o s s a s e n s e , m o u r n f u l , a n d not without t e n d e r n e s s , of the intimate a n d p e c u l i a r relationship b e t w e e n B e a t r i c e a n d himself. T h e y s t o o d , a s it w e r e , in a n utter s o l i t u d e , which would be m a d e n o n e the less solitary by the d e n s e s t throng of h u m a n life. O u g h t not, t h e n , the d e s e r t of h u m a n i t y a r o u n d t h e m to p r e s s this i n s u l a t e d pair c l o s e together? If they s h o u l d b e cruel to o n e another, who was there to b e kind to t h e m ? B e s i d e s , thought G i o v a n n i , might there not still b e a h o p e of his r e t u r n i n g within the limits of ordinary n a t u r e , a n d leading B e a t r i c e — t h e r e d e e m e d B e a t r i c e — b y the

666

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HAWTHORNE

h a n d ? O h , weak, a n d selfish, a n d unworthy spirit, that c o u l d d r e a m of a n earthly union a n d earthly h a p p i n e s s a s p o s s i b l e , after s u c h d e e p love h a d b e e n s o bitterly w r o n g e d as w a s B e a t r i c e ' s love by G i o v a n n i ' s blighting words! N o , n o ; there c o u l d b e no s u c h h o p e . S h e m u s t p a s s heavily, with that b r o k e n heart, a c r o s s the b o r d e r s — s h e m u s t b a t h e her h u r t s in s o m e fount of Para d i s e , a n d forget her grief in the light of i m m o r t a l i t y — a n d there be well! B u t G i o v a n n i did not know it. " D e a r B e a t r i c e , " s a i d h e , a p p r o a c h i n g her, while s h e s h r a n k away, a s always at his a p p r o a c h , but n o w with a different i m p u l s e — " d e a r e s t B e a t r i c e , our fate is not yet s o d e s p e r a t e . B e h o l d ! T h e r e is a m e d i c i n e , potent, a s a wise physician h a s a s s u r e d m e , a n d a l m o s t divine in its efficacy. It is c o m p o s e d of ingredients the m o s t o p p o s i t e to t h o s e by which thy awful father h a s b r o u g h t this calamity u p o n t h e e a n d m e . It is distilled of b l e s s e d h e r b s . Shall we not q u a f f it together, a n d t h u s b e purified from evil?" " G i v e it m e ! " said B e a t r i c e , extending her h a n d to receive the little silver phial which G i o v a n n i took from his b o s o m . S h e a d d e d , with a p e c u l i a r e m p h a s i s ; "I will d r i n k — b u t do t h o u await the r e s u l t . " S h e p u t Baglioni's a n t i d o t e to her lips; a n d , at the s a m e m o m e n t , the figure of R a p p a c c i n i e m e r g e d from the portal, a n d c a m e slowly towards the m a r b l e fountain. As he drew near, the p a l e m a n of s c i e n c e s e e m e d to gaze with a t r i u m p h a n t e x p r e s s i o n at the beautiful youth a n d m a i d e n , a s might a n artist w h o s h o u l d s p e n d his life in a c h i e v i n g a p i c t u r e or a g r o u p of statuary, a n d finally be satisfied with his s u c c e s s . H e p a u s e d — h i s b e n t form grew erect with c o n s c i o u s power, h e s p r e a d o u t his h a n d over t h e m , in the attitude of a father imploring a b l e s s i n g u p o n his children. B u t t h o s e w e r e the s a m e h a n d s that h a d thrown p o i s o n into the s t r e a m of their lives! G i o v a n n i trembled. B e a t r i c e s h u d d e r e d nervously, a n d p r e s s e d her h a n d u p o n her heart. " M y d a u g h t e r , " said R a p p a c c i n i , " t h o u art n o longer lonely in the world! P l u c k o n e of t h o s e p r e c i o u s g e m s from thy sister s h r u b , a n d bid thy brideg r o o m wear it in his b o s o m . It will not h a r m him now! M y s c i e n c e , a n d the sympathy b e t w e e n thee a n d him, have s o w r o u g h t within his s y s t e m , that he now s t a n d s a p a r t from c o m m o n m e n , a s thou d o s t , d a u g h t e r of my pride a n d t r i u m p h , from ordinary w o m e n . P a s s o n , t h e n , t h r o u g h the world, m o s t dear to o n e a n o t h e r , a n d dreadful to all b e s i d e s ! " " M y father," said B e a t r i c e , f e e b l y — a n d still, a s s h e s p o k e , s h e kept her h a n d u p o n her h e a r t — " w h e r e f o r e didst t h o u inflict this m i s e r a b l e d o o m u p o n thy c h i l d ? " " M i s e r a b l e ! " e x c l a i m e d R a p p a c c i n i . " W h a t m e a n you, foolish girl? D o s t thou d e e m it misery to b e e n d o w e d with m a r v e l l o u s gifts, a g a i n s t w h i c h n o p o w e r nor strength c o u l d avail a n e n e m y ? Misery, to b e a b l e to quell the mightiest with a b r e a t h ? M i s e r y , to b e a s terrible a s t h o u art b e a u t i f u l ? W o u l d s t t h o u , t h e n , have preferred the c o n d i t i o n of a w e a k w o m a n , e x p o s e d to all evil, a n d c a p a b l e of n o n e ? " "I w o u l d fain have b e e n loved, not f e a r e d , " m u r m u r e d B e a t r i c e , sinking d o w n u p o n the g r o u n d . — " B u t n o w it m a t t e r s not; I a m g o i n g , father, w h e r e the evil, which t h o u h a s t striven to m i n g l e with my b e i n g , will p a s s a w a y like a d r e a m — l i k e the f r a g r a n c e of t h e s e p o i s o n o u s flowers, w h i c h will n o l o n g e r taint my b r e a t h a m o n g the flowers of E d e n . Farewell, G i o v a n n i ! T h y w o r d s of hatred a r e like lead within my h e a r t — b u t they, too, will fall a w a y a s I a s c e n d . O h , w a s there not, from the first, m o r e p o i s o n in thy n a t u r e than in mine?"

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

/

667

T o B e a t r i c e — s o radically h a d h e r earthly p a r t b e e n w r o u g h t u p o n by R a p p a c c i n i ' s s k i l l — a s p o i s o n h a d b e e n life, s o t h e powerful a n t i d o t e w a s d e a t h . A n d t h u s t h e p o o r victim o f m a n ' s i n g e n u i t y a n d of t h w a r t e d n a t u r e , a n d of the fatality t h a t a t t e n d s all s u c h efforts of p e r v e r t e d w i s d o m , p e r i s h e d t h e r e , at t h e feet o f h e r f a t h e r a n d G i o v a n n i . J u s t at t h a t m o m e n t , P r o f e s s o r P i e t r o B a g l i o n i l o o k e d forth f r o m the w i n d o w , a n d c a l l e d loudly, in a t o n e o f triu m p h m i x e d with horror, to t h e t h u n d e r - s t r i c k e n m a n o f s c i e n c e : " R a p p a c c i n i ! R a p p a c c i n i ! A n d is this t h e u p s h o t of y o u r e x p e r i m e n t ? " 1844

H E N R Y

W A D S W O R T H

L O N G F E L L O W

1 8 0 7 - 1 8 8 2

H e n r y W a d s w o r t h L o n g f e l l o w w a s b o r n in P o r t l a n d , M a i n e ( t h e n still a p a r t o f M a s s a c h u s e t t s ) , on F e b r u a r y 2 7 , 1 8 0 7 , a n d d i e d o n M a r c h 2 4 , 1 8 8 2 , in C a m b r i d g e , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , t h e m o s t b e l o v e d A m e r i c a n p o e t o f h i s t i m e . H i s f a t h e r s e n t h i m to B o w d o i n , t h i n k i n g that h e w o u l d b e c o m e a lawyer. I n s t e a d , L o n g f e l l o w b e c a m e s o proficient a s t u d e n t o f l a n g u a g e s that B o w d o i n c r e a t e d for h i m a p r o f e s s o r s h i p o f m o d e r n l a n g u a g e s , t h e n o n e o f only a h a n d f u l in t h e c o u n t r y . W i t h s u p p o r t f r o m his father, L o n g f e l l o w s t u d i e d l a n g u a g e s in E u r o p e for t h r e e y e a r s b e f o r e t a k i n g u p his w o r k at B o w d o i n in 1 8 2 9 . In S p a i n , W a s h i n g t o n Irving w a s h o s p i t a b l e , a n d L o n g f e l low's p r o s e r o m a n c e Oatre-Mer ( 1 8 3 3 — 3 5 ) w a s in loving i m i t a t i o n o f The Sketch Book. H a v i n g c o n c e n t r a t e d o n t h e R o m a n c e l a n g u a g e s d u r i n g his first E u r o p e a n stay, L o n g f e l l o w r e t u r n e d to p e r f e c t h i m s e l f in G e r m a n i c l a n g u a g e s , a c o n d i t i o n for his b e c o m i n g a p r o f e s s o r a t H a r v a r d late in 1 8 3 6 . H e t o o k t e a c h i n g s e r i o u s l y , a l t h o u g h in t h e early y e a r s h e s p e n t m o s t o f his t i m e instilling t h e r u d i m e n t s o f foreign lang u a g e s (for w h i c h h e w r o t e a n d p u b l i s h e d his o w n t e x t b o o k s ) w i t h o u t b e i n g a b l e t o teach the literatures. Later, at Harvard, h e taught a n extraordinary range of E u r o p e a n l i t e r a t u r e s o f m a n y p e r i o d s a n d t h e r e b y b e c a m e a n i n c a l c u l a b l e f o r c e in A m e r i c a n c u l t u r a l life. It w o u l d b e h a r d , a l s o , t o o v e r e s t i m a t e t h e i m p o r t a n c e o f h i s a n t h o l o g y The Poets and Poetry of Europe ( 1 8 4 5 ) in b r i n g i n g h o m e to t h e o r d i n a r y r e a d e r t h e rich variety of E u r o p e a n l i t e r a t u r e s . H i s o w n poetry b e c a m e a m e a n s o f t e a c h i n g r e a d e r s o f his d a y s o m e t h i n g of t h e p o s s i b l e r a n g e o f p o e t i c s u b j e c t m a t t e r a n d t e c h n i q u e s , a n c i e n t , m e d i e v a l , a n d m o d e r n . Irving h a d b e e n n o t a b l y s u c c e s s f u l in d o m e s t i c a t i n g E u r o p e a n s u b j e c t m a t t e r while e m p l o y i n g a B r i t i s h p r o s e style; n o w L o n g f e l l o w d o m e s t i c a t e d E u r o p e a n m e t e r s , a s in his a d a p t a t i o n o f c l a s s i c a l G r e e k m e t e r s to tell t h e story of E v a n g e l i n e B e l l e f o n t a i n e , set in t h e r e c e n t N o r t h A m e r i c a n p a s t or in u s i n g F i n n i s h folk m e t e r in his c e l e b r a t i o n o f A m e r i c a n I n d i a n l e g e n d s in Hiawatha. L o n g f e l l o w b e c a m e a g r e a t t e a c h e r of t h e m a s s e s . If h i s w o r s t fault is that h e m a d e poetry s e e m s o e a s y to write that a n y o n e c o u l d d o it, his g r e a t e s t virtue is that h e m a d e poetry s e e m worth r e a d i n g a n d w o r t h writing. L o n g f e l l o w m a r r i e d in 1 8 3 1 , d u r i n g h i s p r o f e s s o r s h i p a t B o w d o i n , b u t in 1 8 3 5 , d u r i n g his s e c o n d E u r o p e a n trip, h i s wife d i e d after m i s c a r r y i n g . L o n g f e l l o w s t a y e d o n , fulfilling his c o m m i t m e n t t o H a r v a r d ; a n d b e f o r e h e r e t u r n e d h o m e he h a d m e t F a n n y A p p l e t o n , t h e B o s t o n h e i r e s s w h o w a s t o b e c o m e h i s s e c o n d wife. S h e w a s slow t o r e t u r n his a f f e c t i o n , a n d he e m b a r r a s s e d h e r by t h e t r a n s p a r e n t a c c o u n t o f their m e e t i n g in t h e p r o s e r o m a n c e Hyperion ( 1 8 3 9 ) ; b u t after their m a r r i a g e in 1 8 4 3 their life w a s idyllic. L o n g f e l l o w ' s father-in-law b o u g h t t h e c o u p l e , a s a w e d d i n g gift,

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LONGFELLOW

C r a i g i e H o u s e in C a m b r i d g e , a m a n s i o n G e o r g e W a s h i n g t o n h a d u s e d a s h e a d q u a r t e r s a n d w h e r e L o n g f e l l o w h i m s e l f h a d b e e n r e n t i n g r o o m s . T h e i r life w a s e l e g a n t . E m e r s o n , w h o lived a m p l y e n o u g h in C o n c o r d , w a s i n t i m i d a t e d : " I f S o c r a t e s w e r e h e r e , w e c o u l d g o a n d talk with h i m ; b u t L o n g f e l l o w w e c a n n o t g o a n d talk with; t h e r e is a p a l a c e , a n d s e r v a n t s , a n d a row o f b o t t l e s of different c o l o r e d w i n e s , a n d w i n e g l a s s e s , a n d fine c o a t s . " B u t t h e s u m p t u o u s n e s s p r o v e d s u p p o r t i v e a n d e n c o u r a g i n g t o L o n g f e l l o w ' s poetry a n d t o h i s w o r k at H a r v a r d until h e r e s i g n e d in 1 8 5 4 . P o p u l a r a s h e w a s , L o n g f e l l o w c o u l d n o t m a k e a living f r o m h i s p o e t r y . In 1 8 5 5 a n d 1 8 5 6 , for i n s t a n c e , t h e p h e n o m e n a l s a l e s of

b r o u g h t his total e a r n i n g s f r o m

Hiawatha

poetry to a r o u n d $ 3 , 7 0 0 a n d $ 7 , 4 0 0 , b u t in t h e 1 8 4 0 s a n d 1 8 5 0 s his a v e r a g e a n n u a l i n c o m e from p o e t r y hardly e x c e e d e d h i s H a r v a r d s a l a r y o f $ 1 , 5 0 0 ( $ 1 , 8 0 0 after 1 8 4 5 ) . In 1 8 6 1 F a n n y L o n g f e l l o w w a s fatally b u r n e d a s s h e w a s s e a l i n g u p locks o f h e r d a u g h t e r s ' hair. In his grief L o n g f e l l o w t u r n e d to t r a n s l a t i n g the e n t i r e

Divine

Comedy

of D a n t e , m a k i n g t h e l a b o r t h e o c c a s i o n for r e g u l a r m e e t i n g s with f r i e n d s s u c h a s J a m e s R u s s e l l L o w e l l a n d t h e y o u n g W i l l i a m D e a n H o w e l l s , w h o h a d lived in V e n i c e . L o n g f e l l o w ' s last d e c a d e s w e r e u n e v e n t f u l , e x c e p t for o n e final visit to E u r o p e in 1868—69, d u r i n g w h i c h Q u e e n V i c t o r i a g a v e h i m a private a u d i e n c e . H i s seventyfifth

birthday w a s celebrated

nationally. O f his d e a t h

his b r o t h e r a n d official

b i o g r a p h e r w r o t e : " T h e l o n g , b u s y , b l a m e l e s s life w a s e n d e d . T h e l o n e l i n e s s o f s e p a r a t i o n w a s over. H e w a s d e a d . B u t t h e world w a s b e t t e r a n d h a p p i e r for h i s h a v i n g lived."

A 'Life

that

shall

A challenge And

when

of

Psalm

Life1

send

to its

end,

it comes,

say,

'Welcome,

friend.'2

•

What

the Heart

of the Young

Man

Said

to the

Psalmist

3 T1 Ce 1l lI U m1eC 1n1oUtL, , 111 in 1m1 1oUuUr1n1 1f1uUl1 InI UuIm 11b I He lr>s .,

Life is b u t a n e m p t y d r e a m F o r t h e s o u l is d e a d t h a t s l u m b e r s , A n d t h i n g s a r e not w h a t they s e e m . II L i f e is r e a l — l i f e is e a r n e s t —

s

A n d t h e g r a v e is not its g o a l : D u s t t h o u art, to d u s t r e t u r n e s t , W a s not s p o k e n o f t h e s o u l . in Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is o u r d e s t i n ' d e n d or w a y ; B u t to act,

io

that e a c h to-morrow

F i n d u s f a r t h e r t h a n to-day. 1. T h e t e x t i s t h a t o f t h e first p u b l i c a t i o n , i n t h e Knickerbocker or New-York Monthly Magazine ( S e p t e m b e r 1 8 3 8 ) . T h e p o e m w a s c o l l e c t e d in Voices of the Night (1839). 2.

Slightly m i s q u o t e d from " W i s h e s to H i s S u p -

posed Mistress" by the English poet Richard C r a s h a w (c. 1 6 1 3 - 1 6 4 9 ) . Longfellow included the C r a s h a w p o e m i n a v o l u m e h e e d i t e d , The Waif: A Collection of Poems (1845). 3. M e t e r s , rhythms.

THE SLAVE'S DREAM

/

669

IV

Art is long, a n d time is fleeting, 4 A n d o u r h e a r t s , t h o u g h stout a n d brave, Still, like muffled d r u m s , are b e a t i n g F u n e r a l m a r c h e s to the grave.

15

v

In the world's b r o a d field of b a t t l e , In the bivouac of Life, B e not like d u m b , driven cattle! B e a hero in the strife!

20

VI

T r u s t n o F u t u r e , howe'er p l e a s a n t ! L e t the d e a d P a s t bury its d e a d ! A c t — a c t in the glorious P r e s e n t ! H e a r t within, a n d G o d o'er h e a d ! VII

Lives of great m e n all remind u s W e c a n m a k e our lives s u b l i m e , A n d , d e p a r t i n g , leave b e h i n d u s F o o t s t e p s on the s a n d s of time.

25

VIII

F o o t s t e p s , that, p e r h a p s a n o t h e r , S a i l i n g o'er life's s o l e m n m a i n , A forlorn a n d shipwreck'd brother, S e e i n g , shall take heart a g a i n .

30

IX

L e t u s then be up a n d d o i n g , W i t h a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still p u r s u i n g , L e a r n to labor a n d to wait.

35 1838,1839

T h e

S l a v e ' s

D r e a m

1

B e s i d e the u n g a t h e r e d rice he lay, H i s sickle in his h a n d ; His breast w a s b a r e , his m a t t e d hair 4. A p a r a p h r a s e of S e n e c a ' s c o m p l a i n t , "Vita brevis est, ars longa" (De Brevitate vitae 1 . 1 ) . T h e m e a n i n g o f ars o r art is c l e a r e r in C h a u c e r ' s The Parliament of Fowls, l i n e 1: " T h e lyf s o s h o r t , t h e craft s o l o n g to l e r n e . " 1. F r o m t h e first p r i n t i n g , i n Poems on Slavery ( 1 8 4 2 ) , a little v o l u m e t h a t m a r k e d t h e h i g h p o i n t o f L o n g f e l l o w ' s p u b l i c c o n c e r n o v e r slavery in t h e

United States. Longfellow's contemporaries reacted variously. Whittier thought the p o e m s had been "of important service" to the c a u s e of abolitionism, while a more objective observer found t h e m "perfect dish water" c o m p a r e d with Whittier's o w n p o e m s a g a i n s t slavery. T h e majority, North and S o u t h , deplored the publication of the poems.

70

/

HENRY WADSWORTH

LONGFELLOW

W a s buried in the s a n d . A g a i n , in the mist a n d s h a d o w of s l e e p , H e saw his Native L a n d . W i d e t h r o u g h the l a n d s c a p e of his d r e a m s T h e lordly N i g e r 2 flowed; B e n e a t h the p a l m - t r e e s on the plain O n c e m o r e a king he s t r o d e ; A n d h e a r d the tinkling c a r a v a n s D e s c e n d the m o u n t a i n - r o a d . H e s a w o n c e m o r e his dark-eyed q u e e n A m o n g her children s t a n d ; T h e y c l a s p e d his neck, they k i s s e d his c h e e k s , T h e y held him by the h a n d ! — A tear burst from the sleeper's lids A n d fell into the s a n d . A n d then at furious s p e e d he r o d e A l o n g the Niger's b a n k ; His bridle-reins were g o l d e n c h a i n s , A n d , with a martial clank, At e a c h leap he c o u l d feel his s c a b b a r d of steel S m i t i n g his stallion's flank. B e f o r e him, like a blood-red flag, T h e bright f l a m i n g o e s flew; F r o m m o r n till night he followed their flight, O'er plains w h e r e the t a m a r i n d grew, Till he s a w the roofs of C a f f r e 3 h u t s , A n d the o c e a n rose to view. At night he h e a r d the lion roar, A n d the hyena s c r e a m , A n d the river-horse, 4 a s he c r u s h e d the r e e d s Beside some hidden stream; And it p a s s e d , like a glorious roll of d r u m s , T h r o u g h the t r i u m p h of his d r e a m . T h e forests, with their myriad t o n g u e s , S h o u t e d of liberty; A n d the Blast of the D e s e r t cried a l o u d , W i t h a voice s o wild a n d free, T h a t h e started in his s l e e p a n d s m i l e d At their t e m p e s t u o u s g l e e . H e did not feel the driver's whip, N o r the b u r n i n g heat of day; F o r D e a t h h a d illumined the L a n d of S l e e p ,

G r e a t A f r i c a n river. Kaffir, u s e d h e r e to m e a n

non-Muslim

Afri-

cans. 4. H i p p o p o t a m u s .

T H E J E W I S H C E M E T E R Y AT N E W P O R T

/

671

A n d his lifeless body lay A worn-out fetter, that the soul H a d broken a n d thrown away! 1842

T h e J e w i s h C e m e t e r y at

Newport1

H o w s t r a n g e it s e e m s ! T h e s e H e b r e w s in their graves. C l o s e by the street of this fair sea-port town; Silent b e s i d e the never-silent waves, At rest in all this moving up a n d d o w n ! T h e trees are white with d u s t , that o'er their s l e e p W a v e their b r o a d c u r t a i n s in the south-wind's b r e a t h , While u n d e r n e a t h s u c h leafy tents they keep T h e long, m y s t e r i o u s E x o d u s of D e a t h . And t h e s e s e p u l c h r a l s t o n e s , so old a n d brown, T h a t pave with level flags 2 their b u r i a l - p l a c e , Are like the tablets of the L a w , thrown d o w n A n d broken by M o s e s at the m o u n t a i n ' s b a s e . ' T h e very n a m e s r e c o r d e d here are s t r a n g e , O f foreign a c c e n t , a n d of different c l i m e s ; Alvares a n d R i v e r a 4 i n t e r c h a n g e With A b r a h a m a n d J a c o b of old t i m e s . " B l e s s e d be G o d ! for he c r e a t e d D e a t h ! " T h e m o u r n e r s s a i d : " a n d D e a t h is rest a n d p e a c e . " T h e n a d d e d , in the certainty of faith: "And giveth Life, that never m o r e shall c e a s e . "

s

10

15

20

C l o s e d are the portals of their S y n a g o g u e , N o P s a l m s of David now the silence break, N o R a b b i r e a d s the a n c i e n t Decalogue" 1 In the g r a n d dialect the P r o p h e t s s p a k e . I . F i r s t p u b l i s h e d in Putnam's Monthly (July 1 8 5 4 ) . t h e s o u r c e o f t h e p r e s e n t text. In h i s diary L o n g f e l l o w d e s c r i b e d h i s visit t o t h e J e w i s h C e m e t e r y in N e w p o r t . R h o d e I s l a n d , o n J u l y 9 , 1 8 5 2 : W e n t this m o r n i n g into the J e w i s h buryingg r o u n d , with a polite old g e n t l e m a n w h o k e e p s t h e k e y . T h e r e a r e f e w g r a v e s ; n e a r l y all a r e low : t o m b s t o n e s of marble, with H e b r e w inscript i o n s , a n d a f e w w o r d s a d d e d in E n g l i s h o r P o r t u g u e s e . At t h e foot o f e a c h , t h e letters S . A. G . D . G . [ S u Alma Goce Dhnnia Gloria: " M a y his s o u l e n j o y d i v i n e g l o r y " ( P o r t u g u e s e ) . ] It is a s h a d y n o o k , at t h e c o r n e r o f t w o d u s t y , freq u e n t e d streets, with a n iron f e n c e a n d a granite g a t e w a y , e r e c t e d at t h e e x p e n s e of M r . T o u r o . o f New Orleans.

T h e first J e w i s h s e t t l e r s a r r i v e d in N e w p o r t in 1 6 5 8 , e n c o u r a g e d by t h e relatively t o l e r a n t religious attitudes of local leaders. D u r i n g the colonial period, Newport had the s e c o n d largest J e w i s h c o m m u n i t y in N o r t h A m e r i c a . T h e T o u r o S y n a g o g u e , t h e o l d e s t still s t a n d i n g in t h e U n i t e d States, dates from I 763. 2. Flagstones. 3. " M o s e s " a n g e r w a x e d hot, a n d h e c a s t t h e t a b l e s out of his h a n d s , a n d b r a k e t h e m b e n e a t h the mount" (Exodus 32.19). 4. T h e Newport Jews were Sephardims, immigrants from Spain and Portugal, where they had a c q u i r e d local n a m e s . 5. T h e T e n C o m m a n d m e n t s .

672

/

HENRY WADSWORTH

LONGFELLOW

G o n e are the living, b u t the d e a d r e m a i n , A n d not n e g l e c t e d , for a h a n d u n s e e n , S c a t t e r i n g its b o u n t y , like a s u m m e r rain, Still k e e p s their graves a n d their r e m e m b r a n c e g r e e n . H o w c a m e they here? W h a t b u r s t of C h r i s t i a n h a t e ; W h a t p e r s e c u t i o n , m e r c i l e s s , a n d blind, D r o v e o'er the s e a , — t h a t d e s e r t , d e s o l a t e — T h e s e I s h m a e l s a n d H a g a r s 6 of m a n k i n d ?

25

so

T h e y lived in narrow streets a n d l a n e s o b s c u r e , G h e t t o or J u d e n s t r a s s , 7 in mirk a n d m i r e ; T a u g h t in the s c h o o l of p a t i e n c e to e n d u r e T h e life of a n g u i s h a n d the d e a t h of fire. All their lives long, with the u n l e a v e n e d b r e a d A n d bitter h e r b s " of exile a n d its fears, T h e w a s t i n g f a m i n e of the heart they fed, A n d slaked its thirst with m a r a h 9 of their t e a r s .

40

A n a t h e m a m a r a n a t h a ! 1 w a s the cry T h a t r a n g from town to town, from street to street; At every g a t e the a c c u r s e d M o r d e c a i 2 W a s m o c k e d , a n d j e e r e d , a n d s p u r n e d by C h r i s t i a n feet. Pride a n d humiliation h a n d in h a n d W a l k e d with t h e m t h r o u g h the world, where'er they w e n t ; T r a m p l e d a n d b e a t e n were they a s the s a n d , A n d yet u n s h a k e n a s the c o n t i n e n t . F o r in the b a c k - g r o u n d , figures v a g u e a n d vast, O f p a t r i a r c h s a n d of p r o p h e t s rose s u b l i m e , A n d all the great traditions of the P a s t T h e y s a w reflected in the c o m i n g t i m e .

so

A n d t h u s for ever with reverted look, T h e mystic v o l u m e of the world they r e a d , S p e l l i n g it b a c k w a r d like a H e b r e w b o o k , 3 Till Life b e c a m e a L e g e n d of the D e a d . B u t a h ! w h a t o n c e has b e e n shall b e no m o r e ! T h e g r o a n i n g earth in travail a n d in p a i n 6. O u t c a s t s . F r o m G e n e s i s 2 1 , w h e r e H a g a r , the c o n c u b i n e of A b r a h a m , a n d their s o n , I s h m a e l , are driven f r o m his h o u s e h o l d at the instigation o f his wife, S a r a h , after the birth of their son. I s a a c .

S e a t h e H e b r e w s w a n d e r e d in t h e w i l d e r n e s s f o r three days without water, then c a m e to M a r a h , w h e r e they f o u n d water too bitter to drink (as the name meant).

7. S t r e e t of t h e J e w s ( G e r m a n ) . " G h e t t o " : a s e c tion of a E u r o p e a n city to w h i c h J e w s a r e r e s t r i c t e d (Italian). 8 . F o o d s e a t e n a t P a s s o v e r in r e m e m b r a n c e o f t h e e x o d u s f r o m s l a v e r y in E g y p t . 9. F r o m E x o d u s 1 5 . 2 2 - 2 5 : after c r o s s i n g the R e d

1. " I f a n y m a n l o v e n o t t h e L o r d J e s u s C h r i s t , l e t h i m b e A n a t h e m a M a r a n a t h a " (1 C o r i n t h i a n s 16.22). 2. A J e w i s h l e a d e r a b u s e d by t h e P e r s i a n s ( E s t h e r 2.5-6). 3 . H e b r e w is r e a d f r o m r i g h t t o l e f t .

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

/

673

B r i n g s forth its r a c e s , b u t d o e s not restore. a n d t h e d e a d n a t i o n s never rise a g a i n .

60 1854

J O H N

G R E E N L E A F

W H I T T I E R

1807-1892 J o h n G r e e n l e a f W h i t t i e r w a s b o r n o n D e c e m b e r 17, 1 8 0 7 , o n a f a r m n e a r H a v e r h i l l , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , o f a Q u a k e r family. N o l o n g e r p e r s e c u t e d in N e w E n g l a n d , Q u a k e r s w e r e still a p e o p l e a p a r t , a n d W h i t t i e r g r e w u p with a s e n s e of b e i n g different f r o m m o s t of his n e i g h b o r s . L a b o r o n t h e d e b t - r i d d e n f a r m o v e r s t r a i n e d his h e a l t h in a d o l e s c e n c e , a n d t h e r e a f t e r t h r o u g h o u t his l o n g life he s u f f e r e d f r o m i n t e r m i t t e n t physical c o l l a p s e s . At f o u r t e e n , h a v i n g h a d only m e a g e r e d u c a t i o n in a h o u s e h o l d s u s p i c i o u s of n o n - Q u a k e r l i t e r a t u r e , h e f o u n d in t h e S c o t t i s h p o e t R o b e r t B u r n s a m o d e l for i m i t a t i o n , o n e u s i n g a regional d i a l e c t , d e a l i n g with h o m e l y s u b j e c t s , a n d d i s p l a y i n g a s t r o n g s o c i a l c o n s c i e n c e . H i s first p o e m w a s p u b l i s h e d in 1 8 2 6 in a local n e w s p a p e r r u n by a n o t h e r y o u n g m a n , W i l l i a m Lloyd G a r r i s o n , w h o s e d e d i c a t i o n to the antislavery m o v e m e n t w a s to affect W h i t t i e r ' s life p r o f o u n d l y . In 1 8 2 7 G a r r i s o n h e l p e d p e r s u a d e Whittier's f a t h e r that t h e y o u n g p o e t d e s e r v e d m o r e e d u c a t i o n , a n d W h i t t i e r s u p p o r t e d h i m s e l f t h r o u g h two t e r m s at Haverhill A c a d e m y . D u r i n g this t i m e a n d later W h i t t i e r w a s n e a r s e r i o u s c o u r t s h i p s , b u t like m a n y o f his r e l a t i v e s , h e never m a r r i e d ; a m o n g t h e o b s t a c l e s w e r e his Q u a k e r i s m , his poverty, a n d his c o m m i t m e n t to a b o l i t i o n i s m . In 1 8 3 6 , six years after his father's d e a t h , W h i t t i e r a n d his m o t h e r a n d s i s t e r s m o v e d f r o m t h e f a r m to t h e h o u s e in n e a r b y A m e s b u r y , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , w h i c h he o w n e d until his d e a t h . In his t w e n t i e s W h i t t i e r b e c a m e editor o f v a r i o u s n e w s p a p e r s , s o m e o f r e g i o n a l i m p o r t a n c e . H e w a s e l e c t e d for a t e r m to t h e M a s s a c h u s e t t s l e g i s l a t u r e ( 1 8 3 5 ) a n d b e c a m e a b e h i n d - t h e - s c e n e s force in t h e W h i g Party a n d , later, in t h e a n t i s l a v e r y Liberty Party, w h i c h h e h e l p e d to f o u n d in 1 8 3 9 . T h e t u r n i n g p o i n t in his c a r e e r c a m e in 1 8 3 3 with t h e p u b l i c a t i o n o f his a b o l i t i o n i s t m a n i f e s t o " J u s t i c e a n d E x p e d i e n c y , " in w h i c h W h i t t i e r c o n c l u d e d that t h e r e w a s only o n e p r a c t i c a b l e a n d j u s t s c h e m e of e m a n c i p a t i o n : " I m m e d i a t e a b o l i t i o n o f slavery; a n i m m e d i a t e a c k n o w l e d g m e n t of t h e g r e a t truth, that m a n c a n n o t h o l d p r o p e r t y in m a n ; a n i m m e d i a t e s u r r e n d e r o f b a n e f u l p r e j u d i c e to C h r i s t i a n love; a n i m m e d i a t e p r a c t i c a l o b e d i e n c e to t h e c o m m a n d o f J e s u s C h r i s t : ' W h a t s o e v e r ye w o u l d that m e n s h o u l d d o u n t o you, d o ye e v e n s o to t h e m . ' " O v e r t h e next t h r e e d e c a d e s W h i t t i e r p a i d for his p r i n c i p l e s in m a n y ways, s o m e s u b t l e , s o m e a s overt a s b e i n g m o b b e d a n d s t o n e d in 1 8 3 5 . T h e c l i m a c t i c d a n g e r c a m e in 1 8 3 8 w h e n W h i t t i e r , in d i s g u i s e , j o i n e d a m o b to s a v e s o m e o f his p a p e r s a s his office w a s r a n s a c k e d a n d b u r n e d . F r o m t h e 1 8 3 0 s t h r o u g h t h e 1 8 5 0 s W h i t t i e r w a s a w o r k i n g e d i t o r a s s o c i a t e d with a b o l i t i o n i s t p a p e r s , b e c o m i n g t h e sort o f m a n h e w a s to d e s c r i b e in " T h e T e n t o n the B e a c h " ( 1 8 6 7 ) : A " d r e a m e r b o r n , / W h o , with a m i s s i o n to fulfil, / H a d left t h e M u s e s ' h a u n t s to turn / T h e c r a n k o f a n o p i n i o n - m i l l , / M a k i n g his r u s t i c r e e d o f s o n g / A w e a p o n in t h e war with w r o n g . " Yet h e c o n t i n u e d to write a b o u t his o w n r e g i o n , o n e legacy from his family b e i n g a rich oral history. H i s first b o o k , Legends of New England ( 1 8 3 1 ) , h a d i n c l u d e d s t o r i e s in b o t h p r o s e a n d poetry. H i s first b o o k o f poetry w a s Lays of My Home ( 1 8 4 3 ) , a n d t h e p r o s e Supernaturalism of New England

f o l l o w e d in

1 8 4 7 . Leaves

from

Margaret

Smith's

Journal

( 1 8 4 9 ) is a

fic-

674

/

JOHN GREENLEAF

WHITTIER

tional r e - c r e a t i o n o f c o l o n i a l life in t h e f o r m of t h e diary of a y o u n g w o m a n . T h r o u g h his fictional a n d h i s t o r i c a l p r o s e a n d t h r o u g h h i s p o e t r y W h i t t i e r w a s setting a very early e x a m p l e o f faithful t r e a t m e n t o f A m e r i c a n village a n d rural life that later local c o l o r i s t s a n d r e g i o n a l i s t s w e r e to follow: t h e elderly W h i t t i e r ' s p a t e r n a l interest in t h e c a r e e r o f S a r a h O r n e J e w e t t e p i t o m i z e s this i n f l u e n c e . B u t f r o m t h e b e g i n n i n g a c r u c i a l p r o b l e m for W h i t t i e r h a d b e e n h o w t o b e true t o t h e o c c a s i o n a l b e a u t y o f rural life w i t h o u t p o r t r a y i n g it in t h e s e n t i m e n t a l m a n n e r that p r e v a i l e d a t the t i m e . W h i t t i e r s u c c e e d e d b e s t in s o m e late p o e m s , e s p e c i a l l y " S n o w - B o u n d " ( 1 8 6 6 ) a n d t h e P r e l u d e to " A m o n g t h e H i l l s " ( 1 8 6 8 ) . W h i t t i e r ' s r e p u t a t i o n b e g a n u n d e r g o i n g a c h a n g e in t h e late 1 8 5 0 s , w h e n a b o l i t i o n i s m h a d c e a s e d t o b e a l m o s t a s m u c h a b h o r r e d in t h e N o r t h a s in t h e S o u t h ; partly t h e n e w favor h e r e c e i v e d w a s a result o f t h e f o u n d i n g in 1 8 5 7 o f t h e Atlantic

Monthly,

which w a s always

h o s p i t a b l e to h i s p o e m s , h u m o r o u s folk l e g e n d s , a s well a s m i l i t a n t o d e s . " S n o w B o u n d " brought Whittier extraordinary acclaim a n d immediate

financial

security;

a l t h o u g h o n e o f t h e t h e m e s of t h e p o e m w a s h i s s e n s e o f his o w n a p p r o a c h i n g d e a t h , W h i t t i e r ironically lived a n o t h e r q u a r t e r c e n t u r y , d u r i n g w h i c h h e w a s revered a s a g r e a t A m e r i c a n p o e t . H e d i e d o n S e p t e m b e r 7, 1 8 9 2 .

Ichabod!' S o fallen! s o lost! t h e light w i t h d r a w n W h i c h o n c e he wore! T h e glory f r o m his g r a y h a i r s g o n e Forevermore! Revile h i m n o t — t h e T e m p t e r h a t h

5

A s n a r e for all; A n d pitying t e a r s , not s c o r n a n d w r a t h , Refit his fall! Oh! d u m b be passion's stormy rage, W h e n he who might H a v e l i g h t e d u p a n d led his a g e , F a l l s b a c k in n i g h t . S c o r n ! w o u l d t h e a n g e l s l a u g h , to m a r k A bright s o u l d r i v e n , Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, From hope and heaven! L e t not t h e l a n d , o n c e p r o u d of h i m , Insult h i m n o w , N o r b r a n d with d e e p e r s h a m e his d i m , Dishonored brow. R u t let its h u m b l e d s o n s , i n s t e a d , F r o m s e a to l a k e , I. " I c h a b o d ! " i s a n a t t a c k o n D a n i e l W e b s t e r , w h o s e c h a m p i o n i n g o f t h e F u g i t i v e S l a v e Bill ( t h e part of the C o m p r o m i s e of 1 8 5 0 w h i c h provided that Northern states m u s t return r u n a w a y slaves caught within their borders) m a d e him a n a t h e m a

to t h e abolitionists. T h e title is f r o m I S a m u e l 4 . 2 1 : " A n d s h e n a m e d the child Ichabod. saying, T h e g l o r y is d e p a r t e d f r o m I s r a e l . " T h e text is t h a t o f t h e first p r i n t i n g in Songs of Labor, and Other Poems (1850).

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A long l a m e n t , a s for the d e a d , In s a d n e s s m a k e . O f all we loved a n d h o n o r e d , n o u g h t S a v e power r e m a i n s — A fallen angel's pride of t h o u g h t , Still strong in c h a i n s . All else is g o n e ; from t h o s e great eyes T h e soul has fled: W h e n faith is lost, w h e n honor d i e s , T h e m a n is d e a d ! T h e n , pay the reverence of old days T o his d e a d f a m e ; W a l k b a c k w a r d , with averted g a z e , A n d hide the s h a m e ! 2

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Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl1 To the memory of the household it describes, this poem is dedicated by the author.

T h e i n m a t e s of the family at the Whittier h o m e s t e a d w h o are referred to in the p o e m were my father, mother, my brother a n d two sisters, a n d my u n c l e a n d a u n t , both u n m a r r i e d . In addition, there w a s the district schoolm a s t e r who b o a r d e d with u s . T h e "not u n f e a r e d , h a l f - w e l c o m e g u e s t " w a s Harriet L i v e r m o r e , d a u g h t e r of J u d g e L i v e r m o r e , of N e w H a m p s h i r e , a y o u n g w o m a n of fine natural ability, e n t h u s i a s t i c , e c c e n t r i c , with slight control over her violent t e m p e r , which s o m e t i m e s m a d e her religious profession doubtful. S h e was equally ready to exhort in s c h o o l - h o u s e prayerm e e t i n g s a n d d a n c e in a W a s h i n g t o n ball-room, while her father w a s a m e m b e r of C o n g r e s s . S h e early e m b r a c e d the d o c t r i n e of the S e c o n d A d v e n t , 2 a n d felt it her duty to p r o c l a i m the Lord's s p e e d y c o m i n g . W i t h this m e s s a g e s h e c r o s s e d the Atlantic a n d s p e n t the greater part of a long life in travelling over E u r o p e a n d Asia. S h e lived s o m e time with L a d y H e s ter S t a n h o p e , 1 a w o m a n as fantastic a n d mentally strained as herself, o n the slope of M t . L e b a n o n , but finally quarrelled with her in regard to two white h o r s e s with red m a r k s on their b a c k s which s u g g e s t e d the idea of s a d d l e s , o n which her titled h o s t e s s e x p e c t e d to ride into J e r u s a l e m with 2. By this a l l u s i o n to G e n e s i s 9 . 2 0 - 2 5 W h i t t i e r e q u a t e s W e b s t e r ' s s h a m e with that of N o a h after t h e F l o o d , w h o in d r u n k e n n e s s s p r a w l e d n a k e d in his c a v e . 1. T h i s p o e m w a s b e g u n in 1 8 6 4 a n d c o m p l e t e d in O c t o b e r 1 8 6 5 . T h e text f o l l o w e d h e r e is t h a t o f t h e 1st e d i t i o n ( 1 8 6 6 ) , a l t h o u g h t h e p r e f a t o r y n o t e o n t h e " i n m a t e s o f t h e f a m i l y " is t a k e n f r o m its first p r i n t i n g in t h e 1 8 9 2 ( p u b l i s h e d 1 8 9 1 ) e d i t i o n o f Snow-Btmnd. 2. S e c o n d C o m i n g . D u r i n g the early 19th century m a n y individual C h r i s t i a n s as well a s certain

C h r i s t i a n s e c t s b e l i e v e d that J e s u s w o u l d return to e a r t h in t h e i r l i f e t i m e s . i. N o t a b l e E n g l i s h e c c e n t r i c ( 1 7 7 6 - 1 8 3 9 ) , l e d a b r i l l i a n t l i f e in L o n d o n a s c o m p a n i o n o f h e r u n c l e W i l l i a m P i t t t h e Y o u n g e r b e f o r e h i s d e a t h in 1 8 0 6 . In 1 8 1 0 s h e s e t t l e d in L e b a n o n , w h e r e s h e b e c a m e d e s p o t over a s m a l l a r e a ( u s i n g a m a c e to p u n i s h her m a n y local retainers). S h e held court to f a m o u s travelers w h o s o u g h t her o u t a n d i n d u l g e d h e r b e l i e f s in t r a n s m i g r a t i o n o f t h e s o u l and astrology.

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the L o r d . A friend of m i n e f o u n d her, w h e n quite an old w o m a n , w a n d e r ing in Syria with a tribe of A r a b s , w h o with the Oriental notion that m a d n e s s is inspiration, a c c e p t e d her a s their p r o p h e t e s s a n d leader. At the time referred to in Snow-Bound s h e w a s b o a r d i n g at the R o c k s Village a b o u t two miles from u s . In my b o y h o o d , in our lonely f a r m - h o u s e , we h a d s c a n t y s o u r c e s of inform a t i o n ; few b o o k s a n d only a s m a l l weekly n e w s p a p e r . O u r only a n n u a l w a s the A l m a n a c . U n d e r s u c h c i r c u m s t a n c e s story-telling w a s a n e c e s s a r y r e s o u r c e in the long winter e v e n i n g s . M y father w h e n a y o u n g m a n h a d traversed the w i l d e r n e s s to C a n a d a , a n d c o u l d tell u s of his a d v e n t u r e s with Indians a n d wild b e a s t s , a n d of his s o j o u r n in the F r e n c h villages. M y u n c l e w a s ready with his record of h u n t i n g a n d fishing a n d , it m u s t b e c o n f e s s e d , with stories w h i c h he at least half believed, of witchcraft a n d a p p a r i t i o n s . M y m o t h e r , w h o w a s b o r n in the I n d i a n - h a u n t e d region of S o m e r s w o r t h , N e w H a m p s h i r e , b e t w e e n Dover a n d P o r t s m o u t h , told u s of the i n r o a d s of the s a v a g e s , a n d the narrow e s c a p e of her a n c e s t o r s . S h e d e s c r i b e d s t r a n g e p e o p l e w h o lived o n the P i s c a t a q u a a n d C o c h e c o , 4 a m o n g w h o m w a s B a n t a m the sorcerer. I have in my p o s s e s s i o n the wizard's " c o n j u r i n g b o o k , " which h e solemnly o p e n e d w h e n c o n s u l t e d . It is a c o p y of C o r n e l i u s Agrippa's Magic printed in 1 6 5 1 , d e d i c a t e d to Dr. R o b e r t C h i l d , w h o , like M i c h a e l S c o t t , 5 h a d learned "the art of g l a m m o r i e In P a d u a b e y o n d the s e a , " 6 a n d w h o is f a m o u s in the a n n a l s of M a s s a c h u s e t t s , w h e r e h e w a s at o n e time a resident, a s the first m a n w h o d a r e d petition the G e n e r a l C o u r t for liberty of c o n s c i e n c e . T h e full title of the b o o k is Three Books of Occult Philosophy, by Henry Cornelius Agrippa, Knight, Doctor of both Laws, Counsellor to Caesar's Sacred Majesty and Judge of the Prerogative Court. "As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as the celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same." — C O R . AGRIPPA, Occult Philosophy, Book I. chap. v. "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow; and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven, And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 4 . T h e C o c h e c o R i v e r flows t h r o u g h D o v e r , N e w H a m p s h i r e , t h e n j o i n s t h e P i s c a t a q u a a n d flows b y P o r t s m o u t h , N e w H a m p s h i r e , into the Atlantic. 5. A S c o t t i s h s c h o l a r a n d linguist ( 1 1 7 5 - 1 2 3 4 ) , c o u r t a s t r o l o g e r t o F r e d e r i c k II o f G e r m a n y . L e g e n d t r a n s f o r m e d h i m into a m a g i c i a n a s well a s an astrologer. Agrippa (1486—1535) was a G e r m a n physician a n d student of the occult. Child was an Englishman (called "doctor" b e c a u s e h e h a d s t u d i e d p h y s i c in P a d u a ) . H e m o v e d to M a s s a c h u s e t t s a n d in 1 6 4 6 p e t i t i o n e d the general court that the colony was failing to acknowledge the s u p r e m a c y of the laws of E n g l a n d w h e n it d e n i e d c i v i l a n d r e l i g i o u s r i g h t s

to m e m b e r s of c h u r c h e s not recognized as orthodox. H e a n d a f e w allies s i g n e d a p e t i t i o n to t h e c o m m i s s i o n e r s o f p l a n t a t i o n s in L o n d o n , b u t t h e M a s s a c h u s e t t s authorities s e a r c h e d Child's bagg a g e , s e i z e d t h e p e t i t i o n , a n d fined h i m a n d h i s F r i e n d s s e v e r e l y . C h i l d t r i e d t o g e t r e d r e s s in England, but the dictator, Oliver Cromwell, was s t a u n c h l y in f a v o r o f t h e P u r i t a n s . 6 . W h i t t i e r is a d a p t i n g S i r W a l t e r S c o t t ' s The Lay of the Last Minstrel 1.11: " H e l e a r n e d the art, that n o n e m a y n a m e , / In P a d u a , far b e y o n d t h e s e a . " ( T h e lines are not a b o u t M i c h a e l Scott.) " G l a m morie": m a g i c . P a d u a w a s t h o u g h t of as a seat of necromancy.

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Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm." —Emerson7

T h e s u n that brief D e c e m b e r day R o s e c h e e r l e s s over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at n o o n A s a d d e r light than w a n i n g m o o n . Slow tracing d o w n the thickening sky Its m u t e a n d o m i n o u s p r o p h e c y , A portent s e e m i n g less than threat, It s a n k from sight before it set. A chill n o c o a t , however stout, O f h o m e s p u n stuff c o u l d quite s h u t out, A hard, dull bitterness of cold, T h a t c h e c k e d , mid-vein, the circling r a c e O f life-blood in the s h a r p e n e d f a c e , T h e c o m i n g of the snow-storm told. T h e wind blew e a s t : " we heard the roar O f O c e a n on his wintry s h o r e , And felt the s t r o n g p u l s e t h r o b b i n g there Reat with low rhythm our inland air. M e a n w h i l e we did our nightly c h o r e s , — B r o u g h t in the wood from out of d o o r s , Littered the stalls, a n d from the m o w s R a k e d d o w n the herd's-grass for the c o w s ; H e a r d the h o r s e whinnying for his c o r n ; A n d , sharply c l a s h i n g horn o n horn, I m p a t i e n t d o w n the s t a n c h i o n rows T h e cattle s h a k e their walnut b o w s ; 9 W h i l e , p e e r i n g from his early p e r c h U p o n the scaffold's pole of birch, T h e c o c k his c r e s t e d h e l m e t bent A n d down his q u e r u l o u s c h a l l e n g e s e n t . U n w a r m e d by any s u n s e t light T h e gray day d a r k e n e d into night, A night m a d e hoary with the s w a r m A n d whirl-dance of the blinding s t o r m , As zigzag wavering to a n d fro C r o s s e d a n d r e c r o s s e d the winged snow: A n d ere the early b e d - t i m e c a m e T h e white drift piled the w i n d o w - f r a m e ,

7. T h e o p e n i n g of E m e r s o n ' s " T h e (1847).

Snow-Storm"

8. F r o m t h e e a s t , b r i n g i n g t h e s o u n d of the Atlantic. 9. S t a n c h i o n s ( h e r e m a d e o f w a l n u t a n d s h a p e d

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like a b o w ) a r e a d j u s t a b l e b r a c e s s e t a few i n c h e s from stationary posts; they are pulled aside at the t o p t o l e t a c o w ' s h e a d p a s s , t h e n fixed a g a i n s t t h e n e c k so the c o w c a n n o t back out while being m i l k e d or fed.

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A n d t h r o u g h the g l a s s the clothes-line p o s t s L o o k e d in like tall a n d s h e e t e d g h o s t s .

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S o all night long the s t o r m r o a r e d on: T h e m o r n i n g broke without a s u n ; In tiny s p h e r u l e t r a c e d with lines O f Nature's geometric signs, In starry flake, a n d p e l l i c l e , ' All day the hoary m e t e o r fell; A n d , w h e n the s e c o n d m o r n i n g s h o n e , W e looked u p o n a world u n k n o w n , O n n o t h i n g we c o u l d call our o w n . A r o u n d the glistening w o n d e r b e n t T h e b l u e walls of the f i r m a m e n t , N o c l o u d a b o v e , no earth b e l o w , — A universe of sky a n d snow! T h e old familiar sights of o u r s T o o k marvellous s h a p e s ; s t r a n g e d o m e s a n d towers R o s e u p w h e r e sty or corn-crib s t o o d , O r g a r d e n wall, or belt of w o o d ; A s m o o t h white m o u n d the brush-pile s h o w e d , A f e n c e l e s s drift w h a t o n c e w a s r o a d ; T h e bridle-post a n old m a n sat W i t h loose-flung c o a t a n d high c o c k e d hat; T h e well-curb h a d a C h i n e s e roof; And even the long s w e e p , 2 high aloof, In its slant splendor, s e e m e d to tell O f Pisa's l e a n i n g m i r a c l e . A p r o m p t , decisive m a n , n o b r e a t h O u r father w a s t e d : " B o y s , a p a t h ! " Well p l e a s e d , (for w h e n did farmer boy C o u n t s u c h a s u m m o n s less t h a n j o y ? ) O u r b u s k i n s ' on our feet we drew; W i t h m i t t e n e d h a n d s , a n d c a p s d r a w n low, T o g u a r d our n e c k s a n d e a r s from s n o w , W e c u t the solid w h i t e n e s s t h r o u g h . A n d , w h e r e the drift w a s d e e p e s t , m a d e A t u n n e l walled a n d overlaid With dazzling crystal: we h a d r e a d O f rare Aladdin's w o n d r o u s c a v e , A n d to our own his n a m e we g a v e , W i t h m a n y a wish the l u c k were o u r s T o test his l a m p ' s s u p e r n a l p o w e r s . W e r e a c h e d the barn with merry din, And r o u s e d the p r i s o n e d b r u t e s within. T h e old h o r s e thrust his long h e a d o u t , A n d grave with w o n d e r g a z e d a b o u t ; 1. In a l e t t e r t o h i s p u b l i s h e r , J a m e s T . F i e l d s , d u r ing the preparation of the p o e m , Whittier revised this p a s s a g e slightly a n d explained o n e revision: " T h e w o r d ' p e l l i c l e ' — a thin film or c r u s t or crys-

tallization—exactly expresses 2 . I.e., a well s w e e p ; a p o l e with a b u c k e t at o n e e n d for 3. H e r e , h i g h - c u t s h o e s , like

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the thing." a t t a c h e d to a pivot, raising water. a half boot.

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T h e c o c k his lusty greeting said, A n d forth his s p e c k l e d h a r e m led; T h e oxen l a s h e d their tails, a n d h o o k e d , A n d mild r e p r o a c h of h u n g e r looked; T h e h o r n e d patriarch of the s h e e p , L i k e Egypt's A m u n 4 r o u s e d from s l e e p , S h o o k his s a g e h e a d with g e s t u r e m u t e , A n d e m p h a s i z e d with s t a m p of foot. All day the g u s t y north-wind b o r e T h e l o o s e n i n g drift its breath b e f o r e ; L o w circling r o u n d its s o u t h e r n z o n e , T h e s u n t h r o u g h dazzling s n o w - m i s t s h o n e . N o bell the h u s h of s i l e n c e b r o k e , N o n e i g h b o r i n g c h i m n e y ' s social s m o k e C u r l e d over w o o d s of s n o w - h u n g oak. A solitude m a d e m o r e i n t e n s e By dreary voiced e l e m e n t s , T h e shrieking of the m i n d l e s s wind, T h e m o a n i n g t r e e - b o u g h s swaying blind, A n d on the glass the u n m e a n i n g b e a t O f ghostly finger-tips of sleet. B e y o n d the circle of our hearth N o w e l c o m e s o u n d of toil or mirth U n b o u n d the spell, a n d testified O f h u m a n life a n d thought o u t s i d e . W e m i n d e d that the s h a r p e s t ear T h e buried brooklet c o u l d not hear, T h e m u s i c of w h o s e liquid lip H a d b e e n to u s c o m p a n i o n s h i p , A n d , in o u r lonely life, h a d grown T o have a n a l m o s t h u m a n t o n e . As night drew o n , a n d , from the crest O f w o o d e d knolls that ridged the w e s t , T h e s u n , a snow-blown traveller, s a n k F r o m sight b e n e a t h the s m o t h e r i n g b a n k , W e piled, with c a r e , our nightly s t a c k O f wood a g a i n s t the c h i m n e y - b a c k , — T h e o a k e n log, g r e e n , h u g e , a n d thick, A n d on its top the stout back-stick; T h e knotty forestick laid a p a r t , And filled b e t w e e n with c u r i o u s art T h e r a g g e d b r u s h ; t h e n , hovering near, W e w a t c h e d the first red blaze a p p e a r , H e a r d the s h a r p c r a c k l e , c a u g h t the g l e a m O n w h i t e w a s h e d wall a n d s a g g i n g b e a m , Until the old, r u d e - f u r n i s h e d r o o m B u r s t , flower-like, into rosy b l o o m ; W h i l e radiant with a m i m i c flame Egyptian g o d with a ram's h e a d .

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O u t s i d e the sparkling drift b e c a m e , A n d through the b a r e - b o u g h e d lilac-tree O u r own w a r m hearth s e e m e d blazing free. T h e crane and pendent trammels showed, T h e T u r k s ' h e a d s 5 o n the a n d i r o n s glowed; W h i l e childish fancy, p r o m p t to tell T h e m e a n i n g of the m i r a c l e , W h i s p e r e d the old rhyme: "Under the tree, When fire outdoors burns merrily, There the witches are making tea." T h e m o o n a b o v e the e a s t e r n w o o d S h o n e at its full; the hill-range s t o o d T r a n s f i g u r e d in the silver flood, Its blown s n o w s flashing c o l d a n d k e e n , D e a d white, save w h e r e s o m e s h a r p ravine T o o k s h a d o w , or the s o m b r e g r e e n O f h e m l o c k s turned to pitchy b l a c k Against the w h i t e n e s s at their b a c k . F o r s u c h a world a n d s u c h a night M o s t fitting that u n w a r m i n g light, W h i c h only s e e m e d where'er it fell T o m a k e the c o l d n e s s visible. S h u t in from all the world without, W e sat the c l e a n - w i n g e d h e a r t h a b o u t . C o n t e n t to let the north-wind roar In baffled rage at p a n e a n d door, W h i l e the red logs before u s b e a t T h e frost-line b a c k with tropic heat; A n d ever, w h e n a l o u d e r blast S h o o k b e a m a n d rafter a s it p a s s e d , T h e merrier u p its roaring d r a u g h t T h e great throat of the c h i m n e y l a u g h e d . T h e h o u s e - d o g on his p a w s o u t s p r e a d L a i d to the fire his drowsy h e a d , T h e cat's dark s i l h o u e t t e o n the wall A c o u c h a n t 6 tiger's s e e m e d to fall; A n d , for the winter fireside m e e t , B e t w e e n the a n d i r o n s ' s t r a d d l i n g feet, T h e m u g of cider s i m m e r e d slow, T h e a p p l e s s p u t t e r e d in a row, A n d , c l o s e at h a n d , the b a s k e t s t o o d With n u t s from brown O c t o b e r ' s w o o d . W h a t m a t t e r how the night b e h a v e d ? W h a t m a t t e r how the north-wind raved? Blow high, blow low, not all its s n o w C o u l d q u e n c h our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. 5. A f a v o r i t e o r n a m e n t a t i o n , t u r b a n l i k e k n o t s in wrought iron. " T r a m m e l s " : pot hooks h a n g i n g from the c r a n e , or m o v a b l e a r m .

135

HO

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no

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6. T e r m from heraldry: lying d o w n with the h e a d raised.

SNOW-BOUND:A

W I N T E R IDYL

O T i m e a n d C h a n g e ! — w i t h hair a s gray A s w a s my sire's that winter day, H o w s t r a n g e it s e e m s , with s o m u c h g o n e O f life a n d love, to still live on! A h , brother! only I a n d thou Are left of all that circle n o w , — T h e dear h o m e f a c e s w h e r e u p o n T h a t fitful firelight p a l e d a n d s h o n e . H e n c e f o r w a r d , listen a s we will, T h e voices of that hearth are still; L o o k w h e r e we may, the wide earth o'er, T h o s e lighted f a c e s smile no m o r e . W e tread the p a t h s their feet have worn, W e sit b e n e a t h their o r c h a r d - t r e e s , W e hear, like t h e m , the h u m of b e e s A n d rustle of the b l a d e d c o r n ; W e turn the p a g e s that they r e a d , T h e i r written w o r d s we linger o'er, B u t in the s u n they c a s t no s h a d e , N o voice is h e a r d , n o sign is m a d e , N o step is o n the c o n s c i o u s floor! Yet L o v e will d r e a m , a n d Faith will trust, ( S i n c e H e w h o knows our n e e d is j u s t , ) T h a t s o m e h o w , s o m e w h e r e , m e e t we m u s t . Alas for him w h o never s e e s T h e stars shine t h r o u g h his cypress-trees! W h o , h o p e l e s s , lays his d e a d away, N o r looks to s e e the b r e a k i n g day A c r o s s the mournful m a r b l e s 7 play! W h o hath not l e a r n e d , in h o u r s of faith, T h e truth to flesh a n d s e n s e u n k n o w n , T h a t Life is ever lord of D e a t h , A n d L o v e c a n never lose its own! W e s p e d the time with stories old, W r o u g h t puzzles out, a n d riddles told, O r s t a m m e r e d from our s c h o o l - b o o k lore " T h e C h i e f of G a m b i a ' s g o l d e n s h o r e . " 8 H o w often s i n c e , w h e n all the land W a s clay in Slavery's s h a p i n g h a n d , As if a t r u m p e t c a l l e d , I've h e a r d D a m e M e r c y W a r r e n ' s r o u s i n g word: "Does not the voice of reason cry, Claim the first right which Nature gave, From the red scourge of bondage fly, Nor deign to live a burdened slave\" O u r father rode again his ride 7. I.e., t h e g r a v e s t o n e s . 8. F r o m " T h e A f r i c a n C h i e f , " a widely r e p r i n t e d early antislavery p o e m by the B o s t o n i a n S a r a h W e n t w o r t h M o r t o n ( 1 7 5 9 - 1 8 4 6 ) . In lines 2 2 0 - 2 3

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i85

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Whittier quotes the p o e m but m i s r e m e m b e r s the author as Mercy Otis Warren ( 1 7 2 8 - 1 8 1 4 ) , M a s s a c h u s e t t s h i s t o r i a n , a u t h o r o f a t h r e e - v o l u m e History of* * * the American Revolution (1805).

682

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JOHN GREENLEAF

WHITTIER

On Memphremagog's wooded side; S a t d o w n a g a i n to m o o s e a n d s a m p 9 In trapper's h u t a n d Indian c a m p ; Lived o'er the old idyllic e a s e Beneath St. Francois'1 hemlock-trees; Again for him the m o o n l i g h t s h o n e On Norman cap and bodiced zone;2 Again he h e a r d the violin play W h i c h led the village d a n c e away, A n d m i n g l e d in its merry whirl T h e g r a n d a m a n d the l a u g h i n g girl. O r , nearer h o m e , our s t e p s h e led W h e r e S a l i s b u r y ' s ' level m a r s h e s s p r e a d Mile-wide a s flies the laden b e e ; W h e r e merry m o w e r s , h a l e a n d s t r o n g , S w e p t , scythe on s c y t h e , their s w a t h s a l o n g T h e low green prairies of the s e a . W e s h a r e d the fishing off B o a r ' s H e a d , And r o u n d the rocky Isles of S h o a l s 4 T h e hake-broil on the drift-wood c o a l s ; T h e c h o w d e r on the s a n d - b e a c h m a d e , D i p p e d by the hungry, s t e a m i n g hot, W i t h s p o o n s of clam-shell from the p o t . W e h e a r d the tales of witchcraft old, A n d d r e a m a n d sign a n d marvel told T o sleepy listeners a s they lay S t r e t c h e d idly on the s a l t e d hay, Adrift a l o n g the winding s h o r e s , W h e n favoring breezes d e i g n e d to b l o w T h e s q u a r e sail of the g u n d a l o w 5 A n d idle lay the u s e l e s s o a r s .

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O u r m o t h e r , while s h e t u r n e d her wheel O r run the new-knit stocking-heel, T o l d how the I n d i a n h o r d e s c a m e d o w n At m i d n i g h t on C o c h e c h o 6 town, A n d how her own g r e a t - u n c l e b o r e H i s cruel s c a l p - m a r k to f o u r s c o r e . R e c a l l i n g , in her fitting p h r a s e , S o rich a n d p i c t u r e s q u e a n d free, ( T h e c o m m o n u n r h y m e d poetry O f s i m p l e life a n d country ways,) T h e story of her early d a y s , — S h e m a d e for u s the s u n s e t s h i n e A s l a n t the tall c o l u m n a r p i n e ; T h e river at her father's door Its rippled m o a n i n g s w h i s p e r e d o'er; 9. C o r n m e a l m u s h . M e m p h r e m a g o g between Vermont and Quebec.

is

a

lake

1. N o r t h o f L a k e M e m p h r e m a g o g . 2 . W h i t t i e r ' s f a t h e r is r e c a l l i n g t h e d r e s s o f w o m e n in F r e n c h - C a n a d i a n s e t t l e m e n t s , t h e c a p like t h o s e w o r n by w o m e n in N o r m a n d y a n d b o d i c e s t h a t

260

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e m p h a s i z e d the waist. 3 . N e a r b y t o w n in n o r t h e a s t e r n M a s s a c h u s e t t s . 4. Off the N e w H a m p s h i r e coast. 5. F l a t - b o t t o m e d boat. 6. S e t t l e m e n t n e a r Dover, the C o c h e c o River.

New

Hampshire,

on

S N O W - B O U N D : A W I N T E R IDYL

/

W e h e a r d the hawks at twilight play, T h e boat-horn on P i s c a t a q u a , 7 T h e loon's weird laughter far away. S o well s h e g l e a n e d from earth a n d sky T h a t harvest of the ear a n d eye, W e a l m o s t felt the gusty air T h a t swept her native w o o d - p a t h s b a r e , H e a r d the far thresher's rhythmic flail, T h e flapping of the fisher's sail, O r saw, in sheltered cove a n d bay, T h e d u c k s ' b l a c k s q u a d r o n a n c h o r e d lay, O r h e a r d the wild g e e s e calling loud B e n e a t h the gray N o v e m b e r c l o u d . T h e n , haply, with a look m o r e grave, A n d s o b e r e r t o n e , s o m e tale s h e gave F r o m painful S e w e l l ' s 8 a n c i e n t t o m e , B e l o v e d in every Quaker h o m e , O f faith fire-winged by m a r t y r d o m , O r Chalkley's J o u r n a l , old a n d q u a i n t , — G e n t l e s t of s k i p p e r s , rare s e a - s a i n t ! — W h o , w h e n the dreary c a l m s prevailed, A n d water-butt a n d b r e a d - c a s k failed, A n d cruel, hungry eyes p u r s u e d H i s portly p r e s e n c e m a d for food, With dark hints m u t t e r e d u n d e r breath O f c a s t i n g lots for life or d e a t h , Offered, if H e a v e n withheld s u p p l i e s , T o be h i m s e l f the sacrifice. T h e n , s u d d e n l y , a s if to save T h e g o o d m a n from his living grave, A ripple o n the water grew, A school of p o r p o i s e flashed in view. 9 " T a k e , e a t , " h e s a i d , " a n d be c o n t e n t ; ' T h e s e fishes in my s t e a d a r e sent By H i m w h o gave the tangled r a m

7. I.e., f o g h o r n o n t h e P i s c a t a q u a River. 8. W i l l i a m S e w e l l or S e w e l ( 1 6 5 0 - 1 7 2 5 ) , a u t h o r o f a h i s t o r y o f t h e Q u a k e r s p u b l i s h e d in t h e y e a r of his death; Whittier had an A m e r i c a n edition of 1 8 2 3 . T h e history m a d e painful reading b e c a u s e of the severe persecution a n d outright martyrdoms many Quakers had suffered; see Hawthorne's "The Gentle Boy." 9 . T h e Journal of T h o m a s Chalkley ( 1 6 7 5 - 1 7 4 1 ) w a s p u b l i s h e d in 1 7 4 7 . T h e p a s s a g e r e f e r r e d t o runs: " T o stop their m u r m u r i n g , I told t h e m they s h o u l d n o t n e e d to c a s t l o t s , w h i c h w a s u s u a l in s u c h c a s e s , w h i c h o f u s s h o u l d d i e first, for I w o u l d freely o f f e r u p m y life to d o t h e m g o o d . O n e s a i d , ' G o d b l e s s y o u ! I will n o t e a t a n y o f y o u . ' A n o t h e r said, 'He would die before he would eat any of m e ; ' a n d s o s a i d several. I c a n truly say, o n that o c c a s i o n , a t t h a t t i m e , m y life w a s n o t d e a r t o m e , a n d t h a t I w a s s e r i o u s a n d i n g e n u o u s in m y p r o p -

683

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osition: a n d as I w a s leaning over the side of the vessel, thoughtfully c o n s i d e r i n g my proposal to the c o m p a n y , a n d l o o k i n g in m y m i n d t o H i m t h a t m a d e m e , a very large d o l p h i n c a m e u p t o w a r d s t h e t o p or s u r f a c e o f t h e w a t e r , a n d l o o k e d m e in the face; a n d I called the p e o p l e to put a b o o k into t h e s e a , a n d t a k e h i m , f o r h e r e is o n e c o m e t o r e d e e m m e (I s a i d t o t h e m ) . A n d t h e y p u t a h o o k i n t o t h e s e a , a n d t h e fish r e a d i l y t o o k it, a n d t h e y c a u g h t him. H e w a s longer than myself. I think he w a s a b o u t six feet long, a n d the largest that ever I s a w . T h i s plainly s h o w e d u s t h a t w e o u g h t not to distrust the providence of the Almighty. T h e people w e r e q u i e t e d by this act of P r o v i d e n c e , a n d m u r m u r e d no m o r e . W e c a u g h t e n o u g h to eat p l e n t i f u l l y of, till w e g o t i n t o t h e c a p e s o f D e l a ware." I. M a t t h e w 2 6 . 2 6 : " T a k e , e a t : t h i s is m y (Jesus' w o r d s at P a s s o v e r ) .

body"

684

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JOHN GREENLEAF

WHITTIER

T o s p a r e the child of A b r a h a m . " 2 O u r u n c l e , i n n o c e n t of b o o k s , B u t rich in lore of fields a n d b r o o k s , T h e a n c i e n t t e a c h e r s never d u m b Of Nature's unhoused lyceum,' In m o o n s a n d tides a n d w e a t h e r w i s e , H e read the c l o u d s a s p r o p h e c i e s , A n d foul or fair c o u l d well divine, By m a n y a n o c c u l t hint a n d sign, H o l d i n g the c u n n i n g - w a r d e d k e y s 4 T o all the woodcraft m y s t e r i e s ; H i m s e l f to N a t u r e ' s heart s o n e a r T h a t all her voices in his e a r O f b e a s t or bird h a d m e a n i n g s clear, L i k e Apollonius of old, W h o knew the tales the s p a r r o w s told, O r H e r m e s , 5 w h o interpreted W h a t the s a g e c r a n e s o f N i l u s 6 s a i d ; A s i m p l e , g u i l e l e s s , childlike m a n , C o n t e n t to live w h e r e life b e g a n ; S t r o n g only o n h i s native g r o u n d s , T h e little world of sights a n d s o u n d s W h o s e girdle w a s the p a r i s h b o u n d s , W h e r e o f his fondly partial pride T h e c o m m o n f e a t u r e s magnified, As Surrey hills to m o u n t a i n s grew In W h i t e of S e l b o r n e ' s 7 loving v i e w , — H e told how teal a n d loon h e s h o t , A n d how the eagle's e g g s h e got, T h e feats o n p o n d a n d river d o n e , T h e prodigies o f rod a n d g u n ; Till, w a r m i n g with the tales h e told, F o r g o t t e n w a s the o u t s i d e cold, T h e bitter wind u n h e e d e d blew, F r o m ripening corn the p i g e o n s flew, T h e partridge d r u m m e d i' the w o o d , the m i n k W e n t fishing d o w n the river-brink. In fields with b e a n or clover gay, T h e w o o d c h u c k , like a hermit gray, P e e r e d from the doorway of his cell; T h e m u s k r a t plied the m a s o n ' s t r a d e , A n d tier by tier his m u d - w a l l s laid; And from the s h a g b a r k o v e r h e a d T h e grizzled squirrel d r o p p e d his shell. 2. T h e story o f A b r a h a m ' s willingness to obey G o d e v e n i f it m e a n t s a c r i f i c i n g h i s s o n I s a a c i s i n G e n esis 2 2 . 1 3 . 3. L e c t u r e h a l l . 4. Carefully g u a r d e d (i.e., g u a r d e d by N a t u r e from superficial observers). 5 . H e r m e s T r i s m e g i s t u s ( 3 r d c e n t u r y C.E.), l e g endary author of Egyptian books of magic. Apol-

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l o n i u s ( 1 s t c e n t u r y C.E.), G r e e k m y s t i c . 6. N i l e River. 7. G i l b e r t W h i t e ( 1 7 2 0 - 1 7 9 3 ) , E n g l i s h n a t u r a l i s t w h o lived in t h e c o u n t y o f S u r r e y , in s o u t h e r n E n g l a n d , a n d w r o t e The Natural Histoiy and Antiquities of Selborne (1789), a book to which Thoreau's reviewers often c o m p a r e d WaUlen.

S N O W - B O U N D : A W I N T E R IDYL

Next, the d e a r a u n t , w h o s e smile of c h e e r A n d voice in d r e a m s I s e e a n d h e a r , — T h e sweetest w o m a n ever F a t e Perverse d e n i e d a h o u s e h o l d m a t e , W h o , lonely, h o m e l e s s , not the less F o u n d p e a c e in love's u n s e l f i s h n e s s , And welcome wheresoe'er she went, A calm and gracious element, W h o s e p r e s e n c e s e e m e d the sweet i n c o m e A n d w o m a n l y a t m o s p h e r e of h o m e , — C a l l e d u p her girlhood m e m o r i e s , T h e h u s k i n g s a n d the a p p l e - b e e s , T h e sleigh-rides a n d the s u m m e r sails, W e a v i n g t h r o u g h all the poor details A n d h o m e s p u n warp of c i r c u m s t a n c e A golden woof-thread of r o m a n c e . For well s h e kept her genial m o o d A n d s i m p l e faith of m a i d e n h o o d ; B e f o r e her still a c l o u d - l a n d lay, T h e m i r a g e l o o m e d a c r o s s her way; T h e m o r n i n g dew, that dries s o s o o n With o t h e r s , glistened at her n o o n ; T h r o u g h years of toil a n d soil a n d c a r e F r o m glossy tress to thin gray hair, All u n p r o f a n e d s h e held a p a r t T h e virgin f a n c i e s of the heart. B e s h a m e to him of w o m a n born W h o hath for s u c h but t h o u g h t of s c o r n . T h e r e , too, our elder sister plied H e r e v e n i n g t a s k the s t a n d b e s i d e ; A full, rich n a t u r e , free to trust, Truthful a n d a l m o s t sternly j u s t , I m p u l s i v e , e a r n e s t , p r o m p t to act, And m a k e her g e n e r o u s t h o u g h t a fact, K e e p i n g with m a n y a light d i s g u i s e T h e secret of self-sacrifice. O heart sore-tried! thou hast the b e s t T h a t H e a v e n itself c o u l d give t h e e , — r e s t , — Rest from all bitter t h o u g h t s a n d things! H o w m a n y a p o o r one's b l e s s i n g went With thee b e n e a t h the low green tent W h o s e curtain never o u t w a r d swings! As o n e w h o held herself a part O f all s h e saw, a n d let her heart A g a i n s t the h o u s e h o l d b o s o m l e a n , U p o n the motley-braided m a t O u r y o u n g e s t a n d our d e a r e s t sat, Lifting her large, sweet, a s k i n g eyes, N o w b a t h e d within the f a d e l e s s g r e e n And holy p e a c e of P a r a d i s e .

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JOHN GREENLEAF

WHITTIER

O , looking from s o m e heavenly hill, O r from the s h a d e of saintly p a l m s , O r silver r e a c h of river c a l m s , D o t h o s e large eyes b e h o l d m e still? With m e o n e little year a g o : — T h e chill weight of the winter s n o w F o r m o n t h s u p o n her grave has lain; A n d now, w h e n s u m m e r s o u t h - w i n d s b l o w A n d brier a n d harebell b l o o m a g a i n , I tread the p l e a s a n t p a t h s we trod, I s e e the violet-sprinkled sod W h e r e o n s h e l e a n e d , too frail a n d w e a k T h e hillside flowers s h e loved to s e e k , Yet following m e where'er I went W i t h dark eyes full of love's c o n t e n t . T h e birds a r e g l a d ; the brier-rose fills T h e air with s w e e t n e s s ; all the hills S t r e t c h green to J u n e ' s u n c l o u d e d sky; B u t still I wait with ear a n d eye F o r s o m e t h i n g g o n e which s h o u l d b e nigh, A loss in all familiar things, In flower that b l o o m s , a n d bird that s i n g s . A n d yet, dear heart! r e m e m b e r i n g t h e e , A m I not richer t h a n of old? S a f e in thy immortality, W h a t c h a n g e c a n r e a c h the wealth I hold? W h a t c h a n c e c a n m a r the pearl a n d gold Thy love h a t h left in trust with m e ? A n d while in life's late a f t e r n o o n , W h e r e cool a n d long the s h a d o w s grow, I walk to m e e t the night that s o o n S h a l l s h a p e a n d s h a d o w overflow, I c a n n o t feel that thou art far, S i n c e near at n e e d the a n g e l s a r e ; A n d w h e n the s u n s e t g a t e s u n b a r , Shall I not s e e thee waiting s t a n d , A n d , white a g a i n s t the e v e n i n g star, T h e w e l c o m e of thy b e c k o n i n g h a n d ? Brisk wielder of the birch a n d rule, T h e m a s t e r of the district school H e l d at the fire his favored p l a c e , Its w a r m glow lit a l a u g h i n g f a c e F r e s h - h u e d a n d fair, w h e r e s c a r c e a p p e a r e d T h e u n c e r t a i n p r o p h e c y of b e a r d . H e played the old a n d s i m p l e g a m e s O u r m o d e r n b o y h o o d scarcely n a m e s , S a n g s o n g s , a n d told u s what befalls In c l a s s i c D a r t m o u t h ' s c o l l e g e halls. B o r n the wild N o r t h e r n hills a m o n g , F r o m w h e n c e his y e o m a n father w r u n g

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By patient toil s u b s i s t e n c e s c a n t , N o t c o m p e t e n c e a n d yet not want, H e early g a i n e d the power to pay H i s cheerful, self-reliant way; C o u l d doff at e a s e his scholar's gown T o p e d d l e w a r e s from town to town; O r t h r o u g h the long vacation's r e a c h In lonely lowland districts t e a c h , W h e r e all the droll experience f o u n d At stranger h e a r t h s in b o a r d i n g r o u n d , T h e moonlit skater's keen delight, T h e sleigh-drive t h r o u g h the frosty night, T h e rustic party, with its r o u g h A c c o m p a n i m e n t of blind-man's-buff, A n d whirling p l a t e , 8 a n d forfeits p a i d , H i s winter t a s k a p a s t i m e m a d e . H a p p y the snow-locked h o m e s wherein H e t u n e d his merry violin, O r played the athlete in the b a r n , O r held the g o o d d a m e ' s winding yarn, O r mirth-provoking versions told O f c l a s s i c l e g e n d s rare a n d old, W h e r e i n the s c e n e s of G r e e c e a n d R o m e H a d all the c o m m o n p l a c e of h o m e , A n d little s e e m e d at b e s t the o d d s 'Twixt Y a n k e e pedlers a n d old g o d s ; W h e r e P i n d u s - b o r n Araxes took T h e g u i s e of any grist-mill brook, And d r e a d O l y m p u s 9 at his will B e c a m e a huckleberry hill. A c a r e l e s s boy that night he s e e m e d ; B u t at his d e s k h e h a d the look And air of o n e w h o wisely s c h e m e d , A n d h o s t a g e from the future took In trained thought a n d lore of book. L a r g e - b r a i n e d , c l e a r - e y e d , — o f s u c h a s he Shall F r e e d o m ' s y o u n g a p o s t l e s b e , W h o , following in W a r ' s bloody trail, Shall every lingering wrong a s s a i l ; All c h a i n s from limb a n d spirit strike, Uplift the b l a c k a n d white alike; S c a t t e r before their swift a d v a n c e T h e d a r k n e s s a n d the i g n o r a n c e , T h e p r i d e , the lust, the s q u a l i d sloth, W h i c h n u r t u r e d T r e a s o n ' s m o n s t r o u s growth, M a d e m u r d e r p a s t i m e , a n d the hell O f prison-torture p o s s i b l e ; 8. S i m p l e g a m e t h e o b j e c t o f w h i c h is to k e e p a pewter plate spinning on edge longer than others can do.

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9 . M o u n t O l y m p u s : h o m e o f t h e g o d s in G r e e k m y t h o l o g y . A r a x e s is a G r e e k r i v e r , " b o r n " i n t h e Pindus Mountains.

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T h e cruel lie of c a s t e refute, Old forms recast, and substitute F o r Slavery's lash the f r e e m a n ' s will, F o r blind routine, w i s e - h a n d e d skill; A s c h o o l - h o u s e plant o n every hill, S t r e t c h i n g in radiate nerve-lines t h e n c e T h e q u i c k wires of i n t e l l i g e n c e ; 1 Till N o r t h a n d S o u t h together b r o u g h t S h a l l own the s a m e electric t h o u g h t , In p e a c e a c o m m o n flag s a l u t e , A n d , side by side in labor's free A n d unresentful rivalry, H a r v e s t the fields wherein they f o u g h t . A n o t h e r g u e s t 2 that winter night F l a s h e d b a c k from l u s t r o u s eyes the light. U n m a r k e d by t i m e , a n d yet not y o u n g , T h e honeyed m u s i c of her t o n g u e And words of m e e k n e s s scarcely told A nature passionate and bold, Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, Its milder f e a t u r e s dwarfed b e s i d e H e r u n b e n t will's m a j e s t i c p r i d e . S h e sat a m o n g u s , at the b e s t , A not u n f e a r e d , h a l f - w e l c o m e g u e s t , R e b u k i n g with her c u l t u r e d p h r a s e O u r h o m e l i n e s s of w o r d s a n d w a y s . A certain p a r d - l i k e , 3 t r e a c h e r o u s g r a c e S w a y e d the lithe l i m b s a n d d r o o p e d the l a s h , L e n t the white teeth their dazzling flash; A n d u n d e r low brows, b l a c k with night, R a y e d o u t at t i m e s a d a n g e r o u s light; T h e s h a r p heat-lightnings of her f a c e P r e s a g i n g ill to him w h o m F a t e C o n d e m n e d to s h a r e her love or h a t e . A w o m a n tropical, i n t e n s e In thought a n d a c t , in soul a n d s e n s e , S h e b l e n d e d in a like d e g r e e T h e vixen a n d the d e v o t e e , R e v e a l i n g with e a c h freak or feint T h e t e m p e r of P e t r u c h i o ' s K a t e , T h e r a p t u r e s of S i e n a ' s saint." 1 H e r t a p e r i n g h a n d a n d r o u n d e d wrist H a d facile power to form a fist; T h e w a r m , dark l a n g u i s h of her eyes W a s never s a f e from wrath's s u r p r i s e . B r o w s saintly c a l m a n d lips devout

1. I n f o r m a t i o n , c o m m u n i c a t i o n ( t h e i m a g e r y is f r o m t h e t e l e g r a p h , t h e n still a r e c e n t d e v e l o p ment). 2. A s W h i t t i e r ' s p r e f a t o r y n o t e s a y s , H a r r i e t Livermore.

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3. L e o p a r d l i k e . 4. St. C a t h a r i n e ( 1 3 4 7 - 1 3 8 0 ) o f S i e n a , in T u s c a n y , Italy. " P e t r u c h i o ' s K a t e " is t h e h e r o i n e of S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Taming of the Shrew.

SNOW-BOUND:A

WINTER

K n e w every c h a n g e of scowl a n d p o u t ; A n d the sweet voice h a d notes m o r e high A n d shrill for social battle-cry. S i n c e then w h a t old c a t h e d r a l town H a s m i s s e d her pilgrim staff a n d g o w n , W h a t convent-gate h a s held its lock A g a i n s t the c h a l l e n g e of her knock! Through Smyrna's plague-husked thoroughfares, U p sea-set M a l t a ' s rocky stairs, G r a y olive s l o p e s of hills that h e m Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, O r startling on her desert t h r o n e T h e crazy Queen of L e b a n o n 5 With c l a i m s fantastic a s her o w n , H e r tireless feet have held their way; A n d still, unrestful, b o w e d , a n d gray, She watches under Eastern skies, With h o p e e a c h day r e n e w e d a n d fresh, T h e L o r d ' s q u i c k c o m i n g in the flesh, Whereof she dreams and prophesies! W h e r e ' e r her troubled p a t h may b e , T h e Lord's sweet pity with her go! T h e o u t w a r d wayward life we s e e , T h e hidden springs we m a y not know. N o r is it given us to d i s c e r n W h a t t h r e a d s the fatal s i s t e r s 6 s p u n , T h r o u g h what a n c e s t r a l years h a s run T h e sorrow with the w o m a n b o r n , W h a t forged her cruel c h a i n of m o o d s , W h a t set her feet in s o l i t u d e s , A n d held the love within her m u t e , W h a t m i n g l e d m a d n e s s in the blood, A life-long discord a n d annoy, W a t e r of tears with oil of joy, And hid within the folded b u d Perversities of flower a n d fruit. It is not o u r s to s e p a r a t e T h e t a n g l e d skein of will a n d fate, T o s h o w what m e t e s a n d b o u n d s s h o u l d s t a n d U p o n the soul's d e b a t a b l e land, And b e t w e e n c h o i c e a n d P r o v i d e n c e Divide the circle of events; B u t H e w h o knows our f r a m e is j u s t , 7 Merciful, a n d c o m p a s s i o n a t e , A n d full of sweet a s s u r a n c e s A n d h o p e for all the l a n g u a g e is, T h a t H e r e m e m b e r e t h we are d u s t !

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L a d y H e s t e r S t a n h o p e ( s e e n. 3, p. 1 4 8 9 ) . In G r e e k m y t h o l o g y t h e g o d d e s s e s of destiny, Fates.

7. P s a l m 1 0 3 . 1 4 : " F o r h e k n o w e t h o u r f r a m e ; h e r e m e m b e r e t h that w e are dust."

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At last the great logs, c r u m b l i n g low, S e n t o u t a dull a n d duller glow, T h e bull's-eye w a t c h 8 that h u n g in view, T i c k i n g its weary circuit t h r o u g h , P o i n t e d with mutely-warning sign Its b l a c k h a n d to the h o u r of n i n e . T h a t sign the p l e a s a n t circle b r o k e : M y u n c l e c e a s e d his p i p e to s m o k e , K n o c k e d from its bowl the r e f u s e gray A n d laid it tenderly away, T h e n r o u s e d h i m s e l f to safely cover T h e dull red b r a n d s with a s h e s over. A n d while, with c a r e , our m o t h e r laid T h e work a s i d e , her s t e p s s h e stayed O n e m o m e n t , s e e k i n g to e x p r e s s H e r grateful s e n s e of h a p p i n e s s F o r food a n d shelter, w a r m t h a n d h e a l t h , A n d love's c o n t e n t m e n t m o r e t h a n wealth, W i t h s i m p l e w i s h e s (not the w e a k , Vain prayers w h i c h n o fulfilment seek, B u t s u c h a s w a r m the g e n e r o u s heart, O'er-prompt to d o with H e a v e n its part) T h a t n o n e might lack, that bitter night, F o r b r e a d a n d clothing, w a r m t h a n d light. Within our b e d s awhile we h e a r d T h e wind that r o u n d the g a b l e s r o a r e d , W i t h n o w a n d then a r u d e r s h o c k , W h i c h m a d e o u r very b e d s t e a d s rock. W e h e a r d the l o o s e n e d c l a p b o a r d s tost, T h e board-nails s n a p p i n g in the frost; A n d o n u s , t h r o u g h the u n p l a s t e r e d wall, Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. B u t sleep stole o n , a s s l e e p will d o W h e n hearts are light a n d life is new; F a i n t a n d m o r e faint the m u r m u r s grew, Till in the s u m m e r - l a n d of d r e a m s T h e y s o f t e n e d to the s o u n d of s t r e a m s , L o w stir of leaves, a n d dip of o a r s , A n d l a p s i n g waves o n q u i e t s h o r e s . N e x t m o r n we w a k e n e d with the s h o u t O f merry voices high a n d clear; A n d saw the t e a m s t e r s d r a w i n g n e a r T o b r e a k the drifted highways out. D o w n the long hillside t r e a d i n g slow W e s a w the half-buried oxen g o , S h a k i n g the s n o w from h e a d s u p t o s t , T h e i r straining nostrils white with frost. B e f o r e our d o o r the straggling train 8.

Nearly globular w a t c h with a thick glass face.

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D r e w u p , an a d d e d t e a m to gain. T h e elders t h r e s h e d their h a n d s a-cold, P a s s e d , with the c i d e r - m u g , their j o k e s F r o m lip to lip; the y o u n g e r folks D o w n the l o o s e s n o w - b a n k s , wrestling, rolled, T h e n toiled a g a i n the c a v a l c a d e O'er windy hill, t h r o u g h c l o g g e d ravine, A n d w o o d l a n d p a t h s that w o u n d b e t w e e n L o w d r o o p i n g p i n e - b o u g h s winter-weighed. F r o m every b a r n a t e a m afoot, At every h o u s e a n e w recruit, W h e r e , drawn by N a t u r e ' s s u b t l e s t law, Haply the watchful y o u n g m e n s a w S w e e t doorway p i c t u r e s of the curls A n d c u r i o u s eyes of merry girls, Lifting their h a n d s in m o c k d e f e n c e A g a i n s t the snow-ball's c o m p l i m e n t s , A n d r e a d i n g in e a c h missive tost T h e c h a r m with E d e n never lost. W e h e a r d o n c e m o r e the sleigh-bells' s o u n d ; A n d , following w h e r e the t e a m s t e r s led, T h e wise old D o c t o r went his r o u n d , J u s t p a u s i n g at our d o o r to say, In the brief a u t o c r a t i c way O f o n e w h o , p r o m p t at Duty's call, W a s free to urge her claim on all, T h a t s o m e p o o r n e i g h b o r sick a b e d At night our mother's aid would n e e d . For, o n e in g e n e r o u s thought a n d d e e d , W h a t m a t t e r e d in the sufferer's sight T h e Quaker m a t r o n ' s inward light, T h e Doctor's m a i l 9 of Calvin's c r e e d ? All hearts c o n f e s s the saints elect W h o , twain in faith, in love a g r e e , A n d melt not in an acid sect T h e C h r i s t i a n pearl of charity! S o days went o n : a w e e k h a d p a s s e d S i n c e the great world w a s heard from last. T h e A l m a n a c we studied o'er, R e a d a n d reread o u r little store, O f books a n d p a m p h l e t s , s c a r c e a s c o r e ; O n e h a r m l e s s novel, mostly hid F r o m y o u n g e r e y e s , a b o o k forbid, A n d poetry, (or g o o d or b a d , A single b o o k w a s all we h a d , ) W h e r e Ellwood's m e e k , drab-skirted M u s e , A stranger to the h e a t h e n N i n e , ' 9. Armor. J o h n Calvin's doctrines of predestination. Original Sin, a n d so o n being impenetrable and less h u m a n e than the "whole a r m o r of G o d " w h i c h P a u l e n j o i n s C h r i s t i a n s t o p u t o n in E p h e -

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s i a n s 6.1 1 — 17. 1. T h o m a s Ellwood (1639-1714), English Q u a k e r , w r o t e t h e Davideis (1712). Whittier has a n e s s a y o n h i m in Old Portraits and Modern

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S a n g , with a s o m e w h a t nasal whine, T h e wars of David a n d the J e w s . At last the floundering carrier bore T h e village p a p e r to our door. L o ! b r o a d e n i n g o u t w a r d a s we read, T o w a r m e r z o n e s the horizon s p r e a d ; In p a n o r a m i c length unrolled W e saw the marvels that it told. B e f o r e u s p a s s e d the p a i n t e d C r e e k s , 2 A n d daft M c G r e g o r o n his raids In dim Floridian e v e r g l a d e s . * A n d u p T a y g e t o s winding slow R o d e Ypsilanti's M a i n o t e G r e e k s , A Turk's h e a d at e a c h s a d d l e - b o w ! 4 W e l c o m e to u s its week-old news, Its c o r n e r for the rustic M u s e , Its monthly g a u g e of s n o w a n d rain, Its record, m i n g l i n g in a b r e a t h T h e w e d d i n g knell a n d dirge of d e a t h ; J e s t , a n e c d o t e , a n d love-lorn t a l e , T h e latest culprit sent to jail; Its h u e a n d cry of stolen a n d lost, Its v e n d u e 5 s a l e s a n d g o o d s at c o s t , A n d traffic calling loud for gain. W e felt the stir of hall a n d street, T h e p u l s e of life that r o u n d u s b e a t ; T h e chill e m b a r g o of the s n o w W a s m e l t e d in the genial glow; W i d e s w u n g again our ice-locked door, And all the world w a s o u r s o n c e m o r e ! C l a s p , Angel of the b a c k w a r d look And folded wings of a s h e n gray A n d voice of e c h o e s far away, T h e b r a z e n covers of thy book; T h e weird p a l i m p s e s t 6 old a n d vast, W h e r e i n thou hid'st the spectral p a s t ; W h e r e , closely mingling, p a l e a n d glow T h e c h a r a c t e r s of joy a n d w o e ; T h e m o n o g r a p h s of outlived y e a r s , O r smile-illumed or d i m with t e a r s , G r e e n hills of life that s l o p e to d e a t h , Sketches ( 1 8 5 0 ) . H e r e , Ellwood's s o u r c e of inspir a t i o n w e a r s Q u a k e r d r a b , b r o w n i s h yellow h o m e spun, and knows nothing of the nine Greek g o d d e s s e s w h o traditionally inspire artists a n d scientists. 2. Tribe of A m e r i c a n Indians from present-day A l a b a m a , w h o w e r e s u b d u e d by A n d r e w J a c k s o n and driven onto a reservation. 3. T h e S c o t t i s h a d v e n t u r e r G r e g o r McGregor f o u g h t with S i m o n Bolivar for the l i b e r a t i o n of V e n e z u e l a f r o m S p a i n , t h e n in 1 8 1 7 t o o k p o s s e s -

sion of the S p a n i s h - o w n e d A m e l i a Island, off the Florida coast. 4. T h e G r e e k Revolutionary patriot Alexander Ypsilanti ( 1 7 9 2 - 1 8 2 8 ) defeated the Turks at M o u n t T a y g e t o s in 1 8 2 0 ; h i s s a d d l e o r n a m e n t s a r e h e a d s of Turkish soldiers, not the fanciful knots i m i t a t e d in t h e a n d i r o n s r e f e r r e d t o e a r l i e r . 5. A u c t i o n . 6. P a r c h m e n t with earlier writing visible b e n e a t h later writing.

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A n d h a u n t s of h o m e , w h o s e vistaed trees S h a d e off to m o u r n f u l cypresses With the white a m a r a n t h s 7 u n d e r n e a t h . E v e n while I look, I c a n but h e e d T h e restless s a n d s ' i n c e s s a n t fall, I m p o r t u n a t e h o u r s that h o u r s s u c c e e d , E a c h c l a m o r o u s with its own s h a r p n e e d , A n d duty k e e p i n g p a c e with all. S h u t d o w n a n d c l a s p the heavy lids; I h e a r again the voice that bids T h e d r e a m e r leave his d r e a m midway F o r larger h o p e s a n d graver fears: Life g r e a t e n s in t h e s e later years, T h e century's a l o e 8 flowers to-day! Yet, haply, in s o m e lull of life, S o m e T r u c e of G o d which b r e a k s its strife, T h e worldling's eyes shall gather dew, D r e a m i n g in throngful city ways O f winter joys his b o y h o o d knew; A n d dear a n d early f r i e n d s — t h e few W h o yet r e m a i n — s h a l l p a u s e to view T h e s e F l e m i s h p i c t u r e s 9 of old d a y s ; Sit with m e by the h o m e s t e a d h e a r t h , And stretch the h a n d s of m e m o r y forth T o w a r m t h e m at the wood-fire's blaze! A n d t h a n k s u n t r a c e d to lips u n k n o w n S h a l l greet m e like the odors blown F r o m u n s e e n m e a d o w s newly m o w n , O r lilies floating in s o m e p o n d , W o o d - f r i n g e d , the wayside gaze b e y o n d ; T h e traveller owns the grateful s e n s e O f s w e e t n e s s near, h e knows not w h e n c e , A n d , p a u s i n g , takes with f o r e h e a d b a r e T h e b e n e d i c t i o n of the air. 1866

7 . A s s o c i a t e d w i t h i m m o r t a l i t y in flower s y m b o l ism. fidelity" 8. T h e c e n t u r y p l a n t , f a b l e d to b l o o m only o n c e every h u n d r e d years.

1 9 t h - c e n t u r y t e r m of literary criticism, " D u t c h or " D u t c h r e a l i s m " m e a n t t h e m i n u t e p h o tographic realism of many 17th-century painters such as David Teniers (both the Elder and the

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694

EDGAR ALLAN POE 1809-1849 T h e life of E d g a r Allan P o e is the m o s t m e l o d r a m a t i c of a n y of t h e m a j o r A m e r i c a n writers of his g e n e r a t i o n . D e t e r m i n i n g the facts h a s p r o v e d difficult, a s lurid l e g e n d b e c a m e e n t w i n e d with fact even before he d i e d . S o m e l e g e n d s w e r e s p r e a d by P o e himself. G i v e n to c l a i m i n g that h e w a s born in 1 8 1 1 or 1 8 1 3 a n d h a d written c e r t a i n p o e m s far earlier t h a n he h a d , P o e a l s o e x a g g e r a t e d t h e l e n g t h of his a t t e n d a n c e a t t h e University of Virginia a n d , in i m i t a t i o n of L o r d B y r o n , f a b r i c a t e d a " q u i x o t i c e x p e d i t i o n to j o i n the G r e e k s , t h e n s t r u g g l i n g for liberty." T w o d a y s after P o e ' s d e a t h his s u p p o s e d friend R u f u s G r i s w o l d , a p r o m i n e n t a n t h o l o g i z e r of A m e r i c a n l i t e r a t u r e , b e g a n a c a m p a i g n of c h a r a c t e r a s s a s s i n a t i o n in which h e ultimately rewrote P o e ' s c o r r e s p o n d e n c e s o a s to a l i e n a t e m a n y of his friends w h o c o u l d only a s s u m e t h a t P o e h a d t r e a c h e r o u s l y m a l i g n e d t h e m b e h i n d their b a c k s . G r i s w o l d ' s forgeries w e n t unexp o s e d for m a n y y e a r s , p o i s o n i n g every b i o g r a p h e r ' s i m a g e of P o e , a n d l e g e n d still f e e d s on half-truth in m u c h writing o n h i m . Yet b i o g r a p h e r s n o w p o s s e s s a g r e a t d e a l of f a c t u a l e v i d e n c e a b o u t m o s t p e r i o d s of P o e ' s life. H i s m o t h e r , E l i z a b e t h A r n o l d , h a d b e e n a n a c t r e s s , p r o m i n e n t a m o n g the w a n d e r i n g s e a p o r t players in a p r o f e s s i o n that w a s t h e n c o n s i d e r e d d i s r e p u t a b l e . S h e w a s a t e e n a g e w i d o w w h e n s h e m a r r i e d D a v i d P o e Jr. in 1 8 0 6 . P o e , a l s o an a c t o r , worked u p to c h o i c e s u p p o r t i n g roles b e f o r e l i q u o r d e s t r o y e d his c a r e e r . E d g a r , the P o e s ' s e c o n d child, was born in B o s t o n on J a n u a r y 19, 1 8 0 9 ; a y e a r later D a v i d P o e d e s e r t e d the family. In D e c e m b e r 1 8 1 1 , E l i z a b e t h P o e died at twenty-four while a c t i n g in R i c h m o n d , Virginia; a n d h e r h u s b a n d d i s a p p e a r e d c o m p l e t e l y , p r o b a b l y dying s o o n afterward at the a g e of twenty-seven. T h e d i s r u p t i o n s of P o e ' s first two y e a r s w e r e followed by a p p a r e n t security, for J o h n Allan, a y o u n g R i c h m o n d m e r c h a n t , t o o k h i m in a s t h e c h i l d r e n w e r e p a r c e l e d out. A s " M a s t e r A l l a n , " P o e a c c o m p a n i e d the family to E n g l a n d in 1 8 1 5 , w h e r e h e a t t e n d e d g o o d s c h o o l s . O n their return in 1 8 2 0 t h e boy c o n t i n u e d in s c h o o l , b u t u n d e r his own last n a m e . P o e s p e n t m o s t of 1 8 2 6 at the n e w University of Virginia, d o i n g well in his s t u d i e s , a l t h o u g h he w a s a l r e a d y drinking. After a q u a r r e l with Allan in M a r c h 1 8 2 7 , P o e l o o k e d u p his father's relatives in B a l t i m o r e a n d t h e n went o n and Other Poems, "By to his b i r t h p l a c e , w h e r e he paid for the p r i n t i n g of Tamerlane a B o s t o n i a n . " B e f o r e its p u b l i c a t i o n , " E d g a r A. P e r r y " h a d j o i n e d t h e a r m y . P o e w a s partially r e c o n c i l e d with Allan in M a r c h 1 8 2 9 , j u s t after M r s . Allan d i e d . R e l e a s e d from t h e a r m y with t h e r a n k of s e r g e a n t m a j o r , P o e s o u g h t Allan's i n f l u e n c e to g a i n him an a p p o i n t m e n t to W e s t P o i n t , a l t h o u g h he w a s p a s t t h e a g e limit for a d m i s s i o n . W h i l e he w a s w a i t i n g for t h e a p p o i n t m e n t , P o e s h o r t e n e d Tamerlane, revised other p o e m s , a n d a d d e d new o n e s to m a k e u p a s e c o n d v o l u m e , Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems, p u b l i s h e d in B a l t i m o r e in D e c e m b e r 1 8 2 9 . H e e n t e r e d W e s t Point in J u n e 1 8 3 0 , but l o s i n g a n y r e m a i n i n g h o p e that if he dutifully p u r s u e d a military c a r e e r he m i g h t b e c o m e Allan's heir, P o e got h i m s e l f e x p e l l e d by m i s s i n g c l a s s e s a n d roll c a l l s . S u p p o r t i v e friends a m o n g the c a d e t s m a d e u p a s u b s c r i p t i o n for his Poems, p u b l i s h e d in M a y 1 8 3 1 . In this third v o l u m e P o e revised s o m e earlier p o e m s a n d for t h e first time i n c l u d e d v e r s i o n s of b o t h " T o H e l e n " (the f a m o u s " H e l e n , thy b e a u t y is to m e " ) a n d " I s r a f e l . " P o e ' s m a t u r e c a r e e r — f r o m his twenty-first year to his d e a t h in his fortieth y e a r — w a s s p e n t in four literary c e n t e r s : B a l t i m o r e , R i c h m o n d , P h i l a d e l p h i a , a n d N e w York. T h e B a l t i m o r e y e a r s — m i d - 1 8 3 1 to late 1 8 3 5 — w e r e m a r k e d by g r e a t i n d u s t r y a n d c o m p a r a t i v e sobriety. P o e lived in s o r d i d poverty a m o n g his o n c e - p r o s p e r o u s relatives, i n c l u d i n g his a u n t M a r i a P o e C l e m m a n d her d a u g h t e r V i r g i n i a , w h o m P o e s e c r e t l y m a r r i e d in 1 8 3 5 , w h e n s h e w a s t h i r t e e n . P o e ' s first story, " M e t z e n g e r s t e i n " (later Saturday s u b t i t l e d " I n I m i t a t i o n of the G e r m a n " ) , w a s p u b l i s h e d in t h e P h i l a d e l p h i a Courier, a n o n y m o u s l y , in J a n u a r y 1 8 3 2 , a n d other s t o r i e s a p p e a r e d in t h e s a m e p a p e r

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t h r o u g h the year. P o e r e t u r n e d to R i c h m o n d in 1 8 3 5 , twenty-six years o l d , a s a s s i s t a n t editor of T . L. W h i t e ' s n e w Southern Literary Messenger, at a salary o f $ 5 4 0 a year, s u b s i s t e n c e w a g e s even in the 1 8 3 0 s . T h e Messenger p u b l i s h e d s t o r i e s by P o e , hut it w a s t h r o u g h his critical p i e c e s that h e g a i n e d a n a t i o n a l r e p u t a t i o n a s a reviewer in t h e virulently s a r c a s t i c B r i t i s h m a n n e r — a literary h a t c h e t m a n . F i r e d from t h e Messenger early in 1 8 3 7 , P o e took his a u n t a n d his wife ( w h o m h e h a d publicly r e m a r r i e d in M a y 1 8 3 6 ) to N e w York City, w h e r e for two years h e lived h a n d to m o u t h o n the fringes of the p u b l i s h i n g world, s e l l i n g a few s t o r i e s a n d reviews. H e h a d written a short novel, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, in R i c h m o n d , w h e r e W h i t e ran two i n s t a l l m e n t s in the Messenger early in 1 8 3 7 . Harper's finally b r o u g h t it o u t in J u l y 1 8 3 8 , b u t it e a r n e d him n o m o n e y a n d , b e c a u s e it p u r p o r t e d only to b e e d i t e d by P o e , not m u c h r e p u t a t i o n either. In 1 8 3 8 P o e m o v e d to Philad e l p h i a , w h e r e for w e e k s t h e family survived o n b r e a d a n d m o l a s s e s . B u t h e c o n t i n u e d writing, a n d " L i g e i a " a p p e a r e d in the B a l t i m o r e American Museum in S e p t e m b e r 1 8 3 8 , w h e r e o t h e r s t o r i e s a n d p o e m s followed. In M a y 1 8 3 9 h e got his first s t e a d y j o b in m o r e t h a n two y e a r s , a s c o e d i t o r of Burton's Gentleman's Magazine. T h e r e he p u b l i s h e d b o o k reviews a n d s t o r i e s , a m o n g t h e m " T h e Fall of t h e H o u s e of U s h e r " a n d " W i l l i a m W i l s o n . " L a t e in 1 8 3 9 , a P h i l a d e l p h i a firm p u b l i s h e d Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, b u t it s o l d badly. P o e w a s n o w at t h e h e i g h t of his p o w e r s a s a writer of t a l e s , t h o u g h his p e r s o n a l life c o n t i n u e d u n s t a b l e , a s d i d his c a r e e r a s a n editor. W i l l i a m B u r t o n fired h i m for d r i n k i n g in M a y 1 8 4 0 b u t r e c o m m e n d e d h i m to G e o r g e G r a h a m , w h o c a r r i e d o n B u r t o n ' s m a g a z i n e a s Graham's. Throughout 1841, P o e w a s with Graham's a s c o e d i t o r , c o u r t i n g s u b s c r i b e r s by a r t i c l e s o n c r y p t o g r a p h y a n d on c h a r a c t e r a s revealed in h a n d w r i t i n g . In J a n u a r y 1 8 4 2 , Virginia P o e , n o t yet twenty, b u r s t a b l o o d v e s s e l in her throat ( s h e lived only five m o r e y e a r s ) . L e a v i n g Graham's in s o m e u n h a p p i n e s s , P o e revived a p r o j e c t for his o w n m a g a z i n e , n o w to b e c a l l e d The Stylus. In April 1 8 4 4 P o e m o v e d his family to N e w York City, w h e r e h e w r o t e for n e w s p a p e r s a n d w o r k e d a s s u b e d i t o r o n the Sunday Times. P o e ' s m o s t s u c c e s s f u l year w a s 1 8 4 5 . T h e F e b r u a r y i s s u e of Graham's c o n t a i n e d J a m e s R u s s e l l Lowell's c o m p l i m e n tary article on P o e , a n d " T h e R a v e n " a p p e a r e d in t h e F e b r u a r y American Beview after a d v a n c e p u b l i c a t i o n in the N e w York Evening Mirror. Capitalizing on the sensation t h e p o e m c r e a t e d , P o e l e c t u r e d on p o e t s of A m e r i c a a n d b e c a m e a p r i n c i p a l reviewer for the n e w weekly, the Broadway Journal. " T h e R a v e n " w o n h i m e n t r e e into the literary life of N e w York. O n e new literary a c q u a i n t a n c e , E v e r t A. D u y c k i n c k , s o o n to b e Melville's friend a l s o , s e l e c t e d a d o z e n of P o e ' s s t o r i e s for a c o l l e c t i o n b r o u g h t o u t by Wiley & P u t n a m in J u n e a n d a r r a n g e d for the s a m e firm to p u b l i s h The Baven and Other Poems in N o v e m b e r . H a v i n g a c q u i r e d critical c l o u t d e s p i t e a g r o w i n g n u m ber of e n e m i e s , P o e h a d g r e a t h o p e s for the Broadway Journal, of w h i c h h e b e c a m e s o l e o w n e r ; b u t it failed early in 1 8 4 6 . M e a n w h i l e P o e w a s m a r r i n g his n e w o p p o r t u n i t i e s by drinking. W i t h f a m e , the t e m p o of P o e ' s life s p u n into a blur of literary f e u d s , flirtations with literary l a d i e s , a n d d r i n k i n g b o u t s that e n d e d in q u a r r e l s . Virginia's d e a t h in J a n u a r y 1 8 4 7 s l o w e d the t e m p o : d u r i n g m u c h of that year P o e w a s s e r i o u s l y ill h i m s e l f — p e r h a p s with a brain l e s i o n — a n d d r i n k i n g steadily. H e w o r k e d a w a y at " E u r e k a , " a p r o s e s t a t e m e n t of a theory of t h e u n i v e r s e , a n d s o o n after Virginia's d e a t h h e w r o t e " U l a l u m e . " W h i l e visiting R i c h m o n d in 1 8 4 9 h e w a s offered a h u n d r e d d o l l a r s to edit the p o e m s of a P h i l a d e l p h i a w o m a n . S t o p p i n g off in B a l t i m o r e , P o e b r o k e his t e m p e r a n c e p l e d g e a n d w a s f o u n d s e n s e l e s s n e a r a p o l l i n g p l a c e on E l e c t i o n D a y ( O c t o b e r 3 ) . T a k e n to a h o s p i t a l , h e d i e d on O c t o b e r 7, 1 8 4 9 , " o f c o n g e s t i o n of t h e b r a i n . " T h e h a n d f u l of p o e m s that P o e w r o t e in t h e 1 8 4 0 s m a d e h i m f a m o u s a s a p o e t . " T h e R a v e n " b r o u g h t h i m i n t e r n a t i o n a l celebrity, a n d p o e m s like " U l a l u m e " a n d " T h e B e l l s " s o o n e n h a n c e d that f a m e a m o n g P o e ' s c o n s t a n t l y e n l a r g i n g p o s t h u m o u s a u d i e n c e . T h e bulk of P o e ' s c o l l e c t e d writings c o n s i s t s of his c r i t i c i s m , a n d his m o s t a b i d i n g a m b i t i o n w a s to b e c o m e a powerful critic. J u s t a s h e h a d m o d e l e d his p o e m s

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a n d first t a l e s on B r i t i s h e x a m p l e s (or B r i t i s h i m i t a t i o n s of t h e G e r m a n ) , h e t o o k h i s critical c o n c e p t s f r o m t r e a t i s e s o n a e s t h e t i c s by l a t e - e i g h t e e n t h - c e n t u r y

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C o m m o n S e n s e p h i l o s o p h e r s (later m o d i f i e d by h i s b o r r o w i n g s f r o m A . W . S c h l e g e l a n d C o l e r i d g e ) a n d t o o k his s t a n c e a s a reviewer f r o m t h e s l a s h i n g c r i t i c s o f t h e B r i t i s h q u a r t e r l i e s . P o e ' s e m p l o y e r s w e r e often u n e a s y a b o u t their reviewer, b o t h b e c a u s e h i s v i r u l e n c e b r o u g h t r e p r o a c h e s ( t h o u g h it w a s g o o d for b u s i n e s s ) a n d b e c a u s e they s u s p e c t e d that for all his s t r e s s o n a e s t h e t i c p r i n c i p l e s , P o e ' s r e v i e w s w e r e a p t to b e u n j u s t to writers h e w a s j e a l o u s o f a n d l a u d a t o r y t o w a r d o t h e r s h e w i s h e d to curry favor with. B u t P o e ' s b a s i c critical p r i n c i p l e s w e r e c o n s i s t e n t e n o u g h . H e t h o u g h t poetry s h o u l d a p p e a l only t o t h e s e n s e o f b e a u t y , n o t t r u t h ; i n f o r m a t i o n a l poetry, poetry o f i d e a s , or a n y sort o f d i d a c t i c poetry w a s i l l e g i t i m a t e . H o l d i n g that t h e true p o e t i c e m o t i o n w a s a v a g u e s e n s o r y s t a t e , h e s e t h i m s e l f a g a i n s t realistic d e t a i l s in poetry, a l t h o u g h t h e p r o s e t a l e , with truth a s o n e o b j e c t , c o u l d profit from t h e d i s c r e e t u s e o f s p e c i f i c s . B o t h p o e m s a n d t a l e s s h o u l d b e short e n o u g h to b e r e a d in o n e sitting; o t h e r w i s e t h e unity o f effect w o u l d b e d i s s i p a t e d . P o e ' s first t a l e s h a v e p r o v e d h a r d t o c l a s s i f y — a r e they b u r l e s q u e s o f p o p u l a r k i n d s of fiction or s e r i o u s a t t e m p t s a t c o n t r i b u t i n g to o r s o m e h o w a l t e r i n g t h o s e g e n r e s ? P o e ' s o w n c o m m e n t s t e n d to b e c l o u d h i s i n t e n t i o n s r a t h e r t h a n t o clarify t h e m . In 1 8 3 6 his b e n e f a c t o r J o h n P. K e n n e d y w r o t e h i m : " S o m e o f y o u r bizarreries m i s t a k e n for s a t i r e — a n d a d m i r e d t o o in that c h a r a c t e r . They

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not, for y o u did n o t i n t e n d t h e m s o . I like y o u r g r o t e s q u e — i t is o f t h e very best s t a m p ; a n d I a m s u r e you will d o w o n d e r s for y o u r s e l f in t h e c o m i c — I m e a n t h e seriotragic o m i c . " P o e ' s reply is t a n t a l i z i n g : " Y o u a r e nearly, b u t n o t a l t o g e t h e r right in r e l a t i o n to t h e s a t i r e o f s o m e o f m y T a l e s . M o s t o f t h e m w e r e intended

for half b a n t e r , half

s a t i r e — a l t h o u g h I m i g h t n o t h a v e fully a c k n o w l e d g e d this t o b e their a i m even to myself." T h e p r o b l e m o f d e t e r m i n i n g t h e n a t u r e o f a given w o r k — i m i t a t i o n ? s a t i r e ? s p o o f ? h o a x ? — i s c r u c i a l in P o e c r i t i c i s m . At t h e c o r e of P o e ' s d e f e n s e s o f his s t o r i e s is t h e h a r d h e a d e d n e s s o f a p r o f e s s i o n a l writer w h o w a n t e d t o c r a c k t h e p o p u l a r m a r k e t . H e w o r k e d h a r d a t s t r u c t u r i n g h i s tales of aristocratic m a d m e n , self-tormented murderers, n e u r a s t h e n i c necrophiliacs, a n d o t h e r d e v i a n t types s o a s to p r o d u c e t h e g r e a t e s t p o s s i b l e horrific e f f e c t s o n t h e r e a d e r . In t h e d e t e c t i v e story, w h i c h P o e c r e a t e d w h e n h e w a s thirty-two, with all its major conventions complete, the structuring w a s equally contrived, although the effect d e s i r e d w a s o n e o f a w e a t t h e b r i l l i a n c e of h i s p r e t e r n a t u r a l l o g i c i a n - h e r o . S e r i o u s l y a s h e t o o k t h e writing of h i s t a l e s , P o e n e v e r c l a i m e d t h a t p r o s e writing w a s for h i m , a s h e s a i d poetry w a s , a " p a s s i o n , " n o t m e r e l y a " p u r p o s e . "

Sonnet—To Science 1 S C I E N C E ! m e e t d a u g h t e r o f old T i m e t h o u a r t

W h o alterest all things with thy p e e r i n g eyes! Why prey'st t h o u t h u s u p o n the p o e t ' s h e a r t , Vulture! w h o s e wings a r e dull realities! H o w s h o u l d h e love t h e e — o r how d e e m t h e e wise W h o woulds't not leave h i m , in his w a n d e r i n g , T o s e e k for t r e a s u r e in t h e jewell'd skies Albeit, h e s o a r with a n u n d a u n t e d wing? 1. T h e t e x t i s f r o m The Raven ami Other Poems ( 1 8 4 5 ) . B o t h in 1 8 2 9 a n d in 1 8 3 1 t h e s o n n e t , untit l e d , w a s p r i n t e d a s a p r o e m t o Al Aaraaf; i n 1 8 4 5 t h e p o e m r e t a i n e d i t s p l a c e b u t c a r r i e d t h e t i t l e first u s e d in a n 1 8 4 3 reprinting. " S o n n e t — T o S c i e n c e " is b u i l t o n t h e R o m a n t i c c o m m o n p l a c e t h a t t h e scientific spirit destroys beauty, a notion well

5

exemplified by W o r d s w o r t h ' s "The T a b l e s T u r n e d " ( " S w e e t is t h e lore w h i c h N a t u r e brings; / O u r medling intellect / M i s s h a p e s the b e a u t e o u s forms of t h i n g s ; — / W e m u r d e r to d i s s e c t " ) a n d by K e a t s ' s " L a m i a " ( " P h i l o s o p h y will c l i p a n a n g e l ' s wings").

THE

RAVEN

H a s t thou not dragg'd D i a n a from h e r c a r , A n d driv'n t h e H a m a d r y a d from the w o o d T o s e e k a shelter in s o m e h a p p i e r star? T h e gentle N a i a d 2 from h e r fountain-flood? T h e elfin from t h e green g r a s s ? a n d from m e T h e s u m m e r dream beneath the shrubbery?

/

697

10

1829,1845

To Helen 1 H e l e n , thy b e a u t y is to m e Like t h o s e N i c e a n b a r k s 2 of yore, T h a t gently, o'er a p e r f u m e d s e a , T h e weary, way-worn w a n d e r e r b o r e T o his own native s h o r e .

5

O n d e s p e r a t e s e a s long wont to r o a m , T h y hyacinth hair, thy classic f a c e , T h y N a i a d 3 airs have b r o u g h t m e h o m e T o t h e glory that was G r e e c e , A n d t h e g r a n d e u r that w a s R o m e .

10

L o ! in yon brilliant window-niche H o w statue-like I s e e thee s t a n d , T h e a g a t e l a m p within thy h a n d ! A h , Psyche,' 1 from t h e regions which Are H o l y - L a n d !

15 1831, 1845

The Raven1 By [The quaint

following strain

lines

Quarles

from

of the sentiment,

ludicrous

touches

amidst

intended

by

author—appear

specimens sound,

the

of unique

The resources

studied,

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the curious and to

which

rhythm

corresponding much

correspondent—besides

the serious

rhyming

of English

producing

thoroughly

a

more

2. N y m p h l i v i n g i n b r o o k s o r f o u n t a i n s . " D i a n a " : Roman goddess of the moon (imaged as a chariot or c a r that s h e drives through t h e sky). " H a m a dryad": w o o d n y m p h in G r e e k a n d R o m a n mythology, often t h o u g h t o f a s living within a tree a n d p e r i s h i n g w i t h it. 1. T h e t e x t i s t h a t o f 1 8 4 5 , w i t h t w o e r r o r s o f i n d e n t a t i o n c o r r e c t e d . T h e p o e m w a s first p u b lished in 1 8 3 1 , w h e r e , a m o n g o t h e r d i f f e r e n c e s , lines 9 a n d 1 0 read: " T o t h e b e a u t y o f fair Greece,/And the grandeur of old Rome." 2. Variously annotated by P o e scholars, t h e N i c e a n boats a r e m o r e important for their musicality a n d v a g u e l y c l a s s i c a l s u g g e s t i v e n e s s t h a n for

for

impressive,

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one

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introduction of

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as was

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of melody, of

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have poets

eye. been

in

the

their vaguely M e d i t e r r a n e a n reference. 3. N y m p h l i k e , fairylike. 4. G o d d e s s of t h e soul. 1. T h i s p r i n t i n g o f P o e ' s m o s t f a m o u s p o e m i s t a k e n f r o m t h e American Review: A Whig Journal of Politics, Literature, Art and Science I (February 1 8 4 5 ) , w h e r e it w a s first s e t i n t y p e ; t h e N e w Y o r k Evening Mirror printed the p o e m , on J a n u a r y 2 9 , 1 8 4 5 , f r o m t h e p a g e s o f t h e American Review. T h e p r e f a t o r y p a r a g r a p h , s i g n e d a s i f it w e r e b y t h e e d i t o r o f t h e American Review, is retained here b e c a u s e P o e m o s t l i k e l y h a d a h a n d i n i t , if h e d i d n o t w r i t e it a l l . M a n y m i n o r v a r i a t i o n s a p p e a r in later texts.

698

/

EDGAR ALLAN

POE

language. While the classic tongues, especially the Greek, possess, by power of accent, several advantages for versification over our own, chiefly through greater abundance of spondaic feet,2 we have other and very great advantages of sound by the modern usage of rhyme. Alliteration is nearly the only effect of that kind which the ancients had in common with us. It will be seen that much of the melody of "Tlie Raven" arises from alliteration, and the studious use of similar sounds in unusual places. In regard to its measure, it may be noted that if all the verses were like the second, they might properly be placed merely in short lines, producing a not uncommon form; but the presence in all the others of one line—mostly the second in the verse—which flows continuously, with only an aspirate pause in the middle, like that before the short line in the Sapphic Adonic,' while the fifth has at the middle pause no similarity of sound with any part besides, gives the versification an entirely different effect. We could wish the capacities of our noble language, in prosody, were better understood.—Ed. Am. Rev.]

O n c e upon a midnight dreary, while I p o n d e r e d , w e a k a n d weary, Over m a n y a q u a i n t a n d c u r i o u s v o l u m e of forgotten lore, While 1 n o d d e d , nearly n a p p i n g , s u d d e n l y there c a m e a t a p p i n g , As of s o m e o n e gently r a p p i n g , r a p p i n g at my c h a m b e r door. " 'Tis s o m e visiter," I m u t t e r e d , " t a p p i n g at my c h a m b e r d o o r — 5 Only this, a n d n o t h i n g m o r e . " Ah, distinctly I r e m e m b e r it w a s in the bleak D e c e m b e r , And e a c h s e p a r a t e dying e m b e r wrought its g h o s t u p o n the floor. Eagerly 1 wished the morrow;—vainly I h a d tried to borrow F r o m my books s u r c e a s e of s o r r o w — s o r r o w for the lost L e n o r e — 10 For the rare a n d radiant m a i d e n w h o m the a n g e l s n a m e L e n o r e — N a m e l e s s here for e v e r m o r e . And the silken s a d u n c e r t a i n rustling of e a c h p u r p l e c u r t a i n Thrilled me—filled m e with fantastic terrors never felt b e f o r e ; S o that now, to still the b e a t i n g of my heart, I s t o o d r e p e a t i n g is " 'Tis s o m e visiter e n t r e a t i n g e n t r a n c e at my c h a m b e r d o o r — S o m e late visiter e n t r e a t i n g e n t r a n c e at my c h a m b e r d o o r ; — T h i s it is, a n d n o t h i n g m o r e . " Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, " S i r , " said I, "or M a d a m , truly your forgiveness I i m p l o r e ; 20 B u t the fact is I w a s n a p p i n g , a n d s o gently you c a m e r a p p i n g , A n d so faintly you c a m e t a p p i n g , t a p p i n g at my c h a m b e r d o o r , T h a t I s c a r c e w a s s u r e I heard y o u " — h e r e I o p e n e d wide the d o o r ; — D a r k n e s s t h e r e , a n d nothing m o r e . D e e p into that d a r k n e s s peering, long I s t o o d there w o n d e r i n g , fearing, D o u b t i n g , d r e a m i n g d r e a m s no mortal ever d a r e d to d r e a m b e f o r e ; B u t the s i l e n c e w a s u n b r o k e n , a n d the d a r k n e s s g a v e n o t o k e n , And the only word there s p o k e n w a s the w h i s p e r e d word, " L e n o r e ! " T h i s I w h i s p e r e d , a n d a n e c h o m u r m u r e d b a c k the word, " L e n o r e ! " M e r e l y this, a n d n o t h i n g m o r e . 2 . A s p o n d e e is a m e t r i c a l f o o t c o n s i s t i n g o f t w o stressed syllables. 3. A G r e e k l y r i c f o r m . In p r o s o d y a n a d o n i c is a

25

30

dactyl (a foot with o n e l o n g syllable a n d t w o s h o r t ones) followed by a s p o n d e e .

T H E RAVEN

/

699

T h e n into the c h a m b e r turning, all my soul within m e b u r n i n g , S o o n I heard again a t a p p i n g s o m e w h a t louder than before. " S u r e l y , " said I, "surely that is s o m e t h i n g at my window lattice; Let m e s e e , t h e n , what thereat is, a n d this mystery e x p l o r e — L e t my heart be still a m o m e n t a n d this mystery e x p l o r e ; — 35 'Tis the wind, a n d n o t h i n g m o r e ! " O p e n here I flung the shutter, w h e n , with m a n y a flirt a n d flutter, In there s t e p p e d a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; N o t the least o b e i s a n c e m a d e h e ; not a n instant s t o p p e d or stayed h e ; Rut, with mien of lord or lady, p e r c h e d above my c h a m b e r d o o r — 40 P e r c h e d u p o n a b u s t of P a l l a s 4 j u s t a b o v e my c h a m b e r d o o r — P e r c h e d , a n d sat, a n d n o t h i n g m o r e . T h e n this ebony bird beguiling my s a d fancy into smiling, By the grave a n d stern d e c o r u m of the c o u n t e n a n c e it wore, " T h o u g h thy crest be shorn a n d shaven, t h o u , " I said, "art s u r e no craven, 4 5 G h a s t l y grim a n d ancient raven w a n d e r i n g from the Nightly s h o r e — Tell m e what thy lordly n a m e is on the Night's P l u t o n i a n 5 s h o r e ! " Quoth the raven, " N e v e r m o r e . " M u c h I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear d i s c o u r s e so plainly, T h o u g h its a n s w e r little m e a n i n g — l i t t l e relevancy b o r e ; 50 For we c a n n o t help a g r e e i n g that no s u b l u n a r y * being Ever yet w a s b l e s s e d with s e e i n g bird a b o v e his c h a m b e r d o o r — Bird or beast u p o n the s c u l p t u r e d b u s t a b o v e his c h a m b e r door, With such n a m e as "Nevermore." B u t the raven, sitting lonely o n the placid b u s t , s p o k e only 55 T h a t o n e word, as if his soul in that o n e word h e did o u t p o u r . N o t h i n g farther then h e u t t e r e d — n o t a feather then he f l u t t e r e d — Till I scarcely m o r e than m u t t e r e d , " O t h e r friends have flown b e f o r e — O n the morrow he will leave m e , as my h o p e s have flown b e f o r e . " Quoth the raven, " N e v e r m o r e . " 60 W o n d e r i n g at the stillness broken by reply s o aptly s p o k e n , " D o u b t l e s s , " said I, "what it utters is its only s t o c k a n d s t o r e , C a u g h t from s o m e u n h a p p y m a s t e r w h o m u n m e r c i f u l D i s a s t e r Followed fast a n d followed f a s t e r — s o , w h e n H o p e he would a d j u r e , Stern D e s p a i r r e t u r n e d , i n s t e a d of the sweet H o p e he d a r e d a d j u r e — 65 That sad answer, "Nevermore!"7 B u t the raven still beguiling all my s a d soul into smiling, Straight I w h e e l e d a c u s h i o n e d seat in front of bird, a n d b u s t , a n d door; T h e n u p o n the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking F a n c y u n t o fancy, thinking what this o m i n o u s bird of y o r e — 70 W h a t this grim, ungainly, ghastly, g a u n t , a n d o m i n o u s bird of yore M e a n t in c r o a k i n g " N e v e r m o r e . " 4. A t h e n a , t h e G r e e k g o d d e s s of w i s d o m a n d t h e arts. 5.

B l a c k , a s in t h e u n d e r w o r l d o f G r e e k m y t h o l -

ogy6. Earthly, b e n e a t h the m o o n .

7. T h i s s t a n z a c o n c l u d e d in t h e 1 8 4 5 v o l u m e t h e s e l i n e s : " F o l l o w e d f a s t e r till h i s s o n g s o n e d e n b o r e — / Till t h e d i r g e s of his H o p e that ancholy b u r d e n bore of ' N e v e r — n e v e r m o r e . '

with burmel"

700

/

EDGAR ALLAN

POE

T h i s I sat e n g a g e d in g u e s s i n g , but no syllable e x p r e s s i n g T o the fowl w h o s e fiery eyes now b u r n e d into my b o s o m ' s c o r e ; T h i s a n d m o r e I sat divining, with my h e a d at e a s e reclining 75 O n the c u s h i o n ' s velvet lining that the lamplight g l o a t e d o'er, B u t w h o s e velvet violet lining with the lamplight g l o a t i n g o'er, She shall p r e s s , a h , n e v e r m o r e !

T h e n , m e t h o u g h t , the air grew d e n s e r , p e r f u m e d from an u n s e e n c e n s e r S w u n g by a n g e l s w h o s e faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. so " W r e t c h , " I cried, "thy G o d h a t h lent t h e e — b y t h e s e a n g e l s h e h a t h s e n t thee R e s p i t e — r e s p i t e a n d N e p e n t h e 8 from thy m e m o r i e s of L e n o r e ! L e t m e q u a f f this kind N e p e n t h e a n d forget this lost L e n o r e ! " Quoth the raven, " N e v e r m o r e . "

" P r o p h e t ! " said I, "thing of e v i l ! — p r o p h e t still, if bird or d e v i l ! — W h e t h e r T e m p t e r s e n t , or w h e t h e r t e m p e s t t o s s e d thee here a s h o r e , D e s o l a t e , yet all u n d a u n t e d , on this d e s e r t l a n d e n c h a n t e d — O n this h o m e by H o r r o r h a u n t e d — t e l l m e truly, I i m p l o r e — Is there—is there b a l m in G i l e a d ? 9 — t e l l m e — t e l l m e , I i m p l o r e ! " Quoth the raven, " N e v e r m o r e . "

85

90

" P r o p h e t ! " s a i d I, " t h i n g of e v i l ! — p r o p h e t still, if bird or devil! By that H e a v e n that b e n d s a b o v e u s — b y that G o d we both a d o r e — Tell this s o u l with sorrow laden if, within the d i s t a n t A i d e n n , 1 It shall c l a s p a sainted m a i d e n w h o m the a n g e l s n a m e L e n o r e — C l a s p a rare a n d radiant m a i d e n w h o m the a n g e l s n a m e L e n o r e . " 95 Quoth the raven, " N e v e r m o r e . " " B e that w o r d our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I s h r i e k e d , u p s t a r t i n g — " G e t t h e e b a c k into the t e m p e s t a n d the Night's P l u t o n i a n s h o r e ! L e a v e n o b l a c k p l u m e a s a token of that lie thy soul h a t h s p o k e n ! L e a v e my l o n e l i n e s s u n b r o k e n — q u i t the b u s t a b o v e my door! 100 T a k e thy b e a k from out my heart, a n d take thy form from off my d o o r ! " Quoth the raven, " N e v e r m o r e . " A n d the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting O n the pallid b u s t of P a l l a s j u s t a b o v e my c h a m b e r door; A n d his eyes have all the s e e m i n g of a d e m o n that is d r e a m i n g , 105 A n d the lamp-light o'er h i m s t r e a m i n g throws his s h a d o w o n the floor; A n d my soul from out that s h a d o w that lies floating o n the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore! 1845

8. D r u g that i n d u c e s oblivion. 9 . A n e c h o o f t h e i r o n i c w o r d s in J e r e m i a h 8 . 2 2 : " I s t h e r e n o b a l m i n G i l e a d ; is t h e r e n o p h y s i c i a n t h e r e ? " G i l e a d is a m o u n t a i n o u s a r e a e a s t o f t h e J o r d a n River between the S e a of Galilee and the

Dead Sea; evergreens growing there were an ample source of medicinal resins. 1. O n e o f P o e ' s v a g u e l y e v o c a t i v e p l a c e n a m e s , d e s i g n e d to suggest E d e n .

ULALUME: A BALLAD

To

/

701

.' Ulalume: A Ballad

T h e skies they were a s h e n a n d sober; T h e leaves they were crisped a n d s e r e — T h e leaves they were withering a n d s e r e ; It w a s night in the l o n e s o m e O c t o b e r O f my m o s t i m m e m o r i a l year; It w a s hard by the d i m lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of W e i r 2 — It w a s d o w n by the d a n k t a r n 3 of Auber. In the g h o u l - h a u n t e d w o o d l a n d of Weir.

5

H e r e o n c e , through an alley T i t a n i c , 4 O f c y p r e s s , I r o a m e d with my S o u l — O f c y p r e s s , with P s y c h e , my S o u l . T h e s e were days when my heart was volcanic As the s c o r i a e rivers 5 that roll— As the lavas that restlessly roll T h e i r s u l p h u r o u s c u r r e n t s down Y a a n e k In the ultimate c l i m e s of the p o l e — T h a t g r o a n a s they roll down M o u n t Y a a n e k In the r e a l m s of the boreal p o l e . 6

10

O u r talk had b e e n serious a n d sober, B u t our t h o u g h t s they were palsied a n d s e r e — O u r m e m o r i e s were t r e a c h e r o u s a n d s e r e — F o r we k n e w not the m o n t h w a s O c t o b e r , And we m a r k e d not the night of the y e a r — (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) W e n o t e d not the d i m lake of A u b e r — ( T h o u g h o n c e we h a d j o u r n e y e d down h e r e ) — W e r e m e m b e r e d not the d a n k tarn of A u b e r , N o r the g h o u l - h a u n t e d w o o d l a n d of Weir.

20

And now, a s the night w a s s e n e s c e n t A n d star-dials pointed to m o r n — As the star-dials hinted of m o r n — At the end of our p a t h a l i q u e s c e n t A n d n e b u l o u s lustre w a s b o r n , O u t of which a m i r a c u l o u s c r e s c e n t A r o s e with a d u p l i c a t e h o r n — Astarte's7 bediamonded crescent Distinct with its d u p l i c a t e horn.

30

1. T h i s is t h e l o n g e r v e r s i o n o f t h e p o e m ; P o e s o m e t i m e s d r o p p e d t h e t e n t h s t a n z a . T h e s o u r c e is t h e American Rexnew 6 ( D e c e m b e r 1 8 4 7 ) , t h e first printing. 2. " A u b e r " a n d "Weir" are s u r n a m e s P o e probably k n e w ; a s p l a c e n a m e s they a r e c h o s e n for their rhyme value and connotative suggestions ("Weir," for i n s t a n c e , s u g g e s t i n g " w e i r d " ) . 3. A s m a l l m o u n t a i n lake. 4. T h e a l l e y — t h e p a t h w a y — i s titanic b e c a u s e the

15

25

35

cypress trees on either side are e n o r m o u s , on a s c a l e to m a t c h that o f t h e p r e - O l y m p i a n G r e e k gods. 5. Rivers of lava. 6. N o r t h p o l e . 7. P h o e n i c i a n fertility g o d d e s s , c o n f l a t e d h e r e w i t h t h e p l a n e t V e n u s — w h i c h is a l s o t h e m o r n i n g star and s o m e t i m e s has a moonlike crescent shape; in s h o r t , a f a l s e m o o n .

702

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EDGAR ALLAN

POE

A n d I s a i d — " S h e is w a r m e r than D i a n : " S h e rolls through an ether of s i g h s — S h e revels in a region of s i g h s : S h e h a s s e e n that the tears are not dry on T h e s e c h e e k s , where the w o r m never d i e s , A n d h a s c o m e past the stars of the L i o n 9 T o point u s the p a t h to the s k i e s — T o the L e t h e a n 1 p e a c e of the s k i e s — C o m e u p , in despite of the Lion, T o s h i n e on u s with her bright e y e s — C o m e u p through the lair of the L i o n With Love in her l u m i n o u s e y e s . " B u t P s y c h e , 2 uplifting her finger, S a i d — " S a d l y this star I m i s t r u s t — H e r pallor I strangely m i s t r u s t : — O h , h a s t e n ! — o h , let u s not linger! O h , fly!—let us fly!—for we m u s t . " In terror s h e s p o k e , letting sink her W i n g s till they trailed in the d u s t — In agony s o b b e d , letting sink her P l u m e s till they trailed in the d u s t — Till they sorrowfully trailed in the d u s t . I r e p l i e d — " T h i s is n o t h i n g b u t d r e a m i n g : L e t u s o n by this t r e m u l o u s light! L e t u s b a t h e in this crystalline light! Its Sybillic* s p l e n d o r is b e a m i n g With H o p e a n d in B e a u t y t o - n i g h t : — S e e ! — i t flickers u p the sky through the night! A h , we safely may trust to its g l e a m i n g , A n d be s u r e it will lead u s a r i g h t — W e safely may trust to a g l e a m i n g T h a t c a n n o t but g u i d e u s aright, S i n c e it flickers u p to H e a v e n t h r o u g h the n i g h t . " T h u s I pacified P s y c h e a n d kissed her, A n d t e m p t e d her out of her g l o o m — And c o n q u e r e d her s c r u p l e s a n d g l o o m : And we p a s s e d to the end of the vista, A n d were s t o p p e d by the d o o r of a t o m b — By the d o o r of a l e g e n d e d t o m b ; A n d I s a i d — " W h a t is written, sweet sister, O n the d o o r of this l e g e n d e d t o m b ? " She replied—"Ulalume—Ulalume— 'Tis the vault of thy lost U l a l u m e ! " T h e n my heart it grew a s h e n a n d s o b e r As the leaves that were c r i s p e d a n d s e r e — 8. T h e c h a s t e R o m a n g o d d e s s of the m o o n .

giving waters of L e t h e .

9. T h e constellation Leo. 1. A b s o l u t e p e a c e , a s if b a t h e d

2. 3.

in t h e

oblivion-

T h e soul, i m a g e d as a butterfly. Mysteriously p r o p h e t i c — n o w spelled "

ANNABEL L E E

/

As the leaves that were withering a n d s e r e , And I c r i e d — " I t w a s surely O c t o b e r O n this very night of last year That I journeyed—I journeyed down h e r e — T h a t I b r o u g h t a dread b u r d e n d o w n h e r e — O n this night of all nights in the year, O h , what d e m o n h a s t e m p t e d m e here? Well I know, now, this d i m lake o f A u b e r — T h i s misty m i d region of W e i r — Well I know, now, this d a n k tarn of A u b e r , In the g h o u l - h a u n t e d w o o d l a n d of W e i r . " S a i d we, t h e n — t h e t w o , t h e n — " A h , c a n it H a v e b e e n that the w o o d l a n d i s h g h o u l s — T h e pitiful, the merciful g h o u l s — T o bar u p o u r way a n d to b a n it F r o m the secret that lies in t h e s e w o l d s — F r o m the thing that lies hidden in t h e s e w o l d s — H a d d r a w n u p the s p e c t r e o f a p l a n e t F r o m the limbo of lunary s o u l s — T h i s sinfully scintillant 4 planet F r o m the Hell of the planetary s o u l s ? "

703

85

90

95

100

1847

Annabel Lee 1 It w a s m a n y a n d m a n y a year a g o , In a k i n g d o m by the s e a T h a t a m a i d e n there lived w h o m you m a y know. By the n a m e of A N N A B E L L E E ;

And this m a i d e n s h e lived with n o other thought T h a n to love a n d b e loved by m e .

5

J w a s a child a n d she w a s a child, In this k i n g d o m by the s e a ; B u t we loved with a love that w a s m o r e t h a n l o v e — I a n d my A N N A B E L L E E —

10

With a love that the winged s e r a p h s of heaven C o v e t e d her a n d m e . And this w a s the r e a s o n that, long a g o , In this k i n g d o m by the s e a , A wind blew o u t of a c l o u d , chilling

15

M y beautiful A N N A B E L L E E ;

S o that her highborn k i n s m e n c a m e A n d bore her away from m e , Sparkling, shining. T h e t e x t i s t h a t o f t h e f i r s t p r i n t i n g , in R u f u s

G r i s w o l d ' s a r t i c l e in t h e N e w Y o r k Tribune ber 9, 1849), signed "Ludwig."

(Octo-

704

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EDGAR

ALLAN

POE

T o s h u t h e r u p in a s e p u l c h r e In this k i n g d o m by t h e s e a .

20

T h e a n g e l s , n o t half s o h a p p y in h e a v e n , W e n t envying her a n d m e — Y e s ! — t h a t w a s t h e r e a s o n ( a s all m e n know, In this k i n g d o m by t h e s e a ) T h a t t h e wind c a m e o u t o f the c l o u d by night, C h i l l i n g a n d killing my A N N A B E L L E E . B u t o u r love it w a s stronger by far than t h e love O f t h o s e w h o were older t h a n w e — O f m a n y far wiser than w e — A n d neither t h e a n g e l s in h e a v e n a b o v e , N o r t h e d e m o n s d o w n u n d e r the s e a , C a n ever dissever my soul from t h e soul

30

Of the beautiful A N N A B E L L E E :

F o r t h e m o o n never b e a m s , without bringing m e d r e a m s Of the beautiful A N N A B E L L E E ;

35

A n d t h e stars never rise, b u t I feel t h e bright eyes Of the beautiful A N N A B E L L E E :

A n d s o , all t h e night tide, I lie d o w n by t h e side O f my d a r l i n g — m y d a r l i n g — m y life a n d m y bride, In h e r s e p u l c h r e there by t h e s e a — In h e r t o m b by t h e s o u n d i n g s e a .

40

Ligeia 1 And

the will

mysteries pervading himself weakness

therein

of the will, all things to the angels, of his feeble

lieth, with

which its vigour?

by nature

dieth For

not.

Who

knoweth

the

God

is but a great

will

of its intentness.

nor unto

death

utterly,

Man doth save

only

not

yield

through

the

will. — J o s e p h Glanvill 2

I c a n n o t , for my soul, r e m e m b e r how, w h e n , or even precisely w h e r e I first b e c a m e a c q u a i n t e d with t h e lady L i g e i a . L o n g years have s i n c e e l a p s e d , a n d my m e m o r y is feeble t h r o u g h m u c h suffering: or, p e r h a p s , I c a n n o t now bring t h e s e p o i n t s to m i n d , b e c a u s e , in truth, t h e c h a r a c t e r of m y b e l o v e d , h e r rare learning, her singular yet placid c a s t o f b e a u t y , a n d the thrilling a n d enthralling e l o q u e n c e o f h e r low, m u s i c a l l a n g u a g e , m a d e their w a y into m y heart by p a c e s , s o steadily a n d stealthily p r o g r e s s i v e , that they have b e e n u n n o t i c e d a n d u n k n o w n . Yet I know that I m e t h e r m o s t frequently in s o m e large, old, 1. " L i g e i a " w a s first p u b l i s h e d i n t h e American Museum 1 (September 1838), the source ofthe p r e s e n t text. P o e later r e v i s e d t h e tale slightly a n d a d d e d t o it t h e p o e m " T h e C o n q u e r o r W o r m . " 2. Like others o f Poe's epigraphs (often a d d e d

a f t e r first p u b l i c a t i o n ) , t h i s o n e i s f a b r i c a t e d t o fit the desired effect. J o s e p h Glanvill ( 1 6 3 6 - 1 6 8 0 ) was o n eof the Cambridge Platonists, 17th-century English religious philosophers w h o tried t o reconcile Christianity a n d R e n a i s s a n c e s c i e n c e .

LIGEIA

/

705

d e c a y i n g city n e a r the R h i n e . O f her family—I have surely h e a r d her s p e a k — that they are of a remotely a n c i e n t d a t e c a n n o t be d o u b t e d . Ligeia! B u r i e d in studies of a n a t u r e , m o r e than all e l s e , a d a p t e d to d e a d e n i m p r e s s i o n s of the o u t w a r d world, it is by that sweet word a l o n e — b y L i g e i a , that I bring before m i n e eyes in fancy the i m a g e of her w h o is no m o r e . A n d now, while I write, a recollection flashes u p o n m e that I have never known the p a t e r n a l n a m e of her w h o w a s my friend a n d my b e t r o t h e d , a n d w h o b e c a m e the partner of my s t u d i e s , a n d eventually the wife of my b o s o m . W a s it a playful c h a r g e on the part of my L i g e i a ? or w a s it a test of my strength of affection that I s h o u l d institute no inquiries u p o n this point? or w a s it rather a c a p r i c e of my o w n — a wildly r o m a n t i c offering o n the shrine of the m o s t p a s s i o n a t e devotion? 1 but indistinctly recall the fact itself—what w o n d e r that I have utterly forgotten the c i r c u m s t a n c e s which originated or a t t e n d e d it? A n d i n d e e d , if ever that spirit which is entitled Romance—if ever s h e , the w a n , a n d the misty-winged Ashtophet* of idolatrous Egypt, p r e s i d e d , a s they tell, over m a r r i a g e s ill-omened, then m o s t surely s h e p r e s i d e d over m i n e . T h e r e is o n e d e a r t o p i c , however, on which my m e m o r y faileth m e not. It is the p e r s o n of L i g e i a . In stature s h e w a s tall, s o m e w h a t s l e n d e r , a n d in her latter days even e m a c i a t e d . I would in vain a t t e m p t to p o u r t r a y the majesty, the quiet e a s e of her d e m e a n o u r , or the i n c o m p r e h e n s i b l e lightness a n d elasticity of her footfall. S h e c a m e a n d d e p a r t e d like a s h a d o w . I w a s never m a d e a w a r e of her e n t r a n c e into my c l o s e d study save by the d e a r m u s i c of her low sweet voice, a s s h e p l a c e d her delicate h a n d u p o n my s h o u l d e r . In b e a u t y of f a c e n o m a i d e n ever e q u a l l e d her. It w a s the r a d i a n c e of a n o p i u m d r e a m — a n airy a n d spirit-lifting vision m o r e wildly divine t h a n the p h a n t a sies which hovered a b o u t the s l u m b e r i n g s o u l s of the d a u g h t e r s of Delos." 1 Yet her f e a t u r e s were not of that regular m o u l d which we have b e e n falsely t a u g h t to worship in the c l a s s i c a l labors of the H e a t h e n . " T h e r e is n o exquis i t e 5 b e a u t y , " saith V e r u l a m , L o r d B a c o n , s p e a k i n g truly of all the f o r m s a n d genera of beauty, "without s o m e strangeness in the p r o p o r t i o n s . " Yet, a l t h o u g h I s a w that the f e a t u r e s of L i g e i a were not of c l a s s i c regularity, a l t h o u g h I perceived that her loveliness w a s i n d e e d " e x q u i s i t e , " a n d felt that there w a s m u c h of " s t r a n g e n e s s " p e r v a d i n g it, yet I have tried in vain to d e t e c t the irregularity, a n d to trace h o m e my own p e r c e p t i o n of "the s t r a n g e . " I e x a m i n e d the c o n t o u r of the lofty a n d pale f o r e h e a d — i t w a s f a u l t l e s s — h o w cold i n d e e d that word w h e n a p p l i e d to a majesty s o divine! T h e skin rivaling the p u r e s t ivory, the c o m m a n d i n g b r e a d t h a n d r e p o s e , the gentle p r o m i n e n c e of the regions a b o v e the t e m p l e s , a n d then the raven-black, the glossy, the luxuriant a n d naturally-curling t r e s s e s , setting forth the full force of the H o m e r i c epithet, " h y a c i n t h i n e ; " I looked at the d e l i c a t e outlines of the n o s e — a n d nowhere but in the graceful m e d a l l i o n s of the H e b r e w s h a d I beheld a similar perfection. T h e r e w a s the s a m e luxurious s m o o t h n e s s of s u r f a c e , the s a m e scarcely p e r c e p t i b l e t e n d e n c y to the a q u i l i n e , the s a m e h a r m o n i o u s l y curved nostril s p e a k i n g the free spirit. I r e g a r d e d the sweet m o u t h . H e r e w a s i n d e e d the t r i u m p h of all things h e a v e n l y — t h e m a g n i f i c e n t turn of the short u p p e r l i p — t h e soft, v o l u p t u o u s r e p o s e of the u n d e r — t h e 3. V a r i a n t o f A s h t o r e t h , P h o e n i c i a n g o d d e s s o f fertility. 4. Probably the m a i d e n s attending Artemis, goddess of wild n a t u r e a n d the hunt; she w a s born on

D e l o s , a m o n g t h e C y c l a d e s in t h e A e g e a n S e a . 5. In his e s s a y " O f B e a u t y " F r a n c i s B a c o n , B a r o n V e r u l a m ( 1 5 6 1 — 1 6 2 6 ) , wrote "excellent," not "exquisite."

706

/

EDGAR ALLAN

POE

d i m p l e s which s p o r t e d , a n d the c o l o u r which s p o k e — t h e teeth g l a n c i n g b a c k , with a brilliancy a l m o s t startling, every ray of the holy light which fell upon t h e m in her s e r e n e , a n d p l a c i d , yet m o s t exultingly radiant of all s m i l e s . I scrutinized the formation of the c h i n — a n d h e r e , too, I f o u n d the g e n t l e n e s s of b r e a d t h , the s o f t n e s s a n d the majesty, the fulness a n d the spirituality, of the G r e e k , the c o n t o u r which the G o d Apollo revealed but in a d r e a m to C l e o m e n e s , the son of the A t h e n i a n . 6 A n d then I p e e r e d into the large eyes of Ligeia. F o r eyes we have no m o d e l s in the remotely a n t i q u e . It might have b e e n , too, that in t h e s e eyes of my beloved lay the secret to which L o r d Veriilam a l l u d e s . T h e y w e r e , I m u s t believe, far larger than the ordinary eyes of o u r r a c e . T h e y were even far fuller than the fullest of the G a z e l l e eyes of the tribe of the valley of N o u r j a h a d . 7 Yet it w a s only at intervals—in m o m e n t s of intense e x c i t e m e n t — t h a t this peculiarity b e c a m e m o r e t h a n slightly n o t i c e a b l e in L i g e i a . And at s u c h m o m e n t s w a s her b e a u t y — i n my h e a t e d fancy t h u s it a p p e a r e d p e r h a p s — t h e b e a u t y of b e i n g s either a b o v e or apart from the e a r t h — t h e b e a u t y of the f a b u l o u s H o u r i 8 of the T u r k . T h e c o l o u r of the orbs w a s the m o s t brilliant of b l a c k , a n d far over t h e m h u n g jetty l a s h e s of great length. T h e b r o w s , slightly irregular in o u t l i n e , h a d the s a m e h u e . T h e " s t r a n g e n e s s , " however, which I have f o u n d in the eyes of my Ligeia w a s of a n a t u r e distinct from the f o r m a t i o n , or the colour, or the brilliancy of the f e a t u r e , a n d m u s t , after all, b e referred to the expression. Ah, word of no m e a n i n g ! b e h i n d w h o s e vast latitude of m e r e s o u n d we intrench o u r ignorance of s o m u c h of the spiritual. T h e e x p r e s s i o n of the eyes of Ligeia! H o w , for long hours have I p o n d e r e d u p o n it! H o w have I, t h r o u g h the w h o l e of a m i d - s u m m e r night, struggled to f a t h o m it! W h a t w a s i t — t h a t s o m e t h i n g m o r e p r o f o u n d than the well of D e m o c r i t u s 1 ' — w h i c h lay far within the p u p i l s of my beloved? W h a t w a s it? I w a s p o s s e s s e d with a p a s s i o n to discover. T h o s e eyes! t h o s e large, t h o s e shining, t h o s e divine orbs! they b e c a m e to m e twin stars of L e d a , 1 a n d I to t h e m devoutest of a s t r o l o g e r s . N o t for a m o m e n t w a s the u n f a t h o m a b l e m e a n i n g of their g l a n c e , by day or by night, a b s e n t from my soul. T h e r e is no point, a m o n g the m a n y i n c o m p r e h e n s i b l e a n o m a l i e s of the s c i e n c e of m i n d , m o r e thrillingly exciting than the f a c t — n e v e r , I believe noticed in the s c h o o l s — t h a t in our e n d e a v o u r s to recall to m e m o r y s o m e thing long forgotten we often find ourselves upon the very verge of r e m e m b r a n c e without b e i n g a b l e , in the e n d , to r e m e m b e r . A n d t h u s , h o w frequently, in my intense scrutiny of Ligeia's eyes, have I felt a p p r o a c h i n g the full k n o w l e d g e of the secret of their e x p r e s s i o n — f e l t it a p p r o a c h i n g — yet not q u i t e be m i n e — a n d so at length utterly d e p a r t . A n d ( s t r a n g e , oh s t r a n g e s t mystery of all!) I f o u n d , in the c o m m o n e s t o b j e c t s of the u n i v e r s e , a circle of a n a l o g i e s to that e x p r e s s i o n . I m e a n to say that, s u b s e q u e n t l y to the period when Ligeia's b e a u t y p a s s e d into my spirit, t h e r e dwelling a s in a 6. C l a s s i c a l G r e e k s c u l p t o r w h o s e n a m e ( p o s s i b l y f o r g e d ) is s i g n e d t o t h e V e n u s d e ' M e d i c i . T h e g o d Apollo was the patron of artists. 7 . F r a n c e s S h e r i d a n ( 1 7 2 4 - 1 7 6 6 ) w r o t e The History of Noitrjahad, an Oriental romance. 8 . B e a u t i f u l v i r g i n w a i t i n g in p a r a d i s e f o r t h e devout Muslim. 9. T h e G r e e k "laughing philosopher" (Sth century

B.C.E.); o n e o f h i s p r o v e r b s is " T r u t h l i e s at t h e bottom of a well." I. Q u e e n o f S p a r t a w h o m Z e u s , i n t h e f o r m o f a swan, raped, thereby begetting Helen of Troy and ( a c c o r d i n g to s o m e v e r s i o n s ) t h e twin s o n s C a s t o r a n d Pollux, w h o m their father t r a n s f o r m e d into the constellation Gemini.

LIGEIA

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707

shrine, I derived from m a n y e x i s t e n c e s in the material world, a s e n t i m e n t , s u c h a s I felt always a r o u s e d within m e by her large a n d l u m i n o u s o r b s . Yet not the m o r e c o u l d I define that s e n t i m e n t , or analyze, or even steadily view it. I recognized it, let m e r e p e a t , s o m e t i m e s in the c o m m o n e s t o b j e c t s of the universe. It has flashed u p o n m e in the survey of a rapidly-growing v i n e — i n the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of a m o t h , a butterfly, a chrysalis, a s t r e a m of r u n n i n g water. I have felt it in the o c e a n , in the falling of a m e t e o r . I have felt it in the g l a n c e s of u n u s u a l l y a g e d p e o p l e . A n d there are o n e or two stars in h e a v e n — ( o n e especially, a star of the sixth m a g n i t u d e , d o u b l e a n d c h a n g e a b l e , to b e f o u n d n e a r the large star in L y r a ) 2 in a t e l e s c o p i c scrutiny of which I have b e e n m a d e a w a r e of the feeling. I have b e e n filled with it by certain s o u n d s from stringed i n s t r u m e n t s , a n d not unfrequently by p a s s a g e s from b o o k s . A m o n g i n n u m e r a b l e other i n s t a n c e s , I well r e m e m b e r s o m e thing in a v o l u m e of J o s e p h Glanvill, w h i c h , p e r h a p s merely from its q u a i n t n e s s — w h o shall say? never failed to inspire m e with the s e n t i m e n t . — " A n d the will therein lieth, which dieth not. W h o knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? F o r G o d is but a great will p e r v a d i n g all things by n a t u r e of its i n t e n t n e s s . M a n doth not yield him to the a n g e l s , nor unto d e a t h utterly, but only t h r o u g h the w e a k n e s s of his feeble will." L e n g t h of years, a n d s u b s e q u e n t reflection, have e n a b l e d m e to t r a c e , i n d e e d , s o m e r e m o t e connexion b e t w e e n this p a s s a g e in the old E n g l i s h moralist a n d a portion of the c h a r a c t e r of L i g e i a . An intensity in t h o u g h t , action, or s p e e c h was possibly, in her, a result, or at least a n index, of that gigantic volition which, d u r i n g our long i n t e r c o u r s e , failed to give other a n d more i m m e d i a t e e v i d e n c e of its e x i s t e n c e . O f all w o m e n w h o m I have ever k n o w n , s h e , the outwardly c a l m , the ever placid Ligeia, w a s the most violently a prey to the t u m u l t u o u s vultures of stern p a s s i o n . A n d of s u c h p a s s i o n I could form no e s t i m a t e , save by the m i r a c u l o u s e x p a n s i o n of t h o s e eyes which at o n c e s o delighted a n d a p p a l l e d m e , by the a l m o s t m a g i c a l melody, m o d u l a t i o n , d i s t i n c t n e s s a n d placidity of her very low voice, a n d by the fierce energy, (rendered doubly effective by c o n t r a s t with her m a n n e r of u t t e r a n c e ) of the words which s h e uttered. -

I have s p o k e n of the learning of Ligeia: it w a s i m m e n s e — s u c h a s I have never known in w o m a n . In all the c l a s s i c a l t o n g u e s w a s s h e deeply proficient, a n d a s far a s my own a c q u a i n t a n c e extended in regard to the m o d e r n dialects of E u r o p e , I have never known her at fault. Indeed u p o n any t h e m e of the m o s t a d m i r e d , b e c a u s e simply the m o s t a b s t r u s e , of the b o a s t e d erudition of the a c a d e m y , have I ever f o u n d Ligeia at fault? H o w singularly, how thrillingly, this o n e point in the n a t u r e of my wife has forced itself, at this late period, only, u p o n my attention! I said her k n o w l e d g e w a s s u c h a s I had never known in w o m a n . W h e r e b r e a t h e s the m a n who, like her, has traversed, a n d successfully, all the wide a r e a s of m o r a l , n a t u r a l , a n d m a t h e matical s c i e n c e ? I saw not then what I now clearly p e r c e i v e , that the a c q u i s i t i o n s of Ligeia were gigantic, were a s t o u n d i n g — y e t I w a s sufficiently a w a r e of her infinite s u p r e m a c y to resign myself, with a childlike c o n f i d e n c e , to her g u i d a n c e t h r o u g h the c h a o t i c world of m e t a p h y s i c a l investigation at which I w a s most busily o c c u p i e d d u r i n g the earlier years of o u r m a r r i a g e . With how vast a t r i u m p h — w i t h how vivid a d e l i g h t — w i t h how m u c h of all 2 . T h e l e s s e r s t a r is e p s i l o n L y r a e , t h e l a r g e o n e V e g a o r a l p h a L y r a e .

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that is ethereal in h o p e — d i d I feel, a s s h e b e n t over m e , in s t u d i e s but little s o u g h t f o r — b u t less known that d e l i c i o u s vista by slow but very p e r c e p t i b l e d e g r e e s e x p a n d i n g b e f o r e m e , d o w n w h o s e long, g o r g e o u s , a n d all u n t r o d d e n p a t h I might at length p a s s o n w a r d to the goal of a w i s d o m too divinely p r e c i o u s not to be forbidden! H o w p o i g n a n t , then, m u s t have b e e n the grief with w h i c h , after s o m e years, I b e h e l d my well-grounded e x p e c t a t i o n s take w i n g s to t h e m s e l v e s a n d flee away! W i t h o u t Ligeia I w a s b u t a s a child g r o p i n g b e n i g h t e d . H e r prese n c e , her r e a d i n g s a l o n e , r e n d e r e d vividly l u m i n o u s the m a n y m y s t e r i e s of the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l i s m in w h i c h we w e r e i m m e r s e d . L e t t e r s , l a m b e n t a n d g o l d e n , grew duller than S a t u r n i a n 3 lead w a n t i n g the radiant lustre of her eyes. A n d now t h o s e eyes s h o n e less a n d less frequently u p o n the p a g e s over which I p o u r e d . Ligeia grew ill. T h e wild eye blazed with a t o o — t o o glorious e f f u l g e n c e ; the p a l e fingers b e c a m e of the t r a n s p a r e n t waxen h u e of the g r a v e — a n d the b l u e veins u p o n the lofty f o r e h e a d swelled a n d s u n k impetuously with the tides of the m o s t g e n t l e e m o t i o n . I saw that s h e m u s t d i e — a n d I s t r u g g l e d desperately in spirit with the grim A z r a e l . 4 A n d the struggles of the p a s s i o n a t e Ligeia w e r e , to my a s t o n i s h m e n t , even m o r e energetic than my own. T h e r e h a d b e e n m u c h in her stern n a t u r e to i m p r e s s m e with the belief that, to her, d e a t h w o u l d have c o m e without its t e r r o r s — b u t not s o . W o r d s a r e i m p o t e n t to convey any j u s t idea of the f i e r c e n e s s of r e s i s t a n c e with w h i c h L i g e i a wrestled with the d a r k s h a d o w . I g r o a n e d in a n g u i s h at the pitiable s p e c t a c l e . I would have s o o t h e d — I would have r e a s o n e d ; b u t in the intensity of her wild d e s i r e for life—for life—but for life, s o l a c e a n d r e a s o n were alike the u t t e r m o s t of folly. Yet not for an i n s t a n t , a m i d the m o s t convulsive writhings of her fierce spirit, w a s s h a k e n the external placidity of her d e m e a n o r . H e r voice grew m o r e g e n t l e — g r e w m o r e low—yet I w o u l d not wish to dwell u p o n the wild m e a n i n g of the quietly-uttered w o r d s . M y brain reeled a s I h e a r k e n e d , e n t r a n c e d , to a m e l o d y m o r e than m o r t a l — t o a s s u m p t i o n s a n d a s p i r a t i o n s which mortality h a d never before k n o w n . T h a t Ligeia loved m e , I s h o u l d not have d o u b t e d ; a n d I might have b e e n easily a w a r e that, in a b o s o m s u c h as h e r s , love w o u l d have reigned n o ordinary p a s s i o n . B u t in d e a t h only, w a s I fully i m p r e s s e d with the intensity of her affection. F o r long h o u r s , d e t a i n i n g my h a n d , w o u l d s h e p o u r o u t before m e the overflowings of a h e a r t w h o s e m o r e than p a s s i o n a t e devotion a m o u n t e d to idolatry. H o w h a d I d e s e r v e d to b e so b l e s s e d by s u c h c o n f e s s i o n s . — H o w h a d I d e s e r v e d to b e so c u r s e d with the r e m o v a l of my beloved in the h o u r of her m a k i n g t h e m ? B u t u p o n this s u b j e c t I c a n n o t b e a r to dilate. L e t m e say only, that in Ligeia's m o r e than w o m a n l y a b a n d o n m e n t to a love, a l a s , all u n m e r i t e d , all unworthily b e s t o w e d ; I at l e n g t h r e c o g n i s e d the principle of her longing, with s o wildly e a r n e s t a desire for the life w h i c h w a s now fleeing s o rapidly away. It is this wild l o n g i n g — i t is this e a g e r intensity of desire for life—but for l i f e — t h a t I have n o p o w e r to p o u r t r a y — n o u t t e r a n c e c a p a b l e to e x p r e s s . M e t h i n k s I a g a i n b e h o l d the terrific s t r u g g l e s of her lofty, her nearly idealized n a t u r e , with the m i g h t a n d the terror, a n d the m a j e s t y of the great S h a d o w . B u t s h e p e r i s h e d . T h e giant will s u c c u m b e d to a p o w e r m o r e stern. A n d I t h o u g h t , a s I g a z e d u p o n the c o r p s e , of the wild 3.

S l u g g i s h ; i n a l c h e m y saturnus

lead.

is t h e n a m e f o r

4. T h e A n g e l of D e a t h (in J u d a i s m a n d I s l a m ) ,

LIGEIA

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709

p a s s a g e in J o s e p h Glanvill. " T h e will therein lieth, which dieth not. W h o knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? F o r G o d is but a great will pervading all things by n a t u r e of its i n t e n t n e s s . IVjan doth not yield him to the a n g e l s , nor unto death utterly, save only through the w e a k n e s s of his feeble will." S h e d i e d — a n d I, c r u s h e d into the very d u s t with sorrow, c o u l d no longer e n d u r e the lonely d e s o l a t i o n of my dwelling in the d i m a n d d e c a y i n g city by the R h i n e . I h a d no lack of w h a t the world t e r m s w e a l t h — L i g e i a h a d b r o u g h t m e far m o r e , very far m o r e , than falls ordinarily to the lot of m o r t a l s . After a few m o n t h s , therefore, of weary a n d a i m l e s s w a n d e r i n g , I p u r c h a s e d , a n d put in s o m e repair, an a b b e y , which I shall not n a m e , in o n e of the wildest a n d least f r e q u e n t e d portions of fair E n g l a n d . T h e g l o o m y a n d dreary grand e u r of the building, the a l m o s t s a v a g e a s p e c t of the d o m a i n , the m a n y m e l a n c h o l y a n d t i m e - h o n o r e d m e m o r i e s c o n n e c t e d with b o t h , h a d m u c h in u n i s o n with the feelings of utter a b a n d o n m e n t which h a d driven m e into that r e m o t e a n d u n s o c i a l region of the country. Yet, a l t h o u g h the external abbey, with its verdant d e c a y h a n g i n g a b o u t it suffered but little alteration, I gave way with a child-like perversity, a n d p e r c h a n c e with a faint h o p e of alleviating my sorrows, to a display of m o r e than regal m a g n i f i c e n c e within. For s u c h follies even in c h i l d h o o d I h a d i m b i b e d a t a s t e , a n d n o w they c a m e b a c k to m e as if in the d o t a g e of grief. A l a s , I now feel h o w m u c h even of incipient m a d n e s s might have b e e n d i s c o v e r e d in the g o r g e o u s a n d fantastic d r a p e r i e s , in the s o l e m n carvings of Egypt, in the wild c o r n i c e s a n d furniture of A r a b e s q u e , in the b e d l a m p a t t e r n s of the c a r p e t s of tufted gold! I h a d b e c o m e a b o u n d e n slave in the t r a m m e l s of o p i u m , a n d my labors a n d my orders had taken a c o l o u r i n g from my d r e a m s . B u t t h e s e a b s u r d i t i e s I m u s t not p a u s e to detail. L e t m e s p e a k only of that o n e c h a m b e r , ever a c c u r s e d , whither, in a m o m e n t of m e n t a l alienation, I led from the altar a s my b r i d e — a s the s u c c e s s o r of the unforgotten L i g e i a — t h e fair-haired a n d blue-eyed lady R o w e n a T r e v a n i o n , of T r e m a i n e . T h e r e is not any individual portion of the a r c h i t e c t u r e a n d d e c o r a t i o n of that bridal c h a m b e r which is not now visibly before m e . W h e r e were the souls of the h a u g h t y family of the bride, w h e n , t h r o u g h thirst of gold, they p e r m i t t e d to p a s s the t h r e s h o l d of a n a p a r t m e n t so b e d e c k e d , a m a i d e n a n d a d a u g h t e r so beloved? I have said that I minutely r e m e m b e r the details of the c h a m b e r — y e t I a m sadly forgetful on topics of d e e p m o m e n t — a n d here there w a s no s y s t e m , n o k e e p i n g , in the fantastic display, to take hold upon the m e m o r y . T h e r o o m lay in a high turret of the c a s t e l l a t e d a b b e y , w a s p e n t a g o n a l in s h a p e , a n d of c a p a c i o u s size. O c c u p y i n g the w h o l e s o u t h e r n face of the p e n t a g o n w a s the sole w i n d o w — a n i m m e n s e s h e e t of u n b r o k e n glass from V e n i c e — a single p a n e , a n d tinted of a l e a d e n h u e , so that the rays of either the s u n or m o o n , p a s s i n g through it, fell with a ghastly lustre u p o n the o b j e c t s within. O v e r the u p p e r portion of this h u g e window extended the o p e n trellice-work of an a g e d vine w h i c h c l a m b e r e d up the m a s s y walls of the turret. T h e ceiling, of gloomy-looking oak, w a s excessively lofty, v a u l t e d , a n d elaborately fretted with the wildest a n d m o s t g r o t e s q u e s p e c i m e n s of a s e m i - G o t h i c , semi-druidical device. F r o m out the m o s t c e n tral r e c e s s of this m e l a n c h o l y vaulting, d e p e n d e d , by a single c h a i n of gold, with long links, a h u g e c e n s e r of the s a m e m e t a l , A r a b e s q u e in p a t t e r n , a n d with m a n y perforations so contrived that there writhed in a n d out of t h e m ,

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a s if e n d u e d with a s e r p e n t vitality, a c o n t i n u a l s u c c e s s i o n of parti-coloured fires. S o m e few o t t o m a n s a n d g o l d e n c a n d e l a b r a s of E a s t e r n figure were in various stations a b o u t — a n d there w a s the c o u c h , too, the bridal c o u c h , of an Indian m o d e l , a n d low, a n d s c u l p t u r e d of solid ebony, with a c a n o p y a b o v e . In e a c h of the a n g l e s of the c h a m b e r , s t o o d on e n d a gigantic sarc o p h a g u s of b l a c k g r a n i t e , from the t o m b s of the kings over a g a i n s t L u x o r , 5 with their a g e d lids full of i m m e m o r i a l s c u l p t u r e . B u t in the d r a p i n g of the a p a r t m e n t lay, alas! the chief p h a n t a s y of all. T h e lofty w a l l s — g i g a n t i c in h e i g h t — e v e n unproportionally s o , were h u n g from s u m m i t to foot, in vast folds with a heavy a n d m a s s y looking t a p e s t r y — t a p e s t r y of a material w h i c h w a s f o u n d alike a s a c a r p e t o n the floor, a s a c o v e r i n g for the o t t o m a n s , a n d the ebony b e d , a s a c a n o p y for the b e d , a n d a s the g o r g e o u s v o l u t e s 6 of the c u r t a i n s w h i c h partially s h a d e d the window. T h i s material w a s the r i c h e s t cloth of gold. It w a s s p o t t e d all over, at irregular intervals, with A r a b e s q u e figures, of a b o u t a foot in d i a m e t e r , a n d w r o u g h t u p o n the cloth in p a t t e r n s of the m o s t jetty black. B u t t h e s e figures p a r t o o k of the true c h a r a c t e r of the A r a b e s q u e only w h e n r e g a r d e d from a single point of view. By a c o n t r i v a n c e now c o m m o n , a n d i n d e e d t r a c e a b l e to a very r e m o t e period of antiquity, they were m a d e c h a n g e a b l e in a s p e c t . T o o n e e n t e r i n g t h e r o o m they b o r e the a p p e a r a n c e of ideal m o n s t r o s i t i e s ; b u t , u p o n a farther a d v a n c e , this a p p e a r a n c e s u d d e n l y d e p a r t e d ; a n d , step by s t e p , a s the visitor m o v e d his station in the c h a m b e r , h e s a w h i m s e l f s u r r o u n d e d by a n e n d l e s s s u c c e s s i o n of the ghastly f o r m s which b e l o n g to the superstition of the N o r t h m a n , or a r i s e in the guilty s l u m b e r s of the m o n k . T h e p h a n t a s m a g o r i c effect w a s vastly h e i g h t e n e d by the artificial i n t r o d u c t i o n of a s t r o n g c o n t i n u a l c u r r e n t of wind b e h i n d the d r a p e r i e s — g i v i n g a h i d e o u s a n d u n e a s y vitality to the w h o l e . In halls s u c h a s t h e s e — i n a bridal c h a m b e r s u c h a s this, I p a s s e d , with the lady of T r e m a i n e , the u n h a l l o w e d h o u r s of the first m o n t h of our marr i a g e — p a s s e d t h e m with but little d i s q u i e t u d e . T h a t my wife d r e a d e d the fierce m o o d i n e s s of my t e m p e r — t h a t s h e s h u n n e d m e , a n d loved m e but little, I c o u l d not help p e r c e i v i n g — b u t it g a v e m e rather p l e a s u r e t h a n otherwise. I loathed her with a hatred b e l o n g i n g m o r e to d e m o n t h a n to m a n . M y m e m o r y flew b a c k , (oh, with w h a t intensity of regret!) to L i g e i a , the beloved, the beautiful, the e n t o m b e d . I revelled in recollections of her purity, of her w i s d o m , of her lofty, her ethereal n a t u r e , of her p a s s i o n a t e , her idola t r o u s love. N o w , t h e n , did my spirit fully a n d freely b u r n with m o r e than all the fires of her own. In the e x c i t e m e n t of my o p i u m d r e a m s (for I w a s habitually fettered in the iron s h a c k l e s of the d r u g ) 7 I w o u l d call a l o u d u p o n her n a m e , d u r i n g the s i l e n c e of the night, or a m o n g the s h e l t e r e d r e c e s s e s of the g l e n s by day, a s if, by the wild e a g e r n e s s , the s o l e m n p a s s i o n , the c o n s u m i n g intensity of my longing for the d e p a r t e d L i g e i a , I c o u l d restore the d e p a r t e d L i g e i a to the p a t h w a y s s h e h a d a b a n d o n e d u p o n e a r t h . A b o u t the c o m m e n c e m e n t of the s e c o n d m o n t h of the m a r r i a g e , the lady R o w e n a w a s a t t a c k e d with s u d d e n illness from w h i c h her recovery w a s slow. T h e fever which c o n s u m e d her, r e n d e r e d her nights u n e a s y , a n d , in her p e r t u r b e d s t a t e of half-slumber, s h e s p o k e of s o u n d s , a n d of m o t i o n s , in a n d a b o u t the c h a m b e r of the turret which h a d no origin save in the d i s t e m p e r 5 . In m i d d l e E g y p t , n e a r T h e b e s ; s i t e o f ruins, including the temple of A m u n . 6.

Scroll-like o r n a m e n t s .

famous

7 . T h e American Museum has no punctuation a f t e r " d r e a m s " o r " d r u g " in t h i s s e n t e n c e ; p a r e n t h e s e s a r e a d d e d to t h e p r e s e n t text.

LIGEIA

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of her fancy, or, p e r h a p s , in the p h a n t a s m a g o r i c i n f l u e n c e s of the c h a m b e r itself. S h e b e c a m e at length c o n v a l e s c e n t — f i n a l l y well. Yet b u t a brief period e l a p s e d , ere a s e c o n d m o r e violent disorder a g a i n threw her u p o n a b e d of s u f f e r i n g — a n d from this a t t a c k her f r a m e , at all t i m e s f e e b l e , never altogether recovered. H e r illnesses w e r e , after this p e r i o d , of a l a r m i n g c h a r a c t e r , a n d of m o r e a l a r m i n g r e c u r r e n c e , defying alike the k n o w l e d g e a n d the g r e a t exertions of her m e d i c a l m e n . With the i n c r e a s e of the c h r o n i c d i s e a s e which h a d t h u s , apparently, taken too s u r e hold u p o n her c o n s t i t u t i o n to b e e r a d icated by h u m a n m e a n s , I c o u l d not fail to o b s e r v e a similar i n c r e a s e in the nervous irritability of her t e m p e r a m e n t , a n d in her excitability by trivial c a u s e s of fear. I n d e e d r e a s o n s e e m e d fast tottering from her t h r o n e . S h e s p o k e a g a i n , a n d now m o r e frequently a n d pertinaciously, o f the s o u n d s , of the slight s o u n d s , a n d of the u n u s u a l m o t i o n s a m o n g the t a p e s t r i e s , to w h i c h s h e h a d formerly a l l u d e d . It w a s o n e night n e a r the c l o s i n g in of S e p t e m b e r , w h e n s h e p r e s s e d this d i s t r e s s i n g s u b j e c t with m o r e t h a n u s u a l e m p h a s i s u p o n my attention. S h e h a d j u s t a w a k e n e d from a p e r t u r b e d s l u m b e r , a n d I h a d b e e n w a t c h i n g , with feelings half of anxiety, half of a v a g u e terror, the workings of her e m a c i a t e d c o u n t e n a n c e . I sat by the side of her e b o n y b e d , u p o n o n e of the o t t o m a n s of India. S h e partly a r o s e , a n d s p o k e , in an e a r n e s t low whisper, of s o u n d s which s h e then h e a r d , but which I c o u l d not hear, of m o t i o n s which s h e then saw, but which I c o u l d not p e r c e i v e . T h e wind w a s r u s h i n g hurriedly b e h i n d the tapestries, a n d I wished to s h o w her (what, let m e c o n f e s s it, I c o u l d not all believe) that t h o s e faint, a l m o s t a r t i c u l a t e , b r e a t h i n g s , a n d the very g e n t l e variations of the figures u p o n the wall, were b u t the natural effects of that c u s t o m a r y r u s h i n g of the w i n d . B u t a deadly pallor o v e r s p r e a d i n g her f a c e , h a d proved to m e that my exertions to r e - a s s u r e her would b e fruitless. S h e a p p e a r e d to b e fainting, a n d n o a t t e n d a n t s were within call. I r e m e m b e r e d w h e r e w a s d e p o s i t e d a d e c a n t e r of s o m e light wine which h a d b e e n o r d e r e d by her p h y s i c i a n s , a n d h a s t e n e d a c r o s s the c h a m b e r to p r o c u r e it. B u t , a s I s t e p p e d b e n e a t h the light of the c e n s e r , two c i r c u m s t a n c e s of a startling n a t u r e a t t r a c t e d my attention. I h a d felt that s o m e p a l p a b l e object h a d p a s s e d lightly by my p e r s o n ; a n d I s a w that there lay a faint, indefinite s h a d o w u p o n the g o l d e n c a r p e t in the very m i d d l e of the rich lustre, thrown from the c e n s e r . B u t I w a s wild with the e x c i t e m e n t of a n i m m o d e r a t e d o s e of o p i u m , a n d h e e d e d t h e s e things b u t little, nor s p o k e of t h e m to R o w e n a . F i n d i n g the w i n e , I re-crossed the c h a m b e r , a n d p o u r e d o u t a goblet-ful, which I held to the lips of the fainting lady. B u t s h e h a d now partially recovered, a n d took, herself, the vessel, while I s a n k u p o n the o t t o m a n near m e , with my eyes rivetted u p o n her p e r s o n . It w a s then that I b e c a m e distinctly a w a r e of a gentle foot-fall u p o n the c a r p e t , a n d near the c o u c h ; a n d , in a s e c o n d thereafter, as R o w e n a w a s in the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw, or m a y have d r e a m e d that I saw, fall within the goblet, a s if from s o m e invisible spring in the a t m o s p h e r e of the r o o m , three or four large d r o p s of a brilliant a n d ruby c o l o r e d fluid. If this I s a w — n o t s o R o w e n a . S h e swallowed the wine unhesitatingly, a n d I forbore to s p e a k to her of a c i r c u m s t a n c e which m u s t , after all, I c o n s i d e r e d , have b e e n but the s u g g e s tion of a vivid i m a g i n a t i o n , r e n d e r e d morbidly active by the terror of the lady, by the o p i u m , a n d by the hour. Yet I c a n n o t c o n c e a l it from myself, after this period, a rapid c h a n g e for the w o r s e took p l a c e in the disorder of my wife, s o that, on the third s u b -

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s e q u e n t night, the h a n d s of her m e n i a l s p r e p a r e d her for the t o m b , a n d o n the fourth, I sat a l o n e , with her s h r o u d e d body, in that fantastical c h a m b e r which h a d received her a s my bride. Wild visions, o p i u m e n g e n d e r e d , flitted, shadow-like, before m e . I gazed with u n q u i e t eye u p o n the s a r c o p h a g i in the a n g l e s of the r o o m , u p o n the varying figures of the drapery, a n d u p o n the writhing of the parti-colored fires in the c e n s e r o v e r h e a d . M y eyes then fell, a s I called to m i n d the c i r c u m s t a n c e s of a former night, to the spot b e n e a t h the glare of the c e n s e r w h e r e I h a d b e h e l d the faint traces of the s h a d o w . It w a s there, however, no longer, a n d , b r e a t h i n g with greater f r e e d o m , I t u r n e d my g l a n c e s to the pallid a n d rigid figure u p o n the b e d . T h e n r u s h e d u p o n m e a t h o u s a n d m e m o r i e s of L i g e i a — a n d then c a m e b a c k u p o n my heart, with the t u r b u l e n t v i o l e n c e of a flood, the whole of that u n u t t e r a b l e w o e with which I h a d r e g a r d e d her t h u s e n s h r o u d e d . T h e night w a n e d ; a n d still, with a b o s o m full of bitter t h o u g h t s of the o n e only a n d s u p r e m e l y beloved, I r e m a i n e d with m i n e eyes rivetted u p o n the body of R o w e n a . It might have b e e n m i d n i g h t , or p e r h a p s earlier, or later, for I h a d taken no note of t i m e , w h e n a s o b , low, g e n t l e , b u t very distinct, startled m e from my revery. I felt that it c a m e from the b e d of e b o n y — t h e b e d of d e a t h . I listened in an a g o n y of s u p e r s t i t i o u s t e r r o r — b u t there w a s n o repetition of the s o u n d ; I strained my vision to d e t e c t any m o t i o n in the c o r p s e , but there w a s not the slightest p e r c e p t i b l e . Yet I c o u l d not have b e e n deceived. I h a d heard the n o i s e , however faint, a n d my w h o l e soul w a s a w a k e n e d within m e , a s I resolutely a n d perseveringly kept my a t t e n t i o n rivetted u p o n the body. M a n y m i n u t e s e l a p s e d before any c i r c u m s t a n c e o c c u r r e d t e n d i n g to throw light u p o n the mystery. At length if b e c a m e evident that a slight, a very faint, a n d barely n o t i c e a b l e tinge of c o l o u r h a d f l u s h e d up within the c h e e k s , a n d a l o n g the s u n k e n small veins of the eyelids. T h r o u g h a s p e c i e s of u n u t t e r a b l e horror a n d a w e , for which the l a n g u a g e of mortality h a s no sufficiently energetic e x p r e s s i o n , I felt my brain reel, my heart c e a s e to b e a t , my limbs grow rigid where I sat. Yet a s e n s e of duty finally o p e r a t e d to restore my selfp o s s e s s i o n . I c o u l d no longer d o u b t that we h a d b e e n p r e c i p i t a t e in our p r e p a r a t i o n s for i n t e r m e n t — t h a t R o w e n a still lived. It w a s n e c e s s a r y that s o m e i m m e d i a t e exertion be m a d e ; yet the turret w a s altogether apart from the portion of the Abbey t e n a n t e d b y the s e r v a n t s — t h e r e were n o n e within call, a n d I h a d no m e a n s of s u m m o n i n g t h e m to my aid without leaving the r o o m for m a n y m i n u t e s — a n d this I c o u l d not venture to d o . I therefore s t r u g g l e d a l o n e in my e n d e a v o r s to call b a c k the spirit still hovering. In a short period it b e c a m e evident however, that a r e l a p s e h a d t a k e n p l a c e ; the color utterly d i s a p p e a r e d from both eyelid a n d c h e e k , leaving a w a n n e s s even m o r e than that of m a r b l e ; the lips b e c a m e d o u b l y shrivelled a n d p i n c h e d u p in the ghastly e x p r e s s i o n of d e a t h ; a c o l d n e s s s u r p a s s i n g that of ice, overs p r e a d rapidly the s u r f a c e of the body, a n d all the u s u a l r i g o r o u s stiffness immediately s u p e r v e n e d . I fell b a c k with a s h u d d e r u p o n the o t t o m a n from which I h a d b e e n so startlingly a r o u s e d , a n d a g a i n gave myself up to p a s s i o n a t e waking visions of Ligeia. An hour t h u s e l a p s e d w h e n , (could it be p o s s i b l e ? ) I w a s a s e c o n d time a w a r e of s o m e v a g u e s o u n d i s s u i n g from the region of the b e d . I l i s t e n e d — in extremity of horror. T h e s o u n d c a m e a g a i n — i t w a s a sigh. R u s h i n g to the c o r p s e , I s a w — d i s t i n c t l y s a w — a t r e m o r u p o n the lips. In a m i n u t e after they slightly relaxed, d i s c l o s i n g a bright line of the pearly teeth. A m a z e m e n t now

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struggled in my b o s o m with the p r o f o u n d a w e which h a d hitherto reigned therein a l o n e . I felt that my vision grew d i m , that my brain w a n d e r e d , a n d it w a s only by a convulsive effort that I at length s u c c e e d e d in nerving myself to the task which duty t h u s , o n c e m o r e , h a d p o i n t e d out. T h e r e w a s now a partial glow u p o n the f o r e h e a d , u p o n the c h e e k a n d t h r o a t — a p e r c e p t i b l e w a r m t h p e r v a d e d the whole f r a m e — t h e r e w a s even a slight p u l s a t i o n at the heart. T h e lady lived; a n d with r e d o u b l e d a r d o u r I b e t o o k myself to the t a s k of restoration. I c h a f e d , a n d b a t h e d the t e m p l e s , a n d the h a n d s , a n d u s e d every exertion w h i c h e x p e r i e n c e , a n d no little m e d i c a l reading, c o u l d s u g g e s t . B u t in vain. S u d d e n l y , the c o l o u r fled, the p u l s a t i o n c e a s e d , the lips r e s u m e d the expression of the d e a d , a n d , in a n instant afterwards, the w h o l e body took u p o n itself the icy c h i l l n e s s , the livid h u e , the i n t e n s e rigidity, the s u n k e n outline, a n d e a c h a n d all of the l o a t h s o m e peculiarities of that which has b e e n , for m a n y days, a tenant of the t o m b . A n d again I s u n k into visions of L i g e i a — a n d again (what marvel that I s h u d d e r while I write?) again there r e a c h e d my e a r s a low s o b from the region of the e b o n y b e d . B u t why shall I minutely detail the u n s p e a k a b l e horrors of that night? W h y shall I p a u s e to relate how, time after t i m e , until n e a r the period of the grey d a w n , this h i d e o u s d r a m a of revivification w a s r e p e a t e d , a n d h o w e a c h terrific r e l a p s e w a s only into a s t e r n e r a n d a p p a r e n t l y m o r e i r r e d e e m a b l e d e a t h ? L e t m e hurry to a c o n c l u s i o n . T h e greater part of the fearful night h a d worn away, a n d the c o r p s e of R o w e n a o n c e again s t i r r e d — a n d now m o r e vigorously than hitherto, a l t h o u g h a r o u s i n g from a dissolution m o r e a p p a l l i n g in its utter h o p e l e s s n e s s than any. I h a d long c e a s e d to struggle or to m o v e , a n d r e m a i n e d sitting rigidly u p o n the o t t o m a n , a helpless prey to a whirl of violent e m o t i o n s , of which e x t r e m e a w e w a s p e r h a p s the least terrible, the least c o n s u m i n g . T h e c o r p s e , I repeat, stirred, a n d now m o r e vigorously than b e f o r e . T h e h u e s of life flushed u p with u n w o n t e d energy into the c o u n t e n a n c e — t h e limbs r e l a x e d — a n d , save that the eyelids were yet p r e s s e d heavily together, a n d that the b a n d a g e s a n d d r a p e r i e s of the grave still i m p a r t e d their c h a r n e l c h a r a c t e r to the figure, I might have d r e a m e d that R o w e n a h a d i n d e e d s h a k e n off, utterly, the fetters of D e a t h . B u t if this idea w a s not, even t h e n , altogether a d o p t e d , I c o u l d , at least, d o u b t no longer, w h e n , arising from the b e d , tottering, with feeble s t e p s , with c l o s e d eyes, a n d with the air of o n e bewildered in a d r e a m , the lady of T r e m a i n e s t o o d bodily a n d p a l p a b l y before me. I t r e m b l e d n o t — I stirred n o t — f o r a crowd of u n u t t e r a b l e f a n c i e s c o n n e c t e d with the air, the d e m e a n o u r of the figure, r u s h i n g hurriedly through my brain, sent the p u r p l e blood e b b i n g in torrents from the t e m p l e s to the heart. I stirred n o t — b u t g a z e d u p o n her w h o w a s before m e . T h e r e w a s a m a d disorder in my t h o u g h t s — a t u m u l t u n a p p e a s a b l e . C o u l d it, i n d e e d , b e the living R o w e n a w h o c o n f r o n t e d m e ? Why, why s h o u l d I d o u b t it? T h e b a n d a g e lay heavily a b o u t the m o u t h — b u t then it w a s the m o u t h of the b r e a t h i n g lady of T r e m a i n e . A n d the c h e e k s — t h e r e were the r o s e s as in her n o o n of h e a l t h — y e s , t h e s e were i n d e e d the fair c h e e k s of the living lady of T r e m a i n e . And the c h i n , with its d i m p l e s , a s in h e a l t h , w a s it not h e r s ? — b u t — b u t had she then grown taller since her malady? W h a t inexpressible m a d n e s s seized m e with that t h o u g h t ? O n e b o u n d , a n d I h a d r e a c h e d her feet! S h r i n k i n g from my t o u c h , s h e let fall from her h e a d , u n l o o s e n e d , the

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ghastly c e r e m e n t s which h a d confined it, a n d t h e r e s t r e a m e d forth, into the r u s h i n g a t m o s p h e r e of the c h a m b e r , h u g e m a s s e s of long a n d dishevelled hair. It was blacker than the raven wings of the midnight! A n d n o w the eyes o p e n e d of the figure which s t o o d before m e . " H e r e then at l e a s t , " I shrieked a l o u d , " c a n I n e v e r — c a n I never b e m i s t a k e n — t h e s e are the full, a n d the black, a n d the wild eyes of the l a d y — o f the lady L i g e i a ! " 1838

The Fall of the House of Usher 1 D u r i n g the w h o l e of a dull, dark, a n d s o u n d l e s s day in the a u t u m n of the year, w h e n the c l o u d s h u n g oppressively low in the h e a v e n s , I h a d b e e n p a s s i n g a l o n e , on h o r s e b a c k , through a singularly dreary tract of country; a n d at length f o u n d myself, as the s h a d e s of the evening drew o n , within view of the m e l a n c h o l y H o u s e of U s h e r . I k n o w not how it w a s — b u t , with the first g l i m p s e of the building, a s e n s e of insufferable g l o o m p e r v a d e d my spirit. I say i n s u f f e r a b l e ; for the feeling w a s unrelieved by any of that halfp l e a s u r a b l e , b e c a u s e p o e t i c , s e n t i m e n t , with w h i c h the m i n d u s u a l l y receives even the s t e r n e s t n a t u r a l i m a g e s of the d e s o l a t e or terrible. I looked u p o n the s c e n e before m e — u p o n the m e r e h o u s e , a n d the s i m p l e l a n d s c a p e features of the d o m a i n — u p o n the b l e a k w a l l s — u p o n the v a c a n t eye-like wind o w s — u p o n a few rank s e d g e s — a n d u p o n a few white trunks of d e c a y e d t r e e s — w i t h an utter d e p r e s s i o n of soul w h i c h I c a n c o m p a r e to no earthly s e n s a t i o n m o r e properly than to the after-dream of the reveller u p o n o p i u m — t h e bitter l a p s e into c o m m o n l i f e — t h e h i d e o u s d r o p p i n g off of the veil. T h e r e w a s a n i c i n e s s , a sinking, a s i c k e n i n g of the h e a r t — a n u n r e d e e m e d d r e a r i n e s s of t h o u g h t which no g o a d i n g of the i m a g i n a t i o n c o u l d torture into a u g h t of the s u b l i m e . W h a t w a s i t — I p a u s e d to t h i n k — w h a t w a s it that so u n n e r v e d m e in the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of the H o u s e of U s h e r ? It w a s a mystery all i n s o l u b l e ; nor c o u l d I g r a p p l e with the s h a d o w y f a n c i e s that c r o w d e d u p o n m e a s I p o n d e r e d . I w a s forced to fall b a c k u p o n the u n s a t i s f a c t o r y c o n c l u sion, that while, beyond d o u b t , there are c o m b i n a t i o n s of very s i m p l e natural o b j e c t s which have the power of t h u s affecting u s , still the r e a s o n , a n d the analysis, of this power, lie a m o n g c o n s i d e r a t i o n s b e y o n d o u r d e p t h . It w a s p o s s i b l e , I reflected, that a m e r e different a r r a n g e m e n t of the p a r t i c u l a r s of the s c e n e , of the details of this p i c t u r e , would be sufficient to modify, or p e r h a p s to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful i m p r e s s i o n ; a n d , a c t i n g u p o n this idea, I reined my h o r s e to the p r e c i p i t o u s brink of a b l a c k a n d lurid t a r n 2 that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, a n d g a z e d d o w n — b u t with a s h u d d e r even m o r e thrilling than b e f o r e — u p o n the r e - m o d e l l e d a n d inverted i m a g e s of the gray s e d g e , a n d the ghastly t r e e - s t e m s , a n d the v a c a n t a n d eyelike w i n d o w s . N e v e r t h e l e s s , in this m a n s i o n of g l o o m I now p r o p o s e d to myself a s o j o u r n of s o m e w e e k s . Its proprietor, R o d e r i c k U s h e r , h a d b e e n o n e of my b o o n c o m p a n i o n s i n b o y h o o d ; b u t m a n y years h a d e l a p s e d s i n c e our last m e e t i n g . 1. T h e Burton's

text

is

that

Gentleman's

of

the

first

Magazine,

publication and

American

in

Monthly 2.

Review

5 (September

1839).

A s m a l l l a k e , u s u a l l y in t h e m o u n t a i n s .

T H E F A L L OF T H E H O U S E OF U S H E R

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A letter, however, h a d lately r e a c h e d m e in a d i s t a n t part of the c o u n t r y — a letter from h i m — w h i c h , in its wildly i m p o r t u n a t e n a t u r e , h a d a d m i t t e d of no other than a p e r s o n a l reply. T h e M S . gave e v i d e n c e of n e r v o u s agitation. T h e writer s p o k e of a c u t e bodily i l l n e s s — o f a pitiable m e n t a l idiosyncrasy which o p p r e s s e d h i m — a n d of an e a r n e s t desire to s e e m e , as his b e s t , a n d i n d e e d , his only p e r s o n a l friend, with a view of a t t e m p t i n g , by the cheerfuln e s s of my society, s o m e alleviation of his m a l a d y . It w a s the m a n n e r in which all this, a n d m u c h m o r e , w a s s a i d — i t w a s the a p p a r e n t heart that went with his r e q u e s t — w h i c h allowed m e no r o o m for h e s i t a t i o n — a n d I a c c o r d ingly obeyed, what I still c o n s i d e r e d a very singular s u m m o n s , forthwith. A l t h o u g h , a s boys, we h a d b e e n even intimate a s s o c i a t e s , yet I really knew little of my friend. H i s reserve h a d b e e n always excessive a n d h a b i t u a l . I w a s a w a r e , however, that his very a n c i e n t family h a d b e e n n o t e d , time out of m i n d , for a p e c u l i a r sensibility of t e m p e r a m e n t , displaying itself, t h r o u g h long a g e s , in m a n y works of exalted art, a n d m a n i f e s t e d , of late, in r e p e a t e d d e e d s of munificent yet u n o b t r u s i v e charity, a s well a s in a p a s s i o n a t e devotion to the intricacies, p e r h a p s even m o r e than to the orthodox a n d easily recognizable b e a u t i e s , of m u s i c a l s c i e n c e . I h a d l e a r n e d , too, the very r e m a r k a b l e fact, that the s t e m of the U s h e r r a c e , all t i m e - h o n o r e d as it w a s , h a d put forth, at no period, any e n d u r i n g b r a n c h ; in other w o r d s , that the entire family lay in the direct line of d e s c e n t , a n d h a d always, with very trifling a n d very t e m p o r a r y variation, s o lain. It w a s this deficiency, I c o n s i d ered, while r u n n i n g over in thought the perfect k e e p i n g of the c h a r a c t e r of the p r e m i s e s with the a c c r e d i t e d c h a r a c t e r of the p e o p l e , a n d while s p e c u lating u p o n the p o s s i b l e influence which the o n e , in the long l a p s e of c e n turies, might have exercised u p o n the o t h e r — i t w a s this deficiency, p e r h a p s , of collateral i s s u e , a n d the c o n s e q u e n t u n d e v i a t i n g t r a n s m i s s i o n , from sire to s o n , of the p a t r i m o n y with the n a m e , which h a d , at length, so identified the two a s to m e r g e the original title of the e s t a t e in the q u a i n t a n d equivocal appellation of the " H o u s e of U s h e r " — a n appellation w h i c h s e e m e d to i n c l u d e , in the m i n d s of the p e a s a n t r y w h o u s e d it, both the family a n d the family m a n s i o n . I have said that the sole effect of my s o m e w h a t childish e x p e r i m e n t , of looking d o w n within the tarn, h a d b e e n to d e e p e n the first singular i m p r e s sion. T h e r e c a n be no d o u b t that the c o n s c i o u s n e s s of the rapid i n c r e a s e of my s u p e r s t i t i o n — f o r why s h o u l d I not s o term i t ? — s e r v e d mainly to a c c e l erate the i n c r e a s e itself. S u c h , I have long k n o w n , is the p a r a d o x i c a l law of all s e n t i m e n t s having terror a s a b a s i s . A n d it might have b e e n for this r e a s o n only, that, w h e n I a g a i n uplifted my eyes to the h o u s e itself, from its i m a g e in the pool, there grew in my m i n d a s t r a n g e f a n c y — a fancy s o r i d i c u l o u s , indeed, that I but m e n t i o n it to s h o w the vivid force of the s e n s a t i o n s which o p p r e s s e d m e . I h a d s o worked u p o n my i m a g i n a t i o n a s really to believe that a r o u n d a b o u t the whole m a n s i o n a n d d o m a i n there h u n g a n a t m o s p h e r e p e c u l i a r to t h e m s e l v e s a n d their i m m e d i a t e vicinity—an a t m o s p h e r e which h a d no affinity with the air of h e a v e n , but which h a d reeked u p from the d e c a y e d trees, a n d the gray walls, a n d the silent tarn, in the form of a n inelastic vapor or g a s — d u l l , s l u g g i s h , faintly d i s c e r n i b l e , a n d J e a d e n - h u e d . S h a k i n g off from my spirit what must have b e e n a d r e a m , I s c a n n e d m o r e narrowly the real a s p e c t of the building. Its principal feature s e e m e d to be that of an excessive antiquity. T h e discoloration of a g e s h a d b e e n great.

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M i n u t e fungi o v e r s p r e a d the w h o l e exterior, h a n g i n g in a fine t a n g l e d webwork from the e a v e s . Yet all this w a s apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. N o portion of the m a s o n r y h a d fallen; a n d there a p p e a r e d to be a wild i n c o n s i s t e n c y b e t w e e n its still perfect a d a p t a t i o n of p a r t s , a n d the utterly p o r o u s , a n d evidently d e c a y e d c o n d i t i o n of the individual s t o n e s . In this there w a s m u c h that r e m i n d e d m e of the s p e c i o u s totality of old wood-work which h a s rotted for long years in s o m e n e g l e c t e d vault, with no d i s t u r b a n c e from the b r e a t h of the external air. B e y o n d this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little token of instability. P e r h a p s the eye of a scrutinizing observer might have d i s c o v e r e d a barely p e r c e p t i b l e fissure, w h i c h , extending from the roof of the b u i l d i n g in front, m a d e its way d o w n the wall in a zigzag direction, until it b e c a m e lost in the sullen waters of the tarn. N o t i c i n g t h e s e things, I r o d e over a short c a u s e w a y to the h o u s e . A servant in waiting took my h o r s e , a n d I entered the G o t h i c archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy s t e p , t h e n c e c o n d u c t e d m e , in s i l e n c e , t h r o u g h m a n y dark a n d intricate p a s s a g e s in my p r o g r e s s to the s t u d i o of his m a s t e r . M u c h that I e n c o u n t e r e d on the way c o n t r i b u t e d , I know not how, to heighten the v a g u e s e n t i m e n t s of which I have already s p o k e n . W h i l e the o b j e c t s a r o u n d m e — while the carvings of the ceilings, the s o m b r e t a p e s t r i e s of the walls, the e b o n b l a c k n e s s of the floors, a n d the p h a n t a s m a g o r i c armorial trophies which rattled a s I s t r o d e , were b u t m a t t e r s to w h i c h , or to s u c h a s w h i c h , I h a d b e e n a c c u s t o m e d from my i n f a n c y — w h i l e I h e s i t a t e d not to acknowle d g e how familiar w a s all t h i s — I still w o n d e r e d to find how u n f a m i l i a r were the f a n c i e s which ordinary i m a g e s were stirring u p . O n o n e of the s t a i r c a s e s , I m e t the p h y s i c i a n of the family. His c o u n t e n a n c e , I t h o u g h t , wore a mingled e x p r e s s i o n of low c u n n i n g a n d perplexity. H e a c c o s t e d m e with trepidation a n d p a s s e d on. T h e valet n o w threw o p e n a d o o r a n d u s h e r e d m e into the p r e s e n c e of his m a s t e r . T h e r o o m in which I f o u n d myself w a s very large a n d excessively lofty. T h e windows were long, narrow, a n d p o i n t e d , a n d at so vast a d i s t a n c e from the black o a k e n floor a s to b e altogether i n a c c e s s i b l e from within. F e e b l e g l e a m s of e n c r i m s o n e d light m a d e their way t h r o u g h the trelliced p a n e s , a n d served to render sufficiently distinct the m o r e p r o m i n e n t o b j e c t s a r o u n d ; the eye, however, s t r u g g l e d in vain to r e a c h the r e m o t e r a n g l e s of the c h a m b e r , or the r e c e s s e s of the vaulted a n d fretted ceiling. D a r k d r a p e r i e s h u n g u p o n the walls. T h e general furniture w a s p r o f u s e , c o m f o r t l e s s , a n t i q u e , a n d tattered. M a n y b o o k s a n d m u s i c a l i n s t r u m e n t s lay s c a t t e r e d a b o u t , but failed to give any vitality to the s c e n e . I felt that I b r e a t h e d a n a t m o s p h e r e of sorrow. An air of s t e r n , d e e p , a n d i r r e d e e m a b l e g l o o m h u n g over a n d p e r v a d e d all. U p o n my e n t r a n c e , U s h e r a r o s e from a sofa u p o n which he h a d b e e n lying at full length, a n d g r e e t e d m e with a vivacious w a r m t h which h a d m u c h in it, I at first thought of a n overdone c o r d i a l i t y — o f the c o n s t r a i n e d effort of the e n n u y e 3 m a n of the world. A g l a n c e , however, at his c o u n t e n a n c e c o n vinced m e of his perfect sincerity. W e sat d o w n ; a n d for s o m e m o m e n t s , while he s p o k e not, I gazed u p o n him with a feeling half of pity, half of a w e . Surely, m a n h a d never before s o terribly a l t e r e d , in so brief a p e r i o d , a s h a d R o d e r i c k U s h e r ! It w a s with difficulty that I c o u l d bring myself to a d m i t the identity of the w a n b e i n g before m e with the c o m p a n i o n of m y early b o y h o o d . 3.

Bored (from French).

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Yet the c h a r a c t e r of his f a c e h a d b e e n at all times r e m a r k a b l e . A cadavero u s n e s s of c o m p l e x i o n ; a n eye large, liquid, a n d l u m i n o u s b e y o n d c o m p a r i s o n ; lips s o m e w h a t thin a n d very pallid, but of a s u r p a s s i n g l y beautiful c u r v e ; a n o s e of a delicate H e b r e w m o d e l , but with a b r e a d t h of nostril u n u s u a l in similar f o r m a t i o n s ; a finely m o u l d e d c h i n , s p e a k i n g , in its want of promin e n c e , of a want of moral energy; hair of a m o r e than web-like s o f t n e s s a n d tenuity; t h e s e f e a t u r e s , with a n inordinate e x p a n s i o n a b o v e the regions of the t e m p l e , m a d e u p altogether a c o u n t e n a n c e not easily to be forgotten. And now in the m e r e exaggeration of the prevailing c h a r a c t e r of t h e s e features, a n d of the expression they were wont to convey, lay s o m u c h of c h a n g e that I d o u b t e d to w h o m I s p o k e . T h e now ghastly pallor of the skin, a n d the now m i r a c u l o u s lustre of the eye, a b o v e all things startled a n d even a w e d m e . T h e silken hair, too, h a d b e e n suffered to grow all u n h e e d e d , a n d a s , in its wild g o s s a m e r texture, it floated rather than fell a b o u t the f a c e , I c o u l d not, even with effort, c o n n e c t its a r a b e s q u e expression with any idea of simple h u m a n i t y . In the m a n n e r of my friend I was at o n c e s t r u c k with a n i n c o h e r e n c e — an i n c o n s i s t e n c y ; a n d I s o o n f o u n d this to arise from a series of feeble a n d futile s t r u g g l e s to o v e r c o m e an habitual trepidancy, a n excessive nervous agitation. F o r s o m e t h i n g of this n a t u r e I h a d i n d e e d b e e n p r e p a r e d , n o less by his letter, than by r e m i n i s c e n c e s of certain boyish traits, a n d by c o n c l u sions d e d u c e d from his p e c u l i a r physical c o n f o r m a t i o n a n d t e m p e r a m e n t . His action w a s alternately vivacious a n d sullen. His voice varied rapidly from a t r e m u l o u s indecision (when the a n i m a l spirits s e e m e d utterly in a b e y a n c e ) to that s p e c i e s of energetic c o n c i s i o n — t h a t a b r u p t , weighty, u n h u r r i e d , a n d hollow-sounding e n u n c i a t i o n — t h a t l e a d e n , s e l f - b a l a n c e d a n d perfectly m o d u l a t e d guttural u t t e r a n c e , which m a y be observed in the m o m e n t s of the intensest excitement of the lost d r u n k a r d , or the i r r e c l a i m a b l e eater of opium. " It w a s thus that he s p o k e of the object of my visit, of his e a r n e s t d e s i r e to s e e m e , a n d of the s o l a c e he expected m e to afford him. H e e n t e r e d , at s o m e length, into what he c o n c e i v e d to be the n a t u r e of his m a l a d y . It w a s , h e said, a constitutional a n d a family evil, a n d o n e for w h i c h he d e s p a i r e d to find a r e m e d y — a m e r e n e r v o u s affection, he i m m e d i a t e l y a d d e d , which would u n d o u b t e d l y s o o n p a s s off. It displayed itself in a host of u n n a t u r a l s e n s a t i o n s . S o m e of t h e s e , a s he detailed t h e m , interested a n d bewildered m e — a l t h o u g h , p e r h a p s , the t e r m s , a n d the general m a n n e r of the narration had their weight. H e suffered m u c h from a morbid a c u t e n e s s of the s e n s e s ; the m o s t insipid food w a s a l o n e e n d u r a b l e ; he c o u l d w e a r only g a r m e n t s of certain texture; the o d o r s of all flowers were o p p r e s s i v e ; his eyes were tortured by even a faint light; a n d there were but p e c u l i a r s o u n d s , a n d t h e s e from stringed i n s t r u m e n t s , which did not inspire him with horror. T o an a n o m a l o u s s p e c i e s of terror I f o u n d him a b o u n d e n slave. "I shall p e r i s h , " said h e , "I must perish in this d e p l o r a b l e folly. T h u s , t h u s , a n d not o t h e r w i s e , shall I be lost. I d r e a d the events of the future, not in t h e m s e l v e s , but in their results. I s h u d d e r at the t h o u g h t of any, even the m o s t trivial, incident, which may o p e r a t e u p o n this intolerable agitation of s o u l . I h a v e , i n d e e d , no a b h o r r e n c e of d a n g e r , except in its a b s o l u t e e f f e c t — i n terror. In this u n n e r v e d — i n this pitiable c o n d i t i o n — I feel that I m u s t inevitably a b a n d o n life a n d r e a s o n together in my struggles with s o m e fatal d e m o n of f e a r . "

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I l e a r n e d , moreover, at intervals, a n d t h r o u g h broken a n d equivocal hints, a n o t h e r singular f e a t u r e of his m e n t a l condition. H e w a s e n c h a i n e d by certain s u p e r s t i t i o u s i m p r e s s i o n s in regard to the dwelling w h i c h h e t e n a n t e d , a n d from w h i c h , for m a n y years, h e h a d never v e n t u r e d f o r t h — i n regard to an influence w h o s e s u p p o s i t i t i o u s force w a s conveyed in t e r m s too shadowy here to b e r e s t a t e d — a n influence which s o m e peculiarities in the m e r e form a n d s u b s t a n c e of his family m a n s i o n , h a d , by dint of long s u f f e r a n c e , h e s a i d , o b t a i n e d over his s p i r i t — a n effect which the physique of the gray walls a n d turrets, a n d of the dim tarn into which they all looked d o w n , h a d , at length, b r o u g h t a b o u t u p o n the morale of his e x i s t e n c e . H e a d m i t t e d , however, a l t h o u g h with hesitation, that m u c h of the p e c u l i a r g l o o m which t h u s afflicted him c o u l d b e t r a c e d to a m o r e n a t u r a l a n d far m o r e p a l p a b l e o r i g i n — t o the severe a n d l o n g - c o n t i n u e d i l l n e s s — i n d e e d to the evidently a p p r o a c h i n g d i s s o l u t i o n — o f a tenderly beloved sister; his sole c o m p a n i o n for long y e a r s — h i s last a n d only relative on e a r t h . " H e r d e c e a s e , " h e said, with a bitterness which I c a n never forget, "would leave him (him the h o p e l e s s a n d the frail) the last of the a n c i e n t r a c e of the U s h e r s . " As h e s p o k e , the lady M a d e l i n e (for s o w a s s h e called) p a s s e d slowly through a r e m o t e portion of the a p a r t m e n t , a n d , without having n o t i c e d my p r e s e n c e , d i s a p p e a r e d . I r e g a r d e d her with a n utter a s t o n i s h m e n t not u n m i n g l e d with d r e a d . H e r figure, her air, her f e a t u r e s — a l l , in their very m i n u t e s t developm e n t were t h o s e — w e r e identically (I c a n u s e no other sufficient term) were identically t h o s e of the R o d e r i c k U s h e r w h o sat b e s i d e m e . A feeling of s t u p o r o p p r e s s e d m e , a s my eyes followed her retreating s t e p s . As a door, at length, c l o s e d u p o n her exit, my g l a n c e s o u g h t instinctively a n d eagerly the c o u n t e n a n c e of the b r o t h e r — b u t h e h a d b u r i e d his f a c e in his h a n d s , a n d I c o u l d only p e r c e i v e that a far m o r e t h a n ordinary w a n n e s s h a d o v e r s p r e a d the e m a c i a t e d fingers through which trickled m a n y p a s s i o n a t e t e a r s . - T h e d i s e a s e of the lady M a d e l i n e h a d long baffled the skill of her physic i a n s . A settled apathy, a g r a d u a l w a s t i n g away of the p e r s o n , a n d f r e q u e n t a l t h o u g h transient affections of a partially c a t a l e p t i c a l c h a r a c t e r , w e r e the u n u s u a l d i a g n o s i s . H i t h e r t o s h e h a d steadily b o r n e u p a g a i n s t the p r e s s u r e of her malady, a n d h a d not b e t a k e n herself finally to b e d ; b u t , on the c l o s i n g in of the e v e n i n g of my arrival at the h o u s e , s h e s u c c u m b e d , a s her brother told m e at night with inexpressible agitation, to the p r o s t r a t i n g p o w e r of the d e s t r o y e r — a n d I learned that the g l i m p s e I h a d o b t a i n e d of her p e r s o n w o u l d t h u s probably be the last I s h o u l d o b t a i n — t h a t the lady, at least while living, w o u l d be s e e n by m e no m o r e . F o r several days e n s u i n g , her n a m e w a s u n m e n t i o n e d by either U s h e r or myself; a n d , d u r i n g this p e r i o d , I w a s b u s i e d in e a r n e s t e n d e a v o r s to alleviate the m e l a n c h o l y of my friend. W e p a i n t e d a n d r e a d t o g e t h e r — o r I listened, a s if in a d r e a m , to the wild i m p r o v i s a t i o n s of his s p e a k i n g guitar. A n d t h u s , a s a c l o s e r a n d still c l o s e r i n t i m a c y a d m i t t e d m e m o r e unreservedly into the r e c e s s e s of his spirit, the m o r e bitterly did I p e r c e i v e the futility of all a t t e m p t at c h e e r i n g a m i n d from which d a r k n e s s , a s if a n inherent positive quality, p o u r e d forth u p o n all o b j e c t s of the m o r a l a n d p h y s i c a l u n i v e r s e , in o n e u n c e a s i n g radiation of g l o o m . I shall ever b e a r a b o u t m e , a s M o s l e m i n their s h r o u d s at M e c c a ; a m e m o r y of the m a n y s o l e m n h o u r s I t h u s s p e n t a l o n e with the m a s t e r of the H o u s e

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of U s h e r . Yet I s h o u l d fail in any a t t e m p t to convey a n idea of the exact c h a r a c t e r of the s t u d i e s , or of the o c c u p a t i o n s , in which h e involved m e , or led m e the way. An excited a n d highly d i s t e m p e r e d ideality threw a s u l p h u r o u s lustre over all. H i s long improvised dirges will ring for ever in my e a r s . A m o n g other things, I b e a r painfully in m i n d a certain s i n g u l a r perversion a n d amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of Von W e b e r . 4 F r o m the paintings over which his e l a b o r a t e fancy b r o o d e d , a n d which grew, t o u c h by t o u c h , into v a g u e n e s s e s at which I s h u d d e r e d the m o r e thrillingly, b e c a u s e I s h u d d e r e d knowing not why, from t h e s e p a i n t i n g s (vivid a s their i m a g e s now are before m e ) I would in vain e n d e a v o r to e d u c e m o r e t h a n a small portion which s h o u l d lie within the c o m p a s s of merely written w o r d s . By the utter simplicity, by the n a k e d n e s s , of his d e s i g n s , he a r r e s t e d a n d over-awed attention. If ever mortal p a i n t e d an idea, that mortal w a s R o d e r i c k U s h e r . F o r m e at l e a s t — i n the c i r c u m s t a n c e s then s u r r o u n d i n g m e — t h e r e a r o s e out of the p u r e a b s t r a c t i o n s which the h y p o c h o n d r i a c contrived to throw u p o n his c a n v a s , an intensity of intolerable a w e , n o s h a d o w of which felt I ever yet in the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of the certainly glowing yet too c o n c r e t e reveries of F u s e l i . 5 O n e of the p h a n t a s m a g o r i c c o n c e p t i o n s of my friend, p a r t a k i n g not so rigidly of the spirit of a b s t r a c t i o n , may be s h a d o w e d forth, a l t h o u g h feebly, in w o r d s . A small p i c t u r e p r e s e n t e d the interior of an i m m e n s e l y long a n d r e c t a n g u l a r vault or tunnel, with low walls, s m o o t h , white, a n d without interruption or device. C e r t a i n a c c e s s o r y points of the d e s i g n served well to c o n vey the idea that this excavation lay at an e x c e e d i n g d e p t h below the s u r f a c e of the e a r t h . N o outlet w a s o b s e r v e d in any portion of its vast extent, a n d n o torch, or other artificial s o u r c e of light w a s d i s c e r n i b l e — y e t a flood of i n t e n s e rays rolled t h r o u g h o u t , a n d b a t h e d the w h o l e in a ghastly a n d i n a p p r o p r i a t e splendor. I have j u s t s p o k e n of that m o r b i d condition of the auditory nerve w h i c h rendered all m u s i c intolerable to the sufferer, with the exception of certain effects of stringed i n s t r u m e n t s . It w a s , p e r h a p s , the narrow limits to w h i c h he t h u s confined h i m s e l f u p o n the guitar, which gave birth, in great m e a s u r e , to the fantastic c h a r a c t e r of his p e r f o r m a n c e s . B u t the fervid facility of his i m p r o m p t u s c o u l d not b e so a c c o u n t e d for. T h e y m u s t have b e e n , a n d w e r e , in the n o t e s , a s well a s in the w o r d s of his wild f a n t a s i a s , (for h e not unfrequently a c c o m p a n i e d h i m s e l f with r h y m e d verbal i m p r o v i s a t i o n s , ) the result of that intense m e n t a l c o l l e c t e d n e s s a n d c o n c e n t r a t i o n to which I have p r e viously a l l u d e d a s o b s e r v a b l e only in particular m o m e n t s of the highest artificial e x c i t e m e n t . T h e w o r d s of o n e of t h e s e r h a p s o d i e s I have easily b o r n e away in m e m o r y . I w a s , p e r h a p s , the m o r e forcibly i m p r e s s e d with it, a s h e gave it, b e c a u s e , in the u n d e r or mystic c u r r e n t of its m e a n i n g , I f a n c i e d that I perceived, a n d for the first t i m e , a full c o n s c i o u s n e s s on the part of U s h e r , of the tottering of his lofty r e a s o n u p o n her t h r o n e . T h e v e r s e s , which were entitled " T h e H a u n t e d P a l a c e , " ran very nearly, if not a c c u r a t e l y , t h u s : 6 4. Karl M a r i a von W e b e r ( 1 7 8 6 - 1 8 2 6 ) establ i s h e d R o m a n t i c i s m in G e r m a n o p e r a . " T h e L a s t W a l t z o f V o n W e b e r " w a s c o m p o s e d by Karl G o t tlieb Reissiger ( 1 7 9 8 - 1 8 5 9 ) . 5. H e n r y F u s e l i ( 1 7 4 1 — 1 8 2 5 ) , S w i s s p a i n t e r w h o m a d e h i s r e p u t a t i o n in L o n d o n ; n o t e d f o r h i s i n t e r -

e s t in t h e s u p e r n a t u r a l . 6 . In t h e o r i g i n a l p r i n t i n g t h i s n o t e a p p e a r e d a t the e n d of the story: " T h e ballad of ' T h e H a u n t e d P a l a c e , ' i n t r o d u c e d in t h i s t a l e , w a s p u b l i s h e d s e p a r a t e l y , s o m e m o n t h s a g o , in t h e Baltimore 'Museum.' "

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In the g r e e n e s t of our valleys, By g o o d a n g e l s t e n a n t e d , O n c e a fair a n d stately p a l a c e — Snow-white p a l a c e — r e a r e d its h e a d . In the m o n a r c h T h o u g h t ' s d o m i n i o n — It s t o o d there! N e v e r s e r a p h s p r e a d a pinion Over fabric half so fair. II

B a n n e r s yellow, glorious, g o l d e n , O n its roof did float a n d flow; ( T h i s — a l l t h i s — w a s in the olden T i m e long a g o ) A n d every g e n t l e air that dallied, In that sweet day, A l o n g the r a m p a r t s p l u m e d a n d pallid, A winged o d o r went away. in

W a n d e r e r s in that h a p p y valley T h r o u g h two l u m i n o u s w i n d o w s saw Spirits m o v i n g m u s i c a l l y T o a lute's well-tuned law, R o u n d a b o u t a t h r o n e , w h e r e sitting (Porphyrogene!)7 In state his glory well befitting, T h e sovereign of the r e a l m w a s s e e n . IV

A n d all with pearl a n d ruby glowing W a s the fair p a l a c e door, T h r o u g h which c a m e flowing, flowing, flowing, A n d sparkling e v e r m o r e , A troop of E c h o e s w h o s e sole duty W a s but to sing, In voices of s u r p a s s i n g b e a u t y , T h e wit a n d w i s d o m of their king.

B u t evil things, in robes of sorrow, A s s a i l e d the m o n a r c h ' s high e s t a t e ; (Ah, let u s m o u r n , for never m o r r o w Shall d a w n u p o n him, d e s o l a t e ! )

7.

B o r n to t h e p u r p l e , of royal birth.

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A n d , r o u n d a b o u t his h o m e , the glory That blushed and bloomed Is but a d i m - r e m e m b e r e d story O f the old time e n t o m b e d .

VI

A n d travellers n o w within that valley, T h r o u g h the red-litten w i n d o w s , s e e V a s t forms that move fantastically T o a d i s c o r d a n t melody; W h i l e , like a rapid ghastly river, T h r o u g h the pale door, A h i d e o u s t h r o n g rush out forever, A n d l a u g h — b u t smile no m o r e . I well r e m e m b e r that s u g g e s t i o n s arising from this ballad led u s into a train of thought wherein there b e c a m e m a n i f e s t a n o p i n i o n of U s h e r ' s which I m e n t i o n not s o m u c h on a c c o u n t of its novelty, (for other m e n have t h o u g h t t h u s , ) a s on a c c o u n t of the pertinacity with which he m a i n t a i n e d it. T h i s opinion, in its g e n e r a l form, w a s that of the s e n t i e n c e of all vegetable things. B u t , in his d i s o r d e r e d fancy, the idea h a d a s s u m e d a m o r e d a r i n g c h a r a c t e r , a n d t r e s p a s s e d , u n d e r certain c o n d i t i o n s , u p o n the k i n g d o m of inorganization. I lack words to e x p r e s s the full extent, or the e a r n e s t abandon of his p e r s u a s i o n . T h e belief, however, w a s c o n n e c t e d (as I have previously hinted) with the gray s t o n e s of the h o m e of his forefathers. T h e c o n d i t i o n of the s e n t i e n c e h a d b e e n h e r e , he i m a g i n e d , fulfilled in the m e t h o d of collocation of these s t o n e s — i n the order of their a r r a n g e m e n t , a s well as in that of the m a n y fungi which o v e r s p r e a d t h e m , a n d of the d e c a y e d trees which s t o o d a r o u n d — a b o v e all, in the long u n d i s t u r b e d e n d u r a n c e of this a r r a n g e m e n t , a n d in its reduplication in the still waters of the tarn. Its e v i d e n c e — t h e evidence of the s e n t i e n c e — w a s to be s e e n , he s a i d , (and I here started a s he spoke,) in the gradual yet certain condensation of an atmosphere of their own about the waters and the walls. T h e result w a s d i s c o v e r a b l e , he a d d e d , in that silent, yet i m p o r t u n a t e a n d terrible influence which for c e n t u r i e s h a d m o u l d e d the destinies of his family, a n d which m a d e him what I now s a w h i m — w h a t he w a s . S u c h opinions n e e d no c o m m e n t , a n d I will m a k e n o n e . O u r b o o k s — t h e books w h i c h , for years, h a d formed no small portion of the m e n t a l existence of the i n v a l i d — w e r e , a s might be s u p p o s e d , in strict k e e p i n g with this c h a r a c t e r of p h a n t a s m . W e p o r e d together over s u c h works a s the Ververt et C h a r t r e u s e of G r e s s e t ; the B e l p h e g o r of M a c h i a v e l l i ; the S e l e n o g r a p h y of Brewster; the H e a v e n a n d Hell of S w e d e n b o r g ; the S u b t e r r a n e a n Voyage of N i c h o l a s K l i m m de H o l b e r g ; the C h i r o m a n c y of Robert F l u d , of J e a n d ' I n d a g i n e , a n d of D e la C h a m b r e ; the J o u r n e y into the B l u e D i s t a n c e of T i e c k ; a n d the City of the S u n of C a m p a n e l l a . O n e favorite v o l u m e w a s a small o c t a v o edition of the D i r e c t o r i u m I n q u i s i t o r i u m , by the D o m i n i c a n E y m e r i c de G i r o n n e ; a n d there were p a s s a g e s in P o m p o n i u s M e l a , a b o u t the old African Satyrs a n d CEgipans, over which U s h e r would sit d r e a m i n g for h o u r s . H i s chief delight, however, w a s f o u n d in the e a r n e s t a n d r e p e a t e d p e r u s a l of a n exceedingly rare a n d c u r i o u s b o o k in q u a r t o

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G o t h i c — t h e m a n u a l of a forgotten c h u r c h — t h e Vigilae Mortuorum secundum Chorum Ecclesiae Maguntinae.* I c o u l d not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, a n d of its p r o b a b l e influence u p o n the h y p o c h o n d r i a c , w h e n , o n e evening, h a v i n g i n f o r m e d m e abruptly that the lady M a d e l i n e w a s no m o r e , h e s t a t e d his intention of preserving her c o r p s e for a fortnight, previously to its final i n t e r m e n t , in o n e of the n u m e r o u s vaults within the m a i n walls of the building. T h e worldly r e a s o n , however, a s s i g n e d for this s i n g u l a r p r o c e e d i n g , w a s o n e w h i c h I did not feel at liberty to d i s p u t e . T h e brother h a d b e e n led to his r e s o l u t i o n ( s o he told m e ) by c o n s i d e r a t i o n s of the u n u s u a l c h a r a c t e r of the m a l a d y of the d e c e a s e d , of certain obtrusive a n d e a g e r inquiries on the part of her m e d i c a l m e n , a n d of the r e m o t e a n d e x p o s e d situation of the burial g r o u n d of the family. I will not deny that w h e n I called to m i n d the sinister c o u n t e n a n c e of the p e r s o n w h o m I met u p o n the s t a i r c a s e , o n the day of my arrival at the h o u s e , I h a d no desire to o p p o s e what I r e g a r d e d a s at b e s t but a h a r m l e s s , a n d not by any m e a n s a n u n n a t u r a l p r e c a u t i o n . 9 At the r e q u e s t of U s h e r , I p e r s o n a l l y a i d e d him in the a r r a n g e m e n t s for the t e m p o r a r y e n t o m b m e n t . T h e body h a v i n g b e e n encoffined, we two a l o n e b o r e it to its rest. T h e vault in w h i c h we p l a c e d it (and w h i c h h a d b e e n s o long u n o p e n e d that our t o r c h e s , half s m o t h e r e d in its o p p r e s s i v e a t m o s p h e r e , gave u s little opportunity for investigation) w a s s m a l l , d a m p , a n d utterly without m e a n s of a d m i s s i o n for light; lying, at great d e p t h , i m m e d i a t e l y b e n e a t h that portion of the b u i l d i n g in which w a s my own s l e e p i n g apartm e n t . It h a d b e e n u s e d , apparently, in r e m o t e feudal t i m e s , for the worst p u r p o s e s of a d o n j o n - k e e p , a n d , in later d a y s , a s a p l a c e of d e p o s i t for p o w d e r , or other highly c o m b u s t i b l e s u b s t a n c e , a s a portion of its floor, a n d the w h o l e interior of a long a r c h w a y through which w e r e a c h e d it, were carefully s h e a t h e d with c o p p e r . T h e door, of m a s s i v e iron, h a d b e e n , a l s o , similarly p r o t e c t e d . Its i m m e n s e weight c a u s e d a n u n u s u a l l y s h a r p grating s o u n d , a s it m o v e d u p o n its h i n g e s . H a v i n g d e p o s i t e d our m o u r n f u l b u r d e n u p o n tressels within this region of horror, we partially t u r n e d a s i d e the yet u n s c r e w e d lid of the coffin, a n d looked u p o n the f a c e of the t e n a n t . T h e exact s i m i l i t u d e b e t w e e n the brother a n d sister even here a g a i n startled a n d c o n f o u n d e d m e . U s h e r , divining,

8. T h e titles a r e real, a l t h o u g h t h e w a y they s o u n d in t h e n a r r a t o r s i n v e n t o r y is a t l e a s t a s i m p o r t a n t as their precise contents. J e a n Baptiste G r e s s e t ( 1 7 0 9 - 1 7 7 7 ) w r o t e t h e a n t i c l e r i c a l Vairveri and by Niccolo M a c h i a Ma Chartreuse. I n Belphegor, velli ( 1 4 6 9 - 1 5 2 7 ) , a d e m o n c o m e s to e a r t h t o prove that w o m e n d a m n m e n to hell. Sir David Brewster ( 1 7 8 1 - 1 8 6 8 ) , Scottish physicist who s t u d i e d o p t i c s a n d p o l a r i z e d light. E m a n u e l S w e denborg (1688—1772), Swedish scientist and mystic, p r e s e n t s a f a n t a s t i c a l l y p r e c i s e a n a t o m y of living c o n d i t i o n s in h e a v e n a n d hell, s e e i n g t h e t w o places as mutually attractive opposites. L u d w i g H o l b e r g ( 1 6 8 4 - 1 7 5 4 ) , D a n i s h dramatist a n d historian, deals with a voyage to the land of d e a t h a n d back. Robert Flud ( 1 5 7 4 - 1 6 3 7 ) , English physician and noted Rosicrucian (the Rosicrucians then being a new organization of esoteric philosophy a n d theology that purported to be b a s e d on a n c i e n t lore from the Middle East), a n d two F r e n c h m e n ,

J e a n D ' I n d a g i n e (fl. e a r l y 1 6 t h c e n t u r y ) a n d M a r i a C i r e a u d e la C h a m b r e ( 1 5 9 4 - 1 6 6 9 ) , all w r o t e o n chiromancy (palm reading). T h e G e r m a n Ludwig T i e c k ( 1 7 7 3 - 1 8 5 3 ) w r o t e Das Alte Buch; oder Reise ins Blaue hinein, which deals with a journey t o a n o t h e r w o r l d . The City of the Sun b y t h e I t a l i a n T o m m a s o C a m p a n e l l a ( 1 5 6 8 — 1 6 3 9 ) is a f a m o u s Utopian work. N i c h o l a s Eymeric de G e r o n e , w h o was inquisitor-general for Castile in 1356, r e c o r d e d p r o c e d u r e s for torturing heretics. P o m ponius Mela (1st century) was a R o m a n whose w i d e l y u s e d b o o k o n g e o g r a p h y ( p r i n t e d in Italy in 1471) described strange beasts ("oegipans" are A f r i c a n g o a t - m e n ) . A b o o k c a l l e d The Vigils of the Dead, According to the Church-Choir of Mayence w a s p r i n t e d in B a s e l a r o u n d 1 5 0 0 . 9. T h e s h o r t a g e o f c o r p s e s for d i s s e c t i o n h a d led to t h e n e w p r o f e s s i o n o f " r e s u r r e c t i o n m e n , " w h o d u g u p fresh c o r p s e s a n d sold t h e m to medical students and surgeons.

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p e r h a p s , my t h o u g h t s , m u r m u r e d out s o m e few words from w h i c h I learned that the d e c e a s e d a n d h i m s e l f h a d b e e n twins, a n d that s y m p a t h i e s of a scarcely intelligible n a t u r e h a d always existed b e t w e e n t h e m . O u r g l a n c e s , however, r e s t e d not long u p o n the d e a d — f o r we c o u l d not regard her u n a w e d . T h e d i s e a s e which h a d t h u s e n t o m b e d the lady in the maturity of y o u t h , h a d left, as u s u a l in all m a l a d i e s of a strictly c a t a l e p t i c a l c h a r a c t e r , the mockery of a faint b l u s h u p o n the b o s o m a n d the f a c e , a n d that s u s p i ciously lingering smile u p o n the lip which is so terrible in d e a t h . W e r e p l a c e d a n d s c r e w e d d o w n the lid, a n d , having s e c u r e d the d o o r of iron, m a d e o u r way, with toil, into the scarcely less g l o o m y a p a r t m e n t s of the u p p e r portion of the h o u s e . A n d now, s o m e days of bitter grief having e l a p s e d , a n o b s e r v a b l e c h a n g e c a m e over the f e a t u r e s of the m e n t a l disorder of my friend. His ordinary m a n n e r h a d v a n i s h e d . H i s ordinary o c c u p a t i o n s were n e g l e c t e d or forgotten. H e r o a m e d from c h a m b e r to c h a m b e r with hurried, u n e q u a l , a n d o b j e c t l e s s s t e p . T h e pallor of his c o u n t e n a n c e h a d a s s u m e d , if p o s s i b l e , a m o r e ghastly h u e — b u t the l u m i n o u s n e s s of his eye h a d utterly g o n e out. T h e o n c e o c c a sional h u s k i n e s s of his t o n e w a s h e a r d no m o r e ; a n d a t r e m u l o u s q u a v e r , a s if of extreme terror, habitually c h a r a c t e r i z e d his u t t e r a n c e . — T h e r e w e r e t i m e s , i n d e e d , w h e n I t h o u g h t his u n c e a s i n g l y agitated m i n d w a s laboring with an o p p r e s s i v e secret, to divulge which h e struggled for the n e c e s s a r y c o u r a g e . At t i m e s , a g a i n , I w a s obliged to resolve all into the m e r e inexplic a b l e vagaries of m a d n e s s , a s I b e h e l d him gazing u p o n v a c a n c y for long h o u r s , in an attitude of the p r o f o u n d e s t attention, a s if listening to s o m e imaginary s o u n d . It w a s no w o n d e r that his condition terrified—that it infected m e . I felt c r e e p i n g u p o n m e , by slow yet certain d e g r e e s , the wild influences of his own f a n t a s t i c yet i m p r e s s i v e s u p e r s t i t i o n s . It w a s , m o s t especially, u p o n retiring to b e d late in the night of the seventh or eighth day after the e n t o m b m e n t of the lady M a d e l i n e , that I e x p e r i e n c e d the full power of s u c h feelings. S l e e p c a m e not near my c o u c h — w h i l e the h o u r s w a n e d a n d w a n e d away. I struggled to r e a s o n off the n e r v o u s n e s s which h a d d o m i n i o n over m e . I e n d e a v o r e d to believe that m u c h , if not all of w h a t I felt, w a s d u e to the p h a n t a s m a g o r i c influence of the g l o o m y furniture of the r o o m — o f the dark a n d tattered d r a p e r i e s , w h i c h , tortured into m o t i o n by the breath of a rising t e m p e s t , swayed fitfully to a n d fro u p o n the walls, a n d rustled u n e a s i l y a b o u t the d e c o r a t i o n s of the b e d . B u t my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible t r e m o r gradually p e r v a d e d my f r a m e ; a n d , at length, there sat u p o n my very heart an i n c u b u s 1 of utterly c a u s e l e s s a l a r m . S h a k i n g this off with a g a s p a n d a struggle, I uplifted myself u p o n the pillows, a n d , p e e r i n g earnestly within the i n t e n s e d a r k n e s s of the c h a m b e r , hark e n e d — I know not why, except that a n instinctive spirit p r o m p t e d m e — t o certain low a n d indefinite s o u n d s which c a m e , t h r o u g h the p a u s e s of the s t o r m , at long intervals, I knew not w h e n c e . O v e r p o w e r e d by an i n t e n s e s e n t i m e n t of horror, u n a c c o u n t a b l e yet u n e n d u r a b l e , I threw on my c l o t h e s with h a s t e , for I felt that I s h o u l d s l e e p n o m o r e d u r i n g the night, a n d endeavored to a r o u s e myself from the pitiable c o n d i t i o n into which I h a d fallen, by p a c i n g rapidly to a n d fro t h r o u g h the a p a r t m e n t . I h a d taken but few turns in this m a n n e r , w h e n a light step on a n a d j o i n i n g 1. A n evil spirit s u p p o s e d t o lie u p o n p e o p l e in t h e i r s l e e p .

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s t a i r c a s e a r r e s t e d my a t t e n t i o n . I presently recognized it a s that of U s h e r . In a n instant afterwards h e r a p p e d , with a gentle t o u c h , at my door, a n d entered, bearing a lamp. His countenance was, as usual, cadaverously w a n — but there w a s a s p e c i e s of m a d hilarity in his e y e s — a n evidently r e s t r a i n e d hysteria in his whole d e m e a n o r . H i s air a p p a l l e d m e — b u t any thing w a s preferable to the s o l i t u d e which I had s o long e n d u r e d , a n d I even w e l c o m e d his p r e s e n c e a s a relief. "And you have not s e e n it?" h e said abruptly, after having stared a b o u t him for s o m e m o m e n t s in s i l e n c e — " y o u have not then s e e n i t ? — b u t , stay! you s h a l l . " T h u s s p e a k i n g , a n d having carefully s h a d e d his l a m p , he hurried to o n e of the gigantic c a s e m e n t s , a n d threw it freely o p e n to the s t o r m . T h e i m p e t u o u s fury of the e n t e r i n g g u s t nearly lifted us from our feet. It w a s , i n d e e d , a t e m p e s t u o u s yet sternly beautiful night, a n d o n e wildly sing u l a r in its terror a n d its beauty. A whirlwind h a d a p p a r e n t l y c o l l e c t e d its force in our vicinity; for there were f r e q u e n t a n d violent alterations in the direction of the wind; a n d the e x c e e d i n g density of the c l o u d s (which h u n g so low as to p r e s s u p o n the turrets of the h o u s e ) did not prevent our perceiving the life-like velocity with which they flew c a r e e r i n g from all points a g a i n s t e a c h other, without p a s s i n g away into the d i s t a n c e . I say that even their e x c e e d i n g density did not prevent our perceiving t h i s — y e t we h a d no g l i m p s e of the m o o n or s t a r s — n o r w a s there any flashing forth of the lightning. B u t the u n d e r s u r f a c e s of the h u g e m a s s e s of agitated vapor, a s well a s all terrestrial o b j e c t s i m m e d i a t e l y a r o u n d u s , were glowing in the unnatural light of a faintly l u m i n o u s a n d distinctly visible g a s e o u s exhalation which h u n g a b o u t a n d e n s h r o u d e d the m a n s i o n . "You m u s t n o t — y o u shall not b e h o l d t h i s ! " said I, shudderingly, to U s h e r , a s I led h i m , with a gentle violence, from the window to a s e a t . " T h e s e a p p e a r a n c e s , which bewilder you, a r e merely electrical p h e n o m e n a not u n c o m m o n — o r it may be that they have their ghastly origin in the rank m i a s m a of the tarn. L e t u s c l o s e this c a s e m e n t — t h e air is chilling a n d d a n g e r o u s to your f r a m e . H e r e is o n e of your favorite r o m a n c e s . I will r e a d , a n d you shall l i s t e n — a n d s o we will p a s s away this terrible night together." T h e a n t i q u e v o l u m e which I h a d taken up w a s the " M a d T r i s t " of Sir L a u n c e l o t C a n n i n g 2 - — b u t I h a d called it a favorite of U s h e r ' s m o r e in s a d j e s t than in e a r n e s t ; for, in truth, there is little in its u n c o u t h a n d unimaginative prolixity w h i c h c o u l d have h a d interest for the lofty a n d spiritual ideality of my friend. It w a s , however, the only b o o k i m m e d i a t e l y at h a n d ; a n d I i n d u l g e d a v a g u e h o p e that the e x c i t e m e n t which now a g i t a t e d the hypoc h o n d r i a c might find relief (for the history of m e n t a l disorder is full of similar a n o m a l i e s ) even in the e x t r e m e n e s s of the folly which I s h o u l d r e a d . C o u l d 1 have j u d g e d , i n d e e d , by the wild, overstrained air of vivacity with which he h a r k e n e d , or apparently h a r k e n e d , to the w o r d s of the t a l e , I might have well c o n g r a t u l a t e d myself u p o n the s u c c e s s of my d e s i g n . I h a d arrived at that well-known portion of the story w h e r e E t h e l r e d , the hero of the Trist, having s o u g h t in vain for p e a c e a b l e a d m i s s i o n into the dwelling of the hermit, p r o c e e d s to m a k e g o o d a n e n t r a n c e by f o r c e . H e r e , it will be r e m e m b e r e d , the words of the narrative run t h u s — 2. N o t a real b o o k . " T r i s t " h e r e m e a n s s i m p l y m e e t i n g , or p r e a r r a n g e d or fated e n c o u n t e r , not t h e lovers' m e e t i n g i m p l i e d in t h e m o d e r n u s e o f " t r y s t . "

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"And E t h e l r e d , w h o w a s by n a t u r e of a doughty heart, a n d w h o w a s now mighty withal, o n a c c o u n t of the p o w e r f u l n e s s of the wine which he h a d d r u n k e n , waited no longer to hold parley with the hermit, w h o , in s o o t h , w a s of a n o b s t i n a t e a n d maliceful turn, b u t , feeling the rain u p o n his s h o u l d e r s , a n d fearing the rising of the t e m p e s t , uplifted his m a c e outright, a n d , with blows, m a d e quickly r o o m in the p l a n k i n g s of the d o o r for his g a u n t l e t e d h a n d , a n d now pulling therewith sturdily, he so c r a c k e d , a n d ripped, a n d tore all a s u n d e r , that the n o i s e of the dry a n d h o l l o w - s o u n d i n g w o o d alaru m m e d a n d reverberated t h r o u g h o u t the f o r e s t . " At the termination of this s e n t e n c e I started, a n d , for a m o m e n t , p a u s e d ; for it a p p e a r e d to m e ( a l t h o u g h I at o n c e c o n c l u d e d that my excited fancy h a d deceived m e ) — i t a p p e a r e d to m e that, from s o m e very r e m o t e portion of the m a n s i o n or of its vicinity, there c a m e , indistinctly, to my e a r s , what might have b e e n , in its exact similarity of c h a r a c t e r , the e c h o (but a stifled a n d dull o n e certainly) of the very c r a c k i n g a n d ripping s o u n d w h i c h Sir L a u n c e l o t h a d s o particularly d e s c r i b e d . It w a s , b e y o n d d o u b t , the coincid e n c e a l o n e which h a d a r r e s t e d my a t t e n t i o n ; for, a m i d the rattling of the s a s h e s of the c a s e m e n t s , a n d the ordinary c o m m i n g l e d n o i s e s of the still i n c r e a s i n g s t o r m , the s o u n d , in itself, h a d nothing, surely, which s h o u l d have interested or d i s t u r b e d m e . I c o n t i n u e d the story. " B u t the g o o d c h a m p i o n E t h e l r e d , now e n t e r i n g within the door, w a s sore e n r a g e d a n d a m a z e d to perceive n o signal of the maliceful h e r m i t ; b u t , in the s t e a d thereof, a d r a g o n of scaly a n d p r o d i g i o u s d e m e a n o r , a n d of a fiery t o n g u e , which s a t e in g u a r d before a p a l a c e of gold, with a floor of silver; a n d u p o n the wall there h u n g a shield of shining b r a s s with this l e g e n d enwritten— W h o e n t e r e t h herein, a c o n q u e r o r hath bin, W h o slayeth the d r a g o n , the shield he shall win. And E t h e l r e d uplifted which fell before him, a n d h a r s h , a n d withal with his h a n d s a g a i n s t before h e a r d . "

his m a c e , a n d s t r u c k u p o n the h e a d of the d r a g o n , a n d g a v e u p his pesty b r e a t h , with a shriek s o horrid so piercing, that E t h e l r e d had fain to c l o s e his e a r s the dreadful noise of it, the like w h e r e o f w a s never

H e r e again I p a u s e d abruptly, a n d now with a feeling of wild a m a z e m e n t — for there c o u l d b e no d o u b t whatever that, in this i n s t a n c e , I did actually h e a r ( a l t h o u g h from what direction it p r o c e e d e d I f o u n d it i m p o s s i b l e to say) a low a n d apparently d i s t a n t , but h a r s h , p r o t r a c t e d , a n d m o s t u n u s u a l s c r e a m i n g or grating s o u n d — t h e exact c o u n t e r p a r t of what my fancy h a d already c o n j u r e d u p a s the s o u n d of the d r a g o n ' s u n n a t u r a l shriek a s d e s c r i b e d by the r o m a n c e r . O p p r e s s e d , a s I certainly w a s , u p o n the o c c u r r e n c e of this s e c o n d a n d m o s t extraordinary c o i n c i d e n c e , by a t h o u s a n d conflicting s e n s a t i o n s , in which w o n d e r a n d extreme terror were p r e d o m i n a n t , I still r e t a i n e d sufficient p r e s e n c e of m i n d to avoid exciting, by any observation, the sensitive nervo u s n e s s of my c o m p a n i o n . I w a s by no m e a n s certain that he h a d noticed the s o u n d s in q u e s t i o n ; a l t h o u g h , assuredly, a s t r a n g e alteraton h a d , d u r i n g the last few m i n u t e s , taken p l a c e in his d e m e a n o r . F r o m a position fronting my own, h e h a d gradually b r o u g h t r o u n d his chair, so a s to sit with his f a c e to the door of the c h a m b e r , a n d t h u s I c o u l d b u t partially perceive his features, a l t h o u g h I saw that his lips t r e m b l e d as if he were m u r m u r i n g inau-

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dibly. His h e a d had d r o p p e d upon his b r e a s t — y e t I k n e w that he w a s not a s l e e p , from the wide a n d rigid o p e n i n g of the eye, a s I c a u g h t a g l a n c e of it in profile. T h e motion of his body, too, w a s at v a r i a n c e with his i d e a — f o r he rocked from side to side with a gentle yet c o n s t a n t a n d uniform sway. H a v i n g rapidly taken notice of all this, I r e s u m e d the narrative of Sir L a u n c e l o t , which thus p r o c e e d e d : — "And now, the c h a m p i o n , having e s c a p e d from the terrible fury of the d r a g o n , bethinking himself of the brazen shield, a n d of the b r e a k i n g up of the e n c h a n t m e n t which w a s u p o n it, r e m o v e d the c a r c a s s from out of the way before h i m , a n d a p p r o a c h e d valorously over the silver p a v e m e n t of the c a s t l e to w h e r e the shield w a s u p o n the wall; which in s o o t h tarried not for his full c o m i n g , but fell down at his feet u p o n the silver floor, with a mighty great a n d terrible ringing s o u n d . " N o s o o n e r h a d these syllables p a s s e d my lips, t h a n — a s if a shield of b r a s s had i n d e e d , at the m o m e n t , fallen heavily u p o n a floor of silver—I b e c a m e a w a r e of a distinct, hollow, metallic, a n d c l a n g o r o u s , yet a p p a r e n t l y muffled reverberation. C o m p l e t e l y u n n e r v e d , I s t a r t e d convulsively to my feet, but the m e a s u r e d rocking m o v e m e n t of U s h e r w a s u n d i s t u r b e d . I r u s h e d to the chair in which he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly before h i m , a n d t h r o u g h o u t his whole c o u n t e n a n c e there reigned a m o r e t h a n stony rigidity. B u t , a s I laid my hand u p o n his s h o u l d e r , there c a m e a s t r o n g s h u d d e r over his f r a m e ; a sickly smile quivered a b o u t his lips; a n d I s a w that he s p o k e in a low, hurried, a n d gibbering m u r m u r , a s if u n c o n s c i o u s of my p r e s e n c e . B e n d i n g closely over his p e r s o n , I at length d r a n k in the h i d e o u s import of his words. " N o t hear i t ? — y e s , I h e a r it, a n d have h e a r d it. L o n g — l o n g — l o n g — m a n y m i n u t e s , m a n y h o u r s , m a n y d a y s , have I h e a r d it—yet I d a r e d n o t — o h , pity m e , m i s e r a b l e wretch that I a m ! — I d a r e d n o t — I dared not s p e a k ! We have put her living in the tomb! S a i d I not that my s e n s e s were a c u t e ? — I now tell you that I h e a r d her first feeble m o v e m e n t s in the hollow coffin. I h e a r d t h e m — m a n y , m a n y days a g o — y e t I d a r e d n o t — / dared not speak! A n d n o w — t o - n i g h t — E t h e l r e d — h a ! h a ! — t h e b r e a k i n g of the hermit's d o o r , a n d the death-cry of the d r a g o n , a n d the c l a n g o r of the s h i e l d — s a y , rather, the rending of the coffin, a n d the grating of the iron h i n g e s , a n d her s t r u g g l e s within the c o p p e r e d archway of the vault! O h wither shall I fly? Will s h e not b e here a n o n ? Is s h e not hurrying to u p b r a i d m e for my h a s t e ? H a v e I not heard her f o o t s t e p s on the stair? D o I not distinguish that heavy a n d horrible b e a t i n g of her heart? M a d m a n ! "—here he s p r u n g violently to his feet, and shrieked out his syllables, a s if in the effort h e were giving u p his s o u l — " M a d m a n ! I tell you that she now stands without the door!" As if in the s u p e r h u m a n energy of his u t t e r a n c e there h a d b e e n f o u n d the potency of a s p e l l — t h e h u g e a n t i q u e p a n n e l s to which the s p e a k e r p o i n t e d , threw slowly b a c k , u p o n the instant, their p o n d e r o u s a n d e b o n y j a w s . It w a s the work of the r u s h i n g g u s t — b u t then without t h o s e d o o r s there did s t a n d the lofty a n d e n s h r o u d e d figure of the lady M a d e l i n e of U s h e r . T h e r e w a s blood u p o n her white r o b e s , a n d the e v i d e n c e of s o m e bitter struggle u p o n every portion of her e m a c i a t e d f r a m e . F o r a m o m e n t s h e r e m a i n e d t r e m b l i n g a n d reeling to a n d fro u p o n the t h r e s h o l d — t h e n , with a low m o a n i n g cry, fell heavily inward u p o n the p e r s o n of her brother, a n d in her horrible a n d now final d e a t h - a g o n i e s , b o r e him to the floor a c o r p s e , a n d a victim to the terrors he h a d d r e a d e d . F r o m that c h a m b e r , a n d from that m a n s i o n , I fled a g h a s t . T h e storm was

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still a b r o a d in all its wrath a s I f o u n d myself c r o s s i n g the old c a u s e w a y . S u d d e n l y there shot a l o n g the p a t h a wild light, a n d I t u r n e d to s e e w h e n c e a g l e a m so u n u s u a l c o u l d have i s s u e d — f o r the vast h o u s e a n d its s h a d o w s were a l o n e b e h i n d m e . T h e r a d i a n c e w a s that of the full, setting, a n d bloodred m o o n , which now s h o n e vividly through that o n c e barely-discernible fissure, of which I have before s p o k e n , a s extending from the roof of the building, in a zig-zag direction, to the b a s e . W h i l e I g a z e d , this fissure rapidly w i d e n e d — t h e r e c a m e a fierce breath of the w h i r l w i n d — t h e entire orb of the satellite b u r s t at o n c e u p o n my s i g h t — m y brain reeled a s I s a w the mighty walls r u s h i n g a s u n d e r — t h e r e w a s a long t u m u l t u o u s s h o u t i n g s o u n d like the voice of a t h o u s a n d w a t e r s — a n d the d e e p a n d d a n k tarn at my feet c l o s e d sullenly a n d silently over the f r a g m e n t s of the "House of Usher." 1839

The Tell-Tale Heart 1 Art is long and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave. Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. Longfellow2

T r u e ! — n e r v o u s — v e r y , very dreadfully n e r v o u s I h a d b e e n , a n d a m ; but why will you say that I a m m a d ? T h e d i s e a s e h a d s h a r p e n e d my s e n s e s — n o t d e s t r o y e d — n o t dulled t h e m . Above all w a s the s e n s e of h e a r i n g a c u t e . I heard all things in the heaven a n d in the e a r t h . I heard m a n y things in hell. H o w , t h e n , a m I m a d ? H a r k e n ! a n d o b s e r v e how h e a l t h i l y — h o w calmly I can tell you the whole story. It is i m p o s s i b l e to say how first the idea e n t e r e d my brain; but, o n c e c o n ceived, it h a u n t e d m e day a n d night. O b j e c t there w a s n o n e . P a s s i o n there was n o n e . I loved the old m a n . H e had never wronged m e . H e h a d never given m e insult. F o r his gold I h a d no desire. I think it w a s his e y e ! — y e s , it w a s this! H e had the eye of a v u l t u r e — a p a l e b l u e eye, with a film over it. W h e n e v e r it fell u p o n m e , my blood ran cold; a n d s o , by d e g r e e s — v e r y gradually—I m a d e up my m i n d to take the life of the old m a n , a n d t h u s rid myself of the eye forever. N o w this is the point. You fancy m e m a d . M a d m e n know nothing. B u t you s h o u l d have s e e n me. You s h o u l d have seen how wisely I p r o c e e d e d — w i t h what c a u t i o n — w i t h what foresight—with what d i s s i m u l a t i o n I went to work! I was never kinder to the old m a n than d u r i n g the whole w e e k before I killed him. A n d every night, a b o u t midnight, I turned the latch of his d o o r a n d o p e n e d i t — o h s o gently! And then, when I h a d m a d e a n o p e n i n g sufficient for my h e a d , I first p u t in a dark lantern,* all c l o s e d , c l o s e d , so that no light 1. F i r s t p u b l i s h e d in The pioneer (January 1843), t h e s o u r c e o f t h e p r e s e n t text. P o e very likely m a d e a f e w o f t h e c h a n g e s f o r t h e r e p r i n t i n g in t h e Broadway Journal (August 23, 1845) (such as c h a n g i n g the old man t o " h e " o r " h i m " a f e w t i m e s ) , b u t t h e Broadway Journal compositor dropped s o m e n e c e s s a r y w o r d s ( f o o t n o t e d in t h e t e x t ) , m i s printed others, and bungled the punctuation

(including the u s e of italics) throughout. M o s t modern reprintings derive from the corrupt 1845 t e x t t h a t R u f u s G r i s w o l d r e p r i n t e d in t h e first v o l u m e o f P o e ' s p o s t h u m o u s Works (1850). 2. Henry W a d s w o r t h Longfellow's ( 1 8 0 7 - 1 8 8 2 ) "A P s a l m of Life," lines 1 3 - 1 6 . 3.

O n e with p a n e s that c a n be c o v e r e d .

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s h o n e out, a n d then I thrust in my h e a d . O h , you w o u l d have l a u g h e d to s e e how c u n n i n g l y I thrust it in! I m o v e d it slowly—very, very slowly, s o that I might not d i s t u r b the old m a n ' s s l e e p . It took m e a n h o u r to p l a c e my whole h e a d within the o p e n i n g s o far that I c o u l d s e e the old m a n a s he lay u p o n his b e d . H a ! — w o u l d a m a d m a n have b e e n so wise a s this? A n d t h e n , w h e n my h e a d w a s well in the r o o m , I u n d i d the lantern c a u t i o u s l y — o h , s o c a u tiously (for the h i n g e s c r e a k e d ) — I u n d i d it j u s t s o m u c h that a single thin ray fell u p o n the vulture eye. A n d this I did for s e v e n long n i g h t s — e v e r y night j u s t at m i d n i g h t — b u t I f o u n d the eye always c l o s e d ; a n d so it w a s i m p o s s i b l e to do the work; for it w a s not the old m a n w h o vexed m e , but his Evil Eye. A n d every m o r n i n g , w h e n the day b r o k e , I went boldly into his c h a m b e r , a n d s p o k e c o u r a g e o u s l y to h i m , calling him by n a m e in a hearty t o n e , a n d inquiring how he h a d p a s s e d the night. S o you s e e h e would have b e e n a very p r o f o u n d old m a n , i n d e e d , to s u s p e c t that every night, j u s t at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept. U p o n the eighth night I w a s m o r e than u s u a l l y c a u t i o u s in o p e n i n g the door. A w a t c h ' s m i n u t e - h a n d m o v e s m o r e quickly than did m i n e . Never, before that night, h a d I felt the extent of my own p o w e r s — o f my sagacity. I c o u l d scarcely c o n t a i n my feelings of t r i u m p h . T o think that there I w a s , o p e n i n g the door, little by little, a n d the old m a n not even to d r e a m of my secret d e e d s or t h o u g h t s . I fairly c h u c k l e d at the idea. A n d p e r h a p s the old m a n h e a r d m e ; for he m o v e d in the b e d s u d d e n l y , a s if startled. N o w you m a y think that I drew b a c k — b u t n o . His r o o m w a s a s b l a c k a s pitch with the thick d a r k n e s s , (for the s h u t t e r s were c l o s e f a s t e n e d , t h r o u g h fear of robbers,) a n d so I knew that he c o u l d not s e e the o p e n i n g of the door, a n d I kept on p u s h i n g it steadily, steadily. I h a d got my h e a d in, a n d w a s a b o u t to o p e n the lantern, w h e n my t h u m b slipped u p o n the tin f a s t e n i n g , a n d the old m a n s p r a n g u p in the b e d , crying out—"Who's there?" I kept q u i t e still a n d said nothing. F o r a n o t h e r h o u r I did not m o v e a m u s c l e , a n d in the m e a n t i m e I did not h e a r the old m a n lie d o w n . H e w a s still sitting u p in the b e d , l i s t e n i n g ; — j u s t a s I have d o n e , night after night, h e a r k e n i n g to the d e a t h - w a t c h e s 4 in the wall. Presently I h e a r d a slight g r o a n , a n d I knew that it w a s the g r o a n of mortal terror. It w a s not a g r o a n of p a i n , or of g r i e f — o h , n o ! — i t w a s the low, stifled s o u n d that a r i s e s from the b o t t o m of the soul w h e n o v e r c h a r g e d with awe. I knew the s o u n d well. M a n y a night, j u s t at m i d n i g h t , w h e n all the world slept, it h a s welled u p from my own b o s o m , d e e p e n i n g , with its dreadful e c h o , the terrors that d i s t r a c t e d m e . I say I k n e w it well. I k n e w what the old m a n felt, a n d pitied h i m , a l t h o u g h I c h u c k l e d at heart. I knew that he h a d b e e n lying a w a k e ever s i n c e the first slight n o i s e , w h e n h e h a d t u r n e d in the b e d . H i s fears h a d b e e n , ever s i n c e , growing u p o n h i m . H e h a d b e e n trying to fancy t h e m c a u s e l e s s , but c o u l d not. H e h a d b e e n s a y i n g to h i m s e l f — " I t is n o t h i n g but the wind in the c h i m n e y — i t is only a m o u s e c r o s s i n g the floor," or "it is merely a cricket which h a s m a d e a single c h i r p . " Y e s , h e h a d b e e n trying to c o m f o r t h i m s e l f with t h e s e s u p p o s i t i o n s ; but h e h a d f o u n d all in vain. All in vain; b e c a u s e d e a t h , in a p p r o a c h i n g the old m a n , h a d stalked 4. Beetles that m a k e a hollow clicking s o u n d by striking their h e a d s against the w o o d into which burrow.

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with his black s h a d o w before him, a n d the s h a d o w h a d n o w r e a c h e d a n d enveloped the v i c t i m . 5 A n d it w a s the m o u r n f u l influence of the u n p e r c e i v e d s h a d o w that c a u s e d him to f e e l — a l t h o u g h h e neither saw nor h e a r d m e — to feel the p r e s e n c e of my h e a d within the r o o m . W h e n I h a d waited a long t i m e , very patiently, without h e a r i n g the old m a n lie d o w n , I resolved to o p e n a little—a very, very little crevice in the lantern. S o I o p e n e d it—you c a n n o t i m a g i n e how stealthily, stealthily—until, at length, a single d i m ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from o u t the crevice a n d fell full u p o n the vulture eye. It w a s o p e n — w i d e , wide o p e n — a n d I grew furious a s I g a z e d u p o n it. I saw it with perfect d i s t i n c t n e s s — a l l a dull b l u e , with a h i d e o u s veil over it that chilled the very m a r r o w in my b o n e s ; but I c o u l d s e e n o t h i n g e l s e of the old m a n ' s f a c e or p e r s o n ; for I h a d directed the ray, a s if by instinct, precisely u p o n the d a m n e d s p o t . A n d n o w — h a v e I not told you that what you m i s t a k e for m a d n e s s is but over a c u t e n e s s of the s e n s e s ? — n o w , I say, there c a m e to my ears a low, dull, quick sound—much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that s o u n d well, too. It w a s the b e a t i n g of the old m a n ' s heart. It i n c r e a s e d my fury, a s the b e a t i n g of a d r u m s t i m u l a t e s the soldier into courage. B u t even yet I refrained a n d kept still. I scarcely b r e a t h e d . I held the lantern m o t i o n l e s s . I tried how steadily I c o u l d m a i n t a i n the ray u p o n the eye. M e a n t i m e the hellish t a t t o o 6 of the heart i n c r e a s e d . It grew q u i c k e r , a n d l o u d e r a n d louder every instant. T h e old m a n ' s terror must have b e e n extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every m o m e n t : — d o you m a r k m e well? I have told you that I a m n e r v o u s : — s o I a m . A n d now, at the d e a d h o u r of night, a n d a m i d the dreadful s i l e n c e of that old h o u s e , s o s t r a n g e a n o i s e a s this excited m e to u n c o n t r o l l a b l e w r a t h . 7 Yet, for s o m e m i n u t e s longer, I refrained a n d kept still. B u t the b e a t i n g grew louder, louder! I t h o u g h t the heart m u s t burst! A n d now a new anxiety seized m e — t h e s o u n d would b e h e a r d by a neighbor! T h e old m a n ' s h o u r h a d c o m e ! With a loud yell, I threw o p e n the lantern a n d l e a p e d into the r o o m . H e shrieked o n c e — o n c e only. In a n instant I d r a g g e d him to the floor, a n d pulled the heavy b e d over h i m . I then sat u p o n the b e d 8 a n d s m i l e d gaily, to find the d e e d s o far d o n e . B u t , for m a n y m i n u t e s , the heart b e a t o n , with a muffled s o u n d . T h i s , however, did not vex m e ; it w o u l d not be h e a r d t h r o u g h the walls. At length it c e a s e d . T h e old m a n w a s d e a d . I r e m o v e d the b e d a n d e x a m i n e d the c o r p s e . Yes, he was s t o n e , s t o n e d e a d . I p l a c e d my h a n d u p o n the heart a n d held it there m a n y m i n u t e s . T h e r e w a s no p u l s a t i o n . T h e old m a n w a s s t o n e d e a d . H i s eye would trouble me n o m o r e . If, still, you think m e m a d , you will think so no longer w h e n I d e s c r i b e the wise p r e c a u t i o n s I took for the c o n c e a l m e n t of the body. T h e night w a n e d , a n d I worked hastily, b u t in s i l e n c e . First of all I d i s m e m b e r e d the c o r p s e . I cut off the h e a d a n d the a r m s a n d the legs. I then t o o k up three p l a n k s from the flooring of the c h a m b e r , a n d d e p o s i t e d all b e t w e e n the s c a n t l i n g s . 9 I then 5 . T h e 1 8 4 5 t e x t r e a d s : "All in vain; because D e a t h , in a p p r o a c h i n g h i m h a d s t a l k e d w i t h h i s b l a c k s h a d o w b e f o r e h i m , a n d e n v e l o p e d t h e victim." 6. D r u m b e a t .

7. 8. on to 9.

T h e 1 8 4 5 t e x t r e p l a c e s wrath w i t h " t e r r o r . " T h e 1 8 4 5 text l a c k s t h e grisly detail of sitting t h e b e d w h i l e s m i l i n g g a i l y ("I t h e n s m i l e d g a i l y , find t h e d e e d s o f a r d o n e . " ) . Small planks.

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r e p l a c e d the b o a r d s s o cleverly, s o cunningly, that n o h u m a n e y e — n o t even his—could have d e t e c t e d anything w r o n g . T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g to w a s h o u t — n o stain of any k i n d — n o blood-spot whatever. I h a d b e e n too wary for that. A t u b h a d c a u g h t a l l — h a ! ha! W h e n 1 h a d m a d e a n e n d of t h e s e labors, it w a s four o'clock—still d a r k a s midnight. As the bell s o u n d e d the hour, there c a m e a k n o c k i n g at the street door. I went down to o p e n it with a light h e a r t , — f o r w h a t h a d I now to fear? T h e r e entered three m e n , w h o i n t r o d u c e d t h e m s e l v e s , with perfect suavity, as officers of the p o l i c e . A shriek h a d b e e n h e a r d by a n e i g h b o r d u r i n g the night; s u s p i c i o n of foul play h a d b e e n a r o u s e d ; information h a d b e e n lodged at the police-office, a n d they (the officers) h a d b e e n d e p u t e d to s e a r c h the premises. 1 s m i l e d , — f o r what h a d I to fear? I b a d e the g e n t l e m e n w e l c o m e . T h e shriek, I said, w a s my own in a d r e a m . T h e old m a n , I m e n t i o n e d , w a s a b s e n t in the country. I took my visiters all over the h o u s e . I b a d e t h e m s e a r c h — s e a r c h well. I led t h e m , at length, to his c h a m b e r . I s h o w e d t h e m his treasu r e s , s e c u r e , u n d i s t u r b e d . In the e n t h u s i a s m of my c o n f i d e n c e , I b r o u g h t chairs into the r o o m , a n d desired t h e m here to rest from their fatigues; while I myself, in the wild a u d a c i t y of my perfect t r i u m p h , p l a c e d my own s e a t u p o n the very spot b e n e a t h which r e p o s e d the c o r p s e of the victim. T h e officers were satisfied. M y manner h a d c o n v i n c e d t h e m . I w a s singularly at e a s e . T h e y sat, a n d , while I a n s w e r e d cheerily, they c h a t t e d of familiar things. B u t , ere long, I felt myself getting p a l e a n d w i s h e d t h e m g o n e . M y h e a d a c h e d , a n d I fancied a ringing in my e a r s : but still they sat a n d still c h a t t e d . T h e ringing b e c a m e m o r e distinct: I talked m o r e freely, to get rid of the feeling; but it c o n t i n u e d a n d g a i n e d d e f i n i t i v e n e s s — u n t i l , at length, I f o u n d that the n o i s e w a s wot within my e a r s . N o d o u b t I now grew very p a l e ; — b u t I talked m o r e fluently, a n d with a h e i g h t e n e d v o i c e . Yet the s o u n d i n c r e a s e d — a n d what c o u l d I d o ? It w a s a such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped low, dull, quick sound—much in cotton. I g a s p e d for b r e a t h — a n d yet the officers h e a r d it not. I talked m o r e q u i c k l y — m o r e v e h e m e n t l y ; — b u t the n o i s e steadily i n c r e a s e d . I a r o s e , a n d a r g u e d a b o u t trifles, in a high key a n d with violent g e s t i c u l a t i o n s ; — b u t the noise steadily i n c r e a s e d . W h y woidd they not b e g o n e ? I p a c e d the floor to a n d fro, with heavy strides, a s if excited to fury by the o b s e r v a t i o n s of the m e n ; — b u t the noise steadily i n c r e a s e d . O h G o d ! what could I do? I foam e d — I r a v e d — I swore! I s w u n g the c h a i r u p o n which I h a d sat, a n d grated it u p o n the b o a r d s ; — b u t the n o i s e a r o s e over all a n d continually i n c r e a s e d . It grew louder—louder—louder! A n d still the m e n c h a t t e d pleasantly, a n d s m i l e d . W a s it p o s s i b l e they h e a r d not? Almighty G o d ! n o , n o ! T h e y h e a r d ! — they s u s p e c t e d ! — t h e y knew!—they were m a k i n g a m o c k e r y of my h o r r o r ! — this I t h o u g h t , a n d this I think. B u t a n y t h i n g better t h a n this agony! Anything w a s m o r e tolerable than this derision! I c o u l d b e a r t h o s e hypocritical smiles n o longer! I felt that I m u s t s c r e a m or d i e ! — a n d n o w — a g a i n ! — h a r k ! louder! louder! louder! louder!— "Villains!" I shrieked, " d i s s e m b l e no m o r e ! I a d m i t the d e e d ! — t e a r u p the p l a n k s ! — h e r e , h e r e ! — i t is the b e a t i n g of his h i d e o u s h e a r t ! " 1843

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The Purloined Letter 1 At Paris, j u s t after dark o n e gusty evening in the a u t u m n of 1 8 — , I w a s enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation a n d a m e e r s c h a u m , in c o m p a n y with my friend C . A u g u s t e D u p i n , in his little b a c k library, or book-closet, au troisieme,2 N o . 3 3 , Rue Dunot, Faubourg St. Germain. F o r o n e h o u r at least we h a d m a i n t a i n e d a p r o f o u n d s i l e n c e ; while e a c h , to any c a s u a l observer, might have s e e m e d intently a n d exclusively o c c u p i e d with the curling e d d i e s of s m o k e that o p p r e s s e d the a t m o s p h e r e of the c h a m b e r . F o r myself, however, I w a s mentally d i s c u s s i n g certain topics which h a d f o r m e d m a t t e r for c o n v e r s a t i o n b e t w e e n u s at an earlier period of the evening; I m e a n the affair of the R u e M o r g u e , a n d the mystery a t t e n d i n g the m u r d e r of M a r i e R o g e t . I looked u p o n it, therefore, a s s o m e t h i n g of c o i n c i d e n c e , w h e n the d o o r of our a p a r t m e n t was thrown o p e n a n d a d m i t t e d o u r old acquaintance, Monsieur G , the Prefect of the P a r i s i a n p o l i c e . W e gave him a hearty w e l c o m e ; for there w a s nearly half a s m u c h of the entertaining a s of the c o n t e m p t i b l e a b o u t the m a n , a n d we h a d not s e e n him for several years. W e h a d b e e n sitting in the dark, a n d D u p i n now a r o s e for the p u r p o s e of lighting a l a m p , but sat d o w n a g a i n , without d o i n g s o , u p o n G.'s saying that he h a d called to c o n s u l t u s , or rather to a s k the opinion of my friend, a b o u t s o m e official b u s i n e s s which h a d o c c a s i o n e d a great deal of trouble. "If it is any point requiring reflection," o b s e r v e d D u p i n , a s he forebore to enkindle the wick, "we shall e x a m i n e it to better p u r p o s e in the d a r k . " "That is a n o t h e r of your o d d n o t i o n s , " said the Prefect, w h o h a d a f a s h i o n of calling every thing " o d d " that w a s beyond his c o m p r e h e n s i o n , a n d t h u s lived a m i d a n a b s o l u t e legion of " o d d i t i e s . " "Very t r u e , " said D u p i n , a s he s u p p l i e d his visiter with a p i p e , a n d rolled towards him a very c o m f o r t a b l e chair. "And what is the difficulty n o w ? " I a s k e d . " N o t h i n g m o r e in the a s s a s s i nation way, I h o p e ? " " O h n o ; n o t h i n g of that n a t u r e . T h e fact is, the b u s i n e s s is very s i m p l e i n d e e d , a n d I m a k e n o d o u b t that we c a n m a n a g e it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought D u p i n would like to h e a r the details of it, b e c a u s e it is s o excessively odd." " S i m p l e a n d o d d , " said D u p i n . "Why, y e s ; a n d not exactly that, either. T h e fact is, we have all b e e n a g o o d deal puzzled b e c a u s e the affair is so s i m p l e , a n d yet baffles u s a l t o g e t h e r . " 1. T h e t e x t is t h a t o f t h e first p u b l i c a t i o n in The Gift, a P h i l a d e l p h i a a n n u a l d a t e d 1 8 4 5 b u t f o r s a l e l a t e in 1 8 4 4 . H i s t o r i a n s o f d e t e c t i v e f i c t i o n u s u a l l y cite Poe's three stories about C . A u g u s t e Dupin as t h e first o f t h e g e n r e . T h i s is t h e t h i r d D u p i n s t o r y , t h e o t h e r s b e i n g " T h e M u r d e r s in t h e R u e M o r g u e " (1841) and "The Mystery of Marie Roget" (1842). H e r e t h e c r i m i n a l is k n o w n f r o m t h e b e g i n n i n g a n d the solution c o m e s from Dupin's analytical powers. In " T h e M u r d e r s i n t h e R u e M o r g u e , " h o w e v e r , P o e is a t s o m e p a i n s t o s t r e s s t h a t D u p i n ' s p o w e r s are not of mere "calculation," rather "the analyst t h r o w s h i m s e l f into the spirit o f his o p p o n e n t , identifies himself therewith, a n d not unfrequently

s e e s t h u s , at a g l a n c e , t h e s o l e m e t h o d s ( s o m e t i m e s i n d e e d a b s u r d l y s i m p l e o n e s ) by w h i c h h e m a y s e d u c e into error or hurry into miscalculation." 2. Actually the fourth floor ( b e c a u s e the F r e n c h d o n o t c o u n t t h e f i r s t , t h e rez-de~cliaussee). In " T h e Murders in t h e R u e Morgue" the narrator d e s c r i b e s his a n d D u p i n ' s quarters, "a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through s u p e r s t i t i o n s , " " t o t t e r i n g t o i t s fall i n a r e t i r e d a n d desolate portion of the F a u b o u r g St. G e r m a i n , " but m e a n w h i l e f u r n i s h e d "in a style w h i c h s u i t e d the rather fantastic g l o o m " of their c o m m o n temperament.

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" P e r h a p s it is the very simplicity of the thing which p u t s you at f a u l t , " said my friend. " W h a t n o n s e n s e you do talk!" replied the Prefect, l a u g h i n g heartily. " P e r h a p s the mystery is a little too p l a i n , " said D u p i n . " O h , good h e a v e n s ! w h o ever h e a r d of s u c h a n i d e a ? " "A little too self-evident." " H a ! ha! h a ! — h a ! ha! h a ! — h o ! ho! h o ! " r o a r e d o u t our visiter, profoundly a m u s e d , " o h , D u p i n , you will b e the d e a t h of m e yet!" "And w h a t , after all, is the m a t t e r on h a n d ? " I a s k e d . "Why, I will tell y o u , " replied the P r e f e c t , a s h e gave a long, steady, a n d c o n t e m p l a t i v e puff, a n d settled himself in his chair. "I will tell you in a few w o r d s ; b u t , before I b e g i n , let m e c a u t i o n you that this is a n affair d e m a n d i n g the g r e a t e s t s e c r e c y , a n d that I s h o u l d m o s t probably lose the p o s i t i o n I n o w hold, were it known that I confided it to any o n e . " " P r o c e e d , " s a i d I. " O r n o t , " said D u p i n . "Well, t h e n ; I have received p e r s o n a l i n f o r m a t i o n , from a very high quarter, that a certain d o c u m e n t of the last i m p o r t a n c e , h a s b e e n p u r l o i n e d from the royal a p a r t m e n t s . T h e individual w h o p u r l o i n e d it is k n o w n ; this b e y o n d a d o u b t ; h e w a s s e e n to take it. It is k n o w n , a l s o , that it still r e m a i n s in his possession." " H o w is this k n o w n ? " a s k e d D u p i n . "It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, "from the n a t u r e of the d o c u m e n t , a n d from the n o n - a p p e a r a n c e of certain results w h i c h would at o n c e arise from its p a s s i n g out of the robber's p o s s e s s i o n ; — t h a t is to say, from his e m p l o y i n g it a s h e m u s t d e s i g n in the e n d to e m p l o y i t . " " B e a little m o r e explicit," I s a i d . "Well, I m a y venture so far a s to say that the p a p e r gives its holder a certain power in a certain q u a r t e r w h e r e s u c h p o w e r is i m m e n s e l y v a l u a b l e . " T h e Prefect w a s fond of the c a n t of d i p l o m a c y . "Still I do not q u i t e u n d e r s t a n d , " said D u p i n . " N o ? W e l l ; the d i s c l o s u r e of the d o c u m e n t to a third p e r s o n , w h o shall b e n a m e l e s s , would bring in q u e s t i o n the h o n o u r of a p e r s o n a g e of m o s t exalted station; a n d this fact gives the holder of the d o c u m e n t a n a s c e n d a n c y over the illustrious p e r s o n a g e w h o s e h o n o u r a n d p e a c e are s o j e o p a r d i z e d . " " B u t this a s c e n d a n c y , " I i n t e r p o s e d , "would d e p e n d u p o n the robber's k n o w l e d g e of the loser's k n o w l e d g e of the robber. W h o w o u l d d a r e — " " T h e thief," said G , "is t h e — M i n i s t e r D , w h o d a r e s all things, t h o s e u n b e c o m i n g a s well a s t h o s e b e c o m i n g a m a n . T h e m e t h o d of the theft was not less i n g e n i o u s t h a n bold. T h e d o c u m e n t in q u e s t i o n — a letter, to be f r a n k — h a d b e e n received by the p e r s o n a g e r o b b e d while a l o n e in the royal boudoir. D u r i n g its p e r u s a l s h e w a s s u d d e n l y interrupted by the e n t r a n c e of the other exalted p e r s o n a g e from w h o m especially it w a s her wish to c o n c e a l it. After a hurried a n d vain e n d e a v o u r to thrust it in a drawer, s h e w a s forced to p l a c e it, o p e n a s it w a s , u p o n a t a b l e . T h e a d d r e s s , however, w a s upperm o s t , a n d the c o n t e n t s t h u s u n e x p o s e d , the letter e s c a p e d n o t i c e . At this j u n c t u r e enters the M i n i s t e r D . H i s lynx eye i m m e d i a t e l y p e r c e i v e s the p a p e r , r e c o g n i s e s the handwriting of the a d d r e s s , o b s e r v e s the c o n f u s i o n of the p e r s o n a g e a d d r e s s e d , a n d f a t h o m s her secret. After s o m e b u s i n e s s transa c t i o n s , hurried t h r o u g h in his ordinary m a n n e r , he p r o d u c e s a letter s o m e what similar to the o n e in q u e s t i o n , o p e n s it, p r e t e n d s to r e a d it, a n d then

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p l a c e s it in c l o s e j u x t a p o s i t i o n to the other. Again h e c o n v e r s e s , for s o m e fifteen m i n u t e s , u p o n the public affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes a l s o from the table the letter to which he h a d no c l a i m . Its rightful owner saw, b u t , of c o u r s e , dared not call attention to the act, in the p r e s e n c e of the third p e r s o n a g e w h o s t o o d at her elbow. T h e minister d e c a m p e d ; leaving his own l e t t e r — o n e of n o i m p o r t a n c e — u p o n the t a b l e . " " H e r e , t h e n , " s a i d D u p i n to m e , "you have precisely what you d e m a n d to m a k e the a s c e n d a n c y c o m p l e t e — t h e robber's knowledge of the loser's knowle d g e of the r o b b e r . " " Y e s , " replied the Prefect; " a n d the power t h u s a t t a i n e d h a s , for s o m e m o n t h s p a s t , b e e n wielded, for political p u r p o s e s , to a very d a n g e r o u s extent. T h e p e r s o n a g e r o b b e d is m o r e thoroughly c o n v i n c e d , every day, of the n e c e s sity of r e c l a i m i n g her letter. B u t this, of c o u r s e , c a n n o t be d o n e openly. In fine, driven to d e s p a i r , s h e has c o m m i t t e d the m a t t e r to m e . " " T h a n w h o m , " said D u p i n , a m i d a perfect whirlwind of s m o k e , " n o m o r e s a g a c i o u s agent c o u l d , I s u p p o s e , b e d e s i r e d , or even i m a g i n e d . " "You flatter m e , " replied the Prefect; " b u t it is p o s s i b l e that s o m e s u c h opinion may have b e e n e n t e r t a i n e d . " "It is c l e a r , " said I, " a s you o b s e r v e , that the letter is still in p o s s e s s i o n of the minister; s i n c e it is this p o s s e s s i o n , a n d not any e m p l o y m e n t , of the letter, which b e s t o w s the power. With the e m p l o y m e n t the p o w e r d e p a r t s . " " T r u e , " said G ; " a n d u p o n this conviction I p r o c e e d e d . M y first c a r e w a s to m a k e t h o r o u g h s e a r c h of the minister's hotel; a n d here my chief e m b a r r a s s m e n t lay in the necessity of s e a r c h i n g without his k n o w l e d g e . B e y o n d all things, I have b e e n w a r n e d of the d a n g e r w h i c h would result from giving him r e a s o n to s u s p e c t our d e s i g n . " " B u t , " said I, "you a r e quite aufait* in t h e s e investigations. T h e Parisian police have d o n e this thing often b e f o r e . " " O yes; a n d for this r e a s o n I did not d e s p a i r . T h e habits of the minister gave m e , too, a great a d v a n t a g e . H e is frequently a b s e n t from h o m e all night. His servants are by no m e a n s n u m e r o u s . T h e y sleep at a d i s t a n c e from their m a s t e r ' s a p a r t m e n t s , a n d , b e i n g chiefly N e a p o l i t a n s , are readily m a d e drunk. I have keys, a s you know, with which I c a n o p e n any c h a m b e r or c a b i n e t in Paris. F o r three m o n t h s a night h a s not p a s s e d , d u r i n g the greater part of which I have not b e e n e n g a g e d , personally, in r a n s a c k i n g the D Hotel. M y h o n o u r is interested, a n d , to m e n t i o n a great s e c r e t , the reward is enorm o u s . S o I did not a b a n d o n the s e a r c h until I h a d b e c o m e fully satisfied that the thief is a m o r e a s t u t e m a n than myself. I fancy that I have investigated every n o o k a n d c o r n e r of the p r e m i s e s in which it is p o s s i b l e that the p a p e r can be c o n c e a l e d . " " B u t is it not p o s s i b l e , " I s u g g e s t e d , "that a l t h o u g h the letter may b e in p o s s e s s i o n of the minister, a s it u n q u e s t i o n a b l y is, he may have c o n c e a l e d it elsewhere than u p o n his own p r e m i s e s ? " "This is barely p o s s i b l e , " said D u p i n . " T h e p r e s e n t p e c u l i a r c o n d i t i o n of affairs at c o u r t , a n d especially of t h o s e intrigues in which D is known to be involved, would render the instant availability of the d o c u m e n t — i t s susceptibility of b e i n g p r o d u c e d at a m o m e n t ' s n o t i c e — a point of nearly e q u a l i m p o r t a n c e with its p o s s e s s i o n . " "Its susceptibility of b e i n g p r o d u c e d ? " said I. 3. A t h o m e , e x p e r t ( F r e n c h ) .

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" T h a t is to say, of b e i n g destroyed," said D u p i n . " T r u e , " I observed; " t h e p a p e r is clearly then u p o n the p r e m i s e s . As for its b e i n g u p o n the p e r s o n of the minister, we may c o n s i d e r that a s out of the question." "Entirely," said the Prefect. " H e h a s b e e n twice waylaid, a s if by f o o t p a d s , a n d his p e r s o n rigorously s e a r c h e d u n d e r my own i n s p e c t i o n . " "You might have s p a r e d yourself this t r o u b l e , " said D u p i n . " D , I pres u m e , is not altogether a fool, a n d , if not, m u s t have a n t i c i p a t e d t h e s e waylayings, as a m a t t e r of c o u r s e . " " N o t altogether a fool," said G , "but then he's a p o e t , w h i c h I take to b e only o n e r e m o v e from a fool." " T r u e ; " said D u p i n , after a long a n d thoughtful whiff from his meers c h a u m , " a l t h o u g h I have b e e n guilty of certain d o g g e r e l myself." " S u p p o s e you d e t a i l , " s a i d I, "the particulars of your s e a r c h . " "Why the fact is, we took our t i m e , a n d we s e a r c h e d every where. I have had long e x p e r i e n c e in t h e s e affairs. I took the entire building, r o o m by r o o m ; devoting the nights of a whole w e e k to e a c h . W e e x a m i n e d , first, the furniture of e a c h a p a r t m e n t . W e o p e n e d every p o s s i b l e drawer; a n d I p r e s u m e you know that, to a properly trained police a g e n t , s u c h a thing a s a secret drawer is i m p o s s i b l e . Any m a n is a dolt who p e r m i t s a 'secret' drawer to e s c a p e him in a s e a r c h of this kind. T h e thing is so plain. T h e r e is a certain a m o u n t of b u l k — o f s p a c e — t o be a c c o u n t e d for in every c a b i n e t . T h e n w e have a c c u r a t e rules. T h e fiftieth part of a line c o u l d not e s c a p e u s . After the c a b i n e t s we took the c h a i r s . T h e c u s h i o n s we p r o b e d with the fine long n e e d l e s you have s e e n m e employ. F r o m the tables we r e m o v e d the t o p s . " "Why s o ? " " S o m e t i m e s the top of a t a b l e , or other similarly a r r a n g e d p i e c e of furniture, is r e m o v e d by the p e r s o n w i s h i n g to c o n c e a l a n article; then the leg is excavated, the article d e p o s i t e d within the cavity, a n d the top r e p l a c e d . T h e b o t t o m s a n d tops of b e d - p o s t s are e m p l o y e d in the s a m e w a y . " " B u t c o u l d not the cavity be d e t e c t e d by s o u n d i n g ? " I a s k e d . " B y no m e a n s , if, w h e n the article is d e p o s i t e d , a sufficient w a d d i n g of cotton be p l a c e d a r o u n d it. B e s i d e s , in o u r c a s e , we were obliged to p r o c e e d without n o i s e . " " B u t you c o u l d not have r e m o v e d — y o u c o u l d not have t a k e n to p i e c e s all articles of furniture in which it would have b e e n p o s s i b l e to m a k e a d e p o s i t in the m a n n e r you m e n t i o n . A letter m a y b e c o m p r e s s e d into a thin spiral roll, not differing m u c h in s h a p e or bulk from a large knitting-needle, a n d in this form it might be inserted into the r u n g of a chair, for e x a m p l e . You did not take to p i e c e s all the c h a i r s ? " " C e r t a i n l y not; but we did b e t t e r — w e e x a m i n e d the r u n g s of every chair in the hotel, a n d , i n d e e d , the j o i n t i n g s of every description of furniture, by the aid of a m o s t powerful m i c r o s c o p e . 4 H a d there b e e n any t r a c e s of r e c e n t d i s t u r b a n c e we s h o u l d not have failed to d e t e c t it instanter.* A single grain of gimlet-dust, or s a w d u s t , for e x a m p l e , would have b e e n a s o b v i o u s a s a n a p p l e . Any disorder in the g l u e i n g — a n y u n u s u a l g a p i n g in the j o i n t s — w o u l d have sufficed to i n s u r e d e t e c t i o n . "

4.

I.e., a p o w e r f u l m a g n i f y i n g g l a s s .

5.

Instantly.

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" O f c o u r s e you looked to the mirrors, b e t w e e n the b o a r d s a n d the p l a t e s , and you probed the b e d s a n d the b e d - c l o t h e s , a s well a s the c u r t a i n s a n d carpets." " T h a t of c o u r s e ; a n d w h e n we h a d absolutely c o m p l e t e d every particle of the furniture in this way, then we e x a m i n e d the h o u s e itself. W e divided its entire s u r f a c e into c o m p a r t m e n t s , which we n u m b e r e d , s o that n o n e might be m i s s e d ; then we scrutinized e a c h individual s q u a r e inch t h r o u g h o u t the p r e m i s e s , i n c l u d i n g the two h o u s e s immediately adjoining, with the microscope, as before." " T h e two h o u s e s a d j o i n i n g ! " I e x c l a i m e d ; "you m u s t have had a great deal of t r o u b l e . " " W e h a d ; but the reward offered is p r o d i g i o u s . " "You i n c l u d e the grounds a b o u t the h o u s e s ? " "All the g r o u n d s are paved with brick. T h e y gave u s comparatively little trouble. W e e x a m i n e d the m o s s b e t w e e n the bricks, a n d f o u n d it u n d i s turbed." " A n d the r o o f s ? " " W e surveyed every inch of the external s u r f a c e , a n d p r o b e d carefully b e n e a t h every tile." "You looked a m o n g D 's p a p e r s , of c o u r s e , a n d into the books of the library?" "Certainly; we o p e n e d every p a c k a g e a n d parcel; we not only o p e n e d every book, but we turned over every leaf in e a c h v o l u m e , not c o n t e n t i n g ourselves with a m e r e s h a k e , a c c o r d i n g to the fashion of s o m e of our p o l i c e officers. W e a l s o m e a s u r e d the thickness of every book-cover, with the m o s t a c c u r a t e a d m e a s u r e m e n t , a n d applied to t h e m the m o s t j e a l o u s scrutiny of the micros c o p e . H a d any of the b i n d i n g s b e e n recently m e d d l e d with, it would have b e e n utterly i m p o s s i b l e that the fact s h o u l d have e s c a p e d observation. S o m e five or six v o l u m e s , j u s t from the h a n d s of the binder, w e carefully p r o b e d , longitudinally, with the n e e d l e s . " "You explored the floors b e n e a t h the c a r p e t s ? " " B e y o n d d o u b t . W e r e m o v e d every c a r p e t , a n d e x a m i n e d the b o a r d s with the m i c r o s c o p e . " " A n d the p a p e r on the w a l l s ? " "Yes." "You looked into the c e l l a r s ? " " W e did; a n d , a s time a n d l a b o u r were n o o b j e c t s , we d u g u p every o n e of t h e m to the d e p t h of four f e e t . " " T h e n , " I said, "you have b e e n m a k i n g a m i s c a l c u l a t i o n , a n d the letter is not u p o n the p r e m i s e s , a s you s u p p o s e . " "I fear you are right t h e r e , " said the Prefect. "And now, D u p i n , what would you advise m e to d o ? " " T o m a k e a t h o r o u g h re-search of the p r e m i s e s . " " T h a t is absolutely n e e d l e s s , " replied G . "I a m not m o r e s u r e that I b r e a t h e than I a m that the letter is not at the H o t e l . " "I have n o better advice to give y o u , " said D u p i n . "You have, of c o u r s e , a n a c c u r a t e description of the letter?" " O h y e s ! " — A n d here the Prefect, p r o d u c i n g a m e m o r a n d u m - b o o k , proc e e d e d to read a l o u d a m i n u t e a c c o u n t of the internal, a n d especially of the external, a p p e a r a n c e of the m i s s i n g d o c u m e n t . S o o n after finishing the

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p e r u s a l of this d e s c r i p t i o n , he took his d e p a r t u r e , m o r e entirely d e p r e s s e d in spirits than I h a d ever known the g o o d g e n t l e m a n b e f o r e . In a b o u t a m o n t h afterwards he p a i d u s a n o t h e r visit, a n d f o u n d u s o c c u p i e d very nearly a s b e f o r e . H e took a p i p e a n d a chair, a n d e n t e r e d into s o m e ordinary c o n v e r s a t i o n . At length I s a i d , — "Well, b u t G , what of the p u r l o i n e d letter? I p r e s u m e you have at last m a d e up your m i n d that there is n o s u c h thing a s o v e r r e a c h i n g the M i n i s t e r ? " " C o n f o u n d h i m , say I—yes; I m a d e the re-examination, however, a s D u p i n s u g g e s t e d — b u t it w a s all l a b o u r lost, a s I knew it w o u l d b e . " " H o w m u c h w a s the reward offered, did you s a y ? " a s k e d D u p i n . "Why, a very great d e a l — a very liberal r e w a r d — I don't like to say how m u c h , precisely; but o n e thing I will say, that I wouldn't m i n d giving my individual c h e c k for fifty t h o u s a n d f r a n c s to any o n e w h o c o u l d obtain m e that letter. T h e fact is, it is b e c o m i n g of m o r e a n d m o r e i m p o r t a n c e every day; a n d the reward h a s b e e n lately d o u b l e d . If it were trebled, however, I c o u l d do no m o r e than I have d o n e . " "Why, y e s , " said D u p i n , drawlingly, b e t w e e n the whiffs of his meers c h a u m , "I really—think, G , you have n o t exerted y o u r s e l f — t o the u t m o s t in this matter. You m i g h t — d o a little m o r e , I think, e h ? " " H o w ? — i n what w a y ? " " W h y — p u f f , p u f f — y o u m i g h t — p u f f , p u f f — e m p l o y c o u n s e l in the m a t t e r , e h ? — p u f f , puff, puff. D o you r e m e m b e r the story they tell of A b e r n e t h y ? " " N o ; hang Abernethy!" " T o b e s u r e ! h a n g him a n d w e l c o m e . B u t , o n c e u p o n a t i m e , a certain rich m i s e r c o n c e i v e d the d e s i g n of s p u n g i n g u p o n this A b e r n e t h y for a m e d i c a l opinion. G e t t i n g u p , for this p u r p o s e , a n ordinary c o n v e r s a t i o n in a private c o m p a n y , he i n s i n u a t e d his c a s e to the p h y s i c i a n , a s that of a n imaginary individual. " 'We will s u p p o s e , ' said the m i s e r , 'that his s y m p t o m s are s u c h a n d s u c h ; now, doctor, what w o u l d you have d i r e c t e d him to t a k e ? ' " ' T a k e ! ' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice, to b e s u r e . ' " " B u t , " s a i d the Prefect, a little d i s c o m p o s e d , "I a m perfectly willing to take advice, a n d to pay for it. I would really give fifty t h o u s a n d f r a n c s , every centime of it, to any o n e w h o would aid m e in the m a t t e r ! " "In that c a s e , " replied D u p i n , o p e n i n g a drawer, a n d p r o d u c i n g a c h e c k book, "you may a s well fill m e u p a c h e c k for the a m o u n t m e n t i o n e d . W h e n you have s i g n e d it, I will h a n d you the letter." I w a s a s t o u n d e d . T h e Prefect a p p e a r e d a b s o l u t e l y t h u n d e r - s t r i c k e n . F o r s o m e m i n u t e s h e r e m a i n e d s p e e c h l e s s a n d m o t i o n l e s s , looking incredulously at my friend with o p e n m o u t h , a n d eyes that s e e m e d starting from their s o c k e t s ; t h e n , a p p a r e n t l y recovering h i m s e l f in s o m e m e a s u r e , he seized a p e n , a n d after several p a u s e s a n d v a c a n t s t a r e s , finally filled u p a n d s i g n e d a c h e c k for fifty t h o u s a n d f r a n c s , a n d h a n d e d it a c r o s s the table to D u p i n . T h e latter e x a m i n e d it carefully a n d d e p o s i t e d it in his p o c k e t - b o o k ; t h e n , u n l o c k i n g a n escritoire,b took t h e n c e a letter a n d g a v e it to the Prefect. T h i s functionary g r a s p e d it in a perfect a g o n y of joy; o p e n e d it with a t r e m b l i n g h a n d , c a s t a rapid g l a n c e at its c o n t e n t s , a n d t h e n , s c r a m b l i n g a n d s t r u g g l i n g to the door, r u s h e d at length u n c e r e m o n i o u s l y from the r o o m a n d from the 6. Writing d e s k ( F r e n c h ) ; n o w s p e l l e d

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h o u s e , without having uttered a solitary syllable s i n c e D u p i n h a d r e q u e s t e d him to fill up the c h e c k . W h e n he h a d g o n e , my friend entered into s o m e e x p l a n a t i o n s . " T h e Parisian p o l i c e , " h e s a i d , " a r e exceedingly able in their way. T h e y are persevering, i n g e n i o u s , c u n n i n g , a n d thoroughly versed in the k n o w l e d g e which their d u t i e s s e e m chiefly to d e m a n d . T h u s w h e n G detailed to u s his m o d e of s e a r c h i n g the p r e m i s e s at the Hotel D , I felt the entire c o n f i d e n c e in his having m a d e a satisfactory i n v e s t i g a t i o n — s o far a s his labours extended." " S o far a s his l a b o u r s e x t e n d e d ? " said I. " Y e s , " said D u p i n . " T h e m e a s u r e s a d o p t e d were not only the b e s t of their kind, but carried out to a b s o l u t e perfection. H a d the letter b e e n d e p o s i t e d within the r a n g e of their s e a r c h , t h e s e fellows w o u l d , b e y o n d a q u e s t i o n , have f o u n d it." I merely l a u g h e d — b u t h e s e e m e d quite s e r i o u s in all that h e s a i d . " T h e m e a s u r e s , t h e n , " he c o n t i n u e d , "were g o o d in their kind, a n d well e x e c u t e d ; their defect lay in their b e i n g i n a p p l i c a b l e to the c a s e , a n d to the m a n . A certain set of highly i n g e n i o u s r e s o u r c e s a r e , with the P r e f e c t , a sort of P r o c r u s t e a n b e d , 7 to which he forcibly a d a p t s his d e s i g n s . B u t h e perpetually errs by b e i n g too d e e p or too shallow, for the m a t t e r in h a n d ; a n d m a n y a schoolboy is a better r e a s o n e r than h e . I knew o n e a b o u t eight years of a g e , w h o s e s u c c e s s at g u e s s i n g in the g a m e of 'even a n d o d d ' a t t r a c t e d universal a d m i r a t i o n . T h i s g a m e is s i m p l e , a n d is played with m a r b l e s . O n e player holds in his h a n d a n u m b e r of t h e s e toys; a n d d e m a n d s of a n o t h e r whether that n u m b e r is even or o d d . If the g u e s s is right, the g u e s s e r wins o n e ; if wrong, he l o s e s o n e . T h e boy to w h o m I a l l u d e won all the m a r b l e s of the school. O f c o u r s e h e h a d s o m e principle of g u e s s i n g ; a n d this lay in m e r e observation a n d a d m e a s u r e m e n t of the a s t u t e n e s s of his o p p o n e n t s . F o r e x a m p l e , a n arrant s i m p l e t o n is his o p p o n e n t , a n d , h o l d i n g u p his c l o s e d h a n d , a s k s , 'are they even or o d d ? ' O u r s c h o o l b o y replies 'odd,' a n d l o s e s ; but u p o n the s e c o n d trial h e wins, for he then says to himself, 'the s i m p l e t o n h a d t h e m even u p o n the first trial, a n d his a m o u n t of c u n n i n g is j u s t sufficient to m a k e him have t h e m o d d u p o n the s e c o n d ; I will therefore g u e s s o d d ; ' — h e g u e s s e s o d d , a n d w i n s . N o w , with a s i m p l e t o n a d e g r e e a b o v e the first, h e would have r e a s o n e d t h u s : 'this fellow finds that in the first i n s t a n c e I g u e s s e d o d d , a n d , in the s e c o n d , he will p r o p o s e to himself, u p o n the first i m p u l s e , a s i m p l e variation from even to o d d , a s did the first s i m p l e t o n ; b u t then a s e c o n d thought will s u g g e s t that this is too s i m p l e a variation, a n d finally he will d e c i d e u p o n p u t t i n g it even a s before. I will therefore g u e s s e v e n ; ' — h e g u e s s e s even, a n d w i n s . N o w this m o d e of r e a s o n i n g in the schoolboy, w h o m his fellows t e r m e d 'lucky,'—what, in its last analysis, is i t ? " "It is merely," I said, " a n identification of the r e a s o n e r ' s intellect with that of his o p p o n e n t . " "It i s , " said D u p i n ; " a n d , u p o n inquiring of the boy by what m e a n s he effected the thorough identification in which his s u c c e s s c o n s i s t e d , I received a n s w e r as follows: 'WTien I wish to find out how wise, or how s t u p i d , or how g o o d , or how wicked is any o n e , or what are his t h o u g h t s at the m o m e n t , I 7. P r o c r u s t e s , l e g e n d a r y G r e e k b a n d i t , m a d e h i s v i c t i m s fit t h e b e d h e b o u n d t h e m t o , e i t h e r b y s t r e t c h i n g t h e m t o t h e r e q u i r e d l e n g t h o r b y h a c k i n g o f f a n y s u r p l u s l e n g t h in t h e f e e t a n d l e g s .

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fashion the expression of my f a c e , a s a c c u r a t e l y a s p o s s i b l e , in a c c o r d a n c e with the expression of his, a n d then wait to s e e w h a t t h o u g h t s or s e n t i m e n t s arise in my mind or heart, as if to m a t c h or c o r r e s p o n d with the e x p r e s s i o n . ' T h i s r e s p o n s e of the s c h o o l b o y lies at the b o t t o m of all the s p u r i o u s profundity which has b e e n attributed to R o c h e f o u c a u l t , to L a B r u y e r e , to M a c h i avelli, a n d to C a m p a n e l l a . " 8 "And the identification," I said, "of the reasoner's intellect with that of his o p p o n e n t , d e p e n d s , if I u n d e r s t a n d you aright, u p o n the a c c u r a c y with w h i c h the o p p o n e n t ' s intellect is a d m e a s u r e d . " " F o r its practical value it d e p e n d s u p o n t h i s , " replied D u p i n ; " a n d the Prefect a n d his cohort fail s o frequently, first, by default of this identification, a n d , secondly, by i l l - a d m e a s u r e m e n t , or rather t h r o u g h n o n - a d m e a s u r e m e n t , of the intellect with which they are e n g a g e d . T h e y c o n s i d e r only their own ideas of ingenuity; a n d , in s e a r c h i n g for any thing h i d d e n , advert only to the m o d e s in which they w o u l d have hidden it. T h e y are right in this m u c h — t h a t their own ingenuity is a faithful r e p r e s e n t a t i v e of that of the mass; but w h e n the c u n n i n g of the individual felon is diverse in c h a r a c t e r from their own, the felon foils t h e m , of c o u r s e . T h i s always h a p p e n s when it is a b o v e their o w n , a n d very usually w h e n it is below. T h e y have no variation of principle in their investigations; at b e s t , when u r g e d by s o m e u n u s u a l e m e r g e n c y — b y s o m e extraordinary r e w a r d — t h e y extend or e x a g g e r a t e their old m o d e s of practice, without t o u c h i n g their principles. W h a t , for e x a m p l e , in this c a s e of D , has b e e n d o n e to vary the principle of a c t i o n ? W h a t is all this boring, a n d probing, a n d s o u n d i n g , a n d scrutinizing with the micros c o p e , a n d dividing the s u r f a c e of the building into registered s q u a r e i n c h e s — w h a t is it all but a n exaggeration of the application of the o n e principle or set of principles of s e a r c h , which are b a s e d u p o n the o n e set of n o t i o n s regarding h u m a n ingenuity, to w h i c h the Prefect, in the long routine of his duty, has b e e n a c c u s t o m e d ? D o you not s e e he h a s taken it for granted that all m e n p r o c e e d to c o n c e a l a l e t t e r , — n o t exactly in a gimlet-hole bored in a c h a i r - l e g — b u t , at least, in some out-of-the-way hole or c o r n e r s u g g e s t e d by the s a m e tenor of t h o u g h t which would urge a m a n to s e c r e t e a letter in a gimlet-hole b o r e d in a chair-leg? A n d d o you not s e e a l s o , that s u c h recherches* nooks for c o n c e a l m e n t are a d a p t e d only for ordinary o c c a s i o n s , a n d would be a d o p t e d only by ordinary intellects; for, in all c a s e s of conc e a l m e n t , a d i s p o s a l of the article c o n c e a l e d — a disposal of it in this recherche m a n n e r , — i s , in the very first i n s t a n c e , p r e s u m e d a n d p r e s u m a b l e ; a n d t h u s its discovery d e p e n d s , not at all u p o n the a c u m e n , but a l t o g e t h e r u p o n the m e r e c a r e , p a t i e n c e , a n d d e t e r m i n a t i o n of the s e e k e r s ; a n d w h e r e the c a s e is of i m p o r t a n c e — o r , w h a t a m o u n t s to the s a m e thing in the policial e y e s , w h e n the reward is of m a g n i t u d e , the qualities in q u e s t i o n have never b e e n known to fail. You will now u n d e r s t a n d what I m e a n t in s u g g e s t i n g that, h a d the p u r l o i n e d letter b e e n hidden any w h e r e within the limits of the Prefect's e x a m i n a t i o n — i n other w o r d s , h a d the principle of its c o n c e a l m e n t b e e n c o m p r e h e n d e d within the principles of the P r e f e c t — i t s discovery would have b e e n a m a t t e r altogether beyond q u e s t i o n . T h i s functionary,

8. A n o d d l y a s s o r t e d g r o u p o f m o r a l i s t s a n d p o l i t i c a l a n d r e l i g i o u s p h i l o s o p h e r s , all d e n i g r a t e d b y Dupin. T h e original reads " L a Bougive," probablv a printer's error.

9. O u t of the ordinary, esoteric (French); then p e r m i s s i b l e w i t h o u t t h e a c u t e a c c e n t o r w i t h it, a s just below.

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however, has b e e n thoroughly mystified; a n d the r e m o t e s o u r c e of his defeat lies in the s u p p o s i t i o n that the Minister is a fool, b e c a u s e he h a s a c q u i r e d renown a s a p o e t . All fools are p o e t s ; this the Prefect feels; a n d he is merely guilty of a non distributio medii' in t h e n c e inferring that all p o e t s are f o o l s . " " B u t is this really the p o e t ? " I a s k e d . " T h e r e a r e two b r o t h e r s , I know; a n d both have attained reputation in letters. T h e M i n i s t e r I believe h a s written learnedly on the Differential C a l c u l u s . H e is a m a t h e m a t i c i a n , a n d no p o e t . " "You are m i s t a k e n ; I know him well; he is both. As poet and m a t h e m a t i c i a n , he would r e a s o n well; as poet, profoundly; as m e r e m a t h e m a t i c i a n , h e could not have r e a s o n e d at all, a n d thus would have b e e n at the m e r c y of the P r e f e c t . " "You surprise m e , " I said, "by t h e s e o p i n i o n s , which have b e e n contradicted by the voice of the world. You do not m e a n to set at n a u g h t the welldigested idea of c e n t u r i e s . T h e m a t h e m a t i c a l r e a s o n has b e e n long r e g a r d e d a s the reason par excellence." " 'II y a a parier,' replied D u p i n , q u o t i n g from C h a m f o r t , ' q u e t o u t e idee p u b l i q u e , toute convention r e c u e , est u n e sottise, c a r elle a c o n v e n u e a u p l u s grand n o m b r e . ' 2 T h e m a t h e m a t i c i a n s , I grant you, have d o n e their b e s t to p r o m u l g a t e the p o p u l a r error to which you a l l u d e , a n d which is n o n e the less a n error for its p r o m u l g a t i o n a s truth. With an art worthy a better c a u s e , for e x a m p l e , they have i n s i n u a t e d the term 'analysis' into a p p l i c a t i o n to algebra. T h e F r e n c h are the originators of this particular d e c e p t i o n ; but if a term is of any i m p o r t a n c e — i f w o r d s derive any value from a p p l i c a b i l i t y — t h e n 'analysis' conveys 'algebra' a b o u t a s m u c h a s , in L a t i n , 'ambitus' implies 'ambition,' 'religio 'religion,' or 'homines honesti,' a set of honourable men." "You have a quarrel on h a n d , I s e e , " said I, "with s o m e of the algebraists of Paris; but p r o c e e d . " "I d i s p u t e the availability, a n d t h u s the v a l u e , of that r e a s o n which is cultivated in any e s p e c i a l form other than the abstractly logical. I d i s p u t e , in particular, the r e a s o n e d u c e d by m a t h e m a t i c a l study. T h e m a t h e m a t i c s are the s c i e n c e of form a n d quantity; m a t h e m a t i c a l r e a s o n i n g is merely logic applied to observation u p o n form a n d quantity. T h e great error lies in s u p p o s i n g that even the truths of what is called pure a l g e b r a , are a b s t r a c t or general truths. And this error is so e g r e g i o u s that I a m c o n f o u n d e d at the universality with which it h a s b e e n received. M a t h e m a t i c a l a x i o m s are not axioms of general truth. W h a t is true of relation—of form a n d q u a n t i t y — i s often grossly false in regard to m o r a l s , for e x a m p l e . In this latter s c i e n c e it is very usually u n t r u e that the a g g r e g a t e d p a r t s are equal to the w h o l e . In chemistry a l s o the axiom fails. In the c o n s i d e r a t i o n of motive it fails; for two motives, e a c h of a given v a l u e , have not, necessarily, a value w h e n u n i t e d , e q u a l to the s u m of their v a l u e s apart. T h e r e are n u m e r o u s other m a t h e matical truths which are only truths within the limits of relation. B u t the m a t h e m a t i c i a n a r g u e s , from his finite truths, t h r o u g h habit, a s if they were of absolutely general a p p l i c a b i l i t y — a s the world i n d e e d i m a g i n e s them to b e . B r y a n t , 1 in his very learned 'Mythology,' m e n t i o n s a n a n a l o g o u s s o u r c e 1. A f a l l a c y in l o g i c in w h i c h n e i t h e r p r e m i s e o f a syllogism "distributes" (i.e.. conveys information about every m e m b e r of the class) the middle term. A c c o r d i n g to D u p i n , the P r e f e c t d o e s not a l l o w for the possibility that s o m e poets are not fools. 2. T h e o d d s a r e that every c o m m o n n o t i o n , every accepted convention, is nonsense, precisely

b e c a u s e it h a s s u i t e d i t s e l f t o t h e majority (trench). Sebastian Roch Nicolas Chamfort Pensees. ( 1 7 4 1 - 1 7 9 4 ) , a u t h o r o f Maximes el 3. J a c o b B r y a n t ( 1 7 1 5 - 1 8 0 4 ) , E n g l i s h s c h o l a r w h o w r o t e A New System, or an Analysis of Antient Mythology (1774-78)!

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of error, w h e n he says that ' a l t h o u g h the P a g a n fables a r e not believed, yet we forget ourselves continually, a n d m a k e inferences from t h e m a s existing realities.' With the algebraist, however, w h o are P a g a n s t h e m s e l v e s , the ' P a g a n fables' are believed, a n d the i n f e r e n c e s are m a d e , not s o m u c h t h r o u g h l a p s e of m e m o r y , a s t h r o u g h a n u n a c c o u n t a b l e a d d l i n g of the b r a i n s . In short, I never yet e n c o u n t e r e d the m e r e m a t h e m a t i c i a n w h o c o u l d be t r u s t e d o u t of e q u a l roots, or o n e w h o did not c l a n d e s t i n e l y hold it a s a point of his faith x2+px w a s absolutely a n d unconditionally e q u a l to q. S a y to o n e of t h e s e g e n t l e m e n , by way of e x p e r i m e n t , if you p l e a s e , that you believe o c c a s i o n s may o c c u r w h e r e x2+px is not altogether e q u a l to q, a n d , having m a d e h i m u n d e r s t a n d w h a t you m e a n , get o u t of his r e a c h a s speedily a s c o n v e n i e n t , for, b e y o n d d o u b t , he will e n d e a v o u r to k n o c k you d o w n . "I m e a n to s a y , " c o n t i n u e d D u p i n , while I merely l a u g h e d at his last observations, "that if the M i n i s t e r h a d b e e n no m o r e than a m a t h e m a t i c i a n , the Prefect would have b e e n u n d e r n o n e c e s s i t y of giving m e this c h e c k . H a d h e b e e n no m o r e than a p o e t , I think it p r o b a b l e that he would have foiled u s all. I knew him, however, a s both m a t h e m a t i c i a n a n d poet, a n d my m e a s u r e s were a d a p t e d to his c a p a c i t y , with r e f e r e n c e to the c i r c u m s t a n c e s by w h i c h he w a s s u r r o u n d e d . I k n e w him a s a courtier, too, a n d a s a bold intriguant. S u c h a m a n , I c o n s i d e r e d , c o u l d not fail to b e a w a r e of the ordinary policial m o d e s of a c t i o n . H e c o u l d not have failed to a n t i c i p a t e — a n d events have proved that he did not fail to a n t i c i p a t e — t h e waylayings to which he w a s s u b j e c t e d . H e m u s t have f o r e s e e n , I reflected, the secret investigations of his p r e m i s e s . H i s f r e q u e n t a b s e n c e s from h o m e at night, w h i c h were hailed by the Prefect a s certain aids to his s u c c e s s , I r e g a r d e d only a s ruses, to afford opportunity for t h o r o u g h s e a r c h to the p o l i c e , a n d t h u s the s o o n e r to i m p r e s s t h e m with the conviction to which G , in fact, did finally arrive—the conviction that the letter w a s not u p o n the p r e m i s e s . I felt, a l s o , that the whole train of t h o u g h t , which I w a s at s o m e p a i n s in detailing to you j u s t now, c o n c e r n i n g the invariable principle of policial a c t i o n in s e a r c h e s for articles c o n c e a l e d — I felt that this w h o l e train of t h o u g h t would n e c e s s a r i l y p a s s t h r o u g h the m i n d of the M i n i s t e r . It would imperatively lead him to d e s p i s e all the ordinary nooks of c o n c e a l m e n t . He c o u l d not, I reflected, b e s o w e a k a s not to s e e that the m o s t intricate a n d r e m o t e r e c e s s of his hotel would b e a s o p e n as his c o m m o n e s t c l o s e t s to the e y e s , to the p r o b e s , to the g i m l e t s , a n d to the m i c r o s c o p e s of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that h e would b e driven, a s a m a t t e r of c o u r s e , to simplicity, if not deliberately i n d u c e d to it a s a m a t t e r of c h o i c e . You will r e m e m b e r , p e r h a p s h o w d e s p e r a t e l y the Prefect l a u g h e d w h e n I s u g g e s t e d , u p o n our first interview, that it w a s j u s t p o s s i b l e this mystery troubled him s o m u c h on a c c o u n t of its b e i n g s o very self-evident." " Y e s , " said I, "I r e m e m b e r his m e r r i m e n t well. I really t h o u g h t he would have fallen into c o n v u l s i o n s . " " T h e material w o r l d , " c o n t i n u e d D u p i n , " a b o u n d s with very strict a n a l o gies to the i m m a t e r i a l ; a n d t h u s s o m e c o l o u r of truth h a s b e e n given to the rhetorical d o g m a , that m e t a p h o r , or simile, m a y b e m a d e to s t r e n g t h e n a n a r g u m e n t , a s well a s to e m b e l l i s h a d e s c r i p t i o n . T h e principle of the vis inertise,4 for e x a m p l e , with the a m o u n t of momentum p r o p o r t i o n a t e with it 4. T h e p o w e r of inertia (Latin).

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a n d c o n s e q u e n t u p o n it, s e e m s to be identical in physics a n d m e t a p h y s i c s . It is not m o r e true in the former, that a large body is with m o r e difficulty set in motion than a s m a l l e r o n e , a n d that its s u b s e q u e n t impetus is c o m m e n s u r a t e with this difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, while m o r e forcible, m o r e c o n s t a n t , a n d m o r e eventful in their m o v e m e n t s than t h o s e of inferior g r a d e , are yet the less readily m o v e d , a n d m o r e e m b a r r a s s e d a n d full of hesitation in the first few s t e p s of their prog r e s s . Again: have you ever noticed which of the street s i g n s , over the s h o p d o o r s , are the m o s t attractive of a t t e n t i o n ? " "I have never given the m a t t e r a t h o u g h t , " I said. " T h e r e is a g a m e of p u z z l e s , " he r e s u m e d , "which is played u p o n a m a p . O n e party playing r e q u i r e s a n o t h e r to find a given w o r d — t h e n a m e of town, river, s t a t e , or e m p i r e ^ a n y w o r d , in short, u p o n the motley a n d perplexed s u r f a c e of the chart. A novice in the g a m e generally s e e k s to e m b a r r a s s his o p p o n e n t s by giving t h e m the m o s t minutely lettered n a m e s ; but the a d e p t s e l e c t s s u c h words a s stretch, in large c h a r a c t e r s , from o n e e n d of the c h a r t to the other. T h e s e , like the over-largely lettered signs a n d p l a c a r d s of the street, e s c a p e observation by dint of b e i n g excessively o b v i o u s ; a n d here the physical oversight is precisely a n a l o g o u s with the moral i n a p p r e h e n s i o n by which the intellect suffers to p a s s u n n o t i c e d t h o s e c o n s i d e r a t i o n s which are too obtrusively a n d too p a l p a b l y self-evident. B u t this is a point, it a p p e a r s , s o m e w h a t a b o v e or b e n e a t h the u n d e r s t a n d i n g of the Prefect. H e never o n c e thought it p r o b a b l e , or p o s s i b l e , that the Minister h a d d e p o s i t e d the letter immediately b e n e a t h the n o s e of the whole world, by way of b e s t preventing any portion of that world from perceiving it. " B u t the m o r e I reflected u p o n the daring, d a s h i n g , a n d d i s c r i m i n a t i n g ingenuity of D ; u p o n the fact that the d o c u m e n t m u s t always have b e e n at hand, if he i n t e n d e d ' to u s e it to g o o d p u r p o s e ; a n d u p o n the decisive e v i d e n c e , o b t a i n e d by the Prefect, that it w a s not hidden within the limits of that dignitary's ordinary s e a r c h — t h e m o r e satisfied I b e c a m e that, to c o n ceal this letter, the M i n i s t e r h a d resorted to the c o m p r e h e n s i v e a n d s a g a cious expedient of not a t t e m p t i n g to c o n c e a l it at all. "Full of t h e s e i d e a s , I p r e p a r e d myself with a pair of green s p e c t a c l e s , a n d called o n e fine morning, quite by a c c i d e n t , at the ministerial hotel. I found D at h o m e , yawning, lounging, a n d d a w d l i n g a s u s u a l , a n d p r e t e n d i n g to be in the last extremity of ennui.5 H e is, p e r h a p s , the m o s t really energetic h u m a n being now a l i v e — b u t that is only when nobody s e e s h i m . " T o b e even with him, I c o m p l a i n e d of my w e a k e y e s , a n d l a m e n t e d the necessity of the s p e c t a c l e s , u n d e r cover of which I c a u t i o u s l y a n d thoroughly surveyed the whole a p a r t m e n t , while seemingly intent only u p o n the c o n versation of my host. "I paid e s p e c i a l attention to a large writing-table near which he sat, a n d u p o n which lay confusedly, s o m e m i s c e l l a n o u s letters a n d other p a p e r s , with o n e or two m u s i c a l i n s t r u m e n t s a n d a few b o o k s . H e r e , however, after a long a n d very deliberate scrutiny, I saw n o t h i n g to excite p a r t i c u l a r s u s p i c i o n . "At length my eyes, in g o i n g the circuit of the r o o m , fell u p o n a trumpery fillagree card-rack of p a s t e b o a r d , that h u n g d a n g l i n g by a dirty b l u e riband, from a little b r a s s knob j u s t b e n e a t h the middle of the m a n t e l - p i e c e . In this 5.

Boredom (French).

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rack, which h a d three or four c o m p a r t m e n t s , were five or six visiting-cards, a n d a solitary letter. T h i s last w a s m u c h soiled a n d c r u m p l e d . It w a s torn nearly in two, a c r o s s the m i d d l e — a s if a d e s i g n , in the first i n s t a n c e , to tear it entirely u p a s w o r t h l e s s , h a d b e e n altered, or stayed, in the s e c o n d . It h a d a large b l a c k seal, b e a r i n g the D c i p h e r very c o n s p i c u o u s l y , a n d w a s a d d r e s s e d , in a d i m i n u t i v e f e m a l e h a n d , to D , the minister himself. It w a s thrust carelessly, a n d even, a s it s e e m e d , c o n t e m p t u o u s l y , into o n e of the u p p e r m o s t divisions of the rack. " N o s o o n e r h a d I g l a n c e d at this letter, t h a n I c o n c l u d e d it to b e that of which I w a s in s e a r c h . T o be s u r e , it w a s , to all a p p e a r a n c e , radically different from the o n e of which the Prefect h a d r e a d u s s o m i n u t e a d e s c r i p t i o n . H e r e the seal w a s large a n d black, with the D c i p h e r ; there, it w a s small a n d red, with the d u c a l a r m s of the S family. H e r e , the a d d r e s s , to the minister, w a s diminutive a n d f e m i n i n e ; t h e r e , the s u p e r s c r i p t i o n , to a certain royal p e r s o n a g e , w a s markedly bold a n d d e c i d e d ; the size a l o n e f o r m e d a point of c o r r e s p o n d e n c e . B u t , t h e n , the radicalness of t h e s e differences, which w a s excessive; the dirt, the soiled a n d torn c o n d i t i o n of the p a p e r , so i n c o n s i s t e n t with the true m e t h o d i c a l habits of D , a n d s o suggestive of a d e s i g n to d e l u d e the b e h o l d e r into an idea of the w o r t h l e s s n e s s of the d o c u m e n t ; t h e s e things, together with the hyper-obtrusive situation of this d o c u m e n t , full in the view of every visiter, a n d t h u s exactly in a c c o r d a n c e with the c o n c l u s i o n s to which I h a d previously arrived; t h e s e t h i n g s , I say, were strongly corroborative of s u s p i c i o n , in o n e w h o c a m e with the intention to s u s p e c t . "I p r o t r a c t e d my visit a s long a s p o s s i b l e , a n d , while I m a i n t a i n e d a m o s t a n i m a t e d d i s c u s s i o n with the minister, u p o n a topic w h i c h I k n e w well h a d never failed to interest a n d excite h i m , I kept my a t t e n t i o n really riveted u p o n the letter. In this e x a m i n a t i o n , I c o m m i t t e d to m e m o r y its external a p p e a r a n c e a n d a r r a n g e m e n t in the rack; a n d a l s o fell, at length, u p o n a discovery which set at rest whatever trivial d o u b t I m i g h t have e n t e r t a i n e d . In scrutinizing the e d g e s of the p a p e r , I o b s e r v e d t h e m to b e m o r e chafed than s e e m e d n e c e s s a r y . T h e y p r e s e n t e d the broken a p p e a r a n c e w h i c h is m a n i f e s t e d w h e n a stiff p a p e r , h a v i n g b e e n o n c e folded a n d p r e s s e d with a folder, is refolded in a reversed direction, in the s a m e c r e a s e s or e d g e s w h i c h h a d f o r m e d the original fold. T h i s discovery w a s sufficient. It w a s clear to m e that the letter h a d b e e n t u r n e d , a s a glove, i n s i d e o u t , re-directed, a n d re-sealed. I b a d e the minister g o o d m o r n i n g a n d took my d e p a r t u r e at o n c e , leaving a gold snuff-box u p o n the t a b l e . " T h e next m o r n i n g I called for the snuff-box, w h e n we r e s u m e d , q u i t e eagerly, the c o n v e r s a t i o n of the p r e c e d i n g day. W h i l e t h u s e n g a g e d , however, a loud report, a s if of a pistol, w a s h e a r d i m m e d i a t e l y b e n e a t h the w i n d o w s of the hotel, a n d w a s s u c c e e d e d by a series of fearful s c r e a m s , a n d the s h o u t ings of a terrified m o b . D r u s h e d to a c a s e m e n t , threw it o p e n , a n d looked out. In the m e a n t i m e , I s t e p p e d to the c a r d - r a c k , took the letter, p u t it in my p o c k e t , a n d r e p l a c e d it by a facsimile, w h i c h I h a d carefully p r e p a r e d at my l o d g i n g s — i m i t a t i n g the D cipher, very readily, by m e a n s of a seal f o r m e d of b r e a d . " T h e d i s t u r b a n c e in the street h a d b e e n o c c a s i o n e d by the frantic behaviour of a m a n with a m u s k e t . H e h a d fired it a m o n g a crowd of w o m e n a n d c h i l d r e n . It proved, however, to have b e e n without ball, a n d the fellow w a s suffered to g o his way a s a lunatic or a d r u n k a r d . W h e n h e h a d g o n e , D

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c a m e from the window, whither I h a d followed him i m m e d i a t e l y u p o n securing the object in view. S o o n afterwards I b a d e him farewell. T h e p r e t e n d e d lunatic w a s a m a n in my own p a y . " " B u t what p u r p o s e h a d y o u , " I a s k e d , "in r e p l a c i n g the letter by a facsimile? W o u l d it not have b e e n better, at the first visit, to have seized it openly, a n d d e p a r t e d ? " "D ," replied D u p i n , "is a d e s p e r a t e m a n , a n d a m a n o f nerve. H i s hotel, too, is not without a t t e n d a n t s devoted to his interests. H a d I m a d e the wild a t t e m p t you s u g g e s t , I s h o u l d never have left the ministerial p r e s e n c e alive. T h e g o o d p e o p l e of Paris would have h e a r d of m e no m o r e . B u t I h a d an object apart from t h e s e c o n s i d e r a t i o n s . You know my political p r e p o s s e s sions. In this matter, I act a s a p a r t i s a n of the lady c o n c e r n e d . F o r e i g h t e e n m o n t h s the minister h a s h a d her in his power. S h e h a s now him in h e r s — s i n c e , b e i n g u n a w a r e that the letter is not in his p o s s e s s i o n , h e will p r o c e e d with his e x a c t i o n s a s if it w a s . T h u s will he inevitably c o m m i t himself, at o n c e , to his political d e s t r u c t i o n . His downfall, too, will not b e m o r e precipitate t h a n awkward. It is all very well to talk a b o u t the facilis descensus Averni;6 but in all kinds of climbing, a s C a t a l i n i 7 s a i d of singing, it is far m o r e easy to get u p than to c o m e d o w n . In the p r e s e n t i n s t a n c e I have n o symp a t h y — a t least n o pity for him w h o d e s c e n d s . H e is that monstrum horrendum,8 an u n p r i n c i p l e d m a n of g e n i u s . I c o n f e s s , however, that I s h o u l d like very well to know the p r e c i s e c h a r a c t e r of his t h o u g h t s , w h e n , b e i n g defied by her w h o m the Prefect t e r m s 'a certain p e r s o n a g e , ' h e is r e d u c e d to o p e n i n g the letter which I left for h i m in the c a r d - r a c k . " " H o w ? did you p u t any thing particular in i t ? " " W h y — i t did not s e e m altogether right to leave the interior b l a n k — t h a t would have b e e n insulting. T o b e s u r e , D , at V i e n n a o n c e , did m e a n evil turn, which I told h i m , q u i t e g o o d - h u m o u r e d l y , that I s h o u l d r e m e m b e r . S o , a s I knew he w o u l d feel s o m e curiosity in regard to the identity of the p e r s o n w h o h a d outwitted him, I t h o u g h t it a pity not to give h i m a c l u e . H e is well a c q u a i n t e d with my M S . , a n d I j u s t c o p i e d into the m i d d l e of the blank sheet the w o r d s — " ' — U n d e s s e i n si f u n e s t e , S'il n'est d i g n e d'Atree, est digne d e T h y e s t e . ' T h e y are to b e f o u n d in Crebillon's 'Atree.' " 9 1844

The Cask of Amontillado1 T h e t h o u s a n d injuries of F o r t u n a t o I h a d b o r n e a s I b e s t c o u l d , b u t w h e n he ventured u p o n insult I vowed revenge. Y o u , w h o so well know the n a t u r e 6 . S l i g h t l y m i s q u o t e d f r o m V i r g i l ' s Aeneid, b o o k 6 : " T h e d e s c e n t to A v e r n u s [ H e l l ] is e a s y . " 7. A n g e l i c a C a t a l a n i ( 1 7 8 0 - 1 8 4 9 ) , Italian singer. 8. " D r e a d f u l m o n s t r o s i t y " (Virgil's e p i t h e t for Polyphemus, the one-eyed man-eating giant). 9 . P r o s p e r J o l y o t d e C r e b i l l o n w r o t e Atree et T / i y e s t e ( 1 7 0 7 ) , in w h i c h T h y e s t e s s e d u c e s t h e w i f e o f h i s b r o t h e r A t r e u s , t h e k i n g o f M y c e n a e ; in

revenge Atreus murders the sons of Thyestes and serves t h e m to their father at a feast. T h e q u o t a t i o n r e a d s : " S o b a n e f u l a s c h e m e , / if n o t w o r t h y o f A t r e u s , is w o r t h y o f T h y e s t e s " ( F r e n c h ) . 1. T h e t e x t i s t h a t o f t h e first p u b l i c a t i o n , i n Godey's Magazine and Lady's Book 3 3 ( N o v e m b e r 1846).

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of my soul, will not s u p p o s e , however, that I gave u t t e r a n c e to a threat. At length I would be a v e n g e d ; this w a s a point definitively s e t t l e d — b u t the very definitiveness with which it w a s resolved p r e c l u d e d the idea of risk. I m u s t not only p u n i s h b u t p u n i s h with impunity. A w r o n g is u n r e d r e s s e d w h e n retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally u n r e d r e s s e d w h e n the avenger fails to m a k e h i m s e l f felt a s s u c h to him w h o has d o n e the w r o n g . It m u s t be u n d e r s t o o d that neither by word nor d e e d h a d I given F o r t u n a t o c a u s e to d o u b t my g o o d will. I c o n t i n u e d , a s w a s my wont, to s m i l e in his f a c e , a n d he did not perceive that my smile now w a s at the t h o u g h t of his immolation. H e h a d a w e a k p o i n t — t h i s F o r t u n a t o — a l t h o u g h in other r e g a r d s h e w a s a m a n to be r e s p e c t e d a n d even f e a r e d . H e p r i d e d himself u p o n his conn o i s s e u r s h i p in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. F o r the m o s t part their e n t h u s i a s m is a d o p t e d to suit the time a n d opportunity, to p r a c t i c e i m p o s t u r e u p o n the British a n d A u s t r i a n millionaires. In p a i n t i n g a n d g e m mary, F o r t u n a t o , like his c o u n t r y m e n , w a s a q u a c k , but in the m a t t e r of old wines h e w a s s i n c e r e . In this r e s p e c t I did not differ from him materially;—I w a s skilful in the Italian vintages myself, a n d b o u g h t largely w h e n e v e r I could. It w a s a b o u t d u s k , o n e e v e n i n g d u r i n g the s u p r e m e m a d n e s s of the carnival s e a s o n , that I e n c o u n t e r e d my friend. H e a c c o s t e d m e with excessive w a r m t h , for he h a d b e e n drinking m u c h . T h e m a n w o r e m o t l e y . 2 H e h a d o n a tight-fitting parti-striped d r e s s , a n d his h e a d w a s s u r m o u n t e d by the c o n i c a l c a p a n d bells. I w a s so p l e a s e d to s e e him that I t h o u g h t I s h o u l d never have d o n e wringing his h a n d . I said to h i m — " M y d e a r F o r t u n a t o , you are luckily m e t . H o w remarkably well you a r e looking to-day. B u t I have received a p i p e of w h a t p a s s e s for A m o n t i l l a d o , 3 a n d I have my d o u b t s . " " H o w ? " said h e . " A m o n t i l l a d o ? A p i p e ? I m p o s s i b l e ! A n d in the m i d d l e of the carnival!" "I have my d o u b t s , " I replied; " a n d I w a s silly e n o u g h to pay the full A m o n tillado price without c o n s u l t i n g you in the m a t t e r . You were not to be f o u n d , a n d I w a s fearful of losing a b a r g a i n . " "Amontillado!" "I have my d o u b t s . " "Amontillado!" "And I m u s t satisfy t h e m . " "Amontillado!" "As you are e n g a g e d , I a m on my way to L u c h r e s i . If any o n e h a s a critical turn it is h e . H e will tell m e " " L u c h r e s i c a n n o t tell A m o n t i l l a d o from S h e r r y . " "And yet s o m e fools will have it that his taste is a m a t c h for your o w n . " " C o m e , let us g o . " "Whither?" " T o your v a u l t s . " " M y friend, n o ; I will not i m p o s e u p o n your g o o d n a t u r e . I p e r c e i v e you have an e n g a g e m e n t . L u c h r e s i " "I have no e n g a g e m e n t ; — c o m e . " 2.

Fool's varicolored c o s t u m e .

3. A light S p a n i s h s h e r r y . " P i p e " : a l a r g e b a r r e l .

THE

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" M y friend, n o . It is not the e n g a g e m e n t , b u t the severe cold with which I perceive you a r e afflicted. T h e vaults are insufferably d a m p . T h e y are e n c r u s t e d with n i t r e . " 4 " L e t u s g o , n e v e r t h e l e s s . T h e cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have b e e n i m p o s e d u p o n . A n d as for L u c h r e s i , he c a n n o t distinguish Sherry from A m o n t i l l a d o . " T h u s s p e a k i n g , F o r t u n a t o p o s s e s s e d himself of my a r m ; a n d p u t t i n g on a m a s k of b l a c k silk a n d drawing a roquelaire^ closely a b o u t my p e r s o n , I suffered him to hurry m e to my palazzo. T h e r e were n o a t t e n d a n t s at h o m e ; they h a d a b s c o n d e d to m a k e merry in h o n o u r of the t i m e . I h a d told t h e m that f s h o u l d not return until the morning, a n d h a d given t h e m explicit orders not to stir from the h o u s e . T h e s e o r d e r s were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their i m m e d i a t e d i s a p p e a r a n c e , o n e a n d all, as s o o n a s my b a c k w a s t u r n e d . I took from their s c o n c e s two flambeaux, a n d giving o n e to F o r t u n a t o , b o w e d him t h r o u g h several s u i t e s of r o o m s to the archway that led into the vaults. I p a s s e d d o w n a long a n d winding s t a i r c a s e , r e q u e s t i n g him to be c a u t i o u s as h e followed. W e c a m e at length to the foot of the d e s c e n t , a n d stood together u p o n the d a m p g r o u n d of the c a t a c o m b s of the M o n t r e s o r s . T h e gait of my friend w a s u n s t e a d y , a n d the bells u p o n his c a p jingled a s he s t r o d e . " T h e p i p e , " said h e . "It is farther o n , " s a i d I; " b u t o b s e r v e the white web-work which g l e a m s from t h e s e cavern w a l l s . " H e turned towards m e , a n d looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the r h e u m of intoxication. " N i t r e ? " h e a s k e d , at length. " N i t r e , " I replied. " H o w long have you h a d that c o u g h ? " " U g h ! u g h ! u g h ! — u g h ! u g h ! u g h ! — u g h ! ugh ! u g h ! — u g h ! ugh! u g h ! — u g h ! ugh! u g h ! " M y p o o r friend f o u n d it i m p o s s i b l e to reply for m a n y m i n u t e s . "It is n o t h i n g , " he said, at last. " C o m e , " I said, with d e c i s i o n , "we will go b a c k ; your health is p r e c i o u s . You are rich, r e s p e c t e d , a d m i r e d , beloved; you are happy, a s o n c e I w a s . You are a m a n to be m i s s e d . F o r m e it is no matter. W e will go back; you will be ill, a n d I c a n n o t be r e s p o n s i b l e . B e s i d e s , there is L u c h r e s i " " E n o u g h , " h e s a i d ; " t h e c o u g h is a m e r e nothing; it will not kill m e . I shall not die of a c o u g h . " " T r u e — t r u e , " I replied; " a n d , i n d e e d , I had no intention of a l a r m i n g you u n n e c c e s s a r i l y — b u t you s h o u l d u s e all proper c a u t i o n . A d r a u g h t of this M e d o c 6 will d e f e n d u s from the d a m p s . " H e r e I k n o c k e d off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay u p o n the m o u l d . " D r i n k , " I s a i d , p r e s e n t i n g him the wine. H e raised it to his lips with a leer. H e p a u s e d a n d n o d d e d to m e familiarly, while his bells j i n g l e d . "I drink," he said, "to the buried that r e p o s e a r o u n d u s . " 4. Saltpeter, nitrate.

the

whitish

mineral potassium

5. A knee-length cloak, 6. A claret from near Bordeaux.

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"And I to your l o n g life." H e again t o o k my a r m , a n d we p r o c e e d e d . " T h e s e v a u l t s , " he said, "are e x t e n s i v e . " " T h e M o n t r e s o r s , " I replied, "were a great a n d n u m e r o u s family." "I forget your a r m s . " "A h u g e h u m a n foot d'or, in a field a z u r e ; the foot c r u s h e s a s e r p e n t ramp a n t w h o s e fangs are i m b e d d e d in the h e e l . " 7 " A n d the m o t t o ? " "Nemo

me impune

lacessit.

"

H

" G o o d ! " h e said. T h e wine sparkled in his eyes a n d the bells j i n g l e d . M y own fancy grew w a r m with the M e d o c . W e h a d p a s s e d t h r o u g h long walls of piled skeletons, with c a s k s a n d p u n c h e o n s intermingling, into the i n m o s t r e c e s s e s of the c a t a c o m b s . I p a u s e d a g a i n , a n d this time I m a d e bold to seize F o r t u n a t o by a n a r m a b o v e the elbow. " T h e n i t r e ! " I s a i d ; " s e e , it i n c r e a s e s . It h a n g s like m o s s u p o n the vaults. W e are below the river's b e d . T h e d r o p s of m o i s t u r e trickle a m o n g the b o n e s . C o m e , we will go b a c k ere it is too late. Your c o u g h " "It is n o t h i n g , " h e s a i d ; "let u s go o n . B u t first, a n o t h e r d r a u g h t of the Medoc." I b r o k e a n d r e a c h e d him a flacon of D e G r a v e . 9 H e e m p t i e d it at a b r e a t h . H i s eyes flashed with a fierce light. H e l a u g h e d a n d threw the bottle u p w a r d s with a g e s t i c u l a t i o n I did not u n d e r s t a n d . I looked at h i m in s u r p r i s e . H e r e p e a t e d the m o v e m e n t — a g r o t e s q u e o n e . "You d o not c o m p r e h e n d ? " h e s a i d . " N o t I," I replied. " T h e n you are not of the b r o t h e r h o o d . " "How?" "You a r e not of the m a s o n s . " "Yes, y e s , " I s a i d ; " y e s , y e s . " "You? Impossible! A m a s o n ? " "A m a s o n , " I replied. "A s i g n , " h e said, "a s i g n . " roquelaire "It is t h i s , " I a n s w e r e d , p r o d u c i n g from b e n e a t h the folds of my a trowel. "You j e s t , " h e e x c l a i m e d , recoiling a few p a c e s . " B u t let u s p r o c e e d to the Amontillado." " B e it s o , " I said, r e p l a c i n g the tool b e n e a t h the c l o a k a n d again offering h i m my a r m . H e l e a n e d u p o n it heavily. W e c o n t i n u e d o u r rout in s e a r c h of the A m o n t i l l a d o . W e p a s s e d t h r o u g h a r a n g e of low a r c h e s , d e s c e n d e d , p a s s e d o n , a n d d e s c e n d i n g a g a i n , arrived at a d e e p crypt, in which the fouln e s s of the air c a u s e d our f l a m b e a u x rather to glow t h a n flame. At the m o s t r e m o t e e n d of the crypt there a p p e a r e d a n o t h e r less s p a c i o u s . Its walls h a d b e e n lined with h u m a n r e m a i n s , piled to the vault o v e r h e a d , in the f a s h i o n of the great c a t a c o m b s of Paris. T h r e e sides of this interior crypt were still o r n a m e n t e d in this m a n n e r . F r o m the fourth side the b o n e s h a d b e e n thrown d o w n , a n d lay p r o m i s c u o u s l y u p o n the earth, forming at o n e 7. On the coat of arms the golden foot is in a blue background; the foot crushes a serpent whose head is reared up.

8. No one insults me with impunity (Latin). 9. A white Bordeaux wine.

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point a m o u n d of s o m e size. Within the wall t h u s e x p o s e d by the d i s p l a c i n g of the b o n e s , we perceived a still interior crypt or r e c e s s , in d e p t h a b o u t four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It s e e m e d to have b e e n constructed for n o e s p e c i a l u s e within itself, but formed merely the interval b e t w e e n two of the c o l o s s a l s u p p o r t s of the roof of the c a t a c o m b s , a n d w a s b a c k e d by o n e of their c i r c u m s c r i b i n g walls of solid g r a n i t e . It w a s in vain that F o r t u n a t o , uplifting his dull torch, e n d e a v o u r e d to pry into the d e p t h of the r e c e s s . Its termination the feeble light did not e n a b l e u s to s e e . " P r o c e e d , " I said; "herein is the A m o n t i l l a d o . As for L u c h r e s i " " H e is a n i g n o r a m u s , " interrupted my friend, a s h e s t e p p e d unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In a n instant he h a d r e a c h e d the extremity of the n i c h e , a n d finding his p r o g r e s s a r r e s t e d by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A m o m e n t m o r e a n d I h a d fettered him to the granite. In its s u r f a c e were two iron s t a p l e s , d i s t a n t from e a c h other a b o u t two feet, horizontally. F r o m o n e of t h e s e d e p e n d e d a short c h a i n , from the other a p a d l o c k . T h r o w i n g the links a b o u t his waist, it w a s but the work of a few s e c o n d s to s e c u r e it. H e w a s too m u c h a s t o u n d e d to resist. Withdrawing the key I s t e p p e d b a c k from the r e c e s s . " P a s s your h a n d , " I said, "over the wall; you c a n n o t help feeling the nitre. I n d e e d , it is very d a m p . O n c e m o r e let m e implore you to return. N o ? T h e n I m u s t positively leave you. B u t I will first render you all the little attentions in my p o w e r . " " T h e A m o n t i l l a d o ! " e j a c u l a t e d my friend, not yet recovered from his a s t o n ishment. " T r u e , " I replied; "the A m o n t i l l a d o . " As I said t h e s e w o r d s I b u s i e d myself a m o n g the pile of b o n e s of which I have before s p o k e n . T h r o w i n g t h e m a s i d e , I s o o n u n c o v e r e d a quantity of building s t o n e a n d mortar. W i t h t h e s e materials a n d with the aid of my trowel, I b e g a n vigorously to wall u p the e n t r a n c e of the n i c h e . I h a d scarcely laid the first tier of the m a s o n r y w h e n I d i s c o v e r e d that the intoxication of F o r t u n a t o h a d in great m e a s u r e worn off. T h e earliest indication I had of this w a s a low m o a n i n g cry from the d e p t h of the r e c e s s . It w a s not the cry of a d r u n k e n m a n . T h e r e w a s then a long a n d o b s t i n a t e s i l e n c e . I laid the s e c o n d tier, a n d the third, a n d the fourth; a n d then I heard the furious vibration of the c h a i n . T h e n o i s e lasted for several m i n u t e s , duri n g w h i c h , that I might h e a r k e n to it with the m o r e satisfaction, I c e a s e d my l a b o u r s a n d sat down u p o n the b o n e s . W h e n at last the c l a n k i n g s u b s i d e d , I r e s u m e d the trowel, a n d finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, a n d the seventh tier. T h e wall w a s now nearly u p o n a level with my breast. I again p a u s e d , a n d holding the flambeaux over the m a s o n - w o r k , threw a few feeble rays u p o n the figure within. A s u c c e s s i o n of loud a n d shrill s c r e a m s , b u r s t i n g s u d d e n l y from the throat of the c h a i n e d form, s e e m e d to thrust m e violently b a c k . F o r a brief m o m e n t I h e s i t a t e d , I t r e m b l e d . U n s h e a t h i n g my rapier, I b e g a n to g r o p e with it a b o u t the r e c e s s ; but the thought of an instant r e a s s u r e d m e . I p l a c e d my h a n d u p o n the solid fabric of the c a t a c o m b s a n d felt satisfied. I r e a p p r o a c h e d the wall. I replied to the yells of him w h o c l a m o u r e d . I r e - e c h o e d , I a i d e d , I s u r p a s s e d t h e m in v o l u m e a n d in strength. I did this, a n d the c l a m o u r e r grew still.

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It w a s now midnight, a n d my task w a s drawing to a c l o s e . I h a d c o m p l e t e d the eighth, the ninth a n d the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last a n d the eleventh; there r e m a i n e d but a single s t o n e to b e fitted a n d p l a s t e r e d in. I struggled with its weight; I p l a c e d it partially in its d e s t i n e d p o s i t i o n . B u t now there c a m e from o u t the n i c h e a low l a u g h that e r e c t e d the hairs u p o n my h e a d . It w a s s u c c e e d e d by a s a d voice, which I h a d difficulty in recognizing a s that of the noble F o r t u n a t o . T h e voice s a i d — " H a ! ha! h a ! — h e ! h e ! h e ! — a very g o o d j o k e , i n d e e d — a n excellent j e s t . W e will have m a n y a rich laugh a b o u t it at the p a l a z z o — h e ! h e ! h e ! — o v e r o u r wine—he! he! he!" "The Amontillado!" I said. " H e ! h e ! h e ! — h e ! h e ! h e ! — y e s , the A m o n t i l l a d o . B u t is it not g e t t i n g late? Will not they be awaiting u s at the p a l a z z o — t h e L a d y F o r t u n a t o a n d the rest? L e t u s be g o n e . " " Y e s , " I said, "let u s be g o n e . " "For the love of God, Montresor!" " Y e s , " I said, "for the love of G o d ! " B u t to t h e s e w o r d s I h e a r k e n e d in vain for a reply. I grew i m p a t i e n t . I called a l o u d — "Fortunato!" N o a n s w e r . I called a g a i n — "Fortunato!" N o a n s w e r still. I thrust a torch t h r o u g h the r e m a i n i n g a p e r t u r e a n d let it fall within. T h e r e c a m e forth in return only a j i n g l i n g of the bells. M y heart grew sick; it w a s the d a m p n e s s of the c a t a c o m b s that m a d e it s o . I h a s t e n e d to m a k e a n e n d of my labour. I f o r c e d the last s t o n e into its position; I p l a s t e r e d it u p . A g a i n s t the new m a s o n r y I re-erected the old r a m p a r t of b o n e s . F o r the half of a century no mortal h a s d i s t u r b e d t h e m . In pace requiescat!1 1846

The Philosophy of Composition 1 C h a r l e s D i c k e n s , in a n o t e 2 now lying before m e , a l l u d i n g to a n examination I o n c e m a d e of the m e c h a n i s m of " B a r n a b y R u d g e , " s a y s — " B y the way, a r e you a w a r e that G o d w i n wrote his ' C a l e b W i l l i a m s ' b a c k w a r d s ? H e first involved his h e r o in a w e b of difficulties, forming the s e c o n d v o l u m e , a n d t h e n , for the first, c a s t a b o u t him for s o m e m o d e of a c c o u n t i n g for what had been done."3 I c a n n o t think this the precise m o d e of p r o c e d u r e on the part of G o d w i n — 1.

M a y h e r e s t in p e a c e ! ( L a t i n ) .

I. T h e title m e a n s s o m e t h i n g like " T h e T h e o r y o f W r i t i n g . " P o e w r o t e t h e w o r k a s a l e c t u r e in h o p e s of capitalizing on the s u c c e s s of " T h e R a v e n . " For y e a r s in h i s r e v i e w s P o e h a d c a m p a i g n e d f o r d e l i b e r a t e artistry rather than u n c o n t r o l l e d effusions, a n d " T h e P h i l o s o p h y of C o m p o s i t i o n " m u s t b e regarded as part of that c a m p a i g n rather t h a n a factual a c c o u n t of how Poe actually wrote " T h e

R a v e n . " In a l e t t e r o f A u g u s t 9 , 1 8 4 6 , P o e c a l l e d t h e e s s a y h i s " b e s t s p e c i m e n o f a n a l y s i s . " T h e text h e r e is t h a t o f t h e f i r s t p r i n t i n g , i n Graham's Magazine ( A p r i l 1 8 4 6 ) . 2 . D a t e d M a r c h 6 , 1 8 4 2 , a n d p r i n t e d in t h e P i l g r i m e d i t i o n o f D i c k e n s ' s Letters 3.106-07. 3 . W i l l i a m G o d w i n m a k e s t h i s c l a i m in h i s 1 8 3 2 p r e f a c e t o Caleb Williams ( f i r s t p u b l i s h e d in 1794).

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a n d i n d e e d what he himself a c k n o w l e d g e s , is not altogether in a c c o r d a n c e with M r . D i c k e n s ' i d e a — b u t the a u t h o r of " C a l e b W i l l i a m s " w a s too good a n artist not to perceive the a d v a n t a g e derivable from at least a s o m e w h a t similar p r o c e s s . N o t h i n g is m o r e clear than that every plot, worth the n a m e , m u s t be e l a b o r a t e d to its denouement before any thing b e a t t e m p t e d with the p e n . It is only with the denouement c o n s t a n t l y in view that we c a n give a plot its i n d i s p e n s a b l e air of c o n s e q u e n c e , or c a u s a t i o n , by m a k i n g the i n c i d e n t s , a n d especially the tone at all p o i n t s , tend to the d e v e l o p m e n t of the intention. T h e r e is a radical error, I think, in the u s u a l m o d e of c o n s t r u c t i n g a story. Either history affords a t h e s i s — o r o n e is s u g g e s t e d by a n incident of the d a y — o r , at best, the a u t h o r sets himself to work in the c o m b i n a t i o n of striking events to form merely the b a s i s of his n a r r a t i v e — d e s i g n i n g , generally, to fill in with d e s c r i p t i o n , d i a l o g u e , or autorial c o m m e n t , whatever crevices of fact, or a c t i o n , may, from p a g e to p a g e , r e n d e r t h e m s e l v e s a p p a r e n t . I prefer c o m m e n c i n g with the c o n s i d e r a t i o n of an effect. K e e p i n g originality always in view—for h e is false to h i m s e l f w h o v e n t u r e s to d i s p e n s e with s o obvious a n d so easily attainable a s o u r c e of i n t e r e s t — I say to myself, in the first p l a c e , " O f the i n n u m e r a b l e effects, or i m p r e s s i o n s , of which the heart, the intellect, or ( m o r e generally) the soul is s u s c e p t i b l e , w h a t o n e shall I, on the p r e s e n t o c c a s i o n , s e l e c t ? " H a v i n g c h o s e n a novel, first, a n d s e c o n d l y a vivid effect, I c o n s i d e r w h e t h e r it c a n best be w r o u g h t by incident or t o n e — whether by ordinary i n c i d e n t s a n d p e c u l i a r t o n e , or the c o n v e r s e , or by p e c u liarity both of incident a n d t o n e — a f t e r w a r d looking a b o u t m e (or rather within) for s u c h c o m b i n a t i o n s of event, or t o n e , a s shall best aid m e in the c o n s t r u c t i o n of the effect. I have often thought how interesting a m a g a z i n e p a p e r might be written by any a u t h o r w h o w o u l d — t h a t is to say, w h o c o u l d — d e t a i l , step by s t e p , the p r o c e s s e s by which any o n e of his c o m p o s i t i o n s attained its u l t i m a t e point of c o m p l e t i o n . W h y s u c h a p a p e r has never b e e n given to the world, I a m m u c h at a loss to s a y — b u t , p e r h a p s , the autorial vanity has h a d m o r e to do with the o m i s s i o n t h a n any o n e other c a u s e . M o s t w r i t e r s — p o e t s in e s p e c i a l — p r e f e r having it u n d e r s t o o d that they c o m p o s e by a s p e c i e s of fine f r e n z y 4 — a n ecstatic i n t u i t i o n — a n d would positively s h u d d e r at letting the public take a p e e p b e h i n d the s c e n e s , at the e l a b o r a t e a n d vacillating crudities of t h o u g h t — a t the true p u r p o s e s seized only at the last m o m e n t — a t the i n n u m e r a b l e g l i m p s e s of idea that arrived not at the maturity of full v i e w — a t the fully m a t u r e d f a n c i e s d i s c a r d e d in d e s p a i r a s u n m a n a g e a b l e — a t the c a u t i o u s selections a n d r e j e c t i o n s — a t the painful e r a s u r e s a n d interpol a t i o n s — i n a word, at the wheels a n d p i n i o n s — t h e tackle for s c e n e s h i f t i n g — t h e step-ladders a n d d e m o n - t r a p s — t h e cock's f e a t h e r s , the red paint a n d the b l a c k p a t c h e s , w h i c h , in ninety-nine c a s e s o u t of the h u n d r e d , c o n s t i t u t e the properties of the literary histrio.* I a m a w a r e , on the other h a n d , that the c a s e is by no m e a n s c o m m o n , in which a n a u t h o r is at all in condition to r e t r a c e the s t e p s by which his c o n 4. S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Midsummer Night's Dream 5 . 1 . 1 2 , in T h e s e u s ' s d e s c r i p t i o n o f t h e p o e t : " T h e p o e t ' s e y e , in a fine f r e n z y r o l l i n g , / D o t h g l a n c e from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven / And a s imagination b o d i e s forth / T h e forms of things

u n k n o w n , the poet's p e n / T u r n s t h e m to s h a p e s , a n d gives to airy n o t h i n g / A local h a b i t a t i o n a n d a name." 5. Artist ( L a t i n ) .

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e l u s i o n s have b e e n a t t a i n e d . In g e n e r a l , s u g g e s t i o n s , having a r i s e n pell-mell, a r e p u r s u e d a n d forgotten in a similar m a n n e r . F o r my own p a r t , I have neither s y m p a t h y with the r e p u g n a n c e alluded to, nor, at any t i m e , the least difficulty in recalling to m i n d the progressive s t e p s of any of my c o m p o s i t i o n s ; a n d , s i n c e the interest of a n analysis, or r e c o n s t r u c t i o n , s u c h a s I have c o n s i d e r e d a desideratum,6 is q u i t e i n d e p e n d e n t of any real or fancied interest in the thing analyzed, it will not b e regarded a s a b r e a c h of d e c o r u m on my part to s h o w the modus operandi7 by which s o m e o n e of my own works w a s put together. I select " T h e R a v e n , " a s the m o s t generally known. It is my d e s i g n to r e n d e r it m a n i f e s t that no o n e point in its c o m p o s i t i o n is referrible either to a c c i d e n t or i n t u i t i o n — t h a t the work p r o c e e d e d , step by s t e p , to its c o m p l e t i o n with the p r e c i s i o n a n d rigid c o n s e q u e n c e of a m a t h e m a t i c a l p r o b l e m . L e t u s d i s m i s s , a s irrelevant to the p o e m per se, the c i r c u m s t a n c e — o r say the n e c e s s i t y — w h i c h , in the first p l a c e , gave rise to the intention of c o m p o s i n g a p o e m that s h o u l d suit at o n c e the p o p u l a r a n d the critical t a s t e . W e c o m m e n c e , t h e n , with this intention. T h e initial c o n s i d e r a t i o n w a s that of extent. If any literary work is too long to be read at o n e sitting, we m u s t b e c o n t e n t to d i s p e n s e with the i m m e n s e l y important effect derivable from unity of i m p r e s s i o n — f o r , if two sittings b e r e q u i r e d , the affairs of the world interfere, a n d every thing like totality is at o n c e d e s t r o y e d . B u t s i n c e , ceteris paribus,1* no p o e t c a n afford to d i s p e n s e with any thing that m a y a d v a n c e his d e s i g n , it but r e m a i n s to b e s e e n w h e t h e r there is, in extent, any a d v a n t a g e to c o u n t e r b a l a n c e the loss of unity w h i c h a t t e n d s it. H e r e I say n o , at o n c e . W h a t we term a long p o e m is, in fact, merely a s u c c e s s i o n of brief o n e s — t h a t is to say, of brief p o e t i c a l effects. It is n e e d l e s s to d e m o n s t r a t e that a p o e m is s u c h , only i n a s m u c h a s it intensely excites, by elevating, the s o u l ; a n d all i n t e n s e e x c i t e m e n t s a r e , through a psychal necessity, brief. F o r this r e a s o n , at least o n e half of the " P a r a d i s e L o s t " 9 is essentially p r o s e — a s u c c e s s i o n of poetical e x c i t e m e n t s inters p e r s e d , inevitably, with c o r r e s p o n d i n g d e p r e s s i o n s — t h e w h o l e b e i n g deprived, t h r o u g h the e x t r e m e n e s s of its l e n g t h , of the vastly i m p o r t a n t artistic e l e m e n t , totality, or unity, of effect. It a p p e a r s evident, t h e n , that there is a distinct limit, a s r e g a r d s length, to all works of literary a r t — t h e limit of a single s i t t i n g — a n d that, a l t h o u g h in certain c l a s s e s of p r o s e c o m p o s i t i o n , s u c h a s " R o b i n s o n C r u s o e , " 1 ( d e m a n d ing n o unity,) this limit may b e a d v a n t a g e o u s l y o v e r p a s s e d , it c a n never properly b e o v e r p a s s e d in a p o e m . Within this limit, the extent of a p o e m m a y b e m a d e to b e a r m a t h e m a t i c a l relation to its m e r i t — i n other w o r d s , to the e x c i t e m e n t or e l e v a t i o n — a g a i n in other w o r d s , to the d e g r e e of the true poetical effect which it is c a p a b l e of i n d u c i n g ; for it is clear that the brevity m u s t b e in direct ratio of the intensity of the i n t e n d e d e f f e c t : — t h i s , with o n e p r o v i s o — t h a t a certain d e g r e e of d u r a t i o n is a b s o l u t e l y r e q u i s i t e for the prod u c t i o n of any effect at all. H o l d i n g in view t h e s e c o n s i d e r a t i o n s , a s well a s that d e g r e e of e x c i t e m e n t 6.

S o m e t h i n g to be desired (Latin).

7. M e t h o d of p r o c e d u r e (Latin). 8. O t h e r t h i n g s b e i n g e q u a l ( L a t i n ) . 9. T h e t w e l v e - b o o k b l a n k - v e r s e e p i c by J o h n Milton, which contains s o m e 1 0 . 5 0 0 lines, m o r e than

a hundred times as m a n y lines as Poe considered d e s i r a b l e in a p o e m . 1. D a n i e l D e f o e ' s n o v e l o f s h i p w r e c k i n t h e C a r i b bean ( 1 7 1 9 ) . b a s e d on the experiences of Alexander Selkirk.

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which I d e e m e d not a b o v e the p o p u l a r , while not below the critical, t a s t e , I r e a c h e d at o n c e what I c o n c e i v e d the p r o p e r length for my i n t e n d e d p o e m — a length of a b o u t o n e h u n d r e d lines. It is, in fact, a h u n d r e d a n d eight. M y next thought c o n c e r n e d the c h o i c e of a n i m p r e s s i o n , or effect, to be conveyed: a n d here I m a y a s well observe that, t h r o u g h o u t the c o n s t r u c t i o n , I kept steadily in view the d e s i g n of r e n d e r i n g the work universally a p p r e c i a ble. I s h o u l d b e carried too far out of my i m m e d i a t e topic were I to d e m o n s t r a t e a point u p o n which I have repeatedly i n s i s t e d , a n d w h i c h , with the poetical, s t a n d s not in the slightest n e e d of d e m o n s t r a t i o n — t h e point, I m e a n , that B e a u t y is the sole legitimate province of the p o e m . A few w o r d s , however, in e l u c i d a t i o n of my real m e a n i n g , which s o m e of my friends have evinced a disposition to m i s r e p r e s e n t . T h a t p l e a s u r e which is at o n c e the m o s t i n t e n s e , the m o s t elevating, a n d the m o s t p u r e , is, I believe, f o u n d in the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of the beautiful. W h e n , i n d e e d , m e n s p e a k of B e a u t y , they m e a n , precisely, not a quality, a s is s u p p o s e d , but a n e f f e c t — t h e y refer, in short, j u s t to that i n t e n s e a n d p u r e elevation of soul—wot of intellect, or of h e a r t — u p o n which I have c o m m e n t e d , a n d which is e x p e r i e n c e d in c o n s e q u e n c e of c o n t e m p l a t i n g "the b e a u t i f u l . " N o w I d e s i g n a t e B e a u t y as the province of the p o e m , merely b e c a u s e it is an obvious rule of Art that effects s h o u l d be m a d e to spring from direct c a u s e s — t h a t o b j e c t s s h o u l d b e a t t a i n e d through m e a n s b e s t a d a p t e d for their a t t a i n m e n t — n o o n e as yet having b e e n w e a k e n o u g h to deny that the p e c u l i a r elevation a l l u d e d to, is most readily attained in the p o e m . N o w the object, T r u t h , or the satisfaction of the intellect, a n d the o b j e c t , P a s s i o n , or the e x c i t e m e n t of the heart, a r e , a l t h o u g h a t t a i n a b l e , to a certain extent, in poetry, far m o r e readily a t t a i n a b l e in p r o s e . T r u t h , in fact, d e m a n d s a p r e c i s i o n , a n d P a s s i o n , a homeliness (the truly p a s s i o n a t e will c o m p r e h e n d m e ) which are absolutely a n t a g o n i s t i c to that B e a u t y which, I m a i n t a i n , is the e x c i t e m e n t , or p l e a s u r a b l e elevation, of the soul. It by no m e a n s follows from any thing h e r e said, that p a s s i o n , or even truth, m a y not be i n t r o d u c e d , a n d even profitably i n t r o d u c e d , into a p o e m — for they m a y serve in e l u c i d a t i o n , or aid the g e n e r a l effect, a s d o d i s c o r d s in m u s i c , by c o n t r a s t — b u t the true artist will always contrive, first, to t o n e t h e m into p r o p e r s u b s e r v i e n c e to the p r e d o m i n a n t a i m , a n d , s e c o n d l y , to enveil t h e m , a s far a s p o s s i b l e , in that B e a u t y which is the a t m o s p h e r e a n d the e s s e n c e of the p o e m . R e g a r d i n g , then, B e a u t y a s my province, my next q u e s t i o n referred to the tone of its highest m a n i f e s t a t i o n — a n d all e x p e r i e n c e h a s s h o w n that this tone is o n e of sadness. B e a u t y of whatever kind, in its s u p r e m e d e v e l o p m e n t , invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. M e l a n c h o l y is t h u s the m o s t legitimate of all the p o e t i c a l t o n e s . T h e length, the province, a n d the t o n e , b e i n g t h u s d e t e r m i n e d , I b e t o o k myself to ordinary i n d u c t i o n , with the view of o b t a i n i n g s o m e artistic p i q u a n c y which might serve m e a s a key-note in the c o n s t r u c t i o n of the p o e m — s o m e pivot u p o n which the w h o l e s t r u c t u r e m i g h t turn. In carefully thinking over all the u s u a l artistic e f f e c t s — o r m o r e properly -points, in the theatrical s e n s e — I did not fail to perceive i m m e d i a t e l y that n o o n e h a d b e e n s o universally e m p l o y e d a s that of the refrain. T h e universality of its employm e n t sufficed to a s s u r e m e of its intrinsic v a l u e , a n d s p a r e d m e the n e c e s s i t y of s u b m i t t i n g it to analysis. I c o n s i d e r e d it, however, with regard to its s u s ceptibility of i m p r o v e m e n t , a n d s o o n s a w it to b e in a primitive c o n d i t i o n .

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A s c o m m o n l y u s e d , the refrain, or b u r d e n , not only is limited to lyric verse, but d e p e n d s for its i m p r e s s i o n u p o n the force of m o n o t o n e — b o t h in s o u n d a n d thought. T h e p l e a s u r e is d e d u c e d solely from the s e n s e of identity—of repetition. I resolved to diversify, a n d s o vastly h e i g h t e n , the effect, by adhering, in general, to the m o n o t o n e of s o u n d , while I continually varied that of t h o u g h t : that is to say, I d e t e r m i n e d to p r o d u c e c o n t i n u o u s l y novel e f f e c t s , by the variation of the application of the refrain—the refrain itself r e m a i n i n g , for the m o s t part, unvaried. T h e s e points b e i n g settled, I next b e t h o u g h t m e of the nature of my refrain. S i n c e its a p p l i c a t i o n w a s to be repeatedly varied, it w a s clear that the refrain itself m u s t be brief, for there would have b e e n an i n s u r m o u n t a b l e difficulty in f r e q u e n t variations of a p p l i c a t i o n in any s e n t e n c e of length. In proportion to the brevity of the s e n t e n c e , w o u l d , of c o u r s e , be the facility of the variation. T h i s led m e at o n c e to a single word a s the b e s t refrain. T h e q u e s t i o n now a r o s e a s to the character of the word. H a v i n g m a d e u p my m i n d to a refrain, the division of the p o e m into s t a n z a s w a s , of c o u r s e , a corollary: the refrain f o r m i n g the c l o s e to e a c h s t a n z a . T h a t s u c h a c l o s e , to have force, m u s t be s o n o r o u s a n d s u s c e p t i b l e of p r o t r a c t e d e m p h a s i s , admitted no d o u b t : a n d t h e s e c o n s i d e r a t i o n s inevitably led m e to the long o a s the m o s t s o n o r o u s vowel, in c o n n e c t i o n with r a s the m o s t p r o d u c i b l e c o n s o n a n t . T h e s o u n d of the refrain b e i n g t h u s d e t e r m i n e d , it b e c a m e n e c e s s a r y to select a word e m b o d y i n g this s o u n d , a n d at the s a m e time in the fullest p o s s i b l e keeping with that m e l a n c h o l y which I h a d p r e d e t e r m i n e d a s the tone of the p o e m . In s u c h a s e a r c h it would have b e e n absolutely i m p o s s i b l e to overlook the word " N e v e r m o r e . " In fact, it w a s the very first which pres e n t e d itself. T h e next desideratum w a s a pretext for the c o n t i n u o u s u s e of the o n e word " n e v e r m o r e . " In observing the difficulty which I at o n c e f o u n d in inventing a sufficiently p l a u s i b l e r e a s o n for its c o n t i n u o u s repetition, I did not fail to perceive that this difficulty a r o s e solely from the p r e - a s s u m p t i o n that the word w a s to be s o c o n t i n u o u s l y or m o n o t o n o u s l y s p o k e n by a human b e i n g — I did not fail to perceive, in short, that the difficulty lay in the reconciliation of this m o n o t o n y with the exercise of r e a s o n o n the part of the c r e a t u r e r e p e a t i n g the word. H e r e , t h e n , i m m e d i a t e l y a r o s e the idea of a nowr e a s o n i n g c r e a t u r e c a p a b l e of s p e e c h ; a n d , very naturally, a parrot, in the first i n s t a n c e , s u g g e s t e d itself, but w a s s u p e r s e d e d forthwith by a R a v e n , a s equally c a p a b l e of s p e e c h , a n d infinitely m o r e in k e e p i n g with the i n t e n d e d tone. I h a d now g o n e so far a s the c o n c e p t i o n of a R a v e n — t h e bird of ill o m e n — m o n o t o n o u s l y r e p e a t i n g the o n e word, " N e v e r m o r e , " at the c o n c l u s i o n of e a c h s t a n z a , in a p o e m of m e l a n c h o l y t o n e , a n d in length a b o u t o n e h u n d r e d lines. N o w , never losing sight of the object supremeness, or p e r f e c t i o n , at all p o i n t s , I a s k e d m y s e l f — " O f all m e l a n c h o l y t o p i c s , w h a t , a c c o r d i n g to the universal u n d e r s t a n d i n g of m a n k i n d , is the most m e l a n c h o l y ? " D e a t h — w a s the obvious reply. "And w h e n , " I said, "is this m o s t m e l a n c h o l y of topics m o s t p o e t i c a l ? " F r o m what I have already explained at s o m e length, the a n s w e r , here a l s o , is o b v i o u s — " W h e n it m o s t closely allies itself to Beauty: the d e a t h , then, of a beautiful w o m a n is, u n q u e s t i o n a b l y , the m o s t p o e t i c a l topic in the w o r l d — a n d equally is it b e y o n d d o u b t that the lips best suited for s u c h topic are t h o s e of a bereaved lover."

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I h a d now to c o m b i n e the two i d e a s , of a lover l a m e n t i n g his d e c e a s e d m i s t r e s s a n d a Raven c o n t i n u o u s l y r e p e a t i n g the word " N e v e r m o r e " — I h a d to c o m b i n e t h e s e , b e a r i n g in mind my d e s i g n of varying, at every turn, the application of the word r e p e a t e d ; but the only intelligible m o d e l of s u c h c o m b i n a t i o n is that of i m a g i n i n g the Raven e m p l o y i n g the word in a n s w e r to the q u e r i e s of the lover. A n d here it w a s that I s a w at o n c e the opportunity afforded for the effect o n which I h a d b e e n d e p e n d i n g — t h a t is to say, the effect of the variation of application. I saw that I c o u l d m a k e the first query p r o p o u n d e d by the l o v e r — t h e first query to which the Raven s h o u l d reply " N e v e r m o r e " — t h a t I c o u l d m a k e this first query a c o m m o n p l a c e o n e — t h e s e c o n d less s o — t h e third still l e s s , a n d s o o n — u n t i l at length the lover, startled from his original nonchalance by the m e l a n c h o l y c h a r a c t e r of the word itself—by its frequent r e p e t i t i o n — a n d by a c o n s i d eration of the o m i n o u s reputation of the fowl that uttered it—is at length excited to superstition, a n d wildly p r o p o u n d s q u e r i e s of a far different c h a r a c t e r — q u e r i e s w h o s e solution he h a s p a s s i o n a t e l y at h e a r t — p r o p o u n d s t h e m half in superstition a n d half in that s p e c i e s of d e s p a i r which delights in s e l f - t o r t u r e — p r o p o u n d s t h e m not a l t o g e t h e r b e c a u s e h e believes in the p r o p h e t i c or d e m o n i a c c h a r a c t e r of the bird (which, r e a s o n a s s u r e s him, is merely r e p e a t i n g a l e s s o n learned by rote) but b e c a u s e he experiences a phrenzied p l e a s u r e in so m o d e l i n g his q u e s t i o n s a s to receive from the expected " N e v e r m o r e " the m o s t d e l i c i o u s b e c a u s e the m o s t intolerable of sorrow. Perceiving the opportunity t h u s afforded m e — o r , m o r e strictly, thus forced u p o n m e in the p r o g r e s s of the c o n s t r u c t i o n — I first e s t a b l i s h e d in mind the climax, or c o n c l u d i n g q u e r y — t h a t to which " N e v e r m o r e " s h o u l d be in the last p l a c e an a n s w e r — t h a t in reply to which this word " N e v e r m o r e " s h o u l d involve the u t m o s t c o n c e i v a b l e a m o u n t of sorrow a n d despair. H e r e then the p o e m may be said to have its b e g i n n i n g — a t the e n d , w h e r e all works of art s h o u l d b e g i n — f o r it w a s h e r e , at this point of my p r e c o n s i d e r a t i o n s , that I first put pen to p a p e r in the c o m p o s i t i o n of the s t a n z a : " P r o p h e t , " said I, "thing of evil! p r o p h e t still if bird or devil! By that heaven that b e n d s a b o v e u s — b y that G o d we both a d o r e , Tell this soul with sorrow l a d e n , if within the distant A i d e n n , It shall c l a s p a sainted m a i d e n w h o m the a n g e l s n a m e L e n o r e — C l a s p a rare a n d radiant m a i d e n w h o m the a n g e l s n a m e L e n o r e . " Quoth the raven " N e v e r m o r e . " 1 c o m p o s e d this s t a n z a , at this point, first that, by e s t a b l i s h i n g the climax, I might the better vary a n d g r a d u a t e , a s regards s e r i o u s n e s s a n d i m p o r t a n c e , the p r e c e d i n g q u e r i e s of the l o v e r — a n d , s e c o n d l y , that I might definitely settle the rhythm, the m e t r e , a n d the length a n d general a r r a n g e m e n t of the s t a n z a — a s well a s g r a d u a t e the s t a n z a s which were to p r e c e d e , so that n o n e of t h e m might s u r p a s s this in rhythmical effect. H a d I b e e n a b l e , in the s u b s e q u e n t c o m p o s i t i o n , to c o n s t r u c t m o r e vigorous s t a n z a s , I s h o u l d , without s c r u p l e , have p u r p o s e l y e n f e e b l e d t h e m , so a s not to interfere with the climacteric effect. A n d here I m a y a s well say a few words of the versification. M y first object (as u s u a l ) w a s originality. T h e extent to which this h a s b e e n n e g l e c t e d , in versification, is o n e of the m o s t u n a c c o u n t a b l e things in the world. A d m i t t i n g

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that there is little possibility of variety in m e r e rhythm, it is still clear that the p o s s i b l e varieties of m e t r e a n d s t a n z a a r e absolutely i n f i n i t e — a n d yet, for centuries, no man, in verse, has ever done, or ever seemed to think of doing, an original thing. T h e fact is, originality ( u n l e s s in m i n d s of very u n u s u a l force) is by n o m e a n s a m a t t e r , a s s o m e s u p p o s e , of i m p u l s e or intuition. In general, to b e f o u n d , it m u s t b e elaborately s o u g h t , a n d a l t h o u g h a positive merit of the h i g h e s t c l a s s , d e m a n d s in its a t t a i n m e n t less of invention t h a n negation. O f c o u r s e , I p r e t e n d to n o originality in either the rhythm or m e t r e of the " R a v e n . " T h e f o r m e r is t r o c h a i c — t h e latter is o c t a m e t e r a c a t a l e c t i c , altern a t i n g with h e p t a m e t e r c a t a l e c t i c r e p e a t e d in the refrain of the fifth verse, a n d t e r m i n a t i n g with t e t r a m e t e r c a t a l e c t i c . L e s s p e d a n t i c a l l y — t h e feet e m p l o y e d t h r o u g h o u t ( t r o c h e e s ) c o n s i s t of a long syllable followed by a short: the first line of the stanza c o n s i s t s of eight of t h e s e f e e t — t h e s e c o n d of seven a n d a half (in effect t w o - t h i r d s ) — t h e third of e i g h t — t h e fourth of seven a n d a h a l f — t h e fifth the s a m e — t h e sixth three a n d a half. N o w , e a c h of t h e s e lines, taken individually, h a s b e e n e m p l o y e d b e f o r e , a n d w h a t originality the " R a v e n " h a s , is in their combination into stanza; n o t h i n g even remotely a p p r o a c h i n g this c o m b i n a t i o n h a s ever b e e n a t t e m p t e d . T h e effect of this originality of c o m b i n a t i o n is a i d e d by other u n u s u a l , a n d s o m e a l t o g e t h e r novel effects, arising from an extension of the a p p l i c a t i o n of the p r i n c i p l e s of rhyme a n d alliteration. T h e next point to b e c o n s i d e r e d w a s the m o d e of bringing t o g e t h e r the lover a n d the R a v e n — a n d the first b r a n c h of this c o n s i d e r a t i o n w a s the locale. F o r this the m o s t n a t u r a l s u g g e s t i o n m i g h t s e e m to b e a forest, or the fields—but it h a s always a p p e a r e d to m e t h a t a c l o s e circumscription of space is absolutely n e c e s s a r y to the effect of i n s u l a t e d i n c i d e n t : — i t h a s the force of a f r a m e to a p i c t u r e . It h a s a n i n d i s p u t a b l e moral p o w e r in k e e p i n g c o n c e n t r a t e d the attention, a n d , of c o u r s e , m u s t not b e c o n f o u n d e d with m e r e unity of p l a c e . I d e t e r m i n e d , t h e n , to p l a c e the lover in his c h a m b e r — i n a c h a m b e r r e n d e r e d s a c r e d to him by m e m o r i e s of her w h o h a d f r e q u e n t e d it. T h e r o o m is r e p r e s e n t e d a s richly f u r n i s h e d — t h i s in m e r e p u r s u a n c e of the ideas I have already explained o n the s u b j e c t of B e a u t y , a s the s o l e true poetical thesis. T h e locale b e i n g t h u s d e t e r m i n e d , I h a d now to i n t r o d u c e the b i r d — a n d the thought of i n t r o d u c i n g him t h r o u g h the window, w a s inevitable. T h e idea of m a k i n g the lover s u p p o s e , in the first i n s t a n c e , that the flapping of the wings of the bird a g a i n s t the s h u t t e r , is a " t a p p i n g " at the door, originated in a wish to i n c r e a s e , by p r o l o n g i n g , the reader's curiosity, a n d in a d e s i r e to a d m i t the incidental effect arising from the lover's throwing o p e n the door, finding all dark, a n d t h e n c e a d o p t i n g the half-fancy that it w a s the spirit of his m i s t r e s s that k n o c k e d . I m a d e the night t e m p e s t u o u s , first, to a c c o u n t for the R a v e n ' s s e e k i n g a d m i s s i o n , a n d secondly, for the effect of c o n t r a s t with the (physical) serenity within the c h a m b e r . I m a d e the bird alight on the b u s t of P a l l a s , 2 a l s o for the effect of c o n t r a s t b e t w e e n the m a r b l e a n d the p l u m a g e — i t b e i n g u n d e r s t o o d that the b u s t w a s 2.

Pallas Athena, the G r e e k g o d d e s s of w i s d o m a n d the arts.

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absolutely suggested by the b i r d — t h e b u s t of Pallas b e i n g c h o s e n , first, a s m o s t in k e e p i n g with the s c h o l a r s h i p of the lover, a n d , s e c o n d l y , for the s o n o r o u s n e s s of the word, P a l l a s , itself. A b o u t the m i d d l e of the p o e m , a l s o , I have availed myself of the force of c o n t r a s t , with a view of d e e p e n i n g the u l t i m a t e i m p r e s s i o n . F o r e x a m p l e , a n air of the f a n t a s t i c — a p p r o a c h i n g a s nearly to the l u d i c r o u s a s w a s a d m i s s i b l e — i s given to the Raven's e n t r a n c e . H e c o m e s in "with m a n y a flirt a n d flutter." N o t the least obeisance made he—not a m o m e n t s t o p p e d or stayed h e , But with mien of lord or lady, p e r c h e d a b o v e my c h a m b e r door. In the two s t a n z a s which follow, the d e s i g n is m o r e obviously carried out:— T h e n this e b o n y bird b e g u i l i n g my s a d fancy into s m i l i n g By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, " T h o u g h thy crest be shorn and shaven t h o u , " I s a i d , "art s u r e n o c r a v e n , G h a s t l y grim a n d a n c i e n t R a v e n w a n d e r i n g from the nightly s h o r e — Tell m e what thy lordly n a m e is on the Night's P l u t o n i a n s h o r e ! " Quoth the R a v e n " N e v e r m o r e . " M u c h I marvelled this ungainly fowl to h e a r d i s c o u r s e so plainly, T h o u g h its a n s w e r little m e a n i n g — l i t t l e relevancy b o r e ; F o r we c a n n o t help a g r e e i n g that n o living h u m a n b e i n g Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With s u c h n a m e a s " N e v e r m o r e . " T h e effect of the denouement b e i n g t h u s provided for, I i m m e d i a t e l y d r o p the fantastic for a tone of the m o s t p r o f o u n d s e r i o u s n e s s : — t h i s t o n e c o m m e n c i n g in the stanza directly following the o n e last q u o t e d , with the line, B u t the R a v e n , sitting lonely on that p l a c i d b u s t , s p o k e only, e t c . F r o m this e p o c h the lover n o longer j e s t s — n o longer s e e s any thing even of the fantastic in the Raven's d e m e a n o r . H e s p e a k s of h i m as a " g r i m , ungainly, ghastly, g a u n t , a n d o m i n o u s bird of y o r e , " a n d feels the "fiery e y e s " b u r n i n g into his " b o s o m ' s c o r e . " T h i s revolution of t h o u g h t , or fancy, on the lover's part, is i n t e n d e d to i n d u c e a similar o n e on the part of the r e a d e r — to bring the m i n d into a p r o p e r f r a m e for the denouement—which is now b r o u g h t a b o u t a s rapidly a n d a s directly a s p o s s i b l e . With the denouement p r o p e r — w i t h the Raven's reply, " N e v e r m o r e , " to the lover's final d e m a n d if he shall m e e t his m i s t r e s s in a n o t h e r w o r l d — t h e p o e m , in its obvious p h a s e , that of a s i m p l e narrative, m a y b e said to have its c o m p l e t i o n . S o far, every thing is within the limits of the a c c o u n t a b l e — of the real. A raven, having learned by rote the single word " N e v e r m o r e , " a n d having e s c a p e d from the c u s t o d y of its owner, is driven, at m i d n i g h t , through the violence of a s t o r m , to s e e k a d m i s s i o n at a w i n d o w from which a light still g l e a m s — t h e c h a m b e r - w i n d o w of a s t u d e n t , o c c u p i e d half in poring over a v o l u m e , half in d r e a m i n g of a beloved m i s t r e s s d e c e a s e d . T h e c a s e m e n t b e i n g thrown o p e n at the fluttering of the bird's w i n g s , the bird itself p e r c h e s on the m o s t c o n v e n i e n t seat out of the i m m e d i a t e r e a c h of the

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s t u d e n t , w h o , a m u s e d by t h e incident a n d the oddity of the visiter's d e m e a n o r , d e m a n d s of it, in j e s t a n d without looking for a reply, its n a m e . T h e raven a d d r e s s e d , a n s w e r s with its c u s t o m a r y w o r d , " N e v e r m o r e " — a word which finds i m m e d i a t e e c h o in t h e m e l a n c h o l y heart of the s t u d e n t , w h o , giving u t t e r a n c e a l o u d to certain t h o u g h t s s u g g e s t e d by the o c c a s i o n , is again startled by the fowl's repetition of " N e v e r m o r e . " T h e s t u d e n t n o w g u e s s e s the state of the c a s e , but is i m p e l l e d , a s I have before explained, by the h u m a n thirst for self-torture, a n d in part by s u p e r s t i t i o n , to p r o p o u n d s u c h q u e r i e s to the bird a s will bring h i m , the lover, the m o s t of the luxury of sorrow, t h r o u g h the a n t i c i p a t e d a n s w e r " N e v e r m o r e . " W i t h the indulg e n c e , to the u t m o s t e x t r e m e , of this self-torture, the narration, in w h a t I have t e r m e d its first or obvious p h a s e , h a s a natural t e r m i n a t i o n , a n d s o far there h a s b e e n no o v e r s t e p p i n g of the limits of the real. B u t in s u b j e c t s s o h a n d l e d , however skilfully, or with however vivid a n array of i n c i d e n t , there is always a certain h a r d n e s s or n a k e d n e s s , which repels the artistical eye. T w o things are invariably r e q u i r e d — f i r s t , s o m e a m o u n t of complexity, or m o r e properly, a d a p t a t i o n ; a n d , s e c o n d l y , s o m e a m o u n t of s u g g e s t i v e n e s s — s o m e u n d e r c u r r e n t , however indefinite of m e a n ing. It is this latter, in e s p e c i a l , which i m p a r t s to a work of art s o m u c h of that richness (to borrow from colloquy a forcible term) which we a r e too fond of c o n f o u n d i n g with the ideal. It is the excess of the s u g g e s t e d m e a n i n g — i t is the r e n d e r i n g this the u p p e r i n s t e a d of the u n d e r c u r r e n t of the t h e m e — which turns into p r o s e ( a n d that of the very flattest kind) t h e s o called poetry of the so called t r a n s c e n d e n t a l i s t s . H o l d i n g t h e s e o p i n i o n s , I a d d e d the two c o n c l u d i n g s t a n z a s of t h e p o e m — their s u g g e s t i v e n e s s b e i n g t h u s m a d e to p e r v a d e all the narrative which h a s p r e c e d e d t h e m . T h e u n d e r - c u r r e n t of m e a n i n g is r e n d e r e d first a p p a r e n t in the l i n e s — " T a k e thy b e a k from out my heart, a n d take thy form from off my d o o r ! " Quoth t h e R a v e n " N e v e r m o r e ! " It will b e o b s e r v e d that the w o r d s , "from out my h e a r t , " involve the first m e t a p h o r i c a l e x p r e s s i o n in the p o e m . T h e y , with the a n s w e r , " N e v e r m o r e , " d i s p o s e the m i n d to s e e k a moral in all that h a s b e e n previously n a r r a t e d . T h e reader b e g i n s n o w to regard the R a v e n a s e m b l e m a t i c a l — b u t it is not until the very last line of the very last s t a n z a , that the intention of m a k i n g Remembrance is permitted him e m b l e m a t i c a l of Mournful and Never-ending distinctly to b e s e e n : And the R a v e n , never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, O n the pallid b u s t of Pallas j u s t a b o v e my c h a m b e r d o o r ; A n d his eyes have all the s e e m i n g of a d e m o n ' s that is d r e a m i n g , And the lamplight o'er him s t r e a m i n g throws his s h a d o w o n t h e floor; A n d my s o u l ^ r o w out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall b e l i f t e d — n e v e r m o r e .

757

ABRAHAM L I N C O L N 1809-1865 Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth president of the United States, was born o n February 12, 1 8 0 9 , in a b a c k w o o d s c a b i n in H a r d i n C o u n t y , K e n t u c k y . H i s father, T h o m a s L i n c o l n , a n d h i s m o t h e r , M a r y H a n k s , w e r e barely literate; L i n c o l n h i m s e l f a t t e n d e d s c h o o l only s p o r a d i c a l l y — p r o b a b l y for n o m o r e t h a n a y e a r a l t o g e t h e r . A l t h o u g h h i s a c c e s s to b o o k s w a s limited, his m e m o r y w a s r e m a r k a b l e ; y e a r s later h e w a s a b l e to d r a w o n h i s c h i l d h o o d r e a d i n g o f t h e K i n g J a m e s B i b l e ; Aesop's Fables; J o h n B u n y a n ' s Pilgrim's Progress; D a n i e l D e f o e ' s Robinson Crusoe; a n d M a s o n L o c k e W e e m ' s A History of the Life

and

Death,

Virtues,

and

Exploits

of General

George

Washington.

Lin-

coln never lost his love o f r e a d i n g — a d d i n g S h a k e s p e a r e , J o h n S t u a r t Mill, L o r d B y r o n , a n d R o b e r t B u r n s , a m o n g m a n y o t h e r s , to h i s list o f favorites. L i n c o l n s p e n t his i m p o v e r i s h e d y o u t h in K e n t u c k y a n d s o u t h e r n I n d i a n a , w h e r e his f a t h e r f a r m e d for a living. H i s m o t h e r d i e d w h e n h e w a s n i n e , b u t h i s s t e p m o t h e r , w h o s o o n j o i n e d t h e family with c h i l d r e n o f h e r o w n , s e e m s t o h a v e s i n g l e d o u t A b r a h a m for s p e c i a l a f f e c t i o n ; h e later s p o k e o f h e r a s h i s " a n g e l m o t h e r . " In 1 8 3 0 t h e family m o v e d t o Illinois; after splitting rails t o f e n c e in t h e family's n e w f a r m , y o u n g L i n c o l n s e t o u t o n h i s o w n , m a k i n g a trip t o N e w O r l e a n s a s a f l a t b o a t m a n . H e s o o n r e t u r n e d to s e t t l e in t h e tiny village o f N e w S a l e m , Illinois, w h e r e h e w o r k e d a s s t o r e k e e p e r , p o s t m a s t e r , a n d surveyor. In 1 8 3 2 h e v o l u n t e e r e d for s e r v i c e in t h e B l a c k H a w k W a r ; h e w a s e l e c t e d c a p t a i n o f his c o m p a n y b u t , a s h e later o b s e r v e d , saw more action against mosquitoes than he did against the S a c a n d Fox Indians. A l t h o u g h L i n c o l n h a d c o n s i d e r e d b l a c k s m i t h i n g a s a t r a d e , h e d e c i d e d in t h e early 1 8 3 0 s to p r e p a r e h i m s e l f for a c a r e e r in law. T h i s h e d i d by s t u d y i n g i n d e p e n d e n t l y the b a s i c l a w b o o k s o f t h e t i m e : B l a c k s t o n e ' s Commentaries, Chitty's Pleadings, G r e e n l e a f ' s Evidence,

a n d S t o r y ' s Equity

a n d Equity

Pleadings.

In 1 8 3 4 h e w a s e l e c t e d

to t h e first o f four t e r m s a s a n Illinois s t a t e legislator, a t that t i m e a p o s i t i o n o f s m a l l i n f l u e n c e a n d s m a l l e r salary. H e p a s s e d t h e s t a t e b a r e x a m i n a t i o n in 1 8 3 6 a n d m o v e d the next year to t h e n e w s t a t e c a p i t a l in S p r i n g f i e l d . T h e r e h e e n t e r e d a s u c c e s s i o n of law p a r t n e r s h i p s , t h e m o s t e n d u r i n g with W i l l i a m H . H e r n d o n , later his b i o g r a p h e r . By dint o f h a r d w o r k — w h i c h i n c l u d e d twice-yearly s e s s i o n s following t h e c o u r t o n h o r s e b a c k or b u g g y a s it m o v e d from town to town t o r e a c h t h e p e o p l e a c r o s s t h e Illinois c o u n t r y s i d e — L i n c o l n p r o s p e r e d a s a lawyer a n d e a r n e d a r e p u t a t i o n a s a s h r e w d , s e n s i b l e , fair, a n d h o n e s t p r a c t i t i o n e r . In 1 8 4 2 L i n c o l n m e t M a r y T o d d , from a wealthy K e n t u c k y family t h e n r e s i d i n g in Springfield. T h e r e w e r e o b j e c t i o n s from t h e T o d d s t o h e r m a r r y i n g s o m e o n e from s u c h a p o o r b a c k g r o u n d , a n d h e a l s o e x p r e s s e d m i s g i v i n g s a b o u t t h e m a r r i a g e . Neve r t h e l e s s , t h e c o u p l e w a s m a r r i e d in 1 8 4 2 a n d p r o d u c e d f o u r s o n s , only o n e of w h o m survived to a d u l t h o o d . T h e n e t w o r k o f political a n d o t h e r historical e v e n t s o f t h e 1 8 4 0 s a n d 1 8 5 0 s that w o u l d result in L i n c o l n ' s e l e c t i o n to t h e p r e s i d e n c y in 1 8 6 0 is c o m p l i c a t e d , b u t t h e c e n t r a l i s s u e w a s w h e t h e r slavery w o u l d b e p e r m i t t e d in t h e n e w territories, w h i c h eventually w o u l d b e c o m e s t a t e s . L i n c o l n w a s e l e c t e d t o t h e U . S . C o n g r e s s in 1 8 4 6 ; always c o n c e r n e d with m e d i a t i n g rather t h a n i n f l a m i n g d i s p u t e s , h e v o t e d a g a i n s t abolitionist m e a s u r e s , w h i c h h e b e l i e v e d m i g h t e v e n t u a l l y t h r e a t e n t h e U n i o n . At t h e s a m e t i m e , r e c a l l i n g h i s o w n r e m a r k a b l e rise from poverty, h e i n s i s t e d that n e w territories b e kept free a s " p l a c e s for p o o r p e o p l e to g o a n d b e t t e r their c o n d i t i o n . " H e a l s o j o i n e d a n u n s u c c e s s f u l vote to c e n s u r e P r e s i d e n t P o l k for e n g a g i n g in t h e w a r a g a i n s t M e x i c o ( 1 8 4 6 — 4 8 ) , a w a r h e a n d m a n y o f his legislative c o l l e a g u e s believed to b e b o t h unjustified a n d u n c o n s t i t u t i o n a l . H e d i d n o t r u n for r e e l e c t i o n a n d it a p p e a r e d that his political c a r e e r h a d c o m e to a n e n d . By 1 8 5 4 t h e t w o m a j o r political p a r t i e s o f the t i m e — t h e W h i g s (to w h i c h L i n c o l n

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b e l o n g e d ) a n d t h e D e m o c r a t s — h a d c o m p r o m i s e d o n t h e e x t e n s i o n of slavery into n e w territories a n d s t a t e s . S t r o n g antislavery e l e m e n t s in b o t h p a r t i e s , h o w e v e r , e s t a b l i s h e d i n d e p e n d e n t o r g a n i z a t i o n s ; a n d w h e n , in 1 8 5 4 , t h e R e p u b l i c a n Party w a s organized, L i n c o l n s o o n j o i n e d it. H i s n e w party lost the p r e s i d e n t i a l e l e c t i o n of 1 8 5 6 to the D e m o c r a t s , but in 1 8 5 8 L i n c o l n r e e n t e r e d political life a s the R e p u b l i c a n c a n d i d a t e in the Illinois s e n a t o r i a l e l e c t i o n . H e o p p o s e d the D e m o c r a t S t e p h e n A. D o u g l a s , w h o h a d earlier s p o n s o r e d t h e K a n s a s - N e b r a s k a Bill, a bill that, h a d it p a s s e d , w o u l d h a v e left it to n e w territories to e s t a b l i s h their s t a t u s a s s l a v e or free w h e n they a c h i e v e d s t a t e h o o d . L i n c o l n m a y h a v e w o n the f a m o u s s e r i e s of d e b a t e s with D o u g l a s , b u t h e lost the e l e c t i o n . M o r e i m p o r t a n t for t h e f u t u r e , t h o u g h , h e had g a i n e d n a t i o n a l r e c o g n i t i o n a n d f o u n d a t h e m e c o m m e n s u r a t e with his rapidly i n t e n s i f y i n g p o w e r s of t h o u g h t a n d e x p r e s s i o n . As t h e " H o u s e D i v i d e d " s p e e c h , d e l i v e r e d in 1 8 5 8 at t h e R e p u b l i c a n S t a t e C o n v e n t i o n in Illinois, s u g g e s t s , L i n c o l n n o w a d d e d to the often biting satirical h u m o r , a n d to the logic a n d n a t u r a l g r a c e of his earlier uttera n c e s , a r e s o n a n c e a n d w i s d o m that m a r k his e m e r g e n c e a s a n a t i o n a l political l e a d e r a n d a s a m a s t e r of l a n g u a g e . T h i s r e p u t a t i o n w a s e n h a n c e d by the " C o o p e r U n i o n A d d r e s s " in 1 8 6 0 , his first in t h e e a s t , in w h i c h L i n c o l n d i s p u t e d the idea that slavery w a s c r e a t e d a n d e n d o r s e d by t h e F o u n d i n g F a t h e r s ; a n d at the R e p u b l i c a n p r e s i d e n t i a l c o n v e n t i o n h e won n o m i n a t i o n on the third ballot. L i n c o l n w a s e l e c t e d p r e s i d e n t of the U n i t e d S t a t e s in N o v e m b e r 1 8 6 0 ; but b e f o r e h e t o o k office on M a r c h 4, 1 8 6 1 , s e v e n S o u t h e r n s t a t e s had s e c e d e d from t h e U n i o n to f o r m the C o n f e d e r a c y . Little m o r e t h a n a m o n t h after his i n a u g u r a t i o n , t h e Civil W a r h a d b e g u n . T r u e to his l o n g - s t a n d i n g c o m m i t m e n t , h e d e v o t e d h i m s e l f to the p r e s e r v a t i o n of t h e U n i o n . T o d o this h e h a d to d e v e l o p a n overall w a r strategy, d e v i s e a w o r k a b l e c o m m a n d s y s t e m , a n d find t h e right p e r s o n n e l to e x e c u t e his p l a n s . All of this h e w a s to a c c o m p l i s h by trial a n d error in the early years of the war. At the s a m e t i m e h e h a d to d e v e l o p p o p u l a r s u p p o r t for his p u r p o s e s by u s i n g his e x t r a o r d i n a r y political skills in t i m e s of high p a s s i o n a n d internal division. A n d w h e n the w a r — w h i c h l a s t e d far l o n g e r a n d p r o v e d m u c h m o r e c o s t l y t h a n anyo n e h a d a n t i c i p a t e d — e n d e d , he h a d i m m e d i a t e l y to f a c e t h e m o n u m e n t a l p r o b l e m s of h e a l i n g a n u n e a s i l y r e u n i t e d n a t i o n . L i n c o l n c o m m i t t e d h i m s e l f to t h e e l i m i n a t i o n of slavery t h r o u g h o u t t h e c o u n t r y by d e g r e e s . Initially, h e w i s h e d only to c o n t a i n it; t h e n h e s a w that " a h o u s e divided a g a i n s t itself c a n n o t s t a n d , " a n d h e p r o c e e d e d c a u t i o u s l y , with the E m a n c i p a t i o n P r o c l a m a t i o n i s s u e d in 1 8 6 3 ; finally, h e t o o k t h e l e a d i n g role in the p a s s a g e of the T h i r t e e n t h A m e n d m e n t , w h i c h o u t l a w e d slavery e v e r y w h e r e a n d forever in the U n i t e d S t a t e s . E l e c t e d to a s e c o n d t e r m in 1 8 6 4 , h e h a d s e r v e d s c a r c e l y a m o n t h of his newt e r m w h e n he w a s a s s a s s i n a t e d , while a t t e n d i n g a play, by t h e f a n a t i c S h a k e s p e a r e a n a c t o r J o h n W i l k e s B o o t h . H e d i e d o n April 1 5 , 1 8 6 5 .

Address Delivered at the Dedication of the Cemetery at Gettysburg, November 19, 1863' F o u r s c o r e a n d seven years a g o o u r fathers b r o u g h t forth on this c o n t i n e n t , a new nation, c o n c e i v e d in Liberty, a n d d e d i c a t e d to the p r o p o s i t i o n that all m e n are c r e a t e d e q u a l . N o w we a r e e n g a g e d in a great civil war, t e s t i n g w h e t h e r that n a t i o n , or any nation s o c o n c e i v e d a n d so d e d i c a t e d , c a n long e n d u r e . W e are met on a great battle-field of that war. W e have c o m e to d e d i c a t e a portion of that I. T h e s o u r c e o f t h e t e x t p r i n t e d h e r e is t h e f a c s i m i l e s r e p r o d u c e d in W . F . B a r t o n ' s L i n c o l n tit (1930).

Gettysburg

SECOND INAUGURAL A D D R E S S

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759

field, a s a final resting p l a c e for t h o s e w h o here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting a n d proper that we s h o u l d d o this. B u t , in a larger s e n s e , we can not d e d i c a t e — w e c a n not c o n s e c r a t e — w e c a n not h a l l o w — t h i s g r o u n d . T h e brave m e n , living a n d d e a d , w h o struggled here, have c o n s e c r a t e d it, far a b o v e our p o o r power to a d d or detract. T h e world will little n o t e , nor long r e m e m b e r what we say h e r e , but it c a n never forget what they did h e r e . It is for u s the living, rather, to be d e d i c a t e d here to the unfinished work which they w h o fought here have t h u s far so nobly a d v a n c e d . It is rather for us to be here d e d i c a t e d to the great task r e m a i n i n g before u s — t h a t from t h e s e honored d e a d we take i n c r e a s e d devotion to that c a u s e for which they gave the last full m e a s u r e of d e v o t i o n — t h a t we here highly resolve that t h e s e d e a d shall not have died in v a i n — t h a t this nation, u n d e r G o d , shall have a new birth of f r e e d o m — a n d that g o v e r n m e n t of the p e o p l e , by the p e o p l e , for the p e o p l e , shall not perish from the e a r t h . ABRAHAM

LINCOLN

1863

•

Second Inaugural Address, March 4, 1865' At this s e c o n d a p p e a r i n g to take the oath of the presidential office, there is less o c c a s i o n for an extended a d d r e s s than there w a s at the first. T h e n a s t a t e m e n t , s o m e w h a t in detail, of a c o u r s e to b e p u r s u e d , s e e m e d fitting and proper. N o w , at the expiration of four years, d u r i n g which public d e c l a r a t i o n s have b e e n constantly called forth o n every point a n d p h a s e of the great c o n t e s t which still a b s o r b s the a t t e n t i o n , a n d e n g r o s s e s the energies of the n a t i o n , little that is n e w c o u l d be p r e s e n t e d . T h e p r o g r e s s of our a r m s , u p o n which all else chiefly d e p e n d s , is a s well known to the public as to myself; a n d it is, I trust, r e a s o n a b l y satisfactory a n d e n c o u r a g i n g to all. With high h o p e for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. O n the o c c a s i o n c o r r e s p o n d i n g to this four years a g o , all t h o u g h t s were anxiously directed to a n i m p e n d i n g civil war. All d r e a d e d it—all s o u g h t to avert it. While the inaugural a d d r e s s w a s b e i n g delivered from this p l a c e , devoted altogether to saving the U n i o n without war, i n s u r g e n t a g e n t s were in the city s e e k i n g to destroy it without w a r — s e e k i n g to dissol[v]e the U n i o n , a n d divide effects, by negotiation. B o t h parties d e p r e c a t e d war; but o n e of t h e m would make war rather than let the nation survive; a n d the other would accept war rather than let it perish. A n d the war c a m e . O n e eighth of the w h o l e p o p u l a t i o n were c o l o r e d slaves, not distributed generally over the U n i o n , but localized in the S o u t h e r n part of it. T h e s e slaves c o n s t i t u t e d a p e c u l i a r a n d powerful interest. All knew that this interest w a s , s o m e h o w , the c a u s e of the war. T o s t r e n g t h e n , p e r p e t u a t e , a n d extend this interest w a s the object for which the i n s u r g e n t s would rend the U n i o n , even by war; while the g o v e r n m e n t c l a i m e d no right to do m o r e than to restrict the territorial e n l a r g e m e n t of it. N e i t h e r party 1.

T h e t e x t is h a s e d o n p h o t o s t a t s o f t h e o r i g i n a l m a n u s c r i p t , o w n e d b y t h e A b r a h a m L i n c o l n A s s o c i a t i o n .

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e x p e c t e d for the war, the m a g n i t u d e , or the d u r a t i o n , w h i c h it h a s already a t t a i n e d . N e i t h e r a n t i c i p a t e d that t h e cause of the conflict m i g h t c e a s e with, or even b e f o r e , t h e conflict itself s h o u l d c e a s e . E a c h looked for a n e a s i e r t r i u m p h , a n d a result less f u n d a m e n t a l a n d a s t o u n d i n g . B o t h r e a d t h e s a m e B i b l e , a n d pray to the s a m e G o d ; a n d e a c h invokes H i s aid a g a i n s t the other. It m a y s e e m s t r a n g e that any m e n s h o u l d d a r e to a s k a j u s t G o d ' s a s s i s t a n c e in wringing their b r e a d from t h e sweat of o t h e r m e n ' s f a c e s ; but let u s j u d g e not that we b e not j u d g e d . T h e prayers of b o t h c o u l d not b e a n s w e r e d ; that of neither h a s b e e n a n s w e r e d fully. T h e Almighty h a s his own p u r p o s e s . " W o e u n t o the world b e c a u s e of o f f e n c e s ! for it m u s t n e e d s b e that o f f e n c e s c o m e ; b u t w o e to that m a n by w h o m t h e offence c o m e t h ! " If w e shall s u p p o s e that A m e r i c a n Slavery is o n e of t h o s e o f f e n c e s w h i c h , in the p r o v i d e n c e of G o d , m u s t n e e d s c o m e , b u t w h i c h , having c o n t i n u e d t h r o u g h H i s a p p o i n t e d t i m e , H e now wills to r e m o v e , a n d that H e gives to b o t h N o r t h a n d S o u t h , this terrible war, as the w o e d u e to t h o s e by w h o m the offence c a m e , shall we d i s c e r n therein any d e p a r t u r e from t h o s e divine attributes w h i c h the believers in a Living G o d always a s c r i b e to H i m ? F o n d l y do we h o p e — f e r v e n t l y do w e p r a y — t h a t this mighty s c o u r g e of war m a y speedily p a s s away. Yet, if G o d wills that it c o n t i n u e , until all the wealth piled by t h e b o n d - m a n ' s two h u n d r e d a n d fifty years of u n r e q u i t e d toil shall b e s u n k , a n d until every d r o p of b l o o d drawn with the l a s h , shall be p a i d by a n o t h e r d r a w n with the sword, a s w a s said three t h o u s a n d years a g o , s o still it m u s t b e said " t h e j u d g m e n t s of the L o r d , are true a n d r i g h t e o u s a l t o g e t h e r . " With m a l i c e toward n o n e ; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, a s G o d gives u s to s e e the right, let u s strive o n to finish the work we a r e in; to bind u p the nation's w o u n d s ; to c a r e for him w h o shall h a ve b o r n e the battle, a n d for his widow, a n d his o r p h a n — t o d o all w h i c h m a y a c h i e v e a n d c h e r i s h a j u s t a n d lasting p e a c e , a m o n g o u r s e l v e s , a n d with all n a t i o n s . 1865

MARGARET FULLER 1810-1850 S a r a h M a r g a r e t F u l l e r w a s b o r n at C a m b r i d g e p o r t ( n o w p a r t of C a m b r i d g e ) , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , o n M a y 2 3 , 1 8 1 0 . H e r f a t h e r s u p e r v i s e d h e r e d u c a t i o n , m a k i n g her a p r o d i g y b u t d e p r i v i n g h e r of a c h i l d h o o d . After a brief, t r a u m a t i c stay at a girls' s c h o o l in her early t e e n s , s h e r e t u r n e d to p u r s u e her r i g o r o u s e d u c a t i o n at h o m e , s t e e p i n g h e r s e l f in t h e c l a s s i c s a n d in m o d e r n l a n g u a g e s a n d l i t e r a t u r e s , e s p e c i a l l y G e r m a n . A c c u s t o m e d to i n t e n s e , lonely s t u d y , F u l l e r n e v e r t h e l e s s f o r m e d l a s t i n g i n t e l l e c t u a l a n d e m o t i o n a l f r i e n d s h i p s with a few y o u n g H a r v a r d s c h o l a r s , a m o n g t h e m h e r c o b i o g r a p h e r s J a m e s F r e e m a n C l a r k e a n d W . H . C h a n n i n g . A C a m b r i d g e lady, Eliza F a r r a r , u n d e r t o o k to instill s o m e of t h e s o c i a l g r a c e s i n t o t h e f a t h e r - t a u g h t M a r g a r e t . T h e d e a t h of her f a t h e r in 1 8 3 5 b u r d e n e d F u l l e r with the e d u c a t i o n of y o u n g e r b r o t h e r s a n d s i s t e r s . S e t t i n g a s i d e her o w n a m b i t i o n s ( i n c l u d i n g a p l a n n e d trip to

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E u r o p e ) , s h e t a u g h t for several y e a r s , in B o s t o n a n d P r o v i d e n c e . D u r i n g this t i m e the G e r m a n novelist a n d d r a m a t i s t G o e t h e b e c a m e t h e c h i e f i n f l u e n c e o n h e r religion a n d p h i l o s o p h y , a n d s h e t o r m e n t e d h e r s e l f with t h e h o p e that s h e m i g h t h a v e m o n e y , t i m e , a n d ability to write his b i o g r a p h y . In 1 8 3 9 s h e b e g a n l e a d i n g " C o n v e r s a t i o n " c l a s s e s a m o n g a n elite g r o u p of B o s t o n w o m e n . L a t e r , m e n p a r t i c i p a t e d a l s o ; a n d d u r i n g the next years her t o p i c s i n c l u d e d G r e e k mythology, t h e fine a r t s , e t h i c s , e d u c a t i o n , d e m o n o l o g y , c r e e d s , a n d t h e ideal. A c l o s e friend of E m e r s o n ' s s i n c e s h e first s o u g h t him o u t in 1 8 3 6 , F u l l e r e d i t e d t h e T r a n s c e n d e n t a l i s t s ' m a g a z i n e The Dial f r o m 1 8 4 0 to 1 8 4 2 , m e a n w h i l e c o n t i n u i n g to t r a n s l a t e w o r k s by a n d a b o u t G o e t h e . In 1 8 4 4 " S u m m e r o n t h e L a k e s , " a n a c c o u n t of a trip to t h e M i d w e s t , led H o r a c e G r e e l e y to hire her a s literary critic for his N e w York Tribune, m a k i n g her o n e of t h e first s e l f - s u p p o r t i n g A m e r i c a n w o m a n j o u r n a l ists. M o r e t h a n a literary reviewer, F u l l e r w r o t e a s e r i e s of r e p o r t s o n p u b l i c q u e s t i o n s , a m o n g t h e m t h e c o n d i t i o n s of t h e blind, of t h e i n s a n e , a n d of f e m a l e p r i s o n e r s . In 1 8 4 5 G r e e l e y p u b l i s h e d her Woman in the Nineteenth Century, the title article of w h i c h w a s a n e x p a n s i o n of a c o n t r o v e r s i a l Dial e s s a y , " T h e G r e a t L a w s u i t . " T h i s is o n e of the great n e g l e c t e d d o c u m e n t s of A m e r i c a n sexual l i b e r a t i o n — n o t m e r e l y of f e m i n i s m , for F u l l e r r e c o g n i z e d that b o t h m e n a n d w o m e n w e r e i m p r i s o n e d by s o c i a l r o l e s , a l t h o u g h m e n at least h a d t h e p o w e r to m a k e a n d e n f o r c e t h e d e f i n i t i o n s of t h o s e roles. In 1 8 4 6 s o m e of her Tribune p i e c e s w e r e c o l l e c t e d in Papers on Literature and Art. In N e w York s h e fell in love with J a m e s N a t h a n , a G e r m a n J e w w h o , a c o s m o p o l i t e baffled by her m i x t u r e of sexual h o n e s t y a n d p r u d e r y , fled h o m e in J u n e 1 8 4 5 , letting t h e g r o w i n g s p a c e s b e t w e e n his letters p e r s u a d e her g r a d u a l l y that h e h a d r e j e c t e d her. F u l l e r s a i l e d for E u r o p e in A u g u s t 1 8 4 6 , i n t e n d i n g to s u p p o r t h e r s e l f a s foreign c o r r e s p o n d e n t for the Tribune. In E n g l a n d o n e of her idols, T h o m a s C a r l y l e ( t h e n in his fifties), d i s a p p o i n t e d h e r by his r e a c t i o n a r y political views a n d his i n s e n s i tivity to t h e worth of o t h e r s , e s p e c i a l l y t h e Italian r e v o l u t i o n a r y J o s e p h M a z z i n i , w h o h a d s o u g h t r e f u g e in E n g l a n d . In P a r i s s h e m e t a n o t h e r idol, G e o r g e S a n d , w h o p r o v e d m o r e s a t i s f a c t o r y t h a n C a r l y l e , a n d a n o t h e r political r e v o l u t i o n a r y , t h e exiled P o l i s h p o e t A d a m M i c k i e w i c z . S a n d ' s e x a m p l e of sexually l i b e r a t e d w o m a n h o o d stirred F u l l e r p r o f o u n d l y , a s did M i c k i e w i c z ' s b l u n t s p e c u l a t i o n that s h e c o u l d n o t d e e p l y r e s p o n d to E u r o p e while r e m a i n i n g a v i r g i n — n o t the sort of c o m m e n t m e n like E m e r s o n a n d G r e e l e y h a d a c c u s t o m e d h e r to. F u l l e r w e n t o n to Italy, t h e n n o t a unified c o u n t r y b u t a c o l l e c t i o n of s t a t e s — s o m e c o n t r o l l e d by t h e p o p e , o t h e r s i n d e p e n d e n t , a n d to the n o r t h , a third g r o u p c o n t r o l l e d by A u s tria. S o o n after her arrival in R o m e s h e b e c a m e the o b j e c t of c o u r t s h i p by a R o m a n of t h e nobility, G i o v a n n i A n g e l o O s s o l i , a l m o s t e l e v e n y e a r s y o u n g e r t h a n s h e . W h e n s h e r e t u r n e d f r o m s u m m e r i n g in n o r t h e r n Italy, R o m e w a s u n d e r g o i n g a n t i p a p a l f e r m e n t , a n d her d i s p a t c h e s to the Tribune became more and more political. M a k i n g u s e of her c o n n e c t i o n s with varying f a c t i o n s , s h e b e g a n a n earn e s t a c c u m u l a t i o n of d o c u m e n t s c o n c e r n i n g t h e f o r t h c o m i n g r e v o l u t i o n — n e w s p a p e r s , p a m p h l e t s , leaflets. A n d s h e b e g a n a love affair with O s s o l i . In D e c e m b e r s h e w a s p r e g n a n t , with n o m a n or w o m a n s h e c o u l d c o n f i d e in, e i t h e r in t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s or E u r o p e . At the start of 1 8 4 8 s h e w r o t e g u a r d e d l y to a friend at h o m e : " W i t h this year I e n t e r u p o n a s p h e r e of m y d e s t i n y s o difficult that at p r e s e n t I s e e n o way o u t e x c e p t t h r o u g h t h e g a t e of d e a t h . " M a r r i a g e s e e m e d o u t of t h e q u e s t i o n b e c a u s e of t h e c e r t a i n o p p o s i t i o n of O s s o l i ' s family. T h r o u g h a d i s m a l rainy s e a s o n , in w h i c h s h e lived o n p e n n i e s a day, F u l l e r c o v e r e d for t h e Tribune s u c h events as the popular agitation against the J e s u i t s . S h e b e c a m e i n t i m a t e with the P r i n c e s s B e l g i o i o s o , a l e a d e r o f the antiA u s t r i a n f a c t i o n w h o d r e w h e r still m o r e d e e p l y into I t a l i a n p o l i t i c s . W h e n cities of n o r t h e r n Italy revolted a g a i n s t the A u s t r i a n s in M a r c h , F u l l e r d e s c r i b e d to her N e w York r e a d e r s t h e j o y o u s r e s p o n s e of t h e R o m a n c i t i z e n s . T h e r e v o l u t i o n a r i e s M i c k i e wicz a n d M a z z i n i e n t e r e d Italy; b o t h kept in t o u c h with F u l l e r o u t of their r e s p e c t for

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h e r p e r s o n a l c o m m i t m e n t to their g o a l s a n d their s e n s e of her v a l u e in s h a p i n g A m e r ican opinion. T h a t s p r i n g , 1 8 4 8 , E m e r s o n w r o t e f r o m E n g l a n d u r g i n g her to r e t u r n h o m e with h i m b e f o r e war b r o k e o u t . Still k e e p i n g her s e c r e t , s h e w i t h d r e w i n s t e a d to t h e Abruzzi region to wait o u t her p r e g n a n c y . O s s o l i h a d b e c o m e a m e m b e r of the civic g u a r d , b u t h e m a n a g e d to b e with her for the birth of A n g e l o o n S e p t e m b e r 5. L e a v i n g the b a b y in Rieti with a wet n u r s e , F u l l e r r e t u r n e d to R o m e l a t e in N o v e m b e r , in t i m e to report the flight of the p o p e a n d , early in 1 8 4 9 , the arrival of t h e Italian n a t i o n a l i s t G i u s e p p e G a r i b a l d i a n d t h e p r o c l a m a t i o n of t h e R o m a n R e p u b l i c . S h e s h a r e d the t r i u m p h of M a z z i n i ' s arrival in R o m e , b u t the r e p u b l i c w a s short-lived. A n t i c i p a t i n g t h e intervention of t h e F r e n c h o n b e h a l f of t h e p o p e , P r i n c e s s B e l g i o i o s o u r g e n t l y wrote F u l l e r on April 3 0 , 1 8 4 9 : "You a r e n a m e d R e g o l a t r i c e of the H o s p i t a l of t h e F a t e B e n e F r a t e l l i " — o n a n i s l a n d in the T i b e r . F u l l e r ran the h o s p i t a l heroically w h e n the F r e n c h laid s i e g e , d e s p i t e her c o n c e r n for O s s o l i , w h o w a s

fighting

with the

R e p u b l i c a n f o r c e s , a n d her u n c e r t a i n t y a b o u t the baby, w h o m s h e h a d hardly s e e n s i n c e h e w a s two m o n t h s old. After R o m e fell to the F r e n c h o n t h e f o u r t h of J u l y s h e m a d e her way to Rieti, only to find that t h e n u r s e , a s s u m i n g t h e b a b y h a d b e e n a b a n d o n e d , w a s a l l o w i n g h i m to s t a r v e . R e t r e a t i n g to F l o r e n c e with O s s o l i a n d the baby, F u l l e r f a c e d d o w n her s h o c k e d a c q u a i n t a n c e s , i n c l u d i n g R o b e r t a n d E l i z a b e t h B a r r e t t B r o w n i n g , a n d b e g a n w o r k o n h e r history of t h e R o m a n R e p u b l i c . W h i l e at F l o r e n c e s h e m a y h a v e m a r r i e d O s s o l i , a s his s i s t e r later c l a i m e d . In M a y 1 8 5 0 , s h e s a i l e d for t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s with O s s o l i a n d t h e baby, full of f o r e b o d i n g s a b o u t the s h i p a n d the way they w o u l d b e r e c e i v e d at h o m e . All t h r e e d i e d in a s h i p w r e c k off Fire I s l a n d , N e w York, o n J u l y 19. T h e b o d y of the b a b y w a s w a s h e d a s h o r e a s well a s a t r u n k that c o n t a i n e d s o m e of F u l l e r ' s p a p e r s b u t n o t t h e history. T h o r e a u s o u g h t in vain for her b o d y . E m e r s o n , C l a r k e , a n d C h a n n i n g e d i t e d F u l l e r ' s Memoirs

( 1 8 5 2 ) in a way that s a n -

itized h e r p e r s o n a l life, d e n i g r a t e d her a c c o m p l i s h m e n t s a s a writer, a n d s l i g h t e d her lifelong a c t i v i s m . In 1 9 0 3 her friend J u l i a W a r d H o w e p u b l i s h e d h e r love letters to J a m e s N a t h a n , t h e r e b y s e a l i n g t h e i m a g e of F u l l e r a s a w o u l d - b e i n t e l l e c t u a l , willful a n d foolish in her p e r s o n a l e n t a n g l e m e n t s . H a w t h o r n e ' s old verdict s e e m e d c o n firmed:

" T h e r e never w a s s u c h a t r a g e d y a s h e r w h o l e story; t h e s a d d e r a n d s t e r n e r ,

b e c a u s e s o m u c h of the r i d i c u l o u s w a s m i x e d u p with it, a n d b e c a u s e s h e c o u l d b e a r a n y t h i n g b e t t e r t h a n to b e r i d i c u l o u s . " S e x i s t r i d i c u l e d i e s h a r d , a n d in F u l l e r ' s c a s e its d e a t h w a s r e t a r d e d by the l o n g i n a c c e s s i b i l i t y of m o s t of her writings. T h e F u l l e r b i b l i o g r a p h y i n c l u d e d in this v o l u m e s h o w s that her writings now, in the 1 9 9 0 s , a r e fast c o m i n g b a c k into p r i n t — a n excellent edition of h e r letters, a c o l l e c t i o n of her d i s p a t c h e s to t h e Tribune a n a n n o t a t e d e d i t i o n of her Woman

in the Nineteenth

Century,

from E u r o p e ,

and a generous anthol-

ogy of her writings. T h e s u b s t a n t i a l " p o p u l a r " b i o g r a p h y of 1 9 9 0 w a s followed in 1 9 9 2 by the m e t i c u l o u s l y r e s e a r c h e d first v o l u m e of a p r o j e c t e d t w o - v o l u m e s c h o l a r l y biography. T h e e v i d e n c e is at h a n d that m a y at last e s t a b l i s h F u l l e r ' s c a n d i d a c y for s e r i o u s consideration as what Hawthorne said mockingly, "the greatest, wisest, best w o m a n of the a g e . "

THE

GREAT LAWSUIT

The Great Lawsuit MAN versus MEN. WOMAN versus [Four

Kinds of

WOMEN

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763

]

Equality]

W h e r e the t h o u g h t of equality has b e c o m e pervasive, it s h o w s itself in four kinds. T h e h o u s e h o l d p a r t n e r s h i p . In our country the w o m a n looks for a " s m a r t but k i n d " h u s b a n d , the m a n for a " c a p a b l e , sweet t e m p e r e d " wife. T h e m a n furnishes the h o u s e , the w o m a n regulates it. T h e i r relation is o n e of m u t u a l e s t e e m , m u t u a l d e p e n d e n c e . T h e i r talk is of b u s i n e s s , their affection s h o w s itself by practical k i n d n e s s . T h e y know that life g o e s m o r e smoothly a n d cheerfully to e a c h for the other's aid; they a r e grateful a n d c o n t e n t . T h e wife p r a i s e s her h u s b a n d as a " g o o d provider," the h u s b a n d in return c o m p l i m e n t s her as a "capital h o u s e k e e p e r . " T h i s relation is g o o d a s far a s it g o e s . Next c o m e s a closer tie which takes the two f o r m s , either of intellectual c o m p a n i o n s h i p , or m u t u a l idolatry. T h e last, we s u p p o s e , is to n o o n e a p l e a s ing s u b j e c t of c o n t e m p l a t i o n . T h e parties w e a k e n a n d narrow o n e a n o t h e r ; they lock the g a t e a g a i n s t all the glories of the universe that they may live in a cell together. T o t h e m s e l v e s they s e e m the only w i s e , to all o t h e r s s t e e p e d in infatuation, the g o d s smile a s they look forward to the crisis of c u r e , to m e n the w o m a n s e e m s an unlovely syren, to w o m e n the m a n an e f f e m i n a t e boy. T h e other form, of intellectual c o m p a n i o n s h i p , h a s b e c o m e m o r e a n d m o r e frequent. M e n e n g a g e d in public life, literary m e n , a n d artists have often found in their wives c o m p a n i o n s a n d confidants in t h o u g h t no less than in feeling. A n d , a s in the c o u r s e of things the intellectual d e v e l o p m e n t of w o m a n has s p r e a d wider a n d risen higher, they have, not unfrequently, s h a r e d the s a m e e m p l o y m e n t . As in the c a s e of Roland a n d his wife, w h o were friends in the h o u s e h o l d a n d the nation's c o u n c i l s , read together, regulated h o m e affairs, or p r e p a r e d public d o c u m e n t s together indifferently. It is very p l e a s a n t , in letters b e g u n by R o l a n d a n d finished by his wife, to s e e the h a r m o n y of m i n d a n d the difference of n a t u r e , o n e t h o u g h t , but various ways of treating it. T h i s is o n e of the b e s t i n s t a n c e s of a m a r r i a g e of friendship. It w a s only

I. R e p r i n t e d h e r e f r o m t h e B o s t o n Dial (July 1 8 4 3 ) . In 1 8 4 4 F u l l e r p u b l i s h e d t h e revised, e x p a n d e d version of this w o r k u n d e r the title Woman in the Nineteenth Century, but the additions were hardly m o r e than padding. T h i s p a s s a g e of her preliminary 1 8 4 4 footnote m a k e s clear her i n t e n t i o n s for the original title of t h e e s s a y : " O b j e c tions h a v i n g b e e n m a d e to the f o r m e r title, as not sufficiently e a s y to b e u n d e r s t o o d , the p r e s e n t h a s been substituted as expressive of the main purpose o f t h e e a s s a y ; t h o u g h , b y m y s e l f , t h e o t h e r is p r e f e r r e d , partly for t h e r e a s o n o t h e r s d o not like i t , — t h a t i s , t h a t it r e q u i r e s s o m e t h o u g h t t o s e e w h a t it m e a n s , a n d m i g h t t h u s p r e p a r e t h e r e a d e r t o m e e t m e o n m y o w n g r o u n d . B e s i d e s , it o f f e r s a l a r g e r s c o p e , a n d i s , in t h a t w a y , m o r e j u s t t o m y d e s i r e . I m e a n t by t h a t t i t l e t o i n t i m a t e t h e f a c t t h a t , w h i l e it is t h e d e s t i n y o f M a n , in t h e c o u r s e o f t h e a g e s , t o a s c e r t a i n a n d fulfil t h e l a w o f h i s

b e i n g , s o t h a t h i s life s h a l l b e s e e n , a s a w h o l e , t o be that of a n a n g e l or m e s s e n g e r , t h e a c t i o n of p r e j u d i c e s a n d p a s s i o n s w h i c h a t t e n d , in t h e d a y , t h e g r o w t h o f t h e i n d i v i d u a l , is c o n t i n u a l l y o b s t r u c t i n g t h e h o l y w o r k t h a t is t o m a k e e a r t h a part of heaven. By M e n I m e a n both m a n a n d w o m a n ; these are the two halves of o n e thought. I lay n o e s p e c i a l s t r e s s o n t h e w e l f a r e o f e i t h e r . I believe that the development of the o n e cannot be effected without that of the other. M y highest wish is t h a t t h i s t r u t h s h o u l d b e d i s t i n c t l y a n d r a t i o n a l l y a p p r e h e n d e d , a n d t h e c o n d i t i o n s o f life a n d f r e e d o m recognized a s the s a m e for the d a u g h t e r s a n d the sons of time; twin exponents of a divine t h o u g h t . " Fuller's relentlessly allusive style w a s t y p i c a l o f h e r t i m e . A f e w o f h e r m o r e e l u s i v e refe r e n c e s h a v e r e m a i n e d u n g l o s s e d in t h i s a n t h o l ogy-

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friendship, w h o s e b a s i s w a s e s t e e m ; probably neither party k n e w love, except by n a m e . R o l a n d w a s a g o o d m a n , worthy to e s t e e m a n d be e s t e e m e d , his wife a s deserving of a d m i r a t i o n as able to do without it. M a d a m e R o l a n d is the fairest s p e c i m e n we have yet of her c l a s s , a s clear to d i s c e r n her a i m , a s valiant to p u r s u e it, a s S p e n s e r ' s B r i t o m a r t , austerely set apart from all that did not b e l o n g to her, w h e t h e r a s w o m a n or a s m i n d . S h e is a n antetype of a c l a s s to which the c o m i n g time will afford a field, the S p a r t a n m a t r o n , b r o u g h t by the c u l t u r e of a b o o k - f u r n i s h i n g a g e to intellectual c o n s c i o u s n e s s a n d expansion. Self-sufficing s t r e n g t h a n d c l e a r - s i g h t e d n e s s were in her c o m b i n e d with a power of d e e p a n d c a l m affection. T h e p a g e of her life is o n e of unsullied dignity. H e r a p p e a l to posterity is o n e a g a i n s t the injustice of t h o s e w h o c o m m i t t e d s u c h c r i m e s in the n a m e of liberty. S h e m a k e s it in b e h a l f of herself a n d her h u s b a n d . I would p u t b e s i d e it o n the shelf a little v o l u m e , c o n t a i n i n g a similar a p p e a l from the verdict of c o n t e m p o r a r i e s to that of m a n k i n d , that of G o d w i n in b e h a l f of his wife, the c e l e b r a t e d , the by m o s t m e n d e t e s t e d Mary W o l s t o n e c r a f t . 2 In his view it w a s a n a p p e a l from the i n j u s t i c e of t h o s e w h o did s u c h w r o n g in the n a m e of virtue. W e r e this little b o o k interesting for no other c a u s e , it w o u l d b e s o for the g e n e r o u s affection evinced u n d e r the p e c u l i a r c i r c u m s t a n c e s . T h i s m a n h a d c o u r a g e to love a n d h o n o r this w o m a n in the f a c e of the world's verdict, a n d of all that w a s repulsive in her own p a s t history. H e believed he s a w of what soul s h e w a s , a n d that the t h o u g h t s s h e h a d struggled to act o u t were n o b l e . H e loved her a n d h e d e f e n d e d her for the m e a n i n g a n d intensity of her inner life. It w a s a g o o d fact. M a r y W o l s t o n e c r a f t , like M a d a m e D u d e v a n t 3 ( c o m m o n l y known a s G e o r g e S a n d ) in our day, w a s a w o m a n w h o s e e x i s t e n c e better proved the n e e d of s o m e new interpretation of w o m a n ' s rights, than anything s h e wrote. S u c h w o m e n a s t h e s e , rich in g e n i u s , of m o s t tender s y m p a t h i e s , a n d c a p a b l e of high virtue a n d a c h a s t e n e d h a r m o n y , o u g h t not to find t h e m s e l v e s by birth in a p l a c e s o narrow, that in b r e a k i n g b o n d s they b e c o m e o u t l a w s . W e r e there a s m u c h r o o m in the world for s u c h , a s in S p e n s e r ' s p o e m for Britom a r t , they would not run their h e a d s s o wildly a g a i n s t its laws. T h e y find their way at last to p u r e r air, b u t the world will not take off the b r a n d it h a s set u p o n t h e m . T h e c h a m p i o n of the rights of w o m a n f o u n d in G o d w i n o n e w h o p l e a d her own c a u s e like a brother. G e o r g e S a n d s m o k e s , w e a r s m a l e attire, w i s h e s to be a d d r e s s e d a s M o n f r e r e ; 4 p e r h a p s , if s h e f o u n d t h o s e w h o were as b r o t h e r s i n d e e d , s h e would not c a r e w h e t h e r s h e were b r o t h e r or sister. W e rejoice to s e e that s h e , w h o e x p r e s s e s s u c h a painful c o n t e m p t for m e n in m o s t of her works, a s s h o w s s h e m u s t have known great w r o n g from t h e m , in L a R o c h e M a u p r a t 5 d e p i c t i n g o n e r a i s e d , by the workings of love, from 2 . Memoirs of the Author of "A Vindication of the Rights of Woman" ( 1 7 9 8 ) by W i l l i a m G o d w i n ( 1 7 5 6 - 1 8 3 6 ) . Mary Wollstonecraft ( 1 7 5 9 - 1 7 9 7 ) m a r r i e d G o d w i n s h o r t l y b e f o r e h e r d e a t h in c h i l d birth.

her s u c c e s s i o n of lovers a n d m a n n i s h attire b u t a d m i r e d by t h o s e like F u l l e r w h o s a w h e r a s c r u s a d e r for t h e liberation of w o m e n . 4. Old friend a n d c o l l e a g u e ( F r e n c h ) ; m y brother (literal t r a n s . ) .

3. A m a n d i n e A u r o r e L u c i l e D u d e v a n t (18041 8 7 6 ) , F r e n c h R o m a n t i c novelist, s c a n d a l o u s for

5.

D r a m a by G e o r g e S a n d .

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the d e p t h s of s a v a g e s e n s u a l i s m to a moral a n d intellectual life. It w a s love for a p u r e o b j e c t , for a s t e a d f a s t w o m a n , o n e of t h o s e w h o , the Italian said, c o u l d m a k e the stair to h e a v e n . W o m e n like S a n d will s p e a k now, a n d c a n n o t b e s i l e n c e d ; their c h a r a c t e r s a n d their e l o q u e n c e alike foretell an era w h e n s u c h a s they shall e a s i e r learn to lead true lives. B u t t h o u g h s u c h forebode, not s u c h shall be the p a r e n t s of it. T h o s e w h o would reform the world m u s t s h o w that they d o not s p e a k in the heat of wild i m p u l s e ; their lives m u s t be u n s t a i n e d by p a s s i o n a t e error; they m u s t be severe lawgivers to t h e m s e l v e s . A s to their t r a n s g r e s s i o n s a n d o p i n i o n s , it m a y be o b s e r v e d , that the resolve of E l o i s a to be only the m i s t r e s s of A b e l a r d , w a s that of o n e w h o s a w the c o n t r a c t of m a r r i a g e a seal of degr a d a t i o n . 6 W h e r e v e r a b u s e s of this sort are s e e n , the timid will suffer, the bold protest. B u t society is in the right to o u t l a w t h e m till s h e has revised her law, a n d she m u s t be taught to do s o , by o n e w h o s p e a k s with authority, not in a n g e r a n d h a s t e . If G o d w i n ' s c h o i c e of the c a l u m n i a t e d a u t h o r e s s of the " R i g h t s of W o m a n , " for his h o n o r e d wife, be a sign of a n e w era, no less s o is a n article of great l e a r n i n g a n d e l o q u e n c e , p u b l i s h e d several years s i n c e in a n E n g l i s h review, where the writer, in d o i n g full j u s t i c e to E l o i s a , s h o w s his bitter regret that s h e lives not now to love h i m , w h o might have known better h o w to prize her love t h a n did the egotistical Abelard. T h e s e m a r r i a g e s , t h e s e c h a r a c t e r s , with all their i m p e r f e c t i o n s , e x p r e s s an onward tendency. T h e y s p e a k of aspiration of s o u l , of energy of m i n d , s e e k i n g c l e a r n e s s a n d f r e e d o m . O f a like p r o m i s e are the tracts n o w p u b l i s h i n g by G o o d w y n B a r m b y 7 (the E u r o p e a n P a r i a h a s he calls himself) a n d his wife C a t h a r i n e . W h a t e v e r we m a y think of their m e a s u r e s , we s e e t h e m in wedlock, the two m i n d s a r e wed by the only c o n t r a c t that c a n p e r m a n e n t l y avail, of a c o m m o n faith, a n d a c o m m o n p u r p o s e . W e might m e n t i o n i n s t a n c e s , nearer h o m e , of m i n d s , p a r t n e r s in work a n d in life, s h a r i n g together, on e q u a l t e r m s , public a n d private interests, a n d which have not on any side that a s p e c t of o f f e n c e which c h a r a c t e r i z e s the attitude of the last n a m e d ; p e r s o n s who steer straight o n w a r d , a n d in our freer life have not b e e n obliged to run their h e a d s a g a i n s t any wall. B u t the principles which g u i d e t h e m might, u n d e r petrified or o p p r e s s i v e institutions, have m a d e t h e m warlike, p a r a d o x i c a l , or, in s o m e s e n s e , P a r i a h s . T h e p h e n o m e n o n is different, the last the s a m e , in all t h e s e c a s e s . M e n a n d w o m e n have b e e n obliged to build their h o u s e from the very f o u n d a t i o n . If they f o u n d s t o n e ready in the quarry, they took it p e a c e a b l y , otherwise they a l a r m e d the country by pulling down old towers to get m a t e r i a l s . T h e s e are all i n s t a n c e s of m a r r i a g e a s intellectual c o m p a n i o n s h i p . T h e parties m e e t m i n d to m i n d , a n d a m u t u a l trust is excited which c a n b u c k l e r t h e m a g a i n s t a million. T h e y work together for a c o m m o n p u r p o s e , a n d , in all these i n s t a n c e s , with the s a m e i m p l e m e n t , the p e n . A p l e a s i n g expression in this kind is afforded by the union in the n a m e s of the H o w i t t s . 8 William a n d M a r y Howitt we h e a r d n a m e d together for years, s u p p o s i n g t h e m to be brother a n d sister; the equality of l a b o r s a n d 6. In h e r f a m o u s letters E l o i s a s t e a d f a s t l y r e f u s e d to m a r r y A b e l a r d , b e c a u s e m a r r i a g e w o u l d force h i m to give u p his t e a c h i n g o f t h e o l o g y within the church.

7.

Minor British publisher.

8. W i l l i a m H o w i t t ( 1 7 9 2 - 1 8 7 9 ) a n d M a r y H o w i t t ( 1 7 9 9 - 1 8 8 8 ) , prolific British a u t h o r s a n d translators.

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r e p u t a t i o n , even s o , w a s a u s p i c i o u s , m o r e s o , now we find t h e m m a n a n d wife. In his late work on G e r m a n y , Howitt m e n t i o n s his wife with pride, a s o n e a m o n g the constellation of d i s t i n g u i s h e d E n g l i s h w o m e n , a n d in a g r a c e ful, s i m p l e m a n n e r . In n a m i n g t h e s e i n s t a n c e s we do not m e a n to imply that c o m m u n i t y of e m p l o y m e n t is a n e s s e n t i a l to union of this sort, m o r e than to the union of friendship. H a r m o n y exists n o less in difference than in l i k e n e s s , if only the s a m e key-note govern both p a r t s . W o m a n the p o e m , m a n the p o e t ; w o m a n the heart, m a n the h e a d ; s u c h divisions are only i m p o r t a n t w h e n they are never to b e t r a n s c e n d e d . If n a t u r e is never b o u n d d o w n , nor the voice of inspiration stifled, that is e n o u g h . W e are p l e a s e d that w o m e n s h o u l d write a n d s p e a k , if they feel the n e e d of it, from having s o m e t h i n g to tell; but silence for a h u n d r e d years would be a s well, if that s i l e n c e be from divine c o m m a n d , a n d not from m a n ' s tradition. While G o e t z von B e r l i c h i n g e n 9 rides to battle, his wife is b u s y in the kitchen; but difference of o c c u p a t i o n d o e s not prevent that c o m m u n i t y of life, that perfect e s t e e m , with which he says, " W h o m G o d loves, to him gives h e s u c h a w i f e ! " M a n z o n i t h u s d e d i c a t e s his A d e l c h i . 1 " T o his beloved a n d venerated wife, E n r i c h e t t a L u i g i a B l o n d e l , w h o , with c o n j u g a l affections a n d m a t e r n a l w i s d o m , has preserved a virgin m i n d , the a u t h o r d e d i c a t e s this A d e l c h i , grieving that he c o u l d not, by a m o r e splendid a n d m o r e d u r a b l e m o n u m e n t , h o n o r the d e a r n a m e a n d the m e m o r y of so m a n y v i r t u e s . " T h e relation c o u l d not be fairer, nor m o r e e q u a l , if s h e too h a d written p o e m s . Yet the position of the parties might have b e e n the reverse a s well; the w o m a n might have s u n g the d e e d s , given voice to the life of the m a n , a n d b e a u t y would have b e e n the result, a s we s e e in p i c t u r e s of A r c a d i a 2 the n y m p h singing to the s h e p h e r d s , or the s h e p h e r d with his p i p e allures the n y m p h s , either m a k e s a good p i c t u r e . T h e s o u n d i n g lyre r e q u i r e s not m u s c u l a r strength, b u t energy of soul to a n i m a t e the h a n d which c a n control it. N a t u r e s e e m s to delight in varying her a r r a n g e m e n t s , a s if to s h o w that s h e will be fettered by no rule, a n d we m u s t a d m i t the s a m e varieties that s h e admits. I have not s p o k e n of the higher g r a d e of m a r r i a g e u n i o n , the religious, which may b e e x p r e s s e d as p i l g r i m a g e towards a c o m m o n s h r i n e . T h i s i n c l u d e s the o t h e r s ; h o m e s y m p a t h i e s , a n d h o u s e h o l d w i s d o m , for t h e s e pilgrims m u s t know how to a s s i s t o n e a n o t h e r to carry their b u r d e n s a l o n g the dusty way; intellectual c o m m u n i o n , for how s a d it would be on s u c h a journey to have a c o m p a n i o n to w h o m you could not c o m m u n i c a t e t h o u g h t s a n d a s p i r a t i o n s , a s they s p r a n g to life, w h o would have n o feeling for the m o r e a n d m o r e glorious p r o s p e c t s that o p e n a s we a d v a n c e , w h o w o u l d never s e e the flowers that may be g a t h e r e d by the m o s t i n d u s t r i o u s traveler. It m u s t i n c l u d e all t h e s e . S u c h a fellow pilgrim C o u n t Zinzendorf* s e e m s to have found in his c o u n t e s s of w h o m h e t h u s writes: 9. G e r m a n knight ( 1 4 8 1 - 1 5 6 2 ) , a sort of Rohin H o o d , f a m i l i a r t o F u l l e r f r o m G o e t h e ' s p l a y Giietz von Berlichingen. 1. A t r a g e d y ( 1 8 2 2 ) b y A l e s s a n d r o Manzoni ( 1 7 8 5 - 1 8 7 3 ) . Italian writer.

2 . P a s t o r a l d i s t r i c t o f t h e P e l o p o n n e s u s in G r e e c e , symbolic of rustic simplicity a n d c o n t e n t m e n t . 3. N i k o l a s L u d w i g , C o u n t v o n Z i n z e n d o r f ( 1 7 0 0 1 7 6 0 ) , G e r m a n leader of the M o r a v i a n C h u r c h , or the B o h e m i a n Brethren, a Catholic heretical group

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"Twenty-five years' experience has s h o w n m e that j u s t the h e l p - m a t e w h o m I have is the only o n e that c o u l d suit my v o c a t i o n , W h o else c o u l d have so carried through my family affairs? W h o lived s o spotlessly before the world? W h o s o wisely aided m e in my rejection of a dry morality? W h o s o clearly set a s i d e the P h a r i s a i s m 4 w h i c h , a s years p a s s e d , threate n e d to c r e e p in a m o n g u s ? W h o so deeply d i s c e r n e d a s to the spirits of delusion which s o u g h t to bewilder u s ? W h o would have g o v e r n e d my whole e c o n o m y so wisely, richly, a n d hospitably w h e n c i r c u m s t a n c e s c o m m a n d e d ? W h o have taken indifferently the part of servant or mistress, without on the o n e side affecting a n e s p e c i a l spirituality, on the other b e i n g sullied by any worldly pride? W h o , in a c o m m u n i t y w h e r e all ranks are e a g e r to be o n a level, w o u l d , from wise a n d real c a u s e s , have known how to m a i n t a i n inward a n d o u t w a r d distinctions? W h o , without a m u r m u r , have seen her h u s b a n d e n c o u n t e r s u c h d a n g e r s by land a n d s e a ? W h o u n d e r t a k e n with him a n d s u s t a i n e d s u c h a s t o n i s h i n g p i l g r i m a g e s ? W h o a m i d s u c h difficulties always held up her h e a d , a n d s u p p o r t e d m e ? W h o f o u n d so m a n y h u n d r e d t h o u s a n d s a n d a c q u i t t e d t h e m on her own credit? A n d , finally, who, of all h u m a n b e i n g s , would so well u n d e r s t a n d a n d interpret to others my inner a n d o u t e r b e i n g a s this o n e , of s u c h n o b l e n e s s in her way of thinking, s u c h great intellectual capacity, a n d free from the theological perplexities that e n v e l o p e d m e ? " An observer'* a d d s this testimony. " W e m a y in m a n y m a r r i a g e s regard it a s the b e s t a r r a n g e m e n t , if the m a n h a s s o m u c h a d v a n t a g e over his wife that s h e c a n , without m u c h thought of her o w n , b e , by him, led a n d directed, a s by a father. B u t it w a s not s o with the C o u n t a n d his c o n s o r t . S h e w a s not m a d e to be a copy; she w a s a n original; a n d , while s h e loved a n d h o n o r e d h i m , s h e thought for herself on all s u b j e c t s with so m u c h intelligence, that he c o u l d a n d did look on her a s a sister a n d friend a l s o . " S u c h a w o m a n is the sister a n d friend of all b e i n g s , a s the worthy m a n is their brother a n d helper.

[The Great

Radical

Dualism]

F o r w o m a n , if by a s y m p a t h y a s to o u t w a r d c o n d i t i o n , s h e is led to aid the e n f r a n c h i s e m e n t of the slave, m u s t n o less s o , by inward t e n d e n c y , to favor m e a s u r e s which p r o m i s e to bring the world m o r e thoroughly a n d deeply into h a r m o n y with her n a t u r e . W h e n the l a m b takes p l a c e of the lion as the e m b l e m of n a t i o n s , both w o m e n a n d m e n will b e a s children of o n e spirit, p e r p e t u a l learners of the word a n d d o e r s thereof, not h e a r e r s only. A writer in a late n u m b e r of the N e w York Pathfinder, in two articles h e a d e d " F e m a l i t y , " h a s uttered a still m o r e p r e g n a n t word than any we have n a m e d . H e views w o m a n truly from the s o u l , a n d not from society, a n d the depth a n d leading of his t h o u g h t s is proportionably r e m a r k a b l e . H e views f o u n d e d i n B o h e m i a in 1 4 5 7 , i n f l u e n t i a l b o t h in E u r o p e a n d in t h e M o r a v i a n s e t t l e m e n t s in t h e A m e r i c a n colonies, which he visited. 4. Self-righteous hypocrisy, from the J e w i s h sect

o u t w a r d , b u t a r e w i t h i n full o f d e a d m e n ' s b o n e s , a n d o f all u n c l e a n n e s s . " 5. " S p a n g e n b e r g " [Fuller's n o t e ] . A u g u s t G o t l i e b S p a n g e n b e r g ( 1 7 0 4 — 1 7 9 2 ) , s u c c e s s o r to C o u n t

w h o m J e s u s c o n d e m n e d as whitened sepulchres (Matthew 2 3 . 2 7 ) , "which indeed appear beautiful

von Zinzendorf.

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the f e m i n i n e n a t u r e as a h a r m o n i z e r of the v e h e m e n t e l e m e n t s , a n d this h a s often b e e n hinted e l s e w h e r e ; but w h a t he e x p r e s s e s m o s t forcibly is the lyrical, the inspiring a n d inspired a p p r e h e n s i v e n e s s of her b e i n g . H a d I r o o m to dwell u p o n this topic, I c o u l d not say anything so p r e c i s e , so near the heart of the matter, as m a y b e f o u n d in that article; b u t , a s it is, I c a n only i n d i c a t e , not d e c l a r e , my view. T h e r e are two a s p e c t s of w o m a n ' s n a t u r e , e x p r e s s e d by the a n c i e n t s a s M u s e a n d M i n e r v a . 6 It is the former to which the writer in the Pathfinder looks. It is the latter which W o r d s w o r t h h a s in m i n d , w h e n he says, " W i t h a placid brow, W h i c h w o m a n ne'er s h o u l d forfeit, k e e p thy v o w . " 7 T h e e s p e c i a l g e n i u s of w o m a n I believe to be e l e c t r i c a l 8 in m o v e m e n t , intuitive in f u n c t i o n , spiritual in t e n d e n c y . S h e is great not s o easily in c l a s sification, or re-creation, a s in a n instinctive seizure of c a u s e s , a n d a s i m p l e b r e a t h i n g o u t of what s h e receives that h a s the s i n g l e n e s s of life, rather than the s e l e c t i n g or energizing of art. M o r e native to her is it to b e the living m o d e l of the artist, t h a n to set apart from herself any o n e f o r m in objective reality; m o r e native to inspire a n d receive the p o e m than to c r e a t e it. In s o far a s s o u l is in her c o m p l e t e l y d e v e l o p e d , all soul is the s a m e ; b u t a s far a s it is modified in her a s w o m a n , it flows, it b r e a t h e s , it s i n g s , rather than d e p o s i t s soil, or finishes work, a n d that which is especially f e m i n i n e flushes in b l o s s o m the f a c e of e a r t h , a n d p e r v a d e s like air a n d water all this s e e m i n g solid g l o b e , daily r e n e w i n g a n d purifying its life. S u c h may be the especially f e m i n i n e e l e m e n t , s p o k e n of a s Femality. B u t it is n o m o r e the order of n a t u r e that it s h o u l d b e i n c a r n a t e d p u r e in any form, than that the m a s c u l i n e energy s h o u l d exist u n m i n g l e d with it in any f o r m . M a l e a n d f e m a l e r e p r e s e n t the two s i d e s of the great radical d u a l i s m . B u t , in fact, they are perpetually p a s s i n g into o n e a n o t h e r . F l u i d h a r d e n s to solid, solid r u s h e s to fluid. T h e r e is no wholly m a s c u l i n e m a n , no purely feminine woman. History j e e r s at the a t t e m p t s of physiologists to bind great original laws by the f o r m s which flow from t h e m . T h e y m a k e a rule; they say f r o m observation w h a t c a n a n d c a n n o t b e . In vain! N a t u r e provides e x c e p t i o n s to every rule. S h e s e n d s w o m e n to battle, a n d s e t s H e r c u l e s s p i n n i n g ; 9 s h e e n a b l e s w o m e n to b e a r i m m e n s e b u r d e n s , cold, a n d frost; s h e e n a b l e s the m a n , w h o feels m a t e r n a l love, to n o u r i s h his infant like a m o t h e r . O f late s h e plays still gayer p r a n k s . N o t only she deprives o r g a n i z a t i o n s , b u t o r g a n s , of a n e c e s s a r y e n d . S h e e n a b l e s p e o p l e to read with the top of the h e a d , a n d s e e with the pit of the s t o m a c h . Presently s h e will m a k e a f e m a l e N e w t o n , a n d a m a l e S y r e n . ' M a n p a r t a k e s of the f e m i n i n e in the Apollo, w o m a n of the M a s c u l i n e a s Minerva. L e t u s be wise a n d not i m p e d e the s o u l . L e t her work a s s h e will. L e t u s have o n e creative energy, o n e i n c e s s a n t revelation. L e t it take w h a t form it 6. T h e p o e t i c a l o r a r t i s t i c a s p e c t , e m b o d i e d in t h e M u s e s , g o d d e s s e s of s o n g a n d poetry a n d the arts a n d sciences, a n d the intellectually serene aspect, e m b o d i e d in M i n e r v a , g o d d e s s o f w i s d o m . 7 . S l i g h t l y m i s q u o t e d f r o m Liberty: Sequel to the Preceding (1835). 8 . D a r t i n g in s p a r k l i k e f a s h i o n ; t h e r o o t i n N e w L a t i n , electricus, m e a n s "like a m b e r , " from the fact

that a m b e r gives off sparks w h e n rubbed. 9. I.e., s e t s t h e s t r o n g e s t m e n to d o m e s t i c t a s k s . 1. In t h i s i n v e r s i o n o f s e x u a l s t e r e o t y p e s , a m a l e w o u l d b e a s alluring a s the S y r e n s (or S i r e n s ) , G r e e k sea n y m p h s w h o lured mariners into shipwreck on the rocks s u r r o u n d i n g their island. Isaac Newton (1642—1727), English mathematician.

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will, a n d let u s not bind it by the p a s t to m a n or w o m a n , b l a c k or w h i t e . J o v e s p r a n g from R h e a , Pallas from J o v e . 2 S o let it b e . If it h a s b e e n the t e n d e n c y of the p a s t r e m a r k s to call w o m a n rather to the Minerva s i d e , — i f I, unlike the m o r e g e n e r o u s writer, have s p o k e n from society no less than the s o u l , — l e t it be p a r d o n e d . It is love that h a s c a u s e d this, love for m a n y i n c a r c e r a t e d s o u l s , that might be freed c o u l d the idea of religious s e l f - d e p e n d e n c e be e s t a b l i s h e d in t h e m , c o u l d the w e a k e n i n g habit of d e p e n d e n c e on others b e broken u p . Every relation, every g r a d a t i o n of n a t u r e , is i n c a l c u l a b l y p r e c i o u s , but only to the soul which is p o i s e d u p o n itself, a n d to w h o m n o l o s s , n o c h a n g e , c a n bring dull d i s c o r d , for it is in h a r m o n y with the central soul. If any individual live too m u c h in relations, so that he b e c o m e s a stranger to the r e s o u r c e s of his own n a t u r e , he falls after a while into a d i s t r a c t i o n , or imbecility, from which he c a n only b e c u r e d by a time of isolation, which gives the renovating f o u n t a i n s time to rise u p . W i t h a society it is the s a m e . M a n y m i n d s , deprived of the traditionary or instinctive m e a n s of p a s s i n g a cheerful e x i s t e n c e , m u s t find help in s e l f - i m p u l s e or p e r i s h . It is therefore that while any elevation, in the view of u n i o n , is to b e hailed with joy, we shall not decline celibacy as the great fact of the t i m e . It is o n e from which no vow, no a r r a n g e m e n t , c a n at p r e s e n t save a thinking m i n d . F o r n o w the rowers are p a u s i n g on their o a r s , they wait a c h a n g e before they c a n pull together. All t e n d s to illustrate the thought of a wise c o n t e m p o r a r y . U n i o n is only p o s s i b l e to t h o s e who are units. T o b e fit for relations in t i m e , s o u l s , w h e t h e r of m a n or w o m a n , m u s t b e a b l e to do without t h e m in the spirit. It is therefore that I would have w o m a n lay a s i d e all t h o u g h t , s u c h a s s h e habitually c h e r i s h e s , of b e i n g taught a n d led by m e n . I would have her, like the Indian girl, d e d i c a t e herself to the S u n , the S u n of T r u t h , a n d go no where if his b e a m s did not m a k e clear the p a t h . I would have her free from c o m p r o m i s e , from c o m p l a i s a n c e , from h e l p l e s s n e s s , b e c a u s e I would have her good e n o u g h a n d s t r o n g e n o u g h to love o n e a n d all b e i n g s , from the fulness, not the poverty of being. M e n , a s at p r e s e n t i n s t r u c t e d , will not help this work, b e c a u s e they a l s o are u n d e r the slavery of habit. I have s e e n with delight their poetic i m p u l s e s . A sister is the fairest ideal, a n d how nobly W o r d s w o r t h , a n d even Ryron, have written of a sister. 3 T h e r e is no sweeter sight than to s e e a father with his little d a u g h t e r . Very vulgar m e n b e c o m e refined to the eye w h e n leading a little girl by the h a n d . At that m o m e n t the right relation b e t w e e n the sexes s e e m s e s t a b l i s h e d , a n d you feel as if the m a n would aid in the n o b l e s t p u r p o s e , if you a s k him in behalf of his little d a u g h t e r . O n c e two fine figures s t o o d before m e , t h u s . T h e father of very intellectual a s p e c t , his falcon eye s o f t e n e d by affection as he looked d o w n o n his fair child, s h e the i m a g e of himself, only m o r e graceful a n d brilliant in e x p r e s s i o n . I w a s r e m i n d e d of S o u t h e y ' s K e h a m a , 4 w h e n lo, the d r e a m w a s rudely broken. T h e y were talking of e d u c a t i o n , a n d he said. "I shall not have M a r i a b r o u g h t too forward. If s h e knows too m u c h , s h e will never find a h u s b a n d ; superior w o m e n hardly ever c a n . " 2 . In G r e e k m y t h o l o g y . R h e a , t h e s i s t e r a n d w i f e of C r o n u s , bore Jove. Pallas Athena s p r a n g from J o v e ' s s k u l l , fully g r o w n a n d fully a r m e d . 3 . F u l l e r is t h i n k i n g o f t h e v a r i o u s t r i b u t e s b y W i l l i a m W o r d s w o r t h to his sister D o r o t h y a n d L o r d B y r o n to his half-sister A u g u s t a L e i g h . O n l y later in t h e c e n t u r y w a s e v i d e n c e p r e s e n t e d o f B y r o n ' s

incest with A u g u s t a , a n d not until the late 2 0 t h century did scholars begin to d e b a t e the possibility that William a n d Dorothy Wordsworth might have committed incest. Fuller's examples are unfortunate, not deliberately ironic. 4 . R o b e r t S o u t h e y ' s The Curse of Kehama (1810), a rhymed Asian tale.

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" S u r e l y , " s a i d his wife, with a b l u s h , "you wish M a r i a to be as g o o d a n d wise a s s h e c a n , w h e t h e r it will help her to m a r r i a g e or n o t . " " N o , " he p e r s i s t e d , "I want her to have a s p h e r e a n d a h o m e , a n d s o m e o n e to protect her w h e n I a m g o n e . " It w a s a trifling incident, but m a d e a d e e p i m p r e s s i o n . I felt that the holiest relations fail to instruct the u n p r e p a r e d a n d perverted m i n d . If this m a n , i n d e e d , would have looked at it on the other s i d e , h e w a s the last that w o u l d have b e e n willing to have b e e n taken himself for the h o m e a n d p r o t e c t i o n he c o u l d give, but would have b e e n m u c h m o r e likely to repeat the tale of AJcibiades with his p h i a l s . B u t m e n do not look at both s i d e s , a n d w o m e n m u s t leave off a s k i n g t h e m a n d b e i n g influenced by t h e m , but retire within t h e m s e l v e s , a n d explore the g r o u n d w o r k of b e i n g till they find their p e c u l i a r s e c r e t . T h e n w h e n they c o m e forth a g a i n , renovated a n d baptized, they will know how to turn all d r o s s to gold, a n d will be rich a n d free t h o u g h they live in a hut, tranquil, if in a crowd. T h e n their sweet singing shall not b e from p a s s i o n a t e i m p u l s e , but the lyrical overflow of a divine r a p t u r e , a n d a n e w m u s i c shall b e e l u c i d a t e d from this m a n y - c h o r d e d world. G r a n t her then for a while the a r m o r a n d the j a v e l i n . s L e t her p u t from her the p r e s s of other m i n d s a n d m e d i t a t e in virgin l o n e l i n e s s . T h e s a m e idea shall r e a p p e a r in d u e time a s M u s e , or C e r e s , 6 the all-kindly, patient Earth-Spirit. I tire every o n e with my G o e t h e a n illustrations. B u t it c a n n o t be h e l p e d . G o e t h e , the great m i n d which gave itself a b s o l u t e l y to the l e a d i n g s of truth, a n d let rise t h r o u g h him the waves which are still a d v a n c i n g t h r o u g h the century, w a s its intellectual p r o p h e t . T h o s e w h o know h i m , s e e , daily, his t h o u g h t fulfilled m o r e a n d m o r e , a n d they m u s t s p e a k of it, till his n a m e weary a n d even n a u s e a t e , a s all great n a m e s have in their t i m e . A n d I c a n n o t s p a r e the reader, if s u c h there b e , his wonderful sight a s to the p r o s p e c t s a n d w a n t s of w o m e n . As his W i l h e l m grows in life a n d a d v a n c e s in w i s d o m , h e b e c o m e s a c q u a i n t e d with w o m e n of m o r e a n d m o r e c h a r a c t e r , rising from M a r i a n a to M a c a r i a . 7 M a c a r i a , b o u n d with the heavenly b o d i e s in fixed revolutions, the c e n t r e of all relations, herself u n r e l a t e d , e x p r e s s e s the M i n e r v a s i d e . M i g n o n , the electrical, inspired lyrical n a t u r e . All t h e s e w o m e n , t h o u g h we s e e t h e m in relations, we c a n think of as unrelated. T h e y all a r e very individual, yet s e e m n o w h e r e restrained. T h e y satisfy for the p r e s e n t , yet a r o u s e a n infinite e x p e c t a t i o n . T h e e c o n o m i s t T h e r e s a , the benevolent N a t a l i a , the fair S a i n t , have c h o sen a p a t h , b u t their t h o u g h t s are not narrowed to it. T h e f u n c t i o n s of life to t h e m a r e not e n d s , but s u g g e s t i o n s . T h u s to t h e m all things are i m p o r t a n t , b e c a u s e n o n e is n e c e s s a r y . T h e i r different c h a r a c t e r s have fair play, a n d e a c h is beautiful in its m i n u t e indic a t i o n s , for nothing is e n f o r c e d or c o n v e n t i o n a l , but everything, however slight, grows from the essential life of the b e i n g . M i g n o n a n d T h e r e s a wear m a l e attire w h e n they like, a n d it is graceful for t h e m to do s o , while M a c a r i a is confined to her a r m c h a i r b e h i n d the green c u r t a i n , a n d the Fair S a i n t c o u l d not b e a r a s p e c k of d u s t on h e r r o b e . 5. T h e w e a p o n s of A t h e n a , G r e e k g o d d e s s of wisdom. 6. T h e R o m a n g o d d e s s of agriculture. 7 . F e m i n i n e c h a r a c t e r s in J o h a n n W o l f g a n g v o n

G o e t h e ' s Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship; other female characters from the s a m e book are n a m e d just below.

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All things are in their p l a c e s in this little world b e c a u s e all is n a t u r a l a n d free, j u s t a s "there is r o o m for everything out of d o o r s . " Yet all is r o u n d e d in by natural h a r m o n y w h i c h will always arise w h e r e T r u t h a n d L o v e are s o u g h t in the light of f r e e d o m . G o e t h e ' s b o o k b o d e s an era of f r e e d o m like its o w n , of "extraordinary g e n e r o u s s e e k i n g , " a n d new revelations. N e w individualities shall b e develo p e d in the a c t u a l world, which shall a d v a n c e u p o n it a s gently a s the figures c o m e out u p o n his c a n v a s s . A p r o f o u n d thinker h a s said " n o married w o m a n c a n r e p r e s e n t the f e m a l e world, for s h e b e l o n g s to her h u s b a n d . T h e idea of w o m a n m u s t be repres e n t e d by a virgin." B u t that is the very fault of m a r r i a g e , a n d of the p r e s e n t relation b e t w e e n the sexes, that the w o m a n d o e s b e l o n g to the m a n , i n s t e a d of f o r m i n g a whole with h i m . W e r e it otherwise there would be no s u c h limitation to the thought. W o m a n , self-centred, w o u l d never be a b s o r b e d by any relation; it w o u l d b e only a n e x p e r i e n c e to her a s to m a n . It is a vulgar error that love, a love to w o m a n is her whole e x i s t e n c e ; s h e a l s o is born for T r u t h a n d L o v e in their universal energy. W o u l d s h e b u t a s s u m e her i n h e r i t a n c e , Mary w o u l d not be the only Virgin M o t h e r . N o t M a n z o n i H a l o n e would c e l e b r a t e in his wife the virgin mind with the m a t e r n a l w i s d o m a n d c o n j u g a l a f f e c t i o n s . T h e soul is ever y o u n g , ever virgin. A n d will not s h e s o o n a p p e a r ? T h e w o m a n w h o shall vindicate their birthright for all w o m e n ; who shall t e a c h t h e m what to c l a i m , a n d how to u s e what they o b t a i n ? Shall not her n a m e be for her era Victoria, for her c o u n t r y a n d her life Virginia?" Yet p r e d i c t i o n s are r a s h ; s h e herself m u s t t e a c h u s to give her the fitting n a m e . 1843 8. A n o t h e r a l l u s i o n t o t h e p r e f a c e t o M a n / o n i ' s Adelchi. 9 . I . e . , s h a l l n o t h e r c h a r a c t e r i n c l u d e b o t h tri-

u m p h a n t p o w e r ( s u c h a s m a d e V i c t o r i a s o fit a n a m e for a q u e e n ) a n d i m m a c u l a t e n e s s ( w h e t h e r literally virginal or n o t ) ?

HARRIET BEECHER 1811-1896

STOWE

Harriet B e e c h e r w a s born in Litchfield, C o n n e c t i c u t , the s e v e n t h child a n d fourth d a u g h t e r of L y m a n B e e c h e r , an e m i n e n t E v a n g e l i c a l C a l v i n i s t minister, a n d R o x a n a F o o t e B e e c h e r . After b e a r i n g two m o r e c h i l d r e n , R o x a n a died w h e n H a r r i e t w a s four; typically for this e r a , L y m a n r e m a r r i e d quickly. H a r r i e t B e e c h e r f o u n d her s t e p m o t h e r a l o o f a n d overly f o r m a l , a n d c o n t i n u e d to grieve for her m o t h e r . T h e family e v e n t u a l l y n u m b e r e d thirteen c h i l d r e n , a m o n g w h o m H a r r i e t w a s e s p e c i a l l y c l o s e to her b r o t h e r s H e n r y W a r d ( 1 8 1 3 - 1 8 8 7 ) a n d C h a r l e s ( 1 8 1 5 - 1 9 0 0 ) , her s i s t e r C a t h a r i n e ( 1 8 0 0 1 8 7 8 ) , a n d her half-sister I s a b e l l a ( 1 8 2 2 - 1 9 0 7 ) . P r o f o u n d l y i n f l u e n c e d by L y m a n B e e c h e r ' s a m b i t i o n a n d his d e e p l y p e s s i m i s t i c t h e o l o g y — a n o r t h o d o x C a l v i n i s t , he b e l i e v e d in universal d a m n a t i o n , with salvation a v a i l a b l e only t h r o u g h G o d ' s h u m a n l y i n e x p l i c a b l e c h o i c e — m a n y of the c h i l d r e n g r e w up to m a k e their m a r k on A m e r i c a n c u l t u r e . T h e m e n b e c a m e m i n i s t e r s ; the w o m e n b e c a m e writers, t e a c h e r s , a n d

772

/

HARRIET BEECHER

STOWE

r e f o r m e r s . C a t h a r i n e w a s a p i o n e e r in w o m e n ' s e d u c a t i o n a n d t e a c h e r t r a i n i n g ; Isab e l l a t u r n e d to s u f f r a g i s m a n d w o m e n ' s r i g h t s ; H a r r i e t w r o t e t h e m o s t effective antislavery novel in t h e n a t i o n ' s history. B e t w e e n 1 8 1 9 a n d 1 8 2 4 , H a r r i e t B e e c h e r s t u d i e d at S a r a h P i e r c e ' s girls' a c a d e m y in Litchfield, o n e of the e a r l i e s t s c h o o l s in t h e n a t i o n to offer s e r i o u s a c a d e m i c training to w o m e n . P i e r c e ( 1 8 0 6 - 1 8 6 3 ) b e l i e v e d that p r o p e r l y t r a i n e d a n d

instructed

w o m e n w e r e u l t i m a t e l y d e s t i n e d (as s h e p h r a s e d it in a c o m m e n c e m e n t a d d r e s s ) to " i n s t r u c t a n d e n l i g h t e n t h e w o r l d . " T h e c u r r i c u l u m i n c l u d e d " s a c r e d history" ( c l o s e s t u d y of the B i b l e a s a h i s t o r i c a l text) a n d s e c u l a r history, g e o g r a p h y , m a t h e m a t i c s , E n g l i s h g r a m m a r , a n d c o m p o s i t i o n a s well a s scientific s u b j e c t s i n c l u d i n g b o t a n y , a s t r o n o m y , a n d c h e m i s t r y ; it a l s o o f f e r e d i n s t r u c t i o n in m o d e r n a n d c l a s s i c a l l a n g u a g e s . In 1 8 2 3 , C a t h a r i n e B e e c h e r , w h o h a d a l s o a t t e n d e d P i e r c e ' s s c h o o l , j o i n e d with a n o t h e r sister, M a r y , to f o u n d a f e m a l e a c a d e m y in H a r t f o r d , C o n n e c t i c u t . H a r riet B e e c h e r b e g a n to s t u d y t h e r e in 1 8 2 4 a n d b e c a m e a t e a c h e r at t h e a c a d e m y in 1827. In 1 8 3 2 L y m a n B e e c h e r , c o n v i n c e d t h a t the f u t u r e of A m e r i c a n

Protestantism

d e p e n d e d o n e v a n g e l i c a l w o r k in t h e w e s t e r n s t a t e s , m o v e d to C i n c i n n a t i a s p r e s i d e n t of the n e w L a n e T h e o l o g i c a l S e m i n a r y a n d p a s t o r of t h e S e c o n d P r e s b y t e r i a n C h u r c h . W o r k i n g with her father, C a t h a r i n e B e e c h e r f o u n d e d t h e W e s t e r n F e m a l e I n s t i t u t e to train " h o m e m i s s i o n a r i e s " — C h r i s t i a n w o m e n w h o w o u l d work in A m e r i c a n s c h o o l s t e a c h i n g t h e c h i l d r e n of f a r m e r s a n d w o r k e r s , e s p e c i a l l y in the M i d w e s t . A l t h o u g h t h e B e e c h e r family h a d r e g r e t t e d l e a v i n g their b e l o v e d N e w E n g l a n d , they b e c a m e p a r t of a n a c t i v e h o m e - b a s e d c u l t u r a l life ( s c h o l a r s call this a " p a r l o r c u l t u r e " ) in C i n c i n n a t i , at that t i m e t h e l a r g e s t city in t h e W e s t . H a r r i e t B e e c h e r b e g a n to write short s t o r i e s in 1 8 3 4 ; in 1 8 3 6 s h e m a r r i e d C a l v i n S t o w e , a p r o f e s s o r of biblical lite r a t u r e at L a n e w h o w a s o n e of t h e b e s t H e b r e w s c h o l a r s of his day. S i n c e his salary w a s s m a l l , a n d t h e S t o w e s b e g a n to r e a r a large family very q u i c k l y — t w i n girls (Eliza a n d H a r r i e t ) w e r e b o r n in 1 8 3 6 , a s o n ( H e n r y ) in 1 8 3 8 — H a r r i e t B e e c h e r S t o w e c o n t i n u e d to write for m o n e y e v e n t h o u g h s h e f o u n d c h i l d b i r t h e x t r e m e l y d e b i l i t a t i n g . H e r first b o o k — a c o l l e c t i o n of s t o r i e s titled The Mayflower—appeared

in 1 8 4 3 .

T h e d e a t h of her b a b y b o y S a m u e l , w h o s u c c u m b e d to c h o l e r a in 1 8 4 9 b e f o r e h e w a s a y e a r old, w a s a g r e a t b l o w a n d i n f u s e d h e r w r i t i n g with s y m p a t h y for p e o p l e w h o w e r e h e l p l e s s in the f a c e o f g r e a t p e r s o n a l l o s s . A l t h o u g h s h e h a d little

firsthand

k n o w l e d g e of slavery, s h e h a d b e c o m e i n t e r e s t e d in t h e a b o l i t i o n i s t c a u s e ; n o w her d e e p s o r r o w f o r g e d a n e m o t i o n a l link with t h e o p p r e s s e d t h a t w a s to p u s h Tom's

Cabin

Uncle

far b e y o n d t h e s t a n d a r d a b o l i t i o n i s t tract.

In 1 8 4 9 C a l v i n S t o w e a c c e p t e d a p o s i t i o n at B o w d o i n C o l l e g e , in M a i n e , a n d the family r e t u r n e d to N e w E n g l a n d in 1 8 5 0 . (In 1 8 5 1 w h e n t h e family m o v e d a g a i n h e w e n t to A n d o v e r T h e o l o g i c a l S e m i n a r y in M a s s a c h u s e t t s . ) P a s s a g e of t h e F u g i t i v e S l a v e Act in 1 8 5 0 — w h i c h m a d e it c r i m i n a l for a n y b o d y to aid a n e s c a p i n g s l a v e — h a d c r e a t e d in H a r r i e t B e e c h e r S t o w e , a s in m a n y o t h e r N e w E n g l a n d e r s , a s e n s e of t r e m e n d o u s o u t r a g e . F o r , if it w a s n o w a c r i m e to h e l p e s c a p i n g s l a v e s a n y w h e r e in t h e n a t i o n , o n e c o u l d n o l o n g e r s e e slavery a s s i m p l y a s o u t h e r n i n s t i t u t i o n . F i r e d by this d e v e l o p m e n t , s h e b e g a n writing Uncle

Tom's

Cabin,

which w a s serialized during

1 8 5 1 in t h e W a s h i n g t o n , D . C . , weekly a n t i s l a v e r y j o u r n a l , The National

Era.

In this

s e t t i n g , t h e novel w a s well r e c e i v e d , b u t its a u d i e n c e w a s l i m i t e d to a d h e r e n t s of t h e abolitionist c a u s e . T h e novel h a d a n entirely different i m p a c t w h e n it a p p e a r e d in b o o k f o r m in 1 8 5 2 . It sold a r o u n d 3 , 0 0 0 c o p i e s t h e d a y of p u b l i c a t i o n a n d m o r e t h a n c o p i e s by t h e e n d of t h e year. ( C o m p a r a b l e

figures

350,000

for today's p o p u l a t i o n w o u l d

h a v e to b e m o r e t h a n t e n t i m e s larger.) As o n e reviewer (in t h e Literary

World)

put

it: " N o literary w o r k of a n y c h a r a c t e r or m e r i t , w h e t h e r of p o e t r y or p r o s e , or i m a g i n a t i o n or o b s e r v a t i o n , f a n c y or fact, truth or

fiction,

that h a s ever b e e n written

s i n c e t h e r e h a v e b e e n writers or r e a d e r s , h a s ever c o m m a n d e d s o g r e a t a p o p u l a r s u c c c e s s . " B e t w e e n 1 8 5 2 a n d 1 8 6 0 it w a s r e p r i n t e d in t w e n t y - t w o l a n g u a g e s ; a n d

HARRIET BEECHER

STOWE

/

773

in t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s d u r i n g t h e last half o f t h e n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r y it w a s o u t s o l d only by t h e B i b l e . T h e b o o k h e l p e d p u s h a b o l i t i o n i s m f r o m t h e m a r g i n s to t h e m a i n s t r e a m , a n d t h u s m o v e d t h e nation c l o s e r to Civil W a r — a n o u t c o m e that, in fact, S t o w e h a d h o p e d to avert by her d e p i c t i o n s o f s l a v e s u f f e r i n g . H e r a i m h a d b e e n to i n s p i r e v o l u n t a r y e m a n c i p a t i o n by c o m p e l l i n g l y d e m o n s t r a t i n g t h e evil a n d u n c h r i s t i a n n a t u r e o f slavery. F r o m t h e p u b l i c a t i o n o f Uncle

Tom's

Cabin

forward S t o w e w a s a n a t i o n a l a n d

i n t e r n a t i o n a l celebrity; w h e n s h e traveled to E u r o p e in 1 8 5 3 s h e w a s e n t e r t a i n e d a n d feted w h e r e v e r s h e w e n t . A s a m e a n s o f a u t h e n t i c a t i n g t h e e p i s o d e s in Tom's

Cabin,

s h e h a d p u b l i s h e d t h e b o o k - l e n g t h Key to Uncle

Tom's

Cabin

s e t t i n g sail; a later a n d m u c h m o r e p e s s i m i s t i c a n t i s l a v e r y novel, Dred: the

Great

Dismal

Swamp,

Uncle before

A Tale

of

a p p e a r e d in 1 8 5 6 . A s t h e Civil W a r a p p r o a c h e d , S t o w e

c e a s e d to write on b e h a l f o f a b o l i t i o n i s m a n d t u r n e d to n o v e l s o f N e w E n g l a n d c u l t u r e a n d history. S h e m a d e a p i o n e e r i n g c o n t r i b u t i o n to r e g i o n a l writing in s u c h b o o k s a s The Minister's

Folks

Wooing

( 1 8 6 9 ) , a n d Poganuc

( 1 8 5 9 ) , The Pearl

People

of Orr's

Island

(1862),

Oldtown

( 1 8 7 8 ) . M u c h of the power of these novels

derives f r o m h e r p r o f o u n d l y a m b i v a l e n t t r i b u t e s to t h e old N e w E n g l a n d c h a r a c t e r a n d its ways o f life in t h e p r e r a i l r o a d d a y s . S h e d e p l o r e d N e w E n g l a n d ' s d o c t r i n a l severity, yet a d m i r e d t h e r e g i o n s h o m o g e n e o u s c o m m u n i t y life, w h i c h s h e strove to d e p i c t in m e t i c u l o u s , n o s t a l g i c detail. T h e s e novels d e v e l o p e d t h e figure o f a n innoc e n t y o u n g w o m a n w h o s e r e l i g i o u s i n t u i t i o n s resist t h e b o o k i s h t h e o l o g i e s of m a l e religious a u t h o r i t i e s . A historical novel, Agnes

of Sorrento

( 1 8 6 2 ) , which drew on

her travels in Italy, f e a t u r e d t h e s a m e kind o f h e r o i n e in a

fifteenth-century

setting.

In 1 8 6 3 C a l v i n S t o w e retired, a n d t h e S t o w e s m o v e d to H a r t f o r d , C o n n e c t i c u t . In this s a m e year s h e b e c a m e a n E p i s c o p a l i a n , a b a n d o n i n g t h e rigors o f C a l v i n i s m with w h i c h s h e h a d s t r u g g l e d for s o long. H e r life c o n t a i n e d m a n y s o r r o w s ; only t h r e e o f h e r s e v e n c h i l d r e n — t h e twins a n d t h e y o u n g e s t c h i l d , C h a r l e s , born in 1 8 5 0 — o u t l i v e d her. C a l v i n S t o w e d i e d in 1 8 8 6 ; in h e r last d e c a d e , H a r r i e t B e e c h e r S t o w e suffered greatly f r o m p h y s i c a l illness a n d m e n t a l e x h a u s t i o n . When

the modernist

movement

promulgated

a critical e t h o s

of

understate-

m e n t a n d a n t i s e n t i m e n t a l i t y , d e n y i n g that p o l i t i c s h a d a n y p l a c e in s e r i o u s literat u r e , Uncle

Tom's

Cabin

b e c a m e a target o f critical a b u s e . Overtly e m o t i o n a l a n d

fearlessly political, m a k i n g a n a p p e a l to t h e w i d e s t p o s s i b l e a u d i e n c e , it r e p r e s e n t e d literary v a l u e s that m o d e r n i s m a b h o r r e d . M o r e r e c e n t l y t h e novel's racial p o l i t i c s h a v e c o m e u n d e r fire, a s s o m e h a v e o b j e c t e d to t h e extent to w h i c h it a c c e p t s s t e r e o t y p e s . B u t if it h a d n o t b e e n s o m u c h a part o f its o w n t i m e , Uncle Cabin

Tom's

c o u l d never h a v e a c h i e v e d its effects, a n d r e c o n s i d e r a t i o n o f t h e novel h a s

h e l p e d revive a p p r e c i a t i o n for l i t e r a t u r e that is politically e n g a g e d a n d p o p u l a r l y effective. U n d e r s t a n d i n g t h e i m p o r t a n c e o f this novel in A m e r i c a n c u l t u r e

also

r e m i n d s r e a d e r s o f h o w c e n t r a l w o m e n w e r e to literary life b e f o r e t h e Civil W a r , a n d h o w o p e n l y they e n g a g e d t h e m s e l v e s with t o p i c s that, s u p p o s e d l y , w e r e o u t s i d e their s p h e r e . T h e text u s e d is that o f t h e first A m e r i c a n e d i t i o n of Uncle

Tom's

Cabin

(1852).

774

/

HARRIET BEECHER

From

STOWE

Uncle Tom's Cabin; or, Life among the Lowly1 Chapter THE

MOTHER'S

VII S T R U G G L E

2

It is i m p o s s i b l e to c o n c e i v e of a h u m a n c r e a t u r e m o r e wholly d e s o l a t e a n d forlorn than Eliza, w h e n s h e t u r n e d her f o o t s t e p s from U n c l e T o m ' s c a b i n . H e r h u s b a n d ' s suffering a n d d a n g e r s , a n d the d a n g e r of her child, all b l e n d e d in her m i n d , with a c o n f u s e d a n d s t u n n i n g s e n s e of the risk s h e w a s r u n n i n g , in leaving the only h o m e s h e h a d ever k n o w n , a n d c u t t i n g l o o s e from the p r o t e c t i o n of a friend w h o m s h e loved a n d revered. T h e n there w a s the parting from every familiar o b j e c t , — t h e p l a c e w h e r e s h e h a d grown u p , the trees u n d e r w h i c h s h e h a d played, the groves w h e r e she h a d walked m a n y a n e v e n i n g in h a p p i e r d a y s , by the side of her y o u n g h u s b a n d , — e v e r y t h i n g , as it lay in the clear, frosty starlight, s e e m e d to s p e a k reproachfully to her, a n d a s k her whither c o u l d s h e g o from a h o m e like that? B u t stronger than all w a s m a t e r n a l love, w r o u g h t into a p a r o x y s m of frenzy by the near a p p r o a c h of a fearful d a n g e r . H e r boy w a s old e n o u g h to have walked by her s i d e , a n d , in a n indifferent c a s e , s h e would only have led him by the h a n d ; but now the b a r e t h o u g h t of p u t t i n g h i m out of her a r m s m a d e her s h u d d e r , a n d s h e strained him to her b o s o m with a convulsive g r a s p , a s s h e went rapidly forward. T h e frosty g r o u n d c r e a k e d b e n e a t h her feet, a n d s h e t r e m b l e d at the s o u n d ; every q u a k i n g leaf a n d fluttering s h a d o w sent the b l o o d b a c k w a r d to her heart, a n d q u i c k e n e d her f o o t s t e p s . S h e w o n d e r e d within herself at the s t r e n g t h that s e e m e d to b e c o m e u p o n her; for s h e felt the weight of her boy a s if it h a d b e e n a feather, a n d every flutter of fear s e e m e d to i n c r e a s e the s u p e r n a t u r a l power that bore her on, while from her p a l e lips b u r s t forth, in f r e q u e n t e j a c u l a t i o n s , the prayer to a F r i e n d a b o v e — " L o r d , help! L o r d , save me!" If it were your Harry, m o t h e r , or your Willie, that were g o i n g to b e torn from you by a brutal trader, to-morrow m o r n i n g , — i f you h a d s e e n the m a n , a n d h e a r d that the p a p e r s were s i g n e d a n d delivered, a n d you h a d only from twelve o'clock till m o r n i n g to m a k e g o o d your e s c a p e , — h o w fast c o u l d you walk? H o w m a n y miles c o u l d you m a k e in t h o s e few brief h o u r s , with the darling at your b o s o m , — t h e little sleepy h e a d on your s h o u l d e r , — t h e small, soft a r m s trustingly holding on to your n e c k ? F o r the child slept. At first, the novelty a n d a l a r m kept him w a k i n g ; b u t his m o t h e r s o hurriedly r e p r e s s e d every b r e a t h or s o u n d , a n d so a s s u r e d him that if h e were only still s h e w o u l d certainly save h i m , that h e c l u n g quietly r o u n d her n e c k , only a s k i n g , a s h e f o u n d h i m s e l f sinking to s l e e p , 1. T h e n o v e l h a s t w o p l o t l i n e s , f o l l o w i n g t h e f o r t u n e s o f t w o s l a v e s o n t h e S h e l b y p l a n t a t i o n in K e n t u c k y . T h e first p l o t c o n c e r n s T o m , a b o u t thirty-five y e a r s old a n d a d e v o u t C h r i s t i a n ; t h e second c o n c e r n s Eliza, a y o u n g mother. Uncle d o e s not m e a n a n old person, but a n h o n o r e d pers o n . T h e s t o r y is s e t in m o t i o n b y S h e l b y ' s d e c i s i o n to sell b o t h T o m a n d Eliza's four-year-old s o n , Harry, to the slave trader D a n Haley to settle a debt. In this c h a p t e r , Eliza d o e s not k n o w a b o u t

t h e p r o j e c t e d s a l e o f h e r s o n a n d is m e e t i n g w i t h her h u s b a n d , G e o r g e H a r r i s , w h o lives o n a n o t h e r plantation. 2 . At this p o i n t in t h e n o v e l , E l i z a h a s d i s c o v e r e d t h e p l a n to sell H a r r y to D a n H a l e y a n d h a s determ i n e d to r u n a w a y w i t h h e r c h i l d . S h e h a s a l e r t e d T o m to his i m p e n d i n g s a l e ; h e d e c i d e s to r e m a i n a n d allow himself to b e sold to protect the other slave families on the plantation, since others would b e s o l d in h i s s t e a d if h e e s c a p e d .

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" M o t h e r , I don't n e e d to keep a w a k e , d o I ? " " N o , my darling; s l e e p , if you want t o . " " B u t , m o t h e r , if I d o get a s l e e p , you won't let him get m e ? " " N o ! s o m a y G o d help m e ! " said his m o t h e r , with a paler c h e e k , a n d a brighter light in her large dark eyes. "You're sure, an't you, m o t h e r ? " "Yes, sure!" said the m o t h e r , in a voice that startled herself; for it s e e m e d to her to c o m e from a spirit within, that w a s no part of her; a n d the boy d r o p p e d his little weary h e a d on her shoulder, a n d w a s s o o n a s l e e p . H o w the t o u c h of t h o s e w a r m a r m s , the gentle b r e a t h i n g s that c a m e in her neck, s e e m e d to a d d fire a n d spirit to her m o v e m e n t s ! It s e e m e d to her a s if s t r e n g t h p o u r e d into her in electric s t r e a m s , from every g e n t l e t o u c h a n d m o v e m e n t of the s l e e p i n g , confiding child. S u b l i m e is the d o m i n i o n of the m i n d over the body, that, for a t i m e , c a n m a k e flesh a n d nerve i m p r e g n a b l e , a n d string the sinews like steel, so that the w e a k b e c o m e s o mighty. T h e b o u n d a r i e s of the farm, the grove, the wood-lot, p a s s e d by her dizzily, a s s h e walked o n ; a n d still she went, leaving o n e familiar object after a n o t h e r , s l a c k i n g not, p a u s i n g not, till r e d d e n i n g daylight f o u n d her m a n y a long mile from all traces of any familiar o b j e c t s u p o n the o p e n highway. S h e h a d often b e e n , with her m i s t r e s s , to visit s o m e c o n n e c t i o n s , in the little village of T , not far from the O h i o river, a n d k n e w the r o a d well. T o go thither, to e s c a p e a c r o s s the O h i o river, were the first hurried outlines of her plan of e s c a p e ; b e y o n d that, s h e c o u l d only h o p e in G o d . W h e n h o r s e s a n d vehicles b e g a n to m o v e a l o n g the highway, with that alert p e r c e p t i o n p e c u l i a r to a state of e x c i t e m e n t , a n d which s e e m s to b e a sort of inspiration, s h e b e c a m e a w a r e that her h e a d l o n g p a c e a n d d i s t r a c t e d air might bring on her r e m a r k a n d s u s p i c i o n . S h e therefore p u t the boy on the g r o u n d , a n d , a d j u s t i n g her d r e s s a n d b o n n e t , s h e walked o n at a s rapid a p a c e a s s h e t h o u g h t c o n s i s t e n t with the preservation of a p p e a r a n c e s . In her little b u n d l e s h e h a d provided a store of c a k e s a n d a p p l e s , w h i c h s h e u s e d as expedients for q u i c k e n i n g the s p e e d of the child, rolling the a p p l e s o m e yards before t h e m , w h e n the boy would run with all his might after it; a n d this r u s e , often r e p e a t e d , carried t h e m over m a n y a half-mile. After a while, they c a m e to a thick p a t c h of w o o d l a n d , t h r o u g h which m u r m u r e d a clear brook. A s the child c o m p l a i n e d of h u n g e r a n d thirst, s h e c l i m b e d over the f e n c e with h i m ; a n d , sitting d o w n b e h i n d a large rock w h i c h c o n c e a l e d t h e m from the r o a d , she gave him a b r e a k f a s t out of her little p a c k a g e . T h e boy w o n d e r e d a n d grieved that s h e c o u l d not eat; a n d w h e n , p u t t i n g his a r m s r o u n d her n e c k , he tried to w e d g e s o m e of his c a k e into her m o u t h , it s e e m e d to her that the rising in her throat would c h o k e her. " N o , n o , Harry darling! m o t h e r can't e a t till you are safe! W e m u s t go o n — on—till we c o m e to the river!" A n d s h e hurried again into the r o a d , a n d a g a i n c o n s t r a i n e d herself to walk regularly a n d c o m p o s e d l y forward. S h e w a s m a n y miles p a s t any n e i g h b o r h o o d w h e r e s h e w a s p e r s o n a l l y known. If s h e s h o u l d c h a n c e to m e e t any w h o knew her, s h e reflected that the well-known k i n d n e s s of the family would b e of itself a blind to s u s p i c i o n , a s m a k i n g it an unlikely s u p p o s i t i o n that s h e c o u l d b e a fugitive. A s s h e w a s also so white a s not to b e known a s of c o l o r e d l i n e a g e , without a critical survey, a n d her child w a s white a l s o , it w a s m u c h e a s i e r for her to p a s s o n unsuspected.

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O n this p r e s u m p t i o n , s h e s t o p p e d at noon at a n e a t f a r m h o u s e , to rest herself, a n d buy s o m e dinner for her child a n d self; for, a s the d a n g e r d e c r e a s e d with the d i s t a n c e , the s u p e r n a t u r a l tension of the n e r v o u s system l e s s e n e d , a n d s h e f o u n d herself both weary a n d hungry. T h e g o o d w o m a n , kindly a n d g o s s i p p i n g , s e e m e d rather p l e a s e d than otherwise with having s o m e b o d y c o m e in to talk with; a n d a c c e p t e d , without e x a m i n a t i o n , Eliza's s t a t e m e n t , that s h e " w a s g o i n g o n a little p i e c e , to s p e n d a w e e k with her f r i e n d s , " — a l l which s h e h o p e d in her heart might prove strictly true. An h o u r before s u n s e t , s h e entered the village of T , by the O h i o river, weary a n d foot-sore, but still strong in heart. H e r first g l a n c e w a s at the river, which lay, like J o r d a n , b e t w e e n her a n d the C a n a a n ' of liberty on the other side. It w a s n o w early s p r i n g , a n d the river w a s swollen a n d t u r b u l e n t ; great c a k e s of floating ice were swinging heavily to a n d fro in the turbid w a t e r s . O w i n g to the p e c u l i a r form of the s h o r e on the K e n t u c k y s i d e , the land b e n d i n g far out into the water, the ice h a d b e e n lodged a n d d e t a i n e d in great q u a n t i t i e s , a n d the n a r r o w c h a n n e l w h i c h swept r o u n d the b e n d w a s full of ice, piled o n e c a k e over a n o t h e r , t h u s forming a t e m p o r a r y barrier to the d e s c e n d i n g ice, which lodged, a n d f o r m e d a great, u n d u l a t i n g raft, filling up the w h o l e river, a n d extending a l m o s t to the K e n t u c k y s h o r e . Eliza s t o o d , for a m o m e n t , c o n t e m p l a t i n g this u n f a v o r a b l e a s p e c t of things, which s h e saw at o n c e m u s t prevent the u s u a l ferry-boat from r u n n i n g , a n d then turned into a small public h o u s e on the b a n k , to m a k e a few inquiries. T h e h o s t e s s , w h o w a s busy in various fizzing a n d s t e w i n g o p e r a t i o n s over the fire, preparatory to the e v e n i n g m e a l , s t o p p e d , with a fork in her h a n d , as Eliza's sweet a n d plaintive voice a r r e s t e d her. " W h a t is i t ? " s h e said. "Isn't there any ferry or b o a t , that takes p e o p l e over to B , now?" she said. " N o , i n d e e d ! " said the w o m a n ; "the b o a t s h a s s t o p p e d r u n n i n g . " Eliza's look of d i s m a y a n d d i s a p p o i n t m e n t s t r u c k the w o m a n , a n d s h e said, inquiringly, " M a y b e you're w a n t i n g to get o v e r ? — a n y b o d y sick? Ye s e e m mighty anxious?" "I've got a child that's very d a n g e r o u s , " s a i d Eliza. "I never heard of it till last night, a n d I've walked q u i t e a p i e c e to-day, in h o p e s to get to the ferry." "Well, now, that's o n l u c k y , " said the w o m a n , w h o s e motherly s y m p a t h i e s were m u c h a r o u s e d ; "I'm re'lly c o n s a r n e d for ye. S o l o m o n ! " s h e c a l l e d , from the window, t o w a r d s a small b a c k building. A m a n , in leather a p r o n a n d very dirty h a n d s , a p p e a r e d at the door. "I say, S o l , " said the w o m a n , "is that ar m a n g o i n g to tote t h e m bar'ls over to-night?" " H e said he s h o u l d try, if't w a s any way p r u d e n t , " said the m a n . " T h e r e ' s a m a n a p i e c e d o w n h e r e , that's g o i n g over with s o m e truck this evening, if h e durs'to; he'll be in here to s u p p e r to-night, s o you'd better set down a n d wait. T h a t ' s a sweet little fellow," a d d e d the w o m a n , offering him a cake. 3. In t h e B i b l e , t h e p r o m i s e d l a n d l o r t h e I s r a e l i t e s , w h o h a v e w a n d e r e d in t h e d e s e r t f o r f o r t y y e a r s . T h e J o r d a n is t h e final r i v e r t h e y h a d t o c r o s s t o g e t t h e r e .

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B u t the child, wholly e x h a u s t e d , cried with w e a r i n e s s . " P o o r fellow! h e isn't u s e d to walking, a n d I've hurried him on s o , " said Eliza. "Well, take him into this r o o m , " said the w o m a n , o p e n i n g into a small bedr o o m , w h e r e s t o o d a c o m f o r t a b l e b e d . Eliza laid the weary boy u p o n it, a n d held his h a n d s in hers till he w a s fast a s l e e p . F o r her there w a s no rest. As a fire in her b o n e s , the thought of the p u r s u e r u r g e d her o n ; a n d s h e g a z e d with longing eyes on the sullen, surging w a t e r s that lay b e t w e e n her a n d liberty. H e r e we m u s t take our leave of her for the p r e s e n t , to follow the c o u r s e of her p u r s u e r s . T h o u g h M r s . S h e l b y h a d p r o m i s e d that the dinner s h o u l d be hurried o n table, yet it w a s s o o n s e e n , a s the thing h a s often b e e n s e e n b e f o r e , that it required m o r e than o n e to m a k e a b a r g a i n . S o , a l t h o u g h the order w a s fairly given out in Haley's hearing, a n d carried to A u n t C h l o e 4 by at least half a dozen j u v e n i l e m e s s e n g e r s , that dignitary only gave certain very gruff s n o r t s , a n d t o s s e s of her h e a d , a n d went on with every operation in an u n u s u a l l y leisurely a n d c i r c u m s t a n t i a l m a n n e r . For s o m e singular r e a s o n , an i m p r e s s i o n s e e m e d to reign a m o n g the servants generally that M i s s i s would not be particularly disobliged by delay; a n d it w a s wonderful what a n u m b e r of c o u n t e r a c c i d e n t s o c c u r r e d constantly, to retard the c o u r s e of things. O n e l u c k l e s s wight contrived to upset the gravy; a n d then gravy h a d to be got u p de novo,'' with d u e c a r e a n d formality, A u n t C h l o e w a t c h i n g a n d stirring with d o g g e d p r e c i s i o n , a n s w e r i n g shortly, to all s u g g e s t i o n s of h a s t e , that s h e "warn't a g o i n g to have raw gravy on the table, to help nobody's c a t c h i n g s . " O n e t u m b l e d d o w n with the water, a n d h a d to go to the spring for m o r e ; a n d a n o t h e r precipitated the butter into the p a t h of events; a n d there w a s from time to time giggling news brought into the kitchen that " M a s ' r Haley w a s mighty o n e a s y , a n d that he couldn't sit in his c h e e r no ways, but w a s a walkin' a n d stalkin' to the winders a n d through the p o r c h . " " S a r v e s him right!" said A u n t C h l o e , indignantly. "He'll get w u s nor o n e a s y , o n e of t h e s e d a y s , if he don't m e n d his ways. His master'll be s e n d i n g for him, a n d then s e e how he'll look!" "He'll go to torment, a n d no m i s t a k e , " said little J a k e . " H e d e s a r v e s it!" said A u n t C h l o e , grimly; "he's broke a many, m a n y , many h e a r t s , — L t e l l ye all!" s h e said, stopping, with a fork uplifted in her h a n d s ; "it's like what M a s ' r G e o r g e r e a d s in B a v e l a t i o n s , h — s o u l s a callin' u n d e r the altar! a n d a callin' on the L o r d for v e n g e a n c e on s i c h ! — a n d by a n d by the Lord he'll hear ' e m — s o he will!" A u n t C h l o e , who w a s m u c h revered in the kitchen, w a s listened to with o p e n m o u t h ; a n d , the dinner b e i n g now fairly sent in, the w h o l e kitchen w a s at leisure to g o s s i p with her, a n d to listen to her r e m a r k s . " S i c h '11 be burnt up forever, a n d no m i s t a k e ; won't t h e r ? " said Andy. "I'd be glad to s e e it, I'll be b o u n ' , " said little J a k e . " C h i l ' e n ! " said a voice, that m a d e t h e m all start. It w a s U n c l e T o m , w h o had c o m e in, a n d s t o o d listening to the c o n v e r s a t i o n at the door. 4. T o m ' s wife, the Shelbys' cook. T h e entire h o u s e h o l d c o o p e r a t e s to d e l a y H a l e y ' s d e p a r t u r e in

5. 6.

pursuit of

symbolic prophecies of the end of the world.

Eliza.

From the beginning (Latin). I.e., t h e B o o k o f R e v e l a t i o n , w h i c h

contains

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" C h i l ' e n ! " h e s a i d , " I ' m afeard you don't know w h a t ye're sayin'. Forever is a dre'ful word, chil'en; it's awful to think o n ' t . You o u g h t e n t e r wish that ar to any h u m a n crittur." " W e wouldn't to anybody but the soul-drivers," s a i d Andy; " n o b o d y c a n help wishing it to t h e m , they's s o awful w i c k e d . " " D o n ' t natur herself kinder cry out on e m ? " said A u n t C h l o e . " D o n ' t dey tear der s u c k i n ' baby right off his m o t h e r ' s b r e a s t , a n d sell h i m , a n d der little children a s is crying a n d holding on by her c l o t h e s , — d o n ' t dey pull 'em off a n d sells e m ? Don't dey tear wife a n d h u s b a n d a p a r t ? " s a i d A u n t C h l o e , b e g i n n i n g to cry, " w h e n it's j e s t takin' the very life on ' e m ? — a n d all the while d o e s they feel o n e b i t , — d o n ' t dey drink a n d s m o k e , a n d take it o n c o m m o n e a s y ? Lor, if the devil don't get t h e m , what's h e g o o d f o r ? " A n d A u n t C h l o e covered her f a c e with her c h e c k e d a p r o n , a n d b e g a n to s o b in g o o d e a r n e s t . " P r a y for t h e m that 'spitefully u s e you, the g o o d b o o k s a y s , " says T o m . 7 "Pray for ' e m ! " s a i d A u n t C h l o e ; " L o r , it's t o o t o u g h ! I can't pray for ' e m . " "It's natur, C h l o e , a n d natur's s t r o n g , " said T o m , "but the L o r d ' s g r a c e is stronger; b e s i d e s , you o u g h t e r think w h a t a n awful state a p o o r crittur's soul's in that'll d o t h e m ar t h i n g s , — y o u o u g h t e r t h a n k G o d that you an't like him, C h l o e . I'm s u r e I'd rather b e sold, ten t h o u s a n d t i m e s over, than to have all that ar p o o r crittur's got to a n s w e r for." " S o ' d I, a h e a p , " said J a k e . " L o r , shouldn't we c o t c h it, A n d y ? " Andy s h r u g g e d his s h o u l d e r s , a n d gave a n a c q u i e s c e n t whistle. "I'm g l a d M a s ' r didn't go off this m o r n i n g , a s h e looked t o , " said T o m ; "that ar hurt m e m o r e t h a n sellin', it did. M e b b e it m i g h t have b e e n natural for h i m , b u t ' t would have c o m e desp't hard on m e , a s h a s k n o w n him from a baby; but I've s e e n M a s ' r , a n d I begin ter feel sort o' r e c o n c i l e d to the Lord's will now. M a s ' r c o u l d n ' t help hisself; he did right, b u t I'm f e a r e d things will be kinder goin' to rack, w h e n I'm g o n e . M a s ' r can't b e s p e c t e d to be a pryin' r o u n d everywhar, a s I've d o n e , a k e e p i n ' u p all the e n d s . T h e boys all m e a n s well, but they's powerful e a r l e s s . T h a t ar troubles m e . " T h e bell here rang, a n d T o m w a s s u m m o n e d to the parlor. " T o m , " said his m a s t e r , kindly, "I w a n t you to notice that I give this gent l e m a n b o n d s to forfeit a t h o u s a n d dollars if you are not on the spot w h e n he w a n t s you; he's g o i n g to-day to look after his other b u s i n e s s , a n d you c a n have the day to yourself. G o anywhere you like, b o y . " " T h a n k you, M a s ' r , " said T o m . " A n d m i n d yerself," s a i d the trader, " a n d don't c o m e it over your m a s t e r with any o' yer nigger tricks; for I'll take every c e n t o u t of h i m , if you an't thar. If he'd h e a r to m e , h e wouldn't trust any o n y e — s l i p p e r y a s e e l s ! " " M a s ' r , " said T o m , — a n d h e s t o o d very s t r a i g h t , — " I w a s jist eight years old w h e n ole M i s s i s p u t you into my a r m s , a n d you wasn't a year old. 'Thar,' says s h e , ' T o m , that's to be your y o u n g M a s ' r ; take g o o d c a r e o n h i m , ' says s h e . A n d now I jist a s k y o u , M a s ' r , have I ever b r o k e word to you, or g o n e contrary to y o u , 'specially s i n c e I w a s a C h r i s t i a n ? " M r . S h e l b y w a s fairly o v e r c o m e , a n d the tears r o s e to his eyes. " M y g o o d b o y , " s a i d h e , " t h e L o r d knows you say b u t the truth; a n d if I w a s able to help it, all the world s h o u l d n ' t buy y o u . " 7. F r o m M a t t h e w 5 . 4 4 : " L o v e y o u r e n e m i e s , b l e s s t h e m that c u r s e y o u , d o g o o d to t h e m that h a t e y o u , a n d pray for t h e m w h i c h despitefully u s e you, a n d p e r s e c u t e y o u . "

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"And s u r e a s I a m a C h r i s t i a n w o m a n , " said M r s . S h e l b y , "you shall be r e d e e m e d a s s o o n a s I c a n any way bring together m e a n s . S i r , " s h e said to Haley, " t a k e g o o d a c c o u n t of w h o you sell him to, a n d let m e k n o w . " " L o r , yes, for that m a t t e r , " said the trader, "I m a y bring him u p in a year, not m u c h the w u s s for wear, a n d trade him b a c k . " "I'll trade with you t h e n , a n d m a k e it for your a d v a n t a g e , " s a i d M r s . Shelby. " O f c o u r s e , " said the trader, "all's e q u a l with m e ; l i v e s t r a d e 'em u p a s d o w n , s o I d o e s a g o o d b u s i n e s s . All I want is a livin', you know, m a ' a m ; that's all any on u s w a n t s , I s ' p o s e . " Mr. a n d M r s . S h e l b y both felt a n n o y e d a n d d e g r a d e d by the familiar i m p u d e n c e of the trader, a n d yet both saw the a b s o l u t e n e c e s s i t y of p u t t i n g a constraint on their feelings. T h e m o r e hopelessly sordid a n d i n s e n s i b l e he a p p e a r e d , the greater b e c a m e M r s . Shelby's d r e a d of his s u c c e e d i n g in r e c a p turing Eliza a n d her child, a n d of c o u r s e the greater her motive for d e t a i n i n g him by every f e m a l e artifice. S h e therefore g r a c i o u s l y s m i l e d , a s s e n t e d , chatted familiarly, a n d did all s h e c o u l d to m a k e time p a s s imperceptibly. At two o'clock S a m a n d Andy brought the h o r s e s up to the p o s t s , apparently greatly refreshed a n d invigorated by the s c a m p e r of the m o r n i n g . S a m w a s there new oiled from dinner, with a n a b u n d a n c e of z e a l o u s a n d ready o f f i c i o u s n e s s . As H a l e y a p p r o a c h e d , he w a s b o a s t i n g , in flourishing style, to Andy, of the evident a n d e m i n e n t s u c c e s s of the o p e r a t i o n , now that he h a d "farly c o m e to it." "Your m a s t e r , I s ' p o s e , don't k e e p no d o g s , " said Haley, thoughtfully, a s he p r e p a r e d to m o u n t . " H e a p s on ' e m , " said S a m , triumphantly; "thar's B r u n o — h e ' s a roarer! a n d , b e s i d e s that, 'bout every nigger of u s k e e p s a p u p of s o m e natur or u t h e r . " " P o h ! " said H a l e y , — a n d he said s o m e t h i n g e l s e , t o o , with regard to the said d o g s , at which S a m m u t t e r e d , "I don't s e e no u s e c u s s i n ' o n 'em, n o w a y . " " B u t your m a s t e r don't keep n o dogs (I pretty m u c h know h e don't) for trackin' o u t n i g g e r s . " S a m knew exactly what he m e a n t , but h e kept o n a look of e a r n e s t a n d d e s p e r a t e simplicity. " O u r d o g s all smells r o u n d c o n s i d a b l e s h a r p . I s p e c t they's the kind, t h o u g h they han't never h a d no p r a c t i c e . They's far d o g s , t h o u g h , at m o s t anything, if you'd get 'em started. H e r e , B r u n o , " h e c a l l e d , whistling to the l u m b e r i n g N e w f o u n d l a n d , w h o c a m e p i t c h i n g t u m u l t u o u s l y toward t h e m . "You go h a n g ! " said Haley, getting u p . " C o m e , t u m b l e up n o w . " S a m t u m b l e d up accordingly, dexterously contriving to tickle Andy a s he did s o , which o c c a s i o n e d Andy to split o u t into a l a u g h , greatly to Haley's indignation, w h o m a d e a c u t at him with his riding-whip. ' T s 'stonished at yer, A n d y , " said S a m , with awful gravity. " T h i s yer's a seris b i s n e s s , Andy. Yer m u s t n ' t b e a m a k i n ' g a m e . T h i s yer an't n o way to help M a s ' r . " "I shall take the straight r o a d to the river," said Haley, decidedly, after they h a d c o m e to the b o u n d a r i e s of the e s t a t e . "I know the way of all of ' e m , — they m a k e s tracks for the u n d e r g r o u n d . " 8 8. I . e . , t h e U n d e r g r o u n d R a i l r o a d ; t h e i n f o r m a l , s e c r e t a s s o c i a t i o n o f i n d i v i d u a l s w h o s e h o m e s w e r e u s e d by s l a v e s e s c a p i n g f r o m t h e S o u t h to C a n a d a .

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" S a r t i n , " said S a m , "dat's d e idee. M a s ' r H a l e y hits de thing right in d e m i d d l e . N o w , der's two r o a d s to d e r i v e r , — d e dirt r o a d a n d der p i k e , — w h i c h M a s ' r m e a n to t a k e ? " Andy looked up innocently at S a m , s u r p r i s e d at h e a r i n g this new g e o g r a p h ical fact, but instantly c o n f i r m e d what he said, by a v e h e m e n t reiteration. " C a u s e , " said S a m , "I'd rather be 'clined to 'magine that Lizy'd take d e dirt road, bein' i t ' s the least travelled." Haley, n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g that he w a s a very old bird, a n d naturally inclined to b e s u s p i c i o u s of chaff, w a s rather b r o u g h t up by this view of the c a s e . "If yer warn't both on yer s u c h c u s s e d liars, n o w ! " h e s a i d , contemplatively, a s he p o n d e r e d a m o m e n t . T h e p e n s i v e , reflective tone in which this w a s s p o k e n a p p e a r e d to a m u s e Andy prodigiously, a n d he drew a little b e h i n d , a n d s h o o k s o a s apparently to run a great risk of falling off his h o r s e , while S a m ' s f a c e w a s i m m o v a b l y c o m p o s e d into the m o s t doleful gravity. " C o u r s e , " said S a m , " M a s ' r c a n d o a s h e ' d ruther; g o de straight r o a d , if M a s ' r thinks b e s t , — i t ' s all o n e to u s . N o w , w h e n I study 'pon it, I think de straight r o a d d o b e s t , deridedly." " S h e would naturally go a l o n e s o m e w a y , " s a i d Haley, thinking a l o u d , a n d not m i n d i n g S a m ' s remark. " D a r an't no sayin'," said S a m ; " g a l s is p e c u l a r ; they never d o e s nothin' ye thinks they will; m o s e gen'lly the contrar. G a l s is nat'lly m a d e contrary; a n d so, if you thinks they've g o n e o n e r o a d , it is sartin you'd better go t' other, a n d then you'll be s u r e to find 'em. N o w , my private 'pinion is, Lizy took der dirt r o a d ; so I think we'd better take d e straight o n e . " T h i s p r o f o u n d generic view of the f e m a l e sex did not s e e m to d i s p o s e H a l e y particularly to the straight r o a d ; a n d h e a n n o u n c e d decidedly that he s h o u l d go the other, a n d a s k e d S a m w h e n they s h o u l d c o m e to it. "A little p i e c e a h e a d , " said S a m , giving a wink to Andy with the eye which w a s on Andy's s i d e of the h e a d ; a n d he a d d e d , gravely, "but I've s t u d d e d on de matter, a n d I'm quite clar we o u g h t not to go dat ar way. I n e b b e r b e e n over it n o way. It's despit l o n e s o m e , a n d we might lose o u r w a y , — w h a r we'd c o m e to, de L o r d only k n o w s . " " N e v e r t h e l e s s , " said Haley, "I shall go that w a y . " " N o w I think o n ' t , I think I h e a r n 'em tell that dat ar r o a d w a s all fenced up a n d down by der creek, a n d thar, an't it, A n d y ? " Andy wasn't c e r t a i n ; he'd only " h e a r n tell" a b o u t that r o a d , but never b e e n over it. In short, he w a s strictly n o n c o m m i t t a l . Haley, a c c u s t o m e d to strike the b a l a n c e of probabilities b e t w e e n lies of greater or lesser m a g n i t u d e , t h o u g h t that it lay in favor of the dirt r o a d aforesaid. T h e m e n t i o n of the thing he t h o u g h t he perceived w a s involuntary on S a m ' s part at first, a n d his c o n f u s e d a t t e m p t s to d i s s u a d e h i m h e set down to a d e s p e r a t e lying on s e c o n d t h o u g h t s , a s b e i n g unwilling to i m p l i c a t e Eliza. W h e n , therefore, S a m i n d i c a t e d the r o a d , H a l e y p l u n g e d briskly into it, followed by S a m a n d Andy. N o w , the road, in fact, w a s a n old o n e , that had formerly b e e n a thoro u g h f a r e to the river, but a b a n d o n e d for m a n y years after the laying of the new pike. It w a s o p e n for a b o u t an hour's ride, a n d after that it was cut a c r o s s by various f a r m s a n d f e n c e s . S a m k n e w this fact perfectly w e l l , — i n d e e d , the road h a d b e e n s o long c l o s e d u p , that Andy h a d never h e a r d of it. H e therefore rode a l o n g with an air of dutiful s u b m i s s i o n , only g r o a n i n g

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a n d vociferating o c c a s i o n a l l y that 't w a s "desp't r o u g h , a n d b a d for Jerry's foot." " N o w , I j e s t give yer w a r n i n g , " said Haley, "I know yer; yer won't get m e to turn off this yer road, with all yer f u s s i n ' — s o you shet u p ! " " M a s ' r will go his own way!" said S a m , with rueful s u b m i s s i o n , at the s a m e time winking m o s t portentously to Andy, w h o s e delight w a s now very near the explosive point. S a m w a s in wonderful s p i r i t s , — p r o f e s s e d to keep a very brisk l o o k - o u t , — at o n e time e x c l a i m i n g that h e saw "a gal's b o n n e t " on the top of s o m e distant e m i n e n c e , or calling to Andy "if that thar wasn't 'Lizy' d o w n in the hollow;" always m a k i n g t h e s e e x c l a m a t i o n s in s o m e rough or craggy part of the r o a d , w h e r e the s u d d e n q u i c k e n i n g of s p e e d w a s a s p e c i a l inconveni e n c e to all parties c o n c e r n e d , a n d t h u s k e e p i n g H a l e y in a s t a t e of c o n stant c o m m o t i o n . After riding a b o u t an h o u r in this way, the w h o l e party m a d e a p r e c i p i t a t e a n d t u m u l t u o u s d e s c e n t into a barn-yard b e l o n g i n g to a large f a r m i n g e s t a b l i s h m e n t . N o t a soul was in sight, all the h a n d s being e m p l o y e d in the fields; b u t , a s the barn stood c o n s p i c u o u s l y a n d plainly s q u a r e a c r o s s the road, it w a s evident that their j o u r n e y in that direction h a d r e a c h e d a d e c i d e d finale. " W a n ' t dat ar what I telled M a s ' r ? " said S a m , with an air of injured innoc e n c e . " H o w d o e s s t r a n g e g e n t l e m a n s p e c t to k n o w m o r e a b o u t a country d a n d e natives born a n d r a i s e d ? " "You r a s c a l ! " said Haley, "you knew all a b o u t t h i s . " "Didn't I tell yer I know'd, a n d yer wouldn't believe m e ? I telled M a s ' r ' t w a s all shet u p , a n d f e n c e d u p , a n d I didn't s p e c t we c o u l d get t h r o u g h , — Andy heard m e . " It w a s all too true to be d i s p u t e d , a n d the unlucky m a n h a d to p o c k e t his wrath with the best g r a c e he w a s a b l e , a n d all three f a c e d to the right a b o u t , a n d took up their line of m a r c h for the highway. In c o n s e q u e n c e of all the various delays, it w a s a b o u t three-quarters of a n hour after Eliza h a d laid her child to s l e e p in the village tavern that the party c a m e riding into the s a m e p l a c e . Eliza w a s s t a n d i n g by the window, looking out in a n o t h e r direction, when S a m ' s q u i c k eye c a u g h t a g l i m p s e of her. Haley a n d Andy were two yards b e h i n d . At this crisis, S a m contrived to have his hat blown off, a n d uttered a loud a n d c h a r a c t e r i s t i c e j a c u l a t i o n , which startled her at o n c e ; s h e drew s u d d e n l y b a c k ; the whole train swept by the window, r o u n d to the front door. A t h o u s a n d lives s e e m e d to be c o n c e n t r a t e d in that o n e m o m e n t to Eliza. H e r room o p e n e d by a side door to the river. S h e c a u g h t her child, a n d s p r a n g down the s t e p s towards it. T h e trader c a u g h t a full g l i m p s e of her, j u s t as she was d i s a p p e a r i n g d o w n the bank; a n d throwing himself from his h o r s e , a n d calling loudly on S a m a n d Andy, h e w a s after her like a h o u n d after a deer. In that dizzy m o m e n t her feet to her s c a r c e s e e m e d to t o u c h the g r o u n d , a n d a m o m e n t brought her to the water's e d g e . Right on b e h i n d they c a m e ; a n d , nerved with strength s u c h a s G o d gives only to the d e s p e r a t e , with o n e wild cry a n d flying l e a p , s h e vaulted s h e e r over the turbid c u r r e n t by the s h o r e , on to the raft of ice beyond. It w a s a d e s p e r a t e l e a p — i m p o s s i b l e to anything but m a d n e s s a n d despair; a n d Haley, S a m , a n d Andy, instinctively cried out, a n d lifted up their h a n d s , as s h e did it. T h e h u g e green fragment of ice on which s h e alighted p i t c h e d a n d c r e a k e d

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a s her weight c a m e on it, b u t s h e staid there not a m o m e n t . W i t h wild cries a n d d e s p e r a t e energy s h e l e a p e d to a n o t h e r a n d still a n o t h e r c a k e ; — s t u m b l i n g — l e a p i n g — s l i p p i n g — s p r i n g i n g u p w a r d s a g a i n ! H e r s h o e s are g o n e — her stockings c u t from her f e e t — w h i l e b l o o d m a r k e d every s t e p ; b u t s h e s a w nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, a s in a d r e a m , s h e s a w the O h i o s i d e , a n d a m a n h e l p i n g her up the b a n k . "Yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye ar!" said the m a n , with a n o a t h . Eliza recognized the voice a n d f a c e of a m a n w h o o w n e d a farm not far from her old h o m e . " O , M r . S y m m e s ! — s a v e m e — d o save m e — d o hide m e ! " s a i d Eliza. "Why, what's t h i s ? " said the m a n . "Why, if 'tan't Shelby's g a l ! " " M y c h i l d ! — t h i s b o y ! — h e ' d sold him! T h e r e is his M a s ' r , " s a i d s h e , pointing to the K e n t u c k y s h o r e . " O , M r . S y m m e s , you've got a little b o y ! " " S o I h a v e , " said the m a n , a s he roughly, but kindly, drew her u p the s t e e p b a n k . " B e s i d e s , you're a right brave gal. I like grit, wherever I s e e it." W h e n they h a d g a i n e d the top of the bank, the m a n p a u s e d . "I'd b e glad to do s o m e t h i n g for y e , " said h e ; " b u t then there's nowhar I c o u l d take ye. T h e b e s t I c a n do is to tell ye to go thar," s a i d h e , p o i n t i n g to a large white h o u s e which s t o o d by itself, off the m a i n street of the village. " G o thar; they're kind folks. T h a r ' s no kind o' d a n g e r but they'll help y o u , — they're u p to all that sort o' t h i n g . " " T h e L o r d bless y o u ! " said Eliza, earnestly. " N o 'casion, n o 'casion in the w o r l d , " said the m a n . " W h a t I've d o n e ' s of no ' c o u n t . " "And, o h , surely, sir, you won't tell any o n e ! " " G o to t h u n d e r , gal! W h a t d o you take a feller for? In c o u r s e n o t , " said the m a n . " C o m e , now, go a l o n g like a likely, s e n s i b l e gal, a s you a r e . You've arnt your liberty, a n d you shall have it, for all m e . " T h e w o m a n folded her child to her b o s o m , a n d walked firmly a n d swiftly away. T h e m a n s t o o d a n d looked after her. " S h e l b y , now, m e b b e won't think this yer the m o s t neighborly thing in the world; but what's a feller to d o ? If he c a t c h e s o n e of my gals in the s a m e fix, he's w e l c o m e to pay b a c k . S o m e h o w I never c o u l d s e e no kind o' critter a strivin' a n d pantin', a n d trying to clar theirselves, with the d o g s arter 'em, a n d go agin 'em. B e s i d e s , I don't s e e no kind of 'casion for m e to be h u n t e r a n d c a t c h e r for other folks, n e i t h e r . " S o s p o k e this poor, h e a t h e n i s h K e n t u c k i a n , w h o h a d not b e e n i n s t r u c t e d in his constitutional relations, a n d c o n s e q u e n t l y w a s betrayed into a c t i n g in a sort of C h r i s t i a n i z e d m a n n e r , w h i c h , if he h a d b e e n better s i t u a t e d a n d m o r e e n l i g h t e n e d , h e would not have b e e n left to d o . H a l e y h a d s t o o d a perfectly a m a z e d s p e c t a t o r of the s c e n e , till Eliza h a d d i s a p p e a r e d u p the bank, w h e n h e turned a blank, i n q u i r i n g look on S a m a n d Andy. " T h a t ar w a s a tolable fair stroke of b u s i n e s s , " said S a m . " T h e gal's got seven devils in her, I b e l i e v e ! " s a i d Haley. " H o w like a wildcat she j u m p e d ! " " W a l , n o w , " said S a m , s c r a t c h i n g his h e a d , "I h o p e Mas'r'll ' s c u s e u s tryin' dat ar road. Don't think I feel spry e n o u g h for dat ar, no w a y ! " a n d S a m g a v e a hoarse chuckle. "YOM l a u g h ! " s a i d the trader, with a growl.

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" L o r d b l e s s you, M a s ' r , I couldn't help it, n o w , " said S a m , giving way to the long p e n t - u p delight of his soul. " S h e looked s o curi's, a leapin' a n d s p r i n g i n ' — i c e a c r a c k i n ' — a n d only to hear h e r , — p l u m p ! ker c h u n k ! ker s p l a s h ! S p r i n g ! Lord! how s h e g o e s it!" a n d S a m a n d Andy l a u g h e d till the tears rolled d o w n their c h e e k s . "I'll m a k e ye l a u g h t'other side yer m o u t h s ! " said the trader, laying a b o u t their h e a d s with his riding-whip. B o t h d u c k e d , a n d ran s h o u t i n g u p the b a n k , a n d were o n their h o r s e s before h e w a s u p . " G o o d - e v e n i n g , M a s ' r ! " said S a m , with m u c h gravity. "I berry m u c h s p e c t M i s s i s be a n x i o u s 'bout Jerry. M a s ' r H a l e y won't w a n t u s n o longer. M i s s i s wouldn't h e a r of o u r ridin' the critters over Lizy's bridge to-night;" a n d , with a f a c e t i o u s p o k e into Andy's ribs, he started off, followed by the latter, at full s p e e d , — t h e i r s h o u t s of laughter c o m i n g faintly on the wind. #

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T h e light of the cheerful fire s h o n e on the r u g a n d c a r p e t of a c o s e y parlor, a n d glittered on the sides of the t e a - c u p s a n d well-brightened tea-pot, a s S e n a t o r B i r d 9 w a s drawing off his b o o t s , preparatory to inserting his feet in a pair of n e w h a n d s o m e slippers, which his wife h a d b e e n working for him while away on his senatorial tour. M r s . Bird, looking the very p i c t u r e of delight, w a s s u p e r i n t e n d i n g the a r r a n g e m e n t s of the t a b l e , ever a n d a n o n mingling a d m o n i t o r y r e m a r k s to a n u m b e r of f r o l i c s o m e j u v e n i l e s , w h o were effervescing in all t h o s e m o d e s of untold g a m b o l a n d m i s c h i e f that have a s t o n i s h e d m o t h e r s ever s i n c e the flood. " T o m , let the door-knob a l o n e , — t h e r e ' s a m a n ! Mary! Mary! don't pull the cat's t a i l , — p o o r p u s s y ! J i m , you m u s t n ' t c l i m b o n that t a b l e , — n o , n o ! — Y o u don't know, my d e a r , what a s u r p r i s e it is to u s all, to s e e you here to-night!" said s h e , at last, w h e n she f o u n d a s p a c e to say s o m e t h i n g to her h u s b a n d . "Yes, yes, I t h o u g h t I'd j u s t m a k e a run d o w n , s p e n d the night, a n d have a little c o m f o r t at h o m e . I'm tired to d e a t h , a n d my h e a d a c h e s ! " M r s . Bird c a s t a g l a n c e at a c a m p h o r - b o t t l e , which s t o o d in the halfo p e n closet, a n d a p p e a r e d to m e d i t a t e an a p p r o a c h to it, but her h u s b a n d interposed. " N o , n o , Mary, n o doctoring! a c u p of your g o o d hot tea, a n d s o m e of our g o o d h o m e living, is what I want. It's a t i r e s o m e b u s i n e s s , this legislating!" A n d the s e n a t o r s m i l e d , a s if he rather liked the idea of c o n s i d e r i n g h i m s e l f a sacrifice to his country. "Well," said his wife, after the b u s i n e s s of the tea-table w a s getting rather slack, " a n d what have they b e e n d o i n g in the S e n a t e ? " N o w , it w a s a very u n u s u a l thing for g e n t l e little M r s . Bird ever to trouble her h e a d with what w a s g o i n g on in the h o u s e of the s t a t e , very wisely considering that s h e h a d e n o u g h to do to m i n d her o w n . M r . Bird, therefore, o p e n e d his eyes in s u r p r i s e , a n d said, " N o t very m u c h of i m p o r t a n c e . " 9 . A n O h i o s t a t e s e n a t o r , r e t u r n i n g f r o m a s e s s i o n in C o l u m b u s , t h e s t a t e c a p i t a l .

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"Well; but is it true that they have b e e n p a s s i n g a law forbidding p e o p l e to give m e a t a n d drink to t h o s e p o o r colored folks that c o m e along? I h e a r d they were talking of s o m e s u c h law, but I didn't think any C h r i s t i a n legislature would p a s s it!" "Why, Mary, you are getting to be a politician, all at o n c e . " " N o , n o n s e n s e ! 1 wouldn't give a fip for all your politics, generally, but I think this is s o m e t h i n g downright cruel a n d u n c h r i s t i a n . I h o p e , my d e a r , no s u c h law has b e e n p a s s e d . " " T h e r e has b e e n a law p a s s e d forbidding p e o p l e to help off the slaves that c o m e over from K e n t u c k y , my dear; s o m u c h of that thing h a s b e e n d o n e by t h e s e reckless Abolitionists, that our brethren in K e n t u c k y are very strongly excited, a n d it s e e m s n e c e s s a r y , a n d no m o r e t h a n C h r i s t i a n a n d kind, that s o m e t h i n g s h o u l d b e d o n e by our s t a t e to quiet the e x c i t e m e n t . " "And what is the law? It don't forbid u s to shelter t h e s e p o o r c r e a t u r e s a night, d o e s it, a n d to give 'em s o m e t h i n g c o m f o r t a b l e to e a t , a n d a few old c l o t h e s , a n d s e n d t h e m quietly a b o u t their b u s i n e s s ? " "Why, yes, my dear; that would b e a i d i n g a n d abetting, you k n o w . " M r s . Bird w a s a timid, b l u s h i n g little w o m a n , of a b o u t four feet in height, a n d with mild b l u e e y e s , a n d a p e a c h - b l o w c o m p l e x i o n , a n d the gentlest, sweetest voice in the w o r l d ; — a s for c o u r a g e , a m o d e r a t e - s i z e d cock-turkey had b e e n known to p u t her to rout at the very first g o b b l e , a n d a stout h o u s e d o g , of m o d e r a t e c a p a c i t y , would bring her into s u b j e c t i o n merely by a s h o w of his teeth. H e r h u s b a n d and children were her entire world, a n d in t h e s e s h e ruled m o r e by entreaty a n d p e r s u a s i o n t h a n by c o m m a n d or a r g u m e n t . T h e r e w a s only o n e thing that w a s c a p a b l e of a r o u s i n g her, a n d that provoc a t i o n c a m e in on the side of her u n u s u a l l y g e n t l e a n d s y m p a t h e t i c n a t u r e ; — anything in the s h a p e of cruelty would throw her into a p a s s i o n , which was the m o r e a l a r m i n g a n d inexplicable in proportion to the general s o f t n e s s of her n a t u r e . G e n e r a l l y the m o s t i n d u l g e n t a n d e a s y to be e n t r e a t e d of all m o t h e r s , still her boys h a d a very reverent r e m e m b r a n c e of a m o s t v e h e m e n t c h a s t i s e m e n t s h e o n c e b e s t o w e d on t h e m , b e c a u s e she f o u n d t h e m l e a g u e d with several g r a c e l e s s boys of the n e i g h b o r h o o d , s t o n i n g a d e f e n c e l e s s kitten. "I'll tell you w h a t , " M a s t e r Bill u s e d to say, "I w a s s c a r e d that t i m e . M o t h e r c a m e at m e so that I t h o u g h t s h e w a s crazy, a n d I w a s w h i p p e d a n d t u m b l e d off to b e d , without any s u p p e r , b e f o r e I c o u l d get over w o n d e r i n g what h a d c o m e a b o u t ; a n d , after that, I h e a r d m o t h e r crying o u t s i d e the door, which m a d e m e feel w o r s e than all the rest. I'll tell you w h a t , " he'd say, "we boys never s t o n e d a n o t h e r kitten!" O n the p r e s e n t o c c a s i o n , M r s . Bird rose quickly, with very red c h e e k s , which q u i t e improved her general a p p e a r a n c e , a n d walked up to her h u s b a n d , with q u i t e a r e s o l u t e air, a n d said, in a d e t e r m i n e d t o n e , " N o w , J o h n , I want to know if you think s u c h a law a s that is right a n d Christian?" "You won't s h o o t m e , now, Mary, if I say I d o ! " "I never c o u l d have t h o u g h t it of you, J o h n ; you didn't vote for i t ? " " E v e n s o , my fair p o l i t i c i a n . " "You o u g h t to be a s h a m e d , J o h n ! Poor, h o m e l e s s , h o u s e l e s s c r e a t u r e s ! It's a s h a m e f u l , w i c k e d , a b o m i n a b l e law, a n d I'll b r e a k it, for o n e , the first time I get a c h a n c e ; a n d I h o p e I shall have a c h a n c e , I do! T h i n g s have got to a pretty p a s s , if a w o m a n can't give a w a r m s u p p e r a n d a b e d to poor, starving

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c r e a t u r e s , j u s t b e c a u s e they are slaves, a n d have b e e n a b u s e d a n d o p p r e s s e d all their lives, p o o r t h i n g s ! " " B u t , Mary, j u s t listen to m e . Your feelings are all q u i t e right, d e a r , a n d interesting, a n d I love you for t h e m ; b u t , t h e n , dear, we m u s t n ' t suffer our feelings to run away with our j u d g m e n t ; you m u s t c o n s i d e r it's not a m a t t e r of private f e e l i n g , — t h e r e are great public interests i n v o l v e d , — t h e r e is s u c h a state of public agitation rising, that we m u s t put a s i d e o u r private f e e l i n g s . " " N o w , J o h n , I don't know anything a b o u t politics, but I c a n r e a d my B i b l e ; a n d there I see that I m u s t feed the hungry, c l o t h e the n a k e d , a n d c o m f o r t the d e s o l a t e ; a n d that Bible I m e a n to follow." " B u t in c a s e s w h e r e your d o i n g s o would involve a great p u b l i c e v i l — " " O b e y i n g G o d never brings on public evils. I know it can't. It's always safest, all r o u n d , to do as He bids u s . " " N o w , listen to m e , M a r y , a n d I c a n state to you a very clear a r g u m e n t , to show—" " O , n o n s e n s e , J o h n ! you c a n talk all night, but you wouldn't d o it. I put it to you, J o h n , — w o u l d you now turn away a poor, shivering, h u n g r y c r e a t u r e from your door, b e c a u s e h e w a s a runaway? Would you, n o w ? " N o w , if the truth m u s t be told, our s e n a t o r h a d the m i s f o r t u n e to be a m a n who h a d a particularly h u m a n e a n d a c c e s s i b l e n a t u r e , a n d turning away anybody that w a s in trouble never h a d b e e n his forte; a n d what w a s w o r s e for him in this particular p i n c h of the a r g u m e n t w a s , that his wife knew it, a n d , of c o u r s e , w a s m a k i n g an a s s a u l t on rather an i n d e f e n s i b l e point. S o he h a d r e c o u r s e to the u s u a l m e a n s of g a i n i n g time for s u c h c a s e s m a d e a n d provided; he said " a h e m , " a n d c o u g h e d several t i m e s , took out his pockethandkerchief, a n d b e g a n to wipe his g l a s s e s . M r s . Bird, s e e i n g the d e f e n c e l e s s condition of the enemy's territory, h a d no m o r e c o n s c i e n c e than to p u s h her a d v a n t a g e . "I s h o u l d like to s e e you doing that, J o h n — I really s h o u l d ! T u r n i n g a w o m a n o u t of d o o r s in a s n o w - s t o r m , for i n s t a n c e ; or, m a y b e you'd take her u p a n d put her in jail, wouldn't you? You would m a k e a great h a n d at t h a t ! " " O f c o u r s e , it would be a very painful d u t y , " b e g a n M r . Bird, in a m o d e r a t e tone. " D u t y , J o h n ! don't u s e that word! You know it isn't a d u t y — i t can't be a duty! If folks want to keep their slaves from r u n n i n g away, let 'em treat 'em well,—that's my d o c t r i n e . If I h a d slaves (as I h o p e I never shall h a v e ) , I'd risk their w a n t i n g to run away from m e , or you either, J o h n . I tell you folks don't run away when they are happy; a n d when they do r u n , p o o r c r e a t u r e s ! they suffer e n o u g h with cold a n d h u n g e r a n d fear, without everybody's turning a g a i n s t t h e m ; a n d , law or no law, I never will, so help m e G o d ! " " M a r y ! Mary! My dear, let m e r e a s o n with y o u . " "I hate r e a s o n i n g , J o h n , — e s p e c i a l l y r e a s o n i n g on s u c h s u b j e c t s . T h e r e ' s a way you political folks have of c o m i n g r o u n d a n d r o u n d a plain right thing; a n d you don't believe in it yourselves, w h e n it c o m e s to p r a c t i c e . I knowyow well e n o u g h , J o h n . You don't believe it's right any m o r e than I d o ; a n d you wouldn't do it any s o o n e r than I." At this critical j u n c t u r e , old C u d j o e , the black man-of-all-work, p u t his h e a d in at the door, a n d wished " M i s s i s would c o m e into the k i t c h e n ; " a n d our senator, tolerably relieved, looked after his little wife with a w h i m s i c a l

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mixture of a m u s e m e n t a n d vexation, a n d , s e a t i n g h i m s e l f in the a r m - c h a i r , b e g a n to read the p a p e r s . After a m o m e n t , his wife's voice w a s h e a r d at the door, in a q u i c k , e a r n e s t t o n e , — " J o h n ! J o h n ! I do wish you'd c o m e h e r e , a m o m e n t . " H e laid down his p a p e r , a n d went into the k i t c h e n , a n d s t a r t e d , q u i t e a m a z e d at the sight that p r e s e n t e d i t s e l f : — A y o u n g a n d s l e n d e r w o m a n , with g a r m e n t s torn a n d frozen, with o n e s h o e g o n e , a n d the s t o c k i n g torn a w a y from the c u t a n d b l e e d i n g foot, w a s laid b a c k in a deadly s w o o n u p o n two c h a i r s . T h e r e w a s the i m p r e s s of the d e s p i s e d r a c e o n her f a c e , yet n o n e c o u l d help feeling its m o u r n f u l a n d p a t h e t i c b e a u t y , while its stony s h a r p n e s s , its cold, fixed, deathly a s p e c t , s t r u c k a s o l e m n chill over h i m . H e d r e w his b r e a t h short, a n d s t o o d in s i l e n c e . H i s wife, a n d their only c o l o r e d d o m e s tic, old A u n t D i n a h , were busily e n g a g e d in restorative m e a s u r e s ; while old C u d j o e h a d got the boy on his k n e e , a n d w a s b u s y p u l l i n g off his s h o e s a n d s t o c k i n g s , a n d chafing his little c o l d feet. " S u r e , now, if s h e an't a sight to b e h o l d ! " said old D i n a h , c o m p a s s i o n a t e l y ; " 'pears like 'twas the heat that m a d e her faint. S h e w a s tol'able p e a r t w h e n s h e c u m in, a n d a s k e d if s h e couldn't w a r m herself here a spell; a n d I w a s j u s t a askin' her w h e r e s h e c u m from, a n d s h e fainted right d o w n . N e v e r d o n e m u c h h a r d work, g u e s s , by the looks of her h a n d s . " " P o o r c r e a t u r e ! " said M r s . Bird, c o m p a s s i o n a t e l y , a s the w o m a n slowly u n c l o s e d her large, d a r k eyes, a n d looked vacantly at her. S u d d e n l y a n expression of a g o n y c r o s s e d her f a c e , a n d s h e s p r a n g u p , saying, " O , my Harry! H a v e they got h i m ? " T h e boy, at this, j u m p e d from C u d j o e ' s k n e e , a n d , r u n n i n g to her s i d e , p u t u p his a r m s . " O , he's h e r e ! he's h e r e ! " s h e e x c l a i m e d . " O , m a ' a m ! " said s h e , wildly, to M r s . Bird, " d o protect u s ! don't let t h e m get h i m ! " " N o b o d y shall hurt you h e r e , p o o r w o m a n , " s a i d M r s . Bird, e n c o u r a g i n g l y . "You are s a f e ; don't b e a f r a i d . " " G o d b l e s s y o u ! " said the w o m a n , covering her f a c e a n d s o b b i n g ; while the little boy, s e e i n g her crying, tried to get into her l a p . W i t h m a n y g e n t l e a n d w o m a n l y offices, w h i c h n o n e k n e w better h o w to r e n d e r than M r s . Bird, the p o o r w o m a n w a s , in t i m e , r e n d e r e d m o r e c a l m . A t e m p o r a r y b e d w a s provided for her o n the settle, n e a r the fire; a n d , after a short t i m e , s h e fell into a heavy s l u m b e r , with the c h i l d , w h o s e e m e d no less weary, s o u n d l y s l e e p i n g o n her a r m ; for the m o t h e r r e s i s t e d , with nervous anxiety, the kindest a t t e m p t s to take h i m from her; a n d , even in s l e e p , her a r m e n c i r c l e d him with a n unrelaxing c l a s p , a s if s h e c o u l d n o t even t h e n b e b e g u i l e d of her vigilant hold. Mr. a n d M r s . Bird h a d g o n e b a c k to the parlor, w h e r e , s t r a n g e a s it m a y a p p e a r , n o r e f e r e n c e w a s m a d e , o n either s i d e , to the p r e c e d i n g c o n v e r s a t i o n ; b u t M r s . Bird b u s i e d herself with her knitting-work, a n d M r . B i r d p r e t e n d e d to be r e a d i n g the p a p e r . "I w o n d e r w h o a n d what s h e i s ! " said M r . Bird, at last, a s h e laid it d o w n . " W h e n s h e w a k e s u p a n d feels a little r e s t e d , w e will s e e , " s a i d M r s . Bird. "I say, w i f e ! " said M r . Bird, after m u s i n g in s i l e n c e over his n e w s p a p e r . "Well, d e a r ! " " S h e c o u l d n ' t wear o n e of your g o w n s , c o u l d s h e , by any letting d o w n , or s u c h m a t t e r ? S h e s e e m s to be rather larger than you a r e . "

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A q u i t e p e r c e p t i b l e smile g l i m m e r e d on M r s . Bird's f a c e , a s s h e a n s w e r e d , "We'll s e e . " A n o t h e r p a u s e , a n d M r . Bird again broke o u t , "I say, w i f e ! " "Well! W h a t n o w ? " "Why, there's that old b o m b a z i n 1 cloak, that you k e e p on p u r p o s e to put over m e w h e n I take my afternoon's n a p ; you might a s well give her t h a t , — she needs clothes." At this i n s t a n t , D i n a h looked in to say that the w o m a n w a s a w a k e , a n d w a n t e d to s e e M i s s i s . Mr. a n d M r s . Bird went into the kitchen, followed by the two eldest boys, the s m a l l e r fry having, by this t i m e , b e e n safely d i s p o s e d of in b e d . T h e w o m a n w a s now sitting u p on the s e t t l e , 2 by the fire. S h e w a s looking steadily into the blaze, with a c a l m , h e a r t b r o k e n expression, very different from her former agitated w i l d n e s s . " D i d you w a n t m e ? " said M r s . Bird, in g e n t l e t o n e s . "I h o p e you feel better now, p o o r w o m a n ! " A long-drawn, shivering sigh w a s the only a n s w e r ; but s h e lifted her dark eyes, a n d fixed t h e m on her with s u c h a forlorn a n d i m p l o r i n g e x p r e s s i o n , that the tears c a m e into the little w o m a n ' s eyes. "You needn't be afraid of anything; we are friends h e r e , p o o r w o m a n ! Tell m e w h e r e you c a m e f r o m , a n d what you w a n t , " said s h e . "I c a m e from K e n t u c k y , " said the w o m a n . " W h e n ? " s a i d M r . Bird, taking u p the interrogatory. "To-night." " H o w did you c o m e ? " "I c r o s s e d on the i c e . " " C r o s s e d on the i c e ! " s a i d every o n e p r e s e n t . " Y e s , " said the w o m a n , slowly, "I did. G o d h e l p i n g m e , I c r o s s e d o n the ice; for they were b e h i n d m e — r i g h t b e h i n d — a n d there w a s no other way!" " L a w , M i s s i s , " said C u d j o e , "the ice is all in b r o k e n - u p b l o c k s , a swinging a n d a tetering u p a n d d o w n in the w a t e r ! " "I know it w a s — I know it!" said s h e , wildly; " b u t I did it! I wouldn't have thought I c o u l d , — I didn't think I s h o u l d get over, but I didn't c a r e ! I c o u l d b u t die, if I didn't. T h e L o r d h e l p e d m e ; n o b o d y knows h o w m u c h the L o r d c a n help ' e m , till they try," said the w o m a n , with a flashing eye. " W e r e you a s l a v e ? " said M r . Bird. "Yes, sir; I b e l o n g e d to a m a n in K e n t u c k y . " " W a s he unkind to y o u ? " " N o , sir; h e w a s a g o o d m a s t e r . " " A n d w a s your m i s t r e s s u n k i n d to y o u ? " " N o , s i r — n o ! my m i s t r e s s w a s always g o o d to m e . " " W h a t c o u l d i n d u c e you to leave a g o o d h o m e , t h e n , a n d run away, a n d go t h r o u g h s u c h d a n g e r s ? " T h e w o m a n looked u p at M r s . Bird, with a k e e n , scrutinizing g l a n c e , a n d it did not e s c a p e her that s h e w a s d r e s s e d in d e e p m o u r n i n g . " M a ' a m , " s h e said, suddenly, "have you ever lost a c h i l d ? " T h e q u e s t i o n w a s u n e x p e c t e d , a n d it w a s a thrust on a n e w w o u n d ; for it 1. T w i l l f a b r i c w o v e n o f s i l k a n d w o o l .

2.

A small sofa.

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w a s only a m o n t h s i n c e a darling child of the family h a d b e e n laid in the grave. Mr. Bird t u r n e d a r o u n d a n d walked to the window, a n d M r s . Bird b u r s t into t e a r s ; b u t , recovering her voice, s h e said, "Why do you a s k that? I have lost a little o n e . " " T h e n you will feel for m e . I have lost two, o n e after a n o t h e r , — l e f t 'em buried there w h e n I c a m e away; a n d I h a d only this o n e left. I never slept a night without h i m ; h e w a s all I h a d . H e w a s my c o m f o r t a n d pride, day a n d night; a n d , m a ' a m , they were going to take him away from m e , — t o sell h i m , — s e l l him d o w n s o u t h , m a ' a m , to go all a l o n e , — a b a b y that h a d never b e e n away from his m o t h e r in his life! I couldn't s t a n d it, m a ' a m . I k n e w I never s h o u l d be g o o d for anything, if they did; a n d w h e n I knew the p a p e r s were s i g n e d , a n d he w a s sold, I took him a n d c a m e off in the night; a n d they c h a s e d m e , — t h e m a n that b o u g h t him, a n d s o m e of M a s ' r ' s f o l k s , — a n d they were c o m i n g d o w n right b e h i n d m e , a n d I h e a r d 'em. I j u m p e d right on to the i c e ; a n d how I got a c r o s s , I don't k n o w , — b u t , first I knew, a m a n w a s helping m e u p the b a n k . " T h e w o m a n did not s o b nor w e e p . S h e h a d g o n e to a p l a c e w h e r e tears are dry; but every o n e a r o u n d her w a s , in s o m e way c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of t h e m selves, s h o w i n g signs of hearty sympathy. T h e two little boys, after a d e s p e r a t e r u m m a g i n g in their p o c k e t s , in s e a r c h of t h o s e p o c k e t - h a n d k e r c h i e f s which m o t h e r s know a r e never to be f o u n d there, h a d thrown t h e m s e l v e s d i s c o n s o l a t e l y into the skirts of their m o t h e r ' s g o w n , where they were s o b b i n g , a n d wiping their eyes a n d n o s e s , to their hearts' c o n t e n t ; — M r s . Bird h a d her f a c e fairly h i d d e n in her pockethandkerchief; a n d old D i n a h , with tears s t r e a m i n g down her b l a c k , h o n e s t f a c e , w a s e j a c u l a t i n g , " L o r d have mercy on u s ! " with all the fervor of a c a m p m e e t i n g ; — w h i l e old C u d j o e , r u b b i n g his eyes very hard with his cuffs, a n d m a k i n g a m o s t u n c o m m o n variety of wry f a c e s , o c c a s i o n a l l y r e s p o n d e d in the s a m e key, with great fervor. O u r s e n a t o r w a s a s t a t e s m a n , a n d of c o u r s e c o u l d not b e e x p e c t e d to cry, like other m o r t a l s ; a n d s o h e t u r n e d his b a c k to the c o m p a n y , a n d looked out of the window, a n d s e e m e d particularly busy in clearing his throat a n d wiping his s p e c t a c l e - g l a s s e s , o c c a s i o n a l l y blowing his n o s e in a m a n n e r that w a s c a l c u l a t e d to excite s u s p i c i o n , h a d any o n e b e e n in a state to observe critically. " H o w c a m e you to tell m e you h a d a kind m a s t e r ? " h e s u d d e n l y e x c l a i m e d , g u l p i n g down very resolutely s o m e kind of rising in his throat, a n d turning s u d d e n l y r o u n d u p o n the w o m a n . " B e c a u s e h e was a kind m a s t e r ; I'll say that of him, any w a y ; — a n d my m i s t r e s s w a s kind; but they couldn't help t h e m s e l v e s . T h e y were owing money; a n d there w a s s o m e way, I can't tell how, that a m a n h a d a hold on t h e m , a n d they were obliged to give him his will. I listened, a n d h e a r d him telling m i s t r e s s that, a n d s h e b e g g i n g a n d p l e a d i n g for m e , — a n d h e told her he couldn't help himself, a n d that the p a p e r s were all d r a w n ; — a n d then it w a s I took him a n d left my h o m e , a n d c a m e away. I k n e w 'twas no u s e of my trying to live, if they did it; f o r ' t 'pears like this child is all I h a v e . " " H a v e you n o h u s b a n d ? " "Yes, but h e b e l o n g s to a n o t h e r m a n . H i s m a s t e r is real hard to him, a n d won't let him c o m e to s e e m e , hardly ever; a n d he's grown h a r d e r a n d harder u p o n u s , a n d he t h r e a t e n s to sell him d o w n s o u t h ; — i t ' s like I'll never s e e him a g a i n ! "

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T h e quiet t o n e in which the w o m a n p r o n o u n c e d t h e s e w o r d s might have led a superficial observer to think that she w a s entirely a p a t h e t i c ; b u t there w a s a c a l m , settled depth of a n g u i s h in her large, d a r k eye, that s p o k e of s o m e t h i n g far otherwise. "And w h e r e d o you m e a n to g o , my p o o r w o m a n ? " s a i d M r s . Bird. " T o C a n a d a , if I only k n e w where that w a s . Is it very far off, is C a n a d a ? " said s h e , looking u p , with a s i m p l e , confiding air, to M r s . Bird's f a c e . " P o o r thing!" said M r s . Bird, involuntarily. "Is't a very great way off, t h i n k ? " said the w o m a n , earnestly. " M u c h further than you think, p o o r c h i l d ! " said M r s . B i r d ; " b u t we will try to think what c a n be d o n e for you. H e r e , D i n a h , m a k e her u p a b e d in your own r o o m , c l o s e by the kitchen, a n d I'll think what to d o for her in the m o r n i n g . M e a n w h i l e , never fear, poor w o m a n ; p u t your trust in G o d ; h e will protect y o u . " M r s . Bird a n d her h u s b a n d reentered the parlor. S h e sat d o w n in her little rocking-chair before the fire, swaying thoughtfully to a n d fro. M r . Bird strode u p a n d down the r o o m , g r u m b l i n g to himself, " P i s h ! p s h a w ! c o n f o u n d e d awkward b u s i n e s s ! " At length, striding up to his wife, he said, "I say, wife, she'll have to get away from h e r e , this very night. T h a t fellow will b e down o n the s c e n t bright a n d early to-morrow m o r n i n g ; if 'twas only the w o m a n , s h e c o u l d lie quiet till it w a s over; but that little c h a p can't b e kept still by a troop of h o r s e a n d foot, I'll warrant m e ; he'll bring it all out, p o p p i n g his h e a d o u t of s o m e window or door. A pretty kettle of fish it w o u l d be for m e , too, to be c a u g h t with t h e m both h e r e , j u s t now! N o ; they'll have to be got off to-night." "To-night! H o w is it p o s s i b l e ? — w h e r e t o ? " "Well, I know pretty well w h e r e t o , " s a i d the s e n a t o r , b e g i n n i n g to p u t o n his b o o t s , with a reflective air; a n d , s t o p p i n g w h e n his leg w a s half in, he e m b r a c e d his knee with both h a n d s , a n d s e e m e d to go off in d e e p m e d i t a t i o n . "It's a c o n f o u n d e d awkward, ugly b u s i n e s s , " said h e , at last, b e g i n n i n g to t u g at his boot-straps a g a i n , " a n d that's a f a c t ! " After o n e b o o t w a s fairly o n , the s e n a t o r sat with the other in his h a n d , profoundly studying the figure of the c a r p e t . "It will have to be d o n e , t h o u g h , for a u g h t I s e e , — h a n g it all!" a n d h e drew the other boot anxiously o n , a n d looked o u t of the window. N o w , little M r s . Bird w a s a discreet w o m a n , — a w o m a n w h o never in her life said, "I told you s o ! " a n d , on the p r e s e n t o c c a s i o n , t h o u g h pretty well aware of the s h a p e her h u s b a n d ' s m e d i t a t i o n s were taking, s h e very prudently forbore to m e d d l e with t h e m , only sat very quietly in her chair, a n d looked quite ready to hear her liege lord's intentions, w h e n he s h o u l d think p r o p e r to utter t h e m . "You s e e , " h e said, "there's my old client, V a n T r o m p e , has c o m e over from Kentucky, a n d set all his slaves free; a n d he h a s b o u g h t a p l a c e seven miles up the creek, h e r e , b a c k in the w o o d s , w h e r e nobody g o e s , u n l e s s they g o on p u r p o s e ; a n d it's a p l a c e that isn't f o u n d in a hurry. T h e r e she'd b e s a f e e n o u g h ; but the p l a g u e of the thing is, n o b o d y c o u l d drive a c a r r i a g e there to-night, but me." "Why not? C u d j o e is a n excellent driver." "Ay, ay, but here it is. T h e c r e e k has to b e c r o s s e d twice; a n d the s e c o n d c r o s s i n g is q u i t e d a n g e r o u s , u n l e s s o n e knows it a s I d o . I have c r o s s e d it a h u n d r e d times o n h o r s e b a c k , a n d know exactly the t u r n s to take. A n d s o , you s e e , there's no help for it. C u d j o e m u s t p u t in the h o r s e s , a s quietly a s

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m a y b e , a b o u t twelve o'clock, a n d I'll take her over; a n d t h e n , to give color to the matter, he m u s t carry m e on to the next tavern, to take the s t a g e ' for C o l u m b u s , that c o m e s by a b o u t three or four, a n d s o it will look a s if I h a d had the carriage only for that. I shall get into b u s i n e s s bright a n d early in the m o r n i n g . B u t I'm thinking I shall feel rather c h e a p there, after all that's b e e n said a n d d o n e ; b u t , h a n g it, I can't help it!" "Your heart is better than your h e a d , in this c a s e , J o h n , " said the wife, laying her little white h a n d on his. " C o u l d I ever have loved you, h a d I not known you better than you know y o u r s e l f ? " And the little w o m a n looked so h a n d s o m e , with the tears sparkling in her eyes, that the s e n a t o r thought he m u s t be a decidedly clever fellow, to get s u c h a pretty c r e a t u r e into s u c h a p a s s i o n a t e a d m i r a t i o n of him; a n d s o , what c o u l d he d o but walk off soberly, to s e e a b o u t the c a r r i a g e . At the door, however, he s t o p p e d a m o m e n t , a n d then c o m i n g b a c k , he said, with s o m e hesitation, " M a r y , I don't know how you'd feel a b o u t it, but there's that drawer full of t h i n g s — o f — o f — p o o r little H e n r y ' s . " S o saying, h e t u r n e d quickly on his heel, a n d shut the door after him. His wife o p e n e d the little b e d - r o o m d o o r a d j o i n i n g her r o o m , a n d , taking the c a n d l e , set it d o w n o n the top of a b u r e a u there; then from a small r e c e s s she took a key, a n d put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer, a n d m a d e a s u d d e n p a u s e , while two boys, w h o , boy like, h a d followed c l o s e on her h e e l s , stood looking, with silent, significant g l a n c e s , at their m o t h e r . A n d oh! m o t h e r that r e a d s this, has there never b e e n in your h o u s e a drawer, or a closet, the o p e n i n g of which has b e e n to you like the o p e n i n g a g a i n of a little grave? Ah! happy m o t h e r that you a r e , if it h a s not b e e n s o . M r s . Bird slowly o p e n e d the drawer. T h e r e were little c o a t s of m a n y a form a n d pattern, piles of a p r o n s , a n d rows of small s t o c k i n g s ; a n d even a pair of little s h o e s , worn a n d r u b b e d at the toes, were p e e p i n g from the folds of a paper. T h e r e w a s a toy horse a n d w a g o n , a t o p , a b a l l , — m e m o r i a l s g a t h e r e d with m a n y a tear a n d m a n y a heart-break! S h e sat down by the drawer, a n d , leaning her h e a d on her h a n d s over it, wept till the tears fell t h r o u g h her fingers into the drawer; then s u d d e n l y raising her h e a d , s h e b e g a n , with nervous h a s t e , selecting the p l a i n e s t a n d m o s t s u b s t a n t i a l articles, a n d gathering them into a b u n d l e . " M a m m a , " said o n e of the boys, gently t o u c h i n g her a r m , " a r e you g o i n g to give away those t h i n g s ? " " M y dear b o y s , " s h e said, softly a n d earnestly, "if o u r d e a r , loving little Henry looks d o w n from h e a v e n , he would b e glad to have u s d o this. I c o u l d not find it in my heart to give t h e m away to any c o m m o n p e r s o n — t o anybody that was happy; but I give t h e m to a m o t h e r m o r e heart-broken a n d sorrowful than I a m ; a n d I h o p e G o d will s e n d his b l e s s i n g s with t h e m ! " T h e r e a r e in this world b l e s s e d s o u l s , w h o s e sorrows all s p r i n g u p into joys for o t h e r s ; w h o s e earthly h o p e s , laid in the grave with m a n y tears, are the seed from which spring healing flowers a n d b a l m for the d e s o l a t e a n d the d i s t r e s s e d . A m o n g s u c h w a s the delicate w o m a n w h o sits t h e r e bv the l a m p , d r o p p i n g slow tears, while she p r e p a r e s the m e m o r i a l s of her own lost o n e for the o u t c a s t w a n d e r e r . After a while, M r s . Bird o p e n e d a w a r d r o b e , a n d , taking from t h e n c e a 3.

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plain, serviceable d r e s s or two, s h e sat down busily to her work-table, a n d , with n e e d l e , s c i s s o r s , a n d thimble, at h a n d , quietly c o m m e n c e d the "letting d o w n " p r o c e s s which her h u s b a n d had r e c o m m e n d e d , a n d c o n t i n u e d busily at it till the old c l o c k in the corner s t r u c k twelve, a n d s h e h e a r d the low rattling of wheels at the door. " M a r y , " said her h u s b a n d , c o m i n g in, with his overcoat in his h a n d , "you m u s t wake her u p now; we m u s t be off." M r s . Bird hastily d e p o s i t e d the various articles s h e h a d c o l l e c t e d in a small plain trunk, a n d locking it, desired her h u s b a n d to s e e it in the c a r r i a g e , a n d then p r o c e e d e d to call the w o m a n . S o o n , arrayed in a cloak, b o n n e t , a n d shawl, that h a d b e l o n g e d to her b e n e f a c t r e s s , s h e a p p e a r e d at the d o o r with her child in her a r m s . M r . Bird hurried her into the c a r r i a g e , a n d M r s . Bird p r e s s e d on after her to the c a r r i a g e s t e p s . Eliza l e a n e d out of the c a r r i a g e , a n d put out her h a n d , — a h a n d a s soft a n d beautiful a s w a s given in return. S h e fixed her large, dark eyes, full of e a r n e s t m e a n i n g , on M r s . Bird's f a c e , a n d s e e m e d going to s p e a k . H e r lips m o v e d , — s h e tried o n c e or twice, but there w a s no s o u n d , — a n d p o i n t i n g u p w a r d , with a look never to be forgotten, she fell b a c k in the s e a t , a n d covered her f a c e . T h e d o o r w a s s h u t , a n d the carriage drove on. W h a t a situation, now, for a patriotic s e n a t o r , that h a d b e e n all the w e e k before s p u r r i n g up the legislature of his native state to p a s s m o r e stringent resolutions a g a i n s t e s c a p i n g fugitives, their harborers a n d a b e t t o r s ! O u r good s e n a t o r in his native state h a d not b e e n e x c e e d e d by any of his brethren at W a s h i n g t o n , in the sort of e l o q u e n c e which h a s won for t h e m immortal renown! H o w sublimely he h a d sat with his h a n d s in his p o c k e t s , a n d s c o u t e d all s e n t i m e n t a l w e a k n e s s of t h o s e who would p u t the welfare of a few m i s e r a b l e fugitives before great state interests! H e w a s a s bold a s a lion a b o u t it, a n d "mightily c o n v i n c e d " not only himself, but everybody that h e a r d h i m ; — b u t then his idea of a fugitive w a s only a n idea of the letters that spell the w o r d , — o r , at the m o s t , the i m a g e of a little n e w s p a p e r p i c t u r e of a m a n with a stick a n d b u n d l e , with " R a n away from the s u b s c r i b e r " u n d e r it. T h e m a g i c of the real p r e s e n c e of d i s t r e s s , — the imploring h u m a n eye, the frail, trembling h u m a n h a n d , the d e s p a i r i n g appeal of helpless a g o n y , — t h e s e he had never tried. H e h a d never t h o u g h t that a fugitive might be a h a p l e s s m o t h e r , a d e f e n c e l e s s c h i l d , — l i k e that o n e which w a s now w e a r i n g his lost boy's little well-known c a p ; a n d s o , a s our poor s e n a t o r w a s not s t o n e or s t e e l , — a s h e w a s a m a n , a n d a downright n o b l e h e a r t e d o n e , t o o , — h e w a s , a s everybody m u s t s e e , in a s a d c a s e for his patriotism. A n d you n e e d not exult over him, g o o d brother of the S o u t h e r n S t a t e s ; for we have s o m e inklings that m a n y of you, u n d e r similar c i r c u m s t a n c e s , would not do m u c h better. W e have r e a s o n to know, in K e n t u c k y , a s in M i s s i s s i p p i , are noble a n d g e n e r o u s h e a r t s , to w h o m never w a s tale of suffering told in vain. Ah, good brother! is it fair for you to expect of u s services which your own brave, h o n o r a b l e heart would not allow you to render, were you in our p l a c e ? B e that as it may, if our good s e n a t o r w a s a political sinner, h e w a s in a fair way to expiate it by his night's p e n a n c e . T h e r e h a d b e e n a long continu o u s period of rainy weather, a n d the soft, rich earth of O h i o , a s every o n e knows, is admirably suited to the m a n u f a c t u r e of m u d , — a n d the road w a s an O h i o railroad of the g o o d old times.

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" A n d pray, what sort of a r o a d m a y that b e ? " says s o m e e a s t e r n traveller, w h o h a s b e e n a c c u s t o m e d to c o n n e c t no ideas with a railroad, but t h o s e of s m o o t h n e s s or s p e e d . K n o w , t h e n , i n n o c e n t e a s t e r n friend, that in b e n i g h t e d regions of the w e s t , where the m u d is of u n f a t h o m a b l e a n d s u b l i m e d e p t h , roads a r e m a d e of r o u n d rough logs, a r r a n g e d transversely side by s i d e , a n d c o a t e d over in their pristine f r e s h n e s s with earth, turf, a n d w h a t s o e v e r m a y c o m e to h a n d , a n d then the rejoicing native calleth it a r o a d , a n d straightway e s s a y e t h to ride t h e r e u p o n . In p r o c e s s of t i m e , the rains w a s h off all the turf a n d g r a s s aforesaid, m o v e the logs hither a n d thither, in p i c t u r e s q u e p o s i t i o n s , u p , d o w n a n d c r o s s w i s e , with divers c h a s m s a n d ruts of black m u d intervening. Over s u c h a r o a d a s this our s e n a t o r went s t u m b l i n g along, m a k i n g m o r a l reflections a s c o n t i n u o u s l y a s u n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s c o u l d be e x p e c t e d , — the carriage p r o c e e d i n g a l o n g m u c h a s f o l l o w s , — b u m p ! b u m p ! b u m p ! s l u s h ! d o w n in the m u d ! — t h e s e n a t o r , w o m a n a n d child, reversing their p o s i t i o n s s o s u d d e n l y a s to c o m e , without any very a c c u r a t e a d j u s t m e n t , a g a i n s t the windows of the down-hill s i d e . C a r r i a g e sticks fast, while C u d j o e on the o u t s i d e is h e a r d m a k i n g a great m u s t e r a m o n g the h o r s e s . After various ineffectual pullings a n d twitchings, j u s t a s the s e n a t o r is l o s i n g all p a t i e n c e , the carriage s u d d e n l y rights itself with a b o u n c e , — t w o front w h e e l s go d o w n into a n o t h e r a b y s s , a n d s e n a t o r , w o m a n , a n d child, all t u m b l e p r o m i s c u o u s l y on to the front s e a t , — s e n a t o r ' s hat is j a m m e d over his eyes a n d n o s e q u i t e u n c e r e m o n i o u s l y , a n d he c o n s i d e r s h i m s e l f fairly e x t i n g u i s h e d ; — c h i l d c r i e s , a n d C u d j o e on the o u t s i d e delivers a n i m a t e d a d d r e s s e s to the h o r s e s , w h o are kicking, a n d floundering, a n d straining, u n d e r r e p e a t e d c r a c k s of the whip. C a r r i a g e springs u p , with a n o t h e r b o u n c e , — d o w n go the hind w h e e l s , — s e n a t o r , w o m a n , a n d child, fly over on to the b a c k s e a t , his elbows e n c o u n t e r i n g her b o n n e t , a n d both her feet b e i n g j a m m e d into his hat, which flies off in the c o n c u s s i o n . After a few m o m e n t s the " s l o u g h " is p a s s e d , a n d the h o r s e s s t o p , p a n t i n g ; — t h e s e n a t o r finds his hat, the w o m a n straightens her b o n n e t a n d h u s h e s her child, a n d they b r a c e t h e m s e l v e s firmly for what is yet to c o m e . F o r a while only the c o n t i n u o u s b u m p ! b u m p ! i n t e r m i n g l e d , j u s t by way of variety, with divers side p l u n g e s a n d c o m p o u n d s h a k e s ; a n d they begin to flatter t h e m s e l v e s that they are not s o badly off, after all. At last, with a s q u a r e p l u n g e , which p u t s all o n to their feet a n d then d o w n into their s e a t s with incredible q u i c k n e s s , the c a r r i a g e s t o p s , — a n d , after m u c h o u t s i d e c o m m o t i o n , C u d j o e a p p e a r s at the door. " P l e a s e , sir, it's powerful b a d s p o t , this yer. I don't know h o w we's to get clar out. I'm a thinkin' we'll have to b e a gettin' r a i l s . " 4 T h e s e n a t o r despairingly s t e p s out, p i c k i n g gingerly for s o m e firm foothold; d o w n g o e s o n e foot a n i m m e a s u r a b l e d e p t h , — h e tries to pull it u p , l o s e s his b a l a n c e , a n d t u m b l e s over into the m u d , a n d is fished o u t , in a very despairing c o n d i t i o n , by C u d j o e . B u t we forbear, o u t of s y m p a t h y to our r e a d e r s ' b o n e s . W e s t e r n travellers, w h o have b e g u i l e d the m i d n i g h t hour in the i n t e r e s t i n g p r o c e s s of p u l l i n g d o w n rail f e n c e s , to pry their c a r r i a g e s out of m u d h o l e s , will have a r e s p e c t 4 . A r e f e r e n c e t o t h e c o m m o n p r a c t i c e o f r e m o v i n g b o a r d s f r o m rail f e n c e s t o m a k e t r a c k s t h a t a c a r r i a g e or cart c o u l d ride o n to get o u t of t h e m u d .

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ful a n d m o u r n f u l sympathy with our u n f o r t u n a t e hero. W e b e g t h e m to drop a silent tear, a n d p a s s on. It was full late in the night when the carriage e m e r g e d , d r i p p i n g a n d b e s p a t t e r e d , out of the creek, a n d s t o o d at the d o o r of a large f a r m - h o u s e . It took no i n c o n s i d e r a b l e p e r s e v e r a n c e to a r o u s e the i n m a t e s ; but at last the r e s p e c t a b l e proprietor a p p e a r e d , a n d u n d i d the door. H e w a s a great, tall, bristling O r s o n of a fellow, 5 full six feet a n d s o m e i n c h e s in his s t o c k i n g s , a n d arrayed in a red flannel hunting-shirt. A very heavy mat of s a n d y hair, in a decidedly tousled c o n d i t i o n , a n d a b e a r d of s o m e days' growth, gave the worthy m a n an a p p e a r a n c e , to say the least, not particularly p r e p o s s e s s i n g . H e stood for a few m i n u t e s holding the c a n d l e aloft, a n d blinking on o u r travellers with a d i s m a l a n d mystified expression that w a s truly l u d i c r o u s . It c o s t s o m e effort of o u r s e n a t o r to i n d u c e him to c o m p r e h e n d the c a s e fully; a n d while he is d o i n g his b e s t at that, we shall give him a little i n t r o d u c t i o n to our r e a d e r s . H o n e s t old J o h n V a n T r o m p e was o n c e quite a c o n s i d e r a b l e land-holder a n d slave-owner in the S t a t e of Kentucky. H a v i n g " n o t h i n g of the b e a r a b o u t him but the s k i n , " a n d b e i n g gifted by n a t u r e with a great, h o n e s t , j u s t heart, q u i t e e q u a l to his gigantic f r a m e , he had b e e n for s o m e years w i t n e s s i n g with r e p r e s s e d u n e a s i n e s s the workings of a system equally b a d for o p p r e s s o r a n d o p p r e s s e d . At last, o n e day, J o h n ' s great heart h a d swelled a l t o g e t h e r too big to wear his b o n d s any longer; so he j u s t took his p o c k e t - b o o k o u t of his d e s k , a n d went over into O h i o , a n d b o u g h t a q u a r t e r of a t o w n s h i p of g o o d , rich land, m a d e out free p a p e r s for all his p e o p l e , — m e n , w o m e n , a n d c h i l d r e n , — p a c k e d t h e m u p in w a g o n s , a n d sent t h e m off to settle d o w n ; a n d then h o n e s t J o h n turned his f a c e up the creek, a n d sat quietly d o w n on a s n u g , retired farm, to enjoy his c o n s c i e n c e a n d his reflections. "Are you the m a n that will shelter a p o o r w o m a n a n d child from slavec a t c h e r s ? " said the senator, explicitly. "I rather think I a m , " said h o n e s t J o h n , with s o m e c o n s i d e r a b l e e m p h a s i s . "I thought s o , " said the senator. "If there's anybody c o m e s , " said the g o o d m a n , s t r e t c h i n g his tall, m u s c u l a r form u p w a r d , "why here I'm ready for him: a n d I've got seven s o n s , e a c h six foot high, a n d they'll be ready for 'em. Give o u r r e s p e c t s to ' e m , " said J o h n ; "tell 'em it's no m a t t e r h o w s o o n they c a l l , — m a k e no kinder difference to u s , " said J o h n , r u n n i n g his fingers through the s h o c k of hair that t h a t c h e d his h e a d , a n d b u r s t i n g o u t into a great l a u g h . Weary, j a d e d , a n d spiritless, Eliza d r a g g e d herself u p to the door, with her child lying in a heavy s l e e p on her a r m . T h e r o u g h m a n held the c a n d l e to her f a c e , a n d uttering a kind of c o m p a s s i o n a t e grunt, o p e n e d the d o o r of a small b e d r o o m adjoining to the large kitchen w h e r e they were s t a n d i n g , a n d m o t i o n e d her to g o in. H e took d o w n a c a n d l e , a n d lighting it, set it u p o n the t a b l e , a n d then a d d r e s s e d h i m s e l f to Eliza. " N o w , I say, gal, you needn't be a bit a f e a r d , let w h o will c o m e h e r e . I'm u p to all that sort o' t h i n g , " said h e , p o i n t i n g to two or three goodly rifles over the m a n t e l - p i e c e ; " a n d m o s t p e o p l e that k n o w m e k n o w t h a t ' t wouldn't b e healthy to try to get anybody out o' my h o u s e w h e n I'm agin it. S o now 5. A strong, wild m a n . F r o m the story of " O r s o n a n d V a l e n t i n e , " a n early F r e n c h r o m a n c e that a p p e a r e d in E n g l i s h a r o u n d 1 5 5 0 . O r s o n i s t h e l o s t s o n o f a k i n g ; a b a n d o n e d in t h e w o o d s , h e w a s r a i s e d b y a b e a r .

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you jist go to sleep now, a s quiet a s if yer m o t h e r w a s a rockin' y e , " said h e , a s h e shut the door. "Why, this is an u n c o m m o n h a n d s o m e u n , " he said to the s e n a t o r . " A h , well; h a n d s o m e u n s has the greatest c a u s e to run, s o m e t i m e s , if they has any kind o' feelin, s u c h as d e c e n t w o m e n s h o u l d . I k n o w all a b o u t t h a t . " T h e s e n a t o r , in a few w o r d s , briefly explained Eliza's history. " O ! o u ! aw! now, I w a n t to k n o w ? " said the g o o d m a n , pitifully; " s h o ! now sho! T h a t ' s n a t u r now, p o o r crittur! h u n t e d d o w n now like a d e e r , — h u n t e d d o w n , j e s t for havin' natural feelin's, a n d doin' what no kind o' m o t h e r c o u l d help a doin'! I tell ye what, t h e s e yer things m a k e m e c o m e the nighest to swearin', now, o' m o s t anything," said h o n e s t J o h n , a s h e wiped his eyes with the b a c k of a great, freckled, yellow h a n d . "I tell yer what, stranger, it w a s years a n d years b e f o r e I'd j i n e the c h u r c h , ' c a u s e the m i n i s t e r s r o u n d in our p a r t s u s e d to p r e a c h that the Bible went in for t h e s e ere c u t t i n g s u p , — a n d I couldn't be u p to 'em with their G r e e k a n d H e b r e w , a n d s o I took u p agin 'em, Bible a n d all. I never j i n e d the c h u r c h till I found a minister that w a s up to 'em all in G r e e k a n d all that, a n d he said right the contrary; a n d then I took right hold, a n d j i n e d the c h u r c h , — I did now, f a c t , " said J o h n , w h o h a d b e e n all this time u n c o r k i n g s o m e very frisky bottled cider, which at this juncture he presented. "Ye'd better j e s t p u t u p h e r e , now, till daylight," said h e , heartily, " a n d I'll call up the old w o m a n , a n d have a b e d got ready for you in no t i m e . " " T h a n k you, my g o o d friend," said the s e n a t o r , "I m u s t be a l o n g , to take the night s t a g e for C o l u m b u s . " "Ah! well, t h e n , if you m u s t , I'll go a p i e c e with you, a n d s h o w you a c r o s s road that will take you there better than the r o a d you c a m e on. T h a t road's mighty b a d . " J o h n e q u i p p e d himself, a n d , with a lantern in h a n d , w a s s o o n s e e n g u i d i n g the senator's c a r r i a g e towards a road that ran d o w n in a hollow, b a c k of his dwelling. W h e n they p a r t e d , the s e n a t o r put into his h a n d a ten-dollar bill. "It's for h e r , " h e said, briefly. "Ay, ay," s a i d J o h n , with e q u a l c o n c i s e n e s s . They shook hands, and parted. *

*

Chapter S E L E C T

INCIDENT

OF

*

XII LAWFUL

TRADE

"In Ramah there was a voice heard,—weeping, and lamentation, and great mourning; Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted." 6

M r . Haley a n d T o m j o g g e d o n w a r d in their w a g o n , e a c h , for a t i m e , a b s o r b e d in his own reflections. N o w , the reflections of two m e n sitting side by side are a c u r i o u s t h i n g , — s e a t e d on the s a m e s e a t , having the s a m e e y e s , e a r s , h a n d s a n d o r g a n s of all sorts, a n d having p a s s b e f o r e their eyes the s a m e o b j e c t s , — i t is wonderful what a variety we shall find in t h e s e s a m e reflections!

6.

Paraphrase of J e r e m i a h 3 1 . 1 5 .

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As, for e x a m p l e , Mr. Haley: h e thought first of T o m ' s length, a n d b r e a d t h , and height, a n d what he would sell for, if he w a s kept fat a n d in g o o d c a s e till he got him into market. H e thought of how he s h o u l d m a k e out his g a n g ; he thought of the respective market value of certain s u p p o s i t i t i o u s m e n a n d w o m e n a n d children w h o were to c o m p o s e it, a n d other kindred topics of the b u s i n e s s ; then he thought of himself, a n d how h u m a n e h e w a s , that w h e r e a s other m e n c h a i n e d their " n i g g e r s " h a n d a n d foot b o t h , he only put fetters on the feet, a n d left T o m the u s e of his h a n d s , a s long a s he b e h a v e d well; a n d he sighed to think how ungrateful h u m a n n a t u r e w a s , s o that there was even r o o m to d o u b t w h e t h e r T o m a p p r e c i a t e d his m e r c i e s . H e had b e e n taken in s o by " n i g g e r s " w h o m he had favored; but still he w a s a s t o n i s h e d to c o n s i d e r how g o o d - n a t u r e d he yet r e m a i n e d ! As to T o m , he was thinking over s o m e words of an u n f a s h i o n a b l e old book, which kept r u n n i n g through his h e a d again a n d a g a i n , a s follows: " W e have here no c o n t i n u i n g city, but we s e e k o n e to c o m e ; wherefore G o d himself is not a s h a m e d to be called our G o d ; for he hath p r e p a r e d for u s a city." 7 T h e s e words of an ancient v o l u m e , got up principally by "ignorant a n d u n l e a r n e d m e n , " have, through all t i m e , kept u p , s o m e h o w , a s t r a n g e sort of p o w e r over the m i n d s of poor, s i m p l e fellows, like T o m . T h e y stir up the soul from its d e p t h s , a n d r o u s e , a s with t r u m p e t call, c o u r a g e , energy, a n d e n t h u s i a s m , where before w a s only the b l a c k n e s s of despair. Mr. H a l e y pulled o u t of his pocket sundry n e w s p a p e r s , a n d b e g a n looking over their a d v e r t i s e m e n t s , with a b s o r b e d interest. H e w a s not a remarkably fluent reader, a n d was in the habit of r e a d i n g in a sort of recitative halfa l o u d , by way of calling in his ears to verify the d e d u c t i o n s of his eyes. In this tone he slowly recited the following p a r a g r a p h : " E X E C U T O R ' S S A L E , — N E G R O E S ! — A g r e e a b l y to order of c o u r t , will b e sold, on T u e s d a y , F e b r u a r y 2 0 , before the C o u r t - h o u s e door, in the town of W a s h i n g t o n , Kentucky, the following n e g r o e s : H a g a r , a g e d 6 0 ; J o h n , a g e d 3 0 ; B e n , a g e d 2 1 ; S a u l , a g e d 2 5 ; Albert, a g e d 14. S o l d for the benefit of the creditors a n d heirs of the e s t a t e of J e s s e B l u t c h f o r d , E s q . SAMUEL MORRIS, THOMAS FLINT,

Executors." " T h i s yer I m u s t look a t , " said he to T o m , for want of s o m e b o d y else to talk to. "Ye s e e , I'm going to get up a p r i m e g a n g to take d o w n with ye, T o m ; it'll m a k e it s o c i a b l e a n d p l e a s a n t l i k e , — g o o d c o m p a n y will, ye know. W e m u s t drive right to W a s h i n g t o n 8 first a n d f o r e m o s t , a n d then I'll c l a p you into jail, while I d o e s the b u s i n e s s . " T o m received this a g r e e a b l e intelligence q u i t e meekly; simply wondering, in his own heart, how many of these d o o m e d m e n had wives a n d children, a n d whether they would feel a s he did a b o u t leaving t h e m . It is to be conf e s s e d , too, that the naive, off-hand information that he w a s to be thrown into jail by no m e a n s p r o d u c e d an a g r e e a b l e i m p r e s s i o n o n a p o o r fellow who h a d always prided himself on a strictly h o n e s t a n d upright c o u r s e of life. /. A m a l g a m of 13.14. 8. W a s h i n g t o n ,

Hebrews Louisiana,

11.16

and

upriver

Hebrews

from

New

O r l e a n s ; t h e t o w n is c e r t a i n l y c h o s e n f o r name's echoes of George Washington and nation's capital.

the the

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Yes, T o m , we m u s t c o n f e s s it, w a s rather p r o u d of his honesty, p o o r f e l l o w , — not having very m u c h e l s e to be p r o u d o f ; — i f he h a d b e l o n g e d to s o m e of the higher walks of society, h e , p e r h a p s , would never have b e e n r e d u c e d to s u c h straits. However, the day wore o n , a n d the e v e n i n g s a w H a l e y a n d T o m comfortably a c c o m m o d a t e d in W a s h i n g t o n , — t h e o n e in a tavern, a n d the other in a jail. A b o u t eleven o'clock the next day, a mixed throng w a s g a t h e r e d a r o u n d the c o u r t - h o u s e s t e p s , — s m o k i n g , c h e w i n g , spitting, s w e a r i n g , a n d c o n v e r s i n g , a c c o r d i n g to their respective t a s t e s a n d t u r n s , — w a i t i n g for the a u c t i o n to c o m m e n c e . T h e m e n a n d w o m e n to be sold sat in a g r o u p a p a r t , talking in a low tone to e a c h other. T h e w o m a n who h a d b e e n advertised by the n a m e of H a g a r w a s a regular African in feature a n d figure. S h e might have b e e n sixty, b u t w a s older than that by hard work a n d d i s e a s e , w a s partially blind, a n d s o m e w h a t crippled with r h e u m a t i s m . By her side s t o o d her only r e m a i n i n g s o n , Albert, a bright-looking little fellow of f o u r t e e n years. T h e boy w a s the only survivor of a large family, w h o h a d b e e n s u c c e s s i v e l y sold away from her to a s o u t h e r n market. T h e m o t h e r held on to him with both her s h a k i n g h a n d s , a n d eyed with i n t e n s e trepidation every o n e w h o walked u p to e x a m i n e him. " D o n ' t b e feard, A u n t H a g a r , " s a i d the oldest of the m e n , "I s p o k e to M a s ' r T h o m a s 'bout it, a n d h e t h o u g h t h e might m a n a g e to sell you in a lot both together." " D e y needn't call m e worn out yet," said s h e , lifting her s h a k i n g h a n d s . "I c a n c o o k yet, a n d s c r u b , a n d s c o u r , — I ' m w u t h a buying, if I do c o m e c h e a p ; —tell e m dat a r , — y o u tell e m , " s h e a d d e d , earnestly. H a l e y here f o r c e d his way into the g r o u p , walked u p to the old m a n , pulled his m o u t h o p e n a n d looked in, felt of his teeth, m a d e him s t a n d a n d straighten himself, b e n d his back, a n d p e r f o r m various e v o l u t i o n s to s h o w his m u s c l e s ; a n d then p a s s e d o n to the next, a n d p u t him t h r o u g h the s a m e trial. W a l k i n g u p last to the boy, he felt of his a r m s , s t r a i g h t e n e d his h a n d s , a n d looked at his fingers, a n d m a d e him j u m p , to s h o w his agility. " H e an't gwine to be sold widout m e ! " said the old w o m a n , with p a s s i o n a t e e a g e r n e s s ; " h e a n d I g o e s in a lot together; I's rail s t r o n g yet, M a s ' r , a n d c a n do h e a p s o' w o r k , — h e a p s o n it, M a s ' r . " " O n p l a n t a t i o n ? " said Haley, with a c o n t e m p t u o u s g l a n c e . "Likely story!" a n d , as if satisfied with his e x a m i n a t i o n , h e walked out a n d looked, a n d s t o o d with his h a n d s in his p o c k e t , his cigar in his m o u t h , a n d his hat c o c k e d on o n e s i d e , ready for a c t i o n . " W h a t think of e m ? " said a m a n w h o h a d b e e n following Haley's examination, a s if to m a k e up his own m i n d from it. " W a l , " said H a l e y , spitting, "I shall put in, I think, for the youngerly o n e s a n d the b o y . " " T h e y want to sell the boy a n d the old w o m a n t o g e t h e r , " s a i d the m a n . " F i n d it a tight p u l l ; — w h y , she's a n old rack o' b o n e s , — n o t worth her salt." "You wouldn't, t h e n ? " said the m a n . "Anybody'd b e a f o o l ' t w o u l d . S h e ' s half blind, c r o o k e d with r h e u m a t i s , a n d foolish to b o o t . " " S o m e b u y s up t h e s e yer old critturs, a n d s e s there's a sight m o r e wear in 'em than a body'd think," said the m a n , reflectively. " N o g o , 't all," said Haley; "wouldn't take her for a p r e s e n t , — f a c t , — I ' v e seen, n o w . "

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"Wal, 'tis kinder pity, now, not to buy her with her s o n , — h e r heart s e e m s so sot o n h i m , — s ' p o s e they fling her in c h e a p . " " T h e m that's got m o n e y to s p e n d that ar way, it's all well e n o u g h . I shall bid off on that ar boy for a p l a n t a t i o n - h a n d ; — w o u l d n ' t b e b o t h e r e d with her, n o w a y , — n o t if they'd give her to m e , " said Haley. "She'll take on d e s p ' t , " said the m a n . "Nat'lly, s h e will," said the trader, coolly. T h e c o n v e r s a t i o n w a s here interrupted by a busy h u m in the a u d i e n c e ; a n d the a u c t i o n e e r , a short, bustling, important fellow, e l b o w e d his way into the crowd. T h e old w o m a n drew in her b r e a t h , a n d c a u g h t instinctively at her s o n . " K e e p c l o s e to yer m a m m y , A l b e r t , — c l o s e , — d e y ' l l p u t u s u p t o g e d d e r , " she s a i d . " O , m a m m y , I'm feared they won't," said the boy. " D e y m u s t , child; I can't live, n o ways, if they d o n ' t , " s a i d the old c r e a t u r e , vehemently. T h e stentorian tones of the a u c t i o n e e r , calling o u t to c l e a r the way, now a n n o u n c e d that the sale w a s a b o u t to c o m m e n c e . A p l a c e w a s c l e a r e d , a n d the b i d d i n g b e g a n . T h e different m e n on the list were s o o n k n o c k e d off at prices which s h o w e d a pretty brisk d e m a n d in the m a r k e t ; two of t h e m fell to Haley. " C o m e , now, y o u n g u n , " s a i d the a u c t i o n e e r , giving the boy a t o u c h with his h a m m e r , " b e u p a n d s h o w your s p r i n g s , n o w . " " P u t u s two u p t o g e d d e r , t o g e d d e r , — d o p l e a s e , M a s ' r , " s a i d the old w o m a n , holding fast to her boy. " B e off," said the m a n , gruffy, p u s h i n g her h a n d s away; "you c o m e last. N o w , darkey, s p r i n g ; " a n d , with the word, h e p u s h e d the boy toward the block, while a d e e p , heavy g r o a n rose b e h i n d h i m . T h e boy p a u s e d , a n d looked back; b u t there w a s no time to stay, a n d , d a s h i n g the tears from his large, bright eyes, h e w a s u p in a m o m e n t . H i s fine figure, alert l i m b s , a n d bright f a c e , raised a n instant c o m p e t i t i o n , a n d half a dozen bids s i m u l t a n e o u s l y m e t the ear of the a u c t i o n e e r . A n x i o u s , half-frightened, h e looked from side to s i d e , a s h e h e a r d the clatter of cont e n d i n g b i d s , — n o w h e r e , now there,—till the h a m m e r fell. H a l e y h a d got him. H e w a s p u s h e d from the block toward his n e w m a s t e r , b u t s t o p p e d o n e m o m e n t , a n d looked b a c k , w h e n his p o o r old m o t h e r , t r e m b l i n g in every limb, held out her s h a k i n g h a n d s toward h i m . " B u y m e too, M a s ' r , for de d e a r Lord's s a k e ! — b u y m e , — I shall die if you don't!" "You'll die if I d o , that's the kink of it," said H a l e y , — " n o ! " A n d h e turned on his heel. T h e b i d d i n g for the p o o r old c r e a t u r e w a s s u m m a r y . T h e m a n w h o h a d a d d r e s s e d Haley, a n d w h o s e e m e d not d e s t i t u t e of c o m p a s s i o n , b o u g h t her for a trifle, a n d the s p e c t a t o r s b e g a n to d i s p e r s e . T h e p o o r victims of the s a l e , w h o h a d b e e n b r o u g h t u p in o n e p l a c e together for years, g a t h e r e d r o u n d the d e s p a i r i n g old m o t h e r , w h o s e a g o n y w a s pitiful to s e e . " C o u l d n ' t dey leave m e o n e ? M a s ' r allers said I s h o u l d have o n e , — h e d i d , " she r e p e a t e d over a n d over, in h e a r t b r o k e n t o n e s . " T r u s t in the L o r d , A u n t H a g a r , " said the oldest of the m e n , sorrowfully. " W h a t g o o d will it d o ? " said s h e , s o b b i n g p a s s i o n a t e l y .

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" M o t h e r , m o t h e r , — d o n ' t ! don't!" said the boy. " T h e y say you's got a g o o d master." "I don't c a r e , — I don't c a r e . O, Albert! oh, my boy! you's my last baby. L o r d , how ken I ? " " C o m e , take her off, can't s o m e of y e ? " said Haley, dryly; "don't do no g o o d for her to go on that ar w a y . " T h e old m e n of the c o m p a n y , partly by p e r s u a s i o n a n d partly by force, l o o s e d the p o o r creature's last d e s p a i r i n g hold, a n d , as they led her off to her new m a s t e r ' s w a g o n , strove to comfort her. " N o w ! " said Haley, p u s h i n g his three p u r c h a s e s together, a n d p r o d u c i n g a b u n d l e of h a n d c u f f s , which h e p r o c e e d e d to put on their wrists; a n d fastening e a c h h a n d c u f f to a long c h a i n , he drove t h e m before h i m to the jail. A few days s a w Haley, with his p o s s e s s i o n s , safely d e p o s i t e d o n o n e of the O h i o b o a t s . It w a s the c o m m e n c e m e n t of his g a n g , to be a u g m e n t e d , as the boat m o v e d o n , by various other m e r c h a n d i s e of the s a m e kind, which h e , or his agent, h a d stored for him in v a r i o u s points a l o n g s h o r e . T h e L a Belle Riviere, a s brave a n d beautiful a b o a t a s ever walked the waters of her n a m e s a k e river, w a s floating gayly d o w n the s t r e a m , u n d e r a brilliant sky, the stripes a n d stars of free A m e r i c a waving a n d fluttering over h e a d ; the g u a r d s c r o w d e d with well-dressed ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n walking a n d enjoying the delightful day. All w a s full of life, b u o y a n t a n d r e j o i c i n g ; — all but Haley's g a n g , w h o were stored, with other freight, on the lower d e c k , a n d w h o , s o m e h o w , did not s e e m to a p p r e c i a t e their various privileges, as they sat in a knot, talking to e a c h other in low t o n e s . " B o y s , " said Haley, c o m i n g u p , briskly, "I h o p e you k e e p u p good heart, a n d a r e cheerful. N o w , n o s u l k s , ye s e e ; keep stiff u p p e r lip, boys; do well by m e , a n d I'll d o well by y o u . " T h e boys a d d r e s s e d r e s p o n d e d the invariable "Yes, M a s ' r , " for a g e s the watchword of p o o r Africa; b u t it's to be o w n e d they did not look particularly cheerful; they h a d their various little p r e j u d i c e s in favor of wives, m o t h e r s , sisters, a n d children, s e e n for the last t i m e , — a n d t h o u g h "they that w a s t e d t h e m r e q u i r e d of t h e m m i r t h , " 9 it w a s not instantly f o r t h c o m i n g . "I've got a w i f e , " s p o k e out the article e n u m e r a t e d a s " J o h n , a g e d thirty," a n d h e laid his c h a i n e d hand on T o m ' s k n e e , — " a n d s h e don't know a word a b o u t this, p o o r girl!" " W h e r e d o e s s h e live?" said T o m . "In a tavern a p i e c e d o w n h e r e , " said J o h n ; "I wish, now, I could s e e her o n c e m o r e in this w o r l d , " he a d d e d . P o o r J o h n ! It was rather n a t u r a l ; a n d the tears that fell, a s he s p o k e , c a m e a s naturally a s if he h a d b e e n a white m a n . T o m drew a long b r e a t h from a sore heart, a n d tried, in his p o o r way, to c o m f o r t h i m . A n d over h e a d , in the c a b i n , sat fathers a n d m o t h e r s , h u s b a n d s a n d wives; a n d merry, d a n c i n g children m o v e d r o u n d a m o n g t h e m , like so m a n y little butterflies, a n d everything w a s g o i n g on q u i t e easy a n d c o m f o r t a b l e . " O , m a m m a , " said a boy, w h o h a d j u s t c o m e u p from below, "there's a negro trader on b o a r d , a n d he's b r o u g h t four or five slaves d o w n t h e r e . " " P o o r c r e a t u r e s ! " said the m o t h e r , in a t o n e b e t w e e n grief a n d i n d i g n a t i o n . " W h a t ' s t h a t ? " said a n o t h e r lady. 9.

P a r a p h r a s e o f P s a l m 1 37.3.

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" S o m e poor slaves b e l o w , " said the mother. "And they've got c h a i n s o n , " said the boy. " W h a t a s h a m e to our country that s u c h sights are to be s e e n ! " said a n o t h e r lady. " O , there's a great deal to be said on both s i d e s of the s u b j e c t , " said a genteel w o m a n , w h o sat at her state-room door sewing, while her little girl a n d boy were playing r o u n d her. "I've b e e n s o u t h , a n d I m u s t say I think the n e g r o e s are better off than they would be to be f r e e . " "In s o m e r e s p e c t s , s o m e of t h e m are well off, I g r a n t , " s a i d the lady to w h o s e r e m a r k s h e h a d a n s w e r e d . " T h e m o s t dreadful part of slavery, to my m i n d , is its o u t r a g e s on the feelings a n d a f f e c t i o n s , — t h e s e p a r a t i n g of families, for e x a m p l e . " " T h a t is a b a d thing, certainly," said the other lady, holding u p a baby's d r e s s she had j u s t c o m p l e t e d , a n d looking intently o n its t r i m m i n g s ; " b u t then, I fancy, it don't o c c u r o f t e n . " " O , it d o e s , " said the first lady, eagerly; "I've lived m a n y years in K e n t u c k y a n d Virginia b o t h , a n d I've s e e n e n o u g h to m a k e any one's heart sick. S u p p o s e , m a ' a m , your two children, there, s h o u l d be taken from you, a n d s o l d ? " " W e can't r e a s o n from our feelings to t h o s e of this c l a s s of p e r s o n s , " said the other lady, sorting out s o m e worsteds on her lap. " I n d e e d , m a ' a m , you c a n know nothing of t h e m , if you say s o , " a n s w e r e d the first lady, warmly. "I w a s born a n d b r o u g h t up a m o n g t h e m . I know they do feel, j u s t a s k e e n l y , — e v e n m o r e s o , p e r h a p s , — a s w e d o . " T h e lady said " I n d e e d ! " y a w n e d , a n d looked out the c a b i n window, a n d finally r e p e a t e d , for a finale, the r e m a r k with which s h e h a d b e g u n , — " A f t e r all, I think they are better off than they would be to b e f r e e . " "It's u n d o u b t e d l y the intention of Providence that the African r a c e s h o u l d be s e r v a n t s , — k e p t in a low c o n d i t i o n , " said a grave-looking g e n t l e m a n in black, a c l e r g y m a n , s e a t e d by the c a b i n door. " ' C u r s e d be C a n a a n ; a servant of servants shall h e b e , ' the scripture s a y s . " 1 "I say, stranger, is that ar what that text m e a n s ? " said a tall m a n , s t a n d i n g by" U n d o u b t e d l y . It p l e a s e d P r o v i d e n c e , for s o m e i n s c r u t a b l e r e a s o n , to d o o m the r a c e to b o n d a g e , a g e s a g o ; a n d we m u s t not set up our o p i n i o n a g a i n s t that." "Well, t h e n , we'll all g o a h e a d a n d buy up n i g g e r s , " said the m a n , "if that's the way of P r o v i d e n c e , — w o n ' t w e , S q u i r e ? " said h e , turning to Haley, w h o had b e e n s t a n d i n g , with his h a n d s in his p o c k e t s , by the stove, a n d intently listening to the c o n v e r s a t i o n . " Y e s , " c o n t i n u e d the tall m a n , "we m u s t all be r e s i g n e d to the d e c r e e s of P r o v i d e n c e . Niggers m u s t be sold, a n d trucked r o u n d , a n d kept u n d e r ; it's what they's m a d e for. 'Pears like this yer view's q u i t e refreshing, an't it, s t r a n g e r ? " said he to Haley. "I never thought o n ' t , " said Haley. "I couldn't have said a s m u c h , myself; I ha'nt no l a m i n g . I took up the trade j u s t to m a k e a living; i f ' t an't right, I c a l c u l a t e d to 'pent o n ' t in t i m e , ye k n o w . " "And now you'll save yerself the trouble, won't y e ? " said the tall m a n . " S e e 1. G e n e s i s 9 . 2 5 , f r o m t h e s t o r y o f N o a h a n d h i s s o n H a m ; a p a s s a g e c i t e d t o j u s t i f y s l a v e r y o n t h e a s s u m p tion that Africans w e r e H a m ' s d e s c e n d a n t s .

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w h a t ' t is, now, to know scripture. If ye'd only s t u d i e d yer B i b l e , like this yer good m a n , ye might have know'd it b e f o r e , a n d s a v e d ye a h e a p o' trouble. Ye c o u l d jist have said, ' C u s s e d b e ' — w h a t ' s his n a m e ? — ' a n d 't would all have c o m e right.' " A n d the stranger, w h o w a s n o other than the h o n e s t drover w h o m we i n t r o d u c e d to our r e a d e r s in the K e n t u c k y t a v e r n , 2 sat d o w n , a n d b e g a n s m o k i n g , with a c u r i o u s s m i l e on his long, dry f a c e . A tall, slender y o u n g m a n , with a f a c e expressive of great feeling a n d intell i g e n c e , here b r o k e in, a n d r e p e a t e d the w o r d s , " 'All things w h a t s o e v e r ye would that m e n s h o u l d do u n t o you, d o ye even s o u n t o them.'* I s u p p o s e , " he a d d e d , "that is s c r i p t u r e , a s m u c h a s ' C u r s e d b e C a n a a n . ' " "Wal, it s e e m s quite as plain a text, s t r a n g e r , " said J o h n the drover, "to poor fellows like u s , n o w ; " a n d J o h n s m o k e d o n like a v o l c a n o . T h e y o u n g m a n p a u s e d , looked a s if h e w a s g o i n g to say m o r e , w h e n s u d d e n l y the b o a t s t o p p e d , a n d the c o m p a n y m a d e the u s u a l s t e a m b o a t r u s h , to s e e w h e r e they were landing. " B o t h t h e m ar c h a p s p a r s o n s ? " said J o h n to o n e of the m e n , a s they were g o i n g out. The man nodded. As the b o a t s t o p p e d , a b l a c k w o m a n c a m e r u n n i n g wildly u p the plank, darted into the crowd, flew u p to w h e r e the slave g a n g sat, a n d threw her a r m s r o u n d that u n f o r t u n a t e p i e c e of m e r c h a n d i s e before e n u m e r a t e d — " J o h n , a g e d thirty," a n d with s o b s a n d tears b e m o a n e d him a s her h u s b a n d . B u t w h a t n e e d s tell the story, told too oft,—every day t o l d , — o f heartstrings rent a n d b r o k e n , — t h e w e a k broken a n d torn for the profit a n d c o n v e n i e n c e of the strong! It n e e d s not to b e told;—every day is telling it,—telling it, too, in the ear of O n e w h o is not deaf, t h o u g h h e be long silent. T h e y o u n g m a n w h o h a d s p o k e n for the c a u s e of h u m a n i t y a n d G o d before stood with folded a r m s , looking on this s c e n e . H e t u r n e d , a n d H a l e y w a s s t a n d i n g at his s i d e . " M y f r i e n d , " he said, s p e a k i n g with thick u t t e r a n c e , " h o w c a n you, how d a r e you, carry on a t r a d e like this? L o o k at t h o s e p o o r creatures! H e r e I a m , rejoicing in my heart that I a m g o i n g h o m e to my wife a n d child; a n d the s a m e bell which is a signal to carry m e o n w a r d t o w a r d s t h e m will part this p o o r m a n a n d his wife forever. D e p e n d u p o n it, G o d will b r i n g you into j u d g m e n t for t h i s . " T h e trader t u r n e d away in s i l e n c e . "I say, n o w , " said the drover, t o u c h i n g his elbow, "there's differences in p a r s o n s , an't there? ' C u s s e d be C a n a a n ' don't s e e m to go d o w n with this 'un, does it?" H a l e y gave a n u n e a s y growl. "And that ar an't the worse o n ' t , " s a i d J o h n ; " m a b b e it won't go d o w n with the L o r d , neither, w h e n ye c o m e to settle with H i m , o n e o' t h e s e d a y s , a s all on u s m u s t , I r e c k o n . " H a l e y walked reflectively to the other e n d of the b o a t . "If I m a k e pretty h a n d s o m e l y o n o n e or two next g a n g s , " h e t h o u g h t , "I reckon I'll s t o p off this yer; it's really getting d a n g e r o u s . " A n d h e took o u t his p o c k e t - b o o k , a n d b e g a n a d d i n g over his a c c o u n t s , — a p r o c e s s which m a n y g e n t l e m e n b e s i d e s M r . H a l e y have f o u n d a s p e c i f i c 4 for a n u n e a s y conscience. 2. Mr. S y m m e s ; see ch. VI, "The Mother's Struggle." 3. F r o m C h r i s t ' s S e r m o n o n t h e M o u n t ; M a t t h e w

7.12. 4. H e a l i n g tonic.

UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, CHAPTER XII

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801

T h e boat swept proudly away from the s h o r e , a n d all went on merrily, a s before. M e n talked, a n d loafed, a n d r e a d , a n d s m o k e d . W o m e n s e w e d , a n d children played, a n d the boat p a s s e d on her way. O n e day, w h e n s h e lay to for a while at a small town in K e n t u c k y , H a l e y went u p into the p l a c e on a little m a t t e r of b u s i n e s s . T o m , w h o s e fetters did not prevent his taking a m o d e r a t e circuit, h a d drawn n e a r the side of the boat, a n d stood listlessly gazing over the railings. After a t i m e , he saw the trader returning, with a n alert s t e p , in c o m p a n y with a c o l o r e d w o m a n , b e a r i n g in her a r m s a y o u n g child. S h e w a s d r e s s e d q u i t e respectably, a n d a colored m a n followed her, bringing a l o n g a small trunk. T h e w o m a n c a m e cheerfully o n w a r d , talking, a s she c a m e , with the m a n w h o bore her trunk, a n d so p a s s e d up the plank into the b o a t . T h e bell rung, the s t e a m e r whizzed, the e n g i n e g r o a n e d a n d c o u g h e d , a n d away swept the b o a t down the river. T h e w o m a n walked forward a m o n g the boxes a n d b a l e s of the lower d e c k , a n d , sitting d o w n , b u s i e d herself with chirruping to her baby. H a l e y m a d e a turn or two a b o u t the b o a t , a n d then, c o m i n g u p , s e a t e d himself near her, a n d b e g a n saying s o m e t h i n g to her in a n indifferent undertone. T o m s o o n noticed a heavy c l o u d p a s s i n g over the w o m a n ' s brow; a n d that s h e a n s w e r e d rapidly, a n d with great v e h e m e n c e . "I don't believe it,—I won't believe it!" h e h e a r d her say. "You're jist a foolin with m e . " "If you won't believe it, look h e r e ! " said the m a n , drawing o u t a p a p e r ; "this yer's the bill of s a l e , a n d there's your m a s t e r ' s n a m e to it; a n d I p a i d d o w n g o o d solid c a s h for it, too, I c a n tell y o u , — s o , n o w ! " "I don't believe M a s ' r would c h e a t m e s o ; it can't be t r u e ! " said the w o m a n , with i n c r e a s i n g agitation. "You c a n a s k any of t h e s e m e n h e r e , that c a n read writing. H e r e ! " h e said, to a m a n that w a s p a s s i n g by, "jist read this yer, won't you! T h i s yer gal won't believe m e , w h e n I tell her w h a t ' t i s . " "Why, it's a bill of s a l e , signed by J o h n F o s d i c k , " said the m a n , " m a k i n g over to you the girl L u c y a n d her child. It's all straight e n o u g h , for a u g h t I see." T h e w o m a n ' s p a s s i o n a t e e x c l a m a t i o n s collected a crowd a r o u n d her, a n d the trader briefly explained to t h e m the c a u s e of the agitation. " H e told m e that I w a s g o i n g down to Louisville, to hire o u t a s c o o k to the s a m e tavern w h e r e my h u s b a n d w o r k s , — t h a t ' s what M a s ' r told m e , his own self; a n d I can't believe he'd lie to m e , " said the w o m a n . " B u t he h a s sold you, my p o o r w o m a n , there's no d o u b t a b o u t it," said a g o o d - n a t u r e d looking m a n , w h o h a d b e e n e x a m i n i n g the p a p e r s ; " h e has d o n e it, a n d no m i s t a k e . " " T h e n it's no a c c o u n t talking," said the w o m a n , s u d d e n l y growing q u i t e c a l m ; a n d , c l a s p i n g her child tighter in her a r m s , s h e sat d o w n on her box, turned her b a c k r o u n d , a n d gazed listlessly into the river. " G o i n g to take it easy, after all!" said the trader. " G a l ' s got grit, I s e e . " T h e w o m a n looked c a l m , a s the boat went o n ; a n d a beautiful soft s u m m e r b r e e z e p a s s e d like a c o m p a s s i o n a t e spirit over her h e a d , — t h e gentle b r e e z e , that never inquires w h e t h e r the brow is dusky or fair that it f a n s . A n d s h e saw s u n s h i n e sparkling o n the water, in golden ripples, a n d h e a r d gay v o i c e s , full of e a s e a n d p l e a s u r e , talking a r o u n d her everywhere; but her heart lay

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a s if a great s t o n e h a d fallen on it. H e r baby raised h i m s e l f u p a g a i n s t her, a n d stroked her c h e e k s with his little h a n d s ; a n d , s p r i n g i n g u p a n d d o w n , crowing a n d chatting, s e e m e d d e t e r m i n e d to a r o u s e her. S h e s t r a i n e d him s u d d e n l y a n d tightly in her a r m s , a n d slowly o n e tear after a n o t h e r fell on his wondering, u n c o n s c i o u s f a c e ; a n d gradually s h e s e e m e d , a n d little by little, to grow c a l m e r , a n d b u s i e d herself with t e n d i n g a n d n u r s i n g him. T h e child, a boy of ten m o n t h s , w a s u n c o m m o n l y large a n d s t r o n g of his a g e , a n d very vigorous in his limbs. N e v e r , for a m o m e n t , still, h e kept his m o t h e r constantly b u s y in holding him, a n d g u a r d i n g his s p r i n g i n g activity. " T h a t ' s a fine c h a p ! " said a m a n , s u d d e n l y s t o p p i n g o p p o s i t e to h i m , with his h a n d s in his p o c k e t s . " H o w old is h e ? " " T e n m o n t h s a n d a half," said the mother. T h e m a n whistled to the boy, a n d offered him part of a stick of c a n d y , which he eagerly g r a b b e d at, a n d very s o o n h a d it in a baby's g e n e r a l d e p o s itory, to wit, his m o u t h . " R u m fellow!" said the m a n . " K n o w s what's w h a t ! " a n d h e whistled, a n d walked on. W h e n he h a d got to the other side of the boat, h e c a m e a c r o s s Haley, w h o w a s s m o k i n g on top of a pile of b o x e s . T h e stranger p r o d u c e d a m a t c h , a n d lighted a cigar, saying, a s h e did s o , " D e c e n t i s h kind o' w e n c h you've got r o u n d there, s t r a n g e r . " "Why, I reckon s h e is tol'able fair," said Haley, blowing the s m o k e o u t of his m o u t h . " T a k i n g her down s o u t h ? " said the m a n . Haley nodded, and smoked on. " P l a n t a t i o n h a n d ? " said the m a n . " W a l , " said Haley, "I'm fillin' o u t a n order for a p l a n t a t i o n , a n d I think I shall p u t her in. T h e y telled m e s h e w a s a g o o d c o o k ; a n d they c a n u s e her for that, or set her at the cotton-picking. S h e ' s got the right fingers for that; I looked at 'em. Sell well, either way;" a n d H a l e y r e s u m e d his cigar. " T h e y won't want the y o u n g 'un on a p l a n t a t i o n , " s a i d the m a n . "I shall sell him, first c h a n c e I find," s a i d Haley, lighting a n o t h e r cigar. " S ' p o s e you'd be selling him tol'able c h e a p , " said the stranger, m o u n t i n g the pile of boxes, a n d sitting d o w n c o m f o r t a b l y . " D o n ' t know 'bout t h a t , " s a i d H a l e y ; "he's a pretty s m a r t y o u n g ' u n , — straight, fat, strong; flesh a s hard a s a brick!" "Very true, b u t then there's all the b o t h e r a n d e x p e n s e of raisin'." " N o n s e n s e ! " said Haley; "they is raised a s e a s y a s any kind of critter there is going; they an't a bit m o r e trouble than p u p s . T h i s yer c h a p will be r u n n i n g all r o u n d , in a m o n t h . " "I've got a g o o d p l a c e for raisin', a n d I t h o u g h t of takin' in a little m o r e s t o c k , " said the m a n . " O n e c o o k lost a y o u n g 'un last w e e k , — g o t d r o w n d e d in a w a s h - t u b , while s h e w a s a h a n g i n ' out c l o t h e s , — a n d I reckon it would be well e n o u g h to set her to raisin' this yer." H a l e y a n d the stranger s m o k e d a while in s i l e n c e , neither s e e m i n g willing to b r o a c h the test q u e s t i o n of the interview. At last the m a n r e s u m e d : "You wouldn't think of wantin' m o r e t h a n ten dollars for that ar c h a p , s e e i n g you rawst get him off yer h a n d , any h o w ? " H a l e y s h o o k his h e a d , a n d spit impressively. " T h a t won't d o , no w a y s , " h e s a i d , a n d b e g a n his s m o k i n g a g a i n . "Well, stranger, what will you t a k e ? "

U N C L E T O M ' S C A B I N , C H A P T E R XII

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"Well, n o w , " s a i d Haley, "I could raise that ar c h a p myself, or get him raised; he's o n c o m m o n likely a n d healthy, a n d he'd fetch a h u n d r e d dollars, six m o n t h s h e n c e ; a n d , in a year or two, he'd bring two h u n d r e d , if I h a d him in the right s p o t ; — s o I shan't take a cent less nor fifty for him n o w . " " O , stranger! that's r e d i c u l o u s , a l t o g e t h e r , " said the m a n . " F a c t ! " said Haley, with a decisive nod of his h e a d . "I'll give thirty for h i m , " said the stranger, "but not a cent m o r e . " " N o w , I'll tell ye what I will d o , " said Haley, spitting a g a i n , with r e n e w e d decision. "I'll split the difference, a n d say forty-five; a n d that's the m o s t I will d o . " "Well, a g r e e d ! " said the m a n , after an interval. " D o n e ! " said Haley. " W h e r e do you l a n d ? " "At L o u i s v i l l e , " said the m a n . " L o u i s v i l l e , " s a i d Haley. "Very fair, we get there a b o u t d u s k . C h a p will be a s l e e p , — a l l fair,—get him off quietly, a n d no s c r e a m i n g , — h a p p e n s b e a u t i f u l , — I like to do everything quietly,—I h a t e s all kind of agitation a n d fluster." A n d s o , after a transfer of certain bills h a d p a s s e d from the m a n ' s p o c k e t - b o o k to the trader's, he r e s u m e d his cigar. It w a s a bright, tranquil evening w h e n the boat s t o p p e d at the w h a r f at Louisville. T h e w o m a n had b e e n sitting with her baby in her a r m s , n o w w r a p p e d in a heavy s l e e p . W h e n she heard the n a m e of the p l a c e called out, s h e hastily laid the child d o w n in a little c r a d l e formed by the hollow a m o n g the boxes, first carefully s p r e a d i n g u n d e r it her cloak; a n d then s h e s p r u n g to the side of the boat, in h o p e s that, a m o n g the various hotel-waiters w h o t h r o n g e d the wharf, s h e might s e e her h u s b a n d . In this h o p e , s h e p r e s s e d forward to the front rails, a n d , stretching far over t h e m , strained her eyes intently on the moving h e a d s o n the s h o r e , a n d the crowd p r e s s e d in between her a n d the child. " N o w ' s your t i m e , " said Haley, taking the s l e e p i n g child u p , a n d h a n d i n g him to the stranger. " D o n ' t wake him u p , a n d set him to crying, now; it would m a k e a devil of a fuss with the g a l . " T h e m a n took the b u n d l e carefully, a n d w a s soon lost in the crowd that went up the wharf. W h e n the boat, c r e a k i n g , a n d g r o a n i n g , a n d puffing, h a d l o o s e d from the wharf, a n d w a s b e g i n n i n g slowly to strain herself along, the w o m a n returned to her old seat. T h e trader w a s sitting t h e r e , — t h e child was g o n e ! "Why, w h y , — w h e r e ? " she b e g a n , in bewildered s u r p r i s e . " L u c y , " said the trader, "your child's g o n e ; you may a s well know it first a s last. You s e e , I know'd you couldn't take him d o w n s o u t h ; a n d I got a c h a n c e to sell him to a first-rate family, that'll raise him better than you c a n . " T h e trader had arrived at that s t a g e of C h r i s t i a n a n d political perfection which has b e e n r e c o m m e n d e d by s o m e p r e a c h e r s a n d politicians of the north, lately, in which he had c o m p l e t e l y o v e r c o m e every h u m a n e w e a k n e s s a n d prejudice. His heart w a s exactly where yours, sir, a n d m i n e c o u l d be brought, with p r o p e r effort a n d cultivation. T h e wild look of a n g u i s h a n d utter d e s p a i r that the w o m a n c a s t on him might have d i s t u r b e d o n e less p r a c t i s e d ; but he w a s u s e d to it. H e h a d s e e n that s a m e look h u n d r e d s of t i m e s . You can get u s e d to s u c h things, too, my friend; a n d it is the great object of recent efforts to m a k e our whole northern c o m m u n i t y u s e d to t h e m , for the glory of the U n i o n . S o the trader only regarded the mortal a n g u i s h which he saw working in t h o s e dark f e a t u r e s , t h o s e c l e n c h e d h a n d s , a n d

804

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HARRIET BEECHER

STOWE

s u f f o c a t i n g b r e a t h i n g s , a s n e c e s s a r y incidents of the t r a d e , a n d merely calc u l a t e d w h e t h e r s h e w a s g o i n g to s c r e a m , a n d get u p a c o m m o t i o n on the b o a t ; for, like other s u p p o r t e r s of o u r peculiar institution, h e decidedly disliked agitation. B u t the w o m a n did not s c r e a m . T h e shot had p a s s e d too straight a n d direct t h r o u g h the heart, for cry or tear. Dizzily s h e sat d o w n . H e r slack h a n d s fell lifeless by her s i d e . H e r eyes looked straight forward, b u t she s a w n o t h i n g . All the n o i s e a n d h u m of the boat, the g r o a n i n g of the m a c h i n e r y , mingled dreamily to her bewildered ear; a n d the poor, d u m b - s t r i c k e n heart h a d neither cry nor tear to s h o w for its utter misery. S h e w a s q u i t e c a l m . T h e trader, w h o , c o n s i d e r i n g his a d v a n t a g e s , w a s a l m o s t a s h u m a n e a s s o m e of our politicians, s e e m e d to feel called o n to a d m i n i s t e r s u c h c o n s o lation as the c a s e a d m i t t e d of. "I know this yer c o m e s kinder h a r d , at first, L u c y , " s a i d h e ; " b u t s u c h a s m a r t , s e n s i b l e gal a s you a r e , won't give way to it. You s e e it's necessary, a n d can't b e h e l p e d ! " " O ! don't, M a s ' r , d o n ' t ! " said the w o m a n , with a voice like o n e that is smothering. "You're a s m a r t w e n c h , L u c y , " he p e r s i s t e d ; "I m e a n to d o well by ye, a n d get ye a nice p l a c e d o w n river; a n d you'll s o o n get a n o t h e r h u s b a n d , — s u c h a likely gal a s y o u — " " O ! M a s ' r , if you only won't talk to m e n o w , " s a i d the w o m a n , in a voice of s u c h q u i c k a n d living a n g u i s h that the trader felt that there w a s s o m e t h i n g at p r e s e n t in the c a s e b e y o n d his style of o p e r a t i o n . H e got u p , a n d the w o m a n turned away, a n d buried her h e a d in her cloak. T h e trader walked u p a n d d o w n for a t i m e , a n d o c c a s i o n a l l y s t o p p e d a n d looked at her. " T a k e s it h a r d , r a t h e r , " he soliloquized, " b u t quiet, t h o ' ; — l e t her s w e a t a while; she'll c o m e right, by a n d b y ! " T o m h a d w a t c h e d the w h o l e t r a n s a c t i o n from first to last, a n d h a d a perfect u n d e r s t a n d i n g of its results. T o h i m , it looked like s o m e t h i n g u n u t t e r a b l y horrible a n d c r u e l , b e c a u s e , poor, ignorant b l a c k soul! he h a d not learned to generalize, a n d to take e n l a r g e d views. If he h a d only b e e n instructed by certain m i n i s t e r s of Christianity, h e might have t h o u g h t better of it, a n d s e e n in it a n every-day incident of a lawful t r a d e ; a t r a d e which is the vital s u p p o r t of an institution w h i c h s o m e A m e r i c a n divines tell u s has n o evils but s u c h a s are i n s e p a r a b l e from any other relations in social a n d d o m e s t i c life. B u t T o m , a s we s e e , b e i n g a poor, ignorant fellow, w h o s e r e a d i n g h a d b e e n c o n fined entirely to the N e w T e s t a m e n t , c o u l d not c o m f o r t a n d s o l a c e h i m s e l f with views like t h e s e . H i s very soul bled within h i m for w h a t s e e m e d to h i m the wrongs of the p o o r suffering thing that lay like a c r u s h e d r e e d o n the b o x e s ; the feeling, living, b l e e d i n g , yet i m m o r t a l thing, w h i c h A m e r i c a n state law coolly c l a s s e s with the b u n d l e s , a n d b a l e s , a n d b o x e s , a m o n g which s h e is lying. T o m drew near, a n d tried to say s o m e t h i n g ; but s h e only g r o a n e d . H o n estly, a n d with tears r u n n i n g d o w n his own c h e e k s , he s p o k e of a heart of love in the s k i e s , of a pitying J e s u s , a n d an eternal h o m e ; b u t the ear was d e a f with a n g u i s h , a n d the p a l s i e d heart c o u l d not feel. Night c a m e o n , — n i g h t c a l m , u n m o v e d , a n d glorious, s h i n i n g down with her i n n u m e r a b l e a n d s o l e m n a n g e l eyes, twinkling, b e a u t i f u l , but silent.

U N C L E T O M ' S C A B I N , C H A P T E R XII

/

805

T h e r e w a s no s p e e c h nor l a n g u a g e , no pitying voice nor h e l p i n g h a n d , from that distant sky. O n e after another, the voices of b u s i n e s s or p l e a s u r e died away; all on the boat were sleeping, a n d the ripples at the prow were plainly h e a r d . T o m s t r e t c h e d h i m s e l f o u t o n a box, a n d there, a s he lay, h e h e a r d , ever a n d a n o n , a s m o t h e r e d s o b or cry from the p r o s t a t e c r e a t u r e , — " O ! what shall I do? O Lord! O g o o d L o r d , do help m e ! " a n d s o , ever a n d a n o n , until the m u r m u r died away in s i l e n c e . At midnight, T o m w a k e d , with a s u d d e n start. S o m e t h i n g black p a s s e d quickly by him to the side of the boat, a n d he h e a r d a s p l a s h in the water. N o o n e else s a w or h e a r d anything. H e raised his h e a d , — t h e w o m a n ' s p l a c e w a s vacant! H e got u p , a n d s o u g h t a b o u t him in vain. T h e p o o r b l e e d i n g heart w a s still, at last, a n d the river rippled a n d d i m p l e d j u s t a s brightly as if it had not c l o s e d a b o v e it. P a t i e n c e ! p a t i e n c e ! ye w h o s e hearts swell indignant at w r o n g s like t h e s e . N o t o n e throb of a n g u i s h , not o n e tear of the o p p r e s s e d , is forgotten by the M a n of S o r r o w s , the L o r d of Glory. In his patient, g e n e r o u s b o s o m he b e a r s the a n g u i s h of a world. B e a r t h o u , like him, in p a t i e n c e , a n d labor in love; for s u r e a s he is G o d , "the year of his r e d e e m e d shall c o m e . " 5 T h e trader w a k e d u p bright a n d early, a n d c a m e out to s e e to his live stock. It w a s now his turn to look a b o u t in perplexity. " W h e r e alive is that g a l ? " he said to T o m . T o m , who h a d l e a r n e d the w i s d o m of k e e p i n g c o u n s e l , did not feel called on to state his observations a n d s u s p i c i o n s , but said he did not know. " S h e surely couldn't have got off in the night at any of the l a n d i n g s , for I was a w a k e , a n d on the look-out, whenever the boat s t o p p e d . I never trust these yer things to other f o l k s . " T h i s s p e e c h was a d d r e s s e d to T o m quite confidentially, a s if it was s o m e thing that would be specially interesting to h i m . T o m m a d e n o a n s w e r . T h e trader s e a r c h e d the boat from s t e m to stern, a m o n g boxes, bales a n d barrels, a r o u n d the m a c h i n e r y , by the c h i m n e y s , in vain. " N o w , I say, T o m , be fair a b o u t this yer," h e said, w h e n , after a fruitless s e a r c h , he c a m e where T o m w a s s t a n d i n g . "You know s o m e t h i n g a b o u t it, now. Don't tell m e , — I know you d o . I s a w the gal s t r e t c h e d o u t here a b o u t ten o'clock, a n d ag'in at twelve, a n d ag'in b e t w e e n o n e a n d two; a n d then at four s h e was g o n e , a n d you w a s s l e e p i n g right there all the t i m e . N o w , you know s o m e t h i n g , — y o u can't help it." "Well, M a s ' r , " said T o m , " t o w a r d s m o r n i n g s o m e t h i n g b r u s h e d by m e , a n d I kinder half woke; a n d then I h e a r n a great s p l a s h , a n d then I clare woke u p , a n d the gal w a s g o n e . T h a t ' s all I know o n ' t . " T h e trader w a s not s h o c k e d nor a m a z e d ; b e c a u s e , a s w e said b e f o r e , he w a s u s e d to a great m a n y things that you are not u s e d to. E v e n the awful p r e s e n c e of D e a t h struck no s o l e m n chill u p o n h i m . H e h a d s e e n D e a t h m a n y t i m e s , — m e t him in the way of trade, a n d got a c q u a i n t e d with h i m , — a n d he only thought of him a s a hard c u s t o m e r , that e m b a r r a s s e d his property o p e r a t i o n s very unfairly; a n d so he only swore that the gal w a s a b a g g a g e , a n d that he was devilish unlucky, a n d that, if things went o n in this way, he s h o u l d not m a k e a cent on the trip. In short, he s e e m e d to c o n s i d e r h i m s e l f an ill-used m a n , decidedly; but there w a s no help for it, a s the w o m a n h a d e s c a p e d into a state which never will give up a fugitive,—not even at the 5.

P a r a p h r a s e of Isaiah

63.4.

806

/

FANNY F E R N (SARAH W I L L I S

PARTON)

d e m a n d of the w h o l e glorious U n i o n . T h e trader, therefore, sat d i s c o n t e n t edly d o w n , with his little a c c o u n t - b o o k , a n d p u t d o w n the m i s s i n g b o d y a n d soul u n d e r t h e h e a d of losses! " H e ' s a s h o c k i n g c r e a t u r e , isn't h e , — t h i s trader? s o unfeeling! It's d r e a d ful, really!" " O , b u t n o b o d y thinks anything of t h e s e traders! T h e y are universally d e s p i s e d , — n e v e r received into any d e c e n t society." B u t w h o , sir, m a k e s the trader? W h o is m o s t to b l a m e ? T h e e n l i g h t e n e d , cultivated, intelligent m a n , w h o s u p p o r t s the system of w h i c h t h e trader is the inevitable result, or the p o o r trader h i m s e l f ? Y o u m a k e the p u b l i c s e n t i m e n t that calls for his t r a d e , that d e b a u c h e s a n d d e p r a v e s h i m , till h e feels n o s h a m e in it; a n d in what a r e you better than he? Are you e d u c a t e d a n d he i g n o r a n t , you high a n d h e low, you refined a n d he c o a r s e , you talented a n d he s i m p l e ? In t h e day of a future J u d g m e n t , t h e s e very c o n s i d e r a t i o n s m a y m a k e it m o r e tolerable for him t h a n for y o u . In c o n c l u d i n g t h e s e little i n c i d e n t s of lawful t r a d e , w e m u s t b e g the world not to think that A m e r i c a n legislators are entirely d e s t i t u t e o f h u m a n i t y , a s might, p e r h a p s , b e unfairly inferred from the great efforts m a d e in o u r national body to p r o t e c t a n d p e r p e t u a t e this s p e c i e s of traffic. W h o d o e s not know how o u r great m e n a r e o u t d o i n g t h e m s e l v e s , in d e c l a i m i n g a g a i n s t the foreign slave-trade. T h e r e are a p e r f e c t h o s t of Clarks o n s a n d W i l b e r f o r c e s 6 risen u p a m o n g u s o n that s u b j e c t , m o s t edifying to hear a n d b e h o l d . T r a d i n g n e g r o e s from Africa, d e a r r e a d e r , is so horrid! It is not to be t h o u g h t of! B u t trading t h e m from K e n t u c k y , — t h a t ' s q u i t e a n o t h e r thing!

*

*

* 1852

6. T h o m a s C l a r k s o n ( 1 7 6 0 — 1 8 4 6 ) a n d W i l l i a m Wilberforce ( 1 7 5 9 - 1 8 3 3 ) : English abolitionists, architects of the 1807 act of Parliament abolishing the slave trade. A similar act was p a s s e d by the U . S .

C o n g r e s s t h e s a m e y e a r ; it p r o h i b i t e d i m p o r t a t i o n of slaves from a b r o a d but allowed the trade within the United States,

FANNY F E R N (SARAH W I L L I S 1811-1872

PARTON)

S a r a h P a y s o n Willis w a s b o r n in P o r t l a n d , M a i n e , o n J u l y 9 , 1 8 1 1 , t h e fifth of n i n e c h i l d r e n of N a t h a n i e l Willis a n d H a n n a h P a r k e r W i l l i s . T w o o f t h e Willis s o n s r o s e to p r o m i n e n c e , N a t h a n i e l P a r k e r a s a p o e t a n d later a n i n f l u e n t i a l j o u r n a l i s t , a n d B i c h a r d S t o r r s a s a m u s i c critic. S a r a h Willis b e c a m e o n e of t h e first w o m e n in t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s to h a v e her o w n n e w s p a p e r c o l u m n ; a n d for y e a r s , f a m o u s a s " F a n n y F e r n , " s h e w a s a m o n g t h e n a t i o n ' s b e s t - p a i d a u t h o r s . In t h e 1 8 4 0 s B a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n s t r u c k a n e s s e n t i a l l y A m e r i c a n vein in c e l e b r a t i n g s e l f - r e l i a n c e ; a d e c a d e later F a n n y F e r n s t r u c k a m o r e d e e p l y b u r i e d vein in her p r o t e s t s a g a i n s t u n e q u a l t r e a t m e n t of w o m e n , b o t h in h e r c o l u m n s a n d , very powerfully, in h e r novel Ruth Hall ( 1 8 5 4 ) , w h i c h J o y c e W . W a r r e n c a l l s " n e a r l y u n i q u e " in its t i m e for a portrait

FANNY F E R N (SARAH W I L L I S PARTON)

/

807

"of a w o m a n a s t h e self-reliant A m e r i c a n i n d i v i d u a l i s t . " At h o m e t h e self-reliant S a r a h Willis resisted her father's C a l v i n i s t t h e o l o g y , a n d a s a girl s h e r e s i s t e d t h e religious i n d o c t r i n a t i o n at the A d a m s F e m a l e A c a d e m y in D e n y , N e w H a m p s h i r e , a n d the H a r t f o r d F e m a l e S e m i n a r y c o n d u c t e d by C a t h a r i n e B e e c h e r . In 1 8 3 7 S a r a h Willis m a r r i e d C h a r l e s H a r r i n g t o n E l d r e d g e , a c a s h i e r in a B o s t o n b a n k . T h e y h a d t h r e e d a u g h t e r s in a d o m e s t i c life m a r k e d by d e b t a n d t r a g e d y ; t h e e l d e s t child, M a r y , d i e d in c h i l d h o o d , a n d her h u s b a n d , w h o h a d o v e r b o r r o w e d d i s a s t r o u s l y , lost their h o u s e b e f o r e h e d i e d s u d d e n l y in 1 8 4 6 , at thirty-five. N e i t h e r her own father, r e c e n t l y r e m a r r i e d , n o r h e r in-laws w e r e willing to s u p p o r t her in a h o u s e of her o w n . Willis o p t i m i s t i c a l l y set o u t to s u p p o r t h e r s e l f a n d her d a u g h t e r s by s e w i n g , s o m e t h i n g the older a n d w e a l t h i e r C a t h a r i n e S e d g w i c k h a d b e e n s u r e any c o m p e t e n t w o m a n c o u l d d o . Living in b o a r d i n g h o u s e s a n d e n d u r i n g sexual h a r a s s m e n t , Willis c o u l d not k e e p b o t h c h i l d r e n with her. F o r c e d to p u t h e r o l d e r d a u g h t e r in t h e c a r e of t h e i n c r e a s i n g l y h o s t i l e E l d r e d g e s , s h e at l a s t t o o k h e r father's a d v i c e that r e m a r r i a g e w a s her only o p t i o n a n d in 1 8 4 9 m a r r i e d S a m u e l P. F a r r i n g t o n , a B o s t o n w i d o w e r with two d a u g h t e r s . T o j u d g e f r o m surviving d o c u m e n t s a n d f r o m her portrayal of t h e c h a r a c t e r J o h n S t a h l e in Rose

Clark,

she quickly found Farrington

j e a l o u s , tyrannical, a n d sexually r e p u l s i v e . S h e left h i m after t w o y e a r s , a r e v o l u t i o n a r y act for w h i c h s h e w a s left i m p o v e r i s h e d a n d o s t r a c i z e d . In 1 8 5 1 , u n d e r p s e u d o n y m s , S a r a h P a y s o n Willis E l d r e d g e F a r r i n g t o n b e c a m e a j o u r n a l i s t , for pay, at first for fifty c e n t s a n a r t i c l e . O v e r the c o u r s e of t h e year, writing for the B o s t o n Olive

Branch,

she found her tone (colloquial,

often o u t r a g e o u s ) a n d a n e w n a m e . A s " F a n n y F e r n " in the Olive N e w York Musical

World

and

Times

flippant,

ironic, a n d

Branch

a n d in t h e

s h e quickly b e c a m e a n a t i o n a l i n s t i t u t i o n , a n

e m b o d i m e n t of t h e n e w A m e r i c a n w o m a n . N e g o t i a t i n g a s e r i e s of ever m o r e f a v o r a b l e c o n t r a c t s , s h e c o l l e c t e d her c o l u m n s in Fern Ferns

for Fanny's

Little

Friends

Leaves

( 1 8 5 3 ) , t h e n Fern

D e c e m b e r 1 8 5 4 s h e p u b l i s h e d Ruth

Hall:

from

Fanny's

Leaves,

A Domestic

Port-Folio

and

Little

s e c o n d s e r i e s ( 1 8 5 4 ) . In

Tale

of the Present

Time,

a

s e n s a t i o n b e c a u s e r e a d e r s k n e w it w a s in l a r g e p a r t a u t o b i o g r a p h i c a l a n d b e c a u s e it involved a n e w f e m i n i s t h e r o i n e w h o s t r u g g l e d s u c c e s s f u l l y for o p p o r t u n i t i e s in a s o c i e t y w h e r e l a w s g a v e h u s b a n d s rights over their wives' p r o p e r t y . O n the s t r e n g t h of her m i n g l e d f a m e a n d notoriety, in 1 8 5 5 s h e s i g n e d a n e a r - f a b u l o u s c o n t r a c t with R o b e r t B o n n e r , the editor of the weekly N e w York Ledger

for o n e h u n d r e d d o l l a r s

p e r c o l u m n . H e r p o p u l a r i t y w a s s u c h that B o n n e r p r o s p e r e d u n d e r t h e s e h i t h e r t o u n t h i n k a b l e t e r m s , s e e i n g the c i r c u l a t i o n of the Ledger

reach four hundred thousand

in 1 8 6 0 , at a t i m e w h e n t h e p o p u l a t i o n of N e w York S t a t e w a s fewer t h a n f o u r million. S i n c e the Ledger

w a s s h a r e d in m a n y h o u s e h o l d s , m o r e like a weekly m a g a z i n e t h a n

a newspaper, Fern's readership was enormous. In t h e flush of her s u c c e s s , in 1 8 5 6 s h e m a r r i e d the j o u r n a l i s t J a m e s P a r t o n , t h e a u t h o r of a s u c c e s s f u l b i o g r a p h y of H o r a c e G r e e l e y , a n d m o v e d to B r o o k l y n , a ferry ride away f r o m the p u b l i s h i n g c e n t e r , the s o u t h e r n tip of M a n h a t t a n . ( P a r t o n ' s b e i n g a d e c a d e her j u n i o r w a s rightly p e r c e i v e d a s a bold s t a t e m e n t in F e r n ' s p o l i t i c s of sexuality.) F e r n ' s s e c o n d novel, Rose

Clark,

a d e p i c t i o n of a w o m a n ' s d i s a s t r o u s s e c -

o n d m a r r i a g e , w a s p u b l i s h e d later in 1 8 5 6 , a n d Fresh

Leaves

in 1 8 5 9 , t h e y e a r in

w h i c h s h e a n d h e r h u s b a n d a n d d a u g h t e r s s e t t l e d in M a n h a t t a n o n E a s t E i g h t e e n t h S t r e e t , a m o r e p r a c t i c a l l o c a t i o n for her. A s e c o n d - g e n e r a t i o n f e m i n i s t , F e r n w a s n o t a n o r g a n i z e r or j o i n e r like L. M a r i a C h i l d or C a r o l i n e K i r k l a n d . H a v i n g e n d u r e d h a r s h e r e x p e r i e n c e t h a n m o s t of the w o m e n writers w h o p r e c e d e d her, s h e p r o t e s t e d

first

against obstacles she had

e n c o u n t e r e d herself. O n l y later did s h e c o m m e n t o n g e n e r a l t o p i c s s u c h a s t h e c o n n e c t i o n b e t w e e n poverty a n d vice, a s u b j e c t o n w h i c h h e r views, u n l i k e S e d g w i c k ' s , w e r e b a s e d o n p e r s o n a l e x p e r i e n c e . U p until her d e a t h f r o m c a n c e r in 1 8 7 2 s h e c o n t i n u e d to play a u n i q u e a n d e x p a n d i n g role in A m e r i c a n j o u r n a l i s m a n d l i t e r a t u r e .

808

/

FANNY FERN (SARAH W I L L I S

PARTON)

Male Criticism on Ladies' Books' Courtship and marriage, servants and children, these are the great objects of a woman's thoughts, and they necessarily form the staple topics of their writings and their conversation. We have no right to expect anything else in a woman's book. —N.Y. TIMES

Is it in f e m i n i n e novels only that c o u r t s h i p , m a r r i a g e , s e r v a n t s , a n d children are the s t a p l e ? Is not this true of all n o v e l s ? — o f D i c k e n s , of T h a c k e r a y , of BulweH a n d a host of others? Is it p e c u l i a r to f e m i n i n e p e n s , m o s t a s t u t e a n d liberal of critics? W o u l d a novel b e a novel if it did not treat of c o u r t s h i p a n d m a r r i a g e ? a n d if it c o u l d be so r e c o g n i z e d , would it find r e a d e r s ? W h e n I s e e s u c h a narrow, snarling criticism a s the a b o v e , I always say to myself, the writer is s o m e u n h a p p y m a n , w h o h a s c o m e u p without the refining influence of m o t h e r , or sister, or r e p u t a b l e f e m a l e friends; w h o h a s divided his migratory life b e t w e e n b o a r d i n g - h o u s e s , r e s t a u r a n t s , a n d the outskirts of editorial s a n c t u m s ; a n d w h o knows a s m u c h a b o u t reviewing a w o m a n ' s book, as I do a b o u t navigating a s h i p , or e n g i n e e r i n g a n o m n i b u s from the S o u t h Ferry, t h r o u g h B r o a d w a y , to U n i o n Park.* I think I s e e h i m writing that p a r a g r a p h in a fit of s p l e e n — o f male s p l e e n — i n his s m a l l b o a r d i n g h o u s e u p p e r c h a m b e r , by the cheerful light of a solitary c a n d l e , flickering alternately on c o b w e b b e d walls, dusty w a s h - s t a n d , b e g r i m e d bowl a n d pitcher, refuse cigar s t u m p s , boot-jacks, old h a t s , b u t t o n l e s s c o a t s , m u d d y t r o u s e r s , a n d all the w r e t c h e d a c c o m p a n i m e n t s of solitary, selfish m a l e exist e n c e , not to s p e a k of his own p u c k e r e d , u n k i s s a b l e f a c e ; p e r h a p s , in addition, his b o o t s hurt, his cravat-bow 4 p e r s i s t s in slipping u n d e r his ear for want of a pin, a n d a wife to pin it, (poor wretch!) or h e h a s b e e n refused by s o m e pretty girl, a s h e deserved to b e , (narrow-minded old vinegar-cruet!) or s n u b b e d by s o m e lady a u t h o r e s s ; or, m o r e trying than all to the m a l e constitution, h a s h a d a w e a k c u p of coffee for that m o r n i n g ' s b r e a k f a s t . B u t s e r i o u s l y — w e have h a d q u i t e e n o u g h of this shallow criticism (?) on lady-books. W h e t h e r the b o o k which called forth the r e m a r k a b o v e q u o t e d , w a s a g o o d b o o k or a b a d o n e , I know not: I s h o u l d b e inclined to think the former from the d i s p r a i s e of s u c h a p e n . W h e t h e r ladies c a n write novels or not, is a q u e s t i o n I do not intend to d i s c u s s ; but that s o m e of t h e m have no difficulty in finding either p u b l i s h e r s or r e a d e r s , is a m a t t e r of history; a n d that g e n t l e m e n often write over f e m i n i n e s i g n a t u r e s w o u l d s e e m a l s o to a r g u e that f e m i n i n e literature is, after all, in g o o d o d o r with the r e a d i n g p u b l i c . G r a n t i n g that lady-novels are not all that they s h o u l d b e — i s s u c h shallow, unfair, w h o l e s a l e , s n e e r i n g criticism (?) the way to reform t h e m ? W o u l d it not be better a n d m o r e manly to point out a better way kindly, justly, and, above all, respectfully? o r — w h a t would be a m u c h h a r d e r task for s u c h c r i t i c s — w r i t e a better book! 1857 1. F i r s t p r i n t e d in t h e N e w Y o r k Ledger on May 2 3 , 1 8 5 7 , t h e s o u r c e of t h e p r e s e n t text. 2. English novelists: C h a r l e s D i c k e n s (1812— 1870), William Makepeace Thackeray (18111863), and Edward George Earle Lvtton BulwerLytton ( 1 8 0 3 - 1 8 7 3 ) . 3.

A line of o m n i b u s e s (horse-drawn p u b l i c vehi-

c l e s ) that s t a r t e d at t h e S o u t h F e r r y t e r m i n a l at t h e Battery, the e x t r e m e s o u t h e r n tip of M a n h a t t a n (the S o u t h Ferry ran to Brooklyn a n d back), a n d r a n north o n B r o a d w a y to U n i o n P a r k at F o u r t e e n t h S t r e e t , t h e n c o n s i d e r e d far u p t o w n . 4. A form of bowtie.

" F R E S H L E A V E S , BY F A N N Y F E R N "

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"Fresh Leaves, by Fanny Fern"' T h i s little v o l u m e has j u s t b e e n laid upon our table. T h e p u b l i s h e r s have d o n e all they c o u l d for it, with regard to o u t w a r d a d o r n i n g . N o d o u b t it will be w e l c o m e d by those w h o admire this lady's style of writing: we c o n f e s s ourselves not to be of that n u m b e r . W e have never seen F a n n y F e r n , nor do we desire to do s o . W e i m a g i n e her, from her writings, to be a m u s c u l a r , black-browed, grenadier-looking f e m a l e , w h o would be m o r e at h o m e in a boxing gallery than in a p a r l o r , — a vociferous, d e m o n s t r a t i v e , s t r o n g - m i n d e d h o r r o r , — a w o m a n only by virtue of her d r e s s . B a h ! the very thought sickens u s . W e have r e a d , or, rather, tried to read, her halloo-there e f f u s i o n s . 2 W h e n we take u p a w o m a n ' s b o o k we expect to find g e n t l e n e s s , timidity, a n d that lovely reliance on the p a t r o n a g e of our sex which c o n s t i t u t e s a w o m a n ' s greatest c h a r m . W e do not wish to be startled by bold e x p r e s s i o n s , or disg u s t e d with exhibitions of m a s c u l i n e w e a k n e s s e s . W e do not desire to s e e a w o m a n wielding the s c i m e t a r blade of s a r c a s m . If s h e b e , unfortunately, e n d o w e d with a gift so d a n g e r o u s , let h e r — a s s h e v a l u e s the a p p r o b a t i o n of our sex—fold it in a n a p k i n . Fanny's s t r o n g - m i n d e d n o s e would probably turn u p at this i n d u c e m e n t . T h a n k heaven! there are still w o m e n w h o are w o m e n — w h o know the p l a c e H e a v e n a s s i g n e d t h e m , a n d keep i t — w h o do not waste floods of ink a n d p a p e r , brow-beating m e n a n d stirring u p silly w o m e n ; — w h o do not t e a c h children that a g a m e of r o m p s is of a s m u c h i m p o r t a n c e a s Blair's P h i l o s o p h y ; * — w h o have not the p r e s u m p t i o n to advise clergymen a s to their d u t i e s , or lecture d o c t o r s , a n d s a v a n s ; — w h o live for s o m e t h i n g else than to a s t o n i s h a g a p i n g , idiotic crowd. T h a n k heaven! there are w o m e n writers w h o do not disturb our c o m p l a c e n c e or serenity; w h o s e books lull o n e to sleep like a strain of gentle m u s i c ; w h o excite no a n t a g o nism, or angry feeling. W o m a n never w a s i n t e n d e d for a n irritant: s h e s h o u l d be oil upon the troubled w a t e r s of m a n h o o d — s o f t a n d a m a l g a m a t i n g , a n e c essary but u n o b t r u s i v e i n g r e d i e n t ; — n e v e r c h a l l e n g i n g a t t e n t i o n — n e v e r throwing the gauntlet of d e f i a n c e to a b e a r d , but softly p u r r i n g b e s i d e it lest it bristle a n d s c r a t c h . T h e very fact that F a n n y F e r n h a s , in the l a n g u a g e of her a d m i r e r s , "elbowed her way t h r o u g h u n h e a r d of difficulties," s h o w s that s h e is a n a n t a g o n i s t i c , pugilistic f e m a l e . O n e m u s t n e e d s , f o r s o o t h , get out of her way, or be p u s h e d o n e side, or t r a m p l e d down. H o w m u c h m o r e w o m a n l y to have allowed herself to be d o u b l e d up by adversity, a n d quietly laid away on the shelf of fate, than to have rolled up her sleeves, a n d g o n e to fisticuffs with it. S u c h a w o m a n may c o n q u e r , it is true, but her victory will c o s t her dear; it will neither be forgotten nor forgiven—let her p u t that in her a p r o n p o c k e t . As to F a n n y Fern's g r a m m a r , rhetoric, a n d p u n c t u a t i o n , they are b e n e a t h criticism. It is all very well for her to say, t h o s e w h o wish c o m m a s , s e m i c o l o n s a n d p e r i o d s , m u s t look for them in the printer's c a s e , or that s h e w h o finds ideas m u s t not be e x p e c t e d to find rhetoric or g r a m m a r ; for our part, we s h o u l d be gratified if we had even found any i d e a s ! I. F i r s t p r i n t e d in t h e N e w Y o r k Ledger o n O c t o b e r 1 0 , 1 8 5 7 , t h e s o u r c e o f t h e t e x t . In t h i s p i e c e Fern parodies the tone and content of reviews she may have anticipated.

2.

Bold, attention-getting articles.

3 . Moral Philosophy, etc.; On the Ditties of Young ( 1 7 9 8 ) , b y H u g h B l a i r ( 1 7 1 8 - 1 8 0 0 ) .

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W e regret to b e obliged to s p e a k t h u s of a lady's b o o k : it gives u s p l e a s u r e , w h e n w e can do so conscientiously, to p a t lady writers o n the h e a d ; b u t we owe a duty to the public which will not permit u s to r e c o m m e n d to their favorable notice an a s p i r a n t w h o h a s b e e n u n w o m a n l y e n o u g h s o boldly to c o n t e s t every inch of g r o u n d in order to r e a c h t h e m — a n a s p i r a n t at o n c e s o h i g h - s t e p p i n g a n d s o ignorant, so p l a u s i b l e , yet s o p e r n i c i o u s . W e have a conservative horror of this p o p - g u n , t o r p e d o f e m a l e ; we p r e d i c t for F a n n y Fern's " L e a v e s " only a fleeting a u t u m n a l flutter. 1857

A Law More Nice Than Just 1 H e r e I have b e e n sitting twiddling the m o r n i n g p a p e r b e t w e e n my fingers this half hour, reflecting u p o n the following p a r a g r a p h in it: " E m m a W i l s o n w a s a r r e s t e d yesterday for w e a r i n g m a n ' s a p p a r e l . " N o w , why this s h o u l d b e a n a c t i o n a b l e offense is p a s t my finding o u t , or where's the h a r m in it, I a m a s m u c h at a loss to s e e . T h i n k of the old m a i d s (and w e e p ) w h o have to stay at h o m e e v e n i n g after evening, w h e n , if they provided t h e m s e l v e s with a c o a t , p a n t s a n d hat, they might go a b r o a d , instead of sitting there with their n o s e s flattened a g a i n s t the w i n d o w - p a n e , looking vainly for "the C o m i n g M a n . " 2 T h i n k of the m a r r i e d w o m e n w h o stay at h o m e after their day's toil is d o n e , waiting wearily for their t h o u g h t l e s s , truant h u s b a n d s , w h e n they m i g h t b e taking the m u c h n e e d e d i n d e p e n d e n t walk in trowsers, w h i c h c u s t o m forbids to p e t t i c o a t s . A n d this, I fancy, may be the secret of this f a m o u s l a w — w h o k n o w s ? It wouldn't be p l e a s a n t for s o m e of t h e m to be s u r p r i s e d by a t o u c h o n the s h o u l d e r from s o m e d a p p e r y o u n g fellow, w h o s e familiar treble voice belied his c o r d u r o y s . T h a t ' s it, now. W h a t a fool I w a s not to think of i t — n o t to r e m e m b e r that m e n w h o m a k e the laws, m a k e t h e m to m e e t all t h e s e little e m e r g e n c i e s . Everybody knows what a n everlasting drizzle of rain we have h a d lately, but nobody but a w o m a n , a n d a w o m a n w h o lives on fresh air a n d o u t - d o o r e x e r c i s e , knows the t h r a l d o m of taking her daily walk t h r o u g h a t h r e e w e e k s ' rain, with skirts to hold u p , a n d u m b r e l l a to hold d o w n , a n d p u d d l e s to skip over, a n d g u t t e r s to walk r o u n d , a n d all the time in a fright lest, in a n u n g u a r d e d m o m e n t , her calves s h o u l d b e c o m e visible to s o m e o n e of t h o s e rainy-day p h i l a n t h r o p i s t s w h o are interested in the p u b l i c s t u d y of f e m a l e anatomy. O n e evening, after a long rainy day of scribbling, w h e n my nerves were in double-twisted k n o t s , a n d I felt as if myriads of little a n t s were leisurely traveling over m e , a n d all for w a n t of the walk which is my daily salvation, I s t o o d at the window, looking at the s l a n t i n g , p e r s i s t e n t rain, a n d t o o k my resolve. "I'll do it," said I, audibly, p l a n t i n g my slipper u p o n the c a r p e t . " D o w h a t ? " a s k e d M r . F e r n , looking u p from a big b o o k . " P u t o n a suit of your c l o t h e s a n d take a t r a m p with y o u , " w a s the a n s w e r . "You d a r e n o t , " w a s the 1. F i r s t p r i n t e d in t h e N e w Y o r k Ledger 10, 1 8 5 8 , t h e s o u r c e o f t h e text. " N i c e " : exacting.

on July finically

2. A suitor with g o o d p r o s p e c t s for financial professional advancement.

or

A LAW M O R E N I C E T H A N J U S T

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rejoinder; "you are a little c o w a r d , only s a u c y o n p a p e r . " It w a s the work of a m o m e n t , with s u c h a c h a l l e n g e , to fly up stairs a n d overhaul my philosopher's w a r d r o b e . O f c o u r s e we h a d fun. Tailors m u s t b e a stingy set, I r e m a r k e d , to be s o s p a r i n g of their cloth, a s I struggled into a pair of their handiwork, u n d e t e r r e d by the vociferous laughter of the wretch w h o h a d solemnly vowed to " c h e r i s h m e " t h r o u g h all my tribulations. " U p o n my word, everything s e e m s to be narrow where it o u g h t to be b r o a d , a n d the waist of this c o a t might be m a d e for a h o g s h e a d ; a n d , u g h ! this shirt-collar is c u t t i n g my e a r s off, a n d you have not a d e c e n t cravat in the whole lot, a n d your vests are frights, a n d w h a t a m I to d o with my h a i r ? " Still no reply from M r . F e r n , who lay on the floor, faintly e j a c u l a t i n g , b e t w e e n his fits of laughter, " O h , my! by J o v e ! — o h ! by J u p i t e r ! " W a s that to hinder m e ? O f c o u r s e not. S t r i n g s a n d p i n s , w o m a n ' s neverfailing resort, s o o n brought b r o a d c l o t h a n d k e r s e y m e r e ' to t e r m s . I p a r t e d my hair on o n e s i d e , rolled it u n d e r , a n d then s e c u r e d it with hair-pins; c h o s e the best fitting c o a t , a n d c a p - p i n g the climax with o n e of t h o s e soft, c o s y h a t s , looked in the g l a s s , w h e r e I b e h e l d the very fac-simile of a certain m u s i c a l g e n t l e m a n , w h o s e p h o t o g r a p h h a n g s this m i n u t e in Brady's entry. 4 Well, M r . F e r n seized his hat, a n d out we went together. " F a n n y , " said h e , "you m u s t not take my a r m ; you are a fellow." " T r u e , " s a i d I, "I forgot; " a n d you m u s t not help m e over the p u d d l e s , a s you did j u s t now, a n d d o , for mercy's s a k e , s t o p laughing. T h e r e , there g o e s your h a t — I m e a n my hat; c o n f o u n d the wind! a n d down c o m e s my hair; lucky 'tis dark, isn't i t ? " B u t oh, the delicious f r e e d o m of that walk, after w e were well started! N o skirts to hold u p , or to draggle their wet folds a g a i n s t my a n k l e s ; no stifling vail flapping in my f a c e , a n d blinding my eyes; n o u m b r e l l a to turn inside o u t , but i n s t e a d , the cool rain driving slap into my f a c e , a n d the r e s u r r e c t i o n i z e d b l o o d c o u r s i n g through my veins, a n d tingling in my c h e e k s . T o b e s u r e , M r . F e r n o c c a s i o n a l l y loitered b e h i n d , a n d leaned up a g a i n s t the s i d e of a h o u s e to enjoy a little private " g u f f a w , " a n d I c o u l d now a n d then h e a r a g a s p i n g " O h , F a n n y ! " " o h , m y ! " but n o n e of t h e s e things m o v e d m e , a n d if I don't have a nicely-fitting suit of my own to wear rainy e v e n i n g s , it is b e c a u s e — well, there are difficulties in the way. W h o ' s the b e s t tailor? N o w , if any m a l e or f e m a l e M i s s N a n c y 5 w h o r e a d s this feels s h o c k e d , let 'em! Any w o m a n w h o likes, m a y stay at h o m e d u r i n g a t h r e e w e e k s ' rain, till her skin looks like p a r c h m e n t , a n d her eyes like t h o s e of a d e a d fish, or s h e may go out a n d get a c o n s u m p t i o n d r a g g i n g r o u n d wet p e t t i c o a t s ; I w o n ' t — I positively d e c l a r e I won't. I shall begin evenings w h e n that suit is m a d e , a n d take private walking l e s s o n s with M r . F e r n , a n d they w h o c h o o s e m a y c r o o k their b a c k s at h o m e for fashion, a n d then s e n d for the d o c t o r to straighten t h e m ; I prefer to patronize my s h o e - m a k e r a n d tailor. I've a s g o o d a right to preserve the healthy body G o d gave m e , a s if I were not a w o m a n . 1858

3 . C a s s i m e r e , w o o l e n c l o t h u s e d in m e n ' s a p p a r e l . 4. P h o t o g r a p h e r M a t h e w Brady's studio w a s at 2 0 7 B r o a d w a y , at the corner of F u l t o n . T h e " m u s i cal g e n t l e m a n " m a y have b e e n the great Italian baritone Giorgio Ronconi (1810—1890), famous

f o r c r e a t i n g r o l e s in o p e r a s b y G a e t a n o D o n i z e t t i ; several w e e k s before F e r n p u b l i s h e d this article, N e w Y o r k e r s l a m e n t e d his d e p a r t u r e for E u r o p e . 5. A prude.

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HARRIET JACOBS c. 1 8 1 3 - 1 8 9 7 H a r r i e t J a c o b s w a s b o r n into slavery in E d e n t o n , N o r t h C a r o l i n a . H e r f a t h e r w a s a skilled c a r p e n t e r w h o w a s p e r m i t t e d to hire h i m s e l f out, a n d her p a r e n t s w e r e a l l o w e d to live t o g e t h e r even t h o u g h they h a d different m a s t e r s ; t h e r e f o r e , a s a child J a c o b s w a s u n a w a r e that s h e w a s a slave. H e r m o t h e r ' s d e a t h a n d a c h a n g e of o w n e r s for b o t h J a c o b s a n d her f a t h e r b r o u g h t her into the family of Dr. a n d M r s . J a m e s N o r c o m in 1 8 2 5 . T h e r e , a s s h e g r e w to a d u l t h o o d , s h e w a s sexually t h r e a t e n e d by the d o c t o r a n d a b u s e d by his j e a l o u s wife. As a d e f e n s e a g a i n s t this t r e a t m e n t , J a c o b s involved h e r s e l f with an u n m a r r i e d w h i t e attorney, S a m u e l T r e d w e l l S a w y e r , by w h o m s h e h a d two c h i l d r e n : J o s e p h , b o r n in 1 8 2 9 , a n d L o u i s a M a t i l d a , b o r n in 1 8 3 3 . W h e n N o r c o m s e n t her to a c o u n t r y p l a n t a t i o n in 1 8 3 5 , s h e e s c a p e d b a c k to E d e n t o n , h i d i n g for p e r h a p s seven y e a r s in t h e h o m e of her m a t e r n a l g r a n d m o t h e r , w h o h a d b e e n e m a n c i p a t e d s o m e y e a r s earlier. W h i l e J a c o b s w a s in hiding, S a w y e r p u r c h a s e d , b u t did not e m a n c i p a t e , their two c h i l d r e n . J a c o b s finally e s c a p e d to the N o r t h in 1 8 4 2 , a n d later b o t h her c h i l d r e n c a m e N o r t h a l s o . Life in the N o r t h w a s i n s e c u r e a n d p e r i l o u s , however, b e c a u s e slave c a t c h e r s were c o n s t a n t l y h u n t i n g d o w n e s c a p e d s l a v e s to return t h e m S o u t h , w h i c h they c o u l d d o m o r e a g g r e s s i v e l y after 1 8 5 0 with t h e Fugitive S l a v e L a w o n their s i d e . F o r m u c h of t h e next two d e c a d e s J a c o b s w o r k e d in t h e family of N a t h a n i e l P a r k e r Willis, o n e of the era's m o s t p o p u l a r writers a n d editors. S h e t o o k c a r e of his c h i l d r e n a n d b e c a m e p a r t i c u l a r l y c l o s e to his s e c o n d wife, C o r n e l i a G r i n n e l l Willis, a s t a u n c h a b o l i t i o n i s t . In 1 8 5 3 C o r n e l i a Willis a r r a n g e d to p u r c h a s e J a c o b s from N o r c o m ' s d a u g h t e r , J a c o b s ' s legal o w n e r ; t h e n s h e e m a n c i p a t e d J a c o b s , w h o c o n t i n u e d to work for Willis after he b e c a m e a widower. J a c o b s s p e n t m o s t of 1 8 4 9 in R o c h e s t e r , N e w York, w o r k i n g for the Anti-Slavery Office run by her y o u n g e r b r o t h e r , w h o h a d a l s o e s c a p e d slavery. S h e r e a d t h r o u g h a large b o d y of antislavery writings a n d a l s o c a m e to k n o w a n u m b e r o f a b o l i t i o n i s t s , i n c l u d i n g m a n y white w o m e n , a m o n g t h e m t h e Q u a k e r A m y P o s t , w h o b e c a m e a m e n t o r to her a n d in w h o s e h o u s e s h e lived for n i n e m o n t h s while h e r b r o t h e r w a s a w a y on l e c t u r e t o u r s . J a c o b s w a n t e d to c o n t r i b u t e h e r life story to t h e a b o l i t i o n i s t c a u s e in a way that w o u l d c a p t u r e the a t t e n t i o n of N o r t h e r n white w o m e n in particular, to s h o w t h e m h o w slavery d e b a s e d a n d d e m o r a l i z e d w o m e n , at o n c e s u b j e c t i n g t h e m to white m a l e lust a n d d e p r i v i n g t h e m of the right to m a k e h o m e s for a n d with their c h i l d r e n . Yet this topic w a s difficult to d i s c u s s in a n era w h e n e x t r e m e sexual prudery w a s t h e n o r m , w h e n s t a n d a r d s of f e m a l e sexual " p u r i t y " c o u l d result in b l a m ing the u n m a r r i e d slave m o t h e r rather t h a n t h e m a n w h o s e victim s h e w a s . In Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl J a c o b s tried to d o m o r e than c r e a t e s y m p a t h y for her plight; s h e s o u g h t to win t h e r e s p e c t a n d a d m i r a t i o n of her r e a d e r s for the c o u r a g e with w h i c h s h e forestalled a b u s e a n d for the i n d e p e n d e n c e with w h i c h s h e c h o s e a lover r a t h e r than h a v i n g o n e forced on her. H e r d e s c r i p t i o n of h i d i n g in t h e a t t i c , her e m p h a s i s o n family life a n d m a t e r n a l v a l u e s , a n d her a c c o u n t of t h e difficulties of fugitive s l a v e s in t h e N o r t h differentiate the b o o k from the n u m e r o u s s l a v e narratives p r o d u c e d in t h e twenty y e a r s b e f o r e t h e Civil W a r . Incidents is a l s o d i s t i n g u i s h e d by its a w a r e n e s s of the kinds of s t o r i e s written by a n d a b o u t w h i t e w o m e n in the s a m e e r a , for it s e l f - c o n s c i o u s l y a d d r e s s e s w o m e n r e a d e r s a n d carefully d i s t i n g u i s h e s the slave w o m a n ' s e x p e r i e n c e s from theirs. F r e e at last, a n d e n c o u r a g e d by the s u c c e s s of H a r r i e t B e e c h e r S t o w e ' s Uncle Tom's Cabin ( 1 8 5 2 ) — o n e of w h o s e h e r o i n e s is the slave c o n c u b i n e C a s s y — J a c o b s b e g a n work o n her narrative a r o u n d 1 8 5 3 a n d finished it by 1 8 5 8 . S h e w a s not s u c c e s s f u l in finding a p u b l i s h e r for it, however, until Lydia M a r i a C h i l d ( 1 8 0 2 - 1 8 8 0 ) , t h e wellk n o w n w o m a n of letters a n d a b o l i t i o n i s t , a g r e e d to write a p r e f a c e for it. C h i l d b e c a m e very i n t e r e s t e d in the p r o j e c t , p u t t i n g m u c h editorial work into t h e m a n u s c r i p t ; a n d

I N C I D E N T S IN T H E L I F E OF A S L A V E G I R L ,

CHAPTER

I

/

8 1 3

w h e n t h e c o n t r a c t e d p u b l i s h e r s w e n t b a n k r u p t , s h e a r r a n g e d for its p u b l i c a t i o n . T h e b o o k c a m e o u t u n d e r t h e p s e u d o n y m L i n d a B r e n t in 1 8 6 1 ; it w a s s o l d a t A n t i - S l a v e r y Offices a r o u n d t h e c o u n t r y , w a s p u b l i s h e d in E n g l a n d in 1 8 6 2 , a n d r e c e i v e d s e v e r a l f a v o r a b l e reviews. T h e o u t b r e a k o f t h e Civil W a r m a d e its m e s s a g e l e s s p r e s s i n g , h o w e v e r ; a n d it s a n k f r o m n o t i c e until t h e 1 9 8 0 s , w h e n i n t e r e s t in early writings by A f r i c a n - A m e r i c a n w o m e n a n d s u p e r b b i o g r a p h i c a l s c h o l a r s h i p by J e a n F a g i n Yellin, e s t a b l i s h i n g that this w a s a n a u t o b i o g r a p h i c a l n a r r a t i v e , not a novel, b r o u g h t b e l a t e d a c c l a i m to t h e work. D u r i n g a n d after t h e w a r J a c o b s w o r k e d with t h e Q u a k e r s in their efforts to h e l p freed s l a v e s with direct aid a n d by o r g a n i z i n g s c h o o l s , o r p h a n a g e s , a n d n u r s i n g h o m e s . S h e r a n a b o a r d i n g h o u s e in C a m b r i d g e , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , a n d later m o v e d to W a s h i n g t o n , D . C . , with h e r d a u g h t e r . S h e is b u r i e d in M o u n t A u b u r n C e m e t e r y in Cambridge. C r i t i c s a n d s t u d e n t s o f Incidents

h a v e d i s a g r e e d o n w h e t h e r it is truth or

fiction

a n d w h e t h e r it is primarily J a c o b s ' s work or C h i l d ' s . Yellin h a s s h o w n that all t h e c h a r a c t e r s a n d e v e n t s in Incidents

a r e b a s e d in reality, a n d C h i l d ' s c o r r e s p o n d e n c e

c l a i m s that a s editor s h e a d d e d n o t h i n g a n d a l t e r e d fewer t h a n fifty w o r d s in t h e m a n u s c r i p t . B u t C h i l d did take w h a t s h e d e s c r i b e d a s " m u c h p a i n s " with it, " t r a n s p o s i n g s e n t e n c e s a n d p a g e s , s o a s t o b r i n g t h e story into c o n t i n u o u s order, r e m a r k s into appropriate

a n d the

p l a c e s , " t h e r e b y m a k i n g t h e story " m u c h m o r e c l e a r a n d

e n t e r t a i n i n g . " S h e divided t h e n a r r a t i v e into c h a p t e r s a n d s u p p l i e d c h a p t e r titles. S h e a l s o a s k e d J a c o b s for i n s t a n c e s o f slave a b u s e a p a r t from t h e a u t h o r ' s o w n e x p e r i e n c e s , w h i c h J a c o b s s u p p l i e d a n d s h e i n s e r t e d . L a c k i n g t h e m a n u s c r i p t of Incidents,

one

c a n n o t s p e c u l a t e o n C h i l d ' s specific c h a n g e s . T o t h e extent that C h i l d ' s r e o r g a n i z a t i o n g a v e t h e b o o k a m o r e literary s h a p e , Incidents S o , t o o , a r e T . S . Eliot's The Waste m a s Wolfe's Look

Homeward,

Land,

Angel,

is i n d e e d a c o l l a b o r a t i v e p r o d u c t i o n .

T h e o d o r e D r e i s e r ' s Sister

Carrie,

and Tho-

t o n a m e only a few w e l l - k n o w n e x a m p l e s . J a c o b s

e x p r e s s e d n o d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n with C h i l d ' s w o r k a n d clearly r e g a r d e d it a s h e r own book, t a k i n g a n a c t i v e role in p r o m o t i n g a n d selling it. N o t for a n o t h e r thirty years after Incidents

w o u l d A f r i c a n - A m e r i c a n w o m e n ' s wTiting e m e r g e a s a s i g n i f i c a n t s t r a n d in

A m e r i c a n l i t e r a t u r e ; w h e n it did, m a n y o f t h e t h e m e s that J a c o b s i n t r o d u c e d w o u l d b e c o m e c e n t r a l to s u c h writing. T h e text is that of t h e 1 8 6 1 e d i t i o n , e d i t e d by Yellin ( 1 9 8 7 ) .

From

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl /.

Childhood

I w a s b o r n a s l a v e ; b u t I never k n e w it till six y e a r s of h a p p y c h i l d h o o d h a d p a s s e d away. M y f a t h e r w a s a c a r p e n t e r , a n d c o n s i d e r e d s o intelligent a n d skilful in his t r a d e , t h a t , w h e n b u i l d i n g s o u t of t h e c o m m o n line w e r e to b e e r e c t e d , h e w a s s e n t for f r o m l o n g d i s t a n c e s , to b e h e a d w o r k m a n . O n c o n dition of p a y i n g his m i s t r e s s two h u n d r e d d o l l a r s a year, a n d

supporting

himself, h e w a s a l l o w e d to work at his t r a d e , a n d m a n a g e his o w n a f f a i r s . H i s s t r o n g e s t w i s h w a s to p u r c h a s e his c h i l d r e n ; b u t , t h o u g h h e several t i m e s offered his hard e a r n i n g s for t h a t p u r p o s e , h e n e v e r s u c c e e d e d . In c o m p l e x ion my p a r e n t s w e r e a light s h a d e of b r o w n i s h yellow, a n d w e r e

termed

m u l a t t o e s . T h e y lived t o g e t h e r in a c o m f o r t a b l e h o m e ; a n d , t h o u g h w e w e r e all s l a v e s , I w a s s o fondly s h i e l d e d that I n e v e r d r e a m e d I w a s a p i e c e of m e r c h a n d i s e , t r u s t e d to t h e m for s a f e k e e p i n g , a n d liable to b e d e m a n d e d of t h e m at any m o m e n t . I h a d o n e b r o t h e r , W i l l i a m , w h o w a s two y e a r s y o u n g e r t h a n m y s e l f — a bright, a f f e c t i o n a t e c h i l d . I h a d a l s o a g r e a t t r e a s u r e in

my

maternal

grandmother,

who

was

a

remarkable

woman

in

many

814

/

HARRIET JACOBS

r e s p e c t s . S h e w a s the d a u g h t e r of a planter in S o u t h C a r o l i n a , who, at his d e a t h , left her m o t h e r a n d his three children free, with m o n e y to g o to S t . A u g u s t i n e , w h e r e they h a d relatives. It w a s d u r i n g the Revolutionary W a r ; a n d they were c a p t u r e d on their p a s s a g e , carried b a c k , a n d sold to different p u r c h a s e r s . S u c h w a s the story my g r a n d m o t h e r u s e d to tell m e ; b u t I do not r e m e m b e r all the p a r t i c u l a r s . S h e w a s a little girl w h e n s h e w a s c a p t u r e d a n d sold to the k e e p e r of a large hotel. 1 I have often h e a r d her tell h o w h a r d s h e fared d u r i n g c h i l d h o o d . B u t a s s h e grew older she evinced so m u c h intelligence, a n d w a s s o faithful, that her m a s t e r a n d m i s t r e s s c o u l d not help s e e i n g it w a s for their interest to take c a r e of s u c h a v a l u a b l e p i e c e of p r o p erty. S h e b e c a m e a n i n d i s p e n s a b l e p e r s o n a g e in the h o u s e h o l d , officiating in all c a p a c i t i e s , from c o o k a n d wet n u r s e to s e a m s t r e s s . S h e w a s m u c h p r a i s e d for her c o o k i n g ; a n d her n i c e c r a c k e r s b e c a m e s o f a m o u s in the n e i g h b o r h o o d that m a n y p e o p l e were d e s i r o u s of o b t a i n i n g t h e m . In c o n s e q u e n c e of n u m e r o u s r e q u e s t s of this kind, s h e a s k e d p e r m i s s i o n of her mistress to b a k e c r a c k e r s at night, after all the h o u s e h o l d work w a s d o n e ; a n d s h e o b t a i n e d leave to do it, provided s h e would c l o t h e herself a n d her children from the profits. U p o n t h e s e t e r m s , after working hard all day for her m i s t r e s s , s h e b e g a n her midnight b a k i n g s , a s s i s t e d by her two o l d e s t children. T h e b u s i n e s s proved profitable; a n d e a c h year s h e laid by a little, which w a s saved for a fund to p u r c h a s e her children. H e r m a s t e r d i e d , a n d the property w a s divided a m o n g his heirs. T h e widow h a d her dower in the hotel, which s h e c o n t i n u e d to k e e p o p e n . M y g r a n d m o t h e r r e m a i n e d in her service a s a slave; but her children were divided a m o n g her m a s t e r ' s children. A s s h e h a d five, B e n j a m i n , the y o u n g e s t o n e , w a s sold, in order that e a c h heir might have an e q u a l portion of dollars a n d c e n t s . T h e r e w a s s o little difference in our a g e s that he s e e m e d m o r e like my brother t h a n my u n c l e . H e w a s a bright, h a n d s o m e lad, nearly white; for h e inherited the c o m p l e x i o n my g r a n d m o t h e r h a d derived from A n g l o - S a x o n a n c e s t o r s . T h o u g h only ten years old, seven h u n d r e d a n d twenty dollars were paid for h i m . His s a l e s w a s a terrible blow to my g r a n d m o t h e r ; b u t s h e w a s naturally hopeful, a n d s h e went to work with r e n e w e d energy, trusting in t i m e to b e a b l e to p u r c h a s e s o m e of her children. S h e h a d laid u p three h u n d r e d dollars, which her m i s t r e s s o n e day b e g g e d a s a l o a n , p r o m i s i n g to pay her s o o n . T h e r e a d e r probably knows that n o p r o m i s e or writing given to a slave is legally b i n d i n g ; for, a c c o r d i n g to S o u t h e r n laws, a slave, being property, c a n hold no property. W h e n my g r a n d m o t h e r lent her hard e a r n i n g s to her m i s t r e s s , s h e t r u s t e d solely to her honor. T h e h o n o r of a slaveholder to a slave! T o this g o o d g r a n d m o t h e r I w a s indebted for m a n y c o m f o r t s . M y brother Willie a n d I often received p o r t i o n s of the c r a c k e r s , c a k e s , a n d p r e s e r v e s , s h e m a d e to sell; a n d after we c e a s e d to be children we w e r e i n d e b t e d to her for m a n y m o r e i m p o r t a n t services. S u c h were the u n u s u a l l y f o r t u n a t e c i r c u m s t a n c e s of my early c h i l d h o o d . W h e n I w a s six years old, my m o t h e r d i e d , a n d t h e n , for the first t i m e , I l e a r n e d , by the talk a r o u n d m e , that I w a s a slave. M y m o t h e r ' s m i s t r e s s w a s the d a u g h t e r of my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s m i s t r e s s . S h e w a s the foster sister of my 1. J o h n H o r n i b l o w , w h o r a n t h e K i n g ' s A r m s h o t e l in E d e n t o n , North Carolina. Jacobs's grandmother's legal n a m e w a s M a r g a r e t (Molly) Hornib l o w (c. 1 7 7 1 — 1 8 5 3 ) ; a s w a s typical for t h e e r a ,

M o l l y r e c e i v e d t h e s u r n a m e o f h e r o w n e r . Incidents n e v e r m e n t i o n s a g r a n d f a t h e r , a n d n o i n f o r m a t i o n has b e e n recovered relating to the paternal p a r e n t a g e of Molly's children.

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m o t h e r ; they were both n o u r i s h e d at my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s b r e a s t . In fact, my m o t h e r h a d b e e n w e a n e d at three m o n t h s old, that the b a b e of the m i s t r e s s might obtain sufficient food. T h e y played together a s c h i l d r e n ; a n d , w h e n they b e c a m e w o m e n , my m o t h e r w a s a m o s t faithful servant to her whiter foster sister. O n her d e a t h - b e d her m i s t r e s s p r o m i s e d that her children s h o u l d never suffer for any thing; a n d d u r i n g her lifetime s h e kept her word. T h e y all s p o k e kindly of my d e a d m o t h e r , w h o h a d b e e n a slave merely in n a m e , b u t in n a t u r e w a s n o b l e a n d w o m a n l y . I grieved for her, a n d my y o u n g m i n d w a s troubled with the t h o u g h t w h o would n o w take c a r e of m e a n d my little brother. I w a s told that my h o m e was now to b e with her m i s t r e s s ; a n d I found it a h a p p y o n e . N o t o i l s o m e or d i s a g r e e a b l e d u t i e s were i m p o s e d u p o n m e . M y m i s t r e s s w a s s o kind to m e that I w a s always g l a d to d o her bidding, a n d p r o u d to labor for her a s m u c h a s my y o u n g years w o u l d permit. I would sit by her side for h o u r s , s e w i n g diligently, with a heart a s free from c a r e a s that of any free-born white child. W h e n s h e t h o u g h t I w a s tired, s h e would s e n d m e o u t to run a n d j u m p ; a n d away I b o u n d e d , to g a t h e r berries or flowers to d e c o r a t e her r o o m . T h o s e were h a p p y d a y s — t o o h a p p y to last. T h e slave child h a d no t h o u g h t for the m o r r o w ; but there c a m e that blight, which too surely waits on every h u m a n b e i n g born to b e a chattel. W h e n I w a s nearly twelve years old, my kind m i s t r e s s s i c k e n e d a n d died. A s I saw the c h e e k grow paler, a n d the eye m o r e glassy, h o w earnestly I prayed in my heart that s h e might live! I loved her; for s h e h a d b e e n a l m o s t like a m o t h e r to m e . M y prayers were not a n s w e r e d . S h e d i e d , a n d they b u r i e d her in the little c h u r c h y a r d , w h e r e , day after day, my tears fell u p o n her grave. I w a s sent to s p e n d a w e e k with my g r a n d m o t h e r . I w a s n o w old e n o u g h to begin to think of the future; a n d again a n d again I a s k e d myself w h a t they w o u l d do with m e . I felt s u r e I s h o u l d never find a n o t h e r m i s t r e s s s o kind a s the o n e w h o w a s g o n e . S h e h a d p r o m i s e d my dying m o t h e r that her children s h o u l d never suffer for any thing; a n d w h e n I r e m e m b e r e d that, a n d recalled her m a n y proofs of a t t a c h m e n t to m e , I c o u l d not help having s o m e h o p e s that s h e h a d left m e free. M y friends were a l m o s t certain it w o u l d be s o . T h e y thought s h e would b e s u r e to d o it, on a c c o u n t of my m o t h e r ' s love a n d faithful service. B u t , a l a s ! we all know that the m e m o r y of a faithful slave d o e s not avail m u c h to save her children from the a u c t i o n block. After a brief period of s u s p e n s e , the will of my m i s t r e s s w a s r e a d , a n d we learned that s h e h a d b e q u e a t h e d m e to her sister's d a u g h t e r , a child of five years old. S o v a n i s h e d o u r h o p e s . M y m i s t r e s s h a d t a u g h t m e the p r e c e p t s of G o d ' s W o r d : " T h o u shalt love thy n e i g h b o r a s thyself." 2 " W h a t s o e v e r ye would that m e n s h o u l d do u n t o you, do ye even s o u n t o t h e m . " 3 B u t I w a s her slave, a n d I s u p p o s e s h e did not recognize m e a s her neighbor. I would give m u c h to blot o u t from my m e m o r y that o n e great w r o n g . As a child, I loved my m i s t r e s s ; a n d , looking b a c k on the h a p p y days I s p e n t with her, I try to think with less bitterness of this a c t of i n j u s t i c e . W h i l e I w a s with her, s h e t a u g h t m e to read a n d spell; a n d for this privilege, which s o rarely falls to the lot of a slave, I b l e s s her m e m o r y . S h e p o s s e s s e d b u t few slaves; a n d at her d e a t h t h o s e were all distributed a m o n g her relatives. Five of t h e m were my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s children, a n d h a d 2.

Mark

12.31.

3.

Matthew 7.12.

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s h a r e d the s a m e milk that n o u r i s h e d her m o t h e r ' s children. N o t w i t h s t a n d i n g my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s long a n d faithful service to her o w n e r s , not o n e of her children e s c a p e d the a u c t i o n block. T h e s e G o d - b r e a t h i n g m a c h i n e s are no m o r e , in the sight of their m a s t e r s , than the cotton they plant, or the h o r s e s they t e n d . *

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VII. The

Lover

W h y d o e s the slave ever love? W h y allow the tendrils of the heart to twine a r o u n d o b j e c t s which m a y at any m o m e n t b e w r e n c h e d away by the h a n d of violence? W h e n s e p a r a t i o n s c o m e by the h a n d of d e a t h , the p i o u s soul c a n bow in resignation, a n d say, " N o t my will, b u t thine b e d o n e , O L o r d ! " 4 B u t when the ruthless h a n d of m a n strikes the blow, r e g a r d l e s s of the misery h e c a u s e s , it is hard to be s u b m i s s i v e . I did not r e a s o n t h u s w h e n I w a s a y o u n g girl. Youth will be youth. I loved, a n d I i n d u l g e d the h o p e that the dark c l o u d s a r o u n d m e would turn o u t a bright lining. I forgot that in the land of my birth the s h a d o w s are too d e n s e for light to p e n e t r a t e . A land " W h e r e l a u g h t e r is not mirth; nor t h o u g h t the m i n d ; N o r w o r d s a l a n g u a g e ; no e'en m e n m a n k i n d . W h e r e cries reply to c u r s e s , shrieks to b l o w s , A n d e a c h is tortured in his s e p a r a t e hell." 5 T h e r e w a s in the n e i g h b o r h o o d a y o u n g c o l o r e d c a r p e n t e r ; a free b o r n m a n . W e h a d b e e n well a c q u a i n t e d in c h i l d h o o d , a n d frequently m e t together afterwards. W e b e c a m e mutually a t t a c h e d , a n d h e p r o p o s e d to marry m e . I loved him with all the a r d o r of a y o u n g girl's first love. B u t w h e n I reflected that I w a s a slave, a n d that the laws g a v e n o s a n c t i o n to the m a r r i a g e of s u c h , my heart s a n k within m e . M y lover w a n t e d to buy m e ; but I knew that Dr. Flint w a s too wilful a n d arbitrary a m a n to c o n s e n t to that a r r a n g e m e n t . F r o m h i m , I w a s s u r e of e x p e r i e n c i n g all sorts of o p p o s i t i o n , a n d I h a d n o t h i n g to h o p e from my m i s t r e s s . 6 S h e would have b e e n delighted to have got rid of m e , but not in that way. It w o u l d have relieved her m i n d of a b u r d e n if s h e c o u l d have seen m e sold to s o m e distant s t a t e , but if I w a s married near h o m e I s h o u l d be j u s t a s m u c h in her h u s b a n d ' s power a s I h a d previously b e e n , — f o r the h u s b a n d of a slave h a s no power to p r o t e c t h e r . 7 Moreover, my m i s t r e s s , like m a n y o t h e r s , s e e m e d to think that slaves h a d n o right to any family ties of their o w n ; that they were c r e a t e d merely to wait u p o n the family of the m i s t r e s s . I o n c e h e a r d her a b u s e a y o u n g slave girl, w h o told her that a colored m a n w a n t e d to m a k e her his wife. "I will have you p e e l e d a n d pickled, my lady," said s h e , "if I ever h e a r you m e n t i o n that s u b j e c t a g a i n . D o you s u p p o s e that I will have you t e n d i n g my children with the children of that n i g g e r ? " T h e girl to w h o m s h e said this h a d a m u l a t t o child, of c o u r s e not a c k n o w l e d g e d by its father. T h e p o o r b l a c k m a n w h o loved her would have b e e n p r o u d to a c k n o w l e d g e his h e l p l e s s offspring. M a n y a n d anxious were the t h o u g h t s I revolved in my m i n d . I w a s at a loss what to d o . Above all things, I w a s d e s i r o u s to s p a r e my lover the in4. M a t t h e w 2 6 . 3 9 . 5 . F r o m The Lament of Tusso 4 . 7 - 1 0 ( 1 8 1 7 ) , b y the English poet G e o r g e G o r d o n , Lord Byron (1788-1824). 6 . D r . F l i n t is t h e f a t h e r o f B r e n t ' s o w n e r , E m i l v

F l i n t , w h o h o w e v e r is a c h i l d a t t h i s t i m e , g i v i n g Flint a n d his wife ( w h o m B r e n t refers to a s h e r m i s t r e s s ) legal p o w e r . 7. F o r s o m e t i m e F l i n t h a s b e e n a t t e m p t i n g t o coerce Brent into sexual relations.

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suits that h a d cut s o deeply into my own s o u l . I talked with my grandm o t h e r a b o u t it, a n d partly told her my f e a r s . I did not d a r e to tell her the worst. S h e h a d long s u s p e c t e d all was not right, a n d if I c o n f i r m e d her s u s p i c i o n s I knew a storm would rise that would prove the overthrow of all my hopes. T h i s love-dream h a d b e e n my s u p p o r t t h r o u g h m a n y trials; a n d I c o u l d not b e a r to run the risk of having it s u d d e n l y d i s s i p a t e d . T h e r e w a s a lady in the n e i g h b o r h o o d , a particular friend of Dr. Flint's, w h o often visited the h o u s e . I h a d a great r e s p e c t for her, a n d she h a d always m a n i f e s t e d a friendly interest in m e . G r a n d m o t h e r thought s h e would have great i n f l u e n c e with the doctor. I went to this lady, a n d told her my story. I told her I w a s a w a r e that my lover's b e i n g a free-born m a n would prove a great o b j e c t i o n ; b u t h e w a n t e d to buy m e ; a n d if Dr. Flint would c o n s e n t to that a r r a n g e m e n t , I felt s u r e he would b e willing to pay any r e a s o n a b l e p r i c e . S h e knew that M r s . Flint disliked m e ; therefore, I v e n t u r e d to s u g g e s t that p e r h a p s my m i s t r e s s would a p p r o v e of my b e i n g sold, a s that would rid her of m e . T h e lady listened with kindly sympathy, a n d p r o m i s e d to do her u t m o s t to p r o m o t e my w i s h e s . S h e h a d an interview with the doctor, a n d I believe s h e p l e a d e d my c a u s e earnestly; but it w a s all to no p u r p o s e . H o w I d r e a d e d my m a s t e r now! Every m i n u t e I e x p e c t e d to be s u m m o n e d to his p r e s e n c e ; but the day p a s s e d , a n d I h e a r d nothing from h i m . T h e next m o r n i n g , a m e s s a g e w a s b r o u g h t to m e : " M a s t e r w a n t s you in his s t u d y . " I f o u n d the d o o r ajar, a n d I stood a m o m e n t gazing at the hateful m a n w h o c l a i m e d a right to rule m e , body a n d s o u l . I e n t e r e d , a n d tried to a p p e a r c a l m . I did not want him to know how my heart w a s bleeding. H e looked fixedly at m e , with a n expression which s e e m e d to say, "I have half a mind to kill you on the s p o t . " At last he broke the s i l e n c e , a n d that w a s a relief to both of u s . " S o you want to b e m a r r i e d , d o y o u ? " said h e , " a n d to a free nigger." "Yes, sir." "Well, I'll s o o n c o n v i n c e you w h e t h e r I a m your m a s t e r , or the nigger fellow you h o n o r so highly. If you must have a h u s b a n d , you may take u p with o n e of my s l a v e s . " W h a t a situation I s h o u l d be in, a s the wife of o n e of his slaves, even if my heart h a d b e e n interested! I replied, " D o n ' t you s u p p o s e , sir, that a slave c a n have s o m e p r e f e r e n c e a b o u t marrying? D o you s u p p o s e that all m e n are alike to h e r ? " " D o you love this n i g g e r ? " said h e , abruptly. "Yes, sir." " H o w d a r e you tell m e s o ! " he e x c l a i m e d , in great wrath. After a slight p a u s e , he a d d e d , "I s u p p o s e d you thought m o r e of yourself; that you felt a b o v e the insults of s u c h p u p p i e s . " I replied, "If he is a p u p p y I a m a p u p p y , for we are both of the negro r a c e . It is right a n d h o n o r a b l e for u s to love e a c h other. T h e m a n you call a p u p p y never insulted m e , sir; a n d h e would not love m e if he did not believe m e to b e a virtuous w o m a n . " H e s p r a n g u p o n m e like a tiger, a n d gave m e a s t u n n i n g blow. It w a s the first time h e h a d ever struck m e ; a n d fear did not e n a b l e m e to control my anger. W h e n I h a d recovered a little from the effects, I e x c l a i m e d , "You have s t r u c k m e for a n s w e r i n g you honestly. H o w I d e s p i s e y o u ! " T h e r e w a s silence for s o m e m i n u t e s . P e r h a p s he w a s d e c i d i n g what s h o u l d

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be my p u n i s h m e n t ; or, p e r h a p s , he w a n t e d to give m e t i m e to reflect o n w h a t I h a d said, a n d to w h o m I h a d s a i d it. Finally, he a s k e d , " D o you know w h a t you have s a i d ? " "Yes, sir; b u t your t r e a t m e n t drove m e to it." " D o you know that I have a right to d o a s I like with y o u , — t h a t I c a n kill you, if I p l e a s e ? " "You have tried to kill m e , a n d I wish you h a d ; b u t you have n o right to do a s you like with m e . " " S i l e n c e ! " he e x c l a i m e d , in a t h u n d e r i n g voice. " B y h e a v e n s , girl, you forget yourself too far! Are you m a d ? If you a r e , I will s o o n b r i n g you to your s e n s e s . D o you think any other m a s t e r would b e a r w h a t I have b o r n e from you this m o r n i n g ? M a n y m a s t e r s would have killed you o n the s p o t . H o w would you like to b e sent to jail for your i n s o l e n c e ? " "I know I have b e e n disrespectful, sir," I replied; " b u t you drove m e to it; I couldn't help it. A s for the jail, there w o u l d b e m o r e p e a c e for m e there than there is h e r e . " "You deserve to g o t h e r e , " he said, " a n d to b e u n d e r s u c h t r e a t m e n t , that you w o u l d forget the m e a n i n g of the word peace. It would d o you g o o d . It would take s o m e of your high n o t i o n s o u t of y o u . B u t I a m not ready to s e n d you t h e r e yet, n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g your ingratitude for all my k i n d n e s s a n d forb e a r a n c e . You have b e e n the p l a g u e of my life. I have w a n t e d to m a k e you happy, a n d I have b e e n r e p a i d with the b a s e s t i n g r a t i t u d e ; b u t t h o u g h you have proved yourself i n c a p a b l e of a p p r e c i a t i n g my k i n d n e s s , I will be lenient towards you, L i n d a . I will give you o n e m o r e c h a n c e to r e d e e m your character. If you b e h a v e yourself a n d d o a s I r e q u i r e , I will forgive you a n d treat you a s I always have d o n e ; b u t if you d i s o b e y m e , I will p u n i s h you a s I w o u l d the m e a n e s t slave on my p l a n t a t i o n . N e v e r let m e h e a r that fellow's n a m e m e n t i o n e d a g a i n . If I ever k n o w of your s p e a k i n g to h i m , I will c o w h i d e you b o t h ; a n d if I c a t c h him lurking a b o u t my p r e m i s e s , I will s h o o t him a s s o o n a s I w o u l d a dog. D o you h e a r w h a t I say? I'll t e a c h you a l e s s o n a b o u t m a r r i a g e a n d free niggers! N o w g o , a n d let this b e the last time I have o c c a sion to s p e a k to you o n this s u b j e c t . " R e a d e r , did you ever h a t e ? I h o p e not. I never did b u t o n c e ; a n d I trust I never shall a g a i n . S o m e b o d y h a s called it "the a t m o s p h e r e of h e l l ; " a n d I believe it is s o . F o r a fortnight the d o c t o r did not s p e a k to m e . H e t h o u g h t to mortify m e ; to m a k e m e feel that I h a d d i s g r a c e d myself by receiving the h o n o r a b l e a d d r e s s e s of a r e s p e c t a b l e c o l o r e d m a n , in p r e f e r e n c e to the b a s e p r o p o s a l s of a white m a n . B u t t h o u g h his lips d i s d a i n e d to a d d r e s s m e , his eyes were very l o q u a c i o u s . N o a n i m a l ever w a t c h e d its prey m o r e narrowly t h a n h e w a t c h e d m e . H e k n e w that I c o u l d write, t h o u g h h e h a d failed to m a k e m e read his letters; a n d h e w a s n o w troubled lest I s h o u l d e x c h a n g e letters with a n o t h e r m a n . After a while h e b e c a m e weary of s i l e n c e ; a n d I w a s sorry for it. O n e m o r n i n g , a s h e p a s s e d t h r o u g h the hall, to leave the h o u s e , h e c o n trived to thrust a note into my h a n d . I t h o u g h t I h a d better r e a d it, a n d s p a r e myself the vexation of having him read it to m e . It e x p r e s s e d regret for the blow h e h a d given m e , a n d r e m i n d e d m e that I myself w a s wholly to b l a m e for it. H e h o p e d I h a d b e c o m e c o n v i n c e d of the injury I w a s d o i n g myself by incurring his d i s p l e a s u r e . H e wrote that h e h a d m a d e u p his m i n d to go to L o u i s i a n a ; that h e s h o u l d take several slaves with h i m , a n d i n t e n d e d I s h o u l d

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b e o n e of the n u m b e r . M y m i s t r e s s would r e m a i n w h e r e s h e w a s ; therefore I s h o u l d have n o t h i n g to fear from that quarter. If I m e r i t e d k i n d n e s s from him, h e a s s u r e d m e that it w o u l d b e lavishly b e s t o w e d . H e b e g g e d m e to think over the matter, a n d a n s w e r the following day. T h e next m o r n i n g I w a s called to carry a pair of s c i s s o r s to his r o o m . I laid t h e m o n the t a b l e , with the letter b e s i d e t h e m . H e t h o u g h t it w a s my a n s w e r , a n d did not call m e b a c k . I went a s u s u a l to a t t e n d my y o u n g m i s t r e s s to a n d from s c h o o l . H e m e t m e in the street, a n d ordered m e to s t o p at his office on my way back. W h e n I e n t e r e d , he s h o w e d m e his letter, a n d a s k e d m e why I h a d not a n s w e r e d it. I replied, "I a m your d a u g h t e r ' s property, a n d it is in your power to s e n d m e , or take m e , wherever you p l e a s e . " H e said he was very g l a d to find m e so willing to g o , a n d that we s h o u l d start early in the a u t u m n . H e h a d a large p r a c t i c e in the town, a n d I rather t h o u g h t h e h a d m a d e u p the story merely to frighten m e . H o w e v e r that might b e , I w a s d e t e r m i n e d that I would never g o to L o u i s i a n a with h i m . S u m m e r p a s s e d away, a n d early in the a u t u m n , Dr. Flint's eldest son w a s sent to L o u i s i a n a to e x a m i n e the country, with a view to e m i g r a t i n g . T h a t news did not disturb m e . I k n e w very well that I s h o u l d not b e sent with him. T h a t I h a d not b e e n t a k e n to the p l a n t a t i o n before this t i m e , w a s owing to the fact that his s o n w a s there. H e w a s j e a l o u s of his s o n ; a n d j e a l o u s y of the overseer h a d kept him from p u n i s h i n g m e by s e n d i n g m e into the fields to work. Is it s t r a n g e that I w a s not p r o u d of t h e s e p r o t e c t o r s ? As for the overseer, h e w a s a m a n for w h o m I h a d less r e s p e c t than I h a d for a bloodhound. Y o u n g Mr. Flint did not b r i n g b a c k a favorable report of L o u i s i a n a , a n d I h e a r d no m o r e of that s c h e m e . S o o n after this, my lover m e t m e at the c o r n e r of the street, a n d I s t o p p e d to s p e a k to h i m . L o o k i n g u p , I s a w my m a s t e r w a t c h i n g u s from his window. I hurried h o m e , t r e m b l i n g with fear. I w a s sent for, immediately, to go to his r o o m . H e m e t m e with a blow. " W h e n is m i s t r e s s to be m a r r i e d ? " said h e , in a s n e e r i n g t o n e . A shower of o a t h s a n d i m p r e c a t i o n s followed. H o w thankful I w a s that my lover w a s a free m a n ! that my tyrant h a d n o power to flog him for s p e a k i n g to m e in the street! A g a i n a n d again I revolved in my m i n d how all this would e n d . T h e r e w a s no h o p e that the d o c t o r w o u l d c o n s e n t to sell m e on any t e r m s . H e h a d a n iron will, a n d w a s d e t e r m i n e d to k e e p m e , a n d to c o n q u e r m e . M y lover w a s a n intelligent a n d religious m a n . Even if he c o u l d have o b t a i n e d p e r m i s s i o n to marry m e while I w a s a slave, the m a r r i a g e would give him no p o w e r to protect m e from my m a s t e r . It would have m a d e him m i s e r a b l e to witness the insults I s h o u l d have b e e n s u b j e c t e d to. A n d t h e n , if we h a d c h i l d r e n , I knew they m u s t "follow the condition of the m o t h e r . " W h a t a terrible blight that would b e o n the heart of a free, intelligent father! F o r his s a k e , I felt that I o u g h t not to link his fate with my own u n h a p p y destiny. H e w a s g o i n g to S a v a n n a h to s e e a b o u t a little property left him by a n u n c l e ; a n d had a s it w a s to b r i n g my feelings to it, I earnestly e n t r e a t e d him not to c o m e b a c k . I advised him to g o to the F r e e S t a t e s , w h e r e his t o n g u e w o u l d not be tied, a n d w h e r e his intelligence would b e of m o r e avail to h i m . H e left m e , still h o p i n g the day would c o m e w h e n I c o u l d be b o u g h t . With m e the l a m p of h o p e h a d g o n e out. T h e d r e a m of my girlhood w a s over. I felt lonely a n d desolate. Still I w a s not stripped of all. I still h a d my good g r a n d m o t h e r , a n d my

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affectionate brother. W h e n he p u t his a r m s r o u n d my n e c k , a n d looked into my eyes, a s if to read there the troubles I d a r e d not tell, I felt that I still h a d s o m e t h i n g to love. B u t even that p l e a s a n t e m o t i o n w a s chilled by the reflection that he might be torn from m e at any m o m e n t , by s o m e s u d d e n freak of my m a s t e r . If I had known how we love e a c h other, I think he would have exulted in s e p a r a t i n g u s . W e often p l a n n e d together how we c o u l d get to the north. B u t , a s William r e m a r k e d , s u c h things are e a s i e r said t h a n d o n e . M y m o v e m e n t s were very closely w a t c h e d , a n d we h a d n o m e a n s of getting a n y m o n e y to defray our e x p e n s e s . As for g r a n d m o t h e r , s h e w a s strongly o p p o s e d to her children's u n d e r t a k i n g any s u c h project. S h e h a d not forgotten p o o r B e n j a m i n ' s sufferings" a n d s h e w a s afraid that if a n o t h e r child tried to e s c a p e , he would have a similar or a worse fate. T o m e , n o t h i n g s e e m e d m o r e dreadful than my p r e s e n t life. I s a i d to myself, "William must be free. H e shall go to the north, a n d I will follow h i m . " M a n y a slave sister h a s formed the s a m e p l a n s . *

X. A Perilous

Passage

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in the Slave

Girl's

Life

After my lover went away, Dr. Flint contrived a new p l a n . H e s e e m e d to have an idea that my fear of my m i s t r e s s w a s his g r e a t e s t o b s t a c l e . In the b l a n d e s t t o n e s , h e told m e that he w a s g o i n g to build a small h o u s e for m e , in a s e c l u d e d p l a c e , four miles away from the town. I s h u d d e r e d ; but I w a s c o n s t r a i n e d to listen, while h e talked of his intention to give m e a h o m e of my o w n , a n d to m a k e a lady of m e . H i t h e r t o , I h a d e s c a p e d my d r e a d e d fate, by b e i n g in the midst of p e o p l e . M y g r a n d m o t h e r h a d already h a d high words with my m a s t e r a b o u t m e . S h e h a d told him pretty plainly what s h e thought of his c h a r a c t e r , a n d there w a s c o n s i d e r a b l e g o s s i p in the n e i g h b o r h o o d a b o u t our affairs, to which the o p e n - m o u t h e d j e a l o u s y of M r s . Flint contribu t e d not a little. W h e n my m a s t e r s a i d he w a s g o i n g to build a h o u s e for m e , a n d that he c o u l d d o it with little trouble a n d e x p e n s e , I w a s in h o p e s s o m e thing would h a p p e n to frustrate his s c h e m e ; b u t I s o o n h e a r d that the h o u s e w a s actually b e g u n . I vowed before my M a k e r that I would never enter it. I h a d rather toil on the p l a n t a t i o n from d a w n till dark; I had rather live a n d die in jail, than d r a g o n , from day to day, t h r o u g h s u c h a living d e a t h . I w a s d e t e r m i n e d that the m a s t e r , w h o m I so h a t e d a n d l o a t h e d , w h o h a d blighted the p r o s p e c t s of my y o u t h , a n d m a d e my life a d e s e r t , s h o u l d not, after my long struggle with him, s u c c e e d at last in t r a m p l i n g his victim u n d e r his feet. I would d o any thing, every thing, or the s a k e of d e f e a t i n g h i m . W h a t could I d o ? I thought a n d t h o u g h t , till I b e c a m e d e s p e r a t e , a n d m a d e a p l u n g e into the a b y s s . A n d now, reader, I c o m e to a period in my u n h a p p y life, w h i c h I would gladly forget if I c o u l d . T h e r e m e m b r a n c e fills m e with sorrow a n d s h a m e . It p a i n s m e to tell you of it; but I have p r o m i s e d to tell you the truth, a n d I will do it honestly, let it c o s t m e what it may. I will not try to s c r e e n myself b e h i n d the p l e a of c o m p u l s i o n from a m a s t e r ; for it w a s not s o . N e i t h e r c a n I p l e a d i g n o r a n c e or t h o u g h t l e s s n e s s . F o r years, my m a s t e r h a d d o n e his 8 . O n e o f B r e n t ' s u n c l e s , c a u g h t a t t e m p t i n g t o e s c a p e , w a s j a i l e d a n d m i s t r e a t e d f o r six m o n t h s , t h e n s o l d a w a y to a trader. H e e v e n t u a l l y got to N e w York City b u t never s a w his m o t h e r a g a i n .

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u t m o s t to pollute my m i n d with foul i m a g e s , a n d to destroy the p u r e principles i n c u l c a t e d by my g r a n d m o t h e r , a n d the g o o d m i s t r e s s of my c h i l d h o o d . T h e influences of slavery h a d had the s a m e effect on m e that they h a d on other y o u n g girls; they h a d m a d e m e p r e m a t u r e l y knowing, c o n c e r n i n g the evil ways of the world. I knew what I did, a n d I did it with deliberate calculation. B u t , O , ye h a p p y w o m e n , w h o s e purity h a s b e e n sheltered from c h i l d h o o d , w h o have b e e n free to c h o o s e t h e o b j e c t s of your affection, w h o s e h o m e s are p r o t e c t e d by law, d o not j u d g e the p o o r d e s o l a t e slave girl too severely! If slavery h a d b e e n a b o l i s h e d , I, a l s o , c o u l d have m a r r i e d the m a n of my c h o i c e ; I c o u l d have h a d a h o m e shielded by the laws; a n d I s h o u l d have b e e n s p a r e d the painful task of c o n f e s s i n g what I a m n o w a b o u t to r e l a t e ; b u t all my p r o s p e c t s h a d b e e n blighted by slavery. I w a n t e d to keep myself p u r e ; a n d , u n d e r the m o s t a d v e r s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s , I tried hard to p r e s e r v e m y selfr e s p e c t ; b u t I w a s struggling a l o n e in t h e powerful g r a s p of the d e m o n Slavery; a n d the m o n s t e r proved too strong for m e . I felt a s if I w a s f o r s a k e n by G o d a n d m a n ; a s if all my efforts m u s t b e frustrated; a n d I b e c a m e r e c k l e s s in my despair. I have told you that D r . Flint's p e r s e c u t i o n s a n d his wife's j e a l o u s y h a d given rise to s o m e g o s s i p in the n e i g h b o r h o o d . A m o n g o t h e r s , it c h a n c e d that a white u n m a r r i e d g e n t l e m a n h a d o b t a i n e d s o m e k n o w l e d g e of t h e c i r c u m s t a n c e s in which I w a s p l a c e d . H e knew my g r a n d m o t h e r , a n d often s p o k e to m e in t h e street. H e b e c a m e interested for m e , a n d a s k e d q u e s t i o n s a b o u t m y m a s t e r , which I a n s w e r e d in part. H e e x p r e s s e d a great deal of sympathy, a n d a wish to aid m e . H e constantly s o u g h t o p p o r t u n i t i e s to s e e m e , a n d wrote to m e frequently. I w a s a p o o r slave girl, only fifteen years old. S o m u c h attention from a superior p e r s o n w a s , of c o u r s e , flattering; for h u m a n n a t u r e is the s a m e in all. I a l s o felt grateful for his s y m p a t h y , a n d e n c o u r a g e d by his kind words. It s e e m e d to m e a great thing to have s u c h a friend. By d e g r e e s , a m o r e t e n d e r feeling c r e p t into my heart. H e w a s a n e d u c a t e d a n d e l o q u e n t g e n t l e m a n ; too e l o q u e n t , a l a s , for t h e p o o r slave girl who trusted in h i m . O f c o u r s e I s a w whither all this w a s tending. I knew t h e i m p a s s a b l e gulf b e t w e e n u s ; b u t to b e a n object of interest to a m a n w h o is not married, a n d w h o is not her m a s t e r , is a g r e e a b l e to the pride a n d feelings of a slave, if h e r m i s e r a b l e situation h a s left her any pride or s e n t i m e n t . It s e e m s less d e g r a d i n g to give one's self, than to s u b m i t to c o m p u l s i o n . T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g akin to f r e e d o m in having a lover w h o h a s n o control over y o u , except that which h e g a i n s by k i n d n e s s a n d a t t a c h m e n t . A m a s t e r m a y treat you a s rudely a s h e p l e a s e s , a n d you dare not s p e a k ; moreover, t h e w r o n g d o e s not s e e m s o great with a n u n m a r r i e d m a n , a s with o n e w h o h a s a wife to b e m a d e u n h a p p y . T h e r e m a y b e sophistry in all this; b u t the c o n d i t i o n of a slave c o n f u s e s all principles of morality, a n d , in fact, renders the p r a c t i c e of t h e m i m p o s s i b l e . W h e n I found that my m a s t e r h a d actually b e g u n to build t h e lonely cottage, other feelings mixed with t h o s e I have d e s c r i b e d . R e v e n g e , a n d c a l c u lations of interest, were a d d e d to flattered vanity a n d s i n c e r e g r a t i t u d e for k i n d n e s s . I knew n o t h i n g would e n r a g e Dr. Flint s o m u c h a s to k n o w that I favored a n o t h e r ; a n d it w a s s o m e t h i n g to t r i u m p h over my tyrant even in that small way. I thought he would revenge h i m s e l f by selling m e , a n d I w a s

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s u r e my friend, Mr. S a n d s , would b u y m e . 9 H e w a s a m a n of m o r e generosity a n d feeling than my m a s t e r , a n d I t h o u g h t my f r e e d o m c o u l d b e easily o b t a i n e d from h i m . T h e crisis of my fate now c a m e s o near that I w a s desp e r a t e . I s h u d d e r e d to think of being the m o t h e r of children that s h o u l d b e o w n e d by my old tyrant. I knew that as s o o n as a new fancy took him, his victims were sold far off to get rid of t h e m ; especially if they had children. I had s e e n several w o m e n sold, with his b a b i e s at the b r e a s t . H e never allowed his offspring by slaves to remain long in sight of h i m s e l f a n d his wife. O f a m a n w h o was not my m a s t e r 1 c o u l d ask to have my children well s u p p o r t e d ; a n d in this c a s e , I felt confident I s h o u l d obtain the b o o n . I a l s o felt q u i t e s u r e that they would be m a d e free. With all t h e s e t h o u g h t s revolving in my m i n d , a n d s e e i n g no other way of e s c a p i n g the d o o m I s o m u c h d r e a d e d , I m a d e a h e a d l o n g p l u n g e . Pity m e , a n d p a r d o n m e , O virtuous reader! You never knew what it is to be a slave; to b e entirely u n p r o t e c t e d by law or c u s t o m ; to have the laws r e d u c e you to the c o n d i t i o n of a c h a t t e l , entirely s u b j e c t to the will of a n o t h e r . You never e x h a u s t e d your ingenuity in avoiding the s n a r e s , a n d e l u d i n g the power of a h a t e d tyrant; you never s h u d d e r e d at the s o u n d of his f o o t s t e p s , a n d t r e m b l e d within h e a r i n g of his v o i c e . I know I did wrong. N o o n e c a n feel it m o r e sensibly than I do. T h e painful a n d humiliating m e m o r y will h a u n t m e to my dying day. Still, in looking b a c k , calmly, on the events of my life, I feel that the slave w o m a n o u g h t not to be j u d g e d by the s a m e s t a n d a r d a s o t h e r s . T h e m o n t h s p a s s e d on. I h a d many u n h a p p y h o u r s . I secretly m o u r n e d over the sorrow I w a s bringing on my g r a n d m o t h e r , w h o h a d s o tried to shield m e from h a r m . I knew that I w a s the greatest c o m f o r t of her old a g e , a n d that it was a s o u r c e of pride to her that I had not d e g r a d e d myself, like m o s t of the slaves. I w a n t e d to c o n f e s s to her that I w a s no longer worthy of her love; but I c o u l d not utter the d r e a d e d w o r d s . As for Dr. Flint, I h a d a feeling of satisfaction a n d t r i u m p h in the t h o u g h t of telling him. F r o m t i m e to time he told m e of his i n t e n d e d a r r a n g e m e n t s , a n d I w a s silent. At last, h e c a m e a n d told m e the c o t t a g e w a s c o m p l e t e d , a n d ordered m e to go to it. I told him 1 would never enter it. H e said, "I have heard e n o u g h of s u c h talk as that. You shall g o , if you a r e carried by f o r c e ; a n d you shall remain t h e r e . " I replied, "I will never go there. In a few m o n t h s I shall be a m o t h e r . " H e stood a n d looked at m e in d u m b a m a z e m e n t , a n d left the h o u s e w ithout a word. I thought I s h o u l d be happy in my t r i u m p h over h i m . B u t now that the truth w a s out, a n d my relatives would hear of it, I felt w r e t c h e d . H u m b l e a s were their c i r c u m s t a n c e s , they had pride in my g o o d c h a r a c t e r . N o w , how c o u l d I look t h e m in the f a c e ? My self-respect w a s g o n e ! I h a d resolved that I would be virtuous, t h o u g h I w a s a slave. I h a d s a i d , " L e t the storm beat! I will brave it till I d i e . " And now, how h u m i l i a t e d I felt! I went to my g r a n d m o t h e r . M y lips m o v e d to m a k e c o n f e s s i o n , but the words s t u c k in my throat. I sat down in the s h a d e of a tree at her d o o r and b e g a n to sew. I think s h e saw s o m e t h i n g u n u s u a l w a s the m a t t e r with m e . T h e m o t h e r of slaves is very watchful. S h e knows t h e r e is n o security for her children. After they have entered their t e e n s s h e lives in daily e x p e c t a t i o n of 9. Brent's calculations here are wrong, however. W h e n Mint he b e c o m e s m o r e possessive than before.

finds

out a b o u t her relationship with S a n d s ,

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trouble. T h i s leads to m a n y q u e s t i o n s . If the girl is of a sensitive n a t u r e , timidity k e e p s her from a n s w e r i n g truthfully, a n d this well-meant c o u r s e has a t e n d e n c y to drive her from m a t e r n a l c o u n s e l s . Presently, in c a m e my mistress, like a m a d w o m a n , a n d a c c u s e d m e c o n c e r n i n g her h u s b a n d . M y g r a n d m o t h e r , w h o s e s u s p i c i o n s had been previously a w a k e n e d , believed what s h e s a i d . S h e e x c l a i m e d , " O L i n d a ! has it c o m e to this? I h a d rather s e e you d e a d t h a n to s e e you a s you now a r e . You are a d i s g r a c e to your d e a d m o t h e r . " S h e tore from my fingers my m o t h e r ' s w e d d i n g ring a n d her silver t h i m b l e . " G o away!" s h e e x c l a i m e d , " a n d never c o m e to my h o u s e , a g a i n . " 1 H e r r e p r o a c h e s fell so hot a n d heavy, that they left m e n o c h a n c e to a n s w e r . Bitter tears, s u c h a s the eyes never s h e d but o n c e , were my only a n s w e r . I rose from my s e a t , but fell b a c k a g a i n , s o b b i n g . S h e did not s p e a k to m e ; but the tears were r u n n i n g down her furrowed c h e e k s , a n d they s c o r c h e d m e like fire. S h e had always b e e n so kind to m e ! S o kind! H o w I longed to throw myself at her feet, a n d tell her all the truth! B u t she h a d ordered m e to g o , a n d never to c o m e there a g a i n . After a few m i n u t e s , I m u s t e r e d s t r e n g t h , a n d started to obey her. With what feelings did I now c l o s e that little g a t e , which I u s e d to open with s u c h an e a g e r h a n d in my c h i l d h o o d ! It c l o s e d upon m e with a s o u n d I never h e a r d before. W h e r e c o u l d I g o ? I w a s afraid to return to my m a s t e r ' s . I walked on recklessly, not c a r i n g w h e r e I went, or what would b e c o m e of m e . W h e n I had g o n e four or five miles, fatigue c o m p e l l e d m e to s t o p . I sat d o w n on the s t u m p of an old tree. T h e stars were shining t h r o u g h the b o u g h s a b o v e m e . H o w they m o c k e d m e , with their bright, c a l m light! T h e h o u r s p a s s e d by, a n d a s I sat there a l o n e a chilliness a n d deadly s i c k n e s s c a m e over m e . I s a n k on the g r o u n d . My mind was full of horrid t h o u g h t s . I prayed to d i e ; but the prayer w a s not a n s w e r e d . At last, with great effort I r o u s e d myself, a n d walked s o m e d i s t a n c e further, to the h o u s e of a w o m a n w h o h a d b e e n a friend of my mother. W h e n I told her why I was there, s h e s p o k e soothingly to m e ; but I c o u l d not be c o m f o r t e d . I thought I c o u l d b e a r my s h a m e if I could only b e r e c o n c i l e d to my g r a n d m o t h e r . I longed to o p e n my heart to her. I t h o u g h t if s h e c o u l d know the real state of the c a s e , a n d all I h a d b e e n b e a r i n g for years, s h e would p e r h a p s j u d g e m e less harshly. M y friend advised m e to s e n d for her. I did s o ; but days of agonizing s u s p e n s e p a s s e d before she c a m e . H a d s h e utterly forsaken m e ? N o . S h e c a m e at last. I knelt before her, a n d told her the things that h a d p o i s o n e d my life; how long I h a d b e e n p e r s e c u t e d ; that I saw no way of e s c a p e ; a n d in an hour of extremity I h a d b e c o m e d e s p e r a t e . S h e listened in s i l e n c e . I told her I would b e a r any thing and do any thing, if in time I h a d h o p e s of o b t a i n i n g her forgiveness. I b e g g e d of her to pity m e , for my d e a d mother's s a k e . A n d s h e did pity m e . S h e did not say, "I forgive y o u ; " but s h e looked at m e lovingly, with her eyes full of t e a r s . S h e laid her old h a n d gently on mv h e a d , a n d m u r m u r e d , " P o o r child! Poor child!" *

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I. S i n c e t h e g r a n d m o t h e r ' s o w n c h i l d r e n s e e m to h a v e b e e n b o r n o u t o f w e d l o c k , h e r j u d g m e n t a l i s m h e r e (if a c c u r a t e t o h e r r e a l - l i f e b e h a v i o r ) m u s t s i g n i f y a h o p e t h a t h e r d e s c e n d a n t s w o u l d e s c a p e h e r o w n f a t e .

XIV. Another

Link

to Life

I h a d not r e t u r n e d to my m a s t e r ' s h o u s e s i n c e the birth of my child. T h e old m a n raved to have m e t h u s r e m o v e d from his i m m e d i a t e power; b u t his wife vowed, by all that w a s g o o d a n d great, she w o u l d kill m e if I c a m e b a c k ; a n d he did not d o u b t her word. S o m e t i m e s h e would stay away for a s e a s o n . T h e n h e would c o m e a n d renew the old t h r e a d b a r e d i s c o u r s e a b o u t his forb e a r a n c e a n d my i n g r a t i t u d e . H e l a b o r e d , m o s t u n n e c e s s a r i l y , to c o n v i n c e m e that I h a d lowered myself. T h e v e n o m o u s old r e p r o b a t e h a d no n e e d of d e s c a n t i n g o n that t h e m e . I felt h u m i l i a t e d e n o u g h . M y u n c o n s c i o u s b a b e w a s the ever-present w i t n e s s of my s h a m e . I listened with silent c o n t e m p t w h e n h e talked a b o u t my having forfeited his g o o d o p i n i o n ; but I s h e d bitter tears that I w a s n o longer worthy of b e i n g r e s p e c t e d by the g o o d a n d p u r e . A l a s ! slavery still held m e in its p o i s o n o u s g r a s p . T h e r e w a s n o c h a n c e for m e to be r e s p e c t a b l e . T h e r e w a s no p r o s p e c t of b e i n g able to lead a better life. S o m e t i m e s , w h e n my m a s t e r f o u n d that I still r e f u s e d to a c c e p t what he called his kind offers, he would threaten to sell my child. " P e r h a p s that will h u m b l e y o u , " said h e . H u m b l e me! W a s I not already in the d u s t ? 2 B u t his threat l a c e r a t e d my heart. I k n e w the law gave him p o w e r to fulfill it; for slaveholders have b e e n c u n n i n g e n o u g h to e n a c t that "the child shall follow the c o n d i t i o n of the mother," not of the father; t h u s taking c a r e that l i c e n t i o u s n e s s shall not interfere with avarice. T h i s reflection m a d e m e c l a s p my i n n o c e n t b a b e all the m o r e firmly to my heart. Horrid visions p a s s e d t h r o u g h my m i n d when I t h o u g h t of his liability to fall into the slave trader's h a n d s . I w e p t over him, a n d said, " O my child! p e r h a p s they will leave you in s o m e c o l d c a b i n to die, a n d then throw you into a hole, a s if you were a d o g . " W h e n Dr. Flint l e a r n e d that I w a s a g a i n to b e a m o t h e r , h e w a s e x a s p e r a t e d beyond m e a s u r e . H e r u s h e d from the h o u s e , a n d r e t u r n e d with a pair of s h e a r s . I h a d a fine h e a d of hair; a n d h e often railed a b o u t my pride of a r r a n g i n g it nicely. H e cut every hair c l o s e to my h e a d , s t o r m i n g a n d s w e a r i n g all the t i m e . I replied to s o m e of his a b u s e , a n d h e s t r u c k m e . S o m e m o n t h s before, h e h a d p i t c h e d m e d o w n stairs in a fit of p a s s i o n ; a n d the injury I received w a s s o s e r i o u s that I w a s u n a b l e to turn myself in b e d for m a n y days. H e then s a i d , " L i n d a , I swear by G o d I will never raise my h a n d a g a i n s t you a g a i n ; " b u t I knew that he would forget his p r o m i s e . After h e d i s c o v e r e d my s i t u a t i o n , he w a s like a restless spirit from the pit. H e c a m e every day; a n d I w a s s u b j e c t e d to s u c h insults a s n o p e n c a n d e s c r i b e . I would not d e s c r i b e t h e m if I c o u l d ; they w e r e too low, too revolting. I tried to k e e p t h e m from my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s k n o w l e d g e a s m u c h a s I c o u l d . I knew s h e h a d e n o u g h to s a d d e n her life, without h a v i n g my t r o u b l e s to bear. W h e n s h e saw the d o c t o r treat m e with v i o l e n c e , a n d h e a r d him utter o a t h s terrible e n o u g h to palsy a m a n ' s t o n g u e , s h e c o u l d not always hold her p e a c e . It w a s natural a n d m o t h e r l i k e that s h e s h o u l d try to defend m e ; b u t it only m a d e m a t t e r s w o r s e . W h e n they told m e my new-born b a b e w a s a girl, my h e a r t w a s heavier

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than it h a d ever b e e n b e f o r e . Slavery is terrible for m e n ; but it is far m o r e terrible for w o m e n . S u p e r a d d e d to the b u r d e n c o m m o n to all, they have w r o n g s , a n d sufferings, a n d mortifications peculiarly their own. Dr. Flint h a d sworn that h e would m a k e m e suffer, to my last day, for this n e w c r i m e a g a i n s t him, a s he called it; a n d a s long a s he h a d m e in his power he kept his word. O n the fourth day after the birth of my b a b e , he entered my r o o m s u d d e n l y , a n d c o m m a n d e d m e to rise a n d bring my b a b y to h i m . T h e n u r s e w h o took c a r e of m e h a d g o n e out of the r o o m to p r e p a r e s o m e n o u r i s h m e n t , a n d I w a s a l o n e . T h e r e w a s no alternative. I r o s e , took u p my b a b e , a n d c r o s s e d the r o o m to w h e r e he sat. " N o w s t a n d t h e r e , " said h e , "till I tell you to g o b a c k ! " M y child bore a strong r e s e m b l a n c e to her father, a n d to the d e c e a s e d M r s . S a n d s , her g r a n d m o t h e r . H e noticed this; a n d while I stood before him, trembling with w e a k n e s s , he h e a p e d u p o n m e a n d my little o n e every vile epithet he c o u l d think of. E v e n the g r a n d m o t h e r in her grave did not e s c a p e his c u r s e s . In the midst of his vituperations I f a i n t e d at his feet. T h i s recalled him to his s e n s e s . H e took the b a b y from my a r m s , laid it on the b e d , d a s h e d c o l d water in my f a c e , took m e u p , a n d s h o o k m e violently, to restore my c o n s c i o u s n e s s before any o n e e n t e r e d the r o o m . J u s t then my g r a n d m o t h e r c a m e in, a n d h e hurried out of the h o u s e . I suffered in c o n s e q u e n c e of this t r e a t m e n t ; but I b e g g e d my friends to let m e die, rather than s e n d for the doctor. T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g I d r e a d e d s o m u c h a s his p r e s e n c e . M y life w a s s p a r e d ; a n d I was glad for the s a k e of my little o n e s . H a d it not b e e n for t h e s e ties to life, I s h o u l d have b e e n glad to b e r e l e a s e d by d e a t h , t h o u g h I h a d lived only nineteen y e a r s . Always it g a v e m e a p a n g that my children h a d n o lawful c l a i m to a n a m e . T h e i r father offered his; b u t , if I h a d wished to a c c e p t the offer, I d a r e d not while my m a s t e r lived. Moreover, I knew it would not be a c c e p t e d at their b a p t i s m . A C h r i s t i a n n a m e they were at least entitled to; a n d we resolved to call my boy for our dear g o o d B e n j a m i n , w h o h a d g o n e far away from u s . M y g r a n d m o t h e r b e l o n g e d to the c h u r c h , a n d s h e w a s very d e s i r o u s of having the children c h r i s t e n e d . I knew Dr. Flint w o u l d forbid it, a n d I did not v e n t u r e to a t t e m p t it. B u t c h a n c e favored m e . H e w a s called to visit a patient out of town, a n d w a s obliged to be a b s e n t d u r i n g S u n d a y . " N o w is the t i m e , " s a i d my g r a n d m o t h e r ; "we will take the children to c h u r c h , a n d have t h e m c h r i s t e n e d . " W h e n I entered the c h u r c h , recollections of my m o t h e r c a m e over m e , a n d I felt s u b d u e d in spirit. T h e r e s h e had p r e s e n t e d m e for b a p t i s m , without any r e a s o n to feel a s h a m e d . S h e h a d b e e n m a r r i e d , a n d h a d s u c h legal rights as slavery allows a slave. T h e vows h a d at least b e e n s a c r e d to her, a n d s h e h a d never violated t h e m . I w a s glad s h e w a s not alive, to k n o w u n d e r what different c i r c u m s t a n c e s her g r a n d c h i l d r e n were p r e s e n t e d for b a p t i s m . W h y h a d my lot b e e n s o different from my m o t h e r ' s ? Her m a s t e r h a d died w h e n s h e w a s a child; a n d s h e r e m a i n e d with her m i s t r e s s till s h e m a r r i e d . S h e was never in the p o w e r of any m a s t e r ; a n d t h u s s h e e s c a p e d o n e c l a s s of the evils that generally fall u p o n slaves. W h e n my baby w a s a b o u t to be c h r i s t e n e d , the former m i s t r e s s of my father s t e p p e d u p to m e , a n d p r o p o s e d to give it her C h r i s t i a n n a m e . T o this I a d d e d the s u r n a m e of my father, who h a d h i m s e l f n o legal right to it; for my g r a n d f a t h e r on the paternal side w a s a white g e n t l e m a n . W h a t tangled

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skeins are the g e n e a l o g i e s of slavery!' I loved my father; but it mortified m e to b e obliged to b e s t o w his n a m e on my children. W h e n we left the c h u r c h , my father's old m i s t r e s s invited m e to go h o m e with her. S h e c l a s p e d a gold chain a r o u n d my baby's n e c k . I t h a n k e d her for this k i n d n e s s ; but I did not like the e m b l e m . I w a n t e d no c h a i n to be f a s t e n e d on my d a u g h t e r , not even if its links were of gold. H o w earnestly I prayed that s h e might never feel the weight of slavery's c h a i n , w h o s e iron e n t e r e t h into the s o u l . •

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XXI. The Loophole

*

of

Retreat4

A small s h e d h a d b e e n a d d e d to my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s h o u s e years a g o . S o m e b o a r d s were laid a c r o s s the j o i s t s at the t o p , a n d b e t w e e n t h e s e b o a r d s a n d the roof w a s a very small garret, never o c c u p i e d by any thing b u t rats a n d m i c e . It w a s a p e n t roof, covered with n o t h i n g but s h i n g l e s , a c c o r d i n g to the s o u t h e r n c u s t o m for s u c h buildings. T h e garret w a s only n i n e feet long a n d seven wide. T h e highest part w a s three feet high, a n d s l o p e d d o w n abruptly to the loose b o a r d floor. T h e r e w a s n o a d m i s s i o n for either light or air. M y u n c l e Phillip, who w a s a c a r p e n t e r , h a d very skilfully m a d e a c o n c e a l e d trapdoor, which c o m m u n i c a t e d with the s t o r e r o o m . H e h a d b e e n d o i n g this while I w a s waiting in the s w a m p . T h e s t o r e r o o m o p e n e d u p o n a piazza. T o this hole I w a s conveyed a s s o o n a s I e n t e r e d the h o u s e . T h e air w a s stifling; the d a r k n e s s total. A b e d h a d b e e n s p r e a d on the floor. I c o u l d s l e e p quite c o m fortably on o n e s i d e ; but the s l o p e w a s s o s u d d e n that I c o u l d not turn on the other without hitting the roof. T h e rats a n d m i c e ran over my b e d ; but I w a s weary, a n d I slept s u c h sleep a s the w r e t c h e d may, w h e n a t e m p e s t h a s p a s s e d over t h e m . M o r n i n g c a m e . I knew it only by the n o i s e s I h e a r d ; for in my small den day a n d night were all the s a m e . I suffered for air even m o r e than for light. B u t I w a s not c o m f o r t l e s s . I h e a r d the voices of my children. T h e r e w a s j o y a n d there w a s s a d n e s s in the s o u n d . It m a d e my tears flow. H o w I l o n g e d to s p e a k to t h e m ! I w a s e a g e r to look on their f a c e s ; but there w a s no hole, no crack, through which I c o u l d p e e p . T h i s c o n t i n u e d d a r k n e s s w a s o p p r e s s i v e . It s e e m e d horrible to sit or lie in a c r a m p e d position day after day, without o n e g l e a m of light. Yet I would have c h o s e n this, rather than my lot a s a slave, t h o u g h white p e o p l e c o n s i d e r e d it an e a s y o n e ; a n d it w a s so c o m p a r e d with the fate of o t h e r s . I w a s never cruelly over-worked; I w a s never l a c e r a t e d with the whip from h e a d to foot; I w a s never so b e a t e n a n d b r u i s e d that I c o u l d not turn from o n e side to the other; I never h a d my heel-strings c u t to prevent my r u n n i n g away; I w a s never c h a i n e d to a log a n d forced to drag it a b o u t , while I toiled in the fields from m o r n i n g till night; I was never b r a n d e d with hot iron, or torn by b l o o d h o u n d s . O n the contrary, I h a d always b e e n kindly treated, a n d tenderly c a r e d for, until I

3. If B r e n t ' s m a t e r n a l g r a n d f a t h e r w e r e w h i t e , Brent would be 75 percent white on her mother's s i d e a n d 5 0 p e r c e n t w h i t e o n h e r f a t h e r ' s s i d e ; if t h e maternal grandfather were a "pure" African American, Brent would be 50 percent white on e a c h side. J a c o b s s t r e s s e s her m i x e d - r a c e p a r e n t a g e not to c l a i m t h a t s h e is " r e a l l y " w h i t e b u t t o s h o w t h a t

racial distinctions are c o m p l e t e l y artificial. 4 . F r o m The Task 4 . 8 8 — 9 0 , a p o p u l a r l o n g p o e m ( 1 7 8 5 ) by t h e E n g l i s h p o e t W i l l i a m Cowper ( 1 7 3 1 - 1 8 0 0 ) . B y t h i s p o i n t in t h e n a r r a t i v e B r e n t h a s e s c a p e d f r o m t h e F l i n t h o u s e h o l d a n d is h i d i n g in h e r g r a n d m o t h e r ' s a t t i c . T h e a c c o u n t s t a t e s t h a t s h e r e m a i n s t h e r e for s e v e n y e a r s .

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c a m e into the h a n d s of Dr. Flint. I h a d never wished for freedom till then. B u t though my life in slavery w a s comparatively devoid of h a r d s h i p s , G o d pity the w o m a n w h o is c o m p e l l e d to lead s u c h a life! M y food was p a s s e d up to m e through the trap-door my u n c l e h a d contrived; a n d my g r a n d m o t h e r , my u n c l e Phillip, a n d a u n t N a n c y w o u l d seize s u c h opportunities a s they c o u l d , to m o u n t u p there a n d c h a t with m e at the o p e n i n g . B u t of c o u r s e this was not safe in the daytime. It m u s t all be d o n e in d a r k n e s s . It w a s i m p o s s i b l e or m e to m o v e in an erect position, but I crawled a b o u t my den for exercise. O n e day I hit my h e a d a g a i n s t s o m e t h i n g , a n d found it w a s a gimlet. M y u n c l e had left it sticking there when he m a d e the trap-door. I w a s a s rejoiced as R o b i n s o n C r u s o e 5 c o u l d have b e e n at finding s u c h a t r e a s u r e . It put a lucky thought into my h e a d . I said to myself, " N o w I will have s o m e light. N o w I will s e e my c h i l d r e n . " I did not d a r e to begin my work during the d a y t i m e , for fear of attracting attention. But I groped r o u n d ; a n d having f o u n d the side next the street, w h e r e I c o u l d frequently see my children, I s t r u c k the gimlet in a n d waited for evening. I bored three rows of h o l e s , o n e a b o v e a n o t h e r ; then I bored out the interstices b e t w e e n . I t h u s s u c c e e d e d in m a k i n g o n e hole a b o u t an inch long a n d a n inch b r o a d . I sat by it till late into the night, to enjoy the little whiff of air that floated in. In the m o r n i n g I w a t c h e d for my children. T h e first p e r s o n I saw in the street w a s Dr. Flint. I had a s h u d d e r i n g , s u p e r s t i t i o u s feeling that it w a s a b a d o m e n . Several familiar f a c e s p a s s e d by. At last I h e a r d the merry laugh of children, a n d presently two sweet little f a c e s were looking up at m e , a s t h o u g h they knew I w a s there, a n d were c o n s c i o u s of the joy they i m p a r t e d . H o w I longed to tell t h e m I w a s there! M y condition w a s now a little improved. B u t for w e e k s I w a s t o r m e n t e d by h u n d r e d s of little red i n s e c t s , fine as a needle's point, that p i e r c e d t h r o u g h my skin, a n d p r o d u c e d an intolerable b u r n i n g . T h e g o o d g r a n d m o t h e r gave m e herb teas a n d c o o l i n g m e d i c i n e s , a n d finally I got rid of t h e m . T h e heat of my den w a s i n t e n s e , for nothing but thin shingles p r o t e c t e d m e from the s c o r c h i n g s u m m e r ' s s u n . B u t I h a d my c o n s o l a t i o n s . T h r o u g h my p e e p i n g hole I could w a t c h the children, a n d w h e n they were near e n o u g h , I c o u l d hear their talk. Aunt N a n c y brought m e all the news s h e c o u l d hear at Dr. Flint's. F r o m her I learned that the d o c t o r had written to N e w York to a colored w o m a n , who h a d b e e n born a n d raised in our n e i g h b o r h o o d , a n d had b r e a t h e d his c o n t a m i n a t i n g a t m o s p h e r e . H e offered her a reward if s h e could find out any thing a b o u t m e . I know not what w a s the n a t u r e of her reply; but h e soon after started for N e w York in h a s t e , saying to his family that he h a d b u s i n e s s of i m p o r t a n c e to t r a n s a c t . I p e e p e d at him a s h e p a s s e d on his way to the s t e a m b o a t . It was a satisfaction to have miles of land a n d water between u s , even for a little while; a n d it w a s a still greater s a t i s f a c t i o n to know that he believed m e to be in the F r e e S t a t e s . My little den s e e m e d less dreary than it h a d d o n e . H e returned, as he did from his former j o u r n e y to N e w York, without o b t a i n i n g any satisfactory i n f o r m a t i o n . W h e n he p a s s e d our h o u s e next m o r n i n g , B e n n y w a s s t a n d i n g at the g a t e . H e had heard t h e m say that he had g o n e to find m e , a n d he called out, " D r . Flint, 5. H e r o of a p o p u l a r novel of the s a m e n a m e (I 7 19) by t h e E n g l i s h w r i t e r D a n i e l D e f o e ( 1 6 6 0 1 7 3 1 ) a b o u t a m a n shipwrecked on a desert island.

It w a s b a s e d o n t h e e x p e r i e n c e s o f t h e s a i l o r A l e x ander Selkirk ( 1 6 7 6 - 1 7 2 1 ) .

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did you bring my m o t h e r h o m e ? I w a n t to s e e h e r . " T h e doctor s t a m p e d his foot at him in a r a g e , a n d e x c l a i m e d , " G e t out of the way, you little d a m n e d rascal! If you don't, I'll c u t off your h e a d . " B e n n y ran terrified into the h o u s e , saying, "You can't p u t m e in jail a g a i n . I don't b e l o n g to you n o w . " It w a s well that the wind carried the w o r d s away from the doctor's ear. I told my g r a n d m o t h e r of it, w h e n we h a d our next c o n f e r e n c e at the trap-door; a n d b e g g e d of her not to allow the children to be impertinent to the irascible old m a n . A u t u m n c a m e , with a p l e a s a n t a b a t e m e n t of h e a t . M y eyes h a d b e c o m e a c c u s t o m e d to the d i m light, a n d by h o l d i n g my b o o k or work in a certain position near the a p e r t u r e I contrived to r e a d a n d sew. T h a t w a s a great relief to the tedious m o n o t o n y of my life. B u t w h e n winter c a m e , the cold p e n e trated through the thin shingle roof, a n d I w a s dreadfully chilled. T h e winters there are not s o long, or s o s e v e r e , as in n o r t h e r n l a t i t u d e s ; b u t the h o u s e s are not built to shelter from cold, a n d my little d e n w a s peculiarly comfortless. T h e kind g r a n d m o t h e r b r o u g h t m e b e d - c l o t h e s a n d w a r m drinks. Often I w a s obliged to lie in b e d all day to k e e p c o m f o r t a b l e ; b u t with all my p r e c a u t i o n s , my s h o u l d e r s a n d feet were frostbitten. O , t h o s e long, g l o o m y days, with no object for my eye to rest u p o n , a n d no t h o u g h t s to o c c u p y my m i n d , except the dreary p a s t a n d the u n c e r t a i n future! I w a s thankful w h e n there c a m e a day sufficiently mild for m e to wrap myself u p a n d sit at the loophole to w a t c h the p a s s e r s by. S o u t h e r n e r s have the habit of s t o p p i n g a n d talking in the streets, a n d I h e a r d m a n y c o n v e r s a t i o n s not i n t e n d e d to m e e t my e a r s . I heard slave-hunters p l a n n i n g how to c a t c h s o m e p o o r fugitive. Several times I h e a r d a l l u s i o n s to Dr. Flint, myself, a n d the history of my children, w h o , p e r h a p s , were playing n e a r the g a t e . O n e w o u l d say, "I wouldn't m o v e my little finger to c a t c h her, a s old Flint's p r o p e r t y . " A n o t h e r w o u l d say, "I'll c a t c h any nigger for the reward. A m a n o u g h t to have w h a t b e l o n g s to h i m , if h e is a d a m n e d b r u t e . " T h e opinion w a s often e x p r e s s e d that I was in the F r e e S t a t e s . Very rarely did any o n e s u g g e s t that I might b e in the vicinity. H a d the least s u s p i c i o n rested on my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s h o u s e , it w o u l d have b e e n b u r n e d to the g r o u n d . B u t it w a s the last p l a c e they t h o u g h t of. Yet there w a s no p l a c e , w h e r e slavery existed, that c o u l d have afforded m e s o g o o d a p l a c e of c o n c e a l m e n t . Dr. Flint a n d his family repeatedly tried to coax a n d bribe my children to tell s o m e t h i n g they h a d h e a r d s a i d a b o u t m e . O n e day the d o c t o r took t h e m into a s h o p , a n d offered t h e m s o m e bright little silver p i e c e s a n d gay h a n d kerchiefs if they w o u l d tell w h e r e their m o t h e r w a s . E l l e n s h r a n k away from h i m , a n d w o u l d not s p e a k ; but B e n n y s p o k e u p , a n d s a i d , " D r . Flint, I don't know w h e r e my m o t h e r is. I g u e s s she's in N e w York; a n d w h e n you go there a g a i n , I wish you'd a s k her to c o m e h o m e , for I want to s e e her; b u t if you p u t her in jail, or tell her you'll c u t her h e a d off, I'll tell her to g o right b a c k . "

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Free at Last''

M r s . B r u c e , a n d every m e m b e r of her family, were exceedingly kind to m e . I w a s thankful for the b l e s s i n g s of my lot, yet I c o u l d not always wear a cheerful c o u n t e n a n c e . I w a s d o i n g h a r m to no o n e ; on the contrary, I w a s d o i n g all the good I c o u l d in my small way; yet I c o u l d never g o o u t to b r e a t h e G o d ' s free air without trepidation at my heart. T h i s s e e m e d h a r d ; a n d I c o u l d not think it w a s a right state of things in any civilized country. F r o m time to time I received news from my g o o d old g r a n d m o t h e r . S h e c o u l d not write; but s h e employed others to write for her. T h e following is a n extract from o n e of her last l e t t e r s : — " D e a r D a u g h t e r : I c a n n o t h o p e to s e e you again on e a r t h ; b u t I pray to G o d to unite u s a b o v e , where p a i n will no m o r e r a c k this feeble b o d y of m i n e ; w h e r e sorrow a n d parting from my children will be no m o r e . 7 G o d h a s p r o m i s e d t h e s e things if we are faithful u n t o the e n d . M y a g e a n d feeble health deprive m e of g o i n g to c h u r c h now; but G o d is with m e here at h o m e . T h a n k your brother for his k i n d n e s s . G i v e m u c h love to him, a n d tell him to r e m e m b e r the C r e a t o r in the days o f his y o u t h , 8 a n d strive to m e e t m e in the Father's k i n g d o m . L o v e to E l l e n a n d B e n j a m i n . Don't neglect h i m . Tell him for m e , to b e a g o o d boy. Strive, my child, to train t h e m for G o d ' s children. M a y h e protect a n d provide for you, is the prayer of your loving old m o t h e r . " T h e s e letters both c h e e r e d a n d s a d d e n e d m e . I w a s always glad to have tidings from the kind, faithful old friend of my u n h a p p y y o u t h ; but her m e s s a g e s of love m a d e my heart yearn to s e e her before s h e died, a n d I m o u r n e d over the fact that it w a s i m p o s s i b l e . S o m e m o n t h s after I r e t u r n e d from my flight to N e w E n g l a n d , I received a letter from her, in which s h e w r o t e , " D r . Flint is d e a d . H e h a s left a d i s t r e s s e d family. P o o r old m a n ! I h o p e h e m a d e his p e a c e with G o d . " I r e m e m b e r e d how h e h a d d e f r a u d e d my g r a n d m o t h e r of the hard e a r n i n g s s h e h a d l o a n e d ; how h e h a d tried to c h e a t her out of the f r e e d o m her m i s t r e s s h a d p r o m i s e d her, a n d how h e h a d p e r s e c u t e d her children; a n d I t h o u g h t to myself that s h e w a s a better C h r i s t i a n than I w a s , if s h e c o u l d entirely forgive h i m . I c a n n o t say, with truth, that the n e w s of my old m a s t e r ' s d e a t h softened my feelings towards h i m . T h e r e a r e w r o n g s which even the grave d o e s not bury. T h e m a n w a s o d i o u s to m e while h e lived, a n d his m e m o r y is o d i o u s now. His d e p a r t u r e from this world did not diminish my d a n g e r . H e h a d threate n e d my g r a n d m o t h e r that his heirs s h o u l d hold m e in slavery after he w a s g o n e ; that I never s h o u l d be free so long a s a child of his survived. As for M r s . Flint, I h a d s e e n her in d e e p e r afflictions than I s u p p o s e d the loss of her h u s b a n d would be, for s h e h a d buried several c h i l d r e n ; yet I never s a w any signs of softening in her heart. T h e d o c t o r h a d died in e m b a r r a s s e d c i r c u m s t a n c e s , a n d h a d little to will to his heirs, except s u c h property a s h e 6 . T h i s is t h e final c h a p t e r o f Incidents. Having e s c a p e d from the S o u t h d r e s s e d a s a ( m a l e ) sailor, B r e n t f i n d s e m p l o y m e n t in t h e B r u c e f a m i l y ; b u t t h e p a s s a g e o f t h e F u g i t i v e S l a v e L a w in 1 8 5 0 p u t s her in c o n s t a n t d a n g e r of b e i n g r e c a p t u r e d . As

d o e s Uncle Tom's Cabin, this b o o k m a k e s this law a l m o s t a s m u c h a target a s slavery. 7. 8.

P a r a p h r a s e of Revelation 2 1 . 4 . Ecclesiastes 12.1.

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w a s u n a b l e to g r a s p . I w a s well a w a r e what I had to expect from the family of Flints; a n d my fears were c o n f i r m e d by a letter from the s o u t h , w a r n i n g m e to be on my g u a r d , b e c a u s e M r s . Flint openly d e c l a r e d that her d a u g h t e r c o u l d not afford to lose s o v a l u a b l e a slave a s I w a s . I kept c l o s e w a t c h of the n e w s p a p e r s for arrivals; but o n e S a t u r d a y night, b e i n g m u c h o c c u p i e d , I forgot to e x a m i n e the E v e n i n g E x p r e s s a s u s u a l . I went down into the parlor for it, early in the m o r n i n g , a n d f o u n d the boy a b o u t to kindle a fire with it. 1 took it from him a n d e x a m i n e d the list of arrivals. R e a d e r , if you have never b e e n a slave, you c a n n o t i m a g i n e the a c u t e s e n s a t i o n of suffering at my heart, w h e n I read the n a m e s of Mr. a n d M r s . D o d g e , 9 at a hotel in C o u r t l a n d S t r e e t . It w a s a third-rate hotel, a n d that c i r c u m s t a n c e c o n v i n c e d m e of the truth of what I had h e a r d , that they were short of funds a n d h a d n e e d of my v a l u e , a s they v a l u e d m e ; a n d that w a s by dollars a n d c e n t s . I h a s t e n e d with the p a p e r to M r s . B r u c e . H e r heart a n d h a n d were always o p e n to every o n e in d i s t r e s s , a n d s h e always warmly sympathized with m i n e . It w a s i m p o s s i b l e to tell how n e a r the e n e m y w a s . H e might have p a s s e d a n d r e p a s s e d the h o u s e while we were s l e e p i n g . H e might at that m o m e n t be waiting to p o u n c e u p o n m e if I v e n t u r e d o u t of d o o r s . I had never s e e n the h u s b a n d of my y o u n g m i s t r e s s , a n d therefore I c o u l d not distinguish him from any other stranger. A c a r r i a g e w a s hastily o r d e r e d ; a n d , closely veiled, I followed M r s . B r u c e , taking the baby again with m e into exile. After various t u r n i n g s a n d c r o s s i n g s , a n d r e t u r n i n g s , the carriage s t o p p e d at the h o u s e of o n e of M r s . B r u c e ' s friends, w h e r e I w a s kindly received. M r s . B r u c e returned immediately, to instruct the d o m e s t i c s what to say if any o n e c a m e to inquire for m e . It w a s lucky for m e that the evening p a p e r was not b u r n e d u p before I had a c h a n c e to e x a m i n e the list of arrivals. It w a s not long after M r s . B r u c e ' s return to her h o u s e , before several p e o p l e c a m e to inquire for m e . O n e inquired for m e , a n o t h e r a s k e d for my d a u g h t e r E l l e n , a n d a n o t h e r said he had a letter from my g r a n d m o t h e r , which he w a s r e q u e s t e d to deliver in person. T h e y were told, " S h e has lived h e r e , but s h e h a s left." " H o w long a g o ? " "I don't know, sir." " D o you know w h e r e s h e w e n t ? " "I do not, sir." And the door w a s c l o s e d . T h i s Mr. D o d g e , w h o c l a i m e d m e a s his property, w a s originally a Y a n k e e pedler in the s o u t h ; then he b e c a m e a m e r c h a n t , a n d finally a slaveholder. H e m a n a g e d to get i n t r o d u c e d into what w a s called the first society, a n d married M i s s Emily Flint. A quarrel a r o s e b e t w e e n him a n d her brother, a n d the brother c o w h i d e d him. T h i s led to a family f e u d , a n d he p r o p o s e d to remove to Virginia. Dr. Flint left him no property, a n d his own m e a n s h a d b e c o m e c i r c u m s c r i b e d , while a wife a n d children d e p e n d e d u p o n him for s u p p o r t . U n d e r t h e s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s , it w a s very natural that he s h o u l d m a k e a n effort to put m e into his p o c k e t . I h a d a colored friend, a m a n from my native p l a c e , in w h o m I h a d the m o s t implicit c o n f i d e n c e . I sent for him, a n d told him that Mr. a n d M r s . D o d g e had arrived in N e w York. I p r o p o s e d that h e s h o u l d call u p o n t h e m 9.

D o d g e is t h e m a r r i e d n a m e o f E m i l y F l i n t , B r e n t ' s l e g a l o w n e r .

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to m a k e inquiries a b o u t his friends at the s o u t h , with w h o m Dr. Flint's family were well a c q u a i n t e d . H e thought there w a s no impropriety in his d o i n g s o , a n d he c o n s e n t e d . H e went to the hotel, a n d k n o c k e d at the d o o r of M r . D o d g e ' s r o o m , which w a s o p e n e d by the g e n t l e m a n himself, w h o gruffly inquired, " W h a t brought you here? H o w c a m e you to know I w a s in the c i t y ? " "Your arrival w a s p u b l i s h e d in the evening p a p e r s , sir; a n d I called to a s k M r s . D o d g e a b o u t my friends at h o m e . I didn't s u p p o s e it would give any offence." " W h e r e ' s that negro girl, that b e l o n g s to my w i f e ? " " W h a t girl, s i r ? " "You know well e n o u g h . I m e a n L i n d a , that ran away from Dr. Flint's p l a n t a t i o n , s o m e years a g o . I d a r e say you've s e e n her, a n d know where she is. "Yes, sir, I've s e e n her, a n d know where s h e is. S h e is out of your r e a c h , sir." "Tell m e w h e r e s h e is, or bring her to m e , a n d I will give her a c h a n c e to buy her f r e e d o m . " " I don't think it would be of any u s e , sir. I have h e a r d her say s h e would go to the e n d s of the e a r t h , rather than pay any m a n or w o m a n for her f r e e d o m , b e c a u s e s h e thinks s h e has a right to it. B e s i d e s , s h e couldn't do it, if s h e would, for she has spent her e a r n i n g s to e d u c a t e her c h i l d r e n . " T h i s m a d e Mr. D o d g e very angry, a n d s o m e high w o r d s p a s s e d b e t w e e n t h e m . M y friend w a s afraid to c o m e w h e r e I w a s ; but in the c o u r s e of the day I received a note from him. I s u p p o s e d they h a d not c o m e from the s o u t h , in the winter, for a p l e a s u r e e x c u r s i o n ; a n d now the n a t u r e of their b u s i n e s s was very plain. M r s . B r u c e c a m e to m e a n d entreated m e to leave the city the next m o r n ing. S h e said her h o u s e w a s w a t c h e d , a n d it w a s p o s s i b l e that s o m e clew to m e might be o b t a i n e d . I refused to take her a d v i c e . S h e p l e a d e d with an e a r n e s t t e n d e r n e s s , that o u g h t to have m o v e d m e ; but I w a s in a bitter, d i s h e a r t e n e d m o o d . I w a s weary of flying from pillar to p o s t . I h a d b e e n c h a s e d d u r i n g half my life, a n d it s e e m e d a s if the c h a s e w a s never to e n d . T h e r e I sat, in that great city, guiltless of c r i m e , yet not d a r i n g to w o r s h i p G o d in any of the c h u r c h e s . I h e a r d the bells ringing for afternoon service, a n d , with c o n t e m p t u o u s s a r c a s m , I said, "Will the p r e a c h e r s take for their text, 'Proclaim liberty to the captive, a n d the o p e n i n g of prison d o o r s to t h e m that are b o u n d ' ? 1 or will they p r e a c h from the text, ' D o u n t o o t h e r s a s ye would they s h o u l d do u n t o y o u ' ? " 2 O p p r e s s e d P o l e s a n d H u n g a r i a n s c o u l d find a s a f e refuge in that city; J o h n M i t c h e l l ' w a s free to p r o c l a i m in the City Hall his desire for "a p l a n t a t i o n well s t o c k e d with s l a v e s ; " but there I sat, an o p p r e s s e d A m e r i c a n , not daring to s h o w my f a c e . G o d forgive the black a n d bitter t h o u g h t s I indulged on that S a b b a t h day! T h e S c r i p t u r e says, " O p p r e s sion m a k e s even a wise m a n m a d ; " 4 a n d I w a s not w i s e . I h a d b e e n told that M r . D o d g e said his wife h a d never signed away her right to my children, a n d if he c o u l d not get m e , he would take t h e m . T h i s 1. I s a i a h 6 1 . 1 . 2. Matthew 7.12. 3. I r i s h - A m e r i c a n ( 1 8 1 5 - 1 8 7 5 ) w h o f o u n d e d t h e p r o s l a v e r y N e w Y o r k n e w s p a p e r Tlie Citizen and w h o a r g u e d that free blacks w o u l d o c c u p y the j o b s

of Irish w o r k e r s . " P o l e s a n d H u n g a r i a n s " : following the failed E u r o p e a n revolutions of 1 8 4 8 , m a n y p o l i t i c a l r e f u g e e s f r o m t h e s e c o u n t r i e s s e t t l e d in New York City and N e w England. 4. E c c l e s i a s t e s 7.7.

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it w a s , m o r e t h a n any thing e l s e , that r o u s e d s u c h a t e m p e s t in my s o u l . B e n j a m i n w a s with his u n c l e William in C a l i f o r n i a , b u t my i n n o c e n t y o u n g d a u g h t e r h a d c o m e to s p e n d a v a c a t i o n with m e . I t h o u g h t of w h a t I h a d suffered in slavery at her a g e , a n d my heart w a s like a tiger's w h e n a h u n t e r tries to seize her y o u n g . D e a r M r s . B r u c e ! I s e e m to s e e the expression of her f a c e , a s s h e turned away d i s c o u r a g e d by my o b s t i n a t e m o o d . F i n d i n g her e x p o s t u l a t i o n s unavailing, s h e sent Ellen to entreat m e . W h e n ten o'clock in the e v e n i n g arrived a n d Ellen h a d not r e t u r n e d , this watchful a n d u n w e a r i e d friend b e c a m e a n x i o u s . S h e c a m e to u s in a c a r r i a g e , bringing a well-filled trunk for my j o u r n e y — t r u s t i n g that by this time I w o u l d listen to r e a s o n . I yielded to her, a s I o u g h t to have d o n e b e f o r e . T h e next day, baby a n d I set out in a heavy s n o w s t o r m , b o u n d for N e w E n g l a n d a g a i n . I received letters from the City of Iniquity, 5 a d d r e s s e d to m e u n d e r a n a s s u m e d n a m e . In a few days o n e c a m e from M r s . B r u c e , informing m e that my new m a s t e r w a s still s e a r c h i n g for m e , a n d that s h e i n t e n d e d to p u t a n e n d to this p e r s e c u t i o n by b u y i n g my f r e e d o m . I felt grateful for the k i n d n e s s that p r o m p t e d this offer, b u t the idea w a s not so p l e a s a n t to m e a s might have b e e n e x p e c t e d . T h e m o r e my m i n d h a d b e c o m e e n l i g h t e n e d , the m o r e difficult it w a s for m e to c o n s i d e r myself a n article of property; a n d to pay m o n e y to t h o s e w h o h a d s o grievously o p p r e s s e d m e s e e m e d like taking from my sufferings the glory of t r i u m p h . I wrote to M r s . B r u c e , thanking her, but saying that b e i n g sold from o n e o w n e r to a n o t h e r s e e m e d too m u c h like slavery; that s u c h a great obligation c o u l d not b e easily c a n c e l l e d ; a n d that I preferred to go to my brother in C a l i f o r n i a . W i t h o u t my k n o w l e d g e , M r s . B r u c e e m p l o y e d a g e n t l e m a n in N e w York to enter into n e g o t i a t i o n s with M r . D o d g e . H e p r o p o s e d to pay three h u n d r e d dollars d o w n , if M r . D o d g e w o u l d sell m e , a n d enter into obligations to relinquish all claim to m e or my children forever after. H e w h o called h i m s e l f my m a s t e r said he s c o r n e d s o small a n offer for s u c h a v a l u a b l e servant. T h e g e n t l e m a n replied, "You c a n d o a s you c h o o s e , sir. If you reject this offer you will never get any thing; for the w o m a n h a s friends w h o will convey her a n d her children o u t of the c o u n t r y . " M r . D o d g e c o n c l u d e d that "half a loaf w a s better than no b r e a d , " a n d he a g r e e d to the proffered t e r m s . By the next mail I received this brief letter from M r s . B r u c e : "I a m rejoiced to tell you that the m o n e y for your f r e e d o m has b e e n paid to M r . D o d g e . C o m e h o m e to-morrow. I l o n g to s e e you a n d my sweet b a b e . " M y brain reeled a s I r e a d t h e s e lines. A g e n t l e m a n n e a r m e said, "It's t r u e ; I have s e e n the bill of s a l e . " " T h e bill of s a l e ! " T h o s e w o r d s s t r u c k m e like a blow. S o I w a s sold at last! A h u m a n b e i n g sold in the free city of N e w York! T h e bill of s a l e is on r e c o r d , a n d future g e n e r a t i o n s will learn f r o m it that w o m e n were articles of traffic in N e w York, late in the n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r y of the C h r i s t i a n religion. It may hereafter prove a useful d o c u m e n t to antiq u a r i e s , w h o a r e s e e k i n g to m e a s u r e the p r o g r e s s of civilization in the U n i t e d S t a t e s . I well know the value of that bit of p a p e r ; but m u c h a s I love f r e e d o m , I do not like to look u p o n it. I a m deeply grateful to the g e n e r o u s friend w h o p r o c u r e d it, but I d e s p i s e the m i s c r e a n t w h o d e m a n d e d p a y m e n t for what never rightfully b e l o n g e d to him or his. 5.

I . e . , N e w Y o r k C i t y , b e c a u s e it w a s t h e c e n t e r o f a c t i v i t y f o r h u n t e r s o f f u g i t i v e s l a v e s .

I N C I D E N T S IN T H E L I F E OF A S L A V E G I R L , C H A P T E R X L I

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I h a d o b j e c t e d to having my f r e e d o m b o u g h t , yet I m u s t c o n f e s s that w h e n it w a s d o n e I felt a s if a heavy load h a d b e e n lifted from my weary s h o u l d e r s . W h e n I rode h o m e in the c a r s I w a s no longer afraid to unveil my f a c e a n d look at p e o p l e a s they p a s s e d . I s h o u l d have b e e n glad to have m e t D a n i e l D o d g e himself; to have h a d him s e e n m e a n d known m e , that h e might have m o u r n e d over the u n t o w a r d c i r c u m s t a n c e s which c o m p e l l e d him to sell m e for three h u n d r e d dollars. W h e n I r e a c h e d h o m e , the a r m s of my b e n e f a c t r e s s were thrown r o u n d m e , a n d our tears m i n g l e d . A s s o o n a s s h e c o u l d s p e a k , s h e said, " O L i n d a , I'm so glad it's all over! You wrote to m e a s if you t h o u g h t you were g o i n g to be transferred from o n e owner to a n o t h e r . B u t I did not buy you for your services. I s h o u l d have d o n e j u s t the s a m e , if you h a d b e e n g o i n g to sail for California tomorrow. I s h o u l d , at least, have the satisfaction of k n o w i n g that you left m e a free w o m a n . " M y heart w a s exceedingly full. I r e m e m b e r e d h o w my p o o r father h a d tried to buy m e , w h e n I w a s a small child, a n d how h e h a d b e e n d i s a p p o i n t e d . I h o p e d his spirit w a s rejoicing over m e now. I r e m e m b e r e d h o w my g o o d old g r a n d m o t h e r h a d laid u p her e a r n i n g s to p u r c h a s e m e in later years, a n d how often her p l a n s h a d b e e n frustrated. H o w that faithful, loving old heart would leap for joy, if she c o u l d look on m e a n d my children now that we were free! M y relatives h a d b e e n foiled in all their efforts, but G o d h a d raised m e u p a friend a m o n g s t r a n g e r s , w h o h a d b e s t o w e d on m e the p r e c i o u s , long-desired b o o n . Friend! It is a c o m m o n word, often lightly u s e d . L i k e other good a n d beautiful things, it m a y b e t a r n i s h e d by c a r e l e s s h a n d l i n g ; but w h e n I s p e a k of M r s . B r u c e a s my friend, the word is s a c r e d . M y g r a n d m o t h e r lived to rejoice in my f r e e d o m ; but not long after, a letter c a m e with a b l a c k s e a l . S h e h a d g o n e " w h e r e the wicked c e a s e from troubling, a n d the weary are at r e s t . " 6 T i m e p a s s e d o n , a n d a p a p e r c a m e to m e from the s o u t h , c o n t a i n i n g a n obituary notice of my u n c l e Phillip. It w a s the only c a s e I ever k n e w of s u c h an h o n o r conferred u p o n a colored p e r s o n . It w a s written by o n e of his friends, a n d c o n t a i n e d t h e s e words: " N o w that d e a t h h a s laid him low, they call him a g o o d m a n a n d a useful citizen; but what are e u l o g i e s to the b l a c k m a n , w h e n the world h a s f a d e d from his vision? It d o e s not require m a n ' s praise to obtain rest in G o d ' s k i n g d o m . " S o they called a c o l o r e d m a n a citizen! S t r a n g e words to b e uttered in that r e g i o n ! 7 R e a d e r , my story e n d s with f r e e d o m ; not in the u s u a l way, with m a r r i a g e . 8 I a n d my children are now free! W e are a s free from the p o w e r of slaveholders a s are the white p e o p l e of the north; a n d t h o u g h that, a c c o r d i n g to my i d e a s , is not saying a great deal, it is a vast i m p r o v e m e n t in my c o n d i t i o n . T h e d r e a m of my life is not yet realized. I d o not sit with my children in a h o m e of my own. I still long for a h e a r t h s t o n e of my o w n , however h u m b l e . I wish it for my children's s a k e far m o r e than for my own. Rut G o d s o orders c i r c u m s t a n c e s a s to keep m e with my friend M r s . R r u c e . L o v e , duty, g r a t i t u d e , a l s o bind m e to her s i d e . It is a privilege to serve her w h o pities my o p p r e s s e d p e o p l e , a n d w h o has b e s t o w e d the i n e s t i m a b l e b o o n of f r e e d o m o n m e a n d my children. It h a s b e e n painful to m e , in m a n y ways, to recall the dreary years I p a s s e d 6. J o b 3 . 1 7 . 7. F r e e b l a c k s in N o r t h C a r o l i n a d i d n o t h a v e t h e legal s t a t u s of citizens.

8. Allusion to the typical marriage e n d i n g of w o m e n ' s n o v e l s , w h i c h is i m p o s s i b l e for w o m e n u n d e r slavery.

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in b o n d a g e . I w o u l d gladly forget t h e m if I c o u l d . Yet t h e r e t r o s p e c t i o n is not altogether without s o l a c e ; for with t h o s e g l o o m y recollections c o m e t e n d e r m e m o r i e s of my g o o d old g r a n d m o t h e r , like light, fleecy c l o u d s floating over a d a r k a n d troubled s e a . 1861

H E N R Y DAVID T H O R E A U 1817-1862 H e n r y D a v i d T h o r e a u w o n his p l a c e in A m e r i c a n l i t e r a t u r e by a d v e n t u r i n g at h o m e — traveling, a s h e p u t it, a g o o d d e a l in C o n c o r d . W i t h that kind of p a r a d o x h e infuriated a n d i n s p i r e d his M a s s a c h u s e t t s n e i g h b o r s a n d a u d i e n c e s w h i l e h e lived; his writings h a v e i n f u r i a t e d a n d i n s p i r e d s u c c e s s i v e g e n e r a t i o n s of r e a d e r s s i n c e his d e a t h . O f the m e n a n d w o m e n w h o m a d e C o n c o r d t h e c e n t e r of T r a n s c e n d e n t a l i s m , only T h o r e a u w a s b o r n t h e r e . H e lived in C o n c o r d all his life, e x c e p t for a few y e a r s in early c h i l d h o o d , his c o l l e g e y e a r s at n e a r b y C a m b r i d g e , a n d several m o n t h s o n S t a t e n I s l a n d in 1 8 4 3 . H e m a d e n u m e r o u s short e x c u r s i o n s , i n c l u d i n g t h r e e to n o r t h e r n M a i n e , four to C a p e C o d , o t h e r s to N e w H a m p s h i r e , o n e to Q u e b e c , a n d a last trip to M i n n e s o t a ( 1 8 6 1 ) in a futile a t t e m p t to s t r e n g t h e n his t u b e r c u l a r l u n g s . N e v e r m a r r y i n g , a n d horrified by t h e o n e p r o p o s a l that h e r e c e i v e d , his m o s t c o m p l e x pers o n a l r e l a t i o n s h i p o u t s i d e his family w a s with his older n e i g h b o r , R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n ; t h o u g h t h e d i s c r e p a n c i e s b e t w e e n their rarefied i d e a l s of f r i e n d s h i p a n d the realities of s o c i a l c o m m e r c e finally left t h e m f r u s t r a t e d with e a c h o t h e r . A s i d e f r o m E m e r s o n , c o n t e m p o r a r y writers m e a n t little to h i m e x c e p t for T h o m a s C a r l y l e , w h o m h e r e g a r d e d a s o n e of t h e g r e a t e x h o r t i n g p r o p h e t s of the g e n e r a t i o n , a n d W a l t Whitm a n , a l t h o u g h h e w a s a l w a y s a r e a d e r of any history of travel a n d e x p l o r a t i o n that c o u l d s u g g e s t p o s s i b l e ways of e x p e r i m e n t i n g with life. H e s t e e p e d h i m s e l f in the c l a s s i c s — G r e e k , R o m a n , a n d E n g l i s h — a n d h e k n e w in t r a n s l a t i o n t h e s a c r e d writings of the H i n d u s . H e wrote c o n s t a n t l y in his j o u r n a l s , w h i c h h e b e g a n at E m e r s o n ' s s u g g e s t i o n . U l t i m a t e l y , h e m a d e t h e m a finished literary f o r m , b u t in his early c a r e e r h e u s e d t h e m primarily a s s o u r c e s for his l e c t u r e s , for his e s s a y s , a n d for b o t h of the b o o k s that h e p u b l i s h e d , A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers ( 1 8 4 9 ) a n d Walden ( 1 8 5 4 ) . T h r o u g h his writings a n d l e c t u r e s h e a t t r a c t e d a d m i r e r s , a few of w h o m m u s t b e c a l l e d d i s c i p l e s . M u c h e f f o r t — a n d m u c h u n w o n t e d t a c t — w e n t into satisfying their d e m a n d s o n him w h i l e k e e p i n g t h e m at a n a p p r o p r i a t e d i s t a n c e . In the 1 8 5 0 s , a s his j o u r n a l s b e c a m e m o r e a n d m o r e t h e r e c o r d of his o b s e r v a t i o n s of n a t u r e , his scientific d i s c o v e r i e s m a d e him well k n o w n to i m p o r t a n t n a t u r a l i s t s s u c h a s L o u i s A g a s s i z . D u r i n g the s a m e y e a r s , h e b e c a m e o n e of t h e m o s t o u t s p o k e n a b o l i t i o n i s t s . A l t h o u g h h e w a s never o n e to affiliate h i m s e l f with g r o u p s , he b e c a m e k n o w n a s a reliable a b o l i t i o n i s t s p e a k e r — n o t a s i m p o r t a n t a s W e n d e l l P h i l l i p s , William L l o y d G a r r i s o n , or T h e o d o r e P a r k e r , b u t effective e n o u g h to b e s u m m o n e d to fill in for F r e d e r i c k D o u g l a s s at a c o n v e n t i o n in B o s t o n . T h o r e a u m o v e d into t h e political forefront only with his d e f e n s e of J o h n B r o w n , i m m e d i a t e l y after t h e a r r e s t s N e w York C i t y c u s t o m h o u s e ; in his last y e a r s h e a l s o wrote for a n e w m a g a z i n e , Appleton's. T h o r p e d i e d of B r i g h t s d i s e a s e o n S e p t e m b e r 2 0 , 1 8 7 8 . R e s t l e s s , n e r v o u s (as P o r t e r d e s c r i b e d h i m ) , s e l f - e f f a c i n g , T h o r p e never q u i t e b r o u g h t his varied p o w e r s to fruition. Yet h e h a s a p e r m a n e n t n i c h e in A m e r i c a n

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at H a r p e r s Ferry. H e w a s forty-four w h e n he d i e d at C o n c o r d o n M a y 6, 1 8 6 2 , in his m o t h e r ' s h o u s e . T h e little n a t i o n a l f a m e he had a c h i e v e d w a s a s a n e c c e n t r i c E m e r sonian social experimenter and a

firebrand

c h a m p i o n of B r o w n . E m e r s o n , h i m s e l f

f a m o u s a s t h e s a g e of C o n c o r d , c a l l e d T h o r e a u p r e e m i n e n t l y "the m a n of C o n c o r d , " a s i n c e r e c o m p l i m e n t that p r e c i s e l y d e l i m i t e d his s e n s e of his v o u n g e r friend a s ultim a t e l y far m o r e provincial t h a n himself. T h o r e a u ' s nonliterary n e i g h b o r s , w h o m he t a u n t e d in Walden

to c o m p e l their a t t e n -

tion, knew him a s a n e d u c a t e d m a n w i t h o u t a n o c c u p a t i o n — a n affront to a s o c i e t y in which few s o n s ( a n d no d a u g h t e r s ) h a d the privilege of g o i n g to H a r v a r d C o l l e g e . E v e n E m e r s o n t h o u g h t that h e had drifted into his o d d way of life r a t h e r t h a n c h o o s i n g it deliberately. T h o r e a u m i g h t in fact have m a d e a c a r e e r of his first j o b a s a C o n c o r d s c h o o l t e a c h e r h a d h e not quickly r e s i g n e d r a t h e r t h a n i n d i c t c o r p o r a l p u n i s h m e n t on his s t u d e n t s . H e w o u l d h a v e taken a n o t h e r t e a c h i n g j o b , but in that d e p r e s s i o n year of 1 8 3 7 c o u l d find n o n e . H e a n d his o l d e r brother, J o h n , s t a r t e d their own p r o g r e s s i v e s c h o o l in C o n c o r d , b u t it d i s b a n d e d w h e n J o h n b e c a m e ill. J o h n d i e d early in 1 8 4 2 , a n d T h o r e a u never w e n t b a c k to t e a c h i n g . T h a t year h e b e c a m e a h a n d y m a n at E m e r s o n ' s h o u s e in e x c h a n g e for r o o m a n d b o a r d , a n d stayed t h e r e intermittently d u r i n g the 1 8 4 0 s , e s p e c i a l l y w h e n E m e r s o n w a s away on l o n g trips. H e tried t u t o r i n g at the S t a t e n I s l a n d h o m e of E m e r s o n ' s b r o t h e r W i l l i a m in 1 8 4 3 , but h e g r e w m i s e r a b l y h o m e s i c k . O n e l o n g - t e r m a d v a n t a g e w a s that the j o b had p e r m i t t e d h i m s o m e c o n t a c t with the N e w York p u b l i s h i n g c i r c l e . H e s p e n t two years o n E m e r s o n ' s p r o p e r t y at W a l d e n P o n d ( 1 8 4 5 — 4 7 ) in a c a b i n h e built h i m s e l f . H e first l e c t u r e d at t h e C o n c o r d L y c e u m in 1 8 3 8 ; from the late 1 8 4 0 s o n w a r d h e o c c a s i o n a l l y e a r n e d twenty-five dollars or s o for l e c t u r i n g in s m a l l t o w n s s u c h a s N e w B e d f o r d a n d W o r c e s t e r a n d , l e s s often, in B o s t o n . S o m e t i m e s h e c h a r m e d his a u d i e n c e s with w o o d l o r e a n d w h a t reviewers c a l l e d his " c o m i c a l " a n d " h i g h f a l u t i n " variety of l a c o n i c Y a n k e e wit; s o m e t i m e s h e infuriated t h e m with r i g h t e o u s c h a l l e n g e s to the way they lived. N o critic, however friendly, c l a i m e d that T h o r e a u h a d m u c h p r e s e n c e a s a p u b l i c s p e a k e r , e x c e p t d u r i n g the fury of s o m e of his a b o l i t i o n i s t a d d r e s s e s . After 1 8 4 8 h e e a r n e d s o m e m o n e y n o w a n d t h e n by s u r v e y i n g property. H e sold a few m a g a z i n e a r t i c l e s b u t e a r n e d n o t h i n g from his two b o o k s . H e w o r k e d at t i m e s in his father's p e n c i l factory a n d c a r r i e d o n the b u s i n e s s w h e n his father d i e d in 1 8 5 9 , t h e r e b y a g g r a v a t i n g his t u b e r c u l o s i s with the d u s t f r o m g r a p h i t e . H i s w h o l e life, after t h e p e r i o d of u n c e r tainty a b o u t a n o c c u p a t i o n in his early m a n h o o d , b e c a m e a c a l c u l a t e d refusal to live by t h e m a t e r i a l i s t i c v a l u e s of t h e n e i g h b o r s w h o p r o v i d e d h i m with a m i c r o c o s m of the world. By simplifying his n e e d s — a n affront to w h a t w a s a l r e a d y a c o n s u m e r s o c i e t y d e v o t e d to a r o u s i n g "artificial w a n t s " — h e s u c c e e d e d , with m i n i m a l c o m p r o m i s e s , in living his life r a t h e r t h a n w a s t i n g it, a s h e s a w it, in e a r n i n g a living. A m o n g T h o r e a u ' s literary a c q u a i n t a n c e s s u c h a s B r o n s o n A l c o t t , Ellery C h a n n i n g , a n d M a r g a r e t Fuller, E m e r s o n w a s his first a n d m o s t powerful c h a m p i o n . E m e r s o n p u b l i s h e d m a n y of T h o r e a u ' s early p o e m s a n d e s s a y s in t h e Dial

between 1842 and

1 8 4 4 a n d tried to p e r s u a d e p u b l i s h e r s in B o s t o n a n d N e w York to print T h o r e a u ' s first b o o k , A Week

on the Concord

and Merrimack

Rh'ers,

built a r o u n d a c a n o e excur-

sion T h o r e a u a n d his b r o t h e r took upriver. First c o m p l e t e d in the s p r i n g of 1 8 4 6 , Week

w a s revised a n d e x p a n d e d over the next years (the e s s a y o n f r i e n d s h i p b e i n g

a d d e d in 1 8 4 8 ) b e f o r e T h o r e a u p u b l i s h e d a n edition of o n e t h o u s a n d c o p i e s at his o w n e x p e n s e in 1 8 4 9 ; t h e true story of his having to a c c o m m o d a t e s o m e s e v e n h u n d r e d u n s o l d c o p i e s in his attic is o n e of the m o r e grimly ironic e p i s o d e s in the history of e a r n i n g a living in A m e r i c a by writing. A s early a s 1 8 5 7 , T h o r e a u m a d e c l e a r his i n t e n t i o n to p u b l i s h The Maine

Woods

a s a book, t h o u g h in his lifetime only the first two p a r t s a p p e a r e d . In this b o o k t h e r e is very little satire a n d very little of the reflective writing s h u n n e d by m a g a z i n e s of the t i m e . T h e book's m o d e r n e d i t o r aptly says that a s M a i n e b e c a m e a favorite h u n t i n g a n d resort a r e a in t h e 1 8 7 0 s a n d 1 8 8 0 s The Maine

Woods

served a s a b a c k w o o d s

B a e d e k e r . T h e b a c k w o o d s have r e t r e a t e d , but t h e b o o k is a d u r a b l e r e c o r d of w h a t a

836

/

HENRY DAVID

THOREAU

t r a i n e d a n d r e s o u r c e f u l o b s e r v e r c o u l d d i s c o v e r of p r i m e v a l n a t u r e only a s h o r t w a y from C o n c o r d , a r e m i n d e r t h a t T h o r e a u w a s a f r o n t i e r s m a n , a n explorer o f t h e prim e v a l w i l d e r n e s s a s well a s o f t h e h i g h e r l a t i t u d e s to b e f o u n d within o n e s e l f . T h o r e a u a l s o w r o t e Cape Cod a s a b o o k , b u t d u r i n g his lifetime h e w a s a b l e to p u b l i s h only t h e first four c h a p t e r s . If h e h a d m a n a g e d to p u b l i s h it in t h e early 1 8 5 0 s it m i g h t h a v e g o n e s o m e w a y t o w a r d m a k i n g h i m a p o p u l a r a u t h o r . N o n e o f t h e o t h e r b o o k s t h a t T h o r e a u p u b l i s h e d o r p r o j e c t e d c o n v e y s a n y t h i n g like t h e i m a g e o f t h e w h o l e T h o r e a u that Walden does, a n d even his most representative s h o r t work, Life without Principle, c o n t a i n s little to s u g g e s t his c h e e r i e r h u m o r o r his love of n a t u r e . Week w a s t h e p r o d u c t o f d i v e r s e i m p u l s e s ; Cape Cod a n d The Maine Woods w e r e p r o d u c t s o f s i n g l e b u t l i m i t e d i m p u l s e s — p e r f e c t o f their kind b u t n o t b e l o n g i n g to t h e first o r d e r o f a s p i r a t i o n o r a c h i e v e m e n t . Walden was the product of a s i n g l e i m p u l s e , b u t o n e o f t h e s t r o n g e s t literary i m p u l s e s ever felt: t h e d e t e r m i n a t i o n to write a b a s i c b o o k o n h o w to live wisely, a b o o k s o p r o f o u n d l y l i b e r a t i n g that f r o m the r e a d i n g of it m e n a n d w o m e n w o u l d d a t e n e w e r a s in their lives. In Walden T h o r e a u ' s w h o l e c h a r a c t e r e m e r g e s . In it h e b e c o m e s , in t h e h i g h e s t s e n s e , a p u b l i c s e r v a n t , offering t h e E n g l i s h - s p e a k i n g p u b l i c t h e fruits o f his e x p e r i e n c e , t h o u g h t , a n d artistic d e d i c a t i o n . R e c o g n i t i o n o f T h o r e a u a s a n i m p o r t a n t writer w a s s l o w in c o m i n g . L i t e r a r y p e o p l e o f his o w n t i m e k n e w well e n o u g h w h o h e w a s , b u t t h e r e a d i n g p u b l i c d i d not until t h e p u b l i c a t i o n o f Walden o c c a s i o n e d c o m m e n t in s o m e widely r e a d n e w s p a p e r s a n d m a g a z i n e s . W h a t b e c a m e T h o r e a u ' s m o s t f a m o u s e s s a y , " R e s i s t a n c e to Civil G o v e r n m e n t " ( t h e p o s t h u m o u s title " O n t h e D u t y o f Civil D i s o b e d i e n c e , " n o w u s u a l l y c u t to t h e l a s t two w o r d s , is a p p a r e n t l y n o t a u t h o r i a l ) , w a s p u b l i s h e d a n o n y m o u s l y a n d never a t t a c h e d to his n a m e in print d u r i n g his life, t h o u g h s u c h p e o ple as E m e r s o n a n d Hawthorne knew T h o r e a u w a s the author; m a n y d e c a d e s p a s s e d b e f o r e a n y o n e explicitly a c t e d o n t h e e s s a y ' s r a d i c a l a d v i c e . T h o r e a u ' s early e s s a y s in m a g a z i n e s like t h e Democratic Review a n d Graham's were anonymous, a n d G r e e l e y d i d n o t m e n t i o n h i m by n a m e w h e n h e p r i n t e d in t h e Tribune for M a y 2 5 , 1 8 4 8 , a r e m a r k a b l e q u o t a t i o n f r o m a T h o r e a u letter t h a t w a s to b e c o m e p a r t o f the

first

chapter

of Walden.

Thoreau's

Putnam's

Monthly

a n d Atlantic

Monthly

p i e c e s w e r e a l s o a n o n y m o u s , a c c o r d i n g to t h e c u s t o m , s o that m o s t o f his r e a d e r s p r o b a b l y never k n e w they w e r e r e a d i n g T h o r e a u . Ironically, his w i d e s t - r e a d w o r k s p u b l i s h e d u n d e r his n a m e d u r i n g his lifetime w e r e n o t Week o r even Walden, but " S l a v e r y in M a s s a c h u s e t t s " ( p r i n t e d in W i l l i a m L l o y d G a r r i s o n ' s Liberator and copied in t h e Tribune) a n d " A P l e a for C a p t a i n J o h n B r o w n " ( p r i n t e d in t h e f a s t - s e l l i n g Echoes

of Harper's

Ferry,

1860).

B e t w e e n J u n e 1 8 6 2 ( t h e m o n t h after T h o r e a u ' s d e a t h ) a n d N o v e m b e r 1 8 6 3 , t h e Atlantic Monthly published "Walking," " A u t u m n Tints," "Wild Apples," "Life without Principle," and "Night and Moonlight" anonymously, but publicized them as Thor e a u ' s . T i c k n o r a n d F i e l d s r e i s s u e d Week a n d Walden, a n d q u i c k l y g o t o u t five n e w b o o k s : Excursions Various

Persons

( 1 8 6 3 ) , The

Maine

( 1 8 6 5 ) , a n d A Yankee

Woods in Canada,

( 1 8 6 4 ) , Cape with

Cod

Anti-Slavery

( 1 8 6 4 ) , Letters and Reform

to Papers

( 1 8 6 6 ) . T h e e x p a n d e d f o r m o f E m e r s o n ' s f u n e r a l s p e e c h , p u b l i s h e d in t h e Atlantic Monthly for A u g u s t 1 8 6 3 , c o n f i r m e d T h o r e a u ' s g r o w i n g r e p u t a t i o n e v e n w h i l e u n n e c e s s a r i l y s t r e s s i n g s o m e o f his l e s s a t t r a c t i v e traits, e s p e c i a l l y his " h a b i t o f a n t a g o n i s m . " In t h e North American Review for O c t o b e r 1 8 6 5 , J a m e s R u s s e l l L o w e l l — b y t h e n t h e f o r e m o s t A m e r i c a n c r i t i c — h a d his r e v e n g e for T h o r e a u ' s s c o r n for his e a r l i e r c e n s o r s h i p o f a s e c t i o n o f The Maine

Woods.

R e v i e w i n g Letters

to Various

Persons,

Lowell

d e p i c t e d T h o r e a u a s a m e r e e c h o e r o f E m e r s o n , " s u r l y a n d s t o i c , " with " a m o r b i d s e l f - c o n s c i o u s n e s s that p r o n o u n c e s t h e world o f m e n e m p t y a n d w o r t h l e s s b e f o r e trying i t . " P e r h a p s m o s t d a m n i n g , T h o r e a u w a s a m a n w h o " h a d n o h u m o r . " E v e n R o b e r t L o u i s S t e v e n s o n ' s d e s c r i p t i o n ( 1 8 8 0 ) of T h o r e a u a s a " s k u l k e r " h a d a l e s s b a n e f u l effect. In A m e r i c a n literary h i s t o r i e s a n d c l a s s r o o m a n t h o l o g i e s o f t h e next sixty y e a r s , L o w e l l ' s w o r d s w e r e e n d l e s s l y q u o t e d or p a r a p h r a s e d .

R E S I S T A N C E TO C I V I L G O V E R N M E N T

/

837

W i t h T h o r e a u ' s credit a s social p h i l o s o p h e r s o t h o r o u g h l y s q u e l c h e d , his f r i e n d s b e g a n e m p h a s i z i n g his role a s a s t u d e n t of n a t u r e . C h a n n i n g p u b l i s h e d Tlioreau: Poet-Naturalist

The

( 1 8 7 3 ) , a n d J o h n B u r r o u g h s ' s e s s a y s followed in t h e 1 8 8 0 s . C a p i t a l -

izing o n this n e w a t t e n t i o n , T h o r e a u ' s d i s c i p l e H . G . O . B l a k e , w h o h a d i n h e r i t e d t h e j o u r n a l s f r o m T h o r e a u ' s s i s t e r S o p h i a , p u b l i s h e d Early ( 1 8 8 1 ) , Summer

( 1 8 8 4 ) , Winter

( 1 8 8 7 ) , a n d Autumn

Spring

in

Massachusetts

( 1 8 9 2 ) . British critics b e c a m e

i n t e r e s t e d in T h o r e a u , a n d in 1 8 9 0 a n i m p o r t a n t b i o g r a p h y w a s p u b l i s h e d by t h e s o c i a l i s t H . S . S a l t — j u s t in t i m e to i n t r o d u c e T h o r e a u to m a n y F a b i a n s a n d L a b o u r Party m e m b e r s . T h o r e a u w a s at last b e c o m i n g widely r e c o g n i z e d a s a s o c i a l p h i l o s o p h e r a s well a s a n a t u r a l i s t . In 1 9 0 6 M a h a t m a G a n d h i , in his African exile, r e a d "Civil D i s o b e d i e n c e " a n d m a d e i t — a n d later Life

without

Principle—major

d o c u m e n t s in

his s t r u g g l e for I n d i a n i n d e p e n d e n c e . T h e p u b l i c a t i o n of t h e j o u r n a l s in 1 9 0 6 in c h r o n o l o g i c a l o r d e r ( B l a k e h a d p l u n d e r e d the j o u r n a l s for s e a s o n a l p a s s a g e s r e g a r d l e s s of t h e y e a r s in w h i c h they o c c u r r e d ) g a v e r e a d e r s for t h e first t i m e a nearly full b o d y of e v i d e n c e for u n d e r s t a n d i n g a n d j u d g i n g T h o r e a u . By t h e 1 9 3 0 s , w h e n for m a n y " S i m p l i f y ! " h a d b e c o m e not a w h i m b u t a n e c e s s i t y , T h o r e a u h a d a t t a i n e d the s t a t u s of a m a j o r A m e r i c a n v o i c e . S c h o l a r l y a t t e n t i o n in the next d e c a d e s b e g a n to exalt h i m to a literary r a n k h i g h e r t h a n E m e r s o n ' s , e v e n w h i l e civil rights l e a d e r s s u c h a s M a r t i n L u t h e r K i n g J r . t e s t e d his t a c t i c s of civil d i s o b e d i e n c e t h r o u g h o u t t h e S o u t h a n d s o m e t i m e s into t h e N o r t h . In t h e 1 9 6 0 s a n d 1 9 7 0 s t h e c o u n t e r c u l t u r e ' s c o n c e r n with e x p e r i m e n t s in living a n d the g e n e r a l A m e r i c a n c o n c e r n for e c o l o g i c a l sanity h e l p e d e s t a b l i s h T h o r e a u m o r e firmly t h a n ever a s a g r e a t A m e r i c a n p r o p h e t , w h i l e his p o t e n t i a l v a l u e to t h e radical Left r e m a i n s largely u n t e s t e d . S i n c e t h e

1980s,

r e a d e r s of T h o r e a u h a v e i n c r e a s i n g l y a d m i r e d his j o u r n a l s a n d his e n v i r o n m e n t a l e s s a y s ; following t h e lead of J o h n M u i r a n d A l d o L e o p o l d , i m p o r t a n t writers like E d w a r d A b b e y a n d A n n i e D i l l a r d h a v e u s e d h i m a s a m o d e l for their a p p r o a c h e s to n a t u r e . T h o r e a u h a s yet to a c h i e v e his full r e c o g n i t i o n a s a g r e a t p r o s e stylist a s well a s a lover of n a t u r e , a N e w E n g l a n d m y s t i c , a n d a p o w e r f u l s o c i a l p h i l o s o p h e r . H e r e m a i n s t h e m o s t c h a l l e n g i n g m a j o r writer A m e r i c a h a s p r o d u c e d . N o g o o d r e a d e r will ever b e entirely p l e a s e d with h i m s e l f or h e r s e l f or with the c u r r e n t s t a t e of c u l t u r e a n d civilization w h i l e r e a d i n g a n y of T h o r e a u ' s b e s t w o r k s .

Resistance to Civil Government 1 I heartily a c c e p t t h e m o t t o , — " T h a t g o v e r n m e n t is b e s t w h i c h g o v e r n s l e a s t ; " 2 a n d I s h o u l d like to s e e it a c t e d u p to m o r e rapidly a n d systematically. C a r r i e d out, it finally a m o u n t s to this, w h i c h a l s o I b e l i e v e , — " T h a t governm e n t is b e s t which governs not at all;" a n d w h e n m e n are p r e p a r e d for it, that will b e the kind of g o v e r n m e n t w h i c h they will have. G o v e r n m e n t is at b e s t b u t a n e x p e d i e n t ; but m o s t g o v e r n m e n t s a r e usually, a n d all govern1. " R e s i s t a n c e t o C i v i l G o v e r n m e n t " is r e p r i n t e d h e r e f r o m its first a p p e a r a n c e , in Aesthetic Papers (1849); the editor and publisher, Elizabeth Peabody, was Hawthorne's sister-in-law. T h o r e a u had d e l i v e r e d t h e p a p e r ( o r p a r t s o f it) a s a l e c t u r e in J a n u a r y a n d a g a i n in F e b r u a r y 1 8 4 8 b e f o r e t h e C o n c o r d L y c e u m , u n d e r t h e title " T h e R i g h t s a n d D u t i e s o f t h e I n d i v i d u a l in R e l a t i o n to G o v e r n m e n t . " A f t e r h i s d e a t h it w a s r e p r i n t e d i n A Yankee in Canada, with Anti-Slaver)' and Reform Papers ( 1 8 6 6 ) a s "Civil D i s o b e d i e n c e , ' the' title by w h i c h it m u c h l a t e r b e c a m e w o r l d - f a m o u s . T h a t t i t l e , a l t h o u g h very c o m m o n l y u s e d , m a y well not b e authorial, and Thoreauvians are accustoming

t h e m s e l v e s t o t h e t i t l e o f t h e first p r i n t i n g t h a t , a s T h o r e a u indicates, was a play on " D u t y of S u b m i s s i o n to Civil G o v e r n m e n t , " the title of o n e of t h e c h a p t e r s i n W i l l i a m P a l e y ' s Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy (1 7 8 5 ) . I g n o r e d in its o w n t i m e , in t h e 2 0 t h c e n t u r y t h e i n f l u e n c e o f t h e e s s a y h a s b e e n p r o f o u n d , m o s t n o t a b l y in M a h a t m a G a n d h i ' s s t r u g g l e f o r I n d i a n i n d e p e n d e n c e a n d in t h e A m e r i c a n civil r i g h t s m o v e m e n t u n d e r t h e leadership of Martin L u t h e r King Jr. 2. A s s o c i a t e d with J e f f e r s o n i a n i s m , t h e s e w o r d s a p p e a r e d on the m a s t h e a d of the Democratic Review, t h e N e w Y o r k m a g a z i n e t h a t h a d p u b l i s h e d t w o e a r l y T h o r e a u p i e c e s in 1 8 4 3 .

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merits are s o m e t i m e s , inexpedient. T h e o b j e c t i o n s w h i c h have b e e n b r o u g h t a g a i n s t a s t a n d i n g army, a n d they a r e m a n y a n d weighty, a n d deserve to prevail, m a y a l s o at last b e b r o u g h t a g a i n s t a s t a n d i n g g o v e r n m e n t . T h e s t a n d i n g army is only an a r m of the s t a n d i n g g o v e r n m e n t . T h e g o v e r n m e n t itself, which is only the m o d e which the p e o p l e have c h o s e n to e x e c u t e their will, is equally liable to b e a b u s e d a n d perverted b e f o r e the p e o p l e c a n act t h r o u g h it. W i t n e s s the p r e s e n t M e x i c a n war, the work of c o m p a r a t i v e l y a few individuals u s i n g the s t a n d i n g g o v e r n m e n t a s their tool; for, in the o u t s e t , the p e o p l e would not have c o n s e n t e d to this m e a s u r e . 3 T h i s A m e r i c a n g o v e r n m e n t , — w h a t is it but a tradition, t h o u g h a r e c e n t o n e , e n d e a v o r i n g to t r a n s m i t itself u n i m p a i r e d to posterity, b u t e a c h instant losing s o m e of its integrity? It h a s not the vitality a n d force of a single living m a n ; for a single m a n c a n b e n d it to his will. It is a sort of w o o d e n g u n to the p e o p l e t h e m s e l v e s ; a n d , if ever they s h o u l d u s e it in e a r n e s t a s a real o n e a g a i n s t e a c h other, it will surely split. B u t it is not the less n e c e s s a r y for this; for the p e o p l e m u s t have s o m e c o m p l i c a t e d m a c h i n e r y or other, a n d h e a r its din, to satisfy that idea of g o v e r n m e n t which they h a v e . G o v e r n m e n t s s h o w t h u s h o w s u c c e s s f u l l y m e n c a n b e i m p o s e d o n , even i m p o s e o n t h e m s e l v e s , for their own a d v a n t a g e . It is excellent, we m u s t all allow; yet this g o v e r n m e n t never of itself furthered any e n t e r p r i s e , b u t by the alacrity with which it got out of its way. It d o e s not k e e p the country free. It d o e s not settle the W e s t . It d o e s not e d u c a t e . T h e c h a r a c t e r inherent in the A m e r i c a n p e o p l e h a s d o n e all that h a s b e e n a c c o m p l i s h e d ; a n d it w o u l d have d o n e s o m e w h a t m o r e , if the g o v e r n m e n t h a d not s o m e t i m e s got in its way. F o r g o v e r n m e n t is a n expedient by which m e n would fain s u c c e e d in letting o n e a n o t h e r a l o n e ; a n d , a s h a s b e e n s a i d , w h e n it is m o s t expedient, the g o v e r n e d a r e m o s t let a l o n e by it. T r a d e a n d c o m m e r c e , if they were not m a d e of India rubber, w o u l d never m a n a g e to b o u n c e over the o b s t a c l e s which legislators are continually p u t t i n g in their way; a n d , if o n e were to j u d g e t h e s e m e n wholly by the effects of their a c t i o n s , a n d not partly by their i n t e n t i o n s , they w o u l d deserve to be c l a s s e d a n d p u n i s h e d with t h o s e m i s c h i e v o u s p e r s o n s w h o p u t o b s t r u c t i o n s o n the railroads. B u t , to s p e a k practically a n d a s a citizen, unlike t h o s e w h o call t h e m s e l v e s no-government m e n , I a s k for, not at o n c e n o g o v e r n m e n t , b u t at once a better g o v e r n m e n t . L e t every m a n m a k e k n o w n what kind of g o v e r n m e n t would c o m m a n d his r e s p e c t , a n d that will b e o n e step toward o b t a i n i n g it. After all, the practical r e a s o n why, w h e n the p o w e r is o n c e in the h a n d s of the p e o p l e , a majority are p e r m i t t e d , a n d for a long p e r i o d c o n t i n u e , to rule, is not b e c a u s e they are m o s t likely to b e in the right, n o r b e c a u s e this s e e m s fairest to the minority, but b e c a u s e they are physically the s t r o n g e s t . B u t a g o v e r n m e n t in which the majority rule in all c a s e s c a n n o t b e b a s e d on j u s t i c e , even a s far a s m e n u n d e r s t a n d it. C a n there not b e a g o v e r n m e n t in which majorities do not virtually d e c i d e right a n d wrong, b u t c o n s c i e n c e ? — in which majorities d e c i d e only t h o s e q u e s t i o n s to w h i c h the rule of expediency is a p p l i c a b l e ? M u s t the citizen ever for a m o m e n t , or in the least d e g r e e , resign his c o n s c i e n c e to the legislator? W h y h a s every m a n a c o n 3. T h e M e x i c a n W a r , w i d e l y c r i t i c i z e d by W h i g s and many D e m o c r a t s as an "executive's war" because President Polk c o m m e n c e d hostilities without a congressional declaration of war, e n d e d o n F e b r u a r y 2 , 1 8 4 8 , j u s t a f t e r T h o r e a u first d e l i v -

ered this essay as a lecture. H e r e p e a t e d the lecture after t h e official e n d i n g o f t h e w a r (or p e r h a p s g a v e a n o t h e r i n s t a l l m e n t o f i t ) , a n d t h e n e x t y e a r l e t it g o to press with the out-of-date reference.

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s c i e n c e , t h e n ? I think that we s h o u l d b e m e n first, a n d s u b j e c t s afterward. It is not desirable to cultivate a r e s p e c t for the law, s o m u c h a s for the right. T h e only obligation which I have a right to a s s u m e , is to do at any time what I think right. It is truly e n o u g h s a i d , 4 that a corporation h a s n o c o n s c i e n c e ; b u t a corporation of c o n s c i e n t i o u s m e n is a c o r p o r a t i o n with a c o n s c i e n c e . L a w never m a d e m e n a whit m o r e j u s t ; a n d , by m e a n s of their r e s p e c t for it, even the well-disposed are daily m a d e the a g e n t s of injustice. A c o m m o n a n d n a t u r a l result of an u n d u e r e s p e c t for law is, that you m a y s e e a file of soldiers, colonel, c a p t a i n , corporal, privates, p o w d e r - m o n k e y s a n d all, m a r c h i n g in a d m i r a b l e order over hill a n d d a l e to the w a r s , a g a i n s t their wills, aye, a g a i n s t their c o m m o n s e n s e a n d c o n s c i e n c e s , which m a k e s it very s t e e p m a r c h i n g i n d e e d , a n d p r o d u c e s a palpitation of the heart. T h e y have no d o u b t that it is a d a m n a b l e b u s i n e s s in which they are c o n c e r n e d ; they a r e all p e a c e a b l y inclined. N o w , what a r e they? M e n at all? or small m o v e a b l e forts a n d m a g a z i n e s , at the service of s o m e u n s c r u p u l o u s m a n in power? Visit the Navy Yard, a n d b e h o l d a m a r i n e , s u c h a m a n a s a n A m e r i c a n gove r n m e n t c a n m a k e , or s u c h a s it c a n m a k e a m a n with its b l a c k a r t s , a m e r e s h a d o w a n d r e m i n i s c e n c e of h u m a n i t y , a m a n laid o u t alive a n d s t a n d i n g , a n d already, a s o n e m a y say, buried u n d e r a r m s with funeral a c c o m p a n i m e n t s , t h o u g h it may be " N o t a d r u m w a s h e a r d , nor a funeral n o t e , As his c o r s e to the r a m p a r t s we hurried; N o t a soldier d i s c h a r g e d his farewell shot O'er the grave w h e r e o u r hero we b u r i e d . " 5 T h e m a s s of m e n serve the S t a t e t h u s , not a s m e n mainly, b u t a s m a c h i n e s , with their b o d i e s . T h e y are the s t a n d i n g army, a n d the militia, j a i l e r s , c o n & c . In m o s t c a s e s there is n o free e x e r c i s e whatever s t a b l e s , posse comitatus,b of the j u d g m e n t or of the m o r a l s e n s e ; but they put t h e m s e l v e s o n a level with w o o d a n d earth a n d s t o n e s ; a n d w o o d e n m e n c a n p e r h a p s b e m a n u f a c tured that will serve the p u r p o s e a s well. S u c h c o m m a n d n o m o r e r e s p e c t than m e n of straw, or a l u m p of dirt. T h e y have the s a m e sort of worth only as h o r s e s a n d d o g s . Yet s u c h a s t h e s e even are c o m m o n l y e s t e e m e d g o o d citizens. O t h e r s , a s m o s t legislators, politicians, lawyers, m i n i s t e r s , a n d office-holders, serve the S t a t e chiefly with their h e a d s ; a n d , a s they rarely m a k e any moral d i s t i n c t i o n s , they are a s likely to serve the devil, without intending it, a s G o d . A very few, a s h e r o e s , p a t r i o t s , martyrs, r e f o r m e r s in the great s e n s e , a n d men, serve the S t a t e with their c o n s c i e n c e s a l s o , a n d s o necessarily resist it for the m o s t part; a n d they a r e c o m m o n l y treated by it as e n e m i e s . A wise m a n will only b e useful a s a m a n , a n d will not s u b m i t to be "clay," a n d " s t o p a hole to keep the wind a w a y , " 7 but leave that office to his d u s t at l e a s t : — "I a m too high-born to be p r o p e r t i e d , T o b e a s e c o n d a r y at control, O r useful serving-man a n d i n s t r u m e n t T o a n y sovereign state t h r o u g h o u t the w o r l d . " 8

4 . B y S i r E d w a r d C o k e , 1 6 1 2 , in a f a m o u s l e g a l decision. 5. F r o m C h a r l e s W o l f e ' s "Burial of Sir J o h n M o o r e at C o r u n n a " ( 1 8 1 7 ) , a s o n g T h o r e a u liked

to 6. 7. 8.

sing. SherifFs posse (Latin). S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Hamlet 5.1.236-37. S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Kingjohn 5.1.79—82.

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H e w h o gives h i m s e l f entirely to his fellow-men a p p e a r s to t h e m u s e l e s s a n d selfish; but he w h o gives h i m s e l f partially to t h e m is p r o n o u n c e d a b e n e factor a n d philanthropist. H o w d o e s it b e c o m e a m a n to b e h a v e toward this A m e r i c a n g o v e r n m e n t to-day? I a n s w e r that he c a n n o t without d i s g r a c e be a s s o c i a t e d with it. I c a n n o t for a n instant recognize that political organization a s my g o v e r n m e n t which is the slave's g o v e r n m e n t a l s o . All m e n recognize the right of revolution; that is, the right to refuse alleg i a n c e to a n d to resist the g o v e r n m e n t , w h e n its tyranny or its inefficiency a r e great a n d u n e n d u r a b l e . B u t a l m o s t all say that s u c h is not the c a s e now. B u t s u c h was the c a s e , they think, in the Revolution of ' 7 5 . If o n e were to tell m e that this w a s a b a d g o v e r n m e n t b e c a u s e it taxed certain foreign c o m m o d i t i e s b r o u g h t to its p o r t s , it is m o s t p r o b a b l e that I s h o u l d not m a k e an a d o a b o u t it, for I c a n d o without t h e m : all m a c h i n e s have their friction; a n d possibly this d o e s e n o u g h good to c o u n t e r b a l a n c e the evil. At any r a t e , it is a great evil to m a k e a stir a b o u t it. Rut w h e n the friction c o m e s to have its m a c h i n e , a n d o p p r e s s i o n a n d robbery are o r g a n i z e d , I say, let u s not have s u c h a m a c h i n e any longer. In other w o r d s , w h e n a sixth of the p o p u l a t i o n of a nation which h a s u n d e r t a k e n to be the refuge of liberty a r e slaves, a n d a whole country is unjustly overrun a n d c o n q u e r e d by a foreign army, a n d s u b j e c t e d to military law, I think that it is not too s o o n for h o n e s t m e n to rebel a n d revolutionize. W h a t m a k e s this duty the m o r e u r g e n t is the fact, that the country s o overrun is not our o w n , but o u r s is the invading a r m y . Paley, a c o m m o n authority with m a n y on moral q u e s t i o n s , in his c h a p t e r on the " D u t y of S u b m i s s i o n to Civil G o v e r n m e n t , " 9 resolves all civil obligation into expediency; a n d he p r o c e e d s to say, "that so long a s the interest of the whole society r e q u i r e s it, that is, s o long as the e s t a b l i s h e d g o v e r n m e n t c a n n o t be resisted or c h a n g e d without public inconveniency, it is the will of G o d that the e s t a b l i s h e d g o v e r n m e n t b e o b e y e d , a n d no l o n g e r . " — " T h i s principle b e i n g a d m i t t e d , the j u s t i c e of every particular c a s e of r e s i s t a n c e is r e d u c e d to a c o m p u t a t i o n of the quantity of the d a n g e r a n d grievance on the o n e s i d e , a n d of the probability a n d e x p e n s e of r e d r e s s i n g it o n the o t h e r . " O f this, he says, every m a n shall j u d g e for himself. B u t Paley a p p e a r s never to have c o n t e m p l a t e d t h o s e c a s e s to which the rule of expediency d o e s not apply, in which a p e o p l e , as well a s a n individual, m u s t d o j u s t i c e , c o s t what it may. If I have unjustly wrested a p l a n k from a d r o w n i n g m a n , I m u s t restore it to him t h o u g h I drown myself. 1 T h i s , a c c o r d i n g to Paley, would be inconvenient. B u t h e that would save his life, in s u c h a c a s e , shall lose it. 2 T h i s p e o p l e m u s t c e a s e to hold slaves, a n d to m a k e war on M e x i c o , t h o u g h it c o s t t h e m their e x i s t e n c e a s a p e o p l e . In their p r a c t i c e , n a t i o n s a g r e e with Paley; but d o e s any o n e think that M a s s a c h u s e t t s d o e s exactly what is right at the p r e s e n t crisis? "A drab of s t a t e , a cloth-o'-silver slut, T o have her train b o r n e u p , a n d her soul trail in the d i r t . " 3 9 . T h e p r e c i s e t i t l e o f t h e c h a p t e r in W i l l i a m P a l e y ' s Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy ( 1 7 8 5 ) is " T h e D u t y o f S u b m i s s i o n t o C i v i l G o v e r n m e n t E x p l a i n e d . " T h i s b o o k by P a l e y , E n g l i s h theologian a n d moralist ( 1 7 4 3 — 1 8 0 5 ) , was o n e of Thoreau's Harvard textbooks.

1. A p r o b l e m in s i t u a t i o n a l e t h i c s c i t e d b y C i c e r o in De Qfficiis 3, w h i c h T h o r e a u h a d s t u d i e d . 2.

Matthew 10.39; Luke 9.24.

3 . C y r i l T o u r n e u r ( I 5 7 5 ? — 1 6 2 6 ) . Tlte Tragedy 3.4.

Rei'enger's

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Practically s p e a k i n g , the o p p o n e n t s to a reform in M a s s a c h u s e t t s are not a h u n d r e d t h o u s a n d politicians at the S o u t h , but a h u n d r e d t h o u s a n d merc h a n t s a n d f a r m e r s h e r e , 4 w h o are m o r e interested in c o m m e r c e a n d agric u l t u r e than they are in humanity, a n d are not p r e p a r e d to do j u s t i c e to the slave a n d to M e x i c o , cost what it may. I quarrel not with far-off foes, but with t h o s e w h o , near at h o m e , c o - o p e r a t e with, a n d d o the bidding of t h o s e far away, a n d without w h o m the latter would be h a r m l e s s . W e a r e a c c u s t o m e d to say, that the m a s s of m e n are u n p r e p a r e d ; but i m p r o v e m e n t is slow, b e c a u s e the few are not materially wiser or better than the m a n y . It is not s o i m p o r t a n t that m a n y s h o u l d be a s g o o d a s you, a s that there be s o m e a b s o l u t e g o o d n e s s s o m e w h e r e ; for that will leaven the whole l u m p . 5 T h e r e are t h o u s a n d s who a r e in opinion o p p o s e d to slavery a n d to the war, w h o yet in effect do n o t h i n g to put a n e n d to t h e m ; w h o , e s t e e m i n g t h e m s e l v e s children of W a s h i n g t o n a n d F r a n k l i n , 6 sit down with their h a n d s in their p o c k e t s , a n d say that they know not what to d o , a n d do nothing; w h o even p o s t p o n e the q u e s t i o n of f r e e d o m to the q u e s t i o n of free-trade, a n d quietly read the prices-current a l o n g with the latest advices from M e x i c o , after dinner, a n d , it may b e , fall a s l e e p over t h e m b o t h . W h a t is the price-current of a n h o n e s t m a n a n d patriot to-day? T h e y h e s i t a t e , a n d they regret, a n d s o m e t i m e s they petition; but they do n o t h i n g in e a r n e s t a n d with effect. T h e y will wait, well d i s p o s e d , for others to r e m e d y the evil, that they may no longer have it to regret. At m o s t , they give only a c h e a p vote, a n d a feeble c o u n t e n a n c e a n d G o d - s p e e d , to the right, as it g o e s by t h e m . T h e r e are nine h u n d r e d a n d ninety-nine p a t r o n s of virtue to o n e virtuous m a n ; but it is e a s i e r to deal with the real p o s s e s s o r of a thing than with the temporary g u a r d i a n of it. All voting is a sort of g a m i n g , like c h e q u e r s or b a c k g a m m o n , with a slight moral tinge to it, a playing with right a n d wrong, with moral q u e s t i o n s ; a n d betting naturally a c c o m p a n i e s it. T h e c h a r a c t e r of the voters is not s t a k e d . I c a s t my vote, p e r c h a n c e , a s I think right; but I a m not vitally c o n c e r n e d that that right s h o u l d prevail. I a m willing to leave it to the majority. Its obligation, therefore, never e x c e e d s that of expediency. Even v o t i n g / o r the right is doing nothing for it. It is only e x p r e s s i n g to m e n feebly your desire that it s h o u l d prevail. A wise m a n will not leave the right to the m e r c y of c h a n c e , nor wish it to prevail through the power of the majority. T h e r e is but little virtue in the action of m a s s e s of m e n . W h e n the majority shall at length vote for the abolition of slavery, it will be b e c a u s e they are indifferent to slavery, or b e c a u s e there is but little slavery left to be a b o l i s h e d by their vote. They will then be the only s l a v e s . Only his vote c a n h a s t e n the abolition of slavery w h o a s s e r t s his own f r e e d o m by his vote. I hear of a convention to b e held at B a l t i m o r e , or e l s e w h e r e , for the s e l e c tion of a c a n d i d a t e for the Presidency, m a d e u p chiefly of editors, a n d m e n who are politicians by p r o f e s s i o n ; but I think, what is it to any i n d e p e n d e n t , intelligent, a n d r e s p e c t a b l e m a n what d e c i s i o n they m a y c o m e to, shall we not have the a d v a n t a g e of his w i s d o m a n d honesty, n e v e r t h e l e s s ? C a n we not c o u n t u p o n s o m e i n d e p e n d e n t votes? Are there not m a n y individuals in the country w h o do not attend c o n v e n t i o n s ? B u t n o : I find that the respectable m a n , s o called, h a s immediately drifted from his position, a n d d e s p a i r s 4. T h o r e a u refers to t h e e c o n o m i c a l l i a n c e o f S o u t h e r n cotton growers with N o r t h e r n s h i p p e r s and manufacturers.

5 . 1 C o r i n t h i a n s 5 . 6 : " K n o w ye n o t that a little leaven leaventh the whole l u m p ? " 6 . I.e., c h i l d r e n o f r e b e l s a n d r e v o l u t i o n a r i e s .

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of his country, w h e n his country h a s m o r e r e a s o n to d e s p a i r of h i m . H e forthwith a d o p t s o n e of the c a n d i d a t e s t h u s s e l e c t e d a s the only available o n e , t h u s proving that he is h i m s e l f available for any p u r p o s e s of the d e m a g o g u e . His vote is of n o m o r e worth t h a n that of any u n p r i n c i p l e d foreigner or hireling native, w h o may have b e e n b o u g h t . O h for a m a n w h o is a man, a n d , a s my n e i g h b o r says, h a s a b o n e in his b a c k w h i c h you c a n n o t p a s s your h a n d t h r o u g h ! O u r statistics are at fault: the p o p u l a t i o n h a s b e e n r e t u r n e d too large. H o w m a n y men are there to a s q u a r e t h o u s a n d m i l e s in this c o u n try? Hardly o n e . D o e s not A m e r i c a offer any i n d u c e m e n t for m e n to settle here? T h e A m e r i c a n has dwindled into a n O d d F e l l o w , — o n e w h o may b e known by the d e v e l o p m e n t of his o r g a n of g r e g a r i o u s n e s s , a n d a m a n i f e s t lack of intellect a n d cheerful s e l f - r e l i a n c e ; 7 w h o s e first a n d c h i e f c o n c e r n , on c o m i n g into the world, is to s e e that the a l m s - h o u s e s a r e in g o o d repair; a n d , before yet he h a s lawfully d o n n e d the virile g a r b , 8 to collect a fund for the s u p p o r t of the widows a n d o r p h a n s that may b e ; w h o , in short, v e n t u r e s to live only by the aid of the m u t u a l i n s u r a n c e c o m p a n y , w h i c h h a s p r o m i s e d to bury him decently. It is not a m a n ' s duty, a s a m a t t e r of c o u r s e , to devote h i m s e l f to the e r a d i c a t i o n of any, even the m o s t e n o r m o u s w r o n g ; he m a y still properly have other c o n c e r n s to e n g a g e him; but it is his duty, at l e a s t , to w a s h his h a n d s of it, a n d , if he gives it n o t h o u g h t longer, not to give it practically his s u p p o r t . If I devote myself to other p u r s u i t s a n d c o n t e m p l a t i o n s , I m u s t first s e e , at least, that I d o not p u r s u e t h e m sitting u p o n a n o t h e r m a n ' s s h o u l d e r s . I m u s t get off him first, that he may p u r s u e his c o n t e m p l a t i o n s too. S e e what g r o s s i n c o n s i s t e n c y is tolerated. I have h e a r d s o m e of my t o w n s m e n say, "I s h o u l d like to have t h e m order m e out to h e l p put d o w n a n insurrection of the slaves, or to m a r c h to M e x i c o , — s e e if I w o u l d g o ; " a n d yet t h e s e very m e n have e a c h , directly by their a l l e g i a n c e , a n d so indirectly, at least, by their m o n e y , furnished a s u b s t i t u t e . T h e soldier is a p p l a u d e d w h o r e f u s e s to serve in a n u n j u s t war by t h o s e w h o d o not refuse to s u s t a i n the u n j u s t g o v e r n m e n t which m a k e s the war; is a p p l a u d e d by t h o s e w h o s e own act a n d authority he d i s r e g a r d s a n d s e t s at n o u g h t ; a s if the S t a t e were p e n i t e n t to that d e g r e e that it hired o n e to s c o u r g e it while it s i n n e d , but not to that d e g r e e that it left off s i n n i n g for a m o m e n t . T h u s , u n d e r the n a m e of order a n d civil g o v e r n m e n t , we a r e all m a d e at last to pay h o m a g e to a n d s u p p o r t our own m e a n n e s s . After the first b l u s h of sin, c o m e s its i n d i f f e r e n c e ; a n d from i m m o r a l it b e c o m e s , a s it w e r e , i m m o r a l , a n d not q u i t e u n n e c e s s a r y to that life w h i c h we have m a d e . T h e b r o a d e s t a n d m o s t prevalent error r e q u i r e s the m o s t d i s i n t e r e s t e d virtue to s u s t a i n it. T h e slight r e p r o a c h to which the virtue of patriotism is c o m m o n l y liable, the n o b l e a r e m o s t likely to incur. T h o s e w h o , while they d i s a p p r o v e of the c h a r a c t e r a n d m e a s u r e s of a g o v e r n m e n t , yield to it their a l l e g i a n c e a n d s u p p o r t , are u n d o u b t e d l y its m o s t c o n s c i e n t i o u s s u p p o r t e r s , a n d s o frequently the m o s t s e r i o u s o b s t a c l e s to reform. S o m e a r e petitioning the S t a t e to dissolve the U n i o n , to d i s r e g a r d the r e q u i s i t i o n s of the P r e s i d e n t . Why d o they not dissolve it t h e m s e l v e s , — t h e u n i o n b e t w e e n t h e m s e l v e s a n d 7 . T h e O d d F e l l o w s is a s e c r e t f r a t e r n a l o r g a n i z a t i o n , c h o s e n by T h o r e a u for t h e satirical v a l u e of i t s n a m e : i n h i s v i e w t h e a r c h e t y p a l A m e r i c a n is not the individualist, the g e n u i n e o d d fellow, but

the conformist. 8. Adult garb allowed a R o m a n boy on fourteen.

reaching

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the S t a t e , — a n d refuse to pay their q u o t a into its treasury? D o not they s t a n d in the s a m e relation to the S t a t e , that the S t a t e d o e s to the U n i o n ? A n d have not the s a m e r e a s o n s prevented the S t a t e from resisting the U n i o n , which have prevented t h e m from resisting the S t a t e ? H o w c a n a m a n be satisfied to entertain an opinion merely, a n d enjoy it? Is there any e n j o y m e n t in it, if his opinion is that he is aggrieved? If you are c h e a t e d o u t of a single dollar by your neighbor, you do not rest satisfied with knowing that you are c h e a t e d , or with saying that you a r e c h e a t e d , or even with petitioning him to pay you your d u e ; but you take effectual s t e p s at o n c e to obtain the full a m o u n t , a n d s e e that you a r e never c h e a t e d a g a i n . Action from p r i n c i p l e , — t h e perception a n d the p e r f o r m a n c e of r i g h t , — c h a n g e s things a n d relations; it is essentially revolutionary, a n d d o e s not c o n s i s t wholly with any thing which w a s . It not only divides s t a t e s a n d c h u r c h e s , it divides families; aye, it divides the individual, s e p a r a t i n g the diabolical in him from the divine. U n j u s t laws exist: shall we be c o n t e n t to obey t h e m , or shall we e n d e a v o r to a m e n d t h e m , a n d obey t h e m until we have s u c c e e d e d , or shall w e transg r e s s t h e m at o n c e ? M e n generally, u n d e r s u c h a g o v e r n m e n t a s this, think that they o u g h t to wait until they have p e r s u a d e d the majority to alter t h e m . T h e y think that, if they s h o u l d resist, the r e m e d y w o u l d b e w o r s e t h a n the evil. B u t it is the fault of the g o v e r n m e n t itself that the r e m e d y is w o r s e than the evil. It m a k e s it w o r s e . W h y is it not m o r e a p t to a n t i c i p a t e a n d provide for reform? W h y d o e s it not c h e r i s h its wise minority? W h y d o e s it cry a n d resist before it is hurt? W h y d o e s it not e n c o u r a g e its citizens to be on the alert to point out its faults, a n d do better than it w o u l d have t h e m ? W h y d o e s it always crucify C h r i s t , a n d e x c o m m u n i c a t e C o p e r n i c u s a n d L u t h e r , 9 a n d p r o n o u n c e W a s h i n g t o n a n d Franklin rebels? O n e would think, that a deliberate a n d practical denial of its authority w a s the only offence never c o n t e m p l a t e d by g o v e r n m e n t ; e l s e , why h a s it not a s s i g n e d its definite, its s u i t a b l e a n d p r o p o r t i o n a t e penalty? If a m a n w h o has n o property refuses but o n c e to earn n i n e shillings' for the S t a t e , he is put in prison for a period u n l i m i t e d by any law that I know, a n d d e t e r m i n e d only by the discretion of t h o s e w h o p l a c e d him t h e r e ; but if I s h o u l d steal ninety times nine shillings from the S t a t e , h e is s o o n p e r m i t t e d to go at large again. If the injustice is part of the n e c e s s a r y friction of the m a c h i n e of governm e n t , let it g o , let it go: p e r c h a n c e it will wear s m o o t h , — c e r t a i n l y the m a c h i n e will wear out. If the injustice has a spring, or a pulley, or a r o p e , or a crank, exclusively for itself, then p e r h a p s you may c o n s i d e r w h e t h e r the r e m e d y will not b e worse than the evil; but if it is of s u c h a n a t u r e that it r e q u i r e s you to b e the a g e n t of injustice to a n o t h e r , t h e n , I say, b r e a k the law. Let your life be a c o u n t e r friction to stop the m a c h i n e . W h a t I have to do is to s e e , at any r a t e , that I d o not lend myself to the w r o n g which I condemn. As for a d o p t i n g the ways which the S t a t e has provided for r e m e d y i n g the 9. T h o r e a u uses C o p e r n i c u s ( 1 4 7 3 - 1 5 4 3 ) , the Polish a s t r o n o m e r w h o died too s o o n after the p u b lication of his n e w system of a s t r o n o m y to be e x c o m m u n i c a t e d f r o m t h e C a t h o l i c C h u r c h for WTiting it, a n d M a r t i n L u t h e r ( 1 4 8 3 - 1 5 4 6 ) , t h e

G e r m a n leader of the Protestant Reformation w h o was e x c o m m u n i c a t e d , as a n n o u n c e r s of new truths. 1. T h e a m o u n t o f t h e p o l l t a x T h o r e a u h a d r e f u s e d to pay.

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evil, I know not of s u c h ways. T h e y take too m u c h t i m e , a n d a m a n ' s life will be g o n e . I have other affairs to a t t e n d to. I c a m e into this world, not chiefly to m a k e this a g o o d p l a c e to live in, but to live in it, be it g o o d or b a d . A m a n h a s not every thing to d o , but s o m e t h i n g ; a n d b e c a u s e h e c a n n o t do every thing, it is not n e c e s s a r y that he s h o u l d d o something w r o n g . It is not my b u s i n e s s to be petitioning the governor or the legislature any m o r e than it is theirs to petition m e ; a n d , if they s h o u l d not hear my petition, what s h o u l d I do then? B u t in this c a s e the S t a t e h a s provided no way: its very C o n s t i tution is the evil. T h i s may s e e m to b e h a r s h a n d s t u b b o r n a n d unconciliatory; but it is to treat with the u t m o s t k i n d n e s s a n d c o n s i d e r a t i o n the only spirit that c a n a p p r e c i a t e or deserves it. S o is all c h a n g e for the better, like birth a n d d e a t h which c o n v u l s e the body. I d o not h e s i t a t e to say, that t h o s e w h o call t h e m s e l v e s abolitionists s h o u l d at o n c e effectually withdraw their s u p p o r t , both in p e r s o n a n d property, from the g o v e r n m e n t of M a s s a c h u s e t t s , a n d not wait till they c o n s t i t u t e a majority of o n e , before they suffer the right to prevail t h r o u g h t h e m . I think that it is e n o u g h if they have G o d on their s i d e , without waiting for that other o n e . Moreover, any m a n m o r e right than his n e i g h b o r s , c o n s t i t u t e s a majority of o n e already. 2 I meet this A m e r i c a n g o v e r n m e n t , or its r e p r e s e n t a t i v e the S t a t e governm e n t , directly, a n d f a c e to f a c e , o n c e a year, no m o r e , in the p e r s o n of its tax-gatherer; this is the only m o d e in w h i c h a m a n s i t u a t e d a s I a m n e c e s s a r i l y m e e t s it; a n d it then says distinctly, R e c o g n i z e m e ; a n d the s i m p l e s t , the most effectual, a n d , in the p r e s e n t p o s t u r e of affairs, the i n d i s p e n s a b l e s t m o d e of treating with it on this h e a d , of e x p r e s s i n g your little satisfaction with a n d love for it, is to deny it t h e n . M y civil n e i g h b o r , the tax-gatherer, 3 is the very m a n I have to deal w i t h , — f o r it is, after all, with m e n a n d not with p a r c h m e n t that I q u a r r e l , — a n d he h a s voluntarily c h o s e n to b e an agent of the g o v e r n m e n t . H o w shall h e ever know well what h e is a n d d o e s a s a n officer of the g o v e r n m e n t , or a s a m a n , until he is obliged to c o n s i d e r w h e t h e r he shall treat m e , his neighbor, for w h o m h e h a s r e s p e c t , a s a n e i g h b o r a n d well-disposed m a n , or a s a m a n i a c a n d d i s t u r b e r of the p e a c e , a n d s e e if he c a n get over this o b s t r u c t i o n to his n e i g h b o r l i n e s s without a ruder a n d m o r e i m p e t u o u s thought or s p e e c h c o r r e s p o n d i n g with his a c t i o n ? I know this well, that if o n e t h o u s a n d , if o n e h u n d r e d , if ten m e n w h o m I c o u l d n a m e , — i f ten honest m e n o n l y , — a y e , if one H O N E S T m a n , in this S t a t e of M a s s a c h u s e t t s , ceasing to hold slaves, were actually to withdraw from this copartnership, a n d be locked u p in the c o u n t y jail therefor, it w o u l d be the abolition of slavery in A m e r i c a . F o r it m a t t e r s not h o w small the b e g i n n i n g m a y s e e m to b e : what is o n c e well d o n e is d o n e for ever. Rut we love better to talk a b o u t it: that we say is our m i s s i o n . R e f o r m k e e p s m a n y s c o r e s of n e w s p a p e r s in its service, but not o n e m a n . If my e s t e e m e d n e i g h b o r , the S t a t e ' s a m b a s s a d o r , 4 w h o will devote his days to the s e t t l e m e n t of the q u e s t i o n of h u m a n rights in the C o u n c i l C h a m b e r , instead of b e i n g t h r e a t e n e d with the p r i s o n s of C a r o l i n a , were to sit d o w n the p r i s o n e r of M a s s a c h u s e t t s , that S t a t e which 2 . J o h n K n o x (1 5 0 5 ? - 1 5 7 2 ) , t h e S c o t t i s h r e l i g i o u s r e f o r m e r , s a i d t h a t " a m a n w i t h G o d is a l w a y s i n the majority." 3. S a m S t a p l e s , w h o s o m e t i m e s a s s i s t e d T h o r e a u in h i s s u r v e y i n g . 4 . S a m u e l H o a r ( 1 7 7 8 - 1 8 5 6 ) , l o c a l p o l i t i c a l fig-

ure w h o as agent of the state of M a s s a c h u s e t t s had b e e n e x p e l l e d t r o m C h a r l e s t o n , S o u t h C a r o l i n a , in 1844 while interceding on behalf of imprisoned black s e a m e n from Massachusetts. T h e South C a r o l i n a l e g i s l a t u r e h a d v o t e d to a s k t h e g o v e r n o r to expel H o a r .

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is s o anxious to foist the sin of slavery u p o n her s i s t e r , — t h o u g h at p r e s e n t she c a n discover only an act of inhospitality to be the g r o u n d of a quarrel with h e r , — t h e L e g i s l a t u r e would not wholly waive the s u b j e c t the following winter. U n d e r a g o v e r n m e n t which i m p r i s o n s any unjustly, the true p l a c e for a j u s t m a n is also a prison. T h e p r o p e r p l a c e to-day, the only p l a c e which M a s s a c h u s e t t s has provided for her freer a n d less d e s p o n d i n g spirits, is in her p r i s o n s , to be put out a n d locked out of the S t a t e by her own act, a s they have already put t h e m s e l v e s o u t by their principles. It is there that the fugitive slave, a n d the M e x i c a n prisoner on p a r o l e , a n d the Indian c o m e to p l e a d the wrongs of his r a c e , s h o u l d find t h e m ; on that s e p a r a t e , but m o r e free a n d h o n o r a b l e g r o u n d , where the S t a t e p l a c e s t h o s e w h o a r e not with her but against h e r , — t h e only h o u s e in a slave-state in which a free m a n c a n a b i d e with honor. If any think that their influence w o u l d b e lost t h e r e , a n d their voices no longer afflict the ear of the S t a t e , that they would not be as a n e n e m y within its walls, they do not know by how m u c h truth is stronger than error, nor how m u c h m o r e eloquently a n d effectively h e c a n c o m b a t injustice w h o h a s e x p e r i e n c e d a little in his own p e r s o n . C a s t your w h o l e vote, not a strip of p a p e r merely, but your w h o l e i n f l u e n c e . A minority is powerless while it c o n f o r m s to the majority; it is not even a minority t h e n ; but it is irresistible w h e n it clogs by its w h o l e weight. If the alternative is to keep all j u s t m e n in p r i s o n , or give u p war a n d slavery, the S t a t e will not hesitate which to c h o o s e . If a t h o u s a n d m e n were not to pay their tax-bills this year, that would not be a violent a n d bloody m e a s u r e , a s it would be to pay t h e m , a n d e n a b l e the S t a t e to c o m m i t violence a n d s h e d i n n o c e n t b l o o d . T h i s is, in fact, the definition of a p e a c e a b l e revolution, if any s u c h is p o s sible. If the tax-gatherer, or any other public officer, asks m e , a s o n e has d o n e , " B u t what shall I d o ? " my a n s w e r is, "If you really wish to do any thing, resign your office." W h e n the s u b j e c t h a s r e f u s e d a l l e g i a n c e , a n d the officer h a s resigned his office, then the revolution is a c c o m p l i s h e d . B u t even s u p p o s e b l o o d s h o u l d flow. Is there not a sort of blood s h e d w h e n the c o n s c i e n c e is w o u n d e d ? T h r o u g h this w o u n d a m a n ' s real m a n h o o d a n d immortality flow out, a n d he b l e e d s to an everlasting d e a t h . I s e e this b l o o d flowing now. I have c o n t e m p l a t e d the i m p r i s o n m e n t of the offender, rather t h a n the seizure of his g o o d s , — t h o u g h both will serve the s a m e p u r p o s e , — b e c a u s e they w h o a s s e r t the p u r e s t right, a n d c o n s e q u e n t l y are m o s t d a n g e r o u s to a corrupt S t a t e , c o m m o n l y have not spent m u c h time in a c c u m u l a t i n g property. T o s u c h the S t a t e renders comparatively small service, a n d a slight tax is wont to a p p e a r exorbitant, particularly if they are obliged to e a r n it by special labor with their h a n d s . If there were o n e w h o lived wholly without the u s e of money, the S t a t e itself would hesitate to d e m a n d it of h i m . B u t the rich m a n — n o t to m a k e any invidious c o m p a r i s o n — i s always sold to the institution which m a k e s him rich. Absolutely s p e a k i n g , the m o r e m o n e y , the less virtue; for m o n e y c o m e s b e t w e e n a m a n a n d his o b j e c t s , a n d o b t a i n s t h e m for h i m ; a n d it w a s certainly n o great virtue to obtain it. It p u t s to rest m a n y q u e s t i o n s which he would otherwise be taxed to a n s w e r ; while the only new q u e s t i o n which it puts is the hard but s u p e r f l u o u s o n e , how to s p e n d it. T h u s his moral g r o u n d is taken from u n d e r his feet. T h e o p p o r t u n i t i e s of living are d i m i n i s h e d in proportion a s what a r e called the " m e a n s " a r e i n c r e a s e d . T h e b e s t thing a m a n c a n do for his c u l t u r e w h e n h e is rich is to

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e n d e a v o u r to carry out t h o s e s c h e m e s w h i c h h e e n t e r t a i n e d w h e n he w a s poor. C h r i s t a n s w e r e d the H e r o d i a n s a c c o r d i n g to their c o n d i t i o n . " S h o w m e the t r i b u t e - m o n e y , " said h e ; — a n d o n e took a p e n n y out of his p o c k e t ; — I f you u s e m o n e y which h a s the i m a g e of Caesar on it, a n d w h i c h he h a s m a d e c u r r e n t a n d v a l u a b l e , that is, if you are men of the State, a n d gladly enjoy the a d v a n t a g e s of Caesar's g o v e r n m e n t , then pay him b a c k s o m e of his own w h e n h e d e m a n d s it: " R e n d e r therefore to Caesar that w h i c h is Caesar's, a n d to G o d t h o s e things which are G o d ' s , " 5 — l e a v i n g t h e m no wiser t h a n b e f o r e a s to which w a s w h i c h ; for they did not wish to know. W h e n I c o n v e r s e with the freest of my n e i g h b o r s , I p e r c e i v e that, whatever they m a y say a b o u t the m a g n i t u d e a n d s e r i o u s n e s s of the q u e s t i o n , a n d their regard for the public tranquillity, the long a n d the short of the m a t t e r is, that they c a n n o t s p a r e the p r o t e c t i o n of the existing g o v e r n m e n t , a n d they d r e a d the c o n s e q u e n c e s of d i s o b e d i e n c e to it to their property a n d families. F o r my own part, I s h o u l d not like to think that I ever rely on the protection of the S t a t e . B u t , if I deny the authority of the S t a t e w h e n it p r e s e n t s its taxbill, it will s o o n take a n d w a s t e all my property, a n d so h a r a s s m e a n d my children without e n d . T h i s is hard. T h i s m a k e s it i m p o s s i b l e for a m a n to live honestly a n d at the s a m e time c o m f o r t a b l y in o u t w a r d r e s p e c t s . It will not b e worth the while to a c c u m u l a t e property; that w o u l d b e s u r e to go a g a i n . You m u s t hire or s q u a t s o m e w h e r e , a n d r a i s e b u t a small c r o p , a n d eat that s o o n . You m u s t live within yourself, a n d d e p e n d u p o n yourself, always t u c k e d u p a n d ready for a start, a n d not have m a n y affairs. A m a n may grow rich in T u r k e y even, if he will b e in all r e s p e c t s a g o o d s u b j e c t of the T u r k i s h g o v e r n m e n t . C o n f u c i o u s s a i d , — " I f a S t a t e is g o v e r n e d by the principles of r e a s o n , poverty a n d misery are s u b j e c t s of s h a m e ; if a S t a t e is not governed by the p r i n c i p l e s of r e a s o n , riches a n d h o n o r s are the s u b j e c t s of s h a m e . " 6 N o : until I want the protection of M a s s a c h u s e t t s to b e e x t e n d e d to m e in s o m e d i s t a n t s o u t h e r n port, w h e r e my liberty is e n d a n g e r e d , or until I a m bent solely o n b u i l d i n g u p a n e s t a t e at h o m e at p e a c e f u l e n t e r p r i s e , I c a n afford to refuse a l l e g i a n c e to M a s s a c h u s e t t s , a n d her right to my property a n d life. It c o s t s m e less in every s e n s e to i n c u r the penalty of d i s o b e d i e n c e to the S t a t e , t h a n it w o u l d to obey. I s h o u l d feel a s if I were worth less in that c a s e . S o m e years a g o , the S t a t e m e t m e in b e h a l f of the c h u r c h , a n d c o m m a n d e d m e to pay a certain s u m toward the s u p p o r t of a c l e r g y m a n w h o s e p r e a c h i n g my father a t t e n d e d , b u t never I myself. " P a y it," it s a i d , "or b e l o c k e d u p in the j a i l . " I d e c l i n e d to pay. B u t , unfortunately, a n o t h e r m a n s a w fit to pay it. I did not s e e why the s c h o o l m a s t e r s h o u l d b e taxed to s u p p o r t the priest, a n d not the priest the s c h o o l m a s t e r ; for I w a s not the S t a t e ' s s c h o o l m a s t e r , b u t I s u p p o r t e d myself by voluntary s u b s c r i p t i o n . I did not s e e why the l y c e u m s h o u l d not p r e s e n t its tax-bill, a n d have the S t a t e to b a c k its d e m a n d , a s well a s the c h u r c h . However, at the r e q u e s t of the s e l e c t m e n , I c o n d e s c e n d e d to m a k e s o m e s u c h s t a t e m e n t a s this in w r i t i n g : — " K n o w all m e n by t h e s e p r e s e n t s , that I, Henry T h o r e a u , d o not wish to b e r e g a r d e d a s a m e m b e r of any i n c o r p o r a t e d society which I have not j o i n e d . " T h i s I g a v e to the town-clerk; a n d h e has it. T h e S t a t e , having t h u s l e a r n e d that I did not 5 . M a t t h e w 2 2 . 1 6 - 2 1 . In t h e i r a t t e m p t t o e n t r a p J e s u s , the P h a r i s e e s (a J e w i s h sect that held to Mosaic law) were using secular government func-

tionaries of H e r o d , the tetrarch or king of J u d e a . 6 . C o n f u c i u s ' s Analects 8.13.

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wish to b e r e g a r d e d a s a m e m b e r of that c h u r c h , h a s never m a d e a like d e m a n d on m e s i n c e ; t h o u g h it said that it m u s t a d h e r e to its original p r e s u m p t i o n that t i m e . If I h a d known how to n a m e t h e m , I s h o u l d then have signed off in detail from all the societies which I never s i g n e d o n to; but I did not know w h e r e to find a c o m p l e t e list. I have paid no poll-tax for six years. I w a s p u t into a j a i l 7 o n c e on this a c c o u n t , for o n e night; a n d , a s I stood c o n s i d e r i n g the walls of solid s t o n e , two or three feet thick, the d o o r of wood a n d iron, a foot thick, a n d the iron grating which strained the light, I could not help b e i n g s t r u c k with the fooli s h n e s s of that institution which treated m e a s if I were m e r e flesh a n d blood a n d b o n e s , to be locked u p . I w o n d e r e d that it s h o u l d have c o n c l u d e d at length that this w a s the best u s e it c o u l d put m e to, a n d h a d never t h o u g h t to avail itself of my services in s o m e way. I s a w that, if there w a s a wall of s t o n e b e t w e e n m e a n d my t o w n s m e n , there w a s a still m o r e difficult o n e to c l i m b or b r e a k t h r o u g h , before they could get to be a s free a s I w a s . I did not for a m o m e n t feel c o n f i n e d , a n d the walls s e e m e d a great w a s t e of s t o n e a n d mortar. I felt a s if I a l o n e of all my t o w n s m e n h a d paid my tax. T h e y plainly did not know how to treat m e , but b e h a v e d like p e r s o n s w h o are u n d e r b r e d . In every threat a n d in every c o m p l i m e n t there w a s a b l u n d e r ; for they t h o u g h t that my c h i e f desire w a s to s t a n d the other side of that s t o n e wall. I c o u l d not b u t smile to s e e how industriously they locked the d o o r on my m e d i t a t i o n s , which followed t h e m out again without let or h i n d e r a n c e , a n d they were really all that w a s d a n g e r o u s . As they c o u l d not r e a c h m e , they h a d resolved to p u n i s h my body; j u s t a s boys, if they c a n n o t c o m e at s o m e p e r s o n a g a i n s t w h o m they have a spite, will a b u s e his d o g . I s a w that the S t a t e w a s half-witted, that it w a s timid a s a lone w o m a n with her silver s p o o n s , a n d that it did not know its friends from its foes, a n d I lost all my r e m a i n i n g r e s p e c t for it, a n d pitied it. T h u s the S t a t e never intentionally c o n f r o n t s a m a n ' s s e n s e , intellectual or m o r a l , b u t only his body, his s e n s e s . It is not a r m e d with s u p e r i o r wit or honesty, but with superior physical strength. I w a s not born to be forced. I will b r e a t h e after my own fashion. L e t u s s e e w h o is the s t r o n g e s t . W h a t force h a s a m u l t i t u d e ? T h e y only c a n force m e w h o obey a higher law than I. T h e y force m e to b e c o m e like t h e m s e l v e s . I do not h e a r of men b e i n g forced to live this way or that by m a s s e s of m e n . W h a t sort of life were that to live? W h e n I m e e t a g o v e r n m e n t which says to m e , "Your m o n e y or your life," 8 why s h o u l d I be in h a s t e to give it my m o n e y ? It m a y b e in a great strait, a n d not know what to d o : I c a n n o t help that. It m u s t help itself; d o a s I d o . It is not worth the while to snivel a b o u t it. I a m not r e s p o n s i b l e for the s u c c e s s f u l working of the m a c h i n e r y of society. I a m not the s o n of the engineer. I p e r c e i v e that, w h e n a n a c o r n a n d a c h e s t n u t fall side by s i d e , the o n e d o e s not r e m a i n inert to m a k e way for the other, b u t both obey their own laws, a n d spring a n d grow a n d flourish a s b e s t they c a n , till o n e , perc h a n c e , o v e r s h a d o w s a n d destroys the other. If a plant c a n n o t live a c c o r d i n g to its n a t u r e , it dies; a n d so a m a n . T h e night in prison w a s novel a n d interesting e n o u g h . T h e p r i s o n e r s in their shirt-sleeves were enjoying a c h a t a n d the e v e n i n g air in the 7. T h e M i d d l e s e x C o u n t y jail in C o n c o r d , a l a r g e three-story building. "Six years" would be since

1840. 8. T h e cry of t h e h i g h w a y r o b b e r .

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door-way, w h e n I e n t e r e d . B u t the jailer said, " C o m e , boys, it is time to lock u p ; " a n d s o they d i s p e r s e d , a n d I heard the s o u n d of their s t e p s r e t u r n i n g into the hollow a p a r t m e n t s . My r o o m - m a t e w a s i n t r o d u c e d to m e by the jailer, as "a first-rate fellow a n d a clever m a n . " W h e n the d o o r w a s locked, h e s h o w e d m e w h e r e to h a n g my hat, a n d h o w he m a n a g e d m a t t e r s there. T h e r o o m s were w h i t e w a s h e d o n c e a m o n t h ; a n d this o n e , at least, w a s the whitest, m o s t simply furnished, a n d probably the n e a t e s t a p a r t m e n t in the town. H e naturally w a n t e d to k n o w w h e r e I c a m e from, a n d what b r o u g h t m e there; a n d , w h e n I h a d told h i m , I a s k e d him in my turn how he c a m e there, p r e s u m i n g him to b e an h o n e s t m a n , of c o u r s e ; a n d , a s the world g o e s , I believe he w a s . " W h y , " said h e , "they a c c u s e m e of b u r n i n g a b a r n ; but I never did it." As near a s I c o u l d discover, he h a d probably g o n e to b e d in a b a r n w h e n d r u n k , a n d s m o k e d his pipe there; a n d so a barn w a s burnt. H e h a d the reputation of b e i n g a clever m a n , h a d b e e n there s o m e three m o n t h s waiting for his trial to c o m e o n , a n d would have to wait a s m u c h longer; but h e w a s quite d o m e s t i c a t e d a n d c o n t e n t e d s i n c e he got his b o a r d for n o t h i n g , a n d thought that he w a s well treated. H e o c c u p i e d o n e window, a n d I the other; a n d I saw, that, if o n e stayed there long, his principal b u s i n e s s w o u l d b e to look out the window. I h a d s o o n read all the tracts that were left there, a n d e x a m i n e d where former p r i s o n e r s h a d broken out, a n d w h e r e a grate h a d b e e n s a w e d off, a n d h e a r d the history of the various o c c u p a n t s of that r o o m ; for I f o u n d that even here there w a s a history a n d a g o s s i p which never c i r c u l a t e d beyond the walls of the jail. Probably this is the only h o u s e in the town w h e r e verses are c o m p o s e d , which a r e afterward printed in a circular form, but not p u b l i s h e d . I w a s s h o w n q u i t e a long list of v e r s e s which were c o m p o s e d by s o m e y o u n g m e n w h o h a d b e e n d e t e c t e d in an a t t e m p t to e s c a p e , who a v e n g e d t h e m s e l v e s by s i n g i n g t h e m . I p u m p e d my fellow-prisoner a s dry a s I c o u l d , for fear I s h o u l d never s e e him a g a i n ; but at length he s h o w e d m e which w a s my b e d , a n d left m e to blow out the l a m p . It w a s like travelling into a far country, s u c h a s I h a d never e x p e c t e d to b e h o l d , to lie there for o n e night. It s e e m e d to m e that I never h a d h e a r d the town-clock strike b e f o r e , nor the e v e n i n g s o u n d s of the village; for we slept with the windows o p e n , which were inside the grating. It w a s to s e e my native village in the light of the m i d d l e a g e s , a n d our C o n c o r d w a s turned into a R h i n e s t r e a m , a n d visions of knights a n d c a s t l e s p a s s e d before m e . T h e y were the v o i c e s of old b u r g h e r s that I h e a r d in the streets. I w a s an involuntary s p e c t a t o r a n d a u d i t o r of whatever w a s d o n e a n d said in the kitchen of the a d j a c e n t v i l l a g e - i n n , — a wholly new a n d rare e x p e r i e n c e to m e . It w a s a c l o s e r view of my native town. I w a s fairly inside of it. I never h a d s e e n its i n s t i t u t i o n s b e f o r e . T h i s is o n e of its p e c u l i a r institutions; for it is a shire town. 1 ' I b e g a n to c o m p r e h e n d what its i n h a b i t a n t s were a b o u t . In the m o r n i n g , our b r e a k f a s t s were put through the h o l e in the door, in small o b l o n g - s q u a r e tin p a n s , m a d e to fit, a n d h o l d i n g a pint of c h o c olate, with brown b r e a d , a n d a n iron s p o o n . W h e n they called for the 9.

C o m p a r a b l e to "county seat."

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v e s s e l s a g a i n , I w a s green e n o u g h to return what b r e a d I h a d left; but my c o m r a d e seized it, a n d said that I s h o u l d lay that u p for l u n c h or dinner. S o o n after, he w a s let out to work at haying in a n e i g h b o r i n g field, whither he went every day, a n d would not be b a c k till n o o n ; s o he b a d e m e good-day, saying that he d o u b t e d if he s h o u l d s e e m e a g a i n . W h e n I c a m e out of p r i s o n , — f o r s o m e o n e interfered, a n d paid the tax,—I did not p e r c e i v e that great c h a n g e s h a d taken p l a c e o n the c o m m o n , s u c h a s h e o b s e r v e d who went in a y o u t h , a n d e m e r g e d a tottering a n d gray-headed m a n ; a n d yet a c h a n g e h a d to my eyes c o m e over the s c e n e , — t h e town, a n d S t a t e , a n d c o u n t r y , — g r e a t e r than any that m e r e time c o u l d effect. I s a w yet m o r e distinctly the S t a t e in which I lived. I s a w to what extent the p e o p l e a m o n g w h o m I lived c o u l d b e trusted a s g o o d n e i g h b o r s a n d friends; that their friendship w a s for s u m m e r w e a t h e r only; that they did not greatly p u r p o s e to do right; that they were a distinct r a c e from m e by their p r e j u d i c e s and s u p e r s t i t i o n s , a s the C h i n a m e n a n d M a l a y s a r e ; that, in their sacrifices to h u m a n i t y , they ran no risks, not even to their property; that, after all, they were not so noble but they treated the thief a s he h a d treated t h e m , a n d h o p e d , by a certain o u t w a r d o b s e r v a n c e a n d a few prayers, a n d by walking in a particular straight t h o u g h u s e l e s s p a t h from time to t i m e , to save their s o u l s . T h i s may be to j u d g e my neighbors harshly; for I believe that m o s t of t h e m are not a w a r e that they have s u c h a n institution a s the jail in their village. It w a s formerly the c u s t o m in our village, when a poor d e b t o r c a m e out of jail, for his a c q u a i n t a n c e s to s a l u t e him, looking through their fingers, which were c r o s s e d to represent the grating of a jail window, " H o w do ye d o ? " My neighbors did not t h u s s a l u t e m e , but first looked at m e , a n d then at o n e a n o t h e r , a s if I h a d returned from a long j o u r n e y . I w a s put into jail as I w a s g o i n g to the s h o e m a k e r ' s to get a s h o e which w a s m e n d e d . W h e n I w a s let out the next m o r n i n g , I p r o c e e d e d to finish my e r r a n d , a n d , having put on my m e n d e d s h o e , j o i n e d a huckleberry party, w h o were impatient to put t h e m s e l v e s u n d e r my c o n d u c t ; a n d in half a n h o u r , — f o r the h o r s e w a s s o o n t a c k l e d , 1 — w a s in the m i d s t of a huckleberry field, on o n e of our highest hills, two miles off; a n d then the S t a t e w a s n o w h e r e to be s e e n . T h i s is the whole history of " M y P r i s o n s . " 2 I have never d e c l i n e d paying the highway tax, b e c a u s e I a m a s d e s i r o u s of b e i n g a g o o d n e i g h b o r as I a m of b e i n g a bad s u b j e c t ; a n d , a s for s u p p o r t i n g s c h o o l s , I a m d o i n g my part to e d u c a t e my fellow-countrymen now. It is for no particular item in the tax-bill that I refuse to pay it. I simply wish to refuse a l l e g i a n c e to the S t a t e , to withdraw a n d s t a n d aloof from it effectually. I do not c a r e to trace the c o u r s e of my dollar, if I c o u l d , till it buys a m a n , or a m u s k e t to shoot o n e w i t h , — t h e dollar is i n n o c e n t , — b u t I a m c o n c e r n e d to trace the effects of my a l l e g i a n c e . In fact, I quietly d e c l a r e war with the S t a t e , after my f a s h i o n , t h o u g h I will still m a k e what u s e a n d get what advantage of her I c a n , a s is u s u a l in s u c h c a s e s . If others pay the tax which is d e m a n d e d of m e , from a s y m p a t h y with the 1. H a r n e s s e d .

by t h e I t a l i a n p o e t S i l v i o P e l l i c o ( I 7 8 9 - 1 8 5 4 ) o n

2. A wry c o m p a r i s o n to t h e title of a b o o k ( 1 8 3 2 )

h i s y e a r s o f h a r d l a b o r in A u s t r i a n p r i s o n s .

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S t a t e , they do b u t what they have already d o n e in their own c a s e , or rather they a b e t injustice to a greater extent than the S t a t e r e q u i r e s . If they p a y the tax from a m i s t a k e n interest in the individual taxed, to save his property or prevent his g o i n g to jail, it is b e c a u s e they have not c o n s i d e r e d wisely how far they let their private feelings interfere with the p u b l i c g o o d . T h i s , t h e n , is my position at p r e s e n t . B u t o n e c a n n o t b e too m u c h o n his g u a r d in s u c h a c a s e , lest his action b e b i a s s e d by o b s t i n a c y , or a n u n d u e regard for the o p i n i o n s of m e n . L e t h i m s e e that h e d o e s only what b e l o n g s to himself a n d to the h o u r . I think s o m e t i m e s , Why, this p e o p l e m e a n well; they a r e only ignorant; they would d o better if they knew how; why give your n e i g h b o r s this p a i n to treat you a s they are not inclined to? B u t I think, a g a i n , this is no r e a s o n why I s h o u l d d o a s they d o , or p e r m i t others to suffer m u c h greater pain of a different kind. A g a i n , I s o m e t i m e s say to myself, W h e n m a n y millions of m e n , without h e a t , without ill-will, without p e r s o n a l feeling of any kind, d e m a n d of you a few shillings only, without the possibility, s u c h is their c o n s t i t u t i o n , of r e t r a c t i n g or altering their p r e s e n t d e m a n d , a n d without the possibility, o n your s i d e , of a p p e a l to any other millions, why e x p o s e yourself to this o v e r w h e l m i n g brute force? You d o not resist cold a n d h u n g e r , the winds a n d the w a v e s , t h u s obstinately; you quietly s u b m i t to a t h o u s a n d similar n e c e s s i t i e s . You do not put your h e a d into the fire. B u t j u s t in proportion a s I regard this a s not wholly a b r u t e f o r c e , but partly a h u m a n f o r c e , a n d c o n s i d e r that I have relations to t h o s e millions a s to s o m a n y millions of m e n , a n d not of m e r e brute or i n a n i m a t e things, I s e e that a p p e a l is p o s s i b l e , first a n d i n s t a n t a n e o u s l y , from t h e m to the M a k e r of t h e m , a n d , s e c o n d l y , from t h e m to t h e m s e l v e s . B u t , if I p u t my h e a d deliberately into the fire, there is n o a p p e a l to fire or to the M a k e r of fire, a n d I have only myself to b l a m e . If I c o u l d c o n v i n c e myself that I have any right to b e satisfied with m e n a s they a r e , a n d to treat t h e m accordingly, a n d not a c c o r d i n g , in s o m e r e s p e c t s , to my r e q u i s i t i o n s a n d e x p e c t a t i o n s of what they a n d I o u g h t to b e , t h e n , like a g o o d M u s s u l m a n ' a n d fatalist, I s h o u l d e n d e a v o r to be satisfied with things a s they a r e , a n d say it is the will of G o d . A n d , a b o v e all, there is this difference b e t w e e n resisting this a n d a purely b r u t e or natural f o r c e , that I c a n resist this with s o m e effect; b u t I c a n n o t expect, like O r p h e u s , 4 to c h a n g e the n a t u r e of the rocks a n d trees a n d b e a s t s . I do not wish to quarrel with any m a n or n a t i o n . I d o not wish to split hairs, to m a k e fine d i s t i n c t i o n s , or set myself u p a s better than my n e i g h b o r s . I s e e k rather, I may say, even a n e x c u s e for c o n f o r m i n g to the laws of the l a n d . I a m b u t too ready to c o n f o r m to t h e m . I n d e e d I have r e a s o n to s u s p e c t myself o n this h e a d ; a n d e a c h year, a s the tax-gatherer c o m e s r o u n d , I find myself d i s p o s e d to review the a c t s a n d position of the g e n e r a l a n d s t a t e g o v e r n m e n t s , a n d the spirit of the p e o p l e , to d i s c o v e r a pretext for c o n f o r m ity. I believe that the S t a t e will s o o n b e a b l e to t a k e all m y work of this sort o u t of my h a n d s , a n d then I shall b e no better a patriot t h a n my fellowc o u n t r y m e n . S e e n from a lower point of view, the C o n s t i t u t i o n , with all its f a u l t s , is very g o o d ; the law a n d the c o u r t s a r e very r e s p e c t a b l e ; even this 3. M u s l i m . 4. T h e son of C a l l i o p e , o n e of the M u s e s , w h o g a v e h i m t h e gift o f m u s i c . T r e e s a n d r o c k s m o v e d to the p l a y i n g o f his lyre. H e c h a r m e d t h e t h r e e -

h e a d e d d o g C e r b e r u s in a n u n s u c c e s s f u l a t t e m p t to bring his d e a d wife, E u r y d i c e , up from the underworld.

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S t a t e a n d this A m e r i c a n g o v e r n m e n t a r e , in m a n y r e s p e c t s , very a d m i r a b l e a n d rare things, to be thankful for, s u c h a s a great m a n y have d e s c r i b e d t h e m ; but s e e n from a point of view a little higher, they a r e w h a t I have d e s c r i b e d t h e m ; s e e n from a higher still, a n d the highest, w h o shall say w h a t they a r e , or that they are worth looking at or thinking of at all? However, the g o v e r n m e n t d o e s not c o n c e r n m e m u c h , a n d I shall b e s t o w the fewest p o s s i b l e t h o u g h t s on it. It is not m a n y m o m e n t s that I live u n d e r a g o v e r n m e n t , even in this world. If a m a n is thought-free, fancy-free, i m a g ination-free, that which is not never for a long time a p p e a r i n g to be to him, u n w i s e rulers or reformers c a n n o t fatally interrupt h i m . I know that m o s t m e n think differently from myself; b u t t h o s e w h o s e lives are by p r o f e s s i o n devoted to the study of t h e s e or kindred s u b j e c t s , c o n t e n t m e a s little a s any. S t a t e s m e n a n d legislators, s t a n d i n g so c o m p l e t e l y within the institution, never distinctly a n d nakedly b e h o l d it. T h e y s p e a k of m o v i n g society, but have n o resting-place without it. T h e y may b e m e n of a certain experience a n d d i s c r i m i n a t i o n , a n d have n o d o u b t invented i n g e n i o u s a n d even useful s y s t e m s , for which we sincerely t h a n k t h e m ; b u t all their wit a n d u s e f u l n e s s lie within certain not very wide limits. T h e y are wont to forget that the world is not g o v e r n e d by policy a n d expediency. W e b s t e r 5 never g o e s b e h i n d g o v e r n m e n t , a n d s o c a n n o t s p e a k with authority a b o u t it. H i s w o r d s are w i s d o m to t h o s e legislators w h o c o n t e m p l a t e no e s s e n t i a l reform in the existing g o v e r n m e n t ; but for thinkers, a n d t h o s e w h o legislate for all t i m e , he never o n c e g l a n c e s at the s u b j e c t . I know of t h o s e w h o s e s e r e n e a n d wise s p e c u l a t i o n s o n this t h e m e would s o o n reveal the limits of his m i n d ' s r a n g e a n d hospitality. Yet, c o m p a r e d with the c h e a p p r o f e s s i o n s of m o s t r e f o r m e r s , a n d the still c h e a p e r w i s d o m a n d e l o q u e n c e of politicians in g e n e r a l , his are a l m o s t the only s e n s i b l e a n d v a l u a b l e w o r d s , a n d we thank H e a v e n for h i m . C o m p a r a t i v e l y , h e is always strong, original, a n d , a b o v e all, p r a c t i c a l . Still his quality is not w i s d o m , but p r u d e n c e . T h e lawyer's truth is not T r u t h , but c o n s i s t e n c y , or a c o n s i s t e n t expediency. T r u t h is always in h a r m o n y with herself, a n d is not c o n c e r n e d chiefly to reveal the j u s t i c e that m a y c o n s i s t with wrong-doing. H e well d e s e r v e s to b e c a l l e d , a s h e h a s b e e n c a l l e d , the D e f e n d e r of the C o n s t i t u t i o n . T h e r e are really no blows to be given by him but defensive o n e s . H e is not a leader, but a follower. H i s l e a d e r s are the m e n of ' 8 7 . 6 "I have never m a d e a n effort," he says, " a n d never p r o p o s e to m a k e a n effort; I have never c o u n t e n a n c e d a n effort, a n d never m e a n to c o u n t e n a n c e a n effort, to d i s t u r b the a r r a n g e m e n t a s originally m a d e , by which the various S t a t e s c a m e into the U n i o n . " 7 Still thinking of the s a n c t i o n which the C o n s t i t u t i o n gives to slavery, h e says, " B e c a u s e it w a s a part of the original c o m p a c t , — l e t it s t a n d . " N o t w i t h s t a n d i n g his s p e c i a l a c u t e n e s s a n d ability, he is u n a b l e to t a k e a fact o u t of its merely political relations, a n d b e h o l d it a s it lies absolutely to be d i s p o s e d of by the i n t e l l e c t , — w h a t , for i n s t a n c e , it b e h o v e s a m a n to do here in A m e r i c a to-day with regard to slavery, b u t v e n t u r e s , or is driven, to m a k e s o m e s u c h d e s p e r a t e a n s w e r a s the following, while p r o f e s s i n g to s p e a k absolutely, a n d a s a private m a n , — from which what n e w a n d s i n g u l a r c o d e of social d u t i e s m i g h t b e i n f e r r e d ? — 5. D a n i e l W e b s t e r ( 1 7 8 2 - 1 8 5 2 ) , p r o m i n e n t W h i g politician of the s e c o n d quarter of the 19th century. 6. T h e writers of the C o n s t i t u t i o n , w h o c o n v e n e d

a t P h i l a d e l p h i a in 1 7 8 7 . 7. F r o m W e b s t e r ' s s p e e c h " T h e Texas" (December 22, 1845).

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" T h e m a n n e r , " says h e , "in which the g o v e r n m e n t of t h o s e S t a t e s where slavery exists are to regulate it, is for their own c o n s i d e r a t i o n , u n d e r their responsibility to their c o n s t i t u e n t s , to the general laws of propriety, h u m a n ity, a n d j u s t i c e , a n d to G o d . A s s o c i a t i o n s formed e l s e w h e r e , s p r i n g i n g from a feeling of h u m a n i t y , or any other c a u s e , having n o t h i n g whatever to d o with it. T h e y have never received any e n c o u r a g e m e n t from m e , a n d they never will."" T h e y w h o know of no purer s o u r c e s of truth, w h o have t r a c e d u p its s t r e a m no higher, s t a n d , a n d wisely s t a n d , by the Bible a n d the C o n s t i t u t i o n , a n d drink at it there with reverence a n d humility; but they who b e h o l d w h e r e it c o m e s trickling into this lake or that pool, gird up their loins o n c e m o r e , a n d c o n t i n u e their p i l g r i m a g e toward its f o u n t a i n - h e a d . N o m a n with a g e n i u s for legislation h a s a p p e a r e d in A m e r i c a . T h e y are rare in the history of the world. T h e r e a r e orators, politicians, a n d e l o q u e n t m e n , by the t h o u s a n d ; but the s p e a k e r h a s not yet o p e n e d his m o u t h to s p e a k , w h o is c a p a b l e of settling the m u c h - v e x e d q u e s t i o n s of the day. W e love e l o q u e n c e for its own s a k e , a n d not for any truth which it m a y utter, or any h e r o i s m it may inspire. O u r legislators have not yet l e a r n e d the c o m parative value of free-trade a n d of f r e e d o m , of u n i o n , a n d of r e c t i t u d e , to a nation. T h e y have no g e n i u s or talent for c o m p a r a t i v e l y h u m b l e q u e s t i o n s of taxation a n d finance, c o m m e r c e a n d m a n u f a c t u r e s a n d a g r i c u l t u r e . If we were left solely to the wordy wit of legislators in C o n g r e s s for our g u i d a n c e , u n c o r r e c t e d by the s e a s o n a b l e e x p e r i e n c e a n d the effectual c o m p l a i n t s of the p e o p l e , A m e r i c a would not long retain her rank a m o n g the n a t i o n s . F o r eighteen h u n d r e d y e a r s , t h o u g h p e r c h a n c e I have n o right to say it, the N e w T e s t a m e n t has b e e n written; yet w h e r e is the legislator w h o h a s w i s d o m a n d practical talent e n o u g h to avail h i m s e l f of the light which it s h e d s on the s c i e n c e of legislation? T h e authority of g o v e r n m e n t , even s u c h as I a m willing to s u b m i t t o , — f o r 1 will cheerfully obey t h o s e w h o know a n d c a n do better than I, a n d in m a n y things even t h o s e w h o neither know nor can d o s o well,—is still a n i m p u r e o n e : to b e strictly j u s t , it m u s t have the s a n c t i o n a n d c o n s e n t of the governed. It c a n have no p u r e right over my p e r s o n a n d property b u t what I c o n c e d e to it. T h e p r o g r e s s from an a b s o l u t e to a limited m o n a r c h y , from a limited m o n a r c h y to a d e m o c r a c y , is a p r o g r e s s toward a true r e s p e c t for the individual. Is a d e m o c r a c y , s u c h a s we know it, the last i m p r o v e m e n t p o s s i b l e in g o v e r n m e n t ? Is it not p o s s i b l e to take a step further t o w a r d s r e c o g n i z i n g a n d organizing the rights of m a n ? T h e r e will never b e a really free a n d enlighte n e d S t a t e , until the S t a t e c o m e s to recognize the individual a s a h i g h e r a n d i n d e p e n d e n t power, from which all its own power a n d authority a r e derived, a n d treats him accordingly. I p l e a s e myself with i m a g i n i n g a S t a t e at last which c a n afford to b e j u s t to all m e n , a n d to treat the individual with r e s p e c t a s a neighbor; which even would not think it i n c o n s i s t e n t with its own r e p o s e , if a few were to live aloof from it, not m e d d l i n g with it, nor e m b r a c e d by it, w h o fulfilled all the d u t i e s of n e i g h b o r s a n d fellow-men. A S t a t e which b o r e this kind of fruit, a n d suffered it to drop off a s fast a s it r i p e n e d , w o u l d 8. " T h e s e e x t r a c t s h a v e b e e n i n s e r t e d s i n c e t h e L e c t u r e w a s r e a d " [ T h o r e a u ' s n o t e ] ; h e m e a n s t h e q u o t a t i o n beginning "The manner."

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p r e p a r e the way for a still m o r e perfect a n d glorious S t a t e , which a l s o I have i m a g i n e d , but not yet anywhere s e e n . 1849, 1866

Walden, or Life in the Woods' .!\R.IITU

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I do not propose to write an ode to dejection, but to brag as lustily as chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to wake my neighbors up.

1.

Economy

2

W h e n I wrote the following p a g e s , or rather the b u l k of t h e m , I lived a l o n e , in the w o o d s , a mile from any neighbor, in a h o u s e which I h a d built myself, on the s h o r e o f W a l d e n P o n d , in C o n c o r d , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , a n d e a r n e d my living by the labor of my h a n d s only. I lived there two years a n d two m o n t h s . At p r e s e n t I a m a s o j o u r n e r in civilized life a g a i n . I s h o u l d not o b t r u d e my affairs s o m u c h o n the notice o f my r e a d e r s if very particular inquiries h a d not b e e n m a d e by my t o w n s m e n c o n c e r n i n g my m o d e of life, which s o m e would call impertinent, t h o u g h they d o not a p p e a r to m e at all impertinent, b u t , c o n s i d e r i n g the c i r c u m s t a n c e s , very natural a n d pertinent. S o m e have a s k e d what I got to e a t ; if I did not feel l o n e s o m e ; if I w a s not afraid; a n d the like. O t h e r s have b e e n c u r i o u s t o learn w h a t portion o f my i n c o m e I devoted to charitable p u r p o s e s ; a n d s o m e , w h o have large families, how m a n y p o o r children I m a i n t a i n e d . I will therefore a s k t h o s e o f my readers w h o feel n o particular interest in m e to p a r d o n m e if I u n d e r t a k e t o a n s w e r s o m e o f t h e s e q u e s t i o n s in this book. In m o s t b o o k s , the / , or first p e r s o n , is o m i t t e d ; in this it will b e r e t a i n e d ; that, in r e s p e c t t o e g o t i s m , is the m a i n difference. W e c o m m o n l y do not r e m e m b e r that it is, after all, always the first p e r s o n that is s p e a k i n g . I s h o u l d not talk s o m u c h a b o u t myself if there were any body else w h o m I knew a s well. U n f o r t u n a t e l y , I a m confined to this t h e m e by the n a r r o w n e s s of my e x p e r i e n c e . M o r e o v e r , I, o n m y s i d e , require o f every writer, first or last, a s i m p l e a n d s i n c e r e a c c o u n t o f his own life, a n d not merely what h e h a s h e a r d o f other m e n ' s lives; s o m e s u c h a c c o u n t a s he would s e n d to his kindred from a d i s t a n t land; for if he h a s lived sincerely, it m u s t have b e e n in a d i s t a n t land to m e . P e r h a p s t h e s e p a g e s are m o r e particularly a d d r e s s e d to poor s t u d e n t s . A s for the rest of my r e a d e r s , they will a c c e p t s u c h portions a s apply to t h e m . I trust that n o n e will stretch the s e a m s in p u t t i n g o n the c o a t , for it m a y do g o o d service to him w h o m it fits. 1. T h o r e a u b e g a n w r i t i n g Walden some

months

after

he began

early in 1 8 4 6 ,

living

at

Walden

corrections comparisons

i n h i s c o p y o f Walden,

a n d scholars'

o f the printed book a n d t h e m a n u -

P o n d , a n d by late 1847, w h e n h e m o v e d b a c k into

script drafts, especially t h e edition

the village o f C o n c o r d , h e h a d drafted roughly half

S h a n l e y ( 1 9 7 1 ) . A n y a n n o t a t o r o f Walden

the book. Between

i n d e b t e d t o W a l t e r H a r d i n g , e d i t o r o f The

manuscript

1852 and 1854 h e rewrote the

several

times

and

substantially

e n l a r g e d it. T h e text p r i n t e d h e r e is t h a t o f t h e 1st

rum

Walden

by J . Lyndon is d e e p l y

( 1 9 6 2 ) , and Philip Van D o r e n

e d i t o r o f The Annotated

Walden

VarioStern,

(1970).

edition ( 1 8 5 4 ) , with a few printer's errors corrected

2. A s Thoreau

on the basis o fThoreau's set of marked proofs, his

title m e a n s s o m e t h i n g like " p h i l o s o p h y o f living."

explains

later in t h e c h a p t e r , t h e

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HENRY DAVID THOREAU

I would fain say s o m e t h i n g , not so m u c h c o n c e r n i n g the C h i n e s e a n d S a n d w i c h I s l a n d e r s * as you who read t h e s e p a g e s , w h o are said to live in N e w E n g l a n d ; s o m e t h i n g a b o u t your c o n d i t i o n , especially your o u t w a r d c o n dition or c i r c u m s t a n c e s in this world, in this town, what it is, w h e t h e r it is n e c e s s a r y that it be as bad a s it is, w h e t h e r it c a n n o t be improved as well a s not. I have travelled a good deal in C o n c o r d ; a n d every w h e r e , in s h o p s , a n d offices, a n d fields, the inhabitants have a p p e a r e d to m e to be d o i n g p e n a n c e in a t h o u s a n d remarkable ways. W h a t I have h e a r d of B r a h m i n s sitting e x p o s e d to four fires a n d looking in the f a c e of the s u n ; or h a n g i n g s u s p e n d e d , with their h e a d s d o w n w a r d , over flames; or looking at the h e a v e n s over their s h o u l d e r s "until it b e c o m e s i m p o s s i b l e for t h e m to r e s u m e their natural position, while from the twist of the neck nothing but liquids c a n p a s s into the s t o m a c h ; " or dwelling, c h a i n e d for life, at the foot of a tree; or m e a s u r i n g with their b o d i e s , like caterpillars, the b r e a d t h of vast e m p i r e s ; or s t a n d i n g on o n e leg on the tops of p i l l a r s , — e v e n t h e s e f o r m s of c o n s c i o u s p e n a n c e are hardly m o r e incredible a n d a s t o n i s h i n g than the s c e n e s which I daily w i t n e s s . 4 T h e twelve labors of H e r c u l e s 5 were trifling in c o m p a r i s o n with t h o s e which my n e i g h b o r s have u n d e r t a k e n ; for they were only twelve, and had a n e n d ; but I c o u l d never s e e that these m e n slew or c a p t u r e d any m o n s t e r or finished any labor. T h e y have no friend l o l a s to b u r n with a hot iron the root of the hydra's h e a d , but as s o o n a s o n e h e a d is c r u s h e d , two spring u p . I s e e y o u n g m e n , my t o w n s m e n , w h o s e m i s f o r t u n e it is to have inherited f a r m s , h o u s e s , b a r n s , c a t t l e , a n d f a r m i n g tools; for t h e s e are m o r e easily a c q u i r e d than got rid of. Better if they had b e e n born in the o p e n p a s t u r e a n d s u c k l e d by a wolf, that they might have s e e n with clearer eyes what field they were called to labor in. W h o m a d e t h e m serfs of the soil? Why s h o u l d they eat their sixty a c r e s , w h e n m a n is c o n d e m n e d to eat only his p e c k of dirt? W h y s h o u l d they begin digging their graves a s s o o n a s they are born? T h e y have got to live a m a n ' s life, p u s h i n g all t h e s e things before t h e m , a n d get on a s well a s they c a n . H o w m a n y a p o o r i m m o r t a l soul have I m e t well nigh c r u s h e d a n d s m o t h e r e d u n d e r its load, c r e e p i n g down the road of life, p u s h i n g before it a barn seventy-five feet by forty, its A u g e a n s t a b l e s never c l e a n s e d , a n d o n e h u n d r e d a c r e s of land, tillage, m o w i n g , p a s t u r e , a n d woodlot! T h e p o r t i o n l e s s , w h o struggle with no s u c h u n n e c e s s a r y inherited e n c u m b r a n c e s , find it labor e n o u g h to s u b d u e a n d cultivate a few c u b i c feet of flesh. But m e n labor u n d e r a m i s t a k e . T h e better part of the m a n is s o o n p l o u g h e d into the soil for c o m p o s t . By a s e e m i n g fate, c o m m o n l y called necessity, they are e m p l o y e d , as it says in a n old book, laying up t r e a s u r e s which m o t h a n d rust will corrupt a n d thieves b r e a k t h r o u g h a n d s t e a l . 6 It is a fool's life, a s they will find w h e n they get to the e n d of it, if not b e f o r e . It 3. H a w a i i a n s . 4. T h o r e a u ' s s o u r c e h a s not b e e n f o u n d for this depiction of the religious self-torture of high-caste H i n d u s in I n d i a . 5. S o n of Z e u s a n d A l c m e n e , this half mortal c o u l d b e c o m e a g o d o n l y by p e r f o r m i n g t w e l v e labors, each apparently impossible. T h e second labor, the slaying of the L e r n a e a n hydra, a manyh e a d e d s e a m o n s t e r , is r e f e r r e d t o j u s t b e l o w . ( H e r -

cules' friend lolas helped by searing the s t u m p e a c h time H e r c u l e s cut off o n e of the heads, which o t h e r w i s e w o u l d h a v e r e g e n e r a t e d . ) The s e v e n t h l a b o r , m e n t i o n e d in t h e f o l l o w i n g p a r a g r a p h , w a s t h e c l e a n s i n g o f A u g e a s ' s p e s t i l e n t s t a b l e s in o n e d a y . a f e a t H e r c u l e s a c c o m p l i s h e d by d i v e r t i n g t w o n e a r b y rivers t h r o u g h t h e s t a b l e s . 6. M a t t h e w 6 . 1 9 .

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is said that D e u c a l i o n a n d Pyrrha c r e a t e d m e n by throwing s t o n e s over their h e a d s behind t h e m : 7 — Inde g e n u s d u r u m s u m u s , e x p e r i e n s q u e l a b o r u m , Et d o c u m e n t a d a m u s q u a s i m u s origine nati. Or, a s Raleigh rhymes it in his s o n o r o u s w a y , — " F r o m t h e n c e our kind hard-hearted is, e n d u r i n g pain a n d c a r e , Approving that our bodies of a stony n a t u r e a r e . " S o m u c h for a blind o b e d i e n c e to a b l u n d e r i n g o r a c l e , throwing the s t o n e s over their h e a d s b e h i n d t h e m , a n d not s e e i n g w h e r e they fell. M o s t m e n , even in this comparatively free country, t h r o u g h m e r e ignorance a n d m i s t a k e , are so o c c u p i e d with the factitious c a r e s a n d superfluously c o a r s e labors of life that its finer fruits c a n n o t be p l u c k e d by t h e m . T h e i r fingers, from excessive toil, a r e too c l u m s y a n d t r e m b l e too m u c h for that. Actually, the laboring m a n has not leisure for a true integrity day by day; he c a n n o t afford to s u s t a i n the m a n l i e s t relations to m e n ; his labor would be d e p r e c i a t e d in the market. H e has n o time to b e any thing but a m a c h i n e . H o w c a n h e r e m e m b e r well his i g n o r a n c e — w h i c h his growth r e q u i r e s — w h o has so often to u s e his k n o w l e d g e ? W e s h o u l d feed a n d clothe him gratuitously s o m e t i m e s , a n d recruit him with our c o r d i a l s , before we j u d g e of him. T h e finest qualities of our n a t u r e , like the b l o o m on fruits, c a n b e preserved only by the m o s t delicate h a n d l i n g . Yet we d o not treat ourselves nor o n e a n o t h e r t h u s tenderly. S o m e of you, we all know, are poor, find it hard to live, are s o m e t i m e s , a s it were, g a s p i n g for b r e a t h . I have no d o u b t that s o m e of you w h o read this book are u n a b l e to pay for all the dinners which you have actually e a t e n , or for the c o a t s a n d s h o e s which are fast w e a r i n g or a r e already worn o u t , a n d have c o m e to this p a g e to s p e n d borrowed or stolen t i m e , robbing your creditors of a n hour. It is very evident what m e a n a n d s n e a k i n g lives m a n y of you live, for my sight h a s b e e n w h e t t e d by e x p e r i e n c e ; always o n the limits, trying to get into b u s i n e s s a n d trying to get o u t of debt, a very a n c i e n t s l o u g h , called by the L a t i n s , a»s alienum, another's b r a s s , for s o m e of their c o i n s were m a d e of b r a s s ; still living, a n d dying, a n d buried by this other's b r a s s ; always p r o m ising to pay, p r o m i s i n g to pay, to-morrow, a n d dying to-day, insolvent; seeking to curry favor, to get c u s t o m , by how m a n y m o d e s , only not state-prison o f f e n c e s ; lying, flattering, voting, c o n t r a c t i n g yourselves into a nutshell of civility, or dilating into an a t m o s p h e r e of thin a n d v a p o r o u s generosity, that you may p e r s u a d e your n e i g h b o r to let you m a k e his s h o e s , or his hat, or his c o a t , or his c a r r i a g e , or import his groceries for him; m a k i n g yourselves sick, that you m a y lay u p s o m e t h i n g a g a i n s t a sick day, s o m e t h i n g to b e t u c k e d away in a n old c h e s t , or in a stocking b e h i n d the plastering, or, m o r e safely, in the brick b a n k ; n o m a t t e r w h e r e , no m a t t e r how m u c h or how little. I s o m e t i m e s w o n d e r that we c a n b e so frivolous, I may a l m o s t say, a s to 7. D e u c a l i o n a n d P y r r h a . h u s b a n d a n d w i f e i n t h e G r e e k a n a l o g to the biblical legend of N o a h a n d t h e F l o o d , r e p o p u l a t e d t h e e a r t h by t h r o w i n g stones behind t h e m over their shoulders. T h e s t o n e s t h r o w n by D e u c a l i o n t u r n e d i n t o m e n , a n d

the s t o n e s thrown by Pyrrha t u r n e d into w o m e n . T h e q u o t a t i o n is f r o m O v i d ' s Metamorphoses 1 . 4 1 4 - 1 5 , a s t r a n s l a t e d in S i r W a l t e r R a l e g h ' s History of the World.

856

/

HENRY DAVID

THOREAU

a t t e n d to the g r o s s but s o m e w h a t foreign form of servitude called N e g r o Slavery, there are s o m a n y keen a n d s u b t l e m a s t e r s that e n s l a v e both north a n d s o u t h . It is hard to have a s o u t h e r n overseer; it is w o r s e to have a northern o n e ; b u t worst of all w h e n you are the slave-driver of yourself. T a l k of a divinity in m a n ! L o o k at the t e a m s t e r o n the highway, w e n d i n g to market by day or night; d o e s any divinity stir within h i m ? His highest duty to fodder a n d water his h o r s e s ! W h a t is his destiny to h i m c o m p a r e d with the s h i p p i n g interests? D o e s not he drive for S q u i r e M a k e - a - s t i r ? 8 H o w godlike, how i m m o r t a l , is he? S e e how h e c o w e r s a n d s n e a k s , h o w vaguely all the day h e fears, not b e i n g i m m o r t a l nor divine, but the slave a n d p r i s o n e r of his own opinion of himself, a f a m e won by his own d e e d s . P u b l i c o p i n i o n is a w e a k tyrant c o m p a r e d with our own private o p i n i o n . W h a t a m a n thinks of himself, that it is which d e t e r m i n e s , or rather i n d i c a t e s , his f a t e . S e l f - e m a n c i p a t i o n even in the W e s t Indian provinces of the fancy a n d i m a g i n a t i o n , — w h a t Wilb e r f o r c e 9 is there to bring that a b o u t ? T h i n k , a l s o , of the ladies of the land weaving toilet c u s h i o n s a g a i n s t the last day, not to betray too g r e e n a n interest in their fates! A s if you c o u l d kill time without injuring eternity. T h e m a s s of m e n lead lives of q u i e t d e s p e r a t i o n . W h a t is c a l l e d resignation is c o n f i r m e d d e s p e r a t i o n . F r o m the d e s p e r a t e city you go into the d e s p e r a t e country, a n d have to c o n s o l e yourself with the bravery of m i n k s a n d m u s k rats. A stereotyped b u t u n c o n s c i o u s d e s p a i r is c o n c e a l e d even u n d e r what are c a l l e d the g a m e s a n d a m u s e m e n t s of m a n k i n d . T h e r e is n o play in t h e m , for this c o m e s after work. B u t it is a c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of w i s d o m not to do d e s p e r a t e things. W h e n we c o n s i d e r what, to u s e the w o r d s of the c a t e c h i s m , is the chief e n d of m a n , 1 a n d w h a t are the true n e c e s s a r i e s a n d m e a n s of life, it a p p e a r s a s if m e n h a d deliberately c h o s e n the c o m m o n m o d e of living b e c a u s e they preferred it to any other. Yet they honestly think there is no c h o i c e left. B u t alert a n d healthy n a t u r e s r e m e m b e r that the s u n rose clear. It is never too late to give u p our p r e j u d i c e s . N o way of thinking or d o i n g , however a n c i e n t , c a n b e trusted without proof. W h a t every body e c h o e s or in s i l e n c e p a s s e s by a s true to-day m a y turn out to b e f a l s e h o o d to-morrow, m e r e s m o k e of o p i n i o n , which s o m e h a d t r u s t e d for a c l o u d that w o u l d sprinkle fertilizing rain o n their fields. W h a t old p e o p l e say you c a n n o t d o you try a n d find that you c a n . O l d d e e d s for old p e o p l e , a n d new d e e d s for new. O l d p e o p l e did not know e n o u g h o n c e , p e r c h a n c e , to fetch fresh fuel to k e e p the fire agoing; new p e o p l e p u t a little dry w o o d u n d e r a p o t , a n d are whirled r o u n d the globe with the s p e e d of birds, in a way to kill old p e o p l e , a s the p h r a s e is. Age is n o better, hardly so well, qualified for a n i n s t r u c t o r a s youth, for it h a s not profited s o m u c h a s it h a s lost. O n e may a l m o s t d o u b t if the wisest m a n has learned any thing of a b s o l u t e value by living. Practically, the old have n o very i m p o r t a n t advice to give the y o u n g , their own e x p e r i e n c e h a s b e e n s o partial, a n d their lives have b e e n s u c h m i s e r a b l e failures, for private r e a s o n s , as they m u s t believe; a n d it m a y b e that they have s o m e faith left which belies that e x p e r i e n c e , a n d they a r e only less y o u n g t h a n they w e r e . I 8 . A n a l l e g o r i c a l n a m e m o d e l e d o n t h o s e in J o h n B u n y a n ' s Pilgrim's Progress, familiar to a l m o s t any r e a d e r in T h o r e a u ' s t i m e . 9. William YVilberforce ( 1 7 5 9 - 1 8 3 3 ) , English philanthropist, leading opponent of the slave trade

until its a b o l i t i o n in

1807.

1. F r o m t h e S h o r t e r C a t e c h i s m i n t h e New England Primer: " W h a t is t h e c h i e f e n d o f m a n ? M a n ' s c h i e f e n d is t o g l o r i f y G o d a n d t o e n j o y h i m forever."

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have lived s o m e thirty years o n this planet, a n d I have yet to hear the first syllable of v a l u a b l e or even e a r n e s t advice from my s e n i o r s . T h e y have told m e nothing, a n d probably c a n n o t tell m e any thing, to the p u r p o s e . H e r e is life, a n experiment to a great extent untried by m e ; b u t it d o e s not avail m e that they have tried it. If I have any e x p e r i e n c e which I think v a l u a b l e , I a m s u r e to reflect that this my M e n t o r s 2 said n o t h i n g a b o u t . O n e farmer says to m e , "You c a n n o t live o n v e g e t a b l e food solely, for it furnishes n o t h i n g to m a k e b o n e s w i t h ; " a n d s o he religiously d e v o t e s a part of his day to supplying his s y s t e m with the raw material of b o n e s ; walking all the while h e talks b e h i n d his oxen, w h i c h , with v e g e t a b l e - m a d e b o n e s , j e r k him a n d his l u m b e r i n g p l o u g h a l o n g in spite of every o b s t a c l e . S o m e things are really n e c e s s a r i e s of life in s o m e circles, the m o s t helpless a n d d i s e a s e d , which in others are luxuries merely, a n d in others still are entirely u n k n o w n . T h e whole g r o u n d of h u m a n life s e e m s to s o m e to have b e e n g o n e over by their p r e d e c e s s o r s , both the heights a n d the valleys, a n d all things to have b e e n c a r e d for. A c c o r d i n g to Evelyn, "the wise S o l o m o n p r e s c r i b e d ordin a n c e s for the very d i s t a n c e s of trees; a n d the R o m a n praetors have d e c i d e d how often you m a y go into your neighbor's land to gather the a c o r n s which fall on it without t r e s p a s s , a n d what s h a r e b e l o n g s to that n e i g h b o r . " 3 H i p p o c r a t e s 4 has even left directions h o w we s h o u l d c u t our nails; that is, even with the e n d s of the fingers, neither shorter nor longer. U n d o u b t e d l y the very t e d i u m a n d e n n u i which p r e s u m e to have e x h a u s t e d the variety a n d the joys of life are a s old a s A d a m . B u t m a n ' s c a p a c i t i e s have never b e e n m e a s u r e d ; nor are we to j u d g e of what he c a n do by any p r e c e d e n t s , s o little h a s b e e n tried. W h a t e v e r have b e e n thy failures hitherto, " b e not afflicted, my child, for who shall a s s i g n to t h e e what thou hast left u n d o n e ? " 5 W e might try our lives by a t h o u s a n d s i m p l e t e s t s ; a s , for i n s t a n c e , that the s a m e s u n which ripens my b e a n s illumines at o n c e a s y s t e m of e a r t h s like o u r s . If I h a d r e m e m b e r e d this it would have prevented s o m e m i s t a k e s . T h i s w a s not the light in which I h o e d t h e m . T h e stars a r e the a p e x e s of w h a t wonderful triangles! W h a t distant a n d different b e i n g s in the v a r i o u s m a n sions of the universe are c o n t e m p l a t i n g the s a m e o n e at the s a m e m o m e n t ! N a t u r e a n d h u m a n life are a s various a s our several c o n s t i t u t i o n s . W h o shall say what p r o s p e c t life offers to a n o t h e r ? C o u l d a greater m i r a c l e take p l a c e than for u s to look t h r o u g h e a c h other's eyes for a n i n s t a n t ? W e s h o u l d live in all the a g e s of the world in an hour; ay, in all the worlds of the a g e s . History, Poetry, M y t h o l o g y ! — I know of n o r e a d i n g of a n o t h e r ' s e x p e r i e n c e so startling a n d informing a s this would b e . T h e greater part of w h a t my n e i g h b o r s call g o o d I believe in my soul to be b a d , a n d if I repent of any thing, it is very likely to be my g o o d behavior. W h a t d e m o n p o s s e s s e d m e that I b e h a v e d s o well? You m a y say the wisest thing you c a n old m a n , — y o u w h o have lived seventy y e a r s , not without h o n o r of a k i n d , — I hear an irresistible voice which invites m e away from all that. O n e g e n e r a t i o n a b a n d o n s the e n t e r p r i s e s of a n o t h e r like s t r a n d e d v e s s e l s . I think that we may safely trust a g o o d deal m o r e than we d o . W e m a y 2.

F r o m M e n t o r , i n H o m e r ' s Odyssey:

whom 3.

Silva;

Evelyn

the

friend

O d y s s e u s entrusted with the education

his son,

of

or a Discourse (1620-1706).

Republic, high elected

4.

of Forest-Trees, "Prsetors":

in

magistrates.

by the

John

Roman

Greek physician ( 4 6 0 ? - 3 7 7 ?

the father of 5.

Telemachus.

B.C.E.), k n o w n as

medicine.

" B e not afflicted, my child, for w h o shall

what thou

efface

hast formerly d o n e , or shall assign

t h e e w h a t t h o u h a s t left u n d o n e ? " H . H . t r a n s l a t i o n o f t h e Vishnu

Purana

(1840).

to

Wilson's

858

/

HENRY DAVID

THOREAU

waive j u s t s o m u c h c a r e of ourselves a s w e honestly b e s t o w e l s e w h e r e . N a t u r e is a s well a d a p t e d to our w e a k n e s s a s to our strength. T h e i n c e s s a n t anxiety a n d strain of s o m e is a well nigh i n c u r a b l e form of d i s e a s e . W e are m a d e to e x a g g e r a t e the i m p o r t a n c e of what work we d o ; a n d yet how m u c h is not d o n e by u s ! or, what if we had b e e n taken sick? H o w vigilant we a r e ! determ i n e d not to live by faith if we c a n avoid it; all the day long on the alert, at night we unwillingly say our prayers a n d c o m m i t o u r s e l v e s to u n c e r t a i n t i e s . S o thoroughly a n d sincerely are we c o m p e l l e d to live, r e v e r e n c i n g o u r life, a n d denying the possibility of c h a n g e . T h i s is the only way, we say; but there are a s m a n y ways a s there c a n be d r a w n radii from o n e c e n t r e . All c h a n g e is a m i r a c l e to c o n t e m p l a t e ; but it is a m i r a c l e which is taking p l a c e every instant. C o n f u c i u s said, " T o know that we know what we know, a n d that we do not know what we d o not know, this is true k n o w l e d g e . " 6 W h e n o n e m a n has r e d u c e d a fact of the i m a g i n a t i o n to b e a fact to his u n d e r s t a n d i n g , I foresee that all m e n will at length e s t a b l i s h their lives on that b a s i s . Let u s c o n s i d e r for a m o m e n t what m o s t of the trouble a n d anxiety which I have referred to is a b o u t , a n d how m u c h it is n e c e s s a r y that we be t r o u b l e d , or, at least, careful. It would be s o m e a d v a n t a g e to live a primitive a n d frontier life, t h o u g h in the midst of an o u t w a r d civilization, if only to learn what are the g r o s s n e c e s s a r i e s of life a n d what m e t h o d s have b e e n t a k e n to obtain t h e m ; or even to look over the old day-books of the m e r c h a n t s , to s e e what it w a s that m e n m o s t c o m m o n l y b o u g h t at the s t o r e s , w h a t they stored, that is, w h a t are the g r o s s e s t g r o c e r i e s . F o r the i m p r o v e m e n t s of a g e s have h a d but little influence on the e s s e n t i a l laws of m a n ' s e x i s t e n c e ; a s our s k e l e t o n s , probably, are not to be d i s t i n g u i s h e d from t h o s e of o u r a n c e s t o r s . By the words necessary of life, I m e a n whatever, of all that m a n obtains by his own exertions, h a s b e e n from the first, or from long u s e h a s b e c o m e , s o i m p o r t a n t to h u m a n life that few, if any, w h e t h e r from s a v a g e n e s s , or poverty, or philosophy, ever a t t e m p t to do without it. T o m a n y c r e a t u r e s there is in this s e n s e but o n e n e c e s s a r y of life, F o o d . T o the bison of the prairie it is a few i n c h e s of p a l a t a b l e g r a s s , with water to drink; u n l e s s he seeks the S h e l t e r of the forest or the m o u n t a i n ' s s h a d o w . N o n e of the brute creation requires m o r e than F o o d a n d Shelter. T h e n e c e s s a r i e s of life for m a n in this c l i m a t e may, a c c u r a t e l y e n o u g h , b e distributed u n d e r the several h e a d s of F o o d , Shelter, C l o t h i n g , a n d F u e l ; for not till we have s e c u r e d t h e s e are we p r e p a r e d to entertain the true p r o b l e m s of life with f r e e d o m a n d a p r o s p e c t of s u c c e s s . M a n h a s invented, not only h o u s e s , but c l o t h e s a n d c o o k e d food; a n d possibly from the a c c i d e n t a l discovery of the w a r m t h of fire, a n d the c o n s e q u e n t u s e of it, at first a luxury, a r o s e the p r e s e n t n e c e s s i t y to sit by it. W e o b s e r v e c a t s a n d d o g s a c q u i r i n g the s a m e s e c o n d n a t u r e . By p r o p e r S h e l ter a n d C l o t h i n g we legitimately retain our own internal heat; but with an excess of t h e s e , or of F u e l , that is, with a n external heat greater t h a n o u r own internal, may not cookery properly be said to b e g i n ? D a r w i n , the naturalist, says of the i n h a b i t a n t s of T i e r r a del F u e g o , that while his own party, w h o were well c l o t h e d a n d sitting c l o s e to a fire, were far from too w a r m , t h e s e n a k e d s a v a g e s , w h o were farther off, were o b s e r v e d , to his great sur-

6.

C o n f u c i u s ' s Analects

2.17.

WALDEN,

CHAPTER

1 . ECONOMY

/

8 5 9

prise, "to be s t r e a m i n g with perspiration at u n d e r g o i n g s u c h a r o a s t i n g . " 7 S o , we are told, the N e w H o l l a n d e r 8 g o e s naked with impunity, while the E u r o p e a n shivers in his c l o t h e s . Is it i m p o s s i b l e to c o m b i n e the h a r d i n e s s of these savages with the i n t e l l e c t u a l n e s s of the civilized m a n ? A c c o r d i n g to L i e b i g , 9 m a n ' s body is a stove, a n d food the fuel which k e e p s up the internal c o m bustion in the l u n g s . In cold weather we eat m o r e , in w a r m less. T h e a n i m a l heat is the result of a slow c o m b u s t i o n , and d i s e a s e a n d d e a t h take p l a c e when this is too rapid; or for want of fuel, or from s o m e d e f e c t in the d r a u g h t , the fire g o e s out. O f c o u r s e the vital heat is not to be c o n f o u n d e d with fire; but so m u c h for analogy. It a p p e a r s , therefore, from the a b o v e list, that the expression, animal life, is nearly s y n o n y m o u s with the e x p r e s s i o n , animal heat; for while F o o d may be regarded a s the F u e l which k e e p s u p the fire within u s , — a n d Fuel serves only to p r e p a r e that F o o d or to i n c r e a s e the warmth of our bodies by addition from w i t h o u t , — S h e l t e r a n d C l o t h i n g a l s o serve only to retain the heat t h u s g e n e r a t e d a n d a b s o r b e d . The_grarrd,necessity, t h e n , for our b o d i e s , is to k e e p w a r m , to keep the vital heat in u s . W h a t p a i n s we accordingly take, not only with o u r F o o d , a n d C l o t h i n g , a n d Shelter, but with our b e d s , which are our night-clothes, robbing the nests a n d b r e a s t s of birds to p r e p a r e this shelter within a shelter, as the m o l e has its bed of g r a s s a n d leaves at the e n d of its burrow! T h e p o o r m a n is wont to c o m p l a i n that this is a cold world; a n d to cold, no less physical than social, we refer directly a great part of our ails. T h e s u m m e r , in s o m e c l i m a t e s , m a k e s p o s s i b l e to m a n a sort of E l y s i a n 1 life. F u e l , except to c o o k his F o o d , is then u n n e c e s s a r y ; the s u n is his fire, a n d m a n y of the fruits a r e sufficiently c o o k e d by its rays; while F o o d generally is m o r e v a r i o u s , a n d m o r e easily o b t a i n e d , a n d C l o t h i n g a n d S h e l t e r are wholly or half u n n e c e s s a r y . At the p r e s e n t day, a n d in this country, a s I find by my own e x p e r i e n c e , a few i m p l e m e n t s , a knife, an axe, a s p a d e , a wheelbarrow, & c , a n d for the stud i o u s , lamplight, stationery, a n d a c c e s s to a few b o o k s , rank next to n e c e s saries, a n d c a n all be o b t a i n e d at a trifling c o s t . Yet s o m e , not w i s e , go to the other side of the g l o b e , to b a r b a r o u s a n d u n h e a l t h y regions, a n d devote themselves to trade for ten or twenty years, in order that they may live,—that is, keep comfortably w a r m , — a n d die in N e w E n g l a n d at last. T h e luxuriously rich are not simply kept comfortably w a r m , but unnaturally hot; a s I implied before, they are c o o k e d , of c o u r s e a la mode. M o s t of the luxuries, a n d m a n y of the so called c o m f o r t s of life, are not only not i n d i s p e n s a b l e , but positive h i n d e r a n c e s to the elevation of m a n k i n d . With respect to luxuries a n d c o m f o r t s , the wisest have ever lived a m o r e s i m p l e a n d m e a g e r life than the poor. T h e a n c i e n t p h i l o s o p h e r s , C h i n e s e , H i n d o o , P e r s i a n , a n d G r e e k , were a c l a s s than which n o n e h a s b e e n poorer in o u t w a r d riches, n o n e s o rich in inward. W e know not m u c h a b o u t t h e m . It is r e m a r k a b l e that we know so m u c h of t h e m as we do. T h e s a m e is true of the m o r e m o d e r n reformers a n d b e n e f a c t o r s of their r a c e . N o n e c a n be an impartial or wise observer of h u m a n life but from the v a n t a g e g r o u n d of what we s h o u l d call voluntary poverty. O f a life of luxury the fruit is luxury, whether in a g r i c u l t u r e , or c o m m e r c e , or literature, or art. T h e r e are nowa7. C h a r l e s D a r w i n . Journal of * * C o i i H l r i e s Visited by H . M . S . Beagle

* the V a r i o u s (1839).

8. I.e., A u s t r a l i a n a b o r i g i n e . 9. J u s t u s , B a r o n von Liebig ( 1 8 0 3 - 1 8 7 3 ) ,

Ger-

m a n c h e m i s t , a u t h o r o f Organic Chemistry. I. In G r e e k m y t h o l o g y , E l y s i u m i s t h e h o m e o f t h e blessed after death.

8 6 0

/

HENRY DAVID

THOREAU

days p r o f e s s o r s of philosophy, but not p h i l o s o p h e r s . Yet it is a d m i r a b l e to p r o f e s s b e c a u s e it w a s o n c e a d m i r a b l e to live. T o b e a p h i l o s o p h e r is not merely to have s u b t l e t h o u g h t s , nor even to f o u n d a s c h o o l , but s o to love w i s d o m as to live a c c o r d i n g to its d i c t a t e s , a life of simplicity, i n d e p e n d e n c e , m a g n a n i m i t y , a n d trust. It is to solve s o m e of the p r o b l e m s of life, not only theoretically, b u t practically. T h e s u c c e s s of great s c h o l a r s a n d thinkers is c o m m o n l y a courtier-like s u c c e s s , not kingly, not m a n l y . T h e y m a k e shift to live merely by conformity, practically a s their fathers did, a n d are in n o s e n s e the p r o g e n i t o r s of a nobler r a c e of m e n . B u t why d o m e n d e g e n e r a t e ever? W h a t m a k e s families run out? W h a t is the n a t u r e of the luxury w h i c h enervates a n d destroys n a t i o n s ? Are we s u r e that there is n o n e of it in o u r own lives? T h e p h i l o s o p h e r is in a d v a n c e of his a g e even in the o u t w a r d form of his life. H e is not fed, sheltered, c l o t h e d , w a r m e d , like his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s . H o w c a n a m a n be a p h i l o s o p h e r a n d not m a i n t a i n his vital heat by better m e t h o d s than other m e n ? W h e n a m a n is w a r m e d by the several m o d e s which I have d e s c r i b e d , what d o e s h e w a n t next? S u r e l y not m o r e w a r m t h of the s a m e kind, a s m o r e a n d richer food, larger a n d m o r e splendid h o u s e s , finer a n d m o r e a b u n d a n t clothing, m o r e n u m e r o u s i n c e s s a n t a n d hotter fires, a n d the like. W h e n he h a s o b t a i n e d t h o s e things which are n e c e s s a r y to life, there is a n o t h e r alternative than to obtain the superfluities; a n d that is, to a d v e n t u r e o n life now, his v a c a t i o n from h u m b l e r toil having c o m m e n c e d . T h e soil, it a p p e a r s , is suited to the s e e d , for it h a s sent its radicle d o w n w a r d , a n d it m a y now s e n d its s h o o t u p w a r d a l s o with c o n f i d e n c e . W h y h a s m a n rooted h i m s e l f t h u s firmly in the e a r t h , b u t that he m a y rise in the s a m e p r o p o r t i o n into the h e a v e n s a b o v e ? — f o r the nobler p l a n t s are v a l u e d for the fruit they b e a r at last in the air a n d light, far from the g r o u n d , a n d are not t r e a t e d like the h u m b l e r e s c u l e n t s , w h i c h , t h o u g h they m a y b e b i e n n i a l s , are cultivated only till they have p e r f e c t e d their root, a n d often c u t d o w n at top for this p u r p o s e , so that m o s t would not know t h e m in their flowering s e a s o n . I do not m e a n to p r e s c r i b e rules to s t r o n g a n d valiant n a t u r e s , w h o will m i n d their own affairs w h e t h e r in h e a v e n or hell, a n d p e r c h a n c e build m o r e magnificently a n d s p e n d m o r e lavishly t h a n the richest, without ever impoverishing t h e m s e l v e s , not knowing how they live,—if, i n d e e d , there are any s u c h , a s has b e e n d r e a m e d ; nor to t h o s e w h o find their e n c o u r a g e m e n t a n d inspiration in precisely the p r e s e n t c o n d i t i o n of t h i n g s , a n d c h e r i s h it with the f o n d n e s s a n d e n t h u s i a s m of l o v e r s , — a n d , to s o m e extent, I reckon myself in this n u m b e r ; I d o not s p e a k to t h o s e w h o are well e m p l o y e d , in w h a t e v e r c i r c u m s t a n c e s , a n d they know w h e t h e r they are well e m p l o y e d or n o t ; — b u t mainly to the m a s s of m e n w h o a r e d i s c o n t e n t e d , a n d idly c o m p l a i n i n g of the h a r d n e s s of their lot or of the t i m e s , w h e n they might i m p r o v e t h e m . T h e r e are s o m e w h o c o m p l a i n m o s t energetically a n d i n c o n s o l a b l y of any, b e c a u s e they a r e , a s they say, d o i n g their duty. I a l s o have in my m i n d that seemingly wealthy, but m o s t terribly i m p o v e r i s h e d c l a s s of all, w h o have a c c u m u l a t e d d r o s s , b u t know not h o w to u s e it, or get rid of it, a n d t h u s have forged their own g o l d e n or silver fetters. If I s h o u l d a t t e m p t to tell how I have d e s i r e d to s p e n d my life in years p a s t , it would probably s u r p r i s e t h o s e of my r e a d e r s w h o a r e s o m e w h a t a c q u a i n t e d with its a c t u a l history; it w o u l d certainly a s t o n i s h t h o s e w h o k n o w

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n o t h i n g a b o u t it. I will only hint at s o m e of the e n t e r p r i s e s w h i c h I have cherished. In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have b e e n anxious to improve the nick of t i m e , a n d n o t c h it on my stick too; to s t a n d o n the m e e t i n g of two eternities, the p a s t a n d future, which is precisely the p r e s e n t m o m e n t ; to toe that line. You will p a r d o n s o m e o b s c u r i t i e s , for there are m o r e s e c r e t s in my trade t h a n in m o s t m e n ' s , a n d yet not voluntarily kept, but i n s e p a r a b l e from its very n a t u r e . I would gladly tell all that I know a b o u t it, a n d never paint " N o A d m i t t a n c e " on my g a t e . I long a g o lost a h o u n d , a bay h o r s e , a n d a turtle-dove, a n d a m still on their trail. 2 M a n y are the travellers I have s p o k e n c o n c e r n i n g t h e m , describing their tracks a n d what calls they a n s w e r e d to. I have m e t o n e or two w h o h a d h e a r d the h o u n d , a n d the t r a m p of the h o r s e , a n d even s e e n the dove d i s a p p e a r behind a c l o u d , a n d they s e e m e d as anxious to recover t h e m as if they h a d lost them t h e m s e l v e s . T o a n t i c i p a t e , not the s u n r i s e a n d the d a w n merely, b u t , if p o s s i b l e , N a t u r e herself! H o w m a n y m o r n i n g s , s u m m e r a n d winter, before yet any n e i g h b o r w a s stirring a b o u t his b u s i n e s s , have I b e e n a b o u t m i n e ! N o d o u b t , m a n y of my t o w n s m e n have met m e returning from this e n t e r p r i s e , f a r m e r s starting for B o s t o n in the twilight, or w o o d c h o p p e r s g o i n g to their work. It is true, I never a s s i s t e d the s u n materially in his rising, b u t , d o u b t not, it w a s of the last i m p o r t a n c e only to be p r e s e n t at it. S o m a n y a u t u m n , ay, a n d winter days, spent o u t s i d e the town, trying to hear w h a t w a s in the wind, to hear a n d carry it express! I well-nigh s u n k all my capital in it, a n d lost my own breath into the b a r g a i n , r u n n i n g in the f a c e of it. If it h a d c o n c e r n e d either of the political p a r t i e s , d e p e n d u p o n it, it would have a p p e a r e d in the G a z e t t e with the earliest i n t e l l i g e n c e . ' At other times w a t c h i n g from the observatory of s o m e cliff or tree, to telegraph any new arrival; or waiting at e v e n i n g on the hill-tops for the sky to fall, that I might c a t c h s o m e t h i n g , t h o u g h I never c a u g h t m u c h , a n d that, m a n n a - w i s e , 4 would dissolve again in the s u n . F o r a long time I w a s reporter to a j o u r n a l , of no very wide circulation, w h o s e editor has never yet s e e n fit to print the bulk of my c o n t r i b u t i o n s , a n d , a s is too c o m m o n with writers, I got only my labor for my p a i n s . 5 H o w ever, in this c a s e my p a i n s were their own reward. For m a n y years I w a s self-appointed inspector of s n o w s t o r m s a n d rain s t o r m s , a n d did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then of forest p a t h s a n d all across-lot r o u t e s , keeping t h e m o p e n , a n d ravines bridged a n d p a s s a b l e at all s e a s o n s , where the public heel h a d testified to their utility. I have looked after the wild stock of the town, which give a faithful herdsm a n a g o o d deal of trouble by leaping f e n c e s ; a n d I have h a d a n eye to the u n f r e q u e n t e d nooks a n d c o r n e r s of the farm; t h o u g h I did not always k n o w 2. T h o r e a u ' s reply to B. B. Wiley, April 2 6 , 1 8 5 7 , suggests s o m e t h i n g of the evocative way he wanted this p a s s a g e interpreted: "If others have their losses, which they are busy repairing, so have I mine, & t h e i r h o u n d & h o r s e m a y perhaps be the s y m b o l s of s o m e of t h e m . B u t a l s o I h a v e lost, or a m i n d a n g e r o f l o s i n g , a f a r finer & m o r e e t h e r i a l treasure, w h i c h c o m m o n l y no loss of which they a r e c o n s c i o u s will s y m b o l i z e — t h i s I a n s w e r h a s t i l y 8: w i t h s o m e h e s i t a t i o n , a c c o r d i n g a s I n o w u n d e r -

stand my own words." 3. N e w s . " G a z e t t e " : n e w s p a p e r . 4 . In E x o d u s 1 6 m a n n a i s t h e b r e a d t h a t G o d rained from heaven so the Israelites could survive in t h e d e s e r t o n t h e i r w a y f r o m E g y p t t o t h e P r o m ised Land. 5. T h o r e a u p u n s o n the c o m m o n u s a g e of journal to m e a n a daily n e w s p a p e r a s well a s a diary. T h o r e a u is the n e g l i g e n t or t o o d e m a n d i n g editor.

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w h e t h e r J o n a s or S o l o m o n worked in a particular field to-day; that w a s n o n e of my b u s i n e s s . I have watered the red huckleberry, the s a n d cherry a n d the nettle tree, the red pine a n d the black a s h , the white g r a p e a n d the yellow violet, which might have withered else in dry s e a s o n s . In short, I went on t h u s for a long t i m e , I may say it without b o a s t i n g , faithfully m i n d i n g my b u s i n e s s , till it b e c a m e m o r e a n d m o r e evident that my t o w n s m e n would not after all a d m i t m e into the list of town officers, nor m a k e my p l a c e a s i n e c u r e with a m o d e r a t e a l l o w a n c e . M y a c c o u n t s , which I c a n s w e a r to have kept faithfully, I have, i n d e e d , never got a u d i t e d , still less a c c e p t e d , still less paid a n d settled. However, I have not set my heart o n that. N o t long s i n c e , a strolling Indian went to sell b a s k e t s at the h o u s e o f a well-known lawyer in my n e i g h b o r h o o d . " D o you wish to buy any b a s k e t s ? " he a s k e d . " N o , we do not want a n y , " w a s the reply. " W h a t ! " e x c l a i m e d the Indian a s he went out the g a t e , " d o you m e a n to starve u s ? " H a v i n g s e e n his i n d u s t r i o u s white neighbors so well o f f , — t h a t the lawyer h a d only to w e a v e a r g u m e n t s , a n d by s o m e m a g i c wealth a n d s t a n d i n g followed, h e h a d s a i d to himself; I will go into b u s i n e s s ; I will weave b a s k e t s ; it is a thing which I c a n d o . T h i n k i n g that w h e n he h a d m a d e the b a s k e t s he w o u l d have d o n e his part, a n d then it would be the white m a n ' s to buy t h e m . H e h a d not discovered that it w a s n e c e s s a r y for him to m a k e it worth the other's while to buy t h e m , or at least m a k e him think that it w a s s o , or to m a k e s o m e t h i n g e l s e which it would be worth his while to buy. I too h a d woven a kind of b a s k e t of a delicate texture, but I h a d not m a d e it worth any one's while to buy t h e m / ' Yet not the l e s s , in my c a s e , did I think it worth my while to weave t h e m , a n d instead of studying how to m a k e it worth m e n ' s while to buy my b a s k e t s , I s t u d i e d rather how to avoid the necessity of selling t h e m . T h e life which m e n p r a i s e a n d regard a s s u c c e s s f u l is but o n e kind. Why s h o u l d we e x a g g e r a t e any o n e kind at the e x p e n s e of the o t h e r s ? F i n d i n g that my fellow-citizens were not likely to offer m e any r o o m in the court h o u s e , or any c u r a c y or living 7 any w h e r e e l s e , but I m u s t shift for myself, I t u r n e d my f a c e m o r e exclusively t h a n ever to the w o o d s , w h e r e I w a s better known. I d e t e r m i n e d to g o into b u s i n e s s at o n c e , a n d not wait to a c q u i r e the u s u a l capital, u s i n g s u c h s l e n d e r m e a n s a s I h a d already got. M y p u r p o s e in g o i n g to W a l d e n P o n d w a s not to live c h e a p l y nor to live dearly there, but to transact s o m e private b u s i n e s s with the fewest o b s t a c l e s ; to be hindered from a c c o m p l i s h i n g which for want of a little c o m m o n s e n s e , a little e n t e r p r i s e a n d b u s i n e s s talent, a p p e a r e d not s o s a d a s foolish. I have always e n d e a v o r e d to a c q u i r e strict b u s i n e s s h a b i t s ; they a r e indisp e n s a b l e to every m a n . If your trade is with the C e l e s t i a l E m p i r e , 8 then s o m e small c o u n t i n g h o u s e on the c o a s t , in s o m e S a l e m harbor, will be fixture e n o u g h . You will export s u c h articles a s the country affords, purely native p r o d u c t s , m u c h ice a n d p i n e t i m b e r a n d a little g r a n i t e , always in native b o t t o m s . T h e s e will be g o o d v e n t u r e s . T o o v e r s e e all the details yourself in p e r s o n ; to b e at o n c e pilot a n d c a p t a i n , a n d owner a n d underwriter; to b u y a n d sell a n d keep the a c c o u n t s ; to read every letter received, a n d write or read every letter sent; to s u p e r i n t e n d the d i s c h a r g e of i m p o r t s night a n d day; 6. A reference to T h o r e a u ' s poorly b o o k , A Week on the Concord and Rivers ( 1 8 4 9 ) .

selling Merrimack

first

7 . A c h u r c h o f f i c e w i t h a fixed, s t e a d y i n c o m e , 8. C h i n a , from the belief that the C h i n e s e emperors were sons of heaven.

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to be u p o n m a n y p a r t s of the c o a s t a l m o s t at the s a m e t i m e ; — o f t e n the richest freight will b e d i s c h a r g e d u p o n a J e r s e y s h o r e , 9 — t o b e your own telegraph, unweariedly s w e e p i n g the horizon, s p e a k i n g all p a s s i n g vessels b o u n d c o a s t w i s e ; to keep up a steady d e s p a t c h of c o m m o d i t i e s , for the supply of s u c h a distant a n d exorbitant market; to keep yourself informed of the state of the m a r k e t s , p r o s p e c t s of war a n d p e a c e every w h e r e , a n d a n t i c i p a t e the t e n d e n c i e s of trade a n d civilization,—taking a d v a n t a g e of the results of all exploring expeditions, u s i n g new p a s s a g e s a n d all i m p r o v e m e n t s in navig a t i o n ; — c h a r t s to be s t u d i e d , the position of reefs a n d new lights a n d b u o y s to be a s c e r t a i n e d , a n d ever, a n d ever, the logarithmic tables to be c o r r e c t e d , for by the error of s o m e c a l c u l a t o r the vessel often splits u p o n a rock that s h o u l d have r e a c h e d a friendly p i e r , — t h e r e is the untold fate of L a P e r o u s e ; — u n i v e r s a l s c i e n c e to be kept p a c e with, studying the lives of all great discoverers a n d navigators, great adventurers a n d m e r c h a n t s from H a n n o ' a n d the Phoenicians d o w n to our day; in fine, a c c o u n t of stock to be taken from time to time, to know how you s t a n d . It is a labor to t a s k the faculties of a m a n , — s u c h p r o b l e m s of profit a n d loss, of interest, of tare a n d tret, 2 a n d g a u g i n g of all kinds in it, a s d e m a n d a universal k n o w l e d g e . I have thought that W a l d e n Pond would be a g o o d p l a c e for b u s i n e s s , not solely on a c c o u n t of the railroad a n d the ice t r a d e ; it offers a d v a n t a g e s which it may not b e g o o d policy to divulge; it is a g o o d port a n d a g o o d f o u n d a t i o n . N o Neva m a r s h e s to b e filled; t h o u g h you m u s t every w h e r e build on piles of your own driving. It is said that a flood-tide, with a westerly wind, a n d ice in the N e v a , would s w e e p S t . P e t e r s b u r g from the f a c e of the e a r t h . As this b u s i n e s s w a s to be e n t e r e d into without the u s u a l c a p i t a l , it may not b e easy to c o n j e c t u r e w h e r e t h o s e m e a n s , that will still be i n d i s p e n s a b l e to every s u c h u n d e r t a k i n g , were to b e o b t a i n e d . As for C l o t h i n g , to c o m e at o n c e to the practical part of the q u e s t i o n , p e r h a p s we are led oftener by the love of novelty, a n d a regard for the opinions of m e n , in p r o c u r i n g it, than by a true utility. Let him who has work to do recollect that the object of clothing is, first, to retain the vital heat, a n d s e c o n d l y , in this state of society, to cover n a k e d n e s s , a n d he may j u d g e how m u c h of any n e c e s s a r y or important work may be a c c o m p l i s h e d without a d d i n g to his w a r d r o b e . Kings a n d q u e e n s who wear a suit but o n c e , t h o u g h m a d e by s o m e tailor or d r e s s - m a k e r to their m a j e s t i e s , c a n n o t know the comfort of w e a r i n g a suit that fits. T h e y are no better than w o o d e n h o r s e s to h a n g the c l e a n c l o t h e s on. Every day our g a r m e n t s b e c o m e m o r e a s s i m i l a t e d to o u r s e l v e s , receiving the i m p r e s s of the wearer's c h a r a c t e r , until we hesitate to lay t h e m a s i d e , without s u c h delay a n d m e d i c a l a p p l i a n c e s a n d s o m e s u c h solemnity even a s our b o d i e s . N o m a n ever stood the lower in my e s t i m a t i o n for having a p a t c h in his c l o t h e s ; yet I a m s u r e that there is greater anxiety, c o m m o n l y , to have fashionable, or at least c l e a n a n d u n p a t c h e d c l o t h e s , than to have a s o u n d c o n s c i e n c e . B u t even if the rent is not m e n d e d , p e r h a p s the worst vice betrayed is i m p r o v i d e n c e . I s o m e t i m e s try my a c q u a i n t a n c e s by s u c h tests 9.

I . e . , by s h i p w r e c k o n t h e w a y t o N e w

York.

2.

I.

Carthaginian

centuries

r e f u s e in c e r t a i n m a t e r i a l s , 4 p o u n d s b e i n g t h r o w n

B.C.E.), credited

navigator

(6th—5th

with o p e n i n g

Africa to t r a d e . J e a n

the coast

Francois de G a l a u p

1788), French explorer of the western

An

allowance

to the

purchaser

for w a s t e

or

west

in for e v e r y 1 0 4 p o u n d s o f s u t t l e w e i g h t , o r w e i g h t

(1741—

after the "tare" (the weight of the vehicle or smaller

of

Pacific.

c o n t a i n e r ) is d e d u c t e d .

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THOREAU

a s t h i s ; — w h o c o u l d w e a r a p a t c h , or two extra s e a m s only, over the k n e e ? M o s t b e h a v e a s if they believed that their p r o s p e c t s for life w o u l d b e r u i n e d if they s h o u l d do it. It would be e a s i e r for t h e m to h o b b l e to town with a b r o k e n leg than with a b r o k e n p a n t a l o o n . Often if a n a c c i d e n t h a p p e n s to a g e n t l e m a n ' s legs, they c a n b e m e n d e d ; but if a similar a c c i d e n t h a p p e n s to the legs of his p a n t a l o o n s , there is n o h e l p for it; for h e c o n s i d e r s , not what is truly r e s p e c t a b l e , but what is r e s p e c t e d . W e k n o w b u t few m e n , a great m a n y c o a t s a n d b r e e c h e s . D r e s s a s c a r e c r o w in your last shift, you s t a n d i n g shiftless by, w h o would not s o o n e s t s a l u t e the s c a r e c r o w ? P a s s i n g a cornfield the other day, c l o s e by a hat a n d c o a t on a s t a k e , I recognized the o w n e r of the f a r m . H e w a s only a little m o r e w e a t h e r - b e a t e n t h a n w h e n I s a w him last. I have h e a r d of a d o g that barked at every s t r a n g e r w h o a p p r o a c h e d his m a s t e r ' s p r e m i s e s with c l o t h e s on, b u t w a s easily q u i e t e d by a n a k e d thief. It is a n interesting q u e s t i o n how far m e n would retain their relative r a n k if they were divested of their c l o t h e s . C o u l d you, in s u c h a c a s e , tell surely o f any c o m p a n y of civilized m e n , which b e l o n g e d to the m o s t r e s p e c t e d c l a s s ? W h e n M a d a m Pfeiffer, in her a d v e n t u r o u s travels r o u n d the world, from e a s t to w e s t , h a d got s o near h o m e a s Asiatic R u s s i a , s h e says that s h e felt the n e c e s s i t y of w e a r i n g other than a travelling d r e s s , w h e n s h e went to m e e t the a u t h o r i t i e s , for s h e " w a s now in a civilized country, w h e r e people are j u d g e d of by their c l o t h e s . " ' Even in our d e m o c r a t i c N e w E n g l a n d towns the a c c i d e n t a l p o s s e s s i o n of wealth, a n d its m a n i f e s t a t i o n in d r e s s a n d e q u i p a g e a l o n e , obtain for the p o s s e s s o r a l m o s t universal r e s p e c t . R u t they w h o yield s u c h r e s p e c t , n u m e r o u s a s they a r e , are so far h e a t h e n , a n d n e e d to have a m i s s i o n a r y sent to t h e m . R e s i d e , c l o t h e s i n t r o d u c e d sewing, a kind of work which you m a y call e n d l e s s ; a w o m a n ' s d r e s s , at least, is never done.4 A m a n w h o has at length f o u n d s o m e t h i n g to do will not n e e d to get a new suit to d o it in; for him the old will d o , that h a s lain dusty in the garret for a n i n d e t e r m i n a t e period. O l d s h o e s will serve a h e r o l o n g e r t h a n they have served his v a l e t , — i f a hero ever h a s a v a l e t , — b a r e feet a r e older t h a n s h o e s , a n d h e c a n m a k e t h e m d o . Only they w h o go to s o i r e e s a n d legislative halls m u s t have n e w c o a t s , c o a t s to c h a n g e a s often a s the m a n c h a n g e s in t h e m . B u t if my j a c k e t a n d t r o u s e r s , my hat a n d s h o e s , a r e fit to w o r s h i p G o d in, they will d o ; will they not? W h o ever saw his old c l o t h e s , — h i s old c o a t , actually worn o u t , resolved into its primitive e l e m e n t s , s o that it w a s not a d e e d of charity to b e s t o w it o n s o m e p o o r boy, by h i m p e r c h a n c e to b e b e s t o w e d on s o m e p o o r e r still, or shall w e say richer, w h o c o u l d do with less? I say, b e w a r e of all e n t e r p r i s e s that require new c l o t h e s , a n d not rather a n e w wearer of c l o t h e s . If there is not a new m a n , h o w c a n the n e w c l o t h e s be m a d e to fit? If you have any e n t e r p r i s e before you, try it in y o u r old c l o t h e s . All m e n want, not s o m e t h i n g to do with, b u t s o m e t h i n g to do, or rather s o m e t h i n g to be. P e r h a p s we s h o u l d never p r o c u r e a n e w suit, h o w e v e r ragg e d or dirty the old, until we have s o c o n d u c t e d , s o e n t e r p r i s e d or sailed in s o m e way, that we feel like new m e n in the old, a n d that to retain it would b e like k e e p i n g new wine in old bottles.' 5 O u r m o u l t i n g s e a s o n , like that of 3 . I d a P f e i f f e r ( 1 7 9 7 — 1 8 5 8 ) , A Lady's Voyage round the World ( 1 8 5 2 ) . 4. A play on the saying " M a n may work from s u n

to s u n , / B u t w o m a n ' s w o r k is n e v e r d o n e . " 5. "Neither d o m e n put new wine into old bottles: else the bottles break, a n d the wine runneth out,

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the fowls, m u s t be a crisis in our lives. T h e loon retires to solitary p o n d s to s p e n d it. T h u s a l s o the s n a k e c a s t s its slough, a n d the caterpillar its wormy c o a t , by an internal industry a n d e x p a n s i o n ; for c l o t h e s a r e b u t o u r o u t m o s t cuticle a n d mortal coil. O t h e r w i s e we shall b e f o u n d sailing u n d e r false colors, a n d be inevitably c a s h i e r e d 6 at last by our own opinion, a s well a s that of m a n k i n d . W e d o n g a r m e n t after g a r m e n t , a s if we grew like e x o g e n o u s p l a n t s by addition without. O u r o u t s i d e a n d often thin a n d fanciful c l o t h e s are our e p i d e r m i s or false skin, which p a r t a k e s not of our life, a n d m a y b e stripped off here a n d there without fatal injury; our thicker g a r m e n t s , constantly worn, are our cellular i n t e g u m e n t , or cortex; but our shirts are our liber 7 or true bark, which c a n n o t be removed without girdling a n d so destroying the m a n . I believe that all r a c e s at s o m e s e a s o n s wear s o m e t h i n g equivalent to the shirt. It is d e s i r a b l e that a m a n b e c l a d so simply that he c a n lay his h a n d s on himself in the dark, a n d that he live in all r e s p e c t s s o c o m p a c t l y a n d preparedly, that, if an e n e m y take the town, he c a n , like the old philosopher, walk out the g a t e e m p t y - h a n d e d without anxiety. W h i l e o n e thick g a r m e n t is, for m o s t p u r p o s e s , a s g o o d a s three thin o n e s , a n d c h e a p clothing c a n b e o b t a i n e d at prices really to suit c u s t o m e r s ; while a thick c o a t c a n be b o u g h t for five dollars, which will last as m a n y years, thick p a n t a l o o n s for two dollars, c o w h i d e b o o t s for a dollar and a half a pair, a s u m m e r hat for a q u a r t e r of a dollar, a n d a winter c a p for sixty-two a n d a half c e n t s , or a better be m a d e at h o m e at a n o m i n a l c o s t , where is h e so p o o r that, c l a d in s u c h a suit, of his own earning, there will not be f o u n d w i s e m e n to d o him reverence? W h e n I a s k for a g a r m e n t of a particular form, my tailoress tells m e gravely, " T h e y d o not m a k e t h e m s o n o w , " not e m p h a s i z i n g the " T h e y " at all, a s if she q u o t e d an authority as i m p e r s o n a l a s the F a t e s , a n d I find it difficult to get m a d e what I want, simply b e c a u s e s h e c a n n o t believe that I m e a n what I say, that I a m so rash. W h e n I hear this o r a c u l a r s e n t e n c e , I a m for a m o m e n t a b s o r b e d in t h o u g h t , e m p h a s i z i n g to myself e a c h word separately that I may c o m e at the m e a n i n g of it, that I m a y find out by w h a t d e g r e e of c o n s a n g u i n i t y They are related to me, a n d what authority they m a y have in an affair which affects m e so nearly; a n d , finally, I a m inclined to a n s w e r her with e q u a l mystery, a n d without any m o r e e m p h a s i s of the " t h e y , " — " I t is true, they did not m a k e t h e m s o recently, but they do n o w . " O f what u s e this m e a s u r i n g of m e if s h e d o e s not m e a s u r e my c h a r a c t e r , b u t only the breadth of my s h o u l d e r s , a s it were a p e g to h a n g the c o a t o n ? W e worship not the G r a c e s , nor the Parcae, 8 but F a s h i o n . S h e s p i n s a n d w e a v e s a n d c u t s with full authority. T h e h e a d m o n k e y at Paris p u t s on a traveller's c a p , a n d all the m o n k e y s in A m e r i c a do the s a m e . I s o m e t i m e s d e s p a i r of getting any thing q u i t e s i m p l e a n d h o n e s t d o n e in this world by the help of m e n . T h e y would have to b e p a s s e d t h r o u g h a powerful p r e s s first, to s q u e e z e their old notions out of t h e m , s o that they would not s o o n get u p o n their legs a g a i n , a n d then there would be s o m e o n e in the c o m p a n y with a m a g g o t in his h e a d , h a t c h e d from a n e g g d e p o s i t e d there n o b o d y knows w h e n , for not even a n d the bottles perish: but they put new wine into new bottles, a n d both are preserved" (Matthew 9.17).

6. 7. 8.

Fired, Inner bark. In R o m a n m y t h o l o g y , t h e t h r e e F a t e s .

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fire kills t h e s e things, a n d you would have lost your labor. N e v e r t h e l e s s , we will not forget that s o m e Egyptian wheat is said to have b e e n h a n d e d d o w n to u s by a m u m m y . O n the w h o l e , I think that it c a n n o t b e m a i n t a i n e d that d r e s s i n g h a s in this or any country risen to the dignity of a n art. At p r e s e n t m e n m a k e shift to w e a r w h a t they can get. L i k e s h i p w r e c k e d sailors, they put o n w h a t they c a n find o n the b e a c h , a n d at a little d i s t a n c e , w h e t h e r of s p a c e or t i m e , l a u g h at e a c h other's m a s q u e r a d e . Every generation l a u g h s at the old fashi o n s , but follows religiously the new. W e are a m u s e d at b e h o l d i n g the c o s t u m e of H e n r y VIII., or Q u e e n Elizabeth, as m u c h a s if it w a s that of the King a n d Q u e e n of the C a n n i b a l I s l a n d s . All c o s t u m e off a m a n is pitiful or g r o t e s q u e . It is only the s e r i o u s eye p e e r i n g from a n d the s i n c e r e life p a s s e d within it, w h i c h restrain laughter a n d c o n s e c r a t e the c o s t u m e of any p e o p l e . L e t H a r l e q u i n 9 be taken with a fit of the colic a n d his t r a p p i n g s will have to serve that m o o d too. W'hen the soldier is hit by a c a n n o n ball rags are a s becoming as purple. T h e childish a n d s a v a g e taste of m e n a n d w o m e n for new p a t t e r n s k e e p s h o w m a n y s h a k i n g a n d s q u i n t i n g t h r o u g h k a l e i d o s c o p e s that they m a y discover the p a r t i c u l a r figure which this g e n e r a t i o n r e q u i r e s to-day. T h e m a n u f a c t u r e r s have learned that this taste is merely w h i m s i c a l . O f two p a t t e r n s which differ only by a few t h r e a d s m o r e or less of a p a r t i c u l a r color, the o n e will be sold readily, the other lie on the shelf, t h o u g h it frequently h a p p e n s that after the l a p s e of a s e a s o n the latter b e c o m e s the m o s t f a s h i o n a b l e . C o m p a r a t i v e l y , t a t t o o i n g is not the h i d e o u s c u s t o m w h i c h it is c a l l e d . It is not b a r b a r o u s merely b e c a u s e the printing is s k i n - d e e p a n d u n a l t e r a b l e . I c a n n o t believe that our factory s y s t e m is the b e s t m o d e by which m e n m a y get clothing. T h e condition of the operatives is b e c o m i n g every day m o r e like that of the E n g l i s h ; a n d it c a n n o t b e w o n d e r e d at, s i n c e , a s far a s I have h e a r d or o b s e r v e d , the principal object is, not that m a n k i n d m a y b e well a n d honestly c l a d , b u t , u n q u e s t i o n a b l y , that the c o r p o r a t i o n s m a y b e e n r i c h e d . In the long run m e n hit only what they a i m at. T h e r e f o r e , t h o u g h they s h o u l d fail immediately, they h a d better a i m at s o m e t h i n g high. As for a S h e l t e r , I will not deny that this is now a n e c e s s a r y of life, t h o u g h there are i n s t a n c e s of m e n having d o n e without it for l o n g p e r i o d s in c o l d e r c o u n t r i e s than this. S a m u e l L a i n g says that " T h e L a p l a n d e r in his skin d r e s s , a n d in a skin b a g which he p u t s over his h e a d a n d s h o u l d e r s , will s l e e p night after night on the s n o w — i n a d e g r e e of cold which w o u l d extinguish the life of o n e e x p o s e d to it in any woollen c l o t h i n g . " H e h a d s e e n t h e m a s l e e p t h u s . Yet he a d d s , " T h e y are not hardier than other p e o p l e . " 1 B u t , probably, m a n did not live long o n the earth without d i s c o v e r i n g the c o n v e n i e n c e which there is in a h o u s e , the d o m e s t i c c o m f o r t s , which p h r a s e m a y have originally signified the s a t i s f a c t i o n s of the h o u s e m o r e than of the family; t h o u g h t h e s e m u s t be extremely partial a n d o c c a s i o n a l in t h o s e c l i m a t e s w h e r e the h o u s e is a s s o c i a t e d in our t h o u g h t s with winter or the rainy s e a s o n chiefly, a n d two thirds of the year, except for a p a r a s o l , is u n n e c e s s a r y . In o u r c l i m a t e , in the s u m m e r , it w a s formerly a l m o s t solely a covering at night. In the I n d i a n

9 . A t y p e o f c o m i c s e r v a n t in commedia dell'arte, d r e s s e d in a m a s k a n d m a n y - c o l o r e d t i g h t s .

1 . Journal

of a Residence

in Norway

(1837).

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g a z e t t e s 2 a w i g w a m w a s the symbol of a day's m a r c h , a n d a row of t h e m c u t or p a i n t e d on the bark of a tree signified that so m a n y times they h a d c a m p e d . M a n w a s not m a d e s o large limbed a n d robust but that he m u s t s e e k to narrow his world, a n d wall in a s p a c e s u c h a s fitted h i m . H e w a s at first bare a n d out of d o o r s ; but t h o u g h this was p l e a s a n t e n o u g h in s e r e n e a n d w a r m weather, by daylight, the rainy s e a s o n a n d the winter, to say n o t h i n g of the torrid s u n , would p e r h a p s have nipped his r a c e in the b u d if he h a d not m a d e h a s t e to clothe himself with the shelter of a h o u s e . A d a m a n d E v e , a c c o r d i n g to a fable, wore the bower before other c l o t h e s . M a n w a n t e d a h o m e , a p l a c e of w a r m t h , or comfort, first of physical w a r m t h , then the w a r m t h of the affections. W e may i m a g i n e a time w h e n , in the infancy of the h u m a n r a c e , s o m e enterprising mortal crept into a hollow in a rock for shelter. Every child begins the world a g a i n , to s o m e extent, a n d loves to stay o u t d o o r s , even in wet a n d cold. It plays h o u s e , a s well a s h o r s e , having an instinct for it. W h o d o e s not r e m e m b e r the interest with which w h e n y o u n g he looked at shelving rocks, or any a p p r o a c h to a cave? It w a s the natural yearning of that portion of our m o s t primitive a n c e s t o r which still survived in u s . F r o m the c a v e we have a d v a n c e d to roofs of p a l m leaves, of bark a n d b o u g h s , of linen woven a n d s t r e t c h e d , of g r a s s a n d straw, of b o a r d s a n d s h i n g l e s , of s t o n e s a n d tiles. At last, we know not what it is to live in the o p e n air, a n d our lives a r e d o m e s t i c in m o r e s e n s e s than we think. F r o m the hearth to the field is a great d i s t a n c e . It would be well p e r h a p s if we were to s p e n d m o r e of our days a n d nights without any o b s t r u c t i o n b e t w e e n u s a n d the celestial b o d i e s , if the poet did not s p e a k so m u c h from u n d e r a roof, or the saint dwell there so long. Birds do not sing in c a v e s , nor d o doves c h e r i s h their i n n o c e n c e in dovecots. However, if o n e d e s i g n s to c o n s t r u c t a dwelling h o u s e , it b e h o o v e s him to exercise a little Yankee s h r e w d n e s s , lest after all h e find himself in a workh o u s e , a labyrinth without a clew, a m u s e u m , a n a l m s h o u s e , a p r i s o n , or a splendid m a u s o l e u m i n s t e a d . C o n s i d e r first how slight a shelter is absolutely n e c e s s a r y . I have s e e n P e n o b s c o t I n d i a n s , in this town, living in tents of thin cotton cloth, while the s n o w w a s nearly a foot d e e p a r o u n d t h e m , a n d I thought that they would be glad to have it d e e p e r to keep out the wind. Formerly, when how to get my living honestly, with f r e e d o m left for my p r o p e r p u r s u i t s , w a s a q u e s t i o n which vexed m e even m o r e than it d o e s now, for unfortunately I a m b e c o m e s o m e w h a t c a l l o u s , I u s e d to s e e a large box by the railroad, six feet long by three w i d e , in which the laborers locked up their tools at night, a n d it s u g g e s t e d to m e that every m a n w h o w a s hard p u s h e d might get s u c h a o n e for a dollar, a n d , having bored a few a u g e r holes in it, to a d m i t the air at least, get into it w h e n it rained a n d at night, a n d hook down the lid, a n d so have freedom in his love, a n d in his soul be free. T h i s did not a p p e a r the worst, nor by any m e a n s a d e s p i c a b l e alternative. You c o u l d sit up a s late a s you p l e a s e d , a n d , w h e n e v e r you got u p , g o a b r o a d without any landlord or house-lord d o g g i n g you for rent. M a n y a m a n is h a r a s s e d to d e a t h to pay the rent of a larger a n d m o r e luxurious box w h o would not have frozen to d e a t h in s u c h a box as this. I a m far from j e s t i n g . E c o n o m y is a s u b j e c t which a d m i t s of b e i n g treated with levity, but it c a n n o t 2.

In A m e r i c a n I n d i a n s i g n l a n g u a g e (in m e s s a g e s e q u i v a l e n t t o g a z e t t e s o r n e w s p a p e r s ) .

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s o be d i s p o s e d of. A c o m f o r t a b l e h o u s e for a r u d e a n d hardy r a c e , that lived mostly out of d o o r s , w a s o n c e m a d e h e r e a l m o s t entirely of s u c h materials a s N a t u r e furnished ready to their h a n d s . G o o k i n , w h o w a s s u p e r i n t e n d e n t of the Indians s u b j e c t to the M a s s a c h u s e t t s C o l o n y , writing in 1 6 7 4 , says, " T h e best of their h o u s e s are covered very neatly, tight a n d w a r m , with b a r k s of trees, slipped from their bodies at t h o s e s e a s o n s w h e n the s a p is u p , a n d m a d e into great flakes, with p r e s s u r e of weighty timber, w h e n they are g r e e n . . . . T h e m e a n e r sort are c o v e r e d with m a t s which they m a k e of a kind of b u l r u s h , a n d are also indifferently tight a n d w a r m , b u t not s o g o o d a s the former. . . . S o m e I have s e e n , sixty or a h u n d r e d feet l o n g a n d thirty feet b r o a d . . . . I have often lodged in their w i g w a m s , a n d f o u n d t h e m a s w a r m a s the b e s t E n g l i s h h o u s e s . " ' H e a d d s , that they were c o m m o n l y c a r p e t e d a n d lined within with well-wrought e m b r o i d e r e d m a t s , a n d were f u r n i s h e d with various u t e n s i l s . T h e I n d i a n s h a d a d v a n c e d s o far a s to r e g u l a t e the effect of the wind by a m a t s u s p e n d e d over the hole in the roof a n d m o v e d by a string. S u c h a lodge was in the first i n s t a n c e c o n s t r u c t e d in a day or two at m o s t , a n d taken d o w n a n d p u t u p in a few h o u r s ; a n d every family owned o n e , or its a p a r t m e n t in o n e . In the s a v a g e s t a t e every family o w n s a shelter a s g o o d a s the best, a n d sufficient for its c o a r s e r a n d s i m p l e r w a n t s ; b u t I think that I s p e a k within b o u n d s w h e n I say that, t h o u g h the birds of the air have their n e s t s , a n d the foxes their h o l e s , 4 a n d the s a v a g e s their w i g w a m s , in m o d e r n civilized society not m o r e t h a n o n e half the families own a shelter. In the large towns a n d cities, w h e r e civilization especially prevails, the n u m b e r of t h o s e w h o own a shelter is a very s m a l l fraction of the w h o l e . T h e rest pay a n a n n u a l tax for this o u t s i d e g a r m e n t of all, b e c o m e i n d i s p e n s a b l e s u m m e r a n d winter, which would b u y a village of I n d i a n w i g w a m s , b u t now helps to k e e p t h e m p o o r as long a s they live. I d o not m e a n to insist h e r e on the d i s a d v a n t a g e of hiring c o m p a r e d with owning, b u t it is evident that the s a v a g e o w n s his shelter b e c a u s e it c o s t s so little, while the civilized m a n hires his c o m m o n l y b e c a u s e h e c a n n o t afford to own it; n o r c a n h e , in the long r u n , any better afford to hire. B u t , a n s w e r s o n e , by merely p a y i n g this tax the p o o r civilized m a n s e c u r e s an a b o d e which is a p a l a c e c o m p a r e d with the s a v a g e ' s . An a n n u a l rent of from twenty-five to a h u n d r e d dollars, t h e s e are the c o u n t r y r a t e s , entitles him to the benefit of the i m p r o v e m e n t s of c e n t u r i e s , s p a c i o u s apartm e n t s , clean paint a n d p a p e r , R u m f o r d fireplace,5 b a c k p l a s t e r i n g , V e n e t i a n blinds, c o p p e r p u m p , spring lock, a c o m m o d i o u s cellar, a n d m a n y other t h i n g s . B u t how h a p p e n s it that he w h o is s a i d to enjoy t h e s e things is s o c o m m o n l y a poor civilized m a n , while the s a v a g e , w h o h a s t h e m not, is rich a s a s a v a g e ? If it is a s s e r t e d that civilization is a real a d v a n c e in the condition of m a n , — a n d I think that it is, t h o u g h only the w i s e improve their advant a g e s , — i t m u s t b e s h o w n that it h a s p r o d u c e d better dwellings without making t h e m m o r e costly; a n d the c o s t of a thing is the a m o u n t of w h a t I will call life w h i c h is r e q u i r e d to b e e x c h a n g e d for it, i m m e d i a t e l y or in the l o n g r u n . An a v e r a g e h o u s e in this n e i g h b o r h o o d c o s t s p e r h a p s eight h u n d r e d 3. D a n i e l G o o k i n , Historical Collections of the Indians in New England (1792). 4. " T h e foxes have holes, a n d the birds of the air have nests; but the S o n of m a n hath not w h e r e to lay his h e a d " ( M a t t h e w 8 . 2 0 ) .

5. B e n j a m i n T h o m p s o n , C o u n t R u m f o r d ( 1 7 5 3 1 8 1 4 ) , d e v i s e d a s h e l f i n s i d e t h e c h i m n e y to p r e vent s m o k e from b e i n g carried b a c k into a r o o m by downdrafts.

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dollars, a n d to lay u p this s u m will take from ten to fifteen years of the laborer's life, even if he is not e n c u m b e r e d with a f a m i l y ; — e s t i m a t i n g the p e c u n i a r y value of every m a n ' s labor at o n e dollar a day, for if s o m e receive m o r e , others receive l e s s ; — s o that he m u s t have s p e n t m o r e t h a n half his life c o m m o n l y before his w i g w a m will be e a r n e d . If we s u p p o s e him to pay a rent i n s t e a d , this is but a doubtful c h o i c e of evils. W o u l d the s a v a g e have b e e n wise to e x c h a n g e his w i g w a m for a p a l a c e on t h e s e t e r m s ? It m a y b e g u e s s e d that I r e d u c e a l m o s t the w h o l e a d v a n t a g e of holding this s u p e r f l u o u s property as a fund in store a g a i n s t the future, s o far a s the individual is c o n c e r n e d , mainly to the defraying of funeral e x p e n s e s . B u t p e r h a p s a m a n is not required to bury himself. N e v e r t h e l e s s this points to an important distinction b e t w e e n the civilized m a n a n d the s a v a g e ; a n d , no d o u b t , they have d e s i g n s on us for our benefit, in m a k i n g the life of a civilized p e o p l e an institution, in which the life of the individual is to a great extent a b s o r b e d , in order to preserve a n d perfect that of the r a c e . B u t I wish to show at what a sacrifice this a d v a n t a g e is at p r e s e n t o b t a i n e d , a n d to s u g g e s t that we m a y possibly so live a s to s e c u r e all the a d v a n t a g e without suffering any of the d i s a d v a n t a g e . W h a t m e a n ye by saying that the p o o r ye have always with you, or that the fathers have e a t e n s o u r g r a p e s , a n d the children's teeth are set on e d g e ? 6 "As I live, saith the Lord G o d , ye shall not have o c c a s i o n any m o r e to u s e this proverb in Israel." " B e h o l d all souls are m i n e ; a s the soul of the father, s o also the soul of the s o n is m i n e : the soul that sinneth it shall d i e . " 7 W h e n I c o n s i d e r my n e i g h b o r s , the f a r m e r s of C o n c o r d , w h o are at least as well off a s the other c l a s s e s , I find that for the m o s t part they have b e e n toiling twenty, thirty, or forty years, that they may b e c o m e the real o w n e r s of their f a r m s , which c o m m o n l y they have inherited with e n c u m b r a n c e s , or else b o u g h t with hired m o n e y , — a n d we may regard o n e third of that toil a s the c o s t of their h o u s e s , — b u t c o m m o n l y they have not p a i d for t h e m yet. It is true, the e n c u m b r a n c e s s o m e t i m e s outweigh the value of the f a r m , s o that the farm itself b e c o m e s o n e great e n c u m b r a n c e , a n d still a m a n is f o u n d to inherit it, b e i n g well a c q u a i n t e d with it, a s he says. O n applying to the a s s e s sors, I a m surprised to learn that they c a n n o t at o n c e n a m e a dozen in the town w h o own their f a r m s free a n d clear. If you would know the history of these h o m e s t e a d s , inquire at the b a n k w h e r e they are m o r t g a g e d . T h e m a n who has actually paid for his farm with labor o n it is s o rare that every neighbor c a n point to h i m . I d o u b t if there are three s u c h m e n in C o n c o r d . What has b e e n said of the m e r c h a n t s , that a very large majority, even ninetyseven in a h u n d r e d , a r e s u r e to fail, is equally true of the f a r m e r s . With regard to the m e r c h a n t s , however, o n e of t h e m says pertinently that a great part of their failures are not g e n u i n e p e c u n i a r y failures, but merely failures to fulfil their e n g a g e m e n t s , b e c a u s e it is i n c o n v e n i e n t ; that is, it is the moral 6 . T h o r e a u is r e p u d i a t i n g J e s u s ' w o r d s t o h i s d i s c i p l e s " F o r ye h a v e t h e p o o r a l w a y s w i t h y o u ; b u t m e y e h a v e n o t a l w a y s " ( M a t t h e w 2 6 . 1 1) b y c o m b i n i n g it w i t h G o d ' s r e p r o o f t o F z e k i e l f o r e m p l o y ing a negatively deterministic proverb: "What m e a n ye, that ye u s e this proverb c o n c e r n i n g the land of Israel, saying. T h e fathers have eaten sour g r a p e s , a n d the children's teeth a r e set on e d g e ? "

(Ezekiel 18.2). 7. T h e s e t w o v e r s e s a r e E z e k i e l 18.3—4, b u t T h o reau so truncates the p a s s a g e that the reader may f i n d it h a r d t o u n d e r s t a n d t h a t t h e b i b l i c a l i n t e n t ( a s w e l l a s T h o r e a u ' s o w n ) is o p t i m i s t i c , t o r e j e c t the notion that the sins of the fathers are visited on their children.

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c h a r a c t e r that b r e a k s d o w n . B u t this p u t s a n infinitely w o r s e f a c e o n the matter, a n d s u g g e s t s , b e s i d e , that probably not even the other three s u c c e e d in saving their s o u l s , b u t are p e r c h a n c e b a n k r u p t in a w o r s e s e n s e than they w h o fail honestly. B a n k r u p t c y a n d repudiation are the spring-boards from which m u c h of our civilization vaults a n d turns its s o m e r s e t s , but the s a v a g e s t a n d s on the u n e l a s t i c p l a n k of f a m i n e . Yet the M i d d l e s e x C a t t l e S h o w g o e s off h e r e with eclat annually, a s if all the j o i n t s of the agricultural m a c h i n e were s u e n t . 8 T h e farmer is e n d e a v o r i n g to solve the p r o b l e m of a livelihood by a f o r m u l a m o r e c o m p l i c a t e d than the p r o b l e m itself. T o get his s h o e s t r i n g s h e s p e c u lates in h e r d s of cattle. W i t h c o n s u m m a t e skill h e h a s set his trap with a hair spring to c a t c h c o m f o r t a n d i n d e p e n d e n c e , a n d t h e n , a s h e t u r n e d away, got his own leg into it. T h i s is the r e a s o n h e is poor; a n d for a similar r e a s o n we a r e all poor in r e s p e c t to a t h o u s a n d s a v a g e c o m f o r t s , t h o u g h s u r r o u n d e d by luxuries. As C h a p m a n 9 s i n g s , — " T h e false society of m e n — - f o r earthly g r e a t n e s s All heavenly c o m f o r t s rarefies to air." A n d w h e n the farmer h a s got his h o u s e , h e m a y not b e the richer but the poorer for it, a n d it b e the h o u s e that h a s got h i m . A s I u n d e r s t a n d it, that w a s a valid objection u r g e d by M o m u s 1 a g a i n s t the h o u s e w h i c h M i n e r v a m a d e , that s h e " h a d not m a d e it m o v a b l e , by which m e a n s a b a d neighborh o o d might b e a v o i d e d ; " a n d it m a y still b e u r g e d , for o u r h o u s e s are s u c h unwieldy property that we a r e often i m p r i s o n e d rather than h o u s e d in t h e m ; a n d the b a d n e i g h b o r h o o d to b e a v o i d e d is our own scurvy selves. I know o n e or two families, at least, in this town, w h o , for nearly a g e n e r a t i o n , have b e e n wishing to sell their h o u s e s in the outskirts a n d m o v e into the village, but have not b e e n a b l e to a c c o m p l i s h it, a n d only d e a t h will set t h e m free. G r a n t e d that the majority a r e able at last either to own or hire the m o d e r n h o u s e with all its i m p r o v e m e n t s . W h i l e civilization h a s b e e n improving our h o u s e s , it h a s not equally improved the m e n w h o a r e to inhabit t h e m . It h a s c r e a t e d p a l a c e s , but it w a s not s o e a s y to c r e a t e n o b l e m e n a n d kings. A n d if the civilized man's pursuits are no worthier than the savage's, if he is employed the greater part of his life in obtaining gross necessaries and comforts merely, why should he have a better dwelling than the former? B u t h o w d o the p o o r minority fare? P e r h a p s it will be f o u n d , that j u s t in proportion a s s o m e have b e e n p l a c e d in o u t w a r d c i r c u m s t a n c e s a b o v e the s a v a g e , o t h e r s have b e e n d e g r a d e d b e l o w h i m . T h e luxury of o n e c l a s s is c o u n t e r b a l a n c e d by the i n d i g e n c e of a n o t h e r . O n the o n e side is the p a l a c e , on the other are the a l m s h o u s e a n d "silent p o o r . " 2 T h e m y r i a d s w h o built the p y r a m i d s to be the t o m b s of the P h a r a o h s were fed o n garlic, a n d it m a y be were not decently b u r i e d t h e m s e l v e s . T h e m a s o n w h o finishes the c o r n i c e of the p a l a c e returns at night p e r c h a n c e to a h u t not s o g o o d a s a w i g w a m . It is a m i s t a k e to s u p p o s e that, in a c o u n t r y w h e r e the u s u a l e v i d e n c e s of civilization exist, the c o n d i t i o n of a very large body of the i n h a b i t a n t s m a y 8.

In g o o d w o r k i n g o r d e r , b r o k e n i n .

9 . G e o r g e C h a p m a n ( 1 5 5 9 ? - 1 6 3 4 ) , Caesar and Pompey 5.2. 1. In G r e e k m y t h o l o g y , t h e g o d o f p l e a s a n t r y b u t

also of carping criticism. 2. H a r d i n g identifies these as the poor of C o n c o r d w h o received public charity secretly to retain their dwellings a n d not go to the p o o r h o u s e .

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not be a s d e g r a d e d a s that of s a v a g e s . I refer to the d e g r a d e d p o o r , not now to the d e g r a d e d rich. T o know this I s h o u l d not n e e d to look farther t h a n to the s h a n t i e s w h i c h every w h e r e border our railroads, that last i m p r o v e m e n t in civilization; w h e r e I see in my daily walks h u m a n b e i n g s living in sties, a n d all winter with a n o p e n door, for the s a k e of light, without a n y visible, often i m a g i n a b l e , wood pile, a n d the forms of both old a n d y o u n g are perm a n e n t l y c o n t r a c t e d by the long habit of shrinking from c o l d a n d misery, a n d the d e v e l o p m e n t of all their l i m b s a n d faculties is c h e c k e d . It certainly is fair to look at that c l a s s by w h o s e labor the works which d i s t i n g u i s h the g e n e r a t i o n are a c c o m p l i s h e d . S u c h too, to a greater or less extent, is the condition of the operatives of every d e n o m i n a t i o n in E n g l a n d , w h i c h is the great w o r k h o u s e of the world. O r I c o u l d refer you to Ireland, which is m a r k e d a s o n e of the white or e n l i g h t e n e d s p o t s o n the m a p . 3 C o n t r a s t the physical c o n d i t i o n of the Irish with that of the N o r t h A m e r i c a n I n d i a n , or the S o u t h S e a Islander, or any other s a v a g e r a c e b e f o r e it w a s d e g r a d e d by c o n t a c t with the civilized m a n . Yet I have no d o u b t that that p e o p l e ' s rulers are a s wise a s the average of civilized rulers. T h e i r c o n d i t i o n only proves w h a t s q u a l i d n e s s m a y c o n s i s t with civilization. I hardly n e e d refer n o w to the laborers in our S o u t h e r n S t a t e s w h o p r o d u c e the s t a p l e exports o f this c o u n try, a n d a r e t h e m s e l v e s a s t a p l e p r o d u c t i o n of the S o u t h . 4 B u t to confine myself to t h o s e w h o are s a i d to b e in moderate c i r c u m s t a n c e s . M o s t m e n a p p e a r never to have c o n s i d e r e d w h a t a h o u s e is, a n d are a c t u ally t h o u g h needlessly p o o r all their lives b e c a u s e they think that they m u s t have s u c h a o n e a s their neighbors have. A s if o n e were to w e a r any sort of c o a t which the tailor might c u t out for h i m , or, gradually leaving off p a l m l e a f hat or c a p of w o o d c h u c k skin, c o m p l a i n of hard times b e c a u s e h e c o u l d not afford to buy h i m a crown! It is p o s s i b l e to invent a h o u s e still m o r e c o n v e n ient a n d luxurious than we have, which yet all would a d m i t that m a n c o u l d not afford to pay for. S h a l l we always study to obtain m o r e of t h e s e things, a n d not s o m e t i m e s to be c o n t e n t with l e s s ? Shall the r e s p e c t a b l e citizen t h u s gravely t e a c h , by p r e c e p t a n d e x a m p l e , the necessity of the y o u n g m a n ' s providing a certain n u m b e r of s u p e r f l u o u s g l o w - s h o e s , 5 a n d u m b r e l l a s , a n d e m p t y g u e s t c h a m b e r s for e m p t y g u e s t s , before h e dies? W h y s h o u l d not o u r furniture be a s s i m p l e a s the Arab's or the Indian's? W h e n I think of the b e n e f a c t o r s of the r a c e , w h o m we have a p o t h e o s i z e d a s m e s s e n g e r s from h e a v e n , b e a r e r s of divine gifts to m a n , I do not s e e in my m i n d a n y r e t i n u e at their h e e l s , any car-load of f a s h i o n a b l e furniture. O r what if I w e r e to a l l o w — w o u l d it not b e a singular a l l o w a n c e ? — t h a t our furniture s h o u l d b e m o r e c o m p l e x t h a n the A r a b ' s , in proportion a s we a r e morally a n d intellectually his s u p e r i o r s ! At p r e s e n t our h o u s e s are cluttered a n d defiled with it, a n d a good h o u s e w i f e would s w e e p out the greater part into the d u s t hole, a n d not leave her m o r n i n g ' s work u n d o n e . M o r n i n g work! By the b l u s h e s of A u r o r a a n d the m u s i c of M e m n o n , 6 what s h o u l d b e m a n ' s morning work in this world? I h a d three p i e c e s of l i m e s t o n e on my d e s k , but I w a s terrified to 3. T h o r e a u r e f e r s t o t h e h a b i t s o m e c a r t o g r a p h e r s h a d o f l e a v i n g u n e x p l o r e d t e r r a i n in a d a r k c o l o r ; o t h e r c a r t o g r a p h e r s left u n e x p l o r e d a r e a s w h i t e . 4. T h e a c c u s a t i o n , d e n i e d by m a n y historians, that s o m e p l a n t a t i o n s , e s p e c i a l l y in V i r g i n i a , w e r e r u n for the sole p u r p o s e of b r e e d i n g slave children for sale.

5. G a l o s h e s . 6. T h e R o m a n g o d d e s s of the d a w n a n d her son, an E t h i o p i a n p r i n c e w h o fought for P r i a m at Troy. M e m n o n is a s s o c i a t e d h e r e w i t h t h e E g y p t i a n c o l o s s u s near T h e b e s that in a n c i e n t t i m e s e m i t t e d a s o u n d at d a w n , p r e s u m a b l y b e c a u s e of t h e w a r m ing of air c u r r e n t s .

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find that they r e q u i r e d to be d u s t e d daily, w h e n the furniture of my mind w a s all u n d u s t e d still, a n d I threw t h e m out the window in d i s g u s t . H o w , then, c o u l d I have a furnished h o u s e ? I would rather sit in the o p e n air, for no d u s t g a t h e r s on the g r a s s , u n l e s s where m a n h a s broken g r o u n d . It is the luxurious a n d d i s s i p a t e d w h o set the f a s h i o n s which the herd so diligently follow. T h e traveller w h o s t o p s at the b e s t h o u s e s , s o called, s o o n discovers this, for the p u b l i c a n s p r e s u m e him to be a S a r d a n a p a l u s , 7 a n d if h e resigned h i m s e l f to their tender m e r c i e s h e would s o o n be c o m p l e t e l y e m a s c u l a t e d . I think that in the railroad c a r we a r e inclined to s p e n d m o r e on luxury than on safety a n d c o n v e n i e n c e , a n d it t h r e a t e n s without attaining t h e s e to b e c o m e no better than a m o d e r n drawing r o o m , with its divans, a n d o t t o m a n s , a n d s u n s h a d e s , a n d a h u n d r e d other oriental things, which we are taking west with u s , invented for the ladies of the h a r e m a n d the e f f e m i n a t e natives of the C e l e s t i a l E m p i r e , which J o n a t h a n 8 s h o u l d b e a s h a m e d to know the n a m e s of. I w o u l d rather sit on a p u m p k i n a n d have it all to myself, than b e c r o w d e d on a velvet c u s h i o n . I would rather ride on earth in an ox cart with a free c i r c u l a t i o n , than go to h e a v e n in the fancy c a r of a n excursion train a n d b r e a t h e a malaria all the way. T h e very simplicity a n d n a k e d n e s s of m a n ' s life in the primitive a g e s imply this a d v a n t a g e at least, that they left him still but a s o j o u r n e r in n a t u r e . W h e n he was refreshed with food a n d s l e e p he c o n t e m p l a t e d his j o u r n e y a g a i n . H e dwelt, a s it w e r e , in a tent in this world, a n d w a s either t h r e a d i n g the valleys, or c r o s s i n g the p l a i n s , or c l i m b i n g the m o u n t a i n t o p s . B u t lo! m e n have b e c o m e the tools of their tools. T h e m a n w h o i n d e p e n d e n t l y p l u c k e d the fruits when he w a s hungry is b e c o m e a farmer; a n d he w h o s t o o d u n d e r a tree for shelter, a h o u s e k e e p e r . W e now n o longer c a m p as for a night, but have settled down on earth a n d forgotten h e a v e n . W e have a d o p t e d C h r i s tianity merely a s an improved m e t h o d of agri-culture. W e have built for this world a family m a n s i o n , a n d for the next a family t o m b . T h e best works of art are the expression of m a n ' s struggle to free h i m s e l f from this c o n d i t i o n , but the effect of our art is merely to m a k e this low s t a t e c o m f o r t a b l e a n d that higher state to be forgotten. T h e r e is actually no p l a c e in this village for a work of fine art, if any h a d c o m e d o w n to u s , to s t a n d , for our lives, our h o u s e s a n d streets, furnish n o p r o p e r p e d e s t a l for it. T h e r e is not a nail to h a n g a picture on, nor a shelf to receive the b u s t of a hero or a saint. W h e n I c o n s i d e r how our h o u s e s are built a n d p a i d for, or not paid for, a n d their internal e c o n o m y m a n a g e d a n d s u s t a i n e d , I w o n d e r that the floor d o e s not give way u n d e r the visitor while he is a d m i r i n g the g e w g a w s u p o n the m a n t e l p i e c e , a n d let him t h r o u g h into the cellar, to s o m e solid a n d h o n e s t t h o u g h earthy f o u n d a t i o n . I c a n n o t b u t perceive that this s o called rich a n d refined life is a thing j u m p e d at, a n d I do not get on in the e n j o y m e n t of t h e ^ m e arts which adorn it, my attention b e i n g wholly o c c u p i e d with the j u m p ; for I r e m e m b e r that the g r e a t e s t g e n u i n e l e a p , d u e to h u m a n m u s c l e s a l o n e , o n record, is that of certain w a n d e r i n g A r a b s , w h o are said to have c l e a r e d twenty-five feet on level g r o u n d . W i t h o u t factitious s u p p o r t , m a n is s u r e to c o m e to earth again beyond that d i s t a n c e . T h e first q u e s t i o n which I a m t e m p t e d to put to the proprietor of s u c h great impropriety is, W h o bolsters /. 8.

E f f e m i n a t e r u l e r o f A s s y r i a (9th c e n t u r y B . C . E . ) . A t y p e n a m e a t first a p p l i e d t o N e w E n g l a n d e r s ,

t h e n later (as h e r e ) to t h e i n h a b i t a n t s of t h e e n t i r e United States.

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you? Are you o n e of the ninety-seven w h o fail? or of the three w h o s u c c e e d ? A n s w e r m e t h e s e q u e s t i o n s , a n d then p e r h a p s I may look at your b a w b l e s a n d find t h e m o r n a m e n t a l . T h e cart before the h o r s e is neither beautiful nor useful. B e f o r e we can adorn our h o u s e s with beautiful o b j e c t s the walls m u s t be stripped, a n d our lives m u s t be stripped, a n d beautiful h o u s e k e e p i n g a n d beautiful living be laid for a f o u n d a t i o n : now, a t a s t e for the beautiful is m o s t cultivated out of d o o r s , where there is no h o u s e a n d no h o u s e k e e p e r . Old J o h n s o n , in his " W o n d e r - W o r k i n g P r o v i d e n c e , " s p e a k i n g of the first settlers of this town, with w h o m he was c o n t e m p o r a r y , tells u s that "they burrow t h e m s e l v e s in the earth for their first shelter u n d e r s o m e hillside, a n d , c a s t i n g the soil aloft u p o n timber, they m a k e a s m o k y fire a g a i n s t the earth, at the highest s i d e . " T h e y did not "provide t h e m h o u s e s , " says h e , "till the earth, by the Lord's b l e s s i n g , b r o u g h t forth bread to feed t h e m , " a n d the first year's c r o p was so light that "they were forced to cut their b r e a d very thin for a long s e a s o n . " 9 T h e secretary of the Province of N e w N e t h e r l a n d , writing in D u t c h , in 1 6 5 0 , for the information of t h o s e w h o w i s h e d to take u p land there, states m o r e particularly, that " t h o s e in N e w N e t h e r l a n d , a n d especially in N e w E n g l a n d , w h o have n o m e a n s to build farm h o u s e s at first a c c o r d i n g to their w i s h e s , dig a s q u a r e pit in the g r o u n d , cellar f a s h i o n , six or seven feet d e e p , as long a n d a s broad a s they think proper, c a s e the e a r t h inside with wood all round the wall, a n d line the wood with the bark of trees or s o m e t h i n g else to prevent the caving in of the e a r t h ; floor this cellar with plank, a n d w a i n s c o t it overhead for a ceiling, raise a roof of s p a r s clear u p , and cover the s p a r s with bark or green s o d s , so that they c a n live dry a n d w a r m in t h e s e h o u s e s with their entire families for two, three, a n d four years, it b e i n g u n d e r s t o o d that partitions are run through t h o s e cellars which a r e a d a p t e d to the size of the family. T h e wealthy a n d principal m e n in N e w E n g l a n d , in the b e g i n n i n g of the c o l o n i e s , c o m m e n c e d their first dwelling h o u s e s in this fashion for two r e a s o n s ; firstly, in order not to w a s t e time in building, a n d not to want food the next s e a s o n ; secondly, in order not to d i s c o u r a g e poor laboring p e o p l e w h o m they brought over in n u m b e r s from F a t h e r l a n d . In the c o u r s e of three or four years, w h e n the country b e c a m e a d a p t e d to a g r i c u l t u r e , they built t h e m s e l v e s h a n d s o m e h o u s e s , s p e n d i n g on t h e m several t h o u s a n d s . " 1 In this c o u r s e which our a n c e s t o r s took there w a s a s h o w of p r u d e n c e at least, as if their principle were to satisfy the m o r e p r e s s i n g w a n t s first. B u t are the m o r e p r e s s i n g wants satisfied now? W h e n I think of a c q u i r i n g for myself o n e of our luxurious dwellings, I a m d e t e r r e d , for, s o to s p e a k , the country is not yet a d a p t e d to human c u l t u r e , a n d we are still forced to cut our spiritual bread far thinner than our forefathers did their w h e a t e n . N o t that all architectural o r n a m e n t is to be n e g l e c t e d even in the r u d e s t p e r i o d s ; but let our h o u s e s first be lined with beauty, where they c o m e in c o n t a c t with our lives, like the t e n e m e n t of the shellfish, a n d not overlaid with it. B u t , alas! I have b e e n inside o n e or two of t h e m , a n d know what they are lined with. T h o u g h we are not so d e g e n e r a t e but that we might possibly live in a c a v e or a wigwam or wear skins to-day, it certainly is better to a c c e p t the advan9.

E d w a r d J o h n s o n , Wonder-working

of Sion's

Saviour

in New

England

Providence

(1654).

1.

Edmund

History

Bailey

of the State

O'Callaghan,

of New-York

( 1 8 5 1).

Documentary

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THOREAU

t a g e s , t h o u g h so dearly b o u g h t , w h i c h the invention a n d industry of m a n k i n d offer. In s u c h a n e i g h b o r h o o d a s this, b o a r d s a n d s h i n g l e s , lime a n d bricks, are c h e a p e r a n d m o r e easily o b t a i n e d than s u i t a b l e c a v e s , or w h o l e logs, or bark in sufficient q u a n t i t i e s , or even w e l l - t e m p e r e d clay or flat s t o n e s . I s p e a k u n d e r s t a n d i n g l y on this s u b j e c t , for I have m a d e m y s e l f a c q u a i n t e d with it both theoretically a n d practically. With a little m o r e wit we might u s e t h e s e materials s o a s to b e c o m e richer than the richest now a r e , a n d m a k e o u r civilization a b l e s s i n g . T h e civilized m a n is a m o r e e x p e r i e n c e d a n d wiser s a v a g e . B u t to m a k e h a s t e to my own e x p e r i m e n t . N e a r the e n d of M a r c h , 1 8 4 5 , I b o r r o w e d a n axe a n d went d o w n to the w o o d s by W a l d e n P o n d , n e a r e s t to w h e r e I i n t e n d e d to build my h o u s e , a n d b e g a n to cut d o w n s o m e tall arrowy white p i n e s , still in their y o u t h , for timber. It is difficult to begin without borrowing, but p e r h a p s it is the m o s t g e n e r o u s c o u r s e t h u s to permit your fellow-men to have a n interest in your e n t e r p r i s e . T h e owner of the axe, a s h e r e l e a s e d his hold on it, s a i d that it w a s the a p p l e of * his eye; b u t I r e t u r n e d it s h a r p e r than I received it. It w a s a p l e a s a n t hillside where I worked, covered with p i n e w o o d s , through w h i c h I looked o u t on the p o n d , a n d a small o p e n field in the w o o d s w h e r e p i n e s a n d hickories were springing u p . T h e ice in the p o n d w a s not yet d i s s o l v e d , t h o u g h there were s o m e o p e n s p a c e s , a n d it w a s all dark c o l o r e d a n d s a t u r a t e d with water. T h e r e were s o m e slight flurries of s n o w d u r i n g the days that I worked t h e r e ; but for the m o s t part w h e n I c a m e o u t o n to the railroad, on my way h o m e , its yellow s a n d h e a p s t r e t c h e d away g l e a m i n g in the hazy a t m o s p h e r e , a n d the rails s h o n e in the spring s u n , a n d I h e a r d the lark a n d p e w e e a n d other birds already c o m e to c o m m e n c e a n o t h e r year with u s . T h e y were p l e a s a n t spring d a y s , in which the winter of m a n ' s d i s c o n t e n t w a s t h a w i n g a s well a s the earth, a n d the life that h a d lain torpid b e g a n to stretch itself. O n e day, w h e n my axe h a d c o m e off a n d I h a d c u t a g r e e n hickory for a w e d g e , driving it with a s t o n e , a n d h a d p l a c e d the w h o l e to s o a k in a p o n d hole in order to swell the w o o d , I saw a striped s n a k e run into the water, a n d he lay o n the b o t t o m , a p p a r e n t l y without i n c o n v e n i e n c e , a s long a s I staid there, or m o r e t h a n a q u a r t e r of a n hour; perh a p s b e c a u s e he h a d not yet fairly c o m e out of the torpid s t a t e . It a p p e a r e d to m e that for a like r e a s o n m e n r e m a i n in their p r e s e n t low a n d primitive c o n d i tion; but if they s h o u l d feel the i n f l u e n c e of the s p r i n g of springs a r o u s i n g t h e m , they would of n e c e s s i t y rise to a higher a n d m o r e e t h e r e a l life. I h a d p r e viously s e e n the s n a k e s in frosty m o r n i n g s in my p a t h with p o r t i o n s of their b o d i e s still n u m b a n d inflexible, waiting for the s u n to t h a w t h e m . O n the 1st of April it rained a n d m e l t e d the i c e , a n d in the early part of the day, w h i c h w a s very foggy, I h e a r d a stray g o o s e g r o p i n g a b o u t over the p o n d a n d c a c k l i n g a s if lost, or like the spirit of the fog. S o I went on for s o m e days c u t t i n g a n d hewing timber, a n d a l s o s t u d s a n d rafters, all with my narrow axe, not having m a n y c o m m u n i c a b l e or scholarlike t h o u g h t s , s i n g i n g to m y s e l f , — M e n say they know m a n y t h i n g s ; B u t lo! they have taken w i n g s , — T h e arts a n d s c i e n c e s , And a thousand appliances; T h e wind that blows Is all that any body k n o w s . 2 2.

L i k e o t h e r p o e m s in Walden

n o t e n c l o s e d in q u o t a t i o n m a r k s , t h i s p o e m is T h o r e a u ' s .

WALDEN, CHAPTER

1 . ECONOMY

/

875

I hewed the m a i n timbers six i n c h e s s q u a r e , m o s t of the s t u d s on two sides only, a n d the rafters a n d floor timbers on o n e s i d e , leaving the rest of the bark on, so that they were j u s t a s straight a n d m u c h stronger than s a w e d o n e s . E a c h stick w a s carefully m o r t i s e d or t e n o n e d by its s t u m p , for I h a d borrowed other tools by this t i m e . M y days in the w o o d s were not very long o n e s ; yet I usually carried my d i n n e r of b r e a d a n d butter, a n d read the newsp a p e r in which it w a s w r a p p e d , at n o o n , sitting a m i d the green p i n e b o u g h s which I h a d c u t off, a n d to my b r e a d w a s i m p a r t e d s o m e of their f r a g r a n c e , for my h a n d s were covered with a thick c o a t of p i t c h . B e f o r e I h a d d o n e I was m o r e the friend than the foe of the pine tree, t h o u g h I h a d c u t d o w n s o m e of t h e m , having b e c o m e better a c q u a i n t e d with it. S o m e t i m e s a r a m bler in the w o o d w a s a t t r a c t e d by the s o u n d of my axe, a n d we c h a t t e d p l e a s a n t l y over the c h i p s which I h a d m a d e . By the m i d d l e of April, for I m a d e no h a s t e in my work, but rather m a d e the m o s t of it, my h o u s e w a s f r a m e d a n d ready for the raising. I h a d already b o u g h t the shanty of J a m e s C o l l i n s , a n I r i s h m a n w h o worked o n the Fitchb u r g Railroad, for b o a r d s . J a m e s C o l l i n s ' shanty w a s c o n s i d e r e d a n u n c o m monly fine o n e . W h e n I called to s e e it h e w a s not at h o m e . I walked a b o u t the o u t s i d e , at first u n o b s e r v e d from within, the window w a s so d e e p a n d high. It w a s of small d i m e n s i o n s , with a p e a k e d c o t t a g e roof, a n d not m u c h else to b e s e e n , the dirt b e i n g raised five feet all a r o u n d a s if it were a c o m p o s t h e a p . T h e roof w a s the s o u n d e s t part, t h o u g h a g o o d deal w a r p e d a n d m a d e brittle by the s u n . Door-sill there w a s n o n e , but a perennial p a s s a g e for the h e n s u n d e r the door b o a r d . M r s . C . c a m e to the d o o r a n d a s k e d m e to view it from the inside. T h e h e n s were driven in by my a p p r o a c h . It w a s dark, a n d h a d a dirt floor for the m o s t part, dank, c l a m m y , a n d a g u i s h , only here a b o a r d a n d there a b o a r d w h i c h would not b e a r removal. S h e lighted a l a m p to s h o w m e the inside of the roof a n d the walls, a n d a l s o that the b o a r d floor extended u n d e r the b e d , w a r n i n g m e not to step into the cellar, a sort of d u s t hole two feet d e e p . In her own w o r d s , they were " g o o d b o a r d s o v e r h e a d , g o o d b o a r d s all a r o u n d , a n d a g o o d w i n d o w , " — o f two w h o l e s q u a r e s originally, only the cat h a d p a s s e d out that way lately. T h e r e w a s a stove, a b e d , a n d a p l a c e to sit, a n infant in the h o u s e w h e r e it w a s b o r n , a silk p a r a s o l , giltf r a m e d looking-glass, a n d a patent n e w coffee mill nailed to an o a k s a p l i n g , all told. T h e bargain w a s s o o n c o n c l u d e d , for J a m e s h a d in the m e a n while r e t u r n e d . I to pay four dollars a n d twenty-five c e n t s to-night, h e to v a c a t e at five to-morrow m o r n i n g , selling to nobody else m e a n w h i l e : I to take p o s s e s sion at six. It were well, he said, to be there early, a n d a n t i c i p a t e certain indistinct but wholly u n j u s t c l a i m s on the s c o r e of g r o u n d rent a n d fuel. T h i s h e a s s u r e d m e w a s the only e n c u m b r a n c e . At six I p a s s e d him a n d his family on the r o a d . O n e large b u n d l e held their a l l , — b e d , coffee-mill, looking-glass, h e n s , — a l l but the cat, s h e took to the w o o d s a n d b e c a m e a wild cat, a n d , as I learned afterward, trod in a trap set for w o o d c h u c k s , a n d so b e c a m e a d e a d cat at last. I took d o w n this dwelling the s a m e m o r n i n g , d r a w i n g the nails, a n d r e m o v e d it to the p o n d side by small c a r t l o a d s , s p r e a d i n g the b o a r d s o n the g r a s s there to b l e a c h a n d warp b a c k again in the s u n . O n e early t h r u s h gave m e a note or two a s I drove a l o n g the w o o d l a n d p a t h . I w a s i n f o r m e d treacherously by a y o u n g Patrick that n e i g h b o r Seeley, a n I r i s h m a n , in the intervals of the carting, transferred the still tolerable, straight, a n d drivable nails, staples, a n d spikes to his p o c k e t , a n d then s t o o d w h e n I c a m e b a c k to p a s s the

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time of day, a n d look freshly u p , u n c o n c e r n e d , with s p r i n g t h o u g h t s , at the d e v a s t a t i o n ; there b e i n g a d e a r t h of work, a s h e s a i d . H e w a s there to represent s p e c t a t o r d o m , a n d help m a k e this seemingly insignificant event o n e with the removal of the g o d s of T r o y . 3 I d u g my cellar in the side of a hill sloping to the s o u t h , w h e r e a w o o d c h u c k h a d formerly d u g his burrow, down through s u m a c h a n d blackberry roots, a n d the lowest stain of vegetation, six feet s q u a r e by seven d e e p , to a fine s a n d where p o t a t o e s would not freeze in any winter. T h e s i d e s were left shelving, a n d not s t o n e d ; but the s u n having never s h o n e on t h e m , the s a n d still k e e p s its p l a c e . It w a s but two h o u r s ' work. I took p a r t i c u l a r p l e a s u r e in this b r e a k i n g of g r o u n d , for in a l m o s t all latitudes m e n dig into the earth for an e q u a b l e t e m p e r a t u r e . U n d e r the m o s t splendid h o u s e in the city is still to b e f o u n d the cellar w h e r e they store their roots a s of old, a n d long after the s u p e r s t r u c t u r e has d i s a p p e a r e d posterity r e m a r k its d e n t in the e a r t h . T h e h o u s e is still but a sort of p o r c h at the e n t r a n c e of a burrow. At length, in the b e g i n n i n g of M a y , with the help of s o m e of my a c q u a i n t a n c e s , rather to improve s o g o o d an o c c a s i o n for n e i g h b o r l i n e s s than from any necessity, I set u p the f r a m e of my h o u s e . N o m a n w a s ever m o r e h o n o r e d in the c h a r a c t e r of his r a i s e r s 4 than I. T h e y are d e s t i n e d , I trust, to a s s i s t at the raising of loftier s t r u c t u r e s o n e day. I b e g a n to o c c u p y my h o u s e on the 4 t h of July, a s s o o n as it w a s b o a r d e d a n d roofed, for the b o a r d s were carefully feather-edged a n d l a p p e d , s o that it w a s perfectly i m p e r v i o u s to r a i n ; 5 but before b o a r d i n g I laid the f o u n d a t i o n of a c h i m n e y at o n e e n d , bringing two c a r t l o a d s of s t o n e s up the hill from the p o n d in my a r m s . I built the c h i m n e y after my h o e i n g in the fall, before a fire b e c a m e n e c e s s a r y for w a r m t h , d o i n g my c o o k i n g in the m e a n while out of d o o r s on the g r o u n d , early in the m o r n i n g : which m o d e I still think is in s o m e r e s p e c t s m o r e convenient a n d a g r e e a b l e than the u s u a l o n e . W h e n it s t o r m e d before my b r e a d w a s b a k e d , I fixed a few b o a r d s over the fire, a n d s a t u n d e r t h e m to w a t c h my loaf, a n d p a s s e d s o m e p l e a s a n t h o u r s in that way. In t h o s e d a y s , w h e n my h a n d s were m u c h e m p l o y e d , I read but little, but the least s c r a p s of p a p e r which lay on the g r o u n d , my holder, or table-cloth, afforded m e a s m u c h e n t e r t a i n m e n t , in fact a n s w e r e d the s a m e p u r p o s e a s the I l i a d . 6 It would be worth the while to build still m o r e deliberately than I did, c o n s i d e r i n g , for i n s t a n c e , what f o u n d a t i o n a door, a window, a cellar, a garret, have in the n a t u r e of m a n , a n d p e r c h a n c e never raising any s u p e r s t r u c ture until we f o u n d a better r e a s o n for it than our t e m p o r a l n e c e s s i t i e s even. T h e r e is s o m e of the s a m e fitness in a m a n ' s b u i l d i n g his own h o u s e that there is in a bird's building its own nest. W h o k n o w s b u t if m e n c o n s t r u c t e d their dwellings with their own h a n d s , a n d provided food for t h e m s e l v e s a n d families simply a n d honestly e n o u g h , the poetic faculty would be universally d e v e l o p e d , a s birds universally s i n g w h e n they are so e n g a g e d ? B u t a l a s ! we d o like cowbirds a n d c u c k o o s , which lay their e g g s in n e s t s w h i c h other birds 3 . In V i r g i l ' s Aeneid, b o o k 2 , a f t e r t h e fall o f T r o y , A e n e a s e s c a p e s with his father a n d s o n a n d his household gods. 4. T h e s e " r a i s e r s " (a p u n ) i n c l u d e d Emerson; Alcott; Ellery C h a n n i n g ; two y o u n g brothers w h o h a d s t u d i e d at B r o o k F a r m , Burrill a n d G e o r g e William Curtis; and the Concord farmer E d m u n d

H o s m e r a n d his three s o n s . 5. I.e., o n t h e b o a r d s to b e n a i l e d horizontally t h e top a n d b o t t o m e d g e s w e r e c u t at forty4ive-degree angles a n d overlapped to s h e d rain. 6. G r e e k epic of the s i e g e of T r o y a t t r i b u t e d to H o m e r .

traditionally

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1 . ECONOMY

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have built, a n d c h e e r no traveller with their c h a t t e r i n g a n d u n m u s i c a l n o t e s . Shall we forever resign the p l e a s u r e of c o n s t r u c t i o n to the c a r p e n t e r ? W h a t d o e s a r c h i t e c t u r e a m o u n t to in the e x p e r i e n c e of the m a s s of m e n ? I never in all my walks c a m e a c r o s s a m a n e n g a g e d in s o s i m p l e a n d natural an o c c u p a t i o n a s building his h o u s e . W e b e l o n g to the c o m m u n i t y . It is not the tailor a l o n e who is the ninth part of a m a n ; it is a s m u c h the p r e a c h e r , a n d the m e r c h a n t , a n d the farmer. W h e r e is this division of labor to e n d ? a n d what object d o e s it finally serve? N o d o u b t a n o t h e r may a l s o think for m e ; but it is not therefore desirable that h e s h o u l d do so to the e x c l u s i o n of my thinking for myself. T r u e , there are a r c h i t e c t s s o called in this country, a n d I have h e a r d of o n e at least p o s s e s s e d with the idea of m a k i n g architectural o r n a m e n t s have a c o r e of truth, a necessity, a n d h e n c e a beauty, a s if it were a revelation to h i m . 7 All very well p e r h a p s from his point of view, but only a little better than the c o m m o n dilettantism. A s e n t i m e n t a l reformer in a r c h i t e c ture, he b e g a n at the c o r n i c e , not at the f o u n d a t i o n . It w a s only how to p u t a c o r e of truth within the o r n a m e n t s , that every s u g a r p l u m in fact might have a n a l m o n d or caraway s e e d in i t , — t h o u g h I hold that a l m o n d s are m o s t w h o l e s o m e without the s u g a r , — a n d not how the i n h a b i t a n t , the indweller, might build truly within a n d without, a n d let the o r n a m e n t s take c a r e of t h e m s e l v e s . W h a t r e a s o n a b l e m a n ever s u p p o s e d that o r n a m e n t s were s o m e t h i n g o u t w a r d a n d in the skin m e r e l y , — t h a t the tortoise got his spotted shell, or the shellfish its mother-o'-pearl tints, by s u c h a c o n t r a c t as the inhabitants of B r o a d w a y their Trinity C h u r c h ? B u t a m a n h a s no m o r e to do with the style of a r c h i t e c t u r e of his h o u s e than a tortoise with that of its shell: nor n e e d the soldier b e so idle as to try to paint the precise color of his virtue on his s t a n d a r d . T h e e n e m y will find it out. H e m a y turn pale when the trial c o m e s . T h i s m a n s e e m e d to m e to lean over the c o r n i c e a n d timidly whisper his half truth to the r u d e o c c u p a n t s w h o really knew it better than h e . W h a t of a r c h i t e c t u r a l beauty I now s e e , I know has gradually grown from within o u t w a r d , o u t of the n e c e s s i t i e s a n d c h a r a c t e r of the indweller, w h o is the only b u i l d e r , — o u t of s o m e u n c o n s c i o u s truthf u l n e s s , a n d n o b l e n e s s , without ever a thought for the a p p e a r a n c e ; a n d whatever additional b e a u t y of this kind is d e s t i n e d to be p r o d u c e d will b e p r e c e d e d by a like u n c o n s c i o u s b e a u t y of life. T h e m o s t interesting dwellings in this country, a s the painter k n o w s , are the m o s t u n p r e t e n d i n g , h u m b l e log huts a n d c o t t a g e s of the p o o r c o m m o n l y ; it is the life of the i n h a b i t a n t s w h o s e shells they a r e , a n d not any peculiarity in their s u r f a c e s merely, which m a k e s t h e m picturesque; a n d equally interesting will b e the citizen's s u b u r b a n box, w h e n his life shall be as s i m p l e a n d a s a g r e e a b l e to the i m a g i n a t i o n , a n d there is a s little straining after effect in the style of his dwelling. A great proportion of architectural o r n a m e n t s are literally hollow, a n d a S e p t e m b e r gale would strip t h e m off, like b o r r o w e d p l u m e s , without injury to the s u b s t a n t i a l s . T h e y c a n do without architecture who have no olives nor wines in the cellar. W h a t if a n e q u a l a d o were m a d e a b o u t the o r n a m e n t s of style in literature, a n d the a r c h i t e c t s of o u r bibles s p e n t a s m u c h time a b o u t their c o r n i c e s a s the a r c h i t e c t s of our c h u r c h e s 7. T h e s c u l p t o r H o r a t i o G r e e n o u g h ( 1 8 0 5 - 1 8 5 2 ) , w h o s e theories T h o r e a u k n e w only imperfectly from a private letter o f G r e e n o u g h ' s to E m e r s o n .

T h e i d e a s a t t r i h u t e d h e r e a r e at v a r i a n c e w i t h Greenough's puhlished c o m m e n t s on architecture.

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do? S o are m a d e the belles-lettres a n d the beaux-arts a n d their p r o f e s s o r s . M u c h it c o n c e r n s a m a n , f o r s o o t h , h o w a few sticks a r e s l a n t e d over him or u n d e r h i m , a n d what colors are d a u b e d u p o n his box. It would signify s o m e w h a t , if, in any e a r n e s t s e n s e , he s l a n t e d t h e m a n d d a u b e d it; but the spirit having d e p a r t e d o u t of the t e n a n t , it is of a p i e c e with c o n s t r u c t i n g his own c o f f i n , — t h e a r c h i t e c t u r e of the grave, a n d " c a r p e n t e r " is b u t a n o t h e r n a m e for "coffin-maker." O n e m a n says, in his d e s p a i r or indiffere n c e to life, take u p a handful of the earth at your feet, a n d paint your h o u s e that color. Is he thinking of his last a n d narrow h o u s e ? T o s s u p a c o p p e r for it a s well. W h a t an a b u n d a n c e of leisure he m u s t have! W h y do you take up a h a n d f u l of dirt? B e t t e r paint your h o u s e your own complexion; let it turn p a l e or b l u s h for you. A n e n t e r p r i s e to improve the style of c o t t a g e a r c h i t e c t u r e ! W h e n you have got my o r n a m e n t s ready I will wear them. B e f o r e winter I built a c h i m n e y , a n d shingled the s i d e s of my h o u s e , which were already i m p e r v i o u s to rain, with i m p e r f e c t a n d s a p p y shingles m a d e of the first slice of the log, w h o s e e d g e s I w a s obliged to straighten with a p l a n e . I have t h u s a tight shingled a n d p l a s t e r e d h o u s e , ten feet wide by fifteen long, a n d eight-feet p o s t s , with a garret a n d a c l o s e t , a large window o n e a c h s i d e , two trap d o o r s , o n e d o o r at the e n d , a n d a brick fireplace o p p o site. T h e exact c o s t of my h o u s e , paying the u s u a l p r i c e for s u c h m a t e r i a l s a s I u s e d , but not c o u n t i n g the work, all of w h i c h w a s d o n e by myself, w a s a s follows; a n d I give the details b e c a u s e very few are able to tell exactly what their h o u s e s c o s t , a n d fewer still, if any, the s e p a r a t e c o s t of the various m a t e r i a l s which c o m p o s e t h e m : — Boards, Refuse shingles for roof and sides, Laths, T w o second-hand windows with glass, O n e thousand old brick, T w o casks of lime, Hair, Mantle-tree iron, Nails, Hinges and screws, Latch, Chalk, Transportation, In all,

$8 0 3 ' / 2 Mostly shanty boards 4 00 1 25 2 43 4 2 0 0 3 0 0 0

00 40 31 15 90 14 10 01

1 40 $28

T h a t was high M o r e than I needed

I carried a good part on my b a c k

12%

T h e s e are all the m a t e r i a l s e x c e p t i n g the t i m b e r s t o n e s a n d s a n d , w h i c h I c l a i m e d by s q u a t t e r ' s right. I have a l s o a small w o o d - s h e d a d j o i n i n g , m a d e chiefly of the stuff which w a s left after b u i l d i n g the h o u s e . I intend to build m e a h o u s e which will s u r p a s s any on the m a i n street in C o n c o r d in g r a n d e u r a n d luxury, a s s o o n a s it p l e a s e s m e a s m u c h a n d will c o s t m e no m o r e than my p r e s e n t o n e .

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I t h u s f o u n d that the s t u d e n t w h o w i s h e s for a shelter c a n o b t a i n o n e for a lifetime at a n e x p e n s e not greater than the rent which h e now pays annually. If I s e e m to b o a s t m o r e than is b e c o m i n g , my e x c u s e is that I b r a g for h u m a n i t y rather than for myself; a n d my s h o r t c o m i n g s a n d i n c o n s i s t e n cies d o not affect the truth of my s t a t e m e n t . N o t w i t h s t a n d i n g m u c h c a n t a n d h y p o c r i s y , — c h a f f which I find it difficult to s e p a r a t e from my wheat, but for which I a m a s sorry a s any m a n , — I will b r e a t h e freely a n d stretch myself in this r e s p e c t , it is s u c h a relief to both the m o r a l a n d physical s y s t e m ; a n d I a m resolved that I will not t h r o u g h humility b e c o m e the devil's attorney. I will e n d e a v o r to s p e a k a g o o d word for the truth. At C a m b r i d g e C o l l e g e 8 the m e r e rent of a s t u d e n t ' s r o o m , which is only a little larger than my own, is thirty dollars e a c h year, t h o u g h the c o r p o r a t i o n h a d the a d v a n t a g e of building thirty-two side by side a n d u n d e r o n e roof, a n d the o c c u p a n t suffers the i n c o n v e n i e n c e of m a n y a n d noisy n e i g h b o r s , a n d p e r h a p s a resi d e n c e in the fourth story. I c a n n o t but think that if w e h a d m o r e true w i s d o m in t h e s e r e s p e c t s , not only less e d u c a t i o n would b e n e e d e d , b e c a u s e , fors o o t h , m o r e would already have b e e n a c q u i r e d , but the p e c u n i a r y e x p e n s e of getting a n e d u c a t i o n would in a great m e a s u r e v a n i s h . T h o s e c o n v e n i e n c e s which the s t u d e n t requires at C a m b r i d g e or e l s e w h e r e c o s t him or s o m e b o d y else ten t i m e s a s great a sacrifice of life a s they w o u l d with p r o p e r m a n a g e m e n t on both s i d e s . T h o s e things for which the m o s t m o n e y is d e m a n d e d are never the things which the s t u d e n t m o s t w a n t s . T u i t i o n , for i n s t a n c e , is an i m p o r t a n t item in the term bill, while for the far m o r e v a l u a b l e e d u c a t i o n which he gets by a s s o c i a t i n g with the m o s t cultivated of his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s no c h a r g e is m a d e . T h e m o d e of f o u n d i n g a c o l l e g e is, c o m m o n l y , to get u p a s u b s c r i p t i o n of dollars a n d c e n t s , a n d then following blindly the principles of a division of labor to its e x t r e m e , a principle which s h o u l d never b e followed but with c i r c u m s p e c t i o n , — t o call in a c o n t r a c t o r w h o m a k e s this a s u b j e c t of s p e c u l a t i o n , a n d he employs I r i s h m e n or other operatives actually to lay the f o u n d a t i o n s , while the s t u d e n t s that are to be are s a i d to be fitting t h e m s e l v e s for it; a n d for t h e s e oversights s u c c e s s i v e g e n e r a t i o n s have to pay. I think that it would be better than this, for the s t u d e n t s , or t h o s e w h o desire to be benefited by it, even to lay the f o u n d a t i o n t h e m s e l v e s . T h e stud e n t w h o s e c u r e s his coveted leisure a n d retirement by systematically shirking any labor n e c e s s a r y to m a n o b t a i n s but an ignoble a n d unprofitable l e i s u r e , d e f r a u d i n g himself of the e x p e r i e n c e which a l o n e c a n m a k e leisure fruitful. " B u t , " says o n e , "you d o not m e a n that the s t u d e n t s s h o u l d g o to work with their h a n d s instead of their h e a d s ? " I d o not m e a n that exactly, but I m e a n s o m e t h i n g which he might think a g o o d deal like that; I m e a n that they s h o u l d not play life, or study it merely, while the c o m m u n i t y s u p ports t h e m at this expensive g a m e , b u t earnestly live it from b e g i n n i n g to e n d . H o w c o u l d y o u t h s better learn to live than by at o n c e trying the experiment of living? M e t h i n k s this would exercise their m i n d s a s m u c h a s m a t h e m a t i c s . If I w i s h e d a boy to know s o m e t h i n g a b o u t the arts a n d s c i e n c e s , for i n s t a n c e , I would not p u r s u e the c o m m o n c o u r s e , which is merely to s e n d him into the n e i g h b o r h o o d of s o m e professor, w h e r e any thing is p r o f e s s e d a n d p r a c t i s e d but the art of life;—to survey the world t h r o u g h a t e l e s c o p e or a m i c r o s c o p e , a n d never with his natural eye; to study chemistry, a n d not 8.

Harvard College.

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learn how his bread is m a d e , or m e c h a n i c s , a n d not learn how it is e a r n e d ; to discover new satellites to N e p t u n e , a n d not d e t e c t the m o t e s in his eyes, or to what v a g a b o n d he is a satellite himself; or to be d e v o u r e d by the m o n sters that s w a r m all a r o u n d him, while c o n t e m p l a t i n g the m o n s t e r s in a drop of vinegar. W h i c h would have a d v a n c e d the m o s t at the e n d of the m o n t h , — the boy w h o h a d m a d e his own jack-knife from the ore which he h a d d u g a n d s m e l t e d , r e a d i n g a s m u c h as would be n e c e s s a r y for t h i s , — o r the boy who h a d a t t e n d e d the lectures on metallurgy at the Institute in the m e a n while, a n d had received a R o d g e r s ' penknife from his father? W h i c h would be m o s t likely to cut his fingers?—To my a s t o n i s h m e n t I w a s i n f o r m e d on leaving college that I h a d s t u d i e d n a v i g a t i o n ! — w h y , if I h a d taken o n e turn d o w n the harbor 1 s h o u l d have known m o r e a b o u t it. Even the poor s t u d e n t s t u d i e s a n d is t a u g h t only political e c o n o m y , while that e c o n o m y of living which is s y n o n y m o u s with p h i l o s o p h y is not even sincerely p r o f e s s e d in our c o l l e g e s . T h e c o n s e q u e n c e is, that while he is r e a d i n g A d a m S m i t h , R i c a r d o , a n d S a y , 9 he runs his father in debt irretrievably. A s with our c o l l e g e s , so with a h u n d r e d " m o d e r n i m p r o v e m e n t s " ; there is a n illusion a b o u t t h e m ; there is not always a positive a d v a n c e . T h e devil g o e s on exacting c o m p o u n d interest to the last for his early s h a r e a n d n u m e r o u s s u c c e e d i n g i n v e s t m e n t s in t h e m . O u r inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from s e r i o u s things. T h e y are but improved m e a n s to a n u n i m p r o v e d e n d , a n end which it w a s already b u t too easy to arrive at; a s railroads lead to B o s t o n or N e w York. W e a r e in great h a s t e to c o n s t r u c t a m a g n e t i c telegraph from M a i n e to T e x a s ; but M a i n e a n d T e x a s , it may b e , have nothing i m p o r t a n t to c o m m u n i c a t e . E i t h e r is in s u c h a pred i c a m e n t a s the m a n w h o w a s e a r n e s t to be i n t r o d u c e d to a d i s t i n g u i s h e d d e a f w o m a n , but when he w a s p r e s e n t e d , a n d o n e e n d of her ear trumpet was put into his h a n d , had nothing to say. As if the main object were to talk fast a n d not to talk sensibly. W e are e a g e r to tunnel u n d e r the Atlantic a n d bring the old world s o m e w e e k s nearer to the new; but p e r c h a n c e the first news that will leak t h r o u g h into the b r o a d , flapping A m e r i c a n e a r will be that the P r i n c e s s A d e l a i d e has the w h o o p i n g c o u g h . After all, the m a n w h o s e horse trots a mile in a m i n u t e d o e s not carry the m o s t i m p o r t a n t m e s s a g e s ; h e is not a n evangelist, nor d o e s he c o m e r o u n d e a t i n g l o c u s t s a n d wild honey. I d o u b t if Flying C h i l d e r s 1 ever carried a p e c k of corn to mill. O n e says to m e , "I w o n d e r that you d o not lay up money; you love to travel; you might take the cars a n d go to F i t c h b u r g to-day a n d s e e the c o u n t r y . " B u t I a m wiser than that. I have learned that the swiftest traveller is he that g o e s afoot. I say to my friend, S u p p o s e we try w h o will get there first. T h e d i s t a n c e is thirty miles; the fare ninety c e n t s . T h a t is a l m o s t a day's w a g e s . I r e m e m b e r w h e n w a g e s were sixty c e n t s a day for laborers on this very r o a d . W e l l , I start now on foot, a n d get there before night; I have travelled at that rate by the week together. You will in the m e a n while have e a r n e d your fare, a n d arrive there s o m e time to-morrow, or possibly this evening, if you a r e lucky e n o u g h to get a j o b in s e a s o n . I n s t e a d of g o i n g to F i t c h b u r g , you will b e working here the greater part of the day. A n d s o , if the railroad r e a c h e d r o u n d the world, 9. T h r e e e c o n o m i s t s : the Scottish A d a m S m i t h ( 1 7 2 3 - 1 7 9 0 ) , the English David Ricardo ( 1 7 7 2 1823), and the French Jean Baptiste Say ( 1 7 6 7 -

1832). 1. E n g l i s h r a c e h o r s e .

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881

I think that I s h o u l d keep a h e a d of you; a n d a s for s e e i n g the country a n d getting experience of that kind, I s h o u l d have to c u t your a c q u a i n t a n c e altogether. S u c h is the universal law, which no m a n c a n ever outwit, a n d with regard to the railroad even we m a y say it is a s b r o a d a s it is long. T o m a k e a railroad r o u n d the world available to all m a n k i n d is equivalent to g r a d i n g the w h o l e s u r f a c e of the planet. M e n have a n indistinct notion that if they k e e p up this activity of joint s t o c k s a n d s p a d e s long e n o u g h all will at length ride s o m e where, in next to no t i m e , a n d for nothing; but t h o u g h a crowd r u s h e s to the d e p o t , a n d the c o n d u c t o r s h o u t s "All a b o a r d ! " w h e n the s m o k e is blown away a n d the vapor c o n d e n s e d , it will be perceived that a few a r e riding, but the rest a r e run o v e r , — a n d it will be called, a n d will b e , "A m e l a n c h o l y a c c i d e n t . " N o d o u b t they c a n ride at last w h o shall have e a r n e d their fare, that is, if they survive s o long, but they will probably have lost their elasticity a n d desire to travel by that time. T h i s s p e n d i n g of the b e s t part of one's life e a r n i n g m o n e y in order to enjoy a q u e s t i o n a b l e liberty d u r i n g the least v a l u a b l e part of it, r e m i n d s m e of the E n g l i s h m a n w h o went to India to m a k e a fortune first, in order that he might return to E n g l a n d a n d live the life of a poet. H e s h o u l d have g o n e up garret at o n c e . " W h a t ! " exclaim a million I r i s h m e n starting up from all the s h a n t i e s in the land, "is not this railroad which we have built a g o o d t h i n g ? " Yes, I a n s w e r , comparatively g o o d , that is, you might have d o n e w o r s e ; but I wish, as you are brothers of m i n e , that you c o u l d have spent your time better than digging in this dirt. B e f o r e I finished my h o u s e , wishing to earn ten or twelve dollars by s o m e h o n e s t a n d a g r e e a b l e m e t h o d , in order to m e e t my u n u s u a l e x p e n s e s , I planted a b o u t two a c r e s a n d a half of light a n d sandy soil near it chiefly with b e a n s , but a l s o a small part with p o t a t o e s , c o r n , p e a s , a n d turnips. T h e w h o l e lot c o n t a i n s eleven a c r e s , mostly growing up to p i n e s a n d hickories, a n d w a s sold the p r e c e d i n g s e a s o n for eight dollars a n d eight c e n t s a n a c r e . O n e farmer said that it w a s " g o o d for nothing but to raise c h e e p i n g squirrels o n . " I put no m a n u r e on this land, not b e i n g the owner, but merely a s q u a t t e r , a n d not expecting to cultivate so m u c h a g a i n , a n d I did not q u i t e h o e it all o n c e . I got out several c o r d s of s t u m p s in p l o u g h i n g , which s u p p l i e d m e with fuel for a long t i m e , a n d left small circles of virgin m o u l d , easily distinguishable through the s u m m e r by the greater l u x u r i a n c e of the b e a n s t h e r e . T h e d e a d a n d for the m o s t part u n m e r c h a n t a b l e wood b e h i n d my h o u s e , a n d the driftwood from the p o n d , have s u p p l i e d the r e m a i n d e r of my fuel. I was obliged to hire a t e a m a n d a m a n for the p l o u g h i n g , t h o u g h I held the plough myself. M y farm o u t g o e s for the first s e a s o n w e r e , for i m p l e m e n t s , s e e d , work, & c , $ 14 7 2 ' / 2 . T h e s e e d corn w a s given m e . T h i s never c o s t s any thing to s p e a k of, u n l e s s you plant m o r e than e n o u g h . I got twelve b u s h e l s of b e a n s , a n d eighteen b u s h e l s of p o t a t o e s , b e s i d e s o m e p e a s a n d sweet c o r n . T h e yellow corn a n d turnips were too late to c o m e to any thing. M y whole i n c o m e from the farm was 44. 14 7 2 ' / ; $ 8 7 1 '/>,

$23

Deducting the outgoes, there are left,

882

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HENRY DAVID

THOREAU

b e s i d e p r o d u c e c o n s u m e d a n d on h a n d at the time this e s t i m a t e w a s m a d e of the value of $ 4 5 0 , — t h e a m o u n t on h a n d m u c h m o r e t h a n b a l a n c i n g a little g r a s s which I did not r a i s e . All things c o n s i d e r e d , that is, c o n s i d e r i n g the i m p o r t a n c e of a m a n ' s soul a n d of to-day, n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g the short time o c c u p i e d by my e x p e r i m e n t , nay, partly even b e c a u s e of its transient character, I believe that that w a s doing better than any f a r m e r in C o n c o r d did that year. T h e next year I did better still, for I s p a d e d u p all the l a n d which I r e q u i r e d , a b o u t a third of a n a c r e , a n d I l e a r n e d from the e x p e r i e n c e of both y e a r s , not b e i n g in the least a w e d by m a n y c e l e b r a t e d works o n h u s b a n d r y , Arthur Y o u n g 2 a m o n g the rest, that if o n e w o u l d live simply a n d eat only the c r o p which he raised, a n d raise n o m o r e than he a t e , a n d not e x c h a n g e it for a n insufficient quantity of m o r e luxurious a n d expensive things, h e w o u l d n e e d to cultivate only a few rods of g r o u n d , a n d that it w o u l d b e c h e a p e r to s p a d e u p that than to u s e oxen to p l o u g h it, a n d to select a fresh spot from time to time than to m a n u r e the old, a n d he c o u l d d o all his n e c e s s a r y farm work as it were with his left h a n d at o d d h o u r s in the s u m m e r ; a n d t h u s h e w o u l d not b e tied to a n ox, or h o r s e , or c o w , or pig, a s at p r e s e n t . I desire to s p e a k impartially o n this point, a n d a s o n e not interested in the s u c c e s s or failure of the p r e s e n t e c o n o m i c a l a n d social a r r a n g e m e n t s . I w a s m o r e i n d e p e n d e n t than any f a r m e r in C o n c o r d , for I w a s not a n c h o r e d to a h o u s e or farm, but c o u l d follow the b e n t of my g e n i u s , w h i c h is a very c r o o k e d o n e , every m o m e n t . B e s i d e b e i n g better off than they already, if my h o u s e h a d b e e n b u r n e d or my c r o p s h a d failed, I s h o u l d have b e e n nearly a s well off a s before, i I a m wont to think that m e n are not s o m u c h the k e e p e r s of h e r d s a s herds are the k e e p e r s of m e n , the former are s o m u c h the freer. M e n a n d oxen e x c h a n g e work; but if we c o n s i d e r n e c e s s a r y work only, the oxen will b e s e e n to have greatly the a d v a n t a g e , their farm is s o m u c h the larger. M a n d o e s s o m e of his part of the e x c h a n g e work in his six w e e k s of haying, a n d it is n o boy's play. Certainly no nation that lived simply in all r e s p e c t s , that is, n o nation of p h i l o s o p h e r s , would c o m m i t s o great a b l u n d e r a s to u s e the labor of a n i m a l s . T r u e , there never w a s a n d is not likely s o o n to b e a nation of p h i l o s o p h e r s , nor a m I certain it is d e s i r a b l e that there s h o u l d b e . However, J s h o u l d never have b r o k e n a h o r s e or bull a n d taken him to b o a r d for any work he might d o for m e , for fear I s h o u l d b e c o m e a h o r s e - m a n or a h e r d s m a n merely; a n d if society s e e m s to b e the gainer by s o d o i n g , a r e we certain that what is o n e m a n ' s gain is not a n o t h e r ' s l o s s , a n d that the stable-boy h a s e q u a l c a u s e with his m a s t e r to be satisfied? G r a n t e d that s o m e p u b l i c works w o u l d not have b e e n c o n s t r u c t e d without this aid, a n d let m a n s h a r e the glory of s u c h with the ox a n d h o r s e ; d o e s it follow that h e c o u l d not have a c c o m p l i s h e d works yet m o r e worthy of h i m s e l f in that c a s e ? W h e n m e n begin to d o , not merely u n n e c e s s a r y or artistic, but luxurious a n d idle work, with their a s s i s t a n c e , it is inevitable that a few d o all the e x c h a n g e work with the oxen, or, in other w o r d s , b e c o m e the slaves of the s t r o n g e s t . M a n t h u s not only works for the a n i m a l within h i m , b u t , for a symbol of this, h e works for the a n i m a l without h i m . T h o u g h we have m a n y s u b s t a n t i a l h o u s e s of brick or s t o n e , the prosperity of the f a r m e r is still m e a s u r e d by the d e g r e e to which the b a r n o v e r s h a d o w s the h o u s e . T h i s town is said to have the largest 2 . A u t h o r o f Rural

Oeconomy,

or Essays

on the Practical

Parts

of Husbandry

(1773).

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1 . ECONOMY

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883

h o u s e s for oxen c o w s a n d h o r s e s h e r e a b o u t s , a n d it is not b e h i n d h a n d in its public b u i l d i n g s ; b u t there a r e very few halls for free w o r s h i p or free s p e e c h in this county. It s h o u l d not b e by their a r c h i t e c t u r e , but why not even by their power of a b s t r a c t t h o u g h t , that nations s h o u l d s e e k to c o m m e m o r a t e t h e m s e l v e s ? H o w m u c h m o r e a d m i r a b l e the B h a g v a t - G e e t a 3 t h a n all the ruins of the E a s t ! T o w e r s a n d t e m p l e s are the luxury of p r i n c e s . A s i m p l e a n d i n d e p e n d e n t m i n d d o e s not toil at the b i d d i n g of any p r i n c e . G e n i u s is not a retainer to any e m p e r o r , nor is its material silver, or gold, or m a r b l e , except to a trifling extent. T o w h a t e n d , pray, is s o m u c h s t o n e h a m m e r e d ? In A r c a d i a , 4 w h e n I w a s there, I did not s e e any h a m m e r i n g s t o n e . N a t i o n s are p o s s e s s e d with a n i n s a n e a m b i t i o n to p e r p e t u a t e the m e m o r y of t h e m selves by the a m o u n t of h a m m e r e d s t o n e they leave. W h a t if e q u a l p a i n s were taken to s m o o t h a n d polish their m a n n e r s ? O n e p i e c e of g o o d s e n s e would b e m o r e m e m o r a b l e than a m o n u m e n t a s high a s the m o o n . I love better to s e e s t o n e s in p l a c e . T h e g r a n d e u r of T h e b e s 5 w a s a vulgar g r a n d e u r . M o r e s e n s i b l e is a rod of s t o n e wall that b o u n d s a n h o n e s t m a n ' s field than a h u n d r e d - g a t e d T h e b e s that h a s w a n d e r e d farther from the true e n d of life. T h e religion a n d civilization which are barbaric a n d h e a t h e n i s h build splendid t e m p l e s ; but what you might call Christianity d o e s not. M o s t of the s t o n e a nation h a m m e r s g o e s toward its t o m b only. It buries itself alive. As for the P y r a m i d s , there is nothing to w o n d e r at in t h e m so m u c h a s the fact that s o m a n y m e n c o u l d b e f o u n d d e g r a d e d e n o u g h to s p e n d their lives c o n s t r u c t i n g a t o m b for s o m e a m b i t i o u s booby, w h o m it would have b e e n wiser a n d m a n lier to have d r o w n e d in the N i l e , a n d then given his body to the d o g s . I m i g h t possibly invent s o m e e x c u s e for t h e m a n d him, but I have n o time for it. A s for the religion a n d love of art of the b u i l d e r s , it is m u c h the s a m e all the world over, w h e t h e r the b u i l d i n g be an Egyptian t e m p l e or the U n i t e d S t a t e s B a n k . It c o s t s m o r e than it c o m e s to. T h e m a i n s p r i n g is vanity, a s s i s t e d by the love of garlic a n d b r e a d a n d butter. Mr. B a l c o m , a p r o m i s i n g y o u n g architect, d e s i g n s it o n the b a c k of his V i t r u v i u s , 6 with h a r d pencil a n d ruler, a n d the j o b is let out to D o b s o n & S o n s , s t o n e c u t t e r s . W h e n the thirty c e n turies begin to look d o w n on it, m a n k i n d begin to look u p at it. As for your high towers a n d m o n u m e n t s , there w a s a crazy fellow o n c e in this town w h o u n d e r t o o k to dig t h r o u g h to C h i n a , a n d h e got s o far that, a s he s a i d , h e h e a r d the C h i n e s e p o t s a n d kettles rattle; b u t I think that I shall not go o u t of my way to a d m i r e the hole which he m a d e . M a n y a r e c o n c e r n e d a b o u t the m o n u m e n t s of the W e s t a n d the E a s t , — t o know w h o built t h e m . F o r my part, I s h o u l d like to know w h o in t h o s e days did not build t h e m , — w h o were a b o v e s u c h trifling. B u t to p r o c e e d with my statistics. By surveying, carpentry, a n d day-labor of various other kinds in the village in the m e a n while, for I have a s m a n y trades a s fingers, I h a d e a r n e d $ 1 3 3 4 . T h e e x p e n s e of food for eight m o n t h s , n a m e l y , from J u l y 4 t h to M a r c h 1st, the time w h e n t h e s e e s t i m a t e s were m a d e , t h o u g h I lived there m o r e than two y e a r s , — n o t c o u n t i n g p o t a t o e s , a little green c o r n , a n d s o m e p e a s , which I h a d raised, nor c o n s i d e r i n g the value of w h a t w a s o n h a n d at the last d a t e , w a s 3. A s a c r e d H i n d u text. 4. Place epitomizing rustic simplicity a n d cont e n t m e n t , f r o m t h e r e g i o n in G r e e c e c e l e b r a t e d by the bucolic poets.

5. A n c i e n t city in U p p e r E g y p t . 6. Vitruvius Pollio, R o m a n architect d u r i n g the reigns of Julius C a e s a r a n d A u g u s t u s , author of D e Architectura.

884

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HENRY DAVID

Rice, Molasses, Rye meal, Indian meal, Pork,

THOREAU

0 1 7316 1 73 1

C h e a p e s t form of the s a c c h a r i n e

04-*/4

0 99-y* 0 22

Flour,

0 88

Sugar, Lard, Apples, Dried apple, Sweet potatoes, One pumpkin, One watermelon, Salt,

0 0 0 0 0 0

80 65' 25 22 10 6

0 0

2 3

C h e a p e r than rye. }

C o s t s more than Indian meal, both money a n d trouble.

}

Yes, I did eat $ 8 7 4 , all told; but I s h o u l d not t h u s u n b l u s h i n g l y p u b l i s h my guilt, if I did not know that m o s t o f my readers were equally guilty with myself, a n d that their d e e d s would look n o better in print. T h e next year I s o m e t i m e s c a u g h t a m e s s o f fish for my dinner, a n d o n c e I went s o far a s to s l a u g h t e r a w o o d c h u c k which ravaged m y bean-field,—effect his transmigration, a s a T a r t a r 7 would s a y , — a n d d e v o u r h i m , partly for experiment's s a k e ; b u t t h o u g h it afforded m e a m o m e n t a r y e n j o y m e n t , n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g a m u s k y flavor, I s a w that the longest u s e would not m a k e that a g o o d p r a c t i c e , however it might s e e m to have your w o o d c h u c k s ready d r e s s e d by t h e village butcher. C l o t h i n g a n d s o m e incidental e x p e n s e s within t h e s a m e d a t e s , t h o u g h little c a n b e inferred from this item, a m o u n t e d to $8

Oil and s o m e household utensils,

40-V4

2 00

S o that all t h e p e c u n i a r y o u t g o e s , excepting for w a s h i n g a n d m e n d i n g , which for the m o s t part were d o n e o u t of the h o u s e , a n d their bills have not yet been r e c e i v e d , — a n d t h e s e a r e all a n d m o r e than all the ways by which m o n e y necessarily g o e s out in this part of t h e w o r l d , — w e r e House, F a r m o n e year, Food eight months, Clothing, & c , eight m o n t h s , Oil, & c , eight months,

$28 14 8 8 2

In all,

$61 9 9 %

\2Vi 7 2 Vi 74 40% 00

I a d d r e s s myself now to t h o s e o f my r e a d e r s w h o have a living to get. A n d to m e e t this I have for farm p r o d u c e sold 7 . A n i n h a b i t a n t o f T a r t a r y , a b r o a d a r e a o f C e n t r a l A s i a o v e r r u n b y t h e T a t a r s ( T a r t a r s ) in t h e 1 2 t h c e n t u r y .

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1 . ECONOMY

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885

$23 44 E a r n e d by day-labor, In all,

13 34 $36

78,

which s u b t r a c t e d from the s u m of the o u t g o e s leaves a b a l a n c e of $ 2 5 2 1 3 / 4 on the o n e s i d e , — t h i s b e i n g very nearly the m e a n s with which I s t a r t e d , a n d the m e a s u r e of e x p e n s e s to b e i n c u r r e d , — a n d on the other, b e s i d e the leisure a n d i n d e p e n d e n c e a n d health t h u s s e c u r e d , a c o m f o r t a b l e h o u s e for m e a s long a s I c h o o s e to o c c u p y it. T h e s e statistics, however a c c i d e n t a l a n d therefore u n i n s t r u c t i v e they m a y a p p e a r , a s they have a certain c o m p l e t e n e s s , have a certain v a l u e a l s o . N o t h ing w a s given m e of which I have not r e n d e r e d s o m e a c c o u n t . It a p p e a r s from the a b o v e e s t i m a t e , that my food a l o n e c o s t m e in m o n e y a b o u t twentyseven c e n t s a week. It w a s , for nearly two years after this, rye a n d I n d i a n meal without yeast, p o t a t o e s , rice, a very little salt pork, m o l a s s e s , a n d salt, a n d my drink water. It w a s fit that I s h o u l d live on rice, mainly, w h o loved s o well the p h i l o s o p h y of India. T o m e e t the o b j e c t i o n s of s o m e inveterate cavillers, I m a y a s well s t a t e , that if I dined o u t o c c a s i o n a l l y , a s I always h a d d o n e , a n d I trust shall have o p p o r t u n i t i e s to d o a g a i n , it w a s frequently to the detriment of my d o m e s t i c a r r a n g e m e n t s . B u t the d i n i n g o u t , being, a s I have s t a t e d , a c o n s t a n t e l e m e n t , d o e s not in the least affect a c o m p a r a t i v e s t a t e m e n t like this. I learned from my two years' e x p e r i e n c e that it would c o s t incredibly little trouble to obtain one's n e c e s s a r y food, even in this l a t i t u d e ; that a m a n may u s e a s s i m p l e a diet a s the a n i m a l s , a n d yet retain health a n d s t r e n g t h . I have m a d e a satisfactory dinner, satisfactory on several a c c o u n t s , simply off a dish of p u r s l a n e (Portulaca oleracea) which I g a t h e r e d in my cornfield, boiled a n d salted. I give the L a t i n on a c c o u n t of the s a v o r i n e s s of the trivial n a m e . A n d pray w h a t m o r e c a n a r e a s o n a b l e m a n d e s i r e , in p e a c e f u l t i m e s , in ordinary n o o n s , t h a n a sufficient n u m b e r of e a r s of green sweet-corn boiled, with the addition of salt? E v e n the little variety which I u s e d w a s a yielding to the d e m a n d s of a p p e t i t e , a n d not of h e a l t h . Yet m e n have c o m e to s u c h a p a s s that they frequently starve, not for want of n e c e s s a r i e s , b u t for want of luxuries; a n d I know a good w o m a n w h o thinks that her son lost his life b e c a u s e he took to drinking water only. T h e r e a d e r will perceive that I a m treating the s u b j e c t rather from a n e c o n o m i c than a dietetic point of view, a n d he will not v e n t u r e to p u t my a b s t e m i o u s n e s s to the test u n l e s s he h a s a well-stocked larder. B r e a d I at first m a d e of p u r e Indian m e a l a n d salt, g e n u i n e h o e - c a k e s , which I b a k e d before my fire out of doors o n a shingle or the e n d of a stick of timber s a w e d off in b u i l d i n g my h o u s e ; but it w a s wont to get s m o k e d a n d to have a piny flavor. I tried flour a l s o ; b u t have at last f o u n d a mixture of rye a n d Indian m e a l m o s t c o n v e n i e n t a n d a g r e e a b l e . In cold w e a t h e r it w a s no little a m u s e m e n t to b a k e several s m a l l loaves of this in s u c c e s s i o n , t e n d i n g a n d turning t h e m a s carefully as a n Egyptian his h a t c h i n g e g g s . 8 T h e y were a real cereal fruit which I ripened, a n d they h a d to my s e n s e s a f r a g r a n c e like that of other noble fruits, which I kept in a s l o n g a s p o s s i b l e by w r a p p i n g t h e m in c l o t h s . I m a d e a study of the a n c i e n t a n d i n d i s p e n s a b l e art of b r e a d 8.

Egyptians had devised incubators.

8 8 6

/

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m a k i n g , c o n s u l t i n g s u c h authorities a s offered, g o i n g b a c k to the primitive days a n d first invention of the u n l e a v e n e d kind, w h e n from the w i l d n e s s of n u t s a n d m e a t s m e n first r e a c h e d the m i l d n e s s a n d r e f i n e m e n t of this diet, a n d travelling gradually d o w n in my s t u d i e s through that a c c i d e n t a l s o u r i n g of the d o u g h which, it is s u p p o s e d , t a u g h t the leavening p r o c e s s , a n d t h r o u g h the various f e r m e n t a t i o n s thereafter, till I c a m e to " g o o d , sweet, w h o l e s o m e b r e a d , " the staff of life. L e a v e n , which s o m e d e e m the soul of b r e a d , the spiritus which fills its cellular t i s s u e , which is religiously p r e s e r v e d like the vestal fire,—some p r e c i o u s bottle-full, I s u p p o s e , first brought over in the Mayflower, did the b u s i n e s s for A m e r i c a , a n d its influence is still rising, swelling, s p r e a d i n g , in cerealian billows over the l a n d , — t h i s s e e d I regularly a n d faithfully p r o c u r e d from the village, till at length o n e m o r n i n g I forgot the rules, a n d s c a l d e d my yeast; by which a c c i d e n t I d i s c o v e r e d that even this w a s not i n d i s p e n s a b l e , — f o r my discoveries were not by the synthetic but analytic p r o c e s s , — a n d I have gladly o m i t t e d it s i n c e , t h o u g h m o s t h o u s e wives earnestly a s s u r e d m e that s a f e a n d w h o l e s o m e bread without yeast might not b e , a n d elderly p e o p l e p r o p h e s i e d a s p e e d y d e c a y of the vital forces. Yet I find it not to be a n essential ingredient, a n d after g o i n g without it for a year a m still in the l a n d of the living; a n d 1 a m glad to e s c a p e the trivialness of carrying a bottle-full in my p o c k e t , which would s o m e t i m e s p o p a n d disc h a r g e its c o n t e n t s to my d i s c o m f i t u r e . It is s i m p l e r a n d m o r e r e s p e c t a b l e to omit it. M a n is a n a n i m a l who m o r e than any other c a n a d a p t h i m s e l f to all c l i m a t e s a n d c i r c u m s t a n c e s . N e i t h e r did I put any sal s o d a , or other a c i d or alkali, into my b r e a d . It would s e e m that I m a d e it a c c o r d i n g to the r e c i p e which M a r c u s P o r c i u s C a t o gave a b o u t two c e n t u r i e s before C h r i s t . " P a n e m d e p s t i c i u m sic facito. M a n u s m o r t a r i u m q u e b e n e lavato. F a r i n a m in mortarium indito, aquas p a u l a t i m addito, s u b i g i t o q u e p u l c h r e . Ubi b e n e s u b e g eris, defingito, c o q u i t o q u e s u b t e s t u . " 9 W h i c h I take to m e a n — " M a k e k n e a d e d bread t h u s . W a s h your h a n d s a n d trough well. P u t the meal into the t r o u g h , a d d water gradually, a n d k n e a d it thoroughly. W h e n you have k n e a d e d it well, m o u l d it, a n d b a k e it u n d e r a c o v e r , " that is, in a bakingkettle. N o t a word a b o u t leaven. B u t I did not always u s e this staff of life. At o n e t i m e , owing to the e m p t i n e s s of my p u r s e , I s a w n o n e of it for m o r e than a month. Every N e w E n g l a n d e r might easily raise all his own b r e a d s t u f f s in this land of rye a n d Indian c o r n , a n d not d e p e n d on distant a n d f l u c t u a t i n g m a r k e t s for t h e m . Yet s o far are we from simplicity a n d i n d e p e n d e n c e that, in C o n c o r d , fresh a n d sweet meal is rarely sold in the s h o p s , a n d h o m i n y a n d c o r n in a still c o a r s e r form are hardly u s e d by any. F o r the m o s t part the f a r m e r gives to his cattle a n d h o g s the grain of his own p r o d u c i n g , a n d buys flour, which is at least no m o r e w h o l e s o m e , at a greater c o s t , at the s t o r e . I s a w that I c o u l d easily raise my bushel or two of rye a n d I n d i a n c o r n , for the former will grow o n the p o o r e s t land, a n d the latter d o e s not r e q u i r e the b e s t , a n d grind t h e m in a hand-mill, a n d so d o without rice a n d pork; a n d if I m u s t have s o m e c o n c e n t r a t e d sweet, I f o u n d by e x p e r i m e n t that I c o u l d m a k e a very g o o d m o l a s s e s either of p u m p k i n s or b e e t s , a n d I k n e w that I n e e d e d only to set out a few m a p l e s to obtain it m o r e easily still, a n d while 9.

De agri

culturii

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8 8 7

these were growing I could u s e various s u b s t i t u t e s b e s i d e t h o s e which 1 have n a m e d , " F o r , " a s the F o r e f a t h e r s s a n g , — "we c a n m a k e liquor to s w e e t e n our lips O f p u m p k i n s a n d p a r s n i p s and walnut-tree c h i p s . " 1 Finally, a s for salt, that g r o s s e s t of groceries, to obtain this might b e a fit o c c a s i o n for a visit to the s e a s h o r e , or, if I did without it altogether, I s h o u l d probably drink the less water. 1 do not learn that the Indians ever troubled t h e m s e l v e s to go after it. T h u s I c o u l d avoid all trade a n d barter, s o far a s my food w a s c o n c e r n e d , and having a shelter already, it would only r e m a i n to get c l o t h i n g a n d fuel. T h e p a n t a l o o n s which I now w e a r were woven in a farmer's f a m i l y , — t h a n k H e a v e n there is s o m u c h virtue still in m a n ; for I think the fall from the farmer to the operative a s great a n d m e m o r a b l e a s that from the m a n to the f a r m e r ; — a n d in a n e w country fuel is a n e n c u m b r a n c e . As for a habitat, if I were not p e r m i t t e d still to s q u a t , I might p u r c h a s e o n e a c r e at the s a m e price for which the land I cultivated w a s s o l d — n a m e l y , eight dollars a n d eight c e n t s . B u t as it w a s , I c o n s i d e r e d that I e n h a n c e d the value of the land by s q u a t t i n g on it. T h e r e is a certain c l a s s of unbelievers w h o s o m e t i m e s a s k m e s u c h q u e s tions a s , if I think that I c a n live on v e g e t a b l e food a l o n e ; a n d to strike at the root of the m a t t e r at o n c e , — f o r the root is f a i t h , — I a m a c c u s t o m e d to a n s w e r s u c h , that I c a n live on b o a r d nails. If they c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d that, they c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d m u c h that I have to say. F o r my part, I a m glad to hear of e x p e r i m e n t s of this kind b e i n g tried; a s that a y o u n g m a n tried for a fortnight to live on hard raw corn on the ear, u s i n g his teeth for all mortar. T h e squirrel tribe tried the s a m e a n d s u c c e e d e d . T h e h u m a n r a c e is intere s t e d in t h e s e e x p e r i m e n t s , t h o u g h a few old w o m e n w h o are i n c a p a c i t a t e d for t h e m , or w h o own their thirds in mills, may b e a l a r m e d . M y furniture, part of which I m a d e myself, a n d the rest c o s t m e n o t h i n g of which I have not r e n d e r e d an a c c o u n t , c o n s i s t e d of a b e d , a t a b l e , a d e s k , three c h a i r s , a looking-glass three i n c h e s in d i a m e t e r , a pair of t o n g s a n d a n d i r o n s , a kettle, a skillet, a n d a frying-pan, a dipper, a wash-bowl, two knives a n d forks, three p l a t e s , o n e c u p , o n e s p o o n , a j u g for oil, a j u g for m o l a s s e s , a n d a j a p a n n e d 2 l a m p . N o n e is so poor that he n e e d sit on a p u m p kin. T h a t is s h i f t l e s s n e s s . T h e r e is a plenty of s u c h c h a i r s a s I like b e s t in the village garrets to be had for taking t h e m away. F u r n i t u r e ! T h a n k G o d , I c a n sit a n d I c a n s t a n d without the aid of a furniture w a r e h o u s e . W h a t m a n but a p h i l o s o p h e r would not be a s h a m e d to see his furniture p a c k e d in a cart a n d g o i n g u p country e x p o s e d to the light of h e a v e n a n d the eyes of m e n , a beggarly a c c o u n t of e m p t y boxes? T h a t is S p a u l d i n g ' s f u r n i t u r e . ' I c o u l d never tell from i n s p e c t i n g s u c h a load w h e t h e r it b e l o n g e d to a so called rich m a n or a p o o r o n e ; the owner always s e e m e d poverty-stricken. I n d e e d , the m o r e you have of s u c h things the p o o r e r you a r e . E a c h load looks a s if it c o n t a i n e d the c o n t e n t s of a dozen s h a n t i e s ; a n d if o n e s h a n t y is poor, this is 1. F r o m J o h n W a r n e r B a r b e r ' s Historical Collections ( 1 8 3 9 ) . 2 . L a c q u e r e d w i t h d e c o r a t i v e s c e n e s in t h e J a p a -

nese manner. 3. U n i d e n t i f i e d .

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a dozen times a s poor. Pray, for what d o we move ever b u t to get rid of our furniture, our exuviae;* at last to go from this world to a n o t h e r newly furn i s h e d , a n d leave this to be b u r n e d ? It is the s a m e a s if all t h e s e traps were b u c k l e d to a m a n ' s belt, a n d he c o u l d not m o v e over the r o u g h country w h e r e our lines are c a s t without d r a g g i n g t h e m , — d r a g g i n g his t r a p . H e w a s a lucky fox that left his tail in the trap. T h e m u s k r a t will g n a w his third leg off to be free. N o w o n d e r m a n h a s lost his elasticity. H o w often he is at a d e a d set! "Sir, if I m a y be s o bold, w h a t do you m e a n by a d e a d s e t ? " If you are a seer, whenever you m e e t a m a n you will s e e all that he o w n s , ay, a n d m u c h that h e p r e t e n d s to d i s o w n , b e h i n d h i m , even to his kitchen furniture a n d all the trumpery which h e s a v e s a n d will not b u r n , a n d h e will a p p e a r to b e harn e s s e d to it a n d m a k i n g w h a t h e a d w a y he c a n . I think that the m a n is at a d e a d set who h a s got t h r o u g h a knot h o l e or g a t e w a y w h e r e his s l e d g e load of furniture c a n n o t follow h i m . I c a n n o t but feel c o m p a s s i o n w h e n I hear s o m e trig, c o m p a c t - l o o k i n g m a n , s e e m i n g l y free, all girded a n d ready, s p e a k of his " f u r n i t u r e , " a s w h e t h e r it is i n s u r e d or not. " B u t w h a t shall I d o with my f u r n i t u r e ? " M y gay butterfly is e n t a n g l e d in a spider's w e b t h e n . E v e n t h o s e w h o s e e m for a l o n g while not to have any, if you inquire m o r e narrowly you will find have s o m e stored in s o m e b o d y ' s b a r n . I look u p o n E n g l a n d today as a n old g e n t l e m a n w h o is travelling with a great deal of b a g g a g e , t r u m p ery which h a s a c c u m u l a t e d from long h o u s e k e e p i n g , which h e h a s not the c o u r a g e to b u r n ; great trunk, little trunk, b a n d b o x a n d b u n d l e . T h r o w away the first three at least. It would s u r p a s s the p o w e r s of a well m a n n o w a d a y s to take u p his b e d a n d walk, a n d I s h o u l d certainly a d v i s e a sick o n e to lay down his b e d a n d r u n . W h e n I have m e t a n i m m i g r a n t tottering u n d e r a b u n d l e which c o n t a i n e d his a l l , — l o o k i n g like an e n o r m o u s w e n which h a d grown out of the n a p e of his n e c k , — I have pitied h i m , not b e c a u s e that w a s his all, but b e c a u s e he h a d all that to carry. If I have got to d r a g my trap, I will take c a r e that it b e a light o n e a n d do not nip m e in a vital part. B u t p e r c h a n c e it would b e wisest never to p u t one's p a w into it. I would o b s e r v e , by the way, that it c o s t s m e n o t h i n g for c u r t a i n s , for I have n o gazers to s h u t o u t but the s u n a n d m o o n , a n d I a m willing that they s h o u l d look in. T h e m o o n will not s o u r milk nor taint m e a t of m i n e , nor will the s u n injure my furniture or fade my c a r p e t , a n d if h e is s o m e t i m e s too w a r m a friend, I find it still better e c o n o m y to retreat b e h i n d s o m e curtain which n a t u r e h a s provided, than to a d d a single item to the details of h o u s e keeping. A lady o n c e offered m e a m a t , b u t a s I h a d no r o o m to s p a r e within the h o u s e , nor time to s p a r e within or without to s h a k e it, I d e c l i n e d it, preferring to wipe my feet on the s o d before my door. It is b e s t to avoid the b e g i n n i n g s of evil. N o t long s i n c e I w a s p r e s e n t at the a u c t i o n of a d e a c o n ' s effects, for his life h a d not b e e n i n e f f e c t u a l : — " T h e evil that m e n do lives after t h e m . " 5 A s u s u a l , a great proportion w a s t r u m p e r y which h a d b e g u n to a c c u m u l a t e in his father's day. A m o n g the rest w a s a dried t a p e w o r m . A n d now, after 4. D i s c a r d e d o b j e c t s (Latin). 5. T a g from A n t o n y ' s s p e e c h to the citizens, in

S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Julius

Caesar

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lying half a century in his garret a n d other d u s t holes, t h e s e things were not b u r n e d ; i n s t e a d of a bonfire, or purifying d e s t r u c t i o n of t h e m , there w a s a n auction, or i n c r e a s i n g of t h e m . 6 T h e neighbors eagerly c o l l e c t e d to view t h e m , b o u g h t t h e m all, a n d carefully t r a n s p o r t e d t h e m to their garrets a n d d u s t h o l e s , to lie there till their e s t a t e s are settled, w h e n they will start a g a i n . W h e n a m a n dies he kicks the d u s t . T h e c u s t o m s of s o m e s a v a g e nations might, p e r c h a n c e , b e profitably imitated by u s , for they at least g o through the s e m b l a n c e of c a s t i n g their s l o u g h annually; they have the idea of the thing, w h e t h e r they have the reality or not. W o u l d it not b e well if we were to c e l e b r a t e s u c h a " b u s k , " or "feast of first fruits," a s B a r t r a m 7 d e s c r i b e s to have b e e n the c u s t o m of the M u c c l a s s e I n d i a n s ? " W h e n a town c e l e b r a t e s the b u s k , " says h e , " h a v i n g previously provided t h e m s e l v e s with n e w c l o t h e s , new p o t s , p a n s , a n d other h o u s e h o l d utensils a n d furniture, they collect all their worn o u t c l o t h e s a n d other d e s p i c a b l e things, s w e e p a n d c l e a n s e their h o u s e s , s q u a r e s , a n d the w h o l e town, of their filth, which with all the r e m a i n i n g grain a n d other old provisions they c a s t together into o n e c o m m o n h e a p , a n d c o n s u m e it with fire. After having taken m e d i c i n e , a n d fasted for three days, all the fire in the town is extinguished. D u r i n g this fast they a b s t a i n from the gratification of every appetite a n d p a s s i o n whatever. A general a m n e s t y is p r o c l a i m e d ; all m a l e factors may return to their t o w n . — " " O n the fourth m o r n i n g , the high priest, by r u b b i n g dry w o o d together, p r o d u c e s n e w fire in the public s q u a r e , from w h e n c e every h a b i t a t i o n in the town is s u p p l i e d with the n e w a n d p u r e f l a m e . " T h e y then feast on the n e w corn a n d fruits a n d d a n c e a n d sing for three days, " a n d the four following days they receive visits a n d rejoice with their friends from n e i g h b o r i n g towns w h o have in like m a n n e r purified a n d prepared themselves." T h e M e x i c a n s also p r a c t i s e d a similar purification at the e n d of every fiftytwo years, in the belief that it w a s time for the world to c o m e to an e n d . I have scarcely h e a r d of a truer s a c r a m e n t , that is, a s the dictionary defines it, " o u t w a r d a n d visible sign of a n inward a n d spiritual g r a c e , " t h a n this, a n d I have n o d o u b t that they were originally inspired directly from H e a v e n to do t h u s , t h o u g h they have n o biblical record of the revelation. F o r m o r e than five years I m a i n t a i n e d myself t h u s solely by the labor of my h a n d s , a n d I f o u n d , that by working a b o u t six w e e k s in a year, I c o u l d meet all the e x p e n s e s of living. T h e w h o l e of my winters, a s well a s m o s t of my s u m m e r s , I h a d free a n d clear for study. I have thoroughly tried schoolkeeping, a n d f o u n d that my e x p e n s e s were in p r o p o r t i o n , or rather o u t of proportion, to my i n c o m e , for I w a s obliged to d r e s s a n d train, not to say think a n d believe, accordingly, a n d I lost my time into the b a r g a i n . A s I did not t e a c h for the g o o d of my fellow-men, but simply for a livelihood, this w a s a failure. I have tried t r a d e ; but I f o u n d that it w o u l d take ten years to get u n d e r way in that, a n d that then I s h o u l d probably be on my way to the devil. I w a s actually afraid that I might by that time b e d o i n g w h a t is called

6. T h o r e a u

puns

on the

which m e a n s "to increase."

Latin

r o o t o f auction,

7.

William

South

Carolina

Bartram,

T r a v e l s through

(1791).

North

and

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a good b u s i n e s s . W h e n formerly I w a s looking a b o u t to s e e what I c o u l d do for a living, s o m e s a d e x p e r i e n c e in c o n f o r m i n g to the w i s h e s of friends b e i n g fresh in my mind to tax my ingenuity, I thought often a n d seriously of picking h u c k l e b e r r i e s ; that surely I c o u l d d o , a n d its s m a l l profits might s u f f i c e , — for my g r e a t e s t skill h a s b e e n to w a n t but little,—so little capital it required, so little distraction from my wonted m o o d s , I foolishly t h o u g h t . While my a c q u a i n t a n c e s went unhesitatingly into trade or the p r o f e s s i o n s , I c o n t e m plated this o c c u p a t i o n a s m o s t like theirs; r a n g i n g the hills all s u m m e r to pick the berries which c a m e in my way, a n d thereafter carelessly d i s p o s e of t h e m ; s o , to keep the flocks of A d m e t u s . " I a l s o d r e a m e d that I might g a t h e r the wild herbs, or carry evergreens to s u c h villagers a s loved to be r e m i n d e d of the w o o d s , even to the city, by hay-cart l o a d s . B u t I have s i n c e learned that trade c u r s e s every thing it h a n d l e s ; a n d t h o u g h you trade in m e s s a g e s from h e a v e n , the w h o l e c u r s e of t r a d e a t t a c h e s to the b u s i n e s s . As I preferred s o m e things to o t h e r s , a n d especially v a l u e d my f r e e d o m , a s I c o u l d fare hard a n d yet s u c c e e d well, I did not wish to s p e n d my time in e a r n i n g rich c a r p e t s or other fine furniture, or d e l i c a t e cookery, or a h o u s e in the G r e c i a n or the G o t h i c style j u s t yet. If there are any to w h o m it is no interruption to a c q u i r e t h e s e things, a n d w h o know how to u s e t h e m w h e n a c q u i r e d , I relinquish to t h e m the p u r s u i t . S o m e a r e " i n d u s t r i o u s , " a n d a p p e a r to love labor for its own s a k e , or p e r h a p s b e c a u s e it k e e p s t h e m o u t of worse mischief; to s u c h I have at p r e s e n t n o t h i n g to say. T h o s e w h o w o u l d not know w h a t to do with m o r e leisure than they now enjoy, I might a d v i s e to work twice a s hard a s they d o , — w o r k till they pay for t h e m s e l v e s , a n d get their free p a p e r s . F o r myself I f o u n d that the o c c u p a t i o n of a day-laborer w a s the m o s t i n d e p e n d e n t of any, especially a s it r e q u i r e d only thirty or forty days in a year to s u p p o r t o n e . T h e laborer's day e n d s with the g o i n g d o w n of the s u n , a n d he is then free to devote h i m s e l f to his c h o s e n p u r s u i t , indep e n d e n t of his labor; but his employer, w h o s p e c u l a t e s from m o n t h to m o n t h , has no respite from o n e end of the year to the other. In short, I a m c o n v i n c e d , both by faith a n d e x p e r i e n c e , that to m a i n t a i n one's self on this e a r t h is not a h a r d s h i p but a p a s t i m e , if we will live simply a n d wisely; a s the p u r s u i t s of the simpler nations are still the sports of the m o r e artificial. It is not n e c e s s a r y that a m a n s h o u l d e a r n his living by the sweat of his brow, u n l e s s he s w e a t s e a s i e r than I d o . O n e y o u n g m a n of my a c q u a i n t a n c e , w h o h a s inherited s o m e a c r e s , told m e that h e t h o u g h t he s h o u l d live a s I did, if he had the means. I would not have any o n e a d o p t my m o d e of living on any a c c o u n t ; for, b e s i d e that before he h a s fairly learned it I may have f o u n d out a n o t h e r for myself, I d e s i r e that there m a y be as m a n y different p e r s o n s in the world a s p o s s i b l e ; b u t I would have e a c h o n e be very careful to find out a n d p u r s u e his own way, a n d not his father's or his m o t h e r ' s or his neighbor's i n s t e a d . T h e youth m a y build or plant or sail, only let him not be hindered from d o i n g that w h i c h he tells m e he would like to do. It is by a m a t h e m a t i c a l point only that w e a r e w i s e , a s the sailor or the fugitive slave k e e p s the p o l e s t a r in his eye; b u t that is sufficient g u i d a n c e for all our life. W e may not arrive at o u r port within a c a l c u l a b l e period, but we would preserve the true c o u r s e . U n d o u b t e d l y , in this c a s e , what is true for o n e is truer still for a t h o u s a n d , 8.

Apollo, G r e e k god of poetry, tended the docks of A d m e t u s while banished from

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a s a large h o u s e is not m o r e expensive than a small o n e in proportion to its size, s i n c e o n e roof may cover, o n e cellar u n d e r l i e , a n d o n e wall s e p a r a t e several a p a r t m e n t s . B u t for my part, I preferred the solitary dwelling. M o r e over, it will c o m m o n l y be c h e a p e r to build the whole yourself than to c o n vince a n o t h e r of the a d v a n t a g e of the c o m m o n wall; a n d w h e n you have d o n e this, the c o m m o n partition, to b e m u c h c h e a p e r , m u s t b e a thin o n e , a n d that other may prove a b a d neighbor, a n d a l s o not keep his side in repair. T h e only c o o p e r a t i o n which is c o m m o n l y p o s s i b l e is exceedingly partial a n d superficial; a n d what little true c o o p e r a t i o n there is, is a s if it were not, b e i n g a harmony i n a u d i b l e to m e n . If a m a n has faith he will c o o p e r a t e with e q u a l faith every w h e r e ; if he has not faith, he will c o n t i n u e to live like the rest of the world, whatever c o m p a n y he is j o i n e d to. T o c o o p e r a t e , in the highest a s well a s the lowest s e n s e , m e a n s to get our living together. I h e a r d it p r o p o s e d lately that two y o u n g m e n s h o u l d travel together over the world, the o n e without money, e a r n i n g his m e a n s a s he went, before the m a s t a n d b e h i n d the p l o u g h , the other carrying a bill of e x c h a n g e in his p o c k e t . It w a s e a s y to s e e that they c o u l d not long b e c o m p a n i o n s or c o o p e r a t e , s i n c e o n e would not operate at all. T h e y would part at the first interesting crisis in their adventures. A b o v e all, a s I have implied, the m a n w h o g o e s a l o n e c a n start today; but he w h o travels with a n o t h e r m u s t wait till that other is ready, a n d it may be a long time before they get off. B u t all this is very selfish, I have heard s o m e of my t o w n s m e n say. I c o n f e s s that I have hitherto indulged very little in philanthropic e n t e r p r i s e s . I have m a d e s o m e sacrifices to a s e n s e of duty, a n d a m o n g others have sacrificed this p l e a s u r e a l s o . T h e r e are t h o s e w h o have u s e d all their arts to p e r s u a d e m e to u n d e r t a k e the s u p p o r t of s o m e p o o r family in the town; a n d if I h a d nothing to d o , — f o r the devil finds e m p l o y m e n t for the i d l e , — I might try my h a n d at s o m e s u c h p a s t i m e a s that. H o w e v e r , w h e n I have t h o u g h t to i n d u l g e myself in this r e s p e c t , a n d lay their H e a v e n u n d e r an obligation by m a i n taining certain poor p e r s o n s in all r e s p e c t s a s c o m f o r t a b l y a s I m a i n t a i n myself, a n d have even ventured s o far a s to m a k e t h e m the offer, they have o n e a n d all unhesitatingly preferred to r e m a i n poor. While my t o w n s m e n a n d w o m e n are devoted in so m a n y ways to the g o o d of their fellows, I trust that o n e at least may be s p a r e d to other a n d less h u m a n e p u r s u i t s . You m u s t have a g e n i u s for charity a s well a s for any thing e l s e . As for D o i n g - g o o d , that is o n e of the p r o f e s s i o n s which are full. Moreover, I have tried it fairly, a n d , s t r a n g e a s it may s e e m , a m satisfied that it d o e s not a g r e e with my c o n s t i t u t i o n . Probably I s h o u l d not c o n s c i o u s l y a n d deliberately forsake my particular calling to d o the g o o d which society d e m a n d s of m e , to save the universe from annihilation; a n d I believe that a like but infinitely greater s t e a d f a s t n e s s e l s e w h e r e is all that now preserves it. B u t I w o u l d not s t a n d b e t w e e n any m a n a n d his g e n i u s ; a n d to him w h o d o e s this work, which I d e c l i n e , with his w h o l e heart a n d s o u l a n d life, I would say, P e r s e v e r e , even if the world call it d o i n g evil, a s it is m o s t likely they will. I a m far from s u p p o s i n g that my c a s e is a p e c u l i a r o n e ; no d o u b t m a n y of my r e a d e r s would m a k e a similar d e f e n c e . At d o i n g s o m e t h i n g , — I will not e n g a g e that my neighbors shall p r o n o u n c e it g o o d , — I do not hesitate to say that I s h o u l d be a capital fellow to hire; but what that is, it is for my e m p l o y e r to find out. W h a t good I d o , in the c o m m o n s e n s e of that word, m u s t be

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a s i d e from my m a i n p a t h , a n d for the m o s t part wholly u n i n t e n d e d . M e n say, practically, B e g i n w h e r e you a r e a n d s u c h a s you a r e , without a i m i n g mainly to b e c o m e of m o r e worth, a n d with k i n d n e s s a f o r e t h o u g h t g o a b o u t d o i n g g o o d . If I were to p r e a c h at all in this strain, I s h o u l d say rather, S e t a b o u t b e i n g g o o d . A s if the s u n s h o u l d s t o p w h e n he h a d kindled his fires up to the s p l e n d o r of a m o o n or a star of the sixth m a g n i t u d e , a n d go a b o u t like a R o b i n G o o d f e l l o w , 9 p e e p i n g in at every c o t t a g e window, inspiring l u n a t i c s , a n d tainting m e a t s , a n d m a k i n g d a r k n e s s visible, i n s t e a d of steadily i n c r e a s ing his genial heat a n d b e n e f i c e n c e till h e is of s u c h b r i g h t n e s s that n o mortal c a n look him in the f a c e , a n d then, a n d in the m e a n while too, g o i n g a b o u t the world in his own orbit, d o i n g it g o o d , or rather, a s a truer p h i l o s o p h y h a s discovered, the world g o i n g a b o u t him getting g o o d . W h e n P h a e t o n , 1 w i s h i n g to prove his heavenly birth by his b e n e f i c e n c e , h a d the sun's chariot but o n e day, a n d drove o u t of the b e a t e n track, h e b u r n e d several b l o c k s of h o u s e s in the lower streets of h e a v e n , a n d s c o r c h e d the s u r f a c e of the e a r t h , a n d dried u p every spring, a n d m a d e the great desert of S a h a r a , till at length J u p i t e r hurled him h e a d l o n g to the earth with a t h u n d e r b o l t , a n d the s u n , through grief at his d e a t h , did not s h i n e for a year. T h e r e is no o d o r s o b a d a s that which a r i s e s from g o o d n e s s tainted. It is h u m a n , it is divine, carrion. If I knew for a certainty that a m a n w a s c o m i n g to my h o u s e with the c o n s c i o u s d e s i g n of d o i n g m e g o o d , I s h o u l d run for my life, a s from that dry a n d p a r c h i n g wind of the African d e s e r t s called the s i m o o m , which fills the m o u t h a n d n o s e a n d e a r s a n d eyes with d u s t till you are s u f f o c a t e d , for fear that I s h o u l d get s o m e of his g o o d d o n e to m e , — s o m e of its virus m i n g l e d with my blood. N o , — i n this c a s e I w o u l d rather suffer evil the natural way. A m a n is not a g o o d man to m e b e c a u s e he will feed m e if I s h o u l d b e starving, or w a r m m e if I s h o u l d b e freezing, or pull m e out of a ditch if I s h o u l d ever fall into o n e . I c a n find you a N e w f o u n d l a n d d o g that will do a s m u c h . P h i l a n t h r o p y is not love for one's fellow-man in the b r o a d e s t s e n s e . H o w a r d 2 w a s n o d o u b t a n exceedingly kind a n d worthy m a n in his way, a n d h a s his reward; b u t , c o m p a r a t i v e l y s p e a k i n g , what are a h u n d r e d H o w a r d s to us, if their p h i l a n t h r o p y d o not help us in o u r b e s t e s t a t e , w h e n we are m o s t worthy to b e h e l p e d ? I never h e a r d of a p h i l a n t h r o p i c m e e t i n g in which it w a s sincerely p r o p o s e d to d o any g o o d to m e , or the like of m e . T h e J e s u i t s were quite balked by t h o s e I n d i a n s w h o , b e i n g b u r n e d at the s t a k e , s u g g e s t e d n e w m o d e s of torture to their t o r m e n t o r s . 3 B e i n g s u p e r i o r to physical suffering, it s o m e t i m e s c h a n c e d that they were s u p e r i o r to any c o n s o l a t i o n which the m i s s i o n a r i e s c o u l d offer; a n d the law to d o a s you would be d o n e by fell with less p e r s u a s i v e n e s s o n the e a r s of t h o s e , w h o , for their part, did not c a r e how they were d o n e by, w h o loved their e n e m i e s after a n e w f a s h i o n , a n d c a m e very n e a r freely forgiving t h e m all they did. B e s u r e that you give the p o o r the aid they m o s t n e e d , t h o u g h it b e your e x a m p l e which leaves t h e m far b e h i n d . If you give m o n e y , s p e n d yourself with it, a n d d o not merely a b a n d o n it to t h e m . W e m a k e c u r i o u s m i s t a k e s 9 . M i s c h i e v o u s f a i r y , k n o w n a s P u c k in S h a k e s p e a r e ' s A Midsummer Night's Dream. 1. In G r e e k m y t h o l o g y , t h e s o n o f H e l i o s . H e a t t e m p t e d to drive his father's c h a r i o t , t h e s u n , with disastrous c o n s e q u e n c e s .

2. J o h n H o w a r d ( 1 7 2 6 ? - ] 7 9 0 ) , E n g l i s h prison reformer. 3 . T h o r e a u ' s s o u r c e is u n k n o w n , b u t H a r d i n g c i t e s c o m p a r a b l e a c c o u n t s i n The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents ( 1 8 9 8 ) , vol. 17.

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s o m e t i m e s . Often the p o o r m a n is not s o cold a n d hungry a s h e is dirty a n d ragged a n d g r o s s . It is partly his t a s t e , a n d not merely his m i s f o r t u n e . If you give him m o n e y , h e will p e r h a p s buy m o r e rags with it. I w a s w o n t to pity the c l u m s y Irish laborers who c u t ice o n the p o n d , in s u c h m e a n a n d r a g g e d c l o t h e s , while I shivered in my m o r e tidy a n d s o m e w h a t m o r e f a s h i o n a b l e g a r m e n t s , till, o n e bitter c o l d day, o n e w h o had slipped into the w a t e r c a m e to my h o u s e to w a r m him, a n d I saw him strip off three pairs of p a n t s a n d two pairs of stockings ere he got down to the skin, t h o u g h they were dirty a n d ragged e n o u g h , it is true, a n d that he c o u l d afford to refuse the extra g a r m e n t s which I offered him, h e had so many intra o n e s . T h i s d u c k i n g w a s the very thing h e n e e d e d . T h e n I b e g a n to pity myself, a n d I s a w that it would be a greater charity to b e s t o w o n m e a flannel shirt than a w h o l e s l o p - s h o p on h i m . T h e r e are a t h o u s a n d h a c k i n g at the b r a n c h e s of evil to o n e w h o is striking at the root, a n d it m a y b e that h e w h o b e s t o w s the largest a m o u n t of time a n d m o n e y on the n e e d y is doing the m o s t by his m o d e of life to p r o d u c e that misery which h e strives in vain to relieve. It is the p i o u s slaveb r e e d e r devoting the p r o c e e d s of every tenth slave to buy a S u n d a y ' s liberty for the rest. S o m e s h o w their k i n d n e s s to the p o o r by e m p l o y i n g t h e m in their k i t c h e n s . W o u l d they not be kinder if they e m p l o y e d t h e m s e l v e s there? You b o a s t of s p e n d i n g a tenth part of your i n c o m e in charity; may b e you s h o u l d s p e n d the nine t e n t h s s o , a n d d o n e with it. S o c i e t y recovers only a tenth part of the property t h e n . Is this owing to the generosity of him in w h o s e p o s s e s s i o n it is f o u n d , or to the r e m i s s n e s s of the officers of j u s t i c e ? Philanthropy is a l m o s t the only virtue which is sufficiently a p p r e c i a t e d by m a n k i n d . N a y , it is greatly overrated; a n d it is our selfishness which overrates it. A r o b u s t p o o r m a n , o n e s u n n y day h e r e in C o n c o r d , p r a i s e d a fellowt o w n s m a n to m e , b e c a u s e , as he said, h e w a s kind to the p o o r ; m e a n i n g himself. T h e kind u n c l e s a n d a u n t s of the r a c e are m o r e e s t e e m e d t h a n its true spiritual fathers a n d m o t h e r s . I o n c e h e a r d a reverend lecturer o n E n g l a n d , a m a n of learning a n d intelligence, after e n u m e r a t i n g her scientific, literary, a n d political worthies, S h a k s p e a r e , B a c o n , C r o m w e l l , M i l t o n , Newton, a n d o t h e r s , s p e a k next of her C h r i s t i a n h e r o e s , w h o m , a s if his p r o f e s s i o n required it of him, he elevated to a p l a c e far a b o v e all the rest, a s the g r e a t e s t of the great. T h e y were P e n n , H o w a r d , a n d M r s . F r y . 4 Every o n e m u s t feel the f a l s e h o o d a n d c a n t of this. T h e last were not E n g l a n d ' s b e s t m e n a n d w o m e n ; only, p e r h a p s , her b e s t p h i l a n t h r o p i s t s . I would not s u b t r a c t any thing from the p r a i s e that is d u e to philanthropy, but merely d e m a n d j u s t i c e for all w h o by their lives a n d works are a b l e s s i n g to m a n k i n d . I d o not value chiefly a m a n ' s u p r i g h t n e s s a n d b e n e v o l e n c e , which a r e , a s it w e r e , his s t e m a n d leaves. T h o s e p l a n t s of w h o s e g r e e n n e s s withered we m a k e herb tea for the sick, serve but a h u m b l e u s e , a n d a r e m o s t e m p l o y e d by q u a c k s . I want the flower a n d fruit of a m a n ; that s o m e f r a g r a n c e b e wafted over from him to m e , a n d s o m e r i p e n e s s flavor o u r interc o u r s e . His g o o d n e s s m u s t not b e a partial a n d transitory act, but a c o n s t a n t superfluity, which c o s t s him nothing a n d of which he is u n c o n s c i o u s . T h i s is a charity that hides a m u l t i t u d e of sins. T h e philanthropist too often surr o u n d s m a n k i n d with the r e m e m b r a n c e of his own cast-off griefs a s a n a t m o 4.

Elizabeth Fry ( 1 7 8 0 - 1 8 4 5 ) , English Q u a k e r a n d prison reformer. William P e n n ( 1 6 4 4 - 1 7 1 8 ) ,

l e a d e r a n d p r o p r i e t o r o f P e n n s y l v a n i a . J o h n H o w a r d ( s e e n. 2 , p . 8 9 2 ) .

Quaker

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s p h e r e , a n d calls it sympathy. W e s h o u l d impart o u r c o u r a g e , a n d not our d e s p a i r , our health a n d e a s e , a n d not our d i s e a s e , a n d take c a r e that this d o e s not s p r e a d by c o n t a g i o n . F r o m what southern p l a i n s c o m e s u p the voice of wailing? U n d e r what latitudes reside the h e a t h e n to w h o m w e w o u l d s e n d light? W h o is that i n t e m p e r a t e a n d brutal m a n w h o m w e would r e d e e m ? If any thing ail a m a n , s o that he d o e s not perform his f u n c t i o n s , if h e have a p a i n in his bowels e v e n , — f o r that is the seat of s y m p a t h y , — h e forthwith s e t s a b o u t r e f o r m i n g — t h e world. B e i n g a m i c r o c o s m himself, h e d i s c o v e r s , a n d it is a true discovery, a n d he is the m a n to m a k e i t , — t h a t the world h a s b e e n eating g r e e n a p p l e s ; to his eyes, in fact, the g l o b e itself is a great green a p p l e , which there is d a n g e r awful to think of that the c h i l d r e n of m e n will nibble b e f o r e it is ripe; a n d straightway his drastic p h i l a n t h r o p y s e e k s out the E s q u i m a u x a n d the P a t a g o n i a n , a n d e m b r a c e s the p o p u l o u s I n d i a n a n d C h i n e s e villages; a n d t h u s , by a few years of p h i l a n t h r o p i c activity, the powers in the m e a n while u s i n g him for their own e n d s , no d o u b t , he c u r e s himself of his d y s p e p s i a , the g l o b e a c q u i r e s a faint b l u s h o n o n e or both of its c h e e k s , a s if it were b e g i n n i n g to be ripe, a n d life loses its crudity a n d is o n c e m o r e sweet a n d w h o l e s o m e to live. I never d r e a m e d of any enormity greater than I have c o m m i t t e d . I never knew, a n d never shall know, a worse m a n than myself. I believe that what so s a d d e n s the reformer is not his s y m p a t h y with his fellows in d i s t r e s s , b u t , t h o u g h he be the holiest son of G o d , is his private ail. Let this be righted, let the spring c o m e to him, the m o r n i n g rise over his c o u c h , a n d h e will forsake his g e n e r o u s c o m p a n i o n s without apology. M y e x c u s e for not l e c t u r i n g a g a i n s t the u s e of t o b a c c o is, that I never c h e w e d it; that is a penalty which reformed t o b a c c o - c h e w e r s have to pay; t h o u g h there are things e n o u g h I have c h e w e d , which I c o u l d lecture a g a i n s t . If you s h o u l d ever b e betrayed into any of t h e s e p h i l a n t h r o p i e s , d o not let your left h a n d know what your right hand d o e s , for it is not worth knowing. R e s c u e the d r o w n i n g a n d tie your s h o e - s t r i n g s . T a k e your t i m e , a n d set a b o u t s o m e free labor. O u r m a n n e r s have b e e n c o r r u p t e d by c o m m u n i c a t i o n with the s a i n t s . O u r hymn-books r e s o u n d with a m e l o d i o u s c u r s i n g of G o d a n d e n d u r i n g him forever. O n e would say that even the p r o p h e t s a n d r e d e e m e r s had rather c o n s o l e d the fears than c o n f i r m e d the h o p e s of m a n . T h e r e is n o w h e r e r e c o r d e d a s i m p l e a n d irrepressible satisfaction with the gift of life, any m e m orable p r a i s e of G o d . All health a n d s u c c e s s d o e s m e g o o d , however far off a n d withdrawn it m a y a p p e a r ; all d i s e a s e a n d failure helps to m a k e m e s a d a n d d o e s m e evil, however m u c h s y m p a t h y it may have with m e or I with it. If, then, we would i n d e e d restore m a n k i n d by truly I n d i a n , b o t a n i c , m a g netic, or natural m e a n s , let u s first be a s s i m p l e a n d well a s N a t u r e o u r s e l v e s , dispel the c l o u d s which h a n g over our own b r o w s , a n d take u p a little life into our p o r e s . D o not stay to be a n overseer of the poor, but e n d e a v o r to b e c o m e o n e of the worthies of the world. I read in the G u l i s t a n , or Flower G a r d e n , of S h e i k S a d i of S h i r a z , that " T h e y a s k e d a wise m a n , saying; O f the m a n y c e l e b r a t e d trees which the M o s t H i g h G o d has c r e a t e d lofty a n d u m b r a g e o u s , they call n o n e a z a d , or free, excepting the c y p r e s s , which b e a r s no fruit; what mystery is there in this? H e replied; E a c h has its a p p r o p r i a t e p r o d u c e , a n d a p p o i n t e d s e a s o n , during the c o n t i n u a n c e of which it is fresh a n d b l o o m i n g , a n d d u r i n g their

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a b s e n c e dry a n d withered; to neither of which s t a t e s is the c y p r e s s e x p o s e d , being always flourishing; a n d of this n a t u r e are the a z a d s , or religious indep e n d e n t s . — F i x not thy heart on that which is transitory; for the D i j l a h , or Tigris, will c o n t i n u e to flow through B a g d a d after the r a c e of c a l i p h s is extinct: if thy h a n d has plenty, be liberal as the d a t e tree; but if it affords n o t h i n g to give away, be a n a z a d , or free m a n , like the c y p r e s s . " 5 Complemental THE

PRETENSIONS

Verses6 OF

POVERTY

" T h o u dost p r e s u m e too m u c h , p o o r needy w r e t c h , T o claim a station in the firmament, B e c a u s e thy h u m b l e c o t t a g e , or thy t u b , N u r s e s s o m e lazy or p e d a n t i c virtue In the c h e a p s u n s h i n e or by s h a d y s p r i n g s , With roots a n d p o t - h e r b s ; w h e r e thy right h a n d , T e a r i n g t h o s e h u m a n e p a s s i o n s from the m i n d , U p o n w h o s e s t o c k s fair b l o o m i n g virtues flourish, Degradeth nature, and benumbeth sense, A n d , Gorgon-like, turns active m e n to s t o n e . 7 W e not require the dull society O f your n e c e s s i t a t e d t e m p e r a n c e , O r that u n n a t u r a l stupidity T h a t knows nor joy nor sorrow; nor your forc'd F a l s e l y exalted p a s s i v e fortitude Above the active. T h i s low a b j e c t b r o o d , T h a t fix their s e a t s in mediocrity, B e c o m e your servile m i n d s ; but we a d v a n c e S u c h virtues only a s a d m i t e x c e s s , B r a v e , b o u n t e o u s a c t s , regal m a g n i f i c e n c e , All-seeing p r u d e n c e , m a g n a n i m i t y T h a t knows no b o u n d , a n d that heroic virtue F o r which antiquity hath left n o n a m e , B u t p a t t e r n s only, s u c h as H e r c u l e s , Achilles, T h e s e u s . B a c k to thy loath'd cell; And when thou s e e s t the new e n l i g h t e n e d s p h e r e , S t u d y to know but what t h o s e worthies w e r e . " — T .

2.

Where I Lived, and What I Lived

CAREW

For

At a certain s e a s o n of our life w e a r e a c c u s t o m e d to c o n s i d e r every spot a s the p o s s i b l e site of a h o u s e . I have t h u s surveyed the country o n every side within a dozen miles of where I live. In i m a g i n a t i o n I have b o u g h t all the f a r m s in s u c c e s s i o n , for all were to be b o u g h t a n d I knew their p r i c e . I walked over e a c h farmer's p r e m i s e s , tasted his wild a p p l e s , d i s c o u r s e d on h u s b a n d r y with him, took his farm at his p r i c e , at any p r i c e , m o r t g a g i n g it 5. M u s l i h - u d - D i n (Saadi) (1184?—1291), The Gulistan or Rose Garden. 6 . F r o m Caelum Rrhannicum by t h e E n g l i s h C a v alier poet T h o m a s C a r e w {I 5 9 5 ? - 1 6 4 5 ? ) , offered

ironically a s a retort to " E c o n o m y . " 7. I n C r e e k m y t h o l o g y t h e G o r g o n s w e r e t h r e e s i s ters w h o , with s n a k e s for hair a n d e y e s , t u r n e d a n y beholder into stone.

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to him in my m i n d ; even put a higher price o n i t , — t o o k every thing but a d e e d of i t , — t o o k his word for his d e e d , for I dearly love to t a l k , — c u l t i v a t e d it, a n d him too to s o m e extent, I trust, a n d withdrew w h e n I h a d enjoyed it long e n o u g h , leaving him to carry it o n . T h i s e x p e r i e n c e entitled m e to be r e g a r d e d a s a sort of real-estate broker by my friends. W h e r e v e r I sat, there I might live, a n d the l a n d s c a p e r a d i a t e d from m e accordingly. W h a t is a h o u s e b u t a sed.es, a s e a t ? — b e t t e r if a country s e a t . I d i s c o v e r e d m a n y a site for a h o u s e not likely to be s o o n i m p r o v e d , which s o m e might have t h o u g h t too far from the village, but to my eyes the village w a s too far from it. Well, t h e r e I might live, I said; a n d there I did live, for an hour, a s u m m e r a n d a winter life; saw h o w I c o u l d let the years run off, buffet the winter t h r o u g h , a n d s e e the spring c o m e in. T h e future i n h a b i t a n t s of this region, wherever they may p l a c e their h o u s e s , m a y b e s u r e that they have b e e n a n t i c i p a t e d . An afternoon sufficed to lay o u t the l a n d into o r c h a r d w o o d l o t a n d p a s t u r e , a n d to d e c i d e what fine o a k s or p i n e s s h o u l d be left to s t a n d before the door, a n d w h e n c e e a c h b l a s t e d tree c o u l d be s e e n to the b e s t a d v a n t a g e ; a n d then I let it lie, fallow p e r c h a n c e , for a m a n is rich in proportion to the n u m b e r of things which he c a n afford to let a l o n e . M y i m a g i n a t i o n carried m e s o far that I even h a d the refusal of several f a r m s , — t h e refusal w a s all I w a n t e d , — b u t I never got my fingers b u r n e d by a c t u a l p o s s e s s i o n . T h e n e a r e s t that I c a m e to a c t u a l p o s s e s s i o n w a s w h e n I b o u g h t the Hollowell P l a c e , a n d h a d b e g u n to sort my s e e d s , a n d c o l l e c t e d materials with which to m a k e a w h e e l b a r r o w to carry it o n or off with; but before the owner gave m e a d e e d of it, his wife—every m a n h a s s u c h a w i f e — c h a n g e d her m i n d a n d w i s h e d to k e e p it, a n d h e offered m e ten dollars to r e l e a s e h i m . N o w , to s p e a k the truth, I h a d b u t ten c e n t s in the world, a n d it s u r p a s s e d my a r i t h m e t i c to tell, if I w a s that m a n w h o h a d ten c e n t s , or w h o h a d a f a r m , or ten dollars, or all together. H o w e v e r , I let him keep the ten dollars a n d the farm too, for I h a d carried it far e n o u g h ; or rather, to be g e n e r o u s , I sold him the farm for j u s t w h a t I gave for it, a n d , a s he w a s not a rich m a n , m a d e him a p r e s e n t of ten dollars, a n d still h a d my ten c e n t s , a n d s e e d s , a n d m a t e r i a l s for a w h e e l b a r r o w left. I f o u n d t h u s that I h a d b e e n a rich m a n without any d a m a g e to my poverty. B u t I retained the l a n d s c a p e , a n d I have s i n c e annually carried off w h a t it yielded without a w h e e l b a r r o w . With r e s p e c t to l a n d s c a p e s , — "I a m m o n a r c h of all I survey, M y right there is n o n e to d i s p u t e . " 8 I have frequently s e e n a p o e t withdraw, h a v i n g enjoyed the m o s t v a l u a b l e part of a farm, while the crusty f a r m e r s u p p o s e d that he h a d got a few wild a p p l e s only. Why, the owner d o e s not know it for m a n y years w h e n a p o e t h a s p u t his farm in r h y m e , the m o s t a d m i r a b l e kind of invisible f e n c e , h a s fairly i m p o u n d e d it, milked it, s k i m m e d it, a n d got all the c r e a m , a n d left the f a r m e r only the s k i m m e d milk. T h e real attractions of the Hollowell f a r m , to m e , w e r e ; its c o m p l e t e retirement, b e i n g a b o u t two miles from the village, half a mile from the n e a r e s t n e i g h b o r , a n d s e p a r a t e d from the highway by a b r o a d field; its 8. W i l l i a m C o w p e r ' s " V e r s e s S u p p o s e d to B e W r i t t e n by A l e x a n d e r S e l k i r k , " with t h e p u n italicized. S e l k i r k w a s D a n i e l D e f o e ' s m o d e l for R o b i n s o n C r u s o e .

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b o u n d i n g on the river, which the owner said p r o t e c t e d it by its fogs from frosts in the spring, t h o u g h that w a s nothing to m e ; the gray color a n d r u i n o u s state of the h o u s e a n d barn, a n d the dilapidated f e n c e s , which put s u c h a n interval b e t w e e n m e a n d the last o c c u p a n t ; the hollow a n d lichencovered a p p l e trees, g n a w e d by rabbits, showing what kind of n e i g h b o r s I s h o u l d h a v e ; but a b o v e all, the recollection I h a d of it f r o m my earliest voyages up the river, w h e n the h o u s e w a s c o n c e a l e d b e h i n d a d e n s e grove of red m a p l e s , t h r o u g h which I heard the h o u s e - d o g bark. I w a s in h a s t e to buy it, before the proprietor finished getting o u t s o m e r o c k s , c u t t i n g d o w n the hollow a p p l e trees, a n d g r u b b i n g u p s o m e y o u n g b i r c h e s w h i c h h a d s p r u n g u p in the p a s t u r e , or, in short, h a d m a d e any m o r e of his improvem e n t s . T o enjoy t h e s e a d v a n t a g e s I w a s ready to carry it o n ; like A t l a s , 9 to take the world o n my s h o u l d e r s , — I never h e a r d w h a t c o m p e n s a t i o n h e received for t h a t , — a n d do all t h o s e things which h a d no other motive or e x c u s e b u t that I might pay for it a n d be u n m o l e s t e d in my p o s s e s s i o n of it; for I knew all the while that it would yield the m o s t a b u n d a n t c r o p of the kind I w a n t e d if I c o u l d only afford to let it a l o n e . B u t it t u r n e d out a s I have said. All that I c o u l d say, then, with r e s p e c t to f a r m i n g on a large s c a l e , (I have always cultivated a g a r d e n , ) w a s , that I h a d h a d my s e e d s ready. M a n y think that s e e d s improve with a g e . I have no d o u b t that time d i s c r i m i n a t e s b e t w e e n the g o o d a n d the b a d ; a n d w h e n at last I shall plant, I shall b e less likely to b e d i s a p p o i n t e d . B u t I would say to m y fellows, o n c e for all, As l o n g a s p o s s i b l e live free a n d u n c o m m i t t e d . It m a k e s b u t little difference w h e t h e r you a r e c o m m i t t e d to a farm or the c o u n t y jail. O l d C a t o , w h o s e " D e R e R u s t i c a " is my " C u l t i v a t o r , " says, a n d the only translation I have s e e n m a k e s s h e e r n o n s e n s e of the p a s s a g e , " W h e n you think of getting a farm, turn it t h u s in your m i n d , not to b u y greedily; nor s p a r e your p a i n s to look at it, a n d do not think it e n o u g h to go r o u n d it o n c e . T h e oftener you go there the m o r e it will p l e a s e you, if it is g o o d . " 1 I think I shall not buy greedily, but go r o u n d a n d r o u n d it a s long a s I live, a n d be buried in it first, that it m a y p l e a s e m e the m o r e at last. T h e p r e s e n t w a s my next experiment of this kind, w h i c h I p u r p o s e to d e s c r i b e m o r e at length; for c o n v e n i e n c e , p u t t i n g the e x p e r i e n c e of two years into o n e . As I have said, I d o not p r o p o s e to write a n o d e to d e j e c t i o n , but to b r a g as lustily as c h a n t i c l e e r in the m o r n i n g , s t a n d i n g on his roost, if only to w a k e my neighbors u p . W h e n first I took up my a b o d e in the w o o d s , that is, b e g a n to s p e n d my nights a s well a s days there, w h i c h , by a c c i d e n t , w a s o n I n d e p e n d e n c e Day, or the fourth of J u l y , 1 8 4 5 , my h o u s e w a s not finished for winter, but w a s merely a d e f e n c e a g a i n s t the rain, without p l a s t e r i n g or c h i m n e y , the walls b e i n g of r o u g h w e a t h e r - s t a i n e d b o a r d s , with wide c h i n k s , which m a d e it cool at night. T h e upright white hewn s t u d s a n d freshly p l a n e d d o o r a n d window c a s i n g s gave it a c l e a n a n d airy look, especially in the m o r n i n g , w h e n its timbers were s a t u r a t e d with dew, s o that I f a n c i e d that by n o o n s o m e sweet g u m would e x u d e from t h e m . T o my i m a g i n a t i o n it r e t a i n e d t h r o u g h o u t the 9. A Titan w h o m Z e u s forced to s t a n d on the earth s u p p o r t i n g t h e h e a v e n s o n h i s h e a d a n d in h i s h a n d s a s p u n i s h m e n t for w a r r i n g a g a i n s t t h e

Olympian gods, 1. De agri cultura

1.1.

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day m o r e or less of this auroral c h a r a c t e r , r e m i n d i n g m e of a certain h o u s e o n a m o u n t a i n w h i c h I h a d visited the year b e f o r e . T h i s w a s a n airy a n d u n p l a s t e r e d c a b i n , fit to entertain a travelling g o d , a n d where a g o d d e s s might trail her g a r m e n t s . T h e winds which p a s s e d over my dwelling were s u c h a s s w e e p over the ridges of m o u n t a i n s , b e a r i n g the b r o k e n s t r a i n s , or celestial p a r t s only, of terrestrial m u s i c . T h e m o r n i n g wind forever blows, the p o e m of creation is u n i n t e r r u p t e d ; but few are the e a r s that h e a r it. O l y m p u s is but the o u t s i d e of the earth every w h e r e . T h e only h o u s e I h a d b e e n the o w n e r of b e f o r e , if I except a boat, w a s a tent, which I u s e d o c c a s i o n a l l y w h e n m a k i n g e x c u r s i o n s in the s u m m e r , a n d this is still rolled u p in my garret; but the boat, after p a s s i n g from h a n d to h a n d , h a s g o n e down the s t r e a m of t i m e . With this m o r e s u b s t a n t i a l shelter a b o u t m e , I h a d m a d e s o m e p r o g r e s s toward settling in the world. T h i s f r a m e , so slightly c l a d , w a s a sort of crystallization a r o u n d m e , a n d r e a c t e d on the builder. It w a s s u g g e s t i v e s o m e w h a t a s a picture in o u t l i n e s . I did not n e e d to go out d o o r s to take the air, for the a t m o s p h e r e within h a d lost n o n e of its f r e s h n e s s . It w a s not s o m u c h within doors as b e h i n d a d o o r w h e r e I sat, even in the rainiest w e a t h e r . T h e H a r i v a n s a 2 says, "An a b o d e without birds is like a m e a t without s e a s o n i n g . " S u c h w a s not my a b o d e , for I f o u n d myself s u d d e n l y n e i g h b o r to the birds; not by having i m p r i s o n e d o n e , but having c a g e d myself n e a r t h e m . I w a s not only nearer to s o m e of t h o s e w h i c h c o m monly frequent the g a r d e n a n d the o r c h a r d , but to t h o s e wilder a n d m o r e thrilling s o n g s t e r s of the forest which never, or rarely, s e r e n a d e a villager,— the w o o d - t h r u s h , the veery, the scarlet t a n a g e r , the field-sparrow, the whippoorwill, a n d m a n y o t h e r s . I w a s s e a t e d by the s h o r e of a small p o n d , a b o u t a m i l e a n d a half s o u t h of the village of C o n c o r d a n d s o m e w h a t higher t h a n it, in the midst of an extensive wood b e t w e e n that town a n d L i n c o l n , a n d a b o u t two miles s o u t h of that our only field known to f a m e , C o n c o r d B a t t l e G r o u n d ; 3 but I w a s so low in the w o o d s that the o p p o s i t e s h o r e , half a mile off, like the rest, covered with w o o d , w a s my m o s t d i s t a n t horizon. F o r the first week, w h e n e v e r I looked out on the p o n d it i m p r e s s e d m e like a t a r n 4 high u p on the side of a m o u n t a i n , its b o t t o m far a b o v e the s u r f a c e of other l a k e s , a n d , a s the s u n a r o s e , I s a w it throwing off its nightly clothing of m i s t , a n d here a n d t h e r e , by d e g r e e s , its soft ripples or its s m o o t h reflecting s u r f a c e w a s revealed, while the m i s t s , like g h o s t s , were stealthily withdrawing in every direction into the w o o d s , a s at the b r e a k i n g u p of s o m e n o c t u r n a l c o n v e n t i c l e . T h e very d e w s e e m e d to h a n g u p o n the trees later into the day t h a n u s u a l , a s o n the sides of m o u n t a i n s . T h i s small lake w a s of m o s t value a s a n e i g h b o r in the intervals of a gentle rain storm in A u g u s t , w h e n , both air a n d water b e i n g perfectly still, but the sky overcast, mid-afternoon h a d all the serenity of evening, a n d the w o o d t h r u s h s a n g a r o u n d , a n d w a s h e a r d from s h o r e to s h o r e . A lake like this is never s m o o t h e r t h a n at s u c h a t i m e ; a n d the clear portion of the air a b o v e it being shallow a n d d a r k e n e d by c l o u d s , the water, full of light a n d reflections, b e c o m e s a lower h e a v e n itself s o m u c h the m o r e i m p o r t a n t . F r o m a hill top near by, w h e r e the w o o d h a d b e e n recently c u t off, there w a s a 2. A H i n d u epic p o e m . 3 . T h e s i t e o f h a t t l e o n t h e first d a y o f t h e A m e r -

i c a n R e v o l u t i o n , April 19, 1 7 7 5 . 4. L a k e .

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p l e a s i n g vista s o u t h w a r d a c r o s s the p o n d , through a wide indentation in the hills which form the s h o r e there, where their o p p o s i t e sides s l o p i n g toward e a c h other s u g g e s t e d a s t r e a m flowing out in that direction through a w o o d e d valley, but s t r e a m there w a s n o n e . T h a t way I looked b e t w e e n a n d over the near green hills to s o m e distant a n d higher o n e s in the horizon, tinged with b l u e . I n d e e d , by s t a n d i n g on tiptoe I could c a t c h a g l i m p s e of s o m e of the p e a k s of the still bluer a n d m o r e distant m o u n t a i n r a n g e s in the north-west, t h o s e true-blue coins from heaven's own mint, a n d also of s o m e portion of the village. B u t in other directions, even from this point, I c o u l d not s e e over or beyond the w o o d s which s u r r o u n d e d m e . It is well to have s o m e water in your n e i g h b o r h o o d , to give buoyancy to a n d float the e a r t h . O n e value even of the s m a l l e s t well is, that w h e n you look into it you s e e that earth is not continent but insular. T h i s is a s important as that it k e e p s butter cool. W h e n I looked a c r o s s the p o n d from this p e a k toward the S u d b u r y m e a d o w s , which in time of flood I d i s t i n g u i s h e d elevated p e r h a p s by a m i r a g e in their s e e t h i n g valley, like a coin in a b a s i n , all the earth beyond the p o n d a p p e a r e d like a thin crust i n s u l a t e d a n d floated even by this small sheet of intervening water, a n d I was r e m i n d e d that this on which I dwelt was but dry land. T h o u g h the view from my d o o r w a s still m o r e c o n t r a c t e d , I did not feel c r o w d e d or confined in the least. T h e r e w a s p a s t u r e e n o u g h for my imagination. T h e low s h r u b - o a k p l a t e a u to which the o p p o s i t e s h o r e a r o s e , stretched away toward the prairies of the W e s t a n d the s t e p p e s of Tartary, affording a m p l e r o o m for all the roving families of m e n . " T h e r e a r e n o n e happy in the world but b e i n g s w h o enjoy freely a vast h o r i z o n , " — s a i d D a m o d a r a , 5 w h e n his herds required new a n d larger p a s t u r e s . B o t h p l a c e a n d time were c h a n g e d , a n d I dwelt n e a r e r to t h o s e p a r t s of the universe a n d to t h o s e e r a s in history which had m o s t a t t r a c t e d m e . W h e r e I lived was a s far off a s m a n y a region viewed nightly by a s t r o n o m e r s . W e are wont to i m a g i n e rare a n d d e l e c t a b l e p l a c e s in s o m e r e m o t e a n d m o r e celestial c o r n e r of the system, b e h i n d the constellation of C a s s i o p e i a ' s C h a i r , far from noise a n d d i s t u r b a n c e . I discovered that my h o u s e actually had its site in s u c h a withdrawn, but forever new a n d u n p r o f a n e d , part of the universe. If it were worth the while to settle in t h o s e parts near to the P l e i a d e s or the H y a d e s , to A l d e b a r a n or Altair, 6 then I w a s really there, or at a n e q u a l r e m o t e n e s s from the life which I had left b e h i n d , dwindled a n d twinkling with a s fine a ray to my n e a r e s t neighbor, a n d to be s e e n only in m o o n l e s s nights by him. S u c h w a s that part of creation where I had s q u a t t e d ; — " T h e r e w a s a s h e p h e r d that did live, And held his t h o u g h t s as high A s were the m o u n t s w h e r e o n his flocks Did hourly feed him b y . " 7 W h a t s h o u l d we think of the s h e p h e r d ' s life if his flocks always w a n d e r e d to higher p a s t u r e s than his t h o u g h t s ? Every m o r n i n g w a s a cheerful invitation to m a k e my life of e q u a l simplic5. A n o t h e r n a m e for K r i s h n a , the e i g h t h a v a t a r of V i s h n u in H i n d u m y t h o l o g y ; T h o r e a u t r a n s l a t e s from a French edition of Itarivansa. 6 . A s t a r in t h e c o n s t e l l a t i o n A q u i l a . T h e P l e i a d e s a n d t h e H y a d e s a r e c o n s t e l l a t i o n s . A l d e b a r a n , in

t h e c o n s t e l l a t i o n T a u r u s , is o n e o f t h e b r i g h t e s t stars. 7. A n o n y m o u s J a c o b e a n v e r s e s e t t o m u s i c in The Muses Garden ( 1 6 1 1 ) a n d p r o b a b l y f o u n d by T h o r e a u in T h o m a s E v a n s ' s Old Ballads (1810).

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ity, a n d I may say i n n o c e n c e , with N a t u r e herself. I have b e e n a s s i n c e r e a w o r s h i p p e r of A u r o r a a s the G r e e k s . I got u p early a n d b a t h e d in the p o n d ; that w a s a religious exercise, a n d o n e of the b e s t things w h i c h I did. T h e y say that c h a r a c t e r s were engraven on the b a t h i n g tub of king T c h i n g - t h a n g to this effect: " R e n e w thyself c o m p l e t e l y e a c h day; do it a g a i n , a n d a g a i n , a n d forever a g a i n . " 8 I c a n u n d e r s t a n d that. M o r n i n g b r i n g s b a c k the heroic a g e s . I w a s a s m u c h affected by the faint h u m of a m o s q u i t o m a k i n g its invisible a n d u n i m a g i n a b l e tour t h r o u g h my a p a r t m e n t at earliest d a w n , w h e n I w a s sitting with d o o r a n d w i n d o w s o p e n , a s I c o u l d b e by any t r u m p e t that ever s a n g of f a m e . It w a s H o m e r ' s r e q u i e m ; itself a n Iliad a n d O d y s s e y in the air, s i n g i n g its own wrath a n d w a n d e r i n g s . T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g c o s mical a b o u t it; a s t a n d i n g a d v e r t i s e m e n t , till f o r b i d d e n , 9 o f the everlasting vigor a n d fertility of the world. T h e m o r n i n g , w h i c h is the m o s t m e m o r a b l e s e a s o n of the day, is the a w a k e n i n g h o u r . T h e n t h e r e is least s o m n o l e n c e in u s ; a n d for an hour, at least, s o m e part of u s a w a k e s w h i c h s l u m b e r s all the rest of the day a n d night. Little is to b e e x p e c t e d of that day, if it c a n b e called a day, to which we are not a w a k e n e d by o u r G e n i u s , but by the m e c h a n i c a l n u d g i n g s of s o m e servitor, are not a w a k e n e d by our own newlya c q u i r e d force a n d a s p i r a t i o n s from within, a c c o m p a n i e d by the u n d u l a t i o n s of celestial m u s i c , i n s t e a d of factory bells, a n d a f r a g r a n c e filling the a i r — t o a higher life than we fell a s l e e p f r o m ; a n d t h u s the d a r k n e s s b e a r its fruit, a n d prove itself to be g o o d , n o less t h a n the light. T h a t m a n w h o d o e s not believe that e a c h day c o n t a i n s a n earlier, m o r e s a c r e d , a n d a u r o r a l h o u r t h a n he h a s yet p r o f a n e d , has d e s p a i r e d of life, a n d is p u r s u i n g a d e s c e n d i n g a n d d a r k e n i n g way. After a partial c e s s a t i o n of his s e n s u o u s life, the soul of m a n , or its o r g a n s rather, are reinvigorated e a c h day, a n d his G e n i u s tries again what n o b l e life it c a n m a k e . All m e m o r a b l e events, I s h o u l d say, transpire in m o r n i n g time a n d in a m o r n i n g a t m o s p h e r e . T h e V e d a s 1 say, "All intellig e n c e s a w a k e with the m o r n i n g . " Poetry a n d art, a n d the fairest a n d m o s t m e m o r a b l e of the a c t i o n s of m e n , d a t e from s u c h an h o u r . All p o e t s a n d h e r o e s , like M e m n o n , a r e the children of A u r o r a , a n d e m i t their m u s i c at s u n r i s e . 2 T o him w h o s e elastic a n d vigorous t h o u g h t k e e p s p a c e with the s u n , the day is a p e r p e t u a l m o r n i n g . It m a t t e r s not what the c l o c k s say or the a t t i t u d e s a n d labors of m e n . M o r n i n g is w h e n I a m a w a k e a n d there is a d a w n in m e . M o r a l reform is the effort to throw off s l e e p . W h y is it that m e n give s o p o o r an a c c o u n t of their day if they have not b e e n s l u m b e r i n g ? T h e y are not s u c h p o o r c a l c u l a t o r s . If they h a d not b e e n o v e r c o m e with d r o w s i n e s s they w o u l d have p e r f o r m e d s o m e t h i n g . T h e millions are a w a k e e n o u g h for physical labor; but only o n e in a million is a w a k e e n o u g h for effective intellectual exertion, only o n e in a h u n d r e d millions to a p o e t i c or divine life. T o b e a w a k e is to be alive. I have never yet m e t a m a n w h o w a s q u i t e a w a k e . H o w c o u l d I have looked him in the f a c e ? W e m u s t learn to r e a w a k e n a n d keep o u r s e l v e s a w a k e , not by m e c h a n i c a l aids, but by a n infinite e x p e c t a t i o n of the d a w n , which d o e s not f o r s a k e u s in our s o u n d e s t s l e e p . I know of n o m o r e e n c o u r a g i n g fact t h a n the u n q u e s t i o n a b l e ability of m a n to elevate his life by a c o n s c i o u s e n d e a v o r . It is s o m e 8 . C o n f u c i u s , The Great Learning, c h . 1. 9 . In n e w s p a p e r a d v e r t i s e m e n t s " T F " s i g n a l e d t o the c o m p o s i t o r that a n item w a s to be repeated d a i l y "till f o r b i d d e n . "

1. T h e V e d a s a r e H i n d u s c r i p t u r e s ; t h e q u o t a t i o n has not been located. 2. S e e n. 6, p . 8 7 1 .

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thing to b e able to paint a particular p i c t u r e , or to carve a s t a t u e , a n d s o to m a k e a few o b j e c t s beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve a n d paint the very a t m o s p h e r e a n d m e d i u m through which we look, which morally we c a n d o . T o affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts. Every m a n is tasked to m a k e his life, even in its details, worthy of the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of his m o s t elevated and critical hour. If we refused, or rather u s e d u p , s u c h paltry information a s we get, the o r a c l e s would distinctly inform u s how this might be d o n e . I went to the w o o d s b e c a u s e I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, a n d s e e if I c o u l d not learn what it h a d to t e a c h , a n d not, when I c a m e to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to p r a c t i s e resignation, u n l e s s it was quite n e c e s s a r y . I w a n t e d to live d e e p a n d s u c k out all the marrow of life, to live s o sturdily a n d Spartan-like a s to p u t to rout all that w a s not life, to c u t a b r o a d swath a n d s h a v e c l o s e , to drive life into a corner, a n d r e d u c e it to its lowest t e r m s , a n d , if it proved to b e m e a n , why then to get the whole a n d g e n u i n e m e a n n e s s of it, a n d publish its m e a n n e s s to the world; or if it were s u b l i m e , to know it by e x p e r i e n c e , a n d be a b l e to give a true a c c o u n t of it in my next e x c u r s i o n . F o r m o s t m e n , it a p p e a r s to m e , a r e in a s t r a n g e uncertainty a b o u t it, w h e t h e r it is of the devil or of G o d , a n d have somewhat hastily c o n c l u d e d that it is the chief e n d of m a n here to "glorify G o d a n d enjoy him forever."* Still we live meanly, like a n t s ; t h o u g h the fable tells u s that we were long a g o c h a n g e d into m e n ; 4 like pygmies we fight with c r a n e s ; it is error u p o n error, a n d clout upon clout, a n d our best virtue h a s for its o c c a s i o n a superfluous a n d evitable w r e t c h e d n e s s . O u r life is frittered away by detail. An h o n e s t m a n h a s hardly n e e d to c o u n t m o r e than his ten fingers, or in extreme c a s e s he m a y a d d his ten toes, a n d l u m p the rest. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs b e as two or three, a n d not a h u n d r e d or a t h o u s a n d ; instead of a million c o u n t half a d o z e n , a n d keep your a c c o u n t s on your t h u m b nail. In the m i d s t of this c h o p p i n g s e a of civilized life, s u c h are the c l o u d s a n d s t o r m s a n d q u i c k s a n d s a n d t h o u s a n d - a n d - o n e items to be allowed for, that a m a n h a s to live, if he would not f o u n d e r a n d go to the bottom a n d not m a k e his port at all, by d e a d reckoning, a n d he m u s t b e a great c a l c u l a t o r indeed w h o s u c c e e d s . Simplify, simplify. I n s t e a d of three m e a l s a day, if it b e n e c e s s a r y eat but o n e ; instead of a h u n d r e d d i s h e s , five; a n d r e d u c e other things in proportion. O u r life is like a G e r m a n C o n f e d e r a c y , 5 m a d e u p of petty s t a t e s , with its b o u n d a r y forever fluctuating, so that even a G e r m a n c a n n o t tell you how it is b o u n d e d at any m o m e n t . T h e nation itself, with all its s o called internal i m p r o v e m e n t s , w h i c h , by the way, are all external a n d superficial, is j u s t s u c h an unwieldy a n d overgrown establishm e n t , cluttered with furniture a n d tripped u p by its own t r a p s , ruined by luxury a n d h e e d l e s s e x p e n s e , by want of c a l c u l a t i o n a n d a worthy a i m , a s the million h o u s e h o l d s in the land; a n d the only c u r e for it as for t h e m is in a rigid e c o n o m y , a stern a n d m o r e than S p a r t a n simplicity of life a n d elevation of p u r p o s e . It lives too fast. M e n think that it is essential that the Nation 3. F r o m England

the Shorter Primer.

Catechism

in

the

New

4. in a G r e e k fable A e a c u s p e r s u a d e d Z e u s to turn ants into m e n . T h e Trojans are c o m p a r e d to c r a n e s

l i g h t i n g w i t h p y g m i e s {Iliad, b o o k 3 ) . 5 . L a t e r in t h e c e n t u r y G e r m a n y w a s u n i f i e d under Prince Otto von Bismarck ( 1 8 1 5 - 1 8 9 8 ) . first c h a n c e l l o r o f t h e G e r m a n E m p i r e .

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have c o m m e r c e , a n d export ice, a n d talk through a t e l e g r a p h , a n d ride thirty miles a n hour, without a d o u b t , w h e t h e r they d o or not; b u t w h e t h e r we s h o u l d live like b a b o o n s or like m e n , is a little u n c e r t a i n . If w e do not get out s l e e p e r s , 6 a n d forge rails, a n d devote days a n d nights to the work, but g o to tinkering u p o n our lives to improve them, w h o will build railroads? A n d if railroads a r e not built, how shall we get to heaven in s e a s o n ? B u t if we stay at h o m e a n d m i n d our b u s i n e s s , w h o will want railroads? W e d o not ride o n the railroad; it rides u p o n u s . Did you ever think w h a t t h o s e s l e e p e r s are that underlie the railroad? E a c h o n e is a m a n , an I r i s h - m a n , or a Y a n k e e m a n . T h e rails are laid on t h e m , a n d they a r e covered with s a n d , a n d the cars run s m o o t h l y over t h e m . T h e y are s o u n d s l e e p e r s , I a s s u r e y o u . A n d every few years a new lot is laid d o w n a n d run over; s o that, if s o m e have the p l e a s u r e of riding on a rail, others have the m i s f o r t u n e to b e ridden u p o n . A n d w h e n they run over a m a n that is walking in his s l e e p , a s u p e r n u m e r a r y s l e e p e r in the w r o n g position, a n d w a k e him u p , they s u d d e n l y s t o p the c a r s , a n d m a k e a h u e a n d cry a b o u t it, a s if this were an e x c e p t i o n . I a m g l a d to know that it takes a g a n g of m e n for every five miles to k e e p the s l e e p e r s down a n d level in their b e d s a s it is, for this is a sign that they m a y s o m e t i m e get u p again. W h y s h o u l d we live with s u c h hurry a n d w a s t e of life? W e are d e t e r m i n e d to be starved before we are hungry. M e n say that a stitch in time s a v e s n i n e , a n d so they take a t h o u s a n d s t i t c h e s to-day to save nine to-morrow. As for work, we haven't any of any c o n s e q u e n c e . W e have the S a i n t V i t u s ' d a n c e , 7 a n d c a n n o t possibly keep our h e a d s still. If I s h o u l d only give a few p u l l s at the p a r i s h bell-rope, as for a fire, that is, without setting the bell, there is hardly a m a n on his farm in the outskirts of C o n c o r d , n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g that p r e s s of e n g a g e m e n t s which w a s his e x c u s e so m a n y t i m e s this m o r n i n g , nor a boy, nor a w o m a n , I might a l m o s t say, b u t w o u l d forsake all a n d follow that s o u n d , not mainly to save property from the f l a m e s , b u t , if we will c o n f e s s the truth, m u c h m o r e to s e e it b u r n , s i n c e b u r n it m u s t , a n d w e , be it known, did not set it on fire,—or to s e e it put o u t , a n d have a h a n d in it, if that is d o n e a s h a n d s o m e l y ; yes, even if it were the p a r i s h c h u r c h itself. Hardly a m a n t a k e s a half hour's n a p after dinner, but w h e n h e w a k e s he holds u p his h e a d a n d a s k s , " W h a t ' s the n e w s ? " a s if the rest of m a n k i n d h a d s t o o d his s e n t i n e l s . S o m e give directions to b e w a k e d every half hour, d o u b t less for no other p u r p o s e ; a n d t h e n , to pay for it, they tell w h a t they have d r e a m e d . After a night's s l e e p the n e w s is a s i n d i s p e n s a b l e a s the b r e a k f a s t . " P r a y tell m e any thing new that h a s h a p p e n e d to a m a n any w h e r e on this g l o b e " , — a n d he r e a d s it over his coffee a n d rolls, that a m a n h a d h a d his eyes g o u g e d out this m o r n i n g o n the W a c h i t o River; never d r e a m i n g the while that he lives in the dark u n f a t h o m e d m a m m o t h c a v e of this world, a n d h a s b u t the r u d i m e n t of a n eye himself. 8 F o r my part, I c o u l d easily do without the post-office. I think that there a r e very few i m p o r t a n t c o m m u n i c a t i o n s m a d e t h r o u g h it. T o s p e a k critically, I never received m o r e than o n e or two letters in my life—I wrote this s o m e years a g o — t h a t were worth the p o s t a g e . T h e p e n n y - p o s t is, c o m m o n l y , a n 6. W o o d e n r a i l r o a d ties ( a n o t h e r p u n ) . 7. C h o r e a , a s e v e r e n e r v o u s d i s o r d e r c h a r a c t e r i z e d by j e r k y m o t i o n s . 8. S i g h t l e s s fish h a d b e e n f o u n d i n K e n t u c k y ' s

M a m m o t h Cave. "Wachito": also spelled "Ouachita," a tributary of the R e d River. T h o r e a u refers to a c o m m o n - e n o u g h i n c i d e n t in b a c k w o o d s b r a w l ing.

WALDEN, CHAPTER 2. WHERE

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institution t h r o u g h which you seriously offer a m a n that p e n n y for his t h o u g h t s which is so often safely offered in j e s t . A n d I a m s u r e that I never read any m e m o r a b l e news in a n e w s p a p e r . If we read of o n e m a n r o b b e d , or m u r d e r e d , or killed by a c c i d e n t , or o n e h o u s e b u r n e d , or o n e vessel w r e c k e d , or o n e s t e a m b o a t blown u p , or o n e cow run over on the W e s t e r n R a i l r o a d , or o n e m a d d o g killed, or o n e lot of g r a s s h o p p e r s in the w i n t e r , — w e never n e e d read of a n o t h e r . O n e is e n o u g h . If you are a c q u a i n t e d with the principle, w h a t do you c a r e for a myriad i n s t a n c e s a n d a p p l i c a t i o n s ? T o a phil o s o p h e r all news, a s it is called, is g o s s i p , a n d they w h o edit a n d read it are old w o m e n over their tea. Yet not a few are greedy after this g o s s i p . T h e r e w a s s u c h a r u s h , as I hear, the other day at o n e of the offices to learn the foreign news by the last arrival, that several large s q u a r e s of plate g l a s s b e l o n g i n g to the e s t a b l i s h m e n t were broken by the p r e s s u r e , — n e w s which I seriously think a ready wit might write a twelvemonth or twelve years b e f o r e h a n d with sufficient a c c u r a c y . A s for S p a i n , for i n s t a n c e , if you know how to throw in D o n C a r l o s a n d the Infanta, a n d D o n P e d r o a n d Seville a n d G r a n a d a , from time to time in the right p r o p o r t i o n s , — t h e y m a y have c h a n g e d the n a m e s a little s i n c e I saw the p a p e r s , — a n d serve u p a bull-fight when other e n t e r t a i n m e n t s fail, it will b e true to the letter, a n d give u s a s g o o d an idea of the exact s t a t e or ruin of things in S p a i n a s the m o s t s u c c i n c t a n d lucid reports u n d e r this h e a d in the n e w s p a p e r s : a n d a s for E n g l a n d , a l m o s t the last significant s c r a p of news from that q u a r t e r w a s the revolution of 1649; a n d if you have l e a r n e d the history of her c r o p s for a n a v e r a g e year, you never n e e d a t t e n d to that thing a g a i n , u n l e s s your s p e c u l a t i o n s are of a merely p e c u n i a r y c h a r a c t e r . If o n e m a y j u d g e w h o rarely looks into the newsp a p e r s , n o t h i n g new d o e s ever h a p p e n in foreign p a r t s , a F r e n c h revolution not e x c e p t e d . W h a t n e w s ! how m u c h m o r e i m p o r t a n t to know what that is w h i c h w a s never old! "Kieou-pe-yu (great dignitary of the s t a t e of W e i ) s e n t a m a n to K h o u n g - t s e u to know his n e w s . K h o u n g - t s e u c a u s e d the m e s s e n g e r to be s e a t e d near h i m , a n d q u e s t i o n e d him in t h e s e t e r m s : W h a t is your m a s t e r d o i n g ? T h e m e s s e n g e r a n s w e r e d with r e s p e c t : M y m a s t e r d e s i r e s to d i m i n i s h the n u m b e r of his faults, but he c a n n o t a c c o m p l i s h it. T h e m e s s e n g e r b e i n g g o n e , the p h i l o s o p h e r r e m a r k e d : W h a t a worthy m e s s e n g e r ! W h a t a worthy m e s s e n g e r ! " 9 T h e p r e a c h e r , i n s t e a d of vexing the ears of drowsy f a r m e r s on their day of rest at the e n d of the w e e k , — f o r S u n d a y is the fit c o n c l u s i o n of an ill-spent week, a n d not the fresh a n d brave b e g i n n i n g of a new o n e , — with this o n e other draggle-tail of a s e r m o n , s h o u l d s h o u t with t h u n d e r i n g v o i c e , — " P a u s e ! Avast! W h y s o s e e m i n g fast, but deadly s l o w ? " 1 S h a m s a n d d e l u s i o n s are e s t e e m e d for s o u n d e s t t r u t h s , while reality is f a b u l o u s . If m e n w o u l d steadily observe realities only, a n d not allow t h e m selves to b e d e l u d e d , life, to c o m p a r e it with s u c h things a s we know, w o u l d b e like a fairy tale a n d the A r a b i a n N i g h t s ' E n t e r t a i n m e n t s . If w e r e s p e c t e d only what is inevitable a n d h a s a right to b e , m u s i c a n d poetry w o u l d r e s o u n d a l o n g the streets. W h e n we are u n h u r r i e d a n d w i s e , we p e r c e i v e that only great a n d worthy things have any p e r m a n e n t a n d a b s o l u t e e x i s t e n c e , — t h a t petty fears a n d petty p l e a s u r e s are b u t the s h a d o w of the reality. T h i s is 9.

C o n f u c i u s ' s , Analects

14.

1. F a t h e r T a y l o r o f t h e S e a m a n ' s B e t h e l i n B o s t o n

w a s o n e s u c h p r e a c h e r f a m o u s for t h e n a u t i c a l c a s t of his s e r m o n s .

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always exhilarating a n d s u b l i m e . By closing the eyes a n d s l u m b e r i n g , a n d c o n s e n t i n g to be deceived by s h o w s , men e s t a b l i s h a n d confirm their daily life of routine a n d habit every w h e r e , which still is built o n purely illusory f o u n d a t i o n s . C h i l d r e n , w h o play life, d i s c e r n its true law a n d relations m o r e clearly than m e n , w h o fail to live it worthily, b u t w h o think that they are wiser by e x p e r i e n c e , that is, by failure. I have r e a d in a H i n d o o book, that "there w a s a king's s o n , who, b e i n g expelled in infancy from his native city, w a s brought up by a forester, a n d , growing u p to maturity in that s t a t e , i m a g i n e d himself to b e l o n g to the b a r b a r o u s r a c e with which h e lived. O n e of his father's ministers having d i s c o v e r e d him, revealed to him what he w a s , a n d the m i s c o n c e p t i o n of his c h a r a c t e r w a s r e m o v e d , a n d h e k n e w h i m s e l f to b e a p r i n c e . S o s o u l , " c o n t i n u e s the H i n d o o p h i l o s o p h e r , "from the circ u m s t a n c e s in which it is p l a c e d , m i s t a k e s its own c h a r a c t e r , until the truth is revealed to it by s o m e holy teacher, a n d then it knows itself to b e Brahnte. " I perceive that we i n h a b i t a n t s of N e w E n g l a n d live this m e a n life that we do b e c a u s e our vision d o e s not p e n e t r a t e the s u r f a c e of t h i n g s . W e think that that is which appears to b e . If a m a n s h o u l d walk t h r o u g h this town a n d s e e only the reality, w h e r e , think you, would the " M i l l - d a m " * go to? If h e s h o u l d give u s an a c c o u n t of the realities he b e h e l d t h e r e , we s h o u l d not recognize the p l a c e in his d e s c r i p t i o n . L o o k at a m e e t i n g - h o u s e , or a c o u r t - h o u s e , or a jail, or a s h o p , or a d w e l l i n g - h o u s e , a n d say w h a t that thing really is before a true g a z e , a n d they would all go to p i e c e s in your a c c o u n t of t h e m . M e n e s t e e m truth r e m o t e , in the outskirts of the s y s t e m , b e h i n d the farthest star, before A d a m a n d after the last m a n . In eternity there is i n d e e d s o m e t h i n g true a n d s u b l i m e . B u t all t h e s e times a n d p l a c e s arid o c c a s i o n s are now a n d h e r e . G o d himself c u l m i n a t e s in the p r e s e n t m o m e n t , a n d will never be m o r e divine in the l a p s e of all the a g e s . And we a r e e n a b l e d to a p p r e h e n d at all what is s u b l i m e a n d noble only by the p e r p e t u a l instilling a n d d r e n c h i n g of the reality which s u r r o u n d s u s . T h e universe c o n s t a n t l y a n d obediently a n s w e r s to our c o n c e p t i b n s ; w h e t h e r we travel fast or slow, the track is laid for u s . Let u s s p e n d our lives in c o n c e i v i n g t h e m . T h e poet or the artist never yet h a d so fair a n d noble a design but s o m e of his posterity at least c o u l d a c c o m p l i s h it. 2

L e t u s s p e n d o n e day as deliberately a s N a t u r e , a n d not be thrown off the track by every nutshell a n d m o s q u i t o ' s w i n g that falls on the rails. L e t u s rise early a n d fast, or break fast, gently a n d without p e r t u r b a t i o n ; let c o m p a n y c o m e a n d let c o m p a n y g o , let the bells ring a n d the children cry,—determ i n e d to m a k e a day of it. W h y s h o u l d we k n o c k u n d e r a n d go with the s t r e a m ? L e t u s not be upset a n d o v e r w h e l m e d in that terrible rapid a n d whirlpool called a dinner, s i t u a t e d in the m e r i d i a n s h a l l o w s . W e a t h e r this d a n g e r a n d you are safe, for the rest of the way is d o w n hill. W i t h u n r e l a x e d nerves, with m o r n i n g vigor, sail by it, looking a n o t h e r way, tied to the m a s t like U l y s s e s . 4 If the e n g i n e whistles, let it whistle till it is h o a r s e for its p a i n s . If the bell rings, why s h o u l d we run? W e will c o n s i d e r what kind of m u s i c they are like. Let u s settle o u r s e l v e s , a n d work a n d w e d g e o u r feet d o w n w a r d

2 . In t h e H i n d u t r i a d , B r a h m a is t h e d i v i n e r e a l i t y in t h e a s p e c t o l c r e a t o r ; V i s h n u is t h e p r e s e r v e r ; and Siva, the destroyer. 3.

T h e business center of Concord.

4. A p r e c a u t i o n U l y s s e s ( O d y s s e u s ) t o o k to prevent his yielding to the call o f the S i r e n s , s e a n y m p h s w h o s e singing lured ships to destruction.

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through the m u d a n d s l u s h of opinion, and p r e j u d i c e , a n d tradition, a n d d e l u s i o n , a n d a p p e a r a n c e , that alluvion 5 which covers the g l o b e , through Paris a n d L o n d o n , through N e w York a n d B o s t o n a n d C o n c o r d , through c h u r c h a n d s t a t e , through poetry a n d philosophy a n d religion, till we c o m e to a hard b o t t o m a n d rocks in p l a c e , which we c a n call reality, a n d say, T h i s is, a n d no m i s t a k e ; a n d then begin, having a point d'appni, below freshet a n d frost a n d fire, a p l a c e where you might found a wall or a s t a t e , or set a lamp-post safely, or p e r h a p s a g a u g e , not a N i l o m e t e r , 7 but a R e a l o m e t e r , that future a g e s might know how d e e p a freshet of s h a m s a n d a p p e a r a n c e s h a d gathered from time to time. If you s t a n d right fronting a n d face to f a c e to a fact, you will s e e the s u n g l i m m e r on both its s u r f a c e s , as if it were a cimeter, a n d feel its sweet e d g e dividing you through the heart a n d marrow, a n d so you will happily c o n c l u d e your mortal career. B e it life or d e a t h , we crave only reality. If we are really dying, let u s h e a r the rattle in o u r throats a n d feel cold in the extremities; if we are alive, let u s go a b o u t our b u s i n e s s . 6

T i m e is but the s t r e a m I g o a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom a n d detect how shallow it is. Its thin c u r r e n t slides away, but eternity r e m a i n s . I would drink d e e p e r ; fish in the sky, w h o s e b o t t o m is pebbly with stars. I c a n n o t c o u n t o n e . I know not the first letter of the a l p h a b e t . I have always b e e n regretting that I was not as wise a s the day I was born. T h e intellect is a cleaver; it d i s c e r n s a n d rifts its way into the secret of things. I do not wish to be any m o r e busy with my h a n d s than is n e c e s s a r y . My h e a d is h a n d s a n d feet. I feel all my best faculties c o n c e n trated in it. M y instinct tells m e that my h e a d is an organ for burrowing, as s o m e c r e a t u r e s u s e their s n o u t a n d fore-paws, a n d with it I would m i n e a n d burrow my way through these hills. I think that the richest vein is s o m e w h e r e h e r e a b o u t s ; so by the divining rod a n d thin rising vapors I j u d g e ; a n d here I will begin to m i n e . *

4.

#

*

Sounds

B u t while we a r e confined to b o o k s , t h o u g h the m o s t select a n d c l a s s i c , a n d read only particular written l a n g u a g e s , which are t h e m s e l v e s but dialects a n d provincial, we are in d a n g e r of forgetting the l a n g u a g e which all things a n d events s p e a k without m e t a p h o r , which a l o n e is c o p i o u s a n d stand a r d . M u c h is p u b l i s h e d , but little printed. T h e rays which s t r e a m through the shutter will be no longer r e m e m b e r e d when the shutter is wholly r e m o v e d . N o m e t h o d nor discipline c a n s u p e r s e d e the necessity of b e i n g forever on the alert. W h a t is a c o u r s e of history, or philosophy, or poetry, n o m a t t e r how well s e l e c t e d , or the best society, or the m o s t a d m i r a b l e routine of life, c o m p a r e d with the discipline of looking always at what is to be s e e n ? Will you be a reader, a s t u d e n t merely, or a seer? R e a d your fate, s e e what is before you, a n d walk on into futurity. I did not read books the first s u m m e r ; I h o e d b e a n s . N a y , I often did better than this. T h e r e were times w h e n I c o u l d not afford to sacrifice the b l o o m of the p r e s e n t m o m e n t to any work, w h e t h e r of the h e a d or h a n d s . I love a 5 . S e d i m e n t d e p o s i t e d by f l o w i n g w a t e r a l o n g a shore or bank. 6.

Basis, leverage point (French).

7.

G a u g e u s e d at M e m p h i s in a n c i e n t t i m e s

m e a s u r i n g the height of the Nile.

lor

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THOREAU

b r o a d m a r g i n to my life. S o m e t i m e s , in a s u m m e r m o r n i n g , having taken my a c c u s t o m e d b a t h , I sat in my s u n n y doorway from s u n r i s e till n o o n , rapt in a revery, a m i d s t the p i n e s a n d hickories a n d s u m a c h s , in u n d i s t u r b e d solit u d e a n d stillness, while the birds s a n g a r o u n d or flitted n o i s e l e s s t h r o u g h the h o u s e , until by the s u n falling in at my west window, or the n o i s e of s o m e traveller's w a g o n on the distant highway, I w a s r e m i n d e d of the l a p s e of t i m e . I grew in t h o s e s e a s o n s like corn in the night, a n d they were far better than any work of the h a n d s would have b e e n . T h e y were not time s u b t r a c t e d from my life, but so m u c h over a n d a b o v e my u s u a l a l l o w a n c e . I realized w h a t the O r i e n t a l s m e a n by c o n t e m p l a t i o n a n d the forsaking of works. F o r the m o s t part, I m i n d e d not how the h o u r s went. T h e day a d v a n c e d a s if to light s o m e work of m i n e ; it w a s m o r n i n g , a n d lo, n o w it is evening, a n d n o t h i n g m e m o r a b l e is a c c o m p l i s h e d . I n s t e a d of singing like the birds, I silently s m i l e d at my i n c e s s a n t g o o d f o r t u n e . As the s p a r r o w h a d its trill, sitting on the hickory before my door, so h a d I my c h u c k l e or s u p p r e s s e d warble which h e might h e a r out of my n e s t . M y days were not days of the week, b e a r i n g the s t a m p of any h e a t h e n deity, 8 nor were they m i n c e d into h o u r s a n d fretted by the ticking of a clock; for I lived like the Puri I n d i a n s , 9 of w h o m it is s a i d that "for yesterday, to-day, a n d to-morrow they have only o n e word, a n d they express the variety of m e a n i n g by p o i n t i n g b a c k w a r d for yesterday, forward for to-morrow, a n d overhead for the p a s s i n g d a y . " T h i s w a s s h e e r idleness to my f e l l o w - t o w n s m e n , no d o u b t ; but if the birds a n d flowers h a d tried m e by their s t a n d a r d , I s h o u l d not have b e e n f o u n d wanting. A m a n m u s t find his o c c a s i o n s in himself, it is true. T h e natural day is very c a l m , a n d will hardly reprove his i n d o l e n c e . I h a d this a d v a n t a g e , at least, in my m o d e of life, over t h o s e w h o were obliged to look a b r o a d for a m u s e m e n t , to society a n d the t h e a t r e , that my life itself w a s b e c o m e my a m u s e m e n t a n d never c e a s e d to be novel. It w a s a d r a m a of m a n y s c e n e s a n d without a n e n d . If we were always i n d e e d getting our living, a n d r e g u l a t i n g our lives a c c o r d i n g to the last a n d b e s t m o d e we h a d l e a r n e d , we s h o u l d never be troubled with e n n u i . Follow your g e n i u s closely e n o u g h , a n d it will not fail to s h o w you a fresh p r o s p e c t every hour. H o u s e w o r k w a s a p l e a s a n t p a s t i m e . W h e n my floor w a s dirty, I rose early, a n d , setting all my furniture out of doors o n the g r a s s , b e d a n d b e d s t e a d m a k i n g but o n e b u d g e t , 1 d a s h e d water o n the floor, a n d sprinkled white s a n d from the p o n d on it, a n d then with a b r o o m s c r u b b e d it c l e a n a n d white; a n d by the time the villagers h a d broken their fast the m o r n i n g s u n h a d dried my h o u s e sufficiently to allow m e to m o v e in a g a i n , a n d my m e d i t a t i o n s were a l m o s t u n i n t e r r u p t e d . It w a s p l e a s a n t to s e e my whole h o u s e h o l d effects o u t on the g r a s s , m a k i n g a little pile like a gypsy's p a c k , a n d my three-legged table, from which I did not r e m o v e the b o o k s a n d p e n a n d ink, s t a n d i n g a m i d the p i n e s a n d hickories. T h e y s e e m e d glad to get o u t t h e m s e l v e s , a n d a s if unwilling to b e b r o u g h t in. I w a s s o m e t i m e s t e m p t e d to s t r e t c h a n a w n i n g over t h e m a n d take my seat t h e r e . It w a s worth the while to s e e the s u n s h i n e on t h e s e things, a n d h e a r the free wind blow o n t h e m ; s o m u c h m o r e inter8. T u e s d a y , W e d n e s d a y , T h u r s d a y , a n d F r i d a y all derive from gods of N o r s e mythology, while Satu r d a y is n a m e d f o r t h e R o m a n g o d S a t u r n . 9.

B r a z i l i a n I n d i a n s w h o m T h o r e a u r e a d a b o u t in

I d a P f e i f f e r ' s A Lady's (1852). 1. C o l l e c t i o n .

Voyage

round

the

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esting m o s t familiar o b j e c t s look out of doors than in the h o u s e . A bird sits on the next b o u g h , life-everlasting grows u n d e r the t a b l e , a n d blackberry vines run r o u n d its legs; p i n e c o n e s , c h e s t n u t b u r s , a n d strawberry leaves are strewn a b o u t . It looked a s if this w a s the way t h e s e f o r m s c a m e to be transferred to our furniture, to t a b l e s , c h a i r s , a n d b e d s t e a d s , — b e c a u s e they o n c e s t o o d in their midst. M y h o u s e was on the side of a hill, immediately on the e d g e of the larger w o o d , in the m i d s t of a y o u n g forest of pitch pines a n d hickories, a n d half a dozen rods from the p o n d , to which a narrow footpath led d o w n the hill. In my front yard grew the strawberry, blackberry, a n d life-everlasting, j o h n s w o r t a n d golden-rod, s h r u b - o a k s a n d sand-cherry, blueberry a n d g r o u n d - n u t . N e a r the e n d of M a y , the sand-cherry, Cerasus pumila, a d o r n e d the sides of the p a t h with its delicate flowers a r r a n g e d in u m b e l s cylindrically a b o u t its short s t e m s , which last, in the fall, weighed down with g o o d sized a n d h a n d s o m e cherries, fell over in wreaths like rays on every side. I tasted t h e m out of c o m p l i m e n t to N a t u r e , t h o u g h they were scarcely p a l a t a b l e . T h e s u m a c h , Rhus glabra, grew luxuriantly a b o u t the h o u s e , p u s h i n g u p t h r o u g h the e m b a n k m e n t which I h a d m a d e , a n d growing five or six feet the first s e a s o n . Its b r o a d p i n n a t e tropical leaf w a s p l e a s a n t t h o u g h s t r a n g e to look on. T h e large b u d s , s u d d e n l y p u s h i n g out late in the spring from dry sticks which h a d s e e m e d to be d e a d , developed t h e m s e l v e s a s by m a g i c into graceful green a n d tender b o u g h s , a n inch in d i a m e t e r ; a n d s o m e t i m e s , a s I sat at my window, so heedlessly did they grow a n d tax their w e a k j o i n t s , I h e a r d a fresh a n d tender b o u g h s u d d e n l y fall like a fan to the g r o u n d , w h e n there w a s not a b r e a t h of air stirring, broken off by its own weight. In A u g u s t , the large m a s s e s of berries, w h i c h , w h e n in flower, h a d a t t r a c t e d m a n y wild b e e s , gradually a s s u m e d their bright velvety c r i m s o n h u e , a n d by their weight a g a i n bent down a n d broke the tender limbs. As I sit at my window this s u m m e r afternoon, hawks are circling a b o u t my clearing; the tantivy 2 of wild p i g e o n s , flying by twos a n d t h r e e s athwart my view, or p e r c h i n g restless on the white-pine b o u g h s b e h i n d my h o u s e , gives a voice to the air; a fishhawk d i m p l e s the glassy s u r f a c e of the p o n d a n d brings u p a fish; a mink steals out of the m a r s h before my d o o r a n d seizes a frog by the s h o r e ; the s e d g e is b e n d i n g u n d e r the weight of the reed-birds flitting hither a n d thither; a n d for the last half h o u r I have h e a r d the rattle of railroad c a r s , now dying away a n d then reviving like the b e a t of a partridge, conveying travellers from B o s t o n to the country. F o r I did not live s o out of the world a s that boy, w h o , a s I hear, w a s p u t out to a f a r m e r in the east part of the town, but ere long ran away a n d c a m e h o m e a g a i n , quite d o w n at the heel a n d h o m e s i c k . H e h a d never s e e n s u c h a dull a n d o u t of-the-way p l a c e ; the folks were all g o n e off; why, you couldn't even hear the whistle! I d o u b t if there is s u c h a p l a c e in M a s s a c h u s e t t s n o w : — "In truth, our village h a s b e c o m e a butt F o r o n e of t h o s e fleet railroad s h a f t s , a n d o'er O u r p e a c e f u l plain its s o o t h i n g s o u n d i s — C o n c o r d . " 3 2.

Hurtling.

3.

F r o m Ellery C h a n n i n g ' s " W a l d e n Spring," pub-

l i s h e d i n The

Woodman,

and

Other

Poems.

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T h e F i t c h b u r g railroad t o u c h e s the pond a b o u t a h u n d r e d rods s o u t h of where I dwell. I usually go to the village a l o n g its c a u s e w a y , a n d a m , a s it w e r e , related to society by this link. T h e m e n o n the freight trains, w h o g o over the whole length of the road, bow to m e a s to a n old a c q u a i n t a n c e , they p a s s m e s o often, a n d apparently they take m e for a n e m p l o y e e ; a n d s o I a m . I too would fain b e a track-repairer s o m e w h e r e in the orbit of the e a r t h . T h e whistle of the locomotive p e n e t r a t e s my w o o d s s u m m e r a n d winter, s o u n d i n g like the s c r e a m of a hawk sailing over s o m e farmer's yard, informing m e that m a n y r e s t l e s s city m e r c h a n t s are arriving within the circle of the town, or a d v e n t u r o u s country traders from the other s i d e . As they c o m e u n d e r o n e horizon, they s h o u t their w a r n i n g to get off the track of the other, h e a r d s o m e t i m e s t h r o u g h the circles of two towns. H e r e c o m e your g r o c e r i e s , country; your rations, c o u n t r y m e n ! N o r is there any m a n s o i n d e p e n d e n t on his farm that he c a n say t h e m nay. A n d here's your pay for t h e m ! s c r e a m s the c o u n t r y m a n ' s whistle; timber like long battering r a m s going twenty miles a n h o u r a g a i n s t the city's walls, a n d chairs e n o u g h to s e a t all the weary a n d heavy laden that dwell within t h e m . With s u c h h u g e a n d l u m b e r i n g civility the country h a n d s a c h a i r to the city. All the Indian huckleberry hills are stripped, all the cranberry m e a d o w s are raked into the city. U p c o m e s the c o t t o n , down g o e s the woven cloth; u p c o m e s the silk, d o w n g o e s the woollen; up c o m e the b o o k s , but down g o e s the wit that writes t h e m . W h e n I m e e t the e n g i n e with its train of cars m o v i n g off with planetary m o t i o n , — o r , rather, like a c o m e t , for the beholder knows not if with that velocity a n d with that direction it will ever revisit this s y s t e m , s i n c e its orbit d o e s not look like a r e t u r n i n g c u r v e , — w i t h its s t e a m c l o u d like a b a n n e r s t r e a m i n g b e h i n d in g o l d e n a n d silver w r e a t h s , like m a n y a downy c l o u d which I have s e e n , high in the h e a v e n s , unfolding its m a s s e s to the light,— a s if this travelling d e m i g o d , this c l o u d - c o m p e l l e r , would ere long take the s u n s e t sky for the livery of his train; w h e n I hear the iron h o r s e m a k e the hills e c h o with his snort like thunder, s h a k i n g the earth with his feet, a n d b r e a t h i n g fire a n d s m o k e from his nostrils, (what kind of winged h o r s e or fiery d r a g o n they will put into the new Mythology I don't know,) it s e e m s a s if the earth had got a r a c e now worthy to inhabit it. If all were a s it s e e m s , a n d m e n m a d e the e l e m e n t s their servants for n o b l e e n d s ! If the c l o u d that h a n g s over the e n g i n e were the perspiration of heroic d e e d s , or a s b e n e f i c e n t to m e n a s that which floats over the farmer's fields, then the e l e m e n t s a n d N a t u r e herself would cheerfully a c c o m p a n y m e n on their e r r a n d s a n d be their escort. I w a t c h the p a s s a g e of the m o r n i n g c a r s with the s a m e feeling that I d o the rising of the s u n , which is hardly m o r e regular. T h e i r train of c l o u d s stretching far b e h i n d a n d rising higher a n d higher, g o i n g to heaven while the c a r s are g o i n g to B o s t o n , c o n c e a l s the s u n for a m i n u t e a n d c a s t s my distant field into the s h a d e , a celestial train b e s i d e which the petty train of cars which h u g s the earth is but the b a r b of the s p e a r . T h e stabler of the iron h o r s e w a s up early this winter m o r n i n g by the light of the stars a m i d the m o u n t a i n s , to fodder a n d h a r n e s s his s t e e d . F i r e , too, w a s a w a k e n e d t h u s early to put the vital heat in him a n d get him off. If the e n t e r p r i s e were a s i n n o c e n t a s it is early! If the s n o w lies d e e p , they strap on his s n o w - s h o e s , a n d with the giant plow, plow a furrow from the m o u n t a i n s to the s e a b o a r d , in which the c a r s , like a following drill-barrow, sprinkle all the r e s t l e s s m e n

W A L D E N , C H A P T E R 4.

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a n d floating m e r c h a n d i s e in the country for s e e d . All day the fire-steed flies over the country, s t o p p i n g only that his m a s t e r may rest, a n d I a m a w a k e n e d by his t r a m p a n d defiant snort at midnight, when in s o m e r e m o t e glen in the w o o d s h e fronts the e l e m e n t s i n c a s e d in ice a n d s n o w ; a n d h e will r e a c h his stall only with the m o r n i n g star, to start o n c e m o r e on his travels without rest or s l u m b e r . O r p e r c h a n c e , at evening, 1 hear him in his s t a b l e blowing off the s u p e r f l u o u s energy of the day, that he m a y c a l m his nerves a n d cool his liver a n d brain for a few h o u r s of iron s l u m b e r . If the e n t e r p r i s e were a s heroic a n d c o m m a n d i n g as it is protracted a n d u n w e a r i e d ! F a r t h r o u g h u n f r e q u e n t e d w o o d s on the confines of t o w n s , where o n c e only the h u n t e r p e n e t r a t e d by day, in the darkest night dart t h e s e bright s a l o o n s without the k n o w l e d g e of their i n h a b i t a n t s ; this m o m e n t s t o p p i n g at s o m e brilliant s t a t i o n - h o u s e in town or city, where a social crowd is g a t h e r e d , the next in the D i s m a l S w a m p , 4 s c a r i n g the owl a n d fox. T h e startings a n d arrivals of the cars are now the e p o c h s in the village day. T h e y go a n d c o m e with s u c h regularity a n d p r e c i s i o n , a n d their whistle c a n b e h e a r d s o far, that the farmers set their c l o c k s by t h e m , a n d t h u s o n e well c o n d u c t e d institution regulates a whole country. Have not men improved s o m e w h a t in p u n c tuality s i n c e the railroad w a s invented? D o they not talk a n d think faster in the depot than they did in the stage-office? T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g electrifying in the a t m o s p h e r e of the former p l a c e . I have b e e n a s t o n i s h e d at the m i r a c l e s it has wrought; that s o m e of my n e i g h b o r s , w h o , I s h o u l d have p r o p h e s i e d , o n c e for all, would never get to B o s t o n by so p r o m p t a c o n v e y a n c e , were o n h a n d when the bell rang. T o do things "railroad f a s h i o n " is now the by-word; a n d it is worth the while to be w a r n e d s o often a n d so sincerely by any power to get off its track. T h e r e is n o s t o p p i n g to read the riot act, no firing over the h e a d s of the m o b , in this c a s e . W e have c o n s t r u c t e d a fate, an Atropos,^ that never turns a s i d e . ( L e t that be the n a m e of your e n g i n e . ) M e n are advertised that at a certain hour a n d m i n u t e t h e s e bolts will be shot toward particular points of the c o m p a s s ; yet it interferes with no m a n ' s b u s i n e s s , a n d the children go to school on the other track. W e live the s t e a d i e r for it. W e are all e d u c a t e d t h u s to be s o n s of T e l l . 6 T h e air is full of invisible bolts. Every path but your own is the path of fate. K e e p on your own track, t h e n . W h a t r e c o m m e n d s c o m m e r c e to m e is its enterprise a n d bravery. It d o e s not clasp its h a n d s a n d pray to J u p i t e r . I s e e t h e s e m e n every day go a b o u t their b u s i n e s s with m o r e or less c o u r a g e a n d c o n t e n t , d o i n g m o r e even than they s u s p e c t , a n d p e r c h a n c e better e m p l o y e d than they c o u l d have consciously devised. I a m less affected by their h e r o i s m w h o s t o o d u p for half an hour in the front line at B u e n a V i s t a , 7 than by the s t e a d y a n d cheerful valor of the men who inhabit the snow-plough for their winter q u a r t e r s ; w h o have not merely the three-o'-clock in the m o r n i n g c o u r a g e , 8 w h i c h B o n a p a r t e thought w a s the rarest, but w h o s e c o u r a g e d o e s not go to rest s o early, w h o go to sleep only when the storm s l e e p s or the sinews of their iron steed are 4 . T h e r e a l D i s m a l S w a m p is in s o u t h e a s t e r n V i r ginia a n d northeastern North Carolina. 5 . In G r e e k m y t h o l o g y , t h e F a t e w h o c u t s t h e t h r e a d o f h u m a n life. 6 . I.e., t o live c o o l l y a m o n g d a n g e r s , like t h e s o n o f t h e S w i s s h e r o W i l l i a m T e l l , w h o s t o o d still s o Tell c o u l d s h o o t a n a p p l e off his h e a d . 7. Battlefield n e a r Saltillo, M e x i c o , w h e r e Z a c h a r y Taylor's forces defeated the Mexican army under

S a n t a A n n a in 1 8 4 7 . S u c h victories w e r e widely hailed, but many Americans, T h o r e a u among t h e m , c o u l d not ignore the fact that the betterequipped Americans were arguably the aggressors in a w a r s t r o n g l y s u p p o r t e d b y s l a v e h o l d e r s , w h o s t o o d t o g a i n s l a v e t e r r i t o r y f r o m it. 8. C o u r a g e not p a i n s t a k i n g l y w o r k e d u p b u t c o m i n g f o r t h s p o n t a n e o u s l y , a s w h e n a s o l d i e r is a w a k e n e d s u d d e n l y in t h e d e a d o f n i g h t .

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frozen. O n this m o r n i n g of the G r e a t S n o w , p e r c h a n c e , which is still raging a n d chilling m e n ' s blood, I hear the muffled tone of their e n g i n e bell from out the fog b a n k of their chilled b r e a t h , which a n n o u n c e s that the c a r s are coming, without long delay, n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g the veto of a N e w E n g l a n d north-east s n o w s t o r m , a n d I b e h o l d the p l o u g h m e n c o v e r e d with s n o w a n d rime, their h e a d s p e e r i n g a b o v e the m o u l d - b o a r d which is t u r n i n g d o w n other than daisies a n d the nests of field-mice, like bowlders of the S i e r r a N e v a d a , that o c c u p y a n o u t s i d e p l a c e in the universe. C o m m e r c e is u n e x p e c t e d l y confident a n d s e r e n e , alert, a d v e n t u r o u s , a n d u n w e a r i e d . It is very natural in its m e t h o d s withal, far m o r e s o than m a n y fantastic e n t e r p r i s e s a n d s e n t i m e n t a l e x p e r i m e n t s , a n d h e n c e its s i n g u l a r s u c c e s s . I a m refreshed a n d e x p a n d e d w h e n the freight train rattles p a s t m e , a n d I smell the stores which go d i s p e n s i n g their o d o r s all the way from L o n g W h a r f to L a k e C h a m p l a i n , 9 r e m i n d i n g m e of foreign p a r t s , of coral reefs, a n d Indian o c e a n s , a n d tropical c l i m e s , a n d the extent of the g l o b e . I feel m o r e like a citizen of the world at the sight of the p a l m - l e a f which will cover s o m a n y flaxen N e w E n g l a n d h e a d s the next s u m m e r , the M a n i l l a h e m p a n d c o c o a - n u t h u s k s , the old j u n k , g u n n y b a g s , s c r a p iron, a n d rusty n a i l s . T h i s car-load of torn sails is m o r e legible a n d interesting n o w t h a n if they s h o u l d be wrought into p a p e r a n d printed b o o k s . W h o c a n write s o graphically the history of the s t o r m s they have w e a t h e r e d a s t h e s e r e n t s have d o n e ? T h e y are p r o o f - s h e e t s which n e e d no c o r r e c t i o n . H e r e g o e s l u m b e r from the M a i n e w o o d s , which did not go out to s e a in the last freshet, risen four dollars o n the t h o u s a n d b e c a u s e of what did g o out or w a s split u p ; p i n e , s p r u c e , c e d a r , — f i r s t , s e c o n d , third a n d fourth q u a l i t i e s , s o lately all of o n e quality, to wave over the b e a r , a n d m o o s e , a n d c a r i b o u . Next rolls T h o m a s t o n l i m e , a p r i m e lot, which will get far a m o n g the hills b e f o r e it g e t s s l a c k e d . T h e s e rags in b a l e s , of all h u e s a n d q u a l i t i e s , the lowest c o n d i t i o n to which cotton a n d linen d e s c e n d , the final result of d r e s s , — o f p a t t e r n s which are no no longer cried u p , 1 u n l e s s it be in M i l w a u k i e , a s t h o s e s p l e n d i d articles, E n g l i s h , F r e n c h , or A m e r i c a n prints, g i n g h a m s , m u s l i n s , & c , g a t h e r e d from all q u a r t e r s both of fashion a n d poverty, g o i n g to b e c o m e p a p e r of o n e color or a few s h a d e s only, on which forsooth will be written tales of real life, high a n d low, a n d f o u n d e d on f a c t ! 2 T h i s c l o s e d c a r s m e l l s of salt fish, the s t r o n g N e w E n g l a n d a n d c o m m e r c i a l s c e n t , r e m i n d i n g m e of the G r a n d B a n k s 3 a n d the fisheries. W h o has not s e e n a salt fish, thoroughly c u r e d for this world, s o that nothing c a n spoil it, a n d p u t t i n g the p e r s e v e r a n c e of the s a i n t s to the b l u s h ? with which you m a y s w e e p or p a v e the s t r e e t s , a n d split your kindlings, a n d the t e a m s t e r shelter himself a n d his l a d i n g a g a i n s t s u n , wind a n d rain b e h i n d i t , — a n d the trader, a s a C o n c o r d trader o n c e did, h a n g it u p by his d o o r for a sign w h e n he c o m m e n c e s b u s i n e s s , until at last his oldest c u s t o m e r c a n n o t tell surely w h e t h e r it b e a n i m a l , v e g e t a b l e , or m i n e r a l , a n d yet it shall be a s p u r e a s a snowflake, a n d if it b e p u t into a pot a n d boiled, will c o m e o u t a n excellent d u n 4 fish for a S a t u r d a y ' s d i n n e r . N e x t S p a n i s h h i d e s , with the tails still preserving their twist a n d the a n g l e of elevation they h a d w h e n the oxen that wore t h e m were c a r e e r i n g over the p a m p a s of the 9. F r o m B o s t o n H a r b o r t o L a k e C h a m p l a i n , o n the N e w York-Vermont border. 1. P r a i s e d . 2. T h o r e a u parodies i n n u m e r a b l e subtitles of sen-

timental and sensationalistic fiction. 3. S o u t h e a s t o f N e w f o u n d l a n d . 4. D r i e d c o d f i s h , w i t h a p u n o n " d o n e . "

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S p a n i s h m a i n , — a type of all obstinacy, a n d evincing h o w a l m o s t h o p e l e s s a n d i n c u r a b l e a r e all constitutional vices. I c o n f e s s , that practically s p e a k i n g , w h e n I have learned a m a n ' s real disposition, I have no h o p e s of c h a n g i n g it for the better or worse in this s t a t e of existence. As the O r i e n t a l s say, "A cur's tail m a y be w a r m e d , a n d p r e s s e d , a n d b o u n d r o u n d with ligatures, a n d after a twelve years' labor b e s t o w e d u p o n it, still it will retain its n a t u r a l f o r m . " 5 T h e only effectual c u r e for s u c h inveteracies a s t h e s e tails exhibit is to m a k e g l u e of t h e m , which I believe is what is usually d o n e with t h e m , a n d then they will stay p u t a n d stick. H e r e is a h o g s h e a d of m o l a s s e s or of b r a n d y directed to J o h n S m i t h , Cuttingsville, V e r m o n t , s o m e trader a m o n g the G r e e n M o u n t a i n s , w h o imports for the f a r m e r s near his clearing, a n d now p e r c h a n c e s t a n d s over his bulk-head a n d thinks of the last arrivals on the c o a s t , how they m a y affect the price for him, telling his c u s t o m e r s this m o m e n t , a s he h a s told t h e m twenty times before this m o r n i n g , that h e expects s o m e by the next train of p r i m e quality. It is advertised in the C u t tingsville T i m e s . W h i l e these things g o up other things c o m e d o w n . W a r n e d by the whizzing s o u n d , I look u p from my b o o k a n d s e e s o m e tall p i n e , hewn o n far northern hills, which h a s winged its way over the G r e e n M o u n t a i n s a n d the C o n n e c t i c u t , 6 shot like a n arrow through the township within ten m i n u t e s , a n d s c a r c e a n o t h e r eye b e h o l d s it; going "to be the m a s t O f s o m e great a m m i r a l . " 7 A n d hark! here c o m e s the cattle-train b e a r i n g the cattle of a t h o u s a n d hills, s h e e p c o t s , s t a b l e s , a n d cow-yards in the air, drovers with their sticks, a n d s h e p h e r d boys in the midst of their flocks, all but the m o u n t a i n p a s tures, whirled a l o n g like leaves blown from the m o u n t a i n s by the S e p t e m ber g a l e s . T h e air is filled with the bleating of calves a n d s h e e p , a n d the hustling of oxen, a s if a p a s t o r a l valley were g o i n g by. W h e n the old bellwether at the h e a d rattles his bell, the m o u n t a i n s d o i n d e e d skip like r a m s a n d the little hills like l a m b s . 8 A car-load of drovers, too, in the m i d s t , on a level with their droves now, their vocation g o n e , b u t still clinging to their u s e l e s s sticks a s their b a d g e of office. B u t their d o g s , where a r e they? It is a s t a m p e d e to t h e m ; they are q u i t e thrown o u t ; they have lost the s c e n t . M e t h i n k s I h e a r t h e m barking behind the P e t e r b o r o ' H i l l s , 9 or p a n t i n g u p the western s l o p e of the G r e e n M o u n t a i n s . T h e y will not b e in at the d e a t h . T h e i r v o c a t i o n , too, is g o n e . T h e i r fidelity a n d sagacity are below p a r now. T h e y will slink b a c k to their k e n n e l s in d i s g r a c e , or p e r c h a n c e run wild a n d strike a l e a g u e with the wolf a n d the fox. S o is your p a s t o r a l life whirled p a s t a n d away. B u t the bell rings, a n d I m u s t get off the track a n d let the c a r s go b y ; — W h a t ' s the railroad to m e ? I never go to s e e 5. F r o m t h e f a b l e o f t h e lion a n d t h e r a b b i t in C h a r l e s W i l k i n s ' s t r a n s l a t i o n o f Fables and Proverbs from the Sanskrit. 6. I.e., t h e C o n n e c t i c u t River. T h e G r e e n M o u n tains run from V e r m o n t into M a s s a c h u s e t t s . 7 . M i l t o n , Paradise Lost 1.293-94.

8 . In P s a l m 1 1 4 . 4 : " T h e m o u n t a i n s s k i p p e d l i k e r a m s , a n d t h e little hills like l a m b s " ; t h e m o t i v a t i o n f o r s k i p p i n g is t h e f e a r o f G o d , n o t j o y . 9 . T h e P e t e r b o r o u g h H i l l s a r e in s o u t h w e s t e r n New Hampshire.

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but I c r o s s it like a cart-path in the w o o d s . I will not have my eyes p u t out a n d my e a r s spoiled by its s m o k e a n d s t e a m a n d hissing. N o w that the cars are g o n e by, a n d all the r e s t l e s s world with t h e m , a n d the fishes in the p o n d no longer feel their r u m b l i n g , I a m m o r e a l o n e than ever. F o r the rest of the long a f t e r n o o n , p e r h a p s , my m e d i t a t i o n s a r e interrupted only by the faint rattle of a carriage or t e a m a l o n g the d i s t a n t highway. S o m e t i m e s , o n S u n d a y s , I h e a r d the bells, the L i n c o l n , A c t o n , B e d f o r d , or C o n c o r d bell, w h e n the wind w a s favorable, a faint, sweet, a n d , as it w e r e , natural melody, worth importing into the w i l d e r n e s s . At a sufficient d i s t a n c e over the w o o d s this s o u n d a c q u i r e s a certain vibratory h u m , a s if the pine n e e d l e s in the horizon were the strings of a harp which it swept. All s o u n d heard at the g r e a t e s t p o s s i b l e d i s t a n c e p r o d u c e s o n e a n d the s a m e effect, a vibration of the universal lyre, j u s t a s the intervening a t m o s p h e r e m a k e s a distant ridge of earth interesting to our eyes by the azure tint it i m p a r t s to it. T h e r e c a m e to m e in this c a s e a melody which the air h a d strained, a n d which h a d c o n v e r s e d with every leaf a n d n e e d l e of the w o o d , that portion of the s o u n d which the e l e m e n t s h a d taken up a n d m o d u l a t e d a n d e c h o e d from vale to vale. T h e e c h o is, to s o m e extent, a n original s o u n d , a n d therein is the m a g i c and c h a r m of it. It is not merely a repetition of w h a t w a s worth r e p e a t i n g in the bell, but partly the voice of the w o o d ; the s a m e trivial words a n d notes s u n g by a w o o d - n y m p h . At evening, the distant lowing of s o m e cow in the horizon beyond the w o o d s s o u n d e d sweet a n d m e l o d i o u s , a n d at first I would m i s t a k e it for the voices of certain minstrels by w h o m I w a s s o m e t i m e s s e r e n a d e d , who might be straying over hill a n d d a l e ; but s o o n I w a s not u n p l e a s a n t l y d i s a p p o i n t e d when it w a s p r o l o n g e d into the c h e a p a n d natural m u s i c of the cow. I d o not m e a n to be satirical, but to express my a p p r e c i a t i o n of t h o s e y o u t h s ' singing, when I state that I perceived clearly that it w a s akin to the m u s i c of the cow, a n d they were at length o n e articulation of N a t u r e . Regularly at half p a s t seven, in o n e part of the s u m m e r , after the e v e n i n g train h a d g o n e by, the whippoorwills c h a n t e d their v e s p e r s for half a n hour, sitting on a s t u m p by my door, or u p o n the ridge pole of the h o u s e . T h e y would begin to sing a l m o s t with a s m u c h p r e c i s i o n a s a clock, within five m i n u t e s of a particular t i m e , referred to the setting of the s u n , every evening. I h a d a rare opportunity to b e c o m e a c q u a i n t e d yyith their h a b i t s . S o m e t i m e s I h e a r d four or five at o n c e in different parts of the w o o d , by a c c i d e n t o n e a bar behind a n o t h e r , a n d s o near m e that I d i s t i n g u i s h e d not only the c l u c k after e a c h n o t e , but often that s i n g u l a r buzzing s o u n d like a fly in a spider's w e b , only proportionally louder. S o m e t i m e s o n e would circle r o u n d a n d r o u n d m e in the w o o d s a few feet d i s t a n t a s if tethered by a string, w h e n probably I w a s near its e g g s . T h e y s a n g at intervals t h r o u g h o u t the night, a n d were again as m u s i c a l a s ever j u s t before a n d a b o u t d a w n .

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W h e n other birds are still the s c r e e c h owls take up the strain, like m o u r n ing w o m e n their ancient u-lu-lu. T h e i r dismal s c r e a m is truly B e n J o n s o n i a n . 1 W i s e midnight h a g s ! It is no h o n e s t a n d blunt tu-whit tu-who of the p o e t s , b u t , without j e s t i n g , a m o s t s o l e m n graveyard ditty, the m u t u a l c o n s o l a t i o n s of s u i c i d e lovers r e m e m b e r i n g the p a n g s a n d the delights of s u p e r n a l love in the infernal groves. Yet I love to hear their wailing, their doleful r e s p o n s e s , trilled a l o n g the w o o d - s i d e , r e m i n d i n g m e s o m e t i m e s of m u s i c a n d singing birds; a s if it were the d a r k a n d tearful side of m u s i c , the regrets a n d sighs that would fain be s u n g . T h e y are the spirits, the low spirits a n d m e l a n c h o l y f o r e b o d i n g s , of fallen s o u l s that o n c e in h u m a n s h a p e night-walked the earth a n d did the d e e d s of d a r k n e s s , now expiating their sins with their wailing h y m n s or t h r e n o d i e s 2 in the s c e n e r y of their t r a n s g r e s s i o n s . T h e y give m e a new s e n s e of the variety a n d capacity of that n a t u r e which is our c o m m o n dwelling. Oh-o-o-o-o that I never had been bor-r-r-r-n! sighs o n e on this side of the p o n d , a n d circles with the r e s t l e s s n e s s of d e s p a i r to s o m e new p e r c h on the gray o a k s . T h e n — t h a t I never had been bor-r-r-r-n! e c h o e s a n o t h e r on the farther side with t r e m u l o u s sincerity, and—bor-r-r-r-n! c o m e s faintly from far in the L i n c o l n w o o d s . I w a s a l s o s e r e n a d e d by a hooting owl. N e a r at h a n d you c o u l d fancy it the m o s t m e l a n c h o l y s o u n d in N a t u r e , a s if s h e m e a n t by this to stereotype a n d m a k e p e r m a n e n t in her choir the dying m o a n s of a h u m a n b e i n g , — s o m e poor w e a k relic of mortality w h o has left h o p e b e h i n d , a n d howls like an a n i m a l , yet with h u m a n s o b s , on e n t e r i n g the dark valley, m a d e m o r e awful by a certain gurgling m e l o d i o u s n e s s , — I find myself b e g i n n i n g with the letters gl w h e n I try to imitate it,—expressive of a mind which has r e a c h e d the g e l a t i n o u s mildewy s t a g e in the mortification of all healthy a n d c o u r a g e o u s t h o u g h t . It r e m i n d e d m e of g h o u l s a n d idjiots a n d i n s a n e howlings. B u t now o n e a n s w e r s from far w o o d s in a strain m a d e really m e l o d i o u s by d i s t a n c e , — Hoo hoo hoo, hoorer hoo; a n d indeed for the m o s t part it s u g g e s t e d only p l e a s i n g a s s o c i a t i o n s , w h e t h e r heard by day or night, s u m m e r or winter. ^Lrejoice that there are owls. L e t them do the idiotic a n d m a n i a c a l hooting for m e n . It is a s o u n d admirably suited to s w a m p s a n d twilight w o o d s which no day illustrates, s u g g e s t i n g a vast a n d u n d e v e l o p e d n a t u r e w h i c h m e n have not recognized. T h e y represent the stark twilight a n d unsatisfied t h o u g h t s which all have. All day the s u n has s h o n e on the s u r f a c e of s o m e s a v a g e s w a m p , where the d o u b l e s p r u c e s t a n d s h u n g with u s n e a l i c h e n s , a n d small hawks c i r c u l a t e a b o v e , a n d the c h i c a d e e lisps a m i d the e v e r g r e e n s , a n d the partridge a n d rabbit skulk b e n e a t h ; but now a m o r e d i s m a l a n d fitting day d a w n s , a n d a different r a c e of c r e a t u r e s a w a k e s to express the m e a n i n g of N a t u r e there. L a t e in the evening I h e a r d the distant r u m b l i n g of w a g o n s over b r i d g e s , — a s o u n d heard farther than a l m o s t any other at n i g h t , — t h e baying of d o g s , a n d s o m e t i m e s again the lowing of s o m e d i s c o n s o l a t e c o w in a distant barnyard. In the m e a n while all the s h o r e rang with the t r u m p of bullfrogs, the sturdy spirits of a n c i e n t wine-bibbers a n d w a s s a i l e r s , still u n r e p e n t a n t , trying to sing a c a t c h in their Stygian l a k e , 1 — i f the W a l d e n n y m p h s will p a r d o n the c o m p a r i s o n , for t h o u g h there are a l m o s t no w e e d s , there a r e frogs 1. H a r d i n g s u g g e s t s t h a t T h o r e a u m i g h t h a v e b e e n t h i n k i n g o f " W e g i v e t h e e a s h o u t : H o o ! " in J o n s o n ' s Masque of Queens 2.317—18.

2. Dirges. 3. In G r e e k m y t h o l o g y t h e S t y x is t h e river of the u n d e r w o r l d .

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t h e r e , — w h o w o u l d fain k e e p u p the hilarious rules of their old festal t a b l e s , t h o u g h their voices have waxed h o a r s e a n d solemnly g r a v e , m o c k i n g at mirth, a n d the wine h a s lost its flavor, a n d b e c o m e only liquor to d i s t e n d their p a u n c h e s , a n d sweet intoxication never c o m e s to drown the m e m o r y of the p a s t , but m e r e s a t u r a t i o n a n d w a t e r l o g g e d n e s s a n d d i s t e n t i o n . T h e m o s t a l d e r m a n i c , with his chin u p o n a heart-leaf, which serves for a n a p k i n to his drooling c h a p s , u n d e r this northern s h o r e quaffs a d e e p d r a u g h t of the o n c e s c o r n e d water, a n d p a s s e s r o u n d the c u p with the e j a c u l a t i o n tr-r-r-oonk, tr-rr-oonk, tr-r-r-oonk! a n d straightway c o m e s over the water from s o m e distant cove the s a m e p a s s w o r d r e p e a t e d , w h e r e the next in seniority a n d girth has g u l p e d down to his m a r k ; a n d w h e n this o b s e r v a n c e h a s m a d e the circuit of the s h o r e s , then e j a c u l a t e s the m a s t e r of c e r e m o n i e s , with s a t i s f a c t i o n , tr-r-roonk! a n d e a c h in his turn r e p e a t s the s a m e d o w n to the least d i s t e n d e d , leakiest, a n d flabbiest p a u n c h e d , that there b e no m i s t a k e ; a n d then the bowl g o e s r o u n d a g a i n a n d a g a i n , until the s u n d i s p e r s e s the m o r n i n g mist, a n d only the patriarch is not u n d e r the p o n d , but vainly bellowing troonk from time to t i m e , a n d p a u s i n g for a reply. 4 I a m not s u r e that I ever h e a r d the s o u n d of c o c k - c r o w i n g from my clearing, a n d I t h o u g h t that it might b e worth the while to keep a c o c k e r e l for his m u s i c merely, a s a s i n g i n g bird. T h e n o t e of this o n c e wild Indian p h e a s a n t is certainly the m o s t r e m a r k a b l e of any bird's, a n d if they c o u l d be naturalized without b e i n g d o m e s t i c a t e d , it would s o o n b e c o m e the m o s t f a m o u s s o u n d in our w o o d s , s u r p a s s i n g the c l a n g o r of the g o o s e a n d the h o o t i n g of the owl; a n d then i m a g i n e the c a c k l i n g of the h e n s to fill the p a u s e s w h e n their lords' clarions rested! N o w o n d e r that m a n a d d e d this bird to his t a m e s t o c k , — t o say n o t h i n g of the e g g s a n d d r u m s t i c k s . T o walk in a winter m o r n i n g in a wood w h e r e t h e s e birds a b o u n d e d , their native w o o d s , a n d h e a r the wild c o c k e r e l s crow on the trees, clear a n d shrill for miles over the r e s o u n d i n g e a r t h , d r o w n i n g the feebler n o t e s of other b i r d s , — t h i n k of it! It would p u t n a t i o n s o n the alert. W h o would not be early to r i s e , a n d rise earlier a n d earlier every s u c c e s s i v e day of his life, till h e b e c a m e u n s p e a k a b l y healthy, wealthy, a n d wise? T h i s foreign bird's note is c e l e b r a t e d by the p o e t s of all c o u n t r i e s a l o n g with the n o t e s of their native s o n g s t e r s . All c l i m a t e s a g r e e with brave C h a n t i c l e e r . H e is m o r e i n d i g e n o u s even than the natives. H i s health is ever g o o d , his l u n g s are s o u n d , his spirits never flag. E v e n the sailor on the Atlantic a n d Pacific is a w a k e n e d by his v o i c e ; but its shrill s o u n d never r o u s e d m e from my s l u m b e r s . I kept neither d o g , c a t , cow, pig, n o r h e n s , so that you would have said there w a s a deficiency of d o m e s t i c s o u n d s ; neither the c h u r n , nor the s p i n n i n g wheel, nor even the s i n g i n g of the kettle, nor the h i s s i n g of the urn, nor children crying, to c o m f o r t o n e . An oldf a s h i o n e d m a n w o u l d have lost his s e n s e s or died of e n n u i b e f o r e this. N o t even rats in the wall, for they were starved out, or rather w e r e never b a i t e d i n , — o n l y squirrels o n the roof a n d u n d e r the floor, a whippoorwill o n the ridge p o l e , a blue-jay s c r e a m i n g b e n e a t h the window, a h a r e or w o o d c h u c k u n d e r the h o u s e , a screech-owl or a cat-owl b e h i n d it, a flock of wild g e e s e or a l a u g h i n g loon on the p o n d , a n d a fox to bark in the night. N o t even a lark or a n oriole, t h o s e mild p l a n t a t i o n birds, ever visited my clearing. N o 4. A m o c k - h e r o i c a l l u s i o n t o B r u t u s ' s w o r d s t o t h e c i t i z e n s , " I p a u s e f o r a r e p l y , " i n S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Caesar 3.2.

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c o c k e r e l s to c r o w nor h e n s to c a c k l e in the yard. N o yard! but u n f e n c e d N a t u r e r e a c h i n g u p to your very sills. A y o u n g forest g r o w i n g u p u n d e r your w i n d o w s , a n d wild s u m a c h s a n d blackberry vines b r e a k i n g t h r o u g h into your cellar; sturdy pitch-pines r u b b i n g a n d creaking a g a i n s t the s h i n g l e s for want of r o o m , their roots r e a c h i n g quite u n d e r the h o u s e . I n s t e a d of a s c u t t l e or a blind blown off in the g a l e , — a pine tree s n a p p e d off or torn u p by the roots b e h i n d your h o u s e for fuel. Instead of n o p a t h to the front-yard gate in the G r e a t S n o w , — n o g a t e , — n o front-yard,—and no p a t h to the civilized world! 5.

Solitude

T h i s is a d e l i c i o u s evening, w h e n the whole body is o n e s e n s e , a n d i m b i b e s delight through every p o r e . I g o a n d c o m e with a s t r a n g e liberty in N a t u r e , a part of herself. A s I walk a l o n g the stony s h o r e of the p o n d in my shirt sleeves, t h o u g h it is cool a s well a s cloudy a n d windy, a n d I s e e n o t h i n g special to attract m e , all the e l e m e n t s a r e u n u s u a l l y c o n g e n i a l to m e . T h e bullfrogs t r u m p to u s h e r in the night, a n d the n o t e of the whippoorwill is b o r n e on the rippling wind from over the water. S y m p a t h y with the fluttering alder a n d p o p l a r leaves a l m o s t takes away my b r e a t h ; yet, like the lake, my serenity is rippled but not ruffled. T h e s e small waves raised by the e v e n i n g wind are a s r e m o t e from the s t o r m a s the s m o o t h reflecting s u r f a c e . T h o u g h it is now dark, the wind still blows a n d roars in the w o o d , the waves still d a s h , a n d s o m e c r e a t u r e s lull the rest with their n o t e s . T h e r e p o s e is never c o m p l e t e . T h e wildest a n i m a l s do not r e p o s e , b u t s e e k their prey now; the fox, a n d s k u n k , a n d rabbit, now r o a m the fields a n d w o o d s without fear. T h e y are N a t u r e ' s w a t c h m e n , — l i n k s which c o n n e c t the days of a n i m a t e d life. W h e n I return to my h o u s e I find that visitors have b e e n there a n d left their c a r d s , either a b u n c h of flowers, or a wreath of evergreen, or a n a m e in pencil on a yellow walnut leaf or a c h i p . T h e y w h o c o m e rarely to the w o o d s take s o m e little p i e c e of the forest into their h a n d s to play with by the way, which they leave, either intentionally or accidentally. O n e h a s p e e l e d a willow w a n d , woven it into a ring, a n d d r o p p e d it o n my t a b l e . I c o u l d always tell if visitors h a d called in my a b s e n c e , either by the b e n d e d twigs or g r a s s , or the print of their s h o e s , a n d generally of what sex or a g e or quality they were by s o m e slight trace left, a s a flower d r o p p e d , or a b u n c h of g r a s s p l u c k e d a n d thrown away, even a s far off a s the railroad, half a mile d i s t a n t , or by the lingering odor of a cigar or p i p e . N a y , I w a s frequently notified of the p a s s a g e of a traveller a l o n g the highway sixty rods off by the s c e n t of his PipeT h e r e is c o m m o n l y sufficient s p a c e a b o u t u s . O u r horizon is never q u i t e at our e l b o w s . T h e thick w o o d is not j u s t at our door, nor the p o n d , but s o m e w h a t is always clearing, familiar a n d worn by u s , a p p r o p r i a t e d a n d fenced in s o m e way, a n d r e c l a i m e d from N a t u r e . F o r what r e a s o n have I this vast r a n g e a n d circuit, s o m e s q u a r e miles of u n f r e q u e n t e d forest, for my privacy, a b a n d o n e d to m e by m e n ? M y n e a r e s t n e i g h b o r is a mile distant, a n d no h o u s e is visible from any p l a c e b u t the hill-tops within half a mile of my own. I have my horizon b o u n d e d by w o o d s all to myself; a d i s t a n t view of the railroad w h e r e it t o u c h e s the p o n d on the o n e h a n d , a n d of the f e n c e which skirts the w o o d l a n d road on the other. B u t for the m o s t part it is a s solitary w h e r e I live a s on the prairies. It is a s m u c h A s i a or Africa as N e w

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E n g l a n d . I h a v e , as it w e r e , my own s u n a n d m o o n a n d s t a r s , a n d a little world all to myself. At night there w a s never a traveller p a s s e d my h o u s e , or k n o c k e d at my door, m o r e than if I were the first or last m a n ; u n l e s s it were in the spring, w h e n at long intervals s o m e c a m e from the village to fish for p o u t s , — t h e y plainly fished m u c h m o r e in the W a l d e n P o n d of their own n a t u r e s , and baited their hooks with d a r k n e s s , — b u t they s o o n retreated, usually with light b a s k e t s , a n d left " t h e world to d a r k n e s s a n d to m e , " 5 a n d the black kernel of the night w a s never p r o f a n e d by any h u m a n neighborh o o d . I believe that m e n are generally still a little afraid of the dark, t h o u g h the witches are all h u n g , a n d Christianity a n d c a n d l e s have b e e n i n t r o d u c e d . Yet I e x p e r i e n c e d s o m e t i m e s that the m o s t sweet a n d tender, the most i n n o c e n t a n d e n c o u r a g i n g society m a y be f o u n d in any n a t u r a l object, even for the poor m i s a n t h r o p e a n d m o s t m e l a n c h o l y m a n . T h e r e c a n b e no very black m e l a n c h o l y to him w h o lives in the midst of N a t u r e a n d h a s his s e n s e s still. T h e r e w a s never yet s u c h a s t o r m but it w a s / E o l i a n ' ' m u s i c to a healthy a n d i n n o c e n t ear. N o t h i n g c a n rightly c o m p e l a s i m p l e a n d brave m a n to a vulgar s a d n e s s . While I enjoy the friendship of the s e a s o n s I trust that nothing c a n m a k e life a b u r d e n to m e . T h e gentle rain which w a t e r s my b e a n s a n d k e e p s m e in the h o u s e to-day is not drear a n d m e l a n c h o l y , but g o o d for m e too. T h o u g h it prevents my h o e i n g t h e m , it is of far m o r e worth than my hoeing. If it s h o u l d c o n t i n u e s o long a s to c a u s e the s e e d s to rot in the g r o u n d a n d destroy the p o t a t o e s in the low l a n d s , it w o u l d still be g o o d for the g r a s s on the u p l a n d s , a n d , b e i n g good for the g r a s s , it would be g o o d for m e . S o m e t i m e s , w h e n I c o m p a r e myself with other m e n , it s e e m s a s if I were m o r e favored by the g o d s than they, beyond any d e s e r t s that I a m c o n s c i o u s of; as if I had a warrant a n d surety at their h a n d s which my fellows have not, a n d were especially g u i d e d a n d g u a r d e d . I d o not flatter myself, but if it be p o s s i b l e they flatter m e . I have never felt l o n e s o m e , or in the least o p p r e s s e d by a s e n s e of s o l i t u d e , but o n c e , a n d that w a s a few w e e k s after I c a m e to the w o o d s , w h e n , for a n hour, I d o u b t e d if the near n e i g h b o r h o o d of m a n w a s not e s s e n t i a l to a s e r e n e a n d healthy life. T o be a l o n e w a s s o m e t h i n g u n p l e a s a n t . B u t I w a s at the s a m e time c o n s c i o u s of a slight insanity in my m o o d , a n d s e e m e d to f o r e s e e my recovery. In the m i d s t of a gentle rain while these t h o u g h t s prevailed, I w a s s u d d e n l y s e n s i b l e of s u c h s w e e t and beneficent society in N a t u r e , in the very p a t t e r i n g of the d r o p s , a n d in every s o u n d a n d sight a r o u n d my h o u s e , an infinite a n d u n a c c o u n t a b l e friendliness all at o n c e like a n a t m o s p h e r e s u s t a i n i n g m e , a s m a d e the fancied a d v a n t a g e s of h u m a n n e i g h b o r h o o d insignificant, a n d I have never thought of t h e m s i n c e . Every little pine needle e x p a n d e d a n d swelled with s y m p a t h y a n d befriended m e . I w a s s o distinctly m a d e a w a r e of the p r e s e n c e of s o m e t h i n g kindred to m e , even in s c e n e s which we are a c c u s t o m e d to call wild a n d dreary, a n d also that the nearest of blood to m e a n d h u m a n e s t w a s not a p e r s o n nor a villager, that I thought no p l a c e c o u l d ever be s t r a n g e to m e a g a i n . — " M o u r n i n g untimely c o n s u m e s the s a d ; F e w a r e their days in the land of the living, Beautiful d a u g h t e r of T o s c a r . " 7 5. T h o m a s G r a y ' s " E l e g y W r i t t e n in a C o u n t r y Churchyard." 6. T h e A e o l i a n h a r p ( n a m e d for A e o l u s , G r e e k k e e p e r o f t h e w i n d s ) w a s t h e n c o m m o n l y p l a c e d in the o p e n air or n e a r a n o p e n window so that the

w i n d c o u l d c a u s e it t o m a k e s o f t s o u n d s . 7. H a r d i n g i d e n t i f i e s t h i s a s f r o m t h e p o e m " C r o m a " in P a t r i c k M a c G r e g o r ' s t r a n s l a t i o n o f The Genuine Remains of Ossian.

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S o m e of my p l e a s a n t e s t h o u r s were d u r i n g the l o n g rain s t o r m s in the spring or fall, which confined m e to the h o u s e for the afternoon a s well as the f o r e n o o n , s o o t h e d by their c e a s e l e s s roar a n d pelting; w h e n a n early twilight u s h e r e d in a long evening in which m a n y t h o u g h t s h a d time to take root a n d unfold t h e m s e l v e s . In t h o s e driving north-east rains which tried the village h o u s e s s o , w h e n the m a i d s stood ready with m o p a n d pail in front entries to keep the d e l u g e o u t , I sat b e h i n d my door in my little h o u s e , which was all entry, a n d thoroughly enjoyed its p r o t e c t i o n . In o n e heavy t h u n d e r shower the lightning s t r u c k a large pitch-pine a c r o s s the p o n d , m a k i n g a very c o n s p i c u o u s a n d perfectly regular spiral groove from top to b o t t o m , a n inch or m o r e d e e p , a n d four or five i n c h e s wide, a s you would groove a walkingstick. I p a s s e d it again the other day, a n d w a s s t r u c k with a w e on looking up a n d b e h o l d i n g that mark, now m o r e distinct than ever, w h e r e a terrific a n d resistless bolt c a m e d o w n out of the h a r m l e s s sky eight years a g o . M e n frequently say to m e , "I s h o u l d think you would feel l o n e s o m e d o w n there, a n d want to be n e a r e r to folks, rainy a n d snowy days a n d nights e s p e c i a l l y . " I a m t e m p t e d to reply to s u c h , — T h i s w h o l e earth which we inhabit is but a point in s p a c e . H o w far a p a r t , think you, dwell the two m o s t distant i n h a b i t a n t s of yonder star, the b r e a d t h of w h o s e disk c a n n o t b e a p p r e c i a t e d by o u r instrum e n t s ? W h y s h o u l d I feel lonely? is not our p l a n e t in the Milky W a y ? T h i s which you p u t s e e m s to m e not to be the m o s t i m p o r t a n t q u e s t i o n . W h a t sort of s p a c e is that which s e p a r a t e s a m a n from his fellows a n d m a k e s him solitary? I have f o u n d that no exertion of the legs c a n b r i n g two m i n d s m u c h nearer to o n e a n o t h e r . W h a t d o we w a n t m o s t to dwell near to? N o t to m a n y m e n surely, the d e p o t , the post-office, the b a r - r o o m , the m e e t i n g - h o u s e , the s c h o o l - h o u s e , the grocery, B e a c o n Hill, or the Five P o i n t s , 8 w h e r e m e n m o s t c o n g r e g a t e , but to the perennial s o u r c e of our life, w h e n c e in all our experience we have f o u n d that to i s s u e ; a s the willow s t a n d s n e a r the water a n d s e n d s out its roots in that direction. T h i s will vary with different n a t u r e s , b u t this is the p l a c e where a wise m a n will dig his cellar. . . . I o n e e v e n i n g overtook o n e of my t o w n s m e n , who h a s a c c u m u l a t e d w h a t is called " a h a n d s o m e p r o p e r t y " , — t h o u g h I never got a fair view of i t , — o n the W a l d e n r o a d , driving a pair of cattle to market, w h o inquired of m e how I c o u l d bring my m i n d to give up so m a n y of the c o m f o r t s of life. I a n s w e r e d that I w a s very s u r e I liked it p a s s a b l y well; I w a s not j o k i n g . A n d so I went h o m e to my b e d , a n d left him to p i c k his way t h r o u g h the d a r k n e s s a n d the m u d to B r i g h t o n , — o r B r i g h t - t o w n , — w h i c h p l a c e he would reach s o m e time in the m o r n i n g . Any p r o s p e c t of a w a k e n i n g or c o m i n g to life to a d e a d m a n m a k e s indifferent all times a n d p l a c e s . T h e p l a c e w h e r e that m a y o c c u r is always the s a m e , a n d indescribably p l e a s a n t to all our s e n s e s . F o r the m o s t part we allow only outlying a n d transient c i r c u m s t a n c e s to m a k e o u r o c c a s i o n s . T h e y a r e , in fact, the c a u s e of our distraction. N e a r e s t to all things is that p o w e r which f a s h i o n s their b e i n g . Next to u s the g r a n d e s t laws a r e continually b e i n g e x e c u t e d . Next to u s is not the w o r k m a n w h o m we have hired, with w h o m we love s o well to talk, but the w o r k m a n w h o s e work we a r e . " H o w vast a n d p r o f o u n d is the i n f l u e n c e of the subtile p o w e r s of H e a v e n a n d of E a r t h ! " 8. In l o w e r M a n h a t t a n , n o t o r i o u s f o r s q u a l o r a n d c o r r u p t i o n . T h e S t a t e H o u s e is o n B o s t o n ' s B e a c o n Hill. ( W r i t i n g to G . W . C u r t i s , o n e o f the " r a i s e r s " of T h o r e a u ' s cabin, H e r m a n Melville ironically

s u g g e s t e d " a g o o d , e a r n e s t " l e c t u r e t i t l e : Daily progress of man towards state of intellectual & moral perfection, as evidenced in history of 5th Avenue & 5 Points.)

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" W e s e e k to perceive t h e m , a n d we do not s e e t h e m ; we s e e k to h e a r t h e m , a n d we do not hear t h e m ; identified with the s u b s t a n c e of things, they c a n n o t b e s e p a r a t e d from t h e m . " " T h e y c a u s e that in all the universe m e n purify a n d sanctify their h e a r t s , a n d c l o t h e t h e m s e l v e s in their holiday g a r m e n t s to offer sacrifices a n d oblations to their a n c e s t o r s . It is an o c e a n of subtile intelligences. T h e y are every where, a b o v e u s , on our left, on our right; they environ u s o n all s i d e s . " 9 W e are the s u b j e c t s of an experiment which is n o t a little interesting to m e . C a n we not d o without the society of our g o s s i p s a little while u n d e r t h e s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s , — h a v e our own t h o u g h t s to c h e e r u s ? C o n f u c i o u s says truly, "Virtue d o e s not r e m a i n as an a b a n d o n e d o r p h a n ; it m u s t of necessity have n e i g h b o r s . " 1 With thinking we may be beside o u r s e l v e s in a s a n e s e n s e . By a c o n s c i o u s effort of the mind we c a n s t a n d aloof from a c t i o n s a n d their c o n s e q u e n c e s ; a n d all things, g o o d a n d b a d , go by us like a torrent. W e a r e not wholly involved in N a t u r e . I may be either the drift-wood in the s t r e a m , or I n d r a 2 in the sky looking d o w n on it. I may be affected by a theatrical exhibition; on the other h a n d , I may not be affected by an a c t u a l event which a p p e a r s to c o n c e r n m e m u c h m o r e . I only know myself a s a h u m a n entity; the s c e n e , so to s p e a k , of t h o u g h t s a n d affections; a n d a m s e n s i b l e of a certain d o u b l e n e s s by which I c a n s t a n d a s r e m o t e from myself a s from a n o t h e r . H o w e v e r i n t e n s e my e x p e r i e n c e , I a m c o n s c i o u s of the p r e s e n c e a n d criticism of a part of m e , w h i c h , a s it w e r e , is not a part of m e , but s p e c t a t o r , s h a r i n g n o e x p e r i e n c e , but taking note of it; a n d that is no m o r e I than it is y o u . W h e n the play, it m a y be the tragedy, of life is over, the s p e c t a t o r g o e s his way. It w a s a kind of fiction, a work of the i m a g i n a t i o n only, s o far a s he w a s conc e r n e d . T h i s d o u b l e n e s s m a y easily m a k e u s p o o r n e i g h b o r s a n d friends sometimes. I find it w h o l e s o m e to be a l o n e the greater part of the t i m e . T o be in c o m p a n y , even with the best, is s o o n w e a r i s o m e a n d d i s s i p a t i n g . I love to be a l o n e . I never f o u n d the c o m p a n i o n that w a s so c o m p a n i o n a b l e a s s o l i t u d e . W e are for the m o s t part m o r e lonely w h e n we go a b r o a d a m o n g m e n t h a n w h e n we stay in our c h a m b e r s . A m a n thinking or working is always a l o n e , let him b e w h e r e he will. S o l i t u d e is not m e a s u r e d by the m i l e s of s p a c e that intervene b e t w e e n a m a n a n d his fellows. T h e really diligent s t u d e n t in o n e of the c r o w d e d hives of C a m b r i d g e C o l l e g e is a s solitary a s a dervish in the desert. T h e farmer can work a l o n e in the field or the w o o d s all day, h o e i n g or c h o p p i n g , a n d not feel l o n e s o m e , b e c a u s e he is e m p l o y e d ; but w h e n he c o m e s h o m e at night he c a n n o t sit d o w n in a r o o m a l o n e , at the mercy of his t h o u g h t s , but m u s t be where he c a n " s e e the folks," a n d r e c r e a t e , a n d a s he thinks r e m u n e r a t e himself for his day's s o l i t u d e ; a n d h e n c e he w o n d e r s how the s t u d e n t c a n sit a l o n e in the h o u s e all night a n d m o s t of the day without e n n u i a n d "the b l u e s ; " but he d o e s not realize that the s t u d e n t , though in the h o u s e , is still at work in his field, a n d c h o p p i n g in his w o o d s , a s the farmer in his, a n d in turn s e e k s the s a m e r e c r e a t i o n a n d society that the latter d o e s , though it may be a m o r e c o n d e n s e d form of it. S o c i e t y is c o m m o n l y too c h e a p . W e m e e t at very short intervals, not having 9. C o n f u c i u s ' s The Doctrine 1. C o n f u c i u s ' s Analects 4.

of the Mean

14.

2. In t h e V e d a s , t h e H i n d u g o d o f t h e a i r , a s s o c i ated with rain a n d t h u n d e r .

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h a d time to a c q u i r e any new value for e a c h other. W e m e e t at m e a l s three times a day, a n d give e a c h other a new t a s t e of that old m u s t y c h e e s e that we a r e . W e have h a d to a g r e e on a certain set of rules, c a l l e d e t i q u e t t e a n d p o l i t e n e s s , to m a k e this f r e q u e n t m e e t i n g tolerable, a n d that we n e e d not c o m e to o p e n war. W e meet at the post-office, a n d at the s o c i a b l e , a n d a b o u t the fireside every night; we live thick a n d are in e a c h other's way, a n d s t u m b l e over o n e a n o t h e r , a n d 1 think that we t h u s lose s o m e r e s p e c t for o n e a n o t h e r . Certainly less f r e q u e n c y would suffice for all i m p o r t a n t a n d hearty c o m m u n i c a t i o n s . C o n s i d e r the girls in a factory,—never a l o n e , hardly in their d r e a m s . It would b e better if there were but o n e inhabitant to a s q u a r e mile, as where I live. T h e value of a m a n is not in his skin, that we s h o u l d t o u c h him. I have h e a r d of a m a n lost in the w o o d s a n d dying of f a m i n e a n d e x h a u s t i o n at the foot of a tree, w h o s e loneliness w a s relieved by the g r o t e s q u e visions with w h i c h , owing to bodily w e a k n e s s , his d i s e a s e d i m a g i n a t i o n s u r r o u n d e d him, a n d which he believed to be real. S o a l s o , owing to bodily a n d m e n t a l health a n d s t r e n g t h , we may be continually c h e e r e d by a like but m o r e normal a n d natural society, a n d c o m e to know that we are never a l o n e . I have a great deal of c o m p a n y in my h o u s e ; especially in the m o r n i n g , when nobody c a l l s . Let m e s u g g e s t a few c o m p a r i s o n s , that s o m e o n e may convey a n idea of my situation. I a m no m o r e lonely than the loon in the p o n d that l a u g h s so loud, or than W a l d e n P o n d itself. W h a t c o m p a n y h a s that lonely lake, I pray? A n d yet it h a s not the b l u e devils,* b u t the b l u e a n g e l s in it, in the azure tint of its waters. T h e s u n is a l o n e , except in thick weather, w h e n there s o m e t i m e s a p p e a r to b e two, but o n e is a m o c k s u n . G o d is a l o n e , — b u t the devil, he is far from b e i n g a l o n e ; he s e e s a great deal of c o m p a n y ; he is legion. I a m no m o r e lonely than a single mullein or d a n d e l i o n in a p a s t u r e , or a b e a n leaf, or sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a h u m b l e b e e . I a m n o m o r e lonely than the Mill B r o o k , or a w e a t h e r c o c k , or the northstar, or the s o u t h wind, or a n April shower, or a J a n u a r y thaw, or the first spider in a new h o u s e . I have o c c a s i o n a l visits in the long winter e v e n i n g s , w h e n the s n o w falls fast a n d the wind howls in the w o o d , from an old settler 4 a n d original proprietor, who is reported to have d u g W a l d e n P o n d , a n d s t o n e d it, a n d fringed it with pine w o o d s ; who tells m e stories of old time a n d of new eternity; a n d b e t w e e n u s we m a n a g e to p a s s a cheerful e v e n i n g with social mirth a n d p l e a s a n t views of things, even without a p p l e s or c i d e r , — a m o s t wise a n d h u m o r o u s friend, w h o m I love m u c h , w h o k e e p s h i m s e l f m o r e s e c r e t than ever did Goffe or W h a l l e y ; 5 a n d t h o u g h he is t h o u g h t to be d e a d , n o n e c a n show w h e r e he is b u r i e d . An elderly d a m e , 6 too, dwells in my n e i g h b o r h o o d , invisible to m o s t p e r s o n s , in w h o s e o d o r o u s herb g a r d e n I love to stroll s o m e t i m e s , g a t h e r i n g s i m p l e s a n d listening to her f a b l e s ; for s h e has a g e n i u s of u n e q u a l l e d fertility, a n d her m e m o r y r u n s b a c k farther than mythology, a n d s h e c a n tell m e the original of every fable, a n d on what fact every o n e is f o u n d e d , for the incidents o c c u r r e d when s h e w a s y o u n g . A ruddy a n d lusty 3. B l u e s . 4 . T h e o l d s e t t l e r is s o m e s o r t o f d i v i n e p o w e r , t h o u g h not t h e G o d T h o r e a u ' s n e i g h b o r s w o u l d have worshiped. 5. E n g l i s h P u r i t a n s w h o s u p p o r t e d the e x e c u t i o n

o f C h a r l e s 1 o f E n g l a n d a n d later, w h e n s o u g h t a s r e g i c i d e s , h i d in C o n n e c t i c u t a n d M a s s a c h u s e t t s settlements. Hawthorne's "The Gray Champion" m a k e s their story into a patriotic allegory. 6. M o t h e r N a t u r e .

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old d a m e , w h o delights in all w e a t h e r s a n d s e a s o n s , a n d is likely to outlive all her children yet. T h e i n d e s c r i b a b l e i n n o c e n c e a n d b e n e f i c e n c e of N a t u r e , — o f s u n a n d wind a n d rain, of s u m m e r a n d w i n t e r , — s u c h h e a l t h , s u c h cheer, they afford forever! a n d s u c h s y m p a t h y have they ever with our r a c e , that all N a t u r e would b e a f f e c t e d , a n d the sun's b r i g h t n e s s f a d e , a n d the w i n d s would sigh h u m a n e l y , a n d the c l o u d s rain t e a r s , a n d the w o o d s s h e d their leaves a n d put on m o u r n i n g in m i d s u m m e r , if any m a n s h o u l d ever for a j u s t c a u s e grieve. S h a l l I not have intelligence with the e a r t h ? A m I not partly leaves a n d vegetable m o u l d myself? W h a t is the pill which will keep u s well, s e r e n e , c o n t e n t e d ? N o t my or thy great-grandfather's, but o u r g r e a t - g r a n d m o t h e r N a t u r e ' s universal, vegetable, b o t a n i c m e d i c i n e s , by which s h e h a s kept herself y o u n g always, outlived so m a n y old P a r r s 7 in her day, a n d fed her health with their d e c a y i n g f a t n e s s . F o r my p a n a c e a , i n s t e a d of o n e of t h o s e q u a c k vials of a mixture d i p p e d from A c h e r o n 8 a n d the D e a d S e a , which c o m e o u t of t h o s e long shallow blacks c h o o n e r looking w a g o n s which we s o m e t i m e s s e e m a d e to carry b o t t l e s , let m e have a d r a u g h t of undiluted m o r n i n g air. M o r n i n g air! If m e n will not drink of this at the f o u n t a i n - h e a d of the day, why, t h e n , we m u s t even bottle up s o m e a n d sell it in the s h o p s , for the benefit of t h o s e w h o have lost their s u b s c r i p t i o n ticket to m o r n i n g time in this world. B u t r e m e m b e r , it will not keep q u i t e till noon-day even in the c o o l e s t cellar, but drive out the s t o p p l e s long ere that a n d follow w e s t w a r d the s t e p s of A u r o r a . I a m no w o r s h i p p e r of Hygeia, w h o w a s the d a u g h t e r of that old h e r b - d o c t o r / E s c u l a p i u s , 9 a n d who is r e p r e s e n t e d on m o n u m e n t s holding a s e r p e n t in o n e h a n d , a n d in the other a c u p out of which the s e r p e n t s o m e t i m e s drinks; but rather of H e b e , c u p b e a r e r to J u p i t e r , w h o w a s the d a u g h t e r of J u n o a n d wild l e t t u c e , a n d who h a d the power of restoring g o d s a n d m e n to the vigor of youth. S h e w a s probably the only thoroughly s o u n d - c o n d i t i o n e d , healthy, a n d r o b u s t y o u n g lady that ever walked the g l o b e , a n d wherever s h e c a m e it w a s spring.

17.

Spring

T h e o p e n i n g of large tracts by the ice-cutters c o m m o n l y c a u s e s a p o n d to b r e a k u p earlier; for the water, agitated by the wind, even in c o l d w e a t h e r , w e a r s away the s u r r o u n d i n g ice. B u t s u c h w a s not the effect o n W a l d e n that year, for s h e h a d s o o n got a thick new g a r m e n t to take the p l a c e of the old. T h i s p o n d never b r e a k s u p so s o o n a s the o t h e r s in this n e i g h b o r h o o d , o n a c c o u n t both of its greater d e p t h a n d its having n o s t r e a m p a s s i n g t h r o u g h it to melt or wear away the ice. I never knew it to o p e n in the c o u r s e of a winter, not e x c e p t i n g that of '52—3, which gave the p o n d s s o severe a trial. It c o m m o n l y o p e n s a b o u t the first of April, a w e e k or ten days later t h a n Flint's P o n d a n d F a i r - H a v e n , b e g i n n i n g to melt on the north s i d e a n d in the shallower p a r t s where it b e g a n to freeze. It i n d i c a t e s better t h a n any water h e r e a b o u t s the a b s o l u t e p r o g r e s s of the s e a s o n , b e i n g least affected by transient c h a n g e s of t e m p e r a t u r e . A severe cold of a few days' d u r a t i o n in M a r c h 7. A n E n g l i s h m a n n a m e d T h o m a s P a r r w a s s a i d to have b e e n alive d u r i n g three centuries ( 1 4 8 3 1635).

8 . I n G r e e k m y t h o l o g y a p r i n c i p a l r i v e r in H a d e s , 9. R o m a n god of medicine. Hygeia w a s the G r e e k goddess of health.

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may very m u c h retard the o p e n i n g of the former p o n d s , while the t e m p e r a ture of W a l d e n i n c r e a s e s a l m o s t uninterruptedly. A t h e r m o m e t e r thrust into the m i d d l e of W a l d e n on the 6 t h of M a r c h , 1 8 4 7 , s t o o d at 3 2 ° , or freezing point; near the s h o r e at 3 3 ° ; in the m i d d l e of Flint's P o n d , the s a m e day, at 3 2 ' / 2 ° ; at a dozen rods from the s h o r e , in shallow water, u n d e r ice a foot thick, at 3 6 ° . T h i s difference of three a n d a half d e g r e e s b e t w e e n the temp e r a t u r e of the d e e p water a n d the shallow in the latter p o n d , a n d the fact that a great proportion of it is comparatively shallow, s h o w why it s h o u l d b r e a k up so m u c h s o o n e r than W a l d e n . T h e ice in the shallowest part w a s at this time several i n c h e s thinner than in the m i d d l e . In mid-winter the m i d d l e had b e e n the w a r m e s t a n d the ice thinnest there. S o , a l s o , every o n e w h o h a s w a d e d a b o u t the s h o r e s of a p o n d in s u m m e r m u s t have p e r c e i v e d how m u c h w a r m e r the water is c l o s e to the s h o r e , where only three or four i n c h e s d e e p , t h a n a little d i s t a n c e o u t , a n d on the s u r f a c e w h e r e it is d e e p , than n e a r the b o t t o m . In spring the s u n not only exerts a n influence through the i n c r e a s e d t e m p e r a t u r e of the air a n d e a r t h , b u t its heat p a s s e s through ice a foot or m o r e thick, a n d is reflected from the b o t t o m in shallow water, a n d so a l s o w a r m s the water a n d melts the u n d e r side of the ice, at the s a m e time that it is m e l t i n g it m o r e directly a b o v e , m a k i n g it u n e v e n , a n d c a u s i n g the air b u b b l e s which it c o n t a i n s to extend t h e m s e l v e s u p w a r d a n d d o w n w a r d until it is c o m p l e t e l y h o n e y - c o m b e d , a n d at last d i s a p p e a r s s u d d e n l y in a single spring rain. Ice has its grain a s well a s w o o d , a n d w h e n a c a k e b e g i n s to rot or " c o m b , " that is, a s s u m e the a p p e a r a n c e of h o n e y - c o m b , whatever m a y be its position, the air cells are at right a n g l e s with what w a s the water s u r f a c e . W h e r e there is a rock or a log rising n e a r to the s u r f a c e the ice over it is m u c h thinner, a n d is frequently q u i t e dissolved by this reflected h e a t ; a n d I have b e e n told that in the e x p e r i m e n t at C a m b r i d g e to freeze water in a shallow w o o d e n p o n d , t h o u g h the cold air c i r c u l a t e d u n d e r n e a t h , a n d so h a d a c c e s s to both s i d e s , the reflection of the s u n from the b o t t o m m o r e than c o u n t e r b a l a n c e d this a d v a n t a g e . W h e n a w a r m rain in the m i d d l e of the winter melts off the snow-ice from W a l d e n , a n d leaves a hard d a r k or t r a n s p a r e n t ice o n the m i d d l e , there will be a strip of rotten t h o u g h thicker white i c e , a rod or m o r e wide, a b o u t the s h o r e s , c r e a t e d by this reflected heat. A l s o , a s I have said, the b u b b l e s t h e m s e l v e s within the ice o p e r a t e a s b u r n i n g g l a s s e s to melt the ice b e n e a t h . T h e p h e n o m e n a of the year take p l a c e every day in a p o n d on a small s c a l e . Every m o r n i n g , generally s p e a k i n g , the shallow water is b e i n g w a r m e d m o r e rapidly than the d e e p , t h o u g h it m a y not b e m a d e so w a r m after all, a n d every e v e n i n g it is b e i n g c o o l e d m o r e rapidly until the m o r n i n g . T h e day is a n e p i t o m e of the year. T h e night is the winter, the m o r n i n g a n d e v e n i n g are the spring a n d fall, a n d the n o o n is the s u m m e r . T h e c r a c k i n g a n d b o o m i n g of the ice indicate a c h a n g e of t e m p e r a t u r e . O n e p l e a s a n t m o r n i n g after a cold night, F e b r u a r y 2 4 t h , 1 8 5 0 , having g o n e to Flint's P o n d to s p e n d the day, I noticed with s u r p r i s e , that w h e n I s t r u c k the ice with the h e a d of my axe, it r e s o u n d e d like a g o n g for m a n y rods a r o u n d , or a s if I h a d s t r u c k on a tight d r u m - h e a d . T h e p o n d b e g a n to b o o m a b o u t a n h o u r after s u n r i s e , w h e n it felt the influence of the s u n ' s rays s l a n t e d u p o n it from the hills; it s t r e t c h e d itself a n d yawned like a w a k i n g m a n with a gradually i n c r e a s i n g t u m u l t , which w a s kept u p three or four h o u r s . It took a short siesta at n o o n , a n d b o o m e d o n c e m o r e toward night, a s the s u n w a s withdrawing his influe n c e . In the right s t a g e of the w e a t h e r a p o n d fires its evening g u n with great

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regularity. B u t in the m i d d l e of the day, b e i n g full of c r a c k s , a n d the air a l s o b e i n g less e l a s t i c , it h a d c o m p l e t e l y lost its r e s o n a n c e , a n d probably fishes a n d m u s k r a t s c o u l d not then have b e e n s t u n n e d by a blow on it. T h e fishe r m e n say that the " t h u n d e r i n g of the p o n d " s c a r e s the fishes a n d prevents their biting. T h e p o n d d o e s not t h u n d e r every evening, a n d I c a n n o t tell surely w h e n to expect its t h u n d e r i n g ; but t h o u g h I m a y perceive no d i f f e r e n c e in the weather, it d o e s . W h o would have s u s p e c t e d s o large a n d c o l d a n d thick-skinned a thing to b e so sensitive? Yet it h a s its law to which it t h u n d e r s o b e d i e n c e w h e n it s h o u l d as surely a s the b u d s e x p a n d in the s p r i n g . T h e earth is all alive a n d covered with papillae. T h e largest p o n d is a s sensitive to a t m o s p h e r i c c h a n g e s a s the g l o b u l e of m e r c u r y in its t u b e . O n e attraction in c o m i n g to the w o o d s to live w a s that I s h o u l d have leisure a n d opportunity to s e e the spring c o m e in. T h e ice in the p o n d at length begins to be h o n e y - c o m b e d , a n d I c a n set my heel in it a s I walk. F o g s a n d rains a n d w a r m e r s u n s are gradually m e l t i n g the s n o w ; the days have grown sensibly longer; a n d I s e e how I shall get t h r o u g h the winter without a d d i n g to my wood-pile, for large fires are n o longer n e c e s s a r y . I a m o n the alert for the first signs of spring, to h e a r the c h a n c e note of s o m e arriving bird, or the striped squirrel's chirp, for his stores m u s t be now nearly e x h a u s t e d , or s e e the w o o d c h u c k venture out of his winter q u a r t e r s . O n the 13th of M a r c h , after I had h e a r d the bluebird, s o n g - s p a r r o w , a n d red-wing, the ice w a s still nearly a foot thick. As the w e a t h e r grew w a r m e r , it w a s not sensibly worn away by the water, nor broken up a n d floated off a s in rivers, b u t , t h o u g h it w a s c o m p l e t e l y m e l t e d for half a rod in width a b o u t the s h o r e , the m i d d l e w a s merely h o n e y - c o m b e d a n d s a t u r a t e d with water, so that you c o u l d put your foot t h r o u g h it w h e n six i n c h e s thick; b u t by the next day evening, p e r h a p s , after a warm rain followed by fog, it would have wholly d i s a p p e a r e d , all g o n e off with the fog, spirited away. O n e year I went a c r o s s the middle only five days before it d i s a p p e a r e d entirely. In 1 8 4 5 W a l d e n w a s first c o m pletely o p e n on the 1st of April; in ' 4 6 , the 2 5 t h of M a r c h ; in ' 4 7 , the 8th of April; in ' 5 1 , the 2 8 t h of M a r c h ; in ' 5 2 , the 18th of April; in ' 5 3 , the 2 3 r d of M a r c h ; in ' 5 4 , a b o u t the 7th of April. Every incident c o n n e c t e d with the b r e a k i n g u p of the rivers a n d p o n d s a n d the settling of the w e a t h e r is particularly interesting to u s w h o live in a c l i m a t e of s o great e x t r e m e s . W h e n the w a r m e r days c o m e , they w h o dwell n e a r the river hear the ice c r a c k at night with a startling w h o o p a s loud a s artillery, a s if its icy fetters were rent from e n d to e n d , a n d within a few days s e e it rapidly g o i n g out. S o the alligator c o m e s o u t of the m u d with q u a k i n g s of the e a r t h . O n e old m a n , w h o h a s b e e n a c l o s e o b s e r v e r of N a t u r e , a n d s e e m s a s thoroughly wise in regard to all her o p e r a t i o n s a s if s h e h a d b e e n put u p o n the s t o c k s w h e n he w a s a boy, a n d he h a d h e l p e d to lay her k e e l , — who has c o m e to his growth, a n d c a n hardly a c q u i r e m o r e of n a t u r a l lore if he s h o u l d live to the a g e of M e t h u s e l a h ' — t o l d m e , a n d I w a s s u r p r i s e d to hear him e x p r e s s w o n d e r at any of N a t u r e ' s o p e r a t i o n s , for I t h o u g h t that there were no s e c r e t s b e t w e e n t h e m , that o n e s p r i n g day he t o o k his g u n a n d boat, a n d t h o u g h t that he would have a little sport with the d u c k s . T h e r e 1. " A n d 5.27).

the

davs

of

Methuselah

were

nine

hundred

sixtv

and

nine

vears:

and

he

died"

(Genesis

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17. SPRING

/

923

was ice still on the m e a d o w s , but it w a s all g o n e o u t of the river, a n d he dropped d o w n without o b s t r u c t i o n from S u d b u r y , w h e r e he lived, to FairH a v e n P o n d , which he f o u n d , unexpectedly, c o v e r e d for the m o s t part with a firm field of ice. It was a w a r m day, a n d he w a s s u r p r i s e d to s e e s o great a body of ice r e m a i n i n g . N o t s e e i n g any d u c k s , he hid his b o a t on the north or back side of a n island in the p o n d , a n d then c o n c e a l e d h i m s e l f in the b u s h e s on the s o u t h s i d e , to await t h e m . T h e ice w a s m e l t e d for three or four rods from the s h o r e , a n d there w a s a s m o o t h a n d w a r m s h e e t of water, with a m u d d y b o t t o m , s u c h as the d u c k s love, within, a n d he thought it likely that s o m e would b e a l o n g pretty s o o n . After h e h a d lain still there a b o u t a n hour he heard a low a n d seemingly very distant s o u n d , but singularly g r a n d a n d impressive, unlike any thing he h a d ever h e a r d , gradually swelling a n d increasing a s if it would have a universal a n d m e m o r a b l e e n d i n g , a sullen rush a n d roar, which s e e m e d to him all at o n c e like the s o u n d of a vast body of fowl c o m i n g in to settle there, a n d , seizing his g u n , he started u p in h a s t e a n d excited; but he f o u n d , to his s u r p r i s e , that the w h o l e body of the ice h a d started while he lay there, a n d drifted in to the s h o r e , a n d the s o u n d he h a d heard w a s m a d e by its e d g e grating on the s h o r e , — a t first gently nibbled a n d c r u m b l e d off, but at length heaving up a n d s c a t t e r i n g its w r e c k s a l o n g the island to a c o n s i d e r a b l e height before it c a m e to a s t a n d still. At length the sun's rays have attained the right a n g l e , a n d w a r m winds blow up mist a n d rain a n d melt the s n o w b a n k s , a n d the s u n d i s p e r s i n g the mist smiles on a c h e c k e r e d l a n d s c a p e of r u s s e t a n d white s m o k i n g with i n c e n s e , through which the traveller picks his way from islet to islet, c h e e r e d by the m u s i c of a t h o u s a n d tinkling rills a n d rivulets w h o s e veins are filled with the blood of winter which they are b e a r i n g off. F e w p h e n o m e n a gave m e m o r e delight than to o b s e r v e the f o r m s which thawing s a n d a n d clay a s s u m e in flowing down the s i d e s of a d e e p c u t on the railroad through which I p a s s e d on my way to the village, a p h e n o m e n o n not very c o m m o n on s o large a s c a l e , t h o u g h the n u m b e r of freshly e x p o s e d b a n k s of the right material m u s t have b e e n greatly multiplied s i n c e railroads were invented. T h e material w a s s a n d of every d e g r e e of fineness a n d of various rich c o l o r s , c o m m o n l y mixed with a little clay. W h e n the frost c o m e s out in the spring, a n d even in a thawing day in the winter, the s a n d b e g i n s to flow down the s l o p e s like lava, s o m e t i m e s b u r s t i n g out through the s n o w a n d overflowing it where no s a n d was to be s e e n b e f o r e . I n n u m e r a b l e little s t r e a m s overlap a n d interlace o n e with a n o t h e r , exhibiting a sort of hybrid p r o d u c t , which obeys half way the law of c u r r e n t s , a n d half way that of vegetation. As it flows it takes the f o r m s of s a p p y leaves or vines, m a k i n g h e a p s of pulpy sprays a foot or m o r e in d e p t h , a n d r e s e m b l i n g , a s you look down on t h e m , the laciniated lobed a n d i m b r i c a t e d 2 t h a l l u s e s of s o m e l i c h e n s ; or you are r e m i n d e d of coral, of l e o p a r d s ' p a w s or birds' feet, of brains or lungs or b o w e l s , a n d e x c r e m e n t s of all kinds. It is a truly grotesque vegetation, w h o s e f o r m s a n d color we s e e imitated in b r o n z e , a sort of architectural foliage m o r e a n c i e n t a n d typical t h a n a c a n t h u s , chiccory, ivy, vine, or any vegetable leaves; d e s t i n e d p e r h a p s , u n d e r s o m e c i r c u m s t a n c e s , to b e c o m e a puzzle to future g e o l o g i s t s . T h e w h o l e c u t i m p r e s s e d m e a s if it were a c a v e with its stalactites laid o p e n to the light. T h e various s h a d e s of 2.

L a p p e d o v e r in r e g u l a r o r d e r like r o o f tiles. " L a c i n i a t e d " : d e e p l y , i r r e g u l a r l y l o b e d .

924

/

H E N R Y DAVID

THOREAU

the s a n d are singularly rich a n d a g r e e a b l e , e m b r a c i n g the different iron colors, b r o w n , gray, yellowish, a n d reddish. W h e n the flowing m a s s r e a c h e s the drain at the foot of the b a n k it s p r e a d s out flatter into strands, the s e p a r a t e s t r e a m s losing their semi-cylindrical form a n d gradually b e c o m i n g m o r e flat a n d b r o a d , r u n n i n g together a s they are m o r e m o i s t , till they form a n a l m o s t flat sand, still variously a n d beautifully s h a d e d , b u t in which you c a n trace the original f o r m s of vegetation; till at length, in the w a t e r itself, they a r e converted into banks, like t h o s e f o r m e d off the m o u t h s of rivers, a n d the f o r m s of vegetation are lost in the ripple m a r k s o n the b o t t o m . T h e whole b a n k , which is from twenty to forty feet high, is s o m e t i m e s overlaid with a m a s s of this kind of foliage, or sandy r u p t u r e , for a q u a r t e r of a mile on o n e or b o t h s i d e s , the p r o d u c e of o n e s p r i n g day. W h a t m a k e s this s a n d foliage r e m a r k a b l e is its s p r i n g i n g into e x i s t e n c e t h u s s u d d e n l y . W h e n I s e e on the o n e side the inert b a n k , — f o r the s u n a c t s on o n e side first,—and o n the other this luxuriant foliage, the c r e a t i o n of a n hour, I a m affected as if in a p e c u l i a r s e n s e I s t o o d in the laboratory of the Artist w h o m a d e the world a n d m e , — h a d c o m e to w h e r e h e w a s still at work, s p o r t i n g on this b a n k , a n d with e x c e s s of energy strewing his fresh d e s i g n s a b o u t . I feel a s if I were nearer to the vitals of the g l o b e , for this s a n d y overflow is s o m e t h i n g s u c h a f o l i a c e o u s m a s s a s the vitals of the a n i m a l body. You find t h u s in the very s a n d s a n a n t i c i p a t i o n of the v e g e t a b l e leaf. N o w o n d e r that the e a r t h e x p r e s s e s itself outwardly in l e a v e s , it s o labors with the idea inwardly. T h e a t o m s have already l e a r n e d this law, a n d a r e p r e g n a n t by it. T h e o v e r h a n g i n g leaf s e e s here its prototype. Internally, w h e t h e r in the globe or a n i m a l body, it is a moist thick lobe, a word especially a p p l i c a b l e to the liver a n d l u n g s a n d the leaves of fat. {Xufim, labor, lapsus, to flow or slip d o w n w a r d , a l a p s i n g ; kofio., globus, l o b e , g l o b e ; a l s o lap, flap, a n d m a n y other words,) externally a dry thin leaf, even a s t h e / a n d v are a p r e s s e d a n d dried b. T h e radicals of lobe a r e lb, the soft m a s s of the b (single l o b e d , or B , d o u b l e lobed,) with a liquid I b e h i n d it p r e s s i n g it forward. In g l o b e , g i b , the guttural g a d d s to the m e a n i n g the c a p a c i t y of the throat. T h e feathers a n d wings of birds are still drier a n d thinner leaves. T h u s , a l s o , you p a s s from the l u m p i s h g r u b in the e a r t h to the airy a n d fluttering butterfly. T h e very globe continually t r a n s c e n d s a n d t r a n s l a t e s itself, a n d b e c o m e s w i n g e d in its orbit. E v e n ice b e g i n s with d e l i c a t e crystal leaves, a s if it h a d flowed into m o u l d s which the fronds of water p l a n t s have i m p r e s s e d on the watery mirror. T h e whole tree itself is b u t o n e leaf, a n d rivers are still vaster leaves w h o s e p u l p is intervening earth, a n d towns a n d cities a r e the ova of i n s e c t s in their axils. W h e n the s u n withdraws the s a n d c e a s e s to flow, b u t in the m o r n i n g the s t r e a m s will start o n c e m o r e a n d b r a n c h a n d b r a n c h a g a i n into a myriad of o t h e r s . You h e r e s e e p e r c h a n c e how b l o o d v e s s e l s a r e f o r m e d . If you look closely you o b s e r v e that first there p u s h e s forward from the t h a w i n g m a s s a s t r e a m of s o f t e n e d s a n d with a drop-like p o i n t , like the ball of the finger, feeling its way slowly a n d blindly d o w n w a r d , until at last with m o r e h e a t a n d m o i s t u r e , a s the s u n gets higher, the m o i s t fluid portion, in its effort to obey the law to which the m o s t inert a l s o yields, s e p a r a t e s from the latter a n d forms for itself a m e a n d e r i n g c h a n n e l or artery within that, in w h i c h is s e e n a little silvery s t r e a m g l a n c i n g like lightning from o n e s t a g e of p u l p y leaves

WALDEN, CHAPTER

17. SPRING

/

925

or b r a n c h e s to a n o t h e r , a n d ever a n d a n o n swallowed up in the s a n d . It is wonderful how rapidly yet perfectly the s a n d organizes itself a s it flows, u s i n g the b e s t material its m a s s affords to form the s h a r p e d g e s of its c h a n n e l . S u c h are the s o u r c e s of rivers. In the silicious m a t t e r which the water d e p o s its is p e r h a p s the bony s y s t e m , a n d in the still finer soil a n d organic m a t t e r the fleshy fibre or cellular t i s s u e . W h a t is m a n but a m a s s of t h a w i n g clay? T h e ball of the h u m a n finger is but a drop c o n g e a l e d . T h e fingers a n d toes flow to their extent from the thawing m a s s of the body. W h o k n o w s w h a t the h u m a n body would e x p a n d a n d flow out to u n d e r a m o r e genial h e a v e n ? Is not the h a n d a s p r e a d i n g palm leaf with its lobes a n d veins? T h e ear may b e regarded, fancifully, as a lichen, umbilicaria, on the side of the h e a d , with its lobe or drop. T h e lip (labium from labor (?)) laps or l a p s e s from the s i d e s of the c a v e r n o u s m o u t h . T h e n o s e is a m a n i f e s t c o n g e a l e d drop or s t a l a c t i t e . T h e chin is a still larger d r o p , the confluent d r i p p i n g of the f a c e . T h e c h e e k s are a slide from the brows into the valley of the f a c e , o p p o s e d a n d diffused by the c h e e k b o n e s . E a c h r o u n d e d lobe of the v e g e t a b l e leaf, too, is a thick a n d now loitering d r o p , larger or smaller; the lobes are the fingers of the leaf; a n d a s m a n y l o b e s as it h a s , in so m a n y directions it t e n d s to flow, a n d m o r e heat or other genial influences would have c a u s e d it to flow yet farther. T h u s it s e e m e d that this o n e hillside illustrated the principle of all the o p e r a t i o n s of N a t u r e . T h e M a k e r of this earth b u t p a t e n t e d a leaf. W h a t C h a m p o l l i o n ' will d e c i p h e r this hieroglyphic for u s , that we m a y turn over a n e w leaf at last? T h i s p h e n o m e n o n is m o r e exhilarating to m e than the luxur i a n c e a n d fertility of vineyards. T r u e , it is s o m e w h a t e x c r e m e n t i t i o u s in its c h a r a c t e r , a n d there is no e n d to the h e a p s of liver, lights a n d b o w e l s , a s if the g l o b e were t u r n e d w r o n g side o u t w a r d ; but this s u g g e s t s at least that N a t u r e has s o m e b o w e l s , a n d there again is m o t h e r of h u m a n i t y . 4 T h i s is the frost c o m i n g out of the g r o u n d ; this is S p r i n g . It p r e c e d e s the g r e e n a n d flowery spring, as mythology p r e c e d e s regular poetry. I know of n o t h i n g m o r e purgative of winter f u m e s a n d i n d i g e s t i o n s . It c o n v i n c e s m e that E a r t h is still in her s w a d d l i n g c l o t h e s , a n d s t r e t c h e s forth baby fingers o n every s i d e . F r e s h curls spring from the b a l d e s t brow. T h e r e is n o t h i n g i n o r g a n i c . T h e s e foliac e o u s h e a p s lie a l o n g the b a n k like the s l a g of a f u r n a c e , s h o w i n g that N a t u r e is "in full b l a s t " within. T h e earth is not a m e r e f r a g m e n t of d e a d history, strat u m u p o n s t r a t u m like the leaves of a book, to b e s t u d i e d by g e o l o g i s t s a n d a n t i q u a r i e s chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which p r e c e d e flowers a n d fruit,—not a fossil earth, but a living e a r t h ; c o m p a r e d with w h o s e great central life all a n i m a l a n d vegetable life is merely p a r a s i t i c . Its throes will h e a v e our exuviae from their graves. You may melt y o u r m e t a l s a n d c a s t t h e m into the m o s t beautiful m o u l d s you c a n ; they will never excite m e like the f o r m s which this m o l t e n earth flows o u t into. A n d not only it, b u t the institutions u p o n it, are plastic like clay in the h a n d s of the potter. E r e long, not only on these b a n k s , but o n every hill a n d plain a n d in every hollow, the frost c o m e s out of the g r o u n d like a d o r m a n t q u a d r u p e d from its burrow, a n d s e e k s the s e a with m u s i c , or m i g r a t e s to other c l i m e s in 3. J e a n Francois Champollion (1790—1832), F r e n c h archaeologist w h o s e deciphering of the inscriptions on the Rosetta S t o n e fueled great pop-

u l a r i n t e r e s t in E g y p t o l o g y . 4. T h o r e a u p u n s on the s e n s e of " b o w e l s " as the seat of c o m p a s s i o n . "Lights": lungs.

926

/

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c l o u d s . T h a w with his gentle p e r s u a s i o n is m o r e powerful than T h o r with his h a m m e r . 5 T h e o n e m e l t s , the other b u t breaks in p i e c e s . W h e n the g r o u n d was partially b a r e of snow, a n d a few w a r m days h a d dried its s u r f a c e s o m e w h a t , it w a s p l e a s a n t to c o m p a r e the first tender s i g n s of the infant year j u s t p e e p i n g forth with the stately b e a u t y of the withered vegetation which h a d withstood the winter,—life-everlasting, g o l d e n - r o d s , p i n w e e d s , a n d graceful wild g r a s s e s , m o r e obvious a n d interesting frequently than in s u m m e r e v e n , a s if their b e a u t y w a s not ripe till t h e n ; even cottong r a s s , cat-tails, m u l l e i n s , j o h n s w o r t , hard-hack, m e a d o w - s w e e t , a n d other strong s t e m m e d p l a n t s , t h o s e u n e x h a u s t e d g r a n a r i e s which entertain the earliest b i r d s , — d e c e n t w e e d s , 6 at least, which widowed N a t u r e w e a r s . I a m particularly a t t r a c t e d by the a r c h i n g a n d sheaf-like top of the w o o l - g r a s s ; it brings b a c k the s u m m e r to our winter m e m o r i e s , a n d is a m o n g the forms which art loves to copy, a n d w h i c h , in the vegetable k i n g d o m , have the s a m e relation to types already in the m i n d of m a n that a s t r o n o m y h a s . It is a n a n t i q u e style older than G r e e k or E g y p t i a n . M a n y of the p h e n o m e n a of Winter are suggestive of an inexpressible t e n d e r n e s s a n d fragile delicacy. W e are a c c u s t o m e d to hear this king d e s c r i b e d a s a r u d e a n d b o i s t e r o u s tyrant; b u t with the g e n t l e n e s s of a lover he a d o r n s the t r e s s e s of S u m m e r . At the a p p r o a c h of spring the red-squirrels got u n d e r my h o u s e , two at a t i m e , directly u n d e r my feet a s I sat r e a d i n g or writing, a n d kept up the q u e e r e s t c h u c k l i n g a n d c h i r r u p i n g a n d vocal p i r o u e t t i n g a n d gurgling s o u n d s that ever were h e a r d ; a n d when I s t a m p e d they only c h i r r u p e d the louder, a s if p a s t all fear a n d r e s p e c t in their m a d p r a n k s , defying h u m a n i t y to stop t h e m . N o you d o n ' t — c h i c k a r e e — c h i c k a r e e . T h e y w e r e wholly d e a f to my a r g u m e n t s , or failed to perceive their f o r c e , a n d fell into a strain of invective that was irresistible. T h e first s p a r r o w of spring! T h e year b e g i n n i n g with y o u n g e r h o p e than ever! T h e faint silvery warblings heard over the partially b a r e a n d moist fields from the blue-bird, the s o n g - s p a r r o w , a n d the red-wing, a s if the last flakes of winter tinkled a s they fell! W h a t at s u c h a time are histories, c h r o n o l o g i e s , traditions, a n d all written revelations? T h e brooks s i n g carols a n d g l e e s to the spring. T h e m a r s h - h a w k sailing low over the m e a d o w is already s e e k i n g the first slimy life that a w a k e s . T h e sinking s o u n d of m e l t i n g s n o w is heard in all dells, a n d the ice dissolves a p a c e in the p o n d s . T h e g r a s s flames up o n the hillsides like a spring fire,—"et p r i m i t u s oritur h e r b a i m b r i b u s p r i m o r i b u s e v o c a t a , " 7 — a s if the earth sent forth an inward heat to greet the r e t u r n i n g s u n ; not yellow but green is the color of its f l a m e ; — t h e symbol of p e r p e t u a l youth, the g r a s s - b l a d e , like a long g r e e n ribbon, s t r e a m s from the s o d into the s u m m e r , c h e c k e d indeed by the frost, but a n o n p u s h i n g o n a g a i n , lifting its s p e a r of last year's hay with the fresh life below. It grows a s steadily a s the rill oozes out of the g r o u n d . It is a l m o s t identical with that, for in the growing days of J u n e , w h e n the rills are dry, the g r a s s b l a d e s are their c h a n nels, a n d from year to year the h e r d s drink at this p e r e n n i a l g r e e n s t r e a m , a n d the m o w e r d r a w s from it b e t i m e s their winter supply. S o our h u m a n life but dies down to its roots, a n d still p u t s forth its green b l a d e to eternity. W a l d e n is melting a p a c e . T h e r e is a c a n a l two rods wide a l o n g the north5. A s a N e w E n g l a n d e r , T h o r e a u a p p a r e n t l y pron o u n c e d thaw t o s o u n d l i k e Thor, t h e N o r s e g o d of thunder.

6.

Mourning garments.

7 . V a r r o ' s Rerum on to t r a n s l a t e .

rusticarum

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erly a n d westerly s i d e s , a n d wider still at the e a s t e n d . A great field of ice has c r a c k e d off from the m a i n body. I hear a s o n g - s p a r r o w s i n g i n g from the b u s h e s on the shore,—olit, olit, olit,—chip, chip, chip, che char,—che wiss, wiss, wiss. H e too is helping to c r a c k it. H o w h a n d s o m e the great s w e e p i n g curves in the e d g e of the i c e , a n s w e r i n g s o m e w h a t to t h o s e of the s h o r e , but m o r e regular! It is u n u s u a l l y hard, owing to the recent severe but transient cold, a n d all watered or waved like a p a l a c e floor. B u t the wind slides eastward over its o p a q u e s u r f a c e in vain, till it r e a c h e s the living s u r f a c e b e y o n d . It is glorious to b e h o l d this ribbon of water sparkling in the s u n , the b a r e f a c e of the p o n d full of glee a n d youth, as if it s p o k e the j o y of the fishes within it, a n d of the s a n d s on its s h o r e , — a silvery s h e e n as from the s c a l e s of a leuciscus, a s it were all o n e active fish. S u c h is the c o n t r a s t b e t w e e n winter a n d spring. W a l d e n was d e a d a n d is alive a g a i n . B u t this spring it broke u p m o r e steadily, as I have said. T h e c h a n g e from storm a n d winter to s e r e n e a n d mild weather, from dark a n d s l u g g i s h h o u r s to bright a n d elastic o n e s , is a m e m o r a b l e crisis which all things p r o c l a i m . It is seemingly i n s t a n t a n e o u s at last. S u d d e n l y a n influx of light filled my h o u s e , t h o u g h the evening w a s at h a n d , a n d the c l o u d s of winter still o v e r h u n g it, a n d the eaves were dripping with sleety rain. I looked out the window, a n d lo! w h e r e yesterday w a s cold gray ice there lay the t r a n s p a r e n t p o n d already c a l m a n d full of h o p e as o n a s u m m e r evening, reflecting a s u m m e r evening sky in its b o s o m , t h o u g h n o n e w a s visible overh e a d , as if it had intelligence with s o m e r e m o t e horizon. I h e a r d a robin in the d i s t a n c e , the first I h a d h e a r d for m a n y a t h o u s a n d y e a r s , m e t h o u g h t , w h o s e note I shall not forget for m a n y a t h o u s a n d m o r e , — t h e s a m e sweet a n d powerful s o n g of yore. O the e v e n i n g robin, at the e n d of a N e w E n g l a n d s u m m e r day! If I c o u l d ever find the twig h e sits u p o n ! I m e a n he; I m e a n the twig. T h i s at least is not the Turdus migratorius. T h e p i t c h - p i n e s a n d s h r u b - o a k s a b o u t my h o u s e , which h a d so long d r o o p e d , s u d d e n l y r e s u m e d their several c h a r a c t e r s , looked brighter, greener, a n d m o r e erect a n d alive, as if effectually c l e a n s e d a n d restored by the rain. I knew that it would not rain any m o r e . You may tell by looking at any twig of the forest, ay, at your very wood-pile, w h e t h e r its winter is p a s t or not. A s it grew darker, I was startled by the honking of g e e s e flying low over the w o o d s , like weary travellers getting in late from s o u t h e r n lakes, a n d i n d u l g i n g at last in unrestrained c o m p l a i n t a n d m u t u a l c o n s o l a t i o n . S t a n d i n g at my door, I c o u l d hear the r u s h of their w i n g s ; w h e n , driving toward my h o u s e , they s u d d e n l y spied my light, a n d with h u s h e d c l a m o r w h e e l e d a n d settled in the p o n d . S o I c a m e in, a n d shut the door, a n d p a s s e d my first spring night in the w o o d s . In the m o r n i n g I w a t c h e d the g e e s e from the d o o r t h r o u g h the mist, sailing in the middle of the p o n d , fifty rods off, s o large a n d t u m u l t u o u s that W a l d e n a p p e a r e d like a n aritifical p o n d for their a m u s e m e n t . B u t w h e n I s t o o d on the s h o r e they at o n c e rose up with a great flapping of wings at the signal of their c o m m a n d e r , a n d when they h a d got into rank circled a b o u t over my h e a d , twenty-nine of t h e m , a n d then steered straight to C a n a d a , with a regular honk from the leader at intervals, trusting to b r e a k their fast in m u d d i e r p o o l s . A " p l u m p " of d u c k s rose at the s a m e time a n d took the route to the north in the wake of their noisier c o u s i n s . F o r a w e e k I heard the circling groping c l a n g o r of s o m e solitary g o o s e in the foggy m o r n i n g s , s e e k i n g its c o m p a n i o n , a n d still p e o p l i n g the w o o d s with

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the s o u n d of a larger life than they c o u l d s u s t a i n . In April the p i g e o n s were s e e n again flying e x p r e s s in small flocks, a n d in d u e time I h e a r d the m a r t i n s twittering over my clearing, t h o u g h it h a d not s e e m e d that the t o w n s h i p c o n t a i n e d so m a n y that it c o u l d afford m e any, a n d I f a n c i e d that they were peculiarly of the a n c i e n t r a c e that dwelt in hollow trees ere white m e n c a m e . In a l m o s t all c l i m e s the tortoise a n d the frog are a m o n g the p r e c u r s o r s a n d heralds of this s e a s o n , a n d birds fly with s o n g a n d g l a n c i n g p l u m a g e , a n d p l a n t s spring a n d b l o o m , a n d winds blow, to correct this slight oscillation of the poles a n d preserve the e q u i l i b r i u m of N a t u r e . A s every s e a s o n s e e m s b e s t to u s in its turn, s o the c o m i n g in of spring is like the creation of C o s m o s o u t of C h a o s a n d the realization of the G o l d e n Age.— "Eurus ad Auroram, Nabathaeaque regna recessit, P e r s i d a q u e , et radiis j u g a s u b d i t a m a t u t i n i s . " " T h e E a s t - W i n d withdrew to A u r o r a a n d the N a b a t h a e a n k i n g d o m , And the P e r s i a n , a n d the ridges p l a c e d u n d e r the m o r n i n g rays.

• • • M a n w a s b o r n . W h e t h e r that Artificer of things, T h e origin of a better world, m a d e h i m from the divine s e e d ; O r the e a r t h b e i n g r e c e n t a n d lately s u n d e r e d from the high Ether, retained s o m e s e e d s of c o g n a t e h e a v e n . " 8 A single g e n t l e rain m a k e s the g r a s s m a n y s h a d e s greener. S o o u r p r o s p e c t s brighten on the influx of better t h o u g h t s . W e s h o u l d be b l e s s e d if we lived in the p r e s e n t always, a n d took a d v a n t a g e of every a c c i d e n t that befell u s , like the g r a s s which c o n f e s s e s the i n f l u e n c e of the slightest d e w that falls on it; a n d did not s p e n d our time in a t o n i n g for the n e g l e c t of p a s t opportunities, which we call d o i n g our duty. W e loiter in winter while it is already spring. In a p l e a s a n t spring m o r n i n g all m e n ' s sins a r e forgiven. S u c h a day is a t r u c e to vice. W h i l e s u c h a s u n holds o u t to b u r n , the vilest sinner m a y return. T h r o u g h o u r own recovered i n n o c e n c e we d i s c e r n the i n n o c e n c e of o u r n e i g h b o r s . You m a y have known your n e i g h b o r yesterday for a thief, a d r u n k a r d , or a s e n s u a l i s t , a n d merely pitied or d e s p i s e d h i m , a n d d e s p a i r e d of the world; but the s u n s h i n e s bright a n d w a r m this first spring m o r n i n g , re-creating the world, a n d you m e e t him at s o m e s e r e n e work, a n d s e e how his e x h a u s t e d a n d d e b a u c h e d veins e x p a n d with still j o y a n d b l e s s the n e w day, feel the spring influence with the i n n o c e n c e of infancy, a n d all his faults are forgotten. T h e r e is not only an a t m o s p h e r e of g o o d will a b o u t h i m , but even a savor of holiness g r o p i n g for e x p r e s s i o n , blindly a n d ineffectually p e r h a p s , like a new-born instinct, a n d for a short h o u r the s o u t h hill-side e c h o e s to n o vulgar j e s t . You s e e s o m e i n n o c e n t fair s h o o t s p r e p a r i n g to b u r s t from his g n a r l e d rind a n d try a n o t h e r year's life, t e n d e r a n d fresh a s the y o u n g e s t plant. E v e n h e h a s e n t e r e d into the j o y of his L o r d . W h y the j a i l e r d o e s not leave o p e n his prison d o o r s , — w h y the j u d g e d o e s not d i s m i s s his c a s e , — w h y the p r e a c h e r d o e s not d i s m i s s his c o n g r e g a t i o n ! It is b e c a u s e they d o not obey the hint which G o d gives t h e m , nor a c c e p t the p a r d o n which h e freely offers to all. 8.

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"A return to g o o d n e s s p r o d u c e d e a c h day in the tranquil a n d beneficent breath of the m o r n i n g , c a u s e s that in r e s p e c t to the love of virtue a n d the hatred of vice, o n e a p p r o a c h e s a little the primitive n a t u r e of m a n , a s the s p r o u t s of the forest which has b e e n felled. In like m a n n e r the evil which o n e d o e s in the interval of a day prevents the g e r m s of virtues which b e g a n to spring up a g a i n from developing t h e m s e l v e s a n d destroys t h e m . "After the g e r m s of virtue have t h u s b e e n prevented m a n y t i m e s from developing t h e m s e l v e s , then the beneficent b r e a t h of e v e n i n g d o e s not suffice to preserve t h e m . A s s o o n as the b r e a t h of e v e n i n g d o e s not suffice longer to preserve t h e m , then the n a t u r e of m a n d o e s not differ m u c h from that of the brute. M e n s e e i n g the n a t u r e of this m a n like that of the b r u t e , think that he h a s never p o s s e s s e d the innate faculty of r e a s o n . Are t h o s e the true a n d natural s e n t i m e n t s of m a n ? " 9 " T h e G o l d e n Age w a s first c r e a t e d , which without a n y a v e n g e r S p o n t a n e o u s l y without law c h e r i s h e d fidelity a n d r e c t i t u d e . P u n i s h m e n t a n d fear were not; nor were t h r e a t e n i n g w o r d s read O n s u s p e n d e d b r a s s ; nor did the s u p p l i a n t crowd fear T h e w o r d s of their j u d g e ; but were s a f e without a n avenger. N o t yet the pine felled on its m o u n t a i n s h a d d e s c e n d e d T o the liquid waves that it might s e e a foreign world, A n d mortals knew no s h o r e but their own.

• • •

T h e r e w a s eternal spring, a n d placid zephyrs with w a r m B l a s t s s o o t h e d the flowers born without s e e d . " 1 O n the 2 9 t h of April, a s I w a s fishing from the b a n k of the river n e a r the N i n e - A c r e - C o r n e r b r i d g e , s t a n d i n g o n the q u a k i n g g r a s s a n d willow roots, w h e r e the m u s k r a t s lurk, I h e a r d a singular rattling s o u n d , s o m e w h a t like that of the sticks which boys play with their fingers, w h e n , looking u p , I o b s e r v e d a very slight a n d graceful hawk, like a night-hawk, alternately soaring like a ripple a n d t u m b l i n g a rod or two over a n d over, s h o w i n g the underside of its w i n g s , which g l e a m e d like a satin ribbon in the s u n , or like the pearly inside of a shell. T h i s sight r e m i n d e d m e of falconry a n d w h a t n o b l e n e s s a n d poetry are a s s o c i a t e d with that sport. T h e M e r l i n 2 it s e e m e d to m e it might be called: but I c a r e not for its n a m e . It w a s the m o s t ethereal flight I had ever w i t n e s s e d . It did not simply flutter like a butterfly, nor soar like the larger h a w k s , but it s p o r t e d with p r o u d r e l i a n c e in the fields of air; m o u n t i n g again a n d again with its s t r a n g e c h u c k l e , it r e p e a t e d its free a n d beautiful fall, turning over a n d over like a kite, a n d then recovering from its lofty t u m b l i n g , as if it h a d never set its foot on terra firtna. It a p p e a r e d to have no c o m p a n i o n in the u n i v e r s e , — s p o r t i n g there a l o n e , — a n d to n e e d n o n e but the m o r n i n g a n d the ether with which it played. It w a s not lonely, but m a d e all the earth lonely b e n e a t h it. W h e r e w a s the p a r e n t which h a t c h e d it, its kindred, a n d its father in the h e a v e n s ? T h e t e n a n t of the air, it s e e m e d related to the earth b u t by a n e g g h a t c h e d s o m e time in the crevice 9 . M e n c i u s ' s ( M e n g - t z u ' s ) Works 6 . 1 . 1. O v i d ' s Metamorphoses 1.89-96, 107-08. 2 . In A r t h u r i a n l e g e n d , M e r l i n is a m a g i c i a n a n d soothsayer, but Thoreau uses him as Emerson does

in t h e p o e m " M e r l i n , " a s a m a s t e r p o e t . T h e h a w k is u s u a l l y t a k e n a s T h o r e a u ' s i d e a l i m a g e o f h i m self. A m e r l i n is a l s o a s m a l l f a l c o n or p i g e o n h a w k .

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of a c r a g ; — o r w a s its native nest m a d e in the a n g l e of a c l o u d , w o v e n of the rainbow's t r i m m i n g s a n d the s u n s e t sky, a n d lined with s o m e soft m i d s u m m e r haze c a u g h t up from earth? Its eyry now s o m e cliffy c l o u d . B e s i d e this I got a rare m e s s of g o l d e n a n d silver a n d bright c u p r e o u s 1 fishes, which looked like a string of j e w e l s . Ah! I have p e n e t r a t e d to t h o s e m e a d o w s on the m o r n i n g of m a n y a first spring day, j u m p i n g from h u m m o c k to h u m m o c k , from willow root to willow root, w h e n the wild river valley a n d the w o o d s were b a t h e d in s o p u r e a n d bright a light a s w o u l d have w a k e d the d e a d , if they h a d b e e n s l u m b e r i n g in their graves, a s s o m e s u p p o s e . T h e r e n e e d s no stronger p r o o f of immortality. All things m u s t live in s u c h a light. O D e a t h , w h e r e w a s thy sting? O G r a v e , where w a s thy victory, t h e n ? 4 O u r village life would s t a g n a t e if it were not for the u n e x p l o r e d forests a n d m e a d o w s which s u r r o u n d it. W e n e e d the tonic of w i l d n e s s , — t o w a d e s o m e times in m a r s h e s w h e r e the bittern a n d the m e a d o w - h e n lurk, a n d h e a r the b o o m i n g of the s n i p e ; to smell the w h i s p e r i n g s e d g e w h e r e only s o m e wilder a n d m o r e solitary fowl builds her n e s t , a n d the m i n k crawls with its belly c l o s e to the g r o u n d . At the s a m e time that we are e a r n e s t to explore a n d learn all things, we require that all things b e m y s t e r i o u s a n d u n e x p l o r a b l e , that land a n d s e a b e infinitely wild, u n s u r v e y e d a n d u n f a t h o m e d by u s b e c a u s e u n f a t h o m a b l e . W e c a n never have e n o u g h of N a t u r e . W e m u s t b e refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast a n d T i t a n i c f e a t u r e s , the s e a - c o a s t with its w r e c k s , the wilderness with its living a n d its d e c a y i n g trees, the t h u n d e r c l o u d , a n d the rain which lasts three w e e k s a n d p r o d u c e s freshe t s . W e n e e d to witness our own limits t r a n s g r e s s e d , a n d s o m e life p a s t u r i n g freely where we never w a n d e r . W e are c h e e r e d w h e n we o b s e r v e the vulture feeding on the carrion which d i s g u s t s a n d d i s h e a r t e n s us a n d deriving health a n d strength from the r e p a s t . T h e r e w a s a d e a d h o r s e in the hollow by the p a t h to my h o u s e , which c o m p e l l e d m e s o m e t i m e s to g o o u t of my way, especially in the night w h e n the air w a s heavy, but the a s s u r a n c e it gave m e of the strong a p p e t i t e a n d inviolable health of N a t u r e w a s my c o m p e n s a t i o n for this. I love to s e e that N a t u r e is so rife with life that myriads c a n be afforded to b e sacrificed a n d suffered to prey on o n e a n o t h e r ; that tender organizations c a n be so serenely s q u a s h e d out of existence like p u l p , — t a d p o l e s which h e r o n s g o b b l e u p , a n d tortoises a n d t o a d s run over in the r o a d ; and that s o m e t i m e s it h a s rained flesh a n d blood! With the liability to accid e n t , we m u s t s e e how little a c c o u n t is to b e m a d e of it. T h e i m p r e s s i o n m a d e on a wise m a n is that of universal i n n o c e n c e . P o i s o n is not p o i s o n o u s after all, nor are any w o u n d s fatal. C o m p a s s i o n is a very u n t e n a b l e g r o u n d . It m u s t b e e x p e d i t i o u s . Its p l e a d i n g s will not b e a r to be s t e r e o t y p e d . Early in M a y , the o a k s , hickories, m a p l e s , a n d other t r e e s , j u s t p u t t i n g o u t a m i d s t the pine w o o d s a r o u n d the p o n d , i m p a r t e d a b r i g h t n e s s like s u n s h i n e to the l a n d s c a p e , especially in c l o u d y d a y s , a s if the s u n were b r e a k i n g t h r o u g h mists a n d s h i n i n g faintly o n the hill-sides here a n d t h e r e . O n the third or fourth of M a y I s a w a loon in the p o n d , a n d d u r i n g the first w e e k of the m o n t h I heard the whippoorwill, the b r o w n - t h r a s h e r , the veery, the w o o d - p e w e e , the chewink, a n d other birds. I had h e a r d the w o o d t h r u s h long before. T h e phcebe h a d already c o m e o n c e m o r e a n d looked in at my d o o r 3. 4.

Coppery. 1 Corinthians

s t i n g ? O g r a v e , w h e r e is t h y v i c t o r y ? " 1 5 . 5 5 : " O d e a t h , w h e r e is t h y

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a n d window, to s e e if my h o u s e w a s cavern-like e n o u g h for her, s u s t a i n i n g herself on h u m m i n g wings with c l i n c h e d t a l o n s , a s if s h e held hy the air, while she surveyed the p r e m i s e s . T h e sulphur-like pollen of the pitch-pine s o o n covered the p o n d a n d the s t o n e s a n d rotten w o o d a l o n g the s h o r e , so that you c o u l d have collected a barrel-ful. T h i s is the " s u l p h u r s h o w e r s " we hear of. Even in C a l i d a s ' d r a m a of S a c o n t a l a , we read of "rills dyed yellow with the golden d u s t of the l o t u s . " 5 A n d so the s e a s o n s went rolling on into s u m m e r , a s o n e r a m b l e s into higher a n d higher g r a s s . T h u s was my first year's life in the woods c o m p l e t e d ; a n d the s e c o n d year was similar to it. I finally left W a l d e n S e p t e m b e r 6 t h , 1 8 4 7 . 18.

Conclusion

T o the sick the d o c t o r s wisely r e c o m m e n d a c h a n g e of air a n d scenery. T h a n k H e a v e n , here is not all the world. T h e buck-eye d o e s not grow in N e w E n g l a n d , a n d the mocking-bird is rarely h e a r d h e r e . T h e wild-goose is m o r e of a c o s m o p o l i t e than w e ; he breaks his fast in C a n a d a , takes a l u n c h e o n in the O h i o , a n d p l u m e s himself for the night in a s o u t h e r n b a y o u . Even the b i s o n , to s o m e extent, k e e p s p a c e with the s e a s o n s , c r o p p i n g the p a s t u r e s of the C o l o r a d o only till a g r e e n e r a n d sweeter g r a s s awaits him by the Yellows t o n e . Yet we think that if rail-fences are pulled d o w n , a n d stone-walls piled up on our f a r m s , b o u n d s are henceforth set to our lives a n d our fates d e c i d e d . If you are c h o s e n town-clerk, f o r s o o t h , you c a n n o t go to T i e r r a del F u e g o 6 this s u m m e r : b u t you m a y go to the land of infernal fire nevertheless. T h e universe is wider than our views of it. Yet we s h o u l d oftener look over the tafferel of our craft, like c u r i o u s p a s s e n g e r s , a n d not m a k e the voyage like stupid sailors p i c k i n g o a k u m . " T h e other side of the g l o b e is but the h o m e of our c o r r e s p o n d e n t . O u r voyaging is only great-circle sailing, a n d the d o c t o r s p r e s c r i b e for d i s e a s e s of the skin merely. O n e h a s t e n s to S o u t h e r n Africa to c h a s e the giraffe; but surely that is not the g a m e h e would be after. H o w long, pray, would a m a n hunt giraffes if he c o u l d ? S n i p e s a n d w o o d c o c k s also may afford rare sport; but I trust it would be nobler g a m e to shoot one's self.— "Direct your eye sight inward, a n d you'll find A t h o u s a n d regions in your mind Yet u n d i s c o v e r e d . Travel t h e m , a n d be Expert in h o m e - c o s m o g r a p h y . " 8 W h a t d o e s A f r i c a , — w h a t d o e s the W e s t s t a n d for? Is not our own interior white on the c h a r t ? black though it may prove, like the c o a s t , w h e n discovered. Is it the s o u r c e of the N i l e , or the Niger, or the M i s s i s s i p p i , or a N o r t h W e s t P a s s a g e a r o u n d this c o n t i n e n t , that we would find? Are t h e s e the p r o b lems which m o s t c o n c e r n m a n k i n d ? Is Franklin" the only m a n w h o is lost, that his wife s h o u l d be so e a r n e s t to find him? D o e s M r . G r i n n e l l ' know 5.

S i r W i l l i a m J o n e s ' s t r a n s l a t i o n o f Sacontala,

act

5 . by C a l i d a s ( 5 t h c e n t u r y ) . H i n d u w r i t e r . 6. T h o r e a u p u n s o n t h e m e a n i n g o f t h e n a m e o f t h e a r c h i p e l a g o at t h e s o u t h e r n tip of S o u t h A m e r i c a : l a n d o f fire ( S p a n i s h ) . 7. C o m m o n n a u t i c a l b u s y w o r k : p i c k i n g o l d r o p e apart so the pieces of h e m p could be tarred and u s e d for calking.

8. W i l l i a m H a b i n g t o n ( 1 6 0 5 - 1 6 5 4 ) , " T o M y H o n o u r e d F r i e n d S i r E d . P. K n i g h t . " 9. Sir J o h n F r a n k l i n ( 1 7 8 5 - 1 8 4 7 ) , lost o n a British e x p e d i t i o n to t h e Arctic. 1. H e n r y G r i n n e l l (1 7 9 9 - 1 8 7 4 ) , a r i c h N e w Y o r k whale-oil m e r c h a n t from a N e w Bedford tamily w h o s p o n s o r e d two a t t e m p t s to r e s c u e Sir Frankl i n , o n e in 1 8 5 0 a n d a n o t h e r in 1 8 5 3 .

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w h e r e he h i m s e l f is? B e rather the M u n g o Park, the L e w i s a n d C l a r k e a n d F r o b i s h e r , 2 of your own s t r e a m s a n d o c e a n s ; explore your own higher latit u d e s , — w i t h s h i p l o a d s of preserved m e a t s to s u p p o r t you, if they b e n e c e s sary; a n d pile the e m p t y c a n s sky-high for a sign. W e r e preserved m e a t s invented to preserve m e a t merely? N a y , be a C o l u m b u s to w h o l e new continents a n d worlds within you, o p e n i n g new c h a n n e l s , not of t r a d e , b u t of t h o u g h t . Every m a n is the lord of a r e a l m b e s i d e w h i c h the earthly e m p i r e of the C z a r is but a petty s t a t e , a h u m m o c k left by the ice. Yet s o m e c a n b e patriotic w h o have n o self-respect, a n d sacrifice the greater to the l e s s . T h e y love the soil which m a k e s their graves, but have n o s y m p a t h y with the spirit which may still a n i m a t e their clay. P a t r i o t i s m is a m a g g o t in their h e a d s . W h a t w a s the m e a n i n g of that S o u t h - S e a Exploring E x p e d i t i o n , 3 with all its p a r a d e a n d e x p e n s e , but an indirect r e c o g n i t i o n of the fact, that there are c o n t i n e n t s a n d s e a s in the moral world, to which every m a n is an i s t h m u s or an inlet, yet u n e x p l o r e d by h i m , b u t that it is e a s i e r to sail m a n y t h o u s a n d miles t h r o u g h cold a n d s t o r m a n d c a n n i b a l s , in a g o v e r n m e n t s h i p , with five h u n d r e d m e n a n d boys to a s s i s t o n e , t h a n it is to explore the private s e a , the Atlantic a n d Pacific O c e a n of one's b e i n g a l o n e . — HI-.

Lrret, et e x t r e m o s alter s c r u t e t u r I b e r o s . P l u s h a b e t hie vitae, p l u s h a b e t ille viae." 4 i

ii

L e t t h e m w a n d e r a n d scrutinize the o u t l a n d i s h A u s t r a l i a n s . I have m o r e of G o d , they m o r e of the road. It is not worth the while to go r o u n d the world to c o u n t the c a t s in Z a n z i b a r . 5 Yet do this even till you c a n do better, a n d you m a y p e r h a p s find s o m e " S y m m e s ' H o l e " 6 by which to get at the inside at last. E n g l a n d a n d F r a n c e , S p a i n a n d P o r t u g a l , G o l d C o a s t a n d S l a v e C o a s t , all front o n this private s e a ; but no bark from t h e m h a s v e n t u r e d o u t of sight of l a n d , t h o u g h it is without d o u b t the direct way to India. If you w o u l d learn to s p e a k all t o n g u e s a n d c o n f o r m to the c u s t o m s of all n a t i o n s , if you w o u l d travel farther than all travellers, b e naturalized in all c l i m e s , a n d c a u s e the S p h i n x to d a s h her h e a d a g a i n s t a s t o n e , 7 even obey the p r e c e p t of the old p h i l o s o p h e r , a n d Explore thyself. H e r e i n are d e m a n d e d the eye a n d the nerve. Only the d e f e a t e d a n d d e s e r t e r s g o to the w a r s , c o w a r d s that run away a n d enlist. Start n o w o n that farthest w e s t e r n way, which d o e s not p a u s e at the M i s s i s sippi or the Pacific, nor c o n d u c t toward a worn-out C h i n a or J a p a n , but l e a d s on direct a t a n g e n t to this s p h e r e , s u m m e r a n d winter, day a n d night, s u n d o w n , m o o n d o w n , a n d at last earth d o w n too. 2. I.e., an explorer like M a r t i n F r o b i s h e r (1535?— 1594), English mariner. M u n g o Park ( 1 7 7 1 1 8 0 6 ) , Scottish explorer of Africa. Meriwether Lewis ( 1 7 7 4 - 1 8 0 9 ) and William Clark ( 1 7 7 0 1 8 3 8 ) , leaders of the A m e r i c a n expedition into the Louisiana Territory ( 1 8 0 4 - 0 6 ) . 3. T h e f a m o u s e x p e d i t i o n to t h e P a c i f i c A n t a r c t i c led by C h a r l e s W i l k e s d u r i n g 1 8 3 8 - 4 2 .

Spaniards to " A u s t r a l i a n , " a d d e d " o u t l a n d i s h , " a n d c h a n g e d the p r o n o u n s . T h e last line w o u l d be better translated as " h e [the traveler] may have m o r e o f a j o u r n e y , b u t h e w h o r e m a i n s in V e r o n a h a s m o r e of a life."

4. T h o r e a u ' s j o u r n a l for M a y 10, 1 8 4 1 , b e g i n s : "A g o o d w a r n i n g to the restless tourists of these days is c o n t a i n e d in t h e l a s t v e r s e s o f C l a u d i a n ' s ' O l d M a n of Verona.' " Claudius Claudianus was the l a s t o f t h e L a t i n c l a s s i c p o e t s (fl. 3 9 5 c . E . ) a n d a u t h o r o f Epigrammata, where Thoreau found the passage he loosely translates here. H e c h a n g e d

6 . In 1 8 1 8 C a p t a i n J o h n S y m m e s t h e o r i z e d t h a t the earth w a s hollow with o p e n i n g s at both the North and the S o u t h Poles. 7. A s t h e T h e b a n S p h i n x d i d w h e n O e d i p u s g u e s s e d h e r r i d d l e . T h e b e s h e r e is t h e a n c i e n t G r e e k city, n o t t h e E g y p t i a n city T h o r e a u h a s p r e viously referred to.

5. T h o r e a u h a d r e a d C h a r l e s P i c k e r i n g ' s The Races of Man ( 1 8 5 1 ) , w h i c h r e p o r t s o n t h e d o m e s tic c a t s in Z a n z i b a r [ H a r d i n g ' s n o t e ] ,

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It is said that M i r a b e a u took to highway robbery "to a s c e r t a i n what d e g r e e of resolution w a s n e c e s s a r y in order to p l a c e one's self in formal o p p o s i t i o n to the m o s t s a c r e d laws of society." H e d e c l a r e d that "a soldier who fights in the ranks d o e s not require half s o m u c h c o u r a g e a s a f o o t - p a d , " — " t h a t honor a n d religion have never s t o o d in the way of a well-considered a n d a firm resolve."" T h i s w a s manly, a s the world g o e s ; a n d yet it w a s idle, if not desp e r a t e . A s a n e r m a n would have f o u n d himself often e n o u g h "in formal o p p o sition" to what are d e e m e d "the m o s t s a c r e d laws of society," through o b e d i e n c e to yet m o r e s a c r e d laws, a n d so have tested his resolution without going out of his way. It is not for a m a n to put himself in s u c h an attitude to society, but to m a i n t a i n himself in whatever attitude he find h i m s e l f through o b e d i e n c e to the laws of his being, which will never be o n e of o p p o sition to a j u s t g o v e r n m e n t , if he s h o u l d c h a n c e to m e e t with s u c h . I left the w o o d s for a s g o o d a r e a s o n a s I went there. P e r h a p s it s e e m e d to m e that I h a d several m o r e lives to live, a n d c o u l d not s p a r e any m o r e time for that o n e . It is r e m a r k a b l e how easily a n d insensibly we fall into a particular r o u t e , a n d m a k e a beaten track for ourselves. I h a d not lived there a week before my feet wore a p a t h from my d o o r to the p o n d - s i d e ; a n d t h o u g h it is five or six years s i n c e I trod it, it is still q u i t e distinct. It is t r u e , I fear that others may have fallen into it, a n d so h e l p e d to keep it o p e n . T h e s u r f a c e of the earth is soft a n d i m p r e s s i b l e by the feet of m e n ; a n d s o with the p a t h s which the mind travels. H o w worn a n d dusty, then, m u s t be the highways of the world, how d e e p the ruts of tradition a n d conformity! I did not wish to take a cabin p a s s a g e , but rather to go before the m a s t a n d o n the d e c k of the world, for there I c o u l d best see the moonlight amid the m o u n t a i n s . I do not wish to go below now. I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if o n e a d v a n c e s confidently in the direction of his d r e a m s , a n d e n d e a v o r s to live the life which he has i m a g i n e d , he will m e e t with a s u c c e s s u n e x p e c t e d in c o m m o n h o u r s . H e will put s o m e things b e h i n d , will p a s s a n invisible b o u n d a r y ; new, universal, a n d m o r e liberal laws will begin to establish t h e m s e l v e s a r o u n d a n d within him; or the old laws be e x p a n d e d , a n d interpreted in his favor in a m o r e liberal s e n s e , a n d he will live with the license of a higher order of b e i n g s . In proportion a s h e simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will a p p e a r less complex, a n d solitude will not be s o l i t u d e , nor poverty poverty, nor w e a k n e s s w e a k n e s s . If you have built c a s t l e s in the air, your work n e e d not b e lost; that is where they s h o u l d b e . N o w put the f o u n d a t i o n s u n d e r them. It is a ridiculous d e m a n d which E n g l a n d a n d A m e r i c a m a k e , that you shall s p e a k so that they c a n u n d e r s t a n d you. N e i t h e r m e n nor toad-stools grow so. As if that were i m p o r t a n t , a n d there were not e n o u g h to u n d e r s t a n d you without t h e m . As if N a t u r e c o u l d s u p p o r t but o n e order of u n d e r s t a n d i n g s , could not sustain birds a s well as q u a d r u p e d s , flying a s well a s c r e e p i n g things, and hush a n d who, which Bright 1 * c a n u n d e r s t a n d , were the b e s t E n g l i s h . As if there were safety in stupidity a l o n e . I fear chiefly lest my expression may not be extra-vagant e n o u g h , may not w a n d e r far e n o u g h beyond the narrow limits of my daily e x p e r i e n c e , s o a s to be a d e q u a t e to the 8. T h o r e a u e n c o u n t e r e d this p a s s a g e by t h e C o m t e d e M i r a b e a u ( 1 7 4 9 - 1 7 9 1 ) i n Harper's 1

(1850). 9 . N a m e for a n ox.

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truth of which I have b e e n c o n v i n c e d . Extra vagance! it d e p e n d s on h o w you are yarded. T h e m i g r a t i n g buffalo, which s e e k s new p a s t u r e s in a n o t h e r lati t u d e , is not extravagant like the cow which kicks over the pail, l e a p s the cow-yard f e n c e , a n d r u n s after her calf, in milking t i m e . I d e s i r e to s p e a k s o m e w h e r e without b o u n d s ; like a m a n in a w a k i n g m o m e n t , to m e n in their waking m o m e n t s ; for I a m c o n v i n c e d that I c a n n o t e x a g g e r a t e e n o u g h even to lay the f o u n d a t i o n of a true e x p r e s s i o n . W h o that h a s h e a r d a strain of m u s i c feared then lest h e s h o u l d s p e a k extravagantly any m o r e forever? In view of the future or p o s s i b l e , w e s h o u l d live q u i t e laxly a n d u n d e f i n e d in front, our outlines d i m a n d misty on that s i d e ; a s o u r s h a d o w s reveal a n i n s e n s i b l e perspiration toward the s u n . T h e volatile truth of our w o r d s s h o u l d continually betray the i n a d e q u a c y of the residual s t a t e m e n t . T h e i r truth is instantly translated; its literal m o n u m e n t a l o n e r e m a i n s . T h e w o r d s which express our faith a n d piety a r e not definite; yet they a r e significant a n d fragrant like f r a n k i n c e n s e to s u p e r i o r n a t u r e s . Why level d o w n w a r d to our dullest p e r c e p t i o n always, a n d p r a i s e that a s c o m m o n s e n s e ? T h e c o m m o n e s t s e n s e is the s e n s e of m e n a s l e e p , which they express by snoring. S o m e t i m e s we a r e inclined to c l a s s t h o s e w h o are once-and-a-half witted with the half-witted, b e c a u s e we a p p r e c i a t e only a third part of their wit. S o m e would find fault with the m o r n i n g - r e d , if they ever got up early e n o u g h . " T h e y p r e t e n d , " a s I hear, "that the v e r s e s of Kabir have four different s e n s e s ; illusion, spirit, intellect, a n d the exoteric doctrine of the V e d a s ; " 1 b u t in this part of the world it is c o n s i d e r e d a g r o u n d for c o m p l a i n t if a m a n ' s writings a d m i t of m o r e t h a n o n e interpretation. W h i l e E n g l a n d e n d e a v o r s to c u r e the potato-rot, will not any e n d e a v o r to c u r e the brain-rot, which prevails so m u c h m o r e widely a n d fatally? I do not s u p p o s e that I have attained to obscurity, b u t I s h o u l d b e p r o u d if no m o r e fatal fault were f o u n d with my p a g e s o n this s c o r e t h a n w a s f o u n d with the W a l d e n ice. S o u t h e r n c u s t o m e r s o b j e c t e d to its b l u e color, which is the e v i d e n c e of its purity, a s if it were m u d d y , a n d preferred the C a m b r i d g e i c e , which is white, b u t t a s t e s of w e e d s . T h e purity m e n love is like the m i s t s which envelop the earth, a n d not like the a z u r e ether b e y o n d . S o m e are d i n n i n g in our e a r s that we A m e r i c a n s , a n d m o d e r n s generally, are intellectual dwarfs c o m p a r e d with the a n c i e n t s , or even the E l i z a b e t h a n m e n . 2 B u t what is that to the p u r p o s e ? A living d o g is better t h a n a d e a d lion. 3 S h a l l a m a n g o a n d h a n g h i m s e l f b e c a u s e h e b e l o n g s to the r a c e of p y g m i e s , a n d not b e the biggest pygmy that he c a n ? L e t every o n e m i n d his own b u s i n e s s , a n d e n d e a v o r to b e what h e w a s m a d e . W h y s h o u l d w e b e in s u c h d e s p e r a t e h a s t e to s u c c e e d , a n d in s u c h d e s p e r a t e e n t e r p r i s e s ? If a m a n d o e s not keep p a c e with his c o m p a n i o n s , perh a p s it is b e c a u s e he h e a r s a different d r u m m e r . L e t him s t e p to the m u s i c which h e h e a r s , however m e a s u r e d or far away. It is not i m p o r t a n t that h e s h o u l d m a t u r e a s s o o n a s a n apple-tree or a n oak. S h a l l he turn his spring into s u m m e r ? If the condition of things w h i c h we were m a d e for is not yet, w h a t were any reality which we c a n s u b s t i t u t e ? W e will not b e s h i p w r e c k e d 1. M . G a r c i n d e T a s s y ' s Histoire de la literature hindoui (1839). 2. T h e r e h a d b e e n s e r i o u s a s well a s satirical s p e c ulation as to the debilitating effects of the American climate, a continuation of the older question

a s to w h e t h e r or not m o d e r n civilization c o u l d ever achieve the heights of ancient G r e e k and R o m a n civilization. 3. E c c l e s i a s t e s 9 . 4 .

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CONCLUSION

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on a vain reality. Shall we with p a i n s erect a h e a v e n of b l u e g l a s s over ourselves, t h o u g h w h e n it is d o n e we shall b e sure to gaze still at the true ethereal heaven far a b o v e , a s if the former were not? T h e r e w a s a n artist in the city of K o u r o o w h o w a s d i s p o s e d to strive after perfection. O n e day it c a m e into his m i n d to m a k e a staff. H a v i n g c o n s i d e r e d that in a n imperfect work time is a n ingredient, but into a perfect work time d o e s not enter, he said to himself, It shall be perfect in all r e s p e c t s , t h o u g h I s h o u l d do n o t h i n g else in my life. H e p r o c e e d e d instantly to the forest for wood, b e i n g resolved that it s h o u l d not be m a d e of u n s u i t a b l e m a t e r i a l ; a n d as he s e a r c h e d for a n d rejected stick after stick, his friends gradually d e s e r t e d him, for they grew old in their works a n d died, but he grew not older by a m o m e n t . His s i n g l e n e s s of p u r p o s e a n d r e s o l u t i o n , a n d his elevated piety, e n d o w e d h i m , without his k n o w l e d g e , with p e r e n n i a l y o u t h . As h e m a d e n o c o m p r o m i s e with T i m e , T i m e kept out of his way, a n d only s i g h e d at a dist a n c e b e c a u s e he c o u l d not o v e r c o m e him. B e f o r e h e h a d f o u n d a s t o c k in all r e s p e c t s suitable the city of K o u r o o w a s a hoary ruin, a n d h e sat o n o n e of its m o u n d s to peel the stick. B e f o r e h e h a d given it the p r o p e r s h a p e the dynasty of the C a n d a h a r s w a s at an e n d , a n d with the point of the stick h e wrote the n a m e of the last of that r a c e in the s a n d , a n d then r e s u m e d his work. By the time he h a d s m o o t h e d a n d p o l i s h e d the staff K a l p a w a s n o longer the pole-star; a n d ere h e h a d p u t o n the ferule a n d the h e a d a d o r n e d with p r e c i o u s s t o n e s , B r a h m a h a d a w o k e a n d s l u m b e r e d m a n y t i m e s . B u t why do I stay to m e n t i o n t h e s e things? W h e n the finishing stroke w a s put to his work, it s u d d e n l y e x p a n d e d before the eyes of the a s t o n i s h e d artist into the fairest of all the c r e a t i o n s of B r a h m a . H e h a d m a d e a n e w s y s t e m in m a k i n g a staff, a world with full a n d fair p r o p o r t i o n s ; in w h i c h , t h o u g h the old cities a n d dynasties h a d p a s s e d away, fairer a n d m o r e glorious o n e s h a d taken their p l a c e s . A n d now h e saw by the h e a p of shavings still fresh at his feet, that, for him a n d his work, the former l a p s e of time h a d b e e n a n illusion, a n d that no m o r e time h a d e l a p s e d than is r e q u i r e d for a single scintillation from the brain of B r a h m a to fall on a n d inflame the tinder of a mortal brain. T h e material w a s p u r e , a n d his art was p u r e ; how c o u l d the result b e other than wonderful? N o f a c e which we c a n give to a m a t t e r will s t e a d u s s o well at last a s the truth. T h i s a l o n e w e a r s well. F o r the m o s t part, we a r e not w h e r e we a r e , but in a false position. T h r o u g h an infirmity of our n a t u r e s , we s u p p o s e a c a s e , a n d p u t ourselves into it, a n d h e n c e are in two c a s e s at the s a m e t i m e , a n d it is d o u b l y difficult to get out. In s a n e m o m e n t s we regard only the facts, the c a s e that is. S a y what you have to say, not what you o u g h t . Any truth is better than make-believe. T o m H y d e , the tinker, s t a n d i n g on the gallows, w a s a s k e d if h e h a d any thing to say. "Tell the tailors," said h e , "to r e m e m b e r to m a k e a knot in their thread before they take the first s t i t c h . " 4 H i s c o m p a n i o n ' s prayer is forgotten. However m e a n your life is, m e e t it a n d live it; do not s h u n it a n d call it hard n a m e s . It is not s o b a d a s you a r e . It looks p o o r e s t w h e n you are richest. T h e fault-finder will find faults even in p a r a d i s e . L o v e your life, p o o r a s it is. You m a y p e r h a p s have s o m e p l e a s a n t , thrilling, glorious h o u r s , even in a 4 . P r e s u m a b l y a r e f e r e n c e to t h e t a i l o r s w h o will s e w H y d e ' s s h r o u d , a l t h o u g h s o m e c u s t o m m a y b e i n v o l v e d s u c h a s t h a t o f m a k i n g t h e last s t i t c h t h r o u g h t h e n o s e in p r e p a r i n g a s a i l o r for b u r i a l a t s e a .

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p o o r - h o u s e . T h e setting s u n is reflected from the windows of the a l m s - h o u s e a s brightly a s from the rich m a n ' s a b o d e ; the s n o w m e l t s before its door a s early in the spring. I do not s e e but a quiet m i n d may live a s contentedly there, a n d have a s c h e e r i n g t h o u g h t s , a s in a p a l a c e . T h e town's p o o r s e e m to m e often to live the m o s t i n d e p e n d e n t lives of any. M a y b e they a r e simply great e n o u g h to receive without misgiving. M o s t think that they are a b o v e b e i n g s u p p o r t e d by the town; but it oftener h a p p e n s that they are not a b o v e s u p p o r t i n g t h e m s e l v e s by d i s h o n e s t m e a n s , which s h o u l d be m o r e disreputable. C u l t i v a t e poverty like a g a r d e n herb, like s a g e . D o not trouble yourself m u c h to get new things, w h e t h e r c l o t h e s or friends. T u r n the old; return to t h e m . T h i n g s d o not c h a n g e ; we c h a n g e . Sell your c l o t h e s a n d keep your t h o u g h t s . G o d will s e e that you do not want society. If I were confined to a c o r n e r of a garret all my d a y s , like a spider, the world would b e j u s t a s large to m e while I h a d my t h o u g h t s a b o u t m e . T h e p h i l o s o p h e r said: " F r o m a n army of three divisions o n e can take away its g e n e r a l , a n d put it in disorder; from the m a n the m o s t abject a n d vulgar o n e c a n n o t take away his t h o u g h t . " 5 D o not s e e k so anxiously to be d e v e l o p e d , to s u b j e c t yourself to m a n y influe n c e s to be played o n ; it is all d i s s i p a t i o n . Humility like d a r k n e s s reveals the heavenly lights. T h e s h a d o w s of poverty a n d m e a n n e s s gather a r o u n d u s , " a n d Io! creation w i d e n s to our view." 6 W e are often r e m i n d e d that if there were b e s t o w e d on u s the wealth of C r o e s u s , 7 our a i m s m u s t still b e the s a m e , a n d our m e a n s essentially the s a m e . M o r e o v e r , if you are restricted in your range by poverty, if you c a n n o t buy b o o k s a n d n e w s p a p e r s , for i n s t a n c e , you are but confined to the most significant a n d vital e x p e r i e n c e s ; you a r e c o m pelled to deal with the material which yields the m o s t s u g a r a n d the m o s t s t a r c h . It is life near the b o n e where it is s w e e t e s t . You are d e f e n d e d from b e i n g a trifler. N o m a n l o s e s ever on a lower level by m a g n a n i m i t y on a higher. S u p e r f l u o u s wealth c a n buy superfluities only. M o n e y is not r e q u i r e d to buy o n e n e c e s s a r y of the s o u l . I live in the a n g l e of a leaden wall, into w h o s e c o m p o s i t i o n w a s p o u r e d a little alloy of bell metal. O f t e n , in the r e p o s e of my mid-day, there r e a c h e s my ears a c o n f u s e d tintinnabulum from without. It is the n o i s e of my c o n t e m p o r a r i e s . M y n e i g h b o r s tell m e of their a d v e n t u r e s with f a m o u s gentlem e n a n d ladies, what notabilities they m e t at the d i n n e r - t a b l e ; but I a m no m o r e interested in s u c h things than in the c o n t e n t s of the Daily T i m e s . T h e interest a n d the c o n v e r s a t i o n are a b o u t c o s t u m e a n d m a n n e r s chiefly; but a g o o s e is a g o o s e still, d r e s s it a s you will. T h e y tell m e of C a l i f o r n i a a n d T e x a s , of E n g l a n d a n d the I n d i e s , of the H o n . Mr. of G e o r g i a or of M a s s a c h u s e t t s , all transient a n d fleeting p h e n o m e n a , till I a m ready to l e a p from their court-yard like the M a m e l u k e b e y . 9 I delight to c o m e to my b e a r i n g s , — not walk in p r o c e s s i o n with p o m p a n d p a r a d e , in a c o n s p i c u o u s p l a c e , but to walk even with the Builder of the u n i v e r s e , if I m a y , — n o t to live in this restl e s s , n e r v o u s , bustling, trivial N i n e t e e n t h C e n t u r y , but s t a n d or sit thoughtfully while it g o e s by. W h a t a r e m e n c e l e b r a t i n g ? T h e y a r e all on a c o m m i t t e e of a r r a n g e m e n t s , a n d hourly expect a s p e e c h from s o m e b o d y . G o d is only the president of the day, a n d W e b s t e r is his orator. 1 I love to w e i g h , to settle, to 8

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WALDEN, CHAPTER

18. CONCLUSION

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937

gravitate toward that which m o s t strongly a n d rightfully attracts m e ; — n o t h a n g by the b e a m of the s c a l e a n d try to weigh l e s s , — n o t s u p p o s e a c a s e , but take the c a s e that is; to travel the only path 1 c a n , a n d that on which no power c a n resist m e . It affords m e no satisfaction to c o m m e n c e to s p r i n g an a r c h before I have got a solid f o u n d a t i o n . Let us not play at kittlybenders. 2 T h e r e is a solid b o t t o m every w h e r e . W e read that the traveller a s k e d the boy if the s w a m p before him had a hard b o t t o m . T h e boy replied that it h a d . B u t presently the traveller's h o r s e s a n k in up to the girths, a n d he o b s e r v e d to the boy, "I thought you said that this b o g h a d a hard b o t t o m . " " S o it h a s , " a n s w e r e d the latter, "but you have not got half way to it yet." S o it is with the b o g s a n d q u i c k s a n d s of society; but he is an old boy that knows it. Only what is thought said or d o n e at a certain rare c o i n c i d e n c e is g o o d . I would not be o n e of t h o s e w h o will foolishly drive a nail into m e r e lath a n d plastering; s u c h a d e e d would keep m e a w a k e nights. Give m e a h a m m e r , a n d let m e feel for the furring.' D o not d e p e n d on the putty. Drive a nail h o m e a n d clinch it s o faithfully that you c a n w a k e u p in the night a n d think of your work with s a t i s f a c t i o n , — a work at which you would not be a s h a m e d to invoke the M u s e . S o will help you G o d , a n d s o only. Every nail driven s h o u l d b e as a n o t h e r rivet in the m a c h i n e of the universe, you carrying o n the work. Rather than love, than money, than f a m e , give m e truth. I sat at a table where were rich food a n d wine in a b u n d a n c e , a n d o b s e q u i o u s a t t e n d a n c e , but sincerity a n d truth were not; a n d I went away hungry from the inhospitable b o a r d . T h e hospitality w a s as cold a s the i c e s . I t h o u g h t that there w a s no n e e d of ice to freeze t h e m . T h e y talked, to m e of the a g e of the wine a n d the f a m e of the v i n t a g e ; but I thought of an older, a newer, a n d purer w i n e , of a m o r e glorious vintage, which they had not got, a n d c o u l d not buy. T h e style, the h o u s e a n d g r o u n d s a n d " e n t e r t a i n m e n t " p a s s for n o t h i n g with m e . I called on the king, but he m a d e m e wait in his hall, a n d c o n d u c t e d like a m a n i n c a p a c i t a t e d for hospitality. T h e r e w a s a m a n in my n e i g h b o r h o o d w h o lived in a hollow tree. His m a n n e r s were truly regal. I s h o u l d have d o n e better h a d I called on him. H o w long shall we sit in our porticoes p r a c t i s i n g idle a n d m u s t y virtues, which any work would m a k e impertinent? As if o n e were to begin the day with long-suffering, a n d hire a m a n to hoe his p o t a t o e s ; a n d in the a f t e r n o o n go forth to practise C h r i s t i a n m e e k n e s s a n d charity with g o o d n e s s aforet h o u g h t ! C o n s i d e r the C h i n a 4 pride a n d s t a g n a n t s e l f - c o m p l a c e n c y of m a n kind. T h i s g e n e r a t i o n reclines a little to c o n g r a t u l a t e itself o n being the last of an illustrious line; a n d in Roston a n d L o n d o n a n d Paris a n d R o m e , thinking of its long d e s c e n t , it s p e a k s of its p r o g r e s s in art a n d s c i e n c e a n d literature with satisfaction. T h e r e are the R e c o r d s of the P h i l o s o p h i c a l S o c i e t i e s , and the public E u l o g i e s of Great Men! It is the good A d a m c o n t e m p l a t i n g his own virtue. "Yes, we have d o n e great d e e d s , a n d s u n g divine s o n g s , which shall never d i e , " — t h a t is, a s long a s we c a n r e m e m b e r t h e m . T h e learned societies a n d great m e n of A s s y r i a , — w h e r e a r e they? W h a t youthful philoso p h e r s a n d experimentalists we a r e ! T h e r e is not o n e of my r e a d e r s w h o h a s yet lived a whole h u m a n life. T h e s e may be but the spring m o n t h s in the life sons." T h o r e a u plays on the e a t c h p h r a s e from I s l a m " T h e r e is n o o t h e r G o d t h a n A l l a h , a n d M o h a m m e d is h i s p r o p h e t . " T h o r e a u r e g a r d e d Daniel W e b s t e r with contempt. 2. H a r d i n g defines this a s a "child's g a m e of running out onto thin ice without breaking t h r o u g h . "

3. N a r r o w l u m b e r n a i l e d a s b a c k i n g f o r l a t h . T h e first e d i t i o n r e a d s " f u r r o w i n g , " a n d o n e m a n u s c r i p t draft r e a d s " s t u d . " 4. F r o m C h i n a ' s l i n g e r i n g i s o l a t i o n i s m , d e s p i t e the C h i n a trade so important to the N e w E n g l a n d economy.

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HENRY DAVID

THOREAU

of the r a c e . If we have h a d the seven-years' itch, we have not s e e n the seventeen-year l o c u s t yet in C o n c o r d . W e a r e a c q u a i n t e d with a m e r e pellicle of the globe on which we live. M o s t have not delved six feet b e n e a t h the s u r f a c e , nor l e a p e d a s m a n y a b o v e it. W e know not w h e r e we a r e . B e s i d e , we are s o u n d a s l e e p nearly half our t i m e . Yet we e s t e e m ourselves w i s e , a n d have an e s t a b l i s h e d order on the s u r f a c e . Truly, we are d e e p thinkers, w e a r e a m b i t i o u s spirits! As I s t a n d over the insect crawling a m i d the p i n e n e e d l e s on the forest floor, a n d e n d e a v o r i n g to c o n c e a l itself from my sight, a n d a s k myself why it will c h e r i s h t h o s e h u m b l e t h o u g h t s , a n d hide its h e a d from m e w h o might p e r h a p s be its b e n e f a c t o r , a n d impart to its r a c e s o m e c h e e r i n g information, I a m r e m i n d e d of the g r e a t e r B e n e f a c t o r a n d Intelligence that s t a n d s over m e the h u m a n insect. T h e r e is a n i n c e s s a n t influx of novelty into the world, a n d yet we tolerate incredible d u l n e s s . I n e e d only s u g g e s t what kind of s e r m o n s are still listened to in the m o s t e n l i g h t e n e d c o u n t r i e s . T h e r e are s u c h w o r d s a s j o y a n d sorrow, but they are only the b u r d e n of a p s a l m , s u n g with a n a s a l twang, while we believe in the ordinary a n d m e a n . W e think that we c a n c h a n g e o u r clothes only. It is said that the British E m p i r e is very large a n d r e s p e c t a b l e , a n d that the U n i t e d S t a t e s are a first-rate power. W e do not believe that a tide rises a n d falls b e h i n d every m a n which c a n float the British E m p i r e like a c h i p , if he s h o u l d ever harbor it in his m i n d . W h o knows w h a t sort of s e v e n t e e n year locust will next c o m e o u t of the g r o u n d ? T h e g o v e r n m e n t of the world I live in w a s not f r a m e d , like that of Britain, in after-dinner c o n v e r s a t i o n s over the w i n e . T h e life in u s is like the water in the river. It m a y rise this year higher than m a n h a s ever known it, a n d flood the p a r c h e d u p l a n d s ; even this m a y b e the eventful year, which will drown o u t all o u r m u s k r a t s . It w a s not always dry land w h e r e w e dwell. I s e e far inland the b a n k s w h i c h the s t r e a m anciently w a s h e d , before s c i e n c e b e g a n to record its f r e s h e t s . Every o n e h a s h e a r d the story which h a s g o n e the r o u n d s of N e w E n g l a n d , of a strong a n d beautiful b u g which c a m e o u t of the dry leaf of a n old table of apple-tree w o o d , which h a d s t o o d in a farmer's kitchen for sixty years, first in C o n n e c t i c u t , a n d afterward in M a s s a c h u s e t t s , — f r o m a n e g g d e p o s i t e d in the living tree m a n y years earlier still, a s a p p e a r e d by c o u n t i n g the a n n u a l layers b e y o n d it; which w a s h e a r d g n a w i n g o u t for several w e e k s , h a t c h e d p e r c h a n c e by the heat of a n u r n . 5 W h o d o e s not feel his faith in a r e s u r r e c t i o n a n d immortality s t r e n g t h e n e d by h e a r i n g of this? W h o knows w h a t beautiful a n d w i n g e d life, w h o s e e g g h a s b e e n b u r i e d for a g e s u n d e r m a n y c o n c e n t r i c layers of w o o d e n n e s s in the d e a d dry life of society, d e p o s i t e d at first in the a l b u r n u m of the green a n d living tree, which h a s b e e n gradually c o n v e r t e d into the s e m b l a n c e of its w e l l - s e a s o n e d t o m b , — h e a r d p e r c h a n c e g n a w i n g o u t n o w for years by the a s t o n i s h e d family of m a n , a s they sat r o u n d the festive b o a r d , — may u n e x p e c t e d l y c o m e forth from a m i d s t society's m o s t trivial a n d h a n d selled furniture, to enjoy its perfect s u m m e r life at last! I do not say that J o h n or J o n a t h a n 6 will realize all this; b u t s u c h is the c h a r a c t e r of that m o r r o w which m e r e l a p s e of t i m e c a n never m a k e to d a w n . 5 . A m a j o r a c c o u n t o f t h e i n c i d e n t is in T i m o t h y D w i g h t ' s Travels in New England and New York ( 1 8 2 1 ) , vol. 2 . 6. J o h n Bull or B r o t h e r J o n a t h a n , i.e., E n g l a n d or

A m e r i c a . T h o r e a u is n o w a d d r e s s i n g n o t t h e restricted a u d i e n c e of the o p e n i n g of " E c o n o m y , " b u t all r e a d e r s o f t h e E n g l i s h l a n g u a g e .

FREDERICK DOUGLASS

/

939

T h e light w h i c h p u t s out o u r eyes is d a r k n e s s to u s . Only that d a y d a w n s to which we a r e a w a k e . T h e r e is m o r e day to d a w n . T h e s u n is b u t a m o r n i n g star. THE

E N D

1846, 1850

FREDERICK DOUGLASS 1818-1895 In h i s l o n g lifetime F r e d e r i c k D o u g l a s s w a s a prolific s p e e c h m a k e r , s o c i a l activist, j o u r n a l i s t , a n d a u t h o r o f a novella, The Heroic

Slave

( 1 8 5 3 ) , a s well a s t h r e e v o l u m e s

of a u t o b i o g r a p h y . T h e a u t o b i o g r a p h i e s , e a c h c o v e r i n g D o u g l a s s ' s life in i n c r e a s i n g detail, n a r r a t e t h e story o f o n e of t h e m o s t r e m a r k a b l e , s u c c e s s f u l , a n d influential A m e r i c a n lives o f t h e n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r y . W e print here c h a p t e r s f r o m D o u g l a s s ' s first a u t o b i o g r a p h y , Narrative of Frederick

Douglass,

an American

Slave,

Written

by Himself

of the

Life

( 1 8 4 5 ) . T h i s highly

p o p u l a r a n d influential a c c o u n t d e l i b e r a t e l y o m i t s m u c h specific detail a b o u t his life b o t h to f e a t u r e h i m s e l f a s a typical b l a c k m a n (thereby to serve t h e g e n e r a l c a u s e o f a b o l i t i o n ) a n d to p r o t e c t s o m e o f t h o s e w h o h e l p e d h i m e s c a p e . T h e Narrative

would

b e r e v i s e d t w i c e , first a s My Bondage

and My Freedom

Life

originally p u b l i s h e d in 1 8 8 1 a n d r e v i s e d a n d

and

Times

of Frederick

Douglass,

in 1 8 5 5 , a n d finally a s The

e x p a n d e d in 1 8 9 3 . D o u g l a s s , w e n o w k n o w , w a s born F r e d e r i c k A u g u s t u s W a s h i n g t o n B a i l e y in February

1 8 1 8 a t H o l m e Hill F a r m in T a l b o t C o u n t y o n t h e E a s t e r n S h o r e o f

M a r y l a n d . H i s m o t h e r w a s H a r r i e t Bailey; his f a t h e r w a s a n u n k n o w n w h i t e m a n (widely s u s p e c t e d a s b e i n g h i s m o t h e r ' s o w n e r , A a r o n A n t h o n y ) . In 1 8 2 6 , a b o u t a y e a r after t h e d e a t h o f his m o t h e r a n d shortly after t h e d e a t h o f A a r o n A n t h o n y , h e w a s s e n t f r o m t h e p l a n t a t i o n to live a s a h o u s e s e r v a n t with S o p h i a a n d H u g h A u l d (Anthony's d a u g h t e r a n d son-in-law) in B a l t i m o r e , M a r y l a n d . It w a s t h e r e t h a t h e first r e c e i v e d r e a d i n g l e s s o n s f r o m S o p h i a . W h e n h e r h u s b a n d d i s c o v e r e d this p r a c tice, h e f o r b a d e it with t h e o b s e r v a t i o n that l e a r n i n g " w o u l d forever unfit h i m to b e a s l a v e . " In a n y event, t e a c h i n g slaves r e a d i n g a n d writing w a s a g a i n s t t h e l a w throughout the South. B u t D o u g l a s s u n d e r s t o o d e v e n a s a y o u n g c h i l d that w h a t e v e r h i s white o w n e r s w a n t e d h i m not to h a v e w a s c e r t a i n l y t h e m o s t v a l u a b l e t h i n g for h i m to s e e k , a n d , a s t h e Narrative

r e c o u n t s , h e w a s i n g e n i o u s in finding ways to l e a r n b o t h r e a d i n g a n d

writing. D u r i n g h i s t i m e in B a l t i m o r e D o u g l a s s b o u g h t a n d r e a d intently t h e bian

Orator,

Colum-

a p o p u l a r s c h o o l text c o n t a i n i n g m a n y s p e e c h e s d e n o u n c i n g o p p r e s s i o n .

H e a l s o d i s c o v e r e d in t h e Baltimore

American

articles a b o u t a b o l i t i o n a s a n o r g a n i z e d

m o v e m e n t , a n d e s t a b l i s h e d a c l o s e r e l a t i o n s h i p with C h a r l e s L a w s o n , a fatherly b l a c k C h r i s t i a n w h o b e c a m e h i s spiritual m e n t o r a n d told D o u g l a s s that h e h a d b e e n c h o s e n to d o " g r e a t w o r k . " In 1 8 3 3 , after s e v e n y e a r s in B a l t i m o r e , D o u g l a s s w a s r e t u r n e d to t h e p l a n t a t i o n of H u g h ' s b r o t h e r T h o m a s A u l d in 1 8 3 3 , w h e r e h e f o u n d life i n t o l e r a b l e . D o u g l a s s quickly b e c a m e k n o w n for h i s r e b e l l i o u s d e m e a n o r a n d w a s s e n t to w o r k on t h e f a r m of T h o m a s C o v e y , a s p e c i a l i s t in " s l a v e b r e a k i n g . " T h e a c c o u n t o f h i s d e c l i n e a n d r e a w a k e n i n g a t C o v e y ' s f a r m , c u l m i n a t i n g in t h e h a n d - t o - h a n d b a t t l e b e t w e e n C o v e y

940

/

FREDERICK

DOUGLASS

a n d D o u g l a s s , is t h e t u r n i n g point o f t h e Narrative,

a s it s e e m s to h a v e b e e n in

D o u g l a s s ' s life a s well. In 1 8 3 6 D o u g l a s s w a s r e t u r n e d to B a l t i m o r e , w h e r e h e l e a r n e d t h e c a u l k i n g t r a d e in t h e s h i p y a r d s . T h o u g h t h e elder T h o m a s A u l d kept m o s t o f t h e m o n e y F r e d e r i c k e a r n e d , D o u g l a s s w a s a b l e to s a v e e n o u g h to m a k e his p l a n o f e s c a p e f e a s i b l e . In this plan he was helped both

financially

a n d e m o t i o n a l l y by A n n a M u r r a y , to w h o m h e

b e c a m e e n g a g e d on S e p t e m b e r 3, 1 8 3 8 , t h e very d a y o n w h i c h h e b o a r d e d a train for N e w York d i s g u i s e d a s a s a i l o r a n d c a r r y i n g the b o r r o w e d p a p e r s o f a free b l a c k s e a m a n . W i t h i n days A n n a j o i n e d h i m , a n d they were m a r r i e d o n S e p t e m b e r 1 5 . T h e y s o o n left for N e w B e d f o r d , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , w h e r e t h e likelihood o f h i s b e i n g c a p t u r e d w a s r e d u c e d by h i s t a k i n g o n a n e w n a m e . T h o u g h D o u g l a s s e m p h a s i z e s in t h e Narrative

the splendor of N e w Bedford com-

p a r e d to slave territory, life in N e w B e d f o r d w a s not e a s y for t h e newly m a r r i e d c o u p l e . D o u g l a s s w a s d i s c r i m i n a t e d a g a i n s t w h e n h e s o u g h t w o r k a s a c a u l k e r a n d h a d to p i e c e t o g e t h e r a living d o i n g o d d j o b s o f every kind. A few m o n t h s after arriving in N e w B e d f o r d , D o u g l a s s s u b s c r i b e d to a b o l i t i o n i s t W i l l i a m Lloyd G a r r i s o n ' s

Liberator.

T h r e e years later, in 1 8 4 1 , at a n a n t i s l a v e r y c o n v e n t i o n in N a n t u c k e t , D o u g l a s s m a d e his first p u b l i c a d d r e s s to a m i x e d - r a c e a u d i e n c e . H i s h u g e l y s u c c e s s f u l c a r e e r a s a n o r a t o r h a d b e g u n . W i t h t h e p u b l i c a t i o n in 1 8 4 5 o f Narrative Douglass,

an American

Slave,

Written

by Himself,

of the Life

of

Frederick

his c a r e e r a s a writer m a d e h i m ,

within a few y e a r s , a n i n t e r n a t i o n a l s p o k e s p e r s o n for f r e e d o m a n d e q u a l i t y . T h o u g h s o m e earlier slave n a r r a t i v e s h a d b e e n g h o s t - w r i t t e n , t h e vivid detail, t h e u n m i s t a k a b l e individuality of its style, a n d t h e r e p u t a t i o n D o u g l a s s h a d e a r n e d a s a traveling s p e a k e r of e l o q u e n c e left n o d o u b t that D o u g l a s s h a d in f a c t written h i s o w n story in his o w n w o r d s — e v e n if they w e r e in t h e service o f G a r r i s o n i a n a b o l i t i o n i s m . T h e r e is a m p l e e v i d e n c e to s u p p o r t t h e view that D o u g l a s s w a s a p o w e r f u l s p e a k e r . O n e of h i s a d m i r e r s d e s c r i b e d h i m t h u s : H e w a s m o r e t h a n six feet in h e i g h t , a n d h i s m a j e s t i c f o r m , a s h e r o s e to s p e a k , s t r a i g h t a s a n a r r o w , m u s c u l a r , yet lithe a n d g r a c e f u l , his f l a s h i n g e y e , a n d m o r e t h a n all, his v o i c e , that rivaled [ D a n i e l ] W e b s t e r ' s in its r i c h n e s s , a n d in t h e d e p t h a n d s o n o r o u s n e s s o f its c a d e n c e s , m a d e u p s u c h a n ideal of a n o r a t o r a s the l i s t e n e r s never forgot. S u r e l y , n o o n e in R o c h e s t e r , N e w York, w h o h e a r d D o u g l a s s ' s s p e e c h " T h e M e a n i n g of J u l y F o u r t h for t h e N e g r o " o n J u l y 5 , 1 8 5 2 , w a s likely to h a v e f o r g o t t e n w h a t h i s b i o g r a p h e r W i l l i a m S. M c F e e l y h a s c h a r a c t e r i z e d j u d i c i o u s l y a s " p e r h a p s t h e g r e a t e s t antislavery o r a t i o n ever g i v e n . " In 1 8 5 5 D o u g l a s s p u b l i s h e d a revised a n d e n l a r g e d v e r s i o n of t h e Narrative under the title My Bondage and My Freedom. This work s u p p l e m e n t e d a more detailed a c c o u n t o f h i s life a s a s l a v e with t h e i m p r e s s i v e r e c o r d of h i s i n t e l l e c t u a l grow th a n d p e r s o n a l a c h i e v e m e n t s i n c e h e h a d j o i n e d f o r c e s with t h e a b o l i t i o n i s t m o v e m e n t . It told, t o o , o f h i s s u c c e s s f u l s p e a k i n g l o u r o f t h e B r i t i s h I s l e s , t h e p u r c h a s e of h i s f r e e d o m for s e v e n h u n d r e d d o l l a r s by a g r o u p o f h i s a d m i r e r s , a n d h i s m o v e to R o c h ester, N e w York, w h e r e h e b r o u g h t o u t in D e c e m b e r 1 8 4 7 t h e first i s s u e o f t h e i n c r e a s i n g l y o u t s p o k e n weekly n e w s p a p e r h e p u b l i s h e d for t h i r t e e n y e a r s (first a s The North

Star,

later a s Frederick

Douglass's

Weekly

a n d Monthly).

My Bondage

and

My

Freedom is a s u b s t a n t i a l l y l o n g e r v e r s i o n o f h i s life a n d i n c l u d e s m u c h m o r e inform a t i o n a b o u t t h e f a m i l i e s o f t h e m a s t e r s h e h a d lived u n d e r , m e m b e r s o f h i s o w n family, e s p e c i a l l y his m o t h e r , t h e daily life in t h e g r e a t h o u s e a n d t h e p l a n t a t i o n fields, a n d t h e m i s t r e a t m e n t of s l a v e s . In c o v e r i n g t h e ten y e a r s that h a d e l a p s e d s i n c e t h e Narrative o f 1 8 4 5 , D o u g l a s s h a s m u c h to s a y a b o u t t h e d r a m a t i c g r o w t h o f his c o n c e p t i o n of f r e e d o m , his b r e a k with G a r r i s o n , a n d his e n c o u n t e r s with r a c i s m in t h e N o r t h . N o l o n g e r willing to " l e a v e t h e p h i l o s o p h y " o f a b o l i t i o n to G a r r i s o n a n d o t h e r white a b o l i t i o n i s t s , D o u g l a s s a s s e r t s his i n t e l l e c t u a l a n d i n t e r p r e t i v e i n d e p e n d e n c e —

FREDERICK DOUGLASS

/

941

"his m o r a l a n d s o c i a l right to e x p r e s s h i s o w n individuality," a s W i l l i a m L. A n d r e w s aptly p u t s it. My Bondage

and My Freedom

d e m o n s t r a t e s t h e g r o w t h in D o u g l a s s ' s r h e t o r i c a l

skill a s it d e v e l o p e d in t h e d e c a d e following t h e p u b l i c a t i o n o f Narrative.

If, in t h e

first version of his a u t o b i o g r a p h y , D o u g l a s s h a d p r e s e n t e d h i m s e l f a s a m a n s t a n d i n g a l o n e , in this version h e c e l e b r a t e d t h e i n f l u e n c e o f h i s g r a n d m o t h e r a n d m o t h e r , which h e h a d e i t h e r i g n o r e d or m i n i m i z e d b e f o r e . T h i s n e w t r e a t m e n t r e s o n a t e s with the rhetoric of s e n t i m e n t a s s o c i a t e d with Harriet B e e c h e r S t o w e a n d o t h e r p o p u l a r m i d - n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y w o m e n writers, a n d testifies to his a w a r e n e s s that w o m e n were a powerful f o r c e within t h e a b o l i t i o n i s t m o v e m e n t . T h e third o f D o u g l a s s ' s a u t o b i o g r a p h i e s , The Life

and Times

of Frederick

Douglass

( 1 8 8 1 , revised a n d e x p a n d e d in 1 8 9 2 ) , s u b s u m e s t h e first two a n d a d d s to t h e m t h e events o f his c a r e e r j u s t b e f o r e , d u r i n g , a n d after t h e Civil W a r ; it a l s o t r a c e s t h e rising a r c of his f a m e a n d i n f l u e n c e , a n d t h e u l t i m a t e l y h o n o r e d r e c o g n i t i o n o f h i s c o m p a t r i o t s , b l a c k a n d white alike. W h i l e this v o l u m e a l s o e x p o s e s s o m e o f D o u g l a s s ' s naive o p t i m i s m a b o u t t h e f u t u r e o f r a c e r e l a t i o n s , e s p e c i a l l y in t h e S o u t h , t h e 1 8 9 2 u p d a t e of Life

and Times

d e m o n s t r a t e d o n c e a g a i n that on d e v e l o p m e n t s s u c h a s

lynching a n d J i m C r o w l e g i s l a t i o n , e s p e c i a l l y t h e d i s e n f r a n c h i s e m e n t o f b l a c k s in t h e S o u t h , D o u g l a s s w a s in his last years j u s t a s fierce a critic o f i n j u s t i c e a s h e h a d ever been. C r i t i c s d i s a g r e e over t h e relative i m p o r t a n c e o f t h e Narrative age and My Freedom Douglass Narrative Freedom

( 1 8 5 5 ) , t h o u g h m o s t a g r e e that The Life

( 1 8 4 5 ) a n d My and Times

of

BondFrederick

( 1 8 8 1 ) is o f l e s s c o n s e q u e n c e . W h a t w e k n o w with c e r t a i n t y is that t h e s o l d s o m e 3 0 , 0 0 0 c o p i e s in t h e first five y e a r s , a n d My Bondage 1 8 , 0 0 0 c o p i e s in its first two y e a r s . T h e m o r e "official" Life and Times,

and My while

it a d d e d m u c h to t h e r e c o r d of D o u g l a s s ' s a c h i e v e m e n t , d i d n o t fare a s well in t h e marketplace. W r o n g l y a c c u s e d o f c o m p l i c i t y in J o h n B r o w n ' s raid o n t h e a r s e n a l at H a r p e r s Ferry in 1 8 5 9 , D o u g l a s s w a s o b l i g e d to flee to C a n a d a a n d t h e n c e to E n g l a n d . O n c e t h e Civil W a r b e g a n , h e took a n a c t i v e role in t h e c a m p a i g n to m a k e free b l a c k m e n eligible for U n i o n service; he b e c a m e a s u c c e s s f u l r e c r u i t e r o f b l a c k s o l d i e r s , w h o s e r a n k s s o o n i n c l u d e d two o f h i s o w n s o n s . H a v i n g h e l p e d to enlist t h e s e m e n , D o u g l a s s w a s only a c t i n g in c h a r a c t e r w h e n he t o o k h i s p r o t e s t s over their u n e q u a l p a y a n d t r e a t m e n t directly to P r e s i d e n t L i n c o l n . It w a s a l s o in c h a r a c t e r for D o u g l a s s to criticize L i n c o l n ' s s u c c e s s o r s over w h a t D o u g l a s s believed w a s a n insufficiently p r o m p t a n d j u s t R e c o n s t r u c t i o n policy o n c e t h e w a r h a d b e e n w o n . D o u g l a s s w a s p a r t i c u l a r l y i n s i s t e n t o n t h e n e c e s s i t y for swift p a s s a g e o f t h e F i f t e e n t h A m e n d m e n t g u a r a n t e e i n g s u f f r a g e to t h e newly e m a n c i p a t e d m a l e s l a v e s . N e v e r satisfied with t h e g r u d g i n g legal c o n c e s s i o n s t h e Civil W a r yielded, D o u g l a s s c o n t i n u e d to o b j e c t to every sign o f d i s c r i m i n a t i o n — e c o n o m i c , g e n d e r , legal, a n d social. E v e n after h e h a d b e e n a p p o i n t e d U . S . m a r s h a l in 1 8 7 7 a n d t h e n r e c o r d e r o f d e e d s for t h e D i s t r i c t o f C o l u m b i a , h e c o n t i n u e d to s p e a k o u t o n s u c h m a t t e r s a s t h e e x p l o i t a t i o n o f b l a c k s h a r e c r o p p e r s in t h e S o u t h , to d e m a n d a n t i l y n c h ing legislation, to p r o t e s t t h e e x c l u s i o n o f African A m e r i c a n s f r o m p u b l i c a c c o m m o d a t i o n s . H e a l s o w a s active in s u f f r a g e m o v e m e n t s , b e l i e v i n g firmly in t h e p o w e r o f the ballot a s o n e o f t h e n e c e s s i t i e s o f f r e e d o m . It w o u l d b e h a r d to e x a g g e r a t e t h e i m p o r t a n c e for later A f r i c a n A m e r i c a n l e a d e r s s u c h a s B o o k e r T . W a s h i n g t o n a n d W . E . B. D u B o i s o f D o u g l a s s ' s e x e m p l a r y c a r e e r a s a c h a m p i o n o f h u m a n rights.

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Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself' Chapter

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I w a s born in T u c k a h o e , near H i l l s b o r o u g h , a n d a b o u t twelve miles from E a s t o n , in T a l b o t c o u n t y , M a r y l a n d . I have no a c c u r a t e k n o w l e d g e of my a g e , never having s e e n any a u t h e n t i c record c o n t a i n i n g it. By far the larger part of the slaves know a s little of their a g e s a s h o r s e s know of theirs, a n d it is the wish of m o s t m a s t e r s within my k n o w l e d g e to k e e p their slaves t h u s ignorant. I do not r e m e m b e r to have ever m e t a slave w h o c o u l d tell of his birthday. T h e y s e l d o m c o m e nearer to it t h a n p l a n t i n g - t i m e , h a r v e s t - t i m e , cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A w a n t of i n f o r m a t i o n c o n c e r n i n g my own w a s a s o u r c e of u n h a p p i n e s s to m e even d u r i n g c h i l d h o o d . T h e white children c o u l d tell their a g e s . I c o u l d not tell why I o u g h t to b e deprived of the s a m e privilege. I w a s not allowed to m a k e any inquiries of my m a s t e r c o n c e r n i n g it. H e d e e m e d all s u c h inquiries o n the part of a slave i m p r o p e r a n d i m p e r t i n e n t , a n d evidence of a restless spirit. T h e n e a r e s t e s t i m a t e I c a n give m a k e s m e now b e t w e e n twenty-seven a n d twenty-eight years of a g e . I c o m e to this, from h e a r i n g my m a s t e r say, s o m e time d u r i n g 1 8 3 5 , I w a s a b o u t seventeen years old. M y m o t h e r w a s n a m e d Harriet Bailey. S h e w a s the d a u g h t e r of I s a a c a n d B e t s e y Bailey, both c o l o r e d , a n d q u i t e dark. M y m o t h e r w a s of a darker complexion t h a n either my g r a n d m o t h e r or g r a n d f a t h e r . M y father w a s a white m a n . H e w a s a d m i t t e d to b e s u c h by all I ever h e a r d s p e a k of my p a r e n t a g e . T h e opinion w a s a l s o w h i s p e r e d that my m a s t e r w a s my father; but of the c o r r e c t n e s s of this o p i n i o n , I know nothing; the m e a n s of knowing w a s withheld from m e . M y m o t h e r a n d I were s e p a r a t e d w h e n I w a s but a n i n f a n t — b e f o r e I k n e w her a s my m o t h e r . It is a c o m m o n c u s t o m , in the part of M a r y l a n d from which I ran away, to part children from their m o t h e r s at a very early a g e . F r e q u e n t l y , before the child has r e a c h e d its twelfth m o n t h , its m o t h e r is taken from it, a n d hired o u t on s o m e farm a c o n s i d e r a b l e d i s t a n c e off, a n d the child is p l a c e d u n d e r the c a r e of an old w o m a n , too old for field labor. F o r w h a t this s e p a r a t i o n is d o n e , I do not know, u n l e s s it be to hinder the d e v e l o p m e n t of the child's affection toward its m o t h e r , a n d to blunt a n d destroy the n a t u r a l affection of the m o t h e r for the child. T h i s is the inevitable result. I never saw my m o t h e r , to know her a s s u c h , m o r e t h a n four or five times in my life; a n d e a c h of t h e s e times w a s very short in d u r a t i o n , a n d at night. S h e w a s hired by a M r . S t e w a r t , w h o lived a b o u t twelve miles from my h o m e . S h e m a d e her j o u r n e y s to s e e m e in the night, travelling the w h o l e d i s t a n c e on foot, after the p e r f o r m a n c e of her day's work. S h e w a s a field h a n d , a n d a w h i p p i n g is the penalty of not b e i n g in the field at s u n r i s e , u n l e s s a slave h a s special p e r m i s s i o n from his or her m a s t e r to the c o n t r a r y — a p e r m i s s i o n which they s e l d o m get, a n d o n e that gives to him that gives it the p r o u d n a m e of b e i n g a kind m a s t e r . I do not recollect of ever s e e i n g my m o t h e r by

1. F i r s t p r i n t e d i n M a y 1 8 4 5 b y t h e A n t i - S l a v e r y O f f i c e i n B o s t o n , t h e s o u r c e o f t h e p r e s e n t t e x t . P u n c t u a t i o n a n d h y p h e n a t i o n have b e e n slightly regularized a n d a few typographical e m e n d a t i o n s have a l s o b e e n m a d e .

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the light of day. S h e w a s with m e in the night. S h e w o u l d lie d o w n with m e , a n d get m e to s l e e p , but long before I waked s h e w a s g o n e . Very little c o m m u n i c a t i o n ever took p l a c e b e t w e e n u s . D e a t h s o o n e n d e d w h a t little we could have while s h e lived, a n d with it her h a r d s h i p s a n d suffering. S h e died when I was a b o u t seven years old, on o n e of my m a s t e r ' s f a r m s , n e a r L e e ' s Mill. I w a s not allowed to be p r e s e n t during her illness, at her d e a t h , or burial. S h e w a s g o n e long before I knew any thing a b o u t it. N e v e r having enjoyed, to any c o n s i d e r a b l e extent, her s o o t h i n g p r e s e n c e , her t e n d e r a n d watchful c a r e , I received the tidings of her d e a t h with m u c h the s a m e e m o tions I s h o u l d have probably felt at the d e a t h of a stranger. C a l l e d t h u s s u d d e n l y away, s h e left m e without the slightest intimation of who my father w a s . T h e w h i s p e r that my m a s t e r w a s my father, m a y or may not be t r u e ; a n d , true or false, it is of b u t little c o n s e q u e n c e to my p u r p o s e whilst the fact r e m a i n s , in all its glaring o d i o u s n e s s , that slaveholders have o r d a i n e d , a n d by law e s t a b l i s h e d , that the children of slave w o m e n shall in all c a s e s follow the condition of their m o t h e r s ; a n d this is d o n e too obviously to a d m i n i s t e r to their own l u s t s , a n d m a k e a gratification of their wicked desires profitable a s well a s p l e a s u r a b l e ; for by this c u n n i n g a r r a n g e m e n t , the slaveholder, in c a s e s not a few, s u s t a i n s to his slaves the d o u b l e relation of m a s t e r a n d father. I know of s u c h c a s e s ; a n d it is worthy of r e m a r k that s u c h slaves invariably suffer greater h a r d s h i p s , a n d have m o r e to c o n t e n d with, t h a n o t h e r s . T h e y are, in the first p l a c e , a c o n s t a n t offence to their m i s t r e s s . S h e is ever disp o s e d to find fault with t h e m ; they c a n s e l d o m d o any thing to p l e a s e her; she is never better p l e a s e d than w h e n s h e s e e s t h e m u n d e r the l a s h , e s p e cially w h e n s h e s u s p e c t s her h u s b a n d of s h o w i n g to his m u l a t t o c h i l d r e n favors which h e withholds from his black slaves. T h e m a s t e r is frequently c o m p e l l e d to sell this c l a s s of his slaves, out of d e f e r e n c e to the feelings of his white wife; a n d , cruel a s the d e e d m a y strike any o n e to b e , for a m a n to sell his own children to h u m a n f l e s h - m o n g e r s , it is often the dictate of h u m a n i t y for him to do s o ; for, u n l e s s h e d o e s this, h e m u s t not only whip t h e m himself, b u t m u s t s t a n d by a n d s e e o n e white son tie u p his brother, of but few s h a d e s darker c o m p l e x i o n than himself, a n d ply the gory l a s h to his n a k e d b a c k ; a n d if h e lisp o n e word of disapproval, it is set d o w n to his parental partiality, a n d only m a k e s a b a d m a t t e r w o r s e , both for h i m s e l f a n d the slave w h o m h e would protect a n d d e f e n d . Every year brings with it m u l t i t u d e s of this c l a s s of slaves. It w a s d o u b t l e s s in c o n s e q u e n c e of a k n o w l e d g e of this fact, that o n e great s t a t e s m a n of the s o u t h p r e d i c t e d the downfall of slavery by the inevitable laws of p o p u l a t i o n . W h e t h e r this p r o p h e c y is ever fulfilled or not, it is n e v e r t h e l e s s plain that a very different-looking c l a s s of p e o p l e a r e springing u p at the s o u t h , a n d are now held in slavery, from t h o s e originally b r o u g h t to this country from Africa; a n d if their i n c r e a s e will d o n o other g o o d , it will do away the force of the a r g u m e n t , that G o d c u r s e d H a m , 2 a n d therefore A m e r i c a n slavery is right. If the lineal d e s c e n d a n t s of H a m are a l o n e to be scripturally e n s l a v e d , it is certain that slavery at the s o u t h m u s t s o o n b e c o m e u n s c r i p t u r a l ; for t h o u s a n d s are u s h e r e d into the world, annually, w h o , like myself, owe their 2 . T h e s p e c i o u s a r g u m e n t r e f e r r e d t o is b a s e d o n a n i n t e r p r e t a t i o n o f G e n e s i s 9 . 2 0 — 2 7 , i n w h i c h c u r s e s his s o n H a m a n d c o n d e m n s h i m to b o n d a g e to his b r o t h e r s .

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e x i s t e n c e to white f a t h e r s , a n d t h o s e fathers m o s t frequently their own masters. 1 have had two m a s t e r s . M y first m a s t e r ' s n a m e w a s Anthony. I do not r e m e m b e r his first n a m e . H e was generally called C a p t a i n A n t h o n y — a title which, I p r e s u m e , he a c q u i r e d by sailing a craft o n the C h e s a p e a k e Bay. H e w a s not c o n s i d e r e d a rich slaveholder. H e o w n e d two or three f a r m s , a n d a b o u t thirty slaves. H i s f a r m s a n d slaves were u n d e r the c a r e of a n overseer. T h e overseer's n a m e w a s P l u m m e r . M r . P l u m m e r w a s a m i s e r a ble d r u n k a r d , a p r o f a n e swearer, a n d a savage m o n s t e r . H e always went a r m e d with a c o w s k i n * a n d a heavy c u d g e l . I have known him to c u t a n d slash the w o m e n ' s h e a d s so horribly, that even m a s t e r would b e e n r a g e d at his cruelty, a n d would threaten to whip him if h e did not mind himself. M a s t e r , however, w a s not a h u m a n e slaveholder. It r e q u i r e d extraordinary barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect h i m . H e w a s a cruel m a n , harde n e d by a long life of slaveholding. H e would at t i m e s s e e m to take great p l e a s u r e in w h i p p i n g a slave. I have often b e e n a w a k e n e d at the d a w n of day by the m o s t heart-rending shrieks of a n own a u n t of m i n e , w h o m h e u s e d to tie up to a j o i s t , a n d whip u p o n her n a k e d b a c k till s h e w a s literally covered with blood. N o w o r d s , no tears, no prayers, from his gory victim, s e e m e d to move his iron heart from its bloody p u r p o s e . T h e l o u d e r s h e s c r e a m e d , the harder he w h i p p e d ; a n d where the blood ran fastest, there he w h i p p e d longest. H e would whip her to m a k e her s c r e a m , a n d whip her to m a k e her h u s h ; a n d not until o v e r c o m e by f a t i g u e , would he c e a s e to swing the blood-clotted c o w s k i n . I r e m e m b e r the first time I ever w i t n e s s e d this horrible exhibition. I w a s quite a child, but I well r e m e m b e r it. I never shall forget it whilst I r e m e m b e r any thing. It w a s the first of a long series of s u c h o u t r a g e s , of which I w a s d o o m e d to be a witness a n d a participant. It s t r u c k m e with awful f o r c e . It w a s the b l o o d - s t a i n e d g a t e , the e n t r a n c e to the hell of slavery, t h r o u g h which I w a s a b o u t to p a s s . It w a s a m o s t terrible s p e c t a c l e . I wish I could c o m m i t to p a p e r the feelings with which I b e h e l d it. T h i s o c c u r r e n c e took p l a c e very s o o n after I went to live with my old m a s t e r , a n d u n d e r the following c i r c u m s t a n c e s . A u n t H e s t e r went out o n e n i g h t , — w h e r e or for what I do not k n o w , — a n d h a p p e n e d to be a b s e n t w h e n my m a s t e r desired her p r e s e n c e . H e h a d ordered her not to go out e v e n i n g s , a n d w a r n e d her that s h e m u s t never let him c a t c h her in c o m p a n y with a y o u n g m a n , w h o w a s paying attention to her, b e l o n g i n g to C o l o n e l Lloyd. T h e y o u n g m a n ' s n a m e w a s N e d R o b e r t s , generally called Lloyd's N e d . W h y m a s t e r w a s so careful of her, may be safely left to c o n j e c t u r e . S h e w a s a w o m a n of n o b l e form, a n d of graceful p r o p o r t i o n s , having very few e q u a l s , a n d fewer s u p e r i o r s , in personal a p p e a r a n c e , a m o n g the c o l o r e d or white w o m e n of o u r n e i g h b o r h o o d . Aunt H e s t e r h a d not only d i s o b e y e d his orders in g o i n g out, b u t h a d b e e n f o u n d in c o m p a n y with Lloyd's N e d ; which c i r c u m s t a n c e , I f o u n d , from what he said while w h i p p i n g her, w a s the c h i e f o f f e n c e . H a d h e b e e n a m a n of p u r e m o r a l s himself, he might have b e e n t h o u g h t i n t e r e s t e d in p r o t e c t i n g the i n n o c e n c e of my a u n t ; but t h o s e w h o knew him will not s u s p e c t him of any s u c h virtue. B e f o r e h e c o m m e n c e d w h i p p i n g A u n t H e s t e r , he t o o k her into the k i t c h e n , a n d stripped her from n e c k to waist, leaving her n e c k , 3. A whip m a d e of raw c o w h i d e .

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s h o u l d e r s , a n d back, entirely n a k e d . H e then told her to c r o s s her h a n d s , calling her at the s a m e time a d — d b — h . After c r o s s i n g her h a n d s , he tied them with a s t r o n g r o p e , a n d led her to a stool u n d e r a large h o o k in the joist, put in for the p u r p o s e . H e m a d e her get u p o n the stool, a n d tied her h a n d s to the hook. S h e now stood fair for his infernal p u r p o s e . H e r a r m s were stretched up at their full length, s o that s h e s t o o d u p o n the e n d s of her toes. H e then said to her, " N o w , you d — d b — h , I'll learn you how to disobey my o r d e r s ! " a n d after rolling u p his sleeves, he c o m m e n c e d to lay on the heavy cowskin, a n d soon the w a r m , red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from her, a n d horrid o a t h s from him) c a m e dripping to the floor. I w a s so terrified a n d horror-stricken at the sight, that I hid myself in a closet, a n d dared not v e n t u r e out till long after the bloody t r a n s a c t i o n w a s over. I expected it would be my turn next. It w a s all new to m e . I h a d never s e e n any thing like it before. I h a d always lived with my g r a n d m o t h e r on the outskirts of the plantation, where she w a s put to raise the children of the younger w o m e n . I h a d therefore b e e n , until now, o u t of the way of the bloody s c e n e s that often o c c u r r e d on the p l a n t a t i o n . *

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Chapter

* VI

My new m i s t r e s s proved to be all she a p p e a r e d w h e n I first m e t her at the d o o r , — a w o m a n of the kindest heart a n d finest feelings. S h e h a d never h a d a slave u n d e r her control previously to myself, a n d prior to her m a r r i a g e s h e had b e e n d e p e n d e n t upon her own industry for a living. S h e w a s by trade a weaver; a n d by c o n s t a n t application to her b u s i n e s s , s h e had b e e n in a g o o d d e g r e e preserved from the blighting a n d d e h u m a n i z i n g effects of slavery. I was utterly a s t o n i s h e d at her g o o d n e s s . I scarcely knew how to b e h a v e towards her. S h e w a s entirely unlike any other white w o m a n I h a d ever s e e n . I c o u l d not a p p r o a c h her a s I w a s a c c u s t o m e d to a p p r o a c h other white ladies. M y early instruction w a s all out of p l a c e . T h e c r o u c h i n g servility, usually so a c c e p t a b l e a quality in a slave, did not a n s w e r w h e n m a n i f e s t e d toward her. H e r favor w a s not g a i n e d by it; s h e s e e m e d to be d i s t u r b e d by it. S h e did not d e e m it i m p u d e n t or u n m a n n e r l y for a slave to look her in the f a c e . T h e m e a n e s t slave w a s put fully at e a s e in her p r e s e n c e , a n d n o n e left without feeling better for having s e e n her. H e r f a c e w a s m a d e of heavenly s m i l e s , a n d her voice of tranquil m u s i c . B u t , alas! this kind heart h a d but a short time to r e m a i n s u c h . T h e fatal p o i s o n of irresponsible p o w e r w a s already in her h a n d s , a n d s o o n c o m m e n c e d its infernal work. T h a t cheerful eye, u n d e r the influence of slavery, soon b e c a m e red with rage; that voice, m a d e all of sweet a c c o r d , c h a n g e d to o n e of harsh a n d horrid discord; a n d that angelic f a c e g a v e p l a c e to that of a demon. Very s o o n after I went to live with Mr. a n d M r s . Auld, s h e very kindly c o m m e n c e d to t e a c h m e the A, B, C . After I had learned this, she a s s i s t e d m e in learning to spell words of three or four letters. J u s t at this point of my p r o g r e s s , Mr. Auld found out what w a s g o i n g o n , a n d at o n c e f o r b a d e M r s . Auld to instruct m e further, telling her, a m o n g other things, that it w a s unlawful, a s well a s u n s a f e , to t e a c h a slave to r e a d . T o u s e his own w o r d s , further, he said, "If you give a nigger a n i n c h , he will take an ell. A nigger should know n o t h i n g but to obey his m a s t e r — t o do a s he is told to do.

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L e a r n i n g would spoil the b e s t nigger in the world. N o w , " s a i d h e , "if you t e a c h that nigger ( s p e a k i n g of myself) how to r e a d , t h e r e w o u l d b e n o k e e p i n g h i m . It would forever unfit him to b e a slave. H e w o u l d at o n c e b e c o m e u n m a n a g e a b l e , a n d of n o value to his m a s t e r . As to himself, it c o u l d d o h i m n o g o o d , but a great deal of h a r m . It would m a k e him d i s c o n t e n t e d a n d u n h a p p y . " T h e s e w o r d s s a n k d e e p into my heart, stirred u p s e n t i m e n t s within that lay s l u m b e r i n g , a n d called into existence a n entirely n e w train of t h o u g h t . It w a s a n e w a n d s p e c i a l revelation, explaining dark a n d m y s t e r i o u s things, with w h i c h my youthful u n d e r s t a n d i n g h a d s t r u g g l e d , b u t struggled in vain. I now u n d e r s t o o d what h a d b e e n to m e a m o s t perplexing difficulty— to wit, the white m a n ' s p o w e r to e n s l a v e the b l a c k m a n . It w a s a g r a n d a c h i e v e m e n t , a n d I prized it highly. F r o m that m o m e n t , I u n d e r s t o o d the p a t h w a y from slavery to f r e e d o m . It w a s j u s t w h a t I w a n t e d , a n d I got it at a time w h e n I the least e x p e c t e d it. W h i l s t I w a s s a d d e n e d by the t h o u g h t of losing the aid of my kind m i s t r e s s , I w a s g l a d d e n e d by the i n v a l u a b l e instruction w h i c h , by the m e r e s t a c c i d e n t , I h a d g a i n e d from my m a s t e r . T h o u g h c o n s c i o u s of the difficulty of l e a r n i n g without a t e a c h e r , I set o u t with high h o p e , a n d a fixed p u r p o s e , at w h a t e v e r c o s t of t r o u b l e , to learn how to r e a d . T h e very d e c i d e d m a n n e r with which he s p o k e , a n d strove to i m p r e s s his wife with the evil c o n s e q u e n c e s of giving m e i n s t r u c t i o n , served to c o n v i n c e m e that he w a s deeply s e n s i b l e of the truths he w a s uttering. It g a v e m e the b e s t a s s u r a n c e that I might rely with the u t m o s t c o n f i d e n c e o n the results which, h e said, would flow from t e a c h i n g m e to r e a d . W h a t h e m o s t d r e a d e d , that I m o s t d e s i r e d . W h a t he m o s t loved, that I m o s t h a t e d . T h a t which to him w a s a great evil, to be carefully s h u n n e d , w a s to m e a great g o o d , to b e diligently s o u g h t ; a n d the a r g u m e n t which h e s o warmly u r g e d , a g a i n s t my learning to r e a d , only served to inspire m e with a desire a n d d e t e r m i n a t i o n to learn. In learning to r e a d , I owe a l m o s t a s m u c h to the bitter o p p o s i t i o n of my m a s t e r , a s to the kindly aid of my m i s t r e s s . I a c k n o w l e d g e the benefit of both. I h a d r e s i d e d but a short time in B a l t i m o r e b e f o r e I o b s e r v e d a m a r k e d difference, in the t r e a t m e n t of slaves, from that which I h a d w i t n e s s e d in the country. A city slave is a l m o s t a f r e e m a n , c o m p a r e d with a slave on the p l a n t a t i o n . H e is m u c h better fed a n d c l o t h e d , a n d enjoys privileges altog e t h e r u n k n o w n to the slave on the p l a n t a t i o n . T h e r e is a vestige of d e c e n c y , a s e n s e of s h a m e , that d o e s m u c h to c u r b a n d c h e c k t h o s e o u t b r e a k s of a t r o c i o u s cruelty s o c o m m o n l y e n a c t e d u p o n the p l a n t a t i o n . H e is a despera t e slaveholder, w h o will s h o c k the h u m a n i t y of his n o n - s l a v e h o l d i n g neighb o r s with the cries of his l a c e r a t e d slave. F e w a r e willing to i n c u r the o d i u m a t t a c h i n g to the r e p u t a t i o n of b e i n g a cruel m a s t e r ; a n d a b o v e all things, they would not b e known a s not giving a slave e n o u g h to eat. Every city slaveholder is anxious to have it known of h i m , that h e f e e d s his slaves well; a n d it is d u e to t h e m to say, that m o s t of t h e m do give their slaves e n o u g h to eat. T h e r e a r e , however, s o m e painful e x c e p t i o n s to this rule. Directly o p p o s i t e to u s , on Philpot S t r e e t , lived M r . T h o m a s H a m i l t o n . H e o w n e d two s l a v e s . T h e i r n a m e s were H e n r i e t t a a n d M a r y . H e n r i e t t a w a s a b o u t twenty-two years of a g e , M a r y w a s a b o u t f o u r t e e n ; a n d of all the m a n g l e d a n d e m a c i a t e d c r e a t u r e s I ever looked u p o n , t h e s e two were the m o s t s o . H i s heart m u s t be harder than s t o n e , that c o u l d look u p o n t h e s e u n m o v e d . T h e h e a d , n e c k , a n d s h o u l d e r s of M a r y were literally c u t to p i e c e s . I have frequently felt her h e a d , a n d f o u n d it nearly c o v e r e d with festering s o r e s , c a u s e d

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by the lash of her cruel m i s t r e s s . I d o not know that her m a s t e r ever w h i p p e d her, but I have b e e n a n eye-witness to the cruelty of M r s . H a m i l t o n . I u s e d to be in Mr. H a m i l t o n ' s h o u s e nearly every day. M r s . H a m i l t o n u s e d to sit in a large chair in the m i d d l e of the r o o m , with a heavy cowskin always by her s i d e , a n d s c a r c e a n h o u r p a s s e d d u r i n g the day but w a s m a r k e d by the blood of o n e of t h e s e slaves. T h e girls s e l d o m p a s s e d her without her saying, " M o v e faster, you black gi-p!" at the s a m e time giving t h e m a blow with the cowskin over the h e a d or s h o u l d e r s , often d r a w i n g the b l o o d . S h e would then say, " T a k e that, you black gip!"—continuing, "If you don't m o v e faster, I'll m o v e y o u ! " A d d e d to the cruel lashings to which t h e s e slaves were s u b j e c t e d , they were kept nearly half-starved. T h e y s e l d o m knew what it w a s to eat a full m e a l . I have s e e n M a r y c o n t e n d i n g with the pigs for the offal thrown into the street. S o m u c h w a s Mary kicked a n d c u t to p i e c e s , that s h e w a s oftener called "pecked" than by her n a m e . Chapter

VII

I lived in M a s t e r H u g h ' s family a b o u t seven years. D u r i n g this t i m e , I s u c c e e d e d in learning to read a n d write. In a c c o m p l i s h i n g this, 1 w a s c o m pelled to resort to various s t r a t a g e m s . I h a d n o regular t e a c h e r . M y m i s t r e s s , who h a d kindly c o m m e n c e d to instruct m e , h a d , in c o m p l i a n c e with the advice a n d direction of her h u s b a n d , not only c e a s e d to instruct, but h a d set her f a c e a g a i n s t my b e i n g i n s t r u c t e d by any o n e e l s e . It is d u e , however, to my m i s t r e s s to say of her, that s h e did not a d o p t this c o u r s e of t r e a t m e n t immediately. S h e at first lacked the depravity i n d i s p e n s a b l e to s h u t t i n g m e u p in m e n t a l d a r k n e s s . It w a s at least n e c e s s a r y for her to have s o m e training in the exercise of irresponsible power, to m a k e her e q u a l to the t a s k of treating m e a s t h o u g h I were a b r u t e . M y m i s t r e s s w a s , a s I have said, a kind a n d t e n d e r - h e a r t e d w o m a n ; a n d in the simplicity of her soul s h e c o m m e n c e d , w h e n I first went to live with her, to treat m e as s h e s u p p o s e d o n e h u m a n b e i n g o u g h t to treat a n o t h e r . In e n t e r i n g u p o n the d u t i e s of a slaveholder, s h e did not s e e m to p e r c e i v e that I s u s t a i n e d to her the relation of a m e r e chattel, a n d that for her to treat m e as a h u m a n b e i n g w a s not only wrong, but d a n g e r o u s l y s o . Slavery proved as injurious to her a s it did to m e . W h e n I went there, s h e w a s a p i o u s , w a r m , a n d tender-hearted w o m a n . T h e r e w a s n o sorrow or suffering for which s h e h a d not a tear. S h e h a d b r e a d for the hungry, c l o t h e s for the n a k e d , a n d comfort for every m o u r n e r that c a m e within her r e a c h . Slavery s o o n proved its ability to divest her of t h e s e heavenly qualities. U n d e r its i n f l u e n c e , the tender heart b e c a m e s t o n e , a n d the Iamblike d i s p o s i t i o n gave way to o n e of tiger-like fierceness. T h e first s t e p in her d o w n w a r d c o u r s e w a s in her c e a s i n g to instruct m e . S h e n o w c o m m e n c e d to p r a c t i s e her h u s b a n d ' s p r e c e p t s . S h e finally b e c a m e even m o r e violent in her o p p o s i t i o n than her h u s b a n d himself. S h e w a s not satisfied with simply doing a s well a s he h a d c o m m a n d e d ; s h e s e e m e d anxious to do better. N o t h i n g s e e m e d to m a k e her m o r e angry than to see m e with a n e w s p a p e r . S h e s e e m e d to think that here lay the d a n g e r . I have h a d her r u s h at m e with a f a c e m a d e all u p of fury, a n d s n a t c h from m e a n e w s p a p e r , in a m a n n e r that fully revealed her a p p r e h e n s i o n . S h e w a s an apt w o m a n ; a n d a little e x p e r i e n c e s o o n d e m o n s t r a t e d , to her s a t i s f a c t i o n , that e d u c a t i o n a n d slavery were i n c o m p a t i b l e with e a c h other. F r o m this time I w a s m o s t narrowly w a t c h e d . If I w a s in a s e p a r a t e r o o m

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any c o n s i d e r a b l e length of t i m e , I w a s s u r e to be s u s p e c t e d of having a book, a n d w a s at o n c e called to give an a c c o u n t of myself. All this, however, w a s too late. T h e first step h a d b e e n taken. M i s t r e s s , in t e a c h i n g m e the a l p h a b e t , h a d given m e the inch, a n d no p r e c a u t i o n c o u l d prevent m e from taking the ell T h e plan which I a d o p t e d , a n d the o n e by which I was m o s t s u c c e s s f u l , w a s that of m a k i n g friends of all the little white boys w h o m I m e t in the street. A s many of t h e s e a s I c o u l d , I c o n v e r t e d into t e a c h e r s . With their kindly aid, o b t a i n e d at different times a n d in different p l a c e s , I finally s u c c e e d e d in learning to read. W h e n I w a s sent of e r r a n d s , I always took my b o o k with m e , a n d by g o i n g o n e part of my e r r a n d quickly, I f o u n d time to get a l e s s o n before my return. I u s e d a l s o to carry b r e a d with m e , e n o u g h of which w a s always in the h o u s e , a n d to which I w a s always w e l c o m e ; for I w a s m u c h better off in this regard than m a n y of the p o o r white children in our n e i g h b o r h o o d . T h i s bread I u s e d to bestow u p o n the hungry little u r c h i n s , who, in return, would give m e that m o r e v a l u a b l e b r e a d of knowle d g e . I a m strongly t e m p t e d to give the n a m e s of two or three of t h o s e little boys, a s a testimonial of the gratitude a n d affection I b e a r t h e m ; but prud e n c e f o r b i d s ; — n o t that it would injure m e , but it might e m b a r r a s s t h e m ; for it is a l m o s t a n u n p a r d o n a b l e offence to t e a c h slaves to read in this C h r i s tian country. It is e n o u g h to say of the d e a r little fellows, that they lived on Philpot S t r e e t , very near D u r g i n a n d Bailey's shipyard. I u s e d to talk this m a t t e r of slavery over with t h e m . I would s o m e t i m e s say to t h e m , I w i s h e d I c o u l d be as free a s they would be when they got to be m e n . "You will be free a s s o o n as you a r e twenty-one, but I am a slave for life! H a v e not I a s good a right to be free as you h a v e ? " T h e s e w o r d s u s e d to trouble t h e m ; they would express for m e the liveliest sympathy, a n d c o n s o l e m e with the h o p e that s o m e t h i n g would o c c u r by which I m i g h t be free. I w a s now a b o u t twelve years old, a n d the t h o u g h t of b e i n g a slave for life b e g a n to b e a r heavily u p o n my heart. J u s t a b o u t this t i m e , I got hold of a b o o k entitled " T h e C o l u m b i a n O r a t o r . " 4 Every opportunity I got, I u s e d to read this book. A m o n g m u c h of other interesting matter, I f o u n d in it a d i a l o g u e b e t w e e n a m a s t e r a n d his slave. T h e slave w a s r e p r e s e n t e d a s having run away from his m a s t e r three t i m e s . T h e d i a l o g u e r e p r e s e n t e d the conversation which took p l a c e b e t w e e n t h e m , w h e n the slave w a s retaken the third t i m e . In this d i a l o g u e , the whole a r g u m e n t in behalf of slavery w a s brought forward by the m a s t e r , all of which w a s d i s p o s e d of by the slave. T h e slave was m a d e to say s o m e very s m a r t a s well a s i m p r e s s i v e things in reply to his m a s t e r — t h i n g s which had the desired t h o u g h u n e x p e c t e d effect; for the conversation resulted in the voluntary e m a n c i p a t i o n of the slave on the part of the m a s t e r . In the s a m e book, I met with o n e of S h e r i d a n ' s 5 mighty s p e e c h e s on a n d in behalf of C a t h o l i c e m a n c i p a t i o n . T h e s e were c h o i c e d o c u m e n t s to m e . I read t h e m over a n d over again with u n a b a t e d interest. T h e y g a v e t o n g u e to interesting t h o u g h t s of my own soul, which had frequently flashed t h r o u g h my m i n d , a n d died away for want of u t t e r a n c e . T h e moral w h i c h I g a i n e d from the d i a l o g u e w a s the power of truth over the c o n s c i e n c e of even a 4. A popular collection of classic p o e m s , dialogues, plays, a n d s p e e c h e s that D o u g l a s s u s e d as a m o d e l for his o w n s p e e c h e s . " C o l u m b i a n " : A m e r -

ican. 5. R i c h a r d Brinsley S h e r i d a n ( 1 7 5 1 - 1 8 1 6 ) , Irish d r a m a t i s t and political leader.

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slaveholder. W h a t I got from S h e r i d a n w a s a bold d e n u n c i a t i o n of slavery, a n d a powerful vindication of h u m a n rights. T h e r e a d i n g of t h e s e d o c u m e n t s e n a b l e d m e to utter my t h o u g h t s , a n d to m e e t the a r g u m e n t s b r o u g h t forward to s u s t a i n slavery; b u t while they relieved m e of o n e difficulty, they b r o u g h t on a n o t h e r even m o r e painful t h a n the o n e of which I w a s relieved. T h e m o r e I r e a d , the m o r e I w a s led to a b h o r a n d detest my e n s l a v e r s . I c o u l d regard t h e m in no other light than a b a n d of s u c c e s s f u l r o b b e r s , w h o h a d left their h o m e s , a n d g o n e to Africa, a n d stolen u s from our h o m e s , a n d in a s t r a n g e land r e d u c e d u s to slavery. I l o a t h e d t h e m as b e i n g the m e a n e s t a s well a s the m o s t wicked of m e n . As I read a n d c o n t e m p l a t e d the s u b j e c t , behold! that very d i s c o n t e n t m e n t which M a s t e r H u g h h a d p r e d i c t e d would follow my learning to read h a d already c o m e , to t o r m e n t a n d sting my soul to u n u t t e r a b l e a n g u i s h . As I writhed u n d e r it, I w o u l d at t i m e s feel that learning to read h a d b e e n a c u r s e rather t h a n a b l e s s i n g . It h a d given m e a view of my w r e t c h e d c o n d i t i o n , without the r e m e d y . It o p e n e d my eyes to the horrible pit, but to no ladder u p o n which to get o u t . In m o m e n t s of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity. I have often w i s h e d myself a b e a s t . I preferred the condition of the m e a n e s t reptile to my own. Any thing, no m a t t e r w h a t , to get rid of thinking! It w a s this everlasting thinking of my condition that t o r m e n t e d m e . T h e r e w a s n o getting rid of it. It w a s p r e s s e d u p o n m e by every object within sight or h e a r i n g , a n i m a t e or i n a n i m a t e . T h e silver t r u m p of freedom h a d r o u s e d my s o u l to eternal wakef u l n e s s . F r e e d o m now a p p e a r e d , to d i s a p p e a r n o m o r e forever. It w a s h e a r d in every s o u n d , a n d s e e n in every thing. It w a s ever p r e s e n t to t o r m e n t m e with a s e n s e of my w r e t c h e d condition. I s a w n o t h i n g without s e e i n g it, I h e a r d n o t h i n g without h e a r i n g it, a n d felt n o t h i n g without feeling it. It looked from every star, it s m i l e d in every c a l m , b r e a t h e d in every wind, a n d m o v e d in every s t o r m . I often f o u n d myself regretting my own e x i s t e n c e , a n d w i s h i n g myself d e a d ; a n d but for the h o p e of b e i n g free, I have no d o u b t b u t that I s h o u l d have killed myself, or d o n e s o m e t h i n g for which I s h o u l d have b e e n killed. W h i l e in this state of m i n d , I w a s e a g e r to h e a r any o n e s p e a k of slavery. I w a s a ready listener. Every little while, I could h e a r s o m e t h i n g a b o u t the abolitionists. It w a s s o m e time b e f o r e I f o u n d what the word m e a n t . It w a s always u s e d in s u c h c o n n e c t i o n s a s to m a k e it a n interesting word to m e . If a slave ran away a n d s u c c e e d e d in getting clear, or if a slave killed his m a s t e r , set fire to a b a r n , or did any thing very w r o n g in the m i n d of a slaveholder, it w a s s p o k e n of a s the fruit of abolition. H e a r i n g the w o r d in this c o n n e c t i o n very often, I set a b o u t learning w h a t it m e a n t . T h e dictionary afforded m e little or no help. I f o u n d it w a s "the act o f a b o l i s h i n g ; " b u t then I did not know what w a s to b e a b o l i s h e d . H e r e I w a s p e r p l e x e d . I did not d a r e to a s k any o n e a b o u t its m e a n i n g , for I w a s satisfied that it w a s s o m e t h i n g they w a n t e d m e to know very little a b o u t . After a patient waiting, I got o n e of our city p a p e r s , c o n t a i n i n g a n a c c o u n t of the n u m b e r of petitions from the north, praying for the abolition of slavery in the District of C o l u m b i a , a n d of the slave trade b e t w e e n the S t a t e s . F r o m this time I u n d e r s t o o d the w o r d s abolition a n d abolitionist, a n d always drew n e a r w h e n that word w a s s p o k e n , expecting to h e a r s o m e t h i n g of i m p o r t a n c e to myself a n d fellow-slaves. T h e light broke in u p o n m e by d e g r e e s . I went o n e day d o w n o n the w h a r f of M r . W a t e r s ; a n d s e e i n g two I r i s h m e n u n l o a d i n g a s c o w of s t o n e , I went, u n a s k e d ,

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a n d helped t h e m . W h e n we had finished, o n e of t h e m c a m e to m e a n d a s k e d m e if I were a slave. 1 told him I w a s . H e a s k e d , "Are ye a slave for life?" I told him that I w a s . T h e g o o d I r i s h m a n s e e m e d to be deeply affected by the s t a t e m e n t . H e said to the other that it w a s a pity s o fine a little fellow a s myself s h o u l d be a slave for life. H e said it w a s a s h a m e to hold m e . T h e y both advised m e to run away to the north; that I s h o u l d find friends t h e r e , a n d that I s h o u l d be free. I p r e t e n d e d not to b e interested in what they s a i d , a n d treated t h e m a s if I did not u n d e r s t a n d t h e m ; for I feared they might be t r e a c h e r o u s . W h i t e m e n have b e e n k n o w n to e n c o u r a g e slaves to e s c a p e , a n d t h e n , to get the reward, c a t c h t h e m a n d return t h e m to their m a s t e r s . I w a s afraid that t h e s e seemingly g o o d m e n might u s e m e s o ; but I nevertheless r e m e m b e r e d their advice, a n d from that time I resolved to run away. I looked forward to a time at which it w o u l d be s a f e for m e to e s c a p e . I w a s too y o u n g to think of d o i n g so immediately; b e s i d e s , I w i s h e d to learn how to write, as I might have o c c a s i o n to write my own p a s s . I c o n s o l e d myself with the h o p e that I s h o u l d o n e day find a good c h a n c e . M e a n w h i l e , I would learn to write. T h e idea as to how I might learn to write w a s s u g g e s t e d to m e by b e i n g in D u r g i n a n d Bailey's ship-yard, a n d frequently s e e i n g the ship c a r p e n t e r s , after hewing, a n d getting a p i e c e of timber ready for u s e , write on the timber the n a m e of that part of the ship for which it w a s i n t e n d e d . W h e n a p i e c e of timber w a s i n t e n d e d for the larboard s i d e , it w o u l d be m a r k e d t h u s — " L . " W h e n a p i e c e w a s for the s t a r b o a r d s i d e , it w o u l d be m a r k e d t h u s — " S . " A p i e c e for the larboard side forward, would be m a r k e d t h u s — " L . F . " W h e n a p i e c e w a s for s t a r b o a r d side forward, it would be m a r k e d t h u s — " S . F . " F o r larboard aft, it would be m a r k e d t h u s — " L . A . " F o r s t a r b o a r d aft, it would be m a r k e d t h u s — " S . A . " I s o o n learned the n a m e s of t h e s e letters, a n d for what they were i n t e n d e d w h e n p l a c e d u p o n a p i e c e of t i m b e r in the ship-yard. I immediately c o m m e n c e d copying t h e m , a n d in a short time w a s a b l e to m a k e the four letters n a m e d . After that, w h e n I met with any boy w h o I knew c o u l d write, I would tell him I c o u l d write a s well a s h e . T h e next word would b e , "I don't believe you. L e t m e s e e you try it." I w o u l d then m a k e the letters which I h a d b e e n s o f o r t u n a t e a s to learn, a n d a s k him to beat that. In this way I got a g o o d m a n y l e s s o n s in writing, which it is q u i t e p o s s i b l e I s h o u l d never have gotten in any other way. D u r i n g this t i m e , my copy-book w a s the board f e n c e , brick wall, a n d p a v e m e n t ; my p e n a n d ink w a s a l u m p of chalk. With t h e s e , I learned mainly how to write. I then c o m m e n c e d a n d c o n t i n u e d copying the Italics in W e b s t e r ' s S p e l l i n g B o o k , until I c o u l d m a k e t h e m all without looking on the b o o k . By this t i m e , my little M a s t e r T h o m a s h a d g o n e to s c h o o l , a n d l e a r n e d how to write, a n d h a d written over a n u m b e r of copyb o o k s . T h e s e h a d b e e n b r o u g h t h o m e , a n d s h o w n to s o m e of our near neighb o r s , a n d then laid a s i d e . M y m i s t r e s s u s e d to g o to c l a s s m e e t i n g at the Wilk Street m e e t i n g h o u s e every M o n d a y a f t e r n o o n , a n d leave m e to take c a r e of the h o u s e . W h e n left t h u s , I u s e d to s p e n d the time in writing in the s p a c e s left in M a s t e r T h o m a s ' s copy-book, c o p y i n g w h a t he h a d written. I c o n t i n u e d to do this until I could write a h a n d very similar to that of M a s t e r T h o m a s . T h u s , after a long, t e d i o u s effort for years, I finally s u c c e e d e d in l e a r n i n g how to write.

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I have now r e a c h e d a period of my life w h e n I c a n give d a t e s . I left Baltimore, a n d went to live with M a s t e r T h o m a s Auld, at S t . M i c h a e l ' s , in M a r c h , 1 8 3 2 . It w a s now m o r e than seven years s i n c e I lived with him in the family of my old m a s t e r , on C o l o n e l Lloyd's p l a n t a t i o n . W e of c o u r s e were now a l m o s t entire s t r a n g e r s to e a c h other. H e w a s to m e a n e w m a s t e r , a n d I to him a new slave. I w a s ignorant of his t e m p e r a n d d i s p o s i t i o n ; he was equally s o of m i n e . A very short t i m e , however b r o u g h t u s into full a c q u a i n t a n c e with e a c h other. I was m a d e a c q u a i n t e d with his wife not less than with himself. T h e y were well m a t c h e d , b e i n g equally m e a n a n d cruel. I w a s now, for the first time d u r i n g a s p a c e of m o r e than seven years, m a d e to feel the painful g n a w i n g s of h u n g e r — a s o m e t h i n g which I h a d not experienced before s i n c e I left C o l o n e l Lloyd's p l a n t a t i o n . It went hard e n o u g h with m e t h e n , w h e n I c o u l d look b a c k to n o period at which I h a d enjoyed a sufficiency. It w a s tenfold harder after living in M a s t e r H u g h ' s family, w h e r e I had always h a d e n o u g h to eat, a n d of that which w a s g o o d . I have said M a s t e r T h o m a s w a s a m e a n m a n . H e w a s s o . N o t to give a slave e n o u g h to e a t , is r e g a r d e d a s the m o s t a g g r a v a t e d d e v e l o p m e n t of m e a n n e s s even a m o n g slaveholders. T h e rule is, no m a t t e r how c o a r s e the food, only let there be e n o u g h of it. T h i s is the theory; a n d in the part of M a r y l a n d from which I c a m e , it is the general p r a c t i c e , — t h o u g h there a r e m a n y e x c e p t i o n s . M a s t e r T h o m a s gave u s e n o u g h of neither c o a r s e nor fine food. T h e r e were four slaves of u s in the k i t c h e n — m y sister Eliza, my a u n t Priscilla, H e n n y , a n d myself; a n d we were allowed less than half of a b u s h e l of c o r n m e a l per week, a n d very little e l s e , either in the s h a p e of m e a t or v e g e t a b l e s . It w a s not e n o u g h for u s to s u b s i s t u p o n . W e were therefore r e d u c e d to the w r e t c h e d necessity of living at the e x p e n s e of our n e i g h b o r s . T h i s we did by b e g g i n g a n d stealing, whichever c a m e handy in the time of n e e d , the o n e being c o n s i d e r e d a s legitimate as the other. A great m a n y t i m e s have we p o o r c r e a t u r e s b e e n nearly p e r i s h i n g with h u n g e r , w h e n food in a b u n d a n c e lay m o u l d e r i n g in the s a f e a n d s m o k e - h o u s e , 6 a n d o u r p i o u s m i s t r e s s w a s a w a r e of the fact; a n d yet that m i s t r e s s a n d her h u s b a n d would kneel every m o r n i n g , a n d pray that G o d would bless t h e m in basket a n d store! B a d a s all slaveholders a r e , we s e l d o m m e e t o n e d e s t i t u t e of every e l e m e n t of c h a r a c t e r c o m m a n d i n g r e s p e c t . M y m a s t e r w a s o n e of this rare sort. I d o not know of o n e single noble act ever p e r f o r m e d by h i m . T h e l e a d i n g trait in his c h a r a c t e r was m e a n n e s s ; a n d if there were any other e l e m e n t in his n a t u r e , it was m a d e s u b j e c t to this. H e w a s m e a n ; a n d , like m o s t other m e a n m e n , he lacked the ability to c o n c e a l his m e a n n e s s . C a p t a i n A u l d w a s not born a slaveholder. H e h a d b e e n a poor m a n , m a s t e r only of a Bay craft. H e c a m e into p o s s e s s i o n of all his slaves by m a r r i a g e ; a n d of all m e n , a d o p t e d slaveholders a r e the worst. H e w a s cruel, but cowardly. H e c o m m a n d e d without firmness. In the e n f o r c e m e n t of his rules he w a s at times rigid, a n d at times lax. At t i m e s , h e s p o k e to his slaves with the firmness of N a p o l e o n a n d the fury of a d e m o n ; at other t i m e s , he might well be m i s t a k e n for an inquirer w h o h a d lost his way. H e did n o t h i n g of himself. H e might have p a s s e d for

6.

U s e d b o t h t o c u r e a n d t o s t o r e m e a t a n d fish. " S a f e " : a m e a t s a f e is a s t r u c t u r e f o r p r e s e r v i n g f o o d .

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a lion, but for his e a r s . 7 In all things n o b l e which he a t t e m p t e d , his own m e a n n e s s s h o n e m o s t c o n s p i c u o u s . H i s airs, w o r d s , a n d a c t i o n s , were the airs, w o r d s , a n d a c t i o n s of born s l a v e h o l d e r s , a n d , b e i n g a s s u m e d , w e r e awkward e n o u g h . H e w a s not even a g o o d imitator. H e p o s s e s s e d all the d i s p o sition to d e c e i v e , b u t w a n t e d the power. H a v i n g n o r e s o u r c e s within himself, he w a s c o m p e l l e d to b e the copyist of m a n y , a n d b e i n g s u c h , h e w a s forever the victim of i n c o n s i s t e n c y ; a n d of c o n s e q u e n c e h e w a s a n object of cont e m p t , a n d w a s held a s s u c h even by his s l a v e s . T h e luxury of having slaves of his own to wait u p o n him w a s s o m e t h i n g new a n d u n p r e p a r e d for. H e w a s a slaveholder without the ability to hold s l a v e s . H e f o u n d h i m s e l f i n c a p a b l e of m a n a g i n g his slaves either by force, fear, or f r a u d . W e s e l d o m called him " m a s t e r ; " we generally called him " C a p t a i n A u l d , " a n d were hardly d i s p o s e d to title him at all. I d o u b t not that our c o n d u c t h a d m u c h to d o with m a k i n g him a p p e a r awkward, a n d of c o n s e q u e n c e fretful. O u r want of r e v e r e n c e for him m u s t have perplexed him greatly. H e w i s h e d to have u s call h i m m a s t e r , b u t lacked the firmness n e c e s s a r y to c o m m a n d u s to do s o . H i s wife u s e d to insist u p o n our calling him s o , but to n o p u r p o s e . In A u g u s t , 1 8 3 2 , my m a s t e r a t t e n d e d a M e t h o d i s t c a m p - m e e t i n g held in the B a y - s i d e , T a l b o t county, a n d there e x p e r i e n c e d religion. I i n d u l g e d a faint h o p e that his c o n v e r s i o n would lead him to e m a n c i p a t e his slaves, a n d that, if h e did not do this, it w o u l d , at any rate, m a k e him m o r e kind a n d h u m a n e . I w a s d i s a p p o i n t e d in both t h e s e r e s p e c t s . It neither m a d e him to b e h u m a n e to his slaves, nor to e m a n c i p a t e t h e m . If it h a d any effect o n his c h a r a c t e r , it m a d e him m o r e cruel a n d hateful in all his ways; for I believe h i m to have b e e n a m u c h w o r s e m a n after his conversion than b e f o r e . Prior to his c o n v e r s i o n , h e relied u p o n his own depravity to shield a n d s u s t a i n him in his s a v a g e barbarity; b u t after his c o n v e r s i o n , h e f o u n d religious s a n c t i o n a n d s u p p o r t for his s l a v e h o l d i n g cruelty. H e m a d e the g r e a t e s t p r e t e n s i o n s to piety. His h o u s e w a s the h o u s e of prayer. H e prayed m o r n i n g , n o o n , a n d night. H e very s o o n d i s t i n g u i s h e d himself a m o n g his b r e t h r e n , a n d w a s s o o n m a d e a c l a s s - l e a d e r a n d exhorter. His activity in revivals w a s great, a n d h e p r o v e d himself a n i n s t r u m e n t in the h a n d s of the c h u r c h in converting m a n y s o u l s . H i s h o u s e w a s the p r e a c h e r s ' h o m e . T h e y u s e d to take great p l e a s u r e in c o m i n g there to p u t u p ; for while he starved u s , h e stuffed t h e m . W e have h a d three or four p r e a c h e r s t h e r e at a t i m e . T h e n a m e s of t h o s e w h o u s e d to c o m e m o s t frequently while I lived t h e r e , were M r . S t o r k s , M r . Ewery, Mr. H u m p h r y , a n d M r . Hickey. I have a l s o s e e n M r . G e o r g e C o o k m a n at our h o u s e . W e slaves loved M r . C o o k m a n . W e believed him to be a g o o d m a n . W e t h o u g h t him i n s t r u m e n t a l in getting Mr. S a m u e l H a r r i s o n , a very rich slaveholder, to e m a n c i p a t e his slaves; a n d by s o m e m e a n s got the i m p r e s s i o n that h e w a s laboring to effect the e m a n c i p a t i o n of all the s l a v e s . W h e n h e w a s at our h o u s e , w e were s u r e to b e called in to prayers. W h e n the o t h e r s were t h e r e , we were s o m e t i m e s called in a n d s o m e t i m e s not. M r . C o o k m a n took m o r e notice of u s t h a n either of the other m i n i s t e r s . H e c o u l d not c o m e a m o n g u s with betraying his s y m p a t h y for u s , a n d , stupid a s we w e r e , w e h a d the s a g a c i t y to s e e it. W h i l e I lived with my m a s t e r in S t . M i c h a e l ' s , there w a s a white y o u n g m a n , a M r . W i l s o n , w h o p r o p o s e d to keep a S a b b a t h s c h o o l for the instruc7. A m o c k i n g c o m m e n t a r y o n h i s m a s t e r ' s i n a u t h e n t i c d i s p l a y o f n o b i l i t y a n d s t r e n g t h , w h i c h c a n e a s i l y b e seen to disguise m e a n n e s s a n d w e a k n e s s .

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tion of s u c h slaves a s might be d i s p o s e d to learn to read the N e w T e s t a m e n t . W e m e t but three t i m e s , w h e n Mr. W e s t a n d Mr. F a i r b a n k s , both c l a s s l e a d e r s , with m a n y o t h e r s , c a m e u p o n u s with sticks a n d other m i s s i l e s , drove u s off, a n d f o r b a d e u s to m e e t a g a i n . T h u s e n d e d our little S a b b a t h school in the p i o u s town of S t . M i c h a e l ' s . I have said my m a s t e r f o u n d religious s a n c t i o n for his cruelty. A s an example, I will state o n e of m a n y facts g o i n g to prove the c h a r g e . I have s e e n him tie up a l a m e y o u n g w o m a n , a n d whip her with a heavy c o w s k i n u p o n her naked s h o u l d e r s , c a u s i n g the w a r m red blood to drip; a n d , in justification of the bloody d e e d , h e would q u o t e this p a s s a g e of S c r i p t u r e — " H e that knoweth his m a s t e r ' s will, a n d d o e t h it not, shall be b e a t e n with m a n y s t r i p e s . " 8 M a s t e r would k e e p this l a c e r a t e d y o u n g w o m a n tied u p in this horrid situation four or five h o u r s at a t i m e . I have known him to tie her u p early in the m o r n i n g , a n d whip her before b r e a k f a s t ; leave her, go to his s t o r e , return at dinner, a n d whip her a g a i n , c u t t i n g her in the p l a c e s already m a d e raw with his cruel lash. T h e secret of m a s t e r ' s cruelty toward " H e n n y " is found in the fact of her b e i n g a l m o s t h e l p l e s s . W h e n q u i t e a child, s h e fell into the fire, a n d b u r n e d herself horribly. H e r h a n d s were s o b u r n t that s h e never got the u s e of t h e m . S h e c o u l d do very little b u t b e a r heavy b u r d e n s . S h e was to m a s t e r a bill of e x p e n s e ; a n d a s he w a s a m e a n m a n , s h e w a s a c o n s t a n t offence to h i m . H e s e e m e d d e s i r o u s of getting the p o o r girl o u t of e x i s t e n c e . H e gave her away o n c e to his sister; b u t , b e i n g a p o o r gift, s h e w a s not d i s p o s e d to keep her. Finally, my benevolent m a s t e r , to u s e his own words, "set her adrift to take c a r e of herself." H e r e w a s a recently-converted m a n , holding on u p o n the m o t h e r , a n d at the s a m e time t u r n i n g out her helpless child, to starve a n d die! M a s t e r T h o m a s w a s o n e of the m a n y p i o u s slaveholders w h o hold slaves for the very c h a r i t a b l e p u r p o s e of taking c a r e of t h e m . M y m a s t e r a n d myself h a d q u i t e a n u m b e r of d i f f e r e n c e s . H e f o u n d m e u n s u i t a b l e to his p u r p o s e . M y city life, he s a i d , h a d h a d a very p e r n i c i o u s effect u p o n m e . It h a d a l m o s t ruined m e for every g o o d p u r p o s e , a n d fitted m e for every thing which w a s b a d . O n e of my g r e a t e s t faults w a s that of letting his h o r s e run away, a n d go down to his father-in-law's f a r m , w h i c h w a s a b o u t five miles from S t . M i c h a e l ' s . I would then have to go after it. M y r e a s o n for this kind of c a r e l e s s n e s s , or c a r e f u l n e s s , w a s , that I c o u l d always get s o m e t h i n g to eat w h e n I went there. M a s t e r William H a m i l t o n , my m a s ter's father-in-law, always g a v e his slaves e n o u g h to eat. I never left there hungry, n o m a t t e r how great the n e e d of my s p e e d y return. M a s t e r T h o m a s at length said h e would s t a n d it no longer. I had lived with him nine m o n t h s , d u r i n g which time h e h a d given m e a n u m b e r of severe w h i p p i n g s , all to no g o o d p u r p o s e . H e resolved to put m e o u t , a s he said, to b e b r o k e n ; a n d , for this p u r p o s e , h e let m e for o n e year to a m a n n a m e d E d w a r d Covey. M r . C o v e y w a s a p o o r m a n , a farm-renter. H e rented the p l a c e u p o n which he lived, a s a l s o the h a n d s with which he tilled it. M r . C o v e y h a d a c q u i r e d a very high reputation for b r e a k i n g y o u n g slaves, a n d this r e p u t a t i o n w a s of i m m e n s e value to h i m . It e n a b l e d him to get his farm tilled with m u c h less e x p e n s e to himself than he c o u l d have h a d it d o n e without s u c h a r e p u t a t i o n . 8. L u k e 1 2 . 4 7 . O n l y t h o s e o f h i s s e r v a n t s w h o h a v e a n u n e n d i n g faith in C h r i s t a r e s a f e f r o m all o p p o s i n g f o r c e s in t h e i r l i v e s .

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S o m e slaveholders t h o u g h t it not m u c h loss to allow M r . C o v e y to have their slaves o n e year, for the s a k e of training to which they were s u b j e c t e d , without any other c o m p e n s a t i o n . H e could hire y o u n g help with great e a s e , in c o n s e q u e n c e of this r e p u t a t i o n . A d d e d to the natural g o o d qualities of M r . Covey, he w a s a p r o f e s s o r of r e l i g i o n — a p i o u s s o u l — a m e m b e r a n d a c l a s s leader in the M e t h o d i s t c h u r c h . All of this a d d e d weight to his r e p u t a t i o n a s a "nigger-breaker." I w a s a w a r e of all the facts, having b e e n m a d e a c q u a i n t e d with t h e m by a y o u n g m a n who h a d lived t h e r e . I n e v e r t h e l e s s m a d e the c h a n g e gladly; for I w a s s u r e of getting e n o u g h to e a t , which is not the smallest c o n s i d e r a t i o n to a hungry m a n . Chapter

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I left M a s t e r T h o m a s ' s h o u s e , a n d went to live with Mr. C o v e y , on the 1st of J a n u a r y , 1 8 3 3 . I w a s now, for the first time in my life, a field h a n d . In my new e m p l o y m e n t , I f o u n d myself even m o r e awkward than a country boy a p p e a r e d to be in a large city. I h a d b e e n at my new h o m e but o n e w e e k before M r . C o v e y g a v e m e a very severe w h i p p i n g , c u t t i n g my b a c k , c a u s i n g the b l o o d to r u n , a n d raising ridges on my flesh a s large a s my little finger. T h e details of this affair are a s follows: M r . C o v e y sent m e , very early in the m o r n i n g of o n e of our coldest days in the m o n t h of J a n u a r y , to the w o o d s , to get a load of w o o d . H e gave m e a t e a m of u n b r o k e n oxen. H e told m e which w a s the in-hand ox, a n d which the off-hand o n e . 9 H e then tied the end of a large rope a r o u n d the h o r n s of the in-hand-ox, a n d gave m e the other end of it, a n d told m e , if the oxen started to r u n , that I m u s t hold on u p o n the rope. I h a d never driven oxen b e f o r e , a n d of c o u r s e I w a s very awkward. I, however, s u c c e e d e d in g e t t i n g to the e d g e of the w o o d s with little difficulty; but I h a d got a very few rods into the w o o d s , w h e n the oxen took fright, a n d started full tilt, carrying the cart a g a i n s t trees, a n d over s t u m p s , in the m o s t frightful m a n n e r . I e x p e c t e d every m o m e n t that my brains w o u l d be d a s h e d o u t a g a i n s t the trees. After r u n n i n g t h u s for a c o n siderable d i s t a n c e , they finally u p s e t the cart, d a s h i n g it with great force a g a i n s t a tree, a n d threw t h e m s e l v e s into a d e n s e thicket. H o w I e s c a p e d d e a t h , I d o not know. T h e r e I w a s , entirely a l o n e , in a thick w o o d , in a p l a c e new to m e . My cart w a s u p s e t a n d s h a t t e r e d , my oxen were e n t a n g l e d a m o n g the y o u n g t r e e s , a n d there w a s n o n e to help m e . After a l o n g spell of effort, I s u c c e e d e d in getting my cart righted, my oxen d i s e n t a n g l e d , a n d again yoked to the cart. I now p r o c e e d e d with my t e a m to the p l a c e w h e r e 1 h a d , the day b e f o r e , b e e n c h o p p i n g w o o d , a n d l o a d e d my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this way to t a m e my oxen. I then p r o c e e d e d on my way h o m e . I h a d now c o n s u m e d o n e half of the day. I got out of the w o o d s safely, a n d now felt o u t of d a n g e r . I s t o p p e d my oxen to o p e n the w o o d s g a t e ; a n d j u s t a s I did s o , before I c o u l d get hold of my ox-rope, the oxen again started, r u s h e d t h r o u g h the g a t e , c a t c h i n g it b e t w e e n the wheel a n d the b o d y of the cart, tearing it to p i e c e s , a n d c o m i n g within a few i n c h e s of c r u s h i n g m e a g a i n s t the g a t e - p o s t . T h u s twice, in o n e short day, I e s c a p e d d e a t h by the m e r e s t c h a n c e . O n my return, I told Mr. C o v e y w h a t h a d h a p p e n e d , a n d how it h a p p e n e d . H e o r d e r e d m e to return to the w o o d s again i m m e d i a t e l y . I did 9 . T h e o n e o n t h e r i g h t op a p a i r h i t c h e d t o a w a g o n . " I n - h a n d o x " : t h e o n e t o t h e left.

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so, a n d he followed on after m e . J u s t a s I got into the w o o d s , he c a m e u p and told m e to s t o p my cart, a n d that he would t e a c h m e how to trifle away my t i m e , a n d b r e a k g a t e s . H e then went to a large g u m - t r e e , a n d with his axe cut three large s w i t c h e s , a n d , after t r i m m i n g t h e m u p neatly with his pocket-knife, he ordered m e to take off my c l o t h e s . I m a d e him no a n s w e r , but stood with my c l o t h e s on. H e r e p e a t e d his order. I still m a d e him n o answer, nor did I m o v e to strip myself. U p o n this he r u s h e d at m e with the fierceness of a tiger, tore off my c l o t h e s , a n d l a s h e d m e till he h a d worn o u t his s w i t c h e s , c u t t i n g m e s o savagely as to leave the m a r k s visible for a long time after. T h i s w h i p p i n g was the first of a n u m b e r j u s t like it, a n d for similar offences. I lived with Mr. C o v e y o n e year. D u r i n g the first six m o n t h s , of that year, s c a r c e a week p a s s e d without his whipping m e . I w a s s e l d o m free from a sore back. My a w k w a r d n e s s w a s a l m o s t always his e x c u s e for w h i p p i n g m e . W e were worked fully u p to the point of e n d u r a n c e . L o n g before day we were u p , our horses fed, a n d by the first a p p r o a c h of day we were off to the field with our h o e s a n d p l o u g h i n g t e a m s . Mr. C o v e y gave us e n o u g h to eat, but s c a r c e time to eat it. W e were often less than five m i n u t e s taking o u r m e a l s . W e were often in the field from the first a p p r o a c h of day till its last lingering ray had left u s ; a n d at saving-fodder t i m e , midnight often c a u g h t u s in the field b i n d i n g b l a d e s . 1 C o v e y would be o u t with u s . T h e way h e u s e d to s t a n d it, w a s this. H e would s p e n d the m o s t of his afternoons in bed. H e would then c o m e out fresh in the evening, ready to urge u s on with his w o r d s , e x a m p l e , a n d frequently with the whip. M r . C o v e y was o n e of the few slaveholders w h o c o u l d a n d did work with his h a n d s . H e w a s a hard-working m a n . H e knew by himself j u s t what a m a n or a boy c o u l d d o . T h e r e w a s no d e c e i v i n g him. His work went on in his a b s e n c e a l m o s t as well a s in his p r e s e n c e ; a n d h e h a d the faculty of m a k i n g u s feel that he w a s ever p r e s e n t with u s . T h i s he did by surprising u s . H e s e l d o m a p p r o a c h e d the spot w h e r e we were at work openly, if he could d o it secretly. H e always a i m e d at taking us by s u r p r i s e . S u c h w a s his c u n n i n g , that we u s e d to call him, a m o n g o u r s e l v e s , " t h e s n a k e . " W h e n we were at work in the cornfield, he would s o m e t i m e s crawl on his h a n d s a n d knees to avoid d e t e c t i o n , a n d all at o n c e h e would rise nearly in our midst, a n d s c r e a m o u t , " H a , ha! C o m e , c o m e ! D a s h o n , d a s h o n ! " T h i s being his m o d e of attack, it w a s never s a f e to s t o p a single m i n u t e . His c o m i n g s were like a thief in the night. H e a p p e a r e d to u s a s being ever at h a n d . H e was u n d e r every tree, b e h i n d every s t u m p , in every b u s h , a n d at every window, on the p l a n t a t i o n . H e would s o m e t i m e s m o u n t his h o r s e , a s if b o u n d to S t . M i c h a e l ' s , a d i s t a n c e of seven miles, a n d in half a n h o u r afterwards you would s e e him coiled up in the c o r n e r of the w o o d - f e n c e , w a t c h i n g every m o t i o n of the slaves. H e w o u l d , for this p u r p o s e , leave his horse tied u p in the w o o d s . Again, he would s o m e t i m e s walk u p to u s , a n d give u s orders a s t h o u g h he w a s u p o n the point of starting on a long j o u r n e y , turn his b a c k u p o n u s , and m a k e a s t h o u g h h e w a s g o i n g to the h o u s e to get ready; a n d , before he would get half way thither, he would turn short a n d crawl into a fence-corner, or b e h i n d s o m e tree, a n d t h e r e w a t c h u s till the g o i n g down of the s u n . 1.

I.e., of w h e a t or o t h e r p l a n t s . " S a v i n g - f o d d e r t i m e " : harvest t i m e .

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M r . Covey's forte c o n s i s t e d in his power to d e c e i v e . H i s life w a s d e v o t e d to p l a n n i n g a n d p e r p e t r a t i n g the g r o s s e s t d e c e p t i o n s . Every thing he p o s s e s s e d in the s h a p e of learning or religion, he m a d e c o n f o r m to his disposition to deceive. H e s e e m e d to think h i m s e l f e q u a l to d e c e i v i n g the Almighty. H e w o u l d m a k e a short prayer in the m o r n i n g , a n d a long prayer at night; a n d , s t r a n g e a s it m a y s e e m , few m e n would at t i m e s a p p e a r m o r e devotional than h e . T h e exercises of his family devotions were always c o m m e n c e d with singing; a n d , a s h e w a s a very p o o r singer himself, the duty of raising the hymn generally c a m e u p o n m e . H e w o u l d read his h y m n , a n d n o d at m e to c o m m e n c e . I would at times d o s o ; at o t h e r s , I w o u l d not. M y n o n c o m p l i a n c e would a l m o s t always p r o d u c e m u c h c o n f u s i o n . T o s h o w h i m s e l f i n d e p e n d e n t of m e , h e would start a n d stagger t h r o u g h with his hymn in the m o s t d i s c o r d a n t m a n n e r . In this s t a t e of m i n d , h e prayed with m o r e t h a n ordinary spirit. P o o r m a n ! s u c h w a s his d i s p o s i t i o n , a n d s u c c e s s at deceiving, I do verily believe that h e s o m e t i m e s d e c e i v e d h i m s e l f into the s o l e m n belief, that he w a s a s i n c e r e w o r s h i p e r of the m o s t high G o d ; a n d this, t o o , at a time w h e n he m a y b e said to have b e e n guilty of c o m p e l l i n g his w o m a n slave to c o m m i t the sin of adultery. T h e facts in the c a s e are t h e s e : M r . C o v e y w a s a p o o r m a n ; he w a s j u s t c o m m e n c i n g in life; h e w a s only able to buy o n e slave; a n d , s h o c k i n g a s is the fact, h e b o u g h t her, a s h e s a i d , for a breeder. T h i s w o m a n w a s n a m e d C a r o l i n e . M r . C o v e y b o u g h t her from M r . T h o m a s L o w e , a b o u t six m i l e s from S t . M i c h a e l ' s . S h e w a s a large, able-bodied w o m a n , a b o u t twenty years old. S h e h a d already given birth to o n e child, which proved her to b e j u s t what h e w a n t e d . After b u y i n g her, h e hired a married m a n of M r . S a m u e l H a r r i s o n , to live with him o n e year; a n d him he u s e d to fasten u p with her every night! T h e result w a s , that, at the e n d of the year, the m i s e r a b l e w o m a n gave birth to twins. At this result M r . C o v e y s e e m e d to be highly p l e a s e d , both with the m a n a n d the w r e t c h e d w o m a n . S u c h w a s his joy, a n d that of his wife, that n o t h i n g they c o u l d d o for C a r o l i n e d u r i n g her c o n f i n e m e n t w a s too g o o d , or too h a r d , to b e d o n e . T h e children were r e g a r d e d a s b e i n g q u i t e a n addition to his w e a l t h . If at any o n e time of my life m o r e than a n o t h e r , I w a s m a d e to drink the bitterest dregs of slavery, that time w a s d u r i n g the first six m o n t h s of my stay with M r . Covey. W e w e r e worked in all w e a t h e r s . It w a s never too hot or too cold; it c o u l d never rain, blow, hail, or s n o w , too hard for u s to work in the field. Work, work, work, w a s scarcely m o r e the order of the day than of the night. T h e l o n g e s t days were t o o short for him, a n d the s h o r t e s t nights too long for h i m . I w a s s o m e w h a t u n m a n a g e a b l e w h e n I first went there, but a few m o n t h s of this discipline t a m e d m e . M r . C o v e y s u c c e e d e d in b r e a k i n g m e . I w a s broken in body, soul, a n d spirit. M y n a t u r a l elasticity w a s c r u s h e d , my intellect l a n g u i s h e d , the d i s p o s i t i o n to read d e p a r t e d , the cheerful s p a r k that lingered a b o u t my eye d i e d ; the dark night of slavery c l o s e d in u p o n m e ; a n d b e h o l d a m a n t r a n s f o r m e d into a b r u t e ! S u n d a y w a s my only leisure time. I s p e n t this in a sort of beast-like s t u p o r , b e t w e e n s l e e p a n d w a k e , u n d e r s o m e large tree. At t i m e s I w o u l d rise u p , a flash of energetic f r e e d o m would dart t h r o u g h my soul, a c c o m p a n i e d with a faint b e a m of h o p e , that flickered for a m o m e n t , a n d then v a n i s h e d . I s a n k down a g a i n , m o u r n i n g over my w r e t c h e d c o n d i t i o n . I w a s s o m e t i m e s p r o m p t e d to take my life, a n d that of Covey, but w a s p r e v e n t e d by a c o m bination of h o p e a n d fear. M y sufferings on this p l a n t a t i o n s e e m now like a d r e a m rather than a stern reality.

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O u r h o u s e s t o o d within a few rods of the C h e s a p e a k e Bay, w h o s e b r o a d b o s o m w a s ever white with sails from every q u a r t e r of the h a b i t a b l e g l o b e . T h o s e beautiful v e s s e l s , robed in p u r e s t white, so delightful to the eye of f r e e m e n , were to m e so m a n y s h r o u d e d g h o s t s , to terrify a n d t o r m e n t m e with t h o u g h t s of my w r e t c h e d condition. I have often, in the d e e p stillness of a s u m m e r ' s S a b b a t h , s t o o d all a l o n e u p o n the lofty b a n k s of that n o b l e bay, a n d t r a c e d , with s a d d e n e d heart a n d tearful eye, the c o u n t l e s s n u m b e r of sails m o v i n g off to the mighty o c e a n . T h e sight of t h e s e always affected m e powerfully. M y t h o u g h t s would c o m p e l u t t e r a n c e ; a n d there, with n o a u d i e n c e b u t the Almighty, I would p o u r o u t my soul's c o m p l a i n t , in my r u d e way, with a n a p o s t r o p h e to the m o v i n g m u l t i t u d e of s h i p s : — "You are l o o s e d from your m o o r i n g s , a n d are free; I a m fast in my c h a i n s , a n d a m a slave! You m o v e merrily before the gentle g a l e , a n d I sadly before the bloody whip! You are f r e e d o m ' s swift-winged a n g e l s , that fly r o u n d the world; I a m confined in b a n d s of iron! O that I were free! O h , that I were on o n e of your gallant d e c k s , a n d u n d e r your p r o t e c t i n g wing! A l a s ! betwixt m e a n d you, the turbid w a t e r s roll. G o o n , go on. O that I c o u l d a l s o go! C o u l d I but swim! If I c o u l d fly! O , why w a s I born a m a n , of w h o m to m a k e a b r u t e ! T h e glad ship is g o n e ; s h e hides in the d i m d i s t a n c e . I a m left in the hottest hell of u n e n d i n g slavery. O G o d , save m e ! G o d , deliver m e ! L e t m e b e free! Is there any G o d ? W h y a m I a slave? I will run away. I will not s t a n d it. G e t c a u g h t , or get clear, I'll try it. I h a d a s well die with a g u e a s the fever. I have only o n e life to lose. I h a d a s well be killed r u n n i n g a s die s t a n d i n g . Only think of it; o n e h u n d r e d miles straight north, a n d I a m free! Try it? Yes! G o d helping m e , I will. It c a n n o t be that I shall live a n d die a slave. I will take to the water. T h i s very bay shall yet b e a r m e into f r e e d o m . T h e s t e a m b o a t s steered in a north-east c o u r s e from N o r t h Point. I will do the s a m e ; a n d w h e n I get to the h e a d of the bay, I will turn my c a n o e adrift, a n d walk straight t h r o u g h D e l a w a r e into Pennsylvania. W h e n I get t h e r e , I shall not b e required to have a p a s s ; I c a n travel without b e i n g d i s t u r b e d . L e t b u t the first opportunity offer, a n d , c o m e what will, I a m off. M e a n w h i l e , I will try to b e a r u p u n d e r the yoke. I a m not the only slave in the world. W h y s h o u l d I fret? I c a n b e a r a s m u c h as any of t h e m . B e s i d e s , I a m b u t a boy, a n d all boys a r e b o u n d to s o m e o n e . It m a y be that my misery in slavery will only i n c r e a s e my h a p p i n e s s w h e n I get free. T h e r e is a better day c o m i n g . " T h u s I u s e d to think, a n d t h u s I u s e d to s p e a k to myself; g o a d e d a l m o s t to m a d n e s s at o n e m o m e n t , a n d at the next r e c o n c i l i n g myself to my w r e t c h e d lot. I have already intimated that my c o n d i t i o n w a s m u c h w o r s e , d u r i n g the first six m o n t h s of my stay at M r . Covey's, than in the last six. T h e c i r c u m s t a n c e s leading to the c h a n g e in Mr. Covey's c o u r s e toward m e form a n e p o c h in my h u m b l e history. You have s e e n how a m a n w a s m a d e a slave; you shall s e e how a slave w a s m a d e a m a n . O n o n e of the hottest days of the m o n t h of A u g u s t , 1 8 3 3 , Bill S m i t h , William H u g h e s , a slave n a m e d Eli, a n d myself, were e n g a g e d in f a n n i n g w h e a t . 2 H u g h e s w a s c l e a r i n g the f a n n e d wheat from before the fan, Eli w a s turning, S m i t h w a s feeding, a n d I w a s carrying wheat to the fan. T h e work w a s s i m p l e , requiring strength rather than intellect; yet, to o n e entirely u n u s e d to s u c h work, it c a m e very hard. A b o u t three o'clock of that day, I broke d o w n ; my s t r e n g t h failed m e ; I w a s 2.

I.e., s e p a r a t i n g the w h e a t from the chaff.

958

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FREDERICK

DOUGLASS

seized with a violent a c h i n g of the h e a d , a t t e n d e d with e x t r e m e dizziness; I t r e m b l e d in every limb. F i n d i n g what w a s c o m i n g , I nerved myself u p , feeling it would never d o to s t o p work. I s t o o d as long a s I c o u l d s t a g g e r to the h o p p e r with grain. W h e n I c o u l d s t a n d no longer, I fell, a n d felt a s if held down by an i m m e n s e weight. T h e fan of c o u r s e s t o p p e d ; every o n e h a d his own work to d o ; a n d no o n e could d o the work of the other, a n d have his own go on at the s a m e t i m e . Mr. C o v e y w a s at the h o u s e , a b o u t o n e h u n d r e d yards from the treadingyard where we were f a n n i n g . O n h e a r i n g the fan s t o p , he left immediately, a n d c a m e to the spot w h e r e we w e r e . H e hastily inquired w h a t the m a t t e r w a s . Bill a n s w e r e d that I w a s sick, a n d there w a s n o o n e to bring w h e a t to the fan. I had by this time crawled away u n d e r the side of the p o s t a n d railf e n c e by which the yard w a s e n c l o s e d , h o p i n g to find relief by getting o u t of the s u n . H e then a s k e d w h e r e I w a s . H e w a s told by o n e of the h a n d s . H e c a m e to the s p o t , a n d , after looking at m e awhile, a s k e d m e what w a s the matter. I told him a s well a s I c o u l d , for I s c a r c e h a d s t r e n g t h to s p e a k . H e then gave m e a s a v a g e kick in the s i d e , a n d told m e to get u p . I tried to d o so, but fell b a c k in the a t t e m p t . H e g a v e m e a n o t h e r kick, a n d again told m e to rise. I again tried, a n d s u c c e e d e d in g a i n i n g my feet; b u t , s t o o p i n g to get the tub with which I w a s feeding the fan, I again s t a g g e r e d a n d fell. W h i l e down in this situation, Mr. C o v e y took u p the hickory slat with which H u g h e s h a d b e e n striking off the half-bushel m e a s u r e , a n d with it gave m e a heavy blow upon the h e a d , m a k i n g a large w o u n d , a n d the blood ran freely; a n d with this again told m e to get u p . I m a d e no effort to c o m p l y , having now m a d e up my m i n d to let him do his worst. In a short time after receiving this blow, my h e a d grew better. M r . C o v e y h a d now left m e to my f a t e . At this m o m e n t I resolved, for the first t i m e , to g o to my m a s t e r , enter a c o m p l a i n t , a n d a s k his protection. In order to do this, I m u s t that a f t e r n o o n walk seven miles; a n d this, u n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s , w a s truly a severe u n d e r t a k i n g . I was exceedingly feeble; m a d e so a s m u c h by the kicks a n d blows w h i c h I received, a s by the severe fit of s i c k n e s s to which I h a d b e e n s u b j e c t e d . I, however, w a t c h e d my c h a n c e , while C o v e y w a s looking in a n o p p o s i t e direction, a n d started for S t . M i c h a e l ' s . I s u c c e e d e d in getting a c o n s i d e r a b l e d i s t a n c e on my way to the w o o d s , w h e n C o v e y d i s c o v e r e d m e , a n d called after m e to c o m e b a c k , t h r e a t e n i n g what he would d o if I did not c o m e . I d i s r e g a r d e d both his calls a n d his threats, a n d m a d e my way to the w o o d s a s fast a s my feeble state would allow; a n d thinking I might be o v e r h a u l e d by him if I kept the road, I walked t h r o u g h the w o o d s , k e e p i n g far e n o u g h from the road to avoid d e t e c t i o n , a n d near e n o u g h to prevent losing my way. I h a d not g o n e far before my little strength again failed m e . I c o u l d go no farther. I fell d o w n , a n d lay for a c o n s i d e r a b l e t i m e . T h e b l o o d w a s yet o o z i n g from the w o u n d on my h e a d . F o r a time I thought I s h o u l d b l e e d to d e a t h ; a n d think now that I s h o u l d have d o n e s o , but that the b l o o d so m a t t e d my hair a s to s t o p the w o u n d . After lying there a b o u t three q u a r t e r s of a n hour, I nerved myself up a g a i n , a n d started on my way, t h r o u g h b o g s a n d briers, b a r e f o o t e d a n d b a r e h e a d e d , tearing my feet s o m e t i m e s at nearly every s t e p ; a n d after a j o u r n e y of a b o u t seven m i l e s , o c c u p y i n g s o m e five h o u r s to perform it, I arrived at m a s t e r ' s s t o r e . I then p r e s e n t e d an a p p e a r a n c e e n o u g h to affect any but a heart of iron. F r o m the crown of my h e a d to my feet, I w a s covered with blood. M y hair w a s all clotted with d u s t a n d b l o o d ; my

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shirt was stiff with blood. M y legs a n d feet were torn in s u n d r y p l a c e s with briers a n d t h o r n s , a n d were a l s o covered with blood. I s u p p o s e I looked like a m a n who h a d e s c a p e d a den of wild b e a s t s , a n d barely e s c a p e d t h e m . In this state I a p p e a r e d before my m a s t e r , humbly e n t r e a t i n g him to i n t e r p o s e his authority for my protection. I told him all the c i r c u m s t a n c e s a s well a s I c o u l d , a n d it s e e m e d , a s I s p o k e , at times to affect h i m . H e would then walk the floor, a n d s e e k to justify C o v e y by saying he e x p e c t e d I deserved it. H e asked m e what I w a n t e d . I told him, to let m e get a new h o m e ; that a s s u r e a s I lived with Mr. C o v e y a g a i n , I s h o u l d live with but to die with him; that Covey would surely kill m e ; he w a s in a fair way for it. M a s t e r T h o m a s ridiculed the idea that there w a s any d a n g e r of Mr. Covey's killing m e , a n d said that he knew Mr. C o v e y ; that he w a s a g o o d m a n , a n d that he c o u l d not think of taking m e from h i m ; that, s h o u l d he do s o , he would lose the w h o l e year's w a g e s ; that I b e l o n g e d to Mr. C o v e y for o n e year, a n d that I m u s t go b a c k to him, c o m e what might; a n d that I m u s t not trouble him with any m o r e stories, or that he would himself get hold of me. After t h r e a t e n i n g m e t h u s , he gave m e a very large d o s e of salts, telling m e that I might r e m a i n in St. M i c h a e l ' s that night, (it being quite late,) but that I m u s t be off b a c k to Mr. Covey's early in the m o r n i n g ; a n d that if I did not, he would get hold of me, which m e a n t that he would whip m e . I r e m a i n e d all night, a n d , a c c o r d i n g to his orders, I started off to Covey's in the m o r n i n g , ( S a t u r d a y m o r n i n g ) , wearied in body a n d broken in spirit. I got no s u p p e r that night, or breakfast that m o r n i n g . I r e a c h e d Covey's a b o u t nine o'clock; a n d j u s t a s I w a s getting over the f e n c e that divided M r s . K e m p ' s fields from o u r s , o u t ran C o v e y with his cowskin, to give m e a n o t h e r whipping. B e f o r e he c o u l d r e a c h m e , I s u c c e e d e d in getting to the cornfield; a n d a s the corn was very high, it afforded m e the m e a n s of hiding. H e s e e m e d very angry, a n d s e a r c h e d for m e a long time. M y behavior w a s altogether u n a c c o u n t a b l e . H e finally gave u p the c h a s e , thinking, I s u p p o s e , that I m u s t c o m e h o m e for s o m e t h i n g to e a t ; he would give h i m s e l f no further trouble in looking for m e . I s p e n t that day mostly in the w o o d s , having the alternative before m e , — t o go h o m e a n d be w h i p p e d to d e a t h , or stay in the w o o d s a n d be starved to d e a t h . T h a t night, I fell in with S a n d y J e n k i n s , a slave with w h o m I w a s s o m e w h a t a c q u a i n t e d . S a n d y h a d a free w i f e 1 w h o lived a b o u t four miles from M r . Covey's; a n d it being S a t u r d a y , he w a s o n his way to s e e her. I told him my c i r c u m s t a n c e s , a n d he very kindly invited m e to go h o m e with him. I went h o m e with him, a n d talked this w h o l e m a t t e r over, a n d got his advice a s to what c o u r s e it was best for m e to p u r s u e . I f o u n d S a n d y an old adviser. H e told m e , with great solemnity, I m u s t go b a c k to Covey; but that before I went, I m u s t g o with him into a n o t h e r part of the w o o d s , w h e r e there w a s a certain root, which, if I would take s o m e of it with m e , carrying it always on my right side, would r e n d e r it i m p o s s i b l e for Mr. Covey, or any other white m a n , to whip m e . H e said h e had carried it for years; a n d s i n c e he h a d d o n e s o , he h a d never received a blow, a n d never e x p e c t e d to while h e carried it. I at first rejected the idea, that the s i m p l e carrying of a root in my p o c k e t would have any s u c h effect a s he h a d said, a n d w a s not d i s p o s e d to take it; but S a n d y i m p r e s s e d the necessity with m u c h e a r n e s t n e s s , telling m e it c o u l d do no h a r m , if it did no g o o d . T o p l e a s e him, I at length took the root, a n d , a c c o r d 3.

I.e., his wife had b e e n set free a n d w a s not legally a slave.

960

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FREDERICK

DOUGLASS

ing to his direction, carried it u p o n my right s i d e . T h i s w a s S u n d a y m o r n i n g . I i m m e d i a t e l y started for h o m e ; a n d u p o n entering the yard g a t e , o u t c a m e M r . C o v e y on his way to m e e t i n g . H e s p o k e to m e very kindly, b a d e m e drive the pigs from a lot n e a r by, a n d p a s s e d on t o w a r d s the c h u r c h . N o w , this singular c o n d u c t of M r . C o v e y really m a d e m e begin to think that t h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g in the root which S a n d y h a d given m e ; a n d h a d it b e e n on any other day than S u n d a y , I c o u l d have attributed the c o n d u c t to n o other c a u s e then the influence of that root; a n d a s it w a s , I w a s half inclined to think the root to be s o m e t h i n g m o r e t h a n I at first h a d taken it to b e . All went well till M o n d a y m o r n i n g . O n this m o r n i n g , the virtue of the root w a s fully t e s t e d . L o n g before daylight, I w a s called to g o a n d r u b , curry, a n d feed, the h o r s e s . I o b e y e d , a n d w a s glad to obey. B u t whilst t h u s e n g a g e d , whilst in the act of throwing d o w n s o m e b l a d e s from the loft, Mr. C o v e y e n t e r e d the s t a b l e with a long r o p e ; a n d j u s t a s I w a s half o u t of the loft, h e c a u g h t hold of my legs, a n d w a s a b o u t tying m e . A s s o o n a s I f o u n d what h e w a s up to, I g a v e a s u d d e n spring, a n d a s I did s o , h e h o l d i n g to my legs, I w a s b r o u g h t sprawling on the s t a b l e floor. M r . C o v e y s e e m e d n o w to think h e h a d m e , a n d c o u l d do w h a t he p l e a s e d ; b u t at this m o m e n t — f r o m w h e n c e c a m e the spirit I don't k n o w — I resolved to fight; a n d , s u i t i n g my a c t i o n to the r e s o l u t i o n , I seized C o v e y hard by the throat; a n d a s I did s o , I r o s e . H e held o n to m e , a n d I to h i m . M y r e s i s t a n c e w a s so entirely u n e x p e c t e d , that C o v e y s e e m e d taken all a b a c k . H e t r e m b l e d like a leaf. T h i s gave m e a s s u r a n c e , a n d I held him u n e a s y , c a u s i n g the blood to run w h e r e I t o u c h e d him with the e n d s of my fingers. M r . C o v e y s o o n called out to H u g h e s for h e l p . H u g h e s c a m e , a n d , while C o v e y held m e , a t t e m p t e d to tie my right h a n d . W h i l e he w a s in the a c t of d o i n g s o , I w a t c h e d my c h a n c e , a n d gave him a heavy kick c l o s e u n d e r the ribs. T h i s kick fairly s i c k e n e d H u g h e s , s o that h e left m e in the h a n d s of Mr. Covey. T h i s kick h a d the effect of not only w e a k e n i n g H u g h e s , but C o v e y a l s o . W h e n h e s a w H u g h e s b e n d i n g over with p a i n , his c o u r a g e q u a i l e d . H e a s k e d m e if I m e a n t to persist in my r e s i s t a n c e . I told him I did, c o m e what m i g h t ; that he h a d u s e d m e like a b r u t e for six m o n t h s , a n d that I w a s d e t e r m i n e d to be u s e d s o no longer. W i t h that, he strove to d r a g m e to a stick that w a s lying j u s t o u t of the s t a b l e door. H e m e a n t to k n o c k m e down. B u t j u s t a s he w a s l e a n i n g over to g e t the stick, I seized h i m with both h a n d s by his collar, a n d b r o u g h t him by a s u d d e n s n a t c h to the g r o u n d . By this t i m e , Bill c a m e . C o v e y called u p o n him for a s s i s t a n c e . Bill w a n t e d to know what h e c o u l d d o . C o v e y s a i d , " T a k e hold of h i m , take hold of h i m ! " Bill said his m a s t e r hired him o u t to work, a n d not to h e l p to whip m e ; so he left C o v e y a n d myself to fight o u r own b a t t l e out. W e were at it for nearly two h o u r s . C o v e y at length let m e g o , puffing a n d blowing at a great rate, saying that if I h a d not r e s i s t e d , h e would not have w h i p p e d m e half so m u c h . T h e truth w a s , that h e h a d not w h i p p e d m e at all. I c o n s i d e r e d h i m a s getting entirely the worst e n d of the b a r g a i n ; for h e h a d d r a w n no b l o o d from m e , but I h a d from h i m . T h e w h o l e six m o n t h s a f t e r w a r d s , that I s p e n t with M r . C o v e y , h e never laid the weight of his finger u p o n m e in a n g e r . H e w o u l d o c c a s i o n a l l y say, h e didn't want to get hold of m e a g a i n . " N o , " t h o u g h t 1, "you n e e d not; for you will c o m e off w o r s e t h a n you did b e f o r e . " T h i s battle with M r . C o v e y w a s the turning-point in my c a r e e r a s a slave. It rekindled the few expiring e m b e r s of f r e e d o m , a n d revived within m e a s e n s e of my own m a n h o o d . It recalled the d e p a r t e d self-confidence, a n d

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inspired m e a g a i n with a d e t e r m i n a t i o n to be free. T h e gratification afforded by the t r i u m p h w a s a full c o m p e n s a t i o n for whatever else might follow, even d e a t h itself. H e only c a n u n d e r s t a n d the deep satisfaction which I experie n c e d , w h o has h i m s e l f repelled by force the bloody a r m of slavery. I felt a s I never felt b e f o r e . It w a s a glorious resurrection, from the t o m b of slavery, to the heaven of f r e e d o m . M y long-crushed spirit r o s e , c o w a r d i c e d e p a r t e d , bold defiance took its p l a c e ; a n d I now resolved that, however l o n g I might r e m a i n a slave in form, the day h a d p a s s e d forever w h e n I c o u l d be a slave in fact. I did not hesitate to let it be known of m e , that the white m a n w h o expected to s u c c e e d in whipping, m u s t also s u c c e e d in killing m e . F r o m this time I w a s never again what might b e called fairly w h i p p e d , though I r e m a i n e d a slave four years afterwards. I h a d several fights, but w a s never w h i p p e d . It w a s for a long time a m a t t e r of surprise to m e why M r . C o v e y did not immediately have m e taken by the c o n s t a b l e to the whipping-post, a n d there regularly w h i p p e d for the c r i m e of raising my h a n d a g a i n s t a white m a n in d e f e n c e of myself. A n d the only explanation I c a n n o w think of d o e s not entirely satisfy m e ; but s u c h a s it is, I will give it. M r . C o v e y enjoyed the m o s t u n b o u n d e d reputation for b e i n g a first-rate overseer a n d negro-breaker. It was of c o n s i d e r a b l e i m p o r t a n c e to him. T h a t r e p u t a t i o n w a s at s t a k e ; a n d had he sent m e — a boy a b o u t sixteen years o l d — t o the p u b l i c whipping-post, his reputation would have b e e n lost; s o , to save his r e p u t a t i o n , h e suffered m e to go u n p u n i s h e d . M y term of a c t u a l service to M r . E d w a r d C o v e y e n d e d on C h r i s t m a s day, 1 8 3 3 . T h e days b e t w e e n C h r i s t m a s a n d N e w Year's day a r e allowed a s holidays; a n d , accordingly, we were not required to p e r f o r m any labor, m o r e than to feed a n d take c a r e of the stock. T h i s time we r e g a r d e d a s our o w n , by the g r a c e of our m a s t e r s ; a n d we therefore u s e d or a b u s e d it nearly a s we p l e a s e d . T h o s e of u s w h o h a d families at a d i s t a n c e , were generally allowed to s p e n d the whole six days in their society. T h i s t i m e , however, w a s s p e n t in various ways. T h e staid, sober, thinking a n d i n d u s t r i o u s o n e s of our n u m ber would e m p l o y t h e m s e l v e s in m a k i n g c o r n - b r o o m s , m a t s , horse-collars, a n d b a s k e t s ; a n d a n o t h e r c l a s s of u s would s p e n d the time h u n t i n g o p o s s u m s , h a r e s , a n d c o o n s . B u t by far the larger part e n g a g e d in s u c h sports a n d m e r r i m e n t s a s playing ball, wrestling, r u n n i n g foot-races, fiddling, d a n c i n g , a n d drinking whisky; a n d this latter m o d e of s p e n d i n g the time w a s by far the m o s t a g r e e a b l e to the feelings of our m a s t e r . A slave w h o would work d u r i n g the holidays w a s c o n s i d e r e d by our m a s t e r s a s s c a r c e l y deserving t h e m . H e was r e g a r d e d a s o n e w h o rejected the favor of his m a s t e r . It w a s d e e m e d a d i s g r a c e not to get d r u n k at C h r i s t m a s ; a n d h e w a s r e g a r d e d a s lazy i n d e e d , w h o h a d not provided h i m s e l f with the n e c e s s a r y m e a n s , d u r i n g the year, to get whisky e n o u g h to last him t h r o u g h C h r i s t m a s . F r o m what I know of the effect of t h e s e holidays u p o n the slave, I believe t h e m to b e a m o n g the m o s t effective m e a n s in the h a n d s of the slaveholder in k e e p i n g down the spirit of i n s u r r e c t i o n . W e r e the s l a v e h o l d e r s at o n c e to a b a n d o n this p r a c t i c e , I have not the slightest d o u b t it would lead to a n i m m e d i a t e insurrection a m o n g the s l a v e s . T h e s e holidays serve a s c o n d u c tors, or safety-valves, to carry off the rebellious spirit of e n s l a v e d h u m a n i t y . B u t for t h e s e , the slave would be forced u p to the wildest d e s p e r a t i o n ; a n d woe betide the slaveholder, the day he v e n t u r e s to r e m o v e or hinder the

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operation of t h o s e c o n d u c t o r s ! I warn him that, in s u c h a n event, a spirit will g o forth in their midst, m o r e to be d r e a d e d t h a n the m o s t a p p a l l i n g earthquake. T h e holidays are part a n d parcel of the gross fraud, w r o n g , a n d i n h u m a n i t y of slavery. T h e y are professedly a c u s t o m e s t a b l i s h e d by the b e n e v o l e n c e of the s l a v e h o l d e r s ; but I u n d e r t a k e to say, it is the result of s e l f i s h n e s s , a n d o n e of the g r o s s e s t frauds c o m m i t t e d u p o n the d o w n - t r o d d e n slave. T h e y d o not give the slaves this time b e c a u s e they would not like to have their work d u r i n g its c o n t i n u a n c e , but b e c a u s e they know it would b e u n s a f e to deprive t h e m of it. T h i s will be s e e n by the fact, that the slaveholders like to have their slaves s p e n d t h o s e days j u s t in s u c h a m a n n e r a s to m a k e t h e m a s glad of their e n d i n g a s of their beginning. T h e i r object s e e m s to b e , to d i s g u s t their slaves with f r e e d o m , by p l u n g i n g t h e m into the lowest d e p t h s of dissip a t i o n . F o r i n s t a n c e , the slaveholders not only like to s e e the slave drink of his own a c c o r d , but will adopt various p l a n s to m a k e him drunk. O n e plan is, to m a k e bets on their slaves, a s to w h o c a n drink the m o s t whisky without getting d r u n k ; a n d in this way they s u c c e e d in getting w h o l e m u l t i t u d e s to drink to e x c e s s . T h u s , w h e n the slave a s k s for virtuous f r e e d o m , the c u n n i n g slaveholder, knowing his i g n o r a n c e , c h e a t s him with a d o s e of vicious dissipation, artfully labelled with the n a m e of liberty. T h e m o s t of us u s e d to drink it d o w n , a n d the result w a s j u s t what might b e s u p p o s e d : m a n y of us were led to think that there w a s little to c h o o s e b e t w e e n liberty a n d slavery. W e felt, a n d very properly too, that we h a d a l m o s t a s well be slaves to m a n a s to r u m . S o , w h e n the holidays e n d e d , we s t a g g e r e d up from the filth of our wallowing, took a long b r e a t h , a n d m a r c h e d to the field,—feeling, u p o n the w h o l e , rather glad to g o , from what o u r m a s t e r h a d d e c e i v e d us into a belief w a s f r e e d o m , b a c k to the a r m s of slavery. I have s a i d that this m o d e of t r e a t m e n t is a part of the w h o l e s y s t e m of fraud a n d i n h u m a n i t y of slavery. It is s o . T h e m o d e here a d o p t e d to d i s g u s t the slave with f r e e d o m , by allowing him to s e e only the a b u s e of it, is carried out in other things. F o r i n s t a n c e , a slave loves m o l a s s e s ; he s t e a l s s o m e . His m a s t e r , in m a n y c a s e s , g o e s off to town, a n d buys a large quantity; he r e t u r n s , takes his whip, a n d c o m m a n d s the slave to eat the m o l a s s e s , until the p o o r fellow is m a d e sick at the very m e n t i o n of it. T h e s a m e m o d e is s o m e t i m e s a d o p t e d to m a k e the slaves refrain from a s k i n g for m o r e food than their regular a l l o w a n c e . A slave r u n s t h r o u g h his a l l o w a n c e , a n d a p p l i e s for m o r e . H i s m a s t e r is e n r a g e d at him; but, not willing to s e n d h i m off w i t h o u t f o o d , gives him m o r e than is n e c e s s a r y , a n d c o m p e l s him to e a t it within a given t i m e . T h e n , if he c o m p l a i n s that h e c a n n o t eat it, h e is s a i d to be satisfied neither full nor fasting, a n d is w h i p p e d for b e i n g hard to p l e a s e ! I have a n a b u n d a n c e of s u c h illustrations of the s a m e principle, d r a w n from my own o b s e r v a t i o n , but think the c a s e s I have cited sufficient. T h e p r a c t i c e is a very common one. O n the first of J a n u a r y , 1 8 3 4 , I left M r . Covey, a n d went to live with M r . William F r e e l a n d , w h o lived a b o u t t h r e e miles from S t . M i c h a e l ' s . I s o o n f o u n d Mr. F r e e l a n d a very different m a n from M r . C o v e y . T h o u g h not rich, he w a s w h a t w o u l d be called a n e d u c a t e d s o u t h e r n g e n t l e m a n . M r . Covey, a s I have s h o w n , w a s a well-trained negro-breaker a n d slave-driver. T h e form e r (slaveholder t h o u g h he w a s ) s e e m e d to p o s s e s s s o m e r e g a r d for honor, s o m e reverence for j u s t i c e , a n d s o m e r e s p e c t for h u m a n i t y . T h e latter

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s e e m e d totally i n s e n s i b l e to all s u c h s e n t i m e n t s . M r . F r e e l a n d h a d m a n y of the faults p e c u l i a r to s l a v e h o l d e r s , s u c h as b e i n g very p a s s i o n a t e a n d fretful; but I m u s t do him the j u s t i c e to say, that he w a s exceedingly free from t h o s e d e g r a d i n g vices to which M r . C o v e y w a s constantly a d d i c t e d . T h e o n e w a s o p e n a n d frank, a n d we always knew where to find h i m . T h e other w a s a most artful deceiver, a n d c o u l d b e u n d e r s t o o d only by s u c h a s were skilful e n o u g h to d e t e c t his cunningly-devised f r a u d s . A n o t h e r a d v a n t a g e 1 g a i n e d in my new m a s t e r w a s , he m a d e no p r e t e n s i o n s to, or p r o f e s s i o n of, religion; a n d this, in my opinion, w a s truly a great a d v a n t a g e . I a s s e r t m o s t u n h e s i tatingly, that the religion of the s o u t h is a m e r e covering for the m o s t horrid c r i m e s , — a justifier of the m o s t a p p a l l i n g b a r b a r i t y , — a sanctifier of the m o s t hateful f r a u d s , — a n d a dark shelter under, which the d a r k e s t , f o u l e s t , grossest, a n d m o s t infernal d e e d s of slaveholders find the s t r o n g e s t p r o t e c t i o n . W e r e I to b e again r e d u c e d to the c h a i n s of slavery, next to that e n s l a v e m e n t , I s h o u l d regard b e i n g the slave of a religious m a s t e r the g r e a t e s t calamity that could befall m e . F o r of all slaveholders with w h o m I have ever m e t , religious slaveholders a r e the worst. I have ever f o u n d t h e m the m e a n e s t a n d b a s e s t , the m o s t cruel a n d cowardly, of all o t h e r s . It w a s my u n h a p p y lot not only to b e l o n g to a religious slaveholder, but to live in a c o m m u n i t y of s u c h religionists. Very n e a r Mr. F r e e l a n d lived the Rev. D a n i e l W e e d e n , a n d in the s a m e n e i g h b o r h o o d lived the Rev. Rigby H o p k i n s . T h e s e w e r e m e m b e r s a n d ministers in the R e f o r m e d M e t h o d i s t C h u r c h . M r . W e e d e n o w n e d , a m o n g o t h e r s , a w o m a n slave, w h o s e n a m e I have forgotten. T h i s w o m a n ' s b a c k , for w e e k s , w a s kept literally raw, m a d e s o by the l a s h of this m e r c i l e s s , religious wretch. H e u s e d to hire h a n d s . His m a x i m w a s , B e h a v e well or b e h a v e ill, it is the duty of a m a s t e r o c c a s i o n a l l y to whip a slave, to r e m i n d him of his master's authority. S u c h w a s his theory, a n d s u c h his p r a c t i c e . Mr. H o p k i n s w a s even w o r s e than M r . W e e d e n . His chief b o a s t w a s his ability to m a n a g e slaves. T h e p e c u l i a r feature of his g o v e r n m e n t w a s that of w h i p p i n g slaves in a d v a n c e of deserving it. H e always m a n a g e d to have o n e or m o r e of his slaves to whip every M o n d a y m o r n i n g . H e did this to a l a r m their fears, a n d strike terror into t h o s e w h o e s c a p e d . His plan w a s to whip for the s m a l l e s t o f f e n c e s , to prevent the c o m m i s s i o n of large o n e s . M r . H o p kins could always find s o m e e x c u s e for w h i p p i n g a slave. It w o u l d a s t o n i s h o n e , u n a c c u s t o m e d to a slaveholding life, to s e e with w h a t wonderful e a s e a slaveholder c a n find things, of which to m a k e o c c a s i o n to whip a slave. A m e r e look, word, or m o t i o n , — a m i s t a k e , a c c i d e n t , or want of p o w e r , — a r e all m a t t e r s for which a slave may be w h i p p e d at any t i m e . D o e s a slave look dissatisfied? It is said, h e h a s the devil in h i m , a n d it m u s t b e w h i p p e d out. D o e s he s p e a k loudly w h e n s p o k e n to by his m a s t e r ? T h e n h e is getting highm i n d e d , a n d s h o u l d be taken down a button-hole lower. D o e s he forget to pull off his hat at the a p p r o a c h of a white p e r s o n ? T h e n h e is w a n t i n g in r e v e r e n c e , a n d s h o u l d be w h i p p e d for it. D o e s he ever venture to vindicate his c o n d u c t , w h e n c e n s u r e d for it? T h e n h e is guilty of i m p u d e n c e , — o n e of the greatest c r i m e s of which a slave c a n be guilty. D o e s he ever venture to s u g g e s t a different m o d e of d o i n g things from that p o i n t e d out by his m a s t e r ? H e is i n d e e d p r e s u m p t u o u s , a n d getting a b o v e himself; a n d n o t h i n g less than a flogging will do for him. D o e s h e , while p l o u g h i n g , b r e a k a p l o u g h , — o r , while hoeing, b r e a k a hoe? It is owing to his c a r e l e s s n e s s , a n d for it a slave m u s t always be w h i p p e d . Mr. H o p k i n s c o u l d always find s o m e t h i n g of this

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sort to justify the u s e of the lash, a n d h e s e l d o m failed to e m b r a c e s u c h o p p o r t u n i t i e s . T h e r e w a s not a m a n in the whole c o u n t y , with w h o m the slaves w h o h a d the getting their own h o m e , would not prefer to live, rather t h a n with this Rev. M r . H o p k i n s . A n d yet there w a s n o t a m a n any w h e r e r o u n d , w h o m a d e higher p r o f e s s i o n s of religion, or w a s m o r e active in reviva l s — m o r e attentive to the c l a s s , love-feast, prayer a n d p r e a c h i n g m e e t i n g s , or m o r e devotional in his f a m i l y , — t h a t prayed earlier, later, louder, a n d l o n g e r , — t h a n this s a m e reverend slave-driver, Rigby H o p k i n s . B u t to return to Mr. F r e e l a n d , a n d to my e x p e r i e n c e while in his employm e n t . H e , like M r . Covey, gave u s e n o u g h to e a t ; but unlike M r . Covey, h e a l s o gave u s sufficient time to take our m e a l s . H e worked u s h a r d , b u t always b e t w e e n s u n r i s e a n d s u n s e t . H e r e q u i r e d a g o o d deal of work to be d o n e , but gave u s g o o d tools with which to work. H i s f a r m w a s large, b u t h e e m p l o y e d h a n d s e n o u g h to work it, a n d with e a s e , c o m p a r e d with m a n y of his n e i g h b o r s . M y t r e a t m e n t , while in his e m p l o y m e n t , w a s heavenly, c o m p a r e d with w h a t I e x p e r i e n c e d at the h a n d s of M r . E d w a r d Covey. M r . F r e e l a n d w a s h i m s e l f the o w n e r of but two s l a v e s . T h e i r n a m e s were H e n r y H a r r i s a n d J o h n H a r r i s . T h e rest of his h a n d s he hired. T h e s e c o n s i s t e d of myself, S a n d y J e n k i n s 4 a n d H a n d y C a l d w e l l . H e n r y a n d J o h n were q u i t e intelligent, a n d in a very little while after I w e n t there, I s u c c e e d e d in c r e a t i n g in t h e m a s t r o n g desire to learn h o w to r e a d . T h i s d e s i r e s o o n s p r a n g u p in the o t h e r s a l s o . T h e y very s o o n m u s t e r e d u p s o m e old spelling-books, a n d n o t h i n g w o u l d d o b u t that I m u s t k e e p a S a b b a t h s c h o o l . I a g r e e d to d o s o , a n d accordingly devoted my S u n d a y s to t e a c h i n g t h e s e my loved fellowslaves h o w to r e a d . N e i t h e r of t h e m k n e w his letters w h e n I went t h e r e . S o m e of the slaves of the n e i g h b o r i n g f a r m s f o u n d w h a t w a s g o i n g o n , a n d a l s o availed t h e m s e l v e s of this little o p p o r t u n i t y to learn to r e a d . It w a s u n d e r s t o o d , a m o n g all w h o c a m e , that there m u s t b e a s little display a b o u t it a s p o s s i b l e . It w a s n e c e s s a r y to k e e p our religious m a s t e r s at S t . M i c h a e l ' s u n a c q u a i n t e d with the fact, that, i n s t e a d of s p e n d i n g the S a b b a t h in wrestling, boxing, a n d drinking whisky, w e w e r e trying to learn h o w to read the will of G o d ; for they h a d m u c h rather s e e u s e n g a g e d in t h o s e d e g r a d i n g s p o r t s , t h a n to s e e u s b e h a v i n g like intellectual, m o r a l , a n d a c c o u n t a b l e b e i n g s . M y blood boils a s I think of the bloody m a n n e r in w h i c h M e s s r s . Wright F a i r b a n k s a n d G a r r i s o n W e s t , both c l a s s - l e a d e r s , in c o n n e c t i o n with m a n y o t h e r s , r u s h e d in u p o n u s with sticks a n d s t o n e s , a n d b r o k e u p o u r virtuous little S a b b a t h s c h o o l , at S t . M i c h a e l ' s — a l l calling t h e m s e l v e s C h r i s tians! h u m b l e followers of the L o r d J e s u s C h r i s t ! B u t I a m again d i g r e s s i n g . I held my S a b b a t h school at the h o u s e of a free c o l o r e d m a n , w h o s e n a m e I d e e m it i m p r u d e n t to m e n t i o n ; for s h o u l d it be k n o w n , it m i g h t e m b a r r a s s h i m greatly, t h o u g h the c r i m e of h o l d i n g the s c h o o l w a s c o m m i t t e d ten years a g o . I h a d at o n e time over forty s c h o l a r s , a n d t h o s e of the right sort, ardently d e s i r i n g to learn. T h e y w e r e of all a g e s , t h o u g h mostly m e n a n d w o m e n . I look b a c k to t h o s e S u n d a y s with a n a m o u n t of p l e a s u r e not to b e e x p r e s s e d . T h e y were great days to my s o u l . T h e work of i n s t r u c t i n g my d e a r fellowslaves w a s the s w e e t e s t e n g a g e m e n t with w h i c h I w a s ever b l e s s e d . W e loved 4 . T h i s is t h e s a m e m a n w h o g a v e m e t h e r o o t s t o prevent my being w h i p p e d by Mr. Covey. H e w a s a "clever s o u l . " W e u s e d frequently to talk a b o u t t h e fight w i t h C o v e y , a n d a s o f t e n a s w e d i d s o , h e would claim my s u c c e s s as the result of the roots

h e g a v e m e . T h i s s u p e r s t i t i o n is v e r y c o m m o n a m o n g the more ignorant slaves. A slave seldom d i e s b u t t h a t his d e a t h is a t t r i b u t e d to trickery [Douglass's note].

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e a c h other, a n d to leave t h e m at the close of the S a b b a t h w a s a severe cross indeed. W h e n I think that t h o s e p r e c i o u s s o u l s are to-day s h u t u p in the p r i s o n - h o u s e of slavery, my feelings o v e r c o m e m e , a n d I a m a l m o s t ready to ask, " D o e s a r i g h t e o u s G o d govern the universe? a n d for what d o e s he hold the t h u n d e r s in his right h a n d , if not to s m i t e the o p p r e s s o r , a n d deliver the spoiled out of the h a n d of the s p o i l e r ? " T h e s e d e a r s o u l s c a m e not to S a b b a t h school b e c a u s e it w a s p o p u l a r to do s o , nor did I t e a c h t h e m b e c a u s e it w a s r e p u t a b l e to b e t h u s e n g a g e d . Every m o m e n t they spent in that s c h o o l , they were liable to be taken u p , a n d given thirty-nine l a s h e s . T h e y c a m e b e c a u s e they wished to learn. T h e i r m i n d s had b e e n starved by their cruel m a s t e r s . T h e y h a d b e e n s h u t up in m e n t a l d a r k n e s s . I t a u g h t t h e m , b e c a u s e it was the delight of my soul to be doing s o m e t h i n g that looked like bettering the condition of my r a c e . I kept u p my school nearly the w h o l e year I lived with M r . F r e e l a n d ; a n d , b e s i d e my S a b b a t h s c h o o l , I d e v o t e d three evenings in the week, d u r i n g the winter, to t e a c h i n g the slaves at h o m e . A n d I have the h a p p i n e s s to know, that several of t h o s e who c a m e to S a b b a t h school learned how to r e a d ; a n d that o n e , at least, is now free through my agency. T h e year p a s s e d off smoothly. It s e e m e d only a b o u t half a s long a s the year which p r e c e d e d it. I went through it without receiving a single blow. I will give Mr. F r e e l a n d the credit of b e i n g the b e s t m a s t e r I ever h a d , till I became my own master. F o r the e a s e with which I p a s s e d the year, I w a s , however, s o m e w h a t indebted to the society of my fellow-slaves. T h e y were n o b l e s o u l s ; they not only p o s s e s s e d loving h e a r t s , but brave o n e s . W e were linked a n d interlinked with e a c h other. I loved t h e m with a love stronger than any thing I have e x p e r i e n c e d s i n c e . It is s o m e t i m e s said that we slaves do not love a n d confide in e a c h other. In a n s w e r to this a s s e r t i o n , I c a n say, I never loved any or confided in any p e o p l e m o r e than my fellow-slaves, a n d especially t h o s e with w h o m I lived at M r . F r e e l a n d ' s . I believe we would have died for e a c h other. W e never u n d e r t o o k to do any thing, of any i m p o r t a n c e , without a m u t u a l c o n s u l t a t i o n . W e never m o v e d separately. W e were o n e ; a n d a s m u c h so by our t e m p e r s a n d d i s p o s i t i o n s , a s by the m u t u a l h a r d s h i p s to which we were n e c e s s a r i l y s u b j e c t e d by our c o n d i t i o n a s slaves. At the c l o s e of the year 1 8 3 4 , M r . F r e e l a n d again hired m e of my m a s t e r , for the year 1 8 3 5 . B u t , by this t i m e , I b e g a n to want to live upon free land a s well as with Freeland; a n d I w a s n o longer c o n t e n t , therefore, to live with him or any other slaveholder. I b e g a n , with the c o m m e n c e m e n t of the year, to p r e p a r e myself for a final struggle, which s h o u l d d e c i d e my fate o n e way or the other. M y t e n d e n c y w a s u p w a r d . I w a s fast a p p r o a c h i n g m a n h o o d , a n d year after year h a d p a s s e d , a n d I w a s still a slave. T h e s e t h o u g h t s r o u s e d m e — I m u s t do s o m e t h i n g . I therefore resolved that 1 8 3 5 s h o u l d not p a s s without w i t n e s s i n g a n a t t e m p t , on my part, to s e c u r e my liberty. B u t I w a s not willing to cherish this d e t e r m i n a t i o n a l o n e . M y fellow-slaves were d e a r to m e . I w a s anxious to have t h e m p a r t i c i p a t e with m e in this, my life-giving d e t e r m i n a t i o n . I therefore, t h o u g h with great prucjence, c o m m e n c e d early to a s c e r t a i n their views a n d feelings in regard to their c o n d i t i o n , a n d to i m b u e their m i n d s with t h o u g h t s of f r e e d o m . I b e n t myself to devising ways a n d m e a n s for our e s c a p e , a n d m e a n w h i l e strove, on all fitting o c c a s i o n s , to i m p r e s s t h e m with the gross fraud a n d i n h u m a n i t y of slavery. I went first to Henry, next to J o h n , then to the o t h e r s . I f o u n d , in t h e m all, w a r m h e a r t s a n d noble spirits. T h e y were ready to hear, a n d ready to a c t w h e n a feasible plan s h o u l d b e p r o p o s e d . T h i s was what I w a n t e d . I talked to t h e m of our

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w a n t of m a n h o o d , if we s u b m i t t e d to our e n s l a v e m e n t without at least o n e noble effort to be free. W e m e t often, a n d c o n s u l t e d frequently, a n d told our h o p e s a n d fears, r e c o u n t e d the difficulties, real a n d i m a g i n e d , w h i c h w e s h o u l d be called o n to m e e t . At times we were a l m o s t d i s p o s e d to give u p , a n d try to c o n t e n t ourselves with our w r e t c h e d lot; at o t h e r s , w e were firm a n d u n b e n d i n g in our d e t e r m i n a t i o n to g o . W h e n e v e r we s u g g e s t e d any p l a n , there w a s s h r i n k i n g — t h e o d d s were fearful. O u r p a t h w a s b e s e t with the g r e a t e s t o b s t a c l e s ; a n d if we s u c c e e d e d in g a i n i n g the e n d of it, our right to b e free w a s yet q u e s t i o n a b l e — w e were yet liable to b e r e t u r n e d to b o n d a g e . W e c o u l d s e e n o spot, this side of the o c e a n , where we c o u l d be free. W e knew n o t h i n g a b o u t C a n a d a . O u r k n o w l e d g e of the north did not extend farther than N e w York; a n d to g o t h e r e , a n d b e forever h a r a s s e d with the frightful liability of b e i n g returned to slavery—with the certainty of b e i n g treated tenfold w o r s e than b e f o r e — t h e t h o u g h t w a s truly a horrible o n e , a n d o n e which it w a s not e a s y to o v e r c o m e . T h e c a s e s o m e t i m e s s t o o d t h u s : At every gate t h r o u g h which we were to p a s s , we saw a w a t c h m a n — a t every ferry a g u a r d — o n every bridge a s e n t i n e l — a n d in every w o o d a patrol. W e were h e m m e d in u p o n every s i d e . H e r e were the difficulties, real or i m a g i n e d — t h e g o o d to b e s o u g h t , a n d the evil to b e s h u n n e d . O n the o n e h a n d , there s t o o d slavery, a stern reality, glaring frightfully u p o n u s , — i t s r o b e s already c r i m s o n e d with the b l o o d of millions, a n d even now f e a s t i n g itself greedily u p o n o u r own flesh. O n the other h a n d , away b a c k in the d i m d i s t a n c e , u n d e r the flickering light of the north star, b e h i n d s o m e craggy hill or s n o w - c o v e r e d m o u n t a i n , s t o o d a doubtful f r e e d o m — h a l f f r o z e n — b e c k o n i n g u s to c o m e a n d s h a r e its hospitality. T h i s in itself w a s s o m e t i m e s e n o u g h to s t a g g e r u s ; b u t w h e n we p e r m i t t e d ourselves to survey the road, we were frequently a p p a l l e d . U p o n either side we s a w grim d e a t h , a s s u m i n g the m o s t horrid s h a p e s . N o w it w a s starvation, c a u s i n g u s to eat our own f l e s h ; — n o w we were c o n t e n d i n g with the waves, a n d were d r o w n e d ; — n o w we were overtaken, a n d torn to p i e c e s by the f a n g s of the terrible b l o o d h o u n d . W e were s t u n g by s c o r p i o n s , c h a s e d by wild b e a s t s , bitten by s n a k e s , a n d finally, after having nearly r e a c h e d the desired s p o t , — a f t e r s w i m m i n g rivers, e n c o u n t e r i n g wild b e a s t s , s l e e p i n g in the w o o d s , suffering h u n g e r a n d n a k e d n e s s , — w e were overtaken by our purs u e r s , a n d in our r e s i s t a n c e , we were shot d e a d u p o n the spot! I say, this picture s o m e t i m e s a p p a l l e d u s , a n d m a d e u s "rather b e a r t h o s e ills we h a d , T h a n fly to o t h e r s , that we knew not of." 5 In c o m i n g to a fixed d e t e r m i n a t i o n to run away, we did m o r e t h a n Patrick Henry, w h e n he resolved u p o n liberty or d e a t h . W i t h u s it w a s a d o u b t f u l liberty at m o s t , a n d a l m o s t certain d e a t h if we failed. F o r my p a r t , I s h o u l d prefer d e a t h to h o p e l e s s b o n d a g e . S a n d y , o n e of our n u m b e r , gave up the notion, b u t still e n c o u r a g e d u s . O u r c o m p a n y then c o n s i s t e d of H e n r y H a r r i s , J o h n H a r r i s , H e n r y Bailey, C h a r l e s R o b e r t s , a n d myself. H e n r y Bailey w a s my u n c l e , a n d b e l o n g e d to my m a s t e r . C h a r l e s married my a u n t : h e b e l o n g e d to my m a s t e r ' s father-inlaw, M r . William H a m i l t o n . T h e plan we finally c o n c l u d e d u p o n w a s , to get a large c a n o e b e l o n g i n g to 5.

S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Hamlet

3.1.81-82.

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Mr. H a m i l t o n , a n d u p o n the S a t u r d a y night previous to E a s t e r holidays, paddle directly u p the C h e s a p e a k e Bay. O n our arrival at the h e a d of the bay, a d i s t a n c e of seventy or eighty miles from where we lived, it w a s our p u r p o s e to turn our c a n o e adrift, a n d follow the g u i d a n c e of the north star till we got beyond the limits of M a r y l a n d . O u r r e a s o n for taking the w a t e r route w a s , that we were less liable to be s u s p e c t e d as r u n a w a y s ; we h o p e d to b e regarded as fishermen; w h e r e a s , if we s h o u l d take the land r o u t e , w e s h o u l d b e s u b j e c t e d to interruptions of a l m o s t every kind. Any o n e having a white f a c e , a n d being so d i s p o s e d , c o u l d s t o p u s , a n d s u b j e c t u s to e x a m i n a t i o n . T h e week before our i n t e n d e d start, I wrote several p r o t e c t i o n s , o n e for e a c h of u s . A s well a s I c a n r e m e m b e r , they were in the following w o r d s , to wit:— " T h i s is to certify that I, the u n d e r s i g n e d , have given the bearer, my servant, full liberty to go to B a l t i m o r e , a n d s p e n d the E a s t e r holidays. Written with m i n e own h a n d , e t c . , 1 8 3 5 . "WILLIAM

HAMILTON,

" N e a r S t . M i c h a e l ' s , in T a l b o t c o u n t y , M a r y l a n d . " W e were not g o i n g to B a l t i m o r e ; b u t , in going u p the bay, we went toward B a l t i m o r e , a n d t h e s e p r o t e c t i o n s were only i n t e n d e d to p r o t e c t u s while on the bay. As the time drew near for our d e p a r t u r e , our anxiety b e c a m e m o r e a n d m o r e i n t e n s e . It w a s truly a m a t t e r of life a n d d e a t h with u s . T h e strength of our d e t e r m i n a t i o n w a s a b o u t to be fully tested. At this t i m e , I w a s very active in explaining every difficulty, removing every d o u b t , dispelling every fear, a n d inspiring all with the firmness i n d i s p e n s a b l e to s u c c e s s in our u n d e r t a k i n g ; a s s u r i n g t h e m that half w a s g a i n e d the instant we m a d e the m o v e ; we h a d talked long e n o u g h ; we were now ready to m o v e ; if not now, we never s h o u l d b e ; a n d if we did not i n t e n d to m o v e now, we h a d a s well fold our a r m s , sit d o w n , a n d a c k n o w l e d g e ourselves fit only to be s l a v e s . T h i s , n o n e of u s were p r e p a r e d to a c k n o w l e d g e . Every m a n s t o o d firm; a n d at our last m e e t i n g , we p l e d g e d ourselves a f r e s h , in the m o s t s o l e m n m a n n e r , that, at the time a p p o i n t e d , we would certainly start in p u r s u i t of f r e e d o m . T h i s w a s in the m i d d l e of the week, at the e n d of which w e were to be off. W e went, a s u s u a l , to o u r several fields of labor, b u t with b o s o m s highly a g i t a t e d with t h o u g h t s of our truly h a z a r d o u s undertaking. W e tried to c o n c e a l our feelings a s m u c h as p o s s i b l e ; a n d I think we s u c c e e d e d very well. After a painful waiting, the S a t u r d a y m o r n i n g , w h o s e night w a s to witness our d e p a r t u r e , c a m e . I hailed it with joy, bring what of s a d n e s s it might. Friday night w a s a s l e e p l e s s o n e for m e . I probably felt m o r e a n x i o u s t h a n the rest, b e c a u s e I w a s , by c o m m o n c o n s e n t , at the h e a d of the w h o l e affair. T h e responsibility of s u c c e s s or failure lay heavily u p o n m e . T h e glory of the o n e , a n d the c o n f u s i o n of the other, were alike m i n e . T h e first two h o u r s of that m o r n i n g were s u c h a s I never e x p e r i e n c e d b e f o r e , a n d h o p e never to a g a i n . Early in the m o r n i n g , we went, a s u s u a l , to the field. W e were s p r e a d ing m a n u r e ; a n d all at o n c e , while t h u s e n g a g e d , I w a s o v e r w h e l m e d with an i n d e s c r i b a b l e feeling, in the fulness of which I turned to S a n d y , w h o w a s near by, a n d said, " W e are b e t r a y e d ! " " W e l l , " said h e , "that t h o u g h t h a s this m o m e n t s t r u c k m e . " W e s a i d no m o r e . I w a s never m o r e certain of any thing. T h e horn w a s blown a s u s u a l , a n d we went u p from the field to the h o u s e

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for b r e a k f a s t . I went for the form, m o r e than for w a n t of any thing to eat that m o r n i n g . J u s t a s I got to the h o u s e , in looking out at the l a n e g a t e , I s a w four white m e n , with two c o l o r e d m e n . T h e white m e n were o n h o r s e b a c k , a n d the c o l o r e d o n e s were walking b e h i n d , a s if tied. I w a t c h e d t h e m a few m o m e n t s till they got u p to o u r lane g a t e . H e r e they h a l t e d , a n d tied the colored m e n to the gate-post. I w a s not yet certain a s to what t h e m a t t e r w a s . In a few m o m e n t s , in r o d e M r . H a m i l t o n , with a s p e e d b e t o k e n ing great e x c i t e m e n t . H e c a m e to the door, a n d inquired if M a s t e r William w a s in. H e w a s told h e was at the b a r n . M r . H a m i l t o n , without d i s m o u n t i n g , r o d e u p to the barn with extraordinary s p e e d . In a few m o m e n t s , he a n d M r . F r e e l a n d returned to the h o u s e . By this t i m e , the three c o n s t a b l e s rode u p , a n d in great h a s t e d i s m o u n t e d , tied their h o r s e s , a n d m e t M a s t e r William a n d M r . H a m i l t o n returning from the h a m ; a n d after talking awhile, they all walked u p to the kitchen door. T h e r e w a s no o n e in t h e kitchen b u t myself a n d J o h n . Henry a n d S a n d y were u p at the b a r n . M r . F r e e l a n d p u t his h e a d in at the door, a n d called m e by n a m e , saying, there were s o m e g e n t l e m e n at the door w h o w i s h e d to s e e m e . I s t e p p e d to the d o o r , a n d i n q u i r e d what they w a n t e d . T h e y at o n c e seized m e , a n d , without giving m e any s a t i s f a c t i o n , tied m e — l a s h i n g my h a n d s closely together. I insisted u p o n k n o w i n g what the m a t t e r w a s . T h e y at length said, that they h a d learned I h a d b e e n in a " s c r a p e , " a n d that I w a s to b e e x a m i n e d before my m a s t e r ; a n d if their inform a t i o n proved false, I s h o u l d not b e hurt. In a few m o m e n t s , they s u c c e e d e d in tying J o h n . T h e y then t u r n e d to Henry, w h o h a d by this time r e t u r n e d , a n d c o m m a n d e d h i m to c r o s s his h a n d s . "I won't!" said Henry, in a firm t o n e , i n d i c a t i n g his r e a d i n e s s to meet the c o n s e q u e n c e s of his refusal. "Won't y o u ? " said T o m G r a h a m , the cons t a b l e . " N o , I won't!" said Henry, in a still stronger t o n e . W i t h this, two of the c o n s t a b l e s pulled out their s h i n i n g pistols, a n d s w o r e , by their C r e a t o r , that they w o u l d m a k e him c r o s s his h a n d s or kill h i m . E a c h c o c k e d his pistol, a n d , with fingers on the trigger, walked u p to Henry, saying, at the s a m e t i m e , if he did not cross his h a n d s , they would blow his d a m n e d heart o u t . " S h o o t m e , s h o o t m e ! " said Henry; "you can't kill m e but o n c e . S h o o t , s h o o t , — a n d b e d a m n e d ! / won't be tied!" T h i s he said in a tone of loud d e f i a n c e ; a n d at the s a m e t i m e , with a motion a s q u i c k a s lightning, h e with o n e single stroke d a s h e d the pistols from the h a n d of e a c h c o n s t a b l e . As h e did this, all h a n d s fell u p o n him, a n d , after b e a t i n g h i m s o m e t i m e , they finally overpowered h i m , a n d got him tied. D u r i n g the scuffle, I m a n a g e d , I know not how, to get m y p a s s o u t , a n d , without being discovered, p u t it into t h e fire. W e were all n o w tied; a n d j u s t a s we were to leave for E a s t o n jail, Betsy F r e e l a n d , m o t h e r of W i l l i a m F r e e land, c a m e to the door with her h a n d s full of b i s c u i t s , a n d divided t h e m b e t w e e n Henry a n d J o h n . S h e then delivered herself of a s p e e c h , to the following e f f e c t : — a d d r e s s i n g herself to m e , s h e said, "YOM devil! You yellow devil! it was you that p u t it into the h e a d s of H e n r y a n d J o h n to r u n away. B u t for you, you long-legged m u l a t t o devil! H e n r y nor J o h n w o u l d never have t h o u g h t of s u c h a t h i n g . " I m a d e no reply, a n d w a s i m m e d i a t e l y hurried off towards S t . M i c h a e l ' s . J u s t a m o m e n t previous to the scuffle with Henry, Mr. H a m i l t o n s u g g e s t e d the propriety of m a k i n g a s e a r c h for t h e p r o t e c t i o n s which he h a d u n d e r s t o o d F r e d e r i c k h a d written for himself a n d the rest. B u t , j u s t at the m o m e n t h e w a s a b o u t carrying his p r o p o s a l into effect, his

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aid w a s n e e d e d in helping to tie Henry; a n d the e x c i t e m e n t a t t e n d i n g the scuffle c a u s e d t h e m either to forget, or to d e e m it u n s a f e , u n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s , to s e a r c h . S o we were not yet convicted of the intention to run away. W h e n we got a b o u t half way to S t . M i c h a e l ' s , while the c o n s t a b l e s having u s in c h a r g e were looking a h e a d , Henry inquired of m e what he s h o u l d do with his p a s s . I told him to eat it with his biscuit, a n d own nothing; a n d we p a s s e d the word a r o u n d , "Own nothing;" and "Own nothing!" said we all. O u r confidence in e a c h other w a s u n s h a k e n . W e were resolved to s u c c e e d or fail together, after the calamity h a d befallen us as m u c h as before. W e were now p r e p a r e d for any thing. W e were to be d r a g g e d that m o r n i n g fifteen miles behind h o r s e s , a n d then to be p l a c e d in the E a s t o n jail. W h e n we r e a c h e d St. M i c h a e l ' s , we u n d e r w e n t a sort of e x a m i n a t i o n . W e all d e n i e d that we ever intended to run away. W e did this m o r e to bring out the e v i d e n c e a g a i n s t u s , than from any h o p e of getting clear of b e i n g sold; for, a s I have said, we were ready for that. T h e fact w a s , we c a r e d but little w h e r e we went, s o we went together. O u r greatest c o n c e r n w a s a b o u t s e p a r a t i o n . W e d r e a d e d that m o r e than any thing this side of d e a t h . W e found the e v i d e n c e a g a i n s t u s to be the testimony of o n e p e r s o n ; our m a s t e r would not tell w h o it w a s ; but we c a m e to a u n a n i m o u s d e c i s i o n a m o n g ourselves a s to w h o their informant w a s . W e were sent off to the jail at E a s t o n . W h e n we got t h e r e , we were delivered up to the sheriff, Mr. J o s e p h G r a h a m , a n d by him p l a c e d in jail. Henry, J o h n , a n d myself, were p l a c e d in o n e r o o m t o g e t h e r — C h a r l e s , a n d Henry Bailey, in another. T h e i r object in s e p a r a t i n g us was to hinder concert. W e h a d b e e n in jail scarcely twenty m i n u t e s , w h e n a s w a r m of slave traders, a n d a g e n t s for slave traders, flocked into jail to look at u s , a n d to ascertain if we were for s a l e . S u c h a set of b e i n g s I never saw b e f o r e ! I felt myself s u r r o u n d e d by so m a n y fiends from perdition. A b a n d of pirates never looked more like their father, the devil. T h e y l a u g h e d a n d grinned over u s , saying, "Ah, my boys! we have got you, haven't w e ? " A n d after t a u n t i n g u s in various ways, they o n e by o n e went into a n e x a m i n a t i o n of u s , with intent to a s c e r t a i n our value. T h e y would i m p u d e n t l y a s k u s if we would not like to have t h e m for our m a s t e r s . W e would m a k e them no a n s w e r , a n d leave t h e m to find out as best they c o u l d . T h e n they would c u r s e a n d swear at u s , telling u s that they c o u l d take the devil out of u s in a very little while, if we were only in their h a n d s . While in jail, we f o u n d ourselves in m u c h m o r e c o m f o r t a b l e q u a r t e r s than we expected w h e n we went there. W e did not get m u c h to eat, nor that which w a s very g o o d ; but we h a d a g o o d c l e a n r o o m , from the windows of which we could s e e what was g o i n g on in the street, which w a s very m u c h better than t h o u g h we had b e e n p l a c e d in o n e of the dark, d a m p cells. U p o n the whole, we got a l o n g very well, so far a s the jail a n d its k e e p e r were c o n c e r n e d . I m m e d i a t e l y after the holidays were over, contrary to all our e x p e c t a t i o n s , Mr. H a m i l t o n a n d Mr. F r e e l a n d c a m e u p to E a s t o n , a n d took C h a r l e s , the two Henrys, a n d J o h n , out of jail, a n d carried t h e m h o m e , leaving m e a l o n e . I r e g a r d e d this s e p a r a t i o n a s a final o n e . It c a u s e d m e m o r e pain than any thing else in the whole t r a n s a c t i o n . I was ready for any thing rather than s e p a r a t i o n . I s u p p o s e d that they h a d c o n s u l t e d together, a n d had d e c i d e d that, a s I w a s the whole c a u s e of the intention of the others to run away, it was hard to m a k e the i n n o c e n t suffer with the guilty; a n d that they h a d , therefore, c o n c l u d e d to take the others h o m e , a n d sell m e , a s a w a r n i n g to

970

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FREDERICK

DOUGLASS

the others that r e m a i n e d . It is d u e to the noble H e n r y to say, h e s e e m e d a l m o s t a s reluctant at leaving the prison as at leaving h o m e to c o m e to the p r i s o n . B u t we knew we s h o u l d , in all probability, b e s e p a r a t e d , if we w e r e sold; a n d s i n c e he w a s in their h a n d s , h e c o n c l u d e d to g o p e a c e a b l y h o m e . I w a s now left to my fate. I w a s all a l o n e , a n d within the walls of a s t o n e p r i s o n . B u t a few days before, a n d I w a s full of h o p e . I e x p e c t e d to have b e e n s a f e in a land of f r e e d o m ; but now I w a s covered with g l o o m , s u n k d o w n to the u t m o s t d e s p a i r . I thought the possibility of f r e e d o m w a s g o n e . I w a s kept in this way a b o u t o n e week, at the end of which, C a p t a i n A u l d , my m a s t e r , to my s u r p r i s e a n d utter a s t o n i s h m e n t , c a m e u p , a n d took m e o u t , with the intention of s e n d i n g m e , with a g e n t l e m a n of his a c q u a i n t a n c e , into Alab a m a . B u t , from s o m e c a u s e or other, h e did not s e n d m e to A l a b a m a , but c o n c l u d e d to s e n d m e b a c k to B a l t i m o r e , to live again with his brother H u g h , a n d to learn a t r a d e . T h u s , after a n a b s e n c e of three years a n d o n e m o n t h , I w a s o n c e m o r e p e r m i t t e d to return to my old h o m e at B a l t i m o r e . M y m a s t e r sent m e away, b e c a u s e there existed a g a i n s t m e a very great p r e j u d i c e in the c o m m u n i t y , a n d h e feared I might b e killed. In a few w e e k s after I went to B a l t i m o r e , M a s t e r H u g h hired m e to M r . William G a r d n e r , a n extensive ship-builder, on Fell's P o i n t . I w a s p u t there to learn how to calk. It, however, proved a very u n f a v o r a b l e p l a c e for the a c c o m p l i s h m e n t of this o b j e c t . M r . G a r d n e r w a s e n g a g e d that spring in b u i l d i n g two large man-of-war brigs, professedly for the M e x i c a n governm e n t . T h e v e s s e l s were to b e l a u n c h e d in the J u l y of that year, a n d in failure thereof, M r . G a r d n e r w a s to lose a c o n s i d e r a b l e s u m ; s o that w h e n I e n t e r e d , all w a s hurry. T h e r e w a s no time to learn any thing. Every m a n h a d to do that which h e knew how to d o . In e n t e r i n g the ship-yard, my orders from M r . G a r d n e r were, to do whatever the c a r p e n t e r s c o m m a n d e d m e to d o . T h i s w a s p l a c i n g m e at the b e c k a n d call of a b o u t seventy-five m e n . I w a s to regard all t h e s e a s m a s t e r s . T h e i r word w a s to b e my law. M y situation w a s a m o s t trying o n e . At times I n e e d e d a dozen pair of h a n d s . I w a s c a l l e d a d o z e n ways in the s p a c e of a single m i n u t e . T h r e e or four v o i c e s w o u l d strike m y ear at the s a m e m o m e n t . It w a s — " F r e d . , c o m e help m e to c a n t this t i m b e r h e r e . " — " F r e d . , c o m e carry this timber y o n d e r . " — " F r e d . , b r i n g that roller h e r e . " — " F r e d . , go get a fresh c a n of w a t e r . " — " F r e d . , c o m e h e l p s a w off the e n d of this t i m b e r . " — " F r e d . , go q u i c k , a n d get the c r o w b a r . " — " F r e d . , hold o n the e n d of this f a l l . " 6 — " F r e d . , go to the b l a c k s m i t h ' s s h o p , a n d get a n e w p u n c h . " — " H u r r a , F r e d . ! run a n d bring m e a cold c h i s e l . " — " I say, F r e d . , b e a r a h a n d , a n d get u p a fire a s q u i c k a s lightning u n d e r that s t e a m - b o x . " — " H a l l o o , nigger! c o m e , turn this g r i n d s t o n e . " — " C o m e , c o m e ! m o v e , m o v e ! a n d bowse7 this timber f o r w a r d . " — " I say, darky, blast your e y e s , why don't you heat u p s o m e p i t c h ? " — " H a l l o o ! halloo! h a l l o o ! " ( T h r e e v o i c e s at the s a m e time.) " C o m e h e r e ! — G o t h e r e ! — H o l d on w h e r e you a r e ! D a m n you, if you m o v e , I'll k n o c k your b r a i n s o u t ! " T h i s w a s my school for eight m o n t h s ; a n d I m i g h t have r e m a i n e d there longer, but for a m o s t horrid fight I h a d with four of the white a p p r e n t i c e s , in which my left eye w a s nearly k n o c k e d out, a n d I w a s horribly m a n g l e d in other r e s p e c t s . T h e facts in the c a s e were t h e s e : Until a very little while after 6. N a u t i c a l t e r m for t h e free e n d o f a r o p e o f a tackle or hoisting device.

7.

T o h a u l t h e t i m b e r by p u l l i n g o n t h e r o p e ,

N A R R A T I V E OF T H E L I F E , C H A P T E R X

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9 7 1

I went there, white a n d black ship-carpenters worked side by s i d e , a n d no o n e s e e m e d to s e e any impropriety in it. All h a n d s s e e m e d to b e very well satisfied. M a n y of the b l a c k c a r p e n t e r s were f r e e m e n . T h i n g s s e e m e d to be going on very well. All at o n c e , the white c a r p e n t e r s k n o c k e d off, a n d s a i d they would not work with free colored w o r k m e n . T h e i r r e a s o n for this, as alleged, w a s , that if free c o l o r e d c a r p e n t e r s were e n c o u r a g e d , they would soon take the trade into their own h a n d s , a n d p o o r white m e n would be thrown out of e m p l o y m e n t . T h e y therefore felt called u p o n at o n c e to p u t a s t o p to it. A n d , taking a d v a n t a g e of Mr. G a r d n e r ' s n e c e s s i t i e s , they broke off, swearing they would work no longer, unless he w o u l d d i s c h a r g e his black c a r p e n t e r s . N o w , t h o u g h this did not extend to m e in form, it did r e a c h m e in fact. M y fellow-apprentices very s o o n b e g a n to feel it d e g r a d i n g to t h e m to work with m e . T h e y b e g a n to p u t o n airs, a n d talk a b o u t the " n i g g e r s " taking the country, saying we all ought to b e killed; a n d , b e i n g e n c o u r a g e d by the j o u r n e y m e n , they c o m m e n c e d m a k i n g my c o n d i t i o n a s hard a s they c o u l d , by hectoring m e a r o u n d , a n d s o m e t i m e s striking m e . I, of c o u r s e , kept the vow I m a d e after the fight with Mr. Covey, a n d s t r u c k b a c k a g a i n , regardless of c o n s e q u e n c e s ; a n d while I kept t h e m from c o m b i n i n g , I s u c c e e d e d very well; for I c o u l d whip the whole of t h e m , taking t h e m separately. T h e y , however, at length c o m b i n e d , a n d c a m e u p o n m e , a r m e d with sticks, s t o n e s , a n d heavy h a n d s p i k e s . O n e c a m e in front with a half brick. T h e r e w a s o n e at e a c h side of m e , a n d o n e b e h i n d m e . While I w a s a t t e n d i n g to t h o s e in front, a n d on either s i d e , the o n e b e h i n d ran up with the h a n d s p i k e , a n d struck m e a heavy blow u p o n the h e a d . It s t u n n e d m e . I fell, a n d with this they all ran u p o n m e , a n d fell to b e a t i n g m e with their fists. I let t h e m lay on for a while, g a t h e r i n g strength. In an i n s t a n t , I gave a s u d d e n s u r g e , a n d rose to my h a n d s a n d k n e e s . J u s t a s I did that, o n e of their n u m b e r gave m e , with his heavy boot, a powerful kick in the left eye. M y eyeball s e e m e d to have burst. W h e n they s a w my eye c l o s e d , a n d badly swollen, they left m e . With this I seized the h a n d s p i k e , a n d for a time p u r s u e d t h e m . B u t here the c a r p e n t e r s interfered, a n d I thought I might a s well give it u p . It w a s i m p o s sible to s t a n d my h a n d a g a i n s t so m a n y . All this took p l a c e in sight of not less than fifty white s h i p - c a r p e n t e r s , a n d not o n e i n t e r p o s e d a friendly w o r d ; but s o m e cried, "Kill the d a m n e d nigger! Kill him! kill h i m ! H e s t r u c k a white p e r s o n . " I f o u n d my only c h a n c e for life w a s in flight. I s u c c e e d e d in getting away without a n additional blow, a n d barely s o ; for to strike a white m a n is death by L y n c h l a w , 8 — a n d that w a s the law in M r . G a r d n e r ' s ship-yard; nor is there m u c h of any other o u t of M r . G a r d n e r ' s ship-yard. I went directly h o m e , a n d told the story of my w r o n g s to M a s t e r H u g h ; a n d I a m h a p p y to say of h i m , irreligious a s he w a s , his c o n d u c t w a s heavenly, c o m p a r e d with that of his brother T h o m a s u n d e r similar c i r c u m s t a n c e s . H e listened attentively to my narration of the c i r c u m s t a n c e s l e a d i n g to the savage o u t r a g e , a n d gave m a n y proofs of his strong indignation at it. T h e heart of my o n c e overkind m i s t r e s s w a s a g a i n m e l t e d into pity. M y puffed-out eye a n d blood-covered f a c e m o v e d her to tears. S h e took a c h a i r by m e , w a s h e d the blood from my f a c e , a n d , with a mother's t e n d e r n e s s , b o u n d u p my h e a d , covering the w o u n d e d eye with a lean p i e c e of fresh beef. It w a s a l m o s t c o m p e n s a t i o n for my suffering to w i t n e s s , o n c e m o r e , a m a n i f e s t a t i o n of k i n d n e s s from this, my o n c e affectionate old m i s t r e s s . M a s t e r H u g h w a s very 8.

I.e., to b e subject to lynching, without benefit of legal p r o c e d u r e s .

9 7 2

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FREDERICK

DOUGLASS

m u c h e n r a g e d . H e gave expression to his feelings by p o u r i n g out c u r s e s u p o n the h e a d s of t h o s e who did the d e e d . As s o o n a s I got a little the better of my b r u i s e s , h e took m e with him to E s q u i r e W a t s o n ' s , on B o n d S t r e e t , to s e e what c o u l d b e d o n e a b o u t the matter. Mr. W a t s o n i n q u i r e d w h o s a w the a s s a u l t c o m m i t t e d . M a s t e r H u g h told him it was d o n e in M r . G a r d n e r ' s shipyard, at m i d d a y , w h e r e there were a large c o m p a n y of m e n at work. "As to t h a t , " he s a i d , "the d e e d was d o n e , a n d there was n o q u e s t i o n as to w h o did it." H i s a n s w e r w a s , h e could d o nothing in the c a s e , u n l e s s s o m e white m a n would c o m e forward a n d testify. H e c o u l d i s s u e no warrant o n my word. If I h a d b e e n killed in the p r e s e n c e of a t h o u s a n d c o l o r e d p e o p l e , their testim o n y c o m b i n e d would have b e e n insufficient to have a r r e s t e d o n e of the m u r d e r e r s . M a s t e r H u g h , for o n c e , w a s c o m p e l l e d to say this state of things w a s too b a d . O f c o u r s e , it w a s i m p o s s i b l e to get any white m a n to v o l u n t e e r his testimony in my behalf, a n d a g a i n s t the white y o u n g m e n . E v e n t h o s e w h o m a y have s y m p a t h i z e d with m e were not p r e p a r e d to d o this. It r e q u i r e d a d e g r e e of c o u r a g e u n k n o w n to t h e m to do s o ; for j u s t at that t i m e , the slightest m a n i f e s t a t i o n of h u m a n i t y toward a colored p e r s o n w a s d e n o u n c e d a s a b o l i t i o n i s m , a n d that n a m e s u b j e c t e d its b e a r e r to frightful liabilities. T h e w a t c h w o r d s of the bloody-minded in that region, a n d in t h o s e d a y s , w e r e , " D a m n the abolitionists!" a n d " D a m n the n i g g e r s ! " T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g d o n e , a n d probably nothing would have b e e n d o n e if I h a d b e e n killed. S u c h w a s , a n d s u c h r e m a i n s , the state of things in the C h r i s t i a n city of B a l t i m o r e . M a s t e r H u g h , finding h e c o u l d get n o r e d r e s s , r e f u s e d to let m e g o b a c k again to Mr. G a r d n e r . H e kept m e himself, a n d his wife d r e s s e d my w o u n d till I w a s again restored to h e a l t h . H e then took m e into the ship-yard of which h e w a s f o r e m a n , in the e m p l o y m e n t of Mr. W a l t e r P r i c e . T h e r e I w a s i m m e d i a t e l y set to calking, a n d very s o o n learned the art of u s i n g my mallet a n d irons. In the c o u r s e of o n e year from the time I left M r . G a r d n e r ' s , I w a s able to c o m m a n d the highest w a g e s given to the m o s t e x p e r i e n c e d c a l k e r s . I w a s now of s o m e i m p o r t a n c e to my m a s t e r . I w a s b r i n g i n g him from six to seven dollars p e r week. I s o m e t i m e s b r o u g h t him nine dollars p e r week: my w a g e s were a dollar a n d a half a day. After learning h o w to calk, I s o u g h t my own e m p l o y m e n t , m a d e my own c o n t r a c t s , a n d c o l l e c t e d the m o n e y w h i c h I e a r n e d . M y p a t h w a y b e c a m e m u c h m o r e s m o o t h t h a n b e f o r e ; my c o n d i t i o n w a s n o w m u c h m o r e c o m f o r t a b l e . W h e n I c o u l d get no calking to d o , I did nothing. D u r i n g t h e s e leisure t i m e s , t h o s e old n o t i o n s a b o u t f r e e d o m w o u l d steal over m e a g a i n . W h e n in M r . G a r d n e r ' s e m p l o y m e n t , I w a s kept in s u c h a p e r p e t u a l whirl of e x c i t e m e n t , I c o u l d think of n o t h i n g , scarcely, b u t my life; a n d in thinking of my life, I a l m o s t forgot my liberty. I have o b s e r v e d this in my e x p e r i e n c e of slavery,—that whenever my c o n d i t i o n w a s i m p r o v e d , i n s t e a d of its i n c r e a s i n g my c o n t e n t m e n t , it only i n c r e a s e d my d e s i r e to b e free, a n d set m e to thinking of p l a n s to gain my f r e e d o m . I have f o u n d that, to m a k e a c o n t e n t e d slave, it is n e c e s s a r y to m a k e a t h o u g h t l e s s o n e . It is n e c e s s a r y to darken his moral a n d m e n t a l vision, a n d , a s far a s p o s s i b l e , to a n n i h i l a t e the power of r e a s o n . H e m u s t b e able to d e t e c t n o i n c o n s i s t e n c i e s in slavery; he m u s t b e m a d e to feel that slavery is right; a n d h e c a n b e b r o u g h t to that only w h e n h e c e a s e s to b e a m a n . I w a s now getting, a s I have said, o n e dollar a n d fifty c e n t s p e r day. I c o n t r a c t e d for it; I e a r n e d it; it w a s p a i d to m e ; it w a s rightfully my o w n ; yet, u p o n e a c h returning S a t u r d a y night, I was c o m p e l l e d to deliver every cent of that m o n e y to M a s t e r H u g h . A n d why? N o t b e c a u s e h e e a r n e d i t , — n o t

LOUISE AMELIA SMITH CLAPPE

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973

b e c a u s e h e h a d any h a n d in e a r n i n g i t , — n o t b e c a u s e I o w e d it to h i m , — n o r b e c a u s e he p o s s e s s e d the slightest s h a d o w of a right to it; but solely b e c a u s e he had the p o w e r to c o m p e l m e to give it u p . T h e right of the grim-visaged pirate u p o n the high s e a s is exactly the s a m e . *

*

* 1845

LOUISE AMELIA SMITH CLAPPE 1819-1906 L o u i s e A m e l i a K n a p p S m i t h C l a p p (later, C l a p p e ) , a N e w E n g l a n d e r , wrote twentythree letters to a sister in M a s s a c h u s e t t s that c o n s t i t u t e a vivid a c c o u n t of life in t h e m i n e s of t h e S i e r r a N e v a d a in the early years of t h e C a l i f o r n i a G o l d R u s h . P r e s u m a b l y the letters m a d e t h e p e r i l o u s trip e a s t a n d b a c k , b e c a u s e in 1 8 5 5 C l a p p e p u b l i s h e d t h e m a s " C a l i f o r n i a , in 1 8 5 1 a n d 1 8 5 2 . R e s i d e n c e in the M i n e s " in a n e w short-lived S a n F r a n c i s c o m a g a z i n e , The Pioneer. W h e n the letters b e g a n arriving in N e w E n g l a n d late in 1 8 5 1 , C l a p p e ' s sister c o u l d h a v e sold t h e m to a N e w York, B o s t o n , or P h i l a d e l p h i a n e w s p a p e r or m a g a z i n e , for E a s t e r n e r s h u n g e r e d for s t o r i e s a b o u t g o l d m i n i n g in the new s t a t e , a n d b o t h in s u b j e c t m a t t e r a n d in style C l a p p e ' s a c c o u n t s w e r e r e m a r k a b l e . E v e n b e f o r e g o i n g to S a n F r a n c i s c o , s h e k n e w that o t h e r s h a d s u c c e e d e d with travel letters ( c o n s p i c u o u s l y , B a y a r d T a y l o r , w h o left C a l i f o r n i a j u s t a s s h e arrived t h e r e ) . C l a p p e lost her c h a n c e for n a t i o n a l f a m e by not p u b l i s h i n g the letters while e x c i t e m e n t over the G o l d R u s h w a s high. By 1 8 5 5 , n a t i o n a l f o c u s h a d shifted to slavery, a n d the latest C a l i f o r n i a n e w s w a s a b o u t the fast, safer way to t h e G o l d e n S t a t e — t h e n e w r a i l r o a d a c r o s s the i s t h m u s of P a n a m a . W e l l b e f o r e C l a p p e d i e d , h i s t o r i a n s of the G o l d R u s h realized that her letters w e r e a n u n p a r a l l e l e d r e s o u r c e , s h r e w d a n d ironical, for d e t a i l s a b o u t m o d e s of travel (always h a z a r d o u s ) , g r o t e s q u e l o d g i n g a n d inventive a t t e m p t s at e s t a b l i s h i n g d o m e s t i c c o m f o r t , m e t h o d s of m i n i n g (often d a n g e r o u s ) , vigilante j u s t i c e , a n d t h e a w e - s t r i k i n g s p l e n d o r s of n a t u r e . S h e d r e w m e m o r a b l e portraits of m i n e r s a n d the h a n d f u l of w h i t e w o m e n w h o a c c o m p a n i e d t h e m , a s well a s a few C a l i f o r n i a I n d i a n s s h e e n c o u n t e r e d , a n d s h e vividly d e s c r i b e d t h e arrival of i m m i g r a n t s w h o h a d survived the o v e r l a n d trek f r o m M i s s o u r i . In t h e t w e n t i e t h c e n t u r y , h i s t o r i a n s of C a l i f o r n i a c o l l e c t e d t h e letters in b o o k f o r m , a n d g r a d u a l l y their literary m e r i t s b e c a m e k n o w n . C l a p p e h a d a m o s t unlikely b a c k g r o u n d for her a d v e n t u r e in t h e G o l d R u s h . S h e w a s b o r n in E l i z a b e t h t o w n , N e w J e r s e y , o n J u l y 2 8 , 1 8 1 9 . H e r father, a m a t h e m a t i c i a n , m o v e d the family to A m h e r s t , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , w h e r e h e t a u g h t at the a c a d e m y until h e d i e d in 1 8 3 2 . After her m o t h e r ' s d e a t h in 1 8 3 7 , her g u a r d i a n , O s m y n B a k e r (a c l a s s m a t e of E m i l y D i c k i n s o n ' s f a t h e r ) , k e p t her in s c h o o l s , i n c l u d i n g t h e A m h e r s t A c a d e m y , until s h e w a s n i n e t e e n or twenty. D u r i n g t h e next few years s h e t a u g h t F r e n c h a n d p e r h a p s o t h e r s u b j e c t s . In 1 8 3 9 s h e m e t the d i p l o m a t A l e x a n d e r Hill Everett, w h o c o r r e s p o n d e d with her on political a n d i n t e l l e c t u a l i s s u e s until his d e a t h in 1 8 4 7 ; her letters to h i m , now lost, m u s t h a v e facilitated her c o m p o s i t i o n of the letters o n w h i c h her r e p u t a t i o n r e s t s . In S e p t e m b e r 1 8 4 8 s h e m a r r i e d F a y e t t e C l a p p , a g r a d u a t e of B r o w n University w h o w a s a p p r e n t i c e d to a d o c t o r . S h e a n d her h u s b a n d (by then Dr. C l a p p ) a n d m e m b e r s of their f a m i l i e s s a i l e d f r o m N e w York in A u g u s t 1 8 4 9 , r o u n d e d C a p e H o r n , a n d s a i l e d t h r o u g h the G o l d e n G a t e into S a n F r a n c i s c o

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B a y in J a n u a r y 1 8 5 0 . T h e y r e m a i n e d a y e a r in S a n F r a n c i s c o , D r . C l a p p s u f f e r i n g from i l l n e s s , i n c l u d i n g w h a t w a s c a l l e d " b r a i n fever." A m i n e r c o u l d m a k e a f o r t u n e in a d a y , a n d a d o c t o r c o u l d c h a r g e G o l d R u s h p r i c e s for t r e a t i n g m i n e r s w e a k e n e d f r o m their w o r k i n g c o n d i t i o n s (particularly s u s c e p t i b l e , C l a p p s a i d , t o e r y s i p e l a s ) a n d liable t o i n c u r b r o k e n b o n e s in a c c i d e n t s ( a n d suffer f r o m peritonitis d u r i n g r e c o v e r y ) . Early in 1 8 5 1 t h e C l a p p s t o o k a s t e a m b o a t to M a r y s v i l l e , a t t h e c o n f l u e n c e of t h e F e a t h e r a n d Y u b a rivers. H e a r i n g that a t h o u s a n d m i n e r s at R i c h B a r were w i t h o u t a d o c t o r , C l a p p w e n t o n to s e t u p a r o u g h " o f f i c e " w h i l e L o u i s e s t a y e d b e h i n d a few w e e k s , c o n t r i b u t i n g s k e t c h e s a n d p o e m s to t h e M a r y s v i l l e Herald.

In t h e fall o f 1 8 5 1 ,

from Rich B a r , s h e b e g a n writing h e r l o n g l e t t e r s t o h e r s i s t e r Molly. D r . C l a p p f o u n d that t w o d o z e n d o c t o r s h a d p r e c e d e d h i m t o R i c h B a r , a n d t h e C l a p p s left t h e m i n e s for S a n F r a n c i s c o l a t e in 1 8 5 2 . D r . C l a p p s o o n s a i l e d for H a w a i i , t h e n r e t u r n e d t o M a s s a c h u s e t t s , a l o n e . W h a t h a p p e n e d b e t w e e n t h e m is u n k n o w n . S h e b e g a n t e a c h ing s c h o o l in S a n F r a n c i s c o in 1 8 5 4 . Effectively a b a n d o n e d , s h e filed for d i v o r c e in 1 8 5 6 ; after this t i m e s h e s p e l l e d h e r last n a m e C l a p p e . In 1 8 7 8 , o n retiring after a q u a r t e r c e n t u r y o f t e a c h i n g in S a n F r a n c i s c o , s h e m o v e d to N e w Y o r k City, t h e n t o M o r r i s t o w n , N e w J e r s e y , w h e r e s h e d i e d early in 1 9 0 6 . As strong a "character" as any of the miners, C l a p p e knew she was "obstinate" a n d "wilful," d e t e r m i n e d f r o m c h i l d h o o d to d o w h a t p e o p l e s a i d s h e c o u l d n ' t . P a s t thirty, s h e r o d e a l m o s t twenty-four h o u r s at a s t r e t c h w i t h o u t c o m p l a i n i n g , s e e i n g h e r s e l f a s " a r e g u l a r N o m a d " in h e r p a s s i o n for w a n d e r i n g . S h e d i d n o t e n d u r e u n n e c e s s a r y hardships (she had a cook when she could get one, and other w o m e n did her laundry), b u t s h e w a s t o u g h , i n d e p e n d e n t , a n d n e v e r t o o s h o c k e d to r e c o r d t h e w a y m i n e r s s w o r e , d r a n k a n d g a m b l e d , a n d knifed e a c h o t h e r , f o u g h t d u e l s , l a s h e d m i n o r offenders, a n d h a n g e d t h i e v e s . A s s h e w i t n e s s e d a n d p o r t r a y e d a l e n g t h e n i n g p a n o r a m a o f life in t h e m i n e s , C l a p p e s a w h e r s e l f in r e l a t i o n to s u c c e s s f u l j o u r n a l i s t s : " G r a c e Greenwood," the pen n a m e of Sarah J a n e Lippincott ( 1 8 2 3 - 1 9 0 4 ) , "Fanny Forester," t h e p e n n a m e o f E m i l y C . J u d s o n ( 1 8 1 7 - 1 8 5 4 ) , a n d N a t h a n i e l P a r k e r Willis ( 1 8 0 6 1 8 6 7 ) . B u t s h e a l s o s a w h e r s e l f ( s h e w o u l d h a v e s a i d s e l f - m o c k i n g l y ) a s a letter writer like t h e M a r q u i s e d e S e v i g n e ( 1 6 2 6 — 1 6 9 6 ) , f a m o u s for h e r c o r r e s p o n d e n c e with h e r d a u g h t e r , a n d L a d y M a r y W o r t l e y M o n t a g u ( 1 6 8 9 - 1 7 6 2 ) , a u t h o r of Turkish

Letters.

S t e e p e d in t h e B i b l e a n d t h o r o u g h l y f a m i l i a r with S p e n s e r a n d S h a k e s p e a r e , t h e E n g l i s h R o m a n t i c s , D i c k e n s , a n d m a n y c o n t e m p o r a r y A m e r i c a n writers, C l a p p e b e l o n g e d in g o o d literary c o m p a n y . W i t h j u s t a slight turn o f h e r f o r t u n e , s h e m i g h t h a v e h a d a c a r e e r in j o u r n a l i s m in h e r o w n t i m e r a t h e r t h a n a literary r e p u t a t i o n a c e n t u r y a n d a half later.

California, in 1852' RESIDENCE

Letter

IN T H E MINES

Twelfth.

F R O M OUR L O G C A B I N , Indian Rar,2 January 2 7 , 1 8 5 2 .

I wish that it w e r e p o s s i b l e , d e a r M . , 3 to give you a n i d e a o f t h e perfect S a t u r n a l i a , 4 w h i c h h a s b e e n held u p o n t h e river for t h e last t h r e e w e e k s , 1. T h e t e x t i s f r o m t h e S a n F r a n c i s c o Pioneer ( F e b r u a r y 1 8 5 5 ) . P e r h a p s identifying herself with the strong-willed heroine of C h a r l o t t e Bronte's 1 8 4 9 b o o k Shirley, C l a p p e signed t h e letters "Shirley," a p s e u d o n y m s h e h a d u s e d for p i e c e s in a Marysville, C a l i f o r n i a , p a p e r in 1 8 5 1 . In t h e text o f " R e s i d e n c e in t h e M i n e s " C l a p p e r e f e r r e d t o h e r s e l f a s " D a m e S h i r l e y " — p o s s i b l y a s a selfmocking way of saying " S c h o o l m a ' r m Shirley," for s h e h a d t a u g h t i n N e w E n g l a n d a n d in 1 8 5 4 s h e

h a d b e c o m e a s c h o o l t e a c h e r in S a n F r a n c i s c o . 2. O n t h e E a s t B r a n c h o f t h e N o r t h F o r k o f t h e F e a t h e r R i v e r , a s w a s t h e n e a r b y R i c h B a r . ( A bar is a b a n k o f s a n d , g r a v e l , a n d o t h e r m a t t e r b u i l t u p in a r i v e r , c r e a t i n g a p e n i n s u l a . ) 3. C l a p p e ' s s i s t e r M o l l y . 4. In R o m a n religion, t h e festival o f t h e g o d Satu r n , b e g i n n i n g D e c e m b e r 1 7 ; in C h r i s t i a n c o u n tries, a n y period of g e n e r a l l i c e n s e , particularly from Christmas through N e w Year's.

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without at the s a m e time c a u s i n g you to think too severely of our g o o d M o u n tains. In truth, it requires not only a large intellect, but a large heart, to j u d g e with b e c o m i n g charity of the p e c u l i a r t e m p t a t i o n s of r i c h e s . A m o r e genero u s , h o s p i t a b l e , intelligent a n d i n d u s t r i o u s p e o p l e , than the i n h a b i t a n t s of the half-dozen B a r s — o f which Rich B a r is the n u c l e u s — n e v e r existed; for you know how proverbially w e a r i n g it is to the nerves of m a n h o o d , to b e entirely without either o c c u p a t i o n or a m u s e m e n t ; a n d that h a s b e e n preeminently the c a s e d u r i n g the p r e s e n t m o n t h . I m a g i n e a c o m p a n y of enterprising a n d excitable y o u n g m e n , settled u p o n a sandy level, a b o u t as large a s a p o o r widow's p o t a t o e p a t c h , walled in by sky-kissing h i l l s — a b s o l u t e l y compelled to r e m a i n , on a c c o u n t of the w e a t h e r , which h a s vetoed indefinitely their E x o d u s — w i t h no p l a c e to ride or drive, even if they h a d the n e c e s s a r y vehicles a n d q u a d r u p e d s , — w i t h n o n e w s p a pers nor politics to interest t h e m , — d e p r i v e d of all b o o k s but a few d o g - e a r e d novels of the p o o r e s t c l a s s , — c h u r c h e s , l e c t u r e s , I y c e u m s , t h e a t e r s a n d ( m o s t u n k i n d e s t c u t of a l l ! ) 5 pretty girls, having b e c o m e to t h e s e u n h a p p y m e n m e r e m y t h s , — w i t h o u t one of the t h o u s a n d ways of p a s s i n g time p e c u l i a r to civilization,—most of t h e m living in d a m p , g l o o m y c a b i n s , w h e r e H e a v e n ' s dear light c a n enter only by the d o o r , — a n d , w h e n you a d d to all t h e s e disa g r e e a b l e s the fact that, d u r i n g the never-to-be-forgotten m o n t h , the m o s t r e m o r s e l e s s , p e r s e v e r i n g rain which ever set itself to work to drive h u m a n i t y m a d , h a s b e e n p o u r i n g doggedly down, s w e e p i n g away b r i d g e s , lying in u n c o m f o r t a b l e p u d d l e s a b o u t nearly all the h a b i t a t i o n s , wickedly i n s i n u a t i n g itself b e n e a t h u n - u m b r e l l a - p r o t e c t e d shirtcollars, g e n e r o u s l y treating to a shower-bath and the r h e u m a t i s m s l e e p i n g b i p e d s , w h o did not h a p p e n to have an I n d i a - r u b b e r 6 b l a n k e t , — a n d , to crown all, r e n d e r i n g m i n i n g utterly i m p o s s i b l e , — y o u c a n n o t w o n d e r that even the m o s t moral s h o u l d have become somewhat reckless. T h e S a t u r n a l i a c o m m e n c e d o n C h r i s t m a s evening, at the H u m b o l d t , 7 which on that very day, h a d p a s s e d into the h a n d s of new p r o p r i e t o r s . T h e m o s t g o r g e o u s p r e p a r a t i o n s were m a d e for c e l e b r a t i n g the two events. T h e bar w a s re-trimmed with red c a l i c o , the bowling alley h a d a n e w lining of the c o a r s e s t a n d whitest cotton cloth, a n d the broken l a m p s h a d e s were r e p l a c e d by whole o n e s . AH day long, patient m u l e s c o u l d b e s e e n d e s c e n d i n g the hill, b e n d i n g b e n e a t h c a s k s of brandy a n d b a s k e t s of c h a m p a g n e , a n d , for the first time in the history of that c e l e b r a t e d building, the floor (wonderful to relate, it has a floor,) w a s washed, at a lavish e x p e n d i t u r e of s o m e fifty pails of water, the u s i n g up of o n e entire b r o o m , a n d the m e l t i n g away of sundry b a r s of the b e s t yellow s o a p ; after w h i c h , I a m told that the enterprising a n d benevolent individuals, who h a d u n d e r t a k e n the H e r c u l e a n 8 task, s u c c e e d e d in w a s h i n g the b o a r d s through the h o p e l e s s load of dirt, which h a d a c c u m u l a t e d u p o n t h e m d u r i n g the s u m m e r a n d a u t u m n . All t h e s e inter5 . F a t a l l y s t a b b e d , C a e s a r , i n S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Julius Caesar 3 . 2 . 1 8 3 , calls the blow f r o m his friend Brutus "the most unkindest cut of all," a f a m o u s p h r a s e m u c h m o c k e d for r e d u n d a n c y . 6. R u b b e r , c a o u t c h o u c , f r o m t h e t i m e w h e n m o s t rubber c a m e from southeast Asia. T h e California rainy season is v a r i a b l e , roughly November through March. 7. T h e H u m b o l d t H o t e l , like t h e c o u n t y a n d b a y in n o r t h e r n C a l i f o r n i a , h o n o r s t h e g r e a t P r u s s i a n scientist Alexander, Baron von Humboldt ( 1 7 6 9 1 8 5 9 ) , r e v e r e d i n t h e m i d - 1 9 t h c e n t u r y a s t h e first

g r e a t e x p l o r e r for scientific r a t h e r t h a n r e l i g i o u s , political, or c o m m e r c i a l r e a s o n s , a n d as the s e e m i n g l y a l l - k n o w i n g a u t h o r o f The American Journey, a m u l t i v o l u m e a c c o u n t of his scientific expedition into S o u t h a n d Central America. H e visited W a s h i n g t o n , D . C . a s P r e s i d e n t J e f f e r s o n ' s g u e s t in 1 8 0 4 but never saw California. 8 . I n G r e e k m y t h H e r c u l e s is a m i g h t y h e r o , s o n of J u p i t e r a n d A l c m e n a ; he performs twelve s e e m i n g l y i m p o s s i b l e l a b o r s , t h e fifth o f w h i c h is t h e cleansing of the stables of A u g e a s , w h o had p e n n e d 3 , 0 0 0 h e a d of c a t t l e t h e r e for thirty y e a r s .

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esting p a r t i c u l a r s were c o m m u n i c a t e d to m e by " N e d , " w h e n he b r o u g h t up dinner.'' T h a t d i s t i n g u i s h e d individual h i m s e l f w a s in his e l e m e n t , a n d in a m o s t intense state of p e r s p i r a t i o n a n d e x c i t e m e n t at the s a m e time. A b o u t dark, we were startled by the l o u d e s t h u r r a s , which a r o s e at the sight of an army of India-rubber c o a t s , (the rain w a s falling in riversfull,) e a c h o n e e n s h r o u d i n g a R i c h B a r i a n , 1 which w a s rapidly d e s c e n d i n g the hill. T h i s troop w a s h e a d e d by the " G e n e r a l , " w h o — l u c k y m a n that he i s — w a v e d on high, instead of a b a n n e r , a live lantern, actually c o m p o s e d of tin a n d window-glass, a n d evidently i n t e n d e d by its m a k e r to act in n o c a p a c i t y but that of a lantern! T h e " G e n e r a l " is the largest a n d tallest a n d — w i t h o n e exception, I t h i n k — t h e oldest m a n upon the river. H e is a b o u t fifty, I s h o u l d fancy, a n d wears a snow-white beard of s u c h i m m e n s e d i m e n s i o n s , in both length a n d t h i c k n e s s , that any elderly T u r k would expire with envy, at the m e r e sight of it. D o n ' t i m a g i n e that he is a reveler; by n o m e a n s ; the gay crowd followed him, for the s a m e r e a s o n that the king followed M a d a m e Blaize, " b e c a u s e he went b e f o r e . " 2 At nine o'clock in the evening, they h a d a n oyster a n d c h a m p a g n e * s u p p e r in the H u m b o l d t , which w a s very gay with t o a s t s , s o n g s , s p e e c h e s , e t c . I believe that the c o m p a n y d a n c e d all night; at any rate, they were d a n c i n g w h e n I went to s l e e p , a n d they were d a n c i n g w h e n I woke the next m o r n i n g . T h e revel w a s kept up in this m a d way for three days, growing wilder every h o u r . S o m e never slept at all d u r i n g that t i m e . O n the fourth day, they got p a s t d a n c i n g , a n d , lying in d r u n k e n h e a p s a b o u t the b a r - r o o m , c o m m e n c e d a m o s t unearthly h o w l i n g ; — s o m e barked like d o g s , s o m e roared like bulls, a n d others hissed like s e r p e n t s a n d g e e s e . M a n y were too far g o n e to imitate anything but their own a n i m a l i z e d selves. T h e s c e n e , from the d e s c r i p t i o n I have had of it, m u s t have b e e n a c o m p l e t e illustration of the fable of C i r c e 4 a n d her fearful t r a n s f o r m a t i o n s . S o m e of t h e s e b a c c h a n a l s 5 were a m o n g the m o s t r e s p e c t a b l e a n d r e s p e c t e d m e n u p o n the river. M a n y of t h e m h a d resided here for m o r e than a year, a n d h a d never b e e n s e e n intoxicated before. It s e e m e d a s if they were seized with a reckless m a n i a for p o u r i n g down liquor, which, a s I said a b o v e , everything c o n s p i r e d to foster a n d i n c r e a s e . O f c o u r s e , there were s o m e who kept t h e m s e l v e s aloof f r o m t h e s e excess e s ; but they were few, a n d were not allowed to enjoy their sobriety in p e a c e . T h e revelers formed t h e m s e l v e s into a m o c k vigilance c o m m i t t e e , a n d w h e n o n e of t h e s e u n f o r t u n a t e s a p p e a r e d o u t s i d e , a c o n s t a b l e , followed by t h o s e who were able to keep their legs, b r o u g h t him before the C o u r t , where h e w a s tried o n s o m e a m u s i n g c h a r g e , a n d invariably s e n t e n c e d to "treat the c r o w d . " T h e p r i s o n e r s h a d generally the g o o d s e n s e to s u b m i t cheerfully to their fate. T o w a r d s the latter part of the week, p e o p l e were c o m p e l l e d to b e a little m o r e quiet from s h e e r e x h a u s t i o n ; b u t on N e w Year's day, w h e n there w a s a 9. C l a p p e ' s "light m u l a t t o " c o o k a n d waiter, N e d . a fine fiddler, h a d b e e n t h e c o o k o n t h e b r i g Somers in 1 8 4 2 , w h e n t h e c a p t a i n h a n g e d t h r e e m e n f o r mutiny. 1. A r e s i d e n t o f R i c h B a r ; b u t " B a r i a n " h a s a n ironic e c h o of "barbarian." 2. Oliver G o l d s m i t h ( 1 7 3 0 - 1 7 7 4 ) , Irish writer t h e n i m m e n s e l y p o p u l a r in t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s , w r o t e a f a c e t i o u s s p o o f , " E l e g y o n M r s . M a r y B l a i z e , " in i m i t a t i o n o f a F r e n c h p o e m b y B e r n a r d d e la M o n n o y e . In t h e e l e g y t h e k i n g h i m s e l f is s a i d t o h a v e

"followed her / W h e n she has walked before." 3 . O y s t e r s a r r i v e d in t h e g o l d m i n i n g c a m p s i n t i n c a n s , c h a m p a g n e in b o t t l e s . 4. D a u g h t e r of the s u n a n d a sea n y m p h . C i r c e lived o n the island of A e t n a s u r r o u n d e d by p e o p l e s h e h a d t u r n e d i n t o a n i m a l s . In H o m e r ' s Odyssey she transforms twenty-two of O d y s s e u s ' s c o m p a n ions into swine. 5. D r u n k e n c e l e b r a n t s , like a n c i e n t w o r s h i p e r s of the G r e e k god of wine, B a c c h u s .

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grand dinner at Rich Bar, the excitement broke out, if p o s s i b l e , w o r s e than ever. T h e s a m e s c e n e s in a m o r e or less a g g r a v a t e d form, in proportion a s the strength of the a c t o r s held o u t , were r e p e a t e d at S m i t h ' s B a r a n d " T h e Junction." Nearly every day, I w a s dreadfully frightened, by s e e i n g a boat-load of intoxicated m e n fall into the river, where n o t h i n g but the fact of their being intoxicated, saved m a n y of t h e m from drowning. O n e m o r n i n g , a b o u t thirty dollars worth of b r e a d , (it m u s t have b e e n "tipsy c a k e , " ) 6 which the b a k e r w a s conveying to S m i t h ' s Bar, fell overboard, a n d sailed merrily away towards Marysville. 7 P e o p l e p a s s e d " the river in a boat, which w a s m a n a g e d by a pulley a n d a r o p e , that w a s strained a c r o s s it from Indian B a r to the o p p o s i t e shore. O f the m a n y a c q u a i n t a n c e s , w h o h a d b e e n in the habit of calling nearly every e v e n i n g three, only, a p p e a r e d in the c a b i n d u r i n g as m a n y w e e k s . N o w , however, the S a t u r n a l i a is a b o u t over. " N e d " a n d " C h o c h , " 9 have nearly fiddled t h e m s e l v e s into their respective g r a v e s , — t h e claret (a favorite wine with miners,) a n d oysters are e x h a u s t e d , — b r a n d i e d fruits are rarely s e e n , a n d even port wine is b e g i n n i n g to look s c a r c e . O l d callers o c c a s i o n a l l y drop in, looking dreadfully s h e e p i s h a n d s u b d u e d , a n d so s o r r y , — a n d p e o p l e are evidently a r o u s i n g t h e m s e l v e s from the b a c c h a n a l m a d n e s s , into which they were so s u d d e n l y a n d s o strangely d r a w n . With the exception of my last, 1 this is the m o s t u n p l e a s a n t letter which I have ever felt it my duty to write to you. P e r h a p s you will w o n d e r that I should t o u c h u p o n s u c h a d i s a g r e e a b l e s u b j e c t at all. B u t I a m b o u n d , Molly, by my p r o m i s e , to give you a true picture (as m u c h a s in m e lies,) of m i n i n g life a n d its p e c u l i a r t e m p t a t i o n s , " n o t h i n g e x t e n u a t i n g nor setting down a u g h t in m a l i c e . " B u t with all their failings, believe m e , the m i n e r s , a s a c l a s s , p o s s e s s m a n y truly a d m i r a b l e c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s . I have h a d rather a stupid time during the s t o r m . W e h a d b e e n in the habit of taking f r e q u e n t rows u p o n the river in a funny little toppling c a n o e , carved o u t of a log. T h e bridge at o n e e n d of our b o a t i n g g r o u n d a n d the rapids at the other, m a d e quite a pretty lake. T o be s u r e it w a s s o s m a l l that we generally p a s s e d a n d r e p a s s e d its beautiful s u r f a c e at least thirty times in a n hour. B u t we did not m i n d that, I can a s s u r e you. W e were only too glad to be able to go onto the water at all. I u s e d to return, l o a d e d d o w n with the magnificent large leaves of s o m e a q u a t i c p l a n t , which the g e n t l e frosts had painted with the m o s t g o r g e o u s c o l o r s , lots of fragrant m i n t , a n d a few w a n , white flowers, which h a d lingered p a s t their a u t u m n a l glory. T h e richest hoth o u s e b o u q u e t c o u l d never give m e half the p l e a s u r e , which I took in arranging in a pretty vase of p u r p l e a n d white, t h o s e g o r g e o u s leaves. T h e y m a d e m e think of M o o r i s h A r a b e s q u e s ; - so q u a i n t a n d bizarre, a n d at the s a m e 6. C a k e m a d e of pastry a n d a l m o n d s — o r any dry c a k e — s a t u r a t e d with wine or brandy a n d served with c u s t a r d s a u c e . 7 . M a r y s v i l l e , t h e Y u b a C o u n t y s e a t , is a t t h e c o n fluence of the F e a t h e r River a n d the Y u b a River. 8. C r o s s e d . 9. A "white m a n by the n a m e of 'Chock,' " an a s s i s t a n t v i o l i n i s t t o N e d , is i n t r o d u c e d in L e t t e r 8 , where C l a p p e relishes the California convention t h a t a l l o w s h i m t o p a s s u n d e r a s i n g l e n a m e , a s if he w e r e H o m e r or H a n n i b a l . 1. L e t t e r 11 t e l l s t w o g r i m s t o r i e s . A S w e d e w h o stole m o n e y w a s c a u g h t , tried, a n d m o s t ineptly

h a n g e d : his writhing body, which was h a u l e d up a n d down several times before the n o o s e tightened e n o u g h t o c h o k e h i m t o d e a t h , w a s left h a n g i n g f o r several h o u r s . T h e s e c o n d story involves two m e n w h o a b a n d o n e d t h e i r c o m p a n i o n in t h e s n o w a n d , a s it t u r n e d o u t , v e r y p r o b a b l y r o b b e d a n d k i l l e d h i m ; they w e r e a l l o w e d to leave t h e B a r alive for want of conclusive evidence against them. Below: " n o t h i n g . . . in m a l i c e " : t h e M o o r ' s l a s t s p e e c h , Othello 5.2. 2 . A d e s i g n m a r k e d by i n t r i c a t e p a t t e r n s o f i n t e r laced lines.

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time dazzlingly brilliant were the varied tints. T h e y were in their glory at evening; for like a n oriental beauty, they lighted up splendidly. A l a s ! w h e r e o n e little m o n t h a g o , my pretty lake lay l a u g h i n g u p at the s t a r s , a turbid torrent r u s h e s noisily b y ; — t h e p o o r little c a n o e w a s swept away with the bridge, a n d splendid leaves hide their bright h e a d s forever b e n e a t h the dark waters. B u t I a m not entirely bereft of the beautiful. F r o m my last walk, I b r o u g h t h o m e a tiny bit of out-doors, w h i c h t h r o u g h all the long, rainy m o n t h s that are to c o m e , will sing to m e silently, yet eloquently, of the b l u e a n d gold of the v a n i s h e d s u m m e r , a n d the c r i m s o n a n d p u r p l e of its a u t u m n . It is a b r a n c h , g a t h e r e d from that prettiest f e a t u r e of m o u n t a i n scenery, a m o s s - g r o w n fir-tree. You will s e e t h e m at every s t e p , s t a n d i n g all lovely in this graceful robe. It is in color, a vivid p e a - g r e e n , with little hard flowers, which look m o r e like dots t h a n anything e l s e , a n d c o n t r a s t b e a u tifully with the d e e p e r v e r d u r e of the fir. T h e b r a n c h , which I b r o u g h t h o m e , I have p l a c e d a b o v e my window. It is t h r e e feet in length a n d a s large r o u n d a s a p e r s o n ' s a r m ; a n d there it r e m a i n s , a c o r n i c e w r e a t h e d with purple-starred tapestry, w h o s e w o n d r o u s b e a u t y n o u p h o l s t e r e r c a n ever m a t c h . I have got the prettiest N e w Year's p r e s e n t . You will never g u e s s what it is, s o I shall have to tell you. O n the eve of the year, a s the " G e n e r a l " w a s lifting a glass of water, which h a d j u s t b e e n b r o u g h t from the river, to his lips, h e w a s startled at the sight of a tiny fish. H e i m m e d i a t e l y p u t it into a g l a s s j a r a n d gave it to m e . It is that m o s t lovely of all the c r e a t u r e s of T h e t i s , 3 a s p o t t e d trout, a little m o r e than two i n c h e s in length. Its b a c k of mingled green a n d gold, is s p l a s h e d with dots of the richest s a b l e . A m a r k of a d a r k ruby color, in s h a p e like a n a n c h o r , c r o w n s its e l e g a n t little h e a d . N o t h i n g c a n b e prettier than the d e l i c a t e wings of p a l e p u r p l e , with which its snowy belly is faintly p e n c i l e d . Its j e t b l a c k e y e s , r i m m e d with silver, within a circlet of rare s e a - b l u e , g l e a m like d i a m o n d s , a n d its w h o l e graceful s h a p e is gilded with a s h i m m e r i n g s h e e n , infinitely lovely. W h e n I w a t c h it from a c r o s s the r o o m , a s it glides slowly r o u n d its crystal p a l a c e , it r e m i n d s m e of a b e a m of m a n y - c o l o r e d light; but w h e n it glides u p a n d d o w n in its gay p l a y f u l n e s s , it g l e a m s t h r o u g h the liquid a t m o s p h e r e like a box of s h i n i n g silver. "A thing of b e a u t y is a j o y forever;" 4 a n d , truly, I never weary w a t c h i n g the p e r f e c t e d loveliness of my graceful little captive. In the list of my deprivations, a b o v e written, I forgot to m e n t i o n a fact, which I know will gain m e the s y m p a t h y of all carniverously d i s p o s e d p e o ple. It is, that we have h a d n o fresh meat for nearly a m o n t h ! D a r k a n d o m i n o u s r u m o r s are a l s o floating through the m o i s t air, to the effect that the p o t a t o e s a n d o n i o n s are a b o u t to give out! B u t don't b e a l a r m e d , d e a r Molly. T h e r e is n o d a n g e r of a f a m i n e . F o r have we not got w a g o n l o a d s of h a r d , dark h a m s , w h o s e i n d u r a t e d h e a r t s n o t h i n g b u t the s h a r p e s t knife a n d the s t o u t e s t a r m c a n p e n e t r a t e ? H a v e we not got q u i n t a l s 5 of dreadful m a c k e r e l , fearfully crystalized in b l a c k salt? H a v e w e not barrels u p o n barrels of rusty pork; a n d flour e n o u g h to victual a large a r m y for the next two 3. In G r e e k m y t h , a s e a n y m p h , m o t h e r o f A c h i l les. 4 . T h e b e g i n n i n g o f B o o k I o f J o h n K e a t s ' s Endymion ( 1 8 1 8 ) : " A t h i n g o f b e a u t y is a j o y f o r e v e r /

I t s l o v e l i n e s s i n c r e a s e s ; it w i l l n e v e r / P a s s nothingness." 5. H u n d r e d w e i g h t s .

into

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years? Yea, verily, have w e ; a n d m o r e a l s o . F o r we have oysters in c a n s , preserved m e a t s a n d s a r d i n e s , (appropo, I detest t h e m ) by the h u n d r e d box full. S o h u s h the trembling of that tender little heart a n d s h u t t h o s e tearful a n d a l a r m e d eyes, while I p r e s s a good-night kiss on their d r o o p i n g lids. LETTER TWENTY-SECOND.6 F R O M OUR L O G C A B I N , Indian Bar,

Oct.

27,

1852.7

In my last epistle, my d e a r M . , I left myself safely e n s c o n c e d at G r e e n wood's R a n c h o , in a b o u t as u n c o m f o r t a b l e a position a s a p e r s o n c o u l d well b e , w h e r e b o a r d w a s fourteen dollars a week. N o w you m u s t not think that the proprietors were at all to b l a m e for our m i s e r a b l e c o n d i t i o n . T h e y w e r e , I a s s u r e you, very g e n t l e m a n l y a n d intelligent m e n ; a n d I o w e t h e m a thous a n d t h a n k s , for the m a n y acts of k i n d n e s s , a n d the friendly efforts w h i c h they m a d e to a m u s e a n d interest m e while I w a s in their h o u s e . T h e y s a i d from the first that they were utterly u n p r e p a r e d to receive l a d i e s , a n d it w a s only after s o m e p e r s u a s i o n , a n d a s a favor to m e , that they c o n s e n t e d to let m e c o m e . T h e y i n t e n d s o o n to build a h a n d s o m e h o u s e ; for it is thought that this valley will be a favorite s u m m e r resort for p e o p l e from the cities below. T h e A m e r i c a n Valley 8 is o n e of the m o s t beautiful in all C a l i f o r n i a . It is seven miles long a n d three or four wide, with the F e a t h e r River 9 w e n d i n g its quiet way t h r o u g h it, u n m o l e s t e d by f l u m e s , a n d u n d i s t u r b e d by w i n g d a m s . 1 It is a s u p e r b f a r m i n g country, everything growing in the g r e a t e s t l u x u r i a n c e . I saw turnips there which m e a s u r e d larger r o u n d than my waist, a n d all other vegetables in the s a m e proportion. T h e r e a r e beautiful rides in every direction; t h o u g h I w a s too unwell d u r i n g my stay there to explore t h e m a s I wished. T h e r e is o n e d r a w - b a c k u p o n the b e a u t y of t h e s e valleys, a n d it is o n e p e c u l i a r to all the s c e n e r y in this part of C a l i f o r n i a — a n d that is, the m o n o t o n o u s tone of the foliage, nearly all the trees b e i n g firs. O n e m i s s e s that infinite variety of waving f o r m s , a n d t h o s e e n d l e s s s h a d e s of v e r d u r e , which m a k e N e w E n g l a n d forest s c e n e r y so exquisitely lovely. A n d then that g o r g e o u s a u t u m n a l p h e n o m e n o n , w i t n e s s e d , I believe, n o w h e r e b u t in the N o r t h e r n S t a t e s of the U n i o n , o n e never s e e s here. H o w often, in my faraway Y a n k e e h o m e , have I laid m e d o w n at eve, with the w h o l e earth looking so freshly g r e e n , to rise in the m o r n i n g a n d b e h o l d the w i l d e r n e s s b l o s s o m ing, not only like the r o s e , but like all other flowers b e s i d e , a n d glittering a s if a shower of butterflies h a d fallen u p o n it d u r i n g the silent w a t c h e s of the night. I have a v a g u e idea that I " h o o k e d " 2 that butterfly c o m p a r i s o n from

6 . T h e t e x t is f r o m t h e S a n F r a n c i s c o Pioneer (November 1855). 7. T h i s is o n e w e e k b e f o r e t h e D e m o c r a t F r a n k l i n Pierce won the presidential election. 8 . In L e t t e r 2 1 C l a p p e d e s c r i b e s h e r t r i p t o t h e A m e r i c a n Valley (east of Quincy), w h e r e m e n were m e e t i n g to n o m i n a t e p r e s i d e n t i a l e l e c t o r s . T h e Greenwood R a n c h o was the headquarters of the D e m o c r a t i c Party. C l a p p e s t a y e d at a b e t t e r p l a c e , the American Rancho, which was the Whig headquarters. S h e states emphatically that she was not a Whig, but a D e m o c r a t (holding strong convictions a l t h o u g h not a l l o w e d to v o t e ) . 9. N o t a valley c r e a t e d by t h e A m e r i c a n River n e a r S a c r a m e n t o , b u t a valley c r e a t e d by t h e F e a t h e r

River, n e a r Quincy, C a l i f o r n i a . 1. P i e r s b u i l t o u t f r o m t h e s h o r e t o d e e p e n a c h a n nel o r t o divert l o g s a n d d e b r i s ; in L e t t e r 2 0 C l a p p e specifies that a wing d a m "differs from a c o m m o n d a m , in d i v i d i n g t h e river l e n g t h w a y s i n s t e a d o f across." F l u m e s are narrow channels (usually w o o d e n ) which carry water to p o u r o n t o water w h e e l s or into t r o u g h s ; a s w a t e r p o u r s over dirt tossed onto troughs, gold particles, being heavy, s e t t l e at t h e b o t t o m . P e r h a p s a letter w a s lost, for in L e t t e r 15 C l a p p e s a y s s h e h a d m e n t i o n e d f l u m e s earlier. In L e t t e r 2 0 s h e d e s c r i b e s d a r i n g l y w a l k i n g " h i g h a b o v e t h e b e d of t h e river, f r o m f l u m e to flume, across a board connecting the two." 2.

Lifted, stole.

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s o m e b o d y . If s o I b e g the injured p e r s o n ' s p a r d o n , a n d he or s h e may have a h u n d r e d of mine to pay for it. It w a s at G r e e n w o o d ' s R a n c h o , that the f a m o u s q u a r t z h o a x ' originated last winter, which so c o m p l e t e l y gulled our g o o d m i n e r s on the river. I visited the spot which h a s b e e n e x c a v a t e d to s o m e extent. T h e s t o n e is very beautiful b e i n g lined a n d streaked a n d s p l a s h e d with c r i m s o n , p u r p l e , g r e e n , o r a n g e , a n d black. T h e r e w a s o n e large white block, veined with stripes of a magnificent blood-red color, a n d partly covered with a d a r k m a s s , which w a s the h a n d s o m e s t thing of the kind I ever saw. S o m e of the crystalizations were wonderfully perfect. I h a d a p i e c e of the b e d rock given m e , c o m p l e t e l y covered with natural p r i s m s , varying in size from an inch d o w n to t h o s e not larger than the h e a d of a pin. M u c h of the i m m i g r a t i o n from a c r o s s the p l a i n s , o n its way to the cities below, stops here for awhile to recruit. 4 I always h a d a s t r a n g e fancy for that N o m a d i c way of c o m i n g to California. T o lie d o w n u n d e r starry s k i e s , h u n d r e d s of miles from any h u m a n h a b i t a t i o n , a n d to rise up on dewy m o r n i n g s , to p u r s u e our way t h o u g h a s t r a n g e country, s o wildly beautiful, s e e i n g e a c h day s o m e t h i n g new and wonderful, s e e m e d to m e truly e n c h a n t i n g . Rut cruel reality strips everything of its rose tints. T h e poor w o m e n arrive, looking a s h a g g a r d a s so m a n y E n d o r e a n w i t c h e s ; 5 b u r n t to the color of a h a z e l n u t , with their hair cut short, a n d its g l o s s entirely destroyed by the alkali, w h o l e plains of which they are c o m p e l l e d to c r o s s on the way. You will hardly find a family that has not left s o m e beloved o n e buried u p o n the p l a i n s . A n d they a r e fearful funerals, t h o s e . A p e r s o n dies, a n d they s t o p j u s t long e n o u g h to dig his grave a n d lay him in it, a s decently a s c i r c u m s t a n c e s will p e r m i t , a n d the long train hurries o n w a r d , leaving its healthy c o m p a n i o n of yesterday, perh a p s , in this b o u n d l e s s city of the d e a d . O n this h a z a r d o u s j o u r n e y , they d a r e not linger. I w a s a c q u a i n t e d with a y o u n g widow of twenty, w h o s e h u s b a n d died of cholera w h e n they were but five w e e k s on their j o u r n e y . H e w a s a J u d g e in o n e of the W e s t e r n S t a t e s , 6 a n d a m a n of s o m e e m i n e n c e in his p r o f e s s i o n . S h e is a pretty little c r e a t u r e , a n d all the a s p i r a n t s to m a t r i m o n y are candid a t e s for her h a n d . O n e day a party of i m m i g r a n t w o m e n c a m e into my r o o m , which w a s a l s o the parlor of the e s t a b l i s h m e n t . S o m e observation w a s m a d e which led m e to e n q u i r e of o n e of t h e m if her h u s b a n d w a s with her. " S h e hain't got no h u s b a n d , " fairly chuckled o n e of her c o m p a n i o n s ; " S h e c a m e with me, a n d her feller died of c h o l e r a on the p l a i n s ! " At this startling a n d brutal a n n o u n c e m e n t , the p o o r girl herself gave a hysteric giggle, which I at first t h o u g h t p r o c e e d e d from h e a r t l e s s n e s s ; but I was told afterwards, by the p e r s o n u n d e r w h o s e i m m e d i a t e protection she c a m e o u t , a n d w h o w a s a sister of her b e t r o t h e d , that the tender w o m a n ' s

3. In L e t t e r 1 3 C l a p p e tells t h e story o f t h e " s a l t i n g " o f a m i n e s o it c o u l d b e s o l d a s b e a r i n g a b u n dant and valuable quartz. 4 . Recruit: recover. 5 . In I S a m u e l 2 8 , K i n g S a u l , h a v i n g a l r e a d y d i s o b e y e d G o d , further sins by d i s g u i s i n g h i m s e l f a n d c o n s u l t i n g a w i t c h in t h e v i l l a g e o f E n d o r , w h o m he c o m p e l s to violate his o w n law by s u m m o n i n g u p the d e a d prophet S a m u e l . T h e biblical a c c o u n t

s a y s n o t h i n g a b o u t the p e r s o n a l b e a u t y or u g l i n e s s of the witch, but well b e f o r e the 19th c e n t u r y s h e w a s v i s u a l i z e d a s a h a g , like t h e w i t c h e s in S h a k e speare's Macbeth. 6 . A N e w E n g l a n d e r , C l a p p e is s t i l l t h i n k i n g o f s t a t e s like Illinois a s w e s t e r n , a l t h o u g h C a l i f o r n i a h a d b e e n a far m o r e w e s t e r n s t a t e s i n c e S e p t e m b e r I 8 5 0 , several m o n t h s after s h e arrived there.

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heart received s u c h a fearful s h o c k at the s u d d e n d e a t h of her lover, that for several w e e k s her life w a s d e s p a i r e d of. I spent a great deal of t i m e calling at the different e n c a m p m e n t s ; for nothing e n c h a n t e d m e half s o m u c h a s to hear a b o u t this s t r a n g e e x o d u s from the S t a t e s . I never weary of listening to stories of a d v e n t u r e s on the p l a i n s , a n d s o m e of the family histories are deeply interesting. I w a s a c q u a i n t e d with four w o m e n , all sisters or sisters-in-law, w h o h a d a m o n g t h e m thirty-six children, the entire n u m b e r of which h a d arrived t h u s far in perfect health. T h e y c o u l d of t h e m s e l v e s form q u i t e a r e s p e c t a b l e village. T h e i m m i g r a t i o n this year, c o n t a i n e d m a n y intelligent a n d truly e l e g a n t p e r s o n s , w h o , having c a u g h t the f a s h i o n a b l e e p i d e m i c , h a d left luxurious h o m e s in the S t a t e s , to c o m e to California. A m o n g o t h e r s , there w a s a y o u n g g e n t l e m a n of n i n e t e e n , the s o n of a U n i t e d S t a t e s S e n a t o r , w h o having j u s t g r a d u a t e d , felt a d v e n t u r o u s , a n d d e t e r m i n e d to c r o s s the p l a i n s . L i k e the rest, h e arrived in a s o m e w h a t dilapidated c o n d i t i o n , with elbows o u t , a n d a hat the very c o u n t e r p a r t of S a m Weller's " g o s s a m e r v e n t i l a t i o n , " 7 w h i c h , if you r e m e m b e r , " t h o u g h not a very h a n s o m e 'un to look at, w a s a n a s t o n i s h i n ' g o o d 'un to w e a r ! " I m u s t c o n f e s s that he b e c a m e r a g g e d c l o t h e s the b e s t of any o n e I ever saw, a n d m a d e m e think of the p i c t u r e s q u e b e g g a r boys, in M u r i l l o ' s 8 p a i n t i n g s of S p a n i s h life. T h e n there w a s a p e r s o n , w h o u s e d to sing in p u b l i c with O s s i a n D o d g e . 9 H e h a d a voice of r e m a r k a b l e purity a n d s w e e t n e s s , which h e w a s kind e n o u g h to permit u s to h e a r now a n d then. I hardly know of w h a t nation he c l a i m e d to b e . His father w a s an E n g l i s h m a n , his m o t h e r a n Italian; he w a s born in P o l a n d , a n d h a d lived nearly all his life in the U n i t e d S t a t e s . H e w a s not the only m u s i c a l g e n i u s that we h a d a m o n g u s . T h e r e w a s a little girl at o n e of the t e n t s , w h o h a d t a u g h t herself to play on the a c c o r d e o n on the way out. S h e was really q u i t e a prodigy, singing very sweetly, a n d a c c o m p a n y i n g herself with m u c h skill u p o n the i n s t r u m e n t . T h e r e w a s a n o t h e r child, w h o m I u s e d to g o to look at, a s I w o u l d go to e x a m i n e a p i c t u r e . S h e h a d , without exception, the m o s t beautiful f a c e I ever saw. Even the alkali h a d not b e e n able to m a r the g o l d e n glory of the curls which c l u s t e r e d a r o u n d that splendid little h e a d . S h e h a d soft brown e y e s , which s h o n e from b e n e a t h their silken l a s h e s , like " a t r e m u l o u s e v e n i n g star;" 1 a m o u t h which m a d e you think of a string of p e a r l s t h r e a d e d o n scarlet; a n d a c o m p l e x i o n of the waxen purity of the j a p o n i c a , 2 with the exception of a b a n d of b r o w n e s t freckles, w h i c h , extending from the tip of e a c h c h e e k straight a c r o s s the prettiest p o s s i b l e n o s e , a d d e d , I u s e d to fancy, a new b e a u t y to her e n c h a n t i n g f a c e . S h e w a s very fond of m e , a n d u s e d to bring 7. T h e e p i t o m e o f L o n d o n l o w l i f e , W e l l e r w a s S a m u e l P i c k w i c k ' s s e r v a n t in C h a r l e s D i c k e n s ' s The Pickwick Papers (1836-37). 8. R a r t o l e m « Murillo (1617-1682), Spanish p a i n t e r f a m o u s in h i s o w n t i m e f o r e x a l t e d b i b l i c a l s c e n e s a n d in t h e m i d - 1 9 t h c e n t u r y f o r s u b j e c t s s u c h a s C l a p p e is t h i n k i n g o f — m o o d i l y r o m a n t i cized street urchins begging, eating, playing with dogs. 9 . S i n g e r a n d s o n g w r i t e r a c t i v e in N e w Y o r k w h e n these letters were written, a u t h o r of the timely "Ho! Westward Ho!" (1850) and "Ossian's Seren a d e " ( 1 8 5 0 ) , t h e latter s o n g b e i n g a n a l l u s i o n to

Fingal ( 1 7 6 2 ) by t h e S c o t t i s h p o e t J a m e s M a c p h e r s o n ( 1 7 3 6 - 1 7 9 6 ) . {Fingal p u r p o r t s to b e a translation of a Celtic epic by O s s i a n , the son of F i n n , or F i n g a l . ) 1. Tremulous is a c o m m o n w o r d in English R o m a n t i c poetry, but the s o u r c e m a y be Dante's Purgatory, C a n t o 12, where the visage of an angel c a s t s forth s t r e a m s of " t r e m u l o u s l u s t e r like t h e matin star," a c c o r d i n g to the H e n r y F r a n c i s C a r y t r a n s l a t i o n s t a n d a r d in C l a p p e ' s t i m e . ( V e n u s is both the m o r n i n g a n d the evening star.) 2. W h i t e c a m e l l i a (an import other regions of the Orient).

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m e wild cherries which her brothers h a d g a t h e r e d for her. M a n y a m o r n i n g I have raised my eyes from my book, startled by that vision of infant lovelin e s s — f o r her s t e p h a d the still g r a c e of a s n o w - f l a k e — s t a n d i n g in beautiful s i l e n c e by my s i d e . B u t the m o s t interesting of all my pets w a s a widow, w h o m we u s e d to call the "long w o m a n . " W h e n but a few w e e k s on the j o u r n e y , s h e h a d buried her h u s b a n d , w h o died of c h o l e r a after a b o u t six h o u r s illness. S h e h a d c o m e o n ; for what e l s e c o u l d s h e d o ? N o o n e w a s willing to g u i d e her b a c k to her old h o m e in the S t a t e s ; a n d w h e n I knew her, s h e w a s living u n d e r a large tree a few r o d s from the r a n c h o , a n d s l e e p i n g at night, with all her family, in her o n e covered w a g o n . G o d only knows where they all stowed t h e m s e l v e s away, for s h e w a s a m o d e r n M r s . R o g e r s , with " n i n e small children a n d o n e at the b r e a s t , " i n d e e d , of this c a t e c h i s m i c a l n u m b e r , ' the oldest w a s but fifteen years of a g e , a n d the y o u n g e s t a n u r s i n g b a b e of six m o n t h s . S h e h a d eight s o n s a n d o n e d a u g h t e r . J u s t fancy how dreadful, only o n e girl to all that boy! P e o p l e u s e d to w o n d e r w h a t took m e s o often to her e n c a m p m e n t a n d at the interest with which I listened to w h a t they called her " s t u p i d talk." Certainly, there w a s n o t h i n g poetical a b o u t the w o m a n . L e i g h H u n t ' s friend 4 c o u l d not have elevated her c o m m o n - p l a c e into the s u b l i m e . S h e w a s i m m e n s e l y tall, a n d h a d a hard, w e a t h e r - b e a t e n f a c e , s u r m o u n t e d by a dreadful horn c o m b a n d a heavy twist of hay-colored hair, w h i c h , before it w a s cut a n d its gloss all destroyed by the alkali, m u s t , from its l u x u r i a n c e , have b e e n very h a n d s o m e . Rut what interested m e s o m u c h in her, w a s the d o g g e d a n d d e t e r m i n e d way in which s h e h a d set that stern, wrinkled f a c e of hers a g a i n s t poverty. S h e o w n e d nothing in the world but her t e a m , a n d yet s h e p l a n n e d all sorts of s u c c e s s f u l ways, to get food for her s m a l l , or rather large family. S h e u s e d to w a s h shirts, a n d iron t h e m on a c h a i r — i n the o p e n air, of c o u r s e ; a n d you c a n fancy with what s u c c e s s . Rut the g e n t l e m e n were too g e n e r o u s to b e critical a n d as they p a i d her three or four times a s m u c h as s h e a s k e d , s h e a c c u m u l a t e d q u i t e a h a n d s o m e s u m in a few days. S h e m a d e m e think of a long-legged, very thin h e n , s c r a t c h i n g for d e a r life, to feed her never-to-be-satisfied b r o o d . P o o r w o m a n ! s h e told m e that s h e w a s c o m p e l l e d to a l l o w a n c e 5 her y o u n g o n e s , a n d that s h e s e l d o m gave t h e m as m u c h a s they c o u l d e a t , at any o n e m e a l . S h e w a s w o r s e off than the "old w o m a n w h o lived in a s h o e , A n d h a d s o m a n y children s h e didn't know what to d o ; T o s o m e she gave butter, a n d s o m e s h e gave b r e a d , And to s o m e s h e gave w h i p p i n g s , a n d sent t h e m to b e d . " 6 N o w my old w o m a n h a d no butter a n d very little b r e a d ; a n d s h e w a s s o naturally e c o n o m i c a l , that even w h i p p i n g s were sparingly a d m i n i s t e r e d . Rut after all their privations, they w e r e — w i t h the exception of the eldest h o p e 7 — 3. B y " c a t e c h i s m i c a l number" Clappe means merely a g r o u p of children of an age to be taught c h u r c h catechism. " M r s . Rogers, with 'nine small children a n d o n e at the b r e a s t ' " : his wife, with nine small children a n d o n e at the breast, followed t h e P r o t e s t a n t m a r t y r J o h n R o g e r s to S m i t h f i e l d o n February 14, 1554, w h e n Q u e e n M a r y had him b u r n e d alive at t h e s t a k e . 4 . C l a p p e u s e s t h i s a l l u s i o n i n L e t t e r 5 a l s o : "1 l o o k e d at this p e r s o n w i t h s o m e w h a t the s a m e kind o f inverted admiration, wherewith Leigh Hunt was

wont to g a / e u p o n that friend of his, ' w h o u s e d to e l e v a t e t h e c o m m o n - p l a c e to a p i t c h o f t h e s u b l i m e . ' " M o s t likely, t h e f r i e n d w a s J o h n K e a t s , like H u n t o n e of t h e s o - c a l l e d C o c k n e v S c h o o l of poets. 5. A verb: ration, limit. 6 . O n e o f t h e c h i l d r e n ' s r h y m e s in Songs Nursery; or, Mother Goose's Melodies for (London, 1719), frequently reprinted.

for the Children

7. A c o m m o n p h r a s e for o l d e s t c h i l d , b u t specifically an e c h o of Robert B u r n s ' s " T h e Cotter's Sat-

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as healthy looking a set of ragged little w r e t c h e s a s ever I saw. T h e a f o r e s a i d " h o p e " w a s the longest, the l e a n e s t , a n d the b o b - s i d e d e s t s p e c i m e n of a Yankee that it is p o s s i b l e to i m a g i n e . H e wore a white f a c e , whiter eyes, a n d whitest hair; a n d walked a b o u t , looking as if e x i s t e n c e w a s the m e r e s t burd e n , a n d h e w i s h e d s o m e b o d y would have the g o o d n e s s to take it off his h a n d s . H e s e e m e d always to be in the a c t of yoking u p a pair of oxen, a n d ringing every c h a n g e of which the E n g l i s h a l p h a b e t is c a p a b l e , u p o n the o n e single Y a n k e e execration, "darnation!" which he s c a t t e r e d , in all its c o m i c a l varieties, u p o n the tow h e a d of his y o u n g brother, a p i e c e of c h u b b y giggle, who w a s forever trying to hold up a dreadful yoke, which wouldn't "stay p u t , " in spite of all the efforts of t h o s e fat, dirty little h a n d s of his. T h e " l o n g w o m a n , " m o t h e r like, e x c u s e d him by saying that h e h a d b e e n sick; t h o u g h o n c e w h e n the " d a r n e d f o o l s " flew thicker than u s u a l , s h e gently o b s e r v e d that " h e h a d forgotten that h e w a s a child h i m s e l f o n c e . " H e certainly retained no trace of having enjoyed that delightful s t a t e of e x i s t e n c e ; a n d t h o u g h o n e would not be s o r u d e a s to call him an "old b o y , " yet b e i n g always c l a d in a m i d d l e - a g e d habit, a n elderly coat a n d adult p a n t a l o o n s , o n e would a s little fancy him a young m a n . P e r h a p s the fact of his w e a r i n g his father's w a r d r o b e , in all its u n a l t e r e d a m p l i t u d e , might help to c o n f u s e one's ideas on the s u b j e c t . T h e r e w a s a n o t h e r d e a r old lady, to w h o m I took the largest kind of a liking, she w a s so exquisitely neat. Although s h e too h a d no floor, her b a b e always h a d o n a c l e a n white d r e s s a n d f a c e to m a t c h . S h e w a s a b o u t four feet high, a n d h a d a perfect p a s s i o n for w e a r i n g t h o s e frightful frontpieces of false hair, with which the y o u n g w o m e n of L . 8 were o n c e in the habit of covering their a b u n d a n t t r e s s e s . S h e u s e d to s e n d m e little p o t s of fresh b u t t e r , — t h e first that I h a d tasted s i n c e I left the S t a t e s , — b e a u t i f u l l y s t a m p e d , 9 a n d looking like ingots of virgin gold. I, of c o u r s e , m a d e a d e a d set at the f r o n t p i e c e ; t h o u g h 1 d o believe, that to this distorted t a s t e , a n d its a c c o m p a n y i n g horror of a c a p , s h e owed the preservation of her own b e a u tiful hair. 1 T o p l e a s e m e s h e laid it a s i d e ; but I a m c o n v i n c e d that it w a s restored to its p r o u d e m i n e n c e a s s o o n a s I left the valley, for s h e evidently had a " s n e a k i n g k i n d n e s s " 2 for it that nothing c o u l d destroy. I have s o m e times thought that s h e wore it from religious principle, thinking it her duty to look a s old a s p o s s i b l e , for s h e a p p e a r e d fifteen years y o u n g e r w h e n s h e took it off. S h e told m e that in c r o s s i n g the p l a i n s , s h e u s e d to s t o p on S a t u r d a y s , a n d taking everything out of the w a g o n s , w a s h t h e m in s t r o n g lye; to which p r e c a u t i o n s h e attributed the perfect health which they all enjoyed (the family, not the w a g o n s ) d u r i n g the w h o l e j o u r n e y . T h e r e is o n e thing for which the i m m i g r a n t s d e s e r v e high p r a i s e , a n d that is, for having a d o p t e d the B l o o m e r d r e s s , * (frightful a s it is o n all other o c c a s i o n s ) in c r o s s i n g the p l a i n s . For s u c h a n excursion it is j u s t the thing. u r d a y N i g h t " ( v e r y p o p u l a r in t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s ) , w h e r e the "eldest h o p e " of the c o t t e r a n d his wife is " t h e i r J e n n y , w o m a n - g r o w n . " 8 . U n i d e n t i f i e d ; p e r h a p s a n a l l u s i o n t o a v i l l a g e in N e w England the sisters knew. 9. After t h e h a r d w o r k of c h u r n i n g , soft fresh butt e r w a s p u t i n t o w o o d e n m o l d s , t h e lid o f w h i c h often was carved so that a pleasing design c o u l d be imprinted on the top. I . A s e t t e r f r e e z e s i n t o a " d e a d s e t " w h e n it s p o t s

a g a m e bird or animal; here. C l a p p e m a k e s a determ i n e d effort to p e r s u a d e t h e w o m a n to r e m o v e t h e hairpiece. 2. A c o m m o n p h r a s e m e a n i n g half-concealed f o n d n e s s ( n o t " k i n d n e s s " in o u r s e n s e ) . 3. G a r b c o n s i s t i n g o f a s h o r t s k i r t o v e r l o o s e t r o u s e r s g a t h e r e d tight at the a n k l e s , t h e n r e c o m m e n d e d by the c r u s a d e r for w o m e n ' s s u f f r a g e A m e l i a B l o o m e r ( 1 8 1 8 - 1 8 9 4 ) in h e r m a g a z i n e The Lily ( 1 8 4 8 - 5 4 ) .

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LOUISE AMELIA SMITH

CLAPPE

I o u g h t to say a word a b o u t the d a n c e s which we u s e d to have in the bar r o o m , a p l a c e so low that a very tall m a n c o u l d not have s t o o d upright in it. O n e side w a s fitted u p a s a s t o r e , a n d a n o t h e r side with b u n k s for lodgers. T h e s e b u n k s were elegantly d r a p e r i e d with red c a l i c o , t h r o u g h w h i c h we c a u g h t dim g l i m p s e s of b l u e b l a n k e t s . If they c o u l d only have h a d s h e e t s , they would have fairly b e e n e n v e l o p e d to the A m e r i c a n c o l o r s . By the way, I w o n d e r if there is anything national in this eternal p a s s i o n for b l u e b l a n k e t s a n d red c a l i c o ? O n ball nights the b a r w a s c l o s e d , a n d everything w a s very quiet a n d r e s p e c t a b l e . T o b e s u r e , there w a s s o m e d a n g e r of b e i n g swept away in a flood of t o b a c c o j u i c e ; but luckily the floor w a s u n e v e n , a n d it lay a r o u n d in p u d d l e s , which with c a r e o n e c o u l d avoid, merely r u n n i n g the minor risk of falling p r o s t r a t e u p o n the wet b o a r d s , in the m i d s t of a galopade.4 O f c o u r s e the c o m p a n y w a s m a d e u p principally of the i m m i g r a n t s . S u c h d a n c i n g , s u c h d r e s s i n g , a n d s u c h c o n v e r s a t i o n surely w a s never h e a r d or s e e n before. T h e g e n t l e m e n , generally, were c o m p e l l e d to have a regular fight with their fair p a r t n e r s , before they c o u l d d r a g t h e m o n to the floor. I a m happy to say, that a l m o s t always the s t r o n g e r vessel won the day, or rather night, except in the c a s e of certain timid y o u t h s , w h o after o n e or two a t t a c k s , gave u p the battle in d e s p a i r . I t h o u g h t that I h a d h a d s o m e e x p e r i e n c e in b a d g r a m m a r , s i n c e I c a m e to C a l i f o r n i a , but the g o o d p e o p l e were the first that I h a d ever h e a r d u s e right royal we, i n s t e a d of its.' D o not i m a g i n e that all, or even the larger part of the c o m p a n y , were of this d e s c r i p t i o n . T h e r e were m a n y intelligent a n d well-bred w o m e n , w h o s e a c q u a i n t a n c e I m a d e with e x t r e m e p l e a s u r e . After r e a d i n g the d e s c r i p t i o n of the i n c o n v e n i e n c e s a n d d i s c o m f o r t s which we suffered in the A m e r i c a n V a l l e y , — a n d I c a n a s s u r e you that I have not at all e x a g g e r a t e d t h e m , — y o u m a y i m a g i n e my j o y w h e n two of our friends arrived from Indian B a r , for the p u r p o s e of a c c o m p a n y i n g u s h o m e . W e took two days for our return, a n d t h u s I w a s not at all f a t i g u e d . T h e w e a t h e r w a s beautiful, o u r friends a m u s i n g , a n d F. well a n d h a p p y . W e s t o p p e d at night at a r a n c h o , w h e r e they h a d a t a m e frog. You c a n n o t think how c o m i c a l l y it looked, h o p p i n g a b o u t the bar, q u i t e a s m u c h at h o m e a s a t a m e squirrel would have b e e n . I h a d a b e d m a d e u p for m e at this p l a c e , o n o n e e n d of a long d i n i n g table. It w a s very c o m f o r t a b l e , with the trifling d r a w b a c k that I h a d to rise earlier t h a n I w i s h e d , in order that what h a d b e e n a b e d at night, might b e c o m e a table by day. W e s t o p p e d at the top of the hill, a n d set fire to s o m e fir t r e e s . 6 O h , how splendidly they looked, with the f l a m e s l e a p i n g a n d c u r l i n g a m i d the dark g r e e n foliage, like a g o l d e n s n a k e , fiercely b e a u t i f u l . T h e shriek which the fire gave a s it s p r a n g u p o n its verdant prey, m a d e m e think of the hiss of s o m e furious reptile, a b o u t to wrap in its b u r n i n g folds its h e l p l e s s victim. W i t h what perfect delight did I re-enter my beloved log c a b i n . O n e of our g o o d n e i g h b o r s h a d swept a n d p u t it in order b e f o r e my arrival a n d everything w a s c l e a n a n d n e a t a s p o s s i b l e . H o w gratefully to my feet felt the thick w a r m 4. A sidelong or curveting kind of gallop (and also a lively d a n c e ) . 5. C l a p p e p u n s on the royal " w e " ( o n e p e r s o n ) , a s in t h e p h r a s e a t t r i b u t e d t o Q u e e n V i c t o r i a " W e a r e not a m u s e d " ; she had heard s o m e of the immi-

g r a n t s say s o m e t h i n g like, " H e c a m e with w e . " 6 . A p p a r e n t l y t h e y l i g h t e d t h e fire t o s e e t h e s p e c tacle, not being c o n c e r n e d with shortage of r e s o u r c e s or d a n g e r to the forest.

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c a r p e t ; how p e r f e c t a p p e a r e d t h e floor, w h i c h I h a d o n c e reviled (I b e g g e d its p a r d o n o n t h e s p o t ) b e c a u s e it w a s not exactly e v e n ; h o w c o s y t h e old f a d e d c a l i c o c o u c h ; h o w t h o r o u g h l y c o m f o r t a b l e t h e f o u r c h a i r s , (two o f t h e m h a d b e e n t h o r o u g h l y r e b o t t o m e d with b r o w n sail c l o t h , tastefully p u t o n with a b o r d e r o f c a r p e t t a c k s ) ; h o w truly e l e g a n t t h e c l o s e t - c a s e toilet t a b l e , with t h e doll's l o o k i n g g l a s s h a n g i n g a b o v e , w h i c h s h e w e d my f a c e — t h e first t i m e t h a t I h a d s e e n it s i n c e I left h o m e — s o m e six s h a d e s d a r k e r t h a n u s u a l ; h o w c o n v e n i e n t t h e t r u n k w h i c h d i d d u t y a s a w a s h - s t a n d with its v e g e t a b l e d i s h i n s t e a d of a bowl, (at t h e r a n c h o I h a d a p i n t tin p a n , w h e n it w a s not in u s e in t h e k i t c h e n ) ; b u t a b o v e a n d b e y o n d all, h o w s u p e r b l y l u x u r i o u s the m a g n i f i c e n t b e d s t e a d , with its s p l e n d i d hair m a t t r e s s , its c l e a n w i d e linen s h e e t s , its n i c e s q u a r e p i l l o w s , a n d its l a r g e g e n e r o u s b l a n k e t s a n d q u i l t s . A n d t h e n t h e c o s y little s u p p e r , a r r a y e d o n a t a b l e - c l o t h ; a n d t h e l o n g , delightful e v e n i n g a f t e r w a r d s , by a f r a g r a n t fire o f b e a c h a n d p i n e , w h e n w e t a l k e d over o u r p a s t s u f f e r i n g s ! O h , it w a s d e l i c i o u s a s a d r e a m , a n d a l m o s t m a d e a m e n d s for the t h r e e d r e a d f u l w e e k s o f p l e a s u r i n g in t h e A m e r i c a n Valley. 1855

WALT W H I T M A N 1819-1892 W a l t W h i t m a n w a s b o r n o n M a y 3 1 , 1 8 1 9 , s o n o f a L o n g I s l a n d f a r m e r t u r n e d carp e n t e r w h o m o v e d t h e family into B r o o k l y n in 1 8 2 3 d u r i n g a b u i l d i n g b o o m . T h e a n c e s t o r s w e r e u n d i s t i n g u i s h e d , b u t s t o r i e s survived o f s o m e forceful c h a r a c t e r s a m o n g t h e m , a n d W h i t m a n ' s f a t h e r w a s a c q u a i n t e d with p o w e r f u l p e r s o n a l i t i e s like the a g e d T h o m a s P a i n e . W h i t m a n left s c h o o l a t e l e v e n t o b e c o m e a n office b o y in a law firm, then w o r k e d for a d o c t o r ; a l r e a d y h e w a s e n t h r a l l e d with t h e n o v e l s o f S i r W a l t e r S c o t t . B y twelve h e w a s w o r k i n g in t h e p r i n t i n g office o f a n e w s p a p e r a n d c o n t r i b u t i n g s e n t i m e n t a l i t e m s . B y fifteen, w h e n h i s family m o v e d b a c k into t h e i n t e rior of L o n g I s l a n d , W h i t m a n w a s o n h i s o w n . Very early h e r e a c h e d full p h y s i c a l m a t u r i t y a n d in h i s m i d t e e n s w a s c o n t r i b u t i n g " p i e c e s " — p r o b a b l y c o r r e c t , c o n v e n tional p o e m s — t o o n e o f t h e b e s t M a n h a t t a n p a p e r s , t h e Mirror, a n d often c r o s s i n g t h e ferry from B r o o k l y n t o a t t e n d d e b a t i n g s o c i e t i e s a n d to u s e h i s j o u r n a l i s t ' s p a s s e s at t h e a t e r s in M a n h a t t a n . H i s rich f a n t a s y life w a s f u e l e d by n u m b e r l e s s r o m a n t i c n o v e l s . By sixteen h e w a s a c o m p o s i t o r in M a n h a t t a n , a j o u r n e y m a n printer. B u t t w o g r e a t fires in 1 8 3 5 d i s r u p t e d t h e p r i n t i n g i n d u s t r y , a n d a s h e t u r n e d s e v e n t e e n h e r e j o i n e d h i s family. F o r five y e a r s h e t a u g h t i n t e r m i t t e n t l y at c o u n t r y a n d s m a l l - t o w n s c h o o l s , i n t e r r u p t i n g t e a c h i n g t o start a n e w s p a p e r o f h i s o w n in 1 8 3 8 a n d t o work briefly o n a n o t h e r L o n g I s l a n d p a p e r . A l t h o u g h f o r c e d into t h e exile o f L o n g I s l a n d , h e r e f u s e d to c o m p r o m i s e further with t h e sort o f life h e w a n t e d . D u r i n g h i s visits h o m e h e o u t r a g e d h i s f a t h e r by r e f u s i n g t o d o f a r m work. A l t h o u g h h e w a s innovative in t h e c l a s s r o o m , h e s t r u c k s o m e o f t h e f a r m f a m i l i e s h e b o a r d e d with a s u n w i l l i n g to fulfill h i s role of t e a c h e r o u t s i d e s c h o o l h o u r s ; t h e m a i n c h a r g e a g a i n s t h i m w a s l a z i n e s s . H e w a s active in d e b a t i n g s o c i e t i e s , h o w e v e r , a n d a l r e a d y t h o u g h t o f h i m s e l f a s a writer. B y early 1 8 4 0 h e h a d s t a r t e d t h e s e r i e s " S u n - D o w n P a p e r s f r o m t h e D e s k of a S c h o o l - M a s t e r " for t h e L o n g I s l a n d Democrat a n d w a s writing p o e m s . O n e o f

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his s t o r i e s p r o p h e t i c a l l y c u l m i n a t e d with the d r e a m of writing " a w o n d e r f u l a n d p o n derous book." J u s t b e f o r e h e t u r n e d t w e n t y - o n e h e w e n t b a c k to M a n h a t t a n , his t e a c h i n g d a y s over, a n d b e g a n work on P a r k B e n j a m i n ' s New World,

a literary weekly that p i r a t e d

B r i t i s h n o v e l s ; h e a l s o b e g a n a political c a r e e r by s p e a k i n g at D e m o c r a t i c rallies. S i m u l t a n e o u s l y , h e w a s p u b l i s h i n g s t o r i e s in the Democratic

Review,

the foremost

m a g a z i n e of t h e D e m o c r a t i c Party. B e f o r e h e w a s t w e n t y - t h r e e , h e b e c a m e e d i t o r of a M a n h a t t a n daily, the Aurora,

a n d briefly t r a n s f o r m e d h i m s e l f into a sartorial d a n d y

while h e s p i k e d his editorial c o l u m n s with his high d e m o c r a t i c h o p e s . H e e x u l t e d in the e x t r e m e s of t h e city, w h e r e t h e v i o l e n c e of street g a n g s w a s c o u n t e r e d by the l e c t u r e s of E m e r s o n a n d w h e r e even a y o u n g e d i t o r c o u l d get to k n o w t h e p o e t B r y a n t (by livelihood, e d i t o r of the Evening

Post).

F i r e d f r o m t h e Aurora,

c h a r g e d h i m with l a z i n e s s , h e wrote a t e m p e r a n c e novel, Franklin briate,

for a o n e - i s s u e extra of t h e New World

which publicly Evans,

or the

Ine-

late in 1 8 4 2 . F o r the next y e a r s h e w a s

j o u r n a l i s t , h a c k writer, a n d a d o u g h t y m i n o r p o l i t i c i a n . In 1 8 4 5 he r e t u r n e d to Brooklyn, w h e r e h e b e c a m e a s p e c i a l c o n t r i b u t o r to t h e L o n g I s l a n d Star,

a s s i g n e d to M a n -

hattan events, including musical and theatrical e n g a g e m e n t s . J u s t before he was twenty-seven he t o o k over the e d i t o r s h i p of t h e B r o o k l y n Eagle;

for years h e h a d kept

to his e c c e n t r i c daily r o u t i n e of a p p a r e n t l y p u r p o s e l e s s w a l k s in w h i c h h e a b s o r b e d m e t r o p o l i t a n s i g h t s a n d s o u n d s , a n d now h e f o r m e d t h e h a b i t of a daily s w i m a n d s h o w e r at a b a t h h o u s e . O n the Eagle

h e did m o s t of t h e literary reviews, h a n d l i n g

b o o k s by C a r l y l e , E m e r s o n , Melville, F u l l e r , S a n d , G o e t h e , a n d o t h e r s . L i k e m o s t D e m o c r a t s , h e w a s a b l e to j u s t i f y t h e M e x i c a n W a r , a n d h e h e r o - w o r s h i p e d Z a c h a r y T a y l o r (on w h o m Melville w a s writing a s e r i e s of satirical s k e t c h e s ) . L i n k i n g territorial a c q u i s i t i o n to p e r s o n a l a n d civic b e t t e r m e n t , h e w a s , in his n a t i o n a l i s t i c m o o d s , c a p a ble of hailing t h e g r e a t A m e r i c a n m i s s i o n of " p e o p l i n g t h e N e w W o r l d with a n o b l e r a c e . " Yet by the b e g i n n i n g of 1 8 4 8 h e w a s fired from the Eagle

b e c a u s e like Bryant

h e h a d b e c o m e a F r e e - S o i l e r , o p p o s e d to the a c q u i s i t i o n of m o r e slave territory. T a k i n g a c h a n c e offer of n e w s p a p e r work, h e m a d e a brief b u t vivid trip to N e w O r l e a n s , his only e x t e n s i v e j o u r n e y until l a t e in life, w h e n he m a d e a trip into t h e West. By t h e s u m m e r of 1 8 4 8 , W h i t m a n w a s b a c k in N e w York, s t a r t i n g e x p e r i m e n t s with poetry a n d , in A u g u s t , s e r v i n g a s d e l e g a t e to t h e B u f f a l o F r e e - S o i l c o n v e n t i o n . In t h e next y e a r s h e w a s p r o f o u n d l y i n f l u e n c e d by his a s s o c i a t i o n with a g r o u p of B r o o k l y n artists. All t h r o u g h the 1 8 4 0 s he h a d a t t e n d e d o p e r a s o n his j o u r n a l i s t ' s p a s s e s , hearing the g r e a t e s t s i n g e r s of t h e t i m e . H e w e n t s o far a s to say that but for the " e m o t i o n s , r a p t u r e s , u p l i f t s " of o p e r a h e c o u l d never h a v e written Leaves

of Grass.

In a n effort to

c o n t r o l the d i s p o s i t i o n of his t i m e , h e b e c a m e a " h o u s e b u i l d e r " a r o u n d 1 8 5 1 or 1 8 5 2 , p e r h a p s a c t i n g a s c o n t r a c t o r s o m e t i m e s b u t a l s o s i m p l y hiring o u t a s a c a r p e n t e r . By the early 1 8 5 0 s he h a d set a d u r a b l e p a t t e r n of h a v i n g d i s c r e t e s e t s of f r i e n d s s i m u l t a n e o u s l y , t h e r o u g h s a n d t h e a r t i s t s , m o v i n g c a s u a l l y from o n e set to t h e o t h e r b u t s e l d o m , if ever, m i n g l i n g t h e m . Living with his family, n o w b a c k in B r o o k l y n , Whitm a n baffled a n d o u t r a g e d t h e m by i g n o r i n g r e g u l a r m e a l t i m e s a n d a p p e a r i n g to loaf a w a y his d a y s in s t r o l l s , in r e a d i n g at l i b r a r i e s , a n d in w r i t i n g in t h e r o o m h e s h a r e d with a b r o t h e r . Always s e l f - t a u g h t , h e u n d e r t o o k a m o r e s y s t e m a t i c p l a n of s t u d y . H e b e c a m e s o m e t h i n g of a n expert o n E g y p t o l o g y t h r o u g h his trips to t h e

Egyptian

M u s e u m on B r o a d w a y a n d his c o n v e r s a t i o n s with its p r o p r i e t o r . H e b e c a m e a s t u d e n t of a s t r o n o m y , a t t e n d i n g l e c t u r e s a n d r e a d i n g r e c e n t b o o k s ; m u c h of t h e i n f o r m a t i o n w e n t into t h e c o s m i c c o n c e p t s in Song

of Myself

and other p o e m s . Cutting articles

o u t of t h e g r e a t B r i t i s h q u a r t e r l i e s a n d m o n t h l i e s , W h i t m a n a n n o t a t e d t h e m a n d a r g u e d with t h e m in the m a r g i n s , d e v e l o p i n g in the p r o c e s s c l e a r i d e a s a b o u t a e s t h e t i c s for t h e first t i m e a n d f o r m u l a t i n g his n o t i o n s a b o u t p a n t h e i s m . By a b o u t 1 8 5 3 h e h a d arrived at s o m e t h i n g like his s p e c i a l p o e t i c f o r m in t h e little p o e m " P i c t u r e s . " H e had given u p n e w s p a p e r work for c a r p e n t r y ; a r o u n d the e n d of 1 8 5 4 h e g a v e up t h a t a l s o , a n d s i m p l y w r o t e . By the s p r i n g of 1 8 5 5 h e w a s s e e i n g his " w o n d e r f u l a n d

WALT WHITMAN

/

987

p o n d e r o u s b o o k " t h r o u g h t h e p r e s s , p r o b a b l y s e t t i n g s o m e o f t h e type h i m s e l f .

Leaves

of Grass

w a s on s a l e within a d a y o r two o f t h e F o u r t h of J u l y o f t h a t year.

T h e p u b l i c a t i o n o f Leaves

of Grass

did not i m m e d i a t e l y c h a n g e W h i t m a n ' s life. H i s

father d i e d j u s t after it a p p e a r e d , a n d s u p p o r t o f his m o t h e r a n d a m e n t a l l y slow b r o t h e r devolved m o r e a n d m o r e on W h i t m a n . H e s e n t c o p i e s o f his b o o k o u t b r o a d c a s t a n d g o t a n i m m e d i a t e r e s p o n s e f r o m E m e r s o n g r e e t i n g h i m " a t t h e b e g i n n i n g of a g r e a t c a r e e r , w h i c h yet m u s t have h a d a long f o r e g r o u n d s o m e w h e r e , for s u c h a s t a r t . " A s w e e k s p a s s e d with few reviews, h e w r o t e a few h i m s e l f to b e p u b l i s h e d a n o n y m o u s l y , a n d in O c t o b e r h e let H o r a c e G r e e l e y ' s Tribune

print E m e r s o n ' s letter.

U n f a z e d by his o w n effrontery, h e p u t c l i p p i n g s o f t h e letter in p r e s e n t a t i o n c o p i e s , to L o n g f e l l o w a m o n g o t h e r s . W h i l e W h i t m a n w a s a n g l i n g for reviews in E n g l a n d a n d w o r k i n g on a n e x p a n s i o n of t h e b o o k , E m e r s o n visited h i m (in D e c e m b e r o f 1 8 5 5 ) , a n d in t h e fall o f 1 8 5 6 B r o n s o n Alcott, T h o r e a u , a n d o t h e r s c a m e o u t to h i s h o u s e in Brooklyn. In 1 8 5 6 W h i t m a n p u b l i s h e d a s e c o n d edition of Leaves

of Grass.

Whit-

m a n c o n t i n u e d to d o m i s c e l l a n e o u s j o u r n a l i s m ; f r o m 1 8 5 7 to 1 8 5 9 W h i t m a n ' s m a i n s t a t e m e n t s on t h e n a t i o n a l crisis over slavery w e r e c o n t a i n e d in his e d i t o r i a l s in t h e Brooklyn Times. Oak,

Moss,

with

D u r i n g t h e s e years W h i t m a n w r o t e a g r o u p o f twelve p o e m s ,

Live

that s e e m s to tell a s t r a i g h t f o r w a r d story o f h i s love for a n o t h e r m a n .

In this s e q u e n c e W h i t m a n explicitly r e n o u n c e s his old role o f p u b l i c p o e t s e e k i n g k n o w l e d g e a n d c e l e b r a t i n g t h e A m e r i c a n land a n d its h e r o e s ; i n s t e a d , he c h o o s e s to b e h a p p y in private with his lover. If he h a d p r i n t e d it, t h e s e q u e n c e w o u l d h a v e c o n s t i t u t e d a new a n d highly p u b l i c sexual p r o g r a m , n o t h i n g s h o r t of a n o p e n h o m o sexual m a n i f e s t o . F a c i n g t h e i m p o s s i b i l i t y of p r i n t i n g a n d d i s t r i b u t i n g s o direct a s e x u a l s t a t e m e n t o f " a d h e s i v e n e s s " or " t h e p a s s i o n of f r i e n d s h i p " o f m a n for m a n . W h i t m a n c h o s e a m o r e covert way of e x p r e s s i n g h i m s e l f . In t h e next ( 1 8 6 0 ) e d i t i o n o f Leaves m a n i n c l u d e d a c l u s t e r c a l l e d Enfans

d'Adam,

of Grass

Whit-

for w h i c h he w r o t e fifteen c o u n t e r b a l -

a n c i n g p o e m s that for t h e m o s t p a r t f o c u s o n t h e " a m a t i v e " love o f m a n for w o m a n . T h e n , s e p a r a t e d from Enfans

A Adam

by several o t h e r p o e m s , W h i t m a n p r i n t e d a

c l u s t e r o f forty-five p o e m s a b o u t m a l e love u n d e r t h e title Calamus were v e r s i o n s of t h e Live

( a m o n g which

Oak p o e m s , r e o r d e r e d a n d a l t e r e d ) ; s o m e o f t h e n e w p o e m s

project f u t u r e r e a d e r s w h o will hold h i m "in h a n d " by h o l d i n g h i s b o o k a n d will " g u e s s a t " what h e is only hinting. T h e two c l u s t e r s a s p r i n t e d in 1 8 6 0 differ from t h e p o e m s in t h e n o w - f a m i l i a r 1 8 9 2 Children

a n d Calamus

of Adam

( a s Efans

d'Adam

w a s retitled in 1 8 6 7 )

s e c t i o n , for in i n t e r v e n i n g e d i t i o n s W h i t m a n r e v i s e d p o e m s a n d m o v e d

s o m e p o e m s o u t o f a n d into t h e c l u s t e r s . By late 1 8 5 9 W h i t m a n h a d in h a n d t h e Calamus

a n d Enfans

of the Cradle

Endlessly

dAdam

p o e m s a n d o t h e r s s u c h a s A Child's

Rocking)

Reminiscence

(Out

in nearly final f o r m . Early t h e next y e a r h e r e c e i v e d

a n o p p o r t u n e letter f r o m t h e B o s t o n firm of T h a y e r & E l d r i d g e : " W e a r e y o u n g m e n . W e ' c e l e b r a t e ' o u r s e l v e s by a c t s . T r y u s . Y o u c a n d o u s g o o d . W e c a n d o you g o o d — p e c u n i a r i l y . " F o r t h e first t i m e , W h i t m a n h a d a p u b l i s h e r , b u t t h e firm w e n t b a n k r u p t s o o n after p r i n t i n g t h e third ( 1 8 6 0 ) edition o f Leaves

of Grass.

W h i t m a n w a s left a g a i n

with t h e b o o k o n his o w n h a n d s . F o r s o c i e t y at t h e turn of t h e d e c a d e W h i t m a n h a d , a s u s u a l , his s e p a r a t e g r o u p s of friends, in o n e g r o u p s t a g e drivers (i.e., drivers o f t h e h o r s e - p u l l e d b u s e s on w h i c h he w a s a n i n v e t e r a t e p a s s e n g e r ) a n d in a n o t h e r literary, p u b l i s h i n g , a n d t h e a t r i c a l p e o p l e , e s p e c i a l l y t h e b o h e m i a n h a b i t u e s o f t h e f a m o u s Pfaff's s a l o o n on lower B r o a d way. F o r years W h i t m a n h a d p a i d c h e e r i n g visits to p r i s o n e r s a n d h a d m a d e r e g u l a r visits to sick s t a g e drivers. A l m o s t i m p e r c e p t i b l y , his role o f visitor o f t h e sick m e r g e d into his Civil W a r services a s hospital a t t e n d a n t . W h i t m a n ' s role o f w o u n d d r e s s e r w a s h e r o i c , a n d it e v e n t u a l l y u n d e r c u t h i s b u o y a n t p h y s i c a l h e a l t h . D u r i n g t h e war. W h i t m a n ' s d e e p e s t e m o t i o n s a n d e n e r g i e s w e r e r e s e r v e d for his hospital work, t h o u g h he wrote a s e r i e s o f w a r p o e m s d e s i g n e d to t r a c e his o w n varying a t t i t u d e s t o w a r d t h e conflict, from his early n e a r - m i n d l e s s j i n g o i s m to s o m e t h i n g q u i t e rare in A m e r i c a n poetry u p to that t i m e , a d e d i c a t i o n to s i m p l e r e a l i s m . Whit-

988

/

WALT

WHITMAN

m a n later wrote a s e c t i o n in Specimen

Days

c a l l e d " T h e R e a l W a r Will N e v e r G e t in

the B o o k s , " b u t to i n c o r p o r a t e the real w a r into a b o o k of poetry b e c a m e o n e of t h e d o m i n a n t i m p u l s e s of the Drum-Taps

c o l l e c t i o n ( 1 8 6 5 ) . After L i n c o l n ' s a s s a s s i n a t i o n

W h i t m a n d e l a y e d t h e n e w v o l u m e until it c o u l d i n c l u d e in a " s e q u e l " " W h e n L i l a c s Drum-Taps

L a s t in t h e D o o r y a r d B l o o m ' d , " his m a s t e r p i e c e of t h e 1 8 6 0 s . E v e n a s

w a s b e i n g p u b l i s h e d , W h i t m a n w a s r e v i s i n g a c o p y of t h e B o s t o n e d i t i o n of Leaves Grass

of

at his d e s k in t h e D e p a r t m e n t of t h e Interior. T h e n e w s e c r e t a r y r e a d t h e

a n n o t a t e d c o p y a n d a b r u p t l y fired h i m . T h e c o n s e q u e n c e s m i g h t have b e e n m i n o r : W h i t m a n ' s friend W i l l i a m O ' C o n n o r q u i c k l y got h i m a n e w p o s t in the a t t o r n e y g e n eral's office, a n d W h i t m a n h a d b e e n d i s m i s s e d b e f o r e w i t h o u t c a t a s t r o p h i c r e a c t i o n s , a l t h o u g h this w a s the first t i m e h e h a d b e e n fired b e c a u s e of t h e sexual p a s s a g e s in Leaves

of Grass.

B u t the i n c i d e n t t u r n e d O ' C o n n o r f r o m a d e v o t e d friend into a dis-

c i p l e w h o q u i c k l y b e g a n writing a b o o k (with W h i t m a n ' s h e l p in s u p p l y i n g i n f o r m a t i o n a n d d o c u m e n t s ) c a l l e d The Good

Gray

Poet

( 1 8 6 6 ) . It w a s a p i e c e of p u r e h a g i o g r a p h y ,

in w h i c h W h i t m a n w a s identified with J e s u s . O ' C o n n o r ' s b o o k , c o m i n g o u t s i m u l t a n e o u s l y with Drum-Taps,

p o l a r i z e d o p i n i o n , with n e g a t i v e i m m e d i a t e e f f e c t s , b u t in

the l o n g run it s t r e n g t h e n e d W h i t m a n ' s d e t e r m i n a t i o n n o t to yield to c e n s o r s h i p or to a p o l o g i z e for his earlier p o e m s , a n d it set a p a t t e r n by w h i c h o t h e r r e m a r k a b l e m e n a n d w o m e n w o u l d b e d r a w n to W h i t m a n a s d i s c i p l e s , s e e k i n g to c a r e for his few p h y s i c a l n e e d s — m i n i m a l f o o d a n d s h e l t e r — w h i l e w o r k i n g for his r e p u t a t i o n a s a great poet. F o r several y e a r s W h i t m a n c o n t i n u e d a s a c l e r k in t h e a t t o r n e y g e n e r a l ' s office, living m o s t of t h e t i m e in a b a r e , u n h e a t e d r o o m b u t g a i n i n g a c c e s s to g o o d lights for n i g h t t i m e r e a d i n g in his g o v e r n m e n t office. H e c o n t i n u e d to r e w o r k Leaves i n c o r p o r a t i n g Drum-Taps

of

Grass,

into it in 1 8 6 7 , a n d with his f r i e n d s ' h e l p c o n t i n u e d to

p r o p a g a n d i z e for its a c c e p t a n c e . R u m i n a t i o n s t h a t in earlier y e a r s m i g h t h a v e g o n e into e d i t o r i a l s w e n t into e s s a y s in t h e Galaxy e x p a n d e d f o r m ) into Democratic

Vistas

during

1867 and

1 8 6 8 , t h e n (in

( 1 8 7 0 ) , a p a s s i o n a t e look to the f u t u r e of

d e m o c r a c y a n d d e m o c r a t i c l i t e r a t u r e in A m e r i c a , b a s e d o n his r e a l i s t i c a p p r a i s a l of p o s t w a r c u l t u r e . A n o t h e r p r o s e work, Specimen

Days,

p u b l i s h e d in b o o k f o r m in 1 8 8 2 ,

h a s affinities with W h i t m a n ' s early editorial r e c o r d s of strolls t h r o u g h the city, b u t it is e v e n m o r e i n t e n s e l y p e r s o n a l , t h e r e c o r d of r e p r e s e n t a t i v e d a y s in the life of a n A m e r i c a n w h o h a d lived in the m i d s t of g r e a t n a t i o n a l e v e n t s a n d w h o h a d k e p t alert to n a t u r e a n d his o w n m i n d a n d b o d y . T h e W a s h i n g t o n y e a r s , a t i m e of slow, f a l t e r i n g g r o w t h in r e p u t a t i o n , m a r r e d by s e v e r e s e t b a c k s a n d c o m p l i c a t i o n s , e n d e d early in 1 8 7 3 , w h e n W h i t m a n s u f f e r e d a paralytic s t r o k e . H i s m o t h e r d i e d a few m o n t h s later, a n d W h i t m a n j o i n e d his b r o t h e r G e o r g e ' s h o u s e h o l d in C a m d e n , N e w J e r s e y , i n t e n d i n g only a t e m p o r a r y m o v e d u r i n g his r e c u p e r a t i o n . D u r i n g the s e c o n d year of his i l l n e s s , t h e g o v e r n m e n t d e c i d e d not to hold his j o b for h i m any l o n g e r , a n d h e b e c a m e d e p e n d e n t o n o c c a s i o n a l public a t i o n in n e w s p a p e r s a n d m a g a z i n e s — n o t a n e a s y m a r k e t , b e c a u s e his g e n t e e l e n e m i e s e i t h e r i g n o r e d h i m in print or j o i n e d in a c a b a l to e x c l u d e h i m f r o m s o m e m a j o r p u b l i s h i n g o r g a n s s u c h a s Scribner's.

T h e 1 8 6 7 e d i t i o n of Leaves

of Grass

h a d involved

m u c h r e w o r k i n g a n d r e a r r a n g e m e n t , a n d t h e fifth e d i t i o n ( 1 8 7 1 ) c o n t i n u e d that proc e s s , with m a n y of t h e original Drum-Taps

p o e m s being distributed throughout the

b o o k a n d with a n a s s e m b l a g e of old a n d n e w p o e m s in a l a r g e n e w s e c t i o n , to India.

Passage

T h e " C e n t e n n i a l E d i t i o n " of 1 8 7 6 w a s a r e i s s u e of the 1 8 7 1 e d i t i o n a n d w a s

m o s t n o t a b l e for t h e way his E n g l i s h a d m i r e r s got f u n d s to h i m by h a v i n g i m p o r t a n t literary p e o p l e s u b s c r i b e to it. A m e r i c a n p u b l i c o p i n i o n w a s g r a d u a l l y s w a y e d by n e w e v i d e n c e s that the invalid in C a m d e n c o u l d c o m m a n d t h e r e s p e c t of A l f r e d , L o r d T e n n y s o n , the p o e t l a u r e a t e , a n d m a n y o t h e r f a m o u s B r i t i s h w r i t e r s . N o t e v e n t h e m o s t p u r i t a n i c A m e r i c a n c r i t i c s c o u l d h o l d their r a n k s firm in t h e f a c e of s u c h extrava g a n t a d m i r a t i o n , h o w e v e r r o u g h a n d o u t r a g e o u s his p o e t r y . Yet in 1 8 8 1 , w h e n t h e r e p u t a b l e B o s t o n firm of J a m e s R. O s g o o d & C o . p r i n t e d t h e sixth e d i t i o n of of Grass,

Leaves

t h e B o s t o n district a t t o r n e y t h r e a t e n e d to p r o s e c u t e o n t h e g r o u n d s of

P R E F A C E T O LEAVES

OF GRASS

(1855)

/

989

o b s c e n i t y , a n d W h i t m a n f o u n d h i m s e l f with the p l a t e s o n his h a n d s . T h e " d e a t h b e d " edition of 1 8 9 1 - 9 2 w a s in fact a r e i s s u e of the 1 8 8 1 e d i t i o n with the a d d i t i o n of two later g r o u p s of p o e m s , Sands p u b l i s h e d in 1 8 8 8 ) a n d Good-bye

at Seventy My Fancy

(from November

Boughs,

which Whitman

(from the 1 8 9 1 c o l l e c t i o n of that n a m e ) .

W h i t m a n d i e d at C a m d e n o n M a r c h 2 6 , 1 8 9 2 , s e c u r e in t h e k n o w l e d g e that he h a d held u n w a v e r i n g l y true to his art a n d to his role a s a n artist w h o h a d m a d e t h a t art prevail. E x c e p t for t h e s e q u e n c e Live

Oak, with Moss

(not p u b l i s h e d in W h i t m a n ' s lifetime),

all t h e W h i t m a n p o e m s r e p r i n t e d h e r e , r e g a r d l e s s of w h e n they w e r e first c o m p o s e d a n d p r i n t e d , a r e given in their final form: that of the 1 8 8 1 edition of Leaves

of

the p l a t e s of w h i c h w e r e u s e d for p r i n t i n g t h e s o - c a l l e d d e a t h b e d e d i t i o n of

Grass, 1892

(except for s o m e p o s t - 1 8 8 1 p o e m s , n o n e of w h i c h is i n c l u d e d h e r e ) .

Preface to Leaves of Grass (1855)' A m e r i c a d o e s not repel the p a s t or w h a t it h a s p r o d u c e d u n d e r its f o r m s or a m i d other politics or the idea of c a s t e s or the old religions . . . a c c e p t s the l e s s o n with c a l m n e s s . . . is not so i m p a t i e n t a s h a s b e e n s u p p o s e d that the s l o u g h still sticks to o p i n i o n s a n d m a n n e r s a n d literature while the life which served its r e q u i r e m e n t s h a s p a s s e d into the new life of the n e w f o r m s . . . p e r c e i v e s that the c o r p s e is slowly b o r n e from the e a t i n g a n d s l e e p i n g r o o m s of the h o u s e . . . perceives that it waits a little while in the d o o r . . . that it was fittest for its days . . . that its action h a s d e s c e n d e d to the stalwart a n d w e l l s h a p e d heir w h o a p p r o a c h e s . . . a n d that he shall be fittest for his days. T h e A m e r i c a n s of all n a t i o n s at any time u p o n the earth have probably the fullest poetical n a t u r e . T h e U n i t e d S t a t e s t h e m s e l v e s are essentially the g r e a t e s t p o e m . In the history of the earth hitherto the largest a n d m o s t stirring a p p e a r t a m e a n d orderly to their a m p l e r l a r g e n e s s a n d stir. H e r e at last is s o m e t h i n g in the d o i n g s of m a n that c o r r e s p o n d s with the b r o a d c a s t d o i n g s of the day a n d night. H e r e is not merely a nation but a t e e m i n g n a t i o n of n a t i o n s . H e r e is a c t i o n u n t i e d from strings necessarily blind to p a r t i c u l a r s a n d details magnificently moving in vast m a s s e s . H e r e is the hospitality which forever i n d i c a t e s h e r o e s . . . . H e r e a r e the r o u g h s a n d b e a r d s a n d s p a c e a n d r u g g e d n e s s a n d n o n c h a l a n c e that the soul loves. H e r e the perform a n c e d i s d a i n i n g the trivial u n a p p r o a c h e d in the t r e m e n d o u s a u d a c i t y of its cr o wd s a n d g r o u p i n g s a n d the p u s h of its perspective s p r e a d s with c r a m p l e s s a n d flowing b r e a d t h a n d s h o w e r s its prolific a n d s p l e n d i d e x t r a v a g a n c e . O n e s e e s it m u s t indeed own the riches of the s u m m e r a n d winter, a n d n e e d never be b a n k r u p t while corn grows from t h e g r o u n d or the o r c h a r d s d r o p a p p l e s or the bays c o n t a i n fish or m e n beget children u p o n w o m e n . O t h e r states indicate t h e m s e l v e s in their d e p u t i e s . . . . b u t the g e n i u s of the U n i t e d S t a t e s is not best or m o s t in its executives or l e g i s l a t u r e s , 2 nor in 1. T h i s p r e f a c e ( r e p r i n t e d h e r e f r o m t h e 1 8 5 5 e d i t i o n ) h a s not yet a t t a i n e d its rightful p l a c e a m o n g the great A m e r i c a n literary m a n i f e s t o s . Like E m e r s o n , W h i t m a n is c e l e b r a t i n g t h e i n c o m p a r a b l e m a t e r i a l s available to t h e A m e r i c a n p o e t , not s i m -

ply p h y s i c a l r e s o u r c e s b u t a l s o t h e p e o p l e t h e m s e l v e s — t h e spirit of the p l a c e . 2 . W h i t m a n is m i x i n g o c c u p a t i o n s a n d i n s t i t u tions, b u t this m a y b e a n e r r o r for the legislators.

990

/

WALT

WHITMAN

its a m b a s s a d o r s or a u t h o r s or colleges or c h u r c h e s or p a r l o r s , nor even in its n e w s p a p e r s or inventors . . . but always m o s t in the c o m m o n p e o p l e . T h e i r m a n n e r s s p e e c h d r e s s f r i e n d s h i p s — t h e f r e s h n e s s a n d c a n d o r of their physi o g n o m y — t h e p i c t u r e s q u e l o o s e n e s s of their c a r r i a g e . . . their d e a t h l e s s a t t a c h m e n t to f r e e d o m — t h e i r aversion to anything i n d e c o r o u s or soft or m e a n — t h e practical a c k n o w l e d g m e n t of the citizens of o n e s t a t e by the citizens of all other s t a t e s — t h e fierceness of their r o u s e d r e s e n t m e n t — t h e i r curiosity a n d w e l c o m e of novelty—their s e l f - e s t e e m a n d wonderful s y m p a thy—their susceptibility to a s l i g h t — t h e air they have of p e r s o n s w h o never knew how it felt to s t a n d in the p r e s e n c e of s u p e r i o r s — t h e fluency of their s p e e c h — t h e i r delight in m u s i c , the s u r e s y m p t o m of manly t e n d e r n e s s a n d native e l e g a n c e of soul . . . their g o o d t e m p e r a n d o p e n h a n d e d n e s s — t h e terrible significance of their e l e c t i o n s — t h e President's taking off his hat to t h e m not they to h i m — t h e s e too are u n r h y m e d poetry. It awaits the gigantic a n d g e n e r o u s t r e a t m e n t worthy of it. T h e l a r g e n e s s of n a t u r e or the nation were m o n s t r o u s without a corres p o n d i n g l a r g e n e s s a n d generosity of the spirit of the citizen. N o t n a t u r e nor s w a r m i n g states nor streets a n d s t e a m s h i p s nor p r o s p e r o u s b u s i n e s s nor f a r m s nor capital nor learning may suffice for the ideal of m a n . . . nor suffice the poet. N o r e m i n i s c e n c e s m a y suffice either. A live nation c a n always c u t a d e e p m a r k a n d c a n have the b e s t authority the c h e a p e s t . . . n a m e l y from its own soul. T h i s is the s u m of the profitable u s e s of individuals or states and of p r e s e n t action a n d g r a n d e u r a n d of the s u b j e c t s of p o e t s . — A s if it were n e c e s s a r y to trot b a c k g e n e r a t i o n after g e n e r a t i o n to the e a s t e r n records! As if the b e a u t y a n d s a c r e d n e s s of the d e m o n s t r a b l e m u s t fall b e h i n d that of the mythical! As if m e n do not m a k e their m a r k out of any t i m e s ! As if the o p e n i n g of the w e s t e r n c o n t i n e n t by discovery a n d what has transpired s i n c e in N o r t h a n d S o u t h A m e r i c a were less t h a n the small theatre of the a n t i q u e or the a i m l e s s s l e e p w a l k i n g of the m i d d l e a g e s ! T h e pride of the U n i t e d S t a t e s leaves the wealth a n d finesse of the cities a n d all returns of c o m m e r c e a n d agriculture a n d all the m a g n i t u d e of g e o g r a p h y or s h o w s of exterior victory to enjoy the b r e e d of fullsized m e n or o n e fullsized m a n unconquerable and simple. T h e A m e r i c a n p o e t s are to e n c l o s e old a n d new for A m e r i c a is the r a c e of r a c e s . O f t h e m a b a r d 3 is to b e c o m m e n s u r a t e with a p e o p l e . T o him the other c o n t i n e n t s arrive a s c o n t r i b u t i o n s . . . h e gives t h e m reception for their s a k e a n d his own s a k e . H i s spirit r e s p o n d s to his country's spirit . . . . h e i n c a r n a t e s its g e o g r a p h y a n d natural life a n d rivers a n d lakes. M i s s i s s i p p i with a n n u a l freshets a n d c h a n g i n g c h u t e s , M i s s o u r i a n d C o l u m b i a a n d O h i o a n d S a i n t L a w r e n c e with the falls a n d beautiful m a s c u l i n e H u d s o n , d o not e m b o u c h u r e 4 w h e r e they s p e n d t h e m s e l v e s m o r e than they e m b o u c h u r e into h i m . T h e blue b r e a d t h over the inland s e a of Virginia a n d M a r y l a n d a n d the s e a off M a s s a c h u s e t t s a n d M a i n e a n d over M a n h a t t a n bay a n d over C h a m plain a n d Erie a n d over O n t a r i o a n d H u r o n a n d M i c h i g a n a n d S u p e r i o r , a n d over the T e x a n a n d M e x i c a n a n d Floridian a n d C u b a n s e a s a n d over the s e a s off California a n d O r e g o n , is not tallied by the b l u e b r e a d t h of the waters below m o r e than the b r e a d t h of a b o v e a n d below is tallied by h i m . W h e n the long Atlantic c o a s t s t r e t c h e s longer a n d the Pacific c o a s t s t r e t c h e s longer h e 3.

T h e ideal national poet.

4.

Pour.

P R E F A C E T O LEAVES

OF GRASS

(1855)

/

991

easily s t r e t c h e s with t h e m north or s o u t h . H e s p a n s b e t w e e n t h e m a l s o from east to west a n d reflects what is b e t w e e n t h e m . O n him rise solid growths that offset the growths of p i n e a n d c e d a r a n d h e m l o c k a n d liveoak a n d locust a n d c h e s t n u t a n d cypress a n d hickory a n d limetree a n d c o t t o n w o o d a n d tuliptree a n d c a c t u s a n d wildvine a n d t a m a r i n d a n d p e r s i m m o n . . . . a n d tangles a s t a n g l e d a s any c a n e b r a k e or s w a m p . . . . a n d forests c o a t e d with transparent ice a n d icicles h a n g i n g from the b o u g h s a n d c r a c k l i n g in the wind . . . . a n d sides a n d p e a k s of m o u n t a i n s . . . . a n d p a s t u r a g e sweet a n d free a s s a v a n n a h or u p l a n d or prairie . . . . with flights a n d s o n g s a n d s c r e a m s that a n s w e r t h o s e of the wild pigeon a n d highhold a n d orchard-oriole a n d coot a n d s u r f - d u c k a n d r e d s h o u l d e r e d - h a w k a n d fish-hawk a n d white-ibis a n d indian-hen a n d cat-owl a n d w a t e r - p h e a s a n t a n d qua-bird a n d pieds h e l d r a k e a n d blackbird a n d m o c k i n g b i r d a n d buzzard a n d c o n d o r a n d nightheron a n d e a g l e . T o him the hereditary c o u n t e n a n c e d e s c e n d s both m o t h e r ' s a n d father's. T o him enter the e s s e n c e s of the real things a n d past a n d present e v e n t s — o f the e n o r m o u s diversity of t e m p e r a t u r e a n d a g r i c u l t u r e a n d m i n e s — t h e tribes of red a b o r i g i n e s — t h e w e a t h e r b e a t e n v e s s e l s e n t e r i n g new ports or m a k i n g landings on rocky c o a s t s — t h e first s e t t l e m e n t s north or s o u t h — t h e rapid stature a n d m u s c l e — t h e haughty d e f i a n c e of 7 6 , a n d the war a n d p e a c e a n d formation of the c o n s t i t u t i o n . . . . the u n i o n always s u r r o u n d e d by b l a t h e r e r s a n d always c a l m a n d i m p r e g n a b l e — t h e p e r p e t u a l c o m i n g of i m m i g r a n t s — t h e wharf h e m ' d cities a n d s u p e r i o r m a r i n e — t h e unsurveyed i n t e r i o r — t h e l o g h o u s e s a n d clearings a n d wild a n i m a l s a n d h u n t e r s a n d trappers . . . . the free c o m m e r c e — t h e fisheries a n d w h a l i n g a n d g o l d - d i g g i n g — t h e e n d l e s s gestation of new s t a t e s — t h e c o n v e n i n g of C o n g r e s s every D e c e m b e r , 5 the m e m b e r s duly c o m i n g up from all c l i m a t e s a n d the u t t e r m o s t parts . . . . the noble c h a r a c t e r of the y o u n g m e c h a n i c s a n d of all free A m e r i c a n w o r k m e n a n d w o r k w o m e n . . . . the general a r d o r a n d friendliness a n d e n t e r p r i s e — t h e perfect equality of the f e m a l e with the m a l e . . . . the large a m a t i v e n e s s — t h e fluid m o v e m e n t of the p o p u l a t i o n — the factories a n d m e r c a n t i l e life a n d laborsaving m a c h i n e r y — t h e Y a n k e e s w a p — t h e New-York firemen a n d the target e x c u r s i o n 6 — t h e s o u t h e r n plantation life—the c h a r a c t e r of the n o r t h e a s t a n d of the n o r t h w e s t a n d s o u t h w e s t — s l a v e r y a n d the t r e m u l o u s s p r e a d i n g of h a n d s to protect it, a n d the stern o p p o s i t i o n to it which shall never c e a s e till it c e a s e s or the s p e a k i n g of t o n g u e s a n d the moving of lips c e a s e . F o r s u c h the expression of the A m e r i c a n p o e t is to b e t r a n s c e n d a n t a n d new. It is to b e indirect a n d not direct or descriptive or e p i c . Its quality g o e s through t h e s e to m u c h m o r e . Let the a g e a n d wars of other nations be c h a n t e d and their e r a s a n d characters be illustrated a n d that finish the verse. Not s o the great p s a l m of the republic. H e r e the t h e m e is creative a n d h a s vista. H e r e c o m e s o n e a m o n g the wellbeloved s t o n e c u t t e r s a n d p l a n s with d e c i s i o n a n d s c i e n c e a n d s e e s the solid a n d beautiful forms of the future w h e r e there are now no solid forms. O f all nations the U n i t e d S t a t e s with veins full of p o e t i c a l stuff m o s t n e e d p o e t s a n d will d o u b t l e s s have the greatest a n d u s e t h e m the g r e a t e s t . T h e i r P r e s i d e n t s shall not be their c o m m o n referee so m u c h a s their p o e t s shall. 5 . B e f o r e t h e adoption o f t h e T w e n t i e t h A m e n d m e n t in 1 9 3 3 , C o n g r e s s c o n v e n e d o n t h e first M o n d a y in D e c e m b e r , a c c o r d i n g t o A r t i c l e 1, S e c -

t i o n 4 , of t h e Constitution. 6.

Shooting contest.

992

/

WALT

WHITMAN

O f all m a n k i n d the great poet is the e q u a b l e m a n . N o t in him but off from him things are g r o t e s q u e or e c c e n t r i c or fail of their sanity. N o t h i n g out of its p l a c e is g o o d a n d n o t h i n g in its p l a c e is b a d . H e b e s t o w s on every object or quality its fit p r o p o r t i o n s neither m o r e nor less. H e is the arbiter of the diverse a n d h e is the key. H e is the e q u a l i z e r of his a g e a n d land . . . . he s u p p l i e s what w a n t s supplying a n d c h e c k s what w a n t s c h e c k i n g . If p e a c e is the routine o u t of him s p e a k s the spirit of p e a c e , large, rich, thrifty, b u i l d i n g vast a n d p o p u l o u s cities, e n c o u r a g i n g a g r i c u l t u r e a n d the arts a n d c o m m e r c e — l i g h t i n g the study of m a n , the s o u l , i m m o r t a l i t y — f e d e r a l , state or m u n i c i p a l g o v e r n m e n t , m a r r i a g e , h e a l t h , f r e e t r a d e , intertravel by land a n d s e a . . . . n o t h i n g too c l o s e , n o t h i n g too far o f f . . . the stars not too far off. In war h e is the m o s t deadly force of the war. W h o recruits him recruits h o r s e a n d foot . . . h e f e t c h e s parks of artillery 7 the b e s t that e n g i n e e r ever knew. If the t i m e b e c o m e s slothful a n d heavy he knows how to a r o u s e it . . . h e c a n m a k e every word he s p e a k s draw b l o o d . W h a t e v e r s t a g n a t e s in the flat of c u s t o m or o b e d i e n c e or legislation h e never s t a g n a t e s . O b e d i e n c e d o e s not m a s t e r him, he m a s t e r s it. H i g h up out of r e a c h h e s t a n d s turning a c o n c e n t r a t e d light . . . he t u r n s the pivot with his finger . . . h e baffles the swiftest r u n n e r s as h e s t a n d s a n d easily overtakes a n d e n v e l o p s t h e m . T h e time straying toward infidelity a n d c o n f e c t i o n s a n d persiflage he withholds by his steady faith . . . he s p r e a d s o u t his d i s h e s . . . he offers the sweet firmfibred m e a t that grows m e n a n d w o m e n . H i s brain is the ultimate brain. H e is n o a r g u e r . . . he is j u d g m e n t . H e j u d g e s not a s the j u d g e j u d g e s but as the s u n falling a r o u n d a helpless thing. As h e s e e s the farthest h e has the m o s t faith. H i s t h o u g h t s are the h y m n s of the p r a i s e of things. In the talk o n the soul a n d eternity a n d G o d off of his e q u a l p l a n e he is silent. H e s e e s eternity less like a play with a p r o l o g u e a n d d e n o u e m e n t . . . . he s e e s eternity in m e n a n d w o m e n . . . he d o e s not s e e m e n a n d w o m e n a s d r e a m s or d o t s . Faith is the a n t i s e p t i c of the soul . . . it p e r v a d e s the c o m m o n p e o p l e a n d preserves t h e m . . . they never give u p believing a n d e x p e c t i n g a n d trusting. T h e r e is that i n d e s c r i b a b l e f r e s h n e s s a n d u n c o n s c i o u s n e s s a b o u t a n illiterate p e r s o n that h u m b l e s a n d m o c k s the power of the n o b l e s t expressive g e n i u s . T h e poet s e e s for a certainty how o n e not a great artist may b e j u s t a s s a c r e d a n d perfect a s the g r e a t e s t artist T h e p o w e r to destroy or r e m o u l d is freely u s e d by him b u t never the power of attack. W h a t is p a s t is p a s t . If h e d o e s not e x p o s e s u p e r i o r m o d e l s a n d prove h i m s e l f by every step he takes he is not w h a t is w a n t e d . T h e p r e s e n c e of the g r e a t e s t p o e t c o n q u e r s . . . not parleying or struggling or any p r e p a r e d a t t e m p t s . N o w he h a s p a s s e d that way s e e after him! there is not left any vestige of d e s p a i r or m i s a n t h r o p y or c u n ning or e x c l u s i v e n e s s or the ignominy of a nativity or color or d e l u s i o n of hell or the necessity of hell a n d no m a n t h e n c e f o r w a r d shall b e d e g r a d e d for i g n o r a n c e or w e a k n e s s or sin. T h e g r e a t e s t p o e t hardly knows p e t t i n e s s or triviality. If he b r e a t h e s into any thing that w a s b e f o r e t h o u g h t small it dilates with the g r a n d e u r a n d life of the universe. H e is a s e e r . . . . h e is individual . . . h e is c o m p l e t e in himself . . . . the others are a s g o o d a s h e , only h e s e e s it a n d they d o not. H e is not o n e of the c h o r u s . . . . he d o e s not s t o p for any r e g u l a t i o n . . . h e is the p r e s i d e n t of r e g u l a t i o n . W h a t the eyesight d o e s to the rest h e d o e s to the 7.

I.e., p a r k s f u l o f a r t i l l e r y — f r o m t h e c u s t o m o f d r i l l i n g a n d p a r a d i n g i n c i v i c p a r k s .

P R E F A C E T O LEAVES

OF GRASS

(1855)

/

993

rest. W h o knows the c u r i o u s mystery of the eyesight? T h e other s e n s e s corroborate t h e m s e l v e s , but this is r e m o v e d from any p r o o f b u t its own a n d foreruns the identities of the spiritual world. A single g l a n c e of it m o c k s all the investigations of m a n a n d all the i n s t r u m e n t s a n d b o o k s of the earth a n d all r e a s o n i n g . W h a t is m a r v e l l o u s ? what is unlikely? what is i m p o s s i b l e or b a s e l e s s or v a g u e ? after you have o n c e j u s t o p e n e d the s p a c e of a p e a c h p i t a n d given a u d i e n c e to far a n d near a n d to the s u n s e t a n d h a d all things enter with electric swiftness softly a n d duly without c o n f u s i o n or j o s t l i n g or j a m . T h e land a n d s e a , the a n i m a l s fishes a n d b i r d s , the sky of h e a v e n a n d the orbs, the forests m o u n t a i n s a n d rivers, are not small t h e m e s . . . b u t folks expect of the p o e t to i n d i c a t e m o r e than the b e a u t y a n d dignity w h i c h always attach to d u m b real o b j e c t s . . . . they expect him to i n d i c a t e t h e p a t h b e t w e e n reality a n d their s o u l s . M e n a n d w o m e n perceive the b e a u t y well e n o u g h . . probably as well a s h e . T h e p a s s i o n a t e tenacity of h u n t e r s , woodm e n , early risers, cultivators of g a r d e n s a n d o r c h a r d s a n d fields, the love of healthy w o m e n for the manly form, sea-faring p e r s o n s , drivers of h o r s e s , the p a s s i o n for light a n d the o p e n air, all is a n old varied sign of t h e unfailing p e r c e p t i o n of b e a u t y a n d of a r e s i d e n c e of the poetic in o u t d o o r p e o p l e . T h e y c a n never b e a s s i s t e d by p o e t s to perceive . . . s o m e m a y b u t they never c a n . T h e poetic quality is not m a r s h a l l e d in rhyme or uniformity or a b s t r a c t a d d r e s s e s to things nor in m e l a n c h o l y c o m p l a i n t s or g o o d p r e c e p t s , b u t is the life of t h e s e a n d m u c h else a n d is in the soul. T h e profit of rhyme is that it d r o p s s e e d s of a sweeter a n d m o r e luxuriant r h y m e , a n d of uniformity that it conveys itself into its own roots in the g r o u n d out of sight. T h e rhyme a n d uniformity of perfect p o e m s s h o w the free growth of metrical laws a n d b u d from t h e m a s unerringly a n d loosely as lilacs or r o s e s o n a b u s h , a n d take s h a p e s a s c o m p a c t a s the s h a p e s of c h e s t n u t s a n d o r a n g e s a n d m e l o n s a n d p e a r s , a n d s h e d the p e r f u m e i m p a l p a b l e to form. T h e fluency a n d o r n a m e n t s of the finest p o e m s or m u s i c or orations or recitations are not i n d e p e n d e n t but d e p e n d e n t . All b e a u t y c o m e s from beautiful blood a n d a beautiful b r a i n . If the g r e a t n e s s e s a r e in c o n j u n c t i o n in a m a n or w o m a n it is e n o u g h . . . . the fact will prevail t h r o u g h the universe . . . . b u t the gaggery a n d gilt of a million years will not prevail. W h o troubles himself a b o u t his o r n a m e n t s or fluency is lost. T h i s is what you shall d o : L o v e the earth a n d s u n a n d the a n i m a l s , d e s p i s e r i c h e s , give a l m s to every o n e that a s k s , s t a n d u p for the stupid a n d crazy, devote your i n c o m e a n d labor to o t h e r s , h a t e tyrants, a r g u e not c o n c e r n i n g G o d , have p a t i e n c e a n d i n d u l g e n c e toward t h e p e o p l e , take off your hat to nothing known or u n k n o w n or to any m a n or n u m b e r of m e n , go freely with powerful u n e d u c a t e d p e r s o n s a n d with the y o u n g a n d with the m o t h e r s of families, read t h e s e leaves in the o p e n air every s e a s o n of every year of your life, r e e x a m i n e all you have b e e n told at school or c h u r c h or in any book, d i s m i s s whatever insults your own s o u l , a n d your very flesh shall be a great p o e m a n d have t h e richest fluency not only in its w o r d s b u t in the silent lines of its lips a n d f a c e a n d b e t w e e n t h e l a s h e s of your eyes a n d in every motion a n d joint of your body T h e p o e t shall not s p e n d his time in u n n e e d e d work. H e shall know that the g r o u n d is always ready p l o u g h e d a n d m a n u r e d . . . . others m a y not know it b u t he shall. H e shall go directly to the creation. H i s trust shall m a s t e r the trust of everything he t o u c h e s . . . . a n d shall m a s t e r all a t t a c h m e n t . T h e known universe h a s o n e c o m p l e t e lover a n d that is the g r e a t e s t p o e t .

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H e c o n s u m e s an eternal p a s s i o n a n d is indifferent which c h a n c e h a p p e n s a n d which p o s s i b l e c o n t i n g e n c y of f o r t u n e or m i s f o r t u n e a n d p e r s u a d e s daily a n d hourly his d e l i c i o u s pay. W h a t balks or b r e a k s others is fuel for his b u r n i n g p r o g r e s s to c o n t a c t a n d a m o r o u s joy. O t h e r p r o p o r t i o n s of the r e c e p tion of p l e a s u r e dwindle to n o t h i n g to his p r o p o r t i o n s . All expected from heaven or from the h i g h e s t h e is rapport with in the sight of the d a y b r e a k or a s c e n e of the winter w o o d s or the p r e s e n c e of children playing or with his a r m r o u n d the n e c k of a m a n or w o m a n . His love a b o v e all love has leisure a n d e x p a n s e . . . . he leaves r o o m a h e a d of himself. H e is no irresolute or s u s p i c i o u s lover . . . he is s u r e . . . he s c o r n s intervals. H i s e x p e r i e n c e a n d the s h o w e r s a n d thrills are not for n o t h i n g . N o t h i n g c a n j a r him . . . . suffering and d a r k n e s s c a n n o t — d e a t h a n d fear c a n n o t . T o him c o m p l a i n t a n d j e a l o u s y a n d envy are c o r p s e s buried a n d rotten in the earth . . . . he saw t h e m buried. T h e s e a is not s u r e r of the s h o r e or the s h o r e of the s e a than h e is of the fruition of his love a n d of all perfection a n d beauty. T h e fruition of b e a u t y is no c h a n c e of hit or m i s s . . . it is inevitable as life . . . . it is exact a n d p l u m b a s gravitation. F r o m the eyesight p r o c e e d s a n o t h e r eyesight a n d from the hearing p r o c e e d s a n o t h e r h e a r i n g a n d from the voice p r o c e e d s a n o t h e r voice eternally c u r i o u s of the h a r m o n y of things with m a n . T o t h e s e r e s p o n d p e r f e c t i o n s not only in the c o m m i t t e e s that were s u p p o s e d to s t a n d for the rest but in the rest t h e m s e l v e s j u s t the s a m e . T h e s e u n d e r s t a n d the law of perfection in m a s s e s a n d floods . . . that its finish is to e a c h for itself a n d onward from i t s e l f . . . that it is p r o f u s e a n d impartial . . . that there is not a m i n u t e of the light or dark nor a n a c r e of the earth or s e a without i t — n o r any direction of the sky nor any trade or e m p l o y m e n t nor any turn of e v e n t s . T h i s is the r e a s o n that a b o u t the p r o p e r expression of b e a u t y there is precision a n d b a l a n c e . . . o n e part d o e s not need to be thrust a b o v e another. T h e b e s t singer is not the o n e w h o h a s the m o s t lithe and powerful organ . . . the p l e a s u r e of p o e m s is not in t h e m that take the h a n d s o m e s t m e a s u r e a n d similes a n d s o u n d . W i t h o u t effort a n d without e x p o s i n g in the least how it is d o n e the g r e a t e s t poet brings the spirit of any or all events a n d p a s s i o n s a n d s c e n e s a n d p e r s o n s s o m e m o r e a n d s o m e less to b e a r on your individual c h a r a c t e r as you hear or read. T o d o this well is to c o m p e t e with the laws that p u r s u e a n d follow time. W h a t is the p u r p o s e m u s t surely b e t h e r e a n d the c l u e of it m u s t b e there . . . . a n d the faintest indication is the indication of the best a n d then b e c o m e s the clearest indication. P a s t a n d p r e s e n t a n d future are not disj o i n e d but j o i n e d . T h e g r e a t e s t poet f o r m s the c o n s i s t e n c e of what is to b e from what has b e e n a n d is. H e d r a g s the d e a d out of their coffins a n d s t a n d s them again on their feet . . . . he says to the p a s t , R i s e a n d walk before m e that I may realize you. H e learns the l e s s o n . . . . h e p l a c e s h i m s e l f w h e r e the future b e c o m e s p r e s e n t . T h e g r e a t e s t p o e t d o e s not only dazzle his rays over c h a r a c t e r a n d s c e n e s a n d p a s s i o n s . . . he finally a s c e n d s a n d finishes all . . . he exhibits the p i n n a c l e s that no m a n c a n tell w h a t they a r e for or what is beyond . . . . he glows a m o m e n t on the e x t r e m e s t verge. H e is m o s t wonderful in his last half-hidden smile or frown . . . by that flash of the m o m e n t of parting the o n e that s e e s it shall b e e n c o u r a g e d or terrified afterward for m a n y years. T h e greatest poet d o e s not moralize or m a k e a p p l i c a tions of m o r a l s . . . he knows the s o u l . T h e soul has that m e a s u r e l e s s pride which c o n s i s t s in never a c k n o w l e d g i n g any l e s s o n s but its own. B u t it h a s

P R E F A C E T O L E A V E S OF GRASS

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sympathy a s m e a s u r e l e s s a s its pride a n d the o n e b a l a n c e s the other a n d neither can stretch too far while it s t r e t c h e s in c o m p a n y with the other. T h e inmost s e c r e t s of art s l e e p with the twain. T h e greatest p o e t h a s lain c l o s e betwixt both a n d they are vital in his style a n d t h o u g h t s . T h e art of art, the glory of expression a n d the s u n s h i n e of the light of letters is simplicity. N o t h i n g is better than simplicity . . . . n o t h i n g c a n m a k e up for excess or for the lack of definiteness. T o carry o n the h e a v e of i m p u l s e a n d p i e r c e intellectual d e p t h s a n d give all s u b j e c t s their a r t i c u l a t i o n s are powers neither c o m m o n nor very u n c o m m o n . But to s p e a k in literature with the perfect rectitude a n d i n s o u s i a n c e of the m o v e m e n t s of a n i m a l s a n d the u n i m p e a c h a b l e n e s s of the s e n t i m e n t of trees in the w o o d s a n d g r a s s by the roadside is the flawless t r i u m p h of art. If you have looked on him w h o has achieved it you have looked on o n e of the m a s t e r s of the artists of all n a t i o n s a n d times. You shall not c o n t e m p l a t e the flight of the graygull over the bay or the m e t t l e s o m e action of the blood h o r s e or the tall l e a n i n g of sunflowers on their stalk or the a p p e a r a n c e of the s u n j o u r n e y i n g t h r o u g h heaven or the a p p e a r a n c e of the m o o n afterward with any m o r e satisfaction than you shall c o n t e m p l a t e him. T h e greatest poet has less a m a r k e d style a n d is m o r e the c h a n n e l of t h o u g h t s a n d things without i n c r e a s e or d i m i n u t i o n , a n d is the free c h a n n e l of himself. H e s w e a r s to his art, I will not be m e d d l e s o m e , I will not have in my writing any e l e g a n c e or effect or originality to h a n g in the way b e t w e e n m e a n d the rest like c u r t a i n s . I will have n o t h i n g h a n g in the way, not the richest c u r t a i n s . W h a t I tell I tell for precisely what it is. Let w h o may exalt or startle or f a s c i n a t e or s o o t h I will have p u r p o s e s as health or heat or s n o w h a s a n d b e a s r e g a r d l e s s of observation. W h a t I experience or portray shall go from my c o m p o s i t i o n without a s h r e d of my c o m position. You shall s t a n d by my side a n d look in the mirror with m e . T h e old red blood a n d s t a i n l e s s gentility of great p o e t s will be proved by their u n c o n s t r a i n t . A heroic p e r s o n walks at his e a s e t h r o u g h a n d out of that c u s t o m or p r e c e d e n t or authority that suits him not. O f the traits of the b r o t h e r h o o d of writers s a v a n s s m u s i c i a n s inventors a n d artists n o t h i n g is finer than silent d e f i a n c e a d v a n c i n g from n e w free f o r m s . In the n e e d of p o e m s philosophy politics m e c h a n i s m s c i e n c e behaviour, the craft of art, a n a p p r o p r i a t e native g r a n d - o p e r a , shipcraft, or any craft, he is g r e a t e s t forever a n d forever w h o c o n t r i b u t e s the greatest original practical e x a m p l e . T h e c l e a n e s t expression is that which finds no s p h e r e worthy of itself a n d m a k e s one. T h e m e s s a g e s of great p o e t s to e a c h m a n a n d w o m a n a r e , C o m e to u s on e q u a l t e r m s , Only then c a n you u n d e r s t a n d u s , W e are no better than you, W h a t we e n c l o s e you e n c l o s e , W h a t we enjoy you may enjoy. Did you s u p p o s e there c o u l d be only o n e S u p r e m e ? W e affirm there c a n b e u n n u m b e r e d S u p r e m e s , a n d that o n e d o e s not countervail a n o t h e r any m o r e than o n e eyesight countervails a n o t h e r . . a n d that m e n c a n be g o o d or g r a n d only of the c o n s c i o u s n e s s of their s u p r e m a c y within t h e m . W h a t d o you think is the g r a n d e u r of s t o r m s a n d d i s m e m b e r m e n t s a n d the deadliest battles a n d wrecks a n d the wildest fury of the e l e m e n t s a n d the p o w e r of the s e a a n d the motion of n a t u r e a n d of the throes of h u m a n desires a n d dignity a n d hate a n d love? It is that s o m e t h i n g in the soul which s a y s . R a g e o n , Whirl 8.

Wise men, scientists.

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o n , I tread m a s t e r here a n d everywhere, M a s t e r of the s p a s m s of the sky a n d of the shatter of the s e a , M a s t e r of n a t u r e a n d p a s s i o n a n d d e a t h , A n d of all terror a n d all p a i n . T h e A m e r i c a n b a r d s shall b e m a r k e d for generosity a n d affection a n d for e n c o u r a g i n g c o m p e t i t o r s . . T h e y shall b e k o s m o s 9 . . without m o n o p o l y or s e c r e s y . . glad to p a s s any thing to any o n e . . . hungry for e q u a l s night a n d day. T h e y shall not b e careful of riches a n d privilege . . . . they shall be r i c h e s a n d privilege . . . . they shall perceive w h o the m o s t affluent m a n is. T h e m o s t affluent m a n is h e that c o n f r o n t s all the s h o w s h e s e e s by e q u i v a l e n t s o u t of the stronger wealth of himself. T h e A m e r i c a n b a r d shall d e l i n e a t e no c l a s s of p e r s o n s nor o n e or two o u t of the strata of interests nor love m o s t nor truth m o s t nor the soul m o s t nor the body m o s t . . . . a n d not b e for the e a s t e r n s t a t e s m o r e than the w e s t e r n or the northern s t a t e s m o r e than the southern. E x a c t s c i e n c e a n d its practical m o v e m e n t s are n o c h e c k s o n the greatest p o e t but always his e n c o u r a g e m e n t a n d s u p p o r t . T h e o u t s e t a n d r e m e m b r a n c e are there . . there the a r m s that lifted him first a n d b r a c e him b e s t . . . . there he r e t u r n s after all his goings a n d c o m i n g s . T h e sailor a n d traveler . . . . the a n a t o m i s t c h e m i s t a s t r o n o m e r geologist p h r e n o l o g i s t spiritualist m a t h e m a t i c i a n historian a n d lexicographer a r e not p o e t s , b u t they are the lawgivers of p o e t s a n d their c o n s t r u c t i o n underlies the s t r u c t u r e of every perfect p o e m . N o m a t t e r what rises or is uttered they sent the s e e d of the c o n c e p t i o n of it . . . of t h e m a n d by t h e m s t a n d the visible proofs of s o u l s always of their fatherstuff m u s t b e b e g o t t e n the sinewy r a c e s of b a r d s . If there shall be love a n d c o n t e n t b e t w e e n the father a n d the son a n d if the g r e a t n e s s of the son is the e x u d i n g of the g r e a t n e s s of the father there shall b e love b e t w e e n the p o e t a n d the m a n of d e m o n s t r a b l e s c i e n c e . In the b e a u t y of p o e m s are the tuft a n d final a p p l a u s e of s c i e n c e . G r e a t is the faith of the flush of k n o w l e d g e a n d of the investigation of the d e p t h s of qualities a n d things. C l e a v i n g a n d circling here swells the soul of the p o e t yet it 1 p r e s i d e n t of itself always. T h e d e p t h s are f a t h o m l e s s a n d therefore c a l m . T h e i n n o c e n c e a n d n a k e d n e s s are r e s u m e d . . . they a r e neither m o d e s t nor i m m o d e s t . T h e w h o l e theory of the s p e c i a l a n d s u p e r n a t u r a l a n d all that w a s twined with it or e d u c e d o u t of it d e p a r t s a s a d r e a m . W h a t h a s ever h a p p e n e d . . . . w h a t h a p p e n s a n d whatever m a y or shall h a p p e n , the vital laws e n c l o s e all . . . . they are sufficient for any c a s e a n d for all c a s e s . . . n o n e to be hurried or retarded . . . . any m i r a c l e of affairs or p e r s o n s i n a d m i s s i b l e in the vast clear s c h e m e w h e r e every m o t i o n a n d every s p e a r of g r a s s a n d the f r a m e s a n d spirits of m e n a n d w o m e n a n d all that c o n c e r n s t h e m a r e u n s p e a k a b l y perfect m i r a c l e s all referring to all a n d e a c h distinct a n d in its p l a c e . It is a l s o not c o n s i s t e n t with the reality of the soul to a d m i t that there is anything in the known universe m o r e divine t h a n m e n a n d women. M e n a n d w o m e n a n d the e a r t h a n d all u p o n it a r e simply to b e taken a s they a r e , a n d the investigation of their p a s t a n d p r e s e n t a n d f u t u r e shall b e u n i n t e r m i t t e d a n d shall b e d o n e with p e r f e c t c a n d o r . U p o n this b a s i s philosophy s p e c u l a t e s ever looking toward the poet, ever r e g a r d i n g the eternal 9. I . e . , a p a r t o f t h e o n e m i n d t h a t is t h e w o r l d . 1. P e r h a p s remains s h o u l d be u n d e r s t o o d after

"it," although "it" m a y simply be a e r r o r f o r is.

typographical

P R E F A C E T O LEAVES

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GRASS

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t e n d e n c i e s of all toward h a p p i n e s s never i n c o n s i s t e n t with what is clear to the s e n s e s a n d to the s o u l . F o r the eternal t e n d e n c i e s of all toward h a p p i n e s s m a k e the only point of s a n e philosophy. W h a t e v e r c o m p r e h e n d s less than that . . . whatever is less than the laws of light a n d of a s t r o n o m i c a l m o t i o n . . . or less than the laws that follow the thief the liar the glutton a n d the drunkard through this life a n d d o u b t l e s s afterward or l e s s than vast s t r e t c h e s of time or the slow formation of density or the patient u p h e a v i n g of s t r a t a — i s of no a c c o u n t . W h a t e v e r would put G o d in a p o e m or s y s t e m of philosophy a s c o n t e n d i n g a g a i n s t s o m e being or influence is a l s o of no a c c o u n t . Sanity a n d e n s e m b l e c h a r a c t e r i s e the great m a s t e r . . . spoilt in o n e principle all is spoilt. T h e great m a s t e r h a s n o t h i n g to d o with m i r a c l e s . H e s e e s health for himself in b e i n g o n e of the m a s s . . . . he s e e s the h i a t u s in singular e m i n e n c e . T o the perfect s h a p e c o m e s c o m m o n g r o u n d . T o be u n d e r the general law is great for that is to c o r r e s p o n d with it. T h e m a s t e r knows that he is u n s p e a k a b l y great a n d that all are u n s p e a k a b l y great . . . . that nothing for i n s t a n c e is greater than to c o n c e i v e children a n d bring t h e m up well . . . that to be is j u s t a s great a s to perceive or tell. In the m a k e of the great m a s t e r s the idea of political liberty is indispensible. Liberty takes the a d h e r e n c e of h e r o e s wherever m e n a n d w o m e n exist . . . . but never takes any a d h e r e n c e or w e l c o m e from the rest m o r e than from p o e t s . T h e y are the voice a n d exposition of liberty. T h e y out of a g e s a r e worthy the g r a n d idea . . . . to t h e m it is confided a n d they m u s t s u s t a i n it. N o t h i n g has p r e c e d e n c e of it and nothing c a n warp or d e g r a d e it. T h e attitude of great poets is to c h e e r u p slaves a n d horrify d e s p o t s . T h e turn of their n e c k s , the s o u n d of their feet, the m o t i o n s of their wrists, are full of hazard to the o n e a n d h o p e to the other. C o m e nigh t h e m awhile a n d t h o u g h they neither s p e a k or advise you shall learn the faithful A m e r i c a n l e s s o n . Liberty is poorly served by m e n w h o s e good intent is q u e l l e d from o n e failure or two failures or any n u m b e r of failures, or from the c a s u a l indifference or ingratitude of the p e o p l e , or from the s h a r p s h o w of the t u s h e s of power, or the bringing to bear soldiers a n d c a n n o n or any penal s t a t u t e s . Liberty relies upon itself, invites no o n e , p r o m i s e s nothing, sits in c a l m n e s s a n d light, is positive a n d c o m p o s e d , a n d knows no d i s c o u r a g e m e n t . T h e battle r a g e s with m a n y a loud alarm a n d f r e q u e n t a d v a n c e a n d retreat . . . . the e n e m y triu m p h s . . . . the prison, the h a n d c u f f s , the iron n e c k l a c e a n d anklet, the scaffold, garrote a n d leadballs do their work . . . . the c a u s e is a s l e e p . . . . the strong throats a r e c h o k e d with their own blood . . . . the y o u n g m e n drop their e y e l a s h e s toward the g r o u n d when they p a s s e a c h other . . . . a n d is liberty g o n e out of that p l a c e ? N o never. W h e n liberty g o e s it is not the first to go nor the s e c o n d or third to go . . it waits for all the rest to go . . it is the last . . . W h e n the m e m o r i e s of the old martyrs are faded utterly away . . . . when the large n a m e s of patriots are l a u g h e d at in the p u b l i c halls from the lips of the orators . . . . w h e n the boys are no m o r e c h r i s t e n e d after the s a m e but c h r i s t e n e d after tyrants a n d traitors instead . . . . w h e n the laws of the free are grudgingly p e r m i t t e d a n d laws for informers a n d b l o o d m o n e y are sweet to the taste of the p e o p l e . . . . w h e n I a n d you walk a b r o a d u p o n the earth s t u n g with c o m p a s s i o n at the sight of n u m b e r l e s s brothers a n s w e r i n g our equal friendship a n d calling no m a n m a s t e r — a n d w h e n we are elated with noble joy at the sight of slaves . . . . w h e n the soul retires in the cool c o m m u n i o n of the night a n d surveys its experience a n d has m u c h extasy over

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the word a n d d e e d that p u t b a c k a h e l p l e s s i n n o c e n t p e r s o n into the gripe of the gripers or into any cruel inferiority . . . . w h e n t h o s e in all p a r t s of t h e s e s t a t e s w h o c o u l d e a s i e r realize the true A m e r i c a n c h a r a c t e r b u t do not y e t — w h e n the s w a r m s of c r i n g e r s , s u c k e r s , d o u g h f a c e s , lice of politics, planners of sly involutions for their own p r e f e r m e n t to city offices or state legislatures of the j u d i c i a r y or c o n g r e s s or the p r e s i d e n c y , o b t a i n a r e s p o n s e of love a n d n a t u r a l d e f e r e n c e from the p e o p l e w h e t h e r they get the offices or no . . . . w h e n it is better to b e a b o u n d b o o b y a n d r o g u e in office at a high salary than the p o o r e s t free m e c h a n i c or f a r m e r with his hat u n m o v e d from his h e a d a n d firm eyes a n d a c a n d i d a n d g e n e r o u s heart . . . . a n d w h e n servility by town or state or the federal g o v e r n m e n t or any o p p r e s s i o n o n a large s c a l e or s m a l l s c a l e c a n b e tried o n without its own p u n i s h m e n t following duly after in exact proportion a g a i n s t the s m a l l e s t c h a n c e of e s c a p e . . . . or rather w h e n all life a n d all the s o u l s of m e n a n d w o m e n a r e d i s c h a r g e d from any part of the e a r t h — t h e n only shall the instinct of liberty be d i s c h a r g e d from that part of the e a r t h . As the attributes of the p o e t s of the k o s m o s c o n c e n t r e in the real body a n d soul a n d in the p l e a s u r e of things they p o s s e s s the superiority of g e n u i n e n e s s over all fiction a n d r o m a n c e . As they e m i t t h e m s e l v e s f a c t s a r e showered over with l i g h t . . . . the daylight is lit with m o r e volatile l i g h t . . . . a l s o the d e e p b e t w e e n the s e t t i n g a n d rising s u n g o e s d e e p e r m a n y fold. E a c h p r e c i s e object or c o n d i t i o n or c o m b i n a t i o n or p r o c e s s exhibits a b e a u t y . . . . the multiplication table i t s — o l d a g e i t s — t h e c a r p e n t e r ' s t r a d e i t s — t h e g r a n d - o p e r a its . . . . the h u g e h u l l e d c h e a n s h a p e d New-York clipper at s e a u n d e r s t e a m or full sail g l e a m s with u n m a t c h e d b e a u t y . . . . the A m e r i c a n circles a n d large h a r m o n i e s of g o v e r n m e n t g l e a m with theirs . . . . a n d the c o m m o n e s t definite intentions a n d a c t i o n s with theirs. T h e p o e t s of the kosm o s a d v a n c e t h r o u g h all interpositions a n d coverings a n d turmoils a n d strat e g e m s to first principles. T h e y are of u s e . . . . they dissolve poverty from its n e e d a n d r i c h e s from its c o n c e i t . You large proprietor they say shall not realize or perceive m o r e than any o n e e l s e . T h e owner of the library is not h e w h o holds a legal title to it having b o u g h t a n d paid for it. Any o n e a n d every o n e is owner of the library w h o c a n read the s a m e t h r o u g h all the varieties of t o n g u e s a n d s u b j e c t s a n d styles, a n d in w h o m they enter with e a s e a n d take r e s i d e n c e a n d force toward paternity a n d maternity, a n d m a k e s u p p l e a n d powerful a n d rich a n d large T h e s e A m e r i c a n states strong a n d healthy a n d a c c o m p l i s h e d shall receive n o p l e a s u r e from violations of n a t u r a l m o d e l s a n d m u s t not p e r m i t t h e m . In p a i n t i n g s or m o u l d i n g s or carvings in mineral or w o o d , or in the illustrations of b o o k s or n e w s p a p e r s , or in any c o m i c or tragic prints, or in the p a t t e r n s of woven stuffs or any thing to beautify r o o m s or furniture or c o s t u m e s , or to p u t u p o n c o r n i c e s or m o n u m e n t s or o n the p r o w s or s t e r n s of s h i p s , or to p u t a n y w h e r e before the h u m a n eye indoors or out, that which distorts h o n e s t s h a p e s or which c r e a t e s unearthly b e i n g s or p l a c e s or c o n t i n g e n c i e s is a n u i s a n c e a n d revolt. O f the h u m a n f o r m especially it is s o great it m u s t never b e m a d e r i d i c u l o u s . O f o r n a m e n t s to a work nothing o u t r e 2 c a n b e allowed . . b u t t h o s e o r n a m e n t s c a n b e allowed that c o n f o r m to the p e r f e c t facts of the o p e n air a n d that flow out of the n a t u r e of the work a n d c o m e irrepressibly f r o m it a n d 2.

Excessive, extravagant; a n Americanization of the F r e n c h

outre.

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are n e c e s s a r y to the c o m p l e t i o n of the work. M o s t works are m o s t beautiful without o r n a m e n t . . . E x a g g e r a t i o n s will be revenged in h u m a n physiology. C l e a n a n d vigorous children are j e t t e d a n d c o n c e i v e d only in t h o s e c o m m u n i t i e s w h e r e the m o d e l s of natural f o r m s a r e p u b l i c every day Great g e n i u s a n d the p e o p l e of t h e s e s t a t e s m u s t never be d e m e a n e d to r o m a n c e s . As s o o n as histories are properly told there is no m o r e n e e d of r o m a n c e s . T h e great p o e t s are a l s o to be known by the a b s e n c e in t h e m of tricks a n d by the justification of perfect p e r s o n a l c a n d o r . T h e n folks e c h o a n e w c h e a p j o y a n d a divine voice l e a p i n g from their b r a i n s : H o w beautiful is c a n d o r ! All faults m a y b e forgiven of him w h o has perfect c a n d o r . H e n c e f o r t h let no m a n of u s lie, for we have s e e n that o p e n n e s s wins the inner a n d outer world a n d that there is no single e x c e p t i o n , a n d that never s i n c e o u r e a r t h g a t h e r e d itself in a m a s s have deceit or s u b t e r f u g e or prevarication a t t r a c t e d its smallest particle or the faintest tinge of a s h a d e — a n d that t h r o u g h the e n v e l o p i n g wealth a n d r a n k of a state or the whole republic of s t a t e s a s n e a k or sly p e r s o n shall b e discovered a n d d e s p i s e d . . . . a n d that the soul h a s never b e e n o n c e fooled a n d never c a n b e fooled . . . . a n d thrift without the loving nod of the soul is only a fcetid p u f f . . . . a n d there never grew u p in any of the c o n t i n e n t s of the globe nor u p o n any p l a n e t or satellite or star, nor u p o n the a s t e r o i d s , nor in any part of ethereal s p a c e , nor in the m i d s t of density, nor u n d e r the fluid wet of the s e a , nor in that condition which p r e c e d e s the birth of b a b e s , nor at any time d u r i n g the c h a n g e s of life, nor in that c o n dition that follows what we term d e a t h , nor in any stretch of a b e y a n c e or action afterward of vitality, nor in any p r o c e s s of f o r m a t i o n or reformation anywhere, a b e i n g w h o s e instinct h a t e d the truth. E x t r e m e c a u t i o n or p r u d e n c e , the s o u n d e s t organic h e a l t h , large h o p e a n d c o m p a r i s o n a n d f o n d n e s s for w o m e n a n d children, large a l i m e n t i v e n e s s a n d d e s t r u c t i v e n e s s a n d causality, with a perfect s e n s e of the o n e n e s s of n a t u r e a n d the propriety of the s a m e spirit applied to h u m a n affairs..these a r e called u p of the float of the brain of the world to be p a r t s of the g r e a t e s t p o e t from his birth out of his m o t h e r ' s w o m b a n d from her birth out of her m o t h e r ' s . C a u t i o n s e l d o m g o e s far e n o u g h . It has b e e n t h o u g h t that the p r u d e n t citizen w a s the citizen w h o a p p l i e d h i m s e l f to solid g a i n s a n d did well for h i m s e l f a n d his family a n d c o m p l e t e d a lawful life without debt or c r i m e . T h e g r e a t e s t p o e t s e e s a n d a d m i t s t h e s e e c o n o m i e s as he s e e s the e c o n o m i e s of food a n d s l e e p , but h a s higher n o t i o n s of p r u d e n c e than to think he gives m u c h w h e n he gives a few slight attentions at the latch of the g a t e . T h e p r e m i s e s of the p r u d e n c e of life are not the hospitality of it or the r i p e n e s s a n d harvest of it. B e y o n d the i n d e p e n d e n c e of a little s u m laid a s i d e for burial-money, a n d of a few c l a p b o a r d s a r o u n d a n d shingles overhead on a lot of A m e r i c a n soil o w n e d , a n d the e a s y dollars that supply the year's plain clothing a n d m e a l s , the m e l a n c h o l y p r u d e n c e of the a b a n d o n m e n t of s u c h a great b e i n g a s a m a n is to the toss a n d pallor of years of m o n e y m a k i n g with all their s c o r c h i n g days a n d icy nights a n d all their stifling d e c e i t s a n d u n d e r h a n d e d d o d g i n g s , or infinitessimals of p a r l o r s , or s h a m e l e s s stuffing while o t h e r s s t a r v e . . a n d all the loss of the b l o o m a n d o d o r of the e a r t h a n d of the flowers a n d a t m o s p h e r e a n d of the s e a a n d of the true t a s t e of the w o m e n a n d m e n you p a s s or have to d o with in youth or m i d d l e a g e , a n d the i s s u i n g s i c k n e s s a n d d e s p e r a t e revolt at the c l o s e of a life without elevation or naivete, a n d the ghastly c h a t t e r of a d e a t h without serenity or majesty, is the great fraud u p o n

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m o d e r n civilization a n d forethought, b l o t c h i n g the s u r f a c e a n d s y s t e m w h i c h civilization undeniably drafts, a n d m o i s t e n i n g with t e a r s the i m m e n s e features it s p r e a d s a n d s p r e a d s with s u c h velocity before the r e a c h e d k i s s e s of the soul . . . Still the right explanation r e m a i n s to b e m a d e a b o u t p r u d e n c e . T h e p r u d e n c e of the m e r e wealth a n d respectability of the m o s t e s t e e m e d life a p p e a r s too faint for the eye to o b s e r v e at all w h e n little a n d large alike drop quietly a s i d e at the thought of the p r u d e n c e s u i t a b l e for immortality. W h a t is w i s d o m that fills the t h i n n e s s of a year or seventy or eighty years to w i s d o m s p a c e d out by a g e s a n d c o m i n g b a c k at a certain time with strong r e i n f o r c e m e n t s a n d rich p r e s e n t s a n d the clear f a c e s of w e d d i n g - g u e s t s a s far a s you c a n look in every direction r u n n i n g gaily toward y o u ? Only the soul is of itself . . . . all else h a s r e f e r e n c e to what e n s u e s . All that a p e r s o n d o e s or thinks is of c o n s e q u e n c e . N o t a m o v e c a n a m a n or w o m a n m a k e that affects him or her in a day or a m o n t h or any part of the direct lifetime or the hour of d e a t h but the s a m e affects him or her o n w a r d afterward through the indirect lifetime. T h e indirect is always a s great a n d real a s the direct. T h e spirit receives from the body j u s t a s m u c h a s it gives to the body. N o t o n e n a m e of word or d e e d . . not of venereal s o r e s or discolorations . . not the privacy of the o n a n i s t . . not of the putrid veins of g l u t t o n s or r u m d r i n k e r s . . . not p e c u l a t i o n or c u n n i n g or betrayal or m u r d e r . . n o s e r p e n t i n e p o i s o n of t h o s e that s e d u c e w o m e n . . not the foolish yielding of w o m e n . . not prostitution . . not of any depravity of y o u n g m e n . . not of the a t t a i n m e n t of gain by d i s c r e d i t a b l e m e a n s . . not any n a s t i n e s s of a p p e tite . . not any h a r s h n e s s of officers to m e n or j u d g e s to p r i s o n e r s or fathers to s o n s or s o n s to fathers or of h u s b a n d s to wives or b o s s e s to their boys . . not of greedy looks or m a l i g n a n t w i s h e s . . . nor any of the wiles p r a c t i s e d by p e o p l e u p o n t h e m s e l v e s . . . ever is or ever c a n be s t a m p e d o n the p r o g r a m m e but it is duly realized a n d r e t u r n e d , a n d that returned in further performa n c e s . . . a n d they returned a g a i n . N o r c a n the p u s h of charity or p e r s o n a l force ever be any thing else than the p r o f o u n d e s t r e a s o n , whether it brings a r g u m e n t s to h a n d or n o . N o specification is n e c e s s a r y . . to a d d or s u b t r a c t or divide is in vain. Little or big, l e a r n e d or u n l e a r n e d , white or black, legal or illegal, sick or well, from the first inspiration down the w i n d p i p e to the last expiration out of it, all that a m a l e or f e m a l e d o e s that is vigorous a n d benevolent a n d c l e a n is so m u c h s u r e profit to him or her in the u n s h a k a b l e order of the universe a n d t h r o u g h the w h o l e s c o p e of it forever. If the s a v a g e or felon is wise it is well . . . . if the g r e a t e s t p o e t or s a v a n is wise it is simply the s a m e . . if the P r e s i d e n t or chief j u s t i c e is wise it is the s a m e . . . if the y o u n g m e c h a n i c or farmer is wise it is n o m o r e or less . . if the prostitute is wise it is n o m o r e nor less. T h e interest will c o m e r o u n d . . all will c o m e r o u n d . AH the b e s t a c t i o n s of war a n d p e a c e . . . all help given to relatives a n d s t r a n g e r s a n d the p o o r a n d old a n d sorrowful a n d y o u n g children a n d widows a n d the sick, a n d to all s h u n n e d p e r s o n s . . all f u r t h e r a n c e of fugitives a n d of the e s c a p e of slaves . . all the self-denial that s t o o d s t e a d y a n d aloof on w r e c k s a n d s a w o t h e r s take the s e a t s of the b o a t s . . . all offering of s u b s t a n c e or life for the g o o d old c a u s e , or for a friend's s a k e or opinion's s a k e . . . all p a i n s of e n t h u s i a s t s scoffed at by their n e i g h b o r s . . all the vast sweet love a n d p r e c i o u s suffering of m o t h e r s . . . all h o n e s t m e n baffled in strifes r e c o r d e d or u n r e c o r d e d . . . . all the g r a n d e u r a n d g o o d of the few a n c i e n t n a t i o n s w h o s e f r a g m e n t s of a n n a l s we inherit . . a n d all the g o o d of

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the h u n d r e d s of far mightier a n d m o r e a n c i e n t n a t i o n s u n k n o w n to u s by n a m e or d a t e or location . . . . all that w a s ever manfully b e g u n , w h e t h e r it s u c c e e d e d or no . . . . all that h a s at any time b e e n well s u g g e s t e d o u t of the divine heart of m a n or by the divinity of his m o u t h or by the s h a p i n g of his great h a n d s . . a n d all that is well t h o u g h t or d o n e this day on a n y part of the s u r f a c e of the g l o b e . . or on any of the w a n d e r i n g stars or fixed stars by t h o s e there a s we are here . . or that is h e n c e f o r t h to b e well t h o u g h t or d o n e by you whoever you a r e , or by any o n e — t h e s e singly a n d wholly inured at their time a n d inure now a n d will inure always to the identities from which they s p r u n g or shall spring . . . Did you g u e s s any of t h e m lived only its m o m e n t ? T h e world d o e s not s o exist . . no p a r t s p a l p a b l e or i m p a l p a b l e so exist . . . n o result exists now without b e i n g from its long a n t e c e d e n t result, and that from its a n t e c e d e n t , a n d so b a c k w a r d without the farthest m e n tionable s p o t c o m i n g a bit nearer the b e g i n n i n g than a n y other spot W h a t e v e r satisfies the soul is truth. T h e p r u d e n c e of the greatest poet a n s w e r s at last the craving a n d glut of the soul, is not c o n t e m p t u o u s of less ways of p r u d e n c e if they c o n f o r m to its ways, p u t s off n o t h i n g , p e r m i t s no let-up for its own c a s e or any c a s e , h a s n o particular s a b b a t h or j u d g m e n t day, divides not the living from the d e a d or the r i g h t e o u s from the unrighte o u s , is satisfied with the p r e s e n t , m a t c h e s every t h o u g h t or act by its correlative, knows n o p o s s i b l e forgiveness or d e p u t e d a t o n e m e n t . . knows that the y o u n g m a n w h o c o m p o s e d l y periled his life a n d lost it has d o n e e x c e e d i n g well for himself, while the m a n w h o has not periled his life a n d retains it to old a g e in riches a n d e a s e h a s p e r h a p s a c h i e v e d n o t h i n g for himself worth m e n t i o n i n g . . a n d that only that p e r s o n h a s no great p r u d e n c e to learn w h o h a s learnt to prefer real longlived things, a n d favors body a n d soul the s a m e , a n d perceives the indirect a s s u r e d l y following the direct, a n d what evil or good he d o e s leaping onward a n d waiting to m e e t him a g a i n — a n d who in his spirit in any e m e r g e n c y whatever neither hurries or avoids death. T h e direct trial of him w h o would be the greatest poet is today. If he d o e s not flood h i m s e l f with the i m m e d i a t e a g e a s with vast o c e a n i c tides and if he d o e s not attract his own land body a n d soul to h i m s e l f a n d h a n g on its n e c k with i n c o m p a r a b l e love a n d p l u n g e his Semitic' m u s c l e into its merits a n d d e m e r i t s . . . a n d if he be not h i m s e l f the a g e transfigured . . . . a n d if to him is not o p e n e d the eternity which gives similitude to all periods a n d locations a n d p r o c e s s e s a n d a n i m a t e a n d i n a n i m a t e f o r m s , a n d which is the b o n d of time, a n d rises u p from its i n c o n c e i v a b l e v a g u e n e s s a n d infiniteness in the s w i m m i n g s h a p e of today, a n d is held by the ductile a n c h o r s of life, a n d m a k e s the p r e s e n t spot the p a s s a g e from what w a s to what shall b e , a n d c o m m i t s itself to the r e p r e s e n t a t i o n of this wave of a n h o u r a n d this o n e of the sixty beautiful children of the w a v e — l e t him m e r g e in the general run a n d wait his d e v e l o p m e n t Still the final test of p o e m s or any chara c t e r or work r e m a i n s . T h e p r e s c i e n t p o e t p r o j e c t s h i m s e l f c e n t u r i e s a h e a d a n d j u d g e s p e r f o r m e r or p e r f o r m a n c e after the c h a n g e s of time. D o e s it live through t h e m ? D o e s it still hold on untired? Will the s a m e style a n d the direction of g e n i u s to similar points be satisfactory now? H a s no new dis3. L i k e l y a s e x u a l c o i n a g e m e a n i n g m u s c l e s t h r o u g h w h i c h s e m e n p a s s e s , e s p e c i a l l y t h e m u s c l e s o f t h e penis.

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covery in s c i e n c e or arrival at s u p e r i o r p l a n e s of t h o u g h t a n d j u d g m e n t a n d b e h a v i o u r fixed him or his so that either c a n b e looked d o w n u p o n ? H a v e the m a r c h e s of tens a n d h u n d r e d s a n d t h o u s a n d s of years m a d e willing d e t o u r s to the right h a n d a n d the left h a n d for his s a k e ? Is h e beloved long a n d long after he is buried? D o e s the y o u n g m a n think often of h i m ? a n d the y o u n g w o m a n think often of h i m ? a n d do the m i d d l e a g e d a n d the old think of him? A great p o e m is for a g e s a n d a g e s in c o m m o n a n d for all d e g r e e s a n d c o m p l e x i o n s a n d all d e p a r t m e n t s a n d s e c t s a n d for a w o m a n a s m u c h a s a m a n a n d a m a n a s m u c h a s a w o m a n . A great p o e m is no finish to a m a n or w o m a n but rather a b e g i n n i n g . H a s any o n e f a n c i e d h e c o u l d sit at last u n d e r s o m e d u e authority a n d rest satisfied with e x p l a n a t i o n s a n d realize a n d b e c o n t e n t a n d full? T o no s u c h t e r m i n u s d o e s the g r e a t e s t p o e t bring . . . h e brings neither c e s s a t i o n or s h e l t e r e d f a t n e s s a n d e a s e . T h e t o u c h of him tells in a c t i o n . W h o m h e t a k e s he takes with firm s u r e g r a s p into live regions previously u n a t t a i n e d . . . . t h e n c e f o r w a r d is n o rest . . . . they s e e the s p a c e a n d ineffable s h e e n that turn the old s p o t s a n d lights into d e a d v a c u u m s . T h e c o m p a n i o n of him b e h o l d s the birth a n d p r o g r e s s of stars a n d learns o n e of the m e a n i n g s . N o w there shall b e a m a n c o h e r e d o u t of t u m u l t a n d c h a o s . . . . the elder e n c o u r a g e s the y o u n g e r a n d s h o w s h i m how . . . they two shall l a u n c h off fearlessly t o g e t h e r till the n e w world fits a n orbit for itself a n d looks u n a b a s h e d on the lesser orbits of the stars a n d s w e e p s through the c e a s e l e s s rings a n d shall never be q u i e t a g a i n . T h e r e will s o o n be n o m o r e p r i e s t s . T h e i r work is d o n e . T h e y may wait awhile . . p e r h a p s a g e n e r a t i o n or two . . d r o p p i n g off by d e g r e e s . A s u p e r i o r b r e e d shall take their p l a c e . . . . the g a n g s of k o s m o s a n d p r o p h e t s en m a s s e shall take their p l a c e . A n e w order shall a r i s e a n d they shall be the priests of m a n , a n d every m a n shall be his own priest. T h e c h u r c h e s built u n d e r their u m b r a g e 4 shall be the c h u r c h e s of m e n a n d w o m e n . T h r o u g h the divinity of t h e m s e l v e s shall the k o s m o s a n d the new b r e e d of p o e t s b e interpreters of m e n a n d w o m e n a n d of all events a n d t h i n g s . T h e y shall find their inspiration in real o b j e c t s today, s y m p t o m s of the p a s t a n d future . . . . T h e y shall not deign to d e f e n d immortality or G o d or the p e r f e c t i o n of things or liberty or the exquisite b e a u t y a n d reality of the s o u l . T h e y shall a r i s e in A m e r i c a a n d be r e s p o n d e d to from the r e m a i n d e r of the e a r t h . T h e E n g l i s h l a n g u a g e befriends the g r a n d A m e r i c a n e x p r e s s i o n . . . . it is brawny e n o u g h a n d limber a n d full e n o u g h . O n the t o u g h stock of a r a c e w h o through all c h a n g e of c i r c u m s t a n c e w a s never without the idea of political liberty, w h i c h is the a n i m u s of all liberty, it h a s a t t r a c t e d the t e r m s of daintier a n d gayer a n d s u b t l e r a n d m o r e e l e g a n t t o n g u e s . It is the powerful l a n g u a g e of r e s i s t a n c e . . . it is the dialect of c o m m o n s e n s e . It is the s p e e c h of the p r o u d a n d m e l a n c h o l y r a c e s a n d of all w h o a s p i r e . It is the c h o s e n t o n g u e to express growth faith s e l f - e s t e e m f r e e d o m j u s t i c e equality friendliness a m p l i t u d e p r u d e n c e d e c i s i o n a n d c o u r a g e . It is the m e d i u m that shall well nigh e x p r e s s the i n e x p r e s s i b l e . N o great literature nor any like style of b e h a v i o u r or oratory or social i n t e r c o u r s e or h o u s e h o l d a r r a n g e m e n t s or p u b l i c i n s t i t u t i o n s or the treatm e n t by b o s s e s of e m p l o y e d p e o p l e , nor executive detail or detail of the a r m y 4.

Shadow, protection.

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or navy, nor spirit of legislation or c o u r t s or p o l i c e or tuition or a r c h i t e c t u r e or s o n g s or a m u s e m e n t s or the c o s t u m e s of y o u n g m e n , c a n long e l u d e the j e a l o u s a n d p a s s i o n a t e instinct of A m e r i c a n s t a n d a r d s . W h e t h e r or no the sign a p p e a r s from the m o u t h s of the p e o p l e , it t h r o b s a live interrogation in every f r e e m a n ' s a n d f r e e w o m a n ' s heart after that which p a s s e s by or this built to r e m a i n . Is it uniform with my country? Are its d i s p o s a l s without i g n o m i n i o u s distinctions? Is it for the evergrowing c o m m u n e s of brothers a n d lovers, large, well-united, p r o u d beyond the old m o d e l s , g e n e r o u s b e y o n d all m o d e l s ? Is it s o m e t h i n g grown fresh o u t of the fields or d r a w n from the s e a for u s e to m e today here? I know that what a n s w e r s for m e a n A m e r i c a n m u s t a n s w e r for any individual or nation that serves for a part of my m a t e rials. D o e s this a n s w e r ? or is it without r e f e r e n c e to universal n e e d s ? or s p r u n g of the n e e d s of the less developed society of special r a n k s ? or old n e e d s of p l e a s u r e overlaid by m o d e r n s c i e n c e a n d f o r m s ? D o e s this a c k n o w l e d g e liberty with a u d i b l e a n d a b s o l u t e a c k n o w l e d g e m e n t , a n d set slavery at n o u g h t for life a n d d e a t h ? Will it help b r e e d o n e g o o d s h a p e d a n d w e l l h u n g m a n , a n d a w o m a n to b e his perfect a n d i n d e p e n d e n t m a t e ? D o e s it improve m a n n e r s ? Is it for the n u r s i n g of the y o u n g of the r e p u b l i c ? D o e s it solve readily with the sweet milk of the nipples of the b r e a s t s of the m o t h e r of m a n y children? H a s it too the old ever-fresh f o r b e a r a n c e a n d impartiality? D o e s it look with the s a m e love on the last born on t h o s e h a r d e n i n g toward s t a t u r e , a n d on the errant, a n d on t h o s e w h o d i s d a i n all strength of a s s a u l t o u t s i d e of their o w n ? T h e p o e m s distilled from other p o e m s will probably p a s s away. T h e c o w a r d will surely p a s s away. T h e expectation of the vital a n d great c a n only b e satisfied by the d e m e a n o r of the vital a n d great. T h e s w a r m s of the p o l i s h e d d e p r e c a t i n g a n d reflectors a n d the polite float off a n d leave n o r e m e m b r a n c e . A m e r i c a p r e p a r e s with c o m p o s u r e a n d goodwill for the visitors that have sent word. It is not intellect that is to be their warrant a n d w e l c o m e . T h e t a l e n t e d , the artist, the i n g e n i o u s , the editor, the s t a t e s m a n , the e r u d i t e . . they a r e not u n a p p r e c i a t e d . . they fall in their p l a c e a n d do their work. T h e soul of the nation a l s o d o e s its work. N o d i s g u i s e c a n p a s s on it . . n o d i s g u i s e c a n c o n c e a l from it. It rejects n o n e , it permits all. Only toward a s g o o d a s itself a n d toward the like of itself will it a d v a n c e half-way. A n individual is a s s u p e r b a s a nation w h e n he h a s the qualities which m a k e a s u p e r b n a t i o n . T h e soul of the largest a n d wealthiest a n d p r o u d e s t nation m a y well g o halfway to m e e t that of its p o e t s . T h e signs are effectual. T h e r e is no fear of m i s t a k e . If the o n e is true the other is true. T h e p r o o f of a p o e t is that his country a b s o r b s h i m a s affectionately a s he h a s a b s o r b e d it. 1855

Song of Myself (1881) 1 I c e l e b r a t e myself, a n d sing myself, And what I a s s u m e you shall a s s u m e , For every a t o m b e l o n g i n g to m e a s g o o d b e l o n g s to you.

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I loafe a n d invite my soul, I lean a n d loafe at my e a s e observing a s p e a r of s u m m e r g r a s s .

5

M y t o n g u e , every a t o m of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, B o r n here of p a r e n t s b o r n here from p a r e n t s the s a m e , a n d their p a r e n t s the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health b e g i n , H o p i n g to c e a s e not till d e a t h . C r e e d s a n d s c h o o l s in a b e y a n c e , Retiring b a c k a while sufficed at what they a r e , but never forgotten, I harbor for good or b a d , I permit to s p e a k at every hazard, N a t u r e without c h e c k with original energy.

w

2 H o u s e s a n d r o o m s are full of p e r f u m e s , the shelves are c r o w d e d with perfumes, 1 b r e a t h e the f r a g r a n c e myself a n d know it a n d like it, 15 T h e distillation would intoxicate m e a l s o , b u t I shall not let it. T h e a t m o s p h e r e is not a p e r f u m e , it h a s n o t a s t e of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my m o u t h forever, I a m in love with it, I will g o to the b a n k by the wood a n d b e c o m e u n d i s g u i s e d a n d n a k e d , I a m m a d for it to be in c o n t a c t with m e . 20 T h e s m o k e of my own b r e a t h , E c h o e s , ripples, buzz'd w h i s p e r s , love-root, silk-thread, c r o t c h a n d vine, M y respiration a n d inspiration, the b e a t i n g of my heart, the p a s s i n g of blood a n d air through my l u n g s , T h e sniff of green leaves a n d dry leaves, a n d of the s h o r e a n d dark-color'd s e a - r o c k s , a n d of hay in the b a r n , T h e s o u n d of the belch'd w o r d s of my voice loos'd to the e d d i e s of the wind, 25 A few light k i s s e s , a few e m b r a c e s , a r e a c h i n g a r o u n d of a r m s , T h e play of s h i n e a n d s h a d e o n the trees a s the s u p p l e b o u g h s wag, T h e delight a l o n e or in the r u s h of the s t r e e t s , or a l o n g the fields a n d hillsides, T h e feeling of h e a l t h , the full-noon trill, the s o n g of m e rising from b e d a n d m e e t i n g the s u n . H a v e you reckon'd a t h o u s a n d a c r e s m u c h ? have you reckon'd the earth much? 30 H a v e you practis'd so long to learn to r e a d ? H a v e you felt so p r o u d to get at the m e a n i n g of p o e m s ? S t o p this day a n d night with m e a n d you shall p o s s e s s the origin of all p o e m s , You shall p o s s e s s the good of the earth a n d s u n , (there a r e millions of s u n s left,) You shall no longer take things at s e c o n d or third h a n d , nor look t h r o u g h the eyes of the d e a d , nor feed o n the s p e c t r e s in b o o k s , 35

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You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from m e , You shall listen to all sides a n d filter t h e m from your self.

3 I have h e a r d w h a t the talkers were talking, the talk of the b e g i n n i n g a n d the end, B u t I do not talk of the b e g i n n i n g or the e n d . T h e r e w a s never any m o r e inception than there is now, N o r any m o r e youth or a g e than there is now, A n d will never b e any m o r e perfection than there is now, N o r any m o r e heaven or hell than there is now. U r g e a n d urge a n d u r g e , Always the p r o c r e a n t urge of the world.

40

4s

O u t of the d i m n e s s o p p o s i t e e q u a l s a d v a n c e , always s u b s t a n c e a n d i n c r e a s e , always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a b r e e d of life. T o e l a b o r a t e is no avail, learn'd a n d unlearn'd feel that it is s o . S u r e a s the m o s t certain s u r e , p l u m b in the uprights, well entretied, 1 b r a c e d in the b e a m s , S t o u t a s a h o r s e , a f f e c t i o n a t e , haughty, electrical, 50 I a n d this mystery here we s t a n d . C l e a r a n d sweet is my soul, a n d clear a n d sweet is all that is not my s o u l . L a c k o n e lacks b o t h , a n d the u n s e e n is proved by the s e e n , Till that b e c o m e s u n s e e n a n d receives proof in its turn. S h o w i n g the best a n d dividing it from the worst a g e vexes a g e , ss Knowing the perfect fitness a n d e q u a n i m i t y of things, while they d i s c u s s I a m silent, a n d go b a t h e a n d a d m i r e myself. W e l c o m e is every organ a n d attribute of m e , a n d of any m a n hearty a n d clean, N o t an inch nor a particle of a n inch is vile, a n d n o n e shall b e less familiar than the rest. I a m satisfied—I s e e , d a n c e , l a u g h , sing; As the h u g g i n g a n d loving bed-fellow s l e e p s at my side t h r o u g h the night, a n d withdraws at the p e e p of the day with stealthy tread, 6<> L e a v i n g m e b a s k e t s cover'd with white towels swelling the h o u s e with their plenty, Shall I p o s t p o n e my a c c e p t a t i o n a n d realization a n d s c r e a m at my e y e s , T h a t they turn from gazing after a n d down the r o a d . And forthwith c i p h e r 2 a n d s h o w m e to a c e n t ,

I. C r o s s - b r a c e d .

2.

Calculate.

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Exactly the value of o n e a n d exactly the value of two, a n d which is ahead? 65 4 Trippers and askers surround m e , P e o p l e I m e e t , the effect u p o n m e of my early life or the ward a n d city I live in, or the nation, T h e latest d a t e s , discoveries, inventions, s o c i e t i e s , a u t h o r s old a n d new, My dinner, d r e s s , a s s o c i a t e s , looks, c o m p l i m e n t s , d u e s , T h e real or f a n c i e d indifference of s o m e m a n or w o m a n I love, TO T h e s i c k n e s s of o n e of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or d e p r e s s i o n s or exaltations, B a t t l e s , the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful n e w s , the fitful events; T h e s e c o m e to m e days a n d nights a n d go from m e a g a i n , B u t they are not the M e myself. Apart from the pulling a n d h a u l i n g s t a n d s what I a m , S t a n d s a m u s e d , c o m p l a c e n t , c o m p a s s i o n a t i n g , idle, unitary, L o o k s d o w n , is erect, or b e n d s a n a r m o n a n i m p a l p a b l e certain rest, L o o k i n g with side-curved h e a d c u r i o u s what will c o m e next, B o t h in a n d out of the g a m e a n d w a t c h i n g a n d w o n d e r i n g at it.

75

B a c k w a r d I s e e in my own days w h e r e I s w e a t e d t h r o u g h fog with linguists and contenders, so I have no m o c k i n g s or a r g u m e n t s , I w i t n e s s a n d wait 5

I believe in you my s o u l , the other I a m m u s t not a b a s e itself to y o u , A n d you m u s t not be a b a s e d to the other. L o a f e with m e on the g r a s s , loose the s t o p from your throat, N o t w o r d s , not m u s i c or rhyme I want, not c u s t o m or l e c t u r e , not even the best, 85 Only the lull I like, the h u m of your valved v o i c e . I mind how o n c e we lay s u c h a t r a n s p a r e n t s u m m e r m o r n i n g , H o w you settled your h e a d athwart my hips a n d gently turn'd over u p o n m e , And p a r t e d the shirt from my b o s o m - b o n e , a n d p l u n g e d your t o n g u e to my bare-stript heart, A n d r e a c h ' d till you felt my b e a r d , a n d r e a c h ' d till you held my feet. 90 Swiftly a r o s e a n d s p r e a d a r o u n d m e the p e a c e a n d k n o w l e d g e that p a s s all the a r g u m e n t of the e a r t h , A n d I know that the h a n d of G o d is the p r o m i s e of my o w n , A n d I know that the spirit of G o d is the brother of my o w n , A n d that all the m e n ever born a r e a l s o my b r o t h e r s , a n d the w o m e n my sisters a n d lovers, A n d that a k e l s o n 3 of the c r e a t i o n is love, 95 3.

A b a s i c s t r u c t u r a l unit; a r e i n f o r c i n g t i m b e r b o l t e d to t h e keel ( b a c k b o n e ) of a s h i p .

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1007

A n d limitless are leaves stiff or d r o o p i n g in the fields, A n d brown a n t s in the little wells b e n e a t h t h e m , A n d m o s s y s c a b s of the w o r m f e n c e , heap'd s t o n e s , elder, mullein a n d pokeweed.

6 A child said What is the grass? fetching it to m e with full h a n d s ; H o w c o u l d I a n s w e r the child? I do not know w h a t it is any m o r e than he. ioo I g u e s s it m u s t be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful g r e e n stuff woven. O r I g u e s s it is the h a n d k e r c h i e f of the L o r d , A s c e n t e d gift a n d r e m e m b r a n c e r designedly dropt, B e a r i n g the owner's n a m e s o m e w a y in the c o r n e r s , that we m a y s e e a n d r e m a r k , a n d say Whose? Or

I g u e s s the vegetation.

grass

is

itself

a

child,

the

produced

babe

of

the io*

O r I g u e s s it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it m e a n s , S p r o u t i n g alike in b r o a d zones a n d narrow z o n e s , G r o w i n g a m o n g b l a c k folks as a m o n g white, K a n u c k , T u c k a h o e , C o n g r e s s m a n , C u f f , 4 I give t h e m the s a m e , I receive t h e m the s a m e . And now it s e e m s to m e the beautiful u n c u t hair of graves.

no

Tenderly will I u s e you curling g r a s s , It may be you transpire from the b r e a s t s of y o u n g m e n , It may be if I h a d known t h e m I would have loved t h e m , It m a y be you are from old p e o p l e , or from offspring taken s o o n out of their mothers' laps, A n d here you are the m o t h e r s ' l a p s . us T h i s g r a s s is very dark to be from the white h e a d s of old m o t h e r s , D a r k e r than the colorless b e a r d s of old m e n , D a r k to c o m e from u n d e r the faint red roofs of m o u t h s . 0 I perceive after all so m a n y uttering t o n g u e s , A n d I perceive they do not c o m e from the roofs of m o u t h s for n o t h i n g . 1 2 0 1 wish I c o u l d t r a n s l a t e the hints a b o u t the d e a d y o u n g m e n a n d w o m e n , And the hints a b o u t old m e n a n d m o t h e r s , a n d the offspring taken s o o n o u t of their laps. W h a t do you think has b e c o m e of the y o u n g a n d old m e n ? And what do you think has b e c o m e of the w o m e n a n d c h i l d r e n ?

4 . B l a c k , f r o m t h e A f r i c a n w o r d cuffee. "Kanuck": French C a n a d i a n . " T u c k a h o e " : Virginian, from eaters of the A m e r i c a n Indian food plant tuckahoe.

1008

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T h e y are alive a n d well s o m e w h e r e , 125 T h e s m a l l e s t s p r o u t s h o w s there is really no d e a t h , A n d if ever there w a s it led forward life, a n d d o e s not wait at the e n d to arrest it, A n d ceas'd the m o m e n t life a p p e a r ' d . All g o e s onward a n d o u t w a r d , nothing c o l l a p s e s , A n d to die is different from what any o n e s u p p o s e d , a n d luckier.

130

H a s any o n e s u p p o s e d it lucky to b e b o r n ? I h a s t e n to inform him or her it is j u s t a s lucky to d i e , a n d I know it. I p a s s d e a t h with the dying a n d birth with the new-wash'd b a b e , a n d a m not c o n t a i n ' d b e t w e e n my hat a n d b o o t s , A n d p e r u s e m a n i f o l d o b j e c t s , n o two alike a n d every o n e g o o d , T h e earth g o o d a n d the stars g o o d , a n d their a d j u n c t s all g o o d . 13s I a m not an earth nor an a d j u n c t of a n e a r t h , I a m the m a t e a n d c o m p a n i o n of p e o p l e , all j u s t a s i m m o r t a l a n d f a t h o m l e s s a s myself, (They do not know how i m m o r t a l , but I know.) Every kind for itself a n d its own, for m e m i n e m a l e a n d f e m a l e , F o r m e t h o s e that have b e e n boys a n d that love w o m e n , HO F o r m e the m a n that is p r o u d a n d feels how it stings to be slighted, F o r m e the sweet-heart a n d the old m a i d , for m e m o t h e r s a n d the m o t h e r s of m o t h e r s , F o r m e lips that have s m i l e d , eyes that have s h e d tears, F o r m e children a n d the b e g e t t e r s of children. U n d r a p e ! you are not guilty to m e , nor stale nor d i s c a r d e d , i»i I s e e through the b r o a d c l o t h a n d g i n g h a m w h e t h e r or n o , And a m a r o u n d , t e n a c i o u s , acquisitive, tireless, a n d c a n n o t b e s h a k e n away. 8 T h e little o n e s l e e p s in its c r a d l e , I lift the g a u z e a n d look a long t i m e , a n d silently b r u s h away flies with my hand. T h e y o u n g s t e r a n d the red-faced girl turn a s i d e up the b u s h y hill, I peeringly view t h e m from the t o p .

iso

T h e s u i c i d e sprawls on the bloody floor of the b e d r o o m , I witness the c o r p s e with its d a b b l e d hair, I note w h e r e the pistol h a s fallen. The

blab of the p a v e , tires of c a r t s , sluff of b o o t - s o l e s , talk of the promenaders, T h e heavy o m n i b u s , the driver with his interrogating t h u m b , the c l a n k of the s h o d h o r s e s o n the granite floor, 155

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

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1009

The The The The The

snow-sleighs, clinking, s h o u t e d j o k e s , pelts of snow-balls, h u r r a h s for p o p u l a r favorites, the fury of rous'd m o b s , flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick m a n inside b o r n e to the hospital, m e e t i n g of e n e m i e s , the s u d d e n o a t h , the blows a n d fall, excited crowd, the p o l i c e m a n with his star quickly working his p a s s a g e to the c e n t r e of the crowd, 160 T h e i m p a s s i v e s t o n e s that receive a n d return s o m a n y e c h o e s , W h a t g r o a n s of over-fed or half-starv'd w h o fall s u n s t r u c k or in fits, W h a t e x c l a m a t i o n s of w o m e n taken s u d d e n l y w h o hurry h o m e a n d give birth to b a b e s , W h a t living a n d b u r i e d s p e e c h is always vibrating h e r e , what howls restrain'd by d e c o r u m , Arrests of c r i m i n a l s , slights, a d u l t e r o u s offers m a d e , a c c e p t a n c e s , rejections with convex lips, 165 I mind t h e m or the s h o w or r e s o n a n c e of t h e m — I c o m e a n d I depart.

9 The The The The

big doors of the country barn stand o p e n a n d ready, dried g r a s s of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn w a g o n , clear light plays on the brown gray a n d green intertinged, a r m f u l s are pack'd to the s a g g i n g m o w .

170

I a m there, I help, I c a m e stretch'd a t o p of the load, I felt its soft j o l t s , o n e leg reclined on the other, I j u m p from the c r o s s - b e a m s a n d sieze the clover a n d timothy, And roll h e a d over heels a n d tangle my hair full of w i s p s .

10 Alone far in the wilds a n d m o u n t a i n s I h u n t , W a n d e r i n g a m a z e d at my own lightness a n d g l e e , In the late afternoon c h o o s i n g a s a f e spot to p a s s the night, Kindling a fire a n d broiling the fresh-kill'd g a m e , Falling a s l e e p on the gather'd leaves with my d o g a n d g u n by my side.

IT;

T h e Y a n k e e clipper is u n d e r her sky-sails, s h e c u t s the sparkle a n d scud, 180 M y eyes settle the land, I b e n d at her prow or s h o u t joyously from the d e c k . T h e b o a t m e n a n d c l a m - d i g g e r s a r o s e early a n d stopt for m e , I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my b o o t s a n d went a n d h a d a g o o d t i m e ; You s h o u l d have b e e n with u s that day r o u n d the chowder-kettle. I s a w the m a r r i a g e of the trapper in the o p e n air in the far w e s t , the bride was a red girl, is; H e r father a n d his friends sat near c r o s s - l e g g e d a n d d u m b l y s m o k i n g , they had m o c c a s i n s to their feet a n d large thick b l a n k e t s h a n g i n g from their shoulders, O n a b a n k l o u n g e d the trapper, he w a s drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard a n d curls p r o t e c t e d his neck, he held his bride by the h a n d ,

1010

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WALT

WHITMAN

S h e h a d long e y e l a s h e s , her h e a d w a s b a r e , her c o a r s e straight locks d e s c e n d e d u p o n her v o l u p t u o u s l i m b s a n d r e a c h ' d to her feet. T h e r u n a w a y slave c a m e to my h o u s e a n d stopt o u t s i d e , I h e a r d his m o t i o n s crackling the twigs of the w o o d p i l e , 190 T h r o u g h the s w u n g half-door of the kitchen I s a w him limpsy 5 a n d w e a k , A n d went w h e r e h e sat o n a log a n d led him in a n d a s s u r e d h i m , A n d b r o u g h t water a n d fill'd a t u b for his s w e a t e d b o d y a n d bruis'd feet, A n d gave him a r o o m that enter'd from my o w n , a n d gave him s o m e c o a r s e clean clothes, A n d r e m e m b e r perfectly well his revolving eyes a n d his a w k w a r d n e s s , 195 A n d r e m e m b e r p u t t i n g p l a s t e r s on the galls of his n e c k a n d a n k l e s ; H e staid with m e a week b e f o r e he w a s r e c u p e r a t e d a n d p a s s ' d north, I h a d him sit next m e at t a b l e , my fire-lock lean'd in the corner. 11 Twenty-eight y o u n g m e n b a t h e by the s h o r e , Twenty-eight y o u n g m e n a n d all s o friendly; Twenty-eight years of w o m a n l y life a n d all s o l o n e s o m e .

200

S h e o w n s the fine h o u s e by the rise of the b a n k , S h e hides h a n d s o m e a n d richly drest aft the blinds of the window. W h i c h of the y o u n g m e n d o e s s h e like the b e s t ? Ah the h o m e l i e s t of t h e m is beautiful to her.

205

W h e r e are you off to, lady? for I s e e you, You s p l a s h in the water there, yet stay s t o c k still in your r o o m . D a n c i n g a n d l a u g h i n g a l o n g the b e a c h c a m e the twenty-ninth bather, T h e rest did not see her, b u t s h e s a w t h e m a n d loved t h e m . T h e b e a r d s of the y o u n g m e n glisten'd with wet, it r a n from their long hair, 210 Little s t r e a m s p a s s ' d over their b o d i e s . An u n s e e n h a n d a l s o p a s s ' d over their b o d i e s , It d e s c e n d e d tremblingly from their t e m p l e s a n d ribs. T h e y o u n g m e n float on their b a c k s , their white bellies b u l g e to the s u n , they d o not a s k w h o seizes fast to t h e m , T h e y d o not know w h o puffs a n d d e c l i n e s with p e n d a n t a n d b e n d i n g arch, 215 T h e y d o not think w h o m they s o u s e with spray. 12 T h e b u t c h e r - b o y p u t s off his killing-clothes, or s h a r p e n s his knife at the stall in the m a r k e t , 5.

L i m p i n g or swaying.

S O N G OF M Y S E L F

(1881)

/

1011

I loiter enjoying his repartee a n d his shuffle a n d b r e a k - d o w n . 6 B l a c k s m i t h s with grimed a n d hairy c h e s t s environ the anvil, E a c h h a s his m a i n - s l e d g e , they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire. 220 F r o m the cinder-strew'd t h r e s h o l d I follow their m o v e m e n t s , T h e lithe s h e e r of their waists plays even with their m a s s i v e a r m s , O v e r h a n d the h a m m e r s swing, o v e r h a n d so slow, o v e r h a n d so s u r e , T h e y do not h a s t e n , e a c h m a n hits in his p l a c e . 13 T h e negro holds firmly the reins of his four h o r s e s , the b l o c k s w a g s undern e a t h o n its tied-over c h a i n , 225 T h e negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, s t e a d y a n d tall h e s t a n d s pois'd on o n e leg on the s t r i n g - p i e c e , 7 H i s b l u e shirt e x p o s e s his a m p l e n e c k a n d breast a n d l o o s e n s over his hipband, His g l a n c e is c a l m a n d c o m m a n d i n g , he t o s s e s the s l o u c h of his hat away from his f o r e h e a d , T h e s u n falls on his crispy hair a n d m u s t a c h e , falls on the b l a c k of his polish'd a n d perfect limbs. I b e h o l d the p i c t u r e s q u e giant a n d love him, a n d I d o not s t o p t h e r e , I go with the t e a m a l s o .

230

In m e the c a r e s s e r of life wherever moving, b a c k w a r d as well a s forward sluing, T o n i c h e s a s i d e a n d j u n i o r 8 b e n d i n g , not a p e r s o n or object m i s s i n g , A b s o r b i n g all to myself a n d for this s o n g . Oxen that rattle the yoke a n d c h a i n or halt in the leafy s h a d e , what is t h a t you express in your eyes? 235 It s e e m s to m e m o r e than all the print I have read in my life. M y tread s c a r e s the wood-drake a n d w o o d - d u c k on my distant a n d day-long ramble. T h e y rise together, they slowly circle a r o u n d . I believe in t h o s e wing'd p u r p o s e s , And And And And

a c k n o w l e d g e red, yellow, white, playing within m e , 240 c o n s i d e r green a n d violet a n d the tufted c r o w n 9 intentional, do not call the tortoise unworthy b e c a u s e s h e is not s o m e t h i n g e l s e , the j a y in the w o o d s never s t u d i e d the g a m u t , 1 yet trills pretty well to me, A n d the look of the bay m a r e s h a m e s silliness o u t of m e . 6. T w o favorite m i n s t r e l - s h o w d a n c e s . T h e " s h u f fie" involves t h e sliding o f feet a c r o s s t h e floor, a n d t h e " b r e a k - d o w n " is f a s t e r a n d n o i s i e r . 7. L o n g , h e a v y t i m b e r u s e d t o k e e p a l o a d in p l a c e .

8. 9. 1.

Smaller. O f the wood drake. H e r e , the series of recognized m u s i c a l notes.

1012

/

WALT

WHITMAN

14 T h e wild g a n d e r leads his flock t h r o u g h the Ya-honk he says, a n d s o u n d s it down to m e T h e pert m a y s u p p o s e it m e a n i n g l e s s , but I Find its p u r p o s e a n d p l a c e u p there toward

cool night, like a n invitation, listening c l o s e , the wintry sky.

24s

T h e s h a r p - h o o f ' d m o o s e of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the c h i c k a d e e , the prairie-dog, T h e litter of the g r u n t i n g sow a s they tug at her t e a t s , 250 T h e brood of the turkey-hen a n d s h e with her half-spread w i n g s , I s e e in t h e m a n d myself the s a m e old law. T h e p r e s s of my foot to the earth s p r i n g s a h u n d r e d affections, T h e y scorn the b e s t I c a n do to relate t h e m . I a m e n a m o u r ' d of growing o u t - d o o r s , 255 O f m e n that live a m o n g cattle or taste of the o c e a n or w o o d s , O f the builders a n d steerers of s h i p s a n d the wielders of axes a n d m a u l s , a n d the drivers of h o r s e s , I c a n eat a n d s l e e p with t h e m week in a n d w e e k out. W h a t is c o m m o n e s t , c h e a p e s t , n e a r e s t , e a s i e s t , is M e , M e g o i n g in for my c h a n c e s , s p e n d i n g for vast returns, A d o r n i n g myself to b e s t o w myself on the first that will take m e , N o t a s k i n g the sky to c o m e d o w n to my g o o d will, S c a t t e r i n g it freely forever.

2<,o

IS

T h e p u r e contralto sings in the o r g a n loft, T h e c a r p e n t e r d r e s s e s his plank, the t o n g u e of his f o r e p l a n e whistles its wild a s c e n d i n g lisp, 265 T h e married a n d u n m a r r i e d children ride h o m e to their T h a n k s g i v i n g dinner, T h e pilot seizes the king-pin, he h e a v e s down with a strdng a r m , T h e m a t e s t a n d s b r a c e d in the w h a l e - b o a t , l a n c e a n d h a r p o o n are ready, T h e d u c k - s h o o t e r walks by silent a n d c a u t i o u s s t r e t c h e s , T h e d e a c o n s are ordain'd with cross'd h a n d s at the altar, 270 T h e spinning-girl retreats a n d a d v a n c e s to the h u m of the big wheel, T h e farmer s t o p s by the b a r s a s he walks on a First-day 2 Ioafe a n d looks at the oats a n d rye, T h e lunatic is carried at last to the a s y l u m a confirm'd c a s e , ( H e will never s l e e p any m o r e a s he did in the cot in his mother's bedroom;) T h e j o u r printer* with gray h e a d a n d g a u n t j a w s works at his c a s e , 275 H e turns his q u i d of t o b a c c o while his eyes blurr with the m a n u s c r i p t ; T h e malform'd limbs are tied to the s u r g e o n ' s t a b l e , 2. S u n d a y . W h i t m a n frequently u s e s the numerical Q u a k e r s u b s t i t u t e s for t h e c u s t o m a r y p a g a n n a m e s o f d a y s a n d m o n t h s . " B a r s " : i.e., o f a rail fence. 3. I . e . , a j o u r n e y m a n p r i n t e r , o r o n e w h o h a s

p a s s e d a n a p p r e n t i c e s h i p a n d is f u l l y q u a l i f i e d f o r a l l p r o f e s s i o n a l w o r k . In t h i s u s a g e W h i t m a n m a y imply that t h e m a n w o r k s by t h e day, w i t h o u t a steady job.

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

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1013

W h a t is r e m o v e d d r o p s horribly in a pail; T h e q u a d r o o n girl is sold at the a u c t i o n - s t a n d , the d r u n k a r d n o d s by the barr o o m stove, T h e m a c h i n i s t rolls u p his sleeves, the p o l i c e m a n travels his b e a t , the g a t e keeper marks who pass, 280 T h e y o u n g fellow drives the express-wagon, (I love him, t h o u g h I do not know him;) T h e half-breed straps on his light b o o t s to c o m p e t e in the r a c e , T h e w e s t e r n turkey-shooting draws old a n d young, s o m e lean on their rifles, s o m e sit on logs, O u t from the crowd s t e p s the m a r k s m a n , takes his position, levels his p i e c e ; T h e g r o u p s of newly-come i m m i g r a n t s cover the w h a r f or levee, 285 As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views t h e m from his saddle, T h e b u g l e calls in the ball-room, the g e n t l e m e n run for their p a r t n e r s , the d a n c e r s bow to e a c h other, T h e youth lies a w a k e in the c e d a r - r o o f d garret a n d harks to the m u s i c a l rain, T h e W o l v e r i n e 4 s e t s traps on the c r e e k that helps fill the H u r o n , T h e s q u a w wrapt in her yellow-hemm'd cloth is offering m o c c a s i n s a n d b e a d b a g s for s a l e , 290 T h e c o n n o i s s e u r p e e r s a l o n g the exhibition-gallery with half-shut eyes b e n t sideways, As the d e c k - h a n d s m a k e fast the s t e a m b o a t the p l a n k is thrown for the shoregoing passengers, T h e y o u n g sister holds out the skein while the elder sister w i n d s it off in a ball, a n d s t o p s n o w a n d then for the k n o t s , T h e one-year wife is recovering a n d happy having a week a g o b o r n e her first child, T h e clean-hair'd Yankee girl works with her s e w i n g - m a c h i n e or in the factory or mill, 295 T h e p a v i n g - m a n 5 l e a n s on his t w o - h a n d e d r a m m e r , the reporter's lead flies swiftly over the note-book, the sign-painter is lettering with b l u e a n d gold, T h e c a n a l boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper c o u n t s at his desk, the s h o e m a k e r waxes his t h r e a d , T h e c o n d u c t o r b e a t s time for the b a n d a n d all the p e r f o r m e r s follow h i m , T h e child is baptized, the convert is m a k i n g his first p r o f e s s i o n s , T h e regatta is s p r e a d o n the bay, the r a c e is b e g u n , (how the white sails sparkle 300 T h e drover w a t c h i n g his drove sings out to t h e m that would stray, T h e pedler sweats with his p a c k on his back, (the p u r c h a s e r higgling a b o u t the odd c e n t ; ) T h e bride u n r u m p l e s her white d r e s s , the m i n u t e - h a n d of the c l o c k m o v e s slowly, T h e o p i u m - e a t e r reclines with rigid h e a d a n d j u s t - o p e n ' d lips, T h e prostitute draggles her shawl, her b o n n e t b o b s o n her tipsy a n d p i m p l e d neck, 305 T h e crowd laugh at her b l a c k g u a r d o a t h s , the m e n j e e r a n d wink to e a c h other, 4.

Inhabitant of Michigan.

5.

M a n building or repairing streets.

1014

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WALT

WHITMAN

( M i s e r a b l e ! I do not laugh at your o a t h s nor j e e r you;) T h e P r e s i d e n t holding a c a b i n e t c o u n c i l is s u r r o u n d e d by the great Secretaries, O n the piazza walk three m a t r o n s stately a n d friendly with twined a r m s , T h e crew of the fish-smack p a c k r e p e a t e d layers of halibut in the hold, u o T h e M i s s o u r i a n c r o s s e s the plains toting his w a r e s a n d his c a t t l e , As the fare-collector g o e s through the train he gives notice by the jingling of loose c h a n g e , T h e floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners a r e tinning the roof, the m a s o n s are calling for mortar, In single file e a c h s h o u l d e r i n g his hod p a s s o n w a r d the laborers; S e a s o n s p u r s u i n g e a c h other the i n d e s c r i b a b l e crowd is gather'd, it is the fourth of S e v e n t h - m o n t h , (what s a l u t e s of c a n n o n a n d small a r m s ! ) u s S e a s o n s p u r s u i n g e a c h other the p l o u g h e r p l o u g h s , the m o w e r m o w s , a n d the winter-grain falls in the g r o u n d ; Off on the lakes the pike-fisher w a t c h e s a n d waits by the h o l e in the frozen surface, T h e s t u m p s s t a n d thick r o u n d the clearing, the s q u a t t e r strikes d e e p with his a x e , F l a t b o a t m e n m a k e fast towards d u s k near the c o t t o n - w o o d or p e c a n - t r e e s , C o o n - s e e k e r s go t h r o u g h the regions of the Red river or t h r o u g h t h o s e drain'd by the T e n n e s s e e , or t h r o u g h t h o s e of the A r k a n s a s , 320 T o r c h e s shine in the dark that h a n g s on the C h a t t a h o o c h or A l t a m a h a w , 6 P a t r i a r c h s sit at s u p p e r with s o n s a n d g r a n d s o n s a n d g r e a t - g r a n d s o n s a r o u n d them, In walls of a d o b i e , in c a n v a s t e n t s , rest h u n t e r s a n d trappers after their day's sport, T h e city s l e e p s a n d the country s l e e p s , T h e living s l e e p for their t i m e , the d e a d s l e e p for their t i m e , 325 T h e old h u s b a n d s l e e p s by his wife a n d the y o u n g h u s b a n d s l e e p s by his wife; And t h e s e tend inward to m e , a n d I tend o u t w a r d to t h e m , And s u c h as it is to be of t h e s e m o r e or less I a m , And of t h e s e o n e a n d all I weave the s o n g of myself.

I a m of old a n d young, of the foolish a s m u c h a s the w i s e , 330 R e g a r d l e s s of o t h e r s , ever regardful of o t h e r s , M a t e r n a l a s well a s p a t e r n a l , a child a s well a s a m a n , Stuff'd with the stuff that is c o a r s e a n d stuff'd with the stuff that is fine, O n e of the N a t i o n of m a n y n a t i o n s , the s m a l l e s t the s a m e a n d the largest the s a m e , A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable down by the O c o n e e 7 I live, 335 A Y a n k e e b o u n d my own way ready for t r a d e , my j o i n t s the limberest joints on earth a n d the s t e r n e s t j o i n t s on e a r t h , A K e n t u c k i a n walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin l e g g i n g s , a L o u i s i a n i a n or G e o r g i a n , A b o a t m a n over lakes or bays or a l o n g c o a s t s , a H o o s i e r , B a d g e r , B u c k e y e ; 6.

G e o r g i a rivers.

7.

R i v e r in c e n t r a l G e o r g i a .

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1015

At h o m e on K a n a d i a n 8 s n o w - s h o e s or u p in the b u s h , or with fishermen off Newfoundland, At h o m e in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest a n d tacking, 340 At h o m e on the hills of V e r m o n t or in the w o o d s of M a i n e , or the T e x a n ranch, C o m r a d e of C a l i f o r n i a n s , c o m r a d e of free N o r t h - W e s t e r n e r s , (loving their big proportions,) C o m r a d e of r a f t s m e n a n d c o a l m e n , c o m r a d e of all w h o s h a k e h a n d s a n d w e l c o m e to drink a n d m e a t , A learner with the s i m p l e s t , a t e a c h e r of the thoughtfullest, A novice b e g i n n i n g yet experient of myriads of s e a s o n s , 345 O f every h u e a n d c a s t e a m I, of every rank a n d religion, A farmer, m e c h a n i c , artist, g e n t l e m a n , sailor, q u a k e r , Prisoner, f a n c y - m a n , rowdy, lawyer, p h y s i c i a n , priest. I resist any thing better than my own diversity, B r e a t h e the air but leave plenty after m e , And a m not s t u c k u p , a n d a m in my p l a c e .

fcb

( T h e m o t h a n d the fish-eggs are in their p l a c e , T h e bright s u n s I s e e a n d the dark s u n s I c a n n o t s e e are in their p l a c e , T h e p a l p a b l e is in its p l a c e a n d the i m p a l p a b l e is in its p l a c e . ) 17 T h e s e are really the t h o u g h t s of all m e n in all a g e s a n d l a n d s , they a r e not original with m e , 355 If they are not yours a s m u c h as m i n e they are nothing, or next to nothing, If they are not the riddle a n d the untying of the riddle they are n o t h i n g , If they are not j u s t a s c l o s e a s they are distant they are nothing. T h i s is the g r a s s that grows wherever the land is a n d the water is, T h i s the c o m m o n air that b a t h e s the g l o b e .

360

18 With m u s i c strong I c o m e , with my c o r n e t s a n d my d r u m s , I play not m a r c h e s for a c c e p t e d victors only, I play m a r c h e s for c o n q u e r ' d a n d slain p e r s o n s . H a v e you heard that it was good to gain the day? I a l s o say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the s a m e spirit in which they are won. I beat a n d p o u n d for the d e a d , I blow through my e m b o u c h u r e s 9 my loudest a n d gayest for t h e m .

365

Vivas to t h o s e w h o have fail'd! And to t h o s e w h o s e war-vessels s a n k in the s e a ! 8. A p p a r e n t l y W h i t m a n f o u n d s o m e t h i n g m u s c u lar in t h i s s p e l l i n g . " F l o o s i e r , B a d g e r , B u c k e y e " : inhabitants of Indiana, W i s c o n s i n , a n d Ohio,

respectively. 9. M o u t h p i e c e s of musical instruments s u c h the cornet, m e n t i o n e d earlier.

as

1016

/

WALT

WHITMAN

A n d to t h o s e t h e m s e l v e s w h o s a n k in the sea! A n d to all g e n e r a l s that lost e n g a g e m e n t s , a n d all o v e r c o m e h e r o e s ! 370 A n d the n u m b e r l e s s u n k n o w n h e r o e s e q u a l to the g r e a t e s t h e r o e s known!

19 T h i s is the m e a l equally set, this the m e a t for natural h u n g e r , It is for the wicked j u s t the s a m e a s the r i g h t e o u s , I m a k e a p p o i n t m e n t s with all, I will not have a single p e r s o n slighted or left away, 375 T h e k e p t - w o m a n , s p o n g e r , thief, are hereby invited, T h e heavy-lipp'd slave is invited, the v e n e r e a l e e is invited; T h e r e shall b e n o difference b e t w e e n t h e m a n d the rest. This This This This

is the p r e s s of a b a s h f u l h a n d , this the float a n d o d o r of hair, is the t o u c h of my lips to y o u r s , this the m u r m u r of yearning, the far-off d e p t h a n d height reflecting my own f a c e , the thoughtful m e r g e of myself, a n d the outlet a g a i n .

380

D o you g u e s s I have s o m e intricate p u r p o s e ? Well I have, for the F o u r t h - m o n t h s h o w e r s h a v e , a n d the m i c a o n the side of a rock h a s . D o you take it I w o u l d a s t o n i s h ? D o e s the daylight a s t o n i s h ? d o e s the early redstart twittering t h r o u g h the woods? 385 D o I a s t o n i s h m o r e t h a n they? T h i s h o u r I tell things in c o n f i d e n c e , I might not tell everybody, b u t I will tell y o u .

20 W h o g o e s there? h a n k e r i n g , g r o s s , mystical, n u d e ; H o w is it I extract strength from the b e e f I e a t ?

390

W h a t is a m a n a n y h o w ? w h a t a m I? w h a t are y o u ? All I m a r k a s my own you shall offset it with your o w n , E l s e it were time lost listening to m e . I do not snivel that snivel the world over, T h a t m o n t h s are v a c u u m s a n d the g r o u n d b u t wallow a n d

filth.

395

W h i m p e r i n g a n d truckling fold with p o w d e r s for invalids, conformity g o e s to the fourth-remov'd,' I wear my hat a s I p l e a s e indoors or o u t .

1. T h o s e v e r y r e m o t e in r e l a t i o n s h i p ; f r o m t h e genealogical use such as "third cousin, fourth r e m o v e d . " " F o l d with p o w d e r s " : a r e f e r e n c e to t h e

c u s t o m of a physician's w r a p p i n g u p a d o s e of m e d i c i n e in a p i e c e o f p a p e r .

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1017

W h y s h o u l d I pray? why s h o u l d I venerate a n d be c e r e m o n i o u s ? H a v i n g pried t h r o u g h the strata, analyzed to a hair, c o u n s e l ' d with d o c t o r s and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my b o n e s . 400 In all p e o p l e I s e e myself, n o n e m o r e a n d not o n e a b a r l e y - c o r n 2 l e s s , A n d the g o o d or b a d I say of myself I say of t h e m . I know I a m solid a n d s o u n d , T o m e the converging o b j e c t s of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to m e , a n d I m u s t get what the writing m e a n s .

405

I know I a m d e a t h l e s s , I know this orbit of m i n e c a n n o t be swept by a c a r p e n t e r ' s c o m p a s s , I know I shall not p a s s like a child's c a r l a c u e * c u t with a b u r n t stick at night. I know I a m a u g u s t , I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or b e u n d e r s t o o d , 410 I s e e that the e l e m e n t a r y laws never apologize, (I reckon I b e h a v e n o p r o u d e r than the level I plant my h o u s e by, after all.) I exist a s I a m , that is e n o u g h , If no other in the world b e a w a r e I sit c o n t e n t , And if e a c h a n d all be a w a r e I sit c o n t e n t .

415

O n e world is a w a r e a n d by far the largest to m e , a n d that is myself, A n d whether I c o m e to my own to-day or in ten t h o u s a n d or ten million years, I c a n cheerfully take it now, or with e q u a l c h e e r f u l n e s s I c a n wait. My foothold is tenon'd a n d m o r t i s ' d 4 in granite, I laugh at what you call d i s s o l u t i o n , And I know the a m p l i t u d e of t i m e .

420

I a m the p o e t of the B o d y a n d I a m the p o e t of the S o u l , T h e p l e a s u r e s of heaven are with m e a n d the p a i n s of hell a r e with m e , T h e first I graft a n d i n c r e a s e u p o n myself, the latter I t r a n s l a t e into a n e w tongue. I a m the p o e t of the w o m a n the s a m e a s the m a n , And I say it is a s great to b e a w o m a n a s to b e a m a n , And I say there is n o t h i n g greater than the m o t h e r of m e n .

425

I c h a n t the chant of dilation or p r i d e , W e have h a d d u c k i n g a n d d e p r e c a t i n g a b o u t e n o u g h , 2. T h e s e e d or grain of barley, but also a unit of m e a s u r e equal to about one-third inch. 3. O r curlicue, a fancy flourish m a d e with a writing i m p l e m e n t , h e r e m a d e in t h e d a r k w i t h a lighted stick, a n d so lasting only a m o m e n t .

4. C a r p e n t e r ' s t e r m s for a p a r t i c u l a r w a y o f j o i n i n g t w o b o a r d s t o g e t h e r . A m o r t i s e is a c a v i t y in a p i e c e o f w o o d i n t o w h i c h is p l a c e d t h e p r o j e c t i o n ( t e n o n ) from another piece of wood.

1018

/

WALT

WHITMAN

I s h o w that size is only d e v e l o p m e n t .

-130

H a v e you outstript the rest? are you the President? It is a trifle, they will m o r e than arrive there every o n e , a n d still p a s s on. I a m he that walks with the tender a n d growing night, I call to the earth a n d s e a half-held by the night. P r e s s c l o s e b a r e - b o s o m ' d n i g h t — p r e s s c l o s e m a g n e t i c n o u r i s h i n g night! 4 3 5 Night of s o u t h w i n d s — n i g h t of the large few s t a r s ! Still n o d d i n g n i g h t — m a d n a k e d s u m m e r night. S m i l e O v o l u p t u o u s cool-breath'd earth! E a r t h of the s l u m b e r i n g a n d liquid trees! Earth of d e p a r t e d s u n s e t — e a r t h of the m o u n t a i n s misty-topt! Earth of the vitreous p o u r of the full m o o n j u s t tinged with b l u e ! Earth of s h i n e a n d dark mottling the tide of the river! Earth of the limpid gray of c l o u d s brighter a n d clearer for my s a k e ! F a r - s w o o p i n g elbow'd e a r t h — r i c h a p p l e - b l o s s o m ' d earth! S m i l e , for your lover c o m e s .

448

445

Prodigal, you have given m e l o v e — t h e r e f o r e I to you give love! 0 u n s p e a k a b l e p a s s i o n a t e love. 22 You s e a ! I resign myself to you a l s o — I g u e s s what you m e a n , 1 behold from the b e a c h your c r o o k e d inviting fingers, I believe you refuse to go b a c k without feeling of m e , 450 W e m u s t have a turn together, I u n d r e s s , hurry m e o u t of sight of the land, C u s h i o n m e soft, rock m e in billowy d r o w s e , D a s h m e with a m o r o u s wet, I c a n repay you. S e a of stretch'd g r o u n d - s w e l l s , S e a b r e a t h i n g b r o a d a n d convulsive b r e a t h s , S e a of the brine of life a n d of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler a n d s c o o p e r of s t o r m s , c a p r i c i o u s a n d dainty s e a , I a m integral with you, I too a m of o n e p h a s e a n d of all p h a s e s . P a r t a k e r of influx a n d efflux I, extoller of h a t e a n d c o n c i l i a t i o n , Extoller of a m i e s 5 a n d t h o s e that s l e e p in e a c h o t h e r s ' a r m s .

45s

460

I a m he a t t e s t i n g sympathy, (Shall I m a k e my list of things in the h o u s e a n d skip the h o u s e that s u p p o r t s them?) I a m not the poet of g o o d n e s s only, I do not d e c l i n e to be the p o e t of wickedness also. W h a t blurt is this a b o u t virtue a n d a b o u t vice? Evil propels m e a n d reform of evil p r o p e l s m e , I s t a n d indifferent, 5.

F r i e n d s ( F r e n c h ) ; h e r e , in W h i t m a n ' s s p e c i a l i z e d s e n s e o l c o m r a d e s .

465

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1019

M y gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, 1 m o i s t e n the roots of all that has grown. Did you fear s o m e scrofula out of the unflagging p r e g n a n c y ? Did you g u e s s the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over a n d rectified? I find o n e side a b a l a n c e a n d the antipodal side a b a l a n c e , Soft doctrine a s steady help a s s t a b l e d o c t r i n e , T h o u g h t s a n d d e e d s of the p r e s e n t our r o u s e a n d early start.

470

T h i s m i n u t e that c o m e s to m e over the p a s t decillions, T h e r e is no better than it a n d now. W h a t behaved well in the p a s t or b e h a v e s well to-day is not s u c h a wonder, 475 T h e w o n d e r is always a n d always how there c a n be a m e a n m a n or a n infidel.

23 E n d l e s s unfolding of words of a g e s ! A n d m i n e a word of the m o d e r n , the word E n - M a s s e . A word of the faith that never b a l k s , H e r e or h e n c e f o r w a r d it is all the s a m e to m e , I a c c e p t T i m e absolutely.

480

It a l o n e is without flaw, it a l o n e r o u n d s a n d c o m p l e t e s all, T h a t mystic baffling w o n d e r a l o n e c o m p l e t e s all. I a c c e p t Reality a n d d a r e not q u e s t i o n it. M a t e r i a l i s m first a n d last i m b u i n g . H u r r a h for positive s c i e n c e ! long live exact d e m o n s t r a t i o n ! 48s F e t c h s t o n e c r o p mixt with c e d a r a n d b r a n c h e s of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the c h e m i s t , this m a d e a g r a m m a r of the old cartouches,6 T h e s e m a r i n e r s put the ship through d a n g e r o u s u n k n o w n s e a s , T h i s is the geologist, this works with the scalpel, a n d this is a m a t h e m a t i c i a n . G e n t l e m e n , to you the first h o n o r s always! Your facts are useful, a n d yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to a n a r e a of my dwelling.

490

L e s s the r e m i n d e r s of properties told my words, And more the r e m i n d e r s they of life untold, a n d of f r e e d o m a n d extrication, And m a k e short a c c o u n t of n e u t e r s a n d g e l d i n g s , a n d favor m e n a n d w o m e n fully equipt, 495 And b e a t the g o n g of revolt, a n d stop with fugitives a n d t h e m that plot a n d conspire.

6. S c r o l l - l i k e t a b l e t w i t h s p a c e f o r a n i n s c r i p t i o n . W h i t m a n k n e w t h e E g y p t i a n c a r t o u c h e s with hieroglyphics, the deciphering of w h i c h contributed

to k n o w l e d g e o f a n c i e n t life. " S t o n e c r o p " : a fleshyleafed plant of the g e n u s Sedum.

1020

/

WALT

WHITMAN

24 W a l t W h i t m a n , a k o s m o s , of M a n h a t t a n the s o n , T u r b u l e n t , fleshy, s e n s u a l , eating, drinking a n d b r e e d i n g , N o s e n t i m e n t a l i s t , no s t a n d e r a b o v e m e n a n d w o m e n or apart from t h e m , N o more modest than immodest. 500 U n s c r e w s the locks from the d o o r s ! U n s c r e w s the d o o r s t h e m s e l v e s from their j a m b s ! Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is d o n e or said returns at last to m e . T h r o u g h m e the a f f l a t u s 7 s u r g i n g a n d s u r g i n g , t h r o u g h m e the c u r r e n t a n d index. 505 I s p e a k the p a s s - w o r d primeval, I give the sign of d e m o c r a c y , By G o d ! I will a c c e p t n o t h i n g which all c a n n o t have their c o u n t e r p a r t of on the s a m e t e r m s . T h r o u g h m e m a n y long d u m b v o i c e s , V o i c e s of the i n t e r m i n a b l e g e n e r a t i o n s of p r i s o n e r s a n d s l a v e s , V o i c e s of the d i s e a s ' d a n d d e s p a i r i n g a n d of thieves a n d dwarfs,

510

V o i c e s of cycles of p r e p a r a t i o n a n d a c c r e t i o n , And of the t h r e a d s that c o n n e c t the s t a r s , a n d of w o m b s a n d of the fatherstuff, A n d of the rights of t h e m the others are d o w n u p o n , O f the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, d e s p i s e d , F o g in the air, b e e t l e s rolling balls of d u n g .

515

T h r o u g h m e forbidden voices, V o i c e s of sexes a n d l u s t s , voices veil'd a n d I r e m o v e the veil, V o i c e s i n d e c e n t by m e clarified a n d transfigur'd. I do not p r e s s my fingers a c r o s s my m o u t h , I k e e p a s delicate a r o u n d the bowels a s a r o u n d the h e a d a n d heart, C o p u l a t i o n is no m o r e rank to m e than d e a t h is.

520

I believe in the flesh a n d the a p p e t i t e s , S e e i n g , hearing, feeling, are m i r a c l e s , a n d e a c h part a n d tag of m e is a miracle. Divine a m I inside a n d o u t , a n d I m a k e holy w h a t e v e r 1 t o u c h or a m t o u c h ' d from, T h e s c e n t of t h e s e arm-pits a r o m a finer than prayer, 525 T h i s h e a d m o r e than c h u r c h e s , b i b l e s , a n d all the c r e e d s . If I w o r s h i p o n e thing m o r e than a n o t h e r it shall b e the s p r e a d of my own body, or any part of it, 7.

Divine wind or spirit.

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1021

T r a n s l u c e n t m o u l d of m e it shall b e you! S h a d e d l e d g e s a n d rests it shall be you! 530 Firm m a s c u l i n e c o l t e r 8 it shall be you! W h a t e v e r g o e s to the tilth 9 of m e it shall b e you! You my rich blood! your milky s t r e a m pale strippings of my life! B r e a s t that p r e s s e s a g a i n s t other b r e a s t s it shall be you! M y brain it shall be your o c c u l t c o n v o l u t i o n s ! Root of wash'd sweet-flag! t i m o r o u s p o n d - s n i p e ! nest of g u a r d e d d u p l i c a t e eggs! it shall b e you! 535 Mix'd t u s s l e d hay of h e a d , b e a r d , brawn, it shall be you! Trickling s a p of m a p l e , fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you! S u n so g e n e r o u s it shall be you! V a p o r s lighting a n d s h a d i n g my f a c e it shall be you! You sweaty brooks a n d d e w s it shall be you! 540 W i n d s w h o s e soft-tickling genitals rub a g a i n s t m e it shall be you! B r o a d m u s c u l a r fields, b r a n c h e s of live oak, loving l o u n g e r in my winding p a t h s , it shall be you! H a n d s I have taken, f a c e I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever t o u c h ' d , it shall be you. I d o t e on myself, there is that lot of m e a n d all so l u s c i o u s , E a c h m o m e n t a n d whatever h a p p e n s thrills m e with joy, 545 I c a n n o t tell how my ankles b e n d , nor w h e n c e the c a u s e of my faintest wish, N o r the c a u s e of the friendship I emit, nor the c a u s e of the friendship I take again. T h a t I walk u p my s t o o p , I p a u s e to c o n s i d e r if it really b e , A morning-glory at my window satisfies m e m o r e t h a n the m e t a p h y s i c s of books. T o behold the day-break! T h e little light f a d e s the i m m e n s e a n d d i a p h a n o u s s h a d o w s , T h e air tastes g o o d to my p a l a t e .

550

H e f t s ' of the moving world at i n n o c e n t g a m b o l s silently rising freshly exuding, S c o o t i n g obliquely high a n d low. S o m e t h i n g I c a n n o t s e e p u t s u p w a r d libidinous p r o n g s , S e a s of bright j u i c e s u f f u s e h e a v e n .

555

T h e earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their j u n c t i o n , T h e heav'd c h a l l e n g e from the e a s t that m o m e n t over my h e a d , T h e m o c k i n g t a u n t , S e e then w h e t h e r you shall be m a s t e r ! 25 Dazzling a n d t r e m e n d o u s how q u i c k the sun-rise would kill m e , If 1 c o u l d not now a n d always s e n d sun-rise out of m e . 8. T h i s phallic p a s s a g e b e g i n s with r e f e r e n c e to t h e b l a d e at t h e f r o n t o f a p l o w . 9.

Plowing;

here,

any

cultivation

or

personal

improvement. 1. S o m e t h i n g b e i n g h e a v e d o r r a i s e d u p w a r d .

1022

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WALT

WHITMAN

W e also a s c e n d dazzling a n d t r e m e n d o u s a s the s u n , W e f o u n d our own O my soul in the c a l m a n d cool of the day-break. M y voice g o e s after what my eyes c a n n o t r e a c h , With the twirl of my t o n g u e I e n c o m p a s s worlds a n d v o l u m e s of worlds. 565 S p e e c h is the twin of my vision, it is u n e q u a l to m e a s u r e itself, It provokes m e forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then? C o m e now I will not be tantalized, you c o n c e i v e too m u c h of articulation, D o you not know O s p e e c h how the b u d s b e n e a t h you are folded? 570 W a i t i n g in g l o o m , p r o t e c t e d by frost, T h e dirt r e c e d i n g before my p r o p h e t i c a l s c r e a m s , I underlying c a u s e s to b a l a n c e t h e m at last, M y k n o w l e d g e my live parts, it k e e p i n g tally with the m e a n i n g of all things, H a p p i n e s s , (which whoever h e a r s m e let him or her set out in s e a r c h of this day.) 575 M y final merit I refuse you, I refuse p u t t i n g from m e what I really a m , E n c o m p a s s worlds, but never try to e n c o m p a s s m e . I crowd your sleekest a n d b e s t by simply looking toward you. Writing a n d talk do not prove m e , I carry the p l e n u m 2 of proof a n d every thing else in my f a c e , With the h u s h of my lips I wholly c o n f o u n d the skeptic.

sso

26 N o w I will do nothing but listen, T o a c c r u e what I hear into this s o n g , to let s o u n d s c o n t r i b u t e toward it. I hear b r a v u r a s of birds, b u s t l e of growing w h e a t , g o s s i p of f l a m e s , c l a c k of sticks c o o k i n g my m e a l s , I hear the s o u n d I love, the s o u n d of the h u m a n voice, 585 I hear all s o u n d s r u n n i n g together, c o m b i n e d , fused or following, S o u n d s of the city a n d s o u n d s out of the city, s o u n d s of the day a n d night. Talkative y o u n g o n e s to t h o s e that like t h e m , the loud l a u g h of work-people at their m e a l s , T h e angry b a s e of disjointed f r i e n d s h i p , the faint tones of the sick, T h e j u d g e with h a n d s tight to the d e s k , his pallid lips p r o n o u n c i n g a d e a t h sentence, 590 T h e heave'e'yo of stevedores u n l a d i n g s h i p s by the w h a r v e s , the refrain of the anchor-lifters, T h e ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking e n g i n e s a n d hose-carts with p r e m o n i t o r y tinkles a n d color'd lights, T h e s t e a m - w h i s t l e , the solid roll of the train of a p p r o a c h i n g c a r s , T h e slow m a r c h play'd at the h e a d of the a s s o c i a t i o n m a r c h i n g two a n d two, (They go to g u a r d s o m e c o r p s e , the flag-tops a r e d r a p e d with b l a c k muslin.) 595 2.

Fullness.

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1023

1 hear the violoncello ('tis the y o u n g m a n ' s heart's c o m p l a i n t , ) I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in t h r o u g h my e a r s , It s h a k e s m a d - s w e e t p a n g s t h r o u g h my belly a n d b r e a s t . I hear the c h o r u s , it is a g r a n d o p e r a , Ah this i n d e e d is m u s i c — t h i s suits m e . A tenor large a n d fresh a s the creation fills m e , T h e orbic flex of his m o u t h is p o u r i n g a n d filling m e full. I hear the train'd s o p r a n o (what work with hers is this?) T h e o r c h e s t r a whirls m e wider than U r a n u s ' flies, It w r e n c h e s s u c h ardors from m e I did not know I p o s s e s s ' d t h e m , 60s It sails m e , I d a b with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves, I a m c u t by bitter a n d angry hail, I lose my b r e a t h , S t e e p ' d a m i d honey'd m o r p h i n e , my w i n d p i p e throttled in f a k e s 4 of d e a t h , At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being. 6io

27 1 o be in any form, what is that? ( R o u n d a n d r o u n d we g o , all of u s , a n d ever c o m e b a c k thither,) If nothing lay m o r e develop'd the q u a h a u g 5 in its c a l l o u s shell were e n o u g h . M i n e is no c a l l o u s shell, I have instant c o n d u c t o r s all over m e whether I p a s s or stop, T h e y seize every object a n d lead it harmlessly t h r o u g h m e .

615

I merely stir, p r e s s , feel with my fingers, a n d a m happy, T o t o u c h my p e r s o n to s o m e o n e else's is a b o u t a s m u c h a s I c a n s t a n d .

28 Is this then a t o u c h ? quivering m e to a new identity, F l a m e s a n d ether m a k i n g a rush for my veins, 620 T r e a c h e r o u s tip of m e r e a c h i n g a n d crowding to help t h e m , M y flesh a n d blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my l i m b s , Straining the u d d e r of my heart for its withheld drip, B e h a v i n g licentious toward m e , taking no denial, 625 Depriving m e of my b e s t a s for a p u r p o s e , U n b u t t o n i n g my c l o t h e s , holding m e by the b a r e waist, D e l u d i n g my c o n f u s i o n with the c a l m of the sunlight a n d pasture-fields, Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away, T h e y bribed to s w a p off with t o u c h a n d go a n d graze at the e d g e s of me, 630 3. T h e s e v e n t h p l a n e t f r o m t h e s u n ; at that t i m e it w a s t h o u g h t t o b e t h e m o s t r e m o t e p l a n e t in o u r solar system.

4. Coils of rope. 5. E d i b l e c l a m of the Atlantic c o a s t .

1024

/

WALT

WHITMAN

N o c o n s i d e r a t i o n , no regard for my d r a i n i n g strength or my a n g e r , F e t c h i n g the rest of the herd a r o u n d to enjoy t h e m a while, T h e n all uniting to s t a n d on a h e a d l a n d a n d worry m e . T h e sentries d e s e r t every other part of m e , T h e y have left m e helpless to a red m a r a u d e r , T h e y all c o m e to the h e a d l a n d to witness a n d assist a g a i n s t m e .

635

I a m given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I a n d nobody else a m the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the h e a d l a n d , my own h a n d s carried m e t h e r e . You villain t o u c h ! what are you d o i n g ? my b r e a t h is tight in its throat, U n c l e n c h your f l o o d g a t e s , you a r e too m u c h for m e .

640

29 •

B\ind loving wrestling t o u c h , s h e a t h ' d h o o d e d sharp-tooth'd t o u c h ! D i d it m a k e you a c h e s o , leaving m e ? P a r t i n g track'd by arriving, p e r p e t u a l p a y m e n t of p e r p e t u a l l o a n , Rich s h o w e r i n g rain, a n d r e c o m p e n s e richer afterward.

645

S p r o u t s take a n d a c c u m u l a t e , s t a n d by the c u r b prolific a n d vital, L a n d s c a p e s p r o j e c t e d m a s c u l i n e , full-sized a n d g o l d e n .

30 All truths wait in all things, T h e y neither h a s t e n their own delivery nor resist it, T h e y do not n e e d the obstetric f o r c e p s of the s u r g e o n , T h e insignificant is a s big to m e a s any, ( W h a t is less or m o r e than a t o u c h ? )

650

L o g i c a n d s e r m o n s never c o n v i n c e , T h e d a m p of the night drives d e e p e r into my s o u l . (Only what proves itself to every m a n a n d w o m a n is s o , Only w h a t n o b o d y d e n i e s is so.)

655

A m i n u t e a n d a drop of m e settle my brain, I believe the soggy c l o d s shall b e c o m e lovers a n d l a m p s , A n d a c o m p e n d 6 of c o m p e n d s is the m e a t of a m a n or w o m a n , A n d a s u m m i t a n d flower there is the feeling they have for e a c h other, 660 A n d they are to b r a n c h b o u n d l e s s l y out of that l e s s o n until it b e c o m e s omnific,7 A n d unti\ o n e a n d all shall delight u s , a n d we t h e m . 6. I.e., a c o m p e n d i u m , where something r e d u c e d to a s h o r t , e s s e n t i a l s u m m a r y .

is

7.

All-encompassing,

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1025

I believe a leaf of g r a s s is no less t h a n the journey-work of the s t a r s , A n d t h e p i s m i r e " is equally perfect, a n d a grain of s a n d , a n d the e g g of the wren, A n d the tree-toad is a chief-d'oeuvre for the highest, 665 A n d the r u n n i n g blackberry would adorn the parlors of h e a v e n , A n d the narrowest hinge in my h a n d p u t s to s c o r n all m a c h i n e r y , A n d the c o w c r u n c h i n g with d e p r e s s ' d h e a d s u r p a s s e s any s t a t u e , A n d a m o u s e is miracle e n o u g h to stagger sextillions of infidels. I find I i n c o r p o r a t e g n e i s s , 9 c o a l , long-threaded m o s s , fruits, g r a i n s , e s c u l e n t rOOtS,

670

A n d a m s t u c c o ' d with q u a d r u p e d s a n d birds all over, A n d have d i s t a n c e d what is b e h i n d m e for g o o d r e a s o n s , B u t call any thing b a c k again w h e n I desire it. In vain the s p e e d i n g or s h y n e s s , In vain the p l u t o n i c r o c k s ' s e n d their old heat a g a i n s t my a p p r o a c h , In vain the m a s t o d o n retreats b e n e a t h its own powder'd b o n e s , In vain o b j e c t s s t a n d l e a g u e s off a n d a s s u m e m a n i f o l d s h a p e s , In vain the o c e a n settling in hollows a n d the great m o n s t e r s lying low, In vain the buzzard h o u s e s herself with the sky, In vain the s n a k e slides t h r o u g h the c r e e p e r s a n d logs, In vain the elk takes to the inner p a s s e s of the w o o d s , In vain the razor-bill'd a u k sails far north to L a b r a d o r , I follow quickly, I a s c e n d to the n e s t in the fissure of the cliff.

675

680

32 I think I could turn a n d live with a n i m a l s , they are so placid a n d selfcontain'd, I stand a n d look at t h e m long a n d long. 685 T h e y do not sweat a n d whine a b o u t their c o n d i t i o n , T h e y do not lie a w a k e in the dark a n d w e e p for their s i n s , T h e y do not m a k e m e sick d i s c u s s i n g their duty to G o d , N o t o n e is dissatisfied, not o n e is d e m e n t e d with the m a n i a of o w n i n g things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived t h o u s a n d s of years a g o , 690 N o t o n e is r e s p e c t a b l e or u n h a p p y over the whole e a r t h . S o they show their relations to m e a n d I a c c e p t t h e m , T h e y bring m e tokens of myself, they evince t h e m plainly in their p o s s e s s i o n . I wonder where they get t h o s e t o k e n s , Did I p a s s that way h u g e times a g o a n d negligently drop t h e m ? Myself moving forward then a n d now a n d forever, G a t h e r i n g a n d showing m o r e always a n d with velocity, 8. A n t . 9. M e t a m o r p h i c r o c k a r r a n g e d in l a y e r s .

in

which

minerals

are

695

1 . R o c k o f i g n e u s (fire c r e a t e d ) o r m a g m a t i c ( m o l ten) origin; from Pluto, ruler of infernal regions,

1026

/

WALT

WHITMAN

Infinite a n d o m n i g e n o u s , 2 a n d the like of t h e s e among t h e m , N o t too exclusive toward the r e a c h e r s of my r e m e m b r a n c e r s , Picking o u t here o n e that I love, a n d now go with him on brotherly terms. "<» A gigantic b e a u t y of a stallion, fresh a n d responsive to my c a r e s s e s , H e a d high in the f o r e h e a d , wide b e t w e e n the e a r s , L i m b s glossy a n d s u p p l e , tail d u s t i n g the g r o u n d , E y e s full of sparkling w i c k e d n e s s , e a r s finely c u t , flexibly moving. His nostrils dilate a s my heels e m b r a c e h i m , 705 His well-built l i m b s t r e m b l e with p l e a s u r e a s we r a c e a r o u n d a n d return. I but u s e you a m i n u t e , then I resign you, stallion, Why d o I n e e d your p a c e s w h e n I myself out-gallop t h e m ? E v e n a s I s t a n d or sit p a s s i n g faster t h a n y o u . 33 S p a c e a n d T i m e ! now I s e e it is t r u e , w h a t I g u e s s ' d at, W h a t I g u e s s ' d when I loaf'd on the g r a s s , W h a t I g u e s s ' d wh\\e I lay a l o n e in my b e d , A n d a g a i n a s I walk'd the b e a c h u n d e r the p a l i n g stars of the m o r n i n g . M y ties a n d ballasts leave m e , my elbows rest in s e a - g a p s , * I skirt sierras, my p a l m s cover c o n t i n e n t s , I a m afoot with my vision.

715

By the city's q u a d r a n g u l a r h o u s e s — i n log h u t s , c a m p i n g with l u m b e r m e n , Along the ruts of the turnpike, a l o n g the dry g u l c h a n d rivulet b e d , W e e d i n g my o n i o n - p a t c h or h o e i n g rows of c a r r o t s a n d p a r s n i p s , c r o s s i n g s a v a n n a s , 4 trailing in f o r e s t s , P r o s p e c t i n g , gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new p u r c h a s e , 720 S c o r c h ' d a n k l e - d e e p by the hot s a n d , h a u l i n g my boat d o w n the shallow river, I Where^ t h e n a n t h e r walks to a n d fro on a limb o v e r h e a d , w h e r e the b u c k t u r n s furiously at the hunter, W h e r e the r a t t l e s n a k e s u n s his flabby length on a rock, w h e r e the otter is f e e d i n g on fish, W h e r e the alligator in his t o u g h p i m p l e s s l e e p s by the b a y o u , W h e r e the black b e a r is s e a r c h i n g for roots or honey, w h e r e the beaver p a t s the m u d with his p a d d l e - s h a p e d tail; 725 O v e r the growing s u g a r , over the yellow-flower'd c o t t o n plant, over the rice in its low moist field, Over the sharp-peak'd farm h o u s e , with its scallop'd s c u m a n d slender s h o o t s from the g u t t e r s , 5 O v e r the western p e r s i m m o n , over the long-leav'd c o r n , over the delicate blue-flower flax, 2. 3. 4.

B e l o n g i n g to every f o r m o f life. E s t u a r i e s or b a y s . Flat, treeless, tropical grasslands

5. P r e s u m a b l y d e b r i s w a s h e d o r b l o w n d o w n r o o f s , s e t t l i n g i n t o s c a l l o p l i k e s h a p e s in t h e g u t t e r a n d p r o v i d i n g n u t r i e n t s for g r a s s e s or w e e d s .

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1027

Over the white a n d brown b u c k w h e a t , a h u m m e r a n d buzzer there with the rest, Over the dusky green of the rye a s it ripples a n d s h a d e s in the b r e e z e ; 7 3 0 S c a l i n g m o u n t a i n s , pulling myself cautiously u p , holding on by low s c r a g g e d limbs, W a l k i n g the p a t h worn in the g r a s s a n d beat through the leaves o f the b r u s h , W h e r e the quail is whistling betwixt the w o o d s a n d the wheat-lot, W h e r e the bat flies in the S e v e n t h - m o n t h eve, w h e r e the great g o l d - b u g d r o p s through the dark, W h e r e the brook p u t s o u t o f the roots of the old tree a n d flows to the meadow, 735 W h e r e cattle s t a n d a n d s h a k e away flies with the t r e m u l o u s s h u d d e r i n g o f their h i d e s , W h e r e the c h e e s e - c l o t h h a n g s in the kitchen, w h e r e a n d i r o n s straddle the hearth-slab, where c o b w e b s fall in f e s t o o n s from the rafters; W h e r e t r i p - h a m m e r s c r a s h , w h e r e the p r e s s is whirling its cylinders, Wherever the h u m a n heart b e a t s with terrible throes u n d e r its ribs, W h e r e the p e a r - s h a p e d balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it myself a n d looking c o m p o s e d l y down,) 740 W h e r e the life-car 6 is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat h a t c h e s p a l e green e g g s in the d e n t e d s a n d , W h e r e the she-whale s w i m s with her calf a n d never forsakes it, W h e r e the s t e a m - s h i p trails hind-ways its long p e n n a n t of s m o k e , W h e r e the fin of the s h a r k c u t s like a black chip o u t of the water, W h e r e the half-burn'd brig is riding on u n k n o w n c u r r e n t s , 745 W h e r e shells grow to her slimy d e c k , w h e r e the d e a d are c o r r u p t i n g below; W h e r e the dense-star'd flag is b o r n e at the head of the r e g i m e n t s , A p p r o a c h i n g M a n h a t t a n u p by the long-stretching island, U n d e r N i a g a r a , the c a t a r a c t falling like a veil over my c o u n t e n a n c e , 750 U p o n a door-step, u p o n the horse-block of hard wood o u t s i d e , U p o n the r a c e - c o u r s e , or enjoying p i c n i c s or j i g s or a g o o d g a m e of b a s e b a l l , At he-festivals, with b l a c k g u a r d g i b e s , ironical l i c e n s e , b u l l - d a n c e s , 7 drinking, laughter, At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown m a s h , s u c k i n g the j u i c e through a straw, At apple-peelings w a n t i n g kisses for all the red fruit I find, At m u s t e r s , b e a c h - p a r t i e s , friendly b e e s , 8 h u s k i n g s , h o u s e - r a i s i n g s ; 755 W h e r e the mocking-bird s o u n d s his delicious g u r g l e s , c a c k l e s , s c r e a m s , weeps, W h e r e the hay-rick s t a n d s in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks a r e scatter'd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel, Where the bull a d v a n c e s to d o his m a s c u l i n e work, w h e r e the s t u d to the m a r e , where the c o c k is treading the h e n , W h e r e the heifers browse, where g e e s e nip their food with short j e r k s . W h e r e s u n - d o w n s h a d o w s lengthen over the limitless a n d l o n e s o m e prairie, 760 6. W a t e r t i g h t c o m p a r t m e n t tor l o w e r i n g p a s s e n g e r s f r o m a s h i p w h e n e m e r g e n c y e v a c u a t i o n is required.

7. Rowdy backwoods

d a n c e s for w h i c h , in t h e absence of women, m e n took male partners.

8. G a t h e r i n g s w h e r e p e o p l e w o r k w h i l e s o c i a l i z i n g with their neighbors. " M u s t e r s " : a s s e m b l a g e s o f people, particularly gatherings of military troops for drill.

1028

I

YJ\L.r*vNHiiM\ti

W h e r e h e r d s of buffalo m a k e a crawling s p r e a d of the s q u a r e miles far a n d near, W h e r e the h u m m i n g - b i r d s h i m m e r s , w h e r e the n e c k of the long-lived s w a n is curving a n d winding, W h e r e the laughing-gull s c o o t s by the s h o r e , where s h e l a u g h s her nearhuman laugh, W h e r e bee-hives r a n g e o n a gray b e n c h in the g a r d e n half hid by the high weeds, W h e r e b a n d - n e c k ' d partridges roost in a ring on the g r o u n d with their h e a d s OUt, 765 W h e r e burial c o a c h e s enter the arch'd g a t e s of a c e m e t e r y , W h e r e winter wolves bark a m i d w a s t e s of s n o w a n d icicled trees, W h e r e the yellow-crown'd heron c o m e s to the e d g e of the m a r s h at night a n d f e e d s u p o n small c r a b s , W h e r e the s p l a s h of s w i m m e r s a n d divers cools the w a r m n o o n , W h e r e the katy-did works her c h r o m a t i c 9 r e e d o n the walnut-tree over the well, 770 T h r o u g h p a t c h e s of citrons a n d c u c u m b e r s with silver-wired leaves, T h r o u g h the salt-lick or o r a n g e g l a d e , or u n d e r c o n i c a l firs, T h r o u g h the g y m n a s i u m , t h r o u g h the curtain'd s a l o o n , t h r o u g h the office or p u b l i c hall; Pleas'd with the native a n d p l e a s ' d with the foreign, pleas'd with the n e w a n d old, Pleas'd with the homely w o m a n a s well a s the h a n d s o m e , 775 melodiously, Pleas'd with the q u a k e r e s s a s s h e puts off her b o n n e t a n d talks Pleas'd with the t u n e of the choir of the w h i t e w a s h ' d c h u r c h , Pleas'd with the e a r n e s t w o r d s of the s w e a t i n g M e t h o d i s t p r e a c h e r , i m p r e s s ' d seriously at the c a m p - m e e t i n g ; L o o k i n g in at the s h o p - w i n d o w s of B r o a d w a y the w h o l e f o r e n o o n , flatting the flesh of my n o s e on the thick plate g l a s s , W a n d e r i n g the s a m e a f t e r n o o n with my f a c e turn'd u p to the c l o u d s , or d o w n a l a n e or a l o n g the b e a c h , 780 M y right and left a r m s r o u n d the sides of two friends, a n d I in the m i d d l e ; C o m i n g h o m e with the silent a n d dark-cheek'd b u s h - b o y , ( b e h i n d m e h e rides at the d r a p e of the day,) F a r from the s e t t l e m e n t s s t u d y i n g the print of a n i m a l s ' feet, or the m o c c a s i n print, By the cot in the hospital r e a c h i n g l e m o n a d e to a feverish p a t i e n t , N i g h the coffin'd c o r p s e w h e n all is still, e x a m i n i n g with a c a n d l e ; 785 V o y a g i n g to every port to dicker a n d a d v e n t u r e , Hurrying with the m o d e r n crowd a s e a g e r a n d fickle a s any, H o t toward o n e I h a t e , ready in my m a d n e s s to knife h i m , Solitary at midnight in my b a c k yard, my t h o u g h t s g o n e from m e a long while, W a l k i n g the old hills of J u d a e a with the beautiful gentle G o d by my side, 790 S p e e d i n g t h r o u g h s p a c e , s p e e d i n g t h r o u g h h e a v e n a n d the s t a r s , S p e e d i n g a m i d the seven s a t e l l i t e s ' a n d the b r o a d ring, a n d the d i a m e t e r of eighty t h o u s a n d m i l e s , S p e e d i n g with tail'd m e t e o r s , throwing fire-balls like the rest,

9. C o n s i s t i n g of c h o r d s or h a r m o n i e s nonharmonic tones.

based on

1. T h e t h e n - k n o w n m o o n s o f S a t u r n ,

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1029

Carrying the c r e s c e n t child that carries its own full m o t h e r in its belly, Storming, enjoying, p l a n n i n g , loving, c a u t i o n i n g , 795 B a c k i n g and filling, a p p e a r i n g a n d d i s a p p e a r i n g , I tread day a n d night s u c h r o a d s . I visit the o r c h a r d s of s p h e r e s a n d look at the p r o d u c t , And look at quintillions ripen'd a n d look at quintillions g r e e n . I fly t h o s e flights of a fluid a n d swallowing soul, My c o u r s e r u n s below the s o u n d i n g s of p l u m m e t s .

soo

I help myself to material a n d i m m a t e r i a l , N o g u a r d c a n shut m e off, no law prevent m e . I a n c h o r my ship for a little while only, My m e s s e n g e r s continually c r u i s e away or bring their returns to m e .

sos

I go h u n t i n g polar furs a n d the seal, leaping c h a s m s with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle a n d b l u e . 2 I a s c e n d to the foretruck, I take my p l a c e late at night in the crow's-nest, W e sail the arctic s e a , it is plenty light e n o u g h , T h r o u g h the clear a t m o s p h e r e I stretch a r o u n d on the wonderful beautv, s i o T h e e n o r m o u s m a s s e s of ice p a s s m e a n d I p a s s t h e m , the s c e n e r y is plain in all directions, T h e white-topt m o u n t a i n s s h o w in the d i s t a n c e , I fling out my f a n c i e s toward them, W e are a p p r o a c h i n g s o m e great battle-field in which we are s o o n to b e engaged, W e p a s s the colossal o u t p o s t s of the e n c a m p m e n t , we p a s s with still feet a n d caution, O r we are entering by the s u b u r b s s o m e vast a n d ruin'd city, sis T h e blocks and fallen a r c h i t e c t u r e m o r e than all the living cities of the g l o b e . I a m a free c o m p a n i o n , I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridegroom out of b e d a n d stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs a n d lips. My voice is the wife's voice, the s c r e e c h by the rail of the stairs, T h e y fetch my man's body up dripping a n d drown'd.

S20

I u n d e r s t a n d the large hearts of h e r o e s , T h e c o u r a g e of present times a n d all t i m e s , H o w the skipper saw the c r o w d e d a n d r u d d e r l e s s wreck of the s t e a m - s h i p , a n d D e a t h c h a s i n g it u p a n d down the s t o r m , H o w he knuckled tight a n d gave not b a c k an inch, a n d was faithful of days a n d faithful of nights, 825 And chalk'd in large letters on a b o a r d , Be of good cheer, we u'ii7 not desert you; 2.

T o p p l e d pieces of ice.

1030

I

VV'M.T^NuilMArl

H o w h e follow'd with t h e m a n d tack'd with t h e m three days a n d w o u l d n o t give it u p , H o w he saved the drifting c o m p a n y at last, H o w the lank loose-gown'd w o m e n look'd w h e n b o a t e d from the s i d e of their p r e p a r e d graves, H o w the silent old-faced infants a n d the lifted sick, a n d the sharp-lipp'd unshaved men; 830 All this I swallow, it t a s t e s g o o d , I like it well, it b e c o m e s m i n e , I a m the m a n , I suffer'd, I w a s there. T h e d i s d a i n a n d c a l m n e s s of martyrs, T h e m o t h e r of old, c o n d e m n ' d for a witch, b u r n t with dry w o o d , her c h i l d r e n gazing on, T h e h o u n d e d slave that flags in the r a c e , l e a n s by the f e n c e , b l o w i n g , cover'd with s w e a t , 835 T h e twinges that sting like n e e d l e s his legs a n d n e c k , the m u r d e r o u s b u c k shot a n d the bullets, All t h e s e I feel or a m . I a m the h o u n d e d slave, I w i n c e at the bite of the dogs, Hell a n d d e s p a i r are u p o n m e , c r a c k a n d again c r a c k the m a r k s m e n , I c l u t c h the rails of the f e n c e , my g o r e drihs, thinn'd with the ooze of my skin,* 840 I fall on the w e e d s a n d s t o n e s , T h e riders s p u r their unwilling h o r s e s , haul c l o s e , T a u n t my dizzy e a r s a n d b e a t m e violently over the h e a d with w h i p - s t o c k s . A g o n i e s are o n e of my c h a n g e s of g a r m e n t s , I do not a s k the w o u n d e d p e r s o n h o w he feels, I myself b e c o m e the w o u n d e d person, 845 M y hurts turn livid u p o n m e a s I l e a n o n a c a n e a n d o b s e r v e . I a m the m a s h ' d fireman with b r e a s t - b o n e broken, T u m b l i n g walls buried m e in their d e b r i s , H e a t a n d s m o k e I inspired, I h e a r d the yelling s h o u t s of my c o m r a d e s , I h e a r d the d i s t a n t click of their picks and shovels, sso T h e y have clear'd the b e a m s away, they tenderly lift m e forth. I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the p e r v a d i n g hush is for my s a k e , P a i n l e s s after all I lie e x h a u s t e d but not s o u n h a p p y , W h i t e a n d beautiful are the faces a r o u n d m e , the h e a d s a r e b a r e d of their fire-caps, T h e kneeling crowd f a d e s with the light of the t o r c h e s .

855

Distant and dead resuscitate, T h e y show a s the dial or m o v e a s the h a n d s of m e , I a m the clock I a m a n old artillerist, I tell of my fort's b o m b a r d m e n t , I a m there a g a i n .

3.

D r i b b l e s d o w n , d i l u t e d with

sweat.

myself.

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

Again the long roll of the d r u m m e r s , Again the a t t a c k i n g c a n n o n , m o r t a r s , Again to my listening e a r s the c a n n o n r e s p o n s i v e . I take part, I s e e a n d h e a r the w h o l e , T h e c r i e s , c u r s e s , roar, the p l a u d i t s of well-aim'd s h o t s , T h e a m b u l a n z a slowly p a s s i n g trailing its red drip, W o r k m e n s e a r c h i n g after d a m a g e s , m a k i n g i n d i s p e n s a b l e r e p a i r s , T h e fall of g r e n a d e s t h r o u g h the rent roof, the f a n - s h a p e d explosion, T h e whizz of limbs, h e a d s , s t o n e , w o o d , iron, high in the air.

1031

860

865

Again gurgles the m o u t h of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, H e g a s p s through the clot Mind not me—mind—the entrenchments. sio

34 N o w I tell what I k n e w in T e x a s in my early y o u t h , (I tell not the fall of A l a m o , N o t o n e e s c a p e d to tell the fall of A l a m o , 4 T h e h u n d r e d a n d fifty are d u m b yet at A l a m o , ) T i s the tale of the m u r d e r in cold b l o o d of four h u n d r e d a n d twelve y o u n g men. 875 Retreating they h a d form'd in a hollow s q u a r e with their b a g g a g e for breastworks, N i n e h u n d r e d lives out of the s u r r o u n d i n g e n e m y ' s , nine times their n u m b e r , w a s the price they took in a d v a n c e , Their colonel w a s w o u n d e d a n d their a m m u n i t i o n g o n e , T h e y treated for a n h o n o r a b l e c a p i t u l a t i o n , receiv'd writing a n d seal, gave u p their a r m s a n d m a r c h ' d b a c k p r i s o n e r s of war. T h e y were the glory of the r a c e of r a n g e r s , M a t c h l e s s with h o r s e , rifle, s o n g , s u p p e r , c o u r t s h i p , L a r g e , turbulent, g e n e r o u s , h a n d s o m e , p r o u d , a n d a f f e c t i o n a t e , R e a r d e d , s u n b u r n t , drest in the free c o s t u m e of h u n t e r s , N o t a single o n e over thirty years of a g e .

sso

T h e s e c o n d First-day m o r n i n g they were b r o u g h t out in s q u a d s a n d m a s s a cred, it was beautiful early s u m m e r , 885 T h e work c o m m e n c e d a b o u t five o'clock a n d w a s over by eight. N o n e obey'd the c o m m a n d to kneel, S o m e m a d e a m a d a n d helpless r u s h , s o m e s t o o d stark a n d straight, A few fell at o n c e , shot in the t e m p l e or heart, the living a n d d e a d lay together,

4 . T h e fall o f t h e A l a m o d u r i n g t h e M e x i c a n W a r w a s a l r e a d y w e l l e s t a b l i s h e d in t h e A m e r i c a n c o n sciousness. W h i t m a n here celebrates a lesserknown but bloodier massacre, the murder of s o m e four hundred " T e x a n s " (most of t h e m n e w emi-

grants from s o u t h e r n states) after they s u r r e n d e r e d t o t h e M e x i c a n s n e a r G o l i a d ( n o w in T e x a s ) in l a t e M a r c h 1 8 3 6 , t h r e e w e e k s a f t e r t h e fall o f t h e A l a m o ( n o w in S a n A n t o n i o , T e x a s ) .

1032

I

WALT

WHITMAN

T h e m a i m ' d a n d m a n g l e d d u g in the dirt, the n e w - c o m e r s s a w t h e m there, »9o S o m e half-kill'd a t t e m p t e d to crawl away, T h e s e were d e s p a t c h ' d with b a y o n e t s or batter'd with the b l u n t s of m u s k e t s , A youth not s e v e n t e e n years old seiz'd his a s s a s s i n till two m o r e c a m e to release him, T h e three were all torn a n d cover'd with the hoy's blood. At eleven o'clock b e g a n the b u r n i n g of the b o d i e s ; 895 T h a t is the tale of the m u r d e r of the four h u n d r e d a n d twelve y o u n g m e n .

35 ••

•

•

.

W o u l d you hear of a n old-time s e a - f i g h t ? ' W o u l d you learn w h o won by the light of the m o o n a n d s t a r s ? List to the yarn, a s my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s father the sailor told it to m e . O u r foe w a s no skulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,) 900 His w a s the surly E n g l i s h pluck, a n d there is n o t o u g h e r or truer, a n d never w a s , a n d never will b e ; Along the lower'd eve he c a m e horribly raking us. W e c l o s e d witK h i m , the yards e n t a n g l e d , the c a n n o n t o u c h ' d . M y c a p t a i n lash'd fast with his own h a n d s . W e had receiv'd s o m e e i g h t e e n p o u n d shots u n d e r the water, 905 O n our lower-gun-deck two large p i e c e s had burst at the first fire, killing all a r o u n d a n d blowing u p o v e r h e a d . Fighting at s u n - d o w n , fighting at dark, T e n o'clock at night, the full m o o n well up, our leaks on the g a i n , a n d five feet of water reported, T h e master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give t h e m a c h a n c e for t h e m s e l v e s . T h e transit to a n d from the m a g a z i n e 6 is n o w stopt by the s e n t i n e l s , T h e y see so m a n y s t r a n g e f a c e s they do not know w h o m to trust.

910

O u r frigate takes fire, T h e other a s k s if we d e m a n d q u a r t e r ? If our colors are struck a n d the fighting d o n e ? N o w I laugh c o n t e n t , for I hear the voice of my little c a p t a i n , 915 We have not struck, he c o m p o s e d l y cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting. Only three g u n s a r e in u s e , O n e is directed by the c a p t a i n h i m s e l f against the e n e m y ' s m a i n m a s t , S. T h e tember Homme a n d the

f a m o u s Revolutionary sea battle on S e p 23, 1779, between the American RonRichard, c o m m a n d e d by J o h n Paul J o n e s , B r i t i s h Serapis off the coast of Yorkshire.

A brilliant a c c o u n t o f the battle, b a s e d o n naval h i s t o r i e s , is in M e l v i l l e ' s Israel Potter, c h s . 1 9 a n d 20. 6. S t o r e r o o m for a m m u n i t i o n .

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1033

T w o well serv'd with g r a p e a n d c a n i s t e r 7 silence his m u s k e t r y a n d clear his decks. T h e t o p s 8 a l o n e s e c o n d the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top, 920 T h e y hold out bravely d u r i n g the whole of the action. Not a moment's cease, T h e leaks gain fast on the p u m p s , the fire e a t s toward the p o w d e r - m a g a z i n e . O n e of the p u m p s h a s b e e n shot away, it is generally t h o u g h t we are sinking. S e r e n e s t a n d s the little c a p t a i n , H e is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give m o r e light to u s than our battle-lanterns.

925

T o w a r d twelve there in the b e a m s of the m o o n they s u r r e n d e r to u s . 36

Stretch'd a n d still lies the midnight, T w o great hulls m o t i o n l e s s on the breast of the d a r k n e s s , 930 O u r vessel riddled a n d slowly sinking, p r e p a r a t i o n s to p a s s to the o n e we have c o n q u e r ' d , T h e captain on the q u a r t e r - d e c k coldly giving his orders t h r o u g h a c o u n t e n a n c e white a s a s h e e t , N e a r by the corpse of the child that serv'd in the c a b i n , T h e d e a d face of an old salt with long white hair a n d carefully curl'd whiskers, T h e flames spite of all that c a n be d o n e flickering aloft a n d below, 93; T h e husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty, F o r m l e s s stacks of bodies a n d b o d i e s by t h e m s e l v e s , d a b s of flesh u p o n the m a s t s and s p a r s , C u t of c o r d a g e , dangle of rigging, slight s h o c k of the s o o t h e of w a v e s , B l a c k a n d impassive g u n s , litter of p o w d e r - p a r c e l s , s t r o n g s c e n t , A few large stars overhead, silent a n d mournful shining, 940 D e l i c a t e sniffs of s e a - b r e e z e , s m e l l s of sedgy g r a s s a n d fields by the s h o r e , d e a t h - m e s s a g e s given in c h a r g e to survivors, T h e hiss of the surgeon's knife, the g n a w i n g teeth of his saw, W h e e z e , cluck, s w a s h of falling blood, short wild s c r e a m , a n d long, dull, tapering g r o a n , T h e s e s o , t h e s e irretrievable. 37

You laggards there on g u a r d ! look to your a r m s ! In at the c o n q u e r ' d doors they crowd! I a m p o s s e s s ' d ! E m b o d y all p r e s e n c e s outlaw'd or suffering, S e e myself in prison s h a p e d like a n o t h e r m a n , And feel the dull unintermitted p a i n . 7. G r a p e s h o t ( " g r a p e " ) , c l u s t e r s of s m a l l iron b a l l s , was packed inside a metal cylinder ("canister") and u s e d to c h a r g e a c a n n o n .

8. Platforms enclosing the heads of e a c h here, the sailors m a n n i n g the tops,

mast;

1 0 3 4

/

WALT

WHITMAN

F o r m e the k e e p e r s of convicts s h o u l d e r their c a r b i n e s a n d k e e p w a t c h , 9 5 0 It is I let o u t in the m o r n i n g a n d barr'd at night. N o t a m u t i n e e r walks h a n d c u f f ' d to jail but I a m h a n d c u f f d to h i m a n d walk by his s i d e , (I a m less the jolly o n e there, a n d m o r e the silent o n e with s w e a t o n my twitching lips.) N o t a y o u n g s t e r is taken for larceny b u t I go u p too, a n d a m tried a n d sentenced. N o t a c h o l e r a patient lies at the last g a s p but I a l s o lie at the last g a s p , 9 5 5 M y f a c e is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from m e p e o p l e retreat. A s k e r s e m b o d y t h e m s e l v e s in m e a n d I a m e m b o d i e d in t h e m , I project my hat, sit s h a m e - f a c e d , a n d b e g . 38 Enough!enough! enough! S o m e h o w I have b e e n s t u n n ' d . S t a n d back! 960 G i v e m e a little time beyond my c u f f d h e a d , s l u m b e r s , d r e a m s , g a p i n g , I discover myself on the verge of a u s u a l m i s t a k e . T h a t I c o u l d forget the m o c k e r s a n d insults! T h a t I c o u l d forget the trickling t e a r s a n d the blows of the b l u d g e o n s a n d hammers! T h a t I c o u l d look with a s e p a r a t e look on my own crucifixion a n d bloody crowning. 96? I r e m e m b e r now, I r e s u m e the overstaid fraction, T h e grave of rock multiplies what h a s b e e n confided to it, or to any graves, C o r p s e s rise, g a s h e s heal, f a s t e n i n g s roll from m e . I troop forth replenish'd with s u p r e m e p o w e r , o n e of a n a v e r a g e u n e n d i n g procession, 970 Inland a n d s e a - c o a s t we g o , a n d p a s s all b o u n d a r y lines, O u r swift o r d i n a n c e s on their way over the w h o l e e a r t h , T h e b l o s s o m s we w e a r in our hats the growth of t h o u s a n d s of y e a r s . E l e v e s , 9 I s a l u t e you! c o m e forward! C o n t i n u e your a n n o t a t i o n s , c o n t i n u e your q u e s t i o n i n g s .

975

39 T h e friendly a n d flowing s a v a g e , w h o is he? Is h e waiting for civilization, or p a s t it a n d m a s t e r i n g it? 9.

F r o m t h e F r e n c h f o r " s t u d e n t s . " b u t W h i t m a n ' s u s e c a r r i e s s o m e o f t h e s e n s e o f disciples

well.

o r acolytes

as

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

Is he s o m e S o u t h w e s t e r n e r rais'd out-doors? is he K a n a d i a n ? Is he from the M i s s i s s i p p i country? Iowa, O r e g o n , C a l i f o r n i a ? T h e m o u n t a i n s ? prairie-life, bush-life? or sailor from the s e a ?

1035

980

Wherever h e g o e s m e n a n d w o m e n a c c e p t a n d desire him, T h e y d e s i r e he s h o u l d like t h e m , t o u c h t h e m , s p e a k to t h e m , stay with t h e m . Behavior lawless a s snow-flakes, w o r d s s i m p l e as g r a s s , u n c o m b ' d h e a d , laughter, a n d naivete, S l o w - s t e p p i n g feet, c o m m o n f e a t u r e s , c o m m o n m o d e s a n d e m a n a t i o n s , T h e y d e s c e n d in new forms from the tips of his fingers, 985 T h e y are wafted with the odor of his body or b r e a t h , they fly out of the g l a n c e of his eyes. 40 F l a u n t of the s u n s h i n e I n e e d not your b a s k — l i e over! You light s u r f a c e s only, I force s u r f a c e s a n d d e p t h s a l s o . E a r t h ! you s e e m to look for s o m e t h i n g at my h a n d s , S a y , old top-knot,' what do you want?

990

M a n or w o m a n , I might tell how I like you, but c a n n o t , A n d might tell what it is in m e a n d what it is in you, b u t c a n n o t , And might tell that p i n i n g I h a v e , that p u l s e of my nights a n d days. B e h o l d , I do not give l e c t u r e s or a little charity, W h e n I give I give myself.

995

You there, i m p o t e n t , loose in the k n e e s , O p e n your scarf'd c h o p s 2 till I blow grit within you, S p r e a d your p a l m s a n d lift the flaps of your p o c k e t s , I a m not to be d e n i e d , I c o m p e l , I have stores plenty a n d to s p a r e , And any thing I have I b e s t o w .

1000

I do not a s k w h o you a r e , that is not i m p o r t a n t to m e , You can d o nothing a n d be n o t h i n g b u t w h a t I will infold y o u . T o cotton-field d r u d g e or c l e a n e r of privies I lean, O n his right c h e e k I put the family kiss, A n d in my soul I s w e a r I never will deny h i m .

1005

O n w o m e n fit for c o n c e p t i o n I start bigger a n d nimbler b a b e s , (This day I a m j e t t i n g the stuff of far m o r e a r r o g a n t r e p u b l i c s . ) T o any o n e dying, thither I s p e e d a n d twist the k n o b of the door, T u r n the b e d - c l o t h e s toward the foot of the b e d , 1. A s B l o d g c t l a n d B r a d l e y s a y i n t h e i r n o t e , t h i s " e p i t h e t w a s f a m i l i a r in f r o n t i e r h u m o r a s a c o m i c , h a l f - a f f e c t i o n a t e t e r m for a n I n d i a n , w h o s e tuft of hair or o r n a m e n t o n t o p of t h e h e a d w a s c h a r a c -

teristic of certain tribes." 2 . W i t h j a w s ( " c h o p s " ) t i e d u p in a s c a r f , a s o n e m i g h t d o for a t o o t h a c h e , e a r a c h e , o r o t h e r ailm e n t . S e e line 1 0 6 9 .

1 0 3 6

/

WALT

WHITMAN

L e t the physician a n d the priest go h o m e .

1010

I seize the d e s c e n d i n g m a n a n d r a i s e him with resistless will, 0 d e s p a i r e r , h e r e is my n e c k , By G o d , you shall not go d o w n ! h a n g your whole weight u p o n m e . 1 dilate you with t r e m e n d o u s breath, I buoy you u p , Every r o o m of the h o u s e d o I fill with a n arm'd f o r c e , Lovers of m e , bafflers of graves. S l e e p — I a n d they keep g u a r d all night, N o t d o u b t , not d e c e a s e shall d a r e to lay finger u p o n you, I have e m b r a c e d you, a n d henceforth p o s s e s s you to myself, A n d when you rise in the m o r n i n g you will find w h a t I tell you is s o .

101s

1020

41 I a m he bringing help for the sick a s they pant on their b a c k s , A n d for strong upright m e n I bring yet m o r e n e e d e d h e l p . I h e a r d what w a s said of the universe, H e a r d it a n d h e a r d it of several t h o u s a n d years; It is middling well a s far a s it g o e s — b u t is that all?

102s

Magnifying a n d applying c o m e I, O u t b i d d i n g at the start the old c a u t i o u s h u c k s t e r s , 3 T a k i n g myself the exact d i m e n s i o n s of J e h o v a h , L i t h o g r a p h i n g K r o n o s , Z e u s his s o n , a n d H e r c u l e s his g r a n d s o n , Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, B e l u s , B r a h m a , B u d d h a , 1030 In my portfolio p l a c i n g M a n i t o l o o s e , Allah on a leaf, the crucifix e n g r a v e d , With Odin a n d the h i d e o u s - f a c e d Mexitli 4 a n d every idol a n d i m a g e , T a k i n g t h e m all for what they are worth a n d not a c e n t m o r e , Admitting they were alive a n d did the work of their days, (They b o r e m i t e s a s for unfledg'd birds w h o have n o w to rise a n d fly a n d s i n g for t h e m s e l v e s , ) 1035 A c c e p t i n g the rough deific s k e t c h e s to fill out better in myself, b e s t o w i n g t h e m freely on e a c h m a n a n d w o m a n I s e e , D i s c o v e r i n g a s m u c h or m o r e in a f r a m e r f r a m i n g a h o u s e , Putting higher c l a i m s for him there with his roll'd-up sleeves driving the mallet a n d chisel, N o t o b j e c t i n g to special revelations, c o n s i d e r i n g a curl of s m o k e or a hair on the b a c k of my h a n d j u s t a s c u r i o u s a s any revelation, 3. I.e., g o d s or p r i e s t s w h o m a d e t o o little o f t h e d i v i n i t y in h u m a n b e i n g s . 4. An Aztec war god. J e h o v a h was the G o d of the J e w s a n d C h r i s t i a n s . K r o n o s ( o r C r o n u s ) , in G r e e k mythology, was the Titan w h o ruled the universe u n t i l d e t h r o n e d by Z e u s , h i s s o n , t h e c h i e f o f t h e O l y m p i a n gods. Hercules, son of Z e u s a n d the mortal A l c m e n e , w o n i m m o r t a l i t y by p e r f o r m i n g twelve s u p p o s e d l y impossible feats. Osiris was the Egyptian god who annually died and was reborn.

s y m b o l i z i n g t h e fertility o f n a t u r e . Isis w a s t h e E g y p t i a n g o d d e s s of fertility a n d t h e s i s t e r a n d wife of Osiris. Belus was a legendary god-king of A s s y r i a . B r a h m a , in H i n d u i s m , w a s t h e d i v i n e r e a l ity in t h e r o l e o f c r e a t o r . B u d d h a w a s t h e I n d i a n philosopher G a u t a m a Siddhartha, founder of Buddhism. Manito was the nature god of the Algonq u i a n I n d i a n s . A l l a h w a s t h e s u p r e m e b e i n g in Islam. Odin was the chief Norse god.

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1037

L a d s ahold of fire-engines a n d hook-and-ladder ropes no less to m e t h a n the g o d s of the a n t i q u e w a r s , 1040 M i n d i n g their voices peal t h r o u g h the c r a s h of d e s t r u c t i o n , T h e i r brawny l i m b s p a s s i n g s a f e over charr'd laths, their white f o r e h e a d s whole a n d u n h u r t out of the flames; By the m e c h a n i c ' s wife with her b a b e at her nipple i n t e r c e d i n g for every person born, T h r e e scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty a n g e l s with shirts b a g g ' d out at their w a i s t s , T h e snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair r e d e e m i n g s i n s p a s t a n d to come, 1045 Selling all he p o s s e s s e s , traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his brother a n d sit by him while he is tried for forgery; W h a t w a s strewn in the a m p l e s t strewing the s q u a r e rod a b o u t m e , a n d not filling the s q u a r e rod t h e n , T h e bull a n d the b u g never worshipp'd half e n o u g h , s D u n g a n d dirt m o r e a d m i r a b l e than w a s d r e a m ' d , T h e s u p e r n a t u r a l of no a c c o u n t , myself waiting my time to be o n e of the supremes, 1050 T h e day getting ready for m e w h e n I shall do a s m u c h g o o d a s the b e s t , a n d be as prodigious; By my life-lumps! 6 b e c o m i n g already a creator, Putting myself here a n d now to the a m b u s h ' d w o m b of the s h a d o w s . 42 A call in the m i d s t of the c r o w d , M y own voice, o r o t u n d s w e e p i n g a n d

final.

1055

C o m e my children, C o m e my boys a n d girls, my w o m e n , h o u s e h o l d a n d i n t i m a t e s , N o w the p e r f o r m e r l a u n c h e s his nerve, he h a s p a s s ' d his p r e l u d e on the r e e d s within. Easily written loose-finger'd c h o r d s — I feel the t h r u m of your climax a n d close. My h e a d s l u e s r o u n d on my n e c k , M u s i c rolls, but not from the o r g a n ,

1060

Folks a r e a r o u n d m e , but they are no h o u s e h o l d of m i n e . Ever the hard u n s u n k g r o u n d , Ever the eaters a n d drinkers, ever the u p w a r d a n d d o w n w a r d s u n , ever the air a n d the c e a s e l e s s tides, Ever myself a n d my n e i g h b o r s , refreshing, wicked, real, 1065 Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd t h u m b , that b r e a t h of itches a n d thirsts, 5. in in of

As W h i t m a n implies, the bull and the b u g had f a c t b e e n w o r s h i p e d in e a r l i e r r e l i g i o n s , t h e b u l l several, the scarab beetle as an Egyptian symbol the soul; but they h a d b e e n w o r s h i p e d wrongly,

as supernatural objects. 6. A felicitously c o m i c way of referring to spurts of s e m e n , here used figuratively,

1 0 3 8

/

WALT

WHITMAN

Ever the vexer's hoot! hoot! till we find where the sly o n e hides a n d bring him forth, Ever love, ever the s o b b i n g liquid of life, Ever the b a n d a g e u n d e r the c h i n , ever the t r e s t l e s 7 of d e a t h . H e r e a n d there with d i m e s on the e y e s " walking, IOTO T o feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally s p o o n i n g , T i c k e t s buying, taking, selling, b u t in to the feast never o n c e going, M a n y sweating, p l o u g h i n g , t h r a s h i n g , a n d then the chaff for p a y m e n t receiving, A few idly owning, a n d they the w h e a t continually c l a i m i n g . T h i s is the city a n d I a m o n e of the citizens, 1075 W h a t e v e r interests the rest interests m e , politics, w a r s , m a r k e t s , n e w s p a p e r s , schools, T h e mayor a n d c o u n c i l s , b a n k s , tariffs, s t e a m s h i p s , factories, s t o c k s , s t o r e s , real e s t a t e a n d p e r s o n a l e s t a t e . T h e little plentiful m a n i k i n s skipping a r o u n d in collars a n d tail'd c o a t s , I a m a w a r e w h o they a r e , (they are positively not w o r m s or fleas,) I a c k n o w l e d g e the d u p l i c a t e s of myself, the w e a k e s t a n d shallowest is d e a t h IOSO less with m e , W h a t I d o a n d say the s a m e waits for t h e m , Every t h o u g h t that flounders in m e the s a m e f l o u n d e r s in t h e m . I know perfectly well my own e g o t i s m , Know my o m n i v o r o u s lines a n d m u s t not write any less, A n d would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself. IOSS N o t w o r d s of routine this s o n g of m i n e , B u t abruptly to q u e s t i o n , to l e a p b e y o n d yet n e a r e r bring; T h i s printed a n d b o u n d b o o k — b u t the printer a n d the printing-office boy? T h e well-taken p h o t o g r a p h s — b u t your wife or friend c l o s e a n d solid in your arms? T h e b l a c k ship mail'd with iron, her mighty g u n s in her t u r r e t s — b u t the p l u c k of the c a p t a i n a n d e n g i n e e r s ? 1090 In the h o u s e s the d i s h e s a n d fare a n d f u r n i t u r e — b u t the host a n d h o s t e s s , a n d the look out of their eyes? T h e sky up t h e r e — y e t h e r e or next door, or a c r o s s the way? T h e saints a n d s a g e s in h i s t o r y — b u t you yourself? S e r m o n s , c r e e d s , t h e o l o g y — b u t the f a t h o m l e s s h u m a n b r a i n , A n d what is r e a s o n ? a n d w h a t is love? a n d w h a t is life? 1095 43 I do not d e s p i s e you priests, all t i m e , the world over, M y faith is the greatest of faiths a n d the least of faiths, E n c l o s i n g w o r s h i p a n c i e n t a n d m o d e r n a n d all b e t w e e n a n c i e n t a n d m o d e r n , Believing I shall c o m e again u p o n the earth after five t h o u s a n d y e a r s , W a i t i n g r e s p o n s e s from o r a c l e s , h o n o r i n g the g o d s , s a l u t i n g the s u n , 1 1 0 0 7.

Sawhorses

coffin.

or

similar

supports

holding

up

a

8.

Coins

were

c l o s e d until

placed

burial.

on

eyelids

to

hold

them

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

1039

M a k i n g a fetich of the first rock or s t u m p , p o w o w i n g with sticks in the circle of o b i s . 9 H e l p i n g the l l a m a or b r a h m i n a s he trims the l a m p s of the idols, D a n c i n g yet t h r o u g h the streets in a phallic p r o c e s s i o n , rapt a n d a u s t e r e in the w o o d s a g y m n o s o p h i s t , 1 Drinking m e a d from the skull-cup, to S h a s t a s a n d V e d a s a d m i r a n t , m i n d i n g the K o r a n , W a l k i n g the teokallis, s p o t t e d with gore from the s t o n e a n d knife, b e a t i n g the serpent-skin d r u m , 1105 A c c e p t i n g the G o s p e l s , 2 a c c e p t i n g him that w a s crucified, k n o w i n g a s s u r e d l y that h e is divine, T o the m a s s k n e e l i n g or the puritan's prayer rising, or sitting patiently in a pew, R a n t i n g a n d frothing in my i n s a n e crisis, or waiting dead-like till my spirit arouses me, L o o k i n g forth on p a v e m e n t a n d land, or o u t s i d e of p a v e m e n t a n d l a n d , B e l o n g i n g to the winders of the circuit of c i r c u i t s . 1110 O n e of that centripetal a n d centrifugal g a n g I turn a n d talk like a m a n leaving c h a r g e s before a j o u r n e y . D o w n - h e a r t e d d o u b t e r s dull a n d e x c l u d e d , Frivolous, sullen, m o p i n g , angry, affected, d i s h e a r t e n ' d , a t h e i s t i c a l , I know every o n e of you, I know the s e a of t o r m e n t , d o u b t , d e s p a i r a n d unbelief. 1115 H o w the f l u k e s 3 s p l a s h ! H o w they contort rapid a s lightning, with s p a s m s a n d s p o u t s of blood! B e at p e a c e bloody flukes of d o u b t e r s a n d sullen m o p e r s , I take my p l a c e a m o n g you a s m u c h a s a m o n g any, T h e p a s t is the p u s h of you, m e , all, precisely the s a m e , A n d what is yet untried a n d afterward is for you, m e , all, precisely the same. 1120 I do not know what is untried a n d afterward, B u t I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, a n d c a n n o t fail. E a c h w h o p a s s e s is c o n s i d e r ' d , e a c h w h o s t o p s is c o n s i d e r ' d , not a single o n e c a n it fail. It c a n n o t fail the y o u n g m a n who died a n d w a s b u r i e d , N o r the y o u n g w o m a n w h o died a n d w a s put by his s i d e , 9. W i t c h d o c t o r s , e i t h e r in A f r i c a o r a m o n g b l a c k s in t h e N e w W o r l d . 1. M e m b e r s o f a n a n c i e n t H i n d u a s c e t i c s e c t , t h o u g h t to h a v e f o r g o n e c l o t h i n g , a s t h e n a m e ( " n a k e d p h i l o s o p h e r s " ) i m p l i e s . Llama is W h i t m a n ' s spelling for lama, a B u d d h i s t m o n k of T i b e t or Mongolia. " B r a h m i n " : here, also a B u d d h i s t priest. 2. T h e other worshipers include old T e u t o n i c drinkers of m e a d (an alcoholic beverage m a d e of fermented honey), a d m i r i n g or w o n d e r i n g readers

1125

o f t h e s a s t r a s (or s h a s t r a s or s h a s t e r s , b o o k s o f H i n d u law) o r of t h e V e d a s (the o l d e s t s a c r e d writings of H i n d u i s m ) , those attentive to the K o r a n ( t h e s a c r e d b o o k o f I s l a m , c o n t a i n i n g A l l a h ' s reve l a t i o n s to M u h a m m a d ) , w o r s h i p e r s w a l k i n g the teokallis (an ancient Central A m e r i c a n temple built on a pyramidal m o u n d ) , a n d believers in the New Testament Gospels. 3 . T h e flat p a r t s o n e i t h e r s i d e o f a w h a l e ' s t a i l ; here used figuratively.

1 0 4 0

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WALT

WHITMAN

N o r the little child that p e e p ' d in at the door, a n d then drew b a c k a n d w a s never seen a g a i n , N o r the old m a n w h o h a s lived without p u r p o s e , a n d feels it with bitterness worse than gall, N o r him in the p o o r h o u s e t u b e r c l e d by r u m a n d the b a d disorder, N o r the n u m b e r l e s s slaughter'd a n d wreck'd, nor the brutish k o b o o 4 call'd the o r d u r e of h u m a n i t y , N o r the s a c s merely floating with o p e n m o u t h s for food to slip in, nso N o r any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the e a r t h , N o r any thing in the myriads of s p h e r e s , nor the myriads of myriads that inhabit t h e m , N o r the p r e s e n t , nor the least wisp that is k n o w n . 44 It is time to explain m y s e l f — l e t u s s t a n d u p . W h a t is known I strip away, I l a u n c h all m e n a n d w o m e n forward with m e into the U n k n o w n .

1135

T h e c l o c k i n d i c a t e s the m o m e n t — b u t what d o e s eternity i n d i c a t e ? W e have t h u s far e x h a u s t e d trillions of winters a n d s u m m e r s , T h e r e are trillions a h e a d , a n d trillions a h e a d of t h e m . Births have b r o u g h t u s r i c h n e s s a n d variety, And other births will bring u s r i c h n e s s a n d variety.

1140

I do not call o n e greater a n d o n e s m a l l e r , T h a t which fills its period a n d p l a c e is e q u a l to any. W e r e m a n k i n d m u r d e r o u s or j e a l o u s u p o n y o u , my brother, my sister? I a m sorry for you, they are not m u r d e r o u s or j e a l o u s u p o n m e , All has b e e n gentle with m e , I keep no a c c o u n t with l a m e n t a t i o n , (What have I to d o with l a m e n t a t i o n ? )

1145

I a m a n a c m e of things a c c o m p l i s h ' d , a n d I a n e n c l o s e r of things to b e . M y feet strike an apex of the a p i c e s 5 of the stairs, O n every step b u n c h e s of a g e s , a n d larger b u n c h e s b e t w e e n the s t e p s , All below duly travel'd, a n d still I m o u n t a n d m o u n t . R i s e after rise bow the p h a n t o m s b e h i n d m e , Afar down I s e e the h u g e first N o t h i n g , I know I w a s even t h e r e , I waited u n s e e n a n d always, a n d slept t h r o u g h the lethargic m i s t , And took my t i m e , a n d took no hurt from the fetid c a r b o n . 6

11 so

1155

L o n g I w a s hugg'd c l o s e — l o n g a n d long. 4. Native of S u m a t r a . 5. T h e h i g h e s t p o i n t s ( v a r i a n t p l u r a l o f APEX). 6. W h i t m a n k n e w a g o o d d e a l a b o u t g e o l o g y a n d pre-Darwinian theories of evolution. H e r e the peri-

o d s of lethargic mist a n d fetid c a r b o n are prehum a n a g e s , p r o b a b l y a g e s far earlier t h a n t h e period of the " m o n s t r o u s s a u r o i d s " (line 1 167).

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

/

I m m e n s e have b e e n the p r e p a r a t i o n s for m e , Faithful a n d friendly the a r m s that have help'd m e . C y c l e s 7 ferried my c r a d l e , rowing a n d rowing like cheerful b o a t m e n , F o r r o o m to m e stars kept a s i d e in their own rings, T h e y sent influences to look after what w a s to hold m e .

1041

•

I 160

B e f o r e I was born out of my m o t h e r g e n e r a t i o n s g u i d e d m e , M y embryo h a s never b e e n torpid, nothing c o u l d overlay it. For it the n e b u l a c o h e r e d to a n o r b , T h e long slow strafa piled to rest it o n , ii65 V a s t vegetables gave it s u s t e n a n c e , M o n s t r o u s s a u r o i d s t r a n s p o r t e d it in their m o u t h s a n d d e p o s i t e d it with c a r e . All forces have b e e n steadily employ'd to c o m p l e t e a n d delight m e , N o w on this spot I s t a n d with my robust s o u l . 45

O s p a n of y o u t h ! ever-push'd elasticity! 0 m a n h o o d , b a l a n c e d , florid a n d full.

MTO

M y lovers s u f f o c a t e m e , C r o w d i n g my lips, thick in the p o r e s of my skin, J o s t l i n g m e t h r o u g h streets a n d public halls, c o m i n g n a k e d to m e at night, C r y i n g by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the river, swinging a n d c h i r p i n g over my h e a d , i ITS C a l l i n g my n a m e from flower-beds, vines, tangled u n d e r b r u s h , Lighting on every m o m e n t of my life, B u s s i n g 8 my body with soft b a l s a m i c b u s s e s , Noiselessly p a s s i n g h a n d f u l s out of their hearts a n d giving t h e m to be m i n e . Old a g e superbly rising! O w e l c o m e , ineffable g r a c e of dying days!

i iso

Every condition p r o m u l g e s 9 not only itself, it p r o m u l g e s w h a t grows after a n d out of itself, And the dark h u s h p r o m u l g e s a s m u c h a s any. 1 o p e n my s c u t t l e at night a n d s e e the far-sprinkled s y s t e m s , A n d all I s e e multiplied a s high a s I c a n c i p h e r e d g e but the rim of the farther systems. W i d e r a n d wider they s p r e a d , e x p a n d i n g , always e x p a n d i n g , O u t w a r d a n d o u t w a r d a n d forever o u t w a r d . M y sun h a s his s u n a n d r o u n d him obediently w h e e l s , H e j o i n s with his p a r t n e r s a g r o u p of s u p e r i o r circuit, And greater s e t s follow, m a k i n g s p e c k s of the greatest inside t h e m .

7.

Centuries.

8.

Kissing.

9.

P r o m u l g a t e s , officially a n n o u n c e s .

nss

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WHITMAN

T h e r e is no s t o p p a g e a n d never c a n be s t o p p a g e , 1190 If I, you, a n d the worlds, a n d all b e n e a t h or u p o n their s u r f a c e s , were this m o m e n t r e d u c e d b a c k to a pallid float,' it w o u l d not avail in the long run, W e s h o u l d surely bring u p again w h e r e w e now s t a n d , And surely go a s m u c h farther, a n d then farther a n d farther. A few quadrillions of e r a s , a few octillions of c u b i c l e a g u e s , do not h a z a r d 2 the s p a n or m a k e it i m p a t i e n t , T h e y are but p a r t s , any thing is but a part. 1195 S e e ever so far, there is limitless s p a c e o u t s i d e of that, C o u n t ever so m u c h , there is limitless time a r o u n d that. M y rendezvous is a p p o i n t e d , it is c e r t a i n , T h e L o r d will b e there a n d wait till I c o m e o n perfect t e r m s , T h e great C a m e r a d o , the lover true for w h o m I p i n e will b e t h e r e .

1200

46 I know I have the b e s t of t i m e a n d s p a c e , a n d w a s never m e a s u r e d a n d never will be m e a s u r e d . I t r a m p a p e r p e t u a l j o u r n e y , ( c o m e listen all!) M y signs are a rain-proof c o a t , g o o d s h o e s , a n d a staff c u t f r o m the w o o d s , N o friend of m i n e takes his e a s e in my chair, I have no chair, no c h u r c h , no p h i l o s o p h y , 1205 I lead n o m a n to a d i n n e r - t a b l e , library, e x c h a n g e , 3 B u t e a c h m a n a n d e a c h w o m a n of you I lead u p o n a knoll, M y left h a n d h o o k i n g you r o u n d the waist, M y right h a n d p o i n t i n g to l a n d s c a p e s of c o n t i n e n t s a n d the p u b l i c r o a d . N o t I, not any o n e else c a n travel that r o a d for you, You m u s t travel it for yourself.

1210

It is not far, it is within r e a c h , P e r h a p s you have b e e n on it s i n c e you were b o r n a n d did not know, P e r h a p s it is everywhere o n water a n d on l a n d . S h o u l d e r your d u d s d e a r s o n , a n d I will m i n e , a n d let u s h a s t e n forth, 1 2 1 5 W o n d e r f u l cities a n d free n a t i o n s we shall fetch a s w e g o . If you tire, give m e both b u r d e n s , a n d rest the chuff* of your h a n d on my hip, A n d in d u e time you shall repay the s a m e service to m e , F o r after we start we never lie by a g a i n . T h i s day before d a w n I a s c e n d e d a hill a n d look'd at the c r o w d e d h e a v e n , 1 2 2 0 A n d I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the 1. T h a t p e r i o d b e f o r e t h e s o l a r s y s t e m h a d d e f i n e d itself. 2. Imperil, m a k e h a z a r d o u s .

3. 4.

Stock exchange. T h e m e a t y part of the p a l m .

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

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1043

pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fdl'd and satisfied then? A n d my spirit s a i d No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond. You are a l s o a s k i n g m e q u e s t i o n s a n d I hear you, I a n s w e r that I c a n n o t a n s w e r , you m u s t find out for yourself. Sit a while dear s o n , 122? H e r e are b i s c u i t s to eat a n d here is milk to drink, B u t as s o o n a s you s l e e p a n d renew yourself in sweet c l o t h e s , I kiss you with a good-by kiss a n d o p e n the gate for your e g r e s s h e n c e . L o n g e n o u g h have you d r e a m ' d c o n t e m p t i b l e d r e a m s , N o w I w a s h the g u m from your eyes, You m u s t habit yourself to the dazzle of the light a n d of every m o m e n t of your life. 1230 L o n g have you N o w I will you T o j u m p off in ingly d a s h

timidly w a d e d holding a plank by the s h o r e , to b e a bold s w i m m e r , the m i d s t of the s e a , rise a g a i n , n o d to m e , s h o u t , a n d laughwith your hair. 47

I a m the t e a c h e r of a t h l e t e s , H e that by m e s p r e a d s a wider b r e a s t t h a n my own proves the width of my own, 1235 H e m o s t h o n o r s my style w h o learns u n d e r it to destroy the t e a c h e r . T h e boy I love, the s a m e b e c o m e s a m a n not through derived power, but in his own right, W i c k e d rather t h a n virtuous out of conformity or fear, F o n d of his s w e e t h e a r t , relishing well his steak, U n r e q u i t e d love or a slight c u t t i n g him w o r s e than s h a r p steel c u t s , 1240 First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff, to s i n g a s o n g or play on the b a n j o , Preferring s c a r s a n d the b e a r d a n d f a c e s pitted with small-pox over all latherers, A n d t h o s e well-tann'd to t h o s e that keep o u t of the s u n . I t e a c h straying from m e , yet w h o c a n stray from m e ? I follow you whoever you are from the p r e s e n t hour, 1245 M y words itch at your e a r s till you u n d e r s t a n d t h e m . I do not say t h e s e things for a dollar or to fill u p the time while I wait for a boat, (It is you talking j u s t a s m u c h a s myself, I act a s the t o n g u e of you, T i e d in your m o u t h , in m i n e it b e g i n s to be loosen'd.) I s w e a r I will never a g a i n m e n t i o n love or d e a t h inside a h o u s e , 1250 A n d I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her w h o privately stays with m e in the o p e n air.

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WALT

WHITMAN

If you would u n d e r s t a n d m e go to the heights or w a t e r - s h o r e , T h e nearest gnat is an explanation, a n d a drop or motion of waves a key, T h e m a u l , the oar, the h a n d - s a w , s e c o n d my words. N o shutter'd room or school c a n c o m m u n e with m e , B u t r o u g h s a n d little children better than they.

1255

T h e y o u n g m e c h a n i c is closest to m e , he knows m e well, T h e w o o d m a n that takes his axe a n d j u g with him shall take m e with him all day, T h e farm-boy p l o u g h i n g in the field feels g o o d at the s o u n d of my voice, In vessels that sail my words sail, I g o with fishermen a n d s e a m e n and love them. 126O •

T h e soldier c a m p ' d or u p o n the m a r c h is m i n e , O n the night ere the p e n d i n g battle m a n y seek m e , and I d o not fail t h e m , O n that s o l e m n night (it may be their last) t h o s e that know m e seek m e . My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down a l o n e in his blanket, T h e driver thinking of m e d o e s not mind the jolt of his w a g o n , 1265 T h e y o u n g m o t h e r and old m o t h e r c o m p r e h e n d m e , T h e girl and the wife rest the needle a m o m e n t a n d forget where they are, T h e y and all would r e s u m e what I have told t h e m .

I have said that the soul is not m o r e t h a n the body, And I have said that the body is not m o r e than the soul, 1270 And nothing, not G o d , is greater to o n e than one's self is, And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his s h r o u d , And I or you p o c k e t l e s s of a d i m e may p u r c h a s e the pick of the earth, And to g l a n c e with an eye or show a b e a n in its p o d c o n f o u n d s the learning of all t i m e s , And there is no trade or e m p l o y m e n t but the y o u n g m a n following it m a y b e c o m e a hero, 1275 And there is no object so soft but it m a k e s a h u b for the wheel'd universe, And I say to any m a n or w o m a n , Let your soul stand c Q o l a n d c o m p o s e d before a million u n i v e r s e s . " ~~ And I say to m a n k i n d , B e not c u r i o u s a b o u t G o d , For I who a m c u r i o u s a b o u t e a c h a m not c u r i o u s a b o u t G o d , ( N o array of t e r m s c a n say h o w m u c h I a m at p e a c e a b o u t G o d a n d a b o u t death.) 1280 I hear and behold G o d in every object, yet u n d e r s t a n d G o d not in the least, N o r do I u n d e r s t a n d w h o there c a n b e m o r e wonderful t h a n myself. Why s h o u l d I wish to s e e G o d better than this day? I s e e s o m e t h i n g of G o d e a c h hour of the twenty-four, a n d e a c h m o m e n t then, In the faces of m e n a n d w o m e n I s e e G o d , a n d in my own face in the glaSS, 1285

S O N G OF M Y S E L F ( 1 8 8 1 )

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1045

I find letters from G o d dropt in the street, a n d every o n e is sign'd by G o d ' s name, A n d I leave t h e m w h e r e they a r e , for I know that w h e r e s o e ' e r I g o , O t h e r s will p u n c t u a l l y c o m e for ever a n d ever.

49 A n d a s to you D e a t h , a n d you bitter h u g of mortality, it is idle to try to a l a r m me. T o his work without flinching the a c c o u c h e u r 5 c o m e s , I s e e the elder-hand p r e s s i n g receiving s u p p o r t i n g , I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible d o o r s , A n d m a r k the outlet, a n d m a r k the relief a n d e s c a p e .

1290

And as to you C o r p s e I think you are g o o d m a n u r e , b u t that d o e s not offend me, I smell the white r o s e s s w e e t - s c e n t e d a n d growing, 1295 I reach to the leafy lips, I r e a c h to the polish'd b r e a s t s of m e l o n s . A n d as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of m a n y d e a t h s , ( N o d o u b t I have d i e d myself ten t h o u s a n d times before.) I hear you w h i s p e r i n g there O stars of h e a v e n , 0 s u n s — O g r a s s of g r a v e s — O p e r p e t u a l transfers a n d p r o m o t i o n s , 1300 If you do not say any thing how c a n I say any thing? O f the turbid pool that lies in the a u t u m n forest, O f the m o o n that d e s c e n d s the s t e e p s of the s o u g h i n g twilight, T o s s , s p a r k l e s of day a n d d u s k — t o s s on the black s t e m s that d e c a y in the muck, T o s s to the m o a n i n g gibberish of the dry limbs. 1305 1 a s c e n d from the m o o n , I a s c e n d from the night, I perceive that the ghastly g l i m m e r is n o o n d a y s u n b e a m s reflected, A n d d e b o u c h 6 to the steady a n d central from the offspring great or s m a l l .

50 T h e r e is that in m e — I d o not know what it i s — b u t I k n o w it is in m e . W r e n c h ' d a n d s w e a t y — c a l m a n d cool then my body b e c o m e s , I s l e e p — I s l e e p long. 1310 I do not know it—it is without n a m e — i t is a word u n s a i d , It is not in any dictionary, u t t e r a n c e , symbol. S o m e t h i n g it swings o n m o r e t h a n the earth I swing o n , T o it the creation is the friend w h o s e e m b r a c i n g a w a k e s m e .

5.

Midwife.

6.

Pour forth.

1046

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WALT WHITMAN

P e r h a p s I might tell m o r e . O u t l i n e s ! I p l e a d for my brothers a n d sisters. 131s D o you s e e O my brothers a n d sisters? It is not c h a o s or d e a t h — i t is form, u n i o n , p l a n — i t is eternal life—it is Happiness.

51 T h e past a n d p r e s e n t wilt—I have fill'd t h e m , e m p t i e d t h e m , And p r o c e e d to fill my next fold of the future. Listener u p there! what have you to confide to m e ? 1320 L o o k in my f a c e while I s n u f f the s i d l e 7 of evening, (Talk honestly, no o n e else h e a r s you, a n d I stay only a m i n u t e longer.) D o I c o n t r a d i c t myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I a m large, I contain m u l t i t u d e s . )

1325

I c o n c e n t r a t e toward t h e m that are nigh, I wait o n the d o o r - s l a b . W h o h a s d o n e his day's work? who will s o o n e s t b e t h r o u g h with his s u p p e r ? W h o w i s h e s to walk with m e ? Will you s p e a k before I a m g o n e ? will you prove already too late?

52 T h e spotted hawk s w o o p s by a n d a c c u s e s m e , h e c o m p l a i n s of my gab a n d my loitering. 1330 I too a m not a hit t a m e d . I too a m l t n t r a n s l a t a h L a , ~1 s o u n d my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. T h e last s c u d of day" holds b a c k for m e , It flings my likeness after the rest a n d true a s any on the s h a d o w ' d wilds, It c o a x e s m e to the vapor a n d the d u s k . 133s I depart a s air, I s h a k e my white locks at the runaway s u n , I effuse my flesh in e d d i e s , a n d drift it in lacy j a b s . I b e q u e a t h myself to the dirt to grow from the g r a s s I love, If you want m e again look for m e u n d e r your b o o t - s o l e s . You will hardly know w h o I a m or what I m e a n , B u t I shall be good health to you n e v e r t h e l e s s , A n d filter a n d fibre your blood.

7. T o s n u f f is t o p u t o u t , a s in e x t i n g u i s h i n g a c a n d i e ; h e r e t h e l i g h t is t h e h e s i t a n t l a s t l i g h t o f d a y , sidling or moving along edgeways.

8. W i n d - d r i v e n c l o u d s , o r m e r e l y t h e l a s t r a y s o f the sun.

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Failing to fetch m e at first k e e p e n c o u r a g e d , M i s s i n g m e o n e p l a c e s e a r c h another, 1 s t o p s o m e w h e r e waiting for you. 1855,1881

Letter to Ralph Waldo Emerson 1 [Whitman's

1856

Manifesto] RROOKLYN, AUGUST,

1856.

H e r e are thirty-two P o e m s , which I s e n d you, dear F r i e n d a n d M a s t e r , not having f o u n d how I c o u l d satisfy myself with s e n d i n g any u s u a l a c k n o w l e d g m e n t of your letter. T h e first edition, on which you m a i l e d m e that till now u n a n s w e r e d letter, was twelve p o e m s — I printed a t h o u s a n d c o p i e s , a n d they readily sold; these thirty-two P o e m s I s t e r e o t y p e , 2 to print several t h o u s a n d c o p i e s of. I m u c h enjoy m a k i n g p o e m s . O t h e r work I have set for myself to d o , to m e e t p e o p l e a n d T h e S t a t e s f a c e to f a c e , to confront t h e m with a n A m e r i c a n r u d e t o n g u e ; but the work of my life is m a k i n g p o e m s . I k e e p on till I m a k e a h u n d r e d , a n d then several h u n d r e d — p e r h a p s a t h o u s a n d . T h e way is clear to m e . A few years, a n d the a v e r a g e a n n u a l call for my P o e m s is ten or twenty t h o u s a n d c o p i e s — m o r e , q u i t e likely. W h y s h o u l d I hurry or c o m p r o m i s e ? In p o e m s or in s p e e c h e s I say the word or two that h a s got to be said, a d h e r e to the body, step with the c o u n t l e s s c o m m o n f o o t s t e p s , a n d r e m i n d every m a n a n d w o m a n of s o m e t h i n g . M a s t e r , I a m a m a n w h o has perfect faith. M a s t e r , we have not c o m e through c e n t u r i e s , c a s t e , h e r o i s m s , f a b l e s , to halt in this land today. O r I think it is to collect a ten-fold i m p e t u s that any halt is m a d e . As n a t u r e , inexorable, o n w a r d , resistless, i m p a s s i v e a m i d the t h r e a t s a n d s c r e a m s of d i s p u t a n t s , so A m e r i c a . L e t all defer. L e t all attend respectfully the leisure of T h e s e S t a t e s , their politics, p o e m s , literature, m a n n e r s , a n d their freeh a n d e d m o d e s of training their own offspring. T h e i r own c o m e s , j u s t m a t u r e d , certain, n u m e r o u s a n d c a p a b l e e n o u g h , with egotistical t o n g u e s , with sinewed wrists, seizing openly what b e l o n g s to t h e m . T h e y r e s u m e Personality, too long left out of m i n d . T h e i r s h a d o w s are p r o j e c t e d in employm e n t s , in b o o k s , in the cities, in trade; their feet are o n the flights of the steps of the C a p i t o l ; they dilate, a large brawnier, m o r e c a n d i d , m o r e d e m 1. H a v i n g a l r e a d y in O c t o b e r 1 8 5 5 " a l l o w e d " t h e N e w Y o r k Tribune to print E m e r s o n ' s J u l y 2 1 , 1 8 5 5 , l e t t e r t o h i m ( a f t e r p r o u d l y c a r r y i n g it a r o u n d with h i m s i n c e he r e c e i v e d it). W h i t m a n e m b e l l i s h e d t h e s p i n e o f t h e 1 8 5 6 e d i t i o n o f Leaves of Grass with t h e s e w o r d s l e t t e r e d in g o l d o n a g l u e d - o n b a c k s t r i p : "I G r e e t Y o u at the / B e g i n n i n g o f A / G r e a t C a r e e r / R. W . E m e r s o n . " I n t h e back of the 1 8 5 6 edition W h i t m a n reprinted Emers o n ' s l e t t e r in full a n d f o l l o w e d it b y t h i s " L e t t e r t o Ralph Waldo E m e r s o n " dated Brooklyn, August 1 8 5 6 . T h e fuss a b o u t the indelicacy (or o n e might say hilariously s e l f - c o n s c i o u s vulgarity) of Whitman's unauthorized use of E m e r s o n ' s letter has o b s c u r e d the extraordinary virtues of this 1 8 5 6 "reply," which Sculley Bradley and Harold W. Blodgett call a " p r e f a c e " to the 1 8 5 6 edition,

d e s p i t e its p l a c e m e n t at t h e b a c k o f t h e v o l u m e . In The New Walt Wliitman Handbook, G a y Wilson Allen d i s c u s s e s the nature of the twenty new p o e m s W h i t m a n a d d e d a n d his n e w f o c u s o n carrying on a c a m p a i g n against "asceticism and puritanism." Having omitted the 1855 preface, W h i t m a n w a s in t h e p r o c e s s o f t u r n i n g s o m e o f it i n t o p o e m s . H e a d d e d what Allen calls " n e w sex p o e m s " a n d , m o s t notably, " S u n - D o w n P o e m , " later called "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry." 2 . A p r i n t e r ' s t e r m b e f o r e it b e c a m e m e t a p h o r i c a l , to stereotype w a s to m a k e a mold of s t a n d i n g type, w h i c h c o u l d then be r e u s e d , while later printings could be m a d e from the stereotyped plates. T o go to the c o s t of stereotyping w a s e v i d e n c e of optim i s m that future printings would be n e e d e d .

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o c r a t i c , lawless, positive native to T h e S t a t e s , sweet-bodied, c o m p l e t e r , d a u n t l e s s , flowing, m a s t e r f u l , b e a r d - f a c e d , n e w r a c e of m e n . Swiftly, o n limitless f o u n d a t i o n s , the U n i t e d S t a t e s too are f o u n d i n g a literature. It is all a s well d o n e , in my o p i n i o n , a s c o u l d b e p r a c t i c a b l e . E a c h e l e m e n t here is in c o n d i t i o n . Every day I go a m o n g the p e o p l e of M a n h a t t a n I s l a n d , Brooklyn, a n d other cities, a n d a m o n g the y o u n g m e n , to discover the spirit of t h e m , a n d to refresh myself. T h e s e a r e to b e a t t e n d e d t o ; I a m myself m o r e drawn h e r e t h a n to t h o s e a u t h o r s , p u b l i s h e r s , i m p o r t a t i o n s , reprints, a n d s o forth. I p a s s coolly through t h o s e , u n d e r s t a n d i n g t h e m perfectly well, a n d that they do the i n d i s p e n s a b l e service, o u t s i d e of m e n like m e , w h i c h n o t h i n g else c o u l d d o . In p o e m s , the y o u n g m e n of T h e S t a t e s shall be r e p r e s e n t e d , for they out-rival the b e s t of the rest of the e a r t h . T h e lists of r e a d y - m a d e literature which A m e r i c a inherits by the mighty i n h e r i t a n c e of the E n g l i s h l a n g u a g e — a l l the rich repertoire of traditions, p o e m s , histories, m e t a p h y s i c s , plays, c l a s s i c s , t r a n s l a t i o n s , have m a d e , a n d still c o n t i n u e , magnificant p r e p a r a t i o n s for that other plainly significant lite r a t u r e , to b e our own, to be electric, fresh, lusty, to express the full-sized body, m a l e a n d f e m a l e — t o give the m o d e r n m e a n i n g s of things, to grow u p beautiful, lasting, c o m m e n s u r a t e with A m e r i c a , with all the p a s s i o n s of h o m e , with the inimitable s y m p a t h i e s of having b e e n boys a n d girls together, a n d of p a r e n t s w h o were with our p a r e n t s . W h a t else c a n h a p p e n T h e S t a t e s , even in their own d e s p i t e ? T h a t h u g e E n g l i s h flow, s o sweet, s o u n d e n i a b l e , h a s d o n e i n c a l c u l a b l e g o o d h e r e , a n d is to b e s p o k e n of for its own s a k e with g e n e r o u s p r a i s e a n d with g r a t i t u d e . Yet the price T h e S t a t e s have h a d to lie u n d e r for the s a m e has not b e e n a small price. P a y m e n t prevails; a nation c a n never take the i s s u e s of the n e e d s of other n a t i o n s for nothing. A m e r i c a , g r a n d e s t of l a n d s in the theory of its politics, in p o p u l a r reading, in hospitality, b r e a d t h , a n i m a l b e a u t y , cities, s h i p s , m a c h i n e s , m o n e y , credit, c o l l a p s e s q u i c k a s lightning at the r e p e a t e d , a d m o n i s h i n g , stern w o r d s . W h e r e are any m e n t a l e x p r e s s i o n s f r o m you, beyond what you have c o p i e d or stolen? W h e r e the born throngs of p o e t s , literats, o r a t o r s , you p r o m i s e d ? Will you b u t t a g after other n a t i o n s ? T h e y struggled long for their literature, painfully working their way, s o m e with deficient l a n g u a g e s , s o m e with priest-craft, s o m e in the e n d e a v o r j u s t to live—yet a c h i e v e d for their t i m e s , works, p o e m s , p e r h a p s the only solid consolation left to t h e m t h r o u g h a g e s afterward of s h a m e a n d d e c a y . You are young, have the p e r f e c t e s t of d i a l e c t s , a free p r e s s , a free g o v e r n m e n t , the world forwarding its b e s t to be with y o u . As j u s t i c e h a s b e e n strictly d o n e to you, from this hour do strict j u s t i c e to yourself. S t r a n g l e the s i n g e r s w h o will not sing you loud a n d strong. O p e n the d o o r s of T h e W e s t . C a l l for new great m a s t e r s to c o m p r e h e n d n e w arts, n e w p e r f e c t i o n s , new w a n t s . S u b m i t to the m o s t r o b u s t b a r d till he r e m e d y your b a r r e n n e s s . T h e n you will not n e e d to a d o p t the heirs of o t h e r s ; you will have true heirs, b e g o t t e n of yourself, b l o o d e d with your own blood. With c o m p o s u r e I s e e s u c h p r o p o s i t i o n s , s e e i n g m o r e a n d m o r e every day of the a n s w e r s that serve. E x p r e s s i o n s do not yet serve, for sufficient r e a s o n s ; but that is getting ready, beyond what the earth h a s hitherto k n o w n , to take h o m e the e x p r e s s i o n s w h e n they c o m e , a n d to identify t h e m with the p o p -

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u l a c e of T h e S t a t e s , which is the s c h o o l i n g cheaply p r o c u r e d by any outlay any n u m b e r of years. S u c h s c h o o l i n g T h e S t a t e s extract from the s w a r m s of reprints, a n d from the c u r r e n t a u t h o r s a n d editors. S u c h service a n d extract are d o n e after e n o r m o u s , r e c k l e s s , free m o d e s , c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of T h e S t a t e s . H e r e are to b e a t t a i n e d results never e l s e w h e r e thought p o s s i b l e ; the m o d e s are very g r a n d t o o . T h e instincts of the A m e r i c a n p e o p l e are all perfect, a n d tend to m a k e h e r o e s . It is a rare thing in a m a n here to u n d e r s t a n d T h e States. All c u r r e n t n o u r i s h m e n t s to literature serve. O f a u t h o r s a n d editors I do not know how m a n y there a r e in T h e S t a t e s , but there a r e t h o u s a n d s , e a c h o n e building his or her step to the stairs by which g i a n t s shall m o u n t . O f the twenty-four m o d e r n m a m m o t h t w o - d o u b l e , t h r e e - d o u b l e , a n d four-double cylinder p r e s s e s now in the world, printing by s t e a m , twenty-one of t h e m are in T h e s e S t a t e s . T h e twelve t h o u s a n d large a n d small s h o p s for d i s p e n s i n g b o o k s a n d n e w s p a p e r s — t h e s a m e n u m b e r of public libraries, any o n e of which has all the r e a d i n g w a n t e d to e q u i p a m a n or w o m a n for A m e r i c a n r e a d i n g — t h e three t h o u s a n d different newsp a p e r s , the n u t r i m e n t of the imperfect o n e s c o m i n g in j u s t a s usefully a s a n y — t h e story p a p e r s , v a r i o u s , full of strong-flavored r o m a n c e s , widely c i r c u l a t e d — t h e o n e c e n t a n d two-cent j o u r n a l s — t h e political o n e s , n o matter what s i d e — t h e weeklies in the c o u n t r y — t h e s p o r t i n g a n d pictorial p a p e r s — t h e monthly m a g a z i n e s , with plentiful i m p o r t e d f e e d — t h e sentim e n t a l novels, n u m b e r l e s s c o p i e s of t h e m — t h e low-priced flaring tales, a d v e n t u r e s , b i o g r a p h i e s — a l l are p r o p h e t i c ; all waft rapidly o n . I s e e that they swell wide, for r e a s o n s . I a m not troubled at the m o v e m e n t of t h e m , but greatly p l e a s e d . I s e e plying s h u t t l e s , the active e p h e m e r a l myriads of books a l s o , faithfully weaving the g a r m e n t s of a g e n e r a t i o n of m e n , a n d a g e n e r a t i o n of w o m e n , they d o not perceive or know. W h a t a p r o g r e s s p o p u l a r r e a d i n g a n d writing has m a d e in fifty years! W h a t a p r o g r e s s fifty years h e n c e ! T h e time is at h a n d w h e n inherent literature will b e a m a i n part of T h e s e S t a t e s , as general a n d real a s s t e a m - p o w e r , iron, c o r n , beef, fish. First-rate A m e r i c a n p e r s o n s are to b e s u p p l i e d . O u r p e r e n n i a l m a t e rials for fresh t h o u g h t s , histories, p o e m s , m u s i c , o r a t i o n s , religions, recitations, a m u s e m e n t s , will then not be d i s r e g a r d e d , any m o r e t h a n o u r perennial fields, m i n e s , rivers, s e a s . C e r t a i n things are e s t a b l i s h e d , a n d are i m m o v a b l e ; in t h o s e things millions of years s t a n d justified. T h e m o t h e r s a n d fathers of w h o m m o d e r n c e n t u r i e s have c o m e , have not existed for nothing; they too h a d b r a i n s a n d hearts. O f c o u r s e all literature, in all n a t i o n s a n d years, will s h a r e m a r k e d attributes in c o m m o n , a s we all, of all a g e s , s h a r e the c o m m o n h u m a n a t t r i b u t e s . A m e r i c a is to b e kept c o a r s e a n d b r o a d . W h a t is to be d o n e is to withdraw from p r e c e d e n t s , a n d be directed to m e n a n d w o m e n — a l s o to T h e S t a t e s in their f e d e r a l n e s s ; for the union of the p a r t s of the body is not m o r e n e c e s s a r y to their life than the union of T h e s e S t a t e s is to their life. A p r o f o u n d p e r s o n c a n easily know m o r e of the p e o p l e than they know of t h e m s e l v e s . Always waiting u n t o l d in the s o u l s of the a r m i e s of c o m m o n p e o p l e , is stuff better than anything that c a n possibly a p p e a r in the leadership of the s a m e . T h a t gives final verdicts. In every d e p a r t m e n t of T h e s e S t a t e s , he w h o travels with a coterie, or with s e l e c t e d p e r s o n s , or with imi-

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tators, or with infidels, or with the o w n e r s of slaves, or with that which is a s h a m e d of the body of a m a n , or with that which is a s h a m e d of the body of a w o m a n , or with any thing less than the bravest a n d the o p e n e s t , travels straight for the s l o p e s of d i s s o l u t i o n . T h e g e n i u s of all foreign literature is clipped a n d cut s m a l l , c o m p a r e d to our g e n i u s , a n d is essentially insulting to our u s a g e s , a n d to the organic c o m p a c t s of T h e s e S t a t e s . O l d f o r m s , old p o e m s , m a j e s t i c a n d p r o p e r in their own l a n d s here in this land are exiles; the air here is very strong. M u c h that s t a n d s well a n d h a s a little e n o u g h p l a c e provided for it in the small s c a l e s of E u r o p e a n k i n g d o m s , e m p i r e s , a n d the like, h e r e s t a n d s h a g g a r d , dwarfed, l u d i c r o u s , or h a s no p l a c e little e n o u g h provided for it. Authorities, p o e m s , m o d e l s , laws, n a m e s , i m p o r t e d into A m e r i c a , a r e useful to A m e r i c a today to destroy t h e m , a n d s o m o v e d i s e n c u m b e r e d to great works, great days. J u s t s o long, in our country or any country, a s no revolutionists a d v a n c e , a n d are b a c k e d by the p e o p l e , s w e e p i n g off the s w a r m s of routine representatives, officers in power, b o o k - m a k e r s , t e a c h e r s , e c c l e s i a s t i c s ; politicians, j u s t so long, I p e r c e i v e , do they w h o are in power fairly r e p r e s e n t that c o u n try, a n d remain of u s e , probably of very great u s e . T o s u p e r s e d e t h e m , w h e n it is the p l e a s u r e of T h e s e S t a t e s , full provision is m a d e ; a n d I say the time h a s arrived to u s e it with a strong h a n d . H e r e also the s o u l s of the a r m i e s have not only overtaken the s o u l s of the officers, but p a s s e d o n , a n d left the s o u l s of the officers b e h i n d out of sight m a n y w e e k s ' j o u r n e y ; a n d the s o u l s of the a r m i e s now go e n - m a s s e without officers. H e r e a l s o f o r m u l a s , g l o s s e s , b l a n k s , minutiae, are c h o k i n g the throats of the s p o k e s m e n to d e a t h . T h o s e things m o s t listened for, certainly t h o s e are the things least said. T h e r e is not a single History of the W o r l d . T h e r e is not o n e of A m e r i c a , or of the organic c o m p a c t s of T h e s e S t a t e s , or of W a s h i n g t o n , or of J e f f e r s o n , nor of L a n g u a g e , nor any Dictionary of the E n g l i s h L a n g u a g e . T h e r e is no great a u t h o r ; every o n e has d e m e a n e d h i m s e l f to s o m e e t i q u e t t e or s o m e impot e n c e . T h e r e is n o m a n h o o d or life-power in p o e m s ; there are s h o a t s a n d geldings m o r e like. O r literature will be d r e s s e d u p , a fine g e n t l e m a n , distasteful to o u r instincts, foreign to our soil. Its neck b e n d s right a n d left wherever it g o e s . Its c o s t u m e s a n d jewelry prove how little it knows N a t u r e . Its flesh is soft; it s h o w s less a n d less of the indefinable hard s o m e t h i n g that is N a t u r e . W h e r e is any thing b u t the s h a v e d N a t u r e of s y n o d s a n d s c h o o l s ? W h e r e is a s a v a g e a n d luxuriant m a n ? W h e r e is a n overseer? In lives, in p o e m s , in c o d e s of law, in C o n g r e s s , in tuitions, t h e a t r e s , c o n v e r s a t i o n s , a r g u m e n t a t i o n s , not a single h e a d lifts itself c l e a n out, with p r o o f that it is their m a s t e r , a n d has s u b o r d i n a t e d t h e m to itself, a n d is ready to try their s u p e r i o r s . N o n e believes in T h e s e S t a t e s , boldly illustrating t h e m in himself. N o t a m a n f a c e s r o u n d at the rest with terrible negative voice, refusing all t e r m s to be b o u g h t off from his own eye-sight, or from the soul that he is, or from friendship, or from the body that h e is, or from the soil a n d s e a . T o c r e e d s , literature, art, the army, the navy, the executive, life is hardly prop o s e d , but the sick a n d dying are p r o p o s e d to c u r e the sick a n d dying. T h e c h u r c h e s are o n e vast lie; the p e o p l e do not believe t h e m , a n d they d o not believe t h e m s e l v e s ; the priests are continually telling what they know well e n o u g h is not s o , a n d k e e p i n g b a c k what they know is s o . T h e s p e c t a c l e is a pitiful o n e . I think there c a n never b e again u p o n the festive e a r t h m o r e b a d d i s o r d e r e d p e r s o n s deliberately taking s e a t s , as of late in T h e s e S t a t e s , at the

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h e a d s of the public t a b l e s — s u c h c o r p s e s ' eyes f o r j u d g e s — s u c h a rascal a n d thief in the P r e s i d e n c y . 3 U p to the p r e s e n t , a s helps b e s t , the p e o p l e , like a lot of large boys, have no d e t e r m i n e d t a s t e s , are q u i t e u n a w a r e of the g r a n d e u r of t h e m s e l v e s , a n d of their destiny, a n d of their i m m e n s e s t r i d e s — a c c e p t with voracity whatever is p r e s e n t e d t h e m in novels, histories, n e w s p a p e r s , p o e m s , s c h o o l s , l e c t u r e s , every thing. Pretty s o o n , through these a n d other m e a n s , their d e v e l o p m e n t m a k e s the fibre that is c a p a b l e of itself, a n d will a s s u m e d e t e r m i n e d t a s t e s . T h e y o u n g m e n will be clear what they want, a n d will have it. T h e y will follow n o n e except him w h o s e spirit leads t h e m in the like spirit with t h e m selves. Any s u c h m a n will be w e l c o m e a s the flowers of M a y . O t h e r s will be put out without c e r e m o n y . H o w m u c h is there anyhow, to the y o u n g m e n of T h e s e S t a t e s , in a parcel of helpless d a n d i e s , w h o c a n neither fight, work, shoot, ride, run, c o m m a n d — s o m e of them devout, s o m e quite i n s a n e , s o m e c a s t r a t e d — a l l s e c o n d - h a n d , or third, fourth, or fifth h a n d — w a i t e d u p o n by waiters, p u t t i n g not this land first, but always other lands first, talking of art, doing the m o s t ridiculous things for fear of b e i n g called r i d i c u l o u s , smirking a n d skipping along, continually taking off their h a t s — n o o n e b e h a v i n g , d r e s s i n g , writing, talking, loving, out of any natural a n d manly t a s t e s of his own, but e a c h o n e looking cautiously to s e e how the rest b e h a v e , d r e s s , write, talk, l o v e — p r e s s i n g the n o s e s of d e a d books u p o n t h e m s e l v e s a n d u p o n their c o u n t r y — f a v o r i n g no p o e t s , p h i l o s o p h s , literats h e r e , but dog-like d a n g l e r s at the heels of the p o e t s , p h i l o s o p h s , literats of e n e m i e s ' l a n d s — f a v o r i n g m e n t a l e x p r e s s i o n s , m o d e l s of g e n t l e m e n a n d ladies, social h a b i t u d e s in T h e s e S t a t e s , to grow up in s n e a k i n g defiance of the p o p u l a r s u b s t r a t u m s of T h e S t a t e s ? O f c o u r s e they a n d the likes of them c a n never justify the s t r o n g p o e m s of A m e r i c a . O f c o u r s e n o feed of theirs is to s t o p a n d be m a d e welc o m e to m u s c l e the b o d i e s , m a l e a n d f e m a l e , for M a n h a t t a n I s l a n d , Brooklyn, B o s t o n , W o r c e s t e r , Hartford, Portland, M o n t r e a l , Detroit, B u f f a l o , C l e a v e l a n d , M i l w a u k e e , S t . L o u i s , I n d i a n a p o l i s , C h i c a g o , C i n c i n n a t i , Iowa City, Philadelphia, B a l t i m o r e , Raleigh, S a v a n n a h , C h a r l e s t o n , M o b i l e , N e w O r l e a n s , G a l v e s t o n , Brownsville, S a n F r a n c i s c o , H a v a n a , a n d a t h o u s a n d equal cities, p r e s e n t a n d to c o m e . O f c o u r s e what they a n d the likes of t h e m have b e e n u s e d for, draws toward its c l o s e , after which they will all be disc h a r g e d , a n d not o n e of t h e m will ever be h e a r d of any m o r e . A m e r i c a , having duly c o n c e i v e d , bears out of herself offspring of her own to do the w o r k m a n s h i p w a n t e d . T o f r e e d o m , to s t r e n g t h , to p o e m s , to personal g r e a t n e s s , it is never p e r m i t t e d to rest, not a g e n e r a t i o n or part of a g e n e r a t i o n . T o b e ripe beyond further i n c r e a s e is to p r e p a r e to d i e . T h e architects of T h e s e S t a t e s laid their f o u n d a t i o n s , a n d p a s s e d to further s p h e r e s . W h a t they laid is a work d o n e ; a s m u c h m o r e r e m a i n s . N o w are n e e d e d other a r c h i t e c t s , w h o s e duty is not less difficult, but p e r h a p s m o r e difficult. E a c h a g e forever n e e d s a r c h i t e c t s . A m e r i c a is not finished, p e r h a p s never will b e ; now A m e r i c a is a divine true s k e t c h . T h e r e are Thirty-Two S t a t e s s k e t c h e d — t h e p o p u l a t i o n thirty millions. In a few years there will be Fifty S t a t e s . Again in a few years there will be A H u n d r e d S t a t e s , the p o p ulation h u n d r e d s of millions, the freshest a n d freest of m e n . O f c o u r s e s u c h m e n s t a n d to nothing less than the freshest a n d freest e x p r e s s i o n . 3, T h e p r o s l a v e r y s y m p a t h i z e r F r a n k l i n P i e r c e ( p r e s i d e n t

1853—57).

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P o e t s h e r e , literats h e r e , are to rest on o r g a n i c different b a s e s from other c o u n t r i e s ; not a c l a s s set a p a r t , circling only in the circle of t h e m s e l v e s , m o d e s t a n d pretty, d e s p e r a t e l y s c r a t c h i n g for r h y m e s , pallid with white p a p e r , s h u t off, a w a r e of the old p i c t u r e s a n d traditions of the r a c e , but u n a w a r e of the a c t u a l r a c e a r o u n d t h e m — n o t b r e e d i n g in a n d in a m o n g e a c h other till they all have the scrofula. L a n d s of e n s e m b l e , b a r d s of e n s e m ble! W a l k i n g freely o u t from the old traditions, a s our politics h a s walked out, A m e r i c a n p o e t s a n d literats recognize n o t h i n g b e h i n d t h e m s u p e r i o r to what is p r e s e n t with t h e m — r e c o g n i z e with j o y the sturdy living f o r m s of m e n a n d w o m e n of T h e s e S t a t e s , the divinity of sex, the perfect eligibility of the f e m a l e with the m a l e , all T h e S t a t e s , liberty a n d equality, real articles, the different t r a d e s , m e c h a n i c s , the y o u n g fellows of M a n h a t t a n Island, c u s t o m s , instincts, s l a n g , W i s c o n s i n , G e o r g i a , the noble S o u t h e r n heart, the hot b l o o d , the spirit that will be n o t h i n g less t h a n m a s t e r , the filibuster spirit, the W e s t e r n m a n , native-born p e r c e p t i o n s , the eye for f o r m s , the perfect m o d e l s of m a d e things, the wild s m a c k of f r e e d o m , C a l i f o r n i a , money, electric-telegraphs, free-trade, iron a n d the iron m i n e s — r e c o g n i z e without d e m u r t h o s e splendid resistless b l a c k p o e m s , the s t e a m - s h i p s of the seab o a r d s t a t e s , a n d t h o s e other resistless s p l e n d i d p o e m s , the l o c o m o t i v e s , followed t h r o u g h the interior states by trains of rail-road c a r s . A word r e m a i n s to b e said, a s of o n e ever p r e s e n t , not yet p e r m i t t e d to b e a c k n o w l e d g e d , d i s c a r d e d or m a d e d u m b by literature, a n d the results apparent. T o the lack of a n avowed, e m p o w e r e d , u n a b a s h e d d e v e l o p m e n t of sex, (the only salvation for the s a m e , ) a n d to the fact of s p e a k e r s a n d writers fraudulently a s s u m i n g a s always d e a d what every o n e knows to b e always alive, is a t t r i b u t a b l e the r e m a r k a b l e non-personality a n d i n d i s t i n c t n e s s of m o d e r n p r o d u c t i o n s in b o o k s , art, talk; a l s o that in the s c a n n e d lives of m e n a n d w o m e n m o s t of t h e m a p p e a r to have b e e n for s o m e time p a s t of the n e u t e r g e n d e r ; a n d a l s o the stinging fact that in orthodox society today, if the d r e s s e s were c h a n g e d , the m e n might easily p a s s for w o m e n a n d the w o m e n for m e n . Infidelism u s u r p s m o s t with foetid polite f a c e ; a m o n g the rest infidelism a b o u t sex. By s i l e n c e or o b e d i e n c e the p e n s of s a v a n s , p o e t s , h i s t o r i a n s , b i o g r a p h e r s , a n d the rest, have long c o n n i v e d at the filthy law, a n d b o o k s enslaved to it, that what m a k e s the m a n h o o d of a m a n , that sex, w o m a n h o o d , maternity, d e s i r e s , lusty a n i m a t i o n s , o r g a n s , a c t s , a r e u n m e n t i o n a b l e a n d to be a s h a m e d of, to b e driven to skulk o u t of literature with whatever b e l o n g s to t h e m . T h i s filthy law h a s to b e r e p e a l e d — i t s t a n d s in the way of great r e f o r m s . O f w o m e n j u s t a s m u c h a s m e n , it is the interest that there s h o u l d not b e infidelism a b o u t sex, but perfect faith. W o m e n in T h e s e S t a t e s a p p r o a c h the day of that organic equality with m e n , without w h i c h , I s e e , m e n c a n n o t have organic equality a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s . T h i s e m p t y d i s h , gallantry, will then be filled with s o m e t h i n g . T h i s tepid w a s h , this diluted deferential love, as in s o n g s , fictions, a n d s o forth, is e n o u g h to m a k e a m a n vomit; a s to m a n l y friendship, everywhere o b s e r v e d in T h e S t a t e s , there is not the first b r e a t h of it to b e o b s e r v e d in print. I say that the b o d y of a m a n or w o m a n , the m a i n matter, is so far q u i t e u n e x p r e s s e d in p o e m s ; but that the body is to b e e x p r e s s e d , a n d sex is. O f b a r d s for T h e s e S t a t e s , if it c o m e to a q u e s t i o n , it is whether they shall c e l e b r a t e in p o e m s the e t e r n a l d e c e n c y of the a m a t i v e n e s s of N a t u r e , the m o t h e r h o o d of all, or w h e t h e r they shall b e the b a r d s of the f a s h i o n a b l e d e l u s i o n of the inherent n a s t i n e s s of sex, a n d

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of the feeble a n d q u e r u l o u s m o d e s t y of deprivation. T h i s is i m p o r t a n t in p o e m s , b e c a u s e the whole of the other e x p r e s s i o n s of a nation are b u t flanges out of its great p o e m s . T o m e , h e n c e f o r t h , that theory of any thing, no m a t t e r what, s t a g n a t e s in its vitals, cowardly a n d rotten, while it c a n n o t publicly a c c e p t , a n d publicly n a m e , with specific w o r d s , the things on which all exist e n c e , all s o u l s , all realization, all d e c e n c y , all h e a l t h , all that is worth b e i n g here for, all of w o m a n a n d of m a n , all beauty, all purity, all s w e e t n e s s , all friendship, all strength, all life, all immortality d e p e n d . T h e c o u r a g e o u s s o u l , for a year or two to c o m e , m a y b e proved by faith in sex, a n d by d i s d a i n i n g concessions. T o p o e t s a n d literats—to every w o m a n a n d m a n , today or any day, the c o n d i t i o n s of the p r e s e n t , n e e d s , d a n g e r s , p r e j u d i c e s , a n d the like, a r e the perfect c o n d i t i o n s on which we are h e r e , a n d the c o n d i t i o n s for wording the future with u n d i s s u a d a b l e words. T h e s e S t a t e s , receivers of the s t a m i n a of p a s t a g e s a n d l a n d s , initiate the outlines of r e p a y m e n t a t h o u s a n d fold. T h e y fetch the A m e r i c a n great m a s t e r s , waited for by old w o r d s a n d new, who a c c e p t evil a s well as g o o d , i g n o r a n c e a s well a s erudition, black a s s o o n a s white, foreign-born materials a s well a s h o m e - b o r n , reject n o n e , force d i s c r e p a n c i e s into r a n g e , s u r r o u n d the w h o l e , c o n c e n t r a t e t h e m on p r e s e n t periods a n d p l a c e s , s h o w the a p p l i c a t i o n to e a c h a n d any one's body a n d soul, a n d s h o w the true u s e of p r e c e d e n t s . Always A m e r i c a will be agitated a n d turbulent. T h i s day it is taking s h a p e , not to b e less s o , b u t to b e m o r e so, stormily, capriciously, on native principles, with s u c h vast p r o p o r t i o n s of parts! As for m e , I love s c r e a m i n g , wrestling, boiling-hot days. O f c o u r s e , we shall have a national c h a r a c t e r , an identity. As it o u g h t to b e , a n d a s s o o n a s it o u g h t to b e , it will b e . T h a t , with m u c h e l s e , takes c a r e of itself, is a result, a n d the c a u s e of greater results. With O h i o , Illinois, M i s s o u r i , O r e g o n — w i t h the states a r o u n d the M e x i c a n s e a — w i t h cheerfully w e l c o m e d i m m i g r a n t s from E u r o p e , Asia, Africa—with C o n n e c t i c u t , Verm o n t , N e w H a m p s h i r e , R h o d e I s l a n d — w i t h all varied i n t e r e s t s , f a c t s , beliefs, p a r t i e s , g e n e s i s — t h e r e is b e i n g f u s e d a d e t e r m i n e d c h a r a c t e r , fit for the b r o a d e s t u s e for the f r e e w o m e n a n d f r e e m e n of T h e S t a t e s , a c c o m p l i s h e d a n d to be a c c o m p l i s h e d , without any exception w h a t e v e r — e a c h i n d e e d free, e a c h i d i o m a t i c , a s b e c o m e s live s t a t e s a n d m e n , but e a c h a d h e r i n g to o n e e n c l o s i n g general form of politics, m a n n e r s , talk, p e r s o n a l style, a s the plenteous varieties of the r a c e a d h e r e to o n e physical form. S u c h c h a r a c t e r is the brain a n d s p i n e to all, i n c l u d i n g literature, i n c l u d i n g p o e m s . S u c h c h a r a c t e r , strong, limber, j u s t , o p e n - m o u t h e d , A m e r i c a n - b l o o d e d , full of pride, full of e a s e , of p a s s i o n a t e friendliness, is to s t a n d c o m p a c t u p o n that vast b a s i s of the s u p r e m a c y of Individuality—that new moral A m e r i c a n c o n t i n e n t without w h i c h , I s e e , the physical c o n t i n e n t r e m a i n e d i n c o m p l e t e , m a y - b e a c a r c a s s , a b l o a t — t h a t newer A m e r i c a , a n s w e r i n g f a c e to f a c e with T h e S t a t e s , with ever-satisfying a n d ever-unsurveyable s e a s a n d s h o r e s . T h o s e s h o r e s you f o u n d . I say you have led T h e S t a t e s t h e r e — h a v e led M e there. I say that n o n e h a s ever d o n e , or ever c a n d o , a g r e a t e r d e e d for T h e S t a t e s , than your d e e d . O t h e r s may line out the lines, build cities, work m i n e s , b r e a k u p f a r m s ; it is yours to have b e e n the original true C a p t a i n w h o put to s e a , intuitive, positive, rendering the first report, to be told less by any report, a n d m o r e by the m a r i n e r s of a t h o u s a n d b a y s , in e a c h tack of their arriving a n d departing, m a n y years after y o u . R e c e i v e , dear M a s t e r , t h e s e s t a t e m e n t s a n d a s s u r a n c e s t h r o u g h m e , for

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all the y o u n g m e n , a n d for an e a r n e s t that we know n o n e before you, but the best following you; a n d that we d e m a n d to take your n a m e into our keeping, a n d that we u n d e r s t a n d what you have i n d i c a t e d , a n d find the s a m e indicated in o u r s e l v e s , a n d that we will stick to it a n d e n l a r g e u p o n it through These States. W A L T WHITMAN.

1856

Live Oak, with Moss 1 ^N o t the heat f l a m e s up a n d c o n s u m e s , N o t the sea-waves hurry in a n d out, N o t the air, delicious a n d dry, the air of the ripe s u m m e r , b e a r s lightly a l o n g white down-balls of myriads of s e e d s , wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may, N o t t h e s e — O n o n e of t h e s e , m o r e t h a n the f l a m e s of m e , c o n s u m i n g , burning for his love w h o m I l o v e — O n o n e , m o r e than I, hurrying in a n d out; D o e s the tide hurry, s e e k i n g s o m e t h i n g , a n d never give u p ? — O I, the s a m e , to s e e k my life-long lover; 5 0 nor down-balls, nor p e r f u m e s , nor the high rain-emitting c l o u d s , are b o r n e through the o p e n air, m o r e than my c o p i o u s soul is b o r n e t h r o u g h the o p e n air, wafted in all d i r e c t i o n s , for f r i e n d s h i p , for l o v e . —

1 saw in L o u i s i a n a a live-oak growing, All a l o n e s t o o d it, a n d the m o s s h u n g d o w n from the b r a n c h e s , Without any c o m p a n i o n it grew there, glistening out j o y o u s leaves of dark green, And its look, r u d e , u n b e n d i n g , lusty, m a d e m e think of myself; IO B u t I w o n d e r e d how it c o u l d utter j o y o u s leaves, s t a n d i n g a l o n e there without its friend, its l o v e r — F o r I k n e w I c o u l d not; And I p l u c k e d a twig with a certain n u m b e r of leaves u p o n it, a n d twined a r o u n d it a little m o s s , a n d b r o u g h t it a w a y — A n d I have p l a c e d it in sight in my r o o m , It is not n e e d e d to remind m e a s of my friends, (for I believe lately I think of little else than of t h e m , ) Yet it r e m a i n s to m e a c u r i o u s t o k e n — I write t h e s e p i e c e s , a n d n a m e t h e m after it, 2 For all that, a n d t h o u g h the live oak glistens there in L o u i s i a n a , solitary in I. T h e Live Oak, with Moss s e q u e n c e , c o m p o s e d in t h e l a t e 1 8 5 0 s , is W h i t m a n ' s m o s t d i r e c t a n d coherent homosexual narrative—too direct to be p u b l i s h e d in its o w n d a y a s it w a s w r i t t e n . W h i t m a n i n c l u d e d all t w e l v e o f t h e Live Oak p o e m s i n t h e f o r t y - f i v e p o e m Calamus section of the 1 8 6 0 e d i t i o n o f Leaves of Grass. B u t t h e r e , a l t h o u g h t h e y were only slightlv reworded, they were s o drastically r e o r d e r e d that the narrative of love, loss, a n d recovery was obliterated. Fredson Bowers first p r i n t e d t h e o r i g i n a l s e q u e n c e in Studies in Bibliography ( 1 9 5 3 ) f r o m t h e m a n u s c r i p t in t h e V a l entine Collection from the Library of Clifton

W a l l e r B a r r e t t a t t h e U n i v e r s i t y o f V i r g i n i a ; i t s first t e x t b o o k a p p e a r a n c e w a s the 4 t h E d i t i o n ( 1 9 9 4 ) of this a n t h o l o g y . 2. S t e v e n O l s e n - S m i t h h a s s h o w n that later o n , at a w o r k s t a g e b e t w e e n t h e c o m p l e t i o n o f Live Oak, with Moss a n d t h e c o m p l e t i o n o f t h e 1 8 6 0 Calamus sequence. Whitman retitled the Live Oak s e q u e n c e Calamus-Leaves: having done so, he c o u l d not leave this half of the line a s s e r t i n g that t h e s e q u e n c e w a s n a m e d for t h e live o a k t r e e , s o h e m a r k e d o u t "I w r i t e t h e s e p i e c e s , a n d n a m e t h e m a f t e r i t ; " a n d s u b t i t l e d "it m a k e s m e t h i n k o f m a n l y l o v e , " (a c o m m a at line e n d ) .

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a wide flat s p a c e , uttering j o y o u s leaves all its life, without a friend, a lover, n e a r — I know very well I could not. 15

III. W h e n I h e a r d at the c l o s e of the day how I h a d b e e n p r a i s e d in the C a p i t o l , still it w a s not a h a p p y night for m e that followed; N o r w h e n I c a r o u s e d — N o r when my favorite p l a n s were a c c o m p l i s h e d — w a s I really happy, B u t that day I rose at d a w n from the b e d of perfect health, electric, inhaling sweet b r e a t h , W h e n I saw the full m o o n in the west grow p a l e a n d d i s a p p e a r in the m o r n i n g light, W h e n I w a n d e r e d a l o n e over the b e a c h , a n d u n d r e s s i n g , b a t h e d , l a u g h i n g with the w a t e r s , a n d s a w the sun rise, 20 A n d w h e n I thought how my friend, my lover, w a s c o m i n g , then O I w a s happy; E a c h breath tasted s w e e t e r — a n d all that day my food n o u r i s h e d m e m o r e — A n d the beautiful day p a s s e d well, And the next c a m e with equal j o y — A n d with the next, at evening, c a m e my friend, And that night, while all w a s still, I heard the waters roll slowly continually up the s h o r e s I heard the h i s s i n g rustle of the liquid a n d s a n d s , a s directed to m e , whispering to c o n g r a t u l a t e m e , — F o r the friend I love lay s l e e p i n g by my side, 25 In the stillness his f a c e w a s inclined towards m e , while the m o o n ' s c l e a r beams shone, A n d his a r m lay lightly over my b r e a s t — A n d that night I was happy.

IV. T h i s m o m e n t as I sit a l o n e , yearning a n d p e n s i v e , it s e e m s to m e there are other m e n , in other l a n d s , yearning a n d p e n s i v e . It s e e m s to m e I c a n look over a n d b e h o l d t h e m , in G e r m a n y , F r a n c e , S p a i n — O r far away in C h i n a , India, or R u s s i a — t a l k i n g other d i a l e c t s , And it s e e m s to m e if I c o u l d know t h o s e m e n I s h o u l d love t h e m a s I love m e n in my own l a n d s , 30 It s e e m s to m e they are a s w i s e , beautiful, b e n e v o l e n t , a s any in my own lands; O I think we s h o u l d be b r e t h r e n — I think I s h o u l d be happy with t h e m .

V. L o n g I thought that k n o w l e d g e a l o n e would suffice m e — O if I c o u l d but obtain knowledge! T h e n the L a n d of the Prairies e n g r o s s e d m e — t h e s o u t h s a v a n n a s e n g r o s s e d m e — F o r t h e m I would live—I would be their orator; T h e n I met the e x a m p l e s of old a n d new h e r o e s — I h e a r d of warriors, sailors, a n d all d a u n t l e s s p e r s o n s — A n d it s e e m e d to m e I too h a d it in m e to be a s d a u n t l e s s a s any, a n d would be s o ; 35

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A n d then to finish all, it c a m e to m e to strike u p the s o n g s of the N e w W o r l d — A n d then I believed my life m u s t b e spent in singing; B u t n o w take n o t i c e , L a n d of the prairies, L a n d of the s o u t h s a v a n n a s , Ohio's land, T a k e n o t i c e , you K a n u c k w o o d s — a n d you, L a k e H u r o n — a n d all that with you roll toward N i a g a r a — a n d you N i a g a r a a l s o , A n d you, C a l i f o r n i a n m o u n t a i n s — t h a t you all find s o m e o n e else that h e b e your singer of s o n g s , F o r I c a n b e your singer of s o n g s no l o n g e r — I have c e a s e d to enjoy them. 40 I have f o u n d him w h o loves m e , a s I him, in perfect love, With the rest I d i s p e n s e — I sever from all that I t h o u g h t w o u l d suffice m e , for it d o e s n o t — i t is now e m p t y a n d t a s t e l e s s to m e , I heed k n o w l e d g e , a n d the g r a n d e u r of T h e S t a t e s , a n d the e x a m p l e s of heroes, no more, I a m indifferent to my own s o n g s — I a m to go with him I love, a n d h e is to go with m e , It is to b e e n o u g h for e a c h of u s that we are t o g e t h e r — W e never s e p a r a t e again.— 45 V/. W h a t think you I have taken my p e n to r e c o r d ? N o t the battle-ship, perfect-model'd, m a j e s t i c , that I saw to day arrive in the offing, u n d e r full sail, N o r the s p l e n d o r s of the p a s t d a y — n o r the s p l e n d o r s of the night that envelopes m e — N o r the glory a n d growth of the great city s p r e a d a r o u n d m e , B u t the two m e n I saw to-day o n the pier, parting the p a r t i n g of d e a r friends. T h e o n e to r e m a i n h u n g on the other's n e c k a n d p a s s i o n a t e l y kissed h i m — while the o n e to d e p a r t tightly p r e s t the o n e to r e m a i n in his a r m s . 5 0 VII. You b a r d s of a g e s h e n c e ! w h e n you refer to m e , m i n d not so m u c h my p o e m s , N o r s p e a k of m e that I p r o p h e s i e d of T h e S t a t e s a n d led t h e m the way of their glories, B u t c o m e , I will inform you w h o I w a s u n d e r n e a t h that i m p a s s i v e exterior—I will tell you w h a t to say of m e , P u b l i s h my n a m e a n d h a n g u p my p i c t u r e a s that of the t e n d e r e s t lover, T h e friend, the lover's portrait, of w h o m his friend, his lover, w a s fondest, 55 W h o w a s not p r o u d of his s o n g s , but of the m e a s u r e l e s s o c e a n of love within h i m — a n d freely p o u r e d it forth, W h o often walked l o n e s o m e walks thinking of his d e a r e s t friends, his lovers, W h o p e n s i v e , away from o n e h e loved, often lay s l e e p l e s s a n d dissatisfied at night, W h o , d r e a d i n g lest the o n e he loved might after all b e indifferent to h i m , felt the sick f e e l i n g — O sick! sick! W h o s e h a p p i e s t days were t h o s e , far away t h r o u g h fields, in w o o d s , on hills, h e a n d a n o t h e r , w a n d e r i n g h a n d in h a n d , they twain, a p a r t from other men. 60 W h o ever, a s he s a u n t e r e d the s t r e e t s , curved with his a r m the manly shoul-

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der of his friend—while the curving a r m of his friend rested u p o n him also. VIU. H o u r s c o n t i n u i n g long, sore a n d heavy-hearted, H o u r s of the d u s k , w h e n I withdraw to a l o n e s o m e a n d u n f r e q u e n t e d spot, s e a t i n g myself, l e a n i n g my f a c e in my h a n d s , H o u r s s l e e p l e s s , d e e p in the night, w h e n I go forth, s p e e d i n g swiftly the country r o a d s , or through the city streets, or p a c i n g miles a n d m i l e s , stifling plaintive cries, H o u r s d i s c o u r a g e d , d i s t r a c t e d , — F o r h e , the o n e I c a n n o t c o n t e n t myself w i t h o u t — s o o n I saw him c o n t e n t h i m s e l f without m e , 65 H o u r s w h e n I a m f o r g o t t e n — ( O w e e k s a n d m o n t h s are p a s s i n g , b u t I believe I a m never to forget!) S u l l e n a n d suffering h o u r s — ( I a m a s h a m e d — b u t it is u s e l e s s — I a m w h a t I am;) H o u r s of t o r m e n t — I w o n d e r if other m e n ever have the like, o u t of the like feelings? Is there even o n e other like m e — d i s t r a c t e d — h i s friend, his lover, lost to him? Is he too a s I a m now? D o e s he still rise in the m o r n i n g , d e j e c t e d , thinking w h o is lost to him? 70 And at night, a w a k i n g , think w h o is lost? D o e s he too harbor his friendship silent a n d e n d l e s s ? H a r b o r his a n g u i s h and passion? D o e s s o m e stray r e m i n d e r , or the c a s u a l m e n t i o n of a n a m e , b r i n g the fit b a c k u p o n him, taciturn a n d d e p r e s t ? D o e s he s e e h i m s e l f reflected in m e ? In t h e s e h o u r s d o e s h e s e e the f a c e of his h o u r s reflected? /X. I d r e a m e d in a d r e a m of a city w h e r e all the m e n were like b r o t h e r s , 75 0 I s a w t h e m tenderly love e a c h o t h e r — I often saw t h e m , in n u m b e r s , walking h a n d in h a n d ; 1 d r e a m e d that w a s the city of robust f r i e n d s — N o t h i n g w a s g r e a t e r there than manly love—it led the rest, It w a s s e e n every h o u r in the a c t i o n s of the m e n of that city, a n d in all their looks a n d w o r d s . — X. O you w h o m I often a n d silently c o m e where you a r e , that I m a y be with you, As I walk by your side, or sit near, or r e m a i n in the s a m e r o o m with you, so Little you know the s u b t l e electric fire that for your s a k e is playing within me.— X/. Earth! T h o u g h you look so i m p a s s i v e , a m p l e a n d spheric t h e r e — I now s u s p e c t that is not all,

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I now s u s p e c t there is s o m e t h i n g terrible in you, ready to break forth, F o r a n athlete loves m e , — a n d I h i m — B u t toward him there is s o m e t h i n g fierce a n d terrible in m e , I d a r e not tell it in w o r d s — n o t even in t h e s e s o n g s . 85 XII. T o the y o u n g m a n , m a n y things to a b s o r b , to engraft, to develop, I t e a c h , that he b e my eleve, B u t if through him s p e e d not the blood of friendship, hot a n d r e d — I f he be not silently selected by lovers, a n d d o not silently select l o v e r s — o f what u s e were it for him to s e e k to b e c o m e eleve of m i n e ? 1953

1858-59

FROM

C H I L D R E N OF

ADAM1

Spontaneous Me Spontaneous me, Nature, T h e loving day, the m o u n t i n g s u n , the friend I a m happy with, T h e a r m of my friend h a n g i n g idly over my s h o u l d e r , T h e hillside whiten'd with b l o s s o m s of the m o u n t a i n a s h , T h e s a m e late in a u t u m n , the h u e s of red, yellow, d r a b , p u r p l e , a n d light a n d dark g r e e n , 5 T h e rich coverlet of the g r a s s , a n i m a l s a n d birds, the private u n t r i m m ' d bank, the primitive a p p l e s , the p e b b l e - s t o n e s , Beautiful dripping f r a g m e n t s , the negligent list of o n e after a n o t h e r a s I h a p p e n to call t h e m to m e or think of t h e m , T h e real p o e m s , (what we call p o e m s b e i n g merely p i c t u r e s , ) T h e p o e m s of the privacy of the night, a n d of m e n like m e , T h i s p o e m d r o o p i n g shy a n d u n s e e n that I always carry, a n d that all m e n carry, 10 (Know o n c e for all, avow'd on p u r p o s e , wherever a r e m e n like m e , are our lusty lurking m a s c u l i n e p o e m s , ) L o v e - t h o u g h t s , love-juice, love-odor, love-yielding, love-climbers, a n d the climbing sap, A r m s a n d h a n d s of love, lips of love, phallic t h u m b of love, b r e a s t s of love, bellies press'd a n d g l u e d together with love, E a r t h of c h a s t e love, life that is only life after love, T h e body of my love, the body of the w o m a n I love, the body of the m a n , the body of the earth, is I. T h i s g r o u p of p o e m s c e l e b r a t i n g sex first a p p e a r e d in t h e I 8 6 0 e d i t i o n o f Leaves of Grass as Enfans d'Adam; later the c o n t e n t s a n d o r d e r were s l i g h t l y a l t e r e d u n t i l t h e y r e a c h e d final f o r m in 1 8 7 1 . In their edition B l o d g e t t a n d B r a d l e y q u o t e a n o t e in w h i c h W h i t m a n i d e n t i f i e s t h e r e l a t i o n s h i p o f t h i s g r o u p t o t h e CaUsmus poems: "Theory o f a C l u s t e r o f P o e m s t h e s a m e to the passion of Woman-Love a s t h e ' C a l a m u s - L e a v e s ' a r e to a d h e -

siveness, manly love. Full of animal-fire, tender, b u r n i n g , t h e t r e m u l o u s a c h e , d e l i c i o u s , yet s u c h a t o r m e n t . I he s w e l l i n g e l a t e a n d v e h e m e n t , lb.it will n o t b e d e n i e d . A d a m , a s a c e n t r a l f i g u r e a n d t y p e . O n e p i e c e p r e s e n t i n g a vivid p i c t u r e {in c o n n e c t i o n w i t h t h e s p i r i t ) o f a fully c o m p l e t e , w e l l d e v e l o p e d m a n , e l d , b e a r d e d , s w a r t , fiery, a s a m o r e t h a n rival o f t h e y o u t h f u l t y p e - h e r o o f n o v e l s a n d love p o e m s . "

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Soft forenoon airs that blow from the south-west, T h e hairy wild-bee that m u r m u r s a n d hankers up a n d d o w n , that gripes the full-grown lady-flower, curves u p o n her with a m o r o u s firm legs, takes his will of her, a n d holds himself t r e m u l o u s a n d tight till he is satisfied; T h e wet of w o o d s through the early h o u r s , T w o s l e e p e r s at night lying c l o s e together as they s l e e p , o n e with a n a r m slanting down a c r o s s a n d below the waist of the other, T h e smell of a p p l e s , a r o m a s from c r u s h ' d sage-plant, mint, birch-bark, 20 T h e boy's longings, the glow a n d p r e s s u r e a s he confides to m e what he w a s dreaming, T h e d e a d leaf whirling its spiral whirl a n d falling still a n d c o n t e n t to the ground, T h e no-form'd stings that sights, p e o p l e , o b j e c t s , sting m e with, T h e h u b b ' d sting of myself, stinging m e a s m u c h as it ever c a n any o n e , T h e sensitive, orbic, u n d e r l a p p ' d b r o t h e r s , that only privileged feelers may b e intimate w h e r e they a r e , 25 T h e c u r i o u s r o a m e r the h a n d r o a m i n g all over the body, the b a s h f u l withdrawing of flesh where the fingers soothingly p a u s e a n d e d g e t h e m selves, T h e limpid liquid within the y o u n g m a n , T h e vex'd corrosion so pensive a n d so painful, T h e torment, the irritable tide that will not be at rest, T h e like of the s a m e I feel, the like of the s a m e in o t h e r s , 30 T h e y o u n g m a n that flushes a n d flushes, a n d the y o u n g w o m a n that flushes a n d flushes, T h e y o u n g m a n that w a k e s d e e p at night, the hot h a n d s e e k i n g to repress w h a t would m a s t e r him, T h e mystic a m o r o u s night, the s t r a n g e half-welcome p a n g s , visions, s w e a t s , T h e p u l s e p o u n d i n g through p a l m s a n d trembling encircling fingers, the y o u n g m a n all color'd, red, a s h a m e d , angry; T h e s o u s e u p o n m e of my lover the s e a , a s I lie willing a n d n a k e d , 35 T h e m e r r i m e n t of the twin b a b e s that crawl over the g r a s s in the s u n , the m o t h e r never turning her vigilant eyes from t h e m , T h e walnut-trunk, the w a l n u t - h u s k s , a n d the ripening or ripen'd long-round walnuts, T h e c o n t i n e n c e of v e g e t a b l e s , birds, a n i m a l s , T h e c o n s e q u e n t m e a n n e s s of m e s h o u l d I skulk or find myself i n d e c e n t , while birds a n d a n i m a l s never o n c e skulk or find t h e m s e l v e s i n d e c e n t , T h e great chastity of paternity, to m a t c h the great chastity of maternity, 4 0 T h e oath of procreation I have sworn, my A d a m i c a n d fresh d a u g h t e r s , T h e greed that e a t s m e day a n d night with hungry gnaw, till I s a t u r a t e w h a t shall p r o d u c e boys to fill my p l a c e when I a m t h r o u g h , T h e w h o l e s o m e relief, r e p o s e , c o n t e n t , And this b u n c h pluck'd at r a n d o m from myself, It has d o n e its w o r k — I toss it carelessly to fall where it may. *s 1856,1867

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Once I Pass'd through a Populous City1 O n c e I p a s s ' d t h r o u g h a p o p u l o u s city imprinting my brain for future u s e with its s h o w s , a r c h i t e c t u r e , c u s t o m s , traditions, Yet now of all that city I r e m e m b e r only a w o m a n I casually m e t there w h o detain'd m e for love of m e , D a y by day a n d night by night w e were t o g e t h e r — a l l else h a s l o n g b e e n forgotten by m e , I r e m e m b e r I say only that w o m a n w h o p a s s i o n a t e l y c l u n g to m e , Again we w a n d e r , we love, we s e p a r a t e a g a i n , 5 Again s h e holds m e by the h a n d , I m u s t not g o , I s e e her c l o s e b e s i d e m e with silent lips s a d a n d t r e m u l o u s . 1860,1861

Facing West from California's Shores F a c i n g west from California's s h o r e s , Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet u n f o u n d , I, a child, very old, over w a v e s , t o w a r d s the h o u s e of maternity, the land of m i g r a t i o n s , look afar, L o o k off the s h o r e s of my W e s t e r n s e a , the circle a l m o s t circled; For starting w e s t w a r d from H i n d u s t a n , from the vales of K a s h m e r e , 5 F r o m A s i a , from the north, from the G o d , the s a g e , a n d the h e r o , F r o m the s o u t h , from the flowery p e n i n s u l a s a n d the s p i c e i s l a n d s , L o n g having wander'd s i n c e , r o u n d the earth having w a n d e r ' d , N o w I face h o m e again, very pleas'd a n d j o y o u s , ( B u t where is what I started for so long a g o ? 10 A n d why is it yet u n f o u n d ? ) 1860, 1867

FROM

CALAMUS1

Trickle Drops Trickle d r o p s ! my b l u e veins leaving! O drops of m e ! trickle, slow d r o p s , 1. W h i t m a n r e v i s e d t h i s p o e m s i g n i f i c a n t l y f o r publication. Blodgett and Bradley quote from the m a n u s c r i p t , w h e r e the s e c o n d line r e a d s " B u t now o f all t h a t city I r e m e m b e r o n l y t h e m a n w h o w a n d e r e d with m e , t h e r e , for love o f m e , " a n d w h e r e the fourth line i n c l u d e s the w o r d s " — I r e m e m b e r , 1 say, only o n e rude a n d ignorant m a n . " 1. T h e Calamus g r o u p first a p p e a r e d i n t h e 3 r d e d i t i o n o f Leaves of Grass ( I 8 6 0 ) a n d w a s g i v e n i t s final c o n t e n t s a n d o r d e r in 1881. Comparisons

w i t h t h e Children of Adam s e q u e n c e a r e i n e v i t a b l e ; W h i t m a n h i m s e l f s a w t h e first a s c e l e b r a t i n g " a m a tive" love of m e n a n d w o m e n a n d the Calamus p o e m s a s c e l e b r a t i n g " a d h e s i v e l o v e " o f m e n for m e n . Blodgett a n d Bradley q u o t e W h i t m a n ' s insist e n c e in Democratic Vistas t h a t t h e a d h e s i v e l o v e h e c e l e b r a t e s w a s p o l i t i c a l in n a t u r e : " I t is t o t h e development, identification, and general preval e n c e o f that fervid c o m r a d e s h i p , (the a d h e s i v e love, at least rivaling the a m a t i v e love hitherto p o s -

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1 0 6 1

C a n d i d from m e falling, drip, b l e e d i n g d r o p s , F r o m w o u n d s m a d e to free you w h e n c e you were prison'd, F r o m my f a c e , from my f o r e h e a d a n d lips, 5 F r o m my breast, from within where I w a s c o n c e a l ' d , p r e s s forth red d r o p s , confession drops, Stain every p a g e , stain every s o n g I sing, every word I say, bloody d r o p s , Let t h e m know your scarlet heat, let them glisten, S a t u r a t e t h e m with yourself all a s h a m e d a n d wet, G l o w u p o n all I have written or shall write, b l e e d i n g d r o p s , 10 L e t it all be seen in your light, b l u s h i n g d r o p s . 1860,1867

Here the Frailest Leaves of Me H e r e the frailest leaves of me a n d yet my strongest lasting, H e r e I s h a d e a n d hide my t h o u g h t s , I myself do not e x p o s e t h e m , And yet they e x p o s e m e m o r e than all my other p o e m s . 1860,1871

Crossing Brooklyn Ferry1 I Flood-tide below m e ! I s e e you face to face! C l o u d s of the w e s t — s u n there half an hour high—1 s e e you a l s o f a c e to f a c e . C r o w d s of m e n a n d w o m e n attired in the u s u a l c o s t u m e s , how c u r i o u s you are to m e ! On the ferry-boats the h u n d r e d s a n d h u n d r e d s that c r o s s , returning h o m e , are m o r e c u r i o u s to m e than you s u p p o s e , And you that shall c r o s s from s h o r e to s h o r e years h e n c e are m o r e to m e , a n d m o r e in my m e d i t a t i o n s , than you might s u p p o s e . 5

2 T h e i m p a l p a b l e s u s t e n a n c e of m e from all things at all h o u r s of the day, T h e s i m p l e , c o m p a c t , well-join'd s c h e m e , myself d i s i n t e g r a t e d , every o n e disintegrated yet part of the s c h e m e , T h e similitudes of the past a n d t h o s e of the future, s e s s i n g i m a g i n a t i v e l i t e r a t u r e , if n o t g o i n g b e y o n d it,) t h a t I l o o k f o r t h e c o u n t e r b a l a n c e a n d o f f s e t o f our materialistic and vulgar American democracy, a n d for t h e s p i r i t u a l i / a t i o n t h e r e o f . " F o r t h e 1 8 7 6 p r e f a c e t o Leaves of Grass W h i t m a n r e w r o t e t h i s p a s s a g e a s a direct c o m m e n t on the Calamus poems. I . " C r o s s i n g B r o o k l y n F e r r y " is o n e o f a d o z e n p o e m s t h a t f o l l o w t h e Calamus section and pre-

c e d e t h e Birds oj Passage section; mostly longish p o e m s , like this o n e , they h a v e n o s e c t i o n titles. P e r h a p s t h e c l e a r e s t e x a m p l e of W h i t m a n ' s d e s i r e t o w o r k by i n d i r e c t i o n , " C r o s s i n g B r o o k l y n F e r r y " s u c c e e d s by a l l u r i n g t h e r e a d e r w i t h o u t h i s o r h e r quite k n o w i n g why. First p u b l i s h e d a s " S u n - D o w n P o e m " in t h e 2 n d e d i t i o n ( I 8 5 6 ) , " C r o s s i n g B r o o k lyn F e r r y " w a s g i v e n its final t i t l e in 1 8 6 0 .

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T h e glories s t r u n g like b e a d s on my s m a l l e s t sights a n d h e a r i n g s , o n the walk in the street a n d the p a s s a g e over the river, T h e current r u s h i n g s o swiftly a n d s w i m m i n g with m e far away, 10 T h e others that are to follow m e , the ties b e t w e e n m e a n d t h e m , T h e certainty of o t h e r s , the life, love, sight, h e a r i n g of o t h e r s . O t h e r s will enter the g a t e s of the ferry a n d c r o s s from s h o r e to s h o r e , O t h e r s will w a t c h the run of the flood-tide, O t h e r s will s e e the s h i p p i n g of M a n h a t t a n north a n d w e s t , a n d the heights of Brooklyn to the s o u t h a n d e a s t , is O t h e r s will s e e the i s l a n d s large a n d s m a l l ; Fifty years h e n c e , others will s e e t h e m a s they c r o s s , the s u n half a n h o u r high, A h u n d r e d years h e n c e , or ever s o m a n y h u n d r e d years h e n c e , o t h e r s will see them, Will enjoy the s u n s e t , the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the falling-back to the s e a of the ebb-tide.

It avails not, time nor p l a c e — d i s t a n c e avails not, 20 I a m with you, you m e n a n d w o m e n of a g e n e r a t i o n , or ever so m a n y generations h e n c e , J u s t a s you feel w h e n you look o n the river a n d sky, s o I felt, J u s t a s any of you is o n e of a living c r o w d , I w a s o n e of a c r o w d , J u s t a s you are refresh'd by the g l a d n e s s of the river a n d the bright flow, I w a s refresh'd, J u s t a s you s t a n d a n d lean o n the rail, yet hurry with the swift c u r r e n t , I s t o o d yet w a s hurried, 25 J u s t a s you look on the n u m b e r l e s s m a s t s of s h i p s a n d the t h i c k - s t e m m ' d p i p e s of s t e a m b o a t s , I look'd. I too m a n y a n d m a n y a time c r o s s ' d the river of old, W a t c h e d the T w e l f t h - m o n t h 2 s e a - g u l l s , s a w t h e m high in the air floating with m o t i o n l e s s w i n g s , oscillating their b o d i e s , S a w how the glistening yellow lit u p p a r t s of their b o d i e s a n d left the rest in strong shadow, S a w the slow-wheeling circles a n d the g r a d u a l e d g i n g toward the s o u t h , 30 S a w the reflection of the s u m m e r sky in the water, H a d my eyes dazzled by the s h i m m e r i n g t r a c k of b e a m s , Look'd at the fine centrifugal s p o k e s of light r o u n d the s h a p e of my h e a d in the sunlit water, Look'd on the haze on the hills s o u t h w a r d a n d s o u t h - w e s t w a r d , L o o k ' d on the vapor a s it flew in fleeces tinged with violet, 35 Look'd toward the lower bay to notice the v e s s e l s arriving, S a w their a p p r o a c h , s a w a b o a r d t h o s e that were n e a r m e , S a w the white sails of s c h o o n e r s a n d s l o o p s , s a w the s h i p s at a n c h o r , T h e sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the s p a r s , T h e r o u n d m a s t s , the s w i n g i n g m o t i o n of the h u l l s , the s l e n d e r s e r p e n t i n e pennants, 40 2.

December.

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The The The The

large a n d small s t e a m e r s in m o t i o n , the pilots in their p i l o t - h o u s e s , white w a k e left by the p a s s a g e , the q u i c k t r e m u l o u s whirl of the w h e e l s , flags of all n a t i o n s , the falling of t h e m at s u n s e t . s c a l l o p - e d g e d waves in the twilight, the ladled c u p s , the f r o l i c s o m e crests a n d glistening, T h e stretch afar growing d i m m e r a n d d i m m e r , the gray walls o f the granite s t o r e h o u s e s by the d o c k s , 45 O n the river the s h a d o w y g r o u p , the big s t e a m - t u g closely flank'd on e a c h side by the b a r g e s , the hay-boat, the b e l a t e d lighter, 3 O n the n e i g h b o r i n g s h o r e the fires from the foundry c h i m n e y s b u r n i n g high a n d glaringly into the night, C a s t i n g their flicker of b l a c k c o n t r a s t e d with wild red a n d yellow light over the tops of h o u s e s , a n d down into the clefts of streets.

T h e s e a n d all else were to m e the s a m e a s they a r e to y o u , I loved well t h o s e cities, loved well the stately a n d rapid river, 50 T h e m e n a n d w o m e n I s a w were all n e a r to m e , O t h e r s the s a m e — o t h e r s w h o looked b a c k on m e b e c a u s e I look'd forward to t h e m , ( T h e time will c o m e , t h o u g h I s t o p here to-day a n d to-night.) 5

W h a t is it then b e t w e e n u s ? W h a t is the c o u n t of the s c o r e s or h u n d r e d s of years b e t w e e n u s ?

55

W h a t e v e r it is, it avails n o t — d i s t a n c e avails not, a n d p l a c e avails not, I too lived, Brooklyn of a m p l e hills w a s m i n e , I too walk'd the streets of M a n h a t t a n island, a n d b a t h e d in the w a t e r s a r o u n d it, I too felt the c u r i o u s a b r u p t q u e s t i o n i n g s stir within m e , In the day a m o n g c r o w d s of p e o p l e s o m e t i m e s they c a m e u p o n m e , 60 In my walks h o m e late at night or a s I lay in my b e d they c a m e u p o n m e , I too h a d b e e n s t r u c k from the float forever held in s o l u t i o n , I too h a d receiv'd identity by my body, T h a t I w a s I knew w a s of my body, a n d what I s h o u l d b e I k n e w I s h o u l d b e of my body. 6 It is not u p o n you a l o n e the dark p a t c h e s fall, 65 T h e dark threw its p a t c h e s d o w n u p o n m e a l s o , T h e b e s t I h a d d o n e s e e m ' d to m e b l a n k a n d s u s p i c i o u s , M y great t h o u g h t s a s I s u p p o s e d t h e m , were they not in reality m e a g r e ? N o r is it you a l o n e w h o know w h a t it is to b e evil, I a m h e w h o k n e w what it w a s to b e evil, 70 I too knitted the old knot of contrariety, Blabb'd, blush'd, r e s e n t e d , lied, stole, g r u d g ' d , 3.

B a r g e u s e d to load or unload a cargo ship.

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H a d guile, anger, lust, hot w i s h e s I d a r e d not s p e a k , W a s wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, m a l i g n a n t , T h e wolf, the s n a k e , the hog, not w a n t i n g in m e , 75 T h e c h e a t i n g look, the frivolous word, the a d u l t e r o u s w i s h , not wanting, R e f u s a l s , h a t e s , p o s t p o n e m e n t s , m e a n n e s s , laziness, n o n e of t h e s e wanting, W a s o n e with the rest, the days a n d h a p s of the rest, W a s call'd by my nighest n a m e by clear loud voices of y o u n g m e n as they s a w m e a p p r o a c h i n g or p a s s i n g , Felt their a r m s on my n e c k a s 1 s t o o d , or the negligent l e a n i n g of their flesh a g a i n s t m e a s I sat, so S a w m a n y I loved in the street or ferry-boat or public a s s e m b l y , yet never told t h e m a word, Lived the s a m e life with the rest, the s a m e old l a u g h i n g , g n a w i n g , leeping, Play'd the part that still looks b a c k on the actor or a c t r e s s , T h e s a m e old role, the role that is w h a t w e m a k e it, a s great a s we like, O r a s small a s we like, or both great a n d s m a l l . ss 7

C l o s e r yet I a p p r o a c h you, W h a t t h o u g h t you have of m e now, I h a d a s m u c h of y o u — I laid in my stores in a d v a n c e , I c o n s i d e r ' d long a n d seriously of you before you were b o r n . W h o w a s to know what s h o u l d c o m e h o m e to m e ? W h o knows but I a m enjoying this? 90 W h o k n o w s , for all the d i s t a n c e , but I a m a s g o o d a s looking at you now, for all you c a n n o t s e e m e ? g Ah, what c a n ever be m o r e stately a n d a d m i r a b l e to m e t h a n m a s t - h e m m ' d Manhattan? River a n d s u n s e t a n d scallop-edg'd w a v e s of flood-tide? T h e sea-gulls oscillating their b o d i e s , the hay-boat in the twilight, a n d the belated lighter? W h a t g o d s c a n exceed t h e s e that c l a s p m e by the h a n d , a n d with voices I love call m e promptly a n d loudly by my nighest n a m e a s I approach? 95 W h a t is m o r e s u b t l e than this which ties m e to the w o m a n or m a n that looks in my f a c e ? W h i c h fuses m e into you now, a n d p o u r s my m e a n i n g into you? W e u n d e r s t a n d then d o we not? W h a t I promis'd without m e n t i o n i n g it, have you not a c c e p t e d ? W h a t the study c o u l d not t e a c h — w h a t the p r e a c h i n g c o u l d not a c c o m p l i s h is a c c o m p l i s h ' d , is it not? 100 a Flow o n , river! flow with the flood-tide, a n d e b b with the ebb-tide! Frolic o n , c r e s t e d a n d scallop-edg'd w a v e s !

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G o r g e o u s c l o u d s of the s u n s e t ! d r e n c h with your s p l e n d o r m e , or the m e n a n d w o m e n g e n e r a t i o n s after m e ! C r o s s from s h o r e to s h o r e , c o u n t l e s s crowds of p a s s e n g e r s ! S t a n d u p , tall m a s t s of M a n n a h a t t a ! 4 s t a n d u p , beautiful hills of Brooklyn! tos T h r o b , baffled a n d c u r i o u s brain! throw out q u e s t i o n s a n d a n s w e r s ! S u s p e n d here a n d everywhere, eternal float of solution! G a z e , loving a n d thirsting eyes, in the h o u s e or street or public a s s e m b l y ! S o u n d out, voices of y o u n g m e n ! loudly a n d m u s i c a l l y call m e by my nighest name! Live, old life! play the part that looks b a c k on the a c t o r or a c t r e s s ! no Play the old role, the role that is great or small a c c o r d i n g a s o n e m a k e s it! C o n s i d e r , you w h o p e r u s e m e , w h e t h e r I may not in u n k n o w n ways be looking u p o n y o u ; B e firm, rail over the river, to s u p p o r t t h o s e w h o lean idly, yet h a s t e with the hasting current; Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air; Receive the s u m m e r sky, you water, a n d faithfully hold it till all d o w n c a s t eyes have time to take it from you! us Diverge, fine s p o k e s of light, from the s h a p e of my h e a d , or any one's h e a d , in the sunlit water! C o m e on, s h i p s from the lower bay! p a s s u p or d o w n , white-sail'd s c h o o n e r s , s l o o p s , lighters! F l a u n t away, flags of all nations! be duly lovver'd at s u n s e t ! B u r n high your fires, foundry c h i m n e y s ! c a s t b l a c k s h a d o w s at nightfall! c a s t red a n d yellow light over the tops of the h o u s e s ! A p p e a r a n c e s , now or h e n c e f o r t h , indicate what you a r e , 120 You n e c e s s a r y film, c o n t i n u e to envelop the soul, A b o u t my body for m e , a n d your body for you, be h u n g o u r divinest a r o m a s , Thrive, c i t i e s — b r i n g your freight, bring your s h o w s , a m p l e a n d sufficient rivers, E x p a n d , b e i n g t h a n which n o n e else is p e r h a p s m o r e spiritual, K e e p your p l a c e s , o b j e c t s than which n o n e else is m o r e lasting. 125 You We Not We

have waited, you always wait, you d u m b , beautiful m i n i s t e r s , receive you with free s e n s e at last, a n d are insatiate h e n c e f o r w a r d , you any m o r e shall b e able to foil u s , or withhold yourselves from u s , u s e you, a n d do not c a s t you a s i d e — w e plant you p e r m a n e n t l y within us, W e f a t h o m you n o t — w e love y o u — t h e r e is perfection in you a l s o , BO You furnish your parts toward eternity, G r e a t or s m a l l , you furnish your parts toward the s o u l . 1856,1881

4. V a r i a n t for t h e A m e r i c a n I n d i a n w o r d n o r m a l l y s p e l l e d " M a n h a t t a n .

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FROM

SEA-DRIFT 1

Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking2 O u t of the c r a d l e endlessly rocking, O u t of the mocking-bird's throat, the m u s i c a l s h u t t l e , O u t of the N i n t h - m o n t h m i d n i g h t , Over the sterile s a n d s a n d the fields b e y o n d , w h e r e the child leaving his b e d wander'd alone, bareheaded, barefoot, D o w n from the shower'd h a l o , 5 U p from the mystic play of s h a d o w s twining a n d twisting a s if they were alive, O u t from the p a t c h e s of briers a n d b l a c k b e r r i e s , F r o m the m e m o r i e s of the bird that c h a n t e d to m e , F r o m your m e m o r i e s s a d brother, from the fitful risings a n d fallings I h e a r d , F r o m u n d e r that yellow h a l f - m o o n late-risen a n d swollen a s if with tears, 10 F r o m t h o s e b e g i n n i n g n o t e s of yearning a n d love there in the mist, F r o m the t h o u s a n d r e s p o n s e s of my heart never to c e a s e , F r o m the myriad t h e n c e - a r o u s ' d w o r d s , F r o m the word stronger a n d m o r e delicious t h a n any, F r o m s u c h a s now they start the s c e n e revisiting, 15 As a flock, twittering, rising, or o v e r h e a d p a s s i n g , B o r n e hither, ere all e l u d e s m e , hurriedly, A m a n , yet by t h e s e tears a little boy a g a i n , T h r o w i n g myself on the s a n d , c o n f r o n t i n g the w a v e s , I, c h a n t e r of p a i n s a n d j o y s , uniter of h e r e a n d hereafter, 20 T a k i n g all hints to u s e t h e m , b u t swiftly l e a p i n g beyond t h e m , A r e m i n i s c e n c e sing. — Once Paumanok/ W h e n the lilac-scent w a s in the air a n d Fifth-month g r a s s w a s growing, U p this s e a s h o r e in s o m e briers, T w o feather'd g u e s t s from A l a b a m a , two together,

25

A n d their n e s t , a n d four light-green e g g s s p o t t e d with b r o w n , A n d every day the he-bird to a n d fro n e a r at h a n d , A n d every day the she-bird c r o u c h ' d on her nest, silent, with bright eyes, A n d every day I, a c u r i o u s boy, never too c l o s e , never d i s t u r b i n g t h e m , 30 C a u t i o u s l y peering, a b s o r b i n g , translating. 1. T h e Sea-Drift section of the 1881 edition of Leaves of Grass w a s m a d e u p of two new p o e m s , s e v e n p o e m s f r o m Sea-Shore Memories in t h e 1 8 7 1 Passage to India s e c t i o n , a n d t w o p o e m s f r o m t h e 1 8 7 6 Two Rivulets section. 2 . F i r s t p u b l i s h e d a s " A C h i l d ' s R e m i n i s c e n c e " in t h e New York Saturday Press for D e c e m b e r 2 4 , 1 8 5 9 , this p o e m w a s i n c o r p o r a t e d into the 1 8 6 0 Leaves of Grass a s " A W o r d O u t o f t h e S e a . " W h i t m a n c o n t i n u e d t o r e v i s e it u n t i l it r e a c h e d t h e p r e s e n t f o r m i n t h e Sea-Drift section of the 1881 edition. " O u t of the C r a d l e Endlessly R o c k i n g " h a d

b e e n t h e first o f t h e Sea-Shore Memories group. T h e p o e m is a b o u t t h e w a y , a t a c r i s i s in h i s a d u l t life, t h e p o e t r e m e m b e r s ( a n d n o w fully c o m p r e h e n d s ) the b o y h o o d experience of the a n n u n c i a tion of W h i t m a n ' s role as a poet. O n the m o s t o b v i o u s level, t h e p o e m b e l o n g s to the R o m a n t i c tradition of p o e m s a b o u t the revisiting of a spot i m p o r t a n t to t h e p o e t ' s earlier life: e x a m p l e s are Wordsworth's "Tintern A b b e y " a n d "Wye Revisited" and Longfellow's " M y Lost Youth." 3. L o n g I s l a n d .

O U T OF THE C R A D L E E N D L E S S L Y R O C K I N G

/

1067

Shine! shine! shine! Pour down your warmth, great sun! While we bask, we two together. Two together! Winds blow south, or winds blow north, Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding no time,

35

While we two keep together.

40

Till of a s u d d e n , M a y - b e kill'd, u n k n o w n to her m a t e , O n e forenoon the she-bird c r o u c h ' d not on the n e s t , N o r return'd that afternoon, nor the next N o r ever a p p e a r ' d a g a i n . A n d thenceforward all s u m m e r in the s o u n d of the s e a , A n d at night u n d e r the full of the m o o n in c a l m e r weather, Over the h o a r s e s u r g i n g of the s e a , O r flitting from brier to brier by day, I saw, I h e a r d at intervals the r e m a i n i n g o n e , the he-bird, T h e solitary g u e s t from A l a b a m a .

4s

50

Blow! blow! blow! Blow up sea-winds along Paumanok's shore; I wait and I wait till you blow my mate to me. Yes, w h e n the stars glisten'd, All night long on the p r o n g of a m o s s - s c a l l o p ' d s t a k e , D o w n a l m o s t a m i d the s l a p p i n g waves, S a t the lone singer wonderful c a u s i n g tears.

55

H e call'd on his m a t e , H e pour'd forth the m e a n i n g s which I of all m e n know.

60

Yes my brother I know, T h e rest might not, b u t I have treasur'd every n o t e , F o r m o r e than o n c e dimly d o w n to the b e a c h gliding, Silent, avoiding the m o o n b e a m s , b l e n d i n g myself with the s h a d o w s , Recalling now the o b s c u r e s h a p e s , the e c h o e s , the s o u n d s a n d sights after their sorts, 65 T h e white a r m s out in the b r e a k e r s tirelessly t o s s i n g , I, with b a r e feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, Listen'd long a n d long. Listen'd to k e e p , to sing, now translating the n o t e s . Following you my brother. Soothe! soothe! soothe! Close on its wave soothes the wave

behind,

70

1068

/

WALT

WHITMAN

And again another behind embracing But my love soothes not me, not me.

and lapping,

Low hangs the moon, it rose late, It is lagging—O J think it is heavy with love, with

every one

close,

love.

O madly the sea pushes upon the land, With love, with love. O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the What is that little black thing I see there in the white?

breakers? so

Loud! loud! loud! Loud I call to you, my love! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves, Surely you must know who is here, is here, You must know who I am, my love. Low-hanging

«5

moon!

What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow? O it is the shape, the shape of my mate! O moon do not keep her from me any longer. Land! land! O land! w Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again if you only would, For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever

way I look.

O rising stars! Perhaps the one I want O throat! O trembling Sound clearer through Pierce the woods, the Somewhere Shake out

listening

so much will rise, will rise with some of you. throat! the atmosphere! earth,

95

to catch you must be the one I want.

carols!

Solitary here, the night's carols! Carols of lonesome love! death's carols! Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon! O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea! O reckless despairing carols. But soft! sink low! Soft! let me just murmur, And do you wait a moment you husky-nois'd sea, For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me, So faint, I must be still, be still to listen, But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately

100

10s

to me.

1 io

O U T OF T H E C R A D L E E N D L E S S L Y R O C K I N G

/

1069

Hither my love! Here I am! here! With this just-sustain'd note 1 announce myself to you, This gentle call is for you my love, for you. Do not be decoy'd elsewhere, That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice, That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray, Those are the shadows of leaves.

115

O darkness! O in vain! O 1 am very sick and sorrowful. O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping O troubled reflection in the sea! O throat! O throbbing heart! And 1 singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.

120 upon the sea!

O past! O happy life! O songs of joy! In the air, in the woods, over fields, Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved! But my mate no more, no more with me! We two together no more.

125

T h e aria sinking, 130 All else c o n t i n u i n g , the stars shining, T h e winds blowing, the n o t e s of the bird c o n t i n u o u s e c h o i n g , With angry m o a n s the fierce old m o t h e r i n c e s s a n t l y m o a n i n g , On the s a n d s of P a u m a n o k ' s s h o r e gray a n d rustling, T h e yellow h a l f - m o o n e n l a r g e d , s a g g i n g d o w n , drooping, the f a c e of the s e a almost touching, 135 T h e boy e c s t a t i c , with his b a r e feet the waves, with his hair the a t m o s p h e r e dallying, T h e love in the heart long p e n t , now l o o s e , now at last t u m u l t u o u s l y b u r s t i n g , T h e aria's m e a n i n g , the e a r s , the s o u l , swiftly d e p o s i t i n g , T h e s t r a n g e tears d o w n the c h e e k s c o u r s i n g , T h e colloquy there, the trio, e a c h uttering, 140 T h e u n d e r t o n e , the s a v a g e old m o t h e r i n c e s s a n t l y crying, T o the boy's soul's q u e s t i o n s sullenly timing, s o m e drown'd secret hissing, T o the o u t s e t t i n g b a r d . D e m o n or bird! (said the boy's soul,) Is it indeed toward your m a t e you sing? or is it really to m e ? 145 F o r I, that w a s a child, my t o n g u e ' s u s e s l e e p i n g , now I have h e a r d you, N o w in a m o m e n t I know w h a t I a m for, I a w a k e , And already a t h o u s a n d s i n g e r s , a t h o u s a n d s o n g s , clearer, l o u d e r a n d m o r e sorrowful than yours, A t h o u s a n d warbling e c h o e s have started to life within m e , never to d i e . O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting m e , O solitary m e listening, never m o r e shall I c e a s e p e r p e t u a t i n g you, Never m o r e shall I e s c a p e , never m o r e the reverberations,

150

1070

/

WALT

WHITMAN

N e v e r m o r e the cries of unsatisfied love b e a b s e n t from m e , N e v e r again leave m e to be the peaceful child I w a s before w h a t there in the night, By the s e a u n d e r the yellow a n d s a g g i n g m o o n , 155 T h e m e s s e n g e r there a r o u s ' d , the fire, the sweet hell within, T h e u n k n o w n want, the destiny of m e . O give m e the clew! (it lurks in the night here s o m e w h e r e , ) O if I a m to have so m u c h , let m e have m o r e ! A word then, (for I will c o n q u e r it,) T h e word final, superior to all, S u b t l e , sent u p — w h a t is i t ? — I listen; Are you w h i s p e r i n g it, a n d have b e e n all the t i m e , you sea-waves? Is that it from your liquid rims a n d wet s a n d s ?

i60

W h e r e t o a n s w e r i n g , the s e a , 165 Delaying not, hurrying not, W h i s p e r ' d m e through the night, a n d very plainly before daybreak, Lisp'd to m e the low a n d d e l i c i o u s word d e a t h , And again d e a t h , d e a t h , d e a t h , d e a t h , H i s s i n g m e l o d i o u s , neither like the bird nor like my a r o u s ' d child's heart, 170 B u t e d g i n g near as privately for m e rustling at my feet, C r e e p i n g t h e n c e steadily u p to my e a r s a n d laving m e softly all over, Death, death, death, death, death. W h i c h I d o not forget, But f u s e the s o n g of my dusky d e m o n a n d brother, 175 T h a t he s a n g to m e in the m o o n l i g h t on P a u m a n o k ' s gray b e a c h , With the t h o u s a n d r e s p o n s i v e s o n g s at r a n d o m , My own s o n g s a w a k e d from that hour, A n d with t h e m the key, the word u p from the w a v e s , T h e word of the s w e e t e s t s o n g a n d all s o n g s , iso T h a t s t r o n g a n d delicious word w h i c h , c r e e p i n g to my feet, (Or like s o m e old c r o n e rocking the c r a d l e , s w a t h e d in sweet g a r m e n t s , b e n d ing aside,) T h e s e a whisper'd m e . 1859, 1881

FROM

BY THE

ROADSIDE 1

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer W h e n I heard the learn'd a s t r o n o m e r , W h e n the proofs, the figures, were r a n g e d in c o l u m n s b e f o r e m e , 1. By the Roadside is t h e 1 8 8 1 s e c t i o n title for a r o u n d two dozen p o e m s , m o s t of which first a p p e a r e d i n t h e 1 8 6 0 e d i t i o n o f Leaves of Grass. A s B l o d g e t t a n d B r a d l e y s a y , " T h e g r o u p is t r u l y a

m e l a n g e held together by the c o m m o n b o n d of the poet's experience as roadside observer—passive, but alert a n d c o n t i n u a l l y r e c o r d i n g . " S e v e r a l of the p o e m s are m e r e jottings of two, three, or four lines.

BEAT!

BEAT!

DRUMS!

/

1071

W h e n I w a s shown the charts a n d d i a g r a m s , to a d d , divide, a n d m e a s u r e them, W h e n I sitting heard the a s t r o n o m e r w h e r e h e lectured with m u c h a p p l a u s e in the l e c t u r e - r o o m , H o w s o o n u n a c c o u n t a b l e I b e c a m e tired a n d sick, 5 Till rising a n d gliding o u t I wander'd off by myself, In the mystical m o i s t night-air, a n d from time to t i m e , Look'd u p in perfect silence at the s t a r s . 1865,1865

FROM

DRUM-TAPS'

Beat! Beat! Drums! Beat! beat! d r u m s ! — b l o w ! b u g l e s ! blow! T h r o u g h the w i n d o w s — t h r o u g h d o o r s — b u r s t like a ruthless f o r c e , Into the s o l e m n c h u r c h , a n d s c a t t e r the c o n g r e g a t i o n , Into the school w h e r e the s c h o l a r is studying; L e a v e not the b r i d e g r o o m q u i e t — n o h a p p i n e s s m u s t he have n o w with his bride, 5 N o r the p e a c e f u l farmer any p e a c e , p l o u g h i n g his field or g a t h e r i n g his grain, S o fierce you whirr a n d p o u n d you d r u m s — s o shrill you b u g l e s blow. B e a t ! beat! d r u m s ! — b l o w ! b u g l e s ! blow! Over the traffic of c i t i e s — o v e r the r u m b l e of w h e e l s in the streets; Are b e d s p r e p a r e d for sleepers at night in the h o u s e s ? no s l e e p e r s m u s t s l e e p in t h o s e b e d s , 10 N o b a r g a i n e r s ' b a r g a i n s by d a y — n o brokers or s p e c u l a t o r s — w o u l d they c o n tinue? W o u l d the talkers b e talking? would the singer a t t e m p t to sing? W o u l d the lawyer rise in the c o u r t to state his c a s e before the j u d g e ? T h e n rattle quicker, heavier d r u m s — y o u b u g l e s wilder blow. Beat! Make Mind Mind

beat! d r u m s ! — b l o w ! b u g l e s ! blow! no p a r l e y — s t o p for n o expostulation, not the t i m i d — m i n d not the w e e p e r or prayer, not the old m a n b e s e e c h i n g the y o u n g m a n ,

1. T h e c o n t e n t s o f t h e o r i g i n a l Drum-Taps (first p r i n t e d in 1 8 6 5 a s a little b o o k ) d i f f e r e d c o n s i d e r a b l y f r o m t h e c o n t e n t s o f t h e Drum-Taps section finally a r r i v e d a t i n t h e 1 8 8 1 Leaves of Grass. I n t h e final arrangement the poetic purpose shifts throughout, roughly reflecting the chronology of the Civil W a r a n d the c h r o n o l o g y of the c o m p o s i t i o n o f t h e p o e m s . T h e first p u r p o s e i s p r o p a g a n d i s t ^ . Indeed, "Beat! Beat! D r u m s ! " served as a k i n d o f r e c r u i t i n g p o e m w h e n it w a s first p r i n t e d ( a n d r e p r i n t e d ) i n t h e fall o f 1 8 6 1 , h a v i n g b e e n c o m p o s e d a f t e r t h e S o u t h e r n v i c t o r y a t t h e first b a t t l e o f B u l l R u n . L a t e r W h i t m a n s e e m s to h a v e u n d e r s t o o d that the early jingoistic p o e m s h a d a certain historical value that m a d e t h e m worth pre-

15

serving. T h e d o m i n a n t i m p u l s e of m o s t of the later p o e m s is r e a l i s t i c — a d e t e r m i n a t i o n t o r e c o r d t h e w a r t h e w a y it w a s , a n d i n t h e b e s t o f t h e p o e m s t h e r e a l i s t i c r e c o r d is a c h i e v e d t h r o u g h e l a b o r a t e technical subtleties. T h e stages of Whitman's own a t t i t u d e s t o w a r d t h e w a r a r e well s t a t e d in t h e epig r a p h h e g a v e t h e w h o l e Drum-Taps g r o u p in 1 8 7 1 and then inserted parenthetically into "The W o u n d D r e s s e r " in t h e 1 8 8 1 e d i t i o n : " A r o u s ' d a n d a n g r y , I'd t h o u g h t t o b e a t t h e a l a r u m , a n d u r g e r e l e n t l e s s w a r , / B u t s o o n m y fingers f a i l ' d m e , m y f a c e d r o o p ' d a n d I r e s i g n ' d m y s e l f / T o sit by t h e w o u n d e d a n d soothe t h e m , or silently watch the dead."

1072

/

WALT

WHITMAN

Let not the child's voice be h e a r d , nor the m o t h e r ' s e n t r e a t i e s , M a k e even the trestles to s h a k e the d e a d w h e r e they lie a w a i t i n g the hearses, 20 S o strong you t h u m p O terrible d r u m s — s o loud you b u g l e s blow. 1861,1867

Cavalry Crossing a Ford A line in l o n g array w h e r e they wind betwixt g r e e n i s l a n d s , T h e y take a s e r p e n t i n e c o u r s e , their a r m s flash in the s u n — h a r k to the m u s i c a l clank, B e h o l d the silvery river, in it the s p l a s h i n g h o r s e s loitering s t o p to drink, B e h o l d the brown-faced m e n , e a c h g r o u p , e a c h p e r s o n a p i c t u r e , the negligent rest on the s a d d l e s , S o m e e m e r g e on the o p p o s i t e bank, others are j u s t e n t e r i n g the f o r d — while, 5 S c a r l e t a n d b l u e a n d snowy white, T h e g u i d o n flags flutter gayly in the w i n d . 1865, 1871

The Wound-Dresser An old m a n b e n d i n g I c o m e a m o n g n e w f a c e s , Years looking b a c k w a r d r e s u m i n g in a n s w e r to children, C o m e tell u s old m a n , a s from y o u n g m e n a n d m a i d e n s that love m e , (Arous'd a n d angry, I'd t h o u g h t to b e a t the a l a r u m , a n d urge relentless war, But s o o n my fingers fail'd m e , my f a c e droop'd a n d I resign'd myself, 5 T o sit by the w o u n d e d a n d s o o t h e t h e m , or silently w a t c h the d e a d ; ) Years h e n c e of t h e s e s c e n e s , of t h e s e furious p a s s i o n s , t h e s e c h a n c e s , O f u n s u r p a s s ' d h e r o e s , (was o n e side s o brave? the other w a s equally brave;) N o w be w i t n e s s a g a i n , paint the mightiest a r m i e s of e a r t h , O f t h o s e a r m i e s so rapid so w o n d r o u s w h a t s a w you to tell u s ? in W h a t stays with you latest a n d d e e p e s t ? of c u r i o u s p a n i c s , O f hard-fought e n g a g e m e n t s or s i e g e s t r e m e n d o u s what d e e p e s t r e m a i n s ? 2

O m a i d e n s a n d y o u n g m e n I love a n d that love m e , W h a t you a s k of my days t h o s e the s t r a n g e s t a n d s u d d e n your talking recalls, S o l d i e r alert I arrive after a long m a r c h cover'd with s w e a t a n d d u s t , is In the nick of time I c o m e , p l u n g e in the fight, loudly s h o u t in the r u s h of successful charge, E n t e r the captur'd w o r k s ' — y e t lo, like a swift-running river they f a d e , P a s s a n d are g o n e they f a d e — I dwell not on soldiers' perils or s o l d i e r s ' j o y s , ( B o t h I r e m e m b e r w e l l — m a n y the h a r d s h i p s , few the j o y s , yet I w a s c o n t e n t . ) I.

Fortifications.

THE WOUND-DRESSER

/

1073

B u t in silence in d r e a m s ' p r o j e c t i o n s , 20 While the world of gain a n d a p p e a r a n c e a n d mirth g o e s o n , S o soon what is over forgotten, a n d waves w a s h the imprints off the s a n d , With hinged k n e e s r e t u r n i n g I enter the d o o r s , (while for you u p there, W h o e v e r you a r e , follow without noise a n d be of strong heart.) B e a r i n g the b a n d a g e s , water a n d s p o n g e , Straight a n d swift to my w o u n d e d I g o , W h e r e they lie on the g r o u n d after the battle b r o u g h t in, W h e r e their priceless blood r e d d e n s the g r a s s the g r o u n d , O r to the rows of the hospital tent, or u n d e r the r o o f d hospital, T o the long rows of cots up a n d down e a c h side I return, T o e a c h a n d all o n e after a n o t h e r I draw near, not o n e do I m i s s , An a t t e n d a n t follows holding a tray, he carries a refuse pail, S o o n to be fill'd with clotted rags a n d blood, e m p t i e d , a n d fill'd a g a i n .

25

30

I onward g o , I s t o p , With hinged k n e e s a n d s t e a d y h a n d to d r e s s w o u n d s , 35 I a m firm with e a c h , the p a n g s a r e s h a r p yet u n a v o i d a b l e , O n e turns to m e his a p p e a l i n g e y e s — p o o r boy! I never knew you, Yet I think I c o u l d not refuse this m o m e n t to die for you, if that w o u l d save you.

3 O n , on I g o , (open d o o r s of time! o p e n hospital doors!) T h e c r u s h ' d h e a d I d r e s s , (poor crazed h a n d tear not the b a n d a g e away,) 4 0 T h e neck of the cavalry-man with the bullet through a n d through I e x a m i n e , H a r d the b r e a t h i n g rattles, q u i t e glazed already the eye, yet life s t r u g g l e s hard, ( C o m e sweet d e a t h ! b e p e r s u a d e d O beautiful d e a t h ! In mercy c o m e quickly.) F r o m the s t u m p of the a r m , the a m p u t a t e d h a n d , 4s I u n d o the clotted lint, r e m o v e the s l o u g h , wash off the m a t t e r a n d blood, B a c k on his pillow the soldier b e n d s with curv'd n e c k a n d side-falling h e a d , His eyes are c l o s e d , his f a c e is p a l e , he d a r e s not look on the bloody s t u m p , A n d has not yet look'd on it. I dress a w o u n d in the s i d e , d e e p , d e e p , B u t a day or two m o r e , for s e e the f r a m e all w a s t e d a n d sinking, A n d the yellow-blue c o u n t e n a n c e s e e .

50

I d r e s s the perforated shoulcjer, the foot with the b u l l e t - w o u n d , C l e a n s e the o n e with a g n a w i n g a n d putrid g a n g r e n e , so s i c k e n i n g , s o offensive, While the a t t e n d a n t s t a n d s b e h i n d a s i d e m e holding the tray a n d pail.

55

I a m faithful, I do not give o u t , T h e fractur'd thigh, the k n e e , the w o u n d in the a b d o m e n , T h e s e a n d m o r e I d r e s s with i m p a s s i v e h a n d , (yet d e e p in my b r e a s t a fire, a b u r n i n g flame.)

1074

/

WALT

WHITMAN

4

T h u s in silence in d r e a m s ' p r o j e c t i o n s , R e t u r n i n g , r e s u m i n g , I thread my way t h r o u g h the h o s p i t a l s , T h e hurt a n d w o u n d e d I pacify with s o o t h i n g h a n d , I sit by the restless all the dark night, s o m e a r e s o y o u n g , S o m e suffer s o m u c h , I recall the e x p e r i e n c e sweet a n d s a d , ( M a n y a soldier's loving a r m s a b o u t this n e c k have c r o s s ' d a n d r e s t e d , M a n y a soldier's kiss dwells on t h e s e b e a r d e d lips.)

60

65

1865, 1881

Reconciliation W o r d over all, beautiful a s the sky, Beautiful that war a n d all its d e e d s of c a r n a g e m u s t in time be utterly lost, T h a t the h a n d s of the sisters D e a t h a n d Night i n c e s s a n t l y softly w a s h a g a i n , a n d ever a g a i n , this soil'd world; For my e n e m y is d e a d , a m a n divine a s myself is d e a d , I look w h e r e h e lies white-faced a n d still in the coffin—I draw near, 5 B e n d down a n d t o u c h lightly with my lips the white f a c e in the coffin. 1 8 6 5 - 6 6 , 1881

FROM MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT

LINCOLN'

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd W h e n lilacs last in the dooryard b l o o m ' d , A n d the great s t a r 2 early droop'd in the w e s t e r n sky in the night, I m o u r n ' d , a n d yet shall m o u r n with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity s u r e to m e you bring, Lilac b l o o m i n g perennial a n d d r o o p i n g star in the west, A n d t h o u g h t of him I love.

5

2 O powerful western fallen star! O s h a d e s of n i g h t — O m o o d y , tearful night! O great star d i s a p p e a r ' d — O the black m u r k that h i d e s the star! 1. C o m p o s e d i n t h e m o n t h s f o l l o w i n g L i n c o l n ' s a s s a s s i n a t i o n o n April 14, 1 8 6 5 , this elegy w a s p r i n t e d in t h e f a l l o f t h a t y e a r a s a n a p p e n d i x t o t h e r e c e n t l y p u b l i s h e d Drum-Taps v o l u m e . In t h e 1 8 8 1 e d i t i o n o f Leaves of Grass it a n d t h r e e l e s s e r p o e m s were joined to m a k e u p the section Mem-

ories of President Lincoln. Not simply a p o e m about t h e d e a t h o f L i n c o l n , " W h e n L i l a c s L a s t in t h e D o o r y a r d B l o o m ' d " is a b o u t t h e s t a g e s by w h i c h a poet t r a n s m u t e s his grief into poetry. 2 . L i t e r a l l y V e n u s , a l t h o u g h it b e c o m e s a s s o c i a t e d with L i n c o l n himself.

W H E N L I L A C S L A S T IN T H E D O O R Y A R D B L O O M ' D

O cruel h a n d s that hold m e p o w e r l e s s — O helpless soul of m e ! O h a r s h s u r r o u n d i n g c l o u d that will not free my s o u l .

/

1075

10

3 In the dooryard fronting a n old f a r m - h o u s e near the white-wash'd p a l i n g s , S t a n d s the lilac-bush tall-growing with h e a r t - s h a p e d leaves of rich g r e e n , With m a n y a p o i n t e d b l o s s o m rising delicate, with the p e r f u m e s t r o n g I love, With every leaf a m i r a c l e — a n d from this b u s h in the dooryard, is With delicate-color'd b l o s s o m s a n d h e a r t - s h a p e d leaves of rich g r e e n , A sprig with its flower I break.

4 In the s w a m p in s e c l u d e d r e c e s s e s , A shy a n d hidden bird is warbling a s o n g . Solitary the t h r u s h , T h e hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the s e t t l e m e n t s , S i n g s by himself a s o n g . S o n g of the b l e e d i n g throat, D e a t h ' s outlet s o n g of life, (for well dear brother I know, If thou wast not g r a n t e d to sing thou would'st surely die.)

JO

2S

Over the b r e a s t of the spring, the land, a m i d cities, A m i d lanes a n d t h r o u g h old w o o d s , where lately the violets p e e p ' d from the g r o u n d , spotting the gray debris, A m i d the g r a s s in the fields e a c h side of the l a n e s , p a s s i n g the e n d l e s s g r a s s , P a s s i n g the yellow-spear'd w h e a t , every grain from its s h r o u d in the darkbrown fields u p r i s e n , 30 P a s s i n g the apple-tree b l o w s 3 of white a n d pink in the o r c h a r d s , C a r r y i n g a c o r p s e to w h e r e it shall rest in the grave, N i g h t a n d day j o u r n e y s a coffin.

6 Coffin that p a s s e s t h r o u g h l a n e s a n d streets, T h r o u g h day a n d night with the great c l o u d d a r k e n i n g the land, With the p o m p of the inloop'd flags with the cities d r a p e d in b l a c k , 35 With the s h o w of the S t a t e s t h e m s e l v e s a s of crape-veil'd w o m e n s t a n d i n g , With p r o c e s s i o n s long a n d winding a n d the f l a m b e a u s 4 of the night, With the c o u n t l e s s t o r c h e s lit, with the silent s e a of f a c e s a n d the u n b a r e d heads, With the waiting d e p o t , the arriving coffin, a n d the s o m b r e f a c e s , With dirges through the night, with the t h o u s a n d voices rising s t r o n g a n d solemn, 40 With all the m o u r n f u l voices of the dirges p o u r ' d a r o u n d the coffin, 3.

Blossoms.

4.

Torches.

1076

/

WALT

WHITMAN

T h e dim-lit c h u r c h e s a n d the s h u d d e r i n g o r g a n s — w h e r e a m i d t h e s e you journey, With the tolling tolling bells' p e r p e t u a l c l a n g , H e r e , coffin that slowly p a s s e s , 4=i I give you my sprig of lilac.

( N o r for you, for o n e a l o n e , B l o s s o m s a n d b r a n c h e s green to coffins all I bring, F o r fresh a s the m o r n i n g , t h u s would I c h a n t a s o n g for you O s a n e a n d sacred death. All over b o u q u e t s of r o s e s , O d e a t h , I cover you over with r o s e s a n d early lilies, B u t mostly a n d now the lilac that b l o o m s the first, C o p i o u s I break, I break the sprigs from the b u s h e s . With loaded a r m s I c o m e , p o u r i n g for you, F o r you a n d the coffins all of you O d e a t h . )

w

8

O western orb sailing the h e a v e n , ?s N o w 1 know what you m u s t have m e a n t a s a m o n t h s i n c e I walk'd, As I walk'd in silence the t r a n s p a r e n t s h a d o w y night, As I s a w you h a d s o m e t h i n g to tell a s you bent to m e night after night, A s you droop'd from the sky low d o w n a s if to my s i d e , (while the other stars all look'd on,) As we wander'd together the s o l e m n night, (for s o m e t h i n g I know not what kept m e from sleep,) «> As the night a d v a n c e d , a n d I s a w o n the rim of the west how full you were of w o e , As I s t o o d on the rising g r o u n d in the breeze in the cool t r a n s p a r e n t night, As I watch'd where you p a s s ' d a n d w a s lost in the n e t h e r w a r d b l a c k of the night, As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied s a n k , a s where you s a d o r b . C o n c l u d e d , dropt in the night, a n d w a s g o n e . 6i 9 S i n g on there in the s w a m p , 0 singer bashful a n d tender, I hear your n o t e s , I h e a r your call, 1 hear, I c o m e presently, I u n d e r s t a n d y o u , . B u t a m o m e n t I linger, for the l u s t r o u s star has detain'd m e , T h e star mv d e p a r t i n g c o m r a d e holds a n d d e t a i n s m e . 10 O how shall 1 warble myself for the d e a d o n e there I loved? A n d how shall I d e c k my s o n g for the large sweet soul that h a s g o n e ? A n d what shall my p e r f u m e b e for the grave of him I love?

WHEN

LILACS

L A S T IN T H E D O O R Y A R D B L O O M ' D

/

1 0 7 7

S e a - w i n d s blown from e a s t a n d west, Blown from the E a s t e r n s e a a n d blown from the W e s t e r n s e a , till there on the prairies m e e t i n g , 75 T h e s e a n d with t h e s e a n d the breath of my c h a n t , I'll p e r f u m e the grave of him I love.

11 O what shall I h a n g on the c h a m b e r walls? A n d what shall the p i c t u r e s b e that I h a n g on the walls, T o adorn the b u r i a l - h o u s e of him I love?

so

Pictures of growing spring a n d f a r m s a n d h o m e s , With the F o u r t h - m o n t h 5 eve at s u n d o w n , a n d the gray s m o k e lucid a n d bright, With floods of the yellow gold of the g o r g e o u s , indolent, sinking s u n , burning, e x p a n d i n g the air, With the fresh sweet h e r b a g e u n d e r foot, a n d the p a l e green leaves of the trees prolific, In the d i s t a n c e the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a w i n d - d a p p l e here a n d there, 85 With ranging hills on the b a n k s , with m a n y a line a g a i n s t the sky, a n d shadows, And the city at h a n d with dwellings s o d e n s e , a n d s t a c k s of c h i m n e y s , And all the s c e n e s of life a n d the w o r k s h o p s , a n d the w o r k m e n h o m e w a r d returning.

12 L o , body a n d s o u l — t h i s land, M y own M a n h a t t a n with spires, a n d the sparkling a n d hurrying tides, a n d the s h i p s , 90 T h e varied a n d a m p l e l a n d , the S o u t h a n d the N o r t h in the light, O h i o ' s s h o r e s a n d flashing M i s s o u r i , A n d ever the far-spreading prairies cover'd with g r a s s a n d c o r n . L o , the m o s t excellent s u n s o c a l m a n d haughty, T h e violet a n d p u r p l e m o r n with just-felt b r e e z e s , T h e gentle soft-born m e a s u r e l e s s light, T h e miracle s p r e a d i n g b a t h i n g all, the fulfill'd n o o n , T h e c o m i n g eve d e l i c i o u s , the w e l c o m e night a n d the s t a r s , Over my cities s h i n i n g all, e n v e l o p i n g m a n a n d l a n d .

95

13 S i n g o n , sing o n you gray-brown bird, S i n g from the s w a m p s , the r e c e s s e s , p o u r your c h a n t from the b u s h e s , Limitless out of the d u s k , out of the c e d a r s a n d p i n e s . 5.

April.

100

1078

/

WALT

WHITMAN

S i n g on d e a r e s t brother, warble your reedy s o n g , L o u d h u m a n s o n g , with voice of u t t e r m o s t w o e . O liquid a n d free and tender! 0 wild a n d l o o s e to my s o u l ! — O w o n d r o u s singer! You only I h e a r — y e t the star holds m e , (but will s o o n depart,) Yet the lilac with m a s t e r i n g odor holds m e .

105

14 N o w while I sat in the day a n d look'd forth, In the c l o s e of the day with its light a n d the fields of spring, a n d the farmers p r e p a r i n g their c r o p s , In the large u n c o n s c i o u s scenery of my land with its lakes a n d forests, 110 In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb'd winds a n d the s t o r m s , ) U n d e r the a r c h i n g h e a v e n s of the a f t e r n o o n swift p a s s i n g , a n d the voices of children a n d w o m e n , T h e m a n y - m o v i n g s e a - t i d e s , a n d I saw the s h i p s how they sail'd, A n d the s u m m e r a p p r o a c h i n g with r i c h n e s s , a n d the fields all busy with labor, And the infinite s e p a r a t e h o u s e s , how they all went o n , e a c h with its m e a l s a n d m i n u t i a of daily u s a g e s , 115 And the streets how their t h r o b b i n g s throbb'd, a n d the cities p e n t — l o , then a n d there, Falling u p o n t h e m all a n d a m o n g t h e m all, e n v e l o p i n g m e with the rest, Appear'd the c l o u d , a p p e a r ' d the l o n g black trail, And 1 knew d e a t h , its t h o u g h t , a n d the s a c r e d k n o w l e d g e of d e a t h . T h e n with the knowledge of d e a t h a s walking o n e side of m e , 120 A n d the thought of d e a t h close-walking the other side of m e , And 1 in the middle a s with c o m p a n i o n s , a n d as holding the h a n d s of companions, 1 fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not, D o w n to the s h o r e s of the water, the p a t h by the s w a m p in the d i m n e s s , T o the s o l e m n shadowy c e d a r s a n d ghostly p i n e s s o still. 125 And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd m e , T h e gray-brown bird I know receiv'd u s c o m r a d e s three, A n d he s a n g the carol of d e a t h , a n d a verse for him I love. From deep secluded recesses, F r o m the fragrant c e d a r s a n d the ghostly p i n e s s o still, C a m e the carol of the bird.

13c

A n d the c h a r m of the carol rapt m e , A s I held a s if by their h a n d s my c o m r a d e s in the night, A n d the voice of my spirit tallied the s o n g of the bird. Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later delicate death.

135 arriving,

WHEN

Prais'd For life And for For the

L I L A C S L A S T IN T H E D O O R Y A R D B L O O M ' D

be the fathomless universe, and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, love, sweet love—but praise! praise! praise! sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.

/

1079

HO

Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come Approach

strong

unfalteringly.

deliveress,

When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee,

sing the dead,

Laved in the flood of thy Wiss O death. From me to thee glad

150

serenades,

Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee, And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting, And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. The night in silence under many a star, 155 The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know, And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil'd death, And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. Over the tree-tops I float thee a song, Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide, 160 Over the dense-pack d cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, I float tfets carol with joy, with joy to thee O death.

1 5

T o the tally of my soul, L o u d a n d strong kept up the gray-brown bird, With p u r e deliberate notes s p r e a d i n g filling the night.

i6s

L o u d in the p i n e s a n d c e d a r s d i m , C l e a r in the f r e s h n e s s moist a n d the s w a m p - p e r f u m e , And I with my c o m r a d e s there in the night. While my sight that w a s b o u n d in my eyes u n c l o s e d , As to long p a n o r a m a s of visions.

170

A n d I saw a s k a n t 6 the a r m i e s , I saw a s in n o i s e l e s s d r e a m s h u n d r e d s of battle-flags, B o r n e through the s m o k e of the battles a n d pierc'd with m i s s i l e s I s a w t h e m , A n d carried hither a n d yon t h r o u g h the s m o k e , a n d torn a n d bloody, A n d at last but a few s h r e d s left on the staffs, (and all in s i l e n c e , ) ITS A n d the staffs all splinter'd a n d b r o k e n . 6.

Sideways, a s l a n t ; a n a p p r o p r i a t e w o r d f o r i n t r o d u c i n g a s u r r e a l i s t i c v i s i o n .

1 0 8 0

/

WALT

WHITMAN

I s a w b a t t l e - c o r p s e s , myriads of t h e m , A n d the white skeletons of y o u n g m e n , I s a w t h e m , I s a w the debris a n d debris of all the slain soldiers of the war, B u t I s a w they were not a s w a s t h o u g h t , T h e y t h e m s e l v e s were fully at rest, they suffer'd not, T h e living remain'd a n d suffer'd, the m o t h e r suffer'd, And the wife a n d the child a n d t h e m u s i n g c o m r a d e suffer'd, A n d the a r m i e s that remain'd suffer'd.

iso

16 P a s s i n g t h e visions, p a s s i n g the night, iss P a s s i n g , u n l o o s i n g the hold of m y c o m r a d e s ' h a n d s , P a s s i n g the s o n g of t h e hermit bird a n d the tallying s o n g of my soul, Victorious s o n g , death's outlet s o n g , yet varying ever-altering s o n g , As low a n d wailing, yet clear the n o t e s , rising a n d falling, flooding the night, Sadly sinking a n d fainting, a s w a r n i n g a n d w a r n i n g , a n d yet again b u r s t i n g with j o y , 190 C o v e r i n g the earth a n d filling the s p r e a d of t h e h e a v e n , As that powerful p s a l m in the night I heard from r e c e s s e s , P a s s i n g , I leave thee lilac with h e a r t - s h a p e d leaves, I leave thee there in t h e door-yard, b l o o m i n g , returning with spring. 195 I c e a s e from my s o n g for t h e e , F r o m my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, c o m m u n i n g with t h e e , O c o m r a d e l u s t r o u s with silver face in the night. Yet e a c h to keep a n d all, retrievements out of t h e night, T h e s o n g , t h e w o n d r o u s c h a n t of the gray-brown bird, And the tallying c h a n t , the e c h o a r o u s ' d in m y soul, 200 With the l u s t r o u s a n d d r o o p i n g star with the c o u n t e n a n c e full of w o e , With t h e holders holding m y h a n d n e a r i n g t h e call of the bird, C o m r a d e s m i n e a n d I in the midst, a n d their m e m o r y ever to k e e p , for t h e d e a d I loved s o well, For t h e s w e e t e s t , wisest soul of all m y days a n d l a n d s — a n d this for his d e a r sake, Lilac a n d star a n d bird twined with the c h a n t of my soul, 205 T h e r e in the fragrant p i n e s a n d the c e d a r s d u s k a n d d i m . 1865-66, 1881

FROM

WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH

A Noiseless Patient Spider A n o i s e l e s s p a t i e n t spider, I m a r k ' d w h e r e o n a little p r o m o n t o r y it s t o o d i s o l a t e d , M a r k ' d h o w to explore t h e v a c a n t vast s u r r o u n d i n g , It l a u n c h ' d forth filament, filament, filament, o u t of itself, E v e r u n r e e l i n g t h e m , ever tirelessly s p e e d i n g t h e m .

HERMAN MELVILLE

/

1081

And you O m y s o u l w h e r e you s t a n d , S u r r o u n d e d , d e t a c h e d , in m e a s u r e l e s s o c e a n s of s p a c e , C e a s e l e s s l y m u s i n g , v e n t u r i n g , t h r o w i n g , s e e k i n g t h e s p h e r e s to c o n n e c t them, Till t h e b r i d g e you will n e e d b e f o r m ' d , till t h e d u c t i l e a n c h o r h o l d , Till t h e g o s s a m e r t h r e a d you fling c a t c h s o m e w h e r e , O m y s o u l . 10 1868,1881

HERMAN MELVILLE 1819-1891 H e r m a n Melville b e g a n life with everything in his favor: heredity first of all, with t w o g e n u i n e R e v o l u t i o n a r y h e r o e s for g r a n d f a t h e r s . T h e Melvill family ( t h e e w a s a d d e d in the 1 8 3 0 s ) w a s solidly e s t a b l i s h e d in B o s t o n , a n d t h e G a n s e v o o r t s w e r e linked to the g r e a t e s t D u t c h p a t r o o n f a m i l i e s of N e w York. Melville's m u c h - t r a v e l e d father, Allan Melvill, a dry-goods m e r c h a n t in N e w York City, t o o k i n o r d i n a t e p r i d e in the g e n e a l o g y of the Melvills, t r a c i n g t h e line p a s t S c o t t i s h R e n a i s s a n c e c o u r t i e r s to a q u e e n of H u n g a r y a n d t r a c i n g his m o t h e r ' s family, the S c o l l a y s , to t h e k i n g s of Norway: " & so it a p p e a r s w e a r e of a royal line in both s i d e s of the H o u s e — a f t e r all, it is not only a n a m u s i n g b u t a j u s t c a u s e of p r i d e , to resort b a c k t h r o u g h t h e a g e s to s u c h a n c e s t r y , & s h o u l d p r o d u c e a c o r r e s p o n d e n t spirit of e m u l a t i o n in their d e s c e n d a n t s to the r e m o t e s t p o s t e r i t y . " A s the third o l d e s t of eight c h i l d r e n b o r n b e t w e e n 1 8 1 5 a n d 1 8 3 0 , H e r m a n Melville s p e n t his early c h i l d h o o d in luxury. B u t A l l a n Melvill b e g a n b o r r o w i n g f r o m relatives in the 1 8 2 0 s , a l t e r n a t i n g b e t w e e n o v e r e n t h u s i a s m a b o u t the f u t u r e of b u s i n e s s in A m e r i c a a n d d r e a d of a n i n e v i t a b l e r e c e s s i o n . In 1 8 3 2 h e s u d d e n l y fell ill a n d d i e d in a d e l i r i u m that s o m e in t h e family t h o u g h t of a s m a d n e s s . H e w a s m a n y t h o u s a n d s of dollars in d e b t , a n d his family, t h e n living in Albany, b e c a m e d e p e n d e n t o n t h e c o n s c i e n t i o u s b u t finely c a l c u l a t e d c a r e of the G a n s e v o o r t s , e s p e c i a l l y Melville's u n c l e P e t e r . T a k e n o u t of s c h o o l w h e n h e w a s twelve, a few m o n t h s after his father's d e a t h , Melville c l e r k e d for two y e a r s at a b a n k . S t a r t i n g early in 1 8 3 4 h e w o r k e d two a n d a half years at his b r o t h e r G a n s e v o o r t s f u r - c a p s t o r e in Albany. In 1 8 3 7 h e s p e n t several m o n t h s in n e a r b y Pittsfield, M a s s a c h u s e t t s , r u n n i n g his u n c l e T h o m a s Melvill's f a r m after his u n c l e left for Illinois. J u s t after h e t u r n e d e i g h t e e n , h e t a u g h t in a c o u n t r y s c h o o l n e a r Pittsfield, w h e r e h e b o a r d e d with Y a n k e e b a c k w o o d s f a m i l i e s . T h e next s p r i n g h e t o o k a c o u r s e in s u r v e y i n g a n d e n g i n e e r i n g at the L a n s i n g b u r g h A c a d e m y , n e a r A l b a n y , b u t in t h e a f t e r m a t h of the P a n i c of 1 8 3 7 f o u n d n o work. H e s i g n e d on a voyage to a n d from L i v e r p o o l in 1 8 3 9 , the s u m m e r h e t u r n e d twenty, t h e n t h e next year j o b - h u n t e d fruitlessly a r o u n d the M i d w e s t . At t w e n t y - o n e , in J a n u a r y 1 8 4 1 , h e took the d e s p e r a t e m e a s u r e of s a i l i n g o n a w h a l e r for t h e S o u t h S e a s . In t h e s u m m e r of 1 8 4 2 Melville a n d a s h i p m a t e , T o b y G r e e n e , j u m p e d s h i p at N u k a h i v a , in t h e M a r q u e s a s ; a n d for a few w e e k s Melville lived with a tribe q u i t e u n t a i n t e d by W e s t e r n civilization; late in life h e felt h e h a d lived in t h e w o r l d ' s last E d e n . P i c k e d u p by a n A u s t r a l i a n w h a l e r l e s s t h a n a m o n t h after h e d e s e r t e d , h e t o o k part in a c o m i c o p e r a m u t i n y a n d w a s i m p r i s o n e d by t h e B r i t i s h c o n s u l in T a h i t i , a l o n g with a l e a r n e d friend (the " D r . L o n g G h o s t " of Omoo) w h o b e c a m e his c o m p a n i o n in e x p l o r i n g the flora a n d , e s p e c i a l l y , t h e f a u n a of T a h i t i a n d E i m e o . S h i p p i n g

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o n a N a n t u c k e t w h a l e r at E i m e o , Melville w a s d i s c h a r g e d in L a h a i n a , t h e n k n o c k e d a b o u t H o n o l u l u for a few m o n t h s b e f o r e s i g n i n g o n t h e frigate United States as an o r d i n a r y s e a m a n . After a leisurely c r u i s e in the Pacific, i n c l u d i n g a revisit to t h e M a r q u e s a s , t h e United States s a i l e d for h o m e , arriving at B o s t o n in O c t o b e r 1 8 4 4 . H e r m a n Melville w a s twenty-five; h e later said that f r o m that year, b e g i n n i n g A u g u s t 1, 1 8 4 4 , h e d a t e d his life. H e a p p a r e n t l y did not look for a j o b after his d i s c h a r g e from t h e navy in B o s t o n on O c t o b e r 14; within two or t h r e e m o n t h s h e h a d b e g u n writing Typee while s t a y i n g with his lawyer b r o t h e r s in N e w York City. Typee w a s p u b l i s h e d early in 1 8 4 6 . As t h e e a r l i e s t p e r s o n a l a c c o u n t of t h e S o u t h S e a s to have t h e readability a n d s u s p e n s e of a d v e n t u r e fiction, it m a d e a g r e a t s e n s a t i o n , c a p t u r i n g the i m a g i n a t i o n of b o t h the literary reviewers a n d the r e a d i n g p u b l i c with the surefire c o m b i n a t i o n of a n t h r o p o l o g i c a l novelty a n d w h a t reviewers regularly t a g g e d ( r e m e m b e r i n g Othello) a s " h a i r - b r e a d t h s c a p e s . " It w a s a t t e n d e d by v i g o r o u s , s a l e s - s t i m u l a t i n g c o n t r o v e r s y over its a u t h e n t i c i t y , c a p p e d by t h e e m e r g e n c e of T o b y , the l o n g - l o s t fellow r u n a w a y , in t h e p e r s o n of R i c h a r d T o b i a s G r e e n e , a h o u s e p a i n t e r n e a r B u f f a l o . In the m i d d l e of t h e p u b l i c i t y over Typee, G a n s e v o o r t d i e d s u d d e n l y at t h e a g e of thirty. In l e s s t h a n a y e a r the u n k n o w n sailor, t h e u n a p p r e c i a t e d s e c o n d s o n , h a d b e c o m e a s e n s a t i o n a l l y n e w s w o r t h y writer a n d t h e h e a d of his family. Melville i m m e d i a t e l y t u r n e d to the c o m p o s i t i o n of a s e q u e l , Omoo, the a c c o u n t — m o r e strictly a u t o b i o g r a p h i c a l t h a n Typee—of his b e a c h c o m b i n g in T a h i t i a n d E i m e o . Omoo l a c k e d t h e s u s p e n s e of Typee, but it w a s a m o r e p o l i s h e d p e r f o r m a n c e o f a writer far s u r e r of himself. It is a fine, h u m o r o u s p r o d u c t i o n , full of vivid c h a r a c t e r s k e t c h e s a n d m e m o r a b l e d o c u m e n t a t i o n of the evils w r o u g h t by t h e C h r i s t i a n i z e r s . It d e l i g h t e d r e a d e r s in 1 8 4 7 a n d g a v e g r e a t p l e a s u r e to later S o u t h S e a w a n d e r e r s like R o b e r t L o u i s S t e v e n s o n a n d H e n r y A d a m s . In the flush of his s u c c e s s with Omoo, Melville m a r r i e d E l i z a b e t h K n a p p S h a w o n A u g u s t 4, 1 8 4 7 , t h r e e d a y s after his t w e n t y - e i g h t h birthday. H e r father, L e m u e l S h a w , t h e c h i e f j u s t i c e of M a s s a c h u s e t t s , h a d b e e n a s c h o o l friend of A l l a n Melvill at t h e turn of t h e century. After t h e m a r r i a g e S h a w p r o v i d e d several a d v a n c e s a g a i n s t his d a u g h t e r ' s i n h e r i t a n c e , a l l o w i n g Melville to e s t a b l i s h h i m s e l f in M a n h a t t a n with his b r i d e , his y o u n g e r b r o t h e r Allan, Allan's o w n b r i d e , his m o t h e r , f o u r s i s t e r s , a n d his new m a n u s c r i p t . Melville was well o n his way to b e c o m i n g a literary fixture of N e w York City, a r e s i d e n t authority a n d reviewer of b o o k s on n a u t i c a l m a t t e r s a n d inland e x p l o r a t i o n , a n d a reliable d i s p e n s e r of v i g o r o u s , h u m o r o u s , a u t h e n t i c t a l e s of exotic a d v e n t u r e . I n s t e a d , the P o l y n e s i a n a d v e n t u r e r d i s c o v e r e d the world of t h e m i n d a n d t h e a e s thetic r a n g e of the E n g l i s h l a n g u a g e a s h e worked his way into his third b o o k , Mardi, w h i c h w a s p u b l i s h e d in April 1 8 4 9 , j u s t short of two y e a r s after h e b e g a n it. Mardi sold poorly, e s p e c i a l l y in t h e o v e r p r i c e d t h r e e - v o l u m e E n g l i s h e d i t i o n , a n d d e e p l y d a m a g e d Melville's g r o w i n g r e p u t a t i o n e x c e p t with a few r e a d e r s . Mardi is, in fact, a l m o s t u n r e a d a b l e , e x c e p t for a rarely d e d i c a t e d lover of a n t i q u a r i a n literary, philos o p h i c a l , m e t a p h y s i c a l , a n d political h o d g e p o d g e — t h e sort o f e c c e n t r i c s c h o l a r w h o loves B u r t o n ' s Anatomy of Melancholy a n d B r o w n e ' s Vulgar Errors. M e l v i l l e a n s find it i n e x h a u s t i b l y f a s c i n a t i n g , r e c o g n i z i n g in it Melville's e x u b e r a n t r e s p o n s e to his realization that h e w a s — o r c o u l d b e c o m e — a g r e a t literary g e n i u s . Mardi w a s his d e c l a ration of literary i n d e p e n d e n c e , t h o u g h h e did not fully a c h i e v e that i n d e p e n d e n c e until Moby-Dick, two b o o k s a n d two y e a r s later. a n d its p u b l i c a t i o n , Early in 1 8 4 9 , d u r i n g the interval b e t w e e n c o m p l e t i n g Mardi Melville's first s o n , M a l c o l m , w a s b o r n . A c c e p t i n g t h e r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s of a n e w father, h e w r o t e Redhurn ( 1 8 4 9 ) a n d White-Jacket ( 1 8 5 0 ) a s a c t s of c o n t r i t i o n , b o t h g r o u n d o u t d u r i n g o n e f o u r - m o n t h p e r i o d in the 1 8 4 9 s u m m e r s w e l t e r of a c h o l e r a - r i d d e n N e w York City. Redhurn, written in the first p e r s o n by the m i d d l e - a g e d , s e n t i m e n t a l W e l l i n g b o r o u g h R e d b u r n , is the story of t h e n a r r a t o r ' s first v o y a g e , w h i c h like M e l ville's o w n w a s a s u m m e r v o y a g e to a n d f r o m Liverpool, t h o u g h R e d b u r n is hardly

HERMAN MELVILLE

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m o r e t h a n a boy while Melville w a s twenty. T h e reviewers a n d t h e r e a d e r s liked it, Robinson

e s p e c i a l l y the air of d o c u m e n t a r y c o n v i n c i n g n e s s that r e m i n d e d t h e m of a n d other works by D a n i e l D e f o e .

Crusoe

L o n g before Redburn

w a s p u b l i s h e d , Melville had c o m p l e t e d Wliite-Jacket,

w a s b a s e d on his e x p e r i e n c e s o n t h e m a n - o f - w a r United

States

which

in 1 8 4 3 a n d

1844,

s u p p l e m e n t e d by lavish b o r r o w i n g s f r o m earlier n a u t i c a l l i t e r a t u r e . Melville s a i l e d for White-

L o n d o n in O c t o b e r 1 8 4 9 , c a r r y i n g with him proofs of the H a r p e r edition of Jacket.

An o b s e r v e r d e s c r i b e d h i m a s wearily h a w k i n g his b o o k " f r o m Picadillv to

W h i t e c h a p e l , c a l l i n g u p o n every p u b l i s h e r in his w a y , " a n d in fact Melville r e p e a t e d l y m e t refusal b e c a u s e of t h e copyright p r o b l e m . H e u l t i m a t e l y s e t t l e d with B e n t l e y o n g o o d t e r m s — b u t not g o o d e n o u g h to allow him to m a k e his h o p e d - f o r t o u r of E u r o p e a n d the Holy L a n d . S o o n after his return to N e w York on F e b r u a r y 1, 1 8 5 0 , e n t h u s i a s t i c reviews of White-Jacket

b e g a n arriving from E n g l a n d , a n d in M a r c h the A m e r -

ican edition w a s p u b l i s h e d to s i m i l a r a c c l a i m . In a b u o y a n t m o o d , s u r e of his p o w e r s a n d s u r e of his ability to k e e p a n a u d i e n c e , Melville b e g a n his w h a l i n g b o o k . ( B y mid1 8 5 1 its w o r k i n g title w a s The Whale, Moby-Dick

w h i c h r e m a i n e d t h e title for t h e E n g l i s h e d i t i o n ;

w a s a l a s t - m i n u t e s u b s t i t u t e for the A m e r i c a n e d i t i o n . )

L i k e Mardi,

Moby-Dick

w a s luxury for Melville, a n e n o r m o u s , slowly written

b o o k . D u r i n g t h e c o m p o s i t i o n of Moby-Dick

Melville v a c a t i o n e d at his u n c l e T h o -

m a s ' s old p l a c e in t h e B e r k s h i r e s . H e h a d left the region a s a t e e n a g e m a s t e r of a b a c k w o o d s s c h o o l ; a n d Pittsfield r e s i d e n t s r e m e m b e r e d h i m , if at all, a s that lad or, from a few years b e f o r e , a s the o r p h a n n e p h e w of T h o m a s Melvill, a p r e t e n t i o u s f a r m e r in a n d o u t of d e b t o r ' s p r i s o n until h e m o v e d to Illinois in 1 8 3 7 . N o w this n e p h e w w a s an a u t h o r of i n t e r n a t i o n a l r e p u t e , a n d t h e collision of t i m e s a n d circ u m s t a n c e s r e l e a s e d a n e a r - m a n i c s t a t e in Melville. H e w a s in this exalted m o o d w h e n he m e t N a t h a n i e l Manse

H a w t h o r n e . R e a d i n g H a w t h o r n e ' s Mosses

from

an

Old

j u s t after their m e e t i n g m a y have had s o m e m i n o r stylistic i n f l u e n c e o n a

few p a s s a g e s in Moby-Dick; b r o t h e r s ' Literary

World

deepest

toward

attitudes

m o r e i m p o r t a n t , Melville u n d e r t o o k for the D u y c k i n c k a review of Mosses the p r o b l e m s

in w h i c h h e a r t i c u l a t e d m a n y of his

and opportunities

of A m e r i c a n

writers.

I n f u s i n g the whole review is Melville's exultant s e n s e that the day h a d c o m e w h e n A m e r i c a n writers c o u l d rival S h a k e s p e a r e ; in p r a i s i n g H a w t h o r n e ' s a c h i e v e m e n t s , h e w a s h o n o r i n g w h a t h e k n e w lay in his own m a n u s c r i p t . F u r t h e r m o r e , Melville g a v e c l e a r e r h i n t s at what sort of " t r u t h " h e m i g h t be trying to give in

Molry-Dick—

d a r k , " S h a k e s p e a r e a n " t r u t h s a b o u t h u m a n n a t u r e a n d the u n i v e r s e that "in this world of l i e s " c a n be told only "covertly, a n d by s n a t c h e s . " O u t of his f a i l u r e s with Mardi

a n d the slave labor of t h e next two b o o k s , Melville had built a literary theory

in w h i c h a writer writes s i m u l t a n e o u s l y for two a u d i e n c e s , o n e c o m p o s e d of the m o b , t h e other of " e a g l e - e y e d " r e a d e r s w h o p e r c e i v e t h e true m e a n i n g of t h o s e p a s s a g e s that the a u t h o r h a s "directly c a l c u l a t e d to d e c e i v e — e g r e g i o u s l y d e c e i v e — t h e superficial s k i m m e r of p a g e s . " Still exultantly feeling his n e w p o w e r s , Melville m o v e d his family to a farm n e a r Pittsfield late in 1 8 5 0 . By D e c e m b e r h e h a d settled a g a i n into i n t e n s e work on his b o o k until the s p r i n g c h o r e s t o o k him away f r o m it. D u r i n g 1851 t h e m o s t s t i m u l a t i n g fact of Melville's e x i s t e n c e , o t h e r t h a n the b o o k h e b r o u g h t to c o m p l e t i o n a n d s a w t h r o u g h the p r e s s , w a s H a w t h o r n e ' s p r e s e n c e at L e n o x , n e a r e n o u g h for a few visits e x c e p t d u r i n g the worst of the B e r k s h i r e winter. As he finished Moby-Dick,

Melville

w a s a family m a n w h o s e h o u s e h o l d i n c l u d e d his m o t h e r a n d s i s t e r s a s well a s a s m a l l child a n d a p r e g n a n t wife. H e o w e d the H a r p e r s $ 7 0 0 b e c a u s e they h a d a d v a n c e d him m o r e t h a n his earlier b o o k s h a d e a r n e d , a n d in April 1851 they r e f u s e d h i m an a d v a n c e o n his w h a l i n g b o o k . O n M a y 1, Melville b o r r o w e d $ 2 , 0 5 0 from T . D. S t e w art, a n old L a n s i n g b u r g h a c q u a i n t a n c e ; a n d a few d a y s later h e painfully d e f i n e d his l i t e r a r y - e c o n o m i c d i l e m m a to H a w t h o r n e : " W h a t I feel m o s t m o v e d to write, that is b a n n e d . — i t will not pay. Yet, a l t o g e t h e r , write t h e other is a final h a s h , a n d all my b o o k s are b o t c h e s . "

way I c a n n o t . S o the p r o d u c t

1084

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L a t e in 1 8 5 1 , a b o u t t h e t i m e Moby-Dick

was published, Melville began

Pierre,

t h i n k i n g h e c o u l d e x p r e s s the a g o n i e s of t h e growth of a h u m a n p s y c h e even while e n t h r a l l i n g r e a d e r s with t h e r o m a n t i c a n d e t h i c a l p e r p l e x i t i e s a t t e n d i n g o n y o u n g P i e r r e G l e n d i n n i n g ' s d i s c o v e r y of a d a r k m a i d e n w h o m i g h t b e his u n a c k n o w l e d g e d half-sister. Melville t o o k his m a n u s c r i p t to N e w York C i t y a r o u n d N e w Y e a r ' s D a y 1 8 5 2 , h o p i n g to p u b l i s h it a s a t a u t 3 6 0 - p a g e b o o k , little m o r e t h a n h a l f t h e size o f Moby-Dick.

B u t d e s p i t e the early s a l e s of t h e w h a l i n g b o o k , Melville w a s still in d e b t

to t h e H a r p e r s , w h o o f f e r e d h i m a p u n i t i v e c o n t r a c t for Pierre—twenty

cents on the

d o l l a r after e x p e n s e s r a t h e r t h a n the old r a t e of fifty c e n t s . S t u n g , M e l v i l l e a c c e p t e d , b u t his r a g e a n d s h a m e over t h e c o n t r a c t m i n g l e d with p a i n f r o m the reviews of Dick

in t h e J a n u a r y p e r i o d i c a l s : the Southern

"writ de lunatico"

Quarterly

Review,

Moby-

for i n s t a n c e , s a i d a

w a s j u s t i f i e d a g a i n s t M e l v i l l e a n d his c h a r a c t e r s . W i t h i n d a y s M e l -

ville b e g a n w o r k i n g into Pierre

a s o m e t i m e s wry, s o m e t i m e s r e c k l e s s l y bitter a c c o u n t

of his o w n literary c a r e e r , e n l a r g i n g the w o r k a n d w r e c k i n g w h a t e v e r c h a n c e h e h a d of m a k i n g the w o r k w h a t h e h a d h o p e d — a s m u c h m o r e p r o f o u n d t h a n

Moby-Dick

as the legendary Krakens are larger than whales. Pierre

w a s widely d e n o u n c e d a s i m m o r a l , a n d o n e P i e r r e - i n s p i r e d n e w s a c c o u n t

w a s c a p t i o n e d " H E R M A N M E L V I L L E C R A Z Y . " In p a n i c t h e family m a d e efforts to g a i n Melville s o m e g o v e r n m e n t p o s t , p r e f e r a b l y foreign, b u t n o t h i n g c a m e of their a t t e m p t s to call in old favors. Melville s t a y e d on the f a r m with his e x p a n d i n g h o u s e hold (two d a u g h t e r s , E l i z a b e t h a n d F r a n c e s , w e r e b o r n in 1 8 5 3 a n d 1 8 5 5 ) . After Pierre

Melville's c a r e e r faltered. In M a y 1 8 5 3 h e c o m p l e t e d The Isle of the Cross,

a

b o o k a b o u t a p a t i e n t s e a - c o a s t wife, b u t h e w a s s o m e h o w " p r e v e n t e d " f r o m p u b l i s h i n g it, a n d h e p r o b a b l y d e s t r o y e d it. In 1 8 5 3 a n d 1 8 5 4 h e w r o t e p a r t o f a b o o k a b o u t t o r t o i s e h u n t i n g in t h e G a l a p a g o s I s l a n d s , t h e n a p p a r e n t l y diverted s o m e of it i n t o The

Encantadas

a n d d e s t r o y e d the rest. Melville w a s u n d e r g o i n g a p r o f o u n d p s y c h o -

logical c r i s i s that left h i m m o r e r e s i g n e d to fate t h a n defiant, a n d in a d d i t i o n to his o l d e r a i l m e n t of w e a k eyes h e d e v e l o p e d a n e w set of c r i p p l i n g afflictions d i a g n o s e d as sciatica and rheumatism. In 1 8 5 3 Melville b e g a n a n e w , low-keyed c a r e e r a s writer of s h o r t s t o r i e s for t h e two m a j o r A m e r i c a n m o n t h l i e s , Harper's

a n d Putnam's.

O n e serial, the story of a

R e v o l u t i o n a r y exile n a m e d Israel Potter, s t r e t c h e d o u t to b o o k l e n g t h . O f f e r i n g it to the p u b l i s h e r , Melville p r o m i s e d that it w o u l d c o n t a i n n o t h i n g " t o s h o c k t h e fastidio u s , " a n d in fact he r e s t r a i n e d his i m a g i n a t i o n a n d his m e t a p h y s i c a l a n d t h e o l o g i c a l c o m p u l s i o n s . S t r a i g h t f o r w a r d novel that it is, Israel

Potter

c o n t a i n s p a s s a g e s of g r e a t

h i s t o r i c a l i n t e r e s t , e s p e c i a l l y t h e c o m p l e x p o r t r a i t s of B e n j a m i n F r a n k l i n , J o h n P a u l J o n e s , a n d E t h a n Allen. In 1 8 5 6 Melville c o l l e c t e d t h e Putnam's Tales,

s u p p l y i n g a n e w p r e f a t o r y s k e t c h , The Piazza,

s t o r i e s a s The

Piazza

which marked his development

p a s t his earlier s i m p l e a d m i r a t i o n for H a w t h o r n e ' s s u b j e c t s a n d t e c h n i q u e s . F r o m this p e r i o d of p h y s i c a l a n d p s y c h i c s u f f e r i n g a n d of m a s t e r p i e c e , The Confidence-Man,

financial

distress emerged a new

a d e v a s t a t i n g i n d i c t m e n t of n a t i o n a l c o n f i d e n c e

in t h e f o r m of m i n g l e d m e t a p h y s i c a l s a t i r e a n d low c o m e d y . It w e n t a l m o s t u n r e a d in t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s ; in E n g l a n d t h e reviews were m o r e i n t e l l i g e n t b u t t h e s a l e s w e r e a l s o d i s a p p o i n t i n g , a n d M e l v i l l e did n o t e a r n a c e n t f r o m e i t h e r e d i t i o n . B y t h e s p r i n g of 1 8 5 6 Melville m a y h a v e r e c o v e r e d f r o m m o s t of his m e n t a l , spiritual, a n d p h y s i c a l a g o n i e s , b u t his e c o n o m i c d i s t r e s s w a s g r e a t e r t h a n ever. M e l v i l l e w a s f o r c e d to sell p a r t of the f a r m , but J u d g e S h a w m e t t h e family's a n x i e t i e s a b o u t H e r m a n ' s s t a t e of m i n d by p r o v i d i n g f u n d s for a n e x t e n d e d trip to E u r o p e a n d t h e L e v a n t , from O c t o b e r 1 8 5 6 to M a y 1 8 5 7 . In E n g l a n d M e l v i l l e told H a w t h o r n e , w h o h a d b e c o m e c o n s u l at L i v e r p o o l , that h e did not a n t i c i p a t e m u c h p l e a s u r e in his r a m b l e s , s i n c e " t h e spirit of a d v e n t u r e " h a d g o n e o u t of h i m . F o r u p w a r d s of a d e c a d e , Melville's a d v e n t u r i n g h a d b e e n i n w a r d — p h i l o s o p h i c a l , m e t a p h y s i c a l , p s y c h o l o g i c a l , a n d artistic. W h e n h e r e t u r n e d h o m e , Melville w a s m o r e t h a n ever " a p o n d e r i n g m a n , " b u t h e told a y o u n g G a n s e v o o r t c o u s i n that h e w a s " n o t g o i n g to write any m o r e at present."

HERMAN MELVILLE

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1085

T h a t m o m e n t s t r e t c h e d o n . Melville l e c t u r e d in the E a s t a n d M i d w e s t for t h r e e s e a s o n s ( 1 8 5 7 — 6 0 ) w i t h o u t m u c h profit, s p e a k i n g in s u c c e s s i v e y e a r s o n " S t a t u e s in R o m e , " " T h e S o u t h S e a s , " a n d " T r a v e l . " H e p r e p a r e d a v o l u m e of p o e m s in 1 8 6 0 a n d s a i l e d o n a v o y a g e to S a n F r a n c i s c o a s p a s s e n g e r o n a s h i p c a p t a i n e d by his y o u n g e s t b r o t h e r , T h o m a s , leaving his wife a n d his b r o t h e r Allan to s e e k fruitlessly for a p u b lisher. Early in 1 8 6 1 , Melville a t t e m p t e d , o n c e a g a i n , to " p r o c u r e s o m e

foreign

a p p o i n t m e n t u n d e r the n e w A d m i n i s t r a t i o n — t h e c o n s u l s h i p at F l o r e n c e , for e x a m p l e . " A n u r g e n t letter r e c a l l e d h i m to Pittsfield, a n d h e a n d his wife r e a c h e d B o s t o n too late to s e e J u d g e S h a w alive. T h e e s t a t e w a s s l o w in b e i n g s e t t l e d , b u t p r o m p t l y e n o u g h s o m e s t o c k s w e r e in M r s . Melville's p o s s e s s i o n , a n d their e c o n o m i c p r e s s u r e s b e g a n to e a s e . T h e M e l v i l l e s s p e n t the winter of 1861—62 in M a n h a t t a n , t h e n in April Melville r e t u r n e d to A r r o w h e a d (which his b r o t h e r Allan later b o u g h t ) a n d m o v e d t h e family into Pittsfield, t h e n to N e w York in O c t o b e r 1 8 6 3 . Melville w a i t e d o u t t h e war, m a k i n g a trip to t h e Virginia battlefields with Allan in 1 8 6 4 to get sight of a G a n s e v o o r t c o u s i n a n d (as A l l a n p u t it), like all literary m e n , to " h a v e o p p o r t u n i t i e s to s e e that they m a y d e s c r i b e . " Battle-Pieces

( 1 8 6 6 ) , a v o l u m e of Civil W a r p o e m s ,

w a s c a s u a l l y or disdainfully reviewed a n d quickly f o r g o t t e n ; n o w it r a n k s with Whitm a n ' s Drum-Taps

a s the b e s t of h u n d r e d s of v o l u m e s of poetry to c o m e o u t of t h e

war. As t h e u n e m p l o y e d d o , Melville took o u t his f r u s t r a t i o n s o n his family, s o m u c h s o that for years his wife's h a l f - b r o t h e r s c o n s i d e r e d h i m i n s a n e a s well a s

financially

i n c o m p e t e n t , a n d by early 1 8 6 7 Melville's wife m a y a l s o h a v e b e e n p e r s u a d e d t h a t h e w a s i n s a n e . H e r s e n s e of loyalty to h i m a n d her h o r r o r of g o s s i p , h o w e v e r , w e r e s t r o n g e n o u g h to m a k e h e r reject her m i n i s t e r ' s s u g g e s t i o n that s h e p r e t e n d to m a k e a r o u t i n e visit to B o s t o n a n d t h e n b a r r i c a d e h e r s e l f in t h e S h a w h o u s e , b u t a s h e r family realized, t h e law w a s o n Melville's s i d e , w h a t e v e r u n r e c o r d e d a b u s e s h e w a s guilty of. In 1 8 6 6 Melville h a d at last o b t a i n e d a political j o b — n o t a s c o n s u l in s o m e exotic c a p i t a l b u t a s a d e p u t y i n s p e c t o r of c u s t o m s in N e w York City. After M a l c o l m killed h i m s e l f l a t e in 1 8 6 7 at t h e a g e of e i g h t e e n the M e l v i l l e s c l o s e d r a n k s . As Melville h a d p r e d i c t e d to H a w t h o r n e , h e b e c a m e k n o w n a s t h e " m a n w h o lived a m o n g the c a n n i b a l s , " h o l d i n g his p l a c e in e n c y c l o p e d i a s a n d literary h i s t o r i e s primarily a s t h e a u t h o r of Typee

a n d Omoo,

all b u t f o r g o t t e n by t h e p o s t b e l l u m literary

world. B u t for y e a r s t h r o u g h the early 1 8 7 0 s Melville w o r k e d on a p o e m a b o u t a m o t l e y g r o u p of A m e r i c a n E u r o p e a n p i l g r i m s — a n d t o u r i s t s — w h o t a l k e d their way t h r o u g h s o m e of t h e s a m e P a l e s t i n i a n s c e n e s h e h a d visited a d e c a d e a n d m o r e earlier. T h i s p o e m , Clarel,

g r e w to e i g h t e e n t h o u s a n d lines a n d a p p e a r e d in 1 8 7 6 , p a i d for

by a specific b e q u e s t from the dying P e t e r G a n s e v o o r t . It is A m e r i c a ' s m o s t t h o u g h t f u l c o n t r i b u t i o n to t h e conflict of religious faith a n d D a r w i n i a n s k e p t i c i s m that o b s e s s e d E n g l i s h c o n t e m p o r a r i e s s u c h a s M a t t h e w A r n o l d a n d T h o m a s H a r d y . L i k e Mardi is i n e x h a u s t i b l e for w h a t it r e v e a l s of Melville's m i n d a n d art, b u t unlike Mardi

it it is

p l o t t e d with t h e s u r e t y of artistic control that h e h a d l e a r n e d in t h e 1 8 5 0 s ; h o w e v e r , Mardi

h a d b e e n r e a d a n d a r g u e d a b o u t , a n d Clarel

was ignored.

S t a n w i x , the s e c o n d Melville s o n , drifted away w i t h o u t a c a r e e r , b e a c h c o m b i n g for a t i m e in C e n t r a l A m e r i c a , finally d y i n g in S a n F r a n c i s c o in 1 8 8 6 . T h e first d a u g h t e r , c a l l e d B e s s i e , d e v e l o p e d s e v e r e arthritis, never m a r r i e d , a n d died in 1 9 0 8 . O n l y F r a n c e s m a r r i e d , a n d s h e lived until 1 9 3 4 , u n a b l e to r e c o g n i z e her f a t h e r in t h e w o r d s of t w e n t i e t h - c e n t u r y a d m i r e r s a n d flatly r e f u s i n g to talk a b o u t h i m . B u t t h r o u g h the 1 8 8 0 s Melville a n d his wife d r e w c l o s e r t o g e t h e r . A n e x t r a o r d i n a r y s e r i e s of l e g a c i e s c a m e to t h e m in Melville's last y e a r s ; ironically t h e w e a l t h w a s too late to m a k e m u c h c h a n g e in their lives, b u t it a l l o w e d h i m to retire f r o m t h e c u s t o m h o u s e at the b e g i n n i n g of 1 8 8 6 a n d d e v o t e h i m s e l f to his writing. F r o m t i m e to t i m e after Clarel

he had

written p o e m s that u l t i m a t e l y w e n t into two v o l u m e s w h i c h h e p r i n t e d privately shortly b e f o r e his d e a t h , e x c e p t for s o m e that r e m a i n e d u n p u b l i s h e d until the 1 9 2 0 s a n d later. Melville d e v e l o p e d t h e habit of writing p r o s e h e a d n o t e s to p o e m s , n o t a b l y s o m e d e a l i n g with a n i m a g i n a r y B u r g u n d y C l u b in w h i c h h e f o u n d c o n s o l a t i o n for his l o n e l i n e s s . H e c o u l d relax with t h e intelligent g o o d fellows of his i m a g i n a t i o n a s

1086

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MELVILLE

h e c o u l d never relax a m o n g the p o p u l a r literary m e n of t h e 1 8 7 0 s a n d 1 8 8 0 s w h o n o w a n d t h e n tried to p a t r o n i z e h i m . In the m i d - 1 8 8 0 s o n e p o e m a b o u t a B r i t i s h s a i l o r e v o k e d a h e a d n o t e that, e x p a n d e d a n d r e e x p a n d e d , w a s left nearly finished at Melville's d e a t h a s Billy

Budd,

Sailor,

his final s t u d y of t h e a m b i g u o u s c l a i m s of

a u t h o r i t y a n d individuality. B e f o r e Melville's d e a t h in 1 8 9 1 , s o m e t h i n g like a revival of his f a m e w a s in p r o g r e s s , e s p e c i a l l y in E n g l a n d . A m e r i c a n n e w s p a p e r s b e c a m e a c c u s t o m e d to r e p r i n t i n g a n d briefly c o m m e n t i n g on e x t r a o r d i n a r y i t e m s in British p e r i o d i c a l s , s u c h a s R o b e r t B u c h a n a n ' s f o o t n o t e to Melville's n a m e in a p o e t i c t r i b u t e to W h i t m a n ( 1 8 8 5 ) : "I s o u g h t e v e r y w h e r e for this T r i t o n , w h o is still living s o m e w h e r e in N e w York. N o o n e s e e m e d to k n o w a n y t h i n g of the o n e great i m a g i n a t i v e writer fit to s t a n d s h o u l d e r to s h o u l d e r with W h i t m a n on t h a t c o n t i n e n t . " T h e r e c u r r e n t i m a g e r y — u s e d by Melville a s well a s j o u r n a l i s t s — w a s of burial a n d p o s s i b l e r e s u r r e c t i o n . T h e t r u e Melville revival b e g a n with a r t i c l e s o n Melville's c e n t e n n i a l in 1 9 1 9 . T h a t revival, o n e of t h e m o s t c u r i o u s p h e n o m e n a of A m e r i c a n literary history, s w e p t Melville from t h e r a n k s of the l e s s e r A m e r i c a n w r i t e r s — l e s s e r t h a n J a m e s F e n i m o r e C o o p e r a n d W i l l i a m G i l m o r e S i m m s — i n t o the rarefied c o m p a n y of S h a k e s p e a r e a n d a few fellow i m m o r tals of world l i t e r a t u r e s o that only W h i t m a n , J a m e s , a n d F a u l k n e r a r e s e e n a s his A m e r i c a n e q u a l s . E v e n d u r i n g t h e m a s s c o n s u m p t i o n of Melville in the c l a s s r o o m a n d the s p a w n i n g of the W h i t e W h a l e in c o m i c b o o k s , c a r t o o n s , a n d s e a f o o d r e s t a u r a n t s , lonely c u l t i s t s a r e still to be f o u n d , t r a c i n g his j o u r n e y s in the S o u t h S e a s a n d M a n h a t t a n Island, a n d visiting his g r a v e in t h e Bronx, faithful to t h e M e l v i l l e w h o s p e a k s to t h e m w i t h o u t t h e aid of a n interpreter. T h a t m a y b e t h e true sign of the rarest literary i m m o r t a l i t y .

Bartleby, the Scrivener1 A Story of

Wall-Street

I a m a rather elderly m a n . T h e n a t u r e of my a v o c a t i o n s for the last thirty years h a s b r o u g h t m e into m o r e than ordinary c o n t a c t with what w o u l d s e e m an interesting a n d s o m e w h a t singular set of m e n , of w h o m a s yet n o t h i n g that I know of h a s ever b e e n w r i t t e n : — I m e a n the law-copyists or scriveners. I have known very m a n y of t h e m , professionally a n d privately, a n d if I p l e a s e d , c o u l d relate divers histories, at w h i c h g o o d - n a t u r e d g e n t l e m e n might s m i l e , a n d s e n t i m e n t a l s o u l s m i g h t w e e p . B u t I waive the b i o g r a p h i e s of all other scriveners for a few p a s s a g e s in the life of Bartleby, w h o w a s a scrivener the s t r a n g e s t I ever saw or h e a r d of. While of other law-copyists I might write the c o m p l e t e life, of Bartleby n o t h i n g of that sort c a n b e d o n e . I believe that no m a t e r i a l s exist for a full a n d satisfactory biography of this m a n . It is an irreparable l o s s to literature. Bartleby w a s o n e of t h o s e b e i n g s of w h o m n o t h i n g is a s c e r t a i n a b l e , except from the original s o u r c e s , a n d in his c a s e t h o s e are very s m a l l . W h a t my own a s t o n i s h e d eyes s a w of Bartleby, that is all I know of h i m , except, i n d e e d , o n e v a g u e report w h i c h will a p p e a r in the s e q u e l . E r e i n t r o d u c i n g the scrivener, as h e first a p p e a r e d to m e , it is fit I m a k e s o m e m e n t i o n of myself, my employees, my b u s i n e s s , my c h a m b e r s , a n d general s u r r o u n d i n g s ; b e c a u s e s o m e s u c h d e s c r i p t i o n is i n d i s p e n s a b l e to a n a d e q u a t e u n d e r s t a n d i n g of the c h i e f c h a r a c t e r a b o u t to b e p r e s e n t e d . I . T h e t e x t is f r o m t h e first p r i n t i n g in t h e N o v e m ber and D e c e m b e r 1853 issues of Putnam's Monthly Magazine, t h e first w o r k b y M e l v i l l e t o b e p r i n t e d a f t e r t h e d i s a s t r o u s r e c e p t i o n o f Pierre d u r i n g t h e s u m m e r a n d fall o f 1 8 5 2 . O n e w o r k ( " T h e

Isle of the C r o s s " ) , p r o b a b l y the story of .Agatha Robinson, a Nantucket woman who displayed patience, endurance, and resignedness, was apparently d e s t r o y e d after b e i n g r e j e c t e d by t h e H a r p e r s .

B A R T L E B Y ,

T H E

S C R I V E N E R

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1 0 8 7

I m p r i m i s : I a m a m a n w h o , from his youth u p w a r d s , h a s b e e n filled with a p r o f o u n d conviction that the easiest way of life is the best. H e n c e , t h o u g h I b e l o n g to a profession proverbially energetic a n d nervous, even to turbul e n c e , at t i m e s , yet n o t h i n g of that sort have I ever suffered to invade my p e a c e . I a m o n e of t h o s e u n a m b i t i o u s lawyers who never a d d r e s s e s a jury, or in any way d r a w s down public a p p l a u s e ; but in the cool tranquillity of a s n u g retreat, do a s n u g b u s i n e s s a m o n g rich men's b o n d s a n d m o r t g a g e s a n d title-deeds. All w h o know m e , c o n s i d e r m e an eminently safe m a n . T h e late J o h n J a c o b Astor, a p e r s o n a g e little given to poetic e n t h u s i a s m , had no hesitation in p r o n o u n c i n g my first grand point to be p r u d e n c e ; my next, m e t h o d . I do not s p e a k it in vanity, but simply record the fact, that I w a s not u n e m ployed in my profession by the late J o h n J a c o b Astor; a n a m e w h i c h , I a d m i t , I love to repeat, for it hath a r o u n d e d a n d orbicular s o u n d to it, a n d rings like u n t o bullion. I will freely a d d , that I w a s not i n s e n s i b l e to the late J o h n J a c o b Astor's good o p i n i o n . S o m e time prior to the period at which this little history b e g i n s , my avoc a t i o n s had b e e n largely i n c r e a s e d . T h e good old office, now extinct in the S t a t e of New-York, of a M a s t e r in C h a n c e r y , 2 had b e e n c o n f e r r e d u p o n m e . It w a s not a very a r d u o u s office, but very pleasantly r e m u n e r a t i v e . I s e l d o m lose my t e m p e r ; m u c h m o r e s e l d o m indulge in d a n g e r o u s indignation at w r o n g s a n d o u t r a g e s ; but I m u s t be p e r m i t t e d to b e rash here a n d d e c l a r e , that I c o n s i d e r the s u d d e n a n d violent a b r o g a t i o n of the office of M a s t e r in C h a n c e r y , by the new C o n s t i t u t i o n , ' a s a p r e m a t u r e act; i n a s m u c h as I h a d c o u n t e d u p o n a life-lease of the profits, w h e r e a s I only received t h o s e of a few short years. But this is by the way. M y c h a m b e r s were up stairs at N o . — W a l l - s t r e e t . At o n e end they looked upon the white wall of the interior of a s p a c i o u s sky-light shaft, p e n e t r a t i n g the building from top to b o t t o m . T h i s view might have b e e n c o n s i d e r e d rather t a m e than o t h e r w i s e , deficient in what l a n d s c a p e p a i n t e r s call " l i f e . " B u t if so, the view from the other e n d of my c h a m b e r s offered, at least, a c o n t r a s t , if nothing m o r e . In that direction my windows c o m m a n d e d a n u n o b s t r u c t e d view of a lofty brick wall, black by a g e a n d everlasting s h a d e ; which wall required no spy-glass to bring out its lurking b e a u t i e s , but for the benefit of all near-sighted s p e c t a t o r s , w a s p u s h e d u p to within ten feet of my window p a n e s . O w i n g to the great height of the s u r r o u n d i n g buildings, a n d my c h a m bers b e i n g on the s e c o n d floor, the interval b e t w e e n this wall a n d m i n e not a little r e s e m b l e d a h u g e s q u a r e cistern. At the period j u s t p r e c e d i n g the advent of Bartleby, I h a d two p e r s o n s a s copyists in my e m p l o y m e n t , a n d a p r o m i s i n g lad a s a n office-boy. First, Turkey; s e c o n d , N i p p e r s ; third, G i n g e r N u t . T h e s e may s e e m n a m e s , the like of which are not usually found in the Directory. In truth they were n i c k n a m e s , mutually conferred u p o n e a c h other by my three clerks, a n d were d e e m e d expressive of their respective p e r s o n s or c h a r a c t e r s . T u r k e y w a s a short, p u r s y 4 E n g l i s h m a n of a b o u t my own a g e , that is, s o m e w h e r e not far from sixty. In the m o r n i n g , o n e might say, his f a c e w a s of a fine florid h u e , but after twelve o'clock, m e r i d i a n — h i s dinner h o u r — i t blazed like a grate full of 2. T h e about

narrator

is

the abolition

understandably

concerned

of a sinecure, but heirs

had

guided," was "Locked

c a u s e to r e j o i c e , for c h a n c e r ) ' h a d kept e s t a t e s tied

3.

up

1846.

in

prolonged

litigation.

In

a

poem

written

a r o u n d the 1 8 7 0 s , "At the H o s t e l r y . " Melville says that divided

I t a l y . " N i g h p a r a l y s e d , by c o w l s

mis-

a s in C h a n c e r y ' s

numbing

hand."

4.

N e w Y o r k h a d a d o p t e d a " n e w C o n s t i t u t i o n " in Shortwinded from

obesity.

1088

/

H E R M A N

M E L V I L L E

C h r i s t m a s c o a l s ; a n d c o n t i n u e d b l a z i n g — b u t , a s it w e r e , with a g r a d u a l w a n e — t i l l 6 o'clock, P . M . or t h e r e a b o u t s , after which I s a w n o m o r e of the proprietor of the f a c e , which g a i n i n g its meridian with the s u n , s e e m e d to set with it, to rise, c u l m i n a t e , a n d d e c l i n e the following day, with the like regularity a n d u n d i m i n i s h e d glory. T h e r e are m a n y singular c o i n c i d e n c e s I have known in the c o u r s e of my life, not the least a m o n g which w a s the fact, that exactly w h e n T u r k e y displayed his fullest b e a m s from his red a n d radiant c o u n t e n a n c e , j u s t then, too, at that critical m o m e n t , b e g a n the daily period w h e n I c o n s i d e r e d his b u s i n e s s c a p a c i t i e s a s seriously d i s t u r b e d for the r e m a i n d e r of the twenty-four h o u r s . N o t that he was absolutely idle, or averse to b u s i n e s s t h e n ; far from it. T h e difficulty w a s , h e w a s apt to b e altogether too energetic. T h e r e w a s a s t r a n g e , inflamed, flurried, flighty r e c k l e s s n e s s of activity a b o u t h i m . H e would be i n c a u t i o u s in d i p p i n g his p e n into his inks t a n d . All his blots u p o n my d o c u m e n t s , were d r o p p e d t h e r e after twelve o'clock, m e r i d i a n . I n d e e d , not only would h e b e reckless a n d sadly given to m a k i n g blots in the a f t e r n o o n , but s o m e days h e went further, a n d w a s rather noisy. At s u c h t i m e s , too, his f a c e flamed with a u g m e n t e d blazonry, a s if c a n n e l coal h a d b e e n h e a p e d on a n t h r a c i t e . H e m a d e a n u n p l e a s a n t racket with his chair; spilled his sand-box; in m e n d i n g his p e n s , impatiently split t h e m all to p i e c e s , a n d threw t h e m o n the floor in a s u d d e n p a s s i o n ; s t o o d u p a n d leaned over his table, boxing his p a p e r s a b o u t in a m o s t i n d e c o r o u s m a n n e r , very s a d to b e h o l d in a n elderly m a n like h i m . N e v e r t h e l e s s , a s h e w a s in m a n y ways a m o s t v a l u a b l e p e r s o n to m e , a n d all the time before twelve o'clock, m e r i d i a n , w a s the q u i c k e s t , s t e a d i e s t c r e a t u r e too, a c c o m plishing a great deal of work in a style not e a s y to be m a t c h e d — f o r t h e s e r e a s o n s , I w a s willing to overlook his e c c e n t r i c i t i e s , t h o u g h i n d e e d , o c c a sionally, I r e m o n s t r a t e d with h i m . I did this very gently, however, b e c a u s e , t h o u g h the civilest, nay, the b l a n d e s t a n d m o s t reverential of m e n in the m o r n i n g , yet in the afternoon h e w a s d i s p o s e d , u p o n provocation, to be slightly r a s h with his t o n g u e , in fact, insolent. N o w , valuing his m o r n i n g services a s I did, a n d resolved not to lose t h e m ; yet, at the s a m e time m a d e u n c o m f o r t a b l e by his inflamed ways after twelve o'clock; a n d b e i n g a m a n of p e a c e , unwilling by my a d m o n i t i o n s to call forth u n s e e m l y retorts from him; I took u p o n m e , o n e S a t u r d a y n o o n (he w a s always w o r s e o n S a t u r d a y s ) , to hint to him, very kindly, that p e r h a p s n o w that h e w a s growing old, it might b e well to a b r i d g e his l a b o r s ; in short, h e n e e d not c o m e to my c h a m bers after twelve o'clock, b u t , dinner over, h a d b e s t go h o m e to his lodgings a n d rest h i m s e l f till tea-time. B u t n o ; he insisted u p o n his a f t e r n o o n devotions. H i s c o u n t e n a n c e b e c a m e intolerably fervid, a s h e oratorically a s s u r e d m e — g e s t i c u l a t i n g with a long ruler at the other e n d of the r o o m — t h a t if his services in the m o r n i n g were useful, how i n d i s p e n s a b l e , t h e n , in the afternoon? "With s u b m i s s i o n , sir," said T u r k e y on this o c c a s i o n , "I c o n s i d e r myself your right-hand m a n . In the m o r n i n g I but m a r s h a l a n d deploy my c o l u m n s ; but in the afternoon I p u t myself at their h e a d , a n d gallantly c h a r g e the f o e , t h u s ! " — a n d h e m a d e a violent thrust with the ruler. " B u t the blots, T u r k e y , " i n t i m a t e d I. " T r u e , — b u t , with s u b m i s s i o n , sir, b e h o l d t h e s e hairs! I a m getting old. Surely, sir, a blot or two of a w a r m a f t e r n o o n is not to be severely u r g e d a g a i n s t gray hairs. O l d a g e — e v e n if it blot the p a g e — i s h o n o r a b l e . With s u b m i s s i o n , sir, we both are getting o l d . "

B A R T L E B Y ,

T H E

S C R I V E N E R

/

1 0 8 9

T h i s a p p e a l to my fellow-feeling w a s hardly to b e resisted. At all e v e n t s , I saw that g o he w o u l d not. S o I m a d e up my m i n d to let him stay, resolving, n everth eles s , to s e e to it, that d u r i n g the afternoon he h a d to d o with my less i m p o r t a n t p a p e r s . N i p p e r s , the s e c o n d on my list, w a s a w h i s k e r e d , sallow, a n d , u p o n the w h o l e , rather piratical-looking y o u n g m a n of a b o u t five a n d twenty. I always d e e m e d him the victim of two evil p o w e r s — a m b i t i o n a n d indigestion. T h e a m b i t i o n w a s evinced by a certain i m p a t i e n c e of the d u t i e s of a m e r e copyist, a n u n w a r r a n t a b l e u s u r p a t i o n of strictly p r o f e s s i o n a l affairs, s u c h a s t h e original drawing up of legal d o c u m e n t s . T h e indigestion s e e m e d b e t o k e n e d in a n o c c a s i o n a l nervous t e s t i n e s s a n d grinning irritability, c a u s i n g the teeth to audibly grind together over m i s t a k e s c o m m i t t e d in copying; u n n e c e s s a r y m a l e d i c t i o n s , h i s s e d , rather than s p o k e n , in the heat of b u s i n e s s ; a n d especially by a c o n t i n u a l d i s c o n t e n t with the height of the table w h e r e h e worked. T h o u g h of a very i n g e n i o u s m e c h a n i c a l t u r n , N i p p e r s c o u l d never get this table to suit h i m . H e put c h i p s u n d e r it, blocks of various sorts, bits of p a s t e b o a r d , a n d at last went so far a s to a t t e m p t an exquisite a d j u s t m e n t by final p i e c e s of folded blotting p a p e r . B u t no invention w o u l d a n s w e r . If, for the s a k e o f e a s i n g his b a c k , h e b r o u g h t the table lid at a s h a r p a n g l e well up towards his c h i n , a n d wrote there like a m a n u s i n g the s t e e p r o o f of a D u t c h h o u s e for his d e s k : — t h e n he d e c l a r e d that it s t o p p e d the c i r c u l a t i o n in his a r m s . If now h e lowered the table to his w a i s t b a n d s , a n d s t o o p e d over it in writing, t h e n there w a s a s o r e a c h i n g in his b a c k . In short, the truth of the matter w a s , N i p p e r s knew not what he w a n t e d . O r , if he w a n t e d any thing, it w a s to be rid of a scrivener's table altogether. A m o n g the m a n i f e s t a t i o n s of his d i s e a s e d a m b i t i o n w a s a f o n d n e s s h e h a d for receiving visits from certain a m b i g u o u s - l o o k i n g fellows in seedy c o a t s , w h o m h e called his c l i e n t s . I n d e e d I was a w a r e that not only w a s h e , at t i m e s , c o n s i d e r a b l e of a wardpolitician, but he o c c a s i o n a l l y did a little b u s i n e s s at the J u s t i c e s ' c o u r t s , a n d w a s not u n k n o w n on the s t e p s of the T o m b s . 5 1 have g o o d r e a s o n to believe, however, that o n e individual w h o called u p o n him at my c h a m b e r s , a n d w h o , with a g r a n d air, h e insisted w a s his client, w a s no o t h e r than a d u n , 6 a n d the alleged title-deed, a bill. B u t with all his failings, a n d t h e a n n o y a n c e s h e c a u s e d m e , N i p p e r s , like his c o m p a t r i o t Turkey, w a s a very useful m a n to m e ; wrote a n e a t , swift h a n d ; a n d , w h e n he c h o s e , w a s not deficient in a g e n t l e m a n l y sort of d e p o r t m e n t . A d d e d to this, he always d r e s s e d in a g e n tlemanly sort of way; a n d s o , incidentally, reflected credit u p o n my c h a m b e r s . W h e r e a s with r e s p e c t to T u r k e y , I h a d m u c h a d o to k e e p him from b e i n g a r e p r o a c h to m e . His clothes were apt to look oily a n d smell of e a t i n g - h o u s e s . H e wore his p a n t a l o o n s very l o o s e a n d baggy in s u m m e r . H i s c o a t s were e x e c r a b l e ; his hat not to be h a n d l e d . B u t while the hat w a s a thing of indifference to m e , i n a s m u c h a s his natural civility a n d d e f e r e n c e , a s a d e p e n d e n t E n g l i s h m a n , always led him to doff it the m o m e n t h e e n t e r e d t h e r o o m , yet his c o a t was a n o t h e r matter. C o n c e r n i n g his c o a t s , I r e a s o n e d with him; but with no effect. T h e truth w a s , I s u p p o s e , that a m a n with s o small an i n c o m e , c o u l d not afford to sport s u c h a l u s t r o u s f a c e a n d a l u s t r o u s c o a t at o n e a n d the s a m e t i m e . As N i p p e r s o n c e o b s e r v e d , Turkey's m o n e y w e n t chiefly for red ink. O n e winter day I p r e s e n t e d T u r k e y with a highly-

5 . I . e . , N i p p e r s is s u s p e c t e d o f a r r a n g i n g b a i l f o r

n a r r a t o r a s u n s e e m l y if n o t

p r i s o n e r s or o t h e r s u c h activities that strike the

6.

Bill c o l l e c t o r .

nefarious,

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H E R M A N

M E L V I L L E

r e s p e c t a b l e looking coat of my own, a p a d d e d gray c o a t , of a m o s t comfortable w a r m t h , a n d which b u t t o n e d straight up from the k n e e to the neck. I thought Turkey would a p p r e c i a t e the favor, a n d a b a t e his r a s h n e s s a n d o b s t r e p e r o u s n e s s of a f t e r n o o n s . B u t n o . I verily believe that b u t t o n i n g himself u p in so downy a n d blanket-like a c o a t had a p e r n i c i o u s effect u p o n h i m ; upon the s a m e principle that too m u c h oats are b a d for h o r s e s . In fact, precisely a s a r a s h , restive h o r s e is said to feel his o a t s , so T u r k e y felt his coat. It m a d e him insolent. H e w a s a m a n w h o m prosperity h a r m e d . T h o u g h c o n c e r n i n g the self-indulgent habits of T u r k e y I h a d my own private s u r m i s e s , yet t o u c h i n g N i p p e r s I w a s well p e r s u a d e d that whatever might be his faults in other r e s p e c t s , he w a s , at least, a t e m p e r a t e y o u n g m a n . B u t i n d e e d , n a t u r e herself s e e m e d to have b e e n his vintner, a n d at his birth c h a r g e d him so thoroughly with an irritable, brandy-like d i s p o s i t i o n , that all s u b s e q u e n t p o t a t i o n s were n e e d l e s s . W h e n I c o n s i d e r how, a m i d the stillness of my c h a m b e r s , N i p p e r s w o u l d s o m e t i m e s impatiently rise from his s e a t , a n d s t o o p i n g over his table, s p r e a d his a r m s wide a p a r t , seize the whole d e s k , a n d m o v e it, a n d j e r k it, with a grim, grinding motion on the floor, a s if the table were a perverse voluntary a g e n t , intent on thwarting a n d vexing him; I plainly perceive that for N i p p e r s , b r a n d y a n d water were altogether s u p e r f l u o u s . It w a s f o r t u n a t e for me that, owing to its p e c u l i a r c a u s e — i n d i g e s t i o n — the irritability a n d c o n s e q u e n t n e r v o u s n e s s of N i p p e r s , were mainly observable in the m o r n i n g , while in the afternoon he w a s c o m p a r a t i v e l y mild. S o that Turkey's p a r o x y s m s only c o m i n g on a b o u t twelve o'clock, I never had to do with their e c c e n t r i c i t i e s at o n e t i m e . T h e i r fits relieved e a c h other like g u a r d s . W h e n N i p p e r s ' w a s o n , Turkey's w a s off; a n d vice versa. T h i s w a s a good natural a r r a n g e m e n t u n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s . G i n g e r N u t , the third on my list, w a s a lad s o m e twelve years old. His father was a c a r m a n , 7 a m b i t i o u s of s e e i n g his son on the b e n c h instead of a cart, before he died. S o he sent him to my office a s s t u d e n t at law, errand boy, a n d c l e a n e r a n d sweeper, at the rate of o n e dollar a week. H e had a little d e s k to himself, but he did not u s e it m u c h . U p o n i n s p e c t i o n , the drawer exhibited a great array of the shells of various sorts of n u t s . I n d e e d , to this quick-witted youth the whole noble s c i e n c e of the law w a s c o n t a i n e d in a nut-shell. N o t the least a m o n g the e m p l o y m e n t s of G i n g e r N u t , a s well a s o n e which h e d i s c h a r g e d with the m o s t alacrity, w a s his duty a s c a k e a n d a p p l e purveyor for Turkey a n d N i p p e r s . C o p y i n g law p a p e r s b e i n g proverbially a dry, husky sort of b u s i n e s s , my two scriveners were fain to m o i s t e n their m o u t h s very often with S p i t z e n b e r g s " to be had at the n u m e r o u s stalls nigh the C u s t o m H o u s e a n d P o s t Office. A l s o , they s e n t G i n g e r N u t very frequently for that p e c u l i a r c a k e — s m a l l , flat, r o u n d , a n d very s p i c y — a f t e r which he had b e e n n a m e d by t h e m . O f a cold m o r n i n g w h e n b u s i n e s s w a s but dull, T u r k e y would g o b b l e up s c o r e s of t h e s e c a k e s , a s if they w e r e m e r e w a f e r s — i n d e e d they sell t h e m at the rate of six or eight for a p e n n y — t h e s c r a p e of his pen b l e n d i n g with the c r u n c h i n g of the crisp p a r t i c l e s in his m o u t h . O f all the fiery afternoon b l u n d e r s a n d flurried r a s h n e s s e s of T u r k e y , w a s his o n c e m o i s t e n i n g a ginger-cake b e t w e e n his lips, a n d c l a p p i n g it o n to a m o r t g a g e for a s e a l . 9 I c a m e within a n a c e of d i s m i s s i n g him t h e n . B u t 7. 8.

Driver, teamster. Red-and-yellow New York a p p l e s .

9. T h e n a r r a t o r is p l a y i n g o n t h e resemblance

b e t w e e n thin c o o k i e s a n d wax w a f e r s u s e d for sealing d o c u m e n t s .

BARTLEBY,

T H E

S C R I V E N E R

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he mollified m e by m a k i n g a n oriental bow, a n d s a y i n g — " W i t h s u b m i s s i o n , sir, it w a s g e n e r o u s of m e to find you in stationery on my own a c c o u n t . " N o w my original b u s i n e s s — t h a t of a c o n v e y a n c e r a n d title h u n t e r , 1 a n d drawer-up of recondite d o c u m e n t s of all s o r t s — w a s c o n s i d e r a b l y i n c r e a s e d by receiving the master's office. T h e r e w a s now great work for scriveners. N o t only m u s t I p u s h the clerks already with m e , but I m u s t have additional help. In a n s w e r to my a d v e r t i s e m e n t , a m o t i o n l e s s y o u n g m a n o n e m o r n i n g , s t o o d u p o n my office threshold, the door b e i n g o p e n , for it w a s s u m m e r . I can s e e that figure now—pallidly neat, pitiably r e s p e c t a b l e , incurably forlorn! It w a s Bartleby. After a few words t o u c h i n g his qualifications, I e n g a g e d him, glad to have a m o n g my c o r p s of copyists a m a n of so singularly s e d a t e an a s p e c t , w h i c h I thought might o p e r a t e beneficially u p o n the flighty t e m p e r of T u r k e y , a n d the fiery o n e of N i p p e r s . I s h o u l d have stated before that g r o u n d glass folding-doors divided my p r e m i s e s into two p a r t s , o n e of which w a s o c c u p i e d by my scriveners, the other by myself. A c c o r d i n g to my h u m o r I threw o p e n t h e s e d o o r s , or c l o s e d t h e m . I resolved to a s s i g n Bartleby a corner by the folding-doors, but on my side of t h e m , s o a s to have this quiet m a n within easy call, in c a s e any trifling thing w a s to be d o n e . I p l a c e d his d e s k c l o s e up to a small side-window in that part of the r o o m , a window which originally had afforded a lateral view of certain grimy back-yards a n d bricks, but which, owing to s u b s e q u e n t erections, c o m m a n d e d at p r e s e n t no view at all, t h o u g h it gave s o m e light. Within three feet of the p a n e s was a wall, a n d the light c a m e d o w n from far a b o v e , between two lofty buildings, a s from a very small o p e n i n g in a d o m e . Still further to a satisfactory a r r a n g e m e n t , I p r o c u r e d a high green folding s c r e e n , which might entirely isolate Bartleby from my sight, t h o u g h not r e m o v e him from my voice. And t h u s , in a m a n n e r , privacy a n d society were c o n j o i n e d . At first Bartleby did an extraordinary quantity of writing. As if long famishing for s o m e t h i n g to copy, he s e e m e d to gorge himself on my d o c u m e n t s . T h e r e w a s no p a u s e for digestion. H e ran a day a n d night line, c o p y i n g by sun-light a n d by candle-light. I s h o u l d have b e e n quite delighted with his a p p l i c a t i o n , h a d he b e e n cheerfully i n d u s t r i o u s . B u t he wrote o n silently, palely, m e c h a n i c a l l y . It is, of c o u r s e , an i n d i s p e n s a b l e part of a scrivener's b u s i n e s s to verify the a c c u r a c y of his copy, word by word. W h e r e there are two or m o r e scriveners in a n office, they assist e a c h other in this e x a m i n a t i o n , o n e r e a d i n g from the copy, the other holding the original. It is a very dull, w e a r i s o m e , a n d lethargic affair. I c a n readily i m a g i n e that to s o m e s a n g u i n e t e m p e r a m e n t s it w o u l d b e altogether intolerable. F o r e x a m p l e , I c a n n o t credit that the m e t t l e s o m e poet Byron would have contentedly sat d o w n with Bartleby to e x a m i n e a law d o c u m e n t of, say five h u n d r e d p a g e s , closely written in a c r i m p y h a n d . N o w a n d then, in the h a s t e of b u s i n e s s , it had b e e n my habit to assist in c o m p a r i n g s o m e brief d o c u m e n t myself, calling T u r k e y or N i p p e r s for this p u r p o s e . O n e object I h a d in p l a c i n g Bartleby s o handy to m e b e h i n d the s c r e e n , w a s to avail myself of his services on s u c h trivial o c c a s i o n s . It w a s on the third day, I think, of his b e i n g with m e , a n d before any necessity h a d arisen for having his own writing e x a m i n e d , that, b e i n g m u c h hurried to 1. S o m e o n e w h o c h e c k s r e c o r d s t o b e s u r e t h e r e a r e n o e n c u m b r a n c e s o n t h e t i t l e o f p r o p e r t y t o b e t r a n s f e r r e d . " C o n v e y a n c e r " : s o m e o n e w h o d r a w s u p d e e d s for t r a n s f e r r i n g title to p r o p e r t y .

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c o m p l e t e a small affair I h a d in h a n d , I abruptly called to Bartleby. In my h a s t e a n d natural e x p e c t a n c y of instant c o m p l i a n c e , I sat with my h e a d b e n t over the original on my d e s k , a n d my right h a n d sideways, a n d s o m e w h a t nervously e x t e n d e d with the copy, s o that i m m e d i a t e l y u p o n e m e r g i n g from his retreat, Bartleby might s n a t c h it a n d p r o c e e d to b u s i n e s s without the least delay. In this very attitude did I sit w h e n I called to him, rapidly stating what it w a s I w a n t e d him to d o — n a m e l y , to e x a m i n e a small p a p e r with m e . I m a g i n e my s u r p r i s e , nay, my c o n s t e r n a t i o n , w h e n without m o v i n g from his privacy, Bartleby in a singularly mild, firm v o i c e , replied, "I would prefer not t o . " I sat awhile in perfect s i l e n c e , rallying my s t u n n e d faculties. I m m e d i a t e l y it o c c u r r e d to m e that my e a r s h a d d e c e i v e d m e , or B a r t l e b y h a d entirely m i s u n d e r s t o o d my m e a n i n g . I r e p e a t e d my r e q u e s t in the clearest t o n e I c o u l d a s s u m e . B u t in q u i t e a s clear a o n e c a m e the previous reply, "I w o u l d prefer not t o . " "Prefer not t o , " e c h o e d I, rising in high e x c i t e m e n t , a n d c r o s s i n g the r o o m with a stride. " W h a t do you m e a n ? Are you m o o n - s t r u c k ? I w a n t you to help m e c o m p a r e this s h e e t h e r e — t a k e it," a n d I t h r u s t it towards h i m . "I would prefer not t o , " said h e . I looked at him steadfastly. H i s f a c e w a s leanly c o m p o s e d ; his gray eye dimly c a l m . N o t a wrinkle of agitation rippled him. H a d there b e e n the least u n e a s i n e s s , a n g e r , i m p a t i e n c e or i m p e r t i n e n c e in his m a n n e r ; in other w o r d s , h a d there b e e n any thing ordinarily h u m a n a b o u t h i m , d o u b t l e s s I s h o u l d have violently d i s m i s s e d him from the p r e m i s e s . B u t a s it w a s , I s h o u l d have a s s o o n t h o u g h t of turning my p a l e plaster-of-paris b u s t of C i c e r o 2 o u t of d o o r s . I s t o o d g a z i n g at him awhile, a s h e went on with his own writing, a n d then r e s e a t e d myself at my desk. T h i s is very s t r a n g e , t h o u g h t I. W h a t h a d o n e b e s t d o ? B u t my b u s i n e s s hurried m e . I c o n c l u d e d to forget the m a t t e r for the p r e s e n t , reserving it for my future l e i s u r e . S o calling N i p p e r s from the other r o o m , the p a p e r w a s speedily e x a m i n e d . A few days after this, Bartleby c o n c l u d e d four lengthy d o c u m e n t s , b e i n g q u a d r u p l i c a t e s of a week's testimony t a k e n before m e in my H i g h C o u r t of C h a n c e r y . It b e c a m e n e c e s s a r y to e x a m i n e t h e m . It w a s a n i m p o r t a n t suit, a n d great a c c u r a c y w a s imperative. H a v i n g all things a r r a n g e d I called T u r key, N i p p e r s a n d G i n g e r N u t from the next r o o m , m e a n i n g to p l a c e the four c o p i e s in the h a n d s of my four clerks, while I s h o u l d read from the original. Accordingly T u r k e y , N i p p e r s a n d G i n g e r N u t h a d taken their s e a t s in a row, e a c h with his d o c u m e n t in h a n d , w h e n I called to Bartleby to j o i n this interesting g r o u p . "Bartleby! quick, I a m w a i t i n g . " I heard a slow s c r a p e of his c h a i r legs o n the u n c a r p e t e d floor, a n d s o o n he a p p e a r e d s t a n d i n g at the e n t r a n c e of his h e r m i t a g e . " W h a t is w a n t e d ? " said h e mildly. " T h e c o p i e s , the c o p i e s , " said I hurriedly. " W e are g o i n g to e x a m i n e t h e m . T h e r e " — a n d I held towards him the fourth q u a d r u p l i c a t e . "I would prefer not t o , " h e said, a n d gently d i s a p p e a r e d b e h i n d the s c r e e n . F o r a few m o m e n t s I w a s turned into a pillar of s a l t , 3 s t a n d i n g at the h e a d 2.

R o m a n orator a n d s t a t e s m a n ( 1 0 6 - 4 2 B.C.E.).

3. T h e p u n i s h m e n t of Lot's d i s o b e d i e n t wife ( G e n e s i s

19.26).

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of my s e a t e d c o l u m n of clerks. Recovering myself, I a d v a n c e d towards the s c r e e n , a n d d e m a n d e d the r e a s o n for s u c h extraordinary c o n d u c t . "Why do you r e f u s e ? " "I would prefer not t o . " With any other m a n I s h o u l d have flown outright into a dreadful p a s s i o n , s c o r n e d all further words, a n d thrust him i g n o m i n i o u s l y from my p r e s e n c e . B u t there w a s s o m e t h i n g a b o u t Bartleby that not only strangely d i s a r m e d m e , but in a wonderful m a n n e r t o u c h e d a n d d i s c o n c e r t e d m e . I b e g a n to r e a s o n with him. " T h e s e are your own c o p i e s we are a b o u t to e x a m i n e . It is labor saving to you, b e c a u s e o n e e x a m i n a t i o n will a n s w e r for your four p a p e r s . It is c o m m o n u s a g e . Every copyist is b o u n d to help e x a m i n e his copy. Is it not s o ? Will you not s p e a k ? A n s w e r ! " "I prefer not t o , " h e replied in a flute-like t o n e . It s e e m e d to m e that while I had b e e n a d d r e s s i n g him, he carefully revolved every s t a t e m e n t that I m a d e ; fully c o m p r e h e n d e d the m e a n i n g ; c o u l d not g a i n s a y the irresistible c o n c l u sion; b u t , at the s a m e t i m e , s o m e p a r a m o u n t c o n s i d e r a t i o n prevailed with him to reply a s he did. "You are d e c i d e d , then, not to c o m p l y with my r e q u e s t — a r e q u e s t m a d e a c c o r d i n g to c o m m o n u s a g e a n d c o m m o n s e n s e ? " H e briefly gave m e to u n d e r s t a n d that on that point my j u d g m e n t w a s s o u n d . Yes: his d e c i s i o n w a s irreversible. It is not s e l d o m the c a s e that when a m a n is b r o w b e a t e n in s o m e u n p r e c e d e n t e d a n d violently u n r e a s o n a b l e way, h e b e g i n s to stagger in his own plainest faith. H e b e g i n s , as it were, vaguely to s u r m i s e that, wonderful a s it may b e , all the j u s t i c e a n d all the r e a s o n is on the other s i d e . Accordingly, if any d i s i n t e r e s t e d p e r s o n s are p r e s e n t , he turns to t h e m for s o m e reinforcem e n t for his own faltering m i n d . " T u r k e y , " said I, "what d o you think of this? A m I not r i g h t ? " "With s u b m i s s i o n , sir," said Turkey, with his b l a n d e s t t o n e , "I think that you a r e . " " N i p p e r s , " said I, "what d o you think of i t ? " "I think I s h o u l d kick him out of the office." ( T h e reader of nice p e r c e p t i o n s will here perceive that, it b e i n g m o r n i n g , Turkey's a n s w e r is c o u c h e d in polite a n d tranquil t e r m s , but N i p p e r s replies in ill-tempered o n e s . O r , to repeat a previous s e n t e n c e , N i p p e r s ' s ugly m o o d w a s on duty, a n d Turkey's off.) " G i n g e r N u t , " said I, willing to enlist the s m a l l e s t suffrage in my behalf, "what do you think of it?" "I think, sir, he's a little luny," replied G i n g e r N u t , with a grin. "You hear what they say," said I, turning towards the s c r e e n , " c o m e forth a n d do your duty." B u t he v o u c h s a f e d no reply. I p o n d e r e d a m o m e n t in sore perplexity. B u t o n c e m o r e b u s i n e s s hurried m e . I d e t e r m i n e d again to p o s t p o n e the c o n s i d eration of this d i l e m m a to my future leisure. With a little trouble we m a d e out to e x a m i n e the p a p e r s without Bartleby, t h o u g h at every p a g e or two, Turkey deferentially d r o p p e d his opinion that tips p r o c e e d i n g w a s q u i t e out of the c o m m o n ; while N i p p e r s , twitching in his c h a i r with a d y s p e p t i c nervo u s n e s s , g r o u n d out b e t w e e n his set teeth o c c a s i o n a l h i s s i n g m a l e d i c t i o n s a g a i n s t the s t u b b o r n o a f b e h i n d the s c r e e n . A n d for his ( N i p p e r s ' s ) part, this

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w a s the first a n d the last time he would d o a n o t h e r m a n ' s b u s i n e s s without payM e a n w h i l e Bartleby sat in his h e r m i t a g e , oblivious to every thing but his own p e c u l i a r b u s i n e s s t h e r e . S o m e days p a s s e d , the scrivener b e i n g e m p l o y e d u p o n a n o t h e r lengthy work. His late r e m a r k a b l e c o n d u c t led m e to regard his ways narrowly. I observed that h e never went to dinner; i n d e e d that h e never went any w h e r e . As yet I h a d never of my personal k n o w l e d g e known h i m to b e o u t s i d e of my office. H e w a s a p e r p e t u a l sentry in the corner. At a b o u t eleven o'clock t h o u g h , in the m o r n i n g , I noticed that G i n g e r N u t would a d v a n c e toward the o p e n i n g in Bartleby's s c r e e n , a s if silently b e c k o n e d thither by a g e s t u r e invisible to m e w h e r e I sat. T h e boy would then leave the office jingling a few p e n c e , a n d r e a p p e a r with a h a n d f u l of g i n g e r - n u t s w h i c h h e delivered in the h e r m i t a g e , receiving two of the c a k e s for his t r o u b l e . H e lives, t h e n , o n ginger-nuts, t h o u g h t I; never e a t s a dinner, properly s p e a k i n g ; he m u s t b e a vegetarian t h e n ; but n o ; h e never e a t s even v e g e t a b l e s , he eats nothing but g i n g e r - n u t s . M y m i n d then ran o n in reveries c o n c e r n i n g the p r o b a b l e effects u p o n the h u m a n c o n s t i t u t i o n of living entirely o n gingern u t s . G i n g e r - n u t s are s o called b e c a u s e they c o n t a i n ginger a s o n e of their p e c u l i a r c o n s t i t u e n t s , a n d the final flavoring o n e . N o w w h a t w a s ginger? A hot, spicy thing. W a s Bartleby hot a n d spicy? N o t at all. G i n g e r , then, h a d no effect u p o n Bartleby. Probably h e preferred it s h o u l d have n o n e . N o t h i n g so a g g r a v a t e s a n e a r n e s t p e r s o n a s a p a s s i v e r e s i s t a n c e . If the individual s o r e s i s t e d b e of a not i n h u m a n e t e m p e r , a n d the resisting o n e perfectly h a r m l e s s in his passivity; t h e n , in the better m o o d s of the former, he will e n d e a v o r charitably to c o n s t r u e to his i m a g i n a t i o n w h a t proves i m p o s sible to be solved by his j u d g m e n t . E v e n s o , for the m o s t part, I r e g a r d e d Bartleby a n d his ways. P o o r fellow! t h o u g h t I, he m e a n s no mischief; it is plain he i n t e n d s no i n s o l e n c e ; his a s p e c t sufficiently evinces that his e c c e n tricities are involuntary. H e is useful to m e . I c a n get a l o n g with h i m . If I turn him away, the c h a n c e s are h e will fall in with s o m e l e s s i n d u l g e n t employer, a n d then he will b e rudely t r e a t e d , a n d p e r h a p s driven forth miserably to starve. Yes. H e r e I c a n c h e a p l y p u r c h a s e a d e l i c i o u s self-approval. T o befriend Bartleby; to h u m o r h i m in his s t r a n g e wilfulness, will c o s t m e little or nothing, while I lay u p in my s o u l what will eventually prove a s w e e t m o r s e l for my c o n s c i e n c e . B u t this m o o d w a s not invariable with m e . T h e p a s s i v e n e s s of Bartleby s o m e t i m e s irritated m e . I felt strangely g o a d e d on to e n c o u n t e r him in new o p p o s i t i o n , to elicit s o m e angry s p a r k from him a n s w e r a b l e to my own. B u t i n d e e d I might a s well have e s s a y e d to strike fire with my k n u c k l e s a g a i n s t a bit of W i n d s o r s o a p . 4 B u t o n e a f t e r n o o n the evil i m p u l s e in m e m a s t e r e d m e , a n d the following little s c e n e e n s u e d : " B a r t l e b y , " s a i d I, " w h e n t h o s e p a p e r s a r e all c o p i e d , I will c o m p a r e t h e m with y o u . " "I would prefer not t o . " " H o w ? S u r e l y you d o not m e a n to persist in that m u l i s h v a g a r y ? " N o answer. I threw o p e n the folding-doors n e a r by, a n d t u r n i n g u p o n T u r k e y a n d N i p p e r s , e x c l a i m e d in a n excited m a n n e r — 4.

Brown hand soap.

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" H e says, a s e c o n d t i m e , h e won't e x a m i n e his p a p e r s . W h a t d o you think of it, T u r k e y ? " It w a s a f t e r n o o n , be it r e m e m b e r e d . Turkey sat glowing like a b r a s s boiler, his bald h e a d s t e a m i n g , his h a n d s reeling a m o n g his blotted p a p e r s . " T h i n k of i t ? " roared Turkey; "I think I'll j u s t s t e p b e h i n d his s c r e e n , a n d black his eyes for h i m ! " S o saying, T u r k e y rose to his feet a n d threw his a r m s into a pugilistic p o s i t i o n . H e w a s hurrying away to m a k e g o o d his p r o m i s e , w h e n I d e t a i n e d him, a l a r m e d at the effect of incautiously r o u s i n g Turkey's c o m b a t i v e n e s s after dinner. " S i t d o w n , T u r k e y , " said I, " a n d h e a r what N i p p e r s h a s to say. W h a t d o you think of it, N i p p e r s ? W o u l d I not be justified in i m m e d i a t e l y d i s m i s s i n g Bartleby?" " E x c u s e m e , that is for you to d e c i d e , sir. I think his c o n d u c t q u i t e u n u s u a l , a n d i n d e e d u n j u s t , a s regards T u r k e y a n d myself. B u t it m a y only b e a p a s s i n g whim." " A h , " e x c l a i m e d I, "you have strangely c h a n g e d your m i n d t h e n — y o u s p e a k very gently of him n o w . " "All b e e r , " cried Turkey; " g e n t l e n e s s is effects of b e e r — N i p p e r s a n d I dined together to-day. You s e e how g e n t l e I a m , sir. S h a l l I g o a n d b l a c k his eyes?" "You refer to Bartleby, I s u p p o s e . N o , not to-day, T u r k e y , " I replied; "pray, put u p your fists." I c l o s e d the d o o r s , a n d again a d v a n c e d towards Bartleby. I felt additional incentives t e m p t i n g m e to my fate. I b u r n e d to b e rebelled a g a i n s t a g a i n . I r e m e m b e r e d that Bartleby never left the office. " B a r t l e b y , " said I, " G i n g e r N u t is away; j u s t step r o u n d to the P o s t Office, won't y o u ? (it w a s b u t a three m i n u t e s ' walk,) a n d s e e if there is any t h i n g for m e . " "I would prefer not t o . " "You will n o t ? " "I prefer n o t . " I s t a g g e r e d to my d e s k , a n d sat there in a d e e p study. M y blind inveteracy r e t u r n e d . W a s there any other thing in which I c o u l d p r o c u r e myself to be ignominiously r e p u l s e d by this l e a n , p e n n i l e s s w i g h t ? — m y hired clerk? W h a t a d d e d thing is there, perfectly r e a s o n a b l e , that h e will b e s u r e to refuse to do? "Bartleby!" N o answer. " B a r t l e b y , " in a louder t o n e . No answer. " B a r t l e b y , " I roared. L i k e a very ghost, agreeably to the laws of m a g i c a l invocation, at the third s u m m o n s , h e a p p e a r e d at the e n t r a n c e of his h e r m i t a g e . " G o to the next r o o m , a n d tell N i p p e r s to c o m e to m e . " "I prefer not t o , " he respectfully a n d slowly s a i d , a n d mildly d i s a p p e a r e d . "Very g o o d , Bartleby," said I, in a q u i e t sort of serenely severe selfp o s s e s s e d t o n e , intimating the u n a l t e r a b l e p u r p o s e of s o m e terrible retribution very c l o s e at h a n d . At the m o m e n t I half i n t e n d e d s o m e t h i n g of the kind. B u t u p o n the w h o l e , a s it w a s drawing towards my dinner-hour, I

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thought it best to put on my hat a n d walk h o m e for the day, suffering m u c h from perplexity a n d distress of mind. Shall I a c k n o w l e d g e it? T h e c o n c l u s i o n of this w h o l e b u s i n e s s w a s , that it s o o n b e c a m e a fixed fact of my c h a m b e r s , that a p a l e y o u n g scrivener, by the n a m e of Bartleby, h a d a d e s k t h e r e ; that he c o p i e d for m e at the u s u a l rate of four c e n t s a folio (one h u n d r e d w o r d s ) ; but he w a s p e r m a n e n t l y e x e m p t from e x a m i n i n g the work d o n e by him, that duty b e i n g transferred to Turkey a n d N i p p e r s , out of c o m p l i m e n t d o u b t l e s s to their s u p e r i o r a c u t e n e s s ; moreover, said Bartleby w a s never on any a c c o u n t to b e d i s p a t c h e d on the most trivial e r r a n d of any sort; a n d that even if e n t r e a t e d to take u p o n him s u c h a matter, it w a s generally u n d e r s t o o d that h e would prefer not t o — in other w o r d s , that h e would refuse point-blank. A s days p a s s e d o n , I b e c a m e c o n s i d e r a b l y r e c o n c i l e d to Bartleby. H i s s t e a d i n e s s , his f r e e d o m from all d i s s i p a t i o n , his i n c e s s a n t industry (except w h e n he c h o s e to throw h i m s e l f into a s t a n d i n g revery b e h i n d his s c r e e n ) , his great stillness, his u n a l t e r a b l e n e s s of d e m e a n o r u n d e r all c i r c u m s t a n c e s , m a d e him a v a l u a b l e a c q u i s i t i o n . O n e p r i m e thing w a s this,—he was always there;—first in the m o r n i n g , continually t h r o u g h the day, a n d the last at night. I h a d a singular c o n f i d e n c e in his honesty. I felt my m o s t p r e c i o u s p a p e r s perfectly safe in his h a n d s . S o m e t i m e s to b e s u r e I c o u l d not, for the very soul of m e , avoid falling into s u d d e n s p a s m o d i c p a s s i o n s with h i m . F o r it w a s e x c e e d i n g difficult to b e a r in m i n d all the time t h o s e s t r a n g e peculiarities, privileges, a n d u n h e a r d of e x e m p t i o n s , forming the tacit s t i p u l a t i o n s on Bartleby's part u n d e r which he r e m a i n e d in my office. N o w a n d t h e n , in the e a g e r n e s s of d i s p a t c h i n g p r e s s i n g b u s i n e s s , I would inadvertently s u m m o n Bartleby, in a short, rapid t o n e , to p u t his finger, say, on the incipient tie of a bit of red t a p e with which I w a s a b o u t c o m p r e s s i n g s o m e p a p e r s . O f c o u r s e , from b e h i n d the s c r e e n the u s u a l a n s w e r , "I prefer not t o , " w a s s u r e to c o m e ; a n d t h e n , how c o u l d a h u m a n c r e a t u r e with c o m m o n infirmities of our n a t u r e , refrain from bitterly e x c l a i m i n g u p o n s u c h p e r v e r s e n e s s — s u c h u n r e a s o n a b l e n e s s . However, every a d d e d r e p u l s e of this sort which I received only t e n d e d to l e s s e n the probability of my r e p e a t i n g the i n a d v e r t e n c e . H e r e it m u s t b e said, that a c c o r d i n g to the c u s t o m s of m o s t legal gentlem e n o c c u p y i n g c h a m b e r s in d e n s e l y - p o p u l a t e d law b u i l d i n g s , there were several keys to my door. O n e w a s kept by a w o m a n residing in the attic, which p e r s o n weekly s c r u b b e d a n d daily swept a n d d u s t e d my a p a r t m e n t s . Another w a s kept by Turkey for c o n v e n i e n c e s a k e . T h e third I s o m e t i m e s carried in my own p o c k e t . T h e fourth I k n e w not w h o h a d . N o w , o n e S u n d a y m o r n i n g I h a p p e n e d to g o to Trinity C h u r c h , to h e a r a c e l e b r a t e d p r e a c h e r , a n d finding myself rather early on the g r o u n d , I t h o u g h t I would walk r o u n d to my c h a m b e r s for a while. Luckily I h a d my key with m e ; but u p o n applying it to the lock, I f o u n d it resisted by s o m e t h i n g i n s e r t e d from the inside. Quite s u r p r i s e d , I called o u t ; w h e n to my c o n s t e r n a t i o n a key was turned from within; a n d thrusting his lean visage at m e , a n d h o l d i n g the door ajar, the apparition of Bartleby a p p e a r e d , in his shirt s l e e v e s , a n d otherwise in a strangely tattered d i s h a b i l l e , saying quietly that h e w a s sorry, but h e w a s deeply e n g a g e d j u s t t h e n , a n d — p r e f e r r e d not a d m i t t i n g m e at present. In a brief word or two, h e m o r e o v e r a d d e d , that p e r h a p s I h a d better walk round the block two or three t i m e s , a n d by that time h e w o u l d probably have c o n c l u d e d his affairs.

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Now, the utterly u n s u r m i s e d a p p e a r a n c e of Bartleby, t e n a n t i n g my lawc h a m b e r s of a S u n d a y m o r n i n g , with his c a d a v e r o u s l y g e n t l e m a n l y nonchalance, yet withal firm a n d s e l f - p o s s e s s e d , h a d s u c h a s t r a n g e effect u p o n m e , that incontinently I s l u n k away from my own door, a n d did a s d e s i r e d . B u t not without sundry twinges of i m p o t e n t rebellion a g a i n s t the mild effrontery of this u n a c c o u n t a b l e scrivener. I n d e e d , it w a s his wonderful m i l d n e s s chiefly, which not only d i s a r m e d m e , but u n m a n n e d m e , a s it w e r e . F o r I c o n s i d e r that o n e , for the t i m e , is a sort of u n m a n n e d w h e n h e tranquilly permits his hired clerk to dictate to him, a n d order him away from his own p r e m i s e s . F u r t h e r m o r e , I w a s full of u n e a s i n e s s as to what Bartleby c o u l d possibly be d o i n g in my office in his shirt s l e e v e s , a n d in a n otherwise dism a n t l e d c o n d i t i o n of a S u n d a y m o r n i n g . W a s any thing a m i s s g o i n g o n ? N a y , that w a s out of the q u e s t i o n . It w a s not to be thought of for a m o m e n t that Bartleby w a s an i m m o r a l p e r s o n . B u t what c o u l d he be d o i n g t h e r e ? — c o p ying? N a y a g a i n , whatever might be his eccentricities, Bartleby w a s a n eminently d e c o r o u s p e r s o n . H e would be the last m a n to sit d o w n to his d e s k in any state a p p r o a c h i n g to nudity. B e s i d e s , it w a s S u n d a y ; a n d there w a s s o m e thing a b o u t Bartleby that f o r b a d e the s u p p o s i t i o n that h e would by any s e c ular o c c u p a t i o n violate the proprieties of the day. N e v e r t h e l e s s , my m i n d w a s not pacified; a n d full of a r e s t l e s s curiosity, at last I returned to the door. Without h i n d r a n c e I inserted my key, o p e n e d it, a n d e n t e r e d . Bartleby was not to be s e e n . I looked r o u n d anxiously, p e e p e d behind his s c r e e n ; but it w a s very plain that he w a s g o n e . U p o n m o r e closely e x a m i n i n g the p l a c e , I s u r m i s e d that for a n indefinite period Bartleby m u s t have a t e , d r e s s e d , a n d slept in my office, a n d that too without p l a t e , mirror, or bed. T h e c u s h i o n e d seat of a ricketty old sofa in o n e c o r n e r bore the faint i m p r e s s of a l e a n , reclining form. Rolled away u n d e r his d e s k , I f o u n d a blanket; u n d e r the e m p t y g r a t e , a blacking box a n d b r u s h ; on a chair, a tin b a s i n , with s o a p a n d a r a g g e d towel; in a n e w s p a p e r a few c r u m b s of gingern u t s a n d a morsel of c h e e s e . Yes, thought I, it is evident e n o u g h that Bartleby has b e e n m a k i n g his h o m e h e r e , k e e p i n g b a c h e l o r ' s hall all by himself. I m m e diately then the t h o u g h ! c a m e s w e e p i n g a c r o s s m e , W h a t m i s e r a b l e friendl e s s n e s s a n d loneliness are h e r e revealed! His poverty is great; but his s o l i t u d e , how horrible! T h i n k of it. O f a S u n d a y , Wall-street is d e s e r t e d a s P e t r a ; ' a n d every night of every day it is a n e m p t i n e s s . T h i s b u i l d i n g too, which of week-days h u m s with industry a n d life, at nightfall e c h o e s with s h e e r v a c a n c y , a n d all t h r o u g h S u n d a y is forlorn. A n d here Bartleby m a k e s his h o m e ; sole s p e c t a t o r of a solitude which h e has s e e n all p o p u l o u s — a sort of i n n o c e n t a n d t r a n s f o r m e d Marius 1 ' b r o o d i n g a m o n g the ruins of C a r t h a g e ! F o r the first t i m e in my life a feeling of overpowering s t i n g i n g m e l a n c h o l y seized m e . B e f o r e , I h a d never e x p e r i e n c e d a u g h t but a n o t - u n p l e a s i n g sadn e s s . T h e b o n d of a c o m m o n h u m a n i t y now drew m e irresistibly to g l o o m . A fraternal m e l a n c h o l y ! For both I a n d Bartleby were s o n s of A d a m . I r e m e m bered the bright silks a n d sparkling f a c e s I h a d s e e n that day, in gala trim, swan-like sailing down the M i s s i s s i p p i of B r o a d w a y ; a n d I c o n t r a s t e d t h e m with the pallid copyist, a n d thought to myself, Ah, h a p p i n e s s c o u r t s the light, so we d e e m the world is gay; but misery hides aloof, so we d e e m that misery 5.

Ancient

c i t y w h o s e r u i n s a r e in J o r d a n , o n a

slope of M o u n t Hor.

6.

G a i u s M a r i u s ( 1 5 7 - 8 6 B.C.E.), R o m a n

w h o returned to power after exile.

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t h e r e is n o n e . T h e s e s a d f a n c y i n g s — c h i m e r a s , d o u b t l e s s , of a sick a n d silly b r a i n — l e d on to other a n d m o r e special t h o u g h t s , c o n c e r n i n g the e c c e n t r i c ities of Bartleby. P r e s e n t i m e n t s of s t r a n g e discoveries h o v e r e d r o u n d m e . T h e scrivener's p a l e form a p p e a r e d to m e laid out, a m o n g u n c a r i n g s t r a n g e r s , in its shivering w i n d i n g s h e e t . S u d d e n l y I w a s a t t r a c t e d by Bartleby's c l o s e d d e s k , the key in o p e n sight left in the lock. I m e a n no mischief, s e e k the gratification of no h e a r t l e s s curiosity, t h o u g h t I; b e s i d e s , the d e s k is m i n e , a n d its c o n t e n t s too, s o I will m a k e bold to look within. Every thing w a s methodically a r r a n g e d , the p a p e r s s m o o t h l y p l a c e d . T h e pigeon holes were d e e p , a n d r e m o v i n g the files of d o c u m e n t s , I g r o p e d into their r e c e s s e s . Presently I felt s o m e t h i n g t h e r e , a n d d r a g g e d it out. It w a s an old b a n d a n n a handkerchief, heavy a n d k n o t t e d . I o p e n e d it, a n d saw it w a s a saving's b a n k . I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I h a d n o t e d in the m a n . I r e m e m b e r e d that he never s p o k e but to a n s w e r ; that t h o u g h at intervals he h a d c o n s i d e r a b l e time to himself, yet I h a d never s e e n him r e a d i n g — n o , not even a n e w s p a p e r ; that for long p e r i o d s h e w o u l d s t a n d looking out, at his pale window b e h i n d the s c r e e n , u p o n the d e a d brick wall; I w a s q u i t e s u r e he never visited any refectory or eating h o u s e ; while his p a l e f a c e clearly indicated that h e never d r a n k beer like Turkey, or tea a n d coffee even, like other m e n ; that h e never went any w h e r e in p a r t i c u l a r that I c o u l d learn; never went o u t for a walk, u n l e s s i n d e e d that w a s the c a s e at p r e s e n t ; that he h a d d e c l i n e d telling w h o h e w a s , or w h e n c e h e c a m e , or w h e t h e r he h a d any relatives in the world; that t h o u g h s o thin a n d p a l e , he never c o m p l a i n e d of ill health. A n d m o r e than all, I r e m e m b e r e d a certain u n c o n s c i o u s air of p a l l i d — h o w shall I call i t ? — o f pallid h a u g h t i n e s s , say, or rather an a u s t e r e reserve a b o u t him, which h a d positively a w e d m e into my t a m e c o m p l i a n c e with his e c c e n t r i c i t i e s , w h e n I h a d feared to a s k h i m to do the slightest incidental thing for m e , even t h o u g h I might know, from his l o n g - c o n t i n u e d m o t i o n l e s s n e s s , that b e h i n d his s c r e e n h e m u s t b e s t a n d i n g in o n e of t h o s e dead-wall reveries of his. Revolving all t h e s e things, a n d c o u p l i n g t h e m with the recently discovered fact that h e m a d e my office his c o n s t a n t a b i d i n g p l a c e a n d h o m e , a n d not forgetful of his morbid m o o d i n e s s ; revolving all t h e s e t h i n g s , a p r u d e n t i a l feeling b e g a n to steal over m e . M y first e m o t i o n s h a d b e e n t h o s e of p u r e m e l a n c h o l y a n d s i n c e r e s t pity; b u t j u s t in p r o p o r t i o n a s the f o r l o r n n e s s of Rartleby grew a n d grew to my i m a g i n a t i o n , did that s a m e m e l a n c h o l y m e r g e into fear, that pity into r e p u l s i o n . S o true it is, a n d s o terrible too, that u p to a certain point the t h o u g h t or sight of misery enlists our b e s t a f f e c t i o n s ; b u t , in certain s p e c i a l c a s e s , b e y o n d that point it d o e s not. T h e y err w h o would a s s e r t that invariably this is owing to the inherent s e l f i s h n e s s of the h u m a n heart. It rather p r o c e e d s from a certain h o p e l e s s n e s s of r e m e d y i n g excessive a n d organic ill. T o a sensitive being, pity is not s e l d o m p a i n . A n d w h e n at last it is perceived that s u c h pity c a n n o t l e a d to effectual s u c c o r , c o m m o n s e n s e bids the soul be rid of it. W h a t I s a w that m o r n i n g p e r s u a d e d m e that the scrivener w a s the victim of innate a n d i n c u r a b l e disorder. I m i g h t give a l m s to his body; but his body did not p a i n h i m ; it w a s his soul that suffered, a n d his soul I c o u l d not r e a c h . I did not a c c o m p l i s h the p u r p o s e of g o i n g to Trinity C h u r c h that m o r n i n g . S o m e h o w , the things I h a d s e e n disqualified m e for the time from c h u r c h -

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going. I walked h o m e w a r d , thinking what I would do with Bartleby. Finally, I resolved u p o n t h i s ; — I would put certain c a l m q u e s t i o n s to him the next m o r n i n g , t o u c h i n g his history, & c , a n d if he d e c l i n e d to a n s w e r t h e m openly a n d unreservedly (and I s u p p o s e d he would prefer n o t ) , then to give him a twenty dollar bill over a n d a b o v e whatever I might owe h i m , a n d tell him his services were n o longer r e q u i r e d ; but that if in any other way I c o u l d a s s i s t him, I would be happy to d o s o , especially if he desired to return to his native p l a c e , wherever that m i g h t b e , I would willingly help to defray the e x p e n s e s . Moreover, if, after r e a c h i n g h o m e , he f o u n d h i m s e l f at any time in w a n t of aid, a letter from him would be sure of a reply. T h e next m o r n i n g c a m e . " B a r t l e b y , " said I, gently calling to him b e h i n d his s c r e e n . N o reply. " B a r t l e b y , " said I, in a still gentler t o n e , " c o m e h e r e ; I a m not g o i n g to a s k you to d o any thing you w o u l d prefer not to d o — I simply wish to s p e a k to you." U p o n this h e noiselessly slid into view. "Will you tell m e , Bartleby, where you were b o r n ? " "I w o u l d prefer not t o . " "Will you tell m e any thing a b o u t y o u r s e l f ? " "I would prefer not t o . " " B u t what r e a s o n a b l e objection c a n you have to s p e a k to m e ? I feel friendly towards y o u . " H e did not look at m e while I s p o k e , b u t kept his g l a n c e fixed u p o n my b u s t of C i c e r o , which a s I then sat, w a s directly b e h i n d m e , s o m e six i n c h e s above my h e a d . " W h a t is your a n s w e r , B a r t l e b y ? " said I, after waiting a c o n s i d e r a b l e time for a reply, d u r i n g which his c o u n t e n a n c e r e m a i n e d i m m o v a b l e , only t h e r e w a s the faintest c o n c e i v a b l e tremor of the white a t t e n u a t e d m o u t h . "At p r e s e n t I prefer to give no a n s w e r , " he s a i d , a n d retired into his hermitage. It w a s rather w e a k in m e I c o n f e s s , but his m a n n e r on this o c c a s i o n nettled m e . N o t only did there s e e m to lurk in it a certain c a l m d i s d a i n , b u t his p e r v e r s e n e s s s e e m e d ungrateful, c o n s i d e r i n g the u n d e n i a b l e g o o d u s a g e a n d i n d u l g e n c e h e h a d received from m e . Again I sat r u m i n a t i n g what I s h o u l d do. Mortified a s I w a s at his behavior, a n d resolved a s I h a d b e e n to d i s m i s s him w h e n I e n t e r e d my office, nevertheless I strangely felt s o m e t h i n g s u p e r s t i t i o u s k n o c k i n g at my heart, a n d forbidding m e to carry out my p u r p o s e , a n d d e n o u n c i n g m e for a villain if I d a r e d to b r e a t h e o n e bitter word a g a i n s t this forlornest of m a n k i n d . At last, familiarly drawing my c h a i r behind his s c r e e n , I sat d o w n a n d s a i d : "Bartleby, never m i n d then a b o u t revealing your history; but let m e entreat y o u , a s a friend, to c o m p l y a s far a s may be with the u s a g e s of this office. S a y now you will help to e x a m i n e p a p e r s to-morrow or next day: in short, say now that in a day or two you will begin to be a little r e a s o n a b l e : — s a y s o , B a r t l e b y . " "At p r e s e n t I would prefer not to be a little r e a s o n a b l e , " w a s his mildly c a d a v e r o u s reply. J u s t then the folding-doors o p e n e d , a n d N i p p e r s a p p r o a c h e d . H e s e e m e d suffering from a n u n u s u a l l y b a d night's rest, i n d u c e d by severer indigestion than c o m m o n . H e overheard t h o s e final w o r d s of Bartleby. "Prefer not, e h ? " gritted N i p p e r s — " I ' d prefer h i m , if I were you, sir,"

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a d d r e s s i n g m e — " I ' d prefer h i m ; I'd give him p r e f e r e n c e s , the s t u b b o r n m u l e ! W h a t is it, sir, pray, that he prefers not to do n o w ? " Bartleby moved not a limb. " M r . N i p p e r s , " said I, "I'd prefer that you would withdraw for the p r e s e n t . " S o m e h o w , of late I h a d got into the way of involuntarily u s i n g this word "prefer" u p o n all sorts of not exactly s u i t a b l e o c c a s i o n s . A n d I t r e m b l e d to think that my c o n t a c t with the scrivener h a d already a n d seriously affected m e in a m e n t a l way. A n d what further a n d d e e p e r aberration might it not yet p r o d u c e ? T h i s a p p r e h e n s i o n h a d not b e e n without efficacy in d e t e r m i n ing m e to s u m m a r y m e a n s . A s N i p p e r s , looking very s o u r a n d sulky, w a s d e p a r t i n g , T u r k e y blandly a n d deferentially a p p r o a c h e d . "With s u b m i s s i o n , sir," said h e , "yesterday I w a s thinking a b o u t Bartleby here, a n d I think that if he would but prefer to take a q u a r t of g o o d ale every day, it would d o m u c h towards m e n d i n g him, a n d e n a b l i n g him to assist in e x a m i n i n g his p a p e r s . " " S o you have got the word t o o , " said I, slightly excited. "With s u b m i s s i o n , what word, sir," a s k e d T u r k e y , respectfully c r o w d i n g himself into the c o n t r a c t e d s p a c e b e h i n d the s c r e e n , a n d by s o d o i n g , m a k i n g m e j o s t l e the scrivener. " W h a t word, s i r ? " "I would prefer to be left a l o n e h e r e , " said Bartleby, a s if o f f e n d e d at b e i n g m o b b e d in his privacy. "That's the word, T u r k e y , " said I—"that's it." " O h , prefer? oh y e s — q u e e r word. I never u s e it myself. B u t , sir, a s I w a s saying, if h e would but p r e f e r — " " T u r k e y , " interrupted I, "you will p l e a s e w i t h d r a w . " " O h certainly, sir, if you prefer that I s h o u l d . " As he o p e n e d the folding-door to retire, N i p p e r s at his d e s k c a u g h t a g l i m p s e of m e , a n d a s k e d w h e t h e r I would prefer to have a certain p a p e r c o p i e d on b l u e p a p e r or w h i t e . H e did not in the least roguishly a c c e n t the word prefer. It w a s plain that it involuntarily rolled from his t o n g u e . I t h o u g h t to myself, surely I m u s t get rid of a d e m e n t e d m a n , w h o already h a s in s o m e d e g r e e turned the t o n g u e s , if not the h e a d s of myself a n d clerks. B u t I thought it p r u d e n t not to b r e a k the d i s m i s s i o n at o n c e . T h e next day I noticed that Bartleby did n o t h i n g but s t a n d at his window in his dead-wall revery. U p o n a s k i n g him why h e did not write, he said that he h a d d e c i d e d u p o n d o i n g no m o r e writing. "Why, how n o w ? what n e x t ? " e x c l a i m e d I, " d o no m o r e writing?" "No more." "And what is the r e a s o n ? " " D o you not s e e the r e a s o n for yourself," h e indifferently replied. I looked steadfastly at h i m , a n d p e r c e i v e d that his eyes looked dull a n d glazed. Instantly it o c c u r r e d to m e , that his u n e x a m p l e d d i l i g e n c e in c o p y i n g by his dim window for the first few w e e k s of his stay with m e might have temporarily i m p a i r e d his vision. I w a s t o u c h e d . I said s o m e t h i n g in c o n d o l e n c e with h i m . I hinted that of c o u r s e h e did wisely in a b s t a i n i n g from writing for a while; a n d u r g e d him to e m b r a c e that opportunity of taking w h o l e s o m e exercise in the o p e n air. T h i s , however, he did not d o . A few days after this, my other clerks b e i n g a b s e n t , a n d b e i n g in a great hurry to d i s p a t c h certain letters by the mail, I thought that, having nothing else earthly to d o , Bartleby w o u l d surely be less

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inflexible than u s u a l , a n d carry t h e s e letters to the post-office. B u t he blankly declined. S o , m u c h to my i n c o n v e n i e n c e , I went myself. Still a d d e d days went by. W h e t h e r Bartleby's eyes improved or not, I c o u l d not say. T o all a p p e a r a n c e , I thought they did. B u t w h e n I a s k e d him if they did, he v o u c h s a f e d no answer. At all events, he would d o n o copying. At last, in reply to my urgings, he informed m e that he h a d p e r m a n e n t l y given u p copying. " W h a t ! " e x c l a i m e d I; " s u p p o s e your eyes s h o u l d get entirely w e l l — b e t t e r than ever b e f o r e — w o u l d you not copy t h e n ? " "I have given up c o p y i n g , " h e a n s w e r e d , a n d slid a s i d e . H e r e m a i n e d a s ever, a fixture in my c h a m b e r . N a y — i f that were p o s s i b l e — h e b e c a m e still m o r e of a fixture than before. W h a t w a s to be d o n e ? H e would d o nothing in the office: why s h o u l d he stay there? In plain fact, he h a d now b e c o m e a millstone to m e , not only u s e l e s s a s a n e c k l a c e , but afflictive to bear. Yet I was sorry for him. I s p e a k less than truth when I say that, on his own a c c o u n t , he o c c a s i o n e d m e u n e a s i n e s s . If he would but have n a m e d a single relative or friend, I would instantly have written, a n d u r g e d their taking the poor fellow away to s o m e c o n v e n i e n t retreat. B u t he s e e m e d a l o n e , absolutely a l o n e in the universe. A bit of wreck in the mid Atlantic. At length, n e c e s s i t i e s c o n n e c t e d with my b u s i n e s s tyrannized over all other c o n s i d e r a t i o n s . D e c e n t l y a s I c o u l d , I told Bartleby that in six days' time he m u s t unconditionally leave the office. I w a r n e d him to take m e a s u r e s , in the interval, for p r o c u r i n g s o m e other a b o d e . I offered to assist him in this endeavor, if he h i m s e l f would but take the first step towards a removal. " A n d when you finally quit m e , Bartleby," a d d e d I, "I shall s e e that you go not away entirely u n p r o v i d e d . Six days from this hour, r e m e m b e r . " At the expiration of that p e r i o d , I p e e p e d b e h i n d the s c r e e n , a n d lo! Bartleby w a s there. I b u t t o n e d u p my c o a t , b a l a n c e d myself; a d v a n c e d slowly towards him, t o u c h e d his s h o u l d e r , a n d said, " T h e time h a s c o m e ; you m u s t quit this p l a c e ; I a m sorry for you; here is m o n e y ; but you m u s t g o . " "I would prefer n o t , " he replied, with his b a c k still towards m e . "You must." H e r e m a i n e d silent. N o w I h a d an u n b o u n d e d c o n f i d e n c e in this m a n ' s c o m m o n honesty. H e h a d frequently restored to m e s i x p e n c e s a n d shillings carelessly d r o p p e d u p o n the floor, for I a m apt to be very reckless in s u c h shirt-button affairs. T h e p r o c e e d i n g then which followed will not be d e e m e d extraordinary. " B a r t l e b y , " said I, "I owe you twelve dollars on a c c o u n t ; here are thirtytwo; the o d d twenty a r e y o u r s . — W i l l you take i t ? " a n d I h a n d e d the bills towards h i m . B u t he m a d e no m o t i o n . "I will leave t h e m here t h e n , " p u t t i n g t h e m u n d e r a weight on the table. T h e n taking my hat a n d c a n e a n d g o i n g to the d o o r I tranquilly turned a n d a d d e d — " A f t e r you have r e m o v e d your things from t h e s e offices, Bartleby, you will of c o u r s e lock the d o o r — s i n c e every o n e is now g o n e for the day but y o u — a n d if you p l e a s e , slip your key u n d e r n e a t h the m a t , s o that I may have it in the m o r n i n g . I shall not s e e you a g a i n ; s o good-bye to y o u . If hereafter in your new p l a c e of a b o d e I c a n be of any service to you, do not fail to advise m e by letter. G o o d - b y e , Bartleby, a n d fare you well." But he a n s w e r e d not a word; like the last c o l u m n of s o m e ruined t e m p l e ,

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h e r e m a i n e d s t a n d i n g m u t e a n d solitary in the m i d d l e of the otherwise deserted room. A s I walked h o m e in a p e n s i v e m o o d , my vanity got the better of my pity. I c o u l d not but highly p l u m e myself o n my masterly m a n a g e m e n t in getting rid of Bartleby. M a s t e r l y I call it, a n d s u c h it m u s t a p p e a r to any d i s p a s s i o n a t e thinker. T h e b e a u t y of my p r o c e d u r e s e e m e d to c o n s i s t in its perfect quietn e s s . T h e r e w a s no vulgar bullying, no b r a v a d o of a n y sort, no choleric hectoring, a n d striding to a n d fro a c r o s s the a p a r t m e n t , j e r k i n g out v e h e m e n t c o m m a n d s for Bartleby to b u n d l e h i m s e l f off with his beggarly traps. N o t h i n g of the kind. W i t h o u t loudly bidding Bartleby d e p a r t — a s a n inferior g e n i u s might have d o n e — I assumed the g r o u n d that d e p a r t h e m u s t ; a n d u p o n that a s s u m p t i o n built all I h a d to say. T h e m o r e I t h o u g h t over my p r o c e d u r e , the m o r e I w a s c h a r m e d with it. N e v e r t h e l e s s , next m o r n i n g , u p o n awakening, I h a d my d o u b t s , — I h a d s o m e h o w slept off the f u m e s of vanity. O n e of the c o o l e s t a n d wisest h o u r s a m a n h a s , is j u s t after h e a w a k e s in the m o r n i n g . M y p r o c e d u r e s e e m e d a s s a g a c i o u s a s e v e r , — b u t only in theory. H o w it would prove in p r a c t i c e — t h e r e w a s the r u b . It w a s truly a beautiful thought to have a s s u m e d Bartleby's d e p a r t u r e ; b u t , after all, that a s s u m p t i o n w a s simply my o w n , a n d n o n e of Bartleby's. T h e great point w a s , not w h e t h e r I h a d a s s u m e d that he w o u l d quit m e , but w h e t h e r h e would prefer so to d o . H e w a s m o r e a m a n of p r e f e r e n c e s than a s s u m p t i o n s . After b r e a k f a s t , I walked d o w n town, a r g u i n g the probabilities pro a n d con. O n e m o m e n t I t h o u g h t it would prove a m i s e r a b l e failure, a n d Bartleby w o u l d be f o u n d all alive at my office a s u s u a l ; the next m o m e n t it s e e m e d certain that I s h o u l d s e e his chair empty. A n d s o I kept veering a b o u t . At the c o r n e r of B r o a d w a y a n d C a n a l - s t r e e t , I s a w quite a n excited g r o u p of p e o p l e s t a n d i n g in e a r n e s t c o n v e r s a t i o n . "I'll take o d d s he d o e s n ' t , " said a voice a s I p a s s e d . " D o e s n ' t g o ? — d o n e ! " said I, " p u t u p your m o n e y . " I w a s instinctively p u t t i n g my h a n d in my p o c k e t to p r o d u c e my o w n , w h e n I r e m e m b e r e d that this w a s a n election day. T h e w o r d s I had o v e r h e a r d b o r e n o reference to Bartleby, but to the s u c c e s s or n o n - s u c c e s s of s o m e c a n d i d a t e for the mayoralty. In my intent f r a m e of m i n d , I h a d , a s it w e r e , i m a g i n e d that all B r o a d w a y s h a r e d in my e x c i t e m e n t , a n d w e r e d e b a t i n g the s a m e q u e s t i o n with m e . I p a s s e d o n , very thankful that the u p r o a r of the street s c r e e n e d my m o m e n t a r y a b s e n t - m i n d e d n e s s . A s I h a d i n t e n d e d , I w a s earlier than u s u a l at my office door. I stood listening for a m o m e n t . All w a s still. H e m u s t be g o n e . I tried the k n o b . T h e d o o r was locked. Y e s , my p r o c e d u r e h a d worked to a c h a r m ; he i n d e e d m u s t b e v a n i s h e d . Yet a certain m e l a n c h o l y mixed with this: I w a s a l m o s t sorry for my brilliant s u c c e s s . I w a s f u m b l i n g u n d e r the d o o r m a t for the key, which Bartleby w a s to have left there for m e , w h e n accidentally my k n e e k n o c k e d a g a i n s t a p a n e l , p r o d u c i n g a s u m m o n i n g s o u n d , a n d in r e s p o n s e a voice c a m e to m e from w i t h i n — " N o t yet; I a m o c c u p i e d . " It w a s Bartleby. I w a s t h u n d e r s t r u c k . For a n instant I s t o o d like the m a n w h o , p i p e in m o u t h , w a s killed o n e c l o u d l e s s a f t e r n o o n long a g o in Virginia, by s u m m e r lightning; at his own w a r m o p e n window he w a s killed, a n d r e m a i n e d l e a n i n g o u t there u p o n the d r e a m y a f t e r n o o n , till s o m e o n e t o u c h e d h i m , w h e n he fell.

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" N o t g o n e ! " I m u r m u r e d at last. B u t again obeying that w o n d r o u s a s c e n d a n c y which the i n s c r u t a b l e scrivener h a d over m e , a n d from w h i c h a s c e n dancy, for all my chafing, I c o u l d not completely e s c a p e , I slowly went d o w n stairs a n d out into the street, a n d while walking r o u n d the block, c o n s i d e r e d what I s h o u l d next do in this u n h e a r d - o f perplexity. T u r n the m a n o u t by a n a c t u a l thrusting I c o u l d not; to drive him away by calling h i m hard n a m e s would not d o ; calling in the police w a s a n u n p l e a s a n t i d e a ; a n d yet, permit him to enjoy his c a d a v e r o u s t r i u m p h over m e , — t h i s too I c o u l d not think of. W h a t w a s to be d o n e ? or, if nothing c o u l d be d o n e , w a s there any thing further that I c o u l d assume in the matter? Yes, a s before I h a d prospectively a s s u m e d that Bartleby would depart, s o now I might retrospectively a s s u m e that d e p a r t e d h e w a s . In the legitimate carrying out of this a s s u m p t i o n , I might enter my office in a great hurry, a n d p r e t e n d i n g not to s e e B a r t l e b y at all, walk straight a g a i n s t him a s if he were air. S u c h a p r o c e e d i n g w o u l d in a singular d e g r e e have the a p p e a r a n c e of a h o m e - t h r u s t . It w a s hardly possible that Bartleby c o u l d withstand s u c h an a p p l i c a t i o n of the d o c t r i n e of a s s u m p t i o n s . B u t u p o n s e c o n d t h o u g h t s the s u c c e s s of the plan s e e m e d rather d u b i o u s . I resolved to a r g u e the m a t t e r over with him a g a i n . " B a r t l e b y , " said I, e n t e r i n g the office, with a quietly severe e x p r e s s i o n , "I a m seriously d i s p l e a s e d . I a m p a i n e d , Bartleby. I h a d t h o u g h t better of you. I h a d i m a g i n e d you of s u c h a g e n t l e m a n l y organization, that in any d e l i c a t e d i l e m m a a slight hint would suffice—in short, a n a s s u m p t i o n . B u t it a p p e a r s I a m deceived. W h y , " I a d d e d , unaffectedly starting, "you have not even t o u c h e d that m o n e y yet," pointing to it, j u s t w h e r e I h a d left it the e v e n i n g previous. H e a n s w e r e d nothing. "Will you, or will you not, quit m e ? " I n o w d e m a n d e d in a s u d d e n p a s s i o n , a d v a n c i n g c l o s e to h i m . "I would prefer not to quit y o u , " h e replied, gently e m p h a s i z i n g the not. " W h a t earthly right have you to stay here? D o you pay any rent? D o you pay my taxes? O r is this property y o u r s ? " H e a n s w e r e d nothing. "Are you ready to g o on a n d write n o w ? Are your eyes r e c o v e r e d ? C o u l d you c o p y a s m a l l p a p e r for m e this m o r n i n g ? or help e x a m i n e a few lines? or step r o u n d to the post-office? In a word, will you do any thing at all, to give a coloring to your refusal to d e p a r t the p r e m i s e s ? " H e silently retired into his h e r m i t a g e . I w a s n o w in s u c h a s t a t e of n e r v o u s r e s e n t m e n t that I t h o u g h t it b u t p r u d e n t to c h e c k myself at p r e s e n t from further d e m o n s t r a t i o n s . Bartleby a n d I were a l o n e . I r e m e m b e r e d the tragedy of the u n f o r t u n a t e A d a m s a n d the still m o r e u n f o r t u n a t e C o l t in the solitary office of the latter; a n d how p o o r C o l t , b e i n g dreadfully i n c e n s e d by A d a m s , 7 a n d i m p r u d e n t l y p e r m i t t i n g h i m s e l f to get wildly excited, w a s at u n a w a r e s hurried into his fatal a c t — a n act which certainly no m a n c o u l d possibly deplore m o r e than the a c t o r him7. N o t o r i o u s m u r d e r c a s e t h a t o c c u r r e d w h i l e M e l v i l l e w a s in t h e S o u t h S e a s . In 1 8 4 1 S a m u e l A d a m s , a printer, called on J o h n C . Colt (brother of the inventor of the revolver) at B r o a d w a y a n d C h a m b e r s S t r e e t in l o w e r M a n h a t t a n t o c o l l e c t a debt. Colt m u r d e r e d A d a m s with a hatchet and c r a t e d t h e c o r p s e for s h i p m e n t to N e w O r l e a n s .

T h e body was found, and Colt was soon arrested. D e s p i t e his pleas of self-defense Colt w a s c o n victed the next year, a m i d c o n t i n u i n g n e w s p a p e r publicity, a n d s t a b b e d himself to d e a t h just before h e w a s t o b e h a n g e d . T h e s e t t i n g o f Bartleby is n o t far f r o m t h e s c e n e o f t h e m u r d e r .

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self. Often it h a d o c c u r r e d to m e in my p o n d e r i n g s u p o n the s u b j e c t , that h a d that altercation taken p l a c e in the public street, or at a private r e s i d e n c e , it would not have t e r m i n a t e d as it did. It w a s the c i r c u m s t a n c e of b e i n g a l o n e in a solitary office, up stairs, of a building entirely u n h a l l o w e d by h u m a n i z i n g d o m e s t i c a s s o c i a t i o n s — a n u n c a r p e t e d office, d o u b t l e s s , of a dusty, h a g g a r d sort of a p p e a r a n c e ; — t h i s it m u s t have b e e n , which greatly h e l p e d to e n h a n c e the irritable d e s p e r a t i o n of the h a p l e s s C o l t . B u t w h e n this old A d a m of r e s e n t m e n t rose in m e a n d t e m p t e d m e conc e r n i n g Bartleby, I g r a p p l e d him a n d threw him. H o w ? Why, simply by recalling the divine injunction: "A new c o m m a n d m e n t give I u n t o you, that ye love o n e a n o t h e r . " Yes, this it w a s that saved m e . A s i d e from higher c o n s i d e r a t i o n s , charity often o p e r a t e s as a vastly wise a n d p r u d e n t principle-—a great s a f e g u a r d to its p o s s e s s o r . M e n have c o m m i t t e d m u r d e r for j e a l o u s y ' s s a k e , a n d anger's s a k e , a n d hatred's s a k e , a n d s e l f i s h n e s s ' s a k e , a n d spiritual pride's s a k e ; but no m a n that ever I h e a r d of, ever c o m m i t t e d a diabolical m u r d e r for sweet charity's s a k e . M e r e self-interest, t h e n , if no better motive c a n b e enlisted, s h o u l d , especially with h i g h - t e m p e r e d m e n , p r o m p t all beings to charity a n d philanthropy. At any rate, u p o n the o c c a s i o n in q u e s tion, I strove to drown my e x a s p e r a t e d feelings towards the scrivener by benevolently c o n s t r u c t i n g his c o n d u c t . Poor fellow, poor fellow! thought I, he don't m e a n any thing; a n d b e s i d e s , he h a s seen hard t i m e s , a n d o u g h t to be i n d u l g e d . I e n d e a v o r e d a l s o immediately to o c c u p y myself, a n d at the s a m e t i m e to c o m f o r t my d e s p o n d e n c y . I tried to fancy that in the c o u r s e of the m o r n i n g , at s u c h time a s might prove a g r e e a b l e to him, Bartleby, of his own free a c c o r d , would e m e r g e from his h e r m i t a g e , a n d take u p s o m e d e c i d e d line of m a r c h in the direction of the door. B u t no. H a l f - p a s t twelve o'clock c a m e ; Turkey b e g a n to glow in the f a c e , overturn his i n k s t a n d , a n d b e c o m e generally o b s t r e p e r o u s ; N i p p e r s a b a t e d down into q u i e t u d e a n d c o u r t e s y ; G i n g e r N u t m u n c h e d his noon a p p l e ; a n d Bartleby r e m a i n e d s t a n d i n g at his window in o n e of his p r o f o u n d e s t dead-wall reveries. Will it b e c r e d i t e d ? O u g h t I to a c k n o w l e d g e it? T h a t afternoon I left the office without saying o n e further word to h i m . S o m e days now p a s s e d , d u r i n g w h i c h , at leisure intervals I looked a little into " E d w a r d s on the Will," a n d "Priestley on N e c e s s i t y . " 8 U n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s , t h o s e books i n d u c e d a salutary feeling. G r a d u a l l y I slid into the p e r s u a s i o n that t h e s e troubles of m i n e t o u c h i n g the scrivener, h a d b e e n all p r e d e s t i n a t e d from eternity, a n d Bartleby w a s billeted u p o n m e for s o m e m y s t e r i o u s p u r p o s e of an all-wise P r o v i d e n c e , which it w a s not for a m e r e mortal like m e to f a t h o m . Yes, Bartleby, stay there b e h i n d your s c r e e n , t h o u g h t I; I shall p e r s e c u t e you n o m o r e ; you are h a r m l e s s a n d n o i s e l e s s a s any of t h e s e old c h a i r s ; in short, I never feel s o private a s w h e n I know you are h e r e . At least I s e e it, I feel it; I p e n e t r a t e to the p r e d e s t i n a t e d p u r p o s e of my life. I a m c o n t e n t . O t h e r s may have loftier p a r t s to e n a c t ; but my mission in this world, Bartleby, is to furnish you with office-room for s u c h period a s you may s e e fit to r e m a i n . I believe that this wise a n d b l e s s e d f r a m e of m i n d would have c o n t i n u e d with m e , h a d it not b e e n for the u n s o l i c i t e d a n d u n c h a r i t a b l e r e m a r k s 8 . J o n a t h a n E d w a r d s ' s Freedom of the Will ( 1 7 5 4 ) a n d J o s e p h P r i e s t l e y ' s Doctrine of Philosophical Illustrated ( 1 7 7 7 ) . T h e c o l o n i a l m i n i s t e r a n d t h e E n g l i s h s c i e n t i s t a g r e e t h a t t h e w i l l is n o t f r e e .

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obtruded upon m e by my p r o f e s s i o n a l friends w h o visited the r o o m s . B u t thus it often is, that the c o n s t a n t friction of illiberal m i n d s wears o u t at last the best resolves of the m o r e g e n e r o u s . T h o u g h to be s u r e , when I reflected u p o n it, it w a s not s t r a n g e that p e o p l e e n t e r i n g my office s h o u l d b e s t r u c k by the peculiar a s p e c t of the u n a c c o u n t a b l e Bartleby, a n d s o be t e m p t e d to throw out s o m e sinister observations c o n c e r n i n g him. S o m e t i m e s an attorney having b u s i n e s s with m e , a n d calling at my office, a n d finding no o n e but the scrivener there, would u n d e r t a k e to obtain s o m e sort of p r e c i s e information from him t o u c h i n g my w h e r e a b o u t s ; but without h e e d i n g his idle talk, Bartleby would r e m a i n s t a n d i n g i m m o v a b l e in the m i d d l e of the r o o m . S o after c o n t e m p l a t i n g him in that position for a t i m e , the attorney would depart, n o wiser than he c a m e . Also, when a R e f e r e n c e 9 w a s going o n , a n d the r o o m full of lawyers a n d witnesses a n d b u s i n e s s w a s driving fast; s o m e deeply o c c u p i e d legal gentlem a n p r e s e n t , s e e i n g Bartleby wholly u n e m p l o y e d , would r e q u e s t him to run r o u n d to his (the legal g e n t l e m a n ' s ) office a n d fetch s o m e p a p e r s for him. T h e r e u p o n , Bartleby would tranquilly d e c l i n e , a n d yet r e m a i n idle a s before. T h e n the lawyer would give a great s t a r e , a n d turn to m e . A n d w h a t c o u l d I say? At last I w a s m a d e a w a r e that all through the circle of my p r o f e s s i o n a l a c q u a i n t a n c e , a w h i s p e r of w o n d e r was r u n n i n g r o u n d , having r e f e r e n c e to the s t r a n g e c r e a t u r e 1 kept at my office. T h i s worried m e very m u c h . A n d as the idea c a m e u p o n m e of his possibly turning o u t a long-lived m a n , a n d keep o c c u p y i n g my c h a m b e r s , a n d denying my authority; a n d perplexing my visitors; a n d scandalizing my professional r e p u t a t i o n ; a n d c a s t i n g a g e n e r a l g l o o m over the p r e m i s e s ; k e e p i n g soul a n d body together to the last u p o n his savings (for d o u b t l e s s he spent but half a d i m e a day), a n d in the e n d p e r h a p s outlive m e , a n d claim p o s s e s s i o n of my office by right of his perp e t u a l o c c u p a n c y : a s all t h e s e dark a n t i c i p a t i o n s c r o w d e d u p o n m e m o r e a n d m o r e , a n d my friends continually intruded their relentless r e m a r k s u p o n the apparition in my r o o m ; a great c h a n g e w a s w r o u g h t in m e . I resolved to gather all my faculties together, a n d for ever rid m e of this intolerable i n c u b u s . E r e revolving any c o m p l i c a t e d project, however, a d a p t e d to this e n d , I first simply s u g g e s t e d to Bartleby the propriety of his p e r m a n e n t d e p a r t u r e . In a c a l m a n d s e r i o u s t o n e , I c o m m e n d e d the idea to his careful a n d m a t u r e c o n s i d e r a t i o n . B u t having taken three days to m e d i t a t e u p o n it, he a p p r i s e d m e that his original d e t e r m i n a t i o n r e m a i n e d the s a m e ; in short, that he still preferred to a b i d e with m e . W h a t shall I d o ? I now said to myself, b u t t o n i n g u p my c o a t to the last button. W h a t shall I d o ? what o u g h t I to d o ? w h a t d o e s c o n s c i e n c e say I should do with this m a n , or rather g h o s t . Rid myself of h i m , I m u s t ; g o , h e shall. Rut how? You will not thrust him, the poor, p a l e , p a s s i v e m o r t a l , — y o u will not thrust s u c h a helpless c r e a t u r e out of your d o o r ? you will not dishonor yourself by s u c h cruelty? N o , I will not, I c a n n o t d o that. R a t h e r would I let him live a n d die h e r e , a n d then m a s o n up his r e m a i n s in the wall. W h a t then will you d o ? F o r all your coaxing, he will not b u d g e . B r i b e s he leaves u n d e r your own paper-weight on your table; in short, it is q u i t e plain that he prefers to cling to you. T h e n s o m e t h i n g severe, s o m e t h i n g u n u s u a l m u s t b e d o n e . W h a t ! surely 9.

T h e act of referring a d i s p u t e d m a t t e r to referees.

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you will not have h i m collared by a c o n s t a b l e , a n d c o m m i t his i n n o c e n t pallor to the c o m m o n jail? A n d u p o n w h a t g r o u n d c o u l d you p r o c u r e s u c h a thing to be d o n e ? — a v a g r a n t , is h e ? W h a t ! he a v a g r a n t , a w a n d e r e r , w h o r e f u s e s to b u d g e ? It is b e c a u s e he will wot be a v a g r a n t , t h e n , that you s e e k to c o u n t him as a vagrant. T h a t is too a b s u r d . N o visible m e a n s of s u p p o r t : there I have h i m . W r o n g a g a i n : for indubitably h e does s u p p o r t himself, a n d that is the only u n a n s w e r a b l e proof that any m a n c a n s h o w of his p o s s e s s i n g the m e a n s s o to do. N o m o r e then. S i n c e he will not quit m e , I m u s t quit h i m . I will c h a n g e my offices; I will m o v e e l s e w h e r e ; a n d give h i m fair n o t i c e , that if I find him on my n e w p r e m i s e s I will then p r o c e e d a g a i n s t him a s a common trespasser. Acting accordingly, next day I t h u s a d d r e s s e d h i m : "I find t h e s e c h a m b e r s too far from the City Hall; the air is u n w h o l e s o m e . In a word, I p r o p o s e to r e m o v e my offices next week, a n d shall n o longer r e q u i r e your s e r v i c e s . I tell you this now, in order that you m a y s e e k a n o t h e r p l a c e . " H e m a d e no reply, a n d n o t h i n g m o r e w a s s a i d . O n the a p p o i n t e d day I e n g a g e d carts a n d m e n , p r o c e e d e d to my c h a m b e r s , a n d having b u t little furniture, every thing w a s r e m o v e d in a few h o u r s . T h r o u g h o u t , the scrivener r e m a i n e d s t a n d i n g b e h i n d the s c r e e n , w h i c h I directed to b e r e m o v e d the last thing. It w a s w i t h d r a w n ; a n d b e i n g folded u p like a h u g e folio, left him the m o t i o n l e s s o c c u p a n t of a n a k e d r o o m . I s t o o d in the entry w a t c h i n g h i m a m o m e n t , while s o m e t h i n g from within m e upbraided me. I re-entered, with my h a n d in my p o c k e t — a n d — a n d my heart in my mouth. " G o o d - b y e , Bartleby; I a m g o i n g — g o o d - b y e , a n d G o d s o m e way bless y o u ; a n d take t h a t , " slipping s o m e t h i n g in his h a n d . B u t it d r o p p e d u p o n the floor, a n d t h e n , — s t r a n g e to s a y — I tore myself f r o m him w h o m I h a d s o l o n g e d to b e rid of. E s t a b l i s h e d in my new q u a r t e r s , for a day or two I kept the d o o r locked, a n d started at every footfall in the p a s s a g e s . W h e n I r e t u r n e d to my r o o m s after any little a b s e n c e , I would p a u s e at the t h r e s h o l d for a n instant, a n d attentively listen, ere applying my key. B u t t h e s e fears were n e e d l e s s . Bartleby never c a m e nigh m e . I t h o u g h t all w a s g o i n g well, w h e n a p e r t u r b e d looking s t r a n g e r visited m e , inquiring w h e t h e r I w a s the p e r s o n w h o h a d recently o c c u p i e d r o o m s at No.—Wall-street. Full of f o r e b o d i n g s , I replied that I w a s . " T h e n sir," s a i d the stranger, w h o proved a lawyer, "you are r e s p o n s i ble for the m a n you left t h e r e . H e r e f u s e s to do any c o p y i n g ; h e r e f u s e s to do any thing; he says he prefers not to; a n d he r e f u s e s to q u i t the premises." "I a m very sorry, sir," said I, with a s s u m e d tranquillity, b u t a n i n w a r d tremor, " b u t , really, the m a n you a l l u d e to is n o t h i n g to m e — h e is n o relation or a p p r e n t i c e of m i n e , that you s h o u l d hold m e r e s p o n s i b l e for h i m . " "In mercy's n a m e , w h o is h e ? " "I certainly c a n n o t inform you. I know n o t h i n g a b o u t h i m . F o r m e r l y I e m p l o y e d him a s a copyist; but he h a s d o n e n o t h i n g for m e now for s o m e time p a s t . " "I shall settle him t h e n , — g o o d m o r n i n g , sir."

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Several days p a s s e d , a n d I heard nothing m o r e ; a n d t h o u g h I often felt a charitable p r o m p t i n g to call at the p l a c e a n d s e e p o o r Bartleby, yet a certain s q u e a m i s h n e s s of I know not w h a t withheld m e . All is over with him, by this t i m e , t h o u g h t I at last, w h e n t h r o u g h a n o t h e r week n o further intelligence r e a c h e d m e . B u t c o m i n g to my r o o m the day after, I found several p e r s o n s waiting at my d o o r in a high s t a t e of n e r v o u s excitement. " T h a t ' s the m a n — h e r e h e c o m e s , " cried the f o r e m o s t o n e , w h o m I recognized a s the lawyer w h o h a d previously called u p o n m e a l o n e . "You m u s t take him away, sir, at o n c e , " cried a portly p e r s o n a m o n g t h e m , a d v a n c i n g u p o n m e , a n d w h o m I knew to b e the landlord of N o . — W a l l street. " T h e s e g e n t l e m e n , my t e n a n t s , c a n n o t s t a n d it any longer; M r . B " pointing to the lawyer, " h a s t u r n e d him out of his r o o m , a n d h e now p e r s i s t s in h a u n t i n g the b u i l d i n g generally, sitting u p o n the b a n i s t e r s of the stairs by day, a n d sleeping in the entry by night. Every body is c o n c e r n e d ; clients are leaving the offices; s o m e fears are e n t e r t a i n e d of a m o b ; s o m e t h i n g you m u s t d o , a n d that without delay." A g h a s t at this torrent, I fell b a c k before it, a n d would fain have l o c k e d myself in my new q u a r t e r s . In vain I p e r s i s t e d that Bartleby w a s n o t h i n g to m e — n o m o r e than to any o n e e l s e . In v a i n : — I w a s the last p e r s o n known to have any thing to d o with him, a n d they held m e to the terrible a c c o u n t . Fearful then of b e i n g e x p o s e d in the p a p e r s (as o n e p e r s o n p r e s e n t o b s c u r e l y t h r e a t e n e d ) I c o n s i d e r e d the matter, a n d at length s a i d , that if the lawyer would give m e a confidential interview with the scrivener, in his (the lawyer's) own r o o m , I would that afternoon strive my b e s t to rid t h e m of the n u i s a n c e they c o m p l a i n e d of. G o i n g up stairs to my old h a u n t , there w a s Bartleby silently sitting u p o n the b a n i s t e r at the landing. " W h a t a r e you d o i n g h e r e , B a r t l e b y ? " said I. " S i t t i n g u p o n the b a n i s t e r , " he mildly replied. I m o t i o n e d him into the lawyer's r o o m , w h o then left u s . " B a r t l e b y , " s a i d I, " a r e you a w a r e that you are the c a u s e of great tribulation to m e , by p e r s i s t i n g in o c c u p y i n g the entry after b e i n g d i s m i s s e d from the office?" No answer. " N o w o n e of two things m u s t take p l a c e . Either you m u s t d o s o m e t h i n g , or s o m e t h i n g m u s t b e d o n e to you. N o w w h a t sort of b u s i n e s s w o u l d you like to e n g a g e in? W o u l d you like to r e - e n g a g e in c o p y i n g for s o m e o n e ? " " N o ; I would prefer not to m a k e any c h a n g e . " " W o u l d you like a clerkship in a dry-goods s t o r e ? " " T h e r e is too m u c h c o n f i n e m e n t a b o u t that. N o , I w o u l d not like a clerks h i p ; but I a m not p a r t i c u l a r . " " T o o m u c h c o n f i n e m e n t , " I cried, "why you k e e p yourself confined all the time!" "I would prefer not to take a c l e r k s h i p , " h e rejoined, a s if to settle that little item at o n c e . " H o w would a bar-tender's b u s i n e s s suit y o u ? T h e r e is no trying of the eyesight in t h a t . " "I w o u l d not like it at all; t h o u g h , a s I said b e f o r e , I a m not p a r t i c u l a r . " H i s u n w o n t e d w o r d i n e s s inspirited m e . I r e t u r n e d to the c h a r g e .

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"Well then, would you like to travel through the country c o l l e c t i n g bills for the m e r c h a n t s ? T h a t would improve your h e a l t h . " " N o , I would prefer to be d o i n g s o m e t h i n g e l s e . " " H o w then would g o i n g a s a c o m p a n i o n to E u r o p e , to entertain s o m e y o u n g g e n t l e m a n with your c o n v e r s a t i o n , — h o w would that suit y o u ? " " N o t at all. It d o e s not strike m e that there is any thing definite a b o u t that. I like to be stationary. B u t I a m not p a r t i c u l a r . " " S t a t i o n a r y you shall b e t h e n , " I cried, now losing all p a t i e n c e , a n d for the first time in all my e x a s p e r a t i n g c o n n e c t i o n with him fairly flying into a p a s s i o n . "If you do not go away from t h e s e p r e m i s e s before night, I shall feel b o u n d — i n d e e d I am b o u n d — t o — t o — t o quit the p r e m i s e s myself!" I rather absurdly c o n c l u d e d , knowing not with what p o s s i b l e threat to try to frighten his immobility into c o m p l i a n c e . D e s p a i r i n g of all further efforts, I w a s precipitately leaving him, when a final t h o u g h t o c c u r r e d to m e — o n e which h a d not b e e n wholly u n i n d u l g e d before. " B a r t l e b y , " said I, in the kindest tone I c o u l d a s s u m e u n d e r s u c h exciting c i r c u m s t a n c e s , "will you g o h o m e with m e n o w — n o t to my office, but my d w e l l i n g — a n d r e m a i n there till we c a n c o n c l u d e u p o n s o m e c o n v e n i e n t a r r a n g e m e n t for you at our leisure? C o m e , let u s start now, right a w a y . " " N o : at p r e s e n t I would prefer not to m a k e any c h a n g e at all." I a n s w e r e d nothing; but effectually d o d g i n g every o n e by the s u d d e n n e s s a n d rapidity of my flight, r u s h e d from the building, ran u p Wall-street towards Broadway, a n d j u m p i n g into the first o m n i b u s w a s s o o n r e m o v e d from p u r s u i t . As s o o n a s tranquillity r e t u r n e d I distinctly p e r c e i v e d that I h a d now d o n e all that I possibly c o u l d , both in r e s p e c t to the d e m a n d s of the landlord a n d his t e n a n t s , a n d with regard to my own d e s i r e a n d s e n s e of duty, to benefit Bartleby, a n d shield him from r u d e p e r s e c u t i o n . I now strove to be entirely care-free a n d q u i e s c e n t ; a n d my c o n s c i e n c e justified m e in the a t t e m p t ; t h o u g h i n d e e d it w a s not s o s u c c e s s f u l a s I c o u l d have wished. S o fearful w a s I of b e i n g again h u n t e d out by the i n c e n s e d landlord a n d his e x a s p e r a t e d t e n a n t s , that, s u r r e n d e r i n g my b u s i n e s s to N i p p e r s , for a few days I drove a b o u t the u p p e r part of the town a n d t h r o u g h the s u b u r b s , in my rockaway; c r o s s e d over to J e r s e y City a n d H o b o k e n , a n d paid fugitive visits to M a n hattanville a n d A s t o r i a . 1 In fact I a l m o s t lived in my rockaway for the t i m e . W h e n again I entered my office, lo, a note from the landlord lay upon the desk. I o p e n e d it with t r e m b l i n g h a n d s . It i n f o r m e d m e that the writer h a d sent to the p o l i c e , a n d h a d Bartleby r e m o v e d to the T o m b s a s a vagrant. M o r e o v e r , s i n c e I knew m o r e a b o u t him than any o n e e l s e , he w i s h e d m e to a p p e a r at that p l a c e , a n d m a k e a suitable s t a t e m e n t of the f a c t s . T h e s e tidings h a d a c o n flicting effect u p o n m e . At first I w a s indignant; but at last a l m o s t a p p r o v e d . T h e landlord's e n e r g e t i c , s u m m a r y d i s p o s i t i o n , h a d led him to a d o p t a proc e d u r e which I d o not think I w o u l d have d e c i d e d u p o n myself; a n d yet a s a last resort, u n d e r s u c h p e c u l i a r c i r c u m s t a n c e s , it s e e m e d the only p l a n . As I afterwards l e a r n e d , the p o o r scrivener, when told that he m u s t be c o n d u c t e d to the T o m b s , offered not the slightest o b s t a c l e , b u t in his p a l e u n m o v i n g way, silently a c q u i e s c e d . I. T h e n a r r a t o r c r o s s e d the H u d s o n River to J e r sey C i t y a n d H o b o k e n , t h e n d r o v e far u p u n s e t t l e d M a n h a t t a n Island to the c o m m u n i t y of M a n h a t t a n v i i l e ( G r a n t ' s T o m b is in w h a t w a s M a n h a t t a n -

v i l l e ) , a n d finally c r o s s e d t h e E a s t R i v e r t o A s t o r i a , o n L o n g I s l a n d . " R o c k a w a y " : light o p e n - s i d e d carriage.

BARTLEBY,

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S o m e of the c o m p a s s i o n a t e a n d c u r i o u s b y s t a n d e r s j o i n e d the party; a n d h e a d e d by o n e of the c o n s t a b l e s a r m in a r m with Bartleby, the silent proc e s s i o n filed its way through all the n o i s e , a n d heat, a n d j o y of the roaring t h o r o u g h f a r e s at n o o n . T h e s a m e day I received the note I went to the T o m b s , or to s p e a k m o r e properly, the H a l l s of J u s t i c e . S e e k i n g the right officer, I s t a t e d the p u r p o s e of my call, a n d w a s i n f o r m e d that the individual I d e s c r i b e d w a s i n d e e d within. I then a s s u r e d the functionary that Bartleby w a s a perfectly h o n e s t m a n , a n d greatly to b e c o m p a s s i o n a t e d , however u n a c c o u n t a b l y e c c e n t r i c . I n a r r a t e d all I knew, a n d c l o s e d by s u g g e s t i n g the idea of letting him r e m a i n in a s indulgent c o n f i n e m e n t a s p o s s i b l e till s o m e t h i n g less h a r s h m i g h t b e d o n e — t h o u g h i n d e e d I hardly knew what. At all events, if n o t h i n g else c o u l d be d e c i d e d u p o n , the a l m s - h o u s e m u s t receive him. I then b e g g e d to have an interview. Being u n d e r n o disgraceful c h a r g e , a n d q u i t e s e r e n e a n d h a r m l e s s in all his ways, they h a d p e r m i t t e d him freely to w a n d e r a b o u t the p r i s o n , a n d especially in the i n c l o s e d grass-platted yards thereof. A n d s o I f o u n d him there, s t a n d i n g all a l o n e in the q u i e t e s t of the yards, his f a c e towards a high wall, while all a r o u n d , from the narrow slits of the jail w i n d o w s , I t h o u g h t I saw peering o u t u p o n him the eyes of m u r d e r e r s a n d thieves. "Bartleby!" "I know y o u , " he said, without looking r o u n d , — " a n d I want n o t h i n g to say to y o u . " "It w a s not I that b r o u g h t you h e r e , B a r t l e b y , " said I, keenly p a i n e d at his implied s u s p i c i o n . "And to you, this s h o u l d not b e s o vile a p l a c e . N o t h i n g reproachful a t t a c h e s to you by b e i n g h e r e . A n d s e e , it is not s o s a d a p l a c e as o n e might think. L o o k , there is the sky, a n d here is the g r a s s . " "I know w h e r e I a m , " he replied, but would say nothing m o r e , a n d s o I left him. A s I e n t e r e d the corridor a g a i n , a b r o a d meat-like m a n , in an a p r o n , a c c o s t e d m e , a n d j e r k i n g his t h u m b over his s h o u l d e r s a i d — " I s that your friend?" "Yes." " D o e s he want to starve? If he d o e s , let him live on the prison f a r e , that's all." " W h o are y o u ? " a s k e d I, not knowing what to m a k e of s u c h a n unofficially s p e a k i n g p e r s o n in s u c h a p l a c e . "I a m the g r u b - m a n . S u c h g e n t l e m e n a s have friends h e r e , hire m e to provide t h e m with s o m e t h i n g g o o d to e a t . " " I s this s o ? " s a i d I, turning to the turnkey. H e said it w a s . "Well t h e n , " said I, slipping s o m e silver into the g r u b - m a n ' s h a n d s (for so they called h i m ) . "I want you to give particular attention to my friend there; let him have the b e s t dinner you c a n get. A n d you m u s t b e a s polite to him as possible." " I n t r o d u c e m e , will y o u ? " said the g r u b - m a n , looking at m e with a n expression which s e e m e d to say he w a s all i m p a t i e n c e for a n opportunity to give a s p e c i m e n of his breeding. T h i n k i n g it would prove of benefit to the scrivener, I a c q u i e s c e d ; a n d a s k i n g the g r u b - m a n his n a m e , went u p with him to Bartleby.

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"Bartleby, this is Mr. C u t l e t s ; you will find him very useful to y o u . " "Your sarvant, sir, your s a r v a n t , " said the g r u b - m a n , m a k i n g a low s a l u tation behind his a p r o n . " H o p e you find it p l e a s a n t here, s i r ; — s p a c i o u s g r o u n d s — c o o l a p a r t m e n t s , s i r — h o p e you'll stay with u s s o m e t i m e — t r y to m a k e it a g r e e a b l e . M a y M r s . C u t l e t s a n d I have the p l e a s u r e of your c o m p a n y to dinner, sir, in M r s . C u t l e t s ' private r o o m ? " "I prefer not to dine to-day," said Bartleby, turning away. "It would d i s a g r e e with m e ; I a m u n u s e d to d i n n e r s . " S o saying he slowly moved to the other side of the i n c l o s u r e , a n d took up a position fronting the dead-wall. " H o w ' s t h i s ? " said the g r u b - m a n , a d d r e s s i n g m e with a stare of a s t o n i s h m e n t . " H e ' s o d d , aint h e ? " "I think he is a little d e r a n g e d , " said I, sadly. " D e r a n g e d ? d e r a n g e d is it? Well now, u p o n my word, I t h o u g h t that friend of yourn w a s a g e n t l e m a n forger; they are always pale a n d genteel-like, t h e m forgers. I can't help pity ' e m — c a n ' t help it, sir. D i d you know M o n r o e E d w a r d s ? " 2 he a d d e d touchingly, a n d p a u s e d . T h e n , laying his h a n d pityingly on my s h o u l d e r , s i g h e d , " h e died of c o n s u m p t i o n at S i n g - S i n g . ' S o you weren't a c q u a i n t e d with M o n r o e ? " " N o , I w a s never socially a c q u a i n t e d with any forgers. B u t I c a n n o t s t o p longer. L o o k to my friend yonder. You will not lose by it. I will s e e you a g a i n . " S o m e few days after this, I again o b t a i n e d a d m i s s i o n to the T o m b s , a n d went through the corridors in q u e s t of Bartleby; but without finding h i m . "I saw him c o m i n g from his cell not long a g o , " said a turnkey, " m a y be he's g o n e to loiter in the y a r d s . " S o I went in that direction. "Are you looking for the silent m a n ? " said a n o t h e r turnkey p a s s i n g m e . "Yonder he l i e s — s l e e p i n g in the yard there. 'Tis not twenty m i n u t e s s i n c e I saw him lie d o w n . " T h e yard w a s entirely quiet. It was not a c c e s s i b l e to the c o m m o n p r i s o n e r s . T h e s u r r o u n d i n g walls, of a m a z i n g t h i c k n e s s , kept off all s o u n d s b e h i n d t h e m . T h e Egyptian c h a r a c t e r of the m a s o n r y w e i g h e d u p o n m e with its g l o o m . B u t a soft i m p r i s o n e d turf grew u n d e r foot. T h e heart of the eternal p y r a m i d s , it s e e m e d , wherein, by s o m e s t r a n g e m a g i c , t h r o u g h the clefts, g r a s s - s e e d , d r o p p e d by birds, had s p r u n g . Strangely h u d d l e d at the b a s e of the wall, his k n e e s d r a w n u p , a n d lying on his s i d e , his h e a d t o u c h i n g the cold s t o n e s , I saw the w a s t e d Bartleby. B u t nothing stirred. I p a u s e d ; then went c l o s e u p to him; s t o o p e d over, a n d saw that his d i m eyes were o p e n ; otherwise he s e e m e d profoundly s l e e p i n g . S o m e t h i n g p r o m p t e d m e to t o u c h him. I felt his h a n d , w h e n a tingling shiver ran up my a r m a n d down my s p i n e to my feet. T h e r o u n d face of the g r u b - m a n p e e r e d u p o n m e now. " H i s d i n n e r is ready. Won't he dine to-day, either? O r d o e s he live without d i n i n g ? " "Lives without d i n i n g , " said I , a n d c l o s e d the eyes. 2 . H o r a c e G r e e l e y ' s Tribune called Col. Monroe E d w a r d s ( 1 8 0 8 - 1 8 4 7 ) " t h e m o s t d i s t i n g u i s h e d fina n c i e r s i n c e t h e d a y s o f J u d a s I s c a r i o t " ; h i s t r i a l in N e w York C i t y ( l a s t i n g all t h e s e c o n d w e e k o f J u n e 1842), c a u s e d the greatest public excitement since t h e t r i a l " o f t h e m u r d e r e r , C o l t " ( s e e n. 7, p. 1 1 0 3 ) . H e w a s c o n v i c t e d o l s w i n d l i n g t w o firms o f t w e n t y five t h o u s a n d d o l l a r s e a c h t h r o u g h t o r g e d l e t t e r s

ol c r e d i t , s e n d i n g t r e m o r s t h r o u g h t h e " e x c h a n g e hanking and commission business"—like undermining our Security Exchange. Melville was then in t h e S o u t h S e a s , b u t t h e c a s e w a s s e n s a t i o n a l , a n d his b r o t h e r s w e r e in N e w York. 3. P r i s o n a t O s s i n i n g , N e w Y o r k , n o t f a r u p t h e Hudson.

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" E h ! — H e ' s a s l e e p , aint h e ? " "With kings a n d c o u n s e l l o r s , " 4 m u r m u r e d I. T h e r e would s e e m little n e e d for p r o c e e d i n g further in this history. Imagination will readily supply the m e a g r e recital of poor Bartleby's i n t e r m e n t . B u t ere parting with the reader, let m e say, that if this little narrative has sufficiently interested him, to a w a k e n curiosity a s to w h o Bartleby w a s , a n d what m a n n e r of life he led prior to the p r e s e n t narrator's m a k i n g his a c q u a i n t a n c e , I c a n only reply, that in s u c h curiosity I fully s h a r e , but a m wholly u n a b l e to gratify it. Yet here I hardly know w h e t h e r I s h o u l d divulge o n e little item of rumor, which c a m e to my ear a few m o n t h s after the scrivener's d e c e a s e . U p o n what b a s i s it rested, I could never a s c e r t a i n ; a n d h e n c e , how true it is I c a n n o t now tell. B u t i n a s m u c h as this v a g u e report has not b e e n without a certain s t r a n g e suggestive interest to m e , however s a d , it may prove the s a m e with s o m e others; a n d so I will briefly m e n t i o n it. T h e report w a s this: that Bartleby h a d b e e n a s u b o r d i n a t e clerk in the D e a d Letter Office at W a s h i n g t o n , from which h e h a d b e e n s u d d e n l y r e m o v e d by a c h a n g e in the a d m i n i s t r a t i o n . W h e n I think over this r u m o r , I c a n n o t a d e q u a t e l y e x p r e s s the e m o t i o n s which seize m e . D e a d letters! d o e s it not s o u n d like d e a d m e n ? C o n c e i v e a m a n by n a t u r e a n d m i s f o r t u n e p r o n e to a pallid h o p e l e s s n e s s , c a n any b u s i n e s s s e e m m o r e fitted to heighten it than that of continually h a n d l i n g t h e s e d e a d letters, a n d a s s o r t i n g t h e m for the f l a m e s ? F o r by the cart-load they a r e annually b u r n e d . S o m e t i m e s from o u t the folded p a p e r the pale clerk takes a r i n g : — t h e finger it w a s m e a n t for, p e r h a p s , m o u l d e r s in the grave; a b a n k - n o t e s e n t in swiftest c h a r i t y : — h e w h o m it would relieve, nor e a t s nor h u n g e r s any m o r e ; p a r d o n for t h o s e w h o died d e s p a i r i n g ; h o p e for t h o s e who died u n h o p i n g ; good tidings for t h o s e who died stifled by unrelieved c a l a m i t i e s . O n e r r a n d s of life, t h e s e letters s p e e d to d e a t h . Ah Bartleby! Ah humanity! 1853

Benito Cereno 1 In the year 1 7 9 9 , C a p t a i n A m a s a D e l a n o , of Duxbury, in M a s s a c h u s e t t s , c o m m a n d i n g a large sealer a n d general trader, lay at a n c h o r , with a v a l u a b l e c a r g o , in the harbor of S t . M a r i a — a small, desert, u n i n h a b i t e d island toward the s o u t h e r n extremity of the long c o a s t of Chili. T h e r e he h a d t o u c h e d for water. O n the s e c o n d day, not long after d a w n , while lying in his berth, his m a t e c a m e below, informing him that a s t r a n g e sail w a s c o m i n g into the bay. S h i p s were then not so plenty in t h o s e w a t e r s a s now. H e r o s e , d r e s s e d , a n d went on deck. 4. J o b 3.14. I . T h i s t e x t is b a s e d o n t h e first p r i n t i n g , in Putnam's Monthly for O c t o b e r , November, and D e c e m b e r 1 8 5 5 , b u t it a l s o i n c o r p o r a t e s t h e m a n y s m a l l r e v i s i o n s M e l v i l l e m a d e f o r its 1 8 5 6 r e p u b l i c a t i o n in The Piazza Tales. M e l v i l l e b a s e d h i s p l o t v e r y c l o s e l y o n a f e w n a r r a t i v e p a g e s in c h . 18 o f

C a p t a i n A m a s a D e l a n o ' s Narrative of Voyages ami Travels in the Northern and Southern Hemispheres ( 1 8 1 7 ) . M e l v i l l e ' s " d e p o s i t i o n " is r o u g h l y h a l f f r o m Delano's m u c h longer section of d o c u m e n t s , half his o w n writing. (A later relative of the real D e l a n o was Franklin Delano Roosevelt.)

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T h e m o r n i n g w a s o n e peculiar to that c o a s t . Everything w a s m u t e a n d c a l m ; everything gray. T h e s e a , t h o u g h u n d u l a t e d into long roods o f swells, s e e m e d fixed, a n d was sleeked at the s u r f a c e like waved lead that h a s c o o l e d a n d set in the smelter's m o l d . T h e sky s e e m e d a gray s u r t o u t . 2 Flights of troubled gray fowl, kith a n d kin with flights of troubled gray v a p o r s a m o n g which they were mixed, s k i m m e d low a n d fitfully over the w a t e r s , a s swallows over m e a d o w s before s t o r m s . S h a d o w s p r e s e n t , f o r e s h a d o w i n g d e e p e r s h a d ows to c o m e . T o C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s s u r p r i s e , the stranger, viewed t h r o u g h the g l a s s , s h o w e d no c o l o r s ; t h o u g h to d o so u p o n e n t e r i n g a h a v e n , however uninhabited in its s h o r e s , w h e r e but a single other ship might be lying, w a s the c u s t o m a m o n g p e a c e f u l s e a m e n of all n a t i o n s . C o n s i d e r i n g the l a w l e s s n e s s a n d loneliness of the spot, a n d the sort of stories, at that day, a s s o c i a t e d with t h o s e s e a s , C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s surprise might have d e e p e n e d into s o m e u n e a s i n e s s h a d he not b e e n a p e r s o n of a singularly undistrustful g o o d n a t u r e , not liable, except on extraordinary a n d r e p e a t e d incentives, a n d hardly t h e n , to indulge in p e r s o n a l a l a r m s , any way involving the i m p u t a t i o n of malign evil in m a n . W h e t h e r , in view of what h u m a n i t y is c a p a b l e , s u c h a trait implies, a l o n g with a b e n e v o l e n t heart, m o r e t h a n ordinary q u i c k n e s s a n d a c c u r a c y of intellectual p e r c e p t i o n , m a y be left to the wise to d e t e r m i n e . B u t whatever misgivings might have o b t r u d e d on first s e e i n g the stranger, would a l m o s t , in any s e a m a n ' s m i n d , have b e e n d i s s i p a t e d by observing that, the s h i p , in navigating into the harbor, w a s d r a w i n g too n e a r the land; a s u n k e n reef m a k i n g out off her bow. T h i s s e e m e d to prove her a stranger, i n d e e d , not only to the sealer, b u t the i s l a n d ; c o n s e q u e n t l y , s h e c o u l d be no w o n t e d freebooter on that o c e a n . With n o small interest, C a p t a i n D e l a n o c o n t i n u e d to w a t c h h e r — a p r o c e e d i n g not m u c h facilitated by the v a p o r s partly m a n t l i n g the hull, through which the far m a t i n ' light from her c a b i n s t r e a m e d equivocally e n o u g h ; m u c h like the s u n — b y this time h e m i s p h e r e d on the rim of the horizon, a n d apparently, in c o m p a n y with the s t r a n g e s h i p , e n t e r i n g the h a r b o r — w h i c h , w i m p l e d by the s a m e low, c r e e p i n g c l o u d s , s h o w e d not unlike a L i m a intriguante's o n e sinister eye p e e r i n g a c r o s s the Plaza from the Indian loop-hole of her d u s k saya-y-manta.4 It might have b e e n b u t a d e c e p t i o n of the v a p o r s , b u t , the longer the stranger w a s w a t c h e d , the m o r e s i n g u l a r a p p e a r e d her m a n e u v e r s . E r e long it s e e m e d hard to d e c i d e w h e t h e r s h e m e a n t to c o m e in or n o — w h a t s h e w a n t e d , or what s h e w a s a b o u t . T h e wind, which h a d b r e e z e d u p a little d u r i n g the night, w a s n o w extremely light a n d baffling, which the m o r e i n c r e a s e d the a p p a r e n t uncertainty of her m o v e m e n t s . S u r m i s i n g , at last, that it might be a s h i p in d i s t r e s s , C a p t a i n D e l a n o ordered his whale-boat to b e d r o p p e d , a n d , m u c h to the wary o p p o s i t i o n of his m a t e , p r e p a r e d to b o a r d her, a n d , at the least, pilot her in. O n the night previous, a fishing-party of the s e a m e n h a d g o n e a long d i s t a n c e to s o m e d e t a c h e d rocks o u t of sight from the sealer, a n d , a n h o u r or two b e f o r e daybreak, h a d r e t u r n e d , having met with no small s u c c e s s . P r e s u m i n g that the stranger might have b e e n long off s o u n d i n g s , the g o o d c a p t a i n p u t several b a s k e t s of the fish, for p r e s e n t s , into his b o a t , a n d so pulled away. F r o m her 2. 3. 4.

L o n g overcoat. Early morning. Skirt-and-mantle c o m b i n a t i o n , the shawl part

o f w h i c h c o u l d b e d r a w n a b o u t t h e f a c e s o little m o r e than an eye w o u l d s h o w ; apt g a r b for assignations.

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c o n t i n u i n g too near the s u n k e n reef, d e e m i n g her in d a n g e r , calling to his m e n , h e m a d e all h a s t e to a p p r i s e t h o s e o n b o a r d of their situation. B u t , s o m e time ere the boat c a m e u p , the wind, light t h o u g h it w a s , having shifted, h a d h e a d e d the vessel off, as well a s partly b r o k e n the vapors from a b o u t her. U p o n g a i n i n g a less r e m o t e view, the ship, w h e n m a d e signally visible o n the verge of the l e a d e n - h u e d swells, with the s h r e d s of fog h e r e a n d there raggedly furring her, a p p e a r e d like a white-washed m o n a s t e r y after a t h u n der-storm, s e e n p e r c h e d u p o n s o m e d u n cliff a m o n g the P y r e n e e s . B u t it was no purely fanciful r e s e m b l a n c e which now, for a m o m e n t , a l m o s t led C a p t a i n D e l a n o to think that nothing less than a ship-load of m o n k s w a s before him. P e e r i n g over the bulwarks were what really s e e m e d , in the hazy d i s t a n c e , throngs of dark c o w l s ; while, fitfully revealed t h r o u g h the o p e n port-holes, other dark moving figures were dimly d e s c r i e d , a s of B l a c k F r i a r s 5 p a c i n g the cloisters. U p o n a still nigher a p p r o a c h , this a p p e a r a n c e w a s modified, a n d the true c h a r a c t e r of the vessel w a s p l a i n — a S p a n i s h m e r c h a n t m a n of the first c l a s s ; carrying n e g r o slaves, a m o n g s t other v a l u a b l e freight, from o n e colonial port to a n o t h e r . A very large, a n d , in its t i m e , a very fine vessel, s u c h a s in t h o s e days were at intervals e n c o u n t e r e d a l o n g that m a i n ; s o m e t i m e s s u p e r s e d e d A c a p u l c o t r e a s u r e - s h i p s , or retired frigates of the S p a n i s h king's navy, w h i c h , like s u p e r a n n u a t e d Italian p a l a c e s , still, u n d e r a decline of m a s t e r s , preserved signs of former s t a t e . A s the w h a l e - b o a t drew m o r e a n d m o r e nigh, the c a u s e of the p e c u l i a r p i p e - c l a y e d 6 a s p e c t of the stranger w a s s e e n in the slovenly n e g l e c t p e r v a d i n g her. T h e s p a r s , r o p e s , a n d great part of the bulwarks, looked woolly, from long u n a c q u a i n t a n c e with the scraper, tar, a n d the b r u s h . H e r keel s e e m e d laid, her ribs p u t together, a n d s h e l a u n c h e d , from Ezekiel's Valley of Dry Bones.7 In the p r e s e n t b u s i n e s s in which she w a s e n g a g e d , the ship's g e n e r a l m o d e l a n d rig a p p e a r e d to have u n d e r g o n e no material c h a n g e from their original war-like a n d Froissart p a t t e r n . 8 However, no g u n s were s e e n . T h e tops were large, a n d were railed a b o u t with w h a t h a d o n c e b e e n o c t a g onal net-work, all now in s a d disrepair. T h e s e tops h u n g o v e r h e a d like three r u i n o u s aviaries, in o n e of which w a s s e e n p e r c h e d , on a ratlin, a white noddy, 1 ' s t r a n g e fowl, s o called from its lethargic, s o m n a m b u l i s t i c c h a r a c t e r , b e i n g frequently c a u g h t by h a n d at s e a . B a t t e r e d a n d m o u l d y , the c a s t e l l a t e d forecastle s e e m e d s o m e a n c i e n t turret, long a g o taken by a s s a u l t , a n d then left to d e c a y . T o w a r d the stern, two high-raised q u a r t e r g a l l e r i e s — t h e balu s t r a d e s here a n d there covered with dry, tindery s e a - m o s s — o p e n i n g out from the u n o c c u p i e d s t a t e - c a b i n , w h o s e d e a d lights, for all the mild w e a t h e r , were hermetically c l o s e d a n d c a l k e d — t h e s e t e n a n t l e s s b a l c o n i e s h u n g over the s e a as if it were the grand V e n e t i a n c a n a l . B u t the principal relic of f a d e d g r a n d e u r w a s the a m p l e oval of the shield-like s t e r n - p i e c e , intricately carved with the a r m s of C a s t i l e a n d L e o n , 1 m e d a l l i o n e d a b o u t by g r o u p s of myth5. D o m i n i c a n s , a n o r d e r o f m e n d i c a n t friars.

preaching

6. W h i t e n e d . 7. E z e k i e l 3 7 . 1 . 8. M e d i e v a l , f r o m J e a n F r o i s s a r t ( 1 3 3 7 - 1 4 1 0 ) , historian of wars of E n g l a n d a n d France.

9. A tame, stupid-seeming tern. "Ratlin": small transverse rope a t t a c h e d to the s h r o u d s a n d forming a step of a rope ladder. I. O l d k i n g d o m s o f S p a i n ; t h e a r m s w o u l d i n c l u d e a c a s t l e for C a s t i l e a n d a lion for L e o n .

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ological or symbolical d e v i c e s ; u p p e r m o s t a n d central of which was a dark satyr in a m a s k , holding his foot on the p r o s t r a t e n e c k of a writhing figure, likewise m a s k e d . W h e t h e r the ship h a d a figure-head, or only a plain b e a k , w a s not q u i t e certain, owing to c a n v a s w r a p p e d a b o u t that part, either to p r o t e c t it while u n d e r g o i n g a re-furbishing, or else decently to hide its decay. Rudely p a i n t e d or c h a l k e d , a s in a sailor freak, a l o n g the forward s i d e of a sort of p e d e s t a l below the c a n v a s , w a s the s e n t e n c e , "Seguid vuestro jefe," (follow your l e a d e r ) ; while u p o n the tarnished h e a d - b o a r d s , near by, a p p e a r e d , in stately c a p i t a l s , o n c e gilt, the ship's n a m e , " S A N D O M I N I C K , " e a c h letter streakingly corroded with tricklings of c o p p e r - s p i k e rust; while, like m o u r n i n g w e e d s , dark f e s t o o n s of s e a - g r a s s slimily swept to a n d fro over the n a m e , with every hearse-like roll of the hull. As at last the boat w a s hooked from the bow a l o n g toward the g a n g w a y a m i d s h i p , its keel, while yet s o m e i n c h e s s e p a r a t e d from the hull, harshly grated a s on a s u n k e n coral reef. It proved a h u g e b u n c h of c o n g l o b a t e d b a r n a c l e s a d h e r i n g below the water to the side like a w e n ; a token of baffling airs a n d long c a l m s p a s s e d s o m e w h e r e in t h o s e s e a s . C l i m b i n g the s i d e , the visitor w a s at o n c e s u r r o u n d e d by a c l a m o r o u s throng of whites a n d b l a c k s , but the latter o u t n u m b e r i n g the former m o r e than c o u l d have b e e n e x p e c t e d , n e g r o t r a n s p o r t a t i o n - s h i p a s the s t r a n g e r in port w a s . B u t , in o n e l a n g u a g e , a n d a s with o n e v o i c e , all p o u r e d o u t a c o m m o n tale of suffering; in which the n e g r e s s e s , of w h o m there were not a few, e x c e e d e d the others in their d o l o r o u s v e h e m e n c e . T h e scurvy, together with a fever, h a d swept off a great part of their n u m b e r , m o r e especially the S p a n i a r d s . Off C a p e H o r n , they h a d narrowly e s c a p e d shipwreck; then, for days together, they h a d lain t r a n c e d without wind; their provisions were low; their water next to n o n e ; their lips that m o m e n t were b a k e d . W h i l e C a p t a i n D e l a n o w a s thus m a d e the m a r k of all e a g e r t o n g u e s , his o n e eager g l a n c e took in all the f a c e s , with every other object a b o u t h i m . Always u p o n first b o a r d i n g a large a n d p o p u l o u s ship at s e a , especially a foreign o n e , with a n o n d e s c r i p t c r e w s u c h a s L a s c a r s or M a n i l l a m e n , 2 the i m p r e s s i o n varies in a p e c u l i a r way from that p r o d u c e d by first e n t e r i n g a s t r a n g e h o u s e with s t r a n g e i n m a t e s in a s t r a n g e land. B o t h h o u s e a n d s h i p , the o n e by its walls and blinds, the other by its high bulwarks like r a m p a r t s , hoard from view their interiors till the last m o m e n t ; but in the c a s e of the ship there is this a d d i t i o n ; that the living s p e c t a c l e it c o n t a i n s , u p o n its s u d d e n a n d c o m p l e t e d i s c l o s u r e , h a s , in c o n t r a s t with the blank o c e a n which zones it, s o m e t h i n g of the effect of e n c h a n t m e n t . T h e ship s e e m s u n r e a l ; t h e s e s t r a n g e c o s t u m e s , g e s t u r e s , a n d f a c e s , but a s h a d o w y t a b l e a u j u s t e m e r g e d from the d e e p , which directly m u s t receive b a c k what it g a v e . P e r h a p s it w a s s o m e s u c h influence a s a b o v e is a t t e m p t e d to be d e s c r i b e d , w h i c h , in C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s m i n d , h i g h t e n e d whatever, u p o n a staid scrutiny, might have s e e m e d u n u s u a l ; especially the c o n s p i c u o u s figures of four elderly grizzled n e g r o e s , their h e a d s like black, d o d d e r e d willow t o p s , w h o , in v e n e r a b l e c o n t r a s t to the t u m u l t below t h e m , were c o u c h e d sphynx-like, o n e on the s t a r b o a r d c a t - h e a d , ' a n o t h e r on the larboard, a n d the r e m a i n i n g 2. F r o m tively.

East

India or the Philippines, respec-

3. P r o j e c t i n g p i e c e o f t i m b e r n e a r t h e b o w w h i c h t h e a n c h o r is h o i s t e d a n d s e c u r e d ) .

(to

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pair face to f a c e on the o p p o s i t e bulwarks a b o v e the m a i n - c h a i n s . T h e y e a c h had bits of u n s t r a n d e d old j u n k in their h a n d s , a n d , with a sort of stoical self-content, were picking the j u n k into o a k u m , 4 a small h e a p of which lay by their sides. T h e y a c c o m p a n i e d the task with a c o n t i n u o u s , low, m o n o t o n o u s c h a n t ; d r o n i n g a n d d r u l i n g 5 away like so m a n y gray-headed bag-pipers playing a funeral m a r c h . T h e q u a r t e r - d e c k rose into an a m p l e elevated p o o p , u p o n the forward verge of which, lifted, like the o a k u m - p i c k e r s , s o m e eight feet a b o v e the general throng, sat a l o n g in a row, s e p a r a t e d by regular s p a c e s , the c r o s s - l e g g e d figures of six other b l a c k s ; e a c h with a rusty h a t c h e t in his h a n d , w h i c h , with a bit of brick a n d a rag, he w a s e n g a g e d like a scullion in s c o u r i n g ; while b e t w e e n e a c h two was a small s t a c k of h a t c h e t s , their r u s t e d e d g e s turned forward awaiting a like o p e r a t i o n . T h o u g h occasionally the four o a k u m pickers would briefly a d d r e s s s o m e p e r s o n or p e r s o n s in the crowd below, yet the six hatchet-polishers neither s p o k e to o t h e r s , nor b r e a t h e d a whisper a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s , but sat intent u p o n their task, except at intervals, w h e n , with the p e c u l i a r love in n e g r o e s of uniting industry with p a s t i m e , two a n d two they sideways c l a s h e d their h a t c h e t s together, like c y m b a l s , with a barb a r o u s din. All six, unlike the generality, h a d the raw a s p e c t of u n s o p h i s t i c a t e d Africans. B u t that first c o m p r e h e n s i v e g l a n c e which took in t h o s e ten figures, with scores less c o n s p i c u o u s , rested but an instant upon t h e m , a s , i m p a t i e n t of the h u b b u b of voices, the visitor turned in q u e s t of w h o m s o e v e r it might be that c o m m a n d e d the ship. B u t a s if not unwilling to let n a t u r e m a k e known her own c a s e a m o n g his suffering c h a r g e , or else in despair of restraining it for the t i m e , the S p a n i s h c a p t a i n , a gentlemanly, reserved-looking, a n d rather y o u n g m a n to a stranger's eye, d r e s s e d with singular r i c h n e s s , but b e a r i n g plain traces of recent s l e e p l e s s c a r e s a n d d i s q u i e t u d e s , s t o o d passively by, l e a n i n g a g a i n s t the m a i n - m a s t , at o n e m o m e n t c a s t i n g a dreary, spiritless look u p o n his excited p e o p l e , at the next a n u n h a p p y g l a n c e toward his visitor. By his side stood a b l a c k of small s t a t u r e , in w h o s e r u d e f a c e , as o c c a s i o n a l l y , like a s h e p h e r d ' s d o g , he mutely turned it up into the S p a n i a r d ' s , sorrow a n d affection were equally b l e n d e d . S t r u g g l i n g through the throng, the A m e r i c a n a d v a n c e d to the S p a n i a r d , a s s u r i n g him of his s y m p a t h i e s , a n d offering to r e n d e r whatever a s s i s t a n c e might be in his power. T o which the S p a n i a r d r e t u r n e d , for the p r e s e n t , but grave a n d c e r e m o n i o u s a c k n o w l e d g m e n t s , his national formality d u s k e d by the s a t u r n i n e m o o d of ill health. B u t losing no time in m e r e c o m p l i m e n t s , C a p t a i n D e l a n o returning to the gangway, h a d his b a s k e t s of fish b r o u g h t u p ; a n d as the wind still c o n t i n u e d light, so that s o m e h o u r s at least m u s t e l a p s e ere the ship c o u l d b e brought to the a n c h o r a g e , he b a d e his m e n return to the sealer, a n d fetch back as m u c h water a s the whale-boat c o u l d carry, with whatever soft bread the steward might have, all the r e m a i n i n g p u m p k i n s on b o a r d , with a box of s u g a r , a n d a dozen of his private bottles of cider. N o t m a n y m i n u t e s after the boat's p u s h i n g off, to the vexation of all, the 4.

L o o s e fiber f r o m p i e c e s of r o p e , u s e d for c a u l k -

ing. " O l d j u n k " : w o r n - o u t

rope.

5.

Driveling,

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wind entirely died away, a n d the tide turning, b e g a n drifting b a c k the ship helplessly s e a w a r d . B u t trusting this would not long last, C a p t a i n D e l a n o s o u g h t with g o o d h o p e s to c h e e r u p the s t r a n g e r s , feeling no small satisfaction that, with p e r s o n s in their condition he c o u l d — t h a n k s to his f r e q u e n t voyages a l o n g the S p a n i s h m a i n 6 — c o n v e r s e with s o m e f r e e d o m in their native t o n g u e . While left a l o n e with t h e m , h e w a s not long in o b s e r v i n g s o m e things tending to highten his first i m p r e s s i o n s ; b u t s u r p r i s e w a s lost in pity, both for the S p a n i a r d s a n d b l a c k s , alike evidently r e d u c e d from scarcity of water a n d provisions; while l o n g - c o n t i n u e d suffering s e e m e d to have b r o u g h t out the less g o o d - n a t u r e d qualities of the n e g r o e s , b e s i d e s , at the s a m e t i m e , impairing the S p a n i a r d ' s authority over t h e m . B u t , u n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s , precisely this c o n d i t i o n of things w a s to have b e e n a n t i c i p a t e d . In a r m i e s , navies, cities, or families, in n a t u r e herself, n o t h i n g m o r e relaxes g o o d order than misery. Still, C a p t a i n D e l a n o w a s not without the idea, that h a d B e n i t o C e r e n o b e e n a m a n of greater energy, m i s r u l e would hardly have c o m e to the p r e s e n t p a s s . B u t the debility, c o n s t i t u t i o n a l or i n d u c e d by the h a r d s h i p s , bodily a n d m e n t a l , of the S p a n i s h c a p t a i n , w a s too o b v i o u s to b e overlooked. A prey to settled d e j e c t i o n , a s if long m o c k e d with h o p e h e would not now indulge it, even w h e n it h a d c e a s e d to be a m o c k , the p r o s p e c t of that day or evening at furthest, lying at a n c h o r , with plenty of water for his p e o p l e , a n d a brother c a p t a i n to c o u n s e l a n d befriend, s e e m e d in n o p e r c e p t i b l e d e g r e e to e n c o u r a g e h i m . His m i n d a p p e a r e d u n s t r u n g , if not still m o r e seriously affected. S h u t up in t h e s e o a k e n walls, c h a i n e d to o n e dull r o u n d of c o m m a n d , w h o s e unconditionality cloyed h i m , like s o m e h y p o c h o n d r i a c a b b o t h e m o v e d slowly a b o u t , at times s u d d e n l y p a u s i n g , starting, or staring, biting his lip, biting his finger-nail, flushing, paling, twitching his b e a r d , with other s y m p t o m s of a n a b s e n t or m o o d y m i n d . T h i s d i s t e m p e r e d spirit w a s lodged, a s before hinted, in a s d i s t e m p e r e d a f r a m e . H e w a s rather tall, but s e e m e d never to have b e e n r o b u s t , a n d now with n e r v o u s suffering w a s a l m o s t worn to a skeleton. A t e n d e n c y to s o m e p u l m o n a r y c o m p l a i n t a p p e a r e d to have b e e n lately c o n f i r m e d . H i s voice w a s like that of o n e with lungs half g o n e , hoarsely s u p p r e s s e d , a husky whisper. N o w o n d e r that, a s in this state he tottered a b o u t , his private servant apprehensively followed h i m . S o m e t i m e s the negro gave his m a s t e r his a r m , or took his h a n d k e r c h i e f out of his p o c k e t for h i m ; p e r f o r m i n g t h e s e a n d similar offices with that affectionate zeal which t r a n s m u t e s into s o m e t h i n g filial or fraternal a c t s in t h e m s e l v e s but m e n i a l ; a n d which h a s g a i n e d for the n e g r o the r e p u t e of m a k i n g the m o s t p l e a s i n g body servant in the world; o n e , too, w h o m a m a s t e r n e e d b e o n no stiffly s u p e r i o r t e r m s with, but m a y treat with familiar trust; less a servant t h a n a devoted c o m p a n i o n . M a r k i n g the noisy indocility of the b l a c k s in g e n e r a l , a s well a s what s e e m e d the sullen inefficiency of the whites, it w a s not without h u m a n e satisfaction that C a p t a i n D e l a n o w i t n e s s e d the steady g o o d c o n d u c t of B a b o . B u t the good c o n d u c t of B a b o , hardly m o r e t h a n the ill-behavior of o t h e r s , s e e m e d to withdraw the half-lunatic D o n B e n i t o from his c l o u d y l a n g o u r . N o t that s u c h precisely w a s the i m p r e s s i o n m a d e by the S p a n i a r d on the 6. S o m e t i m e s l o o s e l y u s e d for t h e C a r i b b e a n S e a , b u t h e r e t h e A t l a n t i c a n d P a c i f i c c o a s t s o f S o u t h A m e r i c a ( m a i n l a n d as o p p o s e d to islands).

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mind of his visitor. T h e S p a n i a r d ' s individual u n r e s t w a s , for the p r e s e n t , b u t n o t e d a s a c o n s p i c u o u s feature in the ship's general affliction. Still, C a p t a i n D e l a n o w a s not a little c o n c e r n e d at what he c o u l d not help taking for the time to be D o n Benito's unfriendly indifference towards himself. T h e S p a n iard's m a n n e r , too, conveyed a sort of s o u r a n d g l o o m y d i s d a i n , which h e s e e m e d at no p a i n s to d i s g u i s e . B u t this the A m e r i c a n in charity a s c r i b e d to the h a r a s s i n g effects of s i c k n e s s , s i n c e , in former i n s t a n c e s , he h a d n o t e d that there are p e c u l i a r n a t u r e s on w h o m p r o l o n g e d physical suffering s e e m s to c a n c e l every social instinct of k i n d n e s s ; a s if forced to b l a c k b r e a d t h e m selves, they d e e m e d it but equity that e a c h p e r s o n c o m i n g nigh t h e m s h o u l d , indirectly, by s o m e slight or affront, be m a d e to p a r t a k e of their fare. B u t ere long C a p t a i n D e l a n o b e t h o u g h t h i m that, i n d u l g e n t a s h e w a s at the first, in j u d g i n g the S p a n i a r d , he might not, after all, have exercised charity e n o u g h . At b o t t o m it w a s D o n Benito's reserve which d i s p l e a s e d him; but the s a m e reserve w a s s h o w n towards all but his faithful p e r s o n a l attend a n t . Even the formal reports w h i c h , a c c o r d i n g to s e a - u s a g e , w e r e , at stated t i m e s , m a d e to him by s o m e petty underling, either a white, m u l a t t o or black, he hardly h a d p a t i e n c e e n o u g h to listen to, without betraying c o n t e m p t u o u s aversion. His m a n n e r u p o n s u c h o c c a s i o n s w a s , in its d e g r e e , not unlike that which might b e s u p p o s e d to have b e e n his imperial c o u n t r y m a n ' s , C h a r l e s V . , 7 j u s t previous to the anchoritish retirement of that m o n a r c h from the throne. T h i s splenetic disrelish of his p l a c e w a s evinced in a l m o s t every function pertaining to it. P r o u d a s he w a s moody, h e c o n d e s c e n d e d to no p e r s o n a l m a n d a t e . W h a t e v e r special orders were n e c e s s a r y , their delivery w a s deleg a t e d to his body-servant, w h o in turn transferred t h e m to their u l t i m a t e d e s t i n a t i o n , through r u n n e r s , alert S p a n i s h boys or slave b o y s , like p a g e s or pilot-fish 8 within easy call continually hovering r o u n d D o n B e n i t o . S o that to have b e h e l d this u n d e m o n s t r a t i v e invalid gliding a b o u t , a p a t h e t i c a n d m u t e , no l a n d s m a n c o u l d have d r e a m e d that in him w a s lodged a d i c t a t o r s h i p beyond which, while at s e a , there w a s n o earthly a p p e a l . T h u s , the S p a n i a r d , r e g a r d e d in his reserve, s e e m e d a s the involuntary victim of m e n t a l disorder. B u t , in fact, his reserve might, in s o m e d e g r e e , have p r o c e e d e d from d e s i g n . If s o , then h e r e w a s evinced the u n h e a l t h y climax of that icy t h o u g h c o n s c i e n t i o u s policy, m o r e or less a d o p t e d by all c o m m a n d e r s of large s h i p s , which, except in signal e m e r g e n c i e s , obliterates alike the m a n i f e s t a t i o n of sway with every trace of sociality; t r a n s f o r m i n g the m a n into a block, or rather into a l o a d e d c a n n o n , w h i c h , until there is call for thunder, h a s n o t h i n g to say. Viewing him in this light, it s e e m e d but a natural token of the perverse habit i n d u c e d by a long c o u r s e of s u c h hard self-restraint, that, n o t w i t h s t a n d ing the p r e s e n t condition of his s h i p , the S p a n i a r d s h o u l d still persist in a d e m e a n o r , w h i c h , however h a r m l e s s , or, it m a y b e , a p p r o p r i a t e , in a well a p p o i n t e d vessel, s u c h as the S a n D o m i n i c k might have b e e n at the o u t s e t of the voyage, was anything but j u d i c i o u s now. B u t the S p a n i a r d p e r h a p s thought that it w a s with c a p t a i n s a s with g o d s : reserve, u n d e r all e v e n t s , m u s t still be their c u e . B u t m o r e probably this a p p e a r a n c e of s l u m b e r i n g 7. K i n g o f S p a i n a n d H o l y R o m a n e m p e r o r ( I 5 0 0 — 1 5 5 8 ) w h o s p e n t h i s last y e a r s in a m o n a s t e r y ( w i t h o u t , h o w e v e r , r e l i n q u i s h i n g all p o l i t i c a l p o w e r

and material possessions). 8 . F i s h o f t e n s w i m m i n g in t h e c o m p a n y o f a s h a r k , t h e r e f o r e f a n c i e d t o p i l o t it.

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d o m i n i o n might have b e e n but an a t t e m p t e d d i s g u i s e to c o n s c i o u s imbecility—not d e e p policy, but shallow device. But be all this a s it might, w h e t h e r D o n Benito's m a n n e r w a s d e s i g n e d or not, the m o r e C a p t a i n D e l a n o n o t e d its pervading reserve, the less h e felt u n e a s i n e s s at any p a r t i c u l a r m a n i f e s tation of that reserve towards himself. N e i t h e r were his t h o u g h t s taken u p by the c a p t a i n a l o n e . W o n t e d to the quiet orderliness of the sealer's c o m f o r t a b l e family of a crew, the noisy c o n fusion of the S a n D o m i n i c k ' s suffering host repeatedly c h a l l e n g e d his eye. S o m e p r o m i n e n t b r e a c h e s not only of discipline b u t of d e c e n c y were o b s e r v e d . T h e s e C a p t a i n D e l a n o c o u l d not but a s c r i b e , in the m a i n , to the a b s e n c e of t h o s e s u b o r d i n a t e deck-officers to w h o m , a l o n g with higher d u t i e s , is e n t r u s t e d what may be styled the police d e p a r t m e n t of a p o p u l o u s ship. T r u e , the old o a k u m - p i c k e r s a p p e a r e d at times to act the part of m o n itorial c o n s t a b l e s to their c o u n t r y m e n , the b l a c k s ; but t h o u g h o c c a s i o n a l l y s u c c e e d i n g in allaying trifling o u t b r e a k s now a n d then b e t w e e n m a n a n d m a n , they c o u l d do little or n o t h i n g toward e s t a b l i s h i n g g e n e r a l quiet. T h e S a n D o m i n i c k w a s in the condition of a transatlantic e m i g r a n t s h i p , a m o n g w h o s e m u l t i t u d e of living freight are s o m e individuals, d o u b t l e s s , a s little t r o u b l e s o m e a s c r a t e s a n d b a l e s ; but the friendly r e m o n s t r a n c e s of s u c h with their ruder c o m p a n i o n s are of not so m u c h avail a s the unfriendly a r m of the m a t e . W h a t the S a n D o m i n i c k w a n t e d w a s , what the e m i g r a n t ship h a s , stern s u p e r i o r officers. B u t on these d e c k s not so m u c h a s a fourth m a t e w a s to be s e e n . T h e visitor's curiosity w a s r o u s e d to learn the p a r t i c u l a r s of t h o s e m i s h a p s which had brought a b o u t s u c h a b s e n t e e i s m , with its c o n s e q u e n c e s ; b e c a u s e , though deriving s o m e inkling of the voyage from the wails which at the first m o m e n t had greeted him, yet of the details no clear u n d e r s t a n d i n g h a d b e e n had. T h e best a c c o u n t would, d o u b t l e s s , be given by the c a p t a i n . Yet at first the visitor w a s loth to a s k it, unwilling to provoke s o m e distant rebuff. B u t p l u c k i n g u p c o u r a g e , he at last a c c o s t e d D o n B e n i t o , renewing the e x p r e s s i o n of his b e n e v o l e n t interest, a d d i n g , that did he ( C a p t a i n D e l a n o ) b u t know the particulars of the ship's m i s f o r t u n e s , he w o u l d , p e r h a p s , b e better able in the e n d to relieve t h e m . W o u l d D o n B e n i t o favor him with the whole story? D o n B e n i t o faltered; then, like s o m e s o m n a m b u l i s t s u d d e n l y interfered with, vacantly stared at his visitor, a n d e n d e d by looking down on the d e c k . H e m a i n t a i n e d this p o s t u r e s o long, that C a p t a i n D e l a n o , a l m o s t equally d i s c o n c e r t e d , a n d involuntarily a l m o s t a s r u d e , turned s u d d e n l y from him, walking forward to a c c o s t o n e of the S p a n i s h s e a m e n for the d e s i r e d inform a t i o n . B u t he had hardly g o n e five p a c e s , w h e n with a sort of e a g e r n e s s D o n B e n i t o invited him back, regretting his m o m e n t a r y a b s e n c e of m i n d , a n d p r o f e s s i n g r e a d i n e s s to gratify him. While most part of the story w a s b e i n g given, the two c a p t a i n s s t o o d on the after part of the m a i n - d e c k , a privileged spot, no o n e b e i n g near but the servant. "It is n o w a h u n d r e d a n d ninety d a y s , " b e g a n the S p a n i a r d , in his husky whisper, " t h a t this s h i p , well officered a n d well m a n n e d , with several c a b i n p a s s e n g e r s — s o m e fifty S p a n i a r d s in a l l — s a i l e d from B u e n o s Ayres b o u n d to L i m a , with a general c a r g o , h a r d w a r e , P a r a g u a y tea a n d the l i k e — a n d , " pointing forward, "that parcel of n e g r o e s , now not m o r e than a h u n d r e d a n d

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fifty, as you s e e , but then n u m b e r i n g over three h u n d r e d s o u l s . O f f C a p e H o r n we h a d heavy g a l e s . In o n e m o m e n t , by night, three of my b e s t officers, with fifteen sailors, were lost, with the main-yard; the s p a r s n a p p i n g u n d e r t h e m in the slings, a s they s o u g h t , with heavers, to beat d o w n the icy sail. T o lighten the hull, the heavier s a c k s of m a t a were thrown into the s e a , with m o s t of the water-pipes 1 ' l a s h e d on d e c k at the t i m e . A n d this last necessity it w a s , c o m b i n e d with the prolonged d e t e n t i o n s afterwards e x p e r i e n c e d , which eventually b r o u g h t a b o u t our chief c a u s e s of suffering. W h e n " H e r e there w a s a s u d d e n fainting attack of his c o u g h , b r o u g h t o n , no d o u b t , by his m e n t a l d i s t r e s s . His servant s u s t a i n e d h i m , a n d d r a w i n g a cordial from his pocket p l a c e d it to his lips. H e a little revived. B u t unwilling to leave him u n s u p p o r t e d while yet imperfectly restored, the black with o n e arm still encircled his m a s t e r , at the s a m e time keeping his eye fixed on his f a c e , a s if to w a t c h for the first sign of c o m p l e t e restoration, or r e l a p s e , a s the event might prove. T h e S p a n i a r d p r o c e e d e d , but brokenly a n d obscurely, a s o n e in a d r e a m . — " O h , my G o d ! rather than p a s s t h r o u g h what I have, with joy I would have hailed the m o s t terrible g a l e s ; but " His c o u g h returned a n d with i n c r e a s e d violence; this s u b s i d i n g , with redd e n e d lips a n d c l o s e d eyes h e fell heavily a g a i n s t his s u p p o r t e r . " H i s m i n d w a n d e r s . H e w a s thinking of the p l a g u e that followed the g a l e s , " plaintively s i g h e d the servant; "my poor, p o o r m a s t e r ! " wringing o n e h a n d , a n d with the other wiping the m o u t h . " B u t be patient, S e n o r , " again turning to C a p t a i n D e l a n o , " t h e s e fits do not last long; m a s t e r will s o o n b e himself." D o n B e n i t o reviving, went o n ; but as this portion of the story w a s very brokenly delivered, the s u b s t a n c e only will here b e set d o w n . It a p p e a r e d that after the ship had b e e n m a n y days t o s s e d in s t o r m s off the C a p e , the scurvy broke out, carrying off n u m b e r s of the whites a n d b l a c k s . W h e n at last they h a d worked r o u n d into the Pacific, their s p a r s a n d sails were s o d a m a g e d , a n d s o i n a d e q u a t e l y h a n d l e d by the surviving mariners, m o s t of w h o m were b e c o m e invalids, that, u n a b l e to lay her northerly c o u r s e by the wind, which w a s powerful, the u n m a n a g e a b l e ship for s u c c e s sive days a n d nights w a s blown northwestward, w h e r e the breeze s u d d e n l y d e s e r t e d her, in u n k n o w n w a t e r s , to sultry c a l m s . T h e a b s e n c e of the waterp i p e s now proved a s fatal to life a s before their p r e s e n c e had m e n a c e d it. I n d u c e d , or at least a g g r a v a t e d , by the less than scanty a l l o w a n c e of water, a m a l i g n a n t fever followed the scurvy; with the excessive heat of the lengthe n e d c a l m , m a k i n g s u c h short work of it a s to s w e e p away, a s by billows, whole families of the A f r i c a n s , a n d a yet larger n u m b e r , proportionably, of the S p a n i a r d s , including, by a l u c k l e s s fatality, every r e m a i n i n g officer o n board. C o n s e q u e n t l y , in the smart west winds eventually following the c a l m , the already rent sails having to be simply d r o p p e d , not furled, at n e e d , h a d b e e n gradually r e d u c e d to the beggar's rags they were now. T o p r o c u r e s u b stitutes for his lost sailors, a s well a s s u p p l i e s of water a n d sails, the c a p t a i n at the earliest opportunity had m a d e for Baldivia, the s o u t h e r n m o s t civilized port of Chili a n d S o u t h A m e r i c a ; b u t u p o n n e a r i n g the c o a s t the thick w e a t h e r h a d prevented him from so m u c h a s sighting that harbor. S i n c e which period, a l m o s t without a crew, a n d a l m o s t without c a n v a s a n d a l m o s t 9.

K e g s of water. " H e a v e r s " : bars, m o s t often u s e d a s levers. " M a t a " : Brazilian cotton.

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without water, a n d at intervals giving its a d d e d d e a d to the s e a , the S a n D o m i n i c k h a d b e e n battle-dored 1 a b o u t by contrary w i n d s , inveigled by currents, or grown weedy in c a l m s . L i k e a m a n lost in w o o d s , m o r e t h a n o n c e s h e h a d d o u b l e d u p o n her own track. " B u t t h r o u g h o u t t h e s e c a l a m i t i e s , " huskily c o n t i n u e d D o n B e n i t o , painfully turning in the half e m b r a c e of his servant, "I have to thank t h o s e n e g r o e s you s e e , w h o , t h o u g h to your inexperienced eyes a p p e a r i n g unruly, h a v e , i n d e e d , c o n d u c t e d t h e m s e l v e s with less of r e s t l e s s n e s s than even their owner c o u l d have t h o u g h t p o s s i b l e u n d e r s u c h c i r c u m s t a n c e s . " H e r e he again fell faintly b a c k . Again his m i n d w a n d e r e d : b u t h e rallied, a n d less o b s c u r e l y p r o c e e d e d . "Yes, their owner w a s q u i t e right in a s s u r i n g m e that n o fetters would b e n e e d e d with his b l a c k s ; so that while, a s is wont in this t r a n s p o r t a t i o n , t h o s e n e g r o e s have always r e m a i n e d u p o n d e c k — n o t thrust below, a s in the G u i n e a m e n — t h e y have, a l s o , from the b e g i n n i n g , b e e n freely p e r m i t t e d to r a n g e within given b o u n d s at their p l e a s u r e . " O n c e m o r e the f a i n t n e s s r e t u r n e d — h i s m i n d r o v e d — b u t , recovering, he resumed: " B u t it is B a b o here to w h o m , u n d e r G o d , I owe not only my own preservation, but likewise to him, chiefly, the merit is d u e , of pacifying his m o r e ignorant b r e t h r e n , w h e n at intervals t e m p t e d to m u r m u r i n g s . " " A h , m a s t e r , " s i g h e d the black, b o w i n g his f a c e , "don't s p e a k of m e ; B a b o is nothing; what B a b o h a s d o n e w a s b u t d u t y . " "Faithful fellow!" cried C a p t . D e l a n o . " D o n B e n i t o , I envy you s u c h a friend; slave I c a n n o t call h i m . " As m a s t e r a n d m a n s t o o d before him, the b l a c k u p h o l d i n g the white, C a p tain D e l a n o c o u l d not but bethink him of the b e a u t y of that relationship which c o u l d p r e s e n t s u c h a s p e c t a c l e of fidelity o n the o n e h a n d a n d c o n fidence on the other. T h e s c e n e w a s h i g h t e n e d by the c o n t r a s t in d r e s s , d e n o t i n g their relative p o s i t i o n s . T h e S p a n i a r d wore a loose Chili j a c k e t of dark velvet; white small c l o t h e s a n d s t o c k i n g s , with silver b u c k l e s at the k n e e a n d i n s t e p ; a high-crowned s o m b r e r o , of fine g r a s s ; a s l e n d e r s w o r d , silver m o u n t e d , h u n g from a knot in his s a s h ; the last b e i n g a n a l m o s t invariable a d j u n c t , m o r e for o r n a m e n t t h a n utility, of a S o u t h A m e r i c a n g e n t l e m a n ' s d r e s s to this hour. E x c e p t i n g w h e n his o c c a s i o n a l n e r v o u s c o n t o r t i o n s b r o u g h t a b o u t disarray, there w a s a certain p r e c i s i o n in his attire, curiously at variance with the unsightly d i s o r d e r a r o u n d ; especially in the belittered G h e t t o , forward of the m a i n - m a s t , wholly o c c u p i e d by the b l a c k s . T h e servant wore nothing but wide trowsers, apparently, from their c o a r s e n e s s a n d p a t c h e s , m a d e out of s o m e old topsail; they were c l e a n , a n d c o n fined at the waist by a bit of u n s t r a n d e d r o p e , w h i c h , with his c o m p o s e d , d e p r e c a t o r y air at t i m e s , m a d e him look s o m e t h i n g like a b e g g i n g friar of S t . Francis. However u n s u i t a b l e for the time a n d p l a c e , at least in the blunt-thinking A m e r i c a n ' s eyes, a n d however strangely surviving in the m i d s t of all his afflictions, the toilette of D o n B e n i t o might not, in f a s h i o n at l e a s t , have g o n e beyond the style of the day a m o n g S o u t h A m e r i c a n s of his c l a s s . T h o u g h on the p r e s e n t voyage sailing from B u e n o s Ayres, h e h a d avowed h i m s e l f a native 1. T o s s e d b a c k a n d f o r t h , a s a s h u t t l e c o c k i s hit b a c k a n d f o r t h b y a p a i r o f b a t t l e d o r e s ( o r p a d d l e s ) .

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a n d resident of Chili, w h o s e i n h a b i t a n t s h a d not s o generally a d o p t e d the plain c o a t a n d o n c e p l e b e i a n p a n t a l o o n s ; but, with a b e c o m i n g modification, a d h e r e d to their provincial c o s t u m e , p i c t u r e s q u e a s any in the world. Still, relatively to the p a l e history of the voyage, a n d his own p a l e f a c e , there s e e m e d s o m e t h i n g so i n c o n g r u o u s in the S p a n i a r d ' s a p p a r e l , a s a l m o s t to s u g g e s t the i m a g e of a n invalid courtier tottering a b o u t L o n d o n streets in the time of the p l a g u e . T h e portion of the narrative which, p e r h a p s , m o s t excited interest, a s well a s s o m e s u r p r i s e , c o n s i d e r i n g the latitudes in q u e s t i o n , w a s the long c a l m s s p o k e n of, a n d m o r e particularly the ship's s o long drifting a b o u t . W i t h o u t c o m m u n i c a t i n g the o p i n i o n , of c o u r s e , the A m e r i c a n c o u l d not but i m p u t e at least part of the d e t e n t i o n s both to c l u m s y s e a m a n s h i p a n d faulty navigation. Eying D o n Benito's s m a l l , yellow h a n d s , he easily inferred that the y o u n g c a p t a i n h a d not got into c o m m a n d at the h a w s e - h o l e , 2 but the c a b i n window; a n d if s o , why w o n d e r at i n c o m p e t e n c e , in y o u t h , s i c k n e s s , a n d gentility u n i t e d ? B u t drowning criticism in c o m p a s s i o n , after a fresh repetition of his symp a t h i e s , C a p t a i n D e l a n o having heard out his story, not only e n g a g e d , a s in the first p l a c e , to s e e D o n B e n i t o a n d his p e o p l e s u p p l i e d in their i m m e d i a t e bodily n e e d s , b u t , a l s o , now further p r o m i s e d to a s s i s t h i m in p r o c u r i n g a large p e r m a n e n t supply of water, a s well as s o m e sails a n d rigging; a n d , though it would involve no small e m b a r r a s s m e n t to himself, yet h e would s p a r e three of his b e s t s e a m e n for t e m p o r a r y d e c k officers; so that without delay the ship might p r o c e e d to C o n c e p t i o n , there fully to refit for L i m a , her d e s t i n e d port. S u c h generosity w a s not without its effect, even u p o n the invalid. H i s f a c e lighted u p ; e a g e r a n d h e c t i c , he m e t the h o n e s t g l a n c e of his visitor. With gratitude he s e e m e d o v e r c o m e . " T h i s e x c i t e m e n t is b a d for m a s t e r , " w h i s p e r e d the servant, taking his a r m , a n d with s o o t h i n g words gently drawing him a s i d e . W h e n D o n B e n i t o r e t u r n e d , the A m e r i c a n w a s p a i n e d to o b s e r v e that his h o p e f u l n e s s , like the s u d d e n kindling in his c h e e k , w a s b u t febrile a n d transient. E r e long, with a joyless m i e n , looking up towards the p o o p , the host invited his g u e s t to a c c o m p a n y him there, for the benefit of what little b r e a t h of wind might be stirring. A s d u r i n g the telling of the story, C a p t a i n D e l a n o h a d o n c e or twice started at the o c c a s i o n a l c y m b a l l i n g of the h a t c h e t - p o l i s h e r s , w o n d e r i n g why s u c h a n interruption s h o u l d be allowed, especially in that part of the s h i p , a n d in the e a r s of a n invalid; a n d moreover, a s the h a t c h e t s h a d anything but a n attractive look, a n d the h a n d l e r s of t h e m still less s o , it w a s , therefore, to tell the truth, not without s o m e lurking r e l u c t a n c e , or even shrinking, it m a y b e , that C a p t a i n D e l a n o , with a p p a r e n t c o m p l a i s a n c e , a c q u i e s c e d in his host's invitation. T h e m o r e s o , s i n c e with an untimely c a p r i c e of p u n c t i l i o , r e n d e r e d d i s t r e s s i n g by his c a d a v e r o u s a s p e c t , D o n B e n i t o , with C a s t i l i a n b o w s , solemnly insisted u p o n his guest's p r e c e d i n g him u p the l a d d e r l e a d i n g to the elevation; w h e r e , o n e on e a c h side of the last s t e p , sat for armorial s u p p o r t e r s 2.

M e t a l - l i n e d h o l e in t h e b o w of a s h i p , t h r o u g h w h i c h a c a b l e p a s s e s ; t h e e x p r e s s i o n m e a n s to b e g i n a

c a r e e r b e f o r e t h e m a s t , not in a p o s i t i o n o f a u t h o r i t y .

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a n d sentries two of the o m i n o u s file. Gingerly e n o u g h s t e p p e d good C a p t a i n D e l a n o between t h e m , a n d in the instant of leaving them b e h i n d , like o n e r u n n i n g the g a u n t l e t , he felt an a p p r e h e n s i v e twitch in the calves of his legs. B u t w h e n , facing a b o u t , he saw the whole file, like s o m a n y organ-grinders, still stupidly intent on their work, unmindful of everything b e s i d e , he c o u l d not but smile at his late fidgety p a n i c . Presently, while s t a n d i n g with his host, looking forward u p o n the d e c k s below, he was s t r u c k by o n e of t h o s e i n s t a n c e s of i n s u b o r d i n a t i o n previously alluded to. T h r e e black boys, with two S p a n i s h boys, were sitting together on the h a t c h e s , s c r a p i n g a r u d e w o o d e n platter, in which s o m e scanty m e s s had recently b e e n c o o k e d . S u d d e n l y , o n e of the black boys, e n r a g e d at a word d r o p p e d by o n e of his white c o m p a n i o n s , seized a knife, a n d t h o u g h called to forbear by o n e of the o a k u m - p i c k e r s , s t r u c k the lad over the h e a d , inflicting a g a s h from which blood flowed. In a m a z e m e n t , C a p t a i n D e l a n o inquired what this m e a n t . T o which the pale D o n B e n i t o dully m u t t e r e d , that it w a s merely the sport of the lad. "Pretty serious sport, truly," rejoined C a p t a i n D e l a n o . " H a d s u c h a thing h a p p e n e d on b o a r d the B a c h e l o r ' s Delight, instant p u n i s h m e n t would have followed." At t h e s e words the S p a n i a r d turned u p o n the A m e r i c a n o n e of his s u d d e n , staring, half-lunatic looks; then r e l a p s i n g into his torpor, a n s w e r e d , " D o u b t l e s s , d o u b t l e s s , Serior." Is it, thought C a p t a i n D e l a n o , that this h a p l e s s m a n is o n e of t h o s e p a p e r c a p t a i n s I've known, w h o by policy wink at what by power they c a n n o t put d o w n ? I know no s a d d e r sight than a c o m m a n d e r w h o h a s little of c o m m a n d but the n a m e . "I s h o u l d think, D o n B e n i t o , " he now s a i d , g l a n c i n g towards the o a k u m picker w h o h a d s o u g h t to interfere with the boys, "that you would find it a d v a n t a g e o u s to keep all your blacks e m p l o y e d , especially the y o u n g e r o n e s , n o m a t t e r at what u s e l e s s task, a n d no m a t t e r what h a p p e n s to the ship. Why, even with my little b a n d , I find s u c h a c o u r s e i n d i s p e n s a b l e . I o n c e kept a crew on my q u a r t e r - d e c k t h r u m m i n g * m a t s for my c a b i n , w h e n , for three days, I h a d given u p my s h i p — m a t s , m e n , a n d a l l — f o r a s p e e d y loss, owing to the violence of a g a l e , in which we c o u l d do n o t h i n g but helplessly drive before it." "Doubtless, doubtless," muttered Don Benito. " B u t , " c o n t i n u e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o , again g l a n c i n g u p o n the o a k u m - p i c k e r s a n d then at the h a t c h e t - p o l i s h e r s , n e a r by. "I s e e you k e e p s o m e at least of your host e m p l o y e d . " " Y e s , " w a s again the v a c a n t r e s p o n s e . " T h o s e old m e n there, s h a k i n g their p o w s 4 from their p u l p i t s , " c o n t i n u e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o , pointing to the o a k u m - p i c k e r s , " s e e m to act the part of old d o m i n i e s to the rest, little h e e d e d as their a d m o n i t i o n s a r e at t i m e s . Is this voluntary on their part, D o n B e n i t o , or have you a p p o i n t e d t h e m s h e p h e r d s to your flock of black s h e e p ? " " W h a t p o s t s they fill, I a p p o i n t e d t h e m , " rejoined the S p a n i a r d , in a n acrid t o n e , a s if resenting s o m e s u p p o s e d satiric reflection. "And t h e s e o t h e r s , t h e s e A s h a n t e e s c o n j u r o r s h e r e , " c o n t i n u e d C a p t a i n 3. Tci " t h r u m " is t o i n s e r t p i e c e s o l r o p e y a r n i n t o canvas, thus m a k i n g a rough surface or mat (usually tor k e e p i n g r o p e s from c h a f i n g a g a i n s t w o o d

or metal). 4. H e a d s . 5. W e s t African

peoples.

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D e l a n o , rather uneasily eying the b r a n d i s h e d steel of the h a t c h e t - p o l i s h e r s , where in s p o t s it h a d b e e n brought to a s h i n e , "this s e e m s a c u r i o u s b u s i n e s s they are at, D o n B e n i t o ? " "In the gales we m e t , " a n s w e r e d the S p a n i a r d , "what of our general c a r g o was not thrown overboard w a s m u c h d a m a g e d by the brine. S i n c e c o m i n g into c a l m weather, I have h a d several c a s e s of knives a n d h a t c h e t s daily brought up for overhauling a n d c l e a n i n g . " "A p r u d e n t idea, D o n B e n i t o . You are part owner of ship a n d c a r g o , I p r e s u m e ; but not of the slaves, p e r h a p s ? " "I a m owner of all you s e e , " impatiently returned D o n B e n i t o , "except the main c o m p a n y of b l a c k s , w h o b e l o n g e d to my late friend, A l e x a n d r o A r a n d a . " A s h e m e n t i o n e d this n a m e , his air was heart-broken; his k n e e s s h o o k : his servant s u p p o r t e d h i m . T h i n k i n g he divined the c a u s e of s u c h u n u s u a l e m o t i o n , to confirm his s u r m i s e , C a p t a i n D e l a n o , after a p a u s e , said "And may I ask, D o n B e n i t o , w h e t h e r — s i n c e awhile a g o you s p o k e of s o m e c a b i n p a s s e n g e r s — t h e friend, w h o s e loss so afflicts you at the o u t s e t of the voyage a c c o m p a n i e d his blacks?" "Yes." " B u t died of the fever?" " D i e d of the f e v e r . — O h , c o u l d I b u t — " A g a i n quivering, the S p a n i a r d p a u s e d . " P a r d o n m e , " said C a p t a i n D e l a n o lowly, "but I think that, by a s y m p a thetic e x p e r i e n c e , I c o n j e c t u r e , D o n B e n i t o , what it is that gives the k e e n e r e d g e to your grief. It w a s o n c e my hard fortune to l o s e at s e a a d e a r friend, my own brother, then s u p e r c a r g o . A s s u r e d of the welfare of his spirit, its d e p a r t u r e I could have b o r n e like a m a n ; but that h o n e s t eye, that h o n e s t h a n d — b o t h of which had s o often m e t m i n e — a n d that warm heart; all, a l l — like s c r a p s to the d o g s — t o throw all to the sharks! It w a s then I vowed never to have for fellow-voyager a m a n I loved, u n l e s s , u n b e k n o w n to him, I had provided every r e q u i s i t e , in c a s e of a fatality, for e m b a l m i n g his mortal part for i n t e r m e n t on s h o r e . W e r e your friend's r e m a i n s now on b o a r d this s h i p , D o n Benito, not t h u s strangely would the m e n t i o n of his n a m e affect y o u . " " O n b o a r d this s h i p ? " e c h o e d the S p a n i a r d . T h e n , with horrified g e s t u r e s , a s directed a g a i n s t s o m e specter, he u n c o n s c i o u s l y fell into the ready a r m s of his a t t e n d a n t , w h o , with a silent a p p e a l toward C a p t a i n D e l a n o , s e e m e d b e s e e c h i n g him not again to b r o a c h a t h e m e s o u n s p e a k a b l y d i s t r e s s i n g to his m a s t e r . T h i s p o o r fellow now, thought the p a i n e d A m e r i c a n , is the victim of that sad superstition which a s s o c i a t e s goblins with the d e s e r t e d body of m a n , a s g h o s t s with an a b a n d o n e d h o u s e . H o w unlike are we m a d e ! W h a t to m e , in like c a s e , would have b e e n a s o l e m n s a t i s f a c t i o n , the b a r e s u g g e s t i o n , even, terrifies the S p a n i a r d into this t r a n c e . P o o r Alexandro A r a n d a ! what would you say c o u l d you here s e e your f r i e n d — w h o , on former voyages, w h e n you for m o n t h s were left b e h i n d , h a s , I d a r e say, often l o n g e d , a n d longed, for o n e p e e p at y o u — n o w t r a n s p o r t e d with terror at the least thought of having you anyway nigh h i m . At this m o m e n t , with a dreary graveyard toll, b e t o k e n i n g a flaw, the ship's forecastle bell, s m o t e by o n e of the grizzled o a k u m - p i c k e r s , p r o c l a i m e d ten o'clock through the l e a d e n c a l m ; when C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s attention w a s c a u g h t by the moving figure of a gigantic black, e m e r g i n g from the g e n e r a l

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crowd below, a n d slowly a d v a n c i n g towards the elevated p o o p . A n iron collar w a s a b o u t his n e c k , from which d e p e n d e d a c h a i n , thrice w o u n d r o u n d his body; the t e r m i n a t i n g links p a d l o c k e d together at a b r o a d b a n d of iron, his girdle. " H o w like a m u t e Atufal m o v e s , " m u r m u r e d the servant. T h e b l a c k m o u n t e d the s t e p s of the p o o p , a n d , like a brave p r i s o n e r , b r o u g h t u p to receive s e n t e n c e , s t o o d in u n q u a i l i n g m u t e n e s s before D o n B e n i t o , n o w recovered from his a t t a c k . At the first g l i m p s e of his a p p r o a c h , D o n B e n i t o h a d started, a resentful s h a d o w swept over his f a c e ; a n d , a s with the s u d d e n m e m o r y of b o o t l e s s rage, his white lips g l u e d together. T h i s is s o m e m u l i s h m u t i n e e r , t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o , surveying, not without a mixture of a d m i r a t i o n , the c o l o s s a l form of the n e g r o . " S e e , he waits your q u e s t i o n , m a s t e r , " said the servant. T h u s r e m i n d e d , D o n B e n i t o , nervously averting his g l a n c e , a s if s h u n n i n g , by anticipation, s o m e rebellious r e s p o n s e , in a d i s c o n c e r t e d voice, t h u s spoke:— "Atufal, will you a s k my p a r d o n n o w ? " T h e b l a c k w a s silent. " A g a i n , m a s t e r , " m u r m u r e d the servant, with bitter u p b r a i d i n g eying his c o u n t r y m a n , "Again, m a s t e r ; h e will b e n d to m a s t e r y e t . " " A n s w e r , " said D o n B e n i t o , still averting his g l a n c e , " s a y but the o n e word •pardon, a n d your c h a i n s shall b e off." U p o n this, the b l a c k , slowly raising b o t h a r m s , let t h e m lifelessly fall, his links clanking, his h e a d b o w e d ; a s m u c h a s to say, " n o , I a m c o n t e n t . " " G o , " said D o n B e n i t o , with inkept a n d u n k n o w n e m o t i o n . Deliberately a s h e h a d c o m e , the b l a c k o b e y e d . " E x c u s e m e , D o n B e n i t o , " s a i d C a p t a i n D e l a n o , " b u t this s c e n e s u r p r i s e s m e ; what m e a n s it, p r a y ? " "It m e a n s that that n e g r o a l o n e , of all the b a n d , h a s given m e p e c u l i a r c a u s e of offense. I have put him in c h a i n s ; I " H e r e h e p a u s e d ; his h a n d to his h e a d , a s if t h e r e were a s w i m m i n g t h e r e , or a s u d d e n b e w i l d e r m e n t of m e m o r y h a d c o m e over him; but m e e t i n g his servant's kindly g l a n c e s e e m e d r e a s s u r e d , a n d p r o c e e d e d : — "I c o u l d not s c o u r g e s u c h a form. B u t I told him h e m u s t a s k my p a r d o n . As yet he h a s not. At my c o m m a n d , every two h o u r s h e s t a n d s b e f o r e m e . " "And how long h a s this b e e n ? " " S o m e sixty d a y s . " "And o b e d i e n t in all e l s e ? A n d r e s p e c t f u l ? " "Yes." " U p o n my c o n s c i e n c e , t h e n , " e x c l a i m e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o , impulsively, " h e h a s a royal spirit in him, this fellow." " H e m a y have s o m e right to it," bitterly r e t u r n e d D o n B e n i t o , " h e says he w a s king in his own l a n d . " " Y e s , " s a i d the servant, e n t e r i n g a word, " t h o s e slits in Atufal's e a r s o n c e held w e d g e s of g o l d ; but p o o r B a b o h e r e , in his own l a n d , w a s only a p o o r slave; a b l a c k m a n ' s slave w a s B a b o , w h o now is the w h i t e ' s . " S o m e w h a t a n n o y e d by these c o n v e r s a t i o n a l familiarities, C a p t a i n D e l a n o turned c u r i o u s l y u p o n the a t t e n d a n t , then g l a n c e d inquiringly at his m a s t e r ; but, as if long w o n t e d to t h e s e little informalities, neither m a s t e r nor m a n s e e m e d to u n d e r s t a n d h i m .

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" W h a t , pray, w a s Atufal's o f f e n s e , D o n B e n i t o ? " a s k e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o ; "if it w a s not s o m e t h i n g very s e r i o u s , take a fool's advice, a n d , in view of his general docility, a s well a s in s o m e natural r e s p e c t for his spirit, remit him his p e n a l t y . " " N o , n o , m a s t e r never will d o t h a t , " here m u r m u r e d the servant to himself, " p r o u d Atufal m u s t first a s k m a s t e r ' s p a r d o n . T h e slave there carries the p a d l o c k , but m a s t e r here carries the key." His attention t h u s directed, C a p t a i n D e l a n o n o w noticed for the first time that, s u s p e n d e d by a slender silken cord, from D o n Benito's n e c k h u n g a key. At o n c e , from the servant's m u t t e r e d syllables divining the key's p u r p o s e , he s m i l e d a n d s a i d : — " S o , D o n B e n i t o — p a d l o c k a n d key—significant symbols, truly." Biting his lip, D o n B e n i t o faltered. T h o u g h the r e m a r k of C a p t a i n D e l a n o , a m a n of s u c h native simplicity as to be i n c a p a b l e of satire or irony, h a d b e e n d r o p p e d in playful allusion to the S p a n i a r d ' s singularly e v i d e n c e d lordship over the black; yet the hypoc h o n d r i a c s e e m e d in s o m e way to have taken it a s a m a l i c i o u s reflection u p o n his c o n f e s s e d inability t h u s far to b r e a k d o w n , at least, on a verbal s u m m o n s , the e n t r e n c h e d will of the slave. D e p l o r i n g this s u p p o s e d m i s c o n c e p t i o n , yet d e s p a i r i n g of c o r r e c t i n g it, C a p t a i n D e l a n o shifted the s u b j e c t ; but finding his c o m p a n i o n m o r e than ever withdrawn, as if still sourly digesting the lees of the p r e s u m e d affront a b o v e - m e n t i o n e d , by-and-by C a p t a i n D e l a n o likewise b e c a m e less talkative, o p p r e s s e d , a g a i n s t his own will, by what s e e m e d the secret vindictiveness of the morbidly sensitive S p a n i a r d . B u t the good sailor himself, of a quite contrary d i s p o s i t i o n , refrained, on his part, alike from the a p p e a r a n c e a s from the feeling of r e s e n t m e n t , a n d if silent, w a s only so from c o n t a g i o n . Presently the S p a n i a r d , a s s i s t e d by his servant, s o m e w h a t d i s c o u r t e o u s l y c r o s s e d over from his g u e s t ; a p r o c e d u r e w h i c h , sensibly e n o u g h , might have b e e n allowed to p a s s for idle c a p r i c e of ill-humor, h a d not m a s t e r a n d m a n , lingering r o u n d the c o r n e r of the elevated skylight, b e g a n w h i s p e r i n g together in low voices. T h i s was u n p l e a s i n g . A n d m o r e : the m o o d y air of the S p a n i a r d , which at t i m e s h a d not b e e n without a sort of valetudinarian stateliness, now s e e m e d anything but dignified; while the menial familiarity of the servant lost its original c h a r m of s i m p l e - h e a r t e d a t t a c h m e n t . In his e m b a r r a s s m e n t , the visitor t u r n e d his f a c e to the other side of the ship. By so doing, his g l a n c e accidentally fell on a y o u n g S p a n i s h sailor, a coil of rope in his h a n d , j u s t s t e p p e d from the d e c k to the first r o u n d of the mizzen-rigging. P e r h a p s the m a n would not have b e e n particularly n o t i c e d , were it not that, d u r i n g his a s c e n t to o n e of the yards, h e , with a sort of covert i n t e n t n e s s , kept his eye fixed on C a p t a i n D e l a n o , from w h o m , presently, it p a s s e d , a s if by a natural s e q u e n c e , to the two w h i s p e r e r s . His own attention t h u s redirected to that q u a r t e r , C a p t a i n D e l a n o gave a slight start. F r o m s o m e t h i n g in D o n Benito's m a n n e r j u s t t h e n , it s e e m e d a s if the visitor h a d , at least partly, b e e n the s u b j e c t of the withdrawn c o n s u l tation g o i n g o n — a c o n j e c t u r e a s little a g r e e a b l e to the g u e s t a s it w a s little flattering to the host. T h e singular alternations of c o u r t e s y a n d ill-breeding in the S p a n i s h c a p tain were u n a c c o u n t a b l e , except on o n e of two s u p p o s i t i o n s — i n n o c e n t lunacy, or wicked i m p o s t u r e . But the first idea, though it might naturally have o c c u r r e d to a n indifferent

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observer, a n d , in s o m e r e s p e c t , h a d not hitherto b e e n wholly a s t r a n g e r to C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s m i n d , yet, now that, in an incipient way, he b e g a n to r e g a r d the stranger's c o n d u c t s o m e t h i n g in the light of a n intentional affront, of c o u r s e the idea of l u n a c y w a s virtually v a c a t e d . B u t if not a l u n a t i c , what t h e n ? U n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s , would a g e n t l e m a n , nay, any h o n e s t boor, act the part now a c t e d by his host? T h e m a n w a s a n i m p o s t o r . S o m e lowb o r n adventurer, m a s q u e r a d i n g a s a n o c e a n i c g r a n d e e ; yet so ignorant of the first r e q u i s i t e s of m e r e g e n t l e m a n h o o d a s to b e betrayed into the p r e s e n t r e m a r k a b l e i n d e c o r u m . T h a t s t r a n g e c e r e m o n i o u s n e s s , too, at other times evinced, s e e m e d not u n c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of o n e playing a part a b o v e his real level. B e n i t o C e r e n o — D o n B e n i t o C e r e n o — a s o u n d i n g n a m e . O n e , too, at that period, not u n k n o w n , in the s u r n a m e , to s u p e r c a r g o e s a n d s e a c a p t a i n s trading a l o n g the S p a n i s h M a i n , a s b e l o n g i n g to o n e of the m o s t enterprising a n d extensive m e r c a n t i l e families in all t h o s e p r o v i n c e s ; several m e m b e r s of it having titles; a sort of C a s t i l i a n R o t h s c h i l d , 6 with a n o b l e brother, or c o u s i n , in every great trading town of S o u t h A m e r i c a . T h e alleged D o n B e n i t o w a s in early m a n h o o d , a b o u t twenty-nine or thirty. T o a s s u m e a sort of roving c a d e t s h i p 7 in the m a r i t i m e affairs of s u c h a h o u s e , w h a t m o r e likely s c h e m e for a y o u n g knave of talent a n d spirit? B u t the S p a n i a r d w a s a p a l e invalid. N e v e r m i n d . F o r even to the d e g r e e of s i m u l a t i n g mortal d i s e a s e , the craft of s o m e tricksters h a d b e e n known to a t t a i n . T o think that, u n d e r the a s p e c t of infantile w e a k n e s s , the m o s t s a v a g e e n e r g i e s might b e c o u c h e d — t h o s e velvets of the S p a n i a r d but the silky p a w to his f a n g s . F r o m no train of t h o u g h t did t h e s e f a n c i e s c o m e ; not from within, but from without; s u d d e n l y , too, a n d in o n e throng, like h o a r frost; yet as s o o n to v a n i s h a s the mild s u n of C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s g o o d - n a t u r e r e g a i n e d its meridian. G l a n c i n g over o n c e m o r e towards his h o s t — w h o s e s i d e - f a c e , revealed a b o v e the skylight, w a s now t u r n e d t o w a r d s h i m — h e w a s s t r u c k by the profile, w h o s e c l e a r n e s s of c u t w a s refined by the t h i n n e s s incident to ill-health, a s well a s e n n o b l e d a b o u t the chin by the b e a r d . Away with s u s p i c i o n . H e w a s a true off-shoot of a true h i d a l g o C e r e n o . Relieved by t h e s e a n d other better t h o u g h t s , the visitor, lightly h u m m i n g a t u n e , now b e g a n indifferently p a c i n g the p o o p , s o a s not to betray to D o n B e n i t o that he h a d at all m i s t r u s t e d incivility, m u c h less duplicity; for s u c h m i s t r u s t w o u l d yet b e proved illusory, a n d by the event; t h o u g h , for the p r e s e n t , the c i r c u m s t a n c e w h i c h h a d p r o v o k e d that distrust r e m a i n e d unexplained. B u t w h e n that little mystery s h o u l d have b e e n c l e a r e d u p , C a p t a i n D e l a n o t h o u g h t he might extremely regret it, did h e allow D o n B e n i t o to b e c o m e a w a r e that he h a d i n d u l g e d in u n g e n e r o u s s u r m i s e s . In short, to the S p a n i a r d ' s black-letter text, it w a s b e s t , for awhile, to leave o p e n m a r g i n . 8 Presently, his p a l e f a c e twitching a n d o v e r c a s t , the S p a n i a r d , still s u p ported by his a t t e n d a n t , m o v e d over towards his g u e s t , w h e n , with even m o r e than his u s u a l e m b a r r a s s m e n t , a n d a s t r a n g e sort of intriguing i n t o n a t i o n in his husky whisper, the following c o n v e r s a t i o n b e g a n : — i

6. G r e a t G e r m a n b a n k i n g family. 7. P o s i t i o n o f o n - t h e - j o b t r a i n i n g f o r a p o s t o f authority, a p p r o p r i a t e for a y o u n g e r or y o u n g e s t son of a great h o u s e . 8. W i t h o u t the elucidatory c o m m e n t s then often

p r i n t e d i n m a r g i n s a s a g l o s s o n t h e m a i n text r a t h e r t h a n p r i n t e d at t h e b o t t o m o f the p a g e a s f o o t n o t e s . D e l a n o is d e c i d i n g t o r e s e r v e j u d g m e n t . " B l a c k - l e t t e r text": b o o k s p r i n t e d in e a r l y t y p e imitative of medieval script.

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" S e n o r , m a y I a s k how long you have lain at this i s l e ? " " O h , but a day or two, D o n B e n i t o . " "And from what port a r e you l a s t ? " "Canton." "And there, S e n o r , you e x c h a n g e d your seal-skins for t e a s a n d silks, I think you s a i d ? " "Yes. Silks, m o s t l y . " "And the b a l a n c e you took in s p e c i e , p e r h a p s ? " C a p t a i n D e l a n o , fidgeting a little, a n s w e r e d — "Yes; s o m e silver; not a very great deal, t h o u g h . " " A h — w e l l . M a y I a s k how m a n y m e n have y o u , S e n o r ? " C a p t a i n D e l a n o slightly started, but a n s w e r e d — " A b o u t five-and-twenty, all t o l d . " " A n d at p r e s e n t , S e n o r , all on b o a r d , I s u p p o s e ? " "All o n b o a r d , D o n B e n i t o , " replied the C a p t a i n , now with s a t i s f a c t i o n . " A n d will be to-night, S e n o r ? " At this last q u e s t i o n , following s o m a n y p e r t i n a c i o u s o n e s , for the s o u l of him C a p t a i n D e l a n o c o u l d not but look very earnestly at the q u e s t i o n e r , w h o , i n s t e a d of m e e t i n g the g l a n c e , with every token of craven d i s c o m p o s u r e d r o p p e d his eyes to the d e c k ; p r e s e n t i n g a n unworthy c o n t r a s t to his servant, w h o , j u s t t h e n , w a s kneeling at his feet, a d j u s t i n g a l o o s e s h o e - b u c k l e ; his d i s e n g a g e d f a c e m e a n t i m e , with h u m b l e curiosity, t u r n e d openly u p into his master's downcast one. T h e S p a n i a r d , still with a guilty shuffle, r e p e a t e d his q u e s t i o n : — " A n d — a n d will be to-night, S e n o r ? " "Yes, for a u g h t I k n o w , " returned C a p t a i n D e l a n o , — " b u t n a y , " rallying h i m s e l f into fearless truth, " s o m e of t h e m talked of g o i n g off on a n o t h e r fishing party a b o u t m i d n i g h t . " "Your s h i p s generally g o — g o m o r e or less a r m e d , I believe, S e n o r ? " " O h , a six-pounder or two, in c a s e of e m e r g e n c y , " w a s the intrepidly indifferent reply, "with a small s t o c k of m u s k e t s , s e a l i n g - s p e a r s , a n d c u t l a s s e s , you k n o w . " As h e t h u s r e s p o n d e d , C a p t a i n D e l a n o a g a i n g l a n c e d at D o n B e n i t o , but the latter's eyes were averted; while abruptly a n d awkwardly shifting the s u b j e c t , he m a d e s o m e peevish allusion to the c a l m , a n d t h e n , without apology, o n c e m o r e , with his a t t e n d a n t , withdrew to the o p p o s i t e b u l w a r k s , w h e r e the w h i s p e r i n g w a s r e s u m e d . At this m o m e n t , a n d ere C a p t a i n D e l a n o c o u l d c a s t a cool t h o u g h t u p o n what h a d j u s t p a s s e d , the y o u n g S p a n i s h sailor before m e n t i o n e d w a s s e e n d e s c e n d i n g from the rigging. In act of s t o o p i n g over to spring i n b o a r d to the deck, his v o l u m i n o u s , u n c o n f i n e d frock, or shirt, of c o a r s e woollen, m u c h spotted with tar, o p e n e d out far down the c h e s t , revealing a soiled u n d e r g a r m e n t of what s e e m e d the finest linen, e d g e d , a b o u t the n e c k , with a narrow b l u e ribbon, sadly f a d e d a n d worn. At this m o m e n t the y o u n g sailor's eye w a s again fixed o n the w h i s p e r e r s , a n d C a p t a i n D e l a n o t h o u g h t he observed a lurking significance in it, a s if silent signs of s o m e F r e e m a s o n 9 sort h a d that instant b e e n i n t e r c h a n g e d . 9. S e c r e t s o c i e t y o f m e n u n i t e d f o r f r a t e r n a l p u r p o s e s ; t h e n a p o l i t i c a l f o r c e in s o m e c o u n t r i e s a n d a p o l i t i c a l i s s u e i n t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s , e s p e c i a l l y in

the N e w York of Melville's youth, w h e n M a s o n s were charged with murdering a man who intended to expose their secrets.

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T h i s o n c e m o r e impelled his own g l a n c e in the direction of D o n B e n i t o , a n d , as before, he c o u l d not but infer that himself f o r m e d the s u b j e c t of the c o n f e r e n c e . H e p a u s e d . T h e s o u n d of the hatchet-polishing fell o n his e a r s . H e c a s t a n o t h e r swift side-look at the two. T h e y h a d the air of c o n s p i r a t o r s . In c o n n e c t i o n with the late q u e s t i o n i n g s a n d the incident of the y o u n g sailor, t h e s e things now b e g a t s u c h return of involuntary s u s p i c i o n , that the s i n g u l a r g u i l e l e s s n e s s of the A m e r i c a n c o u l d not e n d u r e it. P l u c k i n g u p a gay a n d h u m o r o u s e x p r e s s i o n , h e c r o s s e d over to the two rapidly, s a y i n g : — " H a , D o n B e n i t o , your b l a c k here s e e m s high in your trust; a sort of privy-counselor, in f a c t . " U p o n this, the servant looked up with a g o o d - n a t u r e d grin, but the m a s t e r started a s from a v e n o m o u s bite. It w a s a m o m e n t or two before the S p a n i a r d sufficiently recovered h i m s e l f to reply; which he did, at last, with cold cons t r a i n t : — " Y e s , S e n o r , I have trust in B a b o . " H e r e B a b o , c h a n g i n g his previous grin of m e r e a n i m a l h u m o r into an intelligent s m i l e , not ungratefully eyed his m a s t e r . F i n d i n g that the S p a n i a r d now s t o o d silent a n d reserved, a s if involuntarily, or p u r p o s e l y giving hint that his guest's proximity w a s inconvenient j u s t t h e n , C a p t a i n D e l a n o , unwilling to a p p e a r uncivil even to incivility itself, m a d e s o m e trivial r e m a r k a n d moved off; again a n d again turning over in his m i n d the m y s t e r i o u s d e m e a n o r of D o n B e n i t o C e r e n o . H e had d e s c e n d e d from the p o o p , a n d , w r a p p e d in t h o u g h t , w a s p a s s i n g near a dark hatchway, l e a d i n g d o w n into the s t e e r a g e , w h e n , perceiving motion there, h e looked to s e e what m o v e d . T h e s a m e instant there was a sparkle in the s h a d o w y h a t c h w a y , a n d h e s a w o n e of the S p a n i s h sailors prowling there hurriedly p l a c i n g his h a n d in the b o s o m of his frock, a s if hiding s o m e t h i n g . Before the m a n could have b e e n certain w h o it w a s that w a s p a s s i n g , he s l u n k below out of sight. B u t e n o u g h w a s s e e n of him to m a k e it s u r e that h e was the s a m e y o u n g sailor before noticed in the rigging. W h a t w a s that which s o sparkled? t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o . It w a s n o l a m p — n o m a t c h — n o live c o a l . C o u l d it have b e e n a j e w e l ? B u t how c o m e sailors with j e w e l s ? — o r with silk-trimmed under-shirts either? H a s he b e e n robbing the trunks of the d e a d c a b i n p a s s e n g e r s ? B u t if s o , he would hardly wear o n e of the stolen articles on board ship h e r e . A h , a h — i f now that w a s , indeed, a secret sign I saw p a s s i n g b e t w e e n this s u s p i c i o u s fellow a n d his captain awhile s i n c e ; if I c o u l d only be certain that in my u n e a s i n e s s my s e n s e s did not deceive m e , t h e n — H e r e , p a s s i n g from o n e s u s p i c i o u s thing to a n o t h e r , his mind revolved the s t r a n g e q u e s t i o n s p u t to him c o n c e r n i n g his s h i p . By a c u r i o u s c o i n c i d e n c e , a s e a c h point w a s recalled, the b l a c k wizards of A s h a n t e e would strike u p with their h a t c h e t s , a s in o m i n o u s c o m m e n t o n the white stranger's t h o u g h t s . P r e s s e d by s u c h e n i g m a s a n d p o r t e n t s , it would have b e e n a l m o s t a g a i n s t n a t u r e , h a d not, even into the least distrustful heart, s o m e ugly misgivings o b t r u d e d . O b s e r v i n g the ship now helplessly fallen into a c u r r e n t , with e n c h a n t e d sails, drifting with i n c r e a s e d rapidity s e a w a r d ; a n d n o t i n g that, from a lately intercepted projection of the land, the sealer w a s h i d d e n , the stout m a r i n e r b e g a n to q u a k e at t h o u g h t s which he barely durst c o n f e s s to himself. A b o v e all, he b e g a n to feel a ghostly d r e a d of D o n B e n i t o . A n d yet w h e n he r o u s e d himself, dilated his c h e s t , felt h i m s e l f s t r o n g on his legs, a n d coolly considered it—what did all these p h a n t o m s a m o u n t to?

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H a d the S p a n i a r d any sinister s c h e m e , it m u s t have r e f e r e n c e not s o m u c h to him ( C a p t a i n D e l a n o ) a s to his ship (the B a c h e l o r ' s D e l i g h t ) . H e n c e the p r e s e n t drifting away of the o n e ship from the other, i n s t e a d of favoring any s u c h p o s s i b l e s c h e m e , w a s , for the time at least, o p p o s e d to it. Clearly any s u s p i c i o n , c o m b i n i n g s u c h c o n t r a d i c t i o n s , m u s t n e e d be d e l u s i v e . B e s i d e , was it not a b s u r d to think of a vessel in d i s t r e s s — a vessel by s i c k n e s s a l m o s t d i s m a n n e d of her c r e w — a vessel w h o s e i n m a t e s were p a r c h e d for w a t e r — was it not a t h o u s a n d times a b s u r d that s u c h a craft s h o u l d , at p r e s e n t , b e of a piratical c h a r a c t e r ; or her c o m m a n d e r , either for h i m s e l f or t h o s e u n d e r him, cherish any desire but for s p e e d y relief a n d r e f r e s h m e n t ? B u t t h e n , might not general d i s t r e s s , a n d thirst in particular, b e a f f e c t e d ? A n d might not that s a m e u n d i m i n i s h e d S p a n i s h crew, alleged to have p e r i s h e d off to a r e m n a n t , be at that very m o m e n t lurking in the hold? O n heart-broken pret e n s e of entreating a c u p of cold water, fiends in h u m a n form h a d got into lonely dwellings, nor retired until a dark d e e d h a d b e e n d o n e . A n d a m o n g the M a l a y p i r a t e s , it w a s no u n u s u a l thing to lure ships after t h e m into their t r e a c h e r o u s harbors, or e n t i c e b o a r d e r s from a d e c l a r e d e n e m y at s e a , by the s p e c t a c l e of thinly m a n n e d or v a c a n t d e c k s , b e n e a t h which prowled a h u n dred s p e a r s with yellow a r m s ready to u p t h r u s t t h e m t h r o u g h the m a t s . N o t that C a p t a i n D e l a n o h a d entirely credited s u c h things. H e h a d h e a r d of t h e m — a n d now, a s stories, they recurred. T h e p r e s e n t d e s t i n a t i o n of the ship w a s the a n c h o r a g e . T h e r e s h e would be n e a r his own vessel. U p o n gaining that vicinity, might not the S a n D o m i n i c k , like a s l u m b e r i n g v o l c a n o , s u d d e n l y let loose e n e r g i e s now hid? H e recalled the S p a n i a r d ' s m a n n e r while telling his story. T h e r e w a s a g l o o m y h e s i t a n c y a n d s u b t e r f u g e a b o u t it. It w a s j u s t the m a n n e r of o n e m a k i n g up his tale for evil p u r p o s e s , a s he g o e s . B u t if that story w a s not true, what w a s the truth? T h a t the ship h a d unlawfully c o m e into the S p a n iard's p o s s e s s i o n ? B u t in m a n y of its details, especially in reference to the m o r e c a l a m i t o u s p a r t s , s u c h a s the fatalities a m o n g the s e a m e n , the c o n s e q u e n t p r o l o n g e d b e a t i n g a b o u t , the p a s t sufferings from o b s t i n a t e c a l m s , a n d still c o n t i n u e d suffering from thirst; in all t h e s e p o i n t s , a s well a s o t h e r s , D o n Benito's story h a d c o r r o b o r a t e d not only the wailing e j a c u l a t i o n s of the indiscriminate m u l t i t u d e , white a n d black, but l i k e w i s e — w h a t s e e m e d i m p o s s i b l e to be c o u n t e r f e i t — b y the very expression a n d play of every h u m a n f e a t u r e , which C a p t a i n D e l a n o saw. If D o n Benito's story w a s t h r o u g h o u t an invention, then every soul on b o a r d , down to the y o u n g e s t n e g r e s s , w a s his carefully drilled recruit in the plot: an incredible i n f e r e n c e . A n d yet, if there w a s g r o u n d for m i s t r u s t i n g his veracity, that i n f e r e n c e w a s a legitimate one. B u t t h o s e q u e s t i o n s of the S p a n i a r d . T h e r e , i n d e e d , o n e might p a u s e . Did they not s e e m put with m u c h the s a m e object with which the b u r g l a r or a s s a s s i n , by day-time, r e c o n n o i t r e s the walls of a h o u s e ? B u t , with ill purp o s e s , to solicit s u c h information openly of the chief p e r s o n e n d a n g e r e d , a n d so, in effect, setting him on his g u a r d ; how unlikely a p r o c e d u r e w a s that? A b s u r d , then, to s u p p o s e that t h o s e q u e s t i o n s h a d b e e n p r o m p t e d by evil d e s i g n s . T h u s , the s a m e c o n d u c t , w h i c h , in this i n s t a n c e , h a d r a i s e d the alarm, served to dispel it. In short, s c a r c e any s u s p i c i o n or u n e a s i n e s s , however apparently r e a s o n a b l e at the time, which w a s not now, with e q u a l apparent r e a s o n , d i s m i s s e d . At last he b e g a n to l a u g h at his former f o r e b o d i n g s ; a n d l a u g h at the

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s t r a n g e ship for, in its a s p e c t s o m e w a y siding with t h e m , a s it w e r e ; a n d l a u g h , too, at the odd-looking b l a c k s , particularly t h o s e old s c i s s o r s - g r i n d e r s , the A s h a n t e e s ; a n d t h o s e bed-ridden old knitting-women, the o a k u m - p i c k e r s ; a n d a l m o s t at the dark S p a n i a r d himself, the central h o b g l o b i n of all. F o r the rest, whatever in a serious way s e e m e d e n i g m a t i c a l , w a s n o w g o o d naturedly explained away by the t h o u g h t that, for the m o s t p a r t , the p o o r invalid scarcely k n e w what he was a b o u t ; either s u l k i n g in b l a c k v a p o r s , or p u t t i n g idle q u e s t i o n s without s e n s e or object. Evidently, for the p r e s e n t , the m a n w a s not fit to b e e n t r u s t e d with the ship. O n s o m e b e n e v o l e n t p l e a withdrawing the c o m m a n d from him, C a p t a i n D e l a n o w o u l d yet have to s e n d her to C o n c e p t i o n , in c h a r g e of his s e c o n d m a t e , a worthy p e r s o n a n d g o o d n a v i g a t o r — a p l a n not m o r e c o n v e n i e n t for the S a n D o m i n i c k t h a n for D o n B e n i t o ; for, relieved from all anxiety, k e e p i n g wholly to his c a b i n , the s i c k m a n , u n d e r the g o o d n u r s i n g of his servant, w o u l d probably, by the e n d of the p a s s a g e , b e in a m e a s u r e restored to h e a l t h , a n d with that h e s h o u l d a l s o b e restored to authority. S u c h were the A m e r i c a n ' s t h o u g h t s . T h e y were tranquilizing. T h e r e w a s a difference b e t w e e n the idea of D o n Benito's darkly pre-ordaining C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s fate, a n d C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s lightly a r r a n g i n g D o n B e n i t o ' s . Nevert h e l e s s , it w a s not without s o m e t h i n g of relief that the g o o d s e a m a n presently perceived his w h a l e - b o a t in the d i s t a n c e . Its a b s e n c e h a d b e e n p r o l o n g e d by u n e x p e c t e d detention at the sealer's s i d e , a s well as its r e t u r n i n g trip lengthe n e d by the c o n t i n u a l r e c e s s i o n of the goal. T h e a d v a n c i n g s p e c k w a s o b s e r v e d by the b l a c k s . T h e i r s h o u t s a t t r a c t e d the attention of D o n B e n i t o , w h o , with a return of c o u r t e s y , a p p r o a c h i n g C a p t a i n D e l a n o , e x p r e s s e d satisfaction at the c o m i n g of s o m e s u p p l i e s , slight a n d t e m p o r a r y a s they m u s t n e c e s s a r i l y prove. C a p t a i n D e l a n o r e s p o n d e d ; b u t while d o i n g s o , his a t t e n t i o n w a s drawn to s o m e t h i n g p a s s i n g o n the d e c k below: a m o n g the crowd c l i m b i n g the l a n d w a r d b u l w a r k s , anxiously w a t c h i n g the c o m i n g b o a t , two b l a c k s , to all a p p e a r a n c e s accidentally i n c o m m o d e d by o n e of the sailors, violently p u s h e d h i m a s i d e , w h i c h the sailor s o m e w a y r e s e n t i n g , they d a s h e d h i m to the d e c k , d e s p i t e the e a r n e s t cries of the o a k u m - p i c k e r s . " D o n B e n i t o , " said C a p t a i n D e l a n o quickly, " d o you s e e w h a t is going on there? L o o k ! " B u t , seized by his c o u g h , the S p a n i a r d s t a g g e r e d , with b o t h h a n d s to his f a c e , on the point of falling. C a p t a i n D e l a n o w o u l d have s u p p o r t e d h i m , b u t the servant w a s m o r e alert, w h o , with o n e h a n d s u s t a i n i n g his m a s t e r , with the other a p p l i e d the cordial. D o n B e n i t o r e s t o r e d , the b l a c k withdrew his s u p p o r t , slipping a s i d e a little, b u t dutifully r e m a i n i n g within call of a whisper. S u c h discretion w a s here e v i n c e d a s q u i t e wiped away, in the visitor's eyes, any b l e m i s h of impropriety w h i c h might have a t t a c h e d to the a t t e n d a n t , from the i n d e c o r o u s c o n f e r e n c e s b e f o r e m e n t i o n e d ; s h o w i n g , t o o , that if the servant were to b l a m e , it might b e m o r e the m a s t e r ' s fault t h a n his o w n , s i n c e w h e n left to h i m s e l f h e c o u l d c o n d u c t t h u s well. H i s g l a n c e called away from the s p e c t a c l e of d i s o r d e r to the m o r e p l e a s i n g o n e before h i m , C a p t a i n D e l a n o c o u l d not avoid a g a i n c o n g r a t u l a t i n g his host u p o n p o s s e s s i n g s u c h a servant, w h o , t h o u g h p e r h a p s a little too forward n o w a n d t h e n , m u s t u p o n the w h o l e b e invaluable to o n e in the invalid's situation.

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"Tell m e , D o n B e n i t o , " he a d d e d , with a s m i l e — " I s h o u l d like to have your m a n here m y s e l f — w h a t will you take for him? W o u l d fifty d o u b l o o n s be any object?" " M a s t e r wouldn't part with B a b o for a t h o u s a n d d o u b l o o n s , " m u r m u r e d the black, overhearing the offer, a n d taking it in e a r n e s t , a n d , with the s t r a n g e vanity of a faithful slave a p p r e c i a t e d by his m a s t e r , s c o r n i n g to hear so paltry a valuation put u p o n him by a stranger. B u t D o n B e n i t o , a p p a r e n t l y hardly yet c o m p l e t e l y restored, a n d again interrupted by his c o u g h , m a d e but s o m e broken reply. S o o n his physical distress b e c a m e s o great, affecting his m i n d , too, apparently, that, a s if to s c r e e n the s a d s p e c t a c l e , the servant gently c o n d u c t e d his m a s t e r below. Left to himself, the A m e r i c a n , to while away the time till his b o a t s h o u l d arrive, would have p l e a s a n t l y a c c o s t e d s o m e o n e of the few S p a n i s h s e a m e n h e saw; but recalling s o m e t h i n g that D o n B e n i t o h a d said t o u c h i n g their ill c o n d u c t , he refrained, a s a s h i p - m a s t e r i n d i s p o s e d to c o u n t e n a n c e c o w a r d i c e or u n f a i t h f u l n e s s in s e a m e n . W h i l e , with t h e s e t h o u g h t s , s t a n d i n g with eye directed forward towards that handful of sailors, s u d d e n l y he thought that o n e or two of t h e m r e t u r n e d the g l a n c e a n d with a sort of m e a n i n g . H e r u b b e d his eyes, a n d looked a g a i n ; but again s e e m e d to s e e the s a m e thing. U n d e r a new form, b u t m o r e o b s c u r e than any previous o n e , the old s u s p i c i o n s r e c u r r e d , b u t , in the a b s e n c e of D o n B e n i t o , with less of p a n i c than before. D e s p i t e the b a d a c c o u n t given of the sailors, C a p t a i n D e l a n o resolved forthwith to a c c o s t o n e of t h e m . D e s c e n d i n g the p o o p , he m a d e his way t h r o u g h the b l a c k s , his m o v e m e n t drawing a q u e e r cry from the o a k u m - p i c k e r s , p r o m p t e d by w h o m , the n e g r o e s , twitching e a c h other a s i d e , divided before h i m ; b u t , a s if c u r i o u s to s e e w h a t w a s the object of this deliberate visit to their G h e t t o , c l o s i n g in b e h i n d , in tolerable order, followed the white s t r a n g e r u p . H i s p r o g r e s s t h u s p r o c l a i m e d as by m o u n t e d kings-at-arms, a n d e s c o r t e d a s by a C a f f r e ' g u a r d of honor, C a p t a i n D e l a n o , a s s u m i n g a g o o d h u m o r e d , off-handed air, c o n tinued to a d v a n c e ; now a n d then saying a blithe word to the n e g r o e s , a n d his eye curiously surveying the white f a c e s , here a n d there sparsely mixed in with the b l a c k s , like stray white p a w n s venturously involved in the ranks of the c h e s s - m e n o p p o s e d . While thinking which of t h e m to select for his p u r p o s e , he c h a n c e d to observe a sailor s e a t e d on the d e c k e n g a g e d in tarring the strap of a large block, with a circle of b l a c k s s q u a t t e d r o u n d him inquisitively eying the process. T h e m e a n e m p l o y m e n t of the m a n w a s in c o n t r a s t with s o m e t h i n g s u p e r i o r in his figure. His h a n d , black with continually thrusting it into the tar-pot held for him by a n e g r o , s e e m e d not naturally allied to his f a c e , a f a c e which would have b e e n a very fine o n e but for its h a g g a r d n e s s . W h e t h e r this hagg a r d n e s s h a d a u g h t to do with criminality, c o u l d not be d e t e r m i n e d ; s i n c e , a s intense heat a n d cold, t h o u g h unlike, p r o d u c e like s e n s a t i o n s , s o innoc e n c e a n d guilt, w h e n , t h r o u g h c a s u a l a s s o c i a t i o n with m e n t a l p a i n , s t a m p ing any visible i m p r e s s , u s e o n e s e a l — a h a c k e d o n e . 1. K a f f i r , o r K a f i r , a t r i b e o f S o u t h A f r i c a , n o t n a m e d i n M e l v i l l e ' s s o u r c e , b u t m u c h w r i t t e n a b o u t ( b y W e s t e r n t r a v e l e r s o f t h e t i m e ) a s tall, i m p r e s s i v e - l o o k i n g p e o p l e .

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N o t again that this reflection o c c u r r e d to C a p t a i n D e l a n o at the t i m e , c h a r i t a b l e m a n a s he w a s . R a t h e r a n o t h e r idea. B e c a u s e o b s e r v i n g s o s i n g u l a r a h a g g a r d n e s s c o m b i n e d with a d a r k eye, averted a s in trouble a n d s h a m e , a n d then again recalling D o n Benito's c o n f e s s e d ill o p i n i o n of his crew, insensibly he w a s o p e r a t e d u p o n by certain general n o t i o n s , w h i c h , while d i s c o n n e c t i n g pain a n d a b a s h m e n t from virtue, invariably link t h e m with vice. If, i n d e e d , there be any w i c k e d n e s s on board this s h i p , t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o , be s u r e that m a n there h a s fouled his h a n d in it, even a s now he fouls it in the p i t c h . I don't like to a c c o s t him. I will s p e a k to this other, this old J a c k here on the w i n d l a s s . H e a d v a n c e d to a n old B a r c e l o n a tar, in r a g g e d red b r e e c h e s a n d dirty night-cap, c h e e k s t r e n c h e d a n d b r o n z e d , whiskers d e n s e a s thorn h e d g e s . S e a t e d b e t w e e n two sleepy-looking A f r i c a n s , this m a r i n e r , like his y o u n g e r s h i p m a t e , w a s e m p l o y e d u p o n s o m e r i g g i n g — s p l i c i n g a c a b l e — t h e sleepylooking b l a c k s p e r f o r m i n g the inferior function of holding the outer p a r t s of the ropes for h i m . U p o n C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s a p p r o a c h , the m a n at o n c e h u n g his h e a d below its previous level; the o n e n e c e s s a r y for b u s i n e s s . It a p p e a r e d a s if h e desired to be thought a b s o r b e d , with m o r e than c o m m o n fidelity, in his task. B e i n g a d d r e s s e d , he g l a n c e d u p , but with what s e e m e d a furtive, diffident air, which sat strangely e n o u g h on his w e a t h e r - b e a t e n visage, m u c h a s if a grizzly bear, instead of growling a n d biting, s h o u l d s i m p e r a n d c a s t s h e e p ' s eyes. H e w a s a s k e d several q u e s t i o n s c o n c e r n i n g the voyage, q u e s t i o n s p u r p o s e l y referring to several p a r t i c u l a r s in D o n Benito's narrative, not previously c o r r o b o r a t e d by t h o s e impulsive cries greeting the visitor on first c o m i n g on b o a r d . T h e q u e s t i o n s were briefly a n s w e r e d , c o n f i r m i n g all that r e m a i n e d to be c o n firmed of the story. T h e n e g r o e s a b o u t the w i n d l a s s j o i n e d in with the old sailor, b u t , a s they b e c a m e talkative, h e by d e g r e e s b e c a m e m u t e , a n d at length quite g l u m , s e e m e d m o r o s e l y unwilling to a n s w e r m o r e q u e s t i o n s , a n d yet, all the while, this ursine air w a s s o m e h o w mixed with his s h e e p i s h one. D e s p a i r i n g of getting into u n e m b a r r a s s e d talk with s u c h a c e n t a u r , C a p tain D e l a n o , after g l a n c i n g r o u n d for a m o r e p r o m i s i n g c o u n t e n a n c e , but s e e i n g n o n e , s p o k e pleasantly to the b l a c k s to m a k e way for him; a n d s o , amid various grins a n d g r i m a c e s , r e t u r n e d to the p o o p , feeling a little s t r a n g e at first, h e c o u l d hardly tell why, but u p o n the w h o l e with r e g a i n e d confid e n c e in B e n i t o C e r e n o . H o w plainly, thought h e , did that old w h i s k e r a n d o yonder betray a c o n s c i o u s n e s s of ill-desert. N o d o u b t , w h e n h e s a w m e c o m i n g , h e d r e a d e d lest I, a p p r i s e d by his C a p t a i n of the crew's general m i s b e h a v i o r , c a m e with s h a r p words for him, a n d s o d o w n with his h e a d . A n d y e t — a n d yet, n o w that I think of it, that very old fellow, if I err not, w a s o n e of t h o s e w h o s e e m e d so earnestly eying m e here awhile s i n c e . Ah, t h e s e c u r r e n t s spin one's h e a d r o u n d a l m o s t a s m u c h a s they do the s h i p . H a , t h e r e now's a p l e a s a n t sort of s u n n y sight; q u i t e s o c i a b l e , too. His attention h a d b e e n drawn to a s l u m b e r i n g n e g r e s s , partly d i s c l o s e d t h r o u g h the lace-work of s o m e rigging, lying, with youthful limbs carelessly d i s p o s e d , u n d e r the lee of the b u l w a r k s , like a d o e in the s h a d e of a w o o d l a n d rock. S p r a w l i n g at her lapped b r e a s t s w a s her wide-awake fawn, s t a r k n a k e d ,

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its black little body half lifted from the deck, c r o s s w i s e with its d a m ' s ; its h a n d s , like two p a w s , c l a m b e r i n g u p o n her; its m o u t h a n d n o s e ineffectually rooting to get at the mark; a n d m e a n t i m e giving a vexatious half-grunt, blending with the c o m p o s e d s n o r e of the n e g r e s s . T h e u n c o m m o n vigor of the child at length r o u s e d the m o t h e r . S h e started u p , at d i s t a n c e f a c i n g C a p t a i n D e l a n o . B u t a s if not at all c o n c e r n e d at the attitude in which s h e h a d b e e n c a u g h t , delightedly s h e c a u g h t the child u p , with m a t e r n a l t r a n s p o r t s , covering it with k i s s e s . T h e r e ' s n a k e d n a t u r e , now; p u r e t e n d e r n e s s a n d love, t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o , well p l e a s e d . T h i s incident p r o m p t e d him to r e m a r k the other n e g r e s s e s m o r e particularly than before. H e w a s gratified with their m a n n e r s ; like m o s t uncivilized w o m e n , they s e e m e d at o n c e tender of heart a n d t o u g h of c o n s t i t u t i o n ; equally ready to die for their infants or fight for t h e m . U n s o p h i s t i c a t e d a s l e o p a r d e s s e s ; loving a s d o v e s . Ah! thought C a p t a i n D e l a n o , t h e s e p e r h a p s are s o m e of the very w o m e n w h o m L e d y a r d 2 s a w in Africa, a n d gave s u c h a noble a c c o u n t of. T h e s e natural sights s o m e h o w insensibly d e e p e n e d his c o n f i d e n c e a n d e a s e . At last he looked to s e e how his boat w a s getting on; but it w a s still pretty r e m o t e . H e turned to s e e if D o n B e n i t o h a d r e t u r n e d ; but he h a d not. T o c h a n g e the s c e n e , a s well a s to p l e a s e h i m s e l f with a leisurely observation of the c o m i n g boat, s t e p p i n g over into the mizzen-chains h e c l a m b e r e d his way into the s t a r b o a r d quarter-gallery; 3 o n e of t h o s e a b a n d o n e d V e n e t i a n looking water-balconies previously m e n t i o n e d ; retreats c u t off from the d e c k . As his foot p r e s s e d the h a l f - d a m p , half-dry s e a - m o s s e s m a t t i n g the p l a c e , a n d a c h a n c e p h a n t o m c a t s - p a w — a n islet of breeze, u n h e r a l d e d , unfoll o w e d — a s this ghostly c a t s - p a w c a m e f a n n i n g his c h e e k , as his g l a n c e fell upon the row of s m a l l , r o u n d dead-lights, all c l o s e d like c o p p e r e d eyes of the coffined, a n d the state-cabin door, o n c e c o n n e c t i n g with the gallery, even a s the dead-lights had o n c e looked out u p o n it, but n o w calked fast like a sarc o p h a g u s lid, to a purple-black, tarred-over p a n e l , t h r e s h o l d , a n d p o s t ; a n d he b e t h o u g h t him of the t i m e , when that state-cabin a n d this s t a t e - b a l c o n y had h e a r d the voices of the S p a n i s h king's officers, a n d the f o r m s of the L i m a viceroy's d a u g h t e r s h a d p e r h a p s leaned w h e r e he s t o o d — a s t h e s e a n d other i m a g e s flitted through his m i n d , as the c a t s - p a w through the c a l m , gradually he felt rising a d r e a m y i n q u i e t u d e , like that of o n e w h o a l o n e on the prairie feels u n r e s t from the r e p o s e of the n o o n . H e leaned a g a i n s t the carved b a l u s t r a d e , again looking off toward his boat; but found his eye falling upon the ribboned g r a s s , trailing a l o n g the ship's water-line, straight a s a border of green box; a n d p a r t e r r e s 4 of s e a - w e e d , broad ovals a n d c r e s c e n t s , floating nigh a n d far, with what s e e m e d long formal alleys b e t w e e n , c r o s s i n g the terraces of swells, a n d s w e e p i n g r o u n d as if leading to the grottoes below. And o v e r h a n g i n g all w a s the b a l u s t r a d e by his a r m , w h i c h , partly stained with pitch a n d partly e m b o s s e d with m o s s , 2 . J o h n L e d y a r d (1 7 5 1 - 1 7 8 9 ) , A m e r i c a n t r a v e l e r , w h o s e c o m m e n t a p p e a r e d in Proceedings of the Association for Promoting the Discovery of the Interior Parts of Africa ( 1 7 9 0 ) . Melville b e c a m e confused b e c a u s e the Scottish traveler M u n g o Park q u o t e d t h i s p a s s a g e f r o m L e d y a r d in h i s Travels in the Interior of Africa. T h e P u t n a m ' s version of

Benito Cereno m i s c r e d i t s this q u o t a t i o n to Park, b u t L e d y a r d ' s n a m e is p r o p e r l y s u b s t i t u t e d in The Piazza Tales. 3. B a l c o n y p r o j e c t i n g f r o m t h e after part o f a v e s sel's sides. 4. O r n a m e n t a l a r r a n g e m e n t s , as of flower beds.

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s e e m e d the c h a r r e d ruin of s o m e s u m m e r - h o u s e in a g r a n d g a r d e n long r u n n i n g to w a s t e . Trying to b r e a k o n e c h a r m , he w a s but b e c h a r m e d a n e w . T h o u g h u p o n the wide s e a , h e s e e m e d in s o m e far inland country; p r i s o n e r in s o m e d e s e r t e d c h a t e a u , left to s t a r e at e m p t y g r o u n d s , a n d p e e r out at v a g u e r o a d s , where never w a g o n or wayfarer p a s s e d . B u t t h e s e e n c h a n t m e n t s were a little d i s e n c h a n t e d a s his eye fell on the c o r r o d e d m a i n - c h a i n s . O f an a n c i e n t style, m a s s y a n d rusty in link, s h a c k l e a n d bolt, they s e e m e d even m o r e fit for the ship's p r e s e n t b u s i n e s s than the o n e for which s h e h a d b e e n built. Presently h e t h o u g h t s o m e t h i n g m o v e d nigh the c h a i n s . H e r u b b e d his eyes, a n d looked hard. G r o v e s of rigging were a b o u t the c h a i n s ; a n d there, p e e r i n g from b e h i n d a great stay, like an Indian from b e h i n d a h e m l o c k , a S p a n i s h sailor, a m a r l i n g s p i k e in his h a n d , w a s s e e n , w h o m a d e w h a t s e e m e d an imperfect g e s t u r e towards the balcony, but i m m e d i a t e l y , as if a l a r m e d by s o m e a d v a n c i n g s t e p a l o n g the d e c k within, v a n i s h e d into the r e c e s s e s of the h e m p e n forest, like a p o a c h e r . W h a t m e a n t this? S o m e t h i n g the m a n h a d s o u g h t to c o m m u n i c a t e , u n b e known to any o n e , even to his c a p t a i n . Did the secret involve a u g h t unfavorable to his c a p t a i n ? W e r e t h o s e p r e v i o u s misgivings of C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s a b o u t to be verified? Or, in his h a u n t e d m o o d at the m o m e n t , h a d s o m e r a n d o m , unintentional m o t i o n of the m a n , while b u s y with the stay, as if repairing it, b e e n m i s t a k e n for a significant b e c k o n i n g ? N o t u n b e w i l d e r e d , again he gazed off for his b o a t . B u t it w a s temporarily h i d d e n by a rocky s p u r of the isle. As with s o m e e a g e r n e s s he bent forward, w a t c h i n g for the first s h o o t i n g view of its beak, the b a l u s t r a d e gave way before him like c h a r c o a l . H a d he not c l u t c h e d a n o u t r e a c h i n g rope he w o u l d have fallen into the s e a . T h e c r a s h , t h o u g h f e e b l e , a n d the fall, t h o u g h hollow, of the rotten f r a g m e n t s , m u s t have b e e n overheard. H e g l a n c e d u p . W i t h s o b e r curiosity p e e r i n g d o w n u p o n him w a s o n e of the old o a k u m - p i c k e r s , slipped from his p e r c h to an o u t s i d e b o o m ; while below the old n e g r o , a n d , invisible to h i m , r e c o n n o i t e r i n g from a port-hole like a fox from the m o u t h of its d e n , c r o u c h e d the S p a n i s h sailor a g a i n . F r o m s o m e t h i n g s u d d e n l y s u g g e s t e d by the m a n ' s air, the m a d idea now d a r t e d into C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s m i n d , that D o n Benito's p l e a of indisposition, in withdrawing below, w a s but a p r e t e n s e : that h e w a s e n g a g e d there m a t u r i n g his plot, of which the sailor, by s o m e m e a n s g a i n i n g a n inkling, h a d a m i n d to warn the s t r a n g e r a g a i n s t ; incited, it m a y b e , by gratitude for a kind word on first b o a r d i n g the ship. W a s it from f o r e s e e i n g s o m e p o s s i b l e i n t e r f e r e n c e like this, that D o n B e n i t o h a d , b e f o r e h a n d , given s u c h a b a d c h a r a c t e r of his sailors, while p r a i s i n g the n e g r o e s ; t h o u g h , i n d e e d , the former s e e m e d a s docile a s the latter the contrary? T h e w h i t e s , too, by n a t u r e , were the s h r e w d e r r a c e . A m a n with s o m e evil d e s i g n , w o u l d he not be likely to s p e a k well of that stupidity w h i c h w a s blind to his depravity, a n d malign that intelligence from w h i c h it might not b e h i d d e n ? N o t unlikely, p e r h a p s . B u t if the whites h a d dark s e c r e t s c o n c e r n i n g D o n B e n i t o , c o u l d then D o n B e n i t o be any way in c o m p l i c i t y with the b l a c k s ? B u t they were too s t u p i d . B e s i d e s , w h o ever h e a r d of a white s o far a r e n e g a d e a s to apostatize' 5 from his very s p e c i e s a l m o s t , by l e a g u i n g in 5. T o d e n y o r r e n o u n c e ( s a i d o f r e l i g i o u s f a i t h ) .

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a g a i n s t it with n e g r o e s ? T h e s e difficulties recalled f o r m e r o n e s . L o s t in their m a z e s , C a p t a i n D e l a n o , w h o h a d now regained the d e c k , w a s uneasily a d v a n c i n g a l o n g it, w h e n he observed a new f a c e ; a n a g e d sailor s e a t e d c r o s s legged n e a r the m a i n hatchway. His skin was s h r u n k u p with wrinkles like a pelican's e m p t y p o u c h ; his hair frosted; his c o u n t e n a n c e grave a n d c o m p o s e d . H i s h a n d s were full of r o p e s , which he w a s working into a large knot. S o m e blacks were a b o u t him obligingly dipping the s t r a n d s for him, here a n d there, a s the exigencies of the operation d e m a n d e d . C a p t a i n D e l a n o c r o s s e d over to him, a n d stood in s i l e n c e surveying the knot; his m i n d , by a not u n c o n g e n i a l transition, p a s s i n g from its own e n t a n g l e m e n t s to t h o s e of the h e m p . F o r intricacy s u c h a knot h e h a d never s e e n in a n A m e r i c a n ship, or i n d e e d any other. T h e old m a n looked like a n Egyptian priest, m a k i n g gordian knots for the t e m p l e of A m m o n . 6 T h e knot s e e m e d a c o m b i n a t i o n of double-bowline-knot, treble-crown-knot, backhanded-well-knot, knot-in-and-out-knot, a n d j a m m i n g - k n o t . At last, puzzled to c o m p r e h e n d the m e a n i n g of s u c h a knot, C a p t a i n D e l a n o a d d r e s s e d the k n o t t e r : — " W h a t are you knotting there, my m a n ? " " T h e k n o t , " w a s the brief reply, without looking u p . " S o it s e e m s ; but what is it f o r ? " " F o r s o m e o n e else to u n d o , " m u t t e r e d b a c k the old m a n , plying his fingers harder than ever, the knot b e i n g now nearly c o m p l e t e d . While C a p t a i n D e l a n o s t o o d w a t c h i n g him, s u d d e n l y the old m a n threw the knot towards him, saying in broken E n g l i s h , — t h e first heard in the s h i p , — s o m e t h i n g to this e f f e c t — " U n d o it, c u t it, q u i c k . " It w a s said lowly, but with s u c h c o n d e n s a t i o n of rapidity, that the long, slow w o r d s in S p a n i s h , which h a d p r e c e d e d a n d followed, a l m o s t o p e r a t e d a s covers to the brief English between. F o r a m o m e n t , knot in h a n d , a n d knot in h e a d , C a p t a i n D e l a n o s t o o d m u t e ; while, without further h e e d i n g him, the old m a n w a s now intent u p o n other r o p e s . Presently there w a s a slight stir b e h i n d C a p t a i n D e l a n o . T u r n ing, h e s a w the c h a i n e d n e g r o , Atufal, s t a n d i n g quietly t h e r e . T h e next m o m e n t the old sailor r o s e , m u t t e r i n g , a n d , followed by his s u b o r d i n a t e n e g r o e s , removed to the forward part of the s h i p , where in the crowd h e disappeared. An elderly n e g r o , in a c l o u t like a n infant's, a n d with a p e p p e r a n d salt h e a d , a n d a kind of attorney air, now a p p r o a c h e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o . In tolerable S p a n i s h , a n d with a g o o d - n a t u r e d , knowing wink, h e i n f o r m e d him that the old knotter w a s simple-witted, but h a r m l e s s ; often playing his o d d tricks. T h e negro c o n c l u d e d by b e g g i n g the knot, for of c o u r s e the s t r a n g e r would not c a r e to be troubled with it. U n c o n s c i o u s l y , it w a s h a n d e d to h i m . With a sort of c o n g e , 7 the n e g r o received it, a n d turning his back, ferreted into it like a detective C u s t o m H o u s e officer after s m u g g l e d l a c e s . S o o n , with s o m e African word, e q u i v a l e n t to p s h a w , he t o s s e d the knot o v e r b o a r d . All this is very q u e e r now, t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o , with a q u a l m i s h sort of e m o t i o n ; but a s o n e feeling incipient s e a - s i c k n e s s , h e strove, by ignoring 6. In E g y p t t h e o r a c l e o f J u p i t e r A m m o n p r e d i c t e d to Alexander the Great that he would c o n q u e r the w o r l d . L a t e r in P h r y g i a ( i n n o r t h - c e n t r a l A s i a Minor), where the former King G o r d i u s had fore-

told that w h o e v e r w o u l d untie his intricate knot would b e c o m e m a s t e r of Asia, Alexander cut the knot with his s w o r d . 7. L e a v e t a k i n g , s i g n a l e d by a low b o w .

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the s y m p t o m s , to get rid of the malady. O n c e m o r e h e looked off for his b o a t . T o his delight, it w a s now again in view, leaving the rocky s p u r a s t e r n . T h e s e n s a t i o n here e x p e r i e n c e d , after at first relieving his u n e a s i n e s s , with u n f o r e s e e n efficacy, s o o n b e g a n to r e m o v e it. T h e less d i s t a n t sight of that well-known b o a t — s h o w i n g it, not a s b e f o r e , half b l e n d e d with the h a z e , b u t with outline defined, so that its individuality, like a m a n ' s , w a s m a n i f e s t ; that boat, Rover by n a m e , w h i c h , t h o u g h now in s t r a n g e s e a s , h a d often p r e s s e d the b e a c h of C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s h o m e , a n d , b r o u g h t to its threshold for repairs, h a d familiarly lain there, a s a N e w f o u n d l a n d d o g ; the sight of that h o u s e h o l d boat evoked a t h o u s a n d trustful a s s o c i a t i o n s , w h i c h , c o n t r a s t e d with previous s u s p i c i o n s , filled him not only with l i g h t s o m e c o n f i d e n c e , b u t s o m e h o w with half h u m o r o u s s e l f - r e p r o a c h e s at his former lack of it. " W h a t , I, A m a s a D e l a n o — J a c k of the B e a c h , a s they called m e w h e n a l a d — I , A m a s a ; the s a m e that, d u c k - s a t c h e l in h a n d , u s e d to p a d d l e a l o n g the w a t e r s i d e to the s c h o o l - h o u s e m a d e from the old h u l k ; — I , little J a c k of the B e a c h , that u s e d to go berrying with c o u s i n N a t a n d the rest; I to be m u r d e r e d here at the e n d s of the e a r t h , on b o a r d a h a u n t e d pirate-ship by a horrible S p a n i a r d ? — T o o n o n s e n s i c a l to think of! W h o would m u r d e r A m a s a D e l a n o ? H i s c o n s c i e n c e is c l e a n . T h e r e is s o m e o n e a b o v e . F i e , fie, J a c k of the B e a c h ! you are a child i n d e e d ; a child of the s e c o n d c h i l d h o o d , old boy; you are b e g i n n i n g to d o t e a n d drule, I'm a f r a i d . " Light of heart a n d foot, h e s t e p p e d aft, a n d there w a s m e t by D o n Benito's servant, w h o , with a p l e a s i n g e x p r e s s i o n , r e s p o n s i v e to his own p r e s e n t feelings, informed him that his m a s t e r had recovered from the effects of his c o u g h i n g fit, a n d h a d j u s t ordered him to go p r e s e n t his c o m p l i m e n t s to his good g u e s t , D o n A m a s a , a n d say that he ( D o n B e n i t o ) would s o o n have the h a p p i n e s s to rejoin him. T h e r e now, do you m a r k that? again thought C a p t a i n D e l a n o , walking the p o o p . W h a t a donkey I w a s . T h i s kind g e n t l e m a n w h o here s e n d s m e his kind c o m p l i m e n t s , h e , but ten m i n u t e s a g o , dark-lantern in h a n d , w a s dodging r o u n d s o m e old grind-stone in the hold, s h a r p e n i n g a h a t c h e t for m e , I thought. Well, well; t h e s e long c a l m s have a m o r b i d effect on the m i n d , I've often h e a r d , t h o u g h I never believed it before. H a ! g l a n c i n g towards the boat; there's Rover; g o o d d o g ; a white b o n e in her m o u t h . A pretty big b o n e t h o u g h , s e e m s to m e . — W h a t ? Yes, s h e h a s fallen afoul of the b u b b l i n g tide-rip there. It sets her the other way, too, for the t i m e . P a t i e n c e . It w a s now a b o u t n o o n , t h o u g h , from the g r a y n e s s of everything, it s e e m e d to be getting towards d u s k . T h e c a l m w a s c o n f i r m e d . In the far d i s t a n c e , away from the influence of land, the l e a d e n o c e a n s e e m e d laid out a n d l e a d e d u p , its c o u r s e finished, soul g o n e , d e f u n c t . Rut the c u r r e n t from l a n d w a r d , w h e r e the ship w a s , i n c r e a s e d ; silently s w e e p i n g her further a n d further towards the t r a n c e d waters beyond. Still, from his k n o w l e d g e of t h o s e latitudes, c h e r i s h i n g h o p e s of a b r e e z e , a n d a fair a n d fresh o n e , at any m o m e n t , C a p t a i n D e l a n o , d e s p i t e p r e s e n t p r o s p e c t s , buoyantly c o u n t e d u p o n bringing the S a n D o m i n i c k safely to a n c h o r ere night. T h e d i s t a n c e swept over w a s nothing; s i n c e , with a g o o d wind, ten m i n u t e s ' sailing would r e t r a c e m o r e than sixty m i n u t e s ' drifting. M e a n t i m e , o n e m o m e n t t u r n i n g to m a r k " R o v e r " fighting the tide-rip, a n d the next to s e e D o n B e n i t o a p p r o a c h i n g , he c o n t i n u e d walking the p o o p .

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G r a d u a l l y he felt a vexation arising from the delay of his b o a t ; this s o o n m e r g e d into u n e a s i n e s s ; a n d at last, his eye falling continually, a s from a stage-box into the pit, u p o n the s t r a n g e crowd before a n d b e l o w h i m , a n d by a n d by r e c o g n i s i n g there the f a c e — n o w c o m p o s e d to i n d i f f e r e n c e — o f the S p a n i s h sailor w h o h a d s e e m e d to b e c k o n from the m a i n c h a i n s , s o m e t h i n g of his old trepidations returned. Ah, thought h e — g r a v e l y e n o u g h — t h i s is like the a g u e : b e c a u s e it went off, it follows not that it won't c o m e back. T h o u g h a s h a m e d of the r e l a p s e , he c o u l d not altogether s u b d u e it; a n d so, exerting his g o o d n a t u r e to the u t m o s t , insensibly he c a m e to a c o m p r o mise. Yes, this is a s t r a n g e craft; a s t r a n g e history, too, a n d s t r a n g e folks on board. But—nothing more. By way of keeping his mind out of m i s c h i e f till the boat s h o u l d arrive, h e tried to o c c u p y it with turning over a n d over, in a purely s p e c u l a t i v e sort of way, s o m e lesser peculiarities of the captain a n d crew. A m o n g o t h e r s , four c u r i o u s points recurred. First, the affair of the S p a n i s h lad a s s a i l e d with a knife by the slave boy; an act winked at by D o n B e n i t o . S e c o n d , the tyranny in D o n Benito's treatm e n t of Atufal, the black; a s if a child s h o u l d lead a bull of the Nile by the ring in his n o s e . T h i r d , the t r a m p l i n g of the sailor by the two n e g r o e s ; a p i e c e of i n s o l e n c e p a s s e d over without so m u c h a s a r e p r i m a n d . F o u r t h , the cringing s u b m i s s i o n to their m a s t e r of all the ship's u n d e r l i n g s , mostly b l a c k s ; a s if by the least inadvertence they feared to draw d o w n his d e s p o t i c displeasure. C o u p l i n g t h e s e p o i n t s , they s e e m e d s o m e w h a t contradictory. B u t what then, thought C a p t a i n D e l a n o , g l a n c i n g towards his now n e a r i n g b o a t , — what then? Why, D o n B e n i t o is a very c a p r i c i o u s c o m m a n d e r . B u t he is not the first of the sort 1 have s e e n ; though it's true he rather e x c e e d s any other. B u t a s a n a t i o n — c o n t i n u e d he in his r e v e r i e s — t h e s e S p a n i a r d s are all an o d d set; the very word S p a n i a r d has a c u r i o u s , c o n s p i r a t o r , G u y - F a w k i s h K twang to it. A n d yet, I d a r t say, S p a n i a r d s in the main a r e a s g o o d folks a s any in Duxbury, M a s s a c h u s e t t s . Ah g o o d ! At last " R o v e r " has c o m e . A s , with its w e l c o m e freight, the boat t o u c h e d the s i d e , the o a k u m - p i c k e r s , with venerable g e s t u r e s , s o u g h t to restrain the b l a c k s , w h o , at the sight of three gurried" w a t e r - c a s k s in its b o t t o m , a n d a pile of wilted p u m p k i n s in its bow, h u n g over the bulwarks in disorderly r a p t u r e s . D o n B e n i t o with his servant now a p p e a r e d ; his c o m i n g , p e r h a p s , h a s t e n e d by hearing the n o i s e . O f him C a p t a i n D e l a n o s o u g h t p e r m i s s i o n to serve out the water, so that all might s h a r e alike, a n d n o n e injure t h e m s e l v e s by unfair e x c e s s . B u t s e n s i b l e , a n d , on D o n Benito's a c c o u n t , kind a s this offer w a s , it w a s received with what s e e m e d i m p a t i e n c e ; a s if a w a r e that he lacked energy a s a c o m m a n d e r ; D o n B e n i t o , with the true j e a l o u s y of w e a k n e s s , r e s e n t e d a s an affront any interference. S o , at least, C a p t a i n D e l a n o inferred. In a n o t h e r m o m e n t the c a s k s were b e i n g hoisted in, w h e n s o m e of the eager negroes accidentally j o s t l e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o , w h e r e he s t o o d by the gangway; so that, unmindful of D o n B e n i t o , yielding to the i m p u l s e of the 8. G u y F a w k e s (I 5 7 0 - 1 6 0 6 ) . C a t h o l i c c o n s p i r a tor e x e c u t e d for p l o t t i n g to b l o w u p t h e H o u s e o f

Lords. 9 . C o a t e d w i t h s l i m e , f r o m " g u r r y , " fish offal.

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m o m e n t , with g o o d - n a t u r e d authority he b a d e the b l a c k s s t a n d b a c k ; to e n f o r c e his w o r d s m a k i n g u s e of a half-mirthful, h a l f - m e n a c i n g g e s t u r e . Instantly the b l a c k s p a u s e d , j u s t w h e r e they were, e a c h negro a n d n e g r e s s s u s p e n d e d in his or her p o s t u r e , exactly a s the word h a d f o u n d t h e m — f o r a few s e c o n d s c o n t i n u i n g s o — w h i l e , a s b e t w e e n the r e s p o n s i v e p o s t s of a teleg r a p h , a n u n k n o w n syllable ran from m a n to m a n a m o n g the p e r c h e d o a k u m pickers. W h i l e the visitor's attention w a s fixed by this s c e n e , s u d d e n l y the hatchet-polishers half r o s e , a n d a rapid cry c a m e from D o n B e n i t o . T h i n k i n g that at the signal of the S p a n i a r d h e w a s a b o u t to b e m a s s a c r e d , C a p t a i n D e l a n o would have s p r u n g for his boat, but p a u s e d , a s the o a k u m pickers, d r o p p i n g d o w n into the crowd with e a r n e s t e x c l a m a t i o n s , f o r c e d every white a n d every n e g r o b a c k , at the s a m e m o m e n t , with g e s t u r e s friendly a n d familiar, a l m o s t j o c o s e , b i d d i n g h i m , in s u b s t a n c e , not be a fool. S i m u l taneously the h a t c h e t - p o l i s h e r s r e s u m e d their s e a t s , quietly a s s o m a n y tailors, a n d at o n c e , a s if n o t h i n g h a d h a p p e n e d , the work of hoisting in the c a s k s w a s r e s u m e d , whites a n d b l a c k s s i n g i n g at the t a c k l e . C a p t a i n D e l a n o g l a n c e d towards D o n B e n i t o . As h e s a w his m e a g e r form in the act of recovering itself from reclining in the servant's a r m s , into which the agitated invalid h a d fallen, he c o u l d not but marvel at the p a n i c by which himself h a d b e e n s u r p r i s e d on the d a r t i n g s u p p o s i t i o n that s u c h a c o m m a n d e r , w h o u p o n a legitimate o c c a s i o n , s o trivial, t o o , a s it n o w a p p e a r e d , c o u l d lose all s e l f - c o m m a n d , w a s , with e n e r g e t i c iniquity, g o i n g to bring a b o u t his m u r d e r . T h e c a s k s b e i n g on d e c k , C a p t a i n D e l a n o w a s h a n d e d a n u m b e r of j a r s a n d c u p s by o n e of the steward's a i d s , w h o , in the n a m e of his c a p t a i n , e n t r e a t e d him to d o as he h a d p r o p o s e d : d o l e o u t the water. H e c o m p l i e d , with r e p u b l i c a n impartiality a s to this r e p u b l i c a n e l e m e n t , which always s e e k s o n e level, serving the oldest white n o better t h a n the y o u n g e s t black; excepting, i n d e e d , poor D o n B e n i t o , w h o s e c o n d i t i o n , if not rank, d e m a n d e d an extra a l l o w a n c e . T o him, in the first p l a c e , C a p t a i n D e l a n o p r e s e n t e d a fair pitcher of the fluid; b u t , thirsting a s h e w a s for it, the S p a n i a r d q u a f f e d not a drop until after several grave b o w s a n d s a l u t e s . A r e c i p r o c a t i o n of c o u r t e s i e s which the sight-loving Africans hailed with c l a p p i n g of h a n d s . T w o of the less wilted p u m p k i n s b e i n g reserved for the c a b i n t a b l e , the r e s i d u e were m i n c e d u p on the spot for the g e n e r a l r e g a l e m e n t . B u t the soft b r e a d , s u g a r , a n d bottled cider, C a p t a i n D e l a n o w o u l d have given the whites a l o n e , a n d in c h i e f D o n B e n i t o ; but the latter o b j e c t e d ; w h i c h disintereste d n e s s not a little p l e a s e d the A m e r i c a n ; a n d s o m o u t h f u l s all a r o u n d were given alike to whites a n d b l a c k s ; e x c e p t i n g o n e bottle of cider, w h i c h B a b o insisted u p o n setting a s i d e for his m a s t e r . H e r e it m a y be o b s e r v e d that a s , on the first visit of the b o a t , the A m e r i c a n h a d not p e r m i t t e d his m e n to b o a r d the s h i p , neither did h e now; b e i n g unwilling to a d d to the c o n f u s i o n of the d e c k s . N o t u n i n f l u e n c e d by the p e c u l i a r g o o d h u m o r at p r e s e n t prevailing, a n d for the time oblivious of any b u t b e n e v o l e n t t h o u g h t s , C a p t a i n D e l a n o , w h o from r e c e n t indications c o u n t e d u p o n a b r e e z e within a n h o u r or two at furthest, d i s p a t c h e d the b o a t b a c k to the sealer with o r d e r s for all the h a n d s that c o u l d be s p a r e d i m m e d i a t e l y to set a b o u t rafting c a s k s to the wateringp l a c e a n d filling t h e m . L i k e w i s e he b a d e w o r d be carried to his c h i e f officer, that if a g a i n s t p r e s e n t expectation the ship w a s not b r o u g h t to a n c h o r by s u n s e t , h e n e e d be u n d e r no c o n c e r n , for a s there w a s to be a full m o o n that

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night, he ( C a p t a i n D e l a n o ) would remain on b o a r d ready to play the pilot, c o m e the wind s o o n or late. As the two C a p t a i n s s t o o d together, observing the d e p a r t i n g b o a t — t h e servant a s it h a p p e n e d having j u s t spied a spot on his m a s t e r ' s velvet sleeve, a n d silently e n g a g e d r u b b i n g it o u t — t h e A m e r i c a n e x p r e s s e d his regrets that the S a n D o m i n i c k h a d no b o a t s ; n o n e , at least, but the u n s e a w o r t h y old hulk of the long-boat, w h i c h , w a r p e d a s a c a m e l ' s skeleton in the d e s e r t , a n d almost a s b l e a c h e d , lay pot-wise inverted a m i d s h i p s , o n e side a little tipped, furnishing a s u b t e r r a n e o u s sort of d e n for family g r o u p s of the b l a c k s , mostly w o m e n a n d small children; w h o , s q u a t t i n g on old m a t s below, or p e r c h e d above in the dark d o m e , on the elevated s e a t s , were d e s c r i e d , s o m e d i s t a n c e within, like a social circle of b a t s , sheltering in s o m e friendly c a v e ; at intervals, e b o n flights of n a k e d boys a n d girls, three or four years old, d a r t i n g in a n d o u t of the den's m o u t h . " H a d you three or four b o a t s now, D o n B e n i t o , " said C a p t a i n D e l a n o , "I think that, by t u g g i n g at the o a r s , your n e g r o e s here might help a l o n g m a t t e r s s o m e . — D i d you sail from port without b o a t s , D o n B e n i t o ? " " T h e y were stove in the g a l e s , S e n o r . " " T h a t w a s b a d . M a n y m e n , too, you lost then. B o a t s a n d m e n . — T h o s e m u s t have b e e n hard g a l e s , D o n B e n i t o . " " P a s t all s p e e c h , " c r i n g e d the S p a n i a r d . "Tell m e , D o n B e n i t o , " c o n t i n u e d his c o m p a n i o n with i n c r e a s e d interest, "tell m e , were t h e s e gales i m m e d i a t e l y off the p i t c h of C a p e H o r n ? " " C a p e H o r n ? — w h o s p o k e of C a p e H o r n ? " "Yourself did, w h e n giving m e a n a c c o u n t of your v o y a g e , " a n s w e r e d C a p tain D e l a n o with a l m o s t e q u a l a s t o n i s h m e n t at this e a t i n g of his own w o r d s , even a s h e ever s e e m e d eating his own heart, on the part of the S p a n i a r d . "You yourself, D o n B e n i t o , s p o k e of C a p e H o r n , " h e e m p h a t i c a l l y r e p e a t e d . T h e S p a n i a r d t u r n e d , in a sort of s t o o p i n g p o s t u r e , p a u s i n g a n instant, a s o n e a b o u t to m a k e a p l u n g i n g e x c h a n g e of e l e m e n t s , a s from air to water. At this m o m e n t a m e s s e n g e r - b o y , a white, hurried by, in the regular perf o r m a n c e of his function carrying the last expired half h o u r forward to the forecastle, from the c a b i n t i m e - p i e c e , to have it s t r u c k at the ship's large bell. " M a s t e r , " said the servant, d i s c o n t i n u i n g his work on the c o a t sleeve, a n d a d d r e s s i n g the rapt S p a n i a r d with a sort of timid a p p r e h e n s i v e n e s s , a s o n e c h a r g e d with a duty, the d i s c h a r g e of w h i c h , it w a s f o r e s e e n , w o u l d prove irksome to the very p e r s o n w h o h a d i m p o s e d it, a n d for w h o s e benefit it w a s intended, " m a s t e r told m e never m i n d w h e r e h e w a s , or how e n g a g e d , always to r e m i n d h i m , to a m i n u t e , w h e n shaving-time c o m e s . M i g u e l h a s g o n e to strike the half-hour a f t e r n o o n . It is now, m a s t e r . Will m a s t e r g o into the cuddy?" " A h — y e s , " a n s w e r e d the S p a n i a r d , starting, s o m e w h a t a s from d r e a m s into realities; then turning u p o n C a p t a i n D e l a n o , h e s a i d that ere long he would r e s u m e the c o n v e r s a t i o n . " T h e n if m a s t e r m e a n s to talk m o r e to D o n A m a s a , " said the servant, "why not let D o n A m a s a sit by m a s t e r in the cuddy, a n d m a s t e r c a n talk, a n d D o n A m a s a c a n listen, while B a b o here lathers a n d s t r o p s . " " Y e s , " said C a p t a i n D e l a n o , not u n p l e a s e d with this s o c i a b l e p l a n , " y e s , D o n B e n i t o , u n l e s s you h a d rather not, I will go with y o u . " " B e it s o , S e n o r . "

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As the three p a s s e d aft, the A m e r i c a n c o u l d not but think it a n o t h e r s t r a n g e i n s t a n c e of his host's c a p r i c i o u s n e s s , this b e i n g s h a v e d with s u c h u n c o m m o n punctuality in the m i d d l e of the day. B u t h e d e e m e d it m o r e than likely that the servant's anxious fidelity h a d s o m e t h i n g to d o with the m a t t e r ; i n a s m u c h a s the timely interruption served to rally his m a s t e r from the m o o d which h a d evidently b e e n c o m i n g u p o n h i m . T h e p l a c e called the c u d d y w a s a light deck-cabin f o r m e d by the p o o p , a sort of attic to the large c a b i n below. Part of it had formerly b e e n the q u a r t e r s of the officers; b u t s i n c e their d e a t h all the partitionings h a d b e e n thrown d o w n , a n d the whole interior converted into o n e s p a c i o u s a n d airy m a r i n e hall; for a b s e n c e of fine furniture a n d p i c t u r e s q u e disarray, of o d d a p p u r t e n a n c e s , s o m e w h a t a n s w e r i n g to the w i d e , cluttered hall of s o m e e c c e n t r i c b a c h e l o r - s q u i r e in the country, who h a n g s his shooting-jacket a n d t o b a c c o p o u c h on d e e r antlers, a n d k e e p s his fishing-rod, t o n g s , a n d walking-stick in the s a m e corner. T h e similitude w a s h i g h t e n e d , if not originally s u g g e s t e d , by g l i m p s e s of the s u r r o u n d i n g s e a ; s i n c e , in o n e a s p e c t , the country a n d the o c e a n s e e m cousins-german. T h e floor of the c u d d y w a s m a t t e d . O v e r h e a d , four or five old m u s k e t s were s t u c k into horizontal holes a l o n g the b e a m s . O n o n e side w a s a clawfooted old table l a s h e d to the d e c k ; a t h u m b e d m i s s a l on it, a n d over it a small, m e a g e r crucifix a t t a c h e d to the b u l k h e a d . U n d e r the table lay a d e n t e d c u t l a s s or two, with a h a c k e d h a r p o o n , a m o n g s o m e m e l a n c h o l y old rigging; like a h e a p of p o o r friars' girdles. T h e r e were a l s o two long, sharp-ribbed s e t t e e s of m a l a c c a c a n e , black with a g e , a n d u n c o m f o r t a b l e to look at a s inquisitors' r a c k s , with a large, m i s s h a p e n arm-chair, w h i c h , furnished with a r u d e barber's c r u t c h 1 at the b a c k , working with a screw, s e e m e d s o m e g r o t e s q u e e n g i n e of t o r m e n t . A flag locker w a s in o n e c o r n e r , o p e n , e x p o s i n g various colored b u n t i n g , s o m e rolled u p , others half unrolled, still o t h e r s t u m b l e d . O p p o s i t e w a s a c u m b r o u s w a s h s t a n d , of black m a h o g a n y , all of o n e block, with a p e d e s t a l , like a font, a n d over it a railed shelf, c o n t a i n i n g c o m b s , b r u s h e s , a n d other i m p l e m e n t s of the toilet. A torn h a m m o c k of s t a i n e d g r a s s s w u n g near; the s h e e t s t o s s e d , a n d the pillow wrinkled u p like a brow, a s if whoever slept here slept but illy, with a l t e r n a t e visitations of s a d t h o u g h t s a n d bad d r e a m s . T h e further extremity of the c u d d y , o v e r h a n g i n g the ship's s t e r n , w a s pierced with three o p e n i n g s , w i n d o w s or port holes, a c c o r d i n g a s m e n or c a n n o n might peer, socially or unsocially, o u t of t h e m . At p r e s e n t neither m e n nor c a n n o n were s e e n , t h o u g h h u g e ring-bolts a n d other rusty iron fixtures of the wood-work hinted of twenty-four-pounders. G l a n c i n g towards the h a m m o c k a s he e n t e r e d , C a p t a i n D e l a n o s a i d , "You sleep here, Don Benito?" "Yes, S e n o r , s i n c e we got into mild w e a t h e r . " " T h i s s e e m s a sort of dormitory, sitting-room, sail-loft, c h a p e l , armory, a n d private closet all together, D o n B e n i t o , " a d d e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o , looking round. "Yes, S e n o r ; events have not b e e n favorable to m u c h order in my a r r a n g e ments."

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H e r e the servant, napkin on a r m , m a d e a motion as if waiting his m a s t e r ' s good p l e a s u r e . D o n B e n i t o signified his r e a d i n e s s , w h e n , s e a t i n g him in the m a l a c c a arm-chair, a n d for the guest's c o n v e n i e n c e drawing o p p o s i t e it o n e of the s e t t e e s , the servant c o m m e n c e d operations by throwing b a c k his m a s ter's collar a n d l o o s e n i n g his cravat. T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g in the negro w h i c h , in a p e c u l i a r way, fits him for avocations a b o u t one's p e r s o n . M o s t n e g r o e s are n a t u r a l valets a n d haird r e s s e r s ; taking to the c o m b a n d b r u s h congenially a s to the c a s t i n e t s , a n d flourishing t h e m apparently with a l m o s t e q u a l s a t i s f a c t i o n . T h e r e is, too, a s m o o t h tact a b o u t t h e m in this e m p l o y m e n t , with a m a r v e l o u s , n o i s e l e s s , gliding b r i s k n e s s , not ungraceful in its way, singularly p l e a s i n g to b e h o l d , a n d still m o r e so to be the m a n i p u l a t e d s u b j e c t of. A n d a b o v e all is the great gift of g o o d h u m o r . N o t the m e r e grin or l a u g h is here m e a n t . T h o s e were u n s u i t a b l e . B u t a certain easy c h e e r f u l n e s s , h a r m o n i o u s in every g l a n c e a n d g e s t u r e ; as t h o u g h G o d h a d set the whole negro to s o m e p l e a s a n t t u n e . W h e n to all this is a d d e d the docility arising from the u n a s p i r i n g c o n t e n t m e n t of a limited m i n d , a n d that susceptibility of blind a t t a c h m e n t s o m e times inhering in i n d i s p u t a b l e inferiors, o n e readily p e r c e i v e s why t h o s e h y p o c h o n d r i a c s , J o h n s o n a n d B y r o n — i t m a y be s o m e t h i n g like the hypoc h o n d r i a c , B e n i t o C e r e n o — t o o k to their h e a r t s , a l m o s t to the e x c l u s i o n of the entire white r a c e , their serving m e n , the n e g r o e s , B a r b e r a n d F l e t c h e r . 2 B u t if there be that in the n e g r o which e x e m p t s him from the inflicted sourn e s s of the morbid or cynical m i n d , how, in his m o s t p r e p o s s e s s i n g a s p e c t s , m u s t h e a p p e a r to a b e n e v o l e n t o n e ? W h e n at e a s e with r e s p e c t to exterior things, C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s n a t u r e w a s not only b e n i g n , but familiarly a n d h u m o r o u s l y s o . At h o m e , he h a d often taken rare satisfaction in sitting in his door, w a t c h i n g s o m e free m a n of color at his work or play. If on a voyage he c h a n c e d to have a b l a c k sailor, invariably h e w a s on chatty, a n d halfg a m e s o m e terms with h i m . In fact, like m o s t m e n of a g o o d , blithe heart, C a p t a i n D e l a n o took to n e g r o e s , not philanthropically, but genially, j u s t a s other m e n to N e w f o u n d l a n d d o g s . Hitherto the c i r c u m s t a n c e s in which h e f o u n d the S a n D o m i n i c k h a d repressed the tendency. B u t in the c u d d y , relieved from his former u n e a s i n e s s , a n d , for various r e a s o n s , m o r e sociably inclined t h a n at any previous period of the day, a n d s e e i n g the colored servant, napkin o n a r m , so d e b o n a i r a b o u t his m a s t e r , in a b u s i n e s s s o familiar as that of shaving, too, all his old w e a k n e s s for n e g r o e s r e t u r n e d . A m o n g other things, h e w a s a m u s e d with a n o d d i n s t a n c e of the African love of bright colors a n d fine s h o w s , in the black's informally taking from the flag-locker a great p i e c e of b u n t i n g of all h u e s , a n d lavishly t u c k i n g it u n d e r his m a s t e r ' s chin for an a p r o n . T h e m o d e of shaving a m o n g the S p a n i a r d s is a little different from w h a t it is with other n a t i o n s . T h e y have a b a s i n , specifically called a b a r b e r ' s b a s i n , which o n o n e side is s c o o p e d o u t , s o a s a c c u r a t e l y to receive the c h i n , a g a i n s t which it is closely held in lathering; which is d o n e , not with a b r u s h , but with s o a p d i p p e d in the water of the b a s i n a n d r u b b e d on the f a c e . 2. William Fletcher, L o r d Byron's valet, was a white E n g l i s h m a n , here c o n f u s e d with an American black servant of Edward Trelawny who a c c o m panied Byron on s o m e journeys. Frank Barber was

s e r v a n t to S a m u e l J o h n s o n for t h r e e d e c a d e s ; at h i s d e a t h i n 1 7 8 4 J o h n s o n left B a r b e r a l a r g e a n n u ity.

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In the p r e s e n t i n s t a n c e salt-water w a s u s e d for lack of better; a n d the p a r t s lathered were only the u p p e r lip, a n d low d o w n u n d e r the throat, all the rest b e i n g cultivated b e a r d . T h e preliminaries being s o m e w h a t novel to C a p t a i n D e l a n o , h e sat curiously eying t h e m , so that no c o n v e r s a t i o n took p l a c e , n o r for the p r e s e n t did D o n B e n i t o a p p e a r d i s p o s e d to renew any. S e t t i n g d o w n his b a s i n , the negro s e a r c h e d a m o n g the razors, a s for the s h a r p e s t , a n d having found it, gave it a n additional e d g e by expertly s t r a p p i n g it on the firm, s m o o t h , oily skin of his o p e n p a l m ; h e then m a d e a g e s t u r e a s if to begin, but midway stood s u s p e n d e d for an i n s t a n t , o n e h a n d elevating the razor, the other professionally d a b b l i n g a m o n g the b u b b l i n g s u d s on the S p a n i a r d ' s lank neck. N o t u n a f f e c t e d by the c l o s e sight of the g l e a m i n g steel, D o n B e n i t o nervously s h u d d e r e d , his u s u a l g h a s t l i n e s s w a s h i g h t e n e d by the lather, which lather, a g a i n , w a s intensified in its h u e by the c o n t r a s t i n g sootiness of the negro's body. Altogether the s c e n e w a s s o m e w h a t p e c u l i a r , at least to C a p t a i n D e l a n o , nor, a s he saw the two thus p o s t u r e d , c o u l d he resist the vagary, that in the black h e s a w a h e a d s m a n , a n d in the white, a m a n at the block. But this w a s o n e of those antic c o n c e i t s , a p p e a r i n g a n d v a n i s h i n g in a breath, from w h i c h , p e r h a p s , the best r e g u l a t e d mind is not always free. M e a n t i m e the agitation of the S p a n i a r d h a d a little l o o s e n e d the b u n t i n g from a r o u n d him, so that o n e b r o a d fold swept curtain-like over the chaira r m to the floor, revealing, a m i d a profusion of armorial b a r s a n d g r o u n d c o l o r s — b l a c k , b l u e , a n d y e l l o w — a c l o s e d c a s t l e in a blood-red field d i a g o n a l with a lion r a m p a n t in a white. " T h e c a s t l e a n d the lion," exclaimed C a p t a i n D e l a n o — " w h y , D o n B e n i t o , this is the flag of S p a i n you u s e h e r e . It's well it's only I, a n d not the King, that s e e s t h i s , " he a d d e d with a s m i l e , " b u t " — t u r n i n g towards the b l a c k , — "it's all o n e , I s u p p o s e , s o the colors be g a y ; " which playful r e m a r k did not fail s o m e w h a t to tickle the negro. " N o w , m a s t e r , " he said, r e a d j u s t i n g the flag, a n d p r e s s i n g the h e a d gently further b a c k into the c r o t c h of the chair; " n o w m a s t e r , " a n d the steel g l a n c e d nigh the throat. Again D o n B e n i t o faintly s h u d d e r e d . "You m u s t not s h a k e s o , m a s t e r . — S e e , D o n A m a s a , m a s t e r always s h a k e s w h e n I shave him. A n d yet m a s t e r knows I never yet have d r a w n b l o o d , t h o u g h it's t r u e , if m a s t e r will s h a k e s o , I may s o m e of t h e s e t i m e s . N o w m a s t e r , " he c o n t i n u e d . " A n d now, D o n A m a s a , p l e a s e g o o n with your talk a b o u t the g a l e , a n d all that, m a s t e r c a n hear, a n d b e t w e e n times m a s t e r c a n answer." "Ah yes, t h e s e g a l e s , " said C a p t a i n D e l a n o ; " b u t the m o r e I think of your voyage, D o n B e n i t o , the m o r e I w o n d e r , not at the g a l e s , terrible a s they m u s t have b e e n , but at the d i s a s t r o u s interval following t h e m . F o r h e r e , by your a c c o u n t , have you b e e n t h e s e two m o n t h s a n d m o r e getting from C a p e Horn to S t . M a r i a , a d i s t a n c e which I myself, with a g o o d wind, have sailed in a few d a y s . T r u e , you h a d c a l m s , a n d long o n e s , but to b e b e c a l m e d for two m o n t h s , that is, at least, u n u s u a l . Why, D o n B e n i t o , h a d a l m o s t any other g e n t l e m a n told m e s u c h a story, I s h o u l d have b e e n half d i s p o s e d to a little incredulity." H e r e a n involuntary expression c a m e over the S p a n i a r d , similar to that j u s t before on the deck, a n d w h e t h e r it w a s the start he g a v e , or a s u d d e n

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gawky roll of the hull in the c a l m , or a m o m e n t a r y u n s t e a d i n e s s of the servant's h a n d ; however it w a s , j u s t then the razor drew b l o o d , s p o t s of which stained the c r e a m y lather u n d e r the throat; immediately the b l a c k b a r b e r drew b a c k his steel, a n d r e m a i n i n g in his professional a t t i t u d e , b a c k to C a p tain D e l a n o , a n d f a c e to D o n Benito, held up the trickling razor, saying, with a sort of half h u m o r o u s sorrow, " S e e , m a s t e r , — y o u s h o o k s o — h e r e ' s B a b o ' s first b l o o d . " N o sword drawn before J a m e s the First of E n g l a n d , no a s s a s s i n a t i o n in that timid King's p r e s e n c e , could have p r o d u c e d a m o r e terrified a s p e c t * than w a s now p r e s e n t e d by D o n B e n i t o . P o o r fellow, thought C a p t a i n D e l a n o , so nervous he can't even b e a r the sight of barber's blood; and this u n s t r u n g , sick m a n , is it credible that I s h o u l d have imagined he m e a n t to spill all my blood, w h o can't e n d u r e the sight of o n e little drop of his own? Surely, A m a s a D e l a n o , you have b e e n beside yourself this day. Tell it not w h e n you get h o m e , s a p p y A m a s a . Well, well, he looks like a m u r d e r e r , doesn't he? M o r e like as if himself were to be d o n e for. Well, well, this day's experience shall be a good l e s s o n . M e a n t i m e , while t h e s e things were r u n n i n g through the h o n e s t s e a m a n ' s m i n d , the servant had taken the napkin from his a r m , a n d to D o n B e n i t o had s a i d — " B u t a n s w e r D o n A m a s a , p l e a s e , m a s t e r , while I wipe this ugly stuff off the razor, a n d strop it a g a i n . " As he said the words, his face was turned half round, so a s to be alike visible to the S p a n i a r d a n d the A m e r i c a n , a n d s e e m e d by its expression to hint, that he was d e s i r o u s , by getting his m a s t e r to go on with the conversation, considerately to withdraw his attention from the r e c e n t a n n o y i n g a c c i d e n t . As if glad to s n a t c h the offered relief, D o n B e n i t o r e s u m e d , rehearsing to C a p t a i n D e l a n o , that not only were the c a l m s of u n u s u a l d u r a t i o n , but the ship h a d fallen in with o b s t i n a t e c u r r e n t s ; a n d other things he a d d e d , s o m e of which were but repetitions of former s t a t e m e n t s , to explain how it c a m e to p a s s that the p a s s a g e from C a p e H o r n to S t . M a r i a h a d b e e n so exceedingly long, now a n d then mingling with his w o r d s , incidental p r a i s e s , less qualified than b e f o r e , to the blacks, for their g e n e r a l g o o d c o n d u c t . T h e s e particulars were not given consecutively, the servant at convenient times u s i n g his razor, a n d s o , b e t w e e n the intervals of shaving, the story a n d panegyric went on with more than u s u a l h u s k i n e s s . T o C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s i m a g i n a t i o n , now again not wholly at rest, there w a s s o m e t h i n g so hollow in the S p a n i a r d ' s m a n n e r , with a p p a r e n t l y s o m e reciprocal hollowness in the servant's dusky c o m m e n t of s i l e n c e , that the idea flashed a c r o s s him, that possibly m a s t e r a n d m a n , for s o m e u n k n o w n purp o s e , were a c t i n g out, both in word a n d d e e d , nay, to the very tremor of D o n Benito's limbs, s o m e j u g g l i n g play before him. N e i t h e r did the s u s p i c i o n of collusion lack a p p a r e n t s u p p o r t , from the fact of t h o s e w h i s p e r e d confere n c e s before m e n t i o n e d . B u t then, what c o u l d be the object of e n a c t i n g this play of the barber before him? At last, regarding the notion a s a whimsy, insensibly s u g g e s t e d , p e r h a p s , by the theatrical a s p e c t of D o n B e n i t o in his harlequin e n s i g n , C a p t a i n D e l a n o speedily b a n i s h e d it. T h e shaving over, the servant bestirred h i m s e l f with a small bottle of 3,. J a m e s I ( I 5 6 6 — 1 6 2 5 ) , k i n g o f G r e a t B r i t a i n a n d Ireland ( 1 6 0 4 - 2 5 ) , after having reigned as king of S c o t l a n d s i n c e 1 5 6 7 , lived in t e r r o r o f a s s a s s i n a -

tion by C a t h o l i c s , e s p e c i a l l y a l t e r the G u n p o w d e r Plot ( 1 6 0 5 ) a n d the a s s a s s i n a t i o n of K i n g H e n r v I V o f F r a n c e in 1 6 1 0 .

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s c e n t e d waters, p o u r i n g a few drops on the h e a d , a n d then diligently r u b b i n g ; the v e h e m e n c e of the exercise c a u s i n g the m u s c l e s of his f a c e to twitch rather strangely. His next operation w a s with c o m b , s c i s s o r s a n d b r u s h ; g o i n g r o u n d a n d r o u n d , s m o o t h i n g a curl h e r e , clipping an unruly whisker-hair t h e r e , giving a graceful s w e e p to the temple-lock, with other i m p r o m p t u t o u c h e s evincing the h a n d of a m a s t e r ; while, like any resigned g e n t l e m a n in barber's h a n d s , D o n B e n i t o b o r e all, m u c h less uneasily, at least, t h a n he h a d d o n e the razoring; i n d e e d , he sat s o p a l e a n d rigid now, that the negro s e e m e d a N u b i a n s c u l p t o r finishing off a white s t a t u e - h e a d . All b e i n g over at last, the s t a n d a r d of S p a i n r e m o v e d , t u m b l e d u p , a n d t o s s e d b a c k into the flag-locker, the negro's w a r m b r e a t h blowing away any stray hair which might have l o d g e d d o w n his m a s t e r ' s n e c k ; collar a n d cravat r e a d j u s t e d ; a s p e c k of lint w h i s k e d off the velvet lapel; all this b e i n g d o n e ; b a c k i n g off a little s p a c e , a n d p a u s i n g with an e x p r e s s i o n of s u b d u e d selfc o m p l a c e n c y , the servant for a m o m e n t surveyed his m a s t e r , a s , in toilet at least, the c r e a t u r e of his own tasteful h a n d s . C a p t a i n D e l a n o playfully c o m p l i m e n t e d him u p o n his a c h i e v e m e n t ; at the s a m e time c o n g r a t u l a t i n g D o n B e n i t o . B u t neither sweet w a t e r s , nor s h a m p o o i n g , nor fidelity, n o r sociality, delighted the S p a n i a r d . S e e i n g him r e l a p s i n g into forbidding g l o o m , a n d still r e m a i n i n g s e a t e d , C a p t a i n D e l a n o , thinking that his p r e s e n c e w a s u n d e s i r e d j u s t t h e n , withdrew, on p r e t e n s e of s e e i n g w h e t h e r , a s h e h a d p r o p h e c i e d , any signs of a breeze were visible. W a l k i n g forward to the m a i n m a s t , he s t o o d awhile thinking over the s c e n e , a n d not without s o m e undefined misgivings, w h e n h e h e a r d a noise n e a r the c u d d y , a n d turning, saw the n e g r o , his h a n d to his c h e e k . A d v a n c i n g , C a p t a i n D e l a n o perceived that the c h e e k w a s bleeding. H e w a s a b o u t to a s k the c a u s e , w h e n the negro's wailing soliloquy e n l i g h t e n e d h i m . "Ah, w h e n will m a s t e r get better from his s i c k n e s s ; only the s o u r heart that s o u r s i c k n e s s b r e e d s m a d e him serve B a b o s o ; c u t t i n g B a b o with the razor, b e c a u s e , only by a c c i d e n t , B a b o h a d given m a s t e r o n e little s c r a t c h ; a n d for the first time in s o m a n y a day, too. A h , a h , a h , " h o l d i n g his h a n d to his f a c e . Is it p o s s i b l e , thought C a p t a i n D e l a n o ; w a s it to w r e a k in private his S p a n ish spite a g a i n s t this p o o r friend of his, that D o n B e n i t o , by his sullen m a n ner, i m p e l l e d m e to withdraw? Ah, this slavery b r e e d s ugly p a s s i o n s in m a n — Poor fellow! H e w a s a b o u t to s p e a k in s y m p a t h y to the n e g r o , b u t with a timid reluct a n c e h e now r e e n t e r e d the c u d d y . Presently m a s t e r a n d m a n c a m e forth; D o n B e n i t o l e a n i n g o n his servant a s if n o t h i n g h a d h a p p e n e d . B u t a sort of love-quarrel, after all, t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o . H e a c c o s t e d D o n B e n i t o , a n d they slowly walked together. T h e y h a d g o n e but a few p a c e s , w h e n the s t e w a r d — a tall, rajah-looking m u l a t t o , orientally set off with a p a g o d a t u r b a n f o r m e d by three or four M a d r a s h a n d k e r c h i e f s w o u n d a b o u t his h e a d , tier o n t i e r — a p p r o a c h i n g with a s a a l a m , a n n o u n c e d l u n c h in the c a b i n . O n their way thither, the two C a p t a i n s were p r e c e d e d by the m u l a t t o , w h o , turning r o u n d a s he a d v a n c e d , with c o n t i n u a l smiles a n d b o w s , u s h e r e d t h e m o n , a display of e l e g a n c e w h i c h q u i t e c o m p l e t e d the insignificance of

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the small b a r e - h e a d e d B a b o , w h o , a s if not u n c o n s c i o u s of inferiority, eyed a s k a n c e the graceful steward. B u t in part, C a p t a i n D e l a n o i m p u t e d his j e a l o u s w a t c h f u l n e s s to that p e c u l i a r feeling which the full-blooded Afric a n e n t e r t a i n s for the a d u l t e r a t e d o n e . As for the steward, his m a n n e r , if not b e s p e a k i n g m u c h dignity of self-respect, yet evidenced his extreme desire to p l e a s e ; which is doubly m e r i t o r i o u s , a s at o n c e Christian a n d Chesterfieldian.4 C a p t a i n D e l a n o observed with interest that while the complexion of the m u l a t t o w a s hybrid, his p h y s i o g n o m y was E u r o p e a n ; classically so. " D o n B e n i t o , " w h i s p e r e d h e , "I a m glad to s e e this usher-of the-goldenr o d 5 of y o u r s ; the sight refutes an ugly r e m a r k o n c e m a d e to m e by a Barb a d o e s planter; that w h e n a m u l a t t o h a s a regular E u r o p e a n face, look out for h i m ; h e is a devil. B u t s e e , your steward here h a s f e a t u r e s m o r e regular t h a n K i n g G e o r g e ' s of E n g l a n d ; a n d yet there he n o d s , a n d bows, a n d s m i l e s ; a king, i n d e e d — t h e king of kind hearts a n d polite fellows. W h a t a p l e a s a n t voice h e h a s , t o o ? " "He has, Senor." " B u t , tell m e , h a s he not, so far a s you have known him, always proved a g o o d , worthy fellow?" said C a p t a i n D e l a n o , p a u s i n g , while with a final genuflexion the steward d i s a p p e a r e d into the c a b i n ; " c o m e , for the reason j u s t m e n t i o n e d , I a m c u r i o u s to k n o w . " " F r a n c e s c o is a g o o d m a n , " a sort of sluggishly r e s p o n d e d D o n Benito, like a p h l e g m a t i c a p p r e c i a t o r , w h o would neither find fault nor flatter. " A h , I t h o u g h t s o . F o r it were s t r a n g e i n d e e d , a n d not very creditable to u s white-skins, if a little of our blood mixed with the African's, should, far from improving the latter's quality, have the s a d effect of p o u r i n g vitriolic acid into b l a c k broth; improving the h u e , p e r h a p s , but not the w h o l e s o m e ness." " D o u b t l e s s , d o u b t l e s s , S e n o r , b u t " — g l a n c i n g at B a b o — " n o t to s p e a k of n e g r o e s , your planter's r e m a r k I have h e a r d applied to the S p a n i s h a n d Indian intermixtures in our provinces. B u t I know n o t h i n g a b o u t the m a t t e r , " he listlessly a d d e d . A n d here they e n t e r e d the c a b i n . T h e l u n c h w a s a frugal o n e . S o m e of C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s fresh fish a n d p u m p k i n s , biscuit a n d salt beef, the reserved bottle of cider, a n d the S a n D o m i n i c k ' s last bottle of C a n a r y . A s they e n t e r e d , F r a n c e s c o , with two or three colored a i d s , w a s hovering over the table giving the last a d j u s t m e n t s . U p o n perceiving their m a s t e r they withdrew, F r a n c e s c o m a k i n g a smiling c o n g e , a n d the S p a n i a r d , without c o n d e s c e n d i n g to n o t i c e it, fastidiously r e m a r k i n g to his c o m p a n i o n that he relished not s u p e r f l u o u s a t t e n d a n c e . W i t h o u t c o m p a n i o n s , host a n d g u e s t sat d o w n , like a childless married c o u p l e , at o p p o s i t e e n d s of the t a b l e , D o n Benito waving C a p t a i n D e l a n o to his p l a c e , a n d , w e a k a s h e w a s , insisting u p o n that g e n t l e m a n b e i n g s e a t e d before himself. T h e negro p l a c e d a rug u n d e r D o n Benito's feet, a n d a c u s h i o n behind his 4. Philip S t a n h o p e , the fourth earl of Chesterfield ( 1 6 9 4 - 1 7 7 3 ) , in h i s l e t t e r s t o h i s s o n a d v o c a t e d a worldly c o d e at variance with J e s u s ' a b s o l u t e morality. 5.

In t h i s E n g l i s h u s a g e , " u s h e r " m e a n s a n a t t e n -

d a n t c h a r g e d with walking c e r e m o n i o u s l y before a p e r s o n of rank; certain ushers were known by the color of the rod or scepter they traditionally carried.

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back, a n d then stood b e h i n d , not his m a s t e r ' s chair, but C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s . At first, this a little surprised the latter. B u t it w a s s o o n evident that, in taking his p o s i t i o n , the black w a s still true to his m a s t e r ; s i n c e by facing him h e could the more readily a n t i c i p a t e his slightest want. " T h i s is a n u n c o m m o n l y intelligent fellow of yours, D o n B e n i t o , " whisp e r e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o a c r o s s the t a b l e . "You say true, S e n o r . " D u r i n g the repast, the g u e s t again reverted to p a r t s of D o n Benito's story, b e g g i n g further p a r t i c u l a r s here a n d t h e r e . H e inquired how it w a s that the scurvy a n d fever s h o u l d have c o m m i t t e d s u c h w h o l e s a l e havoc u p o n the whites, while destroying less t h a n half of the b l a c k s . As if this q u e s t i o n reprod u c e d the whole s c e n e of p l a g u e before the S p a n i a r d ' s eyes, miserably r e m i n d i n g him of his solitude in a c a b i n w h e r e before he h a d h a d so m a n y friends a n d officers r o u n d h i m , his h a n d s h o o k , his face b e c a m e h u e l e s s , broken words e s c a p e d ; but directly the s a n e m e m o r y of the p a s t s e e m e d r e p l a c e d by i n s a n e terrors of the p r e s e n t . With starting eyes he stared before him at v a c a n c y . F o r n o t h i n g w a s to be s e e n but the h a n d of his servant p u s h i n g the C a n a r y over towards h i m . At length a few sips served partially to restore h i m . H e m a d e r a n d o m reference to the different constitution of r a c e s , e n a b l i n g o n e to oilier m o r e r e s i s t a n c e to certain m a l a d i e s than another. T h e t h o u g h t was new to his c o m p a n i o n . P r e s e n t l y C a p t a i n D e l a n o , i n t e n d i n g to say s o m e t h i n g to his host concerning the p e c u n i a r y part of the b u s i n e s s he h a d u n d e r t a k e n for him, e s p e c i a l l y — s i n c e h e w a s strictly a c c o u n t a b l e to his owners—with reference to the new suit of sails, a n d other things of that sort; a n d naturally preferring to c o n d u c t such affairs in private, w a s d e s i r o u s that the servant s h o u l d withdraw; i m a g i n i n g that D o n B e n i t o for a few m i n u t e s could d i s p e n s e with his a t t e n d a n c e . H e , however, waited awhile; thinking that, a s the c o n v e r s a t i o n p r o c e e d e d , D o n B e n i t o , without being p r o m p t e d , w o u l d perceive the propriety of the s t e p . B u t it w a s otherwise. At last c a t c h i n g his host's eye, C a p t a i n D e l a n o , with a slight b a c k w a r d g e s t u r e of his t h u m b , w h i s p e r e d , " D o n B e n i t o , p a r d o n m e , but there is a n interference with the full expression of what I have to say to you." Upon this the S p a n i a r d c h a n g e d c o u n t e n a n c e ; which w a s i m p u t e d to his r e s e n t i n g the hint, a s in s o m e way a reflection u p o n his servant. After a m o m e n t ' s p a u s e , he a s s u r e d his g u e s t that the black's r e m a i n i n g with t h e m c o u l d be of no disservice; b e c a u s e s i n c e losing his officers he h a d m a d e B a b o ( w h o s e original office, it now a p p e a r e d , h a d b e e n c a p t a i n of the slaves) not only his c o n s t a n t a t t e n d a n t a n d c o m p a n i o n , but in all things his confidant. After this, nothing m o r e could be said; t h o u g h , i n d e e d . C a p t a i n D e l a n o could hardly avoid s o m e little tinge of irritation u p o n being left ungratified in s o i n c o n s i d e r a b l e a wish, by o n e , too, for w h o m he i n t e n d e d s u c h solid s e r v i c e s . B u t it is only his q u e r u l o u s n e s s , t h o u g h t h e ; a n d so filling his glass h e p r o c e e d e d to b u s i n e s s . T h e price of the sails a n d other m a t t e r s w a s fixed u p o n . B u t while this was b e i n g d o n e , the A m e r i c a n o b s e r v e d that, t h o u g h his original offer of assist a n c e h a d b e e n hailed with hectic a n i m a t i o n , yet now w h e n it w a s r e d u c e d to a b u s i n e s s t r a n s a c t i o n , indifference a n d apathy were betrayed. D o n B e n i t o , in fact, a p p e a r e d to s u b m i t to hearing the details m o r e out of regard

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to c o m m o n propriety, than from any i m p r e s s i o n that weighty benefit to himself a n d his voyage w a s involved. S o o n , his m a n n e r b e c a m e still m o r e reserved. T h e effort was vain to s e e k to draw him into social talk. G n a w e d by his splenetic m o o d , he sat twitching his b e a r d , while to little p u r p o s e the h a n d of his servant, m u t e a s that on the wall, slowly p u s h e d over the C a n a r y . L u n c h b e i n g over, they sat down on the c u s h i o n e d t r a n s o m ; the servant p l a c i n g a pillow b e h i n d his m a s t e r . T h e long c o n t i n u a n c e of the c a l m h a d now affected the a t m o s p h e r e . D o n B e n i t o sighed heavily, a s if for breath. "Why not a d j o u r n to the c u d d y , " said C a p t a i n D e l a n o ; " t h e r e is m o r e air t h e r e . " B u t the host sat silent a n d m o t i o n l e s s . M e a n t i m e his servant knelt before him, with a large fan of feathers. And F r a n c e s c o c o m i n g in on tiptoes, h a n d e d the negro a little c u p of a r o m a t i c waters, with which at intervals he c h a f e d his m a s t e r ' s brow; s m o o t h i n g the hair a l o n g the t e m p l e s a s a n u r s e d o e s a child's. H e s p o k e n o word. H e only rested his eye o n his m a s t e r ' s , as if, a m i d all Don Benito's distress, a little to refresh his spirit by the silent sight of fidelity. Presently the ship's bell s o u n d e d two o'clock; a n d through the c a b i n windows a slight rippling of the s e a w a s d i s c e r n e d ; a n d from the desired direction. " T h e r e , " e x c l a i m e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o , "I told you s o , Don B e n i t o , look!" H e h a d risen to his feet, s p e a k i n g in a very a n i m a t e d tone, with a view the m o r e to r o u s e his c o m p a n i o n . B u t t h o u g h the c r i m s o n curtain of the sternw i n d o w n e a r him that m o m e n t fluttered against his pale c h e e k , Don Benito s e e m e d to have even less w e l c o m e for the breeze than the c a l m . P o o r fellow, t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o , bitter experience has taught him that o n e ripple d o e s not m a k e a wind, any m o r e than o n e swallow a s u m m e r . B u t he is m i s t a k e n for o n c e . I will get his ship in for him, and prove it. Briefly alluding to his w e a k condition, he urged his host to remain quietly where he w a s , s i n c e he ( C a p t a i n D e l a n o ) would with p l e a s u r e take u p o n himself the responsibility of m a k i n g the best u s e of the wind. U p o n gaining the d e c k , C a p t a i n D e l a n o started at the u n e x p e c t e d figure of Atufal, m o n u m e n t a l l y fixed at the threshold, like o n e of t h o s e s c u l p t u r e d porters of black m a r b l e g u a r d i n g the p o r c h e s of Egyptian t o m b s . B u t this time the start w a s , p e r h a p s , purely physical. Atufal's p r e s e n c e , singularly a t t e s t i n g docility even in s u l l e n n e s s , was c o n t r a s t e d with that of the h a t c h e t - p o l i s h e r s , w h o in p a t i e n c e evinced their industry; while both s p e c t a c l e s s h o w e d , that lax a s D o n Benito's general authority might b e , still, whenever he c h o s e to exert it, no m a n s o savage or colossal but m u s t , more or less, bow. S n a t c h i n g a t r u m p e t which h u n g from the bulwarks, with a free step C a p tain D e l a n o a d v a n c e d to the forward edge of the p o o p , i s s u i n g his orders in his best S p a n i s h . T h e few sailors a n d many n e g r o e s , all equally p l e a s e d , obediently set a b o u t h e a d i n g the ship towards the harbor. While giving s o m e directions a b o u t setting a lower stu'n'-sail, s u d d e n l y C a p t a i n D e l a n o h e a r d a voice faithfully repeating his orders. T u r n i n g , he saw B a b o , now for the time acting, under the pilot, his original part of c a p t a i n of the slaves. T h i s a s s i s t a n c e proved valuable. T a t t e r e d sails a n d warped yards were s o o n brought into s o m e trim. And no brace or halyard w a s pulled but to the blithe s o n g s of the inspirited negroes.

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G o o d fellows, t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o , a little training would m a k e fine sailors of t h e m . W h y s e e , the very w o m e n pull a n d sing too. T h e s e m u s t be s o m e of t h o s e A s h a n t e e n e g r e s s e s that m a k e s u c h capital soldiers, I've h e a r d . B u t who's at the h e l m . I m u s t have a g o o d h a n d there. H e went to s e e . T h e S a n D o m i n i c k s t e e r e d with a c u m b r o u s tiller, with large horizontal pullies a t t a c h e d . At e a c h pully-end s t o o d a s u b o r d i n a t e black, a n d b e t w e e n t h e m , at the tiller-head, the r e s p o n s i b l e p o s t , a S p a n i s h s e a m a n , w h o s e c o u n t e n a n c e e v i n c e d his d u e s h a r e in the g e n e r a l h o p e f u l n e s s a n d c o n f i d e n c e at the c o m i n g of the b r e e z e . H e proved the s a m e m a n who h a d b e h a v e d with s o s h a m e - f a c e d a n air on the w i n d l a s s . " A h — i t is y o u , my m a n , " e x c l a i m e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o — " w e l l , no m o r e s h e e p ' s - e y e s n o w ; — l o o k straightforward a n d keep the ship s o . G o o d h a n d , I trust? A n d w a n t to get into the harbor, don't y o u ? " T h e m a n a s s e n t e d with a n inward c h u c k l e , g r a s p i n g the tiller-head firmly. U p o n this, u n p e r c e i v e d by the A m e r i c a n , the two b l a c k s eyed the sailor intently. F i n d i n g all right at the helm, the pilot went forward to the f o r e c a s t l e , to s e e how m a t t e r s s t o o d there. T h e ship n o w h a d way e n o u g h to breast the c u r r e n t . With the a p p r o a c h of evening, the b r e e z e would be s u r e to f r e s h e n . Having d o n e all that was n e e d e d for the p r e s e n t , C a p t a i n D e l a n o , giving his last o r d e r s to the sailors, turned aft to report affairs to D o n B e n i t o in the c a b i n ; p e r h a p s additionally incited to rejoin him by the h o p e of s n a t c h i n g a m o m e n t ' s private c h a t while the servant w a s e n g a g e d u p o n deck. F r o m o p p o s i t e s i d e s , there w e r e , b e n e a t h the p o o p , two a p p r o a c h e s to the c a b i n ; o n e further forward than the other, a n d c o n s e q u e n t l y c o m m u n i c a t i n g with a longer p a s s a g e . M a r k i n g the servant still a b o v e , C a p t a i n D e l a n o , taking the nighest e n t r a n c e — t h e o n e last n a m e d , a n d at w h o s e p o r c h Atufal still s t o o d — h u r r i e d on his way, till, arrived at the c a b i n t h r e s h o l d , he p a u s e d a n i n s t a n t , a little to recover from his e a g e r n e s s . T h e n , with the w o r d s of his intended b u s i n e s s u p o n his lips, he e n t e r e d . As he a d v a n c e d toward the s e a t e d S p a n i a r d , h e heard a n o t h e r f o o t s t e p , keeping time with his. F r o m the o p p o s i t e door, a salver in h a n d , the servant was likewise a d v a n c i n g . " C o n f o u n d the faithful fellow," thought C a p t a i n D e l a n o ; "what a vexatious coincidence." Possibly, the vexation might have b e e n s o m e t h i n g different, were it not for the brisk c o n f i d e n c e inspired by the breeze. B u t even a s it w a s , he felt a slight twinge, from a s u d d e n indefinite a s s o c i a t i o n in his m i n d of B a b o with Atufal. " D o n B e n i t o , " said he, "I give you joy; the b r e e z e will hold, a n d will i n c r e a s e . By the way, your tall m a n and t i m e - p i e c e , Atufal, s t a n d s without. By your order, of c o u r s e ? " D o n B e n i t o recoiled, a s if at s o m e bland satirical t o u c h , delivered with s u c h adroit g a r n i s h of a p p a r e n t good-breeding a s to p r e s e n t n o h a n d l e for retort. H e is like o n e flayed alive, thought C a p t a i n D e l a n o ; where may o n e t o u c h h i m without c a u s i n g a shrink? T h e servant m o v e d before his master, adjusting a c u s h i o n ; recalled to civil-

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ity, the S p a n i a r d stiffly replied: "You are right. T h e slave a p p e a r s w h e r e you saw him, a c c o r d i n g to my c o m m a n d ; which is, that if at the given h o u r I a m below, h e m u s t take his s t a n d a n d a b i d e my c o m i n g . " "Ah now, p a r d o n m e , b u t that is treating the p o o r fellow like a n ex-king i n d e e d . Ah, D o n B e n i t o , " smiling, "for all the l i c e n s e you p e r m i t in s o m e things, I fear lest, at b o t t o m , you are a bitter hard m a s t e r . " A g a i n D o n B e n i t o shrank; a n d this t i m e , a s the g o o d sailor t h o u g h t , from a g e n u i n e twinge of his c o n s c i e n c e . A g a i n c o n v e r s a t i o n b e c a m e c o n s t r a i n e d . In vain C a p t a i n D e l a n o called attention to the n o w p e r c e p t i b l e m o t i o n of the keel gently cleaving the s e a ; with lack-lustre eye, D o n B e n i t o returned w o r d s few a n d reserved. By-and-by, the wind having steadily risen, a n d still blowing right into the harbor, b o r e the S a n D o m i n i c k swiftly on. R o u n d i n g a point of land, the sealer at d i s t a n c e c a m e into o p e n view. M e a n t i m e C a p t a i n D e l a n o h a d again repaired to the d e c k , r e m a i n i n g there s o m e t i m e . H a v i n g at last altered the ship's c o u r s e , so a s to give the reef a wide berth, h e r e t u r n e d for a few m o m e n t s below. I will c h e e r u p my p o o r friend, this t i m e , t h o u g h t h e . " B e t t e r a n d better, D o n B e n i t o , " he cried a s he blithely r e e n t e r e d ; " t h e r e will s o o n be a n e n d to your c a r e s , at least for awhile. F o r w h e n , after a long, s a d voyage, you know, the a n c h o r d r o p s into the haven, all its vast weight s e e m s lifted from the c a p t a i n ' s heart. W e a r e getting o n f a m o u s l y , D o n B e n i t o . M y ship is in sight. L o o k t h r o u g h this side-light h e r e ; there s h e is; all a-taunt-o! T h e B a c h e l o r ' s Delight, my g o o d friend. A h , how this wind b r a c e s o n e u p . C o m e , you m u s t take a c u p of coffee with m e this evening. M y old steward will give you a s fine a c u p a s ever any s u l t a n t a s t e d . W h a t say you, D o n B e n i t o , will y o u ? " At first, the S p a n i a r d g l a n c e d feverishly u p , c a s t i n g a l o n g i n g look towards the sealer, while with m u t e c o n c e r n his servant g a z e d into his f a c e . S u d d e n l y the old a g u e of c o l d n e s s r e t u r n e d , a n d d r o p p i n g b a c k to his c u s h i o n s h e w a s silent. "You d o not a n s w e r . C o m e , all day you have b e e n my host; w o u l d you have hospitality all o n o n e s i d e ? " " I c a n n o t g o , " w a s the r e s p o n s e . " W h a t ? it will not fatigue y o u . T h e s h i p s will lie together a s n e a r a s they c a n , without swinging foul. It will b e little m o r e than s t e p p i n g from d e c k to deck; which is but a s from r o o m to r o o m . C o m e , c o m e , you m u s t not refuse me. "I c a n n o t g o , " decisively a n d repulsively r e p e a t e d D o n B e n i t o . R e n o u n c i n g all b u t the last a p p e a r a n c e of courtesy, with a sort of cadave r o u s s u l l e n n e s s , a n d biting his thin nails to the q u i c k , h e g l a n c e d , a l m o s t glared, at his g u e s t ; a s if i m p a t i e n t that a stranger's p r e s e n c e s h o u l d interfere with the full i n d u l g e n c e of his morbid hour. M e a n t i m e the s o u n d of the parted waters c a m e m o r e a n d m o r e gurglingly a n d merrily in at the w i n d o w s ; as r e p r o a c h i n g him for his dark s p l e e n ; a s telling h i m that, s u l k a s h e might, a n d go m a d with it, n a t u r e c a r e d not a j o t ; s i n c e , w h o s e fault w a s it, pray? B u t the foul m o o d w a s now at its d e p t h , a s the fair wind at its hight. T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g in the m a n s o far b e y o n d any m e r e unsociality or s o u r n e s s previously evinced, that even the f o r b e a r i n g g o o d - n a t u r e of his g u e s t c o u l d no longer e n d u r e it. Wholly at a loss to a c c o u n t for s u c h

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d e m e a n o r , a n d d e e m i n g s i c k n e s s with eccentricity, however e x t r e m e , n o a d e q u a t e e x c u s e , well satisfied, too, that n o t h i n g in his own c o n d u c t c o u l d justify it, C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s pride b e g a n to be r o u s e d . H i m s e l f b e c a m e reserved. B u t all s e e m e d o n e to the S p a n i a r d . Quitting him, therefore, C a p t a i n D e l a n o o n c e m o r e went to the deck. T h e ship w a s now within less t h a n two miles of the sealer. T h e w h a l e - b o a t w a s s e e n darting over the interval. T o b e brief, the two v e s s e l s , t h a n k s to the pilot's skill, ere long in neighborly style lay a n c h o r e d together. B e f o r e returning to his own vessel, C a p t a i n D e l a n o h a d i n t e n d e d c o m m u n i c a t i n g to D o n B e n i t o the s m a l l e r details of the p r o p o s e d services to be r e n d e r e d . B u t , as it w a s , unwilling a n e w to s u b j e c t h i m s e l f to rebuffs, he resolved, now that he h a d s e e n the S a n D o m i n i c k safely m o o r e d , i m m e d i ately to quit her, without further allusion to hospitality or b u s i n e s s . Indefinitely p o s t p o n i n g his ulterior p l a n s , h e w o u l d r e g u l a t e his future a c t i o n s a c c o r d i n g to future c i r c u m s t a n c e s . H i s b o a t w a s ready to receive h i m ; b u t his host still tarried below. Well, t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o , if he h a s little b r e e d i n g , the m o r e n e e d to s h o w m i n e . H e d e s c e n d e d to the c a b i n to bid a c e r e m o n i o u s , a n d , it m a y b e , tacitly rebukeful a d i e u . B u t to his great satisfaction, D o n B e n i t o , a s if h e b e g a n to feel the weight of that t r e a t m e n t with which his slighted g u e s t h a d , not i n d e c o r o u s l y , retaliated u p o n h i m , now s u p p o r t e d by his servant, rose to his feet, a n d g r a s p i n g C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s h a n d , s t o o d t r e m u l o u s ; too m u c h agitated to s p e a k . B u t the g o o d a u g u r y h e n c e drawn w a s s u d d e n l y d a s h e d , by his r e s u m i n g all his previous reserve, with a u g m e n t e d g l o o m , a s , with half-averted eyes, h e silently r e s e a t e d himself on his c u s h i o n s . W i t h a c o r r e s p o n d i n g return of his own chilled feelings, C a p t a i n D e l a n o b o w e d a n d withdrew. H e w a s hardly midway in the narrow corridor, d i m a s a tunnel, l e a d i n g from the cabin to the stairs, w h e n a s o u n d , as of the tolling for execution in s o m e jail-yard, fell on his e a r s . It w a s the e c h o of the ship's flawed bell, striking the hour, drearily reverberated in this s u b t e r r a n e a n vault. Instantly, by a fatality not to be withstood, his m i n d , responsive to the portent, s w a r m e d with s u p e r s t i t i o u s s u s p i c i o n s . H e p a u s e d . In i m a g e s far swifter than t h e s e s e n t e n c e s , the m i n u t e s t details of all his former d i s t r u s t s swept through him. Hitherto, c r e d u l o u s g o o d - n a t u r e h a d b e e n too ready to furnish e x c u s e s for r e a s o n a b l e fears. W h y w a s the S p a n i a r d , so s u p e r f l u o u s l y p u n c t i l i o u s at t i m e s , now h e e d l e s s of c o m m o n propriety in not a c c o m p a n y i n g to the side his d e p a r t i n g g u e s t ? D i d indisposition forbid? I n d i s p o s i t i o n h a d not forbidd e n m o r e i r k s o m e exertion that day. H i s last equivocal d e m e a n o r r e c u r r e d . H e h a d risen to his feet, g r a s p e d his g u e s t ' s h a n d , m o t i o n e d toward his hat; then, in a n instant, all w a s e c l i p s e d in sinister m u t e n e s s a n d g l o o m . Did this imply o n e brief, r e p e n t e n t relenting at the final m o m e n t , from s o m e iniqu i t o u s plot, followed by r e m o r s e l e s s return to it? H i s last g l a n c e s e e m e d to express a c a l a m i t o u s , yet a c q u i e s c e n t farewell to C a p t a i n D e l a n o forever. W h y d e c l i n e the invitation to visit the sealer that evening? O r w a s the S p a n iard less h a r d e n e d than the J e w , w h o refrained not from s u p p i n g at the b o a r d of him w h o m the s a m e night he m e a n t to b e t r a y ? 6 W h a t i m p o r t e d all t h o s e day-long e n i g m a s a n d c o n t r a d i c t i o n s , except they w e r e i n t e n d e d to mystify, 6.

I.e., J u d a s ( M a t t h e w 2 6 ) .

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preliminary to s o m e stealthy blow? Atufal, the p r e t e n d e d rebel, but p u n c t u a l s h a d o w , that m o m e n t lurked by the threshold without. H e s e e m e d a sentry, a n d m o r e . W h o , by his own c o n f e s s i o n , h a d s t a t i o n e d him there? W a s the negro now lying in wait? T h e S p a n i a r d b e h i n d — h i s c r e a t u r e before: to r u s h from d a r k n e s s to light was the involuntary c h o i c e . T h e next m o m e n t , with c l e n c h e d j a w a n d h a n d , he p a s s e d Atufal, a n d stood u n h a r m e d in the light. As he saw his trim ship lying peacefully at a n c h o r , a n d a l m o s t within ordinary call; as he s a w his h o u s e h o l d boat, with familiar faces in it, patiently rising a n d falling on the short waves by the S a n D o m i n i c k ' s s i d e ; a n d t h e n , g l a n c i n g a b o u t the d e c k s w h e r e he s t o o d , s a w the o a k u m - p i c k e r s still gravely plying their fingers; a n d h e a r d the low, buzzing whistle a n d i n d u s t r i o u s h u m of the h a t c h e t - p o l i s h e r s , still bestirring t h e m s e l v e s over their e n d l e s s o c c u p a t i o n ; a n d m o r e than all, a s h e s a w the benign a s p e c t of n a t u r e , taking her i n n o c e n t r e p o s e in the evening; the s c r e e n e d s u n in the quiet c a m p of the west s h i n i n g out like the mild light from A b r a h a m ' s t e n t , 7 as c h a r m e d eye a n d ear took in all t h e s e , with the c h a i n e d figure of the black, c l e n c h e d j a w a n d h a n d relaxed. O n c e again he smiled at the p h a n t o m s which h a d m o c k e d h i m , a n d felt s o m e t h i n g like a tinge of r e m o r s e , that, by h a r b o r i n g t h e m even for a m o m e n t , h e s h o u l d , by implication, have betrayed an atheist d o u b t of the ever-watchful P r o v i d e n c e above. T h e r e w a s a few m i n u t e s ' delay, while, in o b e d i e n c e to his o r d e r s , the b o a t was b e i n g hooked a l o n g to the gangway. D u r i n g this interval, a sort of s a d d e n e d satisfaction stole over C a p t a i n D e l a n o , at thinking of the kindly offices he h a d that day d i s c h a r g e d for a stranger. Ah, t h o u g h t h e , after g o o d a c t i o n s one's c o n s c i e n c e is never ungrateful, however m u c h s o the benefited party may be. Presently, his foot, in the first act of d e s c e n t into the boat, p r e s s e d the first r o u n d of the side-ladder, his face p r e s e n t e d inward u p o n the d e c k . In the s a m e m o m e n t , he h e a r d his n a m e c o u r t e o u s l y s o u n d e d ; a n d , to his p l e a s e d s u r p r i s e , saw D o n B e n i t o a d v a n c i n g — a n u n w o n t e d energy in his air, a s if, at the last m o m e n t , intent u p o n m a k i n g a m e n d s for his r e c e n t discourtesy. With instinctive g o o d feeling, C a p t a i n D e l a n o , withdrawing his foot, turned a n d reciprocally a d v a n c e d . As he did s o , the S p a n i a r d ' s nervous e a g e r n e s s i n c r e a s e d , but his vital energy failed; so that, the better to s u p p o r t him, the servant, p l a c i n g his m a s t e r ' s h a n d on his naked s h o u l d e r , a n d gently holding it there, formed himself into a sort of c r u t c h . W h e n the two c a p t a i n s m e t , the S p a n i a r d again fervently took the h a n d of the A m e r i c a n , at the s a m e time c a s t i n g a n e a r n e s t g l a n c e into his eyes, but, as before, too m u c h o v e r c o m e to s p e a k . I have d o n e him wrong, self-reproachfully t h o u g h t C a p t a i n D e l a n o ; his a p p a r e n t c o l d n e s s has d e c e i v e d m e ; in n o i n s t a n c e h a s h e m e a n t to offend. M e a n t i m e , a s if fearful that the c o n t i n u a n c e of the s c e n e might too m u c h u n s t r i n g his m a s t e r , the servant s e e m e d anxious to t e r m i n a t e it. A n d s o , still p r e s e n t i n g himself a s a c r u t c h , a n d walking b e t w e e n the two c a p t a i n s , he a d v a n c e d with t h e m towards the g a n g w a y ; while still, a s if full of kindly 7.

An idealized a n d general

reference

to the Patriarch

Abraham,

who pitched

h i s t e n t in m a n y

d u r i n g his w e s t w a r d j o u r n e y from U r of the C h a l d e e s to C a n a a n , o n to E g y p t , a n d t h e n b a c k to

places

Canaan.

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contrition, D o n B e n i t o would not let go the h a n d o f C a p t a i n D e l a n o , b u t retained it in his, a c r o s s the black's body. S o o n they were s t a n d i n g by the s i d e , looking over into the b o a t , w h o s e crew t u r n e d up their c u r i o u s eyes. W a i t i n g a m o m e n t for the S p a n i a r d to relinquish his hold, the now e m b a r r a s s e d C a p t a i n D e l a n o lifted his foot, to overstep the threshold of the o p e n gangway; but still D o n B e n i t o would not let go his h a n d . A n d yet, with a n a g i t a t e d t o n e , he s a i d , "I c a n g o n o further; here I m u s t bid you a d i e u . A d i e u , my d e a r , dear D o n A m a s a . G o — g o ! " s u d denly tearing his h a n d l o o s e , " g o , a n d G o d g u a r d you better t h a n m e , my b e s t friend." N o t u n a f f e c t e d , C a p t a i n D e l a n o would now have lingered; b u t c a t c h i n g the meekly a d m o n i t o r y eye of the servant, with a hasty farewell h e d e s c e n d e d into his boat, followed by the c o n t i n u a l a d i e u s of D o n B e n i t o , s t a n d i n g rooted in the gangway. S e a t i n g h i m s e l f in the stern, C a p t a i n D e l a n o , m a k i n g a last s a l u t e , o r d e r e d the b o a t shoved off. T h e crew h a d their oars on e n d . T h e b o w s m a n p u s h e d the boat a sufficient d i s t a n c e for the oars to be lengthwise d r o p p e d . T h e instant that w a s d o n e , D o n B e n i t o s p r a n g over the b u l w a r k s , falling at the feet of C a p t a i n D e l a n o ; at the s a m e t i m e , calling towards his s h i p , b u t in tones s o frenzied, that n o n e in the b o a t c o u l d u n d e r s t a n d h i m . B u t , a s if not equally o b t u s e , three sailors, from three different a n d distant p a r t s of the s h i p , s p l a s h e d into the s e a , s w i m m i n g after their c a p t a i n , a s if intent u p o n his r e s c u e . T h e d i s m a y e d officer of the b o a t eagerly a s k e d what this m e a n t . T o w h i c h , C a p t a i n D e l a n o , turning a disdainful smile u p o n the u n a c c o u n t a b l e S p a n iard, a n s w e r e d that, for his part, he neither k n e w n o r c a r e d ; b u t it s e e m e d a s if D o n B e n i t o h a d taken it into his h e a d to p r o d u c e the i m p r e s s i o n a m o n g his p e o p l e that the b o a t w a n t e d to k i d n a p h i m . " O r e l s e — g i v e way for your lives," h e wildly a d d e d , starting at a clattering h u b b u b in the s h i p , a b o v e which r a n g the tocsin of the h a t c h e t - p o l i s h e r s ; a n d seizing D o n B e n i t o by the throat he a d d e d , "this plotting pirate m e a n s m u r d e r ! " H e r e , in a p p a r e n t verification of the words, the servant, a d a g g e r in his h a n d , w a s seen on the rail o v e r h e a d , p o i s e d in the a c t of leaping, a s if with d e s p e r a t e fidelity to befriend his m a s t e r to the last; while, s e e m i n g l y to aid the b l a c k , the t h r e e white sailors were trying to c l a m b e r into the h a m p e r e d bow. M e a n t i m e , the w h o l e host of n e g r o e s , a s if inflamed at the sight of their j e o p a r d i z e d c a p t a i n , i m p e n d e d in o n e sooty a v a l a n c h e over the b u l w a r k s . All this, with w h a t p r e c e d e d , a n d what followed, o c c u r r e d with s u c h involutions of rapidity, that p a s t , p r e s e n t , a n d future s e e m e d o n e . S e e i n g the negro c o m i n g , C a p t a i n D e l a n o h a d flung the S p a n i a r d a s i d e , a l m o s t in the very a c t of c l u t c h i n g h i m , a n d , by the u n c o n s c i o u s recoil, shifting his p l a c e , with a r m s thrown u p , s o promptly g r a p p l e d the servant in his d e s c e n t , that with d a g g e r p r e s e n t e d at C a p t a i n D e l a n o ' s heart, the black s e e m e d of p u r p o s e to have l e a p e d there a s to his m a r k . B u t the w e a p o n w a s w r e n c h e d away, a n d the a s s a i l a n t d a s h e d d o w n into the b o t t o m of the b o a t , which now, with d i s e n t a n g l e d o a r s , b e g a n to s p e e d t h r o u g h the s e a . At this j u n c t u r e , the left h a n d of C a p t a i n D e l a n o , on o n e s i d e , a g a i n c l u t c h e d the half-reclined D o n B e n i t o , h e e d l e s s that h e w a s in a s p e e c h l e s s faint, while his right foot, on the other s i d e , g r o u n d the p r o s t r a t e n e g r o ; a n d his right a r m p r e s s e d for a d d e d s p e e d on the after oar, his eye b e n t forward, e n c o u r a g i n g his m e n to their u t m o s t .

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B u t here, the officer of the boat, who h a d at last s u c c e e d e d in b e a t i n g off the towing sailors, a n d w a s now, with f a c e t u r n e d aft, a s s i s t i n g the b o w s m a n at his oar, s u d d e n l y called to C a p t a i n D e l a n o , to s e e what the b l a c k w a s a b o u t ; while a P o r t u g u e s e o a r s m a n s h o u t e d to him to give h e e d to what the S p a n i a r d w a s saying. G l a n c i n g d o w n at his feet, C a p t a i n D e l a n o saw the freed h a n d of the servant a i m i n g with a s e c o n d d a g g e r — a small o n e , before c o n c e a l e d in his w o o l — w i t h this he w a s snakishly writhing u p from the boat's b o t t o m , at the heart of his m a s t e r , his c o u n t e n a n c e lividly vindictive, e x p r e s s i n g the c e n t r e d p u r p o s e of his soul, while the S p a n i a r d , half-choked, w a s vainly shrinking away, with h u s k y words, i n c o h e r e n t to all but the P o r t u g u e s e . T h a t m o m e n t , a c r o s s the long-benighted m i n d of C a p t a i n D e l a n o , a flash of revelation swept, illuminating in u n a n t i c i p a t e d c l e a r n e s s , his host's whole mysterious d e m e a n o r , with every e n i g m a t i c event of the day, a s well a s the entire p a s t voyage of the S a n D o m i n i c k . H e s m o t e B a b o ' s h a n d d o w n , but his own heart s m o t e him harder. W i t h infinite pity he withdrew his hold from D o n B e n i t o . N o t C a p t a i n D e l a n o , but D o n B e n i t o , the black, in l e a p i n g into the boat, h a d i n t e n d e d to s t a b . B o t h the black's h a n d s were held, a s , g l a n c i n g u p towards the S a n D o m inick, C a p t a i n D e l a n o , now with s c a l e s d r o p p e d from his eyes, s a w the n e g r o e s , not in m i s r u l e , not in t u m u l t , not a s if frantically c o n c e r n e d for D o n B e n i t o , but with m a s k torn away, flourishing h a t c h e t s a n d knives, in ferocious piratical revolt. L i k e delirious b l a c k dervishes, the six A s h a n t e e s d a n c e d o n the p o o p . Prevented by their foes from springing into the water, the S p a n i s h boys were hurrying up to the t o p m o s t s p a r s , while s u c h of the few S p a n i s h sailors, not already in the s e a , less alert, were d e s c r i e d , helplessly mixed in, on deck, with the b l a c k s . M e a n t i m e C a p t a i n D e l a n o hailed his own vessel, ordering the ports u p , a n d the g u n s run out. B u t by this time the c a b l e of the S a n D o m i n i c k h a d b e e n c u t ; a n d the fag-end, in l a s h i n g out, w h i p p e d away the c a n v a s s h r o u d a b o u t the beak, s u d d e n l y revealing, as the b l e a c h e d hull s w u n g r o u n d towards the o p e n o c e a n , d e a t h for the figure-head, in a h u m a n s k e l e t o n ; chalky c o m m e n t on the c h a l k e d words below, "Follow your leader." At the sight, D o n B e n i t o , covering his f a c e , wailed out: " 'Tis h e , A r a n d a ! my m u r d e r e d , u n b u r i e d friend!" U p o n r e a c h i n g the sealer, calling for r o p e s , C a p t a i n D e l a n o b o u n d the n e g r o , w h o m a d e n o r e s i s t a n c e , a n d h a d him h o i s t e d to the deck. H e would then have a s s i s t e d the now a l m o s t helpless D o n B e n i t o u p the s i d e ; b u t D o n B e n i t o , wan a s he w a s , r e f u s e d to m o v e , or b e m o v e d , until the n e g r o s h o u l d have b e e n first put below o u t of view. W h e n , presently a s s u r e d that it w a s d o n e , he no m o r e s h r a n k from the a s c e n t . T h e boat w a s i m m e d i a t e l y d i s p a t c h e d b a c k to p i c k u p the three s w i m m i n g sailors. M e a n t i m e , the g u n s were in r e a d i n e s s , t h o u g h , owing to the S a n D o m i n i c k having glided s o m e w h a t a s t e r n of the sealer, only the a f t e r m o s t o n e c o u l d b e brought to bear. W i t h this, they fired six t i m e s ; thinking to cripple the fugitive ship by bringing d o w n her s p a r s . B u t only a few inconsiderable ropes were shot away. S o o n the ship w a s b e y o n d the g u n s ' r a n g e , steering b r o a d o u t of the bay; the b l a c k s thickly c l u s t e r i n g r o u n d the bowsprit, o n e m o m e n t with t a u n t i n g cries towards the w h i t e s , the next with upthrown g e s t u r e s hailing the now d u s k y m o o r s of o c e a n — c a w i n g crows e s c a p e d from the h a n d of the fowler.

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T h e first i m p u l s e w a s to slip the c a b l e s a n d give c h a s e . B u t , u p o n s e c o n d t h o u g h t s , to p u r s u e with w h a l e - b o a t a n d yawl s e e m e d m o r e p r o m i s i n g . U p o n inquiring of D o n B e n i t o w h a t fire a r m s they h a d on b o a r d the S a n D o m i n i c k , C a p t a i n D e l a n o w a s a n s w e r e d that they h a d n o n e that c o u l d be u s e d ; b e c a u s e , in the earlier s t a g e s of the mutiny, a c a b i n - p a s s e n g e r , s i n c e d e a d , h a d secretly p u t out of order the locks of what few m u s k e t s there were. B u t with all his r e m a i n i n g strength, D o n B e n i t o e n t r e a t e d the A m e r i c a n not to give c h a s e , either with ship or b o a t ; for the n e g r o e s h a d already proved t h e m s e l v e s s u c h d e s p e r a d o e s , that, in c a s e of a p r e s e n t a s s a u l t , nothing but a total m a s s a c r e of the whites c o u l d b e looked for. B u t , r e g a r d i n g this warning a s c o m i n g from o n e w h o s e spirit h a d b e e n c r u s h e d by misery, the American did not give u p his d e s i g n . T h e b o a t s were got ready a n d a r m e d . C a p t a i n D e l a n o o r d e r e d his m e n into t h e m . H e w a s g o i n g h i m s e l f w h e n D o n B e n i t o g r a s p e d his a r m . " W h a t ! have you saved my life, s e n o r , a n d are you now g o i n g to throw away your o w n ? " T h e officers a l s o , for r e a s o n s c o n n e c t e d with their interests a n d t h o s e of the voyage, a n d a duty o w i n g to the o w n e r s , strongly o b j e c t e d a g a i n s t their c o m m a n d e r ' s g o i n g . W e i g h i n g their r e m o n s t r a n c e s a m o m e n t , C a p t a i n D e l a n o felt b o u n d to r e m a i n ; a p p o i n t i n g his chief m a t e — a n athletic a n d r e s o l u t e m a n , w h o h a d b e e n a p r i v a t e e r ' s - m a n 8 — t o h e a d the party. T h e m o r e to e n c o u r a g e the sailors, they were told, that the S p a n i s h c a p t a i n c o n s i d e r e d his ship g o o d a s lost; that she a n d her c a r g o , i n c l u d i n g s o m e gold a n d silver, were worth m o r e t h a n a t h o u s a n d d o u b l o o n s . T a k e her, a n d n o small part s h o u l d b e theirs. T h e sailors replied with a s h o u t . T h e fugitives h a d n o w a l m o s t g a i n e d a n offing. It w a s nearly night; but the m o o n w a s rising. After h a r d , p r o l o n g e d pulling, the boats c a m e u p on the ship's q u a r t e r s , at a s u i t a b l e d i s t a n c e laying u p o n their oars to d i s c h a r g e their m u s k e t s . H a v i n g no bullets to return, the n e g r o e s sent their yells. B u t , u p o n the s e c o n d volley, Indian-like, they hurtled their h a t c h e t s . O n e took off a sailor's fingers. A n o t h e r s t r u c k the whale-boat's b o w , c u t t i n g off the r o p e there, a n d r e m a i n i n g s t u c k in the g u n w a l e like a w o o d m a n ' s a x e . S n a t c h i n g it, quivering from its l o d g m e n t , the m a t e h u r l e d it b a c k . T h e returned g a u n t let now s t u c k in the ship's broken quarter-gallery, a n d s o r e m a i n e d . T h e n e g r o e s giving too hot a r e c e p t i o n , the whites kept a m o r e respectful d i s t a n c e . Hovering now j u s t out of r e a c h of the hurtling h a t c h e t s , they, with a view to the c l o s e e n c o u n t e r which m u s t s o o n c o m e , s o u g h t to d e c o y the blacks into entirely d i s a r m i n g t h e m s e l v e s of their m o s t m u r d e r o u s w e a p o n s in a h a n d - t o - h a n d fight, by foolishly flinging t h e m , a s m i s s i l e s , short of the mark, into the s e a . B u t ere long perceiving the s t r a t a g e m , the n e g r o e s d e s i s t e d , t h o u g h not before m a n y of t h e m h a d to r e p l a c e their lost h a t c h e t s with h a n d - s p i k e s ; a n e x c h a n g e w h i c h , a s c o u n t e d u p o n , proved in the e n d favorable to the a s s a i l a n t s . M e a n t i m e , with a s t r o n g wind, the ship still clove the water; the b o a t s alternately falling b e h i n d , a n d pulling u p , to d i s c h a r g e fresh volleys. T h e fire w a s mostly directed towards the stern, s i n c e t h e r e , chiefly, the n e g r o e s , at p r e s e n t , were c l u s t e r i n g . B u t to kill or m a i m the n e g r o e s w a s not the object. T o take t h e m , with the s h i p , w a s the o b j e c t . T o d o it, the ship 8. H a d s e r v e d o n a p r i v a t e e r — a s h i p legally c o m m i s s i o n e d by a g o v e r n m e n t to p r e y o n s h i p p i n g o f o t h e r countries.

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m u s t be b o a r d e d ; which c o u l d not be d o n e by b o a t s while s h e w a s sailing so fast. A thought now struck the m a t e . O b s e r v i n g the S p a n i s h boys still aloft, high a s they c o u l d get, he called to t h e m to d e s c e n d to the y a r d s , a n d c u t adrift the sails. It w a s d o n e . A b o u t this time, owing to c a u s e s hereafter to be s h o w n , two S p a n i a r d s , in the d r e s s of sailors a n d c o n s p i c u o u s l y s h o w i n g t h e m s e l v e s , were killed; not by volleys, but by d e l i b e r a t e m a r k s m a n ' s s h o t s ; while, a s it afterwards a p p e a r e d , by o n e of the general d i s c h a r g e s , Atufal, the black, a n d the S p a n i a r d at the helm likewise were killed. W h a t now, with the loss of the sails, a n d loss of l e a d e r s , the ship b e c a m e u n m a n a g e a b l e to the n e g r o e s . With creaking m a s t s , s h e c a m e heavily r o u n d to the wind; the prow slowly swinging, into view of the b o a t s , its skeleton g l e a m i n g in the horizontal moonlight, a n d c a s t i n g a gigantic ribbed s h a d o w u p o n the water. O n e extended a r m of the g h o s t s e e m e d b e c k o n i n g the whites to a v e n g e it. " F o l l o w your leader!" cried the m a t e ; a n d , o n e on e a c h bow, the b o a t s boarded. Sealing-spears and cutlasses crossed hatchets and hand-spikes. H u d d l e d u p o n the long-boat a m i d s h i p s , the n e g r e s s e s raised a wailing c h a n t , w h o s e c h o r u s w a s the c l a s h of the steel. F o r a t i m e , the a t t a c k wavered; the n e g r o e s w e d g i n g t h e m s e l v e s to b e a t it back; the half-repelled sailors, a s yet u n a b l e to gain a footing, fighting a s troopers in the s a d d l e , o n e leg sideways flung over the b u l w a r k s , a n d o n e without, plying their c u t l a s s e s like carters' w h i p s . B u t in vain. T h e y were a l m o s t overborne, w h e n , rallying t h e m s e l v e s into a s q u a d a s o n e m a n , with a huzza, they s p r a n g i n b o a r d ; w h e r e , e n t a n g l e d , they involuntarily s e p a r a t e d again. F o r a few b r e a t h s ' s p a c e , there w a s a v a g u e , muffled, inner s o u n d , a s of s u b m e r g e d sword-fish r u s h i n g hither a n d thither through s h o a l s of blackfish. S o o n , in a reunited b a n d , a n d j o i n e d by the S p a n i s h s e a m e n , the whites c a m e to the s u r f a c e , irresistibly driving the n e g r o e s toward the stern. B u t a barricade of c a s k s a n d s a c k s , from side to s i d e , h a d b e e n thrown up by the m a i n m a s t . H e r e the n e g r o e s f a c e d a b o u t , a n d t h o u g h s c o r n i n g p e a c e or t r u c e , yet fain would have h a d respite. B u t , without p a u s e , o v e r l e a p i n g the barrier, the unflagging sailors again c l o s e d . E x h a u s t e d , the b l a c k s now fought in despair. T h e i r red t o n g u e s lolled, wolf-like, from their b l a c k m o u t h s . B u t the pale sailors' teeth were set; not a word w a s s p o k e n ; a n d , in five m i n u t e s m o r e , the ship w a s w o n . Nearly a s c o r e of the n e g r o e s were killed. Exclusive of t h o s e by the b a l l s , 9 m a n y were m a n g l e d ; their w o u n d s — m o s t l y inflicted by the l o n g - e d g e d seali n g - s p e a r s — r e s e m b l i n g t h o s e s h a v e n o n e s of the E n g l i s h at P r e s t o n P a n s , m a d e by the poled scythes of the H i g h l a n d e r s . 1 O n the other s i d e , n o n e were killed, t h o u g h several were w o u n d e d ; s o m e severely, i n c l u d i n g the m a t e . T h e surviving n e g r o e s were temporarily s e c u r e d , a n d the s h i p , towed b a c k into the harbor at midnight, o n c e m o r e lay a n c h o r e d . O m i t t i n g the incidents a n d a r r a n g e m e n t s e n s u i n g , suffice it that, after two days spent in refitting, the s h i p s sailed in c o m p a n y for C o n c e p t i o n , in Chili, a n d t h e n c e for L i m a , in P e r u ; w h e r e , before the vice-regal c o u r t s , the whole affair, from the b e g i n n i n g , u n d e r w e n t investigation. T h o u g h , midway on the p a s s a g e , the ill-fated S p a n i a r d , relaxed from con9.

T h o s e killed by m u s k e t b a l l s .

grandson

of J a m e s

II, led

Seottish

Highlanders

1. A t t h e b a t t l e o f P r e s t o n P a n s ( i n E a s t L o t h i a n ,

a r m e d with s c y t h e s f a s t e n e d to p o l e s to victory o v e r

Scotland)

the royal

during

1745,

Prince

Charles

Edward,

forces.

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straint, s h o w e d s o m e signs of r e g a i n i n g health with free-will; yet, agreeably to his own f o r e b o d i n g , shortly before arriving at L i m a , he r e l a p s e d , finally b e c o m i n g so r e d u c e d a s to b e carried a s h o r e in a r m s . H e a r i n g of his story a n d plight, o n e of the m a n y religious institutions of the City of Kings o p e n e d a n h o s p i t a b l e refuge to him, w h e r e b o t h physician a n d priest were his n u r s e s , a n d a m e m b e r of the order v o l u n t e e r e d to be his o n e special g u a r d i a n a n d c o n s o l e r , by night a n d by day. T h e following extracts, t r a n s l a t e d from o n e of the official S p a n i s h d o c u m e n t s , will it is h o p e d , s h e d light on the p r e c e d i n g narrative, a s well a s , in the first p l a c e , reveal the true port of d e p a r t u r e a n d true history of the S a n D o m i n i c k ' s voyage, d o w n to the time of her t o u c h i n g at the island of S t . Maria. B u t , ere the extracts c o m e , it m a y b e well to p r e f a c e t h e m with a remark. T h e d o c u m e n t s e l e c t e d , from a m o n g m a n y o t h e r s , for partial translation, c o n t a i n s the d e p o s i t i o n of B e n i t o C e r e n o ; the first t a k e n in the c a s e . S o m e d i s c l o s u r e s therein w e r e , at the t i m e , held d u b i o u s for both learned a n d natural r e a s o n s . T h e tribunal inclined to the opinion that the d e p o n e n t , not u n d i s t u r b e d in his m i n d by r e c e n t events, raved of s o m e things which c o u l d never have h a p p e n e d . B u t s u b s e q u e n t d e p o s i t i o n s of the surviving sailors, b e a r i n g o u t the revelations of their c a p t a i n in several of the s t r a n g e s t particu l a r s , gave c r e d e n c e to the rest. S o that the tribunal, in its final d e c i s i o n , rested its capital s e n t e n c e s u p o n s t a t e m e n t s w h i c h , h a d they lacked confirm a t i o n , it would have d e e m e d it b u t duty to reject. I, D o n J o s e d e A b o s a n d Padilla, H i s M a j e s t y ' s N o t a r y for the Royal Reve n u e , a n d Register of this P r o v i n c e , a n d N o t a r y P u b l i c of the Holy C r u s a d e of this B i s h o p r i c , e t c . D o certify a n d d e c l a r e , a s m u c h a s is requisite in law, that, in the criminal c a u s e c o m m e n c e d the twenty-fourth of the m o n t h of S e p t e m b e r , in the year s e v e n t e e n h u n d r e d a n d ninety-nine, a g a i n s t the n e g r o e s of the ship S a n D o m i n i c k , the following d e c l a r a t i o n b e f o r e m e w a s m a d e . Declaration

of the first witness,

DON

BENITO

C E R E N O

The same day, and month, and year, His Honor, Doctor Juan Martinez de Rozas, Councilor of the Royal Audience of this Kingdom, and learned in the law of this Intendency, ordered the captain of the ship San Dominick, Don Benito Cereno, to appear; which he did in his litter, attended by the monk Infelez; of whom he received the oath, which he took by God, our Lord, and a sign of the Cross; under which he promised to tell the truth of whatever he should know and should be asked;—and being interrogated agreeably to the tenor of the act commencing the process, he said, that on the twentieth of May last, he set sail with his ship from the port of Valparaiso, bound to that of Callao; loaded with the produce of the country beside thirty cases of hardware and one hundred and sixty blacks, of both sexes, mostly belonging to Don Alexandro Aranda, gentleman, of the city of Mendoza; that the crew of the ship consisted of thirty-six men, beside the persons who went as passengers; that the negroes were in part as follows: [ H e r e , in the original, follows a list of s o m e fifty n a m e s , d e s c r i p t i o n s , a n d

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a g e s , c o m p i l e d from certain recovered d o c u m e n t s of A r a n d a ' s , a n d a l s o from recollections of the d e p o n e n t , from which p o r t i o n s only are extracted.] One, from about eighteen to nineteen years, named Jose, and this was the man that waited upon his master, Don Alexandro, and who speaks well the Spanish, having served him four or five years; . . . a mulatto, named Francisco, the cabin steward, of a good person and voice, having sung in the Valparaiso churches, native of the province of Buenos Ayres, aged about thirty-five years. . . . A smart negro, named Dago, who had been for many years a grave-digger among the Spaniards, aged forty-six years. . . . Four old negroes, born in Africa, from sixty to seventy, but sound, calkers by trade, whose names are as follows:— the first was named Muri, and he was killed (as was also his son named Diamelo); the second, Nacta; the third, Yola, likewise killed; the fourth, Ghofan; and six full-grown negroes, aged from thirty to forty-five, all raw, and born among the Ashantees—Matiluqui, Yan, Lecbe, Mapenda, Yambaio, Akim;four of whom were killed; . . . a powerful negro named Atufal, who, being supposed to have been a chief in Africa, his owners set great store by him. . . . And a small negro of Senegal, but some years among the Spaniards, aged about thirty, which negro's name was Babo; . . . that he does not remember the names of the others, but that still expecting the residue of Don Alexandra's papers will be found, will then take due account of them all, and remit to the court; . . . and thirty-nine women and children of all ages. [The c a t a l o g u e over, the deposition g o e s on:] . . . That all the negroes slept upon deck, as is customary in this navigation, and none wore fetters, because the owner, his friend Aranda, told him that they were all tractable; . . . that on the seventh day after leaving port, at three o'clock in the morning, all the Spaniards being asleep except the two officers on the watch, who were the boatswain, Juan Robles, and the carpenter, Juan Bautista Gayete, and the helmsman and his boy, the negroes revolted suddenly, wounded dangerously the boatswain and the carpenter, and successively killed eighteen men of those who were sleeping upon deck, some with hand-spikes and hatchets, and others by throwing them alive overboard, after tying them; that of the Spaniards upon deck, they left about seven, as he thinks, alive and tied, to manoeuvre the ship, and three or four more who hid themselves, remained also alive. Although in the act of revolt the negroes made themselves masters of the hatchway, six or seven wounded went through it to the cockpit, without any hindrance on their part; that during the act of revolt, the mate and another person, whose name he does not recollect, attempted to come up through the hatchway, but being quickly wounded, were obliged to return to the cabin; that the deponent resolved at break of day to come up the companionway, where the negro Babo was, being the ringleader, and Atufal, who assisted him, atrocities, and having spoken to them, exhorted them to cease committing such asking them, at the same time, what they wanted and intended to do, offering, himself, to obey their commands; that, notwithstanding this, they threw, in his presence, three men, alive and tied, overboard; that they told the deponent to come up, and that they would not kill him; which having done, the negro Babo asked him whether there were in those seas any negro countries where they might be carried, and he answered them. No; that the negro Babo aftenvards

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told him to carry them to Senegal, or to the neighboring islands of St. Nicholas; and he answered, that this was impossible, on account of the great distance, the necessity involved of rounding Cape Horn, the bad condition of the vessel, the want of provisions, sails, and water; but that the negro Babo replied to him he must carry them in any way; that they would do and conform themselves to everything the deponent should require as to eating and drinking; that after a long conference, being absolutely compelled to please them, for they threatened him to kill all the whites if they were not, at all events, carried to Senegal, he told them that what was most wanting for the voyage was water; that they would go near the coast to take it, and thence they would proceed on their course; that the negro Babo agreed to it; and the deponent steered towards the intermediate ports, hoping to meet some Spanish or foreign vessel that would save their them; that within ten or eleven days they saw the land, and continued course by it in the vicinity ofNasca; that the deponent observed that the negroes were now restless and mutinous, because he did not effect the taking in of water, the negro Babo having required, with threats, that it should be done, without fail, the following day; he told him he saw plainly that the coast was steep, and the rivers designated in the maps were not to be found, with other reasons suitable to the circumstances; that the best way would be to go to the island of Santa Maria, where they might water easily, it being a solitary island, as the foreigners did; that the deponent did not go to Pisco, that was near, nor make any other port of the coast, because the negro Babo had intimated to him several times, that he would kill all the whites the very moment he should perceive any city, town, or settlement of any kind on the shores to which they should be carried: that having determined to go to the island of Santa Maria, as the deponent had planned, for the purpose of trying whether, on the passage or near the island itself, they could find any vessel that should favor them, or whether he could escape from it in a boat to the neighboring coast of Arruco; to adopt the necessary means he immediately changed his course, steering for the island; that the negroes Babo and Atufal held daily conferences, in which they discussed what was necessary for their design of returning to Senegal, whether they were to kill all the Spaniards, and particularly the deponent; that eight days after parting from the coast of Nasca, the deponent being on the watch a little after day-break, and soon after the negroes had their meeting, the negro Babo came to the place where the deponent was, and told him that he had determined to kill his master, Don Alexandro Aranda, both because he and his companions could not otherwise be sure of their liberty, and that, to keep the seamen in subjection, he wanted to prepare a warning of what road they should be made to take did they or any of them oppose him; and that, by means of the death of Don Alexandro, that warning would best be given; but, that what this last meant, the deponent did not at the time comprehend, nor could not, further than that the death of Don Alexandro was intended; and moreover, the negro Babo proposed to the deponent to call the mate Raneds, who was sleeping in the cabin, before the thing was done, for fear, as the deponent understood it, that the mate, who was a good navigator, should be killed with Don Alexandro and the rest; that the deponent, who was the friend, from youth, of Don Alexandro, prayed and conjured, but all was useless; for the negro Babo answered him that the thing could not be prevented, and that all the Spaniards risked their death if they should attempt to frustrate his will in this matter or any other; that, in this conflict, the deponent called the mate,

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Raneds, who was forced to go apart, and immediately the negro Babo commanded the Ashantee Martinqui and the Ashantee Leche to go and commit the murder; that those two went down with hatchets to the berth of Don Alexandro; that, yet half alive and mangled, they dragged him on deck; that they were going to throw him overboard in that state, but the negro Babo stopped them, bidding the murder be completed on the deck before him, which was done, when, by his orders, the body was carried below, forward; that nothing more was seen of it by the deponent for three days; . . . that Don Alonzo Sidonia, an old man, long resident at Valparaiso, and lately appointed to a civil office in Peru, whither he had taken passage, was at the time sleeping in the berth opposite Don Alexandra's; that, awakening at his cries, surprised by them, and at the sight of the negroes with their bloody hatchets in their hands, he threw himself into the sea through a window which was near him, and was drowned, without it being in the power of the deponent to assist or take him up; . . . that, a short time after killing Aranda, they brought upon deck his german-cousin, of middle-age, Don Francisco Masa, of Mendoza, and the young Don Joaquin, Marques de Aramboalaza, then lately from Spain, with his Spanish servant Ponce, and the three young clerks of Aranda, Jose Morairi, Lorenzo Bargas, and Hermenegildo Gandix, all of Cadiz; that Don Joaquin and Hermenegildo Gandix, the negro Babo for purposes hereafter to appear, preserved alive; but Don Francisco Masa, Jose Morairi, and Lorenzo Bargas, with Ponce the servant, beside the boatswain, Juan Robles, the boatswain's mates, Manuel Viscaya and Roderigo Hurta, and four of the sailors, the negro Babo ordered to be thrown alive into the sea, although they made no resistance, nor begged for anything else but mercy; that the boatswain, Juan Robles, who knew how to swim, kept the longest above water, making acts of contrition, and, in the last words he uttered, charged this deponent to cause mass to be said for his soul to our Lady of Succor; . . . that, during the three days which followed, the deponent, uncertain what fate had befallen the remains of Don Alexandro, frequently asked the negro Babo where they were, and if still on board, whether they were to be preserved for interment ashore, entreating him so to order it; that the negro Babo answered nothing till the fourth day, when at sunrise, the deponent coming on deck, the negro Babo showed him a skeleton, which had been substituted for the ship's proper figure-head, the image of Christopher Colon, the discoverer of the New World; that the negro Babo asked him whose skeleton that was, and whether, from its whiteness, he should not think it a white's; that, upon his covering his face, the negro Babo, coming close, said words to this effect: "Keep faith with the blacks from here to Senegal, or you shall in spirit, as now in body, follow your leader," pointing to the prow; . . . that the same morning the negro Babo took by succession each Spaniard forward, and asked him whose skeleton that was, and whether, from its whiteness, he should not think it a white's; that each Spaniard covered his face; that then to each the negro Babo repeated the words in the first place said to the deponent; . . . that they (the Spaniards), being then assembled aft, the negro Babo harangued them, saying that he had now done all; that the deponent (as navigator for the negroes) might pursue his course, warning him and all of them that they should, soul and body, go the way of Don Alexandro if he saw them (the Spaniards) speak or plot anything against them (the negroes)—a threat which was repeated every day; that, before the events last mentioned, they had tied the cook to throw him overboard, for it is not known what thing

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they heard him speak, but finally the negro Babo spared his life, at the request not to omit of the deponent; that a few days after, the deponent, endeavoring any means to preserve the lives of the remaining whites, spoke to the negroes peace and tranquillity, and agreed to draw up a paper, signed by the deponent and the sailors who could write, as also by the negro Babo, for himself and all the blacks, in which the deponent obliged himself to carry them to Senegal, and they not to kill any more, and he formally to make over to them the ship, with the cargo, with which they were for that time satisfied and quieted. . . . But the next day, the more surely to guard against the sailors' escape, the negro Babo commanded all the boats to be destroyed but the long-boat, which was unseaworthy, and another, a cutter in good condition, which, knowing it would yet be wanted for towing the water casks, he had lowered down into the hold.

[Various particulars of the p r o l o n g e d a n d perplexed navigation e n s u i n g here follow, with i n c i d e n t s of a c a l a m i t o u s c a l m , from which portion o n e p a s s a g e is extracted, to wit:] —That on the fifth day of the calm, all on board suffering much from the heat, and want of water, and five having died in fits, and mad, the negroes became irritable, and for a chance gesture, which they deemed suspicious—though it was harmless—made by the mate, Raneds, to the deponent, in the act of handing a quadrant, they killed him; but that for this they afterwards were sorry, the mate being the only remaining navigator on board, except the deponent.

—That omitting other events, which daily happened, and which can only serve uselessly to recall past misfortunes and conflicts, after seventy-three days' navigation, reckoned from the time they sailed from Nasca, during which they navigated under a scanty allowance of water, and were afflicted with the calms before mentioned, they at last arrived at the island of Santa Maria, on the seventeenth of the month of August, at about six o'clock in the afternoon, at which hour they cast anchor very near the American ship, Bachelor's Delight, which lay in the same bay, commanded by the generous Captain Amasa Delano; but at six o'clock in the morning, they had already descried the port, and the negroes became uneasy, as soon as at distance they saw the ship, not having expected to see one there; that the negro Babo pacified them, assuring them that no fear need be had; that straightway he ordered the figure on the bow to be covered with canvas, as for repairs, and had the decks a little set in order; that for a time the negro Babo and the negro Atufal conferred; that the negro Atufal was for sailing away, but the negro Babo would not, and, by himself, cast about what to do; that at last he came to the deponent, proposing to him to say and do all that the deponent declares to have said and done to the American captain;. . . . that the negro Babo warned him that if he varied in the least, or uttered any word, or gave any look that should give the least intimation of the past events or present state, he would instantly kill him, with all his companions, showing a dagger, which he carried hid, saying something which, as he understood it, meant that that dagger would be alert as his eye; that the negro Babo then announced the plan to all his companions, which pleased them; that he then, the better to disguise the truth, devised many expe-

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dients, in some of them uniting deceit and defense; that of this sort was the device of the six Ashantees before named, who were his bravoes;1 that them he stationed on the break of the poop, as if to clean certain hatchets (in cases, which were part of the cargo), but in reality to use them, and distribute them at need, and at a given word he told them that, among other devices, was the device of presenting Atufal, his right-hand man, as chained, though in a moment the chains could be dropped; that in every particular he informed the deponent what part he was expected to enact in every device, and what story he was to tell on every occasion, always threatening him with instant death if he varied in the least: that, conscious that many of the negroes woidd be turbulent, the negro Babo appointed the four aged negroes, who were calkers, to keep what domestic order they could on the decks; that again and again he harangued the Spaniards and his companions, informing them of his intent, and of his devices, and of the invented story that this deponent was to tell, charging them lest any of them varied from that story; that these arrangements were made and matured during the interval of two or three hours, between their first sighting the ship and the arrival on board of Captain Amasa Delano; that this happened about half-past seven o'clock in the morning, Captain Amasa Delano coming in his boat, and all gladly receiving him; that the deponent, as well as he coidd force himself, acting then the part of principal owner, and a free captain of the ship, told Captain Amasa Delano, when called upon, negroes; that he came from Buenos Ayres, bound to Lima, with three hundred that off Cape Horn, and in a subsequent fever, many negroes had died; that also, by similar casualties, all the sea officers and the greatest part of the crew had died.

[And s o the deposition g o e s o n , c i r c u m s t a n t i a l l y r e c o u n t i n g the fictitious story dictated to the d e p o n e n t by B a b o , a n d t h r o u g h the d e p o n e n t i m p o s e d u p o n C a p t a i n D e l a n o ; a n d also r e c o u n t i n g the friendly offers of C a p t a i n D e l a n o , with other things, but all of which is here o m i t t e d . After the fictitious story, etc., the deposition p r o c e e d s : ]

—that the generous Captain Amasa Delano remained on board all the day, till he left the ship anchored at six o'clock in the evening, deponent speaking to him always of his pretended misfortunes, under the fore-mentioned principles, without having had it in his power to tell a single word, or give him the least hint, that he might know the truth and state of things; because the negro Babo, performing the office of an officious servant with all the appearance of submission of the humble slave, did not leave the deponent one moment; that this was in order to observe the deponent's actions and words, for the negro Babo understands well the Spanish; and besides, there were thereabout some others who were constantly on the watch, and likewise understood the Spanish; . . . that upon one occasion, while deponent was standing on the deck conversing with Amasa Delano, by a secret sign the negro Babo drew him (the deponent) aside, the act appearing as if originating with the deponent; that then, he being drawn aside, the negro Babo proposed to him to gain from Amasa Delano full 2.

Savage

henchmen.

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particulars about his ship, and crew, and arms; that the deponent asked "For what?" that the negro Babo answered he might conceive; that, grieved at the prospect of what might overtake the generous Captain Amasa Delano, the deponent at first refused to ask the desired questions, and used every argument to induce the negro Babo to give up this new design; that the negro Babo showed the point of his dagger; that, after the information had been obtained, the negro Babo again drew him aside, telling him that that very night he (the deponent) would be captain of two ships, instead of one, for that, great part of the American's ship's crew being to be absent fishing, the six Ashantees, without any one else, would easily take it; that at this time he said other things to the same purpose; that no entreaties availed; that, before Amasa Delano's coming on board, no hint had been given touching the capture of the American ship: that to prevent this project the deponent was powerless; . . . —that in some things his memory is confused, he cannot distinctly recall every event; . . . —that as soon as they had cast anchor at six of the clock in the evening, as has before been stated, the American Captain took leave to return to his vessel; that upon a sudden impulse, which the deponent believes to have come from God and his angels, he, after the farewell had been said, followed the generous Captain Amasa Delano as far as the gunwale, where he stayed, under pretense of taking leave, until Amasa Delano should have been seated in his boat; that on shoving off, the deponent sprang from the gunwale into the boat, and fell into it, he knows not how, God guarding him; that—

[ H e r e , in the original, follows the a c c o u n t of w h a t further h a p p e n e d at the e s c a p e , a n d h o w the S a n D o m i n i c k w a s r e t a k e n , a n d of the p a s s a g e to the c o a s t ; i n c l u d i n g in the recital m a n y e x p r e s s i o n s of "eternal g r a t i t u d e " to the " g e n e r o u s C a p t a i n A m a s a D e l a n o . " T h e d e p o s i t i o n then p r o c e e d s with recapitulatory r e m a r k s , a n d a partial r e n u m e r a t i o n of the n e g r o e s , m a k i n g r e c o r d of their individual part in the p a s t e v e n t s , with a view to furnishing, a c c o r d i n g to c o m m a n d of the c o u r t , the d a t a w h e r e o n to f o u n d the criminal s e n t e n c e s to be p r o n o u n c e d . F r o m this portion is the following:] —That he believes that all the negroes, though not in the first place knowing to the design of revolt, when it was accomplished, approved it. . . . That the negro, Jose, eighteen years old, and in the personal service of Don Alexandro, was the one who communicated the information to the negro Babo, about the state of things in the cabin, before the revolt; that this is known, because, in the preceding midnight, he used to come from his berth, which was under his master's, in the cabin, to the deck where the ringleader and his associates were, and had secret conversations with the negro Babo, in which he was several times seen by the mate; that, one night, the mate drove him away twice; . . . that this same negro Jose, was the one who, without being commanded to do so by the negro Babo, as Lecbe and Martinqui were, stabbed his master, Don Alexandro, after he had been dragged half-lifeless to the deck; . . . that the mulatto steward, Francisco, was of the first band of revolters, that he was, in all things, the creature and tool of the negro Babo; that, to make his court, he, just before a repast in the cabin, proposed, to the negro Babo, poisoning a dish for the generous Captain Amasa Delano; this is known and believed, because the negroes have said it; but that the negro Babo, having another design, for-

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bade Francisco; . . . that the Ashantee Lecbe was one of the worst of them; for that, on the day the ship was retaken, he assisted in the defense of her, with a hatchet in each hand, one of which he wounded, in the breast, the chief mate of Amasa Delano, in the first act of boarding; this all knew; that, in sight of the deponent, Lecbe struck, with a hatchet, Don Francisco Masa when, by the negro Babo's orders, he was carrying him to throw him overboard, alive; beside participating in the murder, before mentioned, of Don Alexandro Aranda, and others of the cabin-passengers; that, owing to the fury with which the Ashantees fought in the engagement with the boats, but this Lecbe and Yau survived; that Yau was bad as Lecbe; that Yau was the man who, by Babo's command, willingly prepared the skeleton of Don Alexandro, in a way the negroes afterwards told the deponent, but which he, so long as reason is left him, can never divulge; that Yau and Lecbe were the two who, in a calm by night, riveted the skeleton to the bow; this also the negroes told him; that the negro Babo was he who traced the inscription below it; that the negro Babo was the plotter from first to last; he ordered every murder, and was the helm and keel of the revolt; that Atufal was his lieutenant in all; but Atufal, with his own hand, committed no murder; nor did the negro Babo; . . . that Atufal was shot, being killed in the fight with the boats, ere boarding; . . . that the negresses, of age, were knowing to the revolt and testified themselves satisfied at the death of their master, Don Alexandro; that, had the negroes not restrained them, they would have tortured to death, instead of simply killing, the Spaniards slain by command of the negro Babo; that the negresses used their utmost influence to have the deponent made away with; that, in the various acts of murder, they sang songs and danced— not gaily, but solemnly; and before the engagement with the boats, as well as during the action, they sang melancholy songs to the negroes, and that this melancholy tone was more inflaming than a different one would have been, and was so intended; that all this is believed, because the negroes have said it. —that of the thirty-six men of the crew exclusive of the passengers, (all of whom are now dead), which the deponent had knowledge of, six only remained alive, with four cabin-boys and ship-boys, not included with the crew; . . . —that the negroes broke an arm of one of the cabin-boys and gave him strokes with hatchets. [Then follow various r a n d o m d i s c l o s u r e s referring to v a r i o u s p e r i o d s of time. T h e following are extracted:] —That during the presence of Captain Amasa Delano on board, some attempts were made by the sailors, and one by Hermenegildo Gandix, to convey hints to owing him of the true state of affairs; but that these attempts were ineffectual, to fear of incurring death, and furthermore owing to the devices which offered contradictions to the true state of affairs; as well as owing to the generosity and piety of Amasa Delano incapable of sounding such wickedness; . . . that Luys Galgo, a sailor about sixty years of age, and formerly of the king's navy, was one of those who sought to convey tokens to Captain Amasa Delano; but his intent, though undiscovered, being suspected, he was, on a pretense, made to retire out of sight, and at last into the hold, and there was made away with. This the negroes have since said; . . . that one of the ship-boys feeling, from Captain Amasa Delano's presence, some hopes of release, and not having enough prudence, dropped some chance-word respecting his expectations,

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which being overheard and understood by a slave-boy with whom he was eating at the time, the latter struck him on the head with a knife, inflicting a bad wound, but of which the boy is now healing; that likewise, not long before the ship was brought to anchor, one of the seamen, steering at the time, endangered himself by letting the blacks remark some expression in his countenance, arising from a cause similar to the above; but this sailor, by his heedful after conduct, escaped; . . . that these statements are made to show the court that from the beginning to the end of the revolt, it was impossible for the deponent and his men to act otherwise than they did; . . . —that the third clerk, Hermenegildo Gandix, who before had been forced to live among the seamen, wearing a seaman's habit, and in all respects appearing to be one for the time; he, Gandix, was killed by a musket-ball fired through a mistake from the boats before boarding; having in his fright run up the mizzen-rigging, calling to the boats—"don't board," lest upon their boarding the negroes should kill him; that this inducing the Americans to believe he some way favored the cause of the negroes, they fired two balls at him, so that he fell wounded from the rigging, and was drowned in the sea; . . . —that the young Don Joaquin, Marques de Arambaolaza, like Hermenegildo Gandix, the third clerk, was degraded to the office and appearance of a common seaman; that upon one occasion when Don Joaquin shrank, the negro Babo commanded the Ashantee Lecbe to take tar and heat it, and pour it upon Don Joaquin's hands; . . . —that Don Joaquin was killed owing to another mistake of the Americans, but one impossible to with a hatchet be avoided, as upon the approach of the boats, Don Joaquin, tied edge out and upright to his hand, was made by the negroes to appear on the bulwarks; whereupon, seen with arms in his hands and in a questionable attitude, he was shot for a renegade seaman; . . . —that on the person of Don Joaquin was found secreted a jewel, which, by papers that were discovered, proved to have been meant for the shrine of our Lady of Mercy in Lima; a votive offering, beforehand prepared and guarded, to attest his gratitude, when he should have landed in Peru, his last destination, for the safe conclusion of his entire voyage from Spain; . . . —that the jewel, with the other effects of the late Don Joaquin, is in the custody of the brethren of the Hospital de Sacerdotes, awaiting the disposition of the honorable court; . . . —that, owing to the condition of the deponent, as well as the haste in which the boats departed for the attack, the Americans were not forewarned that there were, among the apparent crew, a passenger and one of the clerks disguised by the negro Babo; . . . —that, beside the negroes killed in the action, some were killed after the capture and re-anchoring at night, when shackled to the ring-bolts on deck; that these deaths were committed by the sailors, ere they could be prevented. That so soon as informed of it, Captain Amasa Delano used all his authority, and, in particular with his own hand, struck down Martinez Gola, who, having found a razor in the pocket of an old jacket of his, which one of the shackled negroes had on, was aiming it at the negro's throat; that the noble Captain Barlo, a dagger Amasa Delano also wrenched from the hand of Bartholomew secreted at the time of the massacre of the whites, with which he was in the act of stabbing a shackled negro, who, the same day, with another negro, had thrown him down and jumped upon him; . . . —that, for all the events, befalling through so long a time, during which the ship was in the hands of the negro Babo, he cannot here give account; hut that, what he had said is the most substantial of what occurs to him at present, and is the truth under the oath

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which he has taken; which declaration he affirmed and ratified, after hearing it read to him. He said that he is twenty-nine years of age, and broken in body and mind; that when finally dismissed by the court, he shall not return home to Chili, but betake himself to the monastery on Mount Agonia without; and signed with his honor, and crossed himself, and, for the time, departed as he came, in his litter, with the monk Infelez, to the Hospital de Sacerdotes. DOCTOR

ROZAS.

BENITO

C E R E N O

If the D e p o s i t i o n have served a s the key to fit into the lock of the complic a t i o n s which p r e c e d e it, t h e n , as a vault w h o s e d o o r h a s b e e n flung back, the S a n D o m i n i c k ' s hull lies o p e n to-day. Hitherto the n a t u r e of this narrative, b e s i d e s r e n d e r i n g the intricacies in the b e g i n n i n g u n a v o i d a b l e , h a s m o r e or less required that m a n y things, i n s t e a d of b e i n g set d o w n in the order of o c c u r r e n c e , s h o u l d b e r e t r o s p e c tively, or irregularly given; this last is the c a s e with the following p a s s a g e s , which will c o n c l u d e the a c c o u n t : D u r i n g the long, mild voyage to L i m a , there w a s , a s before hinted, a period d u r i n g which the sufferer a little recovered his health, or, at least in s o m e d e g r e e , his tranquillity. E r e the d e c i d e d r e l a p s e which c a m e , the two c a p t a i n s had m a n y cordial c o n v e r s a t i o n s — t h e i r fraternal unreserve in singular contrast with former w i t h d r a w m e n t s . Again a n d a g a i n , it was r e p e a t e d , how hard it had b e e n to e n a c t the part forced on the S p a n i a r d by B a b o . "Ah, my d e a r friend," D o n B e n i t o o n c e said, "at t h o s e very times w h e n you thought m e s o m o r o s e a n d ungrateful, nay, w h e n , a s you n o w a d m i t , you half thought m e plotting your m u r d e r , at t h o s e very times my heart w a s frozen; I c o u l d not look at you, thinking of what, both on b o a r d this ship a n d your o w n , h u n g , from other h a n d s , over my kind b e n e f a c t o r . A n d a s G o d lives, D o n A m a s a , I know not w h e t h e r desire for my own safety a l o n e c o u l d have nerved m e to that leap into your boat, h a d it not b e e n for the t h o u g h t that, did you, u n e n l i g h t e n e d , return to your s h i p , you, my b e s t friend, with all w h o might be with you, stolen u p o n , that night, in your h a m m o c k s , would never in this world have w a k e n e d again. D o but think how you walked this deck, how you sat in this c a b i n , every inch of g r o u n d m i n e d into honeyc o m b s u n d e r you. H a d I d r o p p e d the least hint, m a d e the least a d v a n c e towards a n u n d e r s t a n d i n g b e t w e e n u s , d e a t h , explosive d e a t h — y o u r s a s m i n e — w o u l d have e n d e d the s c e n e . " " T r u e , t r u e , " cried C a p t a i n D e l a n o , starting, "you s a v e d my life, D o n B e n i t o , m o r e than I yours; saved it, too, a g a i n s t my k n o w l e d g e a n d will." " N a y , my friend," rejoined the S p a n i a r d , c o u r t e o u s even to the point of religion, " G o d c h a r m e d your life, but you saved m i n e . T o think of s o m e things you d i d — t h o s e smilings a n d c h a t t i n g s , rash p o i n t i n g s a n d g e s t u r i n g s . F o r less than t h e s e , they slew my m a t e , R a n e d s ; but you h a d the P r i n c e of H e a v e n ' s safe c o n d u c t t h r o u g h all a m b u s c a d e s . " "Yes, all is owing to P r o v i d e n c e , I know; but the t e m p e r of my m i n d that m o r n i n g w a s m o r e than c o m m o n l y p l e a s a n t , while the sight of so m u c h suffering, m o r e a p p a r e n t than real, a d d e d to my g o o d n a t u r e , c o m p a s s i o n , a n d charity, happily interweaving the three. H a d it b e e n o t h e r w i s e , d o u b t -

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l e s s , a s you hint, s o m e of my interferences might have e n d e d u n h a p p i l y e n o u g h . B e s i d e s , t h o s e feelings I s p o k e of e n a b l e d m e to get the better of m o m e n t a r y distrust, at times w h e n a c u t e n e s s might have c o s t m e my life, without saving a n o t h e r ' s . Only at the e n d did my s u s p i c i o n s get the better of m e , a n d you know how wide of the m a r k they then p r o v e d . " " W i d e , i n d e e d , " said D o n B e n i t o , sadly; "you were with m e all day; s t o o d with m e , sat with m e , talked with m e , looked at m e , a t e with m e , d r a n k with m e ; a n d yet, your last a c t w a s to c l u t c h for a m o n s t e r , not only a n i n n o c e n t m a n , b u t the m o s t pitiable of all m e n . T o s u c h d e g r e e may m a l i g n m a c h i nations a n d d e c e p t i o n s i m p o s e . S o far may even the b e s t m a n err, in j u d g i n g the c o n d u c t of o n e with the r e c e s s e s of w h o s e c o n d i t i o n h e is not a c q u a i n t e d . B u t you were forced to it; a n d you were in time u n d e c e i v e d . W o u l d that, in both r e s p e c t s , it w a s s o ever, a n d with all m e n . " "You generalize, D o n B e n i t o ; a n d mournfully e n o u g h . B u t the p a s t is p a s s e d ; why moralize u p o n it? F o r g e t it. S e e , yon bright s u n h a s forgotten it all, a n d the b l u e s e a , a n d the b l u e sky; t h e s e have t u r n e d over n e w leaves." " B e c a u s e they have n o m e m o r y , " h e dejectedly replied; " b e c a u s e they are not h u m a n . " " B u t t h e s e mild t r a d e s * that now fan your c h e e k , do they not c o m e with a h u m a n - l i k e healing to y o u ? W a r m friends, s t e a d f a s t friends are the t r a d e s . " "With their s t e a d f a s t n e s s they but waft m e to my t o m b , s e n o r , " w a s the foreboding r e s p o n s e . "You a r e s a v e d , " cried C a p t a i n D e l a n o , m o r e a n d m o r e a s t o n i s h e d a n d p a i n e d ; "you are s a v e d ; what h a s c a s t s u c h a s h a d o w u p o n y o u ? " "The negro." T h e r e w a s s i l e n c e , while the m o o d y m a n sat, slowly a n d u n c o n s c i o u s l y g a t h e r i n g his m a n t l e a b o u t him, a s if it were a pall. T h e r e w a s no m o r e c o n v e r s a t i o n that day. B u t if the S p a n i a r d ' s m e l a n c h o l y s o m e t i m e s e n d e d in m u t e n e s s u p o n topics like the a b o v e , there were o t h e r s u p o n which he never s p o k e at all; on w h i c h , i n d e e d , all his old reserves were piled. P a s s over the worst, a n d , only to e l u c i d a t e , let an item or two of t h e s e b e cited. T h e d r e s s s o p r e c i s e a n d costly, worn by him on the day w h o s e events have b e e n n a r r a t e d , h a d not willingly b e e n put on. A n d that silver-mounted s w o r d , a p p a r e n t symbol of d e s p o t i c c o m m a n d , w a s not, i n d e e d , a sword, b u t the g h o s t of o n e . T h e s c a b b a r d , artificially stiffened, w a s empty. As for the b l a c k — w h o s e brain, not body, h a d s c h e m e d a n d led the revolt, with the p l o t — h i s slight f r a m e , i n a d e q u a t e to that which it h e l d , h a d at o n c e yielded to the s u p e r i o r m u s c u l a r strength of his c a p t o r , in the b o a t . S e e i n g all w a s over, he uttered no s o u n d , a n d c o u l d not b e f o r c e d to. H i s a s p e c t s e e m e d to say, s i n c e I c a n n o t d o d e e d s , I will not s p e a k w o r d s . Put in irons in the hold, with the rest, he w a s carried to L i m a . D u r i n g the p a s s a g e D o n B e n i t o did not visit h i m . N o r t h e n , nor at any t i m e after, w o u l d h e look at h i m . B e f o r e the tribunal he refused. W h e n p r e s s e d by the j u d g e s h e fainted. O n the t e s t i m o n y of the sailors a l o n e rested the legal identity of B a b o . S o m e m o n t h s after, d r a g g e d to the gibbet at the tail of a m u l e , the b l a c k met his v o i c e l e s s e n d . T h e body w a s b u r n e d to a s h e s ; but for m a n y d a y s , the 3. T r a d e w i n d s ; h e r e , d e p e n d a b l e w i n d s b l o w i n g f r o m s o u t h e a s t to n o r t h w e s t .

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h e a d , that hive of subtlety, fixed on a pole in the Plaza, m e t , u n a b a s h e d , the gaze of the w h i t e s ; a n d a c r o s s the Plaza looked towards S t . B a r t h o l o m e w ' s c h u r c h , in w h o s e vaults slept then, a s now, the recovered b o n e s of A r a n d a ; a n d a c r o s s the R i m a c bridge looked towards the m o n a s t e r y , o n M o u n t A g o n i a without; w h e r e , three m o n t h s after b e i n g d i s m i s s e d by the c o u r t , B e n i t o C e r e n o , b o r n e on the bier, did, i n d e e d , follow his leader. 1855,1856

EMILY DICKINSON 1830-1886 E m i l y E l i z a b e t h D i c k i n s o n w a s b o r n o n D e c e m b e r 10, 1 8 3 0 , in A m h e r s t , M a s s a c h u setts, the s e c o n d child of E d w a r d ( 1 8 0 3 - 1 8 7 4 ) a n d E m i l y N o r c r o s s D i c k i n s o n ( 1 8 0 4 1 8 8 2 ) . D i c k i n s o n lived o u t her life in only two h o u s e s , t h e s p a c i o u s b u t t h e n - d i v i d e d D i c k i n s o n family H o m e s t e a d w h e r e s h e w a s b o r n , t h e n a n o t h e r l a r g e h o u s e n e a r b y from 1 8 4 0 until 1 8 5 5 , w h e n her f a t h e r b o u g h t b a c k t h e entire H o m e s t e a d . T h e r e a f t e r s h e lived in the h o u s e w h e r e s h e w a s b o r n , dying t h e r e (of w h a t w a s d i a g n o s e d a s Bright's d i s e a s e , followed by a s t r o k e ) o n M a y 15, 1 8 8 6 . H e r c l o s e s t friends a n d lifelong allies w e r e her brother, W i l l i a m A u s t i n ( 1 8 2 9 - 1 8 9 5 ) , a year a n d a half o l d e r t h a n s h e , a n d her sister, L a v i n i a ( V i n n i e ) , w h o w a s b o r n in F e b r u a r y 1 8 3 3 a n d d i e d in 1 8 9 9 . In 1 8 5 6 w h e n h e r b r o t h e r , c a l l e d A u s t i n , m a r r i e d her s c h o o l friend S u s a n G i l b e r t ( 1 8 3 0 - 1 9 1 3 ) t h e c o u p l e m o v e d into the E v e r g r e e n s , next d o o r to t h e H o m e s t e a d , newly built for t h e c o u p l e by E d w a r d D i c k i n s o n . N e i t h e r E m i l y nor L a v i n i a m a r r i e d . E m i l y D i c k i n s o n s e l d o m left A m h e r s t . H e r o n e lengthy a b s e n c e w a s a year at M t . H o l y o k e F e m a l e S e m i n a r y ( 1 8 4 7 — 4 8 ) , in S o u t h H a d l e y , ten l o n g m i l e s a w a y , w h e r e s h e w a s i n t e n s e l y h o m e s i c k for her "own D E A R H O M E " ; a n d o n c e b a c k in A m h e r s t s h e b e c k o n e d her b r o t h e r from his s c h o o l t e a c h i n g in B o s t o n : " W a l k a w a y to f r e e d o m a n d the s u n s h i n e h e r e at h o m e . " U n d a u n t e d by her p o w e r f u l father's d o m e s t i c t y r a n n i e s , c h e r i s h i n g her m o t h e r (who r e m a i n s h a r d for b i o g r a p h e r s to c h a r a c t e r i z e , a p a s s i v e w o m a n in a h o u s e h o l d of forceful p e r s o n a l i t i e s ) , D i c k i n s o n d e c l a r e d h o m e to b e holy, " t h e definition of G o d , " a p l a c e of "Infinite p o w e r . " E c o n o m i c a l l y , politically, a n d intellectually, the D i c k i n s o n s w e r e a m o n g A m h e r s t ' s most prominent families. Edward Dickinson helped found Amherst College as a Calvinistic a l t e r n a t i v e to t h e m o r e liberal H a r v a r d a n d Yale, a n d he w a s its t r e a s u r e r for thirty-six years. H e s e r v e d a s a s t a t e r e p r e s e n t a t i v e a n d a s t a t e s e n a t o r . D u r i n g his t e r m in the n a t i o n a l H o u s e of B e p r e s e n t a t i v e s ( 1 8 5 3 — 1 8 5 4 ) , E m i l y D i c k i n s o n visited h i m in W a s h i n g t o n a n d s t a y e d briefly in P h i l a d e l p h i a on her way h o m e . A s u c c e s s f u l lawyer, A u s t i n b e c a m e a j u s t i c e of t h e p e a c e in 1 8 5 7 a n d followed his father, in 1 8 7 3 , a s t r e a s u r e r of A m h e r s t C o l l e g e . E m i l y D i c k i n s o n a t t e n d e d A m h e r s t A c a d e m y from 1 8 4 0 through 1846, years her biographer Richard B. Sewall calls "a blossoming period in her life, full a n d j o y o u s " ; t h e n s h e s p e n t her year at M t . H o l y o k e . At e i g h t e e n s h e w a s formally e d u c a t e d far b e y o n d the level t h e n a c h i e v e d by m o s t A m e r i c a n s , m a l e or f e m a l e . Religion w a s a n e s s e n t i a l part of to J o n a t h a n E d w a r d s ' s S t o c k b r i d g e t h e 1 8 4 0 s , w h e r e , for m a n y of the the i d e a of hell a n d the fear of t h e

Dickinson's education, and Amherst was nearer of a c e n t u r y b e f o r e t h a n it w a s to the B o s t o n of e d u c a t e d c l a s s e s , U n i t a r i a n i s m h a d d i s p o s e d of fiery pit. F o r D i c k i n s o n , b e i n g terrorized by old-

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f a s h i o n e d s e r m o n s a b o u t d a m n a t i o n w a s c o m p o u n d e d by t h e f r e q u e n c y of d e a t h in that a g e of high infant a n d c h i l d h o o d mortality a n d high mortality in childbirth. As her girlhood friends m a r r i e d a n d m o v e d away, s h e g r a d u a l l y b e c a m e e s t r a n g e d from t h e religious beliefs of the c o m m u n i t y . F o r several y e a r s s h e dutifully a t t e n d e d c h u r c h , a n d her terror d i m i n i s h e d , e s p e c i a l l y after 1 8 5 2 , w h e n s h e b e c a m e friends with J o s i a h G i l b e r t H o l l a n d , a s s o c i a t e editor of the S p r i n g f i e l d Republican, a n d his wife; their liberal t h e o l o g y e n c o u r a g e d her to s t r u g g l e a g a i n s t t h e i n f l u e n c e of serm o n s t h r e a t e n i n g d a m n a t i o n for s o u l s like her own. D i c k i n s o n ' s s l o w t r i u m p h over religious fears w a s intricately involved in her s e e i n g h e r s e l f a s a p o e t a n d w a s m u c h a i d e d by t h e lifelong c o u r s e of r e a d i n g o n w h i c h s h e e m b a r k e d o n c e b a c k at h o m e after M t . H o l y o k e . O f c o n t e m p o r a r y A m e r i c a n writing D i c k i n s o n k n e w the poetry of L o n g f e l l o w , H o l m e s , a n d L o w e l l . S h e identified wryly with H a w t h o r n e ' s i s o l a t e d , g n a r l e d , i d i o s y n c r a t i c c h a r a c t e r s , s u c h a s H e p z i b a h in The House of the Seven Gables. R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n w a s an e n d u r i n g favorite a n d a p a l p a b l e p r e s e n c e , a l t h o u g h s h e did not go next d o o r to m e e t him w h e n he s t a y e d at the E v e r g r e e n s o n a l e c t u r e tour in 1 8 5 7 . By t h e early 1 8 6 0 s s h e loved T h o r e a u , r e c o g n i z i n g a k i n d r e d spirit in t h e i n d e p e n d e n t , n a t u r e - l o v i n g m a n w h o d e l i g h t e d in b e i n g t h e village c r a n k of C o n c o r d . S h e a l s o r e a d a h o s t of l e s s e r A m e r i c a n fiction writers a n d p o e t s a s lowly a s the a u t h o r s of w h a t S e w a l l calls " t h e e n d l e s s string of fugitive v e r s e s in the p e r i o d i c a l s (the Republican, t h e Hampshire and Franklin Express,

t h e Atlantic,

Harper's,

and

Scribuer's)."

D i c k i n s o n ' s d e e p e s t literary d e b t s w e r e to the B i b l e a n d to British writers, d e a d a n d living. In her maturity, t h r o u g h n a t i o n a l m a g a z i n e s s h e s u b s c r i b e d to a n d b o o k s s h e o r d e r e d from B o s t o n , s h e h a d a c c e s s to t h e b e s t British literature of her t i m e within w e e k s or m o n t h s , u s u a l l y , of its p u b l i c a t i o n . H e r k n o w l e d g e of S h a k e s p e a r e w a s minu t e a n d extremely p e r s o n a l , a n d s h e k n e w line by line w o r k s of o t h e r older British p o e t s , notably M i l t o n . A favorite r e c e n t p o e t w a s K e a t s , a n d her r e a d i n g of her E n g l i s h c o n t e m p o r a r i e s s t a r t e d early. S h e r e a d t h e novels of C h a r l e s D i c k e n s a s they a p p e a r e d . S h e k n e w the p o e m s of R o b e r t B r o w n i n g a n d t h e p o e t l a u r e a t e T e n n y s o n , but the E n g l i s h c o n t e m p o r a r i e s w h o m a t t e r e d m o s t to her c a r e e r w e r e E l i z a b e t h Barrett B r o w n i n g a n d t h e B r o n t e s i s t e r s . B r o w n i n g w a s i m m e n s e l y i m p o r t a n t a s a n e x a m p l e of a s u c c e s s f u l c o n t e m p o r a r y f e m a l e p o e t . I n d e e d (to j u d g e from N o . 5 9 3 [ 6 2 7 ] ) , s h e s e e m s to h a v e a w a k e n e d D i c k i n s o n to her v o c a t i o n w h e n s h e w a s still " a s o m b r e G i r l , " a n d D i c k i n s o n revered her. F o r D i c k i n s o n all three of t h e B r o n t e s i s t e r s (the "Yorkshire girls") b e c a m e not merely a d m i r e d a u t h o r s b u t daily p r e s e n c e s in her life. D i c k i n s o n s u b s e q u e n t l y h a d yet a n o t h e r E n g l i s h m o d e l , G e o r g e Eliot, w h o m s h e c a l l e d " M r s . L e w e s , " u n p e r t u r b e d by n e w s p a p e r a c c o u n t s of the s c a n d a l o u s h o u s e hold the writer m a i n t a i n e d with t h e m a r r i e d G e o r g e L e w e s . S h e r e a d Eliot's n o v e l s , a n d p o e m s s h e r e a d a s they a p p e a r e d ; a n d after Eliot's d e a t h s h e eagerly a w a i t e d t h e a n n o u n c e d b i o g r a p h y . In her g r o w i n g s e c l u s i o n D i c k i n s o n b e c a m e a s f a m i l i a r with Eliot's fictional c h a r a c t e r s a s s h e w a s with m a n y of the i n h a b i t a n t s of A m h e r s t ; only D i c k e n s filled her m i n d with a s m a n y fictional a c q u a i n t a n c e s a s Eliot d i d . T h e s c a n d a l o u s G e o r g e S a n d w a s a powerful F r e n c h parallel, not m e r e l y a s a w o m a n b u t , after her d e a t h , a s a n o t h e r " q u e e n " — l i k e herself, a q u e e n of a literary r e a l m . " G i g a n t i c " E m i l y B r o n t e w a s a d e a d E n g l i s h q u e e n , M r s . B r o w n i n g a n d G e o r g e Eliot r e i g n e d a s d u a l E n g l i s h q u e e n s of poetry a n d (primarily) p r o s e , a n d E m i l y D i c k i n s o n r e i g n e d u n c h a l l e n g e d (in her o w n k n o w l e d g e ) a s t h e q u e e n of A m e r i c a n poetry; h u m o r o u s l y s h e d e c l a r e d that every day s h e tried o u t w a y s of b e h a v i n g " 'If 1 s h o u l d b e a Q u e e n tomorrow' " (No. 3 7 3 ) [575]. N o o n e h a s p e r s u a s i v e l y t r a c e d the p r e c i s e s t a g e s of D i c k i n s o n ' s g r o w t h from a c o n v e n t i o n a l schoolgirl versifier to o n e of the g r e a t e s t A m e r i c a n p o e t s . It s e e m s , however, that her originality e m e r g e d in m u s i c b e f o r e it e m e r g e d in v e r s e . T h r o u g h voice a n d p i a n o l e s s o n s , s h e b e c a m e a m u s i c i a n g o o d e n o u g h to i m p r o v i s e for her family, but often a l o n e , playing softly after the rest of the family h a d retired. G o i n g b e y o n d i m p r o v i s i n g original m e l o d i e s o n t h e p i a n o , s h e b e g a n to i m p r o v i s e poetry

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that w a s not merely of her o w n a u t h o r s h i p but w a s g e n u i n e l y original, in E m e r s o n ' s s e n s e of a d o r n i n g t h e world with a n e w thing. F r o m her t w e n t i e s until her d e a t h D i c k i n s o n w a s free to d e v o t e m u c h of her life to poetry; a n d by the late 1 8 5 0 s , w h e n s h e h a d b e c o m e a true poet, R i c h a r d B. S e w a l l e x p l a i n s , D i c k i n s o n "lived i n c r e a s i n g l y in her o w n c h o s e n country, w h e r e s h e w a s free. H e r h o m e w a s t h e s e t t i n g , with a family that l e a r n e d not to i n t r u d e . H e r c o m p a n i o n s w e r e her L e x i c o n ; the t h i n g s of n a t u r e ; her b o o k s ; her letters, w h i c h b e c a m e i n c r e a s i n g l y the m e a s u r e of her fulfilled r e l a t i o n s h i p s ; but e s p e c i a l l y her p o e m s , in w h i c h s h e e x p l o r e d t h e truth of her fulfillments a n d her u n f u l f i l l m e n t s — w i t h n a t u r e , m a n , a n d G o d . " In 1 8 6 2 s h e c o u l d write, "All m e n s a y 'What' to m e . " S h e d i s c o n c e r t e d p e o p l e , d e l i g h t i n g in h e r p e c u liarities that by t h e n w e r e m a n i f e s t e d not only in m u s i c a l i m p r o v i s a t i o n s a n d brilliant c o n v e r s a t i o n but a l s o in g r e a t p o e m s . H e r t h o u g h t often c a m e in t h e form of t e r s e , striking definitions or p r o p o s i t i o n s , u s e d a n d r e u s e d in letters a n d p o e m s , w h i c h s h e f r e q u e n t l y wrote d o w n , a s S e w a l l says, thriftily, "on o d d s a n d e n d s of p a p e r , o n t h e b a c k of r e c i p e s , invitations, s h o p p i n g lists, c l i p p i n g s "; a y o u n g c o u s i n r e c a l l e d Dicki n s o n c o m p o s i n g poetry in the pantry a s s h e s k i m m e d the milk. D i c k i n s o n f o u n d p o e t i c f r e e d o m within t h e c o n f i n e s of a m e t e r f a m i l i a r to her f r o m earliest c h i l d h o o d ; within that form s h e m u l t i p l i e d a u r a l p o s s i b i l i t i e s by w h a t a later a u d i e n c e called "off" r h y m e s or " s l a n t " r h y m e s . H e r p r e c i s e s y n t a c t i c a l a l l o c a t i o n s , w h i c h w o u l d run a c r o s s the e n d of the c o n v e n t i o n a l s t o p p i n g p l a c e of a line or a s t a n z a b r e a k , forced her r e a d e r to learn w h e r e to p a u s e to collect t h e s e n s e b e f o r e r e a d i n g o n . S h e b r o u g h t to poetry her s c h o o l i n g in c o n t e m p o r a r y s c i e n c e , a s well a s her lifelong a l e r t n e s s to c o n t e m p o r a r y e v e n t s , a n d s e i z e d on the f a m i l i a r g e n r e of the " o c c a s i o n a l p o e m , " a p o e m s u g g e s t e d by s o m e event or e x p e r i e n c e , a s her way of r e s p o n d i n g to the e v e n t s of the day, i n c l u d i n g m a n y p a s s a g e s s h e e n c o u n t e r e d in her r e a d i n g . T h e result w a s often o c c a s i o n a l poetry in w h i c h t h e o c c a s i o n w a s tacit, not explicit. H e r s u b j e c t matter, like her f o r m , s e e m e d c o n v e n t i o n a l u n d e r the rubrics d e v i s e d after her d e a t h for the first ( 1 8 9 0 ) e d i t i o n of her p o e m s : L i f e , L o v e , N a t u r e , T i m e , a n d Eternity, but often s h e b r o u g h t dazzling originality to t h e tritest topic. H e r " N a t u r e " p o e m s , for e x a m p l e , delight with s h a r p , p r e c i s e o b s e r v a t i o n s , but they a r e i n f u s e d with m i n g l e d e c s t a s y a n d p a i n : her i n t e n s e j o y in the arrival of s p r i n g is t e m p e r e d with t h e a c u t e p a i n of k n o w i n g that s u m m e r s in w e s t e r n M a s s a c h u s e t t s may end when August burns "low." L e t t e r s , in p a r t i c u l a r three drafts of letters to her " M a s t e r , " a n d m a n y d o z e n s of love p o e m s h a v e c o n v i n c e d b i o g r a p h e r s that D i c k i n s o n e x p e r i e n c e d a n u m b e r of p a s s i o n a t e r e l a t i o n s h i p s , o n e of w h i c h m a y have b e e n with the friend w h o b e c a m e her sister-in-law, o n e or m o r e of t h e m o s t i n t e n s e of w h i c h m a y h a v e b e e n with m e n already m a r r i e d . T h e r e is mystery a b o u t h o w s h e m e t s o m e of t h e m e n w h o m s h e is said to have loved, mystery a b o u t w h i c h of the m e n loved her in r e t u r n , mystery a b o u t w h e r e a n d h o w often s h e m e t t h e m . O n e of t h e s e r e l a t i o n s h i p s w a s with a m a n w h o p u b l i s h e d a few of her p o e m s a n d (had he b e e n p e r c e p t i v e e n o u g h ) c o u l d have p u b lished m a n y m o r e , t h e e l e c t r i c , startlingly h a n d s o m e , m a r r i e d S a m u e l B o w l e s , editor of t h e S p r i n g f i e l d Republican, w h o m a y have h a d D i c k i n s o n in m i n d w h e n he insolently c o m p l a i n e d a b o u t the way " w o m e n - w r i t e r s " t a k e c r i t i c i s m : " t h e y r e c e i v e the u n v a r n i s h e d truth a s if it w e r e a red-hot b u l l e t . " A n o t h e r p o s s i b l e o b j e c t of her affections is the R e v e r e n d C h a r l e s W a d s w o r t h , w h o m s h e m e t in P h i l a d e l p h i a in 1 8 5 5 a n d w h o visited her in A m h e r s t in 1 8 6 0 a n d 1 8 8 0 . In P h i l a d e l p h i a , a n d in S a n F r a n c i s c o after 1 8 6 2 , he lived a p u b l i c life a s m i n i s t e r a n d a s h u s b a n d a n d father. T h e last m a n s h e is known to h a v e loved w a s J u d g e O t i s Phillips L o r d , two d e c a d e s o l d e r than s h e , a c o n s e r v a t i v e W h i g w h o h a d outlived his party ( m u c h like her own f a t h e r a n d Melville's father-in-law L e m u e l S h a w , the " S h a w " o f N o . 1 1 6 [ 1 0 1 ] ) . K n o w i n g her own p o w e r s , for s o m e years D i c k i n s o n w a n t e d fiercely to b e p u b l i s h e d — o n her own t e r m s . S h e s e n t m a n y p o e m s to M r . a n d M r s . B o w l e s , privately, b u t in tacit h o p e that S a m u e l B o w l e s w o u l d s e e that they a p p e a r e d in the Republican; he did p u b l i s h a few, after w h i p p i n g t h e m into m o r e c o n v e n t i o n a l s h a p e . S h e a l s o

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s e n t p o e m s to J o s i a h H o l l a n d , w h o d i d n o t p u b l i s h t h e m in Scribner's w h e n h e c o u l d h a v e a n d w h o d i d n o t p u s h B o w l e s to p u b l i s h m o r e in t h e Republican. W h e n T . W . H i g g i n s o n ' s " L e t t e r t o a Y o u n g C o n t r i b u t o r " a p p e a r e d in t h e April 1 8 6 2 Atlantic Monthly, a c o m p e n d i u m o f p r a c t i c a l a d v i c e o n p r e p a r i n g a n d p l a c i n g m a n u s c r i p t s in a c o m p e t i t i v e literary m a r k e t p l a c e , s h e f o u n d in t h e e s s a y t h e a s s u r a n c e t h a t "every editor is a l w a y s h u n g e r i n g a n d thirsting after n o v e l t i e s , " e a g e r for t h e privilege of " b r i n g i n g forward a n e w g e n i u s . " In a n o t h e r p a s s a g e H i g g i n s o n e n c o u r a g i n g l y e x a l t e d " t h e m a g n i f i c e n t mystery o f w o r d s " over a style merely c o n v e n t i o n a l l y s m o o t h a n d a c c u r a t e . I g n o r i n g o t h e r p a s s a g e s ( s u c h a s a s t e r n w a r n i n g a g a i n s t p r e m a t u r e indiv i d u a l i s m a n d " m a n n e r i s m " ) , s h e c o p i e d o u t a few of h e r p o e m s — p l a i n l y to s e e if h e would publish them. In h e r letter to H i g g i n s o n o n April 1 5 , 1 8 6 2 , h e r first s e n t e n c e w a s a p l e a for r e c o g n i t i o n : " A r e y o u t o o d e e p l y o c c u p i e d to s a y if m y V e r s e is a l i v e ? " If it w a s alive, plainly, it d e s e r v e d to b e in print. H i g g i n s o n w a s i n c a p a b l e o f r e s p o n d i n g a s s h e h o p e d , a n d in t h e f a c e of h i s d i s a p p r o v a l o f h e r f o r m a l i m p e r f e c t i o n s s h e d e f e n s i v e l y d i s g u i s e d h e r d e s i r e to b e c o m e a p u b l i s h e d p o e t . H i g g i n s o n l o o m s large in a n y Dickinson b i o g r a p h y n o t b e c a u s e h e r e c o g n i z e d h e r a s a g r e a t p o e t in t i m e to n o u r i s h a n d p r o l o n g h e r i n t e n s e c r e a t i v e y e a r s , b u t b e c a u s e M a b e l L o o m i s T o d d m u c h later e n l i s t e d h i m a s a front m a n , w h o s e literary s t a t u r e w o u l d g u a r a n t e e t h a t a t t e n t i o n w o u l d b e p a i d t o t h e 1 8 9 0 v o l u m e o f D i c k i n s o n ' s poetry s h e h a d e d i t e d with m i n i m a l help from h i m . After H i g g i n s o n ' s d i s a p p o i n t i n g r e s p o n s e t o h e r p o e m s , D i c k i n s o n built u p a n a r m o r a g a i n s t r e j e c t i o n , p r o c l a i m i n g c o n t e m p t u o u s l y that p u b l i c a t i o n w a s " t h e A u c t i o n / O f t h e M i n d o f M a n " a n d that s h e w o u l d g o to h e r m a k e r u n d e f i l e d by c o m m e r c e . B u t k n o w i n g s h e w a s g r e a t a n d h a v i n g l o n g e d for p u b l i c r e c o g n i t i o n , s h e c o n t i n u e d for t h e rest o f h e r life t o f u n c t i o n (in h e r o w n eyes) o n e q u a l f o o t i n g with h e r g r e a t V i c t o r i a n c o n t e m p o r a r i e s . T h e s e c o n d half o f D i c k i n s o n ' s life w a s m a r k e d by a s u c c e s s i o n o f d e a t h s . S h e h a d e x p e r i e n c e d d e a t h s all h e r life, b u t n o t h i n g to c o m p a r e with t h e d e a t h o f h e r eightyear-old n e p h e w G i l b e r t in 1 8 8 3 , next d o o r at t h e E v e r g r e e n s . D i c k i n s o n ' s s e c l u s i o n late in life m a y h a v e o w e d a s m u c h to h e r d e s i r e to d i s t a n c e h e r s e l f from s t r a i n s in the m a r r i a g e next d o o r a s a n y t h i n g e l s e . In 1 8 8 1 D a v i d T o d d arrived in A m h e r s t a s d i r e c t o r o f t h e A m h e r s t C o l l e g e O b s e r v a t o r y . H i s y o u n g wife, M a b e l , w a s t a k e n u p by S u e G i l b e r t for a t i m e , a n d t h e s u b s e q u e n t s e x u a l liaison b e t w e e n A u s t i n a n d M a b e l l a s t e d until A u s t i n ' s d e a t h . S e v e r a l m o n t h s b e f o r e h e r d e a t h in 1 8 8 2 , M r s . D i c k i n s o n r e a d s o m e o f her d a u g h ter's poetry t o M r s . T o d d , w h o f o u n d t h e m "full o f p o w e r . " S o o n T o d d a n d E m i l y D i c k i n s o n h a d e s t a b l i s h e d " a very p l e a s a n t f r i e n d s h i p " w i t h o u t m e e t i n g ( M a b e l T o d d s a w D i c k i n s o n o n c e , in h e r coffin), a n d T o d d h a d d e c i d e d t h a t e v e n t h o u g h h e r n e i g h b o r r e m i n d e d h e r o f D i c k e n s ' s M i s s H a v e r s h a m in G r e a t Expectations, this A m h e r s t e c c e n t r i c w a s " i n m a n y r e s p e c t s a g e n i u s . " W i t h o u t t h e p o e t ' s o v e r t u r e s (a g l a s s o f sherry, flowers, p o e m s ) t o t h e n e w c o m e r , E m i l y D i c k i n s o n w o u l d n o t b e in this or a n y o t h e r a n t h o l o g y . S h e m i g h t h a v e b e e n wholly f o r g o t t e n h a d n o t y o u n g M a b e l T o d d (at L a v i n i a ' s i n s t i g a t i o n ) p a i n s t a k i n g l y t r a n s c r i b e d m a n y o f D i c k i n s o n ' s p o e m s . T h e s u b s e q u e n t p r e s e r v a t i o n a n d p u b l i c a t i o n o f D i c k i n s o n ' s p o e m s a n d letters w e r e i n i t i a t e d a n d c a r r i e d forth by T o d d , a l m o s t s i n g l e - h a n d e d l y . S h e p e r s u a d e d t h e e v e r - c a u t i o u s T . W . H i g g i n s o n to h e l p h e r s e e a c o l l e c t i o n o f Poems into print in 1 8 9 0 a n d a " s e c o n d s e r i e s " o f P o e m s in 1 8 9 1 ; s h e p u b l i s h e d a third s e r i e s in 1 8 9 6 , w i t h o u t H i g g i n s o n ' s i n v o l v e m e n t . R i c h a r d B . S e w a l l e s t i m a t e s t h a t only a b o u t a t e n t h o f t h e letters D i c k i n s o n wrote h a v e survived a n d only a t h o u s a n d t h o f t h o s e written t o h e r . M a b e l T o d d c o u l d d o n o t h i n g a b o u t t h e d e s t r u c t i o n o f letters t o D i c k i n s o n , b u t t h r o u g h h e r e d i t i n g a n d h e r p o p u l a r l e c t u r e s s h e p e r f o r m e d s m a l l m i r a c l e s in a l e r t i n g p e o p l e , in t i m e , to t h e p r e s e r v a t i o n o f D i c k i n s o n ' s letters, t h e first e d i t i o n o f w h i c h s h e p u b l i s h e d in 1 8 9 4 . In t h e 1 8 9 0 s s o m e critics r e a c t e d with s u p e r i o r i t y t o w a r d w h a t t h e y s a w a s v e r s e that violated t h e l a w s o f m e t e r , b u t t h e p u b l i c loved t h e p o e m s at o n c e . After T o d d ' s l a b o r s D i c k i n s o n ' s survival a s a p o p u l a r m i n o r p o e t w a s n e v e r

P O E M S

/

1171

l o n g in d o u b t ; a n d t h r o u g h h e r efforts t h e d o c u m e n t a r y m a t e r i a l s w e r e p r e s e r v e d o n w h i c h literary s c h o l a r s a n d critics c o u l d later c r o w n D i c k i n s o n a s o n e o f t h e g r e a t American poets, another "gigantic Emily." T h e texts o f t h e p o e m s a r e f r o m T h o m a s H . J o h n s o n ' s o n e - v o l u m e e d i t i o n , The Poems

of Emily

Dickinson

( 1 9 6 0 ) . B r a c k e t e d n u m b e r s r e f e r to The Poems

of

Emily

Dickinson, e d i t e d by R. W . F r a n k l i n ( 1 9 9 9 ) . T h e letters by D i c k i n s o n to H i g g i n s o n a r e from vol. 2 o f The Letters of Emily Dickinson, e d i t e d by T h o m a s H . J o h n s o n a n d Theodora Ward (1958).

49

[39]

I never lost a s m u c h b u t twice, A n d that w a s in t h e s o d . T w i c e have I s t o o d a b e g g a r Refore t h e door o f G o d ! Angels—twice descending Reimbursed my store— Rurglar! B a n k e r — F a t h e r ! I a m poor once more! c. 1 8 5 8

5

1890

67

[112]

S u c c e s s is c o u n t e d s w e e t e s t By t h o s e w h o ne'er s u c c e e d . To comprehend a nectar R e q u i r e s sorest n e e d . N o t o n e of all t h e p u r p l e H o s t W h o took t h e F l a g today C a n tell t h e definition S o clear o f Victory As h e d e f e a t e d — d y i n g — O n w h o s e forbidden e a r T h e d i s t a n t strains of t r i u m p h B u r s t agonized a n d clear! c. 1 8 5 9

5

10

1878

1172

/

E M I L Y

D I C K I N S O N

130

[122]

T h e s e are the days w h e n Birds c o m e b a c k — A very f e w — a Bird or t w o — T o take a b a c k w a r d look. T h e s e are the days w h e n skies r e s u m e T h e o l d — o l d s o p h i s t r i e s ' of J u n e — A b l u e a n d gold m i s t a k e .

5

O h fraud that c a n n o t c h e a t the B e e — A l m o s t thy plausibility I n d u c e s my belief. Till ranks of s e e d s their witness b e a r — A n d softly thro' the altered air H u r r i e s a timid leaf. O h S a c r a m e n t of s u m m e r d a y s , O h L a s t C o m m u n i o n 2 in the H a z e — Permit a child to j o i n .

IO

is

T h y s a c r e d e m b l e m s to p a r t a k e — Thy c o n s e c r a t e d b r e a d to take And thine i m m o r t a l wine! c.1859

1890

185

[202]

" F a i t h " is a fine invention W h e n G e n t l e m e n c a n see— B u t Microscopes are prudent In an E m e r g e n c y . c. 1 8 6 0

1891

214

[207]

I taste a liquor never b r e w e d — F r o m T a n k a r d s s c o o p e d in PearlN o t all the Vats u p o n the R h i n e Yield s u c h an Alcohol!

1. 2.

Deceptively subtle reasonings. I . e . , t h e d e a t h o f n a t u r e in fall is c o m p a r e d t o

t h e d e a t h o f C h r i s t c o m m e m o r a t e d by t h e C h r i s tian s a c r a m e n t of C o m m u n i o n .

P O E M S

/

1 1 7 3

Inebriate of A i r — a m I — A n d D e b a u c h e e of D e w — Reeling—thro endless summer days— F r o m inns of M o l t e n B l u e —

5

W h e n " L a n d l o r d s " turn the d r u n k e n B e e O u t of the Foxglove's d o o r — W h e n B u t t e r f l i e s — r e n o u n c e their " d r a m s " — I shall but drink the m o r e !

10

Till S e r a p h s * swing their snowy H a t s — A n d S a i n t s — t o windows r u n — T o s e e the little T i p p l e r Leaning against t h e — S u n —

15

c.1860

1861

216

[124]

S a f e in their A l a b a s t e r 4 C h a m b e r s — U n t o u c h e d by M o r n i n g A n d u n t o u c h e d by N o o n — S l e e p the m e e k m e m b e r s of the R e s u r r e c t i o n — Rafter of satin, A n d R o o f of s t o n e .

5

Light l a u g h s the b r e e z e In her C a s t l e a b o v e t h e m — R a b b l e s the Ree in a stolid Ear, Pipe the S w e e t Rirds in ignorant c a d e n c e — A h , what sagacity p e r i s h e d here!

ID

version of 1859

1862

S a f e in their A l a b a s t e r C h a m b e r s — U n t o u c h e d by M o r n i n g — A n d u n t o u c h e d by N o o n — L i e the m e e k m e m b e r s of the R e s u r r e c t i o n — Rafter of S a t i n — a n d R o o f of S t o n e !

5

G r a n d go the Y e a r s — i n the C r e s c e n t — a b o v e t h e m — W o r l d s s c o o p their A r c s — And F i r m a m e n t s — r o w — Diadems—drop—and Doges5—surrender— S o u n d l e s s a s d o t s — o n a D i s c of S n o w —

10

version of 1 8 6 1 3.

Six-winged

angels

1890 believed

to

guard

throne. 4. T r a n s l u c e n t , w h i t e c h a l k y

God's

5.

Chief

magistrates

and G e n o a from the material.

turies.

in t h e

republics

of

Venice

11th t h r o u g h t h e 16th

cen-

1174

/

E M I L Y

D I C K I N S O N

241

[339]

I like a look of Agony, B e c a u s e I know it's t r u e — M e n do not s h a m C o n v u l s i o n , Nor simulate, a T h r o e — T h e E y e s glaze o n c e — a n d that is D e a t h — I m p o s s i b l e to feign T h e B e a d s u p o n the F o r e h e a d By homely A n g u i s h s t r u n g . c.1861

5

1890

249

[269]

Wild N i g h t s — W i l d N i g h t s ! W e r e I with t h e e Wild N i g h t s s h o u l d be O u r luxury! Futile—the Winds— T o a H e a r t in p o r t — D o n e with the C o m p a s s — D o n e with the C h a r t ! R o w i n g in E d e n — A h , the S e a ! Might I but m o o r — T o n i g h t — In T h e e ! c.1861

5

io

1891

258

[320]

T h e r e ' s a certain S l a n t of light, Winter A f t e r n o o n s — T h a t o p p r e s s e s , like the Heft Of Cathedral T u n e s — Heavenly H u r t , it gives u s — W e c a n find no s c a r , B u t internal d i f f e r e n c e , W h e r e the M e a n i n g s , a r e —

5

P O E M S

N o n e may teach it—Any— T i s the S e a l 6 D e s p a i r — An imperial affliction S e n t us of the Air— W h e n it c o m e s , the L a n d s c a p e l i s t e n s — S h a d o w s — h o l d their b r e a t h — W h e n it g o e s , 'tis like the D i s t a n c e O n the look of D e a t h — c.1861

/

1175

10

15 1890

287 A Clock stopped— N o t the M a n t e l ' s — G e n e v a ' s 7 farthest skill C a n ' t put the p u p p e t b o w i n g — T h a t j u s t now d a n g l e d still—

[259]

5

An a w e c a m e on the Trinket! T h e F i g u r e s h u n c h e d , with p a i n — T h e n quivered out of D e c i m a l s — Into D e g r e e l e s s N o o n — It will not stir for D o c t o r s — T h i s P e n d u l u m of s n o w — The Shopman importunes it— While c o o l — c o n c e r n l e s s N o — N o d s from the G i l d e d p o i n t e r s — N o d s from the S e c o n d s s l i m — D e c a d e s of A r r o g a n c e b e t w e e n T h e Dial l i f e — And H i m — c. 1 8 6 1

10

15

1896

303

[409]

T h e S o u l s e l e c t s her own S o c i e t y — T h e n — s h u t s the D o o r — T o her divine M a j o r i t y — P r e s e n t no m o r e — 6. In t h e d o u b l e s e n s e o f a d e v i c e u s e d t o i m p r i n t a n official m a r k a n d a n official sign o f c o n f i r m a tion.

7. A c i t y in S w i t z e r l a n d , f a m o u s f o r i t s c l o c k m a k ers.

1 1 7 6

/

E M I L Y

D I C K I N S O N

U n m o v e d — s h e notes the C h a r i o t s — p a u s i n g — At her low G a t e — U n m o v e d — a n E m p e r o r b e kneeling U p o n her M a t — I've known h e r — f r o m an a m p l e n a t i o n — Choose O n e — T h e n — c l o s e the Valves of her a t t e n t i o n — Like S t o n e — c.1862

5

10

1890

328

[359]

A Bird c a m e d o w n the W a l k — H e did not know I s a w — H e bit a n A n g l e w o r m in halves And ate the fellow, raw, A n d then h e d r a n k a D e w From a convenient G r a s s — A n d then h o p p e d sidewise to the Wall T o let a B e e t l e p a s s — H e g l a n c e d with rapid eyes T h a t hurried all a r o u n d — T h e y looked like frightened B e a d s , I t h o u g h t — H e stirred his Velvet H e a d Like o n e in d a n g e r , C a u t i o u s , I offered him a C r u m b A n d h e unrolled his f e a t h e r s A n d rowed him softer h o m e —

io

15

T h a n O a r s divide the O c e a n , T o o silver for a s e a m — O r Butterflies, off B a n k s of N o o n L e a p , p l a s h l e s s 8 a s they s w i m . c. 1 8 6 2

1891

341 After great p a i n , a formal feeling c o m e s — T h e N e r v e s sit c e r e m o n i o u s , like T o m b s — T h e stiff H e a r t q u e s t i o n s w a s it H e , that b o r e , And Yesterday, or C e n t u r i e s b e f o r e ? 8.

I.e.,

20

splashless.

[372]

P O E M S

/

1177

T h e F e e t , m e c h a n i c a l , go r o u n d — O f G r o u n d , or Air, or O u g h t — A W o o d e n wayR e g a r d l e s s grown, A Quartz c o n t e n t m e n t , like a s t o n e — T h i s is the H o u r of L e a d — R e m e m b e r e d , if outlived, A s Freezing p e r s o n s , recollect the S n o w — F i r s t — C h i l l — t h e n S t u p o r — t h e n the letting g o — c. 1 8 6 2

10

1929

348

[347]

I d r e a d e d that first R o b i n , s o , B u t H e is m a s t e r e d , now, I'm s o m e a c c u s t o m e d to H i m grown, H e hurts a little, t h o u g h — I t h o u g h t if I c o u l d only live Till that first S h o u t got b y — N o t all P i a n o s in the W o o d s H a d power to m a n g l e m e — I d a r e d not m e e t the D a f f o d i l s — F o r fear their Yellow G o w n W o u l d p i e r c e m e with a f a s h i o n S o foreign to my o w n — I w i s h e d the G r a s s would h u r r y — S o — w h e n 'twas time to s e e — He'd b e too tall, the tallest o n e C o u l d s t r e t c h — t o look at m e — I c o u l d not b e a r the B e e s s h o u l d c o m e , I w i s h e d they'd stay away In t h o s e d i m c o u n t r i e s w h e r e they g o , W h a t word h a d they, for m e ? They're h e r e , t h o u g h ; not a c r e a t u r e f a i l e d — N o B l o s s o m stayed away In gentle d e f e r e n c e to m e — T h e Q u e e n of C a l v a r y 9 —

9.

I.e., o n e w h o h a s e x p e r i e n c e d i n t e n s e suffering.

s

io

is

20

1178

/

EMILY

DICKINSON

E a c h o n e s a l u t e s m e , a s he g o e s , A n d I, my childish P l u m e s , Lift, in bereaved a c k n o w l e d g e m e n t O f their unthinking D r u m s —

25

1891

c. 1 8 6 2

435

[620]

M u c h M a d n e s s is divinest S e n s e — T o a discerning E y e — M u c h S e n s e — t h e starkest M a d n e s s — T i s the Majority In this, a s All, p r e v a i l — A s s e n t — a n d you a r e s a n e — D e m u r — y o u ' r e straightway d a n g e r o u s — A n d h a n d l e d with a C h a i n — 1890

c. 1 8 6 2

441

[519]

T h i s is my letter to the W o r l d T h a t never wrote to M e — T h e s i m p l e N e w s that N a t u r e t o l d — With tender M a j e s t y H e r M e s s a g e is c o m m i t t e d T o Hands I cannot s e e — F o r love of H e r — S w e e t — c o u n t r y m e n J u d g e tenderly—of M e 1890

c. 1 8 6 2

448

[446]

T h i s was a P o e t — I t is T h a t Distills a m a z i n g s e n s e F r o m ordinary M e a n i n g s — A n d Attar 1 s o i m m e n s e F r o m the familiar s p e c i e s T h a t p e r i s h e d by the D o o r — W e w o n d e r it w a s not O u r s e l v e s Arrested i t — b e f o r e — 1.

Perfume obtained from

flowers.

5

P O E M S

O f P i c t u r e s , the D i s c l o s e r ' — T h a t P o e t — i t is H e — Entitles U s — b y C o n t r a s t — T o c e a s e l e s s Poverty— Of Portion—so unconscious— T h e R o b b i n g — c o u l d not h a r m — Himself—to Him—a Fortune— Exterior—to T i m e — c. 1 8 6 2

/

1179

10

is 1929

449

[448]

I died for R e a u t y — b u t w a s s c a r c e A d j u s t e d in the t o m b W h e n O n e w h o died for T r u t h , w a s lain In a n adjoining R o o m — H e q u e s t i o n e d softly "Why I failed"? "For Reauty", I replied— "And I—for T r u t h — T h e m s e l f are O n e — W e Rrethren, a r e " , H e s a i d — And s o , as K i n s m e n , m e t a N i g h t — W e talked b e t w e e n the R o o m s — Until the M o s s h a d r e a c h e d our l i p s — And covered u p — o u r n a m e s — c. 1 8 6 2

5

in

1890

465 I h e a r d a Fly T h e Stillness W a s like the Retween the

[591]

buzz—when I died— in the R o o m Stillness in the A i r — H e a v e s of S t o r m —

T h e Eyes a r o u n d — h a d w r u n g t h e m d r y — A n d Rreaths were g a t h e r i n g firm F o r that last O n s e t — w h e n the King B e w i t n e s s e d — i n the R o o m — I willed my K e e p s a k e s — S i g n e d away W h a t portion of m e be A s s i g n a b l e — a n d then it w a s There interposed a Fly—

5

10

1180

/

EMILY

DICKINSON

With Blue—uncertain stumbling B u z z — B e t w e e n the l i g h t — a n d m e — A n d then the W i n d o w s f a i l e d — a n d then I c o u l d not s e e to s e e — c. 1 8 6 2

15 1896

501

[373]

T h i s W o r l d is not C o n c l u s i o n . A Species stands beyond— Invisible, a s M u s i c — B u t positive, a s S o u n d — It b e c k o n s , a n d it b a f f l e s — Philosophy—don't know— A n d t h r o u g h a R i d d l e , at the l a s t — Sagacity, must g o — T o g u e s s it, puzzles s c h o l a r s — T o g a i n it, M e n have b o r n e C o n t e m p t of G e n e r a t i o n s A n d Crucifixion, s h o w n — Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies— B l u s h e s , if any s e e — P l u c k s at a twig of E v i d e n c e — A n d a s k s a V a n e , the w a y — M u c h G e s t u r e , from the P u l p i t — S t r o n g H a l l e l u j a h s roll— N a r c o t i c s c a n n o t still the T o o t h

io

T h a t nibbles at the s o u l —

20

c.1862

5

15

1896

505 I would not p a i n t — a p i c t u r e — I'd rather b e the O n e Its bright impossibility To dwell—delicious—on— A n d w o n d e r how the fingers feel Whose rare—celestial—stir— Evokes so sweet a T o r m e n t — Such sumptuous—Despair— I would not talk, like C o r n e t s — I'd rather b e the O n e R a i s e d softly to the C e i l i n g s — A n d out, a n d easy o n — T h r o u g h Villages of E t h e r —

[348]

P O E M S

Myself e n d u e d Balloon By but a lip of M e t a l — T h e pier to my P o n t o o n — N o r w o u l d I be a P o e t — It's finer—own the E a r — Enamored—impotent—content— T h e L i c e n s e to revere, A privilege so awful W h a t would the D o w e r b e , H a d I the Art to s t u n myself W i t h B o l t s of Melody! c.1862

/

1181

15

20

1945

510

[355]

It w a s not D e a t h , for I s t o o d u p , A n d all the D e a d , lie d o w n — It w a s not N i g h t , for all the Bells P u t o u t their T o n g u e s , for N o o n . It w a s not F r o s t , for on my F l e s h I felt S i r o c c o s 2 — c r a w l — N o r F i r e — f o r j u s t my M a r b l e feet C o u l d keep a C h a n c e l , 3 c o o l — A n d yet, it t a s t e d , like t h e m all, T h e F i g u r e s I have s e e n S e t orderly, for Burial, R e m i n d e d m e , of m i n e — As if my life were s h a v e n , A n d fitted to a f r a m e , A n d c o u l d not b r e a t h e without a key, A n d 'twas like M i d n i g h t , s o m e — W h e n everything that t i c k e d — h a s s t o p p e d — A n d S p a c e stares all a r o u n d — O r Grisly frosts—first A u t u m n m o r n s , R e p e a l the B e a t i n g G r o u n d —

5

10

15

20

B u t , m o s t , like C h a o s — S t o p l e s s — c o o l — W i t h o u t a C h a n c e , or S p a r — O r even a Report of L a n d — To justify—Despair. c. 1 8 6 2 2. Hot, oppressive winds from N o r t h Africa. 3. T h e p a r t o f t h e c h u r c h that c o n t a i n s t h e c h o i r a n d s a n c t u a r y .

1891

1182

/

E M I L Y

D I C K I N S O N

632

[598]

T h e B r a i n — i s wider than the S k y — F o r — p u t t h e m side by s i d e — T h e o n e the other will c o n t a i n With e a s e — a n d Y o u — b e s i d e — T h e Brain is d e e p e r than the s e a — F o r — h o l d t h e m — B l u e to B l u e — T h e o n e the other will a b s o r b — As S p o n g e s — B u c k e t s — d o — T h e Brain is j u s t the weight of G o d — F o r — H e f t t h e m — P o u n d for P o u n d — A n d they will differ—if they d o — A s Syllable from S o u n d — c. 1 8 6 2

5

io

1896 •

•

640 I c a n n o t live with Y o u — It would be L i f e — And Life is over t h e r e — B e h i n d the S h e l f T h e S e x t o n 4 k e e p s the Key t o — Putting up Our Life—His Porcelain— Like a C u p — D i s c a r d e d of the H o u s e w i f e — Quaint—or Broke— A newer S e v r e s ' p l e a s e s — Old Ones crack— I c o u l d not d i e — w i t h Y o u — F o r O n e m u s t wait T o s h u t the O t h e r ' s G a z e d o w n — You—could not— A n d I — C o u l d I s t a n d by And see You—freeze— W i t h o u t my Right of F r o s t — D e a t h ' s privilege?

4.

C h u r c h o f f i c e r o r e m p l o y e e w h o is c u s t o d i a n o f

c h u r c h property, bellringer, and grave digger.

5.

5

io

is

20

F i n e , o f t e n e l a b o r a t e l y d e c o r a t e d F r e n c h por-

celain.

P O E M S

/

1183

N o r c o u l d I rise—with Y o u — B e c a u s e Your F a c e W o u l d put o u t J e s u s ' — That New Grace G l o w p l a i n — a n d foreign O n my h o m e s i c k E y e — E x c e p t that You than H e Shone closer by— They'd j u d g e U s — H o w — F o r Y o u — s e r v e d H e a v e n — Y o u know, Or sought t o — I could not— B e c a u s e You s a t u r a t e d S i g h t — A n d I h a d no m o r e Eyes F o r sordid excellence As P a r a d i s e And were You lost, I w o u l d b e — Though My N a m e Rang loudest O n the Heavenly f a m e — A n d were Y o u — s a v e d — A n d I — c o n d e m n e d to b e W h e r e You were n o t — T h a t s e l f — w e r e Hell to M e — S o W e must meet apart— You t h e r e — I — h e r e — With j u s t the D o o r ajar That Oceans are—and Prayer— A n d that W h i t e S u s t e n a n c e — Despair—

45

50 1890

650 P a i n — h a s an E l e m e n t of R I a n k — It c a n n o t recollect W h e n it b e g u n — o r if there were A time w h e n it w a s n o t —

[760]

1184

/

E M I L Y

D I C K I N S O N

It h a s n o F u t u r e — b u t itself— Its Infinite c o n t a i n Its P a s t — e n l i g h t e n e d to perceive New Periods—of Pain. c. 1 8 6 2

712 B e c a u s e I c o u l d not s t o p for D e a t h — H e kindly s t o p p e d for m e — T h e C a r r i a g e held b u t j u s t O u r s e l v e s — A n d Immortality. W e slowly d r o v e — H e knew n o h a s t e A n d I h a d p u t away M y labor a n d my leisure t o o , F o r H i s Civility— W e p a s s e d the S c h o o l , w h e r e C h i l d r e n strove At R e c e s s — i n the R i n g — W e p a s s e d the Fields of G a z i n g G r a i n — W e p a s s e d the S e t t i n g S u n —

. IF pA

Or rather—He passed U s — T h e D e w s drew quivering a n d c h i l l — F o r only G o s s a m e r , my G o w n — y i Q r M y Tippet'-only Tulle—

Wfi^rfPQ

^ e P a u s e a " before a H o t r e e j h a t s e e m e d A S w e l l i n g of the G r o u n d — T h e R o o f w a s scarcely v i s i b l e — T h e C o r n i c e — i n the G r o u n d — Since Feels I first Were

t h e n — ' t i s C e n t u r i e s — a n d yet shorter than the Day s u r m i s e d the H o r s e s H e a d s toward E t e r n i t y —

c. 1 8 6 3

754 M y Life h a d s t o o d — a L o a d e d G u n In C o r n e r s — t i l l a D a y The Owner passed—identified— A n d carried M e a w a y — 6.

Shoulder cape.

P O E M S

And And And The

now W e r o a m in Sovereign W o o d s — now W e h u n t the D o e — every time I s p e a k for H i m — M o u n t a i n s straight reply—

A n d do I s m i l e , s u c h cordial light U p o n the Valley g l o w — It is a s a V e s u v i a n f a c e 7 H a d let its p l e a s u r e t h r o u g h — A n d w h e n at N i g h t — O u r g o o d Day d o n e — I guard My Master's H e a d — T i s better than the E i d e r - D u c k ' s D e e p Pillow—to have s h a r e d — T o foe of H i s — I ' m deadly f o e — N o n e stir the s e c o n d t i m e — O n w h o m I lay a Yellow E y e — O r an e m p h a t i c T h u m b —

/

1185

5

10

15

20

T h o u g h I than H e — m a y longer live H e longer m u s t — t h a n I — F o r I have b u t the power to kill, W i t h o u t — t h e p o w e r to d i e — c. 1 8 6 3

1929

986

[1096]

A narrow Fellow in the G r a s s Occasionally rides— You may have m e t H i m — d i d you not H i s notice s u d d e n i s — T h e G r a s s divides a s with a C o m b — A spotted shaft is s e e n — A n d then it c l o s e s at your feet A n d o p e n s further o n — H e likes a B o g g y A c r e A Floor too cool for C o r n — Yet w h e n a Boy, a n d B a r e f o o t — I m o r e t h a n o n c e at N o o n H a v e p a s s e d , I t h o u g h t , a W h i p lash U n b r a i d i n g in the S u n W h e n s t o o p i n g to s e c u r e it It wrinkled, a n d w a s g o n e — Several of N a t u r e ' s P e o p l e I know, a n d they know m e — 7.

A f a c e c a p a b l e of e r u p t i n g like M o u n t V e s u v i u s .

5

10

15

1186

/

EMILY

DICKINSON

I feel for t h e m a transport O f cordiality—

20

B u t never m e t this Fellow A t t e n d e d , or a l o n e W i t h o u t a tighter b r e a t h i n g A n d Zero at the B o n e — c.1865

1866

1078

[1108]

T h e B u s t l e in a H o u s e T h e M o r n i n g after D e a t h Is s o l e m n e s t of industries Enacted upon Earth— T h e S w e e p i n g u p the H e a r t A n d p u t t i n g L o v e away W e shall not w a n t to u s e a g a i n Until Eternity. c.1866

1890

1129 Tell all the T r u t h b u t tell it s l a n t — S u c c e s s in C i r c u i t lies T o o bright for our infirm Delight T h e Truth's superb surprise As L i g h t n i n g to the C h i l d r e n e a s e d With e x p l a n a t i o n kind T h e T r u t h m u s t dazzle gradually O r every m a n b e b l i n d — c. 1 8 6 8

5

[1263]

5

1945

L E T T E R S

TO

T H O M A S

W E N T W O R T H

H I G G I N S O N

1624

/

1187

[J668]

Apparently with no surprise T o any happy Flower T h e Frost b e h e a d s it at its p l a y — In a c c i d e n t a l p o w e r — The blonde Assassin passes o n — The Sun proceeds unmoved T o m e a s u r e off a n o t h e r D a y F o r an Approving G o d .

5

c. 1 8 8 4

1890

1732

[1773]

M y life c l o s e d twice before its c l o s e ; It yet r e m a i n s to s e e If Immortality unveil A third event to m e , S o h u g e , so h o p e l e s s to c o n c e i v e As t h e s e that twice befel. P a r t i n g is all we know of h e a v e n , A n d all we n e e d of hell.

5

No Ms.

1896

Letters to Thomas Wentworth Higginson 1 [Say If My Verse Is Alive?] 15 April 1 8 6 2 mr h i g g i n s o n , Are you too deeply o c c u p i e d to say if my V e r s e is alive? T h e M i n d is so n e a r itself—it c a n n o t s e e , d i s t i n c t l y — a n d I have n o n e to ask— S h o u l d you think it b r e a t h e d — a n d h a d you the leisure to tell m e , I s h o u l d feel quick g r a t i t u d e — If I m a k e the m i s t a k e — t h a t you d a r e d to tell m e — w o u l d give m e sincerer honor—toward you— 1. T h o m a s W e n t w o r t h H i g g i n s o n h a d r e c e n t l y r e s i g n e d his radically liberal c h u r c h p a s t o r a t e a n d w a s b e g i n n i n g to m a k e a n a m e a s a r e f o r m - m i n d e d e s s a y i s t a n d lecturer. H i g g i n s o n ' s " L e t t e r to a Y o u n g C o n t r i b u t o r , " offering p r a c t i c a l a d v i c e to b e g i n n i n g w r i t e r s , w a s p u b l i s h e d in t h e A p r i l Atlantic Monthly. T h i s letter, r e s p o n d i n g to that article, w a s a c c o m p a n i e d by several p o e m s a n d marked the beginning of a c o r r e s p o n d e n c e — a n d

a r e m a r k a b l e r e l a t i o n s h i p — t h a t l a s t e d for t h e rest o f D i c k i n s o n ' s l i f e . It s h o u l d b e n o t e d t h a t H i g g i n s o n f r o m t h e first w a s s e n s i t i v e t o t h e c u r i o u s , o r i g inal p o w e r of her poetry, but as a rather conventional 19th-century critic he found no wav t o j u d g e its u n o r t h o d o x f o r m a l q u a l i t i e s . F o r h e r part, Dickinson was content to a s s u m e the ironic role of " s c h o l a r " to this " P r e c e p t o r , " c o n t e n t with his friendship a n d her own " B a r e f o o t - R a n k . "

1188

/

E M I L Y

D I C K I N S O N

I e n c l o s e my n a m e — a s k i n g you, if you p l e a s e — S i r — t o tell m e w h a t is true? T h a t you will not betray m e — i t is n e e d l e s s to a s k — s i n c e H o n o r is it's own pawn2— [My Business

Is

Circumference] July 1862

C o u l d you believe m e — w i t h o u t ? I h a d no portrait, now, b u t a m s m a l l , like the W r e n , a n d my H a i r is bold, like the C h e s t n u t B u r — a n d my e y e s , like the Sherry in the G l a s s , that the G u e s t l e a v e s — W o u l d this do j u s t a s well? It often a l a r m s F a t h e r — H e says D e a t h might o c c u r , a n d h e h a s M o l d s 3 of all the r e s t — b u t h a s n o M o l d of m e , b u t I n o t i c e d the Quick wore off t h o s e things, in a few d a y s , a n d forestall the d i s h o n o r — Y o u will think no c a p r i c e of m e — You s a i d " D a r k . " I know the B u t t e r f l y — a n d the L i z a r d — a n d the O r c h i s 4 — Are not t h o s e your C o u n t r y m e n ? I a m h a p p y to b e your scholar, a n d will d e s e r v e the k i n d n e s s , I c a n n o t repay. If you truly c o n s e n t , I recite, n o w — Will you tell m e my fault, frankly a s to yourself, for I h a d rather w i n c e , than d i e . M e n d o not call the s u r g e o n , to c o m m e n d — t h e B o n e , b u t to set it, Sir, a n d f r a c t u r e within, is m o r e critical. A n d for this, P r e c e p t o r , I shall bring y o u — O b e d i e n c e — t h e B l o s s o m from my G a r d e n , a n d every g r a t i t u d e I know. P e r h a p s you s m i l e at m e . I c o u l d not s t o p for t h a t — M y B u s i n e s s is C i r c u m f e r e n c e 5 — A n i g n o r a n c e , not of C u s t o m s , b u t if c a u g h t with the D a w n — o r the S u n s e t s e e m e — M y s e l f the only K a n g a r o o a m o n g the B e a u t y , Sir, if you p l e a s e , it afflicts m e , a n d I t h o u g h t that instruction w o u l d take it away. B e c a u s e you have m u c h b u s i n e s s , b e s i d e the growth of m e — y o u will a p p o i n t , yourself, how often I shall c o m e — w i t h o u t your i n c o n v e n i e n c e . A n d if at any t i m e — y o u regret you received m e , or I p r o v e a different fabric to that you s u p p o s e d — y o u m u s t b a n i s h m e — W h e n I s t a t e myself, a s the R e p r e s e n t a t i v e of the V e r s e — i t d o e s not m e a n — m e — b u t a s u p p o s e d p e r s o n . You a r e t r u e , a b o u t the " p e r f e c t i o n . " T o d a y , m a k e s Yesterday m e a n . You s p o k e of P i p p a P a s s e s 6 — I never h e a r d a n y b o d y s p e a k of P i p p a Passes—before. You s e e my p o s t u r e is b e n i g h t e d . T o t h a n k you, baffles m e . Are you perfectly powerful? H a d I a p l e a s u r e you h a d not, I c o u l d delight to bring it. Your Scholar

2 . In p l a c e of a s i g n a t u r e , E m i l y Dickinson e n c l o s e d a s i g n e d c a r d in its o w n e n v e l o p e . 3. I.e., p h o t o g r a p h s or l i k e n e s s e s . 4. A small purplish or white orchid. H i g g i n s o n wrote m a n y nature essays with which she w a s familiar.

5. O n e o f the c r u c i a l w o r d s in D i c k i n s o n ' s v o c a b u l a r y ; J o h n s o n d e f i n e s it a s " a p r o j e c t i o n o f h e r i m a g i n a t i o n i n t o all r e l a t i o n s h i p s o f m a n , n a t u r e , a n d spirit." 6. A d r a m a t i c p o e m l i s h e d in 1 8 4 1 .

by

Robert

Browning

pub-

1 189

R E B E C C A H A R D I N G DAVIS 1831-1910 R e b e c c a H a r d i n g w a s born in 1 8 3 1 in W a s h i n g t o n , P e n n s y l v a n i a , her m o t h e r ' s h o m e town, t h e n t a k e n to Big S p r i n g s , A l a b a m a , w h e r e her father, a b o o k - l o v i n g E n g l i s h e m i g r a n t , w a s in b u s i n e s s . H e r e a r l i e s t m e m o r i e s were of t h e D e e p S o u t h , a l a n d s c a p e of tropical heat a n d b e a u t y a n d a frontier society with e x t r e m e s of w e a l t h a n d poverty even a m o n g w h i t e s a n d b a s e d , for inextricable c o m p l i c a t i o n s , on b l a c k slavery. As her r e c o l l e c t i o n s s h o w , s h e l e a r n e d in A l a b a m a to s e e for herself, if not yet to t h i n k for herself. In 1 8 3 6 her f a t h e r m o v e d the family to W h e e l i n g , Virginia, still a j u m p i n g off p l a c e for the W e s t a s well a s a p r o s p e r o u s m a n u f a c t u r i n g c e n t e r , in t h a t a n o m a l o u s fingerlike part of a slave s t a t e that r e a c h e d far n o r t h b e t w e e n the free s t a t e s of O h i o a n d P e n n s y l v a n i a , a l o c a t i o n fitted for t h e n u r t u r e of i n d e p e n d e n t o b s e r v a t i o n a n d j u d g m e n t . B o o k i s h like her father, R e b e c c a H a r d i n g at f o u r t e e n w e n t to live with a n a u n t at her b i r t h p l a c e , a c r o s s t h e P e n n s y l v a n i a line to t h e e a s t , to a t t e n d the f e m a l e s e m i n a r y . B a c k in W h e e l i n g , alert in her y o u n g m a t u r i t y to a b o l i t i o n i s t a g i t a t i o n yet p a r t of the slave society, s h e p a s s e d into what her era c o n s i d e r e d s p i n s t e r h o o d a n d w a s a s e r i o u s - m i n d e d o b s e r v e r of the m a n n e r s , m o r a l s , a n d m a c h i n a t i o n s of p e o p l e a n d a reticent a n d dutiful d a u g h t e r , yet a w o m a n of forthrightly i n d e p e n d e n t views. S h e c o n t i n u e d r e a d i n g (we k n o w s h e read J o h n B u n y a n , S i r W a l t e r S c o t t , a n d M a r i a Edgevvorth; a n d a few H a w t h o r n e stories in a c o l l e c t i o n of Moral Tales a f f e c t e d her strongly). By her late t w e n t i e s s h e h a d r e a d E n g l i s h reform n o v e l s s u c h a s t h o s e by C h a r l e s K i n g s l e y a n d E l i z a b e t h G a s k e l l a n d h a d b e g u n to p u b l i s h a n o n y m o u s r e v i e w s of n e w b o o k s in local p a p e r s . D u r i n g the e l e c t i o n year 1 8 6 0 , her m i n d m o r e on the m i s e r y of the local mill w o r k e r s t h a n o n the misery of s l a v e s , s h e w r o t e " L i f e in t h e I r o n - M i l l s , " a p p a r e n t l y the first story s h e c o m p l e t e d , a n d s e n t it to t h e Atlantic Monthly, the m o s t p r e s t i g i o u s m a g a z i n e in the c o u n t r y , t h e n u n d e r the e d i t o r s h i p of J a m e s Fields. J a m e s Russell Lowell had censored T h o r e a u and W h i t m a n , A s e d i t o r of the Atlantic a n d F i e l d s h i m s e l f w a s to c e n s o r H a w t h o r n e ' s portrait of L i n c o l n , b u t he r e c o g n i z e d s a l a b l e p o w e r in the n e w c o n t r i b u t o r a n d m a d e no effort to a l t e r t h e story, o t h e r t h a n to s u g g e s t a m o r e " t a k i n g " title ( H a r d i n g ' s s u g g e s t i o n s of " B e y o n d " or " T h e K o r l - W o m a n " w e r e not d e e m e d " t a k i n g " e n o u g h e i t h e r ) . T h e story w a s p u b l i s h e d ( a n o n y m o u s l y , by c u s t o m a n d by H a r d i n g ' s r e q u e s t ) t h e m o n t h t h e Civil W a r b r o k e o u t a n d W h e e l i n g b e c a m e c a p i t a l of t h e n e w free s t a t e of W e s t Virginia. T h e story's s t r e n g t h w a s r e c o g n i z e d by m a n y r e a d e r s ( E m i l y D i c k i n s o n a m o n g t h e m ) , a n d with the a u t h o r ' s n a m e a n o p e n s e c r e t , F i e l d s h o p e d to g a i n her a s a r e g u l a r c o n t r i b u t o r . B o t h h e a n d his wife p r e s s e d her to c o m e to B o s t o n . S h e c o u l d not c o m e at o n c e b e c a u s e s h e w a s held by family d u t i e s a n d by t h e t u r m o i l of a divided a n d e m b a t tled society, b u t s h e b e g a n a serial in t h e O c t o b e r 1 8 6 1 Atlantic—"A S t o r y of T o d a y . " It c o n t a i n e d , in o n e of the c h a r a c t e r ' s w o r d s , not " a bit of hell" b u t "only a g l i m p s e of t h e under-life of A m e r i c a . " In her v o i c e a s n a r r a t o r H a r d i n g offered a m a n i f e s t o of r e a l i s m b e f o r e t h e r e w a s a literary m o v e m e n t s o identified: "You w a n t s o m e t h i n g . . . to lift you o u t of this c r o w d e d , t o b a c c o - s t a i n e d c o m m o n p l a c e , to kindle a n d c h a f e a n d glow in you. I w a n t you to dig into this c o m m o n p l a c e , this v u l g a r A m e r i c a n life, a n d s e e w h a t is in it. S o m e t i m e s I t h i n k it h a s a raw a n d awful s i g n i f i c a n c e that w e d o not s e e . " T h i s work, w h i c h F i e l d s p u b l i s h e d in b o o k f o r m a s Margret Howth ( 1 8 6 2 ) , did not have the s u s t a i n e d p o w e r of her first story, yet m u c h w a s e x p e c t e d of her, a n d w h e n s h e m a d e her p i l g r i m a g e to B o s t o n in 1 8 6 2 s h e w a s w e l c o m e d by the New E n g l a n d literary e s t a b l i s h m e n t . S h e d e l i g h t e d in H o l m e s a n d t r e a s u r e d her r e c e p t i o n by H a w t h o r n e . T h e m o r e visionary C o n c o r dites like B r o n s o n Alcott s h e r e g a r d e d with a m i x t u r e of s u s p i c i o n a n d d i s d a i n , a n d it w a s c l e a r to her at o n c e that E m e r s o n h a d no n o t i o n at all of w h a t w a r w a s like, h o w e v e r p e n e t r a t i n g his insight m i g h t b e o n c e h e p a i d a t t e n t i o n to her or a n y o n e

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e l s e . H a v i n g f o r m e d a c l o s e f r i e n d s h i p with A n n i e F i e l d s , h e r h o s t e s s , a n d h a v i n g m a d e h e r p r e s e n c e felt ( s h e a s t o n i s h e d o n e g r o u p by t h e p r o n o u n c e m e n t t h a t w o m e n h a d s e x u a l d e s i r e s ) , s h e h a d the c h a n c e to j o i n the Atlantic circle (whom s h e c a l l e d t h e A r e o p a g i t e s , from the A t h e n i a n hill w h e r e the h i g h c o u r t h a d s a t ) . H a d s h e d o n e s o , s h e m i g h t h a v e m a t u r e d a s a writer u n d e r t h e g u i d a n c e of H o l m e s a n d o t h e r s w h o w e r e i n t e n s e l y i n t e r e s t e d in w h a t s h e h a d to say, for h e r s t r o n g s o c i a l c r i t i c i s m s were w e l c o m e d , n o t r e p e l l e d . I n s t e a d , s h e t o o k the role of h a c k writer. S o o n after t h e a p p e a r a n c e of her first story, s h e h a d r e c e i v e d a fan letter f r o m a n a p p r e n t i c e lawyer in P h i l a d e l p h i a , L. C l a r k e D a v i s , f o u r years her j u n i o r , a m a n literary e n o u g h h i m s e l f to h a v e a c o n n e c tion with Peterson's Magazine a n d p e r s u a s i v e e n o u g h to i n t e r e s t h e r in m e e t i n g h i m . B e f o r e g o i n g to B o s t o n s h e h a d a r r a n g e d a s t o p o v e r in P h i l a d e l p h i a o n h e r way h o m e ; o n c e they h a d m e t they s o o n d e c i d e d to marry, a n d D a v i s p e r s u a d e d h e r to c o n t r i b u t e t h o u g h s h e w a s p l e d g e d to write only for t h e Atlantic. In her p o t b o i l e r s to Peterson's, first y e a r s of m a r r i a g e a n d e v e n after h e r t h r e e c h i l d r e n w e r e b o r n s h e c o n t i n u e d h e r c a r e e r a s a m a g a z i n e writer, c r e a t i n g a n extensive b o d y of h a c k work a n d a s i z a b l e b o d y of m o r e a m b i t i o u s b u t flawed work. In t h e m o s t m a s s i v e a s well a s m o s t a m b i tious of h e r later novels, Waiting for the Verdict ( 1 8 6 8 ) , a s t h e s y m p a t h e t i c critic Tillie O l s e n s a y s , H a r d i n g p o s e d " t h e b a s i c q u e s t i o n of t h e t i m e " : h o w w a s t h e n a t i o n g o i n g to r e d r e s s t h e w r o n g of slavery, o n c e t h e s l a v e s w e r e f r e e d ? In O l s e n ' s w o r d s , H a r d i n g h a d c o n c e i v e d a g r e a t novel b u t " h a d failed to write it; h a d n o t given ( h a d ) the self a n d t i m e (or always t h e k n o w l e d g e ) to write it." Living o u t her life in P h i l a d e l p h i a , s h e n e v e r b e c a m e fully a part o f t h e local c u l t u r a l e s t a b l i s h m e n t , b u t s h e w a s friendly n o t only with o t h e r writers b u t a l s o ( t h r o u g h h e r h u s b a n d ) with m a n y a c t o r s , i n c l u d i n g t h e g r e a t t h e a t r i c a l f a m i l i e s of t h e t i m e s u c h a s the D r e w s a n d B a r r y m o r e s . L o n g b e f o r e her d e a t h in 1 9 1 0 s h e w a s o v e r s h a d o w e d first by t h e s u c c e s s of her h u s b a n d a s a n editor a n d t h e n by t h e a s t o n i s h i n g s u c c e s s of her s o n , R i c h a r d H a r d i n g D a v i s . In 1 8 9 0 s h e w a r n e d h i m a b o u t his " b e g i n n i n g to d o h a c k work for m o n e y " : "It is the b e g i n n i n g of d e c a d e n c e b o t h in work a n d reputation for y o u . I k n o w by my o w n a n d a t h o u s a n d o t h e r p e o p l e . " H e r s o n b e c a m e t h e b e s t - p a i d , m o s t g l a m o r o u s j o u r n a l i s t a n d o n e of t h e m o s t p o p u l a r short-story writers of his g e n e r a t i o n , a celebrity a s his m o t h e r h a d n e v e r b e e n , b u t n e v e r t h e writer s h e had been. H e r first story w a s never f o r g o t t e n , at l e a s t by a few r e a d e r s a n d by literary histor i a n s , a l t h o u g h t h e latter w e r e s o m e t i m e s u n e a s y a b o u t it. F r e d L e w i s P a t t e e in a c h a p t e r o n t h e story in The Cambridge History of American Literature (1918) quoted t h e o p e n i n g o f that " g r i m " story a n d o b s e r v e d that t h e d e c a d e s of t h e 1 8 5 0 s a n d 1 8 6 0 s "in A m e r i c a s t a n d for t h e d a w n i n g of d e f i n i t e n e s s , of localized reality, of a feeling left o n t h e r e a d e r o f a c t u a l i t y a n d truth to h u m a n life." In Literary History of the United States ( 1 9 4 8 ) , G o r d o n S. H a i g h t w a s d i s d a i n f u l : " I n her effort to r o u s e pity in t h e m a n n e r of D i c k e n s , M r s . S t o w e , a n d [ C h a r l e s ] K i n g s l e y , M r s . D a v i s violates her o w n rule of t h e c o m m o n p l a c e . F e w mill w o r k e r s a r e h u n c h b a c k s , a n d e x c e p t of in a r e f o r m e r ' s tract n o c o n s u m p t i v e c o u l d l o n g b e a n iron p u d d l e r . " In Literature the American People ( 1 9 5 1 ) C l a r e n c e G o h d e s gave g r u d g i n g p r a i s e : t h e story " i s i n d e e d a g r i m p i c t u r e , a n d it h a s m a d e its w a y into t h e a n t h o l o g i e s a s a s p e c i m e n o f r e a l i s m of t h e t i m e s . " In 1 9 6 1 G e r a l d L a n g f o r d w a s n e a r e r t h e m a r k in c a l l i n g t h e story " o n e of t h e revolutionary d o c u m e n t s in A m e r i c a n writing, a l t h o u g h it c a m e s o p r e m a t u r e l y t h a t it w a s a l m o s t f o r g o t t e n by t h e t i m e t h e r e v o l u t i o n in fiction c a u g h t u p with it." H e a l s o s p e c u l a t e d a b o u t t h e e x t e n t to w h i c h H a r d i n g a n t i c i p a t e d t h e "theory a n d p r a c t i c e " of a later editor of t h e Atlantic, William D e a n Howells. Davis's g r e a t story did i n d e e d e n t e r s o m e a n t h o l o g i e s , b u t not m a n y , a n d O l s e n , w h o e d i t e d the story for t h e F e m i n i s t P r e s s with " A B i o g r a p h i c a l I n t e r p r e t a t i o n , " d e s e r v e s c r e d i t for m a k i n g it i m p o s s i b l e a g a i n to i g n o r e or to slight t h e story, t h e s t r o n g e s t c r i t i c i s m of A m e r i c a n society that h a d b e e n p u b l i s h e d s i n c e Uncle Tom's Cabin, an indictment of t h e e x p l o i t a t i o n of A m e r i c a n free l a b o r m o r e c o n c e n t r a t e d in its p o w e r t h a n t h e

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a l r e a d y c l a s s i c i n d i c t m e n t o f slavery, t h e m o s t s u s t a i n e d e x p o s e in o u r literature between Stowe a n d the muckrakers. H a r d i n g ' s story h a d n o s u c h r e p e r c u s s i o n s on life in t h e iron mills a s S t o w e ' s b o o k h a d h a d o n f r e e i n g t h e s l a v e s , a n d its effects on A m e r i c a n literary r e a l i s m a r e n o t fully e s t a b l i s h e d ; ironically, later writers o n w o r k i n g c o n d i t i o n s in A m e r i c a n

facto-

r i e s — T h o m a s Bailey A l d r i c h ( a n o t h e r editor o f the Atlantic) in The Stillwater Tragedy ( 1 8 8 0 ) a n d J o h n H a y in t h e a n o n y m o u s The Bread-Winners

( 1 8 8 4 ) — s i d e d with p r o p -

erty rights r a t h e r t h a n w o r k e r s ' rights, a s M a r y E . W i l k i n s ( m o r e a m b i v a l e n t l y ) d i d in The Portion of Labor ( 1 9 0 1 ) . T h e historical i m p o r t a n c e o f " L i f e in t h e I r o n - M i l l s " is partly a s a r e c o r d o f t h e u n d e r s i d e o f A m e r i c a n i n d u s t r i a l prosperity, partly in w h a t study o f it a n d t h e rest o f D a v i s ' s life a n d c a r e e r c a n reveal a b o u t b e i n g b o t h a writer a n d a w o m a n in A m e r i c a . W h a t finally c o u n t s is that t h e story a f f o r d s o n e o f t h e m o s t o v e r w h e l m i n g r e a d i n g e x p e r i e n c e s in all A m e r i c a n l i t e r a t u r e . T h e text is that of t h e first p r i n t i n g in t h e Atlantic Monthly 7 (April 1 8 6 1 ) .

Life in the Iron-Mills "Is this the end? O Life, as futile, then, as frail! What hope of answer or redress?" 1

A cloudy day: d o you know what that is in a town o f i r o n - w o r k s ? 2 T h e sky s a n k down before d a w n , m u d d y , flat, i m m o v a b l e . T h e air is thick, c l a m m y with t h e breath of c r o w d e d h u m a n b e i n g s . It stifles m e . I o p e n t h e window, a n d , looking out, c a n scarcely s e e t h r o u g h the rain the grocer's s h o p o p p o s i t e , w h e r e a c r o w d of d r u n k e n I r i s h m e n a r e puffing L y n c h b u r g t o b a c c o * in their p i p e s . I c a n d e t e c t t h e s c e n t through all t h e foul s m e l l s r a n g i n g l o o s e in t h e air. T h e idiosyncrasy of this town is s m o k e . It rolls sullenly in slow folds from the great c h i m n e y s of t h e iron-foundries, a n d settles down in black, slimy pools o n the m u d d y streets. S m o k e o n the w h a r v e s , s m o k e o n the dingy b o a t s , on t h e yellow river,—clinging in a c o a t i n g of g r e a s y s o o t to t h e h o u s e - f r o n t , the two faded p o p l a r s , t h e f a c e s o f the p a s s e r s - b y . T h e long train o f m u l e s , d r a g g i n g m a s s e s of pig-iron 4 t h r o u g h t h e narrow street, h a ve a foul v a p o r h a n g i n g to their reeking s i d e s . H e r e , i n s i d e , is a little b r o k e n figure o f a n angel pointing u p w a r d from t h e mantel-shelf; b u t even its w i n g s a r e covered with s m o k e , clotted a n d black. S m o k e everywhere! A dirty c a n a r y c h i r p s desolately in a c a g e b e s i d e m e . Its d r e a m of green fields a n d s u n s h i n e is a very old d r e a m , — a l m o s t worn o u t , I think. F r o m t h e back-window I c a n s e e a narrow brick-yard s l o p i n g d o w n to t h e river-side, strewed with rain-butts a n d t u b s . T h e river, dull a n d tawny1. A d a p t e d f r o m A l f r e d , L o r d T e n n y s o n ' s In Memoriam A. H. H. ( 1 8 5 0 ) , 1 2 . 4 : ' I s t h i s t h e e n d of all m y c a r e ? ' . . . 'Is this t h e e n d ? Is this t h e end?' " a n d from 5 6 . 7 : " O Life a s futile, then, a s frail! / O for t h y v o i c e t o s o o t h e a n d b l e s s ! / W h a t h o p e o f a n s w e r , o r r e d r e s s ? / B e h i n d t h e veil, b e h i n d t h e veil." In 1 3 t h e p o e t c o m p a r e s h i m s e l f to a d o v e w h o s p r i n g s u p " T o b e a r t h r o ' H e a v e n a tale of w o e / S o m e d o l o r o u s m e s s a g e knit b e l o w . " T h r o u g h t h e epigraph (from this then-recent a n d

enormously popular p o e m ) Harding suggests that h e r o w n m e s s a g e is e q u a l l y " d o l o r o u s . " 2 . T h e t o w n i s n o t n a m e d , b u t in i t s t o p o g r a p h y a n d o t h e r c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s it i s b a s e d o n H a r d i n g ' s h o m e t o w n , Wheeling, Virginia, o n the b a n k s o f the O h i o River. 3. A n inferior t o b a c c o f r o m s o u t h - c e n t r a l V i r g i n i a . 4. O b l o n g blocks o f iron, h a r d e n e d after b e i n g poured from a smelting furnace.

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c o l o r e d , (la belle riviere!)^ d r a g s itself sluggishly a l o n g , tired of the heavy weight of b o a t s a n d c o a l - b a r g e s . W h a t w o n d e r ? W h e n I w a s a child, I u s e d to fancy a look of weary, d u m b a p p e a l u p o n the f a c e of the negro-like river slavishly b e a r i n g its b u r d e n day after day. S o m e t h i n g of the s a m e idle notion c o m e s to m e to-day, w h e n from the street-window I look on the slow s t r e a m of h u m a n life c r e e p i n g p a s t , night a n d morning, to the great mills. M a s s e s of m e n , with dull, b e s o t t e d f a c e s b e n t to the g r o u n d , s h a r p e n e d here a n d there by pain or c u n n i n g ; skin a n d m u s c l e a n d flesh b e g r i m e d with s m o k e a n d a s h e s ; s t o o p i n g all night over boiling c a l d r o n s of m e t a l , laired by day in d e n s of d r u n k e n n e s s a n d infamy; b r e a t h i n g from infancy to d e a t h a n air s a t u r a t e d with fog a n d g r e a s e a n d soot, vileness for soul a n d body. W h a t do you m a k e of a c a s e like that, a m a t e u r psychologist? You call it an altogether s e r i o u s thing to b e alive: to t h e s e m e n it is a d r u n k e n j e s t , a j o k e , — h o r r i b l e to a n g e l s p e r h a p s , to t h e m c o m m o n p l a c e e n o u g h . M y fancy a b o u t the river w a s an idle o n e : it is no type of s u c h a life. W h a t if it be s t a g n a n t a n d slimy here? It knows that beyond there waits for it o d o r o u s s u n l i g h t , — q u a i n t old g a r d e n s , dusky with soft, green foliage of a p p l e - t r e e s , a n d flushing c r i m s o n with r o s e s , — a i r , a n d fields, a n d m o u n t a i n s . T h e future of the W e l s h puddler'' p a s s i n g j u s t now is not so p l e a s a n t . T o be s t o w e d away, after his grimy work is d o n e , in a hole in the m u d d y graveyard, a n d after that, not air, nor green fields, nor c u r i o u s r o s e s . C a n you s e e how foggy the day is? As I s t a n d h e r e , idly t a p p i n g the windowp a n e , a n d looking out t h r o u g h the rain at the dirty back-yard a n d the coalboats below, f r a g m e n t s of an old story float up before m e , — a story of this h o u s e into which I h a p p e n e d to c o m e to-day. You m a y think it a t i r e s o m e story e n o u g h , a s foggy as the day, s h a r p e n e d by no s u d d e n flashes of pain or p l e a s u r e . — I know: only the outline of a dull life, that long s i n c e , with t h o u s a n d s of dull lives like its o w n , w a s vainly lived a n d lost: t h o u s a n d s of t h e m , — m a s s e d , vile, slimy lives, like t h o s e of the torpid lizards in yonder s t a g n a n t w a t e r - b u t t . — L o s t ? T h e r e is a c u r i o u s point for you to settle, my friend, w h o study psychology in a lazy, dilettante way. S t o p a m o m e n t . I a m going to b e h o n e s t . T h i s is what I want you to d o . I want you to hide your d i s g u s t , take no h e e d to your c l e a n c l o t h e s , a n d c o m e right down with m e , — here, into the thickest of the fog a n d m u d a n d foul effluvia. I w a n t you to hear this story. T h e r e is a secret d o w n h e r e , in this n i g h t m a r e fog, that has lain d u m b for c e n t u r i e s : I want to m a k e it a real thing to y o u . You, E g o i s t , or P a n t h e i s t , or A r m i n i a n , - busy in m a k i n g straight p a t h s for your feet on the hills, do not s e e it clearly,—this terrible q u e s t i o n which m e n here have g o n e m a d a n d died trying to a n s w e r . I d a r e not p u t this s e c r e t into w o r d s . I told you it w a s d u m b . T h e s e m e n , g o i n g by with d r u n k e n f a c e s a n d brains full of u n a w a k e n e d power, do not a s k it of S o c i e t y or of G o d . T h e i r lives a s k it; their d e a t h s a s k it. T h e r e is no reply. I will tell you plainly that I have a 5. T h e b e a u t i f u l river ( F r e n c h ) ; t h e p h r a s e ironically recalls the purity of the O h i o w h e n the F r e n c h f u r t r a d e r s f i r s t s a w it. " R a i n - b u t t s " : l a r g e c a s k s , a r o u n d t h r e e o r f o u r b a r r e l s in c a p a c i t y , u s e d to c a t c h r a i n w a t e r for h o u s e h o l d a n d , h e r e , industrial use. 6. W o r k e r w h o stirs iron o x i d e into a m o l t e n vat of pig iron to m a k e w r o u g h t iron or steel. 7. O n e w h o f o l l o w s t h e t e a c h i n g s of J a c o b u s Arminius (1560—1607), Dutch theologian who

o p p o s e d the Calvinistic doctrine of absolute predestination. "Egoist": o n e devoted to his or her o w n interests and a d v a n c e m e n t , acting only according to self-interest. " P a n t h e i s t " : o n e w h o identifies the d e i t y w i t h n a t u r e . T h e s t o r y is s a t u r a t e d w i t h b i b l i c a l l a n g u a g e , a s in t h e e c h o h e r e o f H e b r e w s 1 2 . 1 3 : " A n d m a k e straight p a t h s for y o u r feet, lest t h a t w h i c h is l a m e b e t u r n e d o u t o f t h e w a y ; b u t l e t it r a t h e r b e h e a l e d . "

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great h o p e ; a n d I bring it to you to be tested. It is this: that this terrible d u m b q u e s t i o n is its own reply; that it is not the s e n t e n c e of d e a t h we think it, b u t , from the very extremity of its d a r k n e s s , the m o s t s o l e m n p r o p h e c y which the world has known of the H o p e to c o m e . I d a r e m a k e my m e a n i n g no clearer, but will only tell my story. It will, p e r h a p s , s e e m to you a s foul a n d dark a s this thick vapor a b o u t u s , a n d a s p r e g n a n t with d e a t h ; but if your eyes a r e free a s m i n e are to look d e e p e r , no perfume-tinted d a w n will be so fair with p r o m i s e of the day that shall surely c o m e . M y story is very s i m p l e , — o n l y what I r e m e m b e r of the life of o n e of t h e s e m e n , — a furnace-tender in o n e of Kirby & J o h n ' s r o l l i n g - m i l l s , — H u g h Wolfe. You know the mills? T h e y took the great order for the lower Virginia railroads there last winter; run usually with a b o u t a t h o u s a n d m e n . I c a n n o t tell why I c h o o s e the half-forgotten story of this W o l f e m o r e than that of myriads of t h e s e f u r n a c e - h a n d s . P e r h a p s b e c a u s e there is a s e c r e t , underlying sympathy b e t w e e n that story a n d this day with its i m p u r e fog a n d thwarted s u n s h i n e , — o r p e r h a p s simply for the r e a s o n that this h o u s e is the o n e where the Wolfes lived. T h e r e were the father a n d s o n , — b o t h h a n d s , a s I said, in o n e of Kirby & J o h n ' s mills for m a k i n g r a i l r o a d - i r o n , — a n d D e b o r a h , their c o u s i n , a p i c k e r 8 in s o m e of the cotton-mills. T h e h o u s e w a s rented then to half a dozen families. T h e W o l f e s h a d two of the c e l l a r - r o o m s . T h e old m a n , like m a n y of the p u d d l e r s a n d feeders 1 ' of the mills, w a s W e l s h , — h a d spent half of his life in the C o r n i s h tin-mines. You may p i c k the W e l s h e m i g r a n t s , C o r n i s h m i n e r s , o u t of the throng p a s s i n g the w i n d o w s , any day. T h e y are a trifle m o r e filthy; their m u s c l e s are not so brawny; they s t o o p m o r e . W h e n they are drunk, they neither yell, nor s h o u t , n o r stagger, but skulk a l o n g like b e a t e n h o u n d s . A p u r e , u n m i x e d blood, I fancy: s h o w s itself in the slight a n g u l a r bodies a n d sharply-cut facial lines. It is nearly thirty years s i n c e the Wolfes lived here. T h e i r lives were like t h o s e of their c l a s s : i n c e s s a n t labor, s l e e p i n g in kennel-like r o o m s , e a t i n g rank pork a n d m o l a s ses, d r i n k i n g — G o d a n d the distillers only know what; with an o c c a s i o n a l night in jail, to a t o n e for s o m e d r u n k e n e x c e s s . Is that all of their l i v e s ? — o f the portion given to t h e m a n d t h e s e their d u p l i c a t e s s w a r m i n g the streets tod a y ? — n o t h i n g b e n e a t h ? — a l l ? S o m a n y a political reformer will tell y o u , — a n d m a n y a private reformer, too, who h a s g o n e a m o n g t h e m with a heart tender with Christ's charity, a n d c o m e out o u t r a g e d , h a r d e n e d . O n e rainy night, a b o u t eleven o'clock, a crowd of half-clothed w o m e n s t o p p e d o u t s i d e of the cellar-door. T h e y were g o i n g h o m e from the cottonmill. " G o o d - n i g h t , D e b , " said o n e , a m u l a t t o , steadying herself a g a i n s t the g a s p o s t . S h e n e e d e d the post to steady her. S o did m o r e than o n e of t h e m . " D a h ' s a ball to M i s s Potts' to-night. Ye'd b e s t c o m e . " "Inteet, D e b , if hur'll c o m e , hur'll hef f u n , " s a i d a shrill W e l s h voice in the crowd. T w o or three dirty h a n d s were thrust out to c a t c h the gown of the w o m a n , who w a s g r o p i n g for the latch of the door. 8. W o r k e r in a c o t t o n m i l l w h o o p e r a t e s t h e m a c h i n e that pulls apart and separates cotton fibers; l e s s o f t e n u s e d t o m e a n t h e o n e w h o t h r o w s t h e s h u t t l e o f a l o o m t o p u t in t h e w e f t t h r e a d o f a f a b r i c . T h e m e n w o r k f o r l o w w a g e s in t h e i r o n mills; t h e w o m e n w o r k for l o w e r w a g e s in t h e cot-

ton mills. 9. W o r k e r w h o f e e d s m o l t e n m e t a l i n t o t h e c a s t i n g f o r m w h i l e t h e i r o n is h a r d e n i n g a n d c o n t r a c t i n g ( t h e p u r p o s e is t o p r e v e n t t h e l o r m a t i o n ol a i r b u b bles, which w e a k e n the iron),

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"No." " N o ? W h e r e ' s Kit S m a l l , t h e n ? " " B e g o r r a ! on the s p o o l s . 1 Alleys b e h i n t , t h o u g h w e h e l p e d her, we d u d . An wid ye! L e t D e b a l o n e ! It's o n d a c e n t frettin' a q u i t e body. B e the p o w e r s , a n ' we'll have a night of it! there'll be lashin's o' d r i n k , — t h e V a r g e n t 2 b e b l e s s e d and praised for't!" T h e y went o n , the m u l a t t o inclining for a m o m e n t to s h o w fight, a n d d r a g the w o m a n W o l f e off with t h e m ; b u t , b e i n g pacified, s h e s t a g g e r e d away. D e b o r a h g r o p e d her way into the cellar, a n d , after c o n s i d e r a b l e s t u m b l i n g , kindled a m a t c h , a n d lighted a tallow d i p , that s e n t a yellow g l i m m e r over the r o o m . It w a s low, d a m p , — t h e e a r t h e n floor c o v e r e d with a g r e e n , slimy m o s s , — a fetid air s m o t h e r i n g the b r e a t h . O l d W o l f e lay a s l e e p o n a h e a p of straw, w r a p p e d in a torn horse-blanket. H e w a s a p a l e , m e e k little m a n , with a white f a c e a n d red rabbit-eyes. T h e w o m a n D e b o r a h w a s like h i m ; only her f a c e w a s even m o r e ghastly, her lips bluer, her eyes m o r e watery. S h e wore a f a d e d c o t t o n gown a n d a s l o u c h i n g b o n n e t . W h e n s h e w a l k e d , o n e c o u l d s e e that s h e w a s d e f o r m e d , a l m o s t a h u n c h b a c k . S h e trod softly, s o a s not to w a k e n h i m , a n d went t h r o u g h into the r o o m b e y o n d . T h e r e s h e f o u n d by the half-extinguished fire a n iron s a u c e p a n filled with c o l d boiled p o t a t o e s , which s h e p u t u p o n a b r o k e n c h a i r with a p i n t - c u p of a l e . P l a c i n g the old c a n d l e s t i c k b e s i d e this dainty r e p a s t , s h e u n t i e d her b o n n e t , which h u n g limp a n d wet over her f a c e , a n d p r e p a r e d to eat her s u p p e r . It w a s the first food that h a d t o u c h e d her lips s i n c e m o r n i n g . T h e r e w a s e n o u g h of it, however: there is not always. S h e w a s h u n g r y , — o n e c o u l d s e e t h a t easily e n o u g h , — a n d not d r u n k , a s m o s t of her c o m p a n i o n s would have b e e n f o u n d at this h o u r . S h e did not drink, this w o m a n , — h e r f a c e told that, t o o , — n o t h i n g stronger than a l e . P e r h a p s the w e a k , flaccid wretch h a d s o m e stimulant in her p a l e life to k e e p her u p , — s o m e love or h o p e , it might b e , or urgent n e e d . W h e n that s t i m u l a n t w a s g o n e , s h e w o u l d take to whiskey. M a n c a n n o t live by work a l o n e . W h i l e s h e w a s skinning the p o t a t o e s , a n d m u n c h ing t h e m , a n o i s e b e h i n d her m a d e her s t o p . " J a n e y ! " s h e c a l l e d , lifting the c a n d l e a n d p e e r i n g into the d a r k n e s s . "Janey, are you t h e r e ? " A h e a p of r a g g e d c o a t s w a s h e a v e d u p , a n d the f a c e of a y o u n g girl e m e r g e d , s t a r i n g sleepily at the w o m a n . " D e b o r a h , " s h e s a i d , at last, "I'm here the n i g h t . " "Yes, child. H u r ' s w e l c o m e , " s h e s a i d , quietly e a t i n g o n . T h e girl's f a c e w a s h a g g a r d a n d sickly; her eyes were heavy with s l e e p a n d h u n g e r : real M i l e s i a n 3 eyes they w e r e , dark, d e l i c a t e b l u e , g l o o m i n g out from black s h a d o w s with a pitiful fright. "I w a s a l o n e , " s h e said, timidly. " W h e r e ' s the f a t h e r ? " a s k e d D e b o r a h , h o l d i n g o u t a p o t a t o , w h i c h the girl greedily seized. " H e ' s b e y a n t , — w i d H a l e y , — i n the s t o n e h o u s e . " ( D i d y o u ever h e a r the word jail from a n Irish m o u t h ? ) "I c a m e h e r e . H u g h told m e never to stay me-lone." "Hugh?" 1. S p i n d l e s i n t h e c o t t o n m i l l o n w h i c h t h e c o t t o n is s t r e t c h e d a n d w o u n d b y t h e s p i n n i n g m a c h i n e . "Begorra!": a milder form of "By G o d ! "

2. T h e Virgin 3. Irish.

Mary,

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"Yes." A vexed frown c r o s s e d her f a c e . T h e girl saw it, a n d a d d e d q u i c k l y , — "I have not s e e n H u g h the day, D e b . T h e old m a n says his w a t c h 4 lasts till the m o r n i n ' . " T h e w o m a n s p r a n g u p , a n d hastily b e g a n to a r r a n g e s o m e b r e a d a n d flitch 5 in a tin pail, a n d to p o u r her own m e a s u r e of ale into a bottle. Tying on her bonnet, s h e blew out the c a n d l e . " L a y ye d o w n , J a n e y d e a r , " she said, gently, covering her with the old r a g s . " H u r c a n eat the p o t a t o e s , if hur's hungry." " W h e r e are ye goin', D e b ? T h e rain's s h a r p . " " T o the mill, with H u g h ' s s u p p e r . " " L e t him bide till th' m o r n . Sit ye d o w n . " " N o , n o , " — s h a r p l y p u s h i n g her off. " T h e boy 11 s t a r v e . " S h e hurried from the cellar, while the child wearily coiled herself u p for sleep. T h e rain w a s falling heavily, a s the w o m a n , pail in h a n d , e m e r g e d from the m o u t h of the alley, a n d turned down the narrow street, that s t r e t c h e d out, long a n d black, miles before her. H e r e a n d there a flicker of g a s lighted an uncertain s p a c e of m u d d y footwalk a n d gutter; the long rows of h o u s e s , except an o c c a s i o n a l lager-bier s h o p , were c l o s e d ; now a n d then s h e m e t a b a n d of m i l l h a n d s skulking to or from their work. N o t m a n y even of the i n h a b i t a n t s of a m a n u f a c t u r i n g town know the vast m a c h i n e r y of system by which the b o d i e s of w o r k m e n are g o v e r n e d , that g o e s on u n c e a s i n g l y from year to year. T h e h a n d s of e a c h mill are divided into w a t c h e s that relieve e a c h other a s regularly a s the s e n t i n e l s of a n army. By night a n d day the work g o e s o n , the u n s l e e p i n g e n g i n e s g r o a n a n d shriek, the fiery p o o l s of metal boil a n d s u r g e . Only for a day in the week, in halfc o u r t e s y to public c e n s u r e , the fires are partially veiled; b u t a s s o o n a s the clock strikes midnight, the great f u r n a c e s b r e a k forth with r e n e w e d fury, the c l a m o r b e g i n s with fresh, b r e a t h l e s s vigor, the e n g i n e s s o b a n d shriek like " g o d s in p a i n . " A s D e b o r a h hurried down through the heavy rain, the n o i s e of t h e s e thous a n d e n g i n e s s o u n d e d through the sleep a n d s h a d o w of the city like far-off thunder. T h e mill to which she w a s going lay o n the river, a mile below the city-limits. It w a s far, a n d s h e w a s weak, a c h i n g from s t a n d i n g twelve h o u r s at the s p o o l s . Yet it w a s her a l m o s t nightly walk to take this m a n his s u p p e r , t h o u g h at every s q u a r e s h e sat down to rest, a n d s h e knew she s h o u l d receive small word of t h a n k s . P e r h a p s , if s h e h a d p o s s e s s e d a n artist's eye, the p i c t u r e s q u e oddity of the s c e n e might have m a d e her step stagger l e s s , a n d the p a t h s e e m shorter; but to her the mills were only " s u m m a t d e i l i s h 6 to look at by n i g h t . " T h e road leading to the mills h a d b e e n q u a r r i e d from the solid rock, which rose a b r u p t a n d bare on o n e side of the cinder-covered r o a d , while the river, sluggish a n d black, crept p a s t on the other. T h e mills for rolling 7 iron are simply i m m e n s e tent-like roofs, covering a c r e s of g r o u n d , o p e n on every side. B e n e a t h t h e s e roofs D e b o r a h looked in on a city of fires, that b u r n e d hot a n d fiercely in the night. Fire in every horrible form: pits of flame waving in the wind; liquid metal-flames writhing in t o r t u o u s s t r e a m s t h r o u g h the s a n d ; 4. T r i c k , w o r k shift. 5. A r a n k form of salt pork. 6. D e v i l i s h .

7. M i l l f o r f l a t t e n i n g i n g o t s i n t o s h a p e s , i n t h i s c a s e rails for t h e e x p a n d i n g r a i l r o a d s y s t e m .

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wide c a l d r o n s filled with boiling fire, over which b e n t ghastly w r e t c h e s stirring the s t r a n g e brewing; a n d t h r o u g h all, crowds of half-clad m e n , looking like revengeful g h o s t s in the red light, hurried, throwing m a s s e s of glittering fire. It w a s like a street in Hell. Even D e b o r a h m u t t e r e d , a s s h e crept t h r o u g h , " T looks like t' Devil's p l a c e ! " It d i d , — i n m o r e ways than o n e . S h e found the m a n she w a s looking for, at last, h e a p i n g coal on a f u r n a c e . H e h a d not t i m e to eat his s u p p e r ; so s h e went b e h i n d the f u r n a c e , 8 a n d waited. Only a few men were w ith him, a n d they noticed her only by a " H y u r c o m e s t' h u n c h b a c k , W o l f e . " D e b o r a h w a s stupid with s l e e p ; her b a c k pained her sharply; a n d her teeth c h a t t e r e d with cold, with the rain that s o a k e d her c l o t h e s a n d d r i p p e d from her at every s t e p . S h e s t o o d , however, patiently holding the pail, a n d waiting. " H o u t , w o m a n ! ye look like a d r o w n e d c a t . C o m e n e a r to the fire,"—said o n e of the m e n , a p p r o a c h i n g to s c r a p e away the a s h e s . S h e s h o o k her h e a d . W o l f e h a d forgotten her. H e t u r n e d , h e a r i n g the m a n , a n d c a m e closer. "I did no' think; gi' m e my s u p p e r , w o m a n . " S h e w a t c h e d him eat with a painful e a g e r n e s s . With a w o m a n ' s q u i c k instinct, s h e saw that he w a s not h u n g r y , — w a s e a t i n g to p l e a s e her. H e r p a l e , watery eyes b e g a n to gather a s t r a n g e light. "Is't g o o d , H u g h ? T ' ale w a s a bit sour, I f e a r e d . " " N o , g o o d e n o u g h . " H e hesitated a m o m e n t . "Ye 're tired, p o o r l a s s ! B i d e here till I g o . Lay d o w n there on that h e a p of a s h , a n d go to s l e e p . " H e threw her a n old c o a t for a pillow, a n d turned to his work. T h e h e a p w a s the refuse of the burnt iron, a n d w a s not a hard b e d ; the h a l f - s m o t h e r e d w a r m t h , too, p e n e t r a t e d her l i m b s , dulling their pain a n d c o l d shiver. M i s e r a b l e e n o u g h she looked, lying there on the a s h e s like a limp, dirty rag,—yet not a n unfitting figure to crown the s c e n e of h o p e l e s s d i s c o m f o r t a n d veiled c r i m e : m o r e fitting, if o n e looked d e e p e r into the heart of t h i n g s , — at her thwarted w o m a n ' s form, her colorless life, her waking s t u p o r that s m o t h e r e d pain a n d h u n g e r , — e v e n m o r e fit to be a type of her c l a s s . D e e p e r yet if o n e c o u l d look, w a s there nothing worth r e a d i n g in this wet, faded thing, halfcovered with a s h e s ? no story of a soul filled with g r o p i n g p a s s i o n a t e love, heroic u n s e l f i s h n e s s , fierce j e a l o u s y ? of years of weary trying to p l e a s e the o n e h u m a n b e i n g w h o m s h e loved, to gain o n e look of real h e a r t - k i n d n e s s from h i m ? If anything like this were h i d d e n b e n e a t h the p a l e , b l e a r e d e y e s , a n d dull, w a s h e d - o u t - l o o k i n g f a c e , no o n e h a d ever taken the trouble to read its faint signs: not the half-clothed f u r n a c e - t e n d e r , W o l f e , certainly. Yet h e w a s kind to her: it w a s his n a t u r e to be kind, even to the very rats that s w a r m e d in the cellar: kind to her in j u s t the s a m e way. S h e k n e w that. And it might be that very k n o w l e d g e h a d given to her f a c e its a p a t h y a n d v a c a n c y m o r e than her low, torpid life. O n e s e e s that d e a d , v a c a n t look steal s o m e times over the rarest, finest of w o m e n ' s f a c e s , — i n the very m i d s t , it m a y b e , of their w a r m e s t s u m m e r ' s day; a n d then o n e c a n g u e s s at the secret of intolerable solitude that lies hid b e n e a t h the d e l i c a t e l a c e s a n d brilliant s m i l e . T h e r e w a s no w a r m t h , no brilliancy, no s u m m e r for this w o m a n ; s o the s t u p o r a n d v a c a n c y h a d time to g n a w into her face perpetually. S h e w a s y o u n g , too, t h o u g h no o n e g u e s s e d it; s o the g n a w i n g w a s the fiercer. 8.

I.e., a w a y From s o m e o f t h e b l i n d i n g g l a r e .

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S h e lay quiet in the dark corner, listening, t h r o u g h the m o n o t o n o u s din a n d u n c e r t a i n glare of the works, to the dull p l a s h of the rain in the far d i s t a n c e , — s h r i n k i n g hack whenever the m a n W o l f e h a p p e n e d to look towards her. S h e knew, in spite of all his k i n d n e s s , that there w a s that in her f a c e a n d form which m a d e him loathe the sight of her. S h e felt by instinct, a l t h o u g h s h e c o u l d not c o m p r e h e n d it, the finer n a t u r e of the m a n , which m a d e him a m o n g his fellow-workmen s o m e t h i n g u n i q u e , set apart. S h e knew, that, d o w n u n d e r all the vileness a n d c o a r s e n e s s of his life, there w a s a groping p a s s i o n for whatever w a s beautiful a n d p u r e , — t h a t his soul sicke n e d with d i s g u s t at her deformity, even w h e n his words were kindest. T h r o u g h this dull c o n s c i o u s n e s s , which never left her, c a m e , like a sting, the recollection of the dark blue eyes a n d lithe figure of the little Irish girl she h a d left in the cellar. T h e recollection s t r u c k t h r o u g h even her stupid intellect with a vivid glow of b e a u t y a n d of g r a c e . Little J a n e y , timid, h e l p l e s s , clinging to H u g h a s her only friend: that w a s the s h a r p t h o u g h t , the bitter thought, that drove into the glazed eyes a fierce light of p a i n . You laugh at it? Are pain a n d j e a l o u s y less s a v a g e realities down here in this p l a c e I a m taking you to than in your own h o u s e or your own h e a r t , — y o u r heart, which they c l u t c h at s o m e t i m e s ? T h e note is the s a m e , I fancy, b e the octave high or low. If you could go into this mill where D e b o r a h lay, a n d d r a g out from the hearts of t h e s e m e n the terrible tragedy of their lives, taking it a s a s y m p t o m of the d i s e a s e of their c l a s s , no ghost Horror would terrify you m o r e . A reality of soul-starvation, of living d e a t h , that m e e t s you every day u n d e r the besotted faces on the s t r e e t , — I c a n paint nothing of this, only give you the o u t s i d e outlines of a night, a crisis in the life of o n e m a n : whatever m u d d y depth of soul-history lies b e n e a t h you c a n read a c c o r d i n g to the eyes G o d has given you. W o l f e , while D e b o r a h w a t c h e d him a s a spaniel its m a s t e r , bent over the f u r n a c e with his iron p o l e , u n c o n s c i o u s of her scrutiny, only s t o p p i n g to receive o r d e r s . Physically, N a t u r e h a d p r o m i s e d the m a n but little. H e h a d already lost the strength a n d instinct vigor of a m a n , his m u s c l e s were thin, his nerves weak, his f a c e (a m e e k , w o m a n ' s face) h a g g a r d , yellow with cons u m p t i o n . In the mill he w a s known a s o n e of the girl-men: " M o l l y W o l f e " was his sobriquet. H e w a s never seen in the c o c k p i t , 9 did not own a terrier, d r a n k but s e l d o m ; w h e n he did, desperately. H e fought s o m e t i m e s , but w a s always t h r a s h e d , p o m m e l l e d to a jelly. T h e m a n w a s g a m e e n o u g h , w h e n his blood was u p : but he was no favorite in the mill; he had the taint of schoollearning on h i m , — n o t to a d a n g e r o u s extent, only a q u a r t e r or s o in the freeschool in fact, but e n o u g h to ruin him a s a g o o d h a n d in a fight. F o r other r e a s o n s , too, he w a s not p o p u l a r . N o t o n e of t h e m s e l v e s , they felt that, t h o u g h outwardly a s filthy a n d a s h - c o v e r e d ; silent, with foreign t h o u g h t s a n d longings b r e a k i n g out through his q u i e t n e s s in i n n u m e r a b l e c u r i o u s ways: this o n e , for i n s t a n c e . In the n e i g h b o r i n g f u r n a c e - b u i l d i n g s lay great h e a p s of the refuse from the ore after the pig-metal is run. Korl we call it here: a light, p o r o u s s u b s t a n c e , of a d e l i c a t e , w a x e n , flesh-colored tinge. O u t of the blocks of this korl, W o l f e , in his off-hours from the f u r n a c e , 9. W h e r e fighting c o c k s a r e s e t a g a i n s t e a c h o t h e r u n t i l o n e is s e v e r e l y i n j u r e d o r k i l l e d ( o r u n t i l t h e y kill e a c h o t h e r ) . T h e " s p o r t " s u r v i v e s i n t h e M i d -

Atlantic region, although repressed. Terriers were bred as hunting animals. "Sobriquet": nickname.

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h a d a habit of c h i p p i n g a n d m o u l d i n g f i g u r e s , — h i d e o u s , fantastic e n o u g h , but s o m e t i m e s strangely beautiful: even the mill-men s a w that, while they j e e r e d at h i m . It w a s a c u r i o u s fancy in the m a n , a l m o s t a p a s s i o n . T h e few h o u r s for rest he s p e n t hewing a n d h a c k i n g with his b l u n t knife, never s p e a k ing, until his w a t c h c a m e a g a i n , — w o r k i n g at o n e figure for m o n t h s , a n d , w h e n it w a s finished, b r e a k i n g it to p i e c e s p e r h a p s , in a fit of d i s a p p o i n t m e n t . A m o r b i d , g l o o m y m a n , u n t a u g h t , u n l e d , left to f e e d his soul in g r o s s n e s s a n d c r i m e , a n d h a r d , grinding labor. I want you to c o m e d o w n a n d look at this W o l f e , s t a n d i n g there a m o n g the lowest of his kind, a n d s e e him j u s t a s he is, that you m a y j u d g e him justly w h e n you h e a r the story of this night. I want you to look b a c k , a s he d o e s every day, at his birth in vice, his starved infancy; to r e m e m b e r the heavy years h e has g r o p e d t h r o u g h a s boy a n d m a n , — t h e slow, heavy years of c o n s t a n t , hot work. S o long a g o he b e g a n , that he thinks s o m e t i m e s h e h a s worked there for a g e s . T h e r e is no h o p e that it will ever e n d . T h i n k that G o d put into this m a n ' s soul a fierce thirst for b e a u t y , — t o k n o w it, to c r e a t e it; to be—something, h e knows not w h a t , — o t h e r t h a n h e is. T h e r e are m o m e n t s w h e n a p a s s i n g c l o u d , the s u n glinting on the p u r p l e thistles, a kindly s m i l e , a child's f a c e , will r o u s e h i m to a p a s s i o n of p a i n , — w h e n his n a t u r e starts u p with a m a d cry of rage a g a i n s t G o d , m a n , whoever it is that has forced this vile, slimy life u p o n h i m . With all this groping, this m a d d e s i r e , a great blind intellect s t u m b l i n g t h r o u g h w r o n g , a loving poet's heart, the m a n w a s by habit only a c o a r s e , vulgar laborer, familiar with sights a n d w o r d s you would b l u s h to n a m e . R e j u s t : w h e n I tell you a b o u t this night, s e e him a s he is. B e j u s t , — n o t like m a n ' s law, which seizes on o n e isolated fact, b u t like G o d ' s j u d g i n g angel, w h o s e clear, s a d eye saw all the c o u n t l e s s c a n k e r i n g days of this m a n ' s life, all the c o u n t l e s s nights,, w h e n , sick with starving, his soul fainted in h i m , before it j u d g e d him for this night, the s a d d e s t of all. I called this night the crisis of his life. If it w a s , it stole o n him u n a w a r e s . T h e s e great turning-days of life c a s t no s h a d o w b e f o r e , slip by u n c o n s c i o u s l y . Only a trifle, a little turn of the rudder, a n d the ship g o e s to h e a v e n or hell. W o l f e , while D e b o r a h w a t c h e d him, d u g into the f u r n a c e of m e l t i n g iron with his p o l e , dully thinking only how m a n y rails the l u m p w o u l d yield. It w a s l a t e , — n e a r l y S u n d a y m o r n i n g ; a n o t h e r hour, a n d the heavy work w o u l d be d o n e , — o n l y the f u r n a c e s to replenish a n d cover for the next day. T h e w o r k m e n were growing m o r e noisy, s h o u t i n g , a s they h a d to d o , to be h e a r d over the d e e p c l a m o r of the mills. S u d d e n l y they grew less b o i s t e r o u s , — a t the far e n d , entirely silent. S o m e t h i n g u n u s u a l h a d h a p p e n e d . After a m o m e n t , the s i l e n c e c a m e nearer; the m e n s t o p p e d their j e e r s a n d d r u n k e n c h o r u s e s . D e b o r a h , stupidly lifting u p her h e a d , saw the c a u s e of the quiet. A g r o u p of five or six m e n were slowly a p p r o a c h i n g , s t o p p i n g to e x a m i n e e a c h f u r n a c e a s they c a m e . Visitors often c a m e to s e e the mills after night: except by growing less noisy, the m e n took n o notice of t h e m . T h e f u r n a c e w h e r e W o l f e worked w a s near the b o u n d s of the w o r k s ; they h a l t e d there hot a n d tired: a walk over o n e of t h e s e great f o u n d r i e s is n o trifling task. T h e w o m a n , drawing o u t of sight, turned over to s l e e p . W o l f e , s e e i n g t h e m s t o p , s u d d e n l y r o u s e d from his indifferent s t u p o r , a n d w a t c h e d t h e m keenly. H e k n e w s o m e of t h e m : the overseer, C l a r k e , — a son of Kirby, o n e of the m i l l - o w n e r s , — a n d

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a D o c t o r M a y , o n e of the town-physicians. T h e other two were s t r a n g e r s . Wolfe c a m e closer. H e seized eagerly every c h a n c e that b r o u g h t him into c o n t a c t with this m y s t e r i o u s c l a s s that s h o n e d o w n on him perpetually with the g l a m o u r of a n o t h e r order of b e i n g . W h a t m a d e the difference b e t w e e n t h e m ? T h a t w a s the mystery of his life. H e h a d a v a g u e notion that p e r h a p s to-night h e c o u l d find it out. O n e of the s t r a n g e r s sat d o w n on a pile of bricks, a n d b e c k o n e d y o u n g Kirby to his side. "This is hot, with a v e n g e a n c e . A m a t c h , p l e a s e ? " — l i g h t i n g his cigar. " B u t the walk is worth the t r o u b l e . If it were not that you m u s t have h e a r d it so often, Kirby, I would tell you that your works look like D a n t e ' s I n f e r n o . " 1 Kirby l a u g h e d . "Yes. Yonder is F a r i n a t a himself 2 in the b u r n i n g t o m b , " — p o i n t i n g to s o m e figure in the s h i m m e r i n g s h a d o w s . " J u d g i n g from s o m e of the f a c e s of your m e n , " said the other, "they bid fair to try the reality of D a n t e ' s vision, s o m e d a y . " Y o u n g Kirby looked curiously a r o u n d , a s if s e e i n g the f a c e s of his h a n d s for the first time. "They're b a d e n o u g h , that's true. A d e s p e r a t e set, I fancy. E h , C l a r k e ? " T h e overseer did not h e a r him. H e w a s talking of net profits j u s t t h e n , — giving, in fact, a s c h e d u l e of the a n n u a l b u s i n e s s of the firm to a s h a r p p e e r i n g little Y a n k e e , w h o j o t t e d down notes on a p a p e r laid on the crown of his hat: a reporter for o n e of the city-papers, getting u p a series of reviews of the leading m a n u f a c t o r i e s . T h e other g e n t l e m e n h a d a c c o m p a n i e d t h e m merely for a m u s e m e n t . T h e y were silent until the notes were finished, drying their feet at the f u r n a c e s , a n d sheltering their f a c e s from the intolerable h e a t . At last the overseer c o n c l u d e d w i t h — "I believe that is a pretty fair e s t i m a t e , C a p t a i n . " " H e r e , s o m e of you m e n ! " said Kirby, "bring u p t h o s e b o a r d s . W e may a s well sit d o w n , g e n t l e m e n , until the rain is over. It c a n n o t last m u c h longer at this r a t e . " " P i g - m e t a l , " — m u m b l e d the r e p o r t e r , — " u r n ! — c o a l facilities,—um!— h a n d s e m p l o y e d , twelve h u n d r e d , — b i t u m e n , — u m ! — a l l right, I believe, M r . C l a r k e ; — s i n k i n g - f u n d , — w h a t did you say w a s your s i n k i n g - f u n d ? " 3 "Twelve h u n d r e d h a n d s ? " said the stranger, the y o u n g m a n w h o h a d first s p o k e n . " D o you control their votes, Kirby?" " C o n t r o l ? N o . " T h e y o u n g m a n smiled c o m p l a c e n t l y . " B u t my father brought seven h u n d r e d votes to the polls for his c a n d i d a t e last N o v e m b e r . N o force-work, you u n d e r s t a n d , — o n l y a s p e e c h or two, a hint to form t h e m selves into a society, a n d a bit of red a n d b l u e b u n t i n g to m a k e t h e m a flag. T h e Invincible R o u g h s , — I believe that is their n a m e . I forget the m o t t o : ' O u r country's h o p e , ' I think." T h e r e w a s a l a u g h . T h e y o u n g m a n talking to Kirby sat with a n a m u s e d light in his cool gray eye, surveying critically the half-clothed figures of the p u d d l e r s , a n d the slow swing of their brawny m u s c l e s . H e w a s a s t r a n g e r in the c i t y , — s p e n d i n g a c o u p l e of m o n t h s in the b o r d e r s of a S l a v e S t a t e , 4 to 1. Hell, t h e first p a r t o f The Divine Comedy b y t h e Italian poet D a n t e Alighieri ( 1 2 6 5 - 1 3 2 1 ) . 2 . I n C a n t o 1 0 o f t h e Inferno, Farinata degli U b e r t i is o n e o f t h e h e r e t i c s , a l e a d e r o f t h e F l o r -

entine faction o p p o s e d to Dante's 3. F u n d a c c u m u l a t e d to p a y off a 4 . P a r t o f H a r d i n g ' s i r o n y is t h a t , w a s writing, her slave-state setting

o w n family. corporate debt. at the t i m e s h e w a s far north of

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study the institutions of the S o u t h , — a brother-in-law of K i r b y ' s , — M i t c h e l l . H e w a s an a m a t e u r g y m n a s t , — h e n c e his a n a t o m i c a l eye; a p a t r o n , in a blase way, of the prize-ring; a m a n w h o s u c k e d the e s s e n c e out of a s c i e n c e or philosophy in an indifferent, g e n t l e m a n l y way; w h o took K a n t , N o v a l i s , H u m b o l d t , 5 for what they were worth in his own s c a l e s ; a c c e p t i n g all, d e s p i s ing nothing, in h e a v e n , earth, or hell, but one-idead m e n ; with a t e m p e r yielding a n d brilliant as s u m m e r water, until his S e l f w a s t o u c h e d , w h e n it w a s i c e , t h o u g h brilliant still. S u c h m e n are not rare in the S t a t e s . As he k n o c k e d the a s h e s from his cigar, Wolfe c a u g h t with a q u i c k p l e a s u r e the c o n t o u r of the white h a n d , the blood-glow of a red ring he w o r e . His voice, too, a n d that of Kirby's, t o u c h e d him like m u s i c , — l o w , e v e n , with c h o r d i n g c a d e n c e s . A b o u t this m a n Mitchell h u n g the i m p a l p a b l e a t m o s p h e r e b e l o n g i n g to the t h o r o u g h b r e d g e n t l e m a n . W o l f e , s c r a p i n g away the a s h e s b e s i d e him, w a s c o n s c i o u s of it, did o b e i s a n c e to it with his artist s e n s e , u n c o n s c i o u s that he did so. T h e rain did not c e a s e . C l a r k e a n d the reporter left the mills; the o t h e r s , comfortably s e a t e d near the f u r n a c e , lingered, s m o k i n g a n d talking in a desultory way. G r e e k would not have b e e n m o r e unintelligible to the f u r n a c e t e n d e r s , w h o s e p r e s e n c e they s o o n forgot entirely. Kirby drew o u t a n e w s p a p e r from his p o c k e t a n d read a l o u d s o m e article, which they d i s c u s s e d eagerly. At every s e n t e n c e , Wolfe listened m o r e a n d m o r e like a d u m b , h o p e less a n i m a l , with a duller, m o r e stolid look c r e e p i n g over his f a c e , g l a n c i n g now a n d then at Mitchell, m a r k i n g acutely every s m a l l e s t sign of r e f i n e m e n t , then b a c k to himself, s e e i n g a s in a mirror his filthy body, his m o r e s t a i n e d soul. Never! H e h a d no w o r d s for s u c h a t h o u g h t , but he knew now, in all the s h a r p n e s s of the bitter certainty, that b e t w e e n t h e m there w a s a great gulf 6 never to b e p a s s e d . Never! T h e bell of the mills r a n g for midnight. S u n d a y m o r n i n g h a d d a w n e d . W h a t e v e r h i d d e n m e s s a g e lay in the tolling bells floated p a s t t h e s e m e n u n k n o w n . Yet it w a s t h e r e . Veiled in the s o l e m n m u s i c u s h e r i n g the risen S a v i o u r w a s a key-note to solve the darkest s e c r e t s of a world g o n e w r o n g , — even this social riddle which the brain of the grimy p u d d l e r g r a p p l e d with madly to-night. T h e m e n b e g a n to withdraw the metal from the c a l d r o n s . T h e mills were d e s e r t e d on S u n d a y s , except by the h a n d s w h o fed the fires, a n d t h o s e w h o h a d n o lodgings a n d slept usually on the a s h - h e a p s . T h e three s t r a n g e r s sat still d u r i n g the next hour, w a t c h i n g the m e n cover the f u r n a c e s , l a u g h i n g now a n d then at s o m e j e s t of Kirby's. " D o you k n o w , " said M i t c h e l l , "I like this view of the works better than w h e n the glare w a s fiercest? T h e s e heavy s h a d o w s a n d the a m p h i t h e a t r e of s m o t h e r e d fires are ghostly, unreal. O n e c o u l d fancy t h e s e red s m o u l d e r i n g lights to be the half-shut eyes of wild b e a s t s , a n d the spectral figures their victims in the d e n . " t h e M a s o n - D i x o n line, west, not s o o t h , ol P e n n sylvania. 5. Alexander von Humholdt (1769-1859), G e r m a n naturalist a n d explorer of S o u t h A m e r i c a and Asia. I m m a n u e l Kant ( 1 7 2 4 - 1 8 0 4 ) , G e r m a n philosopher. Novalis, p s e u d o n y m o f Friedrich von H a r d e n b e r g (1 7 7 2 — 1 8 0 1 ) , G e r m a n p o e t .

6. W o r d s J e s u s a s s i g n s t o A b r a h a m in t h e p a r a b l e of t h e b e g g a r L a z a r u s a n d t h e rich m a n , L u k e 1 6 . 2 6 : " A n d b e s i d e all t h i s , b e t w e e n u s a n d y o u t h e r e is a g r e a t g u l f fixed"—the gull b e t w e e n heaven, where Lazarus has found comfort, and h e l l , w h e r e t h e r i c h m a n is s u f f e r i n g .

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Kirby l a u g h e d . "You are fanciful. C o m e , let u s get o u t of the d e n . T h e spectral figures, a s you call t h e m , are a little too real for m e to fancy a close proximity in the d a r k n e s s , — u n a r m e d , t o o . " T h e others rose, b u t t o n i n g their o v e r c o a t s , a n d lighting c i g a r s . " R a i n i n g , still," said D o c t o r M a y , " a n d hard. W h e r e did we leave the c o a c h , Mitchell?" "At the other side of the works.—Kirby, what's t h a t ? " Mitchell started b a c k , half-frightened, a s , s u d d e n l y turning a corner, the white figure of a w o m a n faced him in the d a r k n e s s , — a w o m a n , white, of giant proportions, c r o u c h i n g on the g r o u n d , her a r m s flung out in s o m e wild g e s t u r e of warning. " S t o p ! M a k e that fire burn t h e r e ! " cried Kirby, s t o p p i n g short. T h e flame b u r s t out, flashing the g a u n t figure into bold relief. Mitchell drew a long b r e a t h . "I thought it w a s a l i v e , " he said, going u p curiously. T h e others followed. " N o t m a r b l e , e h ? " a s k e d Kirby, t o u c h i n g it. O n e of the lower overseers s t o p p e d . "Korl, S i r . " " W h o did i t ? " " C a n ' t say. S o m e of the h a n d s ; c h i p p e d it out in o f f - h o u r s . " " C h i p p e d to s o m e p u r p o s e , I s h o u l d say. W h a t a flesh-tint the stuff h a s ! Do you see, Mitchell?" "I s e e . " H e h a d s t e p p e d a s i d e where the light fell boldest on the figure, looking at it in silence. T h e r e w a s not o n e line of beauty or g r a c e in it: a n u d e w o m a n ' s form, m u s c u l a r , grown c o a r s e with labor, the powerful limbs instinct with s o m e o n e p o i g n a n t longing. O n e idea: there it w a s in the t e n s e , rigid m u s c l e s , the c l u t c h i n g h a n d s , the wild, eager f a c e , like that of a starving wolf's. Kirby a n d D o c t o r M a y walked a r o u n d it, critical, c u r i o u s . Mitchell s t o o d aloof, silent. T h e figure t o u c h e d him strangely. " N o t badly d o n e , " said D o c t o r May. " W h e r e did the fellow learn that s w e e p of the m u s c l e s in the arm a n d h a n d ? L o o k at t h e m ! T h e y are g r o p i n g , — d o you s e e ? — c l u t c h i n g : the p e c u l i a r action of a m a n dying of thirst." "They have a m p l e facilities for studying a n a t o m y , " s n e e r e d Kirby, g l a n c i n g at the half-naked figures. " L o o k , " c o n t i n u e d the D o c t o r , "at this bony wrist, a n d the strained sinews of the instep! A w o r k i n g - w o m a n , — t h e very type of her c l a s s . " " G o d forbid!" m u t t e r e d Mitchell. " W h y ? " d e m a n d e d M a y . " W h a t d o e s the fellow intend by the figure? I c a n n o t c a t c h the m e a n i n g . " "Ask h i m , " said the other, dryly. " T h e r e he s t a n d s , " — p o i n t i n g to W o l f e , who stood with a g r o u p of m e n , l e a n i n g on his a s h - r a k e . T h e D o c t o r b e c k o n e d him with the affable smile which kind-hearted m e n put on, w h e n talking to t h e s e p e o p l e . " M r . Mitchell has picked you out a s the m a n w h o did t h i s , — I ' m sure I don't know why. B u t what did you m e a n by i t ? " " S h e b e hungry." Wolfe's eyes a n s w e r e d Mitchell, not the D o c t o r . " O h - h ! B u t what a m i s t a k e you have m a d e , my fine fellow! You have given

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n o sign of starvation to the body. It is strong,—terribly strong. It h a s the m a d , half-despairing g e s t u r e of d r o w n i n g . " W o l f e s t a m m e r e d , g l a n c e d appealingly at Mitchell, w h o s a w the s o u l of the thing, h e knew. B u t the cool, p r o b i n g eyes were t u r n e d o n h i m s e l f n o w , — mocking, cruel, relentless. " N o t hungry for m e a t , " the furnace-tender said at last. " W h a t t h e n ? W h i s k e y ? " j e e r e d Kirby, with a c o a r s e l a u g h . W o l f e w a s silent a m o m e n t , thinking. "I d u n n o , " h e said, with a bewildered look. "It m e b b e . S u m m a t to m a k e her live, I think,—like y o u . Whiskey ull d o it, in a w a y . " T h e y o u n g m a n l a u g h e d a g a i n . Mitchell flashed a look of d i s g u s t s o m e w h e r e , — n o t at W o l f e . " M a y , " he broke o u t impatiently, " a r e you blind? L o o k at that w o m a n ' s f a c e ! It a s k s q u e s t i o n s of G o d , a n d says, 'I have a right to know.' G o o d G o d , h o w hungry it i s ! " T h e y looked a m o m e n t ; then M a y t u r n e d to the m i l l - o w n e r : — " H a v e you m a n y s u c h h a n d s a s this? W h a t are you g o i n g to do with t h e m ? K e e p t h e m at p u d d l i n g i r o n ? " Kirby s h r u g g e d his s h o u l d e r s . Mitchell's look h a d irritated h i m . "Ce nest -pas mon affaire.7 I have no fancy for n u r s i n g infant g e n i u s e s . I s u p p o s e there are s o m e stray g l e a m s of m i n d a n d soul a m o n g t h e s e w r e t c h e s . T h e L o r d will take c a r e of his o w n ; or else they c a n work o u t their own salvation. I have h e a r d you call our A m e r i c a n system a l a d d e r w h i c h any m a n c a n s c a l e . D o you d o u b t it? O r p e r h a p s you want to b a n i s h all social l a d d e r s , a n d p u t u s all on a flat t a b l e - l a n d , — e h , M a y ? " T h e D o c t o r looked vexed, puzzled. S o m e terrible p r o b l e m lay hid in this w o m a n ' s f a c e , a n d troubled t h e s e m e n . Kirby waited for a n a n s w e r , a n d , receiving n o n e , went o n , w a r m i n g with his s u b j e c t . "I tell you, there's s o m e t h i n g w r o n g that no talk of 'Liberte or 'Egalite'8 will do away. If I h a d the m a k i n g of m e n , t h e s e m e n w h o d o the lowest part of the world's work s h o u l d b e m a c h i n e s , — n o t h i n g m o r e , — h a n d s . It w o u l d be k i n d n e s s . G o d help t h e m ! W h a t are t a s t e , r e a s o n , to c r e a t u r e s w h o m u s t live s u c h lives a s t h a t ? " H e p o i n t e d to D e b o r a h , s l e e p i n g on the a s h - h e a p . " S o m a n y nerves to sting t h e m to p a i n . W h a t if G o d h a d p u t your b r a i n , with all its a g o n y of t o u c h , into your fingers, a n d bid you work a n d strike with that?" "You think you c o u l d govern the world b e t t e r ? " l a u g h e d the D o c t o r . "I d o not think at all." " T h a t is true philosophy. Drift with the s t r e a m , b e c a u s e you c a n n o t dive d e e p e n o u g h to find b o t t o m , e h ? " " E x a c t l y , " rejoined Kirby. "I do not think. I w a s h my h a n d s of all social p r o b l e m s , — s l a v e r y , c a s t e , white or black. M y duty to my o p e r a t i v e s h a s a narrow l i m i t , — t h e pay-hour on S a t u r d a y n i g h t . 9 O u t s i d e of that, if they c u t korl, or c u t e a c h other's throats, (the m o r e p o p u l a r a m u s e m e n t of the two,) I a m not r e s p o n s i b l e . " T h e D o c t o r s i g h e d , — a g o o d h o n e s t sigh, from the d e p t h s of his s t o m a c h . 7. It's n o n e o f m y b u s i n e s s ( F r e n c h ) . 8. S l o g a n s o f t h e F r e n c h R e v o l u t i o n . 9. A b a l d s t a t e m e n t o f w h a t H a r d i n g ' s S c o t c o n temporary T h o m a s Carlyle was c o n d e m n i n g as the

"cash nexus," where monetary payment was the only connection between employer and worker. "Operatives": workers.

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" G o d help u s ! W h o is r e s p o n s i b l e ? " " N o t I, I tell y o u , " said Kirby, testily. " W h a t h a s the m a n w h o pays t h e m m o n e y to do with their s o u l s ' c o n c e r n s , m o r e than the g r o c e r or b u t c h e r w h o takes i t ? " "And yet," s a i d Mitchell's cynical voice, "look at her! H o w hungry s h e i s ! " Kirby t a p p e d his boot with his c a n e . N o o n e s p o k e . Only the d u m b f a c e of the r o u g h i m a g e looking into their f a c e s with the awful q u e s t i o n , " W h a t shall we do to b e s a v e d ? " 1 Only Wolfe's f a c e , with its heavy weight of brain, its weak, u n c e r t a i n m o u t h , its d e s p e r a t e eyes, out of which looked the soul of his c l a s s , — o n l y Wolfe's f a c e turned towards Kirby's. Mitchell l a u g h e d , — a cool, m u s i c a l l a u g h . " M o n e y has s p o k e n ! " h e said, s e a t i n g h i m s e l f lightly o n a s t o n e with the air of a n a m u s e d s p e c t a t o r at a play. "Are you a n s w e r e d ? " — t u r n i n g to Wolfe his clear, m a g n e t i c f a c e . Bright a n d d e e p a n d cold a s Arctic air, the soul of the m a n lay tranquil b e n e a t h . H e looked at the furnace-tender a s he h a d looked at a rare m o s a i c in the m o r n i n g ; only the m a n w a s the m o r e a m u s i n g study of the two. "Are you a n s w e r e d ? Why, M a y , look at him! 'De profundis clamavi.'2 O r , to q u o t e in E n g l i s h , ' H u n g r y a n d thirsty, his soul faints in him.' A n d s o M o n e y s e n d s b a c k its a n s w e r into the d e p t h s t h r o u g h you, Kirby! Very clear the answer, t o o ! — I think I r e m e m b e r r e a d i n g the s a m e w o r d s s o m e w h e r e : — w a s h i n g your h a n d s in E a u d e C o l o g n e , a n d saying, 'I a m i n n o c e n t of the blood of this m a n . S e e ye to it!' " 3 Kirby flushed angrily. "You q u o t e S c r i p t u r e freely." " D o I not q u o t e correctly? I think I r e m e m b e r a n o t h e r line, w h i c h may a m e n d my m e a n i n g ? ' I n a s m u c h a s ye did it u n t o o n e of the least of t h e s e , ye did it u n t o m e . ' D e i s t ? 4 B l e s s you, m a n , I w a s r a i s e d on the milk of the W o r d . N o w , D o c t o r , the pocket of the world having uttered its voice, w h a t h a s the heart to say? You are a philanthropist, in a s m a l l w a y , — n e s t ce p a s ? 5 H e r e , boy, this g e n t l e m a n c a n s h o w you h o w to c u t korl b e t t e r , — o r your destiny. G o o n , M a y ! " "I think a m o c k i n g devil p o s s e s s e s you to-night," rejoined the D o c t o r , seriously. H e went to W o l f e a n d p u t his h a n d kindly on his a r m . S o m e t h i n g of a v a g u e idea p o s s e s s e d the Doctor's brain that m u c h g o o d w a s to b e d o n e here by a friendly word or two: a latent g e n i u s to be w a r m e d into life by a waitedfor s u n b e a m . H e r e it w a s : he h a d b r o u g h t it. S o he went on c o m p l a c e n t l y : — " D o you know, boy, you have it in you to be a great s c u l p t o r , a great m a n ? — do you u n d e r s t a n d ? " (talking down to the c a p a c i t y of his hearer: it is a way p e o p l e have with children, a n d m e n like W o l f e , ) — " t o live a better, stronger 1. T h e k e e p e r o f t h e p r i s o n i n P h i l i p p i c r i e s , " S i r s , w h a t m u s t I d o to b e s a v e d ? " to P a u l a n d S i l a s after an earthquake has opened the prison doors and loosed the prisoners' bonds (Acts 16.30). 2. T h e Latin version of P s a l m 1 3 0 . 1 : " O u t of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord." 3. T h e R o m a n g o v e r n o r P o n t i u s P i l a t e y i e l d e d to the mob's d e m a n d that J e s u s be crucified but r e n o u n c e d r e s p o n s i b i l i t y f o r it: " W h e n P i l a t e s a w that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was m a d e , he took water, a n d w a s h e d his

hands before the multitude, saying, I a m innocent o f t h e b l o o d o f this j u s t p e r s o n : s e e ye to it" ( M a t thew 27.24). 4 . O n e w h o b e l i e v e s in a G o d w h o c r e a t e d t h e w o r l d b u t t h e r e a f t e r e x e r c i s e s n o c o n t r o l o v e r it. W h a t J e s u s s a y s in M a t t h e w 2 5 . 4 0 : " V e r i l y I s a y u n t o y o u , I n a s m u c h a s y e h a v e d o n e it u n t o o n e o f t h e l e a s t o f t h e s e m y b r e t h r e n , y e h a v e d o n e it u n t o me." 5. Aren't you? ( F r e n c h ) .

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life than I, or Mr. Kirby here? A m a n may m a k e himself anything he c h o o s e s . G o d has given you stronger p o w e r s than m a n y m e n , — m e , for i n s t a n c e . " M a y s t o p p e d , h e a t e d , glowing with his own m a g n a n i m i t y . A n d it w a s m a g n a n i m o u s . T h e p u d d l e r h a d d r u n k in every word, looking t h r o u g h the D o c t o r s flurry, a n d g e n e r o u s h e a t , a n d self-approval, into his will, with t h o s e slow, a b s o r b i n g eyes of his. " M a k e yourself what you will. It is your right." "I k n o w , " quietly. "Will you help m e ? " Mitchell l a u g h e d a g a i n . T h e D o c t o r t u r n e d now, in a p a s s i o n , — "You know, Mitchell, I have not the m e a n s . You know, if I h a d , it is in my heart to take this boy a n d e d u c a t e him f o r " — " T h e glory of G o d , a n d the glory of J o h n M a y . " M a y did not s p e a k for a m o m e n t ; t h e n , controlled, h e s a i d , — "Why s h o u l d o n e be raised, when myriads are left?—I have not the money, b o y , " to W o l f e , shortly. " M o n e y ? " H e said it over slowly, a s o n e r e p e a t s the g u e s s e d a n s w e r to a riddle, doubtfully. " T h a t is it? M o n e y ? " "Yes, m o n e y , — t h a t is it," said Mitchell, rising, a n d drawing his furred c o a t a b o u t h i m . "You've f o u n d the c u r e for all the world's d i s e a s e s . — C o m e , M a y , find your g o o d - h u m o r , a n d c o m e h o m e . T h i s d a m p wind chills my very b o n e s . C o m e a n d p r e a c h your S a i n t - S i m o n i a n d o c t r i n e s 6 to-morrow to Kirby's h a n d s . L e t t h e m have a clear idea of the rights of the s o u l , a n d I'll venture next w e e k they'll strike for higher w a g e s . T h a t will be the e n d of it." "Will you s e n d the coach-driver to this side of the m i l l s ? " a s k e d Kirby, turning to W o l f e . H e s p o k e kindly: it w a s his habit to do s o . D e b o r a h , s e e i n g the p u d d l e r g o , crept after h i m . T h e three m e n waited o u t s i d e . D o c t o r M a y walked up and d o w n , c h a f e d . S u d d e n l y he s t o p p e d . " G o back, Mitchell! You say the p o c k e t a n d the heart of the world s p e a k without m e a n i n g to these p e o p l e . W h a t h a s its h e a d to say? T a s t e , c u l t u r e , refinement? G o ! " Mitchell w a s l e a n i n g a g a i n s t a brick wall. H e turned his h e a d indolently, a n d looked into the mills. T h e r e h u n g a b o u t the p l a c e a thick, u n c l e a n odor. T h e slightest motion of his h a n d m a r k e d that he p e r c e i v e d it, a n d his insufferable d i s g u s t . T h a t w a s all. M a y said nothing, only q u i c k e n e d his angry tramp. " B e s i d e s , " a d d e d Mitchell, giving a corollary to his a n s w e r , "it would b e of no u s e . I a m not o n e of t h e m . " "You d o not m e a n " — s a i d M a y , f a c i n g h i m . "Yes, I m e a n j u s t that. R e f o r m is born of n e e d , not pity. N o vital movem e n t of the p e o p l e ' s h a s worked d o w n , for g o o d or evil; f e r m e n t e d , i n s t e a d , carried u p the heaving, cloggy m a s s . T h i n k b a c k t h r o u g h history, a n d you will know it. W h a t will this lowest d e e p — t h i e v e s , M a g d a l e n s , 7 n e g r o e s — d o with the light filtered t h r o u g h p o n d e r o u s C h u r c h c r e e d s , B a c o n i a n theories, G o e t h e s c h e m e s ? " S o m e day, out of their bitter n e e d will

6. D o c t r i n e s of the C o u n t of S a i n t - S i m o n ( 1 7 6 0 1 8 2 5 ) , founder of French socialism. 7. W h o r e s , f r o m M a n ' M a g d a l e n e , o u t of w h o m J e s u s cast seven devils ( M a r k 16.9). 8. A b s t r a c t or fanciful t h e o r i e s s u c h as the E n g l i s h essayist and statesman Francis Bacon (1561 —

1 6 2 4 ) a d v a n c e d in h i s New Atlantis ( 1 6 2 7 ) or the v i s i o n a r y f a i t h in t e c h n o l o g i c a l p r o g r e s s r e v e a l e d bv t h e G e r m a n w r i t e r J o h a n n W o l f g a n g v o n G o e t h e ( 1 7 4 9 - 1 8 3 2 ) i n Wilhelm Meisters Travels (1821-29).

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be thrown u p their own light-bringer,—their J e a n P a u l , their C r o m w e l l , their Messiah."9 " B a h ! " w a s the Doctor's inward criticism. However, in p r a c t i c e , h e a d o p t e d the theory; for, w h e n , night a n d m o r n i n g , afterwards, h e prayed that power might b e given t h e s e d e g r a d e d souls to rise, h e glowed at heart, recognizing an a c c o m p l i s h e d duty. Wolfe a n d the w o m a n h a d stood in the s h a d o w of the works a s the c o a c h drove off. T h e D o c t o r h a d held out his h a n d in a frank, g e n e r o u s way, telling him to "take c a r e of himself, a n d to r e m e m b e r it w a s his right to r i s e . " M i t c h ell h a d simply t o u c h e d his hat, a s to a n e q u a l , with a quiet look of t h o r o u g h recognition. Kirby h a d thrown D e b o r a h s o m e m o n e y , which s h e f o u n d , a n d c l u t c h e d eagerly e n o u g h . T h e y were g o n e now, all of t h e m . T h e m a n sat down o n the cinder-road, looking u p into the murky sky. " T b e late, H u g h . W u n n o t hur c o m e ? " H e s h o o k his h e a d doggedly, a n d the w o m a n c r o u c h e d o u t of his sight a g a i n s t the wall. D o you r e m e m b e r rare m o m e n t s w h e n a s u d d e n light flashed over yourself, your world, G o d ? w h e n you s t o o d on a m o u n t a i n - p e a k , s e e i n g your life a s it might have b e e n , a s it is? o n e q u i c k instant, w h e n c u s t o m lost its force a n d every-day u s a g e ? w h e n your friend, wife, brother, s t o o d in a new light? your soul w a s b a r e d , a n d the g r a v e , — a f o r e t a s t e of the n a k e d n e s s of the J u d g m e n t - D a y ? S o it c a m e before him, his life, that night. T h e slow tides of p a i n h e h a d b o r n e g a t h e r e d t h e m s e l v e s u p a n d s u r g e d a g a i n s t his s o u l . H i s s q u a l i d daily life, the brutal c o a r s e n e s s e a t i n g into his brain, a s the a s h e s into his skin: b e f o r e , t h e s e things h a d b e e n a dull a c h i n g into his c o n s c i o u s n e s s ; to-night, they were reality. H e griped the filthy red shirt that c l u n g , stiff with soot, a b o u t him, a n d tore it savagely from his a r m . T h e flesh b e n e a t h w a s m u d d y with g r e a s e a n d a s h e s , — a n d the heart b e n e a t h that! A n d the soul? G o d knows. T h e n flashed before his vivid poetic s e n s e the m a n w h o h a d left h i m , — the p u r e f a c e , the d e l i c a t e , sinewy limbs, in h a r m o n y with all h e k n e w of b e a u t y or truth. In his cloudy fancy he h a d p i c t u r e d a S o m e t h i n g like this. H e h a d f o u n d it in this Mitchell, even w h e n he idly scoffed at his p a i n : a M a n all-knowing, all-seeing, c r o w n e d by N a t u r e , r e i g n i n g , — t h e keen g l a n c e of his eye falling like a s c e p t r e o n other m e n . A n d yet his instinct t a u g h t him that he t o o — H e ! H e looked at h i m s e l f with s u d d e n loathing, sick, w r u n g his h a n d s with a cry, a n d then w a s silent. W i t h all the p h a n t o m s of his h e a t e d , ignorant fancy, W o l f e h a d not b e e n v a g u e in his a m b i t i o n s . T h e y were practical, slowly built u p before him o u t of his k n o w l e d g e of w h a t h e c o u l d d o . T h r o u g h years h e h a d day by day m a d e this h o p e a real thing to h i m s e l f , — a clear, p r o j e c t e d figure of himself, a s h e might b e c o m e . Able to s p e a k , to know what w a s b e s t , to raise t h e s e m e n a n d w o m e n working at his side up with h i m : s o m e t i m e s h e forgot this defined h o p e in the frantic a n g u i s h to e s c a p e , — o n l y to e s c a p e , — o u t of the wet, the pain, the a s h e s , s o m e w h e r e , a n y w h e r e , — o n l y for o n e m o m e n t of free air o n a hillside, to lie down a n d let his sick soul throb itself o u t in the s u n s h i n e . B u t to-night he p a n t e d for life. T h e s a v a g e strength of his n a t u r e w a s r o u s e d ; his cry was fierce to G o d for j u s t i c e .

9. N o t specifically J e s u s , w h o s e return Christians await, or the M e s s i a h w h o s e c o m i n g J e w s await. T h e G e r m a n novelist J e a n Paul Richter (1763—

1 8 2 5 ) , a u t h o r o f The Titan. Oliver Cromwell ( 1 5 9 9 — 1 6 5 8 ) , E n g l i s h military, p o l i t i c a l , a n d religious leader, dictator of E n g l a n d .

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" L o o k at m e ! " he said to D e b o r a h , with a low, bitter l a u g h , striking his p u n y c h e s t savagely. " W h a t a m I worth. D e b ? Is it my fault that I a m no better? M y fault? M y f a u l t ? " H e s t o p p e d , s t u n g with a s u d d e n r e m o r s e , s e e i n g her h u n c h b a c k s h a p e writhing with s o b s . F o r D e b o r a h was crying t h a n k l e s s tears, a c c o r d i n g to the fashion of w o m e n . " G o d forgi' m e , w o m a n ! T h i n g s g o h a r d e r wi' you nor m e . It's a w o r s e share." H e got up a n d helped her to rise; a n d they went doggedly d o w n the m u d d y street, side by s i d e . "It's all w r o n g , " he m u t t e r e d , slowly,—"all wrong! I d u n n o t u n d e r s t a n ' . Rut it'll e n d s o m e d a y . " " C o m e h o m e , H u g h ! " s h e said, coaxingly; for he h a d s t o p p e d , looking a r o u n d bewildered. " H o m e , — a n d b a c k to the mill!" H e went on saying this over to himself, a s if he would m u t t e r down every pain in this dull d e s p a i r . S h e followed him through the fog, her b l u e lips c h a t t e r i n g with cold. T h e y r e a c h e d the cellar at last. O l d W o l f e h a d b e e n drinking s i n c e s h e went out, a n d h a d crept nearer the door. T h e girl J a n e y slept heavily in the corner. H e went up to her, t o u c h i n g softly the worn white a r m with his fingers. S o m e bitterer t h o u g h t s t u n g him, as h e stood t h e r e . H e w i p e d the d r o p s from his f o r e h e a d , a n d went into the r o o m b e y o n d , livid, trembling. A h o p e , trifling, p e r h a p s , but very dear, h a d died j u s t then out of the p o o r p u d d l e r ' s life, a s he looked at the s l e e p i n g , i n n o c e n t g i r l , — s o m e plan for the future, in which she had b o r n e a part. H e gave it u p that m o m e n t , then a n d forever. Only a trifle, p e r h a p s , to u s : his f a c e grew a s h a d e p a l e r , — t h a t w a s all. B u t , s o m e how, the m a n ' s s o u l , a s G o d a n d the a n g e l s looked d o w n o n it, never w a s the s a m e afterwards. D e b o r a h followed him into the inner r o o m . S h e carried a c a n d l e , which she p l a c e d on the floor, c l o s i n g the d o o r after her. S h e h a d s e e n the look on his f a c e , a s h e t u r n e d away: her own grew deadly. Yet, a s s h e c a m e u p to him, her eyes g l o w e d . H e w a s s e a t e d on an old c h e s t , quiet, holding his f a c e in his h a n d s . " H u g h ! " s h e said, softly. H e did not s p e a k . " H u g h , did hur hear what the m a n s a i d , — h i m with the clear voice? Did hur h e a r ? M o n e y , m o n e y , — t h a t it w u d d o a l l ? " H e p u s h e d her away,—gently, but h e w a s worn out; her r a s p i n g tone fretted h i m . "Hugh!" T h e c a n d l e flared a pale yellow light over the c o b w e b b e d brick walls, a n d the w o m a n s t a n d i n g t h e r e . H e looked at her. S h e w a s y o u n g , in deadly earnest; her faded eyes, a n d wet, r a g g e d figure c a u g h t from their frantic eagern e s s a p o w e r akin to beauty. " H u g h , it is true! M o n e y ull do it! O h , H u g h , boy, listen till m e ! H e said it true! It is m o n e y ! " "I k n o w . G o back! I do not want you h e r e . " " H u g h , it is t' last t i m e . I'll never worrit hur a g a i n . " T h e r e were tears in her voice now, but s h e c h o k e d t h e m b a c k . " H e a r till m e only to-night! If o n e of t' witch p e o p l e w u d c o m e , t h e m we heard of t' h o m e , a n d gif hur all hur w a n t s , w h a t t h e n ? S a y , H u g h ! "

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" W h a t do you m e a n ? " "I m e a n m o n e y . " H e r whisper shrilled through his brain. "If o n e of t' witch dwarfs wud c o m e from t' lane m o o r s to-night, a n d gif hur m o n e y , to g o out,—ottt, I s a y , — o u t , lad, w h e r e t' s u n s h i n e s , a n d t' h e a t h grows, a n d t' ladies walk in silken g o w n d s , a n d G o d stays all t' t i m e , — w h e r e t' m a n lives that talked to u s t o - n i g h t , — H u g h k n o w s , — H u g h c o u l d walk there like a king!" H e thought the w o m a n m a d , tried to c h e c k her, but s h e went on, fierce in her e a g e r h a s t e . "If I were t' witch dwarf, if I h a d t' m o n e y , w u d hur t h a n k m e ? W u d hur take m e out o' this p l a c e wid hur a n d J a n e y ? I w u d not c o m e into the g r a n ' h o u s e hur w u d build, to vex hur wid t' h u n c h , — o n l y at night, w h e n t' s h a d ows were dark, s t a n d far off to s e e h u r . " M a d ? Yes! Are m a n y of u s m a d in this way? " P o o r D e b ! p o o r D e b ! " he said, soothingly. "It is h e r e , " she said, suddenly, j e r k i n g into his h a n d a small roll. "I took it! I did it! M e , m e ! — n o t hur! I shall be h a n g e d , I shall b e b u r n t in hell, if anybody knows I took it! O u t of his p o c k e t , a s he l e a n e d a g a i n s t t' bricks. Hur knows?" S h e thrust it into his h a n d , a n d then, her e r r a n d d o n e , b e g a n to g a t h e r chips together to m a k e a fire, c h o k i n g down hysteric s o b s . " H a s it c o m e to t h i s ? " T h a t w a s all he s a i d . T h e W e l s h Wolfe blood w a s h o n e s t . T h e roll w a s a small green p o c k e t - b o o k c o n t a i n i n g o n e or two gold p i e c e s , a n d a c h e c k for an incredible a m o u n t , a s it s e e m e d to the p o o r p u d d l e r . H e laid it d o w n , hiding his f a c e again in his h a n d s . " H u g h , don't be angry w u d m e ! It's only p o o r D e b , — h u r k n o w s ? " H e took the long skinny fingers kindly in his. "Angry? G o d help m e , n o ! L e t m e s l e e p . I a m tired." H e threw h i m s e l f heavily d o w n on the w o o d e n b e n c h , s t u n n e d with p a i n a n d w e a r i n e s s . S h e b r o u g h t s o m e old rags to cover h i m . It w a s late on S u n d a y evening before he a w o k e . I tell G o d ' s truth, w h e n I say he had then no t h o u g h t of keeping this m o n e y . D e b o r a h h a d hid it in his p o c k e t . H e f o u n d it t h e r e . S h e w a t c h e d him eagerly, a s h e took it out. "I m u s t gif it to h i m , " he said, r e a d i n g her f a c e . " H u r k n o w s , " she said with a bitter sigh of d i s a p p o i n t m e n t . " B u t it is hur right to keep it." His right! T h e word s t r u c k h i m . D o c t o r M a y h a d u s e d the s a m e . H e w a s h e d himself, a n d went o u t to find this m a n M i t c h e l l . His right! W h y did this c h a n c e word cling to him s o obstinately? D o you h e a r the fierce devils whisper in his ear, as he went slowly d o w n the d a r k e n i n g street? T h e evening c a m e o n , slow a n d c a l m . H e s e a t e d h i m s e l f at the e n d of an alley leading into o n e of the larger streets. His brain w a s clear to-night, k e e n , intent, m a s t e r i n g . It would not start back, cowardly, from any hellish t e m p tation, but m e e t it f a c e to f a c e . T h e r e f o r e the great t e m p t a t i o n of his life c a m e to him veiled by no sophistry, but bold, defiant, o w n i n g its own vile n a m e , trusting to o n e bold blow for victory. H e did not deceive himself. Theft! T h a t was it. At first the word s i c k e n e d him; then he g r a p p l e d with it. Sitting there on a broken cart-wheel, the f a d i n g day, the noisy g r o u p s , the church-bells' tolling p a s s e d before him like a p a n -

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o r a m a , 1 while the s h a r p struggle went o n within. T h i s money! H e took it o u t , a n d looked at it. If he gave it b a c k , what t h e n ? H e w a s g o i n g to b e cool a b o u t it. P e o p l e going by to c h u r c h s a w only a sickly mill-boy w a t c h i n g t h e m quietly at the alley's m o u t h . T h e y did not know that he w a s m a d , or they would not have g o n e by s o quietly: m a d with h u n g e r ; s t r e t c h i n g out his h a n d s to the world, that h a d given so m u c h to t h e m , for leave to live the life G o d m e a n t him to live. His soul within him w a s s m o t h e r i n g to d e a t h ; h e w a n t e d so m u c h , thought so m u c h , a n d knew—nothing. T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g of which h e w a s certain, except the mill a n d things there. O f G o d a n d h e a v e n he h a d h e a r d so little, that they were to him w h a t fairy-land is to a child: s o m e t h i n g real, but not h e r e ; very far off. H i s brain, greedy, d w a r f e d , full of thwarted energy a n d u n u s e d p o w e r s , q u e s t i o n e d t h e s e m e n a n d w o m e n g o i n g by, coldly, bitterly, that night. W a s it not his right to live a s t h e y , — a p u r e life, a g o o d , true-hearted life, full of b e a u t y a n d kind w o r d s ? H e only w a n t e d to know how to u s e the strength within him. H i s heart w a r m e d , a s he t h o u g h t of it. H e suffered h i m s e l f to think of it longer. If he took the m o n e y ? T h e n he s a w himself a s h e might b e , s t r o n g , helpful, kindly. T h e night crept o n , a s this o n e i m a g e slowly evolved itself from the crowd of other t h o u g h t s a n d s t o o d t r i u m p h a n t . H e looked at it. As h e might b e ! W h a t wonder, if it blinded him to d e l i r i u m , — t h e m a d n e s s that underlies all revolution, all p r o g r e s s , a n d all fall? You laugh at the shallow t e m p t a t i o n ? You s e e the error underlying its a r g u m e n t s o c l e a r l y , — t h a t to h i m a true life w a s o n e of full d e v e l o p m e n t rather than self-restraint? that he w a s d e a f to the higher tone in a cry of voluntary suffering for truth's s a k e than in the fullest flow of s p o n t a n e o u s h a r m o n y ? I do not p l e a d his c a u s e . I only want to s h o w you the m o t e in my brother's eye: then you c a n s e e clearly to take it o u t . 2 T h e m o n e y , — t h e r e it lay on his k n e e , a little blotted slip of p a p e r , n o t h i n g in itself; u s e d to raise him o u t of the pit, s o m e t h i n g straight from G o d ' s h a n d . A thief! Well, w h a t w a s it to be a thief? H e m e t the q u e s t i o n at last, f a c e to f a c e , wiping the c l a m m y d r o p s of s w e a t from his f o r e h e a d . G o d m a d e this m o n e y — t h e fresh air, t o o — f o r his children's u s e . H e never m a d e the differe n c e b e t w e e n p o o r a n d rich. T h e S o m e t h i n g w h o looked d o w n on him that m o m e n t t h r o u g h the cool gray sky h a d a kindly f a c e , h e k n e w , — l o v e d his children alike. O h , h e knew that! T h e r e were t i m e s w h e n the soft floods of color in the c r i m s o n a n d purple f l a m e s , or the clear d e p t h of a m b e r in the water below the b r i d g e , h a d s o m e how given him a g l i m p s e of a n o t h e r world than t h i s , — o f a n infinite d e p t h of b e a u t y a n d of q u i e t s o m e w h e r e , — s o m e w h e r e , — a d e p t h of quiet a n d rest a n d love. L o o k i n g u p now, it b e c a m e strangely real. T h e s u n h a d s u n k quite below the hills, b u t his last rays s t r u c k u p w a r d , t o u c h i n g the zenith. T h e fog h a d risen, a n d the town a n d river were s t e e p e d in its thick, gray d a m p ; but o v e r h e a d , the s u n - t o u c h e d s m o k e - c l o u d s o p e n e d like a cleft o c e a n , — s h i f t 1. L i k e t h e c o n t i n u o u s s c e n e s p a i n t e d o n h u g e canvas and unrolled before audiences; attending a p a n o r a m a was a popular mid-19th-century recreation, but p r o b a b l y too expensive for H a r d i n g ' s characters. 2 . J e s u s ' w o r d s in t h e S e r m o n o n t h e M o u n t ( M a t t h e w 7.3—4); " A n d w h y b e h o l d e s t t h o u t h e m o t e

t h a t is i n t h y b r o t h e r ' s e y e , b u t c o n s i d e r e s t n o t t h e b e a m t h a t i s in t h i n e o w n e y e ? O r h o w w i l t t h o u say to thy brother, L e t m e pull out the m o t e out of t h i n e e y e ; a n d b e h o l d , a b e a m is i n t h i n e o w n e y e ? " ( H e r e a m o t e is a s p e c k o f d u s t a n d a b e a m i s t h e large timber u s e d to support a roof.)

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ing, rolling s e a s of c r i m s o n mist, waves of billowy silver veined with bloodscarlet, inner d e p t h s u n f a t h o m a b l e of g l a n c i n g light. Wolfe's artist-eye grew d r u n k with color. T h e g a t e s of that other world! F a d i n g , flashing before him now! W h a t , in that world of Beauty, C o n t e n t , a n d Right, were the petty laws, the m i n e a n d thine, of mill-owners a n d mill h a n d s ? A c o n s c i o u s n e s s of p o w e r stirred within him. H e s t o o d u p . A m a n , — h e t h o u g h t , stretching out his h a n d s , — f r e e to work, to live, to love! F r e e ! H i s right! H e folded the s c r a p of p a p e r in his h a n d . A s his nervous fingers took it in, limp a n d blotted, s o his soul took in the m e a n t e m p t a t i o n , l a p p e d it in fancied rights, in d r e a m s of improved e x i s t e n c e s , drifting a n d e n d l e s s a s the c l o u d - s e a s of color. C l u t c h i n g it, a s if the t i g h t n e s s of his hold w o u l d strengthen his s e n s e of p o s s e s s i o n , he went aimlessly d o w n the street. It w a s his w a t c h at the mill. H e n e e d not g o , n e e d never go a g a i n , t h a n k G o d ! — s h a k i n g off the thought with u n s p e a k a b l e loathing. Shall I go over the history of the h o u r s of that night? h o w the m a n w a n dered from o n e to a n o t h e r of his old h a u n t s , with a h a l f - c o n s c i o u s n e s s of bidding t h e m f a r e w e l l , — l a n e s a n d alleys a n d back-yards w h e r e the millh a n d s l o d g e d , — n o t i n g , with a new e a g e r n e s s , the filth a n d d r u n k e n n e s s , the p i g - p e n s , the a s h - h e a p s covered with p o t a t o - s k i n s , the b l o a t e d , p i m p l e d w o m e n at the d o o r s , — w i t h a n e w d i s g u s t , a n e w s e n s e of s u d d e n t r i u m p h , a n d , u n d e r all, a new, v a g u e d r e a d , u n k n o w n b e f o r e , s m o t h e r e d d o w n , kept under, but still there? It left him b u t o n c e d u r i n g the night, w h e n , for the s e c o n d time in his life, h e entered a c h u r c h . It w a s a s o m b r e G o t h i c pile, where the stained light lost itself in far-retreating a r c h e s ; built to m e e t the r e q u i r e m e n t s a n d s y m p a t h i e s of a far other c l a s s than Wolfe's. Yet it t o u c h e d , moved him uncontrollably. T h e d i s t a n c e s , the s h a d o w s , the still, m a r b l e figu r e s , the m a s s of silent kneeling w o r s h i p p e r s , the m y s t e r i o u s m u s i c , thrilled, lifted his soul with a wonderful p a i n . W o l f e forgot himself, forgot the n e w life he w a s g o i n g to live, the m e a n terror g n a w i n g u n d e r n e a t h . T h e voice of the s p e a k e r s t r e n g t h e n e d the c h a r m ; it w a s clear, feeling, full, strong. An old m a n , w h o h a d lived m u c h , suffered m u c h ; w h o s e brain w a s keenly alive, d o m i n a n t ; w h o s e heart w a s s u m m e r - w a r m with charity. H e t a u g h t it tonight. H e held up H u m a n i t y in its g r a n d total; s h o w e d the great w o r l d - c a n c e r to his p e o p l e . W h o c o u l d s h o w it better? H e w a s a C h r i s t i a n reformer; h e h a d studied the a g e thoroughly; his outlook at m a n h a d b e e n free, worldwide, over all t i m e . H i s faith s t o o d s u b l i m e u p o n the R o c k of A g e s ; his fiery zeal g u i d e d vast s c h e m e s by which the G o s p e l w a s to b e p r e a c h e d to all n a t i o n s . H o w did he p r e a c h it to-night? In b u r n i n g , light-laden w o r d s h e p a i n t e d J e s u s , the i n c a r n a t e L i f e , L o v e , the universal M a n : w o r d s that b e c a m e reality in the lives of t h e s e p e o p l e , — t h a t lived again in beautiful words a n d a c t i o n s , trifling, b u t heroic. S i n , a s he defined it, w a s a real foe to t h e m ; their trials, t e m p t a t i o n s , were his. H i s w o r d s p a s s e d far over the furnace-tender's g r a s p , t o n e d to suit a n o t h e r c l a s s of c u l t u r e ; they s o u n d e d in his e a r s a very p l e a s a n t s o n g in a n u n k n o w n t o n g u e . H e m e a n t to c u r e this world-cancer with a steady eye that h a d never glared with h u n g e r , a n d a h a n d that neither poverty nor strychnine-whiskey' h a d t a u g h t to s h a k e . In this m o r b i d , distorted heart of the W e l s h p u d d l e r he h a d failed. 3.

Extremely d a n g e r o u s whiskey ( s o m e t i m e s lethal) m a d e from redistilling the m a s h a l o n g with various

impurities.

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E i g h t e e n c e n t u r i e s a g o , the M a s t e r of this m a n tried reform in the streets of a city as c r o w d e d a n d vile a s this, a n d did not fail. H i s disciple, s h o w i n g H i m to-night to c u l t u r e d h e a r e r s , s h o w i n g the c l e a r n e s s of the G o d - p o w e r a c t i n g through H i m , s h r a n k b a c k from o n e c o a r s e fact; that in birth a n d habit the m a n C h r i s t w a s thrown u p from the lowest of the p e o p l e : his flesh, their flesh; their b l o o d , his b l o o d ; t e m p t e d like t h e m , to brutalize day by day; to lie, to steal: the a c t u a l slime a n d want of their hourly life, a n d the winep r e s s he trod a l o n e . Yet, is there no m e a n i n g in this perpetually covered truth? If the son of the c a r p e n t e r h a d stood in the c h u r c h that night, a s h e s t o o d with the fishe r m e n a n d harlots by the s e a of G a l i l e e , before His F a t h e r a n d their F a t h e r , d e s p i s e d a n d rejected of m e n , without a p l a c e to lay H i s h e a d , w o u n d e d for their iniquities, b r u i s e d for their t r a n s g r e s s i o n s , would not that hungry millboy at least, in the b a c k s e a t , have "known the m a n " ? T h a t J e s u s did not stand there. W o l f e rose at last, a n d turned from the c h u r c h d o w n the street. H e looked u p ; the night h a d c o m e on foggy, d a m p ; the g o l d e n m i s t s h a d v a n i s h e d , a n d the sky lay dull a n d a s h - c o l o r e d . H e w a n d e r e d again aimlessly d o w n the street, idly w o n d e r i n g what h a d b e c o m e of the c l o u d - s e a of c r i m s o n a n d scarlet. T h e trial-day of this m a n ' s life w a s over, a n d he h a d lost the victory. W h a t followed w a s m e r e drifting c i r c u m s t a n c e , — a q u i c k e r walking over the p a t h , — t h a t w a s all. D o you want to hear the e n d of it? You wish m e to m a k e a tragic story o u t of it? Why, in the police-reports of the m o r n i n g p a p e r you c a n find a dozen s u c h t r a g e d i e s : hints of s h i p w r e c k s unlike any that ever befell on the high s e a s ; hints that here a power w a s lost to h e a v e n , — t h a t there a soul went d o w n w h e r e n o tide c a n e b b or flow. C o m m o n p l a c e e n o u g h the hints a r e , — j o c o s e s o m e t i m e s , d o n e u p in r h y m e . D o c t o r M a y , a m o n t h after the night I have told you of, w a s r e a d i n g to his wife at breakfast from this fourth c o l u m n of the m o r n i n g - p a p e r : an u n u s u a l t h i n g , — t h e s e police-reports not being, in general, c h o i c e r e a d i n g for l a d i e s ; but it w a s only o n e item he read. " O h , my dear! You r e m e m b e r that m a n I told you of, that we saw at Kirby's m i l l ? — t h a t w a s arrested for r o b b i n g Mitchell? H e r e h e is; j u s t listen:—'Circuit C o u r t . J u d g e Day. H u g h W o l f e , operative in Kirby & J o h n ' s L o u d o n Mills. C h a r g e , grand larceny. S e n t e n c e , n i n e t e e n years h a r d labor in penit e n t i a r y . ' — S c o u n d r e l ! S e r v e s him right! After all our k i n d n e s s that night! Picking Mitchell's pocket at the very t i m e ! " H i s wife said s o m e t h i n g a b o u t the i n g r a t i t u d e of that kind of p e o p l e , a n d then they b e g a n to talk of s o m e t h i n g e l s e . N i n e t e e n years! H o w e a s y that was to read! W h a t a s i m p l e w o r d f o r j u d g e D a y to utter! N i n e t e e n years! H a l f a lifetime! H u g h W o l f e sat on the window-ledge of his cell, looking out. H i s ankles were ironed. N o t u s u a l in s u c h c a s e s ; but he h a d m a d e two d e s p e r a t e efforts to e s c a p e . " W e l l , " a s Haley, the jailer, said, " s m a l l b l a m e to him! N i n e t e e n years' i n p r i s o n m e n t w a s not a p l e a s a n t thing to look forward t o . " Haley w a s very g o o d - n a t u r e d a b o u t it, t h o u g h W o l f e h a d fought him savagely. " W h e n he w a s first c a u g h t , " the j a i l e r said a f t e r w a r d s , in telling the story, "before the trial, the fellow w a s c u t d o w n at o n c e , — l a i d there on that pallet like a d e a d m a n , with his h a n d s over his eyes. N e v e r s a w a m a n so c u t down

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in my life. T i m e of the trial, too, c a m e the q u e e r e s t d o d g e 4 of any c u s t o m e r I ever had. W o u l d c h o o s e no lawyer. J u d g e gave him o n e , of c o u r s e . G i b s o n it w a s . H e tried to prove the fellow crazy; but it wouldn't g o . T h i n g w a s plain a s daylight: m o n e y f o u n d on him. 'T w a s a hard s e n t e n c e , — a l l the law allows; but it was for 'xample's s a k e . T h e s e mill-hands are gettin' o n b e a r a b l e . W h e n the s e n t e n c e w a s r e a d , he j u s t looked u p , a n d said the m o n e y w a s his by rights, a n d that all the world had g o n e wrong. T h a t night, after the trial, a g e n t l e m a n c a m e to s e e him here, n a m e of M i t c h e l l , — h i m a s he stole from. T a l k e d to him for a n hour. T h o u g h t he c a m e for curiosity, like. After he w a s g o n e , thought Wolfe w a s r e m a r k a b l e quiet, a n d went into his cell. F o u n d him very low; b e d all bloody. D o c t o r said he h a d b e e n b l e e d i n g at the l u n g s . H e w a s a s w e a k as a c a t ; yet if ye'll b'lieve m e , h e tried to get a-past m e a n d get out. I j u s t carried him like a baby, a n d threw him on the pallet. T h r e e days after, he tried it again: that time r e a c h e d the wall. L o r d help you! he fought like a tiger,—giv' s o m e terrible blows. Fightin' for life, you s e e ; for he can't live long, s h u t u p in the s t o n e crib d o w n yonder. G o t a d e a t h - c o u g h now. T took two of u s to bring him d o w n that day; so I j u s t p u t the irons on his feet. T h e r e he sits, in there. G o i n ' to-morrow, with a b a t c h m o r e of 'em. T h a t w o m a n , h u n c h b a c k , tried with h i m , — y o u r e m e m b e r ? — s h e ' s only got three years. ' C o m p l i c e . B u t she's a w o m a n , you know. H e ' s b e e n quiet ever s i n c e I p u t on irons: giv' u p , I s u p p o s e . L o o k s white, sick-lookin'. It a c t s different on 'em, b e i n ' s e n t e n c e d . M o s t of 'em g e t s r e c k l e s s , devilish-like. S o m e prays awful, a n d sings t h e m vile s o n g s of the mills, all in a b r e a t h . T h a t w o m a n , now, she's desper't'. B e e n b e g g i n ' to s e e H u g h , a s s h e calls him, for three days. I'm a-goin' to let her in. S h e don't go with him. H e r e she is in this next cell. I'm a-goin' now to let her i n . " H e let her in. Wolfe did not see her. S h e crept into a c o r n e r of the cell, and s t o o d w a t c h i n g h i m . H e w a s s c r a t c h i n g the iron b a r s of the window with a p i e c e of tin which he had p i c k e d u p , with an idle, u n c e r t a i n , v a c a n t s t a r e , j u s t as a child or idiot would d o . "Tryin' to get o u t , old b o y ? " l a u g h e d Haley. " T h e m irons will n e e d a crowbar b e s i d e your tin, before you c a n o p e n e m . " Wolfe l a u g h e d , too, in a s e n s e l e s s way. "I think I'll get o u t , " he s a i d . "I believe his brain's t o u c h e d , " said Haley, w h e n he c a m e out. T h e p u d d l e r s c r a p e d away with the tin for half an hour. Still D e b o r a h did not s p e a k . At last s h e v e n t u r e d nearer, a n d t o u c h e d his a r m . " B l o o d ? " s h e said, looking at s o m e s p o t s on his c o a t with a s h u d d e r . H e looked up at her. "Why, D e b ! " he said, s m i l i n g , — s u c h a bright, boyish smile, that it went to p o o r D e b o r a h ' s heart directly, a n d s h e s o b b e d a n d cried out loud. " O h , H u g h , lad! H u g h ! d u n n o t look at m e , w h e n it w u r my fault! T o think I b r o u g h t hur to it! And I loved hur s o ! O h lad, I d u d ! " T h e c o n f e s s i o n , even in this wretch, c a m e with the w o m a n ' s b l u s h through the s h a r p cry. H e did not s e e m to hear h e r , — s c r a p i n g away diligently at the b a r s with the bit of tin. 4. Trick, stratagem.

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W a s he g o i n g m a d ? S h e p e e r e d closely into his f a c e . S o m e t h i n g s h e s a w there m a d e her draw s u d d e n l y b a c k , — s o m e t h i n g w h i c h Haley h a d not s e e n , that lay b e n e a t h the p i n c h e d , v a c a n t look it h a d c a u g h t s i n c e the trial, or the c u r i o u s gray s h a d o w that r e s t e d on it. T h a t gray s h a d o w , — y e s , s h e k n e w what that m e a n t . S h e h a d often s e e n it c r e e p i n g over w o m e n ' s f a c e s for m o n t h s , w h o d i e d at last of slow h u n g e r or c o n s u m p t i o n . T h a t m e a n t d e a t h , distant, lingering: but t h i s — W h a t e v e r it w a s the w o m a n saw, or t h o u g h t she saw, u s e d a s s h e w a s to c r i m e a n d misery, s e e m e d to m a k e her sick with a n e w horror. F o r g e t t i n g her fear of h i m , s h e c a u g h t his s h o u l d e r s , a n d looked keenly, steadily, into his eyes. " H u g h ! " s h e cried, in a d e s p e r a t e w h i s p e r , — " o h , boy, not that! for G o d ' s s a k e , not thatl" T h e vacant l a u g h went off his f a c e , a n d h e a n s w e r e d her in a m u t t e r e d word or two that drove her away. Yet the w o r d s were kindly e n o u g h . S i t t i n g there on his pallet, s h e cried silently a h o p e l e s s sort of t e a r s , but did not s p e a k a g a i n . T h e m a n looked u p furtively at her now a n d then. W h a t e v e r his own trouble w a s , her d i s t r e s s vexed him with a m o m e n t a r y sting. It w a s market-day. T h e narrow window of the jail looked d o w n directly o n the carts a n d w a g o n s drawn u p in a long line, w h e r e they h a d unl o a d e d . H e c o u l d s e e , too, a n d h e a r distinctly the clink of m o n e y a s it c h a n g e d h a n d s , the busy crowd of whites a n d b l a c k s shoving, p u s h i n g o n e another, a n d the chaffering a n d s w e a r i n g at the stalls. S o m e h o w , the s o u n d , m o r e than anything else h a d d o n e , w a k e n e d him u p , — m a d e the whole real to h i m . H e w a s d o n e with the world a n d the b u s i n e s s of it. H e let the tin fall, a n d looked out, p r e s s i n g his f a c e c l o s e to the rusty b a r s . H o w they c r o w d e d a n d p u s h e d ! A n d h e , — h e s h o u l d never walk that pavem e n t a g a i n ! T h e r e c a m e N e f f S a n d e r s , o n e of the feeders at the mill, with a b a s k e t on his a r m . S u r e e n o u g h , N e f f w a s married the other week. H e whistled, h o p i n g h e would look u p ; b u t h e did not. H e w o n d e r e d if N e f f r e m e m b e r e d h e w a s t h e r e , — i f any of the boys t h o u g h t of him up there, a n d thought that h e never w a s to g o d o w n that old cinder-road a g a i n . N e v e r a g a i n ! H e h a d not quite u n d e r s t o o d it b e f o r e ; but now he did. N o t for days or years, b u t n e v e r ! — t h a t w a s it. H o w clear the light fell on that stall in front of the market! a n d how like a p i c t u r e it w a s , the dark-green h e a p s of c o r n , a n d the c r i m s o n b e e t s , a n d g o l d e n m e l o n s ! T h e r e w a s a n o t h e r with g a m e : how the light flickered on that p h e a s a n t ' s b r e a s t , with the p u r p l i s h b l o o d d r i p p i n g over the brown f e a t h e r s ! H e c o u l d s e e the red s h i n i n g of the d r o p s , it w a s so near. In o n e m i n u t e h e c o u l d b e d o w n t h e r e . It w a s j u s t a s t e p . S o easy, as it s e e m e d , so n a t u r a l to go! Yet it c o u l d never b e — n o t in all the t h o u s a n d s of years to c o m e — t h a t he s h o u l d p u t his foot o n that street a g a i n ! H e t h o u g h t of h i m s e l f with a sorrowful pity, a s of s o m e o n e e l s e . T h e r e w a s a d o g d o w n in the market, walking after his m a s t e r with s u c h a stately, grave l o o k ! — o n l y a d o g , yet he c o u l d g o b a c k w a r d s a n d forwards j u s t a s h e p l e a s e d : h e h a d g o o d luck! Why, the very vilest cur, yelping there in the gutter, h a d not lived his life, h a d been free to act out whatever t h o u g h t G o d h a d p u t into his brain; while h e — N o , h e w o u l d not think of that! H e tried to p u t the t h o u g h t away, a n d to listen to a d i s p u t e b e t w e e n a c o u n t r y m a n a n d a w o m a n a b o u t s o m e m e a t ; b u t it w o u l d c o m e b a c k . H e , what h a d h e d o n e to b e a r this? T h e n c a m e the s u d d e n p i c t u r e of w h a t might have b e e n , a n d n o w . H e

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knew what it w a s to be in the p e n i t e n t i a r y , — h o w it went with m e n there. H e knew h o w in t h e s e long years he s h o u l d slowly die, but not until soul a n d body h a d b e c o m e corrupt a n d r o t t e n , — h o w , w h e n he c a m e o u t , if he lived to c o m e , even the lowest of the mill-hands w o u l d j e e r h i m , — h o w his h a n d s would be w e a k , a n d his brain s e n s e l e s s a n d stupid. H e believed he w a s a l m o s t that now. H e p u t his h a n d to his h e a d , with a puzzled, weary look. It a c h e d , his h e a d , with thinking. H e tried to quiet himself. It w a s only right, p e r h a p s ; he h a d d o n e wrong. B u t w a s there right or w r o n g for s u c h a s he? W h a t w a s right? A n d w h o h a d ever taught h i m ? H e thrust the whole m a t t e r away. A dark, cold quiet crept through his brain. It w a s all wrong; but let it b e ! It w a s nothing to him m o r e than the others. L e t it b e ! T h e d o o r g r a t e d , a s H a l e y o p e n e d it. " C o m e , my w o m a n ! M u s t lock u p for t' night. C o m e , stir yerself!" S h e went u p a n d took H u g h ' s h a n d . " G o o d - n i g h t , D e b , " he said, carelessly. S h e h a d not h o p e d he would say m o r e ; but the tired pain o n her m o u t h j u s t then w a s bitterer than d e a t h . S h e took his p a s s i v e h a n d a n d k i s s e d it. "Hur'll never s e e D e b a g a i n ! " s h e v e n t u r e d , her lips growing colder a n d more bloodless. W h a t did s h e say that for? D i d he not know it? Yet h e would not b e i m p a tient with p o o r old D e b . S h e h a d trouble of her own, a s well a s h e . " N o , never a g a i n , " h e said, trying to b e cheerful. S h e stood j u s t a m o m e n t , looking at him. D o you l a u g h at her, s t a n d i n g there, with her h u n c h b a c k , her r a g s , her b l e a r e d , withered f a c e , a n d the great d e s p i s e d love tugging at her heart? " C o m e , y o u ! " called Haley, impatiently. S h e did not m o v e . " H u g h ! " she whispered. It w a s to b e her last word. W h a t w a s it? " H u g h , boy, not T H A T ! " H e did not a n s w e r . S h e w r u n g her h a n d s , trying to b e silent, looking in his f a c e in a n agony of entreaty. H e s m i l e d a g a i n , kindly. "It is b e s t , D e b . I c a n n o t b e a r to be hurted any m o r e . " " H u r k n o w s , " she said, humbly. "Tell my father good-bye; a n d — a n d kiss little J a n e y . " S h e n o d d e d , saying nothing, looked in his f a c e a g a i n , a n d went o u t of the door. As s h e went, s h e s t a g g e r e d . " D r i n k i n ' t o - d a y ? " broke o u t Haley, p u s h i n g her b e f o r e h i m . " W h e r e the Devil did you get it? H e r e , in with y e ! " a n d he shoved her into her cell, next to Wolfe's, a n d shut the door. Along the wall of her cell there w a s a c r a c k low d o w n by the floor, t h r o u g h which she c o u l d s e e the light from Wolfe's. S h e h a d d i s c o v e r e d it days b e f o r e . S h e hurried in now, a n d , kneeling d o w n by it, listened, h o p i n g to h e a r s o m e s o u n d . N o t h i n g but the r a s p i n g of the tin o n the b a r s . H e w a s at his old a m u s e m e n t a g a i n . S o m e t h i n g in the noise j a r r e d on her ear, for s h e shivered as s h e h e a r d it. H u g h r a s p e d away at the b a r s . A dull old bit of tin, not fit to cut korl with. H e looked out of the window a g a i n . P e o p l e were leaving the m a r k e t now. A tall m u l a t t o girl, following her m i s t r e s s , her basket on her h e a d , c r o s s e d the street j u s t below, a n d looked u p . S h e w a s l a u g h i n g ; b u t , w h e n s h e c a u g h t

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sight of the h a g g a r d f a c e p e e r i n g out t h r o u g h the b a r s , s u d d e n l y grew grave, a n d hurried by. A free, firm s t e p , a clear-cut olive f a c e , with a scarlet t u r b a n tied on o n e s i d e , dark, shining eyes, a n d on the h e a d the basket p o i s e d , filled with fruit a n d flowers, u n d e r which the scarlet t u r b a n a n d bright eyes looked out h a l f - s h a d o w e d . T h e p i c t u r e c a u g h t his eye. It w a s g o o d to s e e a f a c e like that. H e would try to-morrow, a n d c u t o n e like it. To-morrow\ H e threw d o w n the tin, trembling, a n d covered his f a c e with his h a n d s . W h e n h e looked u p a g a i n , the daylight w a s g o n e . D e b o r a h , c r o u c h i n g near by on the other side of the wall, h e a r d no n o i s e . H e sat o n the side of the low pallet, thinking. W h a t e v e r w a s the mystery which the w o m a n had seen on his f a c e , it c a m e o u t n o w slowly, in the dark there, a n d b e c a m e fixed,—a s o m e t h i n g never s e e n o n his f a c e b e f o r e . T h e e v e n i n g was d a r k e n i n g fast. T h e market h a d b e e n over for an hour; the r u m bling of the c a r t s over the p a v e m e n t grew m o r e i n f r e q u e n t : he listened to e a c h , a s it p a s s e d , b e c a u s e he t h o u g h t it w a s to be for the last t i m e . For the s a m e r e a s o n , it w a s , 1 s u p p o s e , that h e strained his eyes to c a t c h a g l i m p s e of e a c h passer-by, w o n d e r i n g w h o they w e r e , what kind of h o m e s they were going to, if they h a d c h i l d r e n , — l i s t e n i n g eagerly to every c h a n c e word in the street, a s i f — ( G o d b e merciful to the m a n ! w h a t s t r a n g e fancy w a s t h i s ? ) — a s if he never s h o u l d hear h u m a n voices a g a i n . It was quite dark at last. T h e street w a s a lonely o n e . T h e last p a s s e n g e r , he t h o u g h t , w a s g o n e . N o , — t h e r e w a s a q u i c k s t e p : J o e Hill, lighting the l a m p s . J o e w a s a good old c h a p ; never p a s s e d a fellow without s o m e j o k e or other. H e r e m e m b e r e d o n c e s e e i n g the p l a c e w h e r e he lived with his wife. " G r a n n y Hill" the boys called her. B e d r i d d e n s h e w a s ; but s o kind a s J o e w a s to her! kept the r o o m s o c l e a n ! — a n d the old w o m a n , w h e n he w a s there, w a s l a u g h i n g at " s o m e of t' lad's f o o l i s h n e s s . " T h e s t e p w a s far down the street; but he c o u l d s e e him p l a c e the ladder, run u p , a n d light the g a s . A longing seized him to b e s p o k e n to o n c e m o r e . " J o e ! " h e called, o u t of the grating. " G o o d - b y e , J o e ! " T h e old m a n s t o p p e d a m o m e n t , listening uncertainly; then hurried on. T h e prisoner thrust his h a n d out of the window, a n d called a g a i n , louder; but J o e w a s too far down the street. It w a s a little thing; but it hurt h i m , — this d i s a p p o i n t m e n t . " G o o d - b y e , J o e ! " he c a l l e d , sorrowfully e n o u g h . " B e q u i e t ! " said o n e of the j a i l e r s , p a s s i n g the door, striking on it with his club. O h , that w a s the last, w a s it? T h e r e w a s a n inexpressible bitterness o n his f a c e , a s he lay d o w n on the bed, taking the bit of tin, which he h a d r a s p e d to a tolerable d e g r e e of s h a r p n e s s , in his h a n d , — t o play with, it m a y b e . H e b a r e d his a r m s , l o o k i n g intently at their c o r d e d veins a n d s i n e w s . D e b o r a h , listening in the next cell, heard a slight clicking s o u n d , often r e p e a t e d . S h e s h u t her lips tightly, that she might not s c r e a m ; the cold d r o p s of sweat b r o k e over her, in her d u m b agony. " H u r knows b e s t , " s h e m u t t e r e d at last, fiercely c l u t c h i n g the b o a r d s where she lay. If s h e c o u l d have seen W o l f e , there w a s n o t h i n g a b o u t him to frighten her. H e lay q u i t e still, his a r m s o u t s t r e t c h e d , looking at the pearly s t r e a m of

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moonlight c o m i n g into the window. I think in that o n e h o u r that c a m e then he lived b a c k over all the years that h a d g o n e before. I think that all the low, vile life, all his wrongs, all his starved h o p e s , c a m e then, a n d s t u n g him with a farewell p o i s o n that m a d e him sick u n t o d e a t h . H e m a d e neither m o a n nor cry, only turned his worn f a c e now a n d then to the p u r e light, that s e e m e d so far off, a s o n e that said, " H o w long, O L o r d ? how l o n g ? " T h e h o u r w a s over at last. T h e m o o n , p a s s i n g over her nightly p a t h , slowly c a m e nearer, a n d threw the light a c r o s s his bed on his feet. H e w a t c h e d it steadily, a s it crept u p , inch by inch, slowly. It s e e m e d to him to carry with it a great s i l e n c e . H e h a d b e e n so hot a n d tired there always in the mills! T h e years h a d b e e n so fierce a n d cruel! T h e r e w a s c o m i n g now quiet a n d c o o l n e s s a n d s l e e p . His t e n s e limbs relaxed, a n d settled in a c a l m languor. T h e blood ran fainter a n d slow from his heart. H e did not think now with a savage a n g e r of what might be a n d was not; he w a s c o n s c i o u s only of d e e p stillness c r e e p i n g over him. At first he saw a s e a of f a c e s : the m i l l - m e n , — w o m e n he h a d k n o w n , d r u n k e n a n d b l o a t e d , — J a n e y ' s timid a n d pitiful— p o o r old D e b s : then they floated together like a mist, a n d faded away, leaving only the clear, pearly moonlight. W h e t h e r , a s the p u r e light crept up the s t r e t c h e d - o u t figure, it brought with it c a l m a n d p e a c e , w h o shall say? His d u m b soul w a s a l o n e with G o d in j u d g m e n t . A V o i c e may have s p o k e n for it from far-off Calvary, " F a t h e r , forgive t h e m , for they know not what they d o ! " 5 W h o d a r e say? F a i n t e r a n d fainter the heart rose a n d fell, slower a n d slower the m o o n floated from behind a c l o u d , until, when at last its full tide of white s p l e n d o r swept over the cell, it s e e m e d to wrap a n d fold into a d e e p e r stillness the d e a d figure that never s h o u l d m o v e a g a i n . S i l e n c e d e e p e r than the N i g h t ! N o t h i n g that moved, save the black, n a u s e o u s s t r e a m of blood dripping slowly from the pallet to the floor! T h e r e w a s outcry a n d crowd e n o u g h in the cell the next day. T h e c o r o n e r and his jury, the local editors, Kirby himself, a n d boys with their h a n d s thrust knowingly into their p o c k e t s a n d h e a d s on o n e s i d e , j a m m e d into the c o r n e r s . C o m i n g a n d g o i n g all day. Only o n e w o m a n . S h e c a m e late, a n d o u t s t a y e d t h e m all. A Quaker, or F r i e n d , a s they call t h e m s e l v e s . I think this w o m a n was known by that n a m e in heaven. A homely body, coarsely d r e s s e d in gray and white. D e b o r a h (for H a l e y had let her in) took notice of her. S h e w a t c h e d t h e m all—sitting o n the e n d of the pallet, holding his h e a d in her a r m s — with the ferocity of a w a t c h - d o g , if any of t h e m t o u c h e d the body. T h e r e w a s no m e e k n e s s , no sorrow, in her f a c e ; the stuff out of which m u r d e r e r s a r e m a d e , i n s t e a d . All the time Haley a n d the w o m a n were laying straight the limbs and c l e a n i n g the cell, D e b o r a h sat still, keenly w a t c h i n g the Quaker's f a c e . O f all the crowd there that day, this w o m a n a l o n e h a d not s p o k e n to h e r , — o n l y o n c e or twice h a d put s o m e cordial to her lips. After they all were g o n e , the w o m a n , in the s a m e still, gentle way, brought a v a s e of wood-leaves a n d berries, a n d p l a c e d it by the pallet, then o p e n e d the narrow window. T h e fresh air blew in, a n d swept the woody f r a g r a n c e over the d e a d f a c e . D e b o r a h looked up with a q u i c k wonder. " D i d hur know my boy w u d like it? Did hur know H u g h ? " 5.

L u k e 2 3 . 3 4 : " F a t h e r , forgive t h e m : for they k n o w not w h a t they d o " ( J e s u s ' w o r d s f r o m t h e c r o s s ) .

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"I know H u g h n o w . " T h e white fingers p a s s e d in a slow, pitiful way over the d e a d , worn f a c e . T h e r e w a s a heavy s h a d o w in the quiet eyes. " D i d hur know w h e r e they'll bury H u g h ? " said D e b o r a h in a shrill t o n e , c a t c h i n g her a r m . T h i s h a d b e e n the q u e s t i o n h a n g i n g on her lips all day. "In t' town-yard? U n d e r t' m u d a n d a s h ? T ' lad '11 s m o t h e r , w o m a n ! H e wur born in t' l a n e moor, w h e r e t' air is frick 6 a n d strong. T a k e hur o u t , for G o d ' s s a k e , take hur out w h e r e t' air b l o w s ! " T h e Quaker h e s i t a t e d , b u t only for a m o m e n t . S h e p u t her s t r o n g a r m a r o u n d D e b o r a h a n d led her to the window. " T h e e s e e s the hills, friend, over the river? T h e e s e e s how the light lies w a r m there, a n d the winds of G o d blow all the day? I live t h e r e , — w h e r e the b l u e s m o k e is, by the trees. L o o k at m e . " S h e t u r n e d D e b o r a h ' s f a c e to her o w n , clear a n d e a r n e s t . " T h e e will believe m e ? I will take H u g h a n d bury him there to-morrow." D e b o r a h did not d o u b t her. A s the e v e n i n g wore o n , s h e l e a n e d a g a i n s t the iron b a r s , looking at the hills that r o s e far off, t h r o u g h the thick s o d d e n c l o u d s , like a bright, u n a t t a i n a b l e c a l m . As s h e looked, a s h a d o w of their s o l e m n r e p o s e fell o n her f a c e ; its fierce d i s c o n t e n t f a d e d into a pitiful, h u m ble quiet. Slow, s o l e m n tears g a t h e r e d in her eyes: the p o o r w e a k eyes turned s o hopelessly to the p l a c e w h e r e H u g h w a s to rest, the grave h e i g h t s looking higher a n d brighter a n d m o r e s o l e m n than ever b e f o r e . T h e Q u a k e r w a t c h e d her keenly. S h e c a m e to her at last, a n d t o u c h e d her a r m . " W h e n thee c o m e s b a c k , " s h e s a i d , in a low, sorrowful t o n e , like o n e w h o s p e a k s from a strong heart deeply m o v e d with r e m o r s e or pity, " t h e e shall begin thy life a g a i n , — t h e r e on the hills. I c a m e too late; b u t not for t h e e , — b y G o d ' s help, it m a y b e . " N o t too late. T h r e e years after, the Quaker b e g a n her work. I e n d my story h e r e . At evening-time it w a s light. T h e r e is n o n e e d to tire you with the long years of s u n s h i n e , a n d fresh air, a n d slow, p a t i e n t Christ-love, n e e d e d to m a k e healthy a n d hopeful this i m p u r e body a n d s o u l . T h e r e is a homely p i n e h o u s e , o n o n e of t h e s e hills, w h o s e w i n d o w s overlook b r o a d , w o o d e d s l o p e s a n d c l o v e r - c r i m s o n e d m e a d o w s , — n i c h e d into the very p l a c e w h e r e the light is w a r m e s t , the air freest. It is the F r i e n d s ' 7 m e e t i n g - h o u s e . O n c e a w e e k they sit t h e r e , in their grave, e a r n e s t way, waiting for the Spirit of L o v e to s p e a k , o p e n i n g their s i m p l e h e a r t s to receive His w o r d s . T h e r e is a w o m a n , old, d e f o r m e d , w h o takes a h u m b l e p l a c e a m o n g t h e m : waiting like t h e m : in her gray d r e s s , her worn f a c e , p u r e a n d m e e k , t u r n e d n o w a n d then to the sky. A w o m a n m u c h loved by t h e s e silent, restful p e o p l e ; m o r e silent t h a n they, m o r e h u m b l e , m o r e loving. W a i t i n g : with her eyes t u r n e d to hills h i g h e r a n d p u r e r t h a n t h e s e o n which s h e l i v e s , — d i m a n d far off now, b u t to be r e a c h e d s o m e day. T h e r e m a y be in her heart s o m e latent h o p e to m e e t there the love d e n i e d her h e r e , — t h a t s h e shall find him w h o m s h e lost, a n d that then s h e will not be all-unworthy. W h o b l a m e s her? S o m e t h i n g is lost in the p a s s a g e of every soul from o n e eternity to the o t h e r , — s o m e t h i n g p u r e a n d beautiful, which might have b e e n a n d w a s not: a h o p e , a talent, a love, over 6.

Fresh.

7.

Quakers.

E M M A

LAZARUS

/

1217

which the soul m o u r n s , like E s a u deprived of his birthright. 8 W h a t b l a m e to the m e e k Quaker, if s h e took her lost h o p e to m a k e the hills of heaven m o r e fair? N o t h i n g r e m a i n s to tell that the poor W e l s h p u d d l e r o n c e lived, but this figure of the mill-woman c u t in korl. I have it here in a c o r n e r of my library. I keep it hid b e h i n d a c u r t a i n , — i t is s u c h a r o u g h , ungainly thing. Yet there are a b o u t it t o u c h e s , g r a n d s w e e p s of outline, that s h o w a m a s t e r ' s h a n d . S o m e t i m e s , — t o - n i g h t , for i n s t a n c e , — t h e curtain is accidentally drawn b a c k , a n d I s e e a b a r e a r m stretched o u t imploringly in the d a r k n e s s , a n d a n eager, wolfish face w a t c h i n g m i n e : a w a n , woful f a c e , t h r o u g h w h i c h the spirit of the d e a d korl-cutter looks out, with its thwarted life, its mighty h u n g e r , its unfinished work. Its p a l e , v a g u e lips s e e m to tremble with a terrible q u e s t i o n . "Is this the E n d ? " they s a y , — " n o t h i n g b e y o n d ? — n o m o r e ? " Why, you tell m e you have s e e n that look in the eyes of d u m b b r u t e s , — h o r s e s dying u n d e r the lash. I know. T h e d e e p of the night is p a s s i n g while I write. T h e gas-light w a k e n s from the s h a d o w s here a n d there the o b j e c t s which lie s c a t t e r e d t h r o u g h the r o o m : only faintly, t h o u g h ; for they b e l o n g to the o p e n sunlight. As I g l a n c e at t h e m , they e a c h recall s o m e task or p l e a s u r e of the c o m i n g day. A halfm o u l d e d child's h e a d ; A p h r o d i t e ; 9 a b o u g h of forest-leaves; m u s i c ; work; homely f r a g m e n t s , in which lie the secrets of all eternal truth a n d beauty. Prophetic all! Only this d u m b , woful face s e e m s to b e l o n g to a n d e n d with the night. I turn to look at it. H a s the power of its d e s p e r a t e n e e d c o m m a n d e d the d a r k n e s s away? While the room is yet s t e e p e d in heavy s h a d o w , a cool, gray light s u d d e n l y t o u c h e s its h e a d like a b l e s s i n g h a n d , a n d its g r o p i n g a r m points through the broken c l o u d to the far E a s t , w h e r e , in the flickering, n e b u l o u s c r i m s o n , G o d h a s set the p r o m i s e of the D a w n . 1861 8. G e n e s i s

25

and

27

tell t h e s t o r y of J a c o b ' s

depriving his elder twin brother, E s a u , of his birth-

EMMA

right. 9. V e n u s , the g o d d e s s of love.

LAZARUS

1849-1887 A l m o s t all A m e r i c a n s k n o w s o m e of E m m a L a z a r u s ' s w o r d s , for her s o n n e t " T h e N e w C o l o s s u s " h a s b e e n on p u b l i c view, s i n c e 1 9 0 3 , i n s i d e t h e b a s e of the S t a t u e of Liberty, a n d its last several lines, e s p e c i a l l y t h e p h r a s e " h u d d l e d m a s s e s y e a r n i n g to b r e a t h e f r e e , " have e n t e r e d t h e n a t i o n a l c o n s c i o u s n e s s . T h e r e a r e w o r s e fates for a writer t h a n b e i n g r e m e m b e r e d mainly for o n e p o e m of historic i m p o r t a n c e . L a z a r u s ' s role in p r o m o t i n g t h e S t a t u e of Liberty w a s unlikely not only b e c a u s e f a m o u s writers like J a m e s R u s s e l l Lowell s c o r n e d t h e s t a t u e a s a n o s t e n t a t i o u s b o o n d o g g l e , b u t a l s o , a n d p e r h a p s m o r e significantly, b e c a u s e s h e w a s a w o m a n a n d J e w i s h — t h e first J e w ish writer to m a k e a m a r k in A m e r i c a n literary history. E m m a L a z a r u s w a s b o r n in N e w York City on J u l y 2 2 , 1 8 4 9 , to M o s e s L a z a r u s , a

1 2 1 8

/

E M M A

L A Z A R U S

wealthy s u g a r refiner, a n d E s t h e r N a t h a n L a z a r u s , b o t h from f a m i l i e s l o n g r e s i d e n t in N e w York. H e r father's family w e r e S e p h a r d i c J e w s w h o h a d s e t t l e d in N e w York while it w a s N e w A m s t e r d a m . S h e g r e w u p in luxury in M a n h a t t a n a n d s u m m e r e d at a fine h o m e , the B e e c h e s , in f a s h i o n a b l e N e w p o r t , R h o d e I s l a n d . E d u c a t e d by tutors in t h r e e m o d e r n l a n g u a g e s a n d literatures b e s i d e s E n g l i s h , L a z a r u s w a s p r e c o c i o u s , a n d w h e n her father paid for the p u b l i c a t i o n of Poems and Translations . . , Written between the Ages of Fourteen and Sixteen in 1 8 6 6 , s h e s e n t c o p i e s to p o e t s , a m o n g t h e m R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n , w h o politely offered to b e her " p r o f e s s o r " in stylistic m a t t e r s . T h e i r cordial r e l a t i o n s h i p survived her r e s e n t m e n t that h e did not i n c l u d e her in his 1 8 7 4 a n t h o l o g y Parnassus. In a d d i t i o n to E m e r s o n , L a z a r u s c a m e to know other A m e r i c a n literati of the t i m e . W h i l e visiting t h e E m e r s o n s in C o n c o r d in 1 8 7 6 , s h e m a d e a p e r s o n a l p i l g r i m a g e to t h e site of H e n r y D a v i d T h o r e a u ' s c a b i n , g u i d e d by T h o r e a u ' s grieving friend Ellery C h a n n i n g . C o r r e s p o n d i n g with t h e n a t u r e writer J o h n B u r r o u g h s , s h e s h a r e d an e x c i t e m e n t over b o t h T h o r e a u a n d W a l t W h i t m a n . In this interest in t h e p r o s e a n d poetry of t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s , L a z a r u s w a s r e m a r k a b l y i n d e p e n d e n t , akin not to her A m e r i c a n c o n t e m p o r a r i e s b u t to y o u n g e r British literary p e o p l e , w h o w e r e a l r e a d y r e d i s c o v e r i n g t h r e e n e g l e c t e d A m e r i c a n writers, T h o r e a u , W h i t m a n , a n d Melville. L a z a r u s ' s short m a n i f e s t o " A m e r i c a n L i t e r a t u r e " in the N e w York Critic ( J u n e 18, 1 8 8 1 ) w a s a retort to a critic w h o h a d d e p l o r e d the l a c k of a " c o n t i n u o u s t r a d i t i o n " in A m e r i c a n literature. E m e r s o n , a c c o r d i n g to this writer, h a d "left no l i n e a g e , " only, like Irving, i m i t a t o r s w h o c a m e to n o t h i n g . F r o m the 1 8 3 0 s to the 1 8 5 0 s , A m e r i c a n literary n a t i o n a l i s m h a d b e e n p a s s i o n a t e l y c o n t e s t e d , b u t L a z a r u s e n g a g e d t h e battle a f r e s h , s u r e that E m e r s o n ' s ideas h a d b e e n d e v e l o p e d by " t h e p o e t - n a t u r a l i s t , H e n r y T h o r e a u " a s well a s by W h i t m a n a n d B u r r o u g h s . Daringly, s h e r a n k e d P o e higher a s a poet t h a n L o n g f e l l o w a n d m o c k e d the efforts of " t h e lion h u n t e r s of L o n d o n " w h o tried to tell A m e r i c a n s that they w e r e n e g l e c t i n g " a c e r t a i n p o e t " — J o a q u i n Miller (1 8 4 1 ?—1913), w h o m s h e confidently d e c l a r e d to b e n o t h i n g higher t h a n a " s e c o n d rate s i n g e r . " Early in her literary life, L a z a r u s identified with the G e r m a n - J e w i s h poet H e i n r i c h H e i n e , w h o h a d felt both at h o m e in a n d e s t r a n g e d from a C h r i s t i a n society a n d nonH e b r a i c literature. B u t , t h o u g h L a z a r u s h a d written s u c h p o e m s a s " I n t h e J e w i s h S y n a g o g u e at N e w p o r t , " her i n t e l l e c t u a l efforts into t h e early 1 8 8 0 s f o c u s e d mainly on the c o n t i n u i t i e s a n d d i s t i n c t i o n s b e t w e e n A m e r i c a n a n d E n g l i s h literature a n d little on e i t h e r her own J e w i s h h e r i t a g e or t h e s i t u a t i o n of J e w s w o r l d w i d e . In 1 8 8 2 , horrified that n e w s p a p e r s w e r e m i n i m i z i n g B u s s i a n a t r o c i t i e s a g a i n s t J e w s , L a z a r u s c o n f r o n t e d herself, a wealthy m e t r o p o l i t a n w o m a n for w h o m b e i n g an A m e r i c a n poet h a d b e e n m o r e i m p o r t a n t than b e i n g a n A m e r i c a n J e w . With c h a r a c t e r i s t i c rigor a n d d e t e r m i n a t i o n , s h e f a s h i o n e d h e r s e l f into a J e w i s h s p o k e s w o m a n o n i n t e r n a t i o n a l t h e m e s a s they a f f e c t e d A m e r i c a n n a t i o n a l policy o n i m m i g r a t i o n . H e r " R u s s i a n [ M a y 1 8 8 2 ] ) d e s c r i b e s t h e reign of C h r i s t i a n i t y versus M o d e r n J u d a i s m " (Century, " m u r d e r , r a p e , a r s o n " d u r i n g w h i c h t e n s of t h o u s a n d s of J e w i s h f a m i l i e s in E a s t e r n E u r o p e had been reduced "to homeless beggary." T h a t November, playing on Paul's N e w T e s t a m e n t letter, s h e b e g a n serial p u b l i c a t i o n in t h e American Hebrew of " A n E p i s t l e to the H e b r e w . " T h e r e s h e u r g e d A m e r i c a n J e w s to b e c o m e m o r e , not less, " 'tribal,' " to r e c o g n i z e that their f r e e d o m d e p e n d e d u p o n t h e f r e e d o m of J e w s in [February 1883]), she R u s s i a a n d e l s e w h e r e . In " T h e J e w i s h P r o b l e m " (Century, s p o k e o u t a s an early Zionist, e c h o i n g t h e fervent d e t e r m i n a t i o n of G e o r g e Eliot's title c h a r a c t e r in Daniel Deronda to m a k e t h e J e w s " a nation a g a i n . " A n d s h e b e g a n visiting the " u n d e s i r a b l e " new i m m i g r a n t s d e t a i n e d on W a r d ' s I s l a n d in t h e E a s t River, t h o s e d e e m e d too d e s t i t u t e or too infirm to be d i s e m b a r k e d into A m e r i c a n society. In 1 8 8 3 s h e f o u n d e d the S o c i e t y for the I m p r o v e m e n t a n d C o l o n i z a t i o n of E a s t e r n E u r o p e a n Jews. A l s o in 1 8 8 3 , L a z a r u s wrote " T h e N e w C o l o s s u s " to raise m o n e y for t h e B a r t h o l d i P e d e s t a l F u n d . T h e S t a t u e of Liberty itself w a s to b e a gift from F r a n c e to t h e U n i t e d

IN

T H E

J E W I S H

S Y N A G O G U E

AT

N E W P O R T

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1219

S t a t e s , a n d A m e r i c a n s h a d the t a s k of e r e c t i n g t h e e x p e n s i v e b a s e s u c h a c o l o s s a l s t a t u e r e q u i r e d . T h e s t a t u e h a d b e e n c o n c e i v e d a s a m e m o r i a l to F r a n c e ' s aid of t h e c o l o n i e s d u r i n g the A m e r i c a n R e v o l u t i o n . In hailing the f e m a l e figure a s t h e " M o t h e r of E x i l e s , " L a z a r u s brilliantly, merely by her w o r d s , redefined the " m i g h t y w o m a n with a t o r c h " into the n a t i o n a l w e l c o m e r of " h u d d l e d m a s s e s " s e e k i n g r e f u g e . S i n g l e h a n d e d l y , b u i l d i n g on her o w n k n o w l e d g e of i m m i g r a n t s arriving in the bay, s h e deflected the s i g n i f i c a n c e of t h e s t a t u e away from the p a s t a n d toward the f u t u r e . L a z a r u s traveled to E u r o p e in 1 8 8 3 a n d 1 8 8 5 , m e e t i n g several f a m o u s p o e t s , a m o n g t h e m R o b e r t B r o w n i n g a n d W i l l i a m M o r r i s . S h e died in N e w York o n N o v e m b e r 19, 1 8 8 7 . T h e next year, 1 8 8 8 , her sisters p u b l i s h e d The Poems of Emma Lazarus.

In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport1 H e r e , w h e r e the n o i s e s of the busy town, T h e o c e a n ' s p l u n g e a n d roar c a n enter not, W e s t a n d a n d gaze a r o u n d with tearful a w e , A n d m u s e u p o n the c o n s e c r a t e d spot. N o signs of life a r e here: the very prayers Inscribed a r o u n d are in a l a n g u a g e d e a d ; 2 T h e light of the " p e r p e t u a l l a m p " * is spent T h a t an undying r a d i a n c e w a s to s h e d .

5

W h a t prayers were in this t e m p l e offered u p , W r u n g from s a d hearts that knew no j o y on earth, Ry t h e s e lone exiles of a t h o u s a n d y e a r s , 4 F r o m the fair s u n r i s e land that g a v e t h e m birth!

IO

N o w as we g a z e , in this new world of light, 5 U p o n this relic of the days of old, T h e p r e s e n t v a n i s h e s , a n d tropic b l o o m A n d E a s t e r n towns a n d t e m p l e s we b e h o l d .

u

Again we s e e the p a t r i a r c h 6 with his flocks, T h e p u r p l e s e a s , the hot b l u e sky o'erhead, T h e slaves of E g y p t , — o m e n s , m y s t e r i e s , — D a r k fleeing h o s t s by flaming a n g e l s l e d , 7 1. T h e

text

is f r o m

Admetus

and

Other

Poems

( 1 8 7 1 ) , w h e r e it i s d a t e d " J u l y 1 8 6 7 . " It is a c o m panion

piece

to

Henrv Wadsworth

Longfellow's

4.

20

Poetically vague: J e w s were expelled from Jeru-

s a l e m early in t h e 6 t h c e n t u r y B . C E . a n d a g a i n l a t e i n t h e first c e n t u r y c . E . M o s t o f t h e N e w p o r t J e w s

similarly m e d i t a t i v e " T h e J e w i s h C e m e t e r y at N e w -

were,

port," about

d e s c e n d e d f r o m J e w s e x p e l l e d f r o m S p a i n in 1 4 9 2 .

like

Lazarus's

to the

Touro

S y n a g o g u e , t h e o l d e s t in t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s ,

dating

5.

The United

1 7 6 3 . S e r v i c e s w e r e n o l o n g e r h e l d t h e r e in

6.

Abraham

from

1852, when

the cemetery attached

Longfellow

visited

it, a n d

the

syna-

g o g u e remained closed during the years that a r u s s u m m e r e d in N e w p o r t a t h e r f a m i l y ' s

Laz-

country

house. 2.

because

at t h a t t i m e it w a s n o t u s e d i n e v e r y d a y l i f e . 3.

In a s y n a g o g u e , t h e l i g h t a b o v e t h e a r k

Sephardic

24.35),

but evoking i m a g e s of J e w i s h 7.

Jews,

States.

(Genesis

his

son

I s a a c ' s s o n s . L a z a r u s is n o t s t r i v i n g f o r The enslavement

in E x o d u s

Lazarus calls Hebrew a dead language

father,

Isaac,

or

specificity

history.

o f J e w s i n E g y p t is d e s c r i b e d

1. In G e n e s i s 3 . 2 4 , a f t e r A d a m a n d

Eve

a r e e x p e l l e d f r o m E d e n , t h e t r e e o f l i f e is p r o t e c t e d by c h e r u h i m s a n d a I l a m i n g s w o r d t h a t t u r n s " e v e r y

which

way." After the H e b r e w s c r o s s e d

the Red Sea.

a

h o l d s t h e T o r a h ( t h e first f i v e b o o k s o f t h e H e b r e w

p i l l a r o f c l o u d b y d a y a n d a p i l l a r o f fire b y n i g h t

scriptures—Genesis,

led t h e m t h r o u g h t h e d e s e r t ( E x o d u s

Deuteronomy).

Exodus, Leviticus,

Numbers,

13.21-22).

1220

/

E M M A

LAZARUS

A w o n d r o u s light u p o n a sky-kissed m o u n t , " A m a n w h o r e a d s J e h o v a h ' s written law, 'Midst blinding glory a n d effulgence rare, U n t o a p e o p l e p r o n e with reverent a w e . T h e pride of luxury's b a r b a r i c p o m p , In the rich c o u r t of royal S o l o m o n — 9 Alas! we w a k e : o n e s c e n e a l o n e r e m a i n s , — T h e exiles by the s t r e a m s of B a b y l o n . 1

25

O u r s o f t e n e d voices s e n d u s b a c k a g a i n B u t m o u r n f u l e c h o e s t h r o u g h the e m p t y hall; O u r f o o t s t e p s have a s t r a n g e u n n a t u r a l s o u n d , A n d with u n w o n t e d g e n t l e n e s s they fall. T h e weary o n e s , the s a d , the suffering, All f o u n d their c o m f o r t in the holy p l a c e , A n d children's g l a d n e s s a n d m e n ' s g r a t i t u d e T o o k voice a n d m i n g l e d in the c h a n t of p r a i s e . T h e funeral a n d the m a r r i a g e , now, a l a s ! W e know not which is s a d d e r to recall; F o r youth a n d h a p p i n e s s have followed a g e , A n d green g r a s s lieth gently over all. N a t h l e s s 2 the s a c r e d shrine is holy yet, W i t h its lone floors w h e r e reverent feet o n c e trod. T a k e off your s h o e s a s by the b u r n i n g b u s h , B e f o r e the mystery of d e a t h a n d G o d . 1871

1867

1492' T h o u two-faced year, M o t h e r of C h a n g e a n d F a t e , D i d s t w e e p w h e n S p a i n c a s t forth with flaming sword, T h e children of the p r o p h e t s of the L o r d , P r i n c e , priest, a n d p e o p l e , s p u r n e d by zealot h a t e . H o u n d e d from s e a to s e a , from s t a t e to s t a t e , T h e W e s t 2 r e f u s e d t h e m , a n d the E a s t a b h o r r e d . 8. M o u n t S i n a i , w h e r e G o d g a v e M o s e s t h e T e n C o m m a n d m e n t s , w h i c h h e then r e a d to the children of Israel ( E x o d u s 3 4 ) . 9 . S o l o m o n ' s m a g n i f i c e n c e is d e s c r i b e d i n 1 K i n g s 4 ; t h e b u i l d i n g o f t h e F i r s t T e m p l e (in J e r u s a l e m ) is d e s c r i b e d i n 1 K i n g s 5—8. 1. T h e F i r s t T e m p l e w a s d e s t r o y e d a r o u n d 5 8 8 5 8 6 B.C.E. a n d the J e w s exiled to B a b y l o n , the site o f t h e m o d e r n H i l l a , in I r a q , s o u t h o f B a g h d a d . 2. Nevertheless, n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g (poetic archaism).

1. T h i s p o e m , r e p r i n t e d f r o m Poems (1888), a c k n o w l e d g e s t w o e v e n t s in S p a i n in 1 4 9 2 . E a r l y in t h e year K i n g F e r d i n a n d a n d Q u e e n Isabella d r o v e f r o m S p a i n all J e w s w h o w o u l d n o t c o n v e r t to C a t h o l i c i s m . A few m o n t h s later they invested in C h r i s t o p h e r C o l u m b u s ' s v o y a g e i n t o t h e A t l a n tic in t h e h o p e o f e s t a b l i s h i n g a n e w t r a d e r o u t e to the East Indies. 2. N o r t h e r n E u r o p e , as o p p o s e d Mediterranean.

to t h e

eastern

T H E

N E W

C O L O S S U S

/

1 2 2 1

N o a n c h o r a g e the known world c o u l d afford, C l o s e - l o c k e d w a s every port, b a r r e d every g a t e . ' T h e n smiling, thou unveil'dst, O two-faced year, A virgin world where d o o r s of s u n s e t part, S a y i n g , " H o , all w h o weary, e n t e r here! T h e r e falls e a c h a n c i e n t barrier that the art O f r a c e or c r e e d or rank devised, to rear G r i m bulwarked hatred b e t w e e n heart a n d h e a r t ! "

10

1883

1888

The New Colossus' N o t like the brazen giant of G r e e k f a m e , 2 With c o n q u e r i n g limbs astride from land to l a n d ; H e r e at o u r s e a - w a s h e d , s u n s e t g a t e s shall s t a n d A mighty w o m a n with a t o r c h , w h o s e flame Is the i m p r i s o n e d lightning, a n d her n a m e M o t h e r o f Exiles. F r o m her b e a c p n - h a n d G l o w s world-wide w e l c o m e ; her mild eyes c o m m a n d T h e air-bridged h a r b o r that twin c i t i e s 3 f r a m e . " K e e p , a n c i e n t l a n d s , your storied p o m p ! " cries s h e With silent |ips. " G i v e m e your tired, your p o o r , Your h u d d l e d m a s s e s yearning to b r e a t h e free, T h e w r e t c h e d refuse o f your t e e m i n g s h o r e . 4 S e n d t h e s e , the h o m e l e s s , t e m p e s t - t o s t to m e , I lift my l a m p b e s i d e the g o l d e n d o o r ! "

s

10

1883

3.

1888

T h e J e w s expelled from Spain spread out over

the

Mediterranean

region,

many

being

many dying of the plague, s o m e being

robbed, enslaved,

some murdered. of Emma

Laz-

the s o u r c e o f the p r e s e n t text, r e a d s " W r i t t e n

in a i d o f

Bartholdi

Pedestal

sculpture by Frederic-Auguste 1904)

1 5 I feet frorn t o p o f t h e p e d e s t a l t o t h e tip o f t h e torch.) Emma

1. T h e f o o t n o t e t o t h e 1 8 8 8 Poems arus,

s t a t u e is s o m e 3 0 5 f e e t f r o m g r o u n d t o t i p o f t o r c h ,

Fund,

1883." The

Bartholdi

(1834-

Fittingly,

in

1903

this

entire

poem

Lazarus was engraved on a bronze

by

tablet

a n d affixed to a n interior wall of t h e p e d e s t a l . 2. T h e gigantic statue of the sun god, Helios, crea t e d by t h e s c u l p t o r C h a r e s o f L i n d o s , l o o m e d o v e r the h a r b o r o f t h e G r e e k island o f R h o d e s for sev-

but

eral d e c a d e s b e f o r e b e i n g d e s t r o y e d in a n e a r t h -

Joseph

q u a k e in 2 2 5 B . C . E . L a t e r r e p o r t s e x a g g e r a t e d t h e

P u l i t z e r , r a i s e d m o n e y to p a y for t h e m a s s i v e p e d -

size, saying that the legs of t h e s t a t u e s t r a d d l e d the

w a s a gift

Americans,

from

the French

led by t h e n e w s p a p e r

people,

mogul

e s t a l r e q u i r e d by s u c h a h u g e , h e a v y s t a t u e . D u r i n g

harbor.

the m i d - 1 8 7 0 s t h o u s a n d s of A m e r i c a n s s a w just

3.

N e w York City a n d J e r s e y City, New Jersey.

h o w colossal the S t a t u e of Liberty w o u l d b e , for

4.

In t h e e a r l y 1 8 8 0 s L a z a r u s p e r s o n a l l y k n e w t h e

part o f t h e s t a t u e , t h e h a n d o f Liberty h o l d i n g aloft

p l i g h t o f J e w s t r v i n g t o t a k e r e f u g e in t h e U n i t e d

t h e t o r c h , w a s d i s p l a y e d f o r m o n t h s in

S t a t e s a f t e r f l e e i n g p o g r o m s in R u s s i a .

Square

in M a n h a t t a n

Madison

and also displayed

at t h e

g r e a t C e n t e n n i a l e x h i b i t i o n in P h i l a d e l p h i a . ( T h e

masses"

accurately

describes

"Huddled

emigrants

the cheapest way, as steerage passengers.

arriving

American Literature 1865-1914 THE TRANSFORMATION

OF A

NATION

In the s e c o n d half of the n i n e t e e n t h century, the fertile, mineral-rich American c o n t i n e n t west of the A p p a l a c h i a n s a n d A l l e g h e n i e s w a s o c c u p i e d , often by force, largely by E u r o p e a n s , who exploited its r e s o u r c e s freely. T h e s e new A m e r i c a n s , their n u m b e r s d o u b l e d by a c o n t i n u o u s flow of i m m i g r a n t s , p u s h e d westward to the Pacific c o a s t , d i s p l a c i n g N a t i v e A m e r i c a n c u l t u r e s a n d S p a n i s h s e t t l e m e n t s w h e n they s t o o d in the way. V a s t s t a n d s of t i m b e r were c o n s u m e d ; n u m b e r l e s s h e r d s of buffalo a n d other wild g a m e g a v e way to cattle, s h e e p , f a r m s , villages, a n d cities a n d the railroads that linked t h e m to m a r k e t s b a c k e a s t ; various t e c h n o l o g i e s converted the country's i m m e n s e natural r e s o u r c e s into industrial p r o d u c t s both for its own b u r g e o n i n g p o p ulation a n d for foreign m a r k e t s . T h e Civil W a r , the s e e m i n g l y inevitable result of growing e c o n o m i c , political, social, a n d cultural divisions b e t w e e n N o r t h a n d S o u t h , l a s t e d four years, c o s t s o m e eight billion dollars, a n d c l a i m e d m o r e t h a n six h u n d r e d t h o u s a n d lives. Its savagery s e e m s a l s o to have left the country morally e x h a u s t e d . N e v e r t h e l e s s , in spite of the a s t o n i s h i n g loss of life a n d ruin of property, especially in the S o u t h , the c o u n t r y p r o s p e r e d materially over the five following d e c a d e s . T h e war effort s t i m u l a t e d t e c h n o l o g i c a l innovations a n d developed n e w m e t h o d s of efficiently organizing a n d m a n a g i n g the m o v e m e n t of large n u m b e r s of p e o p l e , raw m a t e r i a l s , a n d g o o d s . After the war t h e s e a c c o m p l i s h m e n t s were a d a p t e d to industrial m o d e r n i z a t i o n o n a m a s s i v e s c a l e . T h e first t r a n s c o n t i n e n t a l railroad w a s c o m p l e t e d in 1 8 6 9 ; industrial o u t p u t grew exponentially; agricultural productivity i n c r e a s e d dramatically; electricity w a s i n t r o d u c e d on a large s c a l e ; n e w m e a n s of c o m m u n i c a t i o n , s u c h a s the t e l e p h o n e , revolutionized m a n y a s p e c t s of daily life; coal, oil, iron, gold, silver, a n d other kinds of mineral wealth were d i s c o v e r e d and extracted, p r o d u c i n g large n u m b e r s of vast individual f o r t u n e s a n d making the nation a s a w h o l e rich e n o u g h , for the first t i m e , to capitalize its own further d e v e l o p m e n t . Ry the e n d of the century, n o longer a colony politically or e c o n o m i c a l l y , the U n i t e d S t a t e s c o u l d begin its own o v e r s e a s imperialist e x p a n s i o n (of which the S p a n i s h - A m e r i c a n W a r in 1 8 9 8 w a s only o n e s i g n ) . T h e central material fact of the period w a s industrialization on a s c a l e u n p r e c e d e n t e d in the earlier e x p e r i e n c e s of G r e a t Britain a n d E u r o p e . B e t w e e n 1 8 5 0 a n d 1 8 8 0 capital invested in m a n u f a c t u r i n g i n d u s t r i e s m o r e than q u a d r u p l e d , while factory e m p l o y m e n t nearly d o u b l e d . By 1 8 8 5 four transcontinental railroad lines were c o m p l e t e d , u s i n g in their own c o n s t r u c tion a n d carrying to m a n u f a c t u r i n g c e n t e r s in C l e v e l a n d a n d Detroit the 1223

1224

/

A M E R I C A N

L I T E R A T U R E

1 8 6 5 - 1 9

14

nation's q u i n t u p l e d o u t p u t of steel from Pittsburgh a n d C h i c a g o . As m a j o r industries were c o n s o l i d a t e d into m o n o p o l i e s by increasingly powerful ( a n d r u t h l e s s ) individuals a very small n u m b e r of m e n c a m e to control s u c h enorm o u s l y profitable e n t e r p r i s e s a s steel, oil, railroads, m e a t p a c k i n g , b a n k i n g , a n d finance. A m o n g t h e s e m e n were J a y G o u l d , J i m Hill, L e l a n d S t a n f o r d , C o r n e l i u s Vanderbilt, A n d r e w C a r n e g i e , J . P. M o r g a n , a n d J o h n D . R o c k e feller. R o b b e r b a r o n s to s o m e , c a p t a i n s of industry to o t h e r s , they s u c c e s s fully s q u e e z e d out their c o m p e t i t o r s a n d a c c u m u l a t e d vast wealth a n d p o w e r — s o c i a l a n d political a s well a s e c o n o m i c . In 1 8 6 5 the U n i t e d S t a t e s , except for the m a n u f a c t u r i n g c e n t e r s of the n o r t h e a s t e r n s e a b o a r d , w a s a country of f a r m s , villages, a n d small t o w n s . M o s t of its citizens were involved in a g r i c u l t u r e or small family b u s i n e s s e s . In 1 8 7 0 the U . S . p o p u l a t i o n w a s 3 8 . 5 million; by 1 9 1 0 it h a d grown to 9 2 million a n d by 1 9 2 0 , to 123 million. T h i s i n c r e a s e in p o p u l a t i o n c a m e a b o u t a l m o s t entirely on a c c o u n t of i m m i g r a t i o n , a s did the p o p u l a t i o n shift from country to city. P e r h a p s 2 5 million p e o p l e , mostly E u r o p e a n s , entered the U n i t e d S t a t e s b e t w e e n the Civil W a r a n d W o r l d W a r I. S o m e of the newc o m e r s tried f a r m i n g ; but m o s t settled in the c i t i e s — e v e n in the cities in which they h a d d i s e m b a r k e d — s o that, for e x a m p l e , the p o p u l a t i o n of N e w York City grew from 0 . 5 million to nearly 3.5 million b e t w e e n 1 8 6 5 a n d the turn of the twentieth century, w h e r e a s C h i c a g o , with a p o p u l a t i o n of 2 9 , 0 0 0 in 1 8 5 0 , h a d m o r e than 2 million i n h a b i t a n t s by 1 9 1 0 . (Yet, to k e e p things in p e r s p e c t i v e , it s h o u l d be n o t e d that in 1 9 0 0 only N e w York, C h i c a g o , a n d Philadelphia h a d m o r e than 1 million i n h a b i t a n t s e a c h . ) T h e new A m e r i c a n s , a l o n g with their children a n d their children's children, e n a b l e d the U n i t e d S t a t e s eventually to b e c o m e the u r b a n , industrial, international power we recognize today; they a l s o irrevocably altered the e t h n i c c o m p o s i t i o n of the p o p u l a t i o n a n d c o n t r i b u t e d i m m e a s u r a b l y to the d e m o c r a t i z a t i o n of the nation's cultural life. In 1 8 9 0 m o s t white A m e r i c a n s ( i n c l u d i n g the Irish w h o h a d b e g u n to c o m e in the 1 8 4 0 s ) either lived in N e w E n g l a n d or h a d N e w E n g l a n d a n c e s t o r s . B u t by 1 9 0 0 N e w E n g l a n d e r s were n o longer n u m e r i c a l l y d o m i n a n t . L o n g - s e t t l e d a n d newly arrived white p e o p l e f a c e d e a c h other a c r o s s divides of power, i n c o m e , a n d privilege—worker a g a i n s t owner, f a r m a g a i n s t city, i m m i g r a n t a g a i n s t native born, c r e a t i n g s u s p i c i o n a n d social t u r b u l e n c e on a s c a l e that the nation h a d never s e e n before. T h i s t r a n s f o r m a t i o n of an entire c o n t i n e n t involved i n c a l c u l a b l e suffering for millions of p e o p l e even a s others p r o s p e r e d . In the c o u n t r y s i d e i n c r e a s i n g n u m b e r s of f a r m e r s , d e p e n d e n t for t r a n s p o r t a t i o n of their c r o p s o n the m o n o p o l i s t i c railroads, were s q u e e z e d off the land by what novelist F r a n k Norris c h a r a c t e r i z e d a s the giant " o c t o p u s " that c r i s s c r o s s e d the c o n t i n e n t . Everywhere i n d e p e n d e n t f a r m e r s were p l a c e d " u n d e r the lion's p a w " of land s p e c u l a t o r s a n d a b s e n t e e landlords that H a m l i n G a r l a n d ' s story m a d e infam o u s . L a r g e - s c a l e farming—initially in K a n s a s a n d N e b r a s k a , for e x a m p l e — a l s o s q u e e z e d family f a r m e r s even a s s u c h p r a c t i c e s i n c r e a s e d g r o s s agricultural yields. F o r m a n y , the great cities were a l s o , a s the socialist novelist U p t o n S i n c l a i r s e n s e d , j u n g l e s w h e r e only the s t r o n g e s t , the most ruthless, a n d the luckiest survived. An oversupply of labor kept w a g e s d o w n a n d allowed industrialists to m a i n t a i n i n h u m a n e a n d d a n g e r o u s working c o n d i tions for m e n , w o m e n , a n d children w h o c o m p e t e d for j o b s . N e i t h e r farmers nor u r b a n laborers were effectively organized to p u r s u e

I N T R O D U C T I O N

/

1225

their own interests, a n d neither g r o u p h a d any significant political leverage until the 1 8 8 0 s , w h e n the A m e r i c a n F e d e r a t i o n of L a b o r , an a s s o c i a t i o n of national u n i o n s of skilled workers, e m e r g e d a s the first unified national voice of organized labor. B e f o r e then legislators a l m o s t exclusively served the interests of b u s i n e s s a n d industry, a n d the s c a n d a l s of P r e s i d e n t G r a n t ' s a d m i n istration, the looting of the N e w York City treasury by William M a r c y ( " B o s s " ) T w e e d in the 1 8 7 0 s , a n d the later horrors of m u n i c i p a l corruption exposed by j o u r n a l i s t L i n c o l n S t e f f e n s a n d other " m u c k r a k e r s " were sympt o m a t i c of what m a n y writers of the time took to be the a g e of the " G r e a t B a r b e c u e . " Early a t t e m p t s by labor to organize were c r u d e a n d often violent, a n d s u c h g r o u p s a s the "Molly M a g u i r e s , " which p e r f o r m e d a c t s of terrorism in the c o a l - m i n i n g a r e a of n o r t h e a s t e r n Pennsylvania, c o n f i r m e d middlec l a s s fears that labor organizations were "illegal c o n s p i r a c i e s " a n d t h u s public e n e m i e s . Direct violence w a s probably, as y o u n g radical writer E m m a G o l d m a n believed, a n e c e s s a r y step toward e s t a b l i s h i n g m e a n i n g f u l ways of negotiating d i s p u t e s b e t w e e n industrial workers a n d their e m p l o y e r s ; it w a s , in any event, not until collective b a r g a i n i n g legislation w a s e n a c t e d in the 1 9 3 0 s that labor effectively a c q u i r e d the right to strike.

THE LITEBABY

MABKETPLACE

T h e rapid t r a n s c o n t i n e n t a l s e t t l e m e n t a n d new u r b a n industrial c i r c u m s t a n c e s s u m m a r i z e d a b o v e were a c c o m p a n i e d by the d e v e l o p m e n t of a national literature of great a b u n d a n c e a n d variety. N e w t h e m e s , new f o r m s , new s u b j e c t s , new r e g i o n s , n e w a u t h o r s , new a u d i e n c e s all e m e r g e d in the literature of this half century. In fiction, c h a r a c t e r s rarely r e p r e s e n t e d before the Civil W a r b e c a m e familiar figures: industrial workers a n d the rural poor, a m b i t i o u s b u s i n e s s l e a d e r s a n d v a g r a n t s , prostitutes a n d u n h e r o i c soldiers. W o m e n from m a n y social g r o u p s , African A m e r i c a n s , Native A m e r i c a n s ; ethnic minorities, i m m i g r a n t s : all b e g a n to write for p u b l i c a t i o n , a n d a rapidly b u r g e o n i n g market for printed work h e l p e d establish a u t h o r s h i p a s a p o s s i b l e career. S o m e a c c o u n t , however brief, of the growth of this market may be helpful in u n d e r s t a n d i n g the e c o n o m i c s of A m e r i c a n cultural d e v e l o p m e n t . S i n c e colonial times n e w s p a p e r s h a d b e e n i m p o r t a n t to the political, social, a n d cultural life of A m e r i c a , but in the d e c a d e s after the Civil W a r their n u m b e r s a n d influence grew. J o s e p h Pulitzer e s t a b l i s h e d the S t . L o u i s Post-Dispatch in 1 8 7 8 , a n d in 1 8 8 3 he b o u g h t the N e w York World; both p a p e r s were hugely s u c c e s s f u l . William R a n d o l p h H e a r s t h a d already m a d e the S a n F r a n c i s c o Examiner the d o m i n a n t n e w s p a p e r in the far west, a n d in 1 8 9 5 he bought the N e w York Journal to c o m p e t e with Pulitzer's World. In 1 8 9 7 The Jewish Daily Forward w a s f o u n d e d ; its circulation eventually r e a c h e d 2 5 0 , 0 0 0 a n d was read by three or four times that n u m b e r . M a n y of the "writers" w h o went on to b e c o m e " a u t h o r s " got their start as n e w s p a p e r j o u r n a l i s t s ( B i e r c e , C a h a n , C r a n e , Dreiser, S u i S i n F a r , Harris, William D e a n H o w e l l s , F r a n k Norris, a n d T w a i n a m o n g t h e m ) . P e r h a p s of e q u a l i m p o r t a n c e to the d e v e l o p m e n t of literary c a r e e r s a n d literature a s a n institution was the e s t a b l i s h m e n t of n e w s p a p e r s y n d i c a t e s in the 1 8 8 0 s by Irving Bachellor a n d S. S . M c C l u r e . T h e s e s y n d i c a t e s p u b l i s h e d h u m o r , n e w s , car-

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t o o n s , a n d c o m i c strips (by the 1 8 9 0 s ) , b u t they a l s o printed both short fiction a n d n o v e l s — C r a n e ' s The Red Badge of Courage, for e x a m p l e — i n installments. In the m i d d l e of the e i g h t e e n t h century B e n j a m i n Franklin a n d A n d r e w B r a d f o r d were a m o n g the first to p u b l i s h m o n t h l y m a g a z i n e s , in n o s m a l l part to d e m o n s t r a t e that a distinctively A m e r i c a n c u l t u r e w a s f o r m i n g on the N o r t h A m e r i c a n c o n t i n e n t . By the early years of the n i n e t e e n t h century weekly m a g a z i n e s s u c h a s the Saturday Evening Post ( f o u n d e d in 1 8 2 1 ) , the Saturday Press ( 1 8 3 8 ) , a n d the New York Ledger ( 1 8 4 7 ) p u b l i s h e d m a n y writers of fiction, i n c l u d i n g M a r k T w a i n . E a s t C o a s t m a g a z i n e s s u c h a s Harper's New Monthly Magazine ( 1 8 5 0 ) , Scribner's Monthly ( 1 8 7 0 ) , Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine ( 1 8 8 1 ) , the Atlantic Monthly ( 1 8 5 7 ) , a n d the Galaxy ( 1 8 6 6 ) all provided o u t l e t s for s u c h figures a s K a t e C h o p i n , S a r a h O r n e J e w e t t , H e n r y J a m e s , William D e a n H o w e l l s , S a r a h Piatt, S u i S i n F a r , M a r k T w a i n , a n d C o n s t a n c e F e n i m o r e W o o l s o n . O n the W e s t C o a s t , the Overland Monthly ( 1 8 6 8 ) e m e r g e d a s the l e a d i n g literary p e r i o d i c a l , p u b lishing Bret H a r t e , A m b r o s e B i e r c e , J a c k L o n d o n , a n d M a r k T w a i n a m o n g o t h e r s . T h i s b a r e listing of m a g a z i n e s a n d literary c o n t r i b u t o r s is i n t e n d e d only to s u g g e s t the i m p o r t a n c e of p e r i o d i c a l s in providing s o u r c e s of i n c o m e a n d a u d i e n c e s crucial to the further f o r m a t i o n of a c o m p l e x A m e r i c a n literary tradition. M a n y of t h e s e p e r i o d i c a l s a l s o played a part in the e m e r g e n c e toward the end of the n i n e t e e n t h century of w h a t the critic W a r n e r Berthoff aptly designates " t h e literature of a r g u m e n t " — p o w e r f u l works in sociology, philosophy, a n d psychology, m a n y of t h e m i m p e l l e d by the spirit of e x p o s u r e a n d reform. It would be hard to e x a g g e r a t e the i n f l u e n c e — o n other writers a s well a s on the e d u c a t e d p u b l i c — o f H e n r y G e o r g e ' s Progress and Poverty ( 1 8 7 9 ) , L e s t e r F r a n k W a r d ' s The Psychic Factors in Civilization (1893), Henry D e m a r e s t Lloyd's Wealth against Commonwealth ( 1 8 9 4 ) , Brooks A d a m s ' s The Law of Civilization and Decay ( 1 8 9 5 ) , C h a r l o t t e Perkins Gilm a n ' s Women and Economics ( 1 8 9 8 ) , T h o r s t e i n Veblen's The Theory of the Leisure Class ( 1 8 9 9 ) , William J a m e s ' s The Varieties of Religious Experience ( 1 9 0 2 ) , a n d Ida Tarbell's The History of the Standard Oil Company ( 1 9 0 4 ) . In short, a s the U n i t e d S t a t e s b e c a m e a n international political, e c o n o m i c , a n d military p o w e r d u r i n g this half century, the quantity a n d quality of its literary p r o d u c t i o n kept p a c e . In its n e w security, moreover, it w e l c o m e d (in translation) the l e a d i n g E u r o p e a n figures of the t i m e — L e o T o l s t o y , H e n r i k I b s e n , A n t o n C h e k h o v , E m i l e Zola, B e n i t o P e r e s G a l d o s , G i o v a n n i V e r g a — often in the c o l u m n s of H e n r y J a m e s a n d W i l l i a m D e a n H o w e l l s , w h o reviewed their works e n t h u s i a s t i c a l l y in Harper's Weekly a n d Harper's Monthly, the North American Review, a n d other l e a d i n g j o u r n a l s of the e r a . A m e r i c a n writers in this p e r i o d , like m o s t writers of other t i m e s a n d p l a c e s , wrote to earn m o n e y , gain f a m e , c h a n g e the world, a n d — o u t of that mysterious c o m p u l s i o n to find the b e s t order for the b e s t w o r d s — t o express t h e m s e l v e s in a p e r m a n e n t f o r m . T h e n a t u r e of that f o r m — w h a t might b e called the "realistic international art s t o r y " — w a s itself, of c o u r s e , a p r o d u c t of the c o m p l e x interplay of historical forces a n d a e s t h e t i c d e v e l o p m e n t s a p p a r e n t , in r e t r o s p e c t , from the time of the p u b l i c a t i o n of F r e n c h writer G u s t a v e F l a u b e r t ' s Madame Bovary ( 1 8 5 6 ) a n d , especially, his Three Tales ( 1 8 7 7 ) . A m o n g the l e a d i n g A m e r i c a n realists of the period w e r e M a r k T w a i n ,

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Henry J a m e s , Edith W h a r t o n , a n d William D e a n H o w e l l s , w h o together e n c o m p a s s e d literary style from the c o m i c v e r n a c u l a r t h r o u g h ordinary disc o u r s e to i m p r e s s i o n i s t i c subjectivity. A m o n g t h e m t h e s e writers r e c o r d e d life on the v a n i s h i n g frontier, in the village, small town, a n d turbulent m e t r o p o l i s , a s well a s in E u r o p e a n resorts a n d c a p i t a l s . T h e y e s t a b l i s h e d the literary identity of distinctively A m e r i c a n p r o t a g o n i s t s , specifically the vern a c u l a r boy hero a n d the " A m e r i c a n G i r l , " the baffled a n d strained m i d d l e c l a s s family, the b u s i n e s s m a n , the psychologically c o m p l i c a t e d citizens of a new international c u l t u r e . T o g e t h e r , in short, they set the e x a m p l e a n d c h a r t e d the future c o u r s e for the s u b j e c t s , t h e m e s , t e c h n i q u e s , a n d styles of fiction we still call m o d e r n .

F O R M S OF

REALISM

Rroadly s p e a k i n g , realism is u s e d to label a m o v e m e n t in E n g l i s h , E u r o p e a n , a n d A m e r i c a n literature that g a t h e r e d force from the 1 8 3 0 s to the e n d of the century. It w a s , ultimately, n o t h i n g m o r e or less t h a n the a t t e m p t to write a literature that r e c o r d e d life as it w a s lived rather than life a s it o u g h t to b e lived or h a d b e e n lived in times p a s t . A s defined by William D e a n Howells ( 1 8 3 7 - 1 9 2 0 ) , the m a g a z i n e editor w h o w a s for s o m e d e c a d e s the chief A m e r i c a n a d v o c a t e of realistic a e s t h e t i c s a s well a s a u t h o r of over thirty novels that strove for r e a l i s m , realism "is n o t h i n g m o r e a n d n o t h i n g less than the truthful t r e a t m e n t of m a t e r i a l . " A l t h o u g h this definition d o e s not a n s w e r every q u e s t i o n that may b e raised a b o u t truth, t r e a t m e n t , or even a b o u t material, it offers a useful point of d e p a r t u r e . Henry J a m e s s p o k e of the " d o c u m e n t a r y " value of Howells's work, thereby calling a t t e n t i o n t h r o u g h Howells to realism's p r e o c c u p a t i o n with the physical s u r f a c e s , the particularities of the s e n s a t e world in which fictional c h a r a c t e r s lived. T h e s e characters were " r e p r e s e n t a t i v e " or ordinary c h a r a c t e r s — c h a r a c t e r s o n e might p a s s on the street without noticing. Unlike their r o m a n t i c c o u n t e r p a r t s , they don't walk with a limp, their eyes don't blaze, they don't e m a n a t e diabolical power. R e a l i s m , as p r a c t i c e d by H o w e l l s , particularly in The Rise of Silas Lapham ( 1 8 8 5 ) , the novel m a n y literary historians have identified a s quintessentially realistic in the A m e r i c a n tradition, s e e k s to c r e a t e the illusion of everyday life b e i n g lived by ordinary p e o p l e in familiar s u r r o u n d i n g s — l i f e s e e n through a clear g l a s s window (though partly o p e n e d to allow for the full range of s e n s e e x p e r i e n c e ) . Edith W h a r t o n ' s p r a c t i c e of realism s h o w s it at its m o s t technically adroit. In her early story " S o u l s B e l a t e d " ( i n c l u d e d here) setting is r e n d e r e d with the fine precision we a s s o c i a t e with r e a l i s m : o n e of the belated s o u l s , the recently divorced Lydia T i l l o t s o n , returns to her hotel sitting r o o m now uncomfortably s h a r e d with her lover: " S h e sat g l a n c i n g vaguely a b o u t the little sitting r o o m , dimly lit by the pallid-globed l a m p , which left in twilight the outlines of the furniture, of his writing table h e a p e d with b o o k s a n d p a p e r s , of the tea r o s e s a n d j a s m i n e d r o o p i n g on the m a n t e l p i e c e . H o w like h o m e it h a d all g r o w n — h o w like h o m e ! " W h a r t o n h a d a portrait-painter's eye for detail a n d especially for the subtle ways light m a d e the physical world plastic. T h e c h a r a c t e r s in the story, while they b e l o n g to a higher social c l a s s than the L a p h a m s of Howells's f a m o u s novel, are all r e c o g n i z a b l e a s m e m -

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bers of that c l a s s . I n d e e d , a n o t h e r p a s s a g e from the story s u g g e s t s that it is the aspiration of the wealthy to be a s m u c h like e a c h other a s p o s s i b l e — t o live a life without s u r p r i s e s or d r a m a : T h e moral a t m o s p h e r e of the T i l l o t s o n interior w a s a s carefully s c r e e n e d a n d c u r t a i n e d a s the h o u s e itself: M r s Tillotson senior d r e a d e d ideas a s m u c h a s a draft in her b a c k . P r u d e n t p e o p l e like a n even t e m p e r a t u r e ; a n d to do anything u n e x p e c t e d w a s a s foolish a s g o i n g o u t in the rain. O n e of the c h i e f a d v a n t a g e s of b e i n g rich w a s that o n e n e e d not b e e x p o s e d to u n f o r e s e e n c o n t i n g e n c i e s : by the u s e of ordinary f i r m n e s s a n d c o m m o n s e n s e o n e c o u l d m a k e s u r e of d o i n g exactly the s a m e thing every day at the s a m e h o u r . W h a r t o n c r e a t e s a physical setting of great particularity a n d familiar character types; but her c o n c l u d i n g s e n t e n c e reveals a satirical intent a s d e l i c i o u s a s it is authorially intrusive. I n d e e d , while it is true that in her b e s t novels W h a r t o n holds a mirror up to N e w York high society s h e is m o r e interested in the p s y c h o l o g i c a l a n d moral reality of the d r a m a of h u m a n c o n s c i o u s n e s s than s h e is in the s c e n e r y that furnishes the s t a g e on which the d r a m a is e n a c t e d . Even in s u c h centrally realistic novels of m a n n e r s s u c h a s The House of Mirth ( 1 9 0 5 ) , The Custom of the Country ( 1 9 1 3 ) , a n d The Age of Innocence ( 1 9 2 0 ) W h a r t o n ' s primary c o n c e r n s a r e m o r e nearly with the i n t a n g i b l e — t h w a r t e d d e s i r e , self-betrayal, m u r d e r o u s e m o t i o n , r e p r e s s e d v o i c e s — t h a n with the interior d e c o r a t i o n of m a n s i o n s or the f a s h i o n a b l e d r e s s of her c h a r a c t e r s . In fact, it proved i m p o s s i b l e for any realist to r e p r e s e n t things exactly a s they w e r e ; literature d e m a n d s s h a p i n g narratives w h e r e life is m e s s y a n d calls for narrators w h e r e life is not n a r r a t e d . P r e s e n t - d a y literary theorists a r e m u c h m o r e a w a r e of what is called " t h e crisis of r e p r e s e n t a t i o n " — b y w h i c h is m e a n t the difference b e t w e e n the r e p r e s e n t a t i o n a n d the thing r e p r e s e n t e d — t h a n were this g e n e r a t i o n of realists t h e m s e l v e s . B u t if they h a d b e e n a w a r e of this p r o b l e m , they would likely have insisted on the value a n d significance of their work in calling a t t e n t i o n to a r e a s of e x p e r i e n c e that writers h a d never dealt with b e f o r e . It c o u l d b e plausibly a r g u e d that all literature after realism h a s b e e n , to s o m e d e g r e e , " r e a l i s t i c " in its a i m s . W o r k i n g with great s e l f - a w a r e n e s s at the very b o u n d a r i e s of r e a l i s m , the two greatest artists of the e r a — H e n r y J a m e s a n d M a r k T w a i n — u n d e r s t o o d quite well that l a n g u a g e w a s an interpretation of the real rather than the real thing itself. T w a i n ' s work w a s realistic in its u s e of colloquial a n d v e r n a c u l a r s p e e c h a s o p p o s e d to high-flown rhetoric a n d in its p a r a d e of c h a r a c t e r s drawn from ordinary walks of life. F o r m a n y later writers, the s i m p l e l a n g u a g e of Huckleberry Finn signified the b e g i n n i n g of a truly A m e r i c a n style. B u t T w a i n ' s work also e m b o d i e d a r e m a r k a b l e c o m i c g e n i u s — t h e a u t h o r of Huckleberry Finn is funny in ways that H u c k h i m s e l f c o u l d never a c h i e v e — and resembled performance comedy. Indeed, Twain achieved enormous succ e s s a s a public r e a d e r of his own work. At the other e x t r e m e , over a long c a r e e r Henry J a m e s worked his way from recognizably realistic fiction, with a large c a s t of socially specified ( a l t h o u g h typically u p p e r - c l a s s ) c h a r a c t e r s d e s c r i b e d by an all-knowing a n d c o m p l e t e l y a c c u r a t e narrator, o n toward increasingly s u b t l e r e p r e s e n t a t i o n s of the flow of a c h a r a c t e r ' s inner t h o u g h t , s u c h that his elaborately m e t a p h o r i c a l work b e c a m e the starting point for p s y c h o l o g i c a l , s t r e a m - o f - c o n s c i o u s n e s s fiction.

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N a t u r a l i s m is c o m m o n l y u n d e r s t o o d a s a n extension or intensification of realism. T h e intensification involves the introduction of c h a r a c t e r s of a kind only o c c a s i o n a l l y to be f o u n d in the fiction of H o w e l l s , J a m e s , or W h a r t o n — c h a r a c t e r s from the fringes a n d lower d e p t h s of c o n t e m p o r a r y society, characters w h o s e fates are the p r o d u c t of d e g e n e r a t e heredity, a sordid environm e n t , a n d a g o o d deal of b a d luck. B i e r c e , C r a n e , Dreiser, L o n d o n , a n d Norris are usually the figures identified a s the l e a d i n g A m e r i c a n naturalists of this period, b u t before we turn to their work the p h i l o s o p h i c a n d scientific b a c k g r o u n d s of n a t u r a l i s m require s o m e attention. O n e of the m o s t far-reaching intellectual events of the last half of the nineteenth century w a s the publication in 1 8 5 9 of C h a r l e s Darwin's Origin of Species. T h i s book, together with his Descent of Man ( 1 8 7 0 ) , hypothesized on the b a s i s of m a s s i v e physical evidence that over the millennia h u m a n s h a d evolved from " l o w e r " f o r m s of life. H u m a n s were s p e c i a l , n o t — a s the Bible t a u g h t — b e c a u s e G o d h a d c r e a t e d t h e m in His i m a g e , but b e c a u s e they h a d s u c c e s s f u l l y a d a p t e d to c h a n g i n g e n v i r o n m e n t a l c o n d i t i o n s a n d h a d p a s s e d on their survival-making c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s . In the 1 8 7 0 s E n g l i s h phil o s o p h e r H e r b e r t S p e n c e r ' s a p p l i c a t i o n of Darwin's theory of evolution to social relations w a s enthusiastically w e l c o m e d by m a n y l e a d i n g A m e r i c a n b u s i n e s s m e n . A n d r e w C a r n e g i e w a s only o n e s u c c e s s f u l industrialist w h o a r g u e d that u n r e s t r a i n e d c o m p e t i t i o n w a s the equivalent of a law of n a t u r e d e s i g n e d to eliminate t h o s e unfit for the new e c o n o m i c order. A n o t h e r r e s p o n s e to Darwin w a s to a c c e p t the deterministic i m p l i c a t i o n s of evolutionary theory a n d to u s e t h e m to a c c o u n t for the behavior of characters in literary works. T h a t is, c h a r a c t e r s were c o n c e i v e d as m o r e or less c o m p l e x c o m b i n a t i o n s of inherited attributes a n d habits ingrained by social and e c o n o m i c forces. As E m i l e Zola ( 1 8 4 0 — 1 9 0 2 ) , the influential F r e n c h theorist a n d novelist, p u t the matter in his e s s a y " T h e E x p e r i m e n t a l N o v e l " (1880): In short, we m u s t o p e r a t e with c h a r a c t e r s , p a s s i o n s , h u m a n a n d social d a t a a s the c h e m i s t a n d the physicist work on inert b o d i e s , a s the physiologist works on living b o d i e s . D e t e r m i n i s m governs everything. It is scientific investigation; it is experimental r e a s o n i n g that c o m b a t s o n e by o n e the h y p o t h e s e s of the idealists a n d will r e p l a c e novels of p u r e i m a g ination by novels of observation a n d e x p e r i m e n t . A n u m b e r of A m e r i c a n writers a d o p t e d a s p e c t s of this p e s s i m i s t i c form of realism, this so-called naturalistic view of h u m a n k i n d , t h o u g h e a c h writer incorporated s u c h n a t u r a l i s m into his or her work in individual ways, to different d e g r e e s , a n d c o m b i n e d with other p e r s p e c t i v e s . It would be a mistake in short to believe that A m e r i c a n writers simply c o b b l e d their unders t a n d i n g s of Darwin, S p e n c e r , or Zola into s o m e rigid, a b s o l u t i s t , d o g m a t i c position s h a r e d by all of t h e m . Rather, writers r e s p o n d e d to t h e s e c h a l l e n g e s to traditional belief s y s t e m s in diverse a n d innovative ways. T h e y were all c o n c e r n e d on the o n e h a n d to explore n e w t e r r i t o r i e s — t h e p r e s s u r e s of biology, e n v i r o n m e n t , a n d other material f o r c e s — i n m a k i n g p e o p l e , particularly lower-class p e o p l e , w h o they were. O n the other h a n d , B i e r c e , C r a n e , Dreiser, L o n d o n , a n d Norris all allowed in different d e g r e e s for the value of h u m a n b e i n g s , for their potential to m a k e s o m e m e a s u r e of s e n s e o u t of their experience a n d for their capacity to act c o m p a s s i o n a t e l y — e v e n altruistic a l l y — u n d e r the m o s t a d v e r s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s . Even t h o u g h , therefore, they

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were c h a l l e n g i n g c o n v e n t i o n a l w i s d o m a b o u t h u m a n motivation a n d c a u sality in the natural world, the b l e a k n e s s a n d p e s s i m i s m s o m e t i m e s f o u n d in their fiction are not the s a m e a s d e s p a i r a n d c y n i c i s m . Critic C a t h y D a v i d s o n c h a r a c t e r i z e s A m b r o s e B i e r c e a s "a literary hippogryph w h o c o m b i n e s e l e m e n t s that by s t a n d a r d literary historiography s h o u l d not b e c o n j o i n e d : realism a n d i m p r e s s i o n i s m , n a t u r a l i s m a n d s u r r e a l i s m . " S o while in s o m e r e s p e c t s a n d in s o m e stories B i e r c e might be s a i d to be " n a t u r a l i s t i c , " a careful r e a d i n g of any of his b e s t short s t o r i e s — " C h i c a m a u g a , " "An O c c u r r e n c e at Owl C r e e k B r i d g e , " a n d " T h e M a n a n d the S n a k e " to n a m e t h r e e — m a k e s clear the i n a d e q u a c y of n a t u r a l i s m a s a way of explaining or interpreting B i e r c e . U n d u e attention to the s e n s a t i o n a l a n d g r o t e s q u e , D a v i d s o n a r g u e s , c a n blind r e a d e r s to the p o s t m o d e r n selfreflexiveness of B i e r c e . S t e p h e n C r a n e is a n o t h e r c a s e in point. C r a n e believed, a s h e said of Maggie, that e n v i r o n m e n t c o u n t s for a great deal in d e t e r m i n i n g h u m a n fate. B u t not every p e r s o n born in a s l u m e n d s u p a s a h o o d l u m , drunk, or s u i c i d e . "A great d e a l , " moreover, is not the s a m e a s everything. N a t u r e is not hostile, he o b s e r v e s in " T h e O p e n B o a t , " only "indifferent, flatly indifferent." I n d e e d , the earth in " T h e B l u e H o t e l " is d e s c r i b e d in o n e of the m o s t f a m o u s p a s s a g e s in naturalistic fiction a s a "whirling, fire-smote, ice-locked, d i s e a s e - s t r i c k e n , s p a c e - l o s t b u l b . " At the e n d of the story, however, the q u e s t i o n s of r e s p o n sibility a n d a g e n c y are still alive. In C r a n e ' s The Red Badge of Courage Henry F l e m i n g r e s p o n d s to the very e n d to the world of c h a o s a n d violence that s u r r o u n d s him with a l t e r n a t i n g s u r g e s of p a n i c a n d s e l f - c o n g r a t u l a t i o n s , not a s a m a n w h o h a s fully u n d e r s t o o d h i m s e l f a n d his p l a c e in the world. All the s a m e , Henry h a s l e a r n e d s o m e t h i n g — o r at least h e seems to have d o n e s o . C r a n e , like m o s t n a t u r a l i s t s , is m o r e a m b i g u o u s , m o r e a c c e p t i n g of para d o x e s than a reductive notion of n a t u r a l i s m would s e e m to allow for. Biology, e n v i r o n m e n t , p s y c h o l o g i c a l drives, a n d c h a n c e , that is to say, play a large part in s h a p i n g h u m a n e n d s in C r a n e ' s fiction. B u t after we have g r a n t e d this ostensibly naturalistic p e r s p e c t i v e to C r a n e , we a r e still left with his distinctiveness a s a writer, with his p e r s o n a l h o n e s t y in reporting what he s a w (and his c o n c o m i t a n t rejection of a c c e p t e d literary c o n v e n t i o n s ) , a n d with his u s e of i m p r e s s i o n i s t i c literary t e c h n i q u e s to p r e s e n t i n c o m p l e t e c h a r a c t e r s a n d a broken w o r l d — a world m o r e r a n d o m t h a n scientifically p r e d i c t a b l e . W e are a l s o left, however, with the hardly p e s s i m i s t i c implication of " T h e O p e n B o a t " : that precisely b e c a u s e h u m a n b e i n g s a r e e x p o s e d to a s a v a g e world of c h a n c e w h e r e d e a t h is always i m m i n e n t , they would d o well to learn the art of s y m p a t h e t i c identification with others a n d h o w to p r a c t i c e solidarity, a n art often learned at the price of d e a t h . W i t h o u t this deeply felt h u m a n c o n n e c t i o n , h u m a n e x p e r i e n c e is a s m e a n i n g l e s s a s wind, s h a r k s , a n d w a v e s — a n d this is not, finally, w h a t C r a n e believed. T h e o d o r e D r e i s e r certainly did not s h a r e C r a n e ' s t e n d e n c y to u s e words a n d i m a g e s a s if h e were a c o m p o s e r or a p a i n t e r . B u t h e did s h a r e , at least early in his career, C r a n e ' s s k e p t i c i s m a b o u t h u m a n b e i n g s ; like C r a n e he w a s m o r e inclined to s e e m e n a n d w o m e n a s m o r e like m o t h s drawn to flame than lords of c r e a t i o n . B u t , a g a i n , it is not Dreiser's beliefs that m a k e him a significant figure in A m e r i c a n letters: it is w h a t his i m a g i n a t i o n a n d literary t e c h n i q u e d o with a n extremely rich set of i d e a s , e x p e r i e n c e s , a n d e m o t i o n s to c r e a t e the "color of life" in his fiction that m a k e him a writer worth o u r attention. If C r a n e gave A m e r i c a n r e a d e r s t h r o u g h the p e r s o n a l h o n e s t y of

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his vision a n e w s e n s e of the h u m a n c o n s c i o u s n e s s u n d e r c o n d i t i o n s of extreme p r e s s u r e , D r e i s e r gave t h e m for the first time in his unwieldy novels s u c h as Sister Carrie ( 1 9 0 0 ) a n d Jennie Gerhardt ( 1 9 1 1 ) a s e n s e of the fumbling, yearning, c o n f u s e d r e s p o n s e to the s i m u l t a n e o u s l y e n c h a n t i n g , exciting, ugly, a n d d a n g e r o u s metropolis that h a d b e c o m e the familiar r e s i d e n c e for s u c h large n u m b e r s of A m e r i c a n s by the turn of the century. A b r a h a m C a h a n , like Dreiser, wrote a b o u t city-dwellers, in p a r t i c u l a r a b o u t e a s t e r n E u r o p e a n J e w s w h o , starting in 1 8 8 2 , b e g a n migrating in large n u m b e r s to A m e r i c a . M a n y of t h e s e Yiddish-speaking i m m i g r a n t s settled in the L o w e r E a s t S i d e ghetto of M a n h a t t a n . C a h a n ' s m a j o r novel The Rise of David Levinsky ( 1 9 1 7 ) brilliantly explores the t e n s i o n s entailed in the c o u r s e of reconciling traditional v a l u e s a n d ways of living with A m e r i c a n modernity. Exclusive f o c u s o n atavistic i m p u l s e s in L o n d o n ' s Call of the Wild ( 1 9 0 3 ) a n d The Sea-Wolf ( 1 9 0 4 ) may keep r e a d e r s from r e s p o n d i n g to the c o m plexities of t h e s e a n d other of L o n d o n ' s b e s t fiction. " T h e L a w of L i f e " m a y be cited in s u p p o r t of critic Earl L a b o r ' s c o n t e n t i o n that " t h e e s s e n t i a l creative tension for [ L o n d o n ' s ] literary artistry, is the o p p o s i t i o n of m a t e r i a l i s m versus s p i r i t u a l i s m — t h a t is, the tension b e t w e e n the logical a n d the scientific on the o n e h a n d a n d the irrational a n d mystical on the o t h e r . " In the " L a w of L i f e " O l d K o s k o o s h , a b o u t to be left to die by his tribe, thinks: " N a t u r e did not c a r e . T o life s h e set o n e task, g a v e o n e law. T o p e r p e t u a t e w a s the t a s k of life, its law is d e a t h . " T h e rather a b s t r a c t reflection would s e e m to s u g g e s t that the story is driven by a deterministic view of life—that n o t h i n g individuals did w a s of any real s i g n i f i c a n c e . Yet the b u l k of the story is given over to O l d K o s k o o s h ' s m e m o r i e s of his life a n d particularly to the re-creation of a formative m o m e n t from his youth a s h e a n d a c o m p a n i o n c o m e u p o n the s c e n e of an old m o o s e struggling in vain a g a i n s t the circle of wolves that have w o u n d e d a n d will s o o n d e v o u r h i m . In re-creating this extraordinary m o m e n t in all of its vivid, d r a m a t i c power, a n d in identifying with the t o t e m i c figure of the m o o s e , K o s k o o s h , it might b e a r g u e d , has e r a s e d his earlier generalization a b o u t evolutionary necessity a n d the m e a n i n g l e s s n e s s of the individual. Acts of i m a g i n a t i o n a n d identification d o lend m e a n i n g a n d dignity to h u m a n e x i s t e n c e . In s u m , d e s p i t e residual prohibitions that insisted on h u m a n i t y ' s elevated p l a c e in the universe a n d a m i d d l e - c l a s s r e a d e r s h i p that disliked u g l i n e s s a n d " i m m o r a l i t y , " u r b a n A m e r i c a a n d the d e p o p u l a t e d h i n t e r l a n d s proved to b e fertile g r o u n d for realistic literary t e c h n i q u e s a n d naturalistic i d e a s , t h o u g h the ideas were inconsistently applied a n d the d o c u m e n t a r y t e c h n i q u e s were cross-cut by other literary strategies. O u t s i d e of literature, the nation's f o u n d i n g principle of equality c o n t r a s t e d to the h a r s h realities of c o u n t r y and urban life, to the lives of African A m e r i c a n s , A s i a n A m e r i c a n s , N a t i v e A m e r i c a n s , w o m e n , a n d minorities, for e x a m p l e , a n d m a d e for i n c r e a s i n g r e c e p t i v e n e s s to narratives that held a looking g l a s s up to the m i d d l e c l a s s a n d obliged t h e m to s e e how the other h a l f — o f t h e m s e l v e s a n d o t h e r s — lived.

REGIONAL

WRITING

Regional writing, a n o t h e r expression of the realistic i m p u l s e , r e s u l t e d from the desire both to preserve distinctive ways of life before industrialization

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d i s p e r s e d or h o m o g e n i z e d t h e m a n d to c o m e to terms with the harsh realities that s e e m e d to r e p l a c e t h e s e early a n d allegedly h a p p i e r t i m e s . At a m o r e practical level, m u c h of the writing w a s a r e s p o n s e to the rapid growth of m a g a z i n e s , which c r e a t e d a new, largely f e m a l e m a r k e t for short fiction a l o n g with correlated o p p o r t u n i t i e s for w o m e n writers. By the e n d of the century, in any c a s e , virtually every region of the country, from M a i n e to C a l i f o r n i a , from the northern plains to the L o u i s i a n a b a y o u s , h a d its "local c o l o r i s t " (the implied c o m p a r i s o n is to p a i n t e r s of so-called genre s c e n e s ) to immortalize its distinctive natural, social, a n d linguistic f e a t u r e s . T h o u g h often s u f f u s e d with nostalgia, the b e s t work of the regionalists both renders a c o n v i n c i n g s u r f a c e of a particular time a n d location a n d investigates psychological chara c t e r traits from a m o r e universal p e r s p e c t i v e . T h i s m e l a n g e m a y be s e e n in s u c h an early e x a m p l e of regional, a l s o called local-color, writing a s Bret Harte's " T h e L u c k of R o a r i n g C a m p , " which m a d e H a r t e a national celebrity in 1 8 6 8 . T h e story is locally specific ( t h o u g h it lacked true verisimilitude) a s well a s entertaining, a n d it c r e a t e d mythic types a s well a s d e p i c t i o n s of frontier c h a r a c t e r that were later called into q u e s t i o n by Piatt a n d W o o l s o n , a m o n g others. H a m l i n G a r l a n d , rather than c r e a t i n g a myth, set out to destroy o n e . L i k e s o m a n y other writers of the t i m e , G a r l a n d w a s e n c o u r a g e d by H o w e l l s to write a b o u t what he knew b e s t — i n this c a s e the bleak a n d e x h a u s t i n g life of farmers of the u p p e r M i d w e s t . As he later said, his p u r p o s e in writing his early stories w a s to s h o w that the "mystic quality c o n n e c t e d with free land . . . w a s a m y t h . " G a r l a n d ' s f a r m e r s are n o longer the v i g o r o u s , s e n s u o u s , a n d thoughtful y e o m e n d e p i c t e d in C r e v e c o e u r ' s Letters from an American Farmer ( 1 7 8 2 ) but b e n t , drab figures r e m i n i s c e n t of the protest p o e t Edwin M a r k h a m ' s " M a n with a H o e " ( 1 8 9 9 ) . In " U n d e r the Lion's P a w , " from the collection Main-Travelled Roads ( 1 8 9 1 ) , we s e e local color not a s nostalgia but a s realism in the service of social protest. T h e work of Harriet B e e c h e r S t o w e , S a r a h O r n e J e w e t t , M a r y E . Wilkins F r e e m a n , S u i S i n Far, a n d C o n s t a n c e F e n i m o r e W o o l s o n may be s e e n a s a n invitation to c o n s i d e r the world from the p e r s p e c t i v e of w o m e n a w a k e n i n g to, p r o t e s t i n g a g a i n s t , a n d offering alternatives for a world d o m i n a t e d by m e n a n d m a l e interests a n d v a l u e s . Mary Austin w a s a l s o a feminist a n d m u c h of her writing, i n c l u d i n g her c l a s s i c Land of Little Rain ( 1 9 0 3 ) , invites readers to s e e the world from a w o m a n ' s p e r s p e c t i v e . B u t Austin's larger claim on literary history is that she m a d e the d e s e r t s of s o u t h e r n California p a l p a b l e for the first time in literature. T h e marginal c h a r a c t e r s w h o p e o p l e this inhospitable terrain c a n n o t be i m a g i n e d a s existing anywhere e l s e . S t o w e , J e w e t t , F r e e m a n , a n d W o o l s o n do m o r e than l a m e n t the postwar e c o n o m i c a n d spiritual decline of N e w E n g l a n d ; their f e m a l e c h a r a c t e r s s u g g e s t the c a p a c ity of h u m a n beings to live i n d e p e n d e n t l y a n d with dignity in the f a c e of c o m m u n i t y p r e s s u r e s , patriarchal power over w o m e n , i n c l u d i n g w o m e n artists a n d writers, a n d material deprivation. T o g e t h e r with Alice Brown of N e w H a m p s h i r e a n d R o s e Terry C o o k of C o n n e c t i c u t — t o m e n t i o n only two othe r s — t h e s e regional writers c r e a t e d not only p l a c e s but t h e m e s that have a s s u m e d i n c r e a s i n g i m p o r t a n c e in the twentieth century. K a t e C h o p i n , not unlike M a r k T w a i n , m a y be t h o u g h t of a s a regional writer interested in preserving the c u s t o m s , l a n g u a g e , a n d l a n d s c a p e s of a region of the S o u t h . Certainly we have no better record of the a n t e b e l l u m

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lower M i s s i s s i p p i River Valley than T w a i n provided in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn a n d Life on the Mississippi, a n d C h o p i n ' s short stories a n d her novel The Awakening pick u p , a l m o s t literally, w h e r e T w a i n ' s books leave off—in the northern L o u i s i a n a countryside a n d , downriver, in N e w O r l e a n s . C h o p i n b e g a n her writing c a r e e r only after s h e returned to S t . L o u i s from her long sojourn in L o u i s i a n a , a n d in s o m e m e a s u r e her narratives are tinged with personal nostalgia for a m o r e relaxed a n d s e n s u o u s way of life than p e o p l e in A m e r i c a ' s rapidly growing cities c o u l d any longer provide. As a n urban outsider, C h o p i n w a s p e r h a p s all the m o r e sensitive to the n u a n c e s of L o u i s i a n a country life in particular. P e r h a p s , too, a s a w o m a n , a way of life that c e n t e r e d a r o u n d families a n d small c o m m u n i t i e s lent itself to her distinctive form of r e g i o n a l i s m . In any c a s e , her t r e a t m e n t of the C r e o l e s , C a j u n s , a n d b l a c k s of N e w O r l e a n s a n d N a t c h i t o c h e s ( N a k i t u s h ) Parish provide fine e x a m p l e s of the literary portrayal of a distinctive r e g i o n — o n e less severe a n d less r e p r e s s e d than the towns a n d villages portrayed by her N e w E n g l a n d sister regionalists. A n d j u s t a s T w a i n in Huck Finn offers t h e m a t i c r i c h n e s s beyond the visual a n d aural d o c u m e n t a t i o n of a t i m e , a p l a c e a n d varied society, so too d o e s C h o p i n , in The Awakening, give u s u n i q u e a c c e s s to the interior life a P r o t e s t a n t w o m a n w a k e n i n g to her o p p r e s s i o n s a n d r e p r e s s i o n s in the context of a C a t h o l i c c o m m u n i t y still m a r k e d by less c o n science-stricken O l d W o r l d a t t i t u d e s . T h a t Tlie Awakening also h a s served to crystallize m a n y w o m e n ' s i s s u e s of the turn of the c e n t u r y a n d s i n c e is testimony to the potential for regional realism to give the lie to a t t e m p t s to d e r o g a t e it as a g e n r e .

R E A L I S M AS

ARGUMENT

D u r i n g t h e s e fifty years a vast body of nonfictional p r o s e w a s devoted to the description, analysis, a n d critique of social, e c o n o m i c , a n d political institutions a n d to the unsolved social p r o b l e m s that were o n e c o n s e q u e n c e of the rapid growth a n d c h a n g e of the t i m e . W o m e n ' s rights, political c o r r u p t i o n , the d e g r a d a t i o n of the natural world, e c o n o m i c inequity, b u s i n e s s d e c e p tions, the exploitation of l a b o r — t h e s e b e c a m e the s u b j e c t s of articles a n d books by a long list of j o u r n a l i s t s , historians, social critics, a n d e c o n o m i s t s . M u c h of this writing h a d literary a m b i t i o n s , survives a s literature, a n d continues to have g e n u i n e power. C h a r l o t t e Perkins G i l m a n ' s " T h e Yellow Wallp a p e r , " for e x a m p l e , m a y have b e e n written to k e e p w o m e n from going crazy under the suffocating c o n d i t i o n s that would disallow w o m e n full equality a n d full participation in the creative, e c o n o m i c , a n d political life of the nation; but unlike m e r e p r o p a g a n d a it has resisted all a t t e m p t s to turn it into a single W e s t e r n U n i o n m e s s a g e . In fact, the m o r e it has b e e n read the m o r e m e a n i n g s it has yielded. Similarly, in o n e of the m o s t a m b i t i o u s A m e r i c a n works of moral instruction, The Education of Henry Adams ( 1 9 1 8 ) , A d a m s registers t h r o u g h a literary sensibility a s o p h i s t i c a t e d historian's s e n s e of what we now recognize a s the disorientation that a c c o m p a n i e s rapid a n d c o n t i n u o u s c h a n g e . T o p u t the c a s e for A d a m s ' s b o o k in c o n t e m p o r a r y t e r m s , A d a m s invented the idea of future s h o c k . T h e result is o n e of the m o s t essential books of a n d a b o u t the whole period. O f all the i s s u e s of the day, p e r h a p s the m o s t persistent a n d resistant to

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A M E R I C A N

L I T E R A T U R E

1 8 6 5 - 1 9 1 4

solution w a s the fact of racial inequality. S e v e r a l s e l e c t i o n s in this anthology a d d r e s s the long, s h a m e f u l history of white injustices to b l a c k A m e r i c a n s , but two works by b l a c k writers a n d l e a d e r s from the turn of the c e n t u r y have a special claim o n our attention: the widely a d m i r e d a u t o b i o g r a p h y of B o o k e r T . W a s h i n g t o n , Upfront Slavery ( 1 9 0 0 ) a n d the richly i m a g i n e d The Souls of Black Folk ( 1 9 0 3 ) by W . E . B . D u B o i s , with its brilliantly a r g u e d rejection of W a s h i n g t o n ' s philosophy. T h e W a s h i n g t o n - D u B o i s controversy set the m a j o r t e r m s of the c o n t i n u i n g d e b a t e b e t w e e n b l a c k l e a d e r s a n d in the black c o m m u n i t y : which strategies will m o s t effectively h a s t e n c o m p l e t e equality for b l a c k s educationally, socially, politically, a n d e c o n o m i c a l l y ? It is a l s o fair to say that in very different ways W a s h i n g t o n ' s Upfront Slavery a n d D u Bois's Souls of Black Folk—admirable literary a c h i e v e m e n t s in themselves-—antic i p a t e d a tide of b l a c k literary p r o d u c t i o n that c o n t i n u e s with great force to the p r e s e n t day. O n e c o u l d a l s o a r g u e that the t h o u g h t a n d l a n g u a g e of W a s h i n g t o n a n d D u B o i s a r e everywhere to b e felt in the t h o u g h t a n d lang u a g e of the d i s t i n g u i s h e d line of b l a c k thinkers, writers, a n d artists w h o followed t h e m . T w o other m a j o r writers of the time a r e W a l t W h i t m a n a n d Emily Dicki n s o n . T h e s e p o e t s , w h o s e roots are in the a n t e b e l l u m p e r i o d , c o n t i n u e d their work into the 1 8 8 0 s . T h o u g h their influence w o u l d b e felt m o s t strongly after W o r l d W a r II, in hindsight they c a n be s e e n a s the f o u n t a i n h e a d s of two m a j o r strains in m o d e r n poetry: the e x p a n s i v e , g r e g a r i o u s form of the self-celebratory W h i t m a n a n d the c o n c i s e , c o m p a c t e x p r e s s i o n s of the radically private D i c k i n s o n . In the half century we have b e e n c o n s i d e r i n g , m a t e r i a l , intellectual, social, a n d p s y c h o l o g i c a l c h a n g e s in the lives of m a n y A m e r i c a n s went forward at s u c h extreme s p e e d a n d o n s u c h a m a s s i v e s c a l e t h a t the e n o r m o u s l y diverse writing of the time registers, at its c o r e , d e g r e e s of s h o c k e d recognition o f the h u m a n c o n s e q u e n c e s of t h e s e radical t r a n s f o r m a t i o n s . S o m e t i m e s the s h o c k is e x p r e s s e d in recoil a n d d e n i a l — t h u s the p e r s i s t e n c e , in the f a c e of the o s t e n s i b l e t r i u m p h of r e a l i s m , of the literature of diversion: nostalgic poetry, s e n t i m e n t a l a n d m e l o d r a m a t i c d r a m a , a n d s w a s h b u c k l i n g historical novels. T h e m o r e e n d u r i n g fictional a n d nonfictional p r o s e f o r m s of the era, however, c o m e to t e r m s imaginatively with the individual a n d collective disl o c a t i o n s a n d d i s c o n t i n u i t i e s a s s o c i a t e d with the c l o s i n g o u t of the frontier, u r b a n i z a t i o n , intensified s e c u l a r i s m , u n p r e c e d e n t e d i m m i g r a t i o n , the s u r g e of national wealth u n e q u a l l y d i s t r i b u t e d , revised c o n c e p t i o n s of h u m a n n a t u r e a n d destiny, the reordering of family a n d civil life, a n d the pervasive s p r e a d of m e c h a n i c a l a n d organizational t e c h n o l o g i e s .

AMERICAN LITERATURE TEXTS 1855

CONTEXTS

W a l t W h i t m a n , Leaves

1860—65 E m i l y h u n d r e d poems

1865-1914

of

Grass

Dickinson writes several

1865

Thirteenth Amendment

abolishes

slavery • Lincoln a s s a s s i n a t e d • Reconstruction begins 1867

United States purchases Alaska from

Russia 1868

Fourteenth Amendment grants

African Americans citizenship

1869 Flat"

Bret Harte,

"The Outcasts of Poker

1869

National W o m a n

Suffrage

A s s o c i a t i o n f o u n d e d • first t r a n s c o n t i n e n t a l railroad completed; Central

Pacific

construction crews c o m p o s e d largely of Chinese laborers 1871

S a r a h M o r g a n Piatt, A

Woman's

Poems

1872

C o c h i s e , "[I am alone]"

1872

Y e l l o w s t o n e , first U . S . n a t i o n a l p a r k ,

established

1876 C h a r i o t , "[He has filled our bones]"

graves

with

1876

G e n e r a l C u s t e r defeated by Sioux

a n d C h e y e n n e at Little B i g h o r n River • Alexander G r a h a m Bell invents the telephone 1877

Reconstruction ends; segregationist

J i m C r o w laws instituted 1878

H e n r y J a m e s , Daisy

Miller 1879

T h o m a s Edison invents the electric

lightbulb 1880-1910

Vast immigration from

E u r o p e ; U . S . p o p u l a t i o n i n 1900 t i m e s g r e a t e r t h a n in 1880

is f o u r t e e n

1800

Constance Fenimore Woolson,

"Miss G r i e f 1881

Joel Chandler Harris, "The

Wonderful Tar-Baby Story" 1882

J. D. Rockefeller organizes Standard

Oil T r u s t • C h i n e s e Exclusion Act 1884

M a r k T w a i n ( S a m u e l L. C l e m e n s ) ,

Adventures

of Huckleberry of Silas

Finn

H o w e l l s , The

Rise

1886 S a r a h Heron"

Orne Jewett, " A

• W. D.

Lapham

White

1886

Statue of Liberty dedicated

1887

General Allotment Act (Dawes Act)

p a s s e d to redistribute tribady held land b a s e 1889

1889

Hamlin Garland, " U n d e r the Lion's

Paw"

Wovoka (Jack Wilson), a Paiute, has

vision that inspires G h o s t D a n c e religion

Boldface titles indicate works in the anthology.

1235

CONTEXTS

TEXTS 1890

1890

Ambrose Bierce, "An O c c u r r e n c e at

Owl Creek

C e n s u s Bureau declares frontier

" c l o s e d " • S e v e n t h Cavalry m a s s a c r e at

Bridge"

W o u n d e d Knee ends Native American a r m e d resistance to U . S . g o v e r n m e n t • Ellis Island Immigration Station opens 1891

M a r y E. Wilkins F r e e m a n , " A

E n g l a n d N u n " • VVovoka, " T h e Letter: Cheyenne

New

Messiah

Version"

1892

Charlotte Perkins Oilman, " T h e

Yellow

Wall-paper"

1893

Frederick Jackson Turner,

Significance 1896

of the

1896

Ghost

Plessy

segregated

Songs

1897

Stephen Crane, "The O p e n

1898

A b r a h a m C a h a n , "The

Bridegroom"

World's C o l u m b i a n Exposition held

in C h i c a g o

J a m e s Mooney publishes

Dance

1893

Tlie

Frontier

and

Other

of the

York

Ghetto

1899

K a t e C h o p i n , The Awakening

upholds

Boat" 1898

Imported

Stories

v. Ferguson

transportation

United States annexes

Hawaii

New

1898-99

Spanish-American War

•

Charles W. Chesnutt, "The Wife of His Y o u t h " • Edith Wharton, " S o u l s

Belated" 1900

U.S. population exceeds

seventy-five

million 1901

Z i t k a l a 5 a , Impressions

Childhood

of an

1901

Indian

• Theodore Dreiser, "Old

and His T h e r e s a " • J a c k L o n d o n , " T h e o f L i f e " • B o o k e r T . W a s h i n g t o n , Up

J . P. M o r g a n f o u n d s U . S . S t e e l

C o r p o r a t i o n • first t r a n s a t l a n t i c r a d i o

Rogaum Law from

Slavery 1903 Black The

W . E . B . D u B o i s , The Folk

Night

Souls

\90i

of

Chant:

A Navajo

Henry Ford founds Ford Motor C o .

• Wright brothers make the

• Washington M a t t h e w s edits

a i r p l a n e f l i g h t • Tlie

Ceremony

first

Great

first

Train

successful Robbery

is

U . S . cinematic narrative

1905

Industrial W o r k e r s of the World

founded 1907

J o h n M. Oskison, "The Problem of

O l d H a r j o " • H e n r y A d a m s , Tlie of Henry

Education

Adams 1909

N a t i o n a l A s s o c i a t i o n for t h e

A d v a n c e m e n t of C o l o r e d People founded 1910 Songs

Frances Densmore, • Sui Sin Far, " M r s .

Chippewa Spring

Fragrance" 1914 1916

Charles Alexander

( O h i y e s a ) , From

the Deep

Eastman Woods

to

Civilization

1236

Panama Canal

open

(NAACP)

1237

MARK TWAIN ( S A M U E L L. 1835-1910

CLEMENS)

S a m u e l L a n g h o r n e C l e m e n s , t h e third of five c h i l d r e n , w a s b o r n o n N o v e m b e r 3 0 , 1 8 3 5 , in the village of F l o r i d a , M i s s o u r i , a n d grew u p in the s o m e w h a t larger river town of H a n n i b a l , that m i x t u r e of idyll a n d n i g h t m a r e he c a l l e d S t . P e t e r s b u r g , in a n d a r o u n d w h i c h his two m o s t f a m o u s c h a r a c t e r s , T o m S a w y e r a n d H u c k F i n n , live out their adventure-filled, s e e m i n g l y e n d l e s s s u m m e r s . C l e m e n s ' s father, an a m b i t i o u s a n d r e s p e c t e d b u t u n s u c c e s s f u l c o u n t r y lawyer a n d s t o r e k e e p e r , died w h e n C l e m e n s w a s twelve, a n d from that t i m e o n C l e m e n s w o r k e d to s u p p o r t h i m s e l f a n d the rest of the family. C l e m e n s w a s a p p r e n t i c e d to a p r i n t e r after his father's d e a t h ; a n d in 1 8 5 1 , w h e n his b r o t h e r O r i o n b e c a m e a p u b l i s h e r in H a n n i b a l , C l e m e n s w e n t to work for h i m . In 1 8 5 3 he b e g a n a three-year p e r i o d of travel, w h i c h t o o k h i m to S t . L o u i s , N e w York, P h i l a d e l p h i a , K e o k u k ( I o w a ) , a n d C i n c i n n a t i , in e a c h of w h i c h h e e a r n e d his living a s a p r i n t e r hired by the day. In 1 8 5 6 he set o u t by s t e a m b o a t for N e w O r l e a n s , i n t e n d i n g to g o to t h e A m a z o n ; t h e s c h e m e fell t h r o u g h , a n d i n s t e a d he a p p r e n t i c e d h i m s e l f to H o r a c e Bixby, a M i s s i s s i p p i riverboat pilot. After t r a i n i n g for e i g h t e e n m o n t h s , C l e m e n s satisfied a b o y h o o d a m b i t i o n w h e n he b e c a m e a pilot himself, p r a c ticing this lucrative a n d p r e s t i g i o u s t r a d e until t h e Civil W a r virtually e n d e d c o m m e r c i a l river traffic in 1 8 6 1 . D u r i n g this p e r i o d he b e g a n to write h u m o r o u s a c c o u n t s Saturday Post; t h o u g h only t h r e e of t h e s e a r t i c l e s w e r e of his activities for the Keokuk p u b l i s h e d ( u n d e r the p s e u d o n y m T h o m a s J e f f e r s o n S n o d g r a s s ) , they e s t a b l i s h e d t h e p a t t e r n of p e r i p a t e t i c j o u r n a l i s m — t h e p a t t e r n for m u c h of his next ten y e a r s . After brief service in a n u n o r g a n i z e d C o n f e d e r a t e militia ( M i s s o u r i w a s a s t a t e in w h i c h slavery w a s legal b u t that did not a c t u a l l y j o i n t h e C o n f e d e r a c y ) , C l e m e n s m a d e the first of t h e trips that w o u l d take h i m farther w e s t a n d toward his u l t i m a t e c a r e e r s a s h u m o r i s t , lecturer, j o u r n a l i s t , a n d a u t h o r . In 1 8 6 1 , he a c c o m p a n i e d O r i o n to t h e N e v a d a Territory, to w h i c h t h e latter h a d b e e n a p p o i n t e d s e c r e t a r y (chief r e c o r d k e e p e r for the territorial g o v e r n m e n t ) by P r e s i d e n t L i n c o l n . In Roughing It, written a d e c a d e later, C l e m e n s told of t h e b r o t h e r s ' a d v e n t u r e s o n t h e way to C a r s o n C i t y a n d of t h e v a r i o u s u n s u c c e s s f u l s c h e m e s t h a t , o n c e t h e r e , S a m devised for g e t t i n g rich q u i c k o n t i m b e r a n d silver. S o o n C l e m e n s w a s o n c e a g a i n writing for n e w s p a p e r s , first for t h e Territorial Enterprise in Virginia C i t y a n d t h e n , after 1 8 6 4 , for t h e Califomian. T h e f a s h i o n of t h e t i m e c a l l e d for a p e n n a m e , a n d C l e m e n s u s e d " M a r k T w a i n , " a t e r m from his p i l o t i n g days signifying " t w o f a t h o m s d e e p " or " s a f e w a t e r . " T w a i n ' s early writing w a s largely imitative of t h e h u m o r o u s j o u r n a l i s m of the t i m e a n d is i m p o r t a n t chiefly a s a n a p p r e n t i c e s h i p . N o less i m p o r tant t h a n his j o u r n a l i s t i c writing d u r i n g t h e s e y e a r s w e r e t h r e e f r i e n d s h i p s with t h e writer B r e t H a r t e , t h e f a m o u s p r o f e s s i o n a l l e c t u r e r A r t e m u s W a r d , a n d the o b s c u r e a m a t e u r r a c o n t e u r J i m Gillis. T w a i n o w e d his earliest n a t i o n a l a u d i e n c e a n d critical r e c o g n i t i o n to his p e r f o r m a n c e s a s l e c t u r e r a n d to his skillful retelling of a wellknown tall tale, " T h e N o t o r i o u s J u m p i n g F r o g of C a l a v e r a s C o u n t y , " first p u b l i s h e d in 1 8 6 5 . Union to write a s e r i e s of In this s a m e year T w a i n s i g n e d with the Sacramento letters c o v e r i n g t h e newly o p e n e d s t e a m b o a t p a s s e n g e r s e r v i c e b e t w e e n S a n F r a n c i s c o a n d H o n o l u l u . T h e s e letters u s e d a fictitious c h a r a c t e r , M r . B r o w n , to p r e s e n t inele g a n t i d e a s , a t t i t u d e s , a n d i n f o r m a t i o n , s o m e t i m e s in i m p o l i t e l a n g u a g e . In this s e r i e s , T w a i n d i s c o v e r e d that he c o u l d say a l m o s t a n y t h i n g he w a n t e d , p r o v i d e d he c o u l d c o n v i n c i n g l y c l a i m that he w a s s i m p l y r e p o r t i n g w h a t o t h e r s s a i d a n d did. T h e refinem e n t of this t e c h n i q u e — a written e q u i v a l e n t of " d e a d p a n " l e c t u r i n g — w h i c h a l l o w e d his fantasy a long l e a s h a n d yet r e q u i r e d h i m to a n c h o r it in t h e c i r c u m s t a n t i a l d e t a i l s of t i m e a n d p l a c e , w a s to b e T w a i n ' s m a j o r t e c h n i c a l a c c o m p l i s h m e n t of the next two d e c a d e s , t h e p e r i o d of his b e s t work. T h e first b o o k of this p e r i o d , a n d still o n e of

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MARK

TWAIN

T w a i n ' s m o s t p o p u l a r , w a s Innocents

Abroad

letters that T w a i n wrote for the Alta

California

1 8 6 7 e x c u r s i o n on the Quaker

to t h e M e d i t e r r a n e a n a n d the H o l y L a n d . T h e

City

( 1 8 6 9 ) . It c o n s i s t s of a revised form of a n d the New York

Tribune

d u r i n g his

letters were e n o r m o u s l y p o p u l a r , not only b e c a u s e they w e r e e x u b e r a n t l y f u n n y b u t a l s o b e c a u s e t h e s a t i r e they leveled a g a i n s t a p r e t e n t i o u s , d e c a d e n t , a n d u n d e m o c r a t i c O l d W o r l d w a s e s p e c i a l l y r e l i s h e d by a y o u n g c o u n t r y a b o u t to e n t e r a p e r i o d of explosive e c o n o m i c g r o w t h , political c o n s o l i d a t i o n , a n d , by t h e turn o f the c e n t u r y , imperialist expansion. It w o u l d b e h a r d to e x a g g e r a t e how d e e p the rich m a t e r i a l of T w a i n ' s M i s s i s s i p p i b o y h o o d ran in his m e m o r y a n d i m a g i n a t i o n . T o get to it, T w a i n h a d , in effect, to w o r k c h r o n o l o g i c a l l y b a c k w a r d a n d p s y c h i c a l l y i n w a r d . H e m a d e a t e n t a t i v e p r o b e of this m a t e r i a l a s early a s 1 8 7 0 in a n early version of The Adventures c a l l e d A Boy's the Mississippi

Manuscript.

of Tom

Sawyer

B u t it w a s not until 1 8 7 5 , w h e n h e w r o t e Old Times

in s e v e n i n s t a l l m e n t s of the Atlantic

Monthly

on

(edited by his lifelong

friend W . D . H o w e l l s ) , that T w a i n arrived at the p l a c e his d e e p e s t i m a g i n a t i o n c a l l e d h o m e . In this work, a n a c c o u n t of T w a i n ' s a p p r e n t i c e s h i p to t h e pilot H o r a c e Bixby, he e v o k e s not only " t h e g r e a t M i s s i s s i p p i , the m a j e s t i c , t h e m a g n i f i c e n t M i s s i s s i p p i , rolling its m i l e - w i d e tide a l o n g , s h i n i n g in t h e s u n " b u t a l s o his m o s t i n t i m a t e ties to t h e life o n its s u r f a c e a n d s h o r e s . T h e s e s k e t c h e s w e r e later i n c o r p o r a t e d into Life the Mississippi

on

( 1 8 8 3 ) , written after T w a i n t o o k a m o n t h - l o n g s t e a m b o a t trip o n t h e

M i s s i s s i p p i , s t o p p i n g a l o n g t h e way to visit H a n n i b a l . T h e a d d e d m a t e r i a l — p a r t history, part m e m o i r , part t r a v e l o g u e — o f f e r s , a m o n g o t h e r t h i n g s , a s c a t h i n g c r i t i q u e of the s o u t h e r n r o m a n t i c i s m T w a i n b e l i e v e d h a d m a d e t h e Civil W a r i n e v i t a b l e . In writing " O l d T i m e s " T w a i n h a d r e t u r n e d i m a g i n a t i v e l y to the H a n n i b a l of his y o u t h ; b u t b e f o r e h e c o u l d realize the d e e p e s t p o t e n t i a l of this m a t e r i a l h e w o u l d have to put a s i d e the p s y c h o l o g i c a l i n h i b i t i o n s that his newly a c q u i r e d s o c i a l r e s p e c t ability (after his m a r r i a g e to Olivia L a n g d o n in 1 8 7 0 ) a n d his i n c r e a s i n g f a s c i n a t i o n with g r e a t w e a l t h m a y h a v e h e l p e d to c r e a t e . T h i s h e w a s a b l e to d o in p a r t in t h e p e r e n n i a l l y p o p u l a r The Adventures

of Tom Sawyer

( 1 8 7 6 ) , in w h i c h different a s p e c t s

of T w a i n the m a n a r e divided b e t w e e n its two m o s t m e m o r a b l e c h a r a c t e r s — t h e e n t r e p r e n e u r i a l T o m a n d his s o m e w h a t d i s r e p u t a b l e friend H u c k F i n n . In this n a r r a t i v e , T w a i n c r e a t e s a c o m p e l l i n g myth of the e n d l e s s s u m m e r of c h i l d h o o d p l e a s u r e s m i n gled with t h e v i o l e n c e , terror, a n d d e a t h that lurk at the e d g e s of the village. Its p u b l i c a t i o n e s t a b l i s h e d T w a i n a s a p o p u l a r writer of T w a i n b e g a n Adventures

of Huckleberry

Finn

fiction.

in 1 8 7 6 a n d , after several s t o p s a n d

s t a r t s , c o m p l e t e d it in 1 8 8 3 . In r e c e n t y e a r s the racial ( a n d r a c i s t ) i m p l i c a t i o n s of every a s p e c t of the novel h a v e b e c o m e s u b j e c t s of critical d e b a t e , a s h a v e q u e s t i o n s a b o u t the racial beliefs of its a u t h o r . S i m i l a r q u e s t i o n s h a v e b e e n r a i s e d a b o u t g e n d e r a n d sexuality in the life a n d work of T w a i n . In any event, Huck

Finn

has enjoyed

e x t r a o r d i n a r y p o p u l a r i t y s i n c e its p u b l i c a t i o n m o r e t h a n o n e h u n d r e d y e a r s a g o . Its u n p r e t e n t i o u s , c o l l o q u i a l , yet p o e t i c style, its w i d e - r a n g i n g h u m o r , its e m b o d i m e n t of the e n d u r i n g a n d widely s h a r e d d r e a m of i n n o c e n c e a n d f r e e d o m , a n d its r e c o r d i n g of a v a n i s h e d way of life in the pre—Civil W a r M i s s i s s i p p i Valley h a v e i n s t r u c t e d a n d m o v e d p e o p l e of all a g e s a n d c o n d i t i o n s all over the world. (It s o l d fifty-one t h o u s a n d c o p i e s in its first f o u r t e e n m o n t h s c o m p a r e d to Tom Sawyer's

twenty-five t h o u s a n d

in the s a m e p e r i o d ) . T h o u g h T w a i n m a d e a n u m b e r of a t t e m p t s to r e t u r n to the c h a r a c t e r s , t h e m e s , s e t t i n g s , a n d p o i n t s of view of T o m a n d H u c k , " O l d T i m e s , " Tom Sawyer, Finn

w o u l d live to write s u c c e s s f u l — e v e n m e m o r a b l e — b o o k s , A Connecticut King

and

Huck

h a d for t h e t i m e b e i n g e x h a u s t e d the rich t h e m e s of river a n d b o y h o o d . T w a i n Arthur's

Court

t h e m . L i k e Huck

( 1 8 8 9 ) a n d The

Finn,

Tragedy

of Pudd'nhead

Wilson

Yankee (1894)

in

among

t h e s e two w o r k s h a v e b e e n t h e s u b j e c t of fresh i n t e r r o g a t i o n

with r e s p e c t to i s s u e s of r a c e , c l a s s , a n d g e n d e r e m b e d d e d in their n a r r a t i v e s . T h e f o r m e r work, a m e l a n g e of g e n r e s , but p e r h a p s m o s t c o n v e n i e n t l y d e s c r i b e d a s a satirical f a n t a s y , tells the story of a l a t e - n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y m a s t e r m e c h a n i c , H a n k

MARK

TWAIN

/

1239

M o r g a n , w h o is t r a n s p o r t e d b a c k in t i m e to sixth-century E n g l a n d , w h e r e he tries to " i n t r o d u c e , " in T w a i n ' s w o r d s , the " g r e a t a n d b e n e f i c e n t civilization of t h e n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r y " into the chivalric but d e c i d e d l y u n d e m o c r a t i c world of C a m e l o t . T h e ironic u s e of "great a n d b e n e f i c e n t " to c h a r a c t e r i z e a t i m e a n d p l a c e d u b b e d " T h e G i l d e d A g e " by T w a i n s u g g e s t s that t h e l a n c e he a i m e d at K i n g A r t h u r h a d not o n e but two sharp ends. Pudd'nhead Wilson, set in the 1 8 3 0 s , c e n t e r s on the s w i t c h i n g of two b a b i e s born on the s a m e d a y — o n e t h e result of m i s c e g e n a t i o n , the other the l e g i t i m a t e s o n of a white slave owner. Even m o r e than in Connecticut Yankee, a d e t e r m i n i s m that d e n i e s individuals the c a p a c i t y to o v e r c o m e their e n v i r o n m e n t a l c o n d i t i o n i n g m a k e s itself felt. T h e b o o k reveals the d i s a s t r o u s effects of slavery on v i c t i m s a n d victimizers a l i k e — t h e u n e a r n e d pride of whites a n d the u n d e s e r v e d s e l f - h a t e of s l a v e s . T h e way in which T w a i n portrays t h e t w i n n i n g of law a n d c u s t o m in s u s t a i n i n g t h e institution of slavery (like o t h e r a s p e c t s of this b o o k full of d o u b l i n g s ) i n d i c a t e s T w a i n ' s d e s p a i r over the p r o s p e c t s for true racial equality, a d e s p a i r s u p p o r t e d by t h e terrible facts of J i m C r o w laws a n d the e s c a l a t i o n of l y n c h i n g s in the p o s t - R e c o n s t r u c t i o n p e r i o d in which t h e novel w a s c o n c e i v e d a n d p u b l i s h e d . Visible b e n e a t h t h e tragic ironies a n d droll m a x i m s at the h e a d of e a c h c h a p t e r is T w a i n ' s c o n t e m p t for w h a t he w o u l d s o o n regularly refer to a s t h e " d a m n e d h u m a n r a c e . " In the d e c a d e after Pudd'nhead w a s p u b l i s h e d , T w a i n e x p e r i e n c e d a s e r i e s of c a l a m itous e v e n t s . S u d d e n l y , his h e a l t h w a s b r o k e n ; his s p e c u l a t i v e i n v e s t m e n t s in s u c h e n t e r p r i s e s a s t h e P a i g e t y p e s e t t i n g m a c h i n e b a n k r u p t e d h i m in t h e p a n i c of 1 8 9 3 ; his y o u n g e s t d a u g h t e r , J e a n , w a s d i a g n o s e d a s an e p i l e p t i c ; his o l d e s t d a u g h t e r , S u s y , d i e d of m e n i n g i t i s while he a n d his wife, Livy, w e r e in E u r o p e ; a n d Livy b e g a n her d e c l i n e into p e r m a n e n t i n v a l i d i s m . T w a i n ' s grief for a time t h r e a t e n e d his own sanity. F o r several y e a r s writing b e c a m e b o t h a g o n i z e d labor a n d n e c e s s a r y t h e r a p y . T h e r e s u l t s of t h e s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s w e r e a dull book, Following the Equator ( 1 8 9 7 ) , which r e c o r d s T w a i n ' s r o u n d - t h e - w o r l d l e c t u r e t o u r u n d e r t a k e n to pay off d e b t s ; a s a r d o n ically p r e a c h y story, " T h e M a n T h a t C o r r u p t e d H a d l e y b u r g " ( 1 9 0 0 ) ; an e m b i t t e r e d treatise on h u m a n i t y ' s foibles, follies, a n d venality, " W h a t Is M a n ? " ( 1 9 0 6 ) ; a n d the bleakly d e s p a i r i n g The Mysterious Stranger, first p u b l i s h e d in an a b r i d g e d version by Albert B i g e l o w P a i n e in 1 9 1 6 . S c h o l a r s c o n t i n u e to s t u d y t h e large bulk of T w a i n ' s unfinished ( a n d , until recently, u n p u b l i s h e d ) work, a n d s u c h revisionist critics a s C a r l D o l m e t s c h h a v e c a l l e d for a r e c o n s i d e r a t i o n of T w a i n ' s creativity a n d writing in the d e c a d e after 1 8 9 5 . D e s p i t e t h e s e p e r s o n a l s e t b a c k s , T w a i n in his last years b e c a m e a revered p u b l i c institution; his o p i n i o n s w e r e s o u g h t by the p r e s s o n every s u b j e c t of g e n e r a l interest. T h o u g h his views on m a n y of t h e s e s u b j e c t s — p o l i t i c a l , military, a n d s o c i a l — w e r e often a c e r b i c , it w a s only to his b e s t f r i e n d s — w h o u n d e r s t o o d the c o m p l e x roots of his d e s p a i r a n d a n g e r at t h e h u m a n r a c e in g e n e r a l — t h a t he c o n f e s s e d the d e p t h of his d i s i l l u s i o n m e n t . M u c h of this b i t t e r n e s s n o n e t h e l e s s i n f o r m s s u c h p u b l i s h e d works a s " T o a P e r s o n S i t t i n g in D a r k n e s s " ( 1 9 0 1 ) , " T h e U n i t e d S t a t e s of L y n c h e r d o m " ( 1 9 0 1 ) , a n d " K i n g L e o p o l d ' s S o l i l o q u y " ( 1 9 0 5 ) a s well a s m a n y o t h e r writings u n p u b l i s h e d in his lifetime. Early a n d late T w a i n m a i n t a i n e d his m a g i c a l p o w e r with l a n g u a g e . W h a t he s a i d of o n e of his c h a r a c t e r s is a large part of his p e r m a n e n t a p p e a l : " H e c o u l d curl his t o n g u e a r o u n d the bulliest w o r d s in the l a n g u a g e w h e n he w a s a m i n d to, a n d lay t h e m b e f o r e you without a j i n t s t a r t e d , a n y w h e r e s . " H i s love of l a n g u a g e i n f o r m s his hilarious a t t a c k on the n o v e l s of J a m e s F e n i m o r e C o o p e r in " F e n i m o r e C o o p e r ' s Literary O f f e n c e s " (printed h e r e ) . As his friend H o w e l l s o b s e r v e d , he w a s unlike any of his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s in A m e r i c a n letters: " E m e r s o n , L o n g f e l l o w , Lowell, H o l m e s — I k n e w t h e m all a n d all the rest of o u r s a g e s , p o e t s , s e e r s , critics, h u m o r i s t s ; they w e r e like o n e a n o t h e r a n d like o t h e r literary m e n ; but T w a i n w a s s o l e , i n c o m p a r a b l e , t h e L i n c o l n of our l i t e r a t u r e . " T h e editor is i n d e b t e d to F r e d e r i c k A n d e r s o n , late editor of the M a r k T w a i n P a p e r s

1240

/

M A R K

TWAIN

at t h e B a n c r o f t Library, University of C a l i f o r n i a at Berkeley, for textual a d v i c e a n d g e n e r a l c o u n s e l in p r e p a r i n g the T w a i n m a t e r i a l s .

The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County 1 In c o m p l i a n c e with the r e q u e s t of a friend of m i n e , w h o wrote m e from the E a s t , I called on g o o d - n a t u r e d , g a r r u l o u s old S i m o n W h e e l e r , a n d inquired after my friend's friend, L e o n i d a s W . S m i l e y , a s r e q u e s t e d to d o , a n d I h e r e u n t o a p p e n d the result. I have a lurking s u s p i c i o n that Leonidas W. Smiley is a m y t h ; that my friend never k n e w s u c h a p e r s o n a g e ; a n d that h e only c o n j e c t u r e d that if I a s k e d old W h e e l e r a b o u t him, it w o u l d remind him of his i n f a m o u s Jim S m i l e y , a n d he w o u l d g o to work a n d b o r e m e to d e a t h with s o m e e x a s p e r a t i n g r e m i n i s c e n c e of him a s l o n g a n d a s t e d i o u s a s it s h o u l d be u s e l e s s to m e . If that w a s the d e s i g n , it s u c c e e d e d . I f o u n d S i m o n W h e e l e r dozing c o m f o r t a b l y by the b a r r o o m stove of the dilapidated tavern in the d e c a y e d m i n i n g c a m p of Angel's, a n d I noticed that he was fat a n d b a l d - h e a d e d , a n d h a d a n e x p r e s s i o n of w i n n i n g g e n t l e n e s s a n d simplicity u p o n his tranquil c o u n t e n a n c e . H e r o u s e d u p , a n d gave m e good-day. I told him a friend of m i n e h a d c o m m i s s i o n e d m e to m a k e s o m e inquiries a b o u t a c h e r i s h e d c o m p a n i o n of his b o y h o o d n a m e d Leonidas W. Smiley—Rev. Leonidas W. S m i l e y , a y o u n g minister of the G o s p e l , w h o he h a d h e a r d w a s at o n e time a resident of Angel's C a m p . I a d d e d that if Mr. W h e e l e r c o u l d tell m e anything a b o u t this Rev. L e o n i d a s W . Smiley, I would feel u n d e r m a n y obligations to h i m . S i m o n W h e e l e r b a c k e d m e into a c o r n e r a n d b l o c k a d e d m e there with his chair, a n d then sat d o w n a n d reeled off the m o n o t o n o u s narrative w h i c h follows this p a r a g r a p h . H e never s m i l e d , he never frowned, h e never c h a n g e d his voice from the gentle-flowing key to w h i c h h e t u n e d his initial s e n t e n c e , he never betrayed the slightest s u s p i c i o n of e n t h u s i a s m ; b u t all t h r o u g h the i n t e r m i n a b l e narrative there ran a vein of impressive e a r n e s t n e s s a n d sincerity, w h i c h s h o w e d m e plainly that, s o far from his i m a g i n i n g that there w a s anything ridiculous or funny a b o u t his story, he r e g a r d e d it a s a really i m p o r t a n t matter, a n d a d m i r e d its two h e r o e s a s m e n of t r a n s c e n d e n t g e n i u s in finesse. I let him go on in his own way, a n d never interrupted him o n c e . Rev. L e o n i d a s W . H ' m , R e v e r e n d L e — w e l l , there w a s a feller here o n c e by the n a m e of Jim S m i l e y , in the winter of ' 4 9 — o r m a y be it w a s the s p r i n g of ' 5 0 — I don't recollect exactly, s o m e h o w , t h o u g h what m a k e s m e think it w a s o n e or the other is b e c a u s e I r e m e m b e r the big f l u m e warn't finished w h e n he first c o m e to the c a m p ; b u t any way, h e w a s the c u r i o s e s t m a n a b o u t always b e t t i n g o n anything that t u r n e d u p you ever s e e , if h e c o u l d get anybody to bet o n the other s i d e ; a n d if h e c o u l d n ' t he'd c h a n g e s i d e s . Any way that s u i t e d the other m a n would suit him—any way j u s t so's h e got a bet, he w a s satisfied. B u t still he w a s lucky, u n c o m m o n lucky; he m o s t always c o m e o u t winner. H e w a s always ready a n d laying for a c h a n c e ; there couldn't b e 1. T h e s t o r y first a p p e a r e d i n t h e New York Saturday Press f o r N o v e m b e r 1 8 , 1 8 6 5 , a n d w a s s u b sequently revised several times. T h e s o u r c e of the t e x t is t h e v e r s i o n p u b l i s h e d i n Mark Twain's

Sketches, instructs nounced

New and Old ( 1 8 7 5 ) . I n a n o t e , T w a i n h i s r e a d e r s t h a t " C a l a v e r a s " is p r o Cal-e-va'-ras,

T H E

N O T O R I O U S

J U M P I N G

F R O G

OF

C A L A V E R A S

C O U N T Y

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n o solit'ry thing m e n t i o n e d b u t that feller'd offer to bet o n it, a n d take ary side you p l e a s e , a s I w a s j u s t telling you. If there was a h o r s e - r a c e , you'd find him flush or you'd find him b u s t e d at the end of it; if t h e r e w a s a dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there w a s a cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there w a s a chickenfight, he'd bet o n it; why, if there w a s two birds setting o n a f e n c e , he would bet you which o n e would fly first; or if there w a s a c a m p - m e e t i n g , he would b e there reg'lar to bet on P a r s o n Walker, which he j u d g e d to b e the b e s t exhorter a b o u t h e r e , a n d s o he w a s too, a n d a good m a n . If h e even s e e a s t r a d d l e - b u g start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get t o — t o wherever h e w a s going to, a n d if you took him u p , h e w o u l d foller that s t r a d d l e - b u g to M e x i c o b u t what h e would find out w h e r e he w a s b o u n d for a n d how long he w a s on the road. L o t s of the boys here h a s s e e n that Smiley, a n d c a n tell you a b o u t h i m . Why, it never m a d e n o difference to him—he'd bet o n any t h i n g — t h e d a n g d e s t feller. P a r s o n Walker's wife laid very sick o n c e , for a g o o d while, a n d it s e e m e d as if they warn't g o i n g to save her; but o n e m o r n i n g he c o m e in, a n d Smiley u p a n d a s k e d h i m h o w s h e w a s , a n d he said s h e w a s c o n s i d a b l e b e t t e r — t h a n k the L o r d for his inf'nite m e r c y — a n d c o m i n g on s o s m a r t that with the b l e s s i n g of P r o v ' d e n c e she'd get well yet; a n d S m i l e y , before he thought says, "Well, I'll resk twoand-a-half s h e don't anyway." Thish-yer S m i l e y h a d a m a r e — t h e boys called her the fifteen-minute n a g , but that w a s only in fun, you know, b e c a u s e of c o u r s e s h e w a s faster t h a n t h a t — a n d he u s e d to win m o n e y on that h o r s e , for all s h e w a s so slow a n d always h a d the a s t h m a , or the d i s t e m p e r , or the c o n s u m p t i o n , or s o m e t h i n g of that kind. T h e y u s e d to give her two or three h u n d r e d yards start, a n d then p a s s her u n d e r way; but always at the fag e n d of the r a c e she'd get excited a n d desperate-like, a n d c o m e cavorting a n d straddling u p , a n d scattering her legs a r o u n d limber, s o m e t i m e s in the air, a n d s o m e t i m e s out to o n e side a m o n g the f e n c e s , a n d kicking up m-o-r-e d u s t a n d raising m-o-r-e racket with her c o u g h i n g a n d s n e e z i n g a n d blowing her n o s e — a n d always fetch u p at the s t a n d j u s t a b o u t a n e c k a h e a d , as near a s you c o u l d c i p h e r it down. A n d he h a d a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you'd think he warn't worth a c e n t but to set a r o u n d a n d look ornery a n d lay for a c h a n c e to steal s o m e t h i n g . B u t a s s o o n a s m o n e y w a s u p on him h e w a s a different d o g ; his under-jaw'd begin to stick out like the fo'castle of a s t e a m b o a t , a n d his teeth would uncover a n d shine like the f u r n a c e s . A n d a d o g might tackle him a n d bully-rag him, a n d bite h i m , a n d throw him over his s h o u l d e r two or t h r e e t i m e s , a n d A n d r e w J a c k s o n — w h i c h w a s the n a m e of the p u p — A n d r e w J a c k son would never let on b u t what he w a s satisfied, a n d hadn't e x p e c t e d nothing e l s e — a n d the bets b e i n g d o u b l e d a n d d o u b l e d on the other side all the t i m e , till the m o n e y w a s all u p ; a n d then all of a s u d d e n he would grab that other dog j e s t by the j'int of his hind leg a n d freeze to i t — n o t c h a w , you unders t a n d , but only j u s t grip a n d h a n g on till they throwed u p the s p o n g e , if it w a s a year. Smiley always c o m e out winner on that p u p , till he h a r n e s s e d a d o g o n c e that didn't have no hind legs, b e c a u s e they'd b e e n s a w e d off in a circular saw, a n d w h e n the thing h a d g o n e a l o n g far e n o u g h , a n d the m o n e y w a s all u p , a n d he c o m e to m a k e a s n a t c h for his pet holt, h e s e e in a m i n u t e how he's b e e n i m p o s e d o n , a n d how the other d o g h a d him in the door, s o to s p e a k , a n d h e 'peared surprised, a n d then he looked sorter d i s c o u r a g e d -

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like, a n d didn't try no m o r e to win the fight, a n d so he got s h u c k e d out b a d . H e give Smiley a look, a s m u c h as to say his heart w a s b r o k e , a n d it w a s his fault, for p u t t i n g up a d o g that hadn't no hind legs for him to take holt of, which w a s his m a i n d e p e n d e n c e in a fight, a n d then he l i m p e d off a p i e c e a n d laid down a n d died. It w a s a g o o d p u p , w a s that A n d r e w J a c k s o n , a n d would have m a d e a n a m e for hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff w a s in him a n d he h a d g e n i u s — I know it, b e c a u s e h e hadn't n o o p p o r t u n i t i e s to s p e a k of, a n d it don't s t a n d to r e a s o n that a d o g c o u l d m a k e s u c h a fight a s he c o u l d u n d e r t h e m c i r c u m s t a n c e s if he hadn't no talent. It always m a k e s m e feel sorry w h e n I think of that last fight of his'n, a n d the way it turned out. Well, thish-yer S m i l e y h a d rat-tarriers, a n d c h i c k e n c o c k s , a n d t o m c a t s a n d all t h e m kind of things, till you couldn't rest, a n d you c o u l d n ' t fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd m a t c h you. H e k e t c h e d a frog o n e day, a n d took him h o m e , a n d said he cal'lated to e d u c a t e h i m ; a n d so he never d o n e nothing for three m o n t h s b u t set in his b a c k y a r d a n d learn that frog to j u m p . A n d you bet you he did learn him, too. H e ' d give h i m a little p u n c h b e h i n d , a n d the next m i n u t e you'd s e e that frog whirling in the air like a d o u g h n u t — s e e him turn o n e s u m m e r s e t , or m a y be a c o u p l e , if he got a g o o d start, a n d c o m e d o w n flat-footed a n d all right, like a c a t . H e got him u p so in the m a t t e r of ketching flies, a n d kep' him in practice so c o n s t a n t , that he'd nail a fly every time as fur a s he c o u l d see h i m . Smiley said all a frog w a n t e d w a s e d u c a t i o n , a n d he c o u l d do 'most a n y t h i n g — a n d I believe h i m . Why, I've s e e n him set Dan'l W e b s t e r down here on this f l o o r — D a n ' l W e b s t e r w a s the n a m e of the f r o g — a n d sing out, " F l i e s , Dan'l, flies!" a n d quicker'n you c o u l d wink he'd spring straight u p a n d s n a k e a fly off'n the c o u n t e r there, a n d flop d o w n on the floor ag'in a s solid as a gob of m u d , a n d fall to s c r a t c h i n g the side of his h e a d with his hind foot a s indifferent a s if he hadn't no idea he'd b e e n d o i n ' any more'n any frog might d o . You never s e e a frog s o m o d e s t a n d straightfor'ard a s he w a s , for all he w a s so gifted. A n d w h e n it c o m e to fair a n d s q u a r e j u m p i n g o n a d e a d level, he c o u l d get over m o r e g r o u n d at o n e straddle than any a n i m a l of his b r e e d you ever s e e . J u m p i n g on a d e a d level w a s his s t r o n g suit, you u n d e r s t a n d ; a n d w h e n it c o m e to that, Smiley would a n t e u p m o n e y o n him as long as he h a d a red. Smiley w a s m o n s t r o u s p r o u d of his frog, a n d well he might b e , for fellers that h a d traveled a n d b e e n everywheres all said he laid over any frog that ever they s e e . Well, Smiley kep' the b e a s t in a little lattice box, a n d h e u s e d to fetch him down town s o m e t i m e s a n d lay for a b e t . O n e day a f e l l e r — a stranger in the c a m p , he w a s — c o m e a c r o s t him with his box, a n d s a y s : " W h a t might it be that you've got in the b o x ? " A n d Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, "It might b e a parrot, or it might b e a canary, m a y b e , but it ain't—it's only j u s t a frog." A n d the feller took it, a n d looked at it careful, a n d t u r n e d it r o u n d this way a n d that, a n d says, " H ' m — s o 'tis. Well, what's he g o o d f o r ? " " W e l l , " S m i l e y says, easy a n d c a r e l e s s , "he's g o o d e n o u g h for one thing, I s h o u l d j u d g e — h e c a n o u t j u m p any frog in C a l a v e r a s c o u n t y . " T h e feller took the box a g a i n , a n d took a n o t h e r long, p a r t i c u l a r look, a n d give it b a c k to Smiley, a n d says, very d e l i b e r a t e , " W e l l , " h e says, "I don't s e e no p'ints a b o u t that frog that's any better'n any other frog." " M a y b e you d o n ' t , " S m i l e y says. " M a y b e you u n d e r s t a n d frogs a n d m a y b e

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you don't u n d e r s t a n d 'em; m a y b e you've h a d e x p e r i e n c e , a n d m a y b e you ain't only an a m a t u r e , a s it w e r e . Anyways, I've got my opinion a n d I'll resk forty dollars that h e c a n o u t j u m p any frog in C a l a v e r a s c o u n t y . " A n d the feller s t u d i e d a m i n u t e , a n d then says, kinder s a d like, "Well, I'm only a stranger h e r e , a n d I ain't got no frog; but if I h a d a frog, I'd bet y o u . " A n d then Smiley says, " T h a t ' s all right—that's all right—if you'll hold my box a m i n u t e , I'll go a n d get you a frog." And s o the feller took the box, a n d put up his forty dollars a l o n g with Smiley's, a n d set d o w n to wait. S o he set there a g o o d while thinking a n d thinking to hisself, a n d then he got the frog out a n d prized his m o u t h o p e n a n d took a t e a s p o o n a n d filled him full of quail shot—filled him pretty near up to his c h i n — a n d set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the s w a m p a n d s l o p p e d a r o u n d in the m u d for a long time, a n d finally h e k e t c h e d a frog, a n d fetched him in, a n d give him to this feller, a n d says: " N o w , if you're ready, set him a l o n g s i d e of Dan'l, with his forepaws j u s t even with DanT's, a n d I'll give the w o r d . " T h e n he says, " O n e — t w o — t h r e e git.'" a n d him a n d the feller t o u c h e d u p the frogs from b e h i n d , a n d the new frog h o p p e d off lively, but Dan'l give a h e a v e , a n d hysted u p his s h o u l d e r s — s o — l i k e a F r e n c h m a n , b u t it warn't no u s e — h e couldn't b u d g e ; he w a s p l a n t e d a s solid a s a c h u r c h , a n d he couldn't no m o r e stir than if he w a s a n c h o r e d out. Smiley w a s a g o o d deal s u r p r i s e d , a n d he w a s d i s g u s t e d too, but he didn't have no idea what the m a t t e r w a s , of c o u r s e . T h e feller took the m o n e y a n d started away; a n d w h e n h e w a s going out at the door, he sorter j e r k e d his t h u m b over his s h o u l d e r — s o — a t Dan'l, a n d says a g a i n , very deliberate, " W e l l , " he says, '7 don't s e e no p'ints a b o u t that frog that's any better'n any other frog." Smiley he stood s c r a t c h i n g his h e a d a n d looking d o w n at Dan'l a long time, a n d at last he says, "I do w o n d e r what in the nation that frog throw'd off for—I w o n d e r if there ain't s o m e t h i n g the m a t t e r with h i m — h e 'pears to look mighty baggy, s o m e h o w . " A n d he k e t c h e d Dan'l by the n a p of the neck, a n d hefted him, a n d says, " W h y b l a m e my c a t s if he don't weigh five p o u n d ! " a n d turned him u p s i d e down a n d he b e l c h e d out a d o u b l e handful of shot. And then he s e e how it w a s , a n d he w a s the m a d d e s t m a n — h e set the frog down a n d took out after that feller, b u t he never k e t c h e d him. A n d " [ H e r e S i m o n W h e e l e r h e a r d his n a m e called from the front yard, a n d got up to s e e what w a s w a n t e d . ] And turning to m e a s he moved away, he said: " J u s t set where you a r e , stranger, a n d rest e a s y — I ain't g o i n g to be g o n e a second." B u t , by your leave, I did not think that a c o n t i n u a t i o n of the history of the enterprising v a g a b o n d Jim S m i l e y would be likely to afford m e m u c h information c o n c e r n i n g the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, a n d s o I started away. At the d o o r I met the s o c i a b l e W h e e l e r returning, a n d h e button-holed me and recommenced: "Well, thish-yer Smiley h a d a yaller one-eyed cow that didn't have no tail, only jest a short s t u m p like a b a n n a n n e r , a n d " However, lacking both time a n d inclination, I did not wait to h e a r a b o u t the afflicted cow, but took my leave. 1865, 1867

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Adventures of Huckleberry Finn 1 (Tom Scene:

Sawyer's

Comrade)

The Mississippi

Valley

Time: Forty to Fifty Years

Ago2

NOTICE Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; p e r s o n s attempting to find a moral in it will be b a n i s h e d ; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY O R D E R O F T H E A U T H O R P E R G. G., C H I E F O F O R D N A N C E .

Explanatory In this b o o k a n u m b e r of dialects are u s e d , to wit: the M i s s o u r i negro dialect; the extremest form of the b a c k w o o d s S o u t h - W e s t e r n dialect; the ordinary " P i k e - C o u n t y " * dialect; a n d four modified varieties of this last. T h e s h a d i n g s have not b e e n d o n e in a h a p - h a z a r d f a s h i o n , or by guess-work; but pains-takingly, a n d with the trustworthy g u i d a n c e a n d s u p p o r t of p e r s o n a l familiarity with t h e s e several f o r m s of s p e e c h . I m a k e this explanation for the r e a s o n that without it m a n y r e a d e r s would s u p p o s e that all t h e s e c h a r a c t e r s were trying to talk alike a n d not s u c c e e d i n g . THE AUTHOR

Chapter

I

You don't know a b o u t m e , without you have read a b o o k by the n a m e of " T h e A d v e n t u r e s of T o m Sawyer,"*' b u t that ain't no matter. T h a t b o o k w a s m a d e by M r . M a r k T w a i n , a n d h e told the truth, mainly. T h e r e w a s things which he s t r e t c h e d , but mainly he told the truth. T h a t is nothing. I never s e e n anybody but lied, o n e t i m e or a n o t h e r , without it w a s A u n t Polly, or the widow, or m a y b e M a r y . A u n t P o l l y — T o m ' s A u n t Polly, s h e i s — a n d M a r y , a n d the W i d o w D o u g l a s , is all told a b o u t in that b o o k — w h i c h is mostly a true b o o k ; with s o m e stretchers, a s I s a i d b e f o r e . N o w the way that the b o o k w i n d s u p , is this: T o m a n d m e f o u n d the m o n e y that the r o b b e r s hid in the c a v e , a n d it m a d e u s rich. W e got six t h o u s a n d dollars a p i e c e — a l l gold. It w a s a n awful sight of m o n e y w h e n it w a s piled up. Well, J u d g e T h a t c h e r , h e took it a n d p u t it out at interest, a n d it fetched u s a 1. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn w a s first p u b l i s h e d i n E n g l a n d in D e c e m b e r 1 8 8 4 . T h e t e x t p r i n t e d h e r e is a c o r r e c t e d v e r s i o n o f t h e first A m e r i c a n edition of 1 8 8 5 .

2 . I.e., in 1 8 3 5 o r 1 8 4 5 — w e l l b e f o r e t h e Civil War. 3. P i k e C o u n t y , M i s s o u r i . 4 . P u b l i s h e d in 1 8 7 6 .

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dollar a day a p i e c e , all the year r o u n d — m o r e than a body c o u l d tell what to do with. T h e W i d o w D o u g l a s , s h e took m e for her s o n , a n d allowed s h e would sfvilize m e ; b u t it w a s r o u g h living in the h o u s e all the t i m e , c o n s i d e r i n g how d i s m a l regular a n d d e c e n t the widow w a s in all her ways; a n d so w h e n I couldn't s t a n d it no longer, I lit out. I got into my old r a g s , a n d my sugarh o g s h e a d ' a g a i n , a n d w a s free a n d satisfied. B u t T o m Sawyer, h e h u n t e d m e u p a n d said he w a s going to start a b a n d of r o b b e r s , a n d I might j o i n if I w o u l d g o b a c k to the widow a n d b e r e s p e c t a b l e . S o I went b a c k . T h e widow s h e cried over m e , a n d called m e a p o o r lost I a m b , a n d s h e called m e a lot of other n a m e s , too, but she never m e a n t no h a r m by it. S h e put m e in t h e m new c l o t h e s a g a i n , a n d I couldn't do nothing b u t sweat a n d sweat, a n d feel all c r a m p e d u p . Well, then, the old thing c o m m e n c e d a g a i n . T h e widow r u n g a bell for s u p p e r , a n d you had to c o m e to t i m e . W h e n you got to the table you couldn't g o right to eating, but you h a d to wait for the widow to t u c k d o w n her h e a d a n d g r u m b l e a little over the victuals, t h o u g h there warn't really anything the m a t t e r with t h e m . T h a t is, n o t h i n g only everything w a s c o o k e d by itself. In a barrel of o d d s a n d e n d s it is different; things get mixed u p , a n d the j u i c e kind of s w a p s a r o u n d , a n d the things g o better. After s u p p e r s h e got o u t her book a n d learned m e a b o u t M o s e s a n d the B u l r u s h e r s ; 6 a n d I w a s in a sweat to find o u t all a b o u t him; but by-and-by she let it o u t that M o s e s h a d b e e n d e a d a c o n s i d e r a b l e long t i m e ; s o then I didn't c a r e no m o r e a b o u t h i m ; b e c a u s e I don't take no s t o c k in d e a d p e o p l e . Pretty s o o n I w a n t e d to s m o k e , a n d a s k e d the widow to let m e . B u t s h e wouldn't. S h e said it was a m e a n p r a c t i c e a n d wasn't c l e a n , a n d I m u s t try to not do it any m o r e . T h a t is j u s t the way with s o m e p e o p l e . T h e y get d o w n o n a thing w h e n they don't know n o t h i n g a b o u t it. H e r e s h e w a s a b o t h e r i n g a b o u t M o s e s , which w a s no kin to her, a n d n o u s e to anybody, b e i n g g o n e , you s e e , yet finding a power of fault with m e for d o i n g a thing that h a d s o m e g o o d in it. And s h e took s n u f f t o o ; of c o u r s e that w a s all right, b e c a u s e s h e d o n e it herself. H e r sister, M i s s W a t s o n , a tolerable slim old m a i d , with g o g g l e s o n , h a d j u s t c o m e to live with her, a n d took a set at m e now, with a spelling-book. S h e worked m e m i d d l i n g hard for a b o u t an hour, a n d then the widow m a d e her e a s e up. I couldn't stood it m u c h longer. T h e n for a n h o u r it w a s deadly dull, a n d I w a s fidgety. M i s s W a t s o n would say, " D o n ' t put your feet u p there, Huckleberry"; a n d "don't s c r u n c h u p like that, H u c k l e b e r r y — s e t u p straight"; a n d pretty s o o n s h e would say, " D o n ' t g a p a n d stretch like that, H u c k l e b e r r y — w h y don't you try to b e h a v e ? " T h e n s h e told m e all a b o u t the bad p l a c e , a n d I said I w i s h e d I w a s there. S h e got m a d , t h e n , but I didn't m e a n no h a r m . All I w a n t e d w a s to g o s o m e w h e r e s ; all I w a n t e d w a s a c h a n g e , I warn't particular. S h e said it w a s wicked to say what I s a i d ; said s h e wouldn't say it for the w h o l e world; she w a s going to live so a s to go to the g o o d p l a c e . Well, I couldn't s e e no a d v a n t a g e in going where she w a s going, s o I m a d e u p my m i n d I wouldn't try for it. B u t I never said s o , b e c a u s e it would only m a k e trouble, a n d wouldn't d o no g o o d . 5. A l a r g e b a r r e l . 6. P h a r a o h ' s d a u g h t e r d i s c o v e r e d t h e infant M o s e s f l o a t i n g in t h e N i l e in a b a s k e t w o v e n f r o m

bulrushes ( E x o d u s 2). S h e a d o p t e d him into the royal family j u s t as the w i d o w h a s a d o p t e d H u c k .

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N o w s h e h a d got a start, a n d s h e went o n a n d told m e all a b o u t the g o o d p l a c e . S h e said all a body would have to d o there w a s to go a r o u n d all day long with a harp a n d sing, forever a n d ever. 7 S o I didn't think m u c h of it. B u t I never said s o . I a s k e d her if s h e r e c k o n e d T o m S a w y e r would go t h e r e , a n d , s h e said, not by a c o n s i d e r a b l e sight. I w a s glad a b o u t that, b e c a u s e I w a n t e d him a n d m e to be together. M i s s W a t s o n s h e kept p e c k i n g at m e , a n d it got t i r e s o m e a n d l o n e s o m e . By-and-by they fetched the niggers" in a n d h a d prayers, a n d then everybody w a s off to bed. I went up to my r o o m with a p i e c e of c a n d l e a n d put it o n the table. T h e n I set d o w n in a chair by the window a n d tried to think of s o m e t h i n g cheerful, but it warn't no u s e . I felt so l o n e s o m e 1 m o s t wished I w a s d e a d . T h e stars w a s shining, a n d the leaves rustled in the w o o d s ever so m o u r n f u l ; a n d I heard an owl, away off, w h o - w h o o i n g a b o u t s o m e b o d y that w a s d e a d , a n d a whippowill a n d a d o g crying a b o u t s o m e b o d y that w a s g o i n g to die; a n d the wind w a s trying to w h i s p e r s o m e t h i n g to m e a n d I couldn't m a k e out what it w a s , a n d s o it m a d e the cold shivers run over m e . T h e n away out in the w o o d s I h e a r d that kind of a s o u n d that a g h o s t m a k e s w h e n it wants to tell a b o u t s o m e t h i n g that's on its m i n d a n d can't m a k e itself u n d e r s t o o d , a n d s o can't rest easy in its grave a n d has to go a b o u t that way every night grieving. I got so d o w n - h e a r t e d a n d s c a r e d , I did wish 1 h a d s o m e c o m p a n y . Pretty s o o n a spider went crawling u p my s h o u l d e r , a n d I flipped it off a n d it lit in the c a n d l e ; a n d before I could b u d g e it w a s all shriveled u p . I didn't n e e d anybody to tell m e that that w a s a n awful b a d sign a n d would fetch m e s o m e b a d luck, so I w a s s c a r e d a n d m o s t s h o o k the c l o t h e s off of m e . I got u p a n d t u r n e d a r o u n d in my tracks three times a n d c r o s s e d my breast every t i m e ; a n d then I tied u p a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. B u t I hadn't n o c o n f i d e n c e . You d o that w h e n you've lost a h o r s e - s h o e that you've f o u n d , i n s t e a d of nailing it u p over the door, but I hadn't ever heard anybody say it w a s any way to keep off b a d l u c k w h e n you'd killed a spider. I set d o w n again, a s h a k i n g all over, a n d got o u t my p i p e for a s m o k e ; for the h o u s e w a s all a s still a s d e a t h , now, a n d s o the widow wouldn't know. Well, after a long time I h e a r d the c l o c k away off in the town g o b o o m — b o o m — b o o m — t w e l v e l i c k s — a n d all still a g a i n — s t i l l e r t h a n ever. Pretty s o o n I heard a twig s n a p , d o w n in the dark a m o n g s t the t r e e s — s o m e t h i n g w a s a stirring. I set still a n d listened. Directly I c o u l d j u s t barely h e a r a "meyow! me-yowl" down t h e r e . T h a t w a s g o o d ! S a y s I, "me-yow! me-yow!" a s soft a s I c o u l d , a n d then I p u t o u t the light a n d s c r a m b l e d out of the window onto the s h e d . T h e n 1 slipped d o w n to the g r o u n d a n d crawled in a m o n g s t the t r e e s , a n d s u r e e n o u g h there w a s T o m S a w y e r waiting for m e . Chapter

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W e went tip-toeing a l o n g a p a t h a m o n g s t the trees b a c k towards the end of the widow's g a r d e n , s t o o p i n g d o w n s o as the b r a n c h e s wouldn't s c r a p e our h e a d s . W h e n we w a s p a s s i n g by the kitchen I fell over a root a n d m a d e a 7. C o n v e n t i o n a l c o n c e p t i o n s of the C h r i s t i a n h e a v e n w e r e s a t i r i z e d e a r l y a n d l a t e in T w a i n ' s writings. 8. H u c k a p p r o p r i a t e l y s p e a k s t h e c o l l o q u i a l w o r d

u s e d in t h e S o u t h t o d e s c r i b e black slaves; it i s n o t u s e d derisively or c o n t e m p t u o u s l y by h i m , t h o u g h for m u c h o f t h e n a r r a t i v e H u c k e x p r e s s e s t h e r a c i a l prejudices of his time a n d place.

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n o i s e . W e s c r o u c h e d d o w n a n d laid still. M i s s W a t s o n ' s big nigger, n a m e d J i m , w a s setting in the kitchen door; we c o u l d s e e him pretty clear, b e c a u s e there w a s a light b e h i n d him. H e got u p a n d s t r e t c h e d his n e c k o u t a b o u t a m i n u t e , listening. T h e n h e says, "Who dah?" H e listened s o m e m o r e ; then he c o m e tip-toeing d o w n a n d s t o o d right b e t w e e n u s ; we c o u l d a t o u c h e d him, nearly. Well, likely it w a s m i n u t e s a n d m i n u t e s that there warn't a s o u n d , a n d we all there so c l o s e together. T h e r e w a s a p l a c e o n my ankle that got to itching; but I dasn't s c r a t c h it; a n d then my ear b e g u n to itch; a n d next my back, right b e t w e e n my s h o u l d e r s . S e e m e d like I'd die if I couldn't s c r a t c h . Well, I've noticed that thing plenty of times s i n c e . If you are with the quality, or at a funeral, or trying to g o to s l e e p w h e n you ain't s l e e p y — i f you are anywheres w h e r e it won't do for you to s c r a t c h , why you will itch all over in u p w a r d s of a t h o u s a n d p l a c e s . Pretty soon J i m says: " S a y — w h o is your W h a r is you? D o g my c a t s ef I didn' hear s u m f ' n . Well, I knows what I's gwyne to d o . I's gwyne to set d o w n h e r e a n d listen tell I h e a r s it a g i n . " S o he set d o w n on the g r o u n d betwixt m e a n d T o m . H e l e a n e d his b a c k up a g a i n s t a tree, a n d s t r e t c h e d his legs out till o n e of t h e m m o s t t o u c h e d o n e of m i n e . M y n o s e b e g u n to itch. It itched till the t e a r s c o m e into my eyes. B u t I dasn't s c r a t c h . T h e n it b e g u n to itch on the i n s i d e . Next I got to itching u n d e r n e a t h . I didn't know how I w a s g o i n g to set still. T h i s m i s e r a b l e n e s s went on as m u c h as six or seven m i n u t e s ; but it s e e m e d a sight longer than that. I w a s itching in eleven different p l a c e s now. I r e c k o n e d I couldn't s t a n d it more'n a m i n u t e longer, but I set my teeth hard a n d got ready to try. J u s t then J i m b e g u n to b r e a t h e heavy; next he b e g u n to s n o r e — a n d then I was pretty s o o n c o m f o r t a b l e a g a i n . T o m he m a d e a sign to m e — k i n d of a little noise with his m o u t h — a n d we went c r e e p i n g away on our h a n d s a n d k n e e s . W h e n w e w a s ten foot off, T o m w h i s p e r e d to m e a n d w a n t e d to tie J i m to the tree for fun; but I s a i d no; he might w a k e a n d m a k e a d i s t u r b a n c e , a n d then they'd find o u t I warn't in. T h e n T o m said he hadn't got c a n d l e s e n o u g h , a n d h e would slip in the kitchen a n d get s o m e m o r e . I didn't want him to try. I said J i m might wake up a n d c o m e . B u t T o m w a n t e d to resk it; so we slid in there a n d got three c a n d l e s , a n d T o m laid five c e n t s on the table for pay. T h e n we got o u t , a n d I w a s in a sweat to get away; but nothing would do T o m b u t he m u s t crawl to w h e r e J i m w a s , on his h a n d s a n d k n e e s , a n d play s o m e t h i n g on him. I waited, a n d it s e e m e d a good while, everything w a s so still a n d l o n e s o m e . As s o o n a s T o m was b a c k , we cut a l o n g the p a t h , a r o u n d the g a r d e n f e n c e , and by-and-by fetched up on the s t e e p top of the hill the other side of the h o u s e . T o m said he slipped J i m ' s hat off of his h e a d a n d h u n g it on a limb right over him, a n d J i m stirred a little, but he didn't w a k e . Afterwards J i m said the witches bewitched him a n d put him in a t r a n c e , a n d r o d e him all over the S t a t e , a n d then set him u n d e r the trees again a n d h u n g his hat on a limb to s h o w w h o d o n e it. And next time J i m told it he said they rode him down to N e w O r l e a n s ; a n d after that, every time he told it h e s p r e a d it m o r e and m o r e , till by-and-by he said they rode him all over the world, a n d tired him m o s t to d e a t h , a n d his b a c k was all over saddle-boils. J i m w a s m o n s t r o u s proud a b o u t it, a n d he got so he wouldn't hardly notice the other niggers.

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N i g g e r s would c o m e miles to h e a r J i m tell a b o u t it, a n d he w a s m o r e looked up to than any nigger in that country. S t r a n g e n i g g e r s 9 would s t a n d with their m o u t h s o p e n a n d look h i m all over, s a m e a s if h e w a s a w o n d e r . N i g g e r s is always talking a b o u t w i t c h e s in the d a r k by the kitchen fire; b u t w h e n e v e r o n e w a s talking a n d letting on to know all a b o u t s u c h things, J i m w o u l d h a p p e n in a n d say, " H m ! W h a t you know 'bout w i t c h e s ? " a n d that nigger w a s c o r k e d u p a n d h a d to take a b a c k seat. J i m always kept that five-center p i e c e a r o u n d his n e c k with a string a n d said it w a s a c h a r m the devil give to him with his own h a n d s a n d told him he c o u l d c u r e anybody with it a n d fetch witches w h e n e v e r h e w a n t e d to, j u s t by saying s o m e t h i n g to it; b u t he never told what it w a s h e said to it. N i g g e r s w o u l d c o m e from all a r o u n d there a n d give J i m anything they h a d , j u s t for a sight of the five-center p i e c e ; but they wouldn't t o u c h it, b e c a u s e the devil h a d h a d his h a n d s on it. J i m w a s m o s t r u i n e d , for a servant, b e c a u s e h e got s o s t u c k u p o n a c c o u n t of having s e e n the devil a n d b e e n rode by w i t c h e s . Well, w h e n T o m a n d m e got to the e d g e of the hill-top, we looked away d o w n into the village 1 a n d c o u l d s e e three or four lights twinkling, w h e r e there w a s sick folks, may b e ; a n d the stars over u s w a s s p a r k l i n g ever s o fine; a n d d o w n by the village w a s the river, a w h o l e mile b r o a d , a n d awful still a n d g r a n d . W e went d o w n the hill a n d f o u n d J o H a r p e r , a n d B e n R o g e r s , a n d two or three m o r e of the b o y s , hid in the old tanyard. S o w e u n h i t c h e d a skiff a n d pulled d o w n the river two mile a n d a half, to the big s c a r on the hillside, a n d went a s h o r e . W e went to a c l u m p of b u s h e s , a n d T o m m a d e everybody s w e a r to k e e p the s e c r e t , a n d then s h o w e d t h e m a hole in the hill, right in the thickest part of the b u s h e s . T h e n we lit the c a n d l e s a n d crawled in on our h a n d s a n d k n e e s . W e went a b o u t two h u n d r e d y a r d s , a n d then the c a v e o p e n e d u p . T o m p o k e d a b o u t a m o n g s t the p a s s a g e s a n d pretty s o o n d u c k e d u n d e r a wall where you wouldn't a n o t i c e d that there w a s a h o l e . W e went a l o n g a n a r r o w p l a c e a n d got into a kind of r o o m , all d a m p a n d sweaty a n d cold, a n d there we s t o p p e d . T o m says: " N o w we'll start this b a n d of robbers a n d call it T o m Sawyer's G a n g . Everybody that w a n t s to j o i n h a s got to take a n o a t h , a n d write his n a m e in b l o o d . " Everybody w a s willing. S o T o m got o u t a sheet of p a p e r that he h a d wrote the o a t h o n , a n d r e a d it. It swore every boy to stick to the b a n d , a n d never tell any of the s e c r e t s ; a n d if anybody d o n e anything to any boy in the b a n d , whichever boy w a s o r d e r e d to kill that p e r s o n a n d his family m u s t do it, a n d he m u s t n ' t e a t a n d he m u s t n ' t s l e e p till he h a d killed t h e m a n d h a c k e d a c r o s s in their b r e a s t s , which w a s the sign of the b a n d . A n d n o b o d y that didn't b e l o n g to the b a n d c o u l d u s e that m a r k , a n d if h e did h e m u s t b e s u e d ; a n d if h e d o n e it again he m u s t b e killed. A n d if anybody that b e l o n g e d to the b a n d told the s e c r e t s , h e m u s t have his throat c u t , a n d then have his c a r c a s s b u r n t up a n d the a s h e s s c a t t e r e d all a r o u n d , a n d his n a m e blotted off of the list with b l o o d a n d never m e n t i o n e d a g a i n by the g a n g , b u t have a c u r s e put o n it a n d b e forgot, forever. Everybody said it w a s a real beautiful o a t h , a n d a s k e d T o m if he got it out of his o w n h e a d . H e said, s o m e of it, but the rest w a s o u t of pirate b o o k s , a n d r o b b e r b o o k s , a n d every g a n g that w a s high-toned h a d it. 9. T h o s e w h o d i d n o t l i v e i n t h e i m m e d i a t e a r e a . 1. T h e v i l l a g e , c a l l e d S t . P e t e r s b u r g h e r e a n d in Tom

Sawyer,

is m o d e l e d o n H a n n i b a l , M i s s o u r i .

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S o m e t h o u g h t it would be good to kill the families of boys that told the s e c r e t s . T o m said it w a s a g o o d idea, so h e took a pencil a n d wrote it in. T h e n B e n R o g e r s says: " H e r e ' s H u c k F i n n , h e hain't got no f a m i l y — w h a t you g o i n g to d o 'bout him?" "Well, hain't h e got a f a t h e r ? " says T o m Sawyer. "Yes, he's got a father, but you can't never find h i m , t h e s e days. H e u s e d to lay d r u n k with the h o g s in the tanyard, but h e hain't b e e n s e e n in t h e s e p a r t s for a year or m o r e . " T h e y talked it over, a n d they w a s going to rule m e out, b e c a u s e they said every boy m u s t have a family or s o m e b o d y to kill, or else it wouldn't be fair a n d s q u a r e for the o t h e r s . Well, nobody c o u l d think of a n y t h i n g to d o — everybody w a s s t u m p e d , a n d set still. I w a s m o s t ready to cry; but all at o n c e I thought of a way, a n d so I offered t h e m M i s s W a t s o n — t h e y c o u l d kill her. Everybody said: " O h , she'll d o , she'll do. T h a t ' s all right. H u c k c a n c o m e i n . " T h e n they all s t u c k a pin in their fingers to get blood to sign with, a n d I m a d e my m a r k on the p a p e r . " N o w , " says B e n R o g e r s , "what's the line of b u s i n e s s of this G a n g ? " " N o t h i n g only robbery a n d m u r d e r , " T o m s a i d . " B u t w h o are we g o i n g to rob? h o u s e s — o r c a t t l e — o r — " "Stuff! stealing cattle a n d s u c h things ain't robbery, it's burglary," says T o m Sawyer. " W e ain't b u r g l a r s . T h a t ain't no sort of style. W e are h i g h w a y m e n . W e stop s t a g e s a n d c a r r i a g e s o n the road, with m a s k s o n , a n d kill the p e o p l e a n d take their w a t c h e s a n d m o n e y . " " M u s t we always kill the p e o p l e ? " " O h , certainly. It's best. S o m e authorities think different, but mostly it's c o n s i d e r e d b e s t to kill t h e m . E x c e p t s o m e that you bring to the c a v e here a n d keep t h e m till they're r a n s o m e d . " "Ransomed? What's that?" "I don't know. B u t that's w h a t they d o . I've s e e n it in b o o k s ; a n d s o of c o u r s e that's what we've got to d o . " " B u t how c a n we d o it if we don't know what it i s ? " "Why b l a m e it all, we've got to do it. Don't I tell you it's in the b o o k s ? D o you want to go to d o i n g different from what's in the b o o k s , a n d get things all m u d d l e d u p ? " " O h , that's all very fine to say, T o m Sawyer, but how in the n a t i o n 2 are these fellows going to be r a n s o m e d if we don't know how to d o it to t h e m ? that's the thing J w a n t to get at. N o w what do you reckon it i s ? " "Well I don't know. B u t p e r ' a p s if we keep t h e m till they're r a n s o m e d , it m e a n s that we k e e p t h e m till they're d e a d . " " N o w , that's s o m e t h i n g like. That'll answer. W h y c o u l d n ' t you said that before? We'll keep t h e m till they're r a n s o m e d to d e a t h — a n d a b o t h e r s o m e lot they'll b e , too, eating up everything a n d always trying to get l o o s e . " " H o w you talk, B e n R o g e r s . H o w c a n they get loose w h e n there's a g u a r d over t h e m , ready to shoot t h e m d o w n if they move a p e g ? " " A g u a r d . Well, that is good. S o s o m e b o d y ' s got to set u p all night a n d never get any s l e e p , j u s t so as to watch t h e m . I think that's f o o l i s h n e s s . W h y can't a body take a c l u b a n d r a n s o m t h e m a s s o o n a s they get h e r e ? " 2.

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" B e c a u s e it ain't in the b o o k s s o — t h a t ' s why. N o w B e n R o g e r s , d o you want to do things regular, or don't y o u ? — t h a t ' s the idea. Don't you reckon that the p e o p l e that m a d e the b o o k s knows what's the correct thing to d o ? D o you reckon you can learn 'em anything? N o t by a good deal. N o , sir, we'll j u s t go on a n d r a n s o m t h e m in the regular way." "All right. I don't m i n d ; but I say it's a fool way, anyhow. S a y — d o we kill the w o m e n , t o o ? " "Well, Ren R o g e r s , if I w a s a s ignorant a s you I wouldn't let o n . Kill the w o m e n ? N o — n o b o d y ever s a w anything in the b o o k s like that. You fetch t h e m to the c a v e , a n d you're always a s polite a s pie to t h e m ; a n d by-and-by they fall in love with you a n d never want to go h o m e any m o r e . " "Well, if that's the way, I'm a g r e e d , but I don't take n o stock in it. Mighty s o o n we'll have the c a v e so cluttered u p with w o m e n , a n d fellows waiting to b e r a n s o m e d , that there won't b e no p l a c e for the r o b b e r s . B u t go a h e a d , I ain't got nothing to say." Little T o m m y B a r n e s w a s a s l e e p , now, a n d w h e n they w a k e d him up he w a s s c a r e d , a n d cried, a n d said he w a n t e d to go h o m e to his m a , a n d didn't want to be a robber any m o r e . S o they all m a d e fun of h i m , a n d called him cry-baby, a n d that m a d e him m a d , a n d he said he would go straight a n d tell all the s e c r e t s . B u t T o m give him five c e n t s to keep quiet, a n d said we would all go h o m e a n d m e e t next week a n d rob s o m e b o d y a n d kill s o m e p e o p l e . B e n R o g e r s said he couldn't get out m u c h , only S u n d a y s , a n d s o h e w a n t e d to begin next S u n d a y ; but all the boys said it would be wicked to d o it o n S u n d a y , a n d that settled the thing. T h e y a g r e e d to get together a n d fix a day a s s o o n a s they c o u l d , a n d then we e l e c t e d T o m S a w y e r first c a p t a i n a n d J o H a r p e r s e c o n d c a p t a i n of the G a n g , a n d so started h o m e . I d u m b u p the s h e d a n d crept into my window j u s t before day w a s breaking. M y new c l o t h e s w a s all g r e a s e d u p a n d clayey, a n d I w a s dog-tired. Chapter

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Well, I got a g o o d going-over in the m o r n i n g , from old M i s s W a t s o n , o n a c c o u n t of my c l o t h e s ; but the widow s h e didn't s c o l d , but only c l e a n e d off the g r e a s e a n d clay a n d looked s o sorry that I t h o u g h t I would b e h a v e a while if I c o u l d . T h e n M i s s W a t s o n she took m e in the c l o s e t * a n d p r a y e d , but n o t h i n g c o m e of it. S h e told m e to pray every day, a n d whatever I a s k e d for I w o u l d get it. Rut it warn't s o . I tried it. O n c e I got a fish-line, but no h o o k s . It warn't any g o o d to m e without h o o k s . I tried for the h o o k s three or four t i m e s , but s o m e h o w I couldn't m a k e it work. Ry-and-by, o n e day, I a s k e d M i s s W a t s o n to try for m e , but s h e said I w a s a fool. S h e never told m e why, a n d I couldn't m a k e it out no way. I set d o w n , o n e t i m e , b a c k in the w o o d s , a n d h a d a l o n g think a b o u t it. I says to myself, if a body c a n get a n y t h i n g they pray for, why don't D e a c o n W i n n get b a c k the m o n e y he lost on pork? W h y can't the widow get back her silver snuff-box that w a s stole? W h y can't M i s s W a t s o n fat up? N o , says I to myself, there ain't nothing in it. I went a n d told the widow a b o u t it, and 3 . " B u t t h o u , w h e n t h o u p r a y e s t , e n t e r i n t o t h y c l o s e t " ( M a t t h e w 6 . 6 ) is a p p a r e n t l y t h e a d m o n i t i o n M i s s W a t s o n h a s in m i n d .

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s h e said the thing a body c o u l d get by praying for it w a s "spiritual gifts." T h i s w a s too m a n y for m e , but s h e told m e what s h e m e a n t — I m u s t help other p e o p l e , a n d d o everything I c o u l d for other p e o p l e , a n d look o u t for t h e m all the t i m e , a n d never think a b o u t myself. T h i s w a s i n c l u d i n g M i s s W a t s o n , a s I took it. I went out in the w o o d s a n d tur ne d it over in my m i n d a long time, but I couldn't s e e no a d v a n t a g e a b o u t i t — e x c e p t for the o t h e r p e o p l e — s o at last I r e c k o n e d I wouldn't worry a b o u t it any m o r e , but j u s t let it go. S o m e t i m e s the widow w o u l d take m e o n e side a n d talk a b o u t P r o v i d e n c e in a way to m a k e a boy's m o u t h water; but m a y b e next day M i s s W a t s o n w o u l d take hold a n d k n o c k it all down a g a i n . I j u d g e d I c o u l d s e e that there w a s two P r o v i d e n c e s , a n d a poor c h a p would s t a n d c o n s i d e r a b l e s h o w with the widow's P r o v i d e n c e , but if M i s s W a t s o n ' s got him there warn't n o help for him any m o r e . I t h o u g h t it all out, a n d r e c k o n e d I w o u l d b e l o n g to the widow's, if he w a n t e d m e , t h o u g h I couldn't m a k e out how h e w a s a g o i n g to b e any better off then than what he was b e f o r e , s e e i n g I was s o ignorant a n d so kind of low-down a n d ornery. P a p he hadn't b e e n s e e n for m o r e than a year, a n d that w a s c o m f o r t a b l e for m e ; I didn't want to s e e him no m o r e . H e u s e d to always w h a l e m e w h e n he was s o b e r a n d c o u l d get his h a n d s on m e ; t h o u g h I u s e d to take to the w o o d s most of the time w h e n he w a s a r o u n d . Well, a b o u t this time he w a s found in the river d r o w n e d , a b o u t twelve mile a b o v e town, so p e o p l e said. T h e y j u d g e d it was h i m , anyway; said this d r o w n e d m a n w a s j u s t his size, a n d w a s r a g g e d , a n d had u n c o m m o n long h a i r — w h i c h w a s all like p a p — b u t they couldn't m a k e n o t h i n g out of the f a c e , b e c a u s e it h a d b e e n in the water so long it warn't m u c h like a f a c e at all. T h e y said he w a s floating on his b a c k in the water. T h e y took him a n d buried him on the b a n k . B u t I warn't c o m f o r t a b l e long, b e c a u s e I h a p p e n e d to think of s o m e t h i n g . I knowed mighty well that a d r o w n d e d m a n don't float on his b a c k , but on his f a c e . S o I k n o w e d , t h e n , that this warn't p a p , but a w o m a n d r e s s e d u p in a m a n ' s clothes. S o I w a s u n c o m f o r t a b l e a g a i n . I j u d g e d the old m a n w o u l d turn u p again by-and-by, t h o u g h I w i s h e d he wouldn't. W e played robber now a n d then a b o u t a m o n t h , a n d t h e n I resigned. All the boys did. W e hadn't robbed nobody, we hadn't killed any p e o p l e , but only j u s t p r e t e n d e d . W e u s e d to h o p out of the w o o d s a n d go c h a r g i n g d o w n o n hog-drovers a n d w o m e n in carts taking g a r d e n stuff to m a r k e t , b u t we never hived 4 any of t h e m . T o m S aw y e r called the h o g s " i n g o t s , " a n d he called the turnips a n d stuff "julery" a n d we w o u l d go to the cave a n d pow-wow over what we h a d d o n e a n d how m a n y p e o p l e we h a d killed a n d m a r k e d . B u t I couldn't s e e no profit in it. O n e time T o m sent a boy to run a b o u t town with a blazing stick, which he called a s l o g a n (which was the sign for the G a n g to get t o g e t h e r ) , a n d then he said he had got s e c r e t news by his s p i e s that next day a whole parcel of S p a n i s h m e r c h a n t s a n d rich A-rabs w a s g o i n g to c a m p in C a v e Hollow with two h u n d r e d e l e p h a n t s , a n d six h u n d r e d c a m e l s , a n d over a t h o u s a n d " s u m t e r " m u l e s , ' all loaded with d i ' m o n d s , a n d they didn't have only a g u a r d of four h u n d r e d soldiers, a n d so we w o u l d lay in a m b u s c a d e , a s h e called it, a n d kill the lot a n d s c o o p the things. H e said we m u s t slick u p our swords a n d g u n s , a n d get ready. H e never c o u l d go after even a turnip-cart but he m u s t have the swords a n d g u n s all s c o u r e d up for 4. C a p t u r e d , secured.

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it; t h o u g h they w a s only lath a n d b r o o m - s t i c k s , a n d you might s c o u r at t h e m till you rotted a n d then they warn't worth a mouthful of a s h e s m o r e than w h a t they w a s b e f o r e . I didn't believe we cou\d lick s u c h a crowd of S p a n i a r d s a n d A-rabs, but I w a n t e d to s e e the c a m e l s a n d e l e p h a n t s , s o I w a s on h a n d next day, S a t u r d a y , in the a m b u s c a d e ; a n d w h e n we got the word, we r u s h e d o u t of the w o o d s a n d d o w n the hill. B u t there warn't n o S p a n i a r d s a n d Ar a b s , a n d there warn't no c a m e l s nor n o e l e p h a n t s . It warn't a n y t h i n g but a S u n d a y - s c h o o l p i c n i c , a n d only a p r i m e r - c l a s s at that. W e b u s t e d it u p , a n d c h a s e d the children up the hollow; b u t w e never got anything b u t s o m e d o u g h n u t s a n d j a m , t h o u g h B e n R o g e r s got a rag doll, a n d J o H a r p e r got a h y m n - b o o k a n d a tract; a n d then the t e a c h e r c h a r g e d in a n d m a d e u s drop everything a n d c u t . I didn't s e e no d i ' m o n d s , a n d I told T o m S a w y e r s o . H e s a i d there w a s l o a d s of t h e m there, anyway; a n d h e s a i d there w a s A-rabs there, too, a n d e l e p h a n t s a n d things. I s a i d , why couldn't we s e e t h e m , t h e n ? H e said if I warn't s o ignorant, b u t h a d read a b o o k called " D o n Q u i x o t e , " 6 I would know without asking. H e said it w a s all d o n e by e n c h a n t m e n t . H e said there w a s h u n d r e d s of soldiers there, a n d e l e p h a n t s a n d t r e a s u r e , a n d s o o n , b u t we h a d e n e m i e s which he c a l l e d m a g i c i a n s , a n d they h a d t u r n e d the w h o l e thing into a n infant S u n d a y s c h o o l , j u s t o u t of s p i t e . I said, all right, then the thing for u s to do w a s to go for the m a g i c i a n s . T o m Sawyer said I w a s a n u m s k u l l . " W h y , " says h e , "a m a g i c i a n c o u l d call u p a lot of g e n i e s , a n d they w o u l d h a s h you u p like nothing b e f o r e you c o u l d say J a c k R o b i n s o n . T h e y are a s tall as a tree a n d a s big a r o u n d a s a c h u r c h . " " W e l l , " I says, " s ' p o s e w e got s o m e g e n i e s to help us—can't we lick the other crowd t h e n ? " " H o w you g o i n g to get t h e m ? " "I don't know. H o w d o they get t h e m ? " " W h y they rub a n old tin l a m p or a n iron ring, a n d then the g e n i e s c o m e tearing in, with the t h u n d e r a n d lightning a-ripping a r o u n d a n d the s m o k e a-rolling, a n d everything they're told to do they u p a n d d o it. T h e y don't think n o t h i n g of pulling a shot tower 7 u p by the roots, a n d belting a S u n d a y - s c h o o l s u p e r i n t e n d e n t over the h e a d with i t — o r any other m a n . " " W h o m a k e s t h e m tear a r o u n d s o ? " "Why, whoever rubs the l a m p or the ring. T h e y b e l o n g to whoever r u b s the l a m p or the ring, a n d they've got to d o whatever he says. If he tells t h e m to build a p a l a c e forty miles long, o u t of d i ' m o n d s , a n d fill it full of c h e w i n g g u m , or whatever you w a n t , a n d fetch a n e m p e r o r ' s d a u g h t e r from C h i n a for you to marry, they've got to do i t — a n d they've got to d o it b e f o r e s u n - u p next m o r n i n g , too. A n d m o r e — t h e y ' v e got to waltz that p a l a c e a r o u n d over the country whenever you want it, you u n d e r s t a n d . " " W e l l , " says I, "I think they a r e a p a c k of flatheads for not k e e p i n g the p a l a c e t h e m s e l v e s 'stead of fooling t h e m away like that. A n d what's m o r e — if I w a s o n e of t h e m I would s e e a m a n in J e r i c h o b e f o r e I would drop my b u s i n e s s a n d c o m e to him for the r u b b i n g of a n old tin l a m p . " " H o w you talk, H u c k F i n n . W h y , you'd have to c o m e w h e n he r u b b e d it, w h e t h e r you w a n t e d to or n o t . " " W h a t , a n d I as high a s a tree a n d a s big a s a c h u r c h ? All right, then; I 6 . T o m is h e r e a l l u d i n g t o s t o r i e s in The Arabian Nights Entertainments ( 1 8 3 8 - 4 1 ) a n d to t h e h e r o i n C e r v a n t e s ' Don Quixote (1605).

7 . A d e v i c e i n w h i c h g u n s h o t w a s f o r m e d by d r i p ping molten lead into water.

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would c o m e ; b u t I lay I'd m a k e that m a n c l i m b the highest tree there w a s in the c o u n t r y . " " S h u c k s , it ain't no u s e to talk to you, H u c k F i n n . You don't s e e m to know anything, s o m e h o w — p e r f e c t s a p - h e a d . " I thought all this over for two or three days, a n d then I r e c k o n e d I would s e e if there w a s anything in it. I got a n old tin l a m p a n d an iron ring a n d went out in the w o o d s a n d r u b b e d a n d r u b b e d till I sweat like a n Injun, c a l c u l a t i n g to build a p a l a c e a n d sell it; but it warn't no u s e , n o n e of the g e n i e s c o m e . S o then I j u d g e d that all that stuff w a s only j u s t o n e of T o m Sawyer's lies. I r e c k o n e d h e believed in the A-rabs a n d the e l e p h a n t s , but a s for m e I think different. It h a d all the m a r k s of a S u n d a y s c h o o l . Chapter

TV

Well, three or four m o n t h s run along, a n d it w a s well into the winter, now. I h a d b e e n to school m o s t all the t i m e , a n d c o u l d spell, a n d r e a d , a n d write j u s t a little, a n d c o u l d say the multiplication table u p to six t i m e s seven is thirty-five, a n d I don't reckon I c o u l d ever get any further than that if I w a s to live forever. I don't take no s t o c k in m a t h e m a t i c s , anyway. At first I h a t e d the s c h o o l , but by-and-by I got s o I c o u l d s t a n d it. W h e n e v e r I got u n c o m m o n tired I played hookey, a n d the hiding I got next day d o n e m e good a n d c h e e r e d m e u p . S o the longer I went to school the e a s i e r it got to b e . I was getting sort of u s e d to the widow's ways, too, a n d they warn't so raspy on m e . Living in a h o u s e , a n d s l e e p i n g in a b e d , pulled o n m e pretty tight, mostly, but before the cold w e a t h e r I u s e d to slide out a n d s l e e p in the w o o d s , s o m e t i m e s , a n d so that w a s a rest to m e . I liked the old ways b e s t , b u t I was getting s o I liked the new o n e s , too, a little bit. T h e widow said I w a s c o m i n g a l o n g slow but s u r e , a n d d o i n g very satisfactory. S h e said s h e warn't a s h a m e d of m e . O n e m o r n i n g I h a p p e n e d to turn over the salt-cellar at b r e a k f a s t . I r e a c h e d for s o m e of it a s q u i c k a s I c o u l d , to throw over my left s h o u l d e r a n d k e e p off the b a d luck, but M i s s W a t s o n w a s in a h e a d of m e , a n d c r o s s e d m e off. S h e says, " T a k e your h a n d s away, H u c k l e b e r r y — w h a t a m e s s you a r e always m a k i n g . " T h e widow p u t in a g o o d word for m e , but that warn't g o i n g to keep off the b a d luck, I k n o w e d that well e n o u g h . I started out, after breakfast, feeling worried a n d shaky, a n d w o n d e r i n g where it w a s g o i n g to fall o n m e , a n d what it w a s g o i n g to b e . T h e r e is ways to keep off s o m e kinds of b a d luck, but this wasn't o n e of t h e m kind; so I never tried to d o anything, but j u s t poked a l o n g low-spirited a n d on the watch-out. I went d o w n the front g a r d e n a n d c l u m b over the stile, 8 w h e r e you g o through the high b o a r d f e n c e . T h e r e w a s an inch of new snow on the g r o u n d , a n d I seen s o m e b o d y ' s tracks. T h e y h a d c o m e u p from the q u a r r y a n d stood a r o u n d the stile a while, a n d then went on a r o u n d the g a r d e n f e n c e . It w a s funny they hadn't c o m e in, after s t a n d i n g a r o u n d s o . I couldn't m a k e it out. It w a s very c u r i o u s , s o m e h o w . I w a s g o i n g to follow a r o u n d , but I s t o o p e d down to look at the tracks first. I didn't notice anything at first, but next I did. T h e r e w a s a c r o s s in the left boot-heel m a d e with big nails, to keep off the devil. I w a s u p in a s e c o n d a n d s h i n n i n g down the hill. I looked over my s h o u l d e r 8.

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every n o w a n d t h e n , b u t I didn't s e e n o b o d y . I w a s at J u d g e T h a t c h e r ' s a s q u i c k a s I c o u l d get there. H e said: "Why, my boy, you are all out of b r e a t h . D i d you c o m e for your i n t e r e s t ? " " N o sir," I says; "is there s o m e for m e ? " " O h , yes, a half-yearly is in, last night. Over a h u n d r e d a n d fifty dollars. Quite a fortune for you. You better let m e invest it a l o n g with your six thous a n d , b e c a u s e if you take it you'll s p e n d it." " N o sir," I s a y s , "I don't w a n t to s p e n d it. I don't want it at a l l — n o r the six t h o u s a n d , n u t h e r . I w a n t you to t a k e it; I want to give it to y o u — t h e six t h o u s a n d a n d all." H e looked s u r p r i s e d . H e couldn't s e e m to m a k e it out. H e says: "Why, w h a t c a n you m e a n , my b o y ? " I says, " D o n ' t you a s k m e n o q u e s t i o n s a b o u t it, p l e a s e . You'll t a k e i t — won't y o u ? " H e says: "Well I'm puzzled. Is s o m e t h i n g the m a t t e r ? " " P l e a s e take it," says I, " a n d don't a s k m e n o t h i n g — t h e n I won't have to tell no l i e s . " H e s t u d i e d a while, a n d then h e says: " O h o - o . I think I s e e . You want to sell all your property to m e — n o t give it. T h a t ' s the correct i d e a . " T h e n h e wrote s o m e t h i n g o n a p a p e r a n d read it over, a n d s a y s : " T h e r e — y o u s e e it says 'for a c o n s i d e r a t i o n . ' T h a t m e a n s I have b o u g h t it of you a n d paid you for it. H e r e ' s a dollar for y o u . N o w , you sign it." S o I s i g n e d it, a n d left. M i s s W a t s o n ' s nigger, J i m , h a d a hair-ball a s big a s your fist, w h i c h h a d b e e n took o u t of the fourth s t o m a c h of a n ox, a n d h e u s e d to do m a g i c with it. 9 H e s a i d there w a s a spirit inside of it, a n d it k n o w e d everything. S o I went to him that night a n d told h i m p a p w a s h e r e a g a i n , for I f o u n d his tracks in the snow. W h a t I w a n t e d to know, w a s , w h a t he w a s g o i n g to d o , a n d w a s he g o i n g to stay? J i m got o u t his hair-ball, a n d s a i d s o m e t h i n g over it, a n d then he held it u p a n d d r o p p e d it o n the floor. It fell pretty solid, a n d only rolled a b o u t an i n c h . J i m tried it a g a i n , a n d t h e n a n o t h e r t i m e , a n d it a c t e d j u s t the s a m e . J i m got d o w n on his k n e e s a n d p u t his e a r a g a i n s t it a n d listened. B u t it warn't n o u s e ; h e s a i d it wouldn't talk. H e s a i d s o m e t i m e s it wouldn't talk without m o n e y . I told him I h a d a n old slick counterfeit q u a r t e r that warn't n o g o o d b e c a u s e the b r a s s s h o w e d through the silver a little, a n d it wouldn't p a s s n o h o w , even if the b r a s s didn't s h o w , b e c a u s e it w a s s o slick it felt greasy, a n d s o that w o u l d tell o n it every t i m e . (I r e c k o n e d I wouldn't say n o t h i n g a b o u t the dollar I got from the j u d g e . ) I s a i d it w a s pretty b a d m o n e y , but m a y b e the hair-ball w o u l d take it, b e c a u s e m a y b e it wouldn't know the difference. J i m s m e l t it, a n d bit it, a n d r u b b e d it, a n d s a i d h e would m a n a g e s o the hair-ball w o u l d think it w a s g o o d . H e s a i d h e w o u l d split o p e n a raw Irish p o t a t o a n d stick the q u a r t e r in b e t w e e n a n d k e e p it there all night, a n d next m o r n i n g you c o u l d n ' t s e e n o b r a s s , a n d it w o u l d n ' t feel greasy no m o r e , a n d s o anybody in town w o u l d take it in a m i n u t e , let a l o n e a hairball. Well, I k n o w e d a p o t a t o w o u l d d o that, b e f o r e , b u t I h a d forgot it. 9 . T h o u g h m o s t o f t h e s u p e r s t i t i o n s i n Tom Sawyer a n d Huck Finn h a v e b e e n t r a c e d t o E u r o p e a n s o u r c e s , t h e b e l i e f in t h e m a g i c a l p o w e r s o f t h e h a i r

ball f o u n d in t h e s t o m a c h s o f o x e n s e e m s to b e A f r i c a n A m e r i c a n in o r i g i n .

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J i m p u t the q u a r t e r u n d e r the hair-ball a n d got d o w n a n d listened again. T h i s time h e said the hair-ball w a s all right. H e said it w o u l d tell my whole fortune if I w a n t e d it to. I says, go o n . S o the hair-ball talked to J i m , a n d J i m told it to m e . H e s a y s : "Yo' ole father d o a n ' know, yit, what he's a-gwyne to d o . S o m e t i m e s he s p e c he'll g o 'way, en den agin he s p e c he'll stay. D e b e s ' way is to res' easy en let d e ole m a n take his own way. Dey's two a n g e l s hoverin' r o u n ' 'bout h i m . O n e uv 'em is white en shiny, en 'tother o n e is black. D e white o n e gits him to go right, a little while, d e n de b l a c k o n e sail in en b u s t it all u p . A body can't tell, yit, which o n e gwyne to fetch him at d e las'. B u t you is all right. You gwyne to have c o n s i d a b l e trouble in yo' life, en c o n s i d a b l e joy. S o m e t i m e s you gwyne to git hurt, en s o m e t i m e s you gwyne to git sick; b u t every time you's gwyne to git well agin. Dey's two gals flyin' 'bout you in yo' life. O n e uv 'em's light en 'tother o n e is dark. O n e is rich en 'tother is po'. You's gwyne to marry d e p o ' o n e fust en de rich o n e by-en-by. You w a n t s to keep 'way fum de water a s m u c h a s you kin, en don't run n o resk, 'kase it's down in d e bills dat you's gwyne to git h u n g . " W h e n I lit my c a n d l e a n d went u p to my r o o m that night, there set p a p , his own self! Chapter

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I h a d shut the d o o r to. T h e n I turned a r o u n d , a n d there h e w a s . I u s e d to be s c a r e d of him all the t i m e , h e t a n n e d m e so m u c h . I r e c k o n e d I w a s s c a r e d now, too; but in a m i n u t e I s e e I w a s m i s t a k e n . T h a t is, after the first jolt, as you m a y say, w h e n my b r e a t h sort of h i t c h e d — h e b e i n g s o u n e x p e c t e d ; but right away after, I s e e I warn't s c a r e d of him worth b o t h e r i n g a b o u t . H e w a s m o s t fifty, a n d h e looked it. H i s hair w a s long a n d t a n g l e d a n d greasy, a n d h u n g d o w n , a n d you c o u l d s e e his eyes s h i n i n g t h r o u g h like h e was b e h i n d vines. It w a s all black, n o gray; so w a s his long, m i x e d - u p whiskers. T h e r e warn't no color in his f a c e , w h e r e his f a c e s h o w e d ; it w a s white; not like a n o t h e r m a n ' s white, b u t a white to m a k e a body sick, a white to m a k e a body's flesh c r a w l — a tree-toad white, a fish-belly white. As for his c l o t h e s — j u s t rags, that w a s all. H e h a d o n e ankle resting on 'tother k n e e ; the boot on that foot w a s b u s t e d , a n d two of his toes s t u c k t h r o u g h , a n d he worked t h e m now a n d t h e n . His hat w a s laying on the floor; a n old black s l o u c h with the top c a v e d in, like a lid. I s t o o d a-looking at h i m ; h e set there a-looking at m e , with his c h a i r tilted b a c k a little. I set the c a n d l e d o w n . I noticed the window w a s u p ; s o h e h a d d u m b in by the s h e d . H e kept a-looking m e all over. By-and-by h e s a y s : " S t a r c h y clothes—very. You think you're a g o o d deal of a b i g - b u g , don't you?" " M a y b e I a m , m a y b e I ain't," I says. " D o n ' t you give m e n o n e o' your lip," says h e . "You've p u t on c o n s i d e r b l e m a n y frills s i n c e I b e e n away. I'll take you down a p e g before I get d o n e with y o u . You're e d u c a t e d , too, they say; c a n read a n d write. You think you're better'n your father, now, don't you, b e c a u s e he can't? I'll take it o u t of y o u . W h o told you you might m e d d l e with s u c h hifalut'n f o o l i s h n e s s , h e y ? — w h o told you you c o u l d ? " " T h e widow. S h e told m e . "

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" T h e widow, h e y ? — a n d w h o told the widow s h e could put in her shovel a b o u t a thing that ain't n o n e of her b u s i n e s s ? " " N o b o d y never told h e r . " "Well, I'll learn her how to m e d d l e . A n d looky h e r e — y o u drop that s c h o o l , you h e a r ? I'll learn p e o p l e to bring u p a boy to put on airs over his own father a n d let on to b e better'n what he is. You l e m m e c a t c h you fooling a r o u n d that s c h o o l a g a i n , you h e a r ? Your m o t h e r couldn't r e a d , a n d s h e couldn't write, nuther, before s h e died. N o n e of the family couldn't, before they died. I can't; a n d here you're a-swelling yourself u p like this. I ain't the m a n to s t a n d i t — y o u h e a r ? S a y — l e m m e h e a r you r e a d . " I took up a book a n d b e g u n s o m e t h i n g a b o u t General W a s h i n g t o n a n d the w a r s . W h e n I'd read a b o u t a half a m i n u t e , he f e t c h e d the book a w h a c k with his h a n d a n d k n o c k e d it a c r o s s the h o u s e . H e says: "It's s o . You c a n d o it. I h a d my d o u b t s w h e n you told m e . N o w looky h e r e ; you s t o p that p u t t i n g o n frills. I won't have it. I'll lay for you, my smarty; a n d if I c a t c h you a b o u t that s c h o o l I'll tan you g o o d . First you know you'll get religion, t o o . I never s e e s u c h a s o n . " H e took u p a little b l u e a n d yaller picture of s o m e cows a n d a boy, a n d says: "What's this?" "It's s o m e t h i n g they give m e for l e a r n i n g my l e s s o n s g o o d . " H e tore it u p , a n d s a y s — "I'll give you s o m e t h i n g better—I'll give you a c o w h i d e . " 1 H e s e i there a - m u m b l i n g a n d a-growling a m i n u t e , a n d then h e s a y s — "Ain't you a s w e e t - s c e n t e d dandy, t h o u g h ? A b e d ; a n d b e d c l o t h e s ; a n d a look'n-glass; a n d a p i e c e of c a r p e t on the floor—and your own father got to sleep with the h o g s in the tanyard. I never s e e s u c h a s o n . I bet I'll take s o m e o' t h e s e frills out o' you before I'm d o n e with you. W h y there ain't no e n d to your a i r s — t h e y say you're rich. H e y ? — h o w ' s t h a t ? " " T h e y lie—that's h o w . " " L o o k y h e r e — m i n d how you talk to m e ; I'm a - s t a n d i n g a b o u t all I c a n s t a n d , n o w — s o don't g i m m e no s a s s . I've b e e n in town two d a y s , a n d I hain't h e a r d nothing but a b o u t you bein' rich. I h e a r d a b o u t it a w a y d o w n the river, too. T h a t ' s why I c o m e . You git m e that m o n e y t o - m o r r o w — I w a n t it." "I hain't got no m o n e y . " "It's a lie. J u d g e T h a t c h e r ' s got it. You git it. I want it." "I hain't got no money, I tell y o u . You a s k J u d g e T h a t c h e r ; he'll tell you the s a m e . " "All right. I'll a s k h i m ; a n d I'll m a k e him p u n g l e , 2 t o o , or I'll know the r e a s o n why. S a y — h o w m u c h you got in your p o c k e t ? I w a n t it." "I hain't got only a dollar, a n d I want that t o — " "It don't m a k e n o difference w h a t you want it f o r — y o u j u s t shell it o u t . " H e took it a n d bit it to s e e if it w a s g o o d , a n d t h e n h e said h e w a s going d o w n town to get s o m e whiskey; said he h a d n ' t h a d a drink all day. W h e n he h a d got out on the s h e d , he p u t his h e a d in a g a i n , a n d c u s s e d m e for p u t t i n g on frills a n d trying to be better than h i m ; a n d w h e n I r e c k o n e d he w a s g o n e , h e c o m e b a c k a n d put his h e a d in a g a i n , a n d told m e to mind

1. A s t r a p p i n g w i t h a c o w h i d e w h i p .

2.

T u r n over the money.

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a b o u t that s c h o o l , b e c a u s e he w a s going to lay for m e a n d lick m e if I didn't drop that. Next day h e w a s d r u n k , a n d he went to J u d g e T h a t c h e r ' s a n d bullyragged h i m a n d tried to m a k e him give u p the m o n e y , but he couldn't, a n d then he swore he'd m a k e the law force h i m . T h e j u d g e a n d the widow went to law to get the court to take m e away from him a n d let o n e of t h e m b e my g u a r d i a n ; but it w a s a new j u d g e that h a d j u s t c o m e , a n d h e didn't know the old m a n ; s o h e said c o u r t s mustn't interfere a n d s e p a r a t e families if they could help it; said he'd druther not take a child away from its father. S o J u d g e T h a t c h e r a n d the widow h a d to quit on the b u s i n e s s . T h a t p l e a s e d the old m a n till h e couldn't rest. H e said he'd c o w h i d e m e till I w a s b l a c k a n d b l u e if I didn't raise s o m e m o n e y for him. I borrowed t h r e e dollars from J u d g e T h a t c h e r , a n d p a p took it a n d got d r u n k a n d went a-blowing a r o u n d a n d c u s s i n g a n d w h o o p i n g a n d carrying o n ; a n d h e kept it u p all over town, with a tin p a n , till m o s t midnight; then they j a i l e d him, a n d next day they h a d him b e f o r e court, a n d jailed him again for a week. B u t he said he w a s satisfied; said he w a s b o s s of his s o n , a n d he'd m a k e it warm for him. W h e n he got out the n e w j u d g e said he was a g o i n g to m a k e a m a n of him. S o he took him to his own h o u s e , a n d d r e s s e d him u p c l e a n a n d nice, a n d h a d him to breakfast a n d dinner a n d s u p p e r with the family, a n d w a s j u s t old pie to h i m , s o to s p e a k . A n d after s u p p e r he talked to him a b o u t temp e r a n c e a n d s u c h things till the old m a n cried, a n d said he'd b e e n a fool, a n d fooled away his life; but now he w a s a g o i n g to turn over a new leaf a n d b e a m a n nobody wouldn't be a s h a m e d of, a n d he h o p e d the j u d g e would h e l p him a n d not look d o w n on him. T h e j u d g e said he c o u l d h u g him for t h e m words; so he cried, a n d his wife she cried a g a i n ; p a p said he'd been a m a n that h a d always b e e n m i s u n d e r s t o o d b e f o r e , a n d the j u d g e said he believed it. T h e old m a n said that what a m a n w a n t e d that w a s down, w a s sympathy; a n d the j u d g e said it w a s s o ; so they cried a g a i n . And when it was b e d t i m e , the old m a n rose u p a n d held out his h a n d , a n d says: " L o o k at it g e n t l e m e n , a n d ladies all; take ahold of it; s h a k e it. T h e r e ' s a h a n d that w a s the h a n d of a hog; but it ain't so no m o r e ; it's the h a n d of a m a n that's started in o n a new life, a n d '11 die before he'll go b a c k . You m a r k t h e m w o r d s — d o n ' t forget I s a i d t h e m . It's a clean h a n d now; s h a k e it—don't be a f e a r d . " S o they s h o o k it, o n e after the other, all a r o u n d , a n d cried. T h e j u d g e ' s wife she k i s s e d it. T h e n the old m a n he signed a p l e d g e — m a d e his mark. T h e j u d g e said it w a s the holiest time on record, or s o m e t h i n g like that. T h e n they t u c k e d the old m a n into a beautiful r o o m , which was the s p a r e r o o m , a n d in the night s o m e t i m e he got powerful thirsty a n d c l u m b out onto the p o r c h - r o o f a n d slid d o w n a s t a n c h i o n a n d traded his new c o a t for a j u g of forty-rod,' a n d c l u m b b a c k again a n d had a good old time; a n d towards daylight h e crawled out a g a i n , d r u n k as a fiddler, a n d rolled off the p o r c h a n d broke his left a r m in two p l a c e s a n d was a l m o s t froze to d e a t h when s o m e b o d y f o u n d him after s u n - u p . And when they c o m e to look at that s p a r e r o o m , they h a d to take s o u n d i n g s before they could navigate it. 3.

H o m e - d i s t i l l e d w h i s k e y s t r o n g e n o u g h to k n o c k a p e r s o n forty r o d s , or 2 2 0 y a r d s .

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T h e j u d g e he felt kind of s o r e . H e said h e r e c k o n e d a body c o u l d reform the ole m a n with a s h o t - g u n , m a y b e , b u t he didn't know no other way. Chapter

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W e l l , pretty s o o n the old m a n w a s u p a n d a r o u n d a g a i n , a n d then h e went for J u d g e T h a t c h e r in the c o u r t s to m a k e him give u p that m o n e y , a n d he went for m e , too, for not s t o p p i n g s c h o o l . H e c a t c h e d m e a c o u p l e of times a n d t h r a s h e d m e , b u t I went to s c h o o l j u s t the s a m e , a n d d o d g e d him or outr u n h i m m o s t of the t i m e . I didn't w a n t to go to s c h o o l m u c h , before, but I r e c k o n e d I'd g o now to spite p a p . T h a t law trial w a s a slow b u s i n e s s ; a p p e a r e d like they warn't ever g o i n g to get started o n it; so every now a n d then I'd b o r r o w two or three dollars off of the j u d g e for h i m , to keep from getting a c o w h i d i n g . Every time he got m o n e y h e got drunk; a n d every time he got d r u n k h e r a i s e d C a i n a r o u n d town; a n d every time h e raised C a i n he got j a i l e d . H e w a s j u s t s u i t e d — t h i s kind of thing w a s right in his line. H e got to h a n g i n g a r o u n d the widow's too m u c h , a n d so s h e told him at last, that if h e didn't quit u s i n g a r o u n d there s h e w o u l d m a k e trouble for h i m . Well, wasn't he m a d ? H e said he would s h o w w h o w a s H u c k F i n n ' s b o s s . S o he w a t c h e d out for m e o n e day in the spring, a n d c a t c h e d m e , a n d t o o k m e u p the river a b o u t three mile, in a skiff, a n d c r o s s e d over to the Illinois s h o r e w h e r e it w a s woody a n d there warn't no h o u s e s b u t a n old log h u t in a p l a c e w h e r e the t i m b e r w a s s o thick you couldn't find it if you didn't k n o w w h e r e it w a s . H e kept m e with him all the t i m e , a n d I never got a c h a n c e to r u n off. W e lived in that old c a b i n , a n d h e always locked the d o o r a n d put the key u n d e r his h e a d , nights. H e h a d a g u n which he h a d stole, I r e c k o n , a n d we fished a n d h u n t e d , a n d that was what we lived o n . Every little while h e locked m e in a n d went d o w n to the s t o r e , three miles, to the ferry, a n d t r a d e d fish a n d g a m e for whisky a n d f e t c h e d it h o m e a n d got d r u n k a n d h a d a g o o d t i m e , a n d licked m e . T h e widow s h e f o u n d out where I w a s , by-and-by, a n d s h e s e n t a m a n over to try to get hold of m e , b u t p a p drove him off with the g u n , a n d it warn't long after that till I w a s u s e d to b e i n g w h e r e I w a s , a n d liked it, all but the c o w h i d e part. It w a s kind of lazy a n d jolly, laying off c o m f o r t a b l e all day, s m o k i n g a n d fishing, a n d no b o o k s nor study. T w o m o n t h s or m o r e run along, a n d my c l o t h e s got to b e all rags a n d dirt, a n d I didn't s e e h o w I'd ever got to like it s o well at the widow's, w h e r e you h a d to w a s h , a n d e a t o n a p l a t e , a n d c o m b u p , a n d g o to b e d a n d get u p regular, a n d be forever b o t h e r i n g over a b o o k a n d have old M i s s W a t s o n p e c k i n g at you all the t i m e . I didn't want to g o b a c k n o m o r e . I h a d s t o p p e d c u s s i n g , b e c a u s e the widow didn't like it; b u t n o w I t o o k to it a g a i n b e c a u s e p a p hadn't no o b j e c t i o n s . It w a s pretty g o o d t i m e s u p in the w o o d s there, take it all a r o u n d . B u t by-and-by p a p got too handy with his hick'ry, a n d I couldn't s t a n d it. I w a s all over welts. H e got to going away so m u c h , too, a n d locking m e in. O n c e h e locked m e in a n d w a s g o n e three days. It w a s dreadful l o n e s o m e . I j u d g e d he h a d got d r o w n e d a n d I wasn't ever g o i n g to get o u t any m o r e . I w a s s c a r e d . I m a d e up my mind I would fix u p s o m e way to leave there. I h a d tried to get o u t of that cabin m a n y a time, but I c o u l d n ' t find no way. T h e r e warn't a w i n d o w to it big e n o u g h for a d o g to get t h r o u g h . I couldn't

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get up the chimbly, it w a s too narrow. T h e door w a s thick solid o a k s l a b s . P a p w a s pretty careful not to leave a knife or anything in the c a b i n w h e n he w a s away; I reckon I h a d h u n t e d the p l a c e over a s m u c h a s a h u n d r e d t i m e s ; well, I w a s 'most all the time at it, b e c a u s e it w a s a b o u t the only way to p u t in the t i m e . B u t this time I f o u n d s o m e t h i n g at last; I f o u n d a n old rusty w o o d - s a w without any h a n d l e ; it w a s laid in b e t w e e n a rafter a n d the c l a p b o a r d s of the roof. I g r e a s e d it u p a n d went to work. T h e r e w a s an old horse-blanket nailed a g a i n s t the logs at the far e n d of the c a b i n b e h i n d the table, to keep the wind from blowing t h r o u g h the c h i n k s a n d p u t t i n g the c a n d l e out. I got u n d e r the table a n d raised the blanket a n d went to work to saw a section of the big b o t t o m log o u t , big e n o u g h to let m e t h r o u g h . Well, it w a s a g o o d long j o b , but I w a s getting towards the e n d of it w h e n I h e a r d p a p ' s g u n in the w o o d s . I got rid of the signs of my work, a n d d r o p p e d the blanket a n d hid my saw, a n d pretty s o o n p a p c o m e in. P a p warn't in a g o o d h u m o r — s o h e w a s his natural self. H e s a i d he w a s down to town, a n d everything was g o i n g wrong. H i s lawyer said h e r e c k o n e d he would win his lawsuit a n d get the m o n e y , if they ever got started on the trial; but then there was ways to put it off a long t i m e , a n d J u d g e T h a t c h e r k n o w e d how to do it. A n d he said p e o p l e allowed there'd be a n o t h e r trial to get m e away from him a n d give m e to the widow for my g u a r d i a n , a n d they g u e s s e d it w o u l d win, this t i m e . T h i s s h o o k m e u p c o n s i d e r a b l e , b e c a u s e I didn't want to go b a c k to the widow's any m o r e a n d b e s o c r a m p e d u p a n d sivilized, as they called it. T h e n the old m a n got to c u s s i n g , a n d c u s s e d everything a n d everybody he c o u l d think of, a n d then c u s s e d t h e m all over again to m a k e s u r e he hadn't skipped any, a n d after that he p o l i s h e d off with a kind of general c u s s all r o u n d , i n c l u d i n g a c o n s i d e r a b l e p a r c e l of p e o p l e which h e didn't know the n a m e s of, a n d so called t h e m w h a t ' s - h i s - n a m e , w h e n he got to t h e m , a n d went right a l o n g with his c u s s i n g . H e said he would like to s e e the widow get m e . H e said h e w o u l d w a t c h out, a n d if they tried to c o m e any s u c h g a m e on him h e k n o w e d of a p l a c e six or seven mile off, to stow m e in, where they might h u n t till they d r o p p e d a n d they couldn't find m e . T h a t m a d e m e pretty u n e a s y a g a i n , b u t only for a m i n u t e ; I r e c k o n e d I wouldn't stay o n h a n d till he got that c h a n c e . T h e old m a n m a d e m e go to the skiff a n d fetch the things he h a d got. T h e r e was a fifty-pound s a c k of corn m e a l , a n d a s i d e of b a c o n , a m m u n i t i o n , a n d a four-gallon j u g of whisky, a n d a n old b o o k a n d two n e w s p a p e r s for w a d d i n g , b e s i d e s s o m e t o w . 4 I toted up a load, a n d went b a c k a n d set d o w n on the bow of the skiff to rest. I t h o u g h t it all over, a n d I r e c k o n e d I would walk off with the g u n a n d s o m e lines, a n d take to the w o o d s w h e n I run away. I g u e s s e d I wouldn't stay in o n e p l a c e , b u t j u s t t r a m p right a c r o s s the country, mostly night t i m e s , a n d hunt a n d fish to k e e p alive, a n d so get so far away that the old m a n nor the widow couldn't ever find m e any m o r e . I j u d g e d I would saw o u t a n d leave that night if p a p got d r u n k e n o u g h , a n d I r e c k o n e d he would. I got s o full of it I didn't notice h o w long I w a s staying, till the old m a n hollered a n d a s k e d m e w h e t h e r I w a s a s l e e p or d r o w n d e d . I got the things all u p to the c a b i n , a n d then it w a s a b o u t dark. W h i l e I was c o o k i n g s u p p e r the old m a n took a swig or two a n d got sort of w a r m e d u p , a n d went to ripping a g a i n . H e h a d b e e n d r u n k over in town, a n d laid in 4 . C h e a p r o p e . " W a d d i n g " : m a t e r i a l ( h e r e p a p e r ) u s e d to p a c k t h e g u n p o w d e r in a rifle.

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the gutter all night, a n d h e w a s a sight to look at. A body would a t h o u g h t h e w a s A d a m , he w a s j u s t all m u d . 5 W h e n e v e r his liquor b e g u n to work, he m o s t always went for the g o v m e n t . T h i s time h e says: " C a l l this a g o v m e n t ! why, j u s t look at it a n d s e e w h a t it's like. H e r e ' s the law a-standing ready to take a m a n ' s s o n away from h i m — a m a n ' s own s o n , which he h a s h a d all the trouble a n d all the anxiety a n d all the e x p e n s e of raising. Yes, j u s t a s that m a n h a s got that s o n raised at last, a n d ready to go to work a n d begin to do s u t h i n ' for him a n d give him a rest, the law u p a n d g o e s for him. A n d they call that g o v m e n t ! T h a t ain't all, n u t h e r . T h e law b a c k s that old J u d g e T h a t c h e r u p a n d helps h i m to keep m e o u t o' my p r o p erty. Here's what the law d o e s . T h e law t a k e s a m a n worth six t h o u s a n d dollars a n d u p a r d s , a n d j a m s him into a n old trap of a c a b i n like this, a n d lets him go r o u n d in clothes that ain't fitten for a hog. T h e y call that g o v m e n t ! A m a n can't get his rights in a g o v m e n t like this. S o m e t i m e s I've a mighty notion to j u s t leave the country for g o o d a n d all. Yes, a n d I told 'em s o : I told old T h a t c h e r so to his f a c e . L o t s of 'em h e a r d m e , a n d c a n tell what I s a i d . S a y s I, for two c e n t s I'd leave the b l a m e d country a n d never c o m e a n e a r it agin. T h e m ' s the very w o r d s . I says, look at my h a t — i f you call it a h a t — b u t the lid raises u p a n d the rest of it g o e s d o w n till it's below my c h i n , a n d t h e n it ain't rightly a hat at all, but m o r e like my h e a d w a s shoved u p t h r o u g h a jint o' stove-pipe. L o o k at it, says I — s u c h a hat for m e to w e a r — o n e of the wealthiest m e n in this town, if I c o u l d git my rights. " O h , yes, this is a wonderful g o v m e n t , wonderful. Why, looky h e r e . T h e r e was a free nigger t h e r e , from O h i o ; a m u l a t t e r , 6 m o s t as white a s a white m a n . H e h a d the whitest shirt o n you ever s e e , too, a n d the shiniest h a t ; a n d there ain't a m a n in that town that's got a s fine c l o t h e s a s w h a t he h a d ; a n d he h a d a gold w a t c h a n d c h a i n a n d a silver-headed c a n e — t h e awfulest old gray-headed n a b o b in the S t a t e . A n d what do you think? they s a i d h e w a s a p'fessor in a c o l l e g e , a n d c o u l d talk all kinds of l a n g u a g e s , a n d k n o w e d everything. A n d that ain't the wust. T h e y said h e c o u l d vote, w h e n he w a s at h o m e . Well, that let m e out. T h i n k s I, what is the country a - c o m i n g to? It w a s 'lection day, a n d I w a s j u s t a b o u t to go a n d vote, myself, if I warn't too d r u n k to get there; but w h e n they told m e there w a s a S t a t e in this c o u n t r y where they'd let that nigger vote, I d r a w e d out. I says I'll never vote agin. T h e m ' s the very w o r d s I said; they all h e a r d m e ; a n d the country m a y rot for all m e — I'll never vote agin a s long a s I live. A n d to s e e the cool way of that n i g g e r — why, h e wouldn't a give m e the r o a d if I hadn't shoved him out o' the way. I says to the p e o p l e , why ain't this nigger p u t u p at a u c t i o n a n d s o l d ? — t h a t ' s what I want to know. A n d what d o you r e c k o n they s a i d ? Why, they s a i d he couldn't be sold till he'd b e e n in the S t a t e six m o n t h s , a n d h e hadn't b e e n there that long yet. T h e r e , n o w — t h a t ' s a s p e c i m e n . T h e y call that a g o v m e n t that can't sell a free nigger till he's b e e n in the S t a t e six m o n t h s . H e r e ' s a g o v m e n t that calls itself a g o v m e n t , a n d lets on to b e a g o v m e n t , a n d thinks it is a g o v m e n t , a n d yet's got to set stock-still for six w h o l e m o n t h s before it c a n take a h o l d of a prowling, thieving, infernal, white-shirted free nigger, and7—" 5.

G o d c r e a t e d A d a m f r o m e a r t h in G e n e s i s 2 . 7 .

6. P e r s o n o f m i x e d w h i t e a n d b l a c k a n c e s t r y . 7. M i s s o u r i ' s o r i g i n a l c o n s t i t u t i o n p r o h i b i t e d t h e e n t r a n c e of freed slaves a n d mulattoes into the state, but the " s e c o n d Missouri C o m p r o m i s e " of 1 8 2 0 d e l e t e d t h e p r o v i s i o n . In t h e 1 8 3 0 s a n d

1 8 4 0 s , however, increasingly strict a n t i b l a c k laws w e r e p a s s e d , a n d by 1 8 5 0 a b l a c k p e r s o n w i t h o u t f r e e d o m p a p e r s c o u l d be sold downriver with a m e r e sworn s t a t e m e n t of o w n e r s h i p from a white man.

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P a p w a s a g o i n g on s o , he never n o t i c e d w h e r e his old limber legs w a s taking him to, so h e went h e a d over heels over the t u b of salt pork, a n d barked both s h i n s , a n d the rest of his s p e e c h w a s all the hottest kind of l a n g u a g e — m o s t l y hove at the nigger a n d the g o v m e n t , t h o u g h h e give the tub s o m e , too, all along, here a n d there. H e h o p p e d a r o u n d the c a b i n considerble, first on o n e leg a n d then on the other, h o l d i n g first o n e shin a n d then the other o n e , a n d at last he let o u t with his left foot all of a s u d d e n a n d f e t c h e d the tub a rattling kick. B u t it warn't g o o d j u d g m e n t , b e c a u s e that w a s the boot that h a d a c o u p l e of his toes leaking o u t of the front e n d of it; so now he raised a howl that fairly m a d e a body's hair raise, a n d d o w n h e went in the dirt, a n d rolled there, a n d held his t o e s ; a n d the c u s s i n g he d o n e then laid over anything he h a d ever d o n e previous. H e said so his own self, afterwards. H e h a d h e a r d old Sowberry H a g a n in his best d a y s , a n d he said it laid over him, too; b u t I reckon that w a s sort of piling it o n , m a y b e . After s u p p e r p a p took the j u g , a n d said he h a d e n o u g h whiskey there for two d r u n k s a n d o n e delirium t r e m e n s . T h a t w a s always his word. I j u d g e d he would b e blind d r u n k in a b o u t an hour, an then I w o u l d steal the key, or saw myself o u t , o n e or 'tother. H e drank, a n d drank, a n d t u m b l e d d o w n o n his b l a n k e t s , by-and-by; but luck didn't run my way. H e didn't go s o u n d a s l e e p , but w a s u n e a s y . H e g r o a n e d , a n d m o a n e d , a n d t h r a s h e d a r o u n d this way a n d that, for a long t i m e . At last I got s o sleepy I couldn't k e e p my eyes o p e n , all I c o u l d d o , a n d so before I k n o w e d what I w a s a b o u t I w a s s o u n d a s l e e p , a n d the c a n d l e b u r n i n g . I don't know how long I w a s a s l e e p , but all of a s u d d e n there w a s an awful s c r e a m a n d I w a s u p . T h e r e w a s p a p , looking wild a n d s k i p p i n g a r o u n d every which way a n d yelling a b o u t s n a k e s . H e said they w a s crawling u p his l e g s ; and then he would give a j u m p a n d s c r e a m , a n d say o n e h a d bit him on the c h e e k — b u t I couldn't see n o s n a k e s . H e started to run r o u n d a n d r o u n d the cabin, hollering " t a k e him off! take him off! he's biting m e on the n e c k ! " I never s e e a m a n look s o wild in the eyes. Pretty s o o n h e w a s all f a g g e d o u t , a n d fell down p a n t i n g ; then h e rolled over a n d over, wonderful fast, kicking things every which way, a n d striking a n d g r a b b i n g at the air with his h a n d s , a n d s c r e a m i n g , a n d saying there w a s devils a h o l d of him. H e wore out, byand-by, a n d laid still a while, m o a n i n g . T h e n he laid stiller, a n d didn't m a k e a s o u n d . I c o u l d hear the owls a n d the wolves, away off in the w o o d s , a n d it s e e m e d terrible still. H e w a s laying over by the corner. By-and-by h e raised u p , part way, a n d listened, with his h e a d to o n e side. H e says very low: " T r a m p — t r a m p — t r a m p ; that's the d e a d ; t r a m p — t r a m p — t r a m p ; they're c o m i n g after m e ; but I won't g o — O h , they're here! don't t o u c h m e — d o n ' t ! h a n d s off—they're c o l d ; let g o — O h , let a poor devil a l o n e ! " T h e n he went down on all fours a n d crawled off b e g g i n g t h e m to let him a l o n e , a n d he rolled h i m s e l f u p in his blanket a n d wallowed in u n d e r the old pine table, still a-begging; a n d then h e went to crying. I c o u l d hear him through the blanket. By-and-by he rolled out a n d j u m p e d u p on his feet looking wild, a n d he s e e m e a n d went for m e . H e c h a s e d m e r o u n d a n d r o u n d the p l a c e , with a clasp-knife, calling m e the Angel of D e a t h a n d saying h e would kill m e a n d then I couldn't c o m e for him no m o r e . I b e g g e d , a n d told him I w a s only H u c k , but he l a u g h e d such a s c r e e c h y l a u g h , a n d roared a n d c u s s e d , a n d kept on c h a s i n g m e u p . O n c e w h e n I t u r n e d short a n d d o d g e d u n d e r his a r m h e m a d e a grab a n d got m e by the j a c k e t between my s h o u l d e r s , a n d I t h o u g h t

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I w a s g o n e ; but I skid o u t of the j a c k e t q u i c k a s lightning, a n d saved myself. Pretty s o o n h e w a s all tired out, a n d d r o p p e d d o w n with his b a c k a g a i n s t the door, a n d said he w o u l d rest a m i n u t e a n d then kill m e . H e put his knife u n d e r him, a n d s a i d he would s l e e p a n d get s t r o n g , a n d then h e w o u l d s e e who was who. S o h e d o z e d off, pretty s o o n . By-and-by I got the old split b o t t o m 8 c h a i r a n d c l u m b u p , a s easy a s I c o u l d , not to m a k e any n o i s e , a n d got down the g u n . I slipped the r a m r o d d o w n it to m a k e s u r e it w a s l o a d e d , a n d then I laid it a c r o s s the turnip barrel, p o i n t i n g towards p a p , a n d set d o w n b e h i n d it to wait for him to stir. A n d how slow a n d still the time did d r a g a l o n g .

Chapter

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" G i t u p ! w h a t you 'bout!" I o p e n e d my eyes a n d looked a r o u n d , trying to m a k e o u t where I w a s . It w a s after s u n - u p , a n d I h a d b e e n s o u n d a s l e e p . P a p w a s s t a n d i n g over m e , looking s o u r — a n d sick, too. H e s a y s — " W h a t you d o i n ' with this g u n ? " I j u d g e d h e didn't know n o t h i n g a b o u t what h e h a d b e e n doing, s o I says: " S o m e b o d y tried to get in, so I w a s laying for h i m . " "Why didn't you roust m e o u t ? " "Well I tried to, but I c o u l d n ' t ; I couldn't b u d g e y o u . " "Well, all right. Don't s t a n d there p a l a v e r i n g all day, b u t out with you a n d s e e if there's a fish o n the lines for b r e a k f a s t . I'll be a l o n g in a m i n u t e . " H e u n l o c k e d the door a n d I c l e a r e d out, u p the river b a n k . I noticed s o m e p i e c e s of l i m b s a n d s u c h things floating d o w n , a n d a sprinkling of bark; s o I k n o w e d the river h a d b e g u n to rise. I r e c k o n e d I w o u l d have great t i m e s , now, if I w a s over at the town. T h e J u n e rise u s e d to be always l u c k for m e ; b e c a u s e a s s o o n a s that rise b e g i n s , h e r e c o m e s cord-wood floating d o w n , a n d p i e c e s of log r a f t s — s o m e t i m e s a d o z e n logs together; s o all you h a v e to do is to c a t c h t h e m a n d sell t h e m to the w o o d yards a n d the s a w m i l l . I went a l o n g u p the b a n k with o n e eye o u t for p a p a n d 'tother o n e o u t for what the rise might fetch a l o n g . Well, all at o n c e , h e r e c o m e s a c a n o e ; j u s t a beauty, too, a b o u t thirteen or fourteen foot long, riding high like a d u c k . I shot h e a d first off of the bank, like a frog, c l o t h e s a n d all o n , a n d s t r u c k o u t for the c a n o e . I j u s t e x p e c t e d there'd b e s o m e b o d y laying d o w n in it, b e c a u s e p e o p l e often d o n e that to fool folks, a n d w h e n a c h a p h a d p u l l e d a skiff out m o s t to it they'd raise u p a n d l a u g h at h i m . B u t it warn't s o this t i m e . It w a s a drift-canoe, s u r e e n o u g h , a n d I c l u m b in a n d p a d d l e d her a s h o r e . T h i n k s I, the old m a n will b e glad w h e n h e s e e s t h i s — s h e ' s worth ten d o l l a r s . B u t w h e n I got to s h o r e p a p wasn't in sight yet, a n d a s I w a s r u n n i n g her into a little c r e e k like a gully, all h u n g over with vines a n d willows, I s t r u c k a n o t h e r i d e a ; I j u d g e d I'd hide her g o o d , a n d t h e n , s t e a d of taking to the w o o d s w h e n I run off, I'd go d o w n the river a b o u t fifty m i l e a n d c a m p in o n e p l a c e for g o o d , a n d not have s u c h a r o u g h time t r a m p i n g o n foot. It w a s pretty c l o s e to the shanty, a n d I t h o u g h t I h e a r d the old m a n c o m i n g , all the t i m e ; but I got her hid; a n d then I o u t a n d looked a r o u n d a b u n c h of

8.

I.e., s p l i n t - b o t t o m , m a d e b y w e a v i n g t h i n s t r i p s o f w o o d .

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willows, a n d there w a s the old m a n d o w n the p a t h a p i e c e j u s t d r a w i n g a b e a d on a bird with his g u n . S o h e hadn't s e e n anything. W h e n h e got along, I w a s hard at it taking u p a "trot" l i n e . 9 H e a b u s e d m e a little for b e i n g s o slow, b u t I told him I fell in the river a n d that w a s w h a t m a d e m e s o long. I k n o w e d he would s e e I w a s wet, a n d then h e would b e a s k i n g q u e s t i o n s . W e got five catfish off of the lines a n d w e n t h o m e . W h i l e we laid off, after breakfast, to s l e e p u p , both of u s b e i n g a b o u t w o r e out, I got to thinking that if I c o u l d fix u p s o m e way to k e e p p a p a n d the widow from trying to follow m e , it w o u l d b e a c e r t a i n e r thing than trusting to luck to get far e n o u g h off before they m i s s e d m e ; you s e e , all kinds of things might h a p p e n . Well, I didn't s e e n o way for a while, b u t by-and-by p a p raised u p a m i n u t e , to drink a n o t h e r barrel of water, a n d h e says: "Another time a m a n c o m e s a-prowling r o u n d h e r e , you roust m e o u t , you hear? T h a t m a n warn't here for n o g o o d . I'd a shot h i m . Next t i m e , you r o u s t m e out, you h e a r ? " T h e n he d r o p p e d d o w n a n d went to s l e e p a g a i n — b u t w h a t h e h a d b e e n saying give m e the very idea I w a n t e d . I says to myself, I c a n fix it n o w so nobody won't think of following m e . A b o u t twelve o'clock we turned out a n d went a l o n g u p the b a n k . T h e river was c o m i n g u p pretty fast, a n d lots of drift-wood g o i n g by on the rise. Byand-by, a l o n g c o m e s part of a log r a f t — n i n e logs fast together. W e went out with the skiff a n d towed it a s h o r e . T h e n we h a d dinner. Anybody but p a p would a waited a n d s e e n the day t h r o u g h , s o a s to c a t c h m o r e stuff; b u t that warn't p a p ' s style. N i n e logs was e n o u g h for o n e t i m e ; he m u s t s h o v e right over to town a n d sell. S o h e locked m e in a n d took the skiff a n d started off towing the raft a b o u t half-past three. I j u d g e d he wouldn't c o m e b a c k that night. I waited till I r e c k o n e d he h a d got a g o o d start, then I o u t with my saw a n d went to work on that log a g a i n . B e f o r e he w a s 'tother side of the river I w a s o u t of the h o l e ; him a n d his raft w a s j u s t a s p e c k on the water away off yonder. I took the s a c k of corn m e a l a n d took it to where the c a n o e w a s hid, a n d shoved the vines a n d b r a n c h e s apart a n d p u t it in; then I d o n e the s a m e with the side of b a c o n ; then the whiskey j u g ; I t o o k all the coffee a n d s u g a r there w a s , a n d all the a m m u n i t i o n ; I took the w a d d i n g ; I took the b u c k e t a n d g o u r d , I took a dipper a n d a tin c u p , a n d my old s a w a n d two b l a n k e t s , a n d the skillet a n d the coffee-pot. I took fish-lines a n d m a t c h e s a n d other t h i n g s — e v e r y t h i n g that w a s worth a c e n t . I c l e a n e d o u t the p l a c e . I w a n t e d an axe, but there wasn't any, only the o n e o u t at the w o o d pile, a n d I k n o w e d why I w a s g o i n g to leave that. I fetched o u t the g u n , a n d n o w I w a s d o n e . I h a d wore the g r o u n d a g o o d deal, crawling o u t of the hole a n d d r a g g i n g out so m a n y things. S o I fixed that a s g o o d a s I c o u l d from the o u t s i d e by scattering d u s t on the p l a c e , which covered u p the s m o o t h n e s s a n d the sawd u s t . T h e n I fixed the p i e c e of log b a c k into its p l a c e , a n d p u t two rocks u n d e r it a n d o n e a g a i n s t it to hold it t h e r e , — f o r it w a s b e n t u p at the p l a c e , a n d didn't quite t o u c h g r o u n d . If you s t o o d four or five foot away a n d didn't know it w a s s a w e d , you wouldn't ever notice it; a n d b e s i d e s , this w a s the b a c k of the c a b i n a n d it warn't likely anybody w o u l d g o fooling a r o u n d t h e r e . It w a s all g r a s s clear to the c a n o e ; so I hadn't left a track. I followed a r o u n d 9. A l o n g fishing line f a s t e n e d a c r o s s a s t r e a m ; to this line several s h o r t e r b a i t e d lines a r e a t t a c h e d .

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to s e e . I stood on the b a n k a n d looked out over the river. All s a f e . S o I took the g u n a n d went up a p i e c e into the w o o d s a n d w a s h u n t i n g a r o u n d for s o m e birds, w h e n I s e e a wild pig; h o g s s o o n went wild in t h e m b o t t o m s after they h a d got away from the prairie f a r m s . I shot this fellow a n d took him into c a m p . I took the axe a n d s m a s h e d in the d o o r — I b e a t it a n d h a c k e d it c o n s i d e r a b l e , a-doing it. I f e t c h e d the pig in a n d took him b a c k nearly to the table a n d h a c k e d into his throat with the ax, a n d laid him down on the g r o u n d to b l e e d — I say g r o u n d , b e c a u s e it was g r o u n d — h a r d p a c k e d , a n d n o b o a r d s . Well, next I t o o k a n old s a c k a n d put a lot of big rocks in it,—all I could d r a g — a n d I started it from the pig a n d d r a g g e d it to the d o o r a n d through the w o o d s d o w n to the river a n d d u m p e d it in, a n d d o w n it s u n k , out of sight. You c o u l d e a s y s e e that s o m e t h i n g h a d b e e n d r a g g e d over the g r o u n d . I did wish T o m Sawyer was there, I k n o w e d h e w o u l d take an interest in this kind of b u s i n e s s , a n d throw in the fancy t o u c h e s . N o b o d y c o u l d s p r e a d himself like T o m S a w y e r in s u c h a thing a s that. Well, last I pulled out s o m e of my hair, a n d b l o o d i e d the ax g o o d , a n d s t u c k it on the b a c k s i d e , a n d s l u n g the ax in the corner. T h e n I took u p the pig a n d held him to my breast with my j a c k e t (so he c o u l d n ' t drip) till I got a g o o d p i e c e b e l o w the h o u s e a n d then d u m p e d him into the river. N o w I thought of s o m e t h i n g e l s e . S o I went a n d got the b a g of m e a l a n d my old saw out of the c a n o e a n d f e t c h e d t h e m to the h o u s e . I took the b a g to w h e r e it u s e d to s t a n d , a n d ripped a hole in the b o t t o m of it with the saw, for there warn't no knives a n d forks on the p l a c e — p a p d o n e everything with his c l a s p knife, a b o u t the cooking. T h e n I carried the s a c k a b o u t a h u n d r e d yards a c r o s s the g r a s s a n d t h r o u g h the willows e a s t of the h o u s e , to a shallow lake that w a s five mile wide a n d full of r u s h e s — a n d d u c k s t o o , you might say, in the s e a s o n . T h e r e w a s a s l o u g h or a c r e e k l e a d i n g o u t of it on the other s i d e , that went miles away, I don't know w h e r e , b u t it didn't go to the river. T h e m e a l sifted out a n d m a d e a little track all the way to the lake. I d r o p p e d p a p ' s w h e t s t o n e there too, s o a s to look like it h a d b e e n d o n e by a c c i d e n t . T h e n I tied u p the rip in the m e a l s a c k with a string, s o it wouldn't leak n o m o r e , a n d took it a n d my saw to the c a n o e a g a i n . It w a s a b o u t dark, now; s o I d r o p p e d the c a n o e d o w n the river u n d e r s o m e willows that h u n g over the bank, a n d waited for the m o o n to rise. I m a d e fast to a willow; then I took a bite to eat, a n d by-and-by laid d b w n in the c a n o e to s m o k e a pipe a n d lay out a p l a n . I says to myself, they'll follow the track of that sackful of rocks to the s h o r e a n d then d r a g the river for m e . And they'll follow that meal track to the lake a n d go b r o w s i n g down the c r e e k that leads o u t of it to find the r o b b e r s that killed m e a n d t o o k the t h i n g s . T h e y won't ever hunt the river for anything b u t my d e a d c a r c a s s . They'll s o o n get tired of that, a n d won't b o t h e r no m o r e a b o u t m e . All right; I c a n stop a n y w h e r e I want to. J a c k s o n ' s I s l a n d 1 is g o o d e n o u g h for m e ; I know that island pretty well, a n d nobody ever c o m e s there. A n d then I c a n p a d d l e over to town, nights, a n d slink a r o u n d a n d pick u p things I w a n t . J a c k s o n ' s Island's the p l a c e . I w a s pretty tired, a n d the first thing I k n o w e d , I w a s a s l e e p . W h e n I woke 1. T h e s a m e i s l a n d t h a t s e r v e s f o r a n a d v e n t u r e in Tom I s l a n d , it h a s n o w b e e n w a s h e d a w a y .

Sawyer

( C h . 13); actually known as Glasscock's

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up I didn't know where I w a s , for a m i n u t e . I set up a n d looked a r o u n d , a little s c a r e d . T h e n I r e m e m b e r e d . T h e river looked miles a n d miles a c r o s s . T h e m o o n w a s s o bright I c o u l d a c o u n t e d the drift logs that went a slipping along, black a n d still, h u n d r e d s of yards out from s h o r e . Everything w a s d e a d quiet, a n d it looked late, a n d smelt late. You know w h a t I m e a n — I don't know the words to p u t it in. I took a g o o d g a p a n d a stretch, a n d was j u s t g o i n g to u n h i t c h a n d start, w h e n I h e a r d a s o u n d away over the water. I listened: Pretty s o o n I m a d e it out. It w a s that dull kind of a regular s o u n d that c o m e s from oars working in rowlocks w h e n it's a still night. I p e e p e d out t h r o u g h the willow b r a n c h e s , a n d there it w a s — a skiff, away a c r o s s the water. I couldn't tell how m a n y w a s in it. It kept a - c o m i n g , a n d when it was a b r e a s t of m e I s e e there warn't but o n e m a n in it. T h i n k s I, m a y b e it's p a p , t h o u g h I warn't e x p e c t i n g him. H e d r o p p e d below m e , with the c u r r e n t , a n d by-and-by he c o m e a-swinging u p s h o r e in the e a s y water, a n d he went by s o c l o s e I c o u l d a r e a c h e d out the g u n a n d t o u c h e d h i m . Well, it was p a p , s u r e e n o u g h — a n d sober, too, by the way he laid to his o a r s . I didn't lose no t i m e . T h e next m i n u t e I w a s a - s p i n n i n g d o w n s t r e a m soft but q u i c k in the s h a d e of the bank. I m a d e two mile a n d a half, a n d then struck out a q u a r t e r of a mile or m o r e towards the middle of the river, b e c a u s e pretty s o o n I would be p a s s i n g the ferry l a n d i n g a n d p e o p l e might s e e m e a n d hail m e . I got out a m o n g s t the dtift-wood a n d then laid d o w n in the b o t t o m of the c a n o e a n d let her float. I laid there a n d h a d a g o o d rest a n d a s m o k e o u t of my p i p e , looking away into the sky, not a c l o u d in it. T h e sky looks ever s o d e e p w h e n you lay down on your b a c k in the m o o n s h i n e ; I never k n o w e d it before. A n d how far a body c a n h e a r o n the water s u c h nights! I h e a r d p e o p l e talking at the ferry landing. I heard what they s a i d , too, every word of it. O n e m a n said it was getting towards the l o n g days a n d the short nights, now. 'Tother o n e said this warn't o n e of the short o n e s , he r e c k o n e d — a n d then they l a u g h e d , a n d he s a i d it over again a n d they l a u g h e d a g a i n ; then they w a k e d up a n o t h e r fellow a n d told him, a n d l a u g h e d , but he didn't l a u g h ; he ripped out s o m e t h i n g brisk a n d said let him a l o n e . T h e first fellow said h e 'lowed to tell it to his old w o m a n — s h e would think it w a s pretty g o o d ; but he said that warn't nothing to s o m e things he had said in his time. I h e a r d o n e m a n say it w a s nearly three o'clock, a n d he h o p e d daylight wouldn't wait m o r e than a b o u t a w e e k longer. After that, the talk got further a n d further away, a n d I couldn't m a k e out the w o r d s any m o r e , but I c o u l d hear the m u m b l e ; a n d now a n d then a l a u g h , too, but it s e e m e d a long ways off. I w a s away below the ferry now. I rose u p a n d there w a s J a c k s o n ' s Island, a b o u t two mile a n d a half down s t r e a m , heavy-timbered a n d s t a n d i n g u p out of the middle of the river, big a n d dark a n d solid, like a s t e a m b o a t without any lights. T h e r e warn't any signs of the bar at the h e a d — i t w a s all u n d e r water, now. It didn't take m e long to get there. I shot p a s t the h e a d at a ripping rate, the current w a s s o swift, a n d then I got into the d e a d water a n d l a n d e d on the side towards the Illinois s h o r e . 1 run the c a n o e into a d e e p dent in the b a n k that I k n o w e d a b o u t ; I had to part the willow b r a n c h e s to get in; a n d w h e n I m a d e fast nobody c o u l d a seen the c a n o e from the o u t s i d e . I went up a n d set down on a log at the h e a d of the island a n d looked out

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on the big river a n d the black driftwood, a n d away over to the town, three mile away, w h e r e there w a s t h r e e or four lights twinkling. A m o n s t r o u s big l u m b e r raft w a s a b o u t a mile u p s t r e a m , c o m i n g a l o n g d o w n , with a lantern in the m i d d l e of it. I w a t c h e d it c o m e c r e e p i n g d o w n , a n d w h e n it w a s m o s t a b r e a s t of w h e r e I s t o o d I h e a r d a m a n say, " S t e r n o a r s , there! h e a v e her h e a d to s t a b b o a r d ! " 2 I h e a r d that j u s t a s plain a s if the m a n w a s by my s i d e . T h e r e w a s a little gray in the sky, now; s o I s t e p p e d into the w o o d s a n d laid d o w n for a n a p b e f o r e b r e a k f a s t . Chapter

VIII

T h e s u n w a s u p so high w h e n I w a k e d , that I j u d g e d it w a s after eight o'clock. I laid there in the g r a s s a n d the cool s h a d e , thinking a b o u t things a n d feeling r e s t e d a n d ruther c o m f o r t a b l e a n d satisfied. I c o u l d s e e the s u n o u t at o n e or two h o l e s , b u t mostly it w a s b i g trees all a b o u t , a n d g l o o m y in there a m o n g s t t h e m . T h e r e w a s freckled p l a c e s on the g r o u n d w h e r e the light sifted d o w n t h r o u g h the leaves, a n d the freckled p l a c e s s w a p p e d a b o u t a little, s h o w i n g there w a s a little breeze u p t h e r e . A c o u p l e of squirrels set on a limb a n d j a b b e r e d at m e very friendly. I w a s powerful lazy a n d c o m f o r t a b l e — d i d n ' t w a n t to get u p a n d c o o k breakfast. Well, I w a s dozing off a g a i n , w h e n I thinks I h e a r s a d e e p s o u n d of " b o o m ! " away u p the river. I r o u s e s u p a n d rests o n my elbow a n d listens; pretty s o o n I h e a r s it a g a i n . I h o p p e d u p a n d went a n d looked o u t at a hole in the leaves, a n d I s e e a b u n c h of s m o k e laying o n the water a long ways u p — a b o u t a b r e a s t the ferry. A n d there w a s the ferry-boat full of p e o p l e , floating a l o n g d o w n . I k n o w e d what w a s the m a t t e r , now. " B o o m ! " I s e e the white s m o k e squirt o u t of the ferry-boat's s i d e . You s e e , they w a s firing c a n non over the water, trying to m a k e my c a r c a s s c o m e to the top. I w a s pretty hungry, b u t it warn't g o i n g to d o for m e to start a fire, b e c a u s e they might s e e the s m o k e . S o I set there a n d w a t c h e d the c a n n o n - s m o k e a n d listened to the b o o m . T h e river w a s a m i l e w i d e , t h e r e , a n d it always looks pretty o n a s u m m e r m o r n i n g — s o I w a s h a v i n g a g o o d e n o u g h t i m e s e e i n g t h e m hunt for my r e m a i n d e r s , if I only h a d a bite to eat. Well, then I h a p p e n e d to think how they always p u t quicksilver in loaves of b r e a d a n d float t h e m off b e c a u s e they always go right to the d r o w n d e d c a r c a s s a n d s t o p t h e r e . S o says I, I'll k e e p a lookout, a n d if any of t h e m ' s floating a r o u n d after m e , I'll give t h e m a show. I c h a n g e d to the Illinois e d g e of the island to s e e what l u c k I c o u l d h a v e , a n d I warn't d i s a p p o i n t e d . A big d o u b l e loaf c o m e along, a n d I m o s t got it, with a long stick, b u t my foot s l i p p e d a n d s h e floated o u t further. O f c o u r s e I w a s w h e r e the c u r r e n t set in the c l o s e s t to the s h o r e — I k n o w e d e n o u g h for that. B u t by-and-by a l o n g c o m e s a n o t h e r o n e , a n d this time I won. I took o u t the p l u g a n d s h o o k out the little d a b of quicksilver, a n d set my teeth in. It w a s "baker's b r e a d " — w h a t the quality e a t — n o n e of your low-down c o r n - p o n e . ' I got a g o o d p l a c e a m o n g s t the l e a v e s , a n d set t h e r e o n a log, m u n c h i n g the b r e a d a n d w a t c h i n g the ferry-boat, a n d very well satisfied. A n d then s o m e t h i n g s t r u c k m e . I says, now I reckon the widow or the p a r s o n or s o m e 2. S t a r b o a r d , the right-hand side of a boat, facing forward.

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body prayed that this b r e a d would find m e , a n d here it h a s g o n e a n d d o n e it. S o there ain't n o d o u b t but there is s o m e t h i n g in that thing. T h a t is, there's s o m e t h i n g in it when a body like the widow or the p a r s o n prays, but it don't work for m e , a n d I reckon it don't work for only j u s t the right kind. I lit a p i p e a n d h a d a g o o d long s m o k e a n d went on w a t c h i n g . T h e ferryboat w a s floating with the current, a n d I allowed I'd have a c h a n c e to s e e w h o w a s a b o a r d w h e n s h e c o m e along, b e c a u s e s h e would c o m e in c l o s e , w h e r e the b r e a d did. W h e n she'd got pretty well a l o n g d o w n towards m e , I p u t o u t my p i p e a n d went to w h e r e I fished o u t the b r e a d , a n d laid d o w n b e h i n d a log on the b a n k in a little o p e n p l a c e . W h e r e the log forked I c o u l d peep through. By-and-by s h e c a m e a l o n g , a n d s h e drifted in s o c l o s e that they c o u l d a run out a p l a n k a n d walked a s h o r e . M o s t everybody w a s on the b o a t . P a p , a n d J u d g e T h a t c h e r , a n d B e s s i e T h a t c h e r , a n d J o H a r p e r , a n d T o m Sawyer, a n d his old A u n t Polly, a n d S i d a n d M a r y , a n d plenty m o r e . Everybody w a s talking a b o u t the m u r d e r , but the c a p t a i n broke in a n d says: " L o o k s h a r p , now; the c u r r e n t s e t s in the c l o s e s t h e r e , a n d m a y b e he's w a s h e d a s h o r e a n d got t a n g l e d a m o n g s t the b r u s h at the water's e d g e . I h o p e so, anyway." I didn't h o p e s o . T h e y all c r o w d e d u p a n d l e a n e d over the rails, nearly in my f a c e , a n d kept still, w a t c h i n g with all their might. I c o u l d s e e t h e m firstrate, but they c o u l d n ' t s e e m e . T h e n the c a p t a i n s u n g out: " S t a n d a w a y ! " a n d the c a n n o n let off s u c h a blast right before m e that it m a d e m e d e e f with the noise a n d pretty n e a r blind with the s m o k e , a n d I j u d g e d I w a s g o n e . If they'd a h a d s o m e bullets in, I reckon they'd a got the c o r p s e they w a s after. Well, I s e e I warn't hurt, t h a n k s to g o o d n e s s . T h e boat floated on a n d went out of sight a r o u n d the s h o u l d e r of the island. I c o u l d hear the b o o m i n g , n o w a n d t h e n , further a n d further off, a n d by-and-by after a n hour, I didn't h e a r it no m o r e . T h e island w a s t h r e e mile long. I j u d g e d they h a d got to the foot, a n d w a s giving it u p . B u t they didn't yet a while. T h e y turned a r o u n d the foot of the island a n d started u p the c h a n n e l o n the M i s s o u r i s i d e , u n d e r s t e a m , a n d b o o m i n g o n c e in a while a s they w e n t . I c r o s s e d over to that side a n d w a t c h e d t h e m . W h e n they got a b r e a s t the h e a d of the island they quit s h o o t i n g a n d d r o p p e d over to the M i s s o u r i s h o r e a n d went h o m e to the town. I k n o w e d I w a s all right now. N o b o d y e l s e w o u l d c o m e a - h u n t i n g after m e . I got my traps out of the c a n o e a n d m a d e m e a nice c a m p in the thick w o o d s . I m a d e a kind of a tent out of my b l a n k e t s to p u t my things u n d e r so the rain couldn't get at t h e m . I c a t c h e d a cat fish a n d h a g g l e d him o p e n with my saw, a n d t o w a r d s s u n d o w n I started my c a m p fire a n d h a d s u p p e r . T h e n I set o u t a line to c a t c h s o m e fish for breakfast. W h e n it w a s d a r k I set by my c a m p fire s m o k i n g , a n d feeling pretty satisfied; b u t by-and-by it got sort of l o n e s o m e , a n d so I went a n d set on the b a n k a n d listened to the c u r r e n t s w a s h i n g along, a n d c o u n t e d the stars a n d driftlogs a n d rafts that c o m e d o w n , a n d then went to b e d ; there ain't n o better way to p u t in time w h e n you a r e l o n e s o m e ; you can't stay s o , you s o o n get over it. A n d so for three days a n d nights. N o d i f f e r e n c e — j u s t the s a m e thing. B u t the next day I went exploring a r o u n d down t h r o u g h the island. I w a s b o s s of it; it all b e l o n g e d to m e , s o to say, a n d I w a n t e d to k n o w all a b o u t it; but

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mainly I w a n t e d to p u t in the time. I f o u n d plenty strawberries, ripe a n d p r i m e ; a n d green s u m m e r - g r a p e s , a n d green razberries; a n d the green blackberries w a s j u s t b e g i n n i n g to show. T h e y would all c o m e handy by-and-by, I judged. Well, I went fooling a l o n g in the d e e p w o o d s till I j u d g e d I warn't far from the foot of the island. I h a d my g u n a l o n g , b u t I hadn't shot n o t h i n g ; it w a s for p r o t e c t i o n ; t h o u g h t I would kill s o m e g a m e nigh h o m e . A b o u t this time I mighty near s t e p p e d on a g o o d sized s n a k e , a n d it went sliding off t h r o u g h the g r a s s a n d flowers, a n d I after it, trying to get a shot at it. I c l i p p e d along, a n d all of s u d d e n I b o u n d e d right o n to the a s h e s of a c a m p fire that w a s still s m o k i n g . M y heart j u m p e d up a m o n g s t my l u n g s . I never waited for to look further, but u n c o c k e d my g u n a n d went s n e a k i n g b a c k on my tip-toes a s fast a s ever I c o u l d . Every now a n d then I s t o p p e d a s e c o n d , a m o n g s t the thick leaves, a n d listened; but my breath c o m e s o hard I c o u l d n ' t h e a r n o t h i n g e l s e . I s l u n k a l o n g a n o t h e r p i e c e further, then listened a g a i n ; a n d so o n , a n d so o n ; if I s e e a s t u m p , I took it for a m a n ; if I trod on a stick a n d broke it, it m a d e m e feel like a p e r s o n h a d c u t o n e of my b r e a t h s in two a n d I only got half, a n d the short half, too. W h e n I got to c a m p I warn't feeling very b r a s h , there warn't m u c h s a n d in my c r a w ; 4 b u t I says, this ain't n o t i m e to b e fooling a r o u n d . S o I got all my traps into my c a n o e again s o a s to have t h e m out of sight, a n d I put out the fire a n d s c a t t e r e d the a s h e s a r o u n d to look like a n old last year's c a m p , a n d then c l u m b a tree. I reckon I w a s u p in the tree two h o u r s ; but I didn't s e e n o t h i n g , I didn't h e a r n o t h i n g — I only thought I h e a r d a n d s e e n a s m u c h as a t h o u s a n d things. Well, I couldn't stay up t h e r e forever; so at last I got d o w n , but I kept in the thick w o o d s a n d on the lookout all the time. All I c o u l d get to e a t w a s berries a n d what w a s left over from b r e a k f a s t . By the time it w a s night I w a s pretty hungry. S o w h e n it w a s g o o d a n d dark, I slid o u t from shore before m o o n r i s e a n d p a d d l e d over to the Illinois b a n k — a b o u t a q u a r t e r of a mile. I went out in the w o o d s a n d c o o k e d a s u p p e r , a n d I h a d a b o u t m a d e up my m i n d I w o u l d stay there all night, w h e n I h e a r a plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, a n d says to myself, h o r s e s c o m i n g ; a n d next I h e a r people's voices. I got everything into the c a n o e a s q u i c k as I c o u l d , a n d then went c r e e p i n g t h r o u g h the w o o d s to s e e w h a t I c o u l d find out. I hadn't got far w h e n I h e a r a m a n say: " W e ' d better c a m p h e r e , if we c a n find a g o o d p l a c e ; the h o r s e s is a b o u t beat out. L e t ' s look a r o u n d . " 5 I didn't wait, but shoved o u t a n d p a d d l e d away easy. I tied up in the old p l a c e , a n d r e c k o n e d I w o u l d s l e e p in the c a n o e . I didn't sleep m u c h . I couldn't, s o m e h o w , for thinking. A n d every time I w a k e d up I t h o u g h t s o m e b o d y h a d m e by the n e c k . S o the s l e e p didn't do m e no g o o d . By-and-by I says to myself, I can't live this way; I'm a g o i n g to find out w h o it is that's here on the island with m e ; I'll find it out or bust. Well, I felt better, right off. S o I took my p a d d l e a n d slid out from s h o r e j u s t a s t e p or two, a n d then 4. S l a n g for not f e e l i n g very b r a v e . 5. A p p a r e n t l y this e p i s o d e is a v e s t i g e o f a n early

c o n c e p t i o n o f t h e n o v e l i n v o l v i n g P a p in a m u r d e r plot a n d c o u r t trial.

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let the c a n o e drop a l o n g d o w n a m o n g s t the s h a d o w s . T h e m o o n w a s shining, a n d o u t s i d e of the s h a d o w s it m a d e it m o s t a s light a s day. I p o k e d a l o n g well onto a n hour, everything still a s rocks a n d s o u n d a s l e e p . Well by this t i m e I w a s m o s t d o w n to the foot of the island. A little ripply, cool b r e e z e b e g u n to blow, a n d that w a s a s g o o d as saying the night w a s a b o u t d o n e . I give her a turn with the p a d d l e a n d b r u n g her n o s e to s h o r e ; then I got my g u n a n d slipped out a n d into the e d g e of the w o o d s . I set down there o n a log a n d looked o u t t h r o u g h the leaves. I s e e the m o o n go off w a t c h a n d the d a r k n e s s begin to blanket the river. B u t in a little while I s e e a p a l e streak over the tree-tops, a n d k n o w e d the day w a s c o m i n g . S o I t o o k m y g u n a n d slipped off towards w h e r e I h a d run a c r o s s that c a m p fire, s t o p p i n g every m i n u t e or two to listen. B u t I hadn't n o luck, s o m e h o w ; I couldn't s e e m to find the p l a c e . B u t by-and-by, s u r e e n o u g h , I c a t c h e d a g l i m p s e of fire, away t h r o u g h the trees. I went for it, c a u t i o u s a n d slow. By-and-by I w a s c l o s e e n o u g h to have a look, a n d there laid a m a n on the g r o u n d . It m o s t give m e the f a n - t o d s . 6 H e h a d a b l a n k e t a r o u n d his h e a d , a n d his h e a d w a s nearly in the fire. I set there b e h i n d a c l u m p of b u s h e s , in a b o u t six foot of him, a n d kept my eyes on him steady. It w a s getting gray daylight, now. Pretty s o o n h e g a p p e d , a n d stretched himself, a n d hove off the blanket, a n d it w a s M i s s W a t s o n ' s J i m ! I bet I w a s glad to s e e h i m . I s a y s : " H e l l o , J i m ! " a n d s k i p p e d out. H e b o u n c e d u p a n d stared at m e wild. T h e n h e d r o p s d o w n on his k n e e s , a n d p u t s his h a n d s together a n d says: " D o a n ' hurt m e — d o n ' t ! I hain't ever d o n e n o h a r m to a ghos'. I awluz liked d e a d p e o p l e , en d o n e all I c o u l d for 'em. You g o en git in d e river a g i n , w h a h you b'longs, en d o a n ' d o nuffn to O l e J i m , 'at 'uz awluz yo' fren'." Well, I warn't long m a k i n g him u n d e r s t a n d I warn't d e a d . I w a s ever s o glad to s e e J i m . I warn't l o n e s o m e , now. I told h i m I warn't afraid of him telling the p e o p l e w h e r e I w a s . I talked along, but he only set there a n d looked at m e ; never said nothing. T h e n I s a y s : "It's g o o d daylight. Let's get breakfast. M a k e u p your c a m p fire g o o d . " " W h a t ' s de u s e er m a k i n ' u p d e c a m p fire to c o o k strawbries en s i c h truck? B u t you got a g u n , hain't you? D e n we kin git s u m f n better d e n s t r a w b r i e s . " " S t r a w b e r r i e s a n d s u c h t r u c k , " I says. "Is that what you live o n ? " "I c o u l d n ' git nuffn e l s e , " he says. "Why, how long you b e e n on the island, J i m ? " "I c o m e h e a h d e night arter you's killed." " W h a t , all that t i m e ? " "Yes-indeedy." "And ain't you h a d n o t h i n g but that kind of r u b b a g e to e a t ? " "No, sah—nuffn else." "Well, you m u s t b e m o s t starved, ain't y o u ? " "I reck'n I c o u l d eat a h o s s . I think I c o u l d . H o w long you b e n on de islan'?" " S i n c e the night I got killed." " N o ! W'y, w h a t has you lived o n ? B u t you got a g u n . O h , yes, you got a g u n . Dat's g o o d . N o w you kill s u m f n en I'll m a k e u p d e fire." S o we went over to w h e r e the c a n o e w a s , a n d while h e built a fire in a 6.

S l a n g for the h a l l u c i n a t o r y s t a t e a s s o c i a t e d with d e l i r i u m t r e m e n s .

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g r a s s y o p e n p l a c e a m o n g s t the trees, I f e t c h e d m e a l a n d b a c o n a n d c o f f e e , a n d coffee-pot a n d frying-pan, a n d s u g a r a n d tin c u p s , a n d the nigger w a s set b a c k c o n s i d e r a b l e , b e c a u s e he r e c k o n e d it w a s all d o n e with witchcraft. I c a t c h e d a g o o d big cat-fish, too, a n d J i m c l e a n e d him with his knife, a n d fried h i m . W h e n breakfast w a s ready, we lolled o n the g r a s s a n d eat it s m o k i n g hot. J i m laid it in with all his might, for he w a s m o s t a b o u t starved. T h e n w h e n we h a d got pretty well stuffed, we laid off a n d lazied. By-and-by J i m says: " B u t looky h e r e , H u c k , w h o wuz it dat 'uz killed in dat shanty, ef it warn't you? T h e n I told him the whole thing, a n d h e s a i d it w a s s m a r t . H e s a i d T o m Sawyer couldn't get up no better p l a n t h a n w h a t I h a d . T h e n I says: " H o w do you c o m e to be h e r e , J i m , a n d how'd you get h e r e ? " H e looked pretty u n e a s y , a n d didn't say nothing for a m i n u t e . T h e n he says: " M a y b e I better not tell." "Why, J i m ? " "Well, dey's r e a s o n s . B u t you w o u l d n ' tell on m e ef I 'uz to tell you, w o u l d you, H u c k ? " " B l a m e d if I w o u l d , J i m . " "Well, I b'lieve you, H u c k . I—I run off." "Jim!" " B u t m i n d , you said you wouldn't tell—you k n o w you said you wouldn't tell, H u c k . " "Well, I did. I said I wouldn't, a n d I'll stick to it. H o n e s t injun I will. P e o p l e would call m e a low down Ablitionist a n d d e s p i s e m e for k e e p i n g m u m — b u t that don't m a k e no difference. I ain't a g o i n g to tell, a n d I ain't a g o i n g b a c k there anyways. S o now, le's know all a b o u t it." "Well, you s e e , it 'uz dis way. O l e M i s s u s — d a t ' s M i s s W a t s o n — s h e p e c k s on m e all de t i m e , en treats m e pooty r o u g h , but s h e awluz s a i d s h e w o u l d n ' sell m e d o w n to O r l e a n s . B u t I noticed dey w u z a nigger trader r o u n ' d e p l a c e c o n s i d a b l e , lately, en I begin to git o n e a s y . Well, o n e night I c r e e p s to de do', pooty late, en de d o ' warn't q u i t e s h e t , en I h e a r ole m i s s u s tell de widder s h e gwyne to sell m e down to O r l e a n s , but s h e d i d n ' w a n t to, but she c o u l d git eight h u n d ' d dollars for m e , 7 en it 'uz s i c h a big stack o' m o n e y s h e c o u l d n ' resis'. D e widder s h e try to git her to say s h e w o u l d n ' do it, but I never waited to hear de res'. I lit out mighty quick, I tell y o u . "I t u c k out en shin d o w n de hill en 'spec to steal a skift long d e s h o ' s o m ' e r s 'bove de town, but dey wuz p e o p l e a-stirrin' yit, so I hid in d e ole t u m b l e d o w n c o o p e r s h o p on de b a n k to wait for everybody to g o 'way. W e l l , I w u z d a h all night. D e y wuz s o m e b o d y r o u n ' all de t i m e . L o n g 'bout six in de m a w n i n ' , skifts begin to go by, en 'bout eight or nine every skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout how yo' p a p c o m e over to d e town en say you's killed. D e s e las' skifts wuz full o' ladies en g e n l m e n a g o i n ' over for to s e e d e p l a c e . S o m e t i m e s dey'd pull up at d e s h o ' e n take a res' b'fo' dey started a c r o s t , so by de talk I got to know all 'bout d e killin'. I 'uz powerful sorry you's killed, H u c k , but I ain't no m o ' , now. 7 . A r e a l i s t i c p r i c e f o r a h e a l t h y m a l e s l a v e in t h e 1 8 4 0 s .

A D V E N T U R E S

OF

H U C K L E B E R R Y

FINN,

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"I laid d a h u n d e r de shavins all day. I 'uz hungry, but I warn't a f e a r e d ; b e k a s e I knowed ole m i s s u s en d e widder wuz goin' to start to d e c a m p m e e t n ' right arter b r e a k f a s ' en be g o n e all day, en dey knows I g o e s off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so dey w o u l d n ' 'spec to s e e m e r o u n ' d e p l a c e , en s o dey w o u l d n ' m i s s m e tell arter dark in de evenin'. D e yuther servants w o u l d n ' m i s s m e , k a s e dey'd shin out en take holiday, s o o n a s de ole folks 'uz out'n de way. "Well, w h e n it c o m e dark I t u c k o u t u p de river r o a d , en went 'bout two mile er m o r e to w h a h dey warn't no h o u s e s . I'd m a d e u p my mind 'bout what I's agwyne to do. You s e e ef I kep' on tryin' to git away afoot, d e d o g s 'ud track m e ; ef I stole a skift to c r o s s over, dey'd m i s s dat skift, you s e e , en dey'd know 'bout whah I'd lan' o n d e yuther side en w h a h to pick up my track. S o I says, a raff is w h a t I's arter; it d o a n ' make n o track. "I s e e a light a - c o m i n ' r o u n ' de p i n t , bymeby, so I w a d e ' in en s h o v e ' a log a h e a d o' m e , en s w u m more'n half-way a c r o s t d e river, en got in 'mongst de drift-wood, en kep' my h e a d down low, en kinder s w u m agin de c u r r e n t tell de raff c o m e along. D e n I s w u m to de stern uv it, en t u c k aholt. It c l o u d e d up en 'uz pooty dark for a little while. S o I c l u m b up en laid d o w n on d e p l a n k s . D e m e n 'uz all 'way yonder in de m i d d l e , 8 w h a h de lantern wuz. D e river w u z arisin' en dey wuz a good c u r r e n t ; s o I reck'n'd 'at by fo' in d e m a w n i n ' I'd b e twenty-five mile down d e river, en d e n I'd slip in, j i s ' b'fo' daylight, en swim a s h o ' en take to de w o o d s on d e lllinoi s i d e . 9 " B u t I didn' have no luck. W h e n we 'uz m o s ' d o w n to de h e a d er de islan', a m a n begin to c o m e aft wid de lantern. I s e e it warn't no u s e fer to wait, so I slid o v e r b o a d , en s t r u c k out fer de islan'. Well, I h a d a notion I c o u l d Ian' m o s ' anywhers, but I c o u l d n ' — b a n k too bluff. I uz m o s ' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' I f o u n ' a good p l a c e . I went into de w o o d s en j e d g e d I w o u l d n ' fool wid raffs no m o ' , long as dey move de lantern r o u n ' s o . I h a d my p i p e en a p l u g er dog-leg, 1 en s o m e m a t c h e s in my c a p , en dey warn't wet, s o I 'uz all right." "And s o you ain't h a d no m e a t nor b r e a d to eat all this time? Why didn't you get m u d - t u r k l e s ? " " H o w you gwyne to git'm? You can't slip up on u m en grab u m ; en how's a body gwyne to hit u m wid a rock? H o w c o u l d a body do it in de night? en I warn't gwyne to s h o w myself on de b a n k in d e d a y t i m e . " "Well, that's s o . You've h a d to keep in the w o o d s all the t i m e , of c o u r s e . Did you hear 'em s h o o t i n g the c a n n o n ? " " O h , yes. I knowed dey w a s arter you. I s e e u m go by h e a h ; w a t c h e d u m thoo d e b u s h e s . " S o m e y o u n g birds c o m e along, flying a yard or two at a time a n d lighting. J i m said it w a s a sign it w a s g o i n g to rain. H e said it was a sign w h e n y o u n g c h i c k e n s flew that way, a n d s o he r e c k o n e d it w a s the s a m e way w h e n y o u n g birds d o n e it. 1 w a s going to c a t c h s o m e of t h e m , but J i m wouldn't let m e . H e said it w a s d e a t h . H e said his father laid mighty sick o n c e , a n d s o m e of t h e m c a t c h e d a bird, a n d his old granny said his father would die, a n d he did. A n d J i m said you m u s t n ' t c o u n t the things you are g o i n g to c o o k for dinner, 8 . A r i v e r raft w o u l d b e l a r g e e n o u g h t o m a k e t h i s easily possible. 9. T h o u g h I l l i n o i s w a s n o t a s l a v e s t a t e , b y s t a t e law any black person without freedom papers

could be arrested a n d s u b j e c t e d to forced labor. J i m ' s c h a n c e s f o r e s c a p e w o u l d b e i m p r o v e d if h e went down the Mississippi and then u p the Ohio. I. C h e a p t o b a c c o .

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b e c a u s e that would bring b a d luck. T h e s a m e if you s h o o k the table-cloth after s u n d o w n . A n d h e said if a m a n o w n e d a bee-hive, a n d that m a n d i e d , the b e e s m u s t be told a b o u t it b e f o r e s u n - u p next m o r n i n g , or else the b e e s would all w e a k e n d o w n a n d quit work a n d d i e . J i m s a i d b e e s wouldn't sting idiots; but I didn't believe that, b e c a u s e I h a d tried t h e m lots of t i m e s myself, a n d they wouldn't sting m e . I h a d h e a r d a b o u t s o m e of t h e s e things b e f o r e , b u t not all of t h e m . J i m k n o w e d all kinds of s i g n s . H e said he k n o w e d m o s t everything. I s a i d it looked to m e like all the signs w a s a b o u t b a d luck, a n d s o I a s k e d him if there warn't any g o o d - l u c k s i g n s . H e says: " M i g h t y f e w — a n ' dey a i n ' n o u s e to a body. W h a t you want to know w h e n g o o d luck's a - c o m i n ' for? want to k e e p it o f f ? " A n d h e said: " E f you's got hairy a r m s en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's agwyne to b e rich. Well, dey's s o m e u s e in a sign like d a t , 'kase it's s o fur a h e a d . You s e e , m a y b e you's got to be p o ' a long time fust, en s o you m i g h t git d i s c o u r a g e ' en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by d e sign dat you gwyne to be rich b y m e b y . " " H a v e you got hairy a r m s a n d a hairy b r e a s t , J i m ? " " W h a t ' s d e u s e to ax dat q u e s t i o n ? d o n ' you s e e I h a s ? " "Well, a r e you r i c h ? " " N o , but I b e n rich w u n s t , a n d gwyne to b e rich agin. W u n s t I h a d foteen dollars, b u t I t u c k to specalat'n', en got b u s t e d o u t . " " W h a t did you s p e c u l a t e in, J i m ? " "Well, fust I tackled s t o c k . " " W h a t kind of s t o c k ? " "Why, live stock. C a t t l e , you know. I p u t ten dollars in a c o w . B u t I ain't gwyne to resk n o m o ' m o n e y in stock. D e c o w u p 'n' died on my h a n ' s . " " S o you lost the ten d o l l a r s . " " N o , I didn' l o s e it all. I on'y los' 'bout n i n e of it. I s o l e de hide en taller for a dollar en ten c e n t s . " "You h a d five dollars a n d ten c e n t s left. D i d you s p e c u l a t e any m o r e ? " "Yes. You know dat one-laigged nigger dat b'longs to old M i s t o B r a d i s h ? well, h e sot u p a b a n k , en say anybody dat p u t in a dollar w o u l d git fo' dollars m o ' at d e e n ' er d e year. W e l l , all d e niggers went in, b u t dey didn' have m u c h . I wuz d e on'y o n e dat h a d m u c h . S o I s t u c k out for m o ' d a n fo' dollars, en I said 'f I d i d n ' git it I'd start a b a n k myself. Well o' c o u r s e dat nigger w a n t ' to keep m e out er de b u s i n e s s , b e k a s e h e say dey warn't b u s i n e s s 'nough for two b a n k s , s o he say I c o u l d p u t in my five dollars en h e pay m e thirtyfive at d e e n ' er de year. " S o I d o n e it. D e n I reck'n'd I'd inves' d e thirty-five dollars right off en keep things a-movin'. D e y w u z a nigger n a m e ' B o b , dat h a d k e t c h e d a woodflat,2 en his m a r s t e r didn' know it; en I b o u g h t it off'n h i m en told him to take de thirty-five dollars w h e n de e n ' er d e year c o m e ; b u t s o m e b o d y stole d e wood-flat dat night, en nex' day de one-laigged nigger say d e b a n k 's b u s t e d . S o dey didn' n o n e uv u s git n o m o n e y . " " W h a t did you do with the ten c e n t s , J i m ? " "Well, I 'uz gwyne to s p e n ' it, but I h a d a d r e a m , en de d r e a m tole m e to give it to a nigger n a m e ' B a l u m — B a l u m ' s A s s ' dey call him for short, he's 2. A

flat-bottomed

boat u s e d to transport timber.

3. B a l a a m , O l d T e s t a m e n t p r o p h e t . G o d ' s a v e n g ing angel interrupted this prophet's j o u r n e y to c u r s e t h e I s r a e l i t e s b y s t a n d i n g in t h e p a t h o f h i s

progress. B a l a a m was blind to the angel's presence, b u t his a s s s a w t h e a n g e l c l e a r l y a n d s w e r v e d off the road, m u c h to B a l a a m ' s c h a g r i n ( N u m b e r s 22).

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o n e er d e m c h u c k l e - h e a d s , you know. B u t he's lucky, dey say, en I s e e I warn't lucky. D e d r e a m say let B a l u m inves' de ten c e n t s en he'd m a k e a raise for m e . Well, B a l u m he t u c k d e m o n e y , en w h e n h e w u z in c h u r c h he hear de p r e a c h e r say dat whoever give to d e p o ' len' to d e L o r d , en b o u n ' to git his m o n e y b a c k a hund'd t i m e s . S o B a l u m h e t u c k en give d e ten c e n t s to de po', en laid low to s e e what wuz gwyne to c o m e of i t . " "Well, what did c o m e of it, J i m ? " " N u f f n never c o m e of it. I c o u l d n ' m a n a g e to k'leck dat m o n e y n o way; en B a l u m he c o u l d n ' . I a i n ' gwyne to len' no m o ' m o n e y 'dout I s e e d e security. B o u n ' to git yo' m o n e y b a c k a hund'd t i m e s , d e p r e a c h e r says! E f I c o u l d git de ten cents b a c k , I'd call it s q u a h , en b e glad er d e c h a n s t . " "Well, it's all right anyway, J i m , long as you're g o i n g to b e rich a g a i n s o m e time or o t h e r . " " Y e s — e n I's rich now, c o m e to look at it. I o w n s mysef, en I's w u t h eight hund'd dollars. I wisht I h a d d e money, I w o u l d n ' want n o m o ' . " Chapter

IX

I w a n t e d to g o a n d look at a p l a c e right a b o u t the m i d d l e of the i s l a n d , that I'd f o u n d w h e n I w a s exploring; so we started, a n d s o o n got to it, b e c a u s e the island w a s only three miles long a n d a q u a r t e r of a m i l e wide. T h i s p l a c e w a s a tolerable long s t e e p hill or ridge, a b o u t forty foot high. W e h a d a rough t i m e getting to the top, the sides w a s s o s t e e p a n d the b u s h e s s o thick. W e t r a m p e d a n d c l u m b a r o u n d all over it, a n d by-and-by f o u n d a good big cavern in the rock, m o s t u p to the top on the side towards Illinois. T h e cavern w a s a s big a s two or three r o o m s b u n c h e d together, a n d J i m c o u l d s t a n d up straight in it. It w a s cool in t h e r e . J i m w a s for p u t t i n g our traps in there, right away, b u t I said we didn't want to b e c l i m b i n g u p a n d down there all the t i m e . J i m said if we h a d the c a n o e hid in a g o o d p l a c e , a n d h a d all the t r a p s in the cavern, we c o u l d r u s h there if anybody w a s to c o m e to the i s l a n d , a n d they would never find u s without d o g s . A n d b e s i d e s , h e s a i d t h e m little birds h a d said it was g o i n g to rain, a n d did I w a n t the things to get wet? S o we went b a c k a n d got the c a n o e a n d p a d d l e d u p a b r e a s t the c a v e r n , a n d l u g g e d all the t r a p s up t h e r e . T h e n we h u n t e d u p a p l a c e c l o s e by to hide the c a n o e in, a m o n g s t the thick willows. W e took s o m e fish off of the lines a n d set t h e m a g a i n , a n d b e g u n to get ready for dinner. T h e door of the cavern w a s big e n o u g h to roll a h o g s h e a d in, a n d on o n e side of the d o o r the floor s t u c k o u t a little bit a n d w a s flat a n d a g o o d p l a c e to build a fire on. S o we built it there a n d c o o k e d dinner. W e s p r e a d the b l a n k e t s inside for a c a r p e t , a n d eat o u r d i n n e r in t h e r e . W e put all the other things handy at the b a c k of the c a v e r n . Pretty s o o n it d a r k e n e d up a n d b e g u n to t h u n d e r a n d lighten; s o the birds w a s right a b o u t it. Directly it b e g u n to rain, a n d it rained like all fury, too, a n d I never s e e the wind blow s o . It w a s o n e of t h e s e r e g u l a r s u m m e r s t o r m s . It would get s o dark that it looked all b l u e - b l a c k o u t s i d e , a n d lovely; a n d the rain w o u l d t h r a s h a l o n g by so thick that the trees off a little ways looked d i m a n d spiderwebby; a n d here would c o m e a blast of wind that would b e n d the trees d o w n a n d turn u p the pale u n d e r s i d e of the leaves; a n d then a p e r f e c t ripper of a gust would follow a l o n g a n d set the b r a n c h e s to t o s s i n g their a r m s a s if they w a s j u s t wild; a n d next, w h e n it w a s j u s t a b o u t the bluest a n d blackest—fit!

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it w a s a s bright as glory a n d you'd have a little g l i m p s e of tree-tops a - p l u n g i n g a b o u t , away off yonder in the s t o r m , h u n d r e d s of yards further t h a n you c o u l d s e e b e f o r e ; dark a s sin again in a s e c o n d , a n d now you'd h e a r the t h u n d e r let go with a n awful c r a s h a n d then g o r u m b l i n g , g r u m b l i n g , t u m bling down the sky towards the u n d e r side of the world, like rolling e m p t y barrels down stairs, w h e r e it's long stairs a n d they b o u n c e a g o o d d e a l , you know. " J i m , this is n i c e , " I s a y s . "I wouldn't w a n t to be n o w h e r e e l s e b u t here. P a s s m e a l o n g a n o t h e r h u n k of fish a n d s o m e hot c o r n b r e a d . " "Well, you w o u l d n ' a ben h e r e , 'f it h a d n ' a b e n for J i m . You'd a ben down d a h in de w o o d s widout any dinner, en gittn' m o s ' d r o w n d e d , too, dat you w o u l d , honey. C h i c k e n s knows w h e n its gwyne to rain, en s o do d e birds, chile." T h e river went o n raising a n d raising for ten or twelve d a y s , till at last it w a s over the b a n k s . T h e water w a s three or four foot d e e p on the i s l a n d in the low p l a c e s a n d on the Illinois b o t t o m . O n that side it w a s a g o o d m a n y miles wide; b u t on the M i s s o u r i side it w a s the s a m e old d i s t a n c e a c r o s s — a half a m i l e — b e c a u s e the M i s s o u r i s h o r e w a s j u s t a wall of high bluffs. D a y t i m e s we p a d d l e d all over the island in the c a n o e . It w a s mighty cool a n d shady in the d e e p w o o d s even if the s u n w a s blazing o u t s i d e . W e went winding in a n d out a m o n g s t the t r e e s ; a n d s o m e t i m e s the vines h u n g s o thick we h a d to b a c k away a n d go s o m e other way. W e l l , o n every old brokend o w n tree, you c o u l d s e e rabbits, a n d s n a k e s , a n d s u c h things; a n d w h e n the island had b e e n overflowed a day or two, they got so t a m e , on a c c o u n t of b e i n g hungry, that you c o u l d p a d d l e right u p a n d put your h a n d on t h e m if you w a n t e d to; but not the s n a k e s a n d t u r t l e s — t h e y w o u l d slide off in the water. T h e ridge our cavern w a s in, w a s full of t h e m . W e c o u l d a h a d pets e n o u g h if we'd w a n t e d t h e m . O n e night we c a t c h e d a little s e c t i o n of a l u m b e r r a f t — n i c e p i n e p l a n k s . It w a s twelve foot wide a n d a b o u t fifteen or sixteen foot long, a n d the top s t o o d a b o v e water six or seven i n c h e s , a solid level floor. W e c o u l d s e e sawlogs go by in the daylight, s o m e t i m e s , but we let t h e m g o ; we didn't s h o w ourselves in daylight. Another night, when we w a s u p at the h e a d of the island, j u s t before daylight, here c o m e s a f r a m e h o u s e d o w n , on the west s i d e . S h e w a s a twostory, a n d tilted over, c o n s i d e r a b l e . W e p a d d l e d o u t a n d got a b o a r d — c l u m b in at a n up-stairs window. B u t it w a s too d a r k to s e e yet, s o we m a d e the c a n o e fast a n d set in her to wait for daylight. T h e light b e g u n to c o m e before we got to the foot of the i s l a n d . T h e n w e looked in at the window. W e c o u l d m a k e o u t a b e d , a n d a t a b l e , a n d two old c h a i r s , a n d lots of things a r o u n d a b o u t on the floor; a n d there w a s c l o t h e s h a n g i n g a g a i n s t the wall. T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g laying o n the floor in the far c o r n e r that looked like a m a n . S o J i m s a y s . "Hello, you!" B u t it didn't b u d g e . S o I hollered a g a i n , a n d then J i m says: " D e m a n ain' a s l e e p — h e ' s d e a d . You hold still—I'll go en s e e . " H e went a n d bent down a n d looked, a n d says: "It's a d e a d m a n . Yes, indeedy; n a k e d , t o o . H e ' s ben s h o t in d e back. I reck'n he's ben d e a d two er three days. C o m e in, H u c k , b u t d o a n ' look at his f a c e — i t ' s too g a s h l y . "

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I didn't look at him at all. J i m throwed s o m e old rags over him, but he needn't d o n e it; I didn't want to s e e him. T h e r e w a s h e a p s of old g r e a s y c a r d s s c a t t e r e d a r o u n d over the floor, a n d old whisky bottles, a n d a c o u p l e of m a s k s m a d e out of black cloth; a n d all over the walls w a s the i g n o r a n t e s t kind of words a n d p i c t u r e s , m a d e with c h a r c o a l . T h e r e w a s two old dirty calico dresses, and a sun-bonnet, and some women's under-clothes, hanging a g a i n s t the wall, a n d s o m e m e n ' s clothing, too. W e put the lot into the c a n o e ; it might c o m e g o o d . T h e r e w a s a boy's old s p e c k l e d straw hat on the floor; I took that too. A n d there w a s a bottle that h a d h a d milk in it; a n d it h a d a rag s t o p p e r for a baby to s u c k . W e would a took the bottle, but it w a s broke. T h e r e w a s a seedy old c h e s t , a n d a n old hair trunk with the h i n g e s b r o k e . T h e y stood o p e n , but there warn't nothing left in t h e m that w a s any a c c o u n t . T h e way things w a s s c a t t e r e d a b o u t , we r e c k o n e d the p e o p l e left in a hurry a n d warn't fixed s o a s to carry off m o s t of their stuff. W e got an old tin lantern, a n d a butcher-knife without any h a n d l e , a n d a bran-new B a r l o w k n i f e 4 worth two bits in any store, a n d a lot of tallow c a n dles, a n d a tin c a n d l e s t i c k , a n d a g o u r d , a n d a tin c u p , a n d a ratty old bedquilt off the b e d , a n d a reticule with n e e d l e s a n d pins a n d b e e s w a x a n d b u t t o n s a n d thread a n d all s u c h truck in it, a n d a h a t c h e t a n d s o m e nails, a n d a fish-line as thick a s my little finger, with s o m e m o n s t r o u s hooks on it, a n d a roll of b u c k s k i n , a n d a leather dog-collar, a n d a h o r s e - s h o e , a n d s o m e vials of m e d i c i n e that didn't have no label on t h e m ; a n d j u s t a s we w a s leaving I found a tolerable g o o d c u r r y - c o m b , a n d J i m h e f o u n d a ratty old fiddlebow, a n d a w o o d e n leg. T h e s t r a p s w a s broke off of it, b u t barring that, it was a good e n o u g h leg, t h o u g h it w a s too long for m e a n d not long e n o u g h for J i m , a n d we couldn't find the other o n e , t h o u g h we h u n t e d all a r o u n d . And s o , take it all a r o u n d , we m a d e a g o o d h a u l . W h e n we w a s ready to shove off, we w a s a q u a r t e r of a mile below the island, a n d it w a s pretty b r o a d day; so I m a d e J i m lay d o w n in the c a n o e a n d cover u p with the quilt, b e c a u s e if he set u p , p e o p l e c o u l d tell h e w a s a nigger a g o o d ways off. I p a d d l e d over to the Illinois s h o r e , a n d drifted down m o s t a half a mile d o i n g it. I crept u p the d e a d water u n d e r the b a n k , a n d hadn't no a c c i d e n t s a n d didn't s e e nobody. W e got h o m e all s a f e . Chapter

X

After breakfast I w a n t e d to talk a b o u t the d e a d m a n a n d g u e s s out how he c o m e to be killed, but J i m didn't want to. H e said it would fetch b a d luck; a n d b e s i d e s , he said, he might c o m e a n d ha'nt u s ; he said a m a n that warn't buried w a s m o r e likely to go a-ha'nting a r o u n d t h a n o n e that w a s p l a n t e d and c o m f o r t a b l e . T h a t s o u n d e d pretty r e a s o n a b l e , s o I didn't say n o m o r e ; but I couldn't keep from studying over it a n d wishing I k n o w e d w h o shot the m a n , a n d what they d o n e it for. W e r u m m a g e d the c l o t h e s we'd got, a n d f o u n d eight dollars in silver s e w e d up in the lining of an old blanket overcoat. J i m said he r e c k o n e d the p e o p l e in that h o u s e stole the c o a t , b e c a u s e if they'd a k n o w e d the m o n e y w a s there they wouldn't a left it. I said I r e c k o n e d they killed him, too; but J i m didn't want to talk a b o u t that. I says: 4.

P o c k e t k n i f e with o n e b l a d e , n a m e d for t h e inventor.

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" N o w , you think it's b a d luck; but w h a t did you say w h e n I f e t c h e d in the snake-skin that I f o u n d o n the top of the ridge day before yesterday? You said it w a s the worst b a d l u c k in the world to t o u c h a snake-skin with my h a n d s . Well, here's your b a d luck! We've raked in all this truck a n d eight dollars b e s i d e s . I wish we c o u l d have s o m e b a d l u c k like this every day, J i m . " " N e v e r you m i n d , honey, never you m i n d . Don't y o u git too peart. It's ac o m i n ' . M i n d I tell you, it's a - c o m i n ' . " It did c o m e , t o o . It w a s T u e s d a y that w e h a d that talk. Well, after d i n n e r Friday, we w a s laying a r o u n d in the g r a s s at the u p p e r e n d of the ridge, a n d got out of t o b a c c o . I went to the cavern to get s o m e , a n d f o u n d a r a t t l e s n a k e in there. I killed him, a n d c u r l e d him u p on the foot of J i m ' s b l a n k e t , ever so natural, thinking there'd be s o m e fun w h e n J i m f o u n d h i m there. Well, by night I forgot all a b o u t the s n a k e , a n d w h e n J i m flung h i m s e l f d o w n on the blanket while I s t r u c k a light, the s n a k e ' s m a t e w a s t h e r e , a n d bit h i m . H e j u m p e d u p yelling, a n d the first thing the light s h o w e d w a s the varmint c u r l e d u p a n d ready for a n o t h e r spring. I laid him o u t in a s e c o n d with a stick, a n d J i m g r a b b e d p a p ' s whiskey j u g a n d b e g a n to p o u r it d o w n . H e w a s b a r e f o o t e d , a n d the s n a k e bit him right on the heel. T h a t all c o m e s of my b e i n g s u c h a fool a s to not r e m e m b e r that w h e n e v e r you leave a d e a d s n a k e its m a t e always c o m e s there a n d curls a r o u n d it. J i m told m e to c h o p off the snake's h e a d a n d throw it away, a n d then skin the b o d y a n d roast a p i e c e of it. I d o n e it, a n d h e e a t it a n d said it would help c u r e h i m . 5 H e m a d e m e take off the rattles a n d tie t h e m a r o u n d his wrist, t o o . H e said that that would h e l p . T h e n I slid out quiet a n d throwed the s n a k e s clear away a m o n g s t the b u s h e s ; for I warn't g o i n g to let J i m find out it w a s all my fault, not if I c o u l d help it. J i m s u c k e d a n d s u c k e d at the j u g , a n d now a n d then h e got o u t of his h e a d a n d p i t c h e d a r o u n d a n d yelled; b u t every time he c o m e to h i m s e l f he w e n t to s u c k i n g at the j u g a g a i n . H i s foot swelled u p pretty big, a n d so did his leg; but by-and-by the d r u n k b e g u n to c o m e , a n d so I j u d g e d he w a s all right; but I'd druther b e e n bit with a s n a k e than p a p ' s whiskey. J i m w a s laid u p for four days a n d n i g h t s . T h e n the swelling w a s all g o n e a n d he w a s a r o u n d a g a i n . I m a d e u p my m i n d I wouldn't ever take aholt of a snake-skin a g a i n with my h a n d s , now that I s e e w h a t h a d c o m e of it. J i m said he r e c k o n e d I w o u l d believe him next t i m e . A n d h e said that h a n d l i n g a snake-skin w a s s u c h awful b a d luck that m a y b e we hadn't got to the e n d of it yet. H e s a i d h e d r u t h e r s e e the n e w m o o n over his left s h o u l d e r as m u c h a s a t h o u s a n d times than take up a snake-skin in his h a n d . W e l l , I w a s getting to feel that way myself, t h o u g h I've always r e c k o n e d t h a t looking at the new m o o n over your left s h o u l d e r is o n e of the c a r e l e s s e s t a n d f o o l i s h e s t t h i n g s a body c a n d o . O l d H a n k B u n k e r d o n e it o n c e , a n d b r a g g e d a b o u t it; a n d in less than two years h e got d r u n k a n d fell off of the s h o t tower a n d s p r e a d h i m s e l f out s o that he w a s j u s t a kind of layer, a s you m a y say; a n d they slid him e d g e w a y s b e t w e e n two b a r n d o o r s for a coffin, a n d b u r i e d him s o , so they say, b u t I didn't s e e it. P a p told m e . B u t anyway, it all c o m e of looking at the m o o n that way, like a fool. Well, the days went along, a n d the river went d o w n b e t w e e n its banks a g a i n ; a n d a b o u t the first thing we d o n e w a s to bait o n e of the b i g hooks 5 . J i m ' s h o m e o p a t h i c r e m e d y is a c o m m o n f o l k - m e d i c a l p r a c t i c e .

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with a s k i n n e d rabbit a n d set it a n d c a t c h a cat-fish that w a s a s big a s a m a n , b e i n g six foot two i n c h e s long, a n d weighed over two h u n d r e d p o u n d s . W e couldn't h a n d l e him, of c o u r s e ; he would a flung u s into Illinois. W e j u s t set there a n d w a t c h e d him rip a n d tear a r o u n d till he d r o w n e d . W e f o u n d a b r a s s b u t t o n in his s t o m a c h , a n d a r o u n d ball, a n d lots of r u b b a g e . W e split the ball o p e n with the h a t c h e t , a n d there w a s a spool in it. J i m said he'd h a d it there a long t i m e , to c o a t it over so a n d m a k e a ball of it. It w a s a s big a fish as w a s ever c a t c h e d in the M i s s i s s i p p i , I r e c k o n . J i m s a i d he hadn't ever s e e n a bigger o n e . H e would a b e e n worth a g o o d deal over at the village. T h e y p e d d l e out s u c h a fish a s that by the p o u n d in the m a r k e t h o u s e t h e r e ; everybody buys s o m e of h i m ; his meat's a s white a s s n o w a n d m a k e s a g o o d fry. Next m o r n i n g I s a i d it w a s getting slow a n d dull, a n d I w a n t e d to get a stirring u p , s o m e way. I said I r e c k o n e d I w o u l d slip over the river a n d find o u t what w a s g o i n g on. J i m liked that notion; but h e s a i d I m u s t g o in the dark a n d look s h a r p . T h e n h e studied it over a n d s a i d , couldn't I p u t on s o m e of t h e m old things a n d d r e s s u p like a girl? T h a t w a s a g o o d notion, t o o . S o we s h o r t e n e d u p o n e of the c a l i c o g o w n s a n d I t u r n e d u p my trowser-Iegs to my k n e e s a n d got into it. J i m hitched it b e h i n d with the h o o k s , a n d it w a s a fair fit. I put o n the s u n - b o n n e t a n d tied it u n d e r my c h i n , a n d then for a body to look in a n d s e e my f a c e w a s like looking d o w n a joint of stove-pipe. J i m said nobody would know m e , even in the d a y t i m e , hardly. I p r a c t i c e d a r o u n d all day to get the h a n g of the things, a n d by-and-by I c o u l d d o pretty well in t h e m , only J i m s a i d I didn't walk like a girl; a n d h e said I m u s t quit pulling u p my gown to get at my britches p o c k e t . I t o o k n o t i c e , a n d d o n e better. I started u p the Illinois s h o r e in the c a n o e j u s t after dark. I started a c r o s s to the town from a little below the ferry l a n d i n g , a n d the drift of the c u r r e n t f e t c h e d m e in at the b o t t o m of the town. I tied up a n d started a l o n g the b a n k . T h e r e w a s a light b u r n i n g in a little s h a n t y that hadn't b e e n lived in for a long t i m e , a n d I w o n d e r e d w h o h a d took u p q u a r t e r s t h e r e . I slipped u p a n d p e e p e d in at the window. T h e r e w a s a w o m a n a b o u t forty year old in there, knitting by a c a n d l e that w a s o n a p i n e table. I didn't know her f a c e ; s h e w a s a stranger, for you couldn't start a f a c e in that town that I didn't know. N o w this w a s lucky, b e c a u s e I w a s w e a k e n i n g ; I w a s getting afraid I h a d c o m e ; p e o p l e might know my voice a n d find m e out. B u t if this w o m a n h a d b e e n in s u c h a little town two days s h e c o u l d tell m e all I w a n t e d to know; s o I k n o c k e d at the door, a n d m a d e u p my m i n d I wouldn't forget I w a s a girl. Chapter

XI

" C o m e i n , " says the w o m a n , a n d I did. S h e says: "Take a cheer." I d o n e it. S h e looked m e all over with her little shiny eyes, a n d says: " W h a t might your n a m e b e ? " "Sarah Williams." "W'here 'bouts do you live? In this n e i g h b o r h o o d ? " " N o ' m . In Hookerville, seven mile below. I've walked all the way a n d I'm all tired o u t . "

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" H u n g r y , too, I reckon. I'll find you s o m e t h i n g . " " N o ' m , I ain't hungry. I w a s s o hungry I h a d to s t o p two mile below here at a f a r m ; so I ain't hungry no m o r e . It's what m a k e s m e so late. M y m o t h e r ' s down sick, a n d out of m o n e y a n d everything, a n d I c o m e to tell my u n c l e A b n e r M o o r e . H e lives at the u p p e r e n d of the town, she says. I hain't ever b e e n here b e f o r e . D o you know h i m ? " " N o ; b u t I don't know everybody yet. I haven't lived here q u i t e two w e e k s . It's a c o n s i d e r a b l e ways to the u p p e r e n d of the town. You better stay h e r e all night. T a k e off your b o n n e t . " " N o , " I says, "I'll rest a while, I r e c k o n , a n d go on. I ain't afeard of the dark." S h e said s h e wouldn't let m e g o by myself, b u t her h u s b a n d would be in by-and-by, m a y b e in a h o u r a n d a half, a n d she'd s e n d him a l o n g with m e . T h e n she got to talking a b o u t her h u s b a n d , a n d a b o u t her relations up the river, a n d her relations down the river, a n d how m u c h better off they u s e d to w a s , a n d how they didn't know but they'd m a d e a m i s t a k e c o m i n g to our town, instead of letting well a l o n e — a n d s o on a n d s o o n , till I w a s afeard I h a d m a d e a m i s t a k e c o m i n g to her to find o u t what w a s g o i n g o n in the town; but by-and-by s h e d r o p p e d onto p a p a n d the m u r d e r , a n d then I w a s pretty willing to let her clatter right a l o n g . S h e told a b o u t m e a n d T o m Sawyer finding the six t h o u s a n d dollars (only s h e got it ten) a n d all a b o u t p a p a n d what a hard lot he w a s , a n d what a hard lot I w a s , a n d at last s h e got d o w n to w h e r e I w a s m u r d e r e d . I says: " W h o d o n e it? We've h e a r d c o n s i d e r a b l e a b o u t these g o i n g s on, d o w n in Hookerville, but we don't know w h o 'twas that killed H u c k F i n n . " "Well, I reckon there's a right s m a r t c h a n c e of p e o p l e here that'd like to know w h o killed h i m . S o m e thinks old F i n n d o n e it himself." " N o — i s that s o ? " " M o s t everybody t h o u g h t it at first. He'll never know how nigh he c o m e to getting lynched. B u t b e f o r e night they c h a n g e d a r o u n d a n d j u d g e d it w a s d o n e by a r u n a w a y nigger n a m e d J i m . " "Why he—" I s t o p p e d . I r e c k o n e d I better k e e p still. S h e run o n , a n d never noticed I h a d p u t in at all. " T h e nigger run off the very night H u c k F i n n w a s killed. S o there's a reward out for h i m — t h r e e h u n d r e d dollars. A n d there's a reward out for old Finn t o o — t w o h u n d r e d dollars. You s e e , h e c o m e to town the m o r n i n g after the m u r d e r , a n d told a b o u t it, a n d w a s o u t with 'em on the ferry-boat h u n t , a n d right away after he up a n d left. B e f o r e night they w a n t e d to lynch h i m , but he w a s g o n e , you s e e . Well, next day they f o u n d out the nigger w a s g o n e ; they f o u n d out h e hadn't b e n s e e n s e n c e ten o'clock the night the m u r d e r w a s d o n e . S o then they put it on him, you s e e , a n d while they w a s full of it, next day b a c k c o m e s old F i n n a n d went b o o h o o i n g to J u d g e T h a t c h e r to get m o n e y to hunt for the nigger all over Illinois with. T h e j u d g e give him s o m e , a n d that e v e n i n g he got d r u n k a n d w a s a r o u n d till after m i d n i g h t with a c o u p l e of mighty hard looking s t r a n g e r s , a n d then went off with t h e m . Well, he hain't c o m e b a c k s e n c e , a n d they ain't looking for him b a c k till this thing blows over a little, for p e o p l e thinks now that he killed his boy a n d fixed things s o folks would think robbers d o n e it, a n d then he'd get H u c k ' s money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit. P e o p l e d o say h e warn't any too g o o d to do it. O h , he's sly, I r e c k o n . If h e don't c o m e b a c k for a year,

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he'll be all right. You can't prove anything on him, you know; everything will be q u i e t e d d o w n t h e n , a n d he'll walk into H u c k ' s m o n e y a s e a s y a s n o t h i n g . " "Yes, I reckon s o , 'm. I don't s e e nothing in the way of it. H a s everybody quit thinking the nigger d o n e i t ? " " O h n o , not everybody. A g o o d m a n y thinks he d o n e it. B u t they'll get the nigger pretty s o o n , now, a n d m a y b e they c a n s c a r e it out of h i m . " "Why, are they after him y e t ? " "Well, you're i n n o c e n t , ain't you! D o e s three h u n d r e d dollars lay r o u n d every day for p e o p l e to pick up? S o m e folks thinks the nigger ain't far from here. I'm o n e of t h e m — b u t I hain't talked it a r o u n d . A few days a g o I w a s talking with an old c o u p l e that lives next d o o r in the log shanty, a n d they h a p p e n e d to say hardly anybody ever g o e s to that island over yonder that they call J a c k s o n ' s Island. Don't anybody live there? says I. N o , n o b o d y , says they. I didn't say any m o r e , b u t I d o n e s o m e thinking. I w a s pretty n e a r certain I'd s e e n s m o k e over there, a b o u t the h e a d of the island, a day or two before that, s o I says to myself, like a s not that nigger's hiding over t h e r e ; anyway, says I, it's worth the trouble to give the p l a c e a h u n t . I hain't s e e n any s m o k e s e n c e , s o I reckon m a y b e he's g o n e , if it w a s h i m ; but h u s b a n d ' s going over to s e e — h i m a n d a n o t h e r m a n . H e w a s g o n e u p the river; but he got b a c k to-day a n d I told him as s o o n as he got here two h o u r s a g o . " I h a d got s o u n e a s y I couldn't set still. I h a d to do s o m e t h i n g with my h a n d s ; s o I took u p a n e e d l e off of the table a n d went to t h r e a d i n g it. M y h a n d s s h o o k a n d I w a s m a k i n g a b a d j o b of it. W h e n the w o m a n s t o p p e d talking, I looked u p , a n d s h e w a s looking at m e pretty c u r i o u s , a n d s m i l i n g a little. I p u t down the n e e d l e a n d thread a n d let on to b e i n t e r e s t e d — a n d I w a s , t o o — a n d says: " T h r e e h u n d r e d dollars is a power of m o n e y . I wish my m o t h e r c o u l d get it. Is your h u s b a n d g o i n g over there to-night?" " O h , yes. H e went u p town with the m a n I w a s telling you of, to get a b o a t a n d s e e if they c o u l d borrow a n o t h e r g u n . They'll g o over after m i d n i g h t . " " C o u l d n ' t they s e e better if they w a s to wait till d a y t i m e ? " "Yes. And couldn't the nigger s e e better too? After midnight he'll likely be a s l e e p , a n d they c a n slip a r o u n d through the w o o d s a n d hunt up his c a m p fire all the better for the dark, if he's got o n e . " "I didn't think of t h a t . " T h e w o m a n kept looking at m e pretty c u r i o u s , a n d I didn't feel a bit c o m fortable. Pretty s o o n s h e says: " W h a t did you say your n a m e w a s , h o n e y ? " " M — M a r y Williams." S o m e h o w it didn't s e e m to m e that I said it w a s M a r y b e f o r e , s o I didn't look u p ; s e e m e d to m e I s a i d it w a s S a r a h ; s o I felt sort of c o r n e r e d , a n d w a s afeared m a y b e I w a s looking it, too. I w i s h e d the w o m a n would say s o m e t h i n g m o r e ; the longer s h e set still, the u n e a s i e r I w a s . B u t now s h e says: " H o n e y , I thought you said it was S a r a h w h e n you first c o m e i n ? " " O h , yes'm, I did. S a r a h M a r y W i l l i a m s . S a r a h ' s my first n a m e . S o m e calls m e S a r a h , s o m e calls m e M a r y . " " O h , that's the way of i t ? " "Yes'm." I w a s feeling better, t h e n , b u t I wished I w a s out of there, anyway. I couldn't look up yet. Well, the w o m a n fell to talking a b o u t how hard times w a s , a n d how poor

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they h a d to live, a n d h o w the rats w a s a s free a s if they o w n e d the p l a c e , a n d s o forth, a n d so o n , a n d then I got easy a g a i n . S h e w a s right a b o u t the rats. You'd s e e o n e stick his n o s e o u t of a hole in the c o r n e r every little while. S h e said s h e h a d to have things handy to throw at t h e m w h e n s h e w a s a l o n e , or they wouldn't give her no p e a c e . S h e s h o w e d m e a bar of lead, twisted u p into a knot, a n d s h e said s h e w a s a g o o d s h o t with it generly, but she'd w r e n c h e d her a r m a day or two a g o , a n d didn't k n o w w h e t h e r s h e c o u l d throw t r u e , now. B u t s h e w a t c h e d for a c h a n c e , a n d directly s h e b a n g e d away at a rat, b u t s h e m i s s e d him wide, a n d said " O u c h ! " it hurt her a r m s o . T h e n s h e told m e to try for the next o n e . I w a n t e d to be getting away before the old m a n got back, b u t of c o u r s e I didn't let on. I got the thing, a n d the first rat that s h o w e d his n o s e I let drive, a n d if he'd a stayed w h e r e h e w a s he'd a b e e n a tolerable sick rat. S h e s a i d that that w a s first-rate, a n d s h e r e c k o n e d I w o u l d hive 6 the next o n e . S h e went a n d got the l u m p of lead a n d fetched it b a c k a n d b r o u g h t a l o n g a h a n k of yarn, which s h e w a n t e d m e to help her with. I held u p my two h a n d s a n d s h e p u t the h a n k over t h e m a n d went o n talking a b o u t her a n d her h u s b a n d ' s m a t t e r s . B u t s h e broke off to say: " K e e p your eye on the rats. You better have the lead in your lap, h a n d y . " S o s h e d r o p p e d the l u m p into my lap, j u s t at that m o m e n t , a n d I c l a p p e d my legs together o n it a n d s h e went on talking. B u t only a b o u t a m i n u t e . T h e n s h e took off the h a n k a n d looked m e straight in the f a c e , b u t very p l e a s a n t , a n d says: " C o m e , n o w — w h a t ' s your real n a m e ? " "Wh-what, m u m ? " " W h a t ' s your real n a m e ? Is it Bill, or T o m , or B o b ? — o r w h a t is i t ? " I reckon I s h o o k like a leaf, a n d I didn't know hardly w h a t to d o . B u t I says: " P l e a s e to don't p o k e fun at a p o o r girl like m e , m u m . If I'm in the way, here I'll—" " N o , you won't. S e t d o w n a n d stay w h e r e you a r e . I ain't g o i n g to hurt you, a n d I ain't g o i n g to tell on you, n u t h e r . You j u s t tell m e your s e c r e t , a n d trust m e . I'll keep it; a n d what's m o r e , I'll h e l p you. So'll my old m a n , if you want him to. You s e e , you're a run-away ' p r e n t i c e — t h a t ' s all. It ain't anything. T h e r e ain't any h a r m in it. You've b e e n t r e a t e d b a d , a n d you m a d e up your m i n d to c u t . B l e s s you, child, I wouldn't tell o n y o u . Tell m e all a b o u t it, n o w — t h a t ' s a g o o d boy. S o I said it wouldn't be n o u s e to try to play it any longer, a n d I w o u l d j u s t m a k e a c l e a n b r e a s t a n d tell her everything, but s h e m u s t n ' t g o b a c k o n her p r o m i s e . T h e n I told her my father a n d m o t h e r w a s d e a d , a n d the law h a d b o u n d m e o u t to a m e a n old f a r m e r in the country thirty mile b a c k from the river, a n d he treated m e s o b a d I c o u l d n ' t s t a n d it no longer; h e went away to b e g o n e a c o u p l e of d a y s , a n d so I took my c h a n c e a n d stole s o m e of his d a u g h t e r ' s old c l o t h e s , a n d c l e a r e d o u t , a n d I h a d b e e n three n i g h t s c o m i n g the thirty m i l e s ; I traveled nights, a n d hid d a y t i m e s a n d slept, a n d the b a g of b r e a d a n d m e a t I carried from h o m e l a s t e d m e all the way a n d I had a plenty. I s a i d I believed my u n c l e A b n e r M o o r e w o u l d take c a r e of m e , and s o that w a s why I s t r u c k out for this town of G o s h e n . 6.

G e t , in t h e s e n s e o f hit a n d kill.

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" G o s h e n , child? T h i s ain't G o s h e n . T h i s is S t . P e t e r s b u r g . G o s h e n ' s ten mile further u p the river. W h o told you this w a s G o s h e n ? " "Why, a m a n I m e t at day-break this m o r n i n g , j u s t a s I w a s g o i n g to turn into the w o o d s for my regular sleep. H e told m e w h e n the r o a d s forked I m u s t take the right h a n d , a n d five mile would fetch m e to G o s h e n . " " H e w a s d r u n k I r e c k o n . H e told you j u s t exactly w r o n g . " "Well, he did act like h e w a s drunk, but it ain't no m a t t e r now. I got to b e moving a l o n g . I'll fetch G o s h e n before day-light." " H o l d on a m i n u t e . I'll p u t you u p a s n a c k to eat. You might w a n t it." S o s h e put m e u p a s n a c k , a n d says: " S a y — w h e n a cow's laying d o w n , which e n d of her g e t s u p first? A n s w e r up p r o m p t , n o w — d o n ' t s t o p to study over it. W h i c h e n d g e t s u p first?" " T h e hind e n d , m u m . " "Well, t h e n , a h o r s e ? " " T h e for'rard e n d , m u m . " " W h i c h side of a tree d o e s the m o s t m o s s grow o n ? " "North side." "If fifteen c o w s is b r o w s i n g o n a hillside, how m a n y of t h e m e a t s with their h e a d s p o i n t e d the s a m e d i r e c t i o n ? " " T h e w h o l e fifteen, m u m . " "Well, I reckon you have lived in the country. I t h o u g h t m a y b e you w a s trying to h o c u s m e a g a i n . W h a t ' s your real n a m e , n o w ? " "George Peters, m u m . " "Well, try to r e m e m b e r it, G e o r g e . Don't forget a n d tell m e it's E l e x a n d e r before you g o , a n d then get out by saying it's G e o r g e E l e x a n d e r w h e n I c a t c h y o u . A n d don't go a b o u t w o m e n in that old c a l i c o . You do a girl tolerable poor, but you might fool m e n , m a y b e . B l e s s you, child, w h e n you set o u t to thread a n e e d l e , don't hold the thread still a n d fetch the n e e d l e u p to it; hold the n e e d l e still a n d p o k e the thread at it—that's the way a w o m a n m o s t always d o e s ; but a m a n always d o e s 'tother way. A n d w h e n you throw at a rat or anything, hitch yourself u p a tip-toe, a n d fetch your h a n d u p over your h e a d a s awkard a s you c a n , a n d m i s s your rat a b o u t six or seven foot. T h r o w stiff-armed from the shoulder, like there w a s a pivot there for it to turn o n — like a girl; not from the wrist a n d elbow, with your a r m o u t to o n e s i d e , like a boy. A n d m i n d you, w h e n a girl tries to c a t c h anything in her lap, s h e throws her k n e e s a p a r t ; s h e don't c l a p t h e m together, the way you did w h e n you c a t c h e d the l u m p of lead. W'Tiy, I s p o t t e d you for a boy w h e n you w a s threading the n e e d l e ; a n d I contrived the other things j u s t to m a k e certain. N o w trot a l o n g to your u n c l e , S a r a h M a r y W i l l i a m s G e o r g e E l e x a n d e r P e t e r s , a n d if you get into trouble you s e n d word to M r s . J u d i t h L o f t u s , which is m e , a n d I'll do what I c a n to get you out of it. K e e p the river r o a d , all the way, a n d next time you t r a m p , take s h o e s a n d s o c k s with you. T h e river road's a rocky o n e , a n d your feet 'II b e in a condition w h e n you get to G o s h e n , I reckon." I went up the b a n k a b o u t fifty yards, a n d then I d o u b l e d o n my tracks a n d slipped b a c k to where my c a n o e w a s , a g o o d p i e c e below the h o u s e . I j u m p e d in a n d w a s off in a hurry. I went up s t r e a m far e n o u g h to m a k e the h e a d of the island, a n d then started a c r o s s . I took off the s u n - b o n n e t , for I didn't want no blinders on, then. W h e n I was a b o u t the m i d d l e , I h e a r the c l o c k begin to strike; so I s t o p s a n d listens; the s o u n d c o m e faint over the water,

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but c l e a r — e l e v e n . W h e n I s t r u c k the h e a d of the island I never waited to blow, t h o u g h I w a s m o s t w i n d e d , but I s h o v e d right into the timber w h e r e my old c a m p u s e d to b e , a n d started a g o o d fire there on a high-and-dry spot. T h e n I j u m p e d in the c a n o e a n d d u g out for our p l a c e a mile a n d a half below, a s hard a s I c o u l d g o . I l a n d e d , a n d s l o p p e d t h r o u g h the t i m b e r a n d u p the ridge a n d into the c a v e r n . T h e r e J i m laid, s o u n d a s l e e p on the g r o u n d . I r o u s e d him out a n d says. " G i t up a n d h u m p yourself, J i m ! T h e r e ain't a m i n u t e to l o s e . They're after us!" J i m never a s k e d n o q u e s t i o n s , h e never said a word; but the way h e worked for the next half a n hour s h o w e d a b o u t how h e w a s s c a r e d . By that time everything we h a d in the world w a s o n our raft a n d s h e w a s ready to b e shoved out from the willow cove w h e r e s h e w a s hid. W e p u t out the c a m p fire at the cavern the first thing, a n d didn't s h o w a c a n d l e o u t s i d e after that. I took the c a n o e out from s h o r e a little p i e c e a n d took a look, b u t if there w a s a boat a r o u n d I couldn't s e e it, for stars a n d s h a d o w s ain't g o o d to s e e by. T h e n we got out the raft a n d slipped a l o n g down in the s h a d e , p a s t the foot of the island d e a d still, never saying a w o r d . Chapter

XII

It m u s t a b e e n c l o s e o n t o o n e o'clock w h e n we got below the island at last, a n d the raft did s e e m to go mighty slow. If a b o a t w a s to c o m e a l o n g , we w a s going to take to the c a n o e a n d b r e a k for the Illinois s h o r e ; a n d it w a s well a boat didn't c o m e , for we hadn't ever t h o u g h t to p u t the g u n into the c a n o e , or a fishing-line or anything to eat. W e w a s in ruther too m u c h of a sweat to think of s o m a n y things. It warn't g o o d j u d g m e n t to put everything on the raft. If the m e n went to the island, I j u s t expect they f o u n d the c a m p fire I built, a n d w a t c h e d it all night for J i m to c o m e . Anyways, they stayed away from u s , a n d if my b u i l d i n g the fire never fooled t h e m it warn't n o fault of m i n e . I played it a s low-down on t h e m a s I c o u l d . W h e n the first streak of day b e g u n to s h o w , we tied u p to a tow-head in a big b e n d o n the Illinois s i d e , a n d h a c k e d off c o t t o n - w o o d b r a n c h e s with the h a t c h e t a n d covered up the raft with t h e m s o s h e looked like there h a d b e e n a cave-in in the b a n k there. A tow-head is a s a n d - b a r that h a s c o t t o n - w o o d s on it a s thick a s harrow-teeth. W e h a d m o u n t a i n s on the M i s s o u r i s h o r e a n d heavy t i m b e r on the Illinois s i d e , a n d the c h a n n e l w a s d o w n the M i s s o u r i s h o r e at that p l a c e , s o we warn't afraid of anybody r u n n i n g a c r o s s u s . W e laid there all day a n d w a t c h e d the rafts a n d s t e a m b o a t s spin down the M i s s o u r i s h o r e , a n d u p - b o u n d s t e a m b o a t s fight the big river in the m i d d l e . I told J i m all a b o u t the time I h a d j a b b e r i n g with that w o m a n ; a n d J i m said s h e w a s a s m a r t o n e , a n d if s h e w a s to start after u s herself she wouldn't set d o w n a n d w a t c h a c a m p fire—no, sir, she'd fetch a d o g . Well, then, I said, why couldn't she tell her h u s b a n d to fetch a d o g ? J i m said he bet s h e did think of it by the t i m e the m e n was ready to start, a n d he believed they m u s t a g o n e u p town to get a d o g a n d so they lost all that t i m e , or else we wouldn't be h e r e on a tow-head sixteen or s e v e n t e e n mile below the v i l l a g e — n o , indeedy, we w o u l d b e in that s a m e old town a g a i n . S o I said I didn't c a r e what w a s the r e a s o n they didn't get us, a s long as they didn't.

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W h e n it w a s b e g i n n i n g to c o m e o n dark, we poked o u r h e a d s o u t of the c o t t o n w o o d thicket a n d looked u p , a n d d o w n , a n d a c r o s s ; n o t h i n g in sight; so J i m took u p s o m e of the top planks of the raft a n d built a s n u g w i g w a m to get u n d e r in blazing weather a n d rainy, a n d to keep t h e things dry. J i m m a d e a floor for the w i g w a m , a n d raised it a foot or m o r e a b o v e the level of the raft, s o now the blankets a n d all the traps w a s out of the r e a c h of s t e a m boat waves. Right in the m i d d l e of the w i g w a m we m a d e a layer of dirt a b o u t five or six i n c h e s d e e p with a f r a m e a r o u n d it for to hold it to its p l a c e ; this w a s to build a fire o n in sloppy w e a t h e r or chilly; the w i g w a m would keep it from b e i n g s e e n . W e m a d e a n extra steering o a r , too, b e c a u s e o n e of the others might get b r o k e , o n a s n a g or s o m e t h i n g . W e fixed u p a short forked stick to h a n g the old lantern o n ; b e c a u s e w e m u s t always light t h e lantern whenever we s e e a s t e a m b o a t c o m i n g down s t r e a m , to keep from getting run over; b u t w e wouldn't have to light it u p for u p s t r e a m boats u n l e s s w e s e e we w a s in what they call " c r o s s i n g ; " for t h e river w a s pretty high yet, very low b a n k s b e i n g still a little u n d e r water; s o u p - b o u n d b o a t s didn't always run t h e c h a n n e l , but h u n t e d e a s y water. T h i s s e c o n d night w e r u n b e t w e e n seven a n d eight h o u r s , with a c u r r e n t that w a s m a k i n g over four mile a n hour. W e c a t c h e d fish, a n d talked, a n d we took a swim now a n d then to keep off s l e e p i n e s s . It w a s kind o f s o l e m n , drifting down t h e b i g still river, laying o n o u r b a c k s looking u p at t h e s t a r s , a n d we didn't ever feel like talking loud, a n d it warn't often that we l a u g h e d , only a little kind of a low c h u c k l e . W e had mighty g o o d w e a t h e r , a s a general thing, a n d nothing ever h a p p e n e d to u s at all, that night, n o r t h e next, n o r the next. Every night w e p a s s e d towns, s o m e of t h e m away u p o n black hillsides, nothing but j u s t a shiny bed of lights, not a h o u s e c o u l d you s e e . T h e fifth night we p a s s e d S t . L o u i s , a n d it w a s like t h e whole world lit u p . In S t . P e t e r s b u r g they u s e d to s a y there w a s twenty or thirty t h o u s a n d p e o p l e in S t . L o u i s , 7 b u t I never believed it till I s e e that wonderful s p r e a d of lights at two o'clock that still night. T h e r e warn't a s o u n d there; everybody was a s l e e p . Every night now, I u s e d to slip a s h o r e , towards t e n o'clock, a t s o m e little village, a n d buy ten or fifteen c e n t s ' worth o f meal or b a c o n or other stuff to eat; a n d s o m e t i m e s I lifted a c h i c k e n that warn't roosting c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d took h i m along. P a p always said, take a chicken w h e n you get a c h a n c e , b e c a u s e if you don't want him yourself you c a n easy find s o m e b o d y that d o e s , a n d a good d e e d ain't ever forgot. I never s e e p a p w h e n h e didn't want t h e chicken himself, b u t that is what h e u s e d to say, anyway. M o r n i n g s , before daylight, I slipped into corn fields a n d borrowed a waterm e l o n , or a m u s h m e l o n , or a p u n k i n , or s o m e new c o r n , or things of that kind. P a p always said it warn't n o h a r m to borrow things, if you w a s m e a n i n g to pay t h e m back, s o m e t i m e ; but the widow said it warn't anything but a soft n a m e for stealing, a n d n o d e c e n t body would d o it. J i m s a i d h e r e c k o n e d the widow w a s partly right a n d p a p w a s partly right; s o t h e b e s t way would b e for u s to pick out two or three things from the list a n d say we wouldn't borrow t h e m any m o r e — t h e n h e r e c k o n e d it wouldn't b e n o h a r m to borrow t h e o t h e r s . S o we talked it over all o n e night, drifting a l o n g d o w n the river, trying to m a k e u p o u r m i n d s w h e t h e r to drop t h e w a t e r m e l o n s , or the c a n t e l o p e s , or the m u s h m e l o n s , or what. B u t towards daylight we got it all settled s a t 7.

S t . L o u i s is 1 7 0 m i l e s d o w n t h e M i s s i s s i p p i t r o m

Hannibal.

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isfactory, a n d c o n c l u d e d to drop c r a b a p p l e s a n d p ' s i m m o n s . W e warn't feeling j u s t right, before that, but it w a s all c o m f o r t a b l e now. I w a s glad the way it c o m e out, too, b e c a u s e c r a b a p p l e s ain't ever g o o d , a n d the p ' s i m m o n s wouldn't be ripe for two or three m o n t h s yet. W e shot a water-fowl, now a n d t h e n , that got u p too early in the m o r n i n g or didn't go to b e d early e n o u g h in the evening. T a k e it all a r o u n d , we lived pretty high. T h e fifth night below S t . L o u i s w e h a d a big storm after midnight, with a power of t h u n d e r a n d lightning, a n d the rain p o u r e d down in a solid s h e e t . W e stayed in the w i g w a m a n d let the raft take c a r e of itself. W h e n the lightning glared out we c o u l d s e e a big straight river a h e a d , a n d high rocky bluffs o n both s i d e s . By-and-by says I, "Hel-Io J i m , looky yonder!" It w a s a s t e a m b o a t that h a d killed herself o n a rock. W e w a s drifting straight d o w n for her. T h e lightning s h o w e d her very distinct. S h e w a s l e a n i n g over, with part of her u p p e r d e c k a b o v e water, a n d you c o u l d s e e every little chimblyg u y 8 c l e a n a n d clear, a n d a c h a i r by the big bell, with a n old s l o u c h hat h a n g i n g on the b a c k of it w h e n the flashes c o m e . Well, it b e i n g away in the night, a n d stormy, a n d all s o mysterious-like, I felt j u s t the way any other boy w o u l d a felt w h e n I s e e that wreck laying there so m o u r n f u l a n d l o n e s o m e in the m i d d l e of the river. I w a n t e d to get a b o a r d of her a n d slink a r o u n d a little, a n d s e e what there w a s t h e r e . S o I says: " L e ' s l a n d o n her, J i m . " B u t J i m w a s d e a d a g a i n s t it, at first. H e says: "I d o a n ' w a n t to go fool'n 'long er n o w r a c k . W e ' s doin' b l a m e ' well, en w e better let b l a m e ' well a l o n e , a s d e g o o d b o o k s a y s . L i k e a s not dey's a w a t c h m a n on dat w r a c k . " " W a t c h m a n your g r a n d m o t h e r , " I s a y s ; " t h e r e ain't n o t h i n g to w a t c h b u t the t e x a s 9 a n d the p i l o t - h o u s e ; a n d do you r e c k o n anybody's g o i n g to resk his life for a texas a n d a p i l o t - h o u s e s u c h a night a s this, w h e n it's likely to b r e a k u p a n d w a s h off down the river any m i n u t e ? " J i m c o u l d n ' t say n o t h i n g to that, s o he didn't try. " A n d b e s i d e s , " I says, "we might borrow s o m e t h i n g worth having, out of the c a p t a i n ' s s t a t e r o o m . S e e g a r s , 7 bet y o u — a n d c o s t five c e n t s a p i e c e , solid c a s h . S t e a m b o a t c a p t a i n s is always rich, a n d get sixty dollars a m o n t h , a n d they don't c a r e a c e n t what a thing c o s t s , you know, long a s they w a n t it. S t i c k a c a n d l e in your p o c k e t ; I can't rest, J i m , till we give her a r u m m a g i n g . D o you reckon T o m Sawyer would ever go by this thing? N o t for p i e , he wouldn't. H e ' d call it a n a d v e n t u r e — t h a t ' s w h a t he'd call it; a n d he'd land on that wreck if it w a s his last a c t . A n d wouldn't he throw style into i t ? — w o u l d n ' t h e s p r e a d himself, nor n o t h i n g ? W h y , you'd think it w a s C h r i s t o p h e r C ' l u m b u s d i s c o v e r i n g K i n g d o m - C o m e . I wish T o m S a w y e r was h e r e . " J i m he g r u m b l e d a little, b u t give in. H e said w e m u s t n ' t talk any m o r e than we c o u l d help, a n d then talk mighty low. T h e l i g h t n i n g s h o w e d u s the wreck a g a i n , j u s t in t i m e , a n d we f e t c h e d the s t a r b o a r d derrick, 1 a n d m a d e fast t h e r e . T h e d e c k w a s high o u t , h e r e . W e went s n e a k i n g down the s l o p e of it to 8. W i r e s u s e d to s t e a d y the c h i m n e y s t a c k s . 9. T h e l a r g e c a b i n o n t h e t o p d e c k l o c a t e d j u s t b e h i n d o r b e n e a t h t h e p i l o t h o u s e ; it s e r v e s a s o f f i -

cers' quarters. 1. B o o m f o r l i f t i n g c a r g o ,

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l a b b o a r d , in the dark, towards the texas, feeling our way slow with our feet, a n d s p r e a d i n g our h a n d s out to fend off the guys, for it w a s s o dark we couldn't s e e n o sign of t h e m . Pretty s o o n we s t r u c k the forward e n d of the skylight, a n d c l u m b o n t o it; a n d the next step fetched u s in front of the c a p t a i n ' s door, which w a s o p e n , a n d by J i m m i n y , away d o w n t h r o u g h the texas-hall we s e e a light! a n d all in the s a m e s e c o n d we s e e m to h e a r low voices in yonder! J i m w h i s p e r e d a n d said he w a s feeling powerful sick, a n d told m e to c o m e along. I says, all right; a n d w a s going to start for the raft; but j u s t then I h e a r d a voice wail o u t a n d say: " O h , p l e a s e don't, boys; I swear I won't ever tell!" A n o t h e r voice said, pretty loud: "It's a lie, J i m T u r n e r . You've a c t e d this way b e f o r e . You always want more'n your s h a r e of the truck a n d you've always got it, too, b e c a u s e you've s w o r e ' t if you didn't you'd tell. B u t this time you've said it j e s t o n e time too m a n y . You're the m e a n e s t , t r e a c h e r o u s e s t h o u n d in this c o u n t r y . " By this time J i m was g o n e for the raft. I w a s j u s t a-biling with curiosity; a n d I says to myself, T o m Sawyer wouldn't b a c k out now, a n d s o I won't either; I'm a g o i n g to s e e what's going on h e r e . S o I d r o p p e d on my h a n d s a n d k n e e s , in the little p a s s a g e , a n d crept aft in the dark, till there warn't but a b o u t o n e s t a t e r o o m betwixt m e a n d the cross-hall of the texas. T h e n , in there I s e e a m a n s t r e t c h e d on the floor a n d tied h a n d a n d foot, a n d two m e n s t a n d i n g over him, a n d o n e of t h e m h a d a d i m lantern in his h a n d , a n d the other o n e h a d a pistol. T h i s o n e kept pointing the pistol at the m a n ' s h e a d on the floor a n d s a y i n g — "I'd like to! A n d I orter, too, a m e a n s k u n k ! " T h e m a n o n the floor would shrivel u p , a n d say: " O h , p l e a s e don't, B i l l — I hain't ever goin' to tell." A n d every time he said that, the m a n with the lantern would laugh a n d say: " ' D e e d you ain't.' You never said no truer thing 'n that, you bet y o u . " A n d o n c e he said, " H e a r him beg! a n d yit if we hadn't got the best of him a n d tied him, he'd a killed u s b o t h . A n d what for? J i s t for noth'n. J i s t b e c a u s e we stood on our rig/its—that's w h a t for. B u t I lay you ain't a g o i n ' to threaten nobody any m o r e , J i m T u r n e r . Put up that pistol, Bill." Bill says: "I don't want to, J a k e P a c k a r d . I'm for killin' h i m — a n d didn't he kill old Hatfield jist the s a m e w a y — a n d don't he deserve it?" " B u t I don't want him killed, a n d I've got my r e a s o n s for it." " B l e s s yo' heart for t h e m w o r d s , J a k e P a c k a r d ! I'll never forgit you, long's I live!" says the m a n on the floor, sort of b l u b b e r i n g . P a c k a r d didn't take no notice of that, but h u n g u p his lantern on a nail, and started towards where I w a s , there in the dark, a n d m o t i o n e d Bill to c o m e . I c r a w f i s h e d 2 a s fast as I c o u l d , a b o u t two y a r d s , but the b o a t slanted so that I couldn't m a k e very g o o d t i m e ; s o to k e e p from getting run over a n d c a t c h e d I crawled into a s t a t e r o o m on the u p p e r s i d e . T h e m a n c o m e ap a w i n g a l o n g in the dark, a n d when P a c k a r d got to my s t a t e r o o m , h e says: " H e r e — c o m e in h e r e . " 2. C r e p t b a c k w a r d o n all f o u r s .

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A n d in he c o m e , a n d Bill after h i m . B u t before they got in, I w a s u p in the u p p e r berth, c o r n e r e d , a n d sorry I c o m e . T h e n they stood t h e r e , with their h a n d s on the ledge of the berth, a n d talked. I c o u l d n ' t s e e t h e m , b u t I c o u l d tell w h e r e they w a s , by the whisky they'd b e e n having. I w a s glad I didn't drink whisky; b u t it wouldn't m a d e m u c h difference, anyway, b e c a u s e m o s t of the time they c o u l d n ' t a treed m e b e c a u s e I didn't b r e a t h e . I w a s too s c a r e d . A n d b e s i d e s , a body couldn't b r e a t h e , a n d h e a r s u c h talk. T h e y talked low a n d e a r n e s t . Bill w a n t e d to kill T u r n e r . H e says: " H e ' s said he'll tell, a n d h e will. If w e w a s to give both our s h a r e s to him now, it wouldn't m a k e no difference after the row, a n d the way we've served h i m . S h o r e ' s you're born, he'll turn S t a t e ' s e v i d e n c e ; now you h e a r me. I'm for p u t t i n g him out of his t r o u b l e s . " " S o ' m I," says P a c k a r d , very quiet. " B l a m e it, I'd sorter b e g u n to think you wasn't. Well, t h e n , that's all right. L e s ' g o a n d do it." " H o l d on a m i n u t e ; I hain't h a d my say yit. You listen to m e . S h o o t i n g ' s g o o d , but there's quieter ways if the thing's got to b e d o n e . B u t what I say, is this; it ain't g o o d s e n s e to go court'n a r o u n d after a h a l t e r , ' if you c a n git at what you're u p to in s o m e way that's jist a s g o o d a n d at the s a m e time don't bring you into no r e s k s . Ain't that s o ? " "You bet it is. B u t how you goin' to m a n a g e it this t i m e ? " "Well, my idea is this: we'll rustle a r o u n d a n d gether u p w h a t e v e r p i c k i n s we've overlooked in the s t a t e r o o m s , a n d s h o v e for s h o r e a n d hide the truck. T h e n we'll wait. N o w I say it ain't a g o i n ' to b e m o r e 'n two h o u r s b e f o ' this w r a c k b r e a k s u p a n d w a s h e s off d o w n the river. S e e ? He'll be d r o w n d e d , a n d won't have nobody to b l a m e for it but his own self. I r e c k o n that's a considerble sight better'n killin' of h i m . I'm u n f a v o r a b l e to killin' a m a n a s long a s you c a n git a r o u n d it; it ain't g o o d s e n s e , it ain't g o o d m o r a l s . Ain't I r i g h t ? " " Y e s — I reck'n you a r e . B u t s'pose s h e don't b r e a k u p a n d w a s h o f f ? " "Well, we c a n wait the two h o u r s , anyway, a n d s e e , can't w e ? " "All right, t h e n ; c o m e a l o n g . " S o they started, a n d I lit o u t , all in a c o l d s w e a t , a n d s c r a m b l e d forward. It w a s dark a s pitch t h e r e ; but I s a i d in a kind of a c o a r s e whisper, " J i m ! " a n d h e a n s w e r e d u p , right at my elbow, with a sort of a m o a n , a n d I says: "Quick, J i m , it ain't n o time for fooling a r o u n d a n d m o a n i n g ; there's a g a n g of m u r d e r e r s in yonder, a n d if we don't h u n t u p their b o a t a n d set her drifting d o w n the river s o t h e s e fellows can't get away from the wreck, there's o n e of 'em g o i n g to b e in a b a d fix. B u t if we find their b o a t w e c a n p u t all of 'em in a b a d fix—for the Sheriff '11 get 'em. Q u i c k — h u r r y ! I'll h u n t the l a b b o a r d s i d e , you h u n t the s t a b b o a r d . You start at the raft, a n d — " " O h , my lordy, lordy! Raf? D e y ain' n o r a f no m o ' , s h e d o n e b r o k e l o o s e en g o n e ! — ' e n h e r e we i s ! " Chapter

XIII

Well, I c a t c h e d my b r e a t h a n d m o s t fainted. S h u t up on a wreck with s u c h a g a n g a s that! B u t it warn't n o t i m e to b e s e n t i m e n t e r i n g . W e ' d got to find that b o a t , n o w — h a d to have it for o u r s e l v e s . S o we went a - q u a k i n g a n d down 3.

Hangman's noose.

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the s t a b b o a r d s i d e , a n d slow work it w a s , t o o — s e e m e d a w e e k b e f o r e we got to the stern. N o sign of a b o a t . J i m said h e didn't believe h e c o u l d go any f u r t h e r — s o s c a r e d he hadn't hardly any s t r e n g t h left, h e s a i d . B u t I s a i d c o m e o n , if we get left on this wreck, we a r e in a fix, s u r e . S o o n we p r o w l e d , a g a i n . W e s t r u c k for the stern of the texas, a n d f o u n d it, a n d then s c r a b b l e d a l o n g forwards on the skylight, h a n g i n g on from s h u t t e r to shutter, for the e d g e of the skylight w a s in the water. W h e n we got pretty c l o s e to the c r o s s hall door there w a s the skiff, s u r e e n o u g h ! I c o u l d j u s t barely s e e her. I felt ever s o thankful. In a n o t h e r s e c o n d I would a b e e n a b o a r d of her; b u t j u s t then the door o p e n e d . O n e of the m e n s t u c k his h e a d out, only a b o u t a c o u p l e of foot from m e , a n d I t h o u g h t I w a s g o n e ; but he j e r k e d it in a g a i n , a n d says: " H e a v e that b l a m e lantern o u t o' sight, Bill!" H e flung a b a g of s o m e t h i n g into the b o a t , a n d then got in himself, a n d set d o w n . It w a s P a c k a r d . T h e n Bill he c o m e o u t a n d got in. P a c k a r d says, in a low voice: "All r e a d y — s h o v e off!" I couldn't hardly h a n g onto the s h u t t e r s , I w a s s o weak. B u t Bill s a y s : " H o l d o n — ' d you g o t h r o u g h h i m ? " " N o . Didn't y o u ? " " N o . S o he's got his s h a r e o' the c a s h , yet." "Well, t h e n , c o m e a l o n g — n o u s e to take truck a n d leave m o n e y . " " S a y — w o n ' t he s u s p i c i o n w h a t we're u p t o ? " " M a y b e he won't. B u t we got to have it anyway. C o m e a l o n g . " S o they got o u t a n d went in. T h e d o o r s l a m m e d to, b e c a u s e it w a s o n the c a r e e n e d s i d e ; a n d in a half s e c o n d I w a s in the boat, a n d J i m c o m e a t u m b l i n g after m e . I o u t with my knife a n d c u t the r o p e , a n d away we went! W e didn't t o u c h a n oar, a n d we didn't s p e a k nor whisper, nor hardly even b r e a t h e . W e went gliding swift along, d e a d silent, p a s t the tip of the p a d d l e box, a n d p a s t the stern; then in a s e c o n d or two m o r e we w a s a h u n d r e d yards below the wreck, a n d the d a r k n e s s s o a k e d her u p , every last sign of her, a n d we w a s s a f e , a n d k n o w e d it. W h e n we w a s three or four h u n d r e d yards d o w n s t r e a m , w e s e e the lantern s h o w like a little s p a r k at the texas door, for a s e c o n d , a n d w e k n o w e d by that that the r a s c a l s h a d m i s s e d their boat, a n d w a s b e g i n n i n g to u n d e r s t a n d that they w a s in j u s t a s m u c h t r o u b l e , now, a s J i m T u r n e r w a s . T h e n J i m m a n n e d the o a r s , a n d we took out after our raft. N o w w a s the first time that I b e g u n to worry a b o u t the m e n — I reckon I hadn't h a d t i m e to before. I b e g u n to think how dreadful it w a s , even for m u r d e r e r s , to b e in s u c h a fix. I says to myself, there ain't n o telling but I might c o m e to be a m u r d e r e r myself, yet, a n d then h o w would I like it? S o says I to J i m : " T h e first light we s e e , we'll land a h u n d r e d yards b e l o w it or a b o v e it, in a p l a c e w h e r e it's a g o o d hiding-place for you a n d the skiff, a n d then I'll g o a n d fix up s o m e kind of a yarn, a n d g e t s o m e b o d y to go for that g a n g a n d get t h e m o u t of their s c r a p e , so they c a n b e h u n g w h e n their time c o m e s . " B u t that idea w a s a failure; for pretty s o o n it b e g u n to s t o r m a g a i n , a n d this time worse than ever. T h e rain p o u r e d d o w n , a n d never a light s h o w e d ; everybody in b e d , I r e c k o n . W e b o o m e d a l o n g d o w n the river, w a t c h i n g for lights a n d w a t c h i n g for our raft. After a long time the rain let u p , b u t the

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c l o u d s staid, a n d the lightning kept w h i m p e r i n g , a n d by-and-by a flash s h o w e d u s a b l a c k thing a h e a d , floating, a n d we m a d e for it. It w a s the raft, a n d mighty glad w a s we to get a b o a r d of it a g a i n . W e s e e n a light, now, away d o w n to the right, o n s h o r e . S o I said I w o u l d go for it. T h e skiff w a s half full of p l u n d e r w h i c h that g a n g h a d stole, there o n the wreck. W e h u s t l e d it onto the raft in a pile, a n d I told J i m to float a l o n g d o w n , a n d s h o w a light w h e n he j u d g e d he h a d g o n e a b o u t two mile, a n d keep it b u r n i n g till I c o m e ; then I m a n n e d my o a r s a n d s h o v e d for the light. A s I got d o w n towards it, three or four m o r e s h o w e d — u p o n a hillside. It w a s a village. I c l o s e d in a b o v e the shore-light, a n d laid on my oars a n d floated. As I went by, I s e e it w a s a lantern h a n g i n g o n the j a c k s t a f f of a double-hull ferry-boat. I s k i m m e d a r o u n d for the w a t c h m a n , a-wondering w h e r e a b o u t s he slept; a n d by-and-by I f o u n d him roosting o n the bitts,"* forward, with his h e a d d o w n b e t w e e n his k n e e s . I give his s h o u l d e r two or three little s h o v e s , a n d b e g u n to cry. H e stirred u p , in a kind of startlish way; but w h e n h e s e e it w a s only m e , he took a g o o d g a p a n d stretch, a n d then h e says: " H e l l o , what's u p ? Don't cry, b u b . W h a t ' s the t r o u b l e ? " I says: " P a p , a n d m a m , a n d sis, a n d — " T h e n I broke down. H e says: " O h , d a n g it, now, don't take o n s o , w e all has to have o u r troubles a n d this'n '11 c o m e o u t all right. W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with e m ? " " T h e y ' r e — t h e y ' r e — a r e you the w a t c h m a n of the b o a t ? " " Y e s , " h e says, kind of pretty-well-satisfied like. "I'm the c a p t a i n a n d the owner, a n d the m a t e , a n d the pilot, a n d w a t c h m a n , a n d h e a d d e c k - h a n d ; a n d s o m e t i m e s I'm the freight a n d p a s s e n g e r s . I ain't a s rich as old J i m H o r n b a c k , arid I can't b e so b l a m e ' g e n e r o u s a n d g o o d to T o m , D i c k a n d Harry a s w h a t he is, a n d s l a m a r o u n d m o n e y the way h e d o e s ; but I've told him a m a n y a t i m e ' t I wouldn't trade p l a c e s with h i m ; for, says I, a sailor's life's the life for m e , a n d I'm d e r n e d if I'd live two mile o u t o' town, w h e r e there ain't n o t h i n g ever goin' o n , not for all his s p o n d u l i c k s a n d as m u c h m o r e on top of it. S a y s I — " I broke in a n d s a y s : "They're in a n awful p e c k of t r o u b l e , a n d — " "Who i s ? " "Why, p a p , a n d m a m , a n d sis, a n d M i s s H o o k e r ; a n d if you'd take your ferry-boat a n d go up t h e r e — " " U p w h e r e ? W h e r e are t h e y ? " " O n the w r e c k . " "What wreck?" "Why, there ain't but o n e . " " W h a t , you don't m e a n the Walter Scott?'"* "Yes." 4. Vertical w o o d e n p o s t s to w h i c h c a b l e s c a n b e secured. 5. T w a i n held Sir Walter Scott's romantic advent u r e n o v e l s s e t in f e u d a l E n g l a n d r e s p o n s i b l e f o r t h e d i s t o r t e d a n t i d e m o c r a t i c n o t i o n s h e l d by s o m a n y S o u t h e r n e r s a n d t h u s for t h e f a l s e i d e o l o g y t h e y w e r e w i l l i n g t o fight a n d d i e f o r in t h e C i v i l

W a r . T w a i n e x p r e s s e d h i m s e l f m o s t vividly o n this s u b j e c t in Life on the Mississippi ( C h . 4 6 ) , where h e o b s e r v e s : " S i r W a l t e r h a d s o l a r g e a h a n d in m a k i n g S o u t h e r n c h a r a c t e r , a s it e x i s t e d b e f o r e t h e w a r , t h a t h e is in g r e a t m e a s u r e r e s p o n s i b l e f o r t h e war."

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" G o o d land! what are they doin' there, for g r a c i o u s s a k e s ? " "Well, they didn't go there a - p u r p o s e . " "I bet they didn't! W h y , great g o o d n e s s , there ain't n o c h a n c e for 'em if they don't git off mighty quick! Why, how in the nation did they ever git into such a scrape?" " E a s y e n o u g h . M i s s H o o k e r w a s a-visiting, u p there to the t o w n — " "Yes, B o o t h ' s L a n d i n g — g o o n . " " S h e w a s a-visiting, there at B o o t h ' s L a n d i n g , a n d j u s t in the e d g e of the evening s h e started over with her nigger w o m a n in the horse-ferry, 6 to stay all night at her friend's h o u s e , M i s s What-you-may-call her, I d i s r e m e m b e r her n a m e , a n d they lost their steering-oar, a n d s w u n g a r o u n d a n d went afloating d o w n , stern-first, a b o u t two mile, a n d s a d d l e - b a g g s e d 7 on the wreck, a n d the ferry m a n a n d the nigger w o m a n a n d the h o r s e s w a s all lost, but M i s s H o o k e r s h e m a d e a grab a n d got a b o a r d the wreck. Well, a b o u t an h o u r after dark, we c o m e a l o n g d o w n in our trading-scow, a n d it w a s s o dark we didn't notice the wreck till we was right on it; a n d s o we s a d d l e - b a g g s e d ; but all of u s w a s s a v e d b u t Bill W h i p p l e — a n d o h , he was the b e s t c r e t u r ! — I m o s t wish't it h a d b e e n m e , I d o . " " M y G e o r g e ! It's the b e a t e n e s t thing I ever struck. A n d then what did you all d o ? " "Well, we hollered a n d took o n , but it's s o wide there, we c o u l d n ' t m a k e nobody hear. S o p a p said s o m e b o d y got to get a s h o r e a n d get help s o m e h o w . I w a s the only o n e that c o u l d swim, so I m a d e a d a s h for it, a n d M i s s H o o k e r s h e said if I didn't strike help sooner, c o m e here a n d hunt u p her u n c l e , a n d he'd fix the thing. I m a d e the land a b o u t a mile below, a n d b e e n fooling a l o n g ever s i n c e , trying to get p e o p l e to d o s o m e t h i n g , but they said, 'What, in s u c h a night a n d s u c h a c u r r e n t ? there ain't n o s e n s e in it; go for the steam-ferry.' N o w if you'll go, a n d — " " B y J a c k s o n , I'd like to, a n d b l a m e it I don't know but I will; but who in the dingnation's a g o i n ' to pay for it? D o you reckon your p a p — " "Why that's all right. M i s s H o o k e r s h e told m e , particular, that her u n c l e Hornback—" " G r e a t g u n s ! is he her u n c l e ? L o o k h e r e , you b r e a k for that light over yonder-way, a n d turn o u t west w h e n you git there, a n d a b o u t a q u a r t e r of a mile out you'll c o m e to the tavern; tell 'em to dart you out to J i m H o r n b a c k ' s a n d he'll foot the bill. A n d don't you fool a r o u n d any, b e c a u s e he'll want to know the news. Tell him I'll have his niece all safe before he c a n get to town. H u m p yourself, now; I'm a g o i n g up a r o u n d the c o r n e r h e r e , to roust out my engineer." I struck for the light, but as s o o n a s he turned the c o r n e r I went t>ack a n d got into my skiff a n d bailed her out a n d then pulled up s h o r e in the e a s y water a b o u t six h u n d r e d yards, a n d tucked myself in a m o n g s o m e w o o d b o a t s ; for I couldn't rest easy till I c o u l d s e e the ferry-boat start. B u t take it all a r o u n d , I w a s feeling ruther c o m f o r t a b l e on a c c o u n t s of taking all this trouble for that g a n g , for not m a n y would a d o n e it. I w i s h e d the widow k n o w e d a b o u t it. I j u d g e d s h e would be p r o u d of m e for h e l p i n g t h e s e r a p s c a l l i o n s , b e c a u s e r a p s c a l l i o n s a n d d e a d b e a t s is the kind the widow a n d g o o d p e o p l e takes the m o s t interest in. 6.

A ferry l a r g e e n o u g h to t a k e h o r s e s a n d \ v a g o n s .

7.

Broken a n d doubled a r o u n d the wreck.

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Well, before long, here c o m e s the wreck, d i m a n d dusky, sliding a l o n g d o w n ! A kind of cold shiver went t h r o u g h m e , a n d then I s t r u c k out for her. S h e w a s very d e e p , a n d I s e e in a m i n u t e there warn't m u c h c h a n c e for anybody b e i n g alive in her. I p u l l e d all a r o u n d her a n d hollered a little, b u t there wasn't a n y a n s w e r ; all d e a d still. I felt a little bit heavy-hearted a b o u t the g a n g , but not m u c h , for I r e c k o n e d if they c o u l d s t a n d it, I c o u l d . T h e n here c o m e s the ferry-boat; s o I s h o v e d for the m i d d l e of the river o n a long d o w n - s t r e a m slant; a n d w h e n I j u d g e d I w a s o u t of eye-reach, I laid on my o a r s , a n d looked b a c k a n d s e e her g o a n d smell a r o u n d the w r e c k for M i s s H o o k e r ' s r e m a i n d e r s , b e c a u s e the c a p t a i n w o u l d know her u n c l e H o r n b a c k would want t h e m ; a n d then pretty s o o n the ferry-boat give it u p a n d went for s h o r e , a n d I laid into my work a n d went a - b o o m i n g d o w n the river. It did s e e m a powerful long time before J i m ' s light s h o w e d u p ; a n d w h e n it did show, it looked like it w a s a t h o u s a n d mile off. By the t i m e I got t h e r e the sky w a s b e g i n n i n g to get a little gray in the e a s t ; s o w e s t r u c k for an island, a n d hid the raft, a n d s u n k the skiff, a n d t u r n e d in a n d slept like d e a d people. Chapter

XIV

By-and-by, w h e n we got u p , we t u r n e d over the truck the g a n g h a d stole off of the wreck, a n d f o u n d b o o t s , a n d b l a n k e t s , a n d c l o t h e s , a n d all sorts of other things, a n d a lot of b o o k s , a n d a s p y g l a s s , a n d three b o x e s of s e e g a r s . W e hadn't ever b e e n this rich b e f o r e , in neither of our lives. T h e s e e g a r s w a s p r i m e . W e laid off all the afternoon in the w o o d s talking, a n d m e r e a d i n g the b o o k s , a n d having a g e n e r a l g o o d t i m e . I told J i m all a b o u t w h a t h a p p e n e d inside the wreck, a n d at the ferry-boat; a n d I said t h e s e k i n d s of things w a s a d v e n t u r e s ; b u t he said h e didn't want no m o r e a d v e n t u r e s . H e s a i d that w h e n I went in the texas a n d he c r a w l e d b a c k to get on the raft a n d f o u n d her g o n e , h e nearly d i e d ; b e c a u s e h e j u d g e d it w a s all u p with him, anyway it c o u l d be fixed; for if he didn't get s a v e d h e w o u l d get d r o w n d e d ; a n d if h e did get s a v e d , whoever saved him w o u l d s e n d him b a c k h o m e so a s to get the reward, a n d then M i s s W a t s o n w o u l d sell him S o u t h , s u r e . Well, h e w a s right; he w a s m o s t always right; h e h a d an u n c o m m o n level h e a d , for a nigger. I read c o n s i d e r a b l e to J i m a b o u t kings, a n d d u k e s , a n d e a r l s , a n d s u c h , a n d how g a u d y they d r e s s e d , a n d h o w m u c h style they p u t o n , a n d called e a c h other your majesty, a n d your g r a c e , a n d your l o r d s h i p , a n d s o o n , 'stead of mister; a n d J i m ' s eyes b u g g e d o u t , a n d h e w a s i n t e r e s t e d . H e s a y s : "I didn't know dey w a s s o m a n y u n u m . I hain't h e a r n 'bout n o n e un u m , skasely, b u t ole K i n g S o l l e r m u n , o n l e s s you c o u n t s d e m kings dat's in a p a c k er k'yards. H o w m u c h do a king g i t ? " " G e t ? " I says; "why, they get a t h o u s a n d dollars a m o n t h if they want it; they c a n have j u s t as m u c h a s they w a n t ; everything b e l o n g s to t h e m . " "Ain' dat gay? E n w h a t dey got to d o , H u c k ? " "They don't do nothing! W h y h o w you talk. T h e y j u s t set a r o u n d . " " N o — i s dat s o ? " " O f c o u r s e it is. T h e y j u s t set a r o u n d . E x c e p t maybe w h e n t h e r e ' s a war; then they g o to the war. B u t other t i m e s they j u s t lazy a r o u n d ; or g o hawki n g — j u s t h a w k i n g a n d s p — S h ! — d ' you hear a n o i s e ? " W e s k i p p e d o u t a n d looked; b u t it warn't n o t h i n g but the flutter of a s t e a m b o a t ' s wheel, away d o w n c o m i n g a r o u n d the point; s o w e c o m e back.

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" Y e s , " says I, " a n d other t i m e s , w h e n things is dull, they fuss with the parlyment; a n d if everybody don't g o j u s t s o he w h a c k s their h e a d s off. B u t mostly they h a n g r o u n d the h a r e m . " " R o u n ' de w h i c h ? " "Harem." " W h a t ' s de h a r e m ? " " T h e p l a c e w h e r e he keep his wives. Don't you know a b o u t the h a r e m ? S o l o m o n h a d o n e ; he h a d a b o u t a million wives." "Why, yes, dat's s o ; I—I'd d o n e forgot it. A h a r e m ' s a b o ' d ' n - h o u s e , I reck'n. M o s ' likely dey h a s rackety t i m e s in de nussery. E n I reck'n de wives q u a r r e l s c o n s i d a b l e ; en dat 'crease de racket. Yit dey say S o l l e r m u n d e w i s e s ' m a n dat ever live.' I d o a n ' take n o stock in dat. B e k a s e why: would a wise m a n w a n t to live in d e m i d s ' er sich a b l i m b l a m m i n ' all de t i m e ? N o — ' d e e d h e wouldn't. A wise m a n 'ud take en bun" a biler-factry; en d e n he c o u l d shet down d e biler-factry w h e n h e want to r e s ' . " "Well, but he was the wisest m a n , anyway; b e c a u s e the widow s h e told m e s o , her own self." "I d o a n k'yer what d e widder say, he warn' no wise m a n , nuther. H e h a d s o m e er de d a d - f e t c h e d e s ' ways I ever s e e . D o e s you know 'bout dat chile dat he 'uz gwyne to c h o p in t w o ? " 8 "Yes, the widow told m e all a b o u t it." "Well, d e n ! W a r n ' dat de b e a t e n e s ' notion in de worl'? You j e s ' take en look at it a m i n u t e . D a h ' s de s t u m p , d a h — d a t ' s o n e er d e w o m e n ; h e a h ' s y o u — dat's de yuther o n e ; I's S o l l e r m u n ; en dish-yer dollar bill's d e chile. B o f e un you c l a i m s it. W h a t d o e s I do? D o e s I shin a r o u n ' m o n g s ' d e n e i g h b o r s en fine out which un you d e bill do b'long to, en h a n ' it over to d e right o n e , all safe en s o u n ' , de way dat anybody dat h a d any g u m p t i o n w o u l d ? N o — I take en w h a c k d e bill in two, en give half un it to you, en de yuther half to d e yuther w o m a n . Dat's de way S o l l e r m u n w a s gwyne to do wid d e chile. N o w I want to a s k y o u : what's d e u s e er dat half a b i l l ? — c a n ' t buy noth'n wid it. E n what u s e is a half a chile? I w o u l d n ' give a dern for a million u n u m . " " B u t h a n g it, J i m , you've c l e a n m i s s e d the p o i n t — b l a m e it, you've m i s s e d it a t h o u s a n d m i l e . " " W h o ? M e ? G o 'long. D o a n ' talk to me 'bout yo' p i n t s . I reck'n I knows s e n s e w h e n I s e e s it; en dey a i n ' no s e n s e in sich doin's a s dat. D e 'spute warn't 'bout a half a chile, de 'spute was 'bout a w h o l e chile; en d e m a n dat think he kin settle a 'spute 'bout a w h o l e chile wid a half a chile, d o a n ' know e n o u g h to c o m e in out'n d e rain. D o a n ' talk to m e 'bout S o l l e r m u n , H u c k , I knows him by de b a c k . " " B u t I tell you you don't get the p o i n t . " " B l a m e de pint! I reck'n I k n o w s what I k n o w s . E n m i n e you, d e real pint is d o w n furder—it's d o w n d e e p e r . It lays in d e way S o l l e r m u n w a s r a i s e d . You take a m a n dat's got on'y o n e er two children; is dat m a n gwyne to b e waseful o' chillen? N o , h e ain't; h e can't 'ford it. He know how to value 'em. B u t you take a m a n dat's got 'bout five million chillen r u n n i n ' r o u n ' d e h o u s e , en it's diffunt. He a s s o o n c h o p a chile in two a s a c a t . Dey's plenty m o ' . A chile er two, m o ' er l e s s , warn't no c o n s e k e n s to S o l l e r m u n , d a d fetch h i m ! " I never s e e s u c h a nigger. If he got a notion in his h e a d o n c e , there warn't 8. In 1 Kings 3.16—28. W h e n two women a p p e a r e d before h i m c l a i m i n g to b e t h e m o t h e r of t h e s a m e infant, S o l o m o n o r d e r e d t h e c h i l d c u t in

t w o . T h e child's real m o t h e r p l e a d e d with h i m to s a v e t h e b a b y a n d t o g i v e it t o t h e o t h e r w o m a n , w h o maliciously agreed to S o l o m o n ' s original plan.

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no getting it out a g a i n . H e w a s the m o s t down on S o l o m o n of any nigger I ever s e e . S o I went to talking a b o u t other kings, a n d let S o l o m o n slide. I told a b o u t L o u i s S i x t e e n t h that got his h e a d c u t off in F r a n c e long time a g o ; a n d a b o u t his little boy the d o l p h i n , 9 that w o u l d a b e e n a king, b u t they took a n d s h u t him u p in jail, a n d s o m e say he d i e d there. " P o ' little c h a p . " " B u t s o m e says he got o u t a n d got away, a n d c o m e to A m e r i c a . " " D a t ' s g o o d ! B u t he'll be pooty l o n e s o m e — d e y ain' no kings h e r e , is dey, Huck?" "No." " D e n he cain't git no situation. W h a t h e gwyne to d o ? " "Well, I don't know. S o m e of t h e m g e t s on the p o l i c e , a n d s o m e of t h e m learns p e o p l e how to talk F r e n c h . " "Why, H u c k , d o a n ' de F r e n c h p e o p l e talk de s a m e way we d o e s ? " " N o , J i m ; you couldn't u n d e r s t a n d a word they s a i d — n o t a single w o r d . " "Well now, I b e ding-busted! H o w do dat c o m e ? " "I don't know; but it's s o . I got s o m e of their j a b b e r out of a b o o k . S p o s e a m a n w a s to c o m e to you a n d say Polly-voo-franzy—what would you t h i n k ? " "I w o u l d n ' think n u f f n ; I'd take en b u s t h i m over d e h e a d . D a t is, if he warn't white. I wouldn't 'low no nigger to call m e d a t . " " S h u c k s , it ain't calling you anything. It's only saying d o you know how to talk F r e n c h ? " "Well, d e n , why couldn't he say i t ? " "Why, he is a-saying it. T h a t ' s a F r e n c h m a n ' s way of saying it." "Well, it's a b l a m e ' ridicklous way, en I d o a n ' w a n t to hear n o m o ' 'bout it. Dey ain' n o s e n s e in it." " L o o k y h e r e , J i m ; d o e s a cat talk like w e d o ? " " N o , a cat don't." "Well, d o e s a c o w ? " " N o , a cow don't, n u t h e r . " " D o e s a cat talk like a cow, or a c o w talk like a c a t ? " " N o , dey don't." "It's natural a n d right for 'em to talk different from e a c h other, ain't i t ? " " 'Course." "And ain't it natural a n d right for a cat a n d a c o w to talk different from MS?"

"Why, m o s ' sholy it i s . " "Well, t h e n , why ain't it natural a n d right for a Frenchman to talk different from u s ? You a n s w e r m e t h a t . " " I s a cat a m a n , H u c k ? " "No." "Well, d e n , dey ain't no s e n s e in a cat talkin' like a m a n . Is a c o w a m a n ? — er is a c o w a c a t ? " " N o , s h e ain't either of t h e m . " "Well, d e n , s h e ain' got no b u s i n e s s to talk like either o n e er the yuther of 'em. Is a F r e n c h m a n a m a n ? " 9 . T h e D a u p h i n , L o u i s C h a r l e s , next in l i n e o f t h e s u c c e s s i o n to t h e t h r o n e , w a s e i g h t y e a r s old w h e n h i s f a t h e r , Louis XVI, was beheaded (1793). T h o u g h t h e b o y d i e d in p r i s o n , p r o b a b l y in 1 7 9 5 ,

legends of his e s c a p e to A m e r i c a ( a n d elsewhere) p e r s i s t e d , a n d T w a i n o w n e d a book o n t h e s u b j e c t b y H o r a c e W . F u l l e r : Imposters and Adventurers, Noted French Trials (1882).

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"Yes." "Well, d e n ! D a d b l a m e it, why d o a n ' he talk like a m a n ? You a n s w e r m e dat!" I s e e it warn't no u s e w a s t i n g w o r d s — y o u can't learn a nigger to a r g u e . S o I quit. Chapter

XV

W e j u d g e d that three nights m o r e would fetch u s to C a i r o , 1 at the b o t t o m of Illinois, w h e r e t h e O h i o River c o m e s in, a n d that w a s what w e w a s after. W e would sell the raft a n d get o n a s t e a m b o a t a n d go way u p the O h i o a m o n g s t the free S t a t e s , a n d then b e out of t r o u b l e . 2 Well, the s e c o n d night a fog b e g u n to c o m e o n , a n d we m a d e for a towh e a d to tie to, for it wouldn't d o to try to run in fog; but w h e n I p a d d l e d a h e a d in the c a n o e , with the line, to m a k e fast, there warn't anything b u t little s a p l i n g s to tie to. I p a s s e d the line a r o u n d o n e of t h e m right on the edge of the c u t bank, b u t there w a s a stiff c u r r e n t , a n d t h e raft c o m e b o o m i n g down so lively s h e tore it out by the roots a n d away s h e went. I s e e the fog c l o s i n g d o w n , a n d it m a d e m e s o sick a n d s c a r e d I couldn't b u d g e for m o s t a half a m i n u t e it s e e m e d to m e — a n d then there warn't no raft in sight; you couldn't s e e twenty yards. I j u m p e d into the c a n o e a n d run b a c k to the stern a n d g r a b b e d the p a d d l e a n d set her b a c k a stroke. B u t s h e didn't c o m e . I w a s in s u c h a hurry I hadn't untied her. I got u p a n d tried to untie her, b u t I w a s s o excited my h a n d s s h o o k so I couldn't hardly d o anything with t h e m . A s s o o n a s I got started I took out after the raft, hot a n d heavy, right d o w n the tow-head. T h a t w a s all right as far a s it went, b u t the tow-head warn't sixty yards long, a n d the m i n u t e I flew by the foot of it I shot o u t into the solid white fog, a n d hadn't no m o r e idea which way I w a s g o i n g than a d e a d man. T h i n k s I, it won't d o to p a d d l e ; first I know I'll run into the b a n k or a towh e a d or s o m e t h i n g ; I got to set still a n d float, a n d yet it's mighty fidgety b u s i n e s s to have to hold your h a n d s still at s u c h a t i m e . I w h o o p e d a n d listened. Away down there, s o m e w h e r e s , I h e a r s a small w h o o p , a n d u p c o m e s my spirits. I went tearing after it, listening s h a r p to h e a r it a g a i n . T h e next time it c o m e , I s e e I warn't h e a d i n g for it but h e a d i n g away to the right of it. A n d the next t i m e , I w a s h e a d i n g away to t h e left of i t — a n d not gaining on it m u c h , either, for I w a s flying a r o u n d , this way a n d that a n d 'tother, b u t it was going straight a h e a d all the t i m e . I did wish the fool would think to beat a tin p a n , a n d beat it all the t i m e , but he never did, a n d it w a s t h e still p l a c e s b e t w e e n the w h o o p s that w a s m a k i n g the trouble for m e . Well, I fought along, a n d directly I h e a r s the w h o o p s behind m e . I w a s t a n g l e d g o o d , n o w . T h a t w a s s o m e b o d y ' s else's w h o o p , or else I w a s turned a r o u n d . I throwed the p a d d l e d o w n . I h e a r d the w h o o p a g a i n ; it w a s b e h i n d m e yet, b u t in a different p l a c e ; it kept c o m i n g , a n d kept c h a n g i n g its p l a c e , a n d 1. P r o n o u n c e d Cair-6, t h e t o w n is 3 6 4 m i l e s f r o m Hannibal, 194 miles from St. Louis. 2 . S o u t h e r n I l l i n o i s w a s p r o s l a v e r y in s e n t i m e n t . T h e state, moreover, had a system of indentured labor not unlike slavery to which a black person

without proof o f free status might be subjected. Although even a m o n g the "free" states there were similar d a n g e r s for J i m , t h e c h a n c e s of his m a k i n g h i s w a y t o f r e e d o m a n d s a f e t y in C a n a d a f r o m O h i o or Pennsylvania would be m u c h greater.

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I kept a n s w e r i n g , till by-and-by it w a s in front of m e again a n d I k n o w e d the c u r r e n t h a d s w u n g the c a n o e ' s h e a d d o w n s t r e a m a n d I was all right, if that w a s J i m a n d not s o m e other r a f t s m a n hollering. I couldn't tell n o t h i n g a b o u t voices in a fog, for n o t h i n g don't look n a t u r a l nor s o u n d n a t u r a l in a fog. T h e whooping went o n , a n d in a b o u t a m i n u t e I c o m e a b o o m i n g d o w n on a c u t b a n k 3 with s m o k y g h o s t s of big trees on it, a n d the c u r r e n t throwed m e off to the left a n d shot by, a m o n g s t a lot of s n a g s that fairly roared, the current w a s tearing by t h e m s o swift. In a n o t h e r s e c o n d or two it w a s solid white a n d still a g a i n . I set perfectly still, then, listening to my heart t h u m p , a n d I reckon I didn't draw a breath while it t h u m p e d a h u n d r e d . I j u s t give u p , then. I k n o w e d what the m a t t e r w a s . T h a t c u t b a n k w a s a n island, a n d J i m h a d g o n e down 'tother side of it. It warn't n o tow-head, that you could float by in ten m i n u t e s . It h a d the big timber of a regular i s l a n d ; it might be five or six mile long a n d m o r e t h a n a half a mile wide. I kept quiet, with my e a r s c o c k e d , a b o u t fifteen m i n u t e s , I reckon. I w a s floating a l o n g , of c o u r s e , four or five mile a n hour; b u t you don't ever think of that. N o , you feel like you are laying d e a d still o n the water; a n d if a little g l i m p s e of a s n a g slips by, you don't think to yourself how fast you're going, but you c a t c h your b r e a t h a n d think, my! h o w that snag's tearing a l o n g . If you think it ain't d i s m a l a n d l o n e s o m e o u t in a fog that way, by yourself, in the night, you try it o n c e — y o u ' l l s e e . Next, for a b o u t a half an hour, I w h o o p s now a n d t h e n ; at last I h e a r s the a n s w e r a long ways off, a n d tries to follow it, b u t I c o u l d n ' t do it, a n d directly I j u d g e d I'd got into a nest of t o w - h e a d s , for I h a d little d i m g l i m p s e s of t h e m on both sides of m e , s o m e t i m e s j u s t a narrow c h a n n e l b e t w e e n ; a n d s o m e that I couldn't s e e , I k n o w e d w a s there, b e c a u s e I'd h e a r the w a s h of the c u r r e n t a g a i n s t the old d e a d b r u s h a n d trash that h u n g over the b a n k s . Well, I warn't long losing the w h o o p s , d o w n a m o n g s t the t o w - h e a d s ; a n d I only tried to c h a s e t h e m a little while, anyway, b e c a u s e it w a s w o r s e t h a n c h a s i n g a J a c k - o - l a n t e r n . You never k n o w e d a s o u n d d o d g e a r o u n d s o , a n d s w a p p l a c e s so q u i c k a n d s o m u c h . I h a d to claw away from the b a n k pretty lively, four or five t i m e s , to k e e p from k n o c k i n g the i s l a n d s o u t of the river; a n d s o I j u d g e d the raft m u s t b e b u t t i n g into the b a n k every now a n d t h e n , or e l s e it would get further a h e a d a n d clear o u t of h e a r i n g — i t w a s floating a little faster t h a n w h a t I w a s . Well, I s e e m e d to be in the o p e n river a g a i n , by-and-by, but I c o u l d n ' t h e a r no sign of a w h o o p n o w h e r e s . I r e c k o n e d J i m h a d f e t c h e d u p on a s n a g , m a y b e , a n d it w a s all u p with h i m . I w a s g o o d a n d tired, so I laid d o w n in the c a n o e a n d said I wouldn't b o t h e r n o m o r e . I didn't w a n t to go to s l e e p , of c o u r s e ; b u t I w a s s o sleepy I c o u l d n ' t help it; s o I t h o u g h t I w o u l d take j u s t o n e little c a t - n a p . B u t I reckon it w a s m o r e t h a n a c a t - n a p , for w h e n I w a k e d u p the stars w a s s h i n i n g bright, the fog w a s all g o n e , a n d I w a s s p i n n i n g down a big b e n d stern first. First I didn't know w h e r e I w a s ; I t h o u g h t I w a s d r e a m i n g ; a n d w h e n things b e g u n to c o m e b a c k to m e , they s e e m e d to c o m e up d i m o u t of last w e e k . •

3.

S t e e p b a n k carved out by the force of the current.

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It w a s a m o n s t r o u s big river h e r e , with the tallest a n d the thickest kind of timber on both b a n k s ; j u s t a solid wall, a s well a s I c o u l d s e e , by the s t a r s . I looked away d o w n s t r e a m , a n d s e e n a b l a c k s p e c k on the water. I took out after it; but w h e n I got to it it warn't nothing b u t a c o u p l e of saw-logs m a d e fast together. T h e n I s e e a n o t h e r s p e c k , a n d c h a s e d that; then a n o t h e r , a n d this time I w a s right. It w a s the raft. W h e n I got to it J i m w a s setting there with his h e a d d o w n b e t w e e n his k n e e s , a s l e e p , with his right a r m h a n g i n g over the steering oar. T h e other oar w a s s m a s h e d off, a n d the raft w a s littered u p with leaves a n d b r a n c h e s a n d dirt. S o she'd h a d a r o u g h t i m e . I m a d e fast a n d laid d o w n u n d e r J i m ' s n o s e on the raft, a n d b e g u n to g a p , a n d stretch my fists o u t a g a i n s t J i m , a n d says: " H e l l o , J i m , have I b e e n a s l e e p ? W h y didn't you stir m e u p ? " " G o o d n e s s g r a c i o u s , is dat y o u , H u c k ? E n you ain' d e a d — y o u ain' d r o w n d e d — y o u ' s b a c k a g i n ? It's too g o o d for t r u e , honey, it's too g o o d for true. L e m m e look at you, chile, l e m m e feel o' y o u . N o , you a i n ' d e a d ? you's b a c k agin, 'live en s o u n ' , j i s d e s a m e ole H u c k — d e s a m e ole H u c k , t h a n k s to g o o d n e s s ! " " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with you, J i m ? You b e e n a d r i n k i n g ? " "Drinkin'? H a s I b e n a drinkin'? H a s I h a d a c h a n c e to b e a d r i n k i n ' ? " "Well, t h e n , what m a k e s you talk so w i l d ? " " H o w d o e s I talk w i l d ? " "How? why, haint you b e e n talking a b o u t my c o m i n g b a c k , a n d all that stuff, a s if I'd b e e n g o n e a w a y ? " " H u c k — H u c k F i n n , you look m e in de eye; look m e in de eye. Hain't you ben gone away?" " G o n e away? Why, w h a t in the nation d o you m e a n ? I hain't b e e n g o n e anywhere. W h e r e w o u l d I go t o ? " "Well, looky h e r e , b o s s , dey's s u m f n wrong, dey is. Is I me, or w h o is I? Is I h e a h , or w h a h is I? N o w dat's what I wants to k n o w ? " "Well, I think you're h e r e , plain e n o u g h , but I think you're a t a n g l e - h e a d e d old fool, J i m . " "I is, is I? Well you a n s w e r m e dis. Didn't you tote out de line in d e c a n o e , fer to m a k e fas' to d e t o w - h e a d ? " " N o , I didn't. W h a t tow-head? I hain't s e e n no t o w - h e a d . " "You hain't s e e n n o tow-head? L o o k y h e r e — d i d n ' t d e line pull l o o s e en d e r a f go a h u m m i n ' d o w n de river, en leave you en de c a n o e b e h i n e in de f o g ? " "What fog?" "Why de fog. D e fog dat's ben a r o u n ' all night. E n didn't you w h o o p , en didn't I w h o o p , tell we got mix' up in de i s l a n d s en o n e u n u s got 'los' en 'tother o n e w a s j i s ' a s g o o d a s los', 'kase he didn' know w h a h h e wuz? E n didn't I b u s t u p agin a lot er d e m i s l a n d s en have a turrible time en m o s ' git d r o w n d e d ? N o w ain' dat s o , b o s s — a i n ' t it s o ? You a n s w e r m e d a t . " "Well, this is too m a n y for m e , J i m . I hain't s e e n n o fog, nor no i s l a n d s , nor no troubles, nor nothing. I b e e n setting here talking with you all night till you went to sleep a b o u t ten m i n u t e s a g o , a n d I reckon I d o n e the s a m e . You couldn't a got d r u n k in that t i m e , s o of c o u r s e you've b e e n d r e a m i n g . " " D a d fetch it, how is I gwyne to d r e a m all dat in ten m i n u t e s ? " "Well, h a n g it all, you did d r e a m it, b e c a u s e there didn't any of it h a p p e n . "

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" B u t H u c k , it's all j i s ' a s plain to m e a s — " "It don't m a k e no difference how plain it is, there ain't n o t h i n g in it. I know, b e c a u s e I've b e e n here all the t i m e . " J i m didn't say n o t h i n g for a b o u t five m i n u t e s , b u t set there studying over it. T h e n he says: "Well, d e n , I reck'n I did d r e a m it, H u c k ; but d o g my c a t s ef it ain't d e powerfullest d r e a m I ever s e e . E n I hain't ever h a d n o d r e a m b'fo' dat's tired m e like dis o n e . " " O h , well, that's all right, b e c a u s e a d r e a m d o e s tire a body like everything, s o m e t i m e s . B u t this o n e w a s a s t a v i n g 4 d r e a m — t e l l m e all a b o u t it, J i m . " S o J i m went to work a n d told m e the w h o l e thing right t h r o u g h , j u s t a s it h a p p e n e d , only he p a i n t e d it u p c o n s i d e r a b l e . T h e n he said h e m u s t start in a n d " 'terpret" it, b e c a u s e it w a s sent for a warning. H e s a i d the first towh e a d stood for a m a n that would try to do u s s o m e g o o d , but the c u r r e n t w a s a n o t h e r m a n that w o u l d get u s away from h i m . T h e w h o o p s w a s w a r n i n g s that w o u l d c o m e to u s every now a n d t h e n , a n d if we didn't try hard to m a k e out to u n d e r s t a n d t h e m they'd j u s t take u s into b a d luck, 'stead of keeping u s out of it. T h e lot of tow-heads w a s troubles we w a s g o i n g to get into with q u a r r e l s o m e p e o p l e a n d all kinds of m e a n folks, but if we m i n d e d our b u s i n e s s a n d didn't talk b a c k a n d a g g r a v a t e t h e m , we would pull through and get o u t of the fog a n d into the big clear river, which w a s the free S t a t e s , a n d wouldn't have no m o r e trouble. It h a d c l o u d e d up pretty dark j u s t after I got o n t o the raft, but it w a s c l e a r i n g up a g a i n , now. " O h , well, that's all interpreted well e n o u g h , a s far a s it g o e s , J i m , " I says; "but what d o e s these things s t a n d f o r ? " It w a s the leaves a n d r u b b i s h o n the raft, a n d the s m a s h e d oar. You c o u l d s e e t h e m first rate, now. J i m looked at the trash, a n d then looked at m e , a n d b a c k at the trash a g a i n . H e h a d got the d r e a m fixed s o s t r o n g in his h e a d that h e couldn't s e e m to s h a k e it loose a n d get the facts b a c k into its p l a c e a g a i n , right away. B u t w h e n he did get the thing s t r a i g h t e n e d a r o u n d , h e looked at m e steady, without ever smiling, a n d says: " W h a t do dey s t a n ' for? I's gwyne to tell you. W h e n I got all w o r e out wid work, en wid d e callin' for you, en went to s l e e p , my heart wuz m o s ' broke b e k a s e you wuz los', en I didn' k'yer n o m o ' what b e c o m e er m e en de r a f . E n w h e n I w a k e u p en fine you hack agin', all s a f e en s o u n ' , de tears c o m e en I c o u l d a got down on my k n e e s en kiss' yo' foot I's so thankful. E n all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you c o u l d m a k e a fool uv ole J i m wid a lie. D a t truck d a h is trash; en trash is w h a t p e o p l e is dat p u t s dirt on d e h e a d er dey fren's en m a k e s 'em a s h a m e d . " T h e n he got u p slow, a n d walked to the w i g w a m , a n d went in t h e r e , without saying anything but that. B u t that w a s e n o u g h . It m a d e m e feel s o m e a n I c o u l d a l m o s t k i s s e d his foot to get him to take it back. It w a s fifteen m i n u t e s before I c o u l d work myself u p to go a n d h u m b l e myself to a n i g g e r — b u t I d o n e it, a n d I warn't ever sorry for it afterwards, neither. I didn't do him n o m o r e m e a n tricks, a n d I wouldn't d o n e that o n e if I'd a k n o w e d it would m a k e h i m feel that way. 4. Vivid, c o m p e l l i n g .

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W e slept m o s t all day, a n d started o u t at night, a little ways b e h i n d a m o n strous long raft that w a s a s long going by a s a p r o c e s s i o n . S h e h a d four long s w e e p s 5 at e a c h e n d , so we j u d g e d s h e carried a s m a n y a s thirty m e n , likely. S h e h a d five big w i g w a m s a b o a r d , wide apart, a n d an o p e n c a m p fire in the middle, a n d a tall flagpole at e a c h e n d . T h e r e w a s a power of style a b o u t her. It amounted to s o m e t h i n g b e i n g a r a f t s m a n on s u c h a craft a s that. W e went drifting d o w n into a big b e n d , a n d the night c l o u d e d u p a n d got hot. T h e river w a s very wide, a n d w a s walled with solid t i m b e r o n both s i d e s ; you couldn't s e e a b r e a k in it hardly ever, or a light. W e talked a b o u t C a i r o , a n d w o n d e r e d w h e t h e r we would know it w h e n we got to it. I s a i d likely we wouldn't, b e c a u s e I h a d h e a r d say there warn't but a b o u t a d o z e n h o u s e s there, a n d if they didn't h a p p e n to have t h e m lit u p , how w a s we g o i n g to know we was p a s s i n g a town? J i m said if the two big rivers j o i n e d together there, that would show. B u t I said m a y b e we might think we w a s p a s s i n g the foot of an island a n d c o m i n g into the s a m e old river a g a i n . T h a t d i s t u r b e d J i m — a n d m e too. S o the q u e s t i o n w a s , what to d o ? I said, p a d d l e a s h o r e the first time a light s h o w e d , a n d tell t h e m p a p w a s b e h i n d , c o m i n g a l o n g with a trading-scow, a n d w a s a green h a n d at the b u s i n e s s , a n d w a n t e d to know how far it was to C a i r o . J i m t h o u g h t it was a good idea, so we took a s m o k e on it a n d w a i t e d . 6 B u t you know a y o u n g p e r s o n can't wait very well w h e n he is impatient to find a thing out. W e talked it over, a n d by a n d by J i m said it w a s s u c h a b l a c k night, now, that it wouldn't be no risk to swim down to the big raft a n d crawl a b o a r d a n d l i s t e n — t h e y w o u l d talk a b o u t C a i r o , b e c a u s e they would b e calc u l a t i n g to go a s h o r e there for a s p r e e , m a y b e ; or anyway they would s e n d b o a t s a s h o r e to buy whisky or fresh m e a t or s o m e t h i n g . J i m h a d a wonderful level h e a d , for a nigger: he c o u l d m o s t always start a g o o d plan w h e n you wanted one. I s t o o d u p a n d s h o o k my rags off a n d j u m p e d into the river, a n d s t r u c k out for the raft's light. By a n d by, w h e n I got d o w n nearly to her, I e a s e d u p a n d went slow a n d c a u t i o u s . B u t everything w a s all r i g h t — n o b o d y at the s w e e p s . S o I s w u m d o w n a l o n g the raft till I was m o s t a b r e a s t the c a m p fire in the m i d d l e , then I crawled a b o a r d a n d i n c h e d a l o n g a n d got in a m o n g s o m e b u n d l e s of shingles on the w e a t h e r side of the fire. T h e r e w a s thirteen men t h e r e — t h e y w a s the w a t c h on d e c k of c o u r s e . A n d a mighty roughlooking lot, too. T h e y h a d a j u g , a n d tin c u p s , a n d they kept the j u g moving. O n e m a n was s i n g i n g — r o a r i n g , you m a y say; a n d it wasn't a n i c e s o n g — f o r a parlor, anyway. H e roared through his n o s e , a n d s t r u n g out the last word of every line very long. W h e n he w a s d o n e they all f e t c h e d a kind of Injun war-whoop, a n d then a n o t h e r w a s s u n g . It b e g u n : 5. L o n g o a r s u s e d chiefly for steering. 6 . T h e p a s s a g e t h a t f o l l o w s w a s p a r t o f t h e final a u t o g r a p h m a n u s c r i p t f o r Hitch Finn t h a t T w a i n s e n t to h i s n e p h e w - p u b l i s h e r C h a r l e s L. W e b s t e r in A p r i l 1 8 8 4 . T h o u g h T w a i n a c q u i e s c e d t o t h e cutting of this "Raft P a s s a g e " (on a suggestion m a d e initially by W . D . H o w e l l s ) . t h e c u t w a s m a d e to s a v e s p a c e a n d not o n literary or aestheticg r o u n d s , a n d t h e p a s s a g e is, t h e r e f o r e , r e i n s t a t e d in this text. T h e raft m a t e r i a l had already

appeared—with an introductory note explaining t h a t it w a s p a r t o f a b o o k i n p r o g r e s s — a s p a r t o f C h . 3 o f Life on the M i s s i s s i p p i ( 1 8 8 3 ) . F o r a f u r ther discussion of this textual crux s e e Walter B l a i r , Mark Twain and "Huck Finn" (1960), and P e t e r G . B e i d l e r , " T h e Raft E p i s o d e in Huckleberry Finn," Modern Fiction Studies 14 ( S p r i n g 1 9 6 5 ) : 1 1 — 2 0 . S e e a l s o V i c t o r D o y n o ' s Writing "Huck Finn": Mark Twain's Creative Process (1991).

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" T h e r e w a s a w o m a n in our towdn, In our towdn did dwed'l [dwell], S h e loved her h u s b a n d dear-i-lee, B u t a n o t h e r m a n twyste a s wed'l. " S i n g i n g too, riloo, riloo, riloo, Ri-too, riloo, r i l a y — e , S h e loved her h u s b a n d dear-i-lee, B u t a n o t h e r m a n twyste a s wed'l. A n d so o n — f o u r t e e n v e r s e s . It w a s kind of poor, a n d w h e n h e w a s g o i n g to start on the next verse o n e of t h e m s a i d it w a s the t u n e the old c o w died o n ; a n d a n o t h e r o n e said: " O h , give u s a r e s t ! " A n d a n o t h e r o n e told him to take a walk. T h e y m a d e fun of him till h e got m a d a n d j u m p e d u p a n d b e g u n to c u s s the crowd, a n d said he c o u l d l a m any thief in the lot. T h e y w a s all a b o u t to m a k e a b r e a k for him, b u t the b i g g e s t m a n t h e r e j u m p e d u p a n d says: " S e t w h a r you a r e , g e n t l e m e n . L e a v e h i m to m e ; he's my m e a t . " T h e n he j u m p e d up in the air three t i m e s , a n d c r a c k e d his heels together every t i m e . H e flung off a b u c k s k i n c o a t that w a s all h u n g with fringes, a n d says, "You lay thar tell the c h a w i n - u p ' s d o n e " ; a n d flung his hat d o w n , which w a s all over r i b b o n s , a n d says, "You lay thar tell his sufferin's is over." T h e n h e j u m p e d up in the air a n d c r a c k e d his heels together a g a i n , a n d shouted out: " W h o o - o o p ! I'm the old original iron-jawed, b r a s s - m o u n t e d , copper-bellied c o r p s e - m a k e r from the wilds of A r k a n s a w . L o o k at m e ! I'm the m a n they call S u d d e n D e a t h a n d General D e s o l a t i o n ! S i r e d by a h u r r i c a n e , d a m ' d by a n e a r t h q u a k e , half-brother to the c h o l e r a , nearly related to the s m a l l p o x o n the m o t h e r ' s s i d e ! L o o k at m e ! I take n i n e t e e n alligators a n d a bar'l of whisky for b r e a k f a s t w h e n I'm in r o b u s t h e a l t h , a n d a b u s h e l of r a t t l e s n a k e s a n d a d e a d body w h e n I'm ailing. I split the everlasting rocks with my g l a n c e , a n d I s q u e n c h 7 the t h u n d e r w h e n I s p e a k ! W h o o - o o p ! S t a n d b a c k a n d give m e r o o m a c c o r d i n g to my strength! B l o o d ' s my n a t u r a l drink, a n d the wails of the dying is m u s i c to my ear. C a s t your eye on m e , g e n t l e m e n ! a n d lay low a n d hold your b r e a t h , for I'm 'bout to turn myself l o o s e ! 8 All the time h e w a s getting this off, h e w a s s h a k i n g his h e a d a n d l o o k i n g fierce, a n d kind of swelling a r o u n d in a little circle, t u c k i n g u p his w r i s t b a n d s , a n d now a n d then s t r a i g h t e n i n g u p a n d b e a t i n g his b r e a s t with his fist, saying, " L o o k at m e , g e n t l e m e n ! " W h e n he got t h r o u g h , h e j u m p e d u p a n d c r a c k e d his heels together three t i m e s , a n d let off a r o a r i n g " W h o o - o o p ! I'm the b l o o d i e s t s o n of a wildcat that lives!" T h e n the m a n that h a d started the row tilted his old s l o u c h hat d o w n over his right eye; then he b e n t s t o o p i n g forward, with his b a c k s a g g e d a n d his s o u t h e n d sticking o u t far, a n d his fists a-shoving o u t a n d d r a w i n g in in front of him, a n d so went a r o u n d in a little circle a b o u t t h r e e t i m e s , swelling h i m s e l f u p a n d b r e a t h i n g h a r d . T h e n he s t r a i g h t e n e d , a n d j u m p e d u p a n d c r a c k e d his heels together three t i m e s b e f o r e h e lit a g a i n (that m a d e t h e m c h e e r ) , a n d h e b e g a n to s h o u t like this: 7. O u t d o , o v e r p o w e r . 8. T w a i n h e r e i m m o r t a l i z e s the ritual b o a s t i n g of the "ring-tailed roarers," chiefly a s s o c i a t e d with

K e n t u c k y b u t f a m i l i a r b o t h i n t h e o r a l t r a d i t i o n s of the frontier a n d in the writings o f t h e s o u t h w e s t e r n h u m o r i s t s , in w h o s e tradition T w a i n follows.

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" W h o o - o o p ! b o w you n e c k a n d s p r e a d , for the k i n g d o m of sorrow's ac o m i n g ! H o l d m e down to the earth, for I feel my p o w e r s a-working! w h o o o o p ! I'm a child of sin, don't let m e get a start! S m o k e d g l a s s , h e r e , for all! Don't a t t e m p t to look at m e with the n a k e d eye, g e n t l e m e n ! W h e n I'm playful I u s e the m e r i d i a n s of l o n g i t u d e a n d parallels of latitude for a s e i n e , a n d drag the Atlantic O c e a n for w h a l e s ! I s c r a t c h my h e a d with the lightning a n d purr myself to s l e e p with the thunder! W h e n I'm cold, I bile the G u l f of M e x i c o a n d b a t h e in it; w h e n I'm hot I fan myself with a n e q u i n o c t i a l s t o r m ; w h e n I'm thirsty I r e a c h u p a n d s u c k a c l o u d dry like a s p o n g e ; w h e n I r a n g e the earth hungry, f a m i n e follows in my tracks! W h o o - o o p ! B o w your n e c k a n d s p r e a d ! I p u t my h a n d on the sun's f a c e a n d m a k e it night in the e a r t h ; I bite a p i e c e out of the m o o n a n d hurry the s e a s o n s ; I s h a k e myself a n d c r u m b l e the m o u n t a i n s ! C o n t e m p l a t e m e t h r o u g h leather—don't u s e the naked eye! I'm the m a n with a petrified heart a n d biler-iron b o w e l s ! T h e m a s s a c r e of isolated c o m m u n i t i e s is the p a s t i m e of my idle m o m e n t s , the d e s t r u c t i o n of nationalities the s e r i o u s b u s i n e s s of my life! T h e b o u n d l e s s v a s t n e s s of the great A m e r i c a n d e s e r t is my i n c l o s e d property, a n d I bury my d e a d o n my own p r e m i s e s ! " H e j u m p e d u p a n d c r a c k e d his heels together three times before he lit (they c h e e r e d him a g a i n ) , a n d a s he c o m e d o w n h e s h o u t e d out: " W h o o - o o p ! bow your n e c k a n d s p r e a d , for the Pet C h i l d of Calamity's a-coming!" T h e n the other o n e went to swelling a r o u n d a n d blowing a g a i n — t h e first o n e — t h e o n e they called B o b ; next, the C h i l d of C a l a m i t y c h i p p e d in a g a i n , bigger than ever; then they both got at it at the s a m e t i m e , swelling r o u n d a n d r o u n d e a c h other a n d p u n c h i n g their fists m o s t into e a c h other's f a c e s , a n d w h o o p i n g a n d j a w i n g like I n j u n s ; then B o b called the C h i l d n a m e s , a n d the C h i l d called him n a m e s b a c k a g a i n ; next, B o b called him a h e a p r o u g h e r n a m e s , a n d the C h i l d c o m e b a c k at him with the very worst kind of l a n g u a g e ; next, B o b k n o c k e d the Child's hat off, a n d the C h i l d p i c k e d it u p a n d kicked Bob's ribbony hat a b o u t six foot; B o b went a n d got it a n d s a i d never m i n d , this warn't g o i n g to be the last of this thing, b e c a u s e h e w a s a m a n that never forgot a n d never forgive, a n d s o the C h i l d better look o u t , for there w a s a time a - c o m i n g , j u s t a s s u r e a s h e w a s a living m a n , that he w o u l d have to a n s w e r to him with the b e s t blood in his body. T h e C h i l d said no m a n w a s willinger than h e for that time to c o m e , a n d h e would give B o b fair warning, now, never to c r o s s his p a t h a g a i n , for he c o u l d never rest till h e h a d w a d e d in his blood, for s u c h w a s his n a t u r e , t h o u g h he w a s s p a r i n g him n o w o n a c c o u n t of his family, if he h a d o n e . B o t h of t h e m w a s e d g i n g away in different directions, growling a n d s h a k i n g their h e a d s a n d g o i n g on a b o u t w h a t they w a s g o i n g to d o ; b u t a little blackwhiskered c h a p skipped u p a n d says: " C o m e b a c k h e r e , you c o u p l e of chicken-livered c o w a r d s , a n d I'll t h r a s h the two of y e ! " And he d o n e it, t o o . H e s n a t c h e d t h e m , h e j e r k e d t h e m his way a n d that, he b o o t e d t h e m a r o u n d , h e k n o c k e d t h e m sprawling faster than they c o u l d get u p . Why, it warn't two m i n u t e s till they b e g g e d like d o g s — a n d how the other lot did yell a n d l a u g h a n d c l a p their h a n d s all the way t h r o u g h , a n d s h o u t " S a i l in, C o r p s e - M a k e r ! " " H i t at him a g a i n , C h i l d of C a l a m i t y ! " "Bully for you, little Davy!" Well, it w a s a perfect pow-wow for a while. B o b a n d the C h i l d h a d red n o s e s a n d b l a c k eyes w h e n they got t h r o u g h . Little Davy m a d e

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t h e m own u p that they were s n e a k s a n d c o w a r d s a n d not fit to e a t with a d o g or drink with a nigger; then B o b a n d the Child s h o o k h a n d s with e a c h other, very s o l e m n , a n d said they h a d always r e s p e c t e d e a c h other a n d w a s willing to let bygones b e b y g o n e s . S o then they w a s h e d their f a c e s in the river; a n d j u s t then there w a s a loud order to s t a n d by for a c r o s s i n g , a n d s o m e of t h e m went forward to m a n the s w e e p s there, a n d the rest went aft to h a n d l e the after s w e e p s . 1 laid still a n d waited for fifteen m i n u t e s , a n d h a d a s m o k e out of a p i p e that o n e of t h e m left in r e a c h ; then the c r o s s i n g w a s finished, a n d they s t u m p e d b a c k a n d h a d a drink a r o u n d a n d went to talking a n d singing a g a i n . Next they got o u t an old fiddle, a n d o n e played, a n d a n o t h e r p a t t e d j u b a , a n d the rest turned t h e m s e l v e s loose on a regular o l d - f a s h i o n e d keelboat b r e a k d o w n . 9 T h e y couldn't k e e p that u p very long without getting w i n d e d , s o by a n d by they settled a r o u n d the j u g a g a i n . T h e y s u n g "Jolly, Jolly R a f t s m a n ' s the Life for M e , " with a r o u s i n g c h o r u s , a n d then they got to talking a b o u t d i f f e r e n c e s betwixt h o g s , a n d their different kind of habits, a n d next a b o u t w o m e n a n d their different ways; a n d next a b o u t the b e s t ways to p u t out h o u s e s that w a s afire; a n d next a b o u t what ought to be d o n e with the I n j u n s ; a n d next a b o u t what a king h a d to d o , a n d how m u c h he got; a n d next a b o u t how to m a k e c a t s fight; a n d next a b o u t what to d o w h e n a m a n h a s fits; a n d next a b o u t differences betwixt clearwater rivers a n d muddy-water o n e s . T h e m a n they called E d said the m u d d y M i s s i s s i p p i water w a s w h o l e s o m e r to drink than the clear water of the O h i o ; he said if you let a pint of this yaller M i s s i s s i p p i water settle, you would have a b o u t a half to three-quarters of an inch of m u d in the b o t t o m , a c c o r d i n g to the s t a g e of the river, a n d then it warn't no better t h a n Ohio w a t e r — w h a t you w a n t e d to do w a s to keep it stirred u p — a n d w h e n the river w a s low, keep m u d on h a n d to put in a n d thicken the water u p the way it o u g h t to be. T h e C h i l d of C a l a m i t y said that w a s s o ; h e said there w a s n u t r i t i o u s n e s s in the m u d , a n d a m a n that d r u n k M i s s i s s i p p i water could grow corn in his s t o m a c h if he w a n t e d to. H e s a y s : "You look at the graveyards; that tells the tale. T r e e s won't grow worth s h u c k s in a C i n c i n n a t i graveyard, but in a S e n t L o u i s graveyard they grow u p w a r d s of eight h u n d r e d foot high. It's all on a c c o u n t of the water the p e o p l e d r u n k before they laid u p . A C i n c i n n a t i c o r p s e don't richen a soil any." And they talked a b o u t how O h i o water didn't like to mix with M i s s i s s i p p i water. E d said if you take the M i s s i s s i p p i on a rise w h e n the O h i o is low, you'll find a wide b a n d of clear water all the way d o w n the e a s t side of the M i s s i s s i p p i for a h u n d r e d miles or m o r e , a n d the m i n u t e you get o u t a q u a r t e r of a mile from s h o r e a n d p a s s the line, it is all thick a n d yaller the rest of the way a c r o s s . T h e n they talked a b o u t how to k e e p t o b a c c o from getting moldy, a n d from that they went into g h o s t s a n d told a b o u t a lot that other folks had s e e n ; but E d says: "Why don't you tell s o m e t h i n g that you've s e e n y o u r s e l v e s ? N o w let m e have a say. Five years a g o I w a s on a raft a s big a s this, a n d right a l o n g here 9. A s the n a m e s u g g e s t s , a wild d a n c e with a rapid r h y t h m . T h e " j u b a " is a s t r o n g l y r h y t h m i c a l d a n c e that originated a m o n g s o u t h e r n blacks a b o u t

1 8 3 0 ; to " p a t a j u b a " w o u l d b e to c l a p the hands or t a p t h e feet to m a k e t h e r h y t h m .

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it w a s a bright m o o n s h i n y night, a n d I w a s on w a t c h a n d b o s s of the stabb o a r d oar forrard, a n d o n e of my p a r d s w a s a m a n n a m e d D i c k Allbright, a n d he c o m e a l o n g to w h e r e I w a s sitting, f o r r a r d — g a p i n g a n d stretching, he w a s — a n d s t o o p e d d o w n o n the e d g e of the raft a n d w a s h e d his f a c e in the river, a n d c o m e a n d set down by m e a n d got out his p i p e , a n d h a d j u s t got it filled, w h e n he looks u p a n d says: " 'Why looky-here,' h e says, 'ain't that B u c k Miller's p l a c e , over y a n d e r in the b e n d ? " " *Yes,' says I, 'it i s — w h y ? ' H e laid his p i p e d o w n a n d l e a n e d his h e a d on his h a n d , a n d says: " 'I t h o u g h t we'd b e furder down.' I says: " 'I thought it, too, w h e n I went off w a t c h ' — w e w a s s t a n d i n g six h o u r s on and six off—'but the boys told m e , ' I says, 'that the raft didn't s e e m to hardly move, for the last hour,' says I, 'though she's a-slipping a l o n g all right now,' says I. H e give a kind of a g r o a n , a n d says: " 'I've s e e d a raft act so b e f o r e , a l o n g h e r e , ' h e s a y s . 'Pears to m e the c u r r e n t has m o s t quit a b o v e the h e a d of this b e n d durin' the last two years,' he says. "Well, he raised u p two or three t i m e s , a n d looked away off a n d a r o u n d on the water. T h a t started m e at it, too. A body is always d o i n g w h a t h e s e e s s o m e b o d y else doing, t h o u g h there mayn't be no s e n s e in it. Pretty s o o n I s e e a b l a c k s o m e t h i n g floating o n the water away off to s t a b b o a r d a n d quartering b e h i n d u s . I s e e he w a s looking at it, too. I says: " 'What's that?' H e says, sort of pettish: " ' T a i n ' t n o t h i n g b u t a n old e m p t y bar'l.' " 'An e m p t y bar'l!' says I, 'why,' says I, 'a spy-glass is a fool to your eyes. H o w c a n you tell it's an e m p t y bar'l?' H e says: " 'I don't know; I reckon it ain't a bar'l, but I t h o u g h t it might b e , ' says h e . " "Yes,' I says, 'so it might b e , a n d it might be anything else t o o ; a body can't tell nothing a b o u t it, s u c h a d i s t a n c e a s that,' I says. " W e hadn't n o t h i n g else to d o , s o we kept o n w a t c h i n g it. By a n d by I says: " 'Why, looky-here, D i c k Allbright, that thing's a-gaining o n u s , I believe.' " H e never said nothing. T h e thing g a i n e d a n d g a i n e d , a n d I j u d g e d it m u s t be a d o g that was a b o u t tired out. Well, we s w u n g d o w n into the c r o s s i n g , a n d the thing floated a c r o s s the bright streak of the m o o n s h i n e , a n d by G e o r g e , it was a bar'l. S a y s I: " 'Dick Allbright, what m a d e you think that thing w a s a bar'l, w h e n it w a s half a mile off?' says I. S a y s h e : " 'I don't know.' S a y s I: " 'You tell m e , D i c k Allbright.' S a y s h e : " 'Well, I k n o w e d it w a s a bar'l; I've s e e n it b e f o r e ; lots h a s s e e n it; they says it's a ha'nted bar'l.' "I called the rest of the w a t c h , a n d they c o m e a n d s t o o d t h e r e , a n d I told them what D i c k said. It floated right a l o n g a b r e a s t , now, a n d didn't g a i n any m o r e . It w a s a b o u t twenty foot off. S o m e w a s for having it a b o a r d , b u t the rest didn't want to. D i c k Allbright said rafts that h a d fooled with it h a d got b a d luck by it. T h e c a p t a i n of the w a t c h s a i d he didn't believe in it. H e s a i d he reckoned the bar'l g a i n e d on u s b e c a u s e it w a s in a little better c u r r e n t than what we w a s . H e s a i d it would leave by a n d by. " S o then we went to talking a b o u t other things, a n d we h a d a s o n g , a n d then a b r e a k d o w n ; a n d after that the c a p t a i n of the w a t c h called for a n o t h e r

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s o n g ; but it w a s c l o u d i n g u p now, a n d the bar'l s t u c k right thar in the s a m e p l a c e , a n d the s o n g didn't s e e m to have m u c h w a r m - u p to it, s o m e h o w , a n d so they didn't finish it, a n d there warn't any c h e e r s , but it sort of d r o p p e d flat, a n d nobody said anything for a m i n u t e . T h e n everybody tried to talk at o n c e , a n d o n e c h a p got off a j o k e , but it warn't no u s e , they didn't l a u g h , a n d even the c h a p that m a d e the j o k e didn't l a u g h at it, which ain't u s u a l . W e all j u s t settled down g l u m , a n d w a t c h e d the bar'l, a n d w a s o n e a s y a n d o n c o m f o r t a b l e . Well, sir, it s h u t down b l a c k a n d still, a n d then the wind b e g a n to m o a n a r o u n d , a n d next the lightning b e g a n to play a n d the t h u n d e r to g r u m b l e . And pretty s o o n there w a s a regular s t o r m , a n d in the m i d d l e of it a m a n that w a s r u n n i n g aft s t u m b l e d a n d fell a n d s p r a i n e d his ankle s o that he h a d to lay u p . T h i s m a d e the boys s h a k e their h e a d s . And every time the lightning c o m e , there w a s that bar'l, with the b l u e lights winking a r o u n d it. W e w a s always o n the lookout for it. B u t by a n d by, toward d a w n , s h e w a s g o n e . W h e n the day c o m e we couldn't s e e her a n y w h e r e , a n d we warn't sorry, either. " B u t next night a b o u t half-past n i n e , when there was s o n g s a n d high j i n k s g o i n g o n , here s h e c o m e s a g a i n , a n d took her old roost o n the s t a b b o a r d s i d e . T h e r e warn't no m o r e high j i n k s . Everybody got s o l e m n ; n o b o d y talked; you couldn't get anybody to do anything but set a r o u n d m o o d y a n d look at the bar'l. It b e g u n to c l o u d u p a g a i n . W h e n the watch c h a n g e d , the off w a t c h stayed u p , 'stead of turning in. T h e storm ripped a n d roared a r o u n d all night, a n d in the middle of it a n o t h e r m a n tripped a n d s p r a i n e d his a n k l e , a n d h a d to k n o c k off. T h e bar'l left toward day, a n d nobody s e e it g o . "Everybody w a s s o b e r a n d down in the m o u t h all day. I don't m e a n the kind of s o b e r that c o m e s of leaving liquor a l o n e — n o t that. T h e y w a s quiet, but they all d r u n k m o r e than u s u a l — n o t together, but e a c h m a n sidled off a n d took it private, by himself. "After dark the off w a t c h didn't turn in; nobody s u n g , nobody talked; the boys didn't scatter a r o u n d , neither; they sort of h u d d l e d together, forrard; a n d for two h o u r s they set there, perfectly still, looking s t e a d y in the o n e direction, a n d heaving a sigh o n c e in a while. A n d t h e n , here c o m e s the bar'l a g a i n . S h e took u p her old p l a c e . S h e stayed there all night; nobody t u r n e d in. T h e storm c o m e on a g a i n , after midnight. It got awful dark; the rain p o u r e d d o w n ; hail, too; the t h u n d e r b o o m e d a n d roared a n d b e l l o w e d ; the wind blowed a h u r r i c a n e ; a n d the lightning s p r e a d over everything in big s h e e t s of glare, a n d s h o w e d the w h o l e raft a s plain a s day; a n d the river l a s h e d up white a s milk a s far a s you c o u l d s e e for m i l e s , a n d there w a s that bar'l jiggering along, s a m e a s ever. T h e c a p t a i n o r d e r e d the watch to m a n the after s w e e p s for a c r o s s i n g , a n d nobody would g o — n o m o r e s p r a i n e d a n k l e s for t h e m , they s a i d . T h e y wouldn't even walk aft. W e l l , t h e n , j u s t then the sky split wide o p e n , with a c r a s h , a n d the lightning killed two m e n of the after w a t c h , a n d crippled two m o r e . C r i p p l e d t h e m how, say you? Why, sprained their ankles! " T h e bar'l left in the dark betwixt lightnings, toward d a w n . Well, not a body eat a bite at b r e a k f a s t that m o r n i n g . After that the m e n loafed around, in twos a n d threes, a n d talked low together. B u t n o n e of t h e m h e r d e d with D i c k Allbright. T h e y all give him the cold s h a k e . If h e c o m e a r o u n d where any of the m e n w a s , they split up a n d sidled away. T h e y wouldn't m a n the s w e e p s with h i m . T h e c a p t a i n h a d all the skiffs h a u l e d u p on the raft, along-

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side of his w i g w a m , a n d wouldn't let the d e a d m e n b e t o o k a s h o r e to be planted; he didn't believe a m a n that got a s h o r e would c o m e b a c k : a n d he was right. "After night c o m e , you c o u l d s e e pretty plain that there w a s g o i n g to be trouble if that bar'l c o m e a g a i n ; there w a s s u c h a m u t t e r i n g g o i n g on. A g o o d m a n y w a n t e d to kill D i c k Allbright, b e c a u s e he'd s e e n the bar'l on other trips, a n d that h a d a n ugly look. S o m e w a n t e d to put him a s h o r e . S o m e said: 'Let's all go a s h o r e in a pile, if the bar'l c o m e s a g a i n . ' " T h i s kind of w h i s p e r s w a s still going on, the m e n b e i n g b u n c h e d together forrard w a t c h i n g for the bar'l, w h e n lo a n d behold you! here s h e c o m e s a g a i n . D o w n she c o m e s , slow a n d steady, a n d settles into her old tracks. You c o u l d 'a' heard a pin d r o p . T h e n up c o m e s the c a p t a i n , a n d s a y s : " 'Boys, don't be a p a c k of children a n d fools; I don't w a n t this bar'l to be dogging us all the way to O r l e a n s , a n d you don't: Well, t h e n , how's the b e s t way to stop it? B u r n it u p — t h a t ' s the way. I'm going to fetch it a b o a r d , ' he says. A n d before anybody c o u l d say a word, in he went. " H e s w u m to it, a n d a s he c o m e p u s h i n g it to the raft, the m e n s p r e a d to o n e s i d e . B u t the old m a n got it a b o a r d a n d b u s t e d in the h e a d , a n d there w a s a baby in it! Yes, sir; a stark-naked baby. It w a s D i c k Allbright's baby; he o w n e d u p a n d said s o . " Y e s , ' h e says, a-leaning over it, 'yes, it is my own l a m e n t e d darling, my p o o r lost C h a r l e s William Allbright d e c e a s e d , ' says h e — f o r he c o u l d curl his t o n g u e a r o u n d the bulliest words in the l a n g u a g e w h e n he w a s a m i n d to, a n d lay t h e m before you without a jint started a n y w h e r e s . 1 Y e s , h e said, he u s e d to live up at the h e a d of this b e n d , a n d o n e night h e c h o k e d his child, which w a s crying, not intending to kill it—which w a s prob'ly a l i e — a n d then he was s c a r e d , a n d buried it in a bar'l, before his wife got h o m e , a n d off he went, a n d s t r u c k the northern trail a n d went to rafting; a n d this w a s the third year that the bar'l h a d c h a s e d h i m . H e said the b a d luck always b e g u n light, a n d lasted till four m e n w a s killed, a n d then the bar'l didn't c o m e any m o r e after that. H e said if the m e n would s t a n d it o n e m o r e n i g h t — a n d w a s agoing o n like t h a t — b u t the m e n h a d got e n o u g h . T h e y started to get out a boat to take him a s h o r e a n d lynch him, but he g r a b b e d the little child all of a s u d d e n a n d j u m p e d overboard with it, h u g g e d up to his b r e a s t a n d s h e d d i n g tears, a n d we never s e e him again in this life, p o o r old suffering soul, nor C h a r l e s William n e i t h e r . " "Who w a s s h e d d i n g t e a r s ? " says B o b ; " w a s it Allbright or the b a b y ? " "Why, Allbright, of c o u r s e ; didn't I tell you the baby w a s d e a d ? B e e n d e a d three y e a r s — h o w c o u l d it c r y ? " "Well, never m i n d how it c o u l d c r y — h o w c o u l d it keep all that t i m e ? " says Davy. "You a n s w e r m e t h a t . " "I don't know how it d o n e it," says E d . "It d o n e it, t h o u g h — t h a t ' s all I know a b o u t it." " S a y — w h a t did they do with the b a r ' l ? " says the C h i l d of C a l a m i t y . "Why, they hove it overboard, a n d it s u n k like a c h u n k of l e a d . " " E d w a r d , did the child look like it w a s c h o k e d ? " says o n e . " D i d it have its hair p a r t e d ? " says a n o t h e r . " W h a t w a s the b r a n d on that bar'l, E d d y ? " says a fellow they called Bill. I.

W i t h o u t c r a c k i n g o p e n j o i n t s ; i.e., perfectly s m o o t h l y a n d e l o q u e n t l y .

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" H a v e you got the p a p e r s for t h e m statistics, E d m u n d ? " says J i m m y . " S a y , E d w i n , w a s you o n e of the m e n that w a s killed by the l i g h t n i n g ? " says Davy. " H m ? O h , no! h e w a s both of ' e m , " says B o b . T h e n they all h a w - h a w e d . " S a y , E d w a r d , don't you reckon you'd better take a pill? You look b a d — don't you feel p a l e ? " says the C h i l d of C a l a m i t y . " O h , c o m e now, E d d y , " says J i m m y , " s h o w u p ; you m u s t 'a' kept part of that bar'l to prove the thing by. S h o w u s the b u n g - h o l e — d o — a n d we'll all believe y o u . " " S a y , b o y s , " says Bill, " l e s s divide it u p . Thar's thirteen of u s . I c a n swaller a thirteenth of the yarn, if you c a n worry down the r e s t . " E d got u p m a d a n d said they c o u l d all go to s o m e p l a c e which h e ripped o u t pretty s a v a g e , a n d then walked off aft, c u s s i n g to himself, a n d they yelling a n d j e e r i n g at h i m , a n d roaring a n d l a u g h i n g so you c o u l d hear them a mile. " B o y s , we'll split a w a t e r m e l o n o n t h a t , " says the C h i l d of C a l a m i t y ; a n d he c a m e r u m m a g i n g a r o u n d in the dark a m o n g s t the shingle b u n d l e s w h e r e I w a s , a n d p u t his h a n d o n m e . I w a s w a r m a n d soft a n d n a k e d ; s o h e says " O u c h ! " and j u m p e d back. " F e t c h a lantern or a c h u n k of fire h e r e , b o y s — t h e r e ' s a s n a k e here a s big as a cow!" S o they run there with a lantern, a n d c r o w d e d u p a n d looked in on m e . " C o m e out of that, you b e g g a r ! " says o n e . " W h o are y o u ? " says a n o t h e r . " W h a t are you after here? S p e a k u p p r o m p t , or overboard you g o . " " S n a k e him out, boys. S n a t c h h i m o u t by the h e e l s . " I b e g a n to b e g , a n d crept out a m o n g s t t h e m t r e m b l i n g . T h e y l o o k e d m e over, w o n d e r i n g , a n d the C h i l d of C a l a m i t y says: "A c u s s e d thief! L e n d a h a n d a n d less heave him o v e r b o a r d ! " " N o , " says Big B o b , "less get o u t the paint-pot a n d paint h i m a sky-blue all over from h e a d to heel, a n d then h e a v e him over." " G o o d ! that's it. G o for the p a i n t , J i m m y . " W h e n the paint c o m e , a n d B o b took the b r u s h a n d w a s j u s t g o i n g to b e g i n , the others l a u g h i n g a n d r u b b i n g their h a n d s . I b e g u n to cry, a n d that sort of worked o n Davy, a n d he s a y s : " V a s t t h e r e . H e ' s n o t h i n g but a c u b . I'll paint the m a n that t e c h e s h i m ! " S o I looked a r o u n d on t h e m , a n d s o m e of t h e m g r u m b l e d a n d growled, a n d B o b p u t d o w n the paint, a n d the others didn't take it u p . " C o m e here to the fire, a n d less s e e w h a t you're u p to h e r e , " says Davy. " N o w set d o w n there a n d giye an a c c o u n t of yourself. H o w l o n g h a v e you been aboard here?" " N o t over a q u a r t e r of a m i n u t e , sir," says I. " H o w did you get dry so q u i c k ? " "I don't know, sir. I'm always that way, m o s t l y . " " O h , you a r e , are y o u ? W h a t ' s your n a m e ? " I warn't g o i n g to tell my n a m e . I didn't know w h a t to say, s o I j u s t says: " C h a r l e s W i l l i a m Allbright, sir." T h e n they r o a r e d — t h e w h o l e c r o w d ; a n d I w a s mighty glad I said that, b e c a u s e , m a y b e , l a u g h i n g w o u l d get t h e m in a b e t t e r h u m o r . W h e n they got d o n e l a u g h i n g , Davy says:

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"It won't hardly d o , C h a r l e s William. You couldn't have g r o w e d this m u c h in five year, a n d you w a s a b a b y w h e n you c o m e out of the bar'l, you know, a n d d e a d at that. C o m e , now, tell a straight story, a n d nobody'll hurt you, if you ain't u p to anything w r o n g . W h a t is your n a m e ? " "Aleck H o p k i n s , sir. A l e c k J a m e s H o p k i n s . " "Well, Aleck, w h e r e did you c o m e from, h e r e ? " " F r o m a trading-scow. S h e lays u p the b e n d yonder. I w a s b o r n o n her. P a p has traded u p a n d d o w n here all his life; a n d h e told m e to swim off here, b e c a u s e w h e n you went by h e said h e w o u l d like to get s o m e of you to s p e a k to a M r . J o n a s T u r n e r , in C a i r o , a n d tell h i m — " "Oh, come!" "Yes, sir, it's a s true as the world. P a p he s a y s — " " O h , your g r a n d m o t h e r ! " T h e y all l a u g h e d , a n d I tried again to talk, b u t they broke in o n m e a n d stopped me. " N o w , looky-here," says Davy; "you're s c a r e d , a n d s o you talk wild. H o n e s t , now, do you live in a s c o w , or is it a l i e ? " "Yes, sir, in a trading-scow. S h e lays u p at the h e a d of the b e n d . B u t I warn't born in her. It's our first trip." " N o w you're talking! W h a t did you c o m e a b o a r d here for? T o s t e a l ? " " N o sir, I didn't. It w a s only to get a ride on the raft. All boys d o e s t h a t . " "Well, I know that. B u t what did you hide f o r ? " " S o m e t i m e s they drive the boys off." " S o they d o . T h e y might steal. Looky-here; if we let you off this t i m e , will you keep out of t h e s e kind of s c r a p e s h e r e a f t e r ? " " ' D e e d I will, b o s s . You try m e . " "All right, then. You ain't but little ways from s h o r e . O v e r b o a r d with you, a n d don't you m a k e a fool of yourself a n o t h e r t i m e this way. B l a s t it, boy, s o m e raftsmen would rawhide you till you were b l a c k a n d b l u e ! " I didn't wait to kiss good-by, but went overboard a n d broke for s h o r e . W h e n J i m c o m e a l o n g by a n d by, the big raft w a s away out of sight a r o u n d the point. I s w u m out a n d got a b o a r d , a n d w a s mighty glad to s e e h o m e a g a i n . 2 T h e r e warn't nothing to d o , now, but to look o u t s h a r p for the town, a n d not p a s s it without s e e i n g it. H e said he'd b e mighty s u r e to s e e it, b e c a u s e he'd b e a free m a n the m i n u t e he s e e n it, but if he m i s s e d it he'd be in the slave country again a n d no m o r e s h o w for f r e e d o m . Every little while he j u m p s up a n d says: " D a h she i s ! " B u t it warn't. It w a s J a c k - o - l a n t e r n s , or lightning-bugs; s o he set d o w n a g a i n , a n d went to w a t c h i n g , s a m e a s b e f o r e . J i m said it m a d e h i m all over trembly a n d feverish to b e so c l o s e to f r e e d o m . Well, I c a n tell you it m a d e m e all over trembly a n d feverish, too, to h e a r h i m , b e c a u s e I b e g u n to get it through my h e a d that h e was m o s t f r e e — a n d w h o w a s to b l a m e for it? Why, me. I couldn't get that o u t of my c o n s c i e n c e , no how nor n o way. It got to troubling m e so I couldn't rest; I couldn't stay still in o n e p l a c e . It hadn't ever c o m e h o m e to m e b e f o r e , w h a t this thing w a s that I w a s d o i n g . B u t now it did; a n d it staid with m e , a n d s c o r c h e d m e m o r e a n d m o r e . I tried to m a k e out to myself that J warn't to b l a m e , b e c a u s e I didn't run J i m off from his 2.

E n d of t h e i n t e r p o l a t e d p a s s a g e .

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rightful owner; but it warn't no u s e , c o n s c i e n c e u p a n d says, every t i m e , " B u t you knowed he w a s r u n n i n g for his f r e e d o m , a n d you could a p a d d l e d a s h o r e a n d told s o m e b o d y . " T h a t w a s s o — I couldn't get a r o u n d that, noway. T h a t w a s where it p i n c h e d . C o n s c i e n c e says to m e , " W h a t h a d p o o r M i s s W a t s o n d o n e to you, that you c o u l d s e e her nigger go off right u n d e r your eyes a n d never say o n e single word? W h a t did that p o o r old w o m a n d o to you, that you c o u l d treat her so m e a n ? Why, s h e tried to learn you your book, s h e tried to learn you your m a n n e r s , s h e tried to b e g o o d to you every way s h e k n o w e d how. That's w h a t s h e d o n e . " I got to feeling so m e a n a n d s o m i s e r a b l e I m o s t w i s h e d I w a s d e a d . I fidgeted up a n d d o w n the raft, a b u s i n g myself to myself, a n d J i m w a s fidgeting up a n d d o w n past m e . W e neither of u s c o u l d keep still. Every time he d a n c e d a r o u n d a n d says, " D a h ' s C a i r o ! " it went t h r o u g h m e like a shot, a n d I thought if it was C a i r o I r e c k o n e d I would die of m i s e r a b l e n e s s . J i m talked out loud all the time while I w a s talking to myself. H e w a s saying how the first thing he would do w h e n he got to a free S t a t e h e w o u l d g o to saving up m o n e y a n d never s p e n d a single c e n t , a n d w h e n h e got e n o u g h he would buy his wife, which w a s o w n e d o n a farm c l o s e to w h e r e M i s s W a t s o n lived; a n d then they would b o t h work to b u y the two c h i l d r e n , a n d if their m a s t e r wouldn't sell t h e m , they'd get an Ab'Iitionist to go a n d steal t h e m . It m o s t froze m e to h e a r s u c h talk. H e wouldn't ever d a r e d to talk s u c h talk in his life before. J u s t s e e w h a t a difference it m a d e in him the m i n u t e he j u d g e d he w a s a b o u t free. It w a s a c c o r d i n g to the old saying, "give a nigger an inch a n d he'll take an ell." T h i n k s I, this is what c o m e s of my not thinking. H e r e w a s this nigger which I h a d a s g o o d a s h e l p e d to run away, c o m i n g right out flat-footed a n d saying h e would steal his c h i l d r e n — c h i l d r e n that b e l o n g e d to a m a n I didn't even know; a m a n that hadn't ever d o n e m e no harm. I w a s sorry to hear J i m say that, it w a s s u c h a lowering of h i m . M y cons c i e n c e got to stirring m e up hotter t h a n ever, until at last I says to it, " L e t up on m e — i t ain't too late, yet—I'll p a d d l e a s h o r e at the first light, a n d tell." I felt easy, a n d happy, a n d light a s a feather, right off. All my troubles w a s g o n e . I went to looking o u t s h a r p for a light, a n d sort of s i n g i n g to myself. By-and-by o n e s h o w e d . J i m sings out: "We's s a f e , H u c k , we's s a f e ! J u m p up a n d c r a c k yo' h e e l s , dat's de g o o d ole C a i r o at las', I jis knows it!" 1 says: "I'll take the c a n o e a n d g o s e e , J i m . It mightn't b e , you k n o w . " H e j u m p e d a n d got the c a n o e ready, a n d p u t his old c o a t in the b o t t o m for m e to set on, a n d give m e the p a d d l e ; a n d a s I s h o v e d off, h e s a y s : "Pooty s o o n I'll be a-shout'n for joy, en I'll say, it's all o n a c c o u n t s o' H u c k ; I's a free m a n , en I c o u l d n ' t ever b e n free ef it h a d n ' b e n for H u c k ; H u c k d o n e it. J i m won't ever forgit you, H u c k ; you's d e b e s ' fren' J i m ' s ever h a d ; en you's d e only fren' ole J i m ' s got n o w . " I w a s p a d d l i n g off, all in a sweat to tell on h i m ; b u t w h e n h e says this, it s e e m e d to kind of take the t u c k all o u t of m e . I went a l o n g slow t h e n , a n d I warn't right d o w n certain w h e t h e r I w a s glad I started or w h e t h e r I warn't. W h e n I w a s fifty yards off, J i m s a y s : " D a h you g o e s , d e ole true H u c k ; d e on'y white g e n l m a n dat ever k e p ' his p r o m i s e to ole J i m . "

A D V E N T U R E S OF H U C K L E B E R R Y

FINN, CHAPTER XVI

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1307

Well, I j u s t felt sick. B u t I says, I got to d o it—I can't get out of it. Right then, a l o n g c o m e s a skiff with two m e n in it, with g u n s , a n d they s t o p p e d a n d I s t o p p e d . O n e of t h e m says: " W h a t ' s that, y o n d e r ? " "A p i e c e of raft," I says. " D o you b e l o n g on i t ? " "Yes, sir." "Any m e n on i t ? " "Only o n e , sir." "Well, there's five niggers run off to-night, u p yonder a b o v e the h e a d of the b e n d . Is your m a n white or b l a c k ? " I didn't a n s w e r up p r o m p t . I tried to, but the words wouldn't c o m e . I tried, for a s e c o n d or two, to b r a c e u p a n d o u t with it, but I warn't m a n e n o u g h — hadn't the s p u n k of a rabbit. I s e e I w a s w e a k e n i n g ; s o I j u s t give u p trying, a n d up a n d s a y s — "He's white." "I reckon we'll go a n d s e e for o u r s e l v e s . " "I wish you w o u l d , " says I, " b e c a u s e it's p a p that's there, a n d m a y b e you'd help m e tow the raft a s h o r e w h e r e the light is. H e ' s s i c k — a n d so is m a m a n d Mary A n n . " " O h , the devil! we're in a hurry, boy. B u t I s'pose we've got to. C o m e — b u c k l e to your p a d d l e , a n d let's get a l o n g . " I b u c k l e d to my p a d d l e a n d they laid to their o a r s . W h e n we h a d m a d e a stroke or two, I says: "Pap'll b e mighty m u c h o b l e e g e d to you, I c a n tell y o u . Everybody g o e s away w h e n I want t h e m to help m e tow the raft a s h o r e , a n d I can't do it myself." "Well, that's infernal m e a n . O d d , too. S a y , boy, what's the m a t t e r with your f a t h e r ? " "It's t h e — a — t h e — w e l l , it ain't anything, m u c h . " T h e y s t o p p e d pulling. It warn't but a mighty little ways to the raft, now. O n e says: "Boy, that's a lie. W h a t is the m a t t e r with your p a p ? A n s w e r u p s q u a r e , now, a n d it'll b e the better for y o u . " "I will, sir, I will, h o n e s t — b u t don't leave u s , p l e a s e . It's t h e — t h e — g e n t l e m e n , if you'll only pull a h e a d , a n d let m e h e a v e you the head-line you won't have to c o m e a-near the r a f t — p l e a s e d o . " " S e t her b a c k , J o h n , set her b a c k ! " says o n e . T h e y b a c k e d water. " K e e p away, b o y — k e e p to l o o a r d . 5 C o n f o u n d it, I j u s t expect the wind has blowed it to u s . Your p a p ' s got the small-pox, 4 a n d you know it p r e c i o u s well. W h y didn't you c o m e out a n d say so? D o you want to s p r e a d it all o v e r ? " "Well," says I, a-blubbering, "I've told everybody b e f o r e , a n d then they j u s t went away a n d left u s . " " P o o r devil, there's s o m e t h i n g in that. W e are right d o w n sorry for you, but w e — w e l l , h a n g it, we don't want the small-pox, you s e e . L o o k h e r e , I'll tell you what to d o . Don't you try to land by yourself, or you'll s m a s h everything to p i e c e s . You float a l o n g d o w n a b o u t twenty miles a n d you'll c o m e to a town on the left-hand side of the river. It will be long after s u n - u p , t h e n , and when you a s k for help, you tell t h e m your folks are all d o w n with chills 3.

I.e.,

leeward.

4.

A highly i n f e c t i o u s , often fatal d i s e a s e .

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MARK TWAIN

a n d fever. Don't b e a fool a g a i n , a n d let p e o p l e g u e s s what is the matter. N o w we're trying to do you a k i n d n e s s ; so you j u s t p u t twenty miles b e t w e e n u s , that's a g o o d boy. It wouldn't do any g o o d to land yonder w h e r e the light is—it's only a wood-yard. S a y — I reckon your father's p o o r , a n d I'm b o u n d to say he's in pretty hard luck. H e r e — I ' l l p u t a twenty dollar gold p i e c e on this b o a r d , a n d you get it w h e n it floats by. I feel mighty m e a n to leave you, but my k i n g d o m ! it won't do to fool with small-pox, don't you s e e ? " " H o l d on, P a r k e r , " says the other m a n , "here's a twenty to p u t o n the b o a r d for m e . G o o d - b y e boy, you d o a s M r . Parker told you, a n d you'll b e all right." " T h a t ' s s o , my b o y — g o o d - b y e , g o o d - b y e . If you s e e any r u n a w a y n i g g e r s , you get help a n d n a b t h e m , a n d you c a n m a k e s o m e m o n e y by it." " G o o d - b y e , sir," says I, "I won't let n o r u n a w a y niggers get by m e if I c a n help it." T h e y went off, a n d I got a b o a r d the raft, feeling b a d a n d low, b e c a u s e I knowed very well I h a d d o n e wrong, a n d I s e e it warn't n o u s e for m e to try to learn to do right; a body that don't get started right w h e n he's little, ain't got no s h o w — w h e n the p i n c h c o m e s there ain't n o t h i n g to b a c k him u p a n d keep h i m to his work, a n d s o he gets b e a t . T h e n I t h o u g h t a m i n u t e , a n d says to myself, hold o n , — s ' p o s e you'd a d o n e right a n d give J i m u p ; would you felt better than what you d o n o w ? N o , says I, I'd feel b a d — I ' d feel j u s t the s a m e way I do now. Well, t h e n , says I, what's the u s e you l e a r n i n g to do right, w h e n it's t r o u b l e s o m e to d o right a n d ain't n o trouble to d o wrong, a n d the w a g e s is j u s t the s a m e ? I w a s s t u c k . I c o u l d n ' t a n s w e r that. S o I r e c k o n e d I wouldn't b o t h e r no m o r e a b o u t it, b u t after this always do w h i c h e v e r c o m e h a n d i e s t at the t i m e . I went into the w i g w a m ; J i m warn't t h e r e . I looked all a r o u n d ; h e warn't anywhere. I says: "Jim!" " H e r e I is, H u c k . Is dey o u t o' sight yit? D o n ' t talk l o u d . " H e w a s in the river, u n d e r the stern oar, with j u s t his n o s e out. I told him they w a s o u t of sight, so h e c o m e a b o a r d . H e s a y s : "I w a s a-Iistenin' to all de talk, en I slips into d e river en w a s gwyne to shove for s h o ' if dey c o m e a b o a r d . D e n I w a s gwyne to swim to d e r a f agin w h e n dey w a s g o n e . B u t lawsy, how you did fool 'em, H u c k ! D a t wuz de s m a r t e s ' d o d g e ! I tell you, chile, I 'speck it s a v e ' ole J i m — o l e J i m ain' gwyne to forgit you for d a t , h o n e y . " T h e n we talked a b o u t the m o n e y . It w a s a pretty g o o d raise, twenty dollars a p i e c e . J i m said we c o u l d take d e c k p a s s a g e o n a s t e a m b o a t now, a n d the m o n e y w o u l d last u s a s far a s we w a n t e d to go in the free S t a t e s . H e s a i d twenty mile m o r e warn't far for the raft to g o , b u t h e w i s h e d we w a s already there. T o w a r d s d a y b r e a k we tied u p , a n d J i m w a s mighty p a r t i c u l a r a b o u t hiding the raft g o o d . T h e n he worked all day fixing things in b u n d l e s , a n d getting all ready to quit rafting. T h a t night a b o u t ten we hove in sight of the lights of a town away d o w n in a left-hand b e n d . I went off in the c a n o e , to a s k a b o u t it. Pretty s o o n I f o u n d a m a n o u t in the river with a skiff, setting a trot-line. I r a n g e d u p a n d s a y s : " M i s t e r , is that town C a i r o ? " " C a i r o ? n o . You m u s t b e a b l a m e ' fool."

A D V E N T U R E S O F H U C K L E B E R R Y F I N N , C H A P T E R XVI

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" W h a t town is it, m i s t e r ? " "If you want to know, go a n d find out. If you stay h e r e botherin' a r o u n d m e for a b o u t a half a m i n u t e longer, you'll get s o m e t h i n g you won't w a n t . " I p a d d l e d to the raft. J i m w a s awful d i s a p p o i n t e d , but I said never m i n d , C a i r o would b e the next p l a c e , I r e c k o n e d . W e p a s s e d a n o t h e r town before daylight, a n d I w a s g o i n g o u t a g a i n ; but it w a s high g r o u n d , so I didn't go. N o high g r o u n d a b o u t C a i r o , J i m s a i d . I had forgot it. W e laid u p for the day, on a tow-head tolerable c l o s e to the left-hand b a n k . I b e g u n to s u s p i c i o n s o m e t h i n g . S o did J i m . I s a y s : " M a y b e we went by C a i r o in the fog that n i g h t . " H e says: " D o a n ' l e s s ' talk a b o u t it, H u c k . P o ' niggers can't have no luck. I awluz 'spected dat rattle-snake skin warn't d o n e wid it's work." "I wish I'd never s e e n that snake-skin, J i m — I d o wish I'd never laid eyes on it." "It ain't yo' fault, H u c k ; you didn't know. Don't you b l a m e yo'sef 'bout it." W h e n it w a s daylight, here was the clear O h i o water in s h o r e , s u r e e n o u g h , a n d o u t s i d e w a s the old regular M u d d y ! S o it w a s all u p with C a i r o . 5 W e talked it all over. It wouldn't do to take to the s h o r e ; we couldn't take the raft up the s t r e a m , of c o u r s e . T h e r e warn't no way b u t to wait for dark, a n d start b a c k in the c a n o e a n d take the c h a n c e s . S o we slept all day a m o n g s t the cotton-wood thicket, s o a s to be fresh for the work, a n d w h e n we went b a c k to the raft a b o u t dark the c a n o e w a s g o n e ! W e didn't say a word for a g o o d while. T h e r e warn't anything to say. W e both k n o w e d well e n o u g h it w a s s o m e m o r e work of the rattle-snake skin; so what w a s the u s e to talk a b o u t it? It would only look like we w a s finding fault, a n d that would be b o u n d to fetch m o r e b a d l u c k — a n d k e e p o n f e t c h i n g it, too, till we k n o w e d e n o u g h to keep still. By-and-by we talked a b o u t what we better d o , a n d f o u n d there warn't no way but j u s t to go a l o n g d o w n with the raft till we got a c h a n c e to b u y a c a n o e to go b a c k in. W e warn't going to borrow it w h e n there warn't anybody a r o u n d , the way p a p w o u l d d o , for that might set p e o p l e after u s . S o we shoved o u t , after dark, o n the raft. 6 Anybody that don't believe yet, that it's f o o l i s h n e s s to h a n d l e a s n a k e - s k i n , after all that that snake-skin d o n e for u s , will believe it now, if they read on a n d s e e what m o r e it d o n e for u s . T h e p l a c e to buy c a n o e s is off of rafts laying up at s h o r e . B u t we didn't s e e no rafts laying u p ; s o we went a l o n g d u r i n g three h o u r s a n d m o r e . Well, the night got gray, a n d ruther thick, which is the next m e a n e s t thing to fog. You can't tell the s h a p e of the river, a n d you can't s e e no d i s t a n c e . It got to be very late a n d still, a n d then a l o n g c o m e s a s t e a m b o a t up the river. W e lit 5. B e c a u s e C a i r o is l o c a t e d at t h e c o n f l u e n c e of t h e O h i o a n d M i s s i s s i p p i R i v e r s , w h i c h in t u r n lies below the confluence of the Missouri (Big M u d d y ) a n d Mississippi, they k n o w that they have p a s s e d C a i r o a n d lost the o p p o r t u n i t y to sell t h e raft a n d travel u p t h e O h i o by s t e a m b o a t to f r e e d o m . 6. T w a i n w a s " s t u c k " a t t h i s p o i n t in t h e w r i t i n g of the novel a n d p u t t h e f o u r - h u n d r e d - p a g e m a n u s c r i p t a s i d e f o r a p p r o x i m a t e l y t h r e e y e a r s . In t h e winter of 1879—80 he a d d e d the two chapters dealing with t h e f e u d (XVII a n d X V I I I ) a n d t h e n t h e t h r e e c h a p t e r s ( X I X - X X I ) in w h i c h t h e k i n g a n d

d u k e e n t e r the story a n d for a time d o m i n a t e the action. T h e novel was not c o m p l e t e d until 1 8 8 3 , w h e n T w a i n w r o t e t h e l a s t h a l f o f it in a f e w m o n t h s of concentrated work. As late as 1 8 8 2 , he w a s not confident h e w o u l d ever c o m p l e t e the b o o k . S e e W a l t e r B l a i r , Mark Twain and "Huck Finn" ( I 9 6 0 ) ; V i c t o r D o y n o , Writing "HuckFinn": Mark Twain's Creative Process ( 1 9 9 1 ) ; a n d D o y n o ' s F o r e w o r d a n d T e x t u a l A d d e n d u m to t h e 1 9 9 6 R a n d o m H o u s e e d i t i o n o f Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

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the lantern, a n d j u d g e d she would s e e it. U p - s t r e a m b o a t s didn't generly c o m e c l o s e to u s ; they go o u t a n d follow the b a r s a n d hunt for easy water u n d e r the reefs; but nights like this they bull right up the c h a n n e l a g a i n s t the w h o l e river. W e c o u l d hear her p o u n d i n g a l o n g , but we didn't s e e her g o o d till she w a s c l o s e . S h e a i m e d right for u s . Often they d o that a n d try to s e e how c l o s e they c a n c o m e without t o u c h i n g ; s o m e t i m e s the wheel bites off a s w e e p , a n d then the pilot sticks his h e a d out a n d l a u g h s , a n d thinks he's mighty s m a r t . Well, here s h e c o m e s , a n d we said s h e w a s g o i n g to try to s h a v e u s ; but s h e didn't s e e m to b e s h e e r i n g off a bit. S h e w a s a b i g o n e , a n d s h e w a s c o m i n g in a hurry, too, looking like a black c l o u d with rows of glow-worms a r o u n d it; but all of a s u d d e n s h e b u l g e d o u t , big a n d scary, with a long row of wideo p e n f u r n a c e d o o r s s h i n i n g like red-hot teeth, a n d her m o n s t r o u s b o w s a n d g u a r d s h a n g i n g right over u s . T h e r e w a s a yell at u s , a n d a j i n g l i n g of bells to s t o p the e n g i n e s , a pow-wow of c u s s i n g , a n d whistling of s t e a m — a n d a s J i m went overboard on o n e side a n d I on the other, s h e c o m e s m a s h i n g straight t h r o u g h the raft. I d i v e d — a n d I a i m e d to find the b o t t o m , too, for a thirty-foot wheel h a d got to go over m e , a n d I w a n t e d it to have plenty of r o o m . I c o u l d always stay u n d e r water a m i n u t e ; this time I reckon I staid u n d e r water a m i n u t e a n d a half. T h e n I b o u n c e d for the top in a hurry, for I w a s nearly b u s t i n g . I p o p p e d out to my arm-pits a n d blowed the water o u t of my n o s e , a n d puffed a bit. O f c o u r s e there was a b o o m i n g c u r r e n t ; a n d of c o u r s e that boat started her e n g i n e s again ten s e c o n d s after s h e s t o p p e d t h e m , for they never c a r e d m u c h for r a f t s m e n ; so now s h e w a s c h u r n i n g a l o n g up the river, out of sight in the thick w e a t h e r , t h o u g h I c o u l d hear her. I s u n g o u t for J i m a b o u t a dozen t i m e s , b u t I didn't get any a n s w e r ; s o I g r a b b e d a p l a n k that t o u c h e d m e while I w a s " t r e a d i n g w a t e r , " a n d s t r u c k out for s h o r e , shoving it a h e a d of m e . B u t I m a d e out to s e e that the drift of the current w a s towards the left-hand s h o r e , 7 which m e a n t that I w a s in a c r o s s i n g ; so I c h a n g e d off a n d went that way. It w a s o n e of t h e s e long, slanting, two-mile c r o s s i n g s ; s o I w a s a g o o d long time in getting over. I m a d e a s a f e l a n d i n g , a n d c l u m u p the b a n k . I couldn't s e e but a little ways, but I went p o k i n g a l o n g over rough g r o u n d for a q u a r t e r of a mile or m o r e , a n d then I run a c r o s s a big old-fashioned d o u b l e log h o u s e before I n o t i c e d it. I w a s g o i n g to rush by a n d get away, b u t a lot of d o g s j u m p e d out a n d went to howling a n d barking at m e , a n d I k n o w e d better t h a n to m o v e a n o t h e r p e g . Chapter

XVII

In a b o u t half a m i n u t e s o m e b o d y s p o k e out of a window, without p u t t i n g his h e a d out, a n d says: " B e d o n e , boys! W h o ' s t h e r e ? " I says: It s m e . "Who's m e ? " 7.

K e n t u c k y , w h e r e t h e f e u d in c h s . X V I I a n d X V I I I is s e t .

A D V E N T U R E S OF H U C K L E B E R R Y F I N N , C H A P T E R X V I I

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" G e o r g e J a c k s o n , sir." " W h a t do you w a n t ? " "I don't w a n t nothing, sir. I only want to go a l o n g by, but the d o g s won't let m e . " " W h a t are you prowling a r o u n d here this time of night, f o r — h e y ? " "I warn't prowling a r o u n d , sir; I fell overboard off of the s t e a m b o a t . " " O h , you did, did y o u ? Strike a light there, s o m e b o d y . W h a t did you say your n a m e w a s ? " " G e o r g e J a c k s o n , sir. I'm only a boy." " L o o k h e r e ; if you're telling the truth, you needn't be afraid—nobody'Il hurt you. B u t don't try to b u d g e ; s t a n d right w h e r e you a r e . R o u s e our B o b a n d T o m , s o m e of you, a n d fetch the g u n s . G e o r g e J a c k s o n , is there anybody with y o u ? " " N o , sir, n o b o d y . " I h e a r d the p e o p l e stirring a r o u n d in the h o u s e , now, a n d s e e a light. T h e m a n s u n g out: " S n a t c h that light away, Betsy, you old fool—ain't you got any s e n s e ? Put it o n the floor b e h i n d the front door. B o b , if you a n d T o m a r e ready, take your p l a c e s . " "All ready." " N o w , G e o r g e J a c k s o n , d o you know the S h e p h e r d s o n s ? " " N o , s i r — I never h e a r d of t h e m . " "Well, that may be s o , a n d it mayn't. N o w , all ready. S t e p forward, G e o r g e J a c k s o n . A n d m i n d , don't you h u r r y — c o m e mighty slow. If there's anybody with you, let him keep b a c k — i f he s h o w s h i m s e l f he'll be shot. C o m e along, now. C o m e slow; p u s h the d o o r o p e n , y o u r s e l f — j u s t e n o u g h to s q u e e z e in, d' you h e a r ? " I didn't hurry, I couldn't if I'd a w a n t e d to. I took o n e slow s t e p at a t i m e , a n d there warn't a s o u n d , only I thought I c o u l d h e a r my heart. T h e d o g s were as still a s the h u m a n s , but they followed a little b e h i n d m e . W h e n I got to the three log d o o r - s t e p s , I h e a r d t h e m u n l o c k i n g a n d u n b a r r i n g a n d unbolting. I put my h a n d on the d o o r a n d p u s h e d it a little a n d a little m o r e , till s o m e b o d y said, " T h e r e , that's e n o u g h — p u t your h e a d in." I d o n e it, but I j u d g e d they would take it off. T h e c a n d l e was on the floor, a n d there they all w a s , looking at m e , a n d m e at t h e m , for a b o u t a q u a r t e r of a m i n u t e . T h r e e big m e n with g u n s p o i n t e d at m e , which m a d e m e w i n c e , I tell you; the oldest, gray a n d a b o u t sixty, the other two thirty or m o r e — a l l of t h e m fine a n d h a n d s o m e — a n d the s w e e t e s t old gray-headed lady, a n d b a c k of her two y o u n g w o m e n which I couldn't see right well. T h e old g e n t l e m a n says: " T h e r e — I reckon it's all right. C o m e i n . " As s o o n a s I was in, the old g e n t l e m a n h e locked the d o o r a n d barred it and bolted it, a n d told the y o u n g m e n to c o m e in with their g u n s , a n d they all went in a big parlor that h a d a new rag c a r p e t o n the floor, a n d got together in a c o r n e r that w a s o u t of range of the front w i n d o w s — t h e r e warn't n o n e on the side. T h e y held the c a n d l e , a n d took a g o o d look at m e , a n d all s a i d , "Why he ain't a S h e p h e r d s o n — n o , there ain't any S h e p h e r d s o n a b o u t h i m . " T h e n the old m a n said he h o p e d I wouldn't m i n d b e i n g s e a r c h e d for a r m s , b e c a u s e he didn't m e a n no h a r m by it—it w a s only to m a k e s u r e . S o he didn't

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pry into my p o c k e t s , but only felt o u t s i d e with his h a n d s , a n d said it w a s all right. H e told m e to m a k e myself e a s y a n d at h o m e , a n d tell all a b o u t myself; but the old lady says: " W h y bless you, S a u l , the p o o r thing's a s wet a s h e c a n b e ; a n d don't you reckon it may be he's h u n g r y ? " " T r u e for you, R a c h e l — I forgot." S o the old lady says: " B e t s y " (this w a s a nigger w o m a n ) , "you fly a r o u n d a n d get him s o m e t h i n g to eat, a s q u i c k a s you c a n , p o o r thing; a n d o n e of you girls g o a n d w a k e u p B u c k a n d tell h i m — O h , h e r e h e is himself. B u c k , take this little s t r a n g e r a n d get the wet c l o t h e s off from him a n d d r e s s him u p in s o m e of yours that's dry." B u c k looked a b o u t a s old a s m e — t h i r t e e n or f o u r t e e n 8 or a l o n g there, t h o u g h h e w a s a little bigger t h a n m e . H e hadn't on a n y t h i n g b u t a shirt, a n d he w a s very frowsy-headed. H e c o m e in g a p i n g a n d digging o n e fist into his eyes, a n d he w a s d r a g g i n g a g u n a l o n g with the other o n e . H e says: "Ain't they no S h e p h e r d s o n s a r o u n d ? " T h e y said, n o , 'twas a false a l a r m . " W e l l , " h e says, "if they'd a b e n s o m e , I reckon I'd a got o n e . " T h e y all l a u g h e d , a n d B o b s a y s : "Why, B u c k , they might have s c a l p e d u s all, you've b e e n so slow in c o m ing. "Well, nobody c o m e after m e , a n d it ain't right. I'm always kep' d o w n ; I don't get no s h o w . " " N e v e r m i n d , B u c k , my b o y , " says the old m a n , "you'll have s h o w e n o u g h , all in g o o d t i m e , don't you fret a b o u t that. G o 'long with you now, a n d do a s your m o t h e r told y o u . " W h e n we got u p stairs to his r o o m , h e got m e a c o a r s e shirt a n d a r o u n d a b o u t 9 a n d p a n t s of his, a n d I p u t t h e m on. W h i l e I w a s at it h e a s k e d m e what my n a m e w a s , b u t before I c o u l d tell h i m , he started to telling m e a b o u t a b l u e j a y a n d a y o u n g rabbit h e h a d c a t c h e d in the w o o d s day before yesterday, a n d h e a s k e d m e w h e r e M o s e s w a s w h e n the c a n d l e went out. I said I didn't know; I hadn't h e a r d a b o u t it b e f o r e , n o way. "Well, g u e s s , " h e says. " H o w ' m I g o i n g to g u e s s , " says I, " w h e n I never h e a r d tell a b o u t it b e f o r e ? " " B u t you c a n g u e s s , can't you? It's j u s t a s e a s y . " "Which c a n d l e ? " I says. "Why, any c a n d l e , " he says. "I don't know w h e r e h e w a s , " says I; " w h e r e w a s h e ? " " W h y he w a s in the dark! T h a t ' s w h e r e h e w a s ! " "Well, if you k n o w e d w h e r e he w a s , w h a t did you a s k m e f o r ? " "Why, b l a m e it, it's a riddle, don't you s e e ? S a y , h o w l o n g a r e you g o i n g to stay here? You got to stay always. W e c a n j u s t have b o o m i n g t i m e s — t h e y don't have n o s c h o o l now. D o you own a d o g ? I've got a d o g — a n d he'll go in the river a n d b r i n g o u t c h i p s that you throw in. D o you like to c o m b u p , S u n d a y s , a n d all that kind of f o o l i s h n e s s ? You bet I don't, b u t m a s h e m a k e s

8. T w a i n i d e n t i f i e s H u c k a s " a b o y o f 1 4 " in a n o t e book.

9.

Short, close-fitting jacket

ADVENTURES

OF H U C K L E B E R R Y

FINN,

C H A P T E R XVII

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m e . C o n f o u n d t h e s e ole b r i t c h e s , I reckon I'd better p u t 'em on, but I'd ruther not, it's so w a r m . Are you all ready? All r i g h t — c o m e along, old h o s s . " C o l d c o r n - p o n e , cold corn-beef, butter a n d b u t t e r - m i l k — t h a t is w h a t they h a d for m e d o w n there, a n d there ain't n o t h i n g better that ever I've c o m e a c r o s s yet. B u c k a n d his m a a n d all of t h e m s m o k e d c o b p i p e s , except the nigger w o m a n , which w a s g o n e , a n d the two y o u n g w o m e n . T h e y all s m o k e d a n d talked, a n d I eat a n d talked. T h e y o u n g w o m e n h a d quilts a r o u n d t h e m , a n d their hair down their b a c k s . T h e y all a s k e d m e q u e s t i o n s , a n d I told t h e m how p a p a n d m e a n d all the family w a s living on a little farm d o w n at the b o t t o m of A r k a n s a w , a n d my sister M a r y A n n run off a n d got married a n d never w a s h e a r d of no m o r e , a n d Bill went to h u n t t h e m a n d he warn't h e a r d of no m o r e , a n d T o m a n d M o r t died, a n d then there warn't n o b o d y but j u s t m e a n d p a p left, a n d he w a s j u s t t r i m m e d d o w n to n o t h i n g , on a c c o u n t of his t r o u b l e s ; s o w h e n he died I took what there w a s left, b e c a u s e the farm didn't b e l o n g to u s , a n d started up the river, d e c k p a s s a g e , a n d fell overboard; a n d that w a s how I c o m e to be here. S o they s a i d I c o u l d have a h o m e there as long a s I w a n t e d it. T h e n it w a s m o s t daylight, a n d everybody went to b e d , a n d I went to b e d with B u c k , a n d w h e n I w a k e d u p in the m o r n i n g , drat it all, I h a d forgot what my n a m e w a s . S o I laid there a b o u t a n h o u r trying to think a n d w h e n B u c k w a k e d u p , I says: " C a n you spell, B u c k ? " " Y e s , " h e says. "I bet you can't spell my n a m e , " says I. "I bet you what you d a r e I c a n , " says h e . "All right," says I, " g o a h e a d . " "G-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n—there n o w , " h e says. " W e l l , " says I, "you d o n e it, but I didn't think you c o u l d . It ain't n o s l o u c h of a n a m e to s p e l l — r i g h t off without s t u d y i n g . " I set it d o w n , private, b e c a u s e s o m e b o d y might want me to spell it, next, a n d so I w a n t e d to be handy with it a n d rattle it off like I w a s u s e d to it. It was a mighty nice family, a n d a mighty nice h o u s e , too. I hadn't s e e n no h o u s e out in the country before that w a s so n i c e a n d h a d so m u c h style. 1 It didn't have a n iron latch o n the front door, nor a w o o d e n o n e with a b u c k s k i n string, but a b r a s s knob to turn, the s a m e a s h o u s e s in a town. T h e r e warn't no b e d in the parlor, not a sign of a b e d ; b u t h e a p s of parlors in towns h a s b e d s in t h e m . T h e r e w a s a big fireplace that w a s bricked o n the b o t t o m , a n d the bricks w a s kept c l e a n a n d red by p o u r i n g water o n t h e m a n d s c r u b b i n g t h e m with a n o t h e r brick; s o m e t i m e s they w a s h e d t h e m over with red water-paint that they call S p a n i s h - b r o w n , s a m e a s they d o in town. T h e y h a d big b r a s s dog-irons that c o u l d hold up a s a w - l o g . 2 T h e r e w a s a c l o c k on the m i d d l e of the m a n t e l - p i e c e , with a picture of a town p a i n t e d on the b o t t o m half of the glass front, a n d a r o u n d p l a c e in the m i d d l e of it for the s u n , a n d you c o u l d s e e the p e n d u l u m swing b e h i n d it. It w a s beautiful to hear that c l o c k tick; a n d s o m e t i m e s w h e n o n e of t h e s e p e d d l e r s h a d b e e n along a n d s c o u r e d her u p a n d got her in g o o d s h a p e , s h e w o u l d start in a n d strike a h u n d r e d a n d fifty before s h e got t u c k e r e d out. T h e y wouldn't took any m o n e y for her. 1. E v e r y d e t a i l o f t h e f u r n i t u r e , f u r n i s h i n g , a n d decorations a s well a s the d r e s s , s p e e c h , m a n n e r s , a n d m o r e s o f t h e G r a n g e r f o r d h o u s e h o l d is c a r e -

fully s e l e c t e d to satirically e p i t o m i z e pre—Civil W a r culture of the lower Mississippi Valley. 2. A log large e n o u g h to be s a w e d into planks.

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Well, there w a s a big o u t l a n d i s h parrot o n e a c h side of the clock, m a d e out of s o m e t h i n g like chalk, a n d p a i n t e d u p g a u d y . By o n e of the p a r r o t s w a s a c a t m a d e of crockery, a n d a crockery d o g by the other; a n d w h e n you p r e s s e d d o w n on t h e m they s q u e a k e d , but didn't o p e n their m o u t h s nor look different nor i n t e r e s t e d . T h e y s q u e a k e d t h r o u g h u n d e r n e a t h . T h e r e w a s a c o u p l e of big wild-turkey-wing fans s p r e a d o u t b e h i n d t h o s e things. O n a table in the m i d d l e of the r o o m w a s a kind of a lovely crockery b a s k e t that h a d a p p l e s a n d o r a n g e s a n d p e a c h e s a n d g r a p e s piled u p in it which w a s m u c h redder a n d yellower a n d prettier than real o n e s is, b u t they warn't real b e c a u s e you c o u l d s e e w h e r e p i e c e s h a d got c h i p p e d off a n d s h o w e d the white c h a l k or w h a t e v e r it w a s , u n d e r n e a t h . T h i s table h a d a cover m a d e o u t of beautiful oil-cloth, with a red a n d b l u e s p r e a d - e a g l e p a i n t e d on it, a n d a p a i n t e d border all a r o u n d . It c o m e all the way from P h i l a d e l p h i a , they s a i d . T h e r e w a s s o m e b o o k s t o o , piled up perfectly exact, on e a c h c o r n e r of the table. O n e w a s a big family Bible, full of p i c t u r e s . O n e w a s "Pilgrim's P r o g r e s s , " a b o u t a m a n that left his family it didn't say why. I read c o n s i d e r a b l e in it now a n d then. T h e s t a t e m e n t s w a s interesting, but t o u g h . A n o t h e r w a s " F r i e n d s h i p ' s O f f e r i n g , " full of beautiful stuff a n d poetry; b u t I didn't r e a d the poetry. A n o t h e r w a s H e n r y Clay's S p e e c h e s , a n d a n o t h e r w a s Dr. G u n n ' s Family M e d i c i n e , which told you all a b o u t what to do if a body w a s sick or d e a d . T h e r e w a s a H y m n B o o k , a n d a lot of other b o o k s . 3 A n d there w a s nice split-bottom c h a i r s , a n d perfectly s o u n d , t o o — n o t b a g g e d d o w n in the m i d d l e a n d b u s t e d , like a n old b a s k e t . T h e y h a d p i c t u r e s h u n g on the w a l l s — m a i n l y W a s h i n g t o n s a n d Lafayettes, a n d b a t t l e s , a n d H i g h l a n d M a r y s , 4 a n d o n e called " S i g n i n g the D e c l a r a t i o n . " T h e r e w a s s o m e that they called c r a y o n s , which o n e of the d a u g h t e r s which w a s d e a d m a d e her own self w h e n s h e w a s only fifteen years old. T h e y w a s different from any p i c t u r e s I ever s e e b e f o r e ; blacker, mostly, than is c o m m o n . O n e w a s a w o m a n in a slim b l a c k d r e s s , belted small u n d e r the a r m p i t s , with b u l g e s like a c a b b a g e in the m i d d l e of the sleeves, a n d a large b l a c k scoop-shovel b o n n e t with a black veil, a n d white slim ankles c r o s s e d a b o u t with b l a c k t a p e , a n d very w e e b l a c k slippers, like a c h i s e l , a n d s h e w a s l e a n i n g pensive on a t o m b s t o n e on her right elbow, u n d e r a w e e p i n g willow, a n d her other h a n d h a n g i n g down her side holding a white h a n d k e r c h i e f a n d a reticule, a n d u n d e r n e a t h the p i c t u r e it s a i d " S h a l l I N e v e r S e e T h e e M o r e A l a s . " A n o t h e r o n e w a s a y o u n g lady with her hair all c o m b e d up straight to the top of her h e a d , a n d knotted there in front of a c o m b like a chair-back, a n d s h e w a s crying into a h a n d k e r c h i e f a n d h a d a d e a d bird laying on its b a c k in her other h a n d with its h e e l s u p , a n d u n d e r n e a t h the p i c t u r e it s a i d "I S h a l l N e v e r H e a r T h y S w e e t C h i r r u p M o r e A l a s . " T h e r e w a s o n e w h e r e a y o u n g lady w a s at a w i n d o w looking up at the m o o n , a n d tears r u n n i n g d o w n her c h e e k s ; a n d s h e h a d a n o p e n letter in o n e h a n d with b l a c k sealing-wax s h o w i n g on o n e e d g e of it, a n d s h e w a s m a s h i n g a locket with a c h a i n to it a g a i n s t her m o u t h , a n d u n d e r n e a t h the p i c t u r e it s a i d " A n d Art T h o u G o n e Yes T h o u Art G o n e A l a s . " T h e s e w a s all n i c e p i c t u r e s , I r e c k o n , but I didn't 3. T h e n e a t l y s t a c k e d , u n r e a d b o o k s a r e m e a n t to define the values a n d tastes of the time and place. T h e B i b l e , B u n y a n ' s Pilgrim's Progress, and the h y m n b o o k e s t a b l i s h Calvinistic piety. C l a y ' s speeches suggest political orthodoxy. Gunn's Domestic Medicine s u g g e s t s popular notions of scie n c e a n d m e d i c a l p r a c t i c e . Friendship's Offering

w a s a p o p u l a r gift b o o k . 4. T h e p i c t u r e s similarly typify the c u l t u r e of t h e r e g i o n in t h e 1 8 4 0 s a n d 1 8 5 0 s . " H i g h l a n d M a r y " d e p i c t s p o e t R o b e r t B u r n s ' s first l o v e , w h o d i e d a few m o n t h s after they met. H e m e m o r i a l i z e d her in s e v e r a l p o e m s , e s p e c i a l l y " T o M a r y in H e a v e n . "

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s o m e h o w s e e m to take to t h e m , b e c a u s e if ever I w a s d o w n a little, they always give m e the fan-tods. Everybody w a s sorry s h e died, b e c a u s e s h e h a d laid out a lot m o r e of t h e s e p i c t u r e s to d o , a n d a body c o u l d s e e by what s h e h a d d o n e what they h a d lost. B u t I r e c k o n e d , that with her d i s p o s i t i o n , s h e w a s having a better time in the graveyard. S h e w a s at work on what they said w a s her g r e a t e s t picture w h e n s h e took sick, a n d every day a n d every night it w a s her prayer to b e allowed to live till she got it d o n e , but s h e never got the c h a n c e . It was a picture of a y o u n g w o m a n in a long white g o w n , s t a n d i n g on the rail of a bridge all ready to j u m p off, with her hair all d o w n her b a c k , a n d looking up to the m o o n , with the tears r u n n i n g down her f a c e , a n d s h e h a d two a r m s folded a c r o s s her b r e a s t , a n d two a r m s s t r e t c h e d out in front, a n d two m o r e r e a c h i n g up towards the m o o n — a n d the idea w a s , to s e e which pair would look best a n d then s c r a t c h out all the other a r m s ; b u t , a s I w a s saying, she died before s h e got her m i n d m a d e u p , a n d now they kept this picture over the h e a d of the b e d in her r o o m , a n d every time her birthday c o m e they h u n g flowers on it. O t h e r t i m e s it w a s hid with a little c u r t a i n . T h e y o u n g w o m a n in the picture h a d a kind of a nice s w e e t f a c e , but there w a s so m a n y a r m s it m a d e her look too spidery, s e e m e d to m e . T h i s y o u n g girl kept a s c r a p - b o o k w h e n she was alive, a n d u s e d to p a s t e obituaries a n d a c c i d e n t s a n d c a s e s of patient suffering in it out of the Presbyterian Observer, a n d write poetry after t h e m o u t of her own h e a d . It w a s very g o o d poetry. 5 T h i s is what s h e wrote a b o u t a boy by the n a m e of S t e p h e n Dowling B o t s that fell down a well a n d w a s d r o w n d e d : ODE

TO

STEPHEN

DOWLING

BOTS,

DEC'D

A n d did y o u n g S t e p h e n s i c k e n , A n d did y o u n g S t e p h e n die? And did the s a d hearts thicken, A n d did the m o u r n e r s cry? N o ; s u c h w a s not the fate of Young Stephen Dowling Bots; T h o u g h s a d hearts r o u n d him t h i c k e n e d , T w a s not from s i c k n e s s ' s h o t s . N o w h o o p i n g - c o u g h did rack his f r a m e , N o r m e a s l e s drear, with s p o t s ; N o t t h e s e impaired the s a c r e d n a m e O f S t e p h e n Dowling B o t s . D e s p i s e d love s t r u c k not with w o e T h a t h e a d of curly k n o t s , N o r s t o m a c h troubles laid him low, Young Stephen Dowling Bots. O no. T h e n list with tearful eye, Whilst I his fate do tell. 5. T h i s p a r o d y d e r i v e s in p a r t i c u l a r f r o m t w o p o e m s by " T h e S w e e t S i n g e r of M i c h i g a n , " J u l i a A. M o o r e ( 1 8 4 7 - 1 9 2 0 ) , w h o s e s e n t i m e n t a l p o e t r y w a s p o p u l a r at t h e t i m e T w a i n w a s w r i t i n g Huck Finn. In o n e o f t h e t w o p o e m s , " L i t t l e L i b b i e , " t h e

heroine "was c h o k e n on a piece of beef." T h e graveyard a n d obituary (or "sadful") s c h o o l s o f p o p ular poetry are m u c h older and more widespread. S e e W a l t e r B l a i r , Murk Twain and "Huck Finn" (1960).

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His soul did from this c o l d world fly, By falling d o w n a well. T h e y got him out a n d e m p t i e d h i m ; A l a s it w a s too late; His spirit w a s g o n e for to sport aloft In the r e a l m s of the g o o d a n d great. If E m m e l i n e G r a n g e r f o r d c o u l d m a k e poetry like that before s h e w a s fourt e e n , there ain't n o telling w h a t s h e c o u l d a d o n e by-and-by. B u c k said s h e c o u l d rattle off poetry like nothing. S h e didn't ever have to s t o p to think. H e said s h e would slap down a line, a n d if s h e c o u l d n ' t find anything to rhyme with it s h e w o u l d j u s t s c r a t c h it out a n d slap d o w n a n o t h e r o n e , a n d go a h e a d . S h e warn't particular, s h e c o u l d write a b o u t anything you c h o o s e to give her to write a b o u t , j u s t so it w a s sadful. Every time a m a n died, or a w o m a n d i e d , or a child died, s h e would b e on h a n d with her " t r i b u t e " before h e w a s cold. S h e called t h e m tributes. T h e n e i g h b o r s s a i d it w a s the d o c t o r first, then E m m e l i n e , then the u n d e r t a k e r — t h e u n d e r t a k e r never got in a h e a d of E m m e l i n e b u t o n c e , a n d then s h e h u n g fire o n a rhyme for the d e a d p e r s o n ' s n a m e , w h i c h w a s Whistler. S h e warn't ever the s a m e , after that; s h e never c o m p l a i n e d , b u t s h e kind of p i n e d away a n d did not live long. P o o r thing, many's the time I m a d e myself g o u p to the little r o o m that u s e d to b e hers a n d get o u t her p o o r old s c r a p b o o k a n d r e a d in it w h e n her p i c t u r e s h a d b e e n a g g r a v a t i n g m e a n d I h a d s o u r e d o n her a little. I liked all the family, d e a d o n e s a n d all, a n d warn't g o i n g to let anything c o m e b e t w e e n u s . P o o r E m m e l i n e m a d e poetry a b o u t all the d e a d p e o p l e w h e n s h e w a s alive, a n d it didn't s e e m right that there warn't n o b o d y to m a k e s o m e a b o u t her, now s h e w a s g o n e ; s o I tried to sweat o u t a verse or two myself, but I c o u l d n ' t s e e m to m a k e it g o , s o m e h o w . T h e y kept E m m e l i n e ' s r o o m trim a n d nice a n d all the things fixed in it j u s t the way s h e liked to have t h e m w h e n s h e w a s alive, a n d n o b o d y ever slept t h e r e . T h e old lady took c a r e of the r o o m herself, t h o u g h there w a s plenty of niggers, a n d s h e s e w e d there a g o o d deal a n d read her Bible there, mostly. Well, a s I w a s saying a b o u t the parlor, there w a s beautiful c u r t a i n s o n the windows: white, with p i c t u r e s p a i n t e d on t h e m , of c a s t l e s with vines all d o w n the walls, a n d cattle c o m i n g d o w n to drink. T h e r e w a s a little old p i a n o , too, that h a d tin p a n s in it, I r e c k o n , a n d n o t h i n g w a s ever so lovely a s to h e a r the y o u n g ladies sing, " T h e L a s t L i n k is B r o k e n " a n d play " T h e B a t t l e of P r a g u e " 6 o n it. T h e walls of all the r o o m s w a s p l a s t e r e d , a n d m o s t h a d c a r p e t s on the floors, a n d the w h o l e h o u s e w a s w h i t e w a s h e d o n the o u t s i d e . It w a s a d o u b l e h o u s e , a n d the big o p e n p l a c e betwixt t h e m w a s roofed a n d floored, a n d s o m e t i m e s the table w a s set there in the m i d d l e of the day, a n d it w a s a cool, c o m f o r t a b l e p l a c e . N o t h i n g c o u l d n ' t b e better. A n d warn't the c o o k i n g g o o d , a n d j u s t b u s h e l s of it too!

6. A b l o o d y s t o r y t o l d in c l i c h e d s t y l e , w r i t t e n by C z e c h c o m p o s e r F r a n z K o t s w a r a in a b o u t 1 7 8 8 ; T w a i n first h e a r d it i n 1 8 7 8 . W i l l i a m C l i f t o n ' s The

Last Link Is Broken w a s p u b l i s h e d a b o u t 1 8 4 0 ; it is t h e m u s i c a l e q u i v a l e n t o f M o o r e ' s p o e t r y .

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C o l . G r a n g e r f o r d w a s a g e n t l e m a n , you s e e . H e w a s a g e n t l e m a n all over; a n d so w a s his family. H e w a s well b o r n , a s the saying is, a n d that's worth as m u c h in a m a n a s it is in a h o r s e , so the W i d o w D o u g l a s s a i d , a n d n o b o d y ever d e n i e d that s h e w a s of the first aristocracy in our town; a n d p a p he always said it, too, t h o u g h he warn't no m o r e quality than a m u d c a t , 7 himself. C o l . G r a n g e r f o r d w a s very tall a n d very slim, a n d h a d a darkish-paly c o m plexion, not a sign of red in it a n y w h e r e s ; he w a s c l e a n - s h a v e d every m o r n i n g , all over his thin f a c e , a n d he h a d the thinnest kind of lips, a n d the thinnest kind of nostrils, a n d a high n o s e , a n d heavy eyebrows, a n d the b l a c k e s t kind of eyes, s u n k s o d e e p b a c k that they s e e m e d like they w a s looking out of caverns at you, as you m a y say. His f o r e h e a d w a s high, a n d his hair w a s b l a c k a n d straight, a n d h u n g to his s h o u l d e r s . H i s h a n d s w a s long a n d thin, a n d every day of his life he put on a c l e a n shirt a n d a full suit from h e a d to foot m a d e out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it; a n d on S u n d a y s he wore a blue tail-coat with b r a s s b u t t o n s on it. H e carried a m a h o g a n y c a n e with a silver h e a d to it. T h e r e warn't no frivolishness a b o u t h i m , not a bit, a n d he warn't ever loud. H e w a s as kind a s h e c o u l d b e — y o u c o u l d feel that, you know, a n d s o you h a d c o n f i d e n c e . S o m e t i m e s he s m i l e d , a n d it w a s g o o d to s e e ; but w h e n he s t r a i g h t e n e d himself u p like a liberty-pole," a n d the lightning b e g u n to flicker out from u n d e r his eyebrows you w a n t e d to c l i m b a tree first, a n d find out what the matter w a s afterwards. H e didn't ever have to tell anybody to mind their m a n n e r s — e v e r y b o d y w a s always g o o d m a n nered w h e r e h e w a s . Everybody loved to have him a r o u n d , too; he w a s s u n shine m o s t a l w a y s — I m e a n he m a d e it s e e m like g o o d w e a t h e r . W h e n he turned into a c l o u d - b a n k it w a s awful dark for a half a m i n u t e a n d that w a s e n o u g h ; there wouldn't nothing go wrong a g a i n for a week. W h e n him a n d the old lady c o m e down in the m o r n i n g , all the family got up out of their chairs a n d give t h e m good-day, a n d didn't set down again till they h a d set down. T h e n T o m a n d B o b went to the s i d e b o a r d w h e r e the d e c a n t e r s w a s , a n d mixed a g l a s s of bitters a n d h a n d e d it to h i m , a n d h e held it in his h a n d a n d waited till T o m ' s a n d B o b ' s w a s mixed, a n d then they b o w e d a n d said " O u r duty to you, sir, a n d m a d a m ; " a n d they b o w e d the least bit in the world a n d said thank you, a n d s o they drank, all three, a n d B o b a n d T o m p o u r e d a spoonful of water on the s u g a r a n d the mite of whisky or a p p l e brandy in the b o t t o m of their t u m b l e r s , a n d give it to m e a n d B u c k , a n d we drank to the old p e o p l e too. B o b was the oldest, a n d T o m next. Tall, beautiful m e n with very b r o a d s h o u l d e r s a n d brown f a c e s , a n d long black hair a n d black eyes. T h e y d r e s s e d in white linen from h e a d to foot, like the old g e n t l e m a n , a n d wore b r o a d P a n a m a hats. T h e n there w a s M i s s C h a r l o t t e , she w a s twenty-five, a n d tall a n d p r o u d and g r a n d , but a s g o o d a s s h e c o u l d b e , w h e n she warn't stirred u p ; but w h e n she w a s , she h a d a look that would m a k e you wilt in your t r a c k s , like her father. S h e w a s beautiful.

7. G e n e r a l t e r m f o r a n u m b e r o f s p e c i e s o f c a t f i s h ; in t h i s c o n t e x t t h e l o w l i e s t a n d l e a s t e s t e e m e d .

8.

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S o w a s her sister, M i s s S o p h i a , b u t it w a s a different kind. S h e w a s g e n t l e a n d sweet, like a dove, a n d s h e w a s only twenty. E a c h p e r s o n h a d their own nigger to wait o n t h e m — B u c k , t o o . M y nigger h a d a m o n s t r o u s easy t i m e , b e c a u s e I warn't u s e d to having anybody d o anything for m e , b u t B u c k ' s w a s on the j u m p m o s t of the t i m e . T h i s w a s all there w a s of the family, n o w ; b u t there u s e d to b e m o r e — three s o n s ; they got killed; a n d E m m e l i n e that died. T h e old g e n t l e m a n o w n e d a lot of f a r m s , a n d over a h u n d r e d niggers. S o m e t i m e s a s t a c k of p e o p l e w o u l d c o m e there, h o r s e b a c k , from ten or fifteen miles a r o u n d , a n d stay five or six d a y s , a n d have s u c h j u n k e t i n g s r o u n d a b o u t a n d on the river, a n d d a n c e s a n d p i c n i c s in the w o o d s , day-times, a n d balls at the h o u s e , nights. T h e s e p e o p l e w a s mostly kin-folks of the family. T h e m e n b r o u g h t their g u n s with t h e m . It w a s a h a n d s o m e lot of quality, I tell you. T h e r e w a s a n o t h e r c l a n of aristocracy a r o u n d there—five or six f a m i l i e s — mostly of the n a m e of S h e p h e r d s o n . T h e y w a s a s high-toned, a n d well b o r n , a n d rich a n d g r a n d , a s the tribe of G r a n g e r f o r d s . T h e S h e p h e r d s o n s a n d the G r a n g e r f o r d s u s e d the s a m e s t e a m b o a t l a n d i n g , which w a s a b o u t two mile a b o v e our h o u s e ; s o s o m e t i m e s w h e n I went u p there with a lot of our folks I u s e d to s e e a lot of S h e p h e r d s o n s t h e r e , o n their fine h o r s e s . O n e day B u c k a n d m e w a s away o u t in the w o o d s , h u n t i n g , a n d h e a r d a horse c o m i n g . W e w a s c r o s s i n g the r o a d . B u c k says: "Quick! J u m p for the w o o d s ! " W e d o n e it, a n d then p e e p e d d o w n the w o o d s t h r o u g h the leaves. Pretty s o o n a s p l e n d i d y o u n g m a n c o m e g a l l o p i n g d o w n the r o a d , setting his h o r s e easy a n d looking like a soldier. H e h a d his g u n a c r o s s his p o m m e l . I h a d s e e n him b e f o r e . It w a s y o u n g H a r n e y S h e p h e r d s o n . I heard B u c k ' s g u n g o off at my ear, a n d Harney's hat t u m b l e d off from his h e a d . H e g r a b b e d his g u n a n d rode straight to the p l a c e w h e r e we w a s hid. B u t w e didn't wait. W e started t h r o u g h the w o o d s on a r u n . T h e w o o d s warn't thick, s o I looked over my s h o u l d e r , to d o d g e the bullet, a n d twice I s e e n H a r n e y cover B u c k with his g u n ; a n d then h e r o d e away the way h e c o m e — t o get his hat, I r e c k o n , b u t I couldn't s e e . W e never s t o p p e d r u n n i n g till w e got h o m e . T h e old g e n t l e m a n ' s eyes blazed a m i n u t e — ' t w a s p l e a s u r e , mainly, I j u d g e d — t h e n his f a c e sort of s m o o t h e d d o w n , a n d h e says, kind of g e n t l e : "I don't like that s h o o t i n g from b e h i n d a b u s h . W h y didn't you step into the road, my b o y ? " " T h e S h e p h e r d s o n s don't, father. T h e y always take a d v a n t a g e . " M i s s C h a r l o t t e s h e held her h e a d u p like a q u e e n while B u c k w a s telling his tale, a n d her nostrils s p r e a d a n d her eyes s n a p p e d . T h e two y o u n g m e n looked dark, b u t never said nothing. M i s s S o p h i a s h e t u r n e d p a l e , but the color c o m e b a c k w h e n s h e f o u n d the m a n warn't hurt. S o o n a s I c o u l d get B u c k d o w n by the corn-cribs u n d e r the trees by ourselves, I says: " D i d you w a n t to kill him, B u c k ? " "Well, I bet I d i d . " " W h a t did he d o to y o u ? " " H i m ? H e never d o n e n o t h i n g to m e . " "Well, t h e n , w h a t did you w a n t to kill him f o r ? " " W h y n o t h i n g — o n l y it's on a c c o u n t of the f e u d . "

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"What's a feud?" "Why, where w a s you raised? Don't you know what a f e u d i s ? " " N e v e r h e a r d of it b e f o r e — t e l l m e a b o u t it." " W e l l , " says B u c k , " a f e u d is this way. A m a n h a s a quarrel with a n o t h e r m a n , a n d kills h i m ; then that other m a n ' s brother kills him; then the other b r o t h e r s , on both s i d e s , g o e s for o n e a n o t h e r ; then the cousins c h i p i n — a n d by-and-by everybody's killed off, a n d there ain't n o m o r e f e u d . B u t it's kind of slow, a n d takes a long t i m e . " " H a s this o n e b e e n g o i n g o n long, B u c k ? " "Well I s h o u l d reckon! it started thirty year a g o , or s o m ' e r s a l o n g t h e r e . T h e r e w a s trouble 'bout s o m e t h i n g a n d then a lawsuit to settle it; a n d the suit went agin o n e of the m e n , a n d so he u p a n d shot the m a n that won the s u i t — w h i c h he w o u l d naturally d o , of c o u r s e . Anybody w o u l d . " " W h a t w a s the trouble a b o u t , B u c k ? — l a n d ? " "I reckon m a y b e — I don't k n o w . " "Well, w h o d o n e the s h o o t i n g ? — w a s it a G r a n g e r f o r d or a S h e p h e r d s o n ? " " L a w s , how d o J k n o w ? it w a s so long a g o . " " D o n ' t anybody k n o w ? " " O h , yes, p a k n o w s , I r e c k o n , a n d s o m e of the other old folks; but they don't know, now, w h a t the row w a s a b o u t in the first p l a c e . " " H a s there b e e n m a n y killed, B u c k ? " "Yes—right s m a r t c h a n c e of funerals. B u t they don't always kill. Pa's got a few b u c k - s h o t in h i m ; b u t he don't m i n d it 'cuz h e don't weigh m u c h anyway. B o b ' s b e e n carved u p s o m e with a b o w i e , a n d T o m ' s b e e n hurt o n c e or t w i c e . " " H a s anybody b e e n killed this year, B u c k ? " "Yes, we got o n e a n d they got o n e . ' B o u t three m o n t h s a g o , my c o u s i n B u d , fourteen year old, w a s riding through the w o o d s , o n t'other side of the river, a n d didn't have no w e a p o n with him, which w a s b l a m e ' f o o l i s h n e s s , a n d in a l o n e s o m e p l a c e h e h e a r s a h o r s e a - c o m i n g b e h i n d h i m , a n d s e e s old Baldy S h e p h e r d s o n a-linkin' after him with his g u n in his h a n d a n d his white hair a-flying in the wind; a n d 'stead of j u m p i n g off a n d taking to the b r u s h , B u d 'lowed he c o u l d o u t r u n h i m ; so they h a d it, nip a n d tuck, for five mile or m o r e , the old m a n a-gaining all the t i m e ; so at last B u d s e e n it warn't a n y u s e , s o he s t o p p e d a n d f a c e d a r o u n d so as to have the bullet holes in front, you know, a n d the old m a n he r o d e u p a n d shot him d o w n . B u t h e didn't git m u c h c h a n c e to enjoy his luck, for inside of a w e e k o u r folks laid him o u t . " "I reckon that old m a n w a s a c o w a r d , B u c k . " "I reckon h e warn't a c o w a r d . N o t by a b l a m e ' sight. T h e r e ain't a c o w a r d a m o n g s t t h e m S h e p h e r d s o n s — n o t a o n e . A n d there ain't n o c o w a r d s a m o n g s t the G r a n g e r f o r d s , either. Why, that old m a n k e p ' u p his e n d in a fight o n e day, for a half a n hour, a g a i n s t three G r a n g e r f o r d s , a n d c o m e out winner. T h e y w a s all a - h o r s e b a c k ; h e lit off of his h o r s e a n d got b e h i n d a little wood-pile, a n d k e p ' his h o r s e before him to s t o p the b u l l e t s ; b u t the G r a n g e r f o r d s staid o n their h o r s e s a n d c a p e r e d a r o u n d the old m a n , a n d p e p p e r e d away at h i m , a n d he p e p p e r e d away at t h e m . H i m a n d his h o r s e both went h o m e pretty leaky a n d crippled, but the G r a n g e r f o r d s h a d to b e fetched h o m e — a n d o n e of 'em w a s d e a d , a n d a n o t h e r d i e d the next day. N o , sir, if a body's o u t h u n t i n g for c o w a r d s , he don't w a n t to fool away any time a m o n g s t t h e m S h e p h e r d s o n s , b e c u z they don't b r e e d any of that kind."

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Next S u n d a y we all went to c h u r c h , a b o u t three mile, everybody ah o r s e b a c k . T h e m e n took their g u n s along, s o did B u c k , a n d kept t h e m b e t w e e n their knees or s t o o d t h e m handy a g a i n s t the wall. T h e S h e p h e r d s o n s d o n e the s a m e . It w a s pretty ornery p r e a c h i n g — a l l a b o u t brotherly love, a n d such-like t i r e s o m e n e s s ; but everybody said it w a s a good s e r m o n , a n d they all talked it over g o i n g h o m e , a n d h a d s u c h a powerful lot to say a b o u t faith, a n d good works, a n d free g r a c e , a n d p r e f o r e o r d e s t i n a t i o n , 9 a n d I don't know what all, that it did s e e m to m e to be o n e of the r o u g h e s t S u n d a y s I h a d run a c r o s s yet. A b o u t an h o u r after d i n n e r everybody w a s dozing a r o u n d , s o m e in their chairs a n d s o m e in their r o o m s , a n d it got to b e pretty dull. B u c k a n d a d o g w a s s t r e t c h e d out on the g r a s s in the s u n , s o u n d a s l e e p . I went u p to our r o o m , a n d j u d g e d I would take a n a p myself. I f o u n d that s w e e t M i s s S o p h i a s t a n d i n g in her door, which w a s next to o u r s , a n d s h e t o o k m e in her r o o m a n d shut the d o o r very soft, a n d a s k e d m e if I liked her, a n d I said I did; a n d s h e a s k e d m e if I would do s o m e t h i n g for her a n d not tell anybody, a n d I said I w o u l d . T h e n she said she'd forgot her T e s t a m e n t , a n d left it in the s e a t at c h u r c h , b e t w e e n two other b o o k s a n d would I slip out quiet a n d go there a n d fetch it to her, a n d not say nothing to nobody. I said I w o u l d . S o I slid out a n d slipped off u p the road, a n d there warn't anybody at the c h u r c h , except m a y b e a h o g or two, for there warn't any lock on the door, a n d h o g s like a p u n c h e o n floor 1 in s u m m e r - t i m e b e c a u s e it's cool. If you n o t i c e , m o s t folks don't go to c h u r c h only w h e n they've got to; but a h o g is different. S a y s I to myself s o m e t h i n g ' s u p — i t ain't n a t u r a l for a girl to be in s u c h a sweat a b o u t a T e s t a m e n t ; so I give it a s h a k e , a n d o u t d r o p s a little p i e c e of p a p e r with "Half-past two" wrote on it with a p e n c i l . I r a n s a c k e d it, b u t couldn't find anything e l s e . I couldn't m a k e anything out of that, s o I put the p a p e r in the b o o k a g a i n , a n d w h e n I got h o m e a n d up stairs, there w a s M i s s S o p h i a in her d o o r waiting for m e . S h e pulled m e in a n d shut the door; then s h e looked in the T e s t a m e n t till s h e f o u n d the p a p e r , a n d a s s o o n as s h e read it s h e looked g l a d ; a n d before a body c o u l d think, s h e g r a b b e d m e a n d give m e a s q u e e z e , a n d said I w a s the b e s t boy in the world, a n d not to tell anybody. S h e w a s mighty red in the f a c e , for a m i n u t e , a n d her eyes lighted up a n d it m a d e her powerful pretty. I w a s a g o o d deal a s t o n i s h e d , but w h e n I got my breath I a s k e d her what the p a p e r w a s a b o u t , a n d s h e a s k e d m e if I h a d read it, a n d I s a i d n o , a n d s h e a s k e d m e if I c o u l d read writing, a n d I told her " n o , only c o a r s e - h a n d , " 2 a n d then s h e said the p a p e r warn't anything but a b o o k - m a r k to keep her p l a c e , a n d I might go a n d play now. I went off d o w n to the river, studying over this thing, a n d pretty s o o n I noticed that my nigger w a s following a l o n g b e h i n d . W h e n we w a s o u t of sight of the h o u s e , he looked b a c k a n d a r o u n d a s e c o n d , a n d then c o m e s ar u n n i n g , a n d says: " M a r s J a w g e , if you'll c o m e d o w n into d e s w a m p , I'll s h o w you a whole s t a c k o' w a t e r - m o c c a s i n s . " T h i n k s I, that's mighty c u r i o u s ; he said that yesterday. H e o u g h t e r know 9. H u c k c o m b i n e s t h e c l o s e l y r e l a t e d P r e s b y t e r i a n t e r m s predestination and joreordination. 1. A c r u d e f l o o r m a d e f r o m l o g s l a b s in w h i c h t h e

flat s i d e is t u r n e d u p a n d t h e r o u n d e d s i d e is s e t in t h e d i r t . 2. B l o c k printing.

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a body don't love w a t e r - m o c c a s i n s e n o u g h to go a r o u n d h u n t i n g for t h e m . W h a t is he u p to anyway? S o I s a y s — "All right, trot a h e a d . " I followed a half a mile, then he s t r u c k out over the s w a m p a n d w a d e d ankle d e e p as m u c h a s a n o t h e r half mile. W e c o m e to a little flat p i e c e of land which was dry a n d very thick with trees a n d b u s h e s a n d vines, a n d he says— "You shove right in d a h , jist a few s t e p s , M a r s J a w g e , d a h ' s w h a h dey is. I's s e e d ' m befo', I don't k'yer to s e e 'em no m o ' . " T h e n he s l o p p e d right a l o n g a n d went away, a n d pretty s o o n the trees hid h i m . I poked into the p l a c e a-ways, a n d c o m e to a little o p e n p a t c h a s big a s a b e d r o o m , all h u n g a r o u n d with vines, a n d f o u n d a m a n laying there a s l e e p — a n d by j i n g s it w a s my old J i m ! I w a k e d him u p , a n d I r e c k o n e d it w a s g o i n g to b e a g r a n d s u r p r i s e to him to s e e m e a g a i n , but it warn't. H e nearly cried, he w a s s o glad, but h e warn't surprised. S a i d he s w u m a l o n g behind m e , that night, a n d h e a r d m e yell every t i m e , but dasn't a n s w e r , b e c a u s e he didn't want n o b o d y to pick him u p , a n d take him into slavery a g a i n . S a y s h e — "I got hurt a little, en couldn't swim fas', so I wuz a c o n s i d a b l e ways b e h i n e you, towards d e las'; w h e n you l a n d e d I reck'ned I c o u l d ketch u p wid you on de lan' 'dout havin' to s h o u t at you, but w h e n I s e e dat h o u s e I begin to go slow. I 'uz off too fur to hear what dey say to y o u — I wuz 'fraid o' de d o g s — but w h e n it 'uz all quiet a g a i n , I knowed you's in de h o u s e , s o I s t r u c k o u t for de w o o d s to wait for day. Early in de m a w n i n ' s o m e er de niggers c o m e along, gwyne to d e fields, en dey t u c k m e en s h o w e d m e dis p l a c e , w h a h de d o g s can't track m e on a c c o u n t s o' de water, en dey brings m e truck to eat every night, en tells m e how you's a gitt'n a l o n g . " "Why didn't you tell my J a c k to fetch m e here sooner, J i m ? " "Well, 'twarn't no u s e to 'sturb you, H u c k , tell we c o u l d d o s u m f n — b u t we's all right, now. I ben a-buyin' p o t s en p a n s en vittles, a s I got a c h a n s t , en a p a t c h i n ' up d e r a f , nights, w h e n — " "What raft, J i m ? " " O u r ole r a f . " "You m e a n to say our old raft warn't s m a s h e d all to flinders?" " N o , s h e warn't. S h e w a s tore up a g o o d d e a l — o n e en' of her w a s — b u t dey warn't no great h a r m d o n e , on'y our traps w a s m o s ' all los'. E f we h a d n ' dive' so d e e p en s w u m s o fur u n d e r water, en de night h a d n ' ben s o dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich p u n k i n - h e a d s , a s d e sayin' is, we'd a s e e d de r a f . B u t it's j i s ' a s well we didn't, 'kase now she's all fixed up agin m o s ' a s good a s new, en we's got a new lot o' stuff, too, in d e p l a c e o' what uz l o s . " "Why, how did you get hold of the raft a g a i n , J i m — d i d you c a t c h h e r ? " " H o w I gwyne to ketch her, en I o u t in de w o o d s ? N o , s o m e er de niggers foun' her k e t c h e d on a s n a g , a l o n g h e a h in de ben', en dey hid her in a crick, 'mongst de willows, en dey wuz so m u c h j a w i n ' 'bout which un 'um s h e b'long to de m o s ' , dat I c o m e to h e a h 'bout it pooty s o o n , s o I u p s en settles de trouble by tellin' u m she don't b'long to n o n e uv u m , but to you en m e ; e n I a s t ' m if dey gwyne to grab a y o u n g white g e n l m a n ' s propaty, en git a hid'n for it? D e n I gin 'm ten c e n t s a p i e c e , en dey 'uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht s o m e m o ' r a f s 'ud c o m e a l o n g en m a k e ' m rich agin. Dey's mighty g o o d

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to m e , d e s e niggers is, en whatever I w a n t s ' m to d o fur m e , I d o a n ' have to a s t ' m twice, honey. D a t J a c k ' s a g o o d nigger, e n pooty s m a r t . " "Yes, he is. H e ain't ever told m e you w a s h e r e ; told m e to c o m e , a n d he'd s h o w m e a lot of w a t e r - m o c c a s i n s . If a n y t h i n g h a p p e n s , he ain't mixed u p in it. H e c a n say h e never s e e n u s together, a n d it'll be the t r u t h . " I don't want to talk m u c h a b o u t the next day. I reckon I'll c u t it pretty short. I w a k e d u p a b o u t d a w n , a n d w a s a g o i n g to turn over a n d go to s l e e p a g a i n , w h e n I noticed how still it w a s — d i d n ' t s e e m to be anybody stirring. T h a t warn't u s u a l . Next I noticed that B u c k w a s u p a n d g o n e . Well, I g e t s u p , a-wondering, a n d g o e s d o w n s t a i r s — n o b o d y a r o u n d ; everything a s still a s a m o u s e . J u s t the s a m e o u t s i d e ; thinks I, w h a t d o e s it m e a n ? D o w n by the wood-pile I c o m e s a c r o s s my J a c k , a n d s a y s : " W h a t ' s it all a b o u t ? " Says he: " D o n ' t you know, M a r s J a w g e ? " " N o , " says I, "I d o n ' t . " "Well, d e n , M i s s S o p h i a ' s run off! 'deed s h e h a s . S h e run off in d e night, s o m e t i m e — n o b o d y don't know j i s ' w h e n — r u n off to git married to dat y o u n g H a r n e y S h e p h e r d s o n , you k n o w — l e a s t w a y s , s o dey ' s p e c . D e fambly f o u n ' it o u t , 'bout half a n h o u r a g o — m a y b e a little m o ' — e n ' I tell you dey warn't n o time los'. S i c h a n o t h e r hurryin' u p g u n s en h o s s e s you never s e e ! D e w o m e n folks h a s g o n e for to stir u p d e r e l a t i o n s , en ole M a r s S a u l en de boys t u c k dey g u n s en r o d e u p d e river r o a d for to try to k e t c h dat y o u n g m a n en kill him 'fo' h e kin git a c r o s t d e river wid M i s s S o p h i a . I reck'n dey's gwyne to b e mighty r o u g h t i m e s . " " B u c k went off 'thout w a k i n g m e u p . " "Well I reck'n h e did! D e y warn't gwyne to mix you u p in it. M a r s B u c k h e l o a d e d u p his g u n e n 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch h o m e a S h e p h e r d s o n or b u s t . W e l l , dey'll b e plenty u n ' m d a h , I reck'n, en you bet you he'll fetch o n e ef h e gits a c h a n s t . " I t o o k u p the river road a s h a r d a s I c o u l d p u t . By-and-by I b e g i n to h e a r g u n s a g o o d ways off. W h e n I c o m e in sight of the log store a n d the woodpile w h e r e the s t e a m b o a t s l a n d s , I w o r k e d a l o n g u n d e r the trees a n d b r u s h till I got to a g o o d p l a c e , a n d then I c l u m b u p into the forks of a c o t t o n - w o o d that w a s o u t of r e a c h , a n d w a t c h e d . T h e r e w a s a w o o d - r a n k four foot h i g h , 3 a little ways in front of the tree, a n d first I w a s g o i n g to hide b e h i n d that; b u t m a y b e it w a s luckier I didn't. T h e r e w a s four or five m e n cavorting a r o u n d on their h o r s e s in the o p e n p l a c e before the log s t o r e , c u s s i n g a n d yelling, a n d trying to get at a c o u p l e of y o u n g c h a p s that w a s b e h i n d the w o o d - r a n k a l o n g s i d e of the s t e a m b o a t l a n d i n g — b u t they c o u l d n ' t c o m e it. Every time o n e of t h e m s h o w e d h i m s e l f o n the river side of the wood-pile h e got shot at. T h e two boys w a s s q u a t t i n g b a c k to b a c k b e h i n d the pile, s o they c o u l d w a t c h b o t h ways. By-and-by the m e n s t o p p e d cavorting a r o u n d a n d yelling. T h e y started riding t o w a r d s the s t o r e ; then u p gets o n e of the b o y s , d r a w s a s t e a d y b e a d over the wood-rank, a n d d r o p s o n e of t h e m o u t of his s a d d l e . All the m e n j u m p e d off of their h o r s e s a n d g r a b b e d the hurt o n e a n d s t a r t e d to carry him 3.

Half a cord of stacked

firewood.

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to the store; a n d that m i n u t e the two boys started on the run. T h e y got halfway to the tree I w a s in before the m e n n o t i c e d . T h e n the m e n s e e t h e m , a n d j u m p e d on their h o r s e s a n d took out after t h e m . T h e y g a i n e d on the boys, but it didn't d o no g o o d , the boys h a d too g o o d a start; they got to the wood-pile that w a s in front of my tree, a n d s l i p p e d in b e h i n d it, a n d so they h a d the b u l g e 4 on the m e n a g a i n . O n e of the boys w a s B u c k , a n d the other w a s a slim y o u n g c h a p a b o u t n i n e t e e n years old. T h e m e n ripped a r o u n d awhile, a n d then r o d e away. A s s o o n a s they w a s out of sight, I s u n g o u t to B u c k a n d told him. H e didn't know w h a t to m a k e of my voice c o m i n g o u t of the tree, at first. H e w a s awful s u r p r i s e d . H e told m e to w a t c h o u t s h a r p a n d let him know w h e n the m e n c o m e in sight a g a i n ; said they w a s u p to s o m e devilment or o t h e r — w o u l d n ' t be g o n e long. I wished I w a s out of that tree, but I dasn't c o m e d o w n . B u c k b e g a n to cry a n d rip, a n d 'lowed that him a n d his c o u s i n J o e (that w a s the other y o u n g c h a p ) would m a k e u p for this day, yet. H e said his father a n d his two brothers w a s killed, a n d two or three of the e n e m y . S a i d the S h e p h e r d s o n s laid for t h e m , in a m b u s h . B u c k said his father a n d brothers o u g h t to waited for their r e l a t i o n s — t h e S h e p h e r d s o n s w a s too s t r o n g for t h e m . I a s k e d him w h a t w a s b e c o m e of y o u n g H a r n e y a n d M i s s S o p h i a . H e said they'd got a c r o s s the river a n d w a s s a f e . I w a s glad of that; but the way B u c k did take o n b e c a u s e he didn't m a n a g e to kill H a r n e y that day he shot at h i m — I hain't ever h e a r d anything like it. All of a s u d d e n , b a n g ! b a n g ! b a n g ! g o e s three or four g u n s — t h e m e n h a d slipped a r o u n d t h r o u g h the w o o d s a n d c o m e in from b e h i n d without their h o r s e s ! T h e boys j u m p e d for the river—both of t h e m h u r t — a n d a s they s w u m down the c u r r e n t the m e n run a l o n g the b a n k s h o o t i n g at t h e m a n d s i n g i n g o u t , "Kill t h e m , kill t h e m ! " It m a d e m e so sick I m o s t fell out of the tree. I ain't a g o i n g to tell all that h a p p e n e d ! — i t would m a k e m e sick a g a i n if I w a s to do that. I w i s h e d I hadn't ever c o m e a s h o r e that night, to s e e s u c h things. I ain't ever g o i n g to get s h u t of t h e m — l o t s of times I d r e a m a b o u t t h e m . I staid in the tree till it b e g u n to get dark, afraid to c o m e d o w n . S o m e t i m e s I h e a r d g u n s away off in the w o o d s ; a n d twice I s e e n little g a n g s of m e n gallop p a s t the log store with g u n s ; so I r e c k o n e d the trouble w a s still a g o i n g o n . I w a s mighty d o w n h e a r t e d ; s o I m a d e u p my m i n d I wouldn't ever g o a n e a r that h o u s e a g a i n , b e c a u s e I r e c k o n e d I w a s to b l a m e , s o m e h o w . I j u d g e d that that p i e c e of p a p e r m e a n t that M i s s S o p h i a w a s to m e e t H a r n e y s o m e w h e r e s at half-past two a n d run off; a n d I j u d g e d I o u g h t to told her father a b o u t that p a p e r a n d the c u r i o u s way s h e a c t e d , a n d then m a y b e he would a locked her u p a n d this awful m e s s wouldn't ever h a p p e n e d . W h e n I got d o w n o u t of the tree, I crept a l o n g d o w n the river b a n k a p i e c e , a n d found the two b o d i e s laying in the e d g e of the water, a n d t u g g e d at t h e m till I got t h e m a s h o r e ; then I covered u p their f a c e s , a n d got away a s q u i c k a s I c o u l d . I cried a little w h e n I w a s covering u p B u c k ' s f a c e , for h e w a s mighty good to m e . It was j u s t dark, now. I never went n e a r the h o u s e , but s t r u c k t h r o u g h the w o o d s a n d m a d e for the s w a m p . J i m warn't on his island, s o I t r a m p e d off in a hurry for the crick, a n d c r o w d e d t h r o u g h the willows, red-hot to j u m p 4.

Upper hand.

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a b o a r d a n d get out of that awful c o u n t r y — t h e raft w a s g o n e ! M y s o u l s , but I w a s s c a r e d ! I couldn't get my b r e a t h for m o s t a m i n u t e . T h e n I raised a yell. A voice not twenty-five foot from m e , s a y s — " G o o d lan'! is dat you, honey? D o a n ' m a k e no n o i s e . " It w a s J i m ' s v o i c e — n o t h i n g ever s o u n d e d so g o o d b e f o r e . I run a l o n g the b a n k a p i e c e a n d got a b o a r d , a n d J i m h e g r a b b e d m e a n d h u g g e d m e , h e w a s so glad to s e e m e . H e s a y s — " L a w s b l e s s you, chile, I 'uz right down s h o ' you's d e a d a g i n . J a c k ' s b e e n h e a h , he say h e reck'n you's b e n shot, k a s e you d i d n ' c o m e h o m e no m o ' ; s o I's j e s ' dis m i n u t e a startin' d e r a f d o w n towards d e m o u f er de crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave s o o n a s J a c k c o m e s agin en tells m e for certain you is d e a d . Lawsy, I's mighty glad to git you b a c k agin, h o n e y . " I says— "All right—that's mighty g o o d ; they won't find m e , a n d they'll think I've b e e n killed, a n d floated d o w n the river—there's s o m e t h i n g u p there that'll help t h e m to think s o — s o don't you lose n o t i m e , J i m , but j u s t shove off for the big water a s fast a s ever you c a n . " I never felt e a s y till the raft w a s two mile b e l o w there a n d o u t in the m i d d l e of the M i s s i s s i p p i . T h e n we h u n g up our signal lantern, a n d j u d g e d that we w a s free a n d s a f e o n c e m o r e . I hadn't h a d a bite to eat s i n c e yesterday; s o J i m he got o u t s o m e c o r n - d o d g e r s 5 a n d buttermilk, a n d pork a n d c a b b a g e , a n d g r e e n s — t h e r e ain't n o t h i n g in the world s o g o o d , w h e n it's c o o k e d r i g h t — a n d whilst I eat my s u p p e r we talked, a n d h a d a g o o d t i m e . I w a s powerful glad to get away from the f e u d s , a n d so w a s J i m to get away from the s w a m p . W e s a i d there warn't no h o m e like a raft, after all. O t h e r p l a c e s do s e e m so c r a m p e d u p a n d smothery, b u t a raft don't. You feel mighty free a n d easy a n d c o m f o r t a b l e on a raft. Chapter

XIX

T w o or three days a n d nights went by; I reckon I might say they s w u m by, they slid a l o n g so quiet a n d s m o o t h a n d lovely. H e r e is the way we p u t in the time. It w a s a m o n s t r o u s big river d o w n t h e r e — s o m e t i m e s a mile a n d a half wide; we run nights, a n d laid u p a n d hid day-times; s o o n a s night w a s m o s t g o n e , we s t o p p e d navigating a n d tied u p — n e a r l y always in the d e a d water u n d e r a tow-head; a n d then c u t y o u n g c o t t o n w o o d s a n d willows a n d hid the raft with t h e m . T h e n we set out the lines. Next w e slid into the river a n d h a d a swim, s o a s to f r e s h e n u p a n d cool off; then we set d o w n on the sandy b o t t o m where the water w a s a b o u t k n e e d e e p , a n d w a t c h e d the daylight c o m e . N o t a s o u n d , a n y w h e r e s — p e r f e c t l y s t i l l — j u s t like the w h o l e world w a s a s l e e p , only s o m e t i m e s the bull-frogs a-cluttering, m a y b e . T h e first thing to s e e , looking away over the water, w a s a kind of dull l i n e — t h a t w a s the w o o d s o n t'other s i d e — y o u couldn't m a k e n o t h i n g e l s e o u t ; then a p a l e p l a c e in the sky; then m o r e p a l e n e s s , s p r e a d i n g a r o u n d ; then the river s o f t e n e d u p , away off, a n d warn't black any m o r e , but gray; you c o u l d see little dark s p o t s drifting a l o n g , ever s o far a w a y — t r a d i n g s c o w s , a n d s u c h things; a n d long b l a c k s t r e a k s — r a f t s ; s o m e t i m e s you c o u l d h e a r a s w e e p s c r e a k i n g ; or j u m b l e d up v o i c e s , it w a s s o still, a n d s o u n d s c o m e s o far; a n d 5.

H a r d c o r n m e a l rolls or c a k e s .

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by-and-by you c o u l d s e e a streak on the water which you know by the look of the streak that there's a s n a g there in a swift c u r r e n t w h i c h breaks on it a n d m a k e s that streak look that way; a n d you s e e the m i s t curl u p off of the water, a n d the east r e d d e n s u p , a n d the river, a n d you m a k e out a log c a b i n in the e d g e of the w o o d s , away on the b a n k on t'other side of the river, b e i n g a wood-yard, likely, a n d piled by t h e m c h e a t s s o you c a n throw a d o g through it a n y w h e r e s ; 6 then the n i c e breeze springs u p , a n d c o m e s f a n n i n g you from over there, s o cool a n d fresh, a n d sweet to s m e l l , on a c c o u n t of the w o o d s a n d the flowers; but s o m e t i m e s not that way, b e c a u s e they've left d e a d fish laying a r o u n d , g a r s , a n d s u c h , a n d they do get pretty rank; a n d next you've got the full day, a n d everything smiling in the s u n , a n d the song-birds j u s t going it! A little s m o k e couldn't b e noticed, now, s o we would take s o m e fish off of the lines, a n d c o o k up a hot breakfast. A n d afterwards we w o u l d w a t c h the l o n e s o m e n e s s of the river, a n d kind of lazy a l o n g , a n d by-and-by lazy off to s l e e p . W a k e u p , by-and-by, a n d look to s e e what d o n e it, a n d m a y b e s e e a s t e a m b o a t c o u g h i n g a l o n g up s t r e a m , so far off t o w a r d s the other side you couldn't tell nothing a b o u t her only w h e t h e r s h e w a s stern-wheel or sidewheel; then for a b o u t an h o u r there wouldn't be n o t h i n g to h e a r nor n o t h i n g to s e e — j u s t solid l o n e s o m e n e s s . Next you'd s e e a raft sliding by, away off yonder, a n d m a y b e a galoot on it c h o p p i n g , b e c a u s e they're a l m o s t always doing it on a raft; you'd see the ax flash, a n d c o m e d o w n — y o u don't h e a r nothing; you s e e that ax go up a g a i n , a n d by the time it's a b o v e the m a n ' s h e a d , then you hear the k'chunk!—it h a d took all that time to c o m e over the water. S o we would p u t in the day, lazying a r o u n d , listening to the stillness. O n c e there w a s a thick fog, a n d the rafts a n d things that went by w a s b e a t i n g tin p a n s s o the s t e a m b o a t s wouldn't run over t h e m . A s c o w or a raft went by so c l o s e we c o u l d h e a r t h e m talking a n d c u s s i n g a n d l a u g h i n g — h e a r d t h e m plain; but we couldn't s e e n o sign of t h e m ; it m a d e you feel crawly, it w a s like spirits carrying on that way in the air. J i m said he believed it was spirits; but I says: " N o , spirits wouldn't say, 'dern the dern fog.' " S o o n a s it w a s night, o u t we shoved; w h e n we got her out to a b o u t the m i d d l e , we let her a l o n e , a n d let her float wherever the c u r r e n t w a n t e d her to; then we lit the p i p e s , a n d d a n g l e d our legs in the water a n d talked a b o u t all kinds of t h i n g s — w e w a s always n a k e d , day a n d night, whenever the m o s q u i t o e s would let u s — t h e new clothes B u c k ' s folks m a d e for m e w a s too good to be c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d b e s i d e s I didn't g o m u c h on c l o t h e s , n o h o w . S o m e t i m e s we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest t i m e . Yonder w a s the b a n k s a n d the i s l a n d s , a c r o s s the water; a n d m a y b e a s p a r k — which w a s a c a n d l e in a c a b i n w i n d o w — a n d s o m e t i m e s o n the water you c o u l d s e e a spark or t w o — o n a raft or a s c o w , you know; a n d m a y b e you could hear a fiddle or a s o n g c o m i n g over from o n e of t h e m crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft. W e h a d the sky, u p there, all s p e c k l e d with s t a r s , a n d we u s e d to lay on our b a c k s a n d look u p at t h e m , a n d d i s c u s s a b o u t w h e t h e r they w a s m a d e , or only j u s t h a p p e n e d — J i m he allowed they w a s m a d e , but I allowed they h a p p e n e d ; I j u d g e d it would have took too long to make s o m a n y . J i m said the m o o n c o u l d a laid t h e m ; well, that looked kind of rea6.

S t a c k s o f w o o d in t h i s y a r d w e r e s o l d b y t h e i r v o l u m e , g a p p a g e

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s o n a b l e , so I didn't say n o t h i n g a g a i n s t it, b e c a u s e I've s e e n a frog lay m o s t a s m a n y , s o of c o u r s e it c o u l d be d o n e . W e u s e d to w a t c h the stars that fell, too, a n d s e e t h e m streak d o w n . J i m allowed they'd got spoiled a n d w a s hove out of the nest. O n c e or twice of a night we would s e e a s t e a m b o a t slipping a l o n g in the dark, a n d now a n d then s h e would b e l c h a w h o l e world of s p a r k s u p out of her c h i m b l e y s , a n d they would rain d o w n in the river a n d look awful pretty; then she would turn a c o r n e r a n d her lights would wink out a n d her powwow shut off a n d leave the river still a g a i n ; a n d by-and-by her waves would get to u s , a long time after s h e w a s g o n e , a n d j o g g l e the raft a bit, a n d after that you wouldn't h e a r nothing for you c o u l d n ' t tell h o w long, except m a y b e frogs or s o m e t h i n g . After midnight the p e o p l e on s h o r e went to b e d , a n d then for two or three h o u r s the s h o r e s w a s b l a c k — n o m o r e s p a r k s in the c a b i n w i n d o w s . T h e s e sparks was our c l o c k — t h e first o n e that s h o w e d a g a i n m e a n t m o r n i n g w a s c o m i n g , s o we h u n t e d a p l a c e to hide a n d tie u p , right away. O n e m o r n i n g a b o u t day-break, I f o u n d a c a n o e a n d c r o s s e d over a c h u t e 7 to the m a i n s h o r e — i t w a s only two h u n d r e d y a r d s — a n d p a d d l e d a b o u t a mile up a crick a m o n g s t the cypress w o o d s , to s e e if I c o u l d n ' t get s o m e berries. J u s t a s I w a s p a s s i n g a p l a c e w h e r e a kind of a c o w - p a t h c r o s s e d the crick, h e r e c o m e s a c o u p l e of m e n tearing u p the p a t h a s tight a s they c o u l d foot it. I t h o u g h t I w a s a g o n e r , for w h e n e v e r a n y b o d y w a s after anybody I j u d g e d it w a s me—or m a y b e J i m . I w a s a b o u t to dig o u t from there in a hurry, but they w a s pretty c l o s e to m e t h e n , a n d s u n g out a n d b e g g e d m e to save their l i v e s — s a i d they hadn't b e e n d o i n g n o t h i n g , a n d w a s b e i n g c h a s e d for i t — s a i d there w a s m e n a n d d o g s a - c o m i n g . T h e y w a n t e d to j u m p right in, but I s a y s — " D o n ' t you d o it. I don't h e a r the d o g s a n d h o r s e s yet; you've got time to crowd t h r o u g h the b r u s h a n d get u p the crick a little ways; then you take to the water a n d w a d e d o w n to m e a n d get in—that'll throw the d o g s off the scent." T h e y d o n e it, a n d s o o n a s they w a s a b o a r d I lit o u t for o u r tow-head, a n d in a b o u t five or ten m i n u t e s we h e a r d the d o g s a n d the m e n away off, s h o u t ing. W e h e a r d t h e m c o m e a l o n g t o w a r d s the crick, but c o u l d n ' t s e e t h e m ; they s e e m e d to s t o p a n d fool a r o u n d a while; then, a s we got further a n d further away all the t i m e , we couldn't hardly h e a r t h e m at all; by the time we h a d left a mile of w o o d s b e h i n d u s a n d s t r u c k the river, everything w a s quiet, a n d we p a d d l e d over to the tow-head a n d hid in the c o t t o n - w o o d s a n d was safe. O n e of t h e s e fellows w a s a b o u t seventy, or u p w a r d s , a n d h a d a b a l d h e a d a n d very gray whiskers. H e h a d a n old b a t t e r e d - u p s l o u c h hat o n , a n d a g r e a s y b l u e w o o l e n shirt, a n d r a g g e d old b l u e j e a n s britches stuffed into his boot t o p s , a n d home-knit g a l l u s e s 8 — n o , he only h a d o n e . H e h a d a n old longtailed b l u e j e a n s c o a t with slick b r a s s b u t t o n s , flung over his a r m , a n d both of t h e m h a d big fat ratty-looking c a r p e t - b a g s . T h e other fellow w a s a b o u t thirty a n d d r e s s e d a b o u t a s ornery. After breakfast w e all laid off a n d talked, a n d the first thing that c o m e out w a s that t h e s e c h a p s didn't know o n e a n o t h e r . 7. A n a r r o w c h a n n e l w i t h s w i h - f l o w i n g w a t e r .

8.

Suspenders.

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" W h a t got you into t r o u b l e ? " says the b a l d h e a d to t'other c h a p . "Well, I'd b e e n selling a n article to take the tartar off the t e e t h — a n d it d o e s take it off, too, a n d generly the e n a m e l a l o n g with i t — b u t I staid a b o u t o n e night longer t h a n I o u g h t to, a n d w a s j u s t in the act of sliding o u t w h e n I ran a c r o s s you o n the trail this side of town, a n d you told m e they were c o m i n g , a n d b e g g e d m e to help you to get off. S o I told you I w a s e x p e c t i n g trouble myself a n d w o u l d s c a t t e r out with y o u . T h a t ' s the w h o l e y a r n — w h a t ' s yourn?" "Well, I'd b e n a-runnin' a little t e m p e r a n c e revival thar, 'bout a week, a n d w a s the p e t of the w o m e n - f o l k s , big a n d little, for I w a s m a k i n ' it mighty w a r m for the r u m m i e s , I tell you, a n d takin' a s m u c h a s five or six dollars a n i g h t — t e n c e n t s a h e a d , children a n d niggers f r e e — a n d b u s i n e s s a growin' all the t i m e ; w h e n s o m e h o w or a n o t h e r a little report got a r o u n d , last night, that I h a d a way of puttin' in my time with a private j u g , o n the sly. A nigger r o u s t e d m e out this mornin', a n d told m e the p e o p l e w a s getherin' on the quiet, with their d o g s a n d h o r s e s , a n d they'd b e a l o n g pretty s o o n a n d give m e 'bout half a n hour's start, a n d then run m e d o w n , if they c o u l d ; a n d if they got m e they'd tar a n d feather m e a n d ride m e o n a rail, s u r e . I didn't wait for no b r e a k f a s t — I warn't h u n g r y . " " O l d m a n , " says the y o u n g o n e , "I reckon we might d o u b l e - t e a m it together; what d o you t h i n k ? " "I ain't u n d i s p o s e d . W h a t ' s your l i n e — m a i n l y ? " " J o u r printer, 9 by t r a d e ; d o a little in p a t e n t m e d i c i n e s ; t h e a t r e - a c t o r — tragedy, you know; take a turn at m e s m e r i s m a n d p h r e n o l o g y , 1 w h e n there's a c h a n c e ; t e a c h singing-geography school for a c h a n g e ; sling a l e c t u r e , s o m e t i m e s — o h , I do lots of t h i n g s — m o s t anything that c o m e s handy, s o it ain't work. W h a t ' s your l a y ? " 2 "I've d o n e c o n s i d e r a b l e in the d o c t o r i n g way in my t i m e . Layin' o n o' h a n d s is my best h o l t — f o r c a n c e r , a n d paralysis, a n d s i c h things; a n d I k'n tell a fortune pretty g o o d , w h e n I've got s o m e b o d y a l o n g to find o u t the facts for m e . P r e a c h i n ' s my line, too; a n d workin' c a m p - m e e t i n ' s ; a n d m i s s i o n a r y i n ' around." N o b o d y never said a n y t h i n g for a while; then the y o u n g m a n hove a sigh and says— "Alas!" " W h a t 're you a l a s s i n ' a b o u t ? " says the b a l d h e a d . " T o think I s h o u l d have lived to b e l e a d i n g s u c h a life, a n d b e d e g r a d e d d o w n into s u c h c o m p a n y . " A n d h e b e g u n to wipe the c o r n e r of his eye with a rag. " D e r n your skin, ain't the c o m p a n y g o o d e n o u g h for y o u ? " says the baldh e a d , pretty pert a n d u p p i s h . "Yes, it is g o o d e n o u g h for m e ; it's as g o o d a s I d e s e r v e ; for w h o f e t c h e d m e so low, w h e n I w a s s o high? J did myself. I don't b l a m e you, g e n t l e m e n — far from it; I don't b l a m e anybody. I deserve it all. L e t the cold world d o its worst; o n e thing I k n o w — t h e r e ' s a grave s o m e w h e r e for m e . T h e world m a y go on j u s t a s its always d o n e , a n d take everything from m e — l o v e d o n e s , 9. A j o u r n e y m a n p r i n t e r , n o t y e t a s a l a r i e d m a s t e r printer, w h o w o r k e d by t h e day. 1. T h e s t u d y o f t h e s h a p e o f t h e s k u l l a s a n i n d i cator of mental a c u m e n a n d character. " M e s m e r -

ism": hypnotic induction involving animal magnetism. 2. W o r k , in the s e n s e h e r e of h u s t l e or s c h e m e .

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property, e v e r y t h i n g — b u t it can't take that. S o m e day I'll lie d o w n in it a n d forget it all, a n d my p o o r broken heart will be at r e s t . " H e went o n a-wiping. " D r o t your pore broken h e a r t , " says the b a l d h e a d ; " w h a t are you heaving your p o r e broken heart at us f'r? We hain't d o n e n o t h i n g . " " N o , I know you haven't. I ain't b l a m i n g you, g e n t l e m e n . I b r o u g h t myself d o w n — y e s , I did it myself. It's right I s h o u l d suffer—perfectly r i g h t — I don't m a k e any m o a n . " " B r o u g h t you down from whar? W h a r w a s you b r o u g h t down f r o m ? " "Ah, you would not believe m e ; the world never b e l i e v e s — l e t it p a s s — ' t i s no matter. T h e secret of my b i r t h — " " T h e secret of your birth? D o you m e a n to s a y — " " G e n t l e m e n , " says the y o u n g m a n , very s o l e m n , "I will reveal it to y o u , for I feel I may have c o n f i d e n c e in you. By rights I a m a d u k e ! " J i m ' s eyes b u g g e d out w h e n he h e a r d that; a n d I reckon m i n e did, too. T h e n the b a l d h e a d says: " N o ! you can't m e a n i t ? " "Yes. M y great-grandfather, eldest s o n of the D u k e of Bridgewater, fled to this country a b o u t the e n d of the last century, to b r e a t h e the p u r e air of f r e e d o m ; m a r r i e d h e r e , a n d died, leaving a s o n , his own father dying a b o u t the s a m e t i m e . T h e s e c o n d son of the late d u k e seized the title a n d e s t a t e s — the infant real d u k e w a s ignored. I a m the lineal d e s c e n d a n t of that i n f a n t — I a m the rightful D u k e of B r i d g e w a t e r ; a n d h e r e a m I, forlorn, torn from my high e s t a t e , h u n t e d of m e n , d e s p i s e d by the c o l d world, r a g g e d , worn, heartbroken, a n d d e g r a d e d to the c o m p a n i o n s h i p of felons on a raft!" J i m pitied him ever s o m u c h , a n d so did I. W e tried to c o m f o r t h i m , but h e said it warn't m u c h u s e , he couldn't b e m u c h c o m f o r t e d ; said if we w a s a mind to a c k n o w l e d g e him, that would do him m o r e g o o d t h a n m o s t anything e l s e ; s o we said we w o u l d , if he w o u l d tell u s how. H e said w e o u g h t to bow, w h e n we s p o k e to him, a n d say "Your G r a c e , " or " M y L o r d , " or "Your L o r d s h i p " — a n d h e wouldn't m i n d it if we called him plain " B r i d g e w a t e r , " which h e said w a s a title, anyway, a n d not a n a m e ; a n d o n e of u s o u g h t to wait on him at dinner, a n d d o any little thing for him he w a n t e d d o n e . Well, that w a s all easy, s o we d o n e it. All t h r o u g h d i n n e r J i m stood a r o u n d a n d waited o n him, a n d says, "Will yo' G r a c e have s o m e o' dis, or s o m e o' d a t ? " a n d s o o n , a n d a body c o u l d s e e it w a s mighty p l e a s i n g to h i m . B u t the old m a n got pretty silent, by-and-by—didn't have m u c h to say, a n d didn't look pretty c o m f o r t a b l e over all that petting that w a s g o i n g o n a r o u n d that d u k e . H e s e e m e d to have s o m e t h i n g on his m i n d . S o , a l o n g in the a f t e r n o o n , he s a y s : " L o o k y h e r e , B i l g e w a t e r , " h e says, "I'm nation sorry for y o u , but you ain't the only p e r s o n that's h a d troubles like t h a t . " "No?" " N o , you ain't. You ain't the only p e r s o n that's b e n s n a k e d d o w n wrongfully out'n a high p l a c e . " "Alas!" " N o , you ain't the only p e r s o n that's h a d a secret of his b i r t h . " A n d by j i n g s , he b e g i n s to cry. " H o l d ! W h a t do you m e a n ? " " B i l g e w a t e r , kin I trust y o u ? " says the old m a n , still sort of s o b b i n g . " T o the bitter d e a t h ! " H e took the old m a n by the h a n d a n d s q u e e z e d it, a n d says, " T h e secret of your b e i n g : s p e a k ! "

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"Bilgewater, I a m the late D a u p h i n ! " 3 You bet you J i m a n d m e s t a r e d , this time. T h e n the d u k e s a y s : "You are w h a t ? " "Yes, my friend, it is too t r u e — y o u r eyes is lookin' at this very m o m e n t on the pore d i s a p p e a r e d D a u p h i n , L o o y the S e v e n t e e n , son of L o o y the Sixteen a n d Marry A n t o n e t t e . " ' "You! At your a g e ! N o ! You m e a n you're the late C h a r l e m a g n e ; " 1 you m u s t b e six or seven h u n d r e d years old, at the very l e a s t . " " T r o u b l e has d o n e it, Bilgewater, trouble has d o n e it; trouble h a s b r u n g these gray hairs a n d this p r e m a t u r e b a l d i t u d e . Yes, g e n t l e m e n , you s e e before you, in b l u e j e a n s a n d misery, the wanderin', exiled, t r a m p l e d - o n a n d sufferin' rightful King of F r a n c e . " Well, he cried a n d took on s o , that m e a n d J i m didn't know hardly w h a t to d o , we was s o s o r r y — a n d s o glad a n d p r o u d we'd got him with u s , t o o . S o we set in, like we d o n e before with the d u k e , a n d tried to c o m f o r t him. B u t he said it warn't n o u s e , nothing but to be d e a d a n d d o n e with it all c o u l d do him any g o o d ; t h o u g h he said it often m a d e him feel e a s i e r a n d better for a while if p e o p l e treated him a c c o r d i n g to his rights, a n d got d o w n on o n e knee to s p e a k to him, a n d always called him "Your M a j e s t y , " a n d waited o n him first at m e a l s , a n d didn't set down in his p r e s e n c e till he a s k e d t h e m . S o J i m a n d m e set to m a j e s t y i n g him, a n d d o i n g this a n d that a n d t'other for him, a n d s t a n d i n g up till he told us we might set d o w n . T h i s d o n e him h e a p s of g o o d , a n d so h e got cheerful a n d c o m f o r t a b l e . B u t the d u k e kind of s o u r e d on him, a n d didn't look a bit satisfied with the way things w a s going; still, the king a c t e d real friendly towards him, a n d said the duke's greatgrandfather a n d all the other D u k e s of Bilgewater w a s a g o o d deal t h o u g h t of by his father a n d w a s allowed tq c o m e to the p a l a c e c o n s i d e r a b l e ; but the d u k e staid huffy a g o o d while, till by-and-by the king says: " L i k e a s not we got to be together a b l a m e d long t i m e , on this h-yer raft, Bilgewater, a n d s o what's the u s e o' your bein' s o u r ? It'll only m a k e things o n c o m f o r t a b l e . It ain't my fault I warn't born a d u k e , it ain't your fault you warn't born a k i n g — s o what's the u s e to worry? M a k e the b e s t o' things the way you find 'em, says I—that's my m o t t o . T h i s ain't no b a d thing that we've struck h e r e — p l e n t y g r u b a n d an easy l i f e — c o m e , give u s your h a n d , D u k e , a n d less all be f r i e n d s . " T h e d u k e d o n e it, a n d J i m a n d m e w a s pretty glad to s e e it. It t o o k away all the u n c o m f o r t a b l e n e s s , a n d we felt mighty g o o d over it, b e c a u s e it would a b e e n a m i s e r a b l e b u s i n e s s to have any unfriendliness on the raft; for what you want, a b o v e all things, on a raft, is for everybody to b e satisfied, a n d feel right a n d kind towards the o t h e r s . It didn't take m e long to m a k e u p my m i n d that t h e s e liars warn't n o kings nor d u k e s , at all, but j u s t low-down h u m b u g s a n d f r a u d s . B u t I never said nothing, never let o n ; kept it to myself; it's the b e s t way; then you don't have no q u a r r e l s , a n d don't get into no trouble. If they w a n t e d u s to call t h e m kings a n d d u k e s , I hadn't no o b j e c t i o n s , long a s it would k e e p p e a c e in the family; a n d it warn't no u s e to tell J i m , so I didn't tell h i m . If I never learnt

3. T h e D a u p h i n , b o r n i n 1 7 8 5 , w o u l d h a v e b e e n in h i s m i d - f i f t i e s o r s i x t i e s h a d h e s u r v i v e d .

4. C h a r l e m a g n e ( 7 4 2 — 8 1 4 ) , e m p e r o r of t h e W e s t (800—814).

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nothing else o u t of p a p , I learnt that the b e s t way to get a l o n g with his kind of p e o p l e is to let t h e m have their own way. ,l . vv Chapter XX T h e y a s k e d u s c o n s i d e r a b l e m a n y q u e s t i o n s ; w a n t e d to know w h a t we covered u p the raft that way for, a n d laid by in the daytime i n s t e a d of runn i n g — w a s J i m a r u n a w a y nigger? S a y s I — " G o o d n e s s s a k e s , would a r u n a w a y nigger run south?" N o , they allowed he wouldn't. I h a d to a c c o u n t for things s o m e way, s o I says: " M y folks w a s living in Pike C o u n t y , in M i s s o u r i , w h e r e I w a s b o r n , a n d they all died off but m e a n d p a a n d my brother Ike. P a , h e 'lowed he'd b r e a k u p a n d g o d o w n a n d live with U n c l e B e n , w h o ' s got a little o n e - h o r s e p l a c e on the river, forty-four mile below O r l e a n s . P a w a s pretty poor, a n d h a d s o m e d e b t s ; so w h e n he'd s q u a r e d u p there warn't n o t h i n g left b u t sixteen dollars a n d our nigger, J i m . T h a t warn't e n o u g h to take u s f o u r t e e n h u n d r e d mile, d e c k p a s s a g e nor n o other way. Well, w h e n the river r o s e , p a h a d a s t r e a k of luck o n e day; h e k e t c h e d this p i e c e of a raft; s o we r e c k o n e d we'd go d o w n to O r l e a n s o n it. Pa's l u c k didn't hold o u t ; a s t e a m b o a t run over the forrard c o r n e r of the raft, o n e night, a n d we all went overboard a n d dove u n d e r the wheel; J i m a n d m e c o m e u p , all right, b u t p a w a s drunk, a n d Ike w a s only four years old, s o they never c o m e u p n o m o r e . Well, for the next day or two we h a d c o n s i d e r a b l e t r o u b l e , b e c a u s e p e o p l e w a s always c o m i n g out in skiffs a n d trying to take J i m away from m e , saying they believed h e w a s a r u n a w a y nigger. W e don't run day-times n o m o r e , now; nights they don't b o t h e r u s . " r

The duke says— " L e a v e m e a l o n e to c i p h e r o u t a way s o w e c a n run in the daytime if we want to. I'll think the thing over—I'll invent a p l a n that'll fix it. We'll let it a l o n e for to-day, b e c a u s e of c o u r s e we don't want to go by that town yonder in daylight—it mightn't b e h e a l t h y . " T o w a r d s night it b e g u n to d a r k e n u p a n d look like rain; the h e a t lightning w a s squirting a r o u n d , low d o w n in the sky, a n d the leaves w a s b e g i n n i n g to shiver—it w a s g o i n g to b e pretty ugly, it w a s e a s y to s e e that. S o the d u k e a n d the king went to o v e r h a u l i n g o u r w i g w a m , to s e e what the b e d s w a s like. M y b e d w a s a straw t i c k 5 — b e t t e r t h a n J i m ' s , which w a s a c o r n - s h u c k tick; there's always c o b s a r o u n d a b o u t in a s h u c k tick, a n d they p o k e into you a n d hurt; a n d w h e n you roll over, the dry s h u c k s s o u n d like you w a s rolling over in a pile of d e a d leaves; it m a k e s s u c h a rustling that you w a k e u p . Well, the d u k e allowed h e w o u l d take my b e d ; b u t the king allowed h e wouldn't. H e says— "I s h o u l d a r e c k o n e d the difference in rank would a s e j e s t e d to you that a c o r n - s h u c k b e d warn't j u s t fitten for m e to s l e e p on. Your Grace'll take the s h u c k b e d yourself." J i m a n d m e w a s in a sweat a g a i n , for a m i n u t e , b e i n g afraid there w a s g o i n g to be s o m e m o r e trouble a m o n g s t t h e m ; s o w e w a s pretty glad w h e n the d u k e s a y s — " 'Tis my fate to b e always g r o u n d into the mire u n d e r the iron heel o f 5.

Mattress.

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o p p r e s s i o n . M i s f o r t u n e h a s broken my o n c e h a u g h t y spirit; I yield, I s u b m i t ; 'tis my fate. I a m a l o n e in the w o r l d — l e t m e suffer; I c a n b e a r it." W e got away a s s o o n a s it w a s g o o d a n d dark. T h e king told u s to s t a n d well o u t towards the m i d d l e of the river, a n d not s h o w a light till w e got a long ways b e l o w the town. W e c o m e in sight of the little b u n c h of lights bya n d - b y — t h a t w a s the town, you k n o w — a n d slid by, a b o u t a half a mile out, all right. W h e n we w a s three-quarters of a mile below, we h o i s t e d u p our signal lantern; a n d a b o u t ten o'clock it c o m e on to rain a n d blow a n d t h u n d e r a n d lighten like everything; s o the king told us to both stay o n w a t c h till the weather got better; then him a n d the d u k e c r a w l e d into the w i g w a m a n d turned in for the night. It w a s my w a t c h below, till twelve, but I wouldn't a turned in, anyway, if I'd h a d a b e d ; b e c a u s e a body don't s e e s u c h a s t o r m a s that every day in the week, not by a long sight. M y s o u l s , how the wind did s c r e a m along! A n d every s e c o n d or two there'd c o m e a glare that lit u p the white-caps for a half a mile a r o u n d , a n d you'd s e e the i s l a n d s looking dusty t h r o u g h the rain, a n d the trees t h r a s h i n g a r o u n d in the wind; then c o m e s a h-wack!—bum! bum! bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bum—and the t h u n d e r would g o r u m b l i n g a n d g r u m b l i n g away, a n d q u i t — a n d then riv c o m e s a n o t h e r flash a n d a n o t h e r s o c k - d o l a g e r . 6 T h e waves m o s t w a s h e d m e off the raft, s o m e t i m e s , but I hadn't any c l o t h e s o n , a n d didn't m i n d . W e didn't have no trouble a b o u t s n a g s ; the lightning w a s glaring a n d flittering a r o u n d so c o n s t a n t that we c o u l d s e e t h e m plenty s o o n e n o u g h to throw her h e a d this way or that a n d m i s s t h e m . I h a d the m i d d l e w a t c h , you know, but I w a s pretty sleepy by that t i m e , s o J i m he said he would s t a n d the first half of it for m e ; he w a s always mighty g o o d , that way, J i m w a s . I crawled into the w i g w a m , but the king a n d the d u k e h a d their legs sprawled a r o u n d so there warn't no s h o w for m e ; s o I laid o u t s i d e — I didn't m i n d the rain, b e c a u s e it w a s w a r m , a n d the waves warn't r u n n i n g so high, now. A b o u t two they c o m e u p a g a i n , t h o u g h , a n d J i m was going to call m e , but he c h a n g e d his m i n d b e c a u s e he r e c k o n e d they warn't high e n o u g h yet to d o any h a r m ; but h e w a s m i s t a k e n a b o u t that, for pretty s o o n all of a s u d d e n a l o n g c o m e s a regular ripper, a n d w a s h e d m e overboard. It m o s t killed J i m a-laughing. H e w a s the e a s i e s t nigger to laugh that ever w a s , anyway. I took the w a t c h , a n d J i m he laid d o w n a n d s n o r e d away; a n d by-and-by the storm let u p for g o o d a n d all; a n d the first cabin-light that s h o w e d , I rousted him o u t a n d we slid the raft into hiding-quarters for the day. T h e king got out a n old ratty d e c k of c a r d s , after breakfast, a n d him a n d the d u k e played s e v e n - u p a while, five c e n t s a g a m e . T h e n they got tired of it, a n d allowed they would "lay out a c a m p a i g n , " a s they called it. T h e d u k e went d o w n into his c a r p e t - b a g a n d f e t c h e d u p a lot of little printed bills, a n d read t h e m o u t loud. O n e bill said " T h e c e l e b r a t e d Dr. A r m a n d d e M o n t a l b a n of P a r i s , " w o u l d " l e c t u r e on the S c i e n c e of P h r e n o l o g y " at s u c h a n d s u c h a p l a c e , on the b l a n k day of blank, at ten c e n t s a d m i s s i o n , a n d "furnish c h a r t s of c h a r a c t e r at twenty-five c e n t s a p i e c e . " T h e d u k e said that w a s him. In a n o t h e r bill he w a s the "world r e n o w n e d S h a k s p e r e a n t r a g e d i a n , G a r r i c k t h e Y o u n g e r , 7 of Drury L a n e , L o n d o n . " In other bills he h a d a lot of other n a m e s 6. S o m e t h i n g e x c e p t i o n a l l y s t r o n g o r c l i m a c t i c . 7. D a v i d G a r r i c k ( 1 7 1 7 — 1 7 7 9 ) w a s a f a m o u s t r a g e d i a n a t t h e T h e a t r e R o y a l in D r u r y L a n e ,

London.

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a n d d o n e other wonderful things, like finding water a n d gold with a "divining r o d , " " d i s s i p a t i n g w i t c h - s p e l l s , " a n d s o o n . By-and-by he s a y s — " B u t the histrionic m u s e is the darling. H a v e you ever trod the b o a r d s . Royalty?" " N o , " says the king. "You shall, t h e n , before you're three days older, Fallen G r a n d e u r , " says the d u k e . " T h e first g o o d town we c o m e to, we'll hire a hall a n d do the swordfight in R i c h a r d III. a n d the balcony s c e n e in R o m e o a n d J u l i e t . H o w d o e s that strike y o u ? " "I'm in, u p to the h u b , for anything that will pay, Bilgewater, b u t you s e e I don't know nothing a b o u t play-actn', a n d hain't ever s e e n m u c h of it. I w a s too small when p a p u s e d to have 'em at the p a l a c e . D o you reckon you c a n learn m e ? " "Easy!" "All right. I'm jist a-freezn' for s o m e t h i n g fresh, anyway. L e s s c o m m e n c e , right away." S o the d u k e he told him all a b o u t w h o R o m e o w a s , a n d w h o Juliet w a s , a n d said h e w a s u s e d to b e i n g R o m e o , s o the king c o u l d be J u l i e t . " B u t if J u l i e t ' s s u c h a y o u n g gal, D u k e , my p e e l e d h e a d a n d my white whiskers is goin' to look o n c o m m o n odd on her, m a y b e . " " N o , don't you w o r r y — t h e s e country j a k e s won't ever think of that. B e s i d e s , you know, you'll be in c o s t u m e , a n d that m a k e s all the difference in the world; Juliet's in a balcony, enjoying the m o o n l i g h t before s h e g o e s to b e d , a n d she's got on her night-gown a n d her ruffled n i g h t - c a p . H e r e are the c o s t u m e s for the p a r t s . " H e got out two or three c u r t a i n - c a l i c o s u i t s , which he said w a s meedyevil a r m o r for R i c h a r d III. a n d t'other c h a p , a n d a long white cotton night-shirt a n d a ruffled night-cap to m a t c h . T h e king w a s satisfied; so the d u k e got o u t his b o o k a n d read the p a r t s over in the m o s t splendid s p r e a d - e a g l e way, p r a n c i n g a r o u n d a n d a c t i n g at the s a m e t i m e , to s h o w how it h a d got to be d o n e ; then he give the b o o k to the king a n d told him to get his part by heart. T h e r e w a s a little o n e - h o r s e town a b o u t three mile d o w n the b e n d , a n d after d i n n e r the d u k e said h e h a d c i p h e r e d o u t his idea a b o u t how to run in daylight without it b e i n g d a n g e r s o m e for J i m ; so h e allowed he w o u l d go down to the town a n d fix that thing. T h e king allowed he would go too, a n d see if he couldn't strike s o m e t h i n g . W e w a s out of c o f f e e , so J i m said I better go a l o n g with t h e m in the c a n o e a n d get s o m e . W h e n we got there, t h e r e warn't nobody stirring; streets e m p t y , a n d perfectly d e a d a n d still, like S u n d a y . W e f o u n d a sick nigger s u n n i n g h i m s e l f in a b a c k yard, a n d he s a i d everybody that warn't too y o u n g or too sick or too old, w a s g o n e to c a m p - m e e t i n g , a b o u t two mile b a c k in the w o o d s . T h e king got the directions, a n d allowed he'd go a n d work that c a m p - m e e t i n g for all it w a s worth, a n d I might g o , t o o . " T h e d u k e said what he w a s after w a s a printing office. W e f o u n d it; a little bit of a c o n c e r n , u p over a c a r p e n t e r s h o p — c a r p e n t e r s a n d printers all g o n e to the m e e t i n g , a n d no d o o r s locked. It w a s a dirty, littered-up p l a c e , a n d 8. N o t o r i o u s l y e a s y p i c k i n g s for c o n f i d e n c e m e n , c a m p meetings are extended evangelical meetings h e l d in t h e o p e n a i r . F a m i l i e s c a m p n e a r b y f o r t h e d u r a t i o n o f t h e e v e n t . O n e o f t h e b e s t - k n o w n lit-

erary renderings of this s t o c k situation w a s J o h n son J. Hooper's "The Captain Attends a Camp-Meeting."

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h a d ink m a r k s , a n d handbills with p i c t u r e s of h o r s e s a n d r u n a w a y niggers on t h e m , all over the walls. T h e d u k e s h e d his c o a t a n d s a i d h e w a s all right, now. S o m e a n d the king lit out for the c a m p - m e e t i n g . W e got there in a b o u t a half a n hour, fairly dripping, for it w a s a m o s t awful hot day. T h e r e w a s a s m u c h a s a t h o u s a n d p e o p l e there, from twenty mile a r o u n d . T h e w o o d s w a s full of t e a m s a n d w a g o n s , h i t c h e d everywheres, feeding out of the w a g o n t r o u g h s a n d s t o m p i n g to k e e p off the flies. T h e r e was s h e d s m a d e out of p o l e s a n d roofed over with b r a n c h e s , w h e r e they h a d l e m o n a d e a n d g i n g e r b r e a d to sell, a n d piles of w a t e r m e l o n s a n d green corn a n d such-like truck. T h e p r e a c h i n g w a s g o i n g on u n d e r the s a m e kinds of s h e d s , only they w a s bigger a n d held c r o w d s of p e o p l e . T h e b e n c h e s w a s m a d e o u t of o u t s i d e s l a b s of logs, with h o l e s b o r e d in the r o u n d side to drive sticks into for legs. T h e y didn't have no b a c k s . T h e p r e a c h e r s h a d high p l a t f o r m s to s t a n d o n , at o n e e n d of the s h e d s . T h e w o m e n h a d on s u n b o n n e t s ; a n d s o m e h a d linseywoolsey frocks, s o m e g i n g h a m o n e s , a n d a few of the y o u n g o n e s h a d on c a l i c o . S o m e of the y o u n g m e n w a s b a r e f o o t e d , a n d s o m e of the children didn't have on any c l o t h e s but j u s t a tow-linen 9 shirt. S o m e of the old w o m e n was knitting, a n d s o m e of the y o u n g folks w a s c o u r t i n g o n the sly. T h e first s h e d we c o m e to, the p r e a c h e r w a s lining o u t a h y m n . H e lined o u t two lines, everybody s u n g it, a n d it w a s kind of g r a n d to h e a r it, there w a s s o m a n y of t h e m a n d they d o n e it in s u c h a r o u s i n g way; then h e lined out two m o r e for t h e m to s i n g — a n d so o n . T h e p e o p l e w o k e u p m o r e a n d m o r e , a n d s u n g l o u d e r a n d louder; a n d towards the e n d , s o m e b e g u n to g r o a n , a n d s o m e b e g u n to s h o u t . T h e n the p r e a c h e r b e g u n to p r e a c h ; a n d b e g u n in e a r n e s t , too; a n d went weaving first to o n e side of the p l a t f o r m a n d then the other, a n d then a l e a n i n g down over the front of it, with his a r m s a n d his body g o i n g all the t i m e , a n d s h o u t i n g his w o r d s o u t with all his m i g h t ; a n d every now a n d then h e would hold u p his Bible a n d s p r e a d it o p e n , a n d kind of p a s s it a r o u n d this way a n d that, s h o u t i n g , "It's the b r a z e n s e r p e n t in the wilderness! L o o k u p o n it a n d live!" A n d p e o p l e w o u l d s h o u t o u t , "Glory!—A-a-men!" A n d s o he went on, a n d the p e o p l e g r o a n i n g a n d crying a n d saying a m e n : " O h , c o m e to the m o u r n e r s ' b e n c h ! 1 c o m e , b l a c k with sin! (amen!) c o m e , sick a n d s o r e ! (amen!) c o m e , l a m e a n d halt, a n d blind! (amen!) c o m e , p o r e a n d needy, s u n k in s h a m e ! (a-a-men!) c o m e all that's worn, a n d soiled, a n d s u f f e r i n g ! — c o m e with a b r o k e n spirit! c o m e with a contrite heart! c o m e in your rags a n d sin a n d dirt! the waters that c l e a n s e is free, the d o o r of h e a v e n s t a n d s o p e n — o h , enter in a n d b e at r e s t ! " (a-a-men! glory, glory hallelujah!) And so on. You couldn't m a k e o u t what the p r e a c h e r said, any m o r e , on a c c o u n t of the s h o u t i n g a n d crying. F o l k s got u p , everywheres in the c r o w d , a n d worked their way, j u s t by m a i n s t r e n g t h , to the m o u r n e r s ' b e n c h , with the tears r u n n i n g d o w n their f a c e s ; a n d w h e n all the m o u r n e r s h a d got u p there to the front b e n c h e s in a c r o w d , they s u n g , a n d s h o u t e d , a n d flung t h e m s e l v e s down on the straw, j u s t crazy a n d wild. Well, the first I knowed, the king got a g o i n g ; a n d you c o u l d h e a r him over everybody; a n d next h e went a-charging u p on to the p l a t f o r m a n d the 9. C o a r s e linen cloth. " L i n s e y - w o o l s e y " : c h e a p , often h o m e s p u n , u n p a t t e r n e d cloth c o m p o s e d of w o o l a n d flax. " G i n g h a m " a n d " c a l i c o " a r e i n e x -

pensive, store-bought printed cotton, 1. F r o n t - r o w p e w s filled b y p e n i t e n t s ,

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p r e a c h e r he b e g g e d him to s p e a k to the p e o p l e , a n d h e d o n e it. H e told t h e m h e w a s a p i r a t e — b e e n a pirate for thirty years, out in the Indian O c e a n , a n d his crew w a s thinned out c o n s i d e r a b l e , last spring, in a fight, a n d he w a s h o m e now, to take out s o m e fresh m e n , a n d t h a n k s to g o o d n e s s he'd b e e n robbed last night, a n d put a s h o r e off of a s t e a m b o a t without a c e n t , a n d he w a s glad of it, it w a s the b l e s s e d e s t thing that ever h a p p e n e d to him, b e c a u s e he was a c h a n g e d m a n now, a n d happy for the first time in his life; a n d p o o r a s h e w a s , he w a s going to start right off a n d work his way b a c k to the Indian O c e a n a n d put in the rest of his life trying to turn the pirates into the true p a t h ; for he c o u l d do it better than anybody e l s e , b e i n g a c q u a i n t e d with all the pirate c r e w s in that o c e a n ; a n d t h o u g h it would take him a long time to get there, without m o n e y , he would get there anyway, a n d every time he c o n v i n c e d a pirate h e would say to him, " D o n ' t you t h a n k m e , don't you give m e no credit, it all b e l o n g s to t h e m dear p e o p l e in Pokeville c a m p - m e e t i n g , natural brothers a n d b e n e f a c t o r s of the r a c e — a n d that dear p r e a c h e r there, the truest friend a pirate ever h a d ! " And then he b u s t e d into tears, a n d s o did everybody. T h e n s o m e b o d y s i n g s o u t , " T a k e u p a collection for him, take u p a c o l l e c t i o n ! " Well, a half a dozen m a d e a j u m p to do it, but s o m e b o d y sings out, " L e t him p a s s the hat a r o u n d ! " T h e n everybody said it, the p r e a c h e r too. S o the king went all t h r o u g h the crowd with his hat, s w a b b i n g his e y e s , a n d b l e s s i n g the p e o p l e a n d praising t h e m a n d t h a n k i n g t h e m for b e i n g so good to the p o o r pirates away off there; a n d every little while the prettiest kind of girls, with the tears r u n n i n g down their c h e e k s , w o u l d u p a n d a s k him would he let t h e m kiss him, for to r e m e m b e r him by; a n d he always d o n e it; a n d s o m e of t h e m he h u g g e d a n d kissed a s m a n y a s five or six t i m e s — a n d he w a s invited to stay a week; a n d everybody w a n t e d him to live in their h o u s e s , a n d said they'd think it w a s an honor; but he said a s this w a s the last day of the c a m p - m e e t i n g he c o u l d n ' t d o n o g o o d , a n d b e s i d e s he w a s in a sweat to get to the Indian O c e a n right off a n d go to work on the p i r a t e s . W h e n we got b a c k to the raft a n d he c o m e to c o u n t u p , he f o u n d he h a d collected eighty-seven dollars a n d seventy-five c e n t s . A n d then he h a d f e t c h e d away a three-gallon j u g of whisky, too, that he f o u n d u n d e r a w a g o n w h e n we w a s starting h o m e t h r o u g h the w o o d s . T h e king said, take it all a r o u n d , it laid over any day he'd ever p u t in in the m i s s i o n a r y i n g line. H e said it warn't no u s e talking, h e a t h e n s don't a m o u n t to s h u c k s , a l o n g s i d e of p i r a t e s , to work a c a m p - m e e t i n g with. T h e d u k e w a s thinking he'd b e e n d o i n g pretty well, till the king c o m e to s h o w u p , b u t after that he didn't think s o s o m u c h . H e h a d set up a n d printed off two little j o b s for f a r m e r s , in that printing o f f i c e — h o r s e b i l l s — a n d took the money, four dollars. And he h a d got in ten dollars worth of advertisem e n t s for the p a p e r , which he said he would p u t in for four dollars if they w o u l d pay in a d v a n c e — s o they d o n e it. T h e price of the p a p e r w a s two dollars a year, but he took in three s u b s c r i p t i o n s for half a dollar a p i e c e on condition of t h e m paying him in a d v a n c e ; they were g o i n g to pay in cord-wood a n d o n i o n s , a s u s u a l , but he s a i d h e h a d j u s t b o u g h t the c o n c e r n a n d k n o c k e d down the price a s low a s he c o u l d afford it, a n d w a s g o i n g to run it for c a s h . H e set u p a little p i e c e of poetry, which he m a d e , himself, out of his own h e a d — t h r e e v e r s e s — k i n d of sweet and s a d d i s h — t h e n a m e of it w a s , "Yes, c r u s h , cold world, this b r e a k i n g h e a r t " — a n d he left that all set u p a n d ready

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to print in the p a p e r a n d didn't c h a r g e n o t h i n g for it. W e l l , he took in nine dollars a n d a half, a n d said he'd d o n e a pretty s q u a r e day's work for it. T h e n he s h o w e d u s a n o t h e r little j o b he'd printed a n d hadn't c h a r g e d for, b e c a u s e it w a s for u s . It h a d a picture of a runaway nigger, with a b u n d l e on a stick, over his s h o u l d e r , a n d " $ 2 0 0 r e w a r d " u n d e r it. T h e r e a d i n g w a s all a b o u t J i m , a n d j u s t d e s c r i b e d him to a dot. It said he run a w a y from S t . J a c q u e s ' plantation, forty mile below N e w O r l e a n s , last winter, a n d likely went north, a n d whoever would c a t c h him a n d s e n d him back, h e c o u l d have the reward a n d e x p e n s e s . " N o w , " says the d u k e , "after to-night we c a n run in the d a y t i m e if we want to. W h e n e v e r we s e e anybody c o m i n g , we c a n tie J i m h a n d a n d foot with a rope, a n d lay him in the w i g w a m a n d s h o w this handbill a n d say we c a p t u r e d him up the river, a n d were too poor to travel on a s t e a m b o a t , s o we got this little raft on credit from our friends a n d are g o i n g down to get the reward. H a n d c u f f s a n d c h a i n s would look still better on J i m , but it wouldn't go well with the story of u s b e i n g s o poor. T o o m u c h like jewelry. R o p e s are the correct t h i n g — w e m u s t preserve the u n i t i e s , 2 a s we say on the b o a r d s . " W e all said the d u k e w a s pretty s m a r t , a n d there couldn't be no trouble a b o u t r u n n i n g d a y t i m e s . W e j u d g e d we c o u l d m a k e m i l e s e n o u g h that night to get out of the r e a c h of the pow-wow we r e c k o n e d the d u k e ' s work in the printing office w a s g o i n g to m a k e in that little t o w n — t h e n we c o u l d b o o m right along, if we w a n t e d to. W e laid low a n d kept still, a n d never shoved o u t till nearly ten o'clock; then we slid by, pretty wide away from the town, a n d didn't hoist our lantern till we w a s clear out of sight of it. W h e n J i m called m e to take the watch at four in the m o r n i n g , he s a y s — " H u c k , d o e s you reck'n we gwyne to run a c r o s t any m o ' kings on dis t r i p ? " " N o , " I says, "I reckon n o t . " " W e l l , " says h e , "dat's all right, d e n . I d o a n ' m i n e o n e er two kings, but dat's e n o u g h . Dis one's powerful drunk, en d e d u k e ain' m u c h b e t t e r . " I found J i m h a d b e e n trying to get him to talk F r e n c h , so h e c o u l d h e a r what it w a s like; but he said he h a d b e e n in this country so long, a n d h a d so m u c h t r o u b l e , he'd forgot it. Chapter

XXI

It was after s u n - u p , now, but we went right o n , a n d didn't tie u p . T h e king a n d the d u k e turned out, by-and-by, looking pretty rusty; but after they'd j u m p e d overboard a n d took a swim, it c h i p p e r e d t h e m up a g o o d d e a l . After breakfast the king he took a s e a t on a c o r n e r of the raft, a n d pulled off his boots a n d rolled up his b r i t c h e s , a n d let his legs d a n g l e in the water, s o a s to be c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d lit his p i p e , a n d went to getting his R o m e o a n d J u l i e t by heart. W h e n he had got it pretty g o o d , him a n d the d u k e b e g u n to p r a c t i c e it together. T h e d u k e h a d to learn him over a n d over a g a i n , how to say every s p e e c h ; a n d he m a d e him sigh, a n d p u t his h a n d on his heart, a n d after while he said he d o n e it pretty well; "only," h e says, "you m u s t n ' t bellow out Romeo! that way, like a b u l l — y o u m u s t say it soft, a n d sick, a n d languishy, s o — R -

2 . O f t i m e , p l a c e , a n d a c t i o n in c l a s s i c a l d r a m a ; h e r e t h e d u k e is u s i n g t h e t e r m t o m e a n " c o n s i s t e n t w i t h the rest of o u r story."

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o-o-meo! that is the i d e a ; for Juliet's a d e a r s w e e t m e r e child of a girl, you know, a n d s h e don't bray like a j a c k a s s . " Well, next they got o u t a c o u p l e of long s w o r d s that the d u k e m a d e o u t of o a k laths, a n d b e g u n to p r a c t i c e the sword-fight—the d u k e c a l l e d h i m s e l f R i c h a r d III.; a n d the way they laid o n , a n d p r a n c e d a r o u n d the raft w a s g r a n d to s e e . B u t by-and-by the king tripped a n d fell o v e r b o a r d , a n d after that they took a rest, a n d h a d a talk a b o u t all kinds of a d v e n t u r e s they'd h a d in other times a l o n g the river. After dinner, the d u k e says: "Well, C a p e t , * we'll w a n t to m a k e this a first-class s h o w , you know, s o I g u e s s we'll a d d a little m o r e to it. W e w a n t a little s o m e t h i n g to a n s w e r e n c o r e s with, anyway." "What's onkores, Bilgewater?" T h e d u k e told him, a n d then s a y s : "I'll a n s w e r by d o i n g the H i g h l a n d fling or the sailor's h o r n p i p e ; a n d y o u — well, let m e s e e — o h , I've got i t — y o u c a n d o H a m l e t ' s soliloquy." "Hamlet's which?" " H a m l e t ' s soliloquy, you know; the m o s t c e l e b r a t e d thing in S h a k e s p e a r e . Ah, it's s u b l i m e , s u b l i m e ! Always f e t c h e s the h o u s e . I haven't got it in the b o o k — I ' v e only got o n e v o l u m e — b u t I r e c k o n I c a n p i e c e it out from m e m ory. I'll j u s t walk u p a n d d o w n a m i n u t e , a n d s e e if I c a n call it b a c k from recollection's v a u l t s . " S o he went to m a r c h i n g u p a n d d o w n , thinking, a n d frowning horrible every now a n d then; then he would hoist u p his e y e b r o w s ; next he would s q u e e z e his h a n d o n his f o r e h e a d a n d s t a g g e r b a c k a n d kind of m o a n ; next he w o u l d sigh, a n d next he'd let on to drop a tear. It w a s beautiful to s e e him. By-and-by h e got it. H e told u s to give attention. T h e n h e strikes a m o s t n o b l e a t t i t u d e , with o n e leg s h o v e d f o r w a r d s , a n d his a r m s s t r e t c h e d away u p , a n d his h e a d tilted back, looking u p at the sky; a n d then he b e g i n s to rip a n d rave a n d grit his t e e t h ; a n d after that, all t h r o u g h his s p e e c h he howled, a n d s p r e a d a r o u n d , a n d swelled u p his c h e s t , a n d j u s t k n o c k e d the s p o t s out of any a c t i n g ever / s e e before. T h i s is the s p e e c h — I l e a r n e d it, e a s y e n o u g h , while he w a s l e a r n i n g it to the king:'' T o b e , or not to b e ; that is the b a r e b o d k i n T h a t m a k e s calamity of so long life; F o r w h o would fardels b e a r , till B i r n a m W o o d d o c o m e to D u n s i n a n e , B u t that the fear of s o m e t h i n g after d e a t h M u r d e r s the i n n o c e n t s l e e p , G r e a t nature's s e c o n d c o u r s e , A n d m a k e s u s rather sling the arrows of o u t r a g e o u s fortune T h a n fly to others that we know not of. T h e r e ' s the r e s p e c t m u s t give u s p a u s e : W a k e D u n c a n with thy knocking! I w o u l d t h o u c o u l d s t ; F o r w h o w o u l d b e a r the w h i p s a n d s c o r n s of t i m e , T h e o p p r e s s o r ' s wrong, the p r o u d m a n ' s c o n t u m e l y , 3 . T h e f a m i l y n a m e o f L o u i s VI—X. 4. T h e c o m i c a l g a r b l i n g o f S h a k e s p e a r e w a s another stock-in-trade of the southwestern humorists in w h o s e t r a d i t i o n T w a i n f o l l o w s . T h e s o l i l o q u y

is c o m p o s e d c h i e f l y o f p h r a s e s f r o m Hamlet and Macbeth; but several other plays a r e also drawn upon.

A D V E N T U R E S

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T h e law's delay, a n d the q u i e t u s which his p a n g s m i g h t take, In the d e a d w a s t e a n d m i d d l e of the night, w h e n c h u r c h y a r d s yawn In c u s t o m a r y suits of s o l e m n black, B u t that the u n d i s c o v e r e d country from w h o s e b o u r n e no traveler r e t u r n s , B r e a t h e s forth c o n t a g i o n on the world, And t h u s the native h u e of resolution, like the p o o r c a t i' the a d a g e , Is sicklied o'er with c a r e , A n d all the c l o u d s that lowered o'er our h o u s e t o p s , With this regard their c u r r e n t s turn awry, A n d lose the n a m e of a c t i o n . T i s a c o n s u m m a t i o n devoutly to b e wished. B u t soft you, the fair O p h e l i a : O p e not thy p o n d e r o u s a n d m a r b l e j a w s , B u t get t h e e to a n u n n e r y — g o ! Well, the old m a n h e liked that s p e e c h , a n d he mighty s o o n got it so he c o u l d do it first r a t e . It s e e m e d like h e w a s j u s t born for it; a n d w h e n he h a d his h a n d in a n d w a s excited, it w a s perfectly lovely the way he w o u l d rip a n d tear a n d rair up b e h i n d w h e n h e was getting it off. T h e first c h a n c e w e got, the d u k e h e h a d s o m e s h o w bills printed; a n d after that, for two or three days a s we floated a l o n g , the raft w a s a m o s t u n c o m m o n lively p l a c e , for there warn't nothing b u t sword-fighting a n d r e h e a r s i n g — a s the d u k e called i t — g o i n g on all the time. O n e m o r n i n g , w h e n we w a s pretty well d o w n the S t a t e of A r k a n s a w , we c o m e in sight of a little o n e - h o r s e t o w n 5 in a big b e n d ; so we tied u p a b o u t three-quarters of a mile a b o v e it, in the m o u t h of a crick which w a s s h u t in like a t u n n e l by the cypress trees, a n d all of u s b u t J i m took the c a n o e a n d went d o w n there to s e e if there w a s any c h a n c e in that p l a c e for our show. W e s t r u c k it mighty lucky; there w a s g o i n g to b e a c i r c u s there that afternoon, a n d the country p e o p l e w a s already b e g i n n i n g to c o m e in, in all kinds of old shackly w a g o n s , a n d on h o r s e s . T h e c i r c u s w o u l d leave before night, s o our s h o w w o u l d have a pretty g o o d c h a n c e . T h e d u k e h e hired the court h o u s e , a n d we went a r o u n d a n d s t u c k u p our bills. T h e y read like this: S h a k s p e r e a n Revival! ! ! W o n d e r f u l Attraction! F o r O n e Night Only! T h e world r e n o w n e d t r a g e d i a n s , David G a r r i c k the younger, of Drury L a n e T h e a t r e , L o n d o n , and E d m u n d K e a n the elder, 6 of the Royal H a y m a r k e t T h e a t r e , W h i t e c h a p e l , P u d d i n g L a n e , Piccadilly, L o n d o n , a n d the Royal C o n t i n e n t a l T h e a t r e s , in their s u b l i m e S h a k s p e r e a n S p e c t a c l e entitled T h e Balcony Scene in R o m e o a n d Juliet! ! ! 5 . T w a i n ' s B r i c k s v i l l e is a p p a r e n t l y m o d e l e d a f t e r Napoleon, Arkansas, although certain unattractive e l e m e n t s o f this river t o w n a n d its i n h a b i t a n t s w e r e c o m m o n to m o s t — i n c l u d i n g H a n n i b a l .

6. H e r e , a s e l s e w h e r e , the d u k e garbles t h e facts. Garrick, E d m u n d Kean ( 1 7 8 7 - 1 8 3 3 ) , and Charles J o h n K e a n ( 1 8 1 1 — 1 8 6 8 ) w e r e all f a m o u s tragedia n s at t h e T h e a t r e R o y a l in D r u r y L a n e , L o n d o n .

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Mr. Garrick. Mr. Kean. A s s i s t e d by the whole strength of the c o m p a n y ! N e w c o s t u m e s , n e w scenery, new a p p o i n t m e n t s ! Also: T h e thrilling, masterly, a n d b l o o d - c u r d l i n g Rroad-sword conflict In R i c h a r d III.!!!

Richard III Richmond

Mr. G a r r i c k . Mr. Kean. also: (by special r e q u e s t , ) H a m l e t ' s Immortal Soliloquy! ! By the Illustrious K e a n ! D o n e by him 3 0 0 c o n s e c u t i v e nights in Paris! F o r O n e Night Only, O n a c c o u n t of imperative E u r o p e a n e n g a g e m e n t s ! A d m i s s i o n 2 5 c e n t s ; children a n d servants, 10 c e n t s .

T h e n we went loafing a r o u n d the town. T h e stores a n d h o u s e s w a s m o s t all old shackly dried-up f r a m e c o n c e r n s that hadn't ever b e e n p a i n t e d ; they w a s set up three or four foot a b o v e g r o u n d on stilts, so a s to b e o u t of r e a c h of the water w h e n the river w a s overflowed. T h e h o u s e s h a d little g a r d e n s a r o u n d t h e m , but they didn't s e e m to raise hardly a n y t h i n g in t h e m but j i m p s o n w e e d s , a n d s u n f l o w e r s , a n d ash-piles, a n d old c u r l e d - u p boots a n d s h o e s , a n d p i e c e s of bottles, a n d r a g s , a n d played-out tin-ware. T h e f e n c e s w a s m a d e of different kinds of b o a r d s , nailed on at different t i m e s ; a n d they leaned every which-way, a n d h a d g a t e s that didn't generly have but o n e h i n g e — a leather o n e . S o m e of the f e n c e s h a d b e e n w h i t e w a s h e d , s o m e time or a n o t h e r , but the d u k e said it w a s in C l u m b u s ' s t i m e , like e n o u g h . T h e r e w a s generly hogs in the g a r d e n , a n d p e o p l e driving t h e m out. All the stores w a s a l o n g o n e street. T h e y h a d w h i t e - d o m e s t i c a w n i n g s 7 in front, a n d the country p e o p l e hitched their h o r s e s to the a w n i n g - p o s t s . T h e r e was e m p t y dry-goods boxes u n d e r the a w n i n g s , a n d loafers roosting o n t h e m all day long, whittling t h e m with their Barlow knives; a n d c h a w i n g t o b a c c o , and g a p i n g a n d yawning a n d s t r e t c h i n g — a mighty ornery lot. T h e y generly h a d on yellow straw h a t s m o s t a s wide a s a n u m b r e l l a , but didn't wear no c o a t s nor w a i s t c o a t s ; they called o n e a n o t h e r Bill, a n d B u c k , a n d H a n k , a n d J o e , a n d Andy, a n d talked lazy a n d drawly, a n d u s e d c o n s i d e r a b l e m a n y c u s s w o r d s . T h e r e w a s a s m a n y a s o n e loafer l e a n i n g up a g a i n s t every awningp o s t , a n d he m o s t always h a d his h a n d s in his britches p o c k e t s , except w h e n h e f e t c h e d t h e m out to lend a c h a w of t o b a c c o or s c r a t c h . W h a t a body w a s h e a r i n g a m o n g s t t h e m , all the time w a s — " G i m m e a chaw V tobacker, H a n k . " " C a i n ' t — I hain't got but o n e c h a w left. Ask Bill." M a y b e Bill he gives him a c h a w ; m a y b e he lies a n d says he ain't got n o n e . S o m e of t h e m kinds of loafers never has a c e n t in the world, nor a c h a w of t o b a c c o of their own. T h e y get all their c h a w i n g by b o r r o w i n g — 7. A w n i n g s m a d e from c r u d e c a n v a s .

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they say to a fellow, "I wisht you'd len' m e a c h a w , J a c k , I jist this m i n u t e give B e n T h o m p s o n the last c h a w I h a d " — w h i c h is a lie, pretty m u c h every t i m e ; it don't fool anybody but a stranger; but J a c k ain't n o stranger, s o he s a y s — "You give him a c h a w , did you? s o did your sister's cat's g r a n d m o t h e r . You pay m e b a c k the c h a w s you've awready borry'd off'n m e , L a f e B u c k n e r , then I'll loan you o n e or two ton of it, a n d won't c h a r g e you no b a c k intrust, nuther." "Well, I did pay you b a c k s o m e of it w u n s t . " "Yes, you d i d — ' b o u t six c h a w s . You borry'd store t o b a c k e r a n d paid b a c k nigger-head." S t o r e t o b a c c o is flat black plug, but t h e s e fellows mostly c h a w s the natural leaf twisted. W h e n they borrow a c h a w , they don't generly c u t it off with a knife, but they set the p l u g in b e t w e e n their teeth, a n d g n a w with their teeth a n d tug at the p l u g with their h a n d s till they get it in t w o — t h e n s o m e t i m e s the o n e that owns the t o b a c c o looks m o u r n f u l at it w h e n it's h a n d e d back, and says, s a r c a s t i c — " H e r e , g i m m e the chaw, a n d you take the plug." All the streets a n d lanes w a s j u s t m u d , they warn't n o t h i n g else hut m u d — as black as tar, a n d nigh a b o u t a foot d e e p in s o m e p l a c e s ; a n d two or three i n c h e s d e e p in all the p l a c e s . T h e hogs loafed a n d g r u n t e d a r o u n d , everyw h e r e s . You'd s e e a m u d d y sow a n d a litter of pigs c o m e lazying a l o n g the street a n d whollop herself right down in the way, w h e r e folks h a d to walk a r o u n d her, a n d she'd stretch o u t , a n d s h u t her eyes, a n d wave her e a r s , whilst the pigs w a s milking her, a n d look a s happy as if s h e w a s on salary. And pretty s o o n you'd hear a loafer sing out, " H i ! so boy! sick him, T i g e ! " and away the sow would g o , s q u e a l i n g m o s t horrible, with a d o g or two swinging to e a c h ear, a n d three or four dozen m o r e a - c o m i n g ; a n d then you would s e e all the loafers get u p a n d watch the thing out of sight, a n d l a u g h at the fun a n d look grateful for the n o i s e . T h e n they'd settle b a c k a g a i n till there was a dog-fight. T h e r e couldn't anything w a k e t h e m up all over, a n d m a k e t h e m happy all over, like a d o g - f i g h t — u n l e s s it might b e p u t t i n g turp e n t i n e on a stray d o g a n d setting fire to him, or tying a tin p a n to his tail a n d see him run h i m s e l f to d e a t h . O n the river front s o m e of the h o u s e s w a s sticking out over the bank, a n d they w a s b o w e d a n d b e n t , a n d a b o u t ready to t u m b l e in. T h e p e o p l e h a d moved o u t of t h e m . T h e b a n k was c a v e d away u n d e r o n e c o r n e r of s o m e o t h e r s , a n d that c o r n e r w a s h a n g i n g over. P e o p l e lived in t h e m yet, but it was d a n g e r s o m e , b e c a u s e s o m e t i m e s a strip of land a s wide a s a h o u s e c a v e s in at a t i m e . S o m e t i m e s a belt of land a q u a r t e r of a mile d e e p will start in a n d cave a l o n g a n d c a v e a l o n g till it all c a v e s into the river in o n e s u m m e r . S u c h a town a s that has to b e always moving b a c k , a n d b a c k , a n d back, b e c a u s e the river's always g n a w i n g at it. T h e nearer it got to n o o n that day, the thicker a n d thicker w a s the w a g o n s a n d h o r s e s in the streets, a n d m o r e c o m i n g all the time. F a m i l i e s f e t c h e d their dinners with t h e m , from the country, a n d eat t h e m in the w a g o n s . T h e r e w a s c o n s i d e r a b l e whiskey drinking g o i n g on, a n d I s e e n three fights. By-andby s o m e b o d y sings o u t — " H e r e c o m e s old B o g g s ! — i n from the country for his little old monthly d r u n k — h e r e he c o m e s , b o y s ! "

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All the loafers looked g l a d — I r e c k o n e d they w a s u s e d to having fun out of B o g g s . O n e of t h e m s a y s — " W o n d e r w h o he's a gwyne to c h a w up this t i m e . If he'd a c h a w e d u p all the m e n he's ben a gwyne to c h a w u p in the last twenty year, he'd have considerable ruputation, now." A n o t h e r o n e says, "I wisht old B o g g s ' d t h r e a t e n m e , 'cuz then I'd k n o w I warn't gwyne to die for a t h o u s a n ' year." B o g g s c o m e s a-tearing a l o n g on his h o r s e , w h o o p i n g a n d yelling like an Injun, a n d s i n g i n g o u t — " C l e r the track, thar. I'm on the w a r - p a t h , a n d the price uv coffins is a gwyne to r a i s e . " H e was d r u n k , a n d weaving a b o u t in his s a d d l e ; h e w a s over fifty year old, a n d h a d a very red f a c e . Everybody yelled at h i m , a n d l a u g h e d at h i m , a n d s a s s e d him, a n d h e s a s s e d b a c k , a n d said he'd a t t e n d to t h e m a n d lay t h e m out in their regular t u r n s , b u t h e couldn't wait now, b e c a u s e he'd c o m e to town to kill old C o l o n e l S h e r b u r n , a n d his m o t t o w a s , " m e a t first, a n d s p o o n vittles to top off o n . " H e s e e m e , a n d rode u p a n d s a y s — "Whar'd you c o m e f'm, boy? You p r e p a r e d to d i e ? " T h e n h e r o d e on. I w a s s c a r e d ; but a m a n s a y s — " H e don't m e a n nothing; he's always a carryin' on like that, w h e n he's drunk. H e ' s the b e s t - n a t u r e d e s t old fool in A r k a n s a w — n e v e r hurt n o b o d y , d r u n k nor s o b e r . " B o g g s rode u p before the biggest store in town a n d b e n t his h e a d d o w n s o he c o u l d s e e u n d e r the c u r t a i n of the a w n i n g , a n d y e l l s — " C o m e o u t h e r e , S h e r b u r n ! C o m e o u t a n d m e e t the m a n you've swindled. You're the h o u n ' I'm after, a n d I'm a gwyne to have you, t o o ! " A n d s o h e went on, calling S h e r b u r n everything h e c o u l d lay his t o n g u e to, a n d the w h o l e street p a c k e d with p e o p l e listening a n d l a u g h i n g a n d g o i n g on. By-and-by a p r o u d - l o o k i n g m a n a b o u t fifty-five—and he w a s a h e a p the b e s t d r e s s e d m a n in that town, t o o — s t e p s o u t of the s t o r e , a n d the c r o w d d r o p s b a c k on e a c h side to let h i m c o m e . H e says to B o g g s , mighty c a ' m a n d slow—he says: "I'm tired of this; but I'll e n d u r e it till o n e o'clock. Till o n e o'clock, m i n d — no longer. If you o p e n your m o u t h a g a i n s t m e only o n c e , after that t i m e , you can't travel s o far but I will find y o u . " T h e n h e turns a n d g o e s in. T h e c r o w d looked mighty s o b e r ; nobody stirred, a n d there warn't no m o r e l a u g h i n g . B o g g s r o d e off b l a c k g u a r d i n g S h e r b u r n as loud a s h e c o u l d yell, all d o w n the street; a n d pretty s o o n b a c k h e c o m e s a n d s t o p s before the s t o r e , still k e e p i n g it u p . S o m e m e n c r o w d e d a r o u n d h i m a n d tried to get him to s h u t u p , b u t h e wouldn't; they told him it would b e o n e o'clock in a b o u t fifteen m i n u t e s , a n d s o h e must go h o m e — h e m u s t g o right away. B u t it didn't d o no g o o d . H e c u s s e d away, with all his might, a n d throwed his hat d o w n in the m u d a n d r o d e over it, a n d pretty s o o n away h e went a-raging d o w n the street a g a i n , with his gray hair a-flying. Everybody that c o u l d get a c h a n c e at him tried their b e s t to c o a x h i m off of his h o r s e so they c o u l d lock h i m u p a n d get him s o b e r ; b u t it warn't n o u s e — u p the street he w o u l d tear a g a i n , a n d give S h e r b u r n a n o t h e r c u s s i n g . By-and-by somebody says— " G o for his d a u g h t e r ! — q u i c k , go for his d a u g h t e r ; s o m e t i m e s he'll listen to her. If anybody c a n p e r s u a d e h i m , s h e c a n . "

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S o s o m e b o d y started o n a r u n . I walked d o w n street a w a y s , a n d s t o p p e d . In a b o u t five or ten m i n u t e s , here c o m e s B o g g s a g a i n — b u t not on his h o r s e . H e w a s a-reeling a c r o s s the street towards m e , b a r e h e a d e d , with a friend o n both sides of him aholt of his a r m s a n d hurrying him a l o n g . H e w a s quiet, a n d looked u n e a s y ; a n d he warn't h a n g i n g b a c k any, but w a s d o i n g s o m e of the hurrying himself. S o m e b o d y sings o u t — "Boggs!" I looked over there to s e e who said it, a n d it w a s that C o l o n e l S h e r b u r n . H e w a s s t a n d i n g perfectly still, in the street, a n d h a d a pistol raised in his right h a n d — n o t a i m i n g it, but holding it out with the barrel tilted u p towards the sky. T h e s a m e s e c o n d I s e e a y o u n g girl c o m i n g o n the r u n , a n d two m e n with her. B o g g s a n d the m e n turned r o u n d , to s e e w h o called him, a n d w h e n they s e e the pistol the m e n j u m p e d to o n e s i d e , a n d the pistol barrel c o m e down slow a n d s t e a d y to a level—both barrels c o c k e d . B o g g s throws u p both of his h a n d s , a n d says, " O L o r d , don't s h o o t ! " B a n g ! g o e s the first s h o t , a n d h e s t a g g e r s b a c k clawing at the a i r — b a n g ! g o e s the s e c o n d o n e , a n d h e t u m b l e s b a c k w a r d s o n t o the g r o u n d , heavy a n d solid, with his a r m s s p r e a d out. T h a t y o u n g girl s c r e a m e d o u t , a n d c o m e s r u s h i n g , a n d d o w n s h e throws herself o n her father, crying, a n d saying, " O h , he's killed h i m , he's killed h i m ! " T h e crowd c l o s e d u p a r o u n d t h e m , a n d s h o u l d e r e d a n d j a m m e d o n e another, with their n e c k s s t r e t c h e d , trying to s e e , a n d p e o p l e on the inside trying to shove t h e m b a c k , a n d s h o u t i n g , " B a c k , back! give him air, give him air!" C o l o n e l S h e r b u r n he t o s s e d his pistol onto the g r o u n d , a n d t u r n e d a r o u n d on his heels a n d walked off. T h e y took B o g g s to a little d r u g s t o r e , the crowd p r e s s i n g a r o u n d , j u s t the s a m e , a n d the whole town following, a n d I r u s h e d a n d got a g o o d p l a c e at the window, w h e r e I w a s close to him a n d c o u l d s e e in. T h e y laid him on the floor, a n d p u t o n e large Bible u n d e r his h e a d , a n d o p e n e d a n o t h e r o n e a n d s p r e a d it on his b r e a s t — b u t they tore o p e n his shirt first, a n d I s e e n where o n e of the bullets went in. H e m a d e a b o u t a dozen long g a s p s , his breast lifting the Bible u p w h e n h e drawed in his b r e a t h , a n d letting it d o w n again w h e n h e b r e a t h e d it o u t — a n d after that he laid still; h e w a s d e a d . 8 T h e n they pulled his d a u g h t e r away from him, s c r e a m i n g a n d crying, a n d took her off. S h e w a s a b o u t sixteen, a n d very sweet a n d gentle-looking, b u t awful pale a n d s c a r e d . Well, pretty s o o n the whole town w a s there, s q u i r m i n g a n d s c r o u g i n g a n d p u s h i n g a n d shoving to get at the window a n d have a look, but p e o p l e that had the p l a c e s wouldn't give t h e m u p , a n d folks b e h i n d t h e m w a s saying all the t i m e , " S a y , now, you've looked e n o u g h , you fellows; 'taint right a n d 'taint fair, for you to stay thar all the t i m e , a n d never give n o b o d y a c h a n c e ; other folks h a s their rights a s well as y o u . " T h e r e w a s c o n s i d e r a b l e j a w i n g b a c k , s o I slid out, thinking m a y b e there w a s going to be trouble. T h e streets w a s full, a n d everybody w a s excited. Everybody that s e e n the s h o o t i n g w a s telling how it h a p p e n e d , a n d there w a s a big crowd p a c k e d a r o u n d e a c h o n e of t h e s e fellows, s t r e t c h i n g their n e c k s a n d listening. O n e long lanky m a n , with long hair a n d a big white fur stove8. T w a i n h a d w i t n e s s e d a s h o o t i n g very m u c h like this o n e w h e n he w a s ten years old. H i s father w a s j u d g e a t t h e trial, w h i c h e n d e d in a c q u i t t a l . O n l y the Bibles u n d e r the victim's h e a d a n d on his chest

s e e m to h a v e b e e n a d d e d by T w a i n , w h o s e l d o m c o u l d resist ironies at the e x p e n s e of institutionalized religion.

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pipe hat on the b a c k of his h e a d , a n d a c r o o k e d - h a n d l e d c a n e , m a r k e d o u t the p l a c e s on the g r o u n d w h e r e B o g g s s t o o d , a n d w h e r e S h e r b u r n s t o o d , a n d the p e o p l e following him a r o u n d from o n e p l a c e to t'other a n d w a t c h i n g everything he d o n e , a n d b o b b i n g their h e a d s to s h o w they u n d e r s t o o d , a n d s t o o p i n g a little a n d resting their h a n d s on their thighs to w a t c h him m a r k the p l a c e s o n the g r o u n d with his c a n e ; a n d then he stood u p straight a n d stiff where S h e r b u r n had s t o o d , frowning a n d having his hat-brim down over his eyes, a n d s u n g out, " B o g g s ! " a n d then f e t c h e d his c a n e d o w n slow to a level, a n d says " B a n g ! " s t a g g e r e d b a c k w a r d s , says " B a n g ! " a g a i n , a n d fell down flat on his back. T h e p e o p l e that h a d s e e n the thing said he d o n e it perfect; said it w a s j u s t exactly the way it all h a p p e n e d . T h e n a s m u c h a s a dozen p e o p l e got out their bottles a n d treated h i m . Well, by-and-by s o m e b o d y said S h e r b u r n o u g h t to b e lynched. In a b o u t a m i n u t e everybody w a s saying it; so away they went, m a d a n d yelling, a n d s n a t c h i n g down every clothes-line they c o m e to, to do the h a n g i n g with. Chapter

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T h e y s w a r m e d up the street towards S h e r b u r n ' s h o u s e , a-whooping a n d yelling a n d raging like I n j u n s , a n d everything h a d to clear the way or get run over a n d t r o m p e d to m u s h , a n d it w a s awful to s e e . C h i l d r e n w a s heeling it a h e a d of the m o b , s c r e a m i n g a n d trying to get o u t of the way; a n d every window a l o n g the r o a d w a s full of w o m e n ' s h e a d s , a n d there w a s nigger boys in every tree, a n d b u c k s a n d w e n c h e s looking over every f e n c e ; a n d a s s o o n as the m o b would get nearly to t h e m they would b r e a k a n d s k a d d l e b a c k out of r e a c h . L o t s of the w o m e n a n d girls w a s crying a n d taking o n , s c a r e d m o s t to d e a t h . T h e y s w a r m e d up in front of S h e r b u r n ' s p a l i n g s a s thick as they c o u l d j a m together, a n d you couldn't hear yourself think for the n o i s e . It w a s a little twenty-foot yard. S o m e s u n g out " T e a r d o w n the f e n c e ! tear d o w n the f e n c e ! " T h e n there w a s a racket of ripping a n d tearing a n d s m a s h i n g , a n d down s h e g o e s , a n d the front wall of the crowd b e g i n s to roll in like a w a v e . J u s t then S h e r b u r n s t e p s o u t on to the roof of his little front p o r c h , with a double-barrel g u n in his h a n d , a n d takes his s t a n d , perfectly c a ' m a n d deliberate, not saying a word. T h e racket s t o p p e d , a n d the wave s u c k e d b a c k . S h e r b u r n never said a w o r d — j u s t s t o o d there, looking d o w n . T h e stillness w a s awful creepy a n d u n c o m f o r t a b l e . S h e r b u r n run his eye slow a l o n g the c r o w d ; a n d wherever it struck, the p e o p l e tried a little to o u t g a z e h i m , but they c o u l d n ' t ; they d r o p p e d their eyes a n d looked sneaky. T h e n pretty s o o n S h e r b u r n sort of l a u g h e d ; not the p l e a s a n t kind, but the kind that m a k e s you feel like w h e n you are e a t i n g b r e a d that's got s a n d in it. T h e n he says, slow a n d scornful: " T h e idea of you lynching anybody! It's a m u s i n g . T h e idea of you thinking you had p l u c k e n o u g h to lynch a man! B e c a u s e you're brave e n o u g h to tar a n d feather p o o r friendless c a s t - o u t w o m e n that c o m e a l o n g h e r e , did that m a k e you think you h a d grit e n o u g h to lay your h a n d s o n a man? W h y , a man's s a f e in the h a n d s of ten t h o u s a n d of y o u r k i n d — a s long a s it's dayt i m e a n d you're not b e h i n d h i m . " D o I know you? I know you clear t h r o u g h . I w a s b o r n a n d raised in the S o u t h , a n d I've lived in the N o r t h ; so I know the a v e r a g e all a r o u n d . T h e a v e r a g e m a n ' s a c o w a r d . In the N o r t h he lets anybody walk over him that

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wants to, a n d g o e s h o m e a n d prays for a h u m b l e spirit to b e a r it. In the S o u t h o n e m a n , all by himself, h a s s t o p p e d a s t a g e full of m e n , in the day-time, a n d robbed the lot. Your n e w s p a p e r s call you a brave p e o p l e s o m u c h that you think you are braver than any other p e o p l e — w h e r e a s you're j u s t as brave, a n d no braver. W h y don't your j u r i e s h a n g m u r d e r e r s ? B e c a u s e they're afraid the m a n ' s friends will shoot t h e m in the b a c k , in the d a r k — a n d it's j u s t what they would d o . " S o they always a c q u i t ; a n d then a man g o e s in the night, with a h u n d r e d m a s k e d c o w a r d s at his back, a n d lynches the r a s c a l . Your m i s t a k e is, that you didn't bring a m a n with you; that's o n e m i s t a k e , a n d the other is that you didn't c o m e in the dark, a n d fetch your m a s k s . You b r o u g h t part of a m a n — B u c k H a r k n e s s , t h e r e — a n d if you hadn't had him to start you, you'd a taken it out in blowing. "You didn't want to c o m e . T h e average m a n don't like trouble a n d d a n g e r . Y O M don't like trouble a n d danger. B u t if only half a m a n — l i k e B u c k Harkn e s s , t h e r e — s h o u t s 'Lynch him, lynch him!' you're afraid to b a c k d o w n — afraid you'll be f o u n d o u t to be what you are—cowards—and so you raise a yell, a n d h a n g yourselves onto that half-a-man's c o a t tail, a n d c o m e raging up h e r e , s w e a r i n g what big things you're g o i n g to do. T h e pitifulest thing out is a m o b ; that's what a n army i s — a m o b ; they don't fight with c o u r a g e that's born in t h e m , b u t with c o u r a g e that's borrowed from their m a s s , a n d from their officers. B u t a m o b without any man at the h e a d of it, is beneath pitifulness. N o w the thing for you to do, is to d r o o p your tails a n d g o h o m e a n d crawl in a h o l e . If any real lynching's going to be d o n e , it will b e d o n e in the dark, S o u t h e r n f a s h i o n ; a n d w h e n they c o m e they'll bring their m a s k s , a n d fetch a man along. N o w leave—and take your half-a-man with y o u " — t o s s i n g his g u n u p a c r o s s his left a r m a n d c o c k i n g it, w h e n he says this. T h e crowd w a s h e d b a c k s u d d e n , a n d then broke all apart a n d went tearing off every which way, a n d B u c k H a r k n e s s he h e e l e d it after t h e m , looking tolerable c h e a p . I c o u l d a staid, if I'd a w a n t e d to, but I didn't w a n t to. I went to the c i r c u s , a n d loafed a r o u n d the b a c k side till the w a t c h m a n went by, a n d then dived in u n d e r the tent. I h a d my twenty-dollar gold p i e c e a n d s o m e other m o n e y , but I r e c k o n e d I better save it, b e c a u s e there ain't no telling how s o o n you are g o i n g to n e e d it, away from h o m e a n d a m o n g s t strangers, that way. You can't be too careful. I ain't o p p o s e d to s p e n d i n g m o n e y on c i r c u s e s , w h e n there ain't no other way, but there ain't no u s e in wasting it on t h e m . It w a s a real bully c i r c u s . It w a s the s p l e n d i d e s t sight that ever w a s , w h e n they all c o m e riding in, two a n d two, a g e n t l e m a n a n d lady, side by s i d e , the m e n j u s t in their drawers a n d under-shirts, a n d no s h o e s nor stirrups, a n d resting their h a n d s on their thighs, e a s y a n d c o m f o r t a b l e — t h e r e m u s t a' b e e n twenty of t h e m — a n d every lady with a lovely c o m p l e x i o n , a n d perfectly b e a u tiful, a n d looking j u s t like a g a n g of real s u r e - e n o u g h q u e e n s , a n d d r e s s e d in c l o t h e s that c o s t millions of dollars, a n d j u s t littered with d i a m o n d s . It was a powerful fine sight; I never s e e anything s o lovely. A n d then o n e by o n e they got u p a n d s t o o d , a n d went a-weaving a r o u n d the ring s o g e n t l e a n d wavy a n d graceful, the m e n looking ever so tall a n d airy a n d straight, with their h e a d s b o b b i n g a n d s k i m m i n g a l o n g , away up there u n d e r the tentroof, a n d every lady's rose-leafy d r e s s flapping soft a n d silky a r o u n d her hips, a n d she looking like the m o s t loveliest p a r a s o l . A n d then faster a n d faster they went, all of t h e m d a n c i n g , first o n e foot

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s t u c k o u t in the air a n d then the other, the h o r s e s l e a n i n g m o r e a n d m o r e , a n d the ring-master g o i n g r o u n d a n d r o u n d the c e n t r e - p o l e , c r a c k i n g his whip a n d s h o u t i n g " h i ! — h i ! " a n d the clown c r a c k i n g j o k e s b e h i n d h i m ; a n d by-and-by all h a n d s d r o p p e d the reins, a n d every lady p u t her k n u c k l e s on her hips a n d every g e n t l e m e n folded his a r m s , a n d then how the h o r s e s did lean over a n d h u m p t h e m s e l v e s ! A n d s o , o n e after the other they all s k i p p e d off into the ring, a n d m a d e the s w e e t e s t bow I ever s e e , a n d then s c a m p e r e d out, a n d everybody c l a p p e d their h a n d s a n d went j u s t a b o u t wild. Well, all t h r o u g h the c i r c u s they d o n e the m o s t a s t o n i s h i n g t h i n g s ; a n d all the t i m e that clown carried o n s o it m o s t killed the p e o p l e . T h e ringm a s t e r couldn't ever say a word to him b u t h e w a s b a c k at h i m q u i c k a s a wink with the funniest things a body ever s a i d ; a n d h o w h e ever could think of s o m a n y of t h e m , a n d s o s u d d e n a n d so p a t , w a s w h a t I couldn't noway u n d e r s t a n d . W h y , I couldn't a t h o u g h t of t h e m in a year. A n d by-and-by a d r u n k m a n tried to get into the r i n g — s a i d h e w a n t e d to ride; said h e c o u l d ride a s well a s anybody that ever w a s . T h e y a r g u e d a n d tried to k e e p h i m out, but h e wouldn't listen, a n d the w h o l e s h o w c o m e to a standstill. T h e n the p e o p l e b e g u n to holler at him a n d m a k e fun of him, a n d that m a d e him m a d , a n d b e b e g u n to rip a n d tear; s o that stirred u p the p e o p l e , a n d a lot of m e n b e g a n to pile d o w n off of the b e n c h e s a n d s w a r m towards the ring, saying " K n o c k him d o w n ! throw h i m o u t ! " a n d o n e or two w o m e n b e g u n to s c r e a m . S o , t h e n , the ring-master he m a d e a little s p e e c h , a n d said h e h o p e d there wouldn't be n o d i s t u r b a n c e , a n d if the m a n w o u l d p r o m i s e h e wouldn't m a k e n o m o r e t r o u b l e , h e would let him ride, if h e t h o u g h t h e c o u l d stay o n the h o r s e . S o everybody l a u g h e d a n d s a i d all right, a n d the m a n got on. T h e m i n u t e h e w a s o n , the h o r s e b e g u n to rip a n d tear a n d j u m p a n d cavort a r o u n d , with two c i r c u s m e n h a n g i n g o n t o his bridle trying to hold him, a n d the d r u n k m a n h a n g i n g o n t o his n e c k , a n d his heels flying in the air every j u m p , a n d the w h o l e crowd of p e o p l e s t a n d i n g u p s h o u t i n g a n d l a u g h i n g till the tears rolled d o w n . A n d at last, s u r e e n o u g h , all the c i r c u s m e n c o u l d d o , the h o r s e broke l o o s e , a n d away h e went like the very nation, r o u n d a n d r o u n d the ring, with that sot laying d o w n o n him a n d h a n g i n g to his neck, with first o n e leg h a n g i n g m o s t to the g r o u n d on o n e s i d e , a n d then t'other o n e on t'other s i d e , a n d the p e o p l e j u s t crazy. It warn't funny to m e , t h o u g h ; I w a s all of a t r e m b l e to s e e his d a n g e r . B u t pretty s o o n h e s t r u g g l e d u p a s t r a d d l e a n d g r a b b e d the bridle, a-reeling this way a n d that; a n d the next m i n u t e h e s p r u n g u p a n d d r o p p e d the bridle a n d stood! a n d the h o r s e a g o i n g like a h o u s e afire too. H e j u s t s t o o d u p t h e r e , a-sailing a r o u n d a s easy a n d c o m f o r t a b l e a s if h e warn't ever d r u n k in his l i f e — a n d then h e b e g u n to pull off his c l o t h e s a n d sling t h e m . H e s h e d t h e m s o thick they kind of c l o g g e d u p the air, a n d altogether he s h e d s e v e n t e e n s u i t s . A n d t h e n , there he w a s , slim a n d h a n d s o m e , a n d d r e s s e d the g a u d i e s t a n d prettiest you ever s a w , a n d h e lit into that h o r s e with his whip a n d m a d e h i m fairly h u m — a n d finally s k i p p e d off, a n d m a d e his bow a n d d a n c e d off to the d r e s s i n g - r o o m , a n d everybody j u s t a-howling with p l e a s u r e a n d a s t o n i s h m e n t . T h e n the ring-master h e s e e h o w he h a d b e e n fooled, a n d he was the sickest ring-master you ever s e e , I r e c k o n . W h y , it w a s o n e of his own m e n ! H e h a d got u p that j o k e all out of his own h e a d , a n d never let on to nobody. Well, I felt s h e e p i s h e n o u g h , to be took in s o , but I wouldn't a b e e n in that ring-master's p l a c e , not for a t h o u s a n d d o l l a r s . I don't know; there m a y be

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bullier c i r c u s e s than what that o n e w a s , but I never s t r u c k t h e m yet. Anyways it was plenty g o o d e n o u g h for me; a n d wherever I run a c r o s s it, it c a n have all of my c u s t o m , everytime. Well, that night we h a d our show; but there warn't only a b o u t twelve p e o p l e there; j u s t e n o u g h to pay e x p e n s e s . And they l a u g h e d all the time, and that m a d e the d u k e m a d ; a n d everybody left, anyway, before the s h o w was over, but o n e boy which was a s l e e p . S o the d u k e said t h e s e A r k a n s a w l u n k h e a d s couldn't c o m e u p to S h a k s p e a r e ; what they w a n t e d was low c o m e d y — a n d may be s o m e t h i n g ruther worse than low c o m e d y , he r e c k o n e d . H e said he c o u l d size their style. S o next m o r n i n g he got s o m e big s h e e t s of w r a p p i n g - p a p e r and s o m e b l a c k paint, and d r a w e d off s o m e handbills a n d s t u c k t h e m u p all over the village. T h e bills said: AT T H E C O U R T H O U S E ! FOR 3 NIGHTS ONLY!

The World-Renowned Tragedians DAVID GARRICK T H E Y O U N G E R AND

E D M U N D KEAN T H E ELDER! Of the London and Continental Theatres, In their Thrilling T r a g e d y of T H E KING'S CAMELOPARD9 OR

T H E ROYAL N O N E S U C H ! ! ! Admission 5 0 cents. T h e n at the b o t t o m was the biggest line of a l l — w h i c h said: LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED. " T h e r e , " says he, "if that line don't fetch t h e m , I don't know A r k a n s a w ! " Chapter

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Well, all day him a n d the king was hard at it, rigging u p a s t a g e , a n d a curtain, and a row of c a n d l e s for footlights; a n d that night the h o u s e was j a m full of m e n in n o time. W h e n the p l a c e couldn't hold no m o r e , the d u k e he quit t e n d i n g door a n d went a r o u n d the b a c k way a n d c o m e o n t o the s t a g e and stood u p before the curtain, a n d m a d e a little s p e e c h , a n d p r a i s e d u p this tragedy, a n d said it was the m o s t thrillingest o n e that ever w a s ; a n d so he went on a-bragging a b o u t the tragedy a n d a b o u t E d m u n d K e a n the Elder, which was to play the m a i n principal part in it; a n d at last w h e n he'd got everybody's expectations u p high e n o u g h , he rolled u p the curtain, a n d the next m i n u t e the king c o m e a - p r a n c i n g out on all fours, n a k e d ; a n d he was painted all over, ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, a s s p l e n d i d as a rainbow. A n d — b u t never m i n d the rest of his outfit, it w a s j u s t wild, but it was awful funny. T h e p e o p l e m o s t killed t h e m s e l v e s laughing; a n d w h e n the king got d o n e c a p e r i n g , a n d c a p e r e d off b e h i n d the s c e n e s , they roared 9. A n a r c h a i c n a m e for a giraffe, b u t a l s o d e s c r i b e s a legendary spotted b e a s t the size of a c a m e l . T h i s hoax p e r f o r m a n c e was a popular subject of c o m i c

stories, a n d T w a i n h a d heard a version he referred to as " T h e B u r n i n g S h a m e " from his friend J i m G i l l i s in h i s C a l i f o r n i a n e w s p a p e r d a y s .

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a n d c l a p p e d a n d s t o r m e d a n d haw-hawed till h e c o m e b a c k a n d d o n e it over a g a i n ; a n d after that, they m a d e him do it a n o t h e r t i m e . Well, it w o u l d a m a d e a c o w laugh to s e e the s h i n e s that old idiot c u t . T h e n the d u k e h e lets the curtain d o w n , a n d b o w s to the p e o p l e , a n d says the great tragedy will be p e r f o r m e d only two nights m o r e , on a c c o u n t s of p r e s s i n g L o n d o n e n g a g e m e n t s , w h e r e the s e a t s is all sold a r e a d y for it in Drury L a n e ; a n d then h e m a k e s t h e m a n o t h e r bow, a n d says if he h a s s u c c e e d e d in p l e a s i n g t h e m a n d instructing t h e m , he will be deeply o b l e e g e d if they will m e n t i o n it to their friends a n d get t h e m to c o m e a n d s e e it. Twenty p e o p l e sings out: " W h a t , is it over? Is that all?" T h e d u k e says yes. T h e n there w a s a fine t i m e . Everybody sings o u t " s o l d , " a n d rose up m a d , a n d w a s a g o i n g for that s t a g e a n d t h e m t r a g e d i a n s . B u t a big fine-looking m a n j u m p s up on a b e n c h , a n d s h o u t s : " H o l d on! J u s t a word, g e n t l e m e n . " T h e y s t o p p e d to listen. " W e a r e s o l d — mighty badly sold. B u t we don't want to b e the l a u g h i n g - s t o c k of this w h o l e town, I r e c k o n , a n d never hear the last of this thing a s long a s we live. N o . W h a t w e want, is to go out of here quiet, a n d talk this s h o w u p , a n d sell the rest of the town! T h e n we'll all be in the s a m e b o a t . Ain't that s e n s i b l e ? " ("You bet it i s ! — t h e j e d g e is right!" everybody sings out.) "All right, t h e n — not a word a b o u t any sell. G o a l o n g h o m e , a n d advise everybody to c o m e a n d see the tragedy." Next day you couldn't h e a r nothing a r o u n d that town b u t how splendid that s h o w w a s . H o u s e w a s j a m m e d a g a i n , that night, a n d we sold this crowd the s a m e way. W h e n m e a n d the king a n d the d u k e got h o m e to the raft, we all had a s u p p e r ; a n d by-and-by, a b o u t midnight, they made Jim a n d m e b a c k her out a n d float her down the m i d d l e of the river a n d fetch her in a n d hide her a b o u t two mile below town. T h e third night the h o u s e w a s c r a m m e d a g a i n — a n d they warn't newc o m e r s , this t i m e , but p e o p l e that w a s at the show the other two nights. I stood by the d u k e at the door, a n d I s e e that every m a n that went in h a d his p o c k e t s bulging, or s o m e t h i n g muffled up u n d e r his c o a t — a n d I s e e it warn't no perfumery neither, not by a long sight. I smelt sickly e g g s by the barrel, a n d rotten c a b b a g e s , a n d s u c h things; a n d if I know the signs of a d e a d cat b e i n g a r o u n d , a n d I bet I d o , there w a s sixty-four of t h e m went in. I shoved in there for a m i n u t e , b u t it w a s too various for m e , I couldn't s t a n d it. Well, w h e n the p l a c e couldn't hold no m o r e p e o p l e , the d u k e he give a fellow a q u a r t e r a n d told him to tend door for him a m i n u t e , a n d then he started a r o u n d for the s t a g e door, I after h i m ; but the m i n u t e we t u r n e d the c o r n e r a n d w a s in the dark, h e says: " W a l k fast, now, till you get away from the h o u s e s , a n d then shin for the raft like the d i c k e n s w a s after y o u ! " I d o n e it, a n d he d o n e the s a m e . W e s t r u c k the raft at the s a m e t i m e , a n d in less t h a n two s e c o n d s we w a s gliding d o w n s t r e a m , all dark a n d still, a n d e d g i n g t o w a r d s the m i d d l e of the river, n o b o d y saying a word. I r e c k o n e d the p o o r king w a s in for a g a u d y time of it with the a u d i e n c e ; b u t n o t h i n g of the sort; pretty s o o n he crawls out from u n d e r the w i g w a m , a n d s a y s : "Well, how'd the old thing p a n o u t this t i m e , D u k e ? " H e hadn't b e e n up town at all.

A D V E N T U R E S

OF

H U C K L E B E R R Y

F I N N ,

C H A P T E R

XXIII

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1347

W e never s h o w e d a light till we w a s a b o u t ten mile below that village. T h e n we lit up a n d h a d a s u p p e r , a n d the king a n d the d u k e fairly l a u g h e d their b o n e s loose over the way they'd served t h e m p e o p l e . T h e d u k e says: " G r e e n h o r n s , flatheads! J knew the first h o u s e would keep m u m a n d let the rest of the town get roped in; a n d I knew they'd lay for u s the third night, a n d c o n s i d e r it w a s tlieir turn now. Well, it is their turn, a n d I'd give s o m e thing to know how m u c h they'd take for it. I u ' o m W j u s t like to know how they're p u t t i n g in their opportunity. T h e y c a n turn it into a p i c n i c , if they want t o — t h e y brought plenty p r o v i s i o n s . " T h e m r a p s c a l l i o n s took in four h u n d r e d a n d sixty-five dollars in that three nights. I never s e e m o n e y h a u l e d in by the w a g o n - l o a d like that, b e f o r e . By-and-by, w h e n they w a s a s l e e p a n d snoring, J i m says: " D o n ' t it 'sprise you, de way d e m kings carries on, H u c k ? " " N o , " I says, "it d o n ' t . " "Why don't it, H u c k ? " "Well, it don't, b e c a u s e it's in the b r e e d . 1 reckon they're all a l i k e . " " B u t , H u c k , d e s e kings o' o u r n is reglar r a p s c a l l i o n s ; dat's jist what dey is; dey's reglar r a p s c a l l i o n s . " "Well, that's what I'm a-saying; all kings is mostly r a p s c a l l i o n s , a s fur a s I can m a k e o u t . " "Is dat s o ? " "You read a b o u t t h e m o n c e — y o u ' l l s e e . L o o k at Henry the Eight; t h i s ' n ' s a S u n d a y - S c h o o l S u p e r i n t e n d e n t to him. And look at C h a r l e s S e c o n d , a n d L o u i s F o u r t e e n , a n d L o u i s Fifteen, a n d J a m e s S e c o n d , a n d E d w a r d S e c o n d , a n d Richard T h i r d , a n d forty m o r e ; b e s i d e s all t h e m S a x o n h e p t a r c h i e s that u s e d to rip a r o u n d s o in old times a n d raise C a i n . My, you o u g h t to s e e n old Henry the Eight w h e n he w a s in b l o o m . H e ivas a b l o s s o m . H e u s e d to marry a new wife every day, a n d c h o p off her head next m o r n i n g . And he would do it j u s t as indifferent a s if he w a s ordering up e g g s . ' F e t c h u p Nell G w y n n , " he says. T h e y fetch her u p . Next morning, ' C h o p off her h e a d ! ' A n d they c h o p it off. ' F e t c h u p J a n e S h o r e , ' he says; a n d u p s h e c o m e s . Next m o r n i n g ' C h o p off her h e a d ' — a n d they c h o p it off. 'Ring u p Fair R o s a m u n . ' Fair R o s a m u n a n s w e r s the bell. Next m o r n i n g , ' C h o p off her h e a d . ' A n d he m a d e every o n e of them tell him a tale every night; a n d he kept that u p till he h a d hogged a t h o u s a n d a n d o n e tales that way, a n d then h e put t h e m all in a book, a n d called it D o m e s d a y B o o k — w h i c h was a good n a m e a n d stated the c a s e . You don't know kings, J i m , but I know t h e m ; a n d this old rip of ourn is o n e of the c l e a n e s t I've s t r u c k in history. Well, Henry he takes a notion he wants to get u p s o m e trouble with this country. H o w d o e s he g o at i t — give n o t i c e ? — g i v e the country a s h o w ? N o . All of s u d d e n h e h e a v e s all the tea in B o s t o n H a r b o r overboard, a n d w h a c k s out a declaration of i n d e p e n d e n c e , a n d dares t h e m to c o m e o n . T h a t w a s his s t y l e — h e never give anybody a c h a n c e . H e h a d s u s p i c i o n s of his father, the D u k e of W e l l i n g t o n . Well, what did he d o ? — a s k him to s h o w u p ? N o — d r o w n d e d him in a butt of m a m s e y , like a c a t . S p o s e p e o p l e left m o n e y laying a r o u n d w h e r e h e w a s — what did he do? H e collared it. S p o s e h e c o n t r a c t e d to do a thing; a n d you paid him, a n d didn't set down there a n d s e e that he d o n e i t — w h a t did he d o ? H e always d o n e the other thing. S p o s e he o p e n e d his m o u t h — w h a t t h e n ? If he didn't shut it up powerful q u i c k , he'd lose a lie, every t i m e . T h a t ' s the

1 3 4 8

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M A R K

T W A I N

kind of a b u g H e n r y w a s ; a n d if we'd a h a d h i m a l o n g 'stead of our kings, he'd a fooled that town a h e a p w o r s e t h a n o u r n d o n e . 1 I don't say that o u r n is l a m b s , b e c a u s e they ain't, w h e n you c o m e right down to the cold facts; b u t they ain't n o t h i n g to t/iat old r a m , anyway. All I say is, kings is k i n g s , a n d you got to m a k e a l l o w a n c e s . T a k e t h e m all a r o u n d , they're a mighty ornery lot. It's the way they're r a i s e d . " " B u t dis o n e do stneii s o like d e n a t i o n , H u c k . " "Well, they all d o , J i m . We can't help the way a king s m e l l s ; history don't tell no w a y . " " N o w de d u k e , he's a tolerable likely m a n , in s o m e w a y s . " "Yes, a d u k e ' s different. B u t not very different. T h i s one's a m i d d l i n g h a r d lot, for a d u k e . W h e n he's d r u n k , there ain't n o near-sighted m a n could tell h i m from a k i n g . " "Well, anyways, I d o a n ' h a n k e r for n o m o ' un u m , H u c k . D e s e is all I kin stan. "It's the way I feel, too, J i m . B u t we've got t h e m on our h a n d s , a n d w e got to r e m e m b e r what they a r e , a n d m a k e a l l o w a n c e s . S o m e t i m e s I wish we c o u l d h e a r of a country that's o u t of k i n g s . " W h a t w a s the u s e to tell J i m t h e s e warn't real kings a n d d u k e s ? It wouldn't a d o n e n o g o o d ; a n d b e s i d e s , it w a s j u s t a s I said; you couldn't tell t h e m from the real kind. I went to s l e e p , a n d J i m didn't call m e w h e n it was my turn. H e often d o n e that. W h e n I w a k e d u p , j u s t at day-break, h e w a s setting there with his h e a d d o w n betwixt his k n e e s , m o a n i n g a n d m o u r n i n g to himself. I didn't take n o t i c e , nor let on. I k n o w e d what it w a s a b o u t . H e w a s thinking a b o u t his wife a n d his children, away u p yonder, a n d h e w a s low a n d h o m e s i c k ; b e c a u s e he hadn't ever b e e n away from h o m e before in his life; a n d I do believe he c a r e d j u s t a s m u c h for his p e o p l e as white folks d o e s for their'n. It don't s e e m natural, b u t I reckon it's s o . H e w a s often m o a n i n g a n d m o u r n ing that way, nights, w h e n he j u d g e d I w a s a s l e e p , a n d saying " P o ' little 'Lizabeth! p o ' little J o h n n y ! its mighty h a r d ; I s p e c ' I ain't ever gwyne to s e e you n o m o ' , n o m o ' ! " H e w a s a mighty g o o d nigger, J i m w a s . B u t this time I s o m e h o w got to talking to him a b o u t his wife a n d y o u n g o n e s ; a n d by-and-by h e says: " W h a t m a k e s m e feel s o b a d dis t i m e , 'uz b e k a s e I h e a r s u m p n over yonder on de b a n k like a w h a c k , er a s l a m , while a g o , en it m i n e m e er d e time I treat my little 'Lizabeth s o ornery. S h e warn't on'y 'bout fo' year ole, en s h e t u c k d e sk'yarlet-fever, e n h a d a powful r o u g h spell; b u t s h e got well, en o n e day s h e w a s a - s t a n n i n ' a r o u n ' , en I says to her, I s a y s : " ' S h e t d e do'.' " S h e never d o n e it; j i s ' s t o o d dar, kiner smilin' up at m e . It m a k e m e m a d ; en I says a g i n , mighty loud, I s a y s : 1.

H u c k ' s " h i s t o r y " o f kingly b e h a v i o r is a f a r r a g o

of fact a n d fiction. from and

Henry VIII, king of England

1 5 0 9 to 1 5 4 7 , did e x e c u t e two of his divorced

two others.

Nell

Gwynn,

wives

however,

queror

of E n g l a n d

had

recorded

all

landowners

a n d the value of their holdings, w a s c o m p l e t e d b i a n Nights.

The

duke

personage.

reportedly

drowned

R o s a m u n d C l i f f o r d w a s m i s t r e s s t o H e n r y II i n t h e

c e n t u r y . T h e B o s t o n T e a P a r t y took

12th century. T h e Anglo-Saxon

a n d the Declaration of I n d e p e n d e n c e was

(seven

duke

of

is a

century

heptarchy

The

of Wellington

Jane

S h o r e w a s m i s t r e s s t o E d w a r d I V (r. 1 5 t h c e n t u r y ) .

w a s t h e m i s t r e s s o f C h a r l e s II (r. 1 6 6 0 — 8 5 ) .

in

1 0 8 6 ; H u c k c o n f u s e s it w i t h t h e s t o r i e s i n t h e A r a -

i n a w i n e butt

19th-

Clarence

was

in t h e l a t e

15th

place

in 1 7 7 3 , adopted

f r i e n d l y k i n g d o m s ) r u l e d E n g l a n d from 4 4 9 t o 8 2 9 .

in 1 7 7 6 ; n e i t h e r e v e n t , o f c o u r s e , h a s a n y c o n n e c -

The Domesday

t i o n with

B o o k , in w h i c h W i l l i a m t h e

Con-

H e n r y VIII.

A D V E N T U R E S

OF

H U C K L E B E R R Y

FINN,

C H A P T E R

XXIV

/

1349

" ' D o a n ' you hear m e ? — s h e t de do'!' " S h e j i s ' stood de s a m e way, kiner smilin' u p . I was a-bilin'! I says: " 'I lay I make you m i n e ! ' " E n wid dat I fetch' her a slap side de h e a d dat sont her a-sprawlin'. D e n I went into de yuther r o o m , en 'uz g o n e 'bout ten m i n u t e s ; e n w h e n I c o m e back, d a h w a s dat d o ' a-stannin' o p e n yit, en dat chile s t a n n i n ' m o s ' right in it, a-lookin' d o w n a n d mournin', en de tears r u n n i n ' d o w n . My, but I wuz m a d , I w a s agwyne for de chile, but j i s ' d e n — i t w a s a d o ' dat o p e n i n n e r d s — j i s ' d e n , 'long c o m e de wind en s l a m it to, b e h i n e d e chile, ker-blam!—en my lan', d e chile never move'! My breff m o s ' h o p outer m e ; en I feel s o — s o — I d o a n ' know how I feel. I c r o p e out, all a-tremblin', en c r o p e a r o u n ' en o p e n de do' easy en slow, en poke my h e a d in b e h i n e de chile, s o f en still, en all uv a s u d d e n , I says yowl j i s ' a s loud a s I c o u l d yell. She never budge! O h , H u c k , I b u s t o u t a-cryin' en grab her u p in my a r m s , en say, ' O h , d e p o ' little thing! d e Lord G o d Amighty fogive p o ' ole J i m , kaze he never gwyne to fogive hisself a s long's he live!' O h , she w a s p l u m b d e e f en d u m b , H u c k , p l u m b d e e f en d u m b — e n I'd ben a'treat'n her s o ! " Chapter

XXIV

Next day, towards night, we laid u p u n d e r a little willow tow-head out in the m i d d l e , w h e r e there w a s a village o n e a c h side of the river, a n d the d u k e and the king b e g u n to lay out a plan for working t h e m t o w n s . J i m he s p o k e to the d u k e , a n d said he h o p e d it wouldn't take but a few h o u r s , b e c a u s e it got mighty heavy a n d t i r e s o m e to him when he h a d to lay all day in the wigwam tied with the r o p e . You s e e , w h e n we left him all a l o n e we had to tie him, b e c a u s e if anybody h a p p e n e d on him all by h i m s e l f a n d not tied, it wouldn't look m u c h like h e w a s a runaway nigger, you know. S o the d u k e said it was kind of hard to have to lay roped all day, a n d he'd c i p h e r out s o m e way to get a r o u n d it. H e w a s u n c o m m o n bright, the d u k e w a s , a n d he s o o n s t r u c k it. H e d r e s s e d J i m u p in King Lear's outfit—it w a s a long curtain-calico g o w n , a n d a white horse-hair wig a n d whiskers; a n d then he took his theatre-paint a n d p a i n t e d J i m ' s face a n d h a n d s a n d ears a n d n e c k all over a d e a d bull solid b l u e , like a m a n that's b e e n d r o w n d e d nine days. B l a m e d if he warn't the horriblest looking outrage I ever s e e . T h e n the d u k e took a n d wrote out a sign on a shingle s o — S i c k Arab—but

harmless

when not out of his head.

And he nailed that shingle to a lath, a n d s t o o d the lath u p four or five foot in front of the w i g w a m . J i m w a s satisfied. H e said it w a s a sight better than laying tied a c o u p l e of years every day a n d trembling all over every time there was a s o u n d . T h e d u k e told him to m a k e himself free a n d easy, a n d if anybody ever c o m e m e d d l i n g a r o u n d , he m u s t h o p out of the w i g w a m , a n d carry on a little, a n d fetch a howl or two jike a wild b e a s t , a n d he r e c k o n e d they would light out a n d leave him a l o n e . W h i c h was s o u n d e n o u g h j u d g m e n t ; but you take the a v e r a g e m a n , a n d he wouldn't wait for him to howl. W h y , he didn't only look like he w a s d e a d , he looked c o n s i d e r a b l e m o r e than that. T h e s e r a p s c a l l i o n s w a n t e d to try the N o n e s u c h a g a i n , b e c a u s e there was so m u c h m o n e y in it, b u t they j u d g e d it wouldn't be s a f e , b e c a u s e m a y b e the

1350

/

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n e w s m i g h t a worked a l o n g d o w n by this t i m e . T h e y couldn't hit n o project that s u i t e d , exactly; s o at last the d u k e s a i d he r e c k o n e d he'd lay off a n d work his b r a i n s a n h o u r or two a n d s e e if h e couldn't p u t u p s o m e t h i n g o n the A r k a n s a w village; a n d the king he allowed he w o u l d drop over to t'other village, without any p l a n , but j u s t trust in P r o v i d e n c e to lead h i m the profitable w a y — m e a n i n g the devil, I r e c k o n . W e h a d all b o u g h t store c l o t h e s w h e r e we s t o p p e d last; a n d now the king p u t his'n o n , a n d he told m e to p u t m i n e on. I d o n e it, of c o u r s e . T h e king's d u d s w a s all b l a c k , a n d h e did look real swell a n d starchy. I never k n o w e d h o w clothes c o u l d c h a n g e a body b e f o r e . Why, b e f o r e , h e looked like the orneriest old rip that ever w a s ; but now, w h e n he'd take off his new white b e a v e r a n d m a k e a bow a n d d o a s m i l e , h e looked that g r a n d a n d g o o d a n d p i o u s that you'd say h e h a d walked right o u t of the ark, a n d m a y b e w a s old L e v i t i c u s 2 himself. J i m c l e a n e d u p the c a n o e , a n d I got my p a d d l e ready. T h e r e w a s a big s t e a m b o a t laying at the s h o r e away u p u n d e r the point, a b o u t three mile a b o v e t o w n — b e e n t h e r e a c o u p l e of h o u r s , taking on freight. S a y s the king: " S e e i n ' h o w I'm d r e s s e d , I reckon m a y b e I better arrive d o w n from S t . L o u i s or C i n c i n n a t i , or s o m e other big p l a c e . G o for the s t e a m b o a t , H u c k leberry; we'll c o m e d o w n to the village o n h e r . " I didn't have to b e o r d e r e d twice, to g o a n d take a s t e a m b o a t ride. I f e t c h e d the s h o r e a half a mile a b o v e the village, a n d then went s c o o t i n g a l o n g the bluff b a n k in the easy water. Pretty s o o n we c o m e to a n i c e i n n o c e n t - l o o k i n g y o u n g country j a k e setting on a log s w a b b i n g the sweat off of his f a c e , for it w a s powerful w a r m w e a t h e r ; a n d h e h a d a c o u p l e of big c a r p e t - b a g s by h i m . " R u n her n o s e in s h o r e , " says the king. I d o n e it. " W h e r ' you b o u n d for, young m a n ? " " F o r the s t e a m b o a t ; g o i n g to O r l e a n s . " " G i t a b o a r d , " says the king. " H o l d on a m i n u t e , my servant '11 he'p you with t h e m b a g s . J u m p o u t a n d he'p the g e n t l e m a n , A d o l p h u s " — m e a n i n g me, I see. I d o n e s o , a n d then w e all three started on a g a i n . T h e y o u n g c h a p w a s mighty thankful; s a i d it w a s t o u g h work toting his b a g g a g e s u c h weather. H e a s k e d the king w h e r e h e w a s going, a n d the king told h i m he'd c o m e d o w n the river a n d l a n d e d at the other village this m o r n i n g , a n d n o w h e w a s g o i n g u p a few mile to s e e a n old friend on a farm u p t h e r e . T h e y o u n g fellow says: " W h e n I first s e e y o u , I says to myself, 'It's M r . W i l k s , s u r e , a n d h e c o m e mighty n e a r getting here in t i m e . ' B u t then I says a g a i n , ' N o , I reckon it ain't him, or else h e wouldn't b e p a d d l i n g u p the river.' You ain't h i m , are y o u ? " " N o , my n a m e ' s B l o d g e t t — E l e x a n d e r Blodgett—Reverend Elexander B l o d g e t t , I s p o s e I m u s t say, as I'm o n e o' the L o r d ' s p o o r s e r v a n t s . B u t still I'm jist as able to b e sorry for M r . Wilks for not arriving in t i m e , all the s a m e , if he's m i s s e d anything by i t — w h i c h I h o p e he h a s n ' t . " "Well, he don't m i s s any property by it, b e c a u s e he'll get that all right; but he's m i s s e d s e e i n g his brother Peter d i e — w h i c h h e mayn't m i n d , nobody c a n tell a s to t h a t — b u t his brother would a give anything in this world to s e e him b e f o r e h e died; never talked a b o u t n o t h i n g else all t h e s e three w e e k s ; 2 . T h e t h i r d b o o k o f t h e O l d T e s t a m e n t is h e r e c o n f u s e d w i t h N o a h .

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hadn't s e e n him s i n c e they w a s boys t o g e t h e r — a n d hadn't ever s e e n his brother W i l l i a m at all—that's the d e e f a n d d u m b o n e — W i l l i a m ain't m o r e than thirty or thirty-five. Peter a n d G e o r g e w a s the only o n e s that c o m e out here; G e o r g e w a s the married brother; him a n d his wife b o t h d i e d last year. Harvey a n d William's the only o n e s that's left now; a n d , as I w a s saying, they haven't got here in t i m e . " " D i d anybody s e n d 'em w o r d ? " " O h , yes; a m o n t h or two a g o , w h e n Peter w a s first took; b e c a u s e Peter said then that h e sorter felt like he warn't g o i n g to get well this t i m e . You s e e , h e w a s pretty old, a n d G e o r g e ' s g'yirls w a s too y o u n g to be m u c h c o m p a n y for him, except M a r y J a n e the r e d - h e a d e d o n e ; a n d s o h e w a s kinder l o n e s o m e after G e o r g e a n d his wife died, a n d didn't s e e m to c a r e m u c h to live. H e m o s t desperately w a n t e d to s e e H a r v e y — a n d William too, for that m a t t e r — b e c a u s e h e w a s o n e of t h e m kind that can't b e a r to m a k e a will. H e left a letter b e h i n d for Harvey, a n d said he'd told in it w h e r e his m o n e y w a s hid, a n d how h e w a n t e d the rest of the property divided u p s o G e o r g e ' s g'yirls would be all right—for G e o r g e didn't leave n o t h i n g . A n d that letter w a s all they c o u l d get him to p u t a pen t o . " " W h y do you reckon Harvey don't c o m e ? W h e r ' d o e s h e live?" " O h , h e lives in E n g l a n d — S h e f f i e l d — p r e a c h e s t h e r e — h a s n ' t ever b e e n in this country. H e hasn't h a d any too m u c h time-—and b e s i d e s h e mightn't a got the letter at all, you k n o w . " " T o o b a d , too b a d h e couldn't a lived to s e e his b r o t h e r s , p o o r s o u l . You g o i n g to O r l e a n s , you s a y ? " "Yes, b u t that ain't only a part of it. I'm g o i n g in a s h i p , next W e d n e s d a y , for Ryo J a n e e r o , w h e r e my u n c l e lives." "It's a pretty long j o u r n e y . B u t it'll b e lovely; I wisht I w a s a g o i n g . Is M a r y J a n e the o l d e s t ? H o w old is the o t h e r s ? " " M a r y J a n e ' s n i n e t e e n , S u s a n ' s fifteen, a n d J o a n n a ' s a b o u t f o u r t e e n — that's the o n e that gives herself to g o o d works a n d has a h a r e - l i p . " " P o o r things! to b e left a l o n e in the cold world s o . " "Well, they c o u l d b e w o r s e off. O l d Peter h a d friends, a n d they ain't g o i n g to let t h e m c o m e to n o h a r m . T h e r e ' s H o b s o n , the B a b t i s ' p r e a c h e r ; a n d D e a c o n L o t Hovey, a n d B e n R u c k e r , a n d A b n e r S h a c k l e f o r d , a n d Levi Bell, the lawyer; a n d Dr. R o b i n s o n , a n d their wives, a n d the widow Rartley, a n d — well, there's a lot of t h e m ; but t h e s e are the o n e s that Peter w a s thickest with, a n d u s e d to write a b o u t s o m e t i m e s , w h e n h e wrote h o m e ; s o Harvey'll know w h e r e to look for friends w h e n h e g e t s h e r e . " Well, the old m a n h e went on a s k i n g q u e s t i o n s till h e j u s t fairly e m p t i e d that y o u n g fellow. B l a m e d if he didn't inquire a b o u t everybody a n d everything in that b l e s s e d town, a n d all a b o u t all the W i l k s e s ; a n d a b o u t Peter's b u s i n e s s — w h i c h w a s a tanner; a n d a b o u t G e o r g e ' s — w h i c h w a s a c a r p e n t e r ; a n d a b o u t H a r v e y ' s — w h i c h w a s a d i s s e n t e r i n g * minister, a n d so o n , a n d s o on. T h e n h e says: " W h a t did you want to walk all the way u p to the s t e a m b o a t f o r ? " " B e c a u s e she's a big O r l e a n s b o a t , a n d I w a s a f e a r d s h e mightn't s t o p there. W h e n they're d e e p they won't s t o p for a hail. A C i n c i n n a t i b o a t will, but this is a S t . L o u i s o n e . " 3.

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" W a s Peter Wilks well o f f ? " " O h , yes, pretty well off. H e h a d h o u s e s a n d land, a n d it's r e c k o n e d h e left three or four t h o u s a n d in c a s h hid u p s o m ' e r s . " " W h e n did you say he d i e d ? " "I didn't say, but it w a s last n i g h t . " " F u n e r a l to-morrow, likely?" "Yes, 'bout the m i d d l e of the d a y . " "Well, it's all terrible s a d ; b u t we've all got to g o , o n e t i m e or a n o t h e r . S o what we want to do is to b e p r e p a r e d ; then we're all right." "Yes, sir, it's the b e s t way. M a u s e d to always say t h a t . " W h e n we s t r u c k the b o a t , s h e w a s a b o u t d o n e loading, a n d pretty s o o n s h e got off. T h e king never said nothing a b o u t g o i n g a b o a r d , s o I lost my ride, after all. W h e n the b o a t w a s g o n e , the king m a d e m e p a d d l e u p a n o t h e r mile to a l o n e s o m e p l a c e , a n d then he got a s h o r e , a n d s a y s : " N o w h u s t l e b a c k , right off, a n d fetch the d u k e u p h e r e , a n d the n e w c a r p e t - b a g s . A n d if he's g o n e over to t'other s i d e , go over there a n d git h i m . And tell him to git h i m s e l f up r e g a r d l e s s . S h o v e along, n o w . " I s e e what he w a s up to; but I never said n o t h i n g , of c o u r s e . W h e n I got b a c k with the d u k e , we hid the c a n o e a n d then they set d o w n o n a log, a n d the king told him everything, j u s t like the y o u n g fellow h a d said it—every last word of it. A n d all the time he w a s a d o i n g it, he tried to talk like a n E n g l i s h m a n ; a n d he d o n e it pretty well too, for a s l o u c h . I can't imitate h i m , a n d so I ain't a g o i n g to try t o ; but h e really d o n e it pretty g o o d . T h e n he says: " H o w a r e you o n the d e e f a n d d u m b , B i l g e w a t e r ? " T h e d u k e said, leave him a l o n e for that; said he h a d played a d e e f a n d d u m b p e r s o n on the histrionic b o a r d s . S o then they waited for a s t e a m b o a t . A b o u t the m i d d l e of the a f t e r n o o n a c o u p l e of little b o a t s c o m e along, b u t they didn't c o m e from high e n o u g h u p the river; but at last there w a s a big o n e , a n d they hailed her. S h e sent out her yawl, a n d w e went a b o a r d , a n d s h e w a s from C i n c i n n a t i ; a n d w h e n they f o u n d we only w a n t e d to go four or five mile, they w a s b o o m i n g m a d , a n d give u s a c u s s i n g , a n d said they wouldn't land u s . B u t the king w a s c a ' m . H e s a y s : "If g e n t l e m e n kin afford to pay a dollar a mile a p i e c e , to be took on a n d put off in a yawl, a s t e a m b o a t kin afford to carry ' e m , can't i t ? " S o they s o f t e n e d d o w n a n d said it w a s all right; a n d w h e n we got to the village, they yawled u s a s h o r e . A b o u t two d o z e n m e n flocked d o w n , w h e n they see the yawl a c o m i n g ; a n d w h e n the king s a y s — "Kin any of you g e n t l e m e n tell m e wher' M r . Peter Wilks lives?" they give a g l a n c e at o n e another, a n d n o d d e d their h e a d s , as m u c h a s to say, " W h a t d' I tell y p u ? " T h e n o n e of t h e m says, kind of soft a n d g e n t l e : "I'm sorry, sir, but the b e s t we c a n d o is to tell you w h e r e he did live yesterday e v e n i n g . " S u d d e n as winking, the ornery old cretur went all to s m a s h , a n d fell u p a g a i n s t the m a n , a n d put his chin on his s h o u l d e r , a n d cried d o w n his b a c k , a n d says: "Alas, a l a s , our p o o r b r o t h e r — g o n e , a n d we never got to s e e h i m ; oh, it's too, too h a r d ! " T h e n he turns a r o u n d , b l u b b e r i n g , a n d m a k e s a lot of idiotic signs to the d u k e on his h a n d s , a n d b l a m e d if he didn't drop a c a r p e t - b a g a n d b u s t out a-crying. If they warn't the b e a t e n e s t lot, t h e m two f r a u d s , that ever I struck.

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Well, the m e n g e t h e r e d a r o u n d , a n d sympathized with t h e m , a n d said all sorts of kind things to t h e m , a n d carried their c a r p e t - b a g s u p the hill for t h e m , a n d let t h e m lean on t h e m a n d cry, a n d told the king all a b o u t his brother's last m o m e n t s , a n d the king he told it all over a g a i n on his h a n d s to the d u k e , a n d both of t h e m took on a b o u t that d e a d t a n n e r like they'd lost the twelve disciples. Well, if ever I struck anything like it, I'm a nigger. It w a s e n o u g h to m a k e a body a s h a m e d of the h u m a n r a c e . Chapter

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T h e n e w s w a s all over town in two m i n u t e s , a n d you c o u l d s e e the p e o p l e tearing down on the run, from every which way, s o m e of t h e m p u t t i n g o n their c o a t s as they c o m e . Pretty s o o n we w a s in the m i d d l e of a c r o w d , a n d the noise of the t r a m p i n g w a s like a s o l d i e r - m a r c h . T h e windows a n d dooryards w a s full; a n d every m i n u t e s o m e b o d y would say, over a f e n c e : "Is it them!" A n d s o m e b o d y trotting a l o n g with the g a n g would a n s w e r b a c k a n d say. "You bet it i s . " W h e n we got to the h o u s e , the street in front of it w a s p a c k e d , a n d the three girls w a s s t a n d i n g in the door. M a r y J a n e was r e d - h e a d e d , a n d that don't m a k e no difference, s h e w a s m o s t awful beautiful, a n d her f a c e a n d her eyes was all lit u p like glory, she was so glad her u n c l e s w a s c o m e . T h e king he s p r e a d his a r m s , a n d M a r y J a n e s h e j u m p e d for t h e m , a n d the harelip j u m p e d for the d u k e , a n d there they had it! Everybody m o s t , leastways w o m e n , cried for j o y to s e e t h e m m e e t again at last a n d have s u c h g o o d times. T h e n the king h e h u n c h e d the d u k e , private—I s e e him do i t — a n d then he looked a r o u n d a n d see the coffin, over in the c o r n e r o n two c h a i r s ; s o then, him a n d the d u k e , with a h a n d a c r o s s e a c h other's s h o u l d e r , a n d t'other h a n d to their eyes, walked slow a n d s o l e m n over t h e r e , everybody d r o p p i n g b a c k to give t h e m r o o m , a n d all the talk a n d n o i s e s t o p p i n g , p e o p l e saying " S h ! " a n d all the m e n taking their hats off a n d d r o o p i n g their h e a d s , so you c o u l d a h e a r d a pin fall. A n d w h e n they got there, they b e n t over a n d looked in the coffin, a n d took o n e sight, a n d then they b u s t o u t a crying so you c o u l d a heard t h e m to O r l e a n s , m o s t ; a n d then they p u t their a r m s a r o u n d e a c h other's n e c k s , a n d h u n g their c h i n s over e a c h other's s h o u l d e r s ; a n d then for three m i n u t e s , or m a y b e four, I never s e e two m e n leak the way they d o n e . A n d m i n d you, everybody w a s d o i n g the s a m e ; a n d the p l a c e w a s that d a m p I never s e e anything like it. T h e n o n e of t h e m got on o n e side of the coffin, a n d t'other on t'other s i d e , a n d they k n e e l e d d o w n a n d rested their f o r e h e a d s on the coffin, a n d let on to pray all to theirselves. Well, w h e n it c o m e to that, it worked the crowd like you never s e e anything like it, a n d s o everybody broke down a n d went to s o b b i n g right o u t l o u d — t h e p o o r girls, too; a n d every w o m a n , nearly, went u p to the girls, without saying a word, a n d kissed t h e m , s o l e m n , on the f o r e h e a d , a n d then put their h a n d on their h e a d , a n d looked u p towards the sky, with the tears r u n n i n g d o w n , a n d then b u s t e d out a n d went off s o b b i n g a n d s w a b b i n g , a n d give the next w o m a n a show. I never s e e anything s o d i s g u s t i n g . Well, by-and-by the king he gets u p a n d c o m e s forward a little, a n d works himself up a n d slobbers out a s p e e c h , all full of tears a n d flapdoodle a b o u t

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its b e i n g a sore trial for him a n d his p o o r brother to l o s e the d i s e a s e d , a n d to m i s s s e e i n g d i s e a s e d alive, after the long j o u r n e y of four t h o u s a n d mile, but it's a trial that's s w e e t e n e d a n d sanctified to u s by this d e a r s y m p a t h y a n d t h e s e holy tears, a n d s o h e t h a n k s t h e m out of his heart a n d o u t of his brother's heart, b e c a u s e o u t of their m o u t h s they can't, w o r d s b e i n g t o o w e a k a n d cold, a n d all that kind of rot a n d s l u s h , till it w a s j u s t sickening; a n d then he b l u b b e r s o u t a p i o u s goody-goody A m e n , a n d t u r n s h i m s e l f l o o s e a n d g o e s to crying fit to b u s t . A n d the m i n u t e the w o r d s w a s out of his m o u t h s o m e b o d y over in the crowd s t r u c k u p the doxolojer, 4 a n d everybody j o i n e d in with all their m i g h t , a n d it j u s t w a r m e d you up a n d m a d e you feel a s g o o d a s c h u r c h letting out. M u s i c is a g o o d thing; a n d after all that s o u l - b u t t e r a n d h o g w a s h , I never s e e it freshen u p things s o , a n d s o u n d so h o n e s t a n d bully. T h e n the king b e g i n s to work his j a w a g a i n , a n d says how h i m a n d his n i e c e s would b e glad if a few of the m a i n principal friends of the family would take s u p p e r here with t h e m this evening, a n d help set u p with the a s h e s of the d i s e a s e d ; a n d says if his p o o r brother laying yonder c o u l d s p e a k , he knows w h o he w o u l d n a m e , for they w a s n a m e s that w a s very d e a r to h i m , a n d m e n t i o n e d often in his letters; a n d s o h e will n a m e the s a m e , to-wit, a s follows, vizz:—Rev. M r . H o b s o n , a n d D e a c o n L o t Hovey, a n d M r . B e n R u c k e r , a n d A b n e r S h a c k l e f o r d , a n d Levi Bell, a n d Dr. R o b i n s o n , a n d their wives, a n d the widow Rartley. Rev. H o b s o n a n d Dr. R o b i n s o n w a s d o w n to the e n d of the town, a - h u n t i n g together; that is, I m e a n the doctor w a s s h i p p i n g a sick m a n to t'other world, a n d the p r e a c h e r w a s pinting him right. Lawyer Rell w a s away u p to L o u i s ville o n s o m e b u s i n e s s . Rut the rest w a s on h a n d , a n d s o they all c o m e a n d s h o o k h a n d s with the king a n d t h a n k e d him a n d talked to h i m ; a n d then they s h o o k h a n d s with the d u k e , a n d didn't say n o t h i n g but j u s t kept asmiling a n d b o b b i n g their h e a d s like a p a s s e l of s a p h e a d s whilst h e m a d e all sorts of signs with his h a n d s a n d said " G o o - g o o — g o o - g o o - g o o , " all the t i m e , like a baby that can't talk. S o the king he blatted a l o n g , a n d m a n a g e d to inquire a b o u t pretty m u c h everybody a n d d o g in town, by his n a m e , a n d m e n t i o n e d all sorts of little things that h a p p e n e d o n e time or a n o t h e r in the town, or to G e o r g e ' s family, or to Peter; a n d he always let o n that P e t e r wrote him the things, b u t that w a s a lie, h e got every b l e s s e d o n e of t h e m o u t of that y o u n g flathead that we c a n o e d u p to the s t e a m b o a t . T h e n M a r y J a n e s h e f e t c h e d the letter her father left b e h i n d , a n d the king he r e a d it o u t loud a n d cried over it. It give the d w e l l i n g - h o u s e a n d t h r e e t h o u s a n d dollars, gold, to the girls; a n d it give the tanyard (which w a s d o i n g a g o o d b u s i n e s s ) , a l o n g with s o m e other h o u s e s a n d land (worth a b o u t s e v e n t h o u s a n d ) , a n d three t h o u s a n d dollars in gold to Harvey a n d W i l l i a m , a n d told where the six t h o u s a n d c a s h w a s hid, d o w n cellar. S o t h e s e two f r a u d s said they'd go a n d fetch it u p , a n d have everything s q u a r e a n d a b o v e - b o a r d ; a n d told m e to c o m e with a c a n d l e . W e s h u t the cellar d o o r b e h i n d u s , a n d w h e n they f o u n d the b a g they spilt it o u t o n the floor, a n d it w a s a lovely sight, all t h e m yallerboys. 5 M y , the way the king's eyes did s h i n e ! H e s l a p s the d u k e on the s h o u l d e r , a n d says: 4.

I.e., d o x o l o g y , o r h y m n o f p r a i s e t o G o d . T h e

p a r t i c u l a r d o x o l o g y referred to h e r e b e g i n s " P r a i s e

G o d , f r o m w h o m all b l e s s i n g s f l o w . " 5.

Gold coins.

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" O h , this ain't bully, nor noth'n! O h , n o , I reckon not! W h y , Biljy, it b e a t s the N o n e s u c h , don't it!" T h e d u k e allowed it did. T h e y p a w e d the yaller-boys, a n d sifted t h e m through their fingers a n d let t h e m jingle d o w n o n the floor; a n d the king says: "It ain't n o u s e talkin'; bein' brothers to a rich d e a d m a n , a n d r e p r e s e n tatives of furrin heirs that's got left, is the line for you a n d m e , B i l g e . T h i s h yer c o m e s of trust'n to P r o v i d e n c e . It's the b e s t way, in the long run. I've tried 'em all, a n d ther' ain't no better way." M o s t everybody would a b e e n satisfied with the pile, a n d took it on trust; but no, they m u s t c o u n t it. S o they c o u n t s it, a n d it c o m e s o u t four h u n d r e d a n d fifteen dollars short. S a y s the king: " D e r n him, I w o n d e r what he d o n e with that four h u n d r e d a n d fifteen dollars?" T h e y worried over that a while, a n d r a n s a c k e d all a r o u n d for it. T h e n the d u k e says: "Well, he w a s a pretty sick m a n , a n d likely h e m a d e a m i s t a k e — I reckon that's the way of it. T h e b e s t way's to let it g o , a n d keep still a b o u t it. W e c a n s p a r e it." " O h , s h u c k s , yes, we c a n spare it. I don't k'yer noth'n 'bout t h a t — i t ' s the count I'm thinkin' a b o u t . W e want to b e awful s q u a r e a n d o p e n a n d a b o v e b o a r d , h e r e , you know. W e want to lug this h'yer m o n e y u p stairs a n d c o u n t it before e v e r y b o d y — t h e n ther' ain't noth'n s u s p i c i o u s . B u t w h e n the d e a d m a n says ther's six thous'n dollars, you know, w e don't w a n t t o — " " H o l d o n , " says the d u k e . " L e s s m a k e u p the d e f f i s i t " — a n d he b e g u n to haul o u t yallerboys o u t of his p o c k e t . "It's a m o s t a m a z ' n g o o d idea, d u k e — y o u have got a rattlin' clever h e a d on y o u , " says the king. " B l e s t if the old N o n e s u c h ain't a h e p p i n ' u s o u t a g i n " — a n d he b e g u n to haul out yallerjackets a n d s t a c k t h e m u p . It m o s t b u s t e d t h e m , but they m a d e u p the six t h o u s a n d c l e a n a n d clear. " S a y , " says the d u k e , "I got a n o t h e r idea. Le's go up stairs a n d c o u n t this m o n e y , a n d then take a n d give it to the girls." " G o o d land, d u k e , l e m m e h u g you! It's the m o s t dazzling idea 'at ever a m a n struck. You have cert'nly got the m o s t a s t o n i s h i n ' h e a d I ever s e e . O h , this is the b o s s d o d g e , 6 ther' ain't n o m i s t a k e 'bout it. L e t 'em fetch a l o n g their s u s p i c i o n s now, if they want to—this'll lay 'em o u t . " W h e n we got u p stairs, everybody g a t h e r e d a r o u n d the t a b l e , a n d the king he c o u n t e d it a n d s t a c k e d it u p , three h u n d r e d dollars in a p i l e — t w e n t y e l e g a n t little piles. Everybody looked hungry at it, a n d licked their c h o p s . T h e n they raked it into the b a g a g a i n , a n d I s e e the king begin to swell h i m s e l f u p for a n o t h e r s p e e c h . H e says: " F r i e n d s all, my p o o r brother that lays yonder, h a s d o n e g e n e r o u s by t h e m that's left b e h i n d in the vale of sorrers. H e h a s d o n e g e n e r o u s by these-yer p o o r little l a m b s that he loved a n d s h e l t e r e d , a n d that's left fatherless a n d m o t h e r l e s s . Y e s , a n d we that k n o w e d h i m , knows that h e w o u l d a d o n e more g e n e r o u s by 'em if h e hadn't b e e n a f e a r d o' w o u n d i n ' his d e a r William a n d m e . N o w , wouldn't he? T h e r ' ain't n o q u e s t i o n 'bout it, in my m i n d . Well, t h e n — w h a t kind o' brothers would it b e , t h a t ' d s t a n d in his way at s e c h a time? A n d what kind o' u n c l e s would it be t h a t ' d r o b — y e s , rob—sech poor 6.

B e s t c o n f i d e n c e trick.

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sweet l a m b s a s these 'at he loved s o , at s e c h a t i m e ? If I know W i l l i a m — a n d I think I d o — h e — w e l l , I'll j e s t a s k h i m . " H e t u r n s a r o u n d a n d b e i n g s to m a k e a lot of signs to the d u k e with his h a n d s ; a n d the d u k e h e looks at him stupid a n d l e a t h e r - h e a d e d a while, then all of s u d d e n h e s e e m s to c a t c h his m e a n i n g , a n d j u m p s for the king, g o o - g o o i n g with all his might for joy, a n d h u g s him a b o u t fifteen times before h e lets u p . T h e n the king says, "I k n o w e d it; I reckon that '11 c o n v i n c e anybody the way he feels a b o u t it. H e r e , M a r y J a n e , S u s a n , J o a n n e r , take the m o n e y — t a k e it all. It's the gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful." Mary J a n e she went for him, S u s a n a n d the hare-lip went for the d u k e , a n d then s u c h a n o t h e r h u g g i n g a n d kissing I never s e e yet. A n d everybody c r o w d e d up with the tears in their e y e s , a n d m o s t s h o o k the h a n d s off of t h e m f r a u d s , saying all the time: "You dear good s o u l s ! — h o w lovely!—how could y o u ! " Well, t h e n , pretty s o o n all h a n d s got to talking a b o u t the d i s e a s e d a g a i n , a n d how g o o d he w a s , a n d what a loss he w a s , a n d all that; a n d before long a big iron-jawed m a n worked h i m s e l f in there from o u t s i d e , a n d s t o o d a listening a n d looking, a n d not saying anything; a n d n o b o d y saying anything to him either, b e c a u s e the king w a s talking a n d they w a s all b u s y listening. T h e king w a s s a y i n g — i n the m i d d l e of s o m e t h i n g he'd started in o n — " — t h e y bein' partickler friends o' the d i s e a s e d . T h a t ' s why they're invited here this evenin'; but to-morrow we want all to c o m e — e v e r y b o d y ; for he r e s p e c t e d everybody, he liked everybody, a n d so it's fitten that his funeral orgies sh'd be p u b l i c . " A n d so h e went a - m o o n i n g on a n d o n , liking to h e a r h i m s e l f talk, a n d every little while he f e t c h e d in his funeral orgies a g a i n , till the d u k e he couldn't s t a n d it no m o r e ; so he writes on a little s c r a p of p a p e r , "obsequies, you old fool," a n d folds it up a n d g o e s to g o o - g o o i n g a n d r e a c h i n g it over p e o p l e ' s h e a d s to him. T h e king he r e a d s it, a n d p u t s it in his p o c k e t , a n d says: " P o o r William, afflicted a s h e is, his heart's aluz right. A s k s m e to invite everybody to c o m e to the f u n e r a l — w a n t s m e to m a k e 'em all w e l c o m e . B u t he needn't a worried—it was j e s t what I w a s a t . " T h e n he w e a v e s a l o n g a g a i n , perfectly c a ' m , a n d g o e s to d r o p p i n g in his funeral orgies a g a i n every now a n d t h e n , j u s t like h e d o n e b e f o r e . A n d w h e n he d o n e it the third t i m e , he says: "I say orgies, not b e c a u s e it's the c o m m o n t e r m , b e c a u s e it a i n ' t — o b s e q u i e s bein' the c o m m o n t e r m — b u t b e c a u s e orgies is the right t e r m . O b s e q u i e s ain't u s e d in E n g l a n d no m o r e , n o w — i t ' s g o n e out. W e say orgies now, in E n g l a n d . O r g i e s is better, b e c a u s e it m e a n s the thing you're after, m o r e exact. It's a word that's m a d e u p out'n the G r e e k orgo, o u t s i d e , o p e n , a b r o a d ; a n d the H e b r e w jeesum, to plant, cover u p ; h e n c e inter. S o , you s e e , funeral orgies is an o p e n er p u b l i c f u n e r a l . " 7 H e w a s the worst I ever struck. Well, the iron-jawed m a n h e l a u g h e d right in his f a c e . Everybody w a s s h o c k e d . Everybody says, " W h y doctor.'"and A b n e r S h a c k l e f o r d says: "Why, R o b i n s o n , hain't you h e a r d the n e w s ? T h i s is Harvey W i l k s . " T h e king he s m i l e d e a g e r , a n d shoved out his flapper, a n d says: 7 . T h e c o m i c e t y m o l o g y w a s a s t o c k - i n - t r a d e o f t h e s o u t h w e s t e r n h u m o r i s t s a n d is s t i l l p o p u l a r in c o m e d y routines.

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'7s it my p o o r brother's dear g o o d friend a n d p h y s i c i a n ? I — " " K e e p your h a n d s off of m e ! " says the d o c t o r . "YOM talk like a n E n g l i s h man—don't you? It's the worse imitation I ever h e a r d . YOM Peter Wilks's brother. You're a fraud, that's what you a r e ! " Well, how they all took on! T h e y c r o w d e d a r o u n d the doctor, a n d tried to quiet him d o w n , a n d tried to explain to h i m , a n d tell him how Harvey'd s h o w e d in forty ways that he was Harvey, a n d k n o w e d everybody by n a m e , arid the n a m e s of the very d o g s , a n d b e g g e d a n d begged him not to hurt Harvey's feelings a n d the poor girls' feelings, a n d all that; but it warn't n o u s e , he s t o r m e d right along, a n d said any m a n that p r e t e n d e d to be a n E n g l i s h m a n a n d couldn't imitate the lingo no better than what he did, w a s a fraud a n d a liar. T h e p o o r girls w a s h a n g i n g to the king a n d crying; a n d all of a s u d d e n the doctor u p s a n d turns on them. H e says: "I w a s your father's friend, a n d I'm your friend; a n d I w a r n you as a friend, a n d an h o n e s t o n e , that w a n t s to protect you a n d k e e p you out of h a r m a n d trouble, to turn your b a c k s on that s c o u n d r e l , a n d have n o t h i n g to d o with him, the ignorant t r a m p , with his idiotic G r e e k a n d H e b r e w a s he calls it. H e is the thinnest kind of a n i m p o s t o r — h a s c o m e h e r e with a lot of e m p t y n a m e s a n d facts which he h a s p i c k e d u p s o m e w h e r e s , a n d you take t h e m for proofs, a n d are h e l p e d to fool yourselves by t h e s e foolish friends h e r e , w h o o u g h t to know better. M a r y J a n e Wilks, you k n o w m e for your friend, a n d for your unselfish friend, too. N o w listen to m e ; turn this pitiful r a s c a l o u t — I beg you to d o it. Will y o u ? " M a r y J a n e s t r a i g h t e n e d herself u p , a n d my, but s h e w a s h a n d s o m e ! S h e says: "Here is my a n s w e r . " S h e hove up the b a g of m o n e y a n d put it in the king's h a n d s , a n d says, " T a k e this six t h o u s a n d dollars, a n d invest it for m e a n d my sisters any way you want to, a n d don't give u s n o receipt for it." T h e n she p u t her a r m a r o u n d the king on o n e s i d e , a n d S u s a n a n d the hare-lip d o n e the s a m e o n the other. Everybody c l a p p e d their h a n d s a n d s t o m p e d on the floor like a perfect s t o r m , whilst the king held u p his h e a d and smiled proud. T h e doctor says: "All right, I w a s h my h a n d s of the matter. B u t I w a r n you all that a time's c o m i n g w h e n you're g o i n g to feel sick whenever you think of this d a y " — a n d away he went. "All right, d o c t o r , " says the king, kinder m o c k i n g h i m , "we'll try a n d get 'em to s e n d for y o u " — w h i c h m a d e t h e m all l a u g h , a n d they said it w a s a p r i m e g o o d hit. Chapter

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Well, w h e n they w a s all g o n e , the king he a s k s M a r y J a n e how they w a s off for s p a r e r o o m s , a n d s h e said s h e h a d o n e s p a r e r o o m , which would do for U n c l e William, a n d she'd give her own r o o m to U n c l e Harvey, which w a s a little bigger, a n d s h e would turn into the r o o m with her sisters a n d sleep o n a cot; a n d up garret w a s a little c u b b y , with a pallet in it. T h e king said the c u b b y would do for his v a l l e y — m e a n i n g m e . S o M a r y J a n e took u s u p , a n d s h e s h o w e d t h e m their r o o m s , which w a s plain but n i c e . S h e said she'd have her frocks a n d a lot of other traps took out of her r o o m if they w a s in U n c l e Harvey's way, but he said they warn't.

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T h e frocks w a s h u n g a l o n g the wall, a n d before t h e m w a s a curtain m a d e o u t of calico that h u n g d o w n to the floor. T h e r e w a s an old hair trunk in o n e corner, a n d a guitar box in a n o t h e r , a n d all sorts of little k n i c k k n a c k s a n d j i m c r a c k s a r o u n d , like girls brisken u p a r o o m with. T h e king said it w a s all the m o r e homely a n d m o r e p l e a s a n t e r for t h e s e fixings, a n d so don't d i s t u r b t h e m . T h e duke's r o o m w a s pretty s m a l l , b u t plenty g o o d e n o u g h , a n d s o w a s my cubby. T h a t night they h a d a big s u p p e r , a n d all t h e m m e n a n d w o m e n w a s there, a n d I s t o o d b e h i n d the king a n d the duke's chairs a n d waited on t h e m , a n d the niggers waited on the rest. M a r y J a n e s h e set at the h e a d of the t a b l e , with S u s a n a l o n g side of her, a n d said how b a d the b i s c u i t s w a s , a n d how m e a n the preserves w a s , a n d h o w ornery a n d t o u g h the fried c h i c k e n s w a s — a n d all that kind of rot, the way w o m e n always d o for to force o u t complim e n t s ; a n d the p e o p l e all k n o w e d everything w a s tip-top, a n d said s o — s a i d " H o w do you get b i s c u i t s to brown so n i c e ? " a n d " W h e r e , for t h e land's s a k e did you get t h e s e amaz'n p i c k l e s ? " a n d all that kind of h u m b u g talky-talk, j u s t the way p e o p l e always d o e s at a s u p p e r , you know. A n d w h e n it w a s all d o n e , m e a n d t h e hare-lip h a d s u p p e r in the kitchen off of the leavings, whilst the o t h e r s w a s h e l p i n g t h e niggers c l e a n u p the things. T h e hare-lip s h e got to p u m p i n g m e a b o u t E n g l a n d , a n d blest if I didn't think the i c e w a s getting mighty thin, s o m e t i m e s . S h e says: " D i d you ever s e e the k i n g ? " " W h o ? William F o u r t h ? Well, I bet I h a v e — h e g o e s to o u r c h u r c h . " I k n o w e d h e w a s d e a d years a g o , b u t I never let o n . S o w h e n I says he g o e s to our c h u r c h , s h e says: "What—regular? " " Y e s — r e g u l a r . H i s pew's right over o p p o s i t e o u r n — o n 'tother side the pulpit." "I t h o u g h t h e lived in L o n d o n ? " "Well, he d o e s . W h e r e would he live?" " B u t I t h o u g h t you lived in S h e f f i e l d ? " I s e e I w a s u p a s t u m p . I h a d to let on to get c h o k e d with a c h i c k e n b o n e , s o a s to get time to think how to get d o w n a g a i n . T h e n I says: "I m e a n he g o e s to o u r c h u r c h regular w h e n he's in Sheffield. T h a t ' s only in the s u m m e r - t i m e , w h e n he c o m e s there to take the s e a b a t h s . " "Why, how you t a l k — S h e f f i e l d ain't o n t h e s e a . " "Well, w h o s a i d it w a s ? " "Why, you d i d . " "I didn't, n u t h e r . " "You d i d ! " "I didn't." "You d i d . " "I never said n o t h i n g of the k i n d . " "Well, what did you say, t h e n ? " " S a i d h e c o m e to take the s e a baths—that's what I s a i d . " "Well, then! how's he g o i n g to take t h e s e a b a t h s if it ain't o n the s e a ? " " L o o k y h e r e , " I says, "did you ever s e e any C o n g r e s s w a t e r ? " " "Yes." 8.

F a m o u s m i n e r a l w a t e r f r o m t h e C o n g r e s s S p r i n g in S a r a t o g a , N e w York.

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"Well, did you have to go to C o n g r e s s to get i t ? " "Why, n o . " "Well, neither d o e s William F o u r t h have to go to the s e a to get a s e a b a t h . " " H o w d o e s he get it, t h e n ? " " G e t s it the way p e o p l e down here gets C o n g r e s s w a t e r — i n b a r r e l s . T h e r e in the p a l a c e at Sheffield they've got f u r n a c e s , a n d h e w a n t s his water hot. T h e y can't bile that a m o u n t of water away off there at the s e a . T h e y haven't got n o c o n v e n i e n c e s for it." " O h , I s e e , now. You might a said that in the first p l a c e a n d s a v e d t i m e . " W h e n she s a i d that, I s e e I w a s o u t of the w o o d s a g a i n , a n d so I w a s c o m f o r t a b l e a n d glad. Next, s h e says: " D o you go to c h u r c h , t o o ? " "Yes—regular." " W h e r e d o you s e t ? " "Why, in our p e w . " "Whose p e w ? " "Why, ourn—your U n c l e Harvey's." " H i s ' n ? W h a t d o e s he want with a p e w ? " " W a n t s it to set in. W h a t did you reckon h e w a n t e d with i t ? " "Why, I t h o u g h t he'd be in the p u l p i t . " Rot h i m , I forgot h e w a s a p r e a c h e r . I s e e I w a s u p a s t u m p a g a i n , s o I played a n o t h e r c h i c k e n b o n e a n d got a n o t h e r think. T h e n I says: " B l a m e it, do you s u p p o s e there ain't but o n e p r e a c h e r to a c h u r c h ? " "Why, w h a t do they w a n t with m o r e ? " " W h a t ! — t o p r e a c h before a king? I never s e e s u c h a girl a s y o u . T h e y don't have no less t h a n s e v e n t e e n . " " S e v e n t e e n ! M y land! W h y , I wouldn't set out s u c h a string as that, not if I never got to glory. It m u s t take 'em a w e e k . " " S h u c k s , they don't all of 'em p r e a c h the s a m e d a y — o n l y one of ' e m . " "Well, t h e n , w h a t d o e s the rest of 'em d o ? " " O h , n o t h i n g m u c h . Loll a r o u n d , p a s s the p l a t e — a n d o n e t h i n g or a n o t h e r . B u t mainly they don't do n o t h i n g . " "Well, t h e n , what are they for?" "Why, they're for style. D o n ' t you k n o w n o t h i n g ? " "Well, I don't want to know n o s u c h f o o l i s h n e s s a s that. H o w is servants treated in E n g l a n d ? D o they treat 'em better 'n we treat our n i g g e r s ? " "No.' A servant ain't nobody t h e r e . T h e y treat t h e m w o r s e t h a n d o g s . " " D o n ' t they give 'em holidays, the way w e d o , C h r i s t m a s a n d N e w Year's week, a n d F o u r t h of J u l y ? " " O h , j u s t listen! A body c o u l d tell you hain't ever b e e n to E n g l a n d , by that. Why, Hare-1—why, J o a n n a , they never s e e a holiday from year's e n d to year's e n d ; never go to the c i r c u s , nor t h e a t r e , n o r nigger s h o w s , n o r n o w h e r e s . " "Nor church?" "Nor church." " B u t you always went to c h u r c h . " Well, I w a s g o n e u p a g a i n . I forgot I w a s the old m a n ' s servant. B u t next m i n u t e I whirled in on a kind of a n explanation h o w a valley w a s different from a c o m m o n servant, a n d had to g o to c h u r c h w h e t h e r h e w a n t e d to or not, a n d set with the family, on a c c o u n t of it's b e i n g the law. B u t I didn't do it pretty g o o d , a n d w h e n I got d o n e I s e e s h e warn't satisfied. S h e says:

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" H o n e s t injun, now, hain't you b e e n telling m e a lot of l i e s ? " " H o n e s t i n j u n , " says I. " N o n e of it at a l l ? " " N o n e of it at all. N o t a lie in it," says I. " L a y your h a n d o n this b o o k a n d say it." I see it warn't nothing but a dictionary, s o I laid my h a n d on it a n d said it. S o then s h e looked a little better satisfied, a n d s a y s : "Well, then, I'll believe s o m e of it; but I h o p e to g r a c i o u s if I'll believe the rest." " W h a t is it you won't believe, J o e ? " says M a r y J a n e , s t e p p i n g in with S u s a n b e h i n d her. "It ain't right nor kind for you to talk so to h i m , a n d him a stranger a n d s o far from his p e o p l e . H o w w o u l d you like to be treated s o ? " " T h a t ' s always your way, M a i m — a l w a y s sailing in to h e l p s o m e b o d y before they're hurt. I hain't d o n e n o t h i n g to h i m . H e ' s told s o m e s t r e t c h e r s , I r e c k o n ; a n d I said I wouldn't swallow it all; a n d that's every bit a n d grain I did say. I reckon h e c a n s t a n d a little thing like that, can't h e ? " "I don't c a r e w h e t h e r 'twas little or w h e t h e r 'twas big, he's h e r e in our h o u s e a n d a stranger, a n d it wasn't g o o d of you to s a y it. If you w a s in his p l a c e , it w o u l d m a k e you feel a s h a m e d ; a n d so you ought'nt to say a thing to a n o t h e r p e r s o n that will m a k e them feel a s h a m e d . " "Why, M a i m , he s a i d — " "It don't m a k e no difference w h a t he said—that ain't the thing. T h e thing is for you to treat him kind, a n d not be saying things to m a k e him r e m e m b e r he ain't in his own country a n d a m o n g s t his own f o l k s . " I says to myself, this is a girl that I'm letting that old reptle rob her of her money! T h e n S u s a n she waltzed in; a n d if you'll believe m e , s h e did give Hare-lip hark from the t o m b ! 9 S a y s I to myself, A n d this is another o n e that I'm letting him rob her of her money! T h e n M a r y J a n e s h e took a n o t h e r inning, a n d went in sweet a n d lovely a g a i n — w h i c h w a s her w a y — b u t w h e n she got d o n e there warn't hardly anything left o' p o o r Hare-lip. S o s h e hollered. "All right, t h e n , " says the other girls, "you j u s t a s k his p a r d o n . " S h e d o n e it, too. A n d s h e d o n e it beautiful. S h e d o n e it s o beautiful it w a s g o o d to hear; a n d I w i s h e d I c o u l d tell her a t h o u s a n d lies, so s h e c o u l d do it a g a i n . I says to myself, this is another o n e that I'm letting h i m rob her of her money. A n d w h e n s h e got t h r o u g h , they all j e s t laid theirselves o u t to m a k e m e feel at h o m e a n d know I w a s a m o n g s t friends. I felt s o ornery a n d low down a n d m e a n , that I says to myself, M y m i n d ' s m a d e u p ; I'll hive that m o n e y for t h e m or b u s t . S o then I lit o u t — f o r b e d , I said, m e a n i n g s o m e time or a n o t h e r . W h e n I got by myself, I went to thinking the thing over. I says to myself, shall I go to that doctor, private, a n d blow o n t h e s e f r a u d s ? N o — t h a t won't d o . H e might tell w h o told him; then the king a n d the d u k e w o u l d m a k e it w a r m for m e . Shall I g o , private, a n d tell M a r y J a n e ? N o — I d a s n ' t do it. H e r f a c e w o u l d give t h e m a hint, s u r e ; they've got the m o n e y , a n d they'd slide right 9. A chewing out.

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out a n d get away with it. If she w a s to fetch in help, I'd get mixed u p in the b u s i n e s s , before it was d o n e with, I j u d g e . N o , there ain't n o g o o d way b u t o n e . I got to steal that m o n e y , s o m e h o w ; a n d I got to steal it s o m e way that they won't s u s p i c i o n that I d o n e it. They've got a g o o d thing, h e r e ; a n d they ain't a g o i n g to leave till they've played this family a n d this town for all they're worth, s o I'll find a c h a n c e time e n o u g h . I'll steal it, a n d hide it; a n d by-and-by, when I'm away d o w n the river, I'll write a letter a n d tell M a r y J a n e where it's hid. B u t I better hive it to-night, if I c a n , b e c a u s e the d o c t o r m a y b e hasn't let up a s m u c h a s he lets on h e h a s ; h e might s c a r e t h e m out of here, yet. S o , thinks I, I'll go a n d s e a r c h t h e m r o o m s . U p stairs the hall w a s dark, but I found the duke's r o o m , a n d started to p a w a r o u n d it with my h a n d s ; but I recollected it wouldn't be m u c h like the king to let anybody else take c a r e of that m o n e y but his own self; s o then I went to his r o o m a n d b e g u n to p a w a r o u n d there. B u t I s e e I couldn't do n o t h i n g without a c a n d l e , a n d I dasn't light o n e , of c o u r s e . S o I j u d g e d I'd got to do the other t h i n g — l a y for t h e m , a n d e a v e s d r o p . A b o u t that t i m e , I h e a r s their f o o t s t e p s c o m i n g , a n d w a s g o i n g to skip u n d e r the b e d ; I r e a c h e d for it, but it wasn't w h e r e I thought it would b e ; but I t o u c h e d the c u r t a i n that hid M a r y J a n e ' s frocks, so I j u m p e d in b e h i n d that a n d s n u g g l e d in a m o n g s t the g o w n s , a n d s t o o d there perfectly still. T h e y c o m e in a n d s h u t the door; a n d the first thing the d u k e d o n e w a s to get down a n d look u n d e r the bed. T h e n I w a s glad I hadn't f o u n d the b e d when I w a n t e d it. A n d yet, you know, it's kind of n a t u r a l to hide u n d e r the b e d w h e n you are u p to anything private. T h e y s e t s d o w n , t h e n , a n d the king says: "Well, what is it? a n d cut it middlin' short, b e c a u s e it's better for us to be down there a w h o o p i n ' - u p the m o u r n i n ' , than u p here givin' e m a c h a n c e to talk u s over." "Well, this is it, C a p e t . I ain't easy; I ain't c o m f o r t a b l e . T h a t d o c t o r lays on my m i n d . I w a n t e d to know your p l a n s . I've got a notion, a n d I think it's a sound one." " W h a t is it, d u k e ? " " T h a t we better glide out of this, before three in the m o r n i n g , a n d clip it d o w n the river with what we've got. Specially, s e e i n g w e got it s o easy—given b a c k to u s , flung at our h e a d s , as you may say, w h e n of c o u r s e we allowed to have to steal it b a c k . I'm for k n o c k i n g off a n d lighting o u t . " T h a t m a d e m e feel pretty b a d . A b o u t a n hour or two a g o , it would a b e e n a little different, but now it m a d e m e feel b a d a n d d i s a p p o i n t e d . T h e king rips o u t a n d says: " W h a t ! A n d not sell out the rest o' the property? M a r c h off like a p a s s e l o' fools a n d leave eight or nine thous'n dollars' worth o' property layin' a r o u n d j e s t sufferin' to be s c o o p e d i n ? — a n d all g o o d s a l a b l e stuff, t o o . " T h e d u k e he g r u m b l e d ; said the b a g of gold w a s e n o u g h , a n d he didn't w a n t to go n o d e e p e r — d i d n ' t want to rob a lot of o r p h a n s of everything they had. "Why, how you talk!" says the king. " W e shan't rob 'em of nothing at all but j e s t this m o n e y . T h e p e o p l e that buys the property is the suff'rers; b e c a u s e as s o o n ' s it's f o u n d o u t 'at we didn't own i t — w h i c h won't b e long after we've s l i d — t h e sale won't b e valid, a n d it'll all go b a c k to the e s t a t e . T h e s e - y e r

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o r p h a n s '11 git their h o u s e b a c k agin, a n d that's e n o u g h for them; they're y o u n g a n d spry, a n d k'n e a s y e a r n a livin'. They ain't a g o i n g to suffer. W h y , j e s t t h i n k — t h e r e ' s thous'n's a n d thous'n's that ain't nigh s o well off. B l e s s you, they ain't got noth'n to c o m p l a i n of." Well, the king he talked him blind; s o at last he give in, a n d said all right, b u t said h e believed it w a s b l a m e f o o l i s h n e s s to stay, a n d that d o c t o r h a n g i n g over t h e m . B u t the king s a y s : " C u s s the doctor! W h a t d o we k'yer for him? Hain't we got all the fools in town o n our side? a n d ain't that a big e n o u g h majority in any t o w n ? " S o they got ready to g o down stairs a g a i n . T h e d u k e s a y s : "I don't think we p u t that m o n e y in a g o o d p l a c e . " T h a t c h e e r e d m e u p . I'd b e g u n to think I warn't g o i n g to get a hint of n o kind to help m e . T h e king says: "Why?" " B e c a u s e M a r y J a n e '11 b e in m o u r n i n g from this o u t ; a n d first you know the nigger that d o e s u p the r o o m s will get a n order to box t h e s e d u d s u p a n d p u t 'em away; a n d do you reckon a nigger c a n run a c r o s s m o n e y a n d not borrow s o m e of i t ? " "Your h e a d ' s level, a g i n , d u k e , " says the king; a n d he c o m e a f u m b l i n g u n d e r the c u r t a i n two or three foot from w h e r e I w a s . I s t u c k tight to the wall, a n d kept mighty still, t h o u g h quivery; a n d I w o n d e r e d w h a t t h e m fellows would say to m e if they c a t c h e d m e ; a n d I tried to think w h a t I'd better do if they did c a t c h m e . B u t the king he got the b a g before I c o u l d think m o r e t h a n a b o u t a half a t h o u g h t , a n d h e never s u s p i c i o n e d I w a s a r o u n d . T h e y took a n d shoved the b a g through a rip in the straw tick that w a s u n d e r the feather b e d , a n d c r a m m e d it in a foot or two a m o n g s t the straw a n d said it w a s all right, now, b e c a u s e a nigger only m a k e s u p the feather b e d , a n d don't turn over the straw tick only a b o u t twice a year, a n d so it warn't in n o d a n g e r of getting stole, now. B u t I k n o w e d better. I h a d it o u t of there before they w a s halfway down stairs. I g r o p e d a l o n g u p to my c u b b y , a n d hid it there till I c o u l d get a c h a n c e to d o better. I j u d g e d I better hide it o u t s i d e of the h o u s e s o m e w h e r e s , b e c a u s e if they m i s s e d it they w o u l d give the h o u s e a g o o d r a n s a c k i n g . I k n o w e d that very well. T h e n I t u r n e d in, with my c l o t h e s all o n ; b u t I couldn't a g o n e to s l e e p , if I'd a w a n t e d to, I w a s in s u c h a sweat to get t h r o u g h with the b u s i n e s s . By-and-by I h e a r d the king a n d the d u k e c o m e u p ; s o I rolled off of my pallet a n d laid with my chin at the top of my l a d d e r a n d waited to s e e if anything w a s g o i n g to h a p p e n . B u t n o t h i n g did. S o I held on till all the late s o u n d s h a d quit a n d the early o n e s hadn't b e g u n , yet; a n d then I slipped d o w n the ladder. Chapter

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I c r e p t to their d o o r s a n d listened; they w a s s n o r i n g , s o I tip-toed a l o n g , a n d got d o w n stairs all right. T h e r e warn't a s o u n d a n y w h e r e s . I p e e p e d t h r o u g h a c r a c k of the dining-room door, a n d s e e the m e n that w a s w a t c h i n g the c o r p s e all s o u n d a s l e e p on their c h a i r s . T h e d o o r w a s o p e n into the parlor, w h e r e the c o r p s e w a s laying, a n d there w a s a c a n d l e in b o t h r o o m s , I p a s s e d a l o n g , a n d the parlor d o o r w a s o p e n ; but I s e e there warn't n o b o d y in there

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but the r e m a i n d e r s of Peter; s o I shoved o n by; b u t the front d o o r w a s locked, a n d the key wasn't t h e r e . J u s t then I h e a r d s o m e b o d y c o m i n g d o w n the stairs, b a c k b e h i n d m e . I run in the parlor, a n d took a swift look a r o u n d , a n d the only p l a c e I s e e to hide the b a g w a s in the coffin. T h e lid w a s s h o v e d a l o n g a b o u t a foot, s h o w i n g the d e a d m a n ' s f a c e d o w n in t h e r e , with a wet cloth over it, a n d his s h r o u d on. I t u c k e d the m o n e y - b a g in u n d e r the lid, j u s t d o w n beyond w h e r e his h a n d s w a s c r o s s e d , which m a d e m e c r e e p , they w a s s o cold, a n d then I run b a c k a c r o s s the r o o m a n d in b e h i n d the door. T h e p e r s o n c o m i n g w a s M a r y J a n e . S h e went to the coffin, very soft, a n d k n e e l e d d o w n a n d looked in; then s h e put u p her h a n d k e r c h i e f a n d I s e e s h e b e g u n to cry, t h o u g h I couldn't hear her, a n d her b a c k w a s to m e . I slid o u t , a n d a s I p a s s e d the dining-room I t h o u g h t I'd m a k e s u r e t h e m w a t c h e r s hadn't s e e n m e ; s o I looked through the c r a c k a n d everything w a s all right. T h e y hadn't stirred. I slipped u p to b e d , feeling ruther b l u e , on a c c o u n t s of the thing playing out that way after I h a d took s o m u c h trouble a n d run so m u c h resk a b o u t it. S a y s I, if it c o u l d stay w h e r e it is, all right; b e c a u s e w h e n w e get d o w n the river a h u n d r e d mile or two, I c o u l d write b a c k to M a r y J a n e , a n d s h e c o u l d dig him u p a g a i n a n d get it; b u t that ain't the thing that's g o i n g to h a p p e n ; the thing that's g o i n g to h a p p e n is, the m o n e y '11 b e f o u n d w h e n they c o m e to s c r e w o n the lid. T h e n the king '11 get it a g a i n , a n d it 'II b e a l o n g day before he gives anybody a n o t h e r c h a n c e to s m o u c h it from h i m . O f c o u r s e I wanted to slide d o w n a n d get it o u t of there, but I d a s n ' t try it. Every m i n u t e it w a s getting earlier, now, a n d pretty s o o n s o m e of t h e m w a t c h e r s w o u l d begin to stir, a n d I might get c a t c h e d — c a t c h e d with six t h o u s a n d dollars in my h a n d s that n o b o d y hadn't hired m e to take c a r e of. I don't wish to b e mixed u p in n o s u c h b u s i n e s s a s that, I says to myself. W h e n I got d o w n stairs in the m o r n i n g , the parlor w a s s h u t u p , a n d the w a t c h e r s w a s g o n e . T h e r e warn't n o b o d y a r o u n d b u t the family a n d the widow Bartley a n d our tribe. I w a t c h e d their f a c e s to s e e if a n y t h i n g h a d b e e n h a p p e n i n g , b u t I couldn't tell. T o w a r d s the m i d d l e of the day the u n d e r t a k e r c o m e , with his m a n , a n d they set the coffin in the m i d d l e of the r o o m on a c o u p l e of c h a i r s , a n d then set all our c h a i r s in rows, a n d b o r r o w e d m o r e from the n e i g h b o r s till the hall a n d the parlor a n d the dining-room w a s full. I s e e the coffin lid w a s the way it w a s b e f o r e , but I dasn't g o to look in u n d e r it, with folks a r o u n d . T h e n the p e o p l e b e g u n to flock in, a n d the b e a t s a n d the girls took s e a t s in the front row at the h e a d of the coffin, a n d for a half a n h o u r the p e o p l e filed a r o u n d slow, in single rank, a n d looked d o w n at the d e a d m a n ' s f a c e a m i n u t e , a n d s o m e d r o p p e d in a tear, a n d it w a s all very still a n d s o l e m n , only the girls a n d the b e a t s holding h a n d k e r c h i e f s to their eyes a n d k e e p i n g their h e a d s b e n t , a n d s o b b i n g a little. T h e r e warn't n o other s o u n d b u t the s c r a p i n g of the feet o n the floor, a n d blowing n o s e s — b e c a u s e p e o p l e always blows t h e m m o r e at a funeral than they d o at other p l a c e s except c h u r c h . W h e n the p l a c e w a s p a c k e d full, the u n d e r t a k e r h e slid a r o u n d in his b l a c k gloves with his softy s o o t h e r i n g w a y s , p u t t i n g on the last t o u c h e s , a n d getting p e o p l e a n d things all s h i p s h a p e a n d c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d m a k i n g n o m o r e s o u n d than a cat. H e never s p o k e ; he m o v e d p e o p l e a r o u n d , h e s q u e e z e d in late o n e s , h e o p e n e d u p p a s s a g e - w a y s , a n d d o n e it all with n o d s , a n d signs with

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his h a n d s . T h e n h e took his p l a c e over a g a i n s t the wall. H e w a s the softest, glidingest, stealthiest m a n I ever s e e ; a n d there warn't no m o r e smile to h i m than there is to a h a m . T h e y h a d b o r r o w e d a m e l o d e u m ' — a sick o n e ; a n d w h e n everything w a s ready, a y o u n g w o m a n set d o w n a n d worked it, a n d it w a s pretty skreeky a n d colicky, a n d everybody j o i n e d in a n d s u n g , a n d Peter w a s the only o n e that h a d a g o o d thing, a c c o r d i n g to my notion. T h e n the R e v e r e n d H o b s o n o p e n e d u p , slow a n d s o l e m n , a n d b e g u n to talk; a n d straight off the m o s t o u t r a g e o u s row b u s t e d out in the cellar a body ever h e a r d ; it w a s only o n e d o g , but h e m a d e a m o s t powerful r a c k e t , a n d he kept it u p , right along; the p a r s o n he h a d to s t a n d t h e r e , over the coffin, a n d w a i t — y o u couldn't h e a r yourself think. It w a s right down a w k w a r d , a n d n o b o d y didn't s e e m to k n o w what to d o . Rut pretty s o o n they s e e that long-legged u n d e r t a k e r m a k e a sign to the p r e a c h e r a s m u c h a s to say, " D o n ' t you w o r r y — j u s t d e p e n d on m e . " T h e n he s t o o p e d d o w n a n d b e g u n to glide a l o n g the wall, j u s t his s h o u l d e r s s h o w i n g over the p e o p l e ' s h e a d s . S o h e glided along, a n d the pow-wow a n d racket getting m o r e a n d m o r e o u t r a g e o u s all the t i m e ; a n d at last, w h e n he h a d g o n e a r o u n d two sides of the r o o m , h e d i s a p p e a r s d o w n cellar. T h e n , in a b o u t two s e c o n d s we h e a r d a w h a c k , a n d the d o g h e finished u p with a m o s t a m a z i n g howl or two, a n d then everything w a s d e a d still, a n d the p a r s o n b e g u n his s o l e m n talk w h e r e h e left off. In a m i n u t e or two h e r e c o m e s this undertaker's b a c k a n d s h o u l d e r s gliding a l o n g the wall a g a i n ; a n d s o he glided, a n d glided, a r o u n d three sides of the r o o m , a n d then rose u p , a n d s h a d e d his m o u t h with his h a n d s , a n d s t r e t c h e d his n e c k o u t towards the p r e a c h e r , over the people's h e a d s , a n d says, in a kind of a c o a r s e whisper, "He had a rat!" T h e n h e d r o o p e d down a n d glided a l o n g the wall again to his p l a c e . You c o u l d s e e it w a s a great satisfaction to the p e o p l e , b e c a u s e naturally they w a n t e d to know. A little thing like that don't c o s t n o t h i n g , a n d it's j u s t the little things that m a k e s a m a n to be looked u p to a n d liked. T h e r e warn't n o m o r e p o p u l a r m a n in town than what that u n d e r t a k e r w a s . Well, the funeral s e r m o n w a s very g o o d , but p i s o n long a n d t i r e s o m e ; a n d then the king h e shoved in a n d got off s o m e of his u s u a l r u b b a g e , a n d at last the j o b w a s t h r o u g h , a n d the u n d e r t a k e r b e g u n to s n e a k u p on the coffin with his screw-driver. I w a s in a s w e a t t h e n , a n d w a t c h e d h i m pretty k e e n . B u t h e never m e d d l e d at all; j u s t slid the lid a l o n g , a s soft a s m u s h , a n d s c r e w e d it d o w n tight a n d fast. S o there I w a s ! I didn't know w h e t h e r the m o n e y w a s in there, or not. S o , says I, s p o s e s o m e b o d y h a s h o g g e d that b a g o n the s l y ? — n o w h o w do / know w h e t h e r to write to M a r y J a n e or not? ' S p o s e s h e d u g him u p a n d didn't find n o t h i n g — w h a t would s h e think of m e ? B l a m e it, I says, I might get h u n t e d u p a n d j a i l e d ; I'd better lay low a n d k e e p dark, a n d not write at all; the thing's awful m i x e d , now; trying to better it, I've w o r s e n e d it a h u n d r e d t i m e s , a n d I wish to g o o d n e s s I'd j u s t let it a l o n e , d a d fetch the w h o l e b u s i n e s s ! T h e y b u r i e d h i m , a n d we c o m e b a c k h o m e , a n d I went to w a t c h i n g f a c e s a g a i n — I couldn't help it, a n d I c o u l d n ' t rest easy. B u t n o t h i n g c o m e of it; the f a c e s didn't tell m e n o t h i n g . T h e king he visited a r o u n d , in the evening, a n d s w e e t e n e d every body u p , a n d m a d e h i m s e l f ever so friendly; a n d h e give o u t the idea that his c o n g r e 1. A m e l o d e o n , s m a l l k e y b o a r d o r g a n .

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gation over in E n g l a n d would be in a sweat a b o u t h i m , s o h e m u s t hurry a n d settle u p the e s t a t e right away, a n d leave for h o m e . H e w a s very sorry he w a s s o p u s h e d , a n d s o was everybody; they w i s h e d he c o u l d stay longer, b u t they said they c o u l d s e e it couldn't b e d o n e . A n d he said of c o u r s e him a n d William would take the girls h o m e with t h e m ; a n d that p l e a s e d everybody too, b e c a u s e then the girls would b e well fixed, a n d a m o n g s t their own relations; a n d it p l e a s e d the girls, t o o — t i c k l e d t h e m s o they c l e a n forgot they ever h a d a trouble in the world; a n d told him to sell o u t a s q u i c k a s h e w a n t e d to, they would b e ready. T h e m p o o r things w a s that glad a n d h a p p y it m a d e my heart a c h e to s e e t h e m getting fooled a n d lied to s o , b u t I didn't s e e no s a f e way for m e to c h i p in a n d c h a n g e the g e n e r a l t u n e . Well, b l a m e d if the king didn't bill the h o u s e a n d the niggers a n d all the property for a u c t i o n straight o f f — s a l e two days after the funeral; b u t anybody c o u l d buy private b e f o r e h a n d if they w a n t e d to. S o the next day after the funeral, a l o n g a b o u t n o o n t i m e , the g i r l s ' j o y got the first jolt; a c o u p l e of nigger traders c o m e along, a n d the king sold t h e m the niggers r e a s o n a b l e , for three-day d r a f t s 2 a s they called it, a n d away they went, the two s o n s u p the river to M e m p h i s , a n d their m o t h e r d o w n the river to O r l e a n s . I t h o u g h t t h e m p o o r girls a n d t h e m niggers w o u l d b r e a k their hearts for grief; they cried a r o u n d e a c h other, a n d took o n s o it m o s t m a d e m e d o w n sick to s e e it. T h e girls said they hadn't ever d r e a m e d of s e e i n g the family s e p a r a t e d or sold away from the town. I can't ever g e t it o u t of my m e m o r y , the sight of t h e m p o o r m i s e r a b l e girls a n d niggers h a n g i n g a r o u n d e a c h other's n e c k s a n d crying; a n d I reckon I couldn't a s t o o d it all but w o u l d a h a d to b u s t o u t a n d tell o n our g a n g if I hadn't k n o w e d the s a l e warn't n o a c c o u n t a n d the niggers would b e b a c k h o m e in a w e e k or two. T h e thing m a d e a big stir in the town, too, a n d a g o o d m a n y c o m e o u t flatfooted a n d said it w a s s c a n d a l o u s to s e p a r a t e the m o t h e r a n d the children that way. It injured the f r a u d s s o m e ; b u t the old fool he bulled right a l o n g , spite of all the d u k e c o u l d say or d o , a n d I tell you the d u k e w a s powerful uneasy. Next day w a s a u c t i o n day. A b o u t b r o a d - d a y in the m o r n i n g , the king a n d the d u k e c o m e u p in the garret a n d woke m e u p , a n d I s e e by their look that there w a s trouble. T h e king says: " W a s you in my r o o m night before l a s t ? " " N o , your m a j e s t y " — w h i c h w a s the way I always called him w h e n n o b o d y but our g a n g warn't a r o u n d . " W a s you in there yisterday er last n i g h t ? " " N o , your m a j e s t y . " " H o n o r bright, n o w — n o l i e s . " " H o n o r bright, your majesty, I'm telling you the truth. I hain't b e e n a n e a r your r o o m s i n c e M i s s M a r y J a n e took you a n d the d u k e a n d s h o w e d it to you." T h e d u k e says: " H a v e you s e e n anybody else g o in t h e r e ? " " N o , your g r a c e , not as I r e m e m b e r , I b e l i e v e . " " S t o p a n d think." I studied a while, a n d s e e my c h a n c e , then I says: 2.

B a n k drafts or c h e c k s p a y a b l e t h r e e d a y s later.

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"Well, I see the niggers g o in there several t i m e s . " Both of t h e m give a little j u m p ; a n d looked like they hadn't ever e x p e c t e d it, a n d then like they had. T h e n the d u k e s a y s : " W h a t , all of t h e m ? " " N o — l e a s t w a y s not all at o n c e . T h a t is, I don't think 1 ever s e e t h e m all c o m e out at o n c e but j u s t o n e t i m e . " "Hello—when was that?" "It was the day we h a d the funeral. In the m o r n i n g . It warn't early, b e c a u s e I overslept. I w a s j u s t starting d o w n the ladder, a n d I s e e t h e m . " "Well, g o o n , go o n — w h a t did they d o ? How'd they a c t ? " "They didn't do nothing. A n d they didn't act anyway, m u c h , as fur a s I s e e . T h e y tip-toed away; s o I s e e n , e a s y e n o u g h , that they'd s h o v e d in there to d o up your majesty's r o o m , or s o m e t h i n g , s p o s i n g you w a s u p ; a n d f o u n d you warn't u p , a n d so they w a s h o p i n g to slide out of the way of trouble without waking you u p , if they hadn't already w a k e d you u p . " " G r e a t g u n s , this is a g o ! " says the king; a n d both of t h e m looked pretty sick, a n d tolerable silly. T h e y stood there a thinking a n d s c r a t c h i n g their h e a d s , a m i n u t e , a n d then the d u k e he b u s t into a kind of a little raspy c h u c k l e , a n d says: "It d o e s b e a t all, how neat the niggers played their h a n d . T h e y let on to b e sorry they w a s g o i n g out of this region! a n d I believed they was sorry. A n d so did you, a n d so did everybody. Don't ever tell me any m o r e that a nigger ain't got any histrionic talent. Why, the way they played that thing, it would fool anybody. In my opinion there's a f o r t u n e in 'em. If I h a d capital a n d a t h e a t r e , I wouldn't w a n t a better lay out than t h a t — a n d here we've g o n e a n d sold 'em for a s o n g . Yes, a n d ain't privileged to s i n g the s o n g , yet. S a y , w h e r e is that s o n g ? — t h a t draft." "In the b a n k for to be c o l l e c t e d . W h e r e woidd it b e ? " "Well, that's all right t h e n , t h a n k g o o d n e s s . " S a y s I, kind of timid-like: "Is s o m e t h i n g g o n e w r o n g ? " T h e king whirls on m e a n d rips out: " N o n e o' your b u s i n e s s ! You k e e p your h e a d shet, a n d m i n d y'r own affairs—if you got any. L o n g a s you're in this town, don't you forgit that, you h e a r ? " T h e n he says to the d u k e , " W e got to j e s t swaller it, a n d say noth'n: m u m ' s the word for us." As they w a s starting down the ladder, the d u k e he c h u c k l e s a g a i n , a n d says: "Quick sales and small profits! It's a g o o d b u s i n e s s — y e s . " T h e king snarls a r o u n d on him a n d says, "I w a s trying to do for the b e s t , in sellin' 'm o u t s o q u i c k . If the profits h a s turned out to be n o n e , lackin' c o n s i d a b l e , a n d n o n e to carry, is it my fault any more'n it's y o u r n ? " "Well, they'd be in this h o u s e yet, a n d we wouldn't if I c o u l d a got my advice listened t o . " T h e king s a s s e d b a c k , a s m u c h a s w a s s a f e for h i m , a n d then s w a p p e d a r o u n d a n d lit into me a g a i n . H e give m e d o w n the b a n k s * for not c o m i n g a n d telling him I s e e the niggers c o m e o u t of his r o o m a c t i n g that w a y — s a i d 3. A c u s s i n g o u t .

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any fool would a knowed s o m e t h i n g was up. A n d then waltzed in a n d c u s s e d himself a while; a n d s a i d it all c o m e of him not laying late a n d taking his natural rest that m o r n i n g , a n d he'd be b l a m e d if he'd ever do it a g a i n . S o they went off a j a w i n g ; a n d I felt dreadful glad I'd worked it all off o n t o the niggers a n d yet hadn't d o n e the niggers no h a r m by it. Chapter

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By-and-by it w a s getting-up t i m e ; s o I c o m e down the ladder a n d started for down stairs, but a s I c o m e to the girls' r o o m , the d o o r w a s o p e n , a n d I s e e M a r y J a n e setting by her old hair trunk, which w a s o p e n a n d she'd b e e n p a c k i n g things in it—getting ready to go to E n g l a n d . B u t s h e h a d s t o p p e d now, with a folded gown in her lap, a n d h a d her f a c e in her h a n d s , crying. I felt awful b a d to s e e it; of c o u r s e anybody would. I went in there, a n d says: " M i s s M a r y J a n e , you can't a b e a r to see p e o p l e in t r o u b l e , a n d J c a n ' t — m o s t always. Tell m e a b o u t it." S o s h e d o n e it. A n d it w a s the n i g g e r s — I j u s t e x p e c t e d it. S h e said the beautiful trip to E n g l a n d w a s m o s t a b o u t spoiled for her; she didn't know how s h e w a s ever g o i n g to be happy there, knowing the m o t h e r a n d the children warn't ever g o i n g to s e e e a c h other no m o r e — a n d then b u s t e d out bitterer than ever, a n d flung up her h a n d s , a n d says " O h , d e a r , dear, to think they ain't ever g o i n g to s e e e a c h other any m o r e ! " " B u t they will—and inside of two w e e k s — a n d I know it!" says I. L a w s it w a s out before I c o u l d t h i n k ! — a n d b e f o r e I c o u l d b u d g e , s h e throws her a r m s a r o u n d my neck, a n d told m e to say it again, say it again, say it again! I s e e I h a d s p o k e too s u d d e n , a n d said too m u c h , a n d w a s in a c l o s e p l a c e . I a s k e d her to let m e think a m i n u t e ; a n d s h e set t h e r e , very impatient a n d excited, a n d h a n d s o m e , but looking kind of happy a n d e a s e d - u p , like a p e r s o n that's h a d a tooth pulled out. S o I went to studying it out. I says to myself, I reckon a body that ups a n d tells the truth w h e n h e is in a tight p l a c e , is taking c o n s i d e r a b l e many resks, t h o u g h I ain't h a d no e x p e r i e n c e , a n d can't say for certain; but it looks so to m e , anyway; a n d yet here's a c a s e w h e r e I'm blest if it don't look to m e like the truth is better, a n d actuly safer, than a lie. I m u s t lay it by in my m i n d , a n d think it over s o m e time or other, it's so kind of s t r a n g e a n d unregular. I never s e e nothing like it. Well, I says to myself at last, I'm a g o i n g to c h a n c e it; I'll up a n d tell the truth this t i m e , t h o u g h it d o e s s e e m m o s t like setting down on a k a g of p o w d e r a n d t o u c h i n g it off j u s t to s e e w h e r e you'll go to. T h e n I says: " M i s s M a r y J a n e , is there any p l a c e out of town a little ways, w h e r e you c o u l d go a n d stay three or four d a y s ? " "Yes—Mr. Lothrop's. Why?" " N e v e r m i n d why, yet. If I'll tell you how I know the niggers will s e e e a c h other a g a i n — i n s i d e of two w e e k s — h e r e in this h o u s e — a n d prove how I know it—will you go to M r . L o t h r o p ' s a n d stay four d a y s ? " " F o u r d a y s ! " s h e says; "I'll stay a year!" "All right," I says, "I don't want nothing m o r e out of you than j u s t your w o r d — I druther have it than a n o t h e r m a n ' s k i s s - t h e - B i b l e . " S h e s m i l e d , a n d r e d d e n e d up very sweet, a n d I says, "If you don't mind it, I'll s h u t the d o o r — a n d bolt it."

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T h e n I c o m e b a c k a n d set d o w n a g a i n , a n d says: " D o n ' t you holler. J u s t set still, a n d take it like a m a n . I got to tell the truth, a n d you want to b r a c e u p , M i s s M a r y , b e c a u s e it's a b a d kind, a n d g o i n g to b e hard to take, but t h e r e ain't n o help for it. T h e s e u n c l e s of yourn ain't no u n c l e s at all—they're a c o u p l e of f r a u d s — r e g u l a r d e a d - b e a t s . T h e r e , now we're over the worst of i t — y o u c a n s t a n d the rest m i d d l i n g e a s y . " It j o l t e d her u p like everything, of c o u r s e ; b u t I w a s over t h e shoal water now, so I went right along, her eyes a blazing higher a n d higher all t h e t i m e , a n d told her every b l a m e thing, from w h e r e we first s t r u c k that y o u n g fool g o i n g u p to the s t e a m b o a t , clear t h r o u g h to where s h e flung herself o n t o the king's breast at the front d o o r a n d h e kissed her sixteen or s e v e n t e e n t i m e s — a n d then u p s h e j u m p s , with her f a c e afire like s u n s e t , a n d says: have t h e m " T h e b r u t e ! C o m e — d o n ' t w a s t e a m i n u t e — n o t a second—we'll tarred a n d f e a t h e r e d , a n d flung in the river!" 4 S a y s I; "Cert'nly. B u t d o you m e a n , before you g o to M r . L o t h r o p ' s , o r — " " O h , " s h e says, "what a m I thinking a b o u t ! " s h e says, a n d set right d o w n a g a i n . " D o n ' t m i n d what I s a i d — p l e a s e d o n ' t — y o u won't, now, will y o u ? " L a y i n g her silky h a n d on m i n e in that kind of a way that I said I would die first. "I never t h o u g h t , I w a s s o stirred u p , " s h e s a y s ; " n o w go o n , a n d I won't do so any m o r e . You tell m e w h a t to d o , a n d whatever you say, I'll d o it." " W e l l , " I says, "it's a r o u g h g a n g , t h e m two f r a u d s , a n d I'm fixed so I got to travel with t h e m a while longer, w h e t h e r I w a n t to or n o t — I d r u t h e r not tell you w h y — a n d if you w a s to blow on t h e m this town would get m e out of their c l a w s , a n d I'd b e all right, b u t there'd b e a n o t h e r p e r s o n that you don't know a b o u t who'd b e in big trouble. Well, we got to save him, hain't we? O f c o u r s e . Well, then, we won't blow o n t h e m . " S a y i n g t h e m w o r d s p u t a g o o d idea in m y h e a d . I s e e how m a y b e I c o u l d get m e a n d J i m rid of the f r a u d s ; get t h e m j a i l e d h e r e , a n d then leave. B u t I didn't want to r u n the raft in day-time, without anybody a b o a r d to a n s w e r q u e s t i o n s b u t m e ; s o I didn't want the p l a n to b e g i n working till pretty late to-night. I s a y s : " M i s s M a r y J a n e , I'll tell you w h a t we'll d o — a n d you won't have to stay at M r . L o t h r o p ' s so long, nuther. H o w fur is i t ? " "A little short of four m i l e s — r i g h t o u t in t h e country, b a c k h e r e . " "Well, that'll a n s w e r . N o w you go a l o n g out there, a n d lay low till nine or half-past, to-night, a n d then get t h e m to fetch you h o m e a g a i n — t e l l t h e m you've t h o u g h t of s o m e t h i n g . If you get here before e l e v e n , p u t a c a n d l e in this window, a n d if I don't turn u p , wait till eleven, a n d then if I don't turn u p it m e a n s I'm g o n e , a n d o u t of the way, a n d s a f e . T h e n you c o m e o u t a n d s p r e a d the n e w s a r o u n d , a n d get t h e s e b e a t s j a i l e d . " " G o o d , " s h e says, "I'll d o it." "And if it j u s t h a p p e n s s o that I don't get away, b u t get t o o k u p a l o n g with t h e m , you m u s t u p a n d say I told you the w h o l e thing b e f o r e h a n d , a n d you m u s t s t a n d by m e all you c a n . " " S t a n d by y o u , i n d e e d I will. T h e y s h a n ' t t o u c h a hair of your h e a d ! " s h e says, a n d I s e e h e r nostrils s p r e a d a n d her eyes s n a p w h e n s h e s a i d it, too. 4. T h e v i c t i m o f this fairly c o m m o n p l a c e m o b p u n i s h m e n t w a s tied to a rail, s m e a r e d with h o t tar, a n d c o v e r e d with f e a t h e r s . T h e n the victim

w o u l d b e r i d d e n o u t o f t o w n o n t h e rail to t h e j e e r s of the m o b .

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"If I get away, I sha'n't b e h e r e , " I says, "to prove t h e s e r a p s c a l l i o n s ain't your u n c l e s , a n d I couldn't do it if I was h e r e . I c o u l d s w e a r they w a s b e a t s a n d b u m m e r s , that's all; t h o u g h that's worth s o m e t h i n g . W e l l , there's others c a n d o that better than what I c a n — a n d they're p e o p l e that ain't g o i n g to b e d o u b t e d a s q u i c k a s I'd b e . I'll tell you how to find t h e m . G i m m e a pencil a n d a p i e c e of paper. There—'Royal Nonesuch, Bricksville.' P u t it away, a n d don't lose it. W h e n the court w a n t s to find out s o m e t h i n g a b o u t t h e s e two, let t h e m s e n d up to Bricksville a n d say they've got the m e n that played the Royal N o n e s u c h , a n d a s k for s o m e w i t n e s s e s — w h y , you'll have that entire town d o w n here before you c a n hardly wink, M i s s M a r y . A n d they'll c o m e a-biling, t o o . " I j u d g e d we h a d got everything fixed a b o u t right, now. S o I s a y s : " J u s t let the a u c t i o n go right along, a n d don't worry. N o b o d y don't have to pay for the things they buy till a w h o l e day after the a u c t i o n , o n a c c o u n t s of the short n o t i c e , a n d they ain't g o i n g o u t of this till they get that m o n e y — a n d the way we've fixed it the s a l e ain't g o i n g to c o u n t , a n d they ain't g o i n g to get no m o n e y . It's j u s t like the way it w a s with the n i g g e r s — i t warn't n o s a l e , a n d the niggers will b e b a c k before long. Why, they can't collect the m o n e y for the niggers, yet—they're in the worst kind of a fix, M i s s M a r y . " " W e l l , " s h e says, "I'll run d o w n to b r e a k f a s t now, a n d then I'll start straight for Mr. L o t h r o p ' s . " " ' D e e d , that ain't the ticket, M i s s M a r y J a n e , " I says, "by n o m a n n e r of m e a n s ; go before b r e a k f a s t . " "Why?" " W h a t did you reckon I w a n t e d you to go at all for, M i s s M a r y ? " "Well, I never t h o u g h t — a n d c o m e to think, I don't know. W h a t w a s i t ? " "Why, it's b e c a u s e you ain't o n e of t h e s e leather-face p e o p l e . I don't w a n t no better b o o k t h a n w h a t your f a c e is. A body c a n set d o w n a n d read it off like c o a r s e paint. D o you reckon you c a n g o a n d f a c e your u n c l e s , w h e n they c o m e to kiss you g o o d - m o r n i n g , a n d n e v e r — " " T h e r e , there, don't! Yes, I'll go before breakfast—I'll be glad to. A n d leave my sisters with t h e m ? " " Y e s — n e v e r m i n d a b o u t t h e m . They've got to s t a n d it yet a while. T h e y might s u s p i c i o n s o m e t h i n g if all of you w a s to g o . I don't w a n t you to s e e t h e m , nor your sisters, nor nobody in this t o w n — i f a n e i g h b o r w a s to a s k how is your u n c l e s this m o r n i n g , your f a c e would tell s o m e t h i n g . N o , you go right along, M i s s M a r y J a n e , a n d I'll fix it with all of t h e m . I'll tell M i s s S u s a n to give your love to your u n c l e s a n d say you've went away for a few h o u r s for to get a little rest a n d c h a n g e , or to s e e a friend, a n d you'll b e b a c k to-night or early in the m o r n i n g . " " G o n e to s e e a friend is all right, but I won't have my love given to t h e m . " "Well, t h e n , it sha'n't b e . " It w a s well e n o u g h to tell her s o — n o h a r m in it. It w a s only a little thing to d o , a n d no t r o u b l e ; a n d it's the little things that s m o o t h e s people's r o a d s the m o s t , d o w n here below; it would m a k e M a r y J a n e c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d it wouldn't c o s t nothing. T h e n I says: " T h e r e ' s o n e m o r e t h i n g — t h a t b a g of m o n e y . " "Well, they've got that; a n d it m a k e s m e feel pretty silly to think how they got It. " N o , you're out, t h e r e . T h e y hain't got it." "Why, who's got i t ? "

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"I wish I k n o w e d , but 1 don't. I had it, b e c a u s e I stole it from t h e m : a n d I stole it to give to you; a n d I know where I hid it, but I'm afraid it ain't there no m o r e . I'm awful sorry, M i s s M a r y J a n e , I'm j u s t a s sorry a s I c a n b e ; but I d o n e the b e s t I c o u l d ; I did, h o n e s t . I c o m e nigh getting c a u g h t , a n d I h a d to shove it into the first p l a c e I c o m e to, a n d r u n — a n d it warn't a g o o d p l a c e . " " O h , s t o p b l a m i n g yourself—it's too b a d to do it, a n d I won't allow i t — you couldn't help it; it wasn't your fault. W h e r e did you hide i t ? " I didn't want to set her to thinking a b o u t her troubles a g a i n ; a n d I couldn't s e e m to get my m o u t h to tell her what would m a k e her s e e that c o r p s e laying in the coffin with that b a g of m o n e y on his s t o m a c h . S o for a m i n u t e I didn't say n o t h i n g — t h e n I says: "I'd ruther not tell you w h e r e I put it, M i s s M a r y J a n e , if you don't m i n d letting m e off; but I'll write it for you o n a p i e c e of p a p e r , a n d you c a n read it a l o n g the road to M r . L o t h r o p ' s ; if you w a n t to. D o you reckon that'll d o ? " "Oh, yes." S o I wrote: "I p u t it in the coffin. It w a s in there w h e n you w a s crying t h e r e , away in the night. I w a s b e h i n d the door, a n d I w a s mighty sorry for you, M i s s M a r y J a n e . " It m a d e my eyes water a little, to r e m e m b e r her crying there all by herself in the night, a n d t h e m devils laying there right u n d e r her own roof, s h a m i n g her a n d robbing her; a n d w h e n I folded it u p a n d give it to her, I s e e the water c o m e into her eyes, too; a n d she s h o o k m e by the h a n d , hard, a n d says: " G o o d - b y e — I ' m g o i n g to do everything j u s t a s you've told m e ; a n d if I don't ever s e e you a g a i n , I sha'n't ever forget you, a n d I'll think of you a m a n y a n d a m a n y a t i m e , a n d I'll pray for you, t o o ! " — a n d s h e w a s g o n e . Pray for m e ! I r e c k o n e d if she k n o w e d m e she'd take a j o b that w a s m o r e nearer her size. B u t I bet s h e d o n e it, j u s t the s a m e — s h e w a s j u s t that kind. S h e h a d the grit to pray for J u d u s if s h e took the n o t i o n — t h e r e warn't no b a c k d o w n to her, I j u d g e . You m a y say what you want to, but in my opinion she h a d m o r e s a n d in her than any girl I ever s e e ; in my opinion s h e w a s j u s t full of s a n d . ' It s o u n d s like flattery, but it ain't no flattery. A n d w h e n it c o m e s to b e a u t y — a n d g o o d n e s s t o o — s h e lays over t h e m all. I hain't ever s e e n her s i n c e that time that I s e e her go o u t of that d o o r ; n o , I hain't ever s e e n her s i n c e , but I reckon I've thought of her a m a n y a n d a m a n y a million t i m e s , a n d of her saying s h e would pray for m e ; a n d if ever I'd a t h o u g h t it would do any good for m e to pray for her, b l a m e d if I wouldn't a d o n e it or b u s t . Well, M a r y J a n e s h e lit out the b a c k way, I r e c k o n ; b e c a u s e n o b o d y s e e her g o . W h e n I struck S u s a n a n d the hare-lip, I says: " W h a t ' s the n a m e of t h e m p e o p l e over on t'other side of the river that you all g o e s to s e e s o m e t i m e s ? " T h e y says: " T h e r e ' s several; b u t it's the P r o c t o r s , mainly." " T h a t ' s the n a m e , " I says; "I m o s t forgot it. Well, M i s s M a r y J a n e s h e told m e to tell you she's g o n e over there in a dreadful h u r r y — o n e of t h e m ' s s i c k . " "Which one?" "I don't know; leastways I kinder forget; b u t I think i t ' s — " " S a k e s alive, I h o p e it ain't Hanner?" "I'm sorry to say it," I says, " b u t H a n n e r ' s the very o n e . " 5. C o u r a g e , guts.

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" M y g o o d n e s s — a n d s h e so well only last week! Is s h e took b a d ? " "It ain't no n a m e for it. T h e y set up with her all night, M i s s M a r y J a n e said, a n d they don't think she'll last m a n y h o u r s . " "Only think of that, now! W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with her!" I couldn't think of anything r e a s o n a b l e , right off that way, so I says: "Mumps." " M u m p s your granny! T h e y don't set u p with p e o p l e that's got the m u m p s . " " T h e y don't, don't they? You better bet they do with these m u m p s . T h e s e m u m p s is different. It's a n e w kind, M i s s M a r y J a n e s a i d . " " H o w ' s it a new k i n d ? " " B e c a u s e it's mixed up with other t h i n g s . " " W h a t other t h i n g s ? " "Well, m e a s l e s , a n d w h o o p i n g - c o u g h , a n d erysiplas, a n d c o n s u m p t i o n , a n d yaller j a n d e r s , a n d brain fever, a n d I don't know what all." " M y land! A n d they call it the mumps}" "That's what M i s s M a r y J a n e s a i d . " "Well, what in the nation do they call it the mumps f o r ? " "Why, b e c a u s e it is the m u m p s . T h a t ' s w h a t it starts w i t h . " "Well, ther' ain't no s e n s e in it. A body might s t u m p his t o e , a n d take p i s o n , a n d fall d o w n the well, a n d b r e a k his n e c k , a n d b u s t his b r a i n s out, a n d s o m e b o d y c o m e a l o n g a n d a s k w h a t killed him, a n d s o m e n u m s k u l l up a n d say, 'Why, he s t u m p e d his toe.' W o u l d ther' b e any s e n s e in that? N o . And ther' ain't no s e n s e in this, nuther. Is it k e t c h i n g ? " " I s it ketching? Why, how you talk. Is a harrow c a t c h i n g ? — i n the dark? If you don't hitch onto o n e tooth, you're b o u n d to on a n o t h e r , ain't you? And you can't get away with that tooth without fetching the whole harrow along, c a n you? Well, t h e s e kind of m u m p s is a kind of a harrow, a s you m a y s a y — a n d it ain't n o s l o u c h of a harrow, nuther, you c o m e to get it hitched on good." "Well, it's awful, I think," says the hare-lip. "I'll go to U n c l e Harvey a n d — " " O h , y e s , " I says, "I would. O f course I would. I wouldn't lose no t i m e . " "Well, why wouldn't y o u ? " " J u s t look at it a m i n u t e , a n d m a y b e you c a n s e e . Hain't your u n c l e s obleeged to get a l o n g h o m e to E n g l a n d a s fast a s they c a n ? A n d do you reckon they'd b e m e a n e n o u g h to g o off a n d leave you to g o all that j o u r n e y by yourselves? You know they'll wait for you. S o fur, so g o o d . Your u n c l e Harvey's a p r e a c h e r , ain't he? Very well, t h e n ; is a preacher g o i n g to d e c e i v e a s t e a m b o a t clerk? is h e g o i n g to deceive a ship clerk?—so a s to get t h e m to let M i s s M a r y J a n e go a b o a r d ? N o w you know h e ain't. W h a t will h e d o , then? Why, he'll say, 'It's a great pity, but my c h u r c h m a t t e r s h a s got to get a l o n g the b e s t way they c a n ; for my n i e c e h a s b e e n e x p o s e d to the dreadful p l u r i b u s - u n u m 6 m u m p s , a n d s o it's my b o u n d e n duty to set d o w n here a n d wait the three m o n t h s it takes to s h o w o n her if she's got it.' B u t never m i n d , if you think it's b e s t to tell your u n c l e H a r v e y — " " S h u c k s , a n d stay fooling a r o u n d h e r e w h e n we c o u l d all b e having g o o d times in E n g l a n d whilst we w a s waiting to find out w h e t h e r M a r y J a n e ' s got it or not? Why, you talk like a m u g g i n s . " 7 6. H u c k r e a c h e s for t h e h a n d i e s t L a t i n p h r a s e he could be expected to know; m e a n i n g "many-in-

o n e , " t h e p h r a s e is a p p r o p r i a t e , 7. A fool.

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"Well, anyway, m a y b e you better tell s o m e of the n e i g h b o r s . " " L i s t e n at that, now. You d o b e a t all, for n a t u r a l s t u p i d n e s s . C a n ' t you see that they'd go a n d tell? T h e r ' ain't n o way b u t j u s t to not tell anybody at all." "Well, m a y b e you're r i g h t — y e s , I j u d g e you are right." " B u t I reckon we o u g h t to tell U n c l e Harvey she's g o n e out a while, anyway, so he wont b e u n e a s y a b o u t h e r ? " "Yes, M i s s M a r y J a n e s h e w a n t e d you to d o that. S h e says, 'Tell t h e m to give U n c l e Harvey a n d William my love a n d a kiss, a n d say I've run over the river to s e e M r . — M r . — w h a t is the n a m e of that rich family your u n c l e Peter u s e d to think s o m u c h o f ? — I m e a n the o n e t h a t — " "Why, you m u s t m e a n the A p t h o r p s , ain't i t ? " " O f c o u r s e ; b o t h e r t h e m kind of n a m e s , a b o d y can't ever s e e m to r e m e m ber t h e m , half the t i m e , s o m e h o w . Yes, s h e said, say s h e h a s run over for to a s k the A p t h o r p s to b e s u r e a n d c o m e to the a u c t i o n a n d buy this h o u s e , b e c a u s e s h e allowed her u n c l e Peter w o u l d ruther they h a d it than anybody e l s e ; a n d she's g o i n g to stick to t h e m till they say they'll c o m e , a n d t h e n , if she ain't too tired, she's c o m i n g h o m e ; a n d if s h e is, she'll b e h o m e in the m o r n i n g anyway. S h e said, don't say n o t h i n g a b o u t the P r o c t o r s , b u t only a b o u t the A p t h o r p s — w h i c h ' l l b e perfectly t r u e , b e c a u s e s h e is g o i n g there to s p e a k a b o u t their b u y i n g the h o u s e ; I k n o w it, b e c a u s e s h e told m e s o , herself." "All right," they said, a n d c l e a r e d o u t to lay for their u n c l e s , a n d give t h e m the love a n d the k i s s e s , a n d tell t h e m the m e s s a g e . Everything w a s all right now. T h e girls wouldn't say n o t h i n g b e c a u s e they w a n t e d to go to E n g l a n d ; a n d the king a n d the d u k e would ruther M a r y J a n e w a s off working for the a u c t i o n t h a n a r o u n d in r e a c h of D o c t o r R o b i n s o n . I felt very g o o d ; I j u d g e d I h a d d o n e it pretty n e a t — I r e c k o n e d T o m S a w y e r couldn't a d o n e it n o n e a t e r himself. O f c o u r s e h e would a throwed m o r e style into it, b u t I can't d o that very h a n d y , not b e i n g b r u n g u p to it. Well, they held the a u c t i o n in the p u b l i c s q u a r e , a l o n g t o w a r d s the e n d of the a f t e r n o o n , a n d it s t r u n g along, a n d s t r u n g along, a n d the old m a n h e w a s on h a n d a n d looking his level p i o u s e s t , up there l o n g s i d e of the a u c t i o n e e r , a n d c h i p p i n g in a little S c r i p t u r e , n o w a n d t h e n , or a little goody-goody saying, of s o m e kind, a n d the d u k e he w a s a r o u n d g o o - g o o i n g for s y m p a t h y all h e k n o w e d how, a n d j u s t s p r e a d i n g h i m s e l f generly. B u t by-and-by the thing d r a g g e d t h r o u g h , a n d everything w a s sold. Everything b u t a little old trifling lot in the graveyard. S o they'd got to work that off—I never s e e s u c h a girafft a s the king w a s for w a n t i n g to swallow everything. Well, whilst they w a s at it, a s t e a m b o a t l a n d e d , a n d in a b o u t two m i n u t e s u p c o m e s a crowd a w h o o p i n g a n d yelling a n d l a u g h i n g a n d carrying o n , a n d singing out: "Here's your o p p o s i t i o n line! here's your two s e t s o' heirs to old Peter W i l k s — a n d you pays your m o n e y a n d you t a k e s your c h o i c e ! " Chapter

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T h e y w a s fetching a very n i c e looking old g e n t l e m a n a l o n g , a n d a n i c e looking y o u n g e r o n e , with his right a r m in a sling. A n d my s o u l s , h o w the p e o p l e yelled, a n d l a u g h e d , a n d kept it u p . B u t I didn't s e e n o j o k e a b o u t it, a n d I j u d g e d it would strain the d u k e a n d the king s o m e to s e e any. I r e c k o n e d

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they'd turn p a l e . B u t n o , nary a pale did they turn. T h e d u k e h e never let o n he s u s p i c i o n e d what w a s u p , but j u s t went a g o o - g o o i n g a r o u n d , happy a n d satisfied, like a j u g that's googling o u t buttermilk; a n d a s for the king, h e j u s t gazed a n d g a z e d down sorrowful on t h e m n e w c o m e r s like it give him the s t o m a c h - a c h e in his very heart to think there c o u l d be s u c h f r a u d s a n d rascals in the world. O h , h e d o n e it a d m i r a b l e . L o t s of the principal p e o p l e gethered a r o u n d the king, to let him s e e they w a s o n his s i d e . T h a t old g e n t l e m a n that h a d j u s t c o m e looked all puzzled to d e a t h . Pretty s o o n h e b e g u n to s p e a k , a n d I s e e , straight off, h e p r o n o u n c e d like a n E n g l i s h m a n , not the king's way, t h o u g h the king's was pretty g o o d , for a n imitation. I can't give the old gent's w o r d s , nor I can't imitate h i m ; but he t u r n e d a r o u n d to the crowd, a n d says, a b o u t like this: " T h i s is a s u r p r i s e to m e which I wasn't looking for; a n d I'll a c k n o w l e d g e , c a n d i d a n d frank, I ain't very well fixed to m e e t it a n d a n s w e r it; for my brother a n d m e h a s h a d m i s f o r t u n e s , he's broke his a r m , a n d our b a g g a g e got put off at a town a b o v e h e r e , last night in the night by a m i s t a k e . I a m Peter Wilks's brother Harvey, a n d this is his brother William, which can't hear nor s p e a k — a n d can't even m a k e signs to a m o u n t to m u c h , n o w ' t he's only got o n e h a n d to work t h e m with. W e are w h o we say we a r e ; a n d in a day or two, w h e n I get the b a g g a g e , I c a n prove it. B u t , u p till t h e n , I won't say nothing m o r e , but go to the hotel a n d w a i t . " S o him a n d the new d u m m y started off; a n d the king he l a u g h s , a n d blethers out: " B r o k e his arm—very likely ain't i t ? — a n d very c o n v e n i e n t , t o o , for a fraud that's got to m a k e s i g n s , a n d hain't learnt how. L o s t their b a g g a g e ! T h a t ' s mighty g o o d ! — a n d mighty i n g e n i o u s — u n d e r the circumstances!" S o he l a u g h e d a g a i n ; a n d so did everybody e l s e , except three or four, or m a y b e half a d o z e n . O n e of t h e s e w a s that doctor; a n o t h e r o n e w a s a s h a r p looking g e n t l e m a n , with a c a r p e t - b a g of the o l d - f a s h i o n e d kind m a d e o u t of carpet-stuff, that h a d j u s t c o m e off of the s t e a m b o a t a n d w a s talking to him in a low voice, a n d g l a n c i n g towards the king now a n d then a n d n o d d i n g their h e a d s — i t w a s Levi Bell, the lawyer that w a s g o n e u p to Louisville; a n d a n o t h e r o n e w a s a big r o u g h husky that c o m e a l o n g a n d listened to all the old g e n t l e m a n said, a n d w a s listening to the king now. A n d w h e n the king got d o n e , this husky u p a n d says: " S a y , looky h e r e ; if you are Harvey Wilks, when'd you c o m e to this t o w n ? " " T h e day before the funeral, friend," says the king. " B u t what time o' d a y ? " "In the e v e n i n ' — ' b o u t a n h o u r er two before s u n d o w n . " "How'd you c o m e ? " "I c o m e d o w n o n the Susan Powell, from C i n c i n n a t i . " "Well, then, how'd you c o m e to be up at the Pint in the mornin'—in a canoe?" "I warn't u p at the Pint in the m o r n i n ' . " "It's a l i e . " Several of t h e m j u m p e d for him a n d b e g g e d him not to talk that way to an old m a n a n d a p r e a c h e r . " P r e a c h e r be h a n g e d , he's a fraud a n d a lair. H e w a s u p at the Pint that mornin'. I live u p there, don't I? Well, I w a s u p t h e r e , a n d h e w a s up t h e r e . I see him there. H e c o m e in a c a n o e , a l o n g with T i m C o l l i n s a n d a b o y . "

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T h e doctor he u p a n d s a y s : " W o u l d you know the boy again if you w a s to see h i m , H i n e s ? " "I r e c k o n I w o u l d , b u t I don't know. Why, yonder he is, now. I know him perfectly e a s y . " It w a s m e h e p o i n t e d at. T h e d o c t o r s a y s : " N e i g h b o r s . I don't know w h e t h e r the n e w c o u p l e is f r a u d s or not; b u t if these two ain't f r a u d s , I a m a n idiot, that's all. I think it's our duty to s e e that they don't get away from here till we've looked into this thing. C o m e a l o n g , H i n e s ; c o m e along, the rest of y o u . We'll take t h e s e fellows to the tavern a n d affront t h e m with t'other c o u p l e , a n d I reckon we'll find out something b e f o r e we get t h r o u g h . " It w a s n u t s for the c r o w d , t h o u g h m a y b e not for the king's friends; s o we all started. It w a s a b o u t s u n d o w n . T h e d o c t o r he led m e a l o n g by the h a n d , a n d w a s plenty kind e n o u g h , but he never let go my h a n d . W e all got in a big r o o m in the hotel, a n d lit up s o m e c a n d l e s , a n d f e t c h e d in the new c o u p l e . First, the d o c t o r says: "I don't wish to b e too hard on t h e s e two m e n , but / think they're f r a u d s , a n d they may have c o m p l i c e s that we don't know n o t h i n g a b o u t . If they have, won't the c o m p l i c e s get away with that b a g of gold P e t e r Wilks left? It ain't unlikely. If t h e s e m e n ain't f r a u d s , they won't object to s e n d i n g for that m o n e y a n d letting u s keep it till they prove they're all right—ain't that s o ? " Everybody a g r e e d to that. S o I j u d g e d they had our g a n g in a pretty tight p l a c e , right at the outstart. B u t the king h e only looked sorrowful, a n d says: " G e n t l e m e n , I wish the m o n e y w a s there, for I ain't got no disposition to throw anything in the way of a fair, o p e n , o u t - a n d - o u t investigation o' this m i s a b l e b u s i n e s s ; b u t a l a s , the m o n e y ain't t h e r e ; you k'n s e n d a n d s e e , if you w a n t t o . " " W h e r e is it, t h e n ? " "Well, w h e n my niece give it to m e to keep for her, I took a n d hid it inside o' the straw tick o' my b e d , not wishin' to b a n k it for the few days we'd b e here, a n d c o n s i d e r i n ' the b e d a s a f e p l a c e , w e not bein' u s e d to n i g g e r s , a n d s u p p o s ' n ' 'em h o n e s t , like servants in E n g l a n d . T h e niggers stole it the very next m o r n i n ' after I h a d went d o w n stairs; a n d w h e n I sold 'em, I hadn't m i s s e d the m o n e y yit, so they got c l e a n away with it. M y servant here k'n tell you 'bout it g e n t l e m e n . " T h e d o c t o r a n d several said " S h u c k s ! " a n d I s e e n o b o d y didn't altogether believe h i m . O n e m a n a s k e d m e if I s e e the niggers steal it. I said n o , but I s e e t h e m s n e a k i n g out of the r o o m a n d h u s t l i n g away, a n d I never t h o u g h t nothing, only I r e c k o n e d they w a s afraid they h a d waked u p my m a s t e r a n d w a s trying to get away before he m a d e trouble with t h e m . T h a t w a s all they a s k e d m e . T h e n the d o c t o r whirls o n m e a n d says: "Are you E n g l i s h t o o ? " I says yes; a n d him a n d s o m e o t h e r s l a u g h e d , a n d s a i d , " S t u f f ! " Well, then they sailed in on the general investigation, a n d t h e r e we h a d it, u p a n d d o w n , h o u r in, h o u r o u t , a n d n o b o d y never said a word a b o u t s u p p e r , nor ever s e e m e d to think a b o u t i t — a n d s o they kept it u p , a n d kept it u p ; a n d it was the worst m i x e d - u p thing you ever s e e . T h e y m a d e the king tell his yarn, a n d they m a d e the old g e n t l e m a n tell his'n; a n d a n y b o d y but a lot of p r e j u d i c e d c h u c k l e h e a d s would a seen that the old g e n t l e m a n w a s s p i n n i n g truth a n d t'other o n e lies. A n d by-and-by they h a d m e u p to tell

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what I k n o w e d . T h e king he give m e a left-handed look out of the c o r n e r of his eye, a n d so I knowed e n o u g h to talk on the right side. I b e g u n to tell a b o u t Sheffield, a n d how we lived there, a n d all a b o u t the E n g l i s h W i l k s e s , a n d so o n ; but I didn't get pretty fur till the doctor b e g u n to l a u g h ; a n d Levi Bell, the lawyer says: " S e t d o w n , my boy, I wouldn't strain myself, if I w a s you. I reckon you ain't u s e d to lying, it don't s e e m to c o m e handy; w h a t you w a n t is p r a c t i c e . You do it pretty a w k w a r d . " I didn't c a r e n o t h i n g for the c o m p l i m e n t , but I w a s glad to be let off, anyway. T h e d o c t o r he started to say s o m e t h i n g , a n d turns a n d says: "If you'd b e e n in town at first, Levi B e l l — " T h e king broke in a n d r e a c h e d out his h a n d , a n d says: "Why, is this my p o o r d e a d brother's old friend that he's wrote so often about?" T h e lawyer a n d him s h o o k h a n d s , a n d the lawyer s m i l e d a n d looked p l e a s e d , a n d they talked right along a while, a n d then got to o n e s i d e a n d talked low; a n d at last the lawyer s p e a k s u p a n d says: "That'll fix it. I'll take the order a n d s e n d it, a l o n g with your brother's, a n d then they'll know it's all right." S o they got s o m e p a p e r a n d a p e n , a n d the king h e set d o w n a n d twisted his h e a d to o n e s i d e , a n d c h a w e d his t o n g u e , a n d s c r a w l e d off s o m e t h i n g ; a n d then they give the p e n to the d u k e — a n d then for the first t i m e , the d u k e looked sick. B u t he took the p e n a n d wrote. S o then the lawyer t u r n s to the new old g e n t l e m a n a n d says: "You a n d your brother p l e a s e write a line or two a n d sign your n a m e s . " T h e old g e n t l e m a n wrote, but nobody couldn't r e a d it. T h e lawyer looked powerful a s t o n i s h e d , a n d says: "Well, it b e a t s me"—and s n a k e d a lot of old letters o u t of his p o c k e t , a n d e x a m i n e d t h e m , a n d then e x a m i n e d the old m a n ' s writing, a n d then them a g a i n ; a n d then says: " T h e s e old letters is from Harvey W i l k s ; a n d here's these two's h a n d w r i t i n g s , a n d anybody c a n s e e they didn't write t h e m " (the king a n d the d u k e looked sold a n d foolish, I tell you, to s e e how the lawyer h a d took t h e m i n ) , " a n d here's this old g e n t l e m a n ' s handwriting, a n d anybody c a n tell, easy e n o u g h , he didn't write t h e m — f a c t is, the s c r a t c h e s h e m a k e s ain't properly writing, at all. N o w here's s o m e letters f r o m — " T h e n e w old g e n t l e m a n s a y s : "If you p l e a s e , let m e explain. N o b o d y c a n read my h a n d but my brother t h e r e — s o he c o p i e s for m e . It's his h a n d you've got there, not m i n e . " "Well!" says the lawyer, "this is a s t a t e of things. I've got s o m e of William's letters too; so if you'll get him to write a line or s o we c a n c o m — " " H e can't write with his left h a n d , " says the old g e n t l e m a n . "If he c o u l d u s e his right h a n d , you would s e e that h e wrote his own letters a n d mine too. L o o k at b o t h , p l e a s e — t h e y ' r e by the s a m e h a n d . " T h e lawyer d o n e it, a n d says: "I believe it's s o — a n d if it ain't s o , there's a h e a p s t r o n g e r r e s e m b l a n c e than I'd noticed b e f o r e , anyway. Well, well, well! I t h o u g h t we w a s right on the track of a slution, but it's g o n e to g r a s s , partly. B u t anyway, one thing is proved—these two ain't either of 'em W i l k s e s " — a n d he w a g g e d his h e a d towards the king a n d the d u k e .

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Well, what do you t h i n k ? — t h a t m u l e h e a d e d old fool wouldn't give in then! I n d e e d h e wouldn't. S a i d it warn't n o fair test. S a i d his brother W i l l i a m w a s the c u s s e d e s t j o k e r in the world, a n d hadn't tried to write—he s e e W i l l i a m w a s g o i n g to play o n e of his j o k e s the m i n u t e h e p u t the p e n to p a p e r . A n d so he w a r m e d u p a n d went warbling a n d warbling right a l o n g , till h e w a s actuly b e g i n n i n g to believe what h e w a s saying, himself—but pretty s o o n the new old g e n t l e m a n broke in, a n d says: "I've t h o u g h t of s o m e t h i n g . Is there a n y b o d y h e r e that h e l p e d to lay out my b r — h e l p e d to lay o u t the late P e t e r Wilks for b u r y i n g ? " " Y e s , " says s o m e b o d y , " m e a n d A b T u r n e r d o n e it. W e ' r e b o t h h e r e . " T h e n the old m a n turns towards the king, a n d s a y s : " P e r a p s this g e n t l e m a n c a n tell m e w h a t w a s t a t o o e d on his b r e a s t ? " B l a m e d if the king didn't have to b r a c e u p mighty quick, or he'd a s q u s h e d d o w n like a bluff b a n k that the river h a s c u t u n d e r , it t o o k h i m so s u d d e n — a n d m i n d you, it w a s a thing that w a s c a l c u l a t e d to m a k e m o s t anybody s q u s h to get f e t c h e d s u c h a solid o n e a s that without any n o t i c e — b e c a u s e how w a s he g o i n g to k n o w what w a s t a t o o e d o n the m a n ? H e w h i t e n e d a little; h e couldn't help it; a n d it w a s mighty still in t h e r e , a n d everybody b e n d i n g a little forwards a n d gazing at h i m . S a y s I to myself, Now he'll throw u p the s p o n g e — t h e r e ain't n o m o r e u s e . W e l l , did he? A body can't hardly believe it, b u t h e didn't. I reckon h e t h o u g h t he'd k e e p the t h i n g u p till he tired t h e m p e o p l e out, s o they'd thin o u t , a n d him a n d the d u k e c o u l d b r e a k l o o s e a n d get away. Anyway, h e set t h e r e , a n d pretty s o o n h e b e g u n to s m i l e , a n d s a y s : "Mf! It's a very t o u g h q u e s t i o n , ain't it! Yes, sir, I k'n tell you what's t a t o o e d on his b r e a s t . It's j e s t a s m a l l , thin, b l u e a r r o w — t h a t ' s what it is; a n d if you don't look clost, you can't s e e it. Now w h a t do you s a y — h e y ? " Well, / never s e e anything like that old blister for c l e a n o u t - a n d - o u t c h e e k . T h e n e w old g e n t l e m a n turns brisk towards Ab T u r n e r a n d his p a r d , a n d his eye lights u p like h e j u d g e d he'd got the king this t i m e , a n d says: " T h e r e — y o u ' v e h e a r d w h a t he said! W a s there any s u c h m a r k o n Peter Wilks's b r e a s t ? " B o t h of t h e m s p o k e u p a n d says: " W e didn't s e e no s u c h m a r k . " " G o o d ! " says the old g e n t l e m a n . " N o w , what you did s e e o n his b r e a s t w a s a small d i m P, a n d a B (which is a n initial he d r o p p e d w h e n h e w a s y o u n g ) , a n d a W, with d a s h e s b e t w e e n t h e m , s o : P — B — W " — a n d h e m a r k e d t h e m that way on a p i e c e of p a p e r . " C o m e — a i n ' t that w h a t you s a w ? " B o t h of t h e m s p o k e u p a g a i n , a n d s a y s : " N o , we didn't. W e never s e e n any m a r k s at a l l . " Well, everybody was in a s t a t e of m i n d , now; a n d they sings o u t : " T h e w h o l e bilin o f ' m ' s f r a u d s ! L e ' s d u c k 'em! le's drown 'em! le's ride 'em o n a rail!" a n d everybody w a s w h o o p i n g at o n c e , a n d there w a s a rattling pow-wow. B u t the lawyer h e j u m p s on the table a n d yells, a n d s a y s : " G e n t l e m e n — g e n t l e m e n . ' H e a r m e j u s t a w o r d — j u s t a single w o r d — i f you P L E A S E ! T h e r e ' s o n e way yet—let's go a n d dig up the c o r p s e a n d l o o k . " T h a t took t h e m . " H o o r a y ! " they all s h o u t e d , a n d w a s starting right off; b u t the lawyer a n d the d o c t o r s u n g out: " H o l d o n , hold on! C o l l a r all t h e s e four m e n a n d the boy, a n d fetch them along, t o o ! "

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"We'll do it!" they all s h o u t e d : " a n d if we don't find t h e m m a r k s we'll lynch the whole g a n g ! " I was s c a r e d , now, I tell y o u . B u t there warn't no getting away, you know. T h e y gripped u s all, a n d m a r c h e d u s right along, straight for the graveyard, which w a s a mile a n d a half d o w n the river, a n d the w h o l e town at our h e e l s , for we m a d e n o i s e e n o u g h , a n d it w a s only nine in the evening. As we went by our h o u s e I w i s h e d I hadn't sent M a r y J a n e o u t of town; b e c a u s e now if I c o u l d tip her the wink, she'd light o u t a n d save m e , a n d blow on our d e a d - b e a t s . Well, we s w a r m e d a l o n g down the river road, j u s t carrying o n like wildc a t s ; a n d to m a k e it m o r e scary, the sky w a s darking u p , a n d the lightning b e g i n n i n g to wink a n d flitter, a n d the wind to shiver a m o n g s t the leaves. T h i s w a s the m o s t awful trouble a n d m o s t d a n g e r s o m e I ever w a s in; a n d I w a s kinder s t u n n e d ; everything w a s going s o different from w h a t I h a d allowed for; s t e a d of b e i n g fixed so I c o u l d take my own t i m e , if I w a n t e d to, a n d s e e all the fun, a n d have M a r y J a n e at my b a c k to save m e a n d set m e free w h e n the close-fit c o m e , here w a s n o t h i n g in the world betwixt m e a n d s u d d e n d e a t h b u t j u s t t h e m t a t o o - m a r k s . If they didn't find t h e m — I couldn't b e a r to think a b o u t it; a n d yet, s o m e h o w , I c o u l d n ' t think a b o u t nothing e l s e . It got darker a n d darker, a n d it w a s a beautiful time to give the crowd the slip; b u t that big husky h a d m e by the w r i s t — H i n e s — a n d a body might a s well try to give G o l i a r 8 the slip. H e d r a g g e d m e right a l o n g , he w a s so excited; a n d I h a d to run to k e e p u p . W h e n they got there they s w a r m e d into the graveyard a n d w a s h e d over it like an overflow. A n d w h e n they got to the grave, they f o u n d they h a d a b o u t a h u n d r e d times a s m a n y shovels a s they w a n t e d , b u t n o b o d y hadn't t h o u g h t to f e t c h a lantern. B u t they sailed into digging, anyway, by the flicker of the lightning, a n d s e n t a m a n to the n e a r e s t h o u s e a half a mile off, to b o r r o w one. S o they d u g a n d d u g , like everything; a n d it got awful dark, a n d the rain started, a n d the wind s w i s h e d a n d s w u s h e d along, a n d the lightning c o m e brisker a n d brisker, a n d the t h u n d e r b o o m e d ; b u t t h e m p e o p l e never took n o notice of it, they w a s so full of this b u s i n e s s ; a n d o n e m i n u t e you c o u l d s e e everything a n d every f a c e in that big c r o w d , a n d the shovelfuls of dirt sailing u p o u t of the grave, a n d the next s e c o n d the dark w i p e d it all out, a n d you c o u l d n ' t s e e nothing at all. At last they got o u t the coffin, a n d b e g u n to u n s c r e w the lid, a n d then s u c h a n o t h e r crowding, a n d s h o u l d e r i n g , a n d shoving as t h e r e w a s , to s c r o u g e in a n d get a sight, you never s e e ; a n d in the dark, that way, it w a s awful. H i n e s h e hurt my wrist dreadful, pulling a n d t u g g i n g s o , a n d I r e c k o n h e c l e a n forgot I w a s in the world, h e w a s s o excited a n d p a n t i n g . All of a s u d d e n the lightning let go a perfect s l u i c e of white glare, a n d s o m e b o d y sings out: " B y the living j i n g o , here's the b a g of gold on his b r e a s t ! " H i n e s let out a w h o o p , like everybody e l s e , a n d d r o p p e d my wrist a n d give a big s u r g e to b u s t his way in a n d get a look, a n d the way I lit o u t a n d s h i n n e d for the r o a d in the dark, there ain't n o b o d y c a n tell. 8.

Goliath, a Philistine giant w h o c h a l l e n g e d the Israelites. David, a y o u n g s h e p h e r d boy, a c c e p t e d

c h a l l e n g e a n d killed h i m with a s t o n e t h r o w n f r o m a sling.

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I h a d the r o a d all to myself, a n d I fairly flew—leastways I h a d it all to myself except the solid dark, a n d the now-and-then g l a r e s , a n d the b u z z i n g of the rain, a n d the thrashing of the wind, a n d the splitting of the t h u n d e r ; a n d s u r e as you a r e born I did clip it along! W h e n I s t r u c k the town, I s e e there warn't n o b o d y o u t in the s t o r m , s o I never h u n t e d for no back streets, but h u m p e d it straight t h r o u g h the m a i n o n e ; a n d w h e n I b e g u n to get towards o u r h o u s e I a i m e d my eye a n d set it. N o light t h e r e ; the h o u s e all d a r k — w h i c h m a d e m e feel sorry a n d d i s a p p o i n t e d , I didn't know why. B u t at last, j u s t a s I w a s sailing by, flash c o m e s the light in M a r y J a n e ' s window! a n d my heart swelled u p s u d d e n , like to b u s t ; a n d the s a m e s e c o n d the h o u s e a n d all was b e h i n d m e in the dark, a n d wasn't ever g o i n g to be before m e n o m o r e in this world. S h e was the b e s t girl I ever s e e , a n d h a d the m o s t s a n d . T h e m i n u t e I w a s far e n o u g h a b o v e the town to s e e I c o u l d m a k e the towh e a d , I b e g u n to look s h a r p for a b o a t to borrow; a n d the first t i m e the lightning s h o w e d m e o n e that wasn't c h a i n e d , I s n a t c h e d it a n d s h o v e d . It w a s a c a n o e , a n d warn't f a s t e n e d with n o t h i n g but a r o p e . T h e tow-head w a s a rattling big d i s t a n c e off, away out there in the m i d d l e of t h e river, b u t I didn't lose no t i m e ; a n d when I struck the raft at last, I w a s so f a g g e d I would a j u s t laid d o w n to blow a n d g a s p if I c o u l d afforded it. B u t I didn't. A s I s p r u n g a b o a r d I s u n g out: " O u t with you J i m , a n d set her l o o s e ! Glory be to g o o d n e s s , we're s h u t of them!" J i m lit out, a n d w a s a c o m i n g for m e with both a r m s s p r e a d , h e w a s so full of joy; but w h e n I g l i m p s e d him in the lightning, my heart shot up in my m o u t h , a n d I went overboard b a c k w a r d s ; for I forgot he w a s old K i n g L e a r a n d a d r o w n d e d A-rab all in o n e , a n d it m o s t s c a r e d the livers a n d lights o u t of m e . B u t J i m fished m e out, a n d w a s g o i n g to h u g m e a n d b l e s s m e , a n d so on, h e w a s s o glad I was b a c k a n d we w a s s h u t of the king a n d the d u k e , b u t I says: " N o t n o w — h a v e it for b r e a k f a s t , have it for b r e a k f a s t ! C u t l o o s e a n d let her s l i d e ! " S o , in two s e c o n d s , away w e w e n t , a sliding d o w n the river, a n d it did s e e m so g o o d to be free again a n d all by o u r s e l v e s o n the big river a n d n o b o d y to b o t h e r u s . I h a d to skip a r o u n d a bit, a n d j u m p u p a n d c r a c k my heels a few t i m e s , I couldn't help it; b u t a b o u t the third c r a c k , I n o t i c e d a s o u n d that I k n o w e d mighty w e l l — a n d held my b r e a t h a n d listened a n d w a i t e d — a n d s u r e e n o u g h , w h e n the next flash b u s t e d o u t over the water, h e r e they c o m e ! — a n d j u s t a laying to their oars a n d m a k i n g their skiff h u m ! It w a s the king a n d the d u k e . S o I wilted right d o w n onto the p l a n k s , t h e n , a n d give u p ; a n d it w a s all I c o u l d do to k e e p from crying. Chapter

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W h e n they got a b o a r d , the king went for m e , a n d s h o o k m e by the collar, a n d says: "Tryin' to give u s the slip, w a s ye, you p u p ! T i r e d of our c o m p a n y — h e y ! " I says: " N o , your majesty, we warn't—please don't, your m a j e s t y ! "

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"Quick, t h e n , a n d tell u s what was your i d e a , or I'll s h a k e the insides out o you! " H o n e s t , I'll tell you everything, j u s t as it h a p p e n e d , your majesty. T h e m a n that h a d aholt of m e w a s very g o o d to m e , a n d kept saying he h a d a boy a b o u t as big as m e that died last year, a n d he w a s sorry to s e e a boy in s u c h a d a n g e r o u s fix; a n d w h e n they w a s all took by s u r p r i s e by finding the gold, a n d m a d e a r u s h for the coffin, he lets go of m e a n d w h i s p e r s , 'Heel it, now, or they'll h a n g ye, s u r e ! ' a n d I lit out. It didn't s e e m no g o o d for me to s t a y — I couldn't do nothing, a n d I didn't want to be h u n g if I c o u l d get away. S o I never s t o p p e d running till I f o u n d the c a n o e ; a n d when I got here I told J i m to hurry, or they'd c a t c h m e a n d h a n g m e yet, a n d said I w a s a f e a r d you a n d the d u k e wasn't alive, now, a n d I w a s awful sorry, a n d so w a s J i m , a n d w a s awful glad w h e n we s e e you c o m i n g , you m a y a s k J i m if I d i d n ' t . " J i m said it w a s s o ; a n d the king told him to s h u t u p , a n d said, " O h , yes, it's mighty likely!" a n d s h o o k m e up a g a i n , a n d said he r e c k o n e d he'd d r o w n d e d m e . B u t the d u k e says: " L e g g o the boy, you old idiot! W o u l d you a d o n e any different? Did you inquire a r o u n d for him, w h e n you got l o o s e ? / don't r e m e m b e r it." S o the king let go of m e , a n d b e g u n to c u s s that town a n d everybody in it. B u t the d u k e says: "You better a b l a m e sight give yourself a good c u s s i n g , for you're the o n e that's entitled to it m o s t . You hain't d o n e a thing, from the start, that h a d any s e n s e in it, except c o m i n g out so cool a n d c h e e k y with that imaginary blue-arrow mark. T h a t was bright—it w a s right d o w n bully; a n d it w a s the thing that saved u s . F o r if it hadn't b e e n for that, they'd a j a i l e d u s till t h e m E n g l i s h m e n ' s b a g g a g e c o m e — a n d t h e n — t h e penitentiary, you bet! B u t that trick took 'em to the graveyard, a n d the gold d o n e us a still bigger k i n d n e s s ; for if the excited fools hadn't let go all holts a n d m a d e that rush to get a look, we'd a slept in our cravats t o - n i g h t — c r a v a t s w a r r a n t e d to wear, t o o — l o n g e r than we'd n e e d ' e m . " T h e y w a s still a m i n u t e — t h i n k i n g — t h e n the king says, kind of a b s e n t m i n d e d like: "Mf! A n d we r e c k o n e d the niggers stole it!" That made me squirm! " Y e s , " says the d u k e , kinder slow, a n d deliberate, a n d s a r c a s t i c , "We d i d . " After a b o u t a half a m i n u t e , the king drawls out: "Leastways—J did." T h e d u k e says, the s a m e way: " O n the c o n t r a r y — J d i d . " T h e king kind of ruffles u p , a n d s a y s : " L o o k y h e r e , Bilgewater, what'r you referrin' t o ? " T h e d u k e says, pretty brisk: " W h e n it c o m e s to that, m a y b e vou'll let m e ask, w h a t w a s you referring to?" " S h u c k s ! " says the king, very s a r c a s t i c ; " b u t I don't k n o w — m a y b e you w a s a s l e e p , a n d didn't know what you w a s a b o u t . " T h e d u k e bristles right u p , now, a n d says: " O h , let up on this c u s s e d n o n s e n s e — d o you take m e for a b l a m e ' fool? Don't you reckon / know w h o hid that m o n e y in that c o f f i n ? " "Yes, sir! I know you do k n o w — b e c a u s e you d o n e it yourself!"

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"It's a l i e ! " — a n d the d u k e went for h i m . T h e king sings out: " T a k e y'r h a n d s o f f ! — l e g g o my t h r o a t ! — I take it all b a c k ! " T h e d u k e says: "Well, you j u s t own u p , first, that you did hide that m o n e y there, i n t e n d i n g to give m e the slip o n e of t h e s e days, a n d c o m e b a c k a n d dig it u p , a n d have it all to yourself." " W a i t j e s t a m i n u t e , d u k e — a n s w e r m e this o n e q u e s t i o n , h o n e s t a n d fair; if you didn't put the m o n e y there, say it, a n d I'll b'lieve you, a n d take b a c k everything I s a i d . " "You old s c o u n d r e l , I didn't, a n d you k n o w I didn't. T h e r e , n o w ! " "Well, t h e n , I b'lieve y o u . B u t a n s w e r m e only j e s t this o n e m o r e — n o w don't git m a d ; didn't you have it in your mind to h o o k the m o n e y a n d hide it?" T h e d u k e never said n o t h i n g for a little bit; then h e says: " W e l l — I don't c a r e if I did, I didn't do it, anyway. B u t you not only h a d it in m i n d to d o it, b u t you done it." "I wisht I m a y never die if I d o n e it, d u k e , a n d that's h o n e s t . I won't say I warn't goin to do it, b e c a u s e I was; b u t y o u — I m e a n s o m e b o d y — g o t in a h e a d o' m e . " "It's a lie! You d o n e it, a n d you got to say you d o n e it, o r — " T h e king b e g u n to g u r g l e , a n d then h e g a s p s out: " ' N o u g h ! — I own up!" I w a s very glad to h e a r him say that, it m a d e m e feel m u c h m o r e e a s i e r t h a n what I w a s feeling b e f o r e . S o the d u k e took his h a n d s off, a n d says: "If you ever deny it a g a i n , I'll drown y o u . It's well for you to set there a n d b l u b b e r like a b a b y — i t ' s fitten for you, after the way you've a c t e d . I never s e e s u c h an old ostrich for w a n t i n g to g o b b l e e v e r y t h i n g — a n d I a trusting you all the t i m e , like you w a s my own father. You o u g h t to be a s h a m e d of yourself to s t a n d by a n d hear it s a d d l e d o n t o a lot of p o o r niggers a n d you never say a word for 'em. It m a k e s m e feel r i d i c u l o u s to think I w a s soft e n o u g h to believe that r u b b a g e . C u s s you, I c a n s e e , now, why you w a s s o anxious to m a k e u p the d e f f e s i t — y o u w a n t e d to get w h a t m o n e y I'd got o u t of the N o n e s u c h a n d o n e thing or a n o t h e r , a n d s c o o p it all!" T h e king says, timid, a n d still a snuffling: "Why, d u k e , it w a s you that s a i d m a k e u p the deffersit, it warn't m e . " "Dry u p ! I don't want to h e a r no m o r e owt of y o u ! " says the d u k e . " A n d now you s e e w h a t you got by it. They've got all their own m o n e y b a c k , a n d all of ourn b u t a shekel or two, besides. G ' l o n g to b e d — a n d don't y o u deffersit me no m o r e deffersits, l o n g ' s you live!" S o the king s n e a k e d into the w i g w a m , a n d t o o k to his bottle for c o m f o r t ; a n d before long the d u k e t a c k l e d his b o t t l e ; a n d s o in a b o u t a half a n h o u r they w a s a s thick a s thieves a g a i n , a n d the tighter they got, the lovinger they got; a n d went off a s n o r i n g in e a c h other's a r m s . T h e y both got powerful mellow, b u t I noticed the king didn't get mellow e n o u g h to forget to r e m e m ber to not deny a b o u t hiding the m o n e y - b a g a g a i n . T h a t m a d e m e feel e a s y a n d satisfied. O f c o u r s e w h e n they got to s n o r i n g , we h a d a l o n g g a b b l e , a n d I told J i m everything. •

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W e dasn't stop again at any town, for days a n d d a y s ; kept right a l o n g d o w n the river. W e w a s d o w n s o u t h in the w a r m w e a t h e r , now, a n d a mighty long ways from h o m e . W e b e g u n to c o m e to trees with S p a n i s h m o s s o n t h e m , h a n g i n g down from the l i m b s like long gray b e a r d s . It w a s the first I ever s e e it growing, a n d it m a d e the w o o d s look s o l e m n a n d d i s m a l . S o n o w the f r a u d s r e c k o n e d they w a s out of d a n g e r , a n d they b e g u n to work the villages a g a i n . First they d o n e a lecture o n t e m p e r a n c e ; b u t they didn't m a k e e n o u g h for t h e m both to get d r u n k o n . T h e n in a n o t h e r village they started a d a n c i n g s c h o o l ; but they didn't know n o m o r e h o w to d a n c e than a k a n g a r o o d o e s ; so the first p r a n c e they m a d e , the g e n e r a l p u b l i c j u m p e d in a n d p r a n c e d t h e m o u t of town. A n o t h e r time they tried a go at yellocution; b u t they didn't yellocute long till the a u d j e n c e got u p a n d give tfiem a solid g o o d c u s s i n g a n d m a d e t h e m skip out. T h e y tackled m i s s i o n a r y i n g , a n d m e s m e r i z e r i n g , a n d doctoring, a n d telling f o r t u n e s , a n d a little of everything; but they couldn't s e e m to have n o luck. S o at last they got j u s t a b o u t d e a d broke, a n d laid a r o u n d the raft, a s s h e fjoated along, thinking, a n d thinking, a n d never saying n o t h i n g , by the half a day at a t i m e , a n d dreadful b l u e a n d d e s p e r a t e . A n d at last they took a c h a n g e , a n d b e g u n to lay their h e a d s together in the w i g w a m a n d talk low a n d confidential two or three h o u r s at a t i m e . J i m a n d m e got u n e a s y . W e didn't like the look of it. W e j u d g e d they w a s s t u d y i n g u p s o m e kind of w o r s e deviltry t h a n ever. W e t u r n e d it over a n d over, a n d at last we m a d e u p our m i n d s they w a s g o i n g to b r e a k into s o m e b o d y ' s h o u s e or store, or w a s g o i n g into the c o u n t e r f e i t - m o n e y b u s i n e s s , or s o m e t h i n g . S o then we w a s pretty s c a r e d , a n d m a d e u p a n a g r e e m e n t that we wouldn't have nothing in the world to d o with s u c h a c t i o n s , a n d if w e ever got the least s h o w we would give t h e m the cold s h a k e , a n d clear o u t a n d leave t h e m b e h i n d . Well, early o n e m o r n i n g we hid the raft in a g o o d s a f e p l a c e a b o u t two mile b e l o w a little bit of a s h a b b y village, n a m e d Pikesvillp, a n d the king he went a s h o r e , a n d told u s all to stay hid whilst he went u p to town a n d s m e l t a r o u n d to s e e if anybody h a d got any wind of the Royal N o n e s u c h there yet. ( " H o u s e to rob, you mean," says I to myself; " a n d w h e n you get t h r o u g h r o b b i n g it you'll c o m e b a c k h e r e a n d w o n d e r what's b e c o m e of m e a n d J i m a n d the r a f t — a n d you'll have to take it o u t in w o n d e r i n g . " ) A n d h e said if he warn't b a c k by m i d d a y , the d u k e a n d m e w o u l d know it w a s all right, a n d we w a s to c o m e a l o n g . S o we staid where w e w a s . T h e d u k e h e fretted a n d s w e a t e d a r o u n d , a n d w a s in a mighty s o u r way. H e s c o l d e d u s for everything, a n d we c o u l d n ' t s e e m to d o nothing right; he f o u n d fault with every little thing. S o m e t h i n g w a s a-brewing, s u r e . I w a s g o o d a n d glad w h e n m i d d a y c o m e a n d no king; we c o u l d have a c h a n g e , a n y w a y — a n d m a y b e a c h a n c e for the c h a n g e , o n top of it. S o m e a n d the d u k e went u p to the village, a n d h u n t e d a r o u n d there for the king, a n d by-and-by we f o u n d h i m in the b a c k r o o m of a little low doggery, 9 very tight, a n d a Jot of loafers bullyragging him for sport, a n d he a c u s s i n g a n d t h r e a t e n i n g with all his might, a n d s o tight h e couldn't walk, a n d couldn't do n o t h i n g to t h e m . T h e d u k e he b e g u n to a b u s e him for a n old fool, a n d the king b e g u n to s a s s b a c k ; a n d the m i n u t e they w a s fairly 9.

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at it, I lit o u t , a n d s h o o k the reefs out of my hind legs, a n d s p u n d o w n the river r o a d like a d e e r — f o r I s e e o u r c h a n c e ; a n d I m a d e u p my m i n d that it would b e a long day before they ever s e e m e a n d J i m a g a i n . I got d o w n t h e r e all o u t of b r e a t h but l o a d e d u p with joy, a n d s u n g o u t — " S e t her l o o s e , J i m , we're all right, n o w ! " B u t there warn't n o a n s w e r , a n d n o b o d y c o m e out of the w i g w a m . J i m w a s g o n e ! I set u p a s h o u t — a n d then a n o t h e r — a n d then a n o t h e r o n e ; a n d run this way a n d that in the w o o d s , w h o o p i n g a n d s c r e e c h i n g ; b u t it warn't n o u s e — o l d J i m w a s g o n e . T h e n I set d o w n a n d cried; I couldn't h e l p it. B u t I couldn't set still long. Pretty s o o n I went o u t on the r o a d , trying to think what I better d o , a n d I run a c r o s s a boy walking, a n d a s k e d him if he'd s e e n a s t r a n g e nigger, d r e s s e d so a n d s o , a n d h e says: "Yes." " W h e r e a b o u t s ? " says I. " D o w n to S i l a s P h e l p s ' s p l a c e , two m i l e b e l o w h e r e . H e ' s a r u n a w a y nigger, a n d they've got h i m . W a s you looking for h i m ? " "You bet I ain't! I run a c r o s s him in the w o o d s a b o u t a n h o u r or two a g o , a n d he said if I hollered he'd c u t my livers o u t — a n d told m e to lay d o w n a n d stay w h e r e I w a s ; a n d I d o n e it. B e e n t h e r e ever s i n c e ; afeard to c o m e o u t . " " W e l l , " h e s a y s , "you needn't b e afraid n o m o r e , b e c u z they've got h i m . H e run off f'm d o w n S o u t h , s o m ' e r s . " "It's a g o o d j o b they got h i m . " "Well, I reckon! T h e r e ' s two h u n d r e d dollars reward o n h i m . It's like picking u p m o n e y out'n the r o a d . " "Yes, it i s — a n d I c o u l d a h a d it if I'd b e e n big e n o u g h ; I s e e h i m first. W h o nailed h i m ? " "It w a s a n old fellow-—a s t r a n g e r — a n d he sold o u t his c h a n c e in him for forty dollars, b e c u z he's got to go u p the river a n d can't wait. T h i n k o' that, now! You bet I'd wait, if it w a s seven year." " T h a t ' s m e , every t i m e , " says I. " B u t m a y b e his c h a n c e ain't worth no m o r e than that, if he'll sell it s o c h e a p . M a y b e there's s o m e t h i n g ain't straight a b o u t it." " B u t it is, t h o u g h — s t r a i g h t a s a string. I s e e the handbill myself. It tells all a b o u t h i m , to a d o t — p a i n t s him like a p i c t u r e , a n d tells the p l a n t a t i o n he's f r u m , below Newrieans. No-siree-foofo, they ain't n o trouble 'bout that s p e c u l a t i o n , you bet you. S a y , g i m m e a c h a w t o b a c k e r , won't y e ? " I didn't have n o n e , s o he left. I went to the raft, a n d set d o w n in the w i g w a m to think. B u t I c o u l d n ' t c o m e to n o t h i n g . I t h o u g h t till I wore my h e a d s o r e , b u t I couldn't s e e no way o u t of the t r o u b l e . After all this long j o u r n e y , a n d after all we'd d o n e for t h e m s c o u n d r e l s , here w a s it all c o m e to n o t h i n g , everything all b u s t e d u p a n d r u i n e d , b e c a u s e they c o u l d have the heart to serve J i m s u c h a trick a s that, a n d m a k e him a slave a g a i n all his life, a n d a m o n g s t s t r a n g e r s , too, for forty dirty d o l l a r s . O n c e I s a i d to myself it w o u l d b e a t h o u s a n d t i m e s b e t t e r for J i m to b e a slave at h o m e w h e r e his family w a s , a s l o n g a s he'd got to be a slave, a n d s o I'd better write a letter to T o m S a w y e r a n d tell him to tell M i s s W a t s o n w h e r e h e w a s . B u t I s o o n give u p that n o t i o n , for two t h i n g s : s h e ' d b e m a d a n d d i s g u s t e d at his rascality a n d u n g r a t e f u l n e s s for leaving her, a n d s o s h e ' d sell him straight d o w n the river a g a i n ; a n d if s h e didn't, everybody naturally d e s p i s e s a n ungrateful nigger, a n d they'd m a k e J i m feel it all the t i m e , a n d

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s o he'd feel ornery a n d d i s g r a c e d . A n d then think of me! It w o u l d get all a r o u n d , that H u c k F i n n h e l p e d a nigger to get his f r e e d o m ; a n d if I w a s to ever s e e anybody from that town a g a i n , I'd be ready to get d o w n a n d lick his boots for s h a m e . T h a t ' s j u s t the way: a p e r s o n d o e s a low-down thing, a n d then he don't want to take n o c o n s e q u e n c e s of it. T h i n k s a s long a s he c a n hide it, it ain't no d i s g r a c e . T h a t w a s my fix exactly. T h e m o r e I s t u d i e d a b o u t this, the m o r e my c o n s c i e n c e went to grinding m e , a n d the m o r e wicked a n d low-down a n d ornery I got to feeling. A n d at last, w h e n it hit m e all of a s u d d e n that here w a s the plain h a n d of P r o v i d e n c e s l a p p i n g m e in the f a c e a n d letting m e k n o w my w i c k e d n e s s w a s b e i n g w a t c h e d all the t i m e from u p there in h e a v e n , whilst I w a s stealing a p o o r old w o m a n ' s nigger that hadn't ever d o n e m e no h a r m , a n d now w a s s h o w i n g m e there's O n e that's always o n the lookout, a n d ain't a g o i n g to allow n o s u c h m i s e r a b l e d o i n g s to g o only j u s t s o fur a n d n o further, I m o s t d r o p p e d in my tracks I w a s s o s c a r e d . W e l l , I tried the b e s t I c o u l d to kinder soften it u p s o m e h o w for myself, by saying I w a s b r u n g u p wicked, a n d s o I warn't so m u c h to b l a m e ; but s o m e t h i n g inside of m e kept saying, " T h e r e w a s the S u n d a y s c h o o l , you c o u l d a g o n e to it; a n d if you'd a d o n e it they'd a learnt you, there, that p e o p l e that a c t s a s I'd b e e n a c t i n g a b o u t the nigger g o e s to everlasting fire." It m a d e m e shiver. A n d I a b o u t m a d e u p my m i n d to pray; a n d s e e if I couldn't try to quit b e i n g the kind of a boy I w a s , a n d b e better. S o I k n e e l e d d o w n . B u t the w o r d s wouldn't c o m e . W h y wouldn't they? It warn't n o u s e to try a n d hide it from H i m . N o r from me, neither. I k n o w e d very well why they wouldn't c o m e . It w a s b e c a u s e my heart warn't right; it w a s b e c a u s e I warn't s q u a r e ; it w a s b e c a u s e I w a s playing d o u b l e . I w a s letting on to give u p sin, but away i n s i d e of m e I w a s holding on to the biggest o n e of all. I w a s trying to m a k e my m o u t h say I w o u l d d o the right thing a n d the c l e a n thing, a n d g o a n d write to that nigger's owner a n d tell where he w a s ; b u t d e e p d o w n in m e I k n o w e d it w a s a l i e — a n d H e k n o w e d it. You can't pray a l i e — I f o u n d that out. S o I w a s full of t r o u b l e , full a s I c o u l d b e ; a n d didn't know w h a t to d o . At last I h a d a n i d e a ; a n d I says, I'll go a n d write the l e t t e r — a n d then s e e if I c a n pray. W h y , it w a s a s t o n i s h i n g , the way I felt a s light a s a feather, right straight off, a n d my troubles all g o n e . S o I got a p i e c e of p a p e r a n d a pencil, all glad a n d excited, a n d set d o w n a n d wrote: M i s s W a t s o n your r u n a w a y nigger J i m is d o w n h e r e two mile below Pikesville a n d M r . P h e l p s h a s got him a n d he will give him u p for the reward if you s e n d . Huck Finn. I felt g o o d a n d all w a s h e d c l e a n of sin for the first time I h a d ever felt s o in my life, a n d I k n o w e d I c o u l d pray now. B u t I didn't d o it straight off, but laid the p a p e r d o w n a n d set there t h i n k i n g — t h i n k i n g h o w g o o d it w a s all this h a p p e n e d s o , a n d h o w n e a r I c o m e to b e i n g lost a n d g o i n g to hell. A n d went on thinking. A n d got to thinking over our trip d o w n the river; a n d I s e e J i m before m e , all the t i m e , in the day, a n d in the night-time, s o m e t i m e s m o o n l i g h t , s o m e t i m e s s t o r m s , a n d w e a floating a l o n g , talking, a n d singing, a n d l a u g h i n g . B u t s o m e h o w I couldn't s e e m to strike no p l a c e s to h a r d e n m e a g a i n s t him, but only the other kind. I'd s e e him s t a n d i n g my w a t c h on top of his'n, s t e a d of calling m e , s o I c o u l d go on s l e e p i n g ; a n d s e e him h o w

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glad h e w a s w h e n I c o m e b a c k o u t of the fog; a n d w h e n I c o m e to him a g a i n in the s w a m p , u p there w h e r e the f e u d w a s ; a n d such-like t i m e s ; a n d w o u l d always call m e honey, a n d p e t m e , a n d d o everything h e c o u l d think of for m e , a n d how g o o d h e always w a s ; a n d at last I s t r u c k the time I s a v e d h i m by telling the m e n we h a d small-pox a b o a r d , a n d he w a s s o grateful, a n d s a i d I w a s the best friend old J i m ever h a d in the world, a n d the only o n e he's got now; a n d then I h a p p e n e d to look a r o u n d , a n d s e e that p a p e r . It w a s a c l o s e p l a c e . I took it u p , a n d held it in my h a n d . I w a s a trembling, b e c a u s e I'd got to d e c i d e , forever, betwixt two things, a n d I k n o w e d it. I s t u d i e d a m i n u t e , sort of f o l d i n g my b r e a t h , a n d then says to myself: "All right, t h e n , I'll go to h e l l " — a n d tore it u p . It w a s awful t h o u g h t s , a n d awful w o r d s , b u t they w a s s a i d . A n d I let t h e m stay said; a n d never t h o u g h t n o m o r e a b o u t reforming. I s h o v e d the w h o l e thing o u t of my h e a d ; a n d said I would take u p w i c k e d n e s s a g a i n , which w a s in my line, b e i n g b r u n g u p to it, a n d the other warn't. A n d for a starter, I would go to work a n d steal J i m out of slavery a g a i n ; a n d if I c o u l d think u p anything w o r s e , I would d o that, t o o ; b e c a u s e a s long a s I w a s in, a n d in for g o o d , I might a s well g o the w h o l e hog. T h e n I set to thinking over how to get at it, a n d t u r n e d over c o n s i d e r a b l e m a n y ways in my m i n d ; a n d at last fixed u p a plan that suited m e . S o then I took the b e a r i n g s of a woody island that w a s down the river a p i e c e , a n d a s s o o n a s it w a s fairly dark I crept out with my raft a n d went for it, a n d hid it there, a n d then t u r n e d in. I slept the night t h r o u g h , a n d got u p b e f o r e it w a s light, a n d h a d my breakfast, a n d put on my store c l o t h e s , a n d tied u p s o m e others a n d o n e thing or a n o t h e r in a b u n d l e , a n d took the c a n o e a n d c l e a r e d for s h o r e . I l a n d e d below w h e r e I j u d g e d w a s P h e l p s ' s p l a c e , a n d hid my b u n d l e in the w o o d s , a n d then filled u p the c a n o e with water, a n d l o a d e d rocks into her a n d s u n k her w h e r e I c o u l d find her a g a i n w h e n I w a n t e d her, a b o u t a q u a r t e r of a mile below a little s t e a m sawmill that w a s o n the b a n k . T h e n I s t r u c k u p the r o a d , a n d w h e n I p a s s e d the mill I s e e a sign on it, " P h e l p s ' s S a w m i l l , " a n d w h e n I c o m e to the f a r m h o u s e s , two or three hundred yards further along, I kept my eyes p e e l e d , but didn't s e e n o b o d y a r o u n d , t h o u g h it w a s g o o d daylight, now. B u t I didn't m i n d , b e c a u s e I didn't w a n t to s e e n o b o d y j u s t y e t — I only w a n t e d to get the lay of the l a n d . A c c o r d i n g to my p l a n , I w a s g o i n g to turn up there from the village, not from below. S o I j u s t took a look, a n d s h o v e d a l o n g , straight for town. Well, the very first m a n I s e e , w h e n I got t h e r e , w a s the d u k e . H e w a s sticking u p a bill for the Royal N o n e s u c h — t h r e e - n i g h t p e r f o r m a n c e — l i k e that other t i m e . They h a d the c h e e k , t h e m f r a u d s ! I w a s right o n h i m , before I c o u l d shirk. H e looked a s t o n i s h e d , a n d says: "Hel-Zo/ W h e r e ' d yoM c o m e f r o m ? " T h e n h e says, kind of g l a d a n d e a g e r , " W h e r e ' s the r a f t ? — g o t her in a g o o d p l a c e ? " I says: "Why, that's j u s t w h a t I w a s a g o i n g to a s k your g r a c e . " T h e n he didn't look s o j o y f u l — a n d s a y s : " W h a t w a s your idea for a s k i n g me?" he s a y s . " W e l l , " I says, " w h e n I s e e the king jn that doggery yesterday, I says to myself, we can't get him h o m e for h o u r s , till he's s o b e r e r ; s o I went a loafing a r o u n d town to p u t in the t i m e , a n d wait. A m a n u p a n d offered m e ten cents to help him pull a skiff over the river a n d b a c k to fetch a s h e e p , a n d so I

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went a l o n g ; but w h e n we w a s d r a g g i n g him to the b o a t , a n d the m a n left m e aholt of the rope a n d went b e h i n d him to shove him a l o n g , he w a s too strong for m e , a n d j e r k e d loose a n d run, a n d we after h i m . W e didn't have no d o g , a n d so we h a d to c h a s e him all over the country till we tired h i m out. W e never got him till dark, then we fetched him over, a n d I s t a r t e d d o w n for the raft. W h e n I got there a n d s e e it w a s g o n e , I says to myself, 'they've got into trouble a n d h a d to leave; a n d they've took my nigger, which is the only nigger I've got in the world, a n d now I'm in a s t r a n g e country, a n d ain't got no property no m o r e , nor n o t h i n g , a n d n o way to m a k e my living;' s o I set d o w n a n d cried. I slept in the w o o d s all night. B u t what did b e c o m e of the raft then?—and Jim, poor J i m ! " " B l a m e d if / k n o w — t h a t is, what's b e c o m e of the raft. T h a t old fool h a d m a d e a trade a n d got forty dollars, a n d w h e n we f o u n d h i m in the doggery the loafers h a d m a t c h e d half dollars with him a n d got every c e n t b u t w h a t he'd spent for whisky; a n d w h e n I got him h o m e late last night a n d f o u n d the raft g o n e , we said, 'That little rascal has stole our raft a n d s h o o k u s , a n d run off down the river.' " "I wouldn't s h a k e my nigger, would I ? — t h e only nigger I h a d in the world, a n d the only p r o p e r t y . " " W e never t h o u g h t of that. F a c t is, I reckon we'd c o m e to c o n s i d e r h i m our nigger; yes, we did c o n s i d e r him s o — g o o d n e s s knows we h a d trouble e n o u g h for him. S o w h e n we s e e the raft was g o n e , a n d we flat b r o k e , there warn't anything for it but to try the Royal N o n e s u c h a n o t h e r s h a k e . A n d I've p e g g e d a l o n g ever s i n c e , dry a s a p o w d e r h o r n . W h e r e ' s that ten c e n t s ? Give it h e r e . " I had c o n s i d e r a b l e m o n e y , so I give him ten c e n t s , but b e g g e d him to s p e n d it for s o m e t h i n g to eat, a n d give m e s o m e , b e c a u s e it w a s all the m o n e y I h a d , a n d I hadn't h a d n o t h i n g to eat s i n c e yesterday. H e never said nothing. T h e next m i n u t e he whirls on m e a n d says: " D o you reckon that nigger would blow on u s ? W e ' d skin him if he d o n e that!" " H o w c a n b e blow? Hain't he run o f f ? " " N o ! T h a t old fool sold him, a n d never divided with m e , a n d the m o n e y ' s gone." "Sold h i m ? " I says, a n d b e g u n to cry; "why, h e w a s my nigger, a n d that w a s my m o n e y . W h e r e is h e ? — I want my nigger." "Well, you can't get your nigger, that's a l l — s o dry u p your b l u b b e r i n g . Looky h e r e — d o you think you'd venture to blow on u s ? R l a m e d if I think I'd trust y o u . Why, if you was to blow on u s — " H e s t o p p e d , but I never s e e the d u k e look so ugly o u t of his eyes before. I went o n a-whimpering, a n d says: "I don't want to blow o n nobody; a n d I ain't got n o time to blow, n o h o w . I got to turn out a n d find my n i g g e r . " H e looked kinder b o t h e r e d , a n d s t o o d there with his bills fluttering on his a r m , thinking, a n d wrinkling u p his f o r e h e a d . At last h e says: "I'll tell you s o m e t h i n g . W e got to be here three days. If you'll p r o m i s e you won't blow, a n d won't let the nigger blow, I'll tell you w h e r e to find h i m . " S o I p r o m i s e d , a n d he says: "A farmer by the n a m e of S i l a s P h — " a n d then h e s t o p p e d . You s e e h e started to tell m e the truth; b u t w h e n he s t o p p e d , that way, a n d b e g u n to study a n d think a g a i n , I r e c k o n e d h e w a s c h a n g i n g his m i n d . A n d s o h e w a s .

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H e wouldn't trust m e ; h e w a n t e d to m a k e s u r e of having m e o u t of the way the w h o l e three days. S o pretty s o o n h e says: " T h e m a n that b o u g h t him is n a m e d A b r a m F o s t e r — A b r a m G . F o s t e r — a n d he lives forty m i l e b a c k here in the country, on the r o a d to L a f a y e t t e . " "All right," I says, "I c a n walk it in three days. A n d I'll start this very afternoon." " N o you won't, you'll start now; a n d don't you l o s e any t i m e a b o u t it, neither, nor do any g a b b l i n g by the way. J u s t k e e p a tight t o n g u e in your h e a d a n d m o v e right a l o n g , a n d then you won't get into trouble with us, d'ye hear?" T h a t w a s the order I w a n t e d , a n d that w a s the o n e I played for. I w a n t e d to be left free to work my p l a n s . " S o clear o u t , " h e says; " a n d you c a n tell Mr. F o s t e r whatever you w a n t to. M a y b e you c a n get him to believe that J i m is your n i g g e r — s o m e idiots don't require d o c u m e n t s — l e a s t w a y s I've h e a r d there's s u c h d o w n S o u t h h e r e . A n d w h e n you tell him the handbill a n d the reward's b o g u s , m a y b e he'll believe you w h e n you explain to him w h a t the idea w a s for getting 'em out. G o 'long, now, a n d tell him anything you w a n t to; b u t m i n d you don't work your j a w any between here a n d t h e r e . " S o I left, a n d s t r u c k for the b a c k country. I didn't look a r o u n d , b u t I kinder felt like h e w a s w a t c h i n g m e . B u t I k n o w e d I c o u l d tire h i m o u t at that. I went straight out in the country a s m u c h a s a mile, before I s t o p p e d ; then I d o u b l e d b a c k t h r o u g h the w o o d s towards P h e l p s ' s . I r e c k o n e d I better start in on my p l a n straight off, without fooling a r o u n d , b e c a u s e I w a n t e d to s t o p J i m ' s m o u t h till t h e s e fellows c o u l d get away. I didn't want no trouble with their kind. I'd s e e n all I w a n t e d to of t h e m , a n d w a n t e d to get entirely s h u t of t h e m . Chapter

XXXII

W h e n I got there it w a s all still a n d S u n d a y - l i k e , a n d hot a n d s u n s h i n y — the h a n d s w a s g o n e to the fields; a n d t h e r e w a s t h e m kind of faint d r o n i n g s of b u g s a n d flies in the air that m a k e s it s e e m so l o n e s o m e a n d like everybody's d e a d a n d g o n e ; a n d if a breeze fans a l o n g a n d quivers the leaves, it m a k e s you feel m o u r n f u l , b e c a u s e you feel like it's spirits w h i s p e r i n g — s p i r i t s that's b e e n d e a d ever s o m a n y y e a r s — a n d you always think they're talking a b o u t you. A s a g e n e r a l thing it m a k e s a body wish he w a s d e a d , too, a n d d o n e with it all. P h e l p s ' s w a s o n e of t h e s e little o n e - h o r s e c o t t o n p l a n t a t i o n s ; a n d they all look alike. A rail f e n c e r o u n d a two-acre yard; a stile, m a d e o u t of logs s a w e d off a n d u p - e n d e d , in s t e p s , like barrels of a different l e n g t h , to c l i m b over the f e n c e with, a n d for the w o m e n to s t a n d on w h e n they a r e g o i n g to j u m p onto a h o r s e ; s o m e sickly g r a s s - p a t c h e s in the big yard, but mostly it w a s b a r e a n d s m o o t h , like a n old hat with the n a p r u b b e d off; big d o u b l e log h o u s e for the white f o l k s — h e w e d logs, with the chinks s t o p p e d u p with m u d or m o r t a r , a n d t h e s e m u d - s t r i p e s b e e n w h i t e w a s h e d s o m e t i m e or a n o t h e r ; r o u n d - l o g k i t c h e n , with a big b r o a d , o p e n but r o o f e d p a s s a g e j o i n i n g it to the h o u s e ; log s m o k e - h o u s e b a c k of the k i t c h e n ; three little log n i g g e r - c a b i n s in a row t'other s i d e the s m o k e h o u s e ; o n e little h u t all by itself away d o w n a g a i n s t the b a c k f e n c e , a n d s o m e o u t b u i l d i n g s d o w n a p i e c e the o t h e r s i d e ;

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a s h - h o p p e r , 1 a n d big kettle to bile s o a p in, by the little h u t ; b e n c h by the kitchen door, with b u c k e t of water a n d a g o u r d ; h o u n d a s l e e p there, in the s u n ; m o r e h o u n d s a s l e e p , r o u n d a b o u t ; a b o u t three s h a d e - t r e e s away off in a corner; s o m e currant b u s h e s a n d gooseberry b u s h e s in o n e p l a c e by the f e n c e ; o u t s i d e of the f e n c e a g a r d e n a n d a water-melon p a t c h ; then the cotton fields b e g i n s ; a n d after the fields, the w o o d s . I went a r o u n d a n d c l u m b over the b a c k stile by the a s h - h o p p e r , a n d started for the kitchen. W h e n I got a little ways, I heard the d i m h u m of a spinningwheel wailing a l o n g u p a n d sinking a l o n g down a g a i n ; a n d then I k n o w e d for certain I w i s h e d I w a s d e a d — f o r that is the l o n e s o m e s t s o u n d in the whole w o r l d . 2 I went right along, not fixing u p any particular p l a n , b u t j u s t trusting to Providence to p u t the right words in my m o u t h w h e n the time c o m e ; for I'd noticed that P r o v i d e n c e always did put the right w o r d s in my m o u t h , if I left it a l o n e . W h e n I got half-way, first o n e h o u n d a n d then a n o t h e r got u p a n d went for m e , a n d of c o u r s e I s t o p p e d a n d f a c e d t h e m , a n d kept still. A n d s u c h a n o t h e r pow-wow a s they m a d e ! In a q u a r t e r of a m i n u t e I w a s a kind of a h u b of a wheel, a s you m a y s a y — s p o k e s m a d e o u t of d o g s — c i r c l e of fifteen of t h e m p a c k e d together a r o u n d m e , with their n e c k s a n d n o s e s s t r e t c h e d u p towards m e , a barking a n d howling; a n d m o r e a c o m i n g ; you c o u l d s e e t h e m sailing over f e n c e s a n d a r o u n d corners from everywheres. A nigger w o m a n c o m e tearing out of the kitchen with a rolling-pin in her h a n d , singing out, " B e g o n e ! you T i g e ! you S p o t ! b e g o n e , s a h ! " a n d s h e f e t c h e d first o n e a n d then a n o t h e r of t h e m a clip a n d sent him howling, a n d then the rest followed; a n d the next s e c o n d , half of t h e m c o m e b a c k , w a g g i n g their tails a r o u n d m e a n d m a k i n g friends with m e . T h e r e ain't n o h a r m in a hound, nohow. A n d b e h i n d the w o m a n c o m e s a little nigger girl a n d two little nigger b o y s , without anything o n but tow-linen shirts, a n d they h u n g o n t o their mother's g o w n , a n d p e e p e d out from b e h i n d her at m e , b a s h f u l , the way they always d o . A n d here c o m e s the white w o m a n r u n n i n g from the h o u s e , a b o u t fortyfive or fifty year old, b a r e - h e a d e d , a n d her spinning-stick in her h a n d ; a n d b e h i n d her c o m e s her little white children, a c t i n g the s a m e way the little niggers w a s doing. S h e w a s smiling all over s o s h e c o u l d hardly s t a n d — a n d says: "It's you, at last!—ain't i t ? " I o u t with a " Y e s ' m , " before I t h o u g h t . S h e g r a b b e d m e a n d h u g g e d m e tight; a n d then g r i p p e d m e by both h a n d s a n d s h o o k a n d s h o o k ; a n d the tears c o m e in her eyes, a n d run d o w n over; a n d s h e couldn't s e e m to h u g a n d s h a k e e n o u g h , a n d kept saying, "You don't look a s m u c h like your m o t h e r as I r e c k o n e d you w o u l d , but law s a k e s , I don't c a r e for that, I'm so glad to s e e you! D e a r , d e a r , it d o e s s e e m like I c o u l d eat you u p ! C h i l d r e n , it's your c o u s i n T o m ! — t e l l him howdy." B u t they d u c k e d their h e a d s , a n d put their fingers in their m o u t h s , a n d hid b e h i n d her. S o s h e run o n :

1. A c o n t a i n e r f o r lye u s e d in m a k i n g s o a p . 2. F o r the details of the P h e l p s plantation T w a i n d r e w o n his m e m o r i e s of vacations at his U n c l e

John Quarles's Autobiography

farm near Hannibal. S e e

Twain's

for his vivid e v o c a t i o n o f t h e f a r m .

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" L i z e , hurry u p a n d get h i m a hot breakfast, right a w a y — o r did you get your breakfast on the b o a t ? " I said I h a d got it on the b o a t . S o then s h e started for the h o u s e , l e a d i n g m e by the h a n d , a n d the children t a g g i n g after. W h e n we got there, s h e set m e d o w n in a split-bottomed chair, a n d set herself d o w n on a little low stool in front of m e , holding b o t h of my h a n d s , a n d says: " N o w I c a n have a good look at you; a n d l a w s - a - m e , I've b e e n hungry for it a m a n y a n d a m a n y a t i m e , all t h e s e long years, a n d it's c o m e at last! W e b e e n e x p e c t i n g you a c o u p l e of days a n d m o r e . W h a t ' s kep' y o u ? — b o a t get aground?" "Yes'm—she—" " D o n ' t say y e s ' m — s a y A u n t Sally. W h e r e ' d s h e get a g r o u n d ? " I didn't rightly know what to say, b e c a u s e I didn't know w h e t h e r the b o a t would be c o m i n g u p the river or down. B u t I go a g o o d deal o n instinct; a n d my instinct s a i d s h e w o u l d be c o m i n g u p — f r o m d o w n toward O r l e a n s . T h a t didn't help m e m u c h , t h o u g h ; for I didn't know the n a m e s of b a r s d o w n that way. I s e e I'd got to invent a bar, or forget the n a m e of the o n e w e got a g r o u n d o n — o r — N o w I s t r u c k a n i d e a , a n d f e t c h e d it out: "It warn't the g r o u n d i n g — t h a t didn't k e e p u s b a c k but a little. W e blowed out a c y l i n d e r - h e a d . " " G o o d g r a c i o u s ! anybody h u r t ? " " N o ' m . Killed a n i g g e r . " "Well, it's lucky; b e c a u s e s o m e t i m e s p e o p l e do get hurt. T w o years a g o last C h r i s t m a s , your u n c l e S i l a s w a s c o m i n g u p from N e w r l e a n s o n the old Lcdly Rook,* a n d s h e blowed out a cylinder-head a n d crippled a m a n . A n d I think he died afterwards. H e w a s a B a b t i s t . Your u n c l e S i l a s k n o w e d a family in B a t o n R o u g e that k n o w e d his p e o p l e very well. Yes, I r e m e m b e r , now he did die. Mortification' 1 set in, a n d they h a d to a m p u t a t e h i m . B u t it didn't save h i m . Yes, it w a s m o r t i f i c a t i o n — t h a t w a s it. H e t u r n e d b l u e all over, a n d died in the h o p e of a glorious r e s u r r e c t i o n . T h e y say he w a s a sight to look at. Your uncle's b e e n u p to the town every day to fetch y o u . A n d he's g o n e a g a i n , not more'n a n h o u r a g o ; he'll b e b a c k any m i n u t e , now. You m u s t a met him on the r o a d , didn't y o u ? — o l d i s h m a n , with a — " " N o , I didn't s e e nobody, A u n t Sally. T h e b o a t l a n d e d j u s t at daylight, a n d I left my b a g g a g e on the wharf-boat a n d went looking a r o u n d the town a n d o u t a p i e c e in the country, to p u t in the time a n d not get h e r e too s o o n ; a n d so I c o m e down the b a c k w a y . " " W h o ' d you give the b a g g a g e t o ? " "Nobody." "Why, child, it'll be s t o l e ! " " N o t w h e r e I hid it I reckon it w o n ' t , " I says. " H o w ' d you get your breakfast so early o n the b o a t ? " It w a s kinder thin ice, b u t I says: " T h e c a p t a i n s e e m e s t a n d i n g a r o u n d , a n d told m e I better have s o m e t h i n g to eat before I went a s h o r e ; so h e took m e in the texas to the officers' l u n c h , a n d give m e all I w a n t e d . " 3. " L a l l a R o o k h " ( 1 8 1 7 ) , p o e m by T h o m a s M o o r e .

a

popular

Romantic

4.

Gangrene,

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I w a s getting s o u n e a s y I couldn't listen g o o d . I h a d my m i n d on the children all the t i m e ; I w a n t e d to get t h e m out to o n e s i d e , a n d p u m p t h e m a little, a n d find o u t w h o I w a s . B u t I couldn't get no s h o w , M r s . P h e l p s kept it u p a n d run o n s o . Pretty s o o n she m a d e the cold chills s t r e a k all d o w n my back, b e c a u s e s h e says: " B u t here we're a r u n n i n g on this way, a n d you hain't told m e a word a b o u t S i s , nor any of t h e m . N o w I'll rest my works a little, a n d you start u p y o u r n ; j u s t tell m e everything—tell m e all a b o u t ' m all—every o n e o f ' m ; a n d how they a r e , a n d w h a t they're d o i n g , a n d what they told you to tell m e ; a n d every last thing you c a n think of." Well, I s e e I w a s u p a s t u m p — a n d u p it g o o d . P r o v i d e n c e h a d s t o o d by m e this fur, all right, but I w a s hard a n d tight a g r o u n d , now. I s e e it warn't a bit of u s e to try to go a h e a d — I ' d got to throw u p my h a n d . S o I says to myself, here's a n o t h e r p l a c e where I got to resk the truth. I o p e n e d my m o u t h to begin; but s h e g r a b b e d m e a n d hustled m e in b e h i n d the b e d , a n d says: " H e r e he c o m e s ! stick your h e a d d o w n l o w e r — t h e r e , that'll d o ; you can't be s e e n , now. Don't you let on you're here. I'll play a j o k e o n h i m . C h i l d r e n , don't you say a w o r d . " I s e e I w a s in a fix, now. B u t it warn't no u s e to worry; there warn't n o t h i n g to do b u t j u s t hold still, a n d try to b e ready to s t a n d from u n d e r w h e n the lightning struck. I h a d j u s t o n e little g l i m p s e of the old g e n t l e m a n w h e n h e c o m e in, then the bed hid h i m . M r s . P h e l p s she j u m p s for him a n d says: " H a s he c o m e ? " " N o , " says her h u s b a n d . "Good-wess g r a c i o u s ! " s h e says, "what in the world can have b e c o m e of him?" "I can't i m a g i n e , " says the old g e n t l e m a n ; " a n d I m u s t say, it m a k e s m e dreadful u n e a s y . " " U n e a s y ! " s h e says, "I'm ready to go distracted! H e must a c o m e ; a n d you've m i s s e d him a l o n g the road. I know it's s o — s o m e t h i n g tells m e s o . " " W h y Sally, I couldn't m i s s him a l o n g the road—yow know t h a t . " " B u t o h , dear, d e a r , what will S i s say! H e m u s t a c o m e ! You m u s t a m i s s e d him. H e — " " O h , don't distress m e any more'n I'm already d i s t r e s s e d . I don't know what in the world to m a k e of it. I'm at my wit's e n d , a n d I don't mind acknowle d g i n g 't I'm right d o w n s c a r e d . B u t there's no h o p e that he's c o m e ; for he couldn't c o m e a n d m e m i s s h i m . Sally, it's t e r r i b l e — j u s t t e r r i b l e — s o m e thing's h a p p e n e d to the boat, s u r e ! " "Why, S i l a s ! L o o k y o n d e r ! — u p the r o a d ! — a i n ' t that s o m e b o d y c o m i n g ? " H e s p r u n g to the window at the h e a d of the b e d , a n d that give M r s . P h e l p s the c h a n c e s h e w a n t e d . S h e s t o o p e d down quick, at the foot of the b e d , a n d give m e a pull, a n d out I c o m e ; a n d w h e n he t u r n e d b a c k from the window, there s h e s t o o d , a - b e a m i n g a n d a-smiling like a h o u s e afire, a n d I s t a n d i n g pretty m e e k a n d sweaty a l o n g s i d e . T h e old g e n t l e m a n s t a r e d , a n d says: "Why, who's t h a t ? " " W h o do you r e c k o n ' t i s ? " "I hain't no idea. W h o is i t ? " "It's Tom Sawyer!"

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By j i n g s , I m o s t s l u m p e d through the floor. B u t there warn't n o time to s w a p k n i v e s ; 5 the old m a n g r a b b e d m e by the h a n d a n d shook, a n d kept o n s h a k i n g ; a n d all the t i m e , how the w o m a n did d a n c e a r o u n d a n d l a u g h a n d cry; a n d then h o w they both did fire off q u e s t i o n s a b o u t S i d , a n d M a r y , a n d the rest of the tribe. B u t if they w a s joyful, it warn't nothing to what I w a s ; for it w a s like b e i n g born a g a i n , I w a s so glad to find out w h o I w a s . W e l l , they froze to m e for two h o u r s ; a n d at last w h e n my chin w a s s o tired it c o u l d n ' t hardly g o , any m o r e , I h a d told t h e m m o r e a b o u t my family—I m e a n the S a w y e r f a m i l y — than ever h a p p e n e d to a n y six Sawyer families. A n d I explained all a b o u t how we blowed o u t a cylinder-head at the m o u t h of the W h i t e River a n d it took u s three days to fix it. W h i c h w a s all right, a n d worked first r a t e ; b e c a u s e they didn't k n o w but what it would take three days to fix it. If I'd a called it a bolt-head it would a d o n e j u s t a s well. N o w I w a s feeling pretty c o m f o r t a b l e all d o w n o n e s i d e , a n d pretty u n c o m fortable all u p the other. B e i n g T o m S a w y e r w a s e a s y a n d c o m f o r t a b l e ; a n d it stayed easy a n d c o m f o r t a b l e till by-and-by I hear a s t e a m b o a t c o u g h i n g a l o n g d o w n the river—then I says to myself, s p o s e T o m S a w y e r c o m e d o w n on that b o a t ? — a n d s p o s e h e s t e p s in h e r e , any m i n u t e , a n d sings out my n a m e before I c a n throw him a wink to k e e p q u i e t ? Well, I c o u l d n ' t have it that way—it wouldn't do at all. I m u s t g o u p the r o a d a n d waylay h i m . S o I told the folks I r e c k o n e d I w o u l d go u p to the town a n d fetch d o w n my b a g g a g e . T h e old g e n t l e m a n w a s for g o i n g a l o n g with m e , but I s a i d n o , I c o u l d drive the h o r s e myself, a n d I d r u t h e r h e wouldn't take n o trouble a b o u t me. Chapter

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S o I started for town, in the w a g o n , a n d w h e n I w a s half-way I s e e a w a g o n c o m i n g , a n d s u r e e n o u g h it w a s T o m Sawyer, a n d I s t o p p e d a n d waited till he c o m e a l o n g . I says " H o l d o n ! " a n d it s t o p p e d a l o n g s i d e , a n d his m o u t h o p e n e d u p like a trunk, a n d staid s o ; a n d h e swallowed two or three times like a p e r s o n that's got a dry throat, a n d then says: "I hain't ever d o n e you no h a r m . You know that. S o t h e n , w h a t you w a n t to c o m e b a c k a n d ha'nt me f o r ? " I says: "I hain't c o m e b a c k — I hain't b e e n gone." W h e n h e h e a r d my voice, it righted him u p s o m e , b u t h e warn't q u i t e satisfied yet. H e says: " D o n ' t you play n o t h i n g on m e , b e c a u s e I wouldn't on y o u . H o n e s t injun, now, you ain't a g h o s t ? " " H o n e s t injun, I ain't," I s a y s . " W e l l — I — I — w e l l , that o u g h t to settle it, of c o u r s e ; b u t I can't s o m e h o w s e e m to u n d e r s t a n d it, n o way. L o o k y h e r e , warn't you ever m u r d e r e d at all?" " N o . I warn't ever m u r d e r e d at a l l — I played it on t h e m . You c o m e in here a n d feel of m e if you don't believe m e . " S o h e d o n e it; a n d it satisfied h i m ; a n d h e w a s that g l a d to s e e m e a g a i n , 5. C h a n g e p l a n s .

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h e didn't know what to d o . A n d h e w a n t e d to know all a b o u t it right off; b e c a u s e it w a s a g r a n d a d v e n t u r e , a n d m y s t e r i o u s , a n d so it hit him w h e r e he lived. B u t I s a i d , leave it a l o n g till by-and-by; a n d told his driver to wait, a n d we drove off a little p i e c e , a n d I told him the kind of a fix I w a s in, a n d what did h e reckon we better do? H e s a i d , let h i m a l o n e a m i n u t e , a n d don't disturb h i m . S o h e t h o u g h t a n d t h o u g h t , a n d pretty s o o n he says: "It's all right, I've got it. T a k e my trunk in your w a g o n , a n d let on it's your'n; a n d you turn b a c k a n d fool a l o n g slow, s o a s to get to the h o u s e a b o u t the time you o u g h t to; a n d I'll g o towards town a p i e c e , a n d t a k e a fresh start, a n d get there a q u a r t e r or a half an h o u r after you; a n d you needn't let on to know m e , at first." I says: "All right; b u t wait a m i n u t e . T h e r e ' s o n e m o r e t h i n g — a thing that nobody don't know but m e . A n d that is, there's a nigger here that I'm trying to steal out of s l a v e r y — a n d his n a m e is Jim—old Miss Watson's J i m . " H e says: "What! Why Jim i s — " H e s t o p p e d a n d went to studying. I says: "I know what you'll say. You'll say it's dirty low-down b u s i n e s s ; b u t what if it is?—I'm low d o w n ; a n d I'm a g o i n g to steal h i m , a n d I want you to k e e p m u m a n d not let on. Will y o u ? " His eye lit u p , a n d h e says: "I'll help you steal h i m ! " Well, I let go all holts t h e n , like I w a s s h o t . It w a s the m o s t a s t o n i s h i n g s p e e c h I ever h e a r d — a n d I'm b o u n d to say T o m S a w y e r fell, c o n s i d e r a b l e , in my e s t i m a t i o n . Only I couldn't believe it. T o m S a w y e r a nigger stealer! " O h , s h u c k s , " I says, "you're j o k i n g . " "I ain't j o k i n g , either." "Well, t h e n , " I says, "joking or no j o k i n g , if you h e a r anything s a i d a b o u t a r u n a w a y nigger, don't forget to r e m e m b e r that you don't know nothing a b o u t h i m , a n d J don't know nothing a b o u t h i m . " T h e n w e took the trunk a n d p u t it in my w a g o n , a n d he drove off his way, a n d I drove m i n e . B u t of c o u r s e I forgot all a b o u t driving slow, o n a c c o u n t s of b e i n g glad a n d full of thinking; s o I got h o m e a h e a p too q u i c k for that length of trip. T h e old g e n t l e m a n w a s at the door, a n d h e says. "Why, this is wonderful. W h o ever would a t h o u g h t it w a s in that m a r e to do it. I wish we'd a timed her. A n d s h e hain't s w e a t e d a h a i r — n o t a hair. It's wonderful. W h y , I wouldn't take a h u n d r e d dollars for that h o r s e now; I wouldn't, h o n e s t ; a n d yet I'd a sold her for fifteen b e f o r e , a n d t h o u g h t 'twas all she w a s w o r t h . " T h a t ' s all h e said. H e w a s the i n n o c e n t e s t , b e s t old s o u l I ever s e e . B u t it warn't surprising; b e c a u s e h e warn't only j u s t a farmer, h e w a s a p r e a c h e r , too, a n d h a d a little o n e - h o r s e log c h u r c h down b a c k of the p l a n t a t i o n , which he built it h i m s e l f at his own e x p e n s e , for a c h u r c h a n d s c h o o l - h o u s e , a n d never c h a r g e d n o t h i n g for his p r e a c h i n g , a n d it was worth it, t o o . T h e r e w a s plenty other f a r m e r - p r e a c h e r s like that, a n d d o n e the s a m e way, d o w n S o u t h . In a b o u t half a n h o u r T o m ' s w a g o n drove u p to the front stile, a n d A u n t Sally s h e s e e it t h r o u g h the window b e c a u s e it w a s only a b o u t fifty y a r d s , a n d says:

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"Why, there's s o m e b o d y c o m e ! I w o n d e r w h o 'tis? W h y , I do believe it's a stranger. J i m m y " (that's o n e of the c h i l d r e n ) , "run a n d tell Lize to put on a n o t h e r plate for d i n n e r . " Everybody m a d e a r u s h for the front door, b e c a u s e , of c o u r s e , a s t r a n g e r don't c o m e every year, a n d s o h e lays over the yaller fever, for interest, w h e n h e d o e s c o m e . T o m w a s over the stile a n d starting for the h o u s e ; the w a g o n w a s s p i n n i n g u p the r o a d for the village, a n d we w a s all b u n c h e d in the front door. T o m h a d his store c l o t h e s o n , a n d an a u d i e n c e — a n d t h a t w a s always n u t s for T o m Sawyer. In t h e m c i r c u m s t a n c e s it warn't no trouble to him to throw in a n a m o u n t of style that w a s s u i t a b l e . H e warn't a boy to meeky a l o n g up that yard like a s h e e p ; n o , h e c o m e c a ' m a n d i m p o r t a n t , like the r a m . W h e n h e got afront of u s , h e lifts his hat ever so g r a c i o u s a n d dainty, like it w a s the lid of a box that h a d butterflies a s l e e p in it a n d he didn't want to disturb t h e m , a n d says: "Mr. Archibald Nichols, I p r e s u m e ? " " N o , my b o y , " says the old g e n t l e m a n , "I'm sorry to s a y ' t y o u r driver h a s deceived you; N i c h o l s ' s p l a c e is down a m a t t e r of three mile m o r e . C o m e in, come in." T o m he took a look b a c k over his s h o u l d e r , a n d says, " T o o l a t e — h e ' s out of s i g h t . " "Yes, he's g o n e , my s o n , a n d you m u s t c o m e in a n d eat your d i n n e r with u s ; a n d then we'll hitch u p a n d take you d o w n to N i c h o l s ' s . " " O h , I caw't m a k e you s o m u c h t r o u b l e ; I couldn't think of it. I'll w a l k — I don't m i n d the d i s t a n c e . " " B u t we won't let you w a l k — i t wouldn't be S o u t h e r n hospitality to do it. C o m e right i n . " " O h , do," says A u n t Sally; "it ain't a bit of trouble to u s , not a bit in the world. You must stay. It's a long, dusty three mile, a n d we can't let you walk. A n d b e s i d e s , I've already told 'em to put on a n o t h e r p l a t e , w h e n I s e e you c o m i n g ; s o you m u s t n ' t d i s a p p o i n t u s . C o m e right in, a n d m a k e yourself at home." S o T o m h e t h a n k e d t h e m very hearty a n d h a n d s o m e , a n d let h i m s e l f b e p e r s u a d e d , a n d c o m e in; a n d w h e n he w a s in, h e s a i d he w a s a s t r a n g e r from Hicksville, O h i o , a n d his n a m e w a s W i l l i a m T h o m p s o n — a n d he m a d e a n o t h e r bow. Well, he run o n , a n d o n , a n d on, m a k i n g up stuff a b o u t Hicksville a n d everybody in it he c o u l d invent, a n d I getting a little nervious, a n d w o n d e r i n g how this w a s g o i n g to help m e out of my s c r a p e ; a n d at last, still talking a l o n g , h e r e a c h e d over a n d k i s s e d A u n t Sally right on the m o u t h , a n d then settled b a c k again in his chair, c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d w a s g o i n g on talking; but s h e j u m p e d u p a n d wiped it off with the b a c k of her h a n d , a n d s a y s : "You o w d a c i o u s p u p p y ! " H e looked kind of hurt, a n d s a y s : "I'm s u r p r i s e d at you, m ' a m . " "You're s ' r p — W h y , what do you reckon / a m ? I've a g o o d notion to t a k e a n d — s a y , w h a t d o you m e a n by kissing m e ? " H e looked kind of h u m b l e , a n d says: "I didn't m e a n nothing, m ' a m . I didn't m e a n n o h a r m . I — I — t h o u g h t you'd like it." "Why, you born fool!" S h e took u p the spinning-stick, a n d it l o o k e d like it

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w a s all s h e c o u l d d o to k e e p f r o m giving him a c r a c k with it. " W h a t m a d e you think I'd like i t ? " "Well, I don't know. Only, t h e y — t h e y — t o l d m e you w o u l d . " "They told you I w o u l d . W h o e v e r told you's another l u n a t i c . I never heard the b e a t of it. W h o ' s they?" " W h y — e v e r y b o d y . T h e y all said s o , m ' a m . " It w a s all s h e c o u l d d o to hold in; a n d her eyes s n a p p e d , a n d her fingers worked like s h e w a n t e d to s c r a t c h h i m ; a n d s h e says: " W h o ' s everybody?' O u t with their n a m e s — o r ther'll b e a n idiot s h o r t . " H e got u p a n d looked d i s t r e s s e d , a n d f u m b l e d his h a t , a n d says: "I'm sorry, a n d I warn't e x p e c t i n g it. T h e y t o l d m e to. T h e y all told m e to. T h e y all said kiss her; a n d said she'll like it. T h e y all s a i d it—every o n e of t h e m . B u t I'm sorry, m ' a m , a n d I won't do it no m o r e — I won't, h o n e s t . " "You won't, won't y o u ? Well, I sh'd reckon you won't!" " N o ' m , I'm h o n e s t a b o u t it; I won't ever d o it a g a i n . Till you a s k m e . " "Till I ask you! Well, I never s e e the b e a t of it in m y b o r n days! I lay you'll b e the M e t h u s a l e m - n u m s k u l l 6 of creation b e f o r e ever I a s k y o u — o r the likes of y o u . " " W e l l , " he s a y s , "it d o e s s u r p r i s e m e s o . I can't m a k e it o u t , s o m e h o w . T h e y said you w o u l d , a n d I t h o u g h t you w o u l d . B u t — " H e s t o p p e d a n d looked a r o u n d slow, like he wished he c o u l d run a c r o s s a friendly eye, s o m e w h e r e ' s ; a n d f e t c h e d u p on the old g e n t l e m a n ' s , a n d says, " D i d n ' t yow think she'd like m e to kiss her, s i r ? " " W h y , n o , I — I — w e l l , n o , I b'lieve I didn't." T h e n h e looks on a r o u n d , the s a m e way, to m e — a n d says: " T o m , didn't you think A u n t S a l l y ' d o p e n out her a r m s a n d say, 'Sid S a w yer—' " " M y l a n d ! " s h e s a y s , b r e a k i n g in a n d j u m p i n g for h i m , "you i m p u d e n t y o u n g r a s c a l , to f o o l a body s o — " a n d w a s g o i n g to h u g h i m , b u t he f e n d e d her off, a n d s a y s : " N o , not till you've a s k e d m e , first." S o s h e didn't lose no t i m e , but a s k e d h i m ; a n d h u g g e d him a n d kissed him, over a n d over a g a i n , a n d then t u r n e d him over to t h e old m a n , a n d h e took what w a s left. A n d after they got a little q u i e t a g a i n , s h e says: "Why, d e a r m e , I never s e e s u c h a s u r p r i s e . W e warn't looking for you, at all, b u t only T o m . S i s neyer wrote to m e a b o u t a n y b o d y c o m i n g but h i m . " "It's b e c a u s e it warn't intended for any of u s to c o m e b u t T o m , " he s a y s ; " b u t I b e g g e d a n d b e g g e d , a n d at the last m i n u t e s h e let m e c o m e , t o o ; s o , c o m i n g down the river, m e a n d T o m t h o u g h t it w o u l d b e a first-rate s u r p r i s e for him to c o m e here to the h o u s e first, a n d for m e to by-and-by tag a l o n g a n d d r o p in a n d let on to b e a s t r a n g e r . B u t it w a s a m i s t a k e , A u n t Sally. T h i s ain't n o healthy p l a c e for a s t r a n g e r to c o m e . " "No-—not i m p u d e n t w h e l p s , S i d . You o u g h t to h a d your j a w s b o x e d ; I hain't b e e n s o p u t out s i n c e I don't know w h e n . B u t I don't c a r e , I don't m i n d t h e t e r m s — I ' d b e willing to S t a n d a t h o u s a n d s u c h j o k e s to h a v e you h e r e . Well, to think of that p e r f o r m a n c e ! I don't d e n y it, I w a s m o s t putrified 7 with a s t o n i s h m e n t w h e n you give m e that s m a c k . " 6. M e t h u s e l a h w a s a biblical p a t r i a r c h said to h a v e lived 9 6 9 y e a r s .

7.

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W e h a d dinner out in that b r o a d o p e n p a s s a g e betwixt the h o u s e a n d the k i t c h e n ; a n d there w a s things e n o u g h o n that table for seven f a m i l i e s — a n d all hot, t o o ; n o n e of your flabby t o u g h m e a t that's laid in a c u p b o a r d in a d a m p cellar all night a n d t a s t e s like a h u n k of old cold c a n n i b a l in the m o r n ing. U n c l e S i l a s h e a s k e d a pretty long b l e s s i n g over it, b u t it w a s worth it; a n d it didn't cool it a bit, neither, the way I've s e e n t h e m kind of interruptions d o , lots of t i m e s . T h e r e w a s a c o n s i d e r a b l e g o o d deal of talk, all the a f t e r n o o n , a n d m e a n d T o m w a s on the lookout all the t i m e , b u t it warn't n o u s e , they didn't h a p p e n to say n o t h i n g a b o u t any r u n a w a y nigger, a n d we w a s afraid to try to work u p to it. B u t at s u p p e r , at night, o n e of the little boys s a y s : " P a , mayn't T o m a n d S i d a n d m e go to the s h o w ? " " N o , " says the old m a n , "I reckon there ain't g o i n g to b e any; a n d you c o u l d n ' t go if there w a s ; b e c a u s e the r u n a w a y nigger told B u r t o n a n d m e all a b o u t that s c a n d a l o u s s h o w , a n d B u r t o n s a i d he w o u l d tell the p e o p l e ; s o I reckon they've drove the o w d a c i o u s loafers out of town before this t i m e . " S o there it w a s ! — b u t I couldn't h e l p it. T o m a n d m e w a s to s l e e p in the s a m e r o o m a n d b e d ; s o , b e i n g tired, we bid good-night a n d went u p to b e d , right after s u p p e r , a n d c l u m b out of the window a n d d o w n the lightning-rod, a n d s h o v e d for the town; for I didn't believe anybody w a s g o i n g to give the king a n d the d u k e a hint, a n d s o , if I didn't hurry u p a n d give t h e m o n e they'd get into trouble s u r e . O n the r o a d T o m h e told m e all a b o u t how it w a s r e c k o n e d I w a s m u r d e r e d , a n d h o w p a p d i s a p p e a r e d , pretty s o o n , a n d didn't c o m e b a c k n o m o r e , a n d w h a t a stir there w a s w h e n J i m run away; a n d I told T o m all a b o u t our Royal N o n e s u c h r a p s c a l l i o n s , a n d a s m u c h of the raft-voyage a s I h a d time to; a n d a s we s t r u c k into the town a n d u p t h r o u g h the m i d d l e of it—it w a s a s m u c h a s half-after eight, t h e n — h e r e c o m e s a r a g i n g r u s h of p e o p l e , with t o r c h e s , a n d a n awful w h o o p i n g a n d yelling, a n d b a n g i n g tin p a n s a n d blowing h o r n s ; a n d we j u m p e d to o n e side to let t h e m go by; a n d a s they went by, I s e e they h a d the king a n d the d u k e a s t r a d d l e of a r a i l — t h a t is, I k n o w e d it was the king a n d the d u k e , t h o u g h they w a s all over tar a n d f e a t h e r s , a n d didn't look like n o t h i n g in the world that w a s h u m a n — j u s t looked like a c o u p l e of m o n s t r o u s big s o l d i e r - p l u m e s . Well, it m a d e m e sick to s e e it; a n d I w a s sorry for t h e m p o o r pitiful r a s c a l s , it s e e m e d like I couldn't ever feel any h a r d n e s s a g a i n s t t h e m any m o r e in the world. It w a s a dreadful thing to s e e . H u m a n b e i n g s can b e awful cruel to o n e a n o t h e r . W e s e e w e w a s too l a t e — c o u l d n ' t d o no g o o d . W e a s k e d s o m e stragglers a b o u t it, a n d they said everybody went to the s h o w looking very i n n o c e n t ; a n d laid low a n d kept dark till the p o o r old king w a s in the m i d d l e of his cavortings on the s t a g e ; then s o m e b o d y give a signal, a n d the h o u s e r o s e u p a n d went for t h e m . S o we p o k e d a l o n g b a c k h o m e , a n d I warn't feeling s o b r a s h a s I w a s b e f o r e , but kind of ornery, a n d h u m b l e , a n d to b l a m e , s o m e h o w — t h o u g h I hadn't d o n e anything. B u t that's always the way; it don't m a k e n o difference w h e t h e r you do right or wrong, a p e r s o n ' s c o n s c i e n c e ain't got n o s e n s e , a n d j u s t g o e s for him anyway. If I h a d a yaller d o g that didn't k n o w n o m o r e t h a n a p e r s o n ' s c o n s c i e n c e d o e s , I would p i s o n h i m . It takes u p m o r e r o o m t h a n all the rest of a p e r s o n ' s i n s i d e s , a n d yet ain't no g o o d , n o h o w . T o m S a w y e r h e says the same.

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W e s t o p p e d talking, a n d got to thinking. By-and-by T o m s a y s : " L o o k y h e r e , H u c k , w h a t fools we a r e , to not think of it b e f o r e ! I bet I know w h e r e J i m i s . " "No! Where?" "In that h u t d o w n by the a s h - h o p p e r . Why, looky h e r e . W h e n we w a s at dinner, didn't you s e e a nigger m a n g o in there with s o m e vittles?" "Yes." " W h a t did you think the vittles w a s f o r ? " "For a dog." " S o ' d I. Well, it wasn't for a d o g . " "Why?" " B e c a u s e part of it w a s w a t e r m e l o n . " " S o it w a s — I noticed it. Well, it d o e s beat all, that I never t h o u g h t a b o u t a d o g not e a t i n g w a t e r m e l o n . It s h o w s how a body c a n s e e a n d don't s e e at the s a m e t i m e . " "Well, the nigger u n l o c k e d the p a d l o c k w h e n he went in, a n d he locked it again w h e n h e c o m e out. H e f e t c h e d u n c l e a key, a b o u t the t i m e we got u p from t a b l e — s a m e key, I bet. W a t e r m e l o n s h o w s m a n , lock s h o w s prisoner; a n d it ain't likely there's two p r i s o n e r s on s u c h a little p l a n t a t i o n , a n d w h e r e the p e o p l e ' s all so kind a n d g o o d . J i m ' s the prisoner. All r i g h t — I ' m glad we f o u n d it o u t detective f a s h i o n ; I wouldn't give s h u c k s for any other way. N o w you work your m i n d a n d study out a plan to steal J i m , a n d I will study out o n e , too; a n d we'll take the o n e we like the b e s t . " W h a t a h e a d for j u s t a boy to have! If I h a d T o m Sawyer's h e a d , I wouldn't trade it off to b e a d u k e , nor m a t e of a s t e a m b o a t , nor clown in a c i r c u s , nor nothing I c a n think of. I went to thinking o u t a p l a n , but only j u s t to be doing s o m e t h i n g ; I k n o w e d very well w h e r e the right p l a n w a s g o i n g to c o m e from. Pretty s o o n , T o m says: "Ready?" " Y e s , " I says. "All r i g h t — b r i n g it o u t . " " M y plan is t h i s , " I s a y s . " W e c a n easy find o u t if it's J i m in there. T h e n get u p my c a n o e to-morrow night, a n d fetch my raft over from the island. T h e n the first dark night that c o m e s , steal the key o u t of the old m a n ' s b r i t c h e s , after he g o e s to b e d , a n d shove off d o w n the river on the raft, with J i m , hiding d a y t i m e s a n d r u n n i n g nights, the way m e a n d J i m u s e d to do before. W o u l d n ' t that plan w o r k ? " "Work? W h y cert'nly, it w o u l d work, like rats a fighting. B u t it's too b l a m e ' s i m p l e ; there ain't n o t h i n g to it. W h a t ' s the g o o d of a p l a n that ain't no m o r e trouble than that? It's a s mild a s goose-milk. Why, H u c k , it wouldn't m a k e n o m o r e talk than b r e a k i n g into a s o a p factory." I never said n o t h i n g , b e c a u s e I warn't e x p e c t i n g n o t h i n g different; but I k n o w e d mighty well that whenever h e got his p l a n ready it wouldn't have n o n e of t h e m o b j e c t i o n s to it. A n d it didn't. H e told m e w h a t it w a s , a n d I s e e in a m i n u t e it w a s worth fifteen of m i n e , for style, a n d w o u l d m a k e J i m j u s t a s free a m a n a s m i n e w o u l d , a n d m a y b e get u s all killed b e s i d e s . S o I w a s satisfied, a n d s a i d we would waltz in on it. I needn't tell w h a t it w a s , h e r e , b e c a u s e I k n o w e d it

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wouldn't stay t h e way it w a s . I k n o w e d he would b e c h a n g i n g it a r o u n d , every w h i c h way, a s we went a l o n g , a n d h e a v i n g in n e w b u l l i n e s s e s wherever h e got a c h a n c e . A n d that is w h a t h e d o n e . Well, o n e thing w a s d e a d s u r e ; a n d that w a s , that T o m S a w y e r w a s in e a r n e s t a n d w a s actuly g o i n g to help steal that nigger o u t of slavery. T h a t w a s t h e thing that w a s t o o m a n y for m e . H e r e w a s a boy that w a s r e s p e c t a b l e , a n d well b r u n g u p ; a n d h a d a c h a r a c t e r to l o s e ; a n d folks at h o m e that h a d c h a r a c t e r s ; a n d h e w a s bright a n d not l e a t h e r - h e a d e d ; a n d knowing a n d not ignorant; a n d not m e a n , b u t kind; a n d yet here h e w a s , without any m o r e pride, or Tightness, or feeling, than to s t o o p to this b u s i n e s s , a n d m a k e himself a s h a m e , a n d his family a s h a m e , before everybody. I couldn't u n d e r s t a n d it, n o way at all. It w a s o u t r a g e o u s , a n d I k n o w e d I o u g h t to j u s t u p a n d tell him s o ; a n d s o b e his true friend, a n d let h i m quit the thing right w h e r e h e w a s , a n d save himself. A n d I did start to tell h i m ; b u t h e s h u t m e u p , a n d says: " D o n ' t you reckon I know what I'm a b o u t ? Don't I generly k n o w what I'm about?" "Yes." " D i d n ' t I say I w a s g o i n g to help steal the n i g g e r ? " "Yes." "Well t h e n . " T h a t ' s all h e s a i d , a n d that's all I s a i d . It warn't n o u s e to say any m o r e ; b e c a u s e w h e n h e s a i d he'd d o a thing, he always d o n e it. B u t J c o u l d n ' t m a k e o u t how h e w a s willing to go into this thing; so I j u s t let it g o , a n d never b o t h e r e d no m o r e a b o u t it. If he w a s b o u n d to have it s o , I c o u l d n ' t help it. W h e n we got h o m e , the h o u s e w a s all dark a n d still; s o we went o n d o w n to the h u t by the a s h - h o p p e r , for to e x a m i n e it. W e went t h r o u g h the yard, s o a s to s e e what t h e h o u n d s w o u l d d o . T h e y k n o w e d u s , a n d didn't m a k e no m o r e noise than country d o g s is always d o i n g w h e n anything c o m e s by in the night. W h e n we got to the c a b i n , we took a look at the front a n d t h e two s i d e s ; a n d o n the side I warn't a c q u a i n t e d w i t h — w h i c h w a s t h e north s i d e — w e f o u n d a s q u a r e w i n d o w - h o l e , u p tolerable high, with j u s t o n e stout b o a r d nailed a c r o s s it. I s a y s : " H e r e ' s the ticket. T h i s hole's big e n o u g h for J i m to get t h r o u g h , if w e w r e n c h off the b o a r d . " T o m says: "It's a s s i m p l e a s tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row, a n d a s e a s y a s playing hooky. I s h o u l d hope we c a n find a way that's a little m o r e c o m p l i c a t e d t h a n that, Huck Finn." "Well, t h e n , " I says, "how'Il it d o to s a w h i m o u t , the way I d o n e before I w a s m u r d e r e d , that t i m e ? " " T h a t ' s m o r e like," h e says, "It's real m y s t e r i o u s , a n d t r o u b l e s o m e , a n d g o o d , " h e s a y s ; " b u t I bet we c a n find a way that's twice a s long. T h e r e ain't no hurry; le's k e e p o n looking a r o u n d . " Betwixt the hut a n d the f e n c e , on the b a c k s i d e , w a s a l e a n - t o , that j o i n e d the hut at the e a v e s , a n d w a s m a d e o u t of plank. It w a s a s l o n g a s t h e h u t , b u t n a r r o w — o n l y a b o u t six foot w i d e . T h e d o o r to it w a s at t h e s o u t h e n d , a n d w a s p a d l o c k e d . T o m he went to the s o a p kettle, a n d s e a r c h e d a r o u n d a n d f e t c h e d b a c k the iron thing they lift the lid with; s o h e took it a n d prized out o n e of the s t a p l e s . T h e c h a i n fell d o w n , a n d we o p e n e d the d o o r a n d

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went in, a n d s h u t it, a n d struck a m a t c h , a n d see the s h e d w a s only built a g a i n s t the c a b i n a n d hadn't no c o n n e c t i o n with it; a n d there warn't no floor to the s h e d , nor n o t h i n g in it but s o m e old rusty played-out h o e s , a n d s p a d e s , a n d p i c k s , a n d a crippled plow. T h e m a t c h went o u t , a n d s o did w e , a n d shoved in the in the s t a p l e again, a n d the door w a s locked a s g o o d a s ever. T o m was joyful. H e says: " N o w we're all right. We'll dig him out. It'll take a b o u t a w e e k ! " T h e n we started for the h o u s e , a n d I went in the b a c k d o o r — y o u only have to pull a b u c k s k i n latch-string, they don't fasten the d o o r s — b u t that warn't r o m a n t i c a l e n o u g h for T o m Sawyer: no way would d o him but he m u s t c l i m b u p the lightning-rod. B u t after h e got u p half-way a b o u t three t i m e s , a n d m i s s e d fire a n d fell every time, a n d the last time m o s t b u s t e d his brains out, h e t h o u g h t he'd got to give it u p ; but after h e r e s t e d , h e allowed he would give her o n e m o r e turn for luck, a n d this t i m e he m a d e the trip. In the m o r n i n g we w a s u p at b r e a k of day, a n d d o w n to the nigger c a b i n s to pet the dogs a n d m a k e friends with the nigger that fed J i m — i f it was J i m that w a s b e i n g fed. T h e niggers was j u s t getting t h r o u g h breakfast a n d starting for the fields; a n d J i m ' s nigger w a s piling up a tin p a n with b r e a d a n d m e a t a n d things; a n d whilst the other w a s leaving, the key c o m e from the house. T h i s nigger h a d a g o o d - n a t u r e d , c h u c k l e - h e a d e d f a c e , a n d his wool w a s all tied u p in little b u n c h e s with thread. T h a t w a s to k e e p witches off. H e said the witches w a s p e s t e r i n g him awful, t h e s e nights, a n d m a k i n g him s e e all kinds of s t r a n g e things, a n d hear all kinds of s t r a n g e w o r d s a n d n o i s e s , a n d he didn't believe h e w a s ever witched s o long, b e f o r e , in his life. H e got s o worked u p , a n d got to r u n n i n g on so a b o u t his t r o u b l e s , h e forgot all a b o u t what he'd b e e n a g o i n g to do. S o T o m says: " W h a t ' s the vittles for? G o i n g to feed the d o g s ? " T h e nigger kind of s m i l e d a r o u n d graduly over his f a c e , like w h e n you heave a brickbat in a m u d p u d d l e , a n d he says: "Yes, M a r s S i d , a d o g . C u r ' u s d o g too. D o e s you w a n t to go en look at ' i m ? " "Yes." I hunched T o m , and whispers: "You going, right h e r e in the day-break? That warn't the p l a n . " " N o , it w a r n ' t — b u t it's the plan now." S o , drat him, we went a l o n g , but I didn't like it m u c h . W h e n we got in, we couldn't hardly s e e anything, it w a s so dark; but J i m w a s there, s u r e e n o u g h , a n d c o u l d s e e u s ; a n d he sings out: "Why, Huck! E n g o o d lan'! ain' dat M i s t o T o m ? " I j u s t k n o w e d how it would b e ; I j u s t expected it. / didn't know n o t h i n g to d o ; a n d if I h a d , I couldn't d o n e it; b e c a u s e that nigger b u s t e d in a n d s a y s : "WTiy, de g r a c i o u s s a k e s ! d o he know you g e n l m e n ? " W e c o u l d s e e pretty well, n o w . T o m he looked at the nigger, s t e a d y a n d kind of wondering, a n d s a y s : " D o e s who know u s ? " "Why, dish-yer r u n a w a y n i g g e r . " "I don't reckon h e d o e s ; but what p u t that into your h e a d ? " " W h a t put it dar? D i d n ' h e j i s ' dis m i n u t e sing out like h e k n o w e d y o u ? " T o m says, in a puzzled-up kind of way: "Well, that's mighty c u r i o u s . Who s u n g o u t ? When did h e sing out. What

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did h e s i n g o u t ? " A n d turns to m e , perfectly c a m , a n d says, " D i d you h e a r a n y b o d y sing o u t ? " O f c o u r s e there warn't nothing to be said but the o n e thing; so I s a y s : " N o ; J ain't h e a r d nobody say n o t h i n g . " T h e n h e turns to J i m , a n d looks him over like h e never s e e h i m b e f o r e ; a n d says: " D i d you sing o u t ? " " N o , s a h , " says J i m ; "/ hain't said n o t h i n g , s a h . " "Not a word?" " N o , s a h , I hain't said a w o r d . " " D i d you ever s e e u s b e f o r e ? " " N o , s a h ; not a s I knows o n . " S o T o m t u r n s to the nigger, which w a s looking wild a n d d i s t r e s s e d , a n d says, kind of severe: " W h a t do you reckon's the m a t t e r with you, anyway? W h a t m a d e you think somebody sung out?" " O h , it's d e d a d - b l a m e ' w i t c h e s , s a h , en I wisht I w a s d e a d , I d o . Dey's awluz at it, s a h , en dey d o m o s ' kill m e , dey s k y e r s m e s o . P l e a s e to don't tell nobody 'bout it s a h , er old M a r s S i l a s he'll s c o l e m e ; 'kase h e say dey ain't no w i t c h e s . I j i s ' wish to g o o d n e s s he w a s h e a h now—den w h a t w o u l d he say! I j i s ' bet h e c o u l d n ' fine no way to git a r o u n ' it dis t i m e . B u t it's awluz j i s ' s o ; p e o p l e dat's sot, stays sot; dey won't look into n o t h n ' en fine it o u t f'r deyselves, en w h e n you fine it out en tell u m 'bout it, dey d o a n ' b'lieve y o u . " T o m give him a d i m e , a n d said we wouldn't tell nobody; a n d told him to buy s o m e m o r e thread to tie up his wool with; a n d then looks at J i m , a n d says: "I w o n d e r if U n c l e S i l a s is g o i n g to h a n g this nigger. If I w a s to c a t c h a nigger that w a s ungrateful e n o u g h to run away, I wouldn't give him u p , I'd h a n g h i m . " A n d whilst the nigger s t e p p e d to the d o o r to look at the d i m e a n d bite it to s e e if it w a s g o o d , he w h i s p e r s to J i m a n d says: " D o n ' t ever let on to know u s . A n d if you h e a r any digging g o i n g on n i g h t s , it's u s : we're g o i n g to set you f r e e . " J i m only h a d time to grab u s by the h a n d a n d s q u e e z e it, then the nigger c o m e back, a n d we said we'd c o m e again s o m e time if the nigger w a n t e d u s to; a n d he said he w o u l d , m o r e particular if it w a s dark, b e c a u s e the w i t c h e s went for him mostly in the dark, a n d it w a s good to have folks a r o u n d t h e n . Chapter

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It w o u l d be m o s t an hour, yet, till breakfast, s o we left, a n d s t r u c k d o w n into the w o o d s ; b e c a u s e T o m said we got to have some light to s e e how to dig by, a n d a lantern m a k e s too m u c h , a n d might get u s into t r o u b l e ; w h a t we m u s t have w a s a lot of t h e m rotten c h u n k s that's c a l l e d fox-fire 8 a n d j u s t m a k e s a soft kind of a glow w h e n you lay t h e m in a d a r k p l a c e . W e f e t c h e d an armful a n d hid it in the w e e d s , a n d set d o w n to rest, a n d T o m says, kind of dissatisfied: " B l a m e it, this whole thing is j u s t a s easy a n d a w k a r d a s it c a n b e . A n d so it m a k e s it so rotten difficult to get up a difficult p l a n . T h e r e ain't no w a t c h 8.

P h o s p h o r e s c e n t g l o w of f u n g u s o n rotting w o o d .

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m a n to be d r u g g e d — n o w there ought to be a w a t c h m a n . T h e r e ain't even a dog to give a sleeping-mixture to. And there's J i m c h a i n e d by o n e leg, with a ten-foot c h a i n , to the leg of his bed; why, all you got to d o is to lift u p the b e d s t e a d a n d slip off the c h a i n . A n d U n c l e S i l a s he trusts everybody; s e n d s the key to t h e p u n k i n - h e a d e d nigger, a n d don't s e n d n o b o d y to w a t c h the nigger. J i m c o u l d a got out of that window hole before this, only there wouldn't be no u s e trying to travel with a ten-foot c h a i n o n his leg. Why, drat it, H u c k , it's the s t u p i d e s t a r r a n g e m e n t I ever s e e . You got to invent all the difficulties. Well, we can't help it, we got to do the b e s t we c a n with the materials we've got. Anyhow, there's o n e t h i n g — t h e r e ' s m o r e h o n o r in getting him out through a lot of difficulties a n d d a n g e r s , w h e r e there warn't o n e of t h e m furnished to you by the p e o p l e who it w a s their duty to furnish t h e m , a n d you had to contrive t h e m all out of your own h e a d . N o w look at j u s t that o n e thing of the lantern. W h e n you c o m e d o w n to the cold f a c t s , we simply got to let on that a lantern's resky. Why, we c o u l d work with a torchlight p r o c e s s i o n if we w a n t e d to, J believe. N o w , whilst I think of it, we got to hunt up s o m e t h i n g to m a k e a saw out of, the first c h a n c e we g e t . " " W h a t d o we want of a s a w ? " " W h a t d o we want of it? Hain't we got to s a w the leg of J i m ' s bed off, so a s to get the c h a i n l o o s e ? " "Why, you j u s t said a body c o u l d lift up the b e d s t e a d a n d slip the chain off." "Well, if that ain't j u s t like you, H u c k F i n n . You can get u p the infantschooliest ways of g o i n g at a thing. Why, hain't you ever read any b o o k s at a l l ? — B a r o n T r e n c k , nor C a s a n o v a , nor B e n v e n u t o C h e l l e e n y , nor H e n r i IV., 9 nor n o n e of t h e m h e r o e s ? W h o e v e r heard of getting a prisoner l o o s e in s u c h an old-maidy way a s that? N o ; the way all the b e s t authorities d o e s , is to saw the b e d l e g in two, a n d leave it j u s t s o , a n d swallow the s a w d u s t , s o it can't be f o u n d , a n d put s o m e dirt a n d g r e a s e a r o u n d the s a w e d p l a c e s o the very keenest s e n e s k a l 1 can't s e e no sign of it's b e i n g s a w e d , a n d thinks the bed-leg is perfectly s o u n d . T h e n , the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she g o e s ; slip off your c h a i n , a n d there you a r e . N o t h i n g to do but hitch your rope-ladder to the b a t t l e m e n t s , shin d o w n it, break your leg in the m o a t — b e c a u s e a rope-ladder is nineteen foot too short, you k n o w — a n d there's your h o r s e s a n d your trusty v a s s l e s , a n d they s c o o p you u p and fling you a c r o s s a s a d d l e a n d away you g o , to your native L a n g u d o c , or N a v a r r e , 2 or wherever it is. It's g a u d y , H u c k . I wish there w a s a m o a t to this cabin. If we get t i m e , the night of the e s c a p e , we'll dig o n e . " I says: " W h a t do we want of a m o a t , w h e n we're g o i n g to s n a k e him out from u n d e r the c a b i n ? " B u t he never h e a r d m e . H e h a d forgot m e a n d everything e l s e . H e h a d his chin in his h a n d , thinking. Pretty s o o n , he s i g h s , a n d s h a k e s his h e a d ; then sighs a g a i n , a n d says: " N o , it wouldn't d o — t h e r e ain't necessity e n o u g h for it." 9. B a r o n Friedrich von der T r e n c k ( 1 7 2 6 - 1 7 9 4 ) , a n A u s t r i a n soldier, a n d H e n r y IV o f F r a n c e ( 1 5 5 3 — 1 6 1 0 ) , military heroes. B e n v e n u t o Cellini ( 1 5 0 0 — 1 5 7 1 ) , an artist, a n d Giovanni J a c o p o C a s a n o v a ( 1 7 2 5 — 1 7 9 8 ) were hoth f a m o u s lovers.

All f o u r w e r e i n v o l v e d in d a r i n g e s c a p e a t t e m p t s . 1. S e n e s c h a l , p o w e r f u l o f f i c i a l in t h e s e r v i c e o f medieval nobles. 2 . P r o v i n c e s in F r a n c e a n d S p a i n , r e s p e c t i v e l y .

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" F o r w h a t ? " I says. "Why, to saw J i m ' s leg off," h e says. " G o o d l a n d ! " I s a y s , "why, there ain't no necessity for it. A n d w h a t w o u l d you w a n t to s a w his leg off for, anyway?" "Well, s o m e of the b e s t authorities has d o n e it. T h e y c o u l d n ' t get the c h a i n off, s o they j u s t c u t their h a n d off, a n d s h o v e d . A n d a leg w o u l d b e better still. B u t we got to let that go. T h e r e ain't necessity e n o u g h in this c a s e ; a n d b e s i d e s , J i m ' s a nigger a n d wouldn't u n d e r s t a n d the r e a s o n s for it, a n d h o w it's the c u s t o m in E u r o p e , so we'll let it g o . B u t there's o n e t h i n g — h e c a n have a rope-ladder; we c a n tear u p our s h e e t s a n d m a k e h i m a r o p e - l a d d e r e a s y e n o u g h . A n d we c a n s e n d it to him in a pie; it's mostly d o n e that way. A n d I've et w o r s e p i e s . " "Why, T o m Sawyer, how you talk," I says; "Jim ain't got n o u s e for a r o p e ladder." " H e has got u s e for it. H o w you talk, you better say; you don't know n o t h i n g a b o u t it. H e ' s got to have a rope ladder; they all d o . " " W h a t in the nation c a n h e do with i t ? " "Do with it? H e c a n hide it in his b e d , can't he? T h a t ' s w h a t they all d o ; a n d he's got to, t o o . H u c k , you don't ever s e e m to w a n t to d o a n y t h i n g that's regular; you w a n t to be starting s o m e t h i n g fresh all the t i m e . S p o s e h e don't d o n o t h i n g with it? ain't it there in his b e d , for a clew, after he's g o n e ? a n d don't you reckon they'll w a n t c l e w s ? O f c o u r s e they will. A n d you wouldn't leave t h e m any? T h a t would be a pretty howdy-do wouldn't it! I never h e a r d of s u c h a t h i n g . " " W e l l , " I says, "if it's in the r e g u l a t i o n s , a n d he's got to have it, all right, let h i m have it; b e c a u s e I don't wish to g o b a c k on n o r e g u l a t i o n s ; b u t there's o n e thing, T o m S a w y e r — i f we g o tearing u p our s h e e t s to m a k e J i m a ropeladder, we're g o i n g to get into trouble with A u n t Sally, j u s t a s s u r e a s you're b o r n . N o w , the way I look at it, a hickry-bark ladder don't c o s t n o t h i n g , a n d don't w a s t e n o t h i n g , a n d is j u s t a s g o o d to load u p a pie with, a n d h i d e in a straw tick, a s any rag ladder you c a n start; a n d a s for J i m , h e hain't h a d n o e x p e r i e n c e , a n d s o he don't c a r e w h a t kind of a — " " O h , s h u c k s , H u c k F i n n , if I w a s a s ignorant a s y o u , I'd k e e p s t i l l — t h a t ' s w h a t I'd d o . W h o ever h e a r d of a state p r i s o n e r e s c a p i n g by a hickry-bark l a d d e r ? Why, it's perfectly r i d i c u l o u s . " "Well, all right, T o m , fix it your own way; but if you'll take my a d v i c e , you'll let m e borrow a s h e e t off of the c l o t h e s - l i n e . " H e s a i d that would do. A n d that give him a n o t h e r i d e a , a n d h e s a y s : " B o r r o w a shirt, t o o . " " W h a t do w e w a n t of a shirt, T o m ? " " W a n t it for J i m to k e e p a j o u r n a l o n . " " J o u r n a l your granny—Jim can't w r i t e . " " S p o s e h e can't w r i t e — h e c a n m a k e m a r k s o n the shirt, can't h e , if we m a k e him a p e n o u t of a n old pewter s p o o n or a p i e c e of a n old iron barrelhoop?" "Why, T o m , w e c a n pull a feather o u t of a g o o s e a n d m a k e h i m a better o n e ; a n d quicker, t o o . " "Prisoners don't have g e e s e r u n n i n g a r o u n d the d o n j o n - k e e p to pull p e n s out of, you m u g g i n s . T h e y always m a k e their p e n s o u t of the h a r d e s t , t o u g h est, t r o u b l e s o m e s t p i e c e of old b r a s s c a n d l e s t i c k or s o m e t h i n g like that they

A D V E N T U R E S

O F

H U C K L E B E R R Y

F I N N ,

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c a n get their h a n d s o n ; a n d it takes t h e m w e e k s a n d w e e k s , a n d m o n t h s a n d m o n t h s to file it out, too, b e c a u s e they've got to do it by r u b b i n g it o n the wall. They wouldn't u s e a goose-quill if they h a d it. It ain't r e g u l a r . " "Well, t h e n , what'Il we m a k e him the ink o u t o f ? " " M a n y m a k e s it out of iron-rust a n d t e a r s ; b u t that's the c o m m o n sort a n d w o m e n ; the b e s t authorities u s e s their own b l o o d . J i m c a n do that; a n d w h e n h e w a n t s to s e n d any little c o m m o n ordinary m y s t e r i o u s m e s s a g e to let the world know where he's captivated, he c a n write it on the b o t t o m of a tin plate with a fork a n d throw it out of the window. T h e Iron M a s k 3 always d o n e that, a n d it's a b l a m e ' g o o d way, t o o . " "Jim ain't got n o tin p l a t e s . T h e y feed him in a p a n . " " T h a t ain't anything; we c a n get him s o m e . " " C a n ' t nobody read his p l a t e s . " " T h a t ain't got n o t h i n g to do with it, H u c k F i n n . All he's got to d o is to write on the plate a n d throw it out. You don't have to be able to r e a d it. Why, half the time you can't read anything a p r i s o n e r writes on a tin p l a t e , or anywhere e l s e . " "Well, t h e n , what's the s e n s e in w a s t i n g the p l a t e s ? " "Why, b l a m e it all, it ain't the prisoner's p l a t e s . " " B u t it's somebody's p l a t e s , ain't i t ? " "Well, s p o s ' n it is? W h a t d o e s the prisoner c a r e w h o s e — " H e broke off there, b e c a u s e we h e a r d the breakfast-horn blowing. S o we c l e a r e d o u t for the h o u s e . A l o n g d u r i n g that m o r n i n g I borrowed a s h e e t a n d a white shirt off of the clothes-line; a n d I f o u n d an old s a c k a n d p u t t h e m in it, a n d we went d o w n a n d got the fox-fire, a n d p u t that in too. I called it borrowing, b e c a u s e that was what p a p always called it; but T o m s a i d it warn't borrowing, it w a s stealing. H e said w e w a s r e p r e s e n t i n g p r i s o n e r s ; a n d p r i s o n e r s don't c a r e how they get a thing s o they get it, a n d n o b o d y don't b l a m e t h e m for it, either. It ain't n o c r i m e in a prisoner to steal the thing h e n e e d s to get away with, T o m said; it's his right; a n d s o , a s long as we w a s r e p r e s e n t i n g a p r i s o n e r , we h a d a perfect right to steal anything on this p l a c e w e h a d the least u s e for, to get ourselves o u t of prison with. H e said if we warn't p r i s o n e r s it w o u l d be a very different thing, a n d n o b o d y but a m e a n ornery p e r s o n would steal w h e n he warn't a prisoner. S o we allowed we w o u l d steal everything t h e r e w a s that c o m e handy. A n d yet h e m a d e a mighty f u s s , o n e day, after that, w h e n I stole a w a t e r m e l o n o u t of the nigger p a t c h a n d eat it; a n d h e m a d e m e g o a n d give the niggers a d i m e , without telling t h e m w h a t it w a s for. T o m s a i d that what h e m e a n t w a s , we c o u l d steal anything we needed. Well, I says, I n e e d e d the w a t e r m e l o n . B u t he said I didn't n e e d it to get o u t of prison with, there's w h e r e the difference w a s . H e s a i d if I'd a w a n t e d it to hide a knife in, a n d s m u g g l e it to J i m to kill the s e n e s k a l with, it w o u l d a b e e n all right. S o I let it g o at that, t h o u g h I couldn't s e e n o a d v a n t a g e in my r e p r e s e n t i n g a prisoner, if I got to set down and c h a w over a lot of gold-leaf distinctions like that, every time I s e e a c h a n c e to h o g a w a t e r m e l o n . Well, a s I w a s saying, we waited that m o r n i n g till everybody w a s settled d o w n to b u s i n e s s , a n d n o b o d y in sight a r o u n d the yard; then T o m he carried 3 . T h e c h i e f c h a r a c t e r i n A l e x a n d r e D u m a s ' s n o v e l Le Vicomte de Bragelonne w a s s o o n a f t e r t r a n s l a t e d i n t o E n g l i s h a s The Man in the Iron Mask.

(1848—50), part of which

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the s a c k into the lean-to whilst I s t o o d off a p i e c e to k e e p w a t c h . By-and-by he c o m e out, a n d we went a n d set d o w n on the w o o d - p i l e , to talk. H e says: "Everything's all right, now, except tools; a n d that's e a s y fixed." " T o o l s ? " I says. "Yes." " T o o l s for w h a t ? " "Why, to dig with. W e ain't a g o i n g to gnaw him o u t , a r e w e ? " "Ain't t h e m old crippled picks a n d things in there g o o d e n o u g h to dig a nigger o u t w i t h ? " I says. H e turns on m e looking pitying e n o u g h to m a k e a body cry, a n d says: " H u c k F i n n , did you ever h e a r of a p r i s o n e r having picks a n d s h o v e l s , a n d all the m o d e r n c o n v e n i e n c e s in his w a r d r o b e to dig h i m s e l f out with? N o w I w a n t to a s k y o u — i f you got any r e a s o n a b l e n e s s in you at a l l — w h a t kind of a s h o w would that give h i m to be a hero? Why, they might a s well lend him the key, a n d d o n e with it. Picks a n d s h o v e l s — w h y they wouldn't furnish 'em to a king." "Well, t h e n , " I says, "if we don't want the picks a n d s h o v e l s , w h a t d o we want?" "A c o u p l e of c a s e - k n i v e s . " 4 " T o dig the f o u n d a t i o n s out from u n d e r that c a b i n w i t h ? " "Yes." " C o n f o u n d it, it's foolish, T o m . " "It don't m a k e no difference how foolish it is, it's the right w a y — a n d it's the regular way. And there ain't no other way, that ever / h e a r d of, a n d I've read all the b o o k s that gives any information a b o u t t h e s e t h i n g s . T h e y always dig out with a c a s e - k n i f e — a n d not t h r o u g h dirt, m i n d you; generly it's through solid rock. A n d it takes t h e m w e e k s a n d weeks a n d w e e k s , a n d for ever a n d ever. Why, look at o n e of t h e m p r i s o n e r s in the b o t t o m d u n g e o n of the C a s t l e D e e f , 5 in the harbor of M a r s e i l l e s , that d u g h i m s e l f o u t that way; how long w a s he at it, you r e c k o n ? " "I don't k n o w . " "Well, g u e s s . " "I don't know. A m o n t h a n d a h a l f ? " "Thirty-seven year—and he c o m e out in C h i n a . TTiat's the kind. I wish the b o t t o m of this fortress w a s solid r o c k . " "Jim don't know nobody in C h i n a . " " W h a t ' s that got to do with it? N e i t h e r did that other fellow. B u t you're always a-wandering off o n a side i s s u e . W h y can't you stick to the m a i n point?" "All r i g h t — / don't c a r e where he c o m e s o u t , s o h e comes o u t ; a n d J i m don't, either, I reckon. B u t there's o n e thing, a n y w a y — J i m ' s t o o old to be d u g out with a c a s e - k n i f e . H e won't l a s t . " "Yes he will last, t o o . You don't reckon it's g o i n g to take thirty-seven years to dig o u t through a dirt f o u n d a t i o n , d o y o u ? " " H o w long will it take, T o m ? " "Well, we can't resk b e i n g a s long a s we o u g h t to, b e c a u s e it mayn't t a k e very long for U n c l e S i l a s to h e a r from d o w n there by N e w O r l e a n s . He'll 4. O r d i n a r y k i t c h e n knives. 5. T h e hero of Alexandre Dumas's R o m a n t i c n o v e l The Count of Monte Cristo

popular (1844)

w a s h e l d p r i s o n e r a t t h e C h a t e a u d'lf, a c a s t l e b u i l t by F r a n c i s I in 1 5 2 4 o n a s m a l l i s l a n d in M a r s e i l l e s h a r b o r a n d u s e d for m a n y years a s a s t a t e p r i s o n .

ADVENTURES

OF H U C K L E B E R R Y F I N N ,

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hear J i m ain't from there. T h e n his next m o v e will be to advertise J i m , or s o m e t h i n g like that. S o w e can't resk b e i n g a s long digging him out a s we o u g h t to. By rights I reckon we o u g h t to b e a c o u p l e of y e a r s ; b u t we can't. T h i n g s b e i n g so u n c e r t a i n , what I r e c o m m e n d is this: that we really dig right in, a s q u i c k a s we c a n ; a n d after that, we c a n let on, to o u r s e l v e s , that we w a s at it thirty-seven years. T h e n we c a n s n a t c h him o u t a n d r u s h him away the first time there's a n a l a r m . Yes, I reckon that'll b e the b e s t way." " N o w , there's sense in t h a t , " I says. " L e t t i n g o n don't c o s t nothing; letting on ain't no t r o u b l e ; a n d if it's any object, I don't m i n d letting on we w a s at it a h u n d r e d a n d fifty year. It wouldn't strain m e n o n e , after I got my h a n d in. S o I'll m o s e y a l o n g now, a n d s m o u c h a c o u p l e of c a s e - k n i v e s . " " S m o u c h t h r e e , " he says; "we want o n e to m a k e a s a w o u t of." " T o m , if it ain't u n r e g u l a r a n d irreligious to sejest it," I s a y s , "there's a n old rusty saw-blade a r o u n d yonder sticking u n d e r the w e a t h e r b o a r d i n g b e h i n d the s m o k e - h o u s e . " H e looked kind of weary a n d d i s c o u r a g e d - l i k e , a n d says: "It ain't no u s e to try to learn you nothing, H u c k . R u n a l o n g a n d s m o u c h the k n i v e s — t h r e e of t h e m . " S o I d o n e it. Chapter

XXXVI

A s s o o n a s we r e c k o n e d everybody w a s a s l e e p , that night, we went d o w n the lightning-rod, a n d s h u t ourselves up in the lean-to, a n d got o u t our pile of fox-fire, a n d went to work. W e c l e a r e d everything o u t of the way, a b o u t four or five foot a l o n g the m i d d l e of the b o t t o m log. T o m s a i d he w a s right b e h i n d J i m ' s b e d now, a n d we'd dig in u n d e r it, a n d w h e n we got t h r o u g h there couldn't nobody in the c a b i n ever know there w a s any hole there, b e c a u s e J i m ' s c o u n t e r p i n 6 h u n g d o w n m o s t to the g r o u n d , a n d you'd have to raise it u p a n d look u n d e r to s e e the h o l e . S o we d u g a n d d u g , with c a s e knives, till m o s t midnight; a n d then we w a s dog-tired, a n d our h a n d s w a s blistered, a n d yet you couldn't see we'd d o n e anything, hardly. At last I says: "This ain't no thirty-seven year j o b , this is a thirty-eight year j o b , T o m Sawyer." H e never s a i d nothing. B u t h e sighed, a n d pretty s o o n he s t o p p e d digging, a n d then for a good little while I k n o w e d he w a s thinking. T h e n he s a y s : "It ain't n o u s e , H u c k , it ain't a g o i n g to work. If we w a s p r i s o n e r s it w o u l d , b e c a u s e then we'd have a s m a n y years a s we w a n t e d , a n d n o hurry; a n d we wouldn't get but a few m i n u t e s to dig, every day, while they w a s c h a n g i n g w a t c h e s , a n d s o our h a n d s wouldn't get blistered, a n d we c o u l d k e e p it u p right along, year in a n d year out, a n d do it right, a n d the way it ought to b e d o n e . B u t we can't fool along, we got to r u s h ; we ain't got n o time to s p a r e . If w e w a s to p u t in a n o t h e r night this way, we'd have to k n o c k off for a w e e k to let our h a n d s get w e l l — c o u l d n ' t t o u c h a case-knife with t h e m s o o n e r . " "Well, then, what we g o i n g to d o , T o m ? " "I'll tell y o u . It ain't right, a n d it ain't m o r a l , a n d I wouldn't like it to get o u t — b u t there ain't only j u s t the o n e way; we got to dig him out with the p i c k s , a n d let on it's c a s e - k n i v e s . " "Now you're talking!" I says; "your h e a d g e t s leveler a n d leveler all the 6. C o u n t e r p a n e or b e d s p r e a d .

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t i m e , T o m S a w y e r , " I says. " P i c k s is the thing, m o r a l or n o m o r a l ; a n d a s for m e , I don't c a r e s h u c k s for the morality of it, n o h o w . W h e n I start in to steal a nigger, or a w a t e r m e l o n , or a S u n d a y - s c h o o l book, I ain't n o ways p a r t i c u l a r h o w it's d o n e s o it's d o n e . W h a t I w a n t is my nigger; or w h a t I w a n t is m y w a t e r m e l o n ; or w h a t I w a n t is my S u n d a y - s c h o o l b o o k ; a n d if a pick's the h a n d i e s t thing, that's the thing I'm a g o i n g to dig that nigger or that waterm e l o n or that S u n d a y - s c h o o l b o o k out with; a n d I don't give a d e a d rat w h a t the authorities thinks a b o u t it n u t h e r . " " W e l l , " h e savs. "there's e x c u s e for picks a n d letting-on in a c a s e like this; if it warn't j j f f i w o u l d n ' t a p p r o v e o f it. n o r I vyouJrlrXt s t a n d by a n d s e e th%\ j u l e s b r o k e — b e c a u s e right is right, a n d w r o n g is w r o n g , 1 m d a b o d y ain t g o y no b u s i n e s s doinp; w r o n g w h e n h e ain't^ignorant a n d k n o w s betterJTt might a n s w e r for you to d i g j i m o u t with a [ p i c k , without any letting-on, b e c a u s e you don't know n o better; b u t it wouldn't for m e , b e c a u s e I d o k n o w better. G i m m e a case-knife." H e h a d his own by h i m , but I h a n d e d h i m m i n e . H e flung it d o w n , a n d says: "Gimme a case-knife." I didn't k n o w j u s t w h a t to d o — b u t then I t h o u g h t . I s c r a t c h e d a r o u n d a m o n g s t the old tools, a n d got a pick-ax a n d give it to h i m , a n d h e took it a n d went to work, a n d never s a i d a word. H e w a s always j u s t that particular. Full of principle. S o then I got a shovel, a n d then we p i c k e d a n d s h o v e l e d , turn a b o u t , a n d m a d e the fur fly. W e s t u c k to it a b o u t a half a n h o u r , w h i c h w a s as long a s we c o u l d s t a n d u p ; but we h a d a g o o d deal of a h o l e to s h o w for it. W h e n I got u p stairs, I looked o u t at the w i n d o w a n d s e e T o m d o i n g his level b e s t with the lightning-rod, but h e c o u l d n ' t c o m e it, his h a n d s w a s s o s o r e . At last he says: "It ain't n o u s e , it can't be d o n e . W h a t you reckon I better d o ? C a n ' t you think u p n o w a y ? " " Y e s , " I s a y s , " b u t I reckon it ain't regular. C o m e u p the stairs, a n d let o n it's a lightning-rod." S o he d o n e it. v Next day T o m stole a p e w t e r s p o o n a n d a b r a s s c a n d l e s t i c k in the h o u s e , for to m a k e s o m e p e n s for J i m o u t of, a n d six tallow c a n d l e s ; a n d I h u n g a r o u n d the nigger c a b i n s , a n d laid for a c h a n c e , a n d stole three tin p l a t e s . T o m said it wasn't e n o u g h ; b u t I said n o b o d y wouldn't ever s e e the p l a t e s that J i m throwed out, b e c a u s e they'd fall in the dog-fennel a n d j i m p s o n w e e d s u n d e r the w i n d o w - h o l e — t h e n we c o u l d tote t h e m b a c k a n d h e c o u l d u s e t h e m over a g a i n . S o T o m w a s satisfied. T h e n h e s a y s : " N o w , the thing to study o u t is, h o w to get the things to J i m . " " T a k e t h e m in t h r o u g h the h o l e , " I says, " w h e n we get it d o n e . " H e only j u s t looked scornful, a n d s a i d s o m e t h i n g a b o u t n o b o d y ever h e a r d o f s u c h a n idiotic idea, a n d then he went to studying. By-and-by h e said he h a d c i p h e r e d out two or three ways, b u t t h e r e warn't n o n e e d to d e c i d e on any of t h e m yet. S a i d we'd got to p o s t J i m first. T h a t night we went d o w n the lightning-rod a little after ten, a n d took o n e of the c a n d l e s along, a n d listened u n d e r the w i n d o w - h o l e , a n d h e a r d J i m snoring; so w e p i t c h e d it in, a n d it didn't w a k e h i m . T h e n we whirled in with the pick a n d shovel, a n d in a b o u t two h o u r s a n d a half the j o b w a s d o n e . W e

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crept in u n d e r J i m ' s b e d a n d into the c a b i n , a n d p a w e d a r o u n d a n d f o u n d the c a n d l e a n d lit it, a n d s t o o d over J i m a while, a n d f o u n d h i m looking hearty a n d healthy, a n d then we w o k e him u p gentle a n d g r a d u a l . H e w a s so glad to s e e u s h e m o s t cried; a n d called u s honey, a n d all the pet n a m e s he c o u l d think of; a n d w a s for having u s hunt u p a cold chisel to c u t the chain off of his leg with, right away, a n d c l e a r i n g o u t without losing any time. B u t T o m he s h o w e d him how u n r e g u l a r it would b e , a n d set d o w n a n d told him all a b o u t our p l a n s , a n d how we c o u l d alter t h e m in a m i n u t e any time there was a n a l a r m ; a n d not to be the least afraid, b e c a u s e we would s e e h e got away, sure. S o J i m h e said it w a s all right, a n d we set t h e r e a n d talked over old times a while, a n d then T o m a s k e d a lot of q u e s t i o n s , a n d w h e n J i m told him U n c l e S i l a s c o m e in every day or two to pray with h i m , a n d A u n t Sally c o m e in to s e e if h e w a s c o m f o r t a b l e a n d h a d plenty to e a t , a n d both of t h e m w a s kind a s they c o u l d b e , T o m says: "Now I know how to fix it. We'll s e n d you s o m e things by t h e m . " I said, " D o n ' t d o n o t h i n g of the kind; it's o n e of the m o s t j a c k a s s i d e a s I ever s t r u c k ; " b u t h e never p a i d n o attention to m e ; went right on. It w a s his way w h e n he'd got his p l a n s set. S o h e told J i m how we'd have to s m u g g l e in the rope-ladder p i e , a n d other large things, by N a t , the nigger that fed him, a n d h e m u s t be o n the lookout, a n d not b e s u r p r i s e d , a n d not let N a t s e e him o p e n t h e m ; a n d we would p u t small things in u n c l e ' s c o a t p o c k e t s a n d h e m u s t steal t h e m o u t ; a n d we would tie things to aunt's a p r o n strings or put t h e m in her a p r o n p o c k e t , if we got a c h a n c e ; a n d told him what they would b e a n d w h a t they w a s for. A n d told him how to keep a j o u r n a l o n the shirt with his b l o o d , a n d all that. H e told him everything. J i m h e couldn't s e e n o s e n s e in the m o s t of it, b u t he allowed we w a s white folks a n d knowed better than h i m ; s o he w a s satisfied, a n d said h e would do it all j u s t a s T o m s a i d . J i m h a d plenty c o r n - c o b p i p e s a n d t o b a c c o ; so we h a d a right d o w n g o o d s o c i a b l e t i m e ; then we crawled out through the h o l e , a n d s o h o m e to b e d , with h a n d s that looked like they'd b e e n c h a w e d . T o m w a s in high spirits. H e said it w a s the b e s t fun h e ever h a d in his life, a n d the m o s t intellectural; a n d said if he only c o u l d s e e his way to it we would k e e p it u p all the rest of our lives a n d leave J i m to our children to get o u t ; for h e believed J i m w o u l d c o m e to like it better a n d better the m o r e he got u s e d to it. H e s a i d that in that way it could b e s t r u n g o u t to a s m u c h a s eighty year, a n d w o u l d be the b e s t time on record. A n d h e said it would m a k e u s all c e l e b r a t e d that h a d a h a n d in it. In the m o r n i n g we went o u t to the wood-pile a n d c h o p p e d u p the b r a s s c a n d l e s t i c k into h a n d y sizes, a n d T o m p u t t h e m a n d the p e w t e r s p o o n in his p o c k e t . T h e n we went to the nigger c a b i n s , a n d while I got N a t ' s notice off, T o m shoved a p i e c e of c a n d l e s t i c k into the m i d d l e of a c o r n - p o n e that w a s in J i m ' s p a n , a n d we went a l o n g with N a t to s e e how it w o u l d work, a n d it j u s t worked n o b l e ; w h e n J i m bit into it it m o s t m a s h e d all his teeth o u t ; a n d there warn't ever anything c o u l d a worked better. T o m said s o himself. J i m he never let on but what it w a s only j u s t a p i e c e of r o c k or s o m e t h i n g like that that's always getting into b r e a d , you know; but after that h e never bit into nothing but what h e j a b b e d his fork into it in three or four p l a c e s , first. A n d whilst we w a s a s t a n d i n g there in the d i m m i s h light, h e r e c o m e s a c o u p l e of the h o u n d s b u l g i n g in, from u n d e r J i m ' s b e d ; a n d they kept on

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piling in till there w a s eleven of t h e m , a n d there warn't hardly r o o m in there to get your b r e a t h . By j i n g s , we forgot to fasten that lean-to door. T h e nigger N a t h e only j u s t hollered " w i t c h e s ! " o n c e , a n d k n e e l e d over o n t o the floor a m o n g s t the d o g s , a n d b e g u n to g r o a n like he w a s dying. T o m j e r k e d the d o o r o p e n a n d flung o u t a slab of J i m ' s m e a t , a n d the d o g s went for it, a n d in two s e c o n d s he w a s o u t h i m s e l f a n d b a c k again a n d shut the door, a n d I k n o w e d he'd fixed the other d o o r too. T h e n he went to work on the nigger, coaxing him a n d p e t t i n g h i m , a n d a s k i n g him if he'd b e e n i m a g i n i n g he s a w s o m e t h i n g a g a i n . H e raised u p , a n d blinked his eyes a r o u n d , a n d s a y s : " M a r s S i d , you'll say I's a fool, but if I didn't b'lieve I s e e m o s t a million d o g s , er devils, er s o m e ' n , I wisht I m a y die right h e a h in d e s e t r a c k s . I did, m o s ' sholy. M a r s S i d , I felt um—I felt u m , s a h ; dey w a s all over m e . D a d fetch it, I j i s ' wisht I c o u l d git my h a n ' s o n o n e er d e m witches j i s ' w u n s t — on'y j i s ' w u n s t — i t ' s all I'd a s t . B u t mos'ly I wisht dey'd l e m m e 'lone, I d o e s . " T o m says: "Well, I tell you what I think. W h a t m a k e s t h e m c o m e here j u s t at this r u n a w a y nigger's breakfast-time? It's b e c a u s e they're hungry; that's the reas o n . You m a k e t h e m a witch pie; that's the thing for you to d o . " " B u t my lan', M a r s S i d , how's I gwyne to m a k e 'm a witch p i e ? I d o a n ' know how to m a k e it. I hain't ever h e a r n er sich a thing b'fo.' " "Well, t h e n , I'll have to m a k e it myself." "Will you do it, honey?—will you? I'll w u s s h u p de g r o u n ' u n d ' yo' foot, I will!" "All right, I'll do it, s e e i n g it's you, a n d you've b e e n g o o d to u s a n d s h o w e d u s the r u n a w a y nigger. B u t you got to b e mighty c a r e f u l . W h e n we c o m e a r o u n d , you turn your b a c k ; a n d then whatever we've p u t in the p a n , don't you let o n you s e e it at all. A n d don't you look, w h e n J i m u n l o a d s the p a n — s o m e t h i n g might h a p p e n , I don't know w h a t . And a b o v e all, don't you handle the w i t c h - t h i n g s . " "Hannel'm M a r s S i d ? W h a t is you a talkin' 'bout? I w o u l d n ' lay d e weight er my finger on u m , not f'r ten hund'd t h o u s ' n ' billion dollars, I w o u l d n ' t . " Chapter

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T h a t w a s all fixed. S o then we went away a n d went to the r u b b a g e - p i l e in the b a c k yard w h e r e they k e e p the old b o o t s , a n d r a g s , a n d p i e c e s of b o t t l e s , a n d wore-out tin things, a n d all s u c h truck, a n d s c r a t c h e d a r o u n d a n d f o u n d an old tin w a s h p a n a n d s t o p p e d up the h o l e s a s well a s we c o u l d , to b a k e the pie in, a n d took it down cellar a n d stole it full of flour, a n d s t a r t e d for breakfast a n d found a c o u p l e of shingle-nails that T o m said w o u l d b e h a n d y for a prisoner to s c r a b b l e his n a m e a n d sorrows on the d u n g e o n walls with, a n d d r o p p e d o n e of t h e m in A u n t Sally's a p r o n p o c k e t w h i c h w a s h a n g i n g o n a chair, a n d t'other we s t u c k in the b a n d of U n c l e S i l a s ' s hat, which w a s on the b u r e a u , b e c a u s e we h e a r d the children say their p a a n d m a w a s g o i n g to the runaway nigger's h o u s e this m o r n i n g , a n d then went to b r e a k f a s t , a n d T o m d r o p p e d the p e w t e r s p o o n in U n c l e S i l a s ' s c o a t p o c k e t , a n d A u n t Sally wasn't c o m e yet, s o we h a d to wait a little while. And when s h e c o m e s h e w a s hot, a n d red, a n d c r o s s , a n d c o u l d n ' t hardly wait for the b l e s s i n g ; a n d then s h e went to s l u i c i n g out coffee with o n e h a n d a n d c r a c k i n g the h a n d i e s t child's h e a d with her t h i m b l e with the other, a n d says:

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"I've h u n t e d high, a n d I've h u n t e d low, a n d it d o e s b e a t all, what has b e c o m e of your other s h i r t . " M y heart fell d o w n a m o n g s t my l u n g s a n d livers a n d t h i n g s , a n d a hard piece of corn-crust started d o w n my throat after it a n d got m e t on the r o a d with a c o u g h a n d w a s shot a c r o s s the table a n d took o n e of the children in the eye a n d c u r l e d him up like a fishing-worm, a n d let a cry out of him the size of a w a r - w h o o p , a n d T o m he turned kinder b l u e a r o u n d the gills, a n d it all a m o u n t e d to a c o n s i d e r a b l e state of things for a b o u t a q u a r t e r of a m i n u t e or a s m u c h a s that, a n d I would a sold out for half price if there w a s a bidder. B u t after that we w a s all right a g a i n — i t w a s the s u d d e n s u r p r i s e of it that k n o c k e d u s so kind of cold. U n c l e S i l a s he says: "It's m o s t u n c o m m o n c u r i o u s , I can't u n d e r s t a n d it. I know perfectly well I took it off, b e c a u s e " " B e c a u s e you hain't got but o n e on. J u s t listen at the m a n ! J know you took it off, a n d know it by a better way than your wool-gethering m e m o r y , t o o , b e c a u s e it was on the clo'es-line y e s t e r d a y — I s e e it there myself. B u t it's g o n e — t h a t ' s the long a n d the short of it, a n d you'll j u s t have to c h a n g e to a red flann'l o n e till I c a n get time to m a k e a n e w o n e . A n d it'll b e the third I've m a d e in two y e a r s ; it j u s t k e e p s a body on the j u m p to k e e p you in shirts; a n d whatever you do m a n a g e to do w i t h ' m all, is more'n I c a n m a k e o u t . A body'd think you would learn to take s o m e sort of c a r e of 'em, at your time of life." "I know it, Sally, a n d I do try all I c a n . B u t it oughtn't to be a l t o g e t h e r my fault, b e c a u s e you know I don't s e e t h e m nor have n o t h i n g to d o with t h e m except w h e n they're o n m e ; a n d I don't believe I've ever lost o n e of t h e m off of m e . " "Well, it ain't your fault if you haven't, S i l a s — y o u ' d a d o n e it if you c o u l d , I reckon. A n d the shirt ain't all that's g o n e , n u t h e r . T h e r ' s a s p o o n g o n e ; a n d that ain't all. T h e r e w a s ten, a n d now ther's only n i n e . T h e calf got the shirt I reckon, but the calf never took the s p o o n , that's c e r t a i n . " "Why, w h a t else is g o n e , S a l l y ? " " T h e r ' s six candles g o n e — t h a t ' s what. T h e rats c o u l d a got the c a n d l e s , a n d I reckon they did; I w o n d e r they don't walk off with the w h o l e p l a c e , the way you're always going to s t o p their holes a n d don't do it; a n d if they warn't fools they'd sleep in your hair, Silas—you'd never find it o u t ; but you can't lay the spoon on the rats, a n d that I know." "Well, Sally, I'm in fault, a n d I a c k n o w l e d g e it; I've b e e n r e m i s s ; b u t I won't let to-morrow go by without s t o p p i n g u p t h e m h o l e s . " " O h , I wouldn't hurry, next year'll d o . M a t i l d a A n g e l i n a A r a m i n t a Phelps!" W h a c k c o m e s the t h i m b l e , a n d the child s n a t c h e s her c l a w s o u t of the sugar-bowl without fooling a r o u n d any. J u s t t h e n , the nigger w o m a n s t e p s onto the p a s s a g e , a n d says: " M i s s u s , dey's a sheet g o n e . " "A sheet g o n e ! Well, for land's s a k e ! " "I'll stop up t h e m holes to-day," says U n c l e S i l a s , looking sorrowful. " O h , do shet u p ! — s p o s e the rats took the sheet? Where's it g o n e , L i z e ? " " C l a h to g o o d n e s s I hain't no notion, M i s s Sally. S h e wuz on de clo's-line yistiddy, but s h e d o n e g o n e ; s h e ain' d a h no m o ' , n o w . " "I reckon the world is c o m i n g to a n e n d . I never s e e the b e a t of it, in all my born days. A shirt, a n d a s h e e t , a n d a s p o o n , a n d six c a n — " " M i s s u s , " c o m e s a y o u n g yaller w e n c h , "dey's a b r a s s c a n d l e s t i c k m i s s ' n . "

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" C l e r o u t from h e r e , you h u s s y , er I'll take a skillet to y e ! " W e l l , s h e w a s j u s t a biling. I b e g u n to lay for a c h a n c e ; I r e c k o n e d I w o u l d s n e a k o u t a n d g o for the w o o d s till the w e a t h e r m o d e r a t e d . S h e kept a r a g i n g right along, r u n n i n g her insurrection all by herself, a n d everybody e l s e mighty m e e k a n d quiet; a n d at last U n c l e S i l a s , looking kind of foolish, fishes u p that s p o o n out of his p o c k e t . S h e s t o p p e d , with her m o u t h o p e n a n d her h a n d s u p , a n d a s for m e , I w i s h e d I w a s in J e r u s l e m or s o m e w h e r e s . B u t not long; b e c a u s e s h e says: "It's j u s t a s I e x p e c t e d . S o you h a d it in your p o c k e t all the t i m e ; a n d like a s not you've got the other things there, t o o . H o w ' d it get t h e r e ? " "I reely don't know, S a l l y , " h e says, kind of apologizing, "or y o u know I w o u l d tell. I w a s a-studying over my text in A c t s S e v e n t e e n , b e f o r e breakfast, a n d I reckon I p u t it in there, not noticing, m e a n i n g to p u t my T e s t a m e n t in, a n d it m u s t b e s o , b e c a u s e my T e s t a m e n t ain't in, but I'll g o a n d s e e , a n d if the T e s t a m e n t is w h e r e I h a d it, I'll know I didn't p u t it in, a n d that will s h o w that I laid the T e s t a m e n t d o w n a n d t o o k u p the s p o o n , a n d " " O h , for the land's s a k e ! G i v e a body a rest! G o 'long now, the w h o l e kit a n d biling of ye; a n d don't c o m e nigh m e a g a i n till I've got b a c k my p e a c e of mind." I'd a h e a r d her, if she'd a s a i d it to herself, let a l o n e s p e a k i n g it o u t ; a n d I'd a got u p a n d o b e y e d her, if I'd a b e e n d e a d . As we w a s p a s s i n g t h r o u g h the setting-room, the old m a n he took u p his hat, a n d the shingle-nail fell out on the floor, a n d he j u s t merely p i c k e d it u p a n d laid it o n the m a n t e l shelf, a n d never said nothing, a n d went o u t . T o m s e e him d o it, a n d r e m e m b e r e d a b o u t the s p o o n , a n d s a y s : "Well, it ain't no u s e to s e n d things by him n o m o r e , h e ain't r e l i a b l e . " T h e n h e says: " B u t he d o n e u s a g o o d turn with the s p o o n , anyway, without k n o w i n g it, a n d s o we'll go a n d d o h i m o n e without him k n o w i n g i t — s t o p u p his r a t - h o l e s . " T h e r e w a s a n o b l e g o o d lot of t h e m , d o w n cellar, a n d it t o o k u s a w h o l e hour, but we d o n e the j o b tight a n d g o o d , a n d s h i p - s h a p e . T h e n we h e a r d s t e p s on the stairs, a n d blowed o u t o u r light, a n d hid; a n d h e r e c o m e s the old m a n , with a c a n d l e in o n e h a n d a n d a b u n d l e of stuff in t'other, looking a s a b s e n t - m i n d e d a s year before last. H e went a m o o n i n g a r o u n d , first to o n e rat-hole a n d then a n o t h e r , till he'd b e e n to t h e m all. T h e n he s t o o d a b o u t five m i n u t e s , p i c k i n g tallow-drip off of his c a n d l e a n d thinking. T h e n h e t u r n s off slow a n d d r e a m y towards the stairs, saying: "Well, for the life of m e I can't r e m e m b e r w h e n I d o n e it. I c o u l d s h o w her now that I warn't to b l a m e on a c c o u n t of the rats. B u t never m i n d — l e t it g o . I r e c k o n it wouldn't do no g o o d . " A n d so h e went o n a m u m b l i n g u p s t a i r s , a n d then we left. H e w a s a mighty nice old m a n . A n d always is. T o m w a s a g o o d deal b o t h e r e d a b o u t w h a t to d o for a s p o o n , b u t h e said we'd got to have it; s o he took a think. W h e n he h a d c i p h e r e d it o u t , h e told m e h o w we w a s to d o ; then we went a n d waited a r o u n d the s p o o n - b a s k e t till we s e e A u n t Sally c o m i n g , a n d then T o m went to c o u n t i n g the s p o o n s a n d laying t h e m o u t to o n e s i d e , a n d I slip o n e of t h e m u p my s l e e v e , a n d T o m s a y s : "Why, A u n t Sally, there ain't b u t nine s p o o n s , yet." S h e says: " G o 'long to your play, a n d don't b o t h e r m e . I know better, I c o u n t e d ' m myself."

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"Well, I've c o u n t e d t h e m twice, Aunty, a n d I can't m a k e but n i n e . " S h e looked o u t of all p a t i e n c e , but of c o u r s e s h e c o m e to c o u n t — a n y b o d y would. "I d e c l a r e to g r a c i o u s ther' ain't but n i n e ! " s h e s a y s . "Why, what in the w o r l d — p l a g u e take the things, I'll c o u n t ' m a g a i n . " S o I slipped b a c k the o n e I h a d , a n d w h e n s h e got d o n e c o u n t i n g , s h e says: " H a n g the t r o u b l e s o m e r u b b a g e , ther's ten n o w ! " a n d s h e looked huffy a n d b o t h e r e d both. B u t T o m says: "Why, Aunty I don't think there's t e n . " "You n u m s k u l l , didn't you see m e count'm?" "I know, b u t — " "Well, I'll c o u n t ' m again." S o I s m o u c h e d o n e , a n d they c o m e o u t n i n e s a m e a s the other t i m e . W e l l , s h e was in a tearing w a y — j u s t a trembling all over, s h e w a s s o m a d . B u t s h e c o u n t e d a n d c o u n t e d , till s h e got that a d d l e d she'd start to count-in the basket for a s p o o n , s o m e t i m e s ; a n d s o , three times they c o m e out right, a n d three times they c o m e out wrong. T h e n s h e g r a b b e d up the b a s k e t a n d s l a m m e d it a c r o s s the h o u s e a n d k n o c k e d the cat galley-west; 7 a n d s h e s a i d cle'r out a n d let her have s o m e p e a c e , a n d if we c o m e b o t h e r i n g a r o u n d her again betwixt that a n d dinner, she'd skin u s . S o we h a d the o d d s p o o n ; a n d d r o p p e d it in her a p r o n p o c k e t whilst s h e w a s giving u s our sailing-orders, a n d J i m got it all right, a l o n g with her shingle-nail, b e f o r e n o o n . W e w a s very well satisfied with the b u s i n e s s , a n d T o m allowed it w a s worth twice the trouble it took, b e c a u s e h e said now s h e couldn't ever c o u n t t h e m s p o o n s twice alike again to save her life; a n d wouldn't believe she'd c o u n t e d t h e m right, if s h e did; a n d said that after she'd a b o u t c o u n t e d her h e a d off, for the last three d a y s , h e j u d g e d she'd give it u p a n d offer to kill anybody that w a n t e d her to ever c o u n t t h e m any m o r e . S o we p u t the sheet b a c k on the line, that night, a n d stole o n e o u t of her closet; a n d kept on p u t t i n g it b a c k a n d stealing it a g a i n , for a c o u p l e of d a y s , till s h e didn't know how m a n y s h e e t s s h e h a d , any m o r e , a n d said s h e didn't care, a n d warn't a g o i n g to bullyrag 8 the rest of her s o u l o u t a b o u t it, a n d wouldn't c o u n t t h e m again not to save her life, s h e d r u t h e r die first. S o we w a s all right now, a s to the shirt a n d the s h e e t a n d the s p o o n a n d the c a n d l e s , by the help of the calf a n d the rats a n d the m i x e d - u p c o u n t i n g ; a n d a s to the c a n d l e s t i c k , it warn't n o c o n s e q u e n c e , it w o u l d blow over byand-by. B u t that pie w a s a j o b ; we h a d no e n d of trouble with that p i e . W e fixed it up away d o w n in the w o o d s , a n d c o o k e d it t h e r e ; a n d we got it d o n e at last, a n d very satisfactory, too; but not all in o n e day; a n d we h a d to u s e up three w a s h p a n s full of flour, before we got t h r o u g h , a n d we got b u r n t pretty m u c h all over, in p l a c e s , a n d eyes p u t o u t with the s m o k e ; b e c a u s e , you s e e , we didn't want n o t h i n g but a c r u s t , a n d we couldn't p r o p it u p right, a n d s h e would always c a v e in. B u t of c o u r s e w e t h o u g h t of the right way at last; which w a s to c o o k the ladder, too, in the p i e . S o then we laid in with J i m , the s e c o n d night, a n d tore u p the s h e e t all in little strings, a n d twisted t h e m together, a n d long before daylight we h a d a lovely r o p e , that you c o u l d a h u n g a p e r s o n with. W e let o n it took nine m o n t h s to m a k e it. 7.

Knocked out completely.

8. T o n a g mercilessly.

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A n d in the f o r e n o o n we took it d o w n to the w o o d s , b u t it wouldn't go in the p i e . B e i n g m a d e of a whole s h e e t , that way, there w a s r o p e e n o u g h for forty p i e s , if we'd a w a n t e d t h e m , a n d plenty left over for s o u p , or s a u s a g e , or anything you c h o o s e . W e c o u l d a h a d a whole d i n n e r . B u t we didn't n e e d it. All we n e e d e d w a s j u s t e n o u g h for the p i e , a n d so we throwed the rest away. W e didn't c o o k n o n e of the pies in the w a s h p a n , afraid the solder w o u l d melt; but U n c l e S i l a s he h a d a n o b l e b r a s s warmingp a n which h e thought c o n s i d e r a b l e of, b e c a u s e it b e l o n g e d to o n e of his a n c e s t o r s with a long w o o d e n h a n d l e that c o m e over from E n g l a n d with William the C o n q u e r o r in the Mayflower'' or o n e of t h e m early s h i p s a n d w a s hid away u p garret with a lot of other old p o t s a n d things that w a s v a l u a b l e , not on a c c o u n t of b e i n g any a c c o u n t b e c a u s e they warn't, but o n a c c o u n t of t h e m b e i n g relicts, you know, a n d we s n a k e d her o u t , private, a n d took her down there, but s h e failed on the first p i e s , b e c a u s e we didn't k n o w how, but she c o m e u p smiling on the last o n e . W e took a n d lined her with d o u g h , a n d set her in the c o a l s , a n d l o a d e d her u p with rag-rope, a n d p u t on a d o u g h roof, a n d s h u t d o w n the lid, a n d p u t hot e m b e r s o n t o p , a n d s t o o d off five foot, with the long h a n d l e , cool a n d c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d in fifteen m i n u t e s s h e turned out a p i e that w a s a s a t i s f a c t i o n to look at. B u t the p e r s o n that et it would want to fetch a c o u p l e of k a g s of toothpicks a l o n g , for if that ropeladder wouldn't c r a m p him d o w n to b u s i n e s s , I don't know n o t h i n g what I'm talking a b o u t , a n d lay him in e n o u g h s t o m a c h - a c h e to last him till next t i m e , too. N a t didn't look, w h e n we put the witch-pie in J i m ' s p a n ; a n d we p u t the three tin p l a t e s in the b o t t o m of the p a n u n d e r the vittles; a n d s o J i m got everything all right, a n d a s s o o n a s h e w a s by h i m s e l f he b u s t e d into the pie a n d hid the rope-ladder inside of his straw tick, a n d s c r a t c h e d s o m e marks on a tin plate a n d throwed it out of the w i n d o w - h o l e .

Chapter

XXXVIII

M a k i n g t h e m p e n s w a s a d i s t r e s s i d - t o u g h j o b , a n d s o w a s the s a w ; a n d J i m allowed the inscription w a s g o i n g to be the t o u g h e s t of all. T h a t ' s the o n e which the p r i s o n e r h a s to s c r a b b l e on the wall. B u t we had to have it; T o m said we'd got to; there warn't no c a s e of a s t a t e p r i s o n e r not s c r a b b l i n g his inscription to leave b e h i n d , a n d his c o a t of a r m s . " L o o k at L a d y J a n e G r e y , " h e says; "look at Gilford D u d l e y ; look at old N o r t h u m b e r l a n d ! 1 Why, H u c k , s p o s e it is c o n s i d e r a b l e t r o u b l e ? — w h a t you g o i n g to d o ? — h o w you g o i n g to get a r o u n d it? J i m ' s got to do his inscription a n d c o a t of a r m s . T h e y all d o . " J i m says: "Why, M a r s T o m , I hain't got no c o a t o' a r m s ; I hain't got nuffn b u t dishyer old shirt, en you knows I got to k e e p d e j o u r n a l o n d a t . " " O h , you don't u n d e r s t a n d , J i m ; a c o a t of a r m s is very different."

9 . W i l l i a m t h e C o n q u e r o r lived in t h e 1 1 t h c e n t u r y . T h e Mayflower m a d e its h i s t o r i c c r o s s i n g in

d u k e o f N o r t h u m b e r l a n d w a s t o l d in W . H . A i n s w o r t h ' s r o m a n c e The Tower of London (1840). The

1620. 1. T h e s t o r y o f L a d y J a n e G r e y ( 1 5 3 7 - 1 5 5 4 ) , h e r h u s b a n d , Guildford Dudley, a n d his father the

d u k e w a s at w o r k c a r v i n g a p o e m o n t h e wall o f his cell w h e n the e x e c u t i o n e r s c a m e for h i m .

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X X X V I I I

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1 4 1 1

" W e l l , " I says, "Jim's right, anyway, w h e n he says h e hain't got no coat of a r m s , b e c a u s e h e hain't." "I reckon I k n o w e d t h a t , " T o m says, "but you bet he'll have o n e before h e g o e s o u t of t h i s — b e c a u s e he's going out right, a n d there ain't g o i n g to b e no flaws in his r e c o r d . " S o whilst m e a n d J i m filed away at the p e n s on a b r i c k b a t 2 a p i e c e , J i m a m a k i n g his'n o u t of the b r a s s a n d I m a k i n g m i n e out of the s p o o n , T o m set to work to think out the c o a t of a r m s . By-and-by he s a i d he'd s t r u c k s o m a n y g o o d o n e s he didn't hardly know which to take, but there w a s o n e which he r e c k o n e d he'd d e c i d e on. H e says: " O n the s c u t c h e o n ' we'll have a b e n d or in the dexter b a s e , a saltire murrey in the f e s s , with a d o g , c o u c h a n t , for c o m m o n c h a r g e , a n d u n d e r his foot a chain e m b a t t l e d , for slavery, with a chevron vert in a chief e n g r a i l e d , a n d three invected lines on a field azure, with the nombril points r a m p a n t o n a d a n c e t t e i n d e n t e d ; crest, a r u n a w a y nigger, sable, with his b u n d l e over his s h o u l d e r on a bar sinister: a n d a c o u p l e of g u l e s for s u p p o r t e r s , which is you a n d m e ; m o t t o , Maggiore fretta, minore atto. G o t it out of a b o o k — m e a n s , the m o r e h a s t e , the less s p e e d . " " G e e w h i l l i k i n s , " I says, " b u t what d o e s the rest of it m e a n ? " " W e ain't got n o time to b o t h e r over t h a t , " he says, "we got to dig in like all git-out." "Well, anyway," I says, "what's some of it? W h a t ' s a f e s s ? " " A f e s s — a fess is—you don't n e e d to know w h a t a fess is. I'll s h o w him how to m a k e it w h e n he g e t s to it." " S h u c k s , T o m , " I says, "I think you m i g h t tell a p e r s o n . W h a t ' s a bar sinister?" " O h , J don't know. B u t he's got to have it. All the nobility d o e s . " T h a t w a s j u s t his way. If it didn't suit him to explain a thing to you, he wouldn't d o it. You might p u m p at him a week, it wouldn't m a k e no difference. H e ' d got all that c o a t of a r m s b u s i n e s s fixed, so now he started in to finish up the rest of that part of the work, which w a s to plan out a m o u r n f u l i n s c r i p t i o n — s a i d J i m got to have o n e , like they all d o n e . H e m a d e up a lot, a n d wrote t h e m out on a p a p e r , a n d read t h e m off, s o : J . Here a captive heart busted. 2. Here a poor prisoner, forsook by the world and friends, fretted out his sorrowful life. 3. Here a lonely heart broke, and a worn spirit went to its rest, after thirtyseven years of solitary captivity. 4. Here, homeless and friendless, after thirty-seven years of bitter captivity, perished a noble stranger, natural son of Louis XIV. T o m ' s voice t r e m b l e d , whilst he w a s r e a d i n g t h e m , a n d h e m o s t broke d o w n . W h e n h e got d o n e , he couldn't n o way m a k e up his m i n d which o n e for J i m to s c r a b b l e onto the wall, they w a s all so g o o d ; b u t at last he allowed he would let him s c r a b b l e t h e m all on. J i m s a i d it would take him a year to 2. A fragment of brick.

w h i c h t h e c o a t o f a r m s is i n s c r i b e d . T h e d e t a i l s a r e

3.

e x p r e s s e d in t h e t e c h n i c a l a r g o t o f

A n e s c u t c h e o n is t h e s h i e l d - s h a p e d s u r f a c e o n

heraldry'.

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s c r a b b l e s u c h a lot of t r u c k o n t o the logs with a nail, a n d h e didn't know how to m a k e letters, b e s i d e s ; but T o m s a i d he would b l o c k t h e m o u t for h i m , a n d then he wouldn't have n o t h i n g to do b u t j u s t follow the lines. T h e n pretty s o o n he says: " C o m e to think, the logs ain't a g o i n g to d o ; they don't have log walls in a d u n g e o n : we got to dig the inscriptions into a rock. We'll fetch a r o c k . " J i m s a i d the rock w a s w o r s e than the l o g s ; h e said it w o u l d take him s u c h a p i s o n long time to dig t h e m into a rock, he wouldn't ever get out. B u t T o m said h e w o u l d let m e help h i m do it. T h e n he took a look to s e e h o w m e a n d J i m w a s getting a l o n g with the p e n s . It w a s m o s t pesky t e d i o u s hard work a n d slow, a n d didn't give my h a n d s n o s h o w to get well of the s o r e s , a n d we didn't s e e m to m a k e n o h e a d w a y , hardly. S o T o m says: "I know h o w to fix it. W e got to have a r o c k for the c o a t of a r m s a n d m o u r n f u l i n s c r i p t i o n s , a n d we c a n kill two birds with that s a m e rock. T h e r e ' s a g a u d y big g r i n d s t o n e d o w n at the mill, a n d we'll s m o u c h it, a n d carve the things o n it, a n d file o u t the p e n s a n d the s a w o n it, t o o . " It warn't n o s l o u c h of a n i d e a ; a n d it warn't n o s l o u c h of a g r i n d s t o n e nuther; but we allowed we'd tackle it. It warn't q u i t e m i d n i g h t , yet, s o we cleared o u t for the mill, leaving J i m at work. W e s m o u c h e d the g r i n d s t o n e , a n d set o u t to roll her h o m e , b u t it w a s a m o s t n a t i o n t o u g h j o b . S o m e t i m e s , do what we c o u l d , we couldn't k e e p her from falling over, a n d s h e c o m e mighty n e a r m a s h i n g u s , every t i m e . T o m s a i d s h e w a s g o i n g to get o n e of u s , s u r e , before w e got t h r o u g h . W e got her half way; a n d then we w a s p l u m b played o u t , a n d m o s t d r o w n d e d with s w e a t . W e s e e it warn't n o u s e , w e got to go a n d fetch J i m . S o h e r a i s e d u p his b e d a n d slid the c h a i n off of the bed-leg, a n d wrapt it r o u n d a n d r o u n d his n e c k , a n d we crawled o u t t h r o u g h our hole a n d d o w n there, a n d J i m a n d m e laid into that g r i n d s t o n e a n d walked her a l o n g like n o t h i n g ; a n d T o m s u p e r i n t e n d e d . H e c o u l d outs u p e r i n t e n d any boy I ever s e e . H e k n o w e d h o w to d o everything. O u r h o l e w a s pretty big, b u t it warn't big e n o u g h to get the g r i n d s t o n e t h r o u g h ; but J i m h e t o o k the p i c k a n d s o o n m a d e it big e n o u g h . T h e n T o m m a r k e d o u t t h e m things on it with the nail, a n d set J i m to work on t h e m , with the nail for a chisel a n d a n iron bolt from the r u b b a g e in the lean-to for a h a m m e r , a n d told him to work till the rest of his c a n d l e q u i t o n h i m , a n d then he c o u l d go to b e d , a n d hide the g r i n d s t o n e u n d e r his s t r a w tick a n d s l e e p on it. T h e n we h e l p e d him fix his c h a i n b a c k o n the bed-leg, a n d w a s ready for b e d o u r s e l v e s . B u t T o m t h o u g h t of s o m e t h i n g , a n d says: "You got any s p i d e r s in h e r e , J i m ? " " N o , s a h , t h a n k s to g o o d n e s s I hain't, M a r s T o m . " "All right, we'll get you s o m e . " " B u t bless you, honey, I d o a n ' want n o n e . I's a f e a r d un u m . I j i s ' 's s o o n have r a t t l e s n a k e s a r o u n ' . " T o m t h o u g h t a m i n u t e or two, a n d says: "It's a g o o d ida. A n d I reckon it's b e e n d o n e . It must a b e e n d o n e ; it s t a n d s to r e a s o n . Y e s , it's a p r i m e g o o d idea. W h e r e c o u l d you k e e p i t ? " "Keep what, Mars T o m ? " "Why, a r a t t l e s n a k e . " " D e g o o d n e s s g r a c i o u s alive, M a r s T o m ! W h y , if dey w a s a r a t t l e s n a k e to c o m e in h e a h , I'd take en b u s t right o u t t h o o dat log wall, I w o u l d , wid my head."

A D V E N T U R E S

OF

H U C K L E B E R R Y

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"Why, J i m , you wouldn't b e afraid of it, after a little. You c o u l d t a m e it." " T a m e it!" " Y e s — e a s y e n o u g h . Every a n i m a l is grateful for k i n d n e s s a n d petting, a n d they wouldn't think of hurting a p e r s o n that p e t s t h e m . Any b o o k will tell you that. You try—that's all I ask; j u s t try for two or three days. Why, you c a n get him s o , in a little while, that he'll love y o u ; a n d s l e e p with y o u ; a n d won't stay away from you a m i n u t e ; a n d will let you w r a p him r o u n d your n e c k a n d put his h e a d in your m o u t h . " "Please, M a r s Tom—doan' talk s o ! I can't stan' it! H e ' d let m e shove his h e a d in my m o u f — f e r a favor, hain't it? I lay he'd wait a pow'ful long time 'fo' I ast h i m . E n m o ' en dat, I d o a n ' want him to s l e e p wid m e . " " J i m , don't a c t s o foolish. A prisoner's got to have s o m e kind of a d u m b pet, a n d if a r a t t l e s n a k e hain't ever b e e n tried, why, there's m o r e glory to b e g a i n e d in your b e i n g the first to ever try it than any other way you c o u l d ever think of to save your life." "Why, M a r s T o m , I d o a n ' want n o sich glory. S n a k e t a k e 'n bite J i m ' s chin off, den whah is d e glory? N o , s a h , I d o a n ' w a n t n o sich d o i n ' s . " " B l a m e it, can't you try? I only want you to try—you needn't keep it up if it don't w o r k . " " B u t d e trouble all done, ef d e s n a k e bite m e while I's a tryin' him. M a r s T o m , I's willin' to tackle m o s ' anything 'at ain't o n r e a s o n a b l e , b u t ef you en H u c k f e t c h e s a r a t t l e s n a k e in h e a h for m e to t a m e , I's gwyne to leave, dat's shore." "Well, t h e n , let it g o , let it g o , if you're s o b u l l h e a d e d a b o u t it. W e c a n get you s o m e g a r t e r - s n a k e s a n d you c a n tie s o m e b u t t o n s on their tails, a n d let on they're r a t t l e s n a k e s , a n d I reckon that'll have to d o . " "I k'n s t a n ' dem, M a r s T o m , but b l a m e ' 'f I couldn't get a l o n g widout u m , I tell you dat. I never k n o w e d b'fo', 't w a s so m u c h b o t h e r a n d trouble to b e a prisoner." "Well, it always is, w h e n it's d o n e right. You got any rats a r o u n d h e r e ? " " N o , s a h , I hain't s e e d n o n e . " "Well, we'll get you s o m e r a t s . " "Why, M a r s T o m , I d o a n ' want no rats. Dey's d e d a d - b l a m e d e s t c r e t u r s to sturb a body, en rustle r o u n ' over 'im, e n bite his feet, w h e n he's tryin' to s l e e p , I ever s e e . S o , s a h , g i m m e g'yarter-snakes, 'f I's got to have 'm, b u t d o a n ' g i m m e n o rats. I ain' got not u s e f r u m , skasely." " B u t J i m , you got to have ' e m — t h e y all d o . S o don't m a k e n o m o r e fuss a b o u t it. P r i s o n e r s ain't ever without rats. T h e r e ain't n o i n s t a n c e of it. A n d they train t h e m , a n d pet t h e m , a n d learn t h e m tricks, a n d they get to b e a s s o c i a b l e a s flies. B u t you got to play m u s i c to t h e m . You got a n y t h i n g to play music on?" "I ain't got nuffn but a c o a s e c o m b en a p i e c e o' p a p e r , en a j u i c e - h a r p ; but I reck'n dey wouldn't take no s t o c k in a j u i c e - h a r p . " "Yes, they w o u l d . They don't c a r e what kind of m u s i c 'tis. A j e w s - h a r p ' s plenty g o o d e n o u g h for a rat. All a n i m a l s likes m u s i c — i n a prison they d o t e o n it. Specially, painful m u s i c ; a n d you can't get n o other kind o u t of a j e w s h a r p . It always interests t h e m ; they c o m e o u t to s e e what's the m a t t e r with you. Y e s , you're all right; you're fixed very well. You want to set on your b e d , nights, before you go to s l e e p , a n d early in the m o r n i n g s , a n d play your j e w s h a r p ; play T h e L a s t L i n k is B r o k e n — t h a t ' s the thing that'll s c o o p a rat,

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quicker'n anything e l s e : a n d w h e n you've played a b o u t two m i n u t e s , you'll s e e all the rats, a n d the s n a k e s , a n d s p i d e r s , a n d things begin to feel worried a b o u t you, a n d c o m e . A n d they'll j u s t fairly s w a r m over you, a n d have a n o b l e good time." "Yes, dey will, I reck'n, M a r s T o m , b u t w h a t kine er time is Jim havin'? B l e s t if I kin s e e d e pint. B u t I'll do it ef I g o t to. I reck'n I better keep d e a n i m a l s satisfied, en not have n o trouble in de h o u s e . " T o m waited to think over, a n d s e e if t h e r e wasn't n o t h i n g e l s e ; a n d pretty s o o n h e says: " O h — t h e r e ' s o n e thing I forgot. C o u l d you raise a flower h e r e , d o you reckon?" "I d o a n ' know b u t m a y b e I c o u l d , M a r s T o m ; b u t it's tolable d a r k in h e a h , e n I a i n ' got n o u s e f'r n o flower, n o h o w , en she'd be a pow'ful sight o' trouble." "Well, you try it, anyway. S o m e other p r i s o n e r s h a s d o n e it." " O n e er d e m big cat-tail-lookin' mullen-stalks w o u l d grow in h e a h , M a r s T o m , I reck'n, b u t she w o u l d n ' b e wuth half d e t r o u b l e she'd c o s s . " " D o n ' t you believe it. We'll fetch you a little o n e , a n d you plant it in the c o r n e r , over t h e r e , a n d raise it. A n d don't call it m u l l e n , call it P i t c h i o l a — that's its right n a m e , w h e n it's in a p r i s o n . 4 A n d you w a n t to water it with your t e a r s . " "Why, I got plenty s p r i n g water, M a r s T o m . " "You don't want spring water; you w a n t to water it with y o u r t e a r s . It's the way they always d o . " "Why, M a r s T o m , I lay I kin raise o n e er d e m m u l l e n - s t a l k s twyste wid spring water whiles a n o t h e r m a n ' s a start'n o n e wid t e a r s . " " T h a t ain't the idea. You got to do it with t e a r s . " "She'll die o n my h a n ' s , M a r s T o m , s h e sholy will; k a s e I d o a n ' skasely ever cry." S o T o m w a s s t u m p e d . B u t he s t u d i e d it over, a n d then s a i d J i m w o u l d have to worry a l o n g the b e s t h e c o u l d with a n o n i o n . H e p r o m i s e d h e w o u l d go to the nigger c a b i n s a n d d r o p o n e , private, in J i m ' s coffee-pot, in the m o r n i n g . J i m said he w o u l d "jis' 's s o o n have t o b a c k e r in his c o f f e e ; " a n d f o u n d s o m u c h fault with it, a n d with the work a n d b o t h e r of raising the m u l l e n , a n d j e w s - h a r p i n g the r a t s , a n d p e t t i n g a n d flattering u p the s n a k e s a n d spiders a n d things, on top of all the other work h e h a d to do on p e n s , a n d i n s c r i p t i o n s , a n d j o u r n a l s , a n d things, w h i c h m a d e it m o r e trouble a n d worry a n d responsibility to b e a p r i s o n e r than a n y t h i n g h e ever u n d e r t o o k , that T o m m o s t lost all p a t i e n c e with h i m ; a n d s a i d h e w a s j u s t l o a d e n e d d o w n with m o r e g a u d i e r c h a n c e s t h a n a p r i s o n e r ever h a d in the world to m a k e a n a m e for himself, a n d yet h e didn't k n o w e n o u g h to a p p r e c i a t e t h e m , a n d they w a s j u s t a b o u t w a s t e d on h i m . S o J i m he w a s sorry, a n d said h e wouldn't b e h a v e s o n o m o r e , a n d then m e a n d T o m s h o v e d for b e d . ChaPter

XXXIX

In the m o r n i n g we went u p to the village a n d b o u g h t a wire rat trap a n d f e t c h e d it d o w n , a n d u n s t o p p e d the b e s t rat h o l e , a n d in a b o u t a n h o u r we 4 . Picciola ( 1 8 3 6 ) w a s a p o p u l a r r o m a n t i c story by X a v i e r S a i n t i n e ( p s e u d o n y m for J o s e p h X a v i e r B o n i f a c e , 1 7 9 8 — 1 8 6 5 ) , in w h i c h a p l a n t h e l p s s u s t a i n a p r i s o n e r .

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h a d fifteen of the bulliest kind of o n e s ; a n d then w e t o o k it a n d p u t it in a s a f e p l a c e u n d e r A u n t Sally's b e d . B u t while we w a s g o n e for s p i d e r s , little T h o m a s Franklin B e n j a m i n J e f f e r s o n E l e x a n d e r P h e l p s f o u n d it there, a n d o p e n e d the d o o r of it to s e e if the rats w o u l d c o m e o u t , a n d they did; a n d A u n t Sally s h e c o m e in, a n d w h e n we got b a c k s h e w a s s t a n d i n g on top of the b e d raising C a i n , a n d the rats w a s d o i n g what they c o u l d to k e e p off the dull times for her. S o s h e took a n d d u s t e d u s both with the hickry, a n d w e w a s a s m u c h a s two h o u r s c a t c h i n g a n o t h e r fifteen or sixteen, drat that m e d d l e s o m e c u b , a n d they warn't the likeliest, n u t h e r , b e c a u s e the first h a u l w a s the pick of the flock. I never s e e a likelier lot of rats t h a n what that first haul w a s . W e got a splendid s t o c k of sorted s p i d e r s , a n d b u g s , a n d frogs, a n d caterpillars, a n d o n e thing or a n o t h e r ; a n d we like-to got a hornet's n e s t , b u t we didn't. T h e family w a s at h o m e . W e didn't give it right u p , b u t staid with t h e m a s long a s we c o u l d ; b e c a u s e we allowed we'd tire t h e m o u t or they'd got to tire u s o u t , a n d they d o n e it. T h e n we got a l l y c u m p a i n 5 a n d r u b b e d on the p l a c e s , a n d w a s pretty n e a r all right a g a i n , b u t couldn't set d o w n convenient. A n d so we went for the s n a k e s , a n d g r a b b e d a c o u p l e of d o z e n garters a n d h o u s e - s n a k e s , a n d put t h e m in a b a g , a n d p u t it in o u r r o o m , a n d by that time it w a s s u p p e r t i m e , a n d a rattling g o o d h o n e s t day's work; a n d h u n g r y ? — o h , n o I reckon not! A n d there warn't a b l e s s e d s n a k e u p t h e r e , w h e n we went b a c k — w e didn't half tie the s a c k , a n d they w o r k e d o u t , s o m e how, a n d left. B u t it didn't m a t t e r m u c h , b e c a u s e they w a s still on the p r e m ises s o m e w h e r e s . S o w e j u d g e d we c o u l d get s o m e of t h e m a g a i n . N o , there warn't no real scarcity of s n a k e s a b o u t the h o u s e for a c o n s i d e r b l e spell. You'd s e e t h e m dripping from the rafters a n d p l a c e s , every n o w a n d t h e n ; a n d they generly l a n d e d in your p l a t e , or d o w n the b a c k of your n e c k , a n d m o s t of the time w h e r e you didn't w a n t t h e m . Well, they w a s h a n d s o m e , a n d striped, a n d there warn't n o h a r m in a million of t h e m ; b u t that never m a d e no difference to A u n t Sally, s h e d e s p i s e d s n a k e s , b e the b r e e d w h a t they might, a n d s h e couldn't s t a n d t h e m no way you c o u l d fix it; a n d every time o n e of t h e m flopped d o w n o n her, it didn't m a k e n o difference w h a t s h e w a s doing, s h e w o u l d j u s t lay that work d o w n a n d light o u t . I never s e e s u c h a w o m a n . A n d you c o u l d hear her w h o o p to J e r i c h o . You c o u l d n ' t get her to take aholt of o n e of t h e m with the t o n g s . A n d if s h e t u r n e d over a n d f o u n d o n e in b e d , s h e w o u l d s c r a m b l e out a n d lift a howl that you w o u l d think the h o u s e w a s afire. S h e d i s t u r b e d the old m a n s o , that he said he c o u l d m o s t wish there hadn't ever b e e n n o s n a k e s c r e a t e d . W h y , after every last s n a k e h a d b e e n g o n e clear o u t of the h o u s e for a s m u c h a s a week, A u n t Sally warn't over it yet; s h e warn't n e a r over it; w h e n s h e w a s setting thinking a b o u t s o m e t h i n g , you c o u l d t o u c h her o n the b a c k of her n e c k with a feather a n d s h e would j u m p right o u t of her s t o c k i n g s . It w a s very c u r i o u s . B u t T o m said all w o m e n w a s j u s t s o . H e s a i d they w a s m a d e that way; for s o m e r e a s o n or other. W e got a licking every time o n e of o u r s n a k e s c o m e in her way; a n d s h e allowed t h e s e lickings warn't n o t h i n g to w h a t s h e would do if we ever l o a d e d u p the p l a c e again with t h e m . I didn't m i n d the lickings, b e c a u s e they didn't a m o u n t to nothing; but I m i n d e d the trouble we h a d , to lay in a n o t h e r lot. B u t we got t h e m laid in, a n d all the other things; a n d you never s e e a c a b i n 5.

E l e c a m p a n e is a n h e r b u s e d to relieve the p a i n of the h o r n e t s t i n g .

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M A R K

T W A I N

a s b l i t h e s o m e as J i m ' s w a s w h e n they'd all s w a r m o u t for m u s i c a n d g o for him. J i m didn't like the s p i d e r s , a n d the s p i d e r s didn't like J i m ; a n d s o they'd lay for him a n d m a k e it mighty w a r m for h i m . A n d h e said that b e t w e e n the rats, a n d the s n a k e s , a n d the g r i n d s t o n e , there warn't no r o o m in b e d for him, skasely; a n d w h e n there w a s , a body couldn't s l e e p , it w a s s o lively, a n d it w a s always lively, h e said, b e c a u s e they never all slept at o n e t i m e , b u t took turn a b o u t , s o w h e n the s n a k e s w a s a s l e e p the rats w a s on deck, a n d w h e n the rats t u r n e d in the s n a k e s c o m e on w a t c h , so h e always h a d o n e g a n g u n d e r him, in his way, a n d t'other g a n g having a c i r c u s over h i m , a n d if h e got u p to hunt a n e w p l a c e , the s p i d e r s w o u l d take a c h a n c e at him a s h e c r o s s e d over. H e said if h e ever got o u t , this t i m e , h e wouldn't ever b e a p r i s o n e r a g a i n , not for a salary. Well, by the e n d of three w e e k s , everything w a s in pretty g o o d s h a p e . T h e shirt w a s sent in early, in a p i e , a n d every t i m e a rat bit J i m h e would get u p a n d write a little in his j o u r n a l whilst the ink w a s fresh; the p e n s w a s m a d e , the inscriptions a n d s o on w a s all carved on the g r i n d s t o n e ; the b e d - l e g w a s s a w e d in two, a n d we h a d et u p the s a w d u s t , a n d it give u s a m o s t a m a z i n g s t o m a c h - a c h e . W e r e c k o n e d we w a s all g o i n g to die, b u t didn't. It w a s the m o s t u n d i g e s t i b l e s a w d u s t I ever s e e ; a n d T o m said the s a m e . B u t a s I w a s saying, we'd got all the work d o n e , now, at last; a n d we w a s all pretty m u c h fagged o u t , too, but mainly J i m . T h e old m a n h a d wrote a c o u p l e of t i m e s to the p l a n t a t i o n below O r l e a n s to c o m e a n d get their r u n a w a y nigger, b u t hadn't got n o a n s w e r , b e c a u s e there warn't no s u c h p l a n t a t i o n ; s o he allowed he w o u l d advertise J i m in the S t . L o u i s a n d N e w O r l e a n s p a p e r s ; a n d w h e n he m e n t i o n e d the S t . L o u i s o n e s , it give m e the c o l d shivers, a n d I s e e we hadn't no time to l o s e . S o T o m said, now for the n o n n a m o u s letters. "What's t h e m ? " I says. " W a r n i n g s to the p e o p l e that s o m e t h i n g is u p . S o m e t i m e s it's d o n e o n e way, s o m e t i m e s a n o t h e r . B u t there's always s o m e b o d y spying a r o u n d , that gives notice to the governor of the c a s t l e . W h e n L o u i s XVI w a s g o i n g to light o u t of the T o o l e r i e s , 6 a servant girl d o n e it. It's a very g o o d way, a n d s o is the n o n n a m o u s letters. We'll u s e t h e m b o t h . A n d it's u s u a l for the prisoner's m o t h e r to c h a n g e c l o t h e s with h i m , a n d s h e stays in, a n d he slides o u t in her c l o t h e s . We'll do that t o o . " " B u t looky h e r e , T o m , what do we w a n t to warn a n y b o d y for, that s o m e thing's up? L e t t h e m find it o u t for t h e m s e l v e s — i t ' s their l o o k o u t , " "Yes, I know; but you can't d e p e n d o n t h e m . It's the way they've a c t e d from the very start—left u s to do everything. They're s o c o n f i d i n g a n d mulleth e a d e d they don't take notice of n o t h i n g at all. S o if w e don't give t h e m n o t i c e , there won't b e n o b o d y nor n o t h i n g to interfere with u s , a n d s o after all our hard work a n d trouble this e s c a p e '11 go off perfectly flat: won't a m o u n t to n o t h i n g — w o n ' t be n o t h i n g to it." "Well, a s for m e , T o m , that's the way I'd like." " S h u c k s , " h e says, a n d looked d i s g u s t e d . S o I says: " B u t I ain't g o i n g to m a k e no c o m p l a i n t . Anyway that s u i t s you s u i t s m e . W h a t you g o i n g to do a b o u t the servant-girl?" "You'll be her. You slide in, in the m i d d l e of the night, a n d h o o k that yaller girl's frock." 6 . T w a i n p r o b a b l y r e a d t h i s e p i s o d e o f t h e T u i l e r i e s , a p a l a c e i n P a r i s , i n T h o m a s C a r l y l e ' s French lution ( 1 8 3 7 ) .

Revo-

A D V E N T U R E S

OF

H U C K L E B E R R Y

F I N N ,

C H A P T E R

XXXIX

/

1417

"Why, T o m , that'll m a k e trouble next m o r n i n g ; b e c a u s e of c o u r s e s h e prob'bly hain't got any but that o n e . " "I know; but you don't w a n t it but fifteen m i n u t e s , to carry the n o n n a m o u s letter a n d shove it u n d e r the front d o o r . " "All right, t h e n , I'll do it; b u t I c o u l d carry it j u s t a s handy in my own t o g s . " "You wouldn't look like a servant-girl then, would y o u ? " " N o , b u t there won't be n o b o d y to s e e w h a t I look like, anyway." " T h a t ain't got nothing to do with it. T h e thing for u s to d o , is j u s t to do our duty, a n d not worry a b o u t w h e t h e r anybody sees u s d o it or not. Hain't you got no principle at a l l ? " "All right, I ain't saying nothing; I'm the servant-girl. W h o ' s J i m ' s m o t h e r ? " "I'm his mother. I'll h o o k a gown from A u n t S a l l y . " "Well, t h e n , you'll have to stay in the c a b i n w h e n m e a n d J i m l e a v e s . " " N o t m u c h . I'll stuff J i m ' s c l o t h e s full of straw a n d lay it o n his b e d to r e p r e s e n t his m o t h e r in d i s g u i s e : a n d J i m '11 take A u n t Sally's gown off of m e a n d wear it, a n d we'll all evade together. W h e n a p r i s o n e r of style e s c a p e s , it's called an e v a s i o n . It's always called s o w h e n a king e s c a p e s , P r i n s t a n c e . A n d the s a m e with a king's s o n ; it don't m a k e no difference w h e t h e r he's a natural o n e or an u n n a t u r a l o n e . " S o T o m he wrote the n o n n a m o u s letter, a n d I s m o u c h e d the yaller w e n c h ' s frock, that night, a n d put it o n , a n d shoved it u n d e r the front door, the way T o m told m e to. It said: Beware,

Trouble

is brewing. Keep a sharp

lookout. U N K N O W N

FRIEND.

Next night we s t u c k a picture which T o m d r a w e d in b l o o d , of a skull a n d c r o s s b o n e s , on the front door; a n d next night a n o t h e r o n e of a coffin, o n the b a c k door. I never s e e a family in s u c h a s w e a t . T h e y c o u l d n ' t a b e e n w o r s e s c a r e d if the p l a c e h a d a b e e n full of g h o s t s laying for t h e m b e h i n d everything a n d u n d e r the b e d s a n d shivering t h r o u g h the air. If a d o o r b a n g e d , A u n t Sally s h e j u m p e d , a n d s a i d " o u c h ! " if anything fell, s h e j u m p e d a n d s a i d " o u c h ! " if you h a p p e n e d to t o u c h her, w h e n s h e warn't noticing, s h e d o n e the s a m e ; s h e couldn't face noway a n d be satisfied, b e c a u s e s h e allowed there w a s s o m e t h i n g b e h i n d her every t i m e — s o s h e w a s always a whirling a r o u n d , s u d d e n , a n d saying " o u c h , " a n d before she'd get two-thirds a r o u n d , she'd whirl b a c k a g a i n , a n d say it a g a i n ; a n d s h e w a s afraid to go to b e d , but s h e dasn't set u p . S o the thing w a s working very well, T o m s a i d ; h e said he never s e e a thing work m o r e satisfactory. H e said it s h o w e d it w a s d o n e right. S o he said, now for the g r a n d b u l g e ! S o the very next m o r n i n g at the s t r e a k of d a w n we got a n o t h e r letter ready, a n d w a s w o n d e r i n g w h a t we better d o with it, b e c a u s e we h e a r d t h e m say at s u p p e r they w a s g o i n g to have a nigger on watch at both doors all night. T o m he went d o w n the lightning-rod to spy a r o u n d ; a n d the nigger at the b a c k d o o r w a s a s l e e p , a n d he s t u c k it in the b a c k of his n e c k a n d c o m e b a c k . T h i s letter s a i d : Don't betray me, 1 wish to be your friend. There is a desprate gang of cutthroats from over in the lngean Territory7 going to steal your runaway nigger to-night, and they have been trying to scare you so as you will stay in the house 7. T h e a r e a n o w the s t a t e o f O k l a h o m a w a s g r a n t e d to N a t i v e A m e r i c a n s a n d b e c a m e a b a s e o f o p e r a t i o n s for o u t l a w s for m o s t o f t h e 1 9 t h c e n t u r y .

1418

/

MARK

TWAIN

and not bother them. I am one of the gang, but have got religgion and wish to quit it and lead a honest life again, and will betray the helish design. They will sneak down from northards, along the fence, at midnight exact, with a false key, and go in the nigger's cabin to get him. I am to be off a piece and blow a tin horn if I see any danger; but stead of that, I will B A like a sheep soon as they get in and not blow at all; then whilst they are getting his chains loose, you slip there and lock them in, and can kill them at your leasure. Don't do anything but just the way I am telling you, if you do they will suspicion something and raise whoopjamboreehoo. I do not wish any reward but to know I have done the right thing. U N K N O W N

Chapter

FRIEND.

XL

W e w a s feeling pretty g o o d , after b r e a k f a s t , a n d took my c a n o e a n d went over the river a fishing, with a l u n c h , a n d h a d a g o o d t i m e , a n d took a look at the raft a n d f o u n d her all right, a n d got h o m e late to s u p p e r , a n d f o u n d t h e m in s u c h a sweat a n d worry they didn't k n o w w h i c h e n d they w a s s t a n d ing on, a n d m a d e u s go right off to b e d the m i n u t e w e w a s d o n e s u p p e r , a n d wouldn't tell u s what the trouble w a s , a n d never let on a word a b o u t the n e w letter, b u t didn't n e e d to, b e c a u s e we k n o w e d a s m u c h a b o u t it a s a n y b o d y did, a n d a s s o o n a s we w a s half u p stairs a n d her b a c k w a s t u r n e d , w e slid for the cellar c u p b o a r d a n d l o a d e d u p a g o o d l u n c h a n d took it u p to o u r r o o m a n d went to b e d , a n d got u p a b o u t half-past eleven, a n d T o m p u t o n A u n t Sally's d r e s s that he stole a n d w a s g o i n g to start with the l u n c h , b u t says: " W h e r e ' s the b u t t e r ? " "I laid o u t a h u n k of it," I says, " o n a p i e c e of a c o r n - p o n e . " "Well, you left it laid o u t , t h e n — i t ain't h e r e . " " W e c a n get a l o n g without it," I s a y s . " W e c a n get a l o n g with it, t o o , " h e s a y s ; " j u s t you slide d o w n cellar a n d fetch it. A n d then m o s e y right d o w n the lightning-rod a n d c o m e a l o n g . I'll go a n d stuff the straw into J i m ' s c l o t h e s to r e p r e s e n t his m o t h e r in d i s g u i s e , a n d b e ready to ba like a s h e e p a n d s h o v e s o o n a s you get t h e r e . " S o out h e w e n t , a n d d o w n cellar went I. T h e h u n k of b u t t e r , big a s a p e r s o n ' s fist, w a s w h e r e I h a d left it, so I took u p the s l a b of c o r n - p o n e with it o n , a n d b l o w e d o u t my light, a n d started u p stairs, very stealthy, a n d got up to the m a i n floor all right, but h e r e c o m e s A u n t Sally with a c a n d l e , a n d I c l a p p e d the truck in my hat, a n d c l a p p e d my hat on my h e a d , a n d the next s e c o n d s h e s e e m e ; a n d s h e says: "You b e e n d o w n c e l l a r ? " "Yes'm." " W h a t you b e e n d o i n g d o w n t h e r e ? " "Noth'n." "Noth'n!" "No'm." "Well, t h e n , w h a t p o s s e s s e d you to go d o w n there, this t i m e of n i g h t ? " "I don't k n o w ' m . " "You don't know? Don't a n s w e r m e that way, T o m , I w a n t to k n o w w h a t you b e e n doing d o w n t h e r e ? "

A D V E N T U R E S

OF

H U C K L E B E R R Y

F I N N ,

C H A P T E R

XL

/

1419

"I hain't b e e n d o i n g a single thing, A u n t Sally, I h o p e to g r a c i o u s if I h a v e . " I r e c k o n e d she'd let m e g o , now, a n d a s a generl thing s h e w o u l d ; but I s p o s e there w a s so m a n y s t r a n g e things going on s h e w a s j u s t in a sweat a b o u t every little thing that warn't yard-stick straight; so s h e s a y s , very decided: "You j u s t m a r c h into that setting-room a n d stay there till I c o m e . You b e e n u p to s o m e t h i n g you no b u s i n e s s to, a n d I lay I'll find o u t w h a t it is before I'm d o n e with y o u . " S o s h e went away a s I o p e n e d the d o o r a n d walked into the s e t t i n g - r o o m . My, but there w a s a crowd there! Fifteen f a r m e r s , a n d every o n e of t h e m h a d a g u n . I w a s m o s t powerful sick, a n d s l u n k to a chair a n d set down. T h e y w a s setting a r o u n d , s o m e of t h e m talking a little, in a low v o i c e , a n d all of t h e m fidgety a n d u n e a s y , but trying to look like they warn't; b u t I k n o w e d they w a s , b e c a u s e they w a s always taking off their h a t s , a n d p u t t i n g t h e m o n , a n d s c r a t c h i n g their h e a d s , a n d c h a n g i n g their s e a t s , a n d f u m b l i n g with their b u t t o n s . I warn't e a s y myself, b u t I didn't take my hat off, all the s a m e . I did wish A u n t Sally would c o m e , a n d get d o n e with m e , a n d lick m e , if she w a n t e d to, a n d let m e get away a n d tell T o m how we'd o v e r d o n e this thing, a n d what a t h u n d e r i n g hornet's nest we'd got ourselves into, s o we c o u l d s t o p fooling a r o u n d , straight off, a n d clear o u t with J i m before t h e s e rips got out of p a t i e n c e a n d c o m e for u s . At last s h e c o m e , a n d b e g u n to a s k m e q u e s t i o n s , but I couldn't a n s w e r t h e m straight, I didn't know which e n d of m e w a s u p ; b e c a u s e t h e s e m e n w a s in s u c h a fidget now, that s o m e w a s w a n t i n g to start right now a n d lay for t h e m d e s p e r a d o e s , a n d saying it warn't b u t a few m i n u t e s to m i d n i g h t ; a n d others w a s trying to get t h e m to hold on a n d wait for the s h e e p - s i g n a l ; a n d here w a s aunty p e g g i n g away at the q u e s t i o n s , a n d m e a s h a k i n g all over a n d ready to sink down in my tracks I w a s that s c a r e d ; a n d the p l a c e getting hotter a n d hotter, a n d the butter b e g i n n i n g to melt a n d run d o w n my n e c k a n d b e h i n d my e a r s : a n d pretty s o o n , w h e n o n e of t h e m says, "I'm for g o i n g a n d getting in the c a b i n first, a n d right now, a n d c a t c h i n g t h e m w h e n they c o m e , " I m o s t d r o p p e d ; a n d a streak of b u t t e r c a m e a trickling down my f o r e h e a d , a n d A u n t Sally she s e e it, a n d turns white a s a s h e e t , a n d says: " F o r the land's s a k e w h a t is the m a t t e r with the c h i l d ! — h e ' s got the brain fever as s h o r e as you're b o r n , a n d they're oozing o u t ! " A n d everybody r u n s to s e e , a n d she s n a t c h e s off my hat, a n d o u t c o m e s the b r e a d , a n d w h a t w a s left of the butter, a n d she g r a b b e d m e , a n d h u g g e d m e , a n d says: " O h , what a turn you did give m e ! a n d how glad a n d grateful I a m it ain't n o w o r s e ; for luck's a g a i n s t u s , a n d it never rains b u t it p o u r s , a n d w h e n I s e e that truck I t h o u g h t we'd lost you, for I k n o w e d by the color a n d all, it w a s j u s t like your b r a i n s would b e i f — D e a r , d e a r , whyd'nt you tell m e that w a s w h a t you'd b e e n down there for, I wouldn't a c a r e d . N o w cler o u t to b e d , a n d don't l e m m e s e e no m o r e of you till m o r n i n g ! " I w a s u p stairs in a s e c o n d , a n d d o w n the lightning-rod in a n o t h e r o n e , a n d s h i n n i n g t h r o u g h the dark for the lean-to. I couldn't hardly get my w o r d s out, I w a s s o a n x i o u s ; b u t I told T o m a s q u i c k a s I c o u l d , we m u s t j u m p for it, now, a n d not a m i n u t e to l o s e — t h e h o u s e full of m e n , yonder, with g u n s ! His eyes j u s t blazed; a n d h e says:

1420

/

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" N o ! — i s that s o ? Ain't it bully! W h y , H u c k , if it w a s to d o over a g a i n , I bet I c o u l d fetch two h u n d r e d ! If w e c o u l d p u t it off t i l l — " "Hurry! hurry!" I says. " W h e r e ' s J i m ? " " R i g h t at your elbow; if you r e a c h o u t your a r m you c a n t o u c h h i m . H e ' s d r e s s e d , a n d everything's ready. N o w we'll slide o u t a n d give t h e s h e e p signal." B u t then we h e a r d the t r a m p of m e n , c o m i n g to the door, a n d h e a r d t h e m begin to f u m b l e with t h e p a d l o c k ; a n d h e a r d a m a n say: "I told you we'd b e too s o o n ; they haven't c o m e — t h e door is locked. H e r e , I'll lock s o m e of you into the c a b i n a n d you lay for 'em in the dark a n d kill 'em w h e n they c o m e ; a n d the rest scatter a r o u n d a p i e c e , a n d listen if you c a n h e a r 'em c o m i n g . " S o in they c o m e , b u t couldn't s e e u s in t h e dark, a n d m o s t trod o n u s whilst w e w a s h u s t l i n g to get u n d e r the b e d . B u t w e got u n d e r all right, a n d out t h r o u g h t h e h o l e , swift b u t s o f t — J i m first, m e next, a n d T o m last, which w a s a c c o r d i n g to T o m ' s orders. N o w w e w a s in t h e lean-to, a n d h e a r d t r a m p ings c l o s e by o u t s i d e . S o w e c r e p t to the door, a n d T o m s t o p p e d u s there a n d p u t his eye to the c r a c k , b u t couldn't m a k e o u t n o t h i n g , it w a s so dark; a n d w h i s p e r e d a n d said he w o u l d listen for the s t e p s to get further, a n d w h e n he n u d g e d u s J i m m u s t glide o u t first, a n d h i m last. S o he set his e a r to the c r a c k a n d listened, a n d listened, a n d listened, a n d the s t e p s a s c r a p i n g a r o u n d , o u t there, all the t i m e ; a n d at last h e n u d g e d u s , a n d w e slid o u t , a n d s t o o p e d d o w n , n o t b r e a t h i n g , a n d n o t m a k i n g t h e least n o i s e , a n d s l i p p e d stealthy towards t h e f e n c e , in Injun file, a n d g o t to it, all right, a n d m e a n d J i m over it; b u t T o m ' s britches c a t c h e d fast o n a splinter on the top rail, a n d then he h e a r the s t e p s c o m i n g , so h e h a d to pull l o o s e , which s n a p p e d the splinter a n d m a d e a n o i s e ; a n d a s h e d r o p p e d in o u r tracks a n d started, s o m e b o d y sings out: " W h o ' s that? Answer, or I'll s h o o t ! " B u t we didn't a n s w e r ; w e j u s t unfurled o u r heels a n d s h o v e d . T h e n there w a s a r u s h , a n d a hang, hang, hang! a n d the bullets fairly whizzed a r o u n d u s ! W e h e a r d t h e m sing out: " H e r e they a r e ! They've broke for the river! after 'em, boys! A n d turn l o o s e the d o g s ! " S o here they c o m e , full tilt. W e c o u l d h e a r t h e m , b e c a u s e they wore b o o t s , a n d yelled, b u t w e didn't wear no b o o t s , a n d didn't yell. W e w a s in the p a t h to the mill; a n d w h e n they got pretty c l o s e o n t o u s , w e d o d g e d into the b u s h a n d let t h e m go by, a n d then d r o p p e d in b e h i n d t h e m . They'd h a d all the dogs s h u t u p , so they wouldn't s c a r e off the r o b b e r s ; b u t by this time s o m e body h a d let t h e m l o o s e , a n d here they c o m e , m a k i n g pow-wow e n o u g h for a million; b u t they w a s o u r d o g s ; s o w e s t o p p e d in o u r tracks till they c a t c h e d u p ; a n d w h e n they s e e it warn't n o b o d y b u t u s , a n d no e x c i t e m e n t to offer t h e m , they only j u s t said howdy, a n d tore right a h e a d t o w a r d s the s h o u t i n g a n d clattering; a n d then w e u p s t e a m again a n d whizzed a l o n g after t h e m till we w a s nearly to t h e mill, a n d then s t r u c k u p t h r o u g h the b u s h to w h e r e m y c a n o e w a s tied, a n d h o p p e d in a n d p u l l e d for d e a r life t o w a r d s t h e m i d d l e of the river, b u t didn't m a k e no m o r e n o i s e t h a n w e w a s o b l e e g e d t o . T h e n we struck o u t , e a s y a n d c o m f o r t a b l e , for the i s l a n d w h e r e m y raft w a s ; a n d we c o u l d hear t h e m yelling a n d barking at e a c h other all u p a n d d o w n the bank, till w e w a s so far away the s o u n d s g o t d i m a n d died o u t . A n d w h e n w e s t e p p e d onto t h e raft, I says:

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"Now, old J i m , you're a free m a n again, a n d I bet you won't ever be a slave no m o r e . " " E n a mighty g o o d j o b it w u z , too, H u c k . It 'uz p l a n n e d beautiful, en it 'uz done beautiful; en dey aint' nobody kin git u p a plan dat's m o ' m i x e d - u p en splendid den what dat o n e w u z . " W e w a s all as glad a s we c o u l d b e , but T o m w a s the g l a d d e s t of all, b e c a u s e he h a d a bullet in the c a l f of his leg. W h e n m e a n d J i m h e a r d that, we didn't feel s o b r a s h a s what we did b e f o r e . It was hurting him c o n s i d e r b l e , a n d b l e e d i n g ; so we laid him in the w i g w a m a n d tore u p o n e of the duke's shirts for to b a n d a g e h i m , but h e s a y s : " G i m m e the r a g s , I c a n do it myself. Don't s t o p , now; don't fool a r o u n d here, a n d the evasion b o o m i n g a l o n g so h a n d s o m e ; m a n the s w e e p s , a n d set her l o o s e ! B o y s , we d o n e it e l e g a n t ! — ' d e e d we did. I wish we'd a h a d the h a n d l i n g of L o u i s XVI, there wouldn't a b e e n n o ' S o n of S a i n t L o u i s , a s c e n d to h e a v e n ! ' 8 wrote d o w n in his biography: n o , sir, we'd a w h o o p e d him over the border—that's w h a t we'd a d o n e with him—and d o n e it j u s t a s slick a s n o t h i n g at all, too. M a n the s w e e p s — m a n the s w e e p s ! " B u t m e a n d J i m w a s c o n s u l t i n g — a n d thinking. A n d after we'd t h o u g h t a m i n u t e , I says: " S a y it, J i m . " S o h e says: "Well, d e n , dis is d e way it look to m e , H u c k . E f it wuz him dat 'uz bein' sot free, en o n e er de boys wuz to git shot, would he say, ' G o o n e n save m e , n e m m i n e 'bout a d o c t o r f'r to save dis o n e ? ' Is dat like M a r s T o m S a w y e r ? W o u l d he say dat? You bet h e wouldn't! Well, d e n , is Jim gwyne to say it? N o , s a h — I d o a n ' b u d g e a step out'n dis p l a c e , 'dout a doctor; not if its forty year! I k n o w e d he w a s white i n s i d e , a n d I r e c k o n e d he'd say w h a t he did s a y — so it w a s all right, now, a n d I told T o m I w a s a g o i n g for a d o c t o r . H e r a i s e d c o n s i d e r b l e row a b o u t it, but m e a n d J i m s t u c k to it a n d wouldn't b u d g e ; s o he w a s for crawling out a n d setting the raft loose himself; but we wouldn't let h i m . T h e n he give u s a p i e c e of his m i n d — b u t it didn't do n o g o o d . S o w h e n h e s e e m e getting the c a n o e ready, h e says: "Well, then, if you're b o u n d to g o , I'll tell you the way to d o , w h e n you get to the village. S h u t the door, a n d blindfold the d o c t o r tight a n d fast, a n d m a k e him swear to be silent a s the grave, a n d p u t a p u r s e full of gold in his h a n d , a n d then take a n d lead him all a r o u n d the b a c k alleys a n d everywheres, in the dark, a n d then fetch him here in the c a n o e , in a r o u n d a b o u t way a m o n g s t the i s l a n d s , a n d s e a r c h him a n d take his c h a l k away from h i m , a n d don't give it b a c k to him till you get him b a c k to the village, or else h e will c h a l k this raft so he c a n find it a g a i n . It's the way they all d o . " S o I said I would, a n d left, a n d J i m w a s to hide in the w o o d s w h e n he s e e the doctor c o m i n g , till he w a s g o n e a g a i n . Chapter

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T h e d o c t o r w a s a n old m a n ; a very n i c e , kind-looking old m a n , w h e n I got him u p . I told him m e a n d my brother w a s over o n S p a n i s h Island h u n t i n g , yesterday afternoon, a n d c a m p e d on a p i e c e of a raft we f o u n d , a n d a b o u t 8 . T a k e n f r o m C a r l y l e ' s r e n d e r i n g o f t h e k i n g ' s e x e c u t i o n in h i s French

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midnight he m u s t a kicked his g u n in his d r e a m s , for it went off a n d shot him in the leg, a n d w e w a n t e d h i m to g o over there a n d fix it a n d not say nothing a b o u t it, nor let anybody know, b e c a u s e we w a n t e d to c o m e h o m e this evening, a n d s u r p r i s e the folks. " W h o is your f o l k s ? " h e says. "The Phelpses, down yonder." " O h , " he says. A n d after a m i n u t e , he says: " H o w ' d you say he got s h o t ? " " H e h a d a d r e a m , " I says, " a n d it shot h i m . " "Singlular dream," he says. S o he lit u p his lantern, a n d got his s a d d l e - b a g s , a n d we started. B u t w h e n h e s e e the c a n o e , he didn't like the look of h e r — s a i d s h e w a s big e n o u g h for o n e , b u t didn't look pretty s a f e for two. I says: " O h , you needn't b e a f e a r d , sir, s h e c a r r i e d the three of u s , e a s y e n o u g h . " "What three?" "Why, m e a n d S i d , a n d — a n d — a n d the guns; that's w h a t I m e a n . " " O h , " he says. B u t h e p u t his foot on the g u n n e l , a n d r o c k e d her; a n d s h o o k his h e a d , a n d said h e r e c k o n e d he'd look a r o u n d for a bigger o n e . B u t they w a s all locked a n d c h a i n e d ; so h e took my c a n o e , a n d said for m e to wait till he c o m e b a c k , or I c o u l d h u n t a r o u n d further, or m a y b e I better g o d o w n h o m e a n d get t h e m ready for the s u r p r i s e , if I w a n t e d to. B u t I s a i d I didn't; s o I told him j u s t how to find the raft, a n d then h e started. I s t r u c k a n i d e a , pretty s o o n . I says to myself, s p o s ' n h e can't fix that leg j u s t in three s h a k e s of a s h e e p ' s tail, a s the saying is? spos'n it takes him three or four days? W h a t a r e we g o i n g to d o ? — l a y a r o u n d there till h e lets the cat out of the b a g ? N o , sir, I know w h a t I'll d o . I'll wait, a n d w h e n he c o m e s b a c k , if h e says he's got to g o any m o r e , I'll get him d o w n t h e r e , t o o , if I swim; a n d we'll take a n d tie h i m , a n d k e e p h i m , a n d shove out d o w n the river; a n d w h e n T o m ' s d o n e with h i m , we'll give him w h a t it's worth, or all we got, a n d then let him get s h o r e . S o then I crept into a l u m b e r pile to get s o m e s l e e p ; a n d next time I w a k e d u p the s u n w a s away u p over my h e a d ! I shot o u t a n d went for the doctor's h o u s e , b u t they told m e he'd g o n e away in the night, s o m e time or other, a n d warn't b a c k yet. Well, thinks I, that looks powerful b a d for Tom, a n d I'll dig o u t for the i s l a n d , right off. S o away I s h o v e d , a n d t u r n e d the corner, a n d nearly r a m m e d my h e a d into U n c l e S i l a s ' s s t o m a c h ! H e says: "Why, T o m ! W h e r e you b e e n , all this t i m e , you r a s c a l ? " "I hain't b e e n n o w h e r e s , " I says, "only j u s t h u n t i n g for the r u n a w a y nigger—me and Sid." "Why, w h e r e ever did you g o ? " he s a y s . "Your a u n t ' s b e e n mighty u n e a s y . " " S h e n e e d n ' t , " I says, " b e c a u s e w e w a s all right. W e followed the m e n a n d the d o g s , but they out-run u s , a n d we lost t h e m ; but we t h o u g h t we h e a r d t h e m on the water, so we got a c a n o e a n d took o u t after t h e m , a n d c r o s s e d over b u t couldn't find n o t h i n g of t h e m ; s o we c r u i s e d a l o n g u p - s h o r e till w e got kind of tired a n d b e a t o u t ; a n d tied u p the c a n o e a n d went to s l e e p , a n d never w a k e d up till a b o u t a n h o u r a g o , then we p a d d l e d over h e r e to h e a r the n e w s , a n d Sid's at the post-office to s e e w h a t h e c a n hear, a n d I'm a b r a n c h i n g o u t to get s o m e t h i n g to e a t for u s , a n d then we're g o i n g h o m e . " S o then we went to the post-office to get " S i d " ; b u t j u s t a s I s u s p i c i o n e d , he warn't t h e r e ; s o the old m a n h e got a letter out of the office, a n d we waited

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a while longer but S i d didn't c o m e ; so the old m a n said c o m e a l o n g , let S i d foot it h o m e , or canoe-it, w h e n h e got d o n e fooling a r o u n d — b u t we would ride. I couldn't get him to let m e stay a n d wait for S i d ; a n d he said there warn't no u s e in it, a n d I m u s t c o m e along, a n d let A u n t Sally s e e we w a s all right. W h e n we got h o m e , A u n t Sally w a s that glad to s e e m e s h e l a u g h e d a n d cried b o t h , a n d h u g g e d m e , a n d give m e o n e of t h e m lickings of hern that don't a m o u n t to s h u c k s , a n d said she'd serve S i d the s a m e w h e n h e c o m e . A n d the p l a c e w a s p l u m b full of f a r m e r s a n d f a r m e r s ' wives, to dinner; a n d s u c h a n o t h e r c l a c k a body never h e a r d . O l d M r s . H o t c h k i s s w a s the worst; her t o n g u e was a g o i n g all the time. S h e says: "Well, S i s t e r P h e l p s , I've r a n s a c k e d that-air c a b i n over a n ' I b'lieve the nigger w a s crazy. I says s o to S i s t e r D a m r e l l — d i d n ' t I, S i s t e r D a m r e l l ? — s ' l , he's crazy, s ' l — t h e m ' s the very w o r d s I s a i d . You all h e a r n m e : he's crazy, s'l; everything s h o w s it, s'l. L o o k at that-air g r i n d s t o n e , s'l; w a n t to tell met any cretur 'ts in his right m i n d ' s agoin' to s c r a b b l e all t h e m crazy things o n t o a g r i n d s t o n e , s'l? H e r e sich 'n' s i c h a p e r s o n b u s t e d his heart; 'n' h e r e s o 'n' so p e g g e d a l o n g for thirty-seven year, 'n' all t h a t — n a t c h e r l son o' L o u i s s o m e body, 'n' sich everlast'n r u b b a g e . H e ' s p l u m b crazy, s'l; it's w h a t I says in the fust p l a c e , it's what I says in the m i d d l e , 'n' it's what I says last 'n' all the t i m e — t h e nigger's crazy—crazy's N e b o k o o d n e e z e r , 9 s'l." " A n ' look at that-air ladder m a d e out'n rags, S i s t e r H o t c h k i s s , " says old M r s . D a m r e l l , " w h a t in the n a m e o ' g o o d n e s s could h e ever w a n t of—" " T h e very w o r d s I w a s a-sayin' n o longer a g o th'n this m i n u t e to S i s t e r U t t e r b a c k , 'n' she'll tell you s o herself. S h - s h e , look at that-air rag ladder, s h - s h e ; 'n' s'l, yes, look at it, s ' l — w h a t could h e a w a n t e d of it, s'l. S h - s h e , Sister Hotchkiss, s h - s h e — " " B u t how in the nation'd they ever git that g r i n d s t o n e in t h e r e , anyway? 'n' w h o d u g that-air hole? 'n' w h o — " " M y very words, Brer P e n r o d ! I w a s a - s a y i n ' — p a s s that-air s a s s e r o' m ' l a s s e s , won't y e ? — I w a s a-sayin' to S i s t e r D u n l a p , jist this m i n u t e , how did they git that g r i n d s t o n e in there, s'l. W i t h o u t help, m i n d y o u — ' t h o u t help! Thar's wher' tis. Don't tell me, s'l; there wuz help, s'l; 'n' ther' w u z a plenty help, too, s'l; ther's ben a dozen a-helpin' that nigger, 'n' I lay I'd skin every last nigger on this p l a c e , but I'd find o u t w h o d o n e it, s'l; 'n' moreover, s'l—" "A dozen says you!—forty couldn't a d o n e everything that's b e e n d o n e . L o o k at t h e m case-knife s a w s a n d things, how t e d i o u s they've b e e n m a d e ; look at that bed-leg s a w e d off with 'em, a week's work for six m e n ; look at that nigger m a d e out'n straw on the b e d ; a n d look a t — " "You m a y well say it, Brer Hightower! It's jist a s I w a s a-sayin' to Brer P h e l p s , his own self. S'e, what do you think of it, S i s t e r H o t c h k i s s , s'e? think o' what, Brer P h e l p s , s'l? think o' that bed-leg s a w e d off that a way, s'e? think of it, s'l? I lay it never s a w e d itself off, s ' l — s o m e b o d y s a w e d it, s'l; that's my opinion, take it or leave it, it mayn't b e no 'count, s'l, b u t sich a s ' t is, it's my o p i n i o n , s'l, 'n' if anybody k'n start a better o n e , s'l, let him do it, s'l, that's all. I says to S i s t e r D u n l a p , s ' l — " 9.

N e b u c h a d n e z z a r ( 6 0 5 — 5 6 2 B . C . E . ) , k i n g o f B a b y l o n , is d e s c r i b e d i n D a n i e l 4 . 3 3 a s g o i n g m a d a n d e a t i n g

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"Why, d o g my c a t s , they m u s t a ben a house-full o' niggers in there every night for four w e e k s , to a d o n e all that work, S i s t e r P h e l p s . L o o k at that shirt—every last i n c h of it kivered over with secret African writ'n d o n e with blood! M u s t a b e n a raft u v ' m at it right a l o n g , all the t i m e , a m o s t . W h y , I'd give two dollars to have it read to m e ; 'n' a s for the niggers that wrote it, I 'low I'd take 'n' l a s h ' m t'll—" " P e o p l e to help h i m , B r o t h e r M a r p l e s ! W e l l , I reckon you'd think s o , if you'd a b e e n in this h o u s e for a while b a c k . Why, they've stole everything they c o u l d lay their h a n d s o n — a n d we a w a t c h i n g , all the t i m e , m i n d y o u . T h e y stole that shirt right off o' the line! a n d a s for that s h e e t they m a d e the rag l a d d e r out of ther' ain't no telling how m a n y t i m e s they didn't steal t h a t ; a n d flour, a n d c a n d l e s , a n d c a n d l e s t i c k s , a n d s p o o n s , a n d the old-warmingp a n , a n d m o s t a t h o u s a n d things that I d i s r e m e m b e r , now, a n d my n e w c a l i c o d r e s s ; a n d m e , a n d S i l a s , a n d my S i d a n d T o m on the c o n s t a n t w a t c h day and night, a s I w a s a telling you, a n d not a o n e of u s c o u l d c a t c h hide nor hair, nor sight nor s o u n d of t h e m ; a n d here at the last m i n u t e , lo a n d b e h o l d you, they slides right in u n d e r o u r n o s e s , a n d fools u s , a n d not only fools us but the Injun Territory r o b b e r s too, a n d actuly gets away with that nigger, s a f e a n d s o u n d , a n d that with sixteen m e n a n d twenty-two d o g s right on their very heels at that very t i m e ! I tell you, it j u s t b a n g s anything I ever heard of. Why, sperits c o u l d n ' t a d o n e better, a n d b e e n no s m a r t e r . A n d I r e c k o n they m u s t a been s p e r i t s — b e c a u s e , you know our d o g s , a n d ther' ain't no better; well, t h e m d o g s never even got on the track o f ' m , o n c e ! You explain that to m e , if you can!—any of y o u ! " "Well, it d o e s b e a t — " " L a w s alive, I n e v e r — " " S o help m e , I wouldn't a b e — " "House thieves a s well a s — " " G o o d n e s s g r a c i o u s s a k e s , I'd a b e n a f e a r d to live in s i c h a — " " 'Fraid to live!—why, I w a s that s c a r e d I dasn't hardly g o to b e d , or get u p , or lay d o w n , or set d o w n , S i s t e r Ridgeway. W h y , they'd steal the very— why, g o o d n e s s s a k e s , you c a n g u e s s what kind of a fluster J w a s in by the time midnight c o m e , last night. I h o p e to g r a c i o u s if I warn't afraid they'd steal s o m e o' the family! I w a s j u s t to that p a s s , I didn't have no r e a s o n i n g faculties n o m o r e . It looks foolish e n o u g h , now, in the day-time; but I says to myself, there's my two p o o r boys a s l e e p , 'way up stairs in that l o n e s o m e r o o m , a n d I d e c l a r e to g o o d n e s s I w a s that u n e a s y ' t I c r e p ' u p t h e r e a n d locked 'em in! I did. A n d anybody w o u l d . B e c a u s e , you know, w h e n you get s c a r e d , that way, a n d it k e e p s r u n n i n g o n , a n d getting w o r s e a n d w o r s e , all the t i m e , a n d your wits gets to a d d l i n g , a n d you get to d o i n g all sorts o' wild things, a n d by-and-by you think to yourself, s p o s ' n I w a s a boy, a n d w a s away u p there, a n d the d o o r ain't locked, a n d y o u — " S h e s t o p p e d , looking kind of w o n d e r i n g , a n d then s h e t u r n e d her h e a d a r o u n d slow, a n d w h e n her eye lit on m e — I got u p a n d took a walk. S a y s I to myself, I c a n explain better how we c o m e to not b e in that r o o m this m o r n i n g , if I go o u t to o n e side a n d study over it a little. S o I d o n e it. B u t I dasn't g o fur, or she'd a sent for m e . A n d w h e n it w a s late in the day, the p e o p l e all went, a n d then I c o m e in a n d told her the noise a n d s h o o t i n g w a k e d u p m e a n d " S i d , " a n d the d o o r w a s l o c k e d , a n d we w a n t e d to s e e the fun, so we went down the lightning-rod, a n d both of u s got hurt a little, a n d we didn't never w a n t to try that no m o r e . A n d then I went o n a n d told her

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all w h a t I told U n c l e S i l a s b e f o r e ; a n d then s h e s a i d she'd forgive u s , a n d m a y b e it w a s all right e n o u g h anyway, a n d a b o u t what a body might expect of boys, for all boys w a s a pretty h a r u m - s c a r u m lot, a s fur a s s h e c o u l d s e e ; a n d s o , a s long a s n o h a r m hadn't c o m e of it, s h e j u d g e d s h e better p u t in her time b e i n g grateful we w a s alive a n d well a n d s h e h a d u s still, s t e a d of fretting over what w a s p a s t a n d d o n e . S o then s h e k i s s e d m e , a n d p a t t e d m e o n the h e a d , a n d d r o p p e d into a kind of a brown study; a n d pretty s o o n j u m p s u p , a n d says: "Why, l a w s a m e r c y , it's m o s t night, a n d S i d not c o m e yet! W h a t has b e c o m e of that b o y ? " I s e e my c h a n c e ; s o I skips u p a n d says: "I'll run right u p to town a n d get h i m , " I says. " N o , you won't," s h e says. "You'll stay right wher' you a r e ; one's e n o u g h to be lost at a t i m e . If h e ain't h e r e to s u p p e r , your u n c l e 'II g o . " Well, h e warn't there to s u p p e r ; s o right after s u p p e r u n c l e went. H e c o m e b a c k a b o u t ten, a little bit u n e a s y ; hadn't r u n a c r o s s T o m ' s track. A u n t Sally w a s a g o o d deal u n e a s y ; b u t U n c l e S i l a s he said there warn't no o c c a s i o n to b e — b o y s will be boys, h e said, a n d you'll s e e this o n e turn u p in the m o r n i n g , all Sjpund a n d right. S o s h e h a d to be satisfied. B u t s h e s a i d she'd set u p for him a while, anyway, a n d keep a light b u r n i n g , so he c o u l d s e e it. A n d then w h e n I went u p to b e d s h e c o m e u p with m e a n d f e t c h e d her c a n d l e , a n d t u c k e d m e in, a n d m o t h e r e d m e so g o o d I felt m e a n , a n d like I couldn't look her in the f a c e ; a n d s h e set down o n the b e d a n d talked with m e a long t i m e , a n d s a i d what a s p l e n d i d boy S i d w a s , a n d didn't s e e m to want to ever s t o p talking a b o u t h i m ; a n d kept a s k i n g m e every n o w a n d t h e n , if I r e c k o n e d h e c o u l d a got lost, or hurt, or m a y b e d r o w n d e d , a n d might b e laying at this m i n u t e , s o m e w h e r e s , suffering or d e a d , a n d s h e not by him to help him, a n d s o the tears would drip d o w n , silent, a n d I w o u l d tell her that Sid w a s all right, a n d w o u l d be h o m e in the m o r n i n g , s u r e ; a n d s h e w o u l d s q u e e z e my h a n d , or m a y b e kiss m e , a n d tell m e to say it a g a i n , a n d k e e p on saying it, b e c a u s e it d o n e her g o o d , a n d s h e w a s in s o m u c h t r o u b l e . A n d w h e n s h e w a s g o i n g away, s h e looked d o w n in my e y e s , so s t e a d y a n d g e n t l e , and says: " T h e door ain't g o i n g to be locked, T o m ; a n d there's the window a n d the rod; but you'll be g o o d , won't y o u ? A n d you won't g o ? F o r my s a k e . " L a w s knows I wanted to g o , b a d e n o u g h , to s e e a b o u t T o m , a n d w a s all intending to g o ; but after that, I wouldn't a w e n t , not for k i n g d o m s . B u t s h e w a s on my m i n d , a n d T o m w a s on my m i n d ; so I slept very r e s t l e s s . A n d twice I went d o w n the rod, away in the night, a n d slipped a r o u n d front, a n d s e e her setting t h e r e by her c a n d l e in the window with her eyes towards the road a n d the tears in t h e m ; a n d I w i s h e d I c o u l d d o s o m e t h i n g for her, but I couldn't, only to s w e a r that I wouldn't never do n o t h i n g to grieve her any m o r e . A n d the third t i m e , I w a k e d up at d a w n , a n d slid d o w n , a n d s h e w a s there yet, a n d her c a n d l e w a s m o s t o u t , a n d her old gray h e a d w a s resting on her h a n d , a n d s h e w a s a s l e e p . Chapter

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T h e old m a n w a s u p town a g a i n , before breakfast, but couldn't get no track of T o m ; a n d both of t h e m set at the t a b l e , thinking, a n d not saying n o t h i n g ,

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a n d looking m o u r n f u l , a n d their coffee getting c o l d , a n d not e a t i n g anything. A n d by-and-by the old m a n s a y s : " D i d I give you the l e t t e r ? " "What letter?" " T h e o n e I got yesterday o u t of the p o s t - o f f i c e . " " N o , you didn't give m e n o letter." "Well, I m u s t a forgot it." S o h e r u m m a g e d his p o c k e t s , a n d then went off s o m e w h e r e s w h e r e h e h a d laid it d o w n , a n d f e t c h e d it, a n d give it to her. S h e says: "Why, it's from S t . P e t e r s b u r g — i t ' s from S i s . " I allowed a n o t h e r walk would d o m e g o o d ; b u t I c o u l d n ' t stir. B u t b e f o r e she c o u l d b r e a k it o p e n , s h e d r o p p e d it a n d r u n — f o r s h e s e e s o m e t h i n g . A n d so did I. It w a s T o m S a w y e r o n a m a t t r e s s ; a n d that old doctor; a n d J i m , in her c a l i c o d r e s s , with his h a n d s tied b e h i n d h i m ; a n d a lot of p e o p l e . I hid the letter b e h i n d the first thing that c o m e h a n d y , a n d r u s h e d . S h e flung herself at T o m , crying, a n d s a y s : " O h , he's d e a d , he's d e a d , I know he's d e a d ! " A n d T o m h e t u r n e d his h e a d a little, a n d m u t t e r e d s o m e t h i n g or other, which s h o w e d h e warn't in his right m i n d ; then s h e flung u p her h a n d s a n d says: " H e ' s alive, t h a n k G o d ! A n d that's e n o u g h ! " a n d s h e s n a t c h e d a kiss of him, a n d flew for the h o u s e to get the b e d ready, a n d s c a t t e r i n g o r d e r s right a n d left at the niggers a n d everybody e l s e , a s fast a s her t o n g u e c o u l d g o , every j u m p of the way. I followed the m e n to s e e what they w a s g o i n g to d o with J i m ; a n d the old d o c t o r a n d U n c l e S i l a s followed after T o m into the h o u s e . T h e m e n w a s very huffy, a n d s o m e of t h e m w a n t e d to h a n g J i m , for a n e x a m p l e to all the other niggers a r o u n d there, so they wouldn't b e trying to run away, like J i m d o n e , a n d m a k i n g s u c h a raft of t r o u b l e , a n d k e e p i n g a w h o l e family s c a r e d m o s t to d e a t h for days a n d nights. B u t the others said, don't d o it, it wouldn't a n s w e r at all, h e ain't o u r nigger, a n d his o w n e r w o u l d turn u p a n d m a k e u s pay for h i m , s u r e . S o that c o o l e d t h e m d o w n a little, b e c a u s e the p e o p l e that's always the m o s t a n x i o u s for to h a n g a nigger that hain't d o n e j u s t right, is always the very o n e s that ain't the m o s t a n x i o u s to pay for him w h e n they've got their s a t i s f a c t i o n o u t of h i m . T h e y c u s s e d J i m c o n s i d e r b l e , t h o u g h , a n d give h i m a cuff or two, side the h e a d , o n c e in a while, b u t J i m never s a i d n o t h i n g , a n d h e never let on to know m e , a n d they t o o k h i m to the s a m e c a b i n , a n d p u t his own c l o t h e s o n h i m , a n d c h a i n e d him a g a i n , a n d not to n o bed-leg, this t i m e , b u t to a big staple drove into the b o t t o m log, a n d c h a i n e d his h a n d s , t o o , a n d b o t h l e g s , a n d s a i d he warn't to have n o t h i n g b u t b r e a d a n d water to e a t , after this, till his owner c o m e or h e w a s sold at a u c t i o n , b e c a u s e h e didn't c o m e in a certain length of t i m e , a n d filled u p our hole, a n d s a i d a c o u p l e of f a r m e r s with g u n s m u s t s t a n d w a t c h a r o u n d a b o u t the c a b i n every night, a n d a b u l l - d o g tied to the d o o r in the day t i m e ; a n d a b o u t this t i m e they w a s t h r o u g h with the j o b a n d w a s t a p e r i n g off with a kind of generl good-bye c u s s i n g , a n d then the old d o c t o r c o m e s a n d t a k e s a look a n d s a y s : " D o n ' t b e no r o u g h e r on him t h a n you're o b l e e g e d to, b e c a u s e h e ain't a b a d nigger. W h e n I got to w h e r e I f o u n d the boy, I s e e I c o u l d n ' t cut the bullet o u t without s o m e help, a n d h e warn't in n o condition for m e to leave,

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to go a n d get help; a n d he got a little w o r s e a n d a little w o r s e , a n d after a long time h e went out of his h e a d , a n d wouldn't let m e c o m e a n i g h him, any m o r e , a n d said if I c h a l k e d his raft he'd kill m e , a n d n o e n d of wild f o o l i s h n e s s like that, a n d I s e e I couldn't d o anything at all with h i m ; s o I says, I got to have help, s o m e h o w ; a n d the m i n u t e I says it, out crawls this nigger from s o m e w h e r e s , a n d says he'll help, a n d h e d o n e it, too, a n d d o n e it very well. O f c o u r s e I j u d g e d h e m u s t b e a r u n a w a y nigger, a n d there I was! a n d there I h a d to stick, right straight a l o n g all the rest of the day, a n d all night. It w a s a fix, I tell you! I h a d a c o u p l e of p a t i e n t s with the chills, a n d of c o u r s e I'd of liked to run u p to town a n d s e e t h e m , but I dasn't, b e c a u s e the nigger might get away, a n d then I'd b e to b l a m e ; a n d yet never a skiff c o m e c l o s e e n o u g h for m e to hail. S o there I h a d to stick, p l u m b till daylight this m o r n ing; a n d I never s e e a nigger that w a s a better n u s s or faithfuller, a n d yet h e w a s resking his f r e e d o m to d o it, a n d w a s all tired out, too, a n d I s e e plain e n o u g h he'd b e e n worked m a i n h a r d , lately. I liked the nigger for that; I tell you, g e n t l e m e n , a nigger like that is worth a t h o u s a n d d o l l a r s — a n d kind t r e a t m e n t , too. I h a d everything I n e e d e d , a n d the boy w a s d o i n g a s well there a s h e would a d o n e at h o m e — b e t t e r , m a y b e , b e c a u s e it w a s s o q u i e t ; but there I was, with both o f ' m on my h a n d s ; a n d there I h a d to stick, till a b o u t d a w n this m o r n i n g ; then s o m e m e n in a skiff c o m e by, a n d a s g o o d luck w o u l d have it, the nigger w a s setting by the pallet with his h e a d p r o p p e d on his k n e e s , s o u n d a s l e e p ; s o I m o t i o n e d t h e m in, quiet, a n d they s l i p p e d u p on him a n d g r a b b e d him a n d tied him before he k n o w e d w h a t h e w a s a b o u t , a n d we never h a d no t r o u b l e . A n d the boy b e i n g in a kind of a flighty s l e e p , too, we muffled the o a r s a n d h i t c h e d the raft o n , a n d towed her over very n i c e a n d quiet, a n d the nigger never m a d e the least row nor said a word, from the start. H e ain't n o b a d nigger, g e n t l e m e n ; that's what I think a b o u t him." S o m e b o d y says: "Well, it s o u n d s very g o o d , doctor, I'm o b l e e g e d to s a y . " T h e n the others s o f t e n e d u p a little, too, a n d I w a s mighty thankful to that old d o c t o r for doing J i m that g o o d turn; a n d I w a s glad it w a s a c c o r d i n g to my j u d g m e n t of him, too; b e c a u s e I t h o u g h t he h a d a g o o d heart in h i m a n d w a s a g o o d m a n , the first time I s e e h i m . T h e n they all a g r e e d that J i m h a d a c t e d very well, a n d w a s deserving to have s o m e notice t o o k of it, a n d reward. S o every o n e of t h e m p r o m i s e d , right o u t a n d hearty, that they wouldn't c u s s him n o m o r e . T h e n they c o m e o u t a n d locked him u p . I h o p e d they w a s g o i n g to say h e c o u l d have o n e or two of the c h a i n s took off, b e c a u s e they w a s rotten heavy, or c o u l d have m e a t a n d g r e e n s with his b r e a d a n d water, b u t they didn't think of it, a n d I r e c k o n e d it warn't b e s t for m e to mix in, b u t I j u d g e d I'd get the doctor's yarn to A u n t Sally, s o m e h o w or other, a s s o o n a s I'd got through the b r e a k e r s that w a s l a y i n g j u s t a h e a d of m e . E x p l a n a t i o n s , I m e a n , of how I forgot to m e n t i o n a b o u t S i d b e i n g s h o t , w h e n I w a s telling how h i m a n d m e p u t in that dratted night p a d d l i n g a r o u n d h u n t i n g the r u n a w a y nigger. B u t I h a d plenty t i m e . A u n t Sally s h e s t u c k to the sick-room all day a n d all night; a n d every time I s e e U n c l e S i l a s m o o n i n g a r o u n d , I d o d g e d h i m . Next m o r n i n g I h e a r d T o m w a s a g o o d deal better, a n d they said A u n t Sally w a s g o n e to get a n a p . S o I slips to the s i c k - r o o m , a n d if I f o u n d h i m

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a w a k e I r e c k o n e d w e c o u l d p u t u p a yarn for the family that w o u l d w a s h . B u t he w a s s l e e p i n g , a n d s l e e p i n g very p e a c e f u l , t o o ; a n d p a l e , not fire-faced the way h e w a s w h e n he c o m e . S o I set d o w n a n d laid for him to w a k e . In a b o u t a half an h o u r , A u n t Sally c o m e s gliding in, a n d there I w a s , u p a s t u m p a g a i n ! S h e m o t i o n e d m e to b e still, a n d set d o w n by m e , a n d b e g u n to whisper, a n d s a i d we c o u l d all b e joyful now, b e c a u s e all the s y m p t o m s w a s first rate, a n d he'd b e e n s l e e p i n g like that for ever so long, a n d looking better a n d p e a c e f u l l e r all the t i m e , a n d ten to o n e he'd w a k e up in his right mind. S o we set there w a t c h i n g , a n d by-and-by h e stirs a bit, a n d o p e n e d his eyes very n a t u r a l , a n d takes a look, a n d s a y s : " H e l l o , why I'm at home! How's that? W h e r e ' s the r a f t ? " "It's all right," I s a y s . "And Jim?" " T h e s a m e , " I says, b u t c o u l d n ' t say it pretty b r a s h . B u t h e never n o t i c e d , but says: " G o o d ! S p l e n d i d ! Now we're all right a n d s a f e ! D i d you tell A u n t y ? " I w a s a b o u t to say yes; b u t s h e c h i p p e d in a n d says: "About what, S i d ? " "Why, a b o u t the way the w h o l e thing w a s d o n e . " " W h a t whole t h i n g ? " "Why, the w h o l e thing. T h e r e ain't but o n e ; how we set the r u n a w a y nigger free—me and Tom." " G o o d land! S e t the r u n — W h a t is the child talking a b o u t ! D e a r , d e a r , o u t of his h e a d a g a i n ! " "No, I ain't out of my H E A D ; I know all what I'm talking a b o u t . W e did set him f r e e — m e a n d T o m . W e laid o u t to d o it, a n d we done it. A n d we d o n e it e l e g a n t , t o o . " H e ' d got a start, a n d s h e never c h e c k e d him u p , j u s t set a n d stared a n d s t a r e d , a n d let him clip along, a n d I s e e it warn't n o u s e for me to put in. "Why, Aunty, it c o s t u s a p o w e r of w o r k — w e e k s of i t — h o u r s a n d h o u r s , every night, whilst you w a s all a s l e e p . A n d we h a d to steal c a n d l e s , a n d the s h e e t , a n d the shirt, a n d your d r e s s , a n d s p o o n s , a n d tin p l a t e s , a n d case-knives, a n d the w a r m i n g - p a n , a n d the g r i n d s t o n e , a n d flour, a n d j u s t no e n d of things, a n d you can't think what work it w a s to m a k e the s a w s , a n d p e n s , a n d i n s c r i p t i o n s , a n d o n e thing or a n o t h e r , a n d you can't think half the fun it w a s . A n d we h a d to m a k e u p the p i c t u r e s of coffins a n d things, a n d n o n n a m o u s letters from the r o b b e r s , a n d get u p a n d d o w n the lightningrod, a n d dig the h o l e into the c a b i n , a n d m a k e the r o p e - l a d d e r a n d s e n d it in c o o k e d u p in a p i e , a n d s e n d in s p o o n s a n d things to work with, in your apron pocket"— "Mercy sakes!" — " a n d load u p the c a b i n with rats a n d s n a k e s a n d s o o n , for c o m p a n y for J i m ; a n d then you kept T o m here s o long with the b u t t e r in his hat that you c o m e near spiling the w h o l e b u s i n e s s , b e c a u s e the m e n c o m e b e f o r e w e w a s out of the c a b i n , a n d we h a d to r u s h , a n d they h e a r d u s a n d let drive at u s , a n d I got my s h a r e , a n d we d o d g e d out of the p a t h a n d let t h e m g o by, a n d w h e n the d o g s c o m e they warn't i n t e r e s t e d in u s , b u t went for the m o s t n o i s e , a n d we got o u r c a n o e , a n d m a d e for the raft, a n d w a s all s a f e , a n d J i m w a s a free m a n , a n d we d o n e it all by o u r s e l v e s , a n d wasn't it bully, A u n t y ! " "Well, I never h e a r d the likes of it in all my born days! S o it w a s you, you

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little r a p s c a l l i o n s , that's b e e n m a k i n g all this trouble, a n d turn everybody's wits c l e a n inside out a n d s c a r e d us all m o s t to death. I've as g o o d a notion as ever I h a d in my life, to take it out o' you this very m i n u t e . T o think, here I've b e e n , night after night, a—you j u s t get well o n c e , you y o u n g s c a m p , a n d I lay I'll tan the Old Harry out o' both o' y e ! " B u t T o m , he was so p r o u d a n d joyful, he j u s t couldn't hold in, a n d his t o n g u e j u s t went i t — s h e a-chipping in, a n d spitting fire all along, a n d both of them going it at o n c e , like a cat-convention; a n d s h e says: "Well, you get all the enjoyment you c a n out of it now, for m i n d I tell you if I c a t c h you m e d d l i n g with him a g a i n — " " M e d d l i n g with who?" T o m says, d r o p p i n g his smile a n d looking surprised. "With who? Why, the runaway nigger, of c o u r s e . W h o ' d you r e c k o n ? " T o m looks at m e very grave, a n d says: " T o m , didn't you j u s t tell m e he was all right? H a s n ' t he got a w a y ? " "Him?" says Aunt Sally; "the runaway nigger? ' D e e d he hasn't. They've got him back, safe a n d s o u n d , a n d he's in that cabin again, on bread a n d water, and loaded down with c h a i n s , till he's c l a i m e d or s o l d ! " T o m rose s q u a r e u p in b e d , with his eye hot, a n d his nostrils o p e n i n g a n d s h u t t i n g like gills, a n d sings out to m e : " T h e y hain't no right to shut him up! Shove!—and don't you lose a m i n u t e . T u r n him loose! h e ain't no slave; he's as free as any cretur that walks this earth!" " W h a t does the child m e a n ? " "I m e a n every word I say, A u n t Sally, a n d if s o m e b o d y don't go, I'll go. I've knowed him all his life, a n d so h a s T o m , there. O l d M i s s W a t s o n died two m o n t h s a g o , a n d s h e was a s h a m e d s h e ever w a s g o i n g to sell him d o w n the river, a n d said s o ; a n d s h e set him free in her will." " T h e n what on earth did you want to set h i m free for, s e e i n g he was already free?" "Well, that is a q u e s t i o n , I m u s t say; a n d just like w o m e n ! Why, I w a n t e d the adventure of it; a n d I'd a w a d e d n e c k - d e e p in blood t o — g o o d n e s s alive, AUNT

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If s h e warn't s t a n d i n g right there, j u s t inside the door, looking as sweet a n d c o n t e n t e d as an angel half-full of pie, I wish I m a y never! A u n t Sally j u m p e d for her, a n d m o s t h u g g e d the h e a d off of her, a n d cried over her, a n d I f o u n d a g o o d e n o u g h p l a c e for m e u n d e r the b e d , for it w a s getting pretty sultry for us, s e e m e d to m e . And I p e e p e d out, a n d in a little while T o m ' s A u n t Polly s h o o k herself loose a n d s t o o d there looking a c r o s s at T o m over her s p e c t a c l e s — k i n d of grinding him into the earth, you know. And then s h e says: "Yes, you better turn y'r h e a d away—I w o u l d if I was you, T o m . " " O h , deary m e ! " says A u n t Sally; "is he c h a n g e d so? Why, that ain't Totn it's Sid; T o m ' s — T o m ' s — w h y , where is T o m ? H e was here a m i n u t e a g o . " "You m e a n where's H u c k Finn—that's what you m e a n ! I r e c k o n I hain't raised s u c h a s c a m p as my T o m all t h e s e years, not to know h i m w h e n I see him. T h a t would b e a pretty howdy-do. C o m e out from u n d e r the b e d , H u c k Finn." S o I d o n e it. B u t not feeling b r a s h . 1. T o m S a w y e r ' s a u n t a n d g u a r d i a n .

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A u n t Sally s h e w a s o n e of the mixed-upest looking p e r s o n s I ever s e e ; except o n e , a n d that was U n c l e S i l a s , w h e n he c o m e in, a n d they told it all to him. It kind of m a d e him drunk, a s you m a y say, a n d he didn't know nothing at all the rest of the day, a n d p r e a c h e d a p r a y e r - m e e t i n g s e r m o n that night that give him a rattling r u p u t a t i o n , b e c a u s e the oldest m a n in the world couldn't a u n d e r s t o o d it. S o T o m ' s A u n t Polly, s h e told all a b o u t w h o I w a s , a n d what; a n d I h a d to u p a n d tell how I w a s in s u c h a tight p l a c e that w h e n M r s . P h e l p s took m e for T o m S a w y e r — s h e c h i p p e d in a n d says, " O h , go on a n d call m e Aunt Sally, I'm u s e d to it, now, a n d 'tain't n o n e e d to c h a n g e " — that w h e n A u n t Sally took m e for T o m Sawyer, I h a d to s t a n d i t — t h a t warn't no other way, a n d 1 knowed he wouldn't m i n d , b e c a u s e it w o u l d be n u t s for him, b e i n g a mystery, a n d he'd m a k e an a d v e n t u r e out of it a n d b e perfectly satisfied. A n d so it turned out, a n d he let on to b e S i d , a n d m a d e things a s soft as he c o u l d for m e . A n d his A u n t Polly she said T o m w a s right a b o u t old M i s s W a t s o n setting J i m free in her will; a n d s o , s u r e e n o u g h , T o m S a w y e r h a d g o n e a n d took all that trouble a n d bother to set a free nigger free! a n d I c o u l d n ' t ever unders t a n d , b e f o r e , until that m i n u t e a n d that talk, h o w he could help a body set a nigger free, with his bringing-up. Well, A u n t Polly she said that w h e n A u n t Sally wrote to her that T o m a n d Sid h a d c o m e , all right a n d s a f e , s h e says to herself: " L o o k at that, now! I might have e x p e c t e d it, letting him go off that way without anybody to w a t c h h i m . S o now I got to go a n d t r a p s e all the way d o w n the river, eleven h u n d r e d m i l e , 2 a n d find o u t what that creetur's u p to, this t i m e ; as long a s I couldn't s e e m to get any a n s w e r out of you a b o u t it." "Why, I never heard n o t h i n g from y o u , " says A u n t Sally. "Well, I wonder! Why, I wrote to you twice, to a s k you w h a t you c o u l d m e a n by S i d b e i n g h e r e . " "Well, I never got 'em, S i s . " A u n t Polly, s h e turns a r o u n d slow a n d s e v e r e , a n d says: "You, T o m ! " "Well—what?" he says, kind of pettish. " D o n ' t you what me, you i m p u d e n t t h i n g — h a n d out t h e m l e t t e r s . " "What letters?" "Them letters. I be b o u n d , if I have to take aholt of you I'll—" "They're in the trunk. T h e r e , now. A n d they're j u s t the s a m e as they w a s w h e n I got t h e m out of the office. I hain't looked into t h e m , I hain't t o u c h e d t h e m . B u t I k n o w e d they'd m a k e t r o u b l e , a n d I t h o u g h t if you warn't in no hurry, I ' d — " "Well, you do n e e d skinning, there ain't no m i s t a k e a b o u t it. A n d I wrote a n o t h e r o n e to tell you I was c o m i n g ; a n d I s p o s e h e — " " N o , it c o m e yesterday; I hain't read it yet, but it's all right, I've got that one." I w a n t e d to offer to bet two dollars s h e hadn't, b u t I r e c k o n e d m a y b e it w a s j u s t a s s a f e to not to. S o I never said nothing.

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T h e first time I c a t c h e d T o m , private, I a s k e d him what w a s his idea, time of the e v a s i o n ? — w h a t it w a s he'd p l a n n e d to do if the evasion worked all right a n d he m a n a g e d to set a nigger free that w a s already free b e f o r e ? A n d he said, what he h a d p l a n n e d in his h e a d , from the start, if w e got J i m out all s a f e , w a s for u s to run him d o w n the river, on the raft, a n d have a d v e n t u r e s p l u m b to the m o u t h of the river, a n d then tell him a b o u t his b e i n g free, a n d take him b a c k u p h o m e o n a s t e a m b o a t , in style, a n d pay him for his lost t i m e , a n d write word a h e a d a n d get out all the niggers a r o u n d , a n d have t h e m waltz him into town with a torchlight p r o c e s s i o n a n d a b r a s s b a n d , a n d then he w o u l d be a hero, a n d so would w e . B u t I r e c k o n e d it w a s a b o u t as well the way it w a s . W e h a d J i m out of the c h a i n s in n o t i m e , a n d w h e n A u n t Polly a n d U n c l e S i l a s a n d A u n t Sally f o u n d o u t how good he h e l p e d the d o c t o r n u r s e T o m , they m a d e a h e a p of fuss over him, a n d fixed him u p p r i m e , a n d give him all he w a n t e d to eat, a n d a g o o d t i m e , a n d nothing to d o . A n d we h a d him up to the s i c k r o o m ; a n d h a d a high talk; a n d T o m give J i m forty dollars for b e i n g prisoner for u s so p a t i e n t , a n d doing it u p s o g o o d , a n d J i m w a s p l e a s e d m o s t to d e a t h , a n d b u s t e d o u t , a n d says: "Dah, now, H u c k , what I tell y o u ? — w h a t I tell you u p d a h on J a c k s o n islan'? I tole you I got a hairy breas', en what's d e sign un it; en I tole you I b e n rich w u n s t , en gwineter to b e rich agin; en it's c o m e t r u e ; en h e a h s h e is! Dah, now! d o a n ' talk to me—signs is signs, m i n e I tell y o u ; en I k n o w e d j i s ' 's well 'at I 'uz gwineter be rich agin a s I's a s t a n n i n ' h e a h dis m i n u t e ! " And then T o m he talked a l o n g , a n d talked along, a n d says, le's all three slide out of h e r e , o n e of t h e s e nights, a n d get a n outfit, a n d go for howling a d v e n t u r e s a m o n g s t the I n j u n s , over in the Territory, for a c o u p l e of w e e k s or two; a n d I says, all right, that suits m e , but I ain't got n o m o n e y for to buy the outfit, a n d I reckon I couldn't get n o n e from h o m e , b e c a u s e it's likely p a p ' s b e e n b a c k before now, a n d got it all away from J u d g e T h a t c h e r a n d d r u n k it u p . " N o he hain't," T o m says; "it's all there, y e t — s i x t h o u s a n d dollars a n d m o r e ; a n d your p a p hain't ever b e e n b a c k s i n c e . H a d n ' t w h e n I c o m e away, anyhow." J i m says, kind of s o l e m n : " H e ain't a c o m i n ' b a c k no m o ' , H u c k . " I says: "Why, J i m ? " " N e m m i n e why, H u c k — b u t he ain't c o m i n ' b a c k no m o ' . " B u t I kept at him; s o at last he says: " D o a n ' you ' m e m b e r de h o u s e dat w a s float'n d o w n de river, en dey wuz a m a n in d a h , kivered u p , en I went in en unkivered h i m a n d didn' let you c o m e in? Well, d e n , you k'n git yo' m o n e y w h e n you w a n t s it; k a s e dat wuz him." T o m ' s m o s t well, now, a n d got his bullet a r o u n d his n e c k on a w a t c h - g u a r d for a w a t c h , a n d is always s e e i n g what time it is, a n d s o there ain't n o t h i n g m o r e to write a b o u t , a n d I a m rotten glad of it, b e c a u s e if I'd a k n o w e d what a trouble it w a s to m a k e a b o o k I wouldn't a tackled it a n d ain't a g o i n g to no m o r e . B u t I reckon I got to light out for the Territory a h e a d of the rest,

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b e c a u s e A u n t Sally she's g o i n g to a d o p t m e a n d sivilize m e a n d I can't s t a n d it. I b e e n there b e f o r e . THE END. YOURS TRULY, HUCK FINN.

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Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offences' The Pathfinder a n d The Deerslayer s t a n d at the h e a d o f C o o p e r ' s novels a s artistic c r e a t i o n s . T h e r e a r e o t h e r s o f his works which c o n t a i n p a r t s a s perfect a s a r e to b e f o u n d in t h e s e , a n d s c e n e s even m o r e thrilling. N o t o n e c a n b e c o m p a r e d with either of t h e m a s a finished w h o l e . T h e d e f e c t s in both of t h e s e tales a r e c o m p a r a t i v e l y slight. T h e y were p u r e works o f art.—Prof. Lounsbury. T h e five tales reveal a n extraordinary f u l n e s s o f invention. . . . O n e of the very g r e a t e s t c h a r a c t e r s in fiction, " N a t t y B u m p p o . " . . . T h e craft o f t h e w o o d s m a n , the tricks of the trapper, all the d e l i c a t e art of the forest, were familiar to C o o p e r from his youth up.—Prof. Brander Matthews. C o o p e r is the g r e a t e s t artist in the d o m a i n o f r o m a n t i c fiction yet p r o d u c e d by America.—Wilkie Collins.2 It s e e m s to m e that it w a s far from right for t h e P r o f e s s o r of E n g l i s h Literature in Y a l e , the P r o f e s s o r of E n g l i s h L i t e r a t u r e in C o l u m b i a , a n d Wilkie C o l l i n s , t o deliver o p i n i o n s on C o o p e r ' s literature without h a v i n g r e a d s o m e of it. It w o u l d have b e e n m u c h m o r e d e c o r o u s to keep silent a n d let p e r s o n s talk w h o have r e a d C o o p e r . C o o p e r ' s art h a s s o m e d e f e c t s . In o n e p l a c e in Deerslayer, a n d in the restricted s p a c e of two-thirds o f a p a g e , C o o p e r h a s s c o r e d 1 1 4 o f f e n c e s a g a i n s t literary art o u t o f a p o s s i b l e 1 1 5 . It b r e a k s the record. T h e r e a r e n i n e t e e n rules g o v e r n i n g literary art in the d o m a i n o f r o m a n t i c fiction—some say twenty-two. In Deerslayer C o o p e r violated e i g h t e e n of them. These eighteen require: 1. T h a t a tale shall a c c o m p l i s h s o m e t h i n g a n d arrive s o m e w h e r e . B u t the Deerslayer tale a c c o m p l i s h e s n o t h i n g a n d arrives in the air. 2. T h e y require that the e p i s o d e s of a tale shall b e n e c e s s a r y p a r t s of t h e tale, a n d shall help to develop it. B u t a s the Deerslayer tale is not a t a l e , a n d a c c o m p l i s h e s n o t h i n g a n d arrives n o w h e r e , the e p i s o d e s have n o rightful p l a c e in the work, s i n c e there w a s n o t h i n g for t h e m to d e v e l o p . 3. T h e y require that t h e p e r s o n a g e s in a tale shall b e alive, e x c e p t in the c a s e of c o r p s e s , a n d that always t h e r e a d e r shall b e a b l e to tell t h e c o r p s e s 1. J a m e s F e n i m o r e C o o p e r ( 1 7 8 9 - 1 8 5 1 ) i s b e s t k n o w n for h i s s e r i e s o f historical n o v e l s in w h i c h t h e h e r o is v a r i o u s l y c a l l e d L e a t h e r s t o c k i n g , N a t t y B u m p p o , Hawkeye, a n d Deerslayer. T h e novels are The Pioneers ( 1 8 2 3 ) , The Last of the Mohicans ( 1 8 2 6 ) , The Prairie ( 1 8 2 7 ) , The Pathfinder (1840), a n d T h e Deerslayer ( 1 8 4 1 ) . T h i s e s s a y w a s first p u b l i s h e d i n J u l y 1 8 9 5 , in North American Review,

t h e s o u r c e for t h e text, a n d later in t h e c o l l e c t i o n How to Tell a Story and Other Essays i n 1 8 9 7 . 2. William Wilkie Collins ( 1 8 2 4 - 1 8 8 9 ) , English novelist. T h o m a s Raynesford L o u n s b u r y (1838— 1 9 1 5 ) , A m e r i c a n s c h o l a r a n d editor; p r o f e s s o r at Yale University. J a m e s Brander M a t t h e w s (1852— 1 9 2 9 ) , A m e r i c a n e d u c a t o r a n d a u t h o r , p r o f e s s o r at C o l u m b i a University.

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from the o t h e r s . B u t this detail has often b e e n overlooked in the Deerslayer tale. 4. T h e y require that the p e r s o n a g e s in a t a l e , both d e a d a n d alive, shall exhibit a sufficient e x c u s e for b e i n g there. B u t this detail a l s o h a s b e e n overlooked in the Deerslayer tale. 5. T h e y require that w h e n the p e r s o n a g e s of a tale deal in c o n v e r s a t i o n , the talk shall s o u n d like h u m a n talk, a n d be talk s u c h as h u m a n b e i n g s w o u l d b e likely to talk in the given c i r c u m s t a n c e s , a n d have a d i s c o v e r a b l e m e a n i n g , a l s o a d i s c o v e r a b l e p u r p o s e , a n d a s h o w of relevancy, a n d r e m a i n in the n e i g h b o r h o o d of the s u b j e c t in h a n d , a n d b e interesting to the r e a d e r , a n d help o u t the tale, a n d stop w h e n the p e o p l e c a n n o t think of a n y t h i n g m o r e to say. B u t this r e q u i r e m e n t has b e e n ignored from the b e g i n n i n g of the Deerslayer tale to the e n d of it. 6. T h e y require that w h e n the a u t h o r d e s c r i b e s the c h a r a c t e r of a p e r s o n a g e in his tale, the c o n d u c t a n d c o n v e r s a t i o n of that p e r s o n a g e shall justify said d e s c r i p t i o n . B u t this law g e t s little or no attention in the Deerslayer tale, a s " N a t t y B u m p p o ' s " c a s e will a m p l y prove. 7. T h e y require that w h e n a p e r s o n a g e talks like a n illustrated, gilt-edged, tree-calf, h a n d - t o o l e d , seven-dollar F r i e n d s h i p ' s O f f e r i n g ' in the b e g i n n i n g of a p a r a g r a p h , h e shall not talk like a negro minstrel in the e n d of it. B u t this rule is flung d o w n a n d d a n c e d u p o n in the Deerslayer tale. 8. T h e y require that c r a s s stupidities shall not b e played u p o n the r e a d e r a s "the craft of the w o o d s m a n , the d e l i c a t e art of the f o r e s t , " by either the a u t h o r or the p e o p l e in the tale. B u t this rule is persistently violated in the Deerslayer tale. 9. T h e y require that the p e r s o n a g e s of a tale shall confine t h e m s e l v e s to possibilities a n d let m i r a c l e s a l o n e ; or, if they v e n t u r e a m i r a c l e , the a u t h o r m u s t s o plausibly set it forth a s to m a k e it look p o s s i b l e a n d r e a s o n a b l e . B u t t h e s e rules are not r e s p e c t e d in the Deerslayer tale. 10. T h e y require that the a u t h o r shall m a k e the r e a d e r feel a d e e p interest in the p e r s o n a g e s of his tale a n d in their fate; a n d that he shall m a k e the reader love the g o o d p e o p l e in the tale a n d hate the b a d o n e s . B u t the r e a d e r of the Deerslayer tale dislikes the g o o d p e o p l e in it, is indifferent to the o t h e r s , a n d w i s h e s they w o u l d all get d r o w n e d together. 1 1 . T h e y require that the c h a r a c t e r s in a tale shall be s o clearly defined that the r e a d e r c a n tell b e f o r e h a n d what e a c h will d o in a given e m e r g e n c y . B u t in the Deerslayer tale this rule is v a c a t e d . In addition to t h e s e large rules there are s o m e little o n e s . T h e s e require that the a u t h o r shall 12. Say what h e is p r o p o s i n g to say, not merely c o m e n e a r it. 13. U s e the right word, not its s e c o n d c o u s i n . 14. Eschew surplusage. 15. N o t omit n e c e s s a r y details. 16. Avoid slovenliness of form. 17. U s e g o o d g r a m m a r . 18. E m p l o y a s i m p l e a n d straightforward style. Even t h e s e seven are coldly a n d persistently violated in the Deerslayer tale. 3. I.e., like o n e o f t h e t h e n - p o p u l a r , e x p e n s i v e , i l l u s t r a t e d literary m i s c e l l a n i e s ( " t r e e - c a l f " w a s chemically treated to p r o d u c e a treelike design).

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C o o p e r ' s gift in the way of invention w a s not a rich e n d o w m e n t ; b u t s u c h a s it w a s he liked to work it, h e w a s p l e a s e d with the effects, a n d i n d e e d h e did s o m e quite sweet things with it. In his little box of s t a g e properties he kept six or eight c u n n i n g d e v i c e s , tricks, artifices for his s a v a g e s a n d w o o d s m e n to deceive a n d c i r c u m v e n t e a c h other with, a n d he w a s never s o h a p p y a s w h e n he w a s working t h e s e i n n o c e n t things a n d s e e i n g t h e m g o . A favorite o n e w a s to m a k e a m o c c a s i n e d p e r s o n tread in the tracks of the m o c c a s i n e d e n e m y , a n d t h u s hide his own trail. C o o p e r wore o u t barrels a n d barrels of m o c c a s i n s in working that trick. A n o t h e r stage-property that he pulled out of his box pretty frequently w a s his b r o k e n twig. H e prized his broken twig above all the rest of his effects, a n d worked it the h a r d e s t . It is a restful c h a p t e r in any b o o k of his w h e n s o m e b o d y doesn't step on a dry twig a n d alarm all the reds a n d whites for two h u n d r e d yards a r o u n d . Every time a C o o p e r p e r s o n is in peril, a n d a b s o l u t e s i l e n c e is worth four dollars a m i n u t e , h e is s u r e to step on a dry twig. T h e r e m a y b e a h u n d r e d h a n d i e r things to step o n , but that wouldn't satisfy C o o p e r . C o o p e r r e q u i r e s him to turn out a n d find a dry twig; a n d if he can't d o it, g o a n d borrow o n e . In fact the L e a t h e r S t o c k i n g S e r i e s o u g h t to have b e e n called the B r o k e n T w i g S e r i e s . I a m sorry there is not r o o m to put in a few d o z e n i n s t a n c e s of the d e l i c a t e art of the forest, a s p r a c t i c e d by N a t t y B u m p p o a n d s o m e of the other C o o p erian experts. P e r h a p s we m a y v e n t u r e two or three s a m p l e s . C o o p e r w a s a s a i l o r — a naval officer; yet he gravely tells u s how a vessel, driving toward a lee shore" 1 in a g a l e , is steered for a p a r t i c u l a r spot by her s k i p p e r b e c a u s e he knows of a n undertow t h e r e which will hold her b a c k a g a i n s t the g a l e a n d save her. F o r j u s t p u r e woodcraft, or sailor-craft, or whatever it is, isn't that n e a t ? F o r several years C o o p e r w a s daily in the society of artillery, a n d he o u g h t to have noticed that w h e n a c a n n o n ball strikes the g r o u n d it either b u r i e s itself or skips a h u n d r e d feet or s o ; skips a g a i n a h u n d r e d feet or s o — a n d s o o n , till it finally gets tired a n d rolls. N o w in o n e p l a c e h e l o s e s s o m e " f e m a l e s " — a s he always calls w o m e n — i n the e d g e of a w o o d n e a r a plain at night in a fog, on p u r p o s e to give B u m p p o a c h a n c e to s h o w off the d e l i c a t e art of the forest before the reader. T h e s e mislaid p e o p l e are h u n t i n g for a fort. T h e y hear a c a n n o n - b l a s t , a n d a c a n n o n - b a l l presently c o m e s rolling into the wood a n d s t o p s at their feet. T o the f e m a l e s this s u g g e s t s nothing. T h e c a s e is very different with the a d m i r a b l e B u m p p o . I w i s h I m a y never know p e a c e a g a i n if he d o e s n ' t strike o u t p r o m p t l y a n d follow the track of that c a n n o n - b a l l a c r o s s the plain t h r o u g h the d e n s e fog a n d find the fort. Isn't it a daisy? If C o o p e r h a d any real k n o w l e d g e of N a t u r e ' s ways of d o i n g things, he h a d a m o s t d e l i c a t e art in c o n c e a l i n g the fact. F o r i n s t a n c e : o n e of his a c u t e Indian experts, C h i n g a c h g o o k 5 ( p r o n o u n c e d C h i c a g o , I t h i n k ) , has lost the trail of a p e r s o n h e is t r a c k i n g t h r o u g h the forest. A p p a r e n t l y that trail is hopelessly lost. N e i t h e r you nor I c o u l d ever have g u e s s e d o u t the way to find it. It w a s very different with C h i c a g o . C h i c a g o w a s not s t u m p e d for long. H e turned a r u n n i n g s t r e a m out of its c o u r s e , a n d there, in the s l u s h in its old b e d , were that p e r s o n ' s m o c c a s i n - t r a c k s . T h e c u r r e n t did not w a s h t h e m away, a s it w o u l d have d o n e in all other like c a s e s — n o , even the eternal laws of N a t u r e have to v a c a t e w h e n C o o p e r w a n t s to put up a d e l i c a t e j o b of woodcraft on the reader. 4.

S h o r e t h a t is p r o t e c t e d f r o m t h e w i n d .

5.

Natty B u m p p o ' s Indian friend.

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W e m u s t be a little wary w h e n B r a n d e r M a t t h e w s tells u s that C o o p e r ' s books "reveal a n extraordinary fulness of i n v e n t i o n . " A s a rule, I a m quite willing to a c c e p t B r a n d e r M a t t h e w s ' s literary j u d g m e n t s a n d a p p l a u d his lucid a n d graceful p h r a s i n g of t h e m ; b u t that particular s t a t e m e n t n e e d s to be taken with a few tons of salt. B l e s s your heart, C o o p e r hadn't any m o r e invention than a h o r s e ; a n d I don't m e a n a high-class h o r s e , either; I m e a n a c l o t h e s - h o r s e . It would be very difficult to find a really clever " s i t u a t i o n " in C o o p e r ' s b o o k s ; a n d still m o r e difficult to find o n e of any kind which he h a s failed to r e n d e r a b s u r d by his h a n d l i n g of it. L o o k at the e p i s o d e s of "the c a v e s ; " a n d at the c e l e b r a t e d scuffle b e t w e e n M a q u a a n d t h o s e o t h e r s o n the table-land a few days later; a n d at Hurry Harry's q u e e r water-transit from the c a s t l e to the ark; a n d at Deerslayer's half h o u r with his first c o r p s e ; a n d at the quarrel b e t w e e n Hurry Harry a n d D e e r s l a y e r later; a n d a t — b u t c h o o s e for yourself; you can't go a m i s s . If C o o p e r had b e e n an observer, his inventive faculty would have worked better, not m o r e interestingly, but m o r e rationally, m o r e plausibly. C o o p e r ' s p r o u d e s t c r e a t i o n s in the way of " s i t u a t i o n s " suffer noticeably from the a b s e n c e of the observer's p r o t e c t i n g gift. C o o p e r ' s eye w a s splendidly inacc u r a t e . C o o p e r s e l d o m s a w anything correctly. H e s a w nearly all things a s through a glass eye, darkly. 6 O f c o u r s e a m a n w h o c a n n o t s e e the c o m m o n e s t little everyday m a t t e r s a c c u r a t e l y is working at a d i s a d v a n t a g e w h e n h e is c o n s t r u c t i n g a " s i t u a t i o n . " In the Deerslayer tale C o o p e r h a s a s t r e a m which is fifty feet wide, w h e r e it flows out of a lake; it presently narrows to twenty a s it m e a n d e r s a l o n g for no given r e a s o n , a n d yet, w h e n a s t r e a m a c t s like that it o u g h t to be r e q u i r e d to explain itself. F o u r t e e n p a g e s later the width of the brook's outlet from the lake has s u d d e n l y s h r u n k thirty feet, a n d b e c o m e "the narrowest part of the s t r e a m . " T h i s s h r i n k a g e is not a c c o u n t e d for. T h e s t r e a m h a s b e n d s in it, a s u r e indication that it has alluvial b a n k s , a n d c u t s t h e m ; yet t h e s e b e n d s a r e only thirty a n d fifty feet long. If C o o p e r h a d b e e n a n i c e 7 a n d p u n c t i l i o u s observer he would have n o t i c e d that the b e n d s were oftener nine h u n d r e d feet long than short of it. C o o p e r m a d e the exit of that s t r e a m fifty feet wide in the first p l a c e , for no particular r e a s o n ; in the s e c o n d p l a c e , he narrowed it to less than twenty to a c c o m m o d a t e s o m e I n d i a n s . H e b e n d s a " s a p l i n g " to the form of a n arch over this narrow p a s s a g e , a n d c o n c e a l s six I n d i a n s in its foliage. T h e y a r e "laying" for a settler's s c o w or ark which is c o m i n g up the s t r e a m on its way to the lake; it is b e i n g h a u l e d a g a i n s t the stiff c u r r e n t by a r o p e w h o s e stationary end is a n c h o r e d in the lake; its rate of p r o g r e s s c a n n o t be m o r e t h a n a mile an hour. C o o p e r d e s c r i b e s the ark, but pretty o b s c u r e l y . In the m a t t e r of d i m e n s i o n s "it w a s little m o r e than a m o d e r n c a n a l b o a t . " L e t u s g u e s s , t h e n , that it w a s a b o u t 140 feet long. It w a s of "greater b r e a d t h than c o m m o n . " Let u s g u e s s , t h e n , that it w a s a b o u t sixteen feet wide. T h i s leviathan h a d b e e n prowling down b e n d s which were but a third a s long a s itself, a n d s c r a p i n g b e t w e e n b a n k s w h e r e it had only two feet of s p a c e to s p a r e on e a c h side. W e c a n n o t too m u c h a d m i r e this m i r a c l e . A low-roofed log dwelling o c c u p i e s "two-third's of the ark's l e n g t h " — a dwelling ninety feet long a n d sixteen feet wide, let u s s a y — a kind of vestibule train. T h e dwelling h a s two 6. H u m o r o u s t u r n o f t h e b i b l i c a l " t h r o u g h a g l a s s , d a r k l y " (1 C o r i n t h i a n s 1 3 . 1 2 ) .

7.

I.e., m e t i c u l o u s ,

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r o o m s — e a c h forty-five feet long a n d sixteen feet w i d e , let us g u e s s . O n e of t h e m is the b e d - r o o m of the H u t t e r girls, J u d i t h a n d Hetty; the other is the parlor, in the day t i m e , at night it is p a p a ' s b e d c h a m b e r . T h e ark is arriving at the s t r e a m ' s exit, now, w h o s e width h a s b e e n r e d u c e d to less t h a n twenty feet to a c c o m m o d a t e the I n d i a n s — s a y to e i g h t e e n . T h e r e is a foot to s p a r e o n e a c h side of the b o a t . D i d the I n d i a n s notice that there w a s g o i n g to b e a tight s q u e e z e there? D i d they n o t i c e that they c o u l d m a k e m o n e y by c l i m b ing down o u t of that a r c h e d sapling a n d j u s t s t e p p i n g a b o a r d w h e n the ark s c r a p e d by? N o ; other I n d i a n s w o u l d have n o t i c e d t h e s e t h i n g s , b u t C o o p e r ' s Indians never n o t i c e anything. C o o p e r thinks they are m a r v e l l o u s c r e a t u r e s for noticing, but he w a s a l m o s t always in error a b o u t his I n d i a n s . T h e r e w a s seldom a sane one a m o n g them. T h e ark is 1 4 0 feet long; the dwelling is 9 0 feet long. T h e idea of the Indians is to d r o p softly a n d secretly from the a r c h e d s a p l i n g to the dwelling as the ark c r e e p s a l o n g u n d e r it at the rate of a m i l e a n hour, a n d b u t c h e r the family. It will take the ark a m i n u t e a n d a half to p a s s u n d e r . It will take the 90-foot dwelling a m i n u t e to p a s s u n d e r . N o w , t h e n , w h a t did the six I n d i a n s do? It w o u l d take you thirty years to g u e s s , a n d even then you would have to give it u p , I believe. T h e r e f o r e , I will tell you w h a t the I n d i a n s did. T h e i r chief, a p e r s o n of q u i t e extraordinary intellect for a C o o p e r I n d i a n , warily w a t c h e d the c a n a l b o a t as it s q u e e z e d a l o n g u n d e r h i m , a n d w h e n he h a d got his c a l c u l a t i o n s fined d o w n to exactly the right s h a d e , a s h e j u d g e d , h e let go a n d d r o p p e d . A n d missed the house! T h a t is actually what he did. H e m i s s e d the h o u s e , a n d l a n d e d in the stern of the s c o w . It w a s not m u c h of a fall, yet it k n o c k e d him silly. H e lay t h e r e u n c o n s c i o u s . If the h o u s e h a d b e e n 9 7 feet long, he w o u l d have m a d e the trip. T h e fault w a s C o o p e r ' s , not his. T h e error lay in the c o n s t r u c t i o n of the h o u s e . C o o p e r w a s n o architect. T h e r e still r e m a i n e d in the roost five I n d i a n s . T h e b o a t h a s p a s s e d u n d e r a n d is now o u t of their r e a c h . L e t m e explain w h a t the five d i d — y o u w o u l d not be able to r e a s o n it o u t for yourself. N o . 1 j u m p e d for the boat, but fell in the water a s t e r n of it. T h e n N o . 2 j u m p e d for the b o a t , b u t fell in the water still further astern of it. T h e n N o . 3 j u m p e d for the b o a t , a n d fell a g o o d way a s t e r n of it. T h e n N o . 4 j u m p e d for the b o a t , a n d fell in the water away a s t e r n . T h e n even N o . 5 m a d e a j u m p for the b o a t — f o r h e w a s a C o o p e r Indian. In the m a t t e r of intellect, the difference b e t w e e n a C o o p e r I n d i a n a n d the I n d i a n that s t a n d s in front of the cigar s h o p is not s p a c i o u s . T h e s c o w e p i s o d e is really a s u b l i m e b u r s t of invention; but it d o e s not thrill, b e c a u s e the i n a c c u r a c y of the details throws a sort of air of fictitiousness a n d general improbability over it. T h i s c o m e s of C o o p e r ' s i n a d e q u a c y a s a n observer. T h e r e a d e r will find s o m e e x a m p l e s of C o o p e r ' s high talent for i n a c c u r a t e o b s e r v a t i o n in the a c c o u n t of the s h o o t i n g m a t c h in The Pathfinder. "A c o m m o n w r o u g h t nail w a s driven lightly into the target, its h e a d having b e e n first t o u c h e d with p a i n t . " T h e color of the p a i n t is not s t a t e d — a n i m p o r t a n t o m i s sion, but C o o p e r deals freely in i m p o r t a n t o m i s s i o n s . N o , after all, it w a s not a n i m p o r t a n t o m i s s i o n ; for this nail h e a d is a hundred yards from the m a r k s m e n a n d c o u l d not b e s e e n by t h e m at that d i s t a n c e n o m a t t e r w h a t its color might b e . H o w far c a n the b e s t eyes s e e a c o m m o n h o u s e fly? A h u n d r e d yards? It is q u i t e i m p o s s i b l e . Very well, eyes that c a n n o t s e e a h o u s e fly that

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is a h u n d r e d yards away c a n n o t s e e a n ordinary nail h e a d at that d i s t a n c e , for the size of the two o b j e c t s is the s a m e . It t a k e s a k e e n eye to s e e a fly or a nail h e a d at fifty y a r d s — o n e h u n d r e d a n d fifty feet. C a n the r e a d e r d o it? T h e nail w a s lightly driven, its h e a d p a i n t e d , a n d g a m e c a l l e d . T h e n the C o o p e r m i r a c l e s b e g a n . T h e bullet of the first m a r k s m a n c h i p p e d a n e d g e of the nail h e a d ; the next m a n ' s bullet drove the nail a little way into the t a r g e t — a n d r e m o v e d all the paint. H a v e n ' t the m i r a c l e s g o n e far e n o u g h now? N o t to suit C o o p e r ; for the p u r p o s e of this w h o l e s c h e m e is to show off his prodigy, D e e r s l a y e r - H a w k e y e - L o n g - R i f l e - L e a t h e r - S t o c k i n g P a t h f i n d e r - B u m p p o before the ladies. " B e all ready to c l e n c h it, b o y s ! " cried o u t Pathfinder, s t e p p i n g into his friend's tracks the instant they were v a c a n t . " N e v e r m i n d a new nail; I c a n s e e that, t h o u g h the paint is g o n e , a n d what I c a n s e e , I c a n hit at a h u n d r e d y a r d s , t h o u g h it were only a m o s q u i t o s ' s eye. B e ready to clench!" T h e rifle c r a c k e d , the bullet s p e d its way a n d the h e a d of the nail w a s buried in the w o o d , c o v e r e d by the p i e c e of flattened l e a d . T h e r e , you s e e , is a m a n w h o c o u l d hunt flies with a rifle, a n d c o m m a n d a d u c a l salary in a Wild W e s t s h o w to-day, if we h a d him b a c k with u s . T h e r e c o r d e d feat is certainly surprising, j u s t a s it s t a n d s ; but it is not s u r p r i s i n g e n o u g h for C o o p e r . C o o p e r a d d s a t o u c h . H e h a s m a d e Pathfinder d o this miracle with a n o t h e r m a n ' s rifle, a n d not only that, b u t Pathfinder did not have even the a d v a n t a g e of l o a d i n g it himself. H e h a d everything a g a i n s t h i m , a n d yet h e m a d e that i m p o s s i b l e s h o t , a n d not only m a d e it, b u t did it with a b s o l u t e c o n f i d e n c e , saying, " B e ready to c l e n c h . " N o w a p e r s o n like that w o u l d have u n d e r t a k e n that s a m e feat with a brickbat, a n d with C o o p e r to help he would have a c h i e v e d it, too. Pathfinder s h o w e d off h a n d s o m e l y that day before the l a d i e s . H i s very first feat w a s a thing which no Wild W e s t s h o w c a n t o u c h . H e w a s s t a n d i n g with the g r o u p of m a r k s m e n , o b s e r v i n g — a h u n d r e d yards from the target, m i n d : o n e J a s p e r raised his rifle a n d drove the c e n t r e of the bull's-eye. T h e n the q u a r t e r m a s t e r fired. T h e target exhibited n o result this t i m e . T h e r e w a s a l a u g h . "It's a d e a d m i s s , " said M a j o r L u n d i e . Pathfinder waited a n i m p r e s s i v e m o m e n t or two, then said in that c a l m , indifferent, know-it-all way of his, " N o , M a j o r — h e h a s covered J a s p e r ' s bullet, a s will b e s e e n if any o n e will take the trouble to e x a m i n e the t a r g e t . " W a s n ' t it r e m a r k a b l e ! H o w could h e s e e that little pellet fly t h r o u g h the air a n d enter that d i s t a n t bullet-hole? Yet that is what h e did; for n o t h i n g is i m p o s s i b l e to a C o o p e r p e r s o n . D i d any of t h o s e p e o p l e have any d e e p - s e a t e d d o u b t s a b o u t this thing? N o ; for that would imply sanity, a n d t h e s e were all Cooper people. T h e r e s p e c t for Pathfinder's skill a n d for his quickness and accuracy of sight (the italics a r e m i n e ) w a s so p r o f o u n d a n d g e n e r a l , that the instant he m a d e this d e c l a r a t i o n the s p e c t a t o r s b e g a n to distrust their own o p i n i o n s , a n d a d o z e n r u s h e d to the target in order to a s c e r t a i n the fact. T h e r e , s u r e e n o u g h , it w a s f o u n d that the q u a r t e r m a s t e r ' s bullet h a d g o n e t h r o u g h the hole m a d e by J a s p e r ' s , a n d that, too, so a c c u r a t e l y

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a s to require a m i n u t e e x a m i n a t i o n to be certain of the c i r c u m s t a n c e , w h i c h , however, w a s s o o n clearly e s t a b l i s h e d by discovering o n e bullet over the other in the s t u m p a g a i n s t which the target w a s p l a c e d . T h e y m a d e a " m i n u t e " e x a m i n a t i o n ; but never m i n d , how c o u l d they k n o w that there were two b u l l e t s in that hole without digging the latest o n e o u t ? for neither p r o b e nor eyesight c o u l d prove the p r e s e n c e of any m o r e t h a n o n e bullet. Did they dig? N o ; a s we shall s e e . It is the Pathfinder's turn now; he s t e p s out b e f o r e the l a d i e s , takes a i m , a n d fires. B u t a l a s ! here is a d i s a p p o i n t m e n t ; an incredible, a n u n i m a g i n a b l e disa p p o i n t m e n t — f o r the target's a s p e c t is u n c h a n g e d ; there is n o t h i n g there but that s a m e old bullet hole! "If o n e d a r e d to hint at s u c h a t h i n g , " cried M a j o r D u n c a n , "I s h o u l d say that the Pathfinder has also m i s s e d the t a r g e t . " A s nobody h a d m i s s e d it yet, the " a l s o " w a s not n e c e s s a r y ; b u t never m i n d a b o u t that, for the Pathfinder is g o i n g to s p e a k . " N o , n o , M a j o r , " said h e , confidently, "that would be a risky d e c l a r a tion. I didn't load the p i e c e , a n d can't say what w a s in it, but if it w a s l e a d , you will find the bullet driving d o w n t h o s e of the Q u a r t e r m a s t e r a n d J a s p e r , else is not my n a m e P a t h f i n d e r . " A s h o u t from the target a n n o u n c e d the truth of this a s s e r t i o n . Is the m i r a c l e sufficient a s it s t a n d s ? N o t for C o o p e r . T h e Pathfinder s p e a k s a g a i n , a s h e " n o w slowly a d v a n c e s towards the s t a g e o c c u p i e d by the females:" " T h a t ' s not all, b o y s , that's not all; if you find the target t o u c h e d at all, I'll own to a m i s s . T h e Q u a r t e r m a s t e r c u t the w o o d , but you'll find n o wood c u t by that last m e s s e n g e r . " T h e m i r a c l e is at last c o m p l e t e . H e k n e w — d o u b t l e s s saw—at the d i s t a n c e of a h u n d r e d y a r d s — t h a t his bullet h a d p a s s e d into the h o l e without fraying the edges. T h e r e were n o w three bullets in that o n e h o l e — t h r e e bullets i m b e d d e d processionally in the body of the s t u m p b a c k of the target. Everybody knew t h i s — s o m e h o w or o t h e r — a n d yet nobody h a d d u g any of t h e m out to m a k e s u r e . C o o p e r is not a c l o s e observer, b u t he is interesting. H e is certainly always that, no m a t t e r what h a p p e n s . A n d h e is m o r e interesting w h e n h e is not noticing what he is a b o u t than w h e n he is. T h i s is a c o n s i d erable merit. T h e c o n v e r s a t i o n s in the C o o p e r b o o k s have a c u r i o u s s o u n d in our m o d ern e a r s . T o believe that s u c h talk really ever c a m e o u t of p e o p l e ' s m o u t h s would be to believe that there w a s a time w h e n time w a s of n o value to a p e r s o n w h o thought he h a d s o m e t h i n g to say; w h e n it w a s the c u s t o m to s p r e a d a t w o - m i n u t e r e m a r k o u t to ten; w h e n a m a n ' s m o u t h w a s a rollingmill, a n d b u s i e d itself all day long in t u r n i n g four-foot p i g s K of t h o u g h t into thirty-foot b a r s of c o n v e r s a t i o n a l railroad iron by a t t e n u a t i o n ; w h e n s u b j e c t s were s e l d o m faithfully s t u c k to, but the talk w a n d e r e d all a r o u n d a n d arrived n o w h e r e ; w h e n c o n v e r s a t i o n s c o n s i s t e d mainly of irrelevances, with h e r e a n d 8. C r u d e c a s t i n g s of iron.

F E N I M O R E

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there a relevancy, a relevancy with an e m b a r r a s s e d look, a s not b e i n g able to explain how it got t h e r e . C o o p e r w a s certainly not a m a s t e r in the c o n s t r u c t i o n of d i a l o g u e . Inacc u r a t e observation d e f e a t e d him here a s it d e f e a t e d him in s o m a n y other enterprises of his. H e even failed to notice that the m a n w h o talks c o r r u p t English six days in the w e e k m u s t a n d will talk it on the s e v e n t h , a n d can't help himself. In the Deerslayer story he lets Deerslayer talk the showiest kind of b o o k talk s o m e t i m e s , a n d at other times the b a s e s t of b a s e d i a l e c t s . F o r i n s t a n c e , when s o m e o n e a s k s him if he has a s w e e t h e a r t , a n d if s o , w h e r e she a b i d e s , this is his m a j e s t i c answer: " S h e ' s in the f o r e s t — h a n g i n g from the b o u g h s of the trees, in r a i n — i n the d e w o n the o p e n g r a s s — t h e c l o u d s that float a b o u t b l u e h e a v e n s — t h e birds that sing in the w o o d s — t h e s w e e t springs I slake my t h i r s t — a n d in all the other glorious gifts that c o m e from Providence!"

a soft in the where God's

And he p r e c e d e d that, a little before, with this: "It c o n s a r n s m e a s all things that t o u c h e s a fri'nd c o n s a r n s a fri'nd." And this is a n o t h e r of his r e m a r k s : "If I w a s Injun born, now, I might tell of this, or carry in the s c a l p a n d b o a s t of the expl'ite afore the whole tribe; or if my inimy h a d only b e e n a b e a r " — a n d so on. W e c a n n o t i m a g i n e s u c h a thing a s a veteran S c o t c h C o m m a n d e r - i n Chief, c o m p o r t i n g h i m s e l f in the field like a windy m e l o d r a m a t i c actor, but C o o p e r c o u l d . O n o n e o c c a s i o n Alice a n d C o r a were b e i n g c h a s e d by the F r e n c h through a fog in the n e i g h b o r h o o d of their father's fort: "Point de quartier aux coquins!"9 cried an e a g e r p u r s u e r , w h o s e e m e d to direct the o p e r a t i o n s of the e n e m y . " S t a n d firm a n d be ready, my gallant 6 0 t h s ! " s u d d e n l y e x c l a i m e d a voice a b o v e t h e m ; "wait to s e e the e n e m y ; fire low, a n d s w e e p the glaCIS.

1

" F a t h e r ! father!" e x c l a i m e d a piercing cry from o u t the m i s t ; "it is I! Alice! thy own E l s i e ! s p a r e , O ! save your d a u g h t e r s ! " " H o l d ! " s h o u t e d the former s p e a k e r , in the awful t o n e s of parental agony, the s o u n d r e a c h i n g even to the w o o d s , a n d rolling b a c k in s o l e m n e c h o . " 'Tis s h e ! G o d h a s restored m e my children! T h r o w o p e n the sallyp o r t ; 2 to the field, 6 0 t h s , to the field; pull not a trigger, lest ye kill my l a m b s ! Drive off t h e s e d o g s of F r a n c e with your s t e e l . " C o o p e r ' s w o r d - s e n s e w a s singularly dull. W h e n a p e r s o n h a s a p o o r ear for m u s i c h e will flat a n d s h a r p right a l o n g without k n o w i n g it. H e k e e p s near the t u n e , but it is not the t u n e . W h e n a p e r s o n has a p o o r ear for w o r d s , the result is a literary flatting a n d s h a r p i n g ; you perceive what he is i n t e n d i n g to say, but you also perceive that he doesn't say it. T h i s is C o o p e r . H e w a s not a w o r d - m u s i c i a n . H i s ear w a s satisfied with the approximate word. I will 9.

N o q u a r t e r for the r a s c a l s ! ( F r e n c h ) .

2.

1.

S l o p e that runs d o w n w a r d from a fortification.

troops m a k i n g a sortie.

G a t e o r p a s s a g e in a f o r t i f i e d

p l a c e f o r u s e by

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furnish s o m e c i r c u m s t a n t i a l evidence in s u p p o r t of this c h a r g e . M y i n s t a n c e s are g a t h e r e d from half a d o z e n p a g e s of the tale called Deerslayer. H e u s e s " v e r b a l , " for " o r a l " ; " p r e c i s i o n , " for "facility"; " p h e n o m e n a , " for " m a r v e l s " ; " n e c e s s a r y , " for " p r e d e t e r m i n e d " ; " u n s o p h i s t i c a t e d , " for "primitive"; " p r e p a r a t i o n , " for " e x p e c t a n c y " ; " r e b u k e d , " for " s u b d u e d " ; " d e p e n d e n t o n , " for "resulting f r o m " ; " f a c t , " for " c o n d i t i o n " ; " f a c t , " for " c o n j e c t u r e " ; " p r e c a u t i o n , " for " c a u t i o n " ; " e x p l a i n , " for " d e t e r m i n e " ; "mortified," for " d i s a p p o i n t e d " ; " m e r e t r i c i o u s , " for " f a c t i t i o u s " ; " m a t e r i a l l y , " for " c o n s i d e r a b l y " ; " d e c r e a s i n g , " for " d e e p e n i n g " ; " i n c r e a s i n g , " for " d i s a p p e a r i n g " ; " e m b e d d e d , " for " e n c l o s e d " ; " t r e a c h e r o u s , " for " h o s t i l e " ; " s t o o d , " for " s t o o p e d " ; " s o f t e n e d , " for " r e p l a c e d " ; " r e j o i n e d , " for " r e m a r k e d " ; " s i t u a t i o n , " for " c o n d i t i o n " ; "different," for "differing"; " i n s e n s i b l e , " for " u n s e n t i e n t " ; "brevity," for "celerity"; " d i s t r u s t e d , " for " s u s p i c i o u s " ; " m e n t a l imbecility," for "imbecility"; " e y e s , " for "sight"; " c o u n t e r a c t i n g , " for " o p p o s i n g " ; "funeral o b s e q u i e s , " for "obsequies." T h e r e have b e e n d a r i n g p e o p l e in the world w h o c l a i m e d that C o o p e r c o u l d write E n g l i s h , b u t they are all d e a d n o w — a l l d e a d b u t L o u n s b u r y . I don't r e m e m b e r that L o u n s b u r y m a k e s the claim in s o m a n y w o r d s , still he m a k e s it, for h e says that Deerslayer is a " p u r e work of a r t . " P u r e , in that c o n n e c t i o n , m e a n s f a u l t l e s s — f a u l t l e s s in all d e t a i l s — a n d l a n g u a g e is a detail. If M r . L o u n s b u r y h a d only c o m p a r e d C o o p e r ' s E n g l i s h with the E n g l i s h which he writes h i m s e l f — b u t it is plain that he didn't; a n d s o it is likely that h e i m a g i n e s until this day that C o o p e r ' s is a s c l e a n a n d c o m p a c t as his own. N o w I feel s u r e , d e e p d o w n in my heart, that C o o p e r wrote a b o u t the p o o r e s t E n g l i s h that exists in o u r l a n g u a g e , a n d that the E n g l i s h of Deerslayer is the very worst than even C o o p e r ever wrote. I m a y b e m i s t a k e n , but it d o e s s e e m to m e that Deerslayer is not a work of art in any s e n s e ; it d o e s s e e m to m e that it is d e s t i t u t e of every detail that g o e s to the m a k i n g of a work of art; in truth, it s e e m s to m e that Deerslayer is j u s t simply a literary delirium tremens. A work of art? It h a s no invention; it h a s n o order, s y s t e m , s e q u e n c e , or result; it h a s n o lifelikeness, n o thrill, no stir, n o s e e m i n g of reality; its characters are c o n f u s e d l y d r a w n , a n d by their a c t s a n d w o r d s they prove that they are not the sort of p e o p l e the a u t h o r c l a i m s that they a r e ; its h u m o r is p a t h e t i c ; its p a t h o s is funny; its c o n v e r s a t i o n s a r e — o h ! i n d e s c r i b a b l e ; its l o v e - s c e n e s o d i o u s ; its E n g l i s h a c r i m e a g a i n s t the l a n g u a g e . C o u n t i n g t h e s e out, w h a t is left is Art. I think we m u s t all a d m i t that. 1895

144 I

W. D. H O W E L L S 1837-1920 A s a steadily p r o d u c t i v e novelist, playwright, critic, e s s a y i s t , reviewer, a n d editor, W . D. H o w e l l s w a s always in the p u b l i c e y e , a n d his i n f l u e n c e d u r i n g the 1 8 8 0 s a n d 1 8 9 0 s o n a g r o w i n g , s e r i o u s , m i d d l e - c l a s s r e a d e r s h i p w a s i n c a l c u l a b l e . In his writings an e n t i r e g e n e r a t i o n d i s c o v e r e d , t h r o u g h his faithful d e s c r i p t i o n of f a m i l i a r p l a c e s , his d r a m a t i z a t i o n s of o r d i n a r y lives, a n d his s h r e w d a n a l y s e s of s h a r e d m o r a l i s s u e s , its t a s t e s , its s o c i a l b e h a v i o r , its v a l u e s , a n d its p r o b l e m s . H o w e l l s w a s by t e m p e r a m e n t genial a n d m o d e s t , b u t he w a s a l s o forthright a n d t o u g h - m i n d e d . H e w a s , a s critic L i o n e l Trilling h a s o b s e r v e d , a d e e p l y civil m a n with a b a l a n c e d s e n s e of life. P e r h a p s that is why w h e n he died, in 1 9 2 0 , the s p o n t a n e o u s o u t p o u r i n g of s o r r o w a n d a d m i ration w a s the kind r e s e r v e d for n a t i o n a l h e r o e s . H o w e l l s w a s b o r n , o n e of eight c h i l d r e n , in the p o s t f r o n t i e r village of M a r t i n ' s Ferry, O h i o , o n M a r c h 1, 1 8 3 7 , to a p o o r , r e s p e c t a b l e , p r o u d , a n d c u l t u r a l l y i n f o r m e d family. Like his c o n t e m p o r a r y S a m u e l L. C l e m e n s a n d his p r e d e c e s s o r B e n F r a n k l i n , H o w e l l s went to s c h o o l at the printer's office, s e t t i n g type for t h e s e r i e s of u n s u c c e s s f u l n e w s p a p e r s that his g o o d - n a t u r e d , s o m e w h a t i m p r a c t i c a l father o w n e d . T h o u g h the family m o v e d a r o u n d a g o o d deal in O h i o , H o w e l l s ' s y o u t h w a s e m o t i o n ally s e c u r e a n d , on the w h o l e , h a p p y . H i s m o t h e r , he o b s e r v e d , h a d t h e gift of m a k i n g e a c h child feel that he or s h e w a s the c e n t e r of t h e world. F r o m his earliest years H o w e l l s h a d b o t h literary p a s s i o n s a n d literary a m b i t i o n s . W h e n he w a s not s e t t i n g type or r e a d i n g Oliver G o l d s m i t h , W a s h i n g t o n Irving, William S h a k e s p e a r e , C h a r l e s D i c k e n s , W i l l i a m M a k e p e a c e T h a c k e r a y , or o t h e r favorites, he w a s t e a c h i n g h i m s e l f several foreign l a n g u a g e s . H o w e l l s tried his h a n d at a n u m b e r of literary f o r m s in his t e e n s , but his first r e g u l a r j o b s involved r e p o r t i n g for n e w s p a p e r s in C o l u m b u s a n d C i n c i n n a t i . It w a s a s a j o u r n a l i s t t h a t he m a d e his first p i l g r i m a g e to N e w E n g l a n d in 1 8 6 0 , w h e r e he w a s w e l c o m e d by s u c h literary l e a d e r s a s J a m e s B u s s e l l L o w e l l , Oliver W e n d e l l H o l m e s , R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n , a n d N a t h a n i e l H a w t h o r n e , w h o m u s t h a v e r e c o g n i z e d that he p o s s e s s e d t a l e n t a n d the will to s u c c e e d a s well a s c o u r t e s y a n d d e f e r e n c e . A c a m p a i g n b i o g r a p h y of L i n c o l n , his first significant b o o k , w o n for H o w e l l s t h e c o n s u l s h i p at V e n i c e in 1 8 6 1 . T h e r e h e w r o t e a s e r i e s of travel letters, e v e n t u a l l y p u b l i s h e d a s Venetian Life ( 1 8 6 6 ) , that m a d e his n a m e k n o w n in e a s t e r n literary c i r c l e s . After r e t u r n i n g to A m e r i c a in 1 8 6 6 , he w o r k e d briefly for t h e Nation in N e w York until J a m e s T . F i e l d s offered h i m the a s s i s t a n t e d i t o r s h i p of the Atlantic Monthly, to w h i c h he h a d c o n t r i b u t e d s o m e of his earliest v e r s e b e f o r e t h e war. ( L i k e a g o o d m a n y A m e r i c a n a u t h o r s , H o w e l l s p u b l i s h e d little poetry o n c e h e c o m m i t t e d h i m s e l f to o t h e r f o r m s . ) In effect, H o w e l l s a s s u m e d c o n t r o l of the m a g a z i n e from the very b e g i n n i n g , a n d he s u c c e e d e d officially to the e d i t o r s h i p in 1 8 7 1 , a p o s i t i o n h e held until r e s i g n i n g in 1 8 8 1 to h a v e m o r e t i m e to write fiction. B e c a u s e t h e Atlantic was t h e p r e e m i n e n t literary m a g a z i n e of the day, H o w e l l s h a d , a s a y o u n g m a n , t h e p o w e r to m a k e or b r e a k c a r e e r s , a p o w e r he e x e r c i s e d b o t h g e n e r o u s l y a n d r e s p o n s i b l y . N o A m e r i c a n editor i n t r o d u c e d a n d p r o m o t e d t h e c a r e e r s of a w i d e r variety of writers t h a n did H o w e l l s . H o w e l l s h a d b e e n finding his way a s a novelist d u r i n g his ten y e a r s a s editor, (1872) p u b l i s h i n g s e v e n novels in this p e r i o d , b e g i n n i n g with Their Wedding Journey a n d c o n c l u d i n g with The Undiscovered Country ( 1 8 8 0 ) . T h e s e first n o v e l s a r e short, u n c o m p l i c a t e d linear n a r r a t i v e s that d e l i b e r a t e l y e s c h e w p a s s i o n a t e , h e r o i c , a c t i o n p a c k e d , a n d e x c i t i n g a d v e n t u r e s in favor of a m o r e m u n d a n e r e a l i s m . In the 1 8 8 0 s H o w e l l s c a m e into his o w n a s novelist a n d critic. A Modern Instance (1882) examines p s y c h i c , familial, a n d s o c i a l d i s i n t e g r a t i o n u n d e r t h e p r e s s u r e of the s e c u l a r i z a t i o n a n d u r b a n i z a t i o n of p o s t - C i v i l W a r A m e r i c a , t h e d i s i n t e g r a t i o n that is H o w e l l s ' s c e n tral a n d d e e p e s t s u b j e c t . H i s t r e a t m e n t in this novel of j o u r n a l i s m a s a p r o f e s s i o n a n d

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t h e i s s u e of d i v o r c e , j u s t b e g i n n i n g to e m e r g e a s a significant s o c i a l fact, o p e n e d n e w territories for A m e r i c a n n o v e l i s t s . T h r e e years later H o w e l l s p u b l i s h e d h i s m o s t f a m o u s novel, The Rise of Silas Lapham ( 1 8 8 5 ) . T h i s novel t r a c e s t h e m o r a l rise of S i l a s L a p h a m , a p r o t o t y p i c a l A m e r i c a n e n t r e p r e n e u r , a t t h e s a m e t i m e that it c h a r t s t h e c o l l a p s e o f t h e p a i n t m a n u f a c t u r i n g c o m p a n y that h e h a d built o u t o f a c o m b i n a t i o n o f s h e e r luck, h a r d work, a n d s h a d y b u s i n e s s d e a l i n g s . W i t h i n a year o f its p u b l i c a t i o n , H o w e l l s w a s p r o f o u n d l y a f f e c t e d by R u s s i a n novelist a n d p h i l o s o p h e r C o u n t L e o T o l s t o y ' s i d e a s of n o n v i o l e n c e , s p a r t a n living, a n d e c o n o m i c e q u a l i t y a n d p u b l i c l y d e f e n d e d t h e " H a y m a r k e t A n a r c h i s t s , " a g r o u p o f C h i c a g o w o r k e r s , several o f w h o m w e r e e x e c u t e d w i t h o u t c l e a r p r o o f o f their c o m p l i c i t y in a d y n a m i t i n g at a p u b l i c d e m o n s t r a t i o n in M a y of 1 8 8 6 . T h e r e a f t e r , H o w e l l s offered m o r e direct, ethical c r i t i c i s m o f s o c i a l a n d e c o n o m i c i n j u s t i c e in s u c h s u c c e e d i n g n o v e l s a s t h e p o p u l a r , l a r g e - c a n v a s s e d A Hazard

of New

Fortunes

( 1 8 9 0 ) a n d t h e U t o p i a n r o m a n c e A Traveller

from

Altruria

( 1 8 9 4 ) . In t h e s e s a m e y e a r s H o w e l l s a l s o p e n e t r a t e d m o r e d e e p l y into individual of a Dream (1890) and c o n s c i o u s n e s s , p a r t i c u l a r l y in t w o short n o v e l s . The Shadow An Imperative Duty ( 1 8 9 2 ) . In t h e short story Editha ( 1 9 0 5 ) , Howells characteristically e x p l o r e s t h e d o u b l e m o r a l failure o f a s o c i e t y a n d of a n individual w h o h a s b e e n c o r r u p t e d by its worst v a l u e s . In his later y e a r s , H o w e l l s s u s t a i n e d a n d d e e p e n e d his varied literary o u t p u t . A m o n g at Lion's his n o v e l s o f c o n s e q u e n c e in this p e r i o d a r e t h e n a t u r a l i s t i c The Landlord Head ( 1 8 9 7 ) a n d t h e e l e g i a c The Vacation of the Kelwyns (published posthumously, 1 9 2 0 ) . H e a l s o w r o t e c h a r m i n g a n d vivid a u t o b i o g r a p h y a n d r e m i n i s c e n c e in A Boy's Town ( 1 8 9 0 ) a n d Years of My Youth ( 1 9 1 6 ) , a n d a s h e h a d s i n c e t h e 1 8 7 0 s , H o w e l l s c o n t i n u e d t o p r o d u c e plays a n d f a r c e s , w h i c h s e r v e d , a s o n e critic h a s r e m a r k e d , a s "finger e x e r c i s e s for h i s n o v e l s . " In t h e m i d - 1 8 8 0 s H o w e l l s h a d a g g r e s s i v e l y a r g u e d t h e c a s e for r e a l i s m a n d a g a i n s t " r o m a n t i c i s t i c " fiction, p r o m o t i n g H e n r y J a m e s in p a r t i c u l a r a t t h e e x p e n s e o f s u c h E n g l i s h novelists a s S i r W a l t e r S c o t t , D i c k e n s , a n d T h a c k e r a y . In The Editor's Study e s s a y s he wrote for Harper's Monthly s t a r t i n g in 1 8 8 6 ( s o m e o f w h i c h in 1 8 9 1 he m a d e into Criticism and Fiction), Howells attacked sentimentality of thought a n d feeling a n d t h e falsification o f m o r a l n a t u r e a n d e t h i c a l o p t i o n s w h e r e v e r h e f o u n d t h e m in fiction. H e believed that r e a l i s m " w a s n o t h i n g m o r e or l e s s t h a n t h e truthful t r e a t m e n t o f m a t e r i a l , " e s p e c i a l l y t h e m o t i v e s a n d a c t i o n s o f ordinary men and w o m e n . H e i n s i s t e d , s o o n e r a n d m o r e vigorously t h a n a n y o t h e r A m e r i c a n critic, that t h e novel b e objective or d r a m a t i c in point o f view, solidly b a s e d in c o n v i n c i n g l y m o t i v a t e d c h a r a c t e r s s p e a k i n g t h e l a n g u a g e o f a c t u a l m e n a n d w o m e n , free o f c o n trived e v e n t s or m e l o d r a m a t i c e f f e c t s , t r u e to t h e p a r t i c u l a r s o f a r e c e n t t i m e a n d specific p l a c e , a n d ethically a n d a e s t h e t i c a l l y s e a m l e s s . I n d e e d , p e r h a p s the p o l e m i c a l n a t u r e o f his critical s t a n c e in t h e 1 8 8 0 s d i d a s m u c h a s a n y t h i n g t o o b s c u r e until recently t h e flexibility a n d r a n g e o f his sensibility. C e r t a i n l y Novel-Writing and NovelReading, first d e l i v e r e d a s a l e c t u r e in 1 8 9 9 , s u g g e s t s m o r e a c c u r a t e l y t h a n Criticism and Fiction (1891) the shrewdness, c o m m o n sense, and penetrating thoughtfulness that c h a r a c t e r i z e his c r i t i c i s m at its b e s t . H e r a n k s with J a m e s at t h e t o p o f the s h o r t list o f i m p o r t a n t A m e r i c a n critics o f t h e late n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r y . In t h e c o u r s e o f his lifelong c a r e e r a s literary arbiter, H o w e l l s w a s r e m a r k a b l y i n t e r n a t i o n a l in o u t l o o k a n d p r o m o t e d in h i s d i v e r s e critical writings s u c h n o n A m e r i c a n c o n t e m p o r a r i e s a s Ivan T u r g e n e v , B e n i t o P e r e z C a l d o s , B j o r n s t i e r n e B j o r n s o n , L e o T o l s t o y , H e n r i k I b s e n , E m i l e Zola, G e o r g e Eliot, a n d T h o m a s H a r d y . H o w e l l s a l s o c h a m p i o n e d m a n y y o u n g e r A m e r i c a n writers a n d early r e c o g n i z e d m a n y t a l e n t e d w o m e n writers in t h e r e l e n t l e s s s t r e a m o f reviews h e w r o t e over six d e c a d e s — a m o n g them Sarah O r n e Jewett, Mary E. Wilkins F r e e m a n , Edith Wharton, a n d E m i l y D i c k i n s o n . H e is e v e n b e t t e r k n o w n for actively p r o m o t i n g t h e c a r e e r s o f s u c h e m e r g i n g realists a n d n a t u r a l i s t s a s S t e p h e n C r a n e , H a m l i n G a r l a n d , a n d F r a n k Norris.

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T h e two c o n t e m p o r a r i e s in w h o m H o w e l l s h a d the g r e a t e s t critical c o n f i d e n c e , however, w e r e H e n r y J a m e s a n d S a m u e l L. C l e m e n s , b o t h of w h o m he served from the 1 8 6 0 s o n a s editor a n d with both of w h o m he a l s o s u s t a i n e d p e r s o n a l f r i e n d s h i p s . In the late 1 8 6 0 s , H o w e l l s h a d w a l k e d the C a m b r i d g e s t r e e t s with J a m e s , d i s c u s s i n g the p r e s e n t s t a t e a n d f u t u r e p r o s p e c t s for the s u b s t a n c e a n d t e c h n i q u e s of fiction. As editor of Atlantic Monthly, H o w e l l s h a d a c c e p t e d a n u m b e r of J a m e s ' s early t a l e s . T h r o u g h o u t his c a r e e r he wrote e s s a y s a n d reviews in p r a i s e of J a m e s ' s work; on his d e a t h b e d H o w e l l s w a s w o r k i n g o n an e s s a y , Tlie American James. He genuinely a d m i r e d a n d w a s friendly with the p a t r i c i a n J a m e s , but he clearly loved a n d w a s m o r e i n t i m a t e with the r o u g h - t e x t u r e d C l e m e n s , w h o s e c h i l d h o o d b a c k g r o u n d w a s m u c h like his. My Mark Twain, written i m m e d i a t e l y after his friend's d e a t h in 1 9 1 0 , r e c o r d s that affection in o n e of the e n d u r i n g m e m o i r s of o u r literary history. By the time H o w e l l s died, he h a d served for thirteen years a s first p r e s i d e n t of the A m e r i c a n A c a d e m y of Arts a n d L e t t e r s , the o r g a n i z a t i o n that s e e k s to identify a n d h o n o r the m o s t d i s t i n g u i s h e d work in t h e s e fields, a n d w a s h i m s e l f a n a t i o n a l institution. For r e b e l s a n d i c o n o c l a s t s of the 1 9 3 0 s s u c h a s H. L. M e n c k e n , S i n c l a i r L e w i s , a n d the y o u n g V a n W y c k B r o o k s , he e p i t o m i z e d the d e a d h a n d of t h e p a s t , the g e n t e e l , Victorian e n e m y . H o w e l l s ' s r e p u t a t i o n h a s slowly r e c o v e r e d from t h e s e c h a r g e s . W i t h out d e n y i n g his intelligent a n d d i p l o m a t i c civility, critics h a v e c o m e to r e c o g n i z e his s t e a d y , m a s t e r f u l style a n d t h e c o u r a g e of his l i b e r a l — a t t i m e s r a d i c a l — p e r s p e c t i v e in his own t i m e .

Editha 1 T h e air w a s thick with the war feeling, 2 like the electricity of a s t o r m which h a s not yet burst. Editha sat looking out into the hot spring a f t e r n o o n , with her lips parted, a n d p a n t i n g with the intensity of the q u e s t i o n w h e t h e r s h e c o u l d let him go. S h e had d e c i d e d that s h e c o u l d not let him stay, w h e n she s a w him at the e n d of the still leafless a v e n u e , m a k i n g slowly up towards the h o u s e , with his h e a d d o w n a n d his figure relaxed. S h e ran impatiently o u t on the v e r a n d a , to the e d g e of the s t e p s , a n d imperatively d e m a n d e d greater h a s t e of him with her will before she called aloud to h i m : " G e o r g e ! " H e had q u i c k e n e d his p a c e in mystical r e s p o n s e to her mystical u r g e n c e , before he c o u l d have h e a r d her; now he looked up a n d a n s w e r e d , " W e l l ? " " O h , how united we a r e ! " s h e exulted, a n d then s h e s w o o p e d d o w n the s t e p s to h i m . " W h a t is i t ? " s h e cried. "It's w a r , " he said, a n d he pulled her up to him a n d kissed her. S h e kissed him b a c k intensely, but irrelevantly, as to their p a s s i o n , a n d uttered from d e e p in her throat. " H o w g l o r i o u s ! " "It's w a r , " he r e p e a t e d , without c o n s e n t i n g to her s e n s e of it; a n d s h e did not know j u s t what to think at first. S h e never knew what to think of him; that m a d e his mystery, his c h a r m . All t h r o u g h their c o u r t s h i p , which was c o n t e m p o r a n e o u s with the growth of the war feeling, s h e h a d b e e n puzzled by his want of s e r i o u s n e s s a b o u t it. H e s e e m e d to d e s p i s e it even m o r e than he a b h o r r e d it. S h e could have u n d e r s t o o d his a b h o r r i n g any sort of bloods h e d ; that would have been a survival of his old life w h e n he thought he I . F i r s t p r i n t e d in Harper's Monthly for J a n u a r y 1 9 0 5 , t h e s o u r c e o f t h e p r e s e n t text. P u b l i s h e d first in b o o k f o r m in Between the Dark ami the Daylight: Romances (1907).

2. I.e., " w a r f e v e r , " t h e e x c e s s i v e p a t r i o t i s m or "jing o i s m " preceding the S p a n i s h - A m e r i c a n War (1898).

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w o u l d b e a minister, a n d before h e c h a n g e d a n d took u p the law. B u t m a k i n g light of a c a u s e s o high a n d n o b l e s e e m e d to s h o w a w a n t of e a r n e s t n e s s at the c o r e of his b e i n g . N o t b u t that s h e felt herself able to c o p e with a c o n genital d e f e c t of that sort, a n d m a k e his love for her save him from himself. N o w p e r h a p s the m i r a c l e w a s already w r o u g h t in h i m . In the p r e s e n c e of the t r e m e n d o u s fact that h e a n n o u n c e d , all triviality s e e m e d to have g o n e o u t of h i m ; s h e b e g a n to feel that. H e s a n k d o w n o n the top s t e p , a n d w i p e d his f o r e h e a d with his handkerchief, while s h e p o u r e d o u t u p o n him her q u e s t i o n of the origin a n d authenticity of his n e w s . All the while, in her duplex e m o t i o n i n g , s h e w a s a w a r e that now at the very b e g i n n i n g s h e m u s t p u t a g u a r d u p o n herself a g a i n s t u r g i n g h i m , by any word or act, to take the part that her w h o l e soul willed him to take, for the c o m p l e t i o n of her ideal of h i m . H e w a s very nearly perfect a s he w a s , a n d h e m u s t b e allowed to perfect himself. B u t he w a s p e c u l i a r , a n d h e might very well b e r e a s o n e d o u t of his peculiarity. B e f o r e her r e a s o n i n g went her e m o t i o n i n g : her n a t u r e pulling u p o n his n a t u r e , her w o m a n h o o d u p o n his m a n h o o d , without her k n o w i n g the m e a n s s h e w a s u s i n g to the e n d s h e w a s willing. S h e h a d always s u p p o s e d that the m a n w h o won her w o u l d have d o n e s o m e t h i n g to win her; s h e did not know w h a t , b u t s o m e t h i n g . G e o r g e G e a r s o n h a d simply a s k e d her for her love, o n the way h o m e f r o m a c o n c e r t , a n d s h e gave her love to h i m , without, a s it w e r e , thinking. B u t now, it flashed u p o n her, if h e c o u l d d o s o m e t h i n g worthy to have w o n h e r — b e a h e r o , her h e r o — i t would b e even better than if h e h a d d o n e it b e f o r e a s k i n g her; it w o u l d be g r a n d e r . B e s i d e s , s h e h a d believed in the w a r f r o m the b e g i n n i n g . " B u t don't you s e e , d e a r e s t , " s h e said, " t h a t it wouldn't have c o m e to this, if it hadn't b e e n in the order of P r o v i d e n c e ? A n d I call any war glorious that is for the liberation of p e o p l e w h o have b e e n struggling for years a g a i n s t the c r u d e s t o p p r e s s i o n . D o n ' t you think s o , t o o ? " "I s u p p o s e s o , " h e r e t u r n e d , languidly. " B u t war! Is it glorious to b r e a k the p e a c e of the w o r l d ? " " T h a t i g n o b l e p e a c e ! It w a s no p e a c e at all, with that c r i m e a n d s h a m e at our very g a t e s . " S h e w a s c o n s c i o u s of p a r r o t i n g the c u r r e n t p h r a s e s of the n e w s p a p e r s , b u t it w a s n o time to p i c k a n d c h o o s e her w o r d s . S h e m u s t sacrifice anything to the high ideal s h e h a d for h i m , a n d after a g o o d deal of rapid a r g u m e n t s h e e n d e d with the climax: " B u t now it d o e s n ' t m a t t e r a b o u t the h o w or why. S i n c e the war h a s c o m e , all that is g o n e . T h e r e are no two s i d e s , any m o r e . T h e r e is n o t h i n g now b u t o u r c o u n t r y . " H e sat with his eyes c l o s e d a n d his h e a d leant b a c k a g a i n s t the v e r a n d a , a n d h e s a i d with a v a g u e s m i l e , a s if m u s i n g a l o u d , " O u r c o u n t r y — r i g h t or wrong."3 "Yes, right or w r o n g ! " s h e r e t u r n e d , fervidly. "I'll g o a n d get you s o m e l e m o n a d e . " S h e rose rustling, a n d w h i s k e d away; w h e n s h e c a m e b a c k with two tall g l a s s e s of c l o u d e d liquid, o n a tray, a n d the ice c l u c k i n g in t h e m , h e still sat a s s h e h a d left h i m , a n d s h e s a i d a s if t h e r e h a d b e e n no interruption: " B u t t h e r e is no q u e s t i o n of w r o n g in this c a s e . I call it a s a c r e d war. A war for liberty, a n d h u m a n i t y , if ever there w a s o n e . A n d I k n o w you will s e e it just as I do, yet." 3. " O u r c o u n t r y ! I n h e r i n t e r c o u r s e w i t h f o r e i g n n a t i o n s m a y s h e a l w a y s b e in t h e r i g h t ; b u t o u r c o u n t r y right or w r o n g . " Part of a t o a s t given by

the American (1779-1820).

naval

officer

Stephen

Decatur

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H e took half the l e m o n a d e at a g u l p , a n d he a n s w e r e d a s h e set the g l a s s down: "I know you always have the highest ideal. W h e n I differ from you, I ought to d o u b t myself." A g e n e r o u s s o b rose in E d i t h a ' s throat for the humility of a m a n , s o very nearly perfect, w h o w a s willing to put himself below her. B e s i d e s , she felt, m o r e subliminally, that he was never so near slipping through her fingers a s w h e n he took that m e e k way. "You shall not say that! Only, for o n c e I h a p p e n to be right." S h e seized his h a n d in her two h a n d s , a n d p o u r e d her soul from her eyes into his. " D o n ' t you think s o ? " s h e e n t r e a t e d him. H e r e l e a s e d his h a n d a n d d r a n k the rest of his l e m o n a d e , a n d s h e a d d e d , " H a v e m i n e , t o o , " but he s h o o k his h e a d in a n s w e r i n g , "I've n o b u s i n e s s to think s o , u n l e s s I a c t s o , t o o . " H e r heart s t o p p e d a beat before it p u l s e d on with l e a p s that s h e felt in her neck. S h e h a d n o t i c e d that s t r a n g e thing in m e n : they s e e m e d to feel b o u n d to do what they believed, a n d not think a thing was finished w h e n they said it, a s girls did. S h e knew what w a s in his m i n d , but s h e p r e t e n d e d not, a n d s h e said, " O h , I a m not s u r e , " a n d then faltered. H e went o n a s if to h i m s e l f without a p p a r e n t l y h e e d i n g her. " T h e r e ' s only o n e way of proving one's faith in a thing like t h i s . " S h e c o u l d not say that s h e u n d e r s t o o d , but s h e did u n d e r s t a n d . H e went o n a g a i n . "If I b e l i e v e d — i f I felt a s you do a b o u t this w a r — D o you wish m e to feel a s you d o ? " N o w s h e w a s really not s u r e ; so she s a i d , " G e o r g e , I don't know what you mean." H e s e e m e d to m u s e away from her a s before. " T h e r e is a sort of fascination in it. I s u p p o s e that at the b o t t o m of his heart every m a n would like at times to have his c o u r a g e tested, to s e e how he would a c t . " " H o w c a n you talk in that ghastly w a y ? " "It is rather m o r b i d . Still, that's what it c o m e s to, u n l e s s you're swept away by a m b i t i o n , or driven by conviction. I haven't the conviction or the a m b i t i o n , a n d the other thing is w h a t it c o m e s to with m e . I o u g h t to have b e e n a p r e a c h e r , after all; then I couldn't have a s k e d it of myself, a s I m u s t , n o w I'm a lawyer. A n d you believe it's a holy war, E d i t h a ? " he s u d d e n l y a d d r e s s e d her. " O h , I know you d o ! B u t you wish m e to believe s o , t o o ? " S h e hardly knew w h e t h e r h e w a s m o c k i n g or not, in the ironical way he always h a d with her plainer m i n d . B u t the only thing w a s to b e o u t s p o k e n with h i m . " G e o r g e , I wish you to believe whatever you think is t r u e , at any a n d every cost. If I've tried to talk you into anything, I take it all b a c k . " " O h , I know that, E d i t h a . I know how s i n c e r e you a r e , a n d h o w — I wish I h a d your u n d o u b t i n g spirit! I'll think it over; I'd like to believe a s you d o . B u t I don't, now; I don't, i n d e e d . It isn't this war a l o n e ; t h o u g h this s e e m s p e c u liarly w a n t o n a n d n e e d l e s s ; but it's every w a r — s o s t u p i d ; it m a k e s m e sick. W h y shouldn't this thing have b e e n settled r e a s o n a b l y ? " " B e c a u s e , " s h e said, very throatily a g a i n , " G o d m e a n t it to b e w a r . " "You think it w a s G o d ? Y e s , I s u p p o s e that is what p e o p l e will say." " D o you s u p p o s e it would have b e e n war if G o d hadn't m e a n t i t ? " "I don't know. S o m e t i m e s it s e e m s a s if G o d h a d put this world into m e n ' s k e e p i n g to work it a s they p l e a s e d . "

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" N o w , G e o r g e , that is b l a s p h e m y . " "Well, I won't b l a s p h e m e . I'll try to believe in your p o c k e t P r o v i d e n c e , " h e s a i d , a n d then h e rose to g o . " W h y don't you stay to d i n n e r ? " D i n n e r at B a l c o m ' s W o r k s w a s at o n e o'clock. "I'll c o m e b a c k to s u p p e r , if you'll let m e . P e r h a p s I shall b r i n g you a convert." "Well, you m a y c o m e back, o n that c o n d i t i o n . " "All right. If I don't c o m e , you'll u n d e r s t a n d . " H e went away without kissing her, a n d s h e felt it a s u s p e n s i o n of their e n g a g e m e n t . It all interested her intensely; she w a s u n d e r g o i n g a t r e m e n d o u s e x p e r i e n c e , a n d s h e w a s b e i n g e q u a l to it. W h i l e s h e s t o o d looking after h i m , her m o t h e r c a m e out t h r o u g h o n e of the long w i n d o w s , on to the v e r a n d a , with a catlike softness a n d v a g u e n e s s . " W h y didn't he stay to d i n n e r ? " " B e c a u s e — b e c a u s e — w a r h a s b e e n d e c l a r e d , " E d i t h a p r o n o u n c e d , witho u t turning. H e r m o t h e r said, " O h , m y ! " a n d then said n o t h i n g m o r e until s h e h a d sat down in o n e of the large S h a k e r c h a i r s 4 a n d r o c k e d herself for s o m e t i m e . T h e n s h e c l o s e d whatever tacit p a s s a g e of t h o u g h t t h e r e h a d b e e n in her m i n d with the s p o k e n w o r d s : "Well, I h o p e he won't g o . " " A n d I h o p e he will" the girl s a i d , a n d c o n f r o n t e d her m o t h e r with a stormy exaltation that w o u l d have frightened any c r e a t u r e l e s s u n i m p r e s sionable than a cat. H e r m o t h e r r o c k e d herself a g a i n for a n interval of c o g i t a t i o n . W h a t s h e arrived at in s p e e c h w a s : "Well, I g u e s s you've d o n e a wicked thing, E d i t h a Balcom." T h e girl s a i d , a s s h e p a s s e d i n d o o r s t h r o u g h the s a m e w i n d o w her m o t h e r h a d c o m e o u t by: "I haven't d o n e a n y t h i n g — y e t . " In her r o o m , s h e p u t t o g e t h e r all her letters a n d gifts from G e a r s o n , d o w n to the withered p e t a l s of the first flower h e h a d offered, with that timidity of his veiled in that irony of his. In the heart of the p a c k e t s h e e n s h r i n e d her e n g a g e m e n t ring which s h e h a d restored to the pretty box h e h a d b r o u g h t it her in. T h e n s h e sat d o w n , if not calmly yet strongly, a n d wrote: " G E O R G E : — I u n d e r s t o o d — w h e n you left m e . B u t I think w e h a d better e m p h a s i z e your m e a n i n g that if w e c a n n o t be o n e in everything we h a d better b e o n e in n o t h i n g . S o I a m s e n d i n g t h e s e t h i n g s for your k e e p i n g till you have m a d e u p your m i n d . "I shall always love y o u , a n d therefore I shall never marry any o n e e l s e . B u t the m a n I marry m u s t love his c o u n t r y first of all, a n d b e a b l e to say to m e , " 'I c o u l d not love t h e e , d e a r , s o m u c h , L o v e d I not h o n o r m o r e . ' 5 " T h e r e is n o h o n o r a b o v e A m e r i c a with m e . In this great h o u r t h e r e is n o other honor. 4. S t u r d y , s i m p l e , u n a d o r n e d c h a i r s m a d e by t h e Shaker sect.

5. L i n e s from R i c h a r d L o v e l a c e ' s ( 1 6 1 8 — 1 6 5 8 ) p o e m To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars.

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"Your heart will m a k e my words clear to you. I h a d never e x p e c t e d to say s o m u c h , b u t it h a s c o m e u p o n m e that I m u s t say the u t m o s t . EDITHA." S h e thought s h e h a d w o r d e d her letter well, w o r d e d it in a way that c o u l d not be b e t t e r e d ; all h a d b e e n implied a n d n o t h i n g e x p r e s s e d . S h e h a d it ready to s e n d with the p a c k e t she h a d tied with red, white, a n d blue ribbon, w h e n it o c c u r r e d to her that s h e was not j u s t to h i m , that s h e was not giving him a fair c h a n c e . H e h a d said h e would g o a n d think it over, a n d s h e w a s not waiting. S h e w a s p u s h i n g , t h r e a t e n i n g , c o m p e l l i n g . T h a t w a s not a w o m a n ' s part. S h e m u s t leave him free, free, free. S h e c o u l d not a c c e p t for her country or herself a forced sacrifice. In writing her letter s h e h a d satisfied the i m p u l s e from which it s p r a n g ; she c o u l d well afford to wait till h e h a d t h o u g h t it over. S h e p u t the p a c k e t a n d the letter by, a n d r e s t e d s e r e n e in the c o n s c i o u s n e s s of having d o n e what w a s laid u p o n her by her love itself to d o , a n d yet u s e d p a t i e n c e , m e r c y , justice. S h e h a d her reward. G e a r s o n did not c o m e to tea, b u t s h e h a d given h i m till m o r n i n g , w h e n , late at night there c a m e u p from the village the s o u n d of a fife a n d d r u m with a t u m u l t of voices, in s h o u t i n g , singing, a n d l a u g h i n g . T h e noise drew n e a r e r a n d nearer; it r e a c h e d the street e n d of the a v e n u e ; there it s i l e n c e d itself, a n d o n e voice, the voice s h e k n e w b e s t , r o s e over the s i l e n c e . It fell; the air w a s filled with c h e e r s ; the fife a n d d r u m s t r u c k u p , with the s h o u t i n g , singing, a n d l a u g h i n g a g a i n , b u t now retreating; a n d a single figure c a m e hurrying u p the a v e n u e . S h e ran d o w n to m e e t her lover a n d c l u n g to h i m . H e w a s very gay, a n d h e p u t his a r m r o u n d her with a b o i s t e r o u s l a u g h . "Well, you m u s t call m e C a p t a i n , now; or C a p , if you prefer; that's what the boys call m e . Y e s , we've h a d a m e e t i n g at the town hall, a n d everybody h a s v o l u n t e e r e d ; a n d they s e l e c t e d m e for c a p t a i n , a n d I'm g o i n g to the war, the big war, the glorious war, the holy war o r d a i n e d by the pocket P r o v i d e n c e that b l e s s e s b u t c h e r y . C o m e a l o n g ; let's tell the whole family a b o u t it. C a l l t h e m from their downy b e d s , father, m o t h e r , A u n t Hitty, a n d all the folks!" B u t w h e n they m o u n t e d the veranda s t e p s he did not wait for a larger a u d i e n c e ; h e p o u r e d the story o u t u p o n E d i t h a a l o n e . " T h e r e w a s a lot of s p e a k i n g , a n d then s o m e of the fools set u p a s h o u t for m e . It w a s all going o n e way, a n d I t h o u g h t it would be a g o o d j o k e to sprinkle a little cold water on t h e m . B u t you can't do that with a crowd that a d o r e s you. T h e first thing I knew I w a s sprinkling hell-fire o n t h e m . 'Cry havoc, a n d let slip the d o g s of war.' 6 T h a t w a s the style. N o w that it h a d c o m e to the fight, there were n o two p a r t i e s ; there w a s o n e c o u n t r y , a n d the thing w a s to fight the fight to a finish a s q u i c k a s p o s s i b l e . I s u g g e s t e d volu n t e e r i n g then a n d there, a n d I wrote my n a m e first of all o n the roster. T h e n they e l e c t e d m e — t h a t ' s all. I wish I h a d s o m e ice-water!" S h e left him walking u p a n d d o w n the v e r a n d a , while s h e ran for the icepitcher a n d a goblet, a n d w h e n s h e c a m e b a c k h e w a s still walking u p a n d d o w n , s h o u t i n g the story h e h a d told her to her father a n d m o t h e r , w h o h a d c o m e out m o r e sketchily d r e s s e d t h a n they c o m m o n l y were by day. H e d r a n k 6.

F r o m A n t o n y ' s s o l i l o q u y a f t e r t h e m u r d e r o f C a e s a r , i n S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Julius

Caesar

(3.1.274).

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goblet after goblet of the ice-water without noticing w h o w a s giving it, a n d kept o n talking, a n d l a u g h i n g t h r o u g h his talk wildly. "It's a s t o n i s h i n g , " h e said, " h o w well the worse r e a s o n looks w h e n you try to m a k e it a p p e a r the better. Why, I believe I w a s the first convert to the war in that c r o w d tonight! I never t h o u g h t I s h o u l d like to kill a m a n ; but now, I s h o u l d n ' t c a r e ; a n d the s m o k e l e s s powder lets you s e e the m a n drop that you kill. It's all for the country! W h a t a thing it is to have a c o u n t r y that can't b e w r o n g , b u t if it is, is right, anyway!" E d i t h a h a d a great, vital t h o u g h t , a n inspiration. S h e set d o w n the icepitcher on the veranda floor, a n d ran up-stairs a n d got the letter s h e h a d written h i m . W h e n at last h e noisily b a d e her father a n d m o t h e r , "Well, g o o d night. I forgot I woke you u p ; I sha'n't w a n t any s l e e p myself," s h e followed him d o w n the a v e n u e to the g a t e . T h e r e , after the whirling w o r d s that s e e m e d to fly away from her t h o u g h t s a n d refuse to serve t h e m , s h e m a d e a last effort to s o l e m n i z e the m o m e n t that s e e m e d s o crazy, a n d p r e s s e d the letter s h e h a d written u p o n h i m . " W h a t ' s t h i s ? " he s a i d . " W a n t m e to mail i t ? " " N o , n o . It's for you. I ivrote it after you went this m o r n i n g . K e e p i t — k e e p i t — a n d r e a d it s o m e t i m e — " S h e t h o u g h t , a n d then her inspiration c a m e : " R e a d it if ever you d o u b t w h a t you've d o n e , or fear that I regret your having d o n e it. R e a d it after you've s t a r t e d . " T h e y s t r a i n e d e a c h other in e m b r a c e s that s e e m e d a s ineffective a s their w o r d s , a n d he kissed her f a c e with q u i c k , hot breaths that were s o unlike him, that m a d e her feel a s if s h e h a d lost her old lover a n d f o u n d a s t r a n g e r in his p l a c e . T h e stranger said: " W h a t a g o r g e o u s flower you a r e , with your red hair, a n d your b l u e eyes that look b l a c k now, a n d your f a c e with the color p a i n t e d o u t by the white m o o n s h i n e ! L e t m e hold you u n d e r my c h i n , to s e e w h e t h e r I love blood, you tiger-lily!" T h e n h e l a u g h e d G e a r s o n ' s l a u g h , a n d r e l e a s e d her, s c a r e d a n d giddy. Within her wilfulness s h e h a d b e e n frighte n e d by a s e n s e of subtler force in h i m , a n d mystically m a s t e r e d a s s h e h a d never b e e n b e f o r e . S h e ran all the way b a c k to the h o u s e , a n d m o u n t e d the s t e p s p a n t i n g . H e r m o t h e r a n d father were talking of the great affair. H e r m o t h e r s a i d : "Wa'n't M r . G e a r s o n in rather of a n excited s t a t e of m i n d ? Didn't you think he a c t e d c u r i o u s ? " "Well, not for a m a n who'd j u s t b e e n e l e c t e d c a p t a i n a n d had to set 'em up for the w h o l e of C o m p a n y A , " her father c h u c k l e d b a c k . " W h a t in the world d o you m e a n , M r . R a l c o m ? O h ! T h e r e ' s E d i t h a ! " S h e offered to follow the girl i n d o o r s . "Don't come, mother!" Editha called, vanishing. M r s . B a l c o m r e m a i n e d to r e p r o a c h her h u s b a n d . "I don't s e e m u c h of anything to laugh a t . " "Well, it's c a t c h i n g . C a u g h t it from G e a r s o n . I g u e s s it won't b e m u c h of a war, a n d I g u e s s G e a r s o n don't think s o , either. T h e other fellows will b a c k d o w n a s s o o n a s they s e e we m e a n it. I wouldn't l o s e a n y s l e e p over it. I'm g o i n g b a c k to b e d , myself." G e a r s o n c a m e a g a i n next a f t e r n o o n , looking p a l e , a n d rather sick, but quite himself, even to his languid irony. "I g u e s s I'd better tell you, E d i t h a , that I c o n s e c r a t e d myself to your g o d of battles last night by p o u r i n g too

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many libations to him down my own throat. B u t I'm all right n o w . O n e h a s to carry off the e x c i t e m e n t , s o m e h o w . " " P r o m i s e m e , " s h e c o m m a n d e d , "that you'll never t o u c h it a g a i n ! " " W h a t ! N o t let the cannikin clink? N o t let the soldier d r i n k ? 7 Well, I p r o m ise." "You don't b e l o n g to yourself now; you don't even b e l o n g to me. You b e l o n g to your country, a n d you have a s a c r e d c h a r g e to k e e p yourself s t r o n g a n d well for your country's s a k e . I have b e e n thinking, thinking all night a n d all day l o n g . " "You look a s if you h a d b e e n crying a little, t o o , " he s a i d with his q u e e r smile. " T h a t ' s all p a s t . I've b e e n thinking, a n d w o r s h i p p i n g you. D o n ' t you s u p p o s e I know all that you've b e e n t h r o u g h , to c o m e to this? I've followed you every step from your old theories a n d o p i n i o n s . " "Well, you've h a d a long row to h o e . " "And I know you've d o n e this from the highest m o t i v e s — " ' " O h , there won't be m u c h pettifogging to do till this cruel war i s — " "And you haven't simply d o n e it for my s a k e . I couldn't r e s p e c t you if you had." "Well, then we'll say I haven't. A m a n that hasn't got his own r e s p e c t intact wants the r e s p e c t of all the other p e o p l e he c a n corner. B u t we won't g o into that. I'm in for the thing now, a n d we've got to f a c e o u r f u t u r e . M y idea is that this isn't g o i n g to be a very p r o t r a c t e d s t r u g g l e ; we shall j u s t s c a r e the e n e m y to d e a t h before it c o m e s to a fight at all. B u t we m u s t provide for c o n t i n g e n c i e s , E d i t h a . If anything h a p p e n s to m e — " " O h , G e o r g e ! " S h e c l u n g to him s o b b i n g . "I don't want you to feel foolishly b o u n d to my m e m o r y . I s h o u l d h a t e that, wherever I h a p p e n e d to b e . " "I a m yours, for time a n d e t e r n i t y — t i m e a n d eternity." S h e liked the w o r d s ; they satisfied her f a m i n e for p h r a s e s . "Well, say eternity; that's all right; but time's a n o t h e r thing; a n d I'm talking a b o u t time. B u t there is s o m e t h i n g ! M y mother! If anything h a p p e n s — " S h e w i n c e d , a n d h e l a u g h e d . "You're not the bold soldier-girl of yesterday!" T h e n he s o b e r e d . "If anything h a p p e n s , I w a n t you to help my m o t h e r out. S h e won't like my d o i n g this thing. S h e b r o u g h t m e u p to think war a fool thing a s well a s a b a d thing. M y father w a s in the civil war, all through it; lost his a r m in it." S h e thrilled with the s e n s e of the a r m r o u n d her; what if that s h o u l d be lost? H e l a u g h e d a s if divining her: " O h , it d o e s n ' t run in the family, a s far a s I k n o w ! " T h e n he a d d e d , gravely: " H e c a m e h o m e with misgivings a b o u t war, a n d they grew on him. I g u e s s he a n d m o t h e r a g r e e d between t h e m that I w a s to b e brought up in his final m i n d a b o u t it; but that w a s before my t i m e . I only knew him from my m o t h e r ' s report of him a n d his o p i n i o n s ; I don't know w h e t h e r they were hers first; b u t they were hers last. T h i s will be a blow to her. I shall have to write a n d tell h e r — " H e s t o p p e d , a n d s h e a s k e d : " W o u l d you like m e to write too, G e o r g e ? " "I don't believe that would d o . N o , I'll do the writing. She'll u n d e r s t a n d a little if I say that I t h o u g h t the way to m i n i m i z e it w a s to m a k e war on the largest p o s s i b l e s c a l e at o n c e — t h a t I felt I m u s t have b e e n h e l p i n g on the 7.

A l l u s i o n t o S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Othello

( 2 . 3 . 6 4 - 6 8 ) , in w h i c h l a g o s i n g s a s o l d i e r ' s d r i n k i n g s o n g .

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war s o m e h o w if I hadn't h e l p e d k e e p it from c o m i n g , a n d I k n e w I h a d n ' t ; w h e n it c a m e , I h a d no right to stay o u t of i t . " W h e t h e r his s o p h i s t r i e s satisfied him or not, they satisfied her. S h e c l u n g to his b r e a s t , a n d w h i s p e r e d , with c l o s e d eyes a n d quivering lips: "Yes, y e s , yes!" " B u t if anything s h o u l d h a p p e n , you m i g h t go to her, a n d s e e w h a t you c o u l d d o for her. You k n o w ? It's rather far off; s h e can't leave her c h a i r — " " O h , I'll g o , if it's the e n d s of the earth! B u t n o t h i n g will h a p p e n ! N o t h i n g can! I — " S h e felt herself lifted with his rising, a n d G e a r s o n w a s saying, with his a r m still r o u n d her, to her father: "Well, we're off at o n c e , M r . B a l c o m . W e ' r e to be formally a c c e p t e d at the capital, a n d then b u n c h e d u p with the rest s o m e h o w , a n d sent into c a m p s o m e w h e r e , a n d got to the front a s s o o n a s p o s s i b l e . W e all w a n t to b e in the v a n , 8 of c o u r s e ; we're the first c o m p a n y to report to the G o v e r n o r . I c a m e to tell E d i t h a , b u t I hadn't got r o u n d to it." S h e s a w h i m a g a i n for a m o m e n t at the c a p i t a l , in the s t a t i o n , j u s t before the train started s o u t h w a r d with his r e g i m e n t . H e looked well, in his u n i f o r m , a n d very soldierly, b u t s o m e h o w girlish, too, with his c l e a n - s h a v e n f a c e a n d slim figure. T h e m a n l y eyes a n d the s t r o n g voice satisfied her, a n d his p r e o c c u p a t i o n with s o m e u n e x p e c t e d details of duty flattered her. O t h e r girls were w e e p i n g a n d b e m o a n i n g t h e m s e l v e s , b u t s h e felt a sort of n o b l e distinction in the a b s t r a c t i o n , the a l m o s t u n c o n s c i o u s n e s s , with which they p a r t e d . Only at the last m o m e n t h e s a i d : " D o n ' t forget my m o t h e r . It mayn't b e s u c h a walk-over a s I s u p p o s e d , " a n d h e l a u g h e d at the notion. H e waved his h a n d to her a s the train m o v e d o f f — s h e k n e w it a m o n g a s c o r e of h a n d s that were waved to other girls from the p l a t f o r m of the car, for it held a letter which s h e k n e w w a s h e r s . T h e n h e w e n t inside the c a r to read it, d o u b t l e s s , a n d s h e did not s e e him a g a i n . B u t s h e felt s a f e for him t h r o u g h the strength of what s h e called her love. W h a t s h e c a l l e d her G o d , always s p e a k i n g the n a m e in a d e e p voice a n d with the i m p l i c a t i o n of a m u t u a l u n d e r s t a n d i n g , would w a t c h over him a n d k e e p h i m a n d b r i n g him b a c k to her. If with a n e m p t y sleeve, then h e s h o u l d have t h r e e a r m s i n s t e a d of two, for both of hers s h o u l d b e his for life. S h e did not s e e , t h o u g h , why s h e s h o u l d always b e thinking of the a r m his father h a d lost. T h e r e were not m a n y letters from h i m , b u t they were s u c h a s s h e c o u l d have w i s h e d , a n d s h e put her w h o l e s t r e n g t h into m a k i n g hers s u c h a s s h e i m a g i n e d he c o u l d have w i s h e d , glorifying a n d s u p p o r t i n g h i m . S h e wrote to his m o t h e r glorifying him a s their h e r o , b u t the brief a n s w e r s h e got w a s merely to the effect that M r s . G e a r s o n w a s not well e n o u g h to write herself, a n d thanking her for her letter by the h a n d of s o m e o n e w h o called herself "Yrs truly, M r s . W . J . A n d r e w s . " E d i t h a d e t e r m i n e d not to b e hurt, b u t to write a g a i n q u i t e a s if the a n s w e r h a d b e e n all s h e e x p e c t e d . B u t before it s e e m e d a s if s h e c o u l d have written, there c a m e n e w s of the first s k i r m i s h , a n d in the list of the killed, w h i c h w a s t e l e g r a p h e d a s a trifling loss on o u r s i d e , w a s G e a r s o n ' s n a m e . T h e r e w a s a frantic t i m e of trying to m a k e o u t that it m i g h t b e , m u s t b e , s o m e other G e a r s o n ; b u t the n a m e a n d the c o m p a n y a n d the r e g i m e n t , a n d the S t a t e were too definitely given. 8.

S h o r t for v a n g u a r d , t h e f o r e m o s t d i v i s i o n o f a n a r m y .

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T h e n there w a s a l a p s e into d e p t h s out of which it s e e m e d a s if s h e never could rise a g a i n ; then a lift into c l o u d s far a b o v e all grief, b l a c k c l o u d s , that blotted out the s u n , b u t w h e r e s h e s o a r e d with him, with G e o r g e , G e o r g e ! S h e h a d the fever that s h e e x p e c t e d of herself, but s h e did not die in it; s h e w a s not even delirious, a n d it did not last long. W h e n s h e w a s well e n o u g h to leave her b e d , her o n e thought w a s of G e o r g e ' s m o t h e r , of his strangely w o r d e d wish that s h e s h o u l d go to her a n d s e e what she c o u l d d o for her. In the exaltation of the duty laid u p o n h e r — i t b u o y e d her u p i n s t e a d of burd e n i n g h e r — s h e rapidly recovered. H e r father went with her on the long railroad j o u r n e y from northern N e w York to w e s t e r n Iowa; he h a d b u s i n e s s o u t at D a v e n p o r t , a n d he s a i d h e could j u s t a s well g o then a s any other t i m e ; a n d h e went with her to the little country town where G e o r g e ' s m o t h e r lived in a little h o u s e on the e d g e of illimitable corn-fields, u n d e r trees p u s h e d to a top of the rolling prairie. G e o r g e ' s father h a d settled there after the civil war, a s s o m a n y other old soldiers h a d d o n e ; but they were E a s t e r n p e o p l e , a n d E d i t h a f a n c i e d t o u c h e s of the E a s t in the J u n e rose overhanging the front door, a n d the g a r d e n with early s u m m e r flowers stretching from the g a t e of the p a l i n g f e n c e . It w a s very low inside the h o u s e , and s o d i m , with the c l o s e d b l i n d s , that they c o u l d scarcely s e e o n e a n o t h e r : Editha tall a n d b l a c k in her c r a p e s w h i c h filled the air with the smell of their dyes; her father s t a n d i n g d e c o r o u s l y apart with his hat on his f o r e a r m , as at funerals; a w o m a n r e s t e d in a d e e p a r m chair, a n d the w o m a n w h o h a d let the s t r a n g e r s in s t o o d b e h i n d the chair. T h e s e a t e d w o m a n turned her h e a d r o u n d a n d u p , a n d a s k e d the w o m a n b e h i n d her chair: "Who did you s a y ? " E d i t h a , if s h e h a d d o n e w h a t she e x p e c t e d of herself, w o u l d have g o n e down on her k n e e s at the feet of the s e a t e d figure a n d said, "I a m G e o r g e ' s E d i t h a , " for a n s w e r . B u t instead of her own voice s h e heard that other w o m a n ' s voice, saying: "Well, I don't know a s I did get the n a m e j u s t right. I g u e s s I'll have to m a k e a little m o r e light in h e r e , " a n d s h e went a n d p u s h e d two of the s h u t t e r s ajar. T h e n E d i t h a ' s father said, in his public will-now-address-a-few-remarks tone: " M y n a m e is B a l c o m , m a ' a m — J u n i u s H. B a l c o m , of B a l c o m ' s W o r k s , N e w York; my d a u g h t e r — " " O h ! " the s e a t e d w o m a n broke in, with a powerful voice, the voice that always surprised E d i t h a from G e a r s o n ' s slender f r a m e . " L e t m e s e e you! S t a n d r o u n d w h e r e the light c a n strike on your f a c e , " a n d E d i t h a d u m b l y obeyed. " S o , you're E d i t h a B a l c o m , " s h e s i g h e d . " Y e s , " E d i t h a s a i d , m o r e like a culprit than a c o m f o r t e r . " W h a t did you c o m e f o r ? " M r s . G e a r s o n a s k e d . E d i t h a ' s f a c e quivered a n d her knees shook. "I c a m e — b e c a u s e — b e c a u s e G e o r g e — " S h e c o u l d g o n o further. " Y e s , " the m o t h e r s a i d , " h e told m e he h a d a s k e d you to c o m e if he got killed. You didn't expect that, I s u p p o s e , when you s e n t h i m . " "I would rather have died myself than d o n e it!" E d i t h a said with m o r e truth in her d e e p voice t h a n she ordinarily f o u n d in it. "I tried to leave him free—" "Yes, that letter of y o u r s , that c a m e b a c k with his other things, left him free." E d i t h a s a w now where G e o r g e ' s irony c a m e from. "It w a s not to be read b e f o r e — u n l e s s — u n t i l — I told him s o , " s h e faltered.

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" O f c o u r s e , h e wouldn't read a letter of y o u r s , u n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s , till he thought you w a n t e d him to. B e e n s i c k ? " the w o m a n abruptly demanded. "Very s i c k . " E d i t h a said, with self-pity. " D a u g h t e r ' s life," her father i n t e r p o s e d , " w a s a l m o s t d e s p a i r e d of, at o n e time." M r s . G e a r s o n gave him no h e e d . "I s u p p o s e you would have b e e n glad to die, s u c h a brave p e r s o n a s you! I don't believe he w a s glad to d i e . H e w a s always a timid boy, that way; h e w a s afraid of a g o o d m a n y t h i n g s ; but if h e w a s afraid h e did what he m a d e u p his m i n d to. I s u p p o s e he m a d e u p his m i n d to g o , b u t I knew what it c o s t him, by what it c o s t m e w h e n I h e a r d of it. I h a d b e e n t h r o u g h one war before. W h e n you sent him you didn't expect h e would get killed." T h e voice s e e m e d to c o m p a s s i o n a t e E d i t h a , a n d it w a s t i m e . " N o , " s h e huskily m u r m u r e d . " N o , girls don't; w o m e n don't, w h e n they give their m e n u p to their c o u n try. T h e y think they'll c o m e m a r c h i n g b a c k , s o m e h o w , j u s t a s gay a s they went, or if it's a n e m p t y sleeve, or even a n e m p t y p a n t a l o o n , it's all the m o r e glory, a n d they're so m u c h the p r o u d e r of t h e m , p o o r t h i n g s ! " T h e tears b e g a n to run d o w n E d i t h a ' s f a c e ; she h a d not wept till t h e n ; but it w a s now s u c h a relief to be u n d e r s t o o d that the tears c a m e . " N o , you didn't expect him to get killed," M r s . G e a r s o n r e p e a t e d in a voice which w a s startlingly like G e o r g e ' s a g a i n . "You j u s t e x p e c t e d him to kill s o m e o n e e l s e , s o m e of t h o s e foreigners, that weren't there b e c a u s e they h a d any say a b o u t it, b u t b e c a u s e they h a d to be there, p o o r w r e t c h e s — c o n s c r i p t s , or whatever they call 'em. You t h o u g h t it would b e all right for my G e o r g e , your G e o r g e , to kill the s o n s of t h o s e m i s e r a b l e m o t h e r s a n d the h u s b a n d s of t h o s e girls that you would never s e e the f a c e s of." T h e w o m a n lifted her powerful voice in a p s a l m l i k e n o t e . "I t h a n k my G o d h e didn't live to do it! I t h a n k my G o d they killed him first, a n d that he ain't livin' with their blood on his h a n d s ! " S h e d r o p p e d her eyes, w h i c h she h a d r a i s e d with her voice, a n d glared at E d i t h a . " W h a t you got that black on f o r ? " S h e lifted herself by her powerful a r m s so high that her h e l p l e s s body s e e m e d to h a n g limp its full length. " T a k e it off, take it off, b e f o r e I tear it from your b a c k ! " T h e lady w h o w a s p a s s i n g the s u m m e r near B a l c o m ' s W o r k s w a s s k e t c h i n g E d i t h a ' s b e a u t y , which lent itself wonderfully to the effects of a colorist. It h a d c o m e to that c o n f i d e n c e which is rather apt to grow b e t w e e n artist a n d sitter, a n d E d i t h a told her everything. " T o think of your having s u c h a tragedy in your life!" the lady s a i d . S h e a d d e d : "I s u p p o s e there are p e o p l e w h o feel that way a b o u t war. B u t w h e n you c o n s i d e r the g o o d this war h a s d o n e — h o w m u c h it h a s d o n e for the c o u n t I can't u n d e r s t a n d s u c h p e o p l e , for my part. A n d w h e n you h a d c o m e all the way o u t there to c o n s o l e h e r — g o t up out of a sick-bed! W e l l ! " "I think," E d i t h a said, m a g n a n i m o u s l y , " s h e wasn't q u i t e in her right m i n d ; a n d s o did p a p a . " " Y e s , " the lady said, looking at E d i t h a ' s lips in n a t u r e a n d then at her lips in art, a n d giving an empirical t o u c h to t h e m in the p i c t u r e . " B u t how dreadful of her! H o w p e r f e c t l y — e x c u s e m e — h o w vulgar!" A light broke u p o n E d i t h a in the d a r k n e s s which s h e felt h a d b e e n without

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a g l e a m of brightness for weeks a n d m o n t h s . T h e mystery that h a d bewildered her w a s solved by t h e word; a n d from that m o m e n t s h e r o s e from grovelling in s h a m e a n d self-pity, a n d b e g a n to live again in t h e ideal. 1907

AMBROSE

BIERCE

1842-1914? A m b r o s e G w i n n e t t B i e r c e w a s b o r n o n J u n e 2 4 , 1 8 4 2 , in M e i g s C o u n t y , O h i o , t h e last of n i n e c h i l d r e n of strongly religious p a r e n t s . H e led a n u n h a p p y c h i l d h o o d , a n d a s a n a d u l t h e c u t h i m s e l f off f r o m his p a r e n t s a n d all b u t o n e of his b r o t h e r s a n d s i s t e r s . P e r h a p s his f a s c i n a t i o n with t h e s u p e r n a t u r a l in his fiction is similarly a n a t t e m p t to e s c a p e t h e o r d i n a r y s o c i e t y of h u m a n i t y h e o b s e r v e d c l o s e l y a n d c l a i m e d to d e t e s t . In any c a s e , f r o m his e a r l i e s t d a y s " B i t t e r B i e r c e , " a s h e c a m e to b e c a l l e d , s e e m e d d i s a p p o i n t e d with w h a t h a d b e e n , d i s p l e a s e d with his p r e s e n t c o n d i t i o n , a n d p e s s i m i s t i c a b o u t w h a t lay a h e a d . N o t l o n g after h e h a d s p e n t o n e year at a military a c a d e m y in K e n t u c k y — h i s only f o r m a l s c h o o l i n g — t h e Civil W a r b r o k e o u t a n d B i e r c e v o l u n t e e r e d for the U n i o n A r m y . H e w a s involved in s e v e r a l b a t t l e s a n d w a s m u s t e r e d o u t a l i e u t e n a n t . B i e r c e later d e f i n e d w a r (in his Devil's Dictionary) a s a " b y - p r o d u c t of t h e a r t s of p e a c e " a n d p e a c e a s " a p e r i o d of c h e a t i n g b e t w e e n two p e r i o d s of f i g h t i n g , " a n d it is h a r d to a c c e p t his own t e s t i m o n y that, even while a soldier, h e h a d b e e n a z e a l o u s military m a n . T h e Civil W a r e x p e r i e n c e , however, w a s a n i m p o r t a n t s o u r c e of s o m e of his b e s t fiction, i n c l u d i n g the s u s p e n s e f u l " A n O c c u r r e n c e at O w l C r e e k B r i d g e . " After t h e war, B i e r c e m o v e d to S a n F r a n c i s c o . By 1 8 6 6 h e h a d s e c u r e d a j o b a s a j o u r n a l i s t , the c a r e e r h e p u r s u e d for the rest of his life. H e b e g a n a s a c o l u m n i s t for the News Letter a n d in 1 8 6 8 b e c a m e its editor. A m o n g his writer f r i e n d s in S a n F r a n c i s c o were M a r k T w a i n , Bret H a r t e , J o a q u i n Miller, a n d G e o r g e S t e r l i n g , all of w h o m were involved a s j o u r n a l i s t s , l e c t u r e r s , a n d writers in e s t a b l i s h i n g S a n F r a n c i s c o a s a literary c e n t e r . B i e r c e m a r r i e d in 1 8 7 2 a n d with his wife traveled to E n g l a n d , w h e r e they lived until 1 8 7 6 . T h e r e , u n d e r t h e i n f l u e n c e of literary s o p h i s ticates s u c h as G e o r g e A u g u s t u s Sala a n d T h o m a s H o o d , he developed from a crude w e s t e r n h u m o r i s t into a satirist of e l e g a n c e a n d bite. H i s b e s t early w o r k a p p e a r e d in the " P r a t t l e r " c o l u m n written first for t h e Argonaut ( 1 8 7 7 — 7 9 ) a n d t h e n for t h e Wasp until 1 8 8 6 . In that year t h e p o p u l a r c o l u m n w a s p i c k e d u p by W i l l i a m R a n d o l p h H e a r s t ' s San Francisco Sunday Examiner, w h e r e it c o n t i n u e d until 1 8 9 6 . A m i x t u r e of reviews, g o s s i p , a n d political a n d social c o m m e n t a r y , the " P r a t t l e r " a l s o s e r v e d a s outlet for a n u m b e r of B i e r c e ' s b e s t short s t o r i e s . B i e r c e ' s p e r s o n a l life w a s a s e r i e s of d i s a s t e r s . H i s definition of m a r r i a g e — " t h e s t a t e or c o n d i t i o n of a c o m m u n i t y c o n s i s t i n g of a m a s t e r , a m i s t r e s s , a n d two s l a v e s , m a k i n g in all, t w o " — r e f l e c t e d his views o n his own m a r r i a g e ( w h i c h e n d e d in d i v o r c e in 1 8 9 1 ) . In 1 8 8 9 his e l d e r s o n w a s s h o t to d e a t h d u r i n g a fight over a girl; in 1 9 0 1 his y o u n g e r s o n d i e d of a l c o h o l i s m . In 1 9 1 3 , B i e r c e h i m s e l f w e n t to M e x i c o a n d d i s a p p e a r e d w i t h o u t a t r a c e , a l t h o u g h t h e r e is a story that h e w a s killed in t h e revolutionary war, w h i c h pitted P a n c h o Villa a n d V e n u s t i a n o C a r r a n z a a g a i n s t G e n e r a l Victoriano Huerta. B i e r c e ' s p e s s i m i s m , c y n i c i s m , n i h i l i s m , a n d g a l l o w s h u m o r a r e in t h e A m e r i c a n tradition of n a y s a y i n g , w h i c h r u n s f r o m H e r m a n Melville to T h o m a s P y n c h o n . It is

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not t h e m o r d a n t wit of The Devil's Word

Book)

Dictionary

significant. In his b e s t work, s u c h a s Tales In

the

Midst

(first p u b l i s h e d in 1 9 0 6 a s The

Cynic's

or B i e r c e ' s p e n c h a n t for t h e g r o t e s q u e , h o w e v e r , t h a t finally m a k e s h i m of Life),

of Soldiers

and Civilians

B i e r c e , like S t e p h e n C r a n e a n d

( 1 8 9 1 ; later r e t i t l e d

Ernest H e m i n g w a y after

h i m , c o n v e r t e d the d i s o r d e r e d e x p e r i e n c e of war into r e s o n a n t a n d d r a m a t i c

fictional

revelations.

An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge 1 I A m a n s t o o d u p o n a railroad bridge in n o r t h e r n A l a b a m a , l o o k i n g down into the swift water twenty feet below. T h e m a n ' s h a n d s were b e h i n d his b a c k , the wrists b o u n d with a c o r d . A rope closely e n c i r c l e d his n e c k . It w a s a t t a c h e d to a s t o u t c r o s s - t i m b e r a b o v e his h e a d a n d the s l a c k fell to the level of his k n e e s . S o m e l o o s e b o a r d s laid u p o n the s l e e p e r s 2 s u p p o r t i n g the m e t a l s of the railway s u p p l i e d a footing for him a n d his e x e c u t i o n e r s — t w o private soldiers of the F e d e r a l army, directed by a s e r g e a n t w h o in civil life m a y have b e e n a d e p u t y sheriff. At a short r e m o v e u p o n the s a m e t e m p o r a r y platform w a s an officer in the uniform of his rank, a r m e d . H e w a s a c a p t a i n . A sentinel at e a c h e n d of the bridge s t o o d with his rifle in the position k n o w n a s " s u p p o r t , " that is to say, vertical in front of the left s h o u l d e r , the h a m m e r resting o n the forearm thrown straight a c r o s s the c h e s t — a formal a n d u n n a t u r a l position, e n f o r c i n g a n erect c a r r i a g e of the body. It did not a p p e a r to b e the duty of these two m e n to know w h a t w a s o c c u r r i n g at the c e n t r e o f the bridge; they merely b l o c k a d e d the two e n d s of the foot p l a n k i n g that traversed it. B e y o n d o n e of the s e n t i n e l s n o b o d y w a s in sight; the railroad ran straight away into a forest for a h u n d r e d yards, t h e n , curving, w a s lost to view. D o u b t less there w a s a n o u t p o s t farther a l o n g . T h e other b a n k of the s t r e a m w a s o p e n g r o u n d — a gentle acclivity t o p p e d with a s t o c k a d e of vertical tree trunks, l o o p h o l e d for rifles, with a single e m b r a s u r e t h r o u g h which p r o t r u d e d the muzzle of a b r a s s c a n n o n c o m m a n d i n g the b r i d g e . M i d w a y of the s l o p e b e t w e e n bridge a n d fort were the s p e c t a t o r s — a single c o m p a n y of infantry in line, at " p a r a d e r e s t , " the b u t t s of the rifles on the g r o u n d , the barrels inclining slightly b a c k w a r d a g a i n s t the right s h o u l d e r , the h a n d s c r o s s e d u p o n the stock. A l i e u t e n a n t s t o o d at the right of the line, the point of his sword u p o n the g r o u n d , his left h a n d resting u p o n his right. E x c e p t i n g the g r o u p of four at the c e n t r e of the b r i d g e , not a m a n m o v e d . T h e c o m p a n y f a c e d the b r i d g e , s t a r i n g stonily, m o t i o n l e s s . T h e s e n t i n e l s , f a c i n g the b a n k s of the s t r e a m , might have b e e n s t a t u e s to a d o r n the b r i d g e . T h e c a p t a i n s t o o d with folded a r m s , silent, o b s e r v i n g the work of his s u b o r d i n a t e s , b u t m a k i n g n o sign. D e a t h is a dignitary w h o w h e n h e c o m e s a n n o u n c e d is to b e received with formal m a n i f e s t a t i o n s of r e s p e c t , even by t h o s e m o s t familiar with h i m . In the c o d e of military e t i q u e t t e s i l e n c e a n d fixity are f o r m s of d e f e r e n c e . T h e m a n w h o w a s e n g a g e d in b e i n g h a n g e d w a s a p p a r e n t l y a b o u t thirtyI . F i r s t p u b l i s h e d i n t h e S a w Francisco Examiner o n July 13, 1 8 9 0 , this story w a s s u b s e q u e n t l y r e p r i n t e d a s p a r t o f t h e c o l l e c t i o n Tales of Soldiers and Civilians ( 1 8 9 1 ; r e t i t l e d In the Midst of Life i n 1 8 9 8 ) a n d i n V o l u m e II o f T h e Collected Works of

Ambrose Bierce ( 1 9 0 9 - 1 2 ) , t h e b a s i s of t h e text printed here. 2. P i e c e s of timber, stone, or steel on or near the g r o u n d t o k e e p r a i l r o a d r a i l s in p l a c e .

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five years of a g e . H e w a s a civilian, if o n e might j u d g e from his habit, which was that of a planter. His f e a t u r e s were g o o d — a straight n o s e , firm m o u t h , b r o a d f o r e h e a d , from which his long, dark hair w a s c o m b e d straight b a c k , falling b e h i n d his ears to the collar of his well-fitting frock-coat. H e wore a m u s t a c h e a n d p o i n t e d b e a r d , but no whiskers; his eyes were large a n d dark gray, a n d h a d a kindly expression which o n e w o u l d hardly have e x p e c t e d in o n e w h o s e n e c k w a s in the h e m p . Evidently this w a s n o vulgar a s s a s s i n . T h e liberal military c o d e m a k e s provision for h a n g i n g m a n y kinds of p e r s o n s , a n d g e n t l e m e n a r e not e x c l u d e d . T h e p r e p a r a t i o n s b e i n g c o m p l e t e , the two private soldiers s t e p p e d a s i d e a n d e a c h drew away the p l a n k u p o n which he h a d b e e n s t a n d i n g . T h e serg e a n t turned to the c a p t a i n , s a l u t e d a n d p l a c e d h i m s e l f i m m e d i a t e l y b e h i n d that officer, w h o in turn m o v e d apart o n e p a c e . T h e s e m o v e m e n t s left the c o n d e m n e d m a n a n d the s e r g e a n t s t a n d i n g on the two e n d s of the s a m e plank, which s p a n n e d three of the cross-ties of the bridge. T h e e n d u p o n which the civilian s t o o d a l m o s t , but not q u i t e , r e a c h e d a fourth. T h i s p l a n k h a d b e e n held in p l a c e by the weight of the c a p t a i n ; it w a s now held by that of the s e r g e a n t . At a signal from the former the latter w o u l d s t e p a s i d e , the p l a n k would tilt a n d the c o n d e m n d e d m a n go d o w n b e t w e e n two ties. T h e a r r a n g e m e n t c o m m e n d e d itself to his j u d g m e n t a s s i m p l e a n d effective. H i s f a c e h a d not b e e n c o v e r e d nor his eyes b a n d a g e d . H e looked a m o m e n t at his " u n s t e a d f a s t footing," then let his gaze w a n d e r to the swirling water of the s t r e a m r a c i n g madly b e n e a t h his feet. A p i e c e of d a n c i n g driftwood c a u g h t his attention a n d his eyes followed it d o w n the c u r r e n t . H o w slowly it a p p e a r e d to m o v e ! W h a t a s l u g g i s h s t r e a m ! H e c l o s e d his eyes in order to fix his last t h o u g h t s u p o n his wife a n d children. T h e water, t o u c h e d to gold by the early s u n , the b r o o d i n g m i s t s u n d e r the b a n k s at s o m e d i s t a n c e d o w n the s t r e a m , the fort, the soldiers, the p i e c e of drift—all h a d d i s t r a c t e d h i m . A n d now h e b e c a m e c o n s c i o u s of a new d i s t u r b a n c e . Striking t h r o u g h the t h o u g h t of his d e a r o n e s w a s a s o u n d which he c o u l d neither ignore nor u n d e r s t a n d , a s h a r p , distinct, metallic p e r c u s s i o n like the stroke of a b l a c k s m i t h ' s h a m m e r u p o n the anvil; it h a d the s a m e ringing quality. H e w o n d e r e d w h a t it w a s , a n d w h e t h e r i m m e a s urably distant or n e a r by—it s e e m e d b o t h . Its r e c u r r e n c e w a s regular, but a s slow a s the tolling of a d e a t h knell. H e a w a i t e d e a c h stroke with i m p a t i e n c e a n d — h e knew not w h y — a p p r e h e n s i o n . T h e intervals of s i l e n c e grew progressively longer; the delays b e c a m e m a d d e n i n g . W i t h their greater infreq u e n c y the s o u n d s i n c r e a s e d in strength a n d s h a r p n e s s . T h e y hurt his ear like the thrust of a knife; he feared h e w o u l d shriek. W h a t he h e a r d w a s the ticking of his w a t c h . H e u n c l o s e d his eyes a n d s a w again the water below h i m . "If I c o u l d free my h a n d s , " h e t h o u g h t , "I might throw off the n o o s e a n d s p r i n g into the s t r e a m . By diving I c o u l d e v a d e the bullets a n d , s w i m m i n g vigorously, r e a c h the bank, take to the w o o d s a n d get away h o m e . M y h o m e , t h a n k G o d , is a s yet o u t s i d e their lines; my wife a n d little o n e s are still b e y o n d the invader's farthest a d v a n c e . " A s t h e s e t h o u g h t s , which have h e r e to be set d o w n in w o r d s , were flashed into the d o o m e d m a n ' s brain rather t h a n evolved from it the c a p t a i n n o d d e d to the s e r g e a n t . T h e s e r g e a n t s t e p p e d a s i d e .

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Peyton F a r q u h a r w a s a well-to-do planter, of a n old a n d highly r e s p e c t e d A l a b a m a family. B e i n g a slave owner a n d like other slave o w n e r s a politician h e w a s naturally a n original s e c e s s i o n i s t a n d ardently devoted to the S o u t h ern c a u s e . C i r c u m s t a n c e s of a n i m p e r i o u s n a t u r e , w h i c h it is u n n e c e s s a r y to relate h e r e , h a d prevented him from taking service with the gallant army that h a d fought the d i s a s t r o u s c a m p a i g n s e n d i n g with the fall of C o r i n t h , 3 a n d he c h a f e d u n d e r the inglorious restraint, longing for the r e l e a s e of his e n e r g i e s , the larger life of the soldier, the opportunity for distinction. T h a t opportunity, h e felt, w o u l d c o m e , a s it c o m e s to all in war t i m e . M e a n w h i l e he did what he c o u l d . N o service w a s too h u m b l e for him to p e r f o r m in aid of the S o u t h , n o a d v e n t u r e too p e r i l o u s for him to u n d e r t a k e if c o n s i s t e n t with the c h a r a c t e r of a civilian w h o w a s at heart a soldier, a n d w h o in g o o d faith a n d without too m u c h qualification a s s e n t e d to at least a part of the frankly villainous d i c t u m that all is fair in love a n d war. O n e e v e n i n g while F a r q u h a r a n d his wife were sitting on a rustic b e n c h near the e n t r a n c e to his g r o u n d s , a gray-clad soldier r o d e up to the g a t e a n d a s k e d for a drink of water. M r s . F a r q u h a r w a s only t o o h a p p y to serve him with her own white h a n d s . W h i l e s h e w a s f e t c h i n g the water her h u s b a n d a p p r o a c h e d the dusty h o r s e m a n a n d inquired eagerly for n e w s from the front. " T h e Y a n k s a r e repairing the r a i l r o a d s , " s a i d the m a n , " a n d are getting ready for a n o t h e r a d v a n c e . T h e y have r e a c h e d the Owl C r e e k b r i d g e , p u t it in order a n d built a s t o c k a d e o n the north b a n k . T h e c o m m a n d a n t h a s i s s u e d a n order, which is p o s t e d everywhere, d e c l a r i n g that any civilian c a u g h t interfering with the railroad, its b r i d g e s , t u n n e l s or trains will be s u m m a r i l y hanged. I saw the o r d e r . " " H o w far is it to the Owl C r e e k b r i d g e ? " F a r q u h a r a s k e d . " A b o u t thirty m i l e s . " "Is there no force on this side the c r e e k ? " " O n l y a picket p o s t half a mile out, on the railroad, a n d a single sentinel at this e n d of the b r i d g e . " " S u p p o s e a m a n — a civilian a n d s t u d e n t of h a n g i n g — s h o u l d e l u d e the picket post a n d p e r h a p s get the better of the s e n t i n e l , " s a i d F a r q u h a r , smiling, "what c o u l d h e a c c o m p l i s h ? " T h e soldier reflected. "I w a s there a m o n t h a g o , " h e replied. "I o b s e r v e d that the flood of last winter h a d lodged a great quantity of driftwood a g a i n s t the w o o d e n pier at this e n d of the b r i d g e . It is n o w dry a n d w o u l d b u r n like tow." T h e lady h a d now b r o u g h t the water, which the soldier d r a n k . H e t h a n k e d her c e r e m o n i o u s l y , b o w e d to her h u s b a n d a n d r o d e away. An h o u r later, after nightfall, he r e p a s s e d the p l a n t a t i o n , g o i n g n o r t h w a r d in the direction from which h e h a d c o m e . H e w a s a F e d e r a l s c o u t . /// As Peyton F a r q u h a r fell straight d o w n w a r d t h r o u g h the b r i d g e h e lost c o n s c i o u s n e s s a n d w a s a s o n e already d e a d . F r o m this s t a t e h e w a s awak3. C o r i n t h , M i s s i s s i p p i , fell t o t h e U n i o n f o r c e s o n A p r i l 6 a n d 7 , 1 8 6 2 . u n d e r G e n e r a l U l y s s e s S . G r a n t in t h e B a t t l e o f S h i l o h .

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e n e d — a g e s later, it s e e m e d to h i m — b y the p a i n of a s h a r p p r e s s u r e u p o n his throat, followed by a s e n s e of suffocation. K e e n , p o i g n a n t a g o n i e s s e e m e d to shoot from his n e c k d o w n w a r d through every fibre of his b o d y a n d l i m b s . T h e s e p a i n s a p p e a r e d to flash a l o n g well-defined lines of ramification a n d to b e a t with a n inconceivably rapid periodicity. T h e y s e e m e d like s t r e a m s of p u l s a t i n g fire h e a t i n g him to a n intolerable t e m p e r a t u r e . As to his h e a d , h e w a s c o n s c i o u s of n o t h i n g b u t a feeling of f u l n e s s — o f c o n g e s t i o n . T h e s e s e n s a t i o n s were u n a c c o m p a n i e d by t h o u g h t . T h e intellectual part of his n a t u r e w a s already e f f a c e d ; he h a d power only to feel, a n d feeling w a s torm e n t . H e w a s c o n s c i o u s of m o t i o n . E n c o m p a s s e d in a l u m i n o u s c l o u d , of which h e w a s now merely the fiery heart, without m a t e r i a l s u b s t a n c e , he s w u n g t h r o u g h u n t h i n k a b l e a r c s of oscillation, like a vast p e n d u l u m . T h e n all at o n c e , with terrible s u d d e n n e s s , the light a b o u t h i m shot u p w a r d with the n o i s e of a loud p l a s h ; a frightful roaring w a s in his e a r s , a n d all w a s cold a n d dark. T h e power of t h o u g h t w a s r e s t o r e d ; he k n e w that the r o p e h a d broken a n d h e h a d fallen into the s t r e a m . T h e r e w a s n o additional s t r a n g u lation; the n o o s e a b o u t his n e c k w a s already s u f f o c a t i n g him a n d kept the water from his l u n g s . T o die of h a n g i n g at the b o t t o m of a river!—the idea s e e m e d to him l u d i c r o u s . H e o p e n e d his eyes in the d a r k n e s s a n d s a w a b o v e him a g l e a m of light, b u t how distant, how i n a c c e s s i b l e ! H e w a s still sinking, for the light b e c a m e fainter a n d fainter until it w a s a m e r e g l i m m e r . T h e n it b e g a n to grow a n d brighten, a n d he k n e w that h e w a s rising toward the s u r f a c e — k n e w it with r e l u c t a n c e , for he w a s now very c o m f o r t a b l e . " T o b e h a n g e d a n d d r o w n e d , " h e t h o u g h t , " t h a t is not s o b a d ; b u t I d o not wish to b e shot. N o ; I will not b e s h o t ; that is not fair." H e w a s not c o n s c i o u s of a n effort, b u t a s h a r p p a i n in his wrist a p p r i s e d him that h e w a s trying to free his h a n d s . H e gave the struggle his a t t e n t i o n , a s a n idler might o b s e r v e the feat of a j u g g l e r , without interest in the outc o m e . W h a t s p l e n d i d e f f o r t ! — w h a t magnificent, w h a t s u p e r h u m a n strength! A h , that w a s a fine endeavor! Bravo! T h e cord fell away; his a r m s p a r t e d a n d floated u p w a r d , the h a n d s dimly s e e n o n e a c h side in the growing light. H e w a t c h e d t h e m with a n e w interest a s first o n e a n d then the other p o u n c e d u p o n the n o o s e at his neck. T h e y tore it away a n d thrust it fiercely a s i d e , its u n d u l a t i o n s r e s e m b l i n g t h o s e of a w a t e r - s n a k e . " P u t it b a c k , p u t it b a c k ! " H e thought h e s h o u t e d t h e s e words to his h a n d s , for the u n d o i n g of the n o o s e h a d b e e n s u c c e e d e d by the direst p a n g that he h a d yet e x p e r i e n c e d . H i s n e c k a c h e d horribly; his brain w a s o n fire; his heart, which h a d b e e n fluttering faintly, g a v e a great l e a p , trying to force itself o u t at his m o u t h . H i s w h o l e body w a s r a c k e d a n d w r e n c h e d with a n i n s u p p o r t a b l e a n g u i s h ! B u t his d i s o b e d i e n t h a n d s gave n o h e e d to the c o m m a n d . T h e y b e a t the water vigorously with q u i c k , d o w n w a r d s t r o k e s , forcing him to the s u r f a c e . H e felt his h e a d e m e r g e ; his eyes were b l i n d e d by the sunlight; his c h e s t e x p a n d e d convulsively, a n d with a s u p r e m e a n d c r o w n i n g a g o n y his l u n g s e n g u l f e d a great d r a u g h t of air, which instantly h e expelled in a shriek! H e w a s now in full p o s s e s s i o n of his physical s e n s e s . T h e y w e r e , i n d e e d , preternaturally keen a n d alert. S o m e t h i n g in the awful d i s t u r b a n c e of his organic system h a d s o exalted a n d refined t h e m that they m a d e record of things never before p e r c e i v e d . H e felt the ripples u p o n his f a c e a n d h e a r d their s e p a r a t e s o u n d s a s they struck. H e looked at the forest o n the b a n k of the s t r e a m , s a w the individual trees, the leaves a n d the veining of e a c h leaf—

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s a w the very i n s e c t s u p o n t h e m : the l o c u s t s , the brilliant-bodied flies, the gray spiders s t r e t c h i n g their w e b s f r o m twig to twig. H e n o t e d the p r i s m a t i c colors in all the d e w d r o p s u p o n a million b l a d e s of g r a s s . T h e h u m m i n g of the g n a t s that d a n c e d a b o v e the e d d i e s of the s t r e a m , the b e a t i n g of the dragon-flies' w i n g s , the strokes of the water-spiders' l e g s , like oars w h i c h h a d lifted their b o a t — a l l t h e s e m a d e a u d i b l e m u s i c . A fish slid a l o n g b e n e a t h his eyes a n d h e h e a r d the r u s h of its b o d y p a r t i n g the water. H e h a d c o m e to the s u r f a c e f a c i n g d o w n the s t r e a m ; in a m o m e n t the visible world s e e m e d to wheel slowly r o u n d , h i m s e l f the pivotal p o i n t , a n d h e saw the b r i d g e , the fort, the soldiers u p o n the b r i d g e , the c a p t a i n , the s e r g e a n t , the two privates, his e x e c u t i o n e r s . T h e y w e r e in s i l h o u e t t e a g a i n s t the b l u e sky. T h e y s h o u t e d a n d g e s t i c u l a t e d , p o i n t i n g at h i m . T h e c a p t a i n h a d drawn his pistol, but did not fire; the o t h e r s were u n a r m e d . T h e i r m o v e m e n t s were g r o t e s q u e a n d horrible, their f o r m s gigantic. S u d d e n l y h e h e a r d a s h a r p report a n d s o m e t h i n g s t r u c k the w a t e r smartly within a few i n c h e s of his h e a d , s p a t t e r i n g his f a c e with spray. H e h e a r d a s e c o n d report, a n d s a w o n e of the s e n t i n e l s with his rifle at his s h o u l d e r , a light c l o u d of b l u e s m o k e rising from the m u z z l e . T h e m a n in the w a t e r s a w the eye of the m a n o n the bridge g a z i n g into his own t h r o u g h the sights of the rifle. H e o b s e r v e d that it w a s a gray eye a n d r e m e m b e r e d h a v i n g r e a d that gray eyes were k e e n e s t , a n d that all f a m o u s m a r k s m e n h a d t h e m . Neve r t h e l e s s , this o n e h a d m i s s e d . A counter-swirl h a d c a u g h t F a r q u h a r a n d t u r n e d h i m half r o u n d ; h e w a s a g a i n looking into the forest o n the b a n k o p p o s i t e the fort. T h e s o u n d of a clear, high voice in a m o n o t o n o u s s i n g s o n g n o w r a n g o u t b e h i n d him a n d c a m e a c r o s s the w a t e r with a d i s t i n c t n e s s that p i e r c e d a n d s u b d u e d all other s o u n d s , even the b e a t i n g of the ripples in his e a r s . A l t h o u g h n o soldier, h e h a d f r e q u e n t e d c a m p s e n o u g h to k n o w the d r e a d significance of that delibe r a t e , drawling, a s p i r a t e d c h a n t ; the l i e u t e n a n t o n s h o r e w a s taking a part in the m o r n i n g ' s work. H o w coldly a n d pitilessly—with w h a t a n e v e n , c a l m i n t o n a t i o n , p r e s a g i n g , a n d e n f o r c i n g tranquillity in the m e n — w i t h w h a t a c c u r a t e l y m e a s u r e d intervals fell t h o s e cruel w o r d s : "Attention, c o m p a n y ! . . . S h o u l d e r a r m s ! . . . R e a d y ! . . . A i m ! . . . F i r e ! " F a r q u h a r d i v e d — d i v e d a s deeply a s h e c o u l d . T h e water r o a r e d in his e a r s like the voice of N i a g a r a , yet h e h e a r d the dulled t h u n d e r of the volley a n d , rising a g a i n toward the s u r f a c e , m e t s h i n i n g bits of m e t a l , singularly flatt e n e d , oscillating slowly d o w n w a r d . S o m e of t h e m t o u c h e d h i m o n the f a c e a n d h a n d s , then fell away, c o n t i n u i n g their d e s c e n t . O n e l o d g e d b e t w e e n his collar a n d n e c k ; it w a s u n c o m f o r t a b l y w a r m a n d h e s n a t c h e d it o u t . A s h e rose to the s u r f a c e , g a s p i n g for b r e a t h , h e s a w t h a t h e h a d b e e n a long time u n d e r water; h e w a s p e r c e p t i b l y farther d o w n s t r e a m — n e a r e r to safety. T h e soldiers h a d a l m o s t finished r e l o a d i n g ; the m e t a l r a m r o d s flashed all at o n c e in the s u n s h i n e a s they were d r a w n from the b a r r e l s , t u r n e d in the air, a n d thrust into their s o c k e t s . T h e two s e n t i n e l s fired a g a i n , i n d e p e n dently a n d ineffectually. T h e h u n t e d m a n s a w all this over his s h o u l d e r ; h e w a s n o w s w i m m i n g vigorously with the c u r r e n t . H i s b r a i n w a s a s e n e r g e t i c a s his a r m s a n d l e g s ; h e thought with the rapidity of lightning. " T h e officer," he r e a s o n e d , "will not m a k e that m a r t i n e t ' s error a s e c o n d t i m e . It is a s e a s y to d o d g e a volley a s a s i n g l e s h o t . H e h a s p r o b a b l y already given the c o m m a n d to fire at will. G o d h e l p m e , I c a n n o t d o d g e t h e m all!"

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An a p p a l l i n g p l a s h within two yards of him w a s followed by a l o u d , r u s h i n g s o u n d , diminuendo, which s e e m e d to travel b a c k t h r o u g h the air to the fort a n d died in a n explosion which stirred the very river to its d e e p s ! A rising sheet of water curved over h i m , fell d o w n u p o n h i m , b l i n d e d h i m , s t r a n g l e d him! T h e c a n n o n h a d taken a h a n d in the g a m e . A s h e s h o o k his h e a d free from the c o m m o t i o n of the smitten water he h e a r d the deflected shot h u m m i n g t h r o u g h the air a h e a d , a n d in a n instant it w a s c r a c k i n g a n d s m a s h i n g the b r a n c h e s in the forest beyond. " T h e y will not do that a g a i n , " h e t h o u g h t ; "the next time they will u s e a c h a r g e of g r a p e . 4 I m u s t keep my eye u p o n the g u n ; the s m o k e will a p p r i s e m e — t h e report arrives too late; it lags b e h i n d the m i s s i l e . T h a t is a g o o d gun." S u d d e n l y h e felt h i m s e l f whirled r o u n d a n d r o u n d — s p i n n i n g like a t o p . T h e water, the b a n k s , the forests, the now distant b r i d g e , fort a n d m e n — a l l were c o m m i n g l e d a n d blurred. O b j e c t s were r e p r e s e n t e d by their colors only; circular horizontal streaks of c o l o r — t h a t w a s all h e s a w . H e h a d b e e n c a u g h t in a vortex a n d w a s b e i n g whirled o n with a velocity of a d v a n c e a n d gyration that m a d e him giddy a n d sick. In a few m o m e n t s he w a s flung u p o n the gravel at the foot of the left b a n k of the s t r e a m — t h e s o u t h e r n b a n k — a n d b e h i n d a p r o j e c t i n g point w h i c h c o n c e a l e d him from his e n e m i e s . T h e s u d den arrest of his m o t i o n , the a b r a s i o n of o n e of his h a n d s on the gravel, restored h i m , a n d h e wept with delight. H e d u g his fingers into the s a n d , threw it over h i m s e l f in h a n d f u l s a n d audibly b l e s s e d it. It l o o k e d like diam o n d s , r u b i e s , e m e r a l d s ; h e c o u l d think of n o t h i n g beautiful which it did not r e s e m b l e . T h e trees u p o n the b a n k were giant g a r d e n p l a n t s ; h e n o t e d a definite order in their a r r a n g e m e n t , i n h a l e d the f r a g r a n c e of their b l o o m s . A s t r a n g e , r o s e a t e light s h o n e t h r o u g h the s p a c e s a m o n g their trunks a n d the wind m a d e in their b r a n c h e s the m u s i c of a e o l i a n h a r p s . 5 H e h a d n o wish to perfect his e s c a p e — w a s c o n t e n t to r e m a i n in that e n c h a n t i n g spot until retaken. A whiz a n d rattle of g r a p e s h o t a m o n g the b r a n c h e s high a b o v e his h e a d r o u s e d him from his d r e a m . T h e baffled c a n n o n e e r h a d fired him a r a n d o m farewell. H e s p r a n g to his feet, r u s h e d u p the s l o p i n g b a n k , a n d p l u n g e d into the forest. All that day h e traveled, laying his c o u r s e by the r o u n d i n g s u n . T h e forest s e e m e d i n t e r m i n a b l e ; n o w h e r e did he discover a b r e a k in it, not even a woodm a n ' s road. H e h a d not known that h e lived in s o wild a region. T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g u n c a n n y in the revelation. By nightfall he w a s f a t i g u e d , footsore, f a m i s h i n g . T h e t h o u g h t of his wife a n d children u r g e d him on. At last he f o u n d a r o a d which led him in w h a t h e knew to b e the right direction. It w a s a s wide a n d straight a s a city street, yet it s e e m e d untraveled. N o fields b o r d e r e d it, n o dwelling a n y w h e r e . N o t s o m u c h a s the barking of a d o g s u g g e s t e d h u m a n h a b i t a t i o n . T h e b l a c k b o d i e s of the trees f o r m e d a straight wall o n both s i d e s , t e r m i n a t i n g o n the horizon in a point, like a d i a g r a m in a l e s s o n in p e r s p e c t i v e . O v e r h e a d , a s he looked u p through this rift in the w o o d , s h o n e great g o l d e n stars looking unfamiliar a n d g r o u p e d in s t r a n g e c o n s t e l l a t i o n s . H e w a s s u r e they were a r r a n g e d in s o m e order which h a d a secret a n d malign s i g n i f i c a n c e . T h e 4. G r a p e s h o t , a cluster of small iron balls u s e d as a cannon charge. 5. S t r i n g e d i n s t r u m e n t s a c t i v a t e d by the w i n d

( A e o l u s w a s t h e k e e p e r o f t h e w i n d s in c l a s s i c a l mythology).

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wood on either side w a s full of singular n o i s e s , a m o n g w h i c h — o n c e , twice, a n d a g a i n — h e distinctly h e a r d w h i s p e r s in an u n k n o w n t o n g u e . H i s n e c k w a s in pain a n d lifting his h a n d to it he f o u n d it horribly swollen. H e knew that it h a d a circle of black w h e r e the rope h a d b r u i s e d it. H i s eyes felt c o n g e s t e d ; h e c o u l d n o longer c l o s e t h e m . His t o n g u e w a s swollen with thirst; h e relieved its fever by thrusting it forward from b e t w e e n his teeth into the cold air. H o w softly the turf h a d c a r p e t e d the u n t r a v e l e d a v e n u e — he c o u l d n o longer feel the roadway b e n e a t h his feet! D o u b t l e s s , d e s p i t e his suffering, he h a d fallen a s l e e p while walking, for now he s e e s a n o t h e r s c e n e — p e r h a p s he has merely r e c o v e r e d from a deliri u m . H e s t a n d s at the g a t e of his own h o m e . All is a s h e left it, a n d all bright a n d beautiful in the m o r n i n g s u n s h i n e . H e m u s t have traveled the entire night. As he p u s h e s o p e n the gate a n d p a s s e s u p the wide white walk, h e s e e s a flutter of f e m a l e g a r m e n t s ; his wife, looking fresh a n d cool a n d s w e e t , s t e p s d o w n from the v e r a n d a to m e e t h i m . At the b o t t o m of the s t e p s s h e s t a n d s waiting, with a s m i l e of ineffable joy, a n a t t i t u d e of m a t c h less g r a c e a n d dignity. A h , how beautiful she is! H e s p r i n g s forward with e x t e n d e d a r m s . As he is a b o u t to c l a s p her he feels a s t u n n i n g blow u p o n the b a c k of the neck; a blinding white light blazes all a b o u t him with a s o u n d like the s h o c k of a c a n n o n — t h e n all is d a r k n e s s a n d s i l e n c e ! Peyton F a r q u h a r w a s d e a d ; his body, with a b r o k e n n e c k , s w u n g gently from side to side b e n e a t h the t i m b e r s of the Owl C r e e k bridge. 1890,1891

NATIVE AMERICAN ORATORY A m e r i c a n I n d i a n o r a t o r y m a r k e d significant o c c a s i o n s in t h e c a l e n d r i c a l a n d c e r e m o n i a l year a n d r e s p o n d e d to n o t a b l e e v e n t s in daily life. S p e e c h e s m i g h t b e given to g r e e t a v i c t o r i o u s war party or, a s in t h e c a s e of H o p i c h a n t s , a d d r e s s e d to t h e p e o p l e of the village to m o b i l i z e p a r t i c i p a t i o n in a h o u s e - b u i l d i n g p r o j e c t . T o d a y , traditional rhetorical p r a c t i c e s c o n t i n u e to g o v e r n f o r m a l s p e e c h e s given, for e x a m p l e , to d e d i c a t e a n e w local fish h a t c h e r y or g a m i n g c a s i n o or to b l e s s a m u s e u m exhibit of I n d i a n art a n d c r a f t s w o r k . W h i l e c u l t u r a l d i f f e r e n c e s a m o n g tribal g r o u p s m a k e it difficult to g e n e r a l i z e a b o u t native o r a t o r i c a l p r a c t i c e s , it is fair to say that t h e c o n v e n t i o n s of A m e r i c a n I n d i a n oratory p l a c e it s o m e w h e r e b e t w e e n t h e c a s u a l n e s s of i n d i g e n o u s n a r r a t i v e g e n r e s like s t o r i e s or j o k e s a n d t h e highy f o r m a l i z e d d i c t i o n of s o m e s o n g g e n r e s . In o r a t o r i c a l p e r f o r m a n c e , t h e s p e a k e r is m o r e c o n s t r a i n e d in t h e c h o i c e of v o c a b u l a r y , p r o n u n c i a t i o n , p a u s e s , a n d r e p e t i t i o n s t h a n is a storyteller b u t h a s far m o r e f r e e d o m o f c h o i c e t h a n s i n g e r s of ritual or c e r e m o n i a l s o n g s . F o r all of t h a t , it m u s t a g a i n b e n o t e d that o r a t o r i c a l p r a c t i c e s — l i k e the p r a c t i c e s of traditional storytelling or s i n g i n g — d i f f e r c o n s i d e r a b l y from g r o u p to g r o u p . T h e native oratory d e s c r i b e d a b o v e is I n d i a n s p e e c h for I n d i a n c o m m u n i t i e s . B u t t h e r e is little textual r e c o r d of this s p e e c h . W h a t t h e r e is m u c h of is I n d i a n s p e e c h for (and to) w h i t e s w h o p r o v o k e d o c c a s i o n s for oratory a n d t h e n t r a n s c r i b e d in t r a n s lation w h a t they t h o u g h t the native p e r s o n h a d s a i d . O f t e n it is i m p o s s i b l e to tell h o w a c c u r a t e t h e s e E n g l i s h v e r s i o n s a r e . W e d o k n o w that C h i e f S e a t t h l ' s c e l e b r a t e d

C O C H I S E

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s p e e c h of 1 8 5 5 is largely f a b r i c a t e d . F o r t h e s p e e c h e s i n c l u d e d h e r e , m a t e r i a l s exist to s u g g e s t that e a c h text is fairly c l o s e to w h a t m u s t h a v e b e e n s a i d by t h e s p e a k e r in his o w n N a t i v e A m e r i c a n l a n g u a g e , or in s o m e c a s e s in E n g l i s h or S p a n i s h . T h e g r e a t t h e m e of r e c o r d e d A m e r i c a n I n d i a n oratory is land, f r o m J o h n S m i t h ' s 1 6 0 9 version of a s p e e c h by the A l g o n q u i n l e a d e r P o w h a t a n to t h e p r e s e n t . A s t h e settlers a d v a n c e d a n d c l a i m e d " o w n e r s h i p " of A m e r i c a from its original i n h a b i t a n t s , a g a i n a n d a g a i n t h e red p e o p l e a n d the white m e t to d i s c u s s c o n d i t i o n s o f c e s s i o n a n d t h e n , w h e n a l m o s t all h a d b e e n c e d e d , c o n d i t i o n s of survival. F o r n a t i v e p e o p l e s , t h e s e s p e e c h e s a r e traditional r e s p o n s e s to u n t r a d i t i o n a l o c c a s i o n s , a t t e m p t s to e m p l o y old a n d familiar c u l t u r e - s p e c i f i c p r a c t i c e s to d e a l with t h e n e w a n d u n f a m i l i a r d e m a n d s of a n o t h e r c u l t u r e . T h e s e l e c t i o n s t h a t follow reflect s o m e v a r i e t i e s of native oratory from 1 8 6 5 to 1 9 1 4 , a p e r i o d of i n t e n s e p r e s s u r e o n t h e I n d i a n s by s e t t l e r s in fervent p u r s u i t of their " m a n i f e s t d e s t i n y . "

COCHISE c. 1 8 1 2 - 1 8 7 4 C o c h i s e w a s a C h i r i c a h u a A p a c h e leader, g r a n d s o n of a r e n o w n e d warrior k n o w n a s C u c h i l l o N e g r o , or B l a c k K n i f e , a n d son-in-law to M a n g a s C o l o r a d a s , a l e a d e r of the M i m b r e n o A p a c h e (a s u b d i v i s i o n of the C h i r i c a h u a , itself o n e of f o u r m a i n A p a c h e g r o u p s , a l o n g with t h e M e s c a l e r o , the L i p a n , a n d t h e J i c a r i l l a ) . R e l a t i v e n e w c o m e r s to the S o u t h w e s t , arriving p r o b a b l y n o m o r e t h a n five or six h u n d r e d y e a r s a g o , t h e A p a c h e lived by r a i d i n g s h e e p , c a t t l e , a n d h o r s e s from their n e i g h b o r s — t h e P u e b l o p e o p l e s , the M e x i c a n s , a n d after t h e e n d of t h e M e x i c a n W a r in 1 8 4 8 , t h e A m e r i c a n s . W i t h t h e i n c r e a s e d m o v e m e n t into A p a c h e l a n d s by the e v e r - a d v a n c i n g w h i t e s , a series of "wars" between the settlers and the various A p a c h e b a n d s broke out a r o u n d 1 8 6 0 . C o c h i s e first c a m e into conflict with t h e w h i t e s in 1 8 6 1 , w h e n h e w a s a c c u s e d by L i e u t e n a n t G e o r g e B a s c o m , t h e officer in c h a r g e o f the g a r r i s o n at F o r t B u c h a n a n , in p r e s e n t - d a y A r i z o n a , of s t e a l i n g farm a n i m a l s . C o c h i s e p r o t e s t e d his i n n o c e n c e ; still, B a s c o m a t t e m p t e d to a r r e s t h i m . C o c h i s e r e s i s t e d , w a s w o u n d e d , b u t m a n a g e d to e s c a p e . T h u s b e g a n t h e A p a c h e w a r s that w o u l d last until G e r o n i m o ' s s u r r e n d e r in 1 8 8 6 . C o c h i s e a n d his followers s u c c e s s f u l l y r e s i s t e d t h e g o v e r n m e n t s o l d i e r s , r e d u c e d in n u m b e r in t h e S o u t h w e s t d u r i n g t h e Civil W a r , to t h e e x t e n t that A p a c h e r a i d s t h r e a t e n e d to drive b o t h M e x i c a n s a n d E u r o - A m e r i c a n s o u t of A r i z o n a . S o m e y e a r s after t h e e n d of t h e Civil W a r , in 1 8 7 1 , C o l o n e l G e o r g e C r o o k , a n e x p e r i e n c e d I n d i a n fighter, a s s u m e d c o m m a n d of the a r m y in A r i z o n a . E m p l o y i n g a n u m b e r of native s c o u t s , C r o o k m a n a g e d to t r a c k C o c h i s e d o w n a n d p e r s u a d e h i m to n e g o t i a t e a p e a c e s e t t l e m e n t . B u t w h e n C o c h i s e l e a r n e d t h a t his p e o p l e w e r e to b e p l a c e d o n a h a r s h a n d d i s m a l r e s e r v a t i o n at Fort T u l a r o s a , N e w M e x i c o , h e r e n o u n c e d t h e a g r e e m e n t . G e n e r a l Oliver H o w a r d , a n o t h e r s e a s o n e d I n d i a n fighter, w a s t h e n s e n t a s Presid e n t G r a n t ' s envoy to t h e A p a c h e . H o w a r d e n l i s t e d t h e aid of T h o m a s J e f f o r d s (or J e f f e r d s ) , a f o r m e r c a p t a i n of t h e C a l i f o r n i a v o l u n t e e r cavalry w h o h a d e s t a b l i s h e d a f r i e n d s h i p with C o c h i s e , to a r r a n g e a m e e t i n g in 1 8 7 2 b e t w e e n C o c h i s e a n d G e n e r a l G o r d o n G r a n g e r , c o m m a n d e r of t h e district of N e w M e x i c o . After e l e v e n d a y s of n e g o t i a t i o n s , it w a s a g r e e d t h a t C o c h i s e a n d his p e o p l e m i g h t live o n a r e s e r v a t i o n a l o n g A p a c h e P a s s , in s o u t h e a s t e r n A r i z o n a , w h e r e J e f f o r d s w o u l d s e r v e a s I n d i a n agent. It w a s d u r i n g t h e s e n e g o t i a t i o n s that C o c h i s e m a d e a s p e e c h to t h e A m e r i c a n s t h a t

1 4 6 2

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C O C H I S E

h a s s i n c e b e e n a n t h o l o g i z e d ( t h o u g h incorrectly d a t e d ) in three i m p o r t a n t c o l l e c t i o n s of N a t i v e A m e r i c a n oratory. O n e of t h e s e a c c o u n t s , all of w h i c h are b a s e d o n A. N . Ellis's Recollections of an Interview with Cochise (1913), mentions another account, " p r e s u m a b l y of t h e s a m e o c c a s i o n , by H e n r y S t u a r t T u r r i l l , " a retired brigadier g e n e r a l of t h e U . S . Army, w h o , a s a y o u n g soldier, w a s p r e s e n t at the parley b e t w e e n C o c h i s e , Granger, and Jeffords. In an extraordinary talk c a l l e d "A V a n i s h e d R a c e of A b o r i g i n a l F o u n d e r s , " delivered o n F e b r u a r y 14, 1 9 0 7 , to t h e N e w York S o c i e t y of t h e F o u n d e r s a n d P a t r i o t s of A m e r i c a , at the H o t e l M a n h a t t a n , Turrill gives t h e history of the A p a c h e s a n d t h e S o u t h w e s t a n d calls C o c h i s e " t h e s t r o n g e s t I n d i a n I h a d ever s e e n " — n o small p r a i s e i n a s m u c h a s Turrill h a d e n c o u n t e r e d the e m i n e n t L a k o t a warriors R e d C l o u d , S p o t ted Tail, a n d G a l l , a n d the i l l u s t r i o u s C h i e f J o s e p h of the N e z P e r c e . M u c h a s h e a d m i r e d t h e s e m e n , s a i d Turrill, "I d o not h e s i t a t e in n a m i n g C o c h i s e a s t h e g r e a t e s t I n d i a n that I have ever m e t . " W h i l e he a d m i t s that he c a n d o no m o r e than a t t e m p t to r e c r e a t e C o c h i s e ' s s p e e c h "after a l a p s e of thirty-five y e a r s , " Turrill offers t h e a c c o u n t of a w i t n e s s a w a r e of the c o m p l e x i t y of t h e c o m m u n i c a t i o n he w a s h e a r i n g . C o c h i s e , a c c o r d i n g to Turrill, b e g a n in A p a c h e a n d then shifted to S p a n i s h , in w h i c h he w a s q u i t e fluent. W h i l e the A. N. Ellis version c o n v e n t i o n a l l y a n t h o l o g i z e d is m o r e " p o e t i c " t h a n T u r r i l l ' s , Turrill c o n v e y s m o r e s h a r p l y t h e historical a n d political b a s i s of C o c h i s e ' s b a r g a i n with " y o u r g r e a t father in W a s h i n g t o n . "

[I am alone] 1 T h i s for a very long time h a s b e e n the h o m e of my p e o p l e ; they c a m e from the d a r k n e s s , few in n u m b e r s a n d f e e b l e . T h e c o u n t r y w a s held by a m u c h stronger a n d m o r e n u m e r o u s p e o p l e , a n d from their s t o n e h o u s e s 2 we were quickly driven. W e were a h u n t i n g p e o p l e , living o n the a n i m a l s that w e c o u l d kill. W e c a m e to t h e s e m o u n t a i n s a b o u t u s ; no o n e lived h e r e , a n d s o we took t h e m for our h o m e a n d country. H e r e we grew from the first feeble b a n d to be a great p e o p l e , a n d covered the w h o l e c o u n t r y a s the c l o u d s cover the m o u n t a i n s . M a n y p e o p l e c a m e to our country. First the S p a n i s h , with their h o r s e s a n d their iron shirts, their long k n i v e s 1 a n d g u n s , great w o n d e r s to my s i m p l e p e o p l e . W e fought s o m e , but they never tried to drive us from our h o m e s in t h e s e m o u n t a i n s . After m a n y years the S p a n i s h soldiers w e r e driven away a n d the M e x i c a n ruled the land. With t h e s e little wars c a m e , but we were now a s t r o n g p e o p l e a n d we did not fear t h e m . At last in my youth c a m e the white m a n , your p e o p l e . U n d e r the c o u n s e l s of my grandfather, w h o h a d for a very long time b e e n the h e a d of the A p a c h e s , they were received with f r i e n d s h i p . 4 S o o n their n u m b e r s i n c r e a s e d a n d m a n y p a s s e d through my country to the great w a t e r s of the s e t t i n g s u n . s Y o u r soldiers 1.

From

Brigadier General

Henry Stuart

"A V a n i s h e d R a c e of Aboriginal

Turrill,

Founders,"address

delivered before the New York Society of the O r d e r

house" people, according were

indeed

Pueblo

to a r c h a e o l o g i c a l

the ancestors

of the

data,

contemporary

peoples.

ol t h e F o u n d e r s a n d P a t r i o t s o f A m e r i c a < 1 9 0 7 ) .

3.

2.

A m e r i c a s hy t h e S p a n i a r d s . " I r o n s h i r t s " : t h e b r e a s t

In k e e p i n g w i t h t h e e a r l y - 2 ( ) t h - c e n t u r y

that the most substantial

archaeological

belief

ruins

of

I.e., s w o r d s . T h e h o r s e w a s i n t r o d u c e d

armor of the

the Southwest

w e r e r e m n a n t s ol t h e A z t e c

civili-

4.

zation,

believed

stone

Negro,

Turrill

the

people

of the

h o u s e s w e r e A z t e c s . T h i s belief w a s g u i d e d by disbelief

that

the

ancestors

of the

Pueblo

peoples

If

the

"friendship"

whites s e e m s purely 5.

the

Spanish.

"grandfather"

any

in

referred on

his

to part

is

Cuchillo

toward

the

invented;

I . e . , t h e P a c i f i c O c e a n . C o c h i s e is r e f e r r i n g t o

n a t i v e to the region c o u l d h a v e b e e n t h e a r c h i t e c t s

t h e w e s t w a r d m i g r a t i o n in t h e w a k e o f t h e d i s c o v -

of such substantial

er)' o f g o l d i n C a l i f o r n i a i n

constructions.

But the

"stone

1848.

C H A R L O T

/

1463

c a m e a n d their strong h o u s e s 6 were all through my country. I received favors from your p e o p l e a n d did all that I c o u l d in return a n d we lived at p e a c e . At last your soldiers did m e a very great w r o n g , 7 a n d I a n d my w h o l e p e o p l e went to war with t h e m . At first we were s u c c e s s f u l a n d your soldiers were driven away a n d your p e o p l e killed a n d we again p o s s e s s e d our land. S o o n m a n y soldiers c a m e from the north a n d from the west, a n d my p e o p l e were driven to the m o u n t a i n hiding p l a c e s ; but t h e s e did not protect u s , a n d s o o n my p e o p l e were flying from o n e m o u n t a i n to a n o t h e r , driven by the soldiers, even a s the wind is now driving the c l o u d s . I have fought long a n d a s b e s t I c o u l d a g a i n s t y o u . I have destroyed m a n y of your p e o p l e , but where I have destroyed o n e white m a n m a n y have c o m e in his p l a c e ; but w h e r e a n Indian has b e e n killed, there h a s b e e n n o n e to c o m e in his p l a c e , so that the great p e o p l e that w e l c o m e d you with a c t s of k i n d n e s s to this land are now b u t a feeble b a n d that fly before your soldiers a s the deer b e f o r e the hunter, a n d m u s t all perish if this war c o n t i n u e s . I have c o m e to you, not from any love for you or for your great father in W a s h i n g t o n , or from any regard for his or your w i s h e s , but a s a c o n q u e r e d chief, to try to save alive the few p e o p l e that still r e m a i n to m e . I a m the last of my family, a family that for very m a n y years have b e e n the leaders of this p e o p l e , a n d o n m e d e p e n d s their future, w h e t h e r they shall utterly v a n i s h from the land or that a small r e m n a n t remain for a few years to s e e the s u n rise over t h e s e m o u n t a i n s , their h o m e . I here p l e d g e my word, a word that h a s never b e e n b r o k e n , that if your great father will set a s i d e a part of my own country, w h e r e I a n d my little b a n d c a n live, we will r e m a i n at p e a c e with your p e o p l e forever. If from his a b u n d a n c e h e will give food for my w o m e n a n d children, w h o s e p r o t e c t o r s his soldiers have killed, with b l a n k e t s to cover their n a k e d n e s s , I will receive t h e m with g r a t i t u d e . If not, I will do my b e s t to feed a n d clothe t h e m , in p e a c e with the white m a n . I have s p o k e n . 1907

1872

6. T h e military forts e s t a b l i s h e d t h r o u g h o u t t h e Southwest. 7. T h i s

is

almost

surely

Lt.

George

a t t e m p t t o a r r e s t C o c h i s e in s p i t e o f h i s p r o t e s t a tion of i n n o c e n c e .

Bascom's

CHARLOT c. 1 8 3 1 - 1 9 0 0 S l e m h a k k a h , or B e a r C l a w , k n o w n a s C h a r i o t , s u c c e e d e d his father a s a p r i n c i p a l c h i e f of t h e Kalispel b a n d of the F l a t h e a d I n d i a n s , w h o s e traditional h o m e l a n d s w e r e in p r e s e n t - d a y I d a h o , n o r t h w e s t M o n t a n a , a n d n o r t h e a s t W a s h i n g t o n . In 1 8 5 5 , C h a r i o t ' s f a t h e r s i g n e d a treaty with the federal g o v e r n m e n t c e d i n g a large portion of F l a t h e a d l a n d on t h e c o n d i t i o n that t h e Bitterroot Valley in w e s t e r n M o n t a n a b e the site of his p e o p l e ' s r e s e r v a t i o n . T h e g o v e r n m e n t , however, a s s i g n e d t h e m land e l s e w h e r e . S o m e F l a t h e a d p e o p l e a g r e e d to s e t t l e o n t h e K a l i s p e l a n d Colville r e s e r v a t i o n s in W a s h i n g t o n a n d the J o c k o reservation in M o n t a n a . C h a r i o t r e f u s e d a n d c o n t i n u e d to live with his p e o p l e in the B i t t e r r o o t r e g i o n . In 1 8 7 2 , u n d e r gov-

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ernment pressure, s o m e of the Bitterroot Kalispels moved to the J o c k o reservation, b u t C h a r i o t c o n t i n u e d to resist nonviolently. F e d e r a l a g e n t s t h e n d e c l a r e d t h a t A r l e e , a m o r e c o o p e r a t i v e s u b c h i e f , w o u l d n o w b e t h e official r e p r e s e n t a t i v e o f t h e K a l i s p e l p e o p l e . A l t h o u g h Arlee w a s a b l e to l e a d s o m e s e v e n t y p e o p l e to J o c k o , several h u n d r e d K a l i s p e l s r e m a i n e d with C h a r i o t in their t r a d i t i o n a l h o m e l a n d s . C h a r i o t h e l d o u t p e a c e f u l l y a g a i n s t t h e w h i t e s until 1 8 9 0 , w h e n t r o o p s w e r e s e n t in to force t h e last of h i s b a n d o n t o t h e J o c k o r e s e r v a t i o n , w h e r e C h a r i o t d i e d t e n y e a r s later. In 1 8 7 6 , it w a s p r o p o s e d t h a t r e s e r v a t i o n I n d i a n s in M o n t a n a b e r e q u i r e d to p a y taxes. C h a r i o t s p o k e to this i s s u e , a n d his s p e e c h , a s t r o n g c o n d e m n a t i o n o f t h e w h i t e p e o p l e ' s g r e e d , w a s r e p o r t e d in t h e Missoula ( M o n t a n a ) Missoulian. T h e text b e l o w is the entirety o f C h a r i o t ' s s p e e c h ( t r a n s l a t e d , with w h a t a c c u r a c y it is n o t p o s s i b l e to say, from t h e S a l i s h l a n g u a g e ) a s r e p o r t e d u n d e r t h e h e a d l i n e " I n d i a n T a x a t i o n , R e c e n t S p e e c h of a F l a t h e a d C h i e f P r e s e n t i n g t h e Q u e s t i o n from a n I n d i a n S t a n d p o i n t . " T h a t this powerful c r i t i q u e o f the w h i t e p e o p l e ' s ways f o u n d its way into p r i n t on t h e w e s t e r n frontier in t h e y e a r o f t h e c e n t e n n i a l c e l e b r a t i o n of A m e r i c a n i n d e p e n d e n c e ( a n d t w o m o n t h s s h o r t of t h e d e f e a t o f C u s t e r o n t h e Little B i g h o r n ) is in itself extraordinary.

[He has filled graves with our bones] 1 Yes, my p e o p l e , the white m a n w a n t s u s to pay h i m . H e c o m e s in his intent, a n d says w e m u s t p a y h i m — p a y h i m for o u r o w n — f o r t h e things w e have from o u r G o d a n d o u r forefathers; for things h e never o w n e d , a n d never g a v e u s . W h a t law or right is that? W h a t s h a m e or w h a t charity? T h e Indian says that a w o m a n is m o r e s h a m e l e s s t h a n a m a n ; 2 b u t t h e white m a n h a s less s h a m e than o u r w o m e n . S i n c e o u r forefathers first b e h e l d h i m , m o r e t h a n seven t i m e s ten winters have s n o w e d a n d m e l t e d . M o s t of t h e m like t h o s e s n o w s have dissolved away. T h e i r spirits went whither they c a m e ; h i s , they say, g o there t o o . D o they m e e t a n d s e e u s h e r e [ ? ] C a n h e b l u s h b e f o r e his M a k e r , or is h e forever d e a d [ ? ] Is his prayer his p r o m i s e — a trust of the wind? Is it a s o u n d without s e n s e ? Is it a thing w h o s e life is a foul thing? A n d is h e not foul? H e h a s filled graves with our b o n e s . H i s h o r s e s , his c a t t l e , his s h e e p , his m e n , his w o m e n have a rot. D o e s not his b r e a t h , his g u m s , stink? H i s j a w s lose their teeth, a n d h e s t a m p s t h e m with false o n e s ; yet h e is not a s h a m e d . N o , n o ; his c o u r s e is d e s t r u c t i o n ; h e spoils w h a t t h e Spirit w h o g a v e u s this c o u n t r y m a d e beautiful a n d c l e a n . B u t that is n o t e n o u g h ; h e w a n t s u s to p a y h i m b e s i d e s his e n s l a v i n g o u r country. Yes, a n d o u r p e o p l e , b e s i d e s , that d e g r a d a t i o n of a tribe w h o never were his e n e m i e s . W h a t is h e ? W h o sent h i m here? W e were h a p p y w h e n h e first c a m e ; s i n c e then w e often s a w h i m , always h e a r d h i m a n d o f h i m . W e first t h o u g h t h e c a m e from t h e light; 3 b u t h e c o m e s like t h e d u s k of t h e e v e n i n g now, not like t h e d a w n of the m o r n i n g . H e c o m e s like a day that h a s p a s s e d , a n d night e n t e r s our future with h i m . T o take a n d to lie s h o u l d b e b u r n t o n his f o r e h e a d , a s h e b u r n s t h e s i d e s of my stolen h o r s e s with his o w n n a m e . H a d H e a v e n ' s C h i e f b u r n t h i m with 1. F r o m t h e Missoula (Montana) Missoulian (1876). 2. A s t a t e m e n t fairly typical o f m a l e - c e n t e r e d cultures, Indian a n d n o n - I n d i a n , vaguely parallel to

s u c h W e s t e r n proverbial w i s d o m a s "Vanity thy n a m e is w o m a n . " 3. I . e . , f r o m t h e e a s t , w h e r e t h e s u n r i s e s .

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s o m e mark'' to refuse him, we might have r e f u s e d him[.] N o ; we did not refuse him in his w e a k n e s s ; in his poverty we fed, we c h e r i s h e d h i m — y e s , befriended him, a n d s h o w e d [him] the fords a n d defiles of our l a n d s . Yet we did think his f a c e w a s c o n c e a l e d with hair, a n d that h e often s m i l e d like a rabbit in his own b e a r d . A long-tailed, skulking thing, fond of flat l a n d s , a n d soft g r a s s a n d w o o d s . D i d he not feast u s with our own cattle, o n our own land, yes, on o u r own plain by the cold spring? D i d he not invite o u r h a n d s to his p a p e r s ; 5 did he not p r o m i s e before the s u n , a n d before the eye that p u t fire in it, 6 a n d to the n a m e of b o t h , a n d in the n a m e of his own C h i e f , 7 p r o m i s e u s what h e p r o m i s e d — t o give u s what h e h a s not given; to do w h a t h e k n e w h e would never do. N o w , b e c a u s e h e lied, a n d b e c a u s e h e yet lies, without f r i e n d s h i p , m a n h o o d , j u s t i c e , or charity, he w a n t s u s to give him m o n e y — p a y him m o r e . W h e n shall h e b e satisfied? A roving s k u l k , 8 first; a n a t u r a l liar, next; a n d , withal, a m u r d e r e r , a tyrant. T o confirm his p u r p o s e ; to m a k e the trees a n d s t o n e s a n d his own p e o p l e hear him, h e w h i s p e r s soldiers, lock h o u s e s a n d iron c h a i n s . 9 M y p e o p l e , we are p o o r ; we are f a t h e r l e s s . T h e white m a n fathers this d o o m — y e s , this c u r s e on u s a n d on the few that m a y yet s e e a few days m o r e . H e , the c a u s e of our ruin, is his own s n a k e , which h e says stole on his m o t h e r in her own country to lie to her.' H e says his story is that m a n w a s rejected a n d c a s t off. W h y did we not reject him forever? H e says o n e of his virgins h a d a son nailed to d e a t h on two c r o s s sticks to save h i m . W e r e all of t h e m d e a d then w h e n that y o u n g m a n died, we would b e all safe n o w a n d o u r c o u n t r y our o w n . B u t h e lives to p e r s i s t ; yes, the rascal is a l s o a n u n s a t i s f i e d b e g g a r , a n d his h a n g m a n a n d s w i n e 2 follow his walk. Pay h i m m o n e y ! D i d he i n q u i r e , h o w ? N o , n o ; his m e a n n e s s r o p e s his charity, his avarice wives* his envy, his r a c e b r e e d s to extort. D i d h e s p e a k at all like a friend? H e saw a few h o r s e s a n d s o m e c o w s , a n d m a n y tens of rails, 4 with the few of u s that own t h e m . H i s envy thereon baited to the quick. W h y t h u s ? B e c a u s e h e h i m s e l f says he is in a big debt, a n d w a n t s u s to help him pay it. H i s avarice p u t him in d e b t , a n d he w a n t s u s to pay him for it a n d b e his fools. D i d he a s k h o w m a n y a helpless widow, how m a n y a fatherless child, how m a n y a blind a n d n a k e d thing fare a little of that little w e have[?] D i d h e — i n a destroying night w h e n the m o u n t a i n s a n d the firmaments [sic] p u t their f a c e s t o g e t h e r to freeze u s — d i d h e inquire if we h a d a s p a r e rag of a blanket to save his lost a n d perishing s t e p s to our fires? N o , n o ; cold h e is, you know, a n d m e r c i l e s s . F o u r times in o n e shivering night I last winter k n e w the old one-eyed I n d i a n , K e n e t h [sic], that gray m a n of full seven t e n s of winters, w a s r e f u s e d shelter 4. R e f e r e n c e s both to the E u r o - A m e r i c a n practice of b r a n d i n g horses a n d cattle a n d , p e r h a p s , to C a i n , w h o bore a m a r k that w o u l d identify h i m a s a m u r d e r e r (of his brother A b e l ) . 5. A s k that the F l a t h e a d s m a k e their m a r k o n treaties. 6. P o s s i b l y a r e f e r e n c e to t h e G o d of G e n e s i s , w h o created the sun. 7. P r o b a b l y t h e p r e s i d e n t o f t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s , t h e " c h i e f of the whites. 8. O n e w h o " s k u l k e d " a b o u t I n d i a n l a n d s . In violation of treaties, settlers e n c r o a c h e d on Indian lands, and when the Native Americans retaliated, the state a n d / o r federal g o v e r n m e n t intervened to protect the settlers w h o were violating laws nego-

tiated a n d p a s s e d by that s a m e g o v e r n m e n t . 9. I.e., t h e w h i t e p e o p l e t h r e a t e n by h i n t i n g at t h e i n t e r v e n t i o n o f s o l d i e r s a n d a t i m p r i s o n m e n t in chains. 1. R e f e r e n c e t o t h e s t o r y o f E v e ' s t e m p t a t i o n i n the G a r d e n of E d e n . 2. Pig farming, a practice i n t r o d u c e d by the E u r o Americans, was apparently as strange and repugn a n t to s o m e A m e r i c a n I n d i a n s a s d e a t h by h a n g i n g , a l s o i n t r o d u c e d by Euro-Americans. M a n y f r o n t i e r t o w n s c o u n t e d a m o n g t h e i r first constructions a jailhouse and gallows. 3. 4.

I.e., is m a r r i e d to. " R o p e s " : c o n s t r a i n s . F e n c e rails.

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in four of the white m a n ' s h o u s e s on his way in that b a d night; yet the a g e d , blinded m a n w a s turned out to his f a t e . N o , n o ; h e is c o l d a n d m e r c i l e s s , h a u g h t y a n d overbearing. L o o k at him, a n d he looks at y o u — h o w ? H i s fishy eye s c a n s you a s the w h y - o o p s 5 do the shelled b l u e cock. H e is cold, a n d stealth a n d envy are with him, a n d fit him a s do his h a n d s a n d feet. W e o w e him nothing; he o w e s us m o r e than he will pay, yet says there is a G o d . I know a n o t h e r aged Indian, with his only d a u g h t e r a n d wife a l o n e in their lodge. H e h a d a few beaver skins a n d four or five p o o r h o r s e s — a l l he h a d . T h e light [? print u n c l e a r ] w a s b a d , a n d held every s t r e a m in thick i c e ; the earth w a s white; the stars b u r n e d nearer u s a s if to pity u s , but the m o r e they b u r n e d the m o r e stood the hair of the deer on e n d with cold, nor h e e d e d they the frost-bursting barks of the willows. T w o of the white m a n ' s p e o p l e c a m e to the l o d g e , lost a n d freezing pitifully. T h e y fared well inside that lodge. T h e old wife a n d only d a u g h t e r u n b o u n d a n d put [? print u n c l e a r ] off their frozen s h o e s ; gave t h e m new o n e s , a n d c r u s h e d s a g e bark rind to p u t therein to keep their feet s m o o t h a n d w a r m . S h e gave t h e m w a r m s o u p ; boiled d e e r m e a t , a n d boiled beaver. T h e y were s a v e d ; their safety r e t u r n e d to m a k e t h e m live. After a while they would not s t o p ; they would g o . T h e y went away. M i n d y o u ; r e m e m b e r well: at m i d n i g h t they r e t u r n e d . [ M ] u r d e r e d the old father, a n d his d a u g h t e r a n d her m o t h e r a s l e e p , took the beaver skins a n d h o r s e s , a n d left. Next day, the first a n d only Indian they met, a fine y o u n g m a n , they killed, put his body u n d e r the ice a n d rode away on his h o r s e . Yet, they say we are not g o o d . Will h e tell his own c r i m e s ? N o , n o ; his c r i m e s to u s are left u n t o l d . B u t the D e s o l a t o r bawls a n d cries the d a n g e r s of the country from u s , the few left of u s . O t h e r tribes kill a n d ravish his w o m e n a n d stake his children, a n d eat his s t e e r s , a n d he gives t h e m b l a n k e t s a n d s u g a r for it. W e , the p o o r F l a t h e a d s , w h o never troubled h i m , he w a n t s now to distress a n d m a k e poorer. I have m o r e to say, my p e o p l e ; b u t this m u c h I have s a i d , a n d c h o s e [close?] to hear your m i n d s a b o u t this p a y m e n t . W e never begot laws or rights to a s k it. His laws never gave u s a b l a d e nor a t r e e , nor a d u c k ; nor a g r o u s e , nor a trout. N o ; like the wolverine that steals your cache, how often d o e s h e c o m e : You know he c o m e s a s long a s h e lives, a n d t a k e s m o r e a n d m o r e , a n d dirties what he leaves. 1876

5.

U n i d e n t i f i e d , b u t p r o b a b l y a S a l i s h w o r d for a n a n i m a l that p r e y s o n t h e b l u e c o c k .

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SARAH M O R G A N BRYAN 1836-1919

PIATT

T h e c a s e for a n d a g a i n s t S a r a h M o r g a n Bryan Piatt in her t i m e w a s m a d e in a n a n o n y m o u s Scribner's review of her b o o k of p o e m s Dramatic Persons and Moods, w h i c h a p p e a r e d in 1 8 8 0 . T h e reviewer o b s e r v e s that Piatt e x p e c t s m o r e of her a u d i e n c e than it could provide: S h e not only d e m a n d s an a p p r e h e n s i o n w h i c h is d e n i e d to the m a n y , b u t s h e d e m a n d s a l s o that they forget the l a n g u a g e w h i c h is n a t u r a l to t h e m , a n d learn t h e l a n g u a g e that is n a t u r a l to h e r — a primitive s p e e c h , s o to s p e a k , b e c a u s e it leaves s o m u c h to b e s u p p l i e d by intuition a n d i m a g i n a t i o n . It is w a y w a r d , a b r u p t , e n i g m a t i c , a n d prolific in i n n u e n d o e s , a n d q u e s t i o n s it n e g l e c t s to a n s w e r . T h i s q u o t a t i o n tells u s m u c h a b o u t Piatt's a p p r o a c h to poetry, a s well a s a great deal a b o u t the a s s u m p t i o n s , b i a s e s , a n d t a s t e of critics ( m o s t l y m a l e ) a n d , by i m p l i c a t i o n , the rather c o m p l i c a t i o n - f r e e v e r s e of m o r a l e b u i l d i n g t h a t c h a r a c t e r i z e d s o m u c h of A m e r i c a n poetry in the last t h r e e d e c a d e s of the n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r y . I n d e e d , p u b lished m o r e t h a n forty years b e f o r e T . S. Eliot's The Waste Land a p p e a r e d , t h e review j u s t c i t e d might have b e e n written in r e s p o n s e to a v o l u m e by Eliot, G e r t r u d e S t e i n , Ezra P o u n d , H. D . , or any n u m b e r of the g r o u p of A m e r i c a n p o e t s of the 1 9 2 0 s a n d 1 9 3 0 s w e n o w call high m o d e r n i s t s . T h e " a b r u p t , e n i g m a t i c , " a n d q u e s t i o n - f i l l e d p o e m s of Piatt's c o n t e m p o r a r y E m i l y D i c k i n s o n , it m u s t b e r e m e m b e r e d , w o u l d not b e p u b l i s h e d until m o r e t h a n a d e c a d e after this review a p p e a r e d . N i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y A m e r i c a n p o e t s p r o d u c e d an a b u n d a n t a n d e x t r e m e l y varied b o d y of poetry, a n d if D i c k i n s o n a n d Piatt w e r e a m o n g t h e few w h o w e r e a h e a d of their t i m e , m a n y o t h e r s w e r e b e h i n d . G e n e r a l l y , of c o u r s e , not m u c h w a s e x p e c t e d of w o m e n p o e t s , w h o w e r e c o n d e s c e n d i n g l y c h a r a c t e r i z e d by o n e influential a n t h o l o g i s t a s " t h e tuneful sisterhood." A d e s c e n d a n t of D a n i e l B o o n e a n d other l e a d i n g p i o n e e r f a m i l i e s , Piatt w a s r a i s e d on K e n t u c k y p l a n t a t i o n s . H e r m o t h e r died w h e n S a r a h w a s eight years old, a n d s h e w a s b r o u g h t u p by relatives a n d e d u c a t e d at H e n r y F e m a l e C o l l e g e in N e w c a s t l e , K e n t u c k y . T h e r e s h e w a s e x p o s e d to t h e G r e e k c l a s s i c s a n d S h a k e s p e a r e a n d s e e m e d particularly to enjoy s u c h British R o m a n t i c p o e t s a s B y r o n , P e r c y B y s s h e S h e l l e y , a n d S a m u e l T a y l o r C o l e r i d g e . H e n r y C o l l e g e ' s c u r r i c u l u m a l s o r e q u i r e d c o u r s e s in scie n c e . Piatt h a d , in short, w h a t w e w o u l d n o w d e s c r i b e a s a solid liberal arts e d u c a t i o n . In 1 8 6 1 s h e m a r r i e d J o h n Piatt, a p o e t from O h i o , w h o s u p p o r t e d their rapidly g r o w i n g f a m i l y — w h i c h ultimately i n c l u d e d s e v e n c h i l d r e n — w i t h a variety of editorial, g o v e r n m e n t , a n d c o n s u l a r j o b s . H e a l s o s e l e c t e d , e d i t e d , a n d a r r a n g e d the p u b lication of his wife's p o e m s — s o m e fifteen b o o k s in a l l — m o s t of w h i c h a p p e a r e d first in n e w s p a p e r s a n d s u c h p r e s t i g i o u s m a g a z i n e s a s Atlantic Monthly, Harper's, and Scribner's. J u s t b e f o r e the Civil W a r t h e P i a t t s lived for a t i m e in W a s h i n g t o n , D . C . , but they eventually m o v e d to O h i o , w h e r e they r e m a i n e d e x c e p t for e l e v e n y e a r s w h e n J o h n Piatt held c o n s u l a r p o s t s in Ireland. Piatt t h u s u n d e r s t o o d t h e S o u t h from her K e n t u c k y e x p e r i e n c e (her p a r e n t s o w n e d s l a v e s ) a n d c a m e to k n o w t h e N o r t h d u r i n g a n d after t h e Civil W a r . M a n y of her b e s t p o e m s a d d r e s s i s s u e s a s s o c i a t e d with this w a t e r s h e d event in A m e r i c a n history ( a n d in her d e v e l o p m e n t a s a p o e t ) . S h e recognized t h e horror a n d w a s t e of war, b u t her p o e m s m a k e c l e a r that t h e r e w a s b l a m e to go a r o u n d , b o t h N o r t h a n d S o u t h , for c o n d u c t d u r i n g a n d t h e c o n s e q u e n c e s of t h e b l o o d i e s t war in U . S . history. P e r h a p s m o s t distinctively in t h e s e a n d o t h e r p o e m s on s o c i a l i s s u e s is Piatt's u n w i l l i n g n e s s to e x c u s e h e r s e l f from c o m p l i c i t y , h o w e v e r indirectly, in t h e horrors s h e d e s c r i b e d . Piatt's pre—Civil W a r verse l a c k e d t h e irony a n d political e d g e of h e r m a t u r e poetry. T h e early p o e m s w e r e often c o n v e n t i o n a l l y s e n t i m e n t a l , full of s e l f - c o n s c i o u s " p o e t i c " d i c t i o n , metrically m o n o t o n o u s , a n d c o n t r i v e d to m a k e r e a d e r s e x p e r i e n c e a n a r r o w

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PIATT

r a n g e of f e e l i n g — a r a n g e t h a t e x c l u d e d r a g e , b i t t e r n e s s , guilt, or c o n f u s i o n a b o u t authority—God's or man's. Piatt's b e s t poetry is t o u g h m i n d e d , s k e p t i c a l , often d a r i n g , a n d e v e n a g g r e s s i v e a n d accusatory. As the selections printed here suggest, her poetry a d d r e s s e s , a m o n g other s u b j e c t s , t h e g r u e s o m e realities o f w a r ("Army o f O c c u p a t i o n " ) , c o w a r d i c e in t h e f a c e of i n j u s t i c e , d i s i l l u s i o n over t h e inability o f earthly a n d s u p e r n a t u r a l p o w e r s to mitig a t e d e a t h a n d o u r p e r s i s t e n t a w a r e n e s s o f it ( " A n s w e r i n g a C h i l d " ) , o u r t e n d e n c y t o s e n t i m e n t a l i z e n a t u r e ("In a Q u e e n ' s D o m a i n " ) , t h e vanity o f m e n w h o b e l i e v e they c a n c o n t r o l w o m e n a n d d e t e r m i n e m e a n i n g ("A P i q u e a t P a r t i n g " ) , a n d t h e reflex o f m e n t o flee f r o m t h e " p a s s i o n o f h u m a n p a i n " ( " H e r W o r d of R e p r o a c h " ) . T h e s e p o e m s a l s o d e m o n s t r a t e h o w effectively Piatt's post—Civil W a r p o e t r y u s e s t h e dram a t i c m o n o l o g u e f o r m a n d t h e r h y t h m s o f daily s p e e c h t o e n h a n c e t h e often gritty r e a l i s m o f h e r s u b j e c t s . H e r early p o e t r y w a s i n f l u e n c e d by B r i t i s h R o m a n t i c p o e t s ; the reader w h o hears Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Emily Dickinson, a n d R o b e r t F r o s t in Piatt's later w o r k will n o t b e m i s t a k e n . T h e texts o f Piatt's p o e m s a r e f r o m P a u l a B e r n a t B e n n e t ' s Palace-Burner: Selected

Poetry

of Sarah

Piatt

The

(2001).

•

The Palace-Burner (A Picture

in a

Newspaper.)

S h e has been burning palaces.

1

"To see

T h e s p a r k s l o o k pretty in t h e w i n d ? " W e l l , y e s And something more. Rut w o m e n brave as she L ee aa v L ve e

h ror for c o w a r d h as i I 1 to0 g u e s s . mucn as sucn

B u t this is o l d , s o o l d t h a t e v e r y t h i n g

5

Is a s h e s h e r e — t h e w o m a n a n d t h e r e s t . T w o y e a r s a r e o h ! s o l o n g . N o w you m a y b r i n g S o m e n e w e r p i c t u r e s . Y o u like this o n e b e s t ? Y o u w i s h t h a t y o u h a d lived in P a r i s t h e n ? Y o u w o u l d h a v e loved to b u r n a p a l a c e , t o o ?

io

B u t t h e y h a d g u n s in F r a n c e , a n d C h r i s t i a n m e n S h o t w i c k e d little C o m m u n i s t s , like y o u . You would have b u r n e d the p a l a c e ? J u s t b e c a u s e Y o u d i d not live in it yourself! O h ! W h y ? H a v e I not t a u g h t y o u to r e s p e c t t h e l a w s ?

15

Y o u w o u l d h a v e b u r n e d t h e p a l a c e . W o u l d n o t I? W o u l d I? G o to y o u r play. W o u l d I, i n d e e d ? I? D o e s t h e boy n o t k n o w m y s o u l to b e L a n g u i d a n d worldly, with a d a i n t y n e e d F o r light a n d m u s i c ? Yet h e q u e s t i o n s m e .

I. T o w a r d t h e e n d o f t h e F r a n c o - P r u s s i a n W a r o f 1871, French government troops withdrew from Paris to Versailles; s o o n after, a r e f o r m - m i n d e d working-class c o m m u n e took control o f the city for almost three m o n t h s ( M a r c h 1 8 - M a y 2 8 ) . W h e n government troops reentered Paris on M a y 2 1 , many buildings that posed a threat to the C o m -

m u n a r d s ' b a r r i c a d e s w e r e s e t o n fire. W o m e n w e r e p r o m i n e n t l y i n v o l v e d i n t h e fighting. B y t h e t i m e t h e fighting s t o p p e d , g o v e r n m e n t f o r c e s h a d e x e c u t e d or o t h e r w i s e killed a s m a n y a s thirty t h o u s a n d m e n , w o m e n , a n d c h i l d r e n in little m o r e t h a n a week.

A

PIQUE

AT

P A R T I N G

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1469

C a n h e have s e e n my soul m o r e n e a r than I? Ah! in the d u s k a n d d i s t a n c e sweet s h e s e e m s , W i t h lips to kiss away a baby's cry, H a n d s fit for flowers, a n d eyes for tears a n d d r e a m s . C a n h e have s e e n my soul? A n d c o u l d s h e wear S u c h utter life u p o n a dying f a c e , S u c h u n a p p e a l i n g , beautiful d e s p a i r , S u c h g a r m e n t s — s o o n to b e a s h r o u d — w i t h g r a c e ?

25

H a s s h e a c h a r m so c a l m that it c o u l d b r e a t h e In d a m p , low p l a c e s till s o m e frightened h o u r ; T h e n start, like a fair, subtle s n a k e , a n d w r e a t h e A stinging p o i s o n with a s h a d o w y p o w e r ?

30

W o u l d I burn p a l a c e s ? T h e child h a s s e e n In this fierce c r e a t u r e of the C o m m u n e h e r e , S o bright with bitterness a n d so s e r e n e , A b e i n g finer than my soul, I fear.

35 1872

A Pique at Parting Why, sir, a s to that 1 did not know it w a s time for the m o o n to rise, ( S o , the l o n g e s t day of t h e m all c a n e n d , if we will have p a t i e n c e with it.) O n e w o m a n c a n hardly c a r e , I think, to r e m e m b e r a n o t h e r one's eyes, And the b a t s are b e g i n n i n g to flit. . . . . W e h a t e o n e a n o t h e r ? It m a y be true. T h a t else d o you t e a c h u s to d o ? Yea, verily, to love you. M y l o r d s — a n d g e n t l e m e n — a r e you s u r e that after we love q u i t e all T h e r e is in your n o b l e selves to b e loved, no time o n our h a n d s will r e m a i n ? Why, a n h o u r a day were e n o u g h for this. W e m a y w a t c h the wild leaves fall O n the graves you forget. . . . It is plain. T h a t you were not p l e a s e d w h e n s h e said Just so; Still, w h a t do we want, after all, you know, B u t r o o m for a rose to grow? You leave u s the baby to kiss, p e r h a p s ; the bird in the c a g e to sing; T h e flower o n the window, the fire o n the h e a r t h ( a n d the fires in the h e a r t ) to t e n d . W h e n the w a n d e r i n g h a n d that would r e a c h s o m e w h e r e h a s b e c o m e the Slave of the R i n g , ' B i t t e r a l l u s i o n to the w e d d i n g ring.

5

10

15

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SARAH M O R G A N BRYAN

PIATT

You give u s — a n i m a g e to m e n d ; T h e n shut with a c a r e l e s s s m i l e , the d o o r — (There's d e w or frost on the p a t h before;) W e are s a f e i n s i d e . W h a t m o r e ? If the baby s h o u l d m o a n , or the bird sit h u s h e d , or the flower fade out what t h e n ? Ah? the old, old feud of m i s t r e s s a n d maid w o u l d be left t h o u g h the s u n went o u t ? You c a n n u m b e r the stars a n d call t h e m by n a m e s , a n d , a s m e n , you c a n wring from m e n T h e w o r l d — f o r they own it, n o d o u b t . W e , not b e i n g e a g l e s , are d o v e s ? Why, yes, W e m u s t hide in the leaves, I g u e s s , A n d c o o d o w n our l o n e l i n e s s . G o d m e a n t u s for s a i n t s ? Y e s — i n H e a v e n . Well, I, for o n e , a m content T o trust H i m t h r o u g h d a r k n e s s a n d s p a c e to the e n d — i f an e n d there shall b e ; B u t , a s to H i s m e a n i n g s , I fancy I never knew q u i t e what H e m e a n t , And why, what were you saying to m e O f the s a i n t s — o r that saint? It is late; T h e lilies look weird by the g a t e . . . . . A h , sir, a s to t h a t — w e will wait. 1879

In a Queen's Domain Ah! my s u b j e c t , the r o s e , I know, Will give m e her b r e a t h a n d her b l u s h ; And my s u b j e c t , the lily, s p r e a d s s n o w , If I p a s s , for my foot to c r u s h . M y s u b j e c t s , the l a m b a n d the fawn, T h e y hide their h e a d s in my b r e a s t ; A n d my s u b j e c t , the d o v e , c o o s o n , T h o u g h my h a n d c r e e p c l o s e to her n e s t . B u t my s u b j e c t , the b e e , will sting; A n d my s u b j e c t , the thorn, will tear; A n d my s u b j e c t , the tiger, will spring At m e , with a cry a n d a g l a r e . A n d my s u b j e c t , the lion, will s h a k e With his a n g e r my loneliest l a n d s ; A n d my s u b j e c t , the s n a k e (ah! the s n a k e ! ) Will strike m e d e a d in the s a n d s . 1876

ARMY

OF

O C C U P A T I O N

/

1471

Her Word of Reproach W e m u s t not quarrel, whatever we d o ; F o r if I w a s (but I w a s not!) wrong, H e r e a r e the tears for it, here are the t e a r s : — W h a t else has a w o m a n to offer you? L o v e might not last for a t h o u s a n d years, You know, t h o u g h the stars s h o u l d rise s o long. O h you, you talk in a m a n ' s great w a y ! — S o , love would last t h o u g h the stars s h o u l d fall? Why, yes, If it last to the grave, i n d e e d , After the grave last on it may. B u t — i n the grave? Will its d u s t take h e e d O f anything s w e e t — o r the sweetest of all? Ah, d e a t h is nothing! It may be s o . Yet, g r a n t i n g at least that d e a t h is d e a t h (Pray look at the r o s e , a n d h e a r the bird), W h a t e v e r it i s — w e m u s t die to know! S o m e t i m e we m a y long to say o n e word T o g e t h e r — a n d find we have no b r e a t h . Ah m e , how divine you are growing a g a i n ! — H o w coldly s u r e that the H e a v e n s are s u r e , W h i t h e r too lightly you always fly T o hide from the p a s s i o n of h u m a n p a i n . C o m e , grieve that the E a r t h is not s e c u r e , F o r this o n e n i g h t — a n d forget the sky!

s

to

15

20

1879

Army of Occupation At Arlington,'

1866.

T h e s u m m e r blew its little drifts of s o u n d — T a n g l e d with wet l e a f - s h a d o w s a n d the light S m a l l breath of s c a t t e r e d m o r n i n g b u d s — a r o u n d T h e yellow p a t h through which our f o o t s t e p s w o u n d . Below, the C a p i t o l rose glittering white. T h e r e s t r e t c h e d a s l e e p i n g army. O n e by o n e , T h e y took their p l a c e s until t h o u s a n d s m e t ; N o leader's stars flashed on b e f o r e , a n d n o n e L e a n e d on his sword or stagg[e]r'd with his g u n — I w o n d e r if their feet have rested yet! I . A r l i n g t o n N a t i o n a l C e m e t e r y w a s e s t a b l i s h e d in 1 8 6 4 on the site of Robert E. L e e ' s former estate. Paula B e n n e t s p e c u l a t e s that the p o e m c o m m e m o r a t e s t h e s c a l i n g in S e p t e m b e r 1 8 6 6 o f a m a s s

5

10

grave of 2 , 1 1 1 u n k n o w n soldiers. T h e " o n e w h o c o m e s a l o n e " is R o b e r t E . L e e , w h o h a s a p p a r e n t l y committed suicide.

/

S A R A H

M O R G A N

BRYAN

P I A T T

T h e y s a w the d u s t , they j o i n e d the moving m a s s , T h e y a n s w e r ' d the fierce m u s i c ' s cry for b l o o d , T h e n straggled here a n d lay d o w n in the g r a s s : — W e a r flowers for s u c h , s h o r e s w h e n c e their feet did p a s s S i n g tenderly; O river's h a u n t e d flood! T h e y h a d b e e n sick, a n d w o r n , a n d weary, w h e n T h e y stopp'd on this c a l m hill b e n e a t h the trees: Yet if, in s o m e r e d - c l o u d e d d a w n , again T h e country s h o u l d b e calling to her m e n , S h a l l the r[e]veill[e] not r e m e m b e r t h e s e ? A r o u n d t h e m u n d e r n e a t h the mid-day skies T h e dreadful p h a n t o m s of the living walk, A n d by low m o o n s a n d d a r k n e s s with their c r i e s — T h e m o t h e r s , s i s t e r s , wives with f a d e d e y e s , W h o call still n a m e s a m i d their b r o k e n talk. A n d there is o n e w h o c o m e s a l o n e a n d s t a n d s At his d i m fireless h e a r t h — c h i l l ' d a n d o p p r e s s ' d By S o m e t h i n g he h a s s u m m o n ' d to his l a n d s , W h i l e the weird pallor of its m a n y b a n d s Points to his r u s t e d sword in his own b r e a s t !

Answering a Child B u t if I s h o u l d a s k the king? H e c o u l d if h e w o u l d ? Ah! n o . T h o u g h h e took from his h a n d the ring, T h o u g h h e took from his h e a d the c r o w n — In the d u s t I s h o u l d lay t h e m d o w n . If I sat at a fairy's feet? A fairy c o u l d if s h e w o u l d ? ( O h ! the fairy-faith is sweet.) T h o u g h s h e gave m e her w a n d a n d her w i n g s , T o m e they were pitiful t h i n g s . A s k G o d ? H e c a n if H e will? H e is better t h a n fairies or kings? (Ask G o d ? H e w o u l d w h i s p e r : " B e still.") T h o u g h H e gave m e e a c h star I c a n s e e T h r o u g h my t e a r s , it were n o t h i n g to m e . "He can do" But He cannot undo T h e terrible d a r k e n e d g a t e

BRET HARTE

W h i c h the lire of H i s will went t h r o u g h , L e a d i n g the D e a d away; For the P a s t it is vain to pray.

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BRET HARTE 1836-1902 F r a n c i s B r e t [ t ] H a r t e w a s b o r n A u g u s t 2 5 , 1 8 3 6 , in A l b a n y , N e w York, of E n g l i s h a n d D u t c h d e s c e n t . H i s s c h o o l t e a c h e r father, H e n r y , d i e d in 1 8 4 5 , a n d f o u r y e a r s later H a r t e left s c h o o l to w o r k in a lawyer's office a n d t h e n in t h e c o u n t i n g r o o m of a m e r c h a n t . In 1 8 5 4 h e followed his m o t h e r , E l i z a b e t h R e b e c c a , a n d e l d e r s i s t e r a n d b r o t h e r to O a k l a n d , C a l i f o r n i a , a n d for a year h e lived with his m o t h e r a n d s t e p f a t h e r , C o l o n e l A n d r e w W i l l i a m s , t h e first m a y o r of O a k l a n d . D u r i n g this t i m e h e c o n t r i b u t e d s t o r i e s a n d p o e m s to t h e S a n F r a n c i s c o weekly The Golden Era, b u t h a d by n o m e a n s s e t t l e d o n a c a r e e r a s a writer. W h e n H a r t e t u r n e d t w e n t y - o n e h e left W i l l i a m s ' s h o u s e to i n v e s t i g a t e n o r t h e r n C a l i f o r n i a , w h e r e h e w a s for a t i m e a n e x p r e s s m a n for W e l l s F a r g o (he later c l a i m e d that h e " r o d e s h o t g u n " ) a n d a l s o w o r k e d a s a m i n e r , t e a c h e r , private tutor, a p o t h e c a r y ' s clerk, a n d in t h e p r i n t i n g r o o m of t h e Humbolt Times. F r o m 1 8 5 8 to 1 8 6 0 h e set type a n d s e r v e d a s a n editorial a s s i s t a n t o n t h e staff of the U n i o n t o w n Northern Californian. In late F e b r u a r y 1 8 6 0 , w h i l e t h e editor-inc h i e f w a s o u t of t o w n , H a r t e w r o t e a n editorial e x p r e s s i n g o u t r a g e over t h e m a s s a c r e in n e a r b y E u r e k a of sixty N a t i v e A m e r i c a n s , m o s t l y w o m e n a n d c h i l d r e n , by a s m a l l g a n g of w h i t e v i g i l a n t e s . H i s life w a s a p p a r e n t l y t h r e a t e n e d a n d within a m o n t h h e left for S a n F r a n c i s c o . H a r t e q u i c k l y f o u n d a j o b s e t t i n g type for The Golden Era a n d s o o n b e g a n c o n t r i b u t i n g p o e m s , s t o r i e s , a n d s k e t c h e s to it, m a n y u n d e r t h e p s e u d o n y m " T h e B o h e m i a n . " S e v e r a l of t h e s e p i e c e s b e c a m e p a r t of the c o l l e c t i o n The Luck of Roaring Camp and Other Sketches ( 1 8 7 0 ) , his b e s t a n d b e s t - k n o w n b o o k . J e s s i e B e n t o n F r e mont, daughter of J o h n C . Fremont, a former presidential candidate, befriended H a r t e a n d h e l p e d h i m o b t a i n a s e r i e s of g o v e r n m e n t a p p o i n t m e n t s that c u l m i n a t e d in 1 8 6 3 w h e n h e w a s n a m e d s e c r e t a r y to t h e s u p e r i n t e n d e n t in t h e U . S . B r a n c h M i n t in S a n F r a n c i s c o , a p o s i t i o n that left h i m free to write n e a r l y full t i m e . H a r t e rapidly e s t a b l i s h e d h i m s e l f a s a j o u r n a l i s t , c o n t r i b u t i n g t o g e t h e r with M a r k T w a i n a n d o t h e r s to t h e first i s s u e of t h e weekly Californian in 1 8 6 4 . H a r t e ' s c a r e e r a s a writer w a s c o n f i r m e d in 1 8 6 8 w h e n h e b e c a m e t h e first e d i t o r of t h e newly e s t a b l i s h e d m a g a z i n e Overland Monthly, for w h i c h h e w r o t e the w o r k s that m a d e h i m — a n d t h e m a g a z i n e — f a m o u s . T w o of his p o e m s w e r e p r i n t e d in t h e first i s s u e , foll o w e d in the s e c o n d by " T h e L u c k of R o a r i n g C a m p , " t h e story t h a t m a d e h i m a c e l e b r i t y f r o m c o a s t to c o a s t , a n d t h e n by " T h e O u t c a s t s of P o k e r F l a t " a n d his b e s t - k n o w n p o e m , " P l a i n L a n g u a g e f r o m T r u t h f u l J a m e s , " c o m m o n l y r e f e r r e d to a s " T h e H e a t h e n C h i n e e . " H a r t e ' s p o p u l a r s u c c e s s r e s t e d on his ability to c o m b i n e c e r t a i n f e a t u r e s of r e g i o n a l w r i t i n g — d i s t i n c t i v e c h a r a c t e r s a n d realistically d e s c r i b e d s e t t i n g s — w i t h a r o m a n t i c i s m that s e n t i m e n t a l i z e d a n d s t e r e o t y p e d b o t h settings a n d characters. But perhaps what most distinguishes Harte from other writers w h o e x p l o i t e d m y t h s of t h e W i l d W e s t in a h u m o r o u s way is a n ironic pers p e c t i v e that often w e n t u n d e t e c t e d by r e a d e r s w h o w e r e u n f a m i l i a r with C a l i f o r n i a

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a n d w h o w i s h e d to b e l i e v e in n o b l e g a m b l e r s a n d p r o s t i t u t e s with h e a r t s o f g o l d . T h u s s o m e e a s t e r n r e a d e r s o f " T h e O u t c a s t s o f Poker F l a t " t o o k it a s a realistic a n d t o u c h i n g story a b o u t G o l d R u s h c h a r a c t e r s w h o c a m e t o a p a t h e t i c e n d . O t h e r s w o u l d h a v e n o t i c e d t h e t o n g u e in H a r t e ' s c h e e k a n d b e e n a m u s e d by t h e " s p a s m o f v i r t u o u s r e a c t i o n " that h a d m a d e t h e c h a r a c t e r s o u t c a s t s in t h e first p l a c e a n d by t h e p r e p o s t e r o u s n e s s o f their s u d d e n m o r a l r e f o r m a t i o n . H a r t e , w h o h a d m a r r i e d A n n a G r i s w o l d in 1 8 6 2 , left S a n F r a n c i s c o with h i s family early in 1 8 7 1 at t h e height of his f a m e . After a j o u r n e y c r o s s - c o u n t r y that w a s c o v e r e d by t h e daily p r e s s , t h e H a r t e s w e r e e n t e r t a i n e d in B o s t o n for a w e e k a s g u e s t s o f t h e n e w editor o f t h e Atlantic Monthly, William Dean Howells. J a m e s T. Fields, who o w n e d t h e p r e s t i g i o u s Atlantic, h a d offered H a r t e t h e u n h e a r d o f s u m o f ten t h o u s a n d d o l l a r s to write twelve or m o r e p o e m s a n d s k e t c h e s within a y e a r to b e p u b l i s h e d in the Atlantic a n d Every Saturday. U n f o r t u n a t e l y , H a r t e d i d n o t p r o d u c e m u c h satisfactory writing in t h e c o u r s e of t h e year, a n d his c o n t r a c t w a s n o t r e n e w e d . T h e last t h r e e d e c a d e s o f H a r t e ' s life c o n s t i t u t e a d e c l i n e in h i s p e r s o n a l a n d literary f o r t u n e s . H i s novel Gabriel Conroy ( 1 8 7 6 ) sold well, a n d h i s plays Two Men of Sandy Bar ( 1 8 7 6 ) a n d Ah Sin ( 1 8 7 7 ) w e r e p r o d u c e d , b u t n e i t h e r w a s s u c c e s s f u l . H a r t e w a s a p p o i n t e d c o n s u l to C r e f i e l d , P r u s s i a , in 1 8 7 8 a n d to G l a s g o w , S c o t l a n d , in 1 8 8 0 . W h e n G r o v e r C l e v e l a n d b e c a m e p r e s i d e n t in 1 8 8 5 , H a r t e lost h i s c o n s u l s h i p a n d b e c a m e a p e r m a n e n t g u e s t of t h e V a n d e V e l d e s , a B e l g i a n c o u p l e w h o lived in L o n d o n . H a r t e ' s E n g l i s h r e a d e r s c o n t i n u e d to r e c e i v e h i s w o r k favorably until his d e a t h , a l t h o u g h his A m e r i c a n a u d i e n c e h a d l o n g s i n c e tired o f t h e s e n t i m e n t a l d e p i c t i o n s o f s t o c k frontier types that b r o u g h t h i m initial f a m e . W h e n H a r t e d i e d o n M a y 5, 1 9 0 2 , h e h a d outlived his distinctive c o n t r i b u t i o n to A m e r i c a n letters by a generation.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat 1 A s M r . J o h n O a k h u r s t , g a m b l e r , s t e p p e d into t h e m a i n s t r e e t o f P o k e r F l a t on the m o r n i n g of t h e twenty-third o f N o v e m b e r , 1 8 5 0 , h e w a s c o n s c i o u s of a c h a n g e in its m o r a l a t m o s p h e r e f r o m t h e p r e c e d i n g night. T w o o r t h r e e men, conversing earnestly together, c e a s e d as he a p p r o a c h e d , and exchanged significant g l a n c e s . T h e r e w a s a S a b b a t h lull in t h e air, w h i c h , in a s e t t l e m e n t u n u s e d to S a b b a t h i n f l u e n c e s , l o o k e d o m i n o u s . M r . O a k h u r s t ' s c a l m , h a n d s o m e f a c e b e t r a y e d s m a l l c o n c e r n o f t h e s e indications. Whether he was c o n s c i o u s of any predisposing c a u s e , was another q u e s t i o n . "I r e c k o n they're after s o m e b o d y , " h e r e f l e c t e d ; "likely it's m e . " H e r e t u r n e d to his p o c k e t the h a n d k e r c h i e f with w h i c h h e h a d b e e n w h i p p i n g away the red d u s t o f P o k e r F l a t from his n e a t b o o t s , a n d q u i e t l y d i s c h a r g e d his m i n d o f a n y further c o n j e c t u r e . In point o f fact, P o k e r F l a t w a s " a f t e r s o m e b o d y . " It h a d lately s u f f e r e d t h e l o s s of several t h o u s a n d d o l l a r s , two v a l u a b l e h o r s e s , a n d a p r o m i n e n t citizen. It w a s e x p e r i e n c i n g a s p a s m o f v i r t u o u s r e a c t i o n , q u i t e a s l a w l e s s a n d u n g o v e r n a b l e a s any o f t h e a c t s that h a d p r o v o k e d it. A s e c r e t c o m m i t t e e h a d d e t e r m i n e d to rid t h e town o f all i m p r o p e r p e r s o n s . T h i s w a s d o n e perm a n e n t l y in r e g a r d of two m e n w h o w e r e t h e n h a n g i n g f r o m t h e b o u g h s o f 1. F i r s t p u b l i s h e d in Overland Monthly, January 1 8 6 9 , t h e s o u r c e o f t h e text p r i n t e d h e r e , a n d coll e c t e d in "The Luck of Roaring Camp" and Other Sketches (1870).

2. I.e., vigilance c o m m i t t e e — a g r o u p of vigilantes organized to suppress a n d punish crime summarily w h e n t h e p r o c e s s e s o f law a p p e a r i n a d e q u a t e .

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a s y c a m o r e in the g u l c h , a n d temporarily in the b a n i s h m e n t of certain other o b j e c t i o n a b l e c h a r a c t e r s . I regret to say that s o m e of t h e s e were l a d i e s . It is but d u e to the sex, however, to state that their impropriety w a s p r o f e s s i o n a l , a n d it was only in s u c h easily e s t a b l i s h e d s t a n d a r d s of evil that Poker Flat ventured to sit in j u d g m e n t . M r . O a k h u r s t w a s right in s u p p o s i n g that h e w a s i n c l u d e d in this category. A few of the c o m m i t t e e h a d u r g e d h a n g i n g him as a p o s s i b l e e x a m p l e , a n d a s u r e m e t h o d of r e i m b u r s i n g t h e m s e l v e s from his p o c k e t s of the s u m s he h a d won from t h e m . "It's agin j u s t i c e , " said J i m W h e e l e r , "to let this yer y o u n g m a n from R o a r i n g C a m p — a n entire s t r a n g e r — c a r r y away our m o n e y . " B u t a c r u d e s e n t i m e n t of equity residing in the b r e a s t s of t h o s e w h o h a d b e e n fortunate e n o u g h to win from M r . O a k h u r s t , overruled this narrower local p r e j u d i c e . M r . O a k h u r s t received his s e n t e n c e with p h i l o s o p h i c c a l m n e s s , n o n e the less coolly, that he w a s a w a r e of the hesitation of his j u d g e s . H e was too m u c h of a g a m b l e r not to a c c e p t F a t e . With him life w a s at b e s t a n u n c e r t a i n g a m e , a n d he recognized the u s u a l p e r c e n t a g e in favor of the dealer. A body of a r m e d m e n a c c o m p a n i e d the d e p o r t e d w i c k e d n e s s of Poker Flat to the outskirts of the s e t t l e m e n t . B e s i d e s Mr. O a k h u r s t , w h o w a s known to be a coolly d e s p e r a t e m a n , a n d for w h o s e intimidation the a r m e d e s c o r t w a s i n t e n d e d , the expatriated party c o n s i s t e d of a y o u n g w o m a n familiarly known as " T h e D u c h e s s " ; a n o t h e r , w h o h a d g a i n e d the infelicitous title of " M o t h e r S h i p t o n , " a n d " U n c l e Billy," a s u s p e c t e d sluices-robber a n d c o n f i r m e d d r u n k a r d . T h e c a v a l c a d e provoked no c o m m e n t s from the s p e c t a t o r s , nor w a s any word uttered by the e s c o r t . Only w h e n the g u l c h which m a r k e d the u t t e r m o s t limit of Poker Flat w a s r e a c h e d , the leader s p o k e briefly a n d to the point. T h e exiles were forbidden to return at the peril of their lives. As the e s c o r t d i s a p p e a r e d , their p e n t - u p feelings f o u n d vent in a few hysterical tears from " T h e D u c h e s s , " s o m e b a d l a n g u a g e from M o t h e r S h i p t o n , a n d a P a r t h e i a n 4 volley of expletives from U n c l e Billy. T h e p h i l o s o p h i c O a k hurst a l o n e r e m a i n e d silent. H e listened calmly to M o t h e r S h i p t o n ' s d e s i r e to cut s o m e b o d y ' s heart out, to the r e p e a t e d s t a t e m e n t s of " T h e D u c h e s s " that s h e would die in the r o a d , a n d to the a l a r m i n g o a t h s that s e e m e d to be b u m p e d out of U n c l e Billy as he rode forward. With the easy g o o d - h u m o r characteristic of his c l a s s , h e insisted u p o n e x c h a n g i n g his own riding-horse, "Five S p o t , " for the sorry m u l e which the D u c h e s s r o d e . B u t even this act did not draw the party into any closer sympathy. T h e y o u n g w o m a n readj u s t e d her s o m e w h a t draggled p l u m e s with a feeble, faded coquetry; M o t h e r S h i p t o n eyed the p o s s e s s o r of "Five S p o t " with m a l e v o l e n c e , a n d U n c l e Billy i n c l u d e d the w h o l e party in o n e s w e e p i n g a n a t h e m a . T h e road to S a n d y B a r — a c a m p that not having a s yet e x p e r i e n c e d the r e g e n e r a t i n g influences of Poker Flat, c o n s e q u e n t l y s e e m e d to offer s o m e invitation to the e m i g r a n t s — l a y over a s t e e p m o u n t a i n r a n g e . It w a s distant a day's severe j o u r n e y . In that a d v a n c e d s e a s o n , the party s o o n p a s s e d out of the moist, t e m p e r a t e regions of the foot-hills, into the dry, cold, b r a c i n g air of the S i e r r a s . T h e trail was narrow a n d difficult. At n o o n the D u c h e s s , 31 A n i n c l i n e d t r o u g h o r f l u m e f o r w a s h i n g o r s e p arating gold from earth. Mother Shipton (1488— 1 5 6 0 ) , an English witch w h o allegedly was carried off by t h e devil a n d b o r e h i m a n i m p . H e r p r o p h -

e c i e s w e r e e d i t e d b y S . B a k e r in 1 7 9 7 . 4. A n a n c i e n t p e o p l e of s o u t h w e s t A s i a n o t e d for f i r i n g s h o t s w h i l e in r e a l o r f e i g n e d r e t r e a t .

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rolling o u t of her s a d d l e u p o n the g r o u n d , d e c l a r e d her intention of g o i n g no further, a n d the party halted. T h e s p o t w a s singularly wild a n d i m p r e s s i v e . A w o o d e d a m p h i t h e a t r e , surr o u n d e d on three sides by p r e c i p i t o u s cliffs of n a k e d g r a n i t e , s l o p e d gently toward the c r e s t of a n o t h e r p r e c i p i c e that overlooked the valley. It w a s u n d o u b t e d l y the m o s t s u i t a b l e spot for a c a m p , h a d c a m p i n g b e e n a d v i s a b l e . B u t Mr. O a k h u r s t k n e w that scarcely half the j o u r n e y to S a n d y B a r w a s a c c o m p l i s h e d , a n d the party were not e q u i p p e d or provisioned for delay. T h i s fact he p o i n t e d out to his c o m p a n i o n s curtly, with a p h i l o s o p h i c c o m m e n t a r y o n the folly of "throwing u p their h a n d before the g a m e w a s p l a y e d o u t . " B u t they were f u r n i s h e d with liquor, which in this e m e r g e n c y s t o o d t h e m in p l a c e of food, fuel, rest a n d p r e s c i e n c e . In spite of his r e m o n s t r a n c e s , it w a s not long before they were m o r e or less u n d e r its i n f l u e n c e . U n c l e Billy p a s s e d rapidly from a b e l l i c o s e state into o n e of s t u p o r , the D u c h e s s b e c a m e m a u d lin, a n d M o t h e r S h i p t o n s n o r e d . M r . O a k h u r s t a l o n e r e m a i n e d e r e c t , l e a n i n g a g a i n s t a rock, calmly surveying t h e m . M r . O a k h u r s t did not drink. It interfered with a p r o f e s s i o n w h i c h r e q u i r e d c o o l n e s s , i m p a s s i v e n e s s a n d p r e s e n c e of m i n d , a n d , in his own l a n g u a g e , h e "couldn't afford it." As he g a z e d at his r e c u m b e n t fellow-exiles, the loneliness b e g o t t e n of his p a r i a h - t r a d e , his habits of life, his very vices, for the first time seriously o p p r e s s e d h i m . H e bestirred h i m s e l f in d u s t i n g his b l a c k c l o t h e s , w a s h i n g his h a n d s a n d f a c e , a n d other a c t s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of his studiously neat h a b i t s , a n d for a m o m e n t forgot his a n n o y a n c e . T h e t h o u g h t of deserting his w e a k e r a n d m o r e pitiable c o m p a n i o n s never p e r h a p s o c c u r r e d to h i m . Yet h e c o u l d not help feeling the w a n t of that e x c i t e m e n t , w h i c h singularly e n o u g h w a s m o s t c o n d u c i v e to that c a l m e q u a n i m i t y for w h i c h h e w a s notorious. H e looked at the g l o o m y walls that r o s e a t h o u s a n d feet s h e e r a b o v e the circling p i n e s a r o u n d h i m ; at the sky, o m i n o u s l y c l o u d e d ; at the valley below, already d e e p e n i n g into s h a d o w . A n d d o i n g s o , s u d d e n l y h e h e a r d his own n a m e c a l l e d . A h o r s e m a n slowly a s c e n d e d the trail. In the fresh, o p e n f a c e of the newcomer, Mr. Oakhurst recognized T o m Simson, otherwise known as "The I n n o c e n t " of S a n d y Bar. H e h a d m e t h i m s o m e m o n t h s before over a "little g a m e , " a n d h a d , with perfect e q u a n i m i t y , w o n the entire f o r t u n e — a m o u n t ing to s o m e forty d o l l a r s — o f that g u i l e l e s s y o u t h . After the g a m e w a s fini s h e d , M r . O a k h u r s t drew the youthful s p e c u l a t o r b e h i n d the d o o r a n d t h u s a d d r e s s e d h i m : " T o m m y , you're a g o o d little m a n , b u t you can't g a m b l e worth a c e n t . D o n ' t try it over a g a i n . " H e then h a n d e d him his m o n e y b a c k , p u s h e d him gently from the r o o m , a n d s o m a d e a d e v o t e d slave of T o m S i m s o n . T h e r e w a s a r e m e m b r a n c e of this in his boyish a n d e n t h u s i a s t i c g r e e t i n g of M r . O a k h u r s t . H e h a d s t a r t e d , h e s a i d , to g o to P o k e r F l a t to s e e k his f o r t u n e . " A l o n e ? " N o , not exactly a l o n e ; in f a c t — a g i g g l e — h e h a d r u n away with Piney W o o d s . Didn't M r . O a k h u r s t r e m e m b e r P i n e y ? S h e that u s e d to wait o n the table at the T e m p e r a n c e H o u s e ? T h e y h a d b e e n e n g a g e d a l o n g t i m e , b u t old J a k e W o o d s h a d o b j e c t e d , a n d s o they h a d run away, a n d were g o i n g to P o k e r Flat to b e m a r r i e d , a n d here they w e r e . A n d they w e r e tired out, a n d h o w lucky it w a s they h a d f o u n d a p l a c e to c a m p a n d c o m p a n y . All this T h e I n n o c e n t delivered rapidly, while P i n e y — a s t o u t , c o m e l y d a m s e l of fifteen—emerged from b e h i n d the p i n e tree, w h e r e s h e h a d b e e n b l u s h i n g u n s e e n , a n d r o d e to the side of her lover.

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Mr. O a k h u r s t s e l d o m troubled h i m s e l f with s e n t i m e n t . Still less with propriety. B u t he h a d a v a g u e idea that the situation w a s not felicitous. H e retained, however, his p r e s e n c e of m i n d sufficiently to kick U n c l e Billy, w h o w a s a b o u t to say s o m e t h i n g , a n d U n c l e Billy w a s s o b e r e n o u g h to recognize in M r . O a k h u r s t ' s kick a s u p e r i o r power that w o u l d not b e a r trifling. H e then e n d e a v o r e d to d i s s u a d e T o m S i m s o n from delaying further, b u t in vain. H e even p o i n t e d o u t the fact that there w a s n o provision, n o r m e a n s of m a k i n g a c a m p . B u t , unluckily, " T h e I n n o c e n t " m e t this objection by a s s u r i n g the party that he w a s provided with an extra m u l e l o a d e d with provisions, a n d by the discovery of a r u d e a t t e m p t at a l o g - h o u s e near the trail. " P i n e y c a n stay with M r s . O a k h u r s t , " said T h e I n n o c e n t , p o i n t i n g to the D u c h e s s , " a n d I c a n shift for mysejf." N o t h i n g b u t M r . O a k h u r s t ' s a d m o n i s h i n g foot s a v e d U n c l e Billy from b u r s t i n g into a roar of laughter. As it w a s , h e felt c o m p e l l e d to retire u p the canyon until he c o u l d recover his gravity. T h e r e he confided the j o k e to the tall p i n e t r e e s , with m a n y s l a p s of his leg, c o n t o r t i o n s of his f a c e , a n d the u s u a l profanity. B u t w h e n he returned to the party, h e f o u n d t h e m s e a t e d by a fire—for the air h a d grown strangely chill a n d the sky o v e r c a s t — i n apparently a m i c a b l e c o n v e r s a t i o n . Piney w a s actually talking in a n i m p u l s i v e , girlish f a s h i o n to the D u c h e s s , w h o w a s listening with a n interest a n d anim a t i o n s h e h a d not s h o w n for m a n y d a y s . T h e I n n o c e n t w a s h o l d i n g forth, apparently with e q u a l effect, to M r . O a k h u r s t a n d M o t h e r S h i p t o n , w h o w a s actually relaxing into amiability. "Is this yer a d d picnic?" said Uncle Billy, with inward s c o r n , a s h e surveyed the sylvan g r o u p , the g l a n c i n g firelight a n d the t e t h e r e d a n i m a l s in the f o r e g r o u n d . S u d d e n l y a n idea m i n g l e d with the alcoholic f u m e s that d i s t u r b e d his b r a i n . It w a s a p p a r e n t l y of a j o c u l a r n a t u r e , for h e felt i m p e l l e d to slap his leg a g a i n a n d c r a m his fist into his m o u t h . As the s h a d o w s crept slowly u p the m o u n t a i n , a slight b r e e z e r o c k e d the tops of the p i n e trees, a n d m o a n e d t h r o u g h their long a n d g l o o m y a i s l e s . T h e r u i n e d c a b i n , p a t c h e d a n d covered with p i n e b o u g h s , w a s set apart for the ladies. A s the lovers p a r t e d , they unaffectedly e x c h a n g e d a parting kiss, s o h o n e s t a n d s i n c e r e that it might have b e e n h e a r d a b o v e the swaying p i n e s . T h e frail D u c h e s s a n d the malevolent M o t h e r S h i p t o n were p r o b a b l y too s t u n n e d to r e m a r k u p o n this last e v i d e n c e of simplicity, a n d so t u r n e d witho u t a word to the hut. T h e fire w a s r e p l e n i s h e d , the m e n lay d o w n before the door, a n d in a few m i n u t e s were a s l e e p . M r . O a k h u r s t w a s a light sleeper. T o w a r d m o r n i n g h e a w o k e b e n u m b e d a n d cold. As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which w a s now blowing strongly, b r o u g h t to his c h e e k that which c a u s e d the b l o o d to leave i t — s n o w ! H e started to his feet with the intention of a w a k e n i n g the s l e e p e r s , for there w a s no time to l o s e . B u t turning to w h e r e U n c l e Billy h a d b e e n lying he f o u n d him g o n e . A s u s p i c i o n l e a p e d to his brain a n d a c u r s e to his lips. H e ran to the spot w h e r e the m u l e s h a d b e e n t e t h e r e d ; they were n o longer there. T h e tracks were already rapidly d i s a p p e a r i n g in the s n o w . T h e m o m e n t a r y e x c i t e m e n t b r o u g h t Mr. O a k h u r s t b a c k to the fire with his u s u a l c a l m . H e did not w a k e n the s l e e p e r s . T h e I n n o c e n t s l u m b e r e d peacefully, with a smile on his g o o d - h u m o r e d , freckled f a c e ; the virgin Piney slept b e s i d e her frailer sisters a s sweetly a s t h o u g h a t t e n d e d by celestial g u a r d i a n s , a n d Mr. O a k h u r s t , drawing his blanket over his s h o u l d e r s , stroked

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his m u s t a c h i o s a n d waited for the d a w n . It c a m e slowly in a whirling m i s t of snowflakes, that dazzled a n d c o n f u s e d the eye. W h a t c o u l d be s e e n of the l a n d s c a p e a p p e a r e d magically c h a n g e d . H e looked over the valley, a n d s u m m e d u p the p r e s e n t a n d future in two w o r d s — " S n o w e d i n ! " A careful inventory of the provisions, w h i c h , fortunately for the party, h a d b e e n stored within the hut, a n d s o e s c a p e d the f e l o n i o u s fingers of U n c l e Billy, d i s c l o s e d the fact that with c a r e a n d p r u d e n c e they might last ten days longer. " T h a t i s , " said M r . O a k h u r s t , sotto voce5 to T h e I n n o c e n t , "if you're willing to b o a r d u s . If you a i n ' t — a n d p e r h a p s you'd better n o t — y o u c a n wait till U n c l e Billy gets b a c k with p r o v i s i o n s . " F o r s o m e o c c u l t r e a s o n , M r . O a k hurst c o u l d not b r i n g h i m s e l f to d i s c l o s e U n c l e Billy's rascality, a n d so offered the h y p o t h e s i s that h e h a d w a n d e r e d from the c a m p a n d h a d accidentally s t a m p e d e d the a n i m a l s . H e d r o p p e d a w a r n i n g to the D u c h e s s a n d M o t h e r S h i p t o n , w h o of c o u r s e k n e w the facts of their a s s o c i a t e ' s defection. "They'll find o u t the truth a b o u t u s all, w h e n they find o u t a n y t h i n g , " he a d d e d , significantly, " a n d there's no g o o d frightening t h e m n o w . " T o m S i m s o n not only p u t all his worldly store at the d i s p o s a l of M r . O a k hurst, but s e e m e d to enjoy the p r o s p e c t of their e n f o r c e d s e c l u s i o n . "We'll have a g o o d c a m p for a week, a n d then the snow'll melt, a n d we'll all g o b a c k t o g e t h e r . " T h e cheerful gayety of the y o u n g m a n a n d Mr. O a k h u r s t ' s c a l m infected the o t h e r s . T h e I n n o c e n t , with the aid of p i n e b o u g h s , e x t e m p o r i z e d a thatch for the roofless c a b i n , a n d the D u c h e s s d i r e c t e d Piney in the rearr a n g e m e n t of the interior with a taste a n d tact that o p e n e d the b l u e eyes of that provincial m a i d e n to their fullest extent. "I r e c k o n n o w you're u s e d to fine things at Poker F l a t , " s a i d Piney. T h e D u c h e s s t u r n e d away sharply to c o n c e a l s o m e t h i n g that r e d d e n e d her c h e e k s t h r o u g h its p r o f e s s i o n a l tint, a n d M o t h e r S h i p t o n r e q u e s t e d Piney not to " c h a t t e r . " B u t w h e n M r . O a k hurst r e t u r n e d from a weary s e a r c h for the trail, h e h e a r d the s o u n d of h a p p y laughter e c h o e d from the r o c k s . H e s t o p p e d in s o m e a l a r m , a n d his t h o u g h t s first naturally reverted to the w h i s k e y — w h i c h h e h a d prudently cached. " A n d yet it don't s o m e h o w s o u n d like whiskey," s a i d the g a m b l e r . It w a s not until he c a u g h t sight of the blazing fire t h r o u g h the still b l i n d i n g s t o r m , a n d the g r o u p a r o u n d it, that he settled to the conviction t h a t it w a s " s q u a r e f u n . " W h e t h e r M r . O a k h u r s t h a d cached his c a r d s with the whiskey a s s o m e thing d e b a r r e d the free a c c e s s of the c o m m u n i t y , I c a n n o t say. It w a s certain that, in M o t h e r S h i p t o n ' s w o r d s , h e "didn't say c a r d s o n c e " d u r i n g that evening. H a p l y the time w a s b e g u i l e d by a n a c c o r d e o n , p r o d u c e d s o m e w h a t ostentatiously by T o m S i m s o n , from his p a c k . N o t w i t h s t a n d i n g s o m e difficulties a t t e n d i n g the m a n i p u l a t i o n of this i n s t r u m e n t , Piney W o o d s m a n a g e d to p l u c k several r e l u c t a n t m e l o d i e s from its keys, to a n a c c o m p a n i m e n t by T h e I n n o c e n t o n a pair of b o n e c a s t i n e t s . B u t the c r o w n i n g festivity of the e v e n i n g w a s r e a c h e d in a r u d e c a m p - m e e t i n g h y m n , w h i c h the lovers, j o i n i n g h a n d s , s a n g with great e a r n e s t n e s s a n d vociferation. I fear that a certain defiant t o n e a n d C o v e n a n t e r ' s s w i n g 6 to its c h o r u s , rather t h a n any devotional quality, c a u s e d it to speedily infect the o t h e r s , w h o at last j o i n e d in the refrain: 5. In a n u n d e r t o n e ( L a t i n ) . 6. C o v e n a n t e r s w e r e S c o t t i s h P r e s b y t e r i a n s o f t h e 1 6 t h a n d 17th c e n t u r i e s w h o b o u n d t h e m s e l v e s by a series of oaths or c o v e n a n t s to the Presbyterian

doctrine and d e m a n d e d separation from the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d . " C o v e n a n t e r ' s s w i n g " indic a t e s t h a t t h e h y m n is s u n g w i t h a v i g o r o u s r h y t h m with a martial beat.

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"I'm p r o u d to live in the service of the L o r d , A n d I'm b o u n d to die in His a r m y . " 7 T h e p i n e s r o c k e d , the storm e d d i e d a n d whirled a b o v e the m i s e r a b l e g r o u p , a n d the f l a m e s of their altar l e a p e d h e a v e n w a r d , a s if in token of the vow. At m i d n i g h t the s t o r m a b a t e d , the rolling c l o u d s p a r t e d , a n d the stars glittered keenly a b o v e the s l e e p i n g c a m p . M r . O a k h u r s t , w h o s e p r o f e s s i o n a l habits h a d e n a b l e d him to live on the s m a l l e s t p o s s i b l e a m o u n t of s l e e p , in dividing the w a t c h with T o m S i m s o n , s o m e h o w m a n a g e d to take u p o n himself the greater part of that duty. H e e x c u s e d h i m s e l f to T h e I n n o c e n t , by saying that h e h a d "often b e e n a w e e k without s l e e p . " " D o i n g w h a t ? " a s k e d T o m . " P o k e r ! " replied O a k h u r s t , sententiously; " w h e n a m a n gets a s t r e a k of l u c k — n i g g e r - l u c k 8 — h e don't get tired. T h e l u c k gives in first. L u c k , " c o n t i n u e d the g a m b l e r , reflectively, "is a mighty q u e e r thing. All you k n o w a b o u t it for certain is that it's b o u n d to c h a n g e . A n d it's finding o u t w h e n it's g o i n g to c h a n g e that m a k e s you. W e ' v e h a d a streak of b a d l u c k s i n c e we left Poker F l a t — y o u c o m e a l o n g a n d slap you get into it, t o o . If you c a n hold your c a r d s right a l o n g you're all right. F o r , " a d d e d the g a m b l e r , with cheerful irrelevance, "I'm p r o u d to live in the service of the L o r d , A n d I'm b o u n d to die in His a r m y . " T h e third day c a m e , a n d the s u n , looking t h r o u g h the w h i t e - c u r t a i n e d valley, s a w the o u t c a s t s divide their slowly d e c r e a s i n g store of provisions for the m o r n i n g m e a l . It w a s o n e of the peculiarities of that m o u n t a i n c l i m a t e that its rays diffused a kindly w a r m t h over the wintry l a n d s c a p e , a s if in regretful c o m m i s e r a t i o n of the p a s t . B u t it revealed drift on drift of s n o w piled high a r o u n d the h u t ; a h o p e l e s s , u n c h a r t e d , t r a c k l e s s s e a of white lying below the rocky s h o r e s to which the c a s t a w a y s still c l u n g . T h r o u g h the marvellously clear air, the s m o k e of the p a s t o r a l village of P o k e r Flat rose m i l e s away. M o t h e r S h i p t o n s a w it, a n d from a r e m o t e p i n n a c l e of her rocky fastn e s s , hurled in that direction a final m a l e d i c t i o n . It w a s her last vituperative a t t e m p t , a n d p e r h a p s for that r e a s o n w a s invested with a certain d e g r e e of sublimity. It did her g o o d , s h e privately i n f o r m e d the D u c h e s s . " J u s t you go out there a n d c u s s , a n d s e e . " S h e then set herself to the t a s k of a m u s i n g "the c h i l d , " a s s h e a n d the D u c h e s s were p l e a s e d to call Piney. Piney w a s n o c h i c k e n , b u t it w a s a s o o t h i n g a n d i n g e n i o u s theory of the pair to t h u s a c c o u n t for the fact that s h e didn't s w e a r a n d wasn't i m p r o p e r . W h e n night crept u p again through the g o r g e s , the reedy n o t e s of the a c c o r d e o n rose a n d fell in fitful s p a s m s a n d long-drawn g a s p s by the flickering camp-fire. B u t m u s i c failed to fill entirely the a c h i n g void left by insufficient food, a n d a n e w diversion w a s p r o p o s e d by Piney—story-telling. N e i t h e r M r . O a k h u r s t nor his f e m a l e c o m p a n i o n s c a r i n g to relate their personal e x p e r i e n c e s , this plan w o u l d have failed, too, b u t for T h e I n n o c e n t . S o m e m o n t h s before he h a d c h a n c e d u p o n a stray c o p y of M r . P o p e ' s 9 ingenious translation of the Iliad. H e now p r o p o s e d to n a r r a t e the principal incid e n t s of that p o e m — h a v i n g thoroughly m a s t e r e d the a r g u m e n t a n d fairly 7. R e f r a i n of t h e early A m e r i c a n s p i r i t u a l " S e r v i c e of the Lord." 8. I.e., very g o o d f o r t u n e .

9. Alexander P o p e ( 1 6 8 8 — 1 7 4 4 ) , English poet w h o t r a n s l a t e d H o m e r ' s Iliad ( a n d Odyssey) into t h e h e r o i c c o u p l e t s f o r w h i c h P o p e is f a m o u s .

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forgotten the w o r d s — i n the c u r r e n t v e r n a c u l a r of S a n d y Bar. A n d s o for the rest of that night the H o m e r i c d e m i - g o d s again walked the e a r t h . T r o j a n bully a n d wily G r e e k wrestled in the w i n d s , a n d the great pines in the c a n y o n s e e m e d to bow to the wrath of the son of P e l e u s . 1 M r . O a k h u r s t l i s t e n e d with quiet s a t i s f a c t i o n . M o s t especially w a s h e i n t e r e s t e d in the fate of " A s h - h e e l s , " 2 a s T h e I n n o c e n t p e r s i s t e d in d e n o m i n a t i n g the "swift-footed Achilles." S o with s m a l l food a n d m u c h of H o m e r a n d the a c c o r d e o n , a w e e k p a s s e d over the h e a d s of the o u t c a s t s . T h e s u n a g a i n forsook t h e m , a n d again from l e a d e n skies the snow-flakes were sifted over the l a n d . D a y by day c l o s e r a r o u n d t h e m drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked from their p r i s o n over drifted walls of dazzling white, that towered twenty feet a b o v e their h e a d s . It b e c a m e m o r e a n d m o r e difficult to r e p l e n i s h their fires, even from the fallen trees b e s i d e t h e m , now half-hidden in the drifts. A n d yet n o o n e c o m p l a i n e d . T h e lovers turned from the dreary p r o s p e c t a n d looked into e a c h other's eyes, a n d were happy. M r . O a k h u r s t settled h i m s e l f coolly to the losing g a m e before h i m . T h e D u c h e s s , m o r e cheerful t h a n s h e h a d b e e n , a s s u m e d the c a r e of Piney. Only M o t h e r S h i p t o n — o n c e the s t r o n g e s t of the p a r t y — s e e m e d to s i c k e n a n d f a d e . At m i d n i g h t o n the tenth day s h e called O a k h u r s t to her s i d e . "I'm g o i n g , " s h e s a i d , in a voice of q u e r u l o u s w e a k n e s s , " b u t don't say anything a b o u t it. Don't w a k e n the kids. T a k e the b u n d l e from u n d e r my h e a d a n d o p e n it." M r . O a k h u r s t did s o . It c o n t a i n e d M o t h e r S h i p t o n ' s rations for the last week, u n t o u c h e d . " G i v e 'em to the c h i l d , " s h e said, p o i n t i n g to the s l e e p i n g Piney. "You've starved yourself," s a i d the g a m bler. " T h a t ' s w h a t they call it," said the w o m a n q u e r u l o u s l y , a s s h e lay d o w n a g a i n , a n d turning her f a c e to the wall, p a s s e d quietly away. T h e a c c o r d e o n a n d the b o n e s were p u t a s i d e that day, a n d H o m e r w a s forgotten. W h e n the body of M o t h e r S h i p t o n h a d b e e n c o m m i t t e d to the snow, Mr. O a k h u r s t took T h e I n n o c e n t a s i d e , a n d s h o w e d him a pair of s n o w - s h o e s , which h e h a d f a s h i o n e d from the old p a c k - s a d d l e . " T h e r e ' s o n e c h a n c e in a h u n d r e d to save her yet," h e s a i d , p o i n t i n g to Piney; " b u t it's t h e r e , " h e a d d e d , p o i n t i n g toward Poker Flat. "If you c a n r e a c h there in two days she's s a f e . " "And y o u ? " a s k e d T o m S i m s o n . "I'll stay h e r e , " w a s the curt reply. T h e lovers p a r t e d with a long e m b r a c e . "You a r e not going, t o o , " said the D u c h e s s , a s s h e s a w M r . O a k h u r s t apparently waiting to a c c o m p a n y h i m . "As far a s the c a n y o n . " he replied. H e t u r n e d s u d d e n l y , a n d k i s s e d the D u c h e s s , leaving her pallid f a c e a f l a m e , a n d her t r e m b l i n g l i m b s rigid with amazement. N i g h t c a m e , but not M r . O a k h u r s t . It b r o u g h t the s t o r m a g a i n a n d the whirling s n o w . T h e n the D u c h e s s , f e e d i n g the fire, f o u n d that s o m e o n e h a d quietly piled b e s i d e the hut e n o u g h fuel to last a few days longer. T h e tears rose to her eyes, but s h e hid t h e m from Piney. T h e w o m e n slept but little. In the m o r n i n g , looking into e a c h other's f a c e s , they read their fate. N e i t h e r s p o k e ; b u t Piney, a c c e p t i n g the p o s i t i o n of the stronger, drew n e a r a n d p l a c e d her a r m a r o u n d the D u c h e s s ' s w a i s t . T h e y kept this attitude for the rest of the day. T h a t night tjie s t o r m r e a c h e d its 1. A c h i l l e s , c h i e f h e r o o n t h e G r e e k s i d e o f t h e Trojan War. 2. T h e mispronunciation emphasizes Achilles' one

v u l n e r a b l e s p o t , his heel, by w h i c h his m o t h e r , T h e t i s , h e l d h i m w h e n s h e d i p p e d h i m in t h e r i v e r Styx to m a k e him invulnerable.

T H E

O U T C A S T S

O F

P O K E R

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greatest fury, a n d r e n d i n g a s u n d e r the p r o t e c t i n g p i n e s , invaded the very hut. T o w a r d m o r n i n g they f o u n d t h e m s e l v e s u n a b l e to f e e d the fire, which gradually died away. As the e m b e r s slowly b l a c k e n e d , the D u c h e s s c r e p t closer to Piney, a n d broke the s i l e n c e of m a n y h o u r s : "Piney, c a n you p r a y ? " " N o , d e a r , " said Piney, simply. T h e D u c h e s s , without knowing exactly why, felt relieved, a n d p u t t i n g her h e a d u p o n Piney's s h o u l d e r , s p o k e n o m o r e . A n d so reclining, the y o u n g e r a n d p u r e r pillowing the h e a d of her soiled sister u p o n her virgin b r e a s t , they fell a s l e e p . T h e wind lulled a s if it feared to w a k e n t h e m . F e a t h e r y drifts of s n o w , s h a k e n from the long pine b o u g h s , flew like white-winged b i r d s , a n d settled a b o u t t h e m a s they slept. T h e m o o n t h r o u g h the rifted c l o u d s looked d o w n u p o n what h a d b e e n the c a m p . B u t all h u m a n stain, all trace of earthly travail, was h i d d e n b e n e a t h the s p o t l e s s m a n t l e mercifully flung from a b o v e . T h e y slept all that day a n d the next, nor did they w a k e n w h e n voices a n d footsteps broke the s i l e n c e of the c a m p . A n d w h e n pitying fingers b r u s h e d the s n o w from their w a n f a c e s , you c o u l d scarcely have told from the e q u a l p e a c e that dwelt u p o n t h e m , which w a s s h e that h a d s i n n e d . E v e n the L a w of Poker Flat recognized this, a n d turned away, leaving t h e m still locked in e a c h other's a r m s . B u t at the h e a d of the g u l c h , on o n e of the largest pine t r e e s , they f o u n d the d e u c e of c l u b s p i n n e d to the bark with a bowie knife. It b o r e the following, written in pencil, in a firm h a n d :

. It •

••

BENEATH THIS LIES THE

I

"

TREE

BODY

OF

JOHN OAKHURST, WHO

STRUCK A STREAK OF

ON THE

2 3 D

OF

BAD

NOVEMBER,

LUCK 1850,

AND HANDED ON THE

7TH

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DECEMBER, t

1850

'••

And p u l s e l e s s a n d c o l d , with a Derringer* by his side a n d a bullet in his heart, t h o u g h still c a l m a s in life, b e n e a t h the snow, lay he w h o w a s at o n c e the strongest a n d yet the w e a k e s t of the o u t c a s t s of Poker Flat. 1869,1870

3. S h o r t - b a r r e l e d p o c k e t pistol, n a m e d after its 1 9 t h - c e n t u r y ' A m e r i c a n i n v e n t o r , H e n r y D e r i n g e r .

1482

CONSTANCE FENIMORE 1840-1894

WOOLSON

C o n s t a n c e F e n i m o r e W o o l s o n is p e r h a p s b e s t k n o w n t o d a y a s a m a j o r c o n t r i b u t o r t o A m e r i c a n r e g i o n a l writing a n d a s a n a c u t e o b s e r v e r of t h e s t r u g g l e s o f t a l e n t e d w o m e n writers t o b e t a k e n s e r i o u s l y . In h e r o w n t i m e , W o o l s o n m a d e a c o m f o r t a b l e living a n d financed h e r extensive travel by p u b l i s h i n g poetry, a r t i c l e s , reviews, a n d m o r e t h a n fifty short s t o r i e s a n d five n o v e l s . S h e w a s p o p u l a r with t h e r e a d i n g p u b l i c a n d f a v o r a b l y r e v i e w e d by t h e New York

Times,

t h e Nation,

critic, for i n s t a n c e , w r o t e in a review o f Rodman (1880):

a n d Scribner's.

the Keeper:

An anonymous

Southern

Sketches

S h e is a c o n s c i e n t i o u s a n d true artist. . . . T h e s k e t c h e s c o l l e c t e d in this v o l u m e p l a c e their a u t h o r in t h e first r a n k o f writers in this line; n a y , w e k n o w o f n o writer, E n g l i s h o r A m e r i c a n , w h o s e s h o r t s t o r i e s a r e s o rich in d e s c r i p t i o n , s o s t r o n g in their d e l i n e a t i o n s o f c h a r a c t e r , s o o p u l e n t in n a r r a t i v e o r d r a m a t i c interest, a n d s o truly p o e t i c in their s e t t i n g s a n d s u r r o u n d i n g s . T o b e s u r e , this p r a i s e m a y b e s o m e w h a t h y p e r b o l i c , b u t it is n o t u n c h a r a c t e r i s t i c o f t h e e n t h u s i a s m h e r b e s t w o r k e v o k e d . A s w a s t r u e o f m a n y o t h e r w o m e n writers o f the t i m e , W o o l s o n w i s h e d t o b e m o r e t h a n p o p u l a r : s h e w i s h e d t o b e t a k e n a s s e r i o u s l y a s t h e writers s h e m o s t a d m i r e d — D i c k e n s , h e r u n c l e J a m e s F e n i m o r e C o o p e r , C h a r lotte B r o n t e , G e o r g e Eliot, G e o r g e S a n d , a n d T u r g e n e v a m o n g t h e m . T h o u g h s t u d i e s of h e r life a n d writings h a v e a p p e a r e d f r o m t i m e t o t i m e s i n c e h e r d e a t h , it is only s i n c e t h e late 1 9 8 0 s that W o o l s o n h a s b e g u n to b e t a k e n s e r i o u s l y by s c h o l a r s a n d critics, a n d m u c h w o r k r e m a i n s t o b e d o n e b e f o r e w e h a v e a firm s e n s e o f t h e s c o p e of h e r c o n t r i b u t i o n s to A m e r i c a n letters. W o o l s o n w a s b o r n in C l a r e m o n t , N e w H a m p s h i r e , o n M a r c h 5 , 1 8 4 0 , b u t in h e r infancy w a s t a k e n t o C l e v e l a n d , O h i o ( t h e n a s m a l l frontier t o w n of six t h o u s a n d ) , w h e r e t h e family lived until h e r father's d e a t h in 1 8 6 9 . H e r s u m m e r s w e r e h a p p i l y s p e n t o n M a c k i n a c I s l a n d , in t h e straits c o n n e c t i n g L a k e H u r o n a n d L a k e M i c h i g a n , w h e r e t h e family o w n e d a c o t t a g e . After h e r f a t h e r ' s d e a t h in 1 8 6 9 , W o o l s o n a s s u m e d r e s p o n s i b i l i t y for h e r m o t h e r ' s c a r e a n d s o o n after b e g a n h e r n e a r l y twenty-five-year c a r e e r a s a p r o f e s s i o n a l writer. S h e s p e n t t h e next d e c a d e traveling a l o n g t h e e a s t e r n c o a s t o f t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s with h e r m o t h e r , u s u a l l y w i n t e r i n g in S t . A u g u s t i n e , Florida, a n d s u m m e r i n g in N e w York S t a t e . W o o l s o n first e x p l o r e d t h e different s u b r e g i o n s a n d s u b c u l t u r e s o f t h e G r e a t L a k e s Lake-County Sketches, 1 8 7 5 ) a n d later c a m e t o k n o w B e g i o n ( s e e C a s t l e Nowhere: the people, cultures, a n d terrains of England a n d western E u r o p e . Similarly s h e conv e r t e d h e r c l o s e o b s e r v a t i o n o f t h e effects o f R e c o n s t r u c t i o n o n different g r o u p s in t h e S o u t h , e s p e c i a l l y o n F l o r i d i a n s , into n a r r a t i v e s , t h e b e s t o f w h i c h s h e g a t h e r e d for Rodman the Keeper: Southern Sketches ( 1 8 8 6 ) . Perhaps what most distinguishes W o o l s o n from o t h e r r e g i o n a l i s t a n d local c o l o r writers f r o m B r e t H a r t e t o J e w e t t , F r e e m a n , a n d C h o p i n is that s h e w a s a " m u l t i r e g i o n a l i s t " ; f u r t h e r m o r e , s h e r e c o g nized in all t h e r e g i o n s s h e k n e w firsthand i n c r e a s i n g h e t e r o g e n e i t y a n d t h u s t h e n e e d for c r o s s - c u l t u r a l u n d e r s t a n d i n g . After h e r m o t h e r died in 1 8 7 9 , W o o l s o n left t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s a n d s p e n t t h e rest of h e r life in E u r o p e w h e r e s h e e n j o y e d t h e c o m p a n i o n s h i p o f a l a r g e circle o f intell e c t u a l a n d artistic f r i e n d s , m a n y o f t h e m e x p a t r i a t e s like herself. W o o l s o n t o o k p l e a s u r e in h e r s o c i a l life; b u t s h e w a s , n e v e r t h e l e s s , v u l n e r a b l e t o d e p r e s s i o n , w h i c h s e e m e d t o r u n in h e r family, a n d s u f f e r e d over t i m e f r o m h e a r i n g l o s s — i t s e l f likely to b e d e p r e s s i n g for s o m e o n e w h o loved m u s i c a s m u c h a s W o o l s o n d i d . In J a n u a r y 1 8 9 4 s h e e i t h e r fell or j u m p e d to h e r d e a t h f r o m h e r s e c o n d - s t o r y b e d r o o m in V e n i c e . H e r l o n g - t i m e friend H e n r y J a m e s a s s i s t e d h e r s i s t e r C l a r a B e n e d i c t in d i s p o s i n g o f h e r p e r s o n a l effects a n d a r r a n g i n g , a c c o r d i n g t o h e r w i s h e s , for h e r b u r i a l in t h e P r o t e s t a n t C e m e t e r y in R o m e . S h a r o n L. D e a n usefully r e m i n d s u s t h a t in spite o f

Miss

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1483

the m o r e than a m p l e s p e c u l a t i o n over the c a u s e of W o o l s o n ' s d e a t h , W o o l s o n w a s not h e r s e l f m o r b i d l y p r e o c c u p i e d with d e a t h . R a t h e r , D e a n a r g u e s , W o o l s o n c o n structively e x a m i n e d in h e r fiction a n d o t h e r writings all m a n n e r of s o c i a l ills a n d c u l t u r a l p r e j u d i c e s , in p a r t i c u l a r , " t h e m a r g i n a l i z a t i o n of w o m e n w h o p u r s u e e d u c a tion or a r t . " " M i s s G r i e f , " r e p r i n t e d h e r e , is a b o u t a t a l e n t e d b u t u n p u b l i s h e d w o m a n writer w h o p u r s u e s her art with the intensity of g e n i u s . It is a l s o a b o u t a m a l e writer of talent b u t not g e n i u s w h o fails to r e s p o n d effectively e i t h e r to t h e a u t h o r or to her writings. W o o l s o n ' s story is r e m a r k a b l e , however, for m o r e t h a n its o s t e n s i b l e s u b j e c t — t h e g e n d e r e d n a t u r e of t h e literary m a r k e t p l a c e a n d its c o n s e q u e n c e s for b o t h m e n a n d w o m e n writers ( a n d r e a d e r s ) . W o o l s o n deftly c r e a t e s m u l t i p l e ironies t h r o u g h the m a n i p u l a t i o n of p o i n t o f view, a n d t h e s y m b o l i c r e s o n a n c e of t h e storieswithin-stories m a k e this m u l t i v a l e n t narrative m o r e t h a n t h e f e m i n i s t p o l e m i c or s i m ple morality tale to w h i c h s o m e critics w o u l d h a v e r e d u c e d it. W o o l s o n ' s c a p a c i t y for c o n v e y i n g t h e s u b t l e t y of p s y c h o l o g i c a l p r o c e s s e s — e s p e c i a l l y t h e d e f e n s e s that d e v e l o p to d e n y a u t h e n t i c feeling a n d e n d o r s e c o m p l a c e n c y — i s powerfully d i s p l a y e d . N o s i n g l e story, of c o u r s e , c a n c l a i m to r e p r e s e n t a prolific writer's o e u v r e , b u t " M i s s G r i e f s h o u l d l e a d u s to c o n s i d e r her p o w e r a s a m a k e r of fictions t h a t i l l u m i n a t e late nineteenth-century America.

Miss Grief " A c o n c e i t e d f o o l " is a not u n c o m m o n e x p r e s s i o n . N o w , I know that I a m not a fool, but I a l s o know that I a m c o n c e i t e d . B u t , candidly, c a n it be h e l p e d if o n e h a p p e n s to b e y o u n g , well a n d s t r o n g , p a s s a b l y good-looking, with s o m e m o n e y that o n e h a s inherited a n d m o r e that o n e h a s e a r n e d — i n all, e n o u g h to m a k e life c o m f o r t a b l e — a n d if u p o n this f o u n d a t i o n rests a l s o the p l e a s a n t s u p e r s t r u c t u r e of a literary s u c c e s s ? T h e s u c c e s s is d e s e r v e d , I think: certainly it w a s not lightly g a i n e d . Yet even with this I fully a p p r e c i a t e its rarity. T h u s , I find myself very well e n t e r t a i n e d in life: I have all I w i s h in the way of society, a n d a d e e p , a l t h o u g h of c o u r s e carefully c o n c e a l e d , satisfaction in my own little f a m e ; which f a m e I foster by a g e n t l e s y s t e m of n o n - i n t e r f e r e n c e . I know that I a m s p o k e n of a s "that quiet y o u n g fellow w h o writes t h o s e delightful little s t u d i e s of society, you k n o w ; " a n d I live u p to that definition. A year a g o I w a s in R o m e , a n d enjoying life particularly. T h e r e w a s a large n u m b e r of my a c q u a i n t a n c e s t h e r e , both A m e r i c a n a n d E n g l i s h , a n d n o day p a s s e d without its invitation. O f c o u r s e I u n d e r s t o o d it: it is s e l d o m that you find a literary m a n w h o is g o o d - t e m p e r e d , well-dressed, sufficiently p r o vided with m o n e y , a n d a m i a b l y o b e d i e n t to all the rules a n d r e q u i r e m e n t s of " s o c i e t y . " " W h e n f o u n d , m a k e a n o t e of i t ; " 2 a n d the n o t e w a s generally an invitation. O n e evening, u p o n r e t u r n i n g to my l o d g i n g s , m y m a n S i m p s o n i n f o r m e d m e that a p e r s o n h a d called in the a f t e r n o o n , a n d u p o n learning that I w a s a b s e n t h a d left not a c a r d , b u t her n a m e — " M i s s G r i e f . " T h e title l i n g e r e d — M i s s Grief! " G r i e f h a s not so far visited m e h e r e , " I s a i d to myself, d i s m i s s i n g S i m p s o n a n d s e e k i n g my little b a l c o n y for a final s m o k e , " a n d s h e shall not now. I shall take c a r e to b e 'not at h o m e ' to her if s h e c o n t i n u e s to c a l l . " A n d 1. F i r s t p r i n t e d i n t h e M a y 1 8 8 0 i s s u e o f Lippincott's, t h e s o u r c e o f t h e t e x t p r i n t e d h e r e .

2. F r o m Dombey and ens (1812-1870).

Son

( 1 8 4 8 ) by C h a r l e s Dick-

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C O N S T A N C E

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then I fell to thinking of E t h e l i n d A b e r c r o m b i e , in w h o s e society I h a d s p e n t that a n d m a n y e v e n i n g s : they were g o l d e n t h o u g h t s . T h e next day there w a s a n e x c u r s i o n : it w a s late w h e n I r e a c h e d my r o o m s , a n d again S i m p s o n i n f o r m e d m e that M i s s G r i e f h a d called. " I s s h e c o m i n g c o n t i n u o u s l y ? " I said, half to myself. "Yes, sir: s h e m e n t i o n e d that s h e s h o u l d call a g a i n . " "How does she look?" "Well, sir, a lady, but not s o p r o s p e r o u s a s s h e w a s , I s h o u l d s a y , " a n s w e r e d S i m p s o n discreetly. "Young?" " N o , sir." "Alone?" "A m a i d with her, sir." B u t o n c e o u t s i d e in my little high-up b a l c o n y with my cigar, I a g a i n forgot M i s s G r i e f a n d w h a t e v e r s h e might r e p r e s e n t . W h o would not forget in that m o o n l i g h t , with E t h e l i n d A b e r c r o m b i e ' s f a c e to r e m e m b e r ? T h e stranger c a m e a third t i m e , a n d I w a s a b s e n t : then s h e let two days p a s s , a n d b e g a n a g a i n . It grew to b e a regular d i a l o g u e b e t w e e n S i m p s o n a n d myself w h e n I c a m e in at night: " G r i e f t o d a y ? " "Yes, sir." "What time?" " F o u r , sir." " H a p p y the m a n , " I t h o u g h t , " w h o c a n keep her confined to a p a r t i c u l a r hour!" B u t I s h o u l d not have t r e a t e d my visitor s o cavalierly if I h a d not felt s u r e that she w a s e c c e n t r i c a n d u n c o n v e n t i o n a l — q u a l i t i e s extremely t i r e s o m e in a w o m a n no longer y o u n g or attractive, a n d w i t h o u t m o n e y to gild t h e m over. If s h e were not e c c e n t r i c s h e would not have p e r s i s t e d in c o m i n g to my d o o r day after day in this silent way, without s t a t i n g her e r r a n d , leaving a note or p r e s e n t i n g her c r e d e n t i a l s in any s h a p e . I m a d e u p my m i n d that s h e h a d s o m e t h i n g to s e l l — a bit of carving or s o m e intaglio s u p p o s e d to b e a n t i q u e . It was known that I h a d a fancy for o d d i t i e s . I s a i d to myself, " S h e h a s read or heard of my 'Old G o l d ' story or else ' T h e B u r i e d G o d , ' a n d s h e thinks m e an idealizing i g n o r a m u s u p o n w h o m s h e c a n i m p o s e . H e r s e p u l c h r a l n a m e is at least not Italian: probably s h e is a s h a r p c o u n t r y - w o m a n of m i n e , turning by m e a n s of aesthetic lies a n h o n e s t p e n n y w h e n s h e c a n . " S h e h a d called seven times d u r i n g a period of two w e e k s without s e e i n g m e , w h e n o n e day I h a p p e n e d to b e at h o m e in the a f t e r n o o n , owing to a p o u r i n g rain a n d a fit of d o u b t c o n c e r n i n g M i s s A b e r c r o m b i e . F o r I h a d c o n s t r u c t e d a careful theory of that y o u n g lady's c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s in my own m i n d , a n d s h e h a d lived u p to it delightfully until the p r e v i o u s e v e n i n g , w h e n with o n e word s h e h a d blown it to a t o m s a n d taken flight, leaving m e s t a n d ing, a s it w e r e , o n a d e s o l a t e s h o r e , with n o t h i n g but a h a n d f u l of m i s t a k e n i n d u c t i o n s wherewith to c o n s o l e myself. I do not k n o w a m o r e e x a s p e r a t i n g f r a m e of m i n d , at least for a c o n s t r u c t o r of theories. I c o u l d not write, a n d so I took u p a F r e n c h novel (I m o d e l myself a little o n B a l z a c * ) . I h a d b e e n turning over its p a g e s b u t a few m o m e n t s w h e n S i m p s o n k n o c k e d , a n d , e n t e r i n g softly, said, with j u s t a s h a d o w of a smile on his well-trained f a c e , 3.

H o n o r e d e Balzac ( 1 7 9 9 - 1 8 5 0 ) , F r e n c h realist novelist.

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" M i s s G r i e f . " I briefly c o n s i g n e d M i s s G r i e f to all the F u r i e s / a n d t h e n , a s he still l i n g e r e d — p e r h a p s not knowing where they r e s i d e d — I a s k e d w h e r e the visitor w a s . " O u t s i d e , s i r — i n the hall. I told her I would s e e if you were at h o m e . " " S h e m u s t be u n p l e a s a n t l y wet if s h e h a d n o c a r r i a g e . " " N o c a r r i a g e , sir: they always c o m e on foot. I think s h e is a little d a m p , sir." "Well, let her in, but I don't want the m a i d . I m a y a s well s e e her now, I s u p p o s e , a n d e n d the affair." "Yes, sir." I did not put d o w n my b o o k . M y visitor s h o u l d have a h e a r i n g , but not m u c h m o r e : s h e h a d sacrificed her w o m a n l y c l a i m s by her p e r s i s t e n t a t t a c k s u p o n my door. Presently S i m p s o n u s h e r e d her in. " M i s s G r i e f , " h e said, a n d then went out, c l o s i n g the curtain b e h i n d h i m . A w o m a n — y e s , a l a d y — b u t shabby, unattractive a n d m o r e t h a n m i d d l e aged. I rose, b o w e d slightly, a n d then d r o p p e d into my c h a i r a g a i n , still k e e p i n g the b o o k in my h a n d . " M i s s G r i e f ? " I said interrogatively a s I i n d i c a t e d a s e a t with my eyebrows. " N o t Grief," s h e a n s w e r e d — " C r i e f : my n a m e is C r i e f . " S h e sat d o w n , a n d I s a w that s h e held a s m a l l flat box. " N o t carving, t h e n , " I t h o u g h t — " p r o b a b l y old l a c e , s o m e t h i n g that belonged to Tullia or L u c r e z i a Borgia.'" 5 B u t a s s h e did not s p e a k I f o u n d myself obliged to b e g i n : "You have b e e n h e r e , I think, o n c e or twice b e f o r e ? " " S e v e n times: this is the e i g h t h . " A silence. "I a m often out: i n d e e d , I m a y say that I a m never i n , " I r e m a r k e d c a r e lessly. "Yes: you have m a n y f r i e n d s . " " W h o will p e r h a p s buy old l a c e , " I mentally a d d e d . B u t this time I too r e m a i n e d silent: why s h o u l d I trouble myself to draw her o u t ? S h e h a d s o u g h t m e : let her a d v a n c e her i d e a , whatever it w a s , now that e n t r a n c e w a s g a i n e d . B u t M i s s G r i e f (I preferred to call her so) did not look a s t h o u g h s h e c o u l d a d v a n c e anything: her black g o w n , d a m p with rain, s e e m e d to retreat fearfully to her thin self, while her thin self retreated a s far a s p o s s i b l e from m e , from the chair, from everything. H e r eyes were c a s t d o w n : a n old-fashioned lace veil with a heavy border s h a d e d her f a c e . S h e looked at the floor, a n d I looked at her. I grew a little i m p a t i e n t , but I m a d e up my m i n d that I would c o n t i n u e silent a n d see how long a time s h e would c o n s i d e r n e c e s s a r y to give d u e effect to her little p a n t o m i m e . C o m e d y ? O r w a s it tragedy? I s u p p o s e full five m i n u t e s p a s s e d t h u s in our d o u b l e s i l e n c e ; a n d that is a long time w h e n two p e r s o n s are sitting o p p o s i t e e a c h other a l o n e in a small still r o o m . At last my visitor, without raising her eyes, said slowly, "You a r e very happy, are you not, with y o u t h , h e a l t h , friends, riches, f a m e ? " 4 . In G r e e k m y t h o l o g y g o d d e s s e s o f v e n g e a n c e ; usually represented as c r o n e s with d o g heads, bat w i n g s , a n d s n a k e s for hair. 5. E s t e e m e d as a patron of the arts ( 1 4 8 0 - 1 5 1 9 ) ; B o r g i a ' s f a m i l y w a s n o t o r i o u s for p o i s o n i n g its e n e -

m i e s . T u l l i a , a c c o r d i n g to t h e R o m a n h i s t o r i a n L i v y ( 5 9 B.C.E.— 1 7 C . E . ) , p e r s u a d e d h e r h u s b a n d t o m u r d e r her father a n d then drove her chariot over his d e a d body-

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It w a s a singular b e g i n n i n g . H e r voice w a s clear, low a n d very s w e e t a s s h e t h u s e n u m e r a t e d my a d v a n t a g e s o n e by o n e in a list. I w a s a t t r a c t e d by it, but repelled by her w o r d s , which s e e m e d to m e flattery both dull a n d b o l d . " T h a n k s , " I s a i d , "for your k i n d n e s s , b u t I fear it is u n d e s e r v e d . I s e l d o m d i s c u s s myself even w h e n with my f r i e n d s . " "I a m your f r i e n d , " replied M i s s Grief. T h e n , after a m o m e n t , s h e a d d e d slowly, "I have read every w o r d you have written." I c u r l e d the e d g e s of my b o o k indifferently: I a m not a fop, I h o p e , b u t — others have s a i d the s a m e . " W h a t is m o r e , I k n o w m u c h of it by h e a r t , " c o n t i n u e d my visitor. "Wait: I will s h o w y o u ; " a n d t h e n , without p a u s e , s h e b e g a n to r e p e a t s o m e t h i n g of m i n e word for word, j u s t a s I h a d written it. O n s h e w e n t , a n d I — l i s t e n e d . I i n t e n d e d interrupting her after a m o m e n t , b u t I did not, b e c a u s e s h e w a s reciting so well, a n d a l s o b e c a u s e I felt a d e s i r e g a i n i n g u p o n m e to s e e what s h e w o u l d m a k e of a certain c o n v e r s a t i o n w h i c h I k n e w w a s c o m i n g — a c o n v e r s a t i o n b e t w e e n two of my c h a r a c t e r s which w a s , to say the l e a s t , sphinx-like, a n d s o m e w h a t i n c a n d e s c e n t a l s o . W h a t won m e a little, too, w a s the fact that the s c e n e s h e w a s reciting (it w a s hardly m o r e t h a n that, a l t h o u g h called a story) w a s secretly my favorite a m o n g all the s k e t c h e s from my p e n with which a g r a c i o u s p u b l i c h a d b e e n favored. I never said s o , but it w a s ; a n d I h a d always felt a w o n d e r i n g a n n o y a n c e that the a f o r e s a i d p u b l i c , while kindly p r a i s i n g b e y o n d their worth other a t t e m p t s of m i n e , h a d never noticed the higher p u r p o s e of this little shaft, a i m e d not at the b a l c o n i e s a n d lighted windows of society, but straight u p toward the d i s t a n t s t a r s . S o s h e went o n , a n d presently r e a c h e d the c o n v e r s a t i o n : my two p e o p l e b e g a n to talk. S h e h a d r a i s e d her eyes now, a n d w a s looking at m e soberly a s s h e g a v e the w o r d s of the w o m a n , quiet, g e n t l e , c o l d , a n d the replies of the m a n , bitter, hot a n d s c a t h i n g . H e r very voice c h a n g e d , a n d took, a l t h o u g h always sweetly, the different t o n e s r e q u i r e d , while n o point of m e a n i n g , however small, no b r e a t h of d e l i c a t e e m p h a s i s which I h a d m e a n t , b u t which the dull types c o u l d not give, e s c a p e d a p p r e c i a t i v e a n d full, a l m o s t overfull, recognition which startled m e . F o r s h e h a d u n d e r s t o o d m e — u n d e r s t o o d m e a l m o s t better than I h a d u n d e r s t o o d myself. It s e e m e d to m e that while I h a d labored to interpret partially a p s y c h o l o g i c a l riddle, s h e , c o m i n g after, h a d c o m p r e h e n d e d its b e a r i n g s better t h a n I h a d , a l t h o u g h confining herself strictly to my own w o r d s a n d e m p h a s i s . T h e s c e n e e n d e d (and it e n d e d rather s u d d e n l y ) , s h e d r o p p e d her e y e s , a n d m o v e d her h a n d nervously to a n d fro over the box s h e held: her gloves were old a n d s h a b b y , her h a n d s s m a l l . I w a s secretly m u c h s u r p r i s e d by w h a t I h a d h e a r d , but my ill-humor w a s d e e p - s e a t e d that day, a n d I still felt s u r e , b e s i d e s , that the box c o n t a i n e d s o m e t h i n g that I w a s e x p e c t e d to buy. "You recite remarkably well," I said carelessly, " a n d I a m m u c h flattered a l s o by your a p p r e c i a t i o n of my efforts. B u t it is not, I p r e s u m e , to that a l o n e that I o w e the p l e a s u r e of this visit?" " Y e s , " s h e a n s w e r e d , still looking d o w n , "it is, for if y o u h a d not written that s c e n e I s h o u l d not have s o u g h t y o u . Your other s k e t c h e s a r e i n t e r i o r s — exquisitely p a i n t e d a n d delicately finished, b u t of small s c o p e . This is a s k e t c h in a few bold, masterly l i n e s — w o r k of entirely different spirit a n d p u r p o s e . " I w a s nettled by her insight. "You have b e s t o w e d s o m u c h of your kind attention u p o n m e that I feel your d e b t o r , " I s a i d , conventionally. "It m a y be

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that there is s o m e t h i n g I c a n d o for y o u — c o n n e c t e d , possibly, with that box?" It w a s a little i m p e r t i n e n t , but it w a s t r u e , for s h e a n s w e r e d , " Y e s . " I s m i l e d , b u t her eyes were c a s t down a n d s h e did not s e e the s m i l e . " W h a t I have to s h o w you is a m a n u s c r i p t , " s h e s a i d after a p a u s e which I did not break: "it is a d r a m a . I t h o u g h t that p e r h a p s you w o u l d read it." "An a u t h o r e s s ! T h i s is worse than old l a c e , " I said to myself in d i s m a y . — T h e n , a l o u d , " M y o p i n i o n would be worth n o t h i n g , M i s s C r i e f . " " N o t in a b u s i n e s s way, I know. B u t it might b e — a n a s s i s t a n c e p e r s o n a l l y . " H e r voice h a d s u n k to a w h i s p e r : o u t s i d e , the rain w a s p o u r i n g steadily d o w n . S h e w a s a very d e p r e s s i n g object to m e a s s h e sat there with her box. "I hardly think I have the time at p r e s e n t — " I b e g a n . S h e h a d raised her eyes a n d w a s looking at m e : t h e n , w h e n I p a u s e d , s h e rose a n d c a m e s u d d e n l y toward my chair. "Yes, you will r e a d it," s h e said with her h a n d o n my a r m — " y o u will r e a d it. L o o k at this r o o m ; look at yourself; look at all you have. T h e n look at m e , a n d have pity." I h a d risen, for s h e held my a r m a n d her d a m p skirt w a s b r u s h i n g my knees. H e r large d a r k eyes looked intently into m i n e a s s h e went on: "I have n o s h a m e in a s k i n g . W h y s h o u l d I have? It is my last e n d e a v o r , b u t a c a l m a n d well-considered o n e . If you refuse I shall g o away, knowing that F a t e h a s willed it s o . A n d I shall be c o n t e n t . " " S h e is m a d , " I t h o u g h t . B u t s h e did not look s o , a n d s h e h a d s p o k e n quietly, even g e n t l y — " S i t d o w n , " I said, m o v i n g away from her. I felt a s if I h a d b e e n m a g n e t i z e d , but it w a s only the n e a r n e s s of her eyes to m i n e , a n d their intensity. I drew forward a chair, but s h e r e m a i n e d s t a n d i n g . "I c a n n o t , " s h e said in the s a m e sweet, g e n t l e t o n e , " u n l e s s you p r o m i s e . " "Very well, I p r o m i s e ; only sit d o w n . " As I took her a r m to lead her to the chair I perceived that s h e w a s trembling, b u t her f a c e c o n t i n u e d u n m o v e d . "You d o not, of c o u r s e , wish m e to look at your m a n u s c r i p t n o w ? " I said, temporizing: "it w o u l d be m u c h better to leave it. Give m e your a d d r e s s , a n d I will return it to you with my written o p i n i o n ; a l t h o u g h , I r e p e a t , the latter will be of n o u s e to y o u . It is the opinion of a n editor or p u b l i s h e r that you want." "It shall b e as you p l e a s e . A n d I will go in a m o m e n t , " s a i d M i s s Grief, p r e s s i n g her p a l m s together, a s if trying to control the t r e m o r that h a d seized her slight f r a m e . S h e looked s o pallid that I t h o u g h t of offering her a g l a s s of wine: then I r e m e m b e r e d that if I did it might be a bait to bring her t h e r e a g a i n , a n d this I w a s d e s i r o u s to prevent. S h e rose while the t h o u g h t w a s p a s s i n g t h r o u g h my m i n d . H e r p a s t e b o a r d box lay o n the c h a i r s h e h a d first o c c u p i e d : s h e took it, wrote a n a d d r e s s on the cover, laid it d o w n , a n d t h e n , b o w i n g with a little air of formality, drew her black shawl a r o u n d her s h o u l d e r s a n d t u r n e d toward the door. I followed, after t o u c h i n g the bell. "You will h e a r from m e by letter," I said. S i m p s o n o p e n e d the door, a n d I c a u g h t a g l i m p s e of the m a i d , w h o w a s waiting in the a n t e r o o m . S h e w a s a n old w o m a n , shorter than her m i s t r e s s , equally thin, a n d d r e s s e d like her in rusty black. As the door o p e n e d s h e

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turned toward it a pair of small, d i m blue eyes with a look of furtive s u s p e n s e . S i m p s o n d r o p p e d the c u r t a i n , s h u t t i n g m e into the inner r o o m : h e h a d n o intention of allowing m e to a c c o m p a n y my visitor farther. B u t I h a d the curiosity to g o to a bay-window in a n a n g l e from w h e n c e I c o u l d c o m m a n d the street-door, a n d presently I saw t h e m i s s u e forth in the rain a n d walk away side by s i d e , the m i s t r e s s , b e i n g the taller, holding the u m b r e l l a : p r o b ably there w a s not m u c h difference in rank b e t w e e n p e r s o n s s o p o o r a n d forlorn a s t h e s e . It grew dark. I w a s invited out for the evening, a n d I knew that if I went I s h o u l d m e e t M i s s A b e r c r o m b i e . I s a i d to myself that I would not g o . I got out my p a p e r for writing, I m a d e my p r e p a r a t i o n s for a q u i e t e v e n i n g at h o m e with myself; but it w a s of no u s e . It all e n d e d slavishly in my going. At the last allowable m o m e n t I p r e s e n t e d myself, a n d — a s a p u n i s h m e n t for my vacillation, I s u p p o s e — I never p a s s e d a m o r e d i s a g r e e a b l e evening. I drove h o m e w a r d in a vixenish t e m p e r ; it w a s foggy without, a n d very foggy within. W h a t E t h e l i n d really w a s , now that s h e h a d broken t h r o u g h my elaboratelybuilt theories, I w a s not a b l e to d e c i d e . T h e r e w a s , to tell the truth, a certain y o u n g E n g l i s h m a n — B u t that is apart from this story. I r e a c h e d h o m e , went up to my r o o m s a n d h a d a s u p p e r . It w a s to c o n s o l e myself: I a m obliged to c o n s o l e myself scientifically o n c e in a while. I w a s walking u p a n d down afterward, s m o k i n g a n d feeling s o m e w h a t better, w h e n my eye fell u p o n the p a s t e b o a r d box. I t o o k it u p : on the cover w a s written a n a d d r e s s which s h o w e d that my visitor m u s t have walked a long d i s t a n c e in order to s e e m e : "A. C r i e f . " — " A G r i e f , " I t h o u g h t ; " a n d so s h e is. I positively believe s h e h a s b r o u g h t all this trouble u p o n m e : s h e h a s the evil e y e . " I took o u t the m a n u s c r i p t a n d looked at it. It w a s in the form of a little v o l u m e , a n d clearly written: o n the cover w a s the word " A r m o r " in G e r m a n text, a n d u n d e r n e a t h a p e n - a n d - i n k s k e t c h of a h e l m e t , b r e a s t p l a t e a n d shield. " G r i e f certainly n e e d s a r m o r , " I said to myself, sitting d o w n by the table a n d turning over the p a g e s . "I may a s well look over the thing now: I c o u l d not be in a w o r s e m o o d . " A n d then I b e g a n to r e a d . Early the next m o r n i n g S i m p s o n took a note from m e to the given a d d r e s s , returning with the following reply: " N o ; I prefer to c o m e to y o u ; at four; A. C R I E F . " T h e s e w o r d s , with their three s e m i c o l o n s , were written in pencil u p o n a p i e c e of c o a r s e printing-paper, b u t the h a n d w r i t i n g w a s a s clear a n d delicate a s that of the m a n u s c r i p t in ink. " W h a t sort of a p l a c e w a s it, S i m p s o n ? " "Very p o o r , sir, but I did not go all the way u p . T h e elder p e r s o n c a m e d o w n , sir, took the n o t e , a n d r e q u e s t e d m e to wait w h e r e I w a s . " "You h a d no c h a n c e , t h e n , to m a k e i n q u i r i e s ? " I said, knowing full well that h e h a d e m p t i e d the entire n e i g h b o r h o o d of any information it might p o s s e s s c o n c e r n i n g t h e s e two l o d g e r s . "Well, sir, you know h o w t h e s e foreigners will talk, w h e t h e r o n e w a n t s to hear or not. B u t it s e e m s that t h e s e two p e r s o n s have b e e n t h e r e b u t a few w e e k s : they live a l o n e , a n d a r e u n c o m m o n l y silent a n d reserved. T h e p e o p l e a r o u n d there call t h e m s o m e t h i n g that signifies 'the M a d a m e s A m e r i c a n , thin a n d d u m b . ' " At four the " M a d a m e s A m e r i c a n " arrived: it w a s raining a g a i n , a n d they c a m e on foot u n d e r their old u m b r e l l a . T h e m a i d waited in the a n t e r o o m ,

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a n d M i s s G r i e f w a s u s h e r e d into my b a c h e l o r ' s parlor, which w a s library a n d dining-room in o n e . I h a d t h o u g h t thai I s h o u l d m e e t her with great defere n c e , but s h e looked so forlorn that my d e f e r e n c e c h a n g e d to pity. It w a s the w o m a n that i m p r e s s e d m e then, m o r e than the w r i t e r — t h e fragile, nerveless body m o r e than the inspired m i n d . F o r it w a s inspired: I h a d sat u p half the night over her d r a m a , a n d h a d felt thrilled t h r o u g h a n d t h r o u g h m o r e than o n c e by its e a r n e s t n e s s , p a s s i o n a n d power. N o o n e could have b e e n m o r e s u r p r i s e d than I w a s to find myself t h u s e n t h u s i a s t i c . I thought I h a d outgrown that sort of thing. A n d o n e w o u l d have s u p p o s e d , too (I myself s h o u l d have s u p p o s e d so the day b e f o r e ) , that the faults of the d r a m a , which were m a n y a n d p r o m i n e n t , w o u l d have chilled any liking I might have felt, I b e i n g a writer myself, a n d therefore critical; for writers are a s apt to m a k e m u c h of the " h o w , " rather t h a n the " w h a t , " a s p a i n t e r s , w h o , it is well k n o w n , prefer a n exquisitely r e n d e r e d r e p r e s e n t a t i o n of a c o m m o n p l a c e t h e m e to a n imperfectly e x e c u t e d p i c t u r e of even the m o s t striking s u b j e c t . B u t in this c a s e , on the contrary, the s c a t t e r e d rays of splendor in M i s s G r i e f ' s d r a m a h a d m a d e m e forget the d a r k s p o t s , which were n u m e r o u s a n d disfiguring; or, rather, the s p l e n d o r h a d m a d e m e anxious to have the s p o t s r e m o v e d . A n d this a l s o w a s a p h i l a n t h r o p i c s t a t e very u n u s u a l for m e . R e g a r d i n g u n s u c c e s s f u l writers my m o t t o h a d b e e n "Vae v i c t i s ! " 6 M y visitor took a s e a t a n d folded her h a n d s : I c o u l d s e e , in spite of her quiet m a n n e r , that s h e w a s in b r e a t h l e s s s u s p e n s e . It s e e m e d s o pitiful that s h e s h o u l d be t r e m b l i n g there before m e — a w o m a n so m u c h older than I w a s , a w o m a n w h o p o s s e s s e d the divine s p a r k of g e n i u s w h i c h I w a s by n o m e a n s s u r e , in spite of my s u c c e s s , h a d b e e n g r a n t e d to m e — t h a t I felt a s if I o u g h t to g o d o w n on my k n e e s before her a n d entreat her to take her p r o p e r p l a c e of s u p r e m a c y at o n c e . Rut there! o n e d o e s not go d o w n on o n e ' s knees combustively, a s it w e r e , before a w o m a n over fifty, plain in f e a t u r e , thin, d e j e c t e d a n d ill-dressed. I c o n t e n t e d myself with taking her h a n d s (in their m i s e r a b l e old gloves) in m i n e , while I said cordially, " M i s s Crief, your d r a m a s e e m s to m e full of original power. It h a s r o u s e d my e n t h u s i a s m : I sat up half the night r e a d i n g it." T h e h a n d s I held shook, but s o m e t h i n g ( p e r h a p s a s h a m e for having e v a d e d the k n e e s b u s i n e s s ) m a d e m e tighten my hold a n d b e s t o w u p o n her a l s o a r e a s s u r i n g smile. S h e looked at m e for a m o m e n t , a n d t h e n , s u d d e n l y a n d noiselessly, tears rose a n d rolled down her c h e e k s . I d r o p p e d her h a n d s a n d retreated. I h a d not t h o u g h t her tearful: on the contrary, her voice a n d face h a d s e e m e d rigidly controlled. B u t now here s h e w a s b e n d i n g herself over the side of the c h a i r with her h e a d resting o n her a r m s , not s o b b i n g a l o u d , but her w h o l e f r a m e s h a k e n by the strength of her e m o t i o n . I r u s h e d for a glass of wine: I p r e s s e d her to take it. I did not q u i t e know w h a t to d o , b u t , p u t t i n g myself in her p l a c e , I d e c i d e d to p r a i s e the d r a m a ; a n d p r a i s e it I did. I do not know w h e n I have u s e d s o m a n y a d j e c t i v e s . S h e r a i s e d her h e a d a n d b e g a n to wipe her eyes. " D o take the w i n e , " I said, interrupting myself in my c a t a r a c t of l a n g u a g e . "I d a r e n o t , " s h e a n s w e r e d : then a d d e d h u m b l y , " t h a t is, u n l e s s you have a biscuit here or a bit of b r e a d . " I f o u n d s o m e biscuit: s h e a t e two, a n d then slowly d r a n k the wine while I 6. W o e to the v a n q u i s h e d ( L a t i n ) .

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r e s u m e d my verbal N i a g a r a . U n d e r its i n f l u e n c e — a n d that of the wine t o o , p e r h a p s — s h e b e g a n to s h o w n e w life. It w a s not that s h e looked r a d i a n t — s h e c o u l d n o t — b u t simply that s h e looked w a r m . I now p e r c e i v e d w h a t h a d b e e n the principal d i s c o m f o r t of her a p p e a r a n c e h e r e t o f o r e : it w a s that s h e h a d looked all the t i m e a s if suffering from cold. At last I c o u l d think of n o t h i n g m o r e to say, a n d s t o p p e d . I really a d m i r e d the d r a m a , b u t I t h o u g h t I h a d exerted myself sufficiently a s a n anti-hysteric, a n d that adjectives e n o u g h , for the p r e s e n t at least, h a d b e e n a d m i n i s t e r e d . S h e h a d p u t d o w n her e m p t y w i n e - g l a s s , a n d w a s resting her h a n d s o n the b r o a d c u s h i o n e d a r m s of her c h a i r with a sort of e x p a n d e d c o n t e n t . "You m u s t p a r d o n my t e a r s , " s h e s a i d , smiling: "it w a s the revulsion of feeling. M y life w a s at a low e b b : if your s e n t e n c e h a d b e e n a g a i n s t m e it w o u l d have b e e n my e n d . " "Your e n d ? " "Yes, the e n d of my life: I s h o u l d have d e s t r o y e d myself." " T h e n you w o u l d have b e e n a w e a k a s well a s wicked w o m a n , " I said in a t o n e of d i s g u s t : I d o h a t e s e n s a t i o n a l i s m . " O h n o , you know n o t h i n g a b o u t it. I s h o u l d have d e s t r o y e d only this p o o r worn t e n e m e n t of clay. B u t I c a n well u n d e r s t a n d how you w o u l d look u p o n it. R e g a r d i n g the d e s i r a b l e n e s s of life the p r i n c e a n d the b e g g a r m a y have different o p i n i o n s . — W e will say n o m o r e of it, b u t talk of the d r a m a i n s t e a d . " As s h e s p o k e the word " d r a m a " a t r i u m p h a n t b r i g h t n e s s c a m e into her eyes. I took the m a n u s c r i p t from a drawer a n d s a t d o w n b e s i d e her. "I s u p p o s e you know that there a r e f a u l t s , " I said, e x p e c t i n g ready a c q u i e s c e n c e . "I w a s not a w a r e that there were a n y , " w a s her gentle reply. H e r e w a s a b e g i n n i n g ! After all my interest in h e r — a n d , I m a y say u n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s , my k i n d n e s s — s h e received m e in this way! H o w e v e r , my belief in her g e n i u s w a s too s i n c e r e to b e altered by her w h i m s i e s ; so I persevered. " L e t u s g o over it t o g e t h e r , " I s a i d . " S h a l l I r e a d it to you, or will you read it to m e ? " "I will not r e a d it, but recite it." " T h a t will never d o : you will recite it s o well that w e shall s e e only the g o o d p o i n t s , a n d w h a t we have to c o n c e r n ourselves with n o w is the b a d ones." "I will recite it," s h e r e p e a t e d . " L o o k h e r e , M i s s C r i e f , " I s a i d bluntly, "for w h a t p u r p o s e did you c o m e to m e ? C e r t a i n l y not merely to recite: I a m n o s t a g e - m a n a g e r . In plain E n g l i s h , w a s it not your idea that I m i g h t h e l p you in o b t a i n i n g a p u b l i s h e r ? " "Yes, y e s , " s h e a n s w e r e d , looking at m e a p p r e h e n s i v e l y , all her old m a n n e r returning. I followed u p my a d v a n t a g e , o p e n e d the little p a p e r v o l u m e a n d b e g a n . I first took the d r a m a line by line, a n d s p o k e of the faults of e x p r e s s i o n a n d s t r u c t u r e : then I t u r n e d b a c k a n d t o u c h e d u p o n two or t h r e e g l a r i n g i m p o s sibilities in the plot. "Your a b s o r b e d interest in the motive of the w h o l e n o d o u b t m a d e you forget t h e s e b l e m i s h e s , " I s a i d apologetically. B u t , to my s u r p r i s e , I f o u n d that s h e did not s e e the b l e m i s h e s — t h a t s h e appreciated nothing I had said, comprehended nothing. S u c h unaccountable o b t u s e n e s s puzzled m e . I b e g a n a g a i n , g o i n g over the w h o l e with even g r e a t e r m i n u t e n e s s a n d c a r e . I w o r k e d h a r d : the p e r s p i r a t i o n s t o o d in b e a d s u p o n my f o r e h e a d a s I s t r u g g l e d with h e r — w h a t shall I call i t — o b s t i n a c y ? B u t it

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w a s not exactly obstinacy. S h e simply c o u l d not s e e the faults of her own work, any m o r e than a blind m a n c a n s e e the s m o k e that d i m s a p a t c h of blue sky. W h e n I h a d finished my t a s k the s e c o n d t i m e s h e still r e m a i n e d a s gently i m p a s s i v e as b e f o r e . I l e a n e d b a c k in my c h a i r e x h a u s t e d a n d looked at her. E v e n then s h e did not s e e m to c o m p r e h e n d (whether s h e a g r e e d with it or not) what I m u s t b e thinking. "It is s u c h a h e a v e n to m e that you like it!" s h e m u r m u r e d dreamily, b r e a k i n g the s i l e n c e . T h e n , with m o r e a n i m a t i o n , " A n d now you will let m e recite i t ? " I w a s too weary to o p p o s e her: s h e threw a s i d e her shawl a n d b o n n e t , a n d , s t a n d i n g in the c e n t r e of the r o o m , b e g a n . A n d s h e carried m e a l o n g with her: all the s t r o n g p a s s a g e s were d o u b l y s t r o n g w h e n s p o k e n , a n d the f a u l t s , which s e e m e d n o t h i n g to her, were m a d e by her e a r n e s t n e s s to s e e m n o t h i n g to m e , at least for that m o m e n t . W h e n it w a s e n d e d s h e s t o o d looking at m e with a t r i u m p h a n t s m i l e . " Y e s , " I s a i d , "I like it, a n d you s e e that I d o . B u t I like it b e c a u s e my taste is p e c u l i a r . T o m e originality a n d force are e v e r y t h i n g — p e r h a p s b e c a u s e I have t h e m not to any m a r k e d d e g r e e m y s e l f — b u t the world at large will not overlook a s I d o your absolutely b a r b a r o u s s h o r t c o m i n g s o n a c c o u n t of t h e m . Will you trust m e to g o over the d r a m a a n d correct it at my p l e a s u r e ? " T h i s w a s a vast deal for m e to offer; I w a s s u r p r i s e d at myself. " N o , " s h e a n s w e r e d softly, still smiling. " T h e r e shall not be s o m u c h a s a c o m m a a l t e r e d . " T h e n s h e sat d o w n a n d fell into a reverie a s t h o u g h s h e were a l o n e . " H a v e you written anything e l s e ? " I said after a while, w h e n I h a d b e c o m e tired of the s i l e n c e . "Yes." " C a n I s e e it? O r is it them?" "It is them. Yes, you c a n s e e a l l . " "I will call u p o n you for the p u r p o s e . " " N o , you m u s t n o t , " s h e said, c o m i n g b a c k to the p r e s e n t nervously: "I prefer to c o m e to y o u . " At this m o m e n t S i m p s o n e n t e r e d to light the r o o m , a n d b u s i e d h i m s e l f rather longer than w a s n e c e s s a r y over the task. W h e n h e finally went o u t I saw that my visitor's m a n n e r h a d s u n k into its former d e p r e s s i o n : the prese n c e of the servant s e e m e d to have chilled her. " W h e n did you say I might c o m e ? " I r e p e a t e d , ignoring her refusal. "I did not say it. It w o u l d b e i m p o s s i b l e . " "Well, then, w h e n will you c o m e h e r e ? " T h e r e w a s , I fear, a trace of fatigue in my t o n e . "At your g o o d p l e a s u r e , sir," s h e a n s w e r e d h u m b l y . M y chivalry w a s t o u c h e d by this: after all, s h e w a s a w o m a n . " C o m e tom o r r o w , " I s a i d . " B y the way, c o m e a n d dine with m e then: why n o t ? " I w a s c u r i o u s to s e e what s h e w o u l d reply. " W h y not, i n d e e d ? Y e s , I will c o m e . I a m forty-three: I m i g h t have b e e n your m o t h e r . " T h i s w a s not quite true, as I a m over thirty; but I look y o u n g , while s h e — Well, I h a d t h o u g h t her over fifty. "I c a n hardly call you 'mother,' b u t then we might c o m p r o m i s e u p o n 'aunt,' " I s a i d , l a u g h i n g . " A u n t w h a t ? " " M y n a m e is A a r o n n a , " she gravely a n s w e r e d . " M y father w a s m u c h dis-

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a p p o i n t e d that I w a s not a boy, a n d gave m e a s nearly a s p o s s i b l e the n a m e he had prepared—Aaron." " T h e n c o m e a n d dine with m e t o m o r r o w , a n d b r i n g with you the other m a n u s c r i p t s , A a r o n n a , " I s a i d , a m u s e d at the q u a i n t s o u n d of the n a m e . O n the whole, I did not like " a u n t . " "I will c o m e , " s h e a n s w e r e d . It w a s twilight a n d still raining, b u t s h e r e f u s e d all offers of e s c o r t or c a r r i a g e , d e p a r t i n g with her m a i d , a s s h e h a d c o m e , u n d e r the brown umbrella. T h e next day we h a d the dinner. S i m p s o n w a s a s t o n i s h e d — a n d m o r e than a s t o n i s h e d , g r i e v e d — w h e n I told him that h e w a s to d i n e with the m a i d ; b u t h e c o u l d not c o m p l a i n in w o r d s , s i n c e my own g u e s t , the m i s t r e s s , w a s hardly m o r e attractive. W h e n our p r e p a r a t i o n s were c o m p l e t e I c o u l d not help laughing: the two prim little t a b l e s , o n e in the parlor a n d o n e in the a n t e r o o m , a n d S i m p s o n disapprovingly g o i n g b a c k a n d forth b e t w e e n t h e m , were irresistible. I greeted my g u e s t hilariously w h e n s h e arrived, a n d , fortunately, her m a n ner w a s not q u i t e so d e p r e s s e d a s u s u a l : I c o u l d never have a c c o r d e d myself with a tearful m o o d . I h a d t h o u g h t that p e r h a p s s h e w o u l d m a k e , for the o c c a s i o n , s o m e c h a n g e in her attire: I have never known a w o m a n w h o h a d not s o m e s c r a p of finery, however s m a l l , in reserve for that u n e x p e c t e d o c c a sion of which s h e is ever d r e a m i n g . B u t n o : M i s s G r i e f w o r e the s a m e b l a c k g o w n , u n a d o r n e d a n d u n a l t e r e d . I w a s g l a d that t h e r e w a s n o rain that day, s o that the skirt did not at least look s o d a m p a n d r h e u m a t i c . S h e ate quietly, a l m o s t furtively, yet with a g o o d a p p e t i t e , a n d s h e did not refuse the w i n e . T h e n , w h e n the m e a l w a s over a n d S i m p s o n h a d r e m o v e d the d i s h e s , I a s k e d for the n e w m a n u s c r i p t s . S h e g a v e m e a n old green copyb o o k filled with short p o e m s , a n d a p r o s e s k e t c h by itself: I lit a c i g a r a n d sat d o w n at my d e s k to look t h e m over. " P e r h a p s you will try a c i g a r e t t e ? " I s u g g e s t e d , m o r e for a m u s e m e n t t h a n anything e l s e , for there w a s not a s h a d e of B o h e m i a n i s m a b o u t her: her w h o l e a p p e a r a n c e w a s puritanical. "I have not yet s u c c e e d e d in l e a r n i n g to s m o k e . " "You have t r i e d ? " I s a i d , turning r o u n d . "Yes: S e r e n a a n d I tried, b u t we did not s u c c e e d . " " S e r e n a is your m a i d ? " " S h e lives with m e . " I w a s seized with inward laughter, a n d b e g a n hastily to look over her m a n u s c r i p t s with my b a c k toward her, s o that s h e might not s e e it. A vision h a d risen before m e of t h o s e two forlorn w o m e n , a l o n e in their r o o m with l o c k e d d o o r s , patiently trying to a c q u i r e the s m o k e r ' s art. B u t my a t t e n t i o n w a s s o o n a b s o r b e d by the p a p e r s b e f o r e m e . S u c h a fantastic collection of w o r d s , lines a n d e p i t h e t s I h a d never b e f o r e s e e n , or even in d r e a m s i m a g i n e d . In truth, they were like the work of d r e a m s : they were Kuhla Khan,7 only m o r e s o . H e r e a n d there w a s r a d i a n c e like the flash of a d i a m o n d , b u t e a c h p o e m , a l m o s t e a c h verse a n d line, w a s m a r r e d by s o m e fault or lack which s e e m e d wilful perversity, like the work of a n evil 7. B r i t i s h p o e t S a m u e l T a y l o r C o l e r i d g e ( 1 7 7 2 - 1 8 3 4 ) e l a i m e d to h a v e w r i t t e n this p o e m u n d e r t h e influence of laudanum.

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sprite. It w a s like a c a s e of jeweller's w a r e s set before you, with e a c h ring unfinished, e a c h b r a c e l e t too large or too small for its p u r p o s e , e a c h breastpin without its fastening, e a c h n e c k l a c e p u r p o s e l y b r o k e n . I t u r n e d the p a g e s , marvelling. W h e n a b o u t half an h o u r h a d p a s s e d , a n d I w a s l e a n i n g b a c k for a m o m e n t to light a n o t h e r cigar, I g l a n c e d toward my visitor. S h e w a s b e h i n d m e , in a n easy-chair before my small fire, a n d s h e w a s — f a s t a s l e e p ! In the relaxation of her u n c o n s c i o u s n e s s I w a s s t r u c k a n e w by the poverty her a p p e a r a n c e e x p r e s s e d ; her feet were visible, a n d I s a w the miserable worn old s h o e s which hitherto s h e h a d kept c o n c e a l e d . After looking at her for a m o m e n t I returned to my t a s k a n d took u p the p r o s e story: in p r o s e s h e m u s t b e m o r e r e a s o n a b l e . S h e w a s less f a n t a s t i c p e r h a p s , b u t hardly m o r e r e a s o n a b l e . T h e story w a s that of a profligate a n d c o m m o n p l a c e m a n forced by two of his friends, in order not to b r e a k the heart of a dying girl w h o loves him, to live u p to a high i m a g i n a r y ideal of himself which her p u r e but m i s t a k e n m i n d h a s f o r m e d . H e h a s a h a n d s o m e face a n d sweet voice, a n d r e p e a t s what they tell h i m . H e r long, slow d e c l i n e a n d h a p p y d e a t h , a n d his own inward e n n u i a n d p r o f o u n d w e a r i n e s s of the role he h a s to play, m a d e the vivid points of the story. S o far, well e n o u g h , but here w a s the t r o u b l e ; t h r o u g h the w h o l e narrative m o v e d a n o t h e r character, a physician of tender heart a n d exquisite m e r c y , w h o p r a c t i s e d m u r d e r as a fine art, a n d w a s r e g a r d e d (by the a u t h o r ) a s a s e c o n d M e s s i a h ! T h i s w a s m o n s t r o u s . I read it t h r o u g h twice, a n d threw it d o w n : t h e n , f a t i g u e d , I turned r o u n d a n d l e a n e d b a c k , waiting for her to w a k e . I c o u l d s e e her profile a g a i n s t the dark h u e of the easy-chair. Presently s h e s e e m e d to feel my g a z e , for s h e stirred, then o p e n e d her eyes. "I have b e e n a s l e e p , " s h e said, rising hurriedly. " N o h a r m in that, A a r o n n a . " B u t s h e w a s deeply e m b a r r a s s e d a n d t r o u b l e d , m u c h m o r e s o than the o c c a s i o n r e q u i r e d ; so m u c h s o , i n d e e d , that I t u r n e d the c o n v e r s a t i o n b a c k u p o n the m a n u s c r i p t s a s a diversion. "I c a n n o t s t a n d that d o c t o r of y o u r s , " I said, indicating the p r o s e story: " n o o n e w o u l d . You m u s t c u t him o u t . " H e r s e l f - p o s s e s s i o n r e t u r n e d a s if by m a g i c . " C e r t a i n l y n o t , " s h e a n s w e r e d haughtily. " O h , if you d o not c a r e — I h a d labored u n d e r the i m p r e s s i o n that you were anxious t h e s e things s h o u l d find a p u r c h a s e r . " "I a m , I a m , " s h e said, her m a n n e r c h a n g i n g to d e e p humility with wonderful rapidity. W i t h s u c h a l t e r n a t i o n s of feeling a s this s w e e p i n g over her like great w a v e s , no w o n d e r s h e w a s old before her t i m e . " T h e n you m u s t take out that d o c t o r . " "I a m willing, but d o not know h o w , " s h e a n s w e r e d , p r e s s i n g her h a n d s together helplessly. "In my m i n d he b e l o n g s to the story s o closely that he c a n n o t be s e p a r a t e d from it." H e r e S i m p s o n e n t e r e d , bringing a note for m e : it w a s a line from M r s . A b e r c r o m b i e inviting m e for that e v e n i n g — a n u n e x p e c t e d g a t h e r i n g , a n d therefore likely to be all the m o r e a g r e e a b l e . M y heart b o u n d e d in spite of m e : I forgot M i s s G r i e f a n d her m a n u s c r i p t s for the m o m e n t a s c o m p l e t e l y a s t h o u g h they h a d never existed. B u t , bodily, b e i n g still in the s a m e r o o m with her, her s p e e c h b r o u g h t m e b a c k to the p r e s e n t . "You have h a d g o o d n e w s ? " s h e s a i d . " O h n o , n o t h i n g e s p e c i a l — m e r e l y a n invitation."

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" B u t g o o d n e w s a l s o , " s h e r e p e a t e d . " A n d now, a s for m e , I m u s t g o . " N o t s u p p o s i n g that s h e would stay m u c h later in any c a s e , I h a d that m o r n i n g ordered a c a r r i a g e to c o m e for her at a b o u t that hour. I told her this. S h e m a d e no reply b e y o n d p u t t i n g o n her b o n n e t a n d shawl. "You will h e a r from m e s o o n , " I said: "I shall do all I c a n for y o u . " S h e h a d r e a c h e d the door, but before o p e n i n g it s h e s t o p p e d , t u r n e d a n d extended her h a n d . "You a r e g o o d , " s h e said: "I give you t h a n k s . D o not think m e ungrateful or e n v i o u s . It is only that you are y o u n g , a n d I a m s o — s o o l d . " T h e n s h e o p e n e d the door a n d p a s s e d t h r o u g h the a n t e r o o m without p a u s e , her m a i d a c c o m p a n y i n g her a n d S i m p s o n with g l a d n e s s lighting the way. T h e y were g o n e . I d r e s s e d hastily a n d went o u t — t o c o n t i n u e my s t u d i e s in psychology. T i m e p a s s e d : I w a s b u s y , a m u s e d a n d p e r h a p s a little excited ( s o m e t i m e s psychology is delightful). B u t , a l t h o u g h m u c h o c c u p i e d with my own affairs, I did not altogether neglect my s e l f - i m p o s e d task r e g a r d i n g M i s s Grief. I b e g a n by s e n d i n g her p r o s e story to a friend, the editor of a monthly m a g a zine, with a letter m a k i n g a s t r o n g p l e a for its a d m i t t a n c e . It s h o u l d have a c h a n c e first o n its own m e r i t s . T h e n I forwarded the d r a m a to a p u b l i s h e r , also a n a c q u a i n t a n c e , a m a n with a t a s t e for p h a n t a s m s a n d a soul a b o v e m e r e c o m m o n popularity, a s his own coffers knew to their c o s t . T h i s d o n e , I waited with c o n s c i e n c e clear. F o u r w e e k s p a s s e d . D u r i n g this waiting p e r i o d I h e a r d n o t h i n g from M i s s Grief. At last o n e m o r n i n g c a m e a letter from my editor. " T h e story has force, but I c a n n o t s t a n d that d o c t o r , " h e w r o t e . " L e t her c u t him o u t , a n d I might print it." J u s t w h a t I myself h a d s a i d . T h e p a c k a g e lay there o n my table, travel-worn a n d g r i m e d : a r e t u r n e d m a n u s c r i p t is, I think, the m o s t m e l a n choly object o n e a r t h . I d e c i d e d to wait, before writing to A a r o n n a , until the s e c o n d letter w a s received. A w e e k later it c a m e . " A r m o r " w a s d e c l i n e d . T h e p u b l i s h e r h a d b e e n " i m p r e s s e d " by the p o w e r displayed in certain p a s s a g e s , but the "impossibilities of the p l o t " r e n d e r e d it " u n a v a i l a b l e for publicat i o n " — i n fact, would "bury it in r i d i c u l e " if b r o u g h t before the p u b l i c , a public " l a m e n t a b l y " fond of a m u s e m e n t , " s e e k i n g it, u n d a u n t e d , even in the c a n n o n ' s m o u t h , " I d o u b t if he knew h i m s e l f what he m e a n t . B u t o n e thing, at any rate, w a s clear: " A r m o r " w a s d e c l i n e d . N o w , I a m , a s I have r e m a r k e d b e f o r e , a little o b s t i n a t e . I w a s d e t e r m i n e d that M i s s Grief's work s h o u l d b e received. I would alter a n d improve it myself, without letting her know: the e n d justified the m e a n s . Surely the sieve of my own g o o d t a s t e , w h o s e m e s h h a d b e e n p r o n o u n c e d so fine a n d d e l i c a t e , would serve for two. I b e g a n , a n d utterly failed. I set to work first u p o n " A r m o r . " I a m e n d e d , a l t e r e d , left out, put in, p i e c e d , c o n d e n s e d , l e n g t h e n e d : I did my b e s t , a n d all to no avail. I c o u l d not s u c c e e d in c o m p l e t i n g anything that satisfied m e , or that a p p r o a c h e d , in truth, M i s s G r i e f ' s own work j u s t a s it s t o o d . I s u p p o s e I went over that m a n u s c r i p t twenty t i m e s : I c o v e r e d s h e e t s of p a p e r with my c o p i e s . B u t the o b s t i n a t e d r a m a refused to be c o r r e c t e d : a s it w a s it m u s t s t a n d or fall. W e a r i e d a n d a n n o y e d , I threw it a s i d e a n d took u p the p r o s e story: that would be easier. B u t , to my s u r p r i s e , I f o u n d that that a p p a r e n t l y g e n t l e " d o c t o r " would not out: h e w a s s o closely interwoven with every part of the tale that to take him out w a s like taking out o n e e s p e c i a l figure in a c a r p e t : that is i m p o s s i b l e u n l e s s you unravel the w h o l e . At last I did unravel the

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whole, a n d then the story w a s no longer g o o d , or A a r o n n a ' s : it w a s weak, a n d mine. All this took time, for of c o u r s e I h a d m u c h to d o in c o n n e c t i o n with my own life a n d t a s k s . B u t , a l t h o u g h slowly a n d at my l e i s u r e , I really did try my best a s r e g a r d e d M i s s Grief, a n d without s u c c e s s . I w a s forced at last to m a k e up my m i n d that either my own p o w e r s were not e q u a l to the task, or else that her perversities were a s essential a part of her work a s her inspirations, a n d not to b e s e p a r a t e d from it. O n c e d u r i n g this period I s h o w e d two of the short p o e m s to E t h e l i n d , withholding of c o u r s e the writer's n a m e . " T h e y were written by a w o m a n , " 1 explained. " H e r mind m u s t have b e e n d i s o r d e r e d , p o o r thing!" E t h e l i n d said in her gentle way w h e n s h e returned t h e m — " a t least, j u d g i n g by t h e s e . T h e y are hopelessly mixed a n d v a g u e . " N o w , they were not v a g u e s o m u c h a s vast. B u t I k n e w that I c o u l d not m a k e E t h e l i n d c o m p r e h e n d it, a n d (so c o m p l e x a c r e a t u r e is m a n ) I do not know that I w a n t e d her to c o m p r e h e n d it. T h e s e were the only o n e s in the whole collection that I would have s h o w n her, a n d I w a s rather glad that s h e did not like even t h e s e . N o t that p o o r A a r o n n a ' s p o e m s were evil: they were simply u n r e s t r a i n e d , large, vast, like the skies or the w i n d . E t h e l i n d w a s b o u n d e d on all s i d e s , like a violet in a g a r d e n - b e d . A n d I liked her s o . O n e afternoon, a b o u t the time when I w a s b e g i n n i n g to s e e that I c o u l d not " i m p r o v e " M i s s Grief, I c a m e u p o n the m a i d . I w a s driving, a n d s h e had s t o p p e d on the c r o s s i n g to let the carriage p a s s . I recognized her at a g l a n c e (by her general f o r l o r n n e s s ) , a n d called to the driver to s t o p . " H o w is M i s s C r i e f ? " I said. "1 have b e e n intending to write to her for s o m e t i m e . " "And your n o t e , w h e n it c o m e s , " a n s w e r e d the old w o m a n on the c r o s s w a l k fiercely, " s h e shall not s e e . " "What?" "I say s h e shall not s e e it. Your patronizing face s h o w s that you have no good news, a n d you shall not rack a n d s t a b her any m o r e o n this e a r t h , p l e a s e G o d , while I have authority." " W h o h a s r a c k e d or s t a b b e d her, S e r e n a ? " " S e r e n a , i n d e e d ! R u b b i s h ! I'm no S e r e n a : I'm her a u n t . A n d a s to w h o has racked a n d s t a b b e d her, I say you, you—YOU literary m e n ! " S h e h a d put her old h e a d inside my c a r r i a g e , a n d flung out t h e s e words at m e in a shrill, m e n a c i n g tone. " R u t s h e shall die in p e a c e in spite of y o u , " s h e c o n t i n u e d . " V a m p i r e s ! you take her ideas a n d fatten on t h e m , a n d leave her to starve. You know you do—you w h o have h a d her poor m a n u s c r i p t s t h e s e m o n t h s and m o n t h s ! " "Is s h e ill?" I a s k e d in real c o n c e r n , g a t h e r i n g that m u c h at least from the i n c o h e r e n t tirade. " S h e is dying," a n s w e r e d the d e s o l a t e old c r e a t u r e , her voice softening a n d her dim eyes filling with t e a r s . " O h , I trust not. P e r h a p s s o m e t h i n g c a n be d o n e . C a n I help you in any way?" "In all ways if you w o u l d , " s h e said, b r e a k i n g d o w n a n d b e g i n n i n g to s o b weakly, with her h e a d resting on the sill of the carriage-window. " O h , what have we not b e e n t h r o u g h together, we two! P i e c e by p i e c e I have sold all." I a m g o o d - h e a r t e d e n o u g h , but I d o not like to have old w o m e n w e e p i n g a c r o s s my carriage-door. I s u g g e s t e d , therefore, that s h e s h o u l d c o m e inside a n d let m e take her h o m e . H e r s h a b b y old skirt w a s s o o n b e s i d e m e , a n d ,

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following her d i r e c t i o n s , the driver t u r n e d toward o n e of the m o s t w r e t c h e d q u a r t e r s of the city, the a b o d e of poverty, c r o w d e d a n d u n c l e a n . H e r e , in a large b a r e c h a m b e r u p m a n y flights of stairs, I f o u n d M i s s Grief. A s I e n t e r e d I w a s startled: I t h o u g h t s h e w a s d e a d . T h e r e s e e m e d n o life p r e s e n t until s h e o p e n e d her eyes, a n d even then they rested u p o n u s vaguely, a s t h o u g h s h e did not know w h o we w e r e . B u t a s I a p p r o a c h e d a s u d d e n light c a m e into t h e m : s h e recognized m e , a n d this s u d d e n a n i m a t i o n , this return of the soul to the w i n d o w s of the a l m o s t d e s e r t e d body, w a s the m o s t wonderful thing I ever saw. "You have g o o d n e w s of the d r a m a ? " s h e whisp e r e d a s I b e n t over her: "tell m e . I know you have g o o d n e w s . " W h a t w a s I to a n s w e r ? Pray, w h a t w o u l d you have a n s w e r e d , p u r i t a n ? "Yes, I have g o o d n e w s , A a r o n n a , " I s a i d . " T h e d r a m a will a p p e a r . " (And w h o k n o w s ? P e r h a p s it will in s o m e other world.) S h e s m i l e d , a n d her n o w brilliant eyes did not leave my f a c e . " H e k n o w s I'm your a u n t : I told h i m , " s a i d the old w o m a n , c o m i n g to the bedside. " D i d y o u ? " w h i s p e r e d M i s s Grief, still g a z i n g at m e with a s m i l e . " T h e n p l e a s e , d e a r A u n t M a r t h a , give m e s o m e t h i n g to e a t . " A u n t M a r t h a hurried a c r o s s the r o o m , a n d I followed her. "It's the first time she's a s k e d for food in w e e k s , " s h e s a i d in a h u s k y t o n e . S h e o p e n e d a c u p b o a r d - d o o r vaguely, b u t I c o u l d s e e n o t h i n g within. " W h a t have you for h e r ? " I a s k e d with s o m e i m p a t i e n c e , a l t h o u g h in a low voice. " P l e a s e G o d , n o t h i n g ! " a n s w e r e d the p o o r old w o m a n , hiding her reply a n d her tears b e h i n d the b r o a d c u p b o a r d - d o o r . "I w a s g o i n g o u t to get a little something when I met you." " G o o d H e a v e n s ! is it m o n e y you n e e d ? H e r e , take this a n d s e n d ; or go yourself in the carriage waiting b e l o w . " S h e hurried out b r e a t h l e s s , a n d I went b a c k to the b e d s i d e , m u c h dist u r b e d by w h a t I h a d s e e n a n d h e a r d . B u t M i s s G r i e f s eyes w e r e full of life, a n d a s I sat d o w n b e s i d e her s h e w h i s p e r e d earnestly, "Tell m e . " A n d I did tell h e r — a r o m a n c e invented for the o c c a s i o n . I v e n t u r e to say that n o n e of my p u b l i s h e d s k e t c h e s c o u l d c o m p a r e with it. As for the lie involved, it will s t a n d a m o n g my few g o o d d e e d s , I know, at the j u d g m e n t - b a r . A n d s h e w a s satisfied. "I have never known w h a t it w a s , " s h e w h i s p e r e d , "to be fully h a p p y until n o w . " S h e c l o s e d her eyes, a n d w h e n the lids fell I again t h o u g h t that s h e h a d p a s s e d away. B u t n o , t h e r e w a s still p u l s a t i o n in her s m a l l , thin wrist. As s h e p e r c e i v e d my t o u c h s h e s m i l e d . "Yes, I a m h a p p y , " s h e said a g a i n , a l t h o u g h without a u d i b l e s o u n d . T h e old a u n t r e t u r n e d : food w a s p r e p a r e d , a n d s h e took s o m e . I myself went o u t after wine that s h o u l d b e rich a n d p u r e . S h e rallied a little, but I did not leave her: her eyes dwelt u p o n m e a n d c o m p e l l e d m e to stay, or rather my c o n s c i e n c e c o m p e l l e d m e . It w a s a d a m p night, a n d I h a d a little fire m a d e . T h e w i n e , fruit, flowers a n d c a n d l e s I h a d o r d e r e d m a d e the b a r e p l a c e for the time b e i n g bright a n d fragrant. A u n t M a r t h a d o z e d in her c h a i r from s h e e r f a t i g u e — s h e h a d w a t c h e d m a n y n i g h t s — b u t M i s s G r i e f w a s a w a k e , a n d I sat b e s i d e her. "I m a k e you my e x e c u t o r , " s h e m u r m u r e d , " a s to the d r a m a . B u t my other m a n u s c r i p t s p l a c e , w h e n I a m g o n e , u n d e r my h e a d , a n d let t h e m be buried with m e . T h e y are not m a n y — t h o s e you have a n d t h e s e . S e e ! "

Miss

G R I E F

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1497

I followed her g e s t u r e , a n d s a w u n d e r her pillows the e d g e s of two m o r e copybooks like the o n e I h a d . " D o not look at t h e m — m y p o o r d e a d c h i l d r e n ! " she said tenderly. " L e t t h e m d e p a r t with m e — u n r e a d , a s I have b e e n . " L a t e r s h e w h i s p e r e d , " D i d you w o n d e r why I c a m e to y o u ? It w a s the contrast. You were y o u n g — s t r o n g — r i c h — p r a i s e d — l o v e d — s u c c e s s f u l : all that I w a s not. I w a n t e d to look at y o u — a n d i m a g i n e how it w o u l d feel. You h a d s u c c e s s — b u t I h a d the greater power. Tell m e : did I not have i t ? " "Yes, A a r o n n a . " "It is all in the p a s t now. B u t I a m satisfied." After a n o t h e r p a u s e s h e s a i d with a faint s m i l e , " D o you r e m e m b e r w h e n I fell a s l e e p in your parlor? It w a s the g o o d a n d rich food. It w a s so long s i n c e I h a d h a d food like t h a t ! " I took her h a n d a n d held it, c o n s c i e n c e - s t r i c k e n , but n o w s h e hardly s e e m e d to perceive my t o u c h . "And the s m o k i n g ? " s h e w h i s p e r e d . " D o you r e m e m b e r h o w you l a u g h e d ? I saw it. B u t I h a d h e a r d that s m o k i n g s o o t h e d — t h a t o n e w a s no longer tired a n d h u n g r y — w i t h a c i g a r . " In little w h i s p e r s of this sort, s e p a r a t e d by long rests a n d p a u s e s , the night p a s s e d . O n c e s h e a s k e d if her a u n t w a s a s l e e p , a n d w h e n I a n s w e r e d in the affirmative s h e said, " H e l p her to return h o m e — t o A m e r i c a : the d r a m a will pay for it. I o u g h t never to have b r o u g h t her a w a y . " I p r o m i s e d , a n d s h e r e s u m e d her bright-eyed s i l e n c e . I think s h e did not s p e a k a g a i n . T o w a r d m o r n i n g the c h a n g e c a m e , a n d s o o n after s u n r i s e , with her old a u n t kneeling by her s i d e , s h e p a s s e d away. All w a s a r r a n g e d a s she h a d w i s h e d . H e r m a n u s c r i p t s , c o v e r e d with violets, f o r m e d her pillow. N o o n e followed her to the grave save her a u n t a n d myself: I thought s h e would prefer it s o . H e r n a m e w a s not " C r i e f , " after all, b u t " M o n c r i e f : " I s a w it written o u t by A u n t M a r t h a for the coffin-plate, a s follows: " A a r o n n a M o n c r i e f , a g e d forty-three years two m o n t h s a n d eight days." I never knew m o r e of her history than is written h e r e . If there w a s m o r e that I might have l e a r n e d , it r e m a i n e d u n l e a r n e d , for I did not a s k . A n d the d r a m a ? I k e e p it h e r e in this locked c a s e . I c o u l d have h a d it p u b l i s h e d at my own e x p e n s e , b u t I think that now s h e knows its faults herself, a n d would not like it. I k e e p it, a n d o n c e in a while I read it o v e r — n o t a s a memento mori* exactly, b u t rather a s a m e m e n t o of my own g o o d - f o r t u n e , for w h i c h I s h o u l d continually give t h a n k s . T h e want of o n e grain m a d e all her work void, a n d that o n e grain w a s given to m e . S h e , with the greater p o w e r , f a i l e d — I , with the l e s s , s u c c e e d e d . B u t n o p r a i s e is d u e to m e for that. W h e n I die " A r m o r " is to b e destroyed u n r e a d : not even E t h e l i n d is to s e e it. F o r w o m e n will m i s u n d e r s t a n d e a c h other; a n d , d e a r a n d p r e c i o u s to m e a s my s w e e t wife is, I c o u l d not b e a r that s h e or any o n e s h o u l d c a s t s o m u c h as a t h o u g h t of s c o r n u p o n the m e m o r y of the writer, u p o n my p o o r d e a d , " u n a v a i l a b l e , " unaccepted "Miss Grief." 1880

8.

R e m i n d e r of d e a t h ( L a t i n ) .

1498

HENRY J A M E S 1843—1916 A s a y o u n g m a n H e n r y J a m e s set o u t to b e a "literary m a s t e r " in t h e E u r o p e a n s e n s e . E v e n t h o u g h his i n t r i c a t e style a n d c h o i c e , in his fiction, of highly c u l t i v a t e d c h a r a c t e r s r a n c o u n t e r to t h e v e r n a c u l a r t r a d i t i o n p o p u l a r i z e d by M a r k T w a i n , J a m e s a t t r a c t e d , in his o w n lifetime, a s e l e c t c o m p a n y of a d m i r e r s a n d m a d e a g o o d living f r o m his writings, t h o u g h they never m a d e him rich. T h e s e w r i t i n g s , t h e p r o d u c t of more than half a century as a publishing author, include tales, novellas, novels, plays, a u t o b i o g r a p h i e s , c r i t i c i s m , travel p i e c e s , l e t t e r s , reviews, a n d b i o g r a p h i e s — a l t o g e t h e r perhaps

as m u c h

as one hundred

volumes,

a prodigious

output

even by late-

n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y s t a n d a r d s . T h e r e c o g n i t i o n of his intrinsic i m p o r t a n c e a s well a s his wide i n f l u e n c e a s novelist a n d critic i n c r e a s e d in t h e y e a r s b e t w e e n the world w a r s , w h e n A m e r i c a n literary t a s t e r e a c h e d a n e w level of s o p h i s t i c a t i o n . J a m e s is n o w firmly e s t a b l i s h e d a s o n e of A m e r i c a ' s m a j o r n o v e l i s t s a n d c r i t i c s , a s a s u b t l e p s y c h o l o g i c a l realist, a n d a s a n u n s u r p a s s e d literary stylist a n d c r a f t s m a n . H e n r y J a m e s w a s b o r n in N e w York C i t y o n April 1 5 , 1 8 4 3 . H i s f a t h e r w a s a n e c c e n t r i c , i n d e p e n d e n t l y w e a l t h y p h i l o s o p h e r a n d r e l i g i o u s v i s i o n a r y ; his slightly o l d e r b r o t h e r , W i l l i a m , w a s the first n o t a b l e A m e r i c a n p s y c h o l o g i s t a n d p e r h a p s o u r c o u n try's m o s t influential p h i l o s o p h e r ; two y o u n g e r b r o t h e r s a n d a s i s t e r , A l i c e , h e r s e l f a p e r c e p t i v e o b s e r v e r a n d d i a r i s t , c o m p l e t e d this r e m a r k a b l e A m e r i c a n family. F i r s t t a k e n to E u r o p e a s a n infant, J a m e s s p e n t his b o y h o o d in a still a l m o s t b u c o l i c N e w York C i t y b e f o r e the family o n c e a g a i n left for the C o n t i n e n t w h e n h e w a s twelve. H i s father w a n t e d t h e c h i l d r e n to h a v e a r i c h , " s e n s u o u s e d u c a t i o n , " a n d d u r i n g t h e next four y e a r s , with stays in E n g l a n d , S w i t z e r l a n d , a n d F r a n c e , they w e r e t a k e n to g a l l e r i e s , l i b r a r i e s , m u s e u m s , a n d (of s p e c i a l i n t e r e s t to H e n r y ) t h e a t e r s . H e n r y ' s form a l s c h o o l i n g w a s u n s y s t e m a t i c , b u t h e m a s t e r e d F r e n c h well e n o u g h to b e g i n a lifelong s t u d y of its l i t e r a t u r e , a n d f r o m c h i l d h o o d o n h e w a s a w a r e of t h e i n t r i c a t e n e t w o r k of i n s t i t u t i o n s a n d t r a d i t i o n s in E u r o p e that h e later l a m e n t e d (in his s t u d y of H a w t h o r n e a n d e l s e w h e r e ) A m e r i c a n n o v e l i s t s h a d to d o w i t h o u t . J a m e s early d e v e l o p e d w h a t h e d e s c r i b e d in A Small

Boy and Others

( 1 9 1 3 ) a s the

" p r a c t i c e of w o n d e r i n g a n d d a w d l i n g a n d g a p i n g . " T h i s m e m o i r a l s o tells a b o u t a n " o b s c u r e h u r t " to his b a c k w h i c h , d i s q u a l i f y i n g h i m f r o m s e r v i c e in t h e Civil W a r , m u s t h a v e r e i n f o r c e d his i n c l i n a t i o n to o b s e r v e r a t h e r t h a n p a r t i c i p a t e . In his later t e e n s his i n t e r e s t in l i t e r a t u r e a n d in writing intensified, a n d by the t i m e h e w a s t w e n t y - o n e h e w a s p u b l i s h i n g reviews a n d s t o r i e s in s o m e of the l e a d i n g A m e r i c a n journals—Atlantic

Monthly,

North

American

Review,

Galaxy,

a n d Nation.

Though

J a m e s did not d e c i d e to settle p e r m a n e n t l y in E n g l a n d until 1 8 7 6 (after m u c h s h u t tling b a c k a n d forth b e t w e e n A m e r i c a a n d E u r o p e a n d after a trial r e s i d e n c e in F r a n c e a n d Italy), t h e d i r e c t i o n of his s i n g l e - m i n d e d c a r e e r a s m a n of letters w a s clearly m a r k e d in his early m a n h o o d . J a m e s never m a r r i e d . H e m a i n t a i n e d c l o s e ties with his family, kept u p a l a r g e c o r r e s p o n d e n c e , w a s e x t r e m e l y s o c i a b l e a n d a f a m o u s d i n e r - o u t , a n d k n e w m o s t of his g r e a t c o n t e m p o r a r i e s in t h e a r t s , m a n y i n t i m a t e l y — but h e lived a n d w o r k e d a l o n e . H i s e m o t i o n a l life a n d p r o d i g i o u s c r e a t i v e e n e r g y w e r e i n v e s t e d for m o r e t h a n fifty years in w h a t h e c a l l e d t h e " s a c r e d r a g e " of his art. L e o n E d e l , J a m e s ' s b i o g r a p h e r , d i v i d e s the writer's m a t u r e c a r e e r into t h r e e p a r t s . In t h e first, w h i c h c u l m i n a t e d with The

Portrait

of a Lady

( 1 8 8 1 ) , h e felt his way

toward and appropriated the so-called international t h e m e — t h e d r a m a , c o m i c and t r a g i c , of A m e r i c a n s in E u r o p e a n d o c c a s i o n a l l y of E u r o p e a n s in A m e r i c a . In t h e tripartite s e c o n d p e r i o d , h e e x p e r i m e n t e d with d i v e r s e t h e m e s a n d f o r m s — i n i t i a l l y with n o v e l s d e a l i n g explicitly with the s o c i a l a n d p o l i t i c a l c u r r e n t s of t h e 1 8 7 0 s a n d 1 8 8 0 s , t h e n with writing for t h e t h e a t e r , a n d finally with s h o r t e r fictions that e x p l o r e t h e r e l a t i o n s h i p of a r t i s t s to s o c i e t y a n d the t r o u b l e d p s y c h o l o g y of o p p r e s s e d c h i l d r e n a n d h a u n t e d or o b s e s s e d m e n a n d w o m e n s u c h a s t h o s e d e p i c t e d in The Jolly

Corner

H E N R Y J A M E S

/

1499

( 1 9 0 8 ) . In J a m e s ' s last p e r i o d — t h e s o - c a l l e d m a j o r p h a s e — h e r e t u r n e d to international or c o s m o p o l i t a n s u b j e c t s in a n e x t r a o r d i n a r y s e r i e s o f e l a b o r a t e l y d e v e l o p e d novels, s h o r t e r fiction, a n d c r i t i c i s m . Pilgrim, s t o r i e s ; Transatlantic Sketches, T h r e e of his e a r l i e s t b o o k s — A Passionate travel p i e c e s ; a n d Roderick Hudson, a n o v e l — w e r e all p u b l i s h e d in 1 8 7 5 . The American ( 1 8 7 7 ) w a s his first s u c c e s s f u l a n d e x t e n d e d t r e a t m e n t o f t h e n a i v e y o u n g A m e r i c a n ( C h r i s t o p h e r N e w m a n ) in t e n s i o n with t h e t r a d i t i o n s , c u s t o m s , a n d v a l u e s of the O l d W o r l d . Daisy Miller ( 1 8 7 8 ) w a s t h e w o r k with w h i c h he a c h i e v e d , for a t i m e , w i d e s p r e a d p o p u l a r i t y . In this " s t u d y , " a s it w a s originally s u b t i t l e d , t h e d a n g e r o u s l y naive y o u n g A m e r i c a n girl (a s u b j e c t to b e t r e a t e d often by J a m e s a n d his friend W . D . H o w e l l s ) p a y s for h e r willful r e s i s t a n c e to E u r o p e a n s o c i a l m o r e s with h e r life. T h e s e stories m a k e it c l e a r that J a m e s w a s n e i t h e r a c h a u v i n i s t nor a r e s e n t f u l e m i g r e b u t a c o s m o p o l i t a n c o n c e r n e d with e x p l o r i n g t h e A m e r i c a n n a t i o n a l c h a r a c t e r a s it w a s t e s t e d by c u l t u r a l d i s p l a c e m e n t . D e s p i t e their a p p e a l , t h e relatively s i m p l e c h a r a c t e r s o f D a i s y M i l l e r a n d C h r i s t o p h e r N e w m a n m a k e r o m a n c e , m e l o d r a m a , a n d p a t h o s ( w h a t e v e r their c h a r m s ) m o r e likely t h a n p s y c h o l o g i c a l c o m p l e x i t y a n d g e n u i n e t r a g e d y , w h i c h r e q u i r e , e s p e c i a l l y for J a m e s , a b r o a d c a n v a s . In t h e c h a r a c t e r a n d c a r e e r o f I s a b e l A r c h e r h e f o u n d t h e f o c u s for his first m a s t e r p i e c e o f t h e i n t e r n a t i o n a l t h e m e , The Portrait of a Lady ( 1 8 8 1 ) . H e r e , t h e c o m p l e x i n n e r lives of his A m e r i c a n c h a r a c t e r s a r e fully a n d realistically p r o j e c t e d . All t h e s a m e , e v e n in a relatively short w o r k s u c h a s Daisy Miller, J a m e s ' s e s s e n t i a l t h e m e s a n d p r o c e d u r e s a r e e v i d e n t . W i t h this w o r k J a m e s ' s skillful u s e o f t h e limited p o i n t o f view, in this i n s t a n c e largely that o f W i n t e r b o u r n e — a c h a r a c t e r w h o is h i m s e l f limited by his s e l f - a b s o r b e d a n x i e t i e s a n d t h u s u n a b l e to s e e D a i s y for w h o s h e i s — b e c a m e a m a j o r f e a t u r e o f J a m e s ' s fictional p r a c t i c e . F r o m 1 8 8 5 to 1 8 9 0 J a m e s w a s largely o c c u p i e d writing t h r e e n o v e l s in t h e n a t u ralistic m o d e — T l t e Bostonians ( 1 8 8 6 ) , The Princess Casamassima ( 1 8 8 6 ) , a n d The Tragic Muse ( 1 8 8 9 ) . T h e s e s t o r i e s of r e f o r m e r s , r a d i c a l s , a n d r e v o l u t i o n a r i e s a r e better a p p r e c i a t e d in o u r t i m e t h a n they w e r e in h i s . O u t o f a s e n s e o f artistic c h a l l e n g e a s well a s financial n e e d , J a m e s a t t e m p t e d to regain t h e p o p u l a r i t y Daisy Miller had briefly b r o u g h t h i m a n d e a r n m o n e y by t u r n i n g d r a m a t i s t . B e t w e e n 1 8 9 0 a n d 1 8 9 5 he wrote s e v e n plays; two were p r o d u c e d , n e i t h e r w a s a s u c c e s s . B e t w e e n 1 8 9 5 a n d 1 9 0 0 J a m e s r e t u r n e d to fiction, e s p e c i a l l y to e x p e r i m e n t a l s h o r t e r w o r k s with t h r e e d o m i n a n t s u b j e c t s , w h i c h h e often c o m b i n e d : m i s u n d e r s t o o d o r t r o u b l e d writers a n d artists, g h o s t s a n d a p p a r i t i o n s , a n d d o o m e d o r t h r e a t e n e d c h i l d r e n a n d a d o l e s c e n t s . " T h e Real T h i n g " ( 1 8 9 2 ) is a n e x c e l l e n t e x a m p l e o f a s p e c i a l kind o f artistic d i l e m m a that f a s c i n a t e d J a m e s . " T h e J o l l y C o r n e r " involves m o r e actively a q u e s t for a s e l f that m i g h t have b e e n , h o w e v e r f r i g h t e n i n g a n d horrible that alter e g o m i g h t turn o u t to be. W i t h t h e h e l p of Alice S t a v e r t o n , S p e n c e r B r y d o n r e t u r n s to his b i r t h p l a c e , a s J a m e s h i m s e l f d i d in 1 9 0 4 - 0 5 , a n d finds a c c e p t a n c e . The Beast in the Jungle (1903) p r o j e c t s t h e c a r e e r o f a n o t h e r e g o c e n t r i c m a n , o n e w h o s e o b s e s s i v e c o n c e r n over the v a g u e p r o s p e c t o f p e r s o n a l d i s a s t e r d e s t r o y s his c h a n c e s for love a n d life in t h e present. F o l l o w i n g his o w n a d v i c e to o t h e r novelists to " d r a m a t i z e , d r a m a t i z e , d r a m a t i z e , " J a m e s i n c r e a s i n g l y r e m o v e d h i m s e l f a s c o n t r o l l i n g n a r r a t o r ; in T . S . E l i o t ' s p h r a s e , h e b e c a m e invisible in his work. T h e benefits o f this h e i g h t e n e d e m p h a s i s on s h o w i n g r a t h e r t h a n telling w e r e c o m p r e s s i o n o r i n t e n s i f i c a t i o n a n d e n h a n c e d o p p o r t u n i t y for a m b i g u i t y . T h e m o r e t h e a u t h o r w i t h d r e w , t h e m o r e t h e r e a d e r w a s f o r c e d to e n t e r the p r o c e s s of c r e a t i n g m e a n i n g . W e a r e a c c u s t o m e d n o w to h a v i n g o u r fiction t h u s " o b j e c t i f i e d " ; it is J a m e s w h o is largely r e s p o n s i b l e for this d e v e l o p m e n t in n a r r a t i v e t e c h n i q u e , w h i c h a c h i e v e d its fullest e x p r e s s i o n in t h e t h r e e g r e a t n o v e l s o f his last p h a s e — T h e Wings

of the Dove

( 1 9 0 2 ) , The Ambassadors

( 1 9 0 3 ) , a n d The Golden

Bowl

( 1 9 0 4 ) . All t h r e e r e t u r n to his i n t e r n a t i o n a l t h e m e , b u t with a n e w f o c u s o n t h e w a y in w h i c h p e o p l e m a k e their o w n realities t h r o u g h their p e r c e p t i o n s a n d i m p r e s s i o n s . A m e r i c a n i n n o c e n c e , at this p o i n t , b e c o m e s a willful refusal to p e r c e i v e ; b u t only

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a w a r e n e s s of o n e ' s o w n c h a r a c t e r a n d o t h e r s ' p r o v i d e s t h e w i s d o m to e s c a p e d i s a s t e r . T h e t r e a t m e n t of this s o p h i s t i c a t e d t h e m e is c h a r a c t e r i z e d by a n e x t r a o r d i n a r y richn e s s of syntax, c h a r a c t e r i z a t i o n , point of view, s y m b o l i c r e s o n a n c e , m e t a p h o r , a n d o r g a n i z i n g r h y t h m s . T h e w o r l d of t h e s e novels is, a s o n e c o m m e n t a t o r h a s r e m a r k e d , like t h e very a t m o s p h e r e of t h e m i n d . T h e s e d r a m a s of p e r c e p t i o n a r e widely c o n s i d e r e d to b e J a m e s ' s m o s t influential c o n t r i b u t i o n to the craft of fiction. W h e n J a m e s w a s not writing fiction, h e often w r o t e a b o u t i t — e i t h e r his own or o t h e r s ' . H e w a s , a s h e n o t e d in o n e of his l e t t e r s , " a critical, a non-naif, a questioning, worrying r e a d e r . " If h e w a s s o m e w h a t n a r r o w in his r e a d i n g — r e s t r i c t i n g h i m s e l f chiefly to n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y fiction—he m a d e his l i m i t e d e x p e r i e n c e c o u n t for a s m u c h in c r i t i c i s m a s it did in fiction. H i s i n q u i r i e s into the a c h i e v e m e n t of o t h e r w r i t e r s — p r e s e r v e d in s u c h v o l u m e s a s French Poets and Novelists (1878), Partial Portraits ( 1 8 8 8 ) , a n d Notes on Novelists ( 1 9 1 4 ) — a r e r e m a r k a b l e for their b r e a d t h , b a l a n c e , a n d a c u t e n e s s . M o r e b r o a d l y t h e o r e t i c a l t h a n his r e v i e w s or e s s a y s o n individual writers, " T h e Art of F i c t i o n " ( 1 8 8 4 ) fairly r e p r e s e n t s J a m e s ' s c e n t r a l a e s t h e t i c c o n c e p t i o n s . C a l l i n g a t t e n t i o n to t h e u n p a r a l l e l e d o p p o r t u n i t i e s o p e n to t h e artist of fiction a n d t h e b e a u t y of t h e novel f o r m , J a m e s a l s o i n s i s t s that " t h e d e e p e s t quality of a w o r k of art will always b e the quality of t h e m i n d of t h e p r o d u c e r " a n d that " n o g o o d novel will ever p r o c e e d f r o m a s u p e r f i c i a l m i n d . " J a m e s left n o b e t t e r r e c o r d t h a n this e s s a y of his always t w i n n e d c o n c e r n s over t h e m o r a l a n d f o r m a l q u a l i t i e s of fiction, of t h e r e l a t i o n s h i p b e t w e e n a e s t h e t i c a n d m o r a l p e r c e p t i o n . J a m e s w a s a n e x t r e m e l y s e l f - c o n s c i o u s writer, a n d h i s Complete Notebooks, edited a n d p u b l i s h e d in 1 9 8 7 with a n i n t r o d u c t i o n by L e o n E d e l a n d Lyall P o w e r s , reveal a s u b t l e , i n t e n s e m i n d in t h e a c t of d i s c o v e r i n g s u b j e c t s , m e t h o d s , a n d p r i n c i p l e s . T h e p r e f a c e s h e wrote for S c r i b n e r ' s lavish t w e n t y - f o u r - v o l u m e N e w Y o r k E d i t i o n ( 1 9 0 7 - 0 9 ) of his extensively r e v i s e d n o v e l s a n d t a l e s , g a t h e r e d a n d p u b l i s h e d in 1 9 3 4 with a n e x t e n s i v e i n t r o d u c t i o n by R. P. B l a c k m u r , a s The Art of the Novel, contain J a m e s ' s final s t u d y of t h e w o r k s that h e c o n s i d e r e d b e s t r e p r e s e n t e d his a c h i e v e m e n t . A s the c u l m i n a t i o n of a lifetime of reflection o n t h e craft of fiction, they p r o v i d e e x t r a o r d i n a r y a c c o u n t s of t h e o r i g i n s a n d g r o w t h of his m a j o r writings a n d e x q u i s i t e a n a l y s e s of t h e fictional p r o b l e m s that e a c h w o r k p o s e d . T h e s e p r e f a c e s p r o v i d e d b o t h v o c a b u l a r y a n d e x a m p l e for the c l o s e textual a n a l y s i s of p r o s e fiction in the " N e w C r i t i c i s m " t h a t w a s d o m i n a n t in A m e r i c a n E n g l i s h D e p a r t m e n t s f o l l o w i n g W o r l d W a r II. D u r i n g his 1 9 0 4 - 0 5 visit to t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s , J a m e s t r a v e l e d extensively a n d lect u r e d in his native l a n d a n d C a n a d a . T h e c h i e f fruit of this e x p e r i e n c e w a s The American Scene ( 1 9 0 7 ) . T h i s " a b s o l u t e l y p e r s o n a l " b o o k is p e r h a p s t h e m o s t vividly p a r t i c u l a r a c c o u n t w e h a v e of t h e v a s t a n d p r o f o u n d c h a n g e s t h a t o c c u r r e d in A m e r i c a b e t w e e n t h e Civil W a r a n d W o r l d W a r I, t h e p e r i o d J a m e s later c h a r a c t e r i z e d a s t h e " A g e of t h e M i s t a k e . " T h e s a m e i n t r i c a t e , r u m i n a t i v e r i c h n e s s m a r k s t h e t h r e e a u t o b i o g r a p h i c a l r e m i n i s c e n c e s h e w r o t e l a t e in life: A Small Boy and Others ( 1 9 1 3 ) , Notes of a Son and Brother ( 1 9 1 4 ) , a n d the f r a g m e n t a r y a n d p o s t h u m o u s l y p u b l i s h e d The Middle

Years

(1917).

H e n r y J a m e s b e c a m e a n a t u r a l i z e d B r i t i s h s u b j e c t o u t of i m p a t i e n c e with A m e r i c a ' s r e l u c t a n c e to e n t e r W o r l d W a r I. J a m e s h a d involved h i m s e l f in w a r - r e l i e f w o r k starti n g in 1 9 1 5 a n d in 1 9 1 6 , a n d shortly b e f o r e h e d i e d h e w a s a w a r d e d t h e B r i t i s h O r d e r of M e r i t . D e s p i t e their difficulty, m o s t of t h e n o v e l s a n d s t o r i e s of J a m e s h a v e r e m a i n e d c o n s i s t e n t l y in print. T h e r i c h n e s s of h i s w o r k c o n t i n u e s to a t t r a c t literary s c h o l a r s a n d i n t e r p r e t e r s , a n d m a n y m i l l i o n s of p e o p l e a r o u n d t h e w o r l d h a v e b e c o m e f a m i l i a r with J a m e s t h r o u g h t h e n u m e r o u s a d a p t a t i o n s of h i s fiction for s t a g e , film, a n d television.

DAISY

M I L L E R :

A

S T U D Y

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1501

Daisy Miller: A Study1 / At the little town of Vevey, in Switzerland, there is a particularly comfortable hotel. T h e r e a r e , i n d e e d , m a n y h o t e l s ; for the e n t e r t a i n m e n t of tourists is the b u s i n e s s of the p l a c e , w h i c h , a s m a n y travelers will r e m e m b e r , is s e a t e d u p o n the e d g e of a remarkably b l u e l a k e 2 — a lake that it b e h o v e s every tourist to visit. T h e shore of the lake p r e s e n t s an u n b r o k e n array of e s t a b l i s h m e n t s of this order, of every category, from the "grand h o t e l " of the n e w e s t f a s h i o n , with a chalk-white front, a h u n d r e d b a l c o n i e s , a n d a dozen flags flying from its roof, to the little S w i s s pension of an elder day, with its n a m e inscribed in G e r m a n - l o o k i n g lettering u p o n a pink or yellow wall, a n d a n awkward s u m m e r - h o u s e in the angle of the g a r d e n . O n e of the hotels at Vevey, however, is f a m o u s , even c l a s s i c a l , b e i n g d i s t i n g u i s h e d from m a n y of its upstart neighbors by an air both of luxury a n d of maturity. In this region, in the month of J u n e , A m e r i c a n travelers are extremely n u m e r o u s ; it may b e said, indeed, that Vevey a s s u m e s at this period s o m e of the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of a n A m e r i c a n watering-place. T h e r e are sights a n d s o u n d s which evoke a vision, an e c h o , of N e w p o r t a n d S a r a t o g a . * T h e r e is a flitting hither a n d thither of "stylish" y o u n g girls, a rustling of m u s l i n f l o u n c e s , a rattle of d a n c e - m u s i c in the m o r n i n g h o u r s , a s o u n d of high-pitched voices at all t i m e s . You receive a n i m p r e s s i o n of t h e s e things at the excellent inn of the "Trois C o u r o n n e s , " 4 and are t r a n s p o r t e d in fancy to the O c e a n H o u s e or to C o n g r e s s Hall. B u t at the "Trois C o u r o n n e s , " it m u s t be a d d e d , there are other f e a t u r e s that are m u c h at variance with t h e s e s u g g e s t i o n s : neat G e r m a n waiters, w h o look like secretaries of legation; R u s s i a n p r i n c e s s e s sitting in the g a r d e n ; little P o l i s h boys walking a b o u t , held by the h a n d , with their governors; a view of the snowy crest of the D e n t du M i d i 5 a n d the p i c t u r e s q u e towers of the C a s t l e of Chillon. I hardly know w h e t h e r it w a s the a n a l o g i e s or the differences that were u p p e r m o s t in the m i n d of a y o u n g A m e r i c a n , w h o , two or three years a g o , sat in the g a r d e n of the "Trois C o u r o n n e s , " looking a b o u t h i m , rather idly, at s o m e of the graceful o b j e c t s I have m e n t i o n e d . It w a s a beautiful s u m m e r morning, a n d in whatever fashion the y o u n g A m e r i c a n looked at things, they m u s t have s e e m e d to him c h a r m i n g . H e h a d c o m e from G e n e v a the day before, by the little s t e a m e r , to s e e his a u n t , w h o w a s staying at the h o t e l — G e n e v a having b e e n for a long time his p l a c e of r e s i d e n c e . B u t his a u n t h a d a h e a d a c h e — h i s a u n t h a d a l m o s t always a h e a d a c h e — a n d n o w s h e w a s shut u p in her r o o m , s m e l l i n g c a m p h o r , so that he was at liberty to w a n d e r a b o u t . H e w a s s o m e seven-and-twenty years of a g e ; w h e n his friends s p o k e of him, they usually said that he w a s at G e n e v a , " s t u d y i n g . " W h e n his e n e m i e s s p o k e of him they s a i d — b u t , after all, h e h a d no e n e m i e s ; he w a s a n extremely a m i a b l e fellow, a n d universally liked. W h a t I s h o u l d say is, simply, that w h e n

1. F i r s t p u b l i s h e d in t h e Comhill Magazine 37 {June—July 1 8 7 8 ) . T h e text r e p r i n t e d h e r e f o l l o w s t h e first B r i t i s h b o o k e d i t i o n , p u b l i s h e d b y M a c mi I l.ni in 1 8 7 9 . P u n c t u a t i o n a n d s p e l l i n g h a v e been Americanized. 2. L a c L e m a n , or L a k e of G e n e v a .

3. N e w p o r t . R h o d e I s l a n d , a n d S a r a t o g a , N e w York, resort a r e a s for t h e rich, w h e r e the O c e a n H o u s e and C o n g r e s s Hall (below) are located. 4. T h r e e C r o w n s ( F r e n c h ) . 5 . T h e h i g h e s t p e a k in t h e D e n t s d u M i d i , a m o u n t a i n g r o u p in t h e A l p s i n s o u t h w e s t S w i t z e r l a n d .

1 502

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certain p e r s o n s s p o k e of him they affirmed that the r e a s o n of his s p e n d i n g so m u c h time at G e n e v a w a s that he w a s extremely devoted to a lady w h o lived t h e r e — a foreign l a d y — a p e r s o n older than himself. Very few A m e r i c a n s — i n d e e d I think n o n e — h a d ever s e e n this lady, a b o u t w h o m there w e r e s o m e singular stories. B u t W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d a n old a t t a c h m e n t for the little metropolis of C a l v i n i s m ; 6 h e h a d b e e n put to school there a s a boy, a n d h e h a d afterwards g o n e to college t h e r e — c i r c u m s t a n c e s w h i c h h a d led to his forming a great m a n y youthful friendships. M a n y of t h e s e h e h a d kept, a n d they were a s o u r c e of great satisfaction to him. After k n o c k i n g at his a u n t ' s door a n d learning that s h e w a s i n d i s p o s e d , he h a d taken a walk a b o u t the town, a n d then he h a d c o m e in to his b r e a k f a s t . H e h a d now finished his breakfast, b u t he w a s drinking a small c u p of c o f f e e , which h a d b e e n served to him on a little table in the g a r d e n by o n e of the waiters w h o looked like a n attache.7 At last h e finished his coffee a n d lit a cigarette. Presently a small boy c a m e walking a l o n g the p a t h — a n urchin of nine or ten. T h e child, w h o w a s diminutive for his years, h a d a n a g e d expression of c o u n t e n a n c e , a p a l e c o m p l e x i o n , a n d s h a r p little f e a t u r e s . H e w a s d r e s s e d in k n i c k e r b o c k e r s , with red s t o c k i n g s , which displayed his p o o r little s p i n d l e s h a n k s ; he a l s o wore a brilliant red cravat. H e carried in his h a n d a long a l p e n s t o c k , the s h a r p point of which he thrust into everything that h e a p p r o a c h e d — t h e flower-beds, the g a r d e n - b e n c h e s , the trains of the ladies' d r e s s e s . In front of W i n t e r b o u r n e h e p a u s e d , looking at him with a pair of bright, p e n e t r a t i n g little eyes. "Will you give m e a l u m p of s u g a r ? " h e a s k e d , in a s h a r p , hard little v o i c e — a voice i m m a t u r e , a n d yet, s o m e h o w , not y o u n g . W i n t e r b o u r n e g l a n c e d at the small table near h i m , on which his coffeeservice rested, a n d saw that several m o r s e l s of s u g a r r e m a i n e d . "Yes, you m a y take o n e , " he a n s w e r e d ; "but I don't think s u g a r is g o o d for little b o y s . " T h i s little boy s t e p p e d forward a n d carefully s e l e c t e d three of the c o v e t e d f r a g m e n t s , two of which h e buried in the p o c k e t to his k n i c k e r b o c k e r s , d e p o s iting the other as promptly in a n o t h e r p l a c e . H e p o k e d his a l p e n s t o c k , l a n c e f a s h i o n , into W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s b e n c h , a n d tried to c r a c k the l u m p of s u g a r with his teeth. " O h , b l a z e s ; it's har-r-d!" h e e x c l a i m e d , p r o n o u n c i n g the adjective in a peculiar manner. W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d i m m e d i a t e l y p e r c e i v e d that he might have the h o n o r of c l a i m i n g him a s a fellow-countryman. " T a k e c a r e you don't hurt your t e e t h , " he said, paternally. "I haven't got any teeth to hurt. T h e y have all c o m e o u t . I have only got seven teeth. M y m o t h e r c o u n t e d t h e m last night, a n d o n e c a m e o u t right afterwards. S h e said she'd slap m e if any m o r e c a m e out. I can't h e l p it. It's this old E u r o p e . It's the c l i m a t e that m a k e s t h e m c o m e o u t . In A m e r i c a they didn't c o m e out. It's t h e s e h o t e l s . " W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s m u c h a m u s e d . "If you eat three l u m p s of s u g a r , your m o t h e r will certainly slap y o u , " h e s a i d . " S h e ' s got to give m e s o m e c a n d y , t h e n , " rejoined his y o u n g interlocutor. "I can't get any c a n d y h e r e — a n y A m e r i c a n c a n d y . A m e r i c a n candy's the b e s t candy." 6.

G e n e v a , where J o h n Calvin (I 5 0 9 - 1 5 6 4 ) cen-

t e r e d his P r o t e s t a n t r e g i m e .

7.

I.e., like a m e m b e r o f t h e d i p l o m a t i c c o r p s ,

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"And are A m e r i c a n little boys the best little b o y s ? " a s k e d W i n t e r b o u r n e . "I don't know. I'm an A m e r i c a n boy," said the child. "I s e e you are o n e of the b e s t ! " l a u g h e d W i n t e r b o u r n e . "Are you a n A m e r i c a n m a n ? " p u r s u e d this vivacious infant. A n d then, on W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s affirmative r e p l y — " A m e r i c a n m e n are the b e s t , " h e declared. His c o m p a n i o n t h a n k e d him for the c o m p l i m e n t ; a n d the child, w h o h a d now got astride of his a l p e n s t o c k , stood looking a b o u t him, while he attacked a s e c o n d l u m p of s u g a r . W i n t e r b o u r n e w o n d e r e d if he himself h a d b e e n like this in his infancy, for he h a d b e e n brought to E u r o p e at a b o u t this a g e . " H e r e c o m e s my sister!" cried the child, in a m o m e n t . " S h e ' s a n A m e r i c a n girl." W i n t e r b o u r n e looked a l o n g the path a n d saw a beautiful y o u n g lady a d v a n c i n g . " A m e r i c a n girls are the best girls," he s a i d , cheerfully, to his young companion. " M y sister ain't the b e s t ! " the child d e c l a r e d . " S h e ' s always blowing at m e . " "I i m a g i n e that is your fault, not h e r s , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . T h e y o u n g lady m e a n w h i l e h a d drawn near. S h e w a s d r e s s e d in white m u s l i n , with a h u n d r e d frills a n d f l o u n c e s , a n d knots of pale-colored ribbon. S h e w a s b a r e - h e a d e d ; but s h e b a l a n c e d in her h a n d a large p a r a s o l , with a d e e p border of e m b r o i dery; a n d s h e w a s strikingly, admirably pretty. " H o w pretty they a r e ! " thought W i n t e r b o u r n e , straightening himself in his s e a t , a s if he were p r e p a r e d to rise. T h e y o u n g lady p a u s e d in front of his b e n c h , near the p a r a p e t of the g a r d e n , which overlooked the lake. T h e little boy h a d n o w converted his a l p e n s t o c k into a vaulting-pole, by the aid of which he w a s springing a b o u t in the gravel, a n d kicking it up not a little. " R a n d o l p h , " said the y o u n g lady, "what are you d o i n g ? " "I'm going u p the A l p s , " replied R a n d o l p h . " T h i s is the way!" A n d he gave a n o t h e r little j u m p , s c a t t e r i n g the p e b b l e s a b o u t W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s e a r s . "That's the way they c o m e d o w n , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " H e ' s a n A m e r i c a n m a n ! " cried R a n d o l p h , in his little hard voice. T h e y o u n g lady gave no h e e d to this a n n o u n c e m e n t , b u t looked straight at her brother. "Well, I g u e s s you h a d better be q u i e t , " s h e simply observed. It s e e m e d to W i n t e r b o u r n e that he had b e e n in a m a n n e r p r e s e n t e d . H e got u p a n d s t e p p e d slowly towards the y o u n g girl, throwing away his cigarette. "This little boy a n d I have m a d e a c q u a i n t a n c e , " he said, with great civility. In G e n e v a , a s he h a d b e e n perfectly a w a r e , a y o u n g m a n w a s not at liberty to s p e a k to a y o u n g u n m a r r i e d lady except u n d e r certain rarely-occurring c o n d i t i o n s ; but here at Vevey, what conditions c o u l d be better than t h e s e ? — a pretty A m e r i c a n girl c o m i n g a n d s t a n d i n g in front of you in a g a r d e n . T h i s pretty A m e r i c a n girl, however, on h e a r i n g W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s o b s e r v a t i o n , simply g l a n c e d at him; she then turned her h e a d a n d looked over the p a r a p e t , at the lake a n d the o p p o s i t e m o u n t a i n s . H e w o n d e r e d w h e t h e r h e h a d g o n e too far; but he d e c i d e d that h e m u s t a d v a n c e farther, rather than retreat. While he w a s thinking of s o m e t h i n g else to say, the y o u n g lady t u r n e d to the little boy a g a i n . "I s h o u l d like to know where you got that p o l e , " s h e s a i d . "I b o u g h t it!" r e s p o n d e d R a n d o l p h . "You don't m e a n to say you're g o i n g to take it to Italy!" "Yes, I a m going to take it to Italy!" the child d e c l a r e d . T h e y o u n g girl g l a n c e d over the front of her d r e s s , a n d s m o o t h e d o u t a

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knot or two of ribbon. T h e n s h e rested her eyes u p o n the p r o s p e c t a g a i n . "Well, I g u e s s you h a d better leave it s o m e w h e r e , " she said, after a m o m e n t . "Are you g o i n g to Italy?" W i n t e r b o u r n e i n q u i r e d , in a tone of great r e s p e c t . T h e y o u n g lady g l a n c e d at him again. "Yes, sir," s h e replied. A n d she said n o t h i n g m o r e . "Are y o u — a — g o i n g over the S i m p l o n ? " 8 W i n t e r b o u r n e p u r s u e d , a little embarrassed. "I don't k n o w , " s h e said, "I s u p p o s e it's s o m e m o u n t a i n . R a n d o l p h , w h a t m o u n t a i n are w e going o v e r ? " " G o i n g w h e r e ? " the child d e m a n d e d . " T o Italy," W i n t e r b o u r n e explained. "I don't k n o w , " said R a n d o l p h . "I don't want to go to Italy. I w a n t to go to America." " O h , Italy is a beautiful p l a c e ! " rejoined the y o u n g m a n . " C a n you get candy t h e r e ? " R a n d o l p h loudly inquired. "I h o p e n o t , " said his sister. "I g u e s s you have h a d e n o u g h c a n d y , a n d m o t h e r thinks s o t o o . " "I haven't h a d any for ever so l o n g — f o r a h u n d r e d w e e k s ! " cried the boy, still j u m p i n g a b o u t . T h e y o u n g lady i n s p e c t e d her f l o u n c e s a n d s m o o t h e d her r i b b o n s a g a i n ; a n d W i n t e r b o u r n e presently risked a n observation u p o n the b e a u t y of the view. H e w a s c e a s i n g to b e e m b a r r a s s e d , for he h a d b e g u n to p e r c e i v e that s h e w a s not in the least e m b a r r a s s e d herself. T h e r e h a d not b e e n the slightest alteration in her c h a r m i n g c o m p l e x i o n ; s h e w a s evidently neither o f f e n d e d nor fluttered. If s h e looked a n o t h e r way w h e n h e s p o k e to her, a n d s e e m e d not particularly to h e a r h i m , this w a s simply her habit, her m a n n e r . Yet, a s he talked a little m o r e , a n d p o i n t e d out s o m e of the o b j e c t s of interest in the view, with which s h e a p p e a r e d quite u n a c q u a i n t e d , s h e gradually g a v e h i m m o r e of the benefit of her g l a n c e ; a n d then he s a w that this g l a n c e w a s perfectly direct a n d u n s h r i n k i n g . It w a s not, however, w h a t w o u l d have b e e n called a n i m m o d e s t g l a n c e , for the y o u n g girl's eyes were singularly h o n e s t a n d fresh. T h e y were wonderfully pretty eyes; a n d , i n d e e d , W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d not s e e n for a long time anything prettier t h a n his fair c o u n t r y w o m a n ' s various f e a t u r e s — h e r c o m p l e x i o n , her n o s e , her e a r s , her teeth. H e h a d a great relish for f e m i n i n e b e a u t y ; h e w a s a d d i c t e d to observing a n d analyzing it; a n d a s r e g a r d s this y o u n g lady's f a c e he m a d e several o b s e r v a t i o n s . It w a s not at all insipid, b u t it w a s not exactly expressive; a n d t h o u g h it w a s e m i nently d e l i c a t e , W i n t e r b o u r n e mentally a c c u s e d it—very forgivingly—of a want of finish. H e t h o u g h t it very p o s s i b l e that M a s t e r R a n d o l p h ' s sister w a s a c o q u e t t e ; he w a s s u r e s h e h a d a spirit of her o w n ; but in her bright, s w e e t , superficial little visage there w a s no mockery, no irony. B e f o r e l o n g it b e c a m e obvious that s h e w a s m u c h d i s p o s e d towards c o n v e r s a t i o n . S h e told h i m that they were g o i n g to R o m e for the w i n t e r — s h e a n d her m o t h e r a n d R a n d o l p h . S h e a s k e d him if h e w a s a "real A m e r i c a n " ; s h e wouldn't have t a k e n him for o n e ; h e s e e m e d m o r e like a G e r m a n — t h i s w a s said after a little h e s i t a t i o n , especially w h e n h e s p o k e . W i n t e r b o u r n e , l a u g h i n g , a n s w e r e d that h e h a d m e t G e r m a n s w h o s p o k e like A m e r i c a n s ; but that h e h a d not, s o far a s h e r e m e m b e r e d , m e t a n A m e r i c a n w h o s p o k e like a G e r m a n . T h e n he a s k e d her 8 . A p a s s in t h e A l p s b e t w e e n S w i t z e r l a n d a n d Italy.

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if s h e would not b e m o r e c o m f o r t a b l e in sitting u p o n the b e n c h which h e h a d j u s t quitted. S h e a n s w e r e d that s h e liked s t a n d i n g u p a n d walking a b o u t ; but she presently sat down. S h e told him s h e w a s from N e w York S t a t e — " i f you know w h e r e that i s . " W i n t e r b o u r n e learned m o r e a b o u t her by c a t c h i n g hold of her s m a l l , slippery brother a n d m a k i n g him s t a n d a few m i n u t e s by his side. "Tell m e your n a m e , my b o y , " he said. " R a n d o l p h C . Miller," said the boy, sharply. "And I'll tell you her n a m e " ; a n d he leveled his a l p e n s t o c k at his sister. "You h a d better wait till you are a s k e d ! " s a i d this y o u n g lady, calmly. "I s h o u l d like very m u c h to know your n a m e , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " H e r n a m e is D a i s y Miller!" cried the child. " B u t that isn't her real n a m e ; that isn't her n a m e on her c a r d s . " "It's a pity you haven't got o n e of my c a r d s ! " s a i d M i s s Miller. " H e r real n a m e is A n n i e P. Miller," the boy went o n . "Ask him his n a m e , " said his sister, indicating W i n t e r b o u r n e . B u t on this point R a n d o l p h s e e m e d perfectly indifferent; he c o n t i n u e d to supply information with regard to his own family. " M y father's n a m e is Ezra B. Miller," he a n n o u n c e d . " M y father ain't in E u r o p e ; my father's in a better p l a c e than E u r o p e . " W i n t e r b o u r n e i m a g i n e d for a m o m e n t that this was the m a n n e r in w h i c h the child h a d b e e n taught to intimate that M r . Miller h a d b e e n r e m o v e d to the s p h e r e of celestial rewards. B u t R a n d o l p h i m m e d i a t e l y a d d e d , " M y father's in S c h e n e c t a d y . H e ' s got a big b u s i n e s s . M y father's rich, you b e t . " " W e l l ! " e j a c u l a t e d M i s s Miller, lowering her p a r a s o l a n d looking at the e m b r o i d e r e d border. W i n t e r b o u r n e presently r e l e a s e d the child, w h o d e p a r t e d , dragging his a l p e n s t o c k a l o n g the p a t h . " H e doesn't like E u r o p e , " said the y o u n g girl. " H e w a n t s to go b a c k . " " T o S c h e n e c t a d y , you m e a n ? " "Yes; he w a n t s to go right h o m e . H e hasn't got any boys h e r e . T h e r e is o n e boy h e r e , but h e always g o e s r o u n d with a t e a c h e r ; they won't let h i m play." "And your brother hasn't any t e a c h e r ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e i n q u i r e d . " M o t h e r t h o u g h t of getting him o n e , to travel r o u n d with u s . T h e r e w a s a lady told her of a very g o o d t e a c h e r ; a n A m e r i c a n l a d y — p e r h a p s you know h e r — M r s . S a n d e r s . I think s h e c a m e from B o s t o n . S h e told her of this teacher, a n d we t h o u g h t of getting him to travel r o u n d with u s . B u t R a n d o l p h said he didn't w a n t a t e a c h e r traveling r o u n d with u s . H e said h e wouldn't have l e s s o n s w h e n h e w a s in the c a r s . 9 A n d we are in the c a r s a b o u t half the time. T h e r e w a s a n E n g l i s h lady we met in the c a r s — I think her n a m e w a s M i s s F e a t h e r s t o n e ; p e r h a p s you know her. S h e w a n t e d to know why I didn't give R a n d o l p h l e s s o n s — g i v e him 'instruction,' s h e called it. I g u e s s he c o u l d give m e m o r e instruction than I c o u l d give him. H e ' s very s m a r t . " " Y e s , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e ; " h e s e e m s very s m a r t . " " M o t h e r ' s going to get a t e a c h e r for him a s s o o n a s we get to Italy. C a n you get g o o d t e a c h e r s in Italy?" "Very g o o d , I s h o u l d think," said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " O r else she's going to find s o m e s c h o o l . H e o u g h t to learn s o m e m o r e . He's only n i n e . H e ' s g o i n g to c o l l e g e . " A n d in this way M i s s Miller c o n t i n u e d 9. Railway cars.

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to c o n v e r s e u p o n the affairs of her family, a n d u p o n other t o p i c s . S h e sat there with her extremely pretty h a n d s , o r n a m e n t e d with very brilliant rings, folded in her lap, a n d with her pretty eyes now resting u p o n t h o s e of W i n t e r b o u r n e , now w a n d e r i n g over the g a r d e n , the p e o p l e w h o p a s s e d by, a n d the beautiful view. S h e talked to W i n t e r b o u r n e as if s h e h a d known him a long time. H e f o u n d it very p l e a s a n t . It w a s m a n y years s i n c e he h e a r d a y o u n g girl talk s o m u c h . It might have b e e n said of this u n k n o w n y o u n g lady, w h o h a d c o m e a n d sat d o w n b e s i d e him u p o n a b e n c h , that s h e c h a t t e r e d . S h e was very quiet, s h e sat in a c h a r m i n g tranquil a t t i t u d e ; but her lips a n d her eyes were constantly moving. S h e h a d a soft, slender, a g r e e a b l e voice, a n d her tone was decidedly s o c i a b l e . S h e gave W i n t e r b o u r n e a history of her m o v e m e n t s a n d intentions, a n d t h o s e of her m o t h e r a n d brother, in E u r o p e , a n d e n u m e r a t e d , in particular, the various hotels at which they h a d s t o p p e d . " T h a t E n g l i s h lady in the c a r s , " s h e s a i d — " M i s s F e a t h e r s t o n e — a s k e d m e if we didn't all live in hotels in A m e r i c a . I told her I had never b e e n in s o m a n y hotels in my life a s s i n c e I c a m e to E u r o p e . I have never s e e n so m a n y — i t ' s nothing but h o t e l s . " B u t M i s s Miller did not m a k e this r e m a r k with a queru l o u s a c c e n t ; s h e a p p e a r e d to be in the b e s t h u m o r with everything. S h e d e c l a r e d that the hotels were very g o o d , w h e n o n c e you got u s e d to their ways, a n d that E u r o p e w a s perfectly sweet. S h e w a s not d i s a p p o i n t e d — n o t a bit. P e r h a p s it w a s b e c a u s e s h e h a d h e a r d so m u c h a b o u t it b e f o r e . S h e had ever s o many i n t i m a t e friends that h a d b e e n there ever s o m a n y t i m e s . And then s h e h a d had ever s o m a n y d r e s s e s a n d things from P a r i s . W h e n e v e r s h e put on a Paris d r e s s s h e felt a s if s h e were in E u r o p e . "It w a s a kind of w i s h i n g - c a p , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " Y e s , " said M i s s Miller, without e x a m i n i n g this analogy; "it always m a d e m e wish I w a s here. B u t I needn't have d o n e that for d r e s s e s . I a m s u r e they s e n d all the pretty o n e s to A m e r i c a ; you s e e the m o s t frightful things here. T h e only thing I don't like," s h e p r o c e e d e d , "is the society. T h e r e isn't any society; or, if there is, I don't know w h e r e it k e e p s itself. D o you? I s u p p o s e there is s o m e society s o m e w h e r e , but I haven't s e e n anything of it. I'm very fond of society, a n d I have always h a d a great deal of it. I don't m e a n only in S c h e n e c t a d y , but in N e w York. I u s e d to go to N e w York every winter. In N e w York I h a d lots of society. L a s t winter I h a d s e v e n t e e n d i n n e r s given m e ; a n d three of t h e m were by g e n t l e m e n , " a d d e d Daisy Miller. "I have m o r e friends in N e w York than in S c h e n e c t a d y — m o r e g e n t l e m e n friends; a n d m o r e y o u n g lady friends t o o , " s h e r e s u m e d in a m o m e n t . S h e p a u s e d a g a i n for an instant; s h e w a s looking at W i n t e r b o u r n e with all her p r e t t i n e s s in her lively eyes a n d in her light, slightly m o n o t o n o u s s m i l e . "I have always h a d , " s h e said, " a great deal of g e n t l e m e n ' s society." Poor W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s a m u s e d , perplexed, a n d d e c i d e d l y c h a r m e d . H e h a d never yet h e a r d a y o u n g girl e x p r e s s herself in j u s t this f a s h i o n ; never, at least, save in c a s e s w h e r e to say s u c h things s e e m e d a kind of d e m o n s t r a tive e v i d e n c e of a certain laxity of d e p o r t m e n t . A n d yet w a s h e to a c c u s e M i s s Daisy Miller of a c t u a l or potential inconduite,' a s they said at G e n e v a ? H e felt that h e h a d lived at G e n e v a s o long that he h a d lost a g o o d d e a l ; h e h a d b e c o m e d i s h a b i t u a t e d to the A m e r i c a n t o n e . Never, i n d e e d , s i n c e h e had grown old e n o u g h to a p p r e c i a t e things, h a d he e n c o u n t e r e d a y o u n g 1. Misconduct (French).

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1507

A m e r i c a n girl of s o p r o n o u n c e d a type a s this. Certainly s h e w a s very c h a r m ing; but how d e u c e d l y s o c i a b l e ! W a s s h e simply a pretty girl from N e w York S t a t e — w e r e they all like that, the pretty girls who h a d a g o o d deal of gentlemen's society? O r w a s s h e a l s o a d e s i g n i n g , a n a u d a c i o u s , a n u n s c r u p u l o u s young p e r s o n ? W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d lost his instinct in this matter, a n d his r e a s o n c o u l d not help h i m . M i s s Daisy Miller looked extremely i n n o c e n t . S o m e p e o p l e h a d told him that, after all, A m e r i c a n girls were exceedingly i n n o c e n t ; a n d others h a d told him that, after all, they were not. H e w a s inclined to think M i s s Daisy Miller was a flirt—a pretty A m e r i c a n flirt. H e had never, a s yet, h a d any relations with y o u n g ladies of this category. H e had known, here in E u r o p e , two or three w o m e n — p e r s o n s older than M i s s Daisy Miller, a n d provided, for respectability's s a k e , with h u s b a n d s — w h o were great c o q u e t t e s — d a n g e r o u s , terrible w o m e n , with w h o m one's relations were liable to take a s e r i o u s turn. B u t this y o u n g girl w a s not a c o q u e t t e in that s e n s e ; s h e w a s very u n s o p h i s t i c a t e d ; s h e w a s only a pretty A m e r i c a n flirt. W i n t e r b o u r n e was a l m o s t grateful for having f o u n d the formula that applied to M i s s Daisy Miller. H e l e a n e d b a c k in his s e a t ; he r e m a r k e d to himself that s h e h a d the m o s t c h a r m i n g n o s e he had ever s e e n ; h e w o n d e r e d what were the regular c o n d i t i o n s a n d limitations of one's i n t e r c o u r s e with a pretty A m e r i c a n flirt. It presently b e c a m e a p p a r e n t that h e w a s on the way to learn. " H a v e you b e e n to that old c a s t l e ? " a s k e d the y o u n g girl, p o i n t i n g with her p a r a s o l to the far-gleaming walls of the C h a t e a u de C h i l l o n . "Yes, formerly, m o r e than o n c e , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . "You too, I s u p p o s e , have s e e n i t ? " " N o ; we haven't b e e n there. I want to go there dreadfully. O f c o u r s e I m e a n to go there. I wouldn't g o away from here without having s e e n that old castle." "It's a very pretty e x c u r s i o n , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , " a n d very e a s y to m a k e . You c a n drive, you know, or you c a n go by the little s t e a m e r . " "You can go in the c a r s , " said M i s s Miller. "Yes; you c a n go in the c a r s , " W i n t e r b o u r n e a s s e n t e d . " O u r c o u r i e r 2 says they take you right u p to the c a s t l e , " the y o u n g girl c o n t i n u e d . " W e were going last week; but my m o t h e r g a v e out. S h e suffers dreadfully from d y s p e p s i a . S h e said s h e couldn't go. R a n d o l p h wouldn't go either; he says he doesn't think m u c h of old c a s t l e s . B u t I g u e s s we'll g o this week, if we c a n get R a n d o l p h . " "Your brother is not interested in a n c i e n t m o n u m e n t s ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e inquired, smiling. " H e says he don't c a r e m u c h a b o u t old c a s t l e s . H e ' s only nine. H e w a n t s to stay at the hotel. M o t h e r ' s afraid to leave him a l o n e , a n d the c o u r i e r won't stay with h i m ; so we haven't b e e n to m a n y p l a c e s . B u t it will be too b a d if we don't go up t h e r e . " A n d M i s s Miller p o i n t e d again at the C h a t e a u d e Chillon. "I s h o u l d think it might be a r r a n g e d , " s a i d W i n t e r b o u r n e . " C o u l d n ' t you get s o m e o n e to s t a y — f o r the a f t e r n o o n — w i t h R a n d o l p h ? " M i s s Miller looked at him a m o m e n t ; a n d then, very p l a c i d l y — " I wishyoM would stay with h i m ! " s h e s a i d . 2. Social guide.

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W i n t e r b o u r n e h e s i t a t e d a m o m e n t . "I w o u l d m u c h rather go to C h i l l o n with y o u . " "With m e ? " a s k e d the y o u n g girl, with the s a m e placidity. S h e didn't rise, b l u s h i n g , a s a y o u n g girl at G e n e v a w o u l d have d o n e ; a n d yet W i n t e r b o u r n e , c o n s c i o u s that h e h a d b e e n very bold, t h o u g h t it p o s s i b l e s h e w a s offended. "With your m o t h e r , " h e a n s w e r e d very respectfully. B u t it s e e m e d that both his a u d a c i t y a n d his r e s p e c t were lost u p o n M i s s Daisy Miller. "I g u e s s m y m o t h e r won't g o , after all," s h e s a i d . " S h e don't like to ride r o u n d in the a f t e r n o o n . B u t did you really m e a n w h a t you said j u s t now; that you would like to go u p t h e r e ? " " M o s t earnestly," W i n t e r b o u r n e d e c l a r e d . " T h e n w e m a y a r r a n g e it. If m o t h e r will stay with R a n d o l p h , I g u e s s E u g e n i o will." " E u g e n i o ? " the y o u n g m a n i n q u i r e d . " E u g e n i o ' s our courier. H e doesn't like to stay with R a n d o l p h ; he's the m o s t f a s t i d i o u s m a n I ever saw. B u t he's a s p l e n d i d courier. I g u e s s he'll stay at h o m e with R a n d o l p h if m o t h e r d o e s , a n d then we c a n go to the c a s t l e . " W i n t e r b o u r n e reflected for an instant a s lucidly a s p o s s i b l e — " w e " c o u l d only m e a n M i s s D a i s y Miller a n d himself. T h i s p r o g r a m m e s e e m e d a l m o s t too a g r e e a b l e for c r e d e n c e ; he felt a s if h e o u g h t to kiss the y o u n g lady's h a n d . Possibly he w o u l d have d o n e s o — a n d quite spoiled the p r o j e c t ; but at this m o m e n t a n o t h e r p e r s o n — p r e s u m a b l y E u g e n i o — a p p e a r e d . A tall, hands o m e m a n , with s u p e r b w h i s k e r s , w e a r i n g a velvet m o r n i n g - c o a t a n d a brilliant w a t c h - c h a i n , a p p r o a c h e d M i s s Miller, looking sharply at h e r c o m p a n i o n . " O h , E u g e n i o ! " said M i s s Miller, with the friendliest a c c e n t . E u g e n i o h a d looked at W i n t e r b o u r n e from h e a d to foot; he now b o w e d gravely to the y o u n g lady. "I have the h o n o r to inform m a d e m o i s e l l e that l u n c h e o n is u p o n the t a b l e . " M i s s Miller slowly r o s e . " S e e h e r e , E u g e n i o , " s h e said. "I'm g o i n g to that old c a s t l e , any w a y . " " T o the C h a t e a u d e C h i l l o n , m a d e m o i s e l l e ? " the c o u r i e r i n q u i r e d . " M a d e moiselle h a d m a d e a r r a n g e m e n t s ? " h e a d d e d , in a t o n e which s t r u c k Wint e r b o u r n e a s very i m p e r t i n e n t . E u g e n i o ' s tone a p p a r e n t l y threw, even to M i s s Miller's own a p p r e h e n s i o n , a slightly ironical light u p o n the y o u n g girl's s i t u a t i o n . S h e t u r n e d to W i n t e r b o u r n e , b l u s h i n g a little-—a very little. "You won't b a c k o u t ? " s h e s a i d . "I shall not b e h a p p y till we g o ! " h e p r o t e s t e d . "And you a r e staying in this h o t e l ? " s h e went o n . "And you are really an American?" T h e c o u r i e r stood looking at W i n t e r b o u r n e , offensively. T h e y o u n g m a n , at least, t h o u g h t his m a n n e r of looking a n o f f e n c e to M i s s Miller; it c o n v e y e d a n i m p u t a t i o n that s h e " p i c k e d u p " a c q u a i n t a n c e s . "I shall have the h o n o r of p r e s e n t i n g to you a p e r s o n w h o will tell you all a b o u t m e , " h e s a i d smiling, a n d referring to his a u n t . " O h well, we'll g o s o m e d a y , " s a i d M i s s Miller. A n d s h e g a v e h i m a smile a n d turned away. S h e p u t u p her p a r a s o l a n d walked b a c k to the inn b e s i d e E u g e n i o . W i n t e r b o u r n e s t o o d looking after her; a n d a s s h e m o v e d away, drawing her m u s l i n furbelows over the gravel, said to h i m s e l f that s h e h a d the toumure of a p r i n c e s s .

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H e h a d , however, e n g a g e d to do m o r e t h a n proved f e a s i b l e , in p r o m i s i n g to p r e s e n t his a u n t , M r s . C o s t e l l o , to M i s s D a i s y Miller. As s o o n a s the former lady h a d got better of her h e a d a c h e h e waited u p o n her in her apartm e n t ; a n d , after the p r o p e r inquiries in regard to her h e a l t h , h e a s k e d her if she had o b s e r v e d , in the hotel, an A m e r i c a n f a m i l y — a m a m m a , a d a u g h t e r , a n d a little boy. " A n d a c o u r i e r ? " said M r s . C o s t e l l o . " O h , yes, I have o b s e r v e d t h e m . S e e n t h e m — h e a r d t h e m — a n d kept o u t of their w a y . " M r s . C o s t e l l o w a s a widow with a f o r t u n e ; a p e r s o n of m u c h distinction, w h o frequently i n t i m a t e d that, if she were not s o dreadfully liable to s i c k - h e a d a c h e s , s h e w o u l d probably have left a d e e p e r i m p r e s s u p o n her t i m e . S h e h a d a long p a l e f a c e , a high n o s e , a n d a great deal of very striking white hair, which s h e wore in large puffs a n d rouleaux over the top of her h e a d . S h e h a d two s o n s m a r r i e d in N e w York, a n d a n o t h e r w h o w a s now in E u r o p e . T h i s y o u n g m a n w a s a m u s ing himself at H o m b u r g , ' a n d , t h o u g h he w a s o n his travels, w a s rarely perceived to visit any particular city at the m o m e n t s e l e c t e d by his m o t h e r for her own a p p e a r a n c e t h e r e . H e r n e p h e w , w h o h a d c o m e up to Vevey expressly to s e e her, w a s therefore m o r e attentive than t h o s e w h o , a s s h e s a i d , were nearer to her. H e h a d i m b i b e d at G e n e v a the idea that o n e m u s t always b e attentive to one's a u n t . M r s . C o s t e l l o h a d not s e e n him for m a n y years, a n d she w a s greatly p l e a s e d with him, m a n i f e s t i n g her a p p r o b a t i o n by initiating him into m a n y of the s e c r e t s of that social sway w h i c h , a s s h e g a v e h i m to u n d e r s t a n d , s h e exerted in the A m e r i c a n capital. S h e a d m i t t e d that s h e w a s very exclusive; b u t , if h e were a c q u a i n t e d with N e w York, he w o u l d s e e that o n e h a d to b e . A n d her p i c t u r e of the minutely hierarchical c o n s t i t u t i o n of the society of that city, which s h e p r e s e n t e d to him in m a n y different lights, w a s , to W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s i m a g i n a t i o n , a l m o s t oppressively striking. H e i m m e d i a t e l y perceived, from her t o n e , that M i s s D a i s y Miller's p l a c e in the social s c a l e w a s low. "I a m afraid you don't a p p r o v e of t h e m , " he s a i d . " T h e y are very c o m m o n , " M r s . C o s t e l l o d e c l a r e d . " T h e y a r e the sort of A m e r i c a n s that o n e d o e s one's duty by not-—not a c c e p t i n g . " "Ah, you don't a c c e p t t h e m ? " said the y o u n g m a n . "I can't, my d e a r Frederick. I would if I c o u l d , but I c a n ' t . " " T h e y o u n g girl is very pretty," said W i n t e r b o u r n e , in a m o m e n t . " O f c o u r s e she's pretty. B u t s h e is very c o m m o n . " "I s e e what you m e a n , of c o u r s e , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , after a n o t h e r p a u s e . " S h e h a s that c h a r m i n g look that they all h a v e , " his a u n t r e s u m e d . "I can't think w h e r e they p i c k it u p ; a n d she d r e s s e s in p e r f e c t i o n — n o , you don't know h o w well s h e d r e s s e s . I can't think w h e r e they get their t a s t e . " " B u t , my dear a u n t , s h e is not, after all, a C o m a n c h e s a v a g e . " " S h e is a y o u n g lady," said M r s . C o s t e l l o , " w h o h a s a n intimacy with her mamma's courier?" "An intimacy with the c o u r i e r ? " the y o u n g m a n d e m a n d e d . " O h , the m o t h e r is j u s t a s b a d ! T h e y treat the c o u r i e r like a familiar friend—like a g e n t l e m a n . I shouldn't w o n d e r if he d i n e s with t h e m . Very 3. A resort in Germany.

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likely they have never s e e n a m a n with s u c h g o o d m a n n e r s , s u c h fine c l o t h e s , s o like a g e n t l e m a n . H e probably c o r r e s p o n d s to the y o u n g lady's idea of a C o u n t . H e sits with t h e m in the g a r d e n , in the evening. I think h e s m o k e s . " W i n t e r b o u r n e listened with interest to t h e s e d i s c l o s u r e s ; they h e l p e d h i m to m a k e u p his m i n d a b o u t M i s s Daisy. Evidently s h e w a s rather wild. " W e l l , " h e said, "I a m not a courier, a n d yet s h e w a s very c h a r m i n g to m e . " "You h a d better have s a i d at first," s a i d M r s . C o s t e l l o with dignity, " t h a t you h a d m a d e her a c q u a i n t a n c e . " " W e simply m e t in the g a r d e n , a n d we talked a b i t . " "ToMt bonnementl A n d pray what did you s a y ? " "I s a i d I s h o u l d take the liberty of i n t r o d u c i n g her to my a d m i r a b l e a u n t . " "I a m m u c h obliged to y o u . " "It w a s to g u a r a n t e e my respectability," said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " A n d pray w h o is to g u a r a n t e e h e r s ? " " A h , you a r e c r u e l ! " s a i d the y o u n g m a n . " S h e ' s a very n i c e girl." "You don't say that a s if you believed it," M r s . C o s t e l l o o b s e r v e d . " S h e is c o m p l e t e l y u n c u l t i v a t e d , " W i n t e r b o u r n e went o n . " B u t s h e is wonderfully pretty, a n d , in short, s h e is very n i c e . T o prove that I believe it, I a m g o i n g to take her to the C h a t e a u d e C h i l l o n . " "You two a r e g o i n g off there t o g e t h e r ? I s h o u l d say it p r o v e d j u s t the c o n trary. H o w long h a d you known her, m a y I ask, w h e n this interesting project w a s f o r m e d . You haven't b e e n twenty-four h o u r s in the h o u s e . " "I h a d known her half-an-hour!" said W i n t e r b o u r n e , smiling. " D e a r m e ! " cried M r s C o s t e l l o . " W h a t a dreadful girl!" H e r n e p h e w w a s silent for s o m e m o m e n t s . "You really think, t h e n , " h e b e g a n earnestly, a n d with a d e s i r e for trustworthy i n f o r m a t i o n — " y o u really think t h a t — " B u t he p a u s e d a g a i n . " T h i n k w h a t , sir," said his a u n t . " T h a t s h e is the sort of y o u n g lady w h o e x p e c t s a m a n — s o o n e r or l a t e r — t o carry her o f f ? " "I haven't the least idea what s u c h y o u n g ladies expect a m a n to do. B u t I really think that you h a d better not m e d d l e with little A m e r i c a n girls that are uncultivated, as you call t h e m . You have lived too long o u t of the country. You will be s u r e to m a k e s o m e great m i s t a k e . You a r e too i n n o c e n t . " " M y d e a r a u n t , I a m not s o i n n o c e n t , " s a i d W i n t e r b o u r n e , s m i l i n g a n d c u r l i n g his m o u s t a c h e . "You are too guilty, t h e n ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e c o n t i n u e d to curl his m o u s t a c h e , meditatively. "You won't let the p o o r girl know you t h e n ? " h e a s k e d at last. "Is it literally true that s h e is g o i n g to the C h a t e a u de C h i l l o n with y o u ? " "I think that s h e fully i n t e n d s it." " T h e n , my d e a r F r e d e r i c k , " said M r s . C o s t e l l o , "I m u s t d e c l i n e t h e h o n o r of her a c q u a i n t a n c e . I a m a n old w o m a n , but I a m not too o l d — t h a n k Heaven—to be shocked!" " B u t don't they all do t h e s e t h i n g s — t h e y o u n g girls in A m e r i c a ? " Winterbourne inquired. M r s . C o s t e l l o s t a r e d a m o m e n t . "I s h o u l d like to s e e my g r a n d d a u g h t e r s do t h e m ! " s h e d e c l a r e d , grimly. T h i s s e e m e d to throw s o m e light u p o n the m a t t e r , for W i n t e r b o u r n e r e m e m b e r e d to have h e a r d that his pretty c o u s i n s in N e w York were "tre-

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m e n d o u s flirts." If, therefore, M i s s Daisy Miller e x c e e d e d the liberal license allowed to t h e s e y o u n g l a d i e s , it w a s p r o b a b l e that anything might be expected of her. W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s i m p a t i e n t to s e e her a g a i n , a n d h e w a s vexed with h i m s e l f that, by instinct, he s h o u l d not a p p r e c i a t e her justly. T h o u g h he w a s i m p a t i e n t to s e e her, he hardly k n e w what he s h o u l d say to her a b o u t his a u n t ' s refusal to b e c o m e a c q u a i n t e d with her; but he discovered, promptly e n o u g h , that with M i s s Daisy Miller there w a s n o great n e e d of walking on tiptoe. H e found her that e v e n i n g in the g a r d e n , wandering a b o u t in the w a r m starlight, like an indolent sylph, a n d swinging to a n d fro the largest fan h e h a d ever b e h e l d . It w a s ten o'clock. H e h a d d i n e d with his a u n t , h a d b e e n sitting with her s i n c e dinner, a n d h a d j u s t taken leave of her till the morrow. M i s s Daisy Miller s e e m e d very glad to s e e him; she declared it w a s the longest evening she h a d ever p a s s e d . " H a v e you b e e n all a l o n e ? " h e a s k e d . "I have b e e n walking r o u n d with mother. B u t m o t h e r gets tired walking round," she answered. " H a s s h e g o n e to b e d ? " " N o ; s h e doesn't like to go to b e d , " said the y o u n g girl. " S h e doesn't s l e e p — not three h o u r s . S h e says s h e doesn't know how s h e lives. S h e ' s dreadfully nervous. I g u e s s s h e s l e e p s m o r e than s h e thinks. S h e ' s g o n e s o m e w h e r e after R a n d o l p h ; s h e w a n t s to try to get him to go to b e d . H e doesn't like to go to b e d . " " L e t u s h o p e s h e will p e r s u a d e h i m , " o b s e r v e d W i n t e r b o u r n e . " S h e will talk to him all s h e c a n ; but he doesn't like her to talk to h i m , " said M i s s Daisy, o p e n i n g her fan. " S h e ' s g o i n g to try to get E u g e n i o to talk to him. B u t h e isn't afraid of E u g e n i o . E u g e n i o ' s a s p l e n d i d courier, but h e can't m a k e m u c h i m p r e s s i o n on R a n d o l p h ! I don't believe he'll go to b e d before e l e v e n . " It a p p e a r e d that R a n d o l p h ' s vigil w a s in fact t r i u m p h a n t l y p r o l o n g e d , for W i n t e r b o u r n e strolled a b o u t with the y o u n g girl for s o m e time without m e e t i n g her mother. "I have b e e n looking r o u n d for that lady you want to i n t r o d u c e m e t o , " his c o m p a n i o n r e s u m e d . " S h e ' s your a u n t . " T h e n , on W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s a d m i t t i n g the fact, a n d e x p r e s s i n g s o m e curiosity a s to how s h e h a d learned it, s h e said she h a d heard all a b o u t M r s . C o s t e l l o from the c h a m b e r m a i d . S h e w a s very quiet a n d very comtne ilfaut; s h e w o r e white p u f f s ; s h e s p o k e to n o o n e , a n d s h e never dined at the table d'hote. Every two days s h e h a d a h e a d a c h e . "I think that's a lovely d e s c r i p t i o n , h e a d a c h e a n d all!" said M i s s Daisy, c h a t t e r i n g a l o n g in her thin, gay voice. "I w a n t to know her ever so m u c h . I know j u s t what your a u n t w o u l d b e ; I k n o w I s h o u l d like her. S h e would be very exclusive. I like a lady to be exclusive; I'm dying to be exclusive myself. Well, we are exclusive, m o t h e r a n d I. W e don't s p e a k to every o n e — o r they don't s p e a k to u s . I s u p p o s e it's a b o u t the s a m e thing. Any way, I shall be ever so glad to know your a u n t . " W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s e m b a r r a s s e d . " S h e would be m o s t h a p p y , " h e said, " b u t I a m afraid t h o s e h e a d a c h e s will interfere." T h e y o u n g girl looked at him through the d u s k . " B u t I s u p p o s e s h e doesn't have a h e a d a c h e every d a y , " s h e said, sympathetically. W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s silent a m o m e n t . " S h e tells m e s h e d o e s , " h e a n s w e r e d at l a s t — n o t knowing what to say. 4

4. Well mannered (French).

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M i s s D a i s y Miller s t o p p e d a n d s t o o d looking at h i m . H e r p r e t t i n e s s w a s still visible in the d a r k n e s s ; s h e w a s o p e n i n g a n d c l o s i n g her e n o r m o u s fan. " S h e doesn't want to know m e ! " s h e s a i d s u d d e n l y . "Why don't you say s o ? You needn't be afraid. I'm not afraid!" A n d s h e gave a little l a u g h . W i n t e r b o u r n e f a n c i e d there w a s a t r e m o r in her v o i c e ; h e w a s t o u c h e d , s h o c k e d , mortified by it. " M y dear y o u n g lady," h e p r o t e s t e d , " s h e knows n o o n e . It's her w r e t c h e d h e a l t h . " T h e y o u n g girl walked on a few s t e p s , l a u g h i n g still. "You n e e d n ' t be a f r a i d , " s h e r e p e a t e d . " W h y s h o u l d s h e want to know m e ? " T h e n s h e p a u s e d a g a i n ; s h e w a s c l o s e to the p a r a p e t of the g a r d e n , a n d in front of her w a s the starlit lake. T h e r e w a s a v a g u e s h e e n u p o n its s u r f a c e , a n d in the d i s t a n c e were dimly-seen m o u n t a i n f o r m s . Daisy Miller looked o u t u p o n the m y s t e rious p r o s p e c t , a n d then s h e gave a n o t h e r little l a u g h . " G r a c i o u s ! s h e is exclus i v e ! " s h e s a i d . W i n t e r b o u r n e w o n d e r e d w h e t h e r s h e w a s seriously w o u n d e d , a n d for a m o m e n t a l m o s t w i s h e d that her s e n s e of injury m i g h t be s u c h a s to m a k e it b e c o m i n g in him to a t t e m p t to r e a s s u r e a n d c o m f o r t her. H e h a d a p l e a s a n t s e n s e that she w o u l d be very a p p r o a c h a b l e for c o n s o l a t o r y purp o s e s . H e felt t h e n , for the i n s t a n t , q u i t e ready to sacrifice his a u n t , conversationally; to a d m i t that s h e w a s a p r o u d , r u d e w o m a n , a n d to d e c l a r e that they needn't mind her. B u t before h e h a d time to c o m m i t h i m s e l f to this perilous mixture of gallantry a n d impiety, the y o u n g lady, r e s u m i n g her walk, gave a n e x c l a m a t i o n in quite a n o t h e r t o n e . "Well; here's m o t h e r ! I g u e s s s h e hasn't got R a n d o l p h to go to b e d . " T h e figure of a lady a p p e a r e d , at a d i s t a n c e , very indistinct in the d a r k n e s s , a n d a d v a n c i n g with a slow a n d wavering m o v e m e n t . S u d d e n l y it s e e m e d to p a u s e . "Are you s u r e it is your m o t h e r ? C a n you d i s t i n g u i s h her in this thick dusk?" Winterbourne asked. " W e l l ! " cried M i s s D a i s y Miller, with a l a u g h , "I g u e s s I know my own mother. A n d w h e n s h e h a s got o n my shawl, too! S h e is always w e a r i n g my things." T h e lady in q u e s t i o n , c e a s i n g to a d v a n c e , hovered vaguely a b o u t the spot at which s h e h a d c h e c k e d her s t e p s . "I a m afraid your m o t h e r doesn't s e e y o u , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " O r perh a p s , " he a d d e d — t h i n k i n g , with M i s s Miller, the j o k e p e r m i s s i b l e — " p e r h a p s s h e feels guilty a b o u t your s h a w l . " " O h , it's a fearful old t h i n g ! " the y o u n g girl replied, serenely. "I told her she c o u l d wear it. S h e won't c o m e h e r e , b e c a u s e s h e s e e s y o u . " " A h , t h e n , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , "I h a d better leave y o u . " " O h , n o ; c o m e o n ! " u r g e d M i s s D a i s y Miller. "I'm afraid your m o t h e r doesn't a p p r o v e of my w a l k i n g with y o u . " M i s s Miller g a v e him a s e r i o u s g l a n c e . "It isn't for m e ; it's for y o u — t h a t is, it's for her. W e l l ; I don't know w h o it's for! B u t m o t h e r d o e s n ' t like any of my g e n t l e m e n friends. S h e ' s right d o w n timid. S h e always m a k e s a fuss if I i n t r o d u c e a g e n t l e m a n . B u t I do i n t r o d u c e t h e m — a l m o s t a l w a y s . If I didn't i n t r o d u c e my g e n t l e m e n friends to m o t h e r , " the y o u n g girl a d d e d , in her little soft, flat m o n o t o n e , "I s h o u l d n ' t think I w a s n a t u r a l . " " T o i n t r o d u c e m e , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , "you m u s t know my n a m e . " A n d h e p r o c e e d e d to p r o n o u n c e it. " O h , d e a r ; I can't say all t h a t ! " said his c o m p a n i o n , with a l a u g h . B u t by this t i m e they h a d c o m e u p to M r s . Miller, w h o , a s they drew near, walked

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to the p a r a p e t of the g a r d e n a n d leaned u p o n it, looking intently at the lake a n d turning her b a c k u p o n t h e m . " M o t h e r ! " said the y o u n g girl, in a tone of decision. U p o n this the elderly lady turned r o u n d . " M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e , " s a i d M i s s Daisy Miller, i n t r o d u c i n g the y o u n g m a n very frankly a n d prettily. " C o m m o n " s h e w a s , a s M r s . C o s t e l l o h a d p r o n o u n c e d her; yet it w a s a wonder to W i n t e r b o u r n e that, with her c o m m o n n e s s , s h e h a d a singularly delicate grace. H e r m o t h e r w a s a small, s p a r e , light p e r s o n , with a w a n d e r i n g eye, a very exiguous n o s e , a n d a large f o r e h e a d , d e c o r a t e d with a certain a m o u n t of thin, much-frizzled hair. L i k e her d a u g h t e r , M r s . Miller w a s d r e s s e d with e x t r e m e e l e g a n c e ; s h e h a d e n o r m o u s d i a m o n d s in her e a r s . S o far a s W i n t e r b o u r n e c o u l d observe, s h e gave him no g r e e t i n g — s h e certainly w a s not looking at him. D a i s y w a s n e a r her, p u l l i n g her shawl straight. " W h a t a r e you d o i n g , poking r o u n d h e r e ? " this y o u n g lady i n q u i r e d ; but by n o m e a n s with that h a r s h n e s s of a c c e n t which her c h o i c e of w o r d s may imply. "I don't k n o w , " said her m o t h e r , turning towards the lake a g a i n . "I shouldn't think you'd want that s h a w l ! " Daisy e x c l a i m e d . " W e l l — I d o ! " her m o t h e r a n s w e r e d , with a little l a u g h . " D i d you get R a n d o l p h to go to b e d ? " a s k e d the y o u n g girl. " N o ; I couldn't i n d u c e h i m , " said M r s . Miller, very gently. " H e wants to talk to the waiter. H e likes to talk to that waiter." "I w a s telling M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e , " the y o u n g girl went o n ; a n d to the y o u n g m a n ' s ear her t o n e might have indicated that s h e h a d b e e n uttering his n a m e all her life. " O h , y e s ! " said W i n t e r b o u r n e ; "I have the p l e a s u r e of k n o w i n g your s o n . " R a n d o l p h ' s m a m m a w a s silent; s h e turned her attention to the lake. B u t at last s h e s p o k e . "Well, I don't s e e how he lives!" "Anyhow, it isn't s o bad a s it was at D o v e r , " said D a i s y Miller. "And what o c c u r r e d at D o v e r ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e a s k e d . " H e wouldn't go to b e d at all. I g u e s s he sat up all n i g h t — i n the public parlour. H e wasn't in b e d at twelve o'clock: I know t h a t . " "It w a s half-past twelve," d e c l a r e d M r s . Miller, with mild e m p h a s i s . " D o e s he sleep m u c h during the d a y ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e d e m a n d e d . "I g u e s s he doesn't sleep m u c h , " Daisy rejoined. "I wish he w o u l d ! " said her mother. "It s e e m s a s if he c o u l d n ' t . " "I think he's real t i r e s o m e , " Daisy p u r s u e d . T h e n , for s o m e m o m e n t s , there w a s s i l e n c e . "Well, D a i s y Miller," s a i d the elder lady, presently, "I shouldn't think you'd want to talk a g a i n s t your own brother!" "Well, he is t i r e s o m e , m o t h e r , " said Daisy, q u i t e without the asperity of a retort. " H e ' s only n i n e , " urged M r s . Miller. "Well, he wouldn't g o to that c a s t l e , " said the y o u n g girl. " I ' m g o i n g there with Mr. W i n t e r b o u r n e . " T o this a n n o u n c e m e n t , very placidly m a d e , Daisy's m a m m a offered no r e s p o n s e . W i n t e r b o u r n e took for g r a n t e d that s h e deeply d i s a p p r o v e d of the projected excursion; but he said to h i m s e l f that s h e w a s a s i m p l e , easily m a n a g e d p e r s o n , a n d that a few deferential p r o t e s t a t i o n s would take the e d g e from her d i s p l e a s u r e . " Y e s , " he b e g a n ; "your d a u g h t e r has kindly allowed m e the h o n o r of b e i n g her g u i d e . "

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M r s . Miller's w a n d e r i n g eyes a t t a c h e d t h e m s e l v e s , with a sort of a p p e a l i n g air, to Daisy, w h o , however, strolled a few s t e p s farther, gently h u m m i n g to herself. "I p r e s u m e you will go in the c a r s , " said her m o t h e r . "Yes; or in the b o a t , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . "Well, of c o u r s e , I don't k n o w , " M r s . Miller rejoined. "I have never b e e n to that c a s t l e . " "It is a pity you shouldn't g o , " s a i d W i n t e r b o u r n e , b e g i n n i n g to feel reass u r e d a s to her o p p o s i t i o n . A n d yet he w a s q u i t e p r e p a r e d to find t h a t , a s a matter of c o u r s e , s h e m e a n t to a c c o m p a n y her d a u g h t e r . "We've b e e n thinking ever so m u c h a b o u t g o i n g , " s h e p u r s u e d ; " b u t it s e e m s a s if we couldn't. O f c o u r s e D a i s y — s h e w a n t s to g o r o u n d . B u t there's a lady h e r e — I don't know her n a m e — s h e says s h e shouldn't think we'd w a n t to go to s e e c a s t l e s here; s h e s h o u l d think we'd want to wait till w e got to Italy. It s e e m s a s if there would be s o m a n y t h e r e , " c o n t i n u e d M r s . Miller, with a n air of i n c r e a s i n g c o n f i d e n c e . " O f c o u r s e , we only w a n t to s e e the principal o n e s . W e visited several in E n g l a n d , " s h e presently a d d e d . " A h , yes! in E n g l a n d there a r e beautiful c a s t l e s , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " B u t C h i l l o n , h e r e , is very well worth s e e i n g . " "Well, if D a i s y feels u p to i t — , " s a i d M r s . Miller, in a t o n e i m p r e g n a t e d with a s e n s e of the m a g n i t u d e of the e n t e r p r i s e . "It s e e m s a s if t h e r e w a s n o t h i n g s h e wouldn't u n d e r t a k e . " " O h , I think she'll enjoy it!" W i n t e r b o u r n e d e c l a r e d . And h e d e s i r e d m o r e a n d m o r e to m a k e it a certainty that he w a s to have the privilege of a tete-atete with the y o u n g lady, w h o w a s still strolling a l o n g in front of t h e m , softly vocalizing. "You are not d i s p o s e d , m a d a m , " h e i n q u i r e d , " t o u n d e r t a k e it yourself?" Daisy's m o t h e r looked at h i m , a n i n s t a n t , a s k a n c e , a n d then walked forward in s i l e n c e . T h e n — " I g u e s s s h e h a d better g o a l o n e , " s h e said, simply. W i n t e r b o u r n e o b s e r v e d to h i m s e l f that this w a s a very different type of maternity from that of the vigilant m a t r o n s w h o m a s s e d t h e m s e l v e s in the forefront of social i n t e r c o u r s e in the d a r k old city at the other e n d of the lake. B u t his m e d i t a t i o n s were interrupted by h e a r i n g his n a m e very distinctly p r o n o u n c e d by M r s . Miller's u n p r o t e c t e d d a u g h t e r . " M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e ! " m u r m u r e d Daisy. " M a d e m o i s e l l e ! " said the y o u n g m a n . " D o n ' t you w a n t to take m e o u t in a b o a t ? " "At p r e s e n t ? " h e a s k e d . " O f c o u r s e ! " said Daisy. "Well, A n n i e Miller!" e x c l a i m e d her m o t h e r . "I b e g you, m a d a m , to let her g o , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , ardently; for he h a d never yet enjoyed the s e n s a t i o n of g u i d i n g t h r o u g h the s u m m e r starlight a skiff freighted with a fresh a n d beautiful y o u n g girl. "I s h o u l d n ' t think she'd want t o , " said her m o t h e r . "I s h o u l d think she'd rather go i n d o o r s . " "I'm s u r e M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e w a n t s to take m e , " D a i s y d e c l a r e d . " H e ' s s o awfully d e v o t e d ! " "I will row you over to C h i l l o n , in the s t a r l i g h t . " "I don't believe it!" said Daisy. " W e l l ! " e j a c u l a t e d the elderly lady a g a i n . "You haven't s p o k e n to m e for h a l f - a n - h o u r , " her d a u g h t e r went o n .

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"I have b e e n having s o m e very p l e a s a n t c o n v e r s a t i o n with your m o t h e r , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . "Well; I want you to take m e out in a b o a t ! " Daisy r e p e a t e d . T h e y had all s t o p p e d , a n d s h e h a d turned r o u n d a n d w a s looking at W i n t e r b o u r n e . H e r face wore a c h a r m i n g s m i l e , her pretty eyes were g l e a m i n g , s h e w a s swinging her great fan a b o u t . N o ; it's i m p o s s i b l e to b e prettier t h a n that, t h o u g h t Winterbourne. " T h e r e a r e half-a-dozen b o a t s m o o r e d at that l a n d i n g - p l a c e , " he said, pointing to certain s t e p s which d e s c e n d e d from the g a r d e n to the lake. "If you will do m e the honor to a c c e p t my a r m , we will g o a n d select o n e of them." Daisy stood there smiling; s h e threw b a c k her h e a d a n d gave a little light l a u g h . "I like a g e n t l e m a n to be f o r m a l ! " s h e d e c l a r e d . "I a s s u r e you it's a formal offer." "I w a s b o u n d I would m a k e you say s o m e t h i n g , " D a i s y went o n . "You s e e it's not very difficult," said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " B u t I a m afraid you are chaffing m e . " "I think not, sir," r e m a r k e d M r s . Miller, very gently. " D o , then, let m e give you a row," he said to the y o u n g girl. "It's q u i t e lovely, the way you say t h a t ! " said Daisy. "It will be still m o r e lovely to d o it." "Yes, it w o u l d be lovely!" said Daisy. B u t s h e m a d e no m o v e m e n t to a c c o m pany him; s h e only s t o o d there laughing. "I s h o u l d think you h a d better find o u t w h a t t i m e it i s , " i n t e r p o s e d her mother. "It is eleven o'clock, m a d a m , " said a voice, with a foreign a c c e n t , out of the n e i g h b o r i n g d a r k n e s s ; a n d W i n t e r b o u r n e , turning, p e r c e i v e d the florid p e r s o n a g e w h o w a s in a t t e n d a n c e upon the two ladies. H e h a d a p p a r e n t l y just approached. " O h , E u g e n i o , " said Daisy, "I a m going out in a b o a t ! " E u g e n i o b o w e d . "At eleven o'clock, m a d e m o i s e l l e ? " "I a m g o i n g with Mr. W i n t e r b o u r n e . T h i s very m i n u t e . " " D o tell her s h e c a n ' t , " said M r s . Miller to the courier. "I think you h a d better not g o o u t in a boat, m a d e m o i s e l l e , " E u g e n i o declared. W i n t e r b o u r n e w i s h e d to H e a v e n this pretty girl were not s o familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I s u p p o s e you don't think it's p r o p e r ! " Daisy e x c l a i m e d , " E u g e n i o d o e s n ' t think anything's p r o p e r . " "I a m at your s e r v i c e , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " D o e s m a d e m o i s e l l e p r o p o s e to go a l o n e ? " a s k e d E u g e n i o of M r s . Miller. " O h , n o ; with this g e n t l e m a n ! " a n s w e r e d Daisy's m a m m a . T h e courier looked for a m o m e n t at W i n t e r b o u r n e — t h e latter t h o u g h t he was s m i l i n g — a n d then, solemnly, with a bow, "As m a d e m o i s e l l e p l e a s e s ! " he said. " O h , I h o p e d you would m a k e a f u s s ! " said Daisy. "I don't c a r e to go n o w . " "I myself shall m a k e a fuss if you don't g o , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . "That's all I w a n t — a little f u s s ! " A n d the y o u n g girl b e g a n to laugh a g a i n . " M r . R a n d o l p h has g o n e to b e d ! " the c o u r i e r a n n o u n c e d , frigidly. " O h , Daisy; now we c a n g o ! " said M r s . Miller.

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D a i s y t u r n e d away from W i n t e r b o u r n e , looking at him, smiling a n d fann i n g herself. " G o o d n i g h t , " s h e s a i d ; "I h o p e you a r e d i s a p p o i n t e d , or disg u s t e d , or s o m e t h i n g ! " H e looked at her, taking the h a n d s h e offered h i m . "I a m p u z z l e d , " h e answered. "Well; I h o p e it won't k e e p you a w a k e ! " s h e said, very smartly; a n d , u n d e r the escort of the privileged E u g e n i o , the two ladies p a s s e d towards the h o u s e . W i n t e r b o u r n e s t o o d looking after t h e m ; h e w a s i n d e e d puzzled. H e lingered b e s i d e the lake for a q u a r t e r of a n h o u r , turning over the mystery of the y o u n g girl's s u d d e n familiarities a n d c a p r i c e s . B u t the only very definite c o n c l u s i o n he c a m e to w a s that h e s h o u l d enjoy d e u c e d l y " g o i n g off" with her s o m e w h e r e . T w o days afterwards h e went off with her to the C a s t l e of C h i l l o n . H e waited for her in the large hall of the hotel, where the c o u r i e r s , the s e r v a n t s , the foreign tourists were l o u n g i n g a b o u t a n d staring. It w a s not the p l a c e he would have c h o s e n , but s h e h a d a p p o i n t e d it. S h e c a m e tripping d o w n s t a i r s , b u t t o n i n g her long gloves, s q u e e z i n g her folded parasol a g a i n s t her pretty figure, d r e s s e d in the perfection of a soberly e l e g a n t t r a v e l l i n g - c o s t u m e . W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s a m a n of i m a g i n a t i o n a n d , a s o u r a n c e s t o r s u s e d to say, of sensibility; a s he looked at her d r e s s a n d , o n the great s t a i r c a s e , her little rapid, confiding s t e p , h e felt a s if there were s o m e t h i n g r o m a n t i c g o i n g forw a r d . H e c o u l d have believed he w a s g o i n g to e l o p e with her. H e p a s s e d out with her a m o n g all the idle p e o p l e that were a s s e m b l e d t h e r e ; they were all looking at her very h a r d ; s h e h a d b e g u n to c h a t t e r a s s o o n a s s h e j o i n e d h i m . W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s p r e f e r e n c e h a d b e e n that they s h o u l d be c o n v e y e d to Chillon in a c a r r i a g e ; but s h e e x p r e s s e d a lively wish to go in the little s t e a m e r ; s h e d e c l a r e d that s h e h a d a p a s s i o n for s t e a m b o a t s . T h e r e w a s always s u c h a lovely breeze u p o n the water, a n d you s a w s u c h lots of p e o p l e . T h e sail w a s not long, b u t W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s c o m p a n i o n f o u n d time to say a great m a n y things. T o the y o u n g m a n h i m s e l f their little e x c u r s i o n w a s s o m u c h of an e s c a p a d e — a n a d v e n t u r e — t h a t , even allowing for her h a b i t u a l s e n s e of freed o m , h e h a d s o m e expectation of s e e i n g her regard it in the s a m e way. B u t it m u s t be c o n f e s s e d that, in this particular, h e w a s d i s a p p o i n t e d . Daisy Miller w a s extremely a n i m a t e d , s h e w a s in c h a r m i n g spirits; but s h e w a s apparently not at all excited; s h e w a s not fluttered; s h e avoided neither his eyes nor t h o s e of any o n e e l s e ; s h e b l u s h e d neither w h e n s h e looked at him nor w h e n s h e saw that p e o p l e were looking at her. P e o p l e c o n t i n u e d to look at her a great deal, a n d W i n t e r b o u r n e took m u c h s a t i s f a c t i o n in his pretty c o m p a n i o n ' s d i s t i n g u i s h e d air. H e h a d b e e n a little afraid that s h e would talk l o u d , l a u g h o v e r m u c h , a n d even, p e r h a p s , d e s i r e to m o v e a b o u t the boat a good deal. B u t h e q u i t e forgot his f e a r s ; he sat s m i l i n g , with his eyes u p o n her f a c e , while, without moving from her p l a c e , s h e delivered herself of a great n u m b e r of original reflections. It w a s the m o s t c h a r m i n g garrulity h e had ever h e a r d . H e h a d a s s e n t e d to the idea that s h e w a s " c o m m o n " ; but w a s s h e s o , after all, or w a s he simply getting u s e d to her c o m m o n n e s s ? H e r c o n v e r s a t i o n w a s chiefly of what m e t a p h y s i c a n s term the objective c a s t ; but every now a n d then it took a subjective turn. " W h a t on earth are you so grave a b o u t ? " s h e s u d d e n l y d e m a n d e d , fixing her a g r e e a b l e eyes u p o n W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s . "Am I g r a v e ? " h e a s k e d . "I h a d an idea I w a s grinning from ear to e a r . "

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"You look a s if you were taking m e to a funeral. If that's a grin, your e a r s are very near together." " S h o u l d you like m e to d a n c e a h o r n p i p e on the d e c k ? " "Pray d o , a n d I'll carry r o u n d your hat. It will pay the e x p e n s e s of our journey." "I never w a s better p l e a s e d in my life," m u r m u r e d W i n t e r b o u r n e . S h e looked at him a m o m e n t , a n d then b u r s t into a little l a u g h . "I like to m a k e you say t h o s e things! You're a q u e e r m i x t u r e ! " In the c a s t l e , r>fter they h a d l a n d e d , the subjective e l e m e n t decidedly prevailed. Daisy tripped a b o u t the vaulted c h a m b e r s , rustled her skirts in the corkscrew s t a i r c a s e s , flirted b a c k with a pretty little cry a n d a s h u d d e r from the edge of the oubliettes,^ a n d turned a singularly well-shaped ear to everything that W i n t e r b o u r n e told her a b o u t the p l a c e . B u t he s a w that s h e c a r e d very little for feudal antiquities, a n d that the dusky traditions of C h i l l o n m a d e but a slight i m p r e s s i o n u p o n her. T h e y h a d the good fortune to have b e e n able to walk a b o u t without other c o m p a n i o n s h i p than that of the c u s t o d i a n ; and W i n t e r b o u r n e a r r a n g e d with this functionary that they s h o u l d not be hurried—that they s h o u l d linger a n d p a u s e wherever they c h o s e . T h e c u s todian interpreted the bargain g e n e r o u s l y — W i n t e r b o u r n e , on his s i d e , h a d been g e n e r o u s — a n d e n d e d by leaving t h e m q u i t e to t h e m s e l v e s . M i s s Miller's o b s e r v a t i o n s were not r e m a r k a b l e for logical c o n s i s t e n c y ; for anything she w a n t e d to say s h e w a s s u r e to find a pretext. S h e f o u n d a great m a n y pretexts in the rugged e m b r a s u r e s of C h i l l o n for a s k i n g W i n t e r b o u r n e s u d den q u e s t i o n s a b o u t h i m s e l f — h i s family, his previous history, his t a s t e s , his habits, his i n t e n t i o n s — a n d for supplying information u p o n c o r r e s p o n d i n g points in her own personality. O f her own t a s t e s , h a b i t s , a n d intentions M i s s Miller w a s p r e p a r e d to give the m o s t definite, a n d i n d e e d the m o s t favourable, a c c o u n t . "Well; I h o p e you know e n o u g h ! " s h e said to her c o m p a n i o n , after he had told her the history of the u n h a p p y B o n i v a r d . 6 "I never s a w a m a n that knew so m u c h ! " T h e history of Bonivard h a d evidently, a s they say, g o n e into o n e ear a n d out of the other. B u t Daisy went o n to say that s h e wished Winterbourne would travel with them a n d "go r o u n d " with t h e m ; they might know s o m e t h i n g , in that c a s e . " D o n ' t you want to c o m e a n d t e a c h R a n d o l p h ? " s h e a s k e d . W i n t e r b o u r n e said that nothing c o u l d possibly p l e a s e him s o m u c h ; but that he h a d unfortunately other o c c u p a t i o n s . " O t h e r o c c u p a t i o n s ? I don't believe it!" said M i s s Daisy. " W h a t do you m e a n ? You a r e not in b u s i n e s s . " T h e y o u n g m a n a d m i t t e d that he was not in b u s i n e s s ; but he h a d e n g a g e m e n t s which, even within a day or two, would force him to g o back to G e n e v a . " O h , b o t h e r ! " s h e said. "I don't believe it!" a n d s h e b e g a n to talk about s o m e t h i n g else. B u t a few m o m e n t s later, w h e n he w a s pointing out to her the pretty d e s i g n of a n a n t i q u e fireplace, s h e broke out irrelevantly, "You don't m e a n to say you a r e g o i n g b a c k to G e n e v a ? " "It is a m e l a n c h o l y fact that I shall have to return to G e n e v a t o - m o r r o w . " "Well, Mr. W i n t e r b o u r n e , " said Daisy; "I think you're horrid!" " O h , don't say s u c h dreadful t h i n g s ! " said W i n t e r b o u r n e — " j u s t at the last." 5. Secret pitlike dungeons with an opening only at the top; places where one is forgotten (French). %, Hero of Byron's poem "The Prisoner of Chil-

Ion"; Francois de Bonivard { 1 4 9 6 - 1 5 7 0 ) , Swiss patriot and martyr, was confined for seven years in the Castle of Chillon.

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" T h e l a s t ! " cried the y o u n g girl; "I call it the first. I have half a m i n d to leave you here a n d go straight b a c k to the hotel a l o n e . " A n d for the next ten m i n u t e s s h e did nothing but call him horrid. P o o r W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s fairly bewildered; n o y o u n g lady h a d a s yet d o n e him the h o n o r to b e s o agitated by the a n n o u n c e m e n t of his m o v e m e n t s . His c o m p a n i o n , after this, c e a s e d to pay any a t t e n t i o n to the curiosities of C h i l l o n or the b e a u t i e s of the lake; s h e o p e n e d fire u p o n the m y s t e r i o u s c h a r m e r in G e n e v a , w h o m s h e a p p e a r e d to have instantly taken it for g r a n t e d that h e w a s hurrying b a c k to s e e . H o w did M i s s Daisy Miller know that there w a s a c h a r m e r in G e n e v a ? Winterb o u r n e , w h o d e n i e d the existence of s u c h a p e r s o n , w a s q u i t e u n a b l e to discover; a n d he w a s divided b e t w e e n a m a z e m e n t at the rapidity of her i n d u c t i o n a n d a m u s e m e n t at the f r a n k n e s s of her persiflage. S h e s e e m e d to h i m , in all this, a n extraordinary mixture of i n n o c e n c e a n d crudity. " D o e s s h e never allow you m o r e than three days at a t i m e ? " a s k e d Daisy, ironically. " D o e s n ' t s h e give you a v a c a t i o n in s u m m e r ? T h e r e ' s no o n e so hard worked but they c a n get leave to g o off s o m e w h e r e at this s e a s o n . I s u p p o s e , if you stay a n o t h e r day, she'll c o m e after you in the b o a t . D o wait over till Friday, a n d I will go d o w n to the landing to s e e her arrive!" W i n t e r b o u r n e b e g a n to think he h a d b e e n w r o n g to feel d i s a p p o i n t e d in the t e m p e r in which the y o u n g lady h a d e m b a r k e d . If he h a d m i s s e d the p e r s o n a l a c c e n t , the personal a c c e n t w a s now m a k i n g its a p p e a r a n c e . It s o u n d e d very distinctly, at last, in her telling him s h e would s t o p " t e a s i n g " him if h e would p r o m i s e her sole m n l y to c o m e d o w n to R o m e in the winter. " T h a t ' s not a difficult p r o m i s e to m a k e , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " M y a u n t h a s taken a n a p a r t m e n t in R o m e for the winter, a n d h a s already a s k e d m e to c o m e and see her." "I don't w a n t you to c o m e for your a u n t , " said D a i s y ; "I want you to c o m e for m e . " A n d this w a s the only allusion that the y o u n g m a n w a s ever to h e a r her m a k e to his invidious k i n s w o m a n . H e d e c l a r e d that, at any rate, he would certainly c o m e . After this Daisy s t o p p e d t e a s i n g . W i n t e r b o u r n e t o o k a carriage, a n d they drove b a c k to Vevey in the d u s k ; the y o u n g girl w a s very q u i e t . In the e v e n i n g W i n t e r b o u r n e m e n t i o n e d to M r s . C o s t e l l o that he h a d s p e n t the afternoon at C h i l l o n , with M i s s Daisy Miller. " T h e A m e r i c a n s — o f the c o u r i e r ? " a s k e d this lady. " A h , happily," said W i n t e r b o u r n e , "the c o u r i e r stayed at h o m e . " " S h e went with you all a l o n e ? " "All a l o n e . " M r s . C o s t e l l o sniffed a little at her smelling-bottle. " A n d t h a t , " s h e e x c l a i m e d , "is the y o u n g p e r s o n you w a n t e d m e to k n o w ! "

HI W i n t e r b o u r n e , w h o h a d returned to G e n e v a the day after his excursion to C h i l l o n , went to R o m e towards the e n d of J a n u a r y . H i s a u n t h a d b e e n e s t a b lished there for several w e e k s , a n d h e h a d received a c o u p l e of letters from her. " T h o s e p e o p l e you were so devoted to last s u m m e r at Vevey have turned u p h e r e , c o u r i e r a n d all," s h e wrote. " T h e y s e e m to have m a d e several a c q u a i n t a n c e s , but the c o u r i e r c o n t i n u e s to be the m o s t intime. T h e y o u n g lady, however, is a l s o very i n t i m a t e with s o m e third-rate Italians, with w h o m

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s h e rackets a b o u t in a way that m a k e s m u c h talk. B r i n g m e that pretty novel of C h e r b u l i e z ' s 7 — ' P a u l e M e r e ' — a n d don't c o m e later than the 2 3 r d . " In the natural c o u r s e of events, W i n t e r b o u r n e , on arriving in R o m e , would presently have a s c e r t a i n e d M r s . Miller's a d d r e s s at the A m e r i c a n banker's a n d have g o n e to pay his c o m p l i m e n t s to M i s s Daisy. "After w h a t h a p p e n e d at Vevey I certainly think I may call u p o n t h e m , " h e s a i d to M r s . C o s t e l l o . "If, after what h a p p e n s — a t Vevey a n d e v e r y w h e r e — y o u desire to keep up the a c q u a i n t a n c e , you are very w e l c o m e . O f c o u r s e a m a n may know every o n e . M e n a r e w e l c o m e to the privilege!" "Pray w h a t is it that h a p p e n s — h e r e , for i n s t a n c e ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e demanded. " T h e girl g o e s a b o u t a l o n e with her foreigners. A s to what h a p p e n s farther, you m u s t apply e l s e w h e r e for information. S h e h a s p i c k e d up half-a-dozen of the regular R o m a n f o r t u n e - h u n t e r s , a n d s h e takes t h e m a b o u t to people's h o u s e s . W h e n s h e c o m e s to a party s h e brings with her a g e n t l e m a n with a g o o d deal of m a n n e r a n d a wonderful m o u s t a c h e . " "And w h e r e is the m o t h e r ? " "I haven't the least idea. T h e y are very dreadful p e o p l e . " W i n t e r b o u r n e m e d i t a t e d a m o m e n t . " T h e y a r e very i g n o r a n t — v e r y innocent only. D e p e n d u p o n it they are not b a d . " " T h e y are hopelessly vulgar," said M r s . C o s t e l l o . " W h e t h e r or n o being hopelessly vulgar is b e i n g 'bad' is a q u e s t i o n for the m e t a p h y s i c i a n s . T h e y are bad e n o u g h to dislike, at any rate; a n d for this short life that is q u i t e enough." T h e news that Daisy Miller w a s s u r r o u n d e d by half-a-dozen wonderful m o u s t a c h e s c h e c k e d W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s i m p u l s e to g o straightway to s e e her. H e h a d p e r h a p s not definitely flattered himself that he had m a d e a n ineff a c e a b l e i m p r e s s i o n u p o n her heart, but h e w a s a n n o y e d at h e a r i n g of a s t a t e of affairs so little in h a r m o n y with an i m a g e that h a d lately flitted in a n d out of his own m e d i t a t i o n s ; the i m a g e of a very pretty girl looking o u t of a n old R o m a n window a n d a s k i n g herself urgently when M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e would arrive. If, however, he d e t e r m i n e d to wait a little b e f o r e r e m i n d i n g M i s s Miller of his c l a i m s to her c o n s i d e r a t i o n , he went very s o o n to call u p o n two or three other friends. O n e of t h e s e friends w a s an A m e r i c a n lady w h o h a d spent several winters at G e n e v a , w h e n s h e h a d p l a c e d her children at s c h o o l . S h e w a s a very a c c o m p l i s h e d w o m a n a n d s h e lived in the Via G r e g o r i a n a . W i n t e r b o u r n e f o u n d her in a little c r i m s o n d r a w i n g - r o o m , on a third floor; the r o o m w a s filled with s o u t h e r n s u n s h i n e . H e h a d not b e e n there ten m i n u t e s w h e n the servant c a m e in, a n n o u n c i n g " M a d a m e M i l a ! " T h i s a n n o u n c e m e n t w a s presently followed by the e n t r a n c e of little R a n d o l p h Miller, w h o s t o p p e d in the m i d d l e of the r o o m a n d s t o o d s t a r i n g at Winterb o u r n e . An instant later his pretty sister c r o s s e d the threshold; a n d t h e n , after a c o n s i d e r a b l e interval, M r s . Miller slowly a d v a n c e d . "I know y o u ! " said R a n d o l p h . "I'm s u r e you know a great m a n y t h i n g s , " e x c l a i m e d W i n t e r b o u r n e , taking him by the h a n d . " H o w is your e d u c a t i o n c o m i n g o n ? " 7. Victor Cherbuliez ( 1 8 2 9 - 1 8 9 9 ) . which J a m e s spelled "Cherbuliex," a minor French novelist of Swiss origin.

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Daisy w a s e x c h a n g i n g greetings very prettily with her h o s t e s s ; b u t w h e n s h e h e a r d W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s voice she quickly turned her h e a d . "Well, I declare!" she said. "I told you I s h o u l d c o m e , you k n o w , " W i n t e r b o u r n e rejoined smiling. " W e l l — I didn't believe it," said M i s s Daisy. "I a m m u c h obliged to y o u , " l a u g h e d the y o u n g m a n . "You might have c o m e to s e e m e ! " said Daisy. "I arrived only y e s t e r d a y . " "I don't believe t h a t ! " the y o u n g girl d e c l a r e d . W i n t e r b o u r n e t u r n e d with a p r o t e s t i n g smile to her m o t h e r ; b u t this lady e v a d e d his g l a n c e , a n d s e a t i n g herself, fixed her eyes u p o n her s o n . " W e ' v e got a bigger p l a c e than t h i s , " said R a n d o l p h . "It's all gold on the w a l l s . " M r s . Miller t u r n e d uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring y o u , you w o u l d say s o m e t h i n g ! " s h e m u r m u r e d . "I told you!" R a n d o l p h e x c l a i m e d . "I tell you, sir!" he a d d e d j o c o s e l y , giving W i n t e r b o u r n e a t h u m p on the k n e e . "It is bigger, t o o ! " D a i s y h a d entered u p o n a lively c o n v e r s a t i o n with her h o s t e s s ; Winterb o u r n e j u d g e d it b e c o m i n g to a d d r e s s a few w o r d s to her m o t h e r . "I h o p e you have b e e n well s i n c e we p a r t e d at Vevey," he s a i d . M r s . Miller now certainly looked at h i m — a t his c h i n . " N o t very well, sir," she answered. " S h e ' s got the d y s p e p s i a , " said R a n d o l p h . "I've got it t o o . F a t h e r ' s got it. I've got it w o r s t ! " T h i s a n n o u n c e m e n t , i n s t e a d of e m b a r r a s s i n g M r s . Miller, s e e m e d to relieve her. "I suffer from the liver," s h e s a i d . "I think it's the c l i m a t e ; it's less b r a c i n g t h a n S c h e n e c t a d y , especially in the winter s e a s o n . I don't know w h e t h e r you know we reside at S c h e n e c t a d y . I w a s saying to D a i s y that I certainly hadn't f o u n d any o n e like Dr. D a v i s , a n d I didn't believe I s h o u l d . O h , at S c h e n e c t a d y , he s t a n d s first; they think everything of h i m . H e has s o m u c h to d o , a n d yet there w a s n o t h i n g he wouldn't d o for m e . H e said h e never saw anything like my d y s p e p s i a , but he w a s b o u n d to c u r e it. I'm s u r e there w a s n o t h i n g he wouldn't try. H e w a s j u s t going to try s o m e t h i n g new w h e n we c a m e off. M r . Miller w a n t e d D a i s y to s e e E u r o p e for herself. B u t I wrote to Mr. Miller that it s e e m s a s if I couldn't get on without Dr. D a v i s . At S c h e n e c t a d y he s t a n d s at the very t o p ; a n d there's a great deal of s i c k n e s s there, t o o . It affects my s l e e p . " W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d a g o o d deal of p a t h o l o g i c a l g o s s i p with Dr. Davis's patient, d u r i n g which Daisy c h a t t e r e d unremittingly to her own c o m p a n i o n . T h e y o u n g m a n a s k e d M r s . Miller how s h e w a s p l e a s e d with R o m e . "Well, I m u s t say I a m d i s a p p o i n t e d , " s h e a n s w e r e d . " W e h a d h e a r d s o m u c h a b o u t it; I s u p p o s e we h a d h e a r d too m u c h . B u t we couldn't help that. W e h a d b e e n led to expect s o m e t h i n g different." " A h , wait a little, a n d you will b e c o m e very fond of it," s a i d W i n t e r b o u r n e . "I h a t e it w o r s e a n d worse every day!" cried R a n d o l p h . "You are like the infant H a n n i b a l , " " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " N o , 1 ain't!" R a n d o l p h d e c l a r e d , at a v e n t u r e . "You are not m u c h like a n i n f a n t , " said his m o t h e r . " B u t we have s e e n p l a c e s , " s h e r e s u m e d , "that I s h o u l d put a long way b e f o r e R o m e . " A n d in 8. The Carthaginian general ( 2 4 7 - 1 8 3 B.C.E.) was sworn at his birth to an eternal hatred of Rome.

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reply to W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s interrogation, " T h e r e ' s Z u r i c h , " s h e o b s e r v e d ; "I think Zurich is lovely; a n d we hadn't h e a r d half s o m u c h a b o u t it." " T h e best p l a c e we've s e e n is the City of R i c h m o n d ! " said R a n d o l p h . " H e m e a n s the s h i p , " his m o t h e r explained. " W e c r o s s e d in that ship. R a n d o l p h h a d a g o o d time on the City of R i c h m o n d . " "It's the b e s t p l a c e I've s e e n , " the child r e p e a t e d . " O n l y it w a s t u r n e d the w r o n g way." "Well, we've got to turn the right way s o m e t i m e , " s a i d M r s . Miller, with a little l a u g h . W i n t e r b o u r n e e x p r e s s e d the h o p e that her d a u g h t e r at least f o u n d s o m e gratification in R o m e , a n d s h e d e c l a r e d that D a i s y w a s q u i t e carried away. "It's on a c c o u n t of the s o c i e t y — t h e society's s p l e n d i d . S h e g o e s round everywhere; s h e h a s m a d e a great n u m b e r of a c q u a i n t a n c e s . O f c o u r s e s h e g o e s r o u n d m o r e than I d o . I m u s t say they have b e e n very s o c i a b l e ; they have taken her right in. A n d then s h e knows a great m a n y g e n t l e m e n . O h , s h e thinks there's nothing like R o m e . O f c o u r s e , it's a great deal p l e a s a n t e r for a y o u n g lady if s h e knows plenty of g e n t l e m e n . " By this time D a i s y h a d t u r n e d her a t t e n t i o n a g a i n to W i n t e r b o u r n e . "I've b e e n telling M r s . W a l k e r how m e a n you w e r e ! " the y o u n g girl announced. " A n d what is the e v i d e n c e you have o f f e r e d ? " a s k e d W i n t e r b o u r n e , rather a n n o y e d at M i s s Miller's w a n t of a p p r e c i a t i o n of the zeal of an a d m i r e r w h o on his way down to R o m e had s t o p p e d neither at B o l o g n a nor at F l o r e n c e , simply b e c a u s e of a certain s e n t i m e n t a l i m p a t i e n c e . H e r e m e m b e r e d that a cynical c o m p a t r i o t h a d o n c e told him that A m e r i c a n w o m e n — t h e pretty o n e s , a n d this g a v e a l a r g e n e s s to the a x i o m — w e r e at o n c e the m o s t e x a c t i n g in the world a n d the least e n d o w e d with a s e n s e of i n d e b t e d n e s s . "Why, you were awfully m e a n at Vevey," s a i d Daisy. "You wouldn't d o anything. You wouldn't stay there w h e n I a s k e d y o u . " " M y d e a r e s t y o u n g lady," cried W i n t e r b o u r n e , with e l o q u e n c e , " h a v e I c o m e all the way tb R o m e to e n c o u n t e r your r e p r o a c h e s ? " " J u s t hear him say t h a t ! " said D a i s y to her h o s t e s s , giving a twist to a bow on this lady's d r e s s . " D i d you ever hear anything so q u a i n t ? " " S o q u a i n t , my d e a r ? " m u r m u r e d M r s . W a l k e r , in the t o n e of a p a r t i s a n of W i n t e r b o u r n e . "Well, I don't k n o w , " said Daisy, fingering M r s . W a l k e r ' s r i b b o n s . " M r s . Walker, I want to tell you s o m e t h i n g . " " M o t h e r r , " i n t e r p o s e d R a n d o l p h , with his r o u g h e n d s to his w o r d s , "I tell you you've got to g o . Eugenio'll raise s o m e t h i n g ! " "I'm not afraid of E u g e n i o , " said Daisy, with a toss of her h e a d . " L o o k here, M r s . W a l k e r , " s h e went on, "you know I'm c o m i n g to your party." "I a m delighted to h e a r it." "I've got a lovely d r e s s . " "I a m very s u r e of t h a t . " " B u t I want to a s k a f a v o r — p e r m i s s i o n to bring a f r i e n d . " "I shall be happy to s e e a n y of your f r i e n d s , " said M r s . W a l k e r , t u r n i n g with a smile to M r s . Miller. " O h , they are not my f r i e n d s , " a n s w e r e d Daisy's m a m m a , s m i l i n g shyly, in her own fashion. "I never s p o k e to t h e m ! " "It's a n intimate friend of m i n e — M r . G i o v a n e l l i , " s a i d Daisy, without a tremor in her clear little voice or a s h a d o w on her brilliant little f a c e .

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M r s . W a l k e r w a s silent a m o m e n t , s h e g a v e a rapid g l a n c e at Winterb o u r n e . "I shall b e glad to s e e Mr. G i o v a n e l l i , " s h e then said. " H e ' s a n Italian," Daisy p u r s u e d , with the prettiest serenity. " H e ' s a great friend of m i n e — h e ' s the h a n d s o m e s t m a n in the w o r l d — e x c e p t M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e ! H e knows plenty of Italians, b u t he w a n t s to know s o m e A m e r i c a n s . H e thinks ever s o m u c h of A m e r i c a n s . H e ' s t r e m e n d o u s l y clever. H e ' s perfectly lovely!" It w a s settled that this brilliant p e r s o n a g e s h o u l d be b r o u g h t to M r s . W a l ker's party, a n d then M r s . Miller p r e p a r e d to take her leave. "I g u e s s we'll go b a c k to the h o t e l , " s h e said. "You m a y go b a c k to the hotel, m o t h e r , but I'm g o i n g to take a walk," s a i d Daisy. " S h e ' s g o i n g to walk with Mr. G i o v a n e l l i , " R a n d o l p h p r o c l a i m e d . "I a m g o i n g to the P i n c i o , " said Daisy, smiling. " A l o n e , my d e a r at this h o u r ? " M r s . W a l k e r a s k e d . T h e afternoon w a s d r a w i n g to a c l o s e — i t w a s the h o u r for the t h r o n g of c a r r i a g e s a n d of c o n templative p e d e s t r i a n s . "I don't think it's s a f e , my d e a r , " s a i d M r s . Walker. " N e i t h e r d o I , " s u b j o i n e d M r s . Miller. "You'll get the fever a s s u r e a s you live. R e m e m b e r what Dr. Davis told y o u ! " " G i v e her s o m e m e d i c i n e before s h e g o e s , " said R a n d o l p h . T h e c o m p a n y h a d risen to its feet; D a i s y , still s h o w i n g her pretty teeth, b e n t over a n d kissed her h o s t e s s . " M r s . W a l k e r , you are t o o p e r f e c t , " s h e s a i d . "I'm not g o i n g a l o n e ; I a m g o i n g to m e e t a friend." "Your friend won't k e e p you from getting the fever," M r s . Miller o b s e r v e d . "Is it Mr. G i o v a n e l l i ? " a s k e d the h o s t e s s . W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s w a t c h i n g the girl; at this q u e s t i o n his attention quicke n e d . S h e s t o o d there s m i l i n g a n d s m o o t h i n g her b o n n e t - r i b b o n s ; s h e g l a n c e d at W i n t e r b o u r n e . T h e n , while s h e g l a n c e d a n d s m i l e d , s h e a n s w e r e d without a s h a d e of hesitation, " M r . G i o v a n e l l i — t h e beautiful G i o v a n e l l i . " " M y d e a r y o u n g friend," s a i d M r s . W a l k e r , taking her h a n d , pleadingly, "don't walk off to the P i n c i o at this h o u r to m e e t a beautiful Italian." "Well, he s p e a k s E n g l i s h , " said M r s . Miller. " G r a c i o u s m e ! " D a i s y e x c l a i m e d , "I don't w a n t to do anything i m p r o p e r . T h e r e ' s a n e a s y way to settle it." S h e c o n t i n u e d to g l a n c e at W i n t e r b o u r n e . " T h e Pincio is only a h u n d r e d yards d i s t a n t , a n d if Mr. W i n t e r b o u r n e were a s polite a s he p r e t e n d s he would offer to walk with m e ! " W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s p o l i t e n e s s h a s t e n e d to affirm itself, a n d the y o u n g girl gave him g r a c i o u s leave to a c c o m p a n y her. T h e y p a s s e d d o w n s t a i r s before her m o t h e r , a n d at the d o o r W i n t e r b o u r n e p e r c e i v e d M r s . Miller's carriage d r a w n u p , with the o r n a m e n t a l c o u r i e r w h o s e a c q u a i n t a n c e h e h a d m a d e at Vevey s e a t e d within. " G o o d - b y e , E u g e n i o ! " cried Daisy, " I ' m g o i n g to take a w a l k . " T h e d i s t a n c e from the Via G r e g o r i a n a to the b e a u t i f u l g a r d e n at the other e n d of the P i n c i a n Hill is, in fact, rapidly traversed. A s the day w a s s p l e n d i d , however, a n d the c o n c o u r s e of v e h i c l e s , w a l k e r s , a n d l o u n g e r s n u m e r o u s , the y o u n g A m e r i c a n s f o u n d their p r o g r e s s m u c h d e l a y e d . T h i s fact w a s highly a g r e e a b l e to W i n t e r b o u r n e , in spite of his c o n s c i o u s n e s s of his singular s i t u a t i o n . T h e slow-moving, idly-gazing R o m a n crowd b e s t o w e d m u c h attention u p o n the extremely pretty y o u n g foreign lady w h o w a s p a s s ing t h r o u g h it u p o n his a r m ; a n d h e w o n d e r e d what on e a r t h h a d b e e n in Daisy's m i n d w h e n s h e p r o p o s e d to e x p o s e herself, u n a t t e n d e d , to its a p p r e ciation. H i s own m i s s i o n , to her s e n s e , apparently, w a s to c o n s i g n her to the

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h a n d s of Mr. Giovanelli; but W i n t e r b o u r n e , at o n c e a n n o y e d a n d gratified, resolved that h e would do no s u c h thing. "Why haven't you b e e n to s e e m e ? " a s k e d Daisy. "You can't get out of that." "I have h a d the h o n o r of telling you that I have only j u s t s t e p p e d out of the train." "You m u s t have stayed in the train a g o o d while after it s t o p p e d ! " cried the y o u n g girl, with her little l a u g h . "I s u p p o s e you were a s l e e p . You have h a d time to g o to s e e M r s . W a l k e r . " "I k n e w M r s . W a l k e r — " W i n t e r b o u r n e b e g a n to explain. "I knew w h e r e you k n e w her. You knew her at G e n e v a . S h e told m e s o . Well, you knew m e at Vevey. T h a t ' s j u s t a s g o o d . S o you o u g h t to have c o m e . " S h e a s k e d him n o other q u e s t i o n than this; s h e b e g a n to prattle a b o u t her own affairs. "We've got splendid r o o m s at the hotel; E u g e n i o says they're the b e s t r o o m s in R o m e . W e a r e g o i n g to stay all w i n t e r — i f w e don't die of the fever; a n d I g u e s s we'll stay then. It's a great deal nicer than I t h o u g h t ; I thought it w o u l d be fearfully q u i e t ; I w a s s u r e it would b e awfully poky. I w a s s u r e we s h o u l d b e g o i n g r o u n d all the t i m e with o n e of t h o s e dreadful old m e n that explain a b o u t the p i c t u r e s a n d things. B u t we only h a d a b o u t a w e e k of that, a n d now I'm enjoying myself. I know ever s o m a n y p e o p l e , a n d they are all s o c h a r m i n g . T h e society's extremely s e l e c t . T h e r e are all k i n d s — E n g l i s h , a n d G e r m a n s , a n d Italians. I think I like the E n g l i s h best. I like their style of c o n v e r s a t i o n . B u t there a r e s o m e lovely A m e r i c a n s . I never s a w anything s o h o s p i t a b l e . T h e r e ' s s o m e t h i n g or other every day. T h e r e ' s not m u c h d a n c i n g ; but I m u s t say I never t h o u g h t d a n c i n g w a s everything. I w a s always fond of c o n v e r s a t i o n . I g u e s s I shall have plenty at M r s . Walke r ' s — h e r r o o m s a r e s o s m a l l . " W h e n they h a d p a s s e d the g a t e of the Pincian G a r d e n s , M i s s Miller b e g a n to w o n d e r w h e r e M r . Giovanelli might b e . " W e h a d better go straight to that p l a c e in front," s h e said, " w h e r e you look at the view." "I certainly shall not help you to find h i m , " W i n t e r b o u r n e d e c l a r e d . " T h e n I shall find him without y o u , " s a i d M i s s Daisy. "You certainly won't leave m e ! " cried W i n t e r b o u r n e . S h e b u r s t into her little l a u g h . "Are you afraid you'll get l o s t — o r run over? B u t there's Giovanelli, l e a n i n g a g a i n s t that tree. H e ' s s t a r i n g at the w o m e n in the c a r r i a g e s : did you ever s e e anything s o c o o l ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e p e r c e i v e d at s o m e d i s t a n c e a little m a n s t a n d i n g with folded a r m s , n u r s i n g his c a n e . H e h a d a h a n d s o m e f a c e , a n artfully p o i s e d hat, a glass in o n e eye, a n d a n o s e g a y in his button-hole. W i n t e r b o u r n e looked at him a m o m e n t a n d then s a i d , " D o you m e a n to s p e a k to that m a n ? " " D o I m e a n to s p e a k to h i m ? Why, you don't s u p p o s e I m e a n to c o m m u nicate by s i g n s ? " "Pray u n d e r s t a n d , t h e n , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , "that I i n t e n d to r e m a i n with you. D a i s y s t o p p e d a n d looked at h i m , without a sign of troubled c o n s c i o u s n e s s in her f a c e ; with n o t h i n g but the p r e s e n c e of her c h a r m i n g eyes a n d her h a p p y d i m p l e s . "Well, she's a cool o n e ! " t h o u g h t the y o u n g m a n . "I don't like the way you say t h a t , " said Daisy. "It's t o o i m p e r i o u s . " "I b e g your p a r d o n if I say it wrong. T h e m a i n point is to give you a n idea of my m e a n i n g . " T h e y o u n g girl looked at him m o r e gravely, b u t with eyes that were prettier

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t h a n ever. "I have never allowed a g e n t l e m a n to dictate to m e , or to interfere with a n y t h i n g I d o . " "I think you have m a d e a m i s t a k e , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . "You s h o u l d s o m e t i m e s listen to a g e n t l e m a n — t h e right o n e ? " D a i s y b e g a n to l a u g h a g a i n , "I do n o t h i n g but listen to g e n t l e m e n ! " s h e e x c l a i m e d . "Tell m e if M r . Giovanelli is the right o n e ? " T h e g e n t l e m a n with the n o s e g a y in his b o s o m h a d n o w perceived our two friends, a n d w a s a p p r o a c h i n g the y o u n g girl with o b s e q u i o u s rapidity. H e b o w e d to W i n t e r b o u r n e a s well a s to the latter's c o m p a n i o n ; he h a d a brilliant s m i l e , a n intelligent eye; W i n t e r b o u r n e t h o u g h t him not a bad-looking fellow. B u t h e n e v e r t h e l e s s said to D a i s y — " N o , he's not the right o n e . " D a i s y evidently h a d a natural talent for p e r f o r m i n g i n t r o d u c t i o n s ; s h e m e n t i o n e d the n a m e of e a c h of her c o m p a n i o n s to the other. S h e strolled a l o n g with o n e of t h e m on e a c h side of her; M r . Giovanelli, w h o s p o k e E n g l i s h very c l e v e r l y — W i n t e r b o u r n e afterwards learned that h e h a d p r a c ticed the idiom u p o n a great m a n y A m e r i c a n h e i r e s s e s — a d d r e s s e d her a great deal of very polite n o n s e n s e ; h e w a s extremely u r b a n e , a n d the y o u n g A m e r i c a n , w h o s a i d n o t h i n g , reflected u p o n that profundity of Italian cleve r n e s s which e n a b l e s p e o p l e to a p p e a r m o r e g r a c i o u s in proportion a s they are m o r e acutely d i s a p p o i n t e d . Giovanelli, of c o u r s e , h a d c o u n t e d u p o n s o m e t h i n g m o r e i n t i m a t e ; he h a d not b a r g a i n e d for a party of t h r e e . B u t he kept his t e m p e r in a m a n n e r which s u g g e s t e d far-stretching i n t e n t i o n s . Wint e r b o u r n e flattered h i m s e l f that h e h a d taken his m e a s u r e . " H e is not a g e n t l e m a n , " said the y o u n g A m e r i c a n ; " h e is only a clever imitation of o n e . H e is a m u s i c - m a s t e r , or a penny-a-liner, or a third-rate artist. D a m n his good l o o k s ! " M r . Giovanelli h a d certainly a very pretty f a c e ; b u t Winterb o u r n e felt a s u p e r i o r indignation at his own lovely fellow-countrywoman's not knowing the difference b e t w e e n a s p u r i o u s g e n t l e m a n a n d a real o n e . Giovanelli c h a t t e r e d a n d j e s t e d a n d m a d e h i m s e l f wonderfully a g r e e a b l e . It w a s true that if h e w a s an imitation the imitation w a s very skillful. " N e v e r t h e l e s s , " W i n t e r b o u r n e s a i d to himself, "a nice girl o u g h t to k n o w ! " A n d t h e n h e c a m e b a c k to the q u e s t i o n w h e t h e r this w a s in fact a nice girl. W o u l d a nice girl—even allowing for her b e i n g a little A m e r i c a n f l i r t — m a k e a rendezvous with a p r e s u m a b l y low-lived foreigner? T h e r e n d e z v o u s in this c a s e , i n d e e d , h a d b e e n in b r o a d daylight, a n d in the m o s t c r o w d e d c o r n e r of R o m e ; but was it not i m p o s s i b l e to regard the c h o i c e of t h e s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s a s a p r o o f of e x t r e m e c y n i c i s m ? S i n g u l a r t h o u g h it m a y s e e m , W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s vexed that the y o u n g girl, in j o i n i n g her amoroso, s h o u l d not a p p e a r m o r e i m p a t i e n t of his own c o m p a n y , a n d h e w a s vexed b e c a u s e of his inclination. It w a s i m p o s s i b l e to regard her a s a perfectly w e l l - c o n d u c t e d y o u n g lady; s h e w a s w a n t i n g in a certain i n d i s p e n s a b l e delicacy. It w o u l d therefore simplify m a t t e r s greatly to b e able to treat her a s the object of o n e of t h o s e s e n t i m e n t s which are called by r o m a n c e r s " l a w l e s s p a s s i o n s . " T h a t s h e s h o u l d s e e m to wish to get rid of him w o u l d help him to think m o r e lightly of her, a n d to b e a b l e to think m o r e lightly of her w o u l d m a k e her m u c h less perplexing. B u t Daisy, on this o c c a s i o n , c o n t i n u e d to p r e s e n t herself a s a n i n s c r u t a b l e c o m b i n a t i o n of a u d a c i t y a n d i n n o c e n c e . S h e h a d b e e n walking s o m e q u a r t e r of a n h o u r , a t t e n d e d by her two cav9

9. Lover (Italian).

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aliers, a n d r e s p o n d i n g in a tone of very childish gaiety, a s it s e e m e d to Winterbourne, to the pretty s p e e c h e s of Mr. Giovanelli, w h e n a c a r r i a g e that h a d d e t a c h e d itself from the revolving train drew u p b e s i d e the p a t h . At the s a m e m o m e n t W i n t e r b o u r n e perceived that his friend M r s . W a l k e r — t h e lady w h o s e h o u s e he h a d lately l e f t — w a s s e a t e d in the vehicle a n d w a s b e c k o n i n g to him. L e a v i n g M i s s Miller's s i d e , he h a s t e n e d to obey her s u m m o n s . M r s . W a l k e r w a s flushed; s h e wore a n excited air. "It is really too d r e a d f u l , " s h e said. " T h a t girl m u s t not d o this sort of thing. S h e m u s t not walk h e r e with you two m e n . Fifty p e o p l e have noticed h e r . " W i n t e r b o u r n e raised his eyebrows. "I think it's a pity to m a k e too m u c h fuss a b o u t i t . " "It's a pity to let the girl ruin herself!" " S h e is very i n n o c e n t , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " S h e ' s very crazy!" cried M r s . Walker. " D i d you ever s e e a n y t h i n g s o i m b e cile a s her m o t h e r ? After you h a d all left m e , j u s t now, I c o u l d not sit still for thinking of it. It s e e m e d too pitiful, not even to a t t e m p t to save her. I ordered the carriage a n d put on my b o n n e t , a n d c a m e here a s quickly a s p o s s i b l e . T h a n k heaven I have f o u n d y o u ! " " W h a t do you p r o p o s e to do with u s ? " a s k e d W i n t e r b o u r n e , smiling. " T o a s k her to get in, to drive her a b o u t here for half-an-hour, so that the world may s e e s h e is not r u n n i n g absolutely wild, a n d then to take her safely home." "I don't think it's a very h a p p y t h o u g h t , " s a i d W i n t e r b o u r n e ; " b u t you c a n try. M r s . W a l k e r tried. T h e y o u n g m a n went in p u r s u i t of M i s s Miller, w h o h a d simply n o d d e d a n d s m i l e d at his interlocutrix in the c a r r i a g e a n d h a d g o n e her way with her own c o m p a n i o n . Daisy, on l e a r n i n g that M r s . W a l k e r wished to s p e a k to her, retraced her s t e p s with a perfect g o o d g r a c e a n d with Mr. Giovanelli at her side. S h e d e c l a r e d that s h e w a s delighted to have a c h a n c e to p r e s e n t this g e n t l e m a n to M r s . Walker. S h e i m m e d i a t e l y a c h i e v e d the introduction, a n d d e c l a r e d that s h e h a d never in her life s e e n anything so lovely a s M r s . Walker's carriage-rug. "I a m glad you a d m i r e it," said this lady, s m i l i n g sweetly. "Will you get in a n d let m e p u t it over y o u ? " " O h , n o , t h a n k y o u , " said Daisy. "I shall a d m i r e it m u c h m o r e a s I s e e you driving r o u n d with it." " D o get in a n d drive with m e , " said M r s . Walker. " T h a t w o u l d be c h a r m i n g , b u t it's so e n c h a n t i n g j u s t a s I a m ! " a n d Daisy gave a brilliant g l a n c e at the g e n t l e m e n o n either side of her. "It m a y be e n c h a n t i n g , d e a r child, but it is not the c u s t o m h e r e , " u r g e d M r s . W a l k e r , l e a n i n g forward in her victoria' with her h a n d s devoutly clasped. "Well, it o u g h t to b e , t h e n ! " said Daisy. "If I didn't walk I s h o u l d expire." "You s h o u l d walk with your m o t h e r , d e a r , " cried the lady from G e n e v a , losing p a t i e n c e . "With my m o t h e r d e a r ! " e x c l a i m e d the y o u n g girl. W i n t e r b o u r n e s a w that s h e s c e n t e d interference. " M y m o t h e r never walked ten s t e p s in her life. A n d t h e n , you k n o w , " s h e a d d e d with a l a u g h , "I a m m o r e than five years o l d . " I. A horse-drawn carriage for two with a raised seat in front for the driver.

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"You are old e n o u g h to be m o r e r e a s o n a b l e . You are old e n o u g h , d e a r M i s s Miller, to b e talked a b o u t . " D a i s y looked at M r s . W a l k e r , s m i l i n g intensely. " T a l k e d a b o u t ? W h a t d o you m e a n ? " " C o m e into my c a r r i a g e a n d I will tell y o u . " Daisy turned her q u i c k e n e d g l a n c e again from o n e of the g e n t l e m e n b e s i d e her to the other. M r . Giovanelli w a s b o w i n g to a n d fro, r u b b i n g d o w n his gloves a n d l a u g h i n g very agreeably; W i n t e r b o u r n e t h o u g h t it a m o s t u n p l e a s ant s c e n e . "I don't think I want to know what you m e a n , " said Daisy presently. "I don't think I s h o u l d like it." W i n t e r b o u r n e w i s h e d that M r s . W a l k e r w o u l d t u c k in her carriage-rug a n d drive away; but this lady did not enjoy b e i n g defied, a s s h e afterwards told h i m . " S h o u l d you prefer b e i n g t h o u g h t a very r e c k l e s s girl?" s h e demanded. " G r a c i o u s m e ! " exclaimed Daisy. S h e looked again at M r . Giovanelli, then s h e t u r n e d to W i n t e r b o u r n e . T h e r e w a s a little pink flush in her c h e c k ; s h e w a s t r e m e n d o u s l y pretty. " D o e s M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e think," s h e a s k e d slowly, smiling, throwing b a c k her h e a d a n d g l a n c i n g at him from h e a d to foot, " t h a t — t o save my r e p u t a t i o n — I o u g h t to get into the c a r r i a g e ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e c o l o r e d ; for a n instant h e hesitated greatly. It s e e m e d s o s t r a n g e to hear her s p e a k that way of her " r e p u t a t i o n . " B u t he himself, in fact, m u s t s p e a k in a c c o r d a n c e with gallantry. T h e finest gallantry, h e r e , w a s simply to tell her the truth; a n d the truth, for W i n t e r b o u r n e , a s the few indications I have b e e n able to give have m a d e him known to the reader, w a s that Daisy Miller s h o u l d take M r s . Walker's a d v i c e . H e looked at her exquisite p r e t t i n e s s ; a n d then he said very gently, "I think you s h o u l d get into the carriage." Daisy gave a violent l a u g h . "I never h e a r d anything so stiff! If this is improper, M r s . W a l k e r , " s h e p u r s u e d , "then I a m all improper, a n d you m u s t give m e up. G o o d - b y e ; I h o p e you'll have a lovely r i d e ! " a n d , with Mr. G i o vanelli, w h o m a d e a t r i u m p h a n t l y o b s e q u i o u s s a l u t e , s h e t u r n e d away. M r s . W a l k e r sat looking after her, a n d there were tears in M r s . Walker's eyes. " G e t in h e r e , sir," s h e said to W i n t e r b o u r n e , indicating the p l a c e beside her. T h e y o u n g m a n a n s w e r e d that he felt b o u n d to a c c o m p a n y M i s s Miller; w h e r e u p o n M r s . W a l k e r d e c l a r e d that if he refused her this favor s h e would never s p e a k to him a g a i n . S h e w a s evidently in e a r n e s t . W i n t e r b o u r n e overtook Daisy a n d her c o m p a n i o n a n d , offering the y o u n g girl his h a n d , told her that M r s . W a l k e r h a d m a d e a n i m p e r i o u s claim u p o n his society. H e expected that in a n s w e r she would say s o m e t h i n g rather free, s o m e t h i n g to c o m m i t herself still farther to that " r e c k l e s s n e s s " from which M r s . W a l k e r h a d so charitably e n d e a v o r e d to d i s s u a d e her. B u t s h e only s h o o k his h a n d , hardly looking at him, while M r . Giovanelli b a d e him farewell with a too e m p h a t i c flourish of the hat. W i n t e r b o u r n e was not in the best p o s s i b l e h u m o r a s h e took his seat in M r s . Walker's victoria. " T h a t w a s not clever of y o u , " he s a i d candidly, while the vehicle mingled again with the t h r o n g of c a r r i a g e s . "In s u c h a c a s e , " his c o m p a n i o n a n s w e r e d , "I don't wish to b e clever, I wish to be earnest!" "Well, your e a r n e s t n e s s h a s only o f f e n d e d her a n d put her off." "It has h a p p e n e d very well," said M r s . Walker. "If s h e is s o perfectly deter-

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m i n e d to c o m p r o m i s e herself, the s o o n e r o n e knows it the better; o n e c a n act a c c o r d i n g l y . " "I s u s p e c t s h e m e a n t n o h a r m , " W i n t e r b o u r n e rejoined. " S o I t h o u g h t a m o n t h a g o . B u t s h e has b e e n g o i n g too far." "What has she been doing?" "Everything that is not d o n e here. Flirting with any m a n s h e c o u l d pick u p ; sitting in c o r n e r s with m y s t e r i o u s Italians; d a n c i n g all the e v e n i n g with the s a m e p a r t n e r s ; receiving visits at eleven o'clock at night. H e r m o t h e r g o e s away w h e n visitors c o m e . " " B u t her b r o t h e r , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , laughing, "sits up till m i d n i g h t . " " H e m u s t be edified by w h a t he s e e s . I'm told that at their hotel every o n e is talking a b o u t her, a n d that a smile g o e s r o u n d a m o n g the servants w h e n a g e n t l e m a n c o m e s a n d a s k s for M i s s M i l l e r . " " T h e servants b e h a n g e d ! " said W i n t e r b o u r n e angrily. " T h e p o o r girl's only fault," he presently a d d e d , "is that s h e is very u n c u l t i v a t e d . " "She is naturally i n d e l i c a t e , " M r s . W a l k e r d e c l a r e d . " T a k e that e x a m p l e this morning. H o w long had you known her at V e v e y ? " "A c o u p l e of d a y s . " " F a n c y , t h e n , her m a k i n g it a p e r s o n a l m a t t e r that you s h o u l d have left the p l a c e ! " W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s silent for s o m e m o m e n t s ; then he s a i d , "I s u s p e c t , M r s . Walker, that you a n d I have lived too long at G e n e v a ! " A n d h e a d d e d a r e q u e s t that she s h o u l d inform him with what particular d e s i g n she h a d m a d e him enter her c a r r i a g e . "I wished to b e g you to c e a s e your relations with M i s s M i l l e r — n o t to flirt with h e r — t o give her no farther opportunity to e x p o s e h e r s e l f — t o let her a l o n e , in s h o r t . " "I'm afraid I can't do t h a t , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . "I like her extremely." "All the m o r e r e a s o n that VOLI shouldn't help her to m a k e a s c a n d a l . " " T h e r e shall be nothing s c a n d a l o u s in my attentions to h e r . " " T h e r e certainly will be in the way s h e takes t h e m . B u t I have said what I h a d on my c o n s c i e n c e , " M r s . W a l k e r p u r s u e d . "If you wish to rejoin the y o u n g lady I will put you down. H e r e , by-the-way, you have a c h a n c e . " T h e carriage w a s traversing that part of the P i n c i a n G a r d e n which overh a n g s the wall of R o m e a n d overlooks the beautiful Villa B o r g h e s e . It is bordered by a large p a r a p e t , near which there a r e several s e a t s . O n e of the s e a t s , at a d i s t a n c e , was o c c u p i e d by a g e n t l e m a n a n d a lady, towards w h o m M r s . W a l k e r gave a toss of her h e a d . At the s a m e m o m e n t t h e s e p e r s o n s rose a n d walked towards the p a r a p e t . W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d a s k e d the c o a c h m a n to s t o p ; h e now d e s c e n d e d from the c a r r i a g e . His c o m p a n i o n looked at him a m o m e n t in s i l e n c e ; then, while he raised his hat, s h e drove majestically away. W i n t e r b o u r n e s t o o d there; h e h a d turned his eyes towards Daisy a n d her cavalier. T h e y evidently saw no o n e ; they were too deeply o c c u p i e d with e a c h other. W h e n they r e a c h e d the low garden-wall they stood a m o m e n t looking off at the great flat-topped pine-clusters of the Villa B o r g h e s e ; then Giovanelli s e a t e d h i m s e l f familiarly u p o n the b r o a d ledge of the wall. T h e western s u n in the o p p o s i t e sky sent o u t a brilliant shaft through a c o u p l e of cloudb a r s ; w h e r e u p o n Daisy's c o m p a n i o n took her p a r a s o l o u t of her h a n d s a n d o p e n e d it. S h e c a m e a little nearer a n d he held the p a r a s o l over her; t h e n , still holding it, he let it rest u p o n her s h o u l d e r , s o that both of their h e a d s

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were hidden from W i n t e r b o u r n e . T h i s y o u n g m a n lingered a m o m e n t , then h e b e g a n to walk. B u t h e w a l k e d — n o t t o w a r d s the c o u p l e with the p a r a s o l ; towards the r e s i d e n c e of his a u n t , M r s . C o s t e l l o .

IV H e flattered h i m s e l f o n the following day that there w a s no smiling a m o n g the s e r v a n t s w h e n h e , at least, a s k e d for M r s . Miller at her hotel. T h i s lady a n d her d a u g h t e r , however, were not at h o m e ; a n d o n the next day, after r e p e a t i n g his visit, W i n t e r b o u r n e again h a d the m i s f o r t u n e not to find t h e m . M r s . W a l k e r ' s party took p l a c e o n the e v e n i n g of the third day, a n d in spite of the frigidity of his last interview with the h o s t e s s , W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s a m o n g the g u e s t s . M r s . W a l k e r w a s o n e of t h o s e A m e r i c a n ladies w h o , while r e s i d i n g a b r o a d , m a k e a p o i n t , in their own p h r a s e , of studying E u r o p e a n society; a n d s h e h a d on this o c c a s i o n c o l l e c t e d several s p e c i m e n s of her diversely-born fellow-mortals to serve, a s it w e r e , a s text-books. W h e n W i n t e r b o u r n e arrived D a i s y Miller w a s not there; b u t in a few m o m e n t s h e s a w her m o t h e r c o m e in a l o n e , very shyly a n d ruefully. M r s . Miller's hair, a b o v e her e x p o s e d - l o o k i n g t e m p l e s , w a s m o r e frizzled than ever. A s s h e a p p r o a c h e d M r s . W a l k e r , W i n t e r b o u r n e a l s o drew near. "You s e e I've c o m e all a l o n e , " s a i d p o o r M r s . Miller. "I'm so frightened; I don't know what to d o ; it's the first time I've ever b e e n to a party a l o n e — especially in this country. I w a n t e d to bring R a n d o l p h or E u g e n i o , or s o m e o n e , but Daisy j u s t p u s h e d m e off by myself. I ain't u s e d to g o i n g r o u n d alone." " A n d d o e s not your d a u g h t e r i n t e n d to favor u s with her s o c i e t y ? " d e m a n d e d M r s . Walker, impressively. "Well, Daisy's all d r e s s e d , " s a i d M r s . Miller, with that a c c e n t of the disp a s s i o n a t e , if not of the p h i l o s o p h i c , historian with w h i c h s h e always r e c o r d e d the c u r r e n t i n c i d e n t s of her d a u g h t e r ' s career. " S h e ' s got d r e s s e d o n p u r p o s e before dinner. B u t she's got a friend of hers t h e r e ; that gentlem a n — t h e I t a l i a n — t h a t s h e w a n t e d to bring. They've got g o i n g at the p i a n o ; it s e e m s a s if they couldn't leave off. Mr. Giovanelli sings splendidly. B u t I g u e s s they'll c o m e before very l o n g , " c o n c l u d e d M r s . Miller hopefully. "I'm sorry s h e s h o u l d c o m e — i n that way," s a i d M r s . W a l k e r . "Well, I told her that there w a s n o u s e in her getting d r e s s e d before dinner if s h e w a s g o i n g to wait three h o u r s , " r e s p o n d e d Daisy's m a m m a . "I didn't s e e the u s e of her p u t t i n g o n s u c h a d r e s s a s that to sit r o u n d with M r . Giovanelli." " T h i s is m o s t horrible!" s a i d M r s . W a l k e r , turning a w a y a n d a d d r e s s i n g herself to W i n t e r b o u r n e . "Elle s'affiche. It's her revenge for my having vent u r e d to r e m o n s t r a t e with her. W h e n s h e c o m e s I shall not s p e a k to h e r . " D a i s y c a m e after eleven o'clock, b u t s h e w a s not, o n s u c h a n o c c a s i o n , a y o u n g lady to wait to b e s p o k e n to. S h e rustled forward in r a d i a n t loveliness, s m i l i n g a n d c h a t t e r i n g , carrying a large b o u q u e t a n d a t t e n d e d by M r . G i o vanelli. Every o n e s t o p p e d talking, a n d t u r n e d a n d l o o k e d at her. S h e c a m e straight to M r s . Walker. "I'm afraid you t h o u g h t I never w a s c o m i n g , s o I s e n t m o t h e r off to tell you. I w a n t e d to m a k e M r . Giovanelli p r a c t i c e s o m e 2

2. She's making a spectacle of herself (French).

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things before he c a m e ; you know he sings beautifully, a n d I want you to a s k him to sing. T h i s is Mr. Giovanelli; you know I i n t r o d u c e d him to you; he's got the m o s t lovely voice a n d h e knows the m o s t c h a r m i n g set of s o n g s . I m a d e him go over t h e m this evening, on p u r p o s e ; we h a d the g r e a t e s t time at the h o t e l . " O f all this Daisy delivered herself with the s w e e t e s t , brightest a u d i b l e n e s s , looking now at her h o s t e s s a n d now r o u n d the r o o m , while s h e g a v e a series of little p a t s , r o u n d her s h o u l d e r s , to the e d g e s of her d r e s s . "Is there a n y o n e I k n o w ? " s h e a s k e d . "I think every o n e knows y o u ! " said M r s . W a l k e r pregnantly, a n d s h e gave a very cursory greeting to Mr. Giovanelli. T h i s g e n t l e m a n b o r e h i m s e l f gallantly. H e s m i l e d a n d b o w e d a n d s h o w e d his white t e e t h , he c u r l e d his m o u s t a c h e s a n d rolled his eyes, a n d p e r f o r m e d all the p r o p e r f u n c t i o n s of a h a n d s o m e Italian at a n evening party. H e s a n g , very prettily, half-a-dozen s o n g s , t h o u g h M r s . W a l k e r afterwards d e c l a r e d that s h e h a d b e e n quite u n a ble to find out who a s k e d h i m . It w a s apparently not D a i s y w h o h a d given him his o r d e r s . D a i s y sat at a d i s t a n c e from the p i a n o , a n d t h o u g h s h e h a d publicly, a s it w e r e , p r o f e s s e d a high a d m i r a t i o n for his singing, talked, not inaudibly, while it w a s g o i n g o n . "It's a pity t h e s e r o o m s are so s m a l l ; we can't d a n c e , " s h e said to Winterb o u r n e , a s if s h e h a d s e e n him five m i n u t e s before. "I a m not sorry we can't d a n c e , " W i n t e r b o u r n e a n s w e r e d ; "I don't d a n c e . " " O f c o u r s e you don't d a n c e ; you're too stiff," said M i s s D a i s y . "I h o p e you enjoyed your drive with M r s . W a l k e r . " " N o , I didn't enjoy it; I preferred walking with y o u . " " W e p a i r e d off, that w a s m u c h b e t t e r , " s a i d Daisy. " B u t did you ever h e a r anything so cool a s M r s . Walker's w a n t i n g m e to get into her carriage a n d drop p o o r M r . Giovanelli; a n d u n d e r the pretext that it w a s p r o p e r ? P e o p l e have different i d e a s ! It would have b e e n m o s t u n k i n d ; he h a d b e e n talking a b o u t that walk for ten d a y s . " " H e s h o u l d not have talked a b o u t it at all," said W i n t e r b o u r n e ; " h e w o u l d never have p r o p o s e d to a y o u n g lady of this country to walk a b o u t the streets with h i m . " " A b o u t the s t r e e t s ? " cried Daisy, with her pretty stare. " W h e r e then would he have p r o p o s e d to her to walk? T h e Pincio is not the s t r e e t s , either; a n d I, thank g o o d n e s s , a m not a y o u n g lady of this country. T h e y o u n g ladies of this country have a dreadfully pokey time of it, s o far a s I c a n learn; I don't s e e why I s h o u l d c h a n g e my habits for them." "I a m afraid your habits are t h o s e of a flirt," said W i n t e r b o u r n e gravely. " O f c o u r s e they a r e , " s h e cried, giving him her little s m i l i n g stare a g a i n . "I'm a fearful, frightful flirt! D i d you ever h e a r of a nice girl that w a s not? B u t I s u p p o s e you will tell m e now that I a m not a nice girl." "You're a very nice girl, but I wish you would flirt with m e , a n d m e only," said W i n t e r b o u r n e . "Ah! thank you, t h a n k you very m u c h ; you a r e the last m a n I s h o u l d think of flirting with. As I have had the p l e a s u r e of informing you, you a r e too stiff." "You say that too o f t e n , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . Daisy gave a delighted l a u g h . "If I c o u l d have the sweet h o p e of m a k i n g you angry, I would say it a g a i n . " " D o n ' t do that; w h e n I a m angry I'm stiffer than ever. B u t if you won't flirt

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with m e , do c e a s e at least to flirt with your friend at the p i a n o ; they don't u n d e r s t a n d that sort of thing h e r e . " "I t h o u g h t they u n d e r s t o o d nothing e l s e ! " exclaimed Daisy. " N o t in y o u n g u n m a r r i e d w o m e n . " "It s e e m s to m e m u c h m o r e p r o p e r in y o u n g u n m a r r i e d w o m e n than in old married o n e s , " Daisy d e c l a r e d . " W e l l , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , " w h e n you deal with natives you m u s t go by the c u s t o m of the p l a c e . Flirting is a purely A m e r i c a n c u s t o m ; it doesn't exist h e r e . S o when you s h o w yourself in public with Mr. Giovanelli a n d without your m o t h e r — " "Gracious! Poor mother!" interposed Daisy. " T h o u g h you may be flirting, Mr. Giovanelli is not; he m e a n s s o m e t h i n g else." " H e isn't p r e a c h i n g , at any r a t e , " said D a i s y with vivacity. " A n d if you w a n t very m u c h to know, we are neither of u s flirting; we are too g o o d friends for that; we a r e very intimate f r i e n d s . " " A h , " rejoined W i n t e r b o u r n e , "if you are in love with e a c h other it is a n o t h e r affair." S h e h a d allowed him up to this point to talk so frankly that h e h a d no expectation of s h o c k i n g her by this e j a c u l a t i o n ; but s h e i m m e d i a t e l y got u p , b l u s h i n g visibly, a n d leaving him to exclaim mentally that little A m e r i c a n flirts were the q u e e r e s t c r e a t u r e s in the world. " M r . Giovanelli, at l e a s t , " s h e said, giving her interlocutor a single g l a n c e , "never says s u c h very d i s a g r e e able things to m e . " W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s bewildered; he s t o o d staring. Mr. Giovanelli h a d finished singing; he left the p i a n o a n d c a m e over to Daisy. " W o n ' t you c o m e into the other r o o m a n d have s o m e t e a ? " he a s k e d , b e n d i n g before her with his decorative s m i l e . Daisy turned to W i n t e r b o u r n e , b e g i n n i n g to smile a g a i n . H e w a s still m o r e perplexed, for this i n c o n s e q u e n t smile m a d e n o t h i n g clear, t h o u g h it s e e m e d to prove, i n d e e d , that s h e h a d a s w e e t n e s s a n d s o f t n e s s that reverted instinctively to the p a r d o n of o f f e n c e s . "It h a s never o c c u r r e d to M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e to offer m e any t e a , " s h e said, with her little t o r m e n t i n g m a n n e r . "I have offered you a d v i c e , " W i n t e r b o u r n e rejoined. "I prefer w e a k t e a ! " cried Daisy, a n d s h e went off with the brilliant G i o vanelli. S h e sat with him in the a d j o i n i n g r o o m , in the e m b r a s u r e of the window, for the rest of the evening. T h e r e w a s a n interesting p e r f o r m a n c e at the p i a n o , but neither of t h e s e y o u n g p e o p l e gave h e e d to it. W h e n Daisy c a m e to take leave of M r s . W a l k e r , this lady c o n s c i e n t i o u s l y repaired the w e a k n e s s of w h i c h s h e h a d b e e n guilty at the m o m e n t of the y o u n g girl's arrival. S h e turned her b a c k straight u p o n M i s s Miller a n d left her to d e p a r t with what g r a c e she m i g h t . W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s s t a n d i n g n e a r the door; h e s a w it all. Daisy turned very p a l e a n d looked at her m o t h e r , but M r s . Miller was h u m b l y u n c o n s c i o u s of any violation of the u s u a l social f o r m s . S h e a p p e a r e d , i n d e e d , to have felt a n i n c o n g r u o u s i m p u l s e to draw attention to her own striking o b s e r v a n c e of t h e m . " G o o d night, M r s . W a l k e r , " s h e s a i d ; "we've h a d a beautiful evening. You s e e if I let Daisy c o m e to parties without m e , I don't w a n t her to go away without m e . " Daisy t u r n e d away, looking with a p a l e , grave face at the circle n e a r the door; W i n t e r b o u r n e s a w that, for the first m o m e n t , s h e w a s too m u c h s h o c k e d a n d puzzled even for indign a t i o n . H e on his side w a s greatly t o u c h e d .

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" T h a t w a s very c r u e l , " he said to M r s . Walker. " S h e never enters my drawing-room a g a i n , " replied his h o s t e s s . S i n c e W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s not to m e e t her in M r s . Walker's drawing-room, he went a s often as p o s s i b l e to M r s . Miller's hotel. T h e ladies were rarely at h o m e , but when he f o u n d them the devoted Giovanelli w a s always p r e s e n t . Very often the polished little R o m a n w a s in the d r a w i n g - r o o m with Daisy a l o n e , M r s . Miller being apparently constantly of the opinion that discretion is the better part of surveillance. W i n t e r b o u r n e n o t e d , at first with s u r p r i s e , that Daisy on t h e s e o c c a s i o n s w a s never e m b a r r a s s e d or a n n o y e d by his own e n t r a n c e ; but he very presently b e g a n to feel that s h e h a d n o m o r e s u r p r i s e s for him; the u n e x p e c t e d in her behavior w a s the only thing to expect. S h e showed no d i s p l e a s u r e at her tete-a-tete with Giovanelli b e i n g interrupted; she could c h a t t e r a s freshly a n d freely with two g e n t l e m e n a s with o n e ; there w a s always, in her c o n v e r s a t i o n , the s a m e odd mixture of a u d a c i t y a n d puerility. W i n t e r b o u r n e r e m a r k e d to himself that if s h e w a s seriously interested in Giovanelli it was very singular that s h e s h o u l d not take m o r e trouble to preserve the sanctity of their interviews, a n d he liked her the m o r e for her innocent-looking indifference a n d her a p p a r e n t l y inexhaustible good h u m o r . H e could hardly have said why, but she s e e m e d to him a girl w h o would never be j e a l o u s . At the risk of exciting a s o m e w h a t derisive smile on the reader's part, 1 may affirm that with regard to the w o m e n w h o h a d hitherto interested him it very often s e e m e d to W i n t e r b o u r n e a m o n g the possibilities that, given certain c o n t i n g e n c i e s , he s h o u l d b e afraid—literally a f r a i d — o f these ladies. H e h a d a p l e a s a n t s e n s e that he s h o u l d never b e afraid of Daisy Miller. It m u s t be a d d e d that this s e n t i m e n t w a s not altogether flattering to Daisy; it w a s part of his conviction, or rather of his a p p r e h e n s i o n , that s h e would prove a very light y o u n g p e r s o n . B u t she was evidently very m u c h interested in Giovanelli. S h e looked at him whenever he s p o k e ; s h e w a s perpetually telling him to do this a n d to do that; s h e w a s c o n s t a n t l y " c h a f f i n g " a n d a b u s i n g h i m . S h e a p p e a r e d c o m pletely to have forgotten that W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d said anything to d i s p l e a s e her at M r s . Walker's little party. O n e S u n d a y afternoon, having g o n e to S t . Peter's with his a u n t , W i n t e r b o u r n e perceived Daisy strolling a b o u t the great c h u r c h in c o m p a n y with the inevitable Giovanelli. Presently h e p o i n t e d out the y o u n g girl a n d her cavalier to M r s . C o s t e l l o . T h i s lady looked at t h e m a m o m e n t through her e y e g l a s s e s , a n d then s h e s a i d : "That's what m a k e s you so p e n s i v e in t h e s e days, e h ? " "I h a d not the least idea I w a s p e n s i v e , " said the y o u n g m a n . "You are very m u c h p r e o c c u p i e d , you are thinking of s o m e t h i n g . " "And what is it," he a s k e d , "that you a c c u s e m e of thinking o f ? " " O f that y o u n g lady's, M i s s Baker's, M i s s C h a n d l e r ' s — w h a t ' s her n a m e ? — M i s s Miller's intrigue with that little barber's b l o c k . " " D o you call it an i n t r i g u e , " W i n t e r b o u r n e a s k e d — " a n affair that g o e s on with s u c h p e c u l i a r p u b l i c i t y ? " " T h a t ' s their folly," said M r s . C o s t e l l o , "it's not their m e r i t . " " N o , " rejoined W i n t e r b o u r n e , with s o m e t h i n g of that p e n s i v e n e s s to which his a u n t h a d a l l u d e d . "I don't believe that there is anything to be called a n intrigue." "I have heard a dozen p e o p l e s p e a k of it; they say s h e is q u i t e carried away by h i m . " " T h e y are certainly very i n t i m a t e , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e .

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M r s . C o s t e l l o i n s p e c t e d the y o u n g c o u p l e again with her optical instrum e n t . " H e is very h a n d s o m e . O n e easily s e e s h o w it is. S h e thinks h i m the m o s t e l e g a n t m a n in the world, the finest g e n t l e m a n . S h e h a s never s e e n a n y t h i n g like him; h e is better even t h a n the courier. It w a s the c o u r i e r p r o b a b l y w h o i n t r o d u c e d h i m , a n d if h e s u c c e e d s in marrying the y o u n g lady, the c o u r i e r will c o m e in for a magnificent c o m m i s s i o n . " "I don't believe s h e thinks of marrying h i m , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , " a n d I don't believe he h o p e s to marry h e r . " "You m a y be very s u r e s h e thinks of nothing. S h e g o e s on from day to day, from h o u r to hour, a s they did in the G o l d e n A g e . I c a n i m a g i n e n o t h i n g m o r e vulgar. A n d at the s a m e t i m e , " a d d e d M r s . C o s t e l l o , " d e p e n d u p o n it that s h e m a y tell you any m o m e n t that s h e is ' e n g a g e d . ' " "I think that is m o r e than Giovanelli e x p e c t s , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " W h o is G i o v a n e l l i ? " " T h e little Italian. I have a s k e d q u e s t i o n s a b o u t him a n d learned s o m e thing. H e is apparently a perfectly r e s p e c t a b l e little m a n . I believe h e is in a small way a cavaliere awocato. B u t h e d o e s n ' t m o v e in what are called the first circles. I think it is really not absolutely i m p o s s i b l e that the c o u r i e r i n t r o d u c e d h i m . H e is evidently i m m e n s e l y c h a r m e d with M i s s Miller. If she thinks him the finest g e n t l e m a n in the world, h e , on his s i d e , h a s never f o u n d h i m s e l f in p e r s o n a l c o n t a c t with s u c h s p l e n d o r , s u c h o p u l e n c e , s u c h expens i v e n e s s , a s this y o u n g lady's. A n d then s h e m u s t s e e m to him wonderfully pretty a n d interesting. I rather d o u b t w h e t h e r h e d r e a m s of marrying her. T h a t m u s t a p p e a r to him too i m p o s s i b l e a p i e c e of luck. H e h a s n o t h i n g but his h a n d s o m e f a c e to offer, a n d there is a s u b s t a n t i a l Mr. Miller in that m y s t e r i o u s land of dollars. Giovanelli knows that h e hasn't a title to offer. If H e m u s t w o n d e r at his luck at the way h e were only a c o u n t or a marchesel they have taken h i m u p . " " H e a c c o u n t s for it by his h a n d s o m e f a c e , a n d thinks M i s s Miller a y o u n g lady qui se -passe ses fantaisiesl"* said Mrs. Costello. "It is very t r u e , " W i n t e r b o u r n e p u r s u e d , "that D a i s y a n d her m a m m a have not yet risen to that s t a g e o f — w h a t shall I call i t ? — o f c u l t u r e , at which the idea of c a t c h i n g a c o u n t or a marchese b e g i n s . I believe that they are intellectually i n c a p a b l e of that c o n c e p t i o n . " "Ah! but the cavalier can't believe it," said M r s . C o s t e l l o . O f the observation excited by Daisy's " i n t r i g u e , " W i n t e r b o u r n e g a t h e r e d that day at S t . Peter's sufficient e v i d e n c e . A d o z e n of the A m e r i c a n colonists in R o m e c a m e to talk with M r s . C o s t e l l o , w h o sat on a little p o r t a b l e stool at the b a s e of o n e of the great p i l a s t e r s . T h e vesper-service w a s g o i n g forward in s p l e n d i d c h a n t s a n d o r g a n - t o n e s in the a d j a c e n t choir, a n d m e a n while, b e t w e e n M r s . C o s t e l l o a n d her friends, t h e r e w a s a great deal s a i d a b o u t p o o r little M i s s Miller's g o i n g really " t o o far." W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s not p l e a s e d with w h a t he h e a r d ; b u t w h e n , c o m i n g out u p o n the great s t e p s of the c h u r c h , he saw Daisy, w h o h a d e m e r g e d before h i m , get into a n o p e n c a b with her a c c o m p l i c e a n d roll away t h r o u g h the cynical streets of R o m e , he c o u l d not deny to h i m s e l f that s h e w a s g o i n g very far i n d e e d . H e felt very sorry for h e r — n o t exactly that he believed that s h e h a d c o m p l e t e l y lost her 3

4

3. Lawyer (Italian). "Cavaliere": 4. Marquis (Italian).

an honorific.

5. W h o is indulging her whims (French).

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h e a d , but b e c a u s e it was painful to hear so m u c h that w a s pretty a n d u n d e fended a n d natural a s s i g n e d to a vulgar p l a c e a m o n g the c a t e g o r i e s of disorder. H e m a d e a n a t t e m p t after this to give a hint to M r s . Miller. H e met o n e day in the C o r s o a f r i e n d — a tourist like h i m s e l f — w h o h a d j u s t c o m e out of the Doria P a l a c e , where h e h a d b e e n walking t h r o u g h the beautiful gallery. H i s friend talked for a m o m e n t a b o u t the s u p e r b portrait of I n n o c e n t X. by V e l a s q u e z , 6 which h a n g s in o n e of the c a b i n e t s of the p a l a c e , a n d then said, "And in the s a m e c a b i n e t , by-the-way, I h a d the p l e a s u r e of c o n t e m plating a p i c t u r e of a different k i n d — t h a t pretty A m e r i c a n girl w h o m you pointed out to m e last w e e k . " In a n s w e r to W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s inquiries, his friend narrated that the pretty A m e r i c a n girl—prettier than e v e r — w a s s e a t e d with a c o m p a n i o n in the s e c l u d e d n o o k in which the great p a p a l portrait is enshrined. " W h o w a s her c o m p a n i o n ? " a s k e d W i n t e r b o u r n e . "A little Italian with a b o u q u e t in his b u t t o n - h o l e . T h e girl is delightfully pretty, but I t h o u g h t I u n d e r s t o o d from you the other day that s h e w a s a y o u n g lady du meilleur tnonde." " S o s h e i s ! " a n s w e r e d W i n t e r b o u r n e ; a n d having a s s u r e d h i m s e l f that his informant h a d s e e n Daisy a n d her c o m p a n i o n but five m i n u t e s b e f o r e , he j u m p e d into a c a b a n d went to call on M r s . Miller. S h e w a s at h o m e ; but s h e apologized to him for receiving him in Daisy's a b s e n c e . " S h e ' s g o n e out s o m e w h e r e with Mr. G i o v a n e l l i , " s a i d M r s . Miller. " S h e ' s always g o i n g r o u n d with M r . G i o v a n e l l i . " "I have noticed that they are very i n t i m a t e , " W i n t e r b o u r n e o b s e r v e d . " O h ! it s e e m s a s if they couldn't live without e a c h o t h e r ! " said M r s . Miller. "Well, he's a real g e n t l e m a n , anyhow. I keep telling D a i s y she's e n g a g e d ! " "And what d o e s Daisy s a y ? " " O h , s h e says s h e isn't e n g a g e d . B u t s h e might as well b e ! " this impartial p a r e n t r e s u m e d . " S h e g o e s on a s if s h e w a s . B u t I've m a d e M r . Giovanelli p r o m i s e to tell m e , if she doesn't. I s h o u l d want to write to M r . Miller a b o u t it—shouldn't you?" W i n t e r b o u r n e replied that he certainly s h o u l d ; a n d the state of m i n d of Daisy's m a m m a s t r u c k him a s s o u n p r e c e d e n t e d in the a n n a l s of parental vigilance that h e gave u p as utterly irrelevant the a t t e m p t to p l a c e her u p o n her g u a r d . After this Daisy w a s never at h o m e , a n d W i n t e r b o u r n e c e a s e d to m e e t her at the h o u s e s of their c o m m o n a c q u a i n t a n c e s , b e c a u s e , a s h e p e r c e i v e d , t h e s e shrewd p e o p l e h a d quite m a d e up their m i n d s that s h e w a s g o i n g too far. T h e y c e a s e d to invite her, a n d they i n t i m a t e d that they d e s i r e d to express to observant E u r o p e a n s the great truth that, t h o u g h M i s s D a i s y Miller w a s a y o u n g A m e r i c a n lady, her behavior w a s not r e p r e s e n t a t i v e — w a s r e g a r d e d by her c o m p a t r i o t s a s a b n o r m a l . W i n t e r b o u r n e w o n d e r e d how s h e felt a b o u t all the cold s h o u l d e r s that were turned towards her, a n d s o m e t i m e s it annoyed him to s u s p e c t that s h e did not feel at all. H e said to h i m s e l f that she w a s too light a n d childish, too uncultivated a n d u n r e a s o n i n g , too provincial, to have reflected u p o n her o s t r a c i s m or even to have perceived it. T h e n at other m o m e n t s he believed that s h e carried a b o u t in her e l e g a n t a n d 7

6. Diego Rodriguez de Silva y Velazquez (1599— 1660), Spanish painter.

7. Of the better society (French).

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irresponsible little o r g a n i s m a defiant, p a s s i o n a t e , perfectly observant c o n s c i o u s n e s s of the i m p r e s s i o n s h e p r o d u c e d . H e a s k e d himself w h e t h e r Daisy's defiance c a m e from the c o n s c i o u s n e s s of i n n o c e n c e or from her b e i n g , essentially, a y o u n g p e r s o n of the r e c k l e s s c l a s s . It m u s t be a d m i t t e d that holding o n e s e l f to a belief in Daisy's " i n n o c e n c e " c a m e to s e e m to Wint e r b o u r n e m o r e a n d m o r e a m a t t e r of fine-spun gallantry. As 1 have already h a d o c c a s i o n to relate, he w a s angry at finding h i m s e l f r e d u c e d to c h o p p i n g logic a b o u t this y o u n g lady; h e w a s vexed at his want of instinctive c e r t i t u d e as to how far her eccentricities w e r e g e n e r i c , national, a n d how far they were p e r s o n a l . F r o m either view of t h e m he h a d s o m e h o w m i s s e d her, a n d n o w it w a s too late. S h e w a s "carried a w a y " by M r . Giovanelli. A few days after his brief interview with her m o t h e r , h e e n c o u n t e r e d her in that beautiful a b o d e of flowering d e s o l a t i o n known a s the P a l a c e of the Caesars. T h e early R o m a n spring h a d filled the air with b l o o m a n d p e r f u m e , a n d the r u g g e d s u r f a c e of the P a l a t i n e w a s muffled with tender v e r d u r e . Daisy w a s strolling a l o n g the top of o n e of t h o s e great m o u n d s of ruin that are e m b a n k e d with m o s s y m a r b l e a n d paved with m o n u m e n t a l i n s c r i p t i o n s . It s e e m e d to him that R o m e h a d never b e e n s o lovely a s j u s t t h e n . H e s t o o d looking off at the e n c h a n t i n g h a r m o n y of line a n d color that remotely encircles the city, inhaling the softly h u m i d o d o r s a n d feeling the f r e s h n e s s of the year a n d the antiquity of the p l a c e reaffirm t h e m s e l v e s in m y s t e r i o u s interfusion. It s e e m e d to him a l s o that D a i s y h a d never looked s o pretty; but this h a d b e e n an observation of his whenever he met her. Giovanelli w a s at her s i d e , a n d Giovanelli, too, w o r e a n a s p e c t of even u n w o n t e d brilliancy. " W e l l , " said Daisy, "I s h o u l d think you would be l o n e s o m e ! " " L o n e s o m e ? " asked Winterbourne. "You a r e always going r o u n d by yourself. C a n ' t you get any o n e to walk with y o u ? " "I a m not s o f o r t u n a t e , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , " a s your c o m p a n i o n . " Giovanelli, from the first, h a d treated W i n t e r b o u r n e with d i s t i n g u i s h e d p o l i t e n e s s ; h e listened with a deferential air to his r e m a r k s ; h e l a u g h e d , punctiliously, at his p l e a s a n t r i e s ; he s e e m e d d i s p o s e d to testify to his belief that W i n t e r b o u r n e w a s a s u p e r i o r y o u n g m a n . H e carried himself in no d e g r e e like a j e a l o u s wooer; he h a d obviously a great deal of tact; h e h a d no objection to your e x p e c t i n g a little humility of h i m . It even s e e m e d to W i n t e r b o u r n e at times that Giovanelli w o u l d find a certain m e n t a l relief in b e i n g able to have a private u n d e r s t a n d i n g with h i m — t o say to him, a s a n intelligent m a n , that, bless you, he knew how extraordinary w a s this y o u n g lady, a n d didn't flatter h i m s e l f with d e l u s i v e — o r at least too d e l u s i v e — h o p e s of m a t r i m o n y a n d dollars. O n this o c c a s i o n he strolled away from his c o m p a n ion to p l u c k a sprig of a l m o n d b l o s s o m , which he carefully a r r a n g e d in his button-hole. "I know why you say t h a t , " said Daisy, w a t c h i n g G i o v a n e l l i . " B e c a u s e you think I go r o u n d too m u c h with him\" A n d s h e n o d d e d at her a t t e n d a n t . " E v e r y o n e thinks s o — i f you c a r e to k n o w , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e . " O f c o u r s e I c a r e to k n o w ! " D a i s y e x c l a i m e d seriously. " B u t I don't believe it. T h e y are only p r e t e n d i n g to be s h o c k e d . T h e y don't really c a r e a straw what I do. B e s i d e s , I don't go r o u n d so m u c h . " "I think you will find they do c a r e . T h e y will s h o w i t — d i s a g r e e a b l y . " Daisy looked at him a m o m e n t . " H o w — d i s a g r e e a b l y ? "

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"Haven't you noticed a n y t h i n g ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e a s k e d . "I have noticed you. B u t I noticed you were a s stiff a s an u m b r e l l a the first time I saw y o u . " "You will find I a m not s o stiff a s several o t h e r s , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , smiling. " H o w shall I find i t ? " " B y g o i n g to s e e the o t h e r s . " " W h a t will they d o to m e ? " " T h e y will give you the cold s h o u l d e r . D o you know what that m e a n s ? " Daisy was looking at him intently; s h e b e g a n to color. " D o you m e a n a s M r s . W a l k e r did the other n i g h t ? " "Exactly!" said W i n t e r b o u r n e . S h e looked away at Giovanelli, w h o w a s d e c o r a t i n g h i m s e l f with his a l m o n d - b l o s s o m . T h e n looking b a c k at W i n t e r b o u r n e — " I shouldn't think you would let p e o p l e be s o u n k i n d ! " s h e s a i d . " H o w can I help i t ? " h e a s k e d . "I s h o u l d think you would say s o m e t h i n g . " "I do say s o m e t h i n g " ; a n d he p a u s e d a m o m e n t . "I say that your m o t h e r tells me that s h e believes you are e n g a g e d . " "Well, s h e d o e s , " said Daisy very simply. W i n t e r b o u r n e b e g a n to l a u g h . "And d o e s R a n d o l p h believe i t ? " he a s k e d . "I g u e s s R a n d o l p h doesn't believe a n y t h i n g , " said Daisy. R a n d o l p h ' s s c e p ticism excited W i n t e r b o u r n e to farther hilarity, a n d he o b s e r v e d that G i o vanelli was c o m i n g b a c k to t h e m . Daisy, observing it too, a d d r e s s e d herself again to her c o u n t r y m a n . " S i n c e you have m e n t i o n e d it," s h e said, "I am e n g a g e d . " . . . W i n t e r b o u r n e looked at her; h e h a d s t o p p e d laughing. "You don't believe it!" s h e a d d e d . H e was silent a m o m e n t ; a n d t h e n , "Yes, I believe it!" he s a i d . " O h , n o , you don't," s h e a n s w e r e d . "Well, t h e n — I a m n o t ! " T h e y o u n g girl a n d her c i c e r o n e were on their way to the g a t e of the e n c l o s u r e , so that W i n t e r b o u r n e , w h o h a d but lately e n t e r e d , presently took leave of t h e m . A w e e k afterwards he went to dine at a beautiful villa on the Caelian Hill, a n d , on arriving, d i s m i s s e d his hired vehicle. T h e e v e n i n g w a s c h a r m i n g , a n d he p r o m i s e d himself the satisfaction of walking h o m e b e n e a t h the Arch of C o n s t a n t i n e a n d p a s t the vaguely-lighted m o n u m e n t s of the F o r u m . T h e r e was a w a n i n g m o o n in the sky, a n d her r a d i a n c e w a s not brilliant, but s h e w a s veiled in a thin c l o u d - c u r t a i n which s e e m e d to diffuse and equalize it. W h e n , on his return from the villa (it w a s eleven o'clock), W i n t e r b o u r n e a p p r o a c h e d the dusky circle of the C o l o s s e u m , it o c c u r r e d to him, a s a lover of the p i c t u r e s q u e , that the interior, in the pale m o o n s h i n e , would be well worth a g l a n c e . H e t u r n e d a s i d e a n d walked to o n e of the e m p t y a r c h e s , n e a r w h i c h , a s he o b s e r v e d , an o p e n c a r r i a g e — o n e of the little R o m a n s t r e e t - c a b s — w a s s t a t i o n e d . T h e n h e p a s s e d in a m o n g the c a v e r n o u s s h a d o w s of the great s t r u c t u r e , a n d e m e r g e d u p o n the clear a n d silent a r e n a . T h e p l a c e had never s e e m e d to him m o r e i m p r e s s i v e . O n e - h a l f of the gigantic circus was in d e e p s h a d e ; the other w a s s l e e p i n g in the l u m i n o u s dusk. As h e stood there he b e g a n to m u r m u r Byron's f a m o u s lines, out of " M a n f r e d " ; but before he h a d finished his q u o t a t i o n he r e m e m b e r e d that if n o c t u r n a l meditations in the C o l o s s e u m are r e c o m m e n d e d by the p o e t s , they are depr e c a t e d by the d o c t o r s . T h e historic a t m o s p h e r e w a s there, certainly; but the

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historic a t m o s p h e r e , scientifically c o n s i d e r e d , w a s not better t h a n a villaino u s m i a s m a . W i n t e r b o u r n e walked to the m i d d l e of the a r e n a , to take a m o r e g e n e r a l g l a n c e , intending thereafter to m a k e a hasty retreat. T h e great c r o s s in the c e n t e r w a s covered with s h a d o w ; it w a s only a s he drew n e a r it that h e m a d e it out distinctly. T h e n he saw that two p e r s o n s were s t a t i o n e d u p o n the low s t e p s which f o r m e d its b a s e . O n e of t h e s e w a s a w o m a n , s e a t e d ; her c o m p a n i o n w a s s t a n d i n g in front of her. Presently the s o u n d of the w o m a n ' s voice c a m e to him distinctly in the w a r m night air. "Well, h e looks at u s a s o n e of the old lions or tigers m a y have looked at the C h r i s t i a n martyrs!" T h e s e were the w o r d s h e h e a r d , in the familiar a c c e n t of M i s s Daisy Miller. " L e t u s h o p e he is not very h u n g r y , " r e s p o n d e d the i n g e n i o u s G i o v a n e l l i . " H e will have to take m e first; you will serve for d e s s e r t ! " W i n t e r b o u r n e s t o p p e d , with a sort of horror; a n d , it m u s t b e a d d e d , with a sort of relief. It w a s as if a s u d d e n illumination h a d b e e n flashed u p o n the a m b i g u i t y of Daisy's behavior a n d the riddle h a d b e c o m e easy to read. S h e w a s a y o u n g lady w h o m a g e n t l e m a n n e e d n o longer be at p a i n s to r e s p e c t . H e s t o o d there looking at h e r — l o o k i n g at her c o m p a n i o n , a n d not reflecting that t h o u g h he s a w t h e m vaguely, h e h i m s e l f m u s t have b e e n m o r e brightly visible. H e felt angry with himself that h e h a d b o t h e r e d s o m u c h a b o u t the right way of r e g a r d i n g M i s s Daisy Miller. T h e n , a s h e w a s g o i n g to a d v a n c e a g a i n , h e c h e c k e d himself; not from the fear that he w a s d o i n g her i n j u s t i c e , but from a s e n s e of the d a n g e r of a p p e a r i n g u n b e c o m i n g l y exhilarated by this s u d d e n revulsion from c a u t i o u s criticism. H e t u r n e d away towards the e n t r a n c e of the p l a c e ; but a s he did so h e h e a r d D a i s y s p e a k a g a i n . "Why, it w a s M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e ! H e s a w m e — a n d h e c u t s m e ! " W h a t a clever little r e p r o b a t e s h e w a s , a n d how smartly s h e played a n injured i n n o c e n c e ! B u t h e wouldn't c u t her. W i n t e r b o u r n e c a m e forward a g a i n , a n d went towards the great c r o s s . D a i s y h a d got u p ; Giovanelli lifted his hat. W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d now b e g u n to think simply of the c r a z i n e s s , from a sanitary point of view, of a delicate y o u n g girl l o u n g i n g away the evening in this nest of m a l a r i a . W h a t if s h e were a clever little r e p r o b a t e ? that w a s no r e a s o n for her dying of the perniciosa.* " H o w long have you b e e n t h e r e ? " he a s k e d , a l m o s t brutally. Daisy, lovely in the flattering m o o n l i g h t , looked at him a m o m e n t . T h e n — "All the e v e n i n g , " s h e a n s w e r e d gently. . . . "I never s a w anything s o pretty." "I a m a f r a i d , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , "that you will not think R o m a n fever very pretty. T h i s is the way p e o p l e c a t c h it. I w o n d e r , " h e a d d e d , turning to Giovanelli, " t h a t you, a native R o m a n , s h o u l d c o u n t e n a n c e s u c h a terrible indiscretion." " A h , " said the h a n d s o m e native, "for myself, I a m not a f r a i d . " " N e i t h e r a m I—for you! I a m s p e a k i n g for this y o u n g lady." Giovanelli lifted his well-shaped e y e b r o w s a n d s h o w e d his brilliant teeth. B u t h e took W i n t e r b o u r n e ' s r e b u k e with docility. "I told the S i g n o r i n a it w a s a grave indiscretion; but w h e n w a s the S i g n o r i n a ever p r u d e n t ? " "I never w a s sick, a n d I don't m e a n to b e ! " the S i g n o r i n a d e c l a r e d . "I don't look like m u c h , b u t I'm healthy! I w a s b o u n d to s e e the C o l o s s e u m by m o o n light; I shouldn't have w a n t e d to go h o m e without that; a n d w e have h a d the 8. Malaria (Italian).

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m o s t beautiful time, haven't we, M r . Giovanelli! If there h a s b e e n any d a n g e r , E u g e n i o can give m e s o m e pills. H e has got s o m e splendid p i l l s . " "I s h o u l d advise y o u , " said W i n t e r b o u r n e , "to drive h o m e a s fast a s p o s s i b l e a n d take o n e ! " " W h a t you say is very w i s e , " Giovanelli rejoined. "I will go a n d m a k e s u r e the carriage is at h a n d . " And he went forward rapidly. Daisy followed with W i n t e r b o u r n e . H e kept looking at her; s h e s e e m e d not in the least e m b a r r a s s e d . W i n t e r b o u r n e said nothing; D a i s y c h a t t e r e d a b o u t the b e a u t y of the p l a c e . "Well, I have s e e n the C o l o s s e u m by m o o n light!" she e x c l a i m e d . " T h a t ' s o n e g o o d t h i n g . " T h e n , n o t i c i n g Winterb o u r n e ' s s i l e n c e , s h e a s k e d him why he didn't s p e a k . H e m a d e n o a n s w e r ; he only b e g a n to l a u g h . T h e y p a s s e d u n d e r o n e of the dark a r c h w a y s ; G i o vanelli w a s in front with the carriage. H e r e D a i s y s t o p p e d a m o m e n t , looking at the y o u n g A m e r i c a n . "Did you believe I w a s e n g a g e d the other d a y ? " s h e asked. "It doesn't m a t t e r what I believed the other d a y , " s a i d W i n t e r b o u r n e , still laughing. "Well, what d o you believe n o w ? " "I believe that it m a k e s very little difference w h e t h e r you are e n g a g e d or not!" H e felt the y o u n g girl's pretty eyes fixed u p o n him t h r o u g h the thick g l o o m of the archway; s h e w a s apparently g o i n g to a n s w e r . B u t Giovanelli hurried her forward. "Quick, q u i c k , " he said; "if we get in by midnight w e are q u i t e safe." Daisy took her seat in the c a r r i a g e , a n d the f o r t u n a t e Italian p l a c e d h i m s e l f b e s i d e her. " D o n ' t forget E u g e n i o ' s pills!" said W i n t e r b o u r n e , a s he lifted his hat. "I don't c a r e , " said Daisy, in a little s t r a n g e t o n e , " w h e t h e r I have R o m a n fever or n o t ! " U p o n this the cab-driver c r a c k e d his w h i p , a n d they rolled away over the desultory p a t c h e s of the a n t i q u e p a v e m e n t . W i n t e r b o u r n e — t o d o him j u s t i c e , a s it w e r e — m e n t i o n e d to no o n e that h e h a d e n c o u n t e r e d M i s s Miller, at midnight, in the C o l o s s e u m with a gent l e m a n ; b u t n e v e r t h e l e s s , a c o u p l e of days later, the fact of her having b e e n there u n d e r t h e s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s w a s known to every m e m b e r of the little A m e r i c a n circle, a n d c o m m e n t e d accordingly. W i n t e r b o u r n e reflected that they h a d of c o u r s e known it at the hotel, a n d that, after Daisy's return, there had b e e n a n e x c h a n g e of j o k e s b e t w e e n the porter a n d the cab-driver. B u t the y o u n g m a n was c o n s c i o u s at the s a m e m o m e n t that it h a d c e a s e d to be a m a t t e r of s e r i o u s regret to him that the little A m e r i c a n flirt s h o u l d be "talked a b o u t " by low-minded m e n i a l s . T h e s e p e o p l e , a day or two later, h a d serious information to give: the little A m e r i c a n flirt was alarmingly ill. W i n t e r b o u r n e , w h e n the r u m o r c a m e to h i m , i m m e d i a t e l y went to the hotel for m o r e n e w s . H e f o u n d that two or three c h a r i t a b l e friends h a d p r e c e d e d him, a n d that they were b e i n g e n t e r t a i n e d in M r s . Miller's salon by R a n d o l p h . "It's going r o u n d at n i g h t , " said R a n d o l p h — " t h a t ' s what m a d e her sick. S h e ' s always g o i n g r o u n d at midnight. I shouldn't think she'd w a n t to—it's s o plaguey dark. You can't s e e anything here at night, except w h e n there's a m o o n . In A m e r i c a there's always a m o o n ! " M r s . Miller w a s invisible; s h e w a s now, at least, giving her d a u g h t e r the a d v a n t a g e of her society. It w a s evident that Daisy was d a n g e r o u s l y ill.

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W i n t e r b o u r n e went often to a s k for n e w s of her, a n d o n c e he saw M r s . Miller, w h o , t h o u g h deeply a l a r m e d , w a s — r a t h e r to his s u r p r i s e — p e r f e c t l y c o m p o s e d , a n d , a s it a p p e a r e d , a m o s t efficient a n d j u d i c i o u s n u r s e . S h e talked a g o o d deal a b o u t Dr. D a v i s , b u t W i n t e r b o u r n e paid her the c o m p l i m e n t of saying to h i m s e l f that s h e w a s not, after all, s u c h a m o n s t r o u s g o o s e . " D a i s y s p o k e of you the other d a y , " s h e said to h i m . " H a l f the time s h e d o e s n ' t know what she's saying, b u t that time I think s h e did. S h e gave m e a m e s s a g e : s h e told m e to tell you. S h e told m e to tell you that s h e never w a s e n g a g e d to that h a n d s o m e Italian. I a m s u r e I a m very g l a d ; Mr. Giovanelli hasn't b e e n near u s s i n c e s h e w a s taken ill. I t h o u g h t he w a s s o m u c h of a gentlem a n ; but I don't call that very polite! A lady told m e that he w a s afraid I w a s angry with him for taking Daisy r o u n d at night. Well, so I a m ; but I s u p p o s e he knows I'm a lady. I would s c o r n to scold h i m . Any way, s h e says s h e ' s not e n g a g e d . I don't know why s h e w a n t e d you to know; but s h e said to m e t h r e e t i m e s — ' M i n d you tell M r . W i n t e r b o u r n e . ' A n d then s h e told m e to a s k if you r e m e m b e r e d the time you went to that c a s t l e , in Switzerland. B u t I said I wouldn't give any s u c h m e s s a g e s a s that. Only, if s h e is not e n g a g e d , I'm s u r e I'm glad to know it." B u t , a s W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d said, it m a t t e r e d very little. A w e e k after this the poor girl died; it h a d b e e n a terrible c a s e of the fever. Daisy's grave w a s in the little P r o t e s t a n t c e m e t e r y , in a n a n g l e of the wall of imperial R o m e , b e n e a t h the c y p r e s s e s a n d the thick spring-flowers. W i n t e r b o u r n e s t o o d there b e s i d e it, with a n u m b e r of other m o u r n e r s ; a n u m b e r larger than the s c a n d a l excited by the y o u n g lady's c a r e e r would have led you to expect. N e a r him stood Giovanelli, w h o c a m e nearer still before W i n t e r b o u r n e t u r n e d away. Giovanelli w a s very p a l e ; on this o c c a s i o n he h a d n o flower in his b u t t o n - h o l e ; he s e e m e d to wish to say s o m e t h i n g . At last he said, " S h e w a s the m o s t beautiful y o u n g lady I ever saw, a n d the m o s t a m i a b l e . " A n d then h e a d d e d in a m o m e n t , "And s h e w a s the m o s t i n n o c e n t . " W i n t e r b o u r n e looked at him, a n d presently r e p e a t e d his w o r d s , " A n d the most innocent?" "The most innocent!" W i n t e r b o u r n e felt sore a n d angry. " W h y the devil," he a s k e d , "did you take her to that fatal p l a c e ? " Mr. Giovanelli's urbanity w a s a p p a r e n t l y i m p e r t u r b a b l e . H e looked on the g r o u n d a m o m e n t , a n d then he said, " F o r myself, I h a d no fear; a n d s h e w a n t e d to g o . " " T h a t w a s no r e a s o n ! " W i n t e r b o u r n e d e c l a r e d . T h e subtle R o m a n again d r o p p e d his eyes. "If she h a d lived, I s h o u l d have got nothing. S h e w o u l d never have m a r r i e d m e , I a m s u r e . " " S h e would never have married y o u ? " "For a moment I hoped so. But no, I a m sure." W i n t e r b o u r n e listened to him; he s t o o d s t a r i n g at the raw p r o t u b e r a n c e a m o n g the April d a i s i e s . W h e n he t u r n e d away a g a i n M r . Giovanelli, with his light slow s t e p , h a d retired. W i n t e r b o u r n e a l m o s t i m m e d i a t e l y left R o m e ; but the following s u m m e r h e again m e t his a u n t , M r s . C o s t e l l o , at Vevey. M r s . C o s t e l l o w a s fond of Vevey. In the interval W i n t e r b o u r n e h a d often t h o u g h t of D a i s y Miller a n d her mystifying m a n n e r s . O n e day he s p o k e of her to his a u n t — s a i d it w a s on his c o n s c i e n c e that he h a d d o n e her i n j u s t i c e .

THE

REAL THING

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"I a m sure I don't k n o w , " said M r s . C o s t e l l o . " H o w did your injustice affect her?" " S h e sent m e a m e s s a g e before her d e a t h which 1 didn't u n d e r s t a n d at the time. B u t I have u n d e r s t o o d it s i n c e . S h e would have a p p r e c i a t e d one's esteem." "Is that a m o d e s t way," a s k e d M r s . C o s t e l l o , "of saying that s h e would have r e c i p r o c a t e d one's a f f e c t i o n ? " W i n t e r b o u r n e offered no a n s w e r to this q u e s t i o n ; but he presently said, "You were right in that r e m a r k that you m a d e last s u m m e r . I w a s b o o k e d to m a k e a m i s t a k e . I have lived too long in foreign p a r t s . " N e v e r t h e l e s s , he went b a c k to live at G e n e v a , w h e n c e there c o n t i n u e to c o m e the m o s t contradictory a c c o u n t s of his motives of s o j o u r n : a report that he is " s t u d y i n g " h a r d — a n intimation that he is m u c h interested in a very clever foreign lady. 1878,1879

The Real Thing' I W h e n the porter's wife, who u s e d to a n s w e r the h o u s e - b e l l , a n n o u n c e d "A g e n t l e m a n a n d a lady, sir" I h a d , a s I often had in t h o s e d a y s — t h e wish being father to the t h o u g h t — a n i m m e d i a t e vision of sitters. Sitters my visitors in this c a s e proved to b e ; but not in the s e n s e I s h o u l d have preferred. T h e r e was nothing at first however to i n d i c a t e that they mightn't have c o m e for a portrait. T h e g e n t l e m a n , a m a n of fifty, very high a n d very straight, with a m o u s t a c h e slightly grizzled a n d a dark grey walking-coat admirably fitted, both of which I noted professionally—I don't m e a n a s a b a r b e r or yet a s a t a i l o r — w o u l d have struck m e as a celebrity if celebrities often were striking. It w a s a truth of which I h a d for s o m e time been c o n s c i o u s that a figure with a g o o d deal of frontage w a s , a s o n e might say, a l m o s t never a public institution. A g l a n c e at the lady helped to remind m e of this paradoxical law: s h e also looked too d i s t i n g u i s h e d to be a "personality." M o r e o v e r o n e would scarcely c o m e a c r o s s two variations together. N e i t h e r of the pair immediately s p o k e — t h e y only p r o l o n g e d the preliminary gaze s u g g e s t i n g that e a c h wished to give the other a c h a n c e . T h e y were visibly shy; they stood there letting m e take t h e m i n — w h i c h , a s I afterwards perceived, was the m o s t practical thing they c o u l d have d o n e . In this way their e m b a r r a s s m e n t served their c a u s e . I had seen p e o p l e painfully reluctant to mention that they desired anything so g r o s s as to be r e p r e s e n t e d on c a n v a s ; but the s c r u p l e s of my new friends a p p e a r e d a l m o s t i n s u r m o u n t a b l e . Yet the g e n t l e m a n might have said "I s h o u l d like a portrait of my w i f e , " a n d the lady might have said "I s h o u l d like a portrait of my h u s b a n d . " P e r h a p s they weren't h u s b a n d a n d w i f e — t h i s naturally would m a k e the m a t t e r m o r e delicate. P e r h a p s they wished to be d o n e t o g e t h e r — i n which c a s e they o u g h t to have brought a third p e r s o n to break the n e w s . 1. This "little gem of hright, quick vivid form," as J a m e s called it, first appeared in Black and Wfyite on April 16, 1892; in "The Real Thing" and Other

Tales ( 1 8 9 3 ) ; and finally in Vol. 18 ( 1 9 0 9 ) of the New York edition, the source of the text printed here.

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" W e c o m e from Mr. Rivet," the lady finally said with a d i m smile that h a d the effect of a m o i s t s p o n g e p a s s e d over a " s u n k " 2 p i e c e of p a i n t i n g , a s well a s of a v a g u e allusion to v a n i s h e d beauty. S h e was a s tall a n d straight, in her d e g r e e , a s her c o m p a n i o n , a n d with ten years less to carry. S h e l o o k e d a s s a d a s a w o m a n c o u l d look w h o s e f a c e w a s not c h a r g e d with e x p r e s s i o n ; that is her tinted oval m a s k s h o w e d w a s t e a s an e x p o s e d s u r f a c e s h o w s friction. T h e h a n d of time h a d played over her freely, but to a n effect of e l i m i n a t i o n . S h e w a s slim a n d stiff, a n d s o well-dressed, in dark b l u e cloth, with l a p p e t s a n d p o c k e t s a n d b u t t o n s , that it was clear s h e e m p l o y e d the s a m e tailor a s her h u s b a n d . T h e c o u p l e h a d a n indefinable air of p r o s p e r o u s thrift—they evidently got a g o o d deal of luxury for their m o n e y . If I w a s to b e o n e of their luxuries it would b e h o v e m e to c o n s i d e r my t e r m s . "Ah C l a u d e Rivet r e c o m m e n d e d m e ? " I e c h o e d ; a n d I a d d e d that it w a s very kind of him, t h o u g h I c o u l d reflect that, a s he only p a i n t e d l a n d s c a p e , this wasn't a sacrifice. T h e lady looked very hard at the g e n t l e m a n , a n d the g e n t l e m a n looked r o u n d the r o o m . T h e n staring at the floor a m o m e n t a n d stroking his m o u s t a c h e , he rested his p l e a s a n t eyes o n m e with the remark: " H e s a i d you were the right o n e . " "I try to b e , w h e n p e o p l e want to sit." "Yes, we s h o u l d like t o , " said the lady anxiously. " D o you m e a n t o g e t h e r ? " M y visitors e x c h a n g e d a g l a n c e . "If you c o u l d d o a n y t h i n g with me I s u p p o s e it w o u l d be d o u b l e , " the g e n t l e m a n s t a m m e r e d . " O h yes, there's naturally a higher c h a r g e for two figures t h a n for o n e . " " W e s h o u l d like to m a k e it p a y , " the h u s b a n d c o n f e s s e d . " T h a t ' s very g o o d of y o u , " I r e t u r n e d , a p p r e c i a t i n g s o u n w o n t e d a s y m p a thy—-for I s u p p o s e d he m e a n t pay the artist. A s e n s e of s t r a n g e n e s s s e e m e d to draw on the lady. " W e m e a n for the i l l u s t r a t i o n s — M r . Rivet s a i d you might p u t o n e i n . " " P u t i n — a n i l l u s t r a t i o n ? " I w a s equally c o n f u s e d . " S k e t c h her off, you k n o w , " said the g e n t l e m a n , c o l o u r i n g . It w a s only then that I u n d e r s t o o d the service C l a u d e Rivet h a d r e n d e r e d m e ; he h a d told t h e m how I worked in black-and-white, for m a g a z i n e s , for storybooks, for s k e t c h e s of c o n t e m p o r a r y life, a n d c o n s e q u e n t l y h a d c o p i o u s e m p l o y m e n t for m o d e l s . T h e s e things were t r u e , but it w a s not less t r u e — I m a y c o n f e s s it now; w h e t h e r b e c a u s e the a s p i r a t i o n w a s to lead to everything or to n o t h i n g I leave the r e a d e r to g u e s s — t h a t I couldn't get the h o n o u r s , to say n o t h i n g of the e m o l u m e n t s , of a great p a i n t e r of portraits o u t of my h e a d . M y " i l l u s t r a t i o n s " were my pot-boilers; I looked to a different b r a n c h of a r t — far a n d away the m o s t interesting it h a d always s e e m e d to m e — t o p e r p e t u a t e my f a m e . T h e r e w a s no s h a m e in looking to it a l s o to m a k e my f o r t u n e ; but that fortune w a s by s o m u c h further from b e i n g m a d e from the m o m e n t my visitors w i s h e d to b e " d o n e " for nothing. I w a s d i s a p p o i n t e d ; for in the pictorial s e n s e I h a d i m m e d i a t e l y seen t h e m . I h a d seized their t y p e — I h a d already settled what I w o u l d d o with it. S o m e t h i n g that wouldn't a b s o l u t e l y have p l e a s e d t h e m , I afterwards reflected. "Ah y o u ' r e — y o u ' r e — a — ? " I b e g a n a s s o o n a s I h a d m a s t e r e d my s u r p r i s e . 2. When colors lose their brilliance after they have dried on the canvas, they are said to have "sunk in."

THE REAL THING

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1541

I couldn't bring out the dingy word "models": it s e e m e d s o little to fit the case. " W e haven't had m u c h p r a c t i c e , " said the lady. "We've got to do s o m e t h i n g , a n d we've thought that a n artist in your line might p e r h a p s m a k e s o m e t h i n g of u s , " her h u s b a n d threw off. H e further m e n t i o n e d that they didn't know m a n y artists a n d that they h a d g o n e first, on the o f f - c h a n c e — h e p a i n t e d views of c o u r s e , but s o m e t i m e s put in figures; p e r h a p s I r e m e m b e r e d — t o Mr. Rivet, w h o m they had m e t a few years before at a p l a c e in Norfolk w h e r e he w a s sketching. " W e u s e d to sketch a little o u r s e l v e s , " the lady hinted. "It's very awkward, but we absolutely must do s o m e t h i n g , " her h u s b a n d went o n . " O f c o u r s e we're not so very y o u n g , " s h e a d m i t t e d with a wan s m i l e . With the r e m a r k that I might a s well know s o m e t h i n g m o r e a b o u t t h e m the h u s b a n d h a d h a n d e d m e a c a r d extracted from a neat new p o c k e t - b o o k — their a p p u r t e n a n c e s were all of the f r e s h e s t — a n d inscribed with the w o r d s " M a j o r M o n a r c h . " I m p r e s s i v e a s t h e s e w o r d s were they didn't carry my k n o w l e d g e m u c h further; but my visitor presently a d d e d : "I've left the army a n d we've had the m i s f o r t u n e to lose our m o n e y . In fact our m e a n s are dreadfully s m a l l . " "It's awfully trying—a regular s t r a i n , " s a i d M r s . M o n a r c h . T h e y evidently w i s h e d to be d i s c r e e t — t o take c a r e not to s w a g g e r b e c a u s e they were gentlefolk. I felt t h e m willing to r e c o g n i s e this a s s o m e t h i n g of a d r a w b a c k , at the s a m e time that I g u e s s e d at an underlying s e n s e — t h e i r c o n s o l a t i o n in adversity—that they had their points. T h e y certainly h a d ; but these a d v a n t a g e s s t r u c k m e a s p r e p o n d e r a n t l y social; s u c h for i n s t a n c e a s would help to m a k e a drawing-room look well. However, a drawing-room w a s always, or o u g h t to b e , a p i c t u r e . In c o n s e q u e n c e of his wife's allusion to their a g e M a j o r M o n a r c h o b s e r v e d : "Naturally it's m o r e for the figure that we thought of g o i n g in. W e c a n still hold ourselves u p . " O n the instant I s a w that the figure w a s i n d e e d their strong point. His "naturally" didn't s o u n d vain, but it lighted u p the q u e s t i o n . "She has the b e s t o n e , " he c o n t i n u e d , n o d d i n g at his wife with a p l e a s a n t after-dinner a b s e n c e of c i r c u m l o c u t i o n . I c o u l d only reply, a s if we were in fact sitting over our w i n e , that this didn't prevent his own from b e i n g very good; which led him in turn to m a k e a n s w e r : " W e thought that if you ever have to do p e o p l e like u s we might be s o m e t h i n g like it. She particularly— for a lady in a book, you k n o w . " I w a s so a m u s e d by t h e m that, to get m o r e of it, I did my b e s t to take their point of view; a n d t h o u g h it w a s an e m b a r r a s s m e n t to find myself a p p r a i s i n g physically, a s if they were a n i m a l s on hire or useful b l a c k s , a pair w h o m I s h o u l d have expected to m e e t only in o n e of the relations in which criticism is tacit, I looked at M r s . M o n a r c h judicially e n o u g h to b e a b l e to exclaim after a m o m e n t with conviction: " O h yes, a lady in a b o o k ! " S h e w a s singularly like a bad illustration. "We'll s t a n d u p , if you like," said the M a j o r ; a n d he raised h i m s e l f before m e with a really grand air. I could take his m e a s u r e at a g l a n c e — h e w a s six feet two a n d a perfect g e n t l e m a n . It would have paid any c l u b in p r o c e s s of formation a n d in want of a s t a m p to e n g a g e him at a salary to s t a n d in the principal window. W h a t

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s t r u c k m e at o n c e w a s that in c o m i n g to m e they h a d rather m i s s e d their vocation; they c o u l d surely have b e e n t u r n e d to better a c c o u n t for advertising p u r p o s e s . I couldn't of c o u r s e s e e the thing in detail, b u t I c o u l d s e e t h e m m a k e s o m e b o d y ' s f o r t u n e — I don't m e a n their own. T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g in t h e m for a w a i s t c o a t - m a k e r , a n hotel-keeper or a s o a p - v e n d o r . I c o u l d i m a g ine " W e always u s e it" p i n n e d on their b o s o m s with the g r e a t e s t effect; I h a d a vision of the brilliancy with which they would l a u n c h a table d ' h o t e . 3 M r s . M o n a r c h sat still, not from pride but from s h y n e s s , a n d p r e s e n t l y her h u s b a n d said to her; " G e t u p , my d e a r , a n d s h o w how s m a r t you a r e . " S h e obeyed, but s h e h a d no n e e d to get u p to s h o w it. S h e walked to the e n d of the studio a n d then c a m e b a c k b l u s h i n g , her fluttered eyes o n the p a r t n e r of her a p p e a l . I w a s r e m i n d e d of a n incident I h a d accidentally h a d a g l i m p s e of in P a r i s — b e i n g with a friend there, a d r a m a t i s t a b o u t to p r o d u c e a play, w h e n an a c t r e s s c a m e to him to a s k to be e n t r u s t e d with a p a r t . S h e went t h r o u g h her p a c e s before him, walked u p a n d d o w n a s M r s . M o n a r c h w a s d o i n g . M r s . M o n a r c h did it q u i t e a s well, but I a b s t a i n e d f r o m a p p l a u d i n g . It w a s very o d d to s e e s u c h p e o p l e apply for s u c h p o o r pay. S h e looked a s if s h e h a d ten t h o u s a n d a year. H e r h u s b a n d h a d u s e d the word that d e s c r i b e d her: s h e w a s in the L o n d o n current j a r g o n essentially a n d typically " s m a r t . " H e r figure w a s , in the s a m e order of i d e a s , c o n s p i c u o u s l y a n d irreproachably " g o o d . " F o r a w o m a n of her a g e her waist w a s surprisingly s m a l l ; her e l b o w moreover h a d the orthodox crook. S h e held her h e a d at the c o n v e n t i o n a l a n g l e , but why did s h e c o m e to me} S h e o u g h t to h a v e tried o n j a c k e t s at a big s h o p . I feared my visitors were not only d e s t i t u t e but " a r t i s t i c " — w h i c h would be a great c o m p l i c a t i o n . W h e n s h e s a t d o w n a g a i n I t h a n k e d her, observing that what a d r a u g h t s m a n m o s t v a l u e d in his m o d e l w a s the faculty of k e e p i n g q u i e t . " O h she c a n k e e p q u i e t , " said M a j o r M o n a r c h . T h e n h e a d d e d j o c o s e l y : "I've always kept her q u i e t . " "I'm not a nasty fidget, a m I ? " It w a s g o i n g to wring tears from m e , I felt, the way s h e hid her h e a d , ostrich-like, in the other b r o a d b o s o m . T h e o w n e r of this e x p a n s e a d d r e s s e d his a n s w e r to m e . " P e r h a p s it isn't o u t of p l a c e to m e n t i o n — b e c a u s e we o u g h t to b e q u i t e b u s i n e s s - l i k e , oughtn't w e ? — t h a t w h e n I married her s h e w a s k n o w n a s the Beautiful Statue." " O h d e a r ! " said M r s . M o n a r c h ruefully. " O f c o u r s e I s h o u l d w a n t a certain a m o u n t of e x p r e s s i o n , " I rejoined. " O f coursel"—and I h a d never h e a r d s u c h u n a n i m i t y . " A n d then I s u p p o s e you know that you'll get awfully tired." " O h we never get tired!" they eagerly c r i e d . " H a v e you h a d any kind of p r a c t i c e ? " T h e y hesitated-—they looked at e a c h other. "We've b e e n p h o t o g r a p h e d — immensely," said Mrs. Monarch. " S h e m e a n s the fellows have a s k e d u s t h e m s e l v e s , " a d d e d the M a j o r . "I s e e — b e c a u s e you're so g o o d - l o o k i n g . " "I don't know what they t h o u g h t , b u t they were always after u s . " " W e always got our p h o t o g r a p h s for n o t h i n g , " s m i l e d M r s . M o n a r c h . " W e might have b r o u g h t s o m e , my d e a r , " her h u s b a n d r e m a r k e d . 3. A c o m m o n table for guests at a hotel.

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"I'm not s u r e w e have any left. We've given q u a n t i t i e s a w a y , " s h e explained to m e . "With our a u t o g r a p h s a n d that sort of thing," said the M a j o r . "Are they to be got in the s h o p s ? " I e n q u i r e d a s a h a r m l e s s pleasantry. " O h yes, hers—they u s e d to b e . " " N o t n o w , " said M r s . M o n a r c h with her eyes on the floor.

// I c o u l d fancy the "sort of thing" they put on the p r e s e n t a t i o n c o p i e s of their p h o t o g r a p h s , a n d I w a s sure they wrote a beautiful h a n d . It w a s odd how quickly I w a s s u r e of everything that c o n c e r n e d t h e m . If they were now so poor as to have to earn shillings a n d p e n c e they c o u l d never have h a d m u c h of a m a r g i n . Their g o o d looks h a d b e e n their c a p i t a l , a n d they h a d g o o d - h u m o u r e d l y m a d e the m o s t of the career that this r e s o u r c e m a r k e d out for t h e m . It w a s in their f a c e s , the b l a n k n e s s , the d e e p intellectual r e p o s e of the twenty years of c o u n t r y - h o u s e visiting that h a d given t h e m p l e a s a n t inton a t i o n s . I c o u l d s e e the s u n n y d r a w i n g - r o o m s , sprinkled with p e r i o d i c a l s s h e didn't r e a d , in which M r s . M o n a r c h h a d c o n t i n u o u s l y s a t ; I c o u l d s e e the wet s h r u b b e r i e s in which s h e h a d walked, e q u i p p e d to a d m i r a t i o n for either exercise. I c o u l d s e e the rich c o v e r s 4 the M a j o r h a d h e l p e d to s h o o t a n d the wonderful g a r m e n t s in w h i c h , late at night, he repaired to the s m o k i n g - r o o m to talk a b o u t t h e m . I c o u l d i m a g i n e their leggings a n d w a t e r p r o o f s , their knowing tweeds a n d r u g s , their rolls of sticks a n d c a s e s of t a c k l e a n d neat u m b r e l l a s ; a n d I could evoke the exact a p p e a r a n c e of their servants a n d the c o m p a c t variety of their l u g g a g e on the p l a t f o r m s of c o u n t r y s t a t i o n s . T h e y gave small tips, but they were liked; they didn't d o anything t h e m selves, but they were w e l c o m e . T h e y looked s o well everywhere; they gratified the general relish for s t a t u r e , c o m p l e x i o n a n d " f o r m . " T h e y k n e w it without fatuity or vulgarity, a n d they r e s p e c t e d t h e m s e l v e s in c o n s e q u e n c e . T h e y weren't superficial; they were t h o r o u g h a n d kept t h e m s e l v e s u p — i t h a d b e e n their line. P e o p l e with s u c h a taste for activity h a d to have s o m e line. I c o u l d feel how even in a dull h o u s e they c o u l d have b e e n c o u n t e d on for the j o y of life. At p r e s e n t s o m e t h i n g h a d h a p p e n e d — i t didn't m a t t e r w h a t , their little i n c o m e h a d grown l e s s , it h a d grown l e a s t — a n d they h a d to d o s o m e t h i n g for pocket-money. T h e i r friends c o u l d like t h e m , I m a d e o u t , without liking to s u p p o r t t h e m . T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g a b o u t t h e m that r e p r e s e n t e d c r e d i t — their c l o t h e s , their m a n n e r s , their type; but if credit is a large e m p t y pocket in which an o c c a s i o n a l c h i n k reverberates, the c h i n k at least m u s t be a u d i b l e . W h a t they w a n t e d of m e w a s to help to m a k e it s o . F o r t u n a t e l y they h a d no c h i l d r e n — I s o o n divined that. T h e y would also p e r h a p s wish o u r relations to b e kept secret: this w a s why it w a s "for the figure"—the r e p r o d u c t i o n of the f a c e would betray t h e m . I liked t h e m — I felt, q u i t e a s their friends m u s t have d o n e — t h e y were s o s i m p l e ; a n d I h a d no objection to t h e m if they w o u l d suit. B u t s o m e h o w with all their perfections I didn't easily believe in t h e m . After all they were a m a t e u r s , a n d the ruling p a s s i o n of my life w a s the d e t e s t a t i o n of the a m a t e u r . C o m b i n e d with this w a s a n o t h e r p e r v e r s i t y — a n i n n a t e p r e f e r e n c e for the 4. I.e., successful bagging of game birds.

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r e p r e s e n t e d s u b j e c t over the real o n e : the d e f e c t of the real o n e w a s s o a p t to be a lack of r e p r e s e n t a t i o n . I liked things that a p p e a r e d ; then o n e w a s s u r e . W h e t h e r they were or not was a s u b o r d i n a t e a n d a l m o s t always a profitless q u e s t i o n . T h e r e were other c o n s i d e r a t i o n s , the first of which w a s that I already h a d two or three recruits in u s e , notably a y o u n g p e r s o n with big feet, in a l p a c a , from Kilburn, w h o for a c o u p l e of years h a d c o m e to m e regularly for my illustrations a n d with w h o m I was s t i l l — p e r h a p s i g n o b l y — satisfied. I frankly explained to my visitors how the c a s e s t o o d , b u t they h a d taken m o r e p r e c a u t i o n s than I s u p p o s e d . T h e y h a d r e a s o n e d o u t their opportunity, for C l a u d e Rivet h a d told t h e m of the p r o j e c t e d edition de luxe of o n e of the writers of our d a y — t h e rarest of the n o v e l i s t s — w h o , long n e g l e c t e d by the m u l t i t u d i n o u s vulgar a n d dearly prized by the attentive (need I m e n tion Philip V i n c e n t ? ) 5 h a d h a d the h a p p y fortune of s e e i n g , late in life, the d a w n a n d then the full light of a higher criticism; a n e s t i m a t e in w h i c h on the part of the public there w a s s o m e t h i n g really of expiation. T h e edition preparing, p l a n n e d by a p u b l i s h e r of t a s t e , w a s practically a n a c t of high r e p a r a t i o n ; the w o o d - c u t s with which it w a s to be e n r i c h e d were the h o m a g e of E n g l i s h art to o n e of the m o s t i n d e p e n d e n t r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s of E n g l i s h letters. M a j o r a n d M r s . M o n a r c h c o n f e s s e d to m e they h a d h o p e d I might be able to work them into my b r a n c h of the e n t e r p r i s e . T h e y k n e w I w a s to do the first of the b o o k s , " R u t l a n d R a m s a y , " b u t I h a d to m a k e c l e a r to t h e m that my participation in the rest of the affair— : this first b o o k w a s to b e a t e s t — m u s t d e p e n d on the satisfaction I s h o u l d give. If this s h o u l d be limited my e m p l o y e r s would d r o p m e with s c a r c e c o m m o n f o r m s . It w a s therefore a crisis for m e , a n d naturally I w a s m a k i n g s p e c i a l p r e p a r a t i o n s , looking a b o u t for new p e o p l e , s h o u l d they b e n e c e s s a r y , a n d s e c u r i n g the b e s t types. I a d m i t t e d however that I s h o u l d like to settle d o w n to two or three g o o d m o d e l s w h o would do for everything. " S h o u l d we have often t o — a — p u t on special c l o t h e s ? " M r s . M o n a r c h timidly d e m a n d e d . " D e a r y e s — t h a t ' s half the b u s i n e s s . " "And s h o u l d we b e e x p e c t e d to supply our own c o s t u m e s ? " " O h n o ; I've got a lot of things. A painter's m o d e l s p u t o n — o r p u t off— anything h e l i k e s . " "And you m e a n — a — t h e s a m e ? " "The same?" M r s . M o n a r c h looked at her h u s b a n d a g a i n . " O h s h e w a s j u s t w o n d e r i n g , " he e x p l a i n e d , "if the c o s t u m e s a r e in general u s e . " I h a d to c o n f e s s that they w e r e , a n d I m e n t i o n e d further that s o m e of t h e m — I h a d a lot of g e n u i n e greasy last-century t h i n g s — h a d served their t i m e , a h u n d r e d years a g o , on living world-stained m e n a n d w o m e n ; o n figu r e s not p e r h a p s so far r e m o v e d , in that v a n i s h e d world, from their type, the M o n a r c h s ' , quoi! ' of a b r e e c h e d a n d bewigged a g e . "We'll put o n a n y t h i n g that fits," said the M a j o r . " O h I a r r a n g e t h a t — t h e y fit in the p i c t u r e s . " "I'm afraid I s h o u l d do better for the m o d e r n b o o k s . I'd c o m e a s you like," said M r s . M o n a r c h . 1

5. Obviously J a m e s , here indulging in some goodnaturcd complaining and fantasizing.

6. What! (French),

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" S h e has got a lot of clothes at h o m e : they might do for c o n t e m p o r a r y life," her h u s b a n d c o n t i n u e d . " O h I can fancy s c e n e s in which you'd be q u i t e n a t u r a l . " A n d i n d e e d I could see the s l i p s h o d r e a r r a n g e m e n t s of stale p r o p e r t i e s — t h e stories I tried to p r o d u c e p i c t u r e s for without the exasperation of r e a d i n g t h e m — w h o s e sandy tracts the g o o d lady might help to p e o p l e . B u t I h a d to return to the fact that for this sort of w o r k — t h e daily m e c h a n i c a l g r i n d — I w a s already e q u i p p e d : the p e o p l e I w a s working with were fully a d e q u a t e . " W e only thought we might be m o r e like some c h a r a c t e r s , " s a i d M r s . M o n arch mildly, getting u p . H e r h u s b a n d a l s o r o s e ; h e s t o o d looking at m e with a d i m wistfulness that was t o u c h i n g in so fine a m a n . "Wouldn't it b e rather a pull s o m e t i m e s to h a v e — a — t o h a v e — ? " H e h u n g fire; he w a n t e d m e to help him by p h r a s i n g what he m e a n t . B u t I c o u l d n ' t — I didn't know. S o he b r o u g h t it out awkwardly: " T h e real thing; a g e n t l e m a n , you know, or a lady." I w a s quite ready to give a general a s s e n t — I a d m i t t e d that there w a s a great deal in that. T h i s e n c o u r a g e d M a j o r M o n a r c h to say, following u p his a p p e a l with a n u n a c t e d gulp: "It's awfully h a r d — w e ' v e tried everything." T h e gulp w a s c o m m u n i c a tive; it proved too m u c h for his wife. B e f o r e I knew it M r s . M o n a r c h h a d d r o p p e d again u p o n a divan a n d burst into t e a r s . H e r h u s b a n d sat d o w n b e s i d e her, holding o n e of her h a n d s ; w h e r e u p o n s h e quickly dried her eyes with the other, while I felt e m b a r r a s s e d a s s h e looked u p at m e . " T h e r e isn't a c o n f o u n d e d j o b I haven't applied f o r — w a i t e d f o r — p r a y e d for. You c a n fancy we'd be pretty bad first. S e c r e t a r y s h i p s a n d that sort of thing? You might as well a s k for a p e e r a g e . I'd be anything—I'm strong; a m e s s e n g e r or a coalheaver. I'd put on a gold-laced c a p a n d o p e n c a r r i a g e - d o o r s in front of the h a b e r d a s h e r ' s ; I'd h a n g a b o u t a station to carry p o r t m a n t e a u x ; I'd b e a p o s t m a n . B u t they won't look at you; there are t h o u s a n d s a s g o o d a s yourself already on the g r o u n d . Gentlemen, poor b e g g a r s , who've d r u n k their w i n e , who've kept their h u n t e r s ! " I was a s r e a s s u r i n g as I knew how to b e , a n d my visitors were presently on their feet a g a i n while, for the experiment, we a g r e e d on a n hour. W e were d i s c u s s i n g it w h e n the d o o r o p e n e d a n d M i s s C h u r m c a m e in with a wet umbrella. M i s s C h u r m h a d to take the o m n i b u s to M a i d a V a l e a n d then walk half a mile. S h e looked a trifle blowsy a n d slightly s p l a s h e d . I scarcely ever saw her c o m e in without thinking afresh how o d d it w a s that, b e i n g s o little in herself, she s h o u l d yet be so m u c h in o t h e r s . S h e w a s a m e a g r e little M i s s C h u r m , but w a s s u c h an a m p l e h e r o i n e of r o m a n c e . S h e w a s only a freckled c o c k n e y , 7 but s h e c o u l d r e p r e s e n t everything, from a fine lady to a s h e p h e r d e s s ; s h e h a d the faculty a s s h e might have h a d a fine voice or long hair. S h e couldn't spell a n d s h e loved beer, but s h e h a d two or three " p o i n t s , " a n d p r a c t i c e , a n d a knack, a n d mother-wit, a n d a w h i m s i c a l sensibility, a n d a love of the theatre, a n d seven sisters, a n d not a n o u n c e of r e s p e c t , especially for the h. T h e first thing my visitors s a w w a s that her u m b r e l l a w a s wet, a n d in their s p o t l e s s perfection they visibly winced at it. T h e rain had c o m e on since their arrival. "I'm all in a soak; there was a m e s s of p e o p l e in the 'bus. I wish you lived 7. Native of London, especially the East End. T h e cockney dialect is known for dropping It's; e.g., hair would be pronounced air.

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n e a r a stytion," s a i d M i s s C h u r m . I r e q u e s t e d her to get ready a s quickly a s p o s s i b l e , a n d s h e p a s s e d into the r o o m in which s h e always c h a n g e d her d r e s s . B u t before g o i n g o u t s h e a s k e d m e w h a t she was to get into this t i m e . "It's the R u s s i a n p r i n c e s s , don't you k n o w ? " I a n s w e r e d ; " t h e o n e with the 'golden eyes,' in b l a c k velvet, for the long thing in the Chea-pside."" " G o l d e n eyes? I say!" cried M i s s C h u r m , while my c o m p a n i o n s w a t c h e d her with intensity as s h e withdrew. S h e always a r r a n g e d herself, w h e n s h e w a s late, before I c o u l d turn a r o u n d ; a n d I kept my visitors a little o n p u r p o s e , s o that they might get a n idea, from s e e i n g her, what would b e e x p e c t e d of t h e m s e l v e s . I m e n t i o n e d that s h e w a s q u i t e my notion of a n e x c e l l e n t m o d e l — s h e w a s really very clever. " D o you think she looks like a R u s s i a n p r i n c e s s ? " M a j o r M o n a r c h a s k e d with lurking a l a r m . " W h e n I m a k e her, y e s . " " O h if you have to make h e r — ! " he r e a s o n e d , not without point. " T h a t ' s the m o s t you c a n ask. T h e r e are s o m a n y who are not m a k e a b l e . " "Well now, here's a l a d y " — a n d with a p e r s u a s i v e smile h e p a s s e d his a r m into his w i f e ' s — " w h o ' s already m a d e ! " " O h I'm not a R u s s i a n p r i n c e s s , " M r s . M o n a r c h p r o t e s t e d a little coldly. I c o u l d s e e s h e h a d known s o m e a n d didn't like t h e m . T h e r e at o n c e w a s a c o m p l i c a t i o n of a kind I never h a d to fear with M i s s C h u r m . T h i s y o u n g lady c a m e b a c k in b l a c k v e l v e t — t h e gown w a s rather rusty a n d very low o n her lean s h o u l d e r s — a n d with a J a p a n e s e fan in her red h a n d s . I r e m i n d e d her that in the s c e n e I w a s d o i n g s h e h a d to look over s o m e o n e ' s h e a d . "I forget w h o s e it is; b u t it doesn't matter. J u s t look over a h e a d . " "I'd rather look over a s t o v e , " said M i s s C h u r m ; a n d s h e t o o k her station n e a r the fire. S h e fell into position, settled herself into a tall a t t i t u d e , g a v e a certain b a c k w a r d inclination to her h e a d a n d a certain forward d r o o p to her fan, a n d looked, at least to my p r e j u d i c e d s e n s e , d i s t i n g u i s h e d a n d c h a r m i n g , foreign a n d d a n g e r o u s . W e left her looking so while I went downstairs with M a j o r a n d M r s . M o n a r c h . "I believe I c o u l d c o m e a b o u t a s n e a r it a s t h a t , " s a i d M r s . M o n a r c h . " O h , you think she's s h a b b y , but you m u s t allow for the a l c h e m y of a r t . " However, they went off with a n evident i n c r e a s e of c o m f o r t f o u n d e d on their d e m o n s t r a b l e a d v a n t a g e in b e i n g the real thing. I c o u l d fancy t h e m s h u d d e r i n g over M i s s C h u r m . S h e w a s very droll a b o u t t h e m w h e n I went b a c k , for I told her what they w a n t e d . "Well, if she c a n sit I'll tyke to b o o k k e e p i n g , " s a i d my m o d e l . " S h e ' s very ladylike," I replied a s a n i n n o c e n t form of a g g r a v a t i o n . " S o m u c h the worse for you. T h a t m e a n s s h e can't turn r o u n d . " "She'll d o for the f a s h i o n a b l e n o v e l s . " " O h yes, she'll do for t h e m ! " my m o d e l h u m o r o u s l y d e c l a r e d . "Ain't they b a d e n o u g h without h e r ? " I h a d often sociably d e n o u n c e d t h e m to M i s s Churm. •

Ill It w a s for the e l u c i d a t i o n of a mystery in o n e of t h e s e works that I first tried M r s . M o n a r c h . H e r h u s b a n d c a m e with her, to b e useful if n e c e s s a r y — 8. Imaginary magazine named after a main business street in London.

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it w a s sufficiently clear that a s a general thing he would prefer to c o m e with her. At first I w o n d e r e d if this were for "propriety's" s a k e — i f he were going to be j e a l o u s a n d m e d d l i n g . T h e idea w a s too t i r e s o m e , a n d if it h a d been confirmed it would speedily have brought our a c q u a i n t a n c e to a c l o s e . B u t I s o o n saw there was nothing in it a n d that if he a c c o m p a n i e d M r s . M o n a r c h it w a s — i n addition to the c h a n c e of being w a n t e d — s i m p l y b e c a u s e he h a d nothing else to d o . W h e n they were s e p a r a t e his o c c u p a t i o n w a s g o n e a n d they never had b e e n s e p a r a t e . I j u d g e d rightly that in their a w k w a r d situation their c l o s e union w a s their main comfort a n d that this u n i o n h a d no w e a k spot. It w a s a real m a r r i a g e , a n e n c o u r a g e m e n t to the h e s i t a t i n g , a nut for p e s s i m i s t s to crack. T h e i r a d d r e s s w a s h u m b l e — I r e m e m b e r afterwards thinking it h a d b e e n the only thing a b o u t t h e m that w a s really p r o f e s s i o n a l — a n d I c o u l d fancy the l a m e n t a b l e lodgings in which the M a j o r would have been left a l o n e . H e c o u l d sit there m o r e or less grimly with his w i f e — h e couldn't sit there a n y h o w without her. H e h a d too m u c h tact to try and m a k e himself a g r e e a b l e w h e n he c o u l d n ' t be useful; s o w h e n I w a s too a b s o r b e d in my work to talk h e simply sat a n d waited. B u t I liked to hear him talk—it m a d e my work, w h e n not interrupting it, less m e c h a n i c a l , less s p e c i a l . T o listen to him w a s to c o m b i n e the excitem e n t of going o u t with the e c o n o m y of staying at h o m e . T h e r e w a s only o n e h i n d r a n c e — t h a t I s e e m e d not to know any of the p e o p l e this brilliant c o u p l e had known. I think h e w o n d e r e d extremely, d u r i n g the term of our interc o u r s e , w h o m the d e u c e I did know. H e hadn't a stray s i x p e n c e of a n idea to f u m b l e for, s o we didn't spin it very fine; we confined ourselves to q u e s tions of leather a n d even of l i q u o r — s a d d l e r s a n d b r e e c h e s - m a k e r s a n d how to get excellent claret c h e a p — a n d m a t t e r s like " g o o d t r a i n s " a n d the habits of small g a m e . His lore on t h e s e last s u b j e c t s w a s a s t o n i s h i n g — h e m a n a g e d to interweave the s t a t i o n - m a s t e r with the ornithologist. W h e n h e couldn't talk a b o u t greater things h e c o u l d talk cheerfully a b o u t smaller, a n d s i n c e I couldn't a c c o m p a n y him into r e m i n i s c e n c e s of the f a s h i o n a b l e world he could lower the c o n v e r s a t i o n without a visible effort to my level. S o e a r n e s t a desire to p l e a s e w a s t o u c h i n g in a m a n w h o c o u l d s o easily have k n o c k e d o n e d o w n . H e looked after the fire a n d had an o p i n i o n on the draught of the stove without my a s k i n g him, a n d I c o u l d s e e that he thought m a n y of my a r r a n g e m e n t s not half knowing. I r e m e m b e r telling him that if I were only rich I'd offer him a salary to c o m e a n d t e a c h m e how to live. S o m e t i m e s he gave a r a n d o m sigh of which the e s s e n c e might have b e e n : "Give m e even s u c h a bare old b a r r a c k a s this, a n d I'd do s o m e t h i n g with it!" W h e n I w a n t e d to u s e him he c a m e a l o n e ; which w a s a n illustration of the superior c o u r a g e of w o m e n . His wife c o u l d b e a r her solitary s e c o n d floor, a n d she w a s in general m o r e d i s c r e e t ; showing by v a r i o u s small reserves that she was alive to the propriety of keeping our relations markedly profess i o n a l — n o t letting t h e m slide into sociability. S h e w i s h e d it to r e m a i n clear that s h e a n d the M a j o r were e m p l o y e d , not cultivated, a n d if s h e a p p r o v e d of m e a s a superior, w h o could be kept in his p l a c e , s h e never thought m e quite good e n o u g h for a n e q u a l . S h e sat with great intensity, giving the whole of her mind to it, a n d w a s c a p a b l e of r e m a i n i n g for an hour a l m o s t a s m o t i o n l e s s a s before a photographer's lens. I could see s h e had b e e n p h o t o g r a p h e d often, but s o m e h o w the very habit that m a d e her good for that p u r p o s e unfitted her for m i n e . At first I w a s extremely p l e a s e d with her ladylike air, a n d it w a s a satisfaction,

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on c o m i n g to follow her lines, to s e e how g o o d they were a n d h o w far they c o u l d lead the pencil. B u t after a little s k i r m i s h i n g I b e g a n to find her too i n s u r m o u n t a b l y stiff; d o what I would with it my drawing looked like a p h o t o g r a p h or a copy of a p h o t o g r a p h . H e r figure had no variety of e x p r e s s i o n — s h e herself h a d n o s e n s e of variety. You m a y say that this w a s my b u s i n e s s a n d w a s only a q u e s t i o n of p l a c i n g her. Yet I p l a c e d her in every c o n c e i v a b l e position a n d she m a n a g e d to obliterate their differences. S h e w a s always a lady certainly, a n d into the bargain w a s always the s a m e lady. S h e w a s the real thing, but always the s a m e thing. T h e r e were m o m e n t s w h e n I rather writhed u n d e r the serenity of her c o n f i d e n c e that s h e was the real thing. All her d e a l i n g s with m e a n d all her h u s b a n d ' s were a n implication that this w a s lucky for me. M e a n w h i l e I f o u n d myself trying to invent types that a p p r o a c h e d her own, i n s t e a d of m a k i n g her own t r a n s f o r m itself—in the clever way that w a s not i m p o s s i b l e for i n s t a n c e to p o o r M i s s C h u r m . A r r a n g e a s I would a n d take the p r e c a u t i o n s I w o u l d , s h e always c a m e o u t , in my p i c t u r e s , too t a l l — l a n d i n g m e in the d i l e m m a of having r e p r e s e n t e d a fasc i n a t i n g w o m a n as seven feet high, which (out of respect p e r h a p s to my own very m u c h scantier i n c h e s ) w a s far from my idea of s u c h a p e r s o n a g e . T h e c a s e w a s w o r s e with the M a j o r — n o t h i n g I c o u l d do w o u l d k e e p him d o w n , so that he b e c a m e useful only for r e p r e s e n t a t i o n of brawny g i a n t s . I a d o r e d variety a n d r a n g e , I c h e r i s h e d h u m a n a c c i d e n t s , the illustrative n o t e ; I w a n t e d to c h a r a c t e r i s e closely, a n d the thing in the world I m o s t h a t e d w a s the d a n g e r of b e i n g ridden by a type. I h a d q u a r r e l l e d with s o m e of my friends a b o u t it; I h a d p a r t e d c o m p a n y with t h e m for m a i n t a i n i n g that o n e had to b e , a n d that if the type w a s b e a u t i f u l — w i t n e s s R a p h a e l a n d L e o n a r d o 1 * — t h e servitude w a s only a gain. I was neither L e o n a r d o nor R a p h a e l — I might only b e a p r e s u m p t u o u s y o u n g m o d e r n s e a r c h e r ; but I held that everything w a s to be sacrificed s o o n e r than c h a r a c t e r . W h e n they c l a i m e d that the o b s e s sional form c o u l d easily he c h a r a c t e r I retorted, p e r h a p s superficially, " W h o s e ? " It couldn't be everybody's—it might e n d in b e i n g nobody's. After I h a d drawn M r s . M o n a r c h a d o z e n t i m e s I felt s u r e r even than before that the value of s u c h a m o d e l a s M i s s C h u r m resided precisely in the fact that s h e h a d no positive s t a m p , c o m b i n e d of c o u r s e with the other fact that what s h e did have w a s a c u r i o u s a n d inexplicable talent for imitation. H e r u s u a l a p p e a r a n c e w a s like a c u r t a i n which s h e c o u l d draw u p at r e q u e s t for a capital p e r f o r m a n c e . T h i s p e r f o r m a n c e w a s simply s u g g e s t i v e ; but it w a s a word to the w i s e — i t w a s vivid a n d pretty. S o m e t i m e s even I thought it, t h o u g h s h e w a s plain herself, too insipidly pretty; I m a d e it a r e p r o a c h to her that the figures drawn from her were m o n o t o n o u s l y (betement,* a s we u s e d to say) graceful. N o t h i n g m a d e her m o r e angry: it w a s so m u c h her pride to feel s h e c o u l d sit for c h a r a c t e r s that had n o t h i n g in c o m m o n with e a c h other. S h e would a c c u s e m e at s u c h m o m e n t s of taking away her " r e p u t y t i o n . " It suffered a certain s h r i n k a g e , this q u e e r quantity, from the r e p e a t e d visits of my n e w friends. M i s s C h u r m w a s greatly in d e m a n d , never in want of e m p l o y m e n t , so I h a d no s c r u p l e in p u t t i n g her off o c c a s i o n a l l y , to try t h e m m o r e at my e a s e . It w a s certainly a m u s i n g at first to d o the real t h i n g — i t w a s a m u s i n g to d o M a j o r M o n a r c h ' s t r o u s e r s . T h e r e were the real thing, even if 9. Raffaello Santi or S a n / i o ( 1 4 8 3 - 1 520), Italian painter. Leonardo da Vinci ( 1 4 5 2 - 1 5 1 9 ) , Floren-

tine painter, sculptor, architect, and engineer, 1. Foolishly (French).

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he did c o m e o u t c o l o s s a l . It w a s a m u s i n g to do his wife's b a c k hair—it w a s so m a t h e m a t i c a l l y n e a t — a n d the particular " s m a r t " t e n s i o n of her tight stays. S h e lent herself especially to positions in which the f a c e w a s s o m e w h a t averted or blurred; s h e a b o u n d e d in ladylike b a c k views a n d profits perdus. W h e n s h e stood erect s h e took naturally o n e of the a t t i t u d e s in which courtpainters represent q u e e n s a n d p r i n c e s s e s ; s o that I f o u n d myself w o n d e r i n g whether, to draw o u t this a c c o m p l i s h m e n t , I couldn't get the editor of the Cheapside to p u b l i s h a really royal r o m a n c e , "A T a l e of B u c k i n g h a m P a l a c e . " S o m e t i m e s however the real thing a n d the make-believe c a m e into c o n t a c t ; by which I m e a n that M i s s C h u r m , keeping a n a p p o i n t m e n t or c o m i n g to m a k e o n e on days w h e n I h a d m u c h work in h a n d , e n c o u n t e r e d her invidious rivals. T h e e n c o u n t e r w a s not on their part, for they noticed her no m o r e than if s h e had b e e n the h o u s e m a i d ; not from intentional loftiness, but simply b e c a u s e as yet, professionally, they didn't know how to fraternise, a s I could i m a g i n e they would have liked—or at least that the M a j o r would. T h e y couldn't talk a b o u t the o m n i b u s — t h e y always walked; a n d they didn't know what else to t r y — s h e wasn't interested in g o o d trains or c h e a p claret. B e s i d e s , they m u s t have felt—in the a i r — t h a t s h e w a s a m u s e d at t h e m , secretly derisive of their ever knowing how. S h e wasn't a p e r s o n to c o n c e a l the limits of her faith if s h e h a d h a d a c h a n c e to s h o w t h e m . O n the other h a n d M r s . M o n a r c h didn't think her tidy; for why else did s h e take p a i n s to say to m e — i t w a s g o i n g out of the way, for M r s . M o n a r c h — t h a t s h e didn't like dirty w o m e n ? 2

O n e day when my y o u n g lady h a p p e n e d to be p r e s e n t with my other sitt e r s — s h e even d r o p p e d in, w h e n it w a s c o n v e n i e n t , for a c h a t — I a s k e d her to be s o g o o d a s to lend a h a n d in getting tea, a service with which s h e w a s familiar a n d which was o n e of a c l a s s that, living a s I did in a small way, with slender d o m e s t i c r e s o u r c e s , I often a p p e a l e d to my m o d e l s to render. T h e y liked to lay h a n d s on my property, to b r e a k the sitting, a n d s o m e t i m e s the c h i n a — i t m a d e t h e m feel B o h e m i a n . T h e next time I s a w M i s s C h u r m after this incident s h e surprised m e greatly by m a k i n g a s c e n e a b o u t i t — s h e a c c u s e d m e of having w i s h e d to h u m i l i a t e her. S h e hadn't r e s e n t e d the outrage at the t i m e , but h a d s e e m e d obliging a n d a m u s e d , enjoying the c o m e d y of asking M r s . M o n a r c h , who sat v a g u e a n d silent, w h e t h e r s h e would have c r e a m and sugar, a n d p u t t i n g an exaggerated s i m p e r into the q u e s t i o n . S h e h a d tried i n t o n a t i o n s — a s if s h e too wished to p a s s for the real thing—till I w a s afraid my other visitors would take o f f e n c e . O h they were d e t e r m i n e d no to do this, a n d their t o u c h i n g p a t i e n c e was the m e a s u r e of their great n e e d . T h e y would sit by the hour, u n c o m p l a i n i n g , till I w a s ready to u s e t h e m ; they would c o m e b a c k on the c h a n c e of b e i n g w a n t e d a n d would walk away cheerfully if it failed. I u s e d to go to the d o o r with t h e m to s e e in what magnificent order they retreated. I tried to find other e m p l o y m e n t for t h e m — I i n t r o d u c e d t h e m to several artists. B u t they didn't " t a k e , " for r e a s o n s I c o u l d a p p r e c i a t e , a n d I b e c a m e rather anxiously a w a r e that after s u c h d i s a p p o i n t m e n t s they fell b a c k u p o n m e with a heavier weight. T h e y did m e the h o n o u r to think m e m o s t their form. T h e y weren't r o m a n t i c e n o u g h for the p a i n t e r s , a n d in t h o s e days t h e r e were few s e r i o u s workers in black-and-white. B e s i d e s , they h a d an eye to the great j o b I h a d 2. Averted glances (French).

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m e n t i o n e d to t h e m — t h e y h a d secretly set their hearts on supplying the right e s s e n c e for my pictorial vindication of our fine novelist. T h e y k n e w that for this u n d e r t a k i n g I s h o u l d want no c o s t u m e - e f f e c t s , n o n e of the frippery of p a s t a g e s — t h a t it w a s a c a s e in which everything would b e c o n t e m p o r a r y a n d satirical a n d p r e s u m a b l y genteel. If I c o u l d work t h e m into it their future would be a s s u r e d , for the l a b o u r would of c o u r s e be long a n d the o c c u p a t i o n steady. O n e day M r s . M o n a r c h c a m e without her h u s b a n d — s h e explained his a b s e n c e by his having h a d to go to the C i t y . 3 While s h e sat there in her u s u a l relaxed m a j e s t y there c a m e at the door a knock which I i m m e d i a t e l y recognised a s the s u b d u e d a p p e a l of a m o d e l o u t of work. It w a s followed by the e n t r a n c e of a y o u n g m a n w h o m I at o n c e s a w to b e a foreigner a n d w h o proved in fact a n Italian a c q u a i n t e d with no E n g l i s h word but my n a m e , which he uttered in a way that m a d e it s e e m to i n c l u d e all o t h e r s . I hadn't then visited his country, nor w a s I proficient in his t o n g u e ; b u t a s h e w a s not s o m e a n l y c o n s t i t u t e d — w h a t Italian i s ? — a s to d e p e n d only on that m e m b e r for e x p r e s s i o n he conveyed to m e , in familiar but graceful mimicry, that he w a s in s e a r c h of exactly the e m p l o y m e n t in which the lady before m e w a s e n g a g e d . I w a s not struck with him at first, a n d while I c o n t i n u e d to draw I d r o p p e d few s i g n s of interest or e n c o u r a g e m e n t . H e s t o o d his g r o u n d howe v e r — n o t importunately, but with a d u m b dog-like fidelity in his eyes that a m o u n t e d to i n n o c e n t i m p u d e n c e , the m a n n e r of a devoted s e r v a n t — h e might have b e e n in the h o u s e for y e a r s — u n j u s t l y s u s p e c t e d . S u d d e n l y it s t r u c k m e that this very attitude a n d expression m a d e a p i c t u r e ; w h e r e u p o n I told him to sit down a n d wait till I s h o u l d be free. T h e r e w a s a n o t h e r p i c t u r e in the way h e obeyed m e , a n d I o b s e r v e d a s I worked that there w e r e o t h e r s still in the way he looked wonderingly, with his h e a d thrown back, a b o u t the high s t u d i o . H e might have been c r o s s i n g himself in S a i n t Peter's. B e f o r e I finished I said to myself " T h e fellow's a b a n k r u p t o r a n g e - m o n g e r , but a treasure." W h e n M r s . M o n a r c h withdrew he p a s s e d a c r o s s the r o o m like a flash to o p e n the d o o r for her, s t a n d i n g there with the rapt p u r e g a z e of the y o u n g D a n t e s p e l l b o u n d by the y o u n g B e a t r i c e . 4 As I never i n s i s t e d , in s u c h situa t i o n s , on the b l a n k n e s s of the British d o m e s t i c , I reflected that h e had the m a k i n g of a s e r v a n t — a n d I n e e d e d o n e , but couldn't pay him to be only t h a t — a s well a s of a m o d e l ; in short I resolved to a d o p t my bright a d v e n t u r e r if he would a g r e e to officiate in the d o u b l e capacity. H e j u m p e d at my offer, a n d in the event my r a s h n e s s — f o r I h a d really known n o t h i n g a b o u t h i m — wasn't b r o u g h t h o m e to m e . H e proved a s y m p a t h e t i c t h o u g h a desultory m i n i s t r a n t , a n d h a d in a wonderful d e g r e e the sentiment de la p o s e . 5 It w a s u n c u l t i v a t e d , instinctive, a part of the happy instinct that h a d g u i d e d him to my d o o r a n d h e l p e d him to spell o u t my n a m e on the c a r d nailed to it. H e h a d h a d no other introduction to m e than a g u e s s , from the s h a p e of my high north window, s e e n o u t s i d e , that my p l a c e w a s a s t u d i o a n d that a s a studio it would c o n t a i n an artist. H e h a d w a n d e r e d to E n g l a n d in s e a r c h of 3. London. 4. Dante Alighieri ( 1 2 6 5 - 1 3 2 1 ) . Italian poet, first saw Beatrice Portinari when they were both nine. Though he saw her only a few times, she made a lasting impression on him and became his ideal.

his life's inspiration, and the direct agent of his salvation (as his greatest work, The Divine Comedy, makes clear). 5. Instinct for striking poses (French).

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fortune, like other itinerants, a n d h a d e m b a r k e d , with a partner a n d a small green h a n d - c a r t , on the sale of penny i c e s . T h e ices h a d m e l t e d away a n d the partner h a d dissolved in their train. M y y o u n g m a n wore tight yellow trousers with reddish stripes a n d his n a m e w a s O r o n t e . H e w a s sallow but fair, a n d w h e n I p u t him into s o m e old c l o t h e s of my own h e looked like an E n g l i s h m a n . H e w a s a s g o o d a s M i s s C h u r m , w h o c o u l d look, w h e n r e q u e s t e d , like a n Italian.

I t h o u g h t M r s . M o n a r c h ' s f a c e slightly c o n v u l s e d w h e n , o n her c o m i n g b a c k with her h u s b a n d , s h e f o u n d O r o n t e installed. It w a s s t r a n g e to have to r e c o g n i s e in a s c r a p of a l a z z a r o n e 6 a c o m p e t i t o r to her m a g n i f i c e n t M a j o r . It w a s s h e w h o s c e n t e d d a n g e r first, for the M a j o r w a s a n e c d o t i c a l l y u n c o n s c i o u s . B u t O r o n t e gave u s tea, with a h u n d r e d e a g e r c o n f u s i o n s — h e h a d never b e e n c o n c e r n e d in s o q u e e r a p r o c e s s — a n d I think s h e t h o u g h t better of m e for having at last a n " e s t a b l i s h m e n t . " T h e y s a w a c o u p l e of drawings that I h a d m a d e of the e s t a b l i s h m e n t , a n d M r s . M o n a r c h hinted that it never would have s t r u c k her he h a d sat for t h e m . " N o w the drawings you m a k e from MS, they look exactly like u s , " s h e r e m i n d e d m e , s m i l i n g in t r i u m p h ; a n d I r e c o g n i s e d that this w a s i n d e e d j u s t their defect. W h e n I d r e w the M o n a r c h s I couldn't a n y h o w get away from t h e m — g e t into the c h a r a c t e r I w a n t e d to r e p r e s e n t ; a n d I hadn't the least desire my m o d e l s h o u l d be d i s c o v e r a b l e in my p i c t u r e . M i s s C h u r m never w a s , a n d M r s . M o n a r c h t h o u g h t I hid her, very properly, b e c a u s e s h e w a s vulgar; w h e r e a s if s h e w a s lost it w a s only a s the d e a d w h o go to heaven a r e l o s t — i n the gain of an angel the m o r e . By this time I h a d got a certain start with " R u t l a n d R a m s a y , " the first novel in the great p r o j e c t e d s e r i e s ; that is I had p r o d u c e d a d o z e n d r a w i n g s , several with the help of the M a j o r a n d his wife, a n d I h a d sent t h e m in for approval. M y u n d e r s t a n d i n g with the p u b l i s h e r s , a s I have already h i n t e d , h a d b e e n that I w a s to b e left to do my work, in this p a r t i c u l a r c a s e , a s I liked, with the whole b o o k c o m m i t t e d to m e ; but my c o n n e x i o n with the rest of the series w a s only c o n t i n g e n t . T h e r e were m o m e n t s w h e n , frankly, it was a c o m f o r t to have the real thing u n d e r one's h a n d ; for there were c h a r a c t e r s in " R u t l a n d R a m s a y " that were very m u c h like it. T h e r e were p e o p l e p r e s u m ably a s erect a s the M a j o r a n d w o m e n of a s g o o d a fashion a s M r s . M o n a r c h . T h e r e w a s a great deal of c o u n t r y - h o u s e l i f e — t r e a t e d , it is t r u e , in a fine fanciful ironical g e n e r a l i s e d w a y — a n d there w a s a c o n s i d e r a b l e implication of k n i c k e r b o c k e r s a n d kilts. 7 T h e r e were certain things I h a d to settle at the o u t s e t ; s u c h things for i n s t a n c e a s the exact a p p e a r a n c e of the hero a n d the particular b l o o m a n d figure of the h e r o i n e . T h e a u t h o r of c o u r s e g a v e m e a lead, but there w a s a m a r g i n for interpretation. I took the M o n a r c h s into my c o n f i d e n c e , I told t h e m frankly what I w a s a b o u t , I m e n t i o n e d my e m b a r r a s s m e n t s a n d alternatives. " O h take him!" M r s . M o n a r c h m u r m u r e d sweetly, looking at her h u s b a n d ; a n d " W h a t c o u l d you want better than my w i f e ? " the M a j o r e n q u i r e d with the c o m f o r t a b l e c a n d o u r that n o w prevailed between us. 6. Beggar (Italian). 7. Knickerbockers (close-fitting short pants gathered at the knee) and kilts (knee-length pleated

skirts, usually of tartan, worn by Scottish men) suggest a rural, outdoor attire.

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I wasn't obliged to a n s w e r t h e s e r e m a r k s — I w a s only obliged to p l a c e my sitters. I wasn't e a s y in m i n d , a n d I p o s t p o n e d a little timidly p e r h a p s the solving of my q u e s t i o n . T h e b o o k w a s a large c a n v a s , the other figures w e r e n u m e r o u s , a n d I w o r k e d off at first s o m e of the e p i s o d e s in which the h e r o a n d the h e r o i n e were not c o n c e r n e d . W h e n o n c e I h a d set them u p I s h o u l d have to stick to t h e m — I couldn't m a k e my y o u n g m a n seven feet high in o n e p l a c e a n d five feet nine in a n o t h e r . I inclined o n the whole to the latter m e a s u r e m e n t , t h o u g h the M a j o r m o r e than o n c e r e m i n d e d m e that he looked a b o u t a s y o u n g a s any o n e . It w a s i n d e e d q u i t e p o s s i b l e to a r r a n g e h i m , for the figure, s o that it would have b e e n difficult to d e t e c t his a g e . After the s p o n t a n e o u s O r o n t e h a d b e e n with m e a m o n t h , a n d after I h a d given h i m to u n d e r s t a n d several times over that his native e x u b e r a n c e would presently c o n s t i t u t e an i n s u r m o u n t a b l e barrier to our further i n t e r c o u r s e , I w a k e d to a s e n s e of his heroic capacity. H e w a s only five feet seven, b u t the r e m a i n i n g i n c h e s were latent. I tried him a l m o s t secretly at first, for I w a s really rather afraid of the j u d g m e n t my other m o d e l s w o u l d p a s s on s u c h a c h o i c e . If they r e g a r d e d M i s s C h u r m a s little better t h a n a s n a r e w h a t would they think of the r e p r e s e n t a t i o n by a p e r s o n so little the real thing as a n Italian streetvendor of a p r o t a g o n i s t f o r m e d by a p u b l i c s c h o o l ? If I went a little in fear of t h e m it wasn't b e c a u s e they bullied m e , b e c a u s e they h a d got a n o p p r e s s i v e foothold, b u t b e c a u s e in their really p a t h e t i c d e c o r u m a n d mysteriously p e r m a n e n t n e w n e s s they c o u n t e d on m e so intensely. I w a s therefore very glad w h e n J a c k H a w l e y c a m e h o m e : he w a s always of s u c h g o o d c o u n s e l . H e p a i n t e d badly himself, but there w a s no o n e like him for p u t t i n g his finger on the p l a c e . H e h a d b e e n a b s e n t from E n g l a n d for a year; he h a d b e e n s o m e w h e r e — I don't r e m e m b e r w h e r e — t o get a fresh eye. I w a s in a g o o d deal of d r e a d of any s u c h o r g a n , but we w e r e old friends; he h a d b e e n away for m o n t h s a n d a s e n s e of e m p t i n e s s w a s c r e e p i n g into my life. I hadn't d o d g e d a m i s s i l e for a year. H e c a m e b a c k with a fresh eye, b u t with the s a m e old b l a c k velvet b l o u s e , a n d the first e v e n i n g he s p e n t in my s t u d i o we s m o k e d cigarettes till the small h o u r s . H e h a d d o n e no work himself, h e h a d only got the eye; so the field w a s clear for the p r o d u c t i o n of my little things. H e w a n t e d to s e e w h a t I h a d p r o d u c e d for the Cheapside, but he w a s d i s a p p o i n t e d in the exhibition. T h a t at least s e e m e d the m e a n i n g of two or three c o m p r e h e n s i v e g r o a n s w h i c h , a s he l o u n g e d on my big divan, his leg folded u n d e r h i m , looking at my latest d r a w i n g s , i s s u e d from his lips with the s m o k e of the cigarette. " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with y o u ? " I a s k e d . " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with you?" " N o t h i n g save that I'm mystified." "You a r e i n d e e d . You're quite off the h i n g e . W h a t ' s the m e a n i n g of this new f a d ? " A n d he t o s s e d m e , with visible irreverence, a d r a w i n g in which I h a p p e n e d to have d e p i c t e d both my e l e g a n t m o d e l s . I a s k e d if h e didn't think it g o o d , a n d he replied that it s t r u c k h i m a s e x e c r a b l e , given the sort of thing I h a d always r e p r e s e n t e d myself to h i m a s wishing to arrive at; b u t I let t h a t p a s s — I w a s so a n x i o u s to s e e exactly what he m e a n t . T h e two figures in the picture looked c o l o s s a l , but I s u p p o s e d this w a s not what he m e a n t , i n a s m u c h a s , for a u g h t he knew the contrary, I might have b e e n trying for s o m e s u c h effect. I m a i n t a i n e d that I w a s working exactly in the s a m e way a s w h e n he last h a d d o n e m e the h o n o u r to tell m e I might do s o m e t h i n g s o m e day.

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"Well, there's a screw loose s o m e w h e r e , " h e a n s w e r e d ; "wait a bit a n d I'll discover it." I d e p e n d e d u p o n him to do s o : w h e r e else w a s the fresh eye? B u t he p r o d u c e d at last nothing m o r e l u m i n o u s than "I don't k n o w — I don't like your t y p e s . " T h i s w a s l a m e for a critic w h o h a d never c o n s e n t e d to d i s c u s s with m e anything but the q u e s t i o n of e x e c u t i o n , the direction of strokes a n d the mystery of v a l u e s . "In the d r a w i n g s you've b e e n looking at I think my types are very h a n d some." " O h they won't d o ! " "I've b e e n working with n e w m o d e l s . " "I s e e you have. They won't d o . " "Are you very s u r e of t h a t ? " "Absolutely—they're s t u p i d . " "You m e a n I a m — f o r I o u g h t to get r o u n d t h a t . " "You can't—with s u c h p e o p l e . W h o are t h e y ? " I told h i m , s o far a s w a s n e c e s s a r y , a n d h e c o n c l u d e d heartlessly: " C e s o n t d e s g e n s qu'il faut m e t t r e a la p o r t e . " 8 "You've never s e e n t h e m ; they're awfully g o o d " — I flew to their d e f e n c e . " N o t s e e n t h e m ? W h y all this recent work of yours d r o p s to p i e c e s with t h e m . It's all I want to s e e of t h e m . " " N o o n e else has said anything a g a i n s t i t — t h e Cheapside people are pleased." " E v e r y o n e else is a n a s s , a n d the Cheapside p e o p l e the biggest a s s e s of all. C o m e , don't p r e t e n d at this time of day to have pretty illusions a b o u t the p u b l i c , especially a b o u t p u b l i s h e r s a n d e d i t o r s . It's not for such a n i m a l s you s o k e e p straight for me if work—it's for t h o s e w h o know, coloro che sanno; you can't keep straight for yourself. T h e r e w a s a certain sort of thing you u s e d to try f o r — a n d a very good thing it w a s . B u t this twaddle isn't in it." W h e n I talked with H a w l e y later a b o u t " R u t l a n d R a m s a y " a n d its p o s s i b l e s u c c e s s o r s he d e c l a r e d that I m u s t get b a c k into my b o a t again or I s h o u l d go to the b o t t o m . His voice in short w a s the voice of w a r n i n g . I noted the warning, but I didn't turn my friends o u t of d o o r s . T h e y bored m e a good deal; but the very fact that they bored m e a d m o n i s h e d m e not to sacrifice t h e m — i f there w a s anything to b e d o n e with t h e m — s i m p l y to irritation. As I look b a c k at this p h a s e they s e e m to m e to have p e r v a d e d my life not a little. I have a vision of t h e m a s m o s t of the time in my s t u d i o , s e a t e d a g a i n s t the wall on a n old velvet b e n c h to be o u t of the way, a n d r e s e m b l i n g the while a pair of patient courtiers in a royal a n t e - c h a m b e r . I'm c o n v i n c e d that d u r i n g the c o l d e s t w e e k s of the winter they held their g r o u n d b e c a u s e it saved t h e m fire. T h e i r n e w n e s s w a s losing its g l o s s , a n d it w a s i m p o s s i b l e not to feel t h e m o b j e c t s of charity. W h e n e v e r M i s s C h u r m arrived they went away, a n d after I w a s fairly l a u n c h e d in " R u t l a n d R a m s a y " M i s s C h u r m arrived pretty often. T h e y m a n a g e d to express to m e tacitly that they s u p p o s e d I w a n t e d her for the low life of the book, a n d I let t h e m s u p p o s e it, s i n c e they h a d a t t e m p t e d to study the work—it w a s lying a b o u t the s t u d i o — without discovering that it dealt only with the highest c i r c l e s . T h e y h a d d i p p e d into the m o s t brilliant of our novelists without d e c i p h e r i n g m a n y 9

8. S u c h people should be shown the door (French). 9. A misquotation of a phrase Dante applied to

Aristotle in The Divine Comedy, "Inferno," 4 . 1 3 1 , which reads, "el maestro di color che sanno," literally, "the master of those who know."

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p a s s a g e s . I still took an h o u r from t h e m , now a n d a g a i n , in spite of J a c k Hawley's warning: it would be time e n o u g h to d i s m i s s t h e m , if d i s m i s s a l s h o u l d b e n e c e s s a r y , w h e n the rigour of the s e a s o n w a s over. H a w l e y h a d m a d e their a c q u a i n t a n c e — h e h a d m e t t h e m at my f i r e s i d e — a n d t h o u g h t t h e m a ridiculous pair. L e a r n i n g that he w a s a painter they tried to a p p r o a c h him, to s h o w him too that they were the real thing; b u t h e looked at t h e m , a c r o s s the big r o o m , a s if they were m i l e s away: they were a c o m p e n d i u m of everything h e m o s t o b j e c t e d to in the social system o f his c o u n t r y . S u c h p e o p l e a s that, all convention a n d patent-leather, with e j a c u l a t i o n s that s t o p p e d c o n v e r s a t i o n , h a d no b u s i n e s s in a s t u d i o . A s t u d i o w a s a p l a c e to learn to s e e , a n d how c o u l d you s e e t h r o u g h a pair of f e a t h e r - b e d s ? T h e m a i n i n c o n v e n i e n c e I suffered at their h a n d s w a s that at first I w a s shy of letting it b r e a k u p o n t h e m that my artful little servant h a d b e g u n to sit to m e for " R u t l a n d R a m s a y . " T h e y knew I h a d b e e n o d d e n o u g h — t h e y were p r e p a r e d by this time to allow oddity to a r t i s t s — t o p i c k a foreign vaga b o n d out of the streets w h e n I might have h a d a p e r s o n with whiskers a n d c r e d e n t i a l s , but it w a s s o m e t i m e before they l e a r n e d how high I rated his a c c o m p l i s h m e n t s . T h e y f o u n d him in an a t t i t u d e m o r e than o n c e , b u t they never d o u b t e d I w a s d o i n g him a s an organ-grinder. T h e r e were several things they never g u e s s e d , a n d o n e of t h e m w a s that for a striking s c e n e in the novel, in which a f o o t m a n briefly figured, it o c c u r r e d to m e to m a k e u s e of M a j o r M o n a r c h a s the m e n i a l . I kept p u t t i n g this off, I didn't like to a s k him to d o n the livery—besides the difficulty of finding a livery to fit h i m . At last, o n e day late in the winter, w h e n I w a s at work o n the d e s p i s e d O r o n t e , w h o c a u g h t one's idea on the wing, a n d w a s in the glow of feeling myself g o very straight, they c a m e in, the M a j o r a n d his wife, with their society laugh a b o u t nothing (there w a s less a n d less to l a u g h a t ) ; c a m e in like c o u n t r y - c a l l e r s — they always r e m i n d e d m e of t h a t — w h o have walked a c r o s s the p a r k after c h u r c h a n d are presently p e r s u a d e d to stay to l u n c h e o n . L u n c h e o n w a s over, but they c o u l d stay to t e a — I knew they w a n t e d it. T h e fit w a s on m e , however, a n d I c o u l d n ' t let my a r d o u r cool a n d my work wait, with the fading daylight, while my m o d e l p r e p a r e d it. S o I a s k e d M r s . M o n a r c h if s h e would m i n d laying it o u t — a r e q u e s t which for an instant b r o u g h t all the b l o o d to her f a c e . H e r eyes were on her h u s b a n d ' s for a s e c o n d , a n d s o m e m u t e telegraphy p a s s e d b e t w e e n t h e m . T h e i r folly w a s over the next i n s t a n t ; his cheerful s h r e w d n e s s p u t a n e n d to it. S o far from pitying their w o u n d e d pride, I m u s t a d d , I w a s m o v e d to give it a s c o m p l e t e a l e s s o n a s I c o u l d . T h e y b u s t l e d a b o u t together a n d got out the c u p s a n d s a u c e r s a n d m a d e the kettle boil. I know they felt a s if they were waiting o n my servant, a n d w h e n the tea w a s p r e p a r e d 1 s a i d : "He'll have a c u p , p l e a s e — h e ' s tired." M r s . M o n a r c h b r o u g h t him o n e w h e r e he s t o o d , a n d h e took it from her a s if h a d b e e n a g e n t l e m a n at a party s q u e e z i n g a c r u s h - h a t with a n elbow. T h e n it c a m e over m e that s h e h a d m a d e a great effort for m e — m a d e it with a kind of n o b l e n e s s — a n d that I o w e d her a c o m p e n s a t i o n . E a c h time I s a w her after this I w o n d e r e d what the c o m p e n s a t i o n c o u l d b e . I c o u l d n ' t go on d o i n g the w r o n g thing to oblige t h e m . O h it was the w r o n g thing, the s t a m p of the work for which they s a t — H a w l e y w a s not the only p e r s o n to say it now. I sent in a large n u m b e r of the drawings I h a d m a d e for " R u t l a n d R a m s a y , " a n d I received a w a r n i n g that w a s m o r e to the point t h a n Hawley's. T h e artistic adviser of the h o u s e for which I w a s working w a s of o p i n i o n that

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many of my illustrations were not what hted b e e n looked for. M o s t of t h e s e illustrations were the s u b j e c t s in which the M o n a r c h s h a d figured. W i t h o u t going into the q u e s t i o n of w h a t had b e e n looked for, I h a d to f a c e the fact that at this rate I shouldn't get the other b o o k s to d o . I h u r l e d myself in d e s p a i r o n M i s s C h u r m — I put her through all her p a c e s . I not only a d o p t e d O r o n t e publicly a s my h e r o , but o n e m o r n i n g w h e n the M a j o r looked in to s e e if I didn't require him to finish a Cheapside figure for which he h a d b e g u n to sit the week b e f o r e , I told him I h a d c h a n g e d my m i n d — I ' d d o the drawing from my m a n . At this my visitor t u r n e d pale a n d s t o o d looking at m e . " I s he your idea of an E n g l i s h g e n t l e m a n ? " h e a s k e d . I w a s d i s a p p o i n t e d , I w a s nervous, I w a n t e d to get on with my work; s o I replied with irritation: " O h my dear M a j o r — I can't b e ruined for you!" It w a s a horrid s p e e c h , but he s t o o d a n o t h e r m o m e n t — a f t e r w h i c h , without a word, he quitted the s t u d i o . I drew a long b r e a t h , for I said to myself that I shouldn't s e e him a g a i n . I hadn't told him definitely that I w a s in d a n g e r of having my work rejected, but I w a s vexed at his not having felt the c a t a s trophe in the air, read with m e the moral of our fruitless c o l l a b o r a t i o n , the l e s s o n that in the deceptive a t m o s p h e r e of art even the highest respectability may fail of b e i n g p l a s t i c . I didn't owe my friends m o n e y , but I did s e e t h e m a g a i n . T h e y r e a p p e a r e d together three days later, a n d , given all the other f a c t s , there w a s s o m e t h i n g tragic in that o n e . It w a s a clear proof they c o u l d find n o t h i n g e l s e in life to d o . T h e y h a d t h r e s h e d the m a t t e r out in a d i s m a l c o n f e r e n c e — t h e y h a d d i g e s t e d the b a d n e w s that they were not in for the series. If they weren't useful to m e even for the Cheapside their function s e e m e d difficult to determ i n e , a n d I c o u l d only j u d g e at first that they h a d c o m e , forgivingly, d e c o rously, to take a last leave. T h i s m a d e m e rejoice in s e c r e t that I h a d little leisure for a s c e n e ; for I h a d p l a c e d both my other m o d e l s in p o s i t i o n together a n d I w a s p e g g i n g away at a drawing from which I h o p e d to derive glory. It h a d b e e n s u g g e s t e d by the p a s s a g e in which R u t l a n d R a m s a y , d r a w i n g u p a chair to Artemisia's p i a n o - s t o o l , says extraordinary things to her while s h e ostensibly fingers out a difficult p i e c e of m u s i c . I h a d d o n e M i s s C h u r m at the p i a n o b e f o r e — i t w a s a n attitude in which s h e k n e w how to t a k e o n an absolutely poetic g r a c e . I w i s h e d the two figures to " c o m p o s e " together with intensity, a n d my little Italian h a d entered perfectly into my c o n c e p t i o n . T h e pair were vividly before m e , the p i a n o h a d b e e n pulled o u t ; it w a s a c h a r m i n g s h o w of b l e n d e d youth a n d m u r m u r e d love, which I h a d only to c a t c h a n d k e e p . M y visitors stood a n d looked at it, a n d I w a s friendly to t h e m over my shoulder. T h e y m a d e no r e s p o n s e , but I w a s u s e d to silent c o m p a n y a n d went o n with my work, only a little d i s c o n c e r t e d — e v e n t h o u g h exhilarated by the s e n s e that this w a s at least the ideal t h i n g — a t not having got rid of t h e m after all. Presently I h e a r d M r s . M o n a r c h ' s sweet voice b e s i d e or rather a b o v e m e : "I wish her hair were a little better d o n e . " I looked u p a n d s h e w a s s t a r i n g with a s t r a n g e fixedness at M i s s C h u r m , w h o s e b a c k w a s t u r n e d to her. " D o you mind my j u s t t o u c h i n g i t ? " s h e went o n — a q u e s t i o n which m a d e m e spring u p for a n instant a s with the instinctive fear that s h e might d o the y o u n g lady a h a r m . B u t s h e q u i e t e d m e with a g l a n c e I shall never f o r g e t — I c o n f e s s I s h o u l d like to have b e e n a b l e to paint that—and went for a m o m e n t to my m o d e l . S h e s p o k e to her softly, laying a h a n d on her s h o u l d e r

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a n d b e n d i n g over her; a n d a s the girl, u n d e r s t a n d i n g , gratefully a s s e n t e d , she d i s p o s e d her r o u g h c u r l s , with a few q u i c k p a s s e s , in s u c h a way a s to m a k e M i s s C h u r m ' s h e a d twice a s c h a r m i n g . It w a s o n e of the m o s t h e r o i c p e r s o n a l services I've ever s e e n r e n d e r e d . T h e n M r s . M o n a r c h t u r n e d a w a y with a low sigh a n d , looking a b o u t her a s if for s o m e t h i n g to d o , s t o o p e d to the floor with a n o b l e humility a n d p i c k e d u p a dirty rag that h a d d r o p p e d out of my paint-box. T h e M a j o r m e a n w h i l e h a d a l s o b e e n looking for s o m e t h i n g to d o , a n d , w a n d e r i n g to the other end of the s t u d i o , s a w before h i m my b r e a k f a s t - t h i n g s n e g l e c t e d , u n r e m o v e d . "I say, can't I be useful here?" he called o u t to m e with a n irrepressible q u a v e r . I a s s e n t e d with a l a u g h that I fear w a s a w k w a r d , a n d for the next ten m i n u t e s , while I worked, I h e a r d the light clatter of c h i n a a n d the tinkle of s p o o n s a n d g l a s s . M r s . M o n a r c h a s s i s t e d her h u s b a n d — t h e y w a s h e d u p my crockery, they p u t it away. T h e y w a n d e r e d off into my little scullery, a n d I afterwards f o u n d that they h a d c l e a n e d my knives a n d that my s l e n d e r s t o c k of plate h a d a n u n p r e c e d e n t e d s u r f a c e . W h e n it c a m e over m e , the latent e l o q u e n c e of what they were d o i n g , I c o n f e s s that my drawing was blurred for a m o m e n t — t h e p i c t u r e s w a m . T h e y h a d a c c e p t e d their failure, but they c o u l d n ' t a c c e p t their fate. T h e y h a d b o w e d their h e a d s in b e w i l d e r m e n t to the perverse a n d cruel law in virtue of which the real thing c o u l d be s o m u c h less p r e c i o u s t h a n the unreal; but they didn't want to starve. If my servants were my m o d e l s , then my m o d e l s m i g h t b e my servants. T h e y would reverse the p a r t s — t h e o t h e r s would sit for the ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n a n d they would do the work. T h e y w o u l d still be in the stud i o — i t w a s an i n t e n s e d u m b a p p e a l to m e not to turn t h e m out. " T a k e u s o n , " they w a n t e d to say—"we'll do anything." M y pencil d r o p p e d from my h a n d ; my sitting w a s spoiled a n d I got rid of my sitters, who w e r e a l s o evidently rather mystified a n d a w e s t r u c k . T h e n , a l o n e with the M a j o r a n d his wife I h a d a m o s t u n c o m f o r t a b l e m o m e n t . H e put their prayer into a single s e n t e n c e : "I say, you k n o w — j u s t let us d o for you, can't y o u ? " I c o u l d n ' t — i t w a s dreadful to s e e t h e m e m p t y i n g my s l o p s ; but I p r e t e n d e d I c o u l d , to oblige t h e m , for a b o u t a week. T h e n I gave t h e m a s u m of m o n e y to go away, a n d I never s a w t h e m a g a i n . I o b t a i n e d the r e m a i n i n g b o o k s , but my friend Hawley r e p e a t s that M a j o r a n d M r s . M o n arch did m e a p e r m a n e n t h a r m , got m e into false ways. If it b e true I'm c o n t e n t to have p a i d the p r i c e — f o r the m e m o r y . 1892,1909

I h e B e a s t in t h e

ungle'

/ W h a t d e t e r m i n e d the s p e e c h that startled e n c o u n t e r scarcely m a t t e r s , b e i n g p r o b a b l y b u t self q u i t e without i n t e n t i o n — s p o k e n a s they together after their renewal of a c q u a i n t a n c e . 1. J a m e s initially recorded the germ for this story in I 8 9 5 , but it first appeared in the collection The Better Sort ( 1 9 0 3 ) . It was reprinted, with minor

him in the c o u r s e of their s o m e w o r d s s p o k e n by himlingered a n d slowly m o v e d H e h a d b e e n c o n v e y e d by

revisions, in the Altar of the Dead volume of the New York edition. Vol. 1 7 ( 1 9 0 9 ) , the source of the text printed here.

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friends an hour or two before to the h o u s e at which s h e w a s staying; the party of visitors at the other h o u s e , of w h o m h e w a s o n e , a n d t h a n k s to w h o m it w a s his theory, a s always, that h e w a s lost in the c r o w d , h a d b e e n invited over to l u n c h e o n . T h e r e h a d b e e n after l u n c h e o n m u c h d i s p e r s a l , all in the interest of the original motive, a view of W e a t h e r e n d itself a n d the fine things, intrinsic f e a t u r e s , p i c t u r e s , h e i r l o o m s , t r e a s u r e s of all the a r t s , that m a d e the p l a c e a l m o s t f a m o u s ; a n d the great r o o m s were s o n u m e r o u s that g u e s t s c o u l d w a n d e r at their will, h a n g b a c k from the principal g r o u p a n d in c a s e s w h e r e they took s u c h m a t t e r s with the last s e r i o u s n e s s give t h e m s e l v e s u p to m y s t e r i o u s a p p r e c i a t i o n s a n d m e a s u r e m e n t s . T h e r e were p e r s o n s to be o b s e r v e d , singly or in c o u p l e s , b e n d i n g toward o b j e c t s in out-of-the-way c o r n e r s with their h a n d s on their k n e e s a n d their h e a d s n o d d i n g q u i t e a s with the e m p h a s i s of a n excited s e n s e of smell. W h e n they were two they either mingled their s o u n d s of e c s t a s y or m e l t e d into s i l e n c e s of even d e e p e r import, s o that there were a s p e c t s of the o c c a s i o n that gave it for M a r c h e r m u c h the air of the "look r o u n d , " previous to a sale highly advertised, that excites or q u e n c h e s , a s m a y b e , the d r e a m of a c q u i s i t i o n . T h e d r e a m of a c q u i s i t i o n at W e a t h e r e n d would have h a d to b e wild i n d e e d , a n d J o h n M a r c h e r f o u n d himself, a m o n g s u c h s u g g e s t i o n s , d i s c o n c e r t e d a l m o s t equally by the p r e s e n c e of t h o s e who k n e w too m u c h a n d by that of t h o s e who knew nothing. T h e great r o o m s c a u s e d so m u c h poetry a n d history to p r e s s u p o n him that h e n e e d e d s o m e straying apart to feel in a p r o p e r relation with t h e m , t h o u g h this i m p u l s e w a s not, a s h a p p e n e d , like the g l o a t i n g of s o m e of his c o m p a n i o n s , to b e c o m p a r e d to the m o v e m e n t s of a d o g sniffing a c u p b o a r d . It h a d a n i s s u e promptly e n o u g h in a direction that w a s not to have b e e n c a l c u l a t e d . It led, briefly, in the c o u r s e of the O c t o b e r afternoon, to his c l o s e r m e e t i n g with M a y B a r t r a m , w h o s e f a c e , a r e m i n d e r , yet not q u i t e a r e m e m b r a n c e , a s they sat m u c h s e p a r a t e d at a very long table, h a d b e g u n merely by t r o u b l i n g him rather pleasantly. It affected him a s the s e q u e l of s o m e t h i n g of w h i c h h e h a d lost the b e g i n n i n g . H e knew it, a n d for the time quite w e l c o m e d it, a s a c o n t i n u a t i o n , but didn't know what it c o n t i n u e d , w h i c h w a s an interest or a n a m u s e m e n t the greater a s he w a s also s o m e h o w a w a r e — y e t without a direct sign from h e r — t h a t the y o u n g w o m a n herself hadn't lost the t h r e a d . S h e hadn't lost it, but s h e wouldn't give it b a c k to him, he saw, without s o m e p u t t i n g forth of his h a n d for it; a n d h e not only s a w that, b u t s a w several things m o r e , things o d d e n o u g h in the light of the fact that at the m o m e n t s o m e a c c i d e n t of g r o u p i n g b r o u g h t t h e m f a c e to f a c e he w a s still merely f u m b l i n g with the idea that any c o n t a c t b e t w e e n t h e m in the p a s t w o u l d have h a d no i m p o r t a n c e . If it h a d h a d n o i m p o r t a n c e h e scarcely k n e w why his a c t u a l i m p r e s s i o n of her s h o u l d s o s e e m to have so m u c h ; the a n s w e r to which, however, w a s that in s u c h a life a s they all a p p e a r e d to be l e a d i n g for the m o m e n t o n e c o u l d but take things a s they c a m e . H e w a s satisfied, without in the least b e i n g able to say why, that this y o u n g lady m i g h t roughly have ranked in the h o u s e a s a p o o r relation; satisfied a l s o that s h e w a s not there on a brief visit, but w a s m o r e or less a part of the e s t a b l i s h m e n t — a l m o s t a working, a r e m u n e r a t e d part. Didn't s h e enjoy at p e r i o d s a p r o t e c tion that s h e paid for by helping, a m o n g other services, to s h o w the p l a c e a n d explain it, deal with the t i r e s o m e p e o p l e , a n s w e r q u e s t i o n s a b o u t the dates of the building, the styles of the furniture, the a u t h o r s h i p of the pic-

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t u r e s , the favourite h a u n t s of the g h o s t ? It wasn't that s h e looked a s if you c o u l d have given her shillings—it w a s i m p o s s i b l e to look less s o . Yet w h e n s h e finally drifted toward him, distinctly h a n d s o m e , t h o u g h ever so m u c h o l d e r — o l d e r than w h e n he h a d s e e n her b e f o r e — i t might have b e e n a s a n effect of her g u e s s i n g that he h a d , within the c o u p l e of h o u r s , devoted m o r e imagination to her than to all the others put together, a n d h a d thereby p e n etrated to a kind of truth that the others were too s t u p i d for. S h e was there on harder t e r m s than any o n e ; s h e w a s there as a c o n s e q u e n c e of things suffered, o n e way a n d a n o t h e r , in the interval of years; a n d she r e m e m b e r e d him very m u c h a s she w a s r e m e m b e r e d — o n l y a good deal better. By the time they at last t h u s c a m e to s p e e c h they were a l o n e in o n e of the r o o m s — r e m a r k a b l e for a fine portrait over the c h i m n e y - p l a c e — o u t of which their friends h a d p a s s e d , a n d the c h a r m of it w a s that even before they h a d s p o k e n they h a d practically a r r a n g e d with e a c h other to stay b e h i n d for talk. T h e c h a r m , happily, w a s in other things t o o — p a r t l y in there b e i n g s c a r c e a spot at W e a t h e r e n d without s o m e t h i n g to stay b e h i n d for. It w a s in the way the a u t u m n day looked into the high windows a s it w a n e d ; the way the red light, b r e a k i n g at the c l o s e from u n d e r a low s o m b r e sky, r e a c h e d out in a long shaft a n d played over old w a i n s c o t s , old tapestry, old gold, old colour. It w a s m o s t of all p e r h a p s in the way s h e c a m e to him a s if, s i n c e s h e h a d b e e n turned on to deal with the s i m p l e r sort, he might, s h o u l d he c h o o s e to keep the whole thing d o w n , j u s t take her mild attention for a part of her general b u s i n e s s . As s o o n a s h e heard her voice, however, the g a p w a s filled u p a n d the m i s s i n g link s u p p l i e d ; the slight irony he divined in her attitude lost its a d v a n t a g e . H e a l m o s t j u m p e d at it to get there before her. "I m e t you years a n d years a g o in R o m e . I r e m e m b e r all a b o u t it." S h e c o n f e s s e d to d i s a p p o i n t m e n t — s h e h a d b e e n s o s u r e he didn't; a n d to prove how well he did he b e g a n to p o u r forth the particular recollections that p o p p e d up as h e called for t h e m . H e r f a c e a n d her voice, all at his service now, worked the m i r a c l e — t h e i m p r e s s i o n o p e r a t i n g like the torch of a lamplighter who t o u c h e s into f l a m e , o n e by o n e , a long row of gas-jets. M a r c h e r flattered himself the illumination w a s brilliant, yet he w a s really still m o r e p l e a s e d on her showing him, with a m u s e m e n t , that in his h a s t e to m a k e everything right he h a d got m o s t things rather wrong. It hadn't b e e n at R o m e — i t had b e e n at N a p l e s ; a n d it hadn't b e e n eight years b e f o r e — i t h a d b e e n m o r e nearly ten. S h e hadn't b e e n , either, with her u n c l e a n d a u n t , but with her m o t h e r a n d her brother; in addition to which it w a s not with the P e m b l e s he h a d b e e n , but with the Boyers, c o m i n g d o w n in their c o m p a n y from R o m e — a point on which s h e insisted, a little to his c o n f u s i o n , a n d a s to which s h e h a d her e v i d e n c e in h a n d . T h e Boyers s h e h a d k n o w n , but didn't know the P e m b l e s , t h o u g h s h e h a d h e a r d of t h e m , a n d it was the p e o p l e h e w a s with w h o had m a d e t h e m a c q u a i n t e d . T h e incident of the t h u n d e r s t o r m that h a d raged r o u n d t h e m with s u c h violence a s to drive t h e m for refuge into an e x c a v a t i o n — t h i s incident had not o c c u r r e d at the P a l a c e of the C a e s a r s , b u t at P o m p e i i , 2 o n a n o c c a s i o n w h e n they h a d b e e n p r e s e n t there at a n important find. H e a c c e p t e d her a m e n d m e n t s , h e enjoyed her c o r r e c t i o n s , t h o u g h the moral of t h e m w a s , s h e p o i n t e d out, that he really didn't r e m e m b e r the least 2. Pompeii is near Naples, not Rome.

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thing a b o u t her; a n d he only felt it a s a d r a w b a c k that w h e n all w a s m a d e strictly historic there didn't a p p e a r m u c h of anything left. T h e y lingered together still, she n e g l e c t i n g her office—for from the m o m e n t h e w a s s o clever she had no p r o p e r right to h i m — a n d both n e g l e c t i n g the h o u s e , j u s t waiting a s to s e e if a m e m o r y or two m o r e wouldn't again b r e a t h e o n t h e m . It hadn't taken t h e m m a n y m i n u t e s , after all, to put d o w n on the t a b l e , like the c a r d s of a p a c k , t h o s e that c o n s t i t u t e d their respective h a n d s ; only what c a m e out w a s that the p a c k w a s unfortunately not p e r f e c t — t h a t the p a s t , invoked, invited, e n c o u r a g e d , c o u l d give t h e m , naturally, no m o r e t h a n it h a d . It h a d m a d e t h e m anciently m e e t — h e r at twenty, him at twenty-five; but nothing w a s s o s t r a n g e , they s e e m e d to say to e a c h other, a s that, while so o c c u p i e d , it hadn't d o n e a little m o r e for t h e m . T h e y looked at e a c h other a s with the feeling of an o c c a s i o n m i s s e d ; the p r e s e n t would have b e e n so m u c h better if the other, in the far d i s t a n c e , in the foreign land, hadn't b e e n so stupidly m e a g r e . T h e r e weren't apparently, all c o u n t e d , m o r e than a dozen little old things that had s u c c e e d e d in c o m i n g to p a s s b e t w e e n t h e m ; trivialities of youth, simplicities of f r e s h n e s s , stupidities of i g n o r a n c e , s m a l l p o s sible g e r m s , but too deeply b u r i e d — t o o deeply (didn't it s e e m ? ) to s p r o u t after s o m a n y years. M a r c h e r c o u l d only feel he o u g h t to have r e n d e r e d her s o m e s e r v i c e — s a v e d her from a c a p s i z e d b o a t in the Bay or at least recovered her d r e s s i n g - b a g , filched from her c a b in the streets of N a p l e s by a lazzarone* with a stiletto. O r it would have b e e n nice if he c o u l d have b e e n taken with fever all a l o n e at his hotel, a n d s h e c o u l d have c o m e to look after h i m , to write to his p e o p l e , to drive him out in c o n v a l e s c e n c e . Then they would be in p o s s e s s i o n of the s o m e t h i n g or other that their a c t u a l s h o w s e e m e d to lack. It yet s o m e h o w p r e s e n t e d itself, this show, a s too g o o d to be spoiled; s o that they were r e d u c e d for a few m i n u t e s m o r e to w o n d e r i n g a little helplessly w h y — s i n c e they s e e m e d to know a certain n u m b e r of the s a m e p e o p l e — t h e i r reunion h a d b e e n so long averted. T h e y didn't u s e that n a m e for it, but their delay from m i n u t e to m i n u t e to j o i n the others w a s a kind of c o n f e s s i o n that they didn't quite want it to b e a failure. T h e i r a t t e m p t e d s u p p o s i t i o n of r e a s o n s for their not having met but s h o w e d how little they knew of e a c h other. T h e r e c a m e in fact a m o m e n t w h e n M a r c h e r felt a positive p a n g . It w a s vain to p r e t e n d s h e w a s a n old friend, for all the c o m m u n i t i e s were wanting, in spite of which it w a s a s a n old friend that h e saw s h e would have suited him. H e h a d new o n e s e n o u g h — w a s s u r r o u n d e d with t h e m for i n s t a n c e on the s t a g e of the other h o u s e ; as a new o n e he probably wouldn't have so m u c h a s noticed her. H e would have liked to invent s o m e thing, get her to make-believe with him that s o m e p a s s a g e of a r o m a n t i c or critical kind had originally o c c u r r e d . H e w a s really a l m o s t r e a c h i n g out in i m a g i n a t i o n — a s a g a i n s t t i m e — f o r s o m e t h i n g that would d o , a n d saying to himself that if it didn't c o m e this sketch of a fresh start would s h o w for q u i t e awkwardly b u n g l e d . T h e y would s e p a r a t e , a n d now for no s e c o n d or no third c h a n c e . T h e y would have tried a n d not s u c c e e d e d . T h e n it w a s , j u s t at the turn, a s he afterwards m a d e it out to himself, that, everything else failing, she herself d e c i d e d to take u p the c a s e a n d , a s it w e r e , save the situation. H e felt a s s o o n a s s h e s p o k e that s h e h a d b e e n c o n s c i o u s l y k e e p i n g b a c k what s h e said a n d h o p i n g to get on without it; a s c r u p l e in her that i m m e n s e l y 3. Beggar (Italian).

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t o u c h e d him w h e n , by the e n d of three or four m i n u t e s m o r e , h e w a s a b l e to m e a s u r e it. W h a t s h e b r o u g h t out, at any rate, q u i t e c l e a r e d the air a n d s u p p l i e d the l i n k — t h e link it w a s so odd h e s h o u l d frivolously have m a n a g e d to l o s e . "You know you told m e s o m e t h i n g I've never forgotten a n d that a g a i n a n d again has m a d e m e think of you s i n c e ; it w a s that t r e m e n d o u s l y hot day w h e n we went to Sorrento," 1 a c r o s s the bay, for the b r e e z e . W h a t I a l l u d e to w a s what you s a i d to m e , o n the way b a c k , a s we sat u n d e r the a w n i n g of the b o a t enjoying the c o o l . H a v e you f o r g o t t e n ? " H e h a d forgotten a n d w a s even m o r e s u r p r i s e d than a s h a m e d . B u t the great thing w a s that he s a w in this no vulgar r e m i n d e r of any " s w e e t " s p e e c h . T h e vanity of w o m e n h a d long m e m o r i e s , but s h e w a s m a k i n g no c l a i m on him of a c o m p l i m e n t or a m i s t a k e . With a n o t h e r w o m a n , a totally different o n e , h e might have feared the recall possibly of even s o m e i m b e c i l e "offer." S o , in having to say that he h a d i n d e e d forgotten, he w a s c o n s c i o u s rather of a loss than of a g a i n ; h e already s a w an interest in the m a t t e r of her m e n t i o n . "I try to t h i n k — b u t I give it u p . Yet I r e m e m b e r the S o r r e n t o d a y . " "I'm not very s u r e you d o , " M a y B a r t r a m after a m o m e n t said; " a n d I'm not very s u r e I o u g h t to want you to. It's dreadful to bring a p e r s o n b a c k at any time to what he w a s ten years b e f o r e . If you've lived away from it," s h e s m i l e d , " s o m u c h the b e t t e r . " "Ah if you haven't why s h o u l d I ? " he a s k e d . " L i v e d away, you m e a n , from what I myself w a s ? " " F r o m what I w a s . I w a s of c o u r s e a n a s s , " M a r c h e r went o n ; " b u t I would rather know from you j u s t the sort of a s s I w a s t h a n — f r o m the m o m e n t you have s o m e t h i n g in your m i n d — n o t know a n y t h i n g . " Still, however, s h e h e s i t a t e d . " B u t if you've c o m p l e t e l y c e a s e d to b e that sort—?" "Why I c a n then all the m o r e b e a r to know. B e s i d e s , p e r h a p s I haven't." " P e r h a p s . Yet if you haven't," s h e a d d e d . "I s h o u l d s u p p o s e you'd r e m e m ber. N o t i n d e e d that I in the least c o n n e c t with my i m p r e s s i o n the invidious n a m e you u s e . If I h a d only t h o u g h t you f o o l i s h , " s h e e x p l a i n e d , "the thing I s p e a k of wouldn't so have r e m a i n e d with m e . It w a s a b o u t yourself." S h e waited a s if it might c o m e to him; b u t a s , only m e e t i n g her eyes in wonder, h e gave no sign, s h e b u r n t her s h i p s . " H a s it ever h a p p e n e d ? " T h e n it w a s that, while he c o n t i n u e d to s t a r e , a light broke for him a n d the b l o o d slowly c a m e to his f a c e , which b e g a n to burn with recognition. " D o you m e a n I told y o u — ? " B u t he faltered, lest what c a m e to h i m s h o u l d n ' t be right, lest he s h o u l d only give h i m s e l f away. "It w a s s o m e t h i n g a b o u t yourself that it w a s natural o n e s h o u l d n ' t f o r g e t — that is if o n e r e m e m b e r e d you at all. T h a t ' s why I a s k y o u , " s h e s m i l e d , "if the thing you then s p o k e of has ever c o m e to p a s s ? " O h then h e saw, b u t he w a s lost in w o n d e r a n d f o u n d h i m s e l f e m b a r r a s s e d . T h i s , h e a l s o saw, m a d e her sorry for h i m , a s if her a l l u s i o n h a d b e e n a m i s t a k e . It took him but a m o m e n t , however, to feel it h a d n ' t b e e n , m u c h a s it h a d b e e n a s u r p r i s e . After the first little s h o c k of it her k n o w l e d g e o n the contrary b e g a n , even if rather strangely, to t a s t e s w e e t to h i m . S h e w a s the only other p e r s o n in the world then w h o w o u l d have it, a n d s h e h a d h a d it 4. Across the bay from Naples.

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all t h e s e years, while the fact of his having s o b r e a t h e d his secret h a d u n a c c o u n t a b l y f a d e d from him. N o w o n d e r they couldn't have m e t a s if n o t h i n g had h a p p e n e d . "I j u d g e , " h e finally said, "that I know w h a t you m e a n . Only I h a d strangely e n o u g h lost any s e n s e of having taken you s o far into my confidence." "Is it b e c a u s e you've taken s o m a n y others a s w e l l ? " "I've taken nobody. N o t a c r e a t u r e s i n c e t h e n . " " S o that I'm the only p e r s o n w h o k n o w s ? " " T h e only p e r s o n in the w o r l d . " " W e l l , " s h e quickly replied, "I myself have never s p o k e n . I've never, never r e p e a t e d of you what you told m e . " S h e looked at him s o that h e perfectly believed her. T h e i r eyes m e t over it in s u c h a way that he w a s without a d o u b t . "And I never will." S h e s p o k e with an e a r n e s t n e s s that, a s if a l m o s t e x c e s s i v e , put him at e a s e a b o u t her p o s s i b l e derision. S o m e h o w the w h o l e q u e s t i o n w a s a new luxury to h i m — t h a t is from the m o m e n t s h e w a s in p o s s e s s i o n . If s h e didn't take the s a r c a s t i c view s h e clearly took the s y m p a t h e t i c , a n d that w a s what he h a d h a d , in all the long t i m e , from no o n e w h o m s o e v e r . W h a t he felt w a s that he couldn't at p r e s e n t have b e g u n to tell her, a n d yet c o u l d profit p e r h a p s exquisitely by the a c c i d e n t of having d o n e so of old. " P l e a s e don't t h e n . W e ' r e j u s t right a s it i s . " " O h I a m , " she l a u g h e d , "if you a r e ! " T o which she a d d e d : " T h e n you do still feel in the s a m e w a y ? " It w a s i m p o s s i b l e he shouldn't take to h i m s e l f that s h e w a s really interested, t h o u g h it all kept c o m i n g a s perfect s u r p r i s e . H e h a d t h o u g h t of himself so long a s a b o m i n a b l y a l o n e , a n d lo he wasn't a l o n e a bit. H e hadn't b e e n , it a p p e a r e d , for an h o u r — s i n c e t h o s e m o m e n t s o n the S o r r e n t o boat. It w a s she who h a d b e e n , he s e e m e d to s e e a s h e looked at h e r — s h e w h o h a d b e e n m a d e so by the g r a c e l e s s fact of his l a p s e of fidelity. T o tell her what he h a d told h e r — w h a t h a d it b e e n b u t to a s k s o m e t h i n g of her? s o m e thing that s h e h a d given, in her charity, without his having, by a r e m e m b r a n c e , by a return of the spirit, failing a n o t h e r e n c o u n t e r , so m u c h a s t h a n k e d her. W h a t h e h a d a s k e d of her h a d b e e n simply at first not to l a u g h at h i m . S h e h a d beautifully not d o n e so for ten years, a n d s h e w a s not d o i n g so now. S o he h a d e n d l e s s g r a t i t u d e to m a k e up. Only for that he m u s t s e e j u s t how he h a d figured to her. " W h a t , exactly, w a s the a c c o u n t I g a v e — ? " " O f the way you did feel? Well, it was very s i m p l e . You said you h a d h a d from your earliest t i m e , a s the d e e p e s t thing within y o u , the s e n s e of b e i n g kept for s o m e t h i n g rare a n d s t r a n g e , possibly p r o d i g i o u s a n d terrible, that w a s s o o n e r or later to h a p p e n to you, that you h a d in your b o n e s the foreb o d i n g a n d the conviction of, a n d that would p e r h a p s overwhelm y o u . " " D o you call that very s i m p l e ? " J o h n M a r c h e r a s k e d . S h e t h o u g h t a m o m e n t . "It w a s p e r h a p s b e c a u s e I s e e m e d , a s you s p o k e , to u n d e r s t a n d it." "You do u n d e r s t a n d i t ? " he eagerly a s k e d . Again s h e kept her kind eyes on him. "You still have the b e l i e f ? " " O h ! " he e x c l a i m e d helplessly. T h e r e w a s too m u c h to say. " W h a t e v e r it's to b e , " s h e clearly m a d e out, "it hasn't yet c o m e . " H e s h o o k his h e a d in c o m p l e t e s u r r e n d e r now. "It hasn't yet c o m e . Only, you know, it isn't anything I'm to do, to a c h i e v e in the world, to b e distin-

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g u i s h e d or a d m i r e d for. I'm not s u c h a n a s s as that. It would b e m u c h better, no d o u b t , if I w e r e . " "It's to b e s o m e t h i n g you're merely to s u f f e r ? " "Well, say to wait f o r — t o have to m e e t , to f a c e , to s e e s u d d e n l y b r e a k o u t in my life; possibly destroying all further c o n s c i o u s n e s s , possibly annihilating m e ; possibly, on the other h a n d , only altering everything, striking at the root of all my world a n d leaving m e to the c o n s e q u e n c e s , however they s h a p e themselves." S h e took this in, but the light in her eyes c o n t i n u e d for him not to b e that of mockery. "Isn't what you d e s c r i b e p e r h a p s but the e x p e c t a t i o n — o r at any rate the s e n s e of d a n g e r , familiar to so m a n y p e o p l e — o f falling in l o v e ? " J o h n M a r c h e r w o n d e r e d . " D i d you a s k m e that b e f o r e ? " " N o — I wasn't so free-and-easy then. B u t it's what strikes m e n o w . " " O f c o u r s e , " he said after a m o m e n t , "it strikes y o u . O f c o u r s e it strikes me. O f c o u r s e what's in store for m e may be no m o r e than that. T h e only thing i s , " h e went o n , "that I think if it h a d b e e n that I s h o u l d by this time know." " D o you m e a n b e c a u s e you've been in l o v e ? " A n d then as h e but looked at her in s i l e n c e : "You've b e e n in love, a n d it hasn't m e a n t s u c h a c a t a c l y s m , hasn't proved the great affair?" " H e r e I a m , you s e e . It hasn't b e e n o v e r w h e l m i n g . " " T h e n it hasn't b e e n love," said M a y B a r t r a m . "Well, I at least thought it w a s . I took it for t h a t — I ' v e taken it till now. It w a s a g r e e a b l e , it w a s delightful, it w a s m i s e r a b l e , " h e e x p l a i n e d . " B u t it wasn't s t r a n g e . It wasn't what my affair's to b e . " "You want s o m e t h i n g all to y o u r s e l f — s o m e t h i n g that nobody else knows or has k n o w n ? " "It isn't a q u e s t i o n of what I ' w a n t ' — G o d knows I don't want anything. It's only a q u e s t i o n of the a p p r e h e n s i o n that h a u n t s m e — t h a t I live with day by day." H e said this s o lucidly a n d consistently that h e c o u l d s e e it further i m p o s e itself. If s h e hadn't b e e n interested before she'd have b e e n i n t e r e s t e d now. "Is it a s e n s e of c o m i n g v i o l e n c e ? " Evidently now too again h e liked to talk of it. "I don't think of it a s — w h e n it d o e s c o m e — n e c e s s a r i l y violent. I only think of it a s natural a n d a s of c o u r s e a b o v e all u n m i s t a k e a b l e . I think of it simply a s the thing. The thing will of itself a p p e a r n a t u r a l . " " T h e n how will it a p p e a r s t r a n g e ? " M a r c h e r b e t h o u g h t himself. "It w o n ' t — t o me." "To whom then?" " W e l l , " h e replied, smiling at last, " s a y to y o u . " " O h then I'm to be p r e s e n t ? " "Why you are p r e s e n t — s i n c e you k n o w . " "I s e e . " S h e t u r n e d it over. " B u t I m e a n at the c a t a s t r o p h e . " At this, for a m i n u t e , their lightness g a v e way to their gravity; it w a s a s if the long look they e x c h a n g e d held t h e m together. "It will only d e p e n d on y o u r s e l f — i f you'll watch with m e . " "Are you a f r a i d ? " s h e a s k e d . " D o n ' t leave m e now," he went o n . "Are you a f r a i d ? " s h e r e p e a t e d .

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" D o you think m e simply out of my m i n d ? " he p u r s u e d i n s t e a d of answering. " D o I merely strike you a s a h a r m l e s s l u n a t i c ? " " N o , " said M a y B a r t r a m . "I u n d e r s t a n d you. I believe y o u . " "You m e a n you feel how my o b s e s s i o n — p o o r old t h i n g ! — m a y c o r r e s p o n d to s o m e p o s s i b l e reality?" " T o s o m e p o s s i b l e reality." " T h e n you will w a t c h with m e ? " S h e h e s i t a t e d , then for the third time put her q u e s t i o n . "Are you a f r a i d ? " " D i d I tell you I w a s — a t N a p l e s ? " " N o , you said n o t h i n g a b o u t it." " T h e n I don't know. And I s h o u l d like to k n o w , " said J o h n M a r c h e r . "You'll tell m e yourself w h e t h e r you think so. If you'll watch with m e you'll s e e . " "Very g o o d t h e n . " T h e y h a d b e e n moving by this time a c r o s s the r o o m , a n d at the door, before p a s s i n g out, they p a u s e d as for the full wind-up of their u n d e r s t a n d i n g . "I'll w a t c h with y o u , " said M a y B a r t r a m . II

T h e fact that s h e " k n e w " — k n e w a n d yet neither chaffed him nor betrayed h i m — h a d in a short time b e g u n to c o n s t i t u t e b e t w e e n t h e m a goodly b o n d , which b e c a m e m o r e m a r k e d w h e n , within the year that followed their afternoon at W e a t h e r e n d , the o p p o r t u n i t i e s for m e e t i n g multiplied. T h e event that t h u s p r o m o t e d t h e s e o c c a s i o n s w a s the d e a t h of the a n c i e n t lady her great-aunt, u n d e r w h o s e wing, s i n c e losing her mother, s h e h a d to s u c h an extent found shelter, a n d who, t h o u g h but the widowed m o t h e r of the new s u c c e s s o r to the property, h a d s u c c e e d e d — t h a n k s to a high tone a n d a high t e m p e r — i n not forfeiting the s u p r e m e position at the great h o u s e . T h e d e p osition of this p e r s o n a g e arrived but with her d e a t h , w h i c h , followed by m a n y c h a n g e s , m a d e in particular a difference for the y o u n g w o m a n in w h o m M a r c h e r ' s expert attention h a d r e c o g n i s e d from the first a d e p e n d e n t with a pride that might a c h e t h o u g h it didn't bristle. N o t h i n g for a long time h a d m a d e him easier than the thought that the a c h i n g m u s t have b e e n m u c h s o o t h e d by M i s s B a r t r a m ' s now finding herself a b l e to set u p a small h o m e in L o n d o n . S h e had a c q u i r e d property, to a n a m o u n t that m a d e that luxury j u s t p o s s i b l e , u n d e r her a u n t ' s extremely c o m p l i c a t e d will, a n d w h e n the whole matter b e g a n to be s t r a i g h t e n e d out, which i n d e e d took t i m e , s h e let him know that the happy i s s u e w a s at last in view. H e h a d s e e n her again before that day, both b e c a u s e s h e h a d m o r e t h a n o n c e a c c o m p a n i e d the a n c i e n t lady to town a n d b e c a u s e he h a d paid a n o t h e r visit to the friends who so conveniently m a d e of W e a t h e r e n d o n e of the c h a r m s of their own hospitality. T h e s e friends h a d taken him b a c k there; he h a d a c h i e v e d there again with M i s s B a r t r a m s o m e quiet d e t a c h m e n t ; a n d he h a d in L o n d o n s u c c e e d e d in p e r s u a d i n g her to m o r e than o n e brief a b s e n c e from her a u n t . T h e y went together, o n t h e s e latter o c c a s i o n s , to the N a t i o n a l Gallery a n d the S o u t h K e n s i n g t o n M u s e u m , w h e r e , a m o n g vivid r e m i n d e r s , they talked of Italy at l a r g e — n o t now a t t e m p t i n g to recover, a s at first, the taste of their youth a n d their i g n o r a n c e . T h a t recovery, the first day at W e a t h e r e n d , h a d served its p u r p o s e well, h a d given t h e m q u i t e e n o u g h ; so that they were, to M a r c h e r ' s s e n s e , no longer hovering a b o u t the h e a d w a t e r s of their s t r e a m , but h a d felt their boat p u s h e d sharply off a n d d o w n the current.

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T h e y were literally afloat together; for our g e n t l e m a n this w a s m a r k e d , quite as m a r k e d as that the f o r t u n a t e c a u s e of it w a s j u s t the b u r i e d t r e a s u r e of her k n o w l e d g e . H e h a d with his own h a n d s d u g u p this little h o a r d , b r o u g h t to l i g h t — t h a t is to within r e a c h of the d i m day c o n s t i t u t e d by their discretions a n d p r i v a c i e s — t h e object of value the hiding-place of w h i c h h e h a d , after p u t t i n g it into the g r o u n d himself, so strangely, s o long forgotten. T h e rare luck of his having again j u s t s t u m b l e d o n the spot m a d e him indifferent to any other q u e s t i o n ; h e would d o u b t l e s s have devoted m o r e time to the o d d a c c i d e n t of his l a p s e of m e m o r y if h e hadn't b e e n m o v e d to d e v o t e so m u c h to the s w e e t n e s s , the c o m f o r t , a s h e felt, for the future, that this a c c i d e n t itself h a d h e l p e d to k e e p fresh. It h a d never e n t e r e d into his p l a n that any o n e s h o u l d " k n o w , " a n d mainly for the r e a s o n that it wasn't in him to tell any o n e . T h a t would have b e e n i m p o s s i b l e , for n o t h i n g b u t the a m u s e m e n t of a cold world w o u l d have waited o n it. S i n c e , however, a m y s t e r i o u s fate had o p e n e d his m o u t h b e t i m e s , in spite of h i m , he w o u l d c o u n t that a c o m p e n s a t i o n a n d profit by it to the u t m o s t . T h a t the right p e r s o n should know t e m p e r e d the asperity of his s e c r e t m o r e even t h a n his s h y n e s s h a d p e r m i t t e d him to i m a g i n e ; a n d M a y B a r t r a m w a s clearly right, b e c a u s e — well, b e c a u s e there s h e w a s . H e r k n o w l e d g e simply settled it; he would have b e e n s u r e e n o u g h by this time h a d s h e b e e n wrong. T h e r e w a s that in his situation, n o d o u b t , that d i s p o s e d h i m t o o m u c h to s e e her a s a m e r e c o n fidant, taking all her light for him from the f a c t — t h e fact o n l y — o f her interest in his p r e d i c a m e n t ; from her mercy, sympathy, s e r i o u s n e s s , her c o n s e n t not to regard him a s the funniest of the funny. A w a r e , in fine, that her p r i c e for him w a s j u s t in her giving him this c o n s t a n t s e n s e of his b e i n g admirably s p a r e d , h e w a s careful to r e m e m b e r that s h e h a d a l s o a life of her own, with things that might h a p p e n to her, things that in friendship o n e s h o u l d likewise take a c c o u n t of. S o m e t h i n g fairly r e m a r k a b l e c a m e to p a s s with h i m , for that matter, in this c o n n e x i o n — s o m e t h i n g r e p r e s e n t e d by a certain p a s s a g e of his c o n s c i o u s n e s s , in the s u d d e n e s t way, from o n e extreme to the other. H e h a d t h o u g h t himself, so long as n o b o d y knew, the m o s t d i s i n t e r e s t e d p e r s o n in the world, carrying his c o n c e n t r a t e d b u r d e n , his p e r p e t u a l s u s p e n s e , ever so quietly, holding his t o n g u e a b o u t it, giving o t h e r s n o g l i m p s e of it nor of its effect u p o n his life, a s k i n g of t h e m n o a l l o w a n c e a n d only m a k i n g o n his side all t h o s e that were a s k e d . H e hadn't d i s t u r b e d p e o p l e with the q u e e r n e s s of their having to know a h a u n t e d m a n , t h o u g h he h a d h a d m o m e n t s of rather special t e m p t a t i o n on h e a r i n g t h e m say they were forsooth " u n s e t t l e d . " If they were a s u n s e t t l e d a s h e w a s — h e w h o h a d never b e e n settled for a n h o u r in his life—they w o u l d know what it m e a n t . Yet it wasn't, all the s a m e , for him to m a k e t h e m , a n d h e listened to t h e m civilly e n o u g h . T h i s w a s why he h a d s u c h g o o d — t h o u g h possibly s u c h rather colo u r l e s s — m a n n e r s ; this w a s why, a b o v e all, he c o u l d regard himself, in a greedy world, a s d e c e n t l y — a s in fact p e r h a p s even a little s u b l i m e l y — u n s e l f ish. O u r point is accordingly that h e v a l u e d this c h a r a c t e r q u i t e sufficiently to m e a s u r e his p r e s e n t d a n g e r of letting it l a p s e , a g a i n s t which h e p r o m i s e d h i m s e l f to be m u c h on his g u a r d . H e w a s q u i t e ready, n o n e the l e s s , to b e selfish j u s t a little, s i n c e surely n o m o r e c h a r m i n g o c c a s i o n for it h a d c o m e to him. " J u s t a little," in a word, w a s j u s t a s m u c h a s M i s s B a r t r a m , taking o n e day with a n o t h e r , would let h i m . H e never would be in the least c o e r c i v e , a n d would k e e p well before him the lines on which c o n s i d e r a t i o n for h e r —

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the very h i g h e s t — o u g h t to p r o c e e d . H e would thoroughly e s t a b l i s h the h e a d s u n d e r which her affairs, her r e q u i r e m e n t s , her p e c u l i a r i t i e s — h e went so far as to give t h e m the latitude of that n a m e — w o u l d c o m e into their i n t e r c o u r s e . All this naturally w a s a sign of how m u c h he took the i n t e r c o u r s e itself for g r a n t e d . T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g m o r e to be d o n e a b o u t that. It simply existed; had s p r u n g into b e i n g with her first p e n e t r a t i n g q u e s t i o n to him in the a u t u m n light there at W e a t h e r e n d . T h e real form it s h o u l d have taken o n the b a s i s that s t o o d out large w a s the form of their marrying. B u t the devil in this w a s that the very b a s i s itself put marrying out of the q u e s t i o n . H i s conviction, his a p p r e h e n s i o n , his o b s e s s i o n , in short, wasn't a privilege he c o u l d invite a w o m a n to s h a r e ; a n d that c o n s e q u e n c e of it w a s precisely what w a s the m a t t e r with h i m . S o m e t h i n g or other lay in wait for h i m , a m i d the twists a n d the turns of the m o n t h s a n d the years, like a c r o u c h i n g b e a s t in the j u n g l e . It signified little whether the c r o u c h i n g b e a s t were d e s t i n e d to slay him or to be slain. T h e definite point w a s the inevitable spring of the c r e a t u r e ; a n d the definite l e s s o n from that w a s that a m a n of feeling didn't c a u s e h i m s e l f to b e a c c o m p a n i e d by a lady on a tiger-hunt. S u c h w a s the i m a g e u n d e r which he h a d e n d e d by figuring his life. T h e y h a d at first, n o n e the l e s s , in the s c a t t e r e d h o u r s s p e n t together, m a d e no allusion to that view of it; which w a s a sign he w a s h a n d s o m e l y alert to give that he didn't expect, that h e in fact didn't c a r e , always to be talking a b o u t it. S u c h a feature in one's outlook w a s really like a h u m p on one's b a c k . T h e difference it m a d e every m i n u t e of the day existed q u i t e i n d e p e n d e n t l y of d i s c u s s i o n . O n e d i s c u s s e d of c o u r s e like a h u n c h b a c k , for there w a s always, if n o t h i n g e l s e , the h u n c h b a c k f a c e . T h a t r e m a i n e d , a n d s h e w a s w a t c h i n g him; but p e o p l e w a t c h e d b e s t , a s a general thing, in s i l e n c e , so that s u c h would be p r e d o m i n a n t l y the m a n n e r of their vigil. Yet h e didn't want, at the s a m e t i m e , to be t e n s e a n d s o l e m n ; t e n s e a n d s o l e m n w a s w h a t he i m a g i n e d h e too m u c h s h o w e d for with other p e o p l e . T h e thing to b e , with the o n e p e r s o n w h o knew, w a s e a s y a n d n a t u r a l — t o m a k e the r e f e r e n c e rather than b e s e e m i n g to avoid it, to avoid it rather t h a n be s e e m i n g to m a k e it, a n d to k e e p it, in any c a s e , familiar, f a c e t i o u s even, rather than p e d a n t i c a n d p o r t e n t o u s . S o m e s u c h c o n s i d e r a t i o n a s the latter w a s d o u b t l e s s in his mind for i n s t a n c e w h e n h e wrote p l e a s a n t l y to M i s s B a r t r a m that p e r h a p s the great thing h e h a d so long felt as in the lap of the g o d s w a s n o m o r e t h a n this c i r c u m s t a n c e , which t o u c h e d him so nearly, of her a c q u i r i n g a h o u s e in L o n d o n . It w a s the first allusion they h a d yet a g a i n m a d e , n e e d i n g any other hitherto so little; but w h e n s h e replied, after having given h i m the n e w s , that she w a s by no m e a n s satisfied with s u c h a trifle a s the climax to s o s p e c i a l a s u s p e n s e , s h e a l m o s t set him w o n d e r i n g if s h e hadn't even a larger c o n c e p tion of singularity for him than he h a d for himself. H e w a s at all events d e s t i n e d to b e c o m e a w a r e little by little, as time went by, that s h e w a s all the while looking at his life, j u d g i n g it, m e a s u r i n g it, in the light of the thing s h e knew, which grew to be at last, with the c o n s e c r a t i o n of the years, never m e n t i o n e d b e t w e e n t h e m save a s "the real t r u t h " a b o u t him. T h a t h a d always b e e n his own form of reference to it, b u t she a d o p t e d the form so quietly that, looking b a c k at the e n d of a p e r i o d , he knew there w a s n o m o m e n t at which it w a s t r a c e a b l e that s h e h a d , a s h e might say, got inside his idea, or e x c h a n g e d the attitude of beautifully i n d u l g i n g for that of still m o r e b e a u tifully believing h i m .

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It w a s always o p e n to him to a c c u s e her of s e e i n g him but a s the m o s t h a r m l e s s of m a n i a c s , a n d this, in the long r u n — s i n c e it covered so m u c h g r o u n d — w a s his e a s i e s t description of their friendship. H e h a d a s c r e w l o o s e for her, but s h e liked him in spite of it a n d w a s practically, a g a i n s t the rest of the world, his kind wise keeper, u n r e m u n e r a t e d b u t fairly a m u s e d a n d , in the a b s e n c e of other n e a r ties, not d i s r e p u t a b l y o c c u p i e d . T h e rest of the world of c o u r s e thought him q u e e r , but s h e , she only, k n e w how, a n d a b o v e all why, q u e e r ; which w a s precisely what e n a b l e d her to d i s p o s e the c o n c e a l i n g veil in the right folds. S h e took his gaiety from h i m — s i n c e it h a d to p a s s with t h e m for g a i e t y — a s s h e took everything e l s e ; but she certainly s o far justified by her unerring t o u c h his finer s e n s e of the d e g r e e to w h i c h he h a d e n d e d by c o n v i n c i n g her. She at least never s p o k e of the s e c r e t of his life except a s "the real truth a b o u t y o u , " a n d she h a d in fact a wonderful way of m a k i n g it s e e m , a s s u c h , the secret of her own life too. T h a t w a s in fine how he so constantly felt her a s allowing for h i m ; h e couldn't on the w h o l e call it anything else. H e allowed for himself, but s h e , exactly, allowed still m o r e ; partly b e c a u s e , better p l a c e d for a sight of the m a t t e r , s h e t r a c e d his u n h a p p y perversion t h r o u g h r e a c h e s of its c o u r s e into which h e c o u l d s c a r c e follow it. H e knew how he felt, b u t , b e s i d e s k n o w i n g that, s h e knew h o w h e looked a s well; h e knew e a c h of the things of i m p o r t a n c e he w a s insidiously kept from d o i n g , but s h e c o u l d a d d up the a m o u n t they m a d e , u n d e r s t a n d how m u c h , with a lighter weight o n his spirit, h e might have d o n e , a n d thereby establish how, clever as he w a s , he fell short. A b o v e all s h e w a s in the secret of the difference b e t w e e n the f o r m s h e went t h r o u g h — t h o s e of his little office u n d e r G o v e r n m e n t , t h o s e of c a r i n g for his m o d e s t patrimony, for his library, for his g a r d e n in the country, for the p e o p l e in L o n d o n w h o s e invitations he a c c e p t e d a n d r e p a i d — a n d the d e t a c h m e n t that reigned b e n e a t h t h e m a n d that m a d e of all behaviour, all that c o u l d in the least be called behaviour, a long act of d i s s i m u l a t i o n . W h a t it h a d c o m e to w a s that h e wore a m a s k p a i n t e d with the social s i m p e r , out of the e y e h o l e s of which there looked eyes of a n e x p r e s s i o n not in the least m a t c h i n g the other features. T h i s the stupid world, even after y e a r s , h a d never m o r e than halfdiscovered. It w a s only M a y B a r t r a m w h o h a d , a n d s h e a c h i e v e d , by a n art i n d e s c r i b a b l e , the feat of at o n c e — o r p e r h a p s it w a s only a l t e r n a t e l y — m e e t ing the eyes from in front a n d m i n g l i n g her own vision, a s from over his shoulder, with their p e e p t h r o u g h the a p e r t u r e s . S o while they grew older together s h e did w a t c h with h i m , a n d so s h e let this a s s o c i a t i o n give s h a p e a n d c o l o u r to her own e x i s t e n c e . B e n e a t h her forms a s well d e t a c h m e n t had l e a r n e d to sit, a n d behaviour h a d b e c o m e for her, in the social s e n s e , a false a c c o u n t of herself. T h e r e w a s b u t o n e a c c o u n t of her that would have b e e n true all the while a n d that s h e c o u l d give straight to n o b o d y , least of all to J o h n M a r c h e r . H e r whole a t t i t u d e w a s a virtual s t a t e m e n t , but the p e r c e p t i o n of that only s e e m e d called to take its p l a c e for him a s o n e of the m a n y things n e c e s s a r i l y c r o w d e d o u t of his c o n s c i o u s n e s s . If s h e h a d moreover, like himself, to m a k e sacrifices to their real truth, it w a s to be granted that her c o m p e n s a t i o n might have affected her a s m o r e p r o m p t a n d m o r e natural. T h e y h a d long p e r i o d s , in this L o n d o n t i m e , d u r i n g w h i c h , w h e n they were together, a s t r a n g e r might have listened to t h e m without in the least pricking u p his e a r s ; o n the other h a n d the real truth w a s equally liable at any m o m e n t to rise to the s u r f a c e , a n d the a u d i t o r w o u l d

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then have w o n d e r e d indeed what they were talking a b o u t . T h e y had from a n early hour m a d e up their m i n d that society w a s , luckily, unintelligent, a n d the margin allowed t h e m by this h a d fairly b e c o m e o n e of their c o m m o n p l a c e s . Yet there were still m o m e n t s w h e n the situation t u r n e d a l m o s t f r e s h — u s u a l l y u n d e r the effect of s o m e expression drawn from herself. H e r e x p r e s s i o n s d o u b t l e s s r e p e a t e d t h e m s e l v e s , but her intervals w e r e g e n e r o u s . " W h a t saves u s , you know, is that we a n s w e r s o c o m p l e t e l y to so u s u a l a n a p p e a r a n c e : that of the m a n a n d w o m a n w h o s e friendship has b e c o m e s u c h a daily h a b i t — o r a l m o s t — a s to b e at last i n d i s p e n s a b l e . " T h a t for i n s t a n c e w a s a r e m a r k s h e h a d frequently e n o u g h h a d o c c a s i o n to m a k e , t h o u g h s h e h a d given it at different times different d e v e l o p m e n t s . W h a t we a r e especially c o n c e r n e d with is the turn it h a p p e n e d to take from her o n e a f t e r n o o n w h e n he h a d c o m e to s e e her in h o n o u r of her birthday. T h i s anniversary h a d fallen on a S u n d a y , at a s e a s o n of thick fog a n d general o u t w a r d g l o o m ; but he h a d brought her his c u s t o m a r y offering, having known her now long e n o u g h to have e s t a b l i s h e d a h u n d r e d small traditions. It w a s o n e of his proofs to himself, the p r e s e n t he m a d e her o n her birthday, that he hadn't s u n k into real selfishness. It w a s mostly nothing m o r e than a small trinket, but it w a s always fine of its kind, a n d he w a s regularly careful to pay for it m o r e than he thought he c o u l d afford. " O u r habit saves you at least, don't you s e e ? b e c a u s e it m a k e s you, after all, for the vulgar, i n d i s t i n g u i s h a b l e from other m e n . W h a t ' s the m o s t inveterate m a r k of m e n in g e n e r a l ? W h y the c a p a c i t y to s p e n d e n d l e s s time with dull w o m e n — t o s p e n d it I won't say without b e i n g b o r e d , but without m i n d i n g that they a r e , without b e i n g driven off at a tangent by it; which c o m e s to the s a m e thing. I'm your dull w o m a n , a part of the daily bread for which you pray at c h u r c h . T h a t covers your tracks m o r e than a n y t h i n g . " "And what covers y o u r s ? " a s k e d M a r c h e r , w h o m his dull w o m a n c o u l d mostly to this extent a m u s e . "I s e e of c o u r s e what you m e a n by your saving m e , in this way a n d that, so far a s other p e o p l e are c o n c e r n e d — I ' v e s e e n it all along. Only what is it that s a v e s you? I often think, you know, of t h a t . " S h e looked a s if she s o m e t i m e s t h o u g h t of that too, b u t rather in a different way. " W h e r e other p e o p l e , you m e a n , a r e c o n c e r n e d ? " "Well, you're really s o in with m e , you k n o w — a s a sort of result of my b e i n g so in with yourself. I m e a n of my having s u c h an i m m e n s e regard for you, b e i n g s o t r e m e n d o u s l y mindful of all you've d o n e for m e . I s o m e t i m e s a s k myself if it's q u i t e fair. Fair I m e a n to have so involved a n d — s i n c e o n e may say i t — i n t e r e s t e d you. I a l m o s t feel a s if you hadn't really had time to do anything e l s e . " "Anything else but be i n t e r e s t e d ? " s h e a s k e d . "Ah w h a t e l s e d o e s o n e ever want to b e ? If I've b e e n 'watching' with you, a s we long a g o a g r e e d I w a s to d o , watching's always in itself an a b s o r p t i o n . " " O h certainly," J o h n M a r c h e r said, "if you hadn't h a d your c u r i o s i t y — ! Only doesn't it s o m e t i m e s c o m e to you a s time g o e s on that your curiosity isn't b e i n g particularly r e p a i d ? " M a y B a r t r a m had a p a u s e . " D o you a s k that, by any c h a n c e , b e c a u s e you feel at all that yours isn't? I m e a n b e c a u s e you have to wait so l o n g . " O h he u n d e r s t o o d what she m e a n t ! " F o r the thing to h a p p e n that never d o e s h a p p e n ? F o r the b e a s t to j u m p out? N o , I'm j u s t w h e r e I w a s a b o u t it. It isn't a matter a s to which I c a n choose, I c a n d e c i d e for a c h a n g e . It isn't

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o n e a s to which there can be a c h a n g e . It's in the lap of the g o d s . O n e ' s in the h a n d s of one's l a w — t h e r e o n e is. A s to the form the law will t a k e , the way it will o p e r a t e , that's its own affair." " Y e s , " M i s s B a r t r a m replied; "of c o u r s e one's fate's c o m i n g , of c o u r s e it has c o m e in its own form a n d its own way, all the while. Only, you know, the form a n d the way in your c a s e were to have b e e n — w e l l , s o m e t h i n g s o exceptional a n d , a s o n e m a y say, s o particularly your o w n . " S o m e t h i n g in this m a d e him look at her with s u s p i c i o n . "You say 'were to have b e e n , ' a s if in your heart you h a d b e g u n to d o u b t . " " O h ! " s h e vaguely p r o t e s t e d . "As if you b e l i e v e d , " h e went o n , "that nothing will n o w take p l a c e . " S h e s h o o k her h e a d slowly but rather inscrutably. "You're far from my thought." H e c o n t i n u e d to look at her. " W h a t then is the m a t t e r with y o u ? " " W e l l , " s h e said after a n o t h e r wait, " t h e m a t t e r with m e is simply that I'm m o r e s u r e than ever my curiosity, a s you call it, will b e b u t too well r e p a i d . " T h e y were frankly grave now; h e h a d got u p from his s e a t , h a d t u r n e d o n c e m o r e a b o u t the little drawing-room to w h i c h , year after year, h e b r o u g h t his inevitable topic; in which h e h a d , a s he might have said, t a s t e d their i n t i m a t e c o m m u n i t y with every s a u c e , w h e r e every object w a s a s familiar to him a s the things of his own h o u s e a n d the very c a r p e t s were worn with his fitful walk very m u c h a s the d e s k s in old c o u n t i n g - h o u s e s a r e worn by the e l b o w s of g e n e r a t i o n s of clerks. T h e g e n e r a t i o n s of his nervous m o o d s h a d b e e n at work t h e r e , a n d the p l a c e w a s the written history of his w h o l e m i d d l e life. U n d e r the i m p r e s s i o n of what his friend h a d j u s t said he k n e w himself, for s o m e r e a s o n , m o r e a w a r e of t h e s e things; w h i c h m a d e h i m , after a m o m e n t , s t o p again before her. "Is it possibly that you've grown a f r a i d ? " " A f r a i d ? " H e t h o u g h t , a s s h e r e p e a t e d the word, that his q u e s t i o n h a d m a d e her, a little, c h a n g e colour; s o that, lest h e s h o u l d have t o u c h e d on a truth, he explained very kindly: "You r e m e m b e r that that w a s w h a t you a s k e d me long a g o — t h a t first day at W e a t h e r e n d . " " O h yes, a n d you told m e you didn't k n o w — t h a t I w a s to s e e for myself. We've said little a b o u t it s i n c e , even in s o long a t i m e . " " P r e c i s e l y , " M a r c h e r i n t e r p o s e d — " q u i t e a s if it were too delicate a m a t t e r for u s to m a k e free with. Quite a s if we m i g h t find, on p r e s s u r e , that I am afraid. F o r t h e n , " h e s a i d , " w e s h o u l d n ' t , s h o u l d w e ? q u i t e know what to d o . " S h e had for the time no a n s w e r to his q u e s t i o n . " T h e r e have b e e n days when I t h o u g h t you were. Only, of c o u r s e , " she a d d e d , " t h e r e have b e e n days w h e n we have thought a l m o s t a n y t h i n g . " "Everything. O h ! " M a r c h e r softly g r o a n e d a s with a g a s p , h a l f - s p e n t , at the f a c e , m o r e u n c o v e r e d j u s t then t h a n it h a d b e e n for a long while, of the i m a g i n a t i o n always with t h e m . It h a d always h a d its i n c a l c u l a b l e m o m e n t s of glaring out, q u i t e a s with the very eyes of the very B e a s t , a n d , u s e d a s h e was to t h e m , they c o u l d still draw from h i m the tribute of a sigh that rose from the d e p t h s of his b e i n g . All they h a d t h o u g h t , first a n d last, rolled over him; the p a s t s e e m e d to have b e e n r e d u c e d to m e r e b a r r e n s p e c u l a t i o n . T h i s in fact w a s what the p l a c e h a d j u s t s t r u c k him a s s o full o f — t h e simplification of everything but the state of s u s p e n s e . T h a t r e m a i n e d only by s e e m i n g to h a n g in the void s u r r o u n d i n g it. E v e n his original fear, if fear it h a d b e e n , h a d lost itself in the desert. "I j u d g e , however," he c o n t i n u e d , "that you s e e I'm not afraid n o w . "

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" W h a t I s e e , a s I m a k e it out, is that you've a c h i e v e d s o m e t h i n g a l m o s t u n p r e c e d e n t e d in the way of getting u s e d to d a n g e r . L i v i n g with it s o long a n d s o closely you've lost your s e n s e of it; you know it's there, but you're indifferent, a n d you c e a s e even, a s of old, to have to whistle in the dark. C o n s i d e r i n g w h a t the d a n g e r i s , " M a y B a r t r a m w o u n d u p , " I ' m b o u n d to say I don't think your attitude c o u l d well be s u r p a s s e d . " J o h n M a r c h e r faintly smiled. "It's h e r o i c ? " " C e r t a i n l y — c a l l it t h a t . " It w a s w h a t h e would have liked i n d e e d to call it. "I am then a m a n of courage?" " T h a t ' s what you were to s h o w m e . " H e still, however, w o n d e r e d . " B u t doesn't the m a n of c o u r a g e know w h a t he's afraid o f — o r not afraid of? I don't know that, you s e e . I don't f o c u s it. I can't n a m e it. I only know I'm e x p o s e d . " "Yes, b u t e x p o s e d — h o w shall I s a y ? — s o directly. S o intimately. T h a t ' s surely e n o u g h . " " E n o u g h to m a k e you feel t h e n — a s w h a t we m a y call the e n d a n d the u p s h o t of our w a t c h — t h a t I'm not a f r a i d ? " "You're not afraid. B u t it isn't," s h e said, "the e n d of our w a t c h . T h a t is it isn't the e n d of yours. You've everything still to s e e . " " T h e n why haven't you?" he a s k e d . H e h a d h a d , all a l o n g , to-day, the s e n s e of her k e e p i n g s o m e t h i n g b a c k , a n d he still h a d it. As this w a s his first i m p r e s sion of that it q u i t e m a d e a d a t e . T h e c a s e w a s the m o r e m a r k e d a s she didn't at first a n s w e r ; which in turn m a d e him go o n . "You know s o m e t h i n g I d o n ' t . " T h e n his voice, for that of a m a n of c o u r a g e , t r e m b l e d a little. "You know what's to h a p p e n . " H e r s i l e n c e , with the f a c e s h e s h o w e d , w a s a l m o s t a c o n f e s s i o n — i t m a d e him s u r e . "You know, a n d you're afraid to tell m e . It's so b a d that you're afraid I'll find o u t . " All this might b e true, for s h e did look a s if, unexpectedly to her, he h a d c r o s s e d s o m e mystic line that she h a d secretly d r a w n r o u n d her. Yet s h e might, after all, not have worried; a n d the real climax w a s that h e himself, at all events, needn't. "You'll never find o u t . "

Ill It w a s all to have m a d e , n o n e the less, a s I have said, a d a t e ; which c a m e out in the fact that again a n d a g a i n , even after long intervals, other things that p a s s e d b e t w e e n t h e m wore in relation to this h o u r b u t the c h a r a c t e r of recalls a n d results. Its i m m e d i a t e effect h a d b e e n i n d e e d rather to lighten i n s i s t e n c e — a l m o s t to provoke a reaction; a s if their topic h a d d r o p p e d by its own weight a n d a s if moreover, for that matter, M a r c h e r h a d b e e n visited by o n e of his o c c a s i o n a l w a r n i n g s a g a i n s t e g o t i s m . H e h a d kept u p , h e felt, a n d very decently o n the whole, his c o n s c i o u s n e s s of the i m p o r t a n c e of not b e i n g selfish, a n d it was true that h e h a d never s i n n e d in that direction without promptly e n o u g h trying to p r e s s the s c a l e s the other way. H e often repaired his fault, the s e a s o n permitting, by inviting his friend to a c c o m p a n y h i m to the o p e r a ; a n d it not infrequently t h u s h a p p e n e d that, to s h o w h e didn't wish her to have but o n e sort of food for her m i n d , he w a s the c a u s e of her a p p e a r i n g there with him a dozen nights in the m o n t h . It even h a p p e n e d that, s e e i n g her h o m e at s u c h t i m e s , he o c c a s i o n a l l y went in with her to finish, a s he called it, the evening, a n d , the better to m a k e his point, sat d o w n

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to the frugal but always careful little s u p p e r that a w a i t e d his p l e a s u r e . H i s point w a s m a d e , h e t h o u g h t , by his not eternally insisting with her o n himself; m a d e for i n s t a n c e , at s u c h h o u r s , w h e n it befell that, her p i a n o at hand a n d e a c h of t h e m familiar with it, they went over p a s s a g e s of the o p e r a together. It c h a n c e d to b e on o n e of t h e s e o c c a s i o n s , however, that he r e m i n d e d her of her not having a n s w e r e d a certain q u e s t i o n he h a d put to her d u r i n g the talk that h a d taken p l a c e b e t w e e n t h e m on her last birthday. " W h a t is it that s a v e s yow?"—saved her, he m e a n t , from that a p p e a r a n c e of variation from the u s u a l h u m a n type. If he had practically e s c a p e d r e m a r k , a s s h e p r e t e n d e d , by d o i n g , in the m o s t i m p o r t a n t particular, what m o s t m e n d o — f i n d the a n s w e r to life in p a t c h i n g u p an alliance of a sort with a w o m a n no better than h i m s e l f — h o w h a d s h e e s c a p e d it, a n d how c o u l d the a l l i a n c e , s u c h as it w a s , s i n c e they m u s t s u p p o s e it h a d b e e n m o r e or less n o t i c e d , have failed to m a k e her rather positively talked a b o u t ? "I never s a i d , " M a y B a r t r a m replied, "that it hadn't m a d e m e a g o o d deal talked a b o u t . " "Ah well then you're not 'saved.' " "It hasn't b e e n a q u e s t i o n for m e . If you've h a d your w o m a n I've h a d , " s h e s a i d , "my m a n . " "And you m e a n that m a k e s you all r i g h t ? " O h it w a s always a s if there were so m u c h to say! "I don't know why it shouldn't m a k e m e — h u m a n l y , which is what we're s p e a k i n g o f — a s right a s it m a k e s y o u . " "I s e e , " M a r c h e r r e t u r n e d . " ' H u m a n l y , ' no d o u b t , a s s h o w i n g that you're living for s o m e t h i n g . N o t , that is, j u s t for m e a n d my s e c r e t . " M a y B a r t r a m s m i l e d . "I don't p r e t e n d it exactly s h o w s that I'm not living for you. It's my intimacy with you that's in q u e s t i o n . " H e l a u g h e d a s h e s a w what s h e m e a n t . "Yes, but s i n c e , a s you say, I'm only, so far a s p e o p l e m a k e out, ordinary, y o u ' r e — a r e n ' t y o u ? — n o m o r e than ordinary either. You help m e to p a s s for a m a n like a n o t h e r . S o if I am, a s I u n d e r s t a n d you, you're not c o m p r o m i s e d . Is that i t ? " S h e h a d a n o t h e r of her waits, but s h e s p o k e clearly e n o u g h . " T h a t ' s it. It's all that c o n c e r n s m e — t o help you to p a s s for a m a n like a n o t h e r . " H e w a s careful to a c k n o w l e d g e the r e m a r k h a n d s o m e l y . " H o w kind, how beautiful, you are to m e ! H o w shall I ever repay y o u ? " S h e h a d her last grave p a u s e , a s if there might be a c h o i c e of ways. B u t s h e c h o s e . " B y g o i n g on a s you a r e . " It w a s into this g o i n g o n as he w a s that they r e l a p s e d , a n d really for so long a time that the day inevitably c a m e for a further s o u n d i n g of their d e p t h s . T h e s e d e p t h s , constantly bridged over by a s t r u c t u r e firm e n o u g h in spite of its lightness a n d of its o c c a s i o n a l oscillation in the s o m e w h a t vertigi n o u s air, invited o n o c c a s i o n , in the interest of their nerves, a d r o p p i n g of the p l u m m e t a n d a m e a s u r e m e n t of the a b y s s . A d i f f e r e n c e h a d b e e n m a d e moreover, o n c e for all, by the fact that s h e h a d all the while not a p p e a r e d to feel the n e e d of rebutting his c h a r g e of an idea within her that s h e didn't d a r e to e x p r e s s — a c h a r g e uttered j u s t before o n e of the fullest of their later d i s c u s s i o n s e n d e d . It h a d c o m e u p for him then that s h e " k n e w " s o m e t h i n g a n d that what s h e knew was b a d — t o o b a d to tell him. W h e n h e h a d s p o k e n of it a s visibly s o bad that s h e w a s afraid h e might find it o u t , her reply had left the m a t t e r too equivocal to be let a l o n e a n d yet, for M a r c h e r ' s special

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sensibility, a l m o s t too formidable again to t o u c h . H e circled a b o u t it at a d i s t a n c e that alternately narrowed a n d w i d e n e d a n d that still wasn't m u c h affected by the c o n s c i o u s n e s s in him that there w a s n o t h i n g s h e c o u l d " k n o w , " after all, any better than he did. S h e had no s o u r c e of k n o w l e d g e he hadn't e q u a l l y — e x c e p t of c o u r s e that s h e might have finer nerves. T h a t w a s what w o m e n h a d where they were interested; they m a d e o u t things, where p e o p l e were c o n c e r n e d , that the p e o p l e often couldn't have m a d e out for t h e m s e l v e s . T h e i r nerves, their sensibility, their i m a g i n a t i o n , were c o n d u c tors a n d revealers, a n d the b e a u t y of M a y B a r t r a m w a s in particular that s h e had given herself so to his c a s e . H e felt in t h e s e days what, oddly e n o u g h , he h a d never felt before, the growth of a dread of losing her by s o m e c a t a s t r o p h e — s o m e c a t a s t r o p h e that yet wouldn't at all be the c a t a s t r o p h e : partly b e c a u s e s h e h a d a l m o s t of a s u d d e n b e g u n to strike him a s m o r e useful to him than ever yet, a n d partly by reason of an a p p e a r a n c e of uncertainty in her health, c o i n c i d e n t a n d equally new. It w a s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of the inner d e t a c h m e n t he had hitherto so s u c c e s s f u l l y cultivated a n d to which our whole a c c o u n t of him is a r e f e r e n c e , it w a s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c that his c o m p l i c a t i o n s , s u c h as they were, h a d never yet s e e m e d so a s at this crisis to thicken a b o u t him, even to the point of m a k i n g him a s k h i m s e l f if h e were, by any c h a n c e , of a truth, within sight or s o u n d , within t o u c h or r e a c h , within the i m m e d i a t e j u r i s d i c t i o n , of the thing that waited. W h e n the day c a m e , a s c o m e it h a d to, that his friend c o n f e s s e d to him her fear of a d e e p disorder in her blood, he felt s o m e h o w the s h a d o w of a c h a n g e a n d the chill of a s h o c k . H e i m m e d i a t e l y b e g a n to i m a g i n e aggravations a n d d i s a s t e r s , a n d above all to think of her peril a s the direct m e n a c e for himself of p e r s o n a l privation. T h i s indeed gave him o n e of t h o s e partial recoveries of e q u a n i m i t y that were a g r e e a b l e to h i m — i t s h o w e d him that what w a s still first in his mind w a s the loss s h e herself might suffer. " W h a t if s h e s h o u l d have to die before knowing, before s e e i n g — ? " It would have b e e n brutal, in the early s t a g e s of her trouble, to put that q u e s t i o n to her; but it h a d immediately s o u n d e d for him to his own c o n c e r n , a n d the possibility was what m o s t m a d e him sorry for her. If s h e did " k n o w , " moreover, in the s e n s e of her having h a d s o m e — w h a t s h o u l d he t h i n k ? — m y s t i c a l irresistible light, this would m a k e the m a t t e r not better, but w o r s e , i n a s m u c h a s her original adoption of his own curiosity h a d quite b e c o m e the b a s i s of her life. S h e h a d b e e n living to s e e what would be to b e s e e n , a n d it would q u i t e l a c e r a t e her to have to give u p before the a c c o m p l i s h m e n t of the vision. T h e s e reflexions, a s I say, q u i c k e n e d his generosity; yet, m a k e t h e m as he might, he saw himself, with the lapse of the period, m o r e a n d m o r e d i s c o n c e r t e d . It lapsed for him with a s t r a n g e steady s w e e p , a n d the o d d e s t oddity w a s that it gave h i m , independently of the threat of m u c h i n c o n v e n i e n c e , a l m o s t the only positive s u r p r i s e his career, if c a r e e r it c o u l d be called, had yet offered him. S h e kept the h o u s e a s s h e had never d o n e ; he h a d to go to her to s e e h e r — s h e c o u l d m e e t him nowhere now, t h o u g h there w a s s c a r c e a corner of their loved old L o n d o n in which s h e hadn't in the p a s t , at o n e time or another, d o n e s o ; a n d he f o u n d her always s e a t e d by her fire in the d e e p old-fashioned chair s h e w a s less a n d less able to leave. H e h a d b e e n s t r u c k o n e day, after a n a b s e n c e e x c e e d i n g his u s u a l m e a s u r e , with her s u d denly looking m u c h older to him than he had ever thought of her being; then he r e c o g n i s e d that the s u d d e n n e s s w a s all on his s i d e — h e h a d j u s t simply

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a n d s u d d e n l y n o t i c e d . S h e looked older b e c a u s e inevitably, after so m a n y years, s h e was old, or a l m o s t ; which w a s of c o u r s e true in still greater m e a s u r e of her c o m p a n i o n . If s h e w a s old, or a l m o s t , J o h n M a r c h e r a s s u r e d l y w a s , a n d yet it w a s her s h o w i n g of the l e s s o n , not his o w n , that b r o u g h t the truth h o m e to h i m . H i s s u r p r i s e s b e g a n h e r e ; w h e n o n c e they h a d b e g u n they multiplied; they c a m e rather with a r u s h : it w a s a s if, in the o d d e s t way in the world, they h a d all b e e n kept b a c k , sown in a thick c l u s t e r , for the late afternoon of life, the t i m e at which for p e o p l e in general the u n e x p e c t e d h a s died out. O n e of t h e m w a s that he s h o u l d have c a u g h t h i m s e l f — f o r h e had s o d o n e — r e a l l y w o n d e r i n g if the great a c c i d e n t w o u l d take form now a s n o t h i n g m o r e t h a n his b e i n g c o n d e m n e d to s e e this c h a r m i n g w o m a n , this a d m i r a b l e friend, p a s s away from him. H e h a d never s o unreservedly qualified her a s while c o n f r o n t e d in thought with s u c h a possibility; in spite of w h i c h there w a s small d o u b t for him that a s a n a n s w e r to his long riddle the m e r e effacem e n t of even s o fine a feature of his situation w o u l d b e a n a b j e c t anti-climax. It would r e p r e s e n t , a s c o n n e c t e d with his p a s t a t t i t u d e , a drop of dignity u n d e r the s h a d o w of w h i c h his e x i s t e n c e c o u l d only b e c o m e the m o s t grot e s q u e of failures. H e h a d b e e n far from h o l d i n g it a f a i l u r e — l o n g a s h e h a d waited for the a p p e a r a n c e that w a s to m a k e it a s u c c e s s . H e h a d waited for quite a n o t h e r thing, not for s u c h a thing a s that. T h e b r e a t h of his g o o d faith c a m e short, however, a s h e r e c o g n i s e d how l o n g h e h a d waited, or how long at least his c o m p a n i o n h a d . T h a t s h e , at all e v e n t s , might b e r e c o r d e d a s having waited in v a i n — t h i s affected him sharply, a n d all the m o r e b e c a u s e of his at first having d o n e little m o r e than a m u s e h i m s e l f with the idea. It grew m o r e grave a s the gravity of her c o n d i t i o n grew, a n d the s t a t e of m i n d it p r o d u c e d in him, which he h i m s e l f e n d e d by w a t c h i n g a s if it h a d b e e n s o m e definite d i s f i g u r e m e n t of his outer p e r s o n , may p a s s for a n o t h e r of his s u r p r i s e s . T h i s c o n j o i n e d itself still with a n o t h e r , the really stupefying cons c i o u s n e s s of a q u e s t i o n that h e would have allowed to s h a p e itself h a d h e d a r e d . W h a t did everything m e a n — w h a t , that is, did she m e a n , s h e a n d her vain waiting a n d her p r o b a b l e d e a t h a n d the s o u n d l e s s a d m o n i t i o n of it a l l — u n l e s s that, at this time of day, it w a s simply, it w a s overwhelmingly too late? H e h a d never at any s t a g e of his q u e e r c o n s c i o u s n e s s a d m i t t e d the w h i s p e r of s u c h a c o r r e c t i o n ; h e h a d never till within t h e s e last few m o n t h s b e e n so false to his conviction a s not to hold that what w a s to c o m e to him h a d t i m e , w h e t h e r he s t r u c k h i m s e l f a s having it or not. T h a t at last, at last, h e certainly hadn't it, to s p e a k of, or h a d it b u t in the s c a n t i e s t m e a s u r e — s u c h , s o o n e n o u g h , a s things went with h i m , b e c a m e the i n f e r e n c e with w h i c h his old o b s e s s i o n h a d to r e c k o n : a n d this it w a s not h e l p e d to d o by the m o r e a n d m o r e c o n f i r m e d a p p e a r a n c e that the great v a g u e n e s s c a s t i n g the l o n g s h a d o w in which h e h a d lived h a d , to attest itself, a l m o s t n o m a r g i n left. S i n c e it w a s in T i m e that he w a s to have m e t his fate, s o it w a s in T i m e that his fate w a s to have a c t e d ; a n d a s h e w a k e d u p to the s e n s e of n o longer b e i n g y o u n g , which w a s exactly the s e n s e of b e i n g s t a l e , j u s t as that, in t u r n , w a s the s e n s e of b e i n g weak, he w a k e d u p to a n o t h e r m a t t e r b e s i d e . It all h u n g together; they were s u b j e c t , he a n d the great v a g u e n e s s , to a n e q u a l a n d indivisible law. W h e n the possibilities t h e m s e l v e s h a d accordingly t u r n e d stale, w h e n the secret of the g o d s h a d grown faint, h a d p e r h a p s even q u i t e e v a p o r a t e d , that, a n d that only, w a s failure. It wouldn't have b e e n failure to be b a n k r u p t ,

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d i s h o n o u r e d , pilloried, h a n g e d ; it w a s failure not to be anything. A n d s o , in the dark valley into which his p a t h h a d taken its unlooked-for twist, he wond e r e d not a little as he g r o p e d . H e didn't c a r e what awful c r a s h might overtake him, with what ignominy or what m o n s t r o s i t y h e might yet be a s s o c i a t e d — s i n c e he wasn't after all too utterly old to s u f f e r — i f it would only be decently p r o p o r t i o n a t e to the p o s t u r e he h a d kept, all his life, in the threatened p r e s e n c e of it. H e had but o n e desire left—that he s h o u l d n ' t have been "sold." /V T h e n it w a s that, o n e afternoon, while the spring of the year w a s y o u n g a n d new s h e m e t all in her own way his frankest betrayal of t h e s e a l a r m s . H e had g o n e in late to s e e her, but e v e n i n g hadn't settled a n d s h e w a s pres e n t e d to him in that long fresh light of w a n i n g April days which affects us often with a s a d n e s s s h a r p e r than the greyest h o u r s of a u t u m n . T h e w e e k h a d b e e n w a r m , the spring w a s s u p p o s e d to have b e g u n early, a n d M a y B a r t r a m sat, for the first time in the year, without a fire; a fact that, to M a r c h e r ' s s e n s e , gave the s c e n e of which s h e formed part a s m o o t h a n d ultimate look, an air of knowing, in its i m m a c u l a t e order a n d cold m e a n i n g less c h e e r , that it would never s e e a fire a g a i n . H e r own a s p e c t — h e c o u l d s c a r c e have said why—intensified this note. A l m o s t a s white a s wax, with the m a r k s a n d signs in her f a c e a s n u m e r o u s a n d a s fine a s if they had b e e n e t c h e d by a n e e d l e , with soft white d r a p e r i e s relieved by a faded g r e e n s c a r f on the delicate tone of which the years h a d further refined, s h e w a s the picture of a s e r e n e a n d exquisite but i m p e n e t r a b l e sphinx, w h o s e h e a d , or i n d e e d all w h o s e p e r s o n , might have b e e n p o w d e r e d with silver. S h e w a s a sphinx, yet with her white p e t a l s a n d green fronds s h e might have b e e n a lily t o o — o n l y a n artificial lily, wonderfully imitated a n d c o n s t a n t l y kept, without d u s t or stain, t h o u g h not e x e m p t from a slight d r o o p a n d a complexity of faint c r e a s e s , u n d e r s o m e clear g l a s s bell. T h e perfection of h o u s e h o l d c a r e , of high polish a n d finish, always reigned in her r o o m s , but they now looked m o s t a s if everything h a d b e e n w o u n d u p , t u c k e d in, p u t away, s o that s h e might sit with folded h a n d s a n d with n o t h i n g m o r e to d o . S h e w a s " o u t of it," to M a r c h e r ' s vision; her work w a s over; s h e c o m m u n i c a t e d with him as a c r o s s s o m e gulf or from s o m e island of rest that s h e h a d already r e a c h e d , a n d it m a d e him feel strangely a b a n d o n e d . W a s it—or rather wasn't i t — t h a t if for so long s h e h a d b e e n w a t c h i n g with him the a n s w e r to their q u e s t i o n m u s t have s w u m into her ken a n d taken on its n a m e , s o that her o c c u p a t i o n w a s verily g o n e ? H e h a d a s m u c h a s c h a r g e d her with this in saying to her, m a n y m o n t h s before, that s h e even then knew s o m e t h i n g s h e w a s k e e p i n g from h i m . It was a point he h a d never s i n c e v e n t u r e d to p r e s s , vaguely fearing a s he did that it might b e c o m e a difference, p e r h a p s a d i s a g r e e m e n t , b e t w e e n t h e m . H e h a d in this later time t u r n e d nervous, which w a s what he in all the other years h a d never b e e n ; a n d the oddity w a s that his n e r v o u s n e s s s h o u l d have waited till he h a d b e g u n to d o u b t , s h o u l d have held off s o long a s he w a s s u r e . T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g , it s e e m e d to h i m , that the w r o n g word would bring d o w n on his h e a d , s o m e t h i n g that would s o at least e a s e off his t e n s i o n . B u t he w a n t e d not to s p e a k the w r o n g word; that would m a k e everything ugly. H e w a n t e d the knowledge he lacked to drop on h i m , if d r o p it c o u l d ,

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by its own a u g u s t weight. If s h e w a s to forsake him it w a s surely for her to take leave. T h i s w a s why he didn't directly a s k her a g a i n what s h e k n e w ; b u t it w a s a l s o why, a p p r o a c h i n g the m a t t e r from a n o t h e r s i d e , he said to her in the c o u r s e of his visit: " W h a t do you regard a s the very worst that at this time of day can h a p p e n to m e ? " H e h a d a s k e d her that in the p a s t often e n o u g h ; they h a d , with the o d d irregular rhythm of their intensities a n d a v o i d a n c e s , e x c h a n g e d i d e a s a b o u t it a n d then h a d s e e n the ideas w a s h e d away by cool intervals, w a s h e d like figures traced in s e a - s a n d . It h a d ever b e e n the m a r k of their talk that the oldest a l l u s i o n s in it required but a little d i s m i s s a l a n d reaction to c o m e o u t a g a i n , s o u n d i n g for the hour a s new. S h e c o u l d t h u s at p r e s e n t m e e t his enquiry q u i t e freshly a n d patiently. " O h yes, I've repeatedly t h o u g h t , only it always s e e m e d to m e of old that I c o u l d n ' t quite m a k e u p my m i n d . I t h o u g h t of dreadful things, b e t w e e n which it w a s difficult to c h o o s e ; a n d so m u s t you have d o n e . " " R a t h e r ! I feel now a s if I h a d s c a r c e d o n e a n y t h i n g e l s e . I a p p e a r to myself to have s p e n t my life in thinking of n o t h i n g but dreadful t h i n g s . A great m a n y of t h e m I've at different t i m e s n a m e d to you, b u t there were o t h e r s I couldn't name." " T h e y were too, too d r e a d f u l ? " " T o o , too d r e a d f u l — s o m e of t h e m . " S h e looked at him a m i n u t e , a n d there c a m e to h i m a s he m e t it a n incons e q u e n t s e n s e that her e y e s , w h e n o n e got their full c l e a r n e s s , were still a s beautiful a s they h a d b e e n in y o u t h , only beautiful with a s t r a n g e c o l d l i g h t — a light that s o m e h o w w a s a part of the effect, if it wasn't rather a part of the c a u s e , of the p a l e hard s w e e t n e s s of the s e a s o n a n d the hour. " A n d yet," s h e said at last, " t h e r e are horrors we've m e n t i o n e d . " It d e e p e n e d the s t r a n g e n e s s to s e e her, a s s u c h a figure in s u c h a p i c t u r e , talk of " h o r r o r s , " but s h e w a s to do in a few m i n u t e s s o m e t h i n g stranger y e t — t h o u g h even of this h e w a s to take the full m e a s u r e b u t a f t e r w a r d s — a n d the note of it already t r e m b l e d . It w a s , for the m a t t e r of that, o n e of the signs that her eyes were having again the high flicker of their p r i m e . H e h a d to a d m i t , however, what s h e s a i d . " O h yes, t h e r e were t i m e s w h e n we did g o far." H e c a u g h t himself in the act of s p e a k i n g a s if it all were over. Well, he w i s h e d it w e r e ; a n d the c o n s u m m a t i o n d e p e n d e d for him clearly m o r e a n d m o r e on his friend. B u t s h e h a d now a soft s m i l e . " O h f a r — ! " It w a s oddly ironic. " D o you m e a n you're p r e p a r e d to go f u r t h e r ? " S h e w a s frail a n d a n c i e n t a n d c h a r m i n g a s s h e c o n t i n u e d to look at h i m , yet it w a s rather a s if s h e h a d lost the t h r e a d . " D o you c o n s i d e r t h a t w e went far?" " W h y I t h o u g h t it the point you were j u s t m a k i n g — t h a t w e had looked m o s t things in the f a c e . " " I n c l u d i n g e a c h o t h e r ? " S h e still s m i l e d . " B u t you're q u i t e right. W e ' v e h a d together great i m a g i n a t i o n s , often great fears; b u t s o m e of t h e m have been unspoken." " T h e n the w o r s t — w e haven't f a c e d that. I could f a c e it, I believe, if I k n e w what you think it. I feel," h e e x p l a i n e d , " a s if I h a d lost my p o w e r to c o n c e i v e s u c h t h i n g s . " A n d he w o n d e r e d if he looked a s b l a n k a s he s o u n d e d . "It's spent."

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" T h e n why d o you a s s u m e , " she a s k e d , "that m i n e i s n ' t ? " " B e c a u s e you've given m e signs to the contrary. It isn't a q u e s t i o n for you of conceiving, i m a g i n i n g , c o m p a r i n g . It isn't a q u e s t i o n now of c h o o s i n g . " At last he c a m e out with it. "You know s o m e t h i n g I don't. You've s h o w n m e that b e f o r e . " T h e s e last words h a d affected her, he m a d e out in a m o m e n t , exceedingly, a n d s h e s p o k e with f i r m n e s s . "I've shown you, my d e a r , n o t h i n g . " H e s h o o k his h e a d . "You can't hide it." " O h , o h ! " M a y B a r t r a m s o u n d e d over what s h e couldn't h i d e . It w a s a l m o s t a smothered groan. "You a d m i t t e d it m o n t h s a g o , w h e n I s p o k e of it to you a s of s o m e t h i n g you were afraid I s h o u l d find out. Your a n s w e r w a s that I c o u l d n ' t , that I wouldn't, a n d I don't p r e t e n d I have. B u t you h a d s o m e t h i n g therefore in m i n d , a n d I now s e e how it m u s t have b e e n , how it still is, the possibility that, of all possibilities, has settled itself for you as the worst. T h i s , " h e went o n , "is why I a p p e a l to you. I'm only afraid of i g n o r a n c e t o - d a y — I ' m not afraid of k n o w l e d g e . " A n d then a s for a while s h e s a i d n o t h i n g : " W h a t m a k e s m e s u r e is that I s e e in your f a c e a n d feel h e r e , in this air a n d a m i d t h e s e a p p e a r a n c e s , that you're o u t of it. You've d o n e . You've h a d your e x p e r i e n c e . You leave m e to my f a t e . " Well, s h e listened, m o t i o n l e s s a n d white in her chair, a s o n a d e c i s i o n to be m a d e , s o that her m a n n e r w a s fairly a n avowal, t h o u g h still, with a small fine inner stiffness, a n imperfect surrender. "It would be the w o r s t , " s h e finally let herself say. "I m e a n the thing I've never s a i d . " It h u s h e d him a m o m e n t . " M o r e m o n s t r o u s than all the m o n s t r o s i t i e s we've n a m e d ? " " M o r e m o n s t r o u s . Isn't that what you sufficiently e x p r e s s , " s h e a s k e d , "in calling it the w o r s t ? " M a r c h e r t h o u g h t . " A s s u r e d l y — i f you m e a n , a s I d o , s o m e t h i n g that i n c l u d e s all the loss a n d all the s h a m e that are t h i n k a b l e . " "It w o u l d if it should h a p p e n , " said M a y B a r t r a m . " W h a t we're s p e a k i n g of, r e m e m b e r , is only my i d e a . " "It's your belief," M a r c h e r r e t u r n e d . " T h a t ' s e n o u g h for m e . I feel your beliefs are right. T h e r e f o r e if, having this o n e , you give m e n o m o r e light on it, you a b a n d o n m e . " " N o , n o ! " s h e r e p e a t e d . "I'm with y o u — d o n ' t you s e e ? — s t i l l . " A n d a s to m a k e it m o r e vivid to him s h e rose from her c h a i r — a m o v e m e n t s h e s e l d o m risked in t h e s e d a y s — a n d s h o w e d herself, all d r a p e d a n d all soft, in her fairness a n d s l i m n e s s . "I haven't forsaken y o u . " It w a s really, in its effort a g a i n s t w e a k n e s s , a g e n e r o u s a s s u r a n c e , a n d h a d the s u c c e s s of the i m p u l s e not, happily, b e e n great, it w o u l d have t o u c h e d him to pain m o r e than to p l e a s u r e . B u t the c o l d c h a r m in her eyes h a d s p r e a d , a s she hovered before him, to all the rest of her p e r s o n , s o that it w a s for the m i n u t e a l m o s t a recovery of y o u t h . H e c o u l d n ' t pity her for t h a t ; he c o u l d only take her a s s h e s h o w e d — a s c a p a b l e even yet of h e l p i n g h i m . It w a s a s if, at the s a m e t i m e , her light might at any instant go o u t ; wherefore he m u s t m a k e the m o s t of it. T h e r e p a s s e d before him with intensity the three or four things h e w a n t e d m o s t to know; b u t the q u e s t i o n that c a m e of itself to his lips really c o v e r e d the o t h e r s . " T h e n tell m e if I shall c o n s c i o u s l y suffer."

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S h e promptly s h o o k her h e a d . " N e v e r ! " It c o n f i r m e d the authority he i m p u t e d to her, a h d it p r o d u c e d o n him a n extraordinary effect. "Well, what's better than tnat? D o you call that the worst?" "You think n o t h i n g is b e t t e r ? " s h e a s k e d . S h e s e e m e d to m e a n s o m e t h i n g so s p e c i a l that he a g a i n sharply w o n d e r e d , t h o u g h still with the d a w n of a p r o s p e c t of relief. " W h y not, if o n e d o e s n ' t know?" After w h i c h , as their eyes, over his q u e s t i o n , m e t in a s i l e n c e , the d a w n d e e p e n e d a n d s o m e t h i n g to his p u r p o s e c a m e prodigiously o u t of her very f a c e . H i s o w n , a s h e took it in, s u d d e n l y flushed to the f o r e h e a d , a n d he g a s p e d with the force of a p e r c e p t i o n to which, o n the i n s t a n t , everything fitted. T h e s o u n d of his g a s p filled the air; then he b e c a m e a r t i c u l a t e . "I s e e — i f I don't suffer!" In her own look, however, w a s d o u b t . "You s e e w h a t ? " "Why what you m e a n — w h a t you've always m e a n t . " S h e again s h o o k her h e a d . " W h a t I m e a n isn't w h a t I've always m e a n t . It's different." "It's s o m e t h i n g n e w ? " S h e h u n g b a c k from it a little. " S o m e t h i n g new. It's not w h a t you think. I s e e w h a t you think." His divination drew b r e a t h t h e n ; only her correction might be w r o n g . "It isn't that I am a b l o c k h e a d ? " he a s k e d b e t w e e n f a i n t n e s s a n d g r i m n e s s . "It isn't that it's all a m i s t a k e . " " A m i s t a k e ? " s h e pityingly e c h o e d . That possibility, for her, he saw, w o u l d be m o n s t r o u s ; a n d if s h e g u a r a n t e e d him the i m m u n i t y from p a i n it would accordingly not b e what s h e h a d in m i n d . " O h n o , " s h e d e c l a r e d ; "it's n o t h i n g of that sort. You've b e e n right." Yet he couldn't help a s k i n g h i m s e l f if s h e weren't, t h u s p r e s s e d , s p e a k i n g but to save h i m . It s e e m e d to him he s h o u l d be m o s t in a h o l e if his history s h o u l d prove all a platitude. "Are you telling m e the truth, s o that I shan't have b e e n a bigger idiot than-1 c a n b e a r to k n o w ? I haven't lived with a vain i m a g i n a t i o n , in the m o s t b e s o t t e d illusion? I haven't waited but to s e e the d o o r shut in my f a c e ? " S h e s h o o k her h e a d a g a i n . " H o w e v e r the c a s e s t a n d s that isn't the truth. W h a t e v e r the reality, it is a reality. T h e d o o r isn't s h u t . T h e door's o p e n , " said M a y B a r t r a m . " T h e n s o m e t h i n g ' s to c o m e ? " S h e waited o n c e a g a i n , always with her c o l d s w e e t eyes o n h i m . "It's never too l a t e . " S h e h a d , with her gliding s t e p , d i m i n i s h e d the d i s t a n c e b e t w e e n t h e m , a n d s h e s t o o d nearer to him, c l o s e to h i m , a m i n u t e , a s if still c h a r g e d with the u n s p o k e n . H e r m o v e m e n t might have b e e n for s o m e finer e m p h a s i s of what s h e w a s at o n c e hesitating a n d d e c i d i n g to say. H e h a d b e e n s t a n d i n g by the c h i m n e y - p i e c e , fireless a n d sparely a d o r n e d , a s m a l l p e r f e c t old F r e n c h clock a n d two m o r s e l s of rosy D r e s d e n c o n s t i t u t i n g all its furniture; a n d her h a n d g r a s p e d the shelf while s h e kept him waiting, g r a s p e d it a little a s for s u p p o r t a n d e n c o u r a g e m e n t . S h e only kept him waiting, however; that is he only w a i t e d . It h a d b e c o m e s u d d e n l y , from her m o v e m e n t a n d a t t i t u d e , beautiful a n d vivid to him that s h e h a d s o m e t h i n g m o r e to give h i m ; her w a s t e d f a c e delicately s h o n e with it—it glittered a l m o s t a s with the white lustre of silver in her e x p r e s s i o n . S h e w a s right, i n c o n t e s t a b l y , for w h a t h e

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saw in her f a c e w a s the truth, a n d strangely, without c o n s e q u e n c e , while their talk of it a s dreadful w a s still in the air, s h e a p p e a r e d to p r e s e n t it a s inordinately soft. T h i s , p r o m p t i n g b e w i l d e r m e n t , m a d e him but g a p e the m o r e gratefully for her revelation, s o that they c o n t i n u e d for s o m e m i n u t e s silent, her face s h i n i n g at him, her c o n t a c t i m p o n d e r a b l y p r e s s i n g , a n d his stare all kind but all e x p e c t a n t . T h e e n d , n o n e the l e s s , w a s that w h a t he h a d expected failed to c o m e to him. S o m e t h i n g else took p l a c e i n s t e a d , which s e e m e d to c o n s i s t at first in the m e r e c l o s i n g of her eyes. S h e gave way at the s a m e instant to a slow fine s h u d d e r , a n d t h o u g h h e r e m a i n e d s t a r i n g — t h o u g h he stared in fact but the h a r d e r — t u r n e d off a n d regained her chair. It w a s the e n d of what s h e h a d b e e n intending, but it left him thinking only of that. "Well, you don't s a y — ? " S h e h a d t o u c h e d in her p a s s a g e a bell near the c h i m n e y a n d h a d s u n k b a c k strangely p a l e . "I'm afraid I'm too ill." " T o o ill to tell m e ? " It s p r a n g u p s h a r p to him, a n d a l m o s t to his lips, the fear s h e might die without giving him light. H e c h e c k e d h i m s e l f in time from s o e x p r e s s i n g his q u e s t i o n , but s h e a n s w e r e d a s if s h e had heard the w o r d s . " D o n ' t you k n o w — n o w ? " " ' N o w ' — ? " S h e had s p o k e n a s if s o m e difference h a d b e e n m a d e within the m o m e n t . B u t her m a i d , quickly o b e d i e n t to her bell, w a s already with t h e m . "I know n o t h i n g . " And he w a s afterwards to say to h i m s e l f that h e m u s t have s p o k e n with o d i o u s i m p a t i e n c e , s u c h an i m p a t i e n c e a s to s h o w that, s u p r e m e l y d i s c o n c e r t e d , he w a s h e d his h a n d s of the w h o l e q u e s t i o n . " O h ! " said M a y B a r t r a m . "Are you in p a i n ? " he a s k e d a s the w o m a n went to her. " N o , " said M a y B a r t r a m . H e r m a i d , w h o h a d put an a r m round her a s if to take her to her r o o m , fixed on him eyes that appealingly c o n t r a d i c t e d her; in spite of w h i c h , however, he s h o w e d o n c e m o r e his mystification. " W h a t then has h a p p e n e d ? " S h e w a s o n c e m o r e , with her c o m p a n i o n ' s help, on her feet, a n d , feeling withdrawal i m p o s e d on him, h e h a d blankly f o u n d his hat a n d gloves a n d h a d r e a c h e d the door. Yet h e waited for her a n s w e r . " W h a t was t o , " s h e s a i d .

H e c a m e b a c k the next day, but s h e w a s then u n a b l e to s e e h i m , a n d a s it was literally the first time this h a d o c c u r r e d in the long stretch of their a c q u a i n t a n c e he turned away, d e f e a t e d a n d s o r e , a l m o s t a n g r y — o r feeling at least that s u c h a b r e a k in their c u s t o m w a s really the b e g i n n i n g of the e n d — a n d w a n d e r e d a l o n e with his t h o u g h t s , especially with the o n e he w a s least able to keep d o w n . S h e w a s dying a n d he would lose her; s h e w a s dying a n d his life would e n d . H e s t o p p e d in the Park, into which he h a d p a s s e d , a n d stared before him at his recurrent d o u b t . Away from her the d o u b t p r e s s e d a g a i n ; in her p r e s e n c e he h a d believed her, but a s he felt his forlornness he threw himself into the explanation that, n e a r e s t at h a n d , h a d m o s t of a m i s e r a b l e w a r m t h for him a n d least of a cold t o r m e n t . S h e h a d deceived him to save h i m — t o put him off with s o m e t h i n g in which he s h o u l d be able to rest. W h a t c o u l d the thing that w a s to h a p p e n to him b e , after all, b u t j u s t this thing that h a d b e g u n to h a p p e n ? H e r dying, her d e a t h , his

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c o n s e q u e n t s o l i t u d e — t h a t w a s what he h a d figured a s the B e a s t in the J u n gle, that w a s what h a d b e e n in the lap of the g o d s . H e h a d h a d her word for it a s h e left h e r — w h a t else on earth c o u l d s h e have m e a n t ? It wasn't a thing of a m o n s t r o u s order; not a fate rare a n d d i s t i n g u i s h e d ; not a stroke of fort u n e that o v e r w h e l m e d a n d i m m o r t a l i s e d ; it h a d only the s t a m p of the c o m m o n d o o m . B u t p o o r M a r c h e r at this hour j u d g e d the c o m m o n d o o m sufficient. It w o u l d serve his turn, a n d even a s the c o n s u m m a t i o n of infinite waiting he would b e n d his pride to a c c e p t it. H e sat d o w n on a b e n c h in the twilight. H e hadn't b e e n a fool. S o m e t h i n g h a d been, as s h e h a d s a i d , to c o m e . B e f o r e h e rose i n d e e d it h a d q u i t e s t r u c k him that the final fact really m a t c h e d with the long a v e n u e t h r o u g h which h e h a d h a d to r e a c h it. A s s h a r i n g his s u s p e n s e a n d a s giving herself all, giving her life, to b r i n g it to an e n d , s h e h a d c o m e with him every s t e p of the way. H e h a d lived by her aid, a n d to leave her b e h i n d would b e cruelly, d a m n a b l y to m i s s her. W h a t c o u l d be m o r e o v e r w h e l m i n g than that? Well, h e w a s to know within the week, for t h o u g h s h e kept him a while at bay, left him r e s t l e s s a n d w r e t c h e d d u r i n g a series of days o n e a c h of w h i c h he a s k e d a b o u t her only again to have to turn away, s h e e n d e d his trial by receiving h i m w h e r e s h e h a d always received h i m . Yet s h e h a d b e e n b r o u g h t out at s o m e hazard into the p r e s e n c e of s o m a n y of the things that w e r e , c o n s c i o u s l y , vainly, half their p a s t , a n d there w a s s c a n t service left in the g e n t l e n e s s of her m e r e d e s i r e , all too visible, to c h e c k his o b s e s s i o n a n d wind up his long t r o u b l e . T h a t w a s clearly what s h e w a n t e d , the o n e thing m o r e for her own p e a c e while s h e c o u l d still p u t o u t her h a n d . H e w a s s o affected by her state that, o n c e s e a t e d by her chair, h e w a s moved to let everything g o ; it w a s s h e herself therefore w h o b r o u g h t him b a c k , took up a g a i n , before s h e d i s m i s s e d him, her last word of the other t i m e . S h e s h o w e d how s h e w i s h e d to leave their b u s i n e s s in order. "I'm not s u r e you u n d e r s t o o d . You've nothing to wait for m o r e . It has c o m e . " O h how h e looked at her! " R e a l l y ? " "Really." " T h e thing that, a s you said, was t o ? " " T h e thing that we b e g a n in o u r youth to w a t c h for." F a c e to f a c e with her o n c e m o r e h e believed her; it w a s a claim to which h e h a d so abjectly little to o p p o s e . "You m e a n that it has c o m e a s a positive definite o c c u r r e n c e , with a n a m e a n d a d a t e ? " "Positive. Definite. I don't know a b o u t the ' n a m e , ' but oh with a d a t e ! " H e f o u n d h i m s e l f again too helplessly at s e a . " B u t c o m e in the n i g h t — come and passed me by?" M a y B a r t r a m h a d her s t r a n g e faint s m i l e . " O h n o , it h a s n ' t p a s s e d you by!" " B u t if I haven't b e e n a w a r e of it a n d it hasn't t o u c h e d m e — ? " "Ah your not b e i n g a w a r e of i t " — a n d s h e s e e m e d to h e s i t a t e an instant to deal with t h i s — " y o u r not b e i n g a w a r e of it is the s t r a n g e n e s s in the s t r a n g e n e s s . It's the w o n d e r of the w o n d e r . " S h e s p o k e a s with the s o f t n e s s a l m o s t of a sick child, yet now at last, at the e n d of all, with the p e r f e c t s t r a i g h t n e s s of a sibyl. S h e visibly knew that s h e knew, a n d the effect on h i m w a s of s o m e t h i n g c o - o r d i n a t e , in its high c h a r a c t e r , with the law that h a d ruled h i m . It w a s the true voice of the law; s o on her lips w o u l d the law itself have s o u n d e d . "It has t o u c h e d y o u , " s h e went o n . "It has d o n e its office. It has m a d e you all its o w n . " " S o utterly without my knowing i t ? "

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" S o utterly without your knowing it." H i s h a n d , a s h e l e a n e d to her, w a s on the arm of her chair, a n d , dimly smiling always now, s h e p l a c e d her own on it. "It's e n o u g h if I know it." " O h ! " he c o n f u s e d l y b r e a t h e d , as s h e herself of late so often h a d d o n e . " W h a t I long a g o said is true. You'll never know now, a n d I think you o u g h t to be c o n t e n t . You've had it," said M a y B a r t r a m . "But had what?" "Why what w a s to have m a r k e d you out. T h e p r o o f of your law. It h a s a c t e d . I'm too g l a d , " s h e then bravely a d d e d , "to have b e e n a b l e to s e e what it's not." H e c o n t i n u e d to a t t a c h his eyes to her, a n d with the s e n s e that it w a s all beyond him, a n d that she w a s too, he w o u l d still have sharply c h a l l e n g e d her hadn't he so felt it a n a b u s e of her w e a k n e s s to do m o r e t h a n take devoutly what s h e g a v e him, take it h u s h e d a s to a revelation. If he did s p e a k , it w a s out of the f o r e k n o w l e d g e of his loneliness to c o m e . "If you're g l a d of what it's 'not' it might then have b e e n w o r s e ? " S h e turned her eyes away, s h e looked straight before her; with which after a m o m e n t : "Well, you know our f e a r s . " H e w o n d e r e d . "It's s o m e t h i n g then we never f e a r e d ? " O n this slowly s h e turned to h i m . " D i d we ever d r e a m , with all our d r e a m s , that we s h o u l d sit a n d talk of it t h u s ? " H e tried for a little to m a k e out that they h a d ; but it w a s a s if their d r e a m s , n u m b e r l e s s e n o u g h , were in solution in s o m e thick cold m i s t t h r o u g h which thought lost itself. "It might have b e e n that we couldn't t a l k ? " " W e l l " — s h e did her b e s t for h i m — " n o t from this s i d e . T h i s , you s e e , " s h e said, "is the other s i d e . " "I think," p o o r M a r c h e r r e t u r n e d , "that all sides a r e the s a m e to m e . " T h e n , however, a s s h e gently s h o o k her h e a d in c o r r e c t i o n : " W e mightn't, a s it were, have got a c r o s s — ? " " T o w h e r e we a r e — n o . We're here"—she m a d e her w e a k e m p h a s i s . "And m u c h good d o e s it d o u s ! " w a s her friend's frank c o m m e n t . "It d o e s u s the g o o d it c a n . It d o e s u s the g o o d that it isn't h e r e . It's p a s t . It's b e h i n d , " said M a y B a r t r a m . " B e f o r e — " but her voice d r o p p e d . H e h a d got u p , not to tire her, but it w a s hard to c o m b a t his yearning. S h e after all told him n o t h i n g but that his light h a d f a i l e d — w h i c h h e k n e w well e n o u g h without her. "Before-—?" h e blankly e c h o e d . " B e f o r e , you s e e , it was always to come. T h a t kept it p r e s e n t . " " O h I don't c a r e what c o m e s now! B e s i d e s , " M a r c h e r a d d e d , "it s e e m s to m e I liked it better p r e s e n t , a s you say, than I c a n like it a b s e n t with your absence." " O h m i n e ! " — a n d her p a l e h a n d s m a d e light of it. "With the a b s e n c e of everything." H e h a d a dreadful s e n s e of s t a n d i n g there before her f o r — s o far a s anything but this proved, this b o t t o m l e s s drop w a s c o n c e r n e d — t h e last time of their life. It r e s t e d on h i m with a weight he felt he c o u l d s c a r c e b e a r , a n d this weight it a p p a r e n t l y w a s that still p r e s s e d out what r e m a i n e d in him of s p e a k a b l e p r o t e s t . "I believe you; b u t I can't begin to p r e t e n d I u n d e r s t a n d . Nothing, for m e , is p a s t ; n o t h i n g will p a s s till I p a s s myself, which I pray my stars may b e a s s o o n a s p o s s i b l e . S a y , however," he a d d e d , "that I've e a t e n my c a k e , a s you c o n t e n d , to the last c r u m b — how c a n the thing I've never felt at all be the thing I w a s m a r k e d o u t to f e e l ? " S h e m e t him p e r h a p s less directly, but s h e m e t him u n p e r t u r b e d . "You

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take your 'feelings' for g r a n t e d . You were to suffer your fate. T h a t w a s not necessarily to know it." " H o w in the w o r l d — w h e n what is s u c h k n o w l e d g e b u t s u f f e r i n g ? " S h e looked u p at him a while in s i l e n c e . " N o — y o u don't u n d e r s t a n d . " "I suffer," said J o h n M a r c h e r . "Don't, don't!" " H o w c a n I help at least that?" "Don't!" M a y B a r t r a m r e p e a t e d . S h e s p o k e it in a t o n e so s p e c i a l , in spite of her w e a k n e s s , that h e s t a r e d an i n s t a n t — s t a r e d a s if s o m e light, hitherto h i d d e n , h a d s h i m m e r e d a c r o s s his vision. D a r k n e s s again c l o s e d over it, b u t the g l e a m h a d already b e c o m e for him an idea. " B e c a u s e I haven't the r i g h t — ? " " D o n ' t know—when you n e e d n ' t , " s h e mercifully u r g e d . "You n e e d n ' t — for we s h o u l d n ' t . " " S h o u l d n ' t ? " If h e c o u l d but k n o w what s h e m e a n t ! " N o — i t ' s too m u c h . " " T o o m u c h ? " he still a s k e d b u t , with a mystification that w a s the next m o m e n t of a s u d d e n to give way. H e r w o r d s , if they m e a n t s o m e t h i n g , affected him in this l i g h t — t h e light a l s o of her w a s t e d f a c e — a s m e a n i n g all, a n d the s e n s e of what k n o w l e d g e h a d b e e n for herself c a m e over him with a rush which broke t h r o u g h into a q u e s t i o n . " I s it of that then you're d y i n g ? " S h e but w a t c h e d him, gravely at first, a s to s e e , with this, w h e r e he w a s , a n d s h e might have s e e n s o m e t h i n g or feared s o m e t h i n g that moved her sympathy. "I would live for you still—if I c o u l d . " H e r eyes c l o s e d for a little, a s if, withdrawn into herself, s h e were for a last time trying. " B u t I c a n ' t ! " s h e said a s s h e raised t h e m again to take leave of h i m . S h e couldn't i n d e e d , as but too promptly a n d sharply a p p e a r e d , a n d he h a d no vision of her after this that w a s anything, but d a r k n e s s a n d d o o m . T h e y had parted for ever in that s t r a n g e talk; a c c e s s to her c h a m b e r of pain, rigidly g u a r d e d , w a s a l m o s t wholly forbidden h i m ; he w a s feeling now m o r e over, in the f a c e of d o c t o r s , n u r s e s , the two or three relatives a t t r a c t e d d o u b t less by the p r e s u m p t i o n of what s h e h a d to " l e a v e , " how few were the rights, a s they were called in s u c h c a s e s , that he h a d to put forward, a n d how odd it might even s e e m that their intimacy shouldn't have given him m o r e of t h e m . T h e s t u p i d e s t fourth c o u s i n h a d m o r e , even t h o u g h s h e h a d b e e n n o t h i n g in s u c h a p e r s o n ' s life. S h e h a d b e e n a f e a t u r e of f e a t u r e s in his, for what else w a s it to have b e e n s o i n d i s p e n s a b l e ? S t r a n g e beyond saying were the ways of e x i s t e n c e , baffling for him the a n o m a l y of his lack, a s he felt it to b e , of p r o d u c i b l e c l a i m . A w o m a n might have b e e n , a s it w e r e , everything to h i m , a n d it might yet p r e s e n t him in n o c o n n e x i o n that any o n e s e e m e d held to r e c o g n i s e . If this w a s the c a s e in t h e s e c l o s i n g w e e k s it w a s the c a s e m o r e sharply on the o c c a s i o n of the last offices r e n d e r e d , in the great grey L o n d o n c e m e t e r y , to what h a d b e e n m o r t a l , to what h a d b e e n p r e c i o u s , in his friend. T h e c o n c o u r s e at her grave w a s not n u m e r o u s , b u t he s a w h i m s e l f treated a s s c a r c e m o r e nearly c o n c e r n e d with it t h a n if there h a d b e e n a t h o u s a n d o t h e r s . H e w a s in short from this m o m e n t f a c e to f a c e with the fact that h e w a s to profit extraordinarily little by the interest M a y B a r t r a m h a d taken in h i m . H e couldn't q u i t e have said what he e x p e c t e d , b u t he hadn't surely e x p e c t e d this a p p r o a c h to a d o u b l e privation. N o t only h a d her interest failed him, but he s e e m e d to feel himself u n a t t e n d e d — a n d for a

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reason h e couldn't s e i z e — b y the distinction, the dignity, the propriety, if nothing e l s e , of the m a n markedly bereaved. It w a s a s if in the view of society he had not been markedly bereaved, as if there still failed s o m e sign or p r o o f of it, a n d a s if n o n e the less his c h a r a c t e r c o u l d never b e affirmed nor the deficiency ever m a d e u p . T h e r e were m o m e n t s a s the w e e k s went by w h e n he would have liked, by s o m e a l m o s t a g g r e s s i v e act, to take his s t a n d on the intimacy of his l o s s , in order that it might be q u e s t i o n e d a n d his retort, to the relief of his spirit, s o r e c o r d e d ; but the m o m e n t s of a n irritation m o r e helpless followed fast on t h e s e , the m o m e n t s d u r i n g w h i c h , turning things over with a g o o d c o n s c i e n c e but with a b a r e horizon, he f o u n d h i m s e l f wondering if he oughtn't to have b e g u n , s o to s p e a k , further b a c k . H e f o u n d himself w o n d e r i n g at m a n y things, a n d this last s p e c u l a t i o n h a d others to keep it c o m p a n y . W h a t c o u l d he have d o n e , after all, in her lifetime, without giving t h e m b o t h , a s it w e r e , away? H e couldn't have m a d e known she w a s w a t c h i n g h i m , for that would have p u b l i s h e d the superstition of the B e a s t . T h i s w a s what c l o s e d his m o u t h n o w — n o w that the J u n g l e h a d b e e n t h r e s h e d to v a c a n c y a n d that the B e a s t h a d stolen away. It s o u n d e d too foolish a n d too flat; the difference for him in this particular, the extinction in his life of the e l e m e n t of s u s p e n s e , w a s s u c h a s in fact to s u r p r i s e h i m . H e c o u l d s c a r c e have said what the effect r e s e m b l e d ; the a b r u p t c e s s a t i o n , the positive prohibition, of m u s i c p e r h a p s , m o r e than a n y t h i n g e l s e , in s o m e p l a c e all a d j u s t e d a n d all a c c u s t o m e d to sonority a n d to a t t e n t i o n . If he c o u l d at any rate have c o n c e i v e d lifting the veil from his i m a g e at s o m e m o m e n t of the p a s t (what h a d he d o n e , after all, if not lift it to her?) s o to d o this today, to talk to p e o p l e at large of the J u n g l e c l e a r e d a n d confide to t h e m that he now felt it a s s a f e , would have b e e n not only to s e e t h e m listen a s to a goodwife's tale, but really to hear himself tell o n e . W h a t it presently c a m e to in truth w a s that poor M a r c h e r w a d e d t h r o u g h his b e a t e n g r a s s , w h e r e n o life stirred, w h e r e no breath s o u n d e d , w h e r e no evil eye s e e m e d to g l e a m from a p o s s i b l e lair, very m u c h a s if vaguely looking for the B e a s t , a n d still m o r e a s if acutely m i s s i n g it. H e walked a b o u t in a n existence that h a d grown strangely m o r e s p a c i o u s , a n d , s t o p p i n g fitfully in p l a c e s w h e r e the u n d e r growth of life struck him a s closer, a s k e d h i m s e l f yearningly, w o n d e r e d secretly a n d sorely, if it would have lurked here or there. It would have at all events sprung; what w a s at least c o m p l e t e w a s his belief in the truth of the a s s u r a n c e given h i m . T h e c h a n g e from his old s e n s e to his new w a s a b s o l u t e a n d final: w h a t w a s to h a p p e n had so absolutely a n d finally h a p p e n e d that he w a s a s little able to know a fear for his future a s to know a h o p e ; s o a b s e n t in short w a s any q u e s t i o n of anything still to c o m e . H e w a s to live entirely with the other q u e s t i o n , that of his unidentified p a s t , that of his having to s e e his fortune impenetrably muffled a n d m a s k e d . T h e t o r m e n t of this vision b e c a m e then his o c c u p a t i o n ; he couldn't perh a p s have c o n s e n t e d to live but for the possibility of g u e s s i n g . S h e h a d told him, his friend, not to g u e s s ; s h e h a d forbidden h i m , s o far a s he might, to know, a n d she had even in a sort d e n i e d the power in him to learn: w h i c h were s o m a n y things, precisely, to deprive him of rest. It wasn't that he w a n t e d , he a r g u e d for f a i r n e s s , that anything p a s t a n d d o n e s h o u l d r e p e a t itself; it w a s only that he shouldn't, a s a n anticlimax, have b e e n taken sleeping so s o u n d a s not to be able to win b a c k by a n effort of t h o u g h t the lost stuff of c o n s c i o u s n e s s . H e d e c l a r e d to himself at m o m e n t s that h e w o u l d

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either win it b a c k or have d o n e with c o n s c i o u s n e s s for ever; he m a d e this idea his o n e motive in fine, m a d e it s o m u c h his p a s s i o n that n o n e o t h e r , to c o m p a r e with it, s e e m e d ever to have t o u c h e d h i m . T h e lost stuff of c o n s c i o u s n e s s b e c a m e t h u s for him a s a strayed or stolen child to a n u n a p p e a s able father; h e h u n t e d it u p a n d d o w n very m u c h a s if he were k n o c k i n g at d o o r s a n d e n q u i r i n g of the p o l i c e . T h i s w a s the spirit in w h i c h , inevitably, he set himself to travel; he started on a j o u r n e y that w a s to b e a s long a s he c o u l d m a k e it; it d a n c e d before him that, a s the o t h e r side of the globe couldn't p o s s i b l y have less to say to him, it might, by a possibility of s u g g e s tion, have m o r e . B e f o r e h e quitted L o n d o n , however, h e m a d e a p i l g r i m a g e to M a y B a r t r a m ' s grave, took his way to it t h r o u g h the e n d l e s s a v e n u e s of the grim s u b u r b a n m e t r o p o l i s , s o u g h t it out in the wilderness of t o m b s , a n d , t h o u g h he h a d c o m e but for the renewal of the a c t of farewell, f o u n d himself, w h e n h e h a d at last s t o o d by it, b e g u i l e d into l o n g intensities. H e s t o o d for a n hour, p o w e r l e s s to turn away a n d yet p o w e r l e s s to p e n e t r a t e the d a r k n e s s of d e a t h ; fixing with his eyes her inscribed n a m e a n d d a t e , b e a t i n g his foreh e a d a g a i n s t the fact of the secret they kept, d r a w i n g his b r e a t h , while he waited, a s if s o m e s e n s e would in pity of him rise from the s t o n e s . H e k n e e l e d on the s t o n e s , however, in vain; they kept w h a t they c o n c e a l e d ; a n d if the f a c e of the t o m b did b e c o m e a f a c e for him it w a s b e c a u s e her two n a m e s b e c a m e a pair of eyes that didn't know h i m . H e gave t h e m a last long look, but no p a l e s t light b r o k e . V/ H e stayed away, after this, for a year; h e visited the d e p t h s of Asia, s p e n d ing himself o n s c e n e s of r o m a n t i c interest, of superlative sanctity; but w h a t w a s p r e s e n t to him everywhere w a s that for a m a n w h o h a d known what he h a d known the world w a s vulgar a n d vain. T h e s t a t e of m i n d in which he h a d lived for s o m a n y years s h o n e out to h i m , in reflexion, a s a light that c o l o u r e d a n d refined, a light b e s i d e which the glow of the E a s t w a s garish c h e a p a n d thin. T h e terrible truth w a s that he h a d l o s t — w i t h everything e l s e — a distinction a s well; the things he s a w couldn't help b e i n g c o m m o n w h e n he h a d b e c o m e c o m m o n to look at t h e m . H e w a s simply now o n e of t h e m h i m s e l f — h e w a s in the d u s t , without a p e g for the s e n s e of difference; a n d there were h o u r s w h e n , before the t e m p l e s of g o d s a n d the s e p u l c h r e s of kings, his spirit t u r n e d for n o b l e n e s s of a s s o c i a t i o n to the barely d i s c r i m inated slab in the L o n d o n s u b u r b . T h a t h a d b e c o m e for h i m , a n d m o r e intensely with time a n d d i s t a n c e , his o n e w i t n e s s of a p a s t glory. It w a s all that w a s left to him for p r o o f or pride, yet the p a s t glories of P h a r a o h s were n o t h i n g to him a s h e t h o u g h t of it. S m a l l w o n d e r then that h e c a m e b a c k to it o n the morrow of his return. H e w a s drawn there this time a s irresistibly a s the other, yet with a c o n f i d e n c e , a l m o s t , that w a s d o u b t l e s s the effect of the m a n y m o n t h s that h a d e l a p s e d . H e h a d lived, in spite of himself, into his c h a n g e of feeling, a n d in w a n d e r i n g over the earth h a d w a n d e r e d , a s might b e said, from the c i r c u m f e r e n c e to the c e n t r e of his d e s e r t . H e h a d settled to his safety a n d a c c e p t e d p e r f o r c e his extinction; figuring to himself, with s o m e colour, in the likeness of certain little old m e n he r e m e m b e r e d to have s e e n , of w h o m , all m e a g r e a n d w i z e n e d a s they might look, it w a s related that they h a d in their time fought twenty d u e l s or b e e n loved by ten prin-

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c e s s e s . T h e y i n d e e d h a d b e e n w o n d r o u s for others while he w a s but wond r o u s for himself; which, however, w a s exactly the c a u s e of his h a s t e to r e n e w the w o n d e r by getting back, a s he might p u t it, into his own p r e s e n c e . T h a t h a d q u i c k e n e d his s t e p s a n d c h e c k e d his delay. If his visit w a s p r o m p t it w a s b e c a u s e h e h a d b e e n s e p a r a t e d so long from the part of h i m s e l f that a l o n e he now v a l u e d . It's accordingly not false to say that h e r e a c h e d his goal with a certain elation a n d s t o o d there a g a i n with a certain a s s u r a n c e . T h e c r e a t u r e b e n e a t h the sod knew of his rare e x p e r i e n c e , so that, strangely now, the p l a c e had lost for him its m e r e b l a n k n e s s of e x p r e s s i o n . It m e t him in m i l d n e s s — n o t , a s before, in mockery; it wore for him the air of c o n s c i o u s g r e e t i n g that we find, after a b s e n c e , in things that have closely b e l o n g e d to u s a n d which s e e m to c o n f e s s of t h e m s e l v e s to the c o n n e x i o n . T h e plot of g r o u n d , the graven tablet, the t e n d e d flowers affected him s o a s b e l o n g i n g to him that h e r e s e m b l e d for the h o u r a c o n t e n t e d landlord reviewing a p i e c e of property. W h a t e v e r had h a p p e n e d — w e l l , h a d h a p p e n e d . H e h a d not c o m e b a c k this time with the vanity of that q u e s t i o n , his former worrying " W h a t , what?" now practically s o s p e n t . Yet he would n o n e the less never again s o c u t h i m s e l f off from the spot; h e would c o m e b a c k to it every m o n t h , for if h e did n o t h i n g else by its aid he at least held u p his h e a d . It t h u s grew for h i m , in the o d d e s t way, a positive r e s o u r c e ; he carried out his idea of periodical r e t u r n s , which took their p l a c e at last a m o n g the m o s t inveterate of his h a b i t s . W h a t it all a m o u n t e d to, oddly e n o u g h , w a s that in his finally s o simplified world this g a r d e n of d e a t h gave him the few s q u a r e feet of earth on which h e c o u l d still m o s t live. It w a s a s if, b e i n g n o t h i n g a n y w h e r e e l s e for any o n e , n o t h i n g even for himself, h e were j u s t everything h e r e , a n d if not for a crowd of w i t n e s s e s or i n d e e d for any witness but J o h n M a r c h e r , then by clear right of the register that he c o u l d s c a n like an o p e n p a g e . T h e o p e n p a g e was the t o m b of his friend, a n d there were the facts of the p a s t , there the truth of his life, there the b a c k w a r d r e a c h e s in which h e c o u l d lose himself. H e did this from time to time with s u c h effect that he s e e m e d to w a n d e r t h r o u g h the old years with his h a n d in the a r m of a c o m p a n i o n w h o w a s , in the m o s t extraordinary m a n n e r , his other, his y o u n g e r self; a n d to w a n d e r , which w a s m o r e extraordinary yet, r o u n d a n d round a third p r e s e n c e — n o t w a n d e r i n g s h e , b u t stationary, still, w h o s e eyes, turning with his revolution, never c e a s e d to follow him, a n d w h o s e s e a t w a s his point, so to s p e a k , of orientation. T h u s in short he settled to l i v e — f e e d i n g all on the s e n s e that he o n c e had lived, a n d d e p e n d e n t o n it not a l o n e for a s u p p o r t but for a n identity. It sufficed him in its way for m o n t h s a n d the year e l a p s e d ; it would d o u b t less even have carried him further but for a n a c c i d e n t , superficially slight, which m o v e d h i m , q u i t e in a n o t h e r direction, with a force b e y o n d any of his i m p r e s s i o n s of Egypt or of India. It w a s a thing of the m e r e s t c h a n c e — t h e turn, a s h e afterwards felt, of a hair, t h o u g h h e w a s i n d e e d to live to believe that if light hadn't c o m e to him in this particular f a s h i o n it w o u l d still have c o m e in a n o t h e r . H e w a s to live to believe this, I say, t h o u g h h e w a s not to live, I m a y not less definitely m e n t i o n , to d o m u c h e l s e . W e allow him at any rate the benefit of the conviction, struggling u p for him at the e n d , that, whatever might have h a p p e n e d or not h a p p e n e d , h e w o u l d have c o m e r o u n d of himself to the light. T h e incident of an a u t u m n day h a d p u t the m a t c h to the train laid from of old by his misery. With the light before h i m he k n e w

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that even of late his a c h e h a d only b e e n s m o t h e r e d . It w a s strangely d r u g g e d , but it t h r o b b e d ; at the t o u c h it b e g a n to bleed. A n d the t o u c h , in the event, w a s the f a c e of a fellow mortal. T h i s f a c e , o n e grey a f t e r n o o n w h e n the leaves were thick in the alleys, looked into M a r c h e r ' s o w n , at the c e m e t e r y , with a n expression like the c u t of a b l a d e . H e felt it, that is, so d e e p d o w n that h e w i n c e d at the steady thrust. T h e p e r s o n who so mutely a s s a u l t e d him w a s a figure h e h a d n o t i c e d , on r e a c h i n g his own g o a l , a b s o r b e d by a grave a short d i s t a n c e away, a grave a p p a r e n t l y fresh, s o that the e m o t i o n of the visitor would probably m a t c h it for f r a n k n e s s . T h i s f a c e a l o n e f o r b a d e further attention, t h o u g h d u r i n g the time he stayed he r e m a i n e d vaguely c o n s c i o u s of his n e i g h b o u r , a m i d d l e - a g e d m a n apparently, in m o u r n i n g , w h o s e b o w e d b a c k , a m o n g the c l u s t e r e d m o n u m e n t s a n d m o r t u a r y yews, w a s c o n s t a n t l y p r e s e n t e d . M a r c h e r ' s theory that t h e s e were e l e m e n t s in c o n t a c t with w h i c h he himself revived, h a d suffered, o n this o c c a s i o n , it m a y be g r a n t e d , a m a r k e d , a n excessive c h e c k . T h e a u t u m n day w a s dire for him a s n o n e h a d recently b e e n , a n d he rested with a h e a v i n e s s he h a d not yet k n o w n on the low s t o n e table that bore M a y B a r t r a m ' s n a m e . H e r e s t e d without p o w e r to m o v e , a s if s o m e spring in him, s o m e spell v o u c h s a f e d , h a d s u d d e n l y b e e n broken for ever. If he c o u l d have d o n e that m o m e n t a s h e w a n t e d h e w o u l d simply have s t r e t c h e d himself on the slab that w a s ready to take h i m , treating it a s a p l a c e p r e p a r e d to receive his last s l e e p . W h a t in all the wide world h a d he now to k e e p a w a k e for? H e stared before him with the q u e s t i o n , a n d it w a s then that, a s o n e of the c e m e t e r y walks p a s s e d n e a r h i m , he c a u g h t the s h o c k of the f a c e . His n e i g h b o u r at the other grave h a d withdrawn, a s h e himself, with force e n o u g h in h i m , would have d o n e by now, a n d w a s a d v a n c i n g a l o n g the p a t h on his way to o n e of the g a t e s . T h i s b r o u g h t him c l o s e , a n d his p a c e w a s slow, s o t h a t — a n d all the m o r e a s there w a s a kind of h u n g e r in his l o o k — the two m e n were for a m i n u t e directly c o n f r o n t e d . M a r c h e r knew him at o n c e for o n e of the deeply s t r i c k e n — a p e r c e p t i o n so s h a r p that nothing e l s e in the p i c t u r e c o m p a r a t i v e l y lived, neither his d r e s s , his a g e , nor his p r e s u m able c h a r a c t e r a n d c l a s s ; n o t h i n g lived but the d e e p ravage of the f e a t u r e s he s h o w e d . H e showed t h e m — t h a t w a s the point; h e w a s m o v e d , a s h e p a s s e d , by s o m e i m p u l s e that w a s either a signal for s y m p a t h y or, m o r e possibly, a c h a l l e n g e to a n o p p o s e d sorrow. H e might already have b e e n a w a r e of o u r friend, might at s o m e p r e v i o u s h o u r have noticed in him the s m o o t h habit of the s c e n e , with which the s t a t e of his own s e n s e s s o scantly c o n s o r t e d , a n d might thereby have b e e n stirred a s by a n overt d i s c o r d . W h a t M a r c h e r w a s at all events c o n s c i o u s of w a s in the first p l a c e that the i m a g e of scarred p a s s i o n p r e s e n t e d to him w a s c o n s c i o u s t o o — o f s o m e t h i n g that p r o f a n e d the air; a n d in the s e c o n d that, r o u s e d , startled, s h o c k e d , he w a s yet the next m o m e n t looking after it, as it w e n t , with envy. T h e m o s t extraordinary thing that h a d h a p p e n e d to h i m — t h o u g h he h a d given that n a m e to other m a t t e r s a s w e l l — t o o k p l a c e , after his i m m e d i a t e v a g u e s t a r e , a s a c o n s e q u e n c e of this i m p r e s s i o n . T h e s t r a n g e r p a s s e d , but the raw glare of his grief r e m a i n e d , m a k i n g our friend w o n d e r in pity what w r o n g , what w o u n d it e x p r e s s e d , what injury not to be h e a l e d . W h a t h a d the m a n had, to m a k e him by the loss of it s o bleed a n d yet live? S o m e t h i n g — a n d this r e a c h e d him with a p a n g — t h a t he, J o h n M a r c h e r , hadn't; the p r o o f of which w a s precisely J o h n M a r c h e r ' s arid e n d . N o p a s s i o n

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had ever t o u c h e d him, for this w a s what p a s s i o n m e a n t ; he h a d survived a n d m a u n d e r e d a n d p i n e d , but where h a d b e e n his d e e p ravage? T h e extraordinary thing we s p e a k of w a s the s u d d e n r u s h of the result of this q u e s t i o n . T h e sight that h a d j u s t m e t his eyes n a m e d to h i m , a s in letters of q u i c k flame, s o m e t h i n g h e h a d utterly, insanely m i s s e d , a n d w h a t he h a d m i s s e d m a d e t h e s e things a train of fire, m a d e t h e m m a r k t h e m s e l v e s in an a n g u i s h of inward t h r o b s . Fje h a d s e e n outside of his life, not l e a r n e d it within, the way a w o m a n w a s m o u r n e d w h e n s h e h a d b e e n loved for herself: s u c h w a s the force of his conviction of the m e a n i n g of the stranger's f a c e , which still flared for him a s a s m o k y torch. It hadn't c o m e to him, the k n o w l e d g e , on the wings of e x p e r i e n c e ; it h a d b r u s h e d him, j o s t l e d him, u p s e t h i m , with the d i s r e s p e c t of c h a n c e , the i n s o l e n c e of a c c i d e n t . N o w that the illumination h a d b e g u n , however, it blazed to the zenith, a n d what h e presently s t o o d there gazing at w a s the s o u n d e d void of his life. H e g a z e d , h e drew b r e a t h , in pain; he turned in his d i s m a y , a n d , turning, he h a d before h i m in s h a r p e r incision than ever the o p e n p a g e of his story. T h e n a m e on the table s m o t e him a s the p a s s a g e of his n e i g h b o u r h a d d o n e , a n d w h a t it s a i d to h i m , full in the f a c e , w a s that she w a s what h e h a d m i s s e d . T h i s w a s the awful t h o u g h t , the a n s w e r to all the p a s t , the vision at the d r e a d c l e a r n e s s of which h e grew a s cold as the s t o n e b e n e a t h h i m . Everything fell together, c o n f e s s e d , explained, o v e r w h e l m e d ; leaving him m o s t of all stupefied at the b l i n d n e s s he h a d c h e r i s h e d . T h e fate he h a d b e e n m a r k e d for he h a d m e t with a veng e a n c e — h e h a d e m p t i e d the c u p to the l e e s ; h e h a d b e e n the m a n of his t i m e , the m a n , to w h o m n o t h i n g on earth w a s to have h a p p e n e d . T h a t w a s the rare s t r o k e — t h a t w a s his visitation. S o he s a w it, a s we say, in pale horror, while the p i e c e s fitted a n d fitted. S o she h a d s e e n it while he didn't, a n d so she served at this hour to drive the truth h o m e . It w a s the truth, vivid a n d m o n s t r o u s , that all the while he h a d waited the wait w a s itself his portion. T h i s the c o m p a n i o n of his vigil h a d at a given m o m e n t m a d e o u t , a n d s h e h a d then offered him the c h a n c e to baffle his d o o m . O n e ' s d o o m , however, w a s never baffled, a n d on the day s h e told him his own h a d c o m e d o w n s h e h a d s e e n him but stupidly stare at the e s c a p e s h e offered h i m . T h e e s c a p e would have b e e n to love her; t h e n , then he would have lived. She h a d l i v e d — w h o c o u l d say now with what p a s s i o n ? — s i n c e s h e h a d loved him for himself; w h e r e a s he had never t h o u g h t of her (ah, how it hugely glared at him!) but in the chill of his e g o t i s m a n d the light of her u s e . H e r s p o k e n words c a m e b a c k to h i m — t h e c h a i n s t r e t c h e d a n d s t r e t c h e d . T h e B e a s t h a d lurked i n d e e d , a n d the B e a s t , at its hour, h a d s p r u n g ; it h a d s p r u n g in that twilight of the c o l d April w h e n , p a l e , ill, w a s t e d , but all beautiful, a n d p e r h a p s even then recoverable, s h e h a d risen from her c h a i r to s t a n d before him a n d let him i m a g i n a b l y g u e s s . It h a d s p r u n g a s he didn't g u e s s ; it had s p r u n g a s s h e hopelessly t u r n e d from him, a n d the m a r k , by the time h e left her, had fallen w h e r e it was to fall. H e h a d justified his fear a n d a c h i e v e d his fate; he h a d failed, with the last e x a c t i t u d e , of all h e w a s to fail of; a n d a m o a n now rose to his lips a s he r e m e m b e r e d s h e h a d prayed he mightn't know. T h i s horror of w a k i n g — t h i s w a s k n o w l e d g e , k n o w l e d g e u n d e r the breath of which the very tears in his eyes s e e m e d to freeze. T h r o u g h t h e m , n o n e the l e s s , he tried to fix it a n d hold it; he kept it there before him s o that h e might feel the p a i h . T h a t at least, belated a n d bitter, h a d s o m e t h i n g of the taste of life. B u t the bitterness s u d d e n l y s i c k e n e d him, a n d it w a s a s if,

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horribly, he saw, in the truth, in the cruelty of his i m a g e , w h a t h a d b e e n a p p o i n t e d a n d d o n e . H e saw the J u n g l e of his life a n d s a w the lurking B e a s t ; t h e n , while he looked, p e r c e i v e d it, a s by a stir of the air, r i s e , h u g e a n d h i d e o u s , for the leap that w a s to settle h i m . H i s eyes d a r k e n e d — i t w a s c l o s e ; a n d , instinctively turning, in his h a l l u c i n a t i o n , to avoid it, he flung himself, f a c e d o w n , on the t o m b . 1901

1903, 1909

SARAH

ORNE

JEWETT

1849-1909 When Sarah Orne Jewett was born in South Berwick, Maine, in 1849, the town and region she was to memorialize in her fiction were already changing rapidly. Her grandfather had been a sea captain, shipowner, and merchant; and as a child she was exposed to the bustle of this small inland port. By the end of the Civil War, however, textile mills and a cannery had largely replaced agriculture, shipbuilding, and logging as the economic base of the community; and the arrival of French-Canadian and Irish immigrants brought ethnic diversity to the town. The stable, secure, and remote small town Jewett knew and loved as a child was experiencing the economic, technological, and demographic pressures that transformed America in her lifetime. Jewett's family life was steady and affectionate; she and her two sisters led happy and generally carefree childhoods. Their father was a kindly, hardworking obstetrician who indulged all three of his daughters, but Sarah most of all. He encouraged her reading, and even as a small child she accompanied him on his horse-and-buggy rounds, meeting the rural people who would later populate her fiction. Jewett loved her father deeply, and some of her strong feelings for him are invested in A Country Doctor (1884), a novel that celebrates the competence and independence of its female protagonist. Jewett's relationship with her mother was less intense; it was not until her mother became an invalid in the 1880s that mother and daughter became close. As Jewett admitted in a letter to editor and friend Thomas Bailey Aldrich: "I never felt so near to my mother . . . as I have since she died." In part inspired by Harriet Beecher Stowe's novel about Maine seacoast life, The Pearl of Orr's Island (1862), Jewett began to write and publish verse and stories in her teens. One of her first efforts was accepted in 1869 by the influential editor W. D. Howells for publication in the prestigious Atlantic Monthly. In her early twenties, encouraged by Howells, she wrote a group of stories and sketches about a fictional coastal town in Maine to which she gave the name Deephaven; under that title she published her first collection of short pieces in 1877. With the publication of this book, she entered the company of Mark Twain, George Washington Cable, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and other regional writers who were depicting the topographies, people, speech patterns, and modes of life of many distinctive regions of the country. At their best, though, the "regionalists" created works whose themes transcended regionality. Jewett's treatment of the courageous response of women to frustration and loneliness in the post—Civil War years is a case in point. Indeed, deeply felt relations between mothers and daughters and between women more generally are central to much of Jewett's work, and "The Foreigner," written late in Jewett's career, dramatizes both this closeness and anxieties about inevitable separation.

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From the late 1870s on, Jewett was a member of a circle of prominent women writers and artists who lived in or near Boston. This group included Cecilia Thaxter, Sarah Wyman Whitman, Sara Norton, and Marie Theresa Blanc. Without question, though, the relationship between Jewett and Annie Adams Fields, the wife of editor and publisher James T. Fields, was the most important of the many friendships Jewett had formed with both men and women. Though they had known each other since the late 1870s, it was not until Annie Fields's husband died in 1881 that they established a bond that was to sustain both women until Jewett's death in 1909. During the winter months, Jewett lived at Fields's house in Boston and in the spring and summer was often to be found at Fields's oceanside home a few miles north of Boston in Manchester-by-the-Sea. Jewett maintained her residence in South Berwick, and she and Mrs. Fields would spend time together there as well. Their relationship was of a kind not uncommon at the turn of the century; indeed, such connections between women were called "Boston marriages," a term that implied shared living quarters and a partnership that paralleled ordinary marriage in its intimacy and exclusiveness. In recent years their relationship—and those of other prominent female couples of the period—has been the subject of much historical and biographical commentary. What is most central and significant about the Jewett-Fields relationship is that in their lives together in America and in the course of extended trips they took to England, the Continent, and other places, they found companionship and mutual support in a loving, caring relationship based on shared interests. Annie Fields grieved deeply at the death of her husband; when Jewett died seven years after she was seriously injured in a carriage accident, Annie Fields's grief was of the same order of magnitude. Jewett reached artistic maturity with the publication of the collection A White Heron in 1886; later collections of sketches and stories include Tlie King of Folly (1893), and The Life of Nancy (1895). In these Island (1888), A Native ofWinby works the careful documentary record of landscape, people, and dialect is described with understanding and sympathy. Jewett's most enduring work is The Country of the Pointed Firs (1896), a collection of linked sketches filtered through the consciousness of a summer visitor, much like the person Jewett had become. In this work, bits and pieces of the lives of a small group of men and women are quilted into a unified impression of life in a once-prosperous shipping village. The strong older women who survive in the region form a female community which, for many critics, is a hallmark of New England regionalism.

A White Heron 1 / T h e w o o d s were already filled with s h a d o w s o n e J u n e evening, j u s t before eight o'clock, t h o u g h a bright s u n s e t still g l i m m e r e d faintly a m o n g the trunks of the trees. A little girl w a s driving h o m e her cow, a p l o d d i n g , dilatory, provoking c r e a t u r e in her behavior, but a v a l u e d c o m p a n i o n for all that. T h e y were going away from whatever light there w a s , a n d striking d e e p into the w o o d s , but their feet were familiar with the p a t h , a n d it w a s n o m a t t e r w h e t h e r their eyes c o u l d s e e it or not. T h e r e w a s hardly a night the s u m m e r t h r o u g h w h e n the old c o w c o u l d be found waiting at the p a s t u r e b a r s ; on the contrary, it w a s her g r e a t e s t pleas u r e to hide herself away a m o n g the high huckleberry b u s h e s , a n d t h o u g h 1. First published in book form in "A White Heron" and Other Stories ( 1 8 8 6 ) , the source of the text printed here.

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s h e wore a loud bell s h e h a d m a d e the discovery that if o n e s t o o d perfectly still it would not ring. S o Sylvia h a d to hunt for her until s h e f o u n d her, a n d call C o ' ! C o ' ! with never an a n s w e r i n g M o o , until her childish p a t i e n c e w a s quite s p e n t . If the c r e a t u r e had not given g o o d milk a n d plenty of it, the c a s e would have s e e m e d very different to her o w n e r s . B e s i d e s , Sylvia h a d all the time there w a s , a n d very little u s e to m a k e of it. S o m e t i m e s in p l e a s a n t w e a t h e r it w a s a c o n s o l a t i o n to look u p o n the cow's p r a n k s a s a n intelligent a t t e m p t to play hide a n d s e e k , a n d a s the child h a d no p l a y m a t e s s h e lent herself to this a m u s e m e n t with a g o o d deal of zest. T h o u g h this c h a s e h a d b e e n so long that the wary a n i m a l herself h a d given a n u n u s u a l signal of her w h e r e a b o u t s , Sylvia h a d only l a u g h e d w h e n s h e c a m e u p o n M i s t r e s s Moolly at the s w a m p - s i d e , a n d u r g e d her affectionately h o m e w a r d with a twig of birch leaves. T h e old c o w w a s not inclined to w a n d e r farther, s h e even t u r n e d in the right direction for o n c e a s they left the p a s t u r e , a n d s t e p p e d a l o n g the road at a g o o d p a c e . S h e w a s q u i t e ready to be milked now, a n d s e l d o m s t o p p e d to b r o w s e . Sylvia w o n d e r e d what her g r a n d m o t h e r would say b e c a u s e they were s o late. It w a s a great while s i n c e s h e h a d left h o m e at half p a s t five o'clock, b u t everybody knew the difficulty of m a k i n g this e r r a n d a short o n e . M r s . Tilley h a d c h a s e d the h o r n e d t o r m e n t too m a n y s u m m e r evenings herself to b l a m e any o n e e l s e for lingering, a n d w a s only thankful a s s h e waited that s h e h a d Sylvia, n o w a d a y s , to give s u c h v a l u a b l e a s s i s t a n c e . T h e g o o d w o m a n s u s p e c t e d that Sylvia loitered o c c a s i o n a l l y o n her own a c c o u n t ; there never w a s s u c h a child for straying a b o u t out-of-doors s i n c e the world w a s m a d e ! Everybody said that it w a s a g o o d c h a n g e for a little maid w h o had tried to grow for eight years in a c r o w d e d m a n u f a c t u r i n g town, b u t , a s for Sylvia herself, it s e e m e d a s if s h e never h a d b e e n alive at all before s h e c a m e to live at the f a r m . S h e t h o u g h t often with wistful c o m p a s s i o n of a w r e t c h e d g e r a n i u m that b e l o n g e d to a town neighbor. " 'Afraid of folks,' " old M r s . Tilley said to herself, with a s m i l e , after s h e h a d m a d e the unlikely c h o i c e of Sylvia from her d a u g h t e r ' s h o u s e f u l of child r e n , a n d w a s returning to the f a r m . " 'Afraid of folks,' they said! I g u e s s s h e won't be troubled no great with 'em up to the old p l a c e ! " W h e n they r e a c h e d the d o o r of the lonely h o u s e a n d s t o p p e d to u n l o c k it, a n d the c a t c a m e to purr loudly, a n d rub a g a i n s t t h e m , a d e s e r t e d p u s s y , i n d e e d , but fat with y o u n g robins, Sylvia w h i s p e r e d that this w a s a beautiful p l a c e to live in, a n d s h e never s h o u l d wish to g o h o m e . T h e c o m p a n i o n s followed the s h a d y w o o d r o a d , the c o w taking slow s t e p s , a n d the child very fast o n e s . T h e c o w s t o p p e d long at the brook to drink, a s if the p a s t u r e were not half a s w a m p , a n d Sylvia s t o o d still a n d waited, letting her bare feet cool t h e m s e l v e s in the s h o a l water, while the great twilight m o t h s s t r u c k softly a g a i n s t her. S h e w a d e d on t h r o u g h the b r o o k a s the c o w m o v e d away, a n d listened to the t h r u s h e s with a heart that b e a t fast with p l e a s u r e . T h e r e w a s a stirring in the great b o u g h s o v e r h e a d . T h e y were full of little birds a n d b e a s t s that s e e m e d to b e wide a w a k e , a n d g o i n g a b o u t their world, or e l s e saying good-night to e a c h other in sleepy twitters. Sylvia h e r s e l f felt sleepy a s s h e walked a l o n g . H o w e v e r , it w a s not m u c h farther to the h o u s e , a n d the air w a s soft a n d sweet. S h e w a s not often in the w o o d s s o late a s this, a n d it m a d e her feel a s if s h e were a part of the gray s h a d o w s a n d the moving leaves. S h e w a s j u s t thinking how long it s e e m e d s i n c e s h e

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first c a m e to the farm a year a g o , a n d w o n d e r i n g if everything went on in the noisy town j u s t the s a m e a s w h e n s h e w a s there; the t h o u g h t of the great red-faced boy w h o u s e d to c h a s e a n d frighten her m a d e her hurry a l o n g the p a t h to e s c a p e from the s h a d o w of the trees. S u d d e n l y this little woods-girl is horror-stricken to h e a r a clear whistle not very far away. N o t a bird's whistle, which would have a sort of friendliness, but a boy's whistle, d e t e r m i n e d , a n d s o m e w h a t a g g r e s s i v e . Sylvia left the c o w to whatever s a d fate might await her, a n d s t e p p e d discreetly a s i d e into the b u s h e s , but s h e w a s j u s t too late. T h e e n e m y h a d d i s c o v e r e d her, a n d c a l l e d out in a very cheerful a n d p e r s u a s i v e t o n e , " H a l l o a , little girl, how far is it to the r o a d ? " a n d t r e m b l i n g Sylvia a n s w e r e d a l m o s t inaudibly, "A g o o d w a y s . " S h e did not d a r e to look boldly at the tall y o u n g m a n , w h o carried a g u n over his s h o u l d e r , but s h e c a m e o u t of her b u s h a n d again followed the cow, while h e walked a l o n g s i d e . "I have b e e n h u n t i n g for s o m e b i r d s , " the stranger said kindly, " a n d I have lost my way, a n d n e e d a friend very m u c h . Don't b e a f r a i d , " h e a d d e d gallantly. " S p e a k up a n d tell m e w h a t your n a m e is, a n d w h e t h e r you think I can s p e n d the night at your h o u s e , a n d go out g u n n i n g early in the m o r n i n g . " Sylvia w a s m o r e a l a r m e d than before. W o u l d not her g r a n d m o t h e r c o n sider her m u c h to b l a m e ? B u t w h o c o u l d have f o r e s e e n s u c h a n a c c i d e n t a s this? It did not s e e m to be her fault, a n d s h e h u n g her h e a d a s if the s t e m of it were b r o k e n , b u t m a n a g e d to a n s w e r "Sylvy," with m u c h effort w h e n her c o m p a n i o n again a s k e d her n a m e . M r s . Tilley w a s s t a n d i n g in the doorway w h e n the trio c a m e into view. T h e cow gave a loud m o o by way of e x p l a n a t i o n . "Yes, you'd better s p e a k up for yourself, you old trial! W h e r e ' d s h e t u c k e d herself away this t i m e , Sylvy?" B u t Sylvia kept a n a w e d s i l e n c e ; s h e knew by instinct that her g r a n d m o t h e r did not c o m p r e h e n d the gravity of the situation. S h e m u s t b e m i s t a k i n g the stranger for o n e of the farmer-lads of the region. T h e y o u n g m a n stood his g u n b e s i d e the door, a n d d r o p p e d a l u m p y g a m e b a g b e s i d e it; then he b a d e M r s . Tilley good-evening, a n d r e p e a t e d his wayfarer's story, a n d a s k e d if h e c o u l d have a night's lodging. " P u t m e anywhere you like," h e said. "I m u s t b e off early in the m o r n i n g , before day; but I a m very hungry, indeed. You c a n give m e s o m e milk at any rate, that's p l a i n . " " D e a r s a k e s , y e s , " r e s p o n d e d the h o s t e s s , w h o s e long s l u m b e r i n g hospitality s e e m e d to b e easily a w a k e n e d . "You might fare better if you went o u t to the m a i n r o a d a mile or s o , b u t you're w e l c o m e to what we've got. I'll milk right off, a n d you m a k e yourself at h o m e . You c a n s l e e p on h u s k s or f e a t h e r s , " she proffered graciously. "I raised t h e m all myself. T h e r e ' s g o o d p a s t u r i n g for g e e s e j u s t below h e r e towards the m a ' s h . N o w step r o u n d a n d set a p l a t e for the g e n t l e m a n , Sylvy!" A n d Sylvia promptly s t e p p e d . S h e w a s glad to have s o m e t h i n g to d o , a n d s h e w a s hungry herself. It w a s a surprise to find so c l e a n a n d c o m f o r t a b l e a little dwelling in this N e w E n g l a n d w i l d e r n e s s . T h e y o u n g m a n h a d known the horrors of its m o s t primitive h o u s e k e e p i n g , a n d the dreary s q u a l o r of that level of society which d o e s not rebel at the c o m p a n i o n s h i p of h e n s . T h i s w a s the b e s t thrift of a n old-fashioned f a r m s t e a d , t h o u g h on s u c h a small s c a l e that it s e e m e d like a h e r m i t a g e . H e listened eagerly to the old w o m a n ' s q u a i n t talk, h e w a t c h e d

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Sylvia's p a l e f a c e a n d s h i n i n g gray eyes with ever g r o w i n g e n t h u s i a s m , a n d insisted that this was the best s u p p e r he h a d eaten for a m o n t h , a n d afterward the n e w - m a d e friends sat down in the door-way together while the m o o n came up. S o o n it would be berry-time, a n d Sylvia was a great help at picking. T h e cow w a s a g o o d milker, t h o u g h a plaguy thing to k e e p track of, the h o s t e s s g o s s i p e d frankly, a d d i n g presently that s h e had buried four children, s o Sylvia's m o t h e r , a n d a son (who might be d e a d ) in C a l i f o r n i a w e r e all the children s h e h a d left. " D a n , my boy, w a s a great h a n d to go g u n n i n g , " s h e explained sadly. "I never w a n t e d for pa'tridges or gray squer'ls while he was to h o m e . H e ' s b e e n a great wand'rer, I expect, a n d he's no h a n d to write letters. T h e r e , I don't b l a m e him, I'd ha' s e e n the world myself if it h a d b e e n so I c o u l d . "Sylvia takes after h i m , " the g r a n d m o t h e r c o n t i n u e d affectionately, after a m i n u t e ' s p a u s e . " T h e r e ain't a foot o' g r o u n d she don't know her way over, a n d the wild c r e a t u r s c o u n t s her o n e o' t h e m s e l v e s . S q u e r ' l s she'll t a m e to c o m e a n ' feed right out o' her h a n d s , a n d all sorts o' birds. L a s t winter s h e got the jay-birds to b a n g e i n g 2 h e r e , a n d I believe she'd 'a' s c a n t e d herself of her own m e a l s to have plenty to throw out a m o n g s t ' e m , if I h a d n't k e p ' w a t c h . Anything but c r o w s , I tell her, I'm willin' to help s u p p o r t — t h o u g h D a n he had a t a m e d o n e o' t h e m that did s e e m to have r e a s o n s a m e a s folks. It w a s r o u n d h e r e a g o o d spell after h e went away. D a n a n ' his father they didn't h i t c h , — b u t he never held u p his h e a d ag'in after D a n h a d d a r e d him a n ' g o n e off." T h e g u e s t did not notice this hint of family sorrows in his e a g e r interest in s o m e t h i n g e l s e . " S o Sylvy knows all a b o u t birds, d o e s s h e ? " he e x c l a i m e d , a s h e looked round at the little girl w h o sat, very d e m u r e but increasingly sleepy, in the moonlight. "I a m m a k i n g a collection of birds myself. I have b e e n at it ever s i n c e I w a s a boy." ( M r s . Tilley s m i l e d . ) " T h e r e are two or three very rare o n e s I have b e e n h u n t i n g for t h e s e five years. I m e a n to get t h e m on my own g r o u n d if they c a n be f o u n d . " " D o you c a g e 'em u p ? " a s k e d M r s . Tilley doubtfully, in r e s p o n s e to this enthusiastic announcement. " O h , no, they're stuffed a n d p r e s e r v e d , dozens a n d d o z e n s of t h e m , " s a i d the ornithologist, " a n d I have shot or s n a r e d every o n e myself. I c a u g h t a g l i m p s e of a white heron three miles from here on S a t u r d a y , a n d I have followed it in this direction. T h e y have never b e e n f o u n d in this district at all. T h e little white h e r o n , it i s , " a n d he t u r n e d again to look at Sylvia with the h o p e of discovering that the rare bird w a s o n e of her a c q u a i n t a n c e s . B u t Sylvia w a s w a t c h i n g a h o p - t o a d in the narrow footpath. "You would know the heron if you saw it," the stranger c o n t i n u e d eagerly. "A q u e e r tall white bird with soft feathers a n d long thin legs. And it would have a nest p e r h a p s in the top of a high tree, m a d e of s t i c k s , s o m e t h i n g like a hawk's n e s t . " Sylvia's heart gave a wild b e a t ; s h e knew that s t r a n g e white bird, a n d h a d o n c e stolen softly near w h e r e it stood in s o m e bright green s w a m p g r a s s , away over at the other side of the w o o d s . T h e r e w a s an o p e n p l a c e w h e r e the 2. Hanging around.

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s u n s h i n e always s e e m e d strangely yellow a n d hot, w h e r e tall, n o d d i n g r u s h e s grew, a n d her g r a n d m o t h e r had w a r n e d her that s h e might sink in the soft black m u d u n d e r n e a t h a n d never b e heard of m o r e . N o t far beyond were the salt m a r s h e s j u s t this side the s e a itself, which Sylvia w o n d e r e d a n d d r e a m e d a b o u t , but never h a d s e e n , w h o s e great voice c o u l d s o m e t i m e s be h e a r d a b o v e the n o i s e of the w o o d s o n stormy nights. "I can't think of anything I s h o u l d like so m u c h a s to find that heron's n e s t , " the h a n d s o m e stranger w a s saying. "I would give ten dollars to anybody who c o u l d s h o w it to m e , " h e a d d e d desperately, " a n d I m e a n to s p e n d my whole vacation h u n t i n g for it if n e e d b e . P e r h a p s it was only migrating, or had b e e n c h a s e d out of its own region by s o m e bird of prey." M r s . Tilley gave a m a z e d attention to all this, but Sylvia still w a t c h e d the toad, not divining, a s s h e might have d o n e at s o m e c a l m e r t i m e , that the c r e a t u r e w i s h e d to get to its hole u n d e r the d o o r - s t e p , a n d w a s m u c h hindered by the u n u s u a l s p e c t a t o r s at that hour of the evening. N o a m o u n t of thought, that night, c o u l d d e c i d e how m a n y wished-for t r e a s u r e s the ten dollars, so lightly s p o k e n of, would buy. T h e next day the y o u n g s p o r t s m a n hovered a b o u t the w o o d s , a n d Sylvia kept him c o m p a n y , having lost her first fear of the friendly lad, w h o proved to be m o s t kind a n d s y m p a t h e t i c . H e told her m a n y things a b o u t the birds and what they knew a n d w h e r e they lived a n d what they did with t h e m s e l v e s . And he gave her a jack-knife, which s h e t h o u g h t a s great a t r e a s u r e a s if s h e were a desert-islander. All day long he did not o n c e m a k e her troubled or afraid except w h e n he b r o u g h t d o w n s o m e u n s u s p e c t i n g s i n g i n g c r e a t u r e from its b o u g h . Sylvia would have liked him vastly better without his g u n ; s h e c o u l d not u n d e r s t a n d why he killed the very birds he s e e m e d to like so m u c h . B u t as the day w a n e d , Sylvia still w a t c h e d the y o u n g m a n with loving a d m i r a t i o n . S h e h a d never s e e n anybody so c h a r m i n g a n d delightful; the w o m a n ' s heart, a s l e e p in the child, w a s vaguely thrilled by a d r e a m of love. S o m e p r e m o n i t i o n of that great power stirred a n d swayed t h e s e y o u n g creatures who traversed the s o l e m n w o o d l a n d s with soft-footed silent c a r e . T h e y s t o p p e d to listen to a bird's s o n g ; they p r e s s e d forward again eagerly, parting the b r a n c h e s , — s p e a k i n g to e a c h other rarely a n d in w h i s p e r s ; the y o u n g m a n going first a n d Sylvia following, f a s c i n a t e d , a few s t e p s b e h i n d , with her gray eyes dark with excitement. S h e grieved b e c a u s e the longed-for white heron w a s elusive, but s h e did not lead the g u e s t , s h e only followed, a n d there w a s n o s u c h thing a s s p e a k i n g first. T h e s o u n d of her own u n q u e s t i o n e d voice would have terrified h e r , — it w a s hard e n o u g h to a n s w e r yes or no when there w a s n e e d of that. At last evening b e g a n to fall, a n d they drove the c o w h o m e together, a n d Sylvia smiled with p l e a s u r e w h e n they c a m e to the p l a c e w h e r e s h e h e a r d the whistle a n d w a s afraid only the night b e f o r e .

II H a l f a mile from h o m e , at the farther e d g e of the w o o d s , w h e r e the land w a s highest, a great pine-tree s t o o d , the last of its g e n e r a t i o n . W h e t h e r it w a s left for a b o u n d a r y mark, or for what r e a s o n , n o o n e c o u l d say; the w o o d c h o p p e r s who h a d felled its m a t e s were d e a d a n d g o n e long a g o , a n d a

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JEWETT

w h o l e forest of sturdy t r e e s , p i n e s a n d o a k s a n d m a p l e s , h a d grown a g a i n . B u t the stately h e a d of this old pine towered a b o v e t h e m all a n d m a d e a l a n d m a r k for s e a a n d shore miles a n d miles away. Sylvia k n e w it well. S h e h a d always believed that whoever c l i m b e d to the top of it c o u l d s e e the o c e a n ; a n d the little girl h a d often laid her h a n d on the great r o u g h trunk a n d looked u p wistfully at t h o s e dark b o u g h s that the wind always stirred, no m a t t e r how hot a n d still the air might be below. N o w she t h o u g h t of the tree with a n e w e x c i t e m e n t , for why, if o n e c l i m b e d it at b r e a k of day, c o u l d not o n e s e e all the world, a n d easily discover from w h e n c e the white heron flew, a n d m a r k the p l a c e , a n d find the hidden n e s t ? W h a t a spirit of a d v e n t u r e , w h a t wild a m b i t i o n ! W h a t f a n c i e d t r i u m p h a n d delight a n d glory for the later m o r n i n g w h e n s h e c o u l d m a k e known the secret! It w a s a l m o s t too real a n d too great for the childish heart to bear. All night the d o o r of the little h o u s e s t o o d o p e n a n d the whippoorwills c a m e a n d s a n g u p o n the very s t e p . T h e y o u n g s p o r t s m a n a n d his old h o s t e s s were s o u n d a s l e e p , but Sylvia's great d e s i g n kept her b r o a d a w a k e a n d w a t c h ing. S h e forgot to think of s l e e p . T h e short s u m m e r night s e e m e d a s l o n g a s the winter d a r k n e s s , a n d at last w h e n the whippoorwills c e a s e d , a n d s h e w a s afraid the m o r n i n g would after all c o m e t o o s o o n , s h e stole o u t of the h o u s e a n d followed the p a s t u r e p a t h t h r o u g h the w o o d s , h a s t e n i n g toward the o p e n g r o u n d b e y o n d , listening with a s e n s e of c o m f o r t a n d c o m p a n i o n s h i p to the drowsy twitter of a h a l f - a w a k e n e d bird, w h o s e p e r c h s h e h a d j a r r e d in p a s s ing. A l a s , if the great wave of h u m a n interest which flooded for the first time this dull little life s h o u l d s w e e p away the s a t i s f a c t i o n s of a n e x i s t e n c e h e a r t to heart with n a t u r e a n d the d u m b life of the forest! T h e r e w a s the h u g e tree a s l e e p yet in the p a l i n g m o o n l i g h t , a n d small a n d silly Sylvia b e g a n with u t m o s t bravery to m o u n t to the top of it, with tingling, e a g e r blood c o u r s i n g the c h a n n e l s of her w h o l e f r a m e , with her b a r e feet a n d fingers, that p i n c h e d a n d held like bird's c l a w s to the m o n s t r o u s ladder r e a c h i n g u p , u p , a l m o s t to the sky itself. First s h e m u s t m o u n t the white o a k tree that grew a l o n g s i d e , w h e r e s h e w a s a l m o s t lost a m o n g the dark b r a n c h e s a n d the g r e e n leaves heavy a n d wet with dew; a bird fluttered off its n e s t , a n d a red squirrel ran to a n d fro a n d s c o l d e d pettishly at the h a r m l e s s h o u s e breaker. Sylvia felt her way easily. S h e h a d often c l i m b e d t h e r e , a n d k n e w that higher still o n e of the oak's u p p e r b r a n c h e s c h a f e d a g a i n s t the p i n e trunk, j u s t w h e r e its lower b o u g h s were set c l o s e together. T h e r e , w h e n s h e m a d e the d a n g e r o u s p a s s from o n e tree to the other, the great e n t e r p r i s e would really b e g i n . S h e crept out a l o n g the swaying o a k limb at last, a n d t o o k the d a r i n g step a c r o s s into the old pine-tree. T h e way w a s h a r d e r t h a n s h e t h o u g h t ; s h e m u s t r e a c h far a n d hold fast, the s h a r p dry twigs c a u g h t a n d held her a n d s c r a t c h e d her like angry t a l o n s , the p i t c h m a d e her thin little fingers c l u m s y a n d stiff a s s h e went r o u n d a n d r o u n d the tree's great s t e m , higher a n d higher u p w a r d . T h e s p a r r o w s a n d r o b i n s in the w o o d s b e l o w were b e g i n n i n g to w a k e a n d twitter to the d a w n , yet it s e e m e d m u c h lighter there aloft in the pine-tree, a n d the child k n e w that s h e m u s t hurry if her p r o j e c t were to b e of any u s e . T h e tree s e e m e d to lengthen itself o u t a s s h e went u p , a n d to r e a c h farther a n d farther u p w a r d . It w a s like a great m a i n - m a s t to the voyaging e a r t h ; it m u s t truly have b e e n a m a z e d that m o r n i n g t h r o u g h all its p o n d e r o u s f r a m e a s it felt this d e t e r m i n e d spark of h u m a n spirit winding its way from higher

A WHITE HERON

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1593

branch to b r a n c h . W h o knows how steadily the least twigs held t h e m s e l v e s to a d v a n t a g e this light, w e a k c r e a t u r e on her way! T h e old pine m u s t have loved his new d e p e n d e n t . M o r e than all the h a w k s , a n d b a t s , a n d m o t h s , a n d even the sweet voiced t h r u s h e s , w a s the brave, b e a t i n g heart of the solitary gray-eyed child. A n d the tree s t o o d still a n d frowned away the w i n d s that J u n e m o r n i n g while the d a w n grew bright in the e a s t . Sylvia's f a c e w a s like a p a l e star, if o n e h a d s e e n it from the g r o u n d , w h e n the last thorny b o u g h was p a s t , a n d she s t o o d t r e m b l i n g a n d tired but wholly t r i u m p h a n t , high in the tree-top. Yes, there w a s the s e a with the d a w n i n g s u n m a k i n g a golden dazzle over it, a n d toward that glorious e a s t flew two hawks with slow-moving p i n i o n s . H o w low they looked in the air from that height w h e n o n e h a d only s e e n t h e m before far u p , a n d dark a g a i n s t the b l u e sky. T h e i r gray f e a t h e r s were a s soft a s m o t h s ; they s e e m e d only a little way from the tree, a n d Sylvia felt a s if s h e too c o u l d go flying away a m o n g the c l o u d s . W e s t w a r d , the w o o d l a n d s a n d f a r m s r e a c h e d miles a n d miles into the d i s t a n c e ; here a n d there were c h u r c h s t e e p l e s , a n d white villages; truly it w a s a vast a n d a w e s o m e world! T h e birds s a n g louder a n d louder. At last the s u n c a m e u p bewilderingly bright. Sylvia c o u l d s e e the white sails of s h i p s o u t at s e a , a n d the c l o u d s that were p u r p l e a n d rose-colored a n d yellow at first b e g a n to f a d e away. W h e r e w a s the white heron's nest in the s e a of green b r a n c h e s , a n d w a s this wonderful sight a n d p a g e a n t of the world the only reward for having c l i m b e d to s u c h a giddy height? N o w look down a g a i n , Sylvia, w h e r e the g r e e n m a r s h is set a m o n g the s h i n i n g b i r c h e s a n d dark h e m l o c k s ; there w h e r e you s a w the white heron o n c e you will s e e him a g a i n ; look, look! a white s p o t of him like a single floating feather c o m e s u p from the d e a d h e m l o c k a n d grows larger, a n d rises, a n d c o m e s c l o s e at last, a n d g o e s by the l a n d m a r k p i n e with steady s w e e p of wing a n d o u t s t r e t c h e d slender n e c k a n d c r e s t e d h e a d . A n d wait! wait! d o not m o v e a foot or a finger, little girl, do not s e n d a n arrow of light a n d c o n s c i o u s n e s s from your two e a g e r e y e s , for the heron h a s p e r c h e d on a pine b o u g h not far beyond yours, a n d cries b a c k to his m a t e on the n e s t , a n d p l u m e s his feathers for the new day! T h e child gives a long sigh a m i n u t e later w h e n a c o m p a n y of s h o u t i n g cat-birds c o m e s also to the tree, a n d vexed by their fluttering a n d l a w l e s s n e s s the s o l e m n heron g o e s away. S h e knows his secret now, the wild, light, slender bird that floats a n d wavers, a n d g o e s b a c k like a n arrow presently to his h o m e in the green world b e n e a t h . T h e n Sylvia, well satisfied, m a k e s her perilous way d o w n a g a i n , not d a r i n g to look far below the b r a n c h s h e s t a n d s on, ready to cry s o m e t i m e s b e c a u s e her fingers a c h e a n d her l a m e d feet slip. W o n d e r i n g over a n d over again what the s t r a n g e r would say to her, a n d w h a t he would think w h e n s h e told him how to find his way straight to the heron's nest. "Sylvy, Sylvy!" called the b u s y old g r a n d m o t h e r again a n d a g a i n , b u t nobody a n s w e r e d , a n d the small h u s k b e d w a s e m p t y a n d Sylvia h a d d i s a p peared. T h e g u e s t waked from a d r e a m , a n d r e m e m b e r i n g his day's p l e a s u r e hurried to d r e s s himself that might it s o o n e r b e g i n . H e w a s s u r e from the way the shy little girl looked o n c e or twice yesterday that s h e h a d at least seen the white h e r o n , a n d now she m u s t really be m a d e to tell. H e r e s h e c o m e s

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now, p a l e r than ever, a n d her worn old frock is torn a n d tattered, a n d s m e a r e d with pine pitch. T h e g r a n d m o t h e r a n d the s p o r t s m a n s t a n d in the d o o r together a n d q u e s t i o n her, a n d the splendid m o m e n t has c o m e to s p e a k of the d e a d hemlock-tree by the green m a r s h . B u t Sylvia d o e s not s p e a k after all, t h o u g h the old g r a n d m o t h e r fretfully r e b u k e s her, a n d the y o u n g m a n ' s kind, a p p e a l i n g eyes are looking straight in her own. H e c a n m a k e t h e m rich with m o n e y ; he h a s p r o m i s e d it, a n d they are p o o r now. H e is s o well worth m a k i n g happy, a n d he waits to h e a r the story s h e c a n tell. N o , s h e m u s t keep s i l e n c e ! W h a t is it that s u d d e n l y forbids her a n d m a k e s her d u m b ? H a s s h e b e e n nine years g r o w i n g a n d now, w h e n the great world for the first time p u t s out a hand to her, m u s t she thrust it a s i d e for a bird's s a k e ? T h e m u r m u r of the pine's green b r a n c h e s is in her e a r s , s h e r e m e m b e r s how the white heron c a m e flying through the g o l d e n air a n d how they w a t c h e d the s e a a n d the m o r n i n g together, a n d Sylvia c a n n o t s p e a k ; s h e c a n n o t tell the heron's s e c r e t a n d give its life away. D e a r loyalty, that suffered a s h a r p p a n g a s the g u e s t went away d i s a p pointed later in the day, that c o u l d have served a n d followed him a n d loved him a s a d o g loves! M a n y a night Sylvia h e a r d the e c h o of his whistle h a u n t ing the p a s t u r e p a t h a s s h e c a m e h o m e with the loitering cow. S h e forgot even her sorrow at the s h a r p report of his g u n a n d the sight of t h r u s h e s a n d s p a r r o w s d r o p p i n g silent to the g r o u n d , their s o n g s h u s h e d a n d their pretty feathers stained a n d wet with blood. W e r e the birds better friends than their hunter might have b e e n , — w h o c a n tell? W h a t e v e r t r e a s u r e s were lost to her, w o o d l a n d s a n d s u m m e r - t i m e , r e m e m b e r ! B r i n g your gifts a n d g r a c e s a n d tell your s e c r e t s to this lonely country child! 1886

KATE

CHOPIN

1850-1904 Katherine O'Flaherty seemed more likely as a young woman to become a consumer of literature than a producer of it. Her Irish immigrant father was a successful businessman who died in a tragic train wreck when his daughter was four years old. The family enjoyed a high place in St. Louis society; and her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother were active, pious Catholics of French heritage. But in part under the influence of her strong-willed great-grandmother (who was also a compelling and tireless storyteller), and long before, in the late 1880s, she began to publish stories— mainly about her experiences in Louisiana—the young woman asserted her independence by smoking in company and going about the streets without a companion of either sex—both rather daring acts for the time. Kate O'Flaherty grew up in the company of strong, loving women from whom she learned independence and the power of language. Chopin was nine years old before she entered St. Louis Academy of the Sacred Heart, but she was already well-read in English and French authors, and by the time

KATE CHOPIN

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1595

she graduated from the academy in 1 8 6 8 she had absorbed Cervantes, Dante, Goethe, and many English novelists and poets of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries— Austen, the Brontes, and Coleridge among them. But it was French writers who most strongly influenced her sense of life and her craft as a writer. She read and admired French classical authors as well as more nearly contemporary figures such as Flaubert and de Stael; but it was Zola, and especially Maupassant who provided philosophical perspective and fictional method when she began to write in earnest in her late thirties. What she said of Maupassant she might have said of herself: "Here was a man who had escaped from tradition and authority, who had entered into himself and looked out upon life through his own being and with his own eyes; and who in a direct and simple way, told us what he saw." What Chopin saw—whether in St. Louis, New Orleans, or the Louisiana countryside—was the tension between individual erotic inclination and the constraints placed on desire—especially on women's sexual desire—by traditional social mores. What she told directly—and without moral judgment—was how certain women were beginning to challenge the patriarchal rules that had sought not only to confine them to well-defined social and vocational domains but to control their inner life as well. At the age of nineteen she married Oscar Chopin (who pronounced his name Showpan) and spent the next decade in New Orleans, where her husband first prospered, then failed, in the cotton business. After spending a few years in Cloutierville, a village in northwest Louisiana, where her husband had opened a general store and taken over the management of a family cotton plantation, she returned to St. Louis permanently in 1 8 8 4 , a year after her husband's sudden death from swamp fever (probably malaria). A year later her mother died, and at the age of thirty-five Chopin was left essentially alone to raise her six young children and to fashion a literary career out of her experience of the Creole and Cajun cultures she had come to know so well. Chopin had the gifts of equanimity and focus and wrote on a lapboard in the midst of a busy household. Many of her stories she wrote in a single day. She claimed, moreover, that she wrote on impulse, that she was "completely at the mercy of unconscious selection" of subject, and that "the polishing up process . . . always proved disastrous." This method, although it ensured freshness and sincerity, made some of her stories seem anecdotal and sometimes too loose or thin. Though a score of the best of them have entered the canon, it is altogether remarkable that in the relatively few years of her writing career—scarcely more than a decade—she completed three novels; more than 1 5 0 stories and sketches; and a substantial body of poetry, reviews, and criticism. A first novel, At Fault, was self-published in 1 8 9 0 , but it was her early stories of Louisiana rural life, especially the collection Bayou Folk ( 1 8 9 4 ) , that won her national recognition as a leading practitioner of local-color fiction. She made the Catholic Creoles and Cajuns with their old-fashioned European customs, their polyglot, witty speech, their sensuous and unself-conscious lives, and the rich agricultural landscape of picturesque Natchitoches Parish as familiar to Americans as Sarah Orne Jewett was making the more severe Protestant towns people of the rocky coastal region of Maine. A second collection of her stories, A Night in Acadie, was published three years later and increased her reputation as local colorist. Nina Baym has argued persuasively that local color writing, which flourished after the Civil War, was in part the product of anxiety over the loss of the familiar in a period of rapid change and dislocation (literal and figurative), nostalgia for more stable times, and the emergence of a mass-produced, homogenized national society. Perhaps, too, the long-lasting trauma of the most destructive war in American history made antebellum America seem like a golden age. "At the Cadian Ball," printed here, demonstrates Chopin's skill at the deft depiction of characters and advancement of plot through distinctive dialogue. The story also creates with great economy a believable physical world in which climate and culture and community and individual personalities exist in subtle reciprocal relation. But

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the hints of scandal and the undercurrent of flirtation of the story are still well within conventional limits. The explicit and unapologetic eroticism of its sequel, however, was another matter. It is not so much that adultery is committed under steamy conditions in "The Storm," but that no one in the end is left feeling guilty or unhappy by this violation of proprieties that almost certainly kept Chopin from submitting the story for publication after she wrote it on July 1 8 , 1 8 9 8 . In any event, "The Storm" was not published until 1 9 6 9 as part of Per Seyersted's edition of The Complete Works of Kate

Chopin.

Chopin's major work, The Awakening, was published in 1 8 9 9 . The novel, which traces the sensual and sexual coming to consciousness of a young woman, predictably aroused hostility among contemporary reviewers, just as Whitman's Leaves of Grass, which Chopin admired, had done half a century earlier. The "new woman"—demanding social, economic, and political equality—was already a common topic of public discussion and subject for fiction. But the depiction of such an unrepentant (if ultimately deeply confused) sensualist as Edna Pontellier was more than many of the critics of the time could allow to pass. The book was described as "trite and sordid," "essentially vulgar," and "unhealthily introspective and morbid in feeling." Other critics and commentators found much to praise in The Awakening, but Chopin's only published response was to claim, tongue in cheek, "I never dreamed of Mrs. Pontellier making such a mess of things and working out her own damnation as she did. If I had had the slightest intimation of such a thing I would have excluded her from the company." After the book was published, Chopin's health began to deteriorate and she wrote little. Though the novel and its author fell into obscurity for half a century, they have now secured an honored place in American literary history. In recent years, moreover, critics have begun to explore the intricacies of race, class, and ethnicity as subjects and contexts in this remarkable novel that once was thought to be only, or at least primarily, about constructions of gender and Edna's sexuality. In The Awakening, more impressively because on a grander scale than in a number of her shorter fictions, Chopin demonstrates her unusual capacity to make the alien, somewhat exotic world of New Orleans and the Gulf islands real and to people it with complex and often baffled men and women whose humanity she confirms by refusing either to judge it or to use it to support a thesis.

At the 'Cadian Ball 1 B o b i n o t , that big, brown, g o o d - n a t u r e d B o b i n o t , h a d n o intention of g o i n g to the ball, even t h o u g h he k n e w C a l i x t a w o u l d b e t h e r e . F o r what c a m e of t h o s e balls b u t h e a r t a c h e , a n d a s i c k e n i n g disinclination for work the w h o l e week t h r o u g h , till S a t u r d a y night c a m e again a n d his tortures b e g a n afresh? W h y c o u l d he not love O z e i n a , w h o w o u l d marry him t o m o r r o w ; or F r o n i e , or any o n e of a dozen o t h e r s , rather than that little S p a n i s h vixen? Calixta's slender foot h a d never t o u c h e d C u b a n soil; but her m o t h e r ' s h a d , a n d the S p a n i s h w a s in her blood all the s a m e . F o r that r e a s o n the prairie p e o p l e forgave her m u c h that they w o u l d not have overlooked in their own d a u g h t e r s or sisters. H e r e y e s , — B o b i n o t t h o u g h t of her eyes, a n d w e a k e n e d , — t h e b l u e s t , the drowsiest, m o s t tantalizing that ever looked into a m a n ' s ; h e t h o u g h t of her flaxen hair that kinked w o r s e t h a n a m u l a t t o ' s c l o s e to her h e a d ; that b r o a d , 1. First published in Two Tales (October 1892); first published in book form in Bayou Folk ( 1 8 9 4 ) , the source of the text printed here.

AT THE 'CADIAN BALL

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smiling m o u t h a n d tiptilted n o s e , that full figure; that voice like a rich contralto s o n g , with c a d e n c e s in it that m u s t have b e e n t a u g h t by S a t a n , for there was n o o n e else to t e a c h her tricks on that ' C a d i a n prairie. B o b i n o t thought of t h e m all a s he plowed his rows of c a n e . T h e r e h a d even b e e n a breath of s c a n d a l w h i s p e r e d a b o u t her a year a g o , w h e n s h e went to A s s u m p t i o n , 2 — b u t why talk of it? N o o n e did now. " C ' e s t E s p a g n o l , c a , " ' m o s t of t h e m said with lenient s h o u l d e r - s h r u g s . " B o n c h i e n tient d e r a c e , " 4 the old m e n m u m b l e d over their p i p e s , stirred by recollections. N o t h i n g w a s m a d e of it, except that Fronie threw it u p to Calixta w h e n the two q u a r r e l e d a n d fought on the c h u r c h s t e p s after m a s s o n e S u n d a y , a b o u t a lover. Calixta swore roundly in fine ' C a d i a n F r e n c h a n d with true S p a n i s h spirit, a n d s l a p p e d Fronie's f a c e . F r o n i e h a d s l a p p e d her b a c k ; " T i e n s , c o c o t t e , v a ! " 5 " E s p e c e de lionese; p r e n d s 5a, et 5 a ! " till the c u r e himself w a s obliged to h a s t e n a n d m a k e p e a c e b e t w e e n t h e m . B o b i n o t thought of it all, a n d would not go to the ball. B u t in the afternoon, over at Friedheimer's s t o r e , w h e r e he w a s b u y i n g a t r a c e - c h a i n , 7 he heard s o m e o n e say that A l c e e L a b a l l i e r e would b e t h e r e . T h e n wild h o r s e s c o u l d not have kept him away. H e knew how it would b e — or rather he did not know how it would b e — i f the h a n d s o m e y o u n g planter c a m e over to the ball as h e s o m e t i m e s did. If A l c e e h a p p e n e d to b e in a serious m o o d , h e might only go to the c a r d - r o o m a n d play a r o u n d or two; or he might s t a n d out on the galleries talking c r o p s a n d politics with the old p e o p l e . B u t there w a s no telling. A drink or two c o u l d p u t the devil in his h e a d , — t h a t w a s what Bobinot said to himself, a s h e w i p e d the s w e a t from his brow with his red b a n d a n n a ; a g l e a m from Calixta's e y e s , a flash of her ankle, a twirl of her skirts could do the s a m e . Yes, B o b i n o t would go to the ball. 6

T h a t w a s the year A l c e e L a b a l l i e r e put nine h u n d r e d a c r e s in rice. It w a s p u t t i n g a good deal of m o n e y into the g r o u n d , but the r e t u r n s p r o m i s e d to b e g l o r i o u s . O l d M a d a m e L a b a l l i e r e , sailing a b o u t the s p a c i o u s galleries in her white volante," figured it all out in her h e a d . C l a r i s s e , her g o d d a u g h t e r , helped her a little, a n d together they built m o r e air-castles t h a n e n o u g h . Alcee worked like a m u l e that t i m e ; a n d if he did not kill himself, it w a s b e c a u s e his constitution w a s an iron o n e . It w a s a n every-day affair for him to c o m e in from the field well-nigh e x h a u s t e d , a n d wet to the waist. H e did not mind if there were visitors; he left t h e m to his m o t h e r a n d C l a r i s s e . T h e r e were often g u e s t s : y o u n g m e n a n d w o m e n w h o c a m e u p from the city, which w a s but a few h o u r s away, to visit his beautiful k i n s w o m a n . S h e w a s worth going a g o o d deal farther than that to s e e . Dainty a s a lily; hardy a s a sunflower; slim, tall, graceful, like o n e of the r e e d s that grew in the m a r s h . C o l d a n d kind a n d cruel by turn, a n d everything that w a s a g g r a v a t i n g to Alcee. H e would have liked to s w e e p the p l a c e of t h o s e visitors, often. O f the m e n , above all, with their ways a n d their m a n n e r s ; their swaying of fans like

2. 3. 4. 5.

I.e., Assumption Parish, Louisiana. That's a Spaniard for you (French). Just like her mother (French). Listen, you flirt, get out of here! (French).

6. You bitch; take that and that! (French). 7. Equipment used to harness horses. 8. A flowing garment.

1598

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w o m e n , a n d d a n d l i n g about h a m m o c k s . H e could have p i t c h e d t h e m over the levee into the river, if it hadn't m e a n t murder. T h a t w a s A l c e e . B u t h e m u s t have been crazy the day he c a m e in from the rice-field, a n d , toil-stained a s he w a s , c l a s p e d C l a r i s s e by the a r m s a n d p a n t e d a volley of hot, blistering love-words into her f a c e . N o m a n h a d ever s p o k e n love to her like that. " M o n s i e u r ! " s h e e x c l a i m e d , looking him full in the e y e s , without a quiver. Alcee's h a n d s d r o p p e d a n d his g l a n c e wavered before the chill of her c a l m , clear eyes. "Par exemple!'"' she m u t t e r e d disdainfully, a s s h e t u r n e d from him, deftly a d j u s t i n g the careful toilet that he had so brutally d i s a r r a n g e d . T h a t h a p p e n e d a day or two before the cyclone c a m e that c u t into the rice like fine steel. It w a s a n awful thing, c o m i n g so swiftly, without a m o m e n t ' s warning in which to light a holy c a n d l e or set a p i e c e of b l e s s e d p a l m b u r n i n g . Old M a d a m e wept openly a n d said her b e a d s , j u s t a s her son Didier, the N e w O r l e a n s o n e , would have d o n e . If s u c h a thing h a d h a p p e n e d to A l p h o n s e , the L a b a l l i e r e p l a n t i n g cotton up in N a t c h i t o c h e s , 1 he w o u l d have raved a n d s t o r m e d like a s e c o n d cyclone, a n d m a d e his s u r r o u n d i n g s u n b e a r able for a day or two. B u t Alcee took the m i s f o r t u n e differently. H e looked ill a n d gray after it, a n d said nothing. H i s s p e e c h l e s s n e s s w a s frightful. Clarisse's heart m e l t e d with t e n d e r n e s s ; but when s h e offered her soft, p u r r i n g w o r d s of c o n d o l e n c e , h e a c c e p t e d t h e m with m u t e indifference. T h e n s h e a n d her n e n a i n e 2 wept afresh in e a c h other's a r m s . A night or two later, w h e n C l a r i s s e went to her window to kneel there in the moonlight a n d say her prayers before retiring, she s a w that B r u c e , Alcee's negro servant, had led his m a s t e r ' s s a d d l e - h o r s e n o i s e l e s s l y a l o n g the e d g e of the sward that b o r d e r e d the gravel-path, a n d stood holding him near by. Presently, s h e heard A l c e e quit his r o o m , which w a s b e n e a t h her o w n , a n d traverse the lower p o r t i c o . As he e m e r g e d from the s h a d o w a n d c r o s s e d the strip of m o o n l i g h t , s h e p e r c e i v e d that he carried a pair of well-filled s a d d l e b a g s which he at o n c e flung a c r o s s the animal's b a c k . H e then lost no time in m o u n t i n g , a n d after a brief e x c h a n g e of words with B r u c e , went c a n t e r i n g away, taking n o p r e c a u t i o n to avoid the noisy gravel a s the n e g r o had d o n e . C l a r i s s e h a d never s u s p e c t e d that it might be Alcee's c u s t o m to sally forth from the plantation secretly, a n d at s u c h an hour; for it w a s nearly midnight. A n d had it not b e e n for the telltale s a d d l e - b a g s , s h e would only have crept to b e d , to wonder, to fret a n d d r e a m u n p l e a s a n t d r e a m s . B u t her i m p a t i e n c e a n d anxiety would not b e held in c h e c k . Hastily u n b o l t i n g the s h u t t e r s of her d o o r that o p e n e d u p o n the gallery, s h e s t e p p e d o u t s i d e a n d c a l l e d softly to the old n e g r o . "Gre't Peter! M i s s C l a r i s s e . I w a s n' s h o it w a s a g h o s ' o' w'at, s t a n ' i n ' up d a h , p l u m b in de night, d a t a w a y . " H e m o u n t e d halfway up the long, broad flight of stairs. S h e w a s s t a n d i n g at the top. " B r u c e , w e r e has M o n s i e u r Alcee g o n e ? " s h e a s k e d . "W'y, he g o n e 'bout he b u s i n e s s , I r e c k i n , " replied B r u c e , striving to be n o n - c o m m i t t a l at the o u t s e t . " W e r e h a s M o n s i e u r A l c e e g o n e ? " s h e reiterated, s t a m p i n g her bare foot. "I won't stan' any n o n s e n s e or any lies; m i n e , B r u c e . " 9. For example (French, literal trans.); here, "Get a hold of yourself!"

1. Parish in northwest Louisiana. 2. Female attendant, in this case his mother.

^

AT THE 'CADIAN BALL

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1599

"I d o n ' ric'lic ez I eva tole you lie yit, M i s s C l a r i s s e . M i s t a A l c e e , h e all broke u p , s h o . " " W e r e — h a s — h e g o n e ? A h , S a i n t e Vierge! faut de la p a t i e n c e ! butor, v a ! " 3 " W e n I w a s in h e r o o m , a-breshin' off he clo'es to-day," the darkey b e g a n , settling himself a g a i n s t the stair-rail, " h e look dat s p e e c h l e s s a n ' d o w n , I say, 'you 'pear to m e like s o m e p u s s u n w'at gwine have a spell o' s i c k n e s s , M i s t a A l c e e . ' H e say, 'You reckin?' 'I dat he git u p , go look hisse'f stiddy in d e g l a s s . D e n he go to de chimbly a n ' j e r k u p d e q u i n i n e bottle a n ' p o ' a gre't h o s s d o s e on to he han'. An' he swalla dat m e s s in a wink, a n ' w a s h hit d o w n wid a big d r a m o' w'iskey w'at h e keep in he r o o m , aginst h e c o m e all s o p p i n ' wet outen de fiel'. " H e 'lows, ' N o , I ain' gwine be sick, B r u c e . ' D e n h e s q u a r e off. H e say, 'I kin m a k out to Stan' u p a n ' gi' a n ' take wid any m a n I k n o w s , l e s s e n hit's J o h n L. S u l v u n . 4 B u t w'en G o d A'mighty a n ' a 'oman j i n e s fo'ces agin m e , dat's o n e too m a n y fur m e . ' I tell 'im, 'Jis s o , ' whils' I 'se m a k i n ' o u t to b r e s h a spot off w'at ain' d a h , on he c o a t colla. I tell 'im, 'You w a n t s li'le res', s u h . ' H e say, ' N o , I w a n t s li'le fling; dat w'at I w a n t s ; a n ' I gwine git it. Pitch m e a fis'ful o' clo'es in d e m 'ar s a d d l e - b a g s . ' D a t w'at h e say. D o n ' t you b o d d a , missy. H e j i s ' g o n e a-caperin' y o n d a to d e C a j u n ball. U h — u h — d e skeeters is fair' a-swarmin' like b e e s r o u n ' yo' f o o t s ! " T h e m o s q u i t o e s were i n d e e d attacking C l a r i s s e ' s white feet savagely. S h e h a d u n c o n s c i o u s l y b e e n alternately r u b b i n g o n e foot over the other d u r i n g the darkey's recital. " T h e ' C a d i a n b a l l , " she r e p e a t e d c o n t e m p t u o u s l y . " H u m p h ! Par exemple!' N i c e c o n d u c ' for a L a b a l l i e r e . An' he n e e d s a s a d d l e - b a g , fill' with c l o t h e s , to go to the ' C a d i a n ball!" " O h , M i s s C l a r i s s e ; you g o on to b e d , chile; git yo' s o u n ' s l e e p . H e 'low h e c o m e b a c k in c o u p l e weeks o' so. I kiarn be r e p e a t i n ' lot o' truck w'at y o u n g m a n s say, out h e a h face o' y o u n g g a l . " C l a r i s s e said no m o r e , but turned a n d abruptly r e e n t e r e d the h o u s e . "You d o n e talk too m u c h wid yo' m o u f a'ready, you ole fool nigga, y o u , " m u t t e r e d B r u c e to himself a s h e walked away. A l c e e r e a c h e d the ball very late, of c o u r s e — t o o late for the c h i c k e n g u m b o which h a d b e e n served at midnight. T h e big, low-ceiled r o o m — t h e y called it a h a l l — w a s p a c k e d with m e n a n d w o m e n d a n c i n g to the m u s i c of three fiddles. T h e r e were b r o a d galleries all a r o u n d it. T h e r e w a s a r o o m at o n e side w h e r e s o b e r - f a c e d m e n were playing c a r d s . Another, in which b a b i e s were sleeping, w a s c a l l e d le pare aux petits. Any o n e w h o is white m a y g o to a ' C a d i a n ball, but he m u s t pay for his l e m o n a d e , his coffee a n d c h i c k e n g u m b o . A n d he m u s t b e h a v e himself like a ' C a d i a n . G r o s b c e u f w a s giving this ball. H e h a d b e e n giving t h e m s i n c e he w a s a y o u n g m a n , a n d he w a s a middle-aged o n e , now. In that time he c o u l d recall but o n e d i s t u r b a n c e , a n d that w a s c a u s e d by A m e r i c a n railroaders, w h o were not in t o u c h with their s u r r o u n d i n g s a n d h a d no b u s i n e s s t h e r e . " C e s m a u d i t s g e n s du r a i d e r o d e , " 7 G r o s b c e u f called t h e m . A l c e e Laballiere's p r e s e n c e at the ball c a u s e d a flutter even a m o n g the m e n , w h o c o u l d not but a d m i r e his " n e r v e " after s u c h m i s f o r t u n e befalling 6

3. Ah, Blessed Virgin! Give me patience! Lout, get out of here! (French). 4. American heavyweight boxing champion (1855-1918). • -..

3

5. Here, "Quite an example!" 6. Playroom (French). 7. Those cursed railroad people (French).

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h i m . T o b e s u r e , they knew the L a b a l l i e r e s were r i c h — t h a t there w e r e r e s o u r c e s E a s t , a n d m o r e a g a i n in the city. B u t they felt it took a brave homme to s t a n d a blow like that philosophically. O n e old g e n t l e m a n , w h o w a s in the habit of r e a d i n g a Paris n e w s p a p e r a n d k n e w things, c h u c k l e d gleefully to everybody that Alcee's c o n d u c t w a s altogether chic, mais chic. than B o u l a n g e r . Well, p e r h a p s he h a d . T h a t h e h a d m o r e panache B u t w h a t he did not s h o w outwardly w a s that he w a s in a m o o d for ugly things to-night. P o o r B o b i n o t a l o n e felt it vaguely. H e d i s c e r n e d a g l e a m of it in Alcee's h a n d s o m e eyes, a s the y o u n g planter s t o o d in the doorway, looking with rather feverish g l a n c e u p o n the a s s e m b l y , while h e l a u g h e d a n d talked with a ' C a d i a n farmer w h o w a s b e s i d e him. Bobinot h i m s e l f w a s dull-looking a n d c l u m s y . M o s t of the m e n w e r e . B u t the y o u n g w o m e n were very beautiful. T h e eyes that g l a n c e d into A l c e e ' s a s they p a s s e d him were big, dark, soft a s t h o s e of the y o u n g heifers s t a n d i n g o u t in the cool prairie g r a s s . B u t the belle w a s Calixta. H e r white d r e s s w a s not nearly s o h a n d s o m e or well m a d e a s Fronie's (she a n d Fronie h a d quite forgotten the battle o n t h e c h u r c h s t e p s , a n d were friends a g a i n ) , n o r were her slippers s o stylish a s t h o s e of O z e i n a ; a n d she f a n n e d herself with a h a n d k e r c h i e f , s i n c e s h e h a d broken her red fan at the last ball, a n d her a u n t s a n d u n c l e s w e r e not willing to give her a n o t h e r . B u t all the m e n a g r e e d s h e w a s at h e r b e s t to-night. S u c h a n i m a t i o n ! a n d a b a n d o n ! s u c h flashes of wit! " H e , B o b i n o t ! M a t s w'at's the m a t t a ? W a t you s t a n d i n ' plante la' like ole M a ' a m e T i n a ' s c o w in the b o g , y o u ! " T h a t w a s g o o d . T h a t w a s an excellent thrust at B o b i n o t , w h o h a d forgotten the figure2 of the d a n c e with his m i n d b e n t o n other things, a n d it s t a r t e d a c l a m o r of l a u g h t e r at his e x p e n s e . H e j o i n e d good-naturedly. It w a s better to receive even s u c h notice a s that from C a l i x t a than n o n e at all. B u t M a d a m e S u z o n n e , sitting in a corner, w h i s p e r e d to her n e i g h b o r that if O z e i n a were to c o n d u c t herself in a like m a n n e r , s h e s h o u l d i m m e d i a t e l y be taken o u t to the mule-cart a n d driven h o m e . T h e w o m e n did not always a p p r o v e of Calixta. N o w a n d then were short lulls in the d a n c e , w h e n c o u p l e s flocked o u t u p o n the galleries for a brief respite a n d fresh air. T h e m o o n h a d g o n e d o w n pale in the w e s t , a n d in the e a s t w a s yet n o p r o m i s e of day. After s u c h a n interval, w h e n the d a n c e r s again a s s e m b l e d to r e s u m e the i n t e r r u p t e d q u a drille, Calixta w a s not a m o n g t h e m . S h e w a s sitting u p o n a b e n c h o u t in the s h a d o w , with A l c e e b e s i d e her. T h e y were a c t i n g like fools. H e h a d a t t e m p t e d to take a little g o l d ring from her finger; j u s t for the fun of it, for there w a s n o t h i n g h e c o u l d have d o n e with the ring b u t r e p l a c e it a g a i n . B u t s h e c l i n c h e d her h a n d tight. H e p r e t e n d e d that it w a s a very difficult m a t t e r to o p e n it. T h e n h e kept the h a n d in his. T h e y s e e m e d to forget a b o u t it. H e played with h e r earring, a thin c r e s c e n t of gold h a n g i n g from her small brown ear. H e c a u g h t a w i s p of the kinky hair that h a d e s c a p e d its f a s t e n i n g , a n d r u b b e d the e n d s of it a g a i n s t his s h a v e n c h e e k . "You know, last year in A s s u m p t i o n , C a l i x t a ? " T h e y b e l o n g e d to the y o u n g e r g e n e r a t i o n , so preferred to s p e a k E n g l i s h . s

9

8. Sturdy fellow (French). 9. Style.

1. Rooted there (French). 2. T h e pattern of steps.

AT THE 'CADIAN BALL

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1601

" D o n ' t c o m e say A s s u m p t i o n to m e , M ' s i e u r A l c e e . I d o n e yeard A s s u m p tion till I'm p l u m b s i c k . " "Yes, I know. T h e idiots! B e c a u s e you were in A s s u m p t i o n , a n d I h a p p e n e d to go to A s s u m p t i o n , they m u s t have it that we went together. B u t it w a s nice—hein,* Calixta?—in Assumption?" T h e y s a w B o b i n o t e m e r g e from the hall a n d s t a n d a m o m e n t o u t s i d e the lighted doorway, peering uneasily a n d searchingly into the d a r k n e s s . H e did not s e e t h e m , a n d went slowly b a c k . " T h e r e is B o b i n o t looking for you. You a r e g o i n g to set p o o r B o b i n o t crazy. You'll marry him s o m e day; hein, C a l i x t a ? " "I don't say n o , m e , " s h e replied, striving to withdraw her h a n d , which he held m o r e firmly for the a t t e m p t . " B u t c o m e , C a l i x t a ; you know you said you would go b a c k to A s s u m p t i o n , j u s t to spite t h e m . " " N o , I neva said that, m e . You m u s ' d r e a m t t h a t . " " O h , I t h o u g h t you did. You know I'm g o i n g down to the city." "Wen?" "To-night." " B e t t a m a k e h a s ' e , t h e n ; it's m o s ' d a y . " "Well, to-morrow'll d o . " "W'at you goin' d o , y o n d a ? " "I don't know. D r o w n myself in the lake, m a y b e ; u n l e s s you g o down there to visit your u n c l e . " Calixta's s e n s e s were reeling; a n d they well-nigh left her w h e n s h e felt Alcee's lips b r u s h her ear like the t o u c h of a r o s e . " M i s t a A l c e e ! Is dat M i s t a A l c e e ? " the thick voice of a n e g r o w a s a s k i n g ; he stood o n the g r o u n d , holding to the banister-rails n e a r w h i c h the c o u p l e sat. "W'at do you want n o w ? " cried Alcee impatiently. " C a n ' t I have a m o m e n t of p e a c e ? " "I b e n h u n t i n ' you high a n ' low, s u h , " a n s w e r e d the m a n . " D e y — d e y s o m e o n e in de r o a d , o n d a d e m u l b a r e - t r e e , want s e e you a m i n u t e . " "I wouldn't go out to the road to s e e the Angel G a b r i e l . A n d if you c o m e b a c k here with any m o r e talk, I'll have to b r e a k your n e c k . " T h e n e g r o turned m u m b l i n g away. Alcee a n d Calixta l a u g h e d softly a b o u t it. H e r b o i s t e r o u s n e s s w a s all g o n e . T h e y talked low, a n d l a u g h e d softly, a s lovers d o . "Alcee! Alcee L a b a l l i e r e ! " It w a s not the negro's voice this t i m e ; b u t o n e that went t h r o u g h Alcee's body like a n electric s h o c k , bringing him to his feet. C l a r i s s e w a s s t a n d i n g there in her riding-habit, where the n e g r o h a d s t o o d . F o r an instant c o n f u s i o n reigned in Alcee's t h o u g h t s , a s with o n e w h o a w a k e s s u d d e n l y from a d r e a m . B u t he felt that s o m e t h i n g of s e r i o u s import h a d brought his c o u s i n to the ball in the d e a d of night. "W'at d o e s this m e a n , C l a r i s s e ? " he a s k e d . "It m e a n s s o m e t h i n g h a s h a p p e n ' at h o m e . You m u s ' c o m e . " " H a p p e n e d to m a m a n ? " he q u e s t i o n e d , in a l a r m . " N o ; n e n a i n e is well, a n d a s l e e p . It is s o m e t h i n g e l s e . N o t to frighten y o u . B u t you m u s ' c o m e . C o m e with m e , A l c e e . " 3. Huh.

1602

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KATE

CHOPIN

T h e r e was no n e e d for the imploring n o t e . H e would have followed the voice a n y w h e r e . S h e h a d now recognized the girl sitting hack on the b e n c h . " A h , c'est v o u s , Calixta? C o m m e n t c a va, m o n e n f a n t ? " 4 " T c h a va b'en; et v o u s , m a m z e l l e ? " 5 A l c e e s w u n g h i m s e l f over the low rail a n d started to follow C l a r i s s e , without a word, without a g l a n c e b a c k at the girl. H e h a d forgotten he w a s leaving her there. But C l a r i s s e w h i s p e r e d s o m e t h i n g to him, a n d he turned b a c k to say " G o o d - n i g h t , C a l i x t a , " a n d offer his h a n d to p r e s s through the railing. S h e p r e t e n d e d not to s e e it. " H o w c o m e that? You settin' yere by yo'se'f, C a l i x t a ? " It w a s B o b i n o t w h o had found her there a l o n e . T h e d a n c e r s h a d not yet c o m e out. S h e looked ghastly in the faint, gray light struggling o u t of the e a s t . "Yes, that's m e . G o yonda in the pare aux petits a n ' a s k A u n t O l i s s e fu' my hat. S h e knows w e r e ' t is. I want to go h o m e , m e . " " H o w you c a m e ? " "I c o m e afoot, with the C a t e a u s . B u t I'm goin' now. I ent goin' wait fu' 'em. I'm p l u m b wo' o u t , m e . " "Kin I go with you, C a l i x t a ? " "I d o n ' c a r e . " T h e y went together a c r o s s the o p e n prairie a n d a l o n g the e d g e of the fields, s t u m b l i n g in the u n c e r t a i n light. H e told her to lift her d r e s s that was getting wet a n d b e d r a g g l e d ; for s h e w a s pulling at the w e e d s a n d g r a s s e s with her hands. "I don' c a r e ; it's got to go in the t u b , anyway. You b e e n sayin' all a l o n g you want to marry m e , B o b i n o t . Well, if you want, yet, I d o n ' c a r e , m e . " T h e glow of a s u d d e n a n d o v e r w h e l m i n g h a p p i n e s s s h o n e o u t in the b r o w n , rugged f a c e of the y o u n g A c a d i a n . H e c o u l d not s p e a k , for very joy. It c h o k e d him. " O h well, if you d o n ' w a n t , " s n a p p e d Calixta, flippantly, p r e t e n d i n g to b e p i q u e d at his s i l e n c e . "Bon Dieu! You know that m a k e s m e crazy, w'at you sayin'. You m e a n that, Calixta? You ent goin' turn roun' a g i n ? " "I neva tole you that m u c h yet, B o b i n o t . I m e a n that. Tiens," a n d s h e held out her h a n d in the business-like m a n n e r of a m a n who c l i n c h e s a bargain with a h a n d - c l a s p . B o b i n o t grew hold with h a p p i n e s s a n d a s k e d Calixta to kiss h i m . S h e turned her f a c e , that w a s a l m o s t ugly after the night's dissip a t i o n , a n d looked steadily into his. "I d o n ' want to kiss you, B o b i n o t , " s h e s a i d , turning away a g a i n , "not today. S o m e other time. Bonte divine!* ent you satisfy, yet!" " O h , I'm satisfy, C a l i x t a , " he s a i d . h

7

Riding through a p a t c h of w o o d , C l a r i s s e ' s s a d d l e b e c a m e u n g i r t e d , a n d s h e a n d Alcee d i s m o u n t e d to r e a d j u s t it. F o r the twentieth time he a s k e d her what had h a p p e n e d at h o m e . " B u t , C l a r i s s e , w'at is it? Is it a m i s f o r t u n e ? " 4. Ah, is it you, Calixta? I low's it going my little one? (French). 5. Everything's fine; and with vou. Miss? (French).

6. Good God! ( t r e n c h ) , 7. Well (French). 8. G o o d n e s s gracious! (French).

THE

STORM

/

1603

"Ah D i e u sait! 9 It's only s o m e t h i n g that h a p p e n ' to m e . " "To you!" "I s a w you go away las' night, A l c e e , with t h o s e s a d d l e - b a g s , " s h e said, haltingly, striving to a r r a n g e s o m e t h i n g a b o u t the s a d d l e , " a n ' I m a d e B r u c e tell m e . H e said you h a d g o n e to the ball, a n ' w o u l d n ' be h o m e for w e e k s a n ' weeks. I t h o u g h t , A l c e e — m a y b e you were g o i n g t o — t o A s s u m p t i o n . I got wild. An' then I knew if you didn't c o m e back, now, tonight, I couldn't s t a n ' it,—again." S h e h a d her f a c e hidden in her arm that s h e w a s resting a g a i n s t the s a d d l e w h e n s h e said that. H e b e g a n to w o n d e r if this m e a n t love. B u t s h e h a d to tell him s o , b e f o r e he believed it. A n d w h e n s h e told him, he thought the f a c e of the U n i v e r s e w a s c h a n g e d — j u s t like B o b i n o t . W a s it last week the c y c l o n e had well-nigh ruined h i m ? T h e cyclone s e e m e d a h u g e j o k e , now. It w a s h e , then, w h o , an h o u r a g o w a s kissing little Calixta's ear a n d w h i s p e r i n g n o n s e n s e into it. Calixta w a s like a myth, now. T h e o n e , only, great reality in the world was C l a r i s s e s t a n d i n g before him, telling him that s h e loved him. In the d i s t a n c e they heard the rapid d i s c h a r g e of pistol-shots; but it did not disturb t h e m . T h e y knew it was only the negro m u s i c i a n s w h o h a d g o n e into the yard to fire their pistols into the air, a s the c u s t o m is, a n d to a n n o u n c e "le hal estfini."' 1892, 1894

The Storm A Sequel

to "The 'Cadian

Ball"'

i T h e leaves were so still that even Bibi t h o u g h t it w a s g o i n g to rain. B o b i n o t , w h o w a s a c c u s t o m e d to c o n v e r s e on t e r m s of perfect equality with his little s o n , called the child's attention to certain s o m b r e c l o u d s that were rolling with sinister intention from the west, a c c o m p a n i e d by a sullen, t h r e a t e n i n g roar. T h e y were at F r i e d h e i m e r ' s store a n d d e c i d e d to r e m a i n there till the storm had p a s s e d . T h e y sat within the door on two e m p t y k e g s . Bibi w a s four years old a n d looked very wise. " M a m a ' l l be 'fraid, y e s , " he s u g g e s t e d with blinking eyes. "She'll shut the h o u s e . M a y b e she got Sylvie helpin' her this evenin'," B o b i n o t r e s p o n d e d reassuringly. " N o ; s h e ent got Sylvie. Sylvie w a s helpin' her yistiday," p i p e d Bibi. Bobinot a r o s e a n d g o i n g a c r o s s to the c o u n t e r p u r c h a s e d a c a n of s h r i m p s , of which Calixta w a s very fond. T h e n he returned to his p e r c h on the keg a n d sat stolidly holding the c a n of s h r i m p s while the s t o r m burst. It s h o o k the w o o d e n store a n d s e e m e d to be ripping furrows in the distant field. Bibi laid his little h a n d o n his father's knee a n d was not afraid. 9. God knows! (French). 1. T h e ball is over (French). 1. Chopin's notebooks show that this story was written on July 18, 1898, just six months after she had submitted Tlie Awakening to a publisher. As its subtitle indicates, it was intended as a sequel to

"At the 'Cadian Ball." "The S t o r m " was apparently never submitted for publication and did not see print until the publication of Per Seyersted's edition of lite Complete Works of Kate Chopin in 1969, the basis for the text printed here,

1604

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KATE

CHOPIN

II

Calixta, at h o m e , felt n o u n e a s i n e s s for their safety. S h e sat at a side window s e w i n g furiously o n a s e w i n g m a c h i n e . S h e w a s greatly o c c u p i e d a n d did not notice the a p p r o a c h i n g s t o r m . B u t s h e felt very w a r m a n d often s t o p p e d to m o p her f a c e on which the p e r s p i r a t i o n g a t h e r e d in b e a d s . S h e u n f a s t e n e d her white s a c q u e at the throat. It b e g a n to grow dark, a n d s u d denly realizing the situation s h e got u p hurriedly a n d went a b o u t c l o s i n g windows a n d d o o r s . O u t on the small front gallery s h e h a d h u n g B o b i n o t ' s S u n d a y c l o t h e s to dry a n d s h e h a s t e n e d out to g a t h e r t h e m b e f o r e the rain fell. As s h e s t e p p e d o u t s i d e , Alcee L a b a l l i e r e rode in at the g a t e . S h e h a d not s e e n h i m very often s i n c e her m a r r i a g e , a n d never a l o n e . S h e s t o o d t h e r e with B o b i n o t ' s c o a t in her h a n d s , a n d the big rain d r o p s b e g a n to fall. A l c e e rode his h o r s e u n d e r the shelter of a side projection w h e r e the c h i c k e n s h a d h u d d l e d a n d there were plows a n d a harrow piled u p in the corner. " M a y I c o m e a n d wait on your gallery till the storm is over, C a l i x t a ? " h e asked. " C o m e 'long in, M ' s i e u r A l c e e . " His voice a n d her own startled her a s if from a t r a n c e , a n d s h e seized B o b i n o t ' s vest. A l c e e , m o u n t i n g to the p o r c h , g r a b b e d the t r o u s e r s a n d s n a t c h e d Bibi's braided j a c k e t that w a s a b o u t to b e carried away by a s u d d e n gust of wind. H e e x p r e s s e d a n intention to r e m a i n o u t s i d e , b u t it w a s s o o n a p p a r e n t that h e might a s well have b e e n o u t in the o p e n : the water b e a t in u p o n the b o a r d s in driving s h e e t s , a n d h e went i n s i d e , c l o s i n g the d o o r after h i m . It w a s even n e c e s s a r y to p u t s o m e t h i n g b e n e a t h the d o o r to k e e p the water out. " M y ! what a rain! It's g o o d two years s e n c e it rain' like t h a t , " e x c l a i m e d Calixta a s she rolled u p a p i e c e of b a g g i n g a n d A l c e e h e l p e d her to thrust it b e n e a t h the crack. S h e w a s a little fuller of figure than five years before w h e n s h e m a r r i e d ; but s h e h a d lost n o t h i n g of her vivacity. H e r b l u e eyes still retained their m e l t i n g quality; a n d her yellow hair, disheveled by the wind a n d rain, kinked m o r e s t u b b o r n l y than ever a b o u t her e a r s a n d t e m p l e s . T h e rain b e a t u p o n the low, shingled roof with a force a n d clatter that t h r e a t e n e d to b r e a k a n e n t r a n c e a n d d e l u g e t h e m t h e r e . T h e y were in the d i n i n g r o o m — t h e sitting r o o m — t h e g e n e r a l utility r o o m . Adjoining w a s her b e d r o o m , with Bibi's c o u c h a l o n g side her o w n . T h e d o o r s t o o d o p e n , a n d the r o o m with its white, m o n u m e n t a l b e d , its c l o s e d s h u t t e r s , looked d i m and mysterious. A l c e e flung h i m s e l f into a rocker a n d C a l i x t a nervously b e g a n to gather u p from the floor the lengths of a cotton s h e e t which s h e h a d b e e n sewing. "If this k e e p s u p , Dieu sait if the l e v e e s 2 goin' to s t a n ' it!" s h e e x c l a i m e d . " W h a t have you got to d o with the l e v e e s ? " "I got e n o u g h to d o ! A n ' there's B o b i n o t with Bibi out in that s t o r m — i f h e only didn' left F r i e d h e i m e r ' s ! " " L e t u s h o p e , Calixta, that B o b i n o t ' s got s e n s e e n o u g h to c o m e in o u t of a cyclone." 2. Built-up earth banks designed to keep the river (in this case the Red River) from flooding the surrounding land. "Dieu suit": God only knows (French).

THE

STORM

/

1605

S h e went a n d s t o o d at the window with a greatly d i s t u r b e d look o n her f a c e . S h e wiped the f r a m e that was c l o u d e d with m o i s t u r e . It w a s stiflingly hot. Alcee got u p a n d j o i n e d her at the window, looking over her s h o u l d e r . T h e rain w a s c o m i n g d o w n in s h e e t s o b s c u r i n g the view of far-off c a b i n s a n d enveloping the distant wood in a gray mist. T h e playing of the lightning w a s i n c e s s a n t . A bolt s t r u c k a tall chinaberry tree at the e d g e of the field. It filled all visible s p a c e with a blinding glare a n d the c r a s h s e e m e d to invade the very b o a r d s they s t o o d u p o n .

r

Calixta put her h a n d s to her eyes, a n d with a cry, s t a g g e r e d b a c k w a r d . Alcee's a r m e n c i r c l e d her, a n d for a n instant he drew her c l o s e a n d s p a s modically to h i m . "Bontel"* s h e cried, r e l e a s i n g herself from his encircling a r m a n d retreating from the window, "the house'll go next! If I only knew w'ere Bibi w a s ! " S h e would not c o m p o s e herself; s h e would not be s e a t e d . A l c e e c l a s p e d her s h o u l d e r s a n d looked into her f a c e . T h e c o n t a c t of her w a r m , p a l p i t a t i n g body w h e n h e h a d unthinkingly drawn her into his a r m s , h a d a r o u s e d all the old-time infatuation a n d desire for her flesh. " C a l i x t a , " h e said, "don't be frightened. N o t h i n g c a n h a p p e n . T h e h o u s e is too low to b e struck, with s o m a n y tall trees s t a n d i n g a b o u t . T h e r e ! aren't you g o i n g to be quiet? say, aren't y o u ? " H e p u s h e d her hair b a c k from her f a c e that w a s w a r m a n d s t e a m i n g . H e r lips were a s red a n d m o i s t a s p o m e g r a n a t e s e e d . H e r white n e c k a n d a g l i m p s e of her full, firm b o s o m d i s t u r b e d him powerfully. A s she g l a n c e d u p at him the fear in her liquid blue eyes h a d given p l a c e to a drowsy g l e a m that u n c o n s c i o u s l y betrayed a s e n s u o u s d e s i r e . H e looked d o w n into her eyes a n d there w a s n o t h i n g for him to do but to g a t h e r her lips in a kiss. It r e m i n d e d him of A s s u m p t i o n . 4 " D o you r e m e m b e r — i n A s s u m p t i o n , C a l i x t a ? " h e a s k e d in a low voice broken by p a s s i o n . O h ! s h e r e m e m b e r e d ; for in A s s u m p t i o n h e h a d k i s s e d her a n d kissed a n d k i s s e d her; until his s e n s e s would well nigh fail, a n d to save her he would resort to a d e s p e r a t e flight. If s h e w a s not a n i m m a c u l a t e dove in t h o s e days, s h e w a s still inviolate; a p a s s i o n a t e c r e a t u r e w h o s e very d e f e n s e l e s s n e s s h a d m a d e her d e f e n s e , a g a i n s t which his h o n o r f o r b a d e him to prevail. N o w — w e l l , n o w — h e r lips s e e m e d in a m a n n e r free to b e t a s t e d , a s well a s her r o u n d , white throat a n d her whiter b r e a s t s . T h e y did not h e e d the c r a s h i n g torrents, a n d the roar of the e l e m e n t s m a d e her laugh a s s h e lay in his a r m s . S h e w a s a revelation in that d i m , m y s t e r i o u s c h a m b e r ; a s white a s the c o u c h s h e lay u p o n . H e r firm, elastic flesh that w a s knowing for the first time its birthright, w a s like a c r e a m y lily that the s u n invites to c o n t r i b u t e its breath a n d p e r f u m e to the undying life of the world. T h e g e n e r o u s a b u n d a n c e of her p a s s i o n , without guile or trickery, w a s like a white flame which p e n e t r a t e d a n d f o u n d r e s p o n s e in d e p t h s of his own s e n s u o u s n a t u r e that h a d never yet b e e n r e a c h e d . W h e n he t o u c h e d her b r e a s t s they gave t h e m s e l v e s u p in quivering e c s t a s y , inviting his lips. H e r m o u t h w a s a fountain of delight. A n d w h e n he p o s s e s s e d her, they s e e m e d to s w o o n together at the very b o r d e r l a n d of life's mystery. H e stayed c u s h i o n e d u p o n her, b r e a t h l e s s , d a z e d , e n e r v a t e d , with his heart b e a t i n g like a h a m m e r u p o n her. With o n e h a n d s h e c l a s p e d his h e a d , her 3. Goodness! (French). 4. I.e., Assumption Parish, Louisiana, the setting for "At the 'Cadian Ball."

1606

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lips lightly t o u c h i n g his f o r e h e a d . T h e other h a n d stroked with a s o o t h i n g rhythm his m u s c u l a r s h o u l d e r s . T h e growl of the t h u n d e r w a s distant a n d p a s s i n g away. T h e rain b e a t softly u p o n the s h i n g l e s , inviting t h e m to d r o w s i n e s s a n d s l e e p . B u t they d a r e d not yield. in T h e rain w a s over; a n d the s u n w a s t u r n i n g the glistening g r e e n world into a p a l a c e of g e m s . Calixta, on the gallery, w a t c h e d A l c e e ride away. H e turned a n d s m i l e d at her with a b e a m i n g f a c e ; a n d s h e lifted her pretty chin in the air a n d l a u g h e d a l o u d . B o b i n o t a n d Bibi, trudging h o m e , s t o p p e d without at the cistern to m a k e themselves presentable. " M y ! Bibi, w'at will yo' m a m a say! You o u g h t to be a s h a m e ' . You o u g h t a ' put on t h o s e g o o d p a n t s . L o o k at 'em! A n ' that m u d o n yo' collar! H o w you got that m u d on yo' collar, Bibi? I never s a w s u c h a b o y ! " Bibi w a s the p i c t u r e of p a t h e t i c resignation. B o b i n o t w a s the e m b o d i m e n t o f s e r i o u s solicitude a s he strove to r e m o v e from his own p e r s o n a n d his son's the signs of their t r a m p over heavy r o a d s a n d t h r o u g h wet fields. H e s c r a p e d the m u d off Bibi's bare legs a n d feet with a stick a n d carefully r e m o v e d all t r a c e s from his heavy b r o g a n s . T h e n , p r e p a r e d for the w o r s t — t h e m e e t i n g with a n o v e r - s c r u p u l o u s h o u s e w i f e , they e n t e r e d c a u t i o u s l y at the b a c k door. Calixta w a s p r e p a r i n g s u p p e r . S h e h a d set the table a n d w a s dripping coffee at the h e a r t h . S h e s p r a n g u p a s they c a m e in. " O h , B o b i n o t ! You b a c k ! My! b u t I w a s u n e a s y . W e r e you b e e n d u r i n g the rain? A n ' Bibi? he ain't wet? h e ain't h u r t ? " S h e h a d c l a s p e d Bibi a n d w a s kissing him effusively. B o b i n o t ' s e x p l a n a t i o n s a n d a p o l o g i e s which h e h a d b e e n c o m p o s i n g all a l o n g the way, died o n his lips a s C a l i x t a felt h i m to s e e if he were dry, a n d s e e m e d to e x p r e s s n o t h i n g b u t s a t i s f a c t i o n at their s a f e return. "I b r o u g h t you s o m e s h r i m p s , C a l i x t a , " offered B o b i n o t , h a u l i n g the c a n from his a m p l e side pocket a n d laying it on the t a b l e . " S h r i m p s ! O h , B o b i n o t ! you too g o o d fo' a n y t h i n g ! " a n d she gave him a s m a c k i n g kiss on the c h e e k that r e s o u n d e d , "J'vous revonds,^ we'll have a f e a s ' to night! u m p h - u m p h ! " B o b i n o t a n d Bibi b e g a n to relax a n d enjoy t h e m s e l v e s , a n d w h e n the t h r e e "seated t h e m s e l v e s at table they l a u g h e d m u c h a n d s o loud that a n y o n e m i g h t have h e a r d t h e m a s far away a s L a b a l l i e r e ' s . IV

A l c e e L a b a l l i e r e wrote to his wife, C l a r i s s e , that night. It w a s a loving letter, full of tender s o l i c i t u d e . H e told her not to hurry b a c k , b u t if s h e a n d the b a b i e s liked it at Biloxi, to stay a m o n t h longer. H e w a s getting o n nicely; a n d t h o u g h he m i s s e d t h e m , he w a s willing to b e a r the s e p a r a t i o n a while l o n g e r — r e a l i z i n g that their health a n d p l e a s u r e were the first things to be considered. 5. I promise you (French).

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As for C l a r i s s e , s h e w a s c h a r m e d u p o n receiving her h u s b a n d ' s letter. S h e a n d the b a b i e s were d o i n g well. T h e society was a g r e e a b l e ; m a n y of her old friends a n d a c q u a i n t a n c e s were at the bay. A n d the first free b r e a t h s i n c e her m a r r i a g e s e e m e d to restore the p l e a s a n t liberty of her m a i d e n days. Devoted a s s h e w a s to her h u s b a n d , their i n t i m a t e c o n j u g a l life w a s s o m e thing which s h e w a s m o r e than willing to forego for a while. S o the storm p a s s e d a n d every o n e w a s happy. 1898

1969

Desiree's Baby 1 A s the day w a s p l e a s a n t , M a d a m e V a l m o n d e drove over to L'Abri to s e e D e s i r e e a n d the baby. It m a d e her laugh to think of D e s i r e e with a baby. Why, it s e e m e d b u t yesterday that D e s i r e e w a s little m o r e than a baby herself; w h e n M o n s i e u r in riding t h r o u g h the gateway of V a l m o n d e h a d f o u n d her lying a s l e e p in the s h a d o w of the big s t o n e pillar. T h e little o n e a w o k e in his a r m s a n d b e g a n to cry for " D a d a . " T h a t w a s a s m u c h a s s h e c o u l d do or say. S o m e p e o p l e t h o u g h t s h e might have strayed there of her own a c c o r d , for s h e w a s of the toddling a g e . T h e prevailing belief w a s that s h e h a d b e e n p u r p o s e l y left by a party of T e x a n s , w h o s e c a n v a s c o v e r e d w a g o n , late in the day, h a d c r o s s e d the ferry that C o t o n Mai's kept, j u s t below the p l a n t a t i o n . In time M a d a m e V a l m o n d e a b a n d o n e d every s p e c ulation but the o n e that D e s i r e e h a d b e e n sent to her by a beneficent Provi d e n c e to be the child of her affection, s e e i n g that s h e w a s without child of the flesh. F o r the girl grew to be beautiful a n d g e n t l e , a f f e c t i o n a t e a n d sinc e r e , — t h e idol of V a l m o n d e . It w a s no w o n d e r , w h e n s h e s t o o d o n e day a g a i n s t the s t o n e pillar in w h o s e s h a d o w s h e h a d lain a s l e e p , eighteen years before, that A r m a n d Aubigny riding by a n d s e e i n g her there, h a d fallen in love with her. T h a t w a s the way all the A u b i g n y s fell in love, a s if s t r u c k by a pistol s h o t . T h e w o n d e r w a s that h e h a d not loved her b e f o r e ; for h e h a d known her s i n c e his father b r o u g h t him h o m e from Paris, a boy of eight, after his m o t h e r d i e d there. T h e p a s s i o n that a w o k e in him that day, w h e n he s a w her at the g a t e , s w e p t a l o n g like a n a v a l a n c h e , or like a prairie fire, or like anything that drives h e a d l o n g over all o b s t a c l e s . M o n s i e u r V a l m o n d e grew practical a n d w a n t e d things well c o n s i d e r e d : that is, the girl's o b s c u r e origin. A r m a n d looked into her eyes a n d did not c a r e . H e w a s r e m i n d e d that s h e w a s n a m e l e s s . W h a t did it m a t t e r a b o u t a n a m e w h e n h e c o u l d give her o n e of the oldest a n d p r o u d e s t in L o u i s i a n a ? H e ordered the corbeille from Paris, a n d c o n t a i n e d h i m s e l f with what patience h e c o u l d until it arrived; then they were m a r r i e d . 2

1. First published in Vogue, January 14, 1 8 9 3 : first published in book form in Bayou Folk ( 1 8 9 4 ) , the source of the present text. 2. Literally, basket (French). In this context, a

hope chest filled with fine linens, clothes, and other gifts meant to serve as the material foundation for their married life.

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M a d a m e V a l m o n d e h a d not s e e n D e s i r e e a n d the baby for four w e e k s . W h e n s h e r e a c h e d L'Abri s h e s h u d d e r e d at the first sight of it, a s s h e always did. It w a s a s a d looking p l a c e , which for m a n y years h a d not known the gentle p r e s e n c e of a m i s t r e s s , old M o n s i e u r Aubigny having m a r r i e d a n d buried his wife in F r a n c e , a n d she having loved her own land too well ever to leave it. T h e roof c a m e down s t e e p a n d b l a c k like a cowl, r e a c h i n g o u t beyond the wide galleries that e n c i r c j e d the yellow s t u c c o e d h o u s e . B i g , s o l e m n o a k s grew c l o s e to it, a n d their thick-leaved, far-reaching b r a n c h e s s h a d o w e d it like a pall. Y o u n g Aubigny's rule w a s a strict o n e , too, a n d u n d e r it his n e g r o e s h a d forgotten how to be gay, a s they h a d b e e n d u r i n g the old m a s t e r ' s easy-going a n d indulgent lifetime. T h e y o u n g m o t h e r w a s recovering slowly, a n d lay full length, in her soft white m u s l i n s a n d l a c e s , u p o n a c o u c h . T h e baby w a s b e s i d e her, u p o n her a r m , w h e r e h e h a d fallen a s l e e p , at her b r e a s t . T h e yellow n u r s e w o m a n s a t b e s i d e a window f a n n i n g herself. M a d a m e V a l m o n d e b e n t her portly figure over D e s i r e e a n d k i s s e d her, holding her an instant tenderly in her a r m s . T h e n s h e t u r n e d to the child. " T h i s is not the b a b y ! " s h e e x c l a i m e d , in startled t o n e s . F r e n c h w a s the l a n g u a g e s p o k e n at V a l m o n d e in t h o s e d a y s . "I knew you w o u l d b e a s t o n i s h e d , " l a u g h e d D e s i r e e , "at the way h e h a s grown. T h e little cochon de lait!* L o o k at his legs, m a m m a , a n d his h a n d s a n d fingernails,—real finger-nails. Z a n d r i n e h a d to c u t t h e m this m o r n i n g . Isn't it true, Z a n d r i n e ? " T h e w o m a n b o w e d her t u r b a n e d h e a d majestically, " M a i s si, M a d a m e . " " A n d the way h e c r i e s , " went o n D e s i r e e , "is d e a f e n i n g . A r m a n d h e a r d him the other day a s far away a s L a B l a n c h e ' s c a b i n . " M a d a m e V a l m o n d e h a d never r e m o v e d her eyes from the child. S h e lifted it a n d walked with it over to the w i n d o w that w a s lightest. S h e s c a n n e d the baby narrowly, then looked a s s e a r c h i n g l y at Z a n d r i n e , w h o s e f a c e w a s t u r n e d to gaze a c r o s s the fields. "Yes, the child h a s grown, h a s c h a n g e d , " said M a d a m e V a l m o n d e , slowly, a s s h e r e p l a c e d it b e s i d e its m o t h e r . " W h a t d o e s A r m a n d s a y ? " Desiree's f a c e b e c a m e s u f f u s e d with a glow that w a s h a p p i n e s s itself. " O h , A r m a n d is the p r o u d e s t father in the p a r i s h , I believe, chiefly b e c a u s e it is a boy, to b e a r his n a m e ; t h o u g h h e says n o t , — t h a t he would have loved a girl a s well. B u t I know it isn't true. I know h e says that to p l e a s e m e . A n d m a m m a , " s h e a d d e d , drawing M a d a m e V a l m o n d e ' s h e a d d o w n to her, a n d s p e a k i n g in a whisper, " h e hasn't p u n i s h e d o n e of t h e m — n o t o n e of t h e m — s i n c e baby is born. E v e n Negrillon, w h o p r e t e n d e d to have b u r n t his leg that he might rest from w o r k — h e only l a u g h e d , a n d said Negrillon w a s a great s c a m p . O h , m a m m a , I'm s o happy; it frightens m e . " W h a t D e s i r e e said w a s t r u e . M a r r i a g e , a n d later the birth of his s o n h a d softened A r m a n d Aubigny's i m p e r i o u s a n d e x a c t i n g n a t u r e greatly. T h i s w a s what m a d e the gentle D e s i r e e s o happy, for s h e loved him desperately. W h e n h e frowned s h e t r e m b l e d , but loved h i m . W h e n he s m i l e d , s h e a s k e d n o greater b l e s s i n g of G o d . B u t A r m a n d ' s dark, h a n d s o m e f a c e h a d not often b e e n disfigured by frowns s i n c e the day h e fell in love with her. W h e n the baby w a s a b o u t three m o n t h s old, D e s i r e e a w o k e o n e day to the 3. Suckling pig (French).

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conviction that there w a s s o m e t h i n g in the air m e n a c i n g her p e a c e . It w a s at first too subtle to g r a s p . It h a d only b e e n a d i s q u i e t i n g s u g g e s t i o n ; a n air of mystery a m o n g the b l a c k s ; u n e x p e c t e d visits from far-off n e i g h b o r s w h o c o u l d hardly a c c o u n t for their c o m i n g . T h e n a s t r a n g e , an awful c h a n g e in her h u s b a n d ' s m a n n e r , which s h e dared not a s k him to explain. W h e n he s p o k e to her, it w a s with averted eyes, from which the old love-light s e e m e d to have g o n e out. H e a b s e n t e d himself from h o m e ; a n d w h e n there, avoided her p r e s e n c e a n d that of her child, without e x c u s e . A n d the very spirit of S a t a n s e e m e d s u d d e n l y to take hold of him in his d e a l i n g s with the s l a v e s . D e s i r e e w a s m i s e r a b l e e n o u g h to d i e . S h e sat in her r o o m , o n e hot afternoon, in her peignoir, listlessly d r a w i n g through her fingers the s t r a n d s of her long, silky brown hair that h u n g a b o u t her s h o u l d e r s . T h e baby, half n a k e d , lay a s l e e p u p o n her own great m a h o g a n y b e d , that was like a s u m p t u o u s t h r o n e , with its satin-lined half-canopy. O n e of L a B l a n c h e ' s little q u a d r o o n 5 b o y s — h a l f n a k e d t o o — s t o o d f a n n i n g the child slowly with a fan of p e a c o c k feathers. D e s i r e e ' s eyes h a d b e e n fixed absently a n d sadly u p o n the baby, while s h e w a s striving to p e n e t r a t e the t h r e a t e n i n g mist that s h e felt c l o s i n g a b o u t her. S h e looked from her child to the boy w h o s t o o d b e s i d e him, a n d b a c k a g a i n ; over a n d over. " A h ! " It w a s a cry that she c o u l d not help; which s h e w a s not c o n s c i o u s of having uttered. T h e blood turned like ice in her veins, a n d a c l a m m y m o i s t u r e g a t h e r e d u p o n her f a c e . 4

S h e tried to s p e a k to the little q u a d r o o n boy; b u t no s o u n d would c o m e , at first. W h e n h e h e a r d his n a m e u t t e r e d , he looked u p , a n d his m i s t r e s s w a s pointing to the door. H e laid a s i d e the great, soft fan, a n d obediently stole away, over the p o l i s h e d floor, on his bare t i p t o e s . S h e stayed m o t i o n l e s s , with gaze riveted u p o n her child, a n d her f a c e the picture of fright. Presently her h u s b a n d entered the r o o m , a n d without n o t i c i n g her, went to a table a n d b e g a n to s e a r c h a m o n g s o m e p a p e r s which c o v e r e d it. " A r m a n d , " s h e called to him, in a voice which m u s t have s t a b b e d him, if h e w a s h u m a n . B u t he did not n o t i c e . " A r m a n d , " s h e said a g a i n . T h e n s h e rose a n d tottered towards h i m . " A r m a n d , " s h e p a n t e d o n c e m o r e , c l u t c h i n g his a r m , "look at our child. W h a t d o e s it m e a n ? tell m e . " H e coldly but gently l o o s e n e d her fingers from a b o u t his a r m a n d thrust the h a n d away from h i m . "Tell m e what it m e a n s ! " s h e cried despairingly. "It m e a n s , " he a n s w e r e d lightly, "that the child is not white; it m e a n s that you are not w h i t e . " A q u i c k c o n c e p t i o n of all that his a c c u s a t i o n m e a n t for her nerved her with u n w o n t e d c o u r a g e to deny it. "It is a lie; it is not t r u e , I a m white! L o o k at my hair, it is brown; a n d my eyes a r e gray, A r m a n d , you know they a r e gray. And my skin is fair," seizing his wrist. " L o o k at my h a n d ; whiter than yours, A r m a n d , " s h e l a u g h e d hysterically. "As white a s L a B l a n c h e ' s , " 6 he returned cruelly; a n d went away leaving her a l o n e with their child. W h e n she c o u l d hold a pen in her h a n d , s h e sent a d e s p a i r i n g letter to Madame Valmonde. 4. Dressing gown (French). 5. A person who is one-quarter African American.

6. The cruelty Involves the double irony: La Blanche (the white) is black.

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" M y m o t h e r , they tell m e I a m not white. A r m a n d h a s told m e I a m not white. F o r G o d ' s s a k e tell t h e m it is not t r u e . You m u s t know it is not t r u e . I shall die. I m u s t d i e . I c a n n o t be so u n h a p p y , a n d live." T h e a n s w e r that c a m e w a s a s brief: " M y own D e s i r e e : C o m e h o m e to V a l m o n d e ; b a c k to your m o t h e r w h o loves you. C o m e with your c h i l d . " W h e n the letter r e a c h e d D e s i r e e s h e went with it to her h u s b a n d ' s study, a n d laid it o p e n u p o n the d e s k before which s h e s a t . S h e w a s like a s t o n e i m a g e : silent, white, m o t i o n l e s s after s h e p l a c e d it t h e r e . In s i l e n c e he ran his c o l d eyes over the written w o r d s . H e s a i d n o t h i n g . " S h a l l I g o , A r m a n d ? " s h e a s k e d in t o n e s s h a r p with agonized s u s p e n s e . "Yes, g o . " " D o you want m e to g o ? " "Yes, I want you to g o . " H e t h o u g h t Almighty G o d h a d dealt cruelly a n d unjustly with h i m ; a n d felt, s o m e h o w , that h e w a s paying H i m b a c k in kind w h e n h e s t a b b e d t h u s into his wife's s o u l . M o r e o v e r h e no longer loved her, b e c a u s e of the u n c o n s c i o u s injury s h e h a d b r o u g h t u p o n his h o m e a n d his n a m e . S h e turned away like o n e s t u n n e d by a blow, a n d walked slowly towards the door, h o p i n g h e would call her b a c k . "Good-by, Armand," she moaned. H e did not a n s w e r her. T h a t w a s his last blow at fate. D e s i r e e went in s e a r c h of her child. Z a n d r i n e w a s p a c i n g the s o m b r e gallery with it. S h e took the little o n e from the n u r s e ' s a r m s with n o word of explanation, a n d d e s c e n d i n g the s t e p s , walked away, u n d e r the live-oak branches. It w a s a n O c t o b e r a f t e r n o o n ; the s u n w a s j u s t sinking. O u t in the still fields the n e g r o e s were p i c k i n g c o t t o n . D e s i r e e h a d not c h a n g e d the thin white g a r m e n t nor the slippers which s h e w o r e . H e r hair w a s u n c o v e r e d a n d the s u n ' s rays b r o u g h t a g o l d e n g l e a m from its brown m e s h e s . S h e did not take the b r o a d , b e a t e n r o a d w h i c h led to the far-off p l a n t a t i o n of V a l m o n d e . S h e walked a c r o s s a d e s e r t e d field, w h e r e the s t u b b l e b r u i s e d her tender feet, s o delicately s h o d , a n d tore her thin gown to s h r e d s . S h e d i s a p p e a r e d a m o n g the r e e d s a n d willows that grew thick a l o n g the b a n k s of the d e e p , s l u g g i s h b a y o u ; a n d s h e did not c o m e b a c k a g a i n . S o m e w e e k s later there w a s a c u r i o u s s c e n e e n a c t e d at L'Abri. In the c e n t r e of the s m o o t h l y swept b a c k yard w a s a great bonfire. A r m a n d Aubigny sat in the wide hallway that c o m m a n d e d a view of the s p e c t a c l e ; a n d it w a s h e w h o dealt out to a half dozen n e g r o e s t h e material w h i c h kept this fire ablaze. A graceful c r a d l e of willow, with all its dainty f u r b i s h i n g s , w a s laid u p o n the pyre, which h a d already b e e n fed with the r i c h n e s s of a p r i c e l e s s layette. T h e n there were silk g o w n s , a n d velvet a n d satin o n e s a d d e d to t h e s e ; l a c e s , too, a n d e m b r o i d e r i e s ; b o n n e t s a n d gloves; for the corbeille h a d b e e n of rare quality. 7

T h e last thing to g o w a s a tiny b u n d l e of letters; i n n o c e n t little scribblings 7. Clothes, bedding, toilet articles, and other items needed to care for a newborn.

MARY E . W I L K I N S F R E E M A N

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that D e s i r e e h a d sent to him during the days of their e s p o u s a l . T h e r e w a s the r e m n a n t of o n e b a c k in the drawer from which he took t h e m . B u t it w a s not D e s i r e e ' s ; it w a s part of a n old letter from his m o t h e r to his father. H e read it. S h e w a s thanking G o d for the b l e s s i n g of her h u s b a n d ' s l o v e : — " B u t , a b o v e all," s h e wrote, "night a n d day, I thank the g o o d G o d for having so a r r a n g e d our lives that o u r d e a r A r m a n d will never know that his m o t h e r , w h o a d o r e s h i m , b e l o n g s to the r a c e that is c u r s e d with the b r a n d of slavery." 1893

•

MARY E. W I L K I N S

FREEMAN

1852-1930 Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, best known for her depiction of New England village life, was born on October 3 1 , 1852, in Randolph, Massachusetts, a small town twenty miles south of Boston. She was not a strong child, and two other Wilkins children died before they reached three years of age; her sister Anne lived to be seventeen. Freeman's parents were orthodox Congregationalists, and she was subject to a strict code of behavior. The constraints of religious belief, and the effect of these constraints on character formation and behavior, is, indeed, one of her chief subjects. In 1867 Freeman's father became part owner of a dry-goods store in Brattleboro, Vermont, where she graduated from high school. In 1870, she entered Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, which Emily Dickinson had attended two decades earlier. Like Dickinson, Freeman left after a year in which she resisted the school's pressure on all students to offer public testimony as to their Christian commitment. She finished her formal education with a year at West Brattleboro Seminary, though the reading and discussion with her friend Evelyn Sawyer of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Charles Dickens, William Makepeace Thackeray, Edgar Allan Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Sarah Orne Jewett were probably more important than her schoolwork in developing her literary taste. After the failure of her father's business in 1876, Freeman's family moved into the home in Brattleboro of the Reverend Thomas Pickman Tyler, where her mother became housekeeper. Poverty was hard for the Wilkinses to bear, especially because their Puritan heritage led them to believe that poverty was a punishment for sin. Freeman's mother died in 1880, her father three years later, leaving Freeman alone at the age of twenty-eight, with a legacy of less than one thousand dollars. Fortunately, by this time she had begun to sell poems and stories to such leading magazines of the day as Harper's Bazaar, and by the mid-1880s she had a ready market for her work. As soon as she achieved a measure of economic independence, she returned to Randolph, where she lived with her childhood friend Mary Wales. Her early stories, especially those gathered and published in A Humble Romance (1887), are set in the Vermont countryside, but as she put it in a preface to an edition of these stories published in Edinburgh, the characters are generalized "studies of the descendants of the Massachusetts Bay colonists, in whom can still be seen traces of those features of will and conscience, so strong as to be almost exaggerations and deformities, which characterized their ancestors." More specifically, the title story

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dramatizes a theme Freeman was to return to frequently: the potentiality for unpredictable revolt in ostensibly meek and downtrodden natures. "A New England Nun" and Other Stories, which appeared in 1 8 9 1 , contains several of her best stories, most notably the title story, which treats (with particular dramatic success) the pervasive theme of psychic oppression and rebellion of women. At the same time as she provides a vivid sense of place, local dialect, and personality type, Freeman also gives us in her best work an insight into the individual psychology and interior life produced when confining, inherited codes of village life are subject to the pressure of a rapidly changing secular and urban world. This is a world in which, as the critic Marjorie Pryse argued, women begin to assert, individually and collectively, their vision and power against those of an exhausted Puritan patriarchy. Freeman continued to write for another three decades. Although she is best known today for her stories, she also wrote plays and a substantial number of successful novels on diverse topics from local history to labor unrest, but always with a focus on women. Among these novels are Pembroke

( 1 8 9 4 ) and The Shoulders

of Atlas

(1908).

She married Dr. Charles Freeman in 1 9 0 2 , when she was forty-nine, and moved to Metuchen, New Jersey; after a few happy years, her husband's drinking turned into destructive alcoholism, and he had to be institutionalized in 1 9 2 0 . In 1 9 2 6 , she was awarded the W . D. Howells medal for fiction by the American Academy of Arts and Letters and elected to the National Institute of Arts and Letters: signal honors, and seldom given to women writers in those days. She died of a heart attack four years later.

A New England N u n 1 It w a s late in t h e a f t e r n o o n , a n d t h e light w a s w a n i n g . T h e r e w a s a differe n c e in t h e look o f t h e tree s h a d o w s o u t in t h e yard. S o m e w h e r e in t h e d i s t a n c e c o w s were lowing a n d a little bell w a s tinkling; now a n d then a farmwagon tilted by, a n d t h e d u s t flew; s o m e blue-shirted laborers with shovels over their s h o u l d e r s p l o d d e d p a s t ; little s w a r m s o f flies were d a n c i n g u p a n d d o w n before t h e p e o p l e s ' f a c e s in t h e soft air. T h e r e s e e m e d to b e a g e n t l e stir arising over everything for t h e m e r e s a k e o f s u b s i d e n c e — a very p r e m o nition o f rest a n d h u s h a n d night. T h i s soft diurnal c o m m o t i o n w a s over L o u i s a Ellis a l s o . S h e h a d b e e n peacefully s e w i n g at h e r sitting-room window all t h e a f t e r n o o n . N o w s h e quilted her n e e d l e carefully into h e r work, which s h e folded precisely, a n d laid in a basket with her thimble a n d t h r e a d a n d s c i s s o r s . L o u i s a Ellis c o u l d not r e m e m b e r that ever in her life s h e h a d mislaid o n e of t h e s e little feminine a p p u r t e n a n c e s , which h a d b e c o m e , from long u s e a n d c o n s t a n t a s s o c i a t i o n , a very part o f h e r personality. L o u i s a tied a green a p r o n r o u n d h e r waist, a n d g o t o u t a flat straw h a t with a green ribbon. T h e n s h e went into t h e g a r d e n with a little b l u e crockery bowl, to p i c k s o m e c u r r a n t s for her t e a . After the c u r r a n t s were p i c k e d s h e sat on t h e b a c k d o o r - s t e p a n d s t e m m e d t h e m , c o l l e c t i n g t h e s t e m s carefully in her a p r o n , a n d afterwards throwing t h e m into t h e h e n - c o o p . S h e looked sharply at t h e g r a s s b e s i d e t h e step to s e e if a n y h a d fallen t h e r e . L o u i s a w a s slow a n d still in h e r m o v e m e n t s ; it took her a l o n g time to

1. From "A New England Nun" and Other Stories ( 1 8 9 1 ) , the source of the text printed here.

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p r e p a r e her tea; but w h e n ready it w a s set forth with a s m u c h g r a c e a s if s h e h a d b e e n a veritable g u e s t to her own self. T h e little s q u a r e table s t o o d exactly in the c e n t r e of the kitchen, a n d w a s covered with a s t a r c h e d linen cloth w h o s e b o r d e r pattern of flowers g l i s t e n e d . L o u i s a h a d a d a m a s k napkin on her tea-tray, w h e r e were a r r a n g e d a c u t - g l a s s t u m b l e r full of t e a s p o o n s , a silver c r e a m - p i t c h e r , a c h i n a sugar-bowl, a n d o n e pink c h i n a c u p a n d s a u cer. L o u i s a u s e d c h i n a every d a y — s o m e t h i n g w h i c h n o n e of her n e i g h b o r s did. T h e y w h i s p e r e d a b o u t it a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s . T h e i r daily tables w e r e laid with c o m m o n crockery, their sets of b e s t c h i n a stayed in the parlor c l o s e t , a n d L o u i s a Ellis w a s no richer nor better bred than they. Still s h e would u s e the c h i n a . S h e h a d for her s u p p e r a glass dish full of s u g a r e d c u r r a n t s , a plate of little c a k e s , a n d o n e of light white b i s c u i t s . Also a leaf or two of l e t t u c e , which s h e cut up daintily. L o u i s a w a s very fond of l e t t u c e , which s h e raised to perfection in her little g a r d e n . S h e a t e quite heartily, t h o u g h in a d e l i c a t e , p e c k i n g way; it s e e m e d a l m o s t s u r p r i s i n g that any c o n s i d e r a b l e bulk of the food s h o u l d v a n i s h . After tea s h e filled a plate with nicely b a k e d thin c o r n - c a k e s , a n d carried t h e m out into the back-yard. "Caesar!" s h e called. "Caesar! Caesar!" T h e r e w a s a little r u s h , a n d the c l a n k of a c h a i n , a n d a large yellow-andwhite d o g a p p e a r e d at the door of his tiny hut, which w a s half h i d d e n a m o n g the tall g r a s s e s a n d flowers. L o u i s a p a t t e d him a n d gave him the c o r n - c a k e s . T h e n she returned to the h o u s e a n d w a s h e d the tea-things, p o l i s h i n g the c h i n a carefully. T h e twilight had d e e p e n e d ; the c h o r u s of the frogs floated in at the o p e n window wonderfully loud a n d shrill, a n d o n c e in a while a long s h a r p d r o n e from a tree-toad p i e r c e d it. L o u i s a took off her green gingh a m a p r o n , d i s c l o s i n g a shorter o n e of pink a n d white print. S h e lighted her l a m p , a n d sat d o w n again with her sewing. In a b o u t half an h o u r J o e D a g g e t c a m e . S h e h e a r d his heavy s t e p on the walk, a n d rose a n d took off her pink-and-white a p r o n . U n d e r that w a s still a n o t h e r — w h i t e linen with a little c a m b r i c e d g i n g on the b o t t o m ; that w a s L o u i s a ' s c o m p a n y a p r o n . S h e never wore it without her c a l i c o s e w i n g a p r o n over it u n l e s s s h e h a d a g u e s t . S h e h a d barely folded the pink a n d white o n e with m e t h o d i c a l h a s t e a n d laid it in a table-drawer w h e n the d o o r o p e n e d and J o e Dagget entered. H e s e e m e d to fill u p the whole r o o m . A little yellow c a n a r y that h a d b e e n a s l e e p in his g r e e n c a g e at the s o u t h window woke up a n d fluttered wildly, b e a t i n g his little yellow wings a g a i n s t the wires. H e always did s o w h e n J o e D a g g e t c a m e into the r o o m . " G o o d - e v e n i n g , " said L o u i s a . S h e e x t e n d e d her h a n d with a kind of s o l e m n cordiality. " G o o d - e v e n i n g , L o u i s a , " returned the m a n , in a loud v o i c e . S h e p l a c e d a c h a i r for him, a n d they sat facing e a c h other, with the table between t h e m . H e sat bolt-upright, toeing out his heavy feet squarely, g l a n c ing with a g o o d - h u m o r e d u n e a s i n e s s a r o u n d the r o o m . S h e sat gently erect, folding her slender h a n d s in her white-linen l a p . "Been a pleasant day," remarked Dagget. "Real p l e a s a n t , " L o u i s a a s s e n t e d , softly. " H a v e you b e e n h a y i n g ? " s h e a s k e d , after a little while. "Yes, I've b e e n haying all day, down in the ten-acre lot. Pretty hot work."

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"It m u s t b e . " "Yes, it's pretty hot work in the s u n . " " I s your m o t h e r well t o - d a y ? " "Yes, mother's pretty well." "I s u p p o s e Lily Dyer's with her n o w ? " D a g g e t c o l o r e d . "Yes, she's with h e r , " he a n s w e r e d , slowly. H e w a s not very y o u n g , but there w a s a boyish look a b o u t his large f a c e . L o u i s a w a s not q u i t e a s old a s h e , her f a c e w a s fairer a n d s m o o t h e r , but s h e gave p e o p l e the i m p r e s s i o n of b e i n g older. "I s u p p o s e she's a g o o d deal of h e l p to your m o t h e r , " s h e s a i d , further. "I g u e s s s h e is; I don't know how m o t h e r ' d get a l o n g without h e r , " said D a g g e t , with a sort of e m b a r r a s s e d w a r m t h . " S h e looks like a real c a p a b l e girl. S h e ' s pretty-looking t o o , " r e m a r k e d Louisa. "Yes, s h e is pretty fair looking." Presently D a g g e t b e g a n fingering the b o o k s o n the t a b l e . T h e r e w a s a s q u a r e red a u t o g r a p h a l b u m , a n d a Y o u n g Lady's G i f t - B o o k 2 w h i c h h a d b e l o n g e d to L o u i s a ' s m o t h e r . H e took t h e m u p o n e after the other a n d o p e n e d t h e m ; then laid t h e m down a g a i n , the a l b u m on the Gift-Book. L o u i s a kept eying t h e m with mild u n e a s i n e s s . Finally s h e rose a n d c h a n g e d the position of the b o o k s , p u t t i n g the a l b u m u n d e r n e a t h . T h a t w a s the way they h a d b e e n a r r a n g e d in the first p l a c e . D a g g e t gave a n awkward little l a u g h . " N o w w h a t difference did it m a k e w h i c h b o o k w a s o n t o p ? " said h e . L o u i s a looked at him with a d e p r e c a t i n g s m i l e . "I always k e e p t h e m that way," murmured she. "You do b e a t everything," s a i d D a g g e t , trying to l a u g h a g a i n . H i s large f a c e was flushed. H e r e m a i n e d a b o u t a n h o u r longer, then rose to take leave. G o i n g o u t , he s t u m b l e d over a rug, a n d trying to recover himself, hit L o u i s a ' s work-basket on the t a b l e , a n d k n o c k e d it o n the floor. H e looked at L o u i s a , then at the rolling s p o o l s ; h e d u c k e d h i m s e l f awkwardly toward t h e m , b u t s h e s t o p p e d h i m . " N e v e r m i n d , " said s h e ; "I'll p i c k t h e m up after you're g o n e . " S h e s p o k e with a mild stiffness. Either s h e w a s a little d i s t u r b e d , or his n e r v o u s n e s s affected her, a n d m a d e her s e e m c o n s t r a i n e d in her effort to reassure him. W h e n J o e D a g g e t w a s o u t s i d e he drew in the sweet e v e n i n g air with a sigh, a n d felt m u c h a s an i n n o c e n t a n d perfectly well-intentioned b e a r m i g h t after his exit from a c h i n a s h o p . L o u i s a , on her part, felt m u c h a s the kind-hearted, long-suffering o w n e r of the c h i n a s h o p might have d o n e after the exit of the b e a r . S h e tied on the pink, then the green a p r o n , p i c k e d u p all the s c a t t e r e d t r e a s u r e s a n d r e p l a c e d t h e m in her work-basket, a n d s t r a i g h t e n e d the rug. T h e n s h e set the l a m p on the floor, a n d b e g a n sharply e x a m i n i n g the c a r p e t . S h e even r u b b e d her fingers over it, a n d looked at t h e m . 2. Gift books (c. 1 8 2 5 - 6 5 ) were popular annual miscellanies, containing stories, essays, and poems, usually with a polite or moral tone. They

were lavishly printed and decorated for use as Christmas or New Year's gifts,

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" H e ' s t r a c k e d in a g o o d deal of d u s t , " s h e m u r m u r e d . "1 t h o u g h t he m u s t have." L o u i s a got a d u s t - p a n a n d b r u s h , a n d s w e p t J o e D a g g e t ' s track carefully. If he c o u l d have known it, it would have i n c r e a s e d his perplexity a n d u n e a s i n e s s , a l t h o u g h it would not have d i s t u r b e d his loyalty in the least. H e c a m e twice a week to s e e L o u i s a Ellis, a n d every t i m e , sitting there in her delicately sweet r o o m , h e felt a s if s u r r o u n d e d by a h e d g e of l a c e . H e w a s afraid to stir lest he s h o u l d p u t a c l u m s y foot or h a n d t h r o u g h the fairy w e b , a n d he had always the c o n s c i o u s n e s s that L o u i s a w a s w a t c h i n g fearfully lest he s h o u l d . Still the lace a n d L o u i s a c o m m a n d e d p e r f o r c e his perfect r e s p e c t a n d p a t i e n c e a n d loyalty. T h e y were to be married in a m o n t h , after a singular c o u r t s h i p w h i c h h a d l a s t e d for a m a t t e r of fifteen years. F o r fourteen o u t of the fifteen years the two had not o n c e s e e n e a c h other, a n d they h a d s e l d o m e x c h a n g e d letters. J o e h a d b e e n all t h o s e years in A u s t r a l i a , w h e r e h e h a d g o n e to m a k e his f o r t u n e , a n d w h e r e he h a d stayed until he m a d e it. H e would have stayed fifty years if it had taken s o long, a n d c o m e h o m e feeble a n d tottering, or never c o m e h o m e at all, to marry L o u i s a . B u t the f o r t u n e h a d b e e n m a d e in the fourteen years, a n d he h a d c o m e h o m e n o w to marry the w o m a n w h o h a d b e e n patiently a n d u n q u e s t i o n i n g l y waiting for him all that time. Shortly after they were e n g a g e d he h a d a n n o u n c e d to L o u i s a his determination to strike o u t into n e w fields, a n d s e c u r e a c o m p e t e n c y before they s h o u l d be m a r r i e d . S h e h a d listened a n d a s s e n t e d with the s w e e t serenity which never failed her, not even w h e n her lover set forth o n that long a n d u n c e r t a i n j o u r n e y . J o e , b u o y e d up a s he w a s by his sturdy d e t e r m i n a t i o n , broke d o w n a little at the last, but L o u i s a k i s s e d him with a mild b l u s h , a n d said good-by. "It won't be for l o n g , " p o o r J o e h a d said, huskily; but it w a s for fourteen years. In that length of time m u c h had h a p p e n e d . L o u i s a ' s m o t h e r a n d brother h a d died, a n d s h e w a s all a l o n e in the world. B u t greatest h a p p e n i n g of a l l — a subtle h a p p e n i n g which b o t h were t o o s i m p l e to u n d e r s t a n d — L o u i s a ' s feet h a d turned into a p a t h , s m o o t h m a y b e u n d e r a c a l m , s e r e n e sky, but so straight a n d unswerving that it c o u l d only m e e t a c h e c k at her grave, a n d so narrow that there w a s no r o o m for any o n e at her s i d e . L o u i s a ' s first e m o t i o n w h e n J o e D a g g e t c a m e h o m e (he h a d not a p p r i s e d her of his c o m i n g ) w a s c o n s t e r n a t i o n , a l t h o u g h s h e w o u l d not a d m i t it to herself, a n d h e never d r e a m e d of it. Fifteen years a g o s h e h a d b e e n in love with h i m — a t least s h e c o n s i d e r e d herself to b e . J u s t at that t i m e , gently a c q u i e s c i n g with a n d falling into the natural drift of girlhood, s h e h a d s e e n m a r r i a g e a h e a d a s a r e a s o n a b l e feature a n d a p r o b a b l e desirability of life. S h e h a d listened with c a l m docility to her m o t h e r ' s views u p o n the s u b j e c t . H e r m o t h e r w a s r e m a r k a b l e for her cool s e n s e a n d s w e e t , even t e m p e r a m e n t . S h e talked wisely to her d a u g h t e r w h e n J o e D a g g e t p r e s e n t e d himself, a n d L o u i s a a c c e p t e d him with no hesitation. H e w a s the first lover s h e h a d ever had. S h e h a d b e e n faithful to him all t h e s e y e a r s . S h e h a d never d r e a m e d of the possibility of marrying any o n e e l s e . H e r life, especially for the last seven

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years, h a d b e e n full of a p l e a s a n t p e a c e , s h e h a d never felt d i s c o n t e n t e d nor impatient over her lover's a b s e n c e ; still s h e h a d always looked forward to his return a n d their m a r r i a g e a s the inevitable c o n c l u s i o n of t h i n g s . H o w e v e r , s h e h a d fallen into a way of p l a c i n g it s o far in the future that it w a s a l m o s t e q u a l to p l a c i n g it over the b o u n d a r i e s of a n o t h e r life. W h e n J o e c a m e s h e h a d b e e n expecting him, a n d e x p e c t i n g to be m a r r i e d for fourteen years, but s h e w a s a s m u c h s u r p r i s e d a n d taken a b a c k a s if s h e h a d never t h o u g h t of it. J o e ' s c o n s t e r n a t i o n c a m e later. H e eyed L o u i s a with an instant confirmation of his old a d m i r a t i o n . S h e had c h a n g e d but little. S h e still kept her pretty m a n n e r a n d soft g r a c e , a n d w a s , he c o n s i d e r e d , every whit a s attractive a s ever. A s for himself, his stent w a s d o n e ; he h a d t u r n e d his f a c e away from fortune-seeking, a n d the old winds of r o m a n c e whistled a s loud a n d s w e e t a s ever through his e a r s . All the s o n g which he h a d b e e n wont to h e a r in t h e m w a s L o u i s a ; h e h a d for a long t i m e a loyal belief that he h e a r d it still, but finally it s e e m e d to him that a l t h o u g h the winds s a n g always that o n e s o n g , it h a d a n o t h e r n a m e . B u t for L o u i s a the wind h a d never m o r e t h a n m u r m u r e d ; now it h a d g o n e d o w n , a n d everything w a s still. S h e listened for a little while with half-wistful a t t e n t i o n ; then s h e t u r n e d quietly away a n d went to work on her w e d d i n g c l o t h e s . J o e had m a d e s o m e extensive a n d q u i t e magnificent a l t e r a t i o n s in his h o u s e . It w a s the old h o m e s t e a d ; the newly-married c o u p l e would live t h e r e , for J o e c o u l d not desert his m o t h e r , w h o refused to leave her old h o m e . S o L o u i s a m u s t leave hers. Every m o r n i n g , rising a n d g o i n g a b o u t a m o n g her neat m a i d e n l y p o s s e s s i o n s , s h e felt a s o n e looking her last u p o n the f a c e s of d e a r friends. It w a s true that in a m e a s u r e s h e c o u l d take t h e m with her, but, robbed of their old e n v i r o n m e n t s , they w o u l d a p p e a r in s u c h new g u i s e s that they would a l m o s t c e a s e to be t h e m s e l v e s . T h e n there were s o m e p e c u liar f e a t u r e s of her happy solitary life which s h e w o u l d probably be obliged to relinquish altogether. S t e r n e r tasks than t h e s e graceful b u t h a l f - n e e d l e s s o n e s would probably devolve u p o n her. T h e r e w o u l d b e a large h o u s e to c a r e for; there would be c o m p a n y to e n t e r t a i n ; there w o u l d be J o e ' s rigours a n d feeble old m o t h e r to wait u p o n ; a n d it w o u l d be contrary to all thrifty village traditions for her to k e e p m o r e than o n e servant. L o u i s a h a d a little still, a n d s h e u s e d to o c c u p y herself pleasantly in s u m m e r w e a t h e r with distilling the sweet a n d a r o m a t i c e s s e n c e s from r o s e s a n d p e p p e r m i n t a n d s p e a r m i n t . Byand-by her still m u s t be laid away. H e r store of e s s e n c e s w a s already c o n s i d e r a b l e , a n d there would be no time for her to distil for the m e r e p l e a s u r e of it. T h e n J o e ' s m o t h e r w o u l d think it f o o l i s h n e s s ; s h e h a d already hinted her opinion in the matter. L o u i s a dearly loved to s e w a linen s e a m , not always for u s e , but for the s i m p l e , mild p l e a s u r e which s h e took in it. S h e would have b e e n loath to c o n f e s s how m o r e than o n c e s h e h a d ripped a s e a m for the m e r e delight of s e w i n g it together a g a i n . S i t t i n g at her window d u r i n g long sweet a f t e r n o o n s , d r a w i n g her n e e d l e gently t h r o u g h the dainty fabric, s h e w a s p e a c e itself. B u t there w a s s m a l l c h a n c e of s u c h foolish c o m f o r t in the future. J o e ' s m o t h e r , d o m i n e e r i n g , shrewd old m a t r o n that s h e w a s even in her old a g e , a n d very likely even J o e himself, with his h o n e s t m a s c u l i n e r u d e n e s s , would laugh a n d frown d o w n all t h e s e pretty b u t s e n s e l e s s old m a i d e n ways. L o u i s a had a l m o s t the e n t h u s i a s m of an artist over the m e r e order a n d

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c l e a n l i n e s s of her solitary h o m e . S h e h a d throbs of g e n u i n e t r i u m p h at the sight of the w i n d o w - p a n e s which s h e h a d p o l i s h e d until they s h o n e like j e w e l s . S h e gloated gently over her orderly b u r e a u - d r a w e r s , with their exquisitely folded c o n t e n t s redolent with lavender a n d sweet clover a n d very purity. C o u l d s h e be s u r e of the e n d u r a n c e of even this? S h e h a d v i s i o n s , s o startling that s h e half r e p u d i a t e d them a s i n d e l i c a t e , of c o a r s e m a s c u l i n e b e l o n g i n g s strewn a b o u t in e n d l e s s litter; of d u s t a n d d i s o r d e r arising n e c essarily from a c o a r s e m a s c u l i n e p r e s e n c e in the m i d s t of all this delicate harmony. A m o n g her f o r e b o d i n g s of d i s t u r b a n c e , not the least w a s with regard to Caesar. Caesar w a s a veritable hermit of a dog. F o r the g r e a t e r part of his life he h a d dwelt in his s e c l u d e d hut, shut out from the society of his kind a n d all i n n o c e n t c a n i n e j o y s . N e v e r h a d Caesar s i n c e his early youth w a t c h e d at a w o o d c h u c k ' s h o l e ; never h a d h e known the delights of a stray b o n e at a neighbor's kitchen door. A n d it wis all on a c c o u n t of a sin c o m m i t t e d w h e n hardly out of his p u p p y h o o d . N o o n e knew the p o s s i b l e d e p t h of r e m o r s e of which this mild-visaged, altogether i n n o c e n t - l o o k i n g old d o g might be c a p a ble; but w h e t h e r or not h e h a d e n c o u n t e r e d r e m o r s e , h e h a d e n c o u n t e r e d a full m e a s u r e of r i g h t e o u s retribution. O l d Caesar s e l d o m lifted u p his voice in a growl or a bark; he w a s fat a n d sleepy; there were yellow rings which looked like s p e c t a c l e s a r o u n d his dim old eyes; but there w a s a n e i g h b o r w h o b o r e on his h a n d the imprint of several of Caesar's s h a r p white youthful teeth, a n d for that h e h a d lived at the e n d of a c h a i n , all a l o n e in a little hut, for fourteen years. T h e neighbor, w h o w a s choleric a n d s m a r t i n g with the p a i n of his w o u n d , h a d d e m a n d e d either Caesar's d e a t h or c o m p l e t e o s t r a c i s m . S o L o u i s a ' s brother, to w h o m the d o g h a d b e l o n g e d , had built him his little kennel a n d tied him u p . It w a s now fourteen years s i n c e , in a flood of youthful spirits, he h a d inflicted that m e m o r a b l e bite, a n d with the exception of short e x c u r s i o n s , always at the e n d of the c h a i n , u n d e r the strict g u a r d i a n s h i p of his m a s t e r or L o u i s a , the old d o g h a d r e m a i n e d a c l o s e prisoner. It is doubtful if, with his limited a m b i t i o n , h e took m u c h pride in the fact, but it is certain that h e w a s p o s s e s s e d of c o n s i d e r a b l e c h e a p f a m e . H e w a s r e g a r d e d by all the children in the village a n d by m a n y a d u l t s a s a very m o n s t e r of ferocity. S t . G e o r g e ' s d r a g o n 3 c o u l d hardly have s u r p a s s e d in evil r e p u t e L o u i s a Ellis's old yellow dog. M o t h e r s c h a r g e d their children with s o l e m n e m p h a s i s not to go too n e a r him, a n d the children listened a n d believed greedily, with a f a s c i n a t e d appetite for terror, a n d ran by L o u i s a ' s h o u s e stealthily, with m a n y sidelong a n d b a c k w a r d g l a n c e s at the terrible dog. If p e r c h a n c e he s o u n d e d a h o a r s e bark, there w a s a p a n i c . Wayfarers c h a n c i n g into L o u i s a ' s yard eyed him with r e s p e c t , a n d inquired if the c h a i n were s t o u t . Caesar at large might have s e e m e d a very ordinary d o g , a n d excited n o c o m m e n t whatever; c h a i n e d , his r e p u t a t i o n o v e r s h a d o w e d him, s o that h e lost his own p r o p e r outlines a n d looked darkly v a g u e a n d e n o r m o u s . J o e D a g g e t , however, with his g o o d - h u m o r e d s e n s e a n d s h r e w d n e s s , s a w him a s h e w a s . H e s t r o d e valiantly up to him a n d patted him on the h e a d , in spite of L o u i s a ' s soft c l a m o r of warning, a n d even a t t e m p t e d to set him l o o s e . L o u i s a grew so a l a r m e d that he d e s i s t e d , but kept a n n o u n c i n g his opinion in the m a t t e r 3. T h e story of St. George (patron saint of England) and the Dragon is an allegorical expression of the triumph of the Christian hero over evil.

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q u i t e forcibly at intervals. " T h e r e ain't a better-natured d o g in t o w n , " h e would say, " a n d it's downright cruel to k e e p him tied u p there. S o m e day F m g o i n g to take him o u t . " L o u i s a h a d very little h o p e that h e would not, o n e of t h e s e days, w h e n their interests a n d p o s s e s s i o n s s h o u l d be m o r e c o m p l e t e l y f u s e d in o n e . S h e p i c t u r e d to herself Caesar o n the r a m p a g e t h r o u g h the q u i e t a n d u n g u a r d e d village. S h e saw i n n o c e n t children b l e e d i n g in his p a t h . S h e w a s herself very fond of the old d o g , b e c a u s e h e h a d b e l o n g e d to her d e a d brother, a n d h e w a s always very g e n t l e with her; still she h a d great faith in his ferocity. S h e always w a r n e d p e o p l e not to g o too near him. S h e fed him on a s c e t i c fare of c o r n - m u s h a n d c a k e s , a n d never fired his d a n g e r o u s t e m p e r with h e a t i n g a n d s a n g u i n a r y diet of flesh a n d b o n e s . L o u i s a looked at the old d o g m u n c h ing his s i m p l e fare, a n d t h o u g h t of her a p p r o a c h i n g m a r r i a g e a n d t r e m b l e d . Still no anticipation of disorder a n d c o n f u s i o n in lieu of s w e e t p e a c e a n d harmony, n o f o r e b o d i n g s of Caesar o n the r a m p a g e , no wild fluttering of her little yellow canary, were sufficient to turn her a hair's-breadth. J o e D a g g e t h a d b e e n fond of her a n d working for her all t h e s e years. It w a s not for her, whatever c a m e to p a s s , to prove u n t r u e a n d b r e a k his heart. S h e p u t the exquisite little s t i t c h e s into her w e d d i n g - g a r m e n t s , a n d the t i m e went o n until it w a s only a w e e k before her wedding-day. It w a s a T u e s d a y evening, a n d the w e d d i n g w a s to be a w e e k from W e d n e s d a y . T h e r e w a s a full m o o n that night. A b o u t n i n e o'clock L o u i s a strolled d o w n the r o a d a little way. T h e r e were harvest-fields on either h a n d , b o r d e r e d by low s t o n e walls. L u x u r i a n t c l u m p s of b u s h e s grew b e s i d e the wall, a n d t r e e s — w i l d cherry a n d old a p p l e - t r e e s — a t intervals. Presently L o u i s a sat d o w n o n the wall a n d looked a b o u t her with mildly sorrowful reflectiveness. Tall s h r u b s of blueberry a n d m e a d o w - s w e e t , all woven together a n d t a n g l e d with blackberry vines a n d h o r s e b r i e r s , s h u t her in on either s i d e . S h e h a d a little clear s p a c e b e t w e e n . O p p o s i t e her, o n the other side of the r o a d , w a s a s p r e a d i n g tree; the m o o n s h o n e b e t w e e n its b o u g h s , a n d the leaves twinkled like silver. T h e r o a d w a s b e s p r e a d with a beautiful shifting d a p p l e of silver a n d s h a d o w ; the air w a s full of a m y s t e r i o u s s w e e t n e s s . "I w o n d e r if it's wild g r a p e s ? " m u r m u r e d L o u i s a . S h e sat there s o m e t i m e . S h e w a s j u s t thinking of rising, w h e n s h e h e a r d f o o t s t e p s a n d low v o i c e s , a n d r e m a i n e d q u i e t . It w a s a lonely p l a c e , a n d s h e felt a little timid. S h e t h o u g h t s h e would k e e p still in the s h a d o w a n d let the p e r s o n s , whoever they might b e , p a s s her. B u t j u s t before they r e a c h e d her the v o i c e s c e a s e d , a n d the f o o t s t e p s . S h e u n d e r s t o o d that their o w n e r s h a d a l s o f o u n d s e a t s u p o n the s t o n e wall. S h e w a s w o n d e r i n g if s h e c o u l d not steal away u n o b s e r v e d , w h e n the voice broke the stillness. It w a s J o e D a g g e t ' s . S h e sat still a n d l i s t e n e d . T h e voice w a s a n n o u n c e d by a loud sigh, w h i c h w a s a s familiar a s itself. " W e l l , " said D a g g e t , "you've m a d e up your m i n d , t h e n , I s u p p o s e ? " " Y e s , " returned a n o t h e r v o i c e ; "I'm g o i n g day after t o - m o r r o w . " " T h a t ' s Lily Dyer," thought L o u i s a to herself. T h e voice e m b o d i e d itself in her m i n d . S h e saw a girl tall a n d full-figured, with a firm, fair f a c e , looking fairer a n d firmer in the m o o n l i g h t , her s t r o n g yellow hair b r a i d e d in a c l o s e knot. A girl full of a c a l m rustic strength a n d b l o o m , with a m a s t e r f u l way which might have b e s e e m e d a p r i n c e s s . Lily Dyer w a s a favorite with the village folk; s h e h a d j u s t the qualities to a r o u s e the a d m i r a t i o n . S h e w a s g o o d a n d h a n d s o m e a n d s m a r t . L o u i s a h a d often h e a r d her p r a i s e s s o u n d e d .

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"Well," said J o e D a g g e t , "I ain't got a word to say." "I don't know what you c o u l d say," returned Lily Dyer. " N o t a word to say," r e p e a t e d J o e , d r a w i n g out the w o r d s heavily. T h e n there w a s s i l e n c e . "I ain't sorry," h e b e g a n at last, " t h a t that h a p p e n e d yest e r d a y — t h a t we kind of let on how we felt to e a c h other. I g u e s s it's j u s t a s well we knew. O f c o u r s e I can't d o anything any different. I'm g o i n g right on a n ' get married next week. I ain't g o i n g b a c k o n a w o m a n that's waited for m e fourteen years, a n ' b r e a k her h e a r t . " "If you s h o u l d jilt her to-morrow, I wouldn't have y o u , " s p o k e u p the girl, with s u d d e n v e h e m e n c e . "Well, I ain't g o i n g to give you the c h a n c e , " said h e ; " b u t I don't believe you w o u l d , e i t h e r . " "You'd s e e I wouldn't. H o n o r ' s honor, a n ' right's right. A n ' I'd never think anything of any m a n that went a g a i n s t 'em for m e or a n y other girl; you'd find that out, J o e D a g g e t . " "Well, you'll find o u t fast e n o u g h that I ain't g o i n g a g a i n s t 'em for you or any other girl," r e t u r n e d h e . T h e i r voices s o u n d e d a l m o s t a s if they were angry with e a c h other. L o u i s a w a s listening eagerly. "I'm sorry you feel a s if you m u s t go a w a y , " said J o e , " b u t I don't k n o w but it's b e s t . " " O f c o u r s e it's b e s t . I h o p e you a n d I have got c o m m o n - s e n s e . " "Well, I s u p p o s e you're right." S u d d e n l y J o e ' s voice got a n u n d e r t o n e of t e n d e r n e s s . " S a y , Lily," s a i d h e , "I'll get a l o n g well e n o u g h myself, but I can't b e a r to t h i n k — Y o u don't s u p p o s e you're g o i n g to fret m u c h over i t ? " "I g u e s s you'll find out I sha'n't fret m u c h over a married m a n . " "Well, I h o p e you won't-—I h o p e you won't, Lily. G o d k n o w s I d o . A n d — I h o p e — o n e of t h e s e d a y s — y o u ' l l — c o m e a c r o s s s o m e b o d y e l s e — " "I don't s e e any r e a s o n why I s h o u l d n ' t . " S u d d e n l y her tone c h a n g e d . S h e s p o k e in a sweet, clear voice, s o loud that s h e c o u l d have b e e n h e a r d a c r o s s the street. " N o , J o e D a g g e t , " s a i d s h e , "I'll never marry any other m a n a s long a s I live. I've got g o o d s e n s e , a n ' I ain't g o i n g to b r e a k my heart nor m a k e a fool of myself; but I'm never g o i n g to b e m a r r i e d , you c a n b e s u r e of that. I ain't that sort of a girl to feel this way t w i c e . " L o u i s a h e a r d a n e x c l a m a t i o n a n d a soft c o m m o t i o n b e h i n d the b u s h e s ; then Lily s p o k e a g a i n — t h e voice s o u n d e d a s if s h e h a d risen. " T h i s m u s t be p u t a stop t o , " said s h e . "We've stayed h e r e long e n o u g h . I'm g o i n g home." L o u i s a sat there in a d a z e , listening to their retreating s t e p s . After a while s h e got up a n d s l u n k softly h o m e herself. T h e next day s h e did her h o u s e w o r k methodically; that w a s a s m u c h a m a t t e r of c o u r s e a s b r e a t h i n g ; but s h e did not s e w on her w e d d i n g - c l o t h e s . S h e sat at her window a n d m e d i t a t e d . In the evening J o e c a m e . L o u i s a Ellis h a d never known that s h e h a d any diplom a c y in her, b u t w h e n s h e c a m e to look for it that night s h e f o u n d it, a l t h o u g h m e e k of its kind, a m o n g her little f e m i n i n e w e a p o n s . E v e n now s h e c o u l d hardly believe that s h e h a d h e a r d aright, a n d that s h e w o u l d not d o J o e a terrible injury s h o u l d s h e b r e a k her troth-plight. S h e w a n t e d to s o u n d him without betraying too s o o n her own inclinations in the matter. S h e did it successfully, a n d they finally c a m e to a n u n d e r s t a n d i n g ; b u t it w a s a difficult thing, for he w a s a s afraid of betraying h i m s e l f a s s h e . S h e never m e n t i o n e d Lily Dyer. S h e simply said that while s h e h a d no

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MARY E . W I L K I N S

FREEMAN

c a u s e of c o m p l a i n t a g a i n s t him, s h e h a d lived s o long in o n e way that s h e s h r a n k from m a k i n g a c h a n g e . "Well, I never s h r a n k , L o u i s a , " said D a g g e t . "I'm going to b e h o n e s t e n o u g h to say that I think m a y b e it's better this way; but if you'd w a n t e d to k e e p o n , I'd have s t u c k to you till my dying day. I h o p e you know t h a t . " "Yes, I d o , " said s h e . T h a t night s h e a n d J o e p a r t e d m o r e tenderly than they h a d d o n e for a long t i m e . S t a n d i n g in the door, h o l d i n g e a c h other's h a n d s , a last great wave of regretful m e m o r y s w e p t over t h e m . "Well, this ain't the way we've thought it w a s all g o i n g to e n d , is it, L o u i s a ? " said J o e . S h e s h o o k her h e a d . T h e r e w a s a little quiver on her placid f a c e . "You let m e know if there's ever a n y t h i n g I c a n d o for y o u , " s a i d h e . "I ain't ever going to forget you, L o u i s a . " T h e n he k i s s e d her, a n d went d o w n the p a t h . L o u i s a , all a l o n e by herself that night, wept a little, s h e hardly k n e w why; but the next m o r n i n g , on w a k i n g , s h e felt like a q u e e n w h o , after f e a r i n g lest her d o m a i n be w r e s t e d away from her, s e e s it firmly i n s u r e d in her p o s s e s sion. N o w the tall w e e d s a n d g r a s s e s might c l u s t e r a r o u n d Caesar's little hermit hut, the s n o w might fall on its roof year in a n d year out, but h e never w o u l d g o on a r a m p a g e t h r o u g h the u n g u a r d e d village. N o w the little c a n a r y m i g h t turn itself into a p e a c e f u l yellow ball night after night, a n d have no n e e d to wake a n d flutter with wild terror a g a i n s t its b a r s . L o u i s a c o u l d s e w linen s e a m s , a n d distil r o s e s , a n d d u s t a n d polish a n d fold away in lavender, a s long a s she listed. T h a t a f t e r n o o n s h e sat with her needle-work at the window, a n d felt fairly s t e e p e d in p e a c e . Lily Dyer, tall a n d e r e c t a n d b l o o m i n g , went p a s t ; but s h e felt no q u a l m . If L o u i s a Ellis h a d sold her birthright s h e did not know it, the t a s t e of the p o t t a g e 4 w a s so d e l i c i o u s , a n d h a d b e e n her sole satisfaction for so long. Serenity a n d placid n a r r o w n e s s h a d b e c o m e to her as the birthright itself. S h e g a z e d a h e a d t h r o u g h a long r e a c h of future days s t r u n g together like pearls in a rosary, every o n e like the others, a n d all s m o o t h a n d flawless a n d i n n o c e n t , a n d her heart went u p in t h a n k f u l n e s s . O u t s i d e w a s the fervid s u m m e r a f t e r n o o n ; the air w a s filled with the s o u n d s of the busy harvest of m e n a n d birds a n d b e e s ; there w e r e halloos, metallic clatterings, sweet calls, a n d long h u m m i n g s . L o u i s a sat, prayerfully n u m b e r i n g her d a y s , like a n u n c l o i s t e r e d n u n . 1891

4. In Genesis 2 5 , Esau sells his birthright as oldest son of Isaac and Rebekah to his younger brother J a c o b for a bowl of pottage (lentil stew).

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BOOKER

T.

WASHINGTON

1856-1915 Between the last decade of the nineteenth century and the beginning of World War I, no one exercised more influence over the course of race relations in the United States than did Booker Taliaffero Washington. He lacked the personal dynamism and militancy of Frederick Douglass (whose successor as national black leader he wished to be) and did not have the intellectual temperament and training and fierce independence of W. E. B. Du Bois, but Washington was a shrewder politician than either and was able to institutionalize his power in such measure that the period from 1895 to 1915 is called by historians of black America the "Era of BookerT. Washington." No small part of that power he owed to his extraordinary rhetorical skill with written and spoken language. Washington's exact birth date is uncertain, but as an adult he selected April 5, 1856. His mother was a slave in Hale's Ford, Virginia; his father was a white man whose identity is unknown. As a boy, Booker had, like most slaves, only a first name, and it was not until he entered school that he adopted his stepfather's first name as his last name. Washington's early life is a catalog of deprivation and daily struggle. At the end of the Civil War, he accompanied his mother to Maiden, West Virginia, to join his stepfather, who had found work there in a salt furnace. While he held jobs in Maiden as a salt packer, coal miner, and house servant, he attended makeshift schools in odd hours and thus began to satisfy his "intense longing" to learn to read and write. Several years later, his desire for learning still unsatisfied, he set out on a month-long journey by rail, by cart, and on foot for Hampton Normal and Agricultural Institute in Virginia, some five hundred miles from Maiden. The institute had been established by the American Missionary Association a few years earlier to train black teachers and to prepare students for agriculture and such trades as harness making. Washington earned his way at Hampton by serving as a janitor, graduating in three years with honors and with a certificate to teach trade school. He had also learned, in the quasi-military atmosphere of the school, the Puritan work ethic and the virtues of cleanliness, thrift, and hard work that later would be so central to his life and educational philosophy. In 1881, having successfully taught in an experimental program for American Indian students at Hampton, Washington was offered the position as first principal of what was to become Tuskegee Institute, a school established by the Alabama legislature to train black men and women in the agricultural and mechanical trades and for teaching. Tuskegee began with thirty students, but by practicing the Christian virtues and the simple, disciplined living he preached (and obliged others to follow), and by exercising his considerable powers as a conciliator and fund-raiser, Washington soon established a thriving institution in rural Alabama even though he, the staff, and the students were obliged to construct school buildings from bricks they made themselves. It was not until 1895, however, that Washington emerged as a national figure, the result of a short address, reprinted here, to a crowd of two thousand people at the Atlanta Exposition of 1895. Popularly known as the "Atlanta Compromise," the speech seemed to some black critics to offer to trade black civil, social, and political rights for low-level economic opportunity and nonviolent relations with whites, an offer that appealed to the vast majority of southern blacks as well as to most whites in the North and the South. If one remembers that between 1885 and 1910, approximately thirty-five hundred African Americans were lynched in America and that most southern states had by this time disenfranchised blacks anyway, the attractiveness to most African Americans of peaceful coexistence and the desire to have the opportunity for economic self-development are certainly understandable. Even such militant black leaders as the editor T. Thomas Fortune and writer-teacher Du Bois joined in

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praising the speech and in supporting the philosophy of conciliation that was its pragmatic basis; their opposition to Washington did not develop until several years later. In the years following the Atlanta speech, Washington consolidated his position as the "Moses of his race." Nothing did more to create this mythic stature than his own brilliant, apparently artless autobiography, Up from Slavery (1901), a masterpiece of the genre widely praised in the United States and popular in translations around the world. The early chapters allow readers to understand the physical and psychological realities of Washington's lowly origins, shared by so many millions of slaves suddenly set free at the conclusion of the Civil War. The later chapters reveal Washington at the peak of his success as a black spokesperson—and particularly as a master of rhetoric that allows him to appear both as sincerely humble and as a force to be reckoned with, both a man of selfless industry and one of considerable shrewdness and calculation. Up from Slaver) is thus important as a literary production as well as a record of an exemplary life meant to serve the ambitions of its author. Several aspects of Washington's command of style and form—his skillful use of metaphor and symbol, his exquisitely masked ironies, the art of his artlessness—have been addressed by critics such as William L. Andrews, Houston A. Baker, Jr., and James M. Cox. In these years, he was given an honorary degree by Harvard University, was invited to dine with President Theodore Roosevelt, was widely consulted on policy questions by white political and business leaders, effectively manipulated the black and white press, and controlled public and private patronage as it concerned African Americans. He was, in short, a major power broker of his time, and the debate over his life and the book that reveals so much of it (while masking perhaps even more of it) is likely to continue.

From Chapter

XIV.

U p from Slavery 1 The Atlanta

Exposition

Address

T h e Atlanta E x p o s i t i o n , at which I h a d b e e n a s k e d to m a k e a n a d d r e s s a s a representative of the N e g r o r a c e , a s stated in the last c h a p t e r , w a s o p e n e d with a short a d d r e s s from G o v e r n o r Bullock. After other interesting exercises, including an invocation from B i s h o p N e l s o n , of G e o r g i a , a dedicatory o d e by Albert Howell, Jr., a n d a d d r e s s e s by the P r e s i d e n t of the Exposition a n d M r s . J o s e p h T h o m p s o n , the P r e s i d e n t of the W o m a n ' s B o a r d , G o v e r n o r Bullock i n t r o d u c e d m e with the w o r d s , " W e have with u s to-day a representative of N e g r o e n t e r p r i s e a n d N e g r o civilization." W h e n I a r o s e to s p e a k , there w a s c o n s i d e r a b l e c h e e r i n g , especially from the c o l o u r e d p e o p l e . As I r e m e m b e r it now, the thing that w a s u p p e r m o s t in my mind w a s the desire to say s o m e t h i n g that would c e m e n t the friendship of the r a c e s a n d bring a b o u t hearty c o o p e r a t i o n b e t w e e n t h e m . S o far a s my outward s u r r o u n d i n g s were c o n c e r n e d , the only thing that I recall distinctly now is that w h e n I got u p , I s a w t h o u s a n d s of eyes looking intently into my f a c e . T h e following is the a d d r e s s which I d e l i v e r e d : — M r . P r e s i d e n t a n d G e n t l e m e n of the B o a r d of D i r e c t o r s a n d C i t i z e n s : One-third of the p o p u l a t i o n of the S o u t h is of the N e g r o r a c e . N o I. Originally published serially in Outlook from November 3, 1900. to February 2 3 . 1 9 0 1 . Up from Slavery1 was first published in book form by Dou-

bleday, Page and C o m p a n y ( 1 9 0 1 ) , the source of the text printed here.

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enterprise s e e k i n g the material, civil, or moral welfare of this section c a n disregard this e l e m e n t of our p o p u l a t i o n a n d r e a c h the highest s u c c e s s . I but convey to you, Mr. President a n d D i r e c t o r s , the s e n t i m e n t of the m a s s e s of my r a c e w h e n I say that in n o way have the value a n d m a n h o o d of the A m e r i c a n N e g r o b e e n m o r e fittingly a n d g e n e r o u s l y recognized than by the m a n a g e r s of this magnificent Exposition at every s t a g e of its p r o g r e s s . It is a recognition that will do m o r e to c e m e n t the friendship of the two r a c e s than any o c c u r r e n c e s i n c e the d a w n of our freedom. N o t only this, but the opportunity here afforded will a w a k e n a m o n g u s a new era of industrial p r o g r e s s . Ignorant a n d i n e x p e r i e n c e d , it is not s t r a n g e that in the first years of our n e w life we b e g a n at the top instead of at the b o t t o m ; that a seat in C o n g r e s s or the state legislature w a s m o r e s o u g h t than real e s t a t e or industrial skill; that the political c o n vention or s t u m p s p e a k i n g had m o r e a t t r a c t i o n s than starting a dairy farm or truck g a r d e n . A ship lost at s e a for m a n y days s u d d e n l y sighted a friendly vessel. F r o m the m a s t of the u n f o r t u n a t e vessel w a s s e e n a signal, " W a t e r , water; we die of thirst!" T h e a n s w e r from the friendly vessel at o n c e c a m e back, " C a s t d o w n your b u c k e t w h e r e you a r e . " A s e c o n d time the signal, "Water, water; s e n d u s w a t e r ! " ran u p from the d i s t r e s s e d vessel, a n d w a s a n s w e r e d , " C a s t down your b u c k e t w h e r e you a r e . " A n d a third a n d fourth signal for water w a s a n s w e r e d , " C a s t d o w n your b u c k e t w h e r e you a r e . " T h e c a p t a i n of the d i s t r e s s e d vessel, at last h e e d i n g the i n j u n c tion, c a s t d o w n his b u c k e t , a n d it c a m e up full of fresh, sparkling water from the m o u t h of the A m a z o n River. T o t h o s e of my r a c e w h o d e p e n d on bettering their condition in a foreign land or who u n d e r e s t i m a t e the i m p o r t a n c e of cultivating friendly relations with the S o u t h e r n white m a n , w h o is their next-door n e i g h b o u r , I would say: " C a s t d o w n your b u c k e t w h e r e you a r e " — c a s t it down in m a k i n g friends in every manly way of the p e o p l e of all r a c e s by w h o m we are s u r r o u n d e d . C a s t it down in a g r i c u l t u r e , m e c h a n i c s , in c o m m e r c e , in d o m e s t i c service, a n d in the p r o f e s s i o n s . And in this c o n n e c t i o n it is well to b e a r in m i n d that whatever other sins the S o u t h may be called to bear, w h e n it c o m e s to b u s i n e s s , p u r e a n d s i m p l e , it is in the S o u t h that the N e g r o is given a m a n ' s c h a n c e in the c o m m e r c i a l world, a n d in nothing is this Exposition m o r e e l o q u e n t than in e m p h a s i z i n g this c h a n c e . O u r g r e a t e s t d a n g e r is that in the great leap from slavery to f r e e d o m we m a y overlook the fact that the m a s s e s of us a r e to live by the p r o d u c t i o n s of our h a n d s , a n d fail to keep in mind that we shall p r o s p e r in proportion a s we learn to dignify a n d glorify c o m m o n labour a n d put brains a n d skill into the c o m m o n o c c u p a t i o n s of life: shall p r o s p e r in proportion a s we learn to draw the line b e t w e e n the superficial a n d the s u b s t a n t i a l , the o r n a m e n tal g e w g a w s of life a n d the useful. N o r a c e c a n p r o s p e r till it learns that there is a s m u c h dignity in tilling a field a s in writing a p o e m . It is at the bottom of life we m u s t begin, a n d not at the top. N o r s h o u l d we permit our g r i e v a n c e s to o v e r s h a d o w our o p p o r t u n i t i e s . T o t h o s e of the white r a c e w h o look to the i n c o m i n g of t h o s e of foreign birth a n d s t r a n g e t o n g u e a n d habits for the prosperity of the S o u t h , were I p e r m i t t e d I would repeat what I say to my own r a c e ,

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" C a s t d o w n your b u c k e t w h e r e you a r e . " C a s t it d o w n a m o n g the eight millions of N e g r o e s w h o s e habits you know, w h o s e fidelity a n d love you have tested in days w h e n to have proved t r e a c h e r o u s m e a n t the ruin of your firesides. C a s t d o w n your b u c k e t a m o n g t h e s e p e o p l e w h o have, without strikes a n d l a b o u r w a r s , tilled your fields, c l e a r e d your f o r e s t s , builded your railroads a n d cities, a n d b r o u g h t forth t r e a s u r e s from the bowels of the e a r t h , a n d h e l p e d m a k e p o s s i b l e this magnificent repres e n t a t i o n of the p r o g r e s s of the S o u t h . C a s t i n g d o w n your b u c k e t a m o n g my p e o p l e , helping a n d e n c o u r a g i n g t h e m a s you are d o i n g on t h e s e g r o u n d s , a n d to e d u c a t i o n of h e a d , h a n d , a n d heart, a n d you will find that they will buy your s u r p l u s l a n d , m a k e b l o s s o m the w a s t e p l a c e s in your fields, a n d run your factories. W h i l e d o i n g this, you c a n b e s u r e in the future, a s in the p a s t , that you a n d your families will b e s u r r o u n d e d by the m o s t p a t i e n t , faithful, law-abiding, a n d unresentful p e o p l e that the world h a s s e e n . As we have proved o u r loyalty to you in the p a s t , in n u r s i n g your children, w a t c h i n g by the sick-bed of your m o t h e r s a n d f a t h e r s , a n d often following t h e m with t e a r - d i m m e d eyes to their graves, so in the future, in our h u m b l e way, we shall s t a n d by you with a devotion that no foreigner c a n a p p r o a c h , ready to lay d o w n our lives, if n e e d b e , in d e f e n c e of y o u r s , interlacing o u r industrial, c o m m e r c i a l , civil, a n d religious life with yours in a way that shall m a k e the interests of b o t h r a c e s o n e . In all things that are purely social we c a n b e a s s e p a r a t e a s the fingers, yet o n e a s the h a n d in all things e s s e n tial to m u t u a l p r o g r e s s . T h e r e is no d e f e n c e or security for any of u s except in the h i g h e s t intelligence a n d d e v e l o p m e n t of all. If a n y w h e r e there a r e efforts tending to curtail the fullest growth of the N e g r o , let t h e s e efforts b e t u r n e d into s t i m u l a t i n g , e n c o u r a g i n g , a n d m a k i n g him the m o s t u s e f u l a n d intelligent citizen. Effort or m e a n s s o invested will pay a t h o u s a n d per c e n t interest. T h e s e efforts will be twice b l e s s e d — " b l e s s i n g him that gives a n d him that t a k e s . " 7 T h e r e is n o e s c a p e t h r o u g h law of m a n or G o d from the i n e v i t a b l e : — " T h e laws of c h a n g e l e s s j u s t i c e bind O p p r e s s o r with o p p r e s s e d ; A n d c l o s e a s sin a n d s u f f e r i n g j o i n e d W e m a r c h to fate a b r e a s t . " 8 N e a r l y sixteen millions of h a n d s will aid you in p u l l i n g the load u p w a r d , or they will pull a g a i n s t you the l o a d d o w n w a r d . W e shall constitute one-third a n d m o r e of the i g n o r a n c e a n d c r i m e of the S o u t h , or one-third its intelligence a n d p r o g r e s s ; w e shall c o n t r i b u t e one-third to the b u s i n e s s a n d industrial prosperity of the S o u t h , or we shall prove a veritable body of d e a t h , s t a g n a t i n g , d e p r e s s i n g , retarding every effort to a d v a n c e the body politic. G e n t l e m e n of the E x p o s i t i o n , a s w e p r e s e n t to you our h u m b l e effort at a n exhibition of o u r p r o g r e s s , you m u s t not expect o v e r m u c h . S t a r t i n g thirty years a g o with o w n e r s h i p here a n d t h e r e in a few quilts a n d p u m p kins a n d c h i c k e n s (gathered from m i s c e l l a n e o u s s o u r c e s ) , r e m e m b e r the 7. "It blesseth him that gives and him that takes" (Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice 3 . 1 . 1 6 7 ) .

8. J o h n Greenleaf Whittier ( 1 8 0 7 - 1 8 9 2 ) , " S o n g of Negro B o a t m e n . "

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p a t h that h a s led from these to the inventions a n d p r o d u c t i o n of agricultural i m p l e m e n t s , b u g g i e s , s t e a m - e n g i n e s , n e w s p a p e r s , b o o k s , statuary, carving, p a i n t i n g s , the m a n a g e m e n t of drug-stores a n d b a n k s , h a s not b e e n trodden without c o n t a c t with thorns a n d thistles. W h i l e we take pride in w h a t we exhibit a s a result of our i n d e p e n d e n t efforts, we do not for a m o m e n t forget that our part in this exhibition would fall far short of your e x p e c t a t i o n s but for the c o n s t a n t help that has c o m e to our e d u c a t i o n a l life, not only from the S o u t h e r n s t a t e s , b u t especially from N o r t h e r n p h i l a n t h r o p i s t s , w h o have m a d e their gifts a c o n s t a n t s t r e a m of b l e s s i n g a n d e n c o u r a g e m e n t . T h e wisest a m o n g my r a c e u n d e r s t a n d that the agitation of q u e s t i o n s of social equality is the extremest folly, a n d that p r o g r e s s in the enjoym e n t of all the privileges that will c o m e to u s m u s t b e the result of severe a n d c o n s t a n t struggle rather than of artificial forcing. N o r a c e that h a s anything to c o n t r i b u t e to the m a r k e t s of the world is long in any d e g r e e ostracized. It is i m p o r t a n t a n d right that all privileges of the law b e o u r s , but it is vastly m o r e i m p o r t a n t that we be p r e p a r e d for the e x e r c i s e s of t h e s e privileges. T h e opportunity to earn a dollar in a factory j u s t now is worth infinitely m o r e t h a n the opportunity to s p e n d a dollar in a n opera-house. In c o n c l u s i o n , m a y I r e p e a t that n o t h i n g in thirty years h a s given u s m o r e h o p e a n d e n c o u r a g e m e n t , a n d d r a w n u s s o n e a r to you of the white r a c e , a s this opportunity offered by the E x p o s i t i o n ; a n d h e r e b e n d i n g , a s it w e r e , over the altar that r e p r e s e n t s the results of the s t r u g g l e s of your r a c e a n d m i n e , both starting practically e m p t y - h a n d e d three d e c a d e s a g o , I p l e d g e that in your effort to work out the great a n d intricate p r o b lem which G o d h a s laid at the doors of the S o u t h , you shall have at all t i m e s the patient, s y m p a t h e t i c help of my r a c e ; only let this b e c o n s t a n t l y in m i n d , that, while from r e p r e s e n t a t i o n s in t h e s e b u i l d i n g s of the produ c t of field, of forest, of m i n e , of factory, letters, a n d art, m u c h g o o d will c o m e , yet far a b o v e a n d beyond material benefits will b e that higher g o o d , that, let u s pray G o d , will c o m e , in a blotting out of s e c t i o n a l differences a n d racial a n i m o s i t i e s a n d s u s p i c i o n s , in a d e t e r m i n a t i o n to a d m i n i s t e r a b s o l u t e j u s t i c e , in a willing o b e d i e n c e a m o n g all c l a s s e s to the m a n d a t e s of law. T h i s , this, c o u p l e d with our material prosperity, will bring into our beloved S o u t h a new h e a v e n a n d a n e w e a r t h . T h e first thing that I r e m e m b e r , after I h a d finished s p e a k i n g , w a s that G o v e r n o r B u l l o c k r u s h e d a c r o s s the platform a n d took m e by the h a n d , a n d that others did the s a m e . I received so m a n y a n d s u c h hearty c o n g r a t u l a t i o n s that I f o u n d it difficult to get out of the building. I did not a p p r e c i a t e to any d e g r e e , however, the i m p r e s s i o n which my a d d r e s s s e e m e d to have m a d e , until the next m o r n i n g , w h e n I went into the b u s i n e s s part of the city. As s o o n a s I w a s r e c o g n i z e d , I w a s s u r p r i s e d to find myself p o i n t e d o u t a n d s u r r o u n d e d by a crowd of m e n w h o w i s h e d to s h a k e h a n d s with m e . T h i s w a s kept u p on every street o n to which I went, to a n extent w h i c h e m b a r r a s s e d m e so m u c h that I went b a c k to my b o a r d i n g - p l a c e . T h e next m o r n i n g I returned to T u s k e g e e . At the station in Atlanta, a n d at a l m o s t all of the stations at which the train s t o p p e d b e t w e e n the city a n d T u s k e g e e , I f o u n d a crowd of p e o p l e anxious to s h a k e h a n d s with m e . T h e p a p e r s in all the parts of the U n i t e d S t a t e s p u b l i s h e d the a d d r e s s in

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full, a n d for m o n t h s afterward there were c o m p l i m e n t a r y editorial r e f e r e n c e s to it. Mr. C l a r k Howell, the editor of the Atlanta Constitution, telegraphed to a N e w York p a p e r , a m o n g other w o r d s , the following, "I do not e x a g g e r a t e w h e n I say that P r o f e s s o r B o o k e r T . W a s h i n g t o n ' s a d d r e s s yesterday w a s o n e of the m o s t n o t a b l e s p e e c h e s , both a s to c h a r a c t e r a n d a s to the w a r m t h of its reception, ever delivered to a S o u t h e r n a u d i e n c e . T h e a d d r e s s w a s a revelation. T h e w h o l e s p e e c h is a platform u p o n which blacks a n d whites c a n s t a n d with full j u s t i c e to e a c h other." T h e B o s t o n Transcript said editorially: " T h e s p e e c h of B o o k e r T . W a s h ington at the Atlanta Exposition, this week, s e e m s to have dwarfed all the other p r o c e e d i n g s a n d the Exposition itself. T h e s e n s a t i o n that it h a s c a u s e d in the p r e s s has never b e e n e q u a l l e d . " I very s o o n b e g a n receiving all kinds of p r o p o s i t i o n s from lecture b u r e a u s , a n d editors of m a g a z i n e s a n d p a p e r s , to take the lecture p l a t f o r m , a n d to write articles. O n e lecture b u r e a u offered m e fifty t h o u s a n d dollars, or two h u n d r e d dollars a night a n d e x p e n s e s , if I would p l a c e my services at its d i s p o s a l for a given period. T o all t h e s e c o m m u n i c a t i o n s I replied that my life-work w a s at T u s k e g e e ; a n d that w h e n e v e r I s p o k e it m u s t b e in the interests of the T u s k e g e e s c h o o l a n d my r a c e , a n d that I w o u l d enter into no a r r a n g e m e n t s that s e e m e d to p l a c e a m e r e c o m m e r c i a l value u p o n my services. S o m e days after its delivery I sent a c o p y of my a d d r e s s to the P r e s i d e n t of the U n i t e d S t a t e s , the H o n . G r o v e r C l e v e l a n d . 4 I received from him the following a u t o g r a p h reply:— Gray Gables Buzzard's Bay, M a s s . , O c t o b e r 6, 1 8 9 5 Booker T. Washington, Esq.: M y D e a r Sir: I thank you for s e n d i n g m e a copy of your a d d r e s s delivered at the Atlanta Exposition. I thank you with m u c h e n t h u s i a s m for m a k i n g the a d d r e s s . I have read it with intense interest, a n d I think the Exposition would b e fully justified if it did not do m o r e than furnish the opportunity for its delivery. Your w o r d s c a n n o t fail to delight a n d e n c o u r a g e all w h o wish well for your r a c e ; a n d if our c o l o u r e d fellow-citizens d o not from your u t t e r a n c e s father n e w h o p e a n d form new d e t e r m i n a t i o n s to gain every v a l u a b l e a d v a n t a g e offered t h e m by their citizenship, it will be s t r a n g e i n d e e d . Yours very truly, Grover Cleveland L a t e r I m e t Mr. C l e v e l a n d , for the first t i m e , w h e n , a s P r e s i d e n t , h e visited the Atlanta E x p o s i t i o n . At the r e q u e s t of myself a n d others h e c o n s e n t e d to s p e n d an h o u r in the N e g r o B u i l d i n g , for the p u r p o s e of i n s p e c t i n g the N e g r o exhibit a n d of giving the c o l o u r e d p e o p l e in a t t e n d a n c e a n o p p o r t u n i t y to s h a k e h a n d s with h i m . As s o o n a s I m e t M r . C l e v e l a n d I b e c a m e i m p r e s s e d with his simplicity, g r e a t n e s s , a n d r u g g e d honesty. I have m e t him m a n y times s i n c e t h e n , both at public f u n c t i o n s a n d at his private r e s i d e n c e in P r i n c e t o n , a n d the m o r e I s e e of him the m o r e I a d m i r e h i m . W h e n h e visited 9. Cleveland ( 1 8 3 7 - 1 9 0 8 ) , twenty-second ( 1 8 8 5 - 8 9 ) and twenty-fourth ( 1 8 9 3 - 9 7 ) president of the United States.

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the N e g r o B u i l d i n g in Atlanta he s e e m e d to give h i m s e l f u p wholly, for that hour, to the c o l o u r e d p e o p l e . H e s e e m e d to be a s careful to s h a k e h a n d s with s o m e old c o l o u r e d " a u n t i e " clad partially in r a g s , a n d to take a s m u c h p l e a s u r e in d o i n g s o , a s if h e were g r e e t i n g s o m e millionaire. M a n y of the c o l o u r e d p e o p l e took a d v a n t a g e of the o c c a s i o n to get him to write his n a m e in a b o o k or on a slip of paper. H e w a s a s careful a n d patient in d o i n g this a s if he were p u t t i n g his s i g n a t u r e to s o m e great s t a t e d o c u m e n t . Mr. C l e v e l a n d has not only shown his friendship for m e in m a n y p e r s o n a l ways, but has always c o n s e n t e d to do anything I have a s k e d of him for our s c h o o l . T h i s he h a s d o n e , w h e t h e r it w a s to m a k e a p e r s o n a l d o n a t i o n or to u s e his influence in s e c u r i n g the d o n a t i o n s of others. J u d g i n g from my personal a c q u a i n t a n c e with M r . C l e v e l a n d , I d o not believe that he is c o n s c i o u s of p o s s e s s i n g any c o l o u r p r e j u d i c e . H e is too great for that. In my c o n t a c t with p e o p l e I find that, a s a rule, it is only the little, narrow p e o p l e w h o live for t h e m s e l v e s , who never read good b o o k s , w h o do not travel, w h o never o p e n up their s o u l s in a way to permit t h e m to c o m e into c o n t a c t with other s o u l s — w i t h the great o u t s i d e world. N o m a n w h o s e vision is b o u n d e d by c o l o u r can c o m e into c o n t a c t with what is highest a n d b e s t in the world. In m e e t i n g m e n , in m a n y p l a c e s , I have f o u n d that the h a p p i e s t p e o p l e are t h o s e who d o the m o s t for o t h e r s ; the m o s t m i s e r a b l e are t h o s e w h o do the least. I have a l s o f o u n d that few things, if any, are c a p a b l e of m a k i n g o n e s o blind a n d narrow as r a c e p r e j u d i c e . I often say to our s t u d e n t s , in the c o u r s e of my talks to t h e m o n S u n d a y evenings in the c h a p e l , that the longer I live a n d the m o r e e x p e r i e n c e I have of the world, the m o r e I a m c o n v i n c e d that, after all, the o n e thing that is m o s t worth living f o r — a n d dying for, if n e e d b e — i s the opportunity of m a k i n g s o m e o n e e l s e m o r e happy a n d m o r e useful. T h e c o l o u r e d p e o p l e a n d the c o l o u r e d n e w s p a p e r s at first s e e m e d to be greatly p l e a s e d with the c h a r a c t e r of my Atlanta a d d r e s s , as well a s with its r e c e p t i o n . B u t after the first burst of e n t h u s i a s m b e g a n to die away, a n d the c o l o u r e d p e o p l e b e g a n r e a d i n g the s p e e c h in cold type, s o m e of t h e m s e e m e d to feel that they h a d b e e n hypnotized. T h e y s e e m e d to feel that I h a d b e e n too liberal in my r e m a r k s toward the S o u t h e r n whites, a n d that I h a d not s p o k e n out strongly e n o u g h for what they t e r m e d the " r i g h t s " of the r a c e . F o r a while there w a s a r e a c t i o n , so far as a certain e l e m e n t of my own r a c e w a s c o n c e r n e d , but later t h e s e reactionary o n e s s e e m e d to have b e e n won over to my way of believing a n d a c t i n g . While s p e a k i n g of c h a n g e s in public s e n t i m e n t , I recall that a b o u t ten years after the school at T u s k e g e e w a s e s t a b l i s h e d , I h a d a n e x p e r i e n c e that I shall never forget. Dr. L y m a n Abbott, then the p a s t o r of P l y m o u t h C h u r c h , a n d a l s o editor of the Outlook (then the Christian Union), a s k e d m e to write a letter for his p a p e r giving my opinion of the exact c o n d i t i o n , m e n t a l a n d moral of the c o l o u r e d ministers in the S o u t h , a s b a s e d u p o n my o b s e r v a t i o n s . I wrote the letter, giving the exact facts a s I c o n c e i v e d t h e m to b e . T h e p i c t u r e painted was a rather black o n e — o r , s i n c e I a m black, shall I say " w h i t e " ? It could not be otherwise with a r a c e b u t a few years out of slavery, a r a c e which h a d not h a d time or opportunity to p r o d u c e a c o m p e t e n t ministry. W h a t I said s o o n r e a c h e d every N e g r o minister in the country, I think, a n d the letters of c o n d e m n a t i o n which I received from t h e m were not few. I think that for a year after the publication of this article every a s s o c i a t i o n a n d every c o n f e r e n c e or religious body of any kind, of my r a c e , that m e t , did

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not fail before a d j o u r n i n g to p a s s a resolution c o n d e m n i n g m e , or calling u p o n m e to retract or modify what I h a d s a i d . M a n y of t h e s e o r g a n i z a t i o n s went s o far in their resolutions a s to advise p a r e n t s to c e a s e s e n d i n g their children to T u s k e g e e . O n e a s s o c i a t i o n even a p p o i n t e d a " m i s s i o n a r y " w h o s e duty it w a s to w a r n the p e o p l e a g a i n s t s e n d i n g their children to T u s k e g e e . T h i s missionary h a d a son in the s c h o o l , a n d I noticed that, w h a t e v e r the " m i s s i o n a r y " might have said or d o n e with regard to o t h e r s , he w a s careful not to take his s o n away from the institution. M a n y of the c o l o u r e d p a p e r s , especially t h o s e that were the o r g a n s of religious b o d i e s , j o i n e d in the general c h o r u s of c o n d e m n a t i o n or d e m a n d s for retraction. D u r i n g the w h o l e time of the e x c i t e m e n t , a n d t h r o u g h all the criticism, I did not utter a word of e x p l a n a t i o n or retraction. I knew that I w a s right, a n d that time a n d the s o b e r s e c o n d t h o u g h t of the p e o p l e would vindicate m e . It w a s not long b e f o r e the b i s h o p s a n d other c h u r c h l e a d e r s b e g a n to m a k e a careful investigation of the c o n d i t i o n s of the ministry, a n d they f o u n d out that I w a s right. In fact, the oldest a n d m o s t influential b i s h o p in o n e b r a n c h of the M e t h o d i s t C h u r c h said that my w o r d s were far too mild. Very s o o n public s e n t i m e n t b e g a n m a k i n g itself felt, in d e m a n d i n g a purifying of the ministry. W h i l e this is not yet c o m p l e t e by any m e a n s , I think I m a y say, without e g o t i s m , a n d I have b e e n told by m a n y of our m o s t influential ministers, that my w o r d s h a d m u c h to do with starting a d e m a n d for the p l a c i n g of a higher type of m e n in the pulpit. I have h a d the satisfaction of having m a n y who o n c e c o n d e m n e d m e t h a n k m e heartily for my frank w o r d s . T h e c h a n g e of the a t t i t u d e of the N e g r o ministry, s o far a s r e g a r d s myself, is s o c o m p l e t e that at the p r e s e n t time I have n o w a r m e r friends a m o n g any c l a s s than I have a m o n g the c l e r g y m e n . T h e i m p r o v e m e n t in the c h a r a c t e r a n d life of the N e g r o m i n i s t e r s is o n e of the m o s t gratifying e v i d e n c e s of the p r o g r e s s of the r a c e . M y e x p e r i e n c e with t h e m , a s well a s other events in my life, c o n v i n c e m e that the thing to d o , w h e n o n e feels s u r e that h e h a s said or d o n e the right thing, a n d is c o n d e m n e d , is to s t a n d still a n d keep quiet. If he is right, time will s h o w it. In the midst of the d i s c u s s i o n which w a s g o i n g on c o n c e r n i n g my A t l a n t a s p e e c h , I received a letter which I give below, from Dr. G i l m a n , the P r e s i d e n t of J o h n s H o p k i n s University, w h o h a d b e e n m a d e c h a i r m a n of the j u d g e s of a w a r d in c o n n e c t i o n with the Atlanta E x p o s i t i o n : — J o h n s H o p k i n s University, B a l t i m o r e President's Office, S e p t e m b e r 3 0 , 1 8 9 5 D e a r M r . W a s h i n g t o n : W o u l d it b e a g r e e a b l e to you to b e o n e of the J u d g e s of A w a r d in the D e p a r t m e n t of E d u c a t i o n at Atlanta? If s o , I shall b e glad to p l a c e your n a m e u p o n the list. A line by telegraph will b e w e l c o m e d . Y o u r s very truly, D. C . Gilman I think I w a s even m o r e s u r p r i s e d to receive this invitation t h a n I h a d b e e n to receive the invitation to s p e a k at the o p e n i n g of the E x p o s i t i o n . It w a s to b e a part of my duty, a s o n e of the j u r o r s , to p a s s not only u p o n the exhibits of the c o l o u r e d s c h o o l s , but a l s o u p o n t h o s e of the white s c h o o l s . I a c c e p t e d the position, a n d s p e n t a m o n t h in Atlanta in p e r f o r m a n c e of the d u t i e s which it entailed. T h e b o a r d of j u r o r s w a s a large o n e , c o n s i s t i n g in

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all of sixty m e m b e r s . It w a s a b o u t equally divided b e t w e e n S o u t h e r n white people a n d N o r t h e r n white p e o p l e . A m o n g them were c o l l e g e p r e s i d e n t s , leading scientists a n d m e n of letters, a n d s p e c i a l i s t s in m a n y s u b j e c t s . W h e n the g r o u p of j u r o r s to which I w a s a s s i g n e d m e t for organization, M r . T h o m a s N e l s o n P a g e , 1 who w a s o n e of the n u m b e r , m o v e d that I be m a d e secretary of that division, a n d the motion w a s u n a n i m o u s l y a d o p t e d . Nearly half of our division were S o u t h e r n p e o p l e . In p e r f o r m i n g my d u t i e s in the inspection of the exhibits of white s c h o o l s I w a s in every c a s e treated with respect, a n d at the c l o s e of our labours I p a r t e d from my a s s o c i a t e s with regret. I a m often a s k e d to express myself m o r e freely than I do u p o n the political condition a n d the political future of my r a c e . T h e s e r e c o l l e c t i o n s of my experience in Atlanta give m e the opportunity to do so briefly. M y own belief is, a l t h o u g h I have never before said so in s o m a n y w o r d s , that the time will c o m e w h e n the N e g r o in the S o u t h will be a c c o r d e d all the political rights which his ability, c h a r a c t e r , a n d material p o s s e s s i o n s entitle him to. I think, t h o u g h , that the opportunity to freely exercise s u c h political rights will not c o m e in any large d e g r e e t h r o u g h o u t s i d e or artificial forcing, b u t will b e a c c o r d e d to the N e g r o by the S o u t h e r n white p e o p l e t h e m s e l v e s , a n d that they will protect him in the exercise of t h o s e rights. J u s t a s s o o n a s the S o u t h gets over the old feeling that it is b e i n g forced by " f o r e i g n e r s , " or " a l i e n s , " to do s o m e t h i n g which it d o e s not want to d o , I believe that the c h a n g e in the direction that I have i n d i c a t e d is going to b e g i n . In fact, there are i n d i c a t i o n s that it is already b e g i n n i n g in a slight d e g r e e . L e t m e illustrate my m e a n i n g . S u p p o s e that s o m e m o n t h s before the o p e n ing of the Atlanta E x p o s i t i o n there h a d b e e n a general d e m a n d from the p r e s s a n d public platform o u t s i d e the S o u t h that a N e g r o b e given a p l a c e on the o p e n i n g p r o g r a m m e , a n d that a N e g r o b e p l a c e d u p o n the b o a r d of j u r o r s of award. W o u l d any s u c h recognition of the r a c e have taken p l a c e ? I d o not think s o . T h e Atlanta officials went a s far a s they did b e c a u s e they felt it to b e a p l e a s u r e , a s well a s a duty, to reward what they c o n s i d e r e d merit in the N e g r o r a c e . S a y what we will, there is s o m e t h i n g in h u m a n n a t u r e which we c a n n o t blot out, which m a k e s o n e m a n , in the e n d , recognize a n d reward merit in a n o t h e r , r e g a r d l e s s of c o l o u r or r a c e . I believe it is the duty of the N e g r o — a s the greater part of the r a c e is already d o i n g — t o deport himself m o d e s t l y in regard to political c l a i m s , d e p e n d i n g u p o n the slow but s u r e influences that p r o c e e d from the p o s s e s sion of property, intelligence, a n d high c h a r a c t e r for the full recognition of his political rights. I think that the a c c o r d i n g of the full exercise of political rights is going to be a m a t t e r of natural, slow growth, not a n over-night, gourd-vine affair. I do not believe that the N e g r o s h o u l d c e a s e voting, for a m a n c a n n o t learn the exercise of self-government by c e a s i n g to vote, any m o r e than a boy c a n learn to swim by k e e p i n g out of the water, but I do believe that in his voting h e s h o u l d m o r e a n d m o r e b e i n f l u e n c e d by t h o s e of intelligence a n d c h a r a c t e r w h o are his next-door n e i g h b o u r s . I know c o l o u r e d m e n who, through the e n c o u r a g e m e n t , help, a n d advice of S o u t h e r n white p e o p l e , have a c c u m u l a t e d t h o u s a n d s of dollars' worth of property, but w h o , at the s a m e t i m e , would never think of g o i n g to t h o s e I. American author and diplomat ( 1 8 5 3 - 1 9 2 2 ) .

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s a m e p e r s o n s for advice c o n c e r n i n g the c a s t i n g of their ballots. T h i s , it s e e m s to m e , is u n w i s e a n d u n r e a s o n a b l e , a n d s h o u l d c e a s e . In saying this I d o not m e a n that the N e g r o s h o u l d truckle, or not vote from principle, for the instant he c e a s e s to vote from principle h e l o s e s the c o n f i d e n c e a n d r e s p e c t of the S o u t h e r n white m a n even. I do not believe that any state s h o u l d m a k e a law that p e r m i t s an ignorant a n d poverty-stricken white m a n to vote, a n d prevents a b l a c k m a n in the s a m e condition from voting. S u c h a law is not only u n j u s t , b u t it will r e a c t , a s all u n j u s t laws d o , in t i m e ; for the effect of s u c h a law is to e n c o u r a g e the N e g r o to s e c u r e e d u c a t i o n a n d property, a n d at the s a m e time it e n c o u r a g e s the white m a n to remain in i g n o r a n c e a n d poverty. I believe that in t i m e , through the o p e r a t i o n of intelligence a n d friendly r a c e relations, all c h e a t i n g at the ballot-box in the S o u t h will c e a s e . It will b e c o m e a p p a r e n t that the white m a n w h o begins by c h e a t i n g a N e g r o out of his ballot s o o n l e a r n s to c h e a t a white m a n out of his, a n d that the m a n w h o d o e s this e n d s his c a r e e r of d i s h o n e s t y by the theft of property or by s o m e e q u a l l y s e r i o u s c r i m e . In my o p i n i o n , the time will c o m e w h e n the S o u t h will e n c o u r a g e all of its citizens to vote. It will s e e that it pays better, from every s t a n d p o i n t , to have healthy, vigorous life than to have that political s t a g n a t i o n w h i c h always results when one-half of the p o p u l a t i o n h a s no s h a r e a n d no interest in the Government. As a rule, I believe in universal, free s u f f r a g e , b u t I believe that in the S o u t h we a r e c o n f r o n t e d with p e c u l i a r c o n d i t i o n s that justify the p r o t e c t i o n of the ballot in m a n y of the s t a t e s , for a while at least, either by a n e d u c a tional test, a property test, or by both c o m b i n e d ; but whatever tests a r e required, they s h o u l d b e m a d e to apply with e q u a l a n d exact j u s t i c e to both races. 1901

CHARLES

W.

CHESNUTT

1858-1932 Charles Waddell Chesnutt was born on June 20, 1858, in Cleveland, Ohio. His parents were born free blacks from North Carolina; his father served in the Union Army and after the Civil War moved his family back to Fayetteville, North Carolina. Chesnutt went to a school established by the Freedman's Bureau during Reconstruction and eventually became a teacher, school principal, newspaper reporter, accountant, court stenographer, and lawyer before he first achieved fame as a writer in 1887. In that year the Atlantic Monthly published "The Goophered Grapevine." This was the first of what was to be a group of stories in the regional-dialect folktale tradition earlier brought to national popularity by Joel Chandler Harris. Most readers of the story would have supposed that, like Harris, Chesnutt was white because the stories are framed in the language of an ostensibly superior and bemused white narrator. Chesnutt's Uncle Julius, though superficially like Harris's Uncle Remus, is in reality a wise old slave who has learned not only to survive but to use and defeat his supposed superiors through a mocking mask of ignorance. Most of Chesnutt's contemporaries saw the picturesque stereotype of the old slave as an easygoing, shuffling retainer and

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took pleasure in the authenticity of the language, customs, and settings in these stories; only in recent years, however, have readers had the added satisfaction of perceiving the ironic drama played out between "master" and "slave." With age and fame Chesnutt became more militant. Chesnutt was himself very light-skinned but had never tried to hide his racial identity; it was not until 1899, however, the year he began to write full time, that he revealed himself to his readers as a black man. In that year the dialect stories set in rural North Carolina were gathered and published as The Conjure Woman. Conjure (or hoodoo) is the name given to a set of folk beliefs combining elements of Caribbean and West African healing and spiritual practices with elements of Christian belief. More specifically, as these stories variously demonstrate, any practitioner of conjure was thought to know how to get in touch with and direct the powers of nature to make something happen—or to keep something from happening. In addition, two other books appeared: a collection of mostly nondialect, largely urban stories titled "The Wife of His Youth" and

Other

Stories

of the Color

Line

and a biography, the Life of

Freder-

ick Douglass. A number of his stories written in the 1890s dealt with the usually disastrous consequences of light-skinned blacks attempting to pass as whites. "The Wife of His Youth," printed here, is, of course, an exception, telling, as it does, of the obligation of upwardly mobile blacks to remember and honor their collective past. Chesnutt's first novel, The House behind the Cedars (1900), explores the theme of mixed-blood marriages and the troubled psychology of people of mixed blood who live in the South. His first important essay, "What Is a White Man?" (1889), points out the practical futility and moral unfairness of laws against interracial marriages. The Marrow of Tradition (1901), his most successful novel, exposes the social tensions created in a (slowly) changing small town in the South by the entrenched traditions of white supremacy and black servitude. Chesnutt's third attempt to write a popular novel on the theme of race problems in the post—Civil War South, The Colonel's Dream (1905), reveals his increasing pessimism over finding a solution to the pervasive racism of the South. By then, post-Reconstruction Jim Crow practices, the disenfranchisement of black voters, and the widespread use of violence and intimidation against African Americans left scant hope for an early mitigation of racist attitudes in the South. In 1880, Chesnutt recorded in his journal his youthful ambitions as a writer: The object of my writings would be not so much the elevation of the colored people as the elevation of the whites—for I consider the unjust spirit of caste which is so insidious as to pervade a whole nation, and so powerful as to subject a whole race and all connected with it to scorn and social ostracism—I consider this a barrier to the moral progress of the American people; and I would be one of the first to head a determined, organized crusade against it. As the critic William L. Andrews has shown, Chesnutt became a skillful, original, realistic regionalist who depicted both average southern blacks and those of mixed blood who lived on the color line. He was also the first African American imaginative writer to be taken seriously by the white press even when he did not write "dialect stories"; finally, as a harbinger of the literature of the "New South," Chesnutt did in fact lead a crusade against racism of the kind he imagined as a young man. His many essays also contributed to his crusade against the stupidity and injustice of racism wherever it was practiced. Although he continued to write sporadically after 1905, Chesnutt never again commanded much of an audience, and by the 1920s he had lost touch both with his white readership and with the dramatic changes being wrought in African American culture by the Harlem Renaissance. Nonetheless, among black writers and intellectuals—and black readers more generally—he was still esteemed as the pioneering writer of fiction that addressed racial issues seriously and sensitively, and in 1928, he

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received the Spingarn Medal for his groundbreaking contribution to the literary depiction of the "life and struggle of Americans of Negro descent." The ways in which this award was well deserved are only now beginning to be fully understood.

The Goophered Grapevine 1 A b o u t ten years a g o my wife w a s in p o o r h e a l t h , a n d our family d o c t o r , in w h o s e skill a n d h o n e s t y I h a d implicit c o n f i d e n c e , advised a c h a n g e of clim a t e . I w a s e n g a g e d in g r a p e - c u l t u r e in northern O h i o , a n d d e c i d e d to look for a location s u i t a b l e for carrying on the s a m e b u s i n e s s in s o m e S o u t h e r n S t a t e . I wrote to a c o u s i n who h a d g o n e into the t u r p e n t i n e b u s i n e s s in central N o r t h C a r o l i n a , a n d h e a s s u r e d m e that n o better p l a c e c o u l d be f o u n d in the S o u t h than the S t a t e a n d n e i g h b o r h o o d in which h e lived: c l i m a t e a n d soil were all that c o u l d b e a s k e d for, a n d land c o u l d b e b o u g h t for a m e r e s o n g . A cordial invitation to visit him while I looked into the m a t t e r w a s a c c e p t e d . W e f o u n d the w e a t h e r delightful at that s e a s o n , the e n d of the s u m m e r , a n d were m o s t hospitably e n t e r t a i n e d . O u r host p l a c e d a h o r s e a n d buggy at our d i s p o s a l , a n d h i m s e l f a c t e d a s g u i d e until I got s o m e w h a t familiar with the country. I went several times to look at a p l a c e which I t h o u g h t might suit m e . It h a d b e e n at o n e time a thriving p l a n t a t i o n , b u t shiftless cultivation h a d wellnigh e x h a u s t e d the soil. T h e r e h a d b e e n a vineyard of s o m e extent on the p l a c e , but it h a d not b e e n a t t e n d e d to s i n c e the war, a n d h a d fallen into utter neglect. T h e v i n e s — h e r e partly s u p p o r t e d by d e c a y e d a n d b r o k e n - d o w n a r b o r s , there twining t h e m s e l v e s a m o n g the b r a n c h e s of the s l e n d e r s a p l i n g s which h a d s p r u n g u p a m o n g t h e m — g r e w in wild a n d u n p r u n e d l u x u r i a n c e , a n d the few s c a n t y g r a p e s which they b o r e were the u n d i s p u t e d prey of the first c o m e r . T h e site w a s a d m i r a b l y a d a p t e d to grape-raising; the soil, with a little attention, c o u l d not have b e e n better; a n d with the native g r a p e , the l u s c i o u s s c u p p e r n o n g , mainly to rely u p o n , I felt s u r e that I c o u l d i n t r o d u c e a n d cultivate s u c c e s s f u l l y a n u m b e r of other varieties. O n e day I went over with my wife, to s h o w her the p l a c e . W e drove b e t w e e n the d e c a y e d g a t e - p o s t s — t h e g a t e itself h a d long s i n c e d i s a p p e a r e d — a n d up the straight, sandy lane to the o p e n s p a c e w h e r e a d w e l l i n g - h o u s e h a d o n c e s t o o d . B u t the h o u s e h a d fallen a victim to the f o r t u n e s of war, a n d n o t h i n g r e m a i n e d of it except the brick pillars u p o n w h i c h the sills h a d r e s t e d . W e alighted, a n d walked a b o u t the p l a c e for a while; b u t o n Annie's c o m p l a i n i n g of w e a r i n e s s I led the way b a c k to the yard, w h e r e a p i n e log, lying u n d e r a s p r e a d i n g e l m , f o r m e d a s h a d y t h o u g h s o m e w h a t hard s e a t . O n e e n d of the log w a s already o c c u p i e d by a venerable-looking c o l o r e d m a n . H e held o n his k n e e s a hat full of g r a p e s , over w h i c h he w a s s m a c k i n g his lips with great g u s t o , a n d a pile of g r a p e - s k i n s n e a r him i n d i c a t e d that the p e r f o r m a n c e w a s no new thing. H e respectfully rose a s we a p p r o a c h e d , a n d w a s m o v i n g away, w h e n I b e g g e d him to k e e p his s e a t . " D o n ' t let u s d i s t u r b y o u , " I s a i d . " T h e r e ' s plenty of r o o m for u s all." H e r e s u m e d his seat with s o m e w h a t of e m b a r r a s s m e n t . 1. First published in the Atlantic Monthly (August 1 8 8 7 ) — t h e source for the text printed here—this story was next published in book form in the collection The Conjure Woman ( 1 8 9 9 ) .

THE

GOOPHERED

GRAPEVINE

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1633

" D o you live a r o u n d h e r e ? " I a s k e d , anxious to put him at his e a s e . "Yas, s u h . I lives d e s o b e r y a n d e r , b e h i n e de nex' san'-hill, o n d e L u m b e r t o n plank-road." " D o you know anything a b o u t the time w h e n this vineyard w a s c u l t i v a t e d ? " " L a w d bless yer, s u h , I knows all a b o u t it. Dey ain' na'er a m a n in dis s e t t l e m e n t w'at w o n ' tell yer ole J u l i u s M c A d o o 'uz b a w n a n ' r a i s e ' o n dis yer s a m e p l a n t a t i o n . Is you d e Norv'n g e m m a n w'at's gwine ter b u y de ole vimya'd?" "I a m looking at it," I replied; " b u t I don't know that I shall c a r e to buy u n l e s s I c a n be r e a s o n a b l y s u r e of m a k i n g s o m e t h i n g o u t of it." "Well, s u h , you is a stranger ter m e , en I is a s t r a n g e r ter you, en we is bofe s t r a n g e r s ter o n e a n u d d e r , but 'f I 'uz in yo' p l a c e , I w o u l d n ' buy dis vimya d. "Why not?" I asked. "Well, I d u n n e r whe'r you b'lieves in cunj'in er n o t , — s o m e er d e w'ite folks don't, er says dey d o n ' t , — b u t de truf er de m a t t e r is dat dis yer old vimya'd is g o o p h e r e d . " "Is w h a t ? " I a s k e d , not g r a s p i n g the m e a n i n g of this u n f a m i l i a r word. "Is g o o p h e r e d , c u n j u ' d , bewitch'." H e i m p a r t e d this information with s u c h s o l e m n e a r n e s t n e s s , a n d with s u c h a n air of confidential mystery, that I felt s o m e w h a t interested, while A n n i e was evidently m u c h i m p r e s s e d , a n d drew c l o s e r to m e . " H o w do you know it is b e w i t c h e d ? " I a s k e d . "I w o u l d n ' s p e c ' fer you ter b'lieve m e 'less you know all 'bout d e fac's. B u t ef you en y o u n g m i s s dere d o a n ' min' lis'n'in' ter a ole nigger run on a m i n u t e er two while you er restin', I kin 'splain to yer how it all h a p p e n ' . " W e a s s u r e d him that we would be glad to hear how it all h a p p e n e d , a n d he b e g a n to tell u s . At first the c u r r e n t of his m e m o r y — o r i m a g i n a t i o n — s e e m e d s o m e w h a t s l u g g i s h ; b u t a s his e m b a r r a s s m e n t w o r e off, his l a n g u a g e flowed m o r e freely, a n d the story a c q u i r e d p e r s p e c t i v e a n d c o h e r e n c e . As h e b e c a m e m o r e a n d m o r e a b s o r b e d in the narrative, his eyes a s s u m e d a d r e a m y expression, a n d he s e e m e d to lose sight of his a u d i t o r s , a n d to b e living over again in m o n o l o g u e his life on the old p l a n t a t i o n . " O l e M a r s D u g a l ' M c A d o o b o u g h t dis p l a c e long m a n y years b e f o ' d e w a h , en I ' m e m b e r well w'en h e sot o u t all dis yer part er de plantation in s c u p p e r n o n ' s . D e vimes growed m o n s t ' u s fas', en M a r s D u g a l ' m a d e a t h o u s a n ' gallon er s c u p p e r n o n ' wine eve'y year. " N o w , e f dey's an'thing a nigger l u b , nex' ter ' p o s s u m , en chick'n, en watermillyums, it's s c u p p e r n o n ' s . D e y ain' niffin dat kin s t a n ' u p side'n d e s c u p p e r n o n ' fer s w e e t n e s s ; s u g a r ain't a s u c k u m s t a n c e ter s c u p p e r n o n ' . W ' e n d e s e a s o n is nigh 'bout ober, en d e g r a p e s begin ter swivel u p d e s a little wid d e wrinkles er ole a g e , — w ' e n d e skin git s o f en b r o w n , — d e n de s c u p p e r n o n ' m a k e you s m a c k yo' lip en roll yo' eye e n w u s h fer m o ' ; s o I reckon it a i n ' very 'stonishin' dat niggers lub s c u p p e r n o n ' . " D e y wuz a sight er niggers in d e n a b e r h o o d er de vimya'd. D e r e w u z ole M a r s Henry Brayboy's niggers, en ole M a r s D u n k i n M c L e a n ' s n i g g e r s , e n M a r s D u g a l ' s own niggers; d e n dey w u z a s e t t l e m e n t er free niggers en p o ' b u c k r a h s 2 d o w n by d e W i m T t o n R o a d , en M a r s D u g a l ' h a d d e only vimya'd 2. Regionalism meaning "white men."

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CHESNUTT

in d e n a b e r h o o d . I reckon it ain' so m u c h so n o w a d a y s , but b e f o ' d e w a h , in slab'ry t i m e s , er nigger didn' m i n e goin' fi' er ten mile in a night, w'en dey wuz s u m p ' n g o o d ter eat at d e yuther e e n . " S o atter a w'ile M a r s D u g a l ' begin ter m i s s his s c u p p e r n o n ' s . C o ' s e h e ' c u s e ' de niggers er it, but dey all 'nied it ter d e las'. M a r s D u g a l ' sot s p r i n g g u n s en steel traps, en he en de o b e r s e a h sot up nights once't er twice't, tel o n e night M a r s D u g a l ' — h e 'uz a m o n s t ' u s keerless m a n — g o t his leg shot full er c o w - p e a s . B u t s o m e h o w er n u d d e r dey c o u l d n ' n e b b e r k e t c h n o n e er de niggers. I d u n n e r how it h a p p e n , b u t it h a p p e n d e s like I tell yer, en de g r a p e s kep' o n a-goin d e s de s a m e . " B u t b i m e b y ole M a r s D u g a l ' fix' u p a plan ter s t o p it. D e y 'uz a c u n j u h ' o o m a n livin' d o w n m o n g s ' de free niggers o n d e Wim'l'ton R o a d , en all d e darkies fum Rockfish ter B e a v e r C r i c k wuz feared uv her. S h e c o u l d w u k de m o s ' powerfulles' kind er g o o p h e r , — c o u l d m a k e p e o p l e h a b fits er r h e u m a t i z , er m a k e 'em d e s dwinel away en d i e ; en dey say s h e went o u t ridin' d e niggers at night, for s h e w u z a witch 'sides bein' a c u n j u h ' o o m a n . M a r s D u g a l ' hearn 'bout A u n ' Peggy's doin's, en b e g u n ter 'fleet whe'r er no h e c o u l d n ' git her ter he'p him keep de niggers off'n de g r a p e v i m e s . O n e day in de spring er de year, ole m i s s p a c k ' up a b a s k e t er chick'n en p o u n ' - c a k e , en a bottle er s c u p p e r n o n ' wine, en M a r s D u g a l ' tuk it in his buggy en driv ober ter A u n ' Peggy's c a b i n . H e tuk d e basket in, en h a d a long talk wid A u n ' Peggy. D e nex' day A u n ' Peggy c o m e up ter d e vimya'd. D e niggers s e e d her slippin' 'roun', en dey s o o n f o u n ' out what s h e 'uz d o i n ' d e r e . M a r s D u g a l ' h a d hi'ed her ter g o o p h e r de g r a p e v i m e s . S h e sa'ntered 'roun' m o n g s ' de v i m e s , en tuk a leaf fum dis o n e , en a grape-hull fum dat o n e , en a g r a p e - s e e d fum a n u d d e r o n e ; en den a little twig fum h e r e , en a little p i n c h er dirt f u m d e r e , — e n put it all in a big black bottle, wid a s n a k e ' s toof en a s p e c k l e ' hen's gall en s o m e ha'rs fum a black cat's tail, en den fill' d e bottle wid s c u p p e r n o n ' wine. W'en s h e got d e g o o p h e r all ready en fix', s h e tuk 'n went out in d e w o o d s en buried it u n d e r d e root uv a red o a k tree, en d e n c o m e b a c k en tole o n e er de niggers she d o n e g o o p h e r de g r a p e v i m e s , en a'er a nigger w'at eat d e m g r a p e s ud be s h o ter die inside'n twel' m o n t ' s . "Atter dat d e niggers let de s c u p p e r n o n s ' lone, en M a r s D u g a l ' didn' hab no 'casion ter fine no m o ' fault; en d e s e a s o n w u z m o s ' g o n e , w'en a s t r a n g e g e m m a n s t o p at de plantation o n e night ter s e e M a r s D u g a l ' on s o m e b u s i n e s s ; en his c o a c h m a n , s e e i n ' de s c u p p e r n o n ' s growin' s o nice en sweet, slip 'roun b e h i n e d e s m o k e - h o u s e , e n et all d e s c u p p e r n o n ' s h e c o u l d h o l e . N o b o d y didn' notice it at de t i m e , but dat night, on de way h o m e , d e g e m m a n ' s h o s s r u n n e d away en kill' de c o a c h m a n . W ' e n we h e a r n d e n o o s , A u n ' L u c y , d e cook, s h e u p 'n say s h e s e e d d e s t r a n g e nigger eat'n er d e s c u p p e r non's b e h i n d de s m o k e - h o u s e ; en den we k n o w e d d e g o o p h e r h a d b'en er wukkin. D e n o n e er d e nigger chilluns r u n n e d away f u m d e q u a r t e r s o n e day, en got in d e s c u p p e r n o n ' s , en died de nex' week. W'ite folks say h e die' er de fevuh, but d e niggers k n o w e d it w u z d e g o o p h e r . S o you k'n b e s h o d e darkies didn' h a b m u c h ter d o wid d e m s c u p p e r n o n ' v i m e s . "W'en d e s c u p p e r n o n ' s e a s o n 'uz ober fer dat year, M a r s D u g a l ' f o u n ' he h a d m a d e fifteen h u n d ' e d gallon er w i n e ; en o n e er de n i g g e r s h e a r n him laffin' wid de o b e r s e a h fit ter kill, en sayin' d e m fifteen h u n d ' e d gallon er wine wuz m o n s t ' u s g o o d intrus' on d e ten dollars h e laid o u t o n d e vimya'd. S o I 'low ez h e paid A u n ' Peggy ten dollars fer to g o o p h e r d e g r a p e v i m e s .

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" D e g o o p h e r didn' wuk no m o ' tel de nex' s u m m e r , w'en l o n g t o d s de middle er de s e a s o n o n e er d e fiel' han's died; en ez dat l e f M a r s D u g a l ' sho't er han's, h e went off ter town fer ter buy a n u d d e r . H e fotch d e n o o nigger h o m e wid 'im. H e wuz er ole nigger, er d e color er a gingy-cake, en ball ez a hoss-apple on de top er his h e a d . H e wuz a peart ole nigger, do', en c o u l d do a big day's wuk. " N o w it h a p p e n dat o n e er de niggers on d e nex' p l a n t a t i o n , o n e er ole M a r s Henry Brayboy's niggers, had r u n n e d away de day befo', en tuk ter de s w a m p , en ole M a r s D u g a l ' en s o m e er d e yuther n a b o r w'ite folks h a d g o n e out wid dere g u n s en dere d o g s fer ter he'p 'em hunt fer de nigger; en de han's on our own plantation wuz all so flusterated dat we fuhgot ter tell d e noo h a n ' 'bout de g o o p h e r on d e s c u p p e r n o n ' v i m e s . C o ' s e he smell de g r a p e s en s e e de v i m e s , an atter d a h k d e fus' thing he d o n e w u z ter slip off ter de g r a p e v i m e s 'dout sayin' nuffin ter nobody. Nex' m a w n i n ' he tole s o m e er de niggers 'bout de fine bait er s c u p p e r n o n ' he et d e night befo'. "W'en dey tole 'im 'bout de g o o p h e r on d e g r a p e v i m e s , he 'uz dat tarrified dat he turn p a l e , en look des like h e gwine ter die right in his tracks. D e o b e r s e a h c o m e up en axed w'at 'uz d e m a t t e r ; en w'en dey tol 'im H e n r y be'n eatin' er de s c u p p e r n o n ' s , en got de g o o p h e r o n 'im, he gin H e n r y a big drink er w'iskey, en 'low dat de nex' rainy day he take 'im ober ter A u n ' Peggy's, e n s e e ef s h e w o u l d n ' take de g o o p h e r o f f n him, seein' ez he didn't know nuffin erbout it tel he d o n e et de g r a p e s . " S h o nuff, it rain d e nex' day, en de o b e r s e a h went ober ter A u n ' Peggy's wid Henry. E n A u n ' Peggy say dat bein' ez Henry didn' know 'bout de g o o p h e r , en et d e g r a p e s in i g n ' a n c e er de q u i n s e c o n c e s , s h e reckon s h e m o u g h t be able fer ter take d e g o o p h e r off'n h i m . S o s h e fotch out er bottle wid s o m e c u n j u h m e d i c i n e in it, en po'd s o m e out in a go'd fer Henry ter drink. H e m a n a g e ter git it d o w n ; h e say it tas'e like whiskey wid s u m p ' n bitter in it. S h e 'lowed dat 'ud keep de g o o p h e r off'n him tel d e spring; but w'en de s a p begin ter rise in de g r a p e v i m e s he ha ter c o m e en s e e her agin, en s h e tell him w'at e's ter d o . " N e x ' spring, w'en d e s a p c o m m e n c e ' ter rise in de s c u p p e r n o n ' v i m e , Henry tuk a h a m o n e night. W h a r ' d he git d e h a m ? / d o a n know; dey wa'nt no h a m s on de plantation 'cep'n w'at 'uz in de s m o k e - h o u s e , b u t I never s e e Henry 'bout de s m o k e - h o u s e . B u t ez I wuz a-sayin', he tuk de h a m ober ter A u n ' Peggy's; en A u n ' Peggy tole 'im dat w'en M a r s D u g a l ' begin ter p r u m e de g r a p e v i m e s , he m u s ' g o en take 'n s c r a p e off d e s a p w h a r it ooze out'n de cut een's er de v i m e s , en 'n'int his ball h e a d wid it; en ef he do dat once't a year de g o o p h e r w o u l d n ' w u k agin im long ez h e d o n e it. E n bein ez he fotch her de h a m , she fix' it s o he kin eat all de s c u p p e r n o n ' he w a n t . " S o Henry 'n'int his h e a d wid de s a p out'n d e big g r a p e v i m e d e s ha'f way 'twix' de q u a r t e r s en d e big h o u s e , en de g o o p h e r n e b b e r w u k agin him dat s u m m e r . B u t de b e a t e n e s ' thing you eber s e e h a p p e n ter Henry. U p ter dat time he wuz ez ball ez a s w e e t e n ' 'tater, but d e s ez s o o n ez de y o u n g leaves b e g u n ter c o m e out on d e g r a p e v i m e s de ha'r b e g u n ter grow out on Henry's h e a d , en by de m i d d l e er de s u m m e r he h a d de b i g g e s ' h e a d er ha'r on de plantation. B e f o ' d a t , Henry h a d tol'able g o o d ha'r 'roun' d e a i d g e s , but s o o n ez de y o u n g g r a p e s b e g u n ter c o m e Henry's ha'r b e g u n ter quirl all up in little balls, des like dis yer reg'lar grapy ha'r, en by de time d e g r a p e s got ripe his h e a d look des like a b u n c h er g r a p e s . C o m b i n ' it didn' do no g o o d ; he

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w u k at it ha'f de night wid er J i m C r o w , ' e n think h e git it s t r a i g h t e n ' o u t , but in de m a w n i n ' d e g r a p e s 'ud be dere d e s de s a m e . S o h e gin it u p , en tried ter k e e p d e g r a p e s d o w n by havin' his ha'r c u t sho't. " B u t dat w a n t d e q u a r e s ' thing 'bout de g o o p h e r . W h e n H e n r y c o m e ter d e p l a n t a t i o n , h e w u z gittin' a little ole a n stiff in d e j'ints. B u t dat s u m m e r he got des ez spray en libely ez any y o u n g nigger on de p l a n t a t i o n ; f a c ' h e got so biggity dat M a r s J a c k s o n , d e o b e r s e a h , ha' ter th'eaten ter whip 'im, ef he didn' s t o p cuttin' u p his d i d o s en b e h a v e hisse'f. B u t d e m o s ' c u r ' o u s e s ' thing h a p p e n ' in de fall, w h e n de s a p begin ter g o d o w n in d e g r a p e v i m e s . F u s ' , w h e n d e g r a p e s 'uz g e t h e r e d , d e knots b e g u n ter straighten out'n Henry's h'ar; en w'en de leaves begin ter fall, Henry's ha'r begin ter d r a p o u t ; en w'en d e vimes 'uz b'ar, Henry's h e a d wuz baller'n it w u z in de spring, en he begin ter git ole en stiff in de j'ints ag'in, e n p a i d n o m o ' tention ter de gals dyoin' er de w h o l e winter. E n nex' s p r i n g , w'en h e rub d e s a p o n ag'in, he got y o u n g ag'in, en so soopl en libely dat n o n e er d e y o u n g niggers o n d e plantation c o u l d n ' j u m p , ner d a n c e , ner h o e ez m u c h cotton ez Henry. B u t in de fall er de year his g r a p e s b e g u n ter straighten o u t , e n his j'ints ter git stiff, en his ha'r d r a p off, en de r h e u m a t i z b e g i n ter wrastle wid 'im. " N o w , ef you'd a k n o w e d ole M a r s D u g a l ' M c A d o o , you'd a k n o w e d dat it h a ' ter b e a mighty rainy day w h e n he c o u l d n' fine s u m p ' n fer his niggers ter d o , en it h a ' ter b e a mightly little hole h e c o u l d n ' crawl t h o o , en ha' ter b e a m o n s t ' u s cloudy night w'en a dollar git by him in de d a h k n e s s ; e n w'en he s e e how H e n r y git y o u n g in de s p r i n g en ole in d e fall, h e 'lowered ter hisse'f ez how h e c o u l d m a k e m o ' m o n e y o u t e n Henry d a n by wukkin' him in de cotton fiel'. ' L o n g d e nex' spring, atter de s a p c o m m e n c e ' ter rise, en H e n r y 'n'int 'is h e a d e n c o m m e n c e fer ter git y o u n g en s o o p l , M a r s D u g a l ' up'n t u k H e n r y ter town, en sole 'im fer fifteen h u n d e r ' dollars. C o ' s e d e m a n w'at b o u g h t H e n r y d i d n ' know nuffin 'bout de g o o p h e r , en M a r s D u g a l ' d i d n ' s e e no 'casion fer ter tell 'im. L o n g to'ds de fall, w'en de s a p went d o w n , Henry begin ter git ole again s a m e ez yuzhal, en his n o o m a r s t e r begin ter git s k e e r e d les'n h e gwine ter lose his fifteen-hunder'-dollar nigger. H e sent fer a mighty fine doctor, but d e m e d ' c i n e didn' 'pear ter d o n o g o o d ; d e g o o p h e r h a d a g o o d holt. H e n r y tole d e d o c t o r 'bout d e g o o p h e r , b u t d e d o c t o r d e s laff at 'im. " O n e day in d e winter M a r s D u g a l ' went ter town, en w u z s a n t e r i n ' 'long de M a i n S t r e e t , w h e n w h o s h o u l d he m e e t but Henry's n o o m a r s t e r . D e y s a i d 'Hoddy,' en M a r s D u g a l ' ax 'im ter h a b a seegyar; e n atter dey run o n awhile 'about de c r a p s en de w e a t h e r , M a r s D u g a l ' ax 'im, sorter k e e r l e s s , like ez ef he des t h o u g h t of i t , — " ' H o w you like d e nigger I sole you las' s p r i n g ? ' "Henry's m a r s t e r s h u c k his h e a d en k n o c k de a s h e s off'n his seegyar. " ' S p e c ' I m a d e a b a d b a h g i n w h e n I b o u g h t dat nigger. H e n r y d o n e g o o d w u k all d e s u m m e r , b u t s e n c e d e fall set in h e 'pears ter b e sorter pinin' away. Dey ain' nuffin pertickler d e m a t t e r wid ' i m — l e a s t w a y s d e d o c t o r ay s o — 'cep'n' a tech er de r h e u m a t i z ; but his ha'r is all fell o u t , en e f he don't p i c k up his s t r e n k mighty s o o n , I s p e c ' I'm gwine ter lose 'im.' " D e y s m o k e d o n awhile, en b i m e b y ole m a r s say, 'Well, a b a h g i n ' s a b a h g i n , 3. A small card, resembling a curry-comb in construction, and used by negroes in the rural districts instead of a comb [Chesnutt's note].

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but you en m e is g o o d fren's, en I d o a n w a n ' ter s e e you lose all d e m o n e y you paid fer dat digger; en ef w'at you say is s o , en I ain't 'sputin' it, h e ain't wuf m u c h now. I s p e c ' s you wukked him too ha'd dis s u m m e r , er e'se d e s w a m p s down here don't a g r e e wid d e san'-hill nigger. S o you d e s l e m m e know, en ef h e gits any w u s s e r I'll b e willin' ter gib yer five h u n d ' e d dollars fer 'im, en take my c h a n c e s on his livin'.' " S h o nuff, w h e n H e n r y b e g u n ter draw up wid de r h e u m a t i z en it look like he gwine ter die fer s h o , his n o o m a r s t e r s e n ' fer M a r s D u g a l ' , en M a r s D u g a l ' gin him what he p r o m u s , en b r u n g Henry h o m e ag'in. H e tuk g o o d keer uv 'im dyoin' er d e winter,—give 'im w'iskey ter rub his r h e u m a t i z , en t e r b a c k e r ter s m o k e , en all h e want ter e a t , — ' c a z e a nigger w'at he c o u l d m a k e a t h o u s a n ' dollars a year off'n didn' grow on eve'y huckleberry b u s h . " N e x ' spring, w'en de s a p ris en Henry's ha'r c o m m e n c e ' ter s p r o u t , M a r s D u g a l ' sole 'im ag'in, d o w n in R o b e s o n C o u n t y dis t i m e ; en he kep' dat sellin' b u s i n e s s up fer five year er m o ' . Henry n e b b e r say nuffin 'bout d e g o o p h e r ter his n o o m a r s t e r s , 'caze h e k n e w h e gwine ter be tuk g o o d keer uv de nex' winter, w'en M a r s D u g a l ' buy him b a c k . E n M a r s D u g a l ' m a d e 'nuff m o n e y off'n Henry ter buy a n u d d e r plantation ober on B e a v e r C r i c k . " B u t long 'bout de e e n ' er dat five year dey c o m e a s t r a n g e r ter s t o p at d e plantation. D e fus' day h e 'us dere h e went o u t wid M a r s D u g a l ' en s p e n t all d e m a w n i n ' lookin' ober de vimya'd, en atter dinner dey s p e n t all d e evenin' playin' kya'ds. D e niggers s o o n 'skiver' dat he wuz a Y a n k e e , en dat h e c o m e d o w n ter N o r f C'lina fer ter learn d e w'ite folks how to raise g r a p e s en m a k e wine. H e p r o m u s M a r s D u g a l ' he c u d m a k e de g r a p e v i m e s ba'r twice't ez m a n y g r a p e s , en dat d e n o o wine-press h e wuz a-sellin' w o u l d m a k e m o ' d'n twice't ez m a n y gallons er wine. E n ole M a r s D u g a l ' d e s d r u n k it all in, d e s 'peared ter b e b e w i t c h e d wid dat Y a n k e e . W'en d e darkies s e e dat Y a n k e e r u n n i n ' 'roun de vimya'd en diggin' u n d e r de g r a p e v i m e s , dey s h u k dere h e a d s , en 'lowed dat dey feared M a r s D u g a l ' losin' his min'. M a r s D u g a l ' h a d all de dirt d u g away fum u n d e r de roots er all de s c u p p e r n o n ' v i m e s , a n ' let 'em s t a n ' dat away fer a week er m o ' . D e n dat Y a n k e e m a d e d e niggers fix u p a mixtry er lime en a s h e s en m a n y o , 4 en p o ' it r o u n ' d e roots er de g r a p e v i m e s . D e n h e 'vise' M a r s D u g a l ' fer ter trim d e v i m e s close't, en M a r s D u g a l ' t u c k 'n d o n e eve'ything d e Y a n k e e tole him ter do. Dyoin' all er dis t i m e , m i n d yer, 'e wuz libbin' ofFn de fat er d e Ian', at d e big h o u s e , en playin' kyards wid M a r s D u g a l ' eve'y night; en dey say M a r s D u g a l ' los' m o ' n a t h o u s a n ' dollars dyoin' er de week dat Y a n k e e wuz a r u n n i n ' de g r a p e v i m e s . "W'en de s a p ris nex' spring, old H e n r y 'n'inted his h e a d ez yuzhal, e n his ha'r c o m m e n c e ' ter grow d e s d e s a m e ez it d o n e eve'y year. D e s c u p p e r n o n ' vimes growed m o n s t ' s fas', en d e leaves wuz g r e e n e r en thicker d a n dey e b e r be'n dyowin my r e m e m b ' a n c e ; en Henry's ha'r growed o u t thicker d a n eber, en he 'peared ter git y o u n g e r 'n y o u n g e r , en soopler 'n s o o p l e r ; en s e e i n ' ez h e wuz sho't er han's dat spring, havin' tuk in c o n s i d ' a b l e n o o groun', M a r s D u g a l ' 'eluded he would n' sell H e n r y 'tel he git de c r a p in en d e c o t t o n c h o p ' . S o he kep' Henry o n de p l a n t a t i o n . " B u t 'long 'bout time fer de g r a p e s ter c o m e o n de s c u p p e r n o n ' v i m e s , dey 'peared ter c o m e a c h a n g e ober d e m ; de leaves wivered en swivel' u p , en de 4. Mango, yam, or sweet potato; although there are differences a m o n g these starchy fruits and tubers, the names are used interchangeably.

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y o u n g g r a p e s turn' yaller, e n b i m e b y eve'ybody o n d e p l a n t a t i o n c o u l d s e e dat d e w h o l e vimya'd wuz dyin'. M a r s D u g a l ' tuck'n water de v i m e s en d o n e all he c o u l d , b u t ' t w a n ' n o u s e : dat Y a n k e e d o n e b u s ' d e w a t e r m i l l y u m . O n e time de vimes p i c k e d u p a bit, en M a r s D u g a l ' thought dey wuz g w i n e ter c o m e o u t ag'in; but dat Y a n k e e d o n e d u g too c l o s e u n d e ' de r o o t s , en p r u n e de b r a n c h e s too c l o s e ter de v i m e , en all dat lime en a s h e s d o n e b u r n ' d e life o u t e n de v i m e s , en dey d e s kep' a with'in' en a swivelin'. "All dis time de g o o p h e r wuz a-wukkin'. W ' e n d e vimes c o m m e n c e ' ter wither, Henry c o m m e n c e ' ter c o m p l a i n er his r h e u m a t i z , en w h e n d e leaves begin ter dry u p his ha'r c o m m e n c e ' ter d r a p out. W h e n d e v i m e s fresh u p a bit Henry 'ud git peart agin, en w h e n d e v i m e s wither a g i n H e n r y 'ud git ole agin, en d e s k e p ' gittin' m o ' en m o ' fitten fer nuffin; h e d e s p i n e d away, en finely tuk ter his c a b i n ; en w h e n de big vime w h a r he got d e s a p ter 'n'int his h e a d withered en t u r n e d yaller en died, H e n r y died t o o , — d e s went o u t sorter like a c a n n e l . Dey didn't 'pear ter b e nuffin de m a t t e r wid 'im, c e p ' n ' d e r h e u m a t i z , but his strenk d e s dwinel' away, 'tel h e didn' h a b ernuff l e f ter d r a w his bref. D e g o o p h e r h a d got d e u n d e r holt, en th'owed H e n r y fer g o o d en all dat t i m e . " M a r s D u g a l ' tuk on might'ly 'bout losin' his v i m e s en his nigger in d e s a m e year; en h e s w o ' dat ef h e c o u l d git holt er dat Y a n k e e he'd w e a r 'im ter a frazzle, en d e n c h a w u p de frazzle; en he'd d o n e it, too, for M a r s D u g a l ' 'uz a m o n s t ' u s b r a s h m a n w'en he o n c e git s t a r t e d . H e sot de vimya'd o u t ober agin, but it w u z th'ee er fo' year b e f o ' de v i m e s got ter b'arin' any s c u p p e r non's. "W'en d e w a h broke o u t , M a r s D u g a l ' r a i s e ' a c o m p ' n y , en went off ter fight de Y a n k e e s . H e say he wuz mighty glad dat w a h c o m e , en h e d e s w a n t ter kill a Y a n k e e fer eve'y dollar h e los' 'long er dat grape-raisin' Y a n k e e . E n I 'spec' he w o u l d a d o n e it, too, ef d e Y a n k e e s h a d n ' s'picioned s u m p ' n , en killed h i m fus'. Atter d e s'render ole m i s s m o v e ' ter town, d e niggers all s c a t t e r e d 'way f u m d e p l a n t a t i o n , en de vimya'd ain' be'n c u l t e r v a t e d s e n c e . " "Is that story t r u e ? " a s k e d A n n i e , doubtfully, b u t seriously, a s the old m a n c o n c l u d e d his narrative. "It's d e s ez true ez I'm a-settin' h e r e , m i s s . Dey's a e a s y way ter prove it: I kin lead d e way right ter Henry's grave o b e r y a n d e r in de p l a n t a t i o n buryin'groun'. E n I tell yer w'at, m a r s t e r , I w o u l d n ' 'vise yer to buy dis yer ole vimya'd, 'caze d e g o o p h e r ' s on it yit, e n dey ain' no tellin' w'en it's gwine ter c r a p o u t . " " B u t I t h o u g h t you said all the old vines d i e d . " " D e y did 'pear ter d i e , b u t a few ov 'em c o m e o u t ag'in, en is mixed in m o n g s ' de yuthers. I ain' s k e e r e d ter eat d e g r a p e s , 'caze I k n o w s d e old v i m e s f u m de n o o o n e s ; but wid s t r a n g e r s dey ain' n o tellin' w'at m i g h t h a p p e n . I w o u l d n ' 'vise yer ter buy dis v i m y a ' d . " I b o u g h t the vineyard, n e v e r t h e l e s s , a n d it h a s b e e n for a l o n g t i m e in a thriving c o n d i t i o n , a n d is referred to by the local p r e s s a s a striking illustration of the o p p o r t u n i t i e s o p e n to N o r t h e r n capital in the d e v e l o p m e n t of S o u t h e r n i n d u s t r i e s . T h e l u s c i o u s s c u p p e r n o n g h o l d s first r a n k a m o n g our g r a p e s , t h o u g h we cultivate a great m a n y other varieties, a n d o u r i n c o m e from g r a p e s p a c k e d a n d s h i p p e d to the N o r t h e r n m a r k e t s is q u i t e c o n s i d e r a b l e . I have not noticed any d e v e l o p m e n t s of the g o o p h e r in the vineyard, a l t h o u g h I have a mild s u s p i c i o n that our colored a s s i s t a n t s d o not suffer from want of g r a p e s d u r i n g the s e a s o n .

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I found, when I b o u g h t the vineyard, that U n c l e J u l i u s h a d o c c u p i e d a cabin on the p l a c e for m a n y years, a n d derived a r e s p e c t a b l e r e v e n u e from the n e g l e c t e d g r a p e v i n e s . T h i s , d o u b t l e s s , a c c o u n t e d for his advice to m e not to buy the vineyard, t h o u g h w h e t h e r it inspired the g o o p h e r story I a m u n a b l e to s t a t e . I believe, however, that the w a g e s I pay him for his services are m o r e than a n equivalent for anything h e lost by the s a l e of the vineyard. 1887,1899

T h e Wife of His Youth 1 / Mr. Ryder w a s g o i n g to give a ball. T h e r e were several r e a s o n s why this was a n o p p o r t u n e time for s u c h a n event. Mr. Ryder might aptly be called the d e a n of the B l u e V e i n s . T h e original B l u e Veins were a little society of c o l o r e d p e r s o n s organized in a certain Northern city shortly after the war. Its p u r p o s e w a s to e s t a b l i s h a n d m a i n t a i n correct social s t a n d a r d s a m o n g a p e o p l e w h o s e social c o n d i t i o n p r e s e n t e d a l m o s t unlimited r o o m for i m p r o v e m e n t . By a c c i d e n t , c o m b i n e d p e r h a p s with s o m e natural affinity, the society c o n s i s t e d of individuals w h o w e r e , generally s p e a k i n g , m o r e white than black. S o m e e n v i o u s o u t s i d e r m a d e the s u g g e s t i o n that no o n e w a s eligible for m e m b e r s h i p w h o w a s not white e n o u g h to s h o w blue veins. T h e s u g g e s t i o n w a s readily a d o p t e d by t h o s e w h o were not of the favored few, a n d s i n c e that t i m e the society, t h o u g h p o s s e s s i n g a longer a n d m o r e p r e t e n t i o u s n a m e , h a d b e e n known far a n d wide a s the " B l u e Vein S o c i e t y , " a n d its m e m b e r s a s the " B l u e V e i n s . " T h e B l u e Veins did not allow that any s u c h r e q u i r e m e n t existed for a d m i s sion to their circle, b u t , o n the contrary, d e c l a r e d that c h a r a c t e r a n d c u l t u r e were the only things c o n s i d e r e d ; a n d that if m o s t of their m e m b e r s were light-colored, it w a s b e c a u s e s u c h p e r s o n s , as a rule, h a d h a d better opportunities to qualify t h e m s e l v e s for m e m b e r s h i p . O p i n i o n s differed, too, a s to the u s e f u l n e s s of the society. T h e r e were t h o s e w h o h a d b e e n known to assail it violently as a glaring e x a m p l e of the very p r e j u d i c e from w h i c h the c o l o r e d r a c e h a d suffered m o s t ; a n d later, w h e n s u c h critics h a d s u c c e e d e d in getting on the i n s i d e , they h a d b e e n h e a r d to m a i n t a i n with zeal a n d e a r n e s t n e s s that the society w a s a life-boat, an a n c h o r , a bulwark a n d a s h i e l d , — a pillar of c l o u d by day a n d of fire by night, to g u i d e their p e o p l e t h r o u g h the social wilderness. A n o t h e r a l l e g e d p r e r e q u i s i t e for B l u e Vein m e m b e r s h i p w a s that of free birth; a n d while there w a s really no s u c h r e q u i r e m e n t , it is d o u b t l e s s true that very few of the m e m b e r s w o u l d have b e e n u n a b l e to m e e t it if there h a d b e e n . If there were o n e or two of the older m e m b e r s w h o h a d c o m e u p from the S o u t h a n d from slavery, their history p r e s e n t e d e n o u g h r o m a n t i c c i r c u m s t a n c e s to rob their servile origin of its g r o s s e r a s p e c t s . W h i l e there were no s u c h tests of eligibility, it is true that the B l u e Veins had their notions on t h e s e s u b j e c t s , a n d that not all of t h e m were e q u a l l y liberal in regard to the things they collectively d i s c l a i m e d . M r . Ryder w a s o n e of the m o s t conservative. T h o u g h he h a d not b e e n a m o n g the f o u n d e r s 1. First published in the Atlantic 82 (July 1898); later reprinted in the collection "The Wife of His Youth" and Other Stories of the Color Line ( 1 8 9 9 ) . the source of the text printed here.

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of the society, but h a d c o m e in s o m e years later, his g e n i u s for social leadership w a s s u c h that he h a d speedily b e c o m e its recognized adviser a n d h e a d , the c u s t o d i a n of its s t a n d a r d s , a n d the preserver of its traditions. H e s h a p e d its social policy, w a s active in providing for its e n t e r t a i n m e n t , a n d w h e n the interest fell off, a s it s o m e t i m e s did, he f a n n e d the e m b e r s until they b u r s t again into a cheerful f l a m e . T h e r e were still other r e a s o n s for his popularity. W h i l e he w a s not a s white as s o m e of the B l u e V e i n s , his a p p e a r a n c e w a s s u c h a s to c o n f e r d i s t i n c t i o n u p o n t h e m . His f e a t u r e s were of a refined type, his hair w a s a l m o s t straight; he w a s always neatly d r e s s e d ; his m a n n e r s were i r r e p r o a c h a b l e , a n d his morals a b o v e s u s p i c i o n . H e h a d c o m e to G r o v e l a n d a y o u n g m a n , a n d o b t a i n i n g e m p l o y m e n t in the office of a railroad c o m p a n y a s m e s s e n g e r h a d in t i m e worked h i m s e l f u p to the position of stationery clerk, h a v i n g c h a r g e of the distribution of the office s u p p l i e s for the w h o l e c o m p a n y . A l t h o u g h the lack of early training h a d h i n d e r e d the orderly d e v e l o p m e n t of a naturally fine m i n d , it h a d not prevented him from d o i n g a great deal of r e a d i n g or from forming d e c i d e d l y literary t a s t e s . Poetry w a s his p a s s i o n . H e c o u l d r e p e a t whole p a g e s of the great E n g l i s h p o e t s ; a n d if his p r o n u n c i a t i o n w a s s o m e times faulty, his eye, his voice, his g e s t u r e s , w o u l d r e s p o n d to the c h a n g i n g s e n t i m e n t with a precision that revealed a p o e t i c soul a n d d i s a r m e d criticism. H e w a s e c o n o m i c a l , a n d h a d s a v e d m o n e y ; h e o w n e d a n d o c c u p i e d a very c o m f o r t a b l e h o u s e on a r e s p e c t a b l e street. H i s r e s i d e n c e w a s h a n d s o m e l y furnished, c o n t a i n i n g a m o n g other things a g o o d library, e s p e c i a l l y rich in poetry, a p i a n o , a n d s o m e c h o i c e e n g r a v i n g s . H e generally s h a r e d his h o u s e with s o m e y o u n g c o u p l e , w h o looked after his w a n t s a n d were c o m p a n y for him; for M r . Ryder w a s a single m a n . In the early days of his c o n n e c t i o n with the B l u e Veins he h a d b e e n r e g a r d e d a s q u i t e a c a t c h , a n d y o u n g ladies a n d their m o t h e r s h a d manoeuvred with m u c h ingenuity to c a p t u r e h i m . N o t , however, until M r s . Molly Dixon visited G r o v e l a n d h a d any w o m a n ever m a d e him wish to c h a n g e his c o n d i t i o n to that of a married m a n . M r s . Dixon h a d c o m e to G r o v e l a n d from W a s h i n g t o n in the spring, a n d before the s u m m e r w a s over s h e h a d won M r . Ryder's heart. S h e p o s s e s s e d m a n y attractive qualities. S h e w a s m u c h y o u n g e r than h e ; in fact, h e w a s old e n o u g h to have b e e n her father, t h o u g h n o o n e knew exactly h o w old h e w a s . S h e w a s whiter than h e , a n d better e d u c a t e d . S h e h a d m o v e d in the best colored society of the country, at W a s h i n g t o n , a n d h a d t a u g h t in the s c h o o l s of that city. S u c h a s u p e r i o r p e r s o n h a d b e e n eagerly w e l c o m e d to the B l u e Vein Society, a n d h a d taken a l e a d i n g part in its activities. M r . Ryder h a d at first b e e n a t t r a c t e d by her c h a r m s of p e r s o n , for s h e w a s very g o o d looking a n d not over twenty-five; then by her refined m a n n e r s a n d the vivacity of her wit. H e r h u s b a n d h a d b e e n a g o v e r n m e n t clerk, a n d at his d e a t h h a d left a c o n s i d e r a b l e life i n s u r a n c e . S h e w a s visiting friends in G r o v e l a n d , a n d , finding the town a n d the p e o p l e to her liking, h a d p r o l o n g e d her stay indefinitely. S h e h a d not s e e m e d d i s p l e a s e d at M r . Ryder's attentions, b u t on the contrary h a d given him every p r o p e r e n c o u r a g e m e n t ; i n d e e d , a y o u n g e r a n d less c a u t i o u s m a n w o u l d l o n g s i n c e have s p o k e n . B u t he h a d m a d e u p his m i n d , a n d h a d only to d e t e r m i n e the time w h e n h e would a s k her to be his wife. H e d e c i d e d to give a ball in her honor, a n d at s o m e time during the e v e n i n g of the ball to offer her his heart a n d h a n d . H e

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had no special fears a b o u t the o u t c o m e , but, with a little t o u c h of r o m a n c e , he w a n t e d the s u r r o u n d i n g s to be in h a r m o n y with his own feelings w h e n he should have received the a n s w e r h e e x p e c t e d . Mr. Ryder resolved that this ball s h o u l d m a r k a n e p o c h in the social history of G r o v e l a n d . H e knew, of c o u r s e , — n o o n e c o u l d know b e t t e r , — t h e entert a i n m e n t s that h a d taken p l a c e in p a s t years, a n d w h a t m u s t be d o n e to s u r p a s s t h e m . His ball m u s t b e worthy of the lady in w h o s e h o n o r it w a s to be given, a n d m u s t , by the quality of its g u e s t s , set a n e x a m p l e for the f u t u r e . H e h a d observed of late a growing liberality, a l m o s t a laxity, in social m a t t e r s , even a m o n g m e m b e r s of his own set, a n d h a d several times b e e n forced to m e e t in a social way p e r s o n s w h o s e c o m p l e x i o n s a n d callings in life were hardly u p to the s t a n d a r d which he c o n s i d e r e d p r o p e r for the society to m a i n t a i n . H e h a d a theory of his own. "I have no r a c e p r e j u d i c e , " he would say, " b u t we p e o p l e of mixed blood are g r o u n d b e t w e e n the u p p e r a n d the n e t h e r m i l l s t o n e . O u r fate lies b e t w e e n a b s o r p t i o n by the white r a c e a n d extinction in the black. T h e o n e doesn't want u s yet, but m a y take u s in t i m e . T h e other would w e l c o m e u s , but it would be for u s a b a c k w a r d s t e p . 'With m a l i c e towards n o n e , with charity for all,' 2 we m u s t do the b e s t we c a n for ourselves a n d t h o s e w h o are to follow u s . Self-preservation is the first law of n a t u r e . " His ball would serve by its e x c l u s i v e n e s s to c o u n t e r a c t leveling t e n d e n c i e s , and his m a r r i a g e with M r s . Dixon would help to further the u p w a r d p r o c e s s of a b s o r p t i o n he h a d b e e n w i s h i n g a n d waiting for. II T h e ball w a s to take p l a c e o n Friday night. T h e h o u s e h a d b e e n p u t in order, the c a r p e t s covered with c a n v a s , the halls a n d stairs d e c o r a t e d with p a l m s a n d potted p l a n t s ; a n d in the afternoon Mr. Ryder sat on his front p o r c h , which the s h a d e of a vine r u n n i n g u p over a wire netting m a d e a cool a n d p l e a s a n t l o u n g i n g p l a c e . H e e x p e c t e d to r e s p o n d to the toast " T h e L a d i e s " at the s u p p e r , a n d from a v o l u m e of T e n n y s o n — h i s favorite p o e t — w a s fortifying h i m s e l f with apt q u o t a t i o n s . T h e v o l u m e w a s o p e n at "A D r e a m of Fair W o m e n . " 3 H i s eyes fell on t h e s e lines, a n d he read t h e m a l o u d to j u d g e better of their e f f e c t : — "At length I saw a lady within call, Stiller than chisell'd m a r b l e , s t a n d i n g t h e r e ; A d a u g h t e r of the g o d s , divinely tall, A n d m o s t divinely fair." H e m a r k e d the verse, a n d turning the p a g e read the s t a n z a b e g i n n i n g , — " O sweet pale M a r g a r e t , O rare p a l e M a r g a r e t . " 4 H e weighed the p a s s a g e a m o m e n t , a n d d e c i d e d that it would not d o . M r s . Dixon w a s the p a l e s t lady he expected at the ball, a n d s h e w a s of a rather 2. From Abraham Lincoln's second inaugural address (1865). 3. This poem, by English poet Alfred, Lord Ten-

nyson (1809—1892), was published in 1832. 4. By Tennyson, "Margaret" was published in 1832.

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ruddy c o m p l e x i o n , a n d of lively disposition a n d b u x o m build. S o h e ran over the leaves until his eye r e s t e d on the d e s c r i p t i o n of Queen G u i n e v e r e : 5 — " S h e s e e m ' d a part of j o y o u s S p r i n g : A gown of g r a s s - g r e e n silk s h e w o r e , B u c k l e d with golden c l a s p s b e f o r e ; A light-green tuft of p l u m e s s h e b o r e C l o s e d in a g o l d e n ring.

" S h e look'd s o lovely, a s s h e sway'd T h e rein with dainty finger-tips, A m a n h a d given all other b l i s s , A n d all his worldly worth for this, T o w a s t e his whole heart in o n e kiss U p o n her perfect l i p s . "

•

As Mr. Ryder m u r m u r e d t h e s e w o r d s audibly, with an a p p r e c i a t i v e thrill, he h e a r d the latch of his g a t e click, a n d a light foot-fall s o u n d i n g o n the s t e p s . H e t u r n e d his h e a d , a n d s a w a w o m a n s t a n d i n g before his door. S h e w a s a little w o m a n , not five feet tall, a n d p r o p o r t i o n e d to her h e i g h t . A l t h o u g h s h e s t o o d erect, a n d l o o k e d a r o u n d her with very bright a n d r e s t l e s s eyes, s h e s e e m e d q u i t e old; for her f a c e w a s c r o s s e d a n d r e c r o s s e d with a h u n d r e d wrinkles, a n d a r o u n d the e d g e s of her b o n n e t c o u l d b e s e e n protruding h e r e a n d there a tuft of short gray wool. S h e w o r e a b l u e c a l i c o g o w n of a n c i e n t c u t , a little red shawl f a s t e n e d a r o u n d her s h o u l d e r s with a n oldf a s h i o n e d b r a s s b r o o c h , a n d a large b o n n e t profusely o r n a m e n t e d with f a d e d red a n d yellow artificial flowers. A n d s h e w a s very b l a c k , — s o b l a c k that her toothless g u m s , revealed w h e n s h e o p e n e d her m o u t h to s p e a k , were not r e d , b u t b l u e . S h e looked like a bit of the old p l a n t a t i o n life, s u m m o n e d u p from the p a s t by the wave of a m a g i c i a n ' s w a n d , a s the poet's fancy h a d called into b e i n g the g r a c i o u s s h a p e s of w h i c h M r . Ryder h a d j u s t b e e n r e a d i n g . H e r o s e from his c h a i r a n d c a m e over to w h e r e s h e s t o o d . "Good-afternoon, m a d a m , " he said. " G o o d - e v e n i n ' , s u h , " s h e a n s w e r e d , d u c k i n g s u d d e n l y with a q u a i n t curtsy. H e r voice w a s shrill a n d piping, b u t s o f t e n e d s o m e w h a t by a g e . " I s dis yere w h a r M i s t u h R y d u h lib, s u h ? " s h e a s k e d , looking a r o u n d her doubtfully, a n d g l a n c i n g into the o p e n w i n d o w s , t h r o u g h which s o m e of the p r e p a r a t i o n s for the e v e n i n g were visible. " Y e s , " h e replied, with a n air of kindly p a t r o n a g e , u n c o n s c i o u s l y flattered by her m a n n e r , "I a m M r . Ryder. D i d you w a n t to s e e m e ? " "Yas, s u h , ef I ain't 'sturbin' of you too m u c h . " " N o t at all. H a v e a s e a t over here b e h i n d the vine, w h e r e it is cool. W h a t c a n I d o for y o u ? " " ' S c u s e m e , s u h , " s h e c o n t i n u e d , w h e n s h e h a d sat d o w n o n the e d g e of a chair, " ' s c u s e m e , s u h , I's lookin' for my h u s b a n ' . I h e e r d you w u z a big m a n a n ' h a d libbed h e a h a long t i m e , a n ' I 'lowed y o u wouldn't m i n ' ef I'd c o m e r o u n ' a n ' ax you ef you'd ever h e e r d of a m e r l a t t e r 6 m a n by d e n a m e er 5. Wife of the legendary King Arthur, described in the following quotation from Tennyson's "Sir

Launcelot and Queen Guinevere" ( 1 8 4 2 ) . 6. Mulatto.

T H E W I F E OF H I S Y O U T H

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1643

S a m Taylor 'quirin' roun' in de c h u ' c h e s e r m o n g s ' de p e o p l e fer his wife 'Liza Jane?" Mr. Ryder s e e m e d to think for a m o m e n t . " T h e r e u s e d to be m a n y s u c h c a s e s right after the w a r , " h e said, " b u t it has b e e n so long that I have forgotten t h e m . T h e r e a r e very few now. B u t tell m e your story, a n d it may refresh my m e m o r y . " S h e sat b a c k farther in her chair so a s to be m o r e c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d folded her withered h a n d s in her l a p . " M y n a m e ' s 'Liza," she b e g a n , " 'Liza J a n e . W'en 1 w u z y o u n g I us'ter b'long ter M a r s e B o b Smif, down in ole M i s s o u r a . I w u z b a w n d o w n d e r e . W ' e n I wuz a gal I wuz married ter a m a n n a m e d J i m . B u t J i m died, a n ' after dat I married a merlatter m a n n a m e d S a m Taylor. S a m wuz free-bawn, b u t his m a m m y a n d d a d d y died, a n ' de w'ite folks 'prenticed him ter my m a r s t e r fer ter work fer 'im 'tel he wuz growed u p . S a m worked in d e fiel', a n ' I w u z de cook. O n e day Ma'y A n n , ole m i s s ' s m a i d , c a m e r u s h i n ' o u t ter de k i t c h e n , a n ' says s h e , ' 'Liza J a n e , ole m a r s e gwine sell yo' S a m d o w n de ribber.' " ' G o way f'm yere,' says I; 'my h u s b a n ' 's free!' " ' D o n ' m a k e n o diff'ence. I heerd ole m a r s e tell ole m i s s he wuz gwine take yo' S a m 'way wid 'im ter-morrow, fer he n e e d e d m o n e y , a n ' he k n o w e d w h a r he c o u l d git a t ' o u s a n ' dollars fer S a m a n ' no q u e s t i o n s axed.' " W ' e n S a m c o m e h o m e f'm de fiel' dat night, I tole him 'bout ole m a r s e gwine steal 'im, a n ' S a m r u n erway. His time wuz m o s ' u p , a n ' h e s w o ' dat w'en he w u z twenty-one he would c o m e b a c k a n ' he'p m e run erway, er else save u p d e m o n e y ter buy my f r e e d o m . A n ' I know he'd 'a' d o n e it, fer he thought a h e a p er m e , S a m did. B u t w'en he c o m e b a c k he d i d n ' fin' m e , fer I wuzn' d e r e . O l e m a r s e h a d heerd dat I w a r n e d S a m , s o h e h a d m e whip' a n ' sol' d o w n de ribber. " D e n d e w a h broke out, a n ' w'en it w u z o b e r de c u l l u d folks wuz s c a t t e r e d . I went b a c k ter de ole h o m e ; but S a m wuzn' d e r e , a n ' I c o u l d n ' l'arn nuffin' 'bout 'im. B u t I knowed he'd be'n dere to look for m e a n ' h a d n ' f o u n ' m e , a n ' h a d g o n e erway ter h u n t fer m e . "I's be'n lookin' fer 'im e b e r s e n c e , " s h e a d d e d simply, a s t h o u g h twentyfive years were but a c o u p l e of w e e k s , " a n ' I knows he's be'n lookin' fer m e . Fer h e sot a h e a p er s t o ' by m e , S a m did, a n ' I know he's be'n h u n t i n ' fer m e all d e s e y e a r s , — ' l e s s ' n he's be'n sick er s u m p ' n , so h e c o u l d n ' work, er out'n his h e a d , so he c o u l d n ' ' m e m b e r his p r o m i s e . I went b a c k d o w n de ribber, fer I 'lowed he'd g o n e d o w n dere lookin' fer m e . I's be'n ter N o o O r l e e n s , a n ' Atlanty, an' C h a r l e s t o n , a n ' R i c h m o n ' ; a n ' w'en I'd be'n all ober de S o u f I c o m e ter de Norf. Fer I knows I'll fin' 'im s o m e er d e s e d a y s , " she a d d e d softly, "er he'll fin' m e , a n ' d e n we'll bofe be a s h a p p y in f r e e d o m a s we w u z in de ole days b e f o ' d e w a h . " A smile stole over her withered c o u n t e n a n c e a s s h e p a u s e d a m o m e n t , a n d her bright eyes s o f t e n e d into a far-away look. T h i s w a s the s u b s t a n c e of the old w o m a n ' s story. S h e h a d w a n d e r e d a little here a n d there. M r . Ryder w a s looking at her curiously w h e n s h e finished. " H o w have you lived all these y e a r s ? " h e a s k e d . " C o o k i n ' , s u h . I's a g o o d cook. D o e s you know anybody w'at n e e d s a g o o d cook, s u h ? I's s t o p p i n ' wid a c u l l u d fam'ly r o u n d ' de c o r n e r yonder 'tel I kin git a p l a c e . " " D o you really expect to find your h u s b a n d ? H e may b e d e a d long a g o . "

1644

/

CHARLES W.

CHESNUTT

S h e s h o o k her h e a d emphatically. " O h no, he ain' d e a d . D e signs a n ' d e tokens tells m e . I d r e m p three nights r u n n i n ' on'y dis las' w e e k dat I f o u n ' him." " H e m a y have married a n o t h e r w o m a n . Your slave m a r r i a g e w o u l d not have prevented him, for you never lived with him after the war, a n d without that your m a r r i a g e doesn't c o u n t . " " W o u l d n ' m a k e no diff'ence wid S a m . H e w o u l d n ' marry no yuther ' o o m a n 'tel h e f o u n ' out 'bout m e . I knows it," s h e a d d e d . " S u m p ' n ' s be'n tellin' m e all d e s e years dat I's gwine fin' S a m 'fo' I d i e s . " " P e r h a p s he's o u t g r o w n you, a n d c l i m b e d u p in the world w h e r e h e wouldn't c a r e to have you find h i m . " " N o , i n d e e d , s u h , " s h e replied, " S a m ain' dat kin' er m a n . H e w u z g o o d ter m e , S a m w u z , b u t h e w u z n ' m u c h g o o d ter n o b o d y e'se, fer h e w u z o n e er d e triflin'es' h a n ' s on d e p l a n t a t i o n . I 'spec's ter h a f ter s u p p o ' t 'im w'en I fin' 'im, fer h e n e b b e r would work 'less'n h e h a d ter. B u t d e n h e wuz free, a n ' he didn' git no pay fer his work, a n ' I d o n ' b l a m e 'im m u c h . M e b b e he's d o n e better s e n c e h e run erway, but I ain' 'spectin' m u c h . " "You m a y h a v e p a s s e d him on the street a h u n d r e d t i m e s d u r i n g the twenty-five y e a r s , a n d not have known h i m ; time works great c h a n g e s . " S h e s m i l e d incredulously. "I'd know 'im ' m o n g s ' a h u n d ' e d m e n . F e r dey w u z n' n o yuther merlatter m a n like my m a n S a m , a n ' I c o u l d n ' b e m i s t o o k . I's toted his p i c t u r e r o u n ' wid m e twenty-five y e a r s . " " M a y I s e e i t ? " a s k e d Mr. Ryder. "It might h e l p m e to r e m e m b e r w h e t h e r I have s e e n the original." As she drew a small parcel from her b o s o m h e s a w that it w a s f a s t e n e d to a string that went a r o u n d her neck. R e m o v i n g several w r a p p e r s , s h e b r o u g h t to light an old-fashioned d a g u e r r e o t y p e in a b l a c k c a s e . H e looked long a n d intently at the portrait. It w a s f a d e d with t i m e , but the f e a t u r e s were still distinct, a n d it w a s easy to s e e w h a t m a n n e r of m a n it h a d r e p r e s e n t e d . H e c l o s e d the c a s e , a n d with a slow m o v e m e n t h a n d e d it b a c k to her. "I don't know of any m a n in town w h o g o e s by that n a m e , " he s a i d , " n o r have I h e a r d of any o n e m a k i n g s u c h inquiries. B u t if you will leave m e your a d d r e s s , I will give the m a t t e r s o m e a t t e n t i o n , a n d if I find o u t a n y t h i n g I will let you k n o w . " S h e gave him the n u m b e r of a h o u s e in the n e i g h b o r h o o d , a n d went away, after t h a n k i n g him warmly. H e wrote the a d d r e s s on the fly-leaf of the v o l u m e of T e n n y s o n , a n d , w h e n s h e h a d g o n e , rose to his feet a n d s t o o d looking after her curiously. As s h e walked d o w n the street with m i n c i n g s t e p , he s a w several p e r s o n s w h o m s h e p a s s e d turn a n d look b a c k at her with a s m i l e of kindly a m u s e m e n t . W h e n s h e h a d t u r n e d the corner, he went u p s t a i r s to his b e d r o o m , a n d s t o o d for a l o n g t i m e b e f o r e the mirror of his d r e s s i n g - c a s e , g a z i n g thoughtfully at the reflection of his own f a c e . •

m At eight o'clock the b a l l r o o m w a s a blaze of light a n d the g u e s t s h a d b e g u n to a s s e m b l e ; for there w a s a literary p r o g r a m m e a n d s o m e routine b u s i n e s s of the society to be g o n e t h r o u g h with b e f o r e the d a n c i n g . A b l a c k s e r v a n t

T H E W I F E OF His

YOUTH

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1645

in evening d r e s s waited at the door a n d directed the g u e s t s to the dressingrooms. T h e o c c a s i o n was long m e m o r a b l e a m o n g the c o l o r e d p e o p l e of the city; not a l o n e for the d r e s s a n d display, but for the high a v e r a g e of intelligence a n d culture that d i s t i n g u i s h e d the g a t h e r i n g a s a w h o l e . T h e r e were a n u m ber of s c h o o l - t e a c h e r s , several y o u n g d o c t o r s , three or four lawyers, s o m e professional singers, an editor, a lieutenant in the U n i t e d S t a t e s army s p e n d ing his furlough in the city, a n d others in various polite c a l l i n g s ; t h e s e were colored, t h o u g h m o s t of t h e m would not have a t t r a c t e d even a c a s u a l g l a n c e b e c a u s e of any m a r k e d difference from white p e o p l e . M o s t of the ladies were in evening c o s t u m e , a n d d r e s s c o a t s a n d d a n c i n g p u m p s were the rule a m o n g the m e n . A b a n d of string m u s i c , s t a t i o n e d in a n alcove b e h i n d a row of p a l m s , played p o p u l a r airs while the g u e s t s were g a t h e r i n g . T h e d a n c i n g b e g a n at half p a s t n i n e . At eleven o'clock s u p p e r w a s served. Mr. Ryder h a d left the b a l l r o o m s o m e little time before the i n t e r m i s s i o n , but r e a p p e a r e d at the s u p p e r - t a b l e . T h e s p r e a d w a s worthy of the o c c a s i o n , a n d the g u e s t s did full j u s t i c e to it. W h e n the coffee h a d b e e n served, the toastm a s t e r , Mr. S o l o m o n S a d l e r , r a p p e d for order. H e m a d e a brief introductory s p e e c h , c o m p l i m e n t i n g host a n d g u e s t s , a n d then p r e s e n t e d in their order the toasts of the evening. T h e y were r e s p o n d e d to with a very fair display of after-dinner wit. " T h e last t o a s t , " said the t o a s t - m a s t e r , w h e n he r e a c h e d the end of the list, "is o n e which m u s t a p p e a l to u s all. T h e r e is no o n e of u s of the s t e r n e r sex w h o is not at s o m e time d e p e n d e n t u p o n w o m a n , — i n infancy for protection, in m a n h o o d for c o m p a n i o n s h i p , in old a g e for c a r e a n d c o m f o r t i n g . O u r good host has b e e n trying to live a l o n e , but the fair f a c e s I s e e a r o u n d m e to-night prove that he too is largely d e p e n d e n t u p o n the gentler sex for m o s t that m a k e s life worth living,—the society a n d love of f r i e n d s , — a n d rumor is at fault if h e d o e s not s o o n yield entire s u b j e c t i o n to o n e of t h e m . Mr. Ryder will now r e s p o n d to the t o a s t , — T h e L a d i e s . " T h e r e w a s a p e n s i v e look in Mr. Ryder's eyes a s he took the floor a n d a d j u s t e d his eye-glasses. H e b e g a n by s p e a k i n g of w o m a n a s the gift of H e a v e n to m a n , a n d after s o m e general observations on the relations of the sexes h e s a i d : " B u t p e r h a p s the quality which m o s t d i s t i n g u i s h e s w o m a n is her fidelity a n d devotion to t h o s e s h e loves. History is full of e x a m p l e s , b u t has r e c o r d e d n o n e m o r e striking than o n e which only to-day c a m e u n d e r my notice." H e then related, simply b u t effectively, the story told by his visitor of the afternoon. H e gave it in the s a m e soft dialect, which c a m e readily to his lips, while the c o m p a n y listened attentively a n d sympathetically. F o r the story h a d a w a k e n e d a responsive thrill in m a n y hearts. T h e r e were s o m e p r e s e n t who h a d s e e n , a n d others w h o h a d h e a r d their fathers a n d g r a n d f a t h e r s tell, the wrongs a n d sufferings of this p a s t g e n e r a t i o n , a n d all of t h e m still felt, in their darker m o m e n t s , the s h a d o w h a n g i n g over t h e m . Mr. Ryder went on:— " S u c h devotion a n d c o n f i d e n c e are rare even a m o n g w o m e n . T h e r e are m a n y w h o would have s e a r c h e d a year, s o m e w h o would have waited five years, a few w h o might have h o p e d ten y e a r s ; b u t for twenty-five years this w o m a n has retained her affection for a n d her faith in a m a n s h e has not s e e n or heard of in all that t i m e .

1646

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CHARLES

W.

CHESNUTT

" S h e c a m e to m e to-day in the h o p e that I might b e a b l e to help her find this long-lost h u s b a n d . A n d w h e n s h e w a s g o n e I gave my fancy rein, a n d i m a g i n e d a c a s e I will p u t to y o u . " S u p p o s e that this h u s b a n d , s o o n after his e s c a p e , h a d l e a r n e d that his wife h a d b e e n sold away, a n d that s u c h inquiries a s h e c o u l d m a k e b r o u g h t no information of her w h e r e a b o u t s . S u p p o s e that he w a s y o u n g , a n d s h e m u c h older than h e ; that he w a s light, a n d s h e w a s black; that their m a r r i a g e w a s a slave m a r r i a g e , a n d legally b i n d i n g only if they c h o s e to m a k e it s o after the war. S u p p o s e , too, that h e m a d e his way to the N o r t h , a s s o m e of u s have d o n e , a n d there, w h e r e he h a d larger o p p o r t u n i t i e s , h a d i m p r o v e d t h e m , a n d h a d in the c o u r s e of all t h e s e years grown to b e as different from the ignorant boy w h o ran away from fear of slavery a s the day is from the night. S u p p o s e , even, that he h a d qualified himself, by industry, by thrift, a n d by study, to win the friendship a n d b e c o n s i d e r e d worthy the society of s u c h p e o p l e a s t h e s e I s e e a r o u n d m e to-night, g r a c i n g my b o a r d a n d filling my heart with g l a d n e s s ; for I a m old e n o u g h to r e m e m b e r the day w h e n s u c h a g a t h e r i n g would not have b e e n p o s s i b l e in this land. S u p p o s e , t o o , that, a s the years went by, this m a n ' s m e m o r y of the past grew m o r e a n d m o r e indistinct, until at last it w a s rarely, except in his d r e a m s , that any i m a g e of this bygone period rose before his m i n d . A n d then s u p p o s e that a c c i d e n t s h o u l d bring to his k n o w l e d g e the fact that the wife of his y o u t h , the wife h e h a d left b e h i n d h i m , — n o t o n e w h o h a d walked by his side a n d kept p a c e with him in his u p w a r d s t r u g g l e , but o n e u p o n w h o m a d v a n c i n g years a n d a laborious life h a d set their m a r k , — w a s alive a n d s e e k i n g h i m , b u t that h e w a s absolutely s a f e from recognition or discovery, u n l e s s he c h o s e to reveal himself. M y friends, w h a t would the m a n d o ? I will p r e s u m e that h e w a s o n e w h o loved honor, a n d tried to deal j u s t l y with all m e n . I will even carry the c a s e further, a n d s u p p o s e that p e r h a p s he h a d set his heart u p o n a n o t h e r , w h o m he h a d h o p e d to call his own. W h a t would h e d o , or rather what o u g h t h e to d o , in s u c h a crisis of a lifetime? "It s e e m e d to m e that h e might h e s i t a t e , a n d I i m a g i n e d that I w a s a n old friend, a n e a r friend, a n d that he h a d c o m e to m e for a d v i c e ; a n d I a r g u e d the c a s e with h i m . I tried to d i s c u s s it impartially. After w e h a d l o o k e d u p o n the m a t t e r from every point of view, I s a i d to him, in w o r d s that w e all know:— " T h i s a b o v e all: to thine own self be t r u e , A n d it m u s t follow, a s the night the day, T h o u c a n s t not then be false to any m a n . " 7 T h e n , finally, I put the q u e s t i o n to h i m , 'Shall you a c k n o w l e d g e h e r ? ' "And now, ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n , friends a n d c o m p a n i o n s , I a s k you, what s h o u l d h e have d o n e ? " T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g in M r . Ryder's voice that stirred the h e a r t s of t h o s e w h o sat a r o u n d h i m . It s u g g e s t e d m o r e than m e r e s y m p a t h y with a n imaginary situation; it s e e m e d rather in the n a t u r e of a p e r s o n a l a p p e a l . It w a s o b s e r v e d , too, that his look rested m o r e e s p e c i a l l y u p o n M r s . D i x o n , with a m i n g l e d e x p r e s s i o n of r e n u n c i a t i o n a n d inquiry. 7. Shakespeare's Hamlet

1.3.

ABRAHAM CAHAN

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1647

S h e h a d l i s t e n e d , with p a r t e d lips a n d s t r e a m i n g e y e s . S h e w a s the first to s p e a k : " H e s h o u l d have a c k n o w l e d g e d h e r . " " Y e s , " they all e c h o e d , " h e s h o u l d have a c k n o w l e d g e d h e r . " " M y friends a n d c o m p a n i o n s , " r e s p o n d e d M r . Ryder, "I t h a n k y o u , o n e a n d all. It is the a n s w e r I e x p e c t e d , for I knew your h e a r t s . " H e turned a n d walked toward the c l o s e d d o o r of a n a d j o i n i n g r o o m , while every eye followed him in w o n d e r i n g curiosity. H e c a m e b a c k in a m o m e n t , l e a d i n g by the h a n d his visitor of the a f t e r n o o n , w h o s t o o d startled a n d trembling at the s u d d e n p l u n g e into this s c e n e of brilliant gayety. S h e w a s neatly d r e s s e d in gray, a n d wore the white c a p of a n elderly w o m a n . " L a d i e s a n d g e n t l e m e n , " h e s a i d , "this is the w o m a n , a n d I a m the m a n , w h o s e story I have told you. Permit m e to i n t r o d u c e to you the wife of m y youth." 1899

ABRAHAM

CAHAN

1860-1951 One of the central subjects of turn-of-the-twentieth-century U.S. literature is the (usually painful) process of "Americanization" or assimilation of immigrants from all corners of the world. Surely this assimilation is at the heart of Abraham Cahan's writing both as a prolific journalist and as the author of a relatively small but important body of fiction. Cahan was born into an Orthodox Jewish family in a village a few miles from Vilna, Lithuania, then a part of the Russian Empire. He was educated as a youth first in Hebrew schools and then in a yeshiva—a seminary for studies in Jewish laws and commentaries on them. His absorption in traditional Jewish studies gave way in his teens to a comparably passionate engagement with secular subjects, especially literature and social theory. As a student at the Vilna Teacher Training Institute he was among a small group of young men who, like self-described intellectuals in other Russian cities, read and discussed such subversive works as Nikolai Chernishevsky's radical Utopian novel What Is to Be Done? (1863). Of more lasting importance to him was the reading of Tolstoi and other Russian writers; of these, Chekhov, a brilliant short-story writer, became his favorite. Although he was neither a leader nor an active conspirator in efforts to overthrow the czarist regime, Cahan's room was searched twice during his first year as a teacher, and he had good reason to be concerned about the possibilities of arrest and imprisonment. The intensified attempt to suppress dissent that brought Cahan and other intellectuals under suspicion (it was considered a revolutionary act simply to be in possession of prohibited writings) was one consequence of the assassination of Czar Alexander II in March 1881. More important historically was an intensified Russian anti-Semitism and an unprecedented series of murderous pogroms unleashed against Russian Jews with at least the tacit approval of local police and other government officials. There had been pogroms before and in other regions, but these pogroms led almost immediately to the massive emigration, starting in 1882, of Russian and Eastern European Jews to Palestine and, in much greater numbers, to America (two million by 1924).

1648

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ABRAHAM CAHAN

Within two months of his arrival in the United States in 1882, Cahan gave the first socialist speech to be delivered in the country in Yiddish—a language that combined Middle High German dialects with vocabularies taken from Hebrew, Slavic, and European languages and as time went on a distinctively American vocabulary. Cahan soon helped organize the first Jewish tailors' union; taught English at night to immigrants at the Young Men's Hebrew Association; and began his careers as editor and journalist with Yiddish, Russian, and English papers. In 1897 Cahan was active in founding the Jewish Daily Forward, a Yiddish-language newspaper he edited, with some short interruptions, for nearly fifty years. As critic Jules Chametsky observed: "[Cahan] took a sectarian journal of the Social Democratic Party with 6,000 subscribers and made it the most successful foreign-language newspaper in America and the leading Yiddish paper in the world." At its height the Forward had a circulation of a quarter of a million (and was read by perhaps a million people altogether). Cahan's editorial policy was designed to help Jewish immigrants make the transition from the often medieval conditions of the urban ghettos and shtetls they left behind to the new realities of a rapidly industrializing democracy. The Forward combined news, information, cultural commentary, and reviews with sensational stories and the work of such later famous writers as I . J . Singer and Sholem Asch. It included features such as "A Bintel Brief" (A Bundle of Letters), which printed anonymous letters from subscribers together with authoritative advice from the editor. "A Bintel Brief" has been described as a "secular confessional" that provided "psychiatric release." Cahan insisted that the Yiddish used in the Forward be simple and clear; when Americanisms communicated shades of meaning, they were incorporated. For twenty-five years—from 1892 until 1917—Cahan turned his attention to writing fiction in English. Encouraged by novelist and critic W. D. Howells, Cahan published his first novel, Yekl: A Tale of the New York Ghetto, in 1896. Encouraged further by the generally favorable critical reception of this work (made popular by Joan Micklen Silver's film adaptation, released in 1975 under the title Hester Street), Cahan wrote short stories published in 1898 as "The Imported

Bridegroom"

and Other Stories

of the New

York Ghetto, which included "A Sweat-Shop Romance" (first published in 1895). The title of this story itself suggests some of the tensions it dramatizes—between the grim and cramped spaces the characters occupy and the exhilarating release of romantic love some of them experience, between the pretensions of the prideful bosses of a "cockroach" shop and the independence and self-reliance of the young couple who refuse to be treated as servants and who marry in the end. "A Sweat-Shop Romance," with apparent artlessness, illuminates truthfully and movingly the emotional and psychological realities of ordinary men and women living with good humor under difficult economic, cultural, and social circumstances. At the same time the story provides insight into highly specific aspects of the rapidly growing and increasingly competitive garment industry. Another aspect of the story's apparent artlessness has to do with Cahan's skillful use of language. Unlike Yekl or some of his other stories, Yiddish and heavily accented English in this story are largely absorbed and "translated" into the perceptive but lucid language of an omniscient third-person narrator. This change of presentational mode is a clear sign of Cahan's mastery of English and sophistication of technique. In this story his sharp eye and sensitive ear for language are at the service of mood and characterization. The garment industry is the subject of Cahan's masterpiece, The Rise of David Levinsky (1917), and the novel established Cahan as a progenitor of Jewish American writers as diverse as Michael Gold, Henry Roth, Saul Bellow, and Alfred Kazin. The rich tapestry of this intensely realistic account of turn-of-the-twentieth-century New York City is at once a Jewish novel, a novel about the always difficult process of Americanization, and a more universal story of self-estrangement and social alienation. Both as a journalist and as a writer of fiction Cahan was influential in his own time, and he remains one of the central chroniclers of American immigrant life.

A SWEAT-SHOP ROMANCE

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1649

A Sweat-Shop R o m a n c e 1 Leizer L i p m a n w a s o n e of t h o s e c o n t r a c t tailors w h o a r e c l a s s e d by their h a n d s u n d e r the h e a d of " c o c k r o a c h e s , " w h i c h — t r a n s l a t i n g the term into lay E n g l i s h — m e a n s that he ran a very small s h o p , giving e m p l o y m e n t to a single t e a m of o n e s e w i n g - m a c h i n e operator, o n e baster, o n e finisher, a n d o n e presser. T h e s h o p w a s o n e of a suite of three r o o m s on the third floor of a rickety old t e n e m e n t h o u s e on E s s e x S t r e e t , a n d did the additional duty of the family's kitchen a n d dining-room. It f a c e d a dingy little courtyard, a n d w a s connected by a w i n d o w l e s s b e d r o o m with the parlor, which c o m m a n d e d the very heart of the J e w i s h m a r k e t s . B u n d l e s of c l o t h , c u t to b e m a d e into c o a t s , littered the floor, lay in c h a o t i c piles by o n e of the walls, c u m b e r e d M r s . L i p m a n ' s kitchen table a n d o n e or two c h a i r s , a n d f o r m e d , in a c o r n e r , a n improvised b e d u p o n which a dirty two-year-old boy, Leizer's heir a p p a r e n t , was enjoying his siesta. D a n g l i n g a g a i n s t the d o o r or scattered a m o n g the b u n d l e s , there were cooking utensils, dirty linen, L i p m a n ' s velvet s k u l l - c a p , 2 h a t s , s h o e s , s h e a r s , cotton-spools, a n d what-not. A red-hot kitchen stove a n d a blazing grate full of glowing flat-irons c o m b i n e d to keep up the overpowering t e m p e r a t u r e of the r o o m , a n d h e l p e d to justify its n i c k n a m e of s w e a t - s h o p in the literal s e n s e of the epithet. W o r k w a s rather s c a r c e , but the designer of the B r o a d w a y clothing firm, of w h o s e army of c o n t r a c t o r s L i p m a n was a m e m b e r , w a s a s e c o n d c o u s i n to the latter's wife, a n d he saw to it that his relative's h u s b a n d w a s kept busy. And so operations in Leizer's s h o p were in full swing. H e y m a n , the o p e r a t o r , with his bared brawny a r m s , p u s h e d away at a n unfinished c o a t , over which his h e a d , p r e s e n t i n g to view a wealth of curly brown hair, h u n g like an e a g l e bent on his prey. H e swayed in u n i s o n to the rhythmic whirr of his m a c h i n e , w h o s e m u s i c , s u p p o r t e d by the energetic t h u m p s of Meyer's press-iron, formed an orchestral a c c o m p a n i m e n t to the s o n o r o u s a n d plaintive strains of a vocal d u e t p e r f o r m e d by Beile, the finisher girl, a n d D a v i d , the baster. Leizer w a s g o n e to the B r o a d w a y firm's offices, while Zlate, his wife, w a s out on a p r o l o n g e d h a g g l i n g expedition a m o n g the t r a d e s w o m e n of H e s t e r Street. T h i s c i r c u m s t a n c e gave the h a n d s a respite from the restrictions u s u ally p l a c e d on their liberties by the p r e s e n c e of the " b o s s " a n d the " M i s s i s , " a n d they freely beguiled the t e d i u m a n d fatigue of their work, now by singing, now by a b a n t e r i n g m a t c h at the e x p e n s e of their e m p l o y e r a n d his wife, or of e a c h other. "Well, I s u p p o s e you might a s well q u i t , " said M e y e r , a c h u b b y , red-haired, freckled fellow of forty, e m p h a s i z i n g his r e m a r k by a n angry stroke of his iron. "You have b e e n over that s o n g now fifty t i m e s without taking b r e a t h . You m a k e m e tired." " D o n ' t you like it? S t u f f up your e a r s , t h e n , " Beile retorted, without lifting her h e a d from the c o a t in her lap.

1. Originally published as "In the Sweat S h o p " in the magazine Short Stories in J u n e 1895, then as part of "The Imported Bridegroom" and Other Sto-

ries of the New York Ghetto ( 1 8 9 8 ) . the source of the text printed here. 2. Yarmulke; worn by Jewish men.

1650

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ABRAHAM

CAHAN

"Why, I do like it, first-rate a n d a half," Meyer r e t u r n e d , " b u t w h e n you k e e p your m o u t h shut I like it better still, s e e ? " T h e silvery tinkle of Beile's voice, as s h e w a s singing, thrilled H e y m a n with d e l i c i o u s m e l a n c h o l y , gave him fresh relish for his work, a n d i n f u s e d additional activity into his l i m b s ; a n d a s her singing w a s i n t e r r u p t e d by the presser's g i b e , h e involuntarily s t o p p e d his m a c h i n e with t h a t a n n o y i n g feeling which is e x p e r i e n c e d by d a n c e r s w h e n brought to a n u n e x p e c t e d s t a n d still by a n a b r u p t p a u s e of the m u s i c . " A n d y o u ? " — h e a d d r e s s e d h i m s e l f to Meyer, f a c i n g a b o u t o n his c h a i r with a n irritated c o u n t e n a n c e . "It's all right e n o u g h w h e n you s p e a k , but it is m u c h better w h e n you hold your t o n g u e . D o n ' t m i n d h i m , B e i l e . S i n g a w a y ! " h e then said to the girl, his dazzlingly fair f a c e relaxing a n d his little eyes s h u t t i n g into a sweet s m i l e of self-confident gallantry. "You h a d better stick to your work, H e y m a n . Why, you m i g h t have m a d e half a c e n t the w h i l e , " M e y e r fired b a c k , with an ironical look, w h i c h h a d r e f e r e n c e to the operator's reputation of being a niggardly fellow, w h o overworked himself, d e n i e d h i m s e l f every p l e a s u r e , a n d grew fat by f e a s t i n g his eyes on his s a v i n g s - b a n k book. A s h a r p altercation e n s u e d , which drifted to the s u b j e c t of H e y m a n ' s servile c o n d u c t toward his employer. "It w a s you, wasn't it," M e y e r said, " w h o started that collection for a birthday p r e s e n t for the b o s s ? O f c o u r s e , we couldn't h e l p c h i p p i n g in. W h y is David i n d e p e n d e n t ? " " D i d I c o m p e l y o u ? " H e y m a n rejoined. "And a m I to b l a m e that it w a s to m e that the b o s s threw o u t the hint a b o u t that p r e s e n t ? It is s o s l a c k everyw h e r e , a n d you o u g h t to t h a n k G o d for the steady j o b you have h e r e , " h e c o n c l u d e d , p o u n c i n g d o w n u p o n the c o a t on his m a c h i n e . D a v i d , w h o h a d a l s o c u t short his singing, kept silently plying his n e e d l e u p o n p i e c e s of stuff w h i c h lay s t r e t c h e d on his m a s t e r ' s dining-table. P r e s ently he p a u s e d to a d j u s t his disheveled j e t - b l a c k hair, with his fingers for a c o m b , a n d to wipe the p e r s p i r a t i o n from his swarthy, b e a r d l e s s a n d typically Israelitic f a c e with his shirt-sleeve. W h i l e this w a s in p r o g r e s s , his l a n g u i d hazel eyes were fixed on the finisher girl. S h e instinctively b e c a m e c o n s c i o u s of his g a z e , a n d raised her h e a d f r o m the n e e d l e . H e r fresh b u x o m f a c e , f l u s h e d with the h e a t of the r o o m a n d with exertion, s h o n e full u p o n the y o u n g baster. T h e i r eyes m e t . David colored, a n d , to c o n c e a l his e m b a r r a s s m e n t , h e a s k e d : "Well, is h e g o i n g to r a i s e your w a g e s ? " Beile n o d d e d affirmatively, a n d again p l u n g e d her h e a d into her work. " H e is? S o you will now get five dollars a week. I a m afraid you will b e p u t t i n g o n airs now, won't y o u ? " " D o you b e g r u d g e m e ? T h e n I a m willing to s w a p w a g e s with y o u . I'll let you have my five dollars, a n d I'll take your twelve dollars every w e e k . " L i p m a n ' s w a s a t a s k s h o p , a n d , a c c o r d i n g to the signification w h i c h the term h a s in the political e c o n o m y of the s w e a t i n g world, his o p e r a t o r , b a s t e r , a n d finisher, while nominally e n g a g e d at s o m u c h a week, w e r e in reality paid by the p i e c e , the e c o n o m i c a l w e e k b e i n g d e t e r m i n e d by a s t i p u l a t e d quantity of m a d e - u p c o a t s rather t h a n by a fixed n u m b e r of the earth's revolutions a r o u n d its axis; for the s w e a t - s h o p day will not c o i n c i d e with the

A SWEAT-SHOP ROMANCE

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1651

solar day u n l e s s a given a m o u n t of work be a c c o m p l i s h e d in its c o u r s e . As to the p r e s s e r , he is invariably a piece-worker, p u r e a n d s i m p l e . F o r a m o r e lucid a c c o u n t of the t a s k s y s t e m in the tailoring b r a n c h , I b e g to refer the r e a d e r to David, a l t h o u g h his exposition h a p p e n s to b e p r e s e n t e d rather in the form of a satire on the s u b j e c t . I n d e e d , D a v i d , while rather inclined to taciturnity, w a s a n inveterate j e s t e r , a n d w h a t few r e m a r k s he indulged in d u r i n g his work would often c a u s e b o i s t e r o u s m e r r i m e n t a m o n g his s h o p m a t e s , a l t h o u g h h e delivered t h e m with a n o n c h a l a n t m a n n e r a n d with the s a m e look of g o o d - h u m o r e d irony, mingled in s t r a n g e h a r m o n y with a general expression of g r u f f n e s s , which his f a c e usually w o r e . " M y twelve dollars every w e e k ? " David e c h o e d . " O h , I s e e ; you m e a n a w e e k of twelve d a y s ! " A n d his n e e d l e r e s u m e d its duck-like sport in the cloth. " H o w do you m a k e it o u t ? " M e y e r d e m a n d e d , in order to elicit a j o k e from the witty y o u n g m a n by his s i d e . " O f c o u r s e , you don't know how to m a k e that out. B u t a s k H e y m a n or Beile. T h e three of u s d o . " "Tell him, t h e n , a n d h e will know t o o , " Beile u r g e d , l a u g h i n g in a d v a n c e at the e x p e c t e d fun. A r e q u e s t c o m i n g from the finisher w a s — y e t u n k n o w n to h e r s e l f — r e s i s t less with David, a n d in the p r e s e n t i n s t a n c e it l o o s e n e d his t o n g u e . "Well, I get twelve dollars a week, a n d H e y m a n f o u r t e e n . N o w a working w e e k h a s six d a y s , b u t — h e m — t h a t 'but' gets s t u c k in my t h r o a t — b u t a day is neither a S u n d a y nor a M o n d a y nor anything u n l e s s we m a k e twelve c o a t s . T h e c a l e n d a r s are a lot of l i a r s . " " W h a t do you m e a n ? " " T h e y say a day h a s twenty-four h o u r s . T h a t ' s a bluff. A day h a s twelve coats." Beile's r a p t u r o u s c h u c k l e w h e t t e d his a p p e t i t e for persiflage, a n d h e went on:— " T h e y read the T u e s d a y P s a l m 3 in the s y n a g o g u e this m o r n i n g , b u t I s h o u l d have read the M o n d a y o n e . " "Why?" "You s e e , M e y e r ' s wife will s o o n c o m e u p with his dinner, a n d h e r e I have still two c o a t s to m a k e of the twelve that I got yesterday. S o it's still M o n d a y with m e . M y T u e s d a y won't begin before a b o u t two o'clock this a f t e r n o o n . " " H o w m u c h will you m a k e this w e e k ? " M e y e r q u e s t i o n e d . "I don't expect to finish m o r e than four days' work by the e n d of the week, a n d will only get eight dollars on F r i d a y — t h a t is, provided the M i s s i s h a s not s p e n t our w a g e s by that t i m e . S o w h e n it's Friday I'll call it W e d n e s d a y , see?" " W h e n I a m m a r r i e d , " h e a d d e d , after a p a u s e , " a n d the old w o m a n asks m e for S a b b a t h e x p e n s e s , I'll tell her it is only W e d n e s d a y — i t isn't yet Frid a y 4 — a n d I have no m o n e y to give h e r . " David r e l a p s e d into s i l e n c e , but mutely c o n t i n u e d his b u r l e s q u e , h o p p i n g from s u b j e c t to s u b j e c t . 3. In Orthodox Judaism ten or more Jewish males at least thirteen years of age are required for the lawful conduct of a public Jewish service. S u c h a group (a minyan) meets in the early mornings; as

part of the service a psalm is recited. 4. Typically payday and the start, at sundown, of the Jewish Sabbath. " S a b b a t h expenses": e.g., the costs of special foods, candles, and the like.

1652

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ABRAHAM

CAHAN

David t h o u g h t himself a very q u e e r fellow. H e often w o n d e r e d at the p r a n k s which his own i m a g i n a t i o n w a s in the habit of playing, a n d at the g r o t e s q u e c o m b i n a t i o n s it frequently evolved. As he n o w s t o o d , l e a n i n g forward over his work, he w a s striving to m a k e out h o w it w a s that M e y e r r e m i n d e d h i m of the figure " 7 . " " W h a t n o n s e n s e ! " he inwardly e x c l a i m e d , b r a n d i n g h i m s e l f for a crank. "And what d o e s H e y m a n look l i k e ? " his m i n d q u e r i e d , a s t h o u g h for spite. H e c o n t e m p l a t e d the o p e r a t o r a s k a n c e , a n d ran over all the digits of the Arabic s y s t e m , a n d even the w h o l e H e b r e w a l p h a b e t , in q u e s t of a c o u n t e r part to the y o u n g m a n , b u t failed to find anything s u i t a b l e . " H i s f a c e would m u c h better b e c o m e a girl," he at last d e c i d e d , a n d mentally p r o c e e d e d to envelop H e y m a n ' s h e a d in Beile's shawl. B u t the p r o c e e d i n g s o m e h o w s t u n g him, a n d h e went on to m e d i t a t e u p o n the operator's c h u n k y n o s e . " N o , that n o s e is too ugly for a girl. It w a n t s a little p l a n i n g . It's a n unfinished j o b , a s it were. B u t for that n o s e H e y m a n would really b e the nice fellow they say h e is. H i s snow-white s k i n — h i s e l e g a n t heavy m u s t a c h e — y e s , if h e did not have that n o s e h e would be all right," h e maliciously j o k e d in his heart. " A n d I, too, w o u l d be all right if H e y m a n were n o s e l e s s , " h e a d d e d , t r a n s f e r r i n g his t h o u g h t s to B e i l e , a n d w o n d e r i n g why s h e looked s o sweet. "Why, her n o s e is not m u c h of a b e a u t y , either. Entirely too straight, a n d t o o — t o o foolish. H e r eyes look old a n d a s if c o n s t a n t l y on the point of b u r s t i n g into t e a r s . Ah, but then her l i p s — t h a t kindly s m i l e of theirs, c o m i n g out of o n e c o r n e r of her m o u t h ! " A n d a s t r o n g i m p u l s e seized him to throw h i m s e l f o n t h o s e lips a n d to kiss t h e m , which he did mentally, a n d which shot a n electric current t h r o u g h his whole f r a m e . A n d at this Beile's old-looking eyes b o t h c h a r m e d a n d p i e r c e d him to the heart, a n d her n o s e , far from looking foolish, s e e m e d to c o n t e m p l a t e him c o n t e m p t u o u s l y , triumphantly, a n d knowingly, a s if it h a d read his t h o u g h t s . W h i l e this w a s g o i n g on in David's brain a n d heart, Beile w a s taken u p with H e y m a n a n d with their m u t u a l relations. H i s a t t e n t i o n s to her were a n o p e n secret. H e did not go out of his way to c o n c e a l t h e m . O n the contrary, h e regularly e s c o r t e d her h o m e after work, a n d took her o u t to balls a n d p i c n i c s — a thing involving great sacrifices to a fellow w h o t r e m b l e d over every c e n t he s p e n t , a n d w h o w a s s u r e to m a k e u p for t h e s e l o s s e s to his p o c k e t book by foregoing his m e a l s . W h i l e a l o n e with her in the hallway of her mother's r e s i d e n c e , his voice would b e c o m e so tender, so t r e m u l o u s , a n d on several o c c a s i o n s h e even a d d r e s s e d her by the e n d e a r i n g form of B e i l i n k e . And yet all this h a d b e e n g o i n g on now for over three m o n t h s , a n d he h a d not a s m u c h a s a l l u d e d to m a r r i a g e , nor even b o u g h t her the m o s t trifling present. H e r m o t h e r m a d e life a b u r d e n to her, a n d u r g e d the p o i n t - b l a n k d e c l a ration of the alternative b e t w e e n a formal e n g a g e m e n t a n d a n arrest for b r e a c h of p r o m i s e . Beile would have died rather than m a k e herself the heroine of s u c h a s e n s a t i o n ; a n d , b e s i d e s , the idea of H e y m a n h a n d c u f f e d to a police detective w a s too terrible to entertain even for a m o m e n t . S h e loved h i m . S h e liked his b l o o m i n g f a c e , his g e n t l e m a n - l i k e m u s t a c h e , the q u a i n t j e r k of his h e a d , a s he walked; s h e w a s fond of his c o m p a n y ; s h e w a s s u r e s h e w a s in love with h i m : her confidant, her fellow country girl a n d p l a y m a t e , w h o h a d recently married Meyer, the p r e s s e r , h a d told her s o . B u t s o m e h o w s h e felt d i s a p p o i n t e d . S h e h a d i m a g i n e d love to b e a m u c h

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sweeter thing. S h e h a d t h o u g h t that a girl in love a d m i r e d everything in the object of her affections, a n d was blind to all his faults. S h e h a d h e a r d that love w a s s o m e t h i n g like a p e r p e t u a l blissful fluttering of the heart. "I feel a s if s o m e t h i n g w a s melting h e r e , " a girl friend w h o w a s a b o u t to b e married o n c e confided to her, pointing to her heart. "You s e e , it a c h e s a n d yet it is s o sweet at the s a m e t i m e . " A n d here s h e never feels anything melting, nor c a n s h e help disliking s o m e things a b o u t H e y m a n . His smile s o m e t i m e s a p p e a r s to her f u l s o m e . A h , if h e did not shut his eyes a s h e d o e s w h e n smiling! T h a t h e is s o slow to s p e n d m o n e y is rather o n e of the things she likes in h i m . If h e ever marries her s h e will b e s u r e to get every c e n t of his w a g e s . B u t then w h e n they are together at a ball h e never g o e s u p to the bar to treat her to a g l a s s of s o d a , a s the other fellows d o to their girls, a n d all h e offers her is a n a p p l e or a p e a r , which h e generally s t o p s to b u y o n the street on their way to the dancing-hall. Is s h e in love at all? M a y b e s h e is m i s t a k e n ? B u t n o ! he is after all so dear to her. S h e m u s t have herself to b l a m e . It is not in vain that her m o t h e r calls her a w h i m p e r i n g , n a g g i n g thing, who gives no p e a c e to herself nor to anybody a r o u n d her. B u t why d o e s he not c o m e o u t with his d e c l a r a t i o n ? Is it b e c a u s e h e is too stingy to wish to s u p p o r t a wife? H a s h e b e e n m a k i n g a fool of her? W h a t d o e s h e take her for, t h e n ? In fairness to H e y m a n , it m u s t be s t a t e d that on the point of his intentions, at least, her j u d g m e n t of him w a s without f o u n d a t i o n , a n d her misgivings g r a t u i t o u s . P e c u n i a r y c o n s i d e r a t i o n s h a d n o t h i n g to d o with his s l o w n e s s in p r o p o s i n g to her. A n d if s h e c o u l d have w a t c h e d him a n d p e n e t r a t e d his mind at the m o m e n t s w h e n he e x a m i n e d his b a n k - b o o k , — w h i c h he did q u i t e o f t e n , — s h e would have a s c e r t a i n e d that little i m a g e s of herself kept hovering before his eyes b e t w e e n the figures of its credit c o l u m n s , a n d that the s u m total c o n j u r e d u p to him a p i c t u r e of prospective felicity with her for a central figure. P o o r thing; s h e did not know that w h e n he lingeringly fondled her h a n d , on taking his leave in the hallway, the p r o p o s a l lay o n the tip of his t o n g u e , a n d that lacking the strength to relieve himself of its b u r d e n h e every time left her, c o n s o l i n g h i m s e l f that the m o m e n t w a s i n o p p o r t u n e , a n d that " t o m o r r o w h e w o u l d surely settle it." S h e did not know that only two days a g o the idea h a d o c c u r r e d to him to have r e c o u r s e to the aid of a m e s s e n g e r in the form of a lady's w a t c h , a n d that while s h e now sat worrying lest s h e was being m a d e a fool of, the g o l d e n e m i s s a r y lay in H e y m a n ' s vest-pocket, t h r o b b i n g in c o m p a n y with his heart with i m p a t i e n t e x p e c t a t i o n of the evening hour, which h a d b e e n fixed for the delivery of its m e s s a g e . "I shall let m o t h e r s p e a k to h i m , " Beile resolved, in her m u s i n g s over her n e e d l e . S h e went on to p i c t u r e the s c e n e , but at this point her m e d i t a t i o n s were s u d d e n l y broken by s o m e t h i n g c l u t c h i n g a n d pulling at her hair. It w a s her employer's boy. H e h a d j u s t got u p from his after-dinner n a p , a n d , for want of any other o c c u p a t i o n , he p a s s e d his dirty little h a n d into her raven locks. " H e is p r a c t i c i n g to be a b o s s , " o b s e r v e d D a v i d , w h o s e attention w a s attracted to the s p e c t a c l e by the finisher's shriek. Beile's voice b r o u g h t H e y m a n to his feet, a n d d i s e n t a n g l i n g the little fellow's fingers from the girl's hair, he fell to " p l a s t e r i n g his nasty c h e e k s for h i m , " a s he p u t it. At this j u n c t u r e the door o p e n e d to a d m i t the little culprit's

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father. H e y m a n s k u l k e d away to his s e a t , a n d , burying his h e a d in his work, h e p r o c e e d e d to drown, in the whir-r, whir-r of his m a c h i n e , the s c r e a m s of the boy, w h o w o u l d have s t r u c k a m u c h higher key h a d his m a m m a h a p p e n e d on the s p o t . L i p m a n took off his c o a t , s u b s t i t u t e d his greasy velvet skull-cap for his derby, a n d lighting a cigar with a n air of g o o d - n a t u r e d b u s i n e s s - l i k e import a n c e , he a d v a n c e d to Meyer's c o r n e r a n d fell to e x a m i n i n g a c o a t . "And what d o e s he look l i k e ? " David a s k e d himself, scrutinizing his taskm a s t e r . " L i k e a b r o o m with its stick d o w n w a r d , " he c o n c l u d e d to his own s a t i s f a c t i o n . " A n d his s n u f f - b o x ? " — m e a n i n g L i p m a n ' s h u g e n o s e — " A perfect fiddle!—And his m o u t h ? D e a f - m u t e s usually have s u c h m o u t h s . A n d his b e a r d ? H e h a s entirely too m u c h of it, a n d it's too pretty for his f a c e . It m u s t have got there by m i s t a k e . " Presently the d o o r again flew o p e n , a n d M r s . L i p m a n , heavily l o a d e d with p a r c e l s a n d p a n t i n g for b r e a t h , c a m e w a d d l i n g in with a n elderly c o u p l e in tow. " G r e e n h o r n s , " M e y e r r e m a r k e d . " M u s t b e fellow t o w n s p e o p l e of h e r s — lately arrived." " S h e looks like a tea-kettle, a n d s h e is puffing like o n e , t o o , " David t h o u g h t , after a n indifferent gaze at the n e w c o m e r s , looking a s k a n c e at his stout, dowdyish little " M i s s i s . " " N o , " h e then c o r r e c t e d himself, " s h e rather r e s e m b l e s a b r o o m with its stick out. T h a t ' s it! A n d wouldn't it be a treat to tie a stick to her h e a d a n d to s w e e p the floor with the horrid thing! A n d her m o u t h ? Why, it m a k e s m e think s h e d o e s nothing but s n e e z e . " " H e r e is Leizer! Leizer, look at the g u e s t s I have brought y o u ! " Zlate e x c l a i m e d , as s h e threw d o w n her b u n d l e s . " B e s e a t e d , R e b A v r o m ; be s e a t e d , B a s s e . T h i s is our factory," s h e went o n , with a smile of mixed w e l c o m e a n d t r i u m p h , after the d e m o n s t r a t i v e g r e e t i n g s were over. "It is rather too small, isn't it? but we are g o i n g to m o v e into larger a n d better quarters." M e y e r w a s not m i s t a k e n . Zlate's visitors h a d recently arrived from her birthplace, a p o o r town in W e s t e r n B u s s i a , where they h a d o c c u p i e d a m u c h higher social position than their p r e s e n t h o s t e s s , a n d M r s . L i p m a n , c o m i n g u p o n t h e m on H e s t e r S t r e e t , lost n o time in inviting t h e m to her h o u s e , in order to overwhelm t h e m with her A m e r i c a n a c h i e v e m e n t s . " C o m e , I want to show you my p a r l o r , " M r s . L i p m a n said, b e c k o n i n g to her country p e o p l e , a n d before they were given a n opportunity to avail t h e m selves of the c h a i r s which s h e h a d offered t h e m , they were towed into the front r o o m . W h e n the p r o c e s s i o n r e t u r n e d , Leizer, in o b e d i e n c e to an order from his wife, took R e b Avrom in c h a r g e a n d p r o c e e d e d to initiate him into the s e c r e t s of the " A m e r i c a n style of tailoring." " O h , m y ! " Zlate s u d d e n l y e j a c u l a t e d , with a s m i l e . "I c a m e n e a r forgetting to treat. B e i l k e ! " s h e then a d d r e s s e d herself to the finisher girl in a t o n e of i m p e r i o u s n o n c h a l a n c e , " h e r e is a nickel. F e t c h two bottles of s o d a from the grocery." " D o n ' t g o , B e i l e ! " David w h i s p e r e d a c r o s s his t a b l e , p e r c e i v i n g the girl's reluctance. It w a s not u n u s u a l for Beile to go on a n e r r a n d for the wife of her employer, t h o u g h s h e always did it unwillingly, a n d merely for fear of los-

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ing her p l a c e ; but then Zlate generally e x a c t e d t h e s e services a s a favor. In the p r e s e n t i n s t a n c e , however, Beile felt mortally o f f e n d e d by her c o m m a n d i n g t o n e , a n d the idea of b e i n g p a r a d e d before the s t r a n g e r s a s a d o m e s t i c c u t her to the quick, a s a s t r e a m of color r u s h i n g into her face indicated. N e v e r t h e l e s s the p r o s p e c t of having to look for a j o b again p e r s u a d e d her to avoid trouble with Zlate, a n d s h e w a s a b o u t to r e a c h out her h a n d for the coin, w h e n David's exhortation p i q u e d her s e n s e of s e l f - e s t e e m , a n d s h e went on with her sewing. H e y m a n , w h o , b e i n g interrupted in his work by the visitor's i n s p e c t i o n , w a s a w i t n e s s of the s c e n e , at this point turned his f a c e from it, a n d cringing by his m a c h i n e , h e m a d e a p r e t e n s e of b u s y i n g h i m s e l f with the s h u t t l e . H i s h e a r t s h r a n k with the a w k w a r d n e s s of his situation, a n d he nervously g r a t e d his teeth a n d shut his e y e s , awaiting still m o r e painful d e v e l o p m e n t s . H i s veins tingled with pity for his s w e e t h e a r t a n d with deadly hatred for David. W h a t could he d o ? he apologized to himself. Isn't it foolish to risk losing a steady j o b at this s l a c k s e a s o n on a c c o u n t of s u c h a trifle as fetching u p a bottle of s o d a ? W h a t b u s i n e s s h a s David to interfere? "You are not deaf, are you? I say go a n d bring s o m e s o d a , q u i c k ! " M r s . L i p m a n s c r e a m e d , fearing lest she w a s g o i n g too far. " D o n ' t b u d g e , B e i l e ! " the b a s t e r p r o m p t e d , with fire in his eyes. Beile did not. "I say g o ! " Zlate t h u n d e r e d , r e d d e n i n g like a b e e t , to u s e a p h r a s e in v o g u e with herself. " N e v e r m i n d , Z l a t e , " B a s s e i n t e r p o s e d , to relieve the e m b a r r a s s i n g situation. " W e j u s t h a d t e a . " " N e v e r m i n d . It is not worth the t r o u b l e , " Avrom c h i m e d in. B u t this only served to l a s h Zlate into a greater fury, a n d u n m i n d f u l of c o n s e q u e n c e s , s h e strode u p to the c a u s e of her p r e d i c a m e n t , a n d tearing the c o a t out of her h a n d s , s h e s q u e a k e d o u t : — " E i t h e r fetch the s o d a , or leave my s h o p at o n c e ! " H e y m a n w a s a b o u t to say, to d o s o m e t h i n g , he knew not exactly what, but his t o n g u e s e e m e d seized with palsy, the blood t u r n e d chill in his veins, a n d he c o u l d neither s p e a k nor stir. Leizer, w h o w a s of a quiet, p e a c e f u l disposition, a n d very m u c h u n d e r the t h u m b of his wife, s t o o d nervously smiling a n d toying with his b e a r d . David grew a s h e n p a l e , a n d trembling with rage he said a l o u d a n d in deliberate accents:— " D o n ' t mind her, Beile, a n d never worry. C o m e a l o n g . I'll find you a better j o b . T h i s racket won't work, M i s s i s . Your friends s e e t h r o u g h it, anyhow, don't y o u ? " he a d d r e s s e d himself to the n e w c o m e r s . " S h e w a n t e d to b r a g to you. T h a t ' s what s h e troubled you for. S h e s h o w e d off her parlor c a r p e t to you, didn't s h e ? B u t did she tell you that it h a d b e e n b o u g h t on the installm e n t plan, a n d that the c u s t o m - p e d d l e r t h r e a t e n e d to take it a w a y u n l e s s she paid m o r e regularly?" "Leizer! are y o u — a r e you d r u n k ? " M r s . L i p m a n g a s p e d , her f a c e distorted with rage a n d d e s p e r a t i o n . " G e t out of h e r e ! " Leizer said, in a tone which would have b e e n better suited to a cordial invitation. T h e c o m m a n d w a s u n n e c e s s a r y , however, for by this time David w a s buttoning up his o v e r c o a t , a n d had his hat o n . Involuntarily following his e x a m -

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CAHAN

pie, Beile a l s o d r e s s e d to g o . A n d a s s h e s t o o d in her n e w b e a v e r cloak a n d freshly t r i m m e d large old hat by the side of her d i s c o m f i t e d c o m m a n d e r , B a s s e reflected that it w a s the finisher girl w h o looked like a lady, with Zlate for her servant, rather than the reverse. " S e e that you have our w a g e s ready for Friday, a n d all the a r r e a r s , t o o ! " w a s David's parting shot a s the two left the r o o m with a defiant s l a m of the door. " T h a t ' s like A m e r i c a ! " Zlate r e m a r k e d , with a n a t t e m p t at a scornful s m i l e . " T h e m e a n e s t b e g g a r girl will p u t on a i r s . " " W h y should o n e b e o r d e r e d a b o u t like that? S h e is n o servant, is s h e ? " H e y m a n m u r m u r e d , a d d r e s s i n g the c o r n e r of the r o o m , a n d fell to at his m a c h i n e to s m o t h e r his misery. W h e n his day's work w a s over, H e y m a n ' s heart failed him to f a c e B e i l e , a n d a l t h o u g h h e w a s p a n t i n g to s e e her, h e did not call at her h o u s e . O n the following m o r n i n g he a w o k e with a h e a d a c h e , a n d this h e u s e d a s a pretext to h i m s e l f for g o i n g to b e d right after s u p p e r . O n the next e v e n i n g h e did b e t a k e h i m s e l f to the Division Street t e n e m e n t h o u s e , w h e r e his s w e e t h e a r t lived with her m o t h e r o n the top floor, but on c o m i n g in front of the b u i l d i n g his c o u r a g e m e l t e d away. A d d e d to his cowardly part in the m e m o r a b l e s c e n e of two days b e f o r e , there n o w w a s his a p p a r e n t indifference to the finisher, a s m a n i f e s t e d by his two e v e n i n g s ' a b s e n c e at s u c h a critical t i m e . H e a r m e d h i m s e l f with a fib to explain his c o n d u c t . B u t all in vain; h e c o u l d not nerve h i m s e l f u p to the terrible meeting. A n d s o day after day p a s s e d , e a c h day i n c r e a s i n g the barrier to the coveted visit. At last, o n e evening, a b o u t a fortnight after the d a t e of M r s . L i p m a n ' s fiasco, H e y m a n , forgetting to lose c o u r a g e , a s it w e r e , briskly m o u n t e d the four flights of stairs of the Division S t r e e t t e n e m e n t . As h e w a s a b o u t to r a p for a d m i s s i o n h e w a s greeted by a s h a r p n o i s e within of s o m e t h i n g , like a c h i n a plate or a bowl, b e i n g d a s h e d to p i e c e s a g a i n s t the very d o o r which h e w a s going to o p e n . T h e n o i s e w a s followed by merry voices: " G o o d luck! G o o d l u c k ! " a n d there w a s no m i s t a k i n g its m e a n i n g . T h e r e w a s evidently a n e n g a g e m e n t party i n s i d e . T h e R a b b i h a d j u s t read the writ of b e t r o t h m e n t , a n d it w a s the m u t u a l p l e d g e s of the c o n t r a c t i n g parties which were e m p h a sized by the " b r e a k i n g of the p l a t e . Presently H e y m a n h e a r d e x c l a m a t i o n s which d i s s i p a t e d his every d o u b t a s to the identity of the c h i e f a c t o r s in the c e r e m o n y w h i c h h a d j u s t b e e n c o m p l e t e d within. " G o o d luck to you, David! G o o d l u c k to you, B e i l e ! M a y you live to a happy old a g e t o g e t h e r ! " " F e i g e , why don't you take s o m e c a k e ? Don't b e so b a s h ful!" " H e r e is l u c k ! " c a m e t h r o u g h the door, p i e r c i n g a muffled h u m inside. H e y m a n w a s d u m b f o u n d e d , a n d with his h e a d s w i m m i n g , h e m a d e a hasty retreat. Ever s i n c e the tragi-comical incident at L i p m a n ' s s h o p , H e y m a n w a s not p r e s e n t to Beile's t h o u g h t s except in the pitiful, c o w e r i n g a t t i t u d e in w h i c h he h a d sat t h r o u g h that awful s c e n e by his m a c h i n e . S h e w a s s u r e s h e h a t e d him now. A n d yet her heart w a s , d u r i n g the first few days, c o n s t a n t l y throb5. To signify the finality of the commitment, often done by the couple's mothers.

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bing with the expectation of his visit; a n d a s s h e settled in her m i n d that even if he c a m e s h e w o u l d have nothing to d o with h i m , her d e e p e r c o n s c i o u s n e s s s e e m e d to say, with a smile of conviction: " O h n o , you know you would not refuse him. You wouldn't risk to r e m a i n a n old m a i d , would y o u ? " T h e idea of his jilting her harrowed her day a n d night. Did h e avail h i m s e l f of her leaving L i p m a n ' s s h o p to b a c k out of the p r o p o s a l which w a s naturally e x p e c t e d of him, b u t which h e never p e r h a p s c o n t e m p l a t e d ? D i d h e m a k e g a m e of her? W h e n a week h a d e l a p s e d without H e y m a n ' s p u t t i n g in a n a p p e a r a n c e , s h e d e t e r m i n e d to let her m o t h e r s e e a lawyer a b o u t b r e a c h - o f - p r o m i s e proc e e d i n g s . B u t a n i m a g e , w h o s e outlines h a d kept defining t h e m s e l v e s in her heart for several days p a s t , overruled this d e c i s i o n . It w a s the i m a g e of a pluckier fellow than H e y m a n — o f o n e with w h o m there w a s m o r e p r o t e c t i o n in store for a wife, who inspired her with m o r e r e s p e c t a n d c o n f i d e n c e , a n d , what is m o r e , w h o s e e m e d on the point of p r o p o s i n g to her. It w a s the i m a g e of David. T h e y o u n g b a s t e r p u r s u e d his c o u r t s h i p with a quiet p e r s i s t e n c y a n d a s u p p r e s s e d fervor which w a s not long in w i n n i n g the girl's heart. H e f o u n d work for her a n d for h i m s e l f in the s a m e s h o p ; s a w her h o m e every evening; regularly c a m e after s u p p e r to take her out for a walk, in the c o u r s e of which he would treat her to c a n d y a n d invite her to a coffee s a l o o n , — a thing which H e y m a n h a d never d o n e ; — k e p t her c h u c k l i n g over his j o k e s ; a n d at the end of ten d a y s , while sitting by her side in C e n t r a l Park, o n e night, h e said, in reply to her r e m a r k that it w a s s o dark that s h e knew not where s h e w a s : — "I'll tell you w h e r e you a r e — g u e s s . " "Where?" " H e r e , in my heart, a n d k e e p i n g m e a w a k e nights, t o o . S a y , B e i l e , w h a t have I ever d o n e to you to have my rest d i s t u r b e d by you in that m a n ner?" H e r heart w a s b e a t i n g like a s l e d g e - h a m m e r . S h e tried to l a u g h , a s s h e returned:— "I don't k n o w — Y o u c a n never s t o p m a k i n g fun, c a n y o u ? " " F u n ? D o you want m e to cry? I will, gladly, if I only know that you will a g r e e to have a n e n g a g e m e n t party," he rejoined, deeply b l u s h i n g u n d e r cover of the d a r k n e s s . " W h e n ? " s h e q u e s t i o n e d , the word c r o s s i n g her lips before s h e k n e w it. " O n my p a r t , to-morrow." 1895

1898

1658

CHARLOTTE

PERKINS

GILMAN

1860-1935 Charlotte Perkins Gilman lived her life, for the most part, on the margins of a society whose economic assumptions about and social definitions of women she vigorously repudiated. Out of this resistance to conventional values and what she later characterized as "masculinist" ideals, Gilman produced the large body of polemical writings and self-consciously feminist fiction that made her the leading feminist theoretician, speaker, and writer of her time. Charlotte Anna Perkins was born in Hartford, Connecticut, on July 3, 1860. Her father, Frederic Beecher Perkins, was a minor literary figure, grandson of the theologian Lyman Beecher, and nephew of the preacher Henry Ward Beecher and of Harriet Beecher Stowe. Her mother was Mary A. Fitch, whose family had lived in Rhode Island since the middle of the seventeenth century. Gilman's father deserted his family and left for San Francisco shortly after her birth, and she spent many years trying, without success, to establish some intimacy with him. About all she got from him were occasional letters with lists of books she should read. Her mother returned to Providence, Rhode Island, where she supported herself and her two children with great difficulty; she withheld from them all physical expressions of love, hoping to prevent their later disillusionment over broken relationships. It is easy to understand why in her autobiography Gilman described her childhood as painful and lonely. Between 1880 and her marriage in May 1884 to Charles Stetson, a promising Providence artist, Gilman had supported herself in Providence as a governess, art teacher, and designer of greeting cards. During those years she had increasingly become aware of the injustices inflicted on women, and she had begun to write poems—one in defense of prostitutes—in which she developed her own views on women's suffrage. She entered into the marriage reluctantly, anticipating the difficulties of reconciling her ambition to be a writer with the demands of being a wife, housekeeper, and mother. Within eleven months, their only child, Katharine, was born; following the birth, Gilman became increasingly despondent, and marital tensions increased. Her husband and her mother were convinced that Gilman needed rest and willpower to overcome her depression; they persuaded her to go to Philadelphia for treatment by Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, the most famous American neurologist of the day. A specialist in women's "nervous" disorders, Mitchell usually prescribed a "rest cure" consisting of total bedrest for several weeks and limited intellectual activity thereafter. As Gilman put it in "Why I Wrote 'The Yellow Wall-paper'?" (1913), the doctor "sent me home [after six weeks] with the solemn advice to 'live as domestic a life as . . . possible,' to 'have but two hours' intellectual life a day,' and 'never to touch pen, brush, or pencil again' as long as I lived." The patient returned to Providence and obeyed these instructions for three months "and came so near the borderline of utter mental ruin that I could see over." She drew back from the edge of madness by resuming her life as a reluctant wife and mother and as an enthusiastic writer and participant in the American Woman Suffrage Association (whose annual convention Gilman had first attended in 1886). A few years later she wrote her most famous story. As she concluded: "It was not intended to drive people crazy, but to save people from being driven crazy, and it worked." Writing "The Yellow Wall-paper" (1892), however, did not keep Gilman from suffering all her life with extended periods of depression. In 1888, after a trial separation, convinced that her marriage threatened her sanity, Gilman moved with her daughter to Pasadena, California, and in 1892 was granted a divorce. Her former husband promptly married her best friend, the writer Grace Ellery Channing, and not long thereafter Gilman sent her daughter, Katharine, east to live with them. Such actions generated much publicity and hostile criticism in the

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press, but nothing kept Gilman from pursuing her double career as writer and lecturer on women, labor, and social organization. In these years she was particularly influenced by the sociologist Lester Ward and the Utopian novelist Edward Bellamy. In 1 8 9 8 Gilman published Women and Economics, the book that earned her immediate celebrity and that is still considered her most important nonfiction work. This powerful "feminist manifesto" argues a thesis Gilman was to develop and refine for the rest of her life: women's economic dependency on men stunts not only the growth of women but that of the whole human species. More particularly, she argued that because of the dependency of women on men for food and shelter the sexual and maternal aspects of their personalities had been developed excessively and to the detriment of their other productive capacities. To free women to develop in a more balanced and socially constructive way, Gilman urged such reforms as centralized nurseries (in Concerning Children, 1 9 0 0 ) and professionally staffed collective kitchens (in The Home,

1904).

In 1 9 1 1 she published The Man-Made World, which contrasted the competitiveness and aggressiveness of men with the cooperativeness and nurturance of women and posited that, until women played a larger part in national and international life, social injustice and war would continue to characterize industrialized societies. Similarly, in His Religion and Hers ( 1 9 2 3 ) Gilman predicted that only when women influenced theology would the fear of death and punishment cease to be central to religious institutions and practices. Gilman's fiction, mostly written when she was well p a s t forty, must be seen, as the critic Ann J . Lane observed, as "part of her ideological world view, and therein lies its interest and power." Therein, also, lies its limits, for as Lane also says, "She wrote quickly, carelessly, to make a point." Still, many of Gilman's stories and her Utopian novels—such as Moving

the Mountain

( 1 9 1 1 ) , Herland

( 1 9 1 5 ) , and With Her in Our-

land ( 1 9 1 6 ) — o f f e r vivid dramatizations of the social ills (and their potential remedies) that result from a competitive economic system in which women are subordinate to men and accept their subordination. In Herland, for instance, Gilman offers a vision of an all-female society in which caring women raise children (reproduced by parthenogenesis) collectively in a world that is both prosperous and ecologically sound. In 1 9 0 0 , after a long courtship, she married her first cousin George Houghton Gilman. They lived together happily, first in New York, then in Norwich, Connecticut, until he died suddenly in 1 9 3 4 . Gilman then moved to Pasadena to live with her daughter's family. The next year, suffering from breast cancer and convinced that her productive life was over, she committed suicide with chloroform she had long been accumulating.

The Yellow Wall-paper' It is very s e l d o m that m e r e ordinary p e o p l e like J o h n a n d myself s e c u r e a n c e s t r a l halls for t h e s u m m e r . A colonial m a n s i o n , a hereditary e s t a t e , I w o u l d s a y a h a u n t e d h o u s e , a n d reach the height of r o m a n t i c felicity—but that would b e a s k i n g t o o m u c h o f fate! 1. T h e complete a n d complex textual history of the extant fair copy manuscript and the seven editions of the story during Gilman's lifetime is available in Julie Bates Dock's Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "The Yellow Wall-paper" and the History of Its Publication and Reception: A Critical Edition and Documentary Casebook (Penn State University

Press, 1998). Dock's volume also contains a detailed textual apparatus a n d notes, a variety of documentary background material, early reviews, and other commentary. Professor Dock and Penn State University Press have kindly granted permission to use her eclectic critical edition of this story.

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Still I will proudly d e c l a r e that there is s o m e t h i n g q u e e r a b o u t it. E l s e , why s h o u l d it be let s o c h e a p l y ? A n d why have s t o o d s o long u n t e n anted? J o h n l a u g h s at m e , of c o u r s e , but o n e e x p e c t s that in m a r r i a g e . J o h n is practical in the e x t r e m e . H e has n o p a t i e n c e with faith, a n i n t e n s e horror of s u p e r s t i t i o n , a n d he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt a n d s e e n a n d p u t down in figures. J o h n is a p h y s i c i a n , a n d perhaps—(I w o u l d not say it to a living soul, of c o u r s e , but this is d e a d p a p e r a n d a great relief to my m i n d ) — p e r h a p s that is o n e r e a s o n 1 do not get well faster. You s e e he d o e s not believe I a m sick! A n d what c a n o n e d o ? If a p h y s i c i a n of high s t a n d i n g , a n d one's own h u s b a n d , a s s u r e s friends a n d relatives that there is really n o t h i n g the m a t t e r with o n e but t e m p o r a r y nervous d e p r e s s i o n — a slight hysterical t e n d e n c y 2 — w h a t is o n e to d o ? M y brother is also a p h y s i c i a n , a n d a l s o of high s t a n d i n g , a n d h e says the s a m e thing. S o I take p h o s p h a t e s or p h o s p h i t e s — w h i c h e v e r it i s — a n d t o n i c s , a n d journeys, a n d air, a n d exercise, a n d a m a b s o l u t e l y forbidden to " w o r k " until I a m well a g a i n . Personally, I d i s a g r e e with their i d e a s . Personally, I believe that c o n g e n i a l work, with e x c i t e m e n t a n d c h a n g e , would do m e g o o d . B u t what is o n e to d o ? I did write for a while in spite of t h e m ; b u t it does e x h a u s t m e a g o o d d e a l — h a v i n g to b e so sly a b o u t it, or else m e e t with heavy o p p o s i t i o n . I s o m e t i m e s fancy that in my condition if I h a d less o p p o s i t i o n a n d m o r e society a n d s t i m u l u s — b u t J o h n says the very worst thing I c a n d o is to think a b o u t my c o n d i t i o n , a n d I c o n f e s s it always m a k e s m e feel b a d . S o I will let it a l o n e a n d talk a b o u t the h o u s e . T h e m o s t beautiful p l a c e ! It is q u i t e a l o n e , s t a n d i n g well b a c k from the r o a d , q u i t e three miles from the village. It m a k e s m e think of E n g l i s h p l a c e s that you read a b o u t , for there are h e d g e s a n d walls a n d g a t e s that lock, a n d lots of s e p a r a t e little h o u s e s for the g a r d e n e r s a n d p e o p l e . T h e r e is a delicious g a r d e n ! I never saw s u c h a g a r d e n — l a r g e a n d shady, full of box-bordered p a t h s , a n d lined with long g r a p e - c o v e r e d a r b o r s with seats under them. T h e r e were g r e e n h o u s e s , too, b u t they a r e all broken now. T h e r e w a s s o m e legal t r o u b l e , I believe, s o m e t h i n g a b o u t the heirs a n d co-heirs; anyhow, the p l a c e h a s b e e n e m p t y for years. T h a t spoils my g h o s t l i n e s s , I a m afraid, but I don't c a r e — t h e r e is s o m e thing s t r a n g e a b o u t the h o u s e — I c a n feel it. I even said s o to J o h n o n e m o o n l i g h t evening, but h e said w h a t I felt w a s a draught, a n d shut the window. I get u n r e a s o n a b l y angry with J o h n s o m e t i m e s . I'm s u r e I never u s e d to be so sensitive. I think it is d u e to this nervous c o n d i t i o n . 2. At the time this story was written, hysteria was a term used loosely to describe a wide variety of symptoms, thought to be particularly prevalent among women, that indicated emotional distur-

bance or dysfunction. Depression, anxiety, excitability, and vague somatic complaints were among the conditions treated as "hysteria."

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B u t J o h n says if I feel s o , I shall neglect p r o p e r self-control; s o I take p a i n s to control m y s e l f — b e f o r e him, at least, a n d that m a k e s m e very tired. I don't like our r o o m a bit. 1 w a n t e d o n e d o w n s t a i r s that o p e n e d on the piazza a n d had r o s e s all over the window, a n d s u c h pretty o l d - f a s h i o n e d chintz h a n g i n g s ! B u t J o h n would not hear of it. H e said there w a s only o n e window a n d not r o o m for two b e d s , a n d no near r o o m for him if he took a n o t h e r . H e is very careful a n d loving, a n d hardly lets m e stir without special direction. I have a s c h e d u l e prescription for e a c h hour in the day; he takes all c a r e from m e , a n d s o I feel basely ungrateful not to value it m o r e . H e said we c a m e here solely on my a c c o u n t , that I w a s to have p e r f e c t rest a n d all the air I c o u l d get. "Your exercise d e p e n d s on your s t r e n g t h , my d e a r , " said h e , " a n d your food s o m e w h a t o n your a p p e t i t e ; but air you c a n a b s o r b all the t i m e . " S o we took the nursery at the top of the h o u s e . It is a big, airy r o o m , the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, a n d air a n d s u n s h i n e g a l o r e . It was nursery first a n d then p l a y r o o m a n d g y m n a s i u m , I s h o u l d j u d g e ; for the windows are barred for little children, a n d there are rings a n d things in the walls. T h e paint a n d p a p e r look a s if a boys' school h a d u s e d it. It is stripped o f f — t h e p a p e r — i n great p a t c h e s all a r o u n d the h e a d of my b e d , a b o u t a s far a s I c a n r e a c h , a n d in a great p l a c e on the other side of the r o o m low down. I never s a w a w o r s e p a p e r in my life. O n e of t h o s e sprawling flamboyant p a t t e r n s c o m m i t t i n g every artistic sin. It is dull e n o u g h to c o n f u s e the eye in following, p r o n o u n c e d e n o u g h to c o n s t a n t l y irritate a n d provoke study, a n d w h e n you follow the l a m e uncertain curves for a little d i s t a n c e they s u d d e n l y c o m m i t s u i c i d e — p l u n g e off at o u t r a g e o u s a n g l e s , destroy t h e m s e l v e s in u n h e a r d of c o n t r a d i c t i o n s . T h e color is repellent, a l m o s t revolting; a s m o u l d e r i n g u n c l e a n yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight. It is a dull yet lurid o r a n g e in s o m e p l a c e s , a sickly s u l p h u r tint in o t h e r s . N o w o n d e r the children h a t e d it! I s h o u l d h a t e it myself if I h a d to live in this r o o m long. T h e r e c o m e s J o h n , a n d I m u s t p u t this a w a y — h e h a t e s to have m e write a word.

W e have b e e n here two w e e k s , a n d I haven't felt like writing b e f o r e , s i n c e that first day. I a m sitting by the w i n d o w now, u p in this a t r o c i o u s nursery, a n d there is nothing to hinder my writing a s m u c h a s I p l e a s e , save lack of s t r e n g t h . J o h n is away all day, a n d even s o m e nights w h e n his c a s e s are s e r i o u s . I a m glad my c a s e is not s e r i o u s ! B u t t h e s e nervous troubles are dreadfully d e p r e s s i n g . J o h n d o e s not know how m u c h I really suffer. H e knows there is no reason to suffer, a n d that satisfies h i m . O f c o u r s e it is only n e r v o u s n e s s . It d o e s weigh on m e so not to d o my duty in any way! I m e a n t to be s u c h a help to J o h n , s u c h a real rest a n d c o m f o r t , a n d here I a m a c o m p a r a t i v e b u r d e n already!

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PERKINS

GILMAN

N o b o d y would believe what a n effort it is to do w h a t little 1 a m a b l e — t o d r e s s a n d e n t e r t a i n , a n d order things. It is fortunate M a r y is so g o o d with the baby. S u c h a d e a r baby! A n d yet I cannot b e with h i m , it m a k e s m e so n e r v o u s . I s u p p o s e J o h n never w a s nervous in his life. H e l a u g h s at m e s o a b o u t this wall-paper! At first h e m e a n t to r e p a p e r the r o o m , but afterwards h e said that I w a s letting it get the better of m e , a n d that n o t h i n g w a s w o r s e for a nervous patient than to give way to s u c h f a n c i e s . H e said that after the wall-paper w a s c h a n g e d it would be the heavy beds t e a d , a n d then the b a r r e d w i n d o w s , a n d then that gate at the h e a d of the stairs, a n d so o n . "You know the p l a c e is d o i n g you g o o d , " he said, " a n d really, d e a r , I don't c a r e to renovate the h o u s e j u s t for a three m o n t h s ' r e n t a l . " " T h e n do let u s go d o w n s t a i r s , " I said, " t h e r e are s u c h pretty r o o m s t h e r e . " T h e n he took m e in his a r m s a n d called m e a b l e s s e d little g o o s e , a n d said h e would g o d o w n cellar, if I w i s h e d , a n d have it w h i t e w a s h e d into the bargain. B u t he is right e n o u g h a b o u t the b e d s a n d w i n d o w s a n d things. It is a s airy a n d c o m f o r t a b l e a r o o m a s any o n e n e e d wish, a n d , of c o u r s e , I would not be s o silly a s to m a k e him u n c o m f o r t a b l e j u s t for a w h i m . I'm really getting q u i t e fond of the big r o o m , all but that horrid p a p e r . O u t of o n e window I c a n s e e the g a r d e n , t h o s e m y s t e r i o u s d e e p - s h a d e d a r b o r s , the riotous o l d - f a s h i o n e d flowers, a n d b u s h e s a n d gnarly trees. O u t of a n o t h e r I get a lovely view of the bay a n d a little private wharf belonging to the e s t a t e . T h e r e is a beautiful s h a d e d l a n e that r u n s down there from the h o u s e . I always fancy I s e e p e o p l e walking in t h e s e n u m e r o u s p a t h s a n d a r b o r s , but J o h n has c a u t i o n e d m e not to give way to fancy in the least. H e says that with my imaginative power a n d habit of story-making, a nervous w e a k n e s s like m i n e is s u r e to lead to all m a n n e r of excited f a n c i e s , a n d that I o u g h t to u s e my will a n d g o o d s e n s e to c h e c k the t e n d e n c y . S o I try. I think s o m e t i m e s that if I were only well e n o u g h to write a little it would relieve the p r e s s of ideas a n d rest m e . B u t I find I get pretty tired w h e n I try. It is s o d i s c o u r a g i n g not to have any advice a n d c o m p a n i o n s h i p a b o u t my work. W h e n I get really well, J o h n says we will a s k C o u s i n Henry a n d J u l i a d o w n for a long visit; but he says h e w o u l d a s s o o n put fireworks in my pillowc a s e a s to let m e have t h o s e s t i m u l a t i n g p e o p l e a b o u t n o w . I wish I c o u l d get well faster. B u t I m u s t not think a b o u t that. T h i s p a p e r looks to m e a s if it knew what a vicious influence it h a d ! T h e r e is a r e c u r r e n t spot w h e r e the pattern lolls like a b r o k e n n e c k a n d two b u l b o u s eyes stare at you u p s i d e d o w n . I get positively angry with the i m p e r t i n e n c e of it a n d the e v e r l a s t i n g n e s s . U p a n d down a n d sideways they crawl, a n d t h o s e a b s u r d , u n b l i n k i n g eyes a r e everywhere. T h e r e is o n e p l a c e w h e r e two b r e a d t h s didn't m a t c h , a n d the eyes go all up a n d d o w n the line, o n e a little higher than the other. I never saw s o m u c h e x p r e s s i o n in a n i n a n i m a t e thing b e f o r e , a n d w e all know how m u c h expression they have! I u s e d to lie a w a k e a s a child a n d get m o r e e n t e r t a i n m e n t a n d terror out of blank walls a n d plain furniture t h a n m o s t children c o u l d find in a toy-store.

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER

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1663

I r e m e m b e r what a kindly wink the k n o b s of our big, old b u r e a u u s e d to have, a n d there w a s o n e chair that always s e e m e d like a strong friend. I u s e d to feel that if any of the other things looked too fierce I c o u l d always h o p into that chair a n d be s a f e . T h e furniture in this r o o m is no w o r s e than i n h a r m o n i o u s , however, for we h a d to bring it all from d o w n s t a i r s . I s u p p o s e w h e n this w a s u s e d a s a playroom they h a d to take the nursery things out, a n d no wonder! I never saw s u c h ravages a s the children have m a d e here. T h e wall-paper, a s I said before, is torn off in s p o t s , a n d it sticketh c l o s e r than a b r o t h e r ' — t h e y m u s t have h a d p e r s e v e r a n c e a s well as hatred. T h e n the floor is s c r a t c h e d a n d g o u g e d a n d splintered, the plaster itself is d u g out here a n d there, a n d this great heavy b e d , which is all we f o u n d in the r o o m , looks a s if it h a d b e e n through the w a r s . B u t I don't m i n d it a b i t — o n l y the p a p e r . T h e r e c o m e s J o h n ' s sister. S u c h a d e a r girl a s s h e is, a n d so careful of m e ! I m u s t not let her find m e writing. S h e is a perfect a n d e n t h u s i a s t i c h o u s e k e e p e r , a n d h o p e s for no better p r o f e s s i o n . I verily believe s h e thinks it is the writing which m a d e m e sick! B u t I c a n write w h e n s h e is out, a n d s e e her a long way off from these windows. T h e r e is o n e that c o m m a n d s the road, a lovely s h a d e d winding road, a n d o n e that j u s t looks off over the country. A lovely country, too, full of great e l m s a n d velvet m e a d o w s . T h i s wall-paper h a s a kind of s u b - p a t t e r n in a different s h a d e , a particularly irritating o n e , for you c a n only s e e it in certain lights, a n d not clearly then. B u t in the p l a c e s w h e r e it isn't faded a n d w h e r e the s u n is j u s t s o — I c a n s e e a s t r a n g e , provoking, f o r m l e s s sort of figure, that s e e m s to skulk a b o u t behind that silly a n d c o n s p i c u o u s front d e s i g n . T h e r e ' s sister o n the stairs!

Well, the F o u r t h of J u l y is over! T h e p e o p l e a r e all g o n e a n d I a m tired out. J o h n thought it might do m e g o o d to s e e a little c o m p a n y , s o we j u s t had m o t h e r a n d Nellie a n d the children down for a week. O f c o u r s e I didn't do a thing. J e n n i e s e e s to everything now. B u t it tired m e all the s a m e . J o h n says if I don't pick u p faster he shall s e n d m e to W e i r M i t c h e l l 4 in the fall. B u t I don't want to go there at all. I had a friend w h o w a s in his h a n d s o n c e , a n d s h e says h e is j u s t like J o h n a n d my brother, only m o r e s o ! B e s i d e s , it is s u c h an u n d e r t a k i n g to go s o far. I don't feel a s if it w a s worth while to turn my h a n d over for anything, a n d I'm getting dreadfully fretful a n d q u e r u l o u s . I cry at nothing, a n d cry m o s t of the t i m e . O f c o u r s e I don't w h e n J o h n is h e r e , or anybody e l s e , but w h e n I a m a l o n e . 3. Proverbs 18.24: "There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother." 4. Silas Weir Mitchell ( 1 8 2 9 - 1 9 1 4 ) , American physician, novelist, and specialist in nerve disorders, popularized the "rest cure" in the manage-

ment of hysteria, nervous breakdowns, and related disorders. A friend of W. D. Howells, he was the model for the nerve specialist in Howells's The Shadow of a Dream ( 1 8 9 0 ) .

1664

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CHARLOTTE PERKINS

GILMAN

A n d I a m a l o n e a g o o d deal j u s t now. J o h n is kept in town very often by s e r i o u s c a s e s , a n d J e n n i e is g o o d a n d lets m e a l o n e when I w a n t her to. S o I walk a little in the g a r d e n or d o w n that lovely l a n e , sit on the p o r c h u n d e r the r o s e s , a n d lie d o w n u p here a g o o d d e a l . I'm getting really fond of the r o o m in spite of the wall-paper. P e r h a p s because of the wall-paper. It dwells in my m i n d s o ! I lie here on this great i m m o v a b l e b e d — i t is nailed d o w n , I b e l i e v e — a n d follow that pattern a b o u t by the hour. It is a s g o o d a s g y m n a s t i c s , I a s s u r e you. I start, we'll say, at the b o t t o m , d o w n in the c o r n e r over there w h e r e it h a s not b e e n t o u c h e d , a n d I d e t e r m i n e for the t h o u s a n d t h time that I will follow that p o i n t l e s s p a t t e r n to s o m e sort of a c o n c l u s i o n . I know a little of the principle of d e s i g n , a n d 1 know this thing w a s not a r r a n g e d on any laws of radiation, or alternation, or repetition, or symmetry, or anything else that I ever h e a r d of. It is r e p e a t e d , of c o u r s e , by the b r e a d t h s , b u t not o t h e r w i s e . L o o k e d at in o n e way e a c h b r e a d t h s t a n d s a l o n e , the b l o a t e d c u r v e s a n d f l o u r i s h e s — a kind of " d e b a s e d R o m a n e s q u e " 5 with delirium tremens—go w a d d l i n g u p a n d down in isolated c o l u m n s of fatuity. B u t , on the other h a n d , they c o n n e c t diagonally, a n d the sprawling outlines run off in great s l a n t i n g waves of optic horror, like a lot of wallowing s e a - w e e d s in full c h a s e . T h e w h o l e thing g o e s horizontally, too, at least it s e e m s s o , a n d I e x h a u s t myself in trying to distinguish the order of its g o i n g in that direction. T h e y have u s e d a horizontal b r e a d t h for a frieze, 6 a n d that a d d s wonderfully to the c o n f u s i o n . T h e r e is o n e e n d of the r o o m w h e r e it is a l m o s t intact, a n d there, w h e n the crosslights f a d e a n d low s u n s h i n e s directly u p o n it, I c a n a l m o s t fancy radiation after a l l — t h e i n t e r m i n a b l e g r o t e s q u e s s e e m to form a r o u n d a c o m m o n c e n t r e a n d r u s h off in h e a d l o n g p l u n g e s o F e q u a l distraction. It m a k e s m e tired to follow it. I will take a n a p I g u e s s .

I don't know why I s h o u l d write this. I don't w a n t to. I don't feel a b l e . A n d I know J o h n would think it a b s u r d . B u t I must say w h a t I feel a n d think in s o m e way—it is s u c h a relief! B u t the effort is getting to b e greater t h a n the relief. H a l f the time now I a m awfully lazy, a n d lie d o w n ever s o m u c h . J o h n says I m u s t n ' t lose my s t r e n g t h , a n d h a s m e take c o d liver oil a n d lots of tonics a n d things, to say n o t h i n g of ale a n d wine a n d rare m e a t . D e a r J o h n ! H e loves m e very dearly, a n d h a t e s to have m e sick. I tried to have a real e a r n e s t r e a s o n a b l e talk with him the other day, a n d tell him how I wish he w o u l d let m e go a n d m a k e a visit to C o u s i n H e n r y a n d J u l i a . B u t h e s a i d I wasn't able to g o , nor able to s t a n d it after I got t h e r e ; a n d

5. T h e style is here associated with ornamental complexity and repeated motifs and figures.

6. An ornamental band used as a border at the top of the wall.

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER

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1665

I did not m a k e o u t a very g o o d c a s e for myself, for I w a s crying before I h a d finished. It is getting to be a great effort for m e to think straight. J u s t this n e r v o u s weakness I suppose. A n d dear J o h n g a t h e r e d m e u p in his a r m s , a n d j u s t carried m e u p s t a i r s a n d laid m e on the b e d , a n d sat by m e a n d read to m e till it tired my h e a d . H e said I w a s his darling a n d his c o m f o r t a n d all h e h a d , a n d that I m u s t take c a r e of myself for his s a k e , a n d keep well. H e says no o n e b u t myself c a n help m e out of it, that I m u s t u s e my will a n d self-control a n d not let any silly f a n c i e s run away with m e . T h e r e ' s o n e c o m f o r t , the baby is well a n d happy, a n d d o e s not have to o c c u p y this nursery with the horrid wall-paper. If we h a d not u s e d it, that b l e s s e d child would have! W h a t a f o r t u n a t e e s c a p e ! Why, I wouldn't have a child of m i n e , an i m p r e s s i o n a b l e little thing, live in s u c h a r o o m for worlds. I never t h o u g h t of it b e f o r e , but it is lucky that J o h n kept m e here after all, I c a n s t a n d it so m u c h e a s i e r than a baby, you s e e . O f c o u r s e I never m e n t i o n it to t h e m any m o r e — I a m too w i s e — b u t I keep watch of it all the s a m e . T h e r e are things in that p a p e r that nobody knows but m e , or ever will. B e h i n d that o u t s i d e pattern the dim s h a p e s get clearer every day. It is always the s a m e s h a p e , only very n u m e r o u s . A n d it is like a w o m a n s t o o p i n g d o w n a n d c r e e p i n g a b o u t b e h i n d that p a t t e r n . I don't like it a bit. I w o n d e r — I begin to t h i n k — I wish J o h n w o u l d take m e away from h e r e ! •

It is so hard to talk with J o h n a b o u t my c a s e , b e c a u s e h e is s o w i s e , a n d b e c a u s e he loves m e s o . B u t I tried it last night. It w a s m o o n l i g h t . T h e m o o n s h i n e s in all a r o u n d j u s t a s the s u n d o e s . I h a t e to s e e it s o m e t i m e s , it c r e e p s s o slowly, a n d always c o m e s in by o n e window or a n o t h e r . J o h n w a s a s l e e p a n d I h a t e d to w a k e n him, s o I kept still a n d w a t c h e d the moonlight on that u n d u l a t i n g wall-paper till I felt creepy. T h e faint figure b e h i n d s e e m e d to s h a k e the p a t t e r n , j u s t a s if s h e w a n t e d to get out. I got up softly a n d went to feel a n d s e e if the p a p e r did m o v e , a n d w h e n I c a m e back John was awake. " W h a t is it, little girl?" he said. " D o n ' t go walking a b o u t like that—you'll get c o l d . " I t h o u g h t it w a s a g o o d time to talk, so I told him that I really w a s not g a i n i n g h e r e , a n d that I w i s h e d he would take m e away. "Why, darling!" said h e , " o u r l e a s e will b e up in t h r e e w e e k s , a n d I can't see how to leave b e f o r e . " T h e repairs are not d o n e at h o m e , a n d I c a n n o t p o s s i b l y leave town j u s t now. O f c o u r s e if you were in any d a n g e r , I c o u l d a n d w o u l d , but you really are better, d e a r , w h e t h e r you c a n s e e it or not. I a m a d o c t o r , d e a r , a n d I know. You are g a i n i n g flesh a n d color, your a p p e t i t e is better, I feel really m u c h easier about you."

1666

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CHARLOTTE PERKINS

GILMAN

"I don't weigh a bit m o r e , " said I, " n o r a s m u c h ; a n d my a p p e t i t e m a y b e better in the evening w h e n you are h e r e , but it is worse in the m o r n i n g w h e n you are away!" " B l e s s her little h e a r t ! " said he with a big hug, " s h e shall be a s sick a s s h e p l e a s e s ! B u t now let's improve the s h i n i n g h o u r s 7 by g o i n g to s l e e p , a n d talk a b o u t it in the m o r n i n g ! " "And you won't go a w a y ? " I a s k e d gloomily. "Why, how c a n I, d e a r ? It is only three weeks m o r e a n d then w e will take a nice little trip of a few days while J e n n i e is getting the h o u s e ready. Really, dear, you are better!" " B e t t e r in body p e r h a p s — " I b e g a n , a n d s t o p p e d short, for he sat u p straight a n d looked at m e with s u c h a stern, reproachful look that I could not say a n o t h e r word. " M y d a r l i n g , " s a i d h e , "I b e g of you, for my s a k e a n d for our child's s a k e , as well a s for your own, that you will never for o n e instant let that idea enter your m i n d ! T h e r e is n o t h i n g s o d a n g e r o u s , s o f a s c i n a t i n g , to a t e m p e r a m e n t like yours. It is a false a n d foolish fancy. C a n you not trust m e a s a p h y s i c i a n w h e n I tell you s o ? " S o of c o u r s e I said no m o r e on that s c o r e , a n d we went to s l e e p before long. H e t h o u g h t I w a s a s l e e p first, but I wasn't, a n d lay t h e r e for h o u r s trying to d e c i d e w h e t h e r that front pattern a n d the b a c k p a t t e r n really did m o v e together or separately.

•

• • • • •

O n a pattern like this, by daylight, there is a lack of s e q u e n c e , a d e f i a n c e of law, that is a c o n s t a n t irritant to a n o r m a l mind. T h e color is h i d e o u s e n o u g h , a n d unreliable e n o u g h , a n d infuriating e n o u g h , but the pattern is torturing. You think you have m a s t e r e d it, but j u s t as you get well u n d e r w a y in following, it turns a b a c k - s o m e r s a u l t a n d there you a r e . It s l a p s you in the f a c e , knocks you d o w n , a n d t r a m p l e s u p o n you. It is like a b a d d r e a m . T h e o u t s i d e pattern is a florid a r a b e s q u e , r e m i n d i n g o n e of a f u n g u s . If you c a n i m a g i n e a toadstool in j o i n t s , a n i n t e r m i n a b l e string of t o a d s t o o l s , b u d d i n g a n d s p r o u t i n g in e n d l e s s c o n v o l u t i o n s — w h y , that is s o m e t h i n g like it. T h a t is, s o m e t i m e s ! T h e r e is o n e m a r k e d peculiarity a b o u t this p a p e r , a thing n o b o d y s e e m s to notice but myself, a n d that is that it c h a n g e s a s the light c h a n g e s . W h e n the s u n s h o o t s in through the e a s t w i n d o w — I always w a t c h for that first long, straight ray—it c h a n g e s so quickly that I never c a n q u i t e believe it. T h a t is why I watch it always. By m o o n l i g h t — t h e m o o n s h i n e s in all night w h e n there is a m o o n — I wouldn't know it w a s the s a m e p a p e r . At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight, a n d worst of all by m o o n l i g h t , it b e c o m e s b a r s ! T h e o u t s i d e pattern, I m e a n , a n d the w o m a n b e h i n d it is a s plain a s c a n b e . 7. In his poem "Against Idleness and Mischief," Isaac Watts (1674—1 7 4 8 ) writes: How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour. And gather honey all the day From ever)' opening flower!

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER

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1667

I didn't realize for a long time what the thing w a s that s h o w e d b e h i n d , that d i m s u b - p a t t e r n , b u t now I a m quite s u r e it is a w o m a n . By daylight s h e is s u b d u e d , quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that k e e p s her so still. It is so puzzling. It k e e p s m e quiet by the hour. I lie down ever so m u c h now. J o h n says it is g o o d for m e , a n d to s l e e p all I can. Indeed he started the habit by m a k i n g m e lie down for a n h o u r after e a c h meal. It is a very b a d habit, I a m c o n v i n c e d , for you s e e I don't s l e e p . A n d that cultivates deceit, for I don't tell t h e m I'm a w a k e — O n o ! T h e fact is I a m getting a little afraid of J o h n . H e s e e m s very q u e e r s o m e t i m e s , a n d even J e n n i e h a s a n inexplicable look. It strikes m e o c c a s i o n a l l y , j u s t as a scientific h y p o t h e s i s , that p e r h a p s it is the p a p e r ! I have w a t c h e d J o h n w h e n h e did not know I w a s looking, a n d c o m e into the r o o m s u d d e n l y on the m o s t i n n o c e n t e x c u s e s , a n d I've c a u g h t him several times looking at the paper! A n d J e n n i e t o o . I c a u g h t J e n n i e with her h a n d on it o n c e . S h e didn't know I was in the r o o m , a n d w h e n I a s k e d her in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the m o s t restrained m a n n e r p o s s i b l e , what s h e w a s d o i n g with the p a p e r — s h e t u r n e d a r o u n d as if s h e h a d b e e n c a u g h t stealing, a n d looked quite a n g r y — a s k e d m e why I s h o u l d frighten her s o ! T h e n s h e said that the p a p e r stained everything it t o u c h e d , that s h e h a d f o u n d yellow s m o o c h e s on all my clothes a n d J o h n ' s , a n d s h e w i s h e d we would be m o r e careful! Did not that s o u n d i n n o c e n t ? B u t I know she w a s studying that p a t t e r n , a n d I a m d e t e r m i n e d that nobody shall find it out b u t myself!

Life is very m u c h m o r e exciting now than it u s e d to b e . You s e e I have s o m e t h i n g m o r e to expect, to look forward to, to w a t c h . I really d o eat better, a n d a m m o r e quiet t h a n I w a s . J o h n is s o p l e a s e d to s e e m e improve! H e l a u g h e d a little the other day, a n d said I s e e m e d to be flourishing in spite of my wall-paper. I turned it off with a l a u g h . I h a d no intention of telling h i m it w a s because of the w a l l - p a p e r — h e would m a k e fun of m e . H e might even want to take m e away. I don't want to leave now until I have f o u n d it out. T h e r e is a week m o r e , a n d I think that will be e n o u g h .

......

I'm feeling ever so m u c h better! I don't s l e e p m u c h at night, for it is s o interesting to w a t c h d e v e l o p m e n t s ; but I s l e e p a g o o d deal in the d a y t i m e . In the daytime it is t i r e s o m e a n d perplexing. T h e r e are always n e w s h o o t s on the f u n g u s , a n d new s h a d e s of yellow all over it. I c a n n o t keep c o u n t of t h e m , t h o u g h I have tried c o n s c i e n t i o u s l y . It is the s t r a n g e s t yellow, that wall-paper! It m a k e s m e think of all the yellow things I ever s a w — n o t beautiful o n e s like b u t t e r c u p s , but old foul, b a d yellow things. B u t there is s o m e t h i n g else a b o u t that p a p e r — t h e smell! I n o t i c e d it the m o m e n t we c a m e into the r o o m , but with s o m u c h air a n d s u n it w a s not

1668

/

CHARLOTTE PERKINS

GILMAN

b a d . N o w we have h a d a w e e k of fog a n d rain, a n d w h e t h e r the w i n d o w s a r e o p e n or not, the smell is h e r e . It c r e e p s all over the h o u s e . I find it hovering in the d i n i n g - r o o m , skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for m e on the stairs. It gets into my hair. E v e n w h e n I g o to ride, if I turn my h e a d s u d d e n l y a n d s u r p r i s e i t — t h e r e is that smell! S u c h a p e c u l i a r odor, too! I have s p e n t h o u r s in trying to analyze it, to find w h a t it s m e l l e d like. It is not b a d — a t first—and very gentle, b u t quite the s u b t l e s t , m o s t e n d u r ing o d o r I ever m e t . In this d a m p w e a t h e r it is awful, I w a k e u p in the night a n d find it h a n g i n g over m e . It u s e d to d i s t u r b m e at first. I t h o u g h t seriously of b u r n i n g the h o u s e — to r e a c h the smell. B u t now I a m u s e d to it. T h e only thing I c a n think of that it is like is the color of the paper! A yellow smell. T h e r e is a very funny m a r k o n this wall, low d o w n , n e a r the m o p b o a r d . A streak that r u n s r o u n d the r o o m . It g o e s b e h i n d every p i e c e of furniture, except the b e d , a long, straight, even smooch, a s if it h a d b e e n r u b b e d over a n d over. I w o n d e r how it w a s d o n e a n d w h o did it, a n d w h a t they did it for. R o u n d a n d r o u n d a n d r o u n d — r o u n d a n d r o u n d a n d r o u n d — i t m a k e s m e dizzy!

•

• • • • •

I really have d i s c o v e r e d s o m e t h i n g at last. T h r o u g h w a t c h i n g s o m u c h at night, w h e n it c h a n g e s s o , I have finally found out. T h e front pattern does m o v e — a n d n o w o n d e r ! T h e w o m a n b e h i n d s h a k e s it! S o m e t i m e s I think there are a great m a n y w o m e n b e h i n d , a n d s o m e t i m e s only o n e , a n d she crawls a r o u n d fast, a n d her crawling s h a k e s it all over. T h e n in the very bright s p o t s s h e k e e p s still, a n d in the very s h a d y s p o t s s h e j u s t t a k e s hold of the b a r s a n d s h a k e s t h e m hard. A n d s h e is all the time trying to c l i m b t h r o u g h . B u t n o b o d y c o u l d c l i m b t h r o u g h that p a t t e r n — i t s t r a n g l e s s o ; I think that is why it h a s s o m a n y h e a d s . T h e y get t h r o u g h , a n d then the p a t t e r n s t r a n g l e s t h e m off a n d t u r n s t h e m u p s i d e d o w n , a n d m a k e s their eyes white! If t h o s e h e a d s were c o v e r e d or taken off it would not be half so b a d .

I think that w o m a n g e t s o u t in the d a y t i m e ! A n d I'll tell you why—privately—I've s e e n her! I c a n s e e her o u t of every o n e of my w i n d o w s ! It is the s a m e w o m a n , I know, for s h e is always c r e e p i n g , a n d m o s t w o m e n do not c r e e p by daylight. I s e e her in that long s h a d e d l a n e , c r e e p i n g u p a n d d o w n . I s e e her in t h o s e dark g r a p e a r b o r s , c r e e p i n g all a r o u n d the g a r d e n . I s e e her on that long r o a d u n d e r the t r e e s , c r e e p i n g a l o n g , a n d w h e n a carriage c o m e s s h e hides u n d e r the blackberry v i n e s .

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER

/

1669

I don't b l a m e her a bit. It m u s t be very h u m i l i a t i n g to be c a u g h t c r e e p i n g by daylight! I always lock the d o o r w h e n I c r e e p by daylight. I can't d o it at night, for I know J o h n would s u s p e c t s o m e t h i n g at o n c e . A n d J o h n is so q u e e r now, that I don't want to irritate h i m . I wish h e would take a n o t h e r r o o m ! B e s i d e s , I don't want anybody to get that w o m a n out at night but myself. I often w o n d e r if I c o u l d s e e her o u t of all the windows at o n c e . B u t , turn a s fast a s I c a n , I c a n only s e e out of o n e at o n e t i m e . A n d t h o u g h I always s e e her, s h e may be able to c r e e p faster t h a n I c a n turn! I have w a t c h e d her s o m e t i m e s away off in the o p e n country, c r e e p i n g a s fast a s a c l o u d s h a d o w in a high wind.

If only that top pattern c o u l d b e gotten off from the u n d e r o n e ! I m e a n to try it, little by little. I have f o u n d out a n o t h e r funny thing, but I shan't tell it this t i m e ! It d o e s not do to trust p e o p l e too m u c h . T h e r e are only two m o r e days to get this p a p e r off, a n d I believe J o h n is b e g i n n i n g to n o t i c e . I don't like the look in his eyes. A n d I heard him a s k J e n n i e a lot of p r o f e s s i o n a l q u e s t i o n s a b o u t m e . S h e h a d a very g o o d report to give. S h e said I slept a g o o d deal in the d a y t i m e . J o h n knows I don't sleep very well at night, for all I'm so quiet! H e a s k e d m e all sorts of q u e s t i o n s , too, a n d p r e t e n d e d to b e very loving a n d kind. As if I couldn't s e e through him! Still, I don't w o n d e r he a c t s s o , s l e e p i n g u n d e r this p a p e r for three m o n t h s . It only interests m e , but I feel s u r e J o h n a n d J e n n i e are secretly affected by it.

H u r r a h ! T h i s is the last day, but it is e n o u g h . J o h n h a d to stay in town over night, a n d won't be out until this evening. J e n n i e w a n t e d to sleep with m e — t h e sly t h i n g ! — b u t I told her I s h o u l d u n d o u b t e d l y rest better for a night all a l o n e . T h a t w a s clever, for really I wasn't a l o n e a bit! As s o o n a s it w a s m o o n l i g h t a n d that poor thing b e g a n to crawl a n d s h a k e the p a t t e r n , I got u p a n d ran to help her. I pulled a n d s h e shook, I s h o o k a n d s h e pulled, a n d before m o r n i n g we h a d p e e l e d off yards of that p a p e r . A strip a b o u t as high as my h e a d a n d half a r o u n d the r o o m . A n d then w h e n the s u n c a m e a n d that awful pattern b e g a n to l a u g h at m e , I d e c l a r e d I would finish it to-day! W e go away to-morrow, a n d they are m o v i n g all my furniture d o w n a g a i n to leave things a s they were before. J e n n i e looked at the wall in a m a z e m e n t , but I told her merrily that I did it o u t of p u r e spite at the vicious thing. S h e l a u g h e d a n d said she wouldn't m i n d d o i n g it herself, but I m u s t not get tired.

1670

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CHARLOTTE

PERKINS

GILMAN

H o w s h e betrayed herself that time! B u t I a m h e r e , a n d n o p e r s o n t o u c h e s this p a p e r but m e — n o t alive! S h e tried to get m e o u t of the r o o m — i t w a s too p a t e n t ! B u t I said it w a s so quiet a n d e m p t y a n d c l e a n now that I believed I w o u l d lie d o w n a g a i n a n d s l e e p all I c o u l d ; a n d not to w a k e m e even for d i n n e r — I w o u l d call when I woke. S o now s h e is g o n e , a n d the servants are g o n e , a n d the things a r e g o n e , a n d there is n o t h i n g left but that great b e d s t e a d nailed d o w n , with the c a n v a s m a t t r e s s we f o u n d on it. W e shall s l e e p d o w n s t a i r s to-night, a n d take the boat h o m e to-morrow. I q u i t e enjoy the r o o m , now it is b a r e a g a i n . H o w t h o s e children did tear a b o u t h e r e ! T h i s b e d s t e a d is fairly g n a w e d ! B u t I m u s t get to work. I have locked the d o o r a n d thrown the key d o w n into the front p a t h . I don't want to go o u t , a n d I don't want to have anybody c o m e in, till J o h n comes. I want to a s t o n i s h h i m . I've got a r o p e u p h e r e that even J e n n i e did not find. If that w o m a n d o e s get out, a n d tries to get away, I c a n tie her! B u t I forgot I c o u l d not r e a c h far without anything to s t a n d o n ! T h i s b e d will not m o v e ! I tried to lift a n d p u s h it until I w a s l a m e , a n d t h e n I got s o angry I bit off a little p i e c e at o n e c o r n e r — b u t it hurt my teeth. T h e n I p e e l e d off all the p a p e r I c o u l d r e a c h s t a n d i n g o n the floor. It sticks horribly a n d the pattern j u s t enjoys it! All t h o s e strangled h e a d s a n d b u l b o u s eyes a n d w a d d l i n g f u n g u s growths j u s t shriek with derision! I a m getting angry e n o u g h to do s o m e t h i n g d e s p e r a t e . T o j u m p o u t of the window would be a d m i r a b l e exercise, b u t the b a r s are too s t r o n g even to try. B e s i d e s , I wouldn't do it. O f c o u r s e not. I know well e n o u g h that a s t e p like that is i m p r o p e r a n d might b e m i s c o n s t r u e d . I don't like to look o u t of the windows e v e n — t h e r e a r e s o m a n y of t h o s e c r e e p i n g w o m e n , a n d they c r e e p s o fast. I w o n d e r if they all c o m e o u t of that wall-paper a s I did? B u t I a m s e c u r e l y f a s t e n e d n o w by my well-hidden r o p e — y o u don't get me out in the road there! I s u p p o s e I shall have to get b a c k b e h i n d the pattern w h e n it c o m e s night, a n d that is hard! It is s o p l e a s a n t to b e out in this great r o o m a n d c r e e p a r o u n d a s I p l e a s e ! I don't want to go o u t s i d e . I won't, even if J e n n i e a s k s m e to. F o r o u t s i d e you have to c r e e p o n the g r o u n d , a n d everything is g r e e n i n s t e a d of yellow. B u t here I c a n c r e e p s m o o t h l y on the floor, a n d my s h o u l d e r j u s t fits in that l o n g s m o o c h a r o u n d the wall, s o I c a n n o t lose my way. Why, there's J o h n at the door! It is n o u s e , y o u n g m a n , you can't o p e n it! H o w he d o e s call a n d p o u n d ! N o w he's crying for an a x e . It would b e a s h a m e to b r e a k d o w n that beautiful door! " J o h n , d e a r ! " s a i d I in the gentlest voice, " t h e key is d o w n by the front s t e p s , u n d e r a plantain leaf!"

EDITH WHARTON

/

1671

T h a t s i l e n c e d him for a few m o m e n t s . T h e n he s a i d — v e r y quietly i n d e e d — " O p e n the door, my d a r l i n g ! " "I c a n ' t , " s a i d I. " T h e key is down by the front d o o r u n d e r a p l a n t a i n leaf!" A n d then I said it a g a i n , several t i m e s , very gently a n d slowly, a n d said it so often that h e h a d to go a n d s e e , a n d he got it of c o u r s e , a n d c a m e in. H e s t o p p e d short by the door. " W h a t is the m a t t e r ? " he cried. " F o r G o d ' s s a k e , what are you d o i n g ! " I kept on c r e e p i n g j u s t the s a m e , b u t I looked at him over my s h o u l d e r . "I've got o u t at l a s t , " s a i d I, "in spite of you a n d J a n e ! A n d I've pulled off m o s t of the p a p e r , s o you can't put m e b a c k ! " N o w why s h o u l d that m a n have fainted? B u t h e did, a n d right a c r o s s m y p a t h by the wall, s o that I h a d to c r e e p over h i m every t i m e ! 1892

EDITH

WHARTON

1862-1937 Edith Wharton began to write as a very young woman, published some fifty varied volumes in her lifetime, and left a number of unpublished manuscripts and a voluminous correspondence at her death. The House of Mirth (1905), her second novel, was a best-seller; another novel, The Age of Innocence (1920), won the Pulitzer Prize; in 1930 she was awarded the gold medal of the National Institute of Arts and Letters, the first woman to be so honored. Edith Newbold Jones was born in New York City on January 24, 1862, into a patriarchal, monied, cultivated, and rather rigid family that, like others in its small circle, disdained and feared the drastic social, cultural, and economic changes brought on by post—Civil War expansionism. It is small wonder, then, that her work at its best deals with what she described as the tragic psychic and moral effects on its members of a frivolous society under pressure. She was educated by tutors and governesses, much of the time while the family resided in Europe. In 1885 she married the Bostonian Edward Wharton, a social equal thirteen years her senior. Though they lived together (in New York; Newport; Lenox, Massachusetts; and Paris) for twenty-eight years, their marriage was not happy. That Wharton did not seek a divorce until 1913 (on grounds of her husband's adultery) is more a tribute to what her biographer R. W. B. Lewis characterized as her "moral conservatism and her devotion to family ties and the sanctities of tradition" than to personal affection. The social circle in which Edith Wharton moved was not given to artistic or intellectual pursuits, and any career—especially a career as a writer—was frowned on. A young woman from Wharton's background received little formal schooling. Her purpose in life—to find a marriage partner from her own social class—required constant attendance at balls and large parties from adolescence on, as well as much attention to fashion and etiquette. After marriage she took her place as a leisure-class wife, displaying her husband's wealth and inculcating class values in her children. Wharton rejected these values even as a young girl; she spent as much time as she could in her father's library at home—and in similar libraries of her friends. By the time she was fifteen she had written—in secret—a thirty-thousand-word novella titled Fast and Loose; at this time she also wrote a great deal of lyric poetry—with what she described as a "lamentable facility." When she was sixteen, two of her poems were

1672

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EDITH

WHARTON

published, one in the prestigious Atlantic Monthly. Although her intense interest in literature, ideas, and the arts never abated, she was not to publish again until 1889, when three recently composed poems were sent out to Scrihner's, Harper's, and the Century—and all were accepted. The next year, a sketch of hers was published by Scrihner's.

It was not until the late 1890s, however, that Wharton, then in her late thirties, fully embraced authorship as a career. The decision was motivated partly by her increasing marital discontent and, perhaps, partly by the fact that she was childless. The first significant product of that commitment was a collection of stories titled The Greater

Inclination

(1899). With the publication in 1905 of The House

of

Mirth

Wharton confirmed her unconventional choice to be a writer and immediately found an appreciative public. Although she was later to write about other subjects, she discovered in The House of Mirth her central settings, plots, and themes: the old aristocracy of New York in conflict with the nouveau riche; and the futile struggle of characters trapped by social forces larger and individuals morally smaller than themselves. Two novels that embody these themes are among those most critically acclaimed. The House of Mirth tells the story of the beautiful but hapless Lily Bart, trained to be a decorative upper-class wife but unable to sell herself like merchandise. In The Custom of the Country (1913), which Wharton considered her "masterpiece," the ruthless Undine Spragg from Ohio makes her way up the social ladder, stepping on Americans and Europeans alike in her pursuit of money and the power that goes with it. In 1911 Wharton separated from her husband and took dp residence in France, where she spent the rest of her life. Altogether she produced more than eighty short stories and twenty-two novellas and novels, including three very different but distinguished books: Ethan Frome (1911), Summer (1917), and The Age of Innocence (1920). Her autobiography, A Backward Glance, was published in 1934. During World War I Wharton organized relief efforts for the refugees and orphans displaced by the advance of the German Army and was active in many other committees and organizations dealing with the devastation wrought by this most savage of modern wars. She also wrote extensively about her visits to the front line, and a collection of these dispatches was published as Fighting

France, from Dunkerque

toBelfort

(1915).

In recognition of her brave and generous effort on behalf of French citizens and soldiers alike, she was awarded the highest honor given by the French government to foreigners—the Chevalier of the Legion of Honor. Wharton's early social training persisted throughout her life in the form of a constant sociability. She made and kept numerous friends, especially among the leading male intellectuals of her day. Some of them, Egerton Winthrop, Paul Bourget, and Walter Berry to name three, were important to her as she found her way to her profession as a writer. Others, including Henry James and art critics Bernard Berenson and Kenneth Clark, she met as intellectual equals. Still others, including Jean Cocteau and Sinclair Lewis (who dedicated Babbitt to her), became her admirers late in her life. In this capacity for friendships among the most distinguished people of her time, Wharton is like Gertrude Stein and Willa Cather, also among the most important American writers of the early twentieth century. Her reputation continues to grow; along with HenryJames she Is considered a major contributor to the practice of psychological realism and a depicter of life among Americans of the leisure class at home and abroad.

SOULS

BELATED

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Souls Belated 1 T h e i r railway-carriage h a d b e e n full w h e n the train left B o l o g n a ; b u t at the first station beyond Milan their only r e m a i n i n g c o m p a n i o n — a courtly p e r s o n who ate garlic o u t of a c a r p e t - b a g — h a d left his c r u m b - s t r e w n s e a t with a bow. Lydia's eye regretfully followed the shiny b r o a d c l o t h of his retreating b a c k till it lost itself in the c l o u d of touts a n d cab-drivers h a n g i n g a b o u t the station; then she g l a n c e d a c r o s s at G a n n e t t a n d c a u g h t the s a m e regret in his look. T h e y were both sorry to be a l o n e . s h o u t e d the g u a r d . T h e train vibrated to a s u d d e n s l a m m i n g "Par-ten-za!" of d o o r s ; a waiter ran a l o n g the platform with a tray of fossilized s a n d w i c h e s ; a belated porter flung a b u n d l e of shawls a n d b a n d - b o x e s into a third-class c a r r i a g e ; the g u a r d s n a p p e d out a brief Partenza! which i n d i c a t e d the purely o r n a m e n t a l n a t u r e of his first s h o u t ; a n d the train s w u n g out of the station. T h e direction of the road h a d c h a n g e d , a n d a shaft of sunlight s t r u c k a c r o s s the dusty red velvet s e a t s into Lydia's corner. G a n n e t t did not n o t i c e it. H e h a d r e t u r n e d to his Revue de Paris,* a n d s h e h a d to rise a n d lower the s h a d e of the farther window. A g a i n s t the vast horizon of their l e i s u r e s u c h incidents s t o o d out sharply. H a v i n g lowered the s h a d e , Lydia sat d o w n , leaving the length of the carriage b e t w e e n herself a n d G a n n e t t . At length he m i s s e d her a n d looked u p . "I m o v e d out of the s u n , " s h e hastily explained. H e looked at her curiously: t h e s u n w a s b e a t i n g on her t h r o u g h the s h a d e . "Very well," he said pleasantly; a d d i n g , "You don't m i n d ? " a s he drew a c i g a r e t t e - c a s e from his p o c k e L It w a s a refreshing t o u c h , relieving the tension of her spirit with the s u g gestion that, after all, if he c o u l d smoke—! T h e relief w a s only m o m e n t a r y . H e r experience of s m o k e r s w a s limited (her h u s b a n d h a d d i s a p p r o v e d of the u s e of t o b a c c o ) but s h e knew from h e a r s a y that m e n s o m e t i m e s s m o k e d to get away from things; that a cigar might be the m a s c u l i n e e q u i v a l e n t of d a r k e n e d windows a n d a h e a d a c h e . G a n n e t t , after a puff or two, r e t u r n e d to his review. It w a s j u s t a s s h e h a d f o r e s e e n ; he feared to s p e a k a s m u c h a s s h e did. It w a s o n e of the m i s f o r t u n e s of their situation that they were never busy e n o u g h to n e c e s s i t a t e , or even to justify, the p o s t p o n e m e n t of u n p l e a s a n t d i s c u s s i o n s . If they avoided a q u e s t i o n it w a s obviously, u n c o n c e a l a b l y b e c a u s e the q u e s t i o n w a s d i s a g r e e a b l e . T h e y h a d u n l i m i t e d leisure a n d a n a c c u m u l a t i o n of m e n t a l energy to devote to any s u b j e c t that p r e s e n t e d itself; n e w topics were in fact at a p r e m i u m . Lydia s o m e t i m e s h a d p r e m o n i t i o n s of a famine-stricken period w h e n there would be n o t h i n g left to talk a b o u t , a n d she h a d already c a u g h t herself doling o u t p i e c e m e a l what, in the first p r o d igality of their c o n f i d e n c e s , s h e would have flung to him in a b r e a t h . T h e i r silence therefore might simply m e a n that they h a d n o t h i n g to say; but it w a s 2

1. First published in the collection The Greater Inclination ( 1 8 9 9 ) , the source of the text printed here.

2. All aboard! (Italian). 3. A French literary magazine, published from 1829 through the turn of the twentieth century.

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a n o t h e r d i s a d v a n t a g e of their position that it allowed infinite o p p o r t u n i t y for the classification of m i n u t e d i f f e r e n c e s . Lydia h a d l e a r n e d to d i s t i n g u i s h b e t w e e n real a n d factitious s i l e n c e s ; a n d u n d e r G a n n e t t ' s s h e n o w d e t e c t e d a h u m of s p e e c h to which her own t h o u g h t s m a d e b r e a t h l e s s a n s w e r . H o w c o u l d it be o t h e r w i s e , with that thing b e t w e e n t h e m ? S h e g l a n c e d up at the rack o v e r h e a d . T h e thing w a s t h e r e , in her d r e s s i n g - b a g , symbolically s u s p e n d e d over her h e a d a n d his. H e w a s thinking of it now, j u s t a s s h e was; they h a d b e e n thinking of it in u n i s o n ever s i n c e they h a d e n t e r e d the train. W h i l e the carriage h a d held other travellers they h a d s c r e e n e d her from his t h o u g h t s ; but now that h e a n d s h e were a l o n e s h e k n e w exactly what w a s p a s s i n g t h r o u g h his m i n d ; s h e c o u l d a l m o s t h e a r him a s k i n g himself what he s h o u l d say to her . . . T h e thing h a d c o m e that m o r n i n g , b r o u g h t u p to her in a n i n n o c e n t looking e n v e l o p e with the rest of their letters, a s they were leaving the hotel at B o l o g n a . A s s h e tore it o p e n , s h e a n d G a n n e t t were l a u g h i n g over s o m e i n e p t i t u d e of the local g u i d e - b o o k — t h e y h a d b e e n driven, of late, to m a k e the m o s t of s u c h incidental h u m o r s of travel. Even w h e n s h e h a d u n f o l d e d the d o c u m e n t s h e took it for s o m e u n i m p o r t a n t b u s i n e s s p a p e r sent a b r o a d for her s i g n a t u r e , a n d her eye travelled inattentively over the curly Whereases of the p r e a m b l e until a word a r r e s t e d h e r : — D i v o r c e . T h e r e it s t o o d , an i m p a s s a b l e barrier, b e t w e e n her h u s b a n d ' s n a m e a n d h e r s . S h e h a d b e e n p r e p a r e d for it, of c o u r s e , a s healthy p e o p l e a r e said to b e p r e p a r e d for d e a t h , in the s e n s e of k n o w i n g it m u s t c o m e without in the least expecting that it will. S h e h a d known from the first that Tillotson m e a n t to divorce h e r — b u t w h a t did it m a t t e r ? N o t h i n g m a t t e r e d , in t h o s e first days of s u p r e m e d e l i v e r a n c e , but the fact that s h e w a s free; a n d not s o m u c h ( s h e h a d b e g u n to be a w a r e ) that f r e e d o m h a d r e l e a s e d her from Tillotson a s that it h a d given her to G a n n e t t . T h i s discovery h a d not b e e n a g r e e a b l e to her s e l f - e s t e e m . S h e h a d preferred to think that T i l l o t s o n h a d h i m s e l f e m b o d i e d all her r e a s o n s for leaving h i m ; a n d t h o s e he r e p r e s e n t e d h a d s e e m e d c o g e n t e n o u g h to s t a n d in n o n e e d of r e i n f o r c e m e n t . Yet s h e h a d not left him till s h e m e t G a n n e t t . It w a s her love for G a n n e t t that h a d m a d e life with Tillots o n so p o o r a n d i n c o m p l e t e a b u s i n e s s . If s h e h a d never, from the first, regarded her m a r r i a g e a s a full c a n c e l l i n g of her c l a i m s u p o n life, s h e h a d at least, for a n u m b e r of years, a c c e p t e d it a s a provisional c o m p e n s a t i o n , — s h e h a d m a d e it " d o . " E x i s t e n c e in the c o m m o d i o u s T i l l o t s o n m a n s i o n in Fifth A v e n u e — w i t h M r s . Tillotson senior c o m m a n d i n g the a p p r o a c h e s from the s e c o n d - s t o r y front w i n d o w s — h a d b e e n r e d u c e d to a series of purely a u t o m a t i c a c t s . T h e m o r a l a t m o s p h e r e of the Tillotson interior w a s a s c a r e fully s c r e e n e d a n d c u r t a i n e d a s the h o u s e itself: M r s . T i l l o t s o n s e n i o r d r e a d e d i d e a s a s m u c h a s a d r a u g h t in her b a c k . P r u d e n t p e o p l e liked a n even t e m p e r a t u r e ; a n d to d o anything u n e x p e c t e d w a s a s foolish a s g o i n g out in the rain. O n e of the chief a d v a n t a g e s of b e i n g rich w a s t h a t o n e n e e d not b e e x p o s e d to u n f o r e s e e n c o n t i n g e n c i e s : by the u s e of ordinary firmness a n d c o m m o n s e n s e o n e c o u l d m a k e s u r e of d o i n g exactly the s a m e thing every day at the s a m e hour. T h e s e d o c t r i n e s , reverentially i m b i b e d with his m o t h e r ' s milk, Tillotson (a m o d e l son w h o h a d never given his p a r e n t s a n hour's anxiety) c o m p l a c e n t l y e x p o u n d e d to his wife, testifying to his s e n s e of their i m p o r t a n c e by the regularity with w h i c h h e wore g o l o s h e s on d a m p

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days, his punctuality at m e a l s , a n d his elaborate p r e c a u t i o n s a g a i n s t burglars a n d c o n t a g i o u s d i s e a s e s . Lydia, c o m i n g from a smaller town, a n d e n t e r i n g N e w York life t h r o u g h the portals of the Tillotson m a n s i o n , h a d m e c h a n i c a l l y a c c e p t e d this point of view a s i n s e p a r a b l e from having a front p e w in c h u r c h a n d a parterre box 4 at the o p e r a . All the p e o p l e w h o c a m e to the h o u s e revolved in the s a m e small circle of p r e j u d i c e s . It w a s the kind of society in w h i c h , after dinner, the ladies c o m p a r e d the exorbitant c h a r g e s of their children's t e a c h e r s , a n d a g r e e d that, even with the n e w d u t i e s on F r e n c h c l o t h e s , it w a s c h e a p e r in the e n d to get everything from W o r t h ; 5 while the h u s b a n d s , over their c i g a r s , l a m e n t e d m u n i c i p a l c o r r u p t i o n , a n d d e c i d e d that the m e n to start a reform were t h o s e who h a d no private interests at s t a k e . T o Lydia this view of life h a d b e c o m e a m a t t e r of c o u r s e , j u s t a s l u m b e r i n g a b o u t in her mother-in-law's l a n d a u h a d c o m e to s e e m the only p o s s i b l e m e a n s of l o c o m o t i o n , a n d listening every S u n d a y to a f a s h i o n a b l e Presbyterian divine the inevitable a t o n e m e n t for having t h o u g h t o n e s e l f b o r e d on the other six days of the week. B e f o r e s h e met G a n n e t t her life h a d s e e m e d merely dull: his c o m i n g m a d e it a p p e a r like o n e of t h o s e d i s m a l C r u i k s h a n k 6 prints in which the p e o p l e are all ugly a n d all e n g a g e d in o c c u p a t i o n s that are either vulgar or s t u p i d . It w a s natural that Tillotson s h o u l d b e the chief sufferer from this readj u s t m e n t of f o c u s . G a n n e t t ' s n e a r n e s s h a d m a d e her h u s b a n d r i d i c u l o u s , a n d a part of the ridicule h a d b e e n reflected on herself. H e r t o l e r a n c e laid her o p e n to a s u s p i c i o n of o b t u s e n e s s from which s h e m u s t , at all c o s t s , clear herself in G a n n e t t ' s eyes. S h e did not u n d e r s t a n d this until afterwards. At the time s h e f a n c i e d that she h a d merely r e a c h e d the limits of e n d u r a n c e . In s o large a c h a r t e r of liberties a s the m e r e a c t of leaving Tillotson s e e m e d to confer, the s m a l l q u e s t i o n of divorce or no divorce did not c o u n t . It w a s w h e n s h e s a w that she h a d left her h u s b a n d only to b e with G a n n e t t that s h e perceived the significance of anything affecting their relations. H e r h u s b a n d , in c a s t i n g her off, h a d virtually flung her at G a n n e t t : it w a s t h u s that the world viewed it. T h e m e a s u r e of alacrity with which G a n n e t t would receive her w o u l d be the s u b j e c t of c u r i o u s s p e c u l a t i o n over afternoon-tea tables a n d in c l u b corn e r s . S h e knew what would be s a i d — s h e h a d h e a r d it s o often of o t h e r s ! T h e recollection b a t h e d her in misery. T h e m e n would p r o b a b l y b a c k G a n n e t t to " d o the d e c e n t thing"; but the ladies' eyebrows would e m p h a s i z e the worthl e s s n e s s of s u c h e n f o r c e d fidelity; a n d after all, they w o u l d be right. S h e h a d put herself in a position where G a n n e t t " o w e d " her s o m e t h i n g ; w h e r e , a s a g e n t l e m a n , h e w a s b o u n d to " s t a n d the d a m a g e . " T h e idea of a c c e p t i n g s u c h c o m p e n s a t i o n h a d never c r o s s e d her m i n d ; the so-called rehabilitation of s u c h a m a r r i a g e h a d always s e e m e d to her the only real d i s g r a c e . W h a t s h e d r e a d e d was the n e c e s s i t y of having to explain herself; of having to c o m b a t his a r g u m e n t s ; of c a l c u l a t i n g , in spite of herself, the exact m e a s u r e of insist e n c e with which he p r e s s e d t h e m . S h e k n e w not w h e t h e r s h e m o s t s h r a n k from his insisting too m u c h or too little. In s u c h a c a s e the nicest s e n s e of proportion might b e at fault; a n d how easy to fall into the error of taking her 4. I.e., front-row seats. 5. Charles Frederick Worth ( 1 8 2 5 - 1 8 9 5 ) , an English fashion designer who gained prominence in France as the originator of the "fashion show."

6. George Cruikshank (1792—1878), a popular British caricaturist and illustrator. His etchings illustrated Dickens's Oliver Twist.

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r e s i s t a n c e for a test of his sincerity! W h i c h e v e r way s h e t u r n e d , a n ironical implication c o n f r o n t e d her: s h e h a d the e x a s p e r a t e d s e n s e of h a v i n g walked into the trap of s o m e stupid practical j o k e . B e n e a t h all t h e s e p r e o c c u p a t i o n s lurked the dread of w h a t h e w a s thinking. S o o n e r or later, of c o u r s e , h e would have to s p e a k ; b u t that, in the m e a n t i m e , he s h o u l d think, even for a m o m e n t , that t h e r e w a s any u s e in s p e a k i n g , s e e m e d to her simply u n e n d u r a b l e . H e r s e n s i t i v e n e s s on this point w a s a g g r a v a t e d by a n o t h e r fear, as yet barely on the level of c o n s c i o u s n e s s ; the fear of unwillingly involving G a n n e t t in the t r a m m e l s of her d e p e n d e n c e . T o look u p o n him a s the i n s t r u m e n t of her liberation; to resist in herself the least t e n d e n c y to a wifely taking p o s s e s s i o n of his f u t u r e ; h a d s e e m e d to Lydia the o n e way of m a i n t a i n i n g the dignity of their relation. H e r view h a d not c h a n g e d , b u t s h e w a s a w a r e of a growing inability to k e e p her t h o u g h t s fixed on the e s s e n t i a l p o i n t — t h e point of parting with G a n n e t t . It w a s e a s y to f a c e as long a s s h e kept it sufficiently far off: b u t w h a t w a s this a c t of m e n t a l p o s t p o n e m e n t b u t a g r a d u a l e n c r o a c h m e n t of his future? W h a t w a s needful w a s the c o u r a g e to recognize the m o m e n t w h e n , by s o m e word or look, their voluntary fellowship s h o u l d be t r a n s f o r m e d into a b o n d a g e the m o r e w e a r i n g that it w a s b a s e d on n o n e of t h o s e c o m m o n obligations which m a k e the m o s t i m p e r f e c t m a r r i a g e in s o m e sort a c e n t r e of gravity. W h e n the porter, at the next station, threw the d o o r o p e n , Lydia drew back, m a k i n g way for the hoped-for intruder, but n o n e c a m e , a n d the train took up its leisurely p r o g r e s s t h r o u g h the s p r i n g wheatfields a n d b u d d i n g c o p s e s . S h e now b e g a n to h o p e that G a n n e t t w o u l d s p e a k before the next station. S h e w a t c h e d him furtively, h a l f - d i s p o s e d to return to the s e a t o p p o site his, but there w a s a n artificiality a b o u t his a b s o r p t i o n that r e s t r a i n e d her. S h e h a d never before s e e n him r e a d with s o c o n s p i c u o u s a n air of warding off interruption. W h a t c o u l d h e b e thinking of? W h y s h o u l d h e b e afraid to s p e a k ? O r w a s it her a n s w e r that h e d r e a d e d ? T h e train p a u s e d for the p a s s i n g of an e x p r e s s , a n d h e p u t d o w n his b o o k a n d l e a n e d o u t the window. Presently he t u r n e d to her with a s m i l e . " T h e r e ' s a jolly old villa o u t h e r e , " h e s a i d . H i s e a s y t o n e relieved her, a n d s h e s m i l e d b a c k at him a s s h e c r o s s e d over to his corner. B e y o n d the e m b a n k m e n t , t h r o u g h the o p e n i n g in a m o s s y wall, s h e c a u g h t sight of the villa, with its broken b a l u s t r a d e s , its s t a g n a n t f o u n t a i n s , the s t o n e satyr c l o s i n g the p e r s p e c t i v e of a dusky grass-walk. " H o w s h o u l d you like to live t h e r e ? " h e a s k e d a s the train m o v e d on. "There?" "In s o m e s u c h p l a c e , I m e a n . O n e might do w o r s e , don't you think s o ? T h e r e m u s t b e at least two c e n t u r i e s of s o l i t u d e u n d e r t h o s e yew-trees. S h o u l d n ' t you like i t ? " " I — I don't k n o w , " s h e faltered. S h e k n e w n o w that he m e a n t to s p e a k . H e lit a n o t h e r c i g a r e t t e . " W e shall have to live s o m e w h e r e , you k n o w , " he said a s he bent a b o v e the m a t c h . Lydia tried to s p e a k carelessly. "Je n'en vois pas la necessite! W h y not live everywhere, a s we have b e e n d o i n g ? " " B u t we can't travel forever, c a n w e ? " 7

7. I don't see any such necessity (French).

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" O h , forever's a long w o r d , " s h e o b j e c t e d , p i c k i n g u p t h e review h e h a d thrown a s i d e . " F o r the rest of o u r lives t h e n , " he said, m o v i n g n e a r e r . S h e m a d e a slight g e s t u r e w h i c h c a u s e d his h a n d to slip from h e r s . "Why s h o u l d we m a k e p l a n s ? I t h o u g h t you a g r e e d with m e that it's p l e a s anter to drift." H e looked at her hesitatingly. "It's b e e n p l e a s a n t , certainly; b u t I s u p p o s e I shall have to get at my work a g a i n s o m e day. You know I haven't written a line s i n c e — a l l this t i m e , " he hastily e m e n d e d . S h e f l a m e d with s y m p a t h y a n d s e l f - r e p r o a c h . " O h , if you m e a n that—if you want to w r i t e — o f c o u r s e we m u s t settle d o w n . H o w s t u p i d of m e not to have t h o u g h t of it s o o n e r ! W h e r e shall we go? W h e r e d o you think you c o u l d work b e s t ? W e o u g h t n ' t to l o s e any m o r e t i m e . " H e h e s i t a t e d a g a i n . "I h a d t h o u g h t of a villa in t h e s e p a r t s . It's q u i e t ; we s h o u l d n ' t b e b o t h e r e d . S h o u l d you like i t ? " " O f c o u r s e I s h o u l d like it." S h e p a u s e d a n d looked away. " B u t I t h o u g h t — I r e m e m b e r your telling m e o n c e that your b e s t work h a d b e e n d o n e in a c r o w d — i n big cities. W h y s h o u l d you s h u t y o u r s e l f u p in a d e s e r t ? " G a n n e t t , for a m o m e n t , m a d e n o reply. At length h e s a i d , a v o i d i n g her eye a s carefully a s s h e avoided his: "It might b e different n o w ; I c a n ' t tell, of c o u r s e , till I try. A writer o u g h t not to b e d e p e n d e n t o n his milieu; it's a m i s t a k e to h u m o r o n e s e l f in that way; a n d I t h o u g h t that j u s t at first you might prefer to b e — " S h e f a c e d him. " T o b e w h a t ? " "Well—quiet. I m e a n — " W h a t do m e a n by 'at first'?" s h e i n t e r r u p t e d . H e p a u s e d a g a i n . "I m e a n after we are m a r r i e d . " S h e thrust u p her chin a n d t u r n e d toward the window. " T h a n k y o u ! " s h e t o s s e d b a c k at h i m . " L y d i a ! " he e x c l a i m e d blankly; a n d s h e felt in every fibre of her averted p e r s o n that he h a d m a d e the i n c o n c e i v a b l e , the u n p a r d o n a b l e m i s t a k e of a n t i c i p a t i n g her a c q u i e s c e n c e . T h e train rattled o n a n d he g r o p e d for a third c i g a r e t t e . Lydia r e m a i n e d silent. "I haven't o f f e n d e d y o u ? " h e v e n t u r e d at l e n g t h , in the t o n e of a m a n w h o feels his way. S h e s h o o k her h e a d with a sigh. "I t h o u g h t you u n d e r s t o o d , " s h e m o a n e d . T h e i r eyes m e t a n d s h e m o v e d b a c k to his s i d e . " D o you w a n t to know how not to offend m e ? By taking it for g r a n t e d , o n c e for all, that you've said your say on this o d i o u s q u e s t i o n a n d that I've said m i n e , a n d that we s t a n d j u s t where we did this m o r n i n g b e f o r e t h a t — that hateful p a p e r c a m e to spoil everything b e t w e e n u s ! " " T o spoil everything b e t w e e n u s ? W h a t on earth do you m e a n ? Aren't you glad to b e f r e e ? " "I w a s free b e f o r e . " " N o t to marry m e , " he s u g g e s t e d . " B u t I don't want to marry y o u ! " s h e c r i e d . S h e s a w that h e t u r n e d p a l e . "I'm o b t u s e , I s u p p o s e , " he said slowly. "I c o n f e s s I don't s e e what you're driving at. Are you tired of the w h o l e b u s i n e s s ? O r w a s I simply a — a n e x c u s e for g e t t i n g away? P e r h a p s you didn't c a r e to

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travel a l o n e ? W a s that it? A n d now you w a n t to c h u c k m e ? " H i s voice h a d grown h a r s h . "You owe m e a straight a n s w e r , you know; don't be tenderhearted!" H e r eyes s w a m a s s h e l e a n e d to h i m . " D o n ' t you s e e it's b e c a u s e I c a r e — b e c a u s e I c a r e so m u c h ? O h , R a l p h ! C a n ' t you s e e h o w it would h u m i l i a t e m e ? Try to feel it a s a w o m a n would! Don't you s e e the misery of b e i n g m a d e your wife in this way? If I'd known you a s a g i r l — t h a t w o u l d have b e e n a real m a r r i a g e ! B u t n o w — t h i s vulgar fraud u p o n s o c i e t y — a n d u p o n a society we d e s p i s e d a n d l a u g h e d a t — t h i s s n e a k i n g b a c k into a position that we've voluntarily forfeited: don't you s e e what a c h e a p c o m p r o m i s e it is? W e neither of us believe in the a b s t r a c t ' s a c r e d n e s s ' of m a r r i a g e ; we both k n o w that no c e r e m o n y is n e e d e d to c o n s e c r a t e our love for e a c h other; w h a t object c a n we have in marrying, except the secret fear of e a c h that the other m a y e s c a p e , or the secret longing to work our way b a c k g r a d u a l l y — o h , very gradually—into the e s t e e m of the p e o p l e w h o s e c o n v e n t i o n a l morality we have always ridiculed a n d h a t e d ? A n d the very fact that, after a d e c e n t interval, t h e s e s a m e p e o p l e would c o m e a n d dine with u s — t h e w o m e n w h o talk a b o u t the indissolubility of m a r r i a g e , a n d w h o w o u l d let m e die in a gutter to-day b e c a u s e I a m 'leading a life of s i n ' — d o e s n ' t that d i s g u s t you m o r e t h a n their turning their b a c k s on u s n o w ? I c a n s t a n d b e i n g c u t by t h e m , b u t I couldn't s t a n d their c o m i n g to call a n d a s k i n g what I m e a n t to d o a b o u t visiting that unfortunate Mrs. So-and-so!" S h e p a u s e d , a n d G a n n e t t m a i n t a i n e d a perplexed s i l e n c e . "You j u d g e things too theoretically," he s a i d at length, slowly. " L i f e is m a d e up of c o m p r o m i s e s . " " T h e life we ran away f r o m — y e s ! If we h a d b e e n willing to a c c e p t t h e m " — s h e f l u s h e d — " w e might have g o n e o n m e e t i n g e a c h other at M r s . Tillotson's dinners." H e s m i l e d slightly. "I didn't know that we ran away to f o u n d a n e w s y s t e m of ethics. I s u p p o s e it w a s b e c a u s e w e loved e a c h o t h e r . " " L i f e is c o m p l e x , of c o u r s e ; isn't it the very recognition of that fact that s e p a r a t e s u s from the p e o p l e w h o s e e it tout d'une piece?* If they are right—if m a r r i a g e is s a c r e d in itself a n d the individual m u s t always be sacrificed to the f a m i l y — t h e n there c a n be no real m a r r i a g e b e t w e e n u s , s i n c e o u r — o u r b e i n g together is a protest a g a i n s t the sacrifice of the individual to the family." S h e interrupted herself with a l a u g h . "You'll say now that I'm giving you a lecture on sociology! O f c o u r s e o n e a c t s a s o n e c a n — a s o n e m u s t , p e r h a p s — p u l l e d by all sorts of invisible t h r e a d s ; but at least o n e needn't p r e t e n d , for social a d v a n t a g e s , to s u b s c r i b e to a c r e e d that i g n o r e s the c o m plexity of h u m a n m o t i v e s — t h a t classifies p e o p l e by arbitrary s i g n s , a n d p u t s it in everybody's r e a c h to b e on M r s . Tillotson's visiting-list. It m a y b e n e c essary that the world s h o u l d be ruled by c o n v e n t i o n s — b u t if we believed in t h e m , why did we b r e a k t h r o u g h t h e m ? A n d if we don't believe in t h e m , is it h o n e s t to take a d v a n t a g e of the p r o t e c t i o n they a f f o r d ? " G a n n e t t h e s i t a t e d . " O n e may believe in t h e m or not; but a s long a s they do rule the world it is only by taking a d v a n t a g e of their p r o t e c t i o n that o n e c a n find a modus vivendi." 9

8. All of a piece (French).

9. A manner of living (Latin).

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" D o outlaws n e e d a modus vivendi?" H e looked at her hopelessly. N o t h i n g is m o r e perplexing to m a n t h a n the m e n t a l p r o c e s s of a w o m a n w h o r e a s o n s her e m o t i o n s . S h e thought s h e had s c o r e d a point a n d followed it u p p a s s i o n a t e l y . "You do u n d e r s t a n d , don't you? You s e e how the very t h o u g h t of the thing humiliates m e ! W e a r e together to-day b e c a u s e we c h o o s e to b e — d o n ' t let u s look any farther than t h a t ! " S h e c a u g h t his h a n d s . "Promise m e you'll never s p e a k of it a g a i n ; p r o m i s e m e you'll never think of it e v e n , " s h e i m p l o r e d , with a tearful prodigality of italics. T h r o u g h w h a t f o l l o w e d — h i s p r o t e s t s , his a r g u m e n t s , his final u n c o n vinced s u b m i s s i o n to her w i s h e s — s h e h a d a s e n s e of his but half-discerning all that, for her, h a d m a d e the m o m e n t so t u m u l t u o u s . T h e y h a d r e a c h e d that m e m o r a b l e point in every heart-history w h e n , for the first t i m e , the m a n s e e m s o b t u s e a n d the w o m a n irrational. It w a s the a b u n d a n c e of his intentions that c o n s o l e d her, on reflection, for what they lacked in quality. After all, it would have b e e n w o r s e , incalculably w o r s e , to have d e t e c t e d any overr e a d i n e s s to u n d e r s t a n d her.

W h e n the train at night-fall b r o u g h t t h e m to their j o u r n e y ' s e n d at the e d g e of o n e of the lakes, Lydia w a s glad that they were not, a s u s u a l , to p a s s from o n e s o l i t u d e to a n o t h e r . T h e i r w a n d e r i n g s d u r i n g the year h a d i n d e e d b e e n like the flight of o u t l a w s : through Sicily, D a l m a t i a , T r a n s y l v a n i a a n d S o u t h e r n Italy they h a d p e r s i s t e d in their tacit a v o i d a n c e of their kind. Isolation, at first, h a d d e e p e n e d the flavor of their h a p p i n e s s , a s night intensifies the s c e n t of certain flowers; but in the new p h a s e on which they were entering, Lydia's chief wish w a s that they s h o u l d b e less a b n o r m a l l y e x p o s e d to the a c t i o n of e a c h other's t h o u g h t s . S h e shrank, n e v e r t h e l e s s , a s the brightly-looming bulk of the f a s h i o n a b l e A n g l o - A m e r i c a n hotel o n the water's brink b e g a n to r a d i a t e toward their a d v a n c i n g boat its vivid s u g g e s t i o n of social order, visitors' lists, C h u r c h services, a n d the b l a n d inquisition of the table-d'hote.1 T h e m e r e fact that in a m o m e n t or two s h e m u s t take her p l a c e o n the hotel register a s M r s . G a n n e t t s e e m e d to w e a k e n the springs of her r e s i s t a n c e . T h e y h a d m e a n t to stay for a night only, on their way to a lofty village a m o n g the glaciers of M o n t e R o s a ; 2 but after the first p l u n g e into publicity, w h e n they e n t e r e d the d i n i n g - r o o m , Lydia felt the relief of b e i n g lost in a c r o w d , of c e a s i n g for a m o m e n t to be the c e n t r e of G a n n e t t ' s scrutiny; a n d in his f a c e s h e c a u g h t the reflection of her feeling. After dinner, w h e n s h e went u p s t a i r s , h e strolled into the s m o k i n g - r o o m , a n d an h o u r or two later, sitting in the d a r k n e s s of her window, s h e h e a r d his voice below a n d s a w him walking u p a n d d o w n the t e r r a c e with a c o m p a n i o n c i g a r at his s i d e . W h e n he c a m e u p he told her he h a d b e e n talking to the hotel c h a p l a i n — a very g o o d sort of fellow. " Q u e e r little m i c r o c o s m s , t h e s e hotels! M o s t of t h e s e p e o p l e live h e r e all 1. A table shared by hotel guests. 2. The highest mountain peaks in the Swiss Alps, bordering Italy.

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s u m m e r a n d then m i g r a t e to Italy or the Riviera. T h e E n g l i s h are the only p e o p l e w h o c a n lead that kind of life with d i g n i t y — t h o s e soft-voiced old ladies in S h e t l a n d shawls s o m e h o w carry the British E m p i r e u n d e r their c a p s . Civis Romanus s u m . 3 It's a c u r i o u s s t u d y — t h e r e might b e s o m e g o o d things to work u p h e r e . " H e s t o o d before her with the vivid p r e o c c u p i e d stare of the novelist o n the trail of a " s u b j e c t . " W i t h a relief that w a s half painful s h e n o t i c e d that, for the first time s i n c e they h a d b e e n together, he w a s hardly a w a r e of her presence. " D o you think you c o u l d write h e r e ? " " H e r e ? I don't k n o w . " His stare d r o p p e d . "After b e i n g o u t of things s o long one's first i m p r e s s i o n s a r e b o u n d to be t r e m e n d o u s l y vivid, you k n o w . I s e e a dozen t h r e a d s already that o n e might f o l l o w — " H e broke off with a t o u c h of e m b a r r a s s m e n t . " T h e n follow t h e m . We'll stay," s h e s a i d with s u d d e n d e c i s i o n . " S t a y h e r e ? " H e g l a n c e d at her in s u r p r i s e , a n d t h e n , walking to the window, looked out u p o n the dusky s l u m b e r of the g a r d e n . " W h y n o t ? " s h e s a i d at length, in a tone of veiled irritation. " T h e p l a c e is full of old c a t s in c a p s w h o g o s s i p with the c h a p l a i n . S h a l l you like—I m e a n , it would be different if—" S h e flamed u p . " D o you s u p p o s e I c a r e ? It's n o n e of their b u s i n e s s . " " O f c o u r s e not; but you won't get t h e m to think s o . " " T h e y m a y think what they p l e a s e . " H e looked at her doubtfully. "It's for you to d e c i d e . " "We'll stay," s h e r e p e a t e d . G a n n e t t , before they met, h a d m a d e h i m s e l f known a s a s u c c e s s f u l writer of short stories a n d of a novel which h a d a c h i e v e d the distinction of b e i n g widely d i s c u s s e d . T h e reviewers called him " p r o m i s i n g , " a n d Lydia now a c c u s e d herself of having too long interfered with the fulfilment of his p r o m ise. T h e r e w a s a special irony in the fact, s i n c e his p a s s i o n a t e a s s u r a n c e s that only the s t i m u l u s of her c o m p a n i o n s h i p c o u l d b r i n g out his latent faculty h a d a l m o s t given the dignity of a " v o c a t i o n " to her c o u r s e : t h e r e h a d b e e n m o m e n t s w h e n s h e h a d felt u n a b l e to a s s u m e , before posterity, the r e s p o n sibility of thwarting his c a r e e r . A n d , after all, he h a d not written a line s i n c e they h a d b e e n together: his first desire to write h a d c o m e from r e n e w e d c o n t a c t with the world! W a s it all a m i s t a k e t h e n ? M u s t the m o s t intelligent c h o i c e work m o r e disastrously than the b l u n d e r i n g c o m b i n a t i o n s of c h a n c e ? O r w a s there a still m o r e h u m i l i a t i n g a n s w e r to her perplexities? H i s s u d d e n i m p u l s e of activity so exactly c o i n c i d e d with her own wish to withdraw, for a t i m e , from the r a n g e of his o b s e r v a t i o n , that s h e w o n d e r e d if h e t o o w e r e not s e e k i n g s a n c t u a r y from intolerable p r o b l e m s . "You m u s t begin t o - m o r r o w ! " s h e cried, hiding a t r e m o r u n d e r the l a u g h with which s h e a d d e d , "I w o n d e r if there's any ink in the i n k s t a n d ? " W h a t e v e r else they h a d at the Hotel B e l l o s g u a r d o , they h a d , a s M i s s Pinsent said, " a certain t o n e . " It w a s to L a d y S u s a n C o n d i t that they o w e d this i n e s t i m a b l e benefit; an a d v a n t a g e r a n k i n g in M i s s P i n s e n t ' s o p i n i o n a b o v e 3. I am a Roman citizen (Latin); i.e., member of a dominant nation.

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even the lawn t e n n i s c o u r t s a n d the resident c h a p l a i n . It w a s the fact of L a d y S u s a n ' s a n n u a l visit that m a d e the hotel what it w a s . M i s s P i n s e n t w a s certainly the last to u n d e r r a t e s u c h a privilege:—"It's s o i m p o r t a n t , my d e a r , forming a s we do a little family, that there s h o u l d be s o m e o n e to give the tone; a n d no o n e c o u l d d o it better than L a d y Susan-—an earl's d a u g h t e r a n d a p e r s o n of s u c h d e t e r m i n a t i o n . D e a r M r s . Ainger n o w — w h o really ought, you know, w h e n L a d y S u s a n ' s a w a y — a b s o l u t e l y r e f u s e s to a s s e r t herself." M i s s P i n s e n t sniffed derisively. "A bishop's n i e c e ! — m y d e a r , I s a w her o n c e actually give in to s o m e S o u t h A m e r i c a n s — a n d before u s all. S h e gave u p her seat at table to oblige t h e m — s u c h a lack of dignity! L a d y S u s a n s p o k e to her very plainly a b o u t it a f t e r w a r d s . " M i s s P i n s e n t g l a n c e d a c r o s s the lake a n d a d j u s t e d her a u b u r n front. 4 " B u t of c o u r s e I don't deny that the s t a n d L a d y S u s a n takes is not always easy to live u p t o — f o r the rest of u s , I m e a n . M o n s i e u r G r o s s a r t , our g o o d proprietor, finds it trying at t i m e s , I k n o w — h e h a s said a s m u c h , privately, to M r s . Ainger a n d m e . After all, the p o o r m a n is not to b l a m e for w a n t i n g to fill his hotel, is he? A n d L a d y S u s a n is s o d i f f i c u l t — s o very difficult— a b o u t new p e o p l e . O n e might a l m o s t say that s h e d i s a p p r o v e s of t h e m beforeh a n d , o n principle. A n d yet she's h a d w a r n i n g s — s h e very nearly m a d e a dreadful m i s t a k e o n c e with the D u c h e s s of L e v e n s , w h o dyed her hair a n d — well, swore a n d s m o k e d . O n e would have t h o u g h t that might have b e e n a lesson to L a d y S u s a n . " M i s s P i n s e n t r e s u m e d her knitting with a sigh. " T h e r e are e x c e p t i o n s , of c o u r s e . S h e took at o n c e to you a n d M r . G a n n e t t — i t w a s quite r e m a r k a b l e , really. O h , I don't m e a n that e i t h e r — o f c o u r s e not! It w a s perfectly n a t u r a l — w e all thought you so c h a r m i n g a n d interesting from the first d a y — w e knew at o n c e that Mr. G a n n e t t w a s intellectual, by the m a g azines you took in; but you know what I m e a n . L a d y S u s a n is s o very—well, I won't say p r e j u d i c e d , a s M r s . Ainger d o e s — b u t s o p r e p a r e d not to like new p e o p l e , that her taking to you in that way, w a s a s u r p r i s e to u s all, I c o n f e s s . " M i s s P i n s e n t s e n t a significant g l a n c e d o w n the long l a u r u s t i n u s 5 alley from the other e n d of which two p e o p l e — a lady a n d g e n t l e m a n — w e r e strolling toward t h e m t h r o u g h the smiling n e g l e c t of the g a r d e n . "In this c a s e , of c o u r s e , it's very different; that I'm willing to a d m i t . T h e i r looks a r e a g a i n s t t h e m ; b u t , a s M r s . Ainger says, o n e can't exactlv tell t h e m so." " S h e ' s very h a n d s o m e , " Lydia v e n t u r e d , with her eyes on the lady, w h o s h o w e d , u n d e r the d o m e of a vivid s u n s h a d e , the h o u r - g l a s s figure a n d s u p e r lative coloring of a C h r i s t m a s c h r o m o . 6 " T h a t ' s the worst of it. S h e ' s too h a n d s o m e . " "Well, after all, s h e can't help t h a t . " " O t h e r p e o p l e m a n a g e t o , " said M i s s P i n s e n t skeptically. " B u t isn't it rather unfair of L a d y S u s a n — c o n s i d e r i n g that n o t h i n g is known a b o u t t h e m ? " " B u t , my dear, that's the very thing that's a g a i n s t t h e m . It's infinitely w o r s e than any a c t u a l k n o w l e d g e . " Lydia mentally a g r e e d that, in the c a s e of M r s . L i n t o n , it p o s s i b l y might be. 4. A piece of false hair worn over the forehead. 5. An evergreen shrub of southern Europe having white or pinkish flowers.

6. A picture printed in colors from a series of stones prepared by the lithographic process.

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"I w o n d e r why they c a m e h e r e ? " s h e m u s e d . " T h a t ' s a g a i n s t t h e m too. It's always a b a d sign w h e n loud p e o p l e c o m e to a quiet p l a c e . A n d they've b r o u g h t van-loads of b o x e s — h e r m a i d told M r s . Ainger's that they m e a n t to s t o p indefinitely." " A n d L a d y S u s a n actually t u r n e d her b a c k on her in the salon?" " M y dear, s h e s a i d it w a s for our s a k e s ; that m a k e s it s o u n a n s w e r a b l e ! B u t p o o r G r o s s a r t is in a way! T h e L i n t o n s have t a k e n his m o s t e x p e n s i v e suite, you k n o w — t h e yellow d a m a s k d r a w i n g r o o m a b o v e the p o r t i c o — a n d they have c h a m p a g n e with every m e a l ! " T h e y were silent a s M r . a n d M r s . L i n t o n s a u n t e r e d by; the lady with t e m p e s t u o u s b r o w s a n d c h a l l e n g i n g c h i n ; the g e n t l e m a n , a b l o n d stripling, trailing after her, h e a d d o w n w a r d , like a r e l u c t a n t child d r a g g e d by his n u r s e . " W h a t d o e s your h u s b a n d think of t h e m , my d e a r ? " M i s s P i n s e n t whisp e r e d a s they p a s s e d o u t of e a r s h o t . Lydia s t o o p e d to p i c k a violet in the border. " H e hasn't told m e . " " O f your s p e a k i n g to t h e m , I m e a n . W o u l d h e a p p r o v e of that? I k n o w h o w very particular nice A m e r i c a n s a r e . I think your a c t i o n m i g h t m a k e a differe n c e ; it w o u l d certainly carry weight with L a d y S u s a n . " " D e a r M i s s P i n s e n t , you flatter m e ! " Lydia rose a n d g a t h e r e d u p her b o o k a n d s u n s h a d e . "Well, if you're a s k e d for an o p i n i o n — i f L a d y S u s a n a s k s you for o n e — I think you o u g h t to b e p r e p a r e d , " M i s s P i n s e n t a d m o n i s h e d her a s s h e m o v e d away. •

III L a d y S u s a n held her own. S h e i g n o r e d the L i n t o n s , a n d her little family, a s M i s s P i n s e n t p h r a s e d it, followed suit. E v e n M r s . A i n g e r a g r e e d that it w a s obligatory. If L a d y S u s a n o w e d it to the o t h e r s not to s p e a k to the Lint o n s , the others clearly owed it to L a d y S u s a n to b a c k her u p . It w a s generally f o u n d expedient, at the H o t e l B e l l o s g u a r d o , to a d o p t this form of r e a s o n i n g . W h a t e v e r effect this c o m b i n e d a c t i o n m a y have h a d u p o n the L i n t o n s , it did not at least have that of driving t h e m away. M o n s i e u r G r o s s a r t , after a few days of s u s p e n s e , h a d the satisfaction of s e e i n g t h e m settle d o w n in his yellow d a m a s k premier with what looked like a p e r m a n e n t installation of p a l m - t r e e s a n d silk s o f a - c u s h i o n s , a n d a gratifying c o n t i n u a n c e in the c o n s u m p t i o n of c h a m p a g n e . M r s . L i n t o n trailed her D o u c e t d r a p e r i e s 8 u p a n d d o w n the g a r d e n with the s a m e c h a l l e n g i n g air, while her h u s b a n d , s m o k i n g i n n u m e r a b l e c i g a r e t t e s , d r a g g e d h i m s e l f dejectedly in her w a k e ; b u t n e i t h e r of t h e m , after the first e n c o u n t e r with L a d y S u s a n , m a d e any a t t e m p t to extend their a c q u a i n t a n c e . T h e y simply i g n o r e d their ignorers. A s M i s s Pinsent resentfully o b s e r v e d , they b e h a v e d exactly a s t h o u g h the hotel were empty. It w a s therefore a m a t t e r of s u r p r i s e , a s well a s of d i s p l e a s u r e , to L y d i a , to find, on g l a n c i n g u p o n e day from her s e a t in the g a r d e n , that the s h a d o w which h a d fallen a c r o s s her b o o k w a s that of the e n i g m a t i c M r s . L i n t o n . 7

7. T h e best room in the house; the drawing room. 8. J a c q u e s Doucet III, rival of Charles Worth dur-

ing the late 19th century as a designer of elegant women's fashions.

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"I want to s p e a k to y o u , " that lady said, in a rich hard voice that s e e m e d the a u d i b l e expression of her gown a n d her c o m p l e x i o n . Lydia started. S h e certainly did not want to s p e a k to M r s . L i n t o n . " S h a l l I sit d o w n h e r e ? " the latter c o n t i n u e d , fixing her i n t e n s e l y - s h a d e d eyes on Lydia's f a c e , "or are you afraid of being s e e n with m e ? " " A f r a i d ? " Lydia colored. " S i t d o w n , p l e a s e . W h a t is it that you wish to s a y ? " M r s . L i n t o n , with a s m i l e , drew u p a g a r d e n - c h a i r a n d c r o s s e d o n e o p e n work ankle a b o v e the other. "I w a n t you to tell m e what my h u s b a n d s a i d to your h u s b a n d last n i g h t . " Lydia turned p a l e . " M y h u s b a n d — t o y o u r s ? " s h e faltered, s t a r i n g at the other. "Didn't you know they were c l o s e t e d together for h o u r s in the s m o k i n g r o o m after you went u p s t a i r s ? M y m a n didn't get to b e d until nearly two o'clock a n d w h e n h e did I couldn't get a word out of h i m . W h e n h e w a n t s to be a g g r a v a t i n g I'll b a c k him a g a i n s t anybody living!" H e r teeth a n d eyes flashed persuasively u p o n Lydia. " B u t you'll tell m e w h a t they were talking a b o u t , won't you? I know I can trust y o u — y o u look s o awfully kind. A n d it's for his own g o o d . H e ' s s u c h a p r e c i o u s donkey a n d I'm s o afraid he's got into s o m e beastly s c r a p e or other. If he'd only trust his own old w o m a n ! B u t they're always writing to him a n d setting him a g a i n s t m e . A n d I've got n o b o d y to turn t o . " S h e laid her h a n d on Lydia's with a rattle of b r a c e l e t s . "You'll help m e , won't y o u ? " Lydia drew b a c k from the smiling fierceness of her brows. "I'm s o r r y — b u t I don't think I u n d e r s t a n d . M y h u s b a n d h a s said n o t h i n g to m e o f — o f y o u r s . " T h e great black c r e s c e n t s a b o v e M r s . L i n t o n ' s eyes m e t angrily. "I s a y — i s that t r u e ? " s h e d e m a n d e d . Lydia rose from her s e a t . " O h , look h e r e , I didn't m e a n that, you k n o w — y o u m u s t n ' t take o n e u p so! C a n ' t you s e e how rattled I a m ? " Lydia s a w that, in fact, her beautiful m o u t h w a s quivering b e n e a t h softe n e d eyes. "I'm b e s i d e myself!" the s p l e n d i d c r e a t u r e wailed, d r o p p i n g into her s e a t . "I'm so sorry," Lydia r e p e a t e d , forcing herself to s p e a k kindly; " b u t h o w c a n I help y o u ? " M r s . Linton raised her h e a d sharply. " B y finding o u t — t h e r e ' s a d a r l i n g ! " " F i n d i n g what o u t ? " " W h a t T r e v e n n a told h i m . " " T r e v e n n a — ? " Lydia e c h o e d in bewilderment. M r s . L i n t o n c l a p p e d her h a n d to her m o u t h . " O h , L o r d — t h e r e , it's out! W h a t a fool I a m ! B u t I s u p p o s e d of c o u r s e you knew; I s u p p o s e d everybody k n e w . " S h e dried her eyes a n d bridled. "Didn't you know that he's L o r d T r e v e n n a ? I'm M r s . C o p e . " Lydia recognized the n a m e s . T h e y h a d figured in a flamboyant e l o p e m e n t which h a d thrilled f a s h i o n a b l e L o n d o n s o m e six m o n t h s earlier. " N o w you s e e how it i s — y o u u n d e r s t a n d , don't y o u ? " M r s . C o p e c o n t i n u e d on a note of a p p e a l . "I k n e w you w o u l d — t h a t ' s the r e a s o n I c a m e to y o u . I s u p p o s e he felt the s a m e thing a b o u t your h u s b a n d ; he's not s p o k e n to a n o t h e r soul in the p l a c e . " H e r f a c e grew a n x i o u s a g a i n . " H e ' s awfully s e n -

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sitive, g e n e r a l l y — h e feels our position, h e s a y s — a s if it wasn't my p l a c e to feel that! B u t w h e n he d o e s get talking there's n o k n o w i n g w h a t he'll say. I know he's b e e n b r o o d i n g over s o m e t h i n g lately, a n d I must find o u t w h a t it is—it's to his interest that I s h o u l d . I always tell him that I think only of his interest; if he'd only trust m e ! B u t he's b e e n so o d d lately—I can't think w h a t he's plotting. You will help m e , d e a r ? " Lydia, w h o h a d r e m a i n e d s t a n d i n g , looked away u n c o m f o r t a b l y . "If you m e a n by finding out w h a t L o r d T r e v e n n a h a s told my h u s b a n d , I'm afraid it's i m p o s s i b l e . " "Why i m p o s s i b l e ? " " B e c a u s e I infer that it w a s told in c o n f i d e n c e . " M r s . C o p e stared incredulously. "Well, what of that? Your h u s b a n d looks s u c h a d e a r — a n y o n e c a n s e e he's awfully g o n e on you. W h a t ' s to prevent your getting it o u t of h i m ? " Lydia f l u s h e d . "I'm not a spy!" s h e e x c l a i m e d . " A s p y — a spy? H o w d a r e y o u ? " M r s . C o p e flamed out. " O h , I don't m e a n that either! Don't b e angry with m e — I ' m s o m i s e r a b l e . " S h e e s s a y e d a softer n o t e . " D o you call that s p y i n g — f o r o n e w o m a n to help o u t a n o t h e r ? I do n e e d help so dreadfully! I'm at my wits' e n d with T r e v e n n a , I a m i n d e e d . H e ' s s u c h a b o y — a m e r e baby, you know; he's only two-and-twenty." S h e d r o p p e d her orbed lids. " H e ' s y o u n g e r than m e — o n l y fancy! a few m o n t h s younger. I tell him he o u g h t to listen to m e a s if I w a s his m o t h e r ; oughtn't he now? B u t he won't, he won't! All his p e o p l e are at h i m , you s e e — o h , I know their little g a m e ! Trying to get him away from m e before I c a n get my d i v o r c e — t h a t ' s what they're u p to. At first h e wouldn't listen to t h e m ; h e u s e d to toss their letters over to m e to read; but now he r e a d s t h e m himself, a n d a n s w e r s 'em too, I fancy; he's always s h u t u p in his r o o m , writing. If I only knew w h a t his plan is I c o u l d s t o p him fast e n o u g h — h e ' s s u c h a simp l e t o n . B u t he's dreadfully d e e p t o o — a t t i m e s I can't m a k e him out. B u t I know he's told your h u s b a n d everything—I k n e w that last night the m i n u t e I laid eyes on h i m . A n d I must find o u t — y o u m u s t help m e — I ' v e got n o o n e else to turn t o ! " S h e c a u g h t Lydia's fingers in a stormy p r e s s u r e . " S a y you'll help m e — y o u a n d your h u s b a n d . " Lydia tried to free herself. " W h a t you a s k is i m p o s s i b l e ; you m u s t s e e that it is. N o o n e c o u l d interfere i n — i n the way you a s k . " M r s . C o p e ' s c l u t c h tightened. "You won't, t h e n ? You w o n ' t ? " " C e r t a i n l y not. L e t m e g o , p l e a s e . " M r s . C o p e r e l e a s e d her with a l a u g h . " O h , go by all m e a n s — p r a y don't let m e detain you! S h a l l you go a n d tell L a d y S u s a n C o n d i t that there's a pair of u s — o r shall I s a v e you the t r o u b l e of e n l i g h t e n i n g h e r ? " Lydia s t o o d still in the m i d d l e of the p a t h , s e e i n g her a n t a g o n i s t t h r o u g h a m i s t of terror. M r s . C o p e w a s still l a u g h i n g . " O h , I'm not spiteful by n a t u r e , my d e a r ; but you're a little m o r e t h a n flesh a n d blood c a n s t a n d ! It's i m p o s s i b l e , is it? L e t you g o , i n d e e d ! You're too good to be mixed up in my affairs, are you? Why, you little fool, the first day

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I laid eyes on you I saw that you a n d I were both in the s a m e b o x — t h a t ' s the reason I s p o k e to y o u . " S h e s t e p p e d nearer, her smile dilating o n Lydia like a l a m p t h r o u g h a fog. "You c a n take your c h o i c e , you know; I always play fair. If you'll tell I'll p r o m i s e not to. N o w t h e n , which is it to b e ? " Lydia, involuntarily, h a d b e g u n to move away from the p e l t i n g s t o r m of w o r d s ; but at this s h e t u r n e d a n d sat d o w n a g a i n . "You m a y g o , " s h e said simply. "I shall stay h e r e . " IV S h e stayed there for a long t i m e , in the hypnotized c o n t e m p l a t i o n , not of M r s . C o p e ' s p r e s e n t , b u t of her own p a s t . G a n n e t t , early that m o r n i n g , h a d g o n e off on a long w a l k — h e h a d fallen into the habit of taking t h e s e m o u n tain-tramps with various fellow-lodgers; but even h a d h e b e e n within r e a c h s h e c o u l d not have g o n e to him j u s t then. S h e h a d to deal with herself first. S h e w a s s u r p r i s e d to find how, in the last m o n t h s , s h e h a d lost the habit of i n t r o s p e c t i o n . S i n c e their c o m i n g to the Hotel B e l l o s g u a r d o s h e a n d G a n n e t t h a d tacitly avoided t h e m s e l v e s a n d e a c h other. S h e w a s a r o u s e d by the whistle of the three o'clock s t e a m b o a t a s it n e a r e d the landing j u s t beyond the hotel g a t e s . T h r e e o'clock! T h e n G a n n e t t w o u l d s o o n be b a c k — h e h a d told her to expect him before four. S h e rose hurriedly, her f a c e averted from the inquisitorial f a c a d e of the hotel. S h e c o u l d not s e e him j u s t yet; s h e c o u l d not g o indoors. S h e s l i p p e d t h r o u g h o n e of the overgrown garden-alleys a n d c l i m b e d a s t e e p p a t h to the hills. It w a s dark w h e n s h e o p e n e d their sitting-room door. G a n n e t t w a s sitting on the window-ledge s m o k i n g a cigarette. C i g a r e t t e s w e r e now his c h i e f r e s o u r c e : he h a d not written a line during the two m o n t h s they h a d s p e n t at the Hotel B e l l o s g u a r d o . In that r e s p e c t , it h a d t u r n e d out not to be the right milieu after all. H e started up at Lydia's e n t r a n c e . " W h e r e have you b e e n ? I w a s getting a n x i o u s . " S h e sat d o w n in a c h a i r n e a r the door. " U p the m o u n t a i n , " s h e said wearily. "Alone?" "Yes." G a n n e t t threw away his cigarette: the s o u n d of her voice m a d e him want to s e e her f a c e . " S h a l l we have a little light?" he s u g g e s t e d . S h e m a d e n o a n s w e r a n d h e lifted the globe from the l a m p a n d put a m a t c h to the wick. T h e n h e looked at her. "Anything wrong? You look d o n e u p . " S h e sat g l a n c i n g vaguely a b o u t the little sitting-room, dimly lit by the pallid-globed l a m p , which left in twilight the outlines of the furniture, of his writing-table h e a p e d with b o o k s a n d p a p e r s , of the tea-roses a n d j a s m i n e d r o o p i n g o n the m a n t e l - p i e c e . H o w like h o m e it h a d all g r o w n — h o w like home! " L y d i a , what is w r o n g ? " he r e p e a t e d . S h e m o v e d away from him, feeling for her h a t p i n s a n d t u r n i n g to lay her hat a n d s u n s h a d e o n the table.

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S u d d e n l y s h e said: " T h a t w o m a n h a s b e e n talking to m e . " Gannett stared. "That woman? What woman?" "Mrs. Linton—Mrs. Cope." H e gave a start of a n n o y a n c e , still, as s h e perceived, not g r a s p i n g the full import of her w o r d s . " T h e d e u c e ! S h e told y o u — ? " " S h e told m e everything." G a n n e t t looked at her anxiously. " W h a t i m p u d e n c e ! I'm so sorry that you s h o u l d have b e e n e x p o s e d to this, dear." " E x p o s e d ! " Lydia l a u g h e d . G a n n e t t ' s brow c l o u d e d a n d they looked away from e a c h other. " D o you know why s h e told m e ? S h e h a d the best of r e a s o n s . T h e first time she laid eyes o n m e she saw that we were both in the s a m e b o x . " "Lydia!" " S o it w a s n a t u r a l , of c o u r s e , that s h e s h o u l d turn to m e in a difficulty." " W h a t difficulty?" "It s e e m s s h e h a s r e a s o n to think that L o r d T r e v e n n a ' s p e o p l e are trying to get him away from her before she gets her d i v o r c e — " "Well?" "And s h e f a n c i e d he h a d b e e n c o n s u l t i n g with you last night a s t o — a s to the b e s t way of e s c a p i n g from her." G a n n e t t stood up with an angry f o r e h e a d . " W e l l — w h a t c o n c e r n of yours w a s all this dirty b u s i n e s s ? W h y s h o u l d s h e go to y o u ? " " D o n ' t you s e e ? It's s o s i m p l e . I w a s to w h e e d l e his secret out of y o u . " " T o oblige that w o m a n ? " "Yes; or, if I w a s unwilling to oblige her, then to protect myself." " T o protect yourself? A g a i n s t w h o m ? " "Against her telling everyone in the hotel that she a n d I a r e in the s a m e box." " S h e threatened that?" " S h e left m e the c h o i c e of telling it myself or of d o i n g it for m e . " "The beast!" T h e r e w a s a long s i l e n c e . Lydia h a d s e a t e d herself on the sofa, beyond the radius of the l a m p , a n d he l e a n e d a g a i n s t the window. H i s next q u e s t i o n s u r p r i s e d her. " W h e n did this h a p p e n ? At what t i m e , I m e a n ? " S h e looked at him vaguely. "I don't k n o w — a f t e r l u n c h e o n , I think. Yes, I r e m e m b e r ; it m u s t have b e e n at a b o u t three o'clock." H e s t e p p e d into the m i d d l e of the r o o m a n d as h e a p p r o a c h e d the light s h e saw that his brow h a d c l e a r e d . "Why d o you a s k ? " s h e said. " B e c a u s e w h e n I c a m e in, at a b o u t half-past three, the mail w a s j u s t b e i n g distributed, a n d M r s . C o p e w a s waiting a s u s u a l to p o u n c e on her letters; you know she w a s always w a t c h i n g for the p o s t m a n . S h e w a s s t a n d i n g s o c l o s e to m e that I couldn't help s e e i n g a big official-looking envelope that w a s h a n d e d to her. S h e tore it o p e n , gave o n e look at the i n s i d e , a n d r u s h e d off u p s t a i r s like a whirlwind, with the director s h o u t i n g after her that s h e

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had left all her other letters b e h i n d . I don't believe she ever t h o u g h t of you again after that p a p e r w a s p u t into her h a n d . " "Why?" " B e c a u s e s h e w a s too busy. I w a s sitting in the window, w a t c h i n g for you, when the five o'clock boat left, a n d w h o s h o u l d go on b o a r d , b a g a n d b a g g a g e , valet a n d m a i d , d r e s s i n g - b a g a n d p o o d l e , but M r s . C o p e a n d T r e v e n n a . J u s t a n hour a n d a half to p a c k u p in! And you s h o u l d have s e e n her w h e n they started. S h e w a s r a d i a n t — s h a k i n g h a n d s with everybody—waving her h a n d kerchief from the d e c k — d i s t r i b u t i n g bows a n d s m i l e s like a n e m p r e s s . If ever a w o m a n got what s h e w a n t e d j u s t in the nick of time that w o m a n did. She'll be L a d y T r e v e n n a within a week, I'll w a g e r . " "You think s h e has her d i v o r c e ? " "I'm s u r e of it. A n d s h e m u s t have got it j u s t after her talk with y o u . " Lydia w a s silent. At length s h e said, with a kind of r e l u c t a n c e , " S h e w a s horribly angry when she left m e . It wouldn't have taken long to tell L a d y S u s a n C o n d i t . " " L a d y S u s a n C o n d i t h a s not b e e n told." " H o w d o you k n o w ? " " B e c a u s e w h e n I went d o w n s t a i r s half an h o u r a g o I met L a d y S u s a n on the w a y — " H e s t o p p e d , half smiling. "Well?" "And s h e s t o p p e d to a s k if I t h o u g h t you would a c t a s p a t r o n e s s to a charity c o n c e r t s h e is getting u p . " In spite of t h e m s e l v e s they both broke into a l a u g h . Lydia's e n d e d in s o b s a n d s h e s a n k down with her f a c e h i d d e n . G a n n e t t bent over her, s e e k i n g her hands. " T h a t vile w o m a n — I o u g h t to have w a r n e d you to keep away from her; I can't forgive myself! B u t h e s p o k e to m e in c o n f i d e n c e ; a n d I never d r e a m e d — w e l l , it's all over n o w . " Lydia lifted her h e a d . " N o t for m e . It's only j u s t b e g i n n i n g . " " W h a t do you m e a n ? " S h e put him gently a s i d e a n d m o v e d in her turn to the window. T h e n s h e went o n , with her f a c e t u r n e d toward the s h i m m e r i n g b l a c k n e s s of the lake, "You s e e of c o u r s e that it might h a p p e n a g a i n at any m o m e n t . " "What?" " T h i s — t h i s risk of b e i n g f o u n d out. A n d we c o u l d hardly c o u n t a g a i n o n s u c h a lucky c o m b i n a t i o n of c h a n c e s , c o u l d w e ? " H e sat down with a g r o a n . Still keeping her f a c e toward the d a r k n e s s , s h e said, "I want you to go a n d tell L a d y S u s a n — a n d the o t h e r s . " G a n n e t t , w h o h a d moved towards her, p a u s e d a few feet off. "Why do you wish m e to do t h i s ? " h e said at length, with less s u r p r i s e in his voice than s h e h a d b e e n p r e p a r e d for. " B e c a u s e I've b e h a v e d basely, a b o m i n a b l y , s i n c e w e c a m e here: letting t h e s e p e o p l e believe we were m a r r i e d — l y i n g with every b r e a t h I d r e w — " "Yes, I've felt that t o o , " G a n n e t t e x c l a i m e d with s u d d e n energy. T h e w o r d s s h o o k her like a t e m p e s t : all her t h o u g h t s s e e m e d to fall a b o u t her in ruins. " Y o u — y o u ' v e felt s o ? "

1688

/

EDITH

WHARTON

" O f c o u r s e I h a v e . " H e s p o k e with low-voiced v e h e m e n c e . " D o you s u p p o s e I like playing the s n e a k any better than you do? It's d a m n a b l e . " H e h a d d r o p p e d o n the arm of a chair, a n d they stared at e a c h other like blind p e o p l e w h o s u d d e n l y s e e . " B u t you have liked it h e r e , " s h e faltered. " O h , I've liked it—I've liked it." H e m o v e d impatiently. " H a v e n ' t y o u ? " " Y e s , " s h e b u r s t o u t ; "that's the worst of it—that's what I can't bear. I fancied it w a s for your s a k e that I insisted o n s t a y i n g — b e c a u s e you t h o u g h t you c o u l d write h e r e ; a n d p e r h a p s j u s t at first that really w a s the r e a s o n . B u t afterwards I w a n t e d to stay m y s e l f — I loved it." S h e broke into a l a u g h . " O h , do you s e e the full derision of it? T h e s e p e o p l e — t h e very p r o t o t y p e s of the b o r e s you took m e away f r o m , with the s a m e fenced-in view of life, the s a m e keep-off-the-grass morality, the s a m e little c a u t i o u s virtues a n d the s a m e little frightened v i c e s — w e l l , I've c l u n g to t h e m , I've delighted in t h e m , I've d o n e my b e s t to p l e a s e t h e m . I've t o a d i e d L a d y S u s a n , I've g o s s i p p e d with M i s s P i n s e n t , I've p r e t e n d e d to b e s h o c k e d with M r s . Ainger. Respectability! It w a s the o n e thing in life that I w a s s u r e I didn't c a r e a b o u t , a n d it's grown so p r e c i o u s to m e that I've stolen it b e c a u s e I couldn't get it in any other w a y . " S h e m o v e d a c r o s s the r o o m a n d r e t u r n e d to his side with a n o t h e r l a u g h . "I w h o u s e d to fancy myself u n c o n v e n t i o n a l ! I m u s t have b e e n b o r n with a c a r d - c a s e 9 in my h a n d . You s h o u l d have s e e n m e with that p o o r w o m a n in the g a r d e n . S h e c a m e to m e for help, p o o r c r e a t u r e , b e c a u s e s h e f a n c i e d that, having 'sinned,' a s they call it, I might feel s o m e pity for others w h o h a d b e e n t e m p t e d in the s a m e way. N o t I! S h e didn't know m e . L a d y S u s a n would have b e e n kinder, b e c a u s e L a d y S u s a n wouldn't have b e e n afraid. I h a t e d the w o m a n — m y o n e t h o u g h t w a s not to b e s e e n with h e r — I c o u l d have killed her for g u e s s i n g my secret. T h e o n e thing that m a t t e r e d to m e at that m o m e n t w a s my s t a n d i n g with L a d y S u s a n ! " G a n n e t t did not s p e a k . "And y o u — y o u ' v e felt it t o o ! " s h e broke o u t a c c u s i n g l y . "You've enjoyed b e i n g with t h e s e p e o p l e a s m u c h a s I h a v e ; you've let the c h a p l a i n talk to you by the h o u r a b o u t ' T h e Reign of L a w ' a n d P r o f e s s o r D r u m m o n d . 1 W h e n they a s k e d you to h a n d the plate in c h u r c h I w a s w a t c h i n g y o u — y o u wanted to accept." S h e s t e p p e d c l o s e , laying her h a n d o n his a r m . " D o you know, I b e g a n to s e e what m a r r i a g e is for. It's to k e e p p e o p l e away from e a c h other. S o m e t i m e s I think that two p e o p l e w h o love e a c h other c a n b e saved from m a d n e s s only by the things that c o m e b e t w e e n t h e m — c h i l d r e n , d u t i e s , visits, b o r e s , r e l a t i o n s — t h e things that protect m a r r i e d p e o p l e from e a c h other. W e ' v e b e e n too c l o s e t o g e t h e r — t h a t h a s b e e n our sin. We've s e e n the n a k e d n e s s of e a c h other's s o u l s . " S h e s a n k a g a i n o n the sofa, hiding her f a c e in her h a n d s . G a n n e t t s t o o d a b o v e her perplexedly: h e felt a s t h o u g h s h e were b e i n g swept away by s o m e i m p l a c a b l e c u r r e n t while he s t o o d h e l p l e s s o n its b a n k . At length h e said, " L y d i a , don't think m e a b r u t e — b u t don't you s e e yourself that it won't d o ? " 9. A small wallet for carrying one's calling cards. 1. Henry D r u m m o n d (185 1 — 1897) was a Scottish theologian and biologist who wrote books such as Natural Law in the Spiritual World ( 1 8 8 3 ) and The

Ascent of Man ( 1 8 9 4 ) . which attempted to reconcile science and religion in the aftermath of Darwin's Origin of Species ( 1 8 5 9 ) and The Descent of Man ( 1 8 7 1 ) .

SOULS BELATED

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1689

"Yes, I s e e it won't d o , " s h e said without raising her h e a d . His f a c e c l e a r e d . " T h e n we'll go to-morrow." "Go—where?" " T o Paris; to b e m a r r i e d . " F o r a long time s h e m a d e no answer; then s h e a s k e d slowly, " W o u l d they have u s here if we were m a r r i e d ? " " H a v e us h e r e ? " "I m e a n L a d y S u s a n — a n d the o t h e r s . " " H a v e u s here? O f c o u r s e they w o u l d . " " N o t if they k n e w — a t least, not u n l e s s they c o u l d p r e t e n d not to k n o w . " H e m a d e a n impatient g e s t u r e . " W e shouldn't c o m e b a c k h e r e , of c o u r s e ; a n d other p e o p l e needn't know—no one need know." S h e sighed. " T h e n it's only a n o t h e r form of d e c e p t i o n a n d a m e a n e r o n e . Don't you s e e t h a t ? " "I see that we're not a c c o u n t a b l e to any L a d y S u s a n s on e a r t h ! " " T h e n why are you a s h a m e d of what we are d o i n g h e r e ? " " B e c a u s e I'm sick of p r e t e n d i n g that you're my wife w h e n you're n o t — w h e n you won't b e . " S h e looked at him sadly. "If I were your wife you'd have to go on p r e t e n d i n g . You'd have to p r e t e n d that I'd never b e e n — a n y t h i n g e l s e . A n d our friends would have to p r e t e n d that they believed what you p r e t e n d e d . " G a n n e t t pulled off the sofa-tassel a n d flung it away. "You're i m p o s s i b l e , " he g r o a n e d . "It's not I—it's o u r b e i n g together that's i m p o s s i b l e . I only w a n t you to s e e that m a r r i a g e won't help i t . " " W h a t will help it t h e n ? " S h e raised her h e a d . " M y leaving y o u . " "Your leaving m e ? " H e sat m o t i o n l e s s , s t a r i n g at the tassel which lay at the other end of the r o o m . At length s o m e i m p u l s e of retaliation for the pain she w a s inflicting m a d e him say deliberately: "And where would you go if you left m e ? " " O h ! " she cried, wincing. H e w a s at her side in a n instant. " L y d i a — L y d i a — y o u know I didn't m e a n it; I couldn't m e a n it! B u t you've driven m e out of my s e n s e s ; I don't know what I'm saying. C a n ' t you get out of this labyrinth of self-torture? It's destroying u s b o t h . " " T h a t ' s why I m u s t leave y o u . " " H o w easily you say it!" H e drew her h a n d s down a n d m a d e her f a c e h i m . "You're very s c r u p u l o u s a b o u t y o u r s e l f — a n d o t h e r s . B u t have you t h o u g h t of m e ? You have no right to leave m e u n l e s s you've c e a s e d to c a r e — " "It's b e c a u s e I c a r e — " " T h e n I have a right to be h e a r d . If you love m e you can't leave m e . " H e r eyes defied h i m . "Why not?" H e d r o p p e d her h a n d s a n d rose from her s i d e . " C a n y o u ? " he said sadly.

1690

/

EDITH

WHARTON

T h e h o u r w a s late a n d the l a m p flickered a n d s a n k . S h e s t o o d u p with a shiver a n d turned toward the door of her r o o m . V At daylight a s o u n d in Lydia's room woke G a n n e t t from a troubled s l e e p . H e sat u p a n d listened. S h e was m o v i n g a b o u t softly, a s t h o u g h fearful of d i s t u r b i n g him. H e heard her p u s h b a c k o n e of the c r e a k i n g s h u t t e r s ; then there w a s a m o m e n t ' s s i l e n c e , which s e e m e d to i n d i c a t e that s h e w a s waiting to s e e if the n o i s e h a d r o u s e d him. Presently s h e b e g a n to m o v e a g a i n . S h e had s p e n t a s l e e p l e s s night, probably, a n d w a s d r e s s i n g to go d o w n to the g a r d e n for a b r e a t h of air. G a n n e t t rose a l s o ; but s o m e u n d e f i n a b l e instinct m a d e his m o v e m e n t s a s c a u t i o u s as hers. H e stole to his w i n d o w a n d looked out through the slats of the shutter. It h a d rained in the night a n d the d a w n w a s gray a n d lifeless. T h e c l o u d muffled hills a c r o s s the lake were reflected in its s u r f a c e a s in a t a r n i s h e d mirror. In the g a r d e n , the birds were b e g i n n i n g to s h a k e the d r o p s from the motionless laurustinus-boughs. An i m m e n s e pity for Lydia filled G a n n e t t ' s s o u l . H e r s e e m i n g intellectual i n d e p e n d e n c e h a d blinded him for a time to the f e m i n i n e c a s t of her m i n d . H e h a d never thought of her as a w o m a n w h o wept a n d c l u n g : there w a s a lucidity in her intuitions that m a d e t h e m a p p e a r to be the result of r e a s o n i n g . N o w he s a w the cruelty he h a d c o m m i t t e d in d e t a c h i n g her from the n o r m a l c o n d i t i o n s of life; he felt, too, the insight with which s h e h a d hit u p o n the real c a u s e of their suffering. T h e i r life w a s " i m p o s s i b l e , " a s s h e h a d s a i d — a n d its worst penalty w a s that it h a d m a d e any other life i m p o s s i b l e for t h e m . Even had his love l e s s e n e d , h e w a s b o u n d to her now by a h u n d r e d ties of pity a n d s e l f - r e p r o a c h ; a n d s h e , p o o r child! m u s t turn b a c k to him a s L a t u d e 2 returned to his cell . . . A new s o u n d startled him: it w a s the stealthy c l o s i n g of Lydia's door. H e crept to his own a n d heard her f o o t s t e p s p a s s i n g down the corridor. T h e n he went b a c k to the window a n d looked o u t . A m i n u t e or two later he saw her g o d o w n the s t e p s of the p o r c h a n d enter the g a r d e n . F r o m his post of observation her f a c e w a s invisible, b u t s o m e thing a b o u t her a p p e a r a n c e struck h i m . S h e wore a long travelling c l o a k a n d u n d e r its folds he d e t e c t e d the outline of a b a g or b u n d l e . H e drew a d e e p b r e a t h a n d s t o o d w a t c h i n g her. S h e walked quickly d o w n the l a u r u s t i n u s alley toward the g a t e ; there s h e p a u s e d a m o m e n t , g l a n c i n g a b o u t the little s h a d y s q u a r e . T h e s t o n e b e n c h e s u n d e r the trees were empty, a n d s h e s e e m e d to gather r e s o l u t i o n from the solitude a b o u t her, for s h e c r o s s e d the s q u a r e to the s t e a m - b o a t l a n d i n g , a n d he saw her p a u s e before the ticket-office at the h e a d of the wharf. N o w s h e w a s buying her ticket. G a n n e t t turned his h e a d a m o m e n t to look at the clock: the b o a t w a s d u e in five m i n u t e s . H e h a d time to j u m p into his c l o t h e s a n d overtake h e r — H e m a d e no a t t e m p t to m o v e ; a n o b s c u r e r e l u c t a n c e r e s t r a i n e d h i m . If 2. Henri M a s e r s de Latude ( 1 7 2 5 - 1 8 0 5 ) was a French artillery' officer who sought to secure M a d a m e de Pompadour's favor by revealing a plot (of his own contriving) to poison her. He was sent

to the Bastille in 1 7 4 9 . Having been released in 1777 on condition that he return to his native village of Montagnac. he lingered in Paris and was reimprisoned until 1784.

SOULS

BELATED

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1691

any thought e m e r g e d from the t u m u l t of his s e n s a t i o n s , it w a s that he m u s t let her go if s h e wished it. H e h a d s p o k e n last night of his rights: what were they? At the last i s s u e , he a n d she were two s e p a r a t e b e i n g s , not m a d e o n e by the m i r a c l e of c o m m o n f o r e b e a r a n c e s , d u t i e s , a b n e g a t i o n s , but b o u n d together in a noyade* of p a s s i o n that left t h e m resisting yet clinging a s they went d o w n . After b u y i n g her ticket, Lydia h a d s t o o d for a m o m e n t looking out a c r o s s the lake; then he saw her seat herself on o n e of the b e n c h e s n e a r the landing. H e a n d s h e , at that m o m e n t , were both listening for the s a m e s o u n d : the whistle of the boat a s it r o u n d e d the n e a r e s t promontory. G a n n e t t t u r n e d again to g l a n c e at the clock: the boat w a s d u e now. W h e r e would s h e go? W h a t would her life b e w h e n s h e h a d left him? S h e h a d no n e a r relations a n d few friends. T h e r e w a s m o n e y e n o u g h . . . but s h e a s k e d so m u c h of life, in ways s o c o m p l e x a n d i m m a t e r i a l . H e t h o u g h t of her as walking b a r e f o o t e d through a stony w a s t e . N o o n e would u n d e r s t a n d h e r — n o o n e would pity h e r — a n d h e , who did b o t h , was p o w e r l e s s to c o m e to her aid . . . H e saw that s h e h a d risen from the b e n c h a n d walked toward the e d g e of the lake. S h e stood looking in the direction from which the s t e a m b o a t w a s to c o m e ; then s h e turned to the ticket-office, d o u b t l e s s to a s k the c a u s e of the delay. After that s h e went b a c k to the b e n c h a n d sat d o w n with bent h e a d . W h a t w a s s h e thinking of? T h e whistle s o u n d e d ; s h e started u p , a n d G a n n e t t involuntarily m a d e a m o v e m e n t toward the door. B u t he turned b a c k a n d c o n t i n u e d to w a t c h her. S h e s t o o d m o t i o n l e s s , her eyes on the trail of s m o k e that p r e c e d e d the a p p e a r a n c e of the b o a t . T h e n the little craft r o u n d e d the point, a dead-white object on the l e a d e n water: a m i n u t e later it w a s puffing a n d b a c k i n g at the wharf. T h e few p a s s e n g e r s w h o were w a i t i n g — t w o or three p e a s a n t s a n d a snuffy p r i e s t — w e r e c l u s t e r e d n e a r the ticket-office. Lydia s t o o d a p a r t u n d e r the trees. T h e boat lay a l o n g s i d e now; the g a n g - p l a n k w a s run out a n d the p e a s a n t s went on b o a r d with their b a s k e t s of v e g e t a b l e s , followed by the priest. Still Lydia did not m o v e . A bell b e g a n to ring q u e r u l o u s l y ; there w a s a shriek of s t e a m , a n d s o m e o n e m u s t have called to her that s h e would be late, for s h e started forward, a s t h o u g h in a n s w e r to a s u m m o n s . S h e m o v e d waveringly, a n d at the e d g e of the wharf s h e p a u s e d . G a n n e t t saw a sailor b e c k o n to her; the bell rang again a n d s h e s t e p p e d u p o n the g a n g - p l a n k . Half-way d o w n the short incline to the d e c k s h e s t o p p e d a g a i n : then s h e turned a n d ran b a c k to the land. T h e g a n g - p l a n k w a s d r a w n in, the bell c e a s e d to ring, a n d the boat b a c k e d out into the lake. Lydia, with slow s t e p s , was walking toward the g a r d e n . . . As s h e a p p r o a c h e d the hotel she looked up furtively a n d G a n n e t t drew b a c k into the r o o m . H e sat d o w n b e s i d e a table; a B r a d s h a w 4 lay at his elbow, a n d m e c h a n i c a l l y , without knowing what he did, he b e g a n looking out the trains to Paris . . . 1899 3. Whirlpool (French). 4. George Bradshaw's Railway Guide, first published in 1 8 4 1 .

SUI

SIN

FAR

(EDITH

MAUD

EATON)

1865-1914 Sui Sin Far was the first Eurasian writer to transform the experiences of latenineteenth-century Chinese immigrants to North America into enduring art. As scholars Elizabeth Ammons, Amy Ling, and Annette White-Parks, among others, have demonstrated, Sui Sin Far—especially in her only book, Mrs. Spring Fragrance (1912)—deserves our attention not simply because she was the first to record the manifold wrongs done to the Chinese in North America but also because she wrote with imaginative power. Despite the scholarship mentioned above, much remains unknown about Sui Sin Far, though a sense of both her vulnerability and her toughness can be strongly felt in such late autobiographical accounts as "Leaves from the Mental Portfolio of an Eurasian" (1909) and "Sui Sin Far, the Half-Chinese Writer, Tells of Her Career" (1912). The second of sixteen children, fourteen of whom lived to adulthood, Far was born Edith Maud Eaton in Macclesfield, England, to a Chinese mother raised in England and an English father from a well-to-do family. Her father, Edward Eaton, formerly a merchant, became alienated from his English family not long after his marriage to Grace Trefusus and struggled thereafter to earn a living as a landscape painter. In this rather bohemian atmosphere, as critic Amy Ling puts it, "Artistic endeavors, as well as early financial independence, were encouraged." When Far was seven the family moved first to New York State and then to Montreal. The family's fortunes entered a long period of decline when Far was eleven, and along with other siblings she was withdrawn from school to help support her parents and the younger children by selling on the street her father's paintings and her own crocheted lace. She continued to support family members for the rest of her life, though her income as a stenographer and freelance journalist barely covered her own modest needs and though her health was always fragile, partly as a result of childhood rheumatic fever. Still, it is important to know that from the time she left her Montreal home as a young woman until she returned there shortly before her death, Sui Sin Far was strongly attached to her large family and Montreal was the only place she ever thought of as home though she spent most of her adult life in the United States. Sui Sin Far and her sister Winnifred were published while they were teenagers; two other sisters became painters, and another sister became the first ChineseAmerican lawyer in Chicago. Winnifred, who wrote under the Japanese-sounding pseudonym Onoto Watanna, published the first Asian American novel, Miss Nume of Japan, in 1899, and was popular for many years as the author of sentimental and melodramatic novels. Though Sui Sin Far began her writing career in Montreal, it was not until 1896 that she adopted her pseudonym, a literal translation of the symbol for waterlily as water fairy flower, or, more generally, bulbs that can sprout and bloom in water. That same year she published her first story, in the American little magazine Fly Leaf. From 1898 to 1909 she lived chiefly in Seattle, with shorter stays in San Francisco and other U.S. West Coast cities. She spent her last years in Boston, where she produced her mature work. "Mrs. Spring Fragrance" was first published in Hampton's Magazine in January 1910. In 1912 it became the title story for the only book Sui Sin Far published. The thirty-seven stories, articles, and sketches brought together in this volume provide a clear sense of Sui Sin Far's commitment to expose the racial, political, social, and economic abuses ordinary Chinese immigrants experienced in late-nineteenthcentury America. Nowhere, perhaps, is this typically oblique and ironic critique more apparent than in the letter Mrs. Spring Fragrance writes to her husband while visiting friends in San Francisco. The letter reveals that Mrs. Spring Fragrance is at an "ethnic

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crossroads" just as Sui Sin Far always had been. In other words, through the letter we learn that Mrs. Spring Fragrance must find a balance between cultures, generations, and genders. However, both the character and the story's author are not "eitheror" but "both-and" figures—sympathetic to traditional Chinese values and to new ideas about love and marriage, among many other contested beliefs and perspectives. And while in many of Sui Sin Far's other journalistic and fictional writings she more vigorously and openly defends Chinese immigrants—especially women and workingclass immigrants—the ironic stance of "Mrs. Spring Fragrance" is typical of her oeuvre as a whole. It is hard to know with certainty why Sui Sin Far published only short fiction rather than longer works. Surely her health and the need to support herself would be part of any explanation. A more positive answer is offered by Elizabeth Ammons, who places Sui Sin Far in the company of other late-nineteenth-century American women writers, such as Sarah Orne Jewett and Kate Chopin, who helped establish what scholars now call the "composite novel"—a form that, like a quilt, allows for both variety and unifying design. The collection titled Mrs. Spring Fragrance, in any case, tells the story of a community that has flowered literarily. Maxine Hong Kingston, Amy Tan, and David Henry Hwang, among other contemporary writers of Chinese American descent, continue to examine many of the issues Sui Sin Far first introduced to American readers.

Mrs. Spring Fragrance 1 / W h e n M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e first arrived in S e a t t l e , s h e w a s u n a c q u a i n t e d with even o n e word of the A m e r i c a n l a n g u a g e . Five years later her h u s b a n d , s p e a k i n g of her, said: " T h e r e are no m o r e A m e r i c a n words for her l e a r n i n g . " A n d everyone w h o knew M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e a g r e e d with M r . S p r i n g Fragrance. M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , w h o s e b u s i n e s s n a m e w a s S i n g Yook, w a s a y o u n g curio m e r c h a n t . T h o u g h conservatively C h i n e s e in m a n y r e s p e c t s , h e w a s at the s a m e time what is called by the W e s t e r n e r s , " A m e r i c a n i z e d . " M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e w a s even m o r e " A m e r i c a n i z e d . " Next d o o r to the S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e s lived the C h i n Y u e n s . M r s . C h i n Y u e n w a s m u c h older t h a n M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e ; but s h e h a d a d a u g h t e r of e i g h t e e n with w h o m M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e w a s o n t e r m s of great friendship. T h e d a u g h t e r w a s a pretty girl w h o s e C h i n e s e n a m e w a s M a i G w i F a r (a rose) a n d w h o s e A m e r i c a n n a m e w a s L a u r a . Nearly everybody called her L a u r a , even her p a r e n t s a n d C h i n e s e friends. L a u r a h a d a s w e e t h e a r t , a youth n a m e d Kai T z u . Kai T z u , w h o w a s A m e r i c a n - b o r n , a n d a s ruddy a n d stalwart a s any y o u n g W e s t e r n e r , w a s n o t e d a m o n g s t b a s e b a l l players as o n e of the finest p i t c h e r s on the C o a s t . H e c o u l d a l s o sing, " D r i n k to m e only with thine e y e s , " to L a u r a ' s p i a n o a c c o m p a n i m e n t . N o w the only p e r s o n w h o knew that Kai T z u loved L a u r a a n d that L a u r a loved Kai T z u , w a s M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . T h e r e a s o n for this w a s that, a l t h o u g h the C h i n Y u e n p a r e n t s lived in a h o u s e f u r n i s h e d in A m e r i c a n style, a n d wore A m e r i c a n c l o t h e s , yet they religiously o b s e r v e d m a n y C h i n e s e c u s t o m s , a n d their ideals of life were the ideals of their C h i n e s e forefathers. 1. First published in Hampton's in May 1910 and then as the title story of Mrs. Spring Fragrance, published by A. C. M c C l u r g & C o m p a n y in 1912, the source of the text printed here.

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T h e r e f o r e , they h a d betrothed their d a u g h t e r , L a u r a , at the a g e of fifteen, to the eldest son of the C h i n e s e G o v e r n m e n t s c h o o l - t e a c h e r in S a n F r a n c i s c o . T h e time for the c o n s u m m a t i o n of the betrothal w a s a p p r o a c h i n g . L a u r a w a s with M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e a n d M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e w a s trying to c h e e r her. "I h a d s u c h a pretty walk t o d a y , " said s h e . "I c r o s s e d the b a n k s a b o v e the b e a c h a n d c a m e b a c k by the long road. In the green g r a s s the daffodils were blowing, in the c o t t a g e g a r d e n s the c u r r a n t b u s h e s were flowering, a n d in the air w a s the p e r f u m e of the wallflower. I w i s h e d , L a u r a , that you were with m e . " L a u r a b u r s t into t e a r s . " T h a t is the walk," s h e s o b b e d , " K a i T z u a n d I so love; but never, a h , never, c a n we take it together a g a i n . " " N o w , Little S i s t e r , " c o m f o r t e d M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , "you really m u s t not grieve like that. Is there not a beautiful A m e r i c a n p o e m written by a noble A m e r i c a n n a m e d T e n n y s o n , which says: " T i s better to have loved a n d lost, T h a n never to have loved at a l l ? " 2 M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e w a s u n a w a r e that Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , having returned from the city, tired with the day's b u s i n e s s , h a d thrown h i m s e l f d o w n on the b a m b o o s e t t e e on the v e r a n d a , a n d that a l t h o u g h his eyes were e n g a g e d in s c a n n i n g the p a g e s of the Chinese World, his e a r s c o u l d not help receiving the w o r d s which were b o r n e to him t h r o u g h the o p e n window. " 'Tis better to have loved a n d lost, T h a n never to have loved at all," r e p e a t e d M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . N o t w i s h i n g to h e a r m o r e of the secret talk of w o m e n , h e a r o s e a n d s a u n t e r e d a r o u n d the v e r a n d a to the other side of the h o u s e . T w o p i g e o n s circled a r o u n d his h e a d . H e felt in his p o c k e t for a li-chi 3 which h e usually carried for their p e c k i n g . His fingers t o u c h e d a little box. It c o n t a i n e d a j a d e s t o n e p e n d a n t , which M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e h a d particularly a d m i r e d the last time s h e w a s down town. It w a s the fifth anniversary of M r . a n d M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e ' s w e d d i n g day. M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e p r e s s e d the little box d o w n into the d e p t h s of his pocket. A y o u n g m a n c a m e o u t of the b a c k d o o r of the h o u s e at Mr. S p r i n g Frag r a n c e ' s left. T h e C h i n Yuen h o u s e w a s at his right. " G o o d e v e n i n g , " said the y o u n g m a n . " G o o d e v e n i n g , " returned M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . H e s t e p p e d d o w n from his p o r c h a n d went a n d leaned over the railing which s e p a r a t e d this yard from the yard in which s t o o d the y o u n g man. "Will you p l e a s e tell m e , " said Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , "the m e a n i n g of two lines of an A m e r i c a n verse which I have h e a r d ? " " C e r t a i n l y , " returned the y o u n g m a n with a genial s m i l e . H e w a s a star s t u d e n t at the University of W a s h i n g t o n , a n d h a d not the slightest d o u b t that he c o u l d explain the m e a n i n g of all things in the u n i v e r s e . " W e l l , " said Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , "it is this: 2. In Memoriam 27A, lines 1 5—16, bv British poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson ( 1 8 0 9 - 1 8 9 2 ) .

3. A small C h i n e s e fruit.

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" T i s better to have loved a n d lost, T h a n never to have loved at a l l . " " A h ! " r e s p o n d e d the y o u n g m a n with an air of p r o f o u n d w i s d o m . " T h a t , M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , m e a n s that it is a g o o d thing to love a n y w a y — e v e n if we can't get what we love, or, a s the poet tells u s , lose w h a t we love. O f c o u r s e , o n e n e e d s e x p e r i e n c e to feel the truth of this t e a c h i n g . " T h e y o u n g m a n smiled pensively a n d reminiscently. M o r e t h a n a d o z e n y o u n g m a i d e n s "loved a n d l o s t " were p a s s i n g b e f o r e his m i n d ' s eye. " T h e truth of the t e a c h i n g ! " e c h o e d M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , a little testily. " T h e r e is no truth in it whatever. It is d i s o b e d i e n t to r e a s o n . Is it not better to have what you d o not love than to love what you d o not h a v e ? " " T h a t d e p e n d s , " a n s w e r e d the y o u n g m a n , " u p o n t e m p e r a m e n t . " "I thank you. G o o d e v e n i n g , " said M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . H e t u r n e d away to m u s e u p o n the u n w i s d o m of the A m e r i c a n way of looking at t h i n g s . M e a n w h i l e , i n s i d e the h o u s e , L a u r a w a s r e f u s i n g to b e c o m f o r t e d . " A h , no! n o ! " cried s h e . "If I h a d not g o n e to s c h o o l with Kai T z u , nor talked nor walked with h i m , nor played the a c c o m p a n i m e n t s to his s o n g s , then I might c o n s i d e r with c o m p l a c e n c y , or at least without horror, my a p p r o a c h i n g m a r r i a g e with the s o n of M a n Y o u . B u t a s it i s — o h , a s it i s — ! " T h e girl r o c k e d herself to a n d fro in heartfelt grief. M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e knelt d o w n b e s i d e her, a n d c l a s p i n g her a r m s a r o u n d her n e c k , cried in sympathy: " L i t t l e S i s t e r , o h , Little Sister! Dry your t e a r s — d o not d e s p a i r . A m o o n h a s yet to p a s s before the m a r r i a g e c a n take p l a c e . W h o k n o w s what the stars m a y have to say to o n e a n o t h e r d u r i n g its p a s s i n g ? A little bird h a s w h i s p e r e d to m e — " F o r a long time M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e talked. F o r a l o n g t i m e L a u r a list e n e d . W h e n the girl a r o s e to g o , there w a s a bright light in her e y e s .

II M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , in S a n F r a n c i s c o o n a visit to her c o u s i n , the wife of the herb d o c t o r of C l a y S t r e e t , w a s having a g o o d t i m e . S h e w a s invited everywhere that the wife of an h o n o r a b l e C h i n e s e m e r c h a n t c o u l d g o . T h e r e w a s m u c h to s e e a n d hear, i n c l u d i n g m o r e than a dozen b a b i e s w h o h a d b e e n born in the families of her friends s i n c e s h e last visited the city of the G o l d e n G a t e . M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e loved b a b i e s . S h e had h a d two herself, b u t both had b e e n t r a n s p l a n t e d into the spirit land before the c o m p l e t i o n of even o n e m o o n . T h e r e were also m a n y d i n n e r s a n d theatre-parties given in her honor. It w a s at o n e of the theatre-parties that M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e m e t Ah O i , a y o u n g girl who h a d the r e p u t a t i o n of b e i n g t h e prettiest C h i n e s e girl in S a n F r a n c i s c o , a n d the n a u g h t i e s t . In spite of g o s s i p , however, M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e took a great fancy to Ah Oi a n d invited her to a tete-a-tete p i c n i c on the following day. T h i s invitation Ah Oi joyfully a c c e p t e d . S h e w a s a sort of bird girl a n d never felt so h a p p y as w h e n out in the park or w o o d s . O n the day after the p i c n i c M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e wrote to L a u r a C h i n Yuen t h u s : M Y P R E C I O U S L A U R A , — M a y the b a m b o o ever w a v e . N e x t w e e k I a c c o m p a n y Ah Oi to the b e a u t e o u s town of S a n J o s e . T h e r e will we b e

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m e t by the s o n of the Illustrious T e a c h e r , a n d in a little M i s s i o n , p r e s i d e d over by a b e n e v o l e n t A m e r i c a n priest, the little Ah Oi a n d the s o n of the Illustrious T e a c h e r will b e j o i n e d t o g e t h e r in love a n d h a r m o n y — t w o p i e c e s of m u s i c m a d e to c o m p l e t e o n e a n o t h e r . T h e S o n of the Illustrious T e a c h e r , h a v i n g b e e n t h r o u g h a n A m e r i c a n Hall of L e a r n i n g , is well a b l e to p r o v i d e for his o r p h a n b r i d e a n d fears not the d i s p l e a s u r e of his p a r e n t s , now that h e is a s s u r e d that your grief at his loss will not b e i n c o n s o l a b l e . H e w i s h e s m e to waft to you a n d to Kai T z u — a n d the little A h Oi joins with h i m — t e n t h o u s a n d rainbow w i s h e s for your h a p p i n e s s . M y r e s p e c t s to your h o n o r a b l e p a r e n t s , a n d to yourself, t h e h e a r t of your loving friend, JADE SPRING

FRAGRANCE

T o M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e a l s o indited a letter: G R E A T A N D H O N O R E D M A N , — G r e e t i n g from your p l u m b l o s s o m , 4 w h o is d e s i r o u s of h i d i n g h e r s e l f from the s u n of your p r e s e n c e for a w e e k of seven days m o r e . M y h o n o r a b l e c o u s i n is p r e p a r i n g for the Fifth M o o n F e s t i v a l , 5 a n d w i s h e s m e to c o m p o u n d for the o c c a s i o n s o m e A m e r i c a n " f u d g e , " for w h i c h d e l e c t a b l e s w e e t , m a d e by m y c l u m s y h a n d s , you have s o m e t i m e s s h o w n a slight p r e j u d i c e . I a m enjoying a m o s t a g r e e a b l e visit, a n d A m e r i c a n friends, a s a l s o o u r o w n , strive benevolently for the a c c o m p l i s h m e n t of my p l e a s u r e . M r s . S a m u e l S m i t h , a n A m e r i c a n lady, k n o w n to my c o u s i n , a s k e d for my a c c o m p a n i m e n t to a m a g n i l o q u e n t lecture the o t h e r evening. T h e s u b j e c t w a s " A m e r i c a , t h e P r o t e c t o r of C h i n a ! " It w a s m o s t exhilarating, a n d the effect of s o m u c h e x p r e s s i o n of b e n e v o l e n c e l e a d s m e to b e g of you to forget to r e m e m b e r that the b a r b e r c h a r g e s you o n e dollar for a s h a v e while h e h u m b l y s u b m i t s to the A m e r i c a n m a n a bill of fifteen c e n t s . A n d m u r m u r n o m o r e b e c a u s e your h o n o r e d elder brother, o n a visit to this country, is d e t a i n e d u n d e r the roof-tree of this g r e a t G o v e r n m e n t i n s t e a d of u n d e r your o w n h u m ble roof. C o n s o l e him with the reflection that he is p r o t e c t e d u n d e r the w i n g of t h e E a g l e , the E m b l e m of Liberty. W h a t is the loss of ten h u n d r e d years or ten t h o u s a n d t i m e s ten dollars c o m p a r e d with the h a p p i n e s s of k n o w i n g o n e s e l f so s e c u r e l y s h e l t e r e d ? All of this I h a v e l e a r n e d from M r s . S a m u e l S m i t h , w h o is as brilliant a n d g r e a t of m i n d a s o n e of your own s u p e r i o r sex. For m e it is sufficient to know that t h e G o l d e n G a t e P a r k is m o s t e n c h a n t i n g , a n d the s e a l s o n the rock at the Cliff H o u s e extremely entertaining a n d a m i a b l e . T h e r e is m u c h f e a s t i n g a n d m e r r y - m a k i n g u n d e r the l a n t e r n s in h o n o r of your S t u p i d T h o r n . I have p u r c h a s e d for your s m o k i n g a p i p e with a n a m b e r m o u t h . It is s a i d to b e very sweet to t h e lips a n d to e m i t a c l o u d of s m o k e fit for the g o d s to i n h a l e . 4. T h e plum blossom is the Chinese flower of virtue. It has been adopted by the J a p a n e s e , just in the s a m e way as they have adopted the Chinese national flower, the chrysanthemum [Sui Sin Far's

note]. 5. Chinese s u m m e r festival, Dragon Boat Festival.

also

called

the

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Awaiting, by the wonderful wire of the telegram m e s s a g e , your grac i o u s p e r m i s s i o n to r e m a i n for the celebration of the Fifth M o o n Festival a n d the m a k i n g of A m e r i c a n " f u d g e , " I c o n t i n u e for ten t h o u s a n d times ten t h o u s a n d years, Your ever loving a n d o b e d i e n t w o m a n , JADE

P . S . F o r g e t not to c a r e for the cat, the birds, a n d the flowers. D o not eat too quickly nor fan too vigorously now that the w e a t h e r is w a r m i n g . M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e s m i l e d a s s h e folded this last epistle. Even if h e were old-fashioned, there w a s never a h u s b a n d so g o o d a n d kind a s h e r s . Only o n o n e o c c a s i o n s i n c e their m a r r i a g e h a d he slighted her w i s h e s . T h a t w a s w h e n , o n the last anniversary of their w e d d i n g , s h e h a d signified a d e s i r e for a certain j a d e s t o n e p e n d a n t , a n d he h a d failed to satisfy that d e s i r e . B u t M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , b e i n g of a happy n a t u r e , a n d d i s p o s e d to look u p o n the bright side of things, did not allow her m i n d to dwell u p o n the j a d e s t o n e p e n d a n t . I n s t e a d , s h e gazed c o m p l a c e n t l y d o w n u p o n her bejeweled fingers a n d folded in with her letter to M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e a bright little s h e a f of c o n d e n s e d love.

Ill M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e sat o n his d o o r s t e p . H e h a d b e e n r e a d i n g two letters, o n e from M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , a n d the other from an elderly b a c h e l o r c o u s i n in S a n F r a n c i s c o . T h e o n e from the elderly b a c h e l o r c o u s i n w a s a b u s i n e s s letter, but c o n t a i n e d the following p o s t s c r i p t : T s e n H i n g , the son of the G o v e r n m e n t s c h o o l - m a s t e r , s e e m s to be m u c h in the c o m p a n y of your y o u n g wife. H e is a good-looking y o u t h , a n d p a r d o n m e , my d e a r c o u s i n ; but if w o m e n a r e allowed to stray at will from u n d e r their h u s b a n d s ' mulberry roofs, what is to prevent t h e m from b e c o m i n g butterflies? " S i n g F o o n is old a n d cynical," said Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e to himself. " W h y s h o u l d I pay any attention to h i m ? T h i s is A m e r i c a , where a m a n m a y s p e a k to a w o m a n , a n d a w o m a n listen, without any t h o u g h t of evil." H e destroyed his c o u s i n ' s letter a n d re-read his wife's. T h e n he b e c a m e very thoughtful. W a s the m a k i n g of A m e r i c a n fudge sufficient r e a s o n for a wife to wish to r e m a i n a week longer in a city w h e r e her h u s b a n d w a s not? T h e y o u n g m a n w h o lived in the next h o u s e c a m e o u t to water the lawn. " G o o d e v e n i n g , " said h e . "Any news from M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e ? " " S h e is having a very g o o d t i m e , " returned M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . " G l a d to hear it. I think you told m e s h e w a s to return the e n d of this week." "I have c h a n g e d my m i n d a b o u t h e r , " s a i d M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . "I a m bidding her remain a w e e k longer, a s I wish to give a s m o k i n g party d u r i n g her a b s e n c e . I h o p e I m a y have the p l e a s u r e of your c o m p a n y . " " I shall b e d e l i g h t e d , " returned the y o u n g fellow. " B u t , M r . S p r i n g Fra-

1698

/

Sui

SIN

FAR

(EDITH MAUD

EATON)

g r a n c e , don't invite any other white fellows. If you d o not I shall b e able to get in a s c o o p . You know, I'm a sort of honorary reporter for the Gleaner." "Very well," absently a n s w e r e d Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . " O f c o u r s e , your friend the C o n s u l will be present. I shall call it 'A highc l a s s C h i n e s e s t a g party!' " In spite of his m e l a n c h o l y m o o d , Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e s m i l e d . "Everything is 'high-class' in A m e r i c a , " h e o b s e r v e d . " S u r e ! " cheerfully a s s e n t e d the y o u n g m a n . " H a v e n ' t you ever h e a r d that all A m e r i c a n s a r e p r i n c e s a n d p r i n c e s s e s , a n d j u s t a s s o o n a s a foreigner p u t s his foot u p o n our s h o r e s , h e a l s o b e c o m e s of the nobility—I m e a n , the royal family." " W h a t a b o u t my brother in the D e t e n t i o n P e n ? " 6 dryly inquired M r . S p r i n g Fragrance. " N o w , you've got m e , " said the y o u n g m a n , r u b b i n g his h e a d . "Well, that is a s h a m e — ' a beastly s h a m e , ' as the E n g l i s h m a n says. B u t u n d e r s t a n d , old fellow, we that are real A m e r i c a n s are up a g a i n s t t h a t — e v e n m o r e than y o u . It is a g a i n s t o u r p r i n c i p l e s . " "I offer the real A m e r i c a n s my c o n s o l a t i o n s that they s h o u l d b e c o m p e l l e d to do that which is a g a i n s t their p r i n c i p l e s . " " O h , well, it will all c o m e right s o m e day. W e ' r e not a b a d sort, you know. T h i n k of the indemnity m o n e y returned to the D r a g o n by U n c l e S a m . " 7 Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e puffed his p i p e in s i l e n c e for s o m e m o m e n t s . M o r e than politics w a s troubling his m i n d . At last he s p o k e . " L o v e , " said h e , slowly a n d distinctly, " c o m e s before the w e d d i n g in this country, d o e s it n o t ? " "Yes, certainly." Y o u n g C a r m a n knew M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e well e n o u g h to receive with c a l m n e s s his m o s t a s t o u n d i n g q u e r i e s . " P r e s u m i n g , " c o n t i n u e d Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e — " p r e s u m i n g that s o m e friend of your father's, l i v i n g — p r e s u m i n g — i n E n g l a n d — h a s a d a u g h t e r that he a r r a n g e s with your father to be your wife. P r e s u m i n g that you have never s e e n that d a u g h t e r , but that you marry her, knowing her not. P r e s u m i n g that she marries you, knowing you n o t . — A f t e r s h e m a r r i e s you a n d k n o w s y o u , will that w o m a n love y o u ? " " E m p h a t i c a l l y , n o , " a n s w e r e d the y o u n g m a n . " T h a t is the way it would be in A m e r i c a — t h a t the w o m a n w h o m a r r i e s the m a n like t h a t — w o u l d not love h i m ? " "Yes, that is the way it would be in A m e r i c a . L o v e , in this c o u n t r y , m u s t be free, or it is not love at all." " I n C h i n a , it is different!" m u s e d M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . " O h , yes, I have n o d o u b t that in C h i n a it is different." " B u t the love is in the heart all the s a m e , " went on M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . "Yes, all the s a m e . Everybody falls in love s o m e time or a n o t h e r . S o m e " — pensively—"many times." 6. Angel Island Immigration Center, in S a n Francisco Bay, built to enforce the C h i n e s e Exclusion Act of 1882, was notorious for holding and interrogating thousands of C h i n e s e immigrants for long periods.

7. After the C h i n e s e Boxer Rebellion ( 1 8 9 8 1901), the U . S . government returned its share of monies paid by China to foreign governments for the loss of life and property.

MRS. SPRING FRAGRANCE

/

1699

Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e a r o s e . "I m u s t go d o w n t o w n , " said he. As he walked d o w n the street he recalled the r e m a r k of a b u s i n e s s a c q u a i n t a n c e w h o h a d met his wife a n d had had s o m e c o n v e r s a t i o n with her: " S h e is j u s t like a n A m e r i c a n w o m a n . " H e had felt s o m e w h a t flattered when this r e m a r k had b e e n m a d e . H e looked u p o n it a s a c o m p l i m e n t to his wife's c l e v e r n e s s ; but it rankled in his mind a s h e entered the telegraph office. If his wife w a s b e c o m i n g a s a n A m e r i c a n w o m a n , would it not be p o s s i b l e for her to love a s an A m e r i c a n w o m a n — a m a n to w h o m she was not m a r r i e d ? T h e r e a l s o floated in his m e m o r y the verse which his wife had q u o t e d to the d a u g h t e r of C h i n Y u e n . W h e n the telegraph clerk h a n d e d him a blank, he wrote this m e s s a g e : " R e m a i n a s you wish, but r e m e m b e r that ' T i s better to have loved a n d lost, than never to have loved at all.' " W h e n M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e received this m e s s a g e , her laughter tinkled like falling water. H o w droll! H o w delightful! H e r e w a s her h u s b a n d q u o t i n g A m e r i c a n poetry in a t e l e g r a m . P e r h a p s he had b e e n r e a d i n g her A m e r i c a n poetry books s i n c e s h e had left him! S h e h o p e d s o . T h e y would lead him to u n d e r s t a n d her s y m p a t h y for her d e a r L a u r a a n d Kai T z u . S h e n e e d no longer keep from him their secret. H o w joyful! It h a d b e e n s u c h a h a r d s h i p to refrain from confiding in him before. B u t d i s c r e e t n e s s had b e e n m o s t n e c e s s a r y , seeing that M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e e n t e r t a i n e d a s o l d - f a s h i o n e d notions c o n c e r n i n g m a r r i a g e a s did the C h i n Yuen p a r e n t s . S t r a n g e that that s h o u l d be s o , s i n c e he h a d fallen in love with her picture before ever he h a d s e e n her, j u s t a s she had fallen in love with his! And w h e n the m a r r i a g e veil w a s lifted a n d e a c h b e h e l d the other for the first time in the flesh, there h a d b e e n no d i s i l l u s i o n — n o l e s s e n i n g of the r e s p e c t a n d affection, which t h o s e w h o h a d brought a b o u t the m a r r i a g e had inspired in e a c h y o u n g heart. M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e b e g a n to wish s h e c o u l d fall a s l e e p a n d w a k e to find the week flown, a n d s h e in her own little h o m e p o u r i n g tea for Mr. Spring Fragrance. IV Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e was walking to b u s i n e s s with Mr. C h i n Y u e n . As they walked they talked. " Y e s , " said M r . C h i n Y u e n , "the old order is p a s s i n g away, a n d the n e w order is taking its p l a c e , even with u s w h o are C h i n e s e . I have finally c o n s e n t e d to give my d a u g h t e r in m a r r i a g e to y o u n g Kai T z u . " Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e e x p r e s s e d s u r p r i s e . H e h a d u n d e r s t o o d that the marriage b e t w e e n his neighbor's d a u g h t e r a n d the S a n F r a n c i s c o schoolteacher's son was all a r r a n g e d . " S o 'twas," a n s w e r e d M r . C h i n Yuen; "but it s e e m s the y o u n g r e n e g a d e , without c o n s u l t a t i o n or advice, has p l a c e d his affections u p o n s o m e untrustworthy f e m a l e , and is so u n d e r her influence that he r e f u s e s to fulfil his p a r e n t s ' p r o m i s e to m e for h i m . " " S o ! " said M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . T h e s h a d o w on his brow d e e p e n e d . " B u t , " said Mr. C h i n Yuen, with affable resignation, "it is all o r d a i n e d by

1700

/

Sui

SIN

FAR

(EDITH MAUD

EATON)

H e a v e n . O u r d a u g h t e r , a s the wife of Kai T z u , for w h o m s h e has long h a d a loving feeling, will not now b e c o m p e l l e d to dwell with a mother-in-law a n d w h e r e her own m o t h e r is not. F o r that, we are thankful, a s s h e is our only o n e a n d the c o n d i t i o n s of life in this W e s t e r n country are not a s in C h i n a . Moreover, Kai T z u , t h o u g h not so m u c h of a s c h o l a r a s the t e a c h e r ' s s o n , h a s a keen eye for b u s i n e s s a n d that, in A m e r i c a , is certainly m u c h m o r e desirable than s c h o l a r s h i p . W h a t do you t h i n k ? " " E h ! W h a t ! " e x c l a i m e d M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . T h e latter part of his c o m p a n i o n ' s r e m a r k s h a d b e e n lost u p o n h i m . T h a t day the s h a d o w w h i c h h a d b e e n following M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e ever s i n c e he h a d h e a r d his wife q u o t e , " 'Tis better to have loved," e t c . , b e c a m e so heavy a n d d e e p that he q u i t e lost h i m s e l f within it. At h o m e in the e v e n i n g h e fed the cat, the bird, a n d the flowers. T h e n , s e a t i n g h i m s e l f in a c a r v e d b l a c k c h a i r — a p r e s e n t from his wife on his last b i r t h d a y — h e took out his p i p e a n d s m o k e d . T h e c a t j u m p e d into his lap. H e stroked it softly a n d tenderly. It h a d b e e n m u c h f o n d l e d by M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , a n d M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e w a s u n d e r the i m p r e s s i o n that it m i s s e d her. " P o o r t h i n g ! " said h e . "I s u p p o s e you w a n t her b a c k ! " W h e n h e a r o s e to go to b e d h e p l a c e d the a n i m a l carefully o n the floor, a n d t h u s a p o s t r o p h i z e d it: " O W i s e a n d Silent O n e , your m i s t r e s s returns to y o u , b u t her heart s h e leaves b e h i n d her, with the T o m m i e s 8 in S a n F r a n c i s c o . " T h e W i s e a n d Silent O n e m a d e no reply. H e w a s not a j e a l o u s c a t . M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e slept not that night; the next m o r n i n g he a t e not. T h r e e days a n d three nights without s l e e p a n d food went by. T h e r e w a s a springlike f r e s h n e s s in the air on the day that M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e c a m e h o m e . T h e skies o v e r h e a d were a s b l u e a s P u g e t S o u n d s t r e t c h i n g its g l e a m i n g length toward the mighty Pacific, a n d all the beautiful green world s e e m e d to b e t h r o b b i n g with springing life. M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e w a s never s o radiant. " O h , " s h e cried light-heartedly, "is it not lovely to s e e the s u n s h i n i n g s o clear, a n d everything s o bright to w e l c o m e m e ? " M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e m a d e n o r e s p o n s e . It w a s the m o r n i n g after the fourth s l e e p l e s s night. M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e noticed his s i l e n c e , also his grave f a c e . " E v e r y t h i n g — e v e r y o n e is glad to s e e m e b u t y o u , " s h e d e c l a r e d , half seriously, half jestingly. M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e set d o w n her valise. T h e y h a d j u s t e n t e r e d the h o u s e . "If my wife is glad to s e e m e , " he quietly replied, "I a l s o a m glad to s e e her!" S u m m o n i n g their servant boy, he b a d e him look after M r s . S p r i n g Fragrance's comfort. "I m u s t b e at the store in half a n h o u r , " said h e , looking at his w a t c h . " T h e r e is s o m e very i m p o r t a n t b u s i n e s s requiring a t t e n t i o n . " " W h a t is the b u s i n e s s ? " inquired M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , her lip quivering with d i s a p p o i n t m e n t . "I c a n n o t j u s t explain to y o u , " a n s w e r e d her h u s b a n d . 8. Slang for British or British Americans.

MRS.

SPRING FRAGRANCE

/

1701

M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e looked up into his f a c e with h o n e s t a n d e a r n e s t eyes. T h e r e was s o m e t h i n g in his m a n n e r , in the t o n e of her h u s b a n d ' s voice, which t o u c h e d her. " Y e n , " said s h e , "you d o not look well. You are not well. W h a t is i t ? " S o m e t h i n g a r o s e in M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e ' s throat which p r e v e n t e d him from replying. " O darling o n e ! O s w e e t e s t o n e ! " cried a girl's j o y o u s v o i c e . L a u r a C h i n Yuen ran into the r o o m a n d threw her a r m s a r o u n d M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e ' s neck. "I spied you from the w i n d o w , " said L a u r a , " a n d I c o u l d n ' t rest until I told you. W e are to be married next week, Kai T z u a n d I. A n d all t h r o u g h you, all through y o u — t h e sweetest j a d e jewel in the world!" M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e p a s s e d out of the r o o m . " S o the s o n of the G o v e r n m e n t t e a c h e r a n d little H a p p y L o v e are already m a r r i e d , " L a u r a went on, relieving M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e of her cloak, her hat, a n d her folding fan. Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e p a u s e d u p o n the d o o r s t e p . " S i t d o w n , Little Sister, a n d I will tell you all a b o u t it," s a i d M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , forgetting her h u s b a n d for a m o m e n t . W h e n L a u r a C h i n Yuen h a d d a n c e d away, Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e c a m e in a n d h u n g up his hat. "You got b a c k very s o o n , " said M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , covertly wiping away the tears which h a d b e g u n to fall a s soon a s s h e t h o u g h t herself a l o n e . "I did not g o , " a n s w e r e d M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . "I have b e e n listening to you a n d L a u r a . " " B u t if the b u s i n e s s is very i m p o r t a n t , do not you think you s h o u l d a t t e n d to i t ? " anxiously q u e r i e d M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . "It is not i m p o r t a n t to m e n o w , " returned M r . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e . "I would prefer to hear again a b o u t Ah Oi a n d M a n You a n d L a u r a a n d Kai T z u . " " H o w lovely of you to say t h a t ! " e x c l a i m e d M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , w h o w a s easily m a d e happy. A n d s h e b e g a n to c h a t away to her h u s b a n d in the friendliest a n d wifeliest fashion p o s s i b l e . W h e n s h e h a d finished s h e a s k e d him if h e were not glad to hear that t h o s e w h o loved a s did the y o u n g lovers w h o s e s e c r e t s s h e h a d b e e n keeping, were to be u n i t e d ; a n d h e replied that indeed he w a s ; that h e would like every m a n to b e a s h a p p y with a wife a s he himself h a d ever b e e n a n d ever would b e . "You did not always talk like t h a t , " said M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e slyly. "You m u s t have b e e n r e a d i n g my A m e r i c a n poetry b o o k s ! " " A m e r i c a n poetry!" e j a c u l a t e d Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e a l m o s t fiercely, " A m e r i c a n poetry is d e t e s t a b l e , abhorrable!" "Why! why!" e x c l a i m e d M r s . S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e , m o r e a n d m o r e s u r p r i s e d . B u t the only explanation which Mr. S p r i n g F r a g r a n c e v o u c h s a f e d w a s a jadestone pendant. 1910

1912

1702

W. E . B. D U

BOIS

1868-1963 William Edward Burghardt Du Bois was born on February 23, 1868, in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. His childhood was happy; but with the approach of adolescence Du Bois discovered that what made him different from his schoolmates was not so much his superior academic achievement as his brown skin. Looking back on his rejection by a white girl in grade school, Du Bois wrote, "It dawned on me with a certain suddenness, that 1 was . . . shut out from their world by a vast veil," a veil beyond which he claimed to have no desire to force his way. Du Bois's entire career, nonetheless, may be understood as an unremitting struggle for civil and political rights for African Americans and for human rights around the world. Du Bois was educated at Fisk, Harvard, and the University of Berlin. His doctoral dissertation, The Suppression

of the African

Slave

Trade to the United

States of Amer-

ica, J 6 3 8 - 1 8 7 0 , was published as the first volume in the Harvard Historical Studies series. By the time Du Bois completed his graduate studies his accomplishments were already considerable, but he could not secure an appointment at a major research university. He taught first instead at Wilberforce College in Ohio, at that time a small, poor, black college. There he offered Greek, Latin, German, and English—subjects far removed from his real interest in the emerging field of sociology. After spending a year at the University of Pennsylvania, where he produced his first Negro, Du Bois moved to Atlanta University in 1897. major work, The Philadelphia There, over the following thirteen years, he produced a steady stream of important studies of African American life. Dedicated to the rigorous, scholarly examination of the so-called Negro problem, Du Bois soon had to face up to the violent realities of the lives he proposed to study. On his way to present an appeal for reason in the case of a black man accused of murder and rape, Du Bois was met by the news that a lynch mob had dismembered and burned the man at the stake and that "his knuckles were on exhibition at a grocery store." Though Du Bois never ceased being a scholar, from this time on he increasingly became an activist and sought a wider audience for his writings. Du Bois first came to national attention with the publication of The Souls of Black Folk (1903), characterized by scholar Eric J . Sundquist as "the preeminent text of African American cultural consciousness." Several chapters explore the implications of this extraordinary book's dramatic and prophetic announcement in its "Forethought" that "the problem of the Twentieth Century is the problem of the colorline." In the first chapter, "Of Our Spiritual Strivings," Du Bois introduces another concept that would inform his thinking for the rest of his career—the notion of the "twoness" of African Americans: "One ever feels his twoness," Du Bois asserts, "an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder." Du Bois goes on to offer a concise overview of the Negro in America cast in the highly charged rhetoric of the orator who wishes to move as well as inform his audience. But the chapter that particularly caused a stir when the volume was first published was the one that challenged—coolly and without rancor—the enormous authority and power that had accumulated in the hands of one black spokesman, Booker T. Washington. Washington had founded Tuskegee Institute in Alabama to train African Americans in basic agricultural and mechanical skills and had gained national prominence with his Atlanta Exposition speech in 1895. His address seemed to many people to accept disenfranchisement and segregation and settle for a low level of education in exchange for white "toleration" and economic cooperation. Although Du Bois had initially joined in the general approval of this "separate and unequal" philosophy, by the early 1900s he had begun to reject Washington's posi-

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tion, and with the publication of Souls of Black Folk his public defiance of Washington put the two men in irreversible opposition. The almost immediate result of Washington's allies' repudiation of Souls of Black Folk served to reinforce Du Bois's emerging radicalism; he became a leader in the Niagara Movement (1905), a movement aggressively demanding for African Americans the same civil rights enjoyed by white Americans. The concluding chapter, "The Sorrow Songs," significantly shifts in tone and topic from the various accounts in earlier chapters of the failure of America to live up to its professed ideals of liberty, equality, and justice for all to a deeply felt tribute to "the Negro folk-song" as the "singular spiritual heritage of the nation and the greatest gift of the Negro people." In recent years, many distinguished cultural historians and musicologists have reiterated these claims. In 1910 Du Bois left Atlanta for New York, where he served for the next quarter of a century as editor of Crisis, the official publication of the newly formed National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), an organization he helped create. Through this publication Du Bois reached an increasingly large audience—one hundred thousand by 1919—with powerful messages that argued the need for black development and white enlightenment. Frustrated by the lack of fundamental change and progress in the condition of African Americans, from 1920 on Du Bois shifted his attention from the reform of race relations in America through research and political legislation to the search for longer-range worldwide economic solutions to the international problems of inequity among the races. He began a steady movement toward Pan-African and socialist perspectives that led to his joining the U.S. Communist Party in 1961 and, in the year of his death, becoming a citizen of Ghana. During these forty years he was extremely active as politician, organizer, and diplomat, and he also sustained his extraordinary productiveness as a powerful writer of poetry, fiction, autobiography, essays, and scholarly works. When, in his last major speech, Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of Du Bois as "one of the most remarkable men of our time," he was uttering the verdict of history.

From

The Souls of Black Folk 1 The

Forethought

H e r e i n lie buried m a n y things which if read with p a t i e n c e m a y s h o w the s t r a n g e m e a n i n g of b e i n g b l a c k here in the d a w n i n g of the T w e n t i e t h C e n tury. T h i s m e a n i n g is not without interest to you, G e n t l e R e a d e r ; for the p r o b l e m of the T w e n t i e t h C e n t u r y is the p r o b l e m of the color-line. I pray you, t h e n , receive my little book in all charity, s t u d y i n g my w o r d s with m e , forgiving m i s t a k e a n d foible for s a k e of the faith a n d p a s s i o n that is in m e , a n d s e e k i n g the grain of truth hidden there. I have s o u g h t here to s k e t c h , in v a g u e , u n c e r t a i n o u t l i n e , the spiritual world in which ten t h o u s a n d t h o u s a n d A m e r i c a n s live a n d strive. First, in two c h a p t e r s I have tried to s h o w what E m a n c i p a t i o n m e a n t to t h e m , a n d what w a s its a f t e r m a t h . In a third c h a p t e r I have p o i n t e d o u t the slow rise of p e r s o n a l l e a d e r s h i p , a n d criticised candidly the leader w h o b e a r s the chief b u r d e n of his r a c e to-day. T h e n , in two other c h a p t e r s I have s k e t c h e d in

1. The Souls of Black Folk, a compilation of nine previously printed and five unpublished essays, appeared first as a book from A. C. M c C l u r g in 1903, the source of the text printed here.

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swift outline the two worlds within a n d without the Veil, a n d t h u s h a v e c o m e to the central p r o b l e m of training m e n for life. V e n t u r i n g n o w into d e e p e r detail, I have in two c h a p t e r s studied the s t r u g g l e s of the m a s s e d millions of the black p e a s a n t r y , a n d in a n o t h e r have s o u g h t to m a k e clear the p r e s e n t relations of the s o n s of m a s t e r a n d m a n . L e a v i n g , t h e n , the world of the white m a n , I have s t e p p e d within the Veil, raising it that you m a y view faintly its d e e p e r recesses,-—the m e a n i n g of its religion, the p a s s i o n of its h u m a n sorrow, a n d the struggle of its g r e a t e r s o u l s . All this I have e n d e d with a tale twice told but s e l d o m written. S o m e of t h e s e t h o u g h t s of m i n e have s e e n the light before in other g u i s e . For kindly c o n s e n t i n g to their republication h e r e , in altered a n d e x t e n d e d form, I m u s t t h a n k the p u b l i s h e r s of The Atlantic Monthly, The World's Work, The Dial, The New World, a n d the Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science. B e f o r e e a c h c h a p t e r , a s now printed, s t a n d s a bar of the S o r r o w S o n g s , 2 — s o m e e c h o of h a u n t i n g melody from the only A m e r i c a n m u s i c which welled up from b l a c k s o u l s in the dark p a s t . A n d , finally, n e e d I a d d t h a t I w h o s p e a k here a m b o n e of the b o n e a n d flesh of the flesh of t h e m that live within the Veil? W . E . B . D u B. ATLANTA, G A . , Feb.

1,

1903.

/. O f Our Spiritual

Strivings

O water, voice of my heart, crying in the sand, All night long crying with a mournful cry, As I lie and listen, and cannot understand The voice of my heart in my side or the voice of the sea, O water, crying for rest, is it I, is it I? All night long the water is crying to me. Unresting water, there shall never be rest Till the last moon droop and the last tide fail, And the fire of the end begin to burn in the west; And the heart shall be weary and wonder and cry like the sea, All life long crying without avail, As the water all night long is crying to me. ARTHUR SYMONS'

B e t w e e n m e a n d the other world there is ever a n u n a s k e d q u e s t i o n : u n a s k e d by s o m e through feelings of delicacy; by o t h e r s t h r o u g h the difficulty of rightly f r a m i n g it. All, n e v e r t h e l e s s , flutter r o u n d it. T h e y a p p r o a c h m e in a half-hesitant sort of way, eye m e curiously or c o m p a s s i o n a t e l y , a n d 2. Du Bois's term for spirituals composed by southern slaves. 3. English poet ( 1 8 6 5 - 1 9 4 5 ) ; the quotation is from "The Crying of Water." 4. For a richly detailed discussion of the book as

a whole and particularly of the bars of music that serve as epigraphs for each chapter, see Eric J. Sundquist's To Wake the Nations: Race in the Making of American Literature ( 1 9 9 3 ) , pp. 457—540.

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then, instead of saying directly, H o w does it feel to b e a p r o b l e m ? they say, I know an excellent colored m a n in my town; or, I fought at M e c h a n i c s ville; 5 or, D o not t h e s e S o u t h e r n o u t r a g e s m a k e your blood boil? At t h e s e I s m i l e , or a m interested, or r e d u c e the boiling to a s i m m e r , a s the o c c a s i o n may require. T o the real q u e s t i o n , H o w d o e s it feel to b e a p r o b l e m ? I a n s w e r s e l d o m a word. And yet, being a p r o b l e m is a s t r a n g e e x p e r i e n c e , — p e c u l i a r even for o n e who has never b e e n anything e l s e , save p e r h a p s in b a b y h o o d a n d in E u r o p e . It is in the early days of rollicking boyhood that the revelation first b u r s t s upon o n e , all in a day, a s it were. I r e m e m b e r well w h e n the s h a d o w swept a c r o s s m e . I w a s a little thing, away u p in the hills of N e w E n g l a n d , where the dark H o u s a t o n i c winds b e t w e e n H o o s a c a n d T a g h k a n i c 6 to the s e a . In a w e e w o o d e n s c h o o l h o u s e , s o m e t h i n g put it into the boys' a n d girls' h e a d s to buy g o r g e o u s visiting-cards—ten c e n t s a p a c k a g e — a n d e x c h a n g e . T h e e x c h a n g e was merry, till o n e girl, a tall n e w c o m e r , r e f u s e d my c a r d , — r e f u s e d it peremptorily, with a g l a n c e . T h e n it d a w n e d u p o n m e with a certain sudd e n n e s s that I w a s different from the others; or like, m a y h a p , in heart a n d life a n d longing, but shut out from their world by a vast veil. I h a d thereafter no desire to tear d o w n that veil, to c r e e p t h r o u g h ; I held all beyond it in c o m m o n c o n t e m p t , a n d lived a b o v e it in a region of b l u e sky a n d great wandering s h a d o w s . T h a t sky w a s bluest when I c o u l d beat my m a t e s at examination-time, or b e a t t h e m at a foot-race, or even beat their stringy h e a d s . Alas, with the years all this fine c o n t e m p t b e g a n to f a d e ; for the worlds I longed for, a n d all their dazzling opportunities, were theirs, not m i n e . B u t they s h o u l d not keep t h e s e prizes, I said; s o m e , all, I would wrest from t h e m . J u s t how I would d o it I c o u l d never d e c i d e : by r e a d i n g law, by healing the sick, by telling the wonderful tales that s w a m in my h e a d , — s o m e way. With other black boys the strife w a s not so fiercely sunny: their youth s h r u n k into tasteless s y c o p h a n c y , or into silent hatred of the p a l e world a b o u t t h e m a n d m o c k i n g distrust of everything white; or w a s t e d itself in a bitter cry, W h y did G o d m a k e m e an o u t c a s t a n d a stranger in m i n e own h o u s e ? T h e s h a d e s of the p r i s o n - h o u s e c l o s e d r o u n d a b o u t us all: walls strait a n d s t u b b o r n to the whitest, but relentlessly narrow, tall, a n d u n s c a l a b l e to s o n s of night w h o m u s t plod darkly on in resignation, or beat unavailing p a l m s a g a i n s t the stone, or steadily, half hopelessly, w a t c h the streak of blue a b o v e . After the Egyptian a n d Indian, the G r e e k a n d R o m a n , the T e u t o n a n d M o n g o l i a n , the N e g r o is a sort of seventh s o n , born with a veil, a n d gifted with s e c o n d - s i g h t in this A m e r i c a n w o r l d , — a world which yields him no true s e l f - c o n s c i o u s n e s s , but only lets him s e e himself through the revelation of the other world. It is a p e c u l i a r s e n s a t i o n , this d o u b l e - c o n s c i o u s n e s s , this s e n s e of always looking at one's self through the eyes of o t h e r s , of m e a s u r i n g one's s o u l by the t a p e of a world that looks on in a m u s e d c o n t e m p t a n d pity. O n e ever feels his t w o - n e s s , — a n A m e r i c a n , a N e g r o ; two s o u l s , two t h o u g h t s , two u n r e c o n c i l e d strivings; two warring ideals in o n e dark body, w h o s e d o g g e d strength a l o n e k e e p s it from b e i n g torn a s u n d e r . T h e history of the A m e r i c a n N e g r o is the history of this strife,—this long5. Civil War battle in Virginia, J u n e 26, 1862, resulting in heavy Confederate losses. 6. Mountain ranges partly in Massachusetts,

partly in Vermont. T h e Housatonic is a river in western M a s s a c h u s s e t t s .

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ing to attain s e l f - c o n s c i o u s m a n h o o d , to m e r g e his d o u b l e self into a b e t t e r a n d truer self. In this m e r g i n g h e w i s h e s neither of the older selves to be lost. H e would not Africanize A m e r i c a , for A m e r i c a h a s too m u c h to t e a c h the world a n d Africa. H e w o u l d not b l e a c h his N e g r o soul in a flood of white A m e r i c a n i s m , for he knows that N e g r o blood has a m e s s a g e for the world. H e simply w i s h e s to m a k e it p o s s i b l e for a m a n to b e both a N e g r o a n d an A m e r i c a n , without b e i n g c u r s e d a n d spit u p o n by his fellows, without having the doors of O p p o r t u n i t y c l o s e d roughly in his f a c e . T h i s , t h e n , is the e n d of his striving: to b e a co-worker in the k i n g d o m o f c u l t u r e , to e s c a p e both d e a t h a n d isolation, to h u s b a n d a n d u s e his b e s t p o w e r s a n d his latent g e n i u s . T h e s e p o w e r s of b o d y a n d m i n d have in the p a s t b e e n strangely w a s t e d , d i s p e r s e d , or forgotten. T h e s h a d o w of a mighty N e g r o p a s t flits t h r o u g h the tale of E t h i o p i a the S h a d o w y a n d of Egypt the S p h i n x . T h r o u g h o u t history, the p o w e r s of single b l a c k m e n flash h e r e a n d t h e r e like falling s t a r s , a n d die s o m e t i m e s before the world h a s rightly g a u g e d their b r i g h t n e s s . H e r e in A m e r i c a , in the few days s i n c e E m a n c i p a t i o n , the b l a c k m a n ' s turning hither a n d thither in hesitant a n d doubtful striving h a s often m a d e his very strength to lose effectiveness, to s e e m like a b s e n c e of power, like w e a k n e s s . A n d yet it is not w e a k n e s s , — i t is the c o n t r a d i c t i o n of d o u b l e a i m s . T h e d o u b l e - a i m e d struggle of the b l a c k a r t i s a n — o n the o n e h a n d to e s c a p e white c o n t e m p t for a nation of m e r e h e w e r s of wood a n d drawers of water, a n d on the other h a n d to p l o u g h a n d nail a n d dig for a poverty-stricken h o r d e — c o u l d only result in m a k i n g him a p o o r c r a f t s m a n , for h e h a d but half a heart in either c a u s e . By the poverty a n d i g n o r a n c e of his p e o p l e , the N e g r o minister or d o c t o r w a s t e m p t e d toward q u a c k e r y a n d d e m a g o g y ; a n d by the criticism of the other world, toward ideals that m a d e him a s h a m e d of his lowly t a s k s . T h e w o u l d - b e b l a c k savant w a s c o n f r o n t e d by the p a r a d o x that the k n o w l e d g e his p e o p l e n e e d e d w a s a twice-told tale to his white n e i g h b o r s , while the k n o w l e d g e which w o u l d t e a c h the white world w a s G r e e k to his own flesh a n d blood. T h e i n n a t e love of h a r m o n y a n d b e a u t y that set the ruder s o u l s of his p e o p l e a - d a n c i n g a n d a-singing r a i s e d b u t c o n f u s i o n a n d d o u b t in the soul of the b l a c k artist; for the b e a u t y revealed to him w a s the s o u l - b e a u t y of a r a c e which his larger a u d i e n c e d e s p i s e d , a n d h e c o u l d not a r t i c u l a t e the m e s s a g e of a n o t h e r p e o p l e . T h i s w a s t e of d o u b l e a i m s , this s e e k i n g to satisfy two u n r e c o n c i l e d i d e a l s , h a s w r o u g h t s a d havoc with the c o u r a g e a n d faith a n d d e e d s of ten t h o u s a n d t h o u s a n d p e o p l e , — h a s s e n t t h e m often w o o i n g false g o d s a n d invoking false m e a n s of salvation, a n d at times h a s even s e e m e d a b o u t to m a k e t h e m a s h a m e d of t h e m s e l v e s . 7

Away b a c k in the days of b o n d a g e they thought to s e e in o n e divine event the e n d of all d o u b t a n d d i s a p p o i n t m e n t ; few m e n ever w o r s h i p p e d F r e e d o m with half s u c h u n q u e s t i o n i n g faith a s did the A m e r i c a n N e g r o for two c e n turies. T o him, so far a s he t h o u g h t a n d d r e a m e d , slavery w a s i n d e e d the s u m of all villainies, the c a u s e of all sorrow, the root of all p r e j u d i c e ; E m a n cipation w a s the key to a p r o m i s e d land of sweeter b e a u t y t h a n ever s t r e t c h e d before the eyes of wearied Israelites. In s o n g a n d exhortation swelled o n e r e f r a i n — L i b e r t y ; in his tears a n d c u r s e s the G o d h e i m p l o r e d h a d F r e e d o m in his right h a n d . At last it c a m e , — s u d d e n l y , fearfully, like a d r e a m . With 7. Learned person.

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o n e wild carnival of blood a n d p a s s i o n c a m e the m e s s a g e in his own plaintive cadences:— " S h o u t , O children! S h o u t , you're free! F o r G o d h a s b o u g h t your liberty!" 8 Years have p a s s e d away s i n c e t h e n , — t e n , twenty, forty; forty years of national life, forty years of renewal a n d d e v e l o p m e n t , a n d yet the swarthy s p e c t r e sits in its a c c u s t o m e d seat at the N a t i o n ' s feast. In vain do we cry to this our vastest social p r o b l e m : — " T a k e any s h a p e but that, a n d my firm nerves Shall never t r e m b l e ! " 9 T h e N a t i o n h a s not yet f o u n d p e a c e from its s i n s ; the f r e e d m a n h a s not yet f o u n d in f r e e d o m his p r o m i s e d land. W h a t e v e r of g o o d m a y have c o m e in t h e s e years of c h a n g e , the s h a d o w of a d e e p d i s a p p o i n t m e n t rests u p o n the N e g r o p e o p l e , — a d i s a p p o i n t m e n t all the m o r e bitter b e c a u s e the u n a t t a i n e d ideal w a s u n b o u n d e d save by the s i m p l e i g n o r a n c e of a lowly p e o p l e . T h e first d e c a d e w a s merely a prolongation of the vain s e a r c h for f r e e d o m , the boon that s e e m e d ever barely to e l u d e their g r a s p , — l i k e a tantalizing will-o'-the-wisp, m a d d e n i n g a n d m i s l e a d i n g the h e a d l e s s host. T h e h o l o c a u s t of war, the terrors of the Ku-Klux K l a n , the lies of c a r p e t b a g g e r s , 1 the disorganization of industry, a n d the contradictory advice of friends a n d f o e s , left the bewildered serf with n o new watchword beyond the old cry for freed o m . As the time flew, however, he b e g a n to g r a s p a n e w i d e a . T h e ideal of liberty d e m a n d e d for its a t t a i n m e n t powerful m e a n s , a n d t h e s e the Fifteenth A m e n d m e n t 2 gave h i m . T h e ballot, which before h e h a d looked u p o n a s a visible sign of f r e e d o m , he n o w r e g a r d e d a s the chief m e a n s of g a i n i n g a n d perfecting the liberty with w h i c h war h a d partially e n d o w e d h i m . A n d why not? H a d not votes m a d e war a n d e m a n c i p a t e d millions? H a d not votes e n f r a n c h i s e d the f r e e d m e n ? W a s anything i m p o s s i b l e to a p o w e r that h a d d o n e all this? A million black m e n started with r e n e w e d zeal to vote t h e m selves into the k i n g d o m . S o the d e c a d e flew away, the revolution of 1 8 7 6 3 c a m e , a n d left the half-free serf weary, w o n d e r i n g , b u t still inspired. Slowly b u t steadily, in the following years, a new vision b e g a n gradually to r e p l a c e the d r e a m of political p o w e r , — a powerful m o v e m e n t , the rise of a n o t h e r ideal to g u i d e the u n g u i d e d , a n o t h e r pillar of fire by night after a c l o u d e d day. It w a s the ideal of "book-learning"; the curiosity, b o r n of c o m p u l s o r y i g n o r a n c e , to k n o w a n d test the power of the c a b a l i s t i c 4 letters of the white m a n , the longing to know. H e r e at last s e e m e d to have b e e n d i s c o v e r e d the m o u n t a i n p a t h to C a n a a n ; ' longer than the highway of E m a n c i p a t i o n a n d law, s t e e p a n d r u g g e d , but straight, l e a d i n g to heights high e n o u g h to overlook life. 8. Source unidentified. 9. Shakespeare's Macbeth 3.2.99. 1. Used as an epithet in the South to describe Northerners who c a m e to the South during Reconstruction to make money by exploiting conditions created by the devastation of the Civil War. Many carried possessions in luggage made of carpet materials.

2. Amendment to the Constitution passed in 1870 to guarantee and protect the voting rights of African American men. 3. Congressional opposition to the continuation of Reconstruction policies and programs after the national elections of 1876. 4. Indecipherable and mystical. 5. T h e Promised Land of the Israelites.

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U p the n e w p a t h the a d v a n c e g u a r d toiled, slowly, heavily, doggedly; only t h o s e w h o have w a t c h e d a n d g u i d e d the faltering feet, the misty m i n d s , the dull u n d e r s t a n d i n g s , of the dark pupils of t h e s e s c h o o l s know how faithfully, how piteously, this p e o p l e strove to learn. It w a s weary work. T h e c o l d statistician wrote d o w n the i n c h e s of p r o g r e s s here a n d there, n o t e d a l s o w h e r e here a n d there a foot h a d s l i p p e d or s o m e o n e h a d fallen. T o the tired c l i m b ers, the horizon w a s ever dark, the m i s t s were often cold, the C a n a a n w a s always dim a n d far away. If, however, the vistas d i s c l o s e d a s yet no goal, no resting-place, little but flattery a n d criticism, the j o u r n e y at least gave leisure for reflection a n d self-examination; it c h a n g e d the child of E m a n c i p a t i o n to the youth with d a w n i n g s e l f - c o n s c i o u s n e s s , self-realization, self-respect. In t h o s e s o m b r e forests of his striving his own soul rose b e f o r e h i m , a n d h e s a w h i m s e l f , — d a r k l y a s t h r o u g h a veil; a n d yet h e s a w in h i m s e l f s o m e faint revelation of his power, of his m i s s i o n . H e b e g a n to have a d i m feeling that, to attain his p l a c e in the world, h e m u s t be himself, a n d not a n o t h e r . F o r the first time he s o u g h t to analyze the b u r d e n h e b o r e u p o n his b a c k , that d e a d weight of social d e g r a d a t i o n partially m a s k e d b e h i n d a h a l f - n a m e d N e g r o p r o b l e m . H e felt his poverty; without a c e n t , without a h o m e , without land, tools, or savings, h e h a d e n t e r e d into c o m p e t i t i o n with rich, l a n d e d , skilled n e i g h b o r s . T o b e a poor m a n is hard, but to b e a poor r a c e in a land of dollars is the very b o t t o m of h a r d s h i p s . H e felt the weight of his i g n o r a n c e , — n o t simply of letters, b u t of life, of b u s i n e s s , of the h u m a n i t i e s ; the a c c u m u l a t e d sloth a n d shirking a n d a w k w a r d n e s s of d e c a d e s a n d c e n t u r i e s s h a c k l e d his h a n d s a n d feet. N o r was his b u r d e n all poverty a n d i g n o r a n c e . T h e red stain of bastardy, which two c e n t u r i e s of s y s t e m a t i c legal defilement of N e g r o w o m e n h a d s t a m p e d u p o n his r a c e , m e a n t not only the loss of a n c i e n t Afric a n chastity, but also the hereditary weight of a m a s s of corruption from white a d u l t e r e r s , t h r e a t e n i n g a l m o s t the obliteration of the N e g r o h o m e . A p e o p l e t h u s h a n d i c a p p e d o u g h t not to b e a s k e d to r a c e with the world, b u t rather allowed to give all its t i m e a n d t h o u g h t to its own social p r o b l e m s . B u t alas! while sociologists gleefully c o u n t his b a s t a r d s a n d his p r o s t i t u t e s , the very soul of the toiling, s w e a t i n g b l a c k m a n is d a r k e n e d by the s h a d o w of a vast despair. M e n call the s h a d o w p r e j u d i c e , a n d learnedly explain it a s the natural d e f e n c e of c u l t u r e a g a i n s t b a r b a r i s m , l e a r n i n g a g a i n s t i g n o r a n c e , purity a g a i n s t c r i m e , the " h i g h e r " a g a i n s t the " l o w e r " r a c e s . T o which the N e g r o cries A m e n ! a n d s w e a r s that to s o m u c h of this s t r a n g e p r e j u d i c e a s is f o u n d e d on j u s t h o m a g e to civilization, c u l t u r e , r i g h t e o u s n e s s , a n d prog r e s s , h e h u m b l y bows a n d meekly d o e s o b e i s a n c e . B u t before that n a m e l e s s p r e j u d i c e that l e a p s beyond all this h e s t a n d s h e l p l e s s , d i s m a y e d , a n d wellnigh s p e e c h l e s s ; before that p e r s o n a l d i s r e s p e c t a n d mockery, the ridicule a n d systematic h u m i l i a t i o n , the distortion of fact a n d w a n t o n l i c e n s e of fancy, the cynical ignoring of the better a n d the b o i s t e r o u s w e l c o m i n g of the w o r s e , the all-pervading desire to i n c u l c a t e d i s d a i n for everything black, from T o u s s a i n t 6 to the d e v i l , — b e f o r e this t h e r e rises a s i c k e n i n g d e s p a i r that would d i s a r m a n d d i s c o u r a g e any nation save that b l a c k host to w h o m "disc o u r a g e m e n t " is an unwritten word. B u t the facing of s o vast a p r e j u d i c e c o u l d not but bring the inevitable self6. Francois Dominique Toussaint L'Ouverture ( 1 7 4 3 - 1 8 0 3 ) . slave-born Haitian soldier, patriot, and martyr to the liberation of Haiti from foreign control.

THE

SOULS

OF B L A C K

FOLK, CHAPTER

I

/

1709

q u e s t i o n i n g , s e l f - d i s p a r a g e m e n t , a n d lowering of ideals which ever a c c o m pany r e p r e s s i o n a n d b r e e d in an a t m o s p h e r e of c o n t e m p t a n d h a t e . W h i s p e r ings a n d portents c a m e b o r n e u p o n the four w i n d s : L o ! we are d i s e a s e d a n d dying, cried the dark h o s t s ; we c a n n o t write, our voting is vain; w h a t n e e d of e d u c a t i o n , s i n c e we m u s t always c o o k a n d serve? A n d the N a t i o n e c h o e d a n d e n f o r c e d this self-criticism, saying: B e c o n t e n t to be s e r v a n t s , a n d n o t h i n g m o r e ; what n e e d of higher c u l t u r e for h a l f - m e n ? Away with the b l a c k m a n ' s ballot, by force or f r a u d , — a n d b e h o l d the s u i c i d e of a r a c e ! N e v e r t h e l e s s , out of the evil c a m e s o m e t h i n g of g o o d , — t h e m o r e careful a d j u s t m e n t of e d u cation to real life, the clearer p e r c e p t i o n of the N e g r o e s ' social responsibilities, a n d the s o b e r i n g realization of the m e a n i n g of p r o g r e s s . S o d a w n e d the time of Sturm und Drang:7 s t o r m a n d stress to-day rocks our little boat on the m a d waters of the world-sea; there is within a n d without the s o u n d of conflict, the b u r n i n g of body a n d r e n d i n g of s o u l ; inspiration strives with d o u b t , a n d faith with vain q u e s t i o n i n g s . T h e bright ideals of the p a s t , — p h y s i c a l f r e e d o m , political power, the training of b r a i n s a n d the training of h a n d s , — a l l t h e s e in turn have waxed a n d w a n e d , until even the last grows d i m a n d overcast. Are they all w r o n g , — a l l false? N o , not that, but e a c h a l o n e w a s over-simple a n d i n c o m p l e t e , — t h e d r e a m s of a c r e d u l o u s r a c e - c h i l d h o o d , or the fond i m a g i n i n g s of the other world which d o e s not know a n d d o e s not want to know our power. T o b e really t r u e , all t h e s e ideals m u s t b e m e l t e d a n d w e l d e d into o n e . T h e training of the s c h o o l s we n e e d to-day m o r e t h a n e v e r , — t h e training of deft h a n d s , q u i c k eyes a n d e a r s , a n d a b o v e all the broader, d e e p e r , higher c u l t u r e of gifted m i n d s a n d p u r e h e a r t s . T h e power of the ballot we n e e d in s h e e r s e l f - d e f e n c e , — e l s e what shall save u s from a s e c o n d slavery? F r e e d o m , too, the long-sought, w e still s e e k , — t h e f r e e d o m of life a n d limb, the freedom to work a n d think, the f r e e d o m to love a n d a s p i r e . Work, c u l t u r e , liberty,—all t h e s e we n e e d , not singly b u t together, not s u c c e s s i v e l y but together, e a c h growing a n d a i d i n g e a c h , a n d all striving toward that vaster ideal that s w i m s before the N e g r o p e o p l e , the ideal of h u m a n b r o t h e r h o o d , g a i n e d t h r o u g h the unifying ideal of R a c e ; the ideal of fostering a n d developing the traits a n d talents of the N e g r o , not in opposition to or c o n t e m p t for other r a c e s , but rather in large conformity to the greater ideals of the A m e r i c a n R e p u b l i c , in order that s o m e day on A m e r ican soil two world-races m a y give e a c h to e a c h t h o s e c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s both so sadly lack. W e the darker o n e s c o m e even now not altogether emptyh a n d e d : there are to-day n o truer e x p o n e n t s of the p u r e h u m a n spirit of the D e c l a r a t i o n of I n d e p e n d e n c e than the A m e r i c a n N e g r o e s ; there is n o true A m e r i c a n m u s i c but the wild sweet m e l o d i e s of the N e g r o slave; the American fairy tales a n d folk-lore are Indian a n d African; a n d , all in all, we b l a c k m e n s e e m the sole o a s i s of s i m p l e faith a n d r e v e r e n c e in a dusty d e s e r t of dollars a n d s m a r t n e s s . Will A m e r i c a be p o o r e r if s h e r e p l a c e her brutal dyspeptic b l u n d e r i n g with light-hearted but d e t e r m i n e d N e g r o humility? or her c o a r s e a n d cruel wit with loving jovial g o o d - h u m o r ? or her vulgar m u s i c with the soul of the S o r r o w S o n g s ? Merely a c o n c r e t e test of the underlying p r i n c i p l e s of the great r e p u b l i c is the N e g r o P r o b l e m , a n d the spiritual striving of the f r e e d m e n ' s s o n s is the travail of s o u l s w h o s e b u r d e n is a l m o s t beyond the m e a s u r e of their strength, 7. Storm and stress (German).

1710

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W . E . B. Du B o i s

but w h o b e a r it in the n a m e of a n historic r a c e , in the n a m e of this the l a n d of their fathers' f a t h e r s , a n d in the n a m e of h u m a n opportunity. A n d now w h a t I have briefly s k e t c h e d in large outline let m e o n c o m i n g p a g e s tell again in m a n y ways, with loving e m p h a s i s a n d d e e p e r detail, that m e n may listen to the striving in the s o u l s of b l a c k folk. *

III.

Of Mr. Booker

*

#

T. Washington

and

Others

8

From birth till death enslaved; in word, in deed, unmanned!

Hereditary bondsmen! Know ye not Who would be free themselves must strike the blow? —BYRON 9

Easily the m o s t striking thing in the history of the A m e r i c a n N e g r o s i n c e 1 8 7 6 1 is the a s c e n d a n c y of M r . B o o k e r T . W a s h i n g t o n . It b e g a n at the time w h e n war m e m o r i e s a n d ideals were rapidly p a s s i n g ; a day of a s t o n i s h i n g c o m m e r c i a l d e v e l o p m e n t w a s d a w n i n g ; a s e n s e of d o u b t a n d hesitation overtook the f r e e d m e n ' s s o n s , — t h e n it w a s that his l e a d i n g b e g a n . M r . W a s h i n g ton c a m e , with a s i m p l e definite p r o g r a m m e , at the p s y c h o l o g i c a l m o m e n t w h e n the nation w a s a little a s h a m e d of having b e s t o w e d s o m u c h s e n t i m e n t o n N e g r o e s , a n d w a s c o n c e n t r a t i n g its e n e r g i e s on D o l l a r s . H i s p r o g r a m m e of industrial e d u c a t i o n , conciliation of the S o u t h , a n d s u b m i s s i o n a n d s i l e n c e as to civil a n d political rights, w a s not wholly original; the F r e e N e g r o e s from 1 8 3 0 u p to war-time h a d striven to build industrial s c h o o l s , a n d the A m e r i c a n M i s s i o n a r y A s s o c i a t i o n h a d from the first t a u g h t various t r a d e s ; a n d P r i c e 2 a n d others h a d s o u g h t a way of h o n o r a b l e a l l i a n c e with the b e s t of the S o u t h e r n e r s . B u t M r . W a s h i n g t o n first indissolubly linked t h e s e t h i n g s ; h e p u t e n t h u s i a s m , unlimited energy, a n d p e r f e c t faith into this p r o g r a m m e , a n d c h a n g e d it from a by-path into a veritable W a y of L i f e . A n d the tale of the m e t h o d s by which he did this is a f a s c i n a t i n g study of h u m a n life. 8. Of Mr. Booker T. Washington and Others was first published in Guardian, July 27, 1902, and then collected in The Souls of Black Folk. Booker T. Washington ( 1 8 5 6 ? - l 9 1 5 ) founded and helped build with his own hands T u s k e g e e Institute, a black college in Alabama, and became a powerful leader of and spokesman for black Americans, especially after his address at the Atlanta Exposition in 1895. 9. T h e epigraph is from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, C a n t o 2, 7 4 . 7 1 0 , 7 6 . 7 2 0 - 2 1 . T h e music is from the refrain of a black spiritual titled "A Great Camp-Meetin' in de Promised L a n d " (also called

"There's a Great C a m p Meeting" and "Walk Together Children"). T h e words of the refrain set to this music are Going to mourn and never tire— mourn and never tire, mourn and never tire. 1. Reconstruction effectively ended in 1876; federal troops were withdrawn from the S o u t h , and black political power was essentially destroyed. 2. T h o m a s Frederick Price ( 1 8 6 0 - 1 9 1 9 ) . American editor, missionary, and Roman Catholic priest; one of the founders of the American Missionary Association.

THE

SOULS

OF B L A C K

FOLK, CHAPTER

III

/

1711

It startled the nation to hear a N e g r o a d v o c a t i n g s u c h a p r o g r a m m e after m a n y d e c a d e s of bitter c o m p l a i n t ; it startled a n d won the a p p l a u s e of the S o u t h , it interested a n d won the a d m i r a t i o n of the N o r t h ; a n d after a c o n f u s e d m u r m u r of p r o t e s t , it silenced if it did not convert the N e g r o e s t h e m selves. T o gain the s y m p a t h y a n d c o o p e r a t i o n of the various e l e m e n t s c o m p r i s i n g the white S o u t h w a s M r . W a s h i n g t o n ' s first task; a n d this, at the t i m e T u s k e g e e w a s f o u n d e d , s e e m e d , for a black m a n , well-nigh i m p o s s i b l e . A n d yet ten years later it w a s d o n e in the word s p o k e n at Atlanta: "In all things purely social we c a n b e a s s e p a r a t e a s the five fingers, a n d yet o n e a s the h a n d in all things essential to m u t u a l p r o g r e s s . " T h i s "Atlanta C o m p r o m i s e " 3 is by all o d d s the m o s t notable thing in Mr. W a s h i n g t o n ' s c a r e e r . T h e S o u t h interpreted it in different ways: the radicals received it a s a c o m p l e t e s u r r e n d e r of the d e m a n d for civil a n d political equality; the c o n s e r v a t i v e s , a s a generously c o n c e i v e d working b a s i s for m u t u a l u n d e r s t a n d i n g . S o both a p p r o v e d it, a n d to-day its a u t h o r is certainly the m o s t d i s t i n g u i s h e d S o u t h e r n e r s i n c e J e f f e r s o n D a v i s , a n d the o n e with the largest p e r s o n a l following. Next to this a c h i e v e m e n t c o m e s M r . W a s h i n g t o n ' s work in g a i n i n g p l a c e a n d c o n s i d e r a t i o n in the N o r t h . O t h e r s less shrewd a n d tactful h a d formerly e s s a y e d to sit o n t h e s e two stools a n d h a d fallen b e t w e e n t h e m ; but a s M r . W a s h i n g t o n knew the heart of the S o u t h from birth a n d training, s o by singular insight he intuitively g r a s p e d the spirit of the a g e which w a s d o m i nating the N o r t h . A n d so thoroughly did he learn the s p e e c h a n d t h o u g h t of t r i u m p h a n t c o m m e r c i a l i s m , a n d the ideals of material prosperity, that the picture of a lone b l a c k boy poring over a F r e n c h g r a m m a r a m i d the w e e d s a n d dirt of a n e g l e c t e d h o m e s o o n s e e m e d to him the a c m e of a b s u r d i t i e s . 4 O n e w o n d e r s what S o c r a t e s a n d S t . F r a n c i s of Assisi w o u l d say to this. A n d yet this very s i n g l e n e s s of vision a n d t h o r o u g h o n e n e s s with his a g e is a m a r k of the s u c c e s s f u l m a n . It is a s t h o u g h N a t u r e m u s t n e e d s m a k e m e n narrow in order to give t h e m f o r c e . S o M r . W a s h i n g t o n ' s cult h a s g a i n e d u n q u e s t i o n i n g followers, his work h a s wonderfully p r o s p e r e d , his friends are legion, a n d his e n e m i e s are c o n f o u n d e d . T o - d a y he s t a n d s a s the o n e recognized s p o k e s m a n of his ten million fellows, a n d o n e of the m o s t n o t a b l e figures in a nation of seventy millions. O n e h e s i t a t e s , therefore, to criticise a life w h i c h , b e g i n n i n g with s o little, h a s d o n e so m u c h . A n d yet the t i m e is c o m e w h e n o n e m a y s p e a k in all sincerity a n d utter c o u r t e s y of the m i s t a k e s a n d s h o r t c o m i n g s of Mr. W a s h i n g t o n ' s career, a s well a s of his t r i u m p h s , without b e i n g t h o u g h t c a p t i o u s or e n v i o u s , a n d without forgetting that it is e a s i e r to do ill than well in the world. T h e criticism that has hitherto m e t M r . W a s h i n g t o n has not always b e e n of this b r o a d c h a r a c t e r . In the S o u t h especially h a s h e h a d to walk warily to avoid the h a r s h e s t j u d g m e n t s , — a n d naturally s o , for h e is d e a l i n g with the 3. In a speech at the Atlanta Exposition of 1895, Washington in effect traded political, civil, and social rights for blacks for the promise of vocational-training schools and jobs. His purpose was to reduce racial tension in the South while providing a stable black labor force whose skills would provide some hope for job security. 4. In Washington's extremely popular Up from Slavery: An Autobiography ( 1 9 0 1 ) , ch. 8, "Teaching School in a Stable and a H e n - H o u s e , " there is

a passage on the absurdity of knowledge not practically useful: In fact, one of the saddest things I saw during the month of travel which I have described was a young man, who had attended some high school, sitting down in a one-room cabin, with grease on his clothing, tilth all around him, and weeds in the yard and garden, engaged in studying French grammar.

1712

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o n e s u b j e c t of d e e p e s t s e n s i t i v e n e s s to that s e c t i o n . T w i c e — o n c e w h e n at the C h i c a g o c e l e b r a t i o n of the S p a n i s h - A m e r i c a n W a r he a l l u d e d to the color-prejudice that is " e a t i n g away the vitals of the S o u t h , " a n d o n c e w h e n he dined with P r e s i d e n t R o o s e v e l t 5 — h a s the resulting S o u t h e r n criticism b e e n violent e n o u g h to t h r e a t e n seriously his popularity. In the N o r t h the feeling h a s several t i m e s forced itself into w o r d s , that Mr. W a s h i n g t o n ' s c o u n s e l s of s u b m i s s i o n overlooked certain e l e m e n t s of true m a n h o o d , a n d that his e d u c a t i o n a l p r o g r a m m e w a s u n n e c e s s a r i l y narrow. Usually, however, s u c h criticism has not f o u n d o p e n e x p r e s s i o n , a l t h o u g h , too, the spiritual s o n s of the Abolitionists have not b e e n p r e p a r e d to a c k n o w l e d g e that the s c h o o l s f o u n d e d before T u s k e g e e , by m e n of b r o a d ideals a n d self-sacrificing spirit, w e r e wholly failures or worthy of ridicule. W h i l e , t h e n , criticism h a s not failed to follow Mr. W a s h i n g t o n , yet the prevailing public opinion of the land has b e e n but too willing to deliver the solution of a w e a r i s o m e p r o b l e m into his h a n d s , a n d say, "If that is all you a n d your r a c e ask, take it." A m o n g his own p e o p l e , however, M r . W a s h i n g t o n h a s e n c o u n t e r e d the strongest a n d m o s t lasting o p p o s i t i o n , a m o u n t i n g at times to b i t t e r n e s s , a n d even to-day c o n t i n u i n g strong a n d insistent even t h o u g h largely s i l e n c e d in outward expression by the public o p i n i o n of the n a t i o n . S o m e of this o p p o sition is, of c o u r s e , m e r e envy; the d i s a p p o i n t m e n t of d i s p l a c e d d e m a g o g u e s a n d the spite of narrow m i n d s . B u t a s i d e from this, there is a m o n g e d u c a t e d a n d thoughtful colored m e n in all p a r t s of the land a feeling of d e e p regret, sorrow, a n d a p p r e h e n s i o n at the wide c u r r e n c y a n d a s c e n d a n c y which s o m e of Mr. W a s h i n g t o n ' s theories have g a i n e d . T h e s e s a m e m e n a d m i r e his sincerity of p u r p o s e , a n d are willing to forgive m u c h to h o n e s t e n d e a v o r which is d o i n g s o m e t h i n g worth the doing. T h e y c o o p e r a t e with M r . W a s h i n g t o n a s far a s they c o n s c i e n t i o u s l y c a n ; a n d , i n d e e d , it is no ordinary tribute to this m a n ' s tact a n d power that, steering a s h e m u s t b e t w e e n s o m a n y diverse interests a n d o p i n i o n s , he s o largely retains the r e s p e c t of all. B u t the h u s h i n g of the criticism of h o n e s t o p p o n e n t s is a d a n g e r o u s thing. It leads s o m e of the best of the critics to u n f o r t u n a t e s i l e n c e a n d paralysis of effort, a n d others to b u r s t into s p e e c h s o p a s s i o n a t e l y a n d i n t e m p e r a t e l y a s to lose listeners. H o n e s t a n d e a r n e s t criticism from t h o s e w h o s e interests are m o s t nearly t o u c h e d , — c r i t i c i s m of writers by r e a d e r s , of g o v e r n m e n t by t h o s e g o v e r n e d , of l e a d e r s by t h o s e l e d , — t h i s is the soul of d e m o c r a c y a n d the s a f e g u a r d of m o d e r n society. If the b e s t of the A m e r i c a n N e g r o e s receive by o u t e r p r e s s u r e a leader w h o m they h a d not recognized b e f o r e , manifestly there is h e r e a certain p a l p a b l e g a i n . Yet there is also irreparable l o s s , — a loss of that peculiarly v a l u a b l e e d u c a t i o n which a g r o u p receives w h e n by s e a r c h a n d criticism it finds a n d c o m m i s s i o n s its own l e a d e r s . T h e way in which this is d o n e is at o n c e the m o s t e l e m e n t a r y a n d the nicest p r o b l e m of social growth. History is but the record of s u c h g r o u p - l e a d e r s h i p ; a n d yet how infinitely c h a n g e f u l is its type a n d c h a r a c t e r ! A n d of all types a n d k i n d s , what c a n be m o r e instructive than the l e a d e r s h i p of a g r o u p within a g r o u p ? — t h a t c u r i o u s d o u b l e m o v e m e n t w h e r e real p r o g r e s s m a y b e negative a n d a c t u a l a d v a n c e b e relative r e t r o g r e s s i o n . All this is the social s t u d e n t ' s inspiration a n d d e s p a i r . 5. Theodore Roosevelt ( 1 8 5 8 - 1 9 1 9 ) , twenty-sixth president of the United States ( 1 9 0 1 - 0 9 ) . Washington's dining with him in 1901 caused a storm of criticism around the country.

THE

SOULS

OF B L A C K

FOLK, CHAPTER

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N o w in the p a s t the A m e r i c a n N e g r o h a s h a d instructive e x p e r i e n c e in the c h o o s i n g of g r o u p l e a d e r s , f o u n d i n g t h u s a p e c u l i a r dynasty which in the light of p r e s e n t c o n d i t i o n s is worth while studying. W h e n sticks a n d s t o n e s a n d b e a s t s form the sole environment of a p e o p l e , their a t t i t u d e is largely o n e of d e t e r m i n e d o p p o s i t i o n to a n d c o n q u e s t of natural f o r c e s . B u t w h e n to earth a n d brute is a d d e d a n e n v i r o n m e n t of m e n a n d i d e a s , then the attitude of the i m p r i s o n e d g r o u p may take three m a i n f o r m s , — a feeling of revolt a n d revenge; a n a t t e m p t to a d j u s t all thought a n d action to the will of the greater g r o u p ; or, finally, a d e t e r m i n e d effort at self-realization a n d selfd e v e l o p m e n t d e s p i t e environing opinion. T h e influence of all of t h e s e attit u d e s at various t i m e s c a n b e traced in the history of the A m e r i c a n N e g r o , a n d in the evolution of his s u c c e s s i v e l e a d e r s . B e f o r e 1 7 5 0 , while the fire of African f r e e d o m still b u r n e d in the veins of the slaves, there w a s in all l e a d e r s h i p or a t t e m p t e d l e a d e r s h i p b u t the o n e motive of revolt a n d revenge,—typified in the terrible M a r o o n s , the D a n i s h b l a c k s , a n d C a t o 6 of S t o n o , a n d veiling all the A m e r i c a s in fear of i n s u r r e c tion. T h e liberalizing t e n d e n c i e s of the latter half of the e i g h t e e n t h c e n t u r y brought, a l o n g with kindlier relations b e t w e e n black a n d white, t h o u g h t s of ultimate a d j u s t m e n t a n d a s s i m i l a t i o n . S u c h a s p i r a t i o n w a s especially v o i c e d in the e a r n e s t s o n g s of Phyllis, in the m a r t y r d o m of A t t u c k s , the fighting of S a l e m a n d Poor, the intellectual a c c o m p l i s h m e n t s of B a n n e k e r a n d D e r h a m , a n d the political d e m a n d s of the C u f f e s . 7 S t e r n financial a n d social stress after the war c o o l e d m u c h of the previous h u m a n i t a r i a n ardor. T h e d i s a p p o i n t m e n t a n d i m p a t i e n c e of the N e g r o e s at the p e r s i s t e n c e of slavery a n d s e r f d o m voiced itself in two m o v e m e n t s . T h e slaves in the S o u t h , a r o u s e d u n d o u b t e d l y by v a g u e r u m o r s of the H a y t i a n revolt, m a d e three fierce a t t e m p t s at i n s u r r e c t i o n , — i n 1 8 0 0 u n d e r G a b r i e l in Virginia, in 1 8 2 2 u n d e r Vesey in C a r o l i n a , a n d in 1 8 3 1 again in Virginia u n d e r the terrible N a t T u r n e r . " In the F r e e S t a t e s , on the other h a n d , a n e w a n d c u r i o u s a t t e m p t at self-development w a s m a d e . In P h i l a d e l p h i a a n d N e w York color-prescription led to a withdrawal of N e g r o c o m m u n i c a n t s from white c h u r c h e s a n d the formation of a p e c u l i a r socio-religious institution a m o n g the N e g r o e s known as the African C h u r c h , — a n organization still living a n d controlling in its v a r i o u s b r a n c h e s over a million of m e n . Walker's wild a p p e a l 9 a g a i n s t the trend of the times s h o w e d how the world 6. T h e leader of the Stono, South Carolina, slave revolt of September 9, 1739, in which twenty-five whites were killed before the insurrection was put down. "Maroons": fugitive slaves from the West Indies and Guiana in the 17th and 18th centuries, or their descendants. Many of the slaves in the Danish West Indies revolted in 1733 because of the lack of sufficient food. 7. Paul Cuffe ( 1 7 5 9 - 1 8 1 7 ) organized to resettle free blacks in African colonies. A champion of civil rights for free blacks in Massachusetts, he took thirty-eight blacks to Africa in 1815 at his own expense. Phyllis (or Phillis) Wheatley (c. 1753— 1784), black slave and poet. Crispus Attucks (c. 1 7 2 3 - 1 7 7 0 ) was killed in the Boston massacre. Peter Salem (d. 1816), black patriot who killed Major Pitcairn in the battle of Bunker Hill. S a l e m Poor (b. 1747), a black soldier who fought at Bunker Hill, Valley Forge, and White Plains. Benjamin Banneker ( 1 7 3 1 - 1 8 0 6 ) , a black mathematician who also studied astronomy. J a m e s Derham (b.

1762), the first recognized black physician in America; born a slave, he learned medicine from his physician master, bought his freedom in 1783, and by 1788 was one of the foremost physicians of New Orleans. 8. A slave ( 1 8 0 0 - 1 8 3 1 ) , he led the S o u t h a m p t o n insurrection in 1 8 3 1 , during which sixty-one whites and more than a hundred slaves were killed or executed. Gabriel (1775?—1800) conspired to attack Richmond, Virginia, with a thousand other slaves on August 30, 1800; but a storm forced a suspension of the mission and two slaves betrayed the conspiracy. On October 7, Gabriel and fifteen others were hanged. Denmark Vesey (c. 1 7 6 7 1822), a mulatto rebel, purchased his freedom in 1800; he led an unsuccessful uprising in 1822 and was hanged. 9. A militant, inflammatorv. eloquent antislavery pamphlet by David Walker ( 1 7 8 5 - 1 8 3 0 ) , black leader.

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w a s c h a n g i n g after the c o m i n g of the cotton-gin. By 1 8 3 0 slavery s e e m e d hopelessly f a s t e n e d o n the S o u t h , a n d the slaves thoroughly c o w e d into s u b m i s s i o n . T h e free N e g r o e s of the N o r t h , inspired by the m u l a t t o i m m i g r a n t s from the W e s t I n d i e s , b e g a n to c h a n g e the b a s i s of their d e m a n d s ; they recognized the slavery of slaves, b u t insisted that they t h e m s e l v e s w e r e freem e n , a n d s o u g h t a s s i m i l a t i o n a n d a m a l g a m a t i o n with the nation o n the s a m e terms with other m e n . T h u s , F o r t e n a n d Purvis of P h i l a d e l p h i a , S h a d of W i l m i n g t o n , D u B o i s of N e w H a v e n , B a r b a d o e s 1 of B o s t o n , a n d o t h e r s , strove singly a n d together a s m e n , they said, not a s s l a v e s ; a s " p e o p l e of color," not a s " N e g r o e s . " T h e trend of the t i m e s , however, r e f u s e d t h e m recognition save in individual a n d exceptional c a s e s , c o n s i d e r e d t h e m a s o n e with all the d e s p i s e d b l a c k s , a n d they s o o n f o u n d t h e m s e l v e s striving to k e e p even the rights they formerly h a d of voting a n d working a n d m o v i n g a s freem e n . S c h e m e s of migration a n d colonization a r o s e a m o n g t h e m ; b u t t h e s e they r e f u s e d to entertain, a n d they eventually t u r n e d to the Abolition m o v e m e n t a s a final r e f u g e . H e r e , led by R e m o n d , Nell, W e l l s - B r o w n , a n d D o u g l a s s , 2 a n e w period of self-assertion a n d self-development d a w n e d . T o b e s u r e , u l t i m a t e f r e e d o m a n d a s s i m i l a t i o n w a s the ideal before the l e a d e r s , b u t the a s s e r t i o n of the m a n h o o d rights of the N e g r o by h i m s e l f w a s the m a i n r e l i a n c e , a n d J o h n Brown's raid w a s the e x t r e m e of its logic. After the war a n d e m a n c i p a t i o n , the great form of F r e d e r i c k D o u g l a s s , the g r e a t e s t of A m e r i c a n N e g r o leaders, still led the host. S e l f - a s s e r t i o n , e s p e c i a l l y in political lines, w a s the m a i n p r o g r a m m e , a n d b e h i n d D o u g l a s s c a m e Elliot, B r u c e , a n d L a n g s t o n , a n d the R e c o n s t r u c t i o n politicians, a n d , less c o n s p i c u o u s b u t of g r e a t e r social significance A l e x a n d e r C r u m m e l l a n d B i s h o p D a n i e l P a y n e . 3 T h e n c a m e the Revolution of 1 8 7 6 , the s u p p r e s s i o n of the N e g r o v o t e s , the c h a n g i n g a n d shifting of ideals, a n d the s e e k i n g of new lights in the great night. D o u g l a s s , in his old a g e , still bravely s t o o d for the ideals of his early m a n h o o d , — u l t i m a t e a s s i m i l a t i o n through self-assertion, a n d on no other t e r m s . F o r a t i m e Price a r o s e a s a new leader, d e s t i n e d , it s e e m e d , not to give u p , b u t to re-state the old ideals in a f o r m less r e p u g n a n t to the white S o u t h . B u t he p a s s e d away in his p r i m e . T h e n c a m e the n e w leader. N e a r l y all the former o n e s h a d b e c o m e l e a d e r s by the silent suffrage of their fellows, h a d s o u g h t to lead their own p e o p l e a l o n e , a n d were usually, save D o u g l a s s , little k n o w n o u t s i d e their r a c e . B u t B o o k e r T . W a s h i n g t o n a r o s e a s e s s e n 1. J a m e s G. Barbadoes was one of those present at the first National Negro Convention along with Forten, Purvis, Shadd, and others. J a m e s Forten (1766—1842), black civic leader and philanthropist. Robert Purvis ( 1 8 1 0 - 1 8 9 8 ) , abolitionist, helped found the American Anti-Slavery Society in 1833 and was the president of the Underground Railway. Abraham Shadd, abolitionist, was on the first board of managers of the American AntiSlavery Society, a delegate from Delaware for the first National Negro Convention ( 1 8 3 0 ) , and president of the third one in 1 8 3 3 . Alexander Du Bois ( 1 8 0 3 - 1 8 8 7 ) , paternal grandfather of W. E. B. Du Bois, helped form the Negro Episcopal Parish of St. Luke in 1847 and was the senior warden there. 2. Frederick Douglass ( 1 8 1 7 - 1 8 9 5 ) , abolitionist and orator and born a slave, was U . S . minister to Haiti and U . S . marshal of the District of Columbia. Charles Lenox Remond ( 1 8 1 0 - 1 8 7 3 ) , black leader. William Cooper Nell ( 1 8 1 6 - 1 8 7 4 ) , abolitionist, writer, and first African American to hold

office under the government of the United States (clerk in the post office). Through his efforts equal school privileges were obtained for black children in Boston. William Wells Brown ( 1 8 1 6 ? - 1 8 8 4 ) , black writer, published Clotel in 1853, the first novel by a black American, and The Escape in 1858, the first play bv a black American. 3. Daniel Alexander'Payne ( 1 8 1 1 - 1 8 9 3 ) , bishop of the African Methodist Episcopal church and president of Wilberforce University (1863—76). Robert Brown Elliot ( 1 8 4 2 - 1 8 8 4 ) , black politician, graduate of Eton, South Carolina congressman in the U . S . H o u s e of Representatives. Blanche K. Bruce ( 1 8 4 1 - 1 8 9 8 ) , born a slave, first black man to serve a full term in the U . S . S e n a t e ( 1 8 7 5 - 8 1 ) . J o h n Mercer Langston ( 1 8 2 9 - 1 8 9 7 ) , congressman, lawyer, diplomat, educator, born a slave. Crummell ( 1 8 1 9 - 1 8 9 8 ) , clergyman of the Protestant Episcopal church, missionary in Liberia for twenty years and then in Washington, D . C .

T H E S O U L S O F B L A C K F O L K , C H A P T E R III

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dally the leader not of o n e r a c e but of t w o , — a c o m p r o m i s e r b e t w e e n the S o u t h , the N o r t h , a n d the N e g r o . Naturally the N e g r o e s r e s e n t e d , at first bitterly, signs of c o m p r o m i s e which s u r r e n d e r e d their civil a n d political rights, even t h o u g h this w a s to be e x c h a n g e d for larger c h a n c e s of e c o n o m i c d e v e l o p m e n t . T h e rich a n d d o m i n a t i n g N o r t h , however, w a s not only weary of the race p r o b l e m , but w a s investing largely in S o u t h e r n e n t e r p r i s e s , a n d w e l c o m e d any m e t h o d of p e a c e f u l c o o p e r a t i o n . T h u s , by national o p i n i o n , the N e g r o e s b e g a n to recognize Mr. W a s h i n g t o n ' s l e a d e r s h i p ; a n d the voice of criticism w a s h u s h e d . M r . W a s h i n g t o n r e p r e s e n t s in N e g r o t h o u g h t the old a t t i t u d e of adjustm e n t a n d s u b m i s s i o n ; but a d j u s t m e n t at s u c h a p e c u l i a r t i m e a s to m a k e his p r o g r a m m e u n i q u e . T h i s is a n a g e of u n u s u a l e c o n o m i c d e v e l o p m e n t , a n d Mr. W a s h i n g t o n ' s p r o g r a m m e naturally t a k e s an e c o n o m i c c a s t , b e c o m i n g a g o s p e l of W o r k a n d M o n e y to s u c h an extent a s apparently a l m o s t c o m p l e t e l y to o v e r s h a d o w the higher a i m s of life. M o r e o v e r , this is a n a g e w h e n the m o r e a d v a n c e d r a c e s are c o m i n g in c l o s e r c o n t a c t with the less d e v e l o p e d r a c e s , a n d the race-feeling is therefore intensified; a n d M r . W a s h i n g t o n ' s p r o g r a m m e practically a c c e p t s the alleged inferiority of the N e g r o r a c e s . A g a i n , in our own land, the reaction from the s e n t i m e n t of war time h a s given i m p e t u s to r a c e - p r e j u d i c e a g a i n s t N e g r o e s , a n d M r . W a s h i n g t o n withdraws m a n y of the high d e m a n d s of N e g r o e s a s m e n a n d A m e r i c a n citizens. In other periods of intensified p r e j u d i c e all the N e g r o ' s t e n d e n c y to selfa s s e r t i o n has b e e n called forth; at this period a policy of s u b m i s s i o n is advoc a t e d . In the history of nearly all other r a c e s a n d p e o p l e s the d o c t r i n e p r e a c h e d at s u c h crises has b e e n that manly self-respect is worth m o r e than l a n d s a n d h o u s e s , a n d that a p e o p l e w h o voluntarily s u r r e n d e r s u c h r e s p e c t , or c e a s e striving for it, are not worth civilizing. In a n s w e r to this, it h a s b e e n c l a i m e d that the N e g r o c a n survive only through s u b m i s s i o n . M r . W a s h i n g t o n distinctly a s k s that black p e o p l e give u p , at least for the p r e s e n t , three t h i n g s , — First, political power, S e c o n d , i n s i s t e n c e o n civil rights, T h i r d , higher e d u c a t i o n of N e g r o y o u t h , — a n d c o n c e n t r a t e all their e n e r g i e s on industrial e d u c a t i o n , the a c c u m u l a tion of wealth, a n d the conciliation of the S o u t h . T h i s policy h a s b e e n c o u rageously a n d insistently a d v o c a t e d for over fifteen y e a r s , a n d h a s b e e n triu m p h a n t for p e r h a p s ten years. A s a result of this tender of the p a l m - b r a n c h , what h a s b e e n the return? In t h e s e years there have o c c u r r e d : 1. T h e d i s f r a n c h i s e m e n t of the N e g r o . 2 . T h e legal creation of a distinct s t a t u s of civil inferiority for the N e g r o . 3. T h e s t e a d y withdrawal of aid from institutions for the higher training of the N e g r o . T h e s e m o v e m e n t s are not, to be s u r e , direct results of Mr. W a s h i n g t o n ' s t e a c h i n g s ; but his p r o p a g a n d a h a s , without a s h a d o w of d o u b t , h e l p e d their s p e e d i e r a c c o m p l i s h m e n t . T h e q u e s t i o n then c o m e s : Is it p o s s i b l e , a n d p r o b a b l e , that nine millions of m e n c a n m a k e effective p r o g r e s s in e c o n o m i c lines if they are deprived of political rights, m a d e a servile c a s t e , a n d allowed only the m o s t m e a g r e c h a n c e for developing their exceptional m e n ? If history a n d r e a s o n give any distinct a n s w e r to t h e s e q u e s t i o n s , it is a n e m p h a t i c No. A n d Mr. W a s h i n g t o n t h u s f a c e s the triple p a r a d o x of his c a r e e r : 1. H e is striving nobly to m a k e N e g r o a r t i s a n s b u s i n e s s m e n a n d property-

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o w n e r s ; but it is utterly i m p o s s i b l e , u n d e r m o d e r n competitive m e t h o d s , for w o r k i n g m e n a n d property-owners to d e f e n d their rights a n d exist w i t h o u t the right of suffrage. 2 . H e insists o n thrift a n d self-respect, b u t at the s a m e time c o u n s e l s a silent s u b m i s s i o n to civic inferiority s u c h a s is b o u n d to s a p the m a n h o o d of any r a c e in the long run. 3. H e a d v o c a t e s c o m m o n - s c h o o l 4 a n d industrial training, a n d d e p r e c i a t e s institutions of higher learning; but neither the N e g r o c o m m o n - s c h o o l s , nor T u s k e g e e itself, c o u l d r e m a i n o p e n a day were it not for t e a c h e r s trained in N e g r o c o l l e g e s , or trained by their g r a d u a t e s . T h i s triple p a r a d o x in M r . W a s h i n g t o n ' s position is the object of criticism by two c l a s s e s of c o l o r e d A m e r i c a n s . O n e c l a s s is spiritually d e s c e n d e d from T o u s s a i n t the S a v i o r , 5 t h r o u g h G a b r i e l , V e s e y , a n d T u r n e r , a n d they represent the attitude of revolt a n d r e v e n g e ; they h a t e the white S o u t h blindly a n d distrust the white r a c e generally, a n d s o far a s they a g r e e on definite action, think that the N e g r o ' s only h o p e lies in e m i g r a t i o n b e y o n d the b o r d e r s of the U n i t e d S t a t e s . A n d yet, by the irony of fate, n o t h i n g h a s m o r e effectually m a d e this p r o g r a m m e s e e m h o p e l e s s t h a n the r e c e n t c o u r s e of the U n i t e d S t a t e s toward w e a k e r a n d darker p e o p l e s in the W e s t I n d i e s , H a w a i i , a n d the P h i l i p p i n e s , — f o r w h e r e in the world m a y we go a n d b e s a f e from lying a n d brute force? T h e other c l a s s of N e g r o e s w h o c a n n o t a g r e e with M r . W a s h i n g t o n h a s hitherto said little a l o u d . T h e y d e p r e c a t e the sight of s c a t t e r e d c o u n s e l s , of internal d i s a g r e e m e n t ; a n d especially they dislike m a k i n g their j u s t criticism of a useful a n d e a r n e s t m a n a n e x c u s e for a g e n e r a l d i s c h a r g e of v e n o m from s m a l l - m i n d e d o p p o n e n t s . N e v e r t h e l e s s , the q u e s t i o n s involved are s o fund a m e n t a l a n d s e r i o u s that it is difficult to s e e how m e n like the G r i m k e s , Kelly Miller, J . W . E . B o w e n , 6 a n d other r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s of this g r o u p , c a n m u c h longer be silent. S u c h m e n feel in c o n s c i e n c e b o u n d to a s k of this nation three t h i n g s : 1. T h e right to vote. 2 . Civic equality. 3. T h e e d u c a t i o n of youth a c c o r d i n g to ability. T h e y a c k n o w l e d g e M r . W a s h i n g t o n ' s invaluable service in c o u n s e l l i n g p a t i e n c e a n d c o u r t e s y in s u c h d e m a n d s ; they do not a s k that ignorant black m e n vote w h e n ignorant whites a r e d e b a r r e d , or that any r e a s o n a b l e restrictions in the suffrage s h o u l d not b e a p p l i e d ; they know that the low social level of the m a s s of the r a c e is r e s p o n s i b l e for m u c h d i s c r i m i n a t i o n a g a i n s t it, but they also know, a n d the nation k n o w s , that relentless color-prejudice is m o r e often a c a u s e than a result of the N e g r o ' s d e g r a d a t i o n ; they s e e k the a b a t e m e n t of this relic of b a r b a r i s m , a n d not its s y s t e m a t i c e n c o u r a g e m e n t a n d p a m p e r i n g by all a g e n c i e s of social p o w e r from the A s s o c i a t e d P r e s s to the C h u r c h of C h r i s t . T h e y a d v o c a t e , with M r . W a s h i n g t o n , a b r o a d s y s t e m of N e g r o c o m m o n s c h o o l s s u p p l e m e n t e d by t h o r o u g h industrial training; but they are s u r p r i s e d that a m a n of M r . W a s h i n g t o n ' s insight c a n n o t s e e that 4. A free public school offering courses at precollege level. 5. Pierre Dominique Toussaint (1743—1803); see p. 1708. n. 6. 6. John Wesley Edward Bowen ( 1 8 5 5 - ? ) , Methodist clergyman and educator, president of G a m -

mon Theological Seminary of Atlanta. Archibald Grimke ( 1 8 4 9 - 1 9 3 0 ) and Francis Grimke ( 1 8 5 0 1937), American civic leaders concerned with African American affairs. Miller ( 1 8 6 3 - 1 9 3 9 ) , dean of Howard University, lectured on the race problem.

T H E S O U L S O F B L A C K F O L K , C H A P T E R III

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1717

no s u c h e d u c a t i o n a l system ever h a s rested or can rest o n a n y other b a s i s than that of the well-equipped college a n d university, a n d they insist that there is a d e m a n d for a few s u c h institutions t h r o u g h o u t the S o u t h to train the best of the N e g r o youth a s t e a c h e r s , p r o f e s s i o n a l m e n , a n d l e a d e r s . T h i s g r o u p of m e n h o n o r M r . W a s h i n g t o n for his a t t i t u d e of conciliation toward the white S o u t h ; they a c c e p t the "Atlanta C o m p r o m i s e " in its b r o a d est interpretation; they r e c o g n i z e , with him, m a n y signs of p r o m i s e , m a n y m e n of high p u r p o s e a n d fair j u d g m e n t , in this s e c t i o n ; they know that no easy t a s k has b e e n laid u p o n a region already tottering u n d e r heavy b u r d e n s . B u t , n e v e r t h e l e s s , they insist that the way to truth a n d right lies in straightforward honesty, not in indiscriminate flattery; in p r a i s i n g t h o s e of the S o u t h who do well a n d criticising u n c o m p r o m i s i n g l y t h o s e w h o d o ill; in taking a d v a n t a g e of the o p p o r t u n i t i e s at h a n d a n d urging their fellows to d o the s a m e , but at the s a m e time in r e m e m b e r i n g that only a firm a d h e r e n c e to their higher ideals a n d a s p i r a t i o n s will ever keep t h o s e ideals within the r e a l m of possibility. T h e y d o not expect that the free right to vote, to enjoy civic rights, a n d to be e d u c a t e d , will c o m e in a m o m e n t ; they do not expect to s e e the bias a n d p r e j u d i c e s of years d i s a p p e a r at the blast of a t r u m p e t ; but they are absolutely certain that the way for a p e o p l e to gain their r e a s o n a b l e rights is not by voluntarily throwing t h e m away a n d insisting that they do not w a n t t h e m ; that the way for a p e o p l e to gain r e s p e c t is not by continually belittling a n d ridiculing t h e m s e l v e s ; that, on the contrary, N e g r o e s m u s t insist continually, in s e a s o n a n d out of s e a s o n , that voting is n e c e s s a r y to m o d e r n m a n h o o d , that color d i s c r i m i n a t i o n is b a r b a r i s m , a n d that b l a c k boys n e e d e d u c a t i o n a s well a s white boys. In failing t h u s to state plainly a n d unequivocally the legitimate d e m a n d s of their p e o p l e , even at the c o s t of o p p o s i n g an h o n o r e d leader, the thinking c l a s s e s of A m e r i c a n N e g r o e s would shirk a heavy r e s p o n s i b i l i t y , — a r e s p o n sibility to t h e m s e l v e s , a responsibility to the struggling m a s s e s , a r e s p o n s i bility to the darker r a c e s of m e n w h o s e future d e p e n d s s o largely o n this A m e r i c a n experiment, but especially a responsibility to this n a t i o n , — t h i s c o m m o n F a t h e r l a n d . It is w r o n g to e n c o u r a g e a m a n or a p e o p l e in evildoing; it is wrong to aid a n d a b e t a national c r i m e simply b e c a u s e it is u n p o p ular not to do s o . T h e growing spirit of kindliness a n d reconciliation b e t w e e n the N o r t h a n d S o u t h after the frightful differences of a g e n e r a t i o n a g o o u g h t to b e a s o u r c e of d e e p c o n g r a t u l a t i o n to all, a n d especially to t h o s e w h o s e m i s t r e a t m e n t c a u s e d the war; but if that reconciliation is to b e m a r k e d by the industrial slavery a n d civic d e a t h of t h o s e s a m e b l a c k m e n , with perm a n e n t legislation into a position of inferiority, then t h o s e b l a c k m e n , if they are really m e n , a r e called u p o n by every c o n s i d e r a t i o n of p a t r i o t i s m a n d loyalty to o p p o s e s u c h a c o u r s e by all civilized m e t h o d s , even t h o u g h s u c h opposition involves d i s a g r e e m e n t with Mr. B o o k e r T . W a s h i n g t o n . W e have no right to sit silently by while the inevitable s e e d s a r e sown for a harvest of d i s a s t e r to our children, b l a c k a n d white. First, it is the duty of b l a c k m e n to j u d g e the S o u t h discriminatingly. T h e p r e s e n t generation of S o u t h e r n e r s a r e not r e s p o n s i b l e for the p a s t , a n d they s h o u l d not be blindly h a t e d or b l a m e d for it. F u r t h e r m o r e , to no c l a s s is the indiscriminate e n d o r s e m e n t of the r e c e n t c o u r s e of the S o u t h toward N e g r o e s m o r e n a u s e a t i n g than to the b e s t t h o u g h t of the S o u t h . T h e S o u t h is not "solid"; it is a land in the f e r m e n t of social c h a n g e , wherein forces of

1718

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W. E . B. D u B o i s

all kinds are fighting for s u p r e m a c y ; a n d to praise the ill the S o u t h is to-day p e r p e t r a t i n g is j u s t a s w r o n g as to c o n d e m n the g o o d . D i s c r i m i n a t i n g a n d b r o a d - m i n d e d criticism is what the S o u t h n e e d s , — n e e d s it for the s a k e of her own white s o n s a n d d a u g h t e r s , a n d for the i n s u r a n c e of r o b u s t , healthy m e n t a l a n d moral d e v e l o p m e n t . To-day even the attitude of the S o u t h e r n whites toward the b l a c k s is not, a s s o m a n y a s s u m e , in all c a s e s the s a m e ; the ignorant S o u t h e r n e r h a t e s the N e g r o , the w o r k i n g m e n fear his c o m p e t i t i o n , the m o n e y - m a k e r s wish to u s e him a s a laborer, s o m e of the e d u c a t e d s e e a m e n a c e in his u p w a r d develo p m e n t , while o t h e r s — u s u a l l y the s o n s of the m a s t e r s — w i s h to h e l p him to rise. National opinion has e n a b l e d this last c l a s s to m a i n t a i n the N e g r o c o m m o n s c h o o l s , a n d to protect the N e g r o partially in property, life, a n d limb. T h r o u g h the p r e s s u r e of the m o n e y - m a k e r s , the N e g r o is in d a n g e r of b e i n g r e d u c e d to semi-slavery, especially in the country districts; the w o r k i n g m e n , a n d t h o s e of the e d u c a t e d who fear the N e g r o , have united to d i s f r a n c h i s e him, a n d s o m e have u r g e d his d e p o r t a t i o n ; while the p a s s i o n s of the ignorant are easily a r o u s e d to lynch a n d a b u s e any black m a n . T o p r a i s e this intricate whirl of thought a n d p r e j u d i c e is n o n s e n s e ; to inveigh indiscriminately a g a i n s t "the S o u t h " is u n j u s t ; b u t to u s e the s a m e breath in p r a i s i n g G o v e r n o r Aycock, e x p o s i n g S e n a t o r M o r g a n , a r g u i n g with Mr. T h o m a s N e l s o n P a g e , a n d d e n o u n c i n g S e n a t o r B e n T i l l m a n , 7 is not only s a n e , b u t the imperative duty of thinking black m e n . It would b e u n j u s t to Mr. W a s h i n g t o n not to a c k n o w l e d g e that in several i n s t a n c e s he h a s o p p o s e d m o v e m e n t s in the S o u t h which were u n j u s t to the N e g r o ; he sent m e m o r i a l s to the L o u i s i a n a a n d A l a b a m a c o n s t i t u t i o n a l conventions, he has s p o k e n a g a i n s t lynching, a n d in other ways h a s openly or silently set his influence a g a i n s t sinister s c h e m e s a n d u n f o r t u n a t e h a p p e n ings. N o t w i t h s t a n d i n g this, it is equally true to a s s e r t that on the w h o l e the distinct i m p r e s s i o n left by M r . W a s h i n g t o n ' s p r o p a g a n d a is, first, that the S o u t h is justified in its p r e s e n t attitude toward the N e g r o b e c a u s e of the N e g r o ' s d e g r a d a t i o n ; secondly, that the p r i m e c a u s e of the N e g r o ' s failure to rise m o r e quickly is his w r o n g e d u c a t i o n in the p a s t ; a n d , thirdly, that his future rise d e p e n d s primarily on his own efforts. E a c h of t h e s e p r o p o s i t i o n s is a d a n g e r o u s half-truth. T h e s u p p l e m e n t a r y truths m u s t never be lost sight of: first, slavery a n d r a c e - p r e j u d i c e are potent if not sufficient c a u s e s of the Negro's position; s e c o n d , industrial a n d c o m m o n - s c h o o l training w e r e necessarily slow in planting b e c a u s e they h a d to await the b l a c k t e a c h e r s trained by higher institutions,—it being extremely doubtful if any essentially different d e v e l o p m e n t w a s p o s s i b l e , a n d certainly a T u s k e g e e w a s u n t h i n k a b l e before 1 8 8 0 ; a n d , third, while it is a great truth to say that the N e g r o m u s t strive a n d strive mightily to help himself, it is equally true that u n l e s s his striving be not simply s e c o n d e d , but rather a r o u s e d a n d e n c o u r a g e d , by the initiative of the richer a n d wiser environing g r o u p , h e c a n n o t h o p e for great s u c c e s s . 7. Benjamin Ryan Tillman ( 1 8 4 7 - 1 9 1 8 ) , governor of South Carolina ( 1 8 9 0 - 9 4 ) and U.S. Senator (1 89S—1918), served as the chairman on the committee on suffrage (during the South Carolina constitutional convention) and framed the article providing for an educational and property qualification for voting, thus eliminating the black vote. He presented the views of the southern extremists on the race question, justified lynching in cases of rape and the use of force to disenfranchise blacks.

and advocated the repeal of the Fifteenth Amendment. Charles Brantley Aycock ( 1 8 5 9 - 1 9 1 2 ) , governor of North Carolina ( 1 9 0 1 - 0 5 ) . Edwin Denison Morgan (181 1 — 1 8 8 3 ) . governor of New York ( 1 8 5 9 - 6 3 ) and U.S. Senator ( 1 8 6 3 - 6 9 ) , voted with the minority in President Johnson's veto of the Freedman's Bureau hill and for Johnson's conviction. Page ( 1 8 5 3 - 1 9 2 2 ) , American novelist and diplomat, did much to build up romantic legends ol the southern plantation.

STEPHEN CRANE

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1719

In his failure to realize a n d i m p r e s s this last p o i n t , M r . W a s h i n g t o n is especially to be criticised. H i s doctrine has t e n d e d to m a k e the whites, N o r t h a n d S o u t h , shift the b u r d e n of the N e g r o p r o b l e m to the N e g r o ' s s h o u l d e r s a n d stand a s i d e a s critical a n d rather p e s s i m i s t i c s p e c t a t o r s ; w h e n in fact the b u r d e n b e l o n g s to the nation, a n d the h a n d s of n o n e of u s are c l e a n if we b e n d not our e n e r g i e s to righting t h e s e great w r o n g s . T h e S o u t h o u g h t to be led, by c a n d i d a n d h o n e s t criticism, to a s s e r t her better self a n d d o her full duty to the r a c e she h a s cruelly w r o n g e d a n d is still wronging. T h e N o r t h — h e r co-partner in g u i l t — c a n n o t salve her c o n s c i e n c e by p l a s t e r i n g it with gold. W e c a n n o t settle this p r o b l e m by diplom a c y a n d s u a v e n e s s , by "policy" a l o n e . If worse c o m e to worst, c a n the moral fibre of this country survive the slow throttling a n d m u r d e r of nine millions of m e n ? T h e black m e n of A m e r i c a have a duty to p e r f o r m , a duty stern a n d delic a t e , — a forward m o v e m e n t to o p p o s e a part of the work of their g r e a t e s t leader. S o far a s M r . W a s h i n g t o n p r e a c h e s Thrift, P a t i e n c e , a n d Industrial T r a i n i n g for the m a s s e s , we m u s t hold up his h a n d s a n d strive with h i m , rejoicing in his h o n o r s a n d glorying in the strength of this J o s h u a called of G o d a n d of m a n to lead the h e a d l e s s host. B u t s o far a s M r . W a s h i n g t o n apologizes for i n j u s t i c e , North or S o u t h , d o e s not rightly value the privilege a n d duty of voting, belittles the e m a s c u l a t i n g effects of c a s t e d i s t i n c t i o n s , a n d o p p o s e s the higher training a n d a m b i t i o n of our brighter m i n d s , — s o far as h e , the S o u t h , or the N a t i o n , d o e s t h i s , — w e m u s t u n c e a s i n g l y a n d firmly o p p o s e t h e m . By every civilized a n d p e a c e f u l m e t h o d we m u s t strive for the rights which the world a c c o r d s to m e n , clinging unwaveringly to t h o s e great words which the s o n s of the F a t h e r s would fain forget: " W e hold t h e s e truths to b e self-evident: T h a t all m e n are c r e a t e d e q u a l ; that they are e n d o w e d by their C r e a t o r with certain u n a l i e n a b l e rights; that a m o n g t h e s e are life, liberty, a n d the p u r s u i t of h a p p i n e s s . " 1903

STEPHEN

CRANE

1871-1900 Stephen Crane was born November 1, 1871, and died on June 5, 1900. By the age of twenty-eight he had published enough material to fill a dozen volumes of a collected edition and had lived a legendary life that has grown in interest to scholars and readers the more the facts have come to light. His family settled in America in the midseventeenth century. He was the son of a Methodist minister and a social reformminded mother; but he systematically rejected religious and social traditions, identified with the urban poor, and lived with the mistress of one "of the better houses of ill-fame" in Jacksonville, Florida. Although temperamentally gentle, Crane was attracted to—even obsessed by—war and other forms of physical and psychic violence. He frequently lived the down-and-out life of a penniless artist; he was also ambitious and something of a snob; he was a poet and an impressionist; a journalist, a social critic, and a realist. In Crane, the contradictions and tensions present in many writers seem to be intensified.

1720

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STEPHEN CRANE

Crane once explained to an editor: "After all, I cannot help vanishing and disappearing and dissolving. It is my foremost trait." This restless, peripatetic quality of Crane's life began early. The last of fourteen children, Crane moved with his family at least three times before he entered school at age seven in the small town of Port Jervis, New York. His father died in 1880, and three years later, after several temporary moves, the family ultimately settled in the coastal resort town of Asbury Park, New Jersey. Crane never took to schooling. At Syracuse University he distinguished himself as a baseball player but was unable to accept the routine of academic life and left after one semester. He was not sure what he would do with himself, but by 1891 he had begun to write for newspapers, and he hungered for immersion in life of the kind that his early journalistic assignments allowed him to witness at close hand. New York City was the inevitable destination for a young man with literary ambitions and a desire to experience the fullness of life. A few jobs with New York newspapers proved abortive, and between 1891 and 1893 Crane shuttled between the seedy New York apartments of his artist friends and his brother Edmund's house in nearby Lake View, New Jersey. In these years of extreme privation, Crane developed his powers as an observer of psychological and social reality. Encouraged by Hamlin Garland, whom he had heard lecture in 1891, Crane began his first book while at Syracuse. After it had been rejected by several New York editors, he published the work—Maggie,

A Girl of the Streets

(A Story of New York)—at

his own expense in

1893. Although Garland admired this short novel and the powerful literary arbiter W. D. Howells promoted both Crane and Maggie (and continued to think it his best work), the book did not sell even when, in revised form, it was published in 1896 by the respected publishing house of D. Appleton and Company. Maggie told, in a highly stylized way, the story of a young girl born in the slums of New York who during her short life is driven to prostitution and suicide. As one of the first reviewers of the 1893 edition observed: "the evident object of the writer is to show the tremendous influence of the environment on the human character and destiny." It remains Crane's fullest treatment of how the have-littles in the burgeoning cities of America lived in the 1880s and 1890s. Crane turned next to the Civil War as a subject for The Red Badge of Courage (1895). Oddly, since the novel has assumed a kind of classic status, he later described the book as a "pot-boiler." The narrative, which depicts the (partial) education of Henry Fleming in the context of battle, is as old as Homer's Odyssey and is a dominant story type in American literature from Benjamin Franklin through Melville, Hemingway, Malcolm X, and Saul Bellow. Crane was not so much working within or against this tradition as he was departing sharply from it. That is, Crane is distinctively mode m in conceiving personal identity as complex and ambiguous and in obliging his readers to judge for themselves the adequacy of Henry's responses to his experiences. When Red Badge was first published in newspapers around the country starting in December 1894, Crane's fortunes began to improve. The same syndicate (an agency that buys and then sells stories to newspapers and magazines for simultaneous publication) that took Red Badge hired him early in 1895 as a roving reporter in the American West and Mexico, experiences that would give him the material for several of his finest tales—"The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky" and "The Blue Hotel" among them. Also, early in 1895, D. Appleton and Company agreed to issue Red Badge in book form. In the spring of that year, The Black Riders and Other Lines, his first volume of poetry, was published in Boston by Copeland and Day. Predictably, Garland and Howells responded favorably to Crane's spare, original, unflinchingly honest poetry, but it was too experimental in form and too unconventional in its dark philosophic outlook to win wide acceptance. When Red Badge of Courage: An Episode of the American Civil War appeared in the fall, however, it won Crane international acclaim at the age of twenty-four. Crane's poetry, journalism, and fiction clearly demonstrated his religious, social, and literary rebelliousness; his alienated, unconventional stance also led him to direct

THE

OPEN

BOAT

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1721

action. After challenging the New York police force on behalf of a prostitute who claimed harassment at its hands, Crane left the city in the winter of 1 8 9 6 - 9 7 to cover the insurrection against Spain in Cuba. On his way to Cuba he met Cora Howorth Taylor, the proprietor of a bordello, the Hotel de Dream in Jacksonville, Florida, with whom he lived for the last three years of his life. On January 2 , 1 8 9 7 , Crane's ship The Commodore sank off the coast of Florida. His report of this harrowing adventure was published a few days later in the New York Press. He promptly converted this event into one of the best-known and most widely reprinted American stories, "The Open Boat." This story, like Red Badge, reveals Crane's characteristic subject matter—the physical, emotional, and intellectual responses of people under extreme pressure, the dominant themes of nature's indifference to humanity's fate, and the consequent need for compassionate collective action. These are not Crane's only themes, however, and it is well to remember that in many of his stories no simple or encouraging moral can be drawn. In "The Open Boat" and another late story, "The Blue Hotel," Crane achieved his mature style, one characterized by irony and brevity, qualities later associated with Sherwood Anderson and Ernest Hemingway, among others. But Crane's style cannot be contained by any of the terms typically used to describe it—realism, naturalism, impressionism, or expressionism. In these late stories (and before he began to write chiefly for money), Crane combines a poet's sensitivity to the sounds of words, the rhythms of language, and a highly original use of metaphor with structures of action appropriate to the shifting emotional conditions of the characters he has brought to life by carefully controlling point of view and skillfully blending sharply observed detail and convincing dialogue. In both of these works we can observe his tough-minded irony and his essential vision: a sympathetic but unflinching demand for courage, integrity, grace, and generosity in the face of a universe in which human beings, to quote from "The Blue Hotel," are so many lice clinging "to a whirling, fire-smote, icelocked disease-stricken, space-lost bulb." In 1 8 9 7 Crane settled in England. In the last months of his life Crane's situation became desperate; he was suffering from tuberculosis and was seriously in debt. He wrote furiously in a doomed attempt to earn money, but the effort only worsened his health. In 1 8 9 9 he drafted thirteen stories set in the fictional town Whilomville for Harper's magazine and published his second volume of poetry, War Is Kind, the weak novel Active

Service,

and the American edition of "The Monster"

and Other

Stories.

During a Christmas party that year Crane nearly died of a lung hemorrhage. Surviving only a few months, he summoned the strength to write a series of nine articles on great battles and complete the first twenty-five chapters of the novel The O'Ruddy. In spite of Cora's hopes for a miraculous cure and the generous assistance of Henry James and others, Crane died, at Badenweiler, Germany, on June 5 , 1 9 0 0 .

The Open Boat 1 A TALE

INTENDED T O B E AFTER T H E FACT, FOUR

BEING T H E EXPERIENCE OF

M E N FROM T H E SUNK STEAMER

COMMODORE

J N o n e o f t h e m knew t h e color o f t h e sky. T h e i r eyes g l a n c e d level, a n d were f a s t e n e d u p o n t h e waves that swept toward t h e m . T h e s e waves were o f 1. C r a n e sailed as a correspondent on the steamer Commodore, which on January 1, 1897, left Jacksonville, Florida, with munitions for the C u b a n insurrectionists. Early on the morning of January 2, the steamer sank. With three others, C r a n e reached Daytona Beach in a ten-foot dinghy on the

following morning. Under the title "Stephen Crane's Own Story," the New York Press on January 7 carried the details of his nearly fatal experience. In J u n e 1897, he published his fictional account, "The Open Boat," in Scribner's Magazine. T h e story gave the title to "The Open Boat" and Other

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the h u e of slate, save for the t o p s , which were of f o a m i n g white, a n d all of the m e n knew the colors of the s e a . T h e horizon narrowed a n d w i d e n e d , a n d d i p p e d a n d rose, a n d at all times its e d g e w a s j a g g e d with waves that s e e m e d thrust u p in points like rocks. M a n y a m a n ought to have a b a t h - t u b larger t h a n the boat w h i c h h e r e rode u p o n the s e a . T h e s e waves were m o s t wrongfully a n d b a r b a r o u s l y a b r u p t and tall, a n d e a c h froth-top w a s a p r o b l e m in small boat navigation. T h e c o o k s q u a t t e d in the b o t t o m a n d looked with both eyes at the six i n c h e s of g u n w a l e which s e p a r a t e d him from the o c e a n . H i s sleeves were rolled over his fat f o r e a r m s , a n d the two flaps of his u n b u t t o n e d vest d a n g l e d a s h e bent to bail out the b o a t . Often he said: " G a w d ! T h a t w a s a narrow c l i p . " A s he r e m a r k e d it he invariably g a z e d e a s t w a r d over the b r o k e n s e a . T h e oiler, 2 steering with o n e of the two oars in the boat, s o m e t i m e s raised himself s u d d e n l y to keep clear of water that swirled in over the s t e r n . It w a s a thin little oar a n d it s e e m e d often ready to s n a p . T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t , pulling at the other oar, w a t c h e d the waves a n d wond e r e d why he w a s t h e r e . T h e injured c a p t a i n , lying in the bow, w a s at this time buried in that p r o f o u n d dejection a n d indifference which c o m e s , temporarily at least, to even the bravest a n d m o s t e n d u r i n g w h e n , willy nilly, the firm fails, the army l o s e s , the ship g o e s d o w n . T h e m i n d of the m a s t e r of a vessel is rooted d e e p in the timbers of her, t h o u g h he c o m m a n d for a day or a d e c a d e , a n d this captain h a d on him the stern i m p r e s s i o n of a s c e n e in the grays of d a w n of seven turned f a c e s , a n d later a s t u m p of a t o p - m a s t with a white ball o n it that s l a s h e d to a n d fro at the waves, went low a n d lower, a n d d o w n . T h e r e a f t e r t h e r e was s o m e t h i n g s t r a n g e in his v o i c e . A l t h o u g h steady, it w a s d e e p with m o u r n i n g , a n d of a quality b e y o n d oration or t e a r s . " K e e p e r a little m o r e s o u t h , Billie," s a i d h e . " 'A little m o r e s o u t h , ' sir," s a i d the oiler in the stern. A seat in his boat w a s not unlike a seat u p o n a b u c k i n g b r o n c h o , a n d , by the s a m e t o k e n , a b r o n c h o is not m u c h smaller. T h e craft p r a n c e d a n d reared, a n d p l u n g e d like a n a n i m a l . As e a c h wave c a m e , a n d s h e rose for it, s h e s e e m e d like a h o r s e m a k i n g at a f e n c e o u t r a g e o u s l y high. T h e m a n n e r of her s c r a m b l e over t h e s e walls of water is a mystic thing, a n d , moreover, at the top of t h e m were ordinarily t h e s e p r o b l e m s in white water, the f o a m racing d o w n from the s u m m i t of e a c h wave, r e q u i r i n g a new l e a p , a n d a leap from the air. T h e n , after scornfully b u m p i n g a crest, s h e would slide, a n d r a c e , a n d s p l a s h d o w n a long incline a n d arrive b o b b i n g a n d n o d d i n g in front of the next m e n a c e . A singular d i s a d v a n t a g e of the s e a lies in the fact that after s u c c e s s f u l l y s u r m o u n t i n g o n e wave you discover that there is a n o t h e r b e h i n d it j u s t a s important a n d j u s t a s nervously anxious to d o s o m e t h i n g effective in the way of s w a m p i n g b o a t s . In a ten-foot dingey o n e c a n get an idea of the r e s o u r c e s of the s e a in the line of waves that is not p r o b a b l e to the a v e r a g e e x p e r i e n c e , which is never at s e a in a dingey. A s e a c h slaty wall of w a t e r a p p r o a c h e d , it shut all else from the view of the m e n in the boat, a n d it w a s not difficult to i m a g i n e that this particular wave w a s the final o u t b u r s t o f the o c e a n , the Tales of Adventure {1 8 9 8 ) . T h e text here reprints that established for the University of Virginia edition of The Works of Stephen Crane, Vol. 5, Tales

of Adventure ( 1 9 7 0 ) . 2. O n e who oils machinery in the engine room of a ship.

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1723

last effort of the grim water. T h e r e w a s a terrible g r a c e in the m o v e of the waves, a n d they c a m e in s i l e n c e , save for the snarling of the c r e s t s . In the wan light, the f a c e s of the m e n m u s t have b e e n gray. T h e i r eyes m u s t have glinted in s t r a n g e ways a s they g a z e d steadily a s t e r n . Viewed from a balcony, the whole thing would doubtlessly have b e e n weirdly p i c t u r e s q u e . B u t the m e n in the boat h a d n o time to s e e it, a n d if they h a d h a d leisure there were other things to o c c u p y their m i n d s . T h e s u n s w u n g steadily u p the sky, a n d they knew it w a s broad day b e c a u s e the color of the s e a c h a n g e d from slate to e m e r a l d - g r e e n , s t r e a k e d with a m b e r lights, a n d the f o a m w a s like t u m b l i n g snow. T h e p r o c e s s of the b r e a k i n g day w a s u n k n o w n to t h e m . T h e y were a w a r e only of this effect u p o n the color of the waves that rolled toward t h e m . In disjointed s e n t e n c e s the c o o k a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t a r g u e d a s to the difference b e t w e e n a life-saving station a n d a h o u s e of r e f u g e . T h e c o o k had s a i d : " T h e r e ' s a h o u s e of refuge j u s t north of the M o s q u i t o Inlet Light, a n d a s s o o n a s they s e e u s , they'll c o m e off in their boat a n d pick u s u p . " "As s o o n a s w h o s e e u s ? " s a i d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t . " T h e c r e w , " said the cook. " H o u s e s of refuge don't have c r e w s , " said the c o r r e s p o n d e n t . "As I understand t h e m , they are only p l a c e s where c l o t h e s a n d g r u b are stored for the benefit of s h i p w r e c k e d p e o p l e . T h e y don't carry c r e w s . " " O h , yes, they d o , " said the cook. " N o , they d o n ' t , " said the c o r r e s p o n d e n t . "Well, we're not there yet, a n y h o w , " said the oiler, in the stern. " W e l l , " said the c o o k , " p e r h a p s it's not a h o u s e of r e f u g e that I'm thinking of a s b e i n g near M o s q u i t o Inlet Light. P e r h a p s it's a life-saving s t a t i o n . " "We're not there yet," said the oiler, in the stern. // As the boat b o u n c e d from the top of e a c h wave, the wind tore through the hair of the h a t l e s s m e n , a n d a s the craft p l o p p e d her stern d o w n again the spray s l a s h e d p a s t t h e m . T h e crest of e a c h of t h e s e w a v e s w a s a hill, from the top of which the m e n surveyed, for a m o m e n t , a b r o a d t u m u l t u o u s e x p a n s e , s h i n i n g a n d wind-riven. It w a s probably s p l e n d i d . It w a s probably glorious, this play of the free s e a , wild with lights of e m e r a l d a n d white a n d amber. "Bully g o o d thing it's a n on-shore w i n d , " said the cook. "If not, w h e r e would we b e ? W o u l d n ' t have a s h o w . " " T h a t ' s right," said the c o r r e s p o n d e n t . T h e busy oiler n o d d e d his a s s e n t . T h e n the c a p t a i n , in the bow, c h u c k l e d in a way that e x p r e s s e d h u m o r , c o n t e m p t , tragedy, all in o n e . " D o you think we've got m u c h of a s h o w , now, b o y s ? " said he. W h e r e u p o n the three were silent, save for a trifle of h e m m i n g a n d h a w i n g . T o express any particular o p t i m i s m at this time they felt to b e childish a n d stupid, but they all d o u b t l e s s p o s s e s s e d this s e n s e of the situation in their m i n d . A y o u n g m a n thinks doggedly at s u c h t i m e s . O n the other h a n d , the ethics of their condition w a s decidedly a g a i n s t any o p e n s u g g e s t i o n of h o p e l e s s n e s s . S o they were silent.

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" O h , well," said the c a p t a i n , s o o t h i n g his children, "we'll get a s h o r e all right." B u t there w a s that in his tone which m a d e t h e m think, s o the oiler q u o t h : "Yes! If this wind h o l d s ! " T h e c o o k w a s bailing. "Yes! If we don't c a t c h hell in the surf." C a n t o n flannel 3 gulls flew near a n d far. S o m e t i m e s they sat d o w n on the s e a , near p a t c h e s of brown s e a - w e e d that rolled over the waves with a m o v e m e n t like c a r p e t s on a line in a g a l e . T h e birds sat c o m f o r t a b l y in g r o u p s , a n d they were envied by s o m e in the dingey, for the wrath of the s e a w a s n o m o r e to t h e m than it w a s to a covey of prairie c h i c k e n s a t h o u s a n d m i l e s inland. Often they c a m e very c l o s e a n d stared at the m e n with b l a c k b e a d like eyes. At t h e s e times they were u n c a n n y a n d sinister in their u n b l i n k i n g scrutiny, a n d the m e n h o o t e d angrily at t h e m , telling t h e m to b e g o n e . O n e c a m e , a n d evidently d e c i d e d to alight on the top of the c a p t a i n ' s h e a d . T h e bird flew parallel to the boat a n d did not circle, but m a d e short s i d e l o n g j u m p s in the air in c h i c k e n - f a s h i o n . H i s b l a c k eyes were wistfully fixed u p o n the c a p t a i n ' s h e a d . " U g l y b r u t e , " said the oiler to the bird. "You look a s if you were m a d e with a j a c k - k n i f e . " T h e c o o k a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t swore darkly at the c r e a t u r e . T h e c a p t a i n naturally w i s h e d to k n o c k it away with the e n d of the heavy painter, b u t he did not d a r e do it, b e c a u s e anything r e s e m b l i n g a n e m p h a t i c g e s t u r e would have c a p s i z e d this freighted b o a t , a n d so with his o p e n h a n d , the c a p t a i n gently a n d carefully waved the gull away. After it h a d b e e n d i s c o u r a g e d from the p u r s u i t the c a p t a i n b r e a t h e d e a s i e r on a c c o u n t of his hair, a n d others b r e a t h e d e a s i e r b e c a u s e the bird s t r u c k their m i n d s at this time as b e i n g s o m e h o w g r e w s o m e a n d o m i n o u s . In the m e a n t i m e the oiler a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t r o w e d . A n d a l s o they rowed. T h e y s a t together in the s a m e s e a t , a n d e a c h rowed a n oar. T h e n the oiler took both o a r s ; then the c o r r e s p o n d e n t took both o a r s ; then the oiler; then the c o r r e s p o n d e n t . T h e y rowed a n d they r o w e d . T h e very ticklish part of the b u s i n e s s w a s w h e n the time c a m e for the reclining o n e in the stern to t a k e his turn at the o a r s . By the very last star of truth, it is e a s i e r to steal e g g s from u n d e r a h e n than it w a s to c h a n g e s e a t s in the dingey. First the m a n in the stern slid his h a n d a l o n g the thwart a n d m o v e d with c a r e , a s if he were of S e v r e s . 4 T h e n the m a n in the rowing s e a t slid his h a n d a l o n g the other thwart. It w a s all d o n e with the m o s t extraordinary c a r e . A s the two sidled p a s t e a c h other, the w h o l e party kept watchful eyes on the c o m i n g wave, a n d the c a p t a i n cried: " L o o k out now! S t e a d y t h e r e ! " T h e brown m a t s of s e a - w e e d that a p p e a r e d from time to time were like i s l a n d s , bits of e a r t h . T h e y were travelling, apparently, neither o n e way nor the other. T h e y w e r e , to all intents, stationary. T h e y i n f o r m e d the m e n in the b o a t that it w a s m a k i n g p r o g r e s s slowly toward the l a n d . T h e c a p t a i n , r e a r i n g c a u t i o u s l y in the bow, after the dingey s o a r e d on a great swell, said that h e h a d s e e n the l i g h t - h o u s e at M o s q u i t o Inlet. Presently the c o o k r e m a r k e d that h e h a d s e e n it. T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t w a s at the o a r s , then, a n d for s o m e r e a s o n h e t o o w i s h e d to look at the l i g h t - h o u s e , b u t his b a c k w a s toward the far s h o r e a n d the waves w e r e i m p o r t a n t , a n d for s o m e 3. Stout cotton fabric. 4. Fine, often ornately decorated French porcelain.

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time he c o u l d not seize a n opportunity to turn his h e a d . B u t at last there c a m e a wave m o r e g e n t l e than the others, a n d w h e n at the crest of it he swiftly s c o u r e d the w e s t e r n horizon. " S e e i t ? " said the c a p t a i n . " N o , " said the c o r r e s p o n d e n t , slowly, "I didn't s e e a n y t h i n g . " " L o o k a g a i n , " said the c a p t a i n . H e p o i n t e d . "It's exactly in that d i r e c t i o n . " At the top of a n o t h e r wave, the c o r r e s p o n d e n t did a s h e w a s bid, a n d this t i m e his eyes c h a n c e d on a small still thing on the e d g e of the swaying horizon. It was precisely like the point of a pin. It took an a n x i o u s eye to find a light-house so tiny. " T h i n k we'll m a k e it, C a p t a i n ? " "If this wind holds a n d the boat don't s w a m p , we can't d o m u c h e l s e , " s a i d the c a p t a i n . T h e little b o a t , lifted by e a c h towering s e a , a n d s p l a s h e d viciously by the c r e s t s , m a d e p r o g r e s s that in the a b s e n c e of s e a - w e e d w a s not a p p a r e n t to t h o s e in her. S h e s e e m e d j u s t a wee thing wallowing, m i r a c u l o u s l y , t o p - u p , at the mercy of five o c e a n s . O c c a s i o n a l l y , a great s p r e a d of water, like white f l a m e s , s w a r m e d into her. " B a i l her, c o o k , " said the c a p t a i n , serenely. "All right, C a p t a i n , " said the cheerful cook.

Ill It w o u l d b e difficult to d e s c r i b e the subtle b r o t h e r h o o d of m e n that w a s here e s t a b l i s h e d o n the s e a s . N o o n e said that it w a s s o . N o o n e m e n t i o n e d it. B u t it dwelt in the b o a t , a n d e a c h m a n felt it w a r m h i m . T h e y w e r e a c a p t a i n , a n oiler, a c o o k , a n d a c o r r e s p o n d e n t , a n d they were friends, friends in a m o r e curiously i r o n - b o u n d d e g r e e than m a y b e c o m m o n . T h e hurt c a p tain, lying a g a i n s t the water-jar in the bow, s p o k e always in a low voice a n d calmly, but h e c o u l d never c o m m a n d a m o r e ready a n d swiftly o b e d i e n t c r e w than the motley three of the dingey. It w a s m o r e than a m e r e recognition of what w a s b e s t for the c o m m o n safety. T h e r e w a s surely in it a quality that w a s p e r s o n a l a n d heartfelt. A n d after this devotion to the c o m m a n d e r of the boat there w a s this c o m r a d e s h i p that the c o r r e s p o n d e n t , for i n s t a n c e , w h o h a d b e e n t a u g h t to b e cynical of m e n , k n e w even at the t i m e w a s the b e s t experience of his life. B u t no o n e said that it w a s so. N o o n e m e n t i o n e d it. "I wish we h a d a s a i l , " r e m a r k e d the c a p t a i n . " W e might try my overcoat on the e n d of a n oar a n d give you two boys a c h a n c e to r e s t . " S o the c o o k a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t held the m a s t a n d s p r e a d wide the o v e r c o a t . T h e oiler s t e e r e d , a n d the little b o a t m a d e g o o d way with her n e w rig. S o m e t i m e s the oiler h a d to scull sharply to keep a s e a from b r e a k i n g into the b o a t , but otherwise sailing w a s a s u c c e s s . M e a n w h i l e the light-house h a d b e e n growing slowly larger. It h a d n o w a l m o s t a s s u m e d color, a n d a p p e a r e d like a little gray s h a d o w on the sky. T h e m a n at the oars c o u l d not be prevented from turning his h e a d rather often to try for a g l i m p s e of this little gray s h a d o w . At last, from the top of e a c h wave the m e n in the t o s s i n g boat c o u l d s e e land. Even a s the light-house w a s a n upright s h a d o w on the sky, this land s e e m e d but a long black s h a d o w o n the s e a . It certainly w a s thinner t h a n p a p e r . " W e m u s t be a b o u t o p p o s i t e N e w S m y r n a , " said the cook, w h o h a d

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c o a s t e d this shore often in s c h o o n e r s . " C a p t a i n , by the way, I believe they a b a n d o n e d that life-saving station there a b o u t a year a g o . " " D i d t h e y ? " said the c a p t a i n . T h e wind slowly died away. T h e c o o k a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t were not now obliged to slave in order to hold high the oar. B u t the waves c o n t i n u e d their old i m p e t u o u s s w o o p i n g at the dingey, a n d the little craft, no longer u n d e r way, struggled woundily over t h e m . T h e oiler or the c o r r e s p o n d e n t t o o k the oars a g a i n . S h i p w r e c k s a r e apropos of nothing. If m e n c o u l d only train for t h e m a n d have t h e m o c c u r w h e n the m e n h a d r e a c h e d pink c o n d i t i o n , there w o u l d be less drowning at s e a . O f the four in the dingey n o n e had slept any time worth m e n t i o n i n g for two days a n d two nights p r e v i o u s to e m b a r k i n g in the dingey, a n d in the e x c i t e m e n t of c l a m b e r i n g a b o u t the d e c k of a f o u n d e r i n g ship they h a d a l s o forgotten to eat heartily. F o r t h e s e r e a s o n s , a n d for o t h e r s , neither the oiler nor the c o r r e s p o n d e n t w a s fond of rowing at this time. T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t w o n d e r e d i n g e n u o u s l y how in the n a m e of all that w a s s a n e c o u l d there be p e o p l e w h o t h o u g h t it a m u s i n g to row a b o a t . It w a s not a n a m u s e m e n t ; it w a s a diabolical p u n i s h m e n t , a n d even a g e n i u s of m e n t a l a b e r r a t i o n s c o u l d never c o n c l u d e that it w a s anything but a horror to the m u s c l e s a n d a c r i m e a g a i n s t the back. H e m e n t i o n e d to the boat in general how the a m u s e m e n t of rowing s t r u c k him, a n d the weary-faced oiler s m i l e d in full s y m p a t h y . Previously to the foundering, by the way, the oiler had worked d o u b l e - w a t c h in the e n g i n e - r o o m of the ship. " T a k e her easy, now, b o y s , " s a i d the c a p t a i n . " D o n ' t s p e n d yourselves. If we have to run a surf you'll n e e d all your s t r e n g t h , b e c a u s e we'll s u r e have to swim for it. T a k e your t i m e . " Slowly the land a r o s e from the s e a . F r o m a b l a c k line it b e c a m e a line of black a n d a line of w h i t e — t r e e s a n d s a n d . Finally, the c a p t a i n said that he could m a k e out a h o u s e on the s h o r e . " T h a t ' s the h o u s e of refuge, s u r e , " said the cook. "They'll s e e u s before long, a n d c o m e o u t after u s . " T h e distant light-house reared high. " T h e k e e p e r o u g h t to be a b l e to m a k e u s out now, if he's looking t h r o u g h a g l a s s , " said the c a p t a i n . "He'll notify the life-saving p e o p l e . " " N o n e of t h o s e other b o a t s c o u l d have got a s h o r e to give word of the w r e c k , " said the oiler, in a low voice. " E l s e the life-boat would be out h u n t i n g us." Slowly a n d beautifully the land l o o m e d o u t of the s e a . T h e wind c a m e a g a i n . It h a d veered from the n o r t h e a s t to the s o u t h e a s t . Finally, a n e w s o u n d s t r u c k the ears of the m e n in the b o a t . It w a s the low t h u n d e r of the surf on the s h o r e . "We'll never b e able to m a k e the light-house n o w , " s a i d the c a p tain. " S w i n g her h e a d a little m o r e north, Billie." " 'A little m o r e north,' sir," said the oiler. W h e r e u p o n the little boat turned her n o s e o n c e m o r e d o w n the wind, a n d all but the o a r s m a n w a t c h e d the s h o r e grow. U n d e r the influence of this e x p a n s i o n d o u b t a n d direful a p p r e h e n s i o n w a s leaving the m i n d s of the m e n . T h e m a n a g e m e n t of the boat was still m o s t a b s o r b i n g , b u t it c o u l d not p r e vent a quiet c h e e r f u l n e s s . In a n hour, p e r h a p s , they w o u l d be a s h o r e . T h e i r b a c k - b o n e s h a d b e c o m e thoroughly u s e d to b a l a n c i n g in the boat a n d they now r o d e this wild colt of a dingey like c i r c u s m e n . T h e c o r r e s p o n -

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1727

dent thought that he had b e e n d r e n c h e d to the skin, b u t h a p p e n i n g to feel in the top pocket of his c o a t , he f o u n d therein eight c i g a r s . F o u r of t h e m were s o a k e d with s e a w a t e r ; four were perfectly s c a t h e l e s s . After a s e a r c h , s o m e b o d y p r o d u c e d three dry m a t c h e s , a n d t h e r e u p o n the four waifs rode impudently in their little b o a t , a n d with an a s s u r a n c e of a n i m p e n d i n g r e s c u e s h i n i n g in their eyes, puffed at the big cigars a n d j u d g e d well a n d ill of all m e n . Everybody took a drink of water. IV " C o o k , " r e m a r k e d the c a p t a i n , "there don't s e e m to be any signs of life a b o u t your h o u s e of r e f u g e . " " N o , " replied the cook. " F u n n y they don't s e e u s ! " A broad stretch of lowly c o a s t lay before the eyes of the m e n . It w a s of d u n e s t o p p e d with dark vegetation. T h e roar of the surf was plain, a n d s o m e t i m e s they c o u l d s e e the white lip of a wave a s it s p u n up the b e a c h . A tiny h o u s e w a s blocked o u t black u p o n the sky. S o u t h w a r d , the slim light-house lifted its little gray length. T i d e , wind, a n d waves were swinging the dingey northward. " F u n n y they don't s e e u s , " said the m e n . T h e surf's roar w a s here d u l l e d , but its tone w a s , n e v e r t h e l e s s , t h u n d e r o u s a n d mighty. As the boat s w a m over the great rollers, the m e n sat listening to this roar. "We'll s w a m p s u r e , " said everybody. It is fair to say here that there was not a life-saving station within twenty miles in either direction, but the m e n did not know this fact a n d in c o n s e q u e n c e they m a d e dark a n d o p p r o b r i o u s r e m a r k s c o n c e r n i n g the eyesight of the nation's life-savers. F o u r s c o w l i n g m e n sat in the dingey a n d s u r p a s s e d r e c o r d s in the invention of e p i t h e t s . " F u n n y they don't s e e u s . " T h e light-heartedness of a former time had c o m p l e t e l y f a d e d . T o their s h a r p e n e d m i n d s it w a s easy to c o n j u r e p i c t u r e s of all kinds of i n c o m p e t e n c y and b l i n d n e s s a n d , i n d e e d , c o w a r d i c e . T h e r e w a s the s h o r e of the p o p u l o u s land, a n d it w a s bitter a n d bitter to t h e m that from it c a m e n o sign. " W e l l , " said the c a p t a i n , ultimately, "I s u p p o s e we'll have to m a k e a try for ourselves. If we stay out here too long, we'll n o n e of u s have s t r e n g t h left to swim after the boat s w a m p s . " And so the oiler, w h o w a s at the o a r s , turned the boat straight for the shore. T h e r e w a s a s u d d e n tightening of m u s c l e s . T h e r e w a s s o m e thinking. "If we don't all get a s h o r e — " said the c a p t a i n . "If we don't all get a s h o r e , I s u p p o s e you fellows know w h e r e to s e n d news of my finish?" T h e y then briefly e x c h a n g e d s o m e a d d r e s s e s a n d a d m o n i t i o n s . A s for the reflections of the m e n , there w a s a great deal of rage in t h e m . P e r c h a n c e they might be f o r m u l a t e d t h u s : "If I a m g o i n g to be d r o w n e d — i f I a m g o i n g to be d r o w n e d — i f I a m g o i n g to be d r o w n e d , why, in the n a m e of the seven m a d gods who rule the s e a , w a s I allowed to c o m e t h u s far a n d c o n t e m p l a t e s a n d a n d trees? W a s I brought here merely to have my n o s e d r a g g e d away a s I w a s a b o u t to nibble the s a c r e d c h e e s e of life? It is p r e p o s t e r o u s . If this old ninny-woman, F a t e , c a n n o t d o better than this, s h e s h o u l d be deprived of the m a n a g e m e n t of m e n ' s f o r t u n e s . S h e is an old h e n w h o knows not her intention. If s h e has d e c i d e d to drown m e , why did s h e not do it in the

1728

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b e g i n n i n g a n d save m e all this trouble. T h e w h o l e affair is a b s u r d . . . . B u t , n o , s h e c a n n o t m e a n to drown m e . S h e d a r e not drown m e . S h e c a n n o t drown m e . N o t after all this w o r k . " Afterward the m a n might have h a d a n i m p u l s e to s h a k e his fist at the c l o u d s . " J u s t you drown m e , now, a n d then hear what I call y o u ! " T h e billows that c a m e at this time were m o r e f o r m i d a b l e . T h e y s e e m e d always j u s t a b o u t to b r e a k a n d roll over the little b o a t in a turmoil of f o a m . T h e r e w a s a preparatory a n d long growl in the s p e e c h of t h e m . N o m i n d u n u s e d to the s e a would have c o n c l u d e d that the dingey c o u l d a s c e n d t h e s e sheer heights in t i m e . T h e s h o r e w a s still afar. T h e oiler w a s a wily s u r f m a n . " B o y s , " h e said, swiftly, " s h e won't live three m i n u t e s m o r e a n d we're too far out to s w i m . Shall I take her to s e a a g a i n , C a p t a i n ? " "Yes! G o a h e a d ! " said the c a p t a i n . T h i s oiler, by a series of q u i c k m i r a c l e s , a n d fast a n d steady o a r s m a n s h i p , turned the b o a t in the m i d d l e of the surf a n d took her safely to s e a a g a i n . T h e r e w a s a c o n s i d e r a b l e s i l e n c e a s the b o a t b u m p e d over the furrowed s e a to d e e p e r water. T h e n s o m e b o d y in g l o o m s p o k e . "Well, anyhow, they m u s t have s e e n u s from the s h o r e by n o w . " T h e gulls went in s l a n t i n g flight u p the wind toward the gray d e s o l a t e e a s t . A s q u a l l , m a r k e d by dingy c l o u d s , a n d c l o u d s brick-red, like s m o k e from a b u r n i n g building, a p p e a r e d from the s o u t h e a s t . " W h a t d o you think of t h o s e life-saving p e o p l e ? Ain't they p e a c h e s ? " " F u n n y they haven't s e e n u s . " " M a y b e they think we're o u t h e r e for sport! M a y b e they think we're fishin'. M a y b e they think we're d a m n e d f o o l s . " It w a s a long a f t e r n o o n . A c h a n g e d tide tried to force t h e m s o u t h w a r d , b u t wind a n d wave s a i d northward. F a r a h e a d , w h e r e c o a s t - l i n e , s e a , a n d sky f o r m e d their mighty a n g l e , there were little d o t s which s e e m e d to i n d i c a t e a city on the s h o r e . "St. Augustine?" T h e c a p t a i n s h o o k his h e a d . " T o o n e a r M o s q u i t o Inlet." A n d the oiler rowed, a n d then the c o r r e s p o n d e n t rowed. T h e n the oiler rowed. It w a s a weary b u s i n e s s . T h e h u m a n b a c k c a n b e c o m e the s e a t of m o r e a c h e s a n d p a i n s t h a n are registered in b o o k s for the c o m p o s i t e a n a t o m y of a r e g i m e n t . It is a limited a r e a , b u t it c a n b e c o m e the theatre of i n n u m e r a b l e m u s c u l a r conflicts, t a n g l e s , w r e n c h e s , k n o t s , a n d other c o m forts. " D i d you ever like to row, B i l l i e ? " a s k e d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t . " N o , " s a i d the oiler. " H a n g it." W h e n o n e e x c h a n g e d the rowing-seat for a p l a c e in the b o t t o m of the b o a t , he suffered a bodily d e p r e s s i o n that c a u s e d him to b e c a r e l e s s of everything save a n obligation to wiggle o n e finger. T h e r e w a s c o l d s e a - w a t e r s w a s h i n g to a n d fro in the b o a t , a n d h e lay in it. His h e a d , pillowed o n a thwart, w a s within a n inch of the swirl of a wave c r e s t , a n d s o m e t i m e s a particularly o b s t r e p e r o u s s e a c a m e i n b o a r d a n d d r e n c h e d him o n c e m o r e . B u t t h e s e m a t t e r s did not a n n o y h i m . It is a l m o s t certain that if the b o a t h a d c a p s i z e d h e w o u l d have t u m b l e d c o m f o r t a b l y o u t u p o n the o c e a n a s if h e felt s u r e that it w a s a great soft m a t t r e s s . " L o o k ! T h e r e ' s a m a n on the s h o r e ! "

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1729

"Where?" " T h e r e ? S e e 'im? S e e ' i m ? " "Yes, s u r e ! H e ' s walking a l o n g . " " N o w he's s t o p p e d . Look! He's f a c i n g u s ! " " H e ' s waving at u s ! " " S o h e is! By t h u n d e r ! " " A h , now, we're all right! N o w we're all right! There'll b e a b o a t o u t h e r e for u s in half a n h o u r . " " H e ' s g o i n g on. He's running. H e ' s g o i n g up to that h o u s e t h e r e . " T h e r e m o t e b e a c h s e e m e d lower than the s e a , a n d it r e q u i r e d a s e a r c h i n g g l a n c e to d i s c e r n the little b l a c k figure. T h e c a p t a i n s a w a floating stick a n d they rowed to it. A bath-towel w a s by s o m e weird c h a n c e in the b o a t , a n d , tying this o n the stick, the c a p t a i n waved it. T h e o a r s m a n did not d a r e turn his h e a d , s o he w a s obliged to a s k q u e s t i o n s . "What's he doing now?" " H e ' s s t a n d i n g still a g a i n . H e ' s looking, I think. . . . T h e r e h e g o e s a g a i n . T o w a r d the h o u s e . . . . N o w he's s t o p p e d a g a i n . " "Is h e waving at u s ? " " N o , not now! h e w a s , t h o u g h . " "Look! There comes another man!" "He's running." " L o o k at him g o , would y o u . " "Why, he's on a bicycle. N o w he's met the other m a n . They're both waving at u s . L o o k ! " " T h e r e c o m e s s o m e t h i n g u p the b e a c h . " " W h a t the devil is that t h i n g ? " "Why, it looks like a b o a t . " "Why, certainly it's a b o a t . " " N o , it's on w h e e l s . " "Yes, s o it is. Well, that m u s t be the life-boat. T h e y d r a g t h e m a l o n g s h o r e on a w a g o n . " " T h a t ' s the life-boat, s u r e . " " N o , by , it's—it's a n o m n i b u s . " "I tell you it's a life-boat." "It is not! It's a n o m n i b u s . I c a n s e e it plain. S e e ? O n e of t h o s e big hotel omnibuses." " B y t h u n d e r , you're right. It's a n o m n i b u s , s u r e a s f a t e . W h a t do you s u p p o s e they are d o i n g with a n o m n i b u s ? M a y b e they are g o i n g a r o u n d collecting the life-crew, h e y ? " " T h a t ' s it, likely. L o o k ! T h e r e ' s a fellow waving a little b l a c k flag. H e ' s s t a n d i n g on the s t e p s of the o m n i b u s . T h e r e c o m e t h o s e other two fellows. N o w they're all talking together. L o o k at the fellow with the flag. M a y b e h e ain't waving it!" " T h a t ain't a flag, is it? T h a t ' s his c o a t . Why, certainly, that's his c o a t . " " S o it is. It's his c o a t . H e ' s taken it off a n d is waving it a r o u n d his h e a d . B u t would you look at him swing it!" " O h , say, there isn't any life-saving station there. T h a t ' s j u s t a winter resort hotel o m n i b u s that h a s b r o u g h t over s o m e of the b o a r d e r s to s e e u s drown."

1730

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STEPHEN

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" W h a t ' s that idiot with the c o a t m e a n ? W h a t ' s he signaling, a n y h o w ? " "It looks a s if he were trying to tell u s to go north. T h e r e m u s t be a lifesaving station u p t h e r e . " " N o ! H e thinks we're fishing. J u s t giving us a merry h a n d . S e e ? Ah, t h e r e , Willie." "Well, I wish I c o u l d m a k e s o m e t h i n g out of t h o s e s i g n a l s . W h a t do you s u p p o s e he m e a n s ? " " H e don't m e a n anything. He's j u s t playing." "Well, if he'd j u s t signal u s to try the surf a g a i n , or to go to s e a a n d wait, or g o north, or go s o u t h , or go to h e l l — t h e r e would be s o m e r e a s o n in it. B u t look at h i m . H e j u s t s t a n d s there a n d keeps his c o a t revolving like a wheel. T h e a s s ! " "There come more people." " N o w there's quite a m o b . Look! Isn't that a b o a t ? " " W h e r e ? O h , I s e e w h e r e you m e a n . N o , that's no b o a t . " " T h a t fellow is still waving his c o a t . " " H e m u s t think we like to s e e him do that. W h y don't he quit it. It don't mean anything." "I don't know. I think he is trying to m a k e u s go north. It m u s t be that there's a life-saving station there s o m e w h e r e . " " S a y , he ain't tired yet. L o o k at 'im w a v e . " " W o n d e r how long he c a n k e e p that u p . H e ' s b e e n revolving his c o a t ever s i n c e he c a u g h t sight of u s . H e ' s an idiot. W h y aren't they getting m e n to bring a b o a t out. A fishing b o a t — o n e of t h o s e big y a w l s — c o u l d c o m e out here all right. Why don't he do s o m e t h i n g ? " " O h , it's all right, n o w . " "They'll have a boat out here for us in less than no t i m e , now that they've seen u s . " A faint yellow tone c a m e into the sky over the low l a n d . T h e s h a d o w s on the s e a slowly d e e p e n e d . T h e wind b o r e c o l d n e s s with it, a n d the m e n b e g a n to shiver. "Holy s m o k e ! " said o n e , allowing his voice to express his i m p i o u s m o o d , "if we keep on m o n k e y i n g out here! If we've got to flounder out here all night!" " O h , we'll never have to stay here all night! Don't you worry. They've s e e n u s now, a n d it won't be long before they'll c o m e c h a s i n g o u t after u s . " T h e s h o r e grew dusky. T h e m a n waving a c o a t b l e n d e d gradually into this g l o o m , a n d it swallowed in the s a m e m a n n e r the o m n i b u s a n d the g r o u p of p e o p l e . T h e spray, when it d a s h e d uproariously over the s i d e , m a d e the voya g e r s shrink a n d swear like m e n w h o were b e i n g b r a n d e d . "I'd like to c a t c h the c h u m p w h o waved the c o a t . I feel like s o c k i n g him o n e , j u s t for l u c k . " "Why? W h a t did he d o ? " " O h , nothing, but then he s e e m e d so d a m n e d c h e e r f u l . " In the m e a n t i m e the oiler rowed, a n d then the c o r r e s p o n d e n t rowed, a n d then the oiler rowed. Gray-faced a n d b o w e d forward, they m e c h a n i c a l l y , turn by turn, plied the l e a d e n o a r s . T h e form of the light-house h a d v a n i s h e d from the s o u t h e r n horizon, but finally a p a l e star a p p e a r e d , j u s t lifting from the s e a . T h e streaked saffron in the west p a s s e d before the all-merging d a r k n e s s ,

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1731

and the s e a to the east was black. T h e land h a d v a n i s h e d , a n d w a s e x p r e s s e d only by the low a n d drear t h u n d e r of the surf. "If I a m g o i n g to be d r o w n e d — i f I a m g o i n g to be d r o w n e d — i f I a m g o i n g to be d r o w n e d , why, in the n a m e of the seven m a d g o d s w h o rule the s e a , w a s I allowed to c o m e t h u s far a n d c o n t e m p l a t e s a n d a n d trees? W a s I brought here merely to have my n o s e d r a g g e d away a s I w a s a b o u t to nibble the s a c r e d c h e e s e of life?" T h e patient c a p t a i n , d r o o p e d over the water-jar, was s o m e t i m e s obliged to s p e a k to the o a r s m a n . " K e e p her h e a d u p ! K e e p her head u p ! " " ' K e e p her h e a d u p , ' sir." T h e voices were weary a n d low. T h i s was surely a quiet evening. Ail save the o a r s m a n lay heavily a n d listlessly in the boat's b o t t o m . As for him, his eyes were j u s t c a p a b l e of n o t i n g the tall black waves that swept forward in a m o s t sinister s i l e n c e , save for a n o c c a s i o n a l s u b d u e d growl of a crest. T h e cook's h e a d w a s on a thwart, a n d he looked without interest at the water u n d e r his n o s e . H e was d e e p in other s c e n e s . Finally he s p o k e . " B i l l i e , " he m u r m u r e d , dreamfully, "what kind of pie do you like b e s t ? " V " P i e , " said the oiler a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t , agitatedly. " D o n ' t talk a b o u t t h o s e things, blast y o u ! " " W e l l , " said the cook, "I w a s j u s t thinking a b o u t h a m s a n d w i c h e s , and " A night on the s e a in a n o p e n boat is a long night. As d a r k n e s s settled finally, the shine of the light, lifting from the s e a in the s o u t h , c h a n g e d to full gold. O n the northern horizon a new light a p p e a r e d , a small b l u i s h g l e a m o n the e d g e of the w a t e r s . T h e s e two lights were the furniture of the world. O t h e r w i s e there w a s n o t h i n g but waves. T w o m e n h u d d l e d in the stern, a n d d i s t a n c e s were s o magnificent in the dingey that the rower w a s e n a b l e d to keep his feet partly w a r m e d by thrusting them u n d e r his c o m p a n i o n s . T h e i r legs i n d e e d e x t e n d e d far u n d e r the rowing-seat until they t o u c h e d the feet of the c a p t a i n forward. S o m e t i m e s , despite the efforts of the tired o a r s m a n , a wave c a m e piling into the b o a t , an icy wave of the night, a n d the chilling water s o a k e d t h e m a n e w . T h e y would twist their b o d i e s for a m o m e n t a n d g r o a n , a n d sleep the d e a d s l e e p o n c e m o r e , while the water in the boat gurgled a b o u t t h e m a s the craft rocked. T h e plan of the oiler a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t w a s for o n e to row until he lost the ability, a n d then a r o u s e the other from his sea-water c o u c h in the b o t t o m of the boat. T h e oiler plied the oars until his h e a d d r o o p e d forward, a n d the overpowering sleep blinded him. And he rowed yet afterward. T h e n he t o u c h e d a m a n in the b o t t o m of the boat, a n d called his n a m e . "Will you spell m e for a little w h i l e ? " he said meekly. " S u r e , Billie," said the c o r r e s p o n d e n t , a w a k e n i n g a n d d r a g g i n g h i m s e l f to a sitting position. T h e y e x c h a n g e d p l a c e s carefully, a n d the oiler, c u d d l i n g down in the sea-water at the cook's s i d e , s e e m e d to g o to s l e e p instantly.

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T h e particular violence of the s e a h a d c e a s e d . T h e waves c a m e w i t h o u t snarling. T h e obligation of the m a n at the oars w a s to k e e p the b o a t h e a d e d s o that the tilt of the rollers would not c a p s i z e her, a n d to preserve her from filling w h e n the crests r u s h e d p a s t . T h e b l a c k waves were silent a n d h a r d to b e s e e n in the d a r k n e s s . Often o n e w a s a l m o s t u p o n the boat b e f o r e the oarsman was aware. In a low voice the c o r r e s p o n d e n t a d d r e s s e d the c a p t a i n . H e w a s not s u r e that the c a p t a i n w a s a w a k e , a l t h o u g h this iron m a n s e e m e d to b e always a w a k e . " C a p t a i n , shall I k e e p her m a k i n g for that light north, s i r ? " T h e s a m e steady voice a n s w e r e d h i m . "Yes. K e e p it a b o u t two p o i n t s off the port b o w . " T h e c o o k h a d tied a life-belt a r o u n d himself in order to get even the w a r m t h which this c l u m s y cork c o n t r i v a n c e c o u l d d o n a t e , a n d h e s e e m e d a l m o s t stove-like w h e n a rower, w h o s e teeth invariably c h a t t e r e d wildly a s s o o n a s h e c e a s e d his labor, d r o p p e d d o w n to s l e e p . T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t , a s h e rowed, looked d o w n at the two m e n s l e e p i n g u n d e r foot. T h e cook's a r m w a s a r o u n d the oiler's s h o u l d e r s , a n d , with their fragmentary clothing a n d h a g g a r d f a c e s , they were the b a b e s of the s e a , a g r o t e s q u e r e n d e r i n g of the old b a b e s in the w o o d . L a t e r he m u s t have grown s t u p i d at his work, for s u d d e n l y there w a s a growling of water, a n d a crest c a m e with a roar a n d a s w a s h into the b o a t , a n d it w a s a w o n d e r that it did not set the c o o k afloat in his life-belt. T h e c o o k c o n t i n u e d to s l e e p , but the oiler sat u p , blinking his eyes a n d s h a k i n g with the new cold. " O h , I'm awful sorry, B i l l i e , " said the c o r r e s p o n d e n t , contritely. " T h a t ' s all right, old b o y , " said the oiler, a n d lay d o w n again a n d w a s a s l e e p . Presently it s e e m e d that even the c a p t a i n d o z e d , a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t thought that he w a s the o n e m a n afloat on all the o c e a n s . T h e wind h a d a voice as it c a m e over the w a v e s , a n d it w a s s a d d e r t h a n the e n d . T h e r e w a s a long, loud s w i s h i n g a s t e r n of the boat, a n d a g l e a m i n g trail of p h o s p h o r e s c e n c e , like b l u e flame, w a s furrowed on the b l a c k waters. It might have b e e n m a d e by a m o n s t r o u s knife. T h e n there c a m e a stillness, while the c o r r e s p o n d e n t b r e a t h e d with the o p e n m o u t h a n d looked at the s e a . S u d d e n l y there w a s a n o t h e r swish a n d a n o t h e r long flash of b l u i s h light, a n d this time it w a s a l o n g s i d e the boat, a n d might a l m o s t have b e e n r e a c h e d with a n oar. T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t s a w a n e n o r m o u s fin s p e e d like a s h a d o w t h r o u g h the water, hurling the crystalline spray a n d leaving the long glowing trail. T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t looked over his s h o u l d e r at the c a p t a i n . H i s f a c e w a s h i d d e n , a n d he s e e m e d to b e a s l e e p . H e looked at the b a b e s of the s e a . T h e y certainly were a s l e e p . S o , b e i n g bereft of sympathy, h e l e a n e d a little way to o n e side a n d swore softly into the s e a . B u t the thing did not then leave the vicinity of the b o a t . A h e a d or a s t e r n , o n o n e s i d e or the other, at intervals long or short, fled the l o n g s p a r k l i n g streak, a n d there w a s to be h e a r d the whiroo of the d a r k fin. T h e s p e e d a n d power of the thing w a s greatly to b e a d m i r e d . It c u t the w a t e r like a gigantic a n d keen projectile. T h e p r e s e n c e of this b i d i n g thing did not affect the m a n with the s a m e

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horror that it would if he h a d b e e n a picnicker. H e simply l o o k e d at the s e a dully a n d swore in a n u n d e r t o n e . N e v e r t h e l e s s , it is true that he did not wish to be a l o n e with the thing. H e w i s h e d o n e of his c o m p a n i o n s f.p awaken by c h a n c e a n d keep him c o m p a n y with it. B u t the c a p t a i n h u n g m o t i o n l e s s over the water-jar a n d the oiler a n d the c o o k in the b o t t o m of the boat were p l u n g e d in s l u m b e r . V/ "If I a m g o i n g to be d r o w n e d — i f I a m g o i n g to be d r o w n e d — i f I a m g o i n g to be d r o w n e d , why, in the n a m e of the seven m a d g o d s w h o rule the s e a , w a s I allowed to c o m e t h u s far a n d c o n t e m p l a t e s a n d a n d t r e e s ? " D u r i n g this d i s m a l night, it m a y be r e m a r k e d that a m a n would c o n c l u d e that it w a s really the intention of the seven m a d g o d s to drown h i m , d e s p i t e the a b o m i n a b l e i n j u s t i c e of it. F o r it w a s certainly a n a b o m i n a b l e injustice to drown a m a n w h o h a d worked so h a r d , s o h a r d . T h e m a n felt it w o u l d be a c r i m e m o s t u n n a t u r a l . O t h e r p e o p l e h a d d r o w n e d at s e a s i n c e galleys s w a r m e d with p a i n t e d sails, but still W h e n it o c c u r s to a m a n that n a t u r e d o e s not regard h i m a s i m p o r t a n t , a n d that s h e feels s h e would not m a i m the universe by d i s p o s i n g of h i m , he at first w i s h e s to throw bricks at the t e m p l e , a n d he h a t e s deeply the fact that there are no bricks a n d n o t e m p l e s . Any visible e x p r e s s i o n of n a t u r e would surely be pelleted with his j e e r s . T h e n , if there be no tangible thing to hoot he feels, p e r h a p s , the desire to confront a personification a n d i n d u l g e in p l e a s , b o w e d to o n e k n e e , a n d with h a n d s s u p p l i c a n t , saying: "Yes, b u t I love myself." A high cold star on a winter's night is the word he feels that s h e says to h i m . T h e r e a f t e r he knows the p a t h o s of his situation. T h e m e n in the dingey h a d not d i s c u s s e d t h e s e m a t t e r s , b u t e a c h h a d , n o d o u b t , reflected u p o n t h e m in s i l e n c e a n d a c c o r d i n g to his m i n d . T h e r e w a s s e l d o m any expression u p o n their f a c e s save the general o n e of c o m p l e t e w e a r i n e s s . S p e e c h w a s devoted to the b u s i n e s s of the b o a t . T o c h i m e the notes of his e m o t i o n , a verse mysteriously e n t e r e d the corr e s p o n d e n t ' s h e a d . H e h a d even forgotten that he h a d forgotten this verse, but it s u d d e n l y w a s in his m i n d . A soldier of the L e g i o n lay dying in Algiers, T h e r e w a s lack of w o m a n ' s n u r s i n g , there w a s d e a r t h of w o m a n ' s tears; B u t a c o m r a d e stood b e s i d e him, a n d he took that c o m r a d e ' s h a n d , A n d he said: "I never m o r e shall s e e my o w n , my native l a n d . " 5 In his c h i l d h o o d , the c o r r e s p o n d e n t h a d b e e n m a d e a c q u a i n t e d with the fact that a soldier of the L e g i o n lay dying in Algiers, but he h a d never regarded it a s i m p o r t a n t . M y r i a d s of his school-fellows h a d i n f o r m e d him of the soldier's plight, but the dinning h a d naturally e n d e d by m a k i n g him perfectly indifferent. H e h a d never c o n s i d e r e d it his affair that a soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, nor h a d it a p p e a r e d to him a s a m a t t e r for sorrow. It was less to him than the b r e a k i n g of a pencil's point. 5. T h e lines are incorrectly quoted from Caroline E. S. Norton's poem "Bingen on the Rhine" ( 1 8 8 3 ) .

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N o w , however, it quaintly c a m e to him a s a h u m a n , living thing. It w a s n o longer merely a p i c t u r e of a few throes in the b r e a s t of a p o e t , m e a n w h i l e drinking tea a n d w a r m i n g his feet at the g r a t e ; it w a s a n a c t u a l i t y — s t e r n , m o u r n f u l , a n d fine. T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t plainly saw the soldier. H e lay o n the s a n d with his feet out straight a n d still. While his p a l e left h a n d w a s u p o n his c h e s t in a n a t t e m p t to thwart the g o i n g of his life, the blood c a m e b e t w e e n his fingers. In the far Algerian d i s t a n c e , a city of low s q u a r e f o r m s w a s set a g a i n s t a sky that w a s faint with the last s u n s e t h u e s . T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t , plying the oars a n d d r e a m i n g of the slow a n d slower m o v e m e n t s of the lips of the soldier, was moved by a p r o f o u n d a n d perfectly i m p e r s o n a l c o m p r e h e n s i o n . H e w a s sorry for the soldier of the L e g i o n w h o lay dying in Algiers. T h e thing which h a d followed the b o a t a n d waited h a d evidently grown bored at the delay. T h e r e w a s no longer to b e h e a r d the s l a s h of the cutwater, a n d there w a s no longer the f l a m e of the long trail. T h e light in the north still g l i m m e r e d , but it w a s a p p a r e n t l y no n e a r e r to the b o a t . S o m e t i m e s the b o o m of the surf r a n g in the c o r r e s p o n d e n t ' s e a r s , a n d h e t u r n e d the craft s e a w a r d then a n d rowed harder. S o u t h w a r d , s o m e o n e h a d evidently built a watch-fire on the b e a c h . It w a s t o o low a n d too far to be s e e n , b u t it m a d e a s h i m m e r i n g , r o s e a t e reflection u p o n the bluff b a c k of it, a n d this c o u l d b e d i s c e r n e d from the b o a t . T h e wind c a m e stronger, a n d s o m e t i m e s a wave s u d d e n l y raged out like a m o u n t a i n - c a t a n d t h e r e w a s to be s e e n the s h e e n a n d sparkle of a b r o k e n crest. T h e c a p t a i n , in the bow, m o v e d o n his water-jar a n d sat erect. "Pretty long n i g h t , " h e o b s e r v e d to the c o r r e s p o n d e n t . H e looked at the s h o r e . " T h o s e life-saving p e o p l e take their t i m e . " " D i d you s e e that s h a r k playing a r o u n d ? " "Yes, I s a w h i m . H e w a s a big fellow, all right." " W i s h I h a d known you were a w a k e . " L a t e r the c o r r e s p o n d e n t s p o k e into the b o t t o m of the b o a t . " B i l l i e ! " T h e r e w a s a slow a n d g r a d u a l d i s e n t a n g l e m e n t . "Billie, will you spell m e ? " " S u r e , " s a i d the oiler. A s s o o n a s the c o r r e s p o n d e n t t o u c h e d the cold c o m f o r t a b l e s e a w a t e r in the b o t t o m of the b o a t , a n d h a d h u d d l e d c l o s e to the cook's life-belt he w a s d e e p in s l e e p , d e s p i t e the fact that his teeth played all the p o p u l a r airs. T h i s s l e e p w a s so g o o d to him that it w a s b u t a m o m e n t before h e h e a r d a voice call his n a m e in a t o n e that d e m o n s t r a t e d the last s t a g e s of e x h a u s t i o n . "Will you spell m e ? " " S u r e , Billie." T h e light in the north h a d mysteriously v a n i s h e d , b u t the c o r r e s p o n d e n t t o o k his c o u r s e from the wide-awake c a p t a i n . L a t e r in the night they took the b o a t farther o u t to s e a , a n d the c a p t a i n directed the c o o k to take o n e oar at the stern a n d k e e p the b o a t f a c i n g the s e a s . H e w a s to call out if he s h o u l d h e a r the t h u n d e r of the surf. T h i s p l a n e n a b l e d the oiler a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t to get respite together. "We'll give t h o s e boys a c h a n c e to get into s h a p e a g a i n , " said the c a p t a i n . T h e y c u r l e d d o w n a n d , after a few preliminary c h a t t e r i n g s a n d t r e m b l e s , slept o n c e m o r e the d e a d s l e e p . N e i t h e r knew they h a d b e q u e a t h e d to the c o o k the c o m p a n y of a n o t h e r shark, or p e r h a p s the s a m e shark.

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1735

As the boat c a r o u s e d on the waves, spray o c c a s i o n a l l y b u m p e d over the side a n d gave t h e m a fresh s o a k i n g , but this h a d n o p o w e r to b r e a k their r e p o s e . T h e o m i n o u s s l a s h of the wind and the water affected t h e m a s it would have affected m u m m i e s . " B o y s , " s a i d the c o o k , with the notes of every r e l u c t a n c e in his v o i c e , " s h e ' s drifted in pretty c l o s e . I g u e s s o n e of you had better take her to s e a a g a i n . " T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t , a r o u s e d , h e a r d the c r a s h of the t o p p l e d c r e s t s . As he w a s rowing, the c a p t a i n gave him s o m e whiskey a n d water, a n d this s t e a d i e d the chills out of h i m . "If I ever get a s h o r e a n d anybody s h o w s m e even a p h o t o g r a p h of an oar " At last there w a s a short c o n v e r s a t i o n . "Billie. . . . Billie, will you spell m e ? " " S u r e , " said the oiler.

VII W h e n the c o r r e s p o n d e n t again o p e n e d his eyes, the s e a a n d the sky were e a c h of the gray h u e of the d a w n i n g . Later, c a r m i n e a n d gold w a s p a i n t e d u p o n the waters. T h e m o r n i n g a p p e a r e d finally, in its s p l e n d o r , with a sky of p u r e b l u e , a n d the sunlight flamed on the tips of the w a v e s . O n the distant d u n e s were set m a n y little b l a c k c o t t a g e s , a n d a tall white wind-mill reared a b o v e t h e m . N o m a n , nor d o g , nor bicycle a p p e a r e d on the b e a c h . T h e c o t t a g e s might have f o r m e d a d e s e r t e d village. T h e voyagers s c a n n e d the s h o r e . A c o n f e r e n c e w a s held in the b o a t . " W e l l , " said the c a p t a i n , "if no help is c o m i n g , we might better try a run through the surf right away. If we stay o u t here m u c h longer w e will be too w e a k to d o anything for ourselves at all." T h e o t h e r s silently a c q u i e s c e d in this r e a s o n i n g . T h e boat w a s h e a d e d for the b e a c h . T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t wond e r e d if n o n e ever a s c e n d e d the tall wind-tower, a n d if then they never looked s e a w a r d . T h i s tower w a s a giant, s t a n d i n g with its b a c k to the plight of the a n t s . It r e p r e s e n t e d in a d e g r e e , to the c o r r e s p o n d e n t , the serenity of n a t u r e a m i d the s t r u g g l e s of the i n d i v i d u a l — n a t u r e in the wind, a n d n a t u r e in the vision of m e n . S h e did not s e e m cruel to him t h e n , nor beneficent, nor t r e a c h e r o u s , nor w i s e . B u t s h e w a s indifferent, flatly indifferent. It is, perh a p s , p l a u s i b l e that a m a n in this situation, i m p r e s s e d with the u n c o n c e r n of the u n i v e r s e , s h o u l d s e e the i n n u m e r a b l e flaws of his life a n d have t h e m taste wickedly in his m i n d a n d wish for a n o t h e r c h a n c e . A distinction b e t w e e n right a n d w r o n g s e e m s absurdly clear to him, t h e n , in this n e w i g n o r a n c e of the g r a v e - e d g e , a n d he u n d e r s t a n d s that if h e w e r e given a n o t h e r opportunity he would m e n d his c o n d u c t a n d his w o r d s , a n d b e better a n d brighter d u r i n g a n i n t r o d u c t i o n , or at a tea. " N o w , b o y s , " said the c a p t a i n , " s h e is going to s w a m p s u r e . All we c a n d o is to work her in a s far a s p o s s i b l e , a n d then w h e n s h e s w a m p s , pile o u t a n d s c r a m b l e for the b e a c h . K e e p cool now, a n d don't j u m p until s h e s w a m p s sure." T h e oiler took the o a r s . Over his s h o u l d e r s h e s c a n n e d the surf. " C a p t a i n , " he said, "I think I'd better bring her a b o u t , a n d k e e p her h e a d - o n to the s e a s a n d b a c k her i n . " "All right, Billie," said the c a p t a i n . " B a c k her i n . " T h e oiler s w u n g the boat

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then a n d , s e a t e d in the stern, the c o o k a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t were o b l i g e d to look over their s h o u l d e r s to c o n t e m p l a t e the lonely a n d indifferent s h o r e . T h e m o n s t r o u s i n s h o r e rollers h e a v e d the boat high until the m e n were again e n a b l e d to s e e the white s h e e t s of water s c u d d i n g u p the s l a n t e d b e a c h . " W e won't get in very c l o s e , " said the c a p t a i n . E a c h t i m e a m a n c o u l d wrest his attention from the rollers, h e turned his g l a n c e toward the s h o r e , a n d in the expression of the eyes d u r i n g this c o n t e m p l a t i o n there w a s a s i n g u l a r quality. T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t , observing the o t h e r s , k n e w that they were not afraid, but the full m e a n i n g of their g l a n c e s was s h r o u d e d . As for himself, h e w a s too tired to g r a p p l e f u n d a m e n t a l l y with the fact. H e tried to c o e r c e his m i n d into thinking of it, b u t the m i n d w a s d o m i n a t e d at this time by the m u s c l e s , a n d the m u s c l e s said they did not c a r e . It merely o c c u r r e d to him that if he s h o u l d drown it would be a s h a m e . T h e r e were n o hurried w o r d s , no pallor, n o plain agitation. T h e m e n simply looked at the s h o r e . " N o w , r e m e m b e r to get well c l e a r of the boat w h e n you j u m p , " said the c a p t a i n . S e a w a r d the crest of a roller s u d d e n l y fell with a t h u n d e r o u s c r a s h , a n d the long white c o m b e r c a m e roaring d o w n u p o n the b o a t . " S t e a d y n o w , " said the c a p t a i n . T h e m e n were silent. T h e y t u r n e d their eyes from the s h o r e to the c o m b e r a n d w a i t e d . T h e b o a t slid u p the incline, l e a p e d at the furious top, b o u n c e d over it, a n d s w u n g d o w n the long b a c k of the wave. S o m e water h a d b e e n s h i p p e d a n d the c o o k bailed it out. B u t the next crest c r a s h e d a l s o . T h e t u m b l i n g boiling flood of white water c a u g h t the b o a t a n d whirled it a l m o s t p e r p e n d i c u l a r . W a t e r s w a r m e d in from all s i d e s . T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t h a d his h a n d s on the g u n w a l e at this t i m e , a n d when the water entered at that p l a c e he swiftly withdrew his fingers, a s if he o b j e c t e d to wetting t h e m . T h e little boat, d r u n k e n with this weight of water, reeled a n d s n u g g l e d d e e p e r into the s e a . " B a i l her out, cook! Bail her o u t , " said the c a p t a i n . "All right, C a p t a i n , " said the c o o k . " N o w , b o y s , the next o n e will d o for u s , s u r e , " s a i d the oiler. " M i n d to j u m p clear of the b o a t . " T h e third wave m o v e d forward, h u g e , furious, i m p l a c a b l e . It fairly swallowed the dingey, a n d a l m o s t s i m u l t a n e o u s l y the m e n t u m b l e d into the s e a . A p i e c e of life-belt h a d lain in the b o t t o m of the b o a t , a n d a s the c o r r e s p o n dent went overboard h e held this to his c h e s t with his left h a n d . T h e J a n u a r y water w a s icy, a n d h e reflected immediately that it w a s c o l d e r than he h a d e x p e c t e d to find it off the c o a s t of Florida. T h i s a p p e a r e d to his d a z e d m i n d a s a fact i m p o r t a n t e n o u g h to be n o t e d at the t i m e . T h e c o l d n e s s of the water w a s s a d ; it w a s tragic. T h i s fact w a s s o m e h o w s o mixed a n d c o n f u s e d with his opinion of his own situation that it s e e m e d a l m o s t a p r o p e r r e a s o n for t e a r s . T h e water w a s cold. W h e n h e c a m e to the s u r f a c e he w a s c o n s c i o u s of little b u t the noisy water. Afterward h e saw his c o m p a n i o n s in the s e a . T h e oiler w a s a h e a d in the r a c e . H e w a s s w i m m i n g strongly a n d rapidly. Off to the c o r r e s p o n d e n t ' s left, the cook's great white a n d c o r k e d b a c k b u l g e d out of the water, a n d in the rear the c a p t a i n w a s h a n g i n g with his o n e g o o d h a n d to the keel of the overturned dingey. T h e r e is a certain i m m o v a b l e quality to a s h o r e , a n d the c o r r e s p o n d e n t w o n d e r e d at it a m i d the c o n f u s i o n of the s e a .

T H E O P E N BOAT

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1737

It s e e m e d a l s o very attractive, but the c o r r e s p o n d e n t knew that it w a s a long j o u r n e y , a n d h e p a d d l e d leisurely. T h e p i e c e of life preserver lay u n d e r him, a n d s o m e t i m e s he whirled d o w n the incline of a wave a s if h e were on a hand-sled. B u t finally h e arrived at a p l a c e in the s e a w h e r e travel w a s b e s e t with difficulty. H e did not p a u s e s w i m m i n g to inquire what m a n n e r of c u r r e n t h a d c a u g h t him, but there his p r o g r e s s c e a s e d . T h e s h o r e w a s set before him like a bit of s c e n e r y on a s t a g e , a n d he looked at it a n d u n d e r s t o o d with his eyes e a c h detail of it. A s the c o o k p a s s e d , m u c h farther to the left, the c a p t a i n w a s calling to him, " T u r n over on your b a c k , cook! T u r n over on your b a c k a n d u s e the oar." "All right, sir." T h e c o o k turned on his back, a n d , p a d d l i n g with an oar, went a h e a d a s if h e were a c a n o e . Presently the boat a l s o p a s s e d to the left of the c o r r e s p o n d e n t with the c a p t a i n clinging with o n e h a n d to the keel. H e would have a p p e a r e d like a m a n raising h i m s e l f to look over a b o a r d f e n c e , if it were not for the extraordinary g y m n a s t i c s of the boat. T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t marvelled that the c a p t a i n c o u l d still hold to it. T h e y p a s s e d o n , n e a r e r to the s h o r e — t h e oiler, the c o o k , the c a p t a i n — a n d following t h e m went the water-jar, b o u n c i n g gayly over the s e a s . T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t r e m a i n e d in the grip of this s t r a n g e n e w e n e m y — a current. T h e s h o r e , with its white s l o p e of s a n d a n d its g r e e n bluff, t o p p e d with little silent c o t t a g e s , w a s s p r e a d like a picture before h i m . It w a s very near to him then, b u t h e w a s i m p r e s s e d a s o n e w h o in a gallery looks at a s c e n e from Brittany or H o l l a n d . H e thought: "I a m g o i n g to d r o w n ? C a n it b e p o s s i b l e ? C a n it b e p o s s i b l e ? C a n it be p o s s i b l e ? " P e r h a p s a n individual m u s t c o n s i d e r his own d e a t h to be the final p h e n o m e n o n of n a t u r e . B u t later a wave p e r h a p s whirled him o u t of this small deadly c u r r e n t , for he found s u d d e n l y that h e c o u l d again m a k e p r o g r e s s toward the s h o r e . L a t e r still, he w a s a w a r e that the c a p t a i n , clinging with o n e h a n d to the keel of the dingey, had his f a c e turned away from the s h o r e a n d toward him, a n d w a s calling his n a m e . " C o m e to the boat! C o m e to the b o a t ! " In his struggle to r e a c h the c a p t a i n a n d the b o a t , h e reflected that w h e n one gets properly w e a r i e d , d r o w n i n g m u s t really be a c o m f o r t a b l e a r r a n g e m e n t , a c e s s a t i o n of hostilities a c c o m p a n i e d by a large d e g r e e of relief, a n d he was glad of it, for the m a i n thing in his mind for s o m e m o m e n t s h a d b e e n horror of the temporary agony. H e did not wish to b e hurt. Presently he saw a m a n r u n n i n g a l o n g the s h o r e . H e w a s u n d r e s s i n g with m o s t r e m a r k a b l e s p e e d . C o a t , t r o u s e r s , shirt, everything flew magically off him. " C o m e to the b o a t , " called the c a p t a i n . "All right, C a p t a i n . " As the c o r r e s p o n d e n t p a d d l e d , he saw the c a p t a i n let himself down to b o t t o m a n d leave the b o a t . T h e n the c o r r e s p o n d e n t performed his o n e little marvel of the voyage. A large wave c a u g h t him a n d flung him with e a s e a n d s u p r e m e s p e e d c o m p l e t e l y over the boat a n d far beyond it. It s t r u c k him even then a s a n event in g y m n a s t i c s , a n d a true miracle of the s e a . An overturned b o a t in the surf is not a plaything to a s w i m m i n g man. T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t arrived in water that r e a c h e d only to his waist, but his

1738

I

STEPHEN

CRANE

condition did not e n a b l e him to s t a n d for m o r e t h a n a m o m e n t . E a c h w a v e k n o c k e d him into a h e a p , a n d the u n d e r - t o w p u l l e d at him. T h e n he s a w the m a n w h o h a d b e e n r u n n i n g a n d u n d r e s s i n g , a n d u n d r e s s ing a n d r u n n i n g , c o m e b o u n d i n g into the water. H e d r a g g e d a s h o r e the c o o k , a n d then w a d e d toward the c a p t a i n , but the c a p t a i n waved him away, a n d sent him to the c o r r e s p o n d e n t . H e w a s n a k e d , n a k e d a s a tree in winter, b u t a halo w a s a b o u t his h e a d , a n d h e s h o n e like a saint. H e gave a s t r o n g pull, a n d a long d r a g , a n d a bully h e a v e at the c o r r e s p o n d e n t ' s h a n d . T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t s c h o o l e d in the m i n o r formulae, s a i d : " T h a n k s , old m a n . " B u t s u d denly the m a n cried: " W h a t ' s t h a t ? " H e p o i n t e d a swift finger. T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t said: " G o . " In the s h a l l o w s , f a c e d o w n w a r d , lay the oiler. His f o r e h e a d t o u c h e d s a n d that w a s periodically, b e t w e e n e a c h wave, c l e a r of the s e a . T h e c o r r e s p o n d e n t did not know all that transpired afterward. W h e n h e a c h i e v e d s a f e g r o u n d he fell, striking the s a n d with e a c h p a r t i c u l a r part of his body. It w a s a s if he h a d d r o p p e d from a roof, but the t h u d w a s grateful to h i m . It s e e m s that instantly the b e a c h w a s p o p u l a t e d with m e n with b l a n k e t s , c l o t h e s , a n d flasks, a n d w o m e n with coffee-pots a n d all the r e m e d i e s s a c r e d to their m i n d s . T h e w e l c o m e of the land to the m e n from the s e a w a s w a r m a n d g e n e r o u s , b u t a still a n d d r i p p i n g s h a p e w a s carried slowly u p the b e a c h , a n d the land's w e l c o m e for it c o u l d only b e the different a n d sinister hospitality of the grave. W h e n it c a m e night, the white w a v e s p a c e d to a n d fro in the m o o n l i g h t , a n d the wind b r o u g h t the s o u n d of the great sea's voice to the m e n o n s h o r e , a n d they felt that they c o u l d then b e interpreters.

1897,

1898

The B l u e HoteV I T h e Palace Hotel at Fort R o m p e r w a s p a i n t e d a light b l u e , a s h a d e that is o n the legs of a kind of h e r o n , c a u s i n g the bird to d e c l a r e its position a g a i n s t any b a c k g r o u n d . T h e P a l a c e H o t e l , t h e n , w a s always s c r e a m i n g a n d howling in a way that m a d e the dazzling winter l a n d s c a p e of N e b r a s k a s e e m only a gay s w a m p i s h h u s h . It s t o o d a l o n e on the prairie, a n d w h e n the s n o w w a s falling the town two h u n d r e d yards away w a s not visible. B u t w h e n the traveler alighted at the railway station he w a s obliged to p a s s the P a l a c e Hotel before he c o u l d c o m e u p o n the c o m p a n y of low c l a p - b o a r d h o u s e s which c o m p o s e d Fort R o m p e r , a n d it w a s not to be t h o u g h t that any traveler c o u l d p a s s the P a l a c e H o t e l without looking at it. Pat Scully, the proprietor, h a d proved h i m s e l f a m a s t e r of strategy w h e n h e c h o s e his p a i n t s . It is true that o n clear d a y s , w h e n the great t r a n s - c o n t i n e n t a l e x p r e s s e s , l o n g lines of swaying P u l l m a n s , swept t h r o u g h F o r t R o m p e r , p a s s e n g e r s were o v e r c o m e at the sight, a n d the cult that knows the brown-reds a n d the s u b d i v i s i o n s of the 1. First published in two installments in Collier's Weekly for November 2 6 and December 3, 1898, then in "The Monster" and Other Stories ( 1 8 9 9 ) .

T h e text here reprints that established for the University of Virginia edition of The Works of Stephen Crane, Vol. 5, Tales of Adventure ( 1 9 7 0 ) .

THE

BLUE HOTEL

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1739

dark greens of the E a s t e x p r e s s e d s h a m e , pity, horror, in a l a u g h . B u t to the citizens of this prairie town, a n d to the p e o p l e w h o w o u l d naturally s t o p there, Pat S c u l l y h a d p e r f o r m e d a feat. With this o p u l e n c e a n d s p l e n d o r , these c r e e d s , c l a s s e s , e g o t i s m s , that s t r e a m e d t h r o u g h R o m p e r o n the rails day after day, they h a d no color in c o m m o n . As if the displayed delights of s u c h a b l u e hotel were not sufficiently enticing, it w a s Scully's habit to g o every m o r n i n g a n d e v e n i n g to m e e t the leisurely trains that s t o p p e d at R o m p e r a n d work his s e d u c t i o n s u p o n any m a n that he might see wavering, g r i p s a c k in h a n d . O n e m o r n i n g , when a s n o w - c r u s t e d e n g i n e d r a g g e d its long string of freight c a r s a n d its o n e p a s s e n g e r c o a c h to the station, Scully p e r f o r m e d the marvel of c a t c h i n g three m e n . O n e w a s a shaky a n d quick-eyed S w e d e , with a great s h i n i n g c h e a p valise; o n e w a s a tall bronzed cowboy, w h o w a s on his way to a r a n c h near the D a k o t a line; o n e w a s a little silent m a n from the E a s t , w h o didn't look it, a n d didn't a n n o u n c e it. S c u l l y practically m a d e t h e m p r i s o n e r s . H e w a s s o n i m b l e a n d merry a n d kindly that e a c h probably felt it would b e the height of brutality to try to e s c a p e . T h e y t r u d g e d off over the c r e a k i n g b o a r d sidewalks in the w a k e of the e a g e r little I r i s h m a n . H e wore a heavy fur c a p s q u e e z e d tightly d o w n on his h e a d . It c a u s e d his two red e a r s to stick o u t stiffly, a s if they were m a d e of tin. At last, Scully, elaborately, with b o i s t e r o u s hospitality, c o n d u c t e d t h e m through the portals of the b l u e hotel. T h e r o o m which they e n t e r e d w a s small. It s e e m e d to be merely a p r o p e r t e m p l e for an e n o r m o u s stove, w h i c h , in the center, w a s h u m m i n g with god-like v i o l e n c e . At various points on its s u r f a c e the iron h a d b e c o m e l u m i n o u s a n d glowed yellow from the heat. B e s i d e the stove Scully's son J o h n n i e was playing H i g h - F i v e 2 with a n old farmer who h a d whiskers b o t h gray a n d sandy. T h e y were q u a r r e l i n g . Frequently the old farmer t u r n e d his f a c e toward a box of s a w d u s t — c o l o r e d brown from t o b a c c o j u i c e — t h a t w a s b e h i n d the stove, a n d s p a t with a n air of great i m p a t i e n c e a n d irritation. With a loud flourish of w o r d s Scully destroyed the g a m e of c a r d s , a n d b u s t l e d his son u p s t a i r s with part of the b a g g a g e of the n e w g u e s t s . H e h i m s e l f c o n d u c t e d t h e m to three b a s i n s of the coldest water in the world. T h e cowboy a n d the E a s t e r n e r b u r n i s h e d t h e m s e l v e s fiery red with this water, until it s e e m e d to be s o m e kind of a metal p o l i s h . T h e S w e d e , however, merely d i p p e d his fingers gingerly a n d with trepidation. It w a s n o t a b l e that t h r o u g h o u t this series of s m a l l c e r e m o n i e s the three travelers were m a d e to feel that S c u l l y w a s very b e n e v o l e n t . H e was conferring great favors u p o n t h e m . H e h a n d e d the towel from o n e to the other with an air of philanthropic i m p u l s e . Afterward they went to the first r o o m , a n d , sitting a b o u t the s t o v e , listened to Scully's officious c l a m o r at his d a u g h t e r s , w h o were p r e p a r i n g the m i d d a y meal. T h e y reflected in the s i l e n c e of e x p e r i e n c e d m e n w h o tread carefully a m i d new p e o p l e . N e v e r t h e l e s s , the old farmer, stationary, invincible in his chair near the w a r m e s t part of the stove, t u r n e d his f a c e from the s a w d u s t box frequently a n d a d d r e s s e d a glowing c o m m o n p l a c e to the s t r a n g e r s . U s u ally he w a s a n s w e r e d in short but a d e q u a t e s e n t e n c e s by either the c o w b o y or the E a s t e r n e r . T h e S w e d e said nothing. H e s e e m e d to b e o c c u p i e d in m a k i n g furtive e s t i m a t e s of e a c h m a n in the r o o m . O n e might have t h o u g h t 2. I.e., cinch, a card game.

1740

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CRANE

that h e h a d the s e n s e of silly s u s p i c i o n which c o m e s to guilt. H e r e s e m b l e d a badly frightened m a n . L a t e r , at dinner, he s p o k e a little, a d d r e s s i n g his conversation entirely to Scully. H e v o l u n t e e r e d that h e h a d c o m e from N e w York, w h e r e for ten years he h a d worked a s a tailor. T h e s e facts s e e m e d to strike Scully a s f a s c i n a t i n g , a n d afterward h e v o l u n t e e r e d that he h a d lived at R o m p e r for f o u r t e e n years. T h e S w e d e a s k e d a b o u t the c r o p s a n d the p r i c e of labor. H e s e e m e d barely to listen to Scully's e x t e n d e d replies. H i s eyes c o n t i n u e d to rove from m a n to m a n . Finally, with a l a u g h a n d a wink, h e said that s o m e of t h e s e W e s t e r n c o m m u n i t i e s were very d a n g e r o u s ; a n d after his s t a t e m e n t h e s t r a i g h t e n e d his legs u n d e r the t a b l e , tilted his h e a d , a n d l a u g h e d a g a i n , loudly. It w a s plain that the d e m o n s t r a t i o n h a d no m e a n i n g to the o t h e r s . T h e y looked at him w o n d e r i n g a n d in s i l e n c e . JJ

As the m e n trooped heavily b a c k into the front r o o m , the two little windows p r e s e n t e d views of a turmoiling s e a of s n o w . T h e h u g e a r m s of the wind were m a k i n g a t t e m p t s — m i g h t y , circular, f u t i l e — t o e m b r a c e the flakes a s they s p e d . A g a t e - p o s t like a still m a n with a b l a n c h e d f a c e s t o o d a g h a s t a m i d this profligate fury. In a hearty voice S c u l l y a n n o u n c e d the p r e s e n c e of a blizzard. T h e g u e s t s of the b l u e hotel, lighting their p i p e s , a s s e n t e d with grunts of lazy m a s c u l i n e c o n t e n t m e n t . N o island of the s e a c o u l d b e e x e m p t in the d e g r e e of this little r o o m with its h u m m i n g stove. J o h n n i e , son of Scully, in a tone which defined his o p i n i o n of his ability a s a card-player, c h a l l e n g e d the old farmer of both gray a n d s a n d y whiskers to a g a m e of H i g h - F i v e . T h e farmer a g r e e d with a c o n t e m p t u o u s a n d bitter scoff. T h e y sat c l o s e to the stove, a n d s q u a r e d their k n e e s u n d e r a wide b o a r d . T h e c o w b o y a n d the E a s t e r n e r w a t c h e d the g a m e with interest. T h e S w e d e r e m a i n e d n e a r the window, aloof, but with a c o u n t e n a n c e that s h o w e d signs of a n inexplicable excitement. T h e play of J o h n n i e a n d the gray-beard w a s s u d d e n l y e n d e d by a n o t h e r q u a r r e l . T h e old m a n a r o s e while c a s t i n g a look of h e a t e d s c o r n at his adversary. H e slowly b u t t o n e d his c o a t , a n d then s t a l k e d with f a b u l o u s dignity from the r o o m . In the d i s c r e e t s i l e n c e of all other m e n the S w e d e l a u g h e d . His l a u g h t e r r a n g s o m e h o w childish. M e n by this t i m e h a d b e g u n to look at him a s k a n c e , a s if they w i s h e d to inquire what ailed h i m . A n e w g a m e w a s f o r m e d j o c o s e l y . T h e c o w b o y volunteered to b e c o m e the p a r t n e r of J o h n n i e , a n d they all then t u r n e d to a s k the S w e d e to throw in his lot with the little E a s t e r n e r . H e a s k e d s o m e q u e s t i o n s a b o u t the g a m e , a n d learning that it wore m a n y n a m e s , a n d that he h a d played it w h e n it w a s u n d e r a n alias, he a c c e p t e d the invitation. H e strode toward the m e n nervously, a s if he e x p e c t e d to be a s s a u l t e d . Finally, s e a t e d , h e g a z e d from f a c e to f a c e a n d l a u g h e d shrilly. T h i s l a u g h w a s s o s t r a n g e that the E a s t e r n e r looked up quickly, the c o w b o y sat intent a n d with his m o u t h o p e n , a n d J o h n n i e p a u s e d , holding the c a r d s with still fingers. Afterward there w a s a short s i l e n c e . T h e n J o h n n i e said: " W e l l , let's get at it. C o m e on n o w ! " T h e y pulled their c h a i r s forward until their k n e e s were b u n c h e d u n d e r the b o a r d . T h e y b e g a n to play, a n d their interest in the g a m e c a u s e d the others to forget the m a n n e r of the S w e d e .

THE

BLUE

HOTEL

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1741

T h e cowboy w a s a board-whacker. E a c h time that he held s u p e r i o r c a r d s he w h a n g e d t h e m , o n e by o n e , with e x c e e d i n g force, d o w n u p o n the improvised table, a n d took the tricks with a glowing air of p r o w e s s a n d pride that sent thrills of indignation into the hearts of his o p p o n e n t s . A g a m e with a b o a r d - w h a c k e r in it is s u r e to b e c o m e i n t e n s e . T h e c o u n t e n a n c e s of the E a s t e r n e r a n d the S w e d e were m i s e r a b l e whenever the c o w b o y t h u n d e r e d down his a c e s a n d kings, while J o h n n i e , his eyes g l e a m i n g with joy, c h u c k l e d and chuckled. B e c a u s e of the a b s o r b i n g play n o n e c o n s i d e r e d the s t r a n g e ways of the S w e d e . T h e y p a i d strict h e e d to the g a m e . Finally, d u r i n g a lull c a u s e d by a new deal, the S w e d e s u d d e n l y a d d r e s s e d J o h n n i e : "I s u p p o s e there have b e e n a good m a n y m e n killed in this r o o m . " T h e j a w s of the o t h e r s d r o p p e d a n d they looked at h i m . " W h a t in hell are you talking a b o u t ? " a s k e d J o h n n i e . T h e S w e d e l a u g h e d again his blatant l a u g h , full of a kind of false c o u r a g e a n d d e f i a n c e . " O h , you know what I m e a n all right," h e a n s w e r e d . ' T m a liar if I d o ! " J o h n n i e p r o t e s t e d . T h e c a r d w a s halted, a n d the m e n stared at the S w e d e . J o h n n i e evidently felt that a s the son of the proprietor he s h o u l d m a k e a direct inquiry. " N o w , what might you b e drivin' at, m i s t e r ? " he a s k e d . T h e S w e d e winked at h i m . It w a s a wink full of c u n n i n g . H i s fingers s h o o k on the e d g e of the b o a r d . " O h , m a y b e you think I have b e e n to n o w h e r e s . M a y b e you think I'm a t e n d e r f o o t ? " "I don't know n o t h i n ' a b o u t y o u , " a n s w e r e d J o h n n i e , " a n d I don't give a d a m n w h e r e you've b e e n . All I got to say is that I don't know w h a t you're driving at. T h e r e hain't never b e e n nobody killed in this r o o m . " T h e cowboy, w h o h a d b e e n steadily gazing at the S w e d e , then s p o k e . " W h a t ' s wrong with you, m i s t e r ? " Apparently it s e e m e d to the S w e d e that he was formidably m e n a c e d . H e shivered a n d turned white n e a r the c o r n e r s of his m o u t h . H e sent a n a p p e a l ing g l a n c e in the direction of the little E a s t e r n e r . D u r i n g t h e s e m o m e n t s h e did not forget to wear his air of a d v a n c e d pot-valor. 3 " T h e y say they don't know what I m e a n , " he r e m a r k e d mockingly to the E a s t e r n e r . T h e latter a n s w e r e d after p r o l o n g e d a n d c a u t i o u s reflection. "I don't u n d e r s t a n d y o u , " he said, impassively. T h e S w e d e m a d e a m o v e m e n t then which a n n o u n c e d that he t h o u g h t he h a d e n c o u n t e r e d treachery from the only q u a r t e r w h e r e he h a d e x p e c t e d sympathy if not help. " O h , I s e e you are all a g a i n s t m e . I s e e " T h e cowboy w a s in a state of d e e p s t u p e f a c t i o n . " S a y , " he cried, a s h e tumbled the d e c k violently down u p o n the b o a r d . " S a y , what are you gittin' at, h e y ? " T h e S w e d e s p r a n g up with the celerity of a m a n e s c a p i n g from a s n a k e on the floor. "I don't want to fight!" he s h o u t e d . "I don't want to fight!" T h e cowboy s t r e t c h e d his long legs indolently a n d deliberately. His h a n d s were in his p o c k e t s . H e s p a t into the s a w d u s t box. "Well, w h o the hell thought you d i d ? " he inquired. T h e S w e d e b a c k e d rapidly toward a c o r n e r of the r o o m . His h a n d s were out protectingly in front of his c h e s t , but h e w a s m a k i n g a n obvious struggle to control his fright. " G e n t l e m e n , " he q u a v e r e d , "I s u p p o s e I a m g o i n g to be killed before I c a n leave this h o u s e ! I s u p p o s e I a m g o i n g to be killed b e f o r e 3. Drunken bravado.

1742

I

STEPHEN

CRANE

I c a n leave this h o u s e ! " In his eyes w a s the dying swan look. T h r o u g h the windows could be s e e n the s n o w turning b l u e in the s h a d o w of dusk. T h e wind tore at the h o u s e a n d s o m e loose thing b e a t regularly a g a i n s t the c l a p b o a r d s like a spirit tapping. A d o o r o p e n e d , a n d S c u l l y h i m s e l f e n t e r e d . H e p a u s e d in s u r p r i s e a s h e n o t e d the tragic attitude of the S w e d e . T h e n he s a i d : " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r here?" T h e S w e d e a n s w e r e d him swiftly a n d eagerly: " T h e s e m e n are g o i n g to kill me." "Kill y o u ! " e j a c u l a t e d Scully. "Kill you! W h a t a r e you talkin'?" T h e S w e d e m a d e the g e s t u r e of a martyr. Scully w h e e l e d sternly u p o n his s o n . " W h a t is this, J o h n n i e ? " T h e lad h a d grown sullen. " D a m n e d if I k n o w , " h e a n s w e r e d . "I can't m a k e no s e n s e to it." H e b e g a n to shuffle the c a r d s , fluttering t h e m t o g e t h e r with an angry s n a p . " H e says a g o o d m a n y m e n have b e e n killed in this room, or s o m e t h i n g like that. A n d h e says he's goin' to be killed here t o o . I don't know what ails h i m . H e ' s crazy, I shouldn't w o n d e r . " S c u l l y then looked for explanation to the cowboy, b u t the c o w b o y simply s h r u g g e d his s h o u l d e r s . "Kill y o u ? " said S c u l l y again to the S w e d e . "Kill you? M a n , you're off your nut." " O h , I k n o w , " b u r s t o u t the S w e d e . "I know what will happen. Y e s , I'm c r a z y — y e s . Yes, of c o u r s e , I'm c r a z y — y e s . B u t I know one thing " There w a s a sort of sweat of misery a n d terror upon his f a c e . "I know I won't get out of h e r e a l i v e . " T h e cowboy drew a d e e p b r e a t h , a s if his m i n d w a s p a s s i n g into the last s t a g e s of d i s s o l u t i o n . "Well, I'm d o g - g o n e d , " h e w h i s p e r e d to himself. Scully w h e e l e d s u d d e n l y a n d f a c e d his s o n . "You've b e e n troublin' this man! J o h n n i e ' s voice w a s loud with its b u r d e n of g r i e v a n c e . "Why, g o o d G a w d , I ain't d o n e n o t h i n ' to 'im." T h e S w e d e b r o k e in. " G e n t l e m e n , do not disturb y o u r s e l v e s . I will leave this h o u s e . I will go 'way b e c a u s e " H e a c c u s e d t h e m d r a m a t i c a l l y with his g l a n c e . " B e c a u s e I do not want to b e killed." S c u l l y w a s furious with his son. "Will you tell m e w h a t is the m a t t e r , you y o u n g diviY? W h a t ' s the m a t t e r , anyhow} S p e a k o u t ! " " B l a m e it," cried J o h n n i e in d e s p a i r , "don't I tell you I don't know. H e — he says we want to kill him, a n d that's all I know. I can't tell w h a t ails him." T h e S w e d e c o n t i n u e d to r e p e a t : " N e v e r m i n d , M r . Scully, never m i n d . I will leave this house. I will g o away, b e c a u s e I d o not wish to b e killed. Yes, of c o u r s e , I a m c r a z y — y e s . B u t I know o n e thing! I will go away. I will leave this h o u s e . N e v e r m i n d , M r . Scully, never m i n d . I will g o away." "You will not go 'way," s a i d Scully. "You will not g o 'way until I h e a r the r e a s o n of this business. If anybody h a s t r o u b l e d you I will take c a r e of h i m . T h i s is my h o u s e . You a r e u n d e r my roof, a n d I will not allow any p e a c e a b l e m a n to b e troubled h e r e . " H e c a s t a terrible eye u p o n J o h n n i e , the cowboy, a n d the E a s t e r n e r . " N e v e r m i n d , M r . Scully, never m i n d . I will go 'way. I d o not wish to be killed." T h e S w e d e m o v e d toward the door, which o p e n e d u p o n the stairs. It w a s evidently his intention to go at o n c e for his b a g g a g e .

THE BLUE HOTEL

/

1743

" N o , n o , " s h o u t e d Scully peremptorily; but the white-faced m a n slid by him a n d d i s a p p e a r e d . " N o w , " said Scully severely, "what d o e s this m e a n ? " J o h n n i e a n d the c o w b o y cried together: "Why, we didn't d o nothin' to ' i m ! " Scully's eyes were cold. " N o , " he said, "you d i d n ' t ? " J o h n n i e swore a d e e p o a t h . "Why, this is the wildest loon I ever s e e . W e didn't do n o t h i n ' at all. W e were j e s t sittin' here playin' c a r d s a n d h e " T h e father s u d d e n l y s p o k e to the E a s t e r n e r . " M r . B l a n c , " h e a s k e d , " w h a t has t h e s e boys b e e n d o i n ' ? " T h e E a s t e r n e r reflected a g a i n . "I didn't s e e anything w r o n g at all," h e said at last slowly. Scully b e g a n to howl. " B u t what d o e s it m a n e ? " H e s t a r e d ferociously at his s o n . "I have a m i n d to lather you for this, m e boy." J o h n n i e w a s frantic. "Well, what have I d o n e ? " h e b a w l e d at his father. HI "I think you are t o n g u e - t i e d , " said Scully finally to his s o n , the c o w b o y a n d the E a s t e r n e r , a n d at the e n d of this scornful s e n t e n c e h e left the r o o m . U p s t a i r s the S w e d e w a s swiftly f a s t e n i n g the s t r a p s of his great valise. O n c e his b a c k h a p p e n e d to b e half-turned toward the door, a n d h e a r i n g a noise there, h e w h e e l e d a n d s p r a n g u p , uttering a loud cry. Scully's wrinkled visage s h o w e d grimly in the light of the small l a m p he c a r r i e d . T h i s yellow effulgence, s t r e a m i n g u p w a r d , colored only his p r o m i n e n t f e a t u r e s , a n d left his eyes, for i n s t a n c e , in m y s t e r i o u s s h a d o w . H e r e s e m b l e d a m u r d e r e r . " M a n , m a n ! " h e e x c l a i m e d , " h a v e you g o n e daffy?" " O h , no! O h , n o ! " rejoined the other. " T h e r e are p e o p l e in this world w h o know pretty nearly a s m u c h a s you d o — u n d e r s t a n d ? " F o r a m o m e n t they s t o o d gazing at e a c h other. U p o n the S w e d e ' s deathly pale c h e e k s were two s p o t s brightly c r i m s o n a n d sharply e d g e d , a s if they h a d b e e n carefully p a i n t e d . Scully p l a c e d the light on the table a n d sat himself o n the e d g e of the b e d . H e s p o k e ruminatively. " B y cracky, I never h e a r d of s u c h a thing in my life. It's a c o m p l e t e m u d d l e . I can't for the soul of m e think how you ever got this idea into your h e a d . " Presently h e lifted his eyes a n d a s k e d : " A n d did you s u r e think they were g o i n g to kill y o u ? " T h e S w e d e s c a n n e d the old m a n a s if h e w i s h e d to s e e into his m i n d . "I d i d , " he said at last. H e obviously s u s p e c t e d that this a n s w e r might precipitate a n o u t b r e a k . A s h e pulled on a strap his whole a r m s h o o k , the elbow wavering like a bit of p a p e r . Scully b a n g e d his h a n d impressively o n the foot-board of the b e d . "Why, m a n , we're goin' to have a line of ilictric street-cars in this town next s p r i n g . " " 'A line of electric street-cars,' " r e p e a t e d the S w e d e stupidly. " A n d , " said Scully, "there's a n e w railroad goin' to be built d o w n from Broken Arm to h e r e . N o t to mintion the four c h u r c h e s a n d the s m a s h i n ' b i g brick s c h o o l - h o u s e . T h e n there's the big factory, too. Why, in two years Romper'll be a met-tro-po/-is." Having finished the p r e p a r a t i o n of his b a g g a g e , the S w e d e s t r a i g h t e n e d himself. " M r . S c u l l y , " h e said with s u d d e n h a r d i h o o d , " h o w m u c h d o I o w e you? "You don't owe m e anythin'," said the old m a n angrily. "Yes, I d o , " retorted the S w e d e . H e t o o k seventy-five c e n t s from his p o c k e t a n d tendered it to Scully; b u t the latter s n a p p e d his fingers in disdainful

1744

I

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CRANE

refusal. However, it h a p p e n e d that they both s t o o d gazing in a s t r a n g e fashion at three silver p i e c e s on the S w e d e ' s o p e n p a l m . "I'll not take your m o n e y , " said Scully at last. " N o t after what's b e e n goin' on h e r e . " T h e n a plan s e e m e d to strike h i m . " H e r e , " he cried, p i c k i n g u p his l a m p a n d moving toward the door. " H e r e ! C o m e with m e a m i n u t e . " " N o , " said the S w e d e in overwhelming a l a r m . " Y e s , " u r g e d the old m a n . " C o m e o n ! I w a n t you to c o m e a n d s e e a p i c t e r — j u s t a c r o s s the h a l l — i n my r o o m . " T h e S w e d e m u s t have c o n c l u d e d that his hour w a s c o m e . H i s j a w d r o p p e d a n d his teeth s h o w e d like a d e a d m a n ' s . H e ultimately followed S c u l l y a c r o s s the corridor, but he h a d the s t e p of o n e h u n g in c h a i n s . Scully flashed the light high on the wall of his own chamber. There was revealed a ridiculous p h o t o g r a p h of a little girl. S h e w a s l e a n i n g a g a i n s t a b a l u s t r a d e of g o r g e o u s d e c o r a t i o n , a n d the formidable b a n g to her hair w a s p r o m i n e n t . T h e figure w a s a s graceful a s an upright sled-stake, a n d , withal, it w a s the h u e of lead. " T h e r e , " said S c u l l y tenderly. " T h a t ' s the picter of my little girl that died. H e r n a m e w a s C a r r i e . S h e h a d the p u r t i e s t hair you ever saw! I w a s that fond of her, s h e " T u r n i n g then h e s a w that the S w e d e w a s not c o n t e m p l a t i n g the picture at all, b u t , i n s t e a d , w a s k e e p i n g keen w a t c h on the g l o o m in the rear. " L o o k , m a n ! " s h o u t e d S c u l l y heartily. " T h a t ' s the picter of my little gal that died. H e r n a m e w a s C a r r i e . A n d then here's the picter of my oldest boy, M i c h a e l . H e ' s a lawyer in L i n c o l n a n ' doin' well. I gave that boy a g r a n d e d d y c a t i o n , a n d I'm glad for it now. H e ' s a fine boy. Look at 'im now. Ain't he bold a s b l a z e s , him there in L i n c o l n , a n h o n o r e d a n ' r e s p i c t e d g i n t l e m a n . An h o n o r e d a n ' r e s p i c t e d g i n t l e m a n , " c o n c l u d e d Scully with a flourish. A n d s o saying, he s m o t e the S w e d e jovially o n the b a c k . T h e S w e d e faintly s m i l e d . " N o w , " s a i d the old m a n , "there's only o n e m o r e t h i n g . " H e d r o p p e d s u d denly to the floor a n d thrust his h e a d b e n e a t h the b e d . T h e S w e d e c o u l d hear his muffled voice. "I'd keep it u n d e r m e piller if it wasn't for that boy J o h n n i e . T h e n there's the old w o m a n W h e r e is it now? I never p u t it twice in the s a m e p l a c e . Ah, now c o m e o u t with y o u ! " Presently he b a c k e d clumsily from u n d e r the b e d , d r a g g i n g with him an old c o a t rolled into a b u n d l e . "I've f e t c h e d h i m , " h e m u t t e r e d . K n e e l i n g o n the floor he unrolled the c o a t a n d extracted from its heart a large yellowbrown whisky bottle. His first m a n e u v e r w a s to hold the bottle u p to the light. R e a s s u r e d , apparently, that nobody h a d b e e n t a m p e r i n g with it, he thrust it with a g e n e r o u s m o v e m e n t toward the S w e d e . T h e w e a k - k n e e d S w e d e w a s a b o u t to eagerly c l u t c h this e l e m e n t of s t r e n g t h , but he s u d d e n l y j e r k e d his hand away and c a s t a look of horror u p o n Scully. " D r i n k , " said the old m a n affectionately. H e h a d a r i s e n to his feet, a n d now s t o o d facing the S w e d e . T h e r e w a s a s i l e n c e . T h e n again Scully s a i d : " D r i n k ! " T h e S w e d e l a u g h e d wildly. H e g r a b b e d the bottle, p u t it to his m o u t h , a n d a s his lips c u r l e d absurdly a r o u n d the o p e n i n g a n d his throat w o r k e d , he kept his g l a n c e b u r n i n g with hatred u p o n the old m a n ' s f a c e .

THE BLUE HOTEL

/

1745

After the d e p a r t u r e of Scully the three m e n , with the c a r d b o a r d still u p o n their k n e e s , preserved for a long time an a s t o u n d e d s i l e n c e . T h e n J o h n n i e said: " T h a t ' s the d o d - d a n g e s t S w e d e I ever s e e . " " H e ain't n o S w e d e , " said the cowboy scornfully. "Well, what is h e t h e n ? " cried J o h n n i e . " W h a t is he t h e n ? " "It's my o p i n i o n , " replied the cowboy deliberately, "he's s o m e kind of a D u t c h m a n . " It was a v e n e r a b l e c u s t o m of the country to entitle a s S w e d e s all light-haired m e n w h o s p o k e with a heavy t o n g u e . In c o n s e q u e n c e the idea of the cowboy w a s not without its daring. "Yes, sir," h e r e p e a t e d . "It's my opinion this feller is s o m e kind of a D u t c h m a n . " "Well, h e says he's a S w e d e , a n y h o w , " m u t t e r e d J o h n n i e sulkily. H e t u r n e d to the E a s t e r n e r : " W h a t d o you think, Mr. B l a n c ? " " O h , I don't k n o w , " replied the E a s t e r n e r . "Well, what d o you think m a k e s him act that w a y ? " a s k e d the cowboy. "Why, he's frightened!" T h e E a s t e r n e r k n o c k e d his pipe a g a i n s t a rim of the stove. " H e ' s clear frightened o u t of his b o o t s . " " W h a t a t ? " cried J o h n n i e a n d cowboy together. T h e E a s t e r n e r reflected over his answer. " W h a t a t ? " cried the others a g a i n . " O h , I don't know, but it s e e m s to m e this m a n h a s b e e n r e a d i n g d i m e novels, a n d he thinks he's right o u t in the m i d d l e of i t — t h e s h o o t i n ' a n d stabbin' a n d all." " B u t , " said the cowboy, deeply s c a n d a l i z e d , "this ain't W y o m i n g , ner n o n e of t h e m p l a c e s . T h i s is N e b r a s k e r . " " Y e s , " a d d e d J o h n n i e , " a n ' why don't he wait till he gits out W e s t ? " T h e traveled E a s t e r n e r l a u g h e d . "It isn't different there e v e n — n o t in t h e s e days. B u t he thinks he's right in the m i d d l e of hell." J o h n n i e a n d the cowboy m u s e d long. "It's awful funny," r e m a r k e d J o h n n i e at last. " Y e s , " said the cowboy. " T h i s is a q u e e r g a m e . I h o p e we don't git s n o w e d in, b e c a u s e then we'd have to s t a n d this here m a n bein' a r o u n d with u s all the t i m e . T h a t wouldn't be no g o o d . " "I wish p o p would throw him o u t , " said J o h n n i e . Presently they heard a loud s t a m p i n g on the stairs, a c c o m p a n i e d by ringing j o k e s in the voice of old Scully, a n d laughter, evidently from the S w e d e . T h e m e n a r o u n d the stove stared vacantly at e a c h other. " G o s h , " said the cowboy. T h e door flew open, a n d old Scully, flushed a n d a n e c d o t a l , c a m e into the room. H e was j a b b e r i n g at the S w e d e , w h o followed him, l a u g h i n g bravely. It was the entry of two roysterers from a b a n q u e t ball. " C o m e n o w , " said Scully sharply to the three s e a t e d m e n , " m o v e u p a n d give u s a c h a n c e at the s t o v e . " T h e cowboy a n d the E a s t e r n e r obediently sidled their chairs to m a k e r o o m for the n e w c o m e r s . J o h n n i e , however, simply a r r a n g e d himself in a m o r e indolent attitude, a n d then r e m a i n e d motionless. " C o m e ! Git over, t h e r e , " said Scully. "Plenty of r o o m on the other side of the s t o v e , " said J o h n n i e . " D o you think we want to sit in the d r a u g h t ? " roared the father.

1746

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STEPHEN

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B u t the S w e d e here i n t e r p o s e d with a g r a n d e u r of c o n f i d e n c e . " N o , n o . L e t the boy sit where h e l i k e s , " h e cried in a bullying voice to the father. "All right! All right!" said Scully deferentially. T h e cowboy a n d the E a s t erner e x c h a n g e d g l a n c e s of wonder. T h e five chairs were f o r m e d in a c r e s c e n t a b o u t o n e side of the s t o v e . T h e S w e d e b e g a n to talk; he talked arrogantly, profanely, angrily. Johnnie, the cowboy a n d the E a s t e r n e r m a i n t a i n e d a m o r o s e s i l e n c e , while old S c u l l y appeared to be receptive a n d e a g e r , b r e a k i n g in constantly with s y m p a t h e t i c ejaculations. Finally, the S w e d e a n n o u n c e d that h e w a s thirsty. H e m o v e d in his chair, a n d said that he would go for a drink of water. "I'll git it for y o u , " cried Scully at o n c e . " N o , " s a i d the S w e d e c o n t e m p t u o u s l y . "I'll get it for myself." H e a r o s e a n d stalked with the air of a n owner off into the executive p a r t s of the hotel. As s o o n a s the S w e d e w a s out of h e a r i n g S c u l l y s p r a n g to his feet a n d w h i s p e r e d intensely to the o t h e r s . " U p s t a i r s h e t h o u g h t I w a s tryin' to p o i s o n 'im." " S a y , " said J o h n n i e , "this m a k e s m e sick. W h y don't you throw 'im out in the s n o w ? " "Why, he's all right n o w , " d e c l a r e d Scully. "It w a s only that h e w a s f r o m the E a s t a n d he t h o u g h t this w a s a tough place. That's all. H e ' s all right now." T h e cowboy looked with admiration upon the E a s t e r n e r . "You w e r e s t r a i g h t , " he said. "You were o n to that there D u t c h m a n . " " W e l l , " said J o h n n i e to his father, " h e m a y b e all right now, but I don't s e e it. O t h e r time h e w a s s c a r e d , a n d now he's too f r e s h . " Scully's s p e e c h w a s always a combination of Irish brogue and idiom, W e s t ern twang and idiom, and s c r a p s of curiously formal diction t a k e n from the story-books a n d n e w s p a p e r s . H e now hurled a s t r a n g e m a s s of language at the h e a d of his s o n . " W h a t do I k e e p ? W h a t do I k e e p ? W h a t d o I k e e p ? " h e d e m a n d e d in a voice of t h u n d e r . H e s l a p p e d his k n e e impressively, to indic a t e that he himself w a s g o i n g to m a k e reply, a n d that all s h o u l d h e e d . "I k e e p a hotel," he s h o u t e d . "A hotel, d o you m i n d ? A g u e s t u n d e r my r o o f h a s s a c r e d privileges. H e is to b e i n t i m i d a t e d by n o n e . N o t o n e w o r d shall h e h e a r that would prijudice him in favor of goin' away. I'll not have it. T h e r e ' s no p l a c e in this here town w h e r e they c a n say they iver took in a g u e s t of m i n e b e c a u s e he w a s afraid to stay h e r e . " H e w h e e l e d s u d d e n l y upon the cowboy a n d the E a s t e r n e r . " A m I r i g h t ? " "Yes, Mr. S c u l l y , " s a i d the c o w b o y , "I think you're right." "Yes, M r . S c u l l y , " said the Easterner, "I think you're right." V At six-o'clock s u p p e r , the S w e d e fizzed like a fire-wheel. H e s o m e t i m e s s e e m e d o n the point of b u r s t i n g into riotous song, and in all his m a d n e s s he w a s e n c o u r a g e d by old Scully. T h e E a s t e r n e r w a s i n c a s e d in reserve; the c o w b o y sat in w i d e - m o u t h e d a m a z e m e n t , forgetting to eat, while Johnnie wrathily demolished great plates of food. The daughters of the house w h e n they were obliged to replenish the biscuits a p p r o a c h e d a s warily a s Indians, a n d , having s u c c e e d e d in their p u r p o s e s , fled with ill-concealed trepidation.

THE BLUE HOTEL

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1747

T h e S w e d e d o m i n e e r e d the whole feast, a n d he gave it the a p p e a r a n c e of a cruel b a c c h a n a l . H e s e e m e d to have grown s u d d e n l y taller; h e g a z e d , brutally disdainful, into every f a c e . H i s voice r a n g t h r o u g h the r o o m . O n c e w h e n he j a b b e d out h a r p o o n - f a s h i o n with his fork to pinion a biscuit the w e a p o n nearly i m p a l e d the h a n d of the E a s t e r n e r which h a d b e e n s t r e t c h e d quietly out for the s a m e biscuit. After s u p p e r , a s the m e n filed toward the other r o o m , the S w e d e s m o t e Scully ruthlessly on the s h o u l d e r . "Well, old boy, that w a s a g o o d s q u a r e m e a l . " J o h n n i e looked hopefully at his father; he knew that s h o u l d e r w a s tender from a n old fall; a n d i n d e e d it a p p e a r e d for a m o m e n t a s if S c u l l y w a s going to flame o u t over the matter, but in the e n d h e s m i l e d a sickly s m i l e a n d r e m a i n e d silent. T h e others u n d e r s t o o d from his m a n n e r that he w a s a d m i t t i n g his responsibility for the S w e d e ' s new viewpoint. J o h n n i e , however, a d d r e s s e d his p a r e n t in an a s i d e . " W h y don't you l i c e n s e s o m e b o d y to kick you d o w n s t a i r s ? " Scully s c o w l e d darkly by way of reply. W h e n they were g a t h e r e d a b o u t the stove, the S w e d e insisted on a n o t h e r g a m e of H i g h - F i v e . S c u l l y gently d e p r e c a t e d the p l a n at first, but the S w e d e turned a wolfish glare u p o n h i m . T h e old m a n s u b s i d e d , a n d the S w e d e c a n v a s s e d the others. In his tone there w a s always a great threat. T h e cowboy a n d the E a s t e r n e r both r e m a r k e d indifferently that they would play. Scully said that he would presently have to g o to m e e t the 6 . 5 8 train, a n d s o the S w e d e turned m e n a c i n g l y u p o n J o h n n i e . F o r a m o m e n t their g l a n c e s c r o s s e d like b l a d e s , a n d then J o h n n i e s m i l e d a n d said: "Yes, I'll play." T h e y f o r m e d a s q u a r e with the little b o a r d on their k n e e s . T h e E a s t e r n e r a n d the S w e d e were again p a r t n e r s . A s the play went o n , it w a s n o t i c e a b l e that the cowboy w a s not b o a r d - w h a c k i n g a s u s u a l . M e a n w h i l e , Scully, n e a r the l a m p , h a d put on his s p e c t a c l e s a n d , with an a p p e a r a n c e c u r i o u s l y like an old priest, w a s r e a d i n g a n e w s p a p e r . In time h e went out to m e e t the 6 . 5 8 train, a n d , d e s p i t e his p r e c a u t i o n s , a g u s t of polar wind whirled into the r o o m a s he o p e n e d the door. B e s i d e s s c a t t e r i n g the c a r d s , it chilled the players to the marrow. T h e S w e d e c u r s e d frightfully. W h e n Scully r e t u r n e d , his e n t r a n c e disturbed a cozy a n d friendly s c e n e . T h e S w e d e again c u r s e d . B u t presently they were o n c e m o r e intent, their h e a d s bent forward a n d their h a n d s moving swiftly. T h e S w e d e h a d a d o p t e d the fashion of b o a r d whacking. Scully took u p his p a p e r a n d for a long time r e m a i n e d i m m e r s e d in m a t t e r s which were extraordinarily r e m o t e from h i m . T h e l a m p b u r n e d badly, a n d o n c e he s t o p p e d to a d j u s t the wick. T h e n e w s p a p e r a s he turned from p a g e to p a g e rustled with a slow a n d c o m f o r t a b l e s o u n d . T h e n s u d d e n l y h e h e a r d three terrible words: "You a r e c h e a t i n ' ! " S u c h s c e n e s often prove that there c a n be little of d r a m a t i c import in environment. Any r o o m c a n p r e s e n t a tragic front; any r o o m c a n be c o m i c . This little den was now h i d e o u s a s a t o r t u r e - c h a m b e r . T h e n e w f a c e s of the m e n t h e m s e l v e s h a d c h a n g e d it u p o n the instant. T h e S w e d e held a h u g e fist in front of J o h n n i e ' s f a c e , while the latter looked steadily over it into the blazing orbs of his a c c u s e r . T h e E a s t e r n e r h a d grown pallid; the cowboy's j a w h a d d r o p p e d in that expression of bovine a m a z e m e n t which w a s o n e of his important m a n n e r i s m s . After the three w o r d s , the first s o u n d in the r o o m was m a d e by Scully's p a p e r a s it floated forgotten to his feet. His s p e c t a c l e s h a d also fallen from his n o s e , b u t by a c l u t c h he h a d saved t h e m in air. H i s

1748

I

SvtVHm


hand, grasping the s p e c t a c l e s , now remained poised awkwardly and n e a r his s h o u l d e r . H e stared at the card-players. Probably the s i l e n c e w a s while a s e c o n d e l a p s e d . T h e n , if the floor h a d b e e n s u d d e n l y twitched out from u n d e r the m e n they c o u l d not have m o v e d quicker. T h e five h a d projected themselves headlong toward a c o m m o n point. It h a p p e n e d that J o h n n i e in rising to hurl himself u p o n the S w e d e h a d s t u m b l e d slightly b e c a u s e of his curiously instinctive c a r e for the c a r d s a n d the board. T h e loss of the m o m e n t allowed time for the arrival of Scully, a n d a l s o allowed the cowboy time to give the S w e d e a great p u s h w h i c h sent him s t a g g e r i n g b a c k . T h e m e n f o u n d t o n g u e together, a n d h o a r s e s h o u t s of r a g e , a p p e a l or fear b u r s t from every throat. T h e cowboy p u s h e d a n d j o s t l e d feverishly at the S w e d e , a n d the E a s t e r n e r a n d Scully c l u n g wildly to J o h n n i e ; b u t , t h r o u g h the s m o k y air, a b o v e the swaying b o d i e s of the p e a c e c o m p e l l e r s , the eyes of the two warriors ever s o u g h t e a c h other in g l a n c e s of c h a l l e n g e that were at o n c e hot a n d steely. O f c o u r s e the b o a r d h a d b e e n overturned, a n d now the w h o l e c o m p a n y of c a r d s w a s s c a t t e r e d over the floor, w h e r e the b o o t s of the m e n t r a m p l e d the fat a n d p a i n t e d kings a n d q u e e n s a s they g a z e d with their silly eyes at the war that w a s w a g i n g a b o v e t h e m . Scully's voice w a s d o m i n a t i n g the yells. " S t o p now! S t o p , I say! S t o p , now " J o h n n i e , a s h e s t r u g g l e d to b u r s t t h r o u g h the r a n k f o r m e d by Scully a n d the E a s t e r n e r , w a s crying: "Well, h e says I c h e a t e d ! H e says I c h e a t e d ! I won't allow n o m a n to say I c h e a t e d ! If he says I c h e a t e d , he's a !" T h e cowboy w a s telling the S w e d e : "Quit, now! Quit, d'ye hear " T h e s c r e a m s of the S w e d e never c e a s e d . " H e did c h e a t ! I s a w him! I s a w him " A s for the E a s t e r n e r , he w a s i m p o r t u n i n g in a voice that w a s not h e e d e d . " W a i t a m o m e n t , can't you? O h , wait a m o m e n t . W h a t ' s the g o o d of a fight over a g a m e of c a r d s ? Wait a moment " In this tumult n o c o m p l e t e s e n t e n c e s were clear. " C h e a t " — " Q u i t " — " H e s a y s " — T h e s e fragments pierced the uproar and rang o u t sharply. It w a s r e m a r k a b l e that w h e r e a s S c u l l y u n d o u b t e d l y m a d e the m o s t n o i s e , h e w a s the least h e a r d of any of the riotous b a n d . T h e n s u d d e n l y there w a s a great c e s s a t i o n . It w a s a s if e a c h m a n h a d p a u s e d for b r e a t h , a n d a l t h o u g h the r o o m w a s still lighted with the a n g e r of m e n , it c o u l d be s e e n that there w a s n o d a n g e r of i m m e d i a t e conflict, a n d at o n c e J o h n n i e , s h o u l d e r i n g his way forward, a l m o s t s u c c e e d e d in confronting the S w e d e . " W h a t did you say I c h e a t e d for? W h a t did you say I c h e a t e d for? I don't c h e a t a n d I won't let no m a n say I d o ! " T h e S w e d e s a i d : "I s a w you! I s a w y o u ! " " W e l l , " cried J o h n n i e , "I'll hght any man what says I c h e a t ! " " N o , you won't," said the c o w b o y . " N o t h e r e . " " A h , be still, can't y o u ? " said Scully, c o m i n g b e t w e e n t h e m . T h e quiet w a s sufficient to allow the Easterner's voice to be h e a r d . H e w a s r e p e a t i n g : " O h , wait a m o m e n t , can't you? W h a t ' s the g o o d of a fight over a g a m e of c a r d s ? W a i t a m o m e n t . " J o h n n i e , his red f a c e a p p e a r i n g a b o v e his father's s h o u l d e r , hailed the S w e d e a g a i n . " D i d you say I c h e a t e d ? "

THE

BLUE HOTEL

/

1749

T h e S w e d e s h o w e d his teeth. " Y e s . " " T h e n , " said J o h n n i e , "we m u s t fight." "Yes, fight," roared the S w e d e . H e w a s like a d e m o n i a c . "Yes, fight! I'll show you w h a t kind of a m a n I a m ! I'll show you w h o you w a n t to fight! M a y b e you think I can't fight! M a y b e you think I can't! I'll s h o w you, you s k i n , 4 you c a r d - s h a r p ! Yes, you c h e a t e d ! You c h e a t e d ! You c h e a t e d ! " "Well, let's git at it, t h e n , m i s t e r , " said J o h n n i e coolly. T h e cowboy's brow w a s b e a d e d with sweat from his efforts in intercepting all sorts of raids. H e turned in d e s p a i r to Scully. " W h a t are you goin' to do now? A c h a n g e h a d c o m e over the C e l t i c visage of the old m a n . H e now s e e m e d all e a g e r n e s s ; his eyes glowed. "We'll let t h e m fight," he a n s w e r e d stalwartly. "I can't p u t u p with it any longer. I've s t o o d this d a m n e d S w e d e till I'm sick. We'll let t h e m fight." VI T h e m e n p r e p a r e d to go o u t of d o o r s . T h e E a s t e r n e r w a s s o nervous that he h a d great difficulty in getting his a r m s into the sleeves of his n e w leathercoat. As the c o w b o y drew his fur-cap d o w n over his ears his h a n d s trembled. In fact, J o h n n i e a n d old Scully were the only o n e s w h o displayed n o agitation. T h e s e preliminaries were c o n d u c t e d without w o r d s . Scully threw o p e n the door. "Well, c o m e o n , " h e said. Instantly a terrific wind c a u s e d the flame of the l a m p to struggle at its wick, while a puff of black s m o k e s p r a n g from the chimney-top. T h e stove w a s in mid-current of the blast, a n d its voice swelled to e q u a l the roar of the s t o r m . S o m e of the scarred and b e d a b b l e d c a r d s were c a u g h t u p from the floor a n d d a s h e d helplessly against the further wall. T h e m e n lowered their h e a d s a n d p l u n g e d into the t e m p e s t a s into a s e a . N o s n o w w a s falling, but great whirls a n d c l o u d s of flakes, s w e p t u p from the g r o u n d by the frantic w i n d s , were s t r e a m i n g s o u t h w a r d with the s p e e d of bullets. T h e covered land w a s b l u e with the s h e e n of a n unearthly satin, a n d there was no other h u e save where at the low b l a c k railway s t a t i o n — which s e e m e d incredibly d i s t a n t — o n e light g l e a m e d like a tiny j e w e l . A s the men floundered into a thigh-deep drift, it w a s known that the S w e d e w a s bawling out s o m e t h i n g . Scully went to him, put a h a n d on his s h o u l d e r a n d projected a n ear. " W h a t ' s that you s a y ? " h e s h o u t e d . "I s a y , " bawled the S w e d e a g a i n , "I won't s t a n d m u c h s h o w a g a i n s t this g a n g . I know you'll all pitch on m e . " Scully s m o t e him reproachfully o n the a r m . " T u t , m a n , " h e yelled. T h e wind tore the words from Scully's lips a n d s c a t t e r e d t h e m far a-lee. "You are all a g a n g of " b o o m e d the S w e d e , but the s t o r m a l s o seized the r e m a i n d e r of this s e n t e n c e . I m m e d i a t e l y turning their b a c k s u p o n the wind, the m e n h a d s w u n g a r o u n d a c o r n e r to the sheltered side of the hotel. It w a s the function of the little h o u s e to preserve h e r e , a m i d this great devastation of s n o w , a n irregular V - s h a p e of heavily-incrusted g r a s s , which crackled b e n e a t h the feet. O n e 4. Cheat (colloquial).

1750

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STEPHEN

CRANE

c o u l d i m a g i n e the great drifts piled a g a i n s t the windward side. W h e n the party r e a c h e d the c o m p a r a t i v e p e a c e of this spot it w a s f o u n d that the S w e d e w a s still bellowing. " O h , I know what kind of a thing this is! I know you'll all p i t c h o n m e . I can't lick you all!" Scully turned upon him p a n t h e r - f a s h i o n . "You'll not have to whip all of u s . You'll have to whip my son J o h n n i e . An' the m a n what troubles you d u r i n ' that time will have m e to dale with." T h e a r r a n g e m e n t s were swiftly m a d e . T h e two m e n f a c e d e a c h other, o b e dient to the harsh c o m m a n d s of Scully, w h o s e f a c e , in the subtly l u m i n o u s g l o o m , c o u l d be s e e n set in the a u s t e r e i m p e r s o n a l lines that a r e p i c t u r e d on the c o u n t e n a n c e s of the R o m a n veterans. T h e E a s t e r n e r ' s teeth were c h a t t e r i n g , a n d he was h o p p i n g up a n d down like a m e c h a n i c a l toy. T h e cowboy s t o o d rock-like. T h e c o n t e s t a n t s had not stripped off any clothing. E a c h was in his ordinary attire. T h e i r fists were u p , a n d they eyed e a c h other in a c a l m that h a d the e l e m e n t s of leonine cruelty in it. D u r i n g this p a u s e , the E a s t e r n e r ' s m i n d , like a film, took l a s t i n g i m p r e s s i o n s of three m e n — t h e iron-nerved m a s t e r of the c e r e m o n y ; the S w e d e , p a l e , m o t i o n l e s s , terrible; a n d J o h n n i e , s e r e n e yet f e r o c i o u s , brutish yet heroic. T h e entire p r e l u d e h a d in it a tragedy greater t h a n the tragedy of action, a n d this a s p e c t w a s a c c e n t u a t e d by the l o n g mellow cry of the blizzard, a s it s p e d the t u m b l i n g a n d wailing flakes into the b l a c k a b y s s o f the south. " N o w ! " said Scully. T h e two c o m b a t a n t s l e a p e d forward a n d c r a s h e d together like b u l l o c k s . T h e r e w a s heard the c u s h i o n e d s o u n d of blows, a n d a c u r s e s q u e e z i n g o u t from b e t w e e n the tight teeth of o n e . A s for the s p e c t a t o r s , the E a s t e r n e r ' s p e n t - u p b r e a t h exploded from him with a p o p of relief, a b s o l u t e relief from the tension of the p r e l i m i n a r i e s . T h e cowboy b o u n d e d into the air with a yowl. S c u l l y w a s i m m o v a b l e a s from s u p r e m e a m a z e m e n t a n d fear at the fury of the fight which he h i m s e l f h a d permitted and arranged. F o r a time the e n c o u n t e r in the d a r k n e s s w a s s u c h a perplexity of flying a r m s that it p r e s e n t e d no m o r e detail than w o u l d a swiftly-revolving w h e e l . O c c a s i o n a l l y a f a c e , a s if illumined by a flash of light, would shine out, ghastly a n d m a r k e d with pink s p o t s . A m o m e n t later, the m e n might have b e e n known a s s h a d o w s , if it were not for the involuntary u t t e r a n c e of o a t h s that c a m e from t h e m in w h i s p e r s . S u d d e n l y a h o l o c a u s t of warlike desire c a u g h t the c o w b o y , a n d he bolted forward with the s p e e d of a b r o n c h o . " G o it, J o h n n i e ; go it! Kill him! Kill him!" Scully c o n f r o n t e d him. " K a p e b a c k , " he said; a n d by his g l a n c e the cowboy c o u l d tell that this m a n w a s J o h n n i e ' s father. T o the E a s t e r n e r there w a s a m o n o t o n y of u n c h a n g e a b l e fighting that w a s an a b o m i n a t i o n . T h i s c o n f u s e d mingling w a s eternal to his s e n s e , which w a s c o n c e n t r a t e d in a longing for the e n d , the p r i c e l e s s e n d . O n c e the fighters l u r c h e d near him, a n d a s he s c r a m b l e d hastily b a c k w a r d , he h e a r d t h e m b r e a t h e like m e n on the rack.

THE

BLUE

HOTEL

/

1751

"Kill h i m , J o h n n i e ! Kill him! Kill h i m ! " T h e cowboy's f a c e w a s c o n t o r t e d like o n e of t h o s e a g o n y - m a s k s in m u s e u m s . " K e e p still," said Scully icily. T h e n there w a s a s u d d e n loud grunt, i n c o m p l e t e , c u t - s h o r t , a n d J o h n n i e ' s body s w u n g away from the S w e d e a n d fell with s i c k e n i n g h e a v i n e s s to the g r a s s . T h e cowboy w a s barely in time to prevent the m a d S w e d e from flinging himself u p o n his p r o n e adversary. " N o , you d o n ' t , " s a i d the c o w b o y , interp o s i n g an a r m . "Wait a s e c o n d . " Scully w a s at his son's side. " J o h n n i e ! J o h n n i e , m e b o y ? " H i s voice had a quality of m e l a n c h o l y t e n d e r n e s s . " J o h n n i e ? C a n you go o n with i t ? " H e looked anxiously down into the bloody pulpy f a c e of his s o n . T h e r e w a s a m o m e n t of s i l e n c e , a n d then J o h n n i e a n s w e r e d in his ordinary voice: "Yes, I — i t — y e s . " A s s i s t e d by his father he struggled to his feet. "Wait a bit now till you git your w i n d , " said the old m a n . A few p a c e s away the cowboy was lecturing the S w e d e . " N o , you don't! Wait a second!" T h e E a s t e r n e r w a s p l u c k i n g at Scully's sleeve. " O h , this is e n o u g h , " he p l e a d e d . " T h i s is e n o u g h ! Let it go a s it s t a n d s . T h i s is e n o u g h ! " " B i l l , " said Scully, "git out of the r o a d . " T h e cowboy s t e p p e d a s i d e . " N o w . " T h e c o m b a t a n t s were a c t u a t e d by a new c a u t i o n a s they a d v a n c e d toward collision. T h e y glared at e a c h other, a n d then the S w e d e a i m e d a lightning blow that carried with it his entire weight. J o h n n i e w a s evidently half-stupid from w e a k n e s s , but he m i r a c u l o u s l y d o d g e d , a n d his fist sent the overb a l a n c e d S w e d e sprawling. T h e cowboy, Scully a n d the E a s t e r n e r burst into a c h e e r that w a s like a c h o r u s of t r i u m p h a n t soldiery, b u t before its c o n c l u s i o n the S w e d e h a d scuffled agilely to his feet a n d c o m e in berserk a b a n d o n at his foe. T h e r e w a s a n o t h e r perplexity of flying a r m s , a n d J o h n n i e ' s body again s w u n g away a n d fell, even a s a b u n d l e might fall from a roof. T h e S w e d e instantly s t a g g e r e d to a little wind-waved tree a n d leaned u p o n it, b r e a t h i n g like an e n g i n e , while his s a v a g e a n d flame-lit eyes r o a m e d from face to f a c e a s the m e n b e n t over J o h n n i e . T h e r e w a s a s p l e n d o r of isolation in his situation at this time which the E a s t e r n e r felt o n c e w h e n , lifting his eyes from the m a n on the g r o u n d , he b e h e l d that m y s t e r i o u s a n d lonely figure, waiting. "Are you any good yet, J o h n n i e ? " a s k e d Scully in a broken voice. T h e son g a s p e d a n d o p e n e d his eyes languidly. After a m o m e n t he a n s w e r e d : " N o — I a i n ' t — a n y g o o d — a n y — m o r e . " T h e n , from s h a m e a n d bodily ill, he b e g a n to w e e p , the tears furrowing down t h r o u g h the bloodstains on his f a c e . " H e w a s t o o — t o o — t o o heavy for m e . " Scully s t r a i g h t e n e d a n d a d d r e s s e d the waiting figure. " S t r a n g e r , " he said, evenly, "it's all up with o u r s i d e . " T h e n his voice c h a n g e d into that vibrant h u s k i n e s s which is c o m m o n l y the tone of the m o s t s i m p l e a n d deadly a n n o u n c e m e n t s . " J o h n n i e is w h i p p e d . " W i t h o u t replying, the victor moved off on the route to the front door of the hotel. T h e cowboy was f o r m u l a t i n g new a n d u n s p e l l a b l e b l a s p h e m i e s . T h e E a s t erner w a s startled to find that they were o u t in a wind that s e e m e d to c o m e direct from the s h a d o w e d arctic floes. H e h e a r d again the wail of the s n o w

1752

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CRANE

a s it w a s flung to its grave in the s o u t h . H e k n e w now that all this time the cold h a d b e e n sinking into him d e e p e r a n d d e e p e r , a n d he w o n d e r e d that h e h a d not p e r i s h e d . H e felt indifferent to the condition of the v a n q u i s h e d man. " J o h n n i e , c a n you w a l k ? " a s k e d Scully. " D i d I h u r t — h u r t him a n y ? " a s k e d the s o n . " C a n you walk, boy? C a n you w a l k ? " J o h n n i e ' s voice w a s s u d d e n l y strong. T h e r e w a s a r o b u s t i m p a t i e n c e in it. "I a s k e d you w h e t h e r I hurt him a n y ! " "Yes, yes, J o h n n i e , " a n s w e r e d the c o w b o y consolingly; "he's hurt a g o o d deal." T h e y r a i s e d him from the g r o u n d , a n d a s s o o n a s h e w a s o n his feet h e went tottering off, rebuffing all a t t e m p t s at a s s i s t a n c e . W h e n the party r o u n d e d the c o r n e r they were fairly blinded by the pelting of the s n o w . It b u r n e d their f a c e s like fire. T h e c o w b o y carried J o h n n i e t h r o u g h the drift to the door. As they entered s o m e c a r d s again r o s e from the floor a n d b e a t a g a i n s t the wall. T h e E a s t e r n e r r u s h e d to the stove. H e w a s s o p r o f o u n d l y chilled that h e a l m o s t d a r e d to e m b r a c e the glowing iron. T h e S w e d e w a s not in the r o o m . J o h n n i e s a n k into a chair, a n d folding his a r m s o n his k n e e s , b u r i e d his f a c e in t h e m . Scully, w a r m i n g o n e foot a n d then the other at a rim of the stove, m u t t e r e d to h i m s e l f with C e l t i c m o u r n f u l n e s s . T h e c o w b o y h a d r e m o v e d his fur-cap, a n d with a dazed a n d rueful air h e w a s now r u n n i n g o n e h a n d through his t o u s l e d locks. F r o m o v e r h e a d they c o u l d hear the c r e a k i n g of b o a r d s , a s the S w e d e t r a m p e d here a n d there in his r o o m . T h e s a d q u i e t w a s broken by the s u d d e n flinging o p e n of a d o o r that led toward the kitchen. It w a s instantly followed by a n inrush of w o m e n . T h e y precipitated t h e m s e l v e s u p o n J o h n n i e a m i d a c h o r u s of l a m e n t a t i o n . B e f o r e they carried their prey off to the k i t c h e n , there to b e b a t h e d a n d h a r a n g u e d with that mixture of s y m p a t h y a n d a b u s e which is a feat of their sex, the m o t h e r s t r a i g h t e n e d herself a n d fixed old S c u l l y with a n eye of stern r e p r o a c h . " S h a m e b e u p o n y o u , Patrick S c u l l y ! " s h e cried. "Your own s o n , too. S h a m e b e u p o n y o u ! " " T h e r e , now! B e quiet, n o w ! " said the old m a n weakly. " S h a m e b e u p o n you, Patrick S c u l l y ! " T h e girls, rallying to this s l o g a n , sniffed disdainfully in the direction of t h o s e t r e m b l i n g a c c o m p l i c e s , the cowboy a n d the E a s t e r n e r . Presently they b o r e J o h n n i e away, a n d left the three m e n to d i s m a l reflection.

"I'd like to fight this here D u t c h m a n myself," said the c o w b o y , b r e a k i n g a long s i l e n c e . Scully w a g g e d his h e a d sadly. " N o , that wouldn't d o . It wouldn't b e right. It wouldn't be right." "Well, why wouldn't i t ? " a r g u e d the cowboy. "I don't s e e no h a r m in it." " N o , " a n s w e r e d S c u l l y with m o u r n f u l h e r o i s m . "It wouldn't b e right. It w a s J o h n n i e ' s fight, a n d now we m u s t n ' t whip the m a n j u s t b e c a u s e he w h i p p e d Johnnie."

THE BLUE

HOTEL

/

1753

"Yes, that's true e n o u g h , " said the cowboy; " b u t — h e better not get fresh with m e , b e c a u s e I c o u l d n ' t s t a n d no m o r e of it." "You'll not say a word to h i m , " c o m m a n d e d Scully, a n d even then they h e a r d the tread of the S w e d e o n the stairs. His e n t r a n c e w a s m a d e theatric. H e swept the door b a c k with a b a n g a n d s w a g g e r e d to the m i d d l e of the r o o m . N o o n e looked at him. " W e l l , " h e cried, insolently, at Scully. "I s'pose you'll tell m e now how m u c h I owe y o u ? " T h e old m a n r e m a i n e d stolid. "You don't owe m e n o t h i n ' . " " H u h ! " cried the S w e d e , " h u h ! Don't o w e 'im n o t h i n ' . " T h e cowboy a d d r e s s e d the S w e d e . " S t r a n g e r , I don't s e e h o w you c o m e to b e s o gay a r o u n d h e r e . " O l d Scully w a s instantly alert. " S t o p ! " he s h o u t e d , h o l d i n g his h a n d forth, fingers u p w a r d . "Bill, you s h u t u p ! " T h e cowboy s p a t carelessly into the s a w d u s t box. "I didn't say a w o r d , did I ? " he a s k e d . " M r . S c u l l y , " c a l l e d the S w e d e , " h o w m u c h do I o w e y o u ? " It w a s s e e n that h e w a s attired for d e p a r t u r e , a n d that h e h a d his valise in his h a n d . "You don't owe m e nothin'," r e p e a t e d S c u l l y in his s a m e i m p e r t u r b a b l e way. " H u h ! " said the S w e d e . "I g u e s s you're right. I g u e s s if it w a s any way at all, you'd owe m e s o m e t h i n ' . T h a t ' s what I g u e s s . " H e t u r n e d to the cowboy. " 'Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!' " he m i m i c k e d , a n d then guffawed victoriously. " 'Kill him!' " H e w a s c o n v u l s e d with ironical h u m o r . B u t he might have b e e n j e e r i n g the d e a d . T h e three m e n were i m m o v a b l e a n d silent, staring with glassy eyes at the stove. T h e S w e d e o p e n e d the d o o r a n d p a s s e d into the s t o r m , giving o n e derisive g l a n c e b a c k w a r d at the still g r o u p . As s o o n a s the d o o r w a s c l o s e d , Scully a n d the cowboy l e a p e d to their feet a n d b e g a n to c u r s e . T h e y t r a m p l e d to a n d fro, waving their a r m s a n d s m a s h ing into the air with their fists. " O h , but that w a s a hard m i n u t e ! " wailed Scully. " T h a t w a s a hard m i n u t e ! H i m there leerin' a n d scoffin'! O n e b a n g at his n o s e w a s worth forty dollars to m e that m i n u t e ! H o w did you s t a n d it, Bill?" " H o w did I s t a n d i t ? " cried the cowboy in a quivering v o i c e . " H o w did I s t a n d it? O h ! " T h e old m a n b u r s t into s u d d e n b r o g u e . "I'd loike to take that S w a d e , " he wailed, " a n d hould 'im down o n a s h t o n e flure a n d b a t e 'im to a jelly wid a shtick!" T h e cowboy g r o a n e d in sympathy. "I'd like to git him by the n e c k a n d h a - a m m e r h i m " — h e brought his h a n d d o w n on a chair with a n o i s e like a p i s t o l - s h o t — " h a m m e r that there D u t c h m a n until h e c o u l d n ' t tell himself from a d e a d c o y o t e ! " "I'd b a t e 'im until h e " "I'd s h o w him s o m e things " A n d then together they raised a y e a r n i n g fanatic cry. " O h - o - o h ! if w e only could " "Yes!" "Yes!" "And then I'd " "O-o-oh!"

1754

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STEPHEN

CRANE

T h e S w e d e , tightly gripping his valise, t a c k e d a c r o s s the face of the s t o r m a s if he carried sails. H e w a s following a line of little n a k e d g a s p i n g t r e e s , which he knew m u s t m a r k the way of the road. His f a c e , fresh from the p o u n d i n g of J o h n n i e ' s fists, felt m o r e p l e a s u r e t h a n pain in the wind a n d the driving snow. A n u m b e r of s q u a r e s h a p e s l o o m e d u p o n him finally, a n d he knew t h e m as the h o u s e s of the m a i n body of the town. H e f o u n d a street a n d m a d e travel a l o n g it, l e a n i n g heavily u p o n the wind whenever, at a corner, a terrific blast c a u g h t h i m . H e might have b e e n in a d e s e r t e d village. W e p i c t u r e the world a s thick with c o n q u e r i n g a n d elate h u m a n i t y , b u t h e r e , with the b u g l e s of the t e m p e s t pealing, it w a s hard to i m a g i n e a p e o p l e d e a r t h . O n e viewed the e x i s t e n c e of m a n then a s a marvel, a n d c o n c e d e d a g l a m o u r of w o n d e r to t h e s e lice which were c a u s e d to cling to a whirling, fire-smote, ice-locked, d i s e a s e - s t r i c k e n , s p a c e - l o s t b u l b . T h e c o n c e i t of m a n w a s explained by this s t o r m to b e the very e n g i n e of life. O n e w a s a c o x c o m b not to die in it. H o w e v e r , the S w e d e found a saloon. In front of it a n i n d o m i t a b l e red light w a s b u r n i n g , a n d the snow-flakes were m a d e blood-color a s they flew t h r o u g h the c i r c u m s c r i b e d territory of the l a m p ' s shining. T h e S w e d e p u s h e d o p e n the d o o r of the s a l o o n a n d e n t e r e d . A s a n d e d e x p a n s e w a s before h i m , a n d at the e n d of it four m e n sat a b o u t a table drinking. D o w n o n e side of the r o o m e x t e n d e d a radiant bar, a n d its g u a r d i a n w a s l e a n i n g u p o n his elbows listening to the talk of the m e n at the table. T h e S w e d e d r o p p e d his valise u p o n the floor, a n d , smiling fraternally u p o n the b a r k e e p e r , s a i d : " G i m m e s o m e whisky, will y o u ? " T h e m a n p l a c e d a bottle, a whisky-glass, a n d a g l a s s of ice-thick water u p o n the bar. T h e S w e d e p o u r e d himself a n a b n o r m a l portion of whisky a n d d r a n k it in three g u l p s . "Pretty b a d n i g h t , " r e m a r k e d the b a r t e n d e r indifferently. H e w a s m a k i n g the p r e t e n s i o n of b l i n d n e s s , which is usually a distinction of his c l a s s ; b u t it c o u l d have b e e n s e e n that h e w a s furtively studying the half-erased blood-stains o n the f a c e of the S w e d e . " B a d night," he said a g a i n . " O h , it's g o o d e n o u g h for m e , " replied the S w e d e , hardily, a s h e p o u r e d himself m o r e whisky. T h e b a r k e e p e r took his coin a n d m a n e u v e r e d it t h r o u g h its r e c e p t i o n by the highly-nickeled c a s h - m a c h i n e . A bell rang; a c a r d labeled " 2 0 cts." had appeared. " N o , " c o n t i n u e d the S w e d e , "this isn't too bad weather. It's g o o d e n o u g h for m e . " " S o ? " m u r m u r e d the b a r k e e p e r languidly. T h e c o p i o u s d r a m s m a d e the S w e d e ' s eyes swim, a n d he b r e a t h e d a trifle heavier. "Yes, I like this weather. I like it. It suits m e . " It w a s apparently his d e s i g n to impart a d e e p s i g n i f i c a n c e to t h e s e words. " S o ? " m u r m u r e d the b a r t e n d e r a g a i n . H e t u r n e d to g a z e dreamily at the scroll-like birds a n d bird-like scrolls which had b e e n d r a w n with s o a p u p o n the mirrors b a c k of the bar. "Well, I g u e s s I'll take a n o t h e r drink," said the S w e d e presently. " H a v e something?" " N o , t h a n k s ; I'm not drinkin'," a n s w e r e d the bartender. Afterward he a s k e d : " H o w did you hurt your f a c e ? "

THE

BLUE HOTEL

/

1755

T h e S w e d e i m m e d i a t e l y b e g a n to b o a s t loudly. "Why, in a fight. I t h u m p e d the soul out of a m a n down here at Scully's h o t e l . " T h e interest of the four m e n at the table w a s at last a r o u s e d . " W h o w a s i t ? " said o n e . " J o h n n i e S c u l l y , " b l u s t e r e d the S w e d e . " S o n of the m a n w h a t r u n s it. H e will b e pretty n e a r d e a d for s o m e w e e k s , I c a n tell you. I m a d e a n i c e thing of him, I did. H e c o u l d n ' t get u p . T h e y carried him in the h o u s e . H a v e a drink?" Instantly the m e n in s o m e subtle way i n c a s e d t h e m s e l v e s in reserve. " N o , t h a n k s , " said o n e . T h e g r o u p was of c u r i o u s f o r m a t i o n . T w o were p r o m i n e n t local b u s i n e s s m e n ; o n e w a s the district-attorney; a n d o n e w a s a p r o f e s s i o n a l g a m b l e r of the kind known a s " s q u a r e . " B u t a scrutiny of the g r o u p w o u l d not have e n a b l e d a n observer to pick the g a m b l e r from the m e n of m o r e r e p u t a b l e p u r s u i t s . H e w a s , in fact, a m a n so d e l i c a t e in m a n n e r , w h e n a m o n g p e o p l e of fair c l a s s , a n d s o j u d i c i o u s in his c h o i c e of victims, that in the strictly m a s c u l i n e part of the town's life h e h a d c o m e to be explicitly trusted a n d a d m i r e d . P e o p l e called him a t h o r o u g h b r e d . T h e fear a n d c o n t e m p t with which his craft w a s regarded w a s u n d o u b t e d l y the r e a s o n that his quiet dignity s h o n e c o n s p i c u o u s a b o v e the quiet dignity of m e n w h o might be merely hatters, billiard-markers'* or grocery clerks. B e y o n d a n o c c a sional unwary traveler, w h o c a m e by rail, this g a m b l e r w a s s u p p o s e d to prey solely u p o n reckless a n d senile f a r m e r s , w h o , w h e n flush with g o o d c r o p s , drove into town in all the pride a n d c o n f i d e n c e of a n a b s o l u t e l y invulnerable stupidity. H e a r i n g at times in c i r c u i t o u s fashion of the d e s p o i l m e n t of s u c h a farmer, the i m p o r t a n t m e n of R o m p e r invariably l a u g h e d in c o n t e m p t of the victim, a n d if they thought of the wolf at all, it w a s a kind of pride at the k n o w l e d g e that h e w o u l d never d a r e think of attacking their w i s d o m a n d c o u r a g e . B e s i d e s , it w a s p o p u l a r that this g a m b l e r h a d a real wife a n d two real children in a neat c o t t a g e in a s u b u r b , w h e r e he led an exemplary h o m e life, a n d w h e n any o n e even s u g g e s t e d a d i s c r e p a n c y in his c h a r a c t e r , the crowd immediately vociferated d e s c r i p t i o n s of this virtuous family circle. T h e n m e n w h o led exemplary h o m e lives, a n d m e n w h o did not lead exemplary h o m e lives, all s u b s i d e d in a b u n c h , r e m a r k i n g that there w a s n o t h i n g m o r e to be s a i d . However, w h e n a restriction w a s p l a c e d upon h i m — a s , for i n s t a n c e , when a strong c l i q u e of m e m b e r s of the new Pollywog C l u b refused to permit him, even a s a spectator, to a p p e a r in the r o o m s of the o r g a n i z a t i o n — t h e c a n d o r a n d g e n t l e n e s s with which he a c c e p t e d the j u d g m e n t d i s a r m e d m a n y of his foes a n d m a d e his friends m o r e desperately p a r t i s a n . H e invariably disting u i s h e d b e t w e e n h i m s e l f a n d a r e s p e c t a b l e R o m p e r m a n s o quickly a n d frankly that his m a n n e r actually a p p e a r e d to be a c o n t i n u a l b r o a d c a s t c o m pliment. A n d o n e m u s t not forget to d e c l a r e the f u n d a m e n t a l fact of his entire position in R o m p e r . It is irrefutable that in all affairs o u t s i d e of his b u s i n e s s , in all m a t t e r s that o c c u r eternally a n d c o m m o n l y b e t w e e n m a n a n d m a n , this thieving card-player was s o g e n e r o u s , so j u s t , s o moral, that, in a c o n t e s t , he c o u l d have put to flight the c o n s c i e n c e s of nine-tenths of the citizens of Romper. 5. Storekeepers at billiards matches.

1756

/

STEPHEN

CRANE

And s o it h a p p e n e d that h e w a s s e a t e d in this s a l o o n with the two p r o m inent local m e r c h a n t s a n d the district-attorney. T h e S w e d e c o n t i n u e d to drink raw whisky, m e a n w h i l e b a b b l i n g at the b a r k e e p e r a n d trying to i n d u c e him to i n d u l g e in p o t a t i o n s . " C o m e o n . H a v e a drink. C o m e on. W h a t — n o ? W e l l , have a little o n e then. By g a w d , I've w h i p p e d a m a n to-night, a n d I want to c e l e b r a t e . I w h i p p e d h i m g o o d , too. G e n t l e m e n , " the S w e d e cried to the m e n at the t a b l e , " h a v e a d r i n k ? " " S s h ! " s a i d the b a r k e e p e r . T h e g r o u p at the t a b l e , a l t h o u g h furtively attentive, h a d b e e n p r e t e n d i n g to be d e e p in talk, but now a m a n lifted his eyes toward the S w e d e a n d s a i d shortly: " T h a n k s . W e don't w a n t any m o r e . " At this reply the S w e d e ruffled o u t his c h e s t like a rooster. " W e l l , " h e e x p l o d e d , "it s e e m s I can't get anybody to drink with m e in this town. S e e m s so, don't it? W e l l ! " " S s h ! " said the b a r k e e p e r . " S a y , " s n a r l e d the S w e d e , "don't you try to s h u t m e u p . I won't have it. I'm a g e n t l e m a n , a n d I want p e o p l e to drink with m e . A n d I want 'em to drink with m e now. Now—do you u n d e r s t a n d ? " H e r a p p e d the b a r with his knuckles. Years of e x p e r i e n c e h a d c a l l o u s e d the b a r t e n d e r . H e merely grew sulky. "I h e a r y o u , " he a n s w e r e d . " W e l l , " cried the S w e d e , "listen hard then. S e e t h o s e m e n over there? Well, they're g o i n g to drink with m e , a n d don't you forget it. N o w you w a t c h . " " H i ! " yelled the b a r k e e p e r , "this won't d o ! " " W h y won't i t ? " d e m a n d e d the S w e d e . H e stalked over to the t a b l e , a n d by c h a n c e laid his h a n d u p o n the s h o u l d e r of the g a m b l e r . " H o w a b o u t t h i s ? " h e a s k e d , wrathfully. "I a s k e d you to drink with m e . " T h e g a m b l e r simply twisted his h e a d a n d s p o k e over his s h o u l d e r . " M y friend, I don't know y o u . " " O h , hell!" a n s w e r e d the S w e d e , " c o m e a n d have a drink." " N o w , my b o y , " a d v i s e d the g a m b l e r kindly, " t a k e your h a n d off my shoulder a n d g o 'way a n d m i n d your own b u s i n e s s . " H e w a s a little slim m a n , a n d it s e e m e d s t r a n g e to hear him u s e this tone of heroic p a t r o n a g e to the burly S w e d e . T h e other m e n at the table s a i d nothing. " W h a t ? You won't drink with m e , you little d u d e ! I'll m a k e you then! I'll m a k e y o u ! " T h e S w e d e h a d g r a s p e d the g a m b l e r frenziedly at the throat, a n d w a s d r a g g i n g him from his chair. T h e other m e n s p r a n g u p . T h e b a r k e e p e r d a s h e d a r o u n d the c o r n e r of his bar. T h e r e w a s a great t u m u l t , a n d then w a s s e e n a long b l a d e in the h a n d of the g a m b l e r . It shot forward, a n d a h u m a n body, this citadel of virtue, w i s d o m , p o w e r , w a s p i e r c e d a s easily a s if it h a d b e e n a m e l o n . T h e S w e d e fell with a cry of s u p r e m e a s t o n i s h m e n t . T h e p r o m i n e n t m e r c h a n t s a n d the district-attorney m u s t have at o n c e t u m b l e d out of the p l a c e b a c k w a r d . T h e b a r t e n d e r f o u n d h i m s e l f h a n g i n g limply to the a r m of a c h a i r a n d gazing into the eyes of a m u r d e r e r . " H e n r y , " said the latter, a s h e w i p e d his knife o n o n e of the towels that h u n g b e n e a t h the bar-rail, "you tell 'em w h e r e to find m e . I'll b e h o m e , waiting for e m . " T h e n he v a n i s h e d . A m o m e n t afterward the b a r k e e p e r w a s in the street d i n n i n g t h r o u g h the s t o r m for h e l p , a n d , moreover, c o m p a n i o n ship.

THE BLUE

HOTEL

/

1757

T h e c o r p s e of the S w e d e , a l o n e in the s a l o o n , h a d its eyes fixed u p o n a dreadful legend that dwelt a-top of the c a s h - m a c h i n e . " T h i s registers the a m o u n t of your p u r c h a s e . " IX M o n t h s later, the cowboy w a s frying pork over the stove of a little r a n c h n e a r the D a k o t a line, w h e n there w a s a q u i c k t h u d of hoofs o u t s i d e , a n d , presently, the E a s t e r n e r e n t e r e d with the letters a n d the p a p e r s . " W e l l , " said the E a s t e r n e r at o n c e , "the c h a p that killed the S w e d e has got three years. W a s n ' t m u c h , w a s i t ? " " H e h a s ? T h r e e y e a r s ? " T h e cowboy p o i s e d his p a n of pork, while h e rumin a t e d u p o n the n e w s . " T h r e e years. T h a t ain't m u c h . " " N o . It w a s a light s e n t e n c e , " replied the E a s t e r n e r a s h e u n b u c k l e d his s p u r s . " S e e m s there w a s a g o o d deal of s y m p a t h y for him in R o m p e r . " "If the b a r t e n d e r had b e e n any g o o d , " o b s e r v e d the cowboy thoughtfully, " h e would have g o n e in a n d c r a c k e d that there D u t c h m a n o n the h e a d with a bottle in the b e g i n n i n ' of it a n d s t o p p e d all this here m u r d e r i n ' . " "Yes, a t h o u s a n d things might have h a p p e n e d , " said the E a s t e r n e r tartly. T h e cowboy returned his p a n of pork to the fire, b u t his p h i l o s o p h y c o n tinued. "It's funny, ain't it? If h e hadn't said J o h n n i e w a s c h e a t i n ' he'd be alive this m i n u t e . H e w a s a n awful fool. G a m e played for fun, t o o . N o t for money. I believe he w a s crazy." "I feel sorry for that g a m b l e r , " said the E a s t e r n e r . " O h , so d o I," s a i d the cowboy. " H e don't deserve n o n e of it for killin' w h o he d i d . " " T h e S w e d e might not have b e e n killed if everything h a d b e e n s q u a r e . " " M i g h t not have b e e n killed?" e x c l a i m e d the cowboy. "Everythin' s q u a r e ? Why, w h e n h e said that J o h n n i e w a s c h e a t i n ' a n d a c t e d like s u c h a j a c k a s s ? A n d then in the s a l o o n h e fairly walked up to git h u r t ? " W i t h t h e s e a r g u m e n t s the cowboy browbeat the E a s t e r n e r a n d r e d u c e d him to r a g e . "You're a fool!" cried the E a s t e r n e r viciously. "You're a bigger j a c k a s s than the S w e d e by a million majority. N o w let m e tell you o n e thing. L e t m e tell you s o m e t h i n g . L i s t e n ! J o h n n i e was c h e a t i n g ! " " ' J o h n n i e , ' " s a i d the cowboy blankly. T h e r e w a s a m i n u t e of s i l e n c e , a n d then he s a i d robustly: "Why, no. T h e g a m e w a s only for f u n . " " F u n or n o t , " said the E a s t e r n e r , " J o h n n i e w a s c h e a t i n g . I s a w h i m . I know it. I s a w h i m . A n d I r e f u s e d to s t a n d u p a n d be a m a n . I let the S w e d e fight it out a l o n e . A n d y o u — y o u were simply puffing a r o u n d the p l a c e a n d w a n t i n g to fight. A n d then old Scully himself! W e are all in it! T h i s p o o r g a m b l e r isn't even a n o u n . H e is kind of a n adverb. Every sin is the result of a c o l l a b o r a t i o n . W e , five of u s , have c o l l a b o r a t e d in the m u r d e r of this S w e d e . U s u a l l y there are from a d o z e n to forty w o m e n really involved in every m u r d e r , but in this c a s e it s e e m s to b e only five m e n — y o u , I, J o h n n i e , old Scully, a n d that fool of an u n f o r t u n a t e g a m b l e r c a m e merely as a c u l m i n a t i o n , the a p e x of a h u m a n m o v e m e n t , a n d g e t s all the p u n i s h m e n t . " T h e cowboy, injured a n d rebellious, cried out blindly into this fog of mysterious theory. "Well, I didn't do anythin', did I ? " 1898,

1902

1758

/

STEPHEN

CRANE

An Episode of War 1 T h e lieutenant's r u b b e r blanket lay o n the g r o u n d , a n d u p o n it he h a d p o u r e d the c o m p a n y ' s supply of coffee. C o r p o r a l s a n d other r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s of the grimy a n d hot-throated m e n w h o lined the b r e a s t w o r k h a d c o m e for e a c h s q u a d ' s portion. T h e lieutenant was frowning a n d s e r i o u s at this task of division. H i s lips p u r s e d as he drew with his sword various crevices in the h e a p until brown s q u a r e s of c o f f e e , a s t o u n d i n g l y e q u a l in size, a p p e a r e d on the b l a n k e t . H e w a s on the verge of a great t r i u m p h in m a t h e m a t i c s a n d the c o r p o r a l s were thronging forward, e a c h to r e a p a little s q u a r e , w h e n s u d d e n l y the l i e u t e n a n t cried out a n d looked quickly at a m a n n e a r him as if he s u s p e c t e d it w a s a c a s e of p e r s o n a l a s s a u l t . T h e others cried out a l s o w h e n they s a w b l o o d u p o n the lieutenant's sleeve. H e h a d w i n c e d like a m a n s t u n g , swayed d a n g e r o u s l y , a n d then straighte n e d . T h e s o u n d of his h o a r s e b r e a t h i n g w a s plainly a u d i b l e . H e looked sadly, mystically, over the b r e a s t w o r k at the g r e e n f a c e of a w o o d w h e r e now were m a n y little puffs of white s m o k e . D u r i n g this m o m e n t , the m e n a b o u t him gazed statue-like a n d silent, a s t o n i s h e d a n d a w e d by this c a t a s t r o p h e which h a d h a p p e n e d w h e n c a t a s t r o p h e s were not e x p e c t e d — w h e n they h a d leisure to observe it. As the lieutenant stared at the w o o d , they too s w u n g their h e a d s so that for a n o t h e r m o m e n t all h a n d s , still silent, c o n t e m p l a t e d the distant forest as if their m i n d s were fixed u p o n the mystery of a bullet's j o u r n e y . T h e officer h a d , of c o u r s e , b e e n c o m p e l l e d to take his sword at o n c e into his left h a n d . H e did not hold it by the hilt. H e gripped it at the m i d d l e of the b l a d e , awkwardly. T u r n i n g his eyes from the hostile w o o d , he looked at the sword a s he held it there, a n d s e e m e d puzzled a s to w h a t to do with it, where to put it. In short this w e a p o n h a d of a s u d d e n b e c o m e a s t r a n g e thing to h i m . H e looked at it in a kind of s t u p e f a c t i o n , a s if he h a d b e e n m i r a c u lously e n d o w e d with a trident, a s c e p t r e , or a s p a d e . Finally, he tried to s h e a t h it. T o s h e a t h a sword held by the left h a n d , at the m i d d l e of the b l a d e , in a s c a b b a r d h u n g at the left hip, is a feat worthy of a s a w d u s t ring. T h i s w o u n d e d officer e n g a g e d in a d e s p e r a t e struggle with the sword a n d the w o b b l i n g s c a b b a r d , a n d d u r i n g the time of it, he b r e a t h e d like a wrestler. B u t at this instant the m e n , the s p e c t a t o r s , a w o k e from their stone-like p o s e s a n d c r o w d e d forward sympathetically. T h e orderly-sergeant took the sword a n d tenderly p l a c e d it in the s c a b b a r d . At the t i m e , he l e a n e d nervously b a c k w a r d , a n d did not allow even his finger to b r u s h the body of the lieutenant. A w o u n d gives s t r a n g e dignity to him w h o b e a r s it. Well m e n shy from this n e w a n d terrible majesty. It is a s if the w o u n d e d m a n ' s h a n d is u p o n the curtain which h a n g s b e f o r e the revelations of all e x i s t e n c e , the m e a n i n g of a n t s , p o t e n t a t e s , w a r s , cities, s u n s h i n e , s n o w , a feather d r o p p e d from a bird's wing, a n d the power of it s h e d s r a d i a n c e u p o n a bloody form, 1. First published in the English magazine Tlie Gentlewoman (December 1899). T h e source of the text printed here is Vol. 6 of the University of Virginia edition of The Works of Stephen Crane.

AN E P I S O D E OF W A R

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a n d m a k e s the other m e n u n d e r s t a n d s o m e t i m e s that they are little. His c o m r a d e s look at him with large eyes thoughtfully. M o r e o v e r , they fear vaguely that the weight of a finger u p o n him might s e n d him h e a d l o n g , precipitate the tragedy, hurl him at o n c e into the dim grey u n k n o w n . A n d so the orderly-sergeant while s h e a t h i n g the sword l e a n e d nervously backward. T h e r e were others w h o proffered a s s i s t a n c e . O n e timidly p r e s e n t e d his s h o u l d e r a n d a s k e d the l i e u t e n a n t if he c a r e d to lean u p o n it, but the latter waved t h e m away mournfully. H e wore the look of o n e w h o knows he is the victim of a terrible d i s e a s e a n d u n d e r s t a n d s his h e l p l e s s n e s s . H e a g a i n s t a r e d over the b r e a s t w o r k at the forest, a n d then turning went slowly rearward. H e held his right wrist tenderly in his left h a n d , a s if the w o u n d e d a r m w a s m a d e of very brittle g l a s s . And the m e n in s i l e n c e stared at the w o o d , then at the d e p a r t i n g lieutena n t — t h e n at the w o o d , then at the lieutenant. As the w o u n d e d officer p a s s e d from the line of battle, he w a s e n a b l e d to s e e m a n y things which a s a participant in the fight were u n k n o w n to h i m . H e saw a general o n a black h o r s e gazing over the lines of b l u e infantry at the green w o o d s which veiled his p r o b l e m s . An a i d e g a l l o p e d furiously, d r a g g e d his h o r s e s u d d e n l y to a halt, s a l u t e d , a n d p r e s e n t e d a p a p e r . It w a s , for a wonder, precisely like an historical p a i n t i n g . T o the rear of the general a n d his staff, a g r o u p , c o m p o s e d of a bugler, two or three orderlies, a n d the b e a r e r of the c o r p s s t a n d a r d , all u p o n m a n i acal h o r s e s , were working like slaves to hold their g r o u n d , preserve their respectful interval, while the shells b l o o m e d in the air a b o u t t h e m , a n d c a u s e d their c h a r g e r s to m a k e furious quivering l e a p s . A battery, a t u m u l t u o u s a n d shining m a s s , w a s swirling toward the right. T h e wild t h u d of hoofs, the cries of the riders s h o u t i n g b l a m e a n d p r a i s e , m e n a c e a n d e n c o u r a g e m e n t , a n d , last, the roar of the w h e e l s , the slant of the glistening g u n s , b r o u g h t the lieutenant to an intent p a u s e . T h e battery swept in curves that stirred the heart; it m a d e halts as d r a m a t i c a s the crash of a wave on the r o c k s , a n d w h e n it fled o n w a r d , this a g g r e g a t i o n of w h e e l s , levers, m o t o r s , had a beautiful unity, a s if it were a m i s s l e . T h e s o u n d of it w a s a w a r - c h o r u s that r e a c h e d into the d e p t h s of m a n ' s e m o tion. T h e lieutenant, still holding his a r m a s if it were of g l a s s , s t o o d w a t c h i n g this battery until all detail of it w a s lost, save the figures of the riders, which rose a n d fell a n d waved l a s h e s over the black m a s s . L a t e r he turned his eyes toward the battle where the s h o o t i n g s o m e t i m e s crackled like bush-fires, s o m e t i m e s s p u t t e r e d with e x a s p e r a t i n g irregularity, a n d s o m e t i m e s reverberated like the t h u n d e r . H e s a w the s m o k e rolling upward a n d saw crowds of m e n who ran a n d c h e e r e d , or s t o o d a n d blazed away at the i n s c r u t a b l e d i s t a n c e . H e c a m e u p o n s o m e stragglers a n d they told him how to find the field hospital. T h e y d e s c r i b e d its exact location. In fact t h e s e m e n , no longer having part in the battle, knew m o r e of it than o t h e r s . T h e y told the perf o r m a n c e of every c o r p s , every division, the opinion of every g e n e r a l . T h e lieutenant, carrying his w o u n d e d a r m rearward, looked u p o n t h e m with wonder.

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At the r o a d s i d e a b r i g a d e w a s m a k i n g coffee a n d buzzing with talk like a girls' b o a r d i n g - s c h o o l . Several officers c a m e o u t to him a n d inquired c o n c e r n i n g things of which he k n e w nothing. O n e , s e e i n g his a r m , b e g a n to s c o l d . "Why, m a n , that's n o way to d o . You w a n t to fix that t h i n g . " H e a p p r o p r i a t e d the l i e u t e n a n t a n d the lieutenant's w o u n d . H e c u t the sleeve a n d laid b a r e the a r m , every nerve of which softly fluttered u n d e r his t o u c h . H e b o u n d his h a n d k e r c h i e f over the w o u n d , s c o l d i n g away in the m e a n t i m e . His tone allowed o n e to think that h e w a s in the habit of b e i n g w o u n d e d every day. T h e l i e u t e n a n t h u n g his h e a d , feeling, in this p r e s e n c e , that h e did not know how to b e correctly w o u n d e d . T h e low white tents of the hospital were g r o u p e d a r o u n d a n old schoolh o u s e . T h e r e w a s here a s i n g u l a r c o m m o t i o n . In the f o r e g r o u n d two a m b u l a n c e s interlocked wheels in the d e e p m u d . T h e drivers were t o s s i n g the b l a m e of it b a c k a n d forth, g e s t i c u l a t i n g a n d b e r a t i n g , while from the a m b u l a n c e s , both c r a m m e d with w o u n d e d , t h e r e c a m e an o c c a s i o n a l g r o a n . An i n t e r m i n a b l e crowd of b a n d a g e d m e n w e r e c o m i n g a n d going. G r e a t n u m bers sat u n d e r the trees n u r s i n g h e a d s or a r m s or legs. T h e r e w a s a d i s p u t e of s o m e kind raging o n the s t e p s of the s c h o o l - h o u s e . Sitting with his b a c k a g a i n s t a tree a m a n with a f a c e a s grey a s a n e w army b l a n k e t w a s serenely s m o k i n g a c o r n - c o b p i p e . T h e l i e u t e n a n t w i s h e d to rush forward a n d inform him that h e w a s dying. A b u s y s u r g e o n w a s p a s s i n g n e a r the l i e u t e n a n t . " G o o d m o r n i n g , " he said with a friendly s m i l e . T h e n h e c a u g h t sight of the lieutenant's a r m a n d his face at o n c e c h a n g e d . "Well, let's have a look at it." H e s e e m e d p o s s e s s e d s u d d e n l y of a great c o n t e m p t for the l i e u t e n a n t . T h i s w o u n d evidently p l a c e d the latter on a very low social p l a n e . T h e d o c t o r cried o u t impatiently. W h a t m u t t o n - h e a d h a d tied it u p that way anyhow. T h e lieutenant answered: "Oh, a man." W h e n the w o u n d w a s d i s c l o s e d the d o c t o r fingered it disdainfully. " H u m p h , " h e said. "You c o m e a l o n g with m e a n d I'll 'tend to y o u . " His voice c o n t a i n e d the s a m e s c o r n a s if h e were saying: "You will have to go to j a i l . " T h e l i e u t e n a n t h a d b e e n very m e e k but now his f a c e flushed, a n d h e looked into the doctor's eyes. "I g u e s s I won't have it a m p u t a t e d , " he said. " N o n s e n s e , m a n ! n o n s e n s e ! n o n s e n s e ! " cried the d o c t o r . " C o m e along, now. I won't a m p u t a t e it. C o m e a l o n g . D o n ' t b e a b a b y . " " L e t go of m e , " s a i d the l i e u t e n a n t , h o l d i n g b a c k wrathfully. H i s g l a n c e fixed u p o n the d o o r of the old s c h o o l - h o u s e , a s sinister to h i m a s the portals of d e a t h . A n d this is the story of how the l i e u t e n a n t lost his a r m . W h e n h e r e a c h e d h o m e his sisters, his m o t h e r , his wife, s o b b e d for a long time at the sight of the flat sleeve. " O h , well," he s a i d , s t a n d i n g s h a m e f a c e d a m i d t h e s e tears. "I don't s u p p o s e it m a t t e r s so m u c h a s all t h a t . " 1899

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JACK

LONDON

1876-1916 John Griffith London was born in San Francisco on January 12, 1876. He never met his father, William H. Chaney, an itinerant astrologer who abandoned Flora Wellman, three months pregnant with Jack, in July 1875. Three months later Flora Wellman married John London, a trapper and frontiersman, on September 7, 1875, and Jack was given his name at birth. The circumstances of his birth were a lifelong source of anxious curiosity for the writer, and he lived with the suspicion that neither Chaney nor London was his biological father. These suspicions and anxieties found their way into many short stories and longer works. London m a y have exaggerated his early poverty, but it is certain that from about age thirteen he supported himself with menial and dangerous jobs, experiencing the struggle for survival that most writers and intellectuals knew only from observation and books. By the time he was eighteen he had worked in a cannery and as a seaman, jute-mill worker, and coal shoveler in a power plant. It is likely that he also raided commercial oyster beds along the Oakland waterfront—a dangerous if potentially lucrative enterprise. He crossed much of the continent as a member of "Kelley's Army" which was supposed to join with "Coxey's Army," an organized group of the unemployed who, following the panic of 1893, carried their call for economic reform to Washington, D.C. After the army disbanded, London became a hobo; he was arrested in Niagara, New York, and jailed for thirty days in the Erie County Penitentiary for vagrancy—a harrowing and instructive experience even for a tough kid. Beginning in 1895, London, who had loved to read as a boy, determined to get a formal education and entered Oakland High School. The next year he enrolled as a special student at the University of California at Berkeley but, short of money, left after one semester. It was at this time that he joined the Oakland chapter of the Socialist Labor Party and became an active member, speaking at parks and recruiting new members. Temperament rather than logic led him to embrace both the Utopian socialism of Marx and the darker views of Nietzsche and Darwinism. That is, London believed in both the inevitable triumph of the working class and the evolutionary necessity of the survival of the strongest. London's sincere intellectual and personal involvement in the socialist movement is recorded in such novels and polemical works as The People

of the Abyss (1903), War of the Classes

(1905), The Iron Heel

(1908),

and Revolution (1910); he also lectured around the country on behalf of socialism and ran twice for mayor of Oakland as a Socialist. In March 1916, London resigned from the Socialist Party, accusing it of having lost its original revolutionary passion. His competing, deeply felt commitment to the law of survival and the will to power is dramatized in his most popular novels, The Call of the Wild (1903) and The SeaWolf (1904). Wolf Larsen, the ruthless, amoral protagonist of the latter book, best realizes London's ideal of a Nietschzian "superman." The tension between these competing beliefs is most vividly projected in the patently autobiographical novel Martin Eden (1909). London surely would have passed the test that F. Scott Fitzgerald established for first-rate intelligence: "the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function." London's first publication, "Story of a Typhoon off the Coast of Japan," like so much of his later work, was based directly on his experience—in this case his eight months (January—August 1893) as a seaman aboard the sealing schooner Sophia Sutherland; the story won first prize in a contest sponsored by the San Francisco Morning Call and appeared on November 12, 1893. But it was only after he returned from his extraordinary adventures seeking gold in the Klondike ( 1 8 9 7 - 9 8 ) that he turned to writing full time. Having done so, he initiated his practice of writing at least a thousand words every day; he also studied the market for the kind of adventure

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stories he was qualified to write. Within six months the Overland Monthly accepted "To the Man on the Trail," by early 1899 had printed one of his most famous stories— "The White Silence"—and had contracted for several more. "An Odyssey of the North" appeared in the Atlantic Monthly's first issue of 1900; this led in turn to publication in April 1900 of the first collection of his stories, The Son of the Wolf. By his twenty-eighth birthday The Call of the Wild (1904) had been issued, and he was well on his way to becoming the first American writer to become a millionaire solely by virtue of his earnings as an author. London claimed to dislike his profession and said that he wrote only for money, but he was for most of his career a disciplined and careful craftsman. He wrote on many subjects, from agronomy to penal reform, from astral projection to warfare. The most enduringly popular of his stories, however, involved the primitive (and sometimes melodramatic) struggle of strong and weak individuals in the context of irresistible natural forces such as the wild sea or the Arctic wastes. Among such stories To Build a Fire has become classic. It combines in its few pages the tragic drama of human pride, the crushing power of nature, and, in the view of some critics, the potential for redemptive recognition. At a time when America's frontier was closing and President Theodore Boosevelt was urging the strenuous life, London adapted the physical ruggedness and psychological independence of English author Budyard Kipling's heroes (such as Kim) to the American experience. Like his contemporaries Stephen Crane and Frank Norris (and like Hemingway a generation later), London was fascinated by the way violence tested and defined character. By the time he died in 1916, London had become the best-selling American author around the world. In a writing career of less than twenty years, London produced twenty novels, two hundred stories, more than four hundred nonfiction works, and thousands of letters. His works have been translated into some seventy languages, and his popularity shows no sign of lessening. His home in Glen Ellen, California, has been converted into a museum, and it and the nearby fragments of London's "forest castle" Wolf House (destroyed by fire in August 1913, just before the Londons were scheduled to move in) are a shrine for London's thousands of American and non-American admirers.

T o Build a Fire 1 Day h a d b r o k e n cold a n d gray, exceedingly cold a n d gray, when the m a n turned a s i d e from the m a i n Yukon trail a n d c l i m b e d the high e a r t h - b a n k , w h e r e a d i m a n d little-travelled trail led e a s t w a r d t h r o u g h the fat s p r u c e t i m b e r l a n d . It was a s t e e p bank, a n d he p a u s e d for breath at the t o p , e x c u s i n g the act to himself by looking at his w a t c h . It w a s nine o'clock. T h e r e w a s no sun nor hint of s u n , t h o u g h there w a s not a c l o u d in the sky. It w a s a clear day, a n d yet there s e e m e d a n intangible pall over the f a c e of things, a s u b t l e g l o o m that m a d e the day dark, a n d that w a s d u e to the a b s e n c e of s u n . T h i s fact did not worry the m a n . H e w a s u s e d to the lack of s u n . It h a d b e e n days s i n c e he had s e e n the s u n , a n d he knew that a few m o r e days m u s t p a s s before that cheerful o r b , d u e s o u t h , would j u s t p e e p a b o v e the sky-line a n d dip immediately from view. 1. First published in The Youth's Companion for May 29, 1902, in a version of 2 , 7 0 0 words—"for boys only" according to London. T h e later, widely anthologized version of 7,235 words was first published in Tlie Century Magazine 76 (August 1908).

the source of the text printed here. T h e editor is indebted to Earle Labor and King H e n d r i c k s "Jack London's Twice-Told T a l e , " Studies in Short Fiction 4 ( S u m m e r 1967), for this information.

To

BUILD A FIRE

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T h e m a n flung a look b a c k a l o n g the way he had c o m e . T h e Yukon lay a mile wide a n d hidden u n d e r three feet of ice. O n top of this ice were a s m a n y feet of snow. It w a s all p u r e white, rolling in gentle u n d u l a t i o n s w h e r e the ice-jams of the freeze-up h a d f o r m e d . N o r t h a n d s o u t h , a s far a s his eye c o u l d s e e , it w a s u n b r o k e n white, save for a dark hair-line that curved a n d twisted from a r o u n d the s p r u c e - c o v e r e d island to the s o u t h , a n d that curved a n d twisted away into the north, w h e r e it d i s a p p e a r e d b e h i n d a n o t h e r s p r u c e covered island. T h i s dark hair-line w a s the trail—the m a i n trail—that led s o u t h five h u n d r e d miles to the C h i l c o o t P a s s , Dyea, a n d salt water; a n d that led north seventy miles to D a w s o n , a n d still on to the north a t h o u s a n d miles to N u l a t o , a n d finally to S t . M i c h a e l on Bering S e a , a t h o u s a n d m i l e s a n d half a t h o u s a n d m o r e . B u t all t h i s — t h e m y s t e r i o u s , far-reaching hair-line trail, the a b s e n c e of s u n from the sky, the t r e m e n d o u s cold, a n d the s t r a n g e n e s s a n d w e i r d n e s s of it a l l — m a d e no i m p r e s s i o n on the m a n . It w a s not b e c a u s e he w a s long u s e d to it. H e w a s a n e w c o m e r in the land, a chechaquo, a n d this w a s his first winter. T h e trouble with him was that h e w a s without i m a g i n a t i o n . H e was q u i c k a n d alert in the things of life, but only in the things, a n d not in the significances. Fifty d e g r e e s below zero m e a n t eighty-odd d e g r e e s of frost. S u c h fact i m p r e s s e d him a s b e i n g cold a n d u n c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d that w a s all. It did not lead him to m e d i t a t e upon his frailty a s a c r e a t u r e of t e m p e r a t u r e , and upon man's frailty in general, able only to live within certain narrow limits of heat a n d c o l d ; a n d from there on it did not lead him to the c o n j e c tural field of immortality a n d m a n ' s p l a c e in the universe. Fifty d e g r e e s below zero s t o o d for a bite of frost that hurt a n d that m u s t be g u a r d e d a g a i n s t by the u s e of m i t t e n s , ear-flaps, warm m o c c a s i n s , a n d thick s o c k s . Fifty d e g r e e s below zero w a s to him j u s t precisely fifty d e g r e e s below zero. T h a t there should be anything m o r e to it than that w a s a t h o u g h t that never e n t e r e d his head. As he turned to go o n , he spat speculatively. T h e r e w a s a s h a r p , explosive crackle that startled h i m . H e spat a g a i n . And a g a i n , in the air, before it c o u l d fall to the snow, the spittle crackled. H e knew that at fifty below spittle crackled on the snow, but this spittle h a d c r a c k l e d in the air. U n d o u b t e d l y it w a s colder than fifty b e l o w — h o w m u c h colder he did not know. B u t the t e m p e r a t u r e did not matter. H e w a s b o u n d for the old claim on the left fork of H e n d e r s o n C r e e k , w h e r e the boys were already. T h e y h a d c o m e over a c r o s s the divide from the Indian C r e e k country, while he h a d c o m e the r o u n d a b o u t way to take a look at the possibilities of getting out logs in the spring from the islands in the Y u k o n . H e would be in to c a m p by six o'clock; a bit after dark, it was true, but the boys would be there, a fire would be going, a n d a hot s u p p e r would be ready. As for l u n c h , he p r e s s e d his h a n d a g a i n s t the protruding b u n d l e u n d e r his j a c k e t . It w a s a l s o u n d e r his shirt, w r a p p e d up in a h a n d k e r c h i e f a n d lying a g a i n s t the n a k e d skin. It w a s the only way to keep the b i s c u i t s from freezing. H e s m i l e d agreeably to h i m s e l f a s he thought of t h o s e b i s c u i t s , e a c h c u t o p e n a n d s o p p e d in b a c o n g r e a s e , a n d e a c h e n c l o s i n g a g e n e r o u s slice of fried b a c o n . H e p l u n g e d in a m o n g the big s p r u c e trees. T h e trail w a s faint. A foot of s n o w h a d fallen s i n c e the last sled h a d p a s s e d over, a n d he w a s glad he w a s without a sled, travelling light. In fact, he carried n o t h i n g but the l u n c h w r a p p e d in the handkerchief. H e w a s s u r p r i s e d , however, at the cold. It

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certainly w a s cold, h e c o n c l u d e d , a s he r u b b e d his n u m b n o s e a n d c h e e k b o n e s with his m i t t e n e d h a n d . H e w a s a w a r m - w h i s k e r e d m a n , b u t the hair on his f a c e did not protect the high c h e e k - b o n e s a n d the e a g e r n o s e that thrust itself aggressively into the frosty air. At the m a n ' s heels trotted a d o g , a big native husky, the p r o p e r wolf-dog, gray-coated a n d without any visible or t e m p e r a m e n t a l difference from its brother, the wild wolf. T h e a n i m a l w a s d e p r e s s e d by the t r e m e n d o u s c o l d . It knew that it w a s no time for travelling. Its instinct told it a truer tale t h a n w a s told to the m a n by the m a n ' s j u d g m e n t . In reality, it w a s not merely colder than fifty below zero; it w a s colder than sixty below, than seventy below. It w a s seventy-five below zero. S i n c e the freezing-point is thirty-two a b o v e zero, it m e a n t that o n e h u n d r e d a n d seven d e g r e e s of frost o b t a i n e d . T h e d o g did not know a n y t h i n g a b o u t t h e r m o m e t e r s . Possibly in its brain there w a s no s h a r p c o n s c i o u s n e s s of a c o n d i t i o n of very c o l d s u c h a s w a s in the m a n ' s brain. B u t the b r u t e h a d its instinct. It e x p e r i e n c e d a v a g u e but m e n a c i n g a p p r e h e n s i o n that s u b d u e d it a n d m a d e it slink a l o n g at the m a n ' s h e e l s , a n d that m a d e it q u e s t i o n eagerly every u n w o n t e d m o v e m e n t of the m a n a s if e x p e c t i n g him to go into c a m p or to s e e k shelter s o m e w h e r e a n d build a fire. T h e d o g h a d learned fire, a n d it w a n t e d fire, or else to burrow u n d e r the s n o w a n d c u d d l e its w a r m t h away from the air. T h e frozen m o i s t u r e of its b r e a t h i n g h a d settled on its fur in a fine powder of frost, a n d especially were its j o w l s , m u z z l e , a n d e y e l a s h e s w h i t e n e d by its crystalled b r e a t h . T h e m a n ' s red b e a r d a n d m u s t a c h e were likewise frosted, b u t m o r e solidly, the d e p o s i t taking the form of ice a n d i n c r e a s i n g with every w a r m , moist b r e a t h h e exhaled. A l s o , the m a n w a s c h e w i n g t o b a c c o , a n d the muzzle of ice held his lips s o rigidly that h e w a s u n a b l e to clear his chin w h e n he expelled the j u i c e . T h e result w a s that a crystal b e a r d of the color a n d solidity of a m b e r w a s i n c r e a s i n g its length on his c h i n . If he fell d o w n it would shatter itself, like g l a s s , into brittle f r a g m e n t s . B u t he did not m i n d the a p p e n d a g e . It w a s the penalty all t o b a c c o - c h e w e r s p a i d in that c o u n t r y , a n d he h a d b e e n out before in two cold s n a p s . T h e y h a d not b e e n so cold a s this, he knew, b u t by the spirit t h e r m o m e t e r at Sixty M i l e h e knew they h a d b e e n registered at fifty below a n d at fifty-five. H e held on t h r o u g h the level s t r e t c h of w o o d s for several miles, c r o s s e d a wide flat of n i g g e r h e a d s , 2 a n d d r o p p e d d o w n a b a n k to the frozen b e d of a small s t r e a m . T h i s w a s H e n d e r s o n C r e e k , a n d h e k n e w h e w a s ten miles from the forks. H e looked at his w a t c h . It w a s ten o'clock. H e w a s m a k i n g four miles a n hour, a n d he c a l c u l a t e d that h e would arrive at the forks at half-past twelve. H e d e c i d e d to c e l e b r a t e that event by e a t i n g his l u n c h there. T h e d o g d r o p p e d in a g a i n at his h e e l s , with a tail d r o o p i n g d i s c o u r a g e m e n t , ^ s the m a n s w u n g a l o n g the c r e e k - b e d . T h e furrow of the old sled-trail w a s plainly visible, but a dozen i n c h e s of s n o w c o v e r e d the m a r k s of the last r u n n e r s . In a m o n t h no m a n h a d c o m e u p or d o w n that silent creek. T h e m a n held steadily on. H e w a s not m u c h given to thinking, a n d j u s t then particularly h e h a d n o t h i n g to think a b o u t save that h e w o u l d eat l u n c h at the forks a n d that at six o'clock h e would b e in c a m p with the boys. T h e r e w a s nobody to talk to; a n d , h a d there b e e n , s p e e c h w o u l d have b e e n i m p o s sible b e c a u s e of the ice-muzzle o n his m o u t h . S o he c o n t i n u e d m o n o t o n o u s l y to c h e w t o b a c c o a n d to i n c r e a s e the length of his a m b e r b e a r d . 2. Tangled vegetation sticking up through the snow and ice.

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O n c e in a while the t h o u g h t reiterated itself that it w a s very cold a n d that h e h a d never e x p e r i e n c e d s u c h cold. As he walked a l o n g h e r u b b e d his c h e e k b o n e s a n d n o s e with the b a c k of his m i t t e n e d h a n d . H e did this a u t o m a t i cally, now a n d again c h a n g i n g h a n d s . B u t rub a s h e w o u l d , the instant h e s t o p p e d his c h e e k - b o n e s went n u m b , a n d the following instant the e n d of his n o s e went n u m b . H e w a s s u r e to frost his c h e e k s ; h e k n e w that, a n d e x p e r i e n c e d a p a n g of regret that h e h a d not devised a n o s e - s t r a p of the sort B u d wore in c o l d s n a p s . S u c h a strap p a s s e d a c r o s s the c h e e k s , a s well, a n d s a v e d t h e m . B u t it didn't m a t t e r m u c h , after all. W h a t were frosted c h e e k s ? A bit painful, that w a s all; they were never s e r i o u s . E m p t y a s the m a n ' s m i n d w a s of t h o u g h t s , h e w a s keenly o b s e r v a n t , a n d he noticed the c h a n g e s in the creek, the c u r v e s a n d b e n d s a n d t i m b e r - j a m s , a n d always he sharply n o t e d w h e r e h e p l a c e d his feet. O n c e , c o m i n g a r o u n d a b e n d , h e s h i e d abruptly, like a startled h o r s e , curved away from the p l a c e where h e h a d b e e n walking, a n d retreated several p a c e s b a c k a l o n g the trail. T h e c r e e k h e k n e w w a s frozen clear to the b o t t o m , — n o c r e e k c o u l d c o n t a i n water in that arctic w i n t e r , — b u t h e knew a l s o that t h e r e were springs that b u b b l e d o u t from the hillsides a n d ran a l o n g u n d e r the s n o w a n d o n top the ice of the creek. H e k n e w that the c o l d e s t s n a p s never froze t h e s e s p r i n g s , a n d he knew likewise their danger. T h e y were traps. T h e y hid p o o l s of water u n d e r the s n o w that m i g h t be three i n c h e s d e e p , or t h r e e feet. S o m e t i m e s a skin of ice half a n inch thick covered t h e m , a n d in turn w a s c o v e r e d by the snow. S o m e t i m e s there were alternate layers of water a n d ice-skin, s o that w h e n o n e broke t h r o u g h he kept on b r e a k i n g through for a while, s o m e t i m e s wetting h i m s e l f to the waist. T h a t w a s why he h a d shied in s u c h p a n i c . H e h a d felt the give u n d e r his feet a n d h e a r d the c r a c k l e of snow-hidden ice-skin. A n d to get his feet wet in s u c h a t e m p e r a t u r e m e a n t trouble a n d d a n g e r . At the very least it m e a n t delay, for he would be forced to stop a n d build a fire, a n d u n d e r its p r o t e c t i o n to b a r e his feet while h e dried his s o c k s a n d m o c c a s i n s . H e s t o o d a n d s t u d i e d the creek-bed a n d its b a n k s , a n d d e c i d e d that the flow of water c a m e from the right. H e reflected awhile, r u b b i n g his n o s e a n d c h e e k s , then skirted to the left, s t e p p i n g gingerly a n d testing the footing for e a c h s t e p . O n c e c l e a r of the d a n g e r , he took a fresh c h e w of t o b a c c o a n d s w u n g a l o n g at his fourmile gait. In the c o u r s e of the next two h o u r s he c a m e u p o n several similar traps. U s u a l l y the s n o w a b o v e the hidden pools h a d a s u n k e n , c a n d i e d a p p e a r a n c e that advertised the d a n g e r . O n c e a g a i n , however, h e h a d a c l o s e call; a n d o n c e , s u s p e c t i n g d a n g e r , he c o m p e l l e d the d o g to go on in front. T h e d o g did not want to g o . It h u n g b a c k until the m a n shoved it forward, a n d then it went quickly a c r o s s the white, u n b r o k e n s u r f a c e . S u d d e n l y it broke t h r o u g h , floundered to o n e s i d e , a n d got away to firmer footing. It h a d wet its forefeet a n d legs, a n d a l m o s t i m m e d i a t e l y the water that c l u n g to it turned to ice. It m a d e q u i c k efforts to lick the ice off its legs, then d r o p p e d d o w n in the s n o w a n d b e g a n to bite o u t the ice that h a d f o r m e d b e t w e e n the t o e s . T h i s w a s a m a t t e r of instinct. T o permit the ice to r e m a i n w o u l d m e a n sore feet. It did not know this. It merely obeyed the m y s t e r i o u s p r o m p t i n g that a r o s e from the d e e p crypts of its being. B u t the m a n knew, having a c h i e v e d a j u d g m e n t on the s u b j e c t , a n d he r e m o v e d the mitten from his right h a n d a n d helped tear o u t the ice-particles. H e did not e x p o s e his fingers m o r e than a m i n u t e , a n d w a s a s t o n i s h e d at the swift n u m b n e s s that s m o t e t h e m . It

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certainly w a s cold. H e pulled on the mitten hastily, a n d beat the h a n d savagely a c r o s s his c h e s t . At twelve o'clock the day w a s at its brightest. Yet the s u n w a s too far s o u t h on its winter j o u r n e y to clear the horizon. T h e b u l g e of the earth intervened b e t w e e n it a n d H e n d e r s o n C r e e k , w h e r e the m a n walked u n d e r a clear sky at n o o n a n d c a s t n o s h a d o w . At half-past twelve, to the m i n u t e , h e arrived at the forks of the creek. H e w a s p l e a s e d at the s p e e d h e h a d m a d e . If h e kept it u p , he w o u l d certainly b e with the boys by six. H e u n b u t t o n e d his j a c k e t a n d shirt a n d drew forth his l u n c h . T h e a c t i o n c o n s u m e d no m o r e t h a n a q u a r t e r of a m i n u t e , yet in that brief m o m e n t the n u m b n e s s laid hold of the e x p o s e d fingers. H e did not put the mitten o n , b u t , i n s t e a d , s t r u c k the fingers a dozen s h a r p s m a s h e s a g a i n s t his leg. T h e n he sat down o n a snowcovered log to e a t . T h e sting that followed u p o n the striking of his fingers a g a i n s t his leg c e a s e d so quickly that h e w a s startled. H e h a d h a d n o c h a n c e to take a bite of b i s c u i t . H e s t r u c k the fingers repeatedly a n d r e t u r n e d t h e m to the mitten, b a r i n g the other h a n d for the p u r p o s e of eating. H e tried to take a m o u t h f u l , but the ice-muzzle p r e v e n t e d . H e h a d forgotten to build a fire a n d thaw out. H e c h u c k l e d at his f o o l i s h n e s s , a n d a s h e c h u c k l e d he noted the n u m b n e s s c r e e p i n g into the e x p o s e d fingers. A l s o , he n o t e d that the stinging which h a d first c o m e to his t o e s w h e n h e sat d o w n w a s already p a s s i n g away. H e w o n d e r e d w h e t h e r the toes were w a r m or n u m b . H e m o v e d t h e m inside the m o c c a s i n s a n d d e c i d e d that they w e r e n u m b . H e pulled the mitten on hurriedly a n d s t o o d u p . H e w a s a bit frightened. H e s t a m p e d up a n d d o w n until the stinging r e t u r n e d into the feet. It certainly w a s cold, w a s his t h o u g h t . T h a t m a n from S u l p h u r C r e e k h a d s p o k e n the truth when telling how c o l d it s o m e t i m e s got in the country. A n d h e h a d l a u g h e d at him at the t i m e ! T h a t s h o w e d o n e m u s t not b e too s u r e of things. T h e r e w a s no m i s t a k e a b o u t it, it was cold. H e s t r o d e u p a n d d o w n , s t a m p i n g his feet a n d t h r e s h i n g his a r m s , until r e a s s u r e d by the r e t u r n i n g w a r m t h . T h e n he got out m a t c h e s a n d p r o c e e d e d to m a k e a fire. F r o m the undergrowth, w h e r e high water of the previous s p r i n g h a d lodged a s u p p l y of s e a s o n e d twigs, he got his fire-wood. W o r k i n g carefully from a small b e g i n n i n g , he s o o n h a d a roaring fire, over w h i c h h e t h a w e d the ice from his f a c e a n d in the protection of which he a t e his b i s c u i t s . F o r the m o m e n t the cold of s p a c e w a s outwitted. T h e d o g took s a t i s f a c t i o n in the fire, s t r e t c h i n g o u t c l o s e e n o u g h for w a r m t h a n d far e n o u g h away to e s c a p e b e i n g s i n g e d . W h e n the m a n h a d finished, he filled his p i p e a n d took his c o m f o r t a b l e time over a s m o k e . T h e n h e pulled o n his m i t t e n s , settled the ear-flaps of his c a p firmly a b o u t his e a r s , a n d took the c r e e k trail u p the left fork. T h e d o g w a s d i s a p p o i n t e d a n d y e a r n e d b a c k toward the fire. T h i s m a n did not know cold. Possibly all the g e n e r a t i o n s of his a n c e s t r y h a d b e e n ignorant of c o l d , of real cold, of cold o n e h u n d r e d a n d seven d e g r e e s b e l o w freezingpoint. B u t the d o g knew; all its a n c e s t r y knew, a n d it h a d inherited the k n o w l e d g e . A n d it knew that it w a s not g o o d to walk a b r o a d in s u c h fearful cold. It w a s the time to lie s n u g in a hole in the s n o w a n d wait for a c u r t a i n of c l o u d to be d r a w n a c r o s s the f a c e of o u t e r s p a c e w h e n c e this cold c a m e . O n the other h a n d , there w a s n o keen i n t i m a c y b e t w e e n the d o g a n d the m a n . T h e o n e w a s the toil-slave of the other, a n d the only c a r e s s e s it h a d ever received were the c a r e s s e s of the whip-lash a n d of h a r s h a n d m e n a c i n g t h r o a t - s o u n d s that t h r e a t e n e d the whip-lash. S o the d o g m a d e no effort to c o m m u n i c a t e its a p p r e h e n s i o n to the m a n . It w a s not c o n c e r n e d in the wel-

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fare of the m a n ; it w a s for its own s a k e that it y e a r n e d b a c k toward the fire. B u t the m a n whistled, a n d s p o k e to it with the s o u n d of w h i p - l a s h e s , a n d the d o g s w u n g in at the m a n ' s heels a n d followed after. T h e m a n took a c h e w of t o b a c c o a n d p r o c e e d e d to start a n e w a m b e r b e a r d . A l s o , his moist breath quickly p o w d e r e d with white his m u s t a c h e , eyebrows, a n d l a s h e s . T h e r e did not s e e m to be s o m a n y springs on the left fork of the H e n d e r s o n , a n d for half a n hour the m a n s a w no signs of any. A n d then it h a p p e n e d . At a p l a c e where there were no s i g n s , w h e r e the soft, u n b r o k e n s n o w s e e m e d to advertise solidity b e n e a t h , the m a n broke t h r o u g h . It w a s not d e e p . H e wet h i m s e l f halfway to the knees before h e f l o u n d e r e d out to the firm c r u s t . H e w a s angry, a n d c u r s e d his luck a l o u d . H e h a d h o p e d to get into c a m p with the boys at six o'clock, a n d this would delay him a n hour, for h e w o u l d have to build a fire a n d dry out his foot-gear. T h i s w a s imperative at that low t e m p e r a t u r e — h e k n e w that m u c h ; a n d he t u r n e d a s i d e to the bank, which he c l i m b e d . O n top, tangled in the u n d e r b r u s h a b o u t the trunks of several small s p r u c e trees, w a s a high-water d e p o s i t of dry fire-wood—sticks a n d twigs, principally, but a l s o larger portions of s e a s o n e d b r a n c h e s a n d fine, dry, last-year's g r a s s e s . H e threw d o w n several large p i e c e s on top of the snow. T h i s served for a f o u n d a t i o n a n d prevented the y o u n g f l a m e from d r o w n i n g itself in the s n o w it otherwise would melt. T h e flame he got by t o u c h i n g a m a t c h to a small s h r e d of birch-bark that he took from his p o c k e t . T h i s b u r n e d even m o r e readily than p a p e r . P l a c i n g it on the f o u n d a t i o n , h e fed the y o u n g flame with wisps of dry g r a s s a n d with the tiniest dry twigs. H e worked slowly a n d carefully, keenly a w a r e of his d a n g e r . G r a d u a l l y , a s the flame grew stronger, h e i n c r e a s e d the size of the twigs with which h e fed it. H e s q u a t t e d in the snow, pulling the twigs out from their e n t a n g l e m e n t in the b r u s h a n d f e e d i n g directly to the f l a m e . H e k n e w there m u s t be no failure. W h e n it is seventy-five below zero, a m a n m u s t not fail in his first a t t e m p t to build a fire—that is, if his feet are wet. If his feet are dry, a n d he fails, he c a n run a l o n g the trail for half a mile a n d restore his circulation. B u t the circulation of wet a n d freezing feet c a n n o t b e restored by r u n n i n g w h e n it is seventy-five below. N o m a t t e r how fast he r u n s , the wet feet will freeze the harder. All this the m a n knew. T h e old-timer on S u l p h u r C r e e k h a d told him a b o u t it the previous fall, a n d n o w he w a s a p p r e c i a t i n g the a d v i c e . Already all s e n s a t i o n h a d g o n e out of his feet. T o build the fire h e h a d b e e n forced to r e m o v e his m i t t e n s , a n d the fingers h a d quickly g o n e n u m b . H i s p a c e of four miles a n hour h a d kept his heart p u m p i n g blood to the s u r f a c e of his body a n d to all the extremities. B u t the instant he s t o p p e d , the action of the p u m p e a s e d d o w n . T h e cold of s p a c e s m o t e the u n p r o t e c t e d tip of the p l a n e t , a n d h e , b e i n g o n that u n p r o t e c t e d tip, received the full force of the blow. T h e blood of his body recoiled before it. T h e b l o o d w a s alive, like the d o g , a n d like the d o g it w a n t e d to hide away a n d cover itself u p from the fearful cold. S o long a s h e walked four miles an hour, he p u m p e d that b l o o d , willy-nilly, to the s u r f a c e ; but now it e b b e d away a n d s a n k d o w n into the r e c e s s e s of his body. T h e extremities were the first to feel its a b s e n c e . H i s wet feet froze the faster, a n d his e x p o s e d fingers n u m b e d the faster, t h o u g h they h a d not yet b e g u n to freeze. N o s e a n d c h e e k s were already freezing, while the skin of all his body chilled a s it lost its blood. B u t h e was s a f e . T o e s a n d n o s e a n d c h e e k s would be only t o u c h e d by the

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frost, for the fire w a s b e g i n n i n g to b u r n with s t r e n g t h . H e w a s f e e d i n g it with twigs the size of his finger. In a n o t h e r m i n u t e he w o u l d be able to feed it with b r a n c h e s the size of his wrist, a n d then h e c o u l d r e m o v e his wet footgear, a n d , while it dried, he c o u l d k e e p his n a k e d feet w a r m by the fire, r u b b i n g t h e m at first, of c o u r s e , with s n o w . T h e fire w a s a s u c c e s s . H e w a s s a f e . H e r e m e m b e r e d the advice of the old-timer o n S u l p h u r C r e e k , a n d s m i l e d . T h e old-timer h a d b e e n very s e r i o u s in laying d o w n the law that no m a n m u s t travel a l o n e in the Klondike after fifty below. Well, h e r e h e w a s ; h e h a d h a d the a c c i d e n t ; he w a s a l o n e ; a n d he h a d s a v e d himself. T h o s e oldtimers were rather w o m a n i s h , s o m e of t h e m , he t h o u g h t . All a m a n h a d to do w a s to k e e p his h e a d , a n d he w a s all right. Any m a n w h o w a s a m a n c o u l d travel a l o n e . B u t it w a s surprising, the rapidity with which his c h e e k s a n d n o s e were freezing. A n d he h a d not t h o u g h t his fingers c o u l d go lifeless in so short a t i m e . L i f e l e s s they w e r e , for h e c o u l d scarcely m a k e t h e m m o v e together to grip a twig, a n d they s e e m e d r e m o t e from his body a n d from h i m . W h e n he t o u c h e d a twig, he h a d to look a n d s e e w h e t h e r or not he h a d hold of it. T h e wires were pretty well d o w n b e t w e e n him a n d his finger-ends. All of which c o u n t e d for little. T h e r e w a s the fire, s n a p p i n g a n d crackling a n d p r o m i s i n g life with every' d a n c i n g f l a m e . H e started to untie his m o c c a s i n s . T h e y were c o a t e d with i c e ; the thick G e r m a n s o c k s were like s h e a t h s of iron halfway to the k n e e s ; a n d the m o c c a s i n strings were like rods of steel all twisted a n d knotted a s by s o m e conflagration. F o r a m o m e n t h e t u g g e d with his n u m b fingers, then, realizing the folly of it, h e drew his s h e a t h - k n i f e . B u t before he c o u l d cut the strings, it h a p p e n e d . It w a s his own fault or, rather, his m i s t a k e . H e s h o u l d not have built the fire u n d e r the s p r u c e tree. H e s h o u l d have built it in the o p e n . B u t it h a d b e e n e a s i e r to pull the twigs from the b r u s h a n d drop t h e m directly on the fire. N o w the tree u n d e r which h e h a d d o n e this carried a weight of s n o w on its b o u g h s . N o wind h a d blown for w e e k s , a n d e a c h b o u g h w a s fully freighted. E a c h t i m e h e h a d pulled a twig he h a d c o m m u n i c a t e d a slight agitation to the t r e e — a n i m p e r c e p t i b l e agitation, s o far as he w a s c o n c e r n e d , but an agitation sufficient to bring a b o u t the d i s a s t e r . H i g h u p in the tree o n e b o u g h c a p s i z e d its load of snow. T h i s fell o n the b o u g h s b e n e a t h , c a p s i z i n g t h e m . T h i s p r o c e s s c o n t i n u e d , s p r e a d i n g out a n d involving the whole tree. It grew like a n a v a l a n c h e , a n d it d e s c e n d e d without w a r n i n g u p o n the m a n a n d the fire, a n d the fire w a s blotted out! W h e r e it h a d b u r n e d w a s a m a n t l e of fresh a n d d i s o r d e r e d s n o w . T h e m a n w a s s h o c k e d . It w a s a s t h o u g h h e h a d j u s t h e a r d his own s e n t e n c e of d e a t h . F o r a m o m e n t he sat a n d stared at the spot w h e r e the fire h a d b e e n . T h e n he grew very c a l m . P e r h a p s the old-timer on S u l p h u r C r e e k w a s right. If he h a d only h a d a trail-mate he would have b e e n in no d a n g e r now. T h e trail-mate c o u l d have built the fire. Well, it w a s u p to him to build the fire over a g a i n , a n d this s e c o n d time there m u s t b e no failure. E v e n if he s u c c e e d e d , h e would m o s t likely l o s e s o m e t o e s . H i s feet m u s t be badly frozen by now, a n d there would be s o m e time b e f o r e the s e c o n d fire w a s ready. S u c h were his t h o u g h t s , but he did not sit a n d think t h e m . H e w a s busy all the time they were p a s s i n g t h r o u g h his m i n d . H e m a d e a n e w f o u n d a t i o n for a fire, this time in the o p e n , w h e r e no t r e a c h e r o u s tree c o u l d blot it out. Next, he g a t h e r e d dry g r a s s e s a n d tiny twigs from the high-water flotsam. H e c o u l d not b r i n g his fingers together to pull t h e m o u t , b u t h e w a s a b l e to gather t h e m by the handful. In this way h e got m a n y rotten twigs a n d bits

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of green m o s s that were u n d e s i r a b l e , but it w a s the b e s t h e c o u l d d o . H e worked methodically, even collecting a n armful of the larger b r a n c h e s to be u s e d later w h e n the fire g a t h e r e d strength. A n d all the while the d o g sat a n d w a t c h e d h i m , a certain yearning wistfulness in its eyes, for it looked u p o n him a s the fire-provider, a n d the fire w a s slow in c o m i n g . W h e n all w a s ready, the m a n r e a c h e d in his p o c k e t for a s e c o n d p i e c e of birch-bark. H e k n e w the bark w a s there, a n d , t h o u g h he c o u l d not feel it with his fingers, he c o u l d hear its crisp rustling a s h e f u m b l e d for it. Try a s h e w o u l d , h e c o u l d not c l u t c h hold of it. A n d all the t i m e , in his c o n s c i o u s n e s s , w a s the k n o w l e d g e that e a c h instant his feet were freezing. T h i s t h o u g h t t e n d e d to p u t him in a p a n i c , b u t h e fought a g a i n s t it a n d kept c a l m . H e pulled on his m i t t e n s with his teeth, a n d t h r e s h e d his a r m s b a c k a n d forth, b e a t i n g his h a n d s with all his might a g a i n s t his s i d e s . H e did this sitting d o w n , a n d he s t o o d u p to do it; a n d all the while the d o g sat in the s n o w , its wolf-brush of a tail c u r l e d a r o u n d warmly over its forefeet, its s h a r p wolfears pricked forward intently a s it w a t c h e d the m a n . A n d the m a n , a s he b e a t a n d t h r e s h e d with his a r m s a n d h a n d s , he felt a great s u r g e of envy a s h e regarded the c r e a t u r e that w a s w a r m a n d s e c u r e in its n a t u r a l covering. After a time he w a s a w a r e of the first faraway signals of s e n s a t i o n in his b e a t e n fingers. T h e faint tingling grew stronger till it evolved into a s t i n g i n g a c h e that w a s excruciating, but which the m a n hailed with s a t i s f a c t i o n . H e stripped the mitten from his right h a n d a n d f e t c h e d forth the birch-bark. T h e e x p o s e d fingers were quickly g o i n g n u m b a g a i n . Next he b r o u g h t out his b u n c h of s u l p h u r m a t c h e s . B u t the t r e m e n d o u s cold h a d already driven the life out of his fingers. In his effort to s e p a r a t e o n e m a t c h from the o t h e r s , the w h o l e b u n c h fell in the snow. H e tried to p i c k it out of the s n o w , but failed. T h e d e a d fingers c o u l d neither t o u c h nor c l u t c h . H e w a s very careful. H e drove the t h o u g h t of his freezing feet, a n d n o s e , a n d c h e e k s , o u t of his m i n d , devoting his w h o l e soul to the m a t c h e s . H e w a t c h e d , u s i n g the s e n s e of vision in p l a c e of that of t o u c h , a n d w h e n h e s a w his fingers on e a c h side the b u n c h , he c l o s e d t h e m — t h a t is, he willed to c l o s e t h e m , for the wires were d o w n , a n d the fingers did not obey. H e pulled the mitten on the right h a n d , a n d b e a t it fiercely a g a i n s t his k n e e . T h e n , with both m i t t e n e d h a n d s , h e s c o o p e d the b u n c h of m a t c h e s , a l o n g with m u c h s n o w , into his lap. Yet he w a s n o better off. After s o m e m a n i p u l a t i o n he m a n a g e d to get the b u n c h b e t w e e n the heels of his m i t t e n e d h a n d s . In this fashion h e carried it to his m o u t h . T h e ice crackled a n d s n a p p e d w h e n by a violent effort h e o p e n e d his m o u t h . H e drew the lower j a w in, c u r l e d the u p p e r lip o u t of the way, a n d s c r a p e d the b u n c h with his u p p e r teeth in order to s e p a r a t e a m a t c h . H e s u c c e e d e d in getting o n e , which h e d r o p p e d o n his lap. H e w a s no better off. H e c o u l d not pick it u p . T h e n he devised a way. H e p i c k e d it u p in his teeth a n d s c r a t c h e d it on his leg. T w e n t y times h e s c r a t c h e d before h e s u c c e e d e d in lighting it. As it flamed he held it with his teeth to the birch-bark. B u t the b u r n i n g b r i m s t o n e went u p his nostrils a n d into his l u n g s , c a u s i n g him to c o u g h s p a s m o d i c a l l y . T h e m a t c h fell into the s n o w a n d went out. T h e old-timer on S u l p h u r C r e e k w a s right, he t h o u g h t in the m o m e n t of controlled d e s p a i r that e n s u e d : after fifty below, a m a n s h o u l d travel with a partner. H e beat his h a n d s , but failed in exciting a n y s e n s a t i o n . S u d d e n l y h e bared both h a n d s , r e m o v i n g the m i t t e n s with his t e e t h . H e c a u g h t the whole

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b u n c h b e t w e e n the heels of his h a n d s . H i s a r m - m u s c l e s not b e i n g frozen e n a b l e d him to p r e s s the h a n d - h e e l s tightly a g a i n s t the m a t c h e s . T h e n h e s c r a t c h e d the b u n c h a l o n g his leg. It flared into f l a m e , seventy s u l p h u r m a t c h e s at o n c e ! T h e r e w a s n o wind to blow t h e m out. H e kept his h e a d to o n e side to e s c a p e the strangling f u m e s , a n d held the blazing b u n c h to the birch-bark. A s h e s o held it, he b e c a m e a w a r e of s e n s a t i o n in his h a n d . His flesh w a s b u r n i n g . H e c o u l d smell it. D e e p d o w n below the s u r f a c e h e c o u l d feel it. T h e s e n s a t i o n d e v e l o p e d into p a i n that grew a c u t e . A n d still he e n d u r e d it, h o l d i n g the f l a m e of the m a t c h e s clumsily to the bark that w o u l d not light readily b e c a u s e his own b u r n i n g h a n d s were in the way, a b s o r b i n g m o s t of the f l a m e . At last, w h e n h e c o u l d e n d u r e no m o r e , he j e r k e d his h a n d s apart. T h e blazing m a t c h e s fell sizzling into the s n o w , but the birch-bark w a s alight. H e b e g a n laying dry g r a s s e s a n d the tiniest twigs on the f l a m e . H e c o u l d not pick a n d c h o o s e , for h e h a d to lift the fuel b e t w e e n the heels of his h a n d s . S m a l l p i e c e s of rotten w o o d a n d green m o s s c l u n g to the twigs, a n d he bit t h e m off a s well a s he could with his teeth. H e c h e r i s h e d the flame carefully a n d awkwardly. It m e a n t life, a n d it m u s t not p e r i s h . T h e withdrawal of blood from the s u r f a c e of his body n o w m a d e him begin to shiver, a n d h e grew m o r e awkward. A large p i e c e of green m o s s fell s q u a r e l y on the little fire. H e tried to p o k e it o u t with his fingers, but his shivering f r a m e m a d e h i m p o k e too far, a n d h e d i s r u p t e d the n u c l e u s of the little fire, the b u r n i n g g r a s s e s a n d tiny twigs s e p a r a t i n g a n d s c a t t e r i n g . H e tried to p o k e t h e m together a g a i n , b u t in spite of the t e n s e n e s s of the effort, his shivering got away with him, a n d the twigs were hopelessly s c a t t e r e d . E a c h twig g u s h e d a p u f f of s m o k e a n d went out. T h e fire-provider h a d failed. A s he looked apathetically a b o u t him, his eyes c h a n c e d on the dog, sitting a c r o s s the ruins of the fire from him, in the s n o w , m a k i n g r e s t l e s s , h u n c h i n g m o v e m e n t s , slightly lifting o n e forefoot a n d then the other, shifting its weight b a c k a n d forth on t h e m with wistful e a g e r n e s s . T h e sight of the d o g put a wild idea into his h e a d . H e r e m e m b e r e d the tale of the m a n , c a u g h t in a blizzard, w h o killed a steer a n d crawled inside the c a r c a s s , a n d s o w a s saved. H e would kill the d o g a n d bury his h a n d s in the w a r m body until the n u m b n e s s went o u t of t h e m . T h e n h e c o u l d build a n o t h e r fire. H e s p o k e to the d o g , calling it to h i m ; b u t in his voice w a s a s t r a n g e n o t e of fear that frightened the a n i m a l , w h o had never known the m a n to s p e a k in s u c h way before. S o m e t h i n g w a s the matter, a n d its s u s p i c i o u s n a t u r e s e n s e d d a n g e r — i t k n e w not w h a t d a n g e r , b u t s o m e w h e r e , s o m e h o w , in its brain a r o s e an a p p r e h e n s i o n of the m a n . It flattened its e a r s d o w n at the s o u n d of the m a n ' s voice, a n d its r e s t l e s s , h u n c h i n g m o v e m e n t s a n d the liftings a n d shiftings of its forefeet b e c a m e m o r e p r o n o u n c e d ; but it would not c o m e to the m a n . H e got on his h a n d s a n d k n e e s a n d crawled toward the d o g . T h i s u n u s u a l p o s t u r e a g a i n excited s u s p i c i o n , a n d the a n i m a l sidled mincingly away. T h e m a n sat up in the s n o w for a m o m e n t a n d s t r u g g l e d for c a l m n e s s . T h e n he pulled on his m i t t e n s , by m e a n s of his teeth, a n d got u p o n his feet. H e g l a n c e d d o w n at first in order to a s s u r e h i m s e l f that he w a s really s t a n d i n g u p , for the a b s e n c e of s e n s a t i o n in his feet left him u n r e l a t e d to the earth. H i s erect position in itself started to drive the w e b s of s u s p i c i o n from the dog's m i n d ; a n d w h e n h e s p o k e peremptorily, with the s o u n d of w h i p - l a s h e s in his

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voice, the dog r e n d e r e d its c u s t o m a r y a l l e g i a n c e a n d c a m e to h i m . As it c a m e within r e a c h i n g d i s t a n c e , the m a n lost his control. His a r m s flashed out to the d o g , a n d he e x p e r i e n c e d g e n u i n e surprise w h e n he d i s c o v e r e d that his h a n d s c o u l d not c l u t c h , that there w a s neither b e n d nor feeling in the fingers. H e h a d forgotten for the m o m e n t that they were frozen a n d that they were freezing m o r e a n d m o r e . All this h a p p e n e d quickly, a n d before the a n i m a l could get away, he e n c i r c l e d its body with his a r m s . H e sat d o w n in the s n o w , a n d in this fashion held the d o g , while it snarled a n d w h i n e d a n d s t r u g g l e d . B u t it w a s all he c o u l d d o , hold its body encircled in his a r m s a n d sit t h e r e . H e realized that he c o u l d not kill the dog. T h e r e was no way to d o it. W i t h his helpless h a n d s h e c o u l d neither draw nor hold his sheath-knife n o r throttle the a n i m a l . H e r e l e a s e d it, a n d it p l u n g e d wildly away, with tail b e t w e e n its legs, a n d still snarling. It halted forty feet away a n d surveyed him curiously, with e a r s sharply pricked forward. T h e m a n looked d o w n at his h a n d s in order to locate t h e m , a n d f o u n d t h e m h a n g i n g on the e n d s of his a r m s . It struck him a s c u r i o u s that o n e s h o u l d have to u s e his eyes in order to find out where his h a n d s were. H e b e g a n threshing his a r m s b a c k a n d forth, b e a t i n g the m i t t e n e d h a n d s a g a i n s t his s i d e s . H e did this for five m i n u t e s , violently, a n d his heart p u m p e d e n o u g h blood up to the s u r f a c e to put a s t o p to his shivering. B u t no s e n s a t i o n w a s a r o u s e d in the h a n d s . H e h a d a n i m p r e s s i o n that they h u n g like weights on the e n d s of his a r m s , but w h e n he tried to run the i m p r e s s i o n d o w n , he c o u l d not find it. A certain fear of d e a t h , dull a n d o p p r e s s i v e , c a m e to him. T h i s fear quickly b e c a m e p o i g n a n t as h e realized that it was no longer a m e r e m a t t e r of freezing his fingers a n d toes, or of losing his h a n d s a n d feet, but that it w a s a m a t t e r of life a n d d e a t h with the c h a n c e s a g a i n s t him. T h i s threw him into a p a n i c , a n d he turned a n d ran u p the creek-bed a l o n g the old, d i m trail. T h e d o g j o i n e d in behind a n d kept u p with him. H e ran blindly, without intention, in fear s u c h a s h e h a d never known in his life. Slowly, a s he p l o u g h e d a n d floundered t h r o u g h the snow, he b e g a n to s e e things a g a i n — t h e b a n k s of the creek, the old t i m b e r - j a m s , the leafless a s p e n s , a n d the sky. T h e r u n n i n g m a d e him feel better. H e did not shiver. M a y b e , if h e ran on, his feet w o u l d thaw out; a n d , anyway, if he ran far e n o u g h , he would r e a c h c a m p a n d the boys. W i t h o u t d o u b t he would lose s o m e fingers a n d toes a n d s o m e of his f a c e ; but the boys would take c a r e of h i m , a n d save the rest of him w h e n he got there. A n d at the s a m e time there w a s a n o t h e r t h o u g h t in his mind that said he would never get to the c a m p a n d the boys; that it w a s too m a n y miles away, that the freezing had too great a start on him, a n d that he would s o o n be stiff a n d d e a d . T h i s thought he kept in the b a c k g r o u n d a n d refused to consider. S o m e t i m e s it p u s h e d itself forward a n d d e m a n d e d to be h e a r d , but he thrust it b a c k a n d strove to think of other things. It s t r u c k him a s c u r i o u s that he c o u l d run at all o n feet s o frozen that he c o u l d not feel t h e m w h e n they s t r u c k the earth a n d took the weight of his body. H e s e e m e d to h i m s e l f to skim a l o n g a b o v e the s u r f a c e , a n d to have no c o n n e c t i o n with the e a r t h . S o m e w h e r e he h a d o n c e s e e n a winged M e r cury, a n d he w o n d e r e d if M e r c u r y felt a s he felt w h e n s k i m m i n g over the earth. His theory of r u n n i n g until he r e a c h e d c a m p a n d the boys had o n e flaw in it: h e lacked the e n d u r a n c e . Several t i m e s h e s t u m b l e d , a n d finally he tottered, c r u m p l e d u p , a n d fell. W h e n he tried to rise, he failed. H e m u s t sit

1772

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a n d rest, he d e c i d e d , a n d next time he w o u l d merely walk a n d k e e p o n g o i n g . As h e sat a n d r e g a i n e d his b r e a t h , h e n o t e d that h e w a s feeling q u i t e w a r m a n d c o m f o r t a b l e . H e w a s not shivering, a n d it even s e e m e d that a w a r m glow h a d c o m e to his c h e s t a n d trunk. A n d yet, w h e n he t o u c h e d his n o s e or c h e e k s , there w a s n o s e n s a t i o n . R u n n i n g would not thaw t h e m o u t . N o r would it t h a w o u t his h a n d s a n d feet. T h e n the t h o u g h t c a m e to h i m that the frozen p o r t i o n s of his body m u s t b e extending. H e tried to keep this thought d o w n , to forget it, to think of s o m e t h i n g e l s e ; h e w a s a w a r e of the panicky feeling that it c a u s e d , a n d he w a s afraid of the p a n i c . B u t the t h o u g h t a s s e r t e d itself, a n d p e r s i s t e d , until it p r o d u c e d a vision of his body totally frozen. T h i s w a s t o o m u c h , a n d h e m a d e a n o t h e r wild run a l o n g the trail. O n c e he slowed d o w n to a walk, but the t h o u g h t of the freezing e x t e n d i n g itself m a d e him run a g a i n . A n d all the time the d o g ran with h i m , at his h e e l s . W h e n h e fell d o w n a s e c o n d t i m e , it c u r l e d its tail over its forefeet a n d sat in front of h i m , f a c i n g him, curiously e a g e r a n d intent. T h e w a r m t h a n d security of the a n i m a l a n g e r e d h i m , a n d he c u r s e d it till it flattened d o w n its e a r s a p p e a s i n g l y . T h i s time the shivering c a m e m o r e quickly u p o n the m a n . H e w a s losing in his battle with the frost. It w a s c r e e p i n g into his body from all s i d e s . T h e thought of it drove him o n , but he ran no m o r e than a h u n d r e d feet, w h e n he staggered a n d p i t c h e d h e a d l o n g . It w a s his last p a n i c . W h e n he h a d recovered his b r e a t h a n d control, he sat u p a n d e n t e r t a i n e d in his m i n d the c o n c e p t i o n of m e e t i n g d e a t h with dignity. H o w e v e r , the c o n c e p t i o n did not c o m e to him in s u c h t e r m s . H i s idea of it w a s that he h a d b e e n m a k i n g a fool of himself, r u n n i n g a r o u n d like a c h i c k e n with its h e a d c u t o f f — s u c h w a s the simile that o c c u r r e d to h i m . Well, he w a s b o u n d to freeze anyway, a n d he might a s well take it decently. With this n e w - f o u n d p e a c e of m i n d c a m e the first g l i m m e r i n g s of d r o w s i n e s s . A g o o d idea, h e t h o u g h t , to s l e e p off to d e a t h . It w a s like taking a n a n a e s t h e t i c . F r e e z i n g w a s not so b a d a s p e o p l e t h o u g h t . T h e r e were lots worse ways to d i e . H e p i c t u r e d the boys finding his body next day. S u d d e n l y h e f o u n d h i m s e l f with t h e m , c o m i n g a l o n g the trail a n d looking for himself. A n d , still with t h e m , h e c a m e a r o u n d a turn in the trail a n d f o u n d h i m s e l f lying in the s n o w . H e did not b e l o n g with h i m s e l f any m o r e , for even then h e w a s out of himself, s t a n d i n g with the boys a n d looking at h i m s e l f in the s n o w . It certainly w a s cold, w a s his t h o u g h t . W h e n he got b a c k to the S t a t e s h e c o u l d tell the folks w h a t real cold w a s . H e drifted o n from this to a vision of the old-timer on S u l p h u r C r e e k . H e could s e e him q u i t e clearly, w a r m a n d c o m f o r t a b l e , a n d smoking a pipe. "You were right, old h o s s ; you were right," the m a n m u m b l e d to the oldtimer of S u l p h u r C r e e k . T h e n the m a n d r o w s e d off into what s e e m e d to him the m o s t c o m f o r t a b l e a n d satisfying sleep h e h a d ever k n o w n . T h e d o g sat f a c i n g h i m a n d waiting. T h e brief day drew to a c l o s e in a long, slow twilight. T h e r e w e r e no signs of a fire to b e m a d e , a n d , b e s i d e s , never in the dog's e x p e r i e n c e h a d it k n o w n a m a n to sit like that in the s n o w a n d m a k e no fire. As the twilight drew o n , its eager y e a r n i n g for the fire m a s t e r e d it, a n d with a great lifting a n d shifting of forefeet, it w h i n e d softly, then flattened its e a r s d o w n in a n t i c i p a t i o n of b e i n g c h i d d e n by the m a n . B u t the m a n r e m a i n e d silent. L a t e r , the d o g whined loudly. A n d still later it crept c l o s e to the m a n a n d c a u g h t the s c e n t

T H E NAVAJO N I G H T C H A N T

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of d e a t h . T h i s m a d e the animal bristle a n d b a c k away. A little longer it delayed, howling u n d e r the stars that l e a p e d a n d d a n c e d a n d s h o n e brightly in the cold sky. T h e n it t u r n e d a n d trotted u p the trail in the direction of the c a m p it knew, w h e r e were the other food-providers a n d fire-providers. 1902,

1908

NATIVE AMERICAN CHANTS AND SONGS THE

NAVAJO

NIGHT

CHANT

The Navajo migrated to the American Southwest from points further north sometime between 1000 and 1300 C.E. Once settled, the Navajo learned farming and weaving from the Pueblo peoples; they later acquired livestock from the Spanish and developed silver-working skills from contact with Mexicans. When the United States took possession of the southwestern territories in 1848 after the Mexican war, it inherited the problem of raiding Navajos. In 1863, the government hired the well-known scout Kit Carson to subdue the Navajo by destroying their crops and livestock. One year later starving Navajo people began to make their way into Fort Defiance. Later that year, some eight thousand Navajo were forced to make the Long Walk from Fort Defiance in western Arizona three hundred miles to Fort Sumner in east-central New Mexico, where they were imprisoned. This traumatic event is remembered by the Navajo as the Trail of Tears is remembered by the Cherokee and Wounded Knee by thejiipu*. In 1868 a new treaty established a three-milliurj-acre reservation for Trie* Navajo in New Mexico and Arizona—and the people began to return to their homes. Despite food shortages, drought, and further land cessions, the Navajo gradually grew in number. Today they are the most populous American Indian nation in the United States. Ceremonies are a central part of Navajo culture. They are used to enhance life— to promote a successful hunt and good crops—to cure physical illness, and to remedy misfortunes of all kinds—a fire or miscarriage, lightning striking sheep. Although songj^dgnces, and sand paintings are important parts of Navajo ceremonies, it was t^ng^jraimptgx prgyersTnat led thetirst recorders of These c e r e m o T i l E s to call tbf m rfcanjs An individual desiring that a ceremony be performed first consults with a seer, a ritual diagnostician who determines which chant is likely to address the problem at hand. The initiator of the ceremony is referred to as the "patient," regardless of whether she or he is sick in the Western sense. The chants may last from one to nine nights. They are conducted by an expert in a particular ceremonial, a person endowed not so much with special power (as is the seer) as with special knowledge. Each ceremonial requires elaborate preparation by the chanter and the patient's family. The chanter must renew or refresh ritual objects to be used during the ceremony—masks, prayer sticks, and the like—and the family must provide such things as the baskets used as drums that the chanter requires and food for the many invited guests. The Night Chant is one of the most elaborate of Navajo ceremonials, taking a full nine nights to perform. It begins at sunset, when the chanter enters the house of the patient and a crier, standing at the door, calls, Bike hatdli hakti ("Come on the trail

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THE

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CHANT

of song"), enjoining both the patient and the guests to participate. The patient seats himself or herself west of a fire that has been kindled for the ceremony: the place of honor. At sunrise on the ninth day, after an elaborate series of songs, dances, and chanted prayers, the patient is invited to look eastward and greet the dawn in newfound health and wholeness. The earliest and still most detailed version of the Navajo Night Chant was published in 1902 by Washington Matthews ( 1 8 4 3 - 1 9 0 5 ) , an army surgeon assigned to Fort Wingate, New Mexico, in the 1880s. Drawn to the culture of the Navajo, Matthews learned their language and published his first study of a Navajo ceremonial, The Mountain Chant, in 1887. After witnessing a Night Chant in the fall of 1884, Matthews devoted the last twenty years of his life to its study. Although he worked with many priests of the Night Chant, one in particular, Hatali Natloi (Laughing Chanter), contributed to the version Matthews published in 1902. Today, the chants are commonly referred to in English as nays: Night Way, Mountain Way, Enemy Way, Blessing Way, the Bed Ant Way, and so on. The change of name points to trig-fact that t h e s e a r e dramatic a"tf not limited to chanting alone. We retain the name Night CKaTTtToriginally used by Matthews and still used by John Bierhorst, whose edition of Matthews's version we print here.

The Night Chant 1

•

Concluding THE

Rite,

First

Day

SACRED MOUNTAINS

Sprinkling dry p i g m e n t s on the floor of the l o d g e , the c h a n t e r p r e p a r e s a small s a n d p a i n t i n g featuring the four s a c r e d m o u n t a i n s of the N a v a j o world; a trail l e a d s into their midst. At the doorway the crier i s s u e s his u s u a l call: Bike hatali hakii. T h e patient e n t e r s , walking slowly a l o n g the "trail" to the " m o u n t a i n s , " followed by H a s t s h e y a l t i . * T h e s i n g e r s begin: 1

In a holy p l a c e with a g o d I walk, In a holy p l a c e with a g o d I walk, O n T s i s n a d z h i n i with a g o d I walk, O n a chief of m o u n t a i n s with a g o d I walk, In old a g e w a n d e r i n g with a g o d I walk, O n a trail of b e a u t y with a g o d I walk.

5

T h e stanza is r e p e a t e d three t i m e s , c h a n g i n g the n a m e of the m o u n t a i n , in turn, to T s o t s i l , Dokosh'd, a n d D e p e n t s a . 4 T h e p a t i e n t r e a c h e s the c e n t e r of the p i c t u r e ; the c h a n t e r recites: F r o m the b a s e of the e a s t . F r o m the b a s e of T s i s n a d z h i n i . F r o m the h o u s e m a d e of m i r a g e ,

1. From John Rierhorst's Four Masteni'orks of American Indian Literature: Quetzalcoatl, Tlie Ritual of Condolence, Cuceb, The Night Chant ( 1 9 7 4 , 1984). Bierhorst's version of Washington Matthews's text condenses it somewhat and slightly alters the original spelling. T h e descriptions of ritual procedure are also condensed from Matthews. 2. C o m e on the trail of song (Navajo). 3. The Talking God, principal figure of the Night Chant.

4. Probably Pelado Peak, New Mexico, the mountain marking the eastern point of the Navajo world. Tsdtil is Mt. Taylor, N M , and marks the south; Dokosh'd is Humphrey's Peak, Arizona, and marks the west; while Depentsa is probably Hesperus Peak, Colorado, and marks the north. T h e patient symbolically follows a holy trait that takes him to each of these mountains, homes of the gods [Rierhorst's note].

THE

NIGHT CHANT

F r o m the story 5 m a d e of m i r a g e , F r o m the doorway of rainbow, T h e p a t h o u t of which is the rainbow, T h e rainbow p a s s e d o u t with m e . T h e rainbow raised u p with m e T h r o u g h the m i d d l e of b r o a d fields, T h e rainbow returned with m e . T o w h e r e my h o u s e is visible, T h e rainbow returned with m e . T o the roof of my h o u s e , T h e rainbow returned with m e . T o the e n t r a n c e of my h o u s e , T h e rainbow returned with m e . T o j u s t within my h o u s e , T h e r a i n b o w returned with m e . T o my fireside, T h e r a i n b o w returned with m e . T o the c e n t e r of my h o u s e , T h e rainbow returned with m e . At the fore part of my h o u s e with the d a w n , 6 T h e T a l k i n g G o d sits with m e . T h e H o u s e G o d sits with m e . Pollen Boy sits with m e . G r a s s h o p p e r Girl sits with m e . In b e a u t y E s t s a n a t l e h i , my m o t h e r , for her I r e t u r n . 7 Beautifully my fire to m e is restored. Beautifully my p o s s e s s i o n s are to m e restored. Beautifully my soft g o o d s to m e a r e restored. Beautifully my hard g o o d s to m e are restored. Beautifully my h o r s e s to m e are restored. Beautifully my s h e e p to m e are restored. Beautifully my old m e n to m e are restored. Beautifully my old w o m e n to m e are restored. Beautifully my y o u n g m e n to m e are restored. Beautifully my y o u n g w o m e n to m e are restored. Beautifully my children to m e are restored. Beautifully my wife to m e is restored. Beautifully my chiefs to m e are restored. Beautifully my country to m e is restored. Beautifully my fields to m e are restored. Beautifully my h o u s e to m e is restored. T a l k i n g G o d sits with m e . H o u s e G o d sits with m e . Pollen Boy sits with m e . G r a s s h o p p e r Girl sits with m e . Beautifully white corn to m e is restored.

5. Matthews's poetic "story" is misleading. " B a s e . " or "lower part," would be more correct [Bierhorst's note]. 6. I.e., the front ("forepart") of all Navajo houses, or hogans, faces east. 7. Estsanatlehi is Changing Woman, a personifi-

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hi

is

20

25

30

35

40

45

50

55

cation of the earth. T h e return to the mother (or grandmother) is a motif typical of Navajo as of many other myths. Pollen Boy symbolizes male generative power and Grasshopper Girl, female generative power [adapted from Bierhorst's note].

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THE

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CHANT

Beautifully yellow corn to m e is r e s t o r e d . Beautifully b l u e corn to m e is restored. Beautifully corn of all kinds to m e is r e s t o r e d . In b e a u t y m a y I walk. All day l o n g m a y I walk. T h r o u g h the r e t u r n i n g s e a s o n s m a y I walk. [line untranslated] Beautifully . . . will I p o s s e s s again. [line untranslated] Beautifully birds . . . Beautifully joyful birds . . . O n the trail m a r k e d with pollen m a y I walk. W i t h g r a s s h o p p e r s a b o u t my feet m a y I walk. W i t h d e w a b o u t my feet m a y I walk. W i t h b e a u t y m a y I walk. With b e a u t y before m e , m a y I walk. With b e a u t y b e h i n d m e , m a y I walk. W i t h b e a u t y a b o v e m e , m a y I walk. W i t h b e a u t y below m e , m a y I walk. With b e a u t y all a r o u n d m e , m a y I walk. In old a g e w a n d e r i n g on a trail of b e a u t y , lively, m a y I walk. In old a g e w a n d e r i n g on a trail of beauty, living a g a i n , m a y I walk. It is finished in beauty. It is finished in beauty.

60

8

65

70

75

T h e prayer is thrice r e p e a t e d , s u b s t i t u t i n g in turn the n a m e s of the other three directions ( s o u t h , west, north) a n d their c o r r e s p o n d i n g m o u n t a i n s (Tsotsil, D o k o s l i d , D e p e n t s a ) . K n e e l i n g , H a s t s h e y a l t i takes s a n d from e a c h of the " m o u n t a i n s " a n d a p p l i e s it to the p a t i e n t . T h e patient k n e e l s : c o a l s are r e m o v e d from the fire a n d p l a c e d b e f o r e h i m ; over t h e s e the c h a n t e r sprinkles a p o w d e r of feathers a n d resin, giving rise to a n i n c e n s e i n h a l e d by the patient. T h e c o a l s a r e e x t i n g u i s h e d , the p i c t u r e obliterated. T h e party withdraws.

Concluding

Rite,

Ninth

Day

F o u r great fires a r e kindled o n either side of the level s p a c e , or " d a n c i n g g r o u n d , " in front of the l o d g e . F a c i n g the l o d g e at a d i s t a n c e of s o m e h u n d r e d p a c e s s t a n d s the newly c o n s t r u c t e d " a r b o r , " a circle of evergreen b o u g h s to b e u s e d a s the p e r f o r m e r s ' c h a n g i n g r o o m . S p e c t a t o r s , n u m b e r i n g in the h u n d r e d s , g a t h e r j u s t b e y o n d the fires a l o n g both s i d e s of the d a n c i n g ground. DANCE OF THE ATSALEI, THUNDERBIRDS

T h e c h a n t e r ' s a s s i s t a n t s paint with white e a r t h the b o d i e s of d a n c e r s w h o will r e p r e s e n t the four t h u n d e r b i r d s (of c o r n , of child-rain, of v e g e t a t i o n , a n d gollen). T h e c h a n t e r s i n g s : 8. Matthews's 1902 publication gives the Navajo for these lines, b e c a u s e he could not arrive at a satisfactory translation of them.

THE

NIGHT

CHANT

N o w the holy o n e p a i n t s his form, T h e W i n d B o y , 9 the holy o n e , p a i n t s his form, All over his body, he p a i n t s his form, W i t h the dark c l o u d h e p a i n t s his form, W i t h the misty rain he p a i n t s his form, W i t h the rainy b u b b l e s he p a i n t s his form, T o the e n d s of his toes h e p a i n t s his form, T o fingers a n d rattle he p a i n t s his form, T o the p l u m e on his h e a d h e p a i n t s his form.

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1777

5

A s the d a n c e r s repair to the arbor, the b a s k e t is t u r n e d d o w n [overturned, u s e d a s a d r u m ] a n d s i n g i n g b e g i n s a n e w . Fully c o s t u m e d , the t h u n d e r b i r d s , led by H a s t s h e y a l t i , a p p r o a c h the d a n c i n g g r o u n d . A crier calls: C o m e on the trail of s o n g [Bike hatdli hakii]. T h e patient e m e r g e s from the lodge a n d sprinkles the d a n c e r s with m e a l . ( S i n g i n g within the lodge c o n t i n u e s una b a t e d . ) A d d r e s s i n g the t h u n d e r b i r d of p o l l e n , the patient recites after the c h a n t e r , line by line: 1 In T s e g i h i , 2 In the h o u s e m a d e of the d a w n , In the h o u s e m a d e of the evening twilight, In the h o u s e m a d e of the dark c l o u d , In the h o u s e m a d e of the he-rain, In the h o u s e m a d e of the dark m i s t , In the h o u s e m a d e of the she-rain, In the h o u s e m a d e of pollen, In the h o u s e m a d e of g r a s s h o p p e r s , W h e r e the dark m i s t c u r t a i n s the doorway, T h e p a t h to which is o n the rainbow, W h e r e the zigzag lightning s t a n d s high on t o p , W h e r e the he-rain s t a n d s high on top, O h , m a l e divinity! W i t h your m o c c a s i n s of dark c l o u d , c o m e to u s . W i t h your leggings of dark c l o u d , c o m e to u s . W i t h your shirt of dark c l o u d , c o m e to u s . W i t h your h e a d d r e s s of dark c l o u d , c o m e to u s . With your m i n d e n v e l o p e d in dark c l o u d , c o m e to u s . W i t h the dark t h u n d e r a b o v e you, c o m e to u s s o a r i n g . With the s h a p e n c l o u d at your feet, c o m e to u s s o a r i n g . With the far d a r k n e s s m a d e of the dark c l o u d over your h e a d , c o m e to u s soaring. W i t h the far d a r k n e s s m a d e of the he-rain over your h e a d , c o m e to u s soaring. With the far d a r k n e s s m a d e of the dark m i s t over your h e a d , c o m e to u s soaring. With the far d a r k n e s s m a d e of the she-rain over your h e a d , c o m e to u s soaring. 9. Wind is the precursor of rain. Before he becomes rain, the dancer must be wind (or "Wind Boy," emphasizing his youthfulness) [Bierhorst's note[. 1. In the great prayer that follows, the Night Chant reaches its climax; the prayer for rain is the

10

15

20

25

30

prayer for salvation [Bierhorst's note]. 2. Tsegihi is a distant canyon, site of the shrine known as H o u s e M a d e of Dawn (cf. N. Scott Momaday's novel of that name), considered to be the dwelling place of the sun on earth.

1778

/

T H E NAVAJO N I G H T C H A N T

With the zigzag lightning flung o u t on high over your h e a d , c o m e to u s soaring. With the r a i n b o w h a n g i n g high over your h e a d , c o m e to u s s o a r i n g . With the far d a r k n e s s m a d e of the dark c l o u d o n the e n d s of your w i n g s , c o m e to u s soaring. With the far d a r k n e s s m a d e of the he-rain o n the e n d s of your w i n g s , c o m e to u s soaring. W i t h the far d a r k n e s s m a d e of the dark m i s t on the e n d s of your wings, c o m e to u s soaring. W i t h the far d a r k n e s s m a d e of the she-rain on the e n d s of your w i n g s , c o m e to u s s o a r i n g . W i t h the zigzag lightning flung o u t o n high on the e n d s of your w i n g s , c o m e to u s soaring. W i t h the r a i n b o w h a n g i n g high o n the e n d s of your wings, c o m e to u s s o a r i n g . With the n e a r d a r k n e s s m a d e of the d a r k c l o u d , of the he-rain, of the dark mist, a n d of the she-rain, c o m e to u s . W i t h the d a r k n e s s on the e a r t h , c o m e to u s . W i t h t h e s e I wish the f o a m floating on the flowing water over the roots of the great c o r n . I have m a d e your sacrifice. I have p r e p a r e d a s m o k e for y o u . M y feet restore for m e . M y l i m b s restore for m e . M y body restore for m e . M y m i n d restore for m e . M y voice restore for m e . T o d a y , take o u t your spell for m e . T o d a y , take away your spell for m e . Away from m e you have t a k e n it. F a r off from m e it is t a k e n . F a r off you have d o n e it. H a p p i l y I recover. Happily my interior b e c o m e s cool. Happily my eyes regain their power. H a p p i l y my h e a d b e c o m e s cool. Happily my l i m b s regain their power. Happily I hear again. H a p p i l y for m e the spell is t a k e n off. H a p p i l y m a y I walk. I m p e r v i o u s to p a i n , m a y I walk. F e e l i n g light within, m a y I walk. With lively feelings, may I walk. H a p p i l y a b u n d a n t dark c l o u d s I d e s i r e . Happily abundant dark mists I desire. Happily abundant passing showers I desire. H a p p i l y a n a b u n d a n c e of v e g e t a t i o n I d e s i r e . H a p p i l y a n a b u n d a n c e of p o l l e n I desire. Happily a b u n d a n t d e w I d e s i r e .

35

40

45

so

55

60

65

THE NIGHT CHANT

/

1779

H a p p i l y may fair white c o r n , to the e n d s of the e a r t h , c o m e with y o u . Happily m a y fair yellow c o r n , to the e n d of the e a r t h , c o m e with you. Happily m a y fair b l u e c o r n , to the e n d s of the e a r t h , c o m e with you. Happily m a y fair corn of all kinds, to the e n d s of the e a r t h , c o m e with you. H a p p i l y m a y fair p l a n t s of all kinds, to the e n d s of the earth, c o m e with y o u . H a p p i l y may fair g o o d s of all kinds, to the e n d s of the e a r t h , c o m e with you. Happily m a y fair j e w e l s of all kinds, to the e n d s of the earth, c o m e with you. W i t h t h e s e before you, happily m a y they c o m e with you. W i t h t h e s e b e h i n d you, happily m a y they c o m e with y o u . W i t h t h e s e below you, happily m a y they c o m e with you. With t h e s e a b o v e you, happily m a y they c o m e with y o u . W i t h t h e s e all a r o u n d you, happily m a y they c o m e with you. T h u s happily you a c c o m p l i s h your t a s k s . Happily the old m e n will regard y o u . H a p p i l y the old w o m e n will regard you. H a p p i l y the y o u n g m e n will regard y o u . H a p p i l y the y o u n g w o m e n will regard you. Happily the boys will regard you. H a p p i l y the girls will regard y o u . Happily the children will regard you. Happily the chiefs will regard y o u . Happily, a s they s c a t t e r in different d i r e c t i o n s , they will regard you. Happily, a s they a p p r o a c h their h o m e s , they will regard you. H a p p i l y m a y their r o a d s h o m e be on the trail of pollen. Happily m a y they all get b a c k . In b e a u t y I walk. W i t h b e a u t y before m e , I walk. W i t h b e a u t y b e h i n d m e , I walk. W i t h b e a u t y below m e , I walk. W i t h b e a u t y a b o v e m e , I walk. With b e a u t y all a r o u n d m e , I walk. It is finished in b e a u t y , It is finished in beauty, It is finished in beauty, It is finished in beauty.

T h e g r a n d c e r e m o n i a l c o n c l u d e s : T h e b a s k e t [used a s a d r u m ] is turned u p a n d the d r u m s t i c k (of twisted y u c c a leaves) taken o u t s i d e by a n a s s i s t a n t , w h o pulls it a p a r t , sprinkling pollen on the s h r e d s , r e p e a t i n g in a low voice the b e n e d i c t i o n :

1780

/

CHIPPEWA

SONGS

T h u s will it be beautiful, T h u s walk in b e a u t y , my g r a n d c h i l d . T h e patient, facing e a s t , inhales the b r e a t h of d a w n . 3 3. T h e description of the patient's gesture as the very last action of the Night C h a n t , Bierhorst notes, is not from Matthews, who probably never witnessed it in the late-19th- and early-20th-

CHIPPEWA

century performances he attended. Later writers note the patient's inhalation of the breath of dawn as typical of the Night Chant's conclusion.

SONGS

The Chippewa, one of the largest Indian groups in North America, are also known as the Ojibwe or, in their own Algonquian language, the Anishinabe. Their territories once ranged along the shores of Lake Huron and Lake Superior, across Minnesota, and west to the Turtle Mountains of North Dakota. In summer Chippewa bands gathered into villages where they fished, planted small gardens, and collected wild foods. In fall Chippewa living on the lakes cultivated large wild rice fields, paddling the lakes in their canoes and harvesting the rice by striking the plants with a stick. In winter bands moved to their hunting grounds in pursuit of deer, moose, bear, and small animals, like rabbits, otter, and beaver. The most important ceremonial organization of the Woodlands Chippewa was the Mide'wiwin, or Medicine Lodge Society, whose central ritual, the Medicine Dance, like the Navajo Night Chant, lasted several days and was predominantly a curing ceremony. Frances Densmore ( 1 8 6 7 - 1 9 5 7 ) was born in Chippewa country, in the small town of Red Wing, Minnesota. At an early age, she became interested in a wide range of American Indian music, eventually devoting her life to its study and publishing on Chippewa, Teton Sioux, Mandan, Northern Ute, Papago, Yaqui, Nootka, Quileute, and Seminole music. Deeply interested in the importance of the Mide'wiwin to the Chippewa, Densmore published in 1910 an elaborate account of the Mide', or Medicine Society songs, and in 1913 issued the second part of her study of Chippewa music. The songs printed here were collected by Densmore between 1907 and 1909 on the White Earth, Leech Lake, and Red Lake reservations, all west of Lake Superior in Minnesota. "Every phase of Chippewa life," Densmore wrote, "is expressed in music." Many Chippewa songs offer an individual yet culturally patterned response to the concerns of Chippewa life—love, war, a change in the weather, and the like; these songs often pass, with great interest and respect, from reservation to reservation. Traditionally, the songs were said to be "given" in dreams by some spirit power or animal. Singers frequently prefaced their performances with short speeches announcing the origin of the song and its relation to other songs. The usual accompaniment for Mide' and other medicine songs was the drum and rattle; love songs would often include the music of a flute. As will be apparent, Chippewa songs are quite short, with few words and brief melodies. But phrases could be repeated many times, with the drum sometimes continuing during the pauses in between the sets of repetitions. In the "Love-Charm Song" of the Mide'wiwin sung by Na'waji'bigo'kwe, printed here, the first word, translated as "What are you saying to me?" is repeated seven times before the second word, translated as "I am arrayed like the roses," is sung. The third word, translated as "And beautiful as they," does

S O N G OF THE C R O W S

/

1781

not conclude the song, as the translation seems to suggest, because another five repetitions of the first word follow. These songs may be read simply as poems; recently, the Chippewa writer Gerald Vizenor compared them with Japanese haiku. Nonetheless, because the Chippewa songs were meant to be sung, we have in two cases included the music. Also included here are the Chippewa language texts as transcribed by Densmore.

Song of the Crows 1 Sung by Henry

Selkirk

Be'bani'gani' Nin'digog' Binesiwug' Nin'wgndjigi'miwun' Andeg'nindigo'

TRANSLATION

T h e first to c o m e I a m called A m o n g the birds I bring the rain C r o w is my n a m e

1. From Chippewa Music ( 1 9 1 0 ) . Densmore notes that crows are said to have given this song to a young man who was fasting. T h e crow then became his manido, or spirit power. As crows are

the first birds to return to the Chippewa lands in spring, they are thought to bring the welcome spring rains,

1 782

/

CHIPPEWA

SONGS

My Love H a s Departed 2 -

Sung by Mrs. Mary VOICE J

Man-go-dfAg - win

=

132;

RECORDED WITHOUT

3—

mi-gwe - na-win h—1

I- - -I

Ba - wi - tifi

I

™~ -I —<

• J JI

m'

_#A

nln-I-mu-ce

NIU

$i

FL

a - ni - ma-dja

J j /"J M i M i M Si

^ 3 0 - nBn-dum

R ITS

T

2:

ka - win- i - na-wa nin-da-wa-ba-ma - si

d!

110 . ,

|—R -

8-ni-wa-wa - sa- bo - ye- zud.

nin - J - mu- ce

gi - nl - ma-dja

il *! i Hit

DRUM

nin - d! - neu-dum man-go-dflg-win nin - di - nfin-dum,

| , %j i—f>—1

English

man -go-d
j J M J J, JI»j^7rjB>3j

Man-go-dug - win

1

3

•

ZTF-

nin - di - ngn-duin,

Mjjm

8-ni-wa-wa - sa - bo - ye-zud

mi-gwe - na-win ka - win - i-mu-ce,

TRANSLATION I

A loon I thought it w a s B u t it w a s My love's Splashing oar 2 T o Sault Ste. Marie* He has departed My love 2. From Chippewa Musk ( 1 9 1 0 ) . Densmore notes that the song recalls a time when the city of Duliiili. Minnesota, at the western end of Lake

Superior, was a camping ground for the Chippewa. 3. Sault S t e . Marie marks the eastern end of Lake Superior.

LOVE-CHARM

SONG

/

1783

H a s g o n e on b e f o r e m e Never again C a n I s e e him

Love-Charm Sung VOICE

J

=

by

88;

Song4

Na'waji'bigo'kwe RECORDED

a

- in - na

ji - a

- ne

a

-

ji - a

-

a

WITHOUT

- ni -

DRUM

na

ji

pr—.E

'

- a

as?

**H>—• - f t

L

in

- na

•

r—i-

-

ne

—•—•—•— =t 9

1

1

-

^

-

f

=

l

^

1

b a - uii

ji - na

go - o - y&n

a

- ni - n a

ji - a -

ne

fL*.

a

-

ni - n a

Ji

- a

- ne

a

- ni - na

ji - a

- ne

a

- m - na

I

TRANSLATION

W h a t are you saying to m e ? I a m arrayed like the r o s e s And beautiful a s they

4. From Chippewa Music ( 1 9 1 0 ) by Frances Densmore. Densmore notes that love-charm songs were considered verv powerful. The woman who sang this song used the tenor range, because.

Densmore guesses, the lower register was adopted generally by women who sang Mide' songs in unison with men.

1784

/

CHIPPEWA

SONGS

T h e Approach of the Storm 5 Sung

by

Ga'Gandac'

Abitu' Gicigun' Ebigwen' Kabide' bwewidun' TRANSLATION

F r o m the half of the sky T h a t which lives there Is c o m i n g , a n d m a k e s a n o i s e

T h e Sioux Women Gather U p Their W o u n d e d 6 Sung

by

Odjib'we

Oma'mikweg' Paba' made' mowug' Ona'djida'bamawun' ( J dinini m i w u n Ani'mude'muwug' TRANSLATION

The Sioux women P a s s to a n d fro wailing As they g a t h e r u p Their wounded men T h e voice of their w e e p i n g c o m e s b a c k to u s

5. From Chippewa Music ( 1 9 1 0 ) . T h e thunder, understood a s a manido, or spirit, of the storm, makes its noise to warn people that severe weather is on the way. Upon hearing thunder, the Chippewa would put tobacco on the fire, offering the smoke in peace to the manido, in gratitude for the

warning [adapted from Densmore's note]. 6. From Chippewa M u s i c — / / ( 1 9 1 3 ) by Frances Densmore. T h e Sioux were traditional enemies of the Chippewa, and there are many war songs relating to engagements with the Sioux.

S O N G OF T H E

CAPTIVE SIOUX WOMAN

/

1785

The Sioux Woman Defends Her Children 7 Sung by

Odjib'we

Neta'gica'wasosig' Wape'ton Biapi'sika'dug Go'cawin' Bigica'wasud' TRANSLATION

O n c e c a r e l e s s of her c h i l d r e n 8 S h e of the W a p e t o n S i o u x N o w c o m e s in h a s t e Surely T o their d e f e n s e

Song of the Captive Sioux W o m a n 9 Sung by

Odjib'we

Kaka'tawu1 Waya'bamagin' Nin'gaodji'ma KegeV Nin'jawe'nimig' TRANSLATION

Any C h i p p e w a Whenever I see I will greet with a kiss Truly H e pities m e

7. From Chippewa Music—// ( 1 9 1 3 ) . Densmore notes that "the following two songs were composed about a war expedition which occurred when Odjib'we [the singer] was a young man." This song and the next refer to a hard-fought battle between the Chippewa and the Sioux a few miles north of present-day St. Cloud, Minnesota. T h e first song, composed by Odjib'we's father, recalls a Sioux woman who seized an ax to protect her children from the attacking Chippewa. S h e and all her children were nonetheless killed. 8. This may reflect Chippewa views of Sioux child

care in general. 9. From Chippewa Music—// ( 1 9 1 3 ) . T h e woman referred to was taken captive in the battle referred to in n. 7 and was to be shot. First, she was given the opportunity to sing. T h e song she sang is not known, but as Densmore notes, "It moved the elder brother of Odjib'we so strongly that he rushed forward and rescued her." Later, the captive woman thanked the warriors for sparing her and sang this song. 1. T h e Sioux word for "Chippewa."

1786

GHOST

DANCE

SONGS

The songs that various Native American peoples composed to accompany the dances of the Ghost Dance religion resembled the songs that had traditionally accompanied "round dances," communal dances in which, as the following drawings from the Comanche and Sioux indicate, the dancers held hands and moved in a loose circle. Ghost Dance songs would originate when a dancer fell into a trancelike state and upon regaining consciousness expressed in a song what he or she had seen in the spirit world. As each dance would almost surely give rise to new songs, each tribe's repertoire was constantly changing—although some particularly appealing songs were repeated again and again, and in some cases made their way to other Indian nations. Ghost Dance songs embodied what each people took to be the teachings of the Indian Messiah, Wovoka, but the songs also made mention of aspects of the daily lives and traditional customs and ceremonies of the various native tribes. Thus references to important berries; to gambling wheels and gambling sticks involved in various games; to the sacred pipe, the crow, or the eagle; and to specific activities of the men or the women all appear in the Ghost Dance songs. James Mooney (1861—1921) of the Bureau of American Ethnology studied the Ghost Dance religion and, in 1896, published a massive work titled The Ghost Dance Religion and the Sioux Outbreak of 1890. Mooney not only interviewed Wovoka but conducted extensive interviews with people from many Indian tribes who had participated in the Ghost Dance. An accomplished ethnographic observer familiar with Sioux languages (he had published Siouan Tribes of the East in 1894), Mooney is a careful observer and his commentary is richly descriptive. Printed here are ghost songs from the Arapaho and Sioux. We have provided examples of musical notation as a reminder that these were songs sung as a circle of dancers moved slowly hand in hand. All the selections printed here are from James Mooney's The Ghost

Dance

Religion

and the Sioux

Outbreak

of J 8 90, edited and abridged by

Anthony F. C . Wallace (1965).

Songs of the Arapaho 1 [Father,

have pity on

me]

2

Moderato.. r * i

|

f

» A

m

- * - r - p

• lii'• qu n e ' - c h a - wu' - na - ni',

ni' - qu ne'-cha - w u ' - na - ni';

* 5

a'• wa

bi'-qa • na' - k a - y«' - na,

*4 i - ya

hu'h

ni' - ui

tbi' - ti,

1. T h e Arapaho are an Algonquian-speaking people whose northern branch occupied the present state of Wyoming and whose southern branch lived in present-day Arkansas. T h e Arapaho share many of the traits of the Plains Indians and were particularly close to the Cheyenne. Unlike the Cheyenne, however, the Arapaho maintained generally

a - wa'-wa

bi'-qa - na' • k a - ye'-na;

3 i • ya - hu'h

ui' - bi

tbi' • ti.

Iriendly relations with the whites. 2. This is the most pathetic of the Ghost-dance songs. It is s u n g to a plaintive tune, sometimes with tears rolling down the cheeks of the dancers a s the words would bring up thoughts of their present miserable a n d dependent condition [ Mooney s note].

S O N G S OF T H E ARAPAHO

/

1787

TRANSLATION

F a t h e r , have pity on m e , F a t h e r , have pity o n m e ; I a m crying for thirst, I a m crying for thirst; All is g o n e — 1 have n o t h i n g to e a t , All is g o n e — I have n o t h i n g to e a t . [When

_

1 — T R - R T F ""V

I met him

!•» *

I

RI

I

R*^

•—*

t*-'

H e ' ! Nii-nc'TH BI'-SBI • n a ' - w a .

n a ' • ni . s a ' - u a ,

I

approaching]*

H

4

R*"~

0 0

He'! Nii-ue'TLI BI'-HLII-qu' • '«•»,

X a ' • III . SA'-ua,

N a ' - i - 11A' • h a ' t • dii'-ba'-iiaq, >.";i' - i - iia' • h a t - d a ' • bii'-naq.

TRANSLATION

He! W h e n I m e t h i m a p p r o a c h i n g — He! W h e n I m e t him a p p r o a c h i n g — M y children, my c h i l d r e n — I then s a w t h e m u l t i t u d e plainly, I then s a w t h e m u l t i t u d e plainly.

Native drawings of the Ghost Dance. A, C o m a n c h e ; B, Sioux. 3. This song was brought from the north to the southern Arapaho by Sitting Bull. It refers to the trance vision of a dancer, who saw the Messiah

advancing at the head of all the spirit army. It is an old favorite, and is sung with vigor and animation [Mooney's note].

1 788

/

GHOST DANCE

SONGS

Songs of the Sioux [The father

says

so]'

A ' t e h e ' y e e'yayo! A ' t e h e ' y e e'yayo! A ' t e h e ' y e lo, A ' t e h e ' y e lo. Nitu'nkanshi'la wa'niyegala'ke—kta' e'yayo'! Nitu'nkanshi'la wa'niyegala'ke—kta' e'yayo'! A ' t e he'ye lo, A ' t e h e ' y e lo. Ni'takuye wanye'gala'ke—kta e'yayo'! N i ' t a k u y e wanye'gala'ke—kta e ' y a y o ' ! A ' t e h e ' y e lo, A ' t e h e ' y e lo. TRANSLATION

The The The The You You The The You You The The

father says s o — E ' y a y o ! father says s o — E ' y a y o ! father says s o , father says s o . shall s e e your grandfather—E'yayo'! shall s e e your g r a n d f a t h e r — E ' y a y o ' ! father says s o , father says s o . shall s e e your kindred—E'yayo'! shall s e e your kindred—E'yayo'! father says s o , father says s o .

[Give

me my

knife]

2

Mila kin h i y u ' m i c h i ' c h i y a n a , M i l a kin h i y u ' m i c h i ' c h i y a n a . W a ' w a k a ' bla-kte—Ye ' y e ' ! Wa'waka'bla-kte—Ye'ye'! Onchi he'ye lo—Yo'yo'! Ofichi he'ye l o — Y o ' y o ' ! P u y e chinyi w a ' s n a wakaghinyifi-kte, Puye chinyi w a ' s n a wakaghinyifi-kte, O n c h i heye l o — Y o ' y o ! O n c h i heye l o — Y o ' y o ! 1. This is the opening song of the dance. While singing it, all the dancers stand motionless with hands stretched out toward the west, the country of the messiah and the quarter whence the new spirit world is to c o m e . When it is ended, all cry together, after which they join hands and begin to circle around to the left. "Grandfather," as well as "father," is a reverential term applied to the messiah [Mooney's note].

10

10

2. This song brings up a vivid picture of the old Indian life. In her trance vision the old grandmother whose experience it relates c a m e upon her friends in the spirit world just as all the women of the c a m p were engaged in cutting up the meat for drying after a successful buffalo hunt. In her joy she calls for her knife to assist in the work, and says that as soon as the meat is dry she will make s o m e pemmican [Mooney's note].

WOVOKA

/

1789

TRANSLATION

Give m e my knife, Give m e my knife, I shall h a n g u p the m e a t to I shall h a n g up the m e a t to Says grandmother—Yo'yo'l Says grandmother—Yo'yo'l W h e n it is dry I shall m a k e W h e n it is dry I shall m a k e Says grandmother—Yo'yol Says grandmother—Yo'yol [The whole

world

is

dry—Ye'ye'l dry—Ye'ye'l 5 pemmican,3 pemmican, 10 coming]

4

M a k a ' s i t o ' m a n i y a n ukiye, O y a ' t e uki'ye, o y a ' t e uki'ye, W a ' n b a l i o y a ' t e w a n hoshi'hi-ye lo, Ate heye lo, a t e heye lo, M a k a o'wancha'ya uki'ye. Pte kin ukiye, p t e kin ukiye, K a n g h i o y a ' t e w a n h o s h i ' h i - y e , lo, A ' t e h e ' y e lo, a ' t e h e ' y e lo.

5

TRANSLATION

T h e w h o l e world is c o m i n g , A nation is c o m i n g , a nation is c o m i n g , T h e E a g l e h a s b r o u g h t the m e s s a g e to the tribe. T h e father says s o , the father says s o . Over the w h o l e earth they are c o m i n g . T h e buffalo a r e c o m i n g , the buffalo are c o m i n g , T h e C r o w h a s b r o u g h t the m e s s a g e to the tribe, T h e father says s o , the father says s o .

5

•

3. Dried beef, which is toasted and then pounded into a hash; it may be eaten with sugar, fruit, or mesquite pods. 4. This fine song summarizes the whole hope of the Ghost d a n c e — t h e return of the buffalo and the

departed dead, the message being brought to the people by the sacred birds, the eagle and the crow. T h e eagle known as waii'bali is the war eagle, from which feathers are procured as war bonnets [Mooney* s notel.

WOVOKA c.

1856-1932

Quoitze Ow, known most commonly by his boyhood name Wovoka (the Wood Cutter) or his adoptive name Jack Wilson, was a Numu (Paiute) Indian, born in 1 8 5 6 or 1 8 5 7 at Walker Lake in present-day Nevada. Although he had earlier experienced trancelike states and visions, Wovoka's Great Revelation came to him on New Year's day of 1 8 8 9 when he fell into a coma, perhaps induced by scarlet fever.

1790

/

WOVOKA

On that day there was also a total eclipse of the sun. In his vision, Wovoka was transported to heaven, where he spoke to God, who assured him that the Messiah— Jesus, it would seem, although Wovoka himself began to assume the role of Messiah to many American Indians, particularly after the fulfillment of his prediction of rain to drought-stricken Nevada—was already on earth and that soon the buffalo would return (this was of particular importance to the Plains Indians), game animals would abound, and the Indian dead would be reunited with their kin in an earthly paradise. As for the whites, they would either disappear or somehow be assimilated into the native new world order. The Ghost Dance itself was a form of the traditional round dance that was to be performed for five or six nights. Men and women, hand in hand, moved sideways and in a circular motion around a fire, singing songs that varied from group to group. Followers of the Ghost Dance religion believed that performing this dance, along with carrying out specifically peaceful, thoroughly Christian behaviors, would ensure the realization of Wovoka's vision of paradise. Also assumed by some, particularly the Plains Indians, who early on stripped away the religion's pacific aspects, was the impermeability to bullets of the dyed and painted, fringed muslin or buckskin garments known as Ghost Dance shirts. When asked about this belief, Wovoka himself called it a joke. But it was no joke when the Seventh Cavalry trained its guns on a band of starving Sioux, at Wounded Knee on the Pine Ridge reservation, called there because the government's Indian agent had become panicky about the activities of the Ghost Dancers. A Minneconjou Sioux named Kicking Bear and his brother-in-law Short Bull made the trip southwest to the land of the Fish Eaters (the Paiutes) to find out about this new religion, word of which had spread to the Plains. They met the Paiute Messiah, learned the songs and dances of the Ghost Dance religion and, upon their return, introduced them to the Sioux on the Rosebud, Cheyenne River, and Pine Ridge reservations. Sitting Bull, one of the most notable of the Sioux chiefs and a principal participant in the defeat of Custer at the Little Bighorn River, had his doubts about the power of the Ghost Dance. He was, however, willing to have the religion introduced among his people at Standing Rock reservation—although he had heard that government Indian agents had called for soldiers to stop the dances. James McLaughlin, the agent who was in charge of Standing Rock reservation, was particularly upset about the Ghost Dance, which he called a "pernicious system of religion," for all that much of it was clearly Christian. By November 1890 the agent at Pine Ridge reservation had telegraphed Washington: "Indians are dancing in the snow and are wild and crazy. . . . We need protection and we need it now." Sitting Bull, as one of the most visible and eminent of the Sioux, was singled out by those fearful of the Ghost Dance. Shortly before dawn on December 15, 1890, Sitting Bull's cabin was surrounded by Indian police under the command of Lieutenant Bull Head, who attempted to take the old chief prisoner. Although Sitting Bull cooperated, outside the cabin a crowd of Ghost Dancers urged him to resist arrest. A man named Catch-the-Bear pulled out a rifle and shot at Bull Head, who, as he fell, attempted to shoot back at Catchthe-Bear. His bullet struck Sitting Bull instead; Red Tomahawk, another of the Indian police, then shot the old chief in the head, killing him. Less than ten days after Sitting Bull's murder the call came for the arrest of Big Foot, an elderly Minneconjou Sioux, who was suffering, in the cold, from pneumonia. His people, too, had been participants in the Ghost Dance, and with little resistance possible. Big Foot led them to surrender at Wounded Knee, on the Pine Ridge reservation. Surrounded by cavalry, the Indians were halted and counted: 120 men and 230 women and children. The next morning Colonel James W. Forsyth of the Seventh Cavalry ordered the men outside and announced that they were to be disarmed. Some weapons were given up, but the soldiers persisted in their search. A young man named

THE

MESSIAH LETTER: CHEYENNE VERSION

/

1791

Black Coyote, who may have been deaf, refused to hand over his Winchester rifle. The soldiers seized him; Black Coyote's rifle discharged or was fired, and the violence began. Soldiers shot indiscriminately at the assembled men and the women who, at the sound of gunfire, had run to the scene. Then the big Hotchkiss guns positioned on the surrounding hills began to fire, and in a short time, the massacre was complete. Big Foot and most of his people, the majority women and children, were dead. Later in the day, the soldiers returned to the scene and loaded the wounded Sioux into wagons: four men and forty-seven women and children. Because a blizzard was approaching, the Indian dead were left where they had fallen. After the storm had passed, on New Year's Day of 1891, white settlers, who were paid two dollars a corpse, gathered the Sioux dead, frozen, photographs show, into grotesque shapes, and threw them into a mass grave. In what follows are two versions of Wovoka's teachings, transcriptions of native oratory addressed to native peoples. First, we have a Cheyenne version (many of the tribes sent emissaries to visit the Paiute prophet), dictated, in English, by Black Short Nose to his daughter around 1891, following his visit with Wovoka. We have left uncorrected the grammatical and spelling errors in this account in the belief that Black Short Nose's hybrid English, however different from the standard, is of interest. Next follows Wovoka's own version of his message, as given in 1892 to James Mooney (see p. 1786). Mooney produced this free rendering, which he titles "The Messiah Letter," as part of his detailed study of the Ghost Dance religion.

The Messiah Letter: Cheyenne Version 1 W h e n you get h o m e you have to m a k e d a n c e . You m u s t d a n c e for four nights a n d o n e day time. You will take bath in the s a m e m o r n i n g before you go to yours h o m e , for every body, a n d give you all the s a m e a s this. J a c k s o n W i l s o n 2 likes you all, he is glad to get g o o d m a n y things. His heart satting fully of g l a d n e s s , after you get h o m e , I will give you a g o o d c l o u d a n d give you c h a n c e to m a k e you feel g o o d . I give you a g o o d spirit, a n d give you all g o o d paint, I want you p e o p l e to c o m e here a g a i n , want t h e m in three m o n t h s any tribs of you from t h e r e . T h e r e will b e a g o o d deal s n o w this year. S o m e time rains, in fall this year s o m e rain, never give you any thing like that, grandfather, said, w h e n they were die never cry, n o hurt anybody, do any h a r m for it, not to fight. B e a good b e h a v e always. It will give a satisfaction in your life. T h i s y o u n g m a n is a g o o d father a n d m o t h e r . D o not tell the white p e o p l e a b o u t this, J u s e s 3 is on the g r o u n d , he j u s t like c l o u d . Every body is a live a g a i n . I don't know w h e n he will be h e r e , m a y be will be this fall or in spring. W h e n it h a p p e n it m a y be this. T h e r e will b e no s i c k n e s s a n d return to y o u n g a g a i n . D o not refuse to work for white m a n or do not m a k e any trouble with t h e m until you leave t h e m . W h e n the earth s h a k e s do not be afraid it will not hurt you. I want you to m a k e d a n c e for six w e e k s . Eat a n d w a s h good c l e a n y o u r s e l v e s . 4

1. From J a m e s Moonev's The Ghost Dance Religion and the Sioux Outbreak ofJ 8 9 0 ( 1 8 9 6 , 196S). 2. Wovoka.

3. J e s u s . 4. T h e rest of the letter had heen erased [Moonev's note].

1792

/

ZITKALA SA ( G E R T R U D E

SIMMONS

BONNIN)

T h e Messiah Letter: Mooney's Free Rendering 1 W h e n you get h o m e you m u s t m a k e a d a n c e to c o n t i n u e five d a y s . D a n c e four s u c c e s s i v e n i g h t s , a n d the last night k e e p u p the d a n c e until the m o r n i n g of the fifth day, w h e n all m u s t b a t h e in t h e river a n d t h e n d i s p e r s e to their h o m e s . You m u s t all do in the s a m e way. I, J a c k W i l s o n , love you all, a n d my h e a r t is full of g l a d n e s s for t h e gifts you have b r o u g h t m e . W h e n you get h o m e I shall give you a g o o d c l o u d 2 w h i c h will m a k e you feel g o o d . I give you a g o o d spirit a n d give you all g o o d p a i n t . I w a n t you to c o m e a g a i n in three m o n t h s , s o m e from e a c h tribe t h e r e . 3 T h e r e will b e a g o o d d e a l of s n o w this year a n d s o m e rain. In t h e fall t h e r e will b e s u c h a rain a s I have never given you b e f o r e . G r a n d f a t h e r 4 says, w h e n your friends die you m u s t not cry. You m u s t not hurt anybody or do h a r m to a n y o n e . You m u s t not fight. D o right always. It will give you s a t i s f a c t i o n in life. T h i s y o u n g m a n h a s a g o o d father a n d mother.5 D o not tell the white p e o p l e a b o u t this. J e s u s is now u p o n the earth. H e a p p e a r s like a c l o u d . T h e d e a d are all alive a g a i n . I d o not know w h e n they will b e h e r e ; m a y b e this fall or in the spring. W h e n the t i m e c o m e s there will b e n o m o r e s i c k n e s s a n d everyone will b e y o u n g a g a i n . D o not refuse to work for the whites a n d do not m a k e any t r o u b l e with t h e m until you leave t h e m . W h e n the e a r t h s h a k e s 6 do not b e afraid. It will not hurt you. I want everyone to d a n c e every six w e e k s . M a k e a feast at the d a n c e a n d have food that everybody may eat. T h e n b a t h e in the water. T h a t is all. You will receive g o o d words again from m e s o m e t i m e . D o not tell lies. 1. From J a m e s Mooney's The Ghost Dance Religionandthe Sioux Outbreak of 1890 ( 1 8 9 6 , 1965). 2. Rain? [Mooney's note]. i. T h e Indian Territory [Mooney's note]. 4. A universal title of reverence a m o n g Indians and here meaning the Messiah [Mooney's note].

5. Possibly refers to C a s p e r Edson, the young Arapaho who transcribed this m e s s a g e for the delegation [Mooney's note]. 6. At the coming of the new world [Mooney's note],

ZITKALA SA ( G E R T R U D E S I M M O N S

BONNIN)

1876-1938 Born Gertrude Simmons on February 22, 1876, Zitkala Sa (pronounced "shah"), or Red Bird, as she also called herself after she graduated from college, became a writer, musician, and important Native American political activist. According to the standards established by the dominant patriarchy of the time, a c ajfi"1" m i * P d _ - k l " a d h . n r n on an Indian reservation she was s u g p p s g d j q have been invisible, silent^segregated, a n d s u b m i s s i v e ; instead she achieved notoriety through her'vvnting, oratory, and musical skills and was highly vocal and aggressive in pursuit of her own development and the legal, economic, and cultural rights of Native Americans. Bonnin's biological father was a white man named Felker who deserted the family; her mother, a Yankton-Nakota Sioux named Ellen Tate Iyohinwin (She Reaches for

Z I T K A L A SA ( G E R T R U D E

SIMMONS

BONNIN)

/

1793

the Wind), married John H. Simmons, also a white man, who gave his name to the girl. When she was eight years old, Bonnin left the reservation against her mother's advice to attend White's Manual Labor Institute in Wabash, Indiana, one of many Quaker missionary schools whose self-appointed role was to "save" Indian children from the alleged savagery and paganism of tribal cultures by converting them into "civilized" Christians. After three years in Wabash, Bonnin went back to the reservation for several years before she returned to complete her pre-college schooling at White's Institute. In 1 8 9 5 - 9 6 she was a scholarship student at Quaker-run Earlham College in Richmond, Indiana, where she developed her talents as a debater and as a violinist. Her musical abilities also won her a scholarship to the New England Conservatory of Music. In 1898 she became a music teacher at the Carlisle Indian School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where she performed frequently with the school band; when the band visited the Paris Exposition in 1900 Bonnin was featured as a soloist. She was fired from her position at Carlisle when she began to publish autobiographical essays, such as the one reprinted here. These essays first appeared in the prestigious Atlantic Monthly. The contrast between Bonnin's secure and happy life as a child and her painful and confusing initiation into the Christian work ethic is explored. The profound sadness expressed in these essays would have been unexpected by an audience accustomed to success stories absent of all but temporary setbacks. This is only one way in which Bonnin's autobiographical narratives deliberately subvert traditional Eurocentric conventions of self-representation. It is also clear from these narratives that Bonnin disapproved of the school's harsh physical discipline and its attempts to eradicate students'native janguagfs, m s t o n U , and m l t l i m typicnl " f " " • k c r h r i r J c f n r ann(|-|er h a l f c e n t u r y . It was while she was teaching at Carlisle that Bonnin began to write in English some of the stories she had first listened to as a child in the Nakota dialect of the Sioux nation. Several of these fourteen legends feature Iktomi, a trickster figure common to the oral traditions of many cultures (and resurrected by such contemporary writers as Louise Erdrich, Ishmael Reed, Toni Morrison, Gerald Vizenor, and Maxine Hong Kingston). The legends were collected and published as Old Indian Legends (1901). In her preface, signed Zitkala S a , the author ironically observes that she has "tried to translate the native spirit of these tales—root and all—into the English language, since America in the last few centuries has acquired a second tongue." In 1902 Zitkala Sa married Yankton-Nakota Sioux Raymond Talesfase Bonnin, whom she had met on the reservation where she had spent her childhood. He had served as a captain in the U.S. Army and was employed by the federally funded Indian Service. Their son, Raymond O. (Ohiya, or Winner), was born a year after their marriage, and they spent the next fourteen years at various Indian reservations. In 1913, while living on the Unitah-Ouray reservation in Utah, she collaborated with composer William Hanson on the opera Sun Dance, for which she wrote the libretto and lyrics. Although it was well-received in small towns by whites and Native Americans, it was not performed by a professional opera company until 1937. The Society of the American Indian, the first of its kind to be managed exclusively by Native Americans, was established at Ohio State University in 1911, and starting in 1916 Zitkala S a served as its secretary and the family moved permanently to Washington, D.C., where her husband secured a position as a law clerk. She also edited the society's American Indian Magazine (1918—19) and promoted legislation to change the federal governments treatment of Native Americans. In 1924 (the year _Nj,tiv° A r " ° r i r r l n s were g r a n t e d c i t i z e n s h i p ' ! [Rnnnin co-authored Oklahoma's Poor Rich

Indians:

An Orgy of Graft,

Exploitation

of the Five

Civilized

Tribes,

Legalized

Robbery, an expose of the violence and political chicanery that took place after oil was discovered on Indian-owned land. Zitkala S a later organized the National Council of American Indians (1926), which she served as president until her death.

1794

/

ZITKALA SA ( G E R T R U D E S I M M O N S

BONNIN)

Critic Mary Young observes that Zitkala Sa's most effective reform work was done with the General Federation of Women's Clubs, which she had persuaded to establish an Indian Welfare Committee. This committee was instrumental in improving treatment of American Indians and preserving Native American cultures. Zitkala Sa traveled around the country giving lectures on behalf of the committee, often dressed in traditional Sioux costume. Organizational work, lobbying, lecturing, and other obligations associated with her efforts on behalf of Native American causes left little time for imaginative writing, though Zitkala Sa did manage to bring together in one volume her autobiographical essays and some additional firsthand accounts of the painful experiences of other Native Americans. Published as American Indian Stories ( 1 9 2 1 ) , this collection may further help to distinguish Native American from Eurocentric autobiography: in American Indian Stories, the self whose life is being written is what Susan Friedman characterizes as a "relational" self or what Arnold Krupat describes as a "dialogic" self. The emphasis in Native American autobiography, they point out, is on communal rather than individual experience—frequently the reaction of Native Americans to the relentless attempts by Europeans to destroy their cultures. As Leslie Marmon Silko, among other contemporary Native American writers, has insisted, the capacity to tell stories linking the personal to the tribal is often what sustains cultures threatened by extinction. It is just this ability to tell stories in many forms (poetic and polemical) that led to the revival of interest both in Zitkala Sa and in the cultures she represented as a writer and as an activist.

Impressions of an Indian Childhood 1 /. My

Mother

A w i g w a m of w e a t h e r - s t a i n e d c a n v a s s t o o d at the b a s e of s o m e irregularly a s c e n d i n g hills. A footpath w o u n d its way gently d o w n the s l o p i n g land till it r e a c h e d the b r o a d river b o t t o m ; c r e e p i n g t h r o u g h the long s w a m p g r a s s e s that b e n t over it on either s i d e , it c a m e out on the e d g e of the M i s s o u r i . H e r e , m o r n i n g , n o o n , a n d evening, my m o t h e r c a m e to draw water from the m u d d y s t r e a m for our h o u s e h o l d u s e . Always, w h e n my m o t h e r started for the river, I s t o p p e d my play to run a l o n g with her. S h e w a s only of m e d i u m height. Often s h e w a s s a d a n d silent, at which times her full a r c h e d lips were c o m p r e s s e d into hard a n d bitter lines, a n d s h a d o w s fell u n d e r her black eyes. T h e n I c l u n g to her h a n d a n d b e g g e d to know w h a t m a d e the tears fall. " H u s h ; my little d a u g h t e r m u s t never talk a b o u t my t e a r s ; " a n d s m i l i n g through t h e m , s h e patted my h e a d a n d s a i d , " N o w let m e s e e how fast you c a n run to-day." W h e r e u p o n I tore away at my highest p o s s i b l e s p e e d , with my long black hair blowing in the b r e e z e . I w a s a wild little girl of seven. L o o s e l y c l a d in a sIip_of broyyn_huckskin, andJiglvt^fijQje^urith^ f L T e ^ T D d - t b a J bleyy_nry hliir7and no l e s s g p i r i t g d fhan a h o u n d i n g deer. T h e s e "were my mother's p r i d e , — m y ^ w i l d f r e e d o m a n d overflowing spirits. S h e taught m e n o fear save that of intruding myself u p o n o t h e r s . H a v i n g g o n e m a n y p a c e s a h e a d I s t o p p e d , p a n t i n g for b r e a t h , a n d l a u g h i n g with glee a s my m o t h e r w a t c h e d my every m o v e m e n t . I w a s not wholly cons c i o u s of myself, but w a s m o r e keenly alive to the fire within. It w a s a s if I were the activity, a n d my h a n d s a n d feet were only e x p e r i m e n t s for my spirit to work u p o n . I. "Impressions of an Indian Childhood" first appeared in the Atlantic Monthly for January. February, and March of 1900.

I M P R E S S I O N S O F AN I N D I A N C H I L D H O O D

/

1795

Returning from the river, I tugged beside my m o t h e r , with my h a n d u p o n the bucket I believed I w a s carrying. O n e time, on s u c h a return, I r e m e m b e r a bit of conversation we had. M y grown-up c o u s i n , Warca-Ziwin ( S u n f l o w e r ) , who was then s e v e n t e e n , always went to the river a l o n e for water for her mother. T h e i r wigwam was not far from o u r s ; a n d I saw her daily g o i n g to and from the river. I a d m i r e d my c o u s i n greatly. S o I s a i d : " M o t h e r , w h e n I a m tall as my c o u s i n Warca-Ziwin, you shall not have to c o m e for water. I will do it for y o u . " With a s t r a n g e tremor in her voice which I c o u l d not u n d e r s t a n d , s h e a n s w e r e d , "If the p a l e f a c e d o e s not take away from u s the river we drink." " M o t h e r , w h o is this b a d p a l e f a c e ? " I a s k e d . " M y little d a u g h t e r , he is a s h a m , ^ : : a _ s i r k l y s h a m T T h e b r o n z e d D a k o t a is the only real m a n . " I looked u p into my mother's face while s h e s p o k e ; a n d s e e i n g her bite her lips, I knew s h e w a s u n h a p p y . T h i s a r o u s e d revenge in my small soul. S t a m p ing my foot on the e a r t h , I cried a l o u d , "I hate the p a l e f a c e that m a k e s my m o t h e r cry!" S e t t i n g the pail of water on the g r o u n d , my m o t h e r s t o o p e d , a n d s t r e t c h i n g her left h a n d o u t on the level with my eyes, she p l a c e d her other a r m a b o u t m e ; she pointed to the hill where my u n c l e a n d my only sister lay b u r i e d . " T h e r e is what the p a l e f a c e has d o n e ! S i n c e then your father too has b e e n buried in a hill nearer the rising s u n . W e were o n c e very happy. B u t the p a l e f a c e has stolen our lands and driven \\* h i t h p r H a v i n g d e f r a u d e d u s of our land, tile""paletaceforced us away. "Well, It rTappenecTon the day we m o v e d c a m p that your sister a n d u n c l e were both very sick. M a n y others were ailing, but there s e e m e d to b e no help. W e traveled m a n y days a n d nights; not in the grand h a p p y way that we m o v e d c a m p w h e n I was a little girl, but we were driven, my child, driven like a herd of buffalo. With every s t e p , your sister, w h o w a s not a s large a s you are now, shrieked with the painful j a r until s h e was h o a r s e with crying. S h e grew m o r e a n d m o r e feverish. H e r little h a n d s a n d c h e e k s were b u r n i n g hot. H e r little lips were p a r c h e d a n d dry, but s h e would not drink the water I gave her. T h e n I discovered that her throat w a s swollen a n d red. M y p o o r child, how I cried with her b e c a u s e the G r e a t Spirit h a d forgotten u s ! "At last, w h e n we r e a c h e d this western country, o n the first weary night your sister died. A n d s o o n your u n c l e died a l s o , leaving a widow a n d an orphan d a u g h t e r , your c o u s i n Warca-Ziwin. B o t h your sister a n d u n c l e might have b e e n happy with us to-day, h a d it not b e e n for the h e a r t l e s s p a l e f a c e . " M y m o t h e r w a s silent the rest of the way to our w i g w a m . T h o u g h I saw no tears in her eyes, I knew that was b e c a u s e I w a s with her. S h e s e l d o m wept before m e . 17. The

Legends

D u r i n g the s u m m e r d a y s , my m o t h e r built her fire in the s h a d o w of our wigwam. In the early m o r n i n g our s i m p l e breakfast w a s s p r e a d u p o n the g r a s s west of our t e p e e . At the farthest point of the s h a d e my m o t h e r sat b e s i d e her fire, toasting a savory p i e c e of dried m e a t . N e a r her, I sat u p o n my feet, eating my dried m e a t with u n l e a v e n e d b r e a d , a n d drinking strong black coffee.

1796

/

ZITKALA §A ( G E R T R U D E S I M M O N S

BONNIN)

T h e m o r n i n g m e a l w a s our quiet hour, w h e n we two were entirely a l o n e . At n o o n , several w h o c h a n c e d to be p a s s i n g by s t o p p e d to rest, a n d to s h a r e our l u n c h e o n with u s , for they were s u r e of our hospitality. M y u n c l e , w h o s e d e a t h my m o t h e r ever l a m e n t e d , w a s o n e of o u r nation's bravest warriors. His n a m e w a s on the lips of old m e n w h e n talking of the p r o u d feats of valor; a n d it w a s m e n t i o n e d by y o u n g e r m e n , too, in c o n n e c tion with d e e d s of gallantry. O l d w o m e n p r a i s e d him for his k i n d n e s s toward t h e m ; y o u n g w o m e n held him up a s an ideal to their s w e e t h e a r t s . Every o n e loved h i m , a n d my m o t h e r w o r s h i p e d his m e m o r y . T h u s it h a p p e n e d that even s t r a n g e r s were s u r e of w e l c o m e in our lodge, if they but a s k e d a favor in my u n c l e ' s n a m e . T h o u g h I heard m a n y s t r a n g e e x p e r i e n c e s related by t h e s e wayfarers, I loved b e s t the e v e n i n g m e a l , for that w a s the time old l e g e n d s were told. I w a s always glad w h e n the s u n h u n g low in the w e s t , for then my m o t h e r s e n t m e to invite the n e i g h b o r i n g old m e n a n d w o m e n to e a t s u p p e r with u s . R u n n i n g all the way to the w i g w a m s , I halted shyly at the e n t r a n c e s . S o m e times I s t o o d long m o m e n t s without saying a word. It w a s not any fear that m a d e m e s o d u m b w h e n out u p o n s u c h a happy e r r a n d ; nor w a s it that I w i s h e d to withhold the invitation, for it w a s all I c o u l d d o to o b s e r v e this very p r o p e r s i l e n c e . B u t it w a s a s e n s i n g of the a t m o s p h e r e , to a s s u r e m y s e l f that I s h o u l d not hinder other p l a n s . M y m o t h e r u s e d to say to m e , a s I w a s a l m o s t b o u n d i n g away for the old p e o p l e : "Wait a m o m e n t before you invite any o n e . If other p l a n s are b e i n g d i s c u s s e d , do not interfere, but go e l s e where." T h e old folks knew the m e a n i n g of my p a u s e s ; a n d often they c o a x e d my c o n f i d e n c e by asking, " W h a t d o you s e e k , little g r a n d d a u g h t e r ? " " M y m o t h e r says you are to c o m e to o u r t e p e e this e v e n i n g , " I instantly e x p l o d e d , a n d b r e a t h e d the freer afterwards. "Yes, yes, gladly, gladly I shall c o m e ! " e a c h replied. Rising at o n c e a n d carrying their blankets a c r o s s o n e s h o u l d e r , they flocked leisurely from their various w i g w a m s toward our dwelling. M y m i s s i o n d o n e , I ran b a c k , s k i p p i n g a n d j u m p i n g with delight. All o u t of b r e a t h , I told my m o t h e r a l m o s t the exact words of the a n s w e r s to my invitation. F r e q u e n t l y s h e a s k e d , " W h a t were they d o i n g w h e n you e n t e r e d their t e p e e ? " T h i s t a u g h t m e to r e m e m b e r all I s a w at a single g l a n c e . Often I told my m o t h e r my i m p r e s s i o n s without b e i n g q u e s t i o n e d . W h i l e in the n e i g h b o r i n g w i g w a m s s o m e t i m e s an old I n d i a n w o m a n a s k e d m e , " W h a t is your m o t h e r d o i n g ? " U n l e s s my m o t h e r h a d c a u t i o n e d m e not to tell, I generally a n s w e r e d her q u e s t i o n s without reserve. At the arrival of our g u e s t s I sat c l o s e to my mother, a n d did not leave her side without first a s k i n g her c o n s e n t . I a t e my s u p p e r in q u i e t , listening patiently to the talk of the old p e o p l e , w i s h i n g all the time that they w o u l d begin the stories I loved best. At last, w h e n I c o u l d not wait any longer, I w h i s p e r e d in my m o t h e r ' s ear, "Ask t h e m to tell a n I k t o m i 2 story, m o t h e r . " S o o t h i n g my i m p a t i e n c e , my m o t h e r said a l o u d , " M y little d a u g h t e r is anxious to hear your l e g e n d s . " By this time all were t h r o u g h e a t i n g , a n d the evening w a s fast d e e p e n i n g into twilight. As e a c h in turn b e g a n to tell a l e g e n d , I pillowed my h e a d in m y m o t h e r ' s 2. Spider (Sioux, literal trans.); sometimes used to mean trickster.

I M P R E S S I O N S O F AN I N D I A N C H I L D H O O D

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1797

lap; a n d lying flat u p o n my back, I w a t c h e d the stars a s they p e e p e d d o w n upon m e , o n e by o n e . T h e i n c r e a s i n g interest of the tale a r o u s e d m e , a n d I sat up eagerly listening for every word. T h e old w o m e n m a d e funny r e m a r k s , and l a u g h e d s o heartily that I c o u l d not help j o i n i n g t h e m . T h e distant howling of a p a c k of wolves or the h o o t i n g of a n owl in the river b o t t o m frightened m e , a n d I nestled into my m o t h e r ' s lap. S h e a d d e d s o m e dry sticks to the fire, a n d the bright flames h e a p e d u p into the f a c e s of the old folks a s they sat a r o u n d in a great circle. O n s u c h an evening, I r e m e m b e r the glare of the fire s h o n e on a tattooed star u p o n the brow of the old warrior w h o w a s telling a story. I w a t c h e d him curiously a s h e m a d e his u n c o n s c i o u s g e s t u r e s . T h e b l u e star u p o n his bronzed f o r e h e a d w a s a puzzle to m e . L o o k i n g a b o u t , I s a w two parallel lines on the chin of o n e of the old w o m e n . T h e rest had n o n e . 1 e x a m i n e d my mother's f a c e , but f o u n d no sign there. After the warrior's story w a s finished, I a s k e d the old w o m a n the m e a n i n g of the b l u e lines o n her c h i n , looking all the while out of the c o r n e r s of my eyes at the warrior with the star on his f o r e h e a d . I w a s a little afraid that h e would r e b u k e m e for my b o l d n e s s . H e r e the old w o m a n b e g a n : "Why, my g r a n d c h i l d , they a r e s i g n s , — s e c r e t signs I d a r e not tell you. I shall, however, tell you a wonderful story a b o u t a w o m a n w h o h a d a c r o s s t a t t o o e d u p o n e a c h of her c h e e k s . " It w a s a long story of a w o m a n w h o s e m a g i c power lay h i d d e n b e h i n d the m a r k s u p o n her f a c e . I fell a s l e e p before the story w a s c o m p l e t e d . Ever after that night I felt s u s p i c i o u s of t a t t o o e d p e o p l e . W h e r e v e r I s a w o n e I g l a n c e d furtively at the m a r k a n d r o u n d a b o u t it, w o n d e r i n g what terrible m a g i c power w a s covered there. It w a s rarely that s u c h a fearful story a s this o n e w a s told by the c a m p fire. Its i m p r e s s i o n w a s so a c u t e that the picture still r e m a i n s vividly clear a n d pronounced. III.

The

Beadwork

S o o n after breakfast, m o t h e r s o m e t i m e s b e g a n her b e a d w o r k . O n a bright clear day, she pulled out the w o o d e n p e g s that p i n n e d the skirt of our wigw a m to the g r o u n d , a n d rolled the c a n v a s part way u p on its f r a m e of slender p o l e s . T h e n the cool m o r n i n g b r e e z e s swept freely t h r o u g h our dwelling, now a n d then wafting the p e r f u m e of sweet g r a s s e s from newly b u r n t prairie. Untying the long t a s s e l e d strings that b o u n d a small brown b u c k s k i n bag, my m o t h e r s p r e a d u p o n a m a t b e s i d e her b u n c h e s of c o l o r e d b e a d s , j u s t a s an artist a r r a n g e s the p a i n t s u p o n his palette. O n a Iapboard s h e s m o o t h e d out a d o u b l e s h e e t of soft white b u c k s k i n ; a n d d r a w i n g from a b e a d e d c a s e that h u n g on the left of her wide belt a long, narrow b l a d e , s h e t r i m m e d the buckskin into s h a p e . Often s h e worked u p o n small m o c c a s i n s for her small d a u g h t e r . T h e n I b e c a m e intensely interested in her d e s i g n i n g . With a p r o u d , b e a m i n g f a c e , I w a t c h e d her work. In i m a g i n a t i o n , I s a w myself walking in a new pair of snugly fitting m o c c a s i n s . I felt the e n v i o u s eyes of my p l a y m a t e s u p o n the pretty red b e a d s d e c o r a t i n g my feet. C l o s e b e s i d e my m o t h e r I sat on a rug, with a s c r a p of b u c k s k i n in o n e h a n d a n d an awl in the other. T h i s w a s the b e g i n n i n g of my practical observation l e s s o n s in the art of b e a d w o r k . F r o m a skein of finely twisted t h r e a d s

1798

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Z I T K A L A Sa

(GERTRUDE SIMMONS

BONNIN)

of silvery s i n e w s my m o t h e r pulled out a single o n e . With a n awl s h e p i e r c e d the b u c k s k i n , a n d skillfully t h r e a d e d it with the white sinew. Picking u p the tiny b e a d s o n e by o n e , she s t r u n g t h e m with the point of her t h r e a d , always twisting it carefully after every stitch. It took m a n y trials before I learned how to knot my sinew thread o n the point of my finger, a s I s a w her d o . T h e n the next difficulty w a s in k e e p i n g my thread stiffly twisted, so t h a t I c o u l d easily string my b e a d s u p o n it. M y m o t h e r r e q u i r e d of m e original d e s i g n s for my l e s s o n s in b e a d i n g . At first I frequently e n s n a r e d m a n y a s u n n y h o u r into working a long d e s i g n . S o o n I learned from self-inflicted p u n i s h m e n t to refrain from d r a w i n g c o m p l e x patterns, for I h a d to finish whatever I b e g a n . After s o m e experience I usually drew e a s y a n d s i m p l e c r o s s e s a n d s q u a r e s . T h e s e were s o m e of the set f o r m s . M y original d e s i g n s were not always symmetrical nor sufficiently c h a r a c t e r i s t i c , two faults with which my m o t h e r h a d little p a t i e n c e . T h e q u i e t n e s s of her oversight m a d e m e feel strongly r e s p o n sible a n d d e p e n d e n t u p o n my own j u d g m e n t . S h e treated m e a s a dignified little individual a s long a s I w a s on my g o o d behavior; a n d how h u m i l i a t e d I w a s w h e n s o m e b o l d n e s s of m i n e drew forth a r e b u k e from her! In the c h o i c e of colors s h e left m e to my own t a s t e . I w a s p l e a s e d with a n outline of yellow u p o n a b a c k g r o u n d of dark b l u e , or a c o m b i n a t i o n of red a n d myrtle-green. T h e r e w a s a n o t h e r of red with a bluish gray that w a s m o r e conventionally u s e d . W h e n I b e c a m e a little familiar with d e s i g n i n g a n d the various p l e a s i n g c o m b i n a t i o n s of color, a h a r d e r l e s s o n w a s given m e . It w a s the s e w i n g o n , i n s t e a d of b e a d s , s o m e tinted p o r c u p i n e quills, m o i s t e n e d a n d flattened b e t w e e n the nails of the t h u m b a n d forefinger. M y m o t h e r c u t off the prickly e n d s a n d b u r n e d t h e m at o n c e in the c e n t r e fire. T h e s e s h a r p points were p o i s o n o u s , a n d worked into the flesh wherever they l o d g e d . F o r this r e a s o n , my m o t h e r said, I s h o u l d not do m u c h a l o n e in quills until I w a s a s tall a s my c o u s i n Warca-Ziwin. Always after t h e s e confining l e s s o n s I w a s wild with s u r p l u s spirits, a n d f o u n d j o y o u s relief in r u n n i n g l o o s e in the o p e n a g a i n . M a n y a s u m m e r a f t e r n o o n , a party of four or five of my p l a y m a t e s r o a m e d over the hills with m e . W e e a c h carried a light s h a r p e n e d rod a b o u t four feet long, with w h i c h we pried u p certain sweet roots. W h e n w e h a d e a t e n all the c h o i c e roots w e c h a n c e d u p o n , we s h o u l d e r e d our rods a n d strayed off into p a t c h e s of a stalky plant u n d e r w h o s e yellow b l o s s o m s we f o u n d little crystal d r o p s of g u m . D r o p by d r o p we g a t h e r e d this nature's r o c k c a n d y , until e a c h of u s c o u l d b o a s t of a l u m p the size of a small bird's e g g . S o o n s a t i a t e d with its w o o d y flavor, we t o s s e d away o u r g u m , to return a g a i n to the sweet r o o t s . I r e m e m b e r well how we u s e d to e x c h a n g e our n e c k l a c e s , b e a d e d b e l t s , a n d s o m e t i m e s even o u r m o c c a s i n s . W e p r e t e n d e d to offer t h e m a s gifts to o n e a n o t h e r . W e delighted in i m p e r s o n a t i n g o u r own m o t h e r s . W e talked of things w e h a d h e a r d t h e m say in their c o n v e r s a t i o n s . W e i m i t a t e d their vari o u s m a n n e r s , even to the inflection of their v o i c e s . In the lap of the prairie we s e a t e d ourselves u p o n o u r feet; a n d l e a n i n g o u r p a i n t e d c h e e k s in the p a l m s of o u r h a n d s , we rested our e l b o w s on our k n e e s , a n d b e n t forward a s old w o m e n were m o s t a c c u s t o m e d to d o . W h i l e o n e w a s telling of s o m e heroic d e e d recently d o n e by a n e a r relative, the rest of u s listened attentively, a n d e x c l a i m e d in u n d e r t o n e s , " H a n ! h a n ! " (yes! yes!) w h e n e v e r the s p e a k e r p a u s e d for b r e a t h , or s o m e t i m e s for our

I M P R E S S I O N S O F AN I N D I A N C H I L D H O O D

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1799

sympathy. As the d i s c o u r s e b e c a m e more thrilling, a c c o r d i n g to our i d e a s , we raised our voices in t h e s e interjections. In these i m p e r s o n a t i o n s our parents were led to say only t h o s e things that were in c o m m o n favor. N o m a t t e r how exciting a tale we might be rehearsing, the m e r e shifting of a cloud s h a d o w in the l a n d s c a p e near by was sufficient to c h a n g e our i m p u l s e s ; a n d s o o n we were all c h a s i n g the great s h a d o w s that played a m o n g the hills. W e s h o u t e d a n d w h o o p e d in the c h a s e ; l a u g h i n g a n d calling to o n e a n o t h e r , we were like little sportive n y m p h s on that D a k o t a s e a of rolling green. O n o n e o c c a s i o n , I forgot the c l o u d s h a d o w in a s t r a n g e notion to c a t c h up with my own s h a d o w . S t a n d i n g straight a n d still, I b e g a n to glide after it, putting out o n e foot c a u t i o u s l y . W h e n , with the g r e a t e s t c a r e , I set my foot in a d v a n c e of myself, my s h a d o w crept onward too. T h e n again I tried it; this time with the other foot. Still again my s h a d o w e s c a p e d m e . I b e g a n to r u n ; a n d away flew my s h a d o w , always j u s t a step beyond m e . F a s t e r a n d faster I ran, setting my teeth a n d c l e n c h i n g my fists, d e t e r m i n e d to overtake my own fleet s h a d o w . B u t ever swifter it glided before m e , while I w a s growing b r e a t h l e s s a n d hot. S l a c k e n i n g my s p e e d , I w a s greatly vexed that my s h a d o w s h o u l d c h e c k its p a c e a l s o . D a r i n g it to the u t m o s t , a s I t h o u g h t , I sat d o w n u p o n a rock i m b e d d e d in the hillside. S o ! my s h a d o w had the i m p u d e n c e to sit down b e s i d e m e ! N o w my c o m r a d e s c a u g h t up with m e , a n d b e g a n to a s k why I w a s r u n n i n g away s o fast. " O h , I w a s c h a s i n g my s h a d o w ! Didn't you ever d o t h a t ? " I i n q u i r e d , surprised that they s h o u l d not u n d e r s t a n d . T h e y planted their m o c c a s i n e d feet firmly u p o n my s h a d o w to stay it, a n d I a r o s e . Again my s h a d o w slipped away, a n d m o v e d a s often a s I did. T h e n we gave u p trying to c a t c h my s h a d o w . B e f o r e this p e c u l i a r e x p e r i e n c e I have n o distinct m e m o r y of having recognized any vital b o n d b e t w e e n myself a n d my own s h a d o w . I never g a v e it an afterthought. R e t u r n i n g our b o r r o w e d belts a n d trinkets, w e r a m b l e d h o m e w a r d . T h a t evening, a s on other evenings, I went to sleep over my l e g e n d s . IV.

The

Coffee-Making

O n e s u m m e r afternoon, my m o t h e r left m e a l o n e in our w i g w a m , while she went a c r o s s the way to my a u n t ' s dwelling. I did not m u c h like to stay a l o n e in our t e p e e , for I feared a tall, b r o a d s h o u l d e r e d crazy m a n , s o m e forty years old, w h o walked loose a m o n g the hills. W i y a k a - N a p b i n a ( W e a r e r of a F e a t h e r N e c k l a c e ) w a s h a r m l e s s , a n d whenever he c a m e into a w i g w a m h e w a s driven there by e x t r e m e h u n g e r . H e went n u d e except for the half of a red blanket he girdled a r o u n d his waist. In o n e tawny a r m he u s e d to carry a heavy b u n c h of wild sunflowers that he gathered in his a i m l e s s r a m b l i n g s . His b l a c k hair w a s m a t t e d by the w i n d s , a n d s c o r c h e d into a dry red by the c o n s t a n t s u m m e r s u n . As h e took great strides, p l a c i n g o n e brown b a r e foot directly in front of the other, h e s w u n g his long lean arm to a n d fro. F r e q u e n t l y he p a u s e d in his walk a n d gazed far b a c k w a r d , s h a d i n g his eyes with his h a n d . H e w a s u n d e r the belief that a n evil spirit w a s h a u n t i n g his

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(GERTRUDE SIMMONS

BONNIN)

s t e p s . T h i s w a s what my m o t h e r told m e o n c e , w h e n I s n e e r e d at s u c h a silly big m a n . I was brave w h e n my m o t h e r w a s near by, a n d W i y a k a - N a p b i n a walking farther a n d farther away. "Pity the m a n , my child. I knew him w h e n he w a s a brave a n d h a n d s o m e y o u t h . H e w a s overtaken by a m a l i c i o u s spirit a m o n g the hills, o n e day, w h e n h e went hither a n d thither after his p o n i e s . S i n c e then h e c a n n o t stay away from the hills," s h e said. I felt so sorry for the m a n in his m i s f o r t u n e that I p r a y e d to the G r e a t Spirit to restore h i m . B u t t h o u g h I pitied him at a d i s t a n c e , I w a s still afraid of him w h e n h e a p p e a r e d n e a r our w i g w a m . T h u s , w h e n my m o t h e r left m e by myself that a f t e r n o o n , I sat in a fearful m o o d within our t e p e e . I recalled all I h a d ever h e a r d a b o u t W i y a k a - N a p b i n a ; a n d I tried to a s s u r e myself that t h o u g h h e might p a s s n e a r by, h e w o u l d not c o m e to our w i g w a m b e c a u s e there w a s no little girl a r o u n d o u r g r o u n d s . J u s t t h e n , from without a h a n d lifted the c a n v a s c o v e r i n g of the e n t r a n c e ; the s h a d o w of a m a n fell within the w i g w a m , a n d a large roughly m o c c a s i n e d foot w a s p l a n t e d inside. F o r a m o m e n t I did not d a r e to b r e a t h e or stir, for I t h o u g h t that c o u l d be no other t h a n W i y a k a - N a p b i n a . T h e next instant I s i g h e d a l o u d in relief. It w a s a n old g r a n d f a t h e r w h o h a d often told m e Iktomi l e g e n d s . " W h e r e is your m o t h e r , my little g r a n d c h i l d ? " were his first w o r d s . " M y m o t h e r is s o o n c o m i n g b a c k from my aunt's t e p e e , " I replied. " T h e n I shall wait awhile for her r e t u r n , " he said, c r o s s i n g his feet a n d seating himself upon a mat. At o n c e I b e g a n to play the part of a g e n e r o u s h o s t e s s . I t u r n e d to my mother's coffeepot. Lifting the lid, I f o u n d nothing but coffee g r o u n d s in the b o t t o m . I set the pot on a h e a p of cold a s h e s in the c e n t r e , a n d filled it half full of w a r m M i s s o u r i River water. D u r i n g this p e r f o r m a n c e I felt c o n s c i o u s of b e i n g w a t c h e d . T h e n b r e a k i n g off a small p i e c e of our u n l e a v e n e d b r e a d , I p l a c e d it in a bowl. T u r n i n g s o o n to the coffeepot, which w o u l d never have boiled o n a d e a d fire h a d I waited forever, I p o u r e d out a c u p of w o r s e t h a n m u d d y w a r m water. C a r r y i n g the bowl in o n e h a n d a n d c u p in the other, I h a n d e d the light l u n c h e o n to the old warrior. I offered t h e m to h i m with the air of b e s t o w i n g g e n e r o u s hospitality. " H o w ! h o w ! " 3 h e said, a n d p l a c e d the d i s h e s on the g r o u n d in front of his c r o s s e d feet. H e nibbled at the b r e a d a n d s i p p e d from the c u p . I s a t b a c k a g a i n s t a pole w a t c h i n g h i m . I w a s p r o u d to have s u c c e e d e d s o well in serving r e f r e s h m e n t s to a g u e s t all by myself. B e f o r e the old warrior h a d finished e a t i n g , my m o t h e r e n t e r e d . I m m e d i a t e l y s h e w o n d e r e d w h e r e I h a d f o u n d coffee, for s h e knew I h a d never m a d e any, a n d that s h e h a d left the c o f f e e p o t empty. A n s w e r i n g the q u e s t i o n in my m o t h e r ' s eyes, the warrior r e m a r k e d , " M y g r a n d d a u g h t e r m a d e coffee on a h e a p of d e a d a s h e s , a n d served m e the moment I came." T h e y both l a u g h e d , a n d m o t h e r s a i d , " W a i t a little longer, a n d I shall build a fire." S h e m e a n t to m a k e s o m e real c o f f e e . B u t neither s h e nor the warrior, w h o m the law of our c u s t o m h a d c o m p e l l e d to p a r t a k e o f my insipid hospitality, said anything to e m b a r r a s s m e . T h e y treated my b e s t j u d g m e n t , p o o r 3. Or hao ihau), American Indian greeting.

I M P R E S S I O N S O F AN I N D I A N C H I L D H O O D

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1801

as it w a s , with the u t m o s t r e s p e c t . It w a s not till long years afterward that I learned how r i d i c u l o u s a thing I h a d d o n e . V. The Dead

Man's Plum

Bush

O n e a u t u m n afternoon, m a n y p e o p l e c a m e s t r e a m i n g toward the dwelling of our n e a r neighbor. With p a i n t e d f a c e s , a n d w e a r i n g b r o a d white b o s o m s of elk's teeth, they hurried down the narrow footpath to H a r a k a W a m b d i ' s wigwam. Y o u n g m o t h e r s held their children by the h a n d , a n d half pulled them a l o n g in their h a s t e . T h e y overtook a n d p a s s e d by the b e n t old g r a n d m o t h e r s w h o were trudging a l o n g with c r o o k e d c a n e s toward the c e n t r e of excitement. M o s t of the y o u n g braves galloped hither on their p o n i e s . T o o t h less warriors, like the old w o m e n , c a m e m o r e slowly, t h o u g h m o u n t e d on lively p o n i e s . T h e y sat proudly erect on their h o r s e s . T h e y wore their e a g l e p l u m e s , a n d waved their various trophies of former w a r s . In front of the w i g w a m a great fire was built, a n d several large black kettles of venison were s u s p e n d e d over it. T h e crowd were s e a t e d a b o u t it on the grass in a great circle. B e h i n d t h e m s o m e of the braves s t o o d l e a n i n g a g a i n s t the necks of their p o n i e s , their tall figures d r a p e d in l o o s e r o b e s which were well drawn over their eyes. Y o u n g girls, with their f a c e s glowing like bright red a u t u m n leaves, their glossy braids falling over e a c h ear, sat c o q u e t t i s h l y b e s i d e their c h a p e r o n s . It w a s a c u s t o m for y o u n g Indian w o m e n to invite s o m e older relative to escort them to the public f e a s t s . T h o u g h it w a s not a n iron law, it w a s generally o b s e r v e d . H a r a k a W a m b d i w a s a s t r o n g y o u n g brave, w h o h a d j u s t r e t u r n e d from his first battle, a warrior. His near relatives, to c e l e b r a t e his n e w rank, were s p r e a d i n g a feast to which the whole of the Indian village w a s invited. H o l d i n g my pretty striped blanket in r e a d i n e s s to throw over my s h o u l d e r s , I grew m o r e a n d m o r e restless a s I w a t c h e d the gay t h r o n g a s s e m b l i n g . M y m o t h e r w a s busily broiling a wild d u c k that my a u n t h a d that m o r n i n g brought over. " M o t h e r , m o t h e r , why do you s t o p to c o o k a s m a l l m e a l w h e n we are invited to a f e a s t ? " I a s k e d , with a snarl in my voice. " M y child, learn to wait. O n our way to the c e l e b r a t i o n we are g o i n g to stop at C h a n y u ' s w i g w a m . H i s a g e d mother-in-law is lying very ill, a n d I think she would like a taste of this small g a m e . " Having o n c e s e e n the suffering on the thin, p i n c h e d f e a t u r e s of this dying w o m a n , I felt a m o m e n t a r y s h a m e that I h a d not r e m e m b e r e d her b e f o r e . O n our way, I ran a h e a d of my mother, a n d w a s r e a c h i n g out my h a n d to pick s o m e p u r p l e p l u m s that grew on a small b u s h , w h e n I w a s c h e c k e d by a low " S h ! " from my m o t h e r . "Why, m o t h e r , I want to t a s t e the p l u m s ! " I e x c l a i m e d , a s I d r o p p e d my h a n d to my side in d i s a p p o i n t m e n t . " N e v e r p l u c k a single p l u m from this b u s h , my child, for its roots are w r a p p e d a r o u n d a n Indian's skeleton. A brave is buried h e r e . W h i l e h e lived, he w a s s o fond of playing the g a m e of striped p l u m s e e d s that, at his d e a t h , his set of p l u m s e e d s were buried in his h a n d s . F r o m t h e m s p r a n g u p this little b u s h . " E y e i n g the forbidden fruit, I trod lightly on the s a c r e d g r o u n d , a n d d a r e d

1802

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Z I T K A L A SA ( G E R T R U D E S I M M O N S

BONNIN)

to s p e a k only in w h i s p e r s , until we h a d g o n e m a n y p a c e s from it. After that t i m e , I halted in my r a m b l i n g s whenever I c a m e in sight of the p l u m b u s h . I grew s o b e r with a w e , a n d w a s alert to hear a long-drawn-out whistle rise from the roots of it. T h o u g h I h a d never h e a r d with my own e a r s this s t r a n g e whistle of d e p a r t e d spirits, yet I h a d listened so frequently to h e a r the old folks d e s c r i b e it that I knew I s h o u l d recognize it at o n c e . T h e lasting i m p r e s s i o n of that day, a s I recall it now, is what my m o t h e r told m e a b o u t the d e a d m a n ' s p l u m b u s h . VI.

The

Ground

Squirrel

In the busy a u t u m n d a y s , my c o u s i n Warca-Ziwin's m o t h e r c a m e to o u r w i g w a m to help my m o t h e r p r e s e r v e foods for our winter u s e . I w a s very fond of my a u n t , b e c a u s e s h e w a s not s o q u i e t a s my m o t h e r . T h o u g h s h e w a s older, s h e w a s m o r e jovial a n d less reserved. S h e w a s s l e n d e r a n d r e m a r k a b l y erect. While my mother's hair w a s heavy a n d black, my a u n t h a d u n u s u a l l y thin locks. Ever s i n c e I knew her, s h e wore a string of large b l u e b e a d s a r o u n d her n e c k , — b e a d s that were p r e c i o u s b e c a u s e my u n c l e h a d given t h e m to her w h e n s h e w a s a y o u n g e r w o m a n . S h e h a d a peculiar s w i n g in her gait, c a u s e d by a long stride rarely natural to so slight a figure. It w a s d u r i n g my a u n t ' s visit with u s that my m o t h e r forgot her a c c u s t o m e d q u i e t n e s s , often l a u g h i n g heartily at s o m e of my a u n t ' s witty r e m a r k s . I loved my a u n t threefold: for her hearty laughter, for the c h e e r f u l n e s s s h e c a u s e d my m o t h e r , a n d m o s t of all for the times she dried my tears a n d held m e in her lap, w h e n my m o t h e r h a d reproved m e . Early in the cool m o r n i n g s , j u s t a s the yellow rim of the s u n rose a b o v e the hills, we were up a n d e a t i n g o u r breakfast. W e a w o k e s o early that w e s a w the s a c r e d h o u r w h e n a misty s m o k e h u n g over a pit s u r r o u n d e d by a n i m p a s s a b l e sinking m i r e . T h i s s t r a n g e s m o k e a p p e a r e d every m o r n i n g , both winter a n d s u m m e r ; but m o s t visibly in midwinter it r o s e i m m e d i a t e l y a b o v e the m a r s h y spot. By the time the full f a c e of the s u n a p p e a r e d a b o v e the e a s t e r n horizon, the s m o k e v a n i s h e d . E v e n very old m e n , w h o h a d known this country the l o n g e s t , said that the s m o k e from this pit h a d never failed a single day to rise h e a v e n w a r d . As I frolicked a b o u t our dwelling, I u s e d to stop s u d d e n l y , a n d with a fearful awe w a t c h the s m o k i n g of the u n k n o w n fires. W h i l e the v a p o r w a s visible, I w a s afraid to go very far from o u r w i g w a m u n l e s s I went with my mother. F r o m a field in the fertile river b o t t o m my m o t h e r a n d a u n t g a t h e r e d a n a b u n d a n t supply of c o r n . N e a r our t e p e e , they s p r e a d a large c a n v a s u p o n the g r a s s , a n d dried their s w e e t corn in it. I w a s left to w a t c h the c o r n , that n o t h i n g s h o u l d disturb it. I played a r o u n d it with dolls m a d e of e a r s of c o r n . I braided their soft fine silk for hair, a n d gave t h e m b l a n k e t s a s v a r i o u s a s the s c r a p s I f o u n d in my m o t h e r ' s w o r k b a g . T h e r e w a s a little stranger with a black-and-yellow-striped c o a t that u s e d to c o m e to the drying corn. It w a s a little g r o u n d squirrel, w h o w a s s o fearless of m e that he c a m e to o n e c o r n e r of the c a n v a s a n d carried away a s m u c h of the s w e e t corn a s h e c o u l d hold. I w a n t e d very m u c h to c a t c h him, a n d rub his pretty fur b a c k , but my m o t h e r said he would be s o frightened if I

I M P R E S S I O N S O F AN I N D I A N C H I L D H O O D

/

1803

c a u g h t him that h e w o u l d bite my fingers. S o I w a s a s c o n t e n t a s he to k e e p the corn b e t w e e n u s . Every m o r n i n g he c a m e for m o r e c o r n . S o m e e v e n i n g s I have s e e n him c r e e p i n g a b o u t our g r o u n d s ; a n d w h e n I g a v e a s u d d e n w h o o p of recognition, he ran quickly out of sight. W h e n m o t h e r h a d dried all the corn s h e w i s h e d , then s h e sliced great p u m p k i n s into thin rings; a n d t h e s e s h e d o u b l e d a n d linked t o g e t h e r into long c h a i n s . S h e h u n g t h e m on a pole that s t r e t c h e d b e t w e e n two forked p o s t s . T h e wind a n d s u n s o o n thoroughly dried the c h a i n s of p u m p k i n . T h e n s h e p a c k e d t h e m away in a c a s e of thick a n d stiff b u c k s k i n . In the s u n a n d wind s h e a l s o dried m a n y wild f r u i t s , — c h e r r i e s , berries, a n d p l u m s . B u t chiefest a m o n g my early recollections of a u t u m n is that o n e of the corn drying a n d the g r o u n d squirrel. I have few m e m o r i e s of winter days, at this period of my life, t h o u g h m a n y of the s u m m e r . T h e r e is o n e only which I c a n recall. S o m e m i s s i o n a r i e s g a v e m e a little b a g of m a r b l e s . T h e y were all sizes a n d c o l o r s . A m o n g t h e m were s o m e of colored g l a s s . W a l k i n g with my m o t h e r to the river, o n a late winter day, we f o u n d great c h u n k s of ice piled all a l o n g the b a n k . T h e ice o n the river w a s floating in h u g e p i e c e s . A s I s t o o d b e s i d e o n e large block, I noticed for the first time the colors of the rainbow in the crystal ice. I m m e d i a t e l y I thought of my g l a s s m a r b l e s at h o m e . With my b a r e fingers I tried to pick out s o m e of the c o l o r s , for they s e e m e d so n e a r the s u r f a c e . B u t my fingers b e g a n to sting with the i n t e n s e c o l d , a n d I h a d to bite t h e m hard to keep from crying. F r o m that day o n , for m a n y a m o o n , I believed that g l a s s m a r b l e s h a d river ice inside of t h e m . VII.

The Big Red

Apples

T h e first turning away from the easy, natural flow of my life o c c u r r e d in a n early spring. It w a s in my eighth year; in the m o n t h of M a r c h , I afterward learned. At this a g e I knew b u t o n e l a n g u a g e , a n d that w a s my m o t h e r ' s native t o n g u e . F r o m s o m e of my p l a y m a t e s I h e a r d that two p a l e f a c e m i s s i o n a r i e s were in our village. T h e y were from that c l a s s of white m e n w h o w o r e big hats a n d carried large h e a r t s , they said. R u n n i n g direct to my m o t h e r , I b e g a n to q u e s t i o n her why t h e s e two s t r a n g e r s were a m o n g u s . S h e told m e , after I h a d t e a s e d m u c h , that they h a d c o m e to take away I n d i a n boys a n d girls to the E a s t . M y m o t h e r did not s e e m to want m e to talk a b o u t t h e m . B u t in a day or two, I g l e a n e d m a n y wonderful stories from my playfellows c o n c e r n i n g the s t r a n g e r s . " M o t h e r , my friend J u d e w i n is going h o m e with the m i s s i o n a r i e s . S h e is g o i n g to a m o r e beautiful country than o u r s ; the p a l e f a c e s told her s o ! " I s a i d wistfully, wishing in my heart that I too might g o . M o t h e r sat in a chair, a n d I w a s h a n g i n g o n her k n e e . Within the last two s e a s o n s my big brother D a w e e h a d returned from a three years' e d u c a t i o n in the E a s t , a n d his c o m i n g b a c k influenced my m o t h e r to take a farther step from her native way of living. First it w a s a c h a n g e from the buffalo skin to the white m a n ' s c a n v a s that covered our w i g w a m . N o w s h e h a d given u p her w i g w a m of slender p o l e s , to live, a foreigner, in a h o m e of c l u m s y logs. "Yes, my child, several others b e s i d e s J u d e w i n are g o i n g away with the

1804

/

Z I T K A L A SA

(GERTRUDE SIMMONS

BONNIN)

p a l e f a c e s . Your brother said the m i s s i o n a r i e s h a d inquired a b o u t his little sister," s h e said, w a t c h i n g my f a c e very closely. M y heart t h u m p e d s o hard a g a i n s t my b r e a s t , I w o n d e r e d if s h e c o u l d hear it. " D i d he tell t h e m to take m e , m o t h e r ? " I a s k e d , f e a r i n g lest D a w e e h a d forbidden the p a l e f a c e s to s e e m e , a n d that my h o p e of g o i n g to the W o n derland would be entirely blighted. With a s a d , slow s m i l e , s h e a n s w e r e d : " T h e r e ! I k n e w you were w i s h i n g to g o , b e c a u s e J u d e w i n h a s filled your e a r s with the white m e n ' s lies. D o n ' t believe a word they say! T h e i r words a r e sweet, b u t , my child, their d e e d s are bitter. You will cry for m e , but they will not even s o o t h e y o u . S t a y with m e , my little o n e ! Your brother D a w e e says that g o i n g E a s t , away from your mother, is too hard a n experience for his baby s i s t e r . " T h u s my m o t h e r d i s c o u r a g e d my curiosity a b o u t the l a n d s b e y o n d our e a s t e r n horizon; for it w a s not yet an a m b i t i o n for L e t t e r s that w a s stirring m e . B u t on the following day the m i s s i o n a r i e s did c o m e to our very h o u s e . I spied t h e m c o m i n g u p the f o o t p a t h l e a d i n g to our c o t t a g e . A third m a n w a s with t h e m , but he w a s not my brother D a w e e . It w a s a n o t h e r , a y o u n g interpreter, a p a l e f a c e w h o h a d a s m a t t e r i n g of the Indian l a n g u a g e . I w a s ready to run o u t to m e e t t h e m , but I did not d a r e to d i s p l e a s e my m o t h e r . W i t h great glee, I j u m p e d u p a n d d o w n o n o u r g r o u n d floor. I b e g g e d my m o t h e r to o p e n the door, that they would b e s u r e to c o m e to u s . Alas! T h e y c a m e , they saw, a n d they c o n q u e r e d ! J u d e w i n h a d told m e of the great tree w h e r e grew r e d , red a p p l e s ; a n d how we c o u l d r e a c h out our h a n d s a n d pick all the red a p p l e s we c o u l d eat. I h a d never s e e n a p p l e trees. I h a d never t a s t e d m o r e t h a n a dozen red a p p l e s in my life; a n d w h e n I h e a r d of the o r c h a r d s of the E a s t , I w a s e a g e r to r o a m a m o n g t h e m . T h e m i s s i o n a r i e s s m i l e d into my eyes, a n d p a t t e d my h e a d . I w o n d e r e d how m o t h e r c o u l d say s u c h hard w o r d s a g a i n s t t h e m . " M o t h e r , a s k t h e m if little girls m a y have all the red a p p l e s they want, w h e n they go E a s t , " I w h i s p e r e d a l o u d , in my e x c i t e m e n t . T h e interpreter h e a r d m e , a n d a n s w e r e d : "Yes, little girl, the nice red a p p l e s are for t h o s e w h o p i c k t h e m ; a n d you will have a ride on the iron h o r s e if you go with these g o o d p e o p l e . " I h a d never s e e n a train, a n d he k n e w it. " M o t h e r , I'm g o i n g E a s t ! I like big red a p p l e s , a n d I w a n t to ride on the iron h o r s e ! M o t h e r , say y e s ! " I p l e a d e d . M y m o t h e r said n o t h i n g . T h e m i s s i o n a r i e s waited in s i l e n c e ; a n d my eyes b e g a n to blur with t e a r s , t h o u g h I s t r u g g l e d to c h o k e t h e m b a c k . T h e c o r n e r s of my m o u t h twitched, a n d my m o t h e r s a w m e . "I a m not ready to give you any w o r d , " s h e s a i d to t h e m . " T o - m o r r o w I shall s e n d you my a n s w e r by my s o n . " With this they left u s . A l o n e with my m o t h e r , I yielded to my t e a r s , a n d cried a l o u d , s h a k i n g my h e a d so a s not to h e a r w h a t s h e w a s saying to m e . T h i s w a s the first time I h a d ever b e e n s o unwilling to give u p my own d e s i r e that I r e f u s e d to h e a r k e n to my m o t h e r ' s v o i c e . T h e r e w a s a s o l e m n s i l e n c e in our h o m e that night. B e f o r e I went to b e d I b e g g e d the G r e a t Spirit to m a k e my m o t h e r willing I s h o u l d go with the missionaries. T h e next m o r n i n g c a m e , a n d my m o t h e r called m e to her s i d e . " M y d a u g h ter, d o you still persist in wishing to leave your m o t h e r ? " s h e a s k e d .

I M P R E S S I O N S O F AN I N D I A N C H I L D H O O D

/

1805

" O h , m o t h e r , it is not that I wish to leave you, but I w a n t to s e e the wonderful E a s t e r n l a n d , " I a n s w e r e d . M y dear old a u n t c a m e to our h o u s e that m o r n i n g , a n d I h e a r d her say, " L e t her try i t . " I h o p e d that, a s u s u a l , my a u n t w a s p l e a d i n g on my s i d e . M y brother D a w e e c a m e for m o t h e r ' s d e c i s i o n . I d r o p p e d my play, a n d c r e p t c l o s e to my aunt. "Yes, D a w e e , my d a u g h t e r , t h o u g h s h e d o e s not u n d e r s t a n d what it all m e a n s , is anxious to go. S h e will n e e d an e d u c a t i o n w h e n s h e is g r o w n , for then there will be fewer real D a k o t a s , a n d m a n y m o r e p a l e f a c e s . T h i s tearing her away, s o young, from her m o t h e r is n e c e s s a r y , if I w o u l d have her a n e d u c a t e d w o m a n . T h e p a l e f a c e s , w h o owe u s a large debt for stolen l a n d s , have b e g u n to pay a tardy j u s t i c e in offering s o m e e d u c a t i o n to our children. B u t I know my d a u g h t e r m u s t suffer keenly in this e x p e r i m e n t . F o r her s a k e , I d r e a d to tell you my reply to the m i s s i o n a r i e s . G o , tell t h e m that they m a y take my little d a u g h t e r , a n d that the G r e a t Spirit shall not fail to reward t h e m a c c o r d i n g to their h e a r t s . " W r a p p e d in my heavy blanket, I walked with my m o t h e r to the c a r r i a g e that w a s s o o n to take us to the iron h o r s e . I w a s happy. I m e t my p l a y m a t e s , w h o were also w e a r i n g their b e s t thick b l a n k e t s . W e s h o w e d o n e a n o t h e r o u r n e w b e a d e d m o c c a s i n s , a n d the width of the belts that girdled our n e w d r e s s e s . S o o n we were being drawn rapidly away by the white m a n ' s h o r s e s . W h e n I saw the lonely figure of my m o t h e r vanish in the d i s t a n c e , a s e n s e of regret settled heavily u p o n m e . I felt s u d d e n l y w e a k , a s if I m i g h t fall limp to the g r o u n d . I w a s in the h a n d s of s t r a n g e r s w h o m my m o t h e r did not fully trust. I n o longer felt free to be myself, or to voice my own feelings. T h e tears trickled down my c h e e k s , a n d I buried my face in the folds of my blanket. N o w the first s t e p , parting m e from my m o t h e r , w a s t a k e n , a n d all my b e l a t e d tears availed nothing. H a v i n g driven thirty miles to the ferryboat, we c r o s s e d the M i s s o u r i in the evening. T h e n riding a g a i n a few miles e a s t w a r d , we s t o p p e d before a m a s s i v e brick building. I looked at it in a m a z e m e n t , a n d with a v a g u e misgiving, for in our village I h a d never s e e n s o large a h o u s e . T r e m b l i n g with fear a n d distrust of the p a l e f a c e s , my teeth c h a t t e r i n g from the chilly ride, I c r e p t noiselessly in my soft m o c c a s i n s a l o n g the narrow hall, k e e p i n g very c l o s e to the b a r e wall. I w a s a s frightened a n d bewildered a s the c a p t u r e d y o u n g of a wild c r e a t u r e . 1900

•

•

American Literature between tlie Wars 1Q14_1945 T H E TWO WARS AS H I S T O R I C A L

MARKERS

T h e conflict known a s W o r l d W a r I broke o u t in E u r o p e in 1 9 1 4 , with E n g l a n d a n d F r a n c e fighting a g a i n s t G e r m a n y . T h e U n i t e d S t a t e s that belatedly entered the war in 1 9 1 7 , on the side of E n g l a n d a n d F r a n c e , w a s still in the m a i n a nation of f a r m e r s a n d small t o w n s . A l t h o u g h several waves of i m m i g r a t i o n from s o u t h e r n a n d e a s t e r n E u r o p e h a d altered the m a k e u p of the p o p u l a t i o n , the majority of A m e r i c a n s were of E n g l i s h or G e r m a n a n c e s try. T h i s majority w a s deeply distrustful of international politics, a n d after the war e n d e d , m a n y A m e r i c a n s a t t e m p t e d to steer the nation b a c k to prewar m o d e s of life. B u t to o t h e r s , the c o l l a p s e of E u r o p e a s r e p r e s e n t e d by the brutal quarrel b e t w e e n n e i g h b o r n a t i o n s d e m o n s t r a t e d the i n a d e q u a c y of old ways; they s a w the war a s a m a n d a t e to c h a n g e the f o r m s of political a n d social life. T h u s the 1 9 2 0 s saw n u m e r o u s conflicts over the s h a p e of the future, which a c q u i r e d new u r g e n c y w h e n the s t o c k m a r k e t c r a s h e d in 1 9 2 9 a n d led to an e c o n o m i c d e p r e s s i o n with a 2 5 p e r c e n t u n e m p l o y m e n t r a t e . T h e d e p r e s s i o n did not fully e n d until the U n i t e d S t a t e s e n t e r e d W o r l d W a r II, which h a p p e n e d after the J a p a n e s e a t t a c k e d the A m e r i c a n fleet at Pearl H a r b o r on D e c e m b e r 7, 1 9 4 1 . B e c a u s e J a p a n a n d G e r m a n y were allies, G e r m a n y d e c l a r e d war on the U n i t e d S t a t e s , t h u s involving the c o u n t r y in a n o t h e r E u r o p e a n conflict. T h e war unified the country ideologically; revitalized industry, which devoted itself to g o o d s n e e d e d for the war effort; a n d put p e o p l e to work. I n d e e d , with so m a n y m e n away at war, w o m e n went into the work force in u n p r e c e d e n t e d n u m b e r s . G e r m a n y s u r r e n d e r e d in the spring of 1 9 4 5 . T h e war e n d e d in A u g u s t 1 9 4 5 following the d e t o n a t i o n of two a t o m i c b o m b s over the J a p a n e s e cities of H i r o s h i m a a n d N a g a s a k i . E u r o p e w a s in ruins a n d — r e g a r d l e s s of the w i s h e s of its c i t i z e n s — t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s h a d b e c o m e both a n industrial society a n d a m a j o r global power. T h e two wars, t h e n , e n c l o s e a c o h e r e n t period d u r i n g w h i c h , no m a t t e r how internally fractured it w a s , the U n i t e d S t a t e s b e c a m e a m o d e r n n a t i o n . In fact, the internal fractures c a n be u n d e r s t o o d a s diverse r e s p o n s e s to the irreversible advent of modernity. A m e r i c a n literature in t h e s e d e c a d e s registers all side of the era's s t r u g g l e s a n d d e b a t e s , while s h a r i n g a c o m m i t m e n t to explore the m a n y m e a n i n g s of modernity a n d e x p r e s s t h e m in f o r m s a p p r o 1807

1808

/

AMERICAN LITERATURE BETWEEN THE WARS,

1914-1945

priate to a m o d e r n vision. S o m e writers rejoiced while others l a m e n t e d ; s o m e a n t i c i p a t e d future Utopias a n d others believed that civilization h a d c o l l a p s e d ; but all believed that old f o r m s w o u l d not work for n e w t i m e s , a n d all w e r e inspired by the possibility of c r e a t i n g s o m e t h i n g entirely new. T h e totality of the conflicted literary o u t p u t p r o d u c e d d u r i n g this p e r i o d is called A m e r i c a n literary m o d e r n i s m . A m o n g literary conflicts, p e r h a p s three related i s s u e s s t a n d out. O n e is the q u e s t i o n of h o w e n g a g e d in political a n d social struggle a work of literature o u g h t to b e . S h o u l d art b e a d o m a i n u n t o itself, exploring universal q u e s t i o n s a n d e n u n c i a t i n g t r a n s c e n d e n t truths, or s h o u l d art p a r t i c i p a t e in the politics of the t i m e s ? T o o n e faction, a work that was political in n a t u r e c o u l d not even be called art; to a n o t h e r , an apolitical literature w a s evasive a n d s i m p l i s t i c ; to a third, the call to k e e p art out of politics w a s itself political, so m u c h so that the term art b e c a m e suspect. A s e c o n d conflict involved the p l a c e of the p o p u l a r in s e r i o u s literature. T h r o u g h o u t the era, p o p u l a r c u l t u r e g a i n e d m o m e n t u m a n d i n f l u e n c e . T o o n e faction, it w a s c r u c i a l for the future of literature that p o p u l a r f o r m s be e m b r a c e d ; to a n o t h e r , g o o d literature h a d to reject the cynical c o m m e r c i a l ism of p o p u l a r c u l t u r e . A third conflict c e n t e r e d on tradition v e r s u s a u t h e n ticity. T o s o m e , a work registering a w a r e n e s s a n d a p p r e c i a t i o n of literary history—by allusion, by u s e of tradition f o r m s , by c o n v e n t i o n a l poetic l a n g u a g e — h a d to b e d i s m i s s e d a s imitative a n d o l d - f a s h i o n e d . T o o t h e r s , a work failing to register s u c h a w a r e n e s s a n d a p p r e c i a t i o n w a s b a d or i n c o m petent writing.

C H A N G I N G

T I M E S

In the 1 9 2 0 s a n d 1 9 3 0 s , the p a c e of u r b a n i z a t i o n , industrialization, a n d i m m i g r a t i o n — f o r c e s at work s i n c e before the Civil W a r — s p e e d e d u p , c h a n g ing national d e m o g r a p h i c s . U r b a n i m m i g r a n t s in c r o w d e d s l u m s , working in s u b s t a n d a r d c o n d i t i o n s , often looked to international m o d e l s for alternatives to the capitalist system that they b l a m e d for their h a r d s h i p s . T h e i m m e d i a t e p o s t w a r years s a w o n the o n e h a n d the so-called R e d s c a r e , w h e n labor u n i o n h e a d q u a r t e r s were raided a n d i m m i g r a n t r a d i c a l s d e p o r t e d by the governm e n t . T h e s e years s a w o n the other h a n d the 1 9 1 9 f o u n d i n g of the A m e r i c a n C o m m u n i s t Party a s a n auxiliary of the international C o m m u n i s t Party u n d e r the direction of the Soviet U n i o n ( R u s s i a ) , w h i c h a d v o c a t e d worldwide revolution. In 1 9 2 4 , c o n g r e s s e n a c t e d the first exclusionary i m m i g r a t i o n act in the nation's history, h o p i n g thereby to control the ethnic m a k e u p of the American p o p u l a t i o n . D u r i n g t h e s e years, two g r o u p s that h a d b e e n relatively silent a n d d i s e n f r a n c h i s e d before the w a r — A f r i c a n A m e r i c a n s a n d white w o m e n — b e c a m e artistically a n d politically central to the n a t i o n a l life. I m m i g r a n t s , African A m e r i c a n s , a n d e m a n c i p a t e d u r b a n w o m e n f a c e d off a g a i n s t rural a n d u r b a n traditionalists, m a l e a n d f e m a l e , over the q u e s t i o n of w h o , exactly, w a s truly " A m e r i c a n . " W r i t e r s , long c o n n e c t e d with the a v a n t - g a r d e a n d the u n c o n v e n t i o n a l , usually a s s o c i a t e d with the antitraditionalists; but often they were m o r e cultural than political n o n c o n f o r m i s t s .

INTRODUCTION

MARXISM AND

/

1809

COMMUNISM

C o m m u n i s m a n d the other f o r m s of radical politics s o c o m m o n in the interwar d e c a d e s took their ideology from the writings of the G e r m a n Karl M a r x ( 1 8 1 8 - 1 8 8 3 ) . M a r x identified the root of h u m a n behavior in e c o n o m i c s . H e c l a i m e d that industrializing societies were structurally divided into two a n t a g o n i s t i c c l a s s e s b a s e d on different relations to the m e a n s of p r o d u c t i o n — c a p i t a l v e r s u s labor. A c c o r d i n g to him, the Industrial Revolution a r o s e from the a c c u m u l a t i o n of s u r p l u s capital by industrialists paying the least p o s s i b l e a m o u n t to workers. T h e next s t a g e in world history would b e w h e n workers took control of the m e a n s of p r o d u c t i o n for t h e m s e l v e s . B e c a u s e , to Marx, the ideas a n d ideals of any particular society c o u l d r e p r e s e n t the intere s t s of only its d o m i n a n t c l a s s , he d e r i d e d individualism a s a m i d d l e - c l a s s or " b o u r g e o i s " value d e s i g n e d to d i s c o u r a g e worker solidarity. Marx's ideas f o r m e d the b a s i s for c o m m u n i s t political parties a c r o s s E u r o p e . In 1 9 1 7 , a C o m m u n i s t revolution in R u s s i a led by Vladimir Ilyich L e n i n ( 1 8 7 0 — 1 9 1 4 ) overthrew the tsarist r e g i m e , instituted the " d i c t a t o r s h i p of the p r o l e t a r i a t " that M a r x h a d called for, a n d e n g i n e e r e d the d e v e l o p m e n t of C o m m u n i s m a s a unified international m o v e m e n t . A m e r i c a n s w h o t h o u g h t of t h e m s e l v e s a s M a r x i s t s in the 1 9 2 0 s a n d 1 9 3 0 s were usually c o n n e c t e d with the C o m m u n i s t Party a n d s u b j e c t e d to g o v e r n m e n t surveill a n c e a n d o c c a s i o n a l violence, a s were socialists, a n a r c h i s t s , u n i o n organize r s , a n d others w h o o p p o s e d A m e r i c a n free e n t e r p r i s e a n d m a r k e t p l a c e c o m p e t i t i o n . A l t h o u g h politics directed from o u t s i d e the national b o u n d a r i e s w a s , a l m o s t by definition, " u n - A m e r i c a n , " m a n y a d h e r e n t s of t h e s e movem e n t s h o p e d to m a k e the U n i t e d S t a t e s c o n f o r m to its s t a t e d ideals, guara n t e e i n g liberty a n d j u s t i c e for all. W h e r e writers were c o n c e r n e d , a n i m p o r t a n t i n s t a n c e of conflict in the 1 9 2 0 s w a s the so-called S a c c o - V a n z e t t i c a s e . N i c o l a S a c c o a n d B a r o l o m e o Vanzetti were Italian i m m i g r a n t s , not C o m m u n i s t s b u t avowed a n a r c h i s t s ; on April 15, 1 9 2 0 , they were a r r e s t e d n e a r B o s t o n after a m u r d e r d u r i n g a robbery. T h e y were a c c u s e d of that c r i m e , then tried a n d c o n d e m n e d to d e a t h in 1 9 2 1 ; but it w a s widely believed that they h a d not received a fair trial a n d that their political beliefs had b e e n held a g a i n s t t h e m . After a n u m ber of a p p e a l s , they were e x e c u t e d in 1 9 2 7 , m a i n t a i n i n g their i n n o c e n c e to the e n d . M a n y writers a n d intellectuals d e m o n s t r a t e d in their d e f e n s e ; several were a r r e s t e d a n d j a i l e d . It is e s t i m a t e d that well over a h u n d r e d p o e m s a l o n g with six plays a n d eighj; novels of the time treated the incident from a sympathetic perspective.

SELF-EXPBESSION

AND

PSYCHOLOGY

M u c h social energy in the 1 9 2 0 s went into enlarging the b o u n d a r i e s for a c c e p t a b l e self-expression. A d h e r e n t s to small-town, white, P r o t e s t a n t v a l u e s s u c h a s the work e t h i c , social conformity, duty, a n d respectability, c l a s h e d ideologically with newly a r t i c u l a t e g r o u p s , a n d , especially, newly affluent y o u n g p e o p l e w h o a r g u e d for m o r e diverse, p e r m i s s i v e , a n d tolerant styles of

1810

/

AMERICAN LITERATURE BETWEEN THE W A R S ,

1914-1945

life. T o s o m e extent this d e b a t e r e c a p i t u l a t e d the long-time A m e r i c a n c o n flict b e t w e e n the individual a n d society, a conflict g o i n g b a c k to the seventeenth-century P u r i t a n s a n d e p i t o m i z e d in R a l p h W a l d o E m e r s o n ' s call, in the 1 8 4 0 s : " w h o s o e v e r would be a m a n , m u s t b e a n o n - c o n f o r m i s t . " In the 1 9 2 0 s , m u c h n o n c o n f o r m i s t energy involved o p p o s i n g Prohibition. T h e E i g h t e e n t h A m e n d m e n t to the U . S . C o n s t i t u t i o n , forbidding the " m a n u f a c t u r e , s a l e , or transportation of intoxicating l i q u o r s , " ratified in J a n u a r y 1 9 1 9 , w a s widely a n d openly ignored. M a n y historians believe that Prohibition o p e n e d the door to organized c r i m e , a n d certainly the p h e n o m e n o n of the " g a n g s t e r " a r o s e in the 1 9 2 0 s in c o n n e c t i o n with b o o t l e g liquor, which organized c r i m e w a s ready to transport a n d s u p p l y to otherwise law-abiding citizens. T h e a m e n d m e n t w a s finally r e c o g n i z e d a s u n e n f o r c e a b l e a n d w a s r e p e a l e d in 1 9 3 3 . T h e g a n g s t e r , however, h a d e n t e r e d A m e r i c a n cultural life to stay; he b e c a m e a central figure, s o m e t i m e s a n o n c o n f o r m i n g h e r o a n d s o m e t i m e s a predatory villain, in the m o v i e s a n d the hard-boiled fiction of the 1 9 3 0 s . T h e 1 9 2 0 s s a w significant c h a n g e s in sexual m o r e s , a s w a s to b e e x p e c t e d w h e n y o u n g p e o p l e were n o longer u n d e r the watchful eyes of their smalltown e l d e r s . A c c o r d i n g to the influential A u s t r i a n psychiatrist S i g m u n d F r e u d ( 1 8 5 8 — 1 9 3 9 ) , inventor of the p r a c t i c e of p s y c h o a n a l y s i s , m a n y m o d ern n e u r o s e s c o u l d b e t r a c e d to r e p r e s s i o n a n d inhibition. F r e u d d e v e l o p e d the idea of the self a s g r o u n d e d in a n " u n c o n s c i o u s , " w h e r e forbidden d e s i r e s , t r a u m a s , u n a c c e p t a b l e e m o t i o n s , a n d the l i k e — m o s t of t h e s e sexual in n a t u r e — w e r e s t o r e d . F r e u d h o p e d that trained analysts c o u l d help p e o p l e b e c o m e a w a r e of their r e p r e s s e d feelings, so that they w o u l d be a b l e to control t h e m productively. T h e A m e r i c a n version of p s y c h o a n a l y s i s — m o r e Utopian than F r e u d ' s c a u t i o u s claim that individuals c o u l d learn to c o p e with their own p e r s o n a l i t i e s m o r e effectively—held that e m o t i o n a l w h o l e n e s s would be a t t a i n e d at o n c e if p e o p l e recognized a n d o v e r c a m e their inhibitions. A m e r i c a n i z e d F r e u d i a n ideas provided the p s y c h o l o g i c a l u n d e r p i n n i n g for m u c h literature of the interwar era, w h e t h e r the f o c u s w a s the individual trapped in a repressive c u l t u r e or the repressive c u l t u r e itself. T h e m i d d l e - c l a s s d o u b l e sexual s t a n d a r d h a d , in fact, always g r a n t e d considerable sexual f r e e d o m to m e n ; now, however, w o m e n — e n f r a n c h i s e d politically by the N i n e t e e n t h A m e n d m e n t to the C o n s t i t u t i o n , p a s s e d in A u g u s t 1 9 2 0 after m o r e than seventy years of suffragist agitation, a n d liberated by a u t o m o b i l e s a n d j o b possibilities away from h o m e — b e g a n to d e m a n d similar f r e e d o m for t h e m s e l v e s . W o m e n ' s d e m a n d s went well beyond the erotic, however, e n c o m p a s s i n g e d u c a t i o n , p r o f e s s i o n a l work, mobility, a n d whatever else s e e m e d like social g o o d s hitherto reserved for m e n . F e m a l e d r e s s c h a n g e d ; long, heavy, restricting g a r m e n t s gave way to short, lightweight, easily worn s t o r e - b o u g h t clothing. F o r m a n y traditionalists, n o t h i n g would s e e m m o r e destructive to society than the c h a n g e s advoc a t e d by w o m e n w h o insisted o n equality with m e n . S o m e of the m o s t radical literary m o d e r n i s t s t u r n e d out to b e highly traditional w h e r e w o m e n ' s roles were c o n c e r n e d . P e r h a p s b e c a u s e writing itself w a s viewed by m a n y m a i n s t r e a m A m e r i c a n s as a kind of feminized activity, a u t h o r s like E r n e s t H e m i n g w a y a n d E z r a P o u n d d e f e n d e d their m a n h o o d by insisting that n o w o m a n c o u l d really b e a g o o d writer, b e c a u s e a u t h o r s h i p w a s a strictly m a s c u l i n e vocation.

INTRODUCTION

AFRICAN

/

1811

AMERICANS

A r o u n d 1 9 1 5 , a s a direct result of the industrial n e e d s of W o r l d W a r I, o p p o r t u n i t i e s o p e n e d for African A m e r i c a n s in the factories of the N o r t h , a n d the so-called G r e a t Migration out of the S o u t h b e g a n . N o t only did migration give the lie to s o u t h e r n white c l a i m s that African A m e r i c a n s were c o n t e n t with s o u t h e r n segregationist p r a c t i c e s , it d a m a g e d the S o u t h ' s e c o n o m y by draining off a n i m p o r t a n t s e g m e n t of its working p e o p l e . E v e n t h o u g h African A m e r i c a n s f a c e d r a c i s m , s e g r e g a t i o n , a n d racial v i o l e n c e in the N o r t h , a black A m e r i c a n p r e s e n c e s o o n b e c a m e powerfully visible in American cultural life. H a r l e m , a section of N e w York City, a t t a i n e d a n a l m o s t wholly b l a c k p o p u l a t i o n of over 1 5 0 , 0 0 0 by the m i d - 1 9 2 0 s ; from this "city within a city," African A m e r i c a n s b e g a n to write, p e r f o r m , c o m p o s e , a n d paint. T h i s work i n f l u e n c e d writers, p a i n t e r s , a n d m u s i c i a n s of other ethnicities. African A m e r i c a n s , however, did not s p e a k with o n e v o i c e . T h e r e were a r g u m e n t s b e t w e e n t h o s e w h o w a n t e d to claim m e m b e r s h i p in the c u l t u r e at large a n d t h o s e w h o w a n t e d to stake out a s e p a r a t e artistic d o m a i n ; b e t w e e n t h o s e w h o w a n t e d to c e l e b r a t e s i m p l e , rural African A m e r i c a n lifeways a n d t h o s e c o m m i t t e d to u r b a n intellectuality; b e t w e e n t h o s e w h o w a n t e d to j o i n the A m e r i c a n m a i n s t r e a m a n d t h o s e w h o , d i s g u s t e d by American r a c e p r e j u d i c e , aligned t h e m s e l v e s with worldwide revolutionary movem e n t s ; b e t w e e n t h o s e w h o c e l e b r a t e d a "primitive" African heritage a n d t h o s e w h o rejected the idea a s a d e g r a d i n g stereotype. W . E . B . D u B o i s h a d a r g u e d that African A m e r i c a n s h a d a kind of d o u b l e c o n s c i o u s n e s s — o f t h e m s e l v e s a s A m e r i c a n s a n d a s b l a c k s . In the c a s e of N e l l a L a r s e n , a u t h o r of the novel Quicksand, o n e might a r g u e for a triple c o n s c i o u s n e s s , in w h i c h a w a r e n e s s of o n e s e l f a s a w o m a n plays a part. A n event of e q u a l i m p o r t a n c e to the S a c c o - V a n z e t t i c a s e w a s the S c o t t s boro c a s e ; in 1 9 3 1 nine black youths were indicted in S c o t t s b o r o , A l a b a m a , for the a l l e g e d r a p e of two white w o m e n in a railroad freight car. T h e y were all f o u n d guilty, a n d s o m e were s e n t e n c e d to d e a t h . T h e U . S . S u p r e m e C o u r t reversed convictions twice; in a s e c o n d trial o n e of the a l l e g e d victims retracted her testimony; in 1 9 3 7 c h a r g e s a g a i n s t five were d r o p p e d . B u t four went to jail, in m a n y people's view unfairly. T h e C o m m u n i s t s w e r e especially active in the S c o t t s b o r o d e f e n s e ; but white a n d black p e o p l e a c r o s s the political s p e c t r u m s a w the c a s e a s crucial to the q u e s t i o n of w h e t h e r black p e o p l e c o u l d receive fair trials in the A m e r i c a n S o u t h . T h e unfair trial of a minority p e r s o n b e c a m e a literary motif in m u c h writing of the period a n d b e y o n d , i n c l u d i n g R i c h a r d Wright's Native Son, William F a u l k n e r ' s Intruder in the Dust, a n d H a r p e r L e e ' s To Kill a Mockingbird.

S C I E N C E AND

TECHNOLOGY

T e c h n o l o g y played a vital, a l t h o u g h often invisible, role in all t h e s e events, b e c a u s e it linked p l a c e s a n d s p a c e s , c o n t r i b u t i n g to the s h a p i n g of c u l t u r e a s a national p h e n o m e n o n rather t h a n a series of local m a n i f e s t a t i o n s . I n d e e d , without new m o d e s of p r o d u c t i o n , t r a n s p o r t a t i o n , a n d c o m m u n i -

1812

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AMERICAN LITERATURE BETWEEN THE W A R S ,

1914-1945

c a t i o n , m o d e r n A m e r i c a in all its complexity c o u l d not have existed. Electricity for lights a n d a p p l i a n c e s , a l o n g with the t e l e p h o n e — n i n e t e e n t h century i n v e n t i o n s — e x p a n d e d into A m e r i c a n h o m e s at large d u r i n g t h e s e years, improving life for m a n y but w i d e n i n g the g a p b e t w e e n t h o s e p l u g g e d into the new networks a n d t h o s e o u t s i d e t h e m . T h e p h o n o g r a p h record a n d the r e c o r d player (early devices for r e c o r d i n g a n d playing m u s i c ) , the motion p i c t u r e (which a c q u i r e d s o u n d in 1 9 2 9 ) , a n d the radio m a d e n e w c o n n e c t i o n s p o s s i b l e a n d b r o u g h t m a s s , p o p u l a r c u l t u r e into b e i n g . A l t h o u g h the n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y d r e a m of forging a s c a t t e r e d p o p u l a t i o n into a single nation c o u l d now b e realized, m a n y intellectuals s u s p e c t e d that m a s s c u l t u r e would only c r e a t e a r o b o t i c , passive p o p u l a t i o n v u l n e r a b l e to d e m a g o g u e r y . Art b e c a m e a c o u n t e r s t a t e m e n t on b e h a l f of the n o n c o n f o r m i s t creativity p r e s u m a b l y stifled by the c e a s e l e s s flow of m a n i p u l a t i v e i m a g e s . T h e m o s t powerful t e c h n o l o g i c a l innovation, however, e n c o u r a g e d activity not passivity: this w a s the a u t o m o b i l e , w h i c h h a d b e e n d e v e l o p e d by the e n d of the n i n e t e e n t h century, b u t r e m a i n e d a luxury item until Henry F o r d ' s assembly-line t e c h n i q u e s m a d e c a r s a f f o r d a b l e . A u t o m o b i l e s p u t A m e r i c a n s on the r o a d , d r a m a t i c a l l y r e s h a p e d the s t r u c t u r e of A m e r i c a n industry a n d o c c u p a t i o n s , a n d altered the national t o p o g r a p h y a s well. A l o n g with work in a u t o m o b i l e factories t h e m s e l v e s , millions of other j o b s — i n steel mills, p a r t s f a c t o r i e s , highway c o n s t r u c t i o n a n d m a i n t e n a n c e , g a s s t a t i o n s , m a c h i n e s h o p s , r o a d s i d e r e s t a u r a n t s , m o t e l s — d e p e n d e d o n the industry. T h e r o a d itself b e c a m e — a n d h a s r e m a i n e d — a key powerful symbol of the U n i t e d S t a t e s a n d of modernity a s well. C i t i e s grew, s u b u r b s c a m e into b e i n g , s m a l l towns d i e d , new towns a r o s e , a c c o r d i n g to the p l a c e m e n t of highways. T h e U n i t e d S t a t e s h a d b e c o m e a n a t i o n of m i g r a n t s a s m u c h or m o r e than it w a s a nation of i m m i g r a n t s . It is i m p o s s i b l e fully to d i s s o c i a t e t e c h n o l o g y f r o m s c i e n c e , a n d certainly o n e of the m o s t i m p o r t a n t d e v e l o p m e n t s in the interwar p e r i o d w a s the growth of m o d e r n " b i g " s c i e n c e . At the turn of the c e n t u r y a n d s o o n afterward scientists b e c a m e a w a r e that the a t o m w a s not the s m a l l e s t p o s s i b l e unit of matter, that m a t t e r w a s not i n d e s t r u c t i b l e , that both time a n d s p a c e were relative to a n observer's position, that s o m e p h e n o m e n a were so small that a t t e m p t s at m e a s u r e m e n t w o u l d alter t h e m , that s o m e o u t c o m e s c o u l d be p r e d i c t e d only in t e r m s of statistical probability, that the universe might be infinite in size a n d yet infinitely e x p a n d i n g ; in short, m u c h of the c o m m o n s e n s e b a s i s of n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y s c i e n c e h a d to be p u t a s i d e in favor of far m o r e powerful but a l s o far less c o m m o n s e n s i c a l t h e o r i e s . A m o n g m a n y r e s u l t s , s c i e n t i s t s a n d literary intellectuals b e c a m e less a n d l e s s a b l e to c o m m u n i c a t e with e a c h other a n d less respectful of e a c h o t h e r s ' worldviews. S c i e n t i s t s s a w literary p e o p l e a s c a r e l e s s thinkers; literary p e o p l e , e s p e c i a l l y the m o r e conservative a m o n g t h e m , d e p l o r e d the loss of authority for traditional, h u m a n i s t i c e x p l a n a t i o n s of the real, c o n c r e t e , e x p e r i e n c e d world a n d the felt h u m a n life. S u c h s o u t h e r n writers a s J o h n C r o w e R a n s o m , J o h n P e a l e B i s h o p , a n d Allen T a t e , a s well a s p o e t s E z r a P o u n d , T . S . Eliot, W a l l a c e S t e v e n s , a n d William C a r l o s W i l l i a m s , r e a c t e d spiritedly to the i n c r e a s ingly prevalent a s s u m p t i o n that nonscientific thinking, b e c a u s e it w a s i m p r e c i s e a n d value l a d e n , c o u l d not explain anything. T h e y belittled the capacity of s c i e n c e to provide a c c o u n t s of the things that m a t t e r , like s u b jective e x p e r i e n c e a n d moral i s s u e s . Art, to t h e m , b e c a m e the repository of

INTRODUCTION

/

1813

a way of e x p e r i e n c i n g the world other t h a n that offered by s c i e n c e . T h e i r a p p r o a c h put a heavy b u r d e n of " m e a n i n g " o n art a n d w a s a sign, if not a contributing c a u s e , of the i n c r e a s e d specialization of intellectual activity a n d the division of e d u c a t e d p e o p l e into what the British novelist a n d physicist C . P. S n o w w a s later to call the "two c u l t u r e s " — s c i e n c e v e r s u s letters.

THE

1930s

T h e D e p r e s s i o n w a s a worldwide p h e n o m e n o n , a n d social u n r e s t led to the rise of fascist d i c t a t o r s h i p s in E u r o p e , a m o n g which were t h o s e of G e n e r a l i s s i m o F r a n c i s c o F r a n c o in S p a i n , B e n i t o M u s s o l i n i in Italy, a n d Adolf Hitler in G e r m a n y . Hitler's p r o g r a m , which w a s to m a k e G e r m a n y rich a n d strong by c o n q u e r i n g the rest of E u r o p e , led inexorably to W o r l d W a r II. In the U n i t e d S t a t e s , the G r e a t D e p r e s s i o n m a d e politics a n d e c o n o m i c s the salient i s s u e s a n d overrode q u e s t i o n s of individual f r e e d o m with q u e s tions of m a s s c o l l a p s e . F r e e - e n t e r p r i s e c a p i t a l i s m h a d always justified itself by a r g u i n g that a l t h o u g h the system m a d e a small n u m b e r of individuals i m m e n s e l y wealthy it also g u a r a n t e e d better lives for all. T h i s a s s u r a n c e now r a n g hollow. T h e s u i c i d e s of millionaire b a n k e r s a n d s t o c k b r o k e r s m a d e the h e a d l i n e s , but m o r e c o m p e l l i n g w a s the e n o r m o u s toll a m o n g ordinary p e o ple w h o lost h o m e s , j o b s , f a r m s , a n d life savings in the s t o c k m a r k e t c r a s h . C o n s e r v a t i v e s advised waiting until things got better; r a d i c a l s e s p o u s e d i m m e d i a t e social revolution. In this a t m o s p h e r e , the election of Franklin D e l a n o Roosevelt to the p r e s i d e n c y in 1 9 3 2 was a victory for A m e r i c a n pragm a t i s m ; his series of liberal r e f o r m s — s o c i a l security, a c t s c r e a t i n g j o b s in the public sector, welfare, a n d u n e m p l o y m e n t i n s u r a n c e — c u s h i o n e d the worst effects of the D e p r e s s i o n a n d avoided the civil war that m a n y h a d t h o u g h t inevitable. T h e terrible situation in the U n i t e d S t a t e s p r o d u c e d a significant i n c r e a s e in C o m m u n i s t Party m e m b e r s h i p a n d p r e s t i g e in the 1 9 3 0 s . N u m e r o u s intellectuals allied t h e m s e l v e s with its c a u s e s , even if they did not b e c o m e party m e m b e r s . An old radical j o u r n a l , The Masses, later The New Masses, b e c a m e the official literary voice of the party, a n d various other radical g r o u p s f o u n d e d j o u r n a l s to r e p r e s e n t their viewpoints. Visitors to the Soviet U n i o n returned with glowing reports a b o u t a true workers' d e m o c r a c y a n d prosperity for all. T h e a p p e a l of C o m m u n i s m w a s significantly e n h a n c e d by its c l a i m to be a n o p p o n e n t of F a s c i s m . C o m m u n i s t s fought a g a i n s t F r a n c o in the S p a n i s h Civil W a r of 1 9 3 6 a n d 1 9 3 7 . Hitler's n i g h t m a r e policies of g e n o c i d e a n d racial superiority a n d his p l a n s for a general E u r o p e a n war to s e c u r e m o r e r o o m for the s u p e r i o r G e r m a n "folk" to live b e c a m e increasingly evid e n t a s E u r o p e a n r e f u g e e s b e g a n to flee to the U n i t e d S t a t e s in the 1 9 3 0 s , a n d m a n y believed that the U . S . S . R . would b e the only c o u n t r y a b l e to withs t a n d the G e r m a n war m a c h i n e . B u t Soviet C o m m u n i s m s h o w e d a n o t h e r side to A m e r i c a n s w h e n A m e r i c a n C o m m u n i s t s were o r d e r e d to b r e a k u p the m e e t i n g s of other radical g r o u p s ; w h e n J o s e f S t a l i n , the Soviet dictator, instituted a series of brutal p u r g e s in the Soviet U n i o n b e g i n n i n g in 1 9 3 6 ; a n d w h e n in 1 9 3 9 he s i g n e d a p a c t p r o m i s i n g not to go to war a g a i n s t Germ a n y . T h e d i s i l l u s i o n m e n t a n d betrayal felt by m a n y r a d i c a l s over t h e s e a c t s

1814

/

AMERICAN LITERATURE BETWEEN THE WARS,

1914-1945

led to m a n y 1 9 3 0 s left-wing activists' b e c o m i n g s t a u n c h a n t i - C o m m u n i s t s after World W a r II.

A M E R I C A N

V E R S I O N S

O F

M O D E R N I S M

T h e term that critics have d e v e l o p e d for literature p r o d u c e d u n d e r the influe n c e of the m o d e r n t e m p e r is, not surprisingly, modernism. . U s e d in the b r o a d e s t s e n s e , it is a c a t c h a l l p h r a s e for any kind of literary p r o d u c t i o n in the interwar period that d e a l s with the m o d e r n world. M o r e narrowly, it refers to work that r e p r e s e n t s the b r e a k d o w n of traditional society u n d e r the p r e s s u r e s of modernity. M u c h m o d e r n i s t literature of this sort (which critics now call "high m o d e r n i s m " ) is actually a n t i m o d e r n ; it interprets modernity a s an e x p e r i e n c e of loss. As o n e c a n tell from its title, T . S . Eliot's The Waste Land—the great p o e m of the m o v e m e n t — r e p r e s e n t s the m o d e r n world a s a s c e n e of ruin. M o d e r n i s m b e g a n a s a E u r o p e a n r e s p o n s e to the effects of W o r l d W a r I, which were far m o r e d e v a s t a t i n g on the C o n t i n e n t than they were in the U n i t e d S t a t e s . It involved other art f o r m s — s c u l p t u r e , painting, d a n c e — a s well as literature. T h e poetry of William Butler Y e a t s ; J a m e s J o y c e ' s Ulysses ( 1 9 2 2 ) ; M a r c e l P r o u s t ' s Remembrance of Things Past ( 1 9 1 3 — 2 7 ) ; T h o m a s M a n n ' s novels a n d short stories, i n c l u d i n g The Magic Mountain (1927)— t h e s e were only a few of the literary p r o d u c t s of this m o v e m e n t in E n g l a n d and on the C o n t i n e n t . In painting, artists like P a b l o P i c a s s o , J u a n G r i s , a n d G e o r g e s B r a q u e invented c u b i s m ; in the twenties the surrealistic m o v e m e n t known a s d a d a i s m e m e r g e d . T h e A m e r i c a n public w a s i n t r o d u c e d to m o d e r n art at the f a m o u s N e w York Armory S h o w of 1 9 1 3 , which f e a t u r e d c u b i s t paintings a n d c a u s e d an uproar. M a r c e l D u c h a m p ' s Nude Descending a Staircase, w h i c h , to the u n t r a i n e d eye, looked like no m o r e than a m a s s of crudely drawn r e c t a n g l e s , w a s especially provocative. C o m p o s e r s like Igor Stravinsky similarly p r o d u c e d m u s i c in a " m o d e r n " m o d e , f e a t u r i n g d i s s o n a n c e a n d discontinuity rather than neat formal s t r u c t u r e a n d a p p e a l i n g tonal h a r m o n i e s . His c o m p o s i t i o n The Rite of Spring provoked a riot in the Paris c o n c e r t hall where it w a s p r e m i e r e d . At the heart of the m o d e r n i s t a e s t h e t i c lay the conviction that the previously s u s t a i n i n g s t r u c t u r e s of h u m a n life, w h e t h e r social, political, religious, or artistic, h a d b e e n either destroyed or s h o w n u p a s f a l s e h o o d s or f a n t a s i e s . T o the extent that art i n c o r p o r a t e d s u c h a false order, it h a d to be renovated. Order, s e q u e n c e , a n d unity in works of art might well be c o n s i d e r e d only e x p r e s s i o n s of a desire for c o h e r e n c e rather than a c t u a l reflections of reality. G e n e r a l i z a t i o n , a b s t r a c t i o n , a n d high-flown writing might c o n c e a l rather than convey the real. T h e form of a story, with its b e g i n n i n g s , c o m p l i c a t i o n s , a n d r e s o l u t i o n s , might be m e r e artifice i m p o s e d on the flux a n d f r a g m e n t a tion of e x p e r i e n c e . T h u s a key formal c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of the m o d e r n i s t work, w h e t h e r a painting, a s c u l p t u r e , or a m u s i c a l c o m p o s i t i o n , is its c o n s t r u c t i o n out of fragm e n t s . T h e long work is an a s s e m b l a g e of f r a g m e n t s , the short work a carefully realized f r a g m e n t . C o m p a r e d with earlier writing, m o d e r n i s t litera t u r e is n o t a b l e for what it o m i t s — t h e e x p l a n a t i o n s , interpretations, c o n n e c t i o n s , s u m m a r i e s , a n d d i s t a n c i n g that provide continuity, p e r s p e c t i v e ,

INTRODUCTION

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1815

a n d security in traditional literature. A typical m o d e r n i s t work will s e e m to begin arbitrarily, to a d v a n c e without e x p l a n a t i o n , a n d to e n d without resolution, c o n s i s t i n g of vivid s e g m e n t s j u x t a p o s e d without c u s h i o n i n g or integrating transitions. T h e r e will be shifts in p e r s p e c t i v e , voice, a n d tone. Its rhetoric will be u n d e r s t a t e d , ironic. It will s u g g e s t rather than a s s e r t , m a k i n g u s e of s y m b o l s a n d i m a g e s instead of s t a t e m e n t s . F r a g m e n t s will be drawn from diverse a r e a s of e x p e r i e n c e . T h e effect will b e s u r p r i s i n g , shocking, a n d unsettling; the experience of r e a d i n g will be c h a l l e n g i n g a n d difficult. In p r a c t i c e , as o p p o s e d to theory, m o s t m o d e r n i s t literature retains a d e g r e e of c o h e r e n c e , but the reader has to dig the s t r u c t u r e out. T h i s is why the reader of a m o d e r n i s t work is often said to p a r t i c i p a t e in the a c t u a l work of m a k i n g the p o e m or story. In the a f t e r m a t h of m o d e r n i s m , with the p a s t i c h e , satire, a n d distortions of p o s t m o d e r n i s m , this work looks m o r e traditional than it did in its own t i m e . M o d e r n i s t works desired c o h e r e n c e a n d unity, where p o s t m o d e r n i s m has given up. O f t e n , the m o d e r n i s t work is s t r u c t u r e d a s a q u e s t for the very c o h e r e n c e that, on its s u r f a c e , it s e e m s to lack. B e c a u s e p a t t e r n s of s e a r c h i n g a p p e a r in m o s t of the world's mythologies, m a n y m o d e r n i s t works are unified by reference to myth. Christianity a p p e a r s a m o n g world myths as the b a s i s of W e s t e r n civilization; a n d the m o d e r n world for s o m e c o m e s into b e i n g when c i r c u m s t a n c e s s e e m to s h o w Christianity to be only a myth, a merely h u m a n c o n s t r u c t i o n for c r e a t i n g order out of, a n d finding p u r p o s e in, m e a n i n g l e s s flux. T h e s e a r c h for m e a n i n g , even if it d o e s not s u c c e e d , b e c o m e s meaningful in itself. L i t e r a t u r e , especially poetry, b e c o m e s the p l a c e w h e r e the o n e meaningful activity, the s e a r c h for m e a n i n g , is carried o u t ; a n d therefore literature is, or s h o u l d b e , vitally important to society. T h e s u b j e c t m a t t e r of m o d e r n i s t writing often b e c a m e , by extension, the p o e m or literary work itself. I r o n i c a l l y — b e c a u s e this s u b j e c t m a t t e r w a s motivated by d e e p c o n c e r n a b o u t the interrelation of literature a n d life—this s u b j e c t often h a d the effect of limiting the a u d i e n c e for a m o d e r n i s t work. T h e difficulty of this n e w type of writing also limited the a p p e a l of m o d e r n i s m : clearly, difficult works a b o u t poetry are not c a n d i d a t e s for best-sellers. N e v e r t h e l e s s , over t i m e , the principles of m o d e r n i s m b e c a m e increasingly influential. T h e c o n t e n t of the m o d e r n i s t work may be a s varied a s the interests a n d observations of the writer; i n d e e d , with a s t a b l e external world in q u e s t i o n , subjectivity w a s ever m o r e v a l u e d a n d a c c e p t e d in literature. M o d e r n i s t s in general, however, e m p h a s i z e d the c o n c r e t e sensory i m a g e or detail a s the direct conveyer of e x p e r i e n c e . T h e y a l s o relied on the r e f e r e n c e (allusion) to literary, historical, p h i l o s o p h i c a l , or religious details of the p a s t a s a way of r e m i n d i n g readers of the old, lost c o h e r e n c e . V i g n e t t e s of c o n t e m p o r a r y life, c h u n k s of p o p u l a r c u l t u r e , d r e a m imagery, a n d s y m b o l i s m d r a w n from the author's private repertory of life e x p e r i e n c e s are a l s o i m p o r t a n t . A work built from these various levels a n d kinds of material may m o v e a c r o s s time a n d s p a c e , shift from the public to the p e r s o n a l , a n d o p e n literature a s a field for every sort of c o n c e r n . T h e inclusion of all sorts of material previously d e e m e d "unliterary" in works of high s e r i o u s n e s s involved the u s e of l a n g u a g e that would also previously have b e e n thought i m p r o p e r , i n c l u d i n g r e p r e s e n t a tions of the s p e e c h of the u n e d u c a t e d a n d the inarticulate, the colloquial, slangy, a n d the p o p u l a r . T h e traditional e d u c a t e d literary voice, conveying

1816

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AMERICAN LITERATURE BETWEEN THE WARS,

1914-1945

truth a n d c u l t u r e , lost its authority; this is what E r n e s t H e m i n g w a y h a d in m i n d w h e n he a s s e r t e d that the A m e r i c a n literary tradition b e g a n with Huckleberry Finn. T h o u g h m o d e r n i s t t e c h n i q u e s a n d m a n i f e s t o s were initiated by p o e t s , they entered a n d t r a n s f o r m e d fiction in this period a s well. P r o s e writers strove for d i r e c t n e s s , c o m p r e s s i o n , a n d vividness. T h e y were s p a r i n g of w o r d s . T h e a v e r a g e novel b e c a m e q u i t e a bit shorter t h a n it h a d b e e n in the n i n e t e e n t h century, w h e n a novel w a s e x p e c t e d to fill two or even three v o l u m e s . T h e m o d e r n i s t a e s t h e t i c gave new significance to the short story, w h i c h h a d previously b e e n thought of a s a relatively slight artistic form. ( P o e m s , too, b e c a m e shorter; m o d e r n i s t p o e t s struggled to write long p o e m s but the principles of unity or organization that h a d e n a b l e d l o n g p o e m s to be written in previous e r a s were not available to t h e m . ) Victorian or realistic fiction achieved its effects by a c c u m u l a t i o n a n d s a t u r a t i o n ; m o d e r n fiction preferred s u g g e s t i o n . Victorian fiction f e a t u r e d an authoritative narrator; m o d e r n fiction t e n d e d to be written in the first p e r s o n or to limit the r e a d e r to o n e c h a r a c t e r ' s point of view on the a c t i o n . T h i s limitation a c c o r d e d with the m o d e r n i s t s e n s e that " t r u t h " d o e s not exist objectively b u t is the p r o d u c t of a p e r s o n a l interaction with reality. T h e s e l e c t e d point of view w a s often that of a naive or marginal p e r s o n — a child or an o u t s i d e r — t o convey better the reality of c o n f u s i o n rather t h a n the myth of certainty. " S e r i o u s " literature b e t w e e n the two world wars f o u n d itself in a c u r i o u s relationship with the c u l t u r e at large. F o r if it w a s a t t a c k i n g the old-style idea of traditional literature, it felt itself a t t a c k e d in turn by the ever-growing industry of p o p u l a r literature. T h e r e a d i n g a u d i e n c e in A m e r i c a w a s vast, b u t it preferred a kind of b o o k q u i t e different from that t u r n e d out by literary m o d e r n i s t s : tales of r o m a n c e or a d v e n t u r e , historical novels, c r i m e fiction, a n d w e s t e r n s b e c a m e p o p u l a r m o d e s that enjoyed a s u c c e s s the s e r i o u s writer c o u l d only d r e a m of. T h e p r o b l e m w a s that often he or s h e did d r e a m of it; unrealistically, p e r h a p s , the Ezra P o u n d s of the era i m a g i n e d t h e m selves with a n a u d i e n c e of millions. W h e n , o n o c c a s i o n , this d r e a m c a m e t r u e — a s it did for F. S c o t t Fitzgerald a n d E r n e s t H e m i n g w a y — w r i t e r s often a c c u s e d t h e m s e l v e s of having sold out. N e v e r t h e l e s s , s e r i o u s writers in t h e s e years were, in fact, b e i n g p u b l i s h e d a n d read a s writers h a d not b e e n in earlier t i m e s . T h e n u m b e r of so-called little m a g a z i n e s — t h a t is, m a g a z i n e s of very s m a l l c i r c u l a t i o n s devoted to the p u b l i c a t i o n of works for a small a u d i e n c e ( s o m e t i m e s the works of a specific g r o u p of a u t h o r s ) — w a s in the h u n d r e d s . Poetry: A Magazine of Verse b e g a n in 1 9 1 2 . T h e Little Review followed in 1 9 1 4 . T h e n c a m e the Seven Arts in 1 9 1 6 , the Dial in 1 9 1 7 , the Frontier in 1 9 2 0 , Reviewer a n d Broom in 1 9 2 1 , Fugitive in 1 9 2 2 , This Quarter in 1 9 2 5 , Transition a n d Hound and Horn in 1 9 2 7 , a n d m a n y m o r e . T h e c u l t u r e that did not listen to s e r i o u s writers or m a k e t h e m rich still gave t h e m plenty of o p p o r t u n i t y to b e read a n d allowed t h e m (in s u c h n e i g h b o r h o o d s a s G r e e n w i c h Village in N e w York City) a f r e e d o m in style of life that w a s q u i t e n e w in A m e r i c a n history. In a d d i t i o n , such major publishers as New Directions, Random H o u s e , Scribner, and H a r p e r were actively looking for s e r i o u s fiction a n d poetry to f e a t u r e a l o n g with best-sellers like Gone with the Wind a n d Anthony Adverse. T h e p r o f e s s i o n of a u t h o r s h i p in the U n i t e d S t a t e s h a s always defined itself in part as a patriotic e n t e r p r i s e , w h o s e a i m s were to h e l p d e v e l o p a cultural

INTRODUCTION

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1817

life for the nation a n d e m b o d y national v a l u e s . F r o m t h e s e a i m s , a powerful tradition of regionally b a s e d literature e m e r g e d after the Civil W a r . B e c a u s e m o d e r n i s m w a s an international m o v e m e n t , it s e e m e d to s o m e to conflict with the A m e r i c a n tradition in literature a n d h e n c e w a s by n o m e a n s a u t o matically a c c e p t e d by A m e r i c a n writers. T o s o m e , the f r e q u e n t p e s s i m i s m , nostalgia, a n d c o n s e r v a t i s m of the m o v e m e n t m a d e it essentially u n s u i t e d to the p r o g r e s s i v e , d y n a m i c c u l t u r e that they believed to b e distinctive of this n a t i o n . T o m a n y o t h e r s , m o d e r n i s t t e c h n i q u e s were exciting a n d indispens a b l e but r e q u i r e d a d a p t a t i o n to specifically A m e r i c a n topics a n d to the goal of c o n t r i b u t i n g to a uniquely A m e r i c a n literature. T h u s artists w h o may b e thought of as m o d e r n i s t s in o n e c o n t e x t — H a r t C r a n e or William C a r l o s W i l l i a m s , for e x a m p l e — m u s t be thought of as traditional A m e r i c a n writers in another, s i n c e they w a n t e d to write " A m e r i c a n " works a s s u c h . A n d a profoundly m o d e r n writer like William F a u l k n e r c a n n o t b e extricated from his c o m m i t m e n t to writing a b o u t his native S o u t h . T h e leading A m e r i c a n e x p o n e n t s of the " p u r e " m o d e r n i s m that is today known a s "high m o d e r n i s m " t e n d e d to be p e r m a n e n t expatriates like Gertrude S t e i n , E z r a P o u n d , H . D . , a n d T . S. Eliot. ( B u t two i m p o r t a n t e x c e p tions to this generalization are M a r i a n n e M o o r e a n d W a l l a c e S t e v e n s . ) T h e s e writers left the U n i t e d S t a t e s b e c a u s e they f o u n d the c o u n t r y singularly lacking in a tradition of high c u l t u r e a n d indifferent, if not downright hostile, to artistic a c h i e v e m e n t . T h e y a l s o believed that a national c u l t u r e c o u l d never b e m o r e t h a n p a r o c h i a l . In L o n d o n in the first two d e c a d e s of the twentieth c e n t u r y a n d in Paris d u r i n g the 1 9 2 0 s , they f o u n d a vibrant c o m m u n i t y of d e d i c a t e d artists a n d a society that r e s p e c t e d t h e m a n d allowed t h e m a great deal of p e r s o n a l f r e e d o m . Yet they s e l d o m thought of t h e m s e l v e s a s d e s e r t i n g their nation a n d n o n e of t h e m gave u p A m e r i c a n citizenship. T h e y t h o u g h t of t h e m s e l v e s a s bringing the U n i t e d S t a t e s into the larger context of E u r o p e a n c u l t u r e . T h e ranks of t h e s e p e r m a n e n t expatriates were swelled by A m e r i c a n writers w h o lived a b r o a d for s o m e part of the period: E r n e s t H e m ingway, S h e r w o o d A n d e r s o n , F. S c o t t Fitzgerald, K a t h e r i n e A n n e Porter, R o b e r t F r o s t , E u g e n e O'Neill, a n d Dorothy Parker all did s o , a s did m a n y others i n c l u d i n g S i n c l a i r L e w i s a n d D j u n a B a r n e s .

ON NATIVE

GROUNDS

T h o s e writers w h o c a m e b a c k , however, a n d t h o s e w h o never left t o o k very seriously the task of integrating m o d e r n i s t ideas a n d m e t h o d s with A m e r i c a n s u b j e c t matter. M a n y writers c h o s e to identity t h e m s e l v e s with the A m e r i c a n s c e n e a n d to root their work in a specific region. T h e t r e a t m e n t of the r e g i o n s in s u c h works w a s s o m e t i m e s celebratory a n d s o m e t i m e s critical. C a r l S a n d b u r g , E d g a r L e e M a s t e r s , S h e r w o o d A n d e r s o n , a n d Willa C a t h e r worked with the M i d w e s t ; C a t h e r g r o u n d e d her later work in the S o u t h w e s t ; R o b inson J e f f e r s , J o h n S t e i n b e c k , a n d C a r l o s B u l o s a n wrote a b o u t C a l i f o r n i a ; D'Arcy M c N i c k l e wrote a b o u t N a t i v e A m e r i c a n life on w e s t e r n reservations; E d w i n Arlington R o b i n s o n a n d Robert F r o s t identified their work with N e w England. A n especially strong c e n t e r of regional literary activity e m e r g e d in the S o u t h , which h a d a w e a k literary tradition u p to the Civil W a r . C r i t i c s a n d

1818

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AMERICAN

LITERATURE BETWEEN THE W A R S ,

1914-1945

p o e t s c e n t e r e d at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, T e n n e s s e e , p r o d u c e d a g r o u p m a n i f e s t o in 1 9 2 9 called I'll Take My Stand, a collection of e s s a y s that a d v o c a t e d s o m e traditional s o u t h e r n v a l u e s — t h e g r a c i o u s , s t a b l e , leisurely, ritualized, hierarchical p l a n t a t i o n civilization—as a cultural alternative to the social f r a g m e n t a t i o n they perceived in the urban N o r t h . A m o n g t h e s e " S o u t h e r n A g r a r i a n s " w e r e J o h n C r o w e R a n s o m , Allen T a t e , a n d Robert P e n n W a r r e n , all writing an elegant, learned verse in w h i c h they tried to revivify what they took a s the ideals of an earlier time. T h e influence of t h e s e writers, especially in a c a d e m i a , s o m e t i m e s t e n d e d to c o n c e a l the fact that the S o u t h s p o k e with m a n y voices d u r i n g this period. T h o m a s Wolfe's w a s an A p p a l a c h i a n S o u t h of hardy m o u n t a i n p e o p l e ; K a t h e r i n e A n n e Porter wrote a b o u t her native T e x a s a s a h e t e r o g e n e o u s c o m b i n a t i o n of frontier, plantation, a n d L a t i n c u l t u r e s ; J e a n T o o m e r set his Cane in G e o r g i a . A b o v e all, William F a u l k n e r d e p i c t e d a S o u t h at o n c e specific to his native s t a t e of M i s s i s s i p p i a n d e x p a n d e d into a mythic region a n g u i s h e d by racial a n d historical conflict. S o m e w r i t e r s — a s the title of J o h n D o s P a s s o s ' s U . S . A . clearly s h o w s — a t t e m p t e d to s p e a k for the nation as a w h o l e . Hart C r a n e ' s long p o e m The Bridge a n d William C a r l o s Williams's Paterson both take a n A m e r i c a n city as symbol a n d e x p a n d it to a vision for all A m e r i c a , following the m o d e l e s t a b l i s h e d by Walt W h i t m a n . F. S c o t t Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby is similarly a m b i t i o u s , a n d m a n y writers a d d r e s s e d the whole nation in individual w o r k s — f o r e x a m p l e , E . E . C u m m i n g s ' s " 'next to of c o u r s e g o d a m e r i c a i" a n d R o b i n s o n Jeffers's " S h i n e , P e r i s h i n g R e p u b l i c . " If a c o n t i n u i n g , a l t h o u g h conflicted, c o m m i t m e n t to specifically national s u b j e c t m a t t e r differentiated A m e r i c a n m o d e r n i s m from its E u r o p e a n origins, s o too did the central c o n t r i b u t i o n s of African A m e r i c a n s to the movement. P e r h a p s o n e c a n say that the work of African A m e r i c a n s w a s , precisely, part of a specifically national s u b j e c t matter, b e c a u s e the n u m e r o u s writers a s s o c i a t e d with the H a r l e m R e n a i s s a n c e m a d e it i m p o s s i b l e ever to think of a national literature without the work of b l a c k A m e r i c a n s . C o u n t e e C u l l e n , L a n g s t o n H u g h e s , a n d Zora N e a l e H u r s t o n a t t a i n e d particular p r o m i n e n c e at the t i m e ; but o t h e r s , i n c l u d i n g C l a u d e M c K a y a n d N e l l a L a r s e n , were a l s o well known. All were influenced by the v a l u e s of m o d e r n i s m ; both H u g h e s , for e x a m p l e , with his incorporation of b l u e s rhythms into poetry, a n d Hurston, with her poetic d e p i c t i o n s of folk c u l t u r e , a p p l i e d m o d e r n i s t t e c h n i q u e s to represent a s p e c t s of A m e r i c a n life in the twentieth century. F r o m time to t i m e , writers a s s o c i a t e d with the R e n a i s s a n c e e x p r e s s e d protest a n d a n g e r — H u g h e s , in particular, wrote a n u m b e r of powerful antilynching a n d anticapitalist p o e m s ; but in g e n e r a l the m o v e m e n t w a s deliberately u p b e a t , taking the line that racial j u s t i c e w a s a b o u t to b e c o m e reality in the U n i t e d S t a t e s . At least part of this a p p r o a c h was s t r a t e g i c — t h e bulk of the readership for H a r l e m a u t h o r s w a s white. T h e n o t e of p u r e a n g e r w a s not e x p r e s s e d until R i c h a r d Wright, w h o h a d c o m e to literary maturity in C h i c a g o , p u b lished Native Son in 1 9 4 0 . C o n t r i b u t i o n s to the H a r l e m R e n a i s s a n c e c a m e from artists in m a n y m e d i a ; an influence e q u a l to or greater t h a n that of the writers c a m e from m u s i c i a n s . J a z z a n d b l u e s , African A m e r i c a n in origin, are felt by m a n y to be the m o s t authentically A m e r i c a n art forms the nation has ever p r o d u c e d . African A m e r i c a n singers a n d m u s i c i a n s in this period achieved worldwide r e p u t a t i o n s a n d were often m u c h m o r e highly r e g a r d e d a b r o a d than in the U n i t e d S t a t e s .

INTRODUCTION

/

1819

Literary w o m e n had b e e n active on the national s c e n e from A n n e Bradstreet on a n d , to s o m e extent, m a l e m o d e r n i s t s tried to define their movem e n t by defining w o m e n out of it. B u t w o m e n refused to stay o n the sidelines a n d a s s o c i a t e d t h e m s e l v e s with all the i m p o r t a n t literary t r e n d s of the era: H . D. a n d Amy Lowell with i m a g i s m , M a r i a n n e M o o r e with high m o d e r n i s m , Willa C a t h e r with mythic r e g i o n a l i s m , Zora N e a l e H u r s t o n a n d Nella L a r s e n with the H a r l e m R e n a i s s a n c e , K a t h e r i n e A n n e Porter with p s y c h o l o g i c a l fiction; E d n a S t . V i n c e n t Millay and Dorothy Parker with social a n d sexual liberation; G e n e v i e v e T a g g a r d a n d Muriel Rukeyser with proletarian a n d radical literature. M a n y of t h e s e writers c o n c e n t r a t e d o n d e p i c t i o n s of w o m e n c h a r a c t e r s or w o m e n ' s t h o u g h t s a n d e x p e r i e n c e s . Yet few labeled t h e m s e l v e s f e m i n i s t s . T h e p a s s a g e of the suffrage a m e n d m e n t in 1 9 2 0 h a d taken s o m e of the energy o u t of f e m i n i s m that would not return until the 1 9 6 0 s . S o m e w o m e n writers perceived f e m i n i s m a s a c o n s t r a i n t on individual artistic e x p r e s s i o n , w h e r e a s others f o u n d social c a u s e s like labor a n d r a c i s m m o r e important than w o m e n ' s rights. N e v e r t h e l e s s , t h e s e literary w o m e n were clearly p u s h i n g b a c k the b o u n d a r i e s of the p e r m i s s i b l e , d e m a n d i n g new cultural f r e e d o m for w o m e n . Equally i m p o r t a n t , they were o p e r a t i n g as p u b l i c figures a n d taking p o s i t i o n s on public c a u s e s .

DRAMA D r a m a in A m e r i c a was slow to develop a s a s e l f - c o n s c i o u s literary form. It w a s not until 1 9 2 0 (the year of E u g e n e O'Neill's Beyond the Horizon) that the U n i t e d S t a t e s p r o d u c e d a world-class playwright. T h i s is not to say that theater—productions a n d p e r f o r m a n c e s — w a s n e w to A m e r i c a n life. After the A m e r i c a n Revolution t h e a t e r s — a t first with itinerant E n g l i s h a c t o r s a n d c o m p a n i e s , then with A m e r i c a n — o p e n e d t h r o u g h o u t the E a s t ; a m o n g early c e n t e r s were B o s t o n a n d P h i l a d e l p h i a a s well a s N e w York City. As the c o u n try e x p a n d e d w e s t w a r d , so did its theater, together with other kinds of perf o r m a n c e : b u r l e s q u e s , s h o w b o a t s o n the M i s s i s s i p p i , minstrel s h o w s , p a n t o m i m e s . As the n i n e t e e n t h century went o n , the activity b e c a m e c e n tered m o r e a n d m o r e in N e w Y o r k — i n d e e d , within a few b l o c k s , known a s " B r o a d w a y . " M a n a g e r s originated plays there a n d then sent t h e m out to tour through the rest of the country, a s E u g e n e O'Neill's father did with his Count of Monte Cristo. Healthy c h a n g e s in A m e r i c a n theater are often in reaction a g a i n s t B r o a d way, a pattern o b s e r v a b l e as early a s 1 9 1 5 with the f o r m a t i o n of the W a s h ington S q u a r e Players a n d the Provincetown Players (organized by S u s a n G l a s p e l l a n d o t h e r s ) , both located in N e w York's G r e e n w i c h Village a n d both d e d i c a t e d to the p r o d u c t i o n of plays that m o r e conservative m a n a g e r s refused. T h e Provincetown Players would shortly be p r o d u c i n g the first works of G l a s p e l l a n d E u g e n e O'Neill. T h e s e fledgling c o m p a n i e s , a n d others like t h e m , often knew better what they o p p o s e d than what they w a n t e d . E u r o p e a n influence w a s strong. By 1 9 1 5 , H e n r i k I b s e n in E u r o p e a n d G e o r g e B e r n a r d S h a w in E n g l a n d had s h o w n that the theater c o u l d be an a r e n a for serious i d e a s ; while the psychological d r a m a s of A u g u s t S t r i n d b e r g , the symbolic work of M a u r i c e M a e t e r l i n c k , a n d the s o p h i s t i c a t e d c y n i c i s m of Arthur Schnitzler provided other m o d e l s . T h e A m e r i c a n tours of E u r o p e a n c o m p a n i e s , in particular the M o s c o w Art T h e a t r e in 1 9 2 3 , further e x p o s e d

1820

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AMERICAN LITERATURE BETWEEN THE WARS,

1914-1945

A m e r i c a n s to the theatrical a v a n t - g a r d e . A m e r i c a n playwrights in the 1 9 2 0 s a n d 1 9 3 0 s were u n i t e d not so m u c h by a c o m m o n c a u s e of i d e a s , E u r o p e a n or A m e r i c a n , a s by the n e w a s s u m p t i o n that d r a m a s h o u l d b e a b r a n c h of c o n t e m p o r a r y literature. J u s t a s his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s in poetry a n d fiction were c h a n g i n g a n d q u e s tioning their f o r m s , s o E u g e n e O ' N e i l l — a l t h o u g h not u n d e r their influe n c e — s o u g h t to redefine his. H e e x p e r i m e n t e d less in l a n g u a g e than in d r a m a t i c s t r u c t u r e a n d in new p r o d u c t i o n m e t h o d s available t h r o u g h technology (e.g., lighting) or b o r r o w e d from the stylized realism of G e r m a n e x p r e s s i o n i s m . A l m o s t a s f a m o u s at the time w a s Maxwell A n d e r s o n , w h o s e best p l a y s — t h e tragic Winterset ( 1 9 3 5 ) a n d the r o m a n t i c c o m e d y High Tor ( 1 9 3 7 ) — e m b o d y a stylized b l a n k verse, a l a n g u a g e a t t e m p t e d by few m o d e r n d r a m a t i s t s . Playwrights s u c h a s S i d n e y H o w a r d , Lillian H e l l m a n , a n d Robert S h e r w o o d explored p r o b l e m s of the m o d e r n c h a r a c t e r in s e r i o u s realistic plays. G e o r g e K a u f m a n a n d his m a n y c o l l a b o r a t o r s , especially M o s s H a r t , invented a distinctively A m e r i c a n f o r m , the w i s e c r a c k i n g d o m e s t i c a n d social c o m e d y , while S . N . B e h r m a n a n d Philip Barry wrote higher c o m e d i e s of i d e a s . T h e m u s i c a l c o m e d y w a s a n o t h e r distinctively A m e r i c a n invention: b e g i n n i n g as a n a m a l g a m of j o k e s , s o n g s , a n d d a n c e s , it p r o g r e s s e d steadily toward a n integration of its various e l e m e n t s , r e a c h i n g n e w heights with the work of G e o r g e a n d Ira G e r s h w i n in the 1 9 2 0 s a n d 1 9 3 0 s a n d of O s c a r H a m m e r s t e i n in collaboration with J e r o m e Kern or R i c h a r d R o d g e r s from the 1 9 2 0 s o n into the 1 9 5 0 s . S o c i a l c o m m e n t a r y a n d satire h a d b e e n a thread in the bright weave of A m e r i c a n d r a m a s i n c e the early twenties, b e g i n n i n g , p e r h a p s , with E l m e r Rice's fiercely expressionistic play a b o u t a rebellious nonentity, The Adding Machine ( 1 9 2 3 ) . D u r i n g the D e p r e s s i o n social criticism b e c a m e a m u c h m o r e i m p o r t a n t d r a m a t i c t h e m e , with political plays p e r f o r m e d by m a n y radical g r o u p s . P e r h a p s the m o s t significant w a s Clifford O d e t s ' s Waiting for Lefty ( 1 9 3 5 ) , w h i c h d r a m a t i z e d a taxidrivers' strike m e e t i n g a n d turned the s t a g e into a platform for a r g u m e n t . M a n y of the p o e t s a n d fictionists of the interwar period wrote p l a y s — a m o n g t h e m E r n e s t H e m i n g w a y , E . E . C u m m i n g s , William C a r l o s W i l l i a m s , William F a u l k n e r , F r a n k O ' H a r a , E d n a S t . Vincent Millay, L a n g s t o n H u g h e s , T . S . Eliot, J o h n S t e i n b e c k , a n d Robert Lowell. It w a s in this period that d r a m a m o v e d decisively into the A m e r i c a n literary m a i n s t r e a m .

BETWEEN T H E WARS,

1914-1945

TEXTS 1905

CONTEXTS

Willa Cather, "The Sculptor's

Funeral" 1914

Robert Frost, " H o m e Burial" • Carl

1914-18

World War I

Sandburg, " C h i c a g o " 1915

Edgar Lee Masters, Spoon

Anthology • Ezra Pound begins

River

1915

Cantos

Great Migration of African

Americans from the rural South to northern industrial cities

1916

S u s a n Glaspell, Trifles 1917

United States declares war on

Germany • revolution in Russia brings C o m m u n i s t Party to power 1918

Daylight Savings T i m e instituted to

allow more daylight for war production 1919

Sherwood Anderson,

Winesburg,

1919

Senate limits U . S . participation in

Ohio • Amy Lowell, "Madonna of the

L e a g u e of Nations; does not ratify Versailles

Evening Flowers"

Treaty to end World War I

1920

Anzia Yezierska, "The Lost

1920

18th Amendment prohibits the

'Beautifulness' " • Pound, "Hugh Selwyn

manufacture, sale, and transportation of

Mauberley" • Edwin Arlington Robinson,

alcoholic beverages • 19th Amendment gives

"Mr. Flood's Party"

women the vote 1920-27

1921

Sacco-Vanzetti trial

T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land •

C l a u d e McKay, "Africa, America" • Marianne Moore, "Poetry" 1922

Fascism rises in Europe; Mussolini

b e c o m e s dictator of Italy 1923

Wallace Stevens, " S u n d a y

Morning" 1924

Robinson Jeffers, "To the Stone-

1924

Cutters" • John Crowe Ransom, "Here Lies

Exclusionary immigration act bars

Asians

a Lady" " H. D. (Hilda Doolittle), "Helen" 1925

C o u n t e e Cullen, " H e r i t a g e " '

Gertrude Stein, The Making of Americans • Alain Locke publishes The New Negro, leading anthology of the Harlem Renaissance 1926

Hart Crane, The Bridge

• Langston

Hughes, "The Weary B l u e s " 1927

The Jazz Singer, first full-length

"talkie," is released 1928

Willa Cather, "Neighbour Rosicky" •

Nella Larsen,

Quicksand 1929

Stock market crashes; Great

Depression begins

Boldface titles indicate works in the anthology.

1821

CONTEXTS

TEXTS Katherine Anne Porter, "Flowering

1930

E. E. C u m m i n g s , "i sing of Olaf

1931

1930

Sinclair Lewis is first American to

win Nobel Prize for literature

J u d a s " " Dorothy Parker, "The Waltz"

1931

Scottsboro trial

1932

Franklin Delano Roosevelt's " N e w

glad and big" * F. Scott Fitzgerald, " B a b y l o n Revisited" Black Elk and John G. Neihardt,

1932 Black

Elk Speaks

• Sterling A. Brown, " H e

Deal" introduces social security, welfare, and unemployment insurance

Was a M a n "

1933

Adolf Hitler's Nationalist Socialist

(Nazi) party comes to power in G e r m a n y ' 18th Amendment repealed William Carlos Williams, "This Is

1934

1934

Wheeler-Howard (Indian

Reorganization Act) passed, ending Dawes

Just to Say"

era Ernest Hemingway, "The Snows of

1936

Kilimanjaro" • Genevieve Taggard, " F o r

1936

Hitler begins armed occupation of

Europe

Eager Lovers" Spanish Civil War: U . S .

1936-39

volunteers a m o n g those fighting against General Franco, who b e c o m e s dictator of Spain 1937

T h o m a s Wolfe, "The Lost Boy"

1938

John Dos Passos, U.S.A. • William

1937

Stalin's purges

Faulkner, "Barn Burning" World War II • the Holocaust

1939-45

Richard Wright, "The Man W h o

1939

W a s Almost a M a n " • John Steinbeck, The Grapes

of Wrath

1940

Eugene O'Neill, Long Day's

into

Journey

Night 1941

J a p a n bombs Pearl Harbor, Hawaii •

United States enters war against J a p a n and its allies, Germany and Italy 1942

President Roosevelt orders

internment of J a p a n e s e Americans in c a m p s 1944

Muriel Rukeyser, "Suicide B l u e s "

1944

D Day; Allied invasion of Normandy

1945

G e r m a n forces surrender in spring;

J a p a n surrenders in August following explosion of two nuclear b o m b s over J a p a n e s e cities

•

1 822

1823

BLACK ELK 1863-1950

JOHN

G.

NEIHARDT 1881-1973

Nicholas Black Elk, an Oglala Lakota, was born on the Little Powder River. Although every traditionally raised Lakota male engaged in a vision quest—hanble ceyapi, literally "crying for a vision"—a search for spiritual guidance in his life, Black Elk was granted a particularly powerful vision by the Thunder beings (Wakinyan), the powers of the west, at the early age of nine. He said nothing of this until he was seventeen, when he began to fear that continued silence might lead to his being struck by lightning—a particular danger for the Thunder Dreamer. It was most usual for the Thunder Dreamer to perform the heyoha ceremony and become a "sacred clown," one who, for a time, did things backward and foolishly. But Black Elk was advised to have the horse dance enacted instead. Once this had been done, Black Elk began to practice as a shamanic healer. Some four years earlier, in 1876, although he was too young to fight, Black Elk had witnessed the defeat of General George A. Custer and his Seventh Cavalry on the Little Big Horn Biver by the Lakota and their Cheyenne allies, an event that did not, however, slow the encroachment of the whites onto Indian lands. Black Elk joined Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show in 1886, traveling to New York's Madison Square Garden and then to England where the show performed for the Golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria's reign. By that time. Black Elk had become an Episcopalian, fortunate in that the Wild West Show required all its Native American employees to be Christians. Black Elk returned home in time to encounter the Ghost Dance movement at Pine Ridge. Skeptical at first, he eventually came to understand the Ghost Dance to be consistent both with his own great vision and with Christian teaching. The massacre of Big Foot's Minneconjou band at Wounded Knee Creek in December 1890 put a tragic end to the hopes of the Ghost Dancers and, as well, to any hopes Black Elk might have had that his vision could restore the sacred hoop of his people and help them to live in a manner consistent with traditional ways. Black Elk was baptized a Catholic at Holy Rosary Mission on December 6, 1904, the feast of St. Nicholas, at which time he took that saint's name. He never engaged in traditional healing practices again. In August 1930, John G. Neihardt, poet laureate of Nebraska, on a trip to research material for the final volume of his epic poem, A Cycle of the West, drove up to Black Elk's cabin outside of Manderson, South Dakota. With Neihardt were his son, Sigurd, and a man named Emil Afraid of Hawk who had agreed to act as Neihardt's interpreter (Black Elk spoke little English). From all accounts, the two men responded strongly to each other. Neihardt told Black Elk that he was a writer of epic poetry, which, in Lakota, translated roughly to hanbloglaka, or "vision telling." As Raymond DeMallie has put it, "Neihardt perceived Black Elk's religion in terms of art; Black Elk perceived Neihardt's art in terms of religion." Although Black Elk was by then a Catholic catechist, he had not forgotten the promise of the great vision that had been granted to him. In Neihardt, he believed he had found one who could make that vision known to the world. In May 1931, Neihardt again visited Black Elk; with him now were his two daughters, Hilda and Enid; the latter was an accomplished stenographer. The two men began work at day break on May 10. Serving as interpreter was Black Elk's son, Ben, who had studied for a time at the Carlisle Indian School. As was the custom when any warrior gave his "kill talks"—"coup tales" recounting brave deeds in war—contemporaries of Black Elk (the elders Fire Thunder, Standing Bear, Chase in the Morning, and Holy Black Tail Deer) were present to listen and to comment on his narration. Black Elk told the story of his life in Lakota; Ben translated into the dialect called

1824

/

BLACK

E L K AND J O H N

G.

NEIHARDT

"Red English" or "Indian English"; Neihardt repeated Ben's words in standard English; and Enid wrote it all down as best she could. It was on the basis of a number of such sessions that Neihardt produced the book known as Black Elk Speaks (1932). Black Elk said little about his Catholicism and Neihardt chose not to mention it at all. Neihardt also edited the great vision, minimizing its concern for the achievement of power in warfare—a central concern of Lakota males—in DeMallie's words once more, to "develop the universalistic message of the vision . . . focusing on the powers to heal." "The beginning and ending" of the book, Neihardt himself acknowledged, "are mine; they are what [Black Elk] would have said if he had been able." The ending—an account of Neihardt and Black Elk's trip to Harney Peak, "the center of the world"; of Black Elk's admission of his failure to restore the sacred hoop and "make the tree bloom" again; and of Black Elk's uncanny power nonetheless to bring rain—has had widespread influence. It has appeared, in only slightly different form, as the ending to Thomas Berger's novel Little Big Man (1964), and in recognizable but very different form in Arthur Penn's film of the same name (1970). But, again, this ending is Neihardt's, not Black Elk's. Although Black Elk Speaks was favorably reviewed at the time of its publication, it attracted little attention. This was not the case shortly after its reissue in 1961; from that point forward, as anthropologist William Powers has written, "When Black Elk Speaks everybody listens!" Although it is Powers's view (along with several others) that Neihardt's own strong mystical Christianity obscures Lakota religion rather than presenting it accurately, the eminent Lakota scholar Vine DeLoria Jr., to the contrary, thinks that is not the issue at all. Bather, for DeLoria, Neihardt has produced in Black Elk Speaks a "religious classic," a "North American bible of all tribes." In any case, Black Elk Speaks is surely the best known of Native American autobiographies, having been translated into German, French, Portuguese, Italian, Bussian, and Hungarian. Neihardt interviewed Black Elk again in 1944, incorporating this new material into the novel When the Tree Flowered (1951). Black Elk also engaged in a series of interviews with Joseph Epes Brown in the late 1940s; Brown's book The Sacred Pipe appeared in 1953. The selection reprinted here is the complete text of The Great Vision, Chapter 3 of Black Elk Speaks. In addition to explanatory information, the notes provide some supplementary material from Baymond DeMallie's The Sixth Grandfather, which presents "in full the notes of the interviews, the direct words of Black Elk as interpreted into English" by Neihardt's daughters, Enid and Hilda, who acted as stenographer and secretary, respectively. As DeMallie writes, these are "the most original records of Black Elk's teachings available, and they are the sources from which Neihardt wrote Black Elk Speaks." They should allow the reader some closer approach to Black Elk himself, as they should also allow some greater awareness of the nature of Neihardt's art.

From

Black Elk Speaks

III. The

Great

Vision

W h a t h a p p e n e d after t h a t until the s u m m e r I w a s n i n e years old is not a story. T h e r e were winters a n d s u m m e r s , a n d they were g o o d ; for the W a s i c h u s h a d m a d e their iron r o a d 2 a l o n g the Platte a n d traveled t h e r e . T h i s h a d cut the bison herd in two, but t h o s e that stayed in o u r c o u n t r y with u s were m o r e t h a n c o u l d b e c o u n t e d , a n d we w a n d e r e d without t r o u b l e in o u r l a n d . 1

1. A brief vision experienced by Black Elk when he was five years old that was mentioned at the end of the preceding chapter.

2. "The Union Pacific Railway" [Neihardt's note], "Wasichus": fat eaters (Lakota, literal trans.); i.e., white settlers, or those who take the best part.

BLACK

ELK

SPEAKS

/

1825

N o w a n d then the voices would c o m e b a c k w h e n I w a s o u t a l o n e , like s o m e o n e calling m e , but what they w a n t e d m e to do I did not know. T h i s did not h a p p e n very often, a n d w h e n it did not h a p p e n , I forgot a b o u t it; for I w a s growing taller a n d w a s riding h o r s e s now a n d c o u l d s h o o t prairie chicke n s a n d rabbits with my bow. T h e boys of my p e o p l e b e g a n very y o u n g to learn the ways of m e n , a n d n o o n e t a u g h t u s ; w e j u s t l e a r n e d by d o i n g what we saw, a n d we were warriors at a time w h e n boys now are like girls. It was the s u m m e r w h e n I w a s nine years old, a n d our p e o p l e were moving slowly towards the Rocky M o u n t a i n s . W e c a m p e d o n e e v e n i n g in a valley b e s i d e a little c r e e k j u s t before it ran into the G r e a s y G r a s s , ' a n d there w a s a m a n by the n a m e of M a n H i p w h o liked m e a n d a s k e d m e to eat with him in his t e p e e . While I w a s e a t i n g , a voice c a m e a n d s a i d : "It is t i m e ; n o w they a r e calling y o u . " T h e voice w a s s o loud a n d clear that I believed it, a n d I t h o u g h t I w o u l d j u s t g o w h e r e it w a n t e d m e to go. S o I got right u p a n d s t a r t e d . A s I c a m e out of the t e p e e , both my thighs b e g a n to hurt m e , a n d s u d d e n l y it w a s like waking from a d r e a m , a n d there wasn't a n y voice. S o I went b a c k into the t e p e e , b u t I didn't w a n t to eat. M a n H i p looked at m e in a s t r a n g e way a n d a s k e d m e what w a s wrong. I told him that my legs were hurting m e . T h e next m o r n i n g the c a m p moved a g a i n , a n d I w a s riding with s o m e boys. W e s t o p p e d to get a drink from a creek, a n d w h e n I got off my h o r s e , my legs c r u m p l e d u n d e r m e a n d I c o u l d not walk. S o the boys h e l p e d m e u p a n d put m e on my h o r s e ; a n d w h e n we c a m p e d again that evening, I w a s sick. T h e next day the c a m p m o v e d on to where the different b a n d s of our p e o p l e were c o m i n g together, a n d I rode in a p o n y d r a g , for I w a s very sick. B o t h my legs a n d both my a r m s were swollen badly a n d my f a c e w a s all puffed up. W h e n we h a d c a m p e d a g a i n , I w a s lying in our t e p e e a n d my m o t h e r a n d father were sitting b e s i d e m e . I c o u l d s e e out through the o p e n i n g , a n d there two m e n were c o m i n g from the c l o u d s , head-first like arrows s l a n t i n g d o w n , a n d I knew they were the s a m e that I h a d s e e n b e f o r e . 4 E a c h now carried a long spear, a n d from the points of t h e s e a j a g g e d lightning flashed. T h e y c a m e clear down to the g r o u n d this time a n d s t o o d a little way off a n d looked at m e a n d said: "Hurry! C o m e ! Your G r a n d f a t h e r s are calling y o u ! " 5 T h e n they turned a n d left the g r o u n d like arrows s l a n t i n g u p w a r d from the bow. W h e n I got u p to follow, my legs did not hurt m e any m o r e a n d I w a s very light. I went o u t s i d e the t e p e e , a n d yonder w h e r e the m e n with flaming s p e a r s were going, a little c l o u d w a s c o m i n g very fast. It c a m e a n d s t o o p e d a n d took m e a n d turned b a c k to w h e r e it c a m e f r o m , flying fast. A n d when I looked d o w n I c o u l d s e e my m o t h e r a n d my father yonder, a n d I felt sorry to be leaving t h e m . T h e n there w a s n o t h i n g b u t the air a n d the swiftness of the little c l o u d that b o r e m e a n d t h o s e two m e n still l e a d i n g u p to w h e r e white c l o u d s were piled like m o u n t a i n s on a wide b l u e plain, a n d in t h e m t h u n d e r b e i n g s lived and l e a p e d a n d flashed. 3. T h e Little Big Horn River [Neihardt's note]. 4. In the vision Blaek Elk had had four years earlier. 5. In DeMalfie's transcription, Black Elk uses the singular, "Your Grandfather is calling you," refer-

ring to the western Grandfather whose cloud tepee is the home of the Thunder beings. Neihardt deemphasizes the importance of the west and of the fearful Thunder beings in Black Elk Speaks.

1826

/

BLACK

E L K AND J O H N

G.

NEIHARDT

N o w s u d d e n l y there w a s n o t h i n g but a world of c l o u d , a n d we t h r e e were there a l o n e in the m i d d l e of a great white plain with snowy hills a n d m o u n tains staring at u s ; a n d it w a s very still; but there were w h i s p e r s . T h e n the two m e n s p o k e together a n d they s a i d : " B e h o l d h i m , the b e i n g with four l e g s ! " I looked a n d saw a bay h o r s e s t a n d i n g there, a n d he b e g a n to s p e a k : " B e h o l d m e ! " he s a i d , " M y life-history you shall s e e . " T h e n he w h e e l e d a b o u t to where the s u n g o e s d o w n , a n d s a i d : " B e h o l d t h e m ! T h e i r history you shall know." I looked, a n d there were twelve black'' h o r s e s yonder all a b r e a s t with neckl a c e s of bison hoofs, a n d they were beautiful, b u t I w a s frightened, b e c a u s e their m a n e s were lightning a n d there w a s t h u n d e r in their nostrils. T h e n the bay h o r s e w h e e l e d to w h e r e the great white giant lives (the north) a n d said: " B e h o l d ! " A n d yonder there were twelve white h o r s e s all a b r e a s t . T h e i r m a n e s were flowing like a blizzard wind a n d from their n o s e s c a m e a roaring, a n d all a b o u t t h e m white g e e s e s o a r e d a n d circled. T h e n the bay w h e e l e d r o u n d to w h e r e the s u n s h i n e s continually (the e a s t ) a n d b a d e m e look; a n d there twelve sorrel h o r s e s , with n e c k l a c e s of elk's t e e t h , 7 stood a b r e a s t with eyes that g l i m m e r e d like the day-break star a n d m a n e s of m o r n i n g light. T h e n the bay w h e e l e d o n c e again to look u p o n the p l a c e w h e r e you are always f a c i n g (the s o u t h ) , a n d yonder s t o o d twelve b u c k s k i n s all a b r e a s t with horns u p o n their h e a d s a n d m a n e s that lived a n d grew like trees a n d g r a s s e s . A n d w h e n I h a d s e e n all t h e s e , the bay h o r s e s a i d : "Your G r a n d f a t h e r s are having a c o u n c i l . T h e s e shall take you; s o have c o u r a g e . " T h e n all the h o r s e s went into f o r m a t i o n , four a b r e a s t — t h e b l a c k s , the whites, the sorrels, a n d the b u c k s k i n s — a n d s t o o d b e h i n d the bay, w h o turned now to the west a n d n e i g h e d ; a n d yonder s u d d e n l y the sky w a s terrible with a storm of p l u n g i n g h o r s e s in all colors that s h o o k the world with t h u n der, n e i g h i n g b a c k . N o w turning to the north the bay h o r s e w h i n n i e d , a n d yonder all the sky roared with a mighty wind of r u n n i n g h o r s e s in all c o l o r s , n e i g h i n g b a c k . A n d w h e n he whinnied to the e a s t , there too the sky w a s filled with glowing c l o u d s of m a n e s a n d tails of horses in all colors s i n g i n g b a c k . T h e n to the s o u t h h e c a l l e d , a n d it w a s c r o w d e d with m a n y c o l o r e d , h a p p y h o r s e s , nickering. H T h e n the bay horse s p o k e to m e again a n d s a i d : " S e e how your h o r s e s all c o m e d a n c i n g ! " I looked, a n d there were h o r s e s , h o r s e s e v e r y w h e r e — a whole skyful of h o r s e s d a n c i n g round m e . " M a k e h a s t e ! " the bay h o r s e s a i d ; a n d we walked together side by s i d e , while the b l a c k s , the whites, the sorrels, a n d the b u c k s k i n s followed, m a r c h ing four by four. I looked a b o u t m e o n c e a g a i n , a n d s u d d e n l y the d a n c i n g h o r s e s without n u m b e r c h a n g e d into a n i m a l s of every kind a n d into all the fowls that a r e , a n d t h e s e fled b a c k to the four q u a r t e r s of the world from w h e n c e the h o r s e s c a m e , and vanished. 6. The color specifically associated with the Thunder beings and the color of difficulty but also of the courage to triumph over difficulty. Successful Lakota warriors, e.g., would paint their faces black.

7. Symbols of durability and thus long life. S. "Happy" and "nickering" are Neihardt's additions.

BLACK

ELK

SPEAKS

/

1827

T h e n a s we walked, there w a s a h e a p e d up c l o u d a h e a d that c h a n g e d into a tepee, a n d a r a i n b o w 9 w a s the o p e n d o o r of it; a n d t h r o u g h the d o o r I saw six old m e n sitting in a row. T h e two m e n with the s p e a r s now stood b e s i d e m e , o n e on either h a n d , and the h o r s e s took their p l a c e s in their q u a r t e r s , looking inward, four by four. A n d the oldest of the G r a n d f a t h e r s s p o k e with a kind voice a n d said: " C o m e right in a n d do not fear." A n d a s h e s p o k e , all the h o r s e s of the four q u a r t e r s n e i g h e d to c h e e r m e . S o I went in a n d s t o o d before the six, a n d they looked older than m e n c a n ever b e — o l d like hills, like s t a r s . 1 T h e oldest s p o k e a g a i n : "Your G r a n d f a t h e r s all over the world a r e having a c o u n c i l , a n d they have called you here to t e a c h y o u . " His voice w a s very kind, but I s h o o k all over with fear now, for I k n e w that t h e s e were not old m e n , but the Powers of the W o r l d . A n d the first w a s the Power of the W e s t ; the s e c o n d , of the N o r t h ; the third, of the E a s t ; the fourth, of the S o u t h ; the fifth, of the Sky; the sixth, of the E a r t h . I knew this, a n d w a s afraid, until the first G r a n d f a t h e r s p o k e a g a i n : " B e h o l d t h e m yonder w h e r e the s u n g o e s d o w n , the t h u n d e r b e i n g s ! You shall s e e , a n d have from t h e m my p o w e r ; 2 a n d they shall take you to the high a n d lonely c e n t e r of the e a r t h that you may s e e ; even to the p l a c e w h e r e the s u n continually s h i n e s , they shall take you there to u n d e r s t a n d . " A n d a s he s p o k e of u n d e r s t a n d i n g , I looked u p a n d s a w the rainbow leap with f l a m e s of m a n y colors over m e . N o w there w a s a w o o d e n c u p in his h a n d a n d it w a s full of water a n d in the water w a s the sky. " T a k e t h i s , " he said. "It is the power to m a k e live, a n d it is y o u r s . " N o w he had a bow in his h a n d s . " T a k e t h i s , " he said. "It is the p o w e r to destroy, a n d it is y o u r s . " T h e n he p o i n t e d to himself a n d said: " L o o k c l o s e at him who is your spirit now, for you are his body a n d his n a m e is E a g l e W i n g S t r e t c h e s . " And saying this, h e got up very tall a n d started r u n n i n g toward where the s u n g o e s d o w n ; a n d s u d d e n l y he w a s a black h o r s e that s t o p p e d a n d turned and looked at m e , a n d the horse was very poor a n d sick; his ribs stood out. T h e n the s e c o n d G r a n d f a t h e r , he of the N o r t h , a r o s e with a herb of p o w e r in his h a n d , a n d s a i d : " T a k e this a n d hurry." I took a n d held it toward the black h o r s e yonder. H e fattened and w a s h a p p y a n d c a m e p r a n c i n g to his place again a n d w a s the first G r a n d f a t h e r sitting t h e r e . T h e s e c o n d G r a n d f a t h e r , he of the N o r t h , s p o k e a g a i n : " T a k e c o u r a g e , younger b r o t h e r , " he said; " o n earth a nation you shall m a k e live, for yours shall be the power of the white giant's wing, the c l e a n s i n g w i n d . " T h e n he got up very tall a n d started r u n n i n g toward the north; a n d w h e n he turned toward m e , it w a s a white g o o s e wheeling. I looked a b o u t m e now, a n d the horses in the west were t h u n d e r s a n d the h o r s e s of the north were g e e s e . 3 And the s e c o n d G r a n d f a t h e r s a n g two s o n g s 4 that were like this: 9. Symbol ol the Thunder beings. 1. "Older than men . . . like stars" is Neihardt's addition. 2. Literally, tawacin, "will power." which, for the Lakota, is the creative power of a mind made wise by means of a vision, a power that can be used on earth [adapted from DeMallie's note]. 3. Neihardt has much condensed this section. In The Sixth Grandfather, Black Elk understands the

second Grandfather to be saying that he will "create a nation." and 'cure lots of sickness with this herb.' thus causing the people to cry joyfully as geese do when returning to their northern home after the hard winter has passed [adapted from DeMallie's note]. 4. Black Elk attributes the first song to the first Grandfather, of the west.

1828

/

BLACK

E L K AND J O H N

G.

NEIHARDT

" T h e y are a p p e a r i n g , m a y you b e h o l d ! T h e y are a p p e a r i n g , m a y you b e h o l d ! T h e t h u n d e r nation is a p p e a r i n g , b e h o l d ! T h e y a r e a p p e a r i n g , may you b e h o l d ! T h e y are a p p e a r i n g , m a y you b e h o l d ! T h e white g e e s e nation is a p p e a r i n g , b e h o l d ! " A n d now it w a s the third G r a n d f a t h e r w h o s p o k e , h e of w h e r e the s u n shines continually. " T a k e c o u r a g e , y o u n g e r b r o t h e r , " h e said, "for a c r o s s the earth they shall take y o u ! " T h e n he p o i n t e d to w h e r e the d a y b r e a k star w a s shining, a n d b e n e a t h the star two m e n were flying. " F r o m t h e m you shall have p o w e r , " h e s a i d , " f r o m t h e m w h o have a w a k e n e d all the b e i n g s of the earth with roots a n d legs a n d w i n g s . " A n d a s h e said this, h e held in his h a n d a p e a c e p i p e which h a d a s p o t t e d e a g l e o u t s t r e t c h e d u p o n the s t e m ; a n d this eagle s e e m e d alive, for it w a s p o i s e d t h e r e , fluttering, a n d its eyes were looking at m e . "With this p i p e , " the G r a n d f a t h e r s a i d , "you shall walk u p o n the earth, a n d whatever s i c k e n s there you shall m a k e well." T h e n h e p o i n t e d to a m a n w h o w a s bright r e d 5 all over, the color of g o o d a n d of plenty, a n d a s he p o i n t e d , the red m a n lay d o w n a n d rolled a n d c h a n g e d into a bison that got u p a n d g a l l o p e d toward the sorrel h o r s e s of the e a s t , a n d they too turned to b i s o n , fat a n d m a n y . A n d now the fourth G r a n d f a t h e r s p o k e , h e of the p l a c e w h e r e you are always facing (the s o u t h ) , w h e n c e c o m e s the power to grow. " Y o u n g e r b r o t h e r , " h e s a i d , "with the p o w e r s of the four q u a r t e r s you shall walk, a relative. B e h o l d , the living c e n t e r of a nation I shall give y o u , a n d with it m a n y you shall s a v e . " A n d I saw that he w a s holding in his h a n d a bright red stick that w a s alive, a n d a s I looked it s p r o u t e d at the top a n d sent forth b r a n c h e s , a n d o n the b r a n c h e s m a n y leaves c a m e o u t a n d m u r m u r e d a n d in the leaves the birds b e g a n to sing. A n d then for j u s t a little while I t h o u g h t I s a w b e n e a t h it in the s h a d e the circled villages of p e o p l e a n d every living thing with roots or legs or w i n g s , a n d all were h a p p y . "It shall s t a n d in the c e n t e r of the nation's c i r c l e , " said the G r a n d f a t h e r , "a c a n e to walk with a n d a p e o p l e ' s heart; a n d by your p o w e r s you shall m a k e it b l o s s o m . " T h e n w h e n h e h a d b e e n still a little while to h e a r the birds sing, he s p o k e a g a i n : " B e h o l d the e a r t h ! " S o I looked d o w n a n d s a w it lying yonder like a h o o p of p e o p l e s , a n d in the c e n t e r b l o o m e d the holy stick that w a s a tree, a n d w h e r e it s t o o d there c r o s s e d two r o a d s , a red o n e a n d a b l a c k . " F r o m w h e r e the giant lives (the north) to w h e r e you always f a c e (the s o u t h ) the red r o a d g o e s , the r o a d of g o o d , " the G r a n d f a t h e r said, " a n d on it shall your nation walk. T h e b l a c k road g o e s from w h e r e the t h u n d e r b e i n g s live (the west) to w h e r e the s u n continually s h i n e s (the e a s t ) , a fearful r o a d , a r o a d of troubles a n d of w a r . 6 O n this a l s o you shall walk, a n d from it you shall have the power to destroy a p e o p l e ' s f o e s . In four a s c e n t s you shall walk the earth with p o w e r . " I think he m e a n t that I s h o u l d s e e four g e n e r a t i o n s , c o u n t i n g m e , a n d now I a m s e e i n g the third. 5. Associated with the buffalo, with nourishment, and with health. 6. This is Neihardt's interpretation. Black Elk's

own explanation s e e m s fairly H w t r o u b l e d : he says, "From east to west I have power to destroy and from north to south power to do good."

BLACK

ELK

SPEAKS

/

1829

T h e n he rose very tall a n d started r u n n i n g toward the s o u t h , a n d w a s a n elk; a n d as he s t o o d a m o n g the b u c k s k i n s yonder, they t o o were elks. N o w the fifth G r a n d f a t h e r s p o k e , the oldest of t h e m all, the Spirit of the Sky. " M y b o y , " he s a i d , "I have sent for you a n d you have c o m e . My p o w e r you shall s e e ! " H e s t r e t c h e d his a r m s a n d t u r n e d into a s p o t t e d e a g l e hovering. " B e h o l d , " h e said, "all the wings of the air shall c o m e to y o u , a n d they a n d the w i n d s a n d the stars shall b e like relatives. You shall go a c r o s s the e a r t h with my p o w e r . " T h e n the e a g l e s o a r e d a b o v e my h e a d a n d fluttered there; a n d s u d d e n l y the sky w a s full of friendly wings all c o m i n g toward m e . N o w I knew the sixth G r a n d f a t h e r w a s a b o u t to s p e a k , he w h o w a s the Spirit of the E a r t h , a n d I s a w that he w a s very old, but m o r e a s m e n a r e old. His hair w a s long a n d white, his f a c e w a s all in wrinkles a n d his eyes were d e e p a n d d i m . 7 I s t a r e d at him, for it s e e m e d I k n e w him s o m e h o w ; a n d as I s t a r e d , he slowly c h a n g e d , for he w a s growing b a c k w a r d s into y o u t h , a n d w h e n h e h a d b e c o m e a boy, I knew that he w a s m y s e l f with all the years that would be m i n e at l a s t . 8 W h e n he w a s old a g a i n , he said: " M y boy, have c o u r a g e , for my p o w e r shall b e yours, a n d you shall n e e d it, for your nation on the earth will have great troubles. C o m e . " 9 H e rose a n d tottered out t h r o u g h the rainbow door, a n d a s I followed I w a s riding o n the bay h o r s e w h o h a d talked to m e at first a n d led m e to that place. T h e n the bay h o r s e s t o p p e d a n d f a c e d the b l a c k h o r s e s of the west, a n d a voice s a i d : " T h e y have given you the c u p of water to m a k e live the g r e e n i n g day, a n d a l s o the b o w a n d arrow to destroy." T h e bay n e i g h e d , a n d the twelve black h o r s e s c a m e a n d stood b e h i n d m e , four a b r e a s t . T h e bay f a c e d the sorrels of the e a s t , a n d I s a w that they h a d m o r n i n g stars u p o n their f o r e h e a d s a n d they were very bright. A n d the voice s a i d : " T h e y have given you the s a c r e d p i p e a n d the power that is p e a c e , a n d the g o o d red d a y . " T h e bay n e i g h e d , a n d the twelve sorrels s t o o d b e h i n d m e , four a b r e a s t . M y h o r s e now f a c e d the b u c k s k i n s of the s o u t h , a n d a voice s a i d : " T h e y have given you the s a c r e d stick a n d your nation's h o o p , a n d the yellow day; a n d in the c e n t e r of the h o o p you shall set the stick a n d m a k e it grow into a shielding tree, a n d b l o o m . " T h e bay n e i g h e d , a n d the twelve b u c k s k i n s c a m e a n d stood b e h i n d m e , four a b r e a s t . T h e n I knew that there were riders on all the h o r s e s there b e h i n d m e , a n d a voice said: " N o w you shall walk the black road with t h e s e ; a n d a s you walk, all the n a t i o n s that have roots or legs or w i n g s shall fear y o u . " S o I started, riding toward the east d o w n the fearful r o a d , a n d b e h i n d m e c a m e the h o r s e b a c k s four a b r e a s t — t h e b l a c k s , the w h i t e s , the sorrels, a n d the b u c k s k i n s — a n d far away a b o v e the fearful r o a d the d a y b r e a k star w a s rising very d i m . I looked below m e where the earth w a s silent in a sick green light, a n d saw the hills look u p afraid a n d the g r a s s e s on the hills a n d all the a n i m a l s ; a n d everywhere a b o u t m e were the cries of frightened birds a n d s o u n d s of fleeing wings. I w a s the c h i e f of all the h e a v e n s riding t h e r e , a n d w h e n I looked b e h i n d m e , all the twelve black h o r s e s r e a r e d a n d p l u n g e d a n d t h u n 7. "Wrinkles" and "deep and dim" are Neihardt's additions. 8. "With all the years . . . at last" is Neihardt's

addition. 9. Black Elk also says, "This old man had in his hand a spear," which is omitted by Neihardt.

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NEIHARDT

d e r e d a n d their m a n e s a n d tails were whirling hail a n d their nostrils s n o r t e d lightning. A n d w h e n I looked below a g a i n , I s a w the slant hail falling a n d the long, s h a r p rain, a n d w h e r e we p a s s e d , the trees b o w e d low a n d all the hills were d i m . N o w the earth w a s bright a g a i n a s w e r o d e . I c o u l d s e e the hills a n d valleys a n d the c r e e k s a n d rivers p a s s i n g u n d e r . W e c a m e a b o v e a p l a c e w h e r e three s t r e a m s m a d e a big o n e — a s o u r c e of mighty w a t e r s — a n d s o m e t h i n g terrible w a s t h e r e . F l a m e s were rising from the w a t e r s a n d in the flames a b l u e m a n lived. 1 T h e d u s t w a s floating all a b o u t h i m in the air, the g r a s s w a s short a n d withered, the trees were wilting, two-legged a n d four-legged b e i n g s lay there thin a n d p a n t i n g , a n d w i n g s too w e a k to fly. T h e n the b l a c k h o r s e riders s h o u t e d " H o k a hey!" a n d c h a r g e d d o w n u p o n the b l u e m a n , but were driven b a c k . A n d the white t r o o p s h o u t e d , c h a r g i n g , a n d w a s b e a t e n ; t h e n the red troop a n d the yellow. A n d w h e n e a c h h a d failed, they all cried together: " E a g l e W i n g S t r e t c h e s , hurry!" A n d all the world w a s filled with voices of all kinds that c h e e r e d m e , s o I c h a r g e d . I h a d the c u p of water in o n e h a n d a n d in the other w a s the bow that turned into a s p e a r a s the bay a n d I s w o o p e d d o w n , a n d the spear's h e a d w a s s h a r p lightning. It s t a b b e d the b l u e m a n ' s heart, a n d a s it s t r u c k I c o u l d h e a r the t h u n d e r rolling a n d m a n y v o i c e s that cried " U n - h e e ! , " m e a n ing I h a d killed. T h e flames died. T h e trees a n d g r a s s e s were not withered any m o r e a n d m u r m u r e d happily together, a n d every living b e i n g cried in g l a d n e s s with whatever voice it h a d . T h e n the four troops of h o r s e m e n c h a r g e d d o w n a n d s t r u c k the d e a d body of the b l u e m a n , c o u n t i n g c o u p ; a n d s u d d e n l y it w a s only a h a r m l e s s t u r t l e . 2 You s e e , I h a d b e e n riding with the s t o r m c l o u d s , a n d h a d c o m e to e a r t h a s rain, a n d it w a s d r o u t h that I h a d killed with the p o w e r that the Six G r a n d f a t h e r s gave m e . S o w e were riding on the earth n o w d o w n a l o n g the river flowing full from the s o u r c e of w a t e r s , a n d s o o n I s a w a h e a d the circled village of a p e o p l e in the valley. A n d a V o i c e s a i d : " B e h o l d a n a t i o n ; it is yours. M a k e h a s t e , E a g l e W i n g S t r e t c h e s ! " I e n t e r e d the village, riding, with the four h o r s e troops b e h i n d m e — t h e b l a c k s , the w h i t e s , the sorrels, a n d the b u c k s k i n s ; a n d the p l a c e w a s filled with m o a n i n g a n d with m o u r n i n g for the d e a d . T h e wind w a s b l o w i n g from the s o u t h like fever, a n d w h e n I looked a r o u n d I saw that in nearly every t e p e e the w o m e n a n d the children a n d the m e n lay dying with the d e a d . S o I r o d e a r o u n d the circle of the village, looking in u p o n the sick a n d d e a d , a n d I felt like crying a s I r o d e . B u t w h e n I looked b e h i n d m e , all the w o m e n a n d the children a n d the m e n were getting u p a n d c o m i n g forth with happy faces. A n d a V o i c e s a i d : " B e h o l d , they have given you the c e n t e r of the nation's h o o p to m a k e it live." S o I rode to the c e n t e r of the village, with the h o r s e t r o o p s in their q u a r t e r s r o u n d a b o u t m e , a n d there the p e o p l e g a t h e r e d . A n d the V o i c e s a i d : " G i v e t h e m now the flowering stick that they m a y flourish, a n d the s a c r e d p i p e 1. This section is much condensed. It is after several attacks on "a m a n " who is said to be "the enemy" that "a man painted blue" emerges from the splashing waters. Three songs are also omitted. 2. Keya, the turtle, is an ally of the Thunder beings

and a benefactor of humankind, something more than "only a harmless turtle." Black Elk interprets his kill to mean that "sometime in the future [he] was going to kill an enemy."

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that they may k n o w the p o w e r that is p e a c e , a n d the wing of the white giant that they m a y have e n d u r a n c e a n d f a c e all w i n d s with c o u r a g e . " S o I took the bright red stick a n d at the c e n t e r of the nation's h o o p I thrust it in the e a r t h . As it t o u c h e d the earth it l e a p e d mightily in my h a n d a n d w a s a w a g a c h u n , the rustling t r e e , 3 very tall a n d full of leafy b r a n c h e s a n d of all birds singing. A n d b e n e a t h it all the a n i m a l s were m i n g l i n g with the p e o p l e like relatives a n d m a k i n g h a p p y cries. T h e w o m e n raised their t r e m o l o of joy, a n d the m e n s h o u t e d all together: " H e r e we shall raise our children a n d be as little c h i c k e n s u n d e r the m o t h e r s h e o ' s 4 w i n g . " T h e n I h e a r d the white wind blowing gently t h r o u g h the tree a n d s i n g i n g there, a n d from the east the s a c r e d p i p e c a m e flying on its e a g l e w i n g s , a n d s t o p p e d before m e there b e n e a t h the tree, s p r e a d i n g d e e p p e a c e a r o u n d it. T h e n the d a y b r e a k star w a s rising, a n d a V o i c e s a i d : "It shall be a relative to t h e m ; a n d w h o shall s e e it, shall s e e m u c h m o r e , for t h e n c e c o m e s w i s d o m ; a n d t h o s e w h o d o not s e e it shall be d a r k . " And all the p e o p l e raised their f a c e s to the e a s t , a n d the star's light fell u p o n t h e m , a n d all the d o g s barked loudly a n d the h o r s e s whinnied. T h e n w h e n the m a n y little voices c e a s e d , the great V o i c e s a i d : " B e h o l d the circle of the nation's h o o p , for it is holy, b e i n g e n d l e s s , a n d t h u s all powers shall be o n e power in the p e o p l e without e n d . N o w they shall b r e a k c a m p a n d g o forth u p o n the red road, a n d your G r a n d f a t h e r s shall walk with t h e m . " S o the p e o p l e broke c a m p a n d took the g o o d r o a d with the white wing o n their f a c e s , a n d the order of their g o i n g w a s like this: First, the b l a c k h o r s e riders with the c u p of water; a n d the white h o r s e riders with the white wing a n d the s a c r e d h e r b ; a n d the sorrel riders with the holy p i p e ; a n d the b u c k s k i n s with the flowering stick. A n d after t h e s e the little children a n d the y o u t h s a n d m a i d e n s followed in a b a n d . S e c o n d , c a m e the tribe's four chieftains, a n d their b a n d w a s all y o u n g m e n and women. T h i r d , the nation's four advisers leading m e n a n d w o m e n neither y o u n g nor old. F o u r t h , the old m e n hobbling with their c a n e s a n d looking to the e a r t h . Fifth, old w o m e n h o b b l i n g with their c a n e s a n d looking to the e a r t h . Sixth, myself all a l o n e u p o n the bay with the bow a n d arrows that the First G r a n d f a t h e r gave m e . B u t I w a s not the last; for w h e n I looked b e h i n d m e there were g h o s t s of p e o p l e like a trailing fog a s far a s I c o u l d s e e — g r a n d fathers of g r a n d f a t h e r s a n d g r a n d m o t h e r s of g r a n d m o t h e r s without n u m b e r . And over t h e s e a great V o i c e — t h e V o i c e that w a s the S o u t h — l i v e d , a n d I could feel it silent. A n d a s we went the V o i c e b e h i n d m e said: " B e h o l d a g o o d nation walking in a s a c r e d m a n n e r in a g o o d l a n d ! " T h e n I looked u p a n d saw that there were four a s c e n t s a h e a d , a n d t h e s e were g e n e r a t i o n s I s h o u l d know. N o w we were on the first a s c e n t , a n d all the land w a s g r e e n . A n d a s the long line c l i m b e d , all the old m e n a n d w o m e n raised their h a n d s , p a l m s forward, to the far sky yonder a n d b e g a n to c r o o n a s o n g together, a n d the sky a h e a d w a s filled with c l o u d s of baby f a c e s . W h e n we c a m e to the e n d of the first a s c e n t we c a m p e d in the s a c r e d 3. "The Cottonwood" [Neihardt's note]. A cottonwood is used as the center pole for the S u n Dance,

as it was also the center pole for the Ghost Dance, 4. Prairie hen [Neihardt's note].

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NEIHARDT

circle a s b e f o r e , a n d in the c e n t e r stood the holy tree, a n d still the l a n d a b o u t u s w a s all g r e e n . T h e n we started o n the s e c o n d a s c e n t , m a r c h i n g a s b e f o r e ; a n d still the land w a s g r e e n , but it w a s getting s t e e p e r . A n d a s I looked a h e a d , the p e o p l e c h a n g e d into elks a n d bison a n d all four-footed b e i n g s a n d even into fowls, all walking in a s a c r e d m a n n e r on the g o o d red r o a d together. A n d I m y s e l f w a s a s p o t t e d e a g l e s o a r i n g over t h e m . B u t j u s t b e f o r e we s t o p p e d to c a m p at the end of that a s c e n t , all the m a r c h i n g a n i m a l s grew r e s t l e s s a n d afraid that they were not w h a t they h a d b e e n , a n d b e g a n s e n d i n g forth v o i c e s of trouble, calling to their c h i e f s . A n d w h e n they c a m p e d at the e n d of that a s c e n t , I looked d o w n a n d saw that leaves were falling from the holy t r e e . A n d the V o i c e s a i d : " B e h o l d your nation, a n d r e m e m b e r what your Six G r a n d f a t h e r s g a v e you, for thenceforth your p e o p l e walk in difficulties." T h e n the p e o p l e broke c a m p a g a i n , a n d saw the b l a c k r o a d before t h e m towards w h e r e the s u n g o e s d o w n , a n d b l a c k c l o u d s c o m i n g yonder; a n d they did not want to go but c o u l d not stay. A n d a s they walked the third a s c e n t , all the a n i m a l s a n d fowls that were the p e o p l e ran h e r e a n d t h e r e , for e a c h o n e s e e m e d to have his own little vision that h e followed a n d his own r u l e s ; a n d all over the universe I c o u l d h e a r the w i n d s at war like wild b e a s t s fighting. A n d w h e n we r e a c h e d the s u m m i t of the third a s c e n t a n d c a m p e d , the nation's h o o p w a s broken like a ring of s m o k e that s p r e a d s a n d s c a t t e r s a n d the holy tree s e e m e d dying a n d all its birds were g o n e . A n d w h e n I looked a h e a d I s a w that the fourth a s c e n t w o u l d b e terrible. T h e n w h e n the p e o p l e were getting ready to begin the fourth a s c e n t , the V o i c e s p o k e like s o m e o n e w e e p i n g , a n d it s a i d : " L o o k there u p o n your n a t i o n . " A n d w h e n I looked d o w n , the p e o p l e were all c h a n g e d b a c k to h u m a n , a n d they were thin, their f a c e s s h a r p , for they were starving. T h e i r p o n i e s were only hide a n d b o n e s , a n d the holy tree w a s g o n e . A n d a s I looked a n d wept, I s a w that there s t o o d o n the north side of the starving c a m p a s a c r e d m a n w h o w a s p a i n t e d red all over his body, a n d h e held a s p e a r a s he walked into the c e n t e r of the p e o p l e , a n d there he lay down a n d rolled. A n d w h e n h e got u p , it w a s a fat bison s t a n d i n g there, a n d where the bison stood a s a c r e d 5 herb s p r a n g u p right w h e r e the tree h a d b e e n in the c e n t e r of the nation's h o o p . T h e h e r b grew a n d bore four bloss o m s on a single s t e m while I w a s l o o k i n g — a b l u e , a white, a scarlet, a n d a y e l l o w — a n d the bright rays of t h e s e f l a s h e d to the h e a v e n s . I know now what this m e a n t , that the b i s o n were the gift of a g o o d spirit a n d were our strength, but we s h o u l d l o s e t h e m , a n d from the s a m e g o o d spirit we m u s t find a n o t h e r s t r e n g t h . F o r the p e o p l e all s e e m e d better w h e n the herb h a d grown a n d b l o o m e d , a n d the h o r s e s r a i s e d their tails a n d n e i g h e d a n d p r a n c e d a r o u n d , a n d I c o u l d s e e a light b r e e z e g o i n g from the north a m o n g the p e o p l e like a g h o s t ; a n d s u d d e n l y the flowering tree w a s there a g a i n at the c e n t e r of the nation's h o o p w h e r e the four-rayed h e r b h a d blossomed. I w a s still the s p o t t e d e a g l e floating, a n d I c o u l d s e e that I w a s a l r e a d y in the fourth a s c e n t a n d the p e o p l e were c a m p i n g yonder at the top of the third 5. Neihardt's addition; he also added "sacred" to the description of the red-painted man above.

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1833

long rise. It w a s dark a n d terrible a b o u t m e , for all the w i n d s of the world were fighting. It w a s like rapid gun-fire a n d like whirling s m o k e , a n d like w o m e n a n d children wailing a n d like h o r s e s s c r e a m i n g all over the world. I c o u l d s e e my p e o p l e yonder r u n n i n g a b o u t , setting the s m o k e - f l a p p o l e s a n d fastening d o w n their t e p e e s a g a i n s t the wind, for the s t o r m c l o u d was c o m i n g on t h e m very fast a n d black, a n d there were frightened swallows without n u m b e r fleeing before the c l o u d . T h e n a s o n g of p o w e r c a m e to m e a n d I s a n g it there in the m i d s t of that terrible p l a c e where I w a s . It went like this: A g o o d nation I will m a k e live. T h i s the nation a b o v e h a s s a i d . T h e y have given m e the power to m a k e over. A n d w h e n I h a d s u n g this, a V o i c e s a i d : " T o the four q u a r t e r s you shall run for help, a n d n o t h i n g shall be strong b e f o r e y o u . B e h o l d h i m ! " 6 N o w I w a s on my bay h o r s e a g a i n , b e c a u s e the h o r s e is of the e a r t h , a n d it w a s there my p o w e r would be u s e d . A n d as I o b e y e d the V o i c e a n d looked, there w a s a horse all skin a n d b o n e s yonder in the w e s t , a f a d e d b r o w n i s h black. A n d a V o i c e there said: " T a k e this a n d m a k e him over; a n d it w a s the four-rayed h e r b that I w a s holding in my h a n d . S o I rode a b o v e the p o o r h o r s e in a circle, a n d a s I did this I c o u l d h e a r the p e o p l e yonder calling for spirit power, "A-hey! a-hey! a-hey! a-hey!" T h e n the p o o r h o r s e n e i g h e d a n d rolled a n d got u p , a n d h e w a s a big, shiny, black stallion with d a p p l e s all over him a n d his m a n e a b o u t him like a c l o u d . H e w a s the c h i e f of all the h o r s e s ; a n d w h e n he s n o r t e d , it w a s a flash of lightning a n d his eyes were like the s u n s e t star. H e d a s h e d to the west a n d n e i g h e d , a n d the west w a s filled with a d u s t of h o o f s , a n d h o r s e s without n u m b e r , shiny black, c a m e p l u n g i n g from the d u s t . T h e n h e d a s h e d toward the north a n d n e i g h e d , a n d to the e a s t a n d to the s o u t h , a n d the d u s t c l o u d s a n s w e r e d , giving forth their p l u n g i n g h o r s e s without n u m b e r — w h i t e s a n d sorrels a n d b u c k s k i n s , fat, shiny, rejoicing in their fleetness a n d their strength. It w a s beautiful, b u t it w a s also terrible. T h e n they all s t o p p e d short, rearing, a n d were s t a n d i n g in a great h o o p a b o u t their b l a c k chief at the center, a n d were still. A n d a s they s t o o d , four virgins, m o r e beautiful than w o m e n of the earth c a n b e , c a m e t h r o u g h the circle, d r e s s e d in scarlet, o n e from e a c h of the four q u a r t e r s , a n d s t o o d a b o u t the great b l a c k stallion in their p l a c e s ; a n d o n e held the w o o d e n c u p of water, a n d o n e the white wing, a n d o n e the p i p e , a n d o n e the nation's h o o p . All the universe w a s silent, listening; a n d then the great b l a c k stallion raised his voice a n d s a n g . T h e s o n g he s a n g w a s this: " M y h o r s e s , p r a n c i n g they are c o m i n g . M y h o r s e s , neighing they a r e c o m i n g ; P r a n c i n g , they are c o m i n g . All over the universe they c o m e . T h e y will d a n c e ; m a y you b e h o l d t h e m . (4 t i m e s ) 6. Neihardt omits passages concerned with flames, lightning, and thunder and, in particular, Black Elk's killing a dog spirit that is white on one side and black on the other.

1834

/

BLACK

E L K AND J O H N

G.

NEIHARDT

A horse nation, they will d a n c e . M a y you b e h o l d t h e m . " (4 t i m e s ) H i s voice w a s not l o u d , but it went all over the universe a n d filled it. 7 T h e r e w a s nothing that did not hear, a n d it w a s m o r e beautiful t h a n a n y t h i n g c a n b e . It w a s s o beautiful that n o t h i n g a n y w h e r e c o u l d keep from d a n c i n g . T h e virgins d a n c e d , a n d all the circled h o r s e s . T h e leaves on the t r e e s , the g r a s s e s on the hills a n d in the valleys, the w a t e r s in the c r e e k s a n d in the rivers a n d the lakes, the four-legged a n d the two-legged a n d the wings o f the air—all d a n c e d together to the m u s i c of the stallion's s o n g . A n d w h e n I looked down u p o n my p e o p l e yonder, the c l o u d p a s s e d over, b l e s s i n g t h e m with friendly rain, a n d s t o o d in the e a s t with a f l a m i n g rainbow over it. T h e n all the h o r s e s went s i n g i n g b a c k to their p l a c e s b e y o n d the s u m m i t of the fourth a s c e n t , a n d all things s a n g a l o n g with t h e m a s they walked. A n d a V o i c e s a i d : "All over the universe they have finished a day of happ i n e s s . " A n d looking down I s a w that the w h o l e wide circle of the day w a s beautiful a n d g r e e n , with all fruits growing a n d all things kind a n d happy. T h e n a V o i c e s a i d : " B e h o l d this day, for it is yours to m a k e . N o w you shall s t a n d u p o n the c e n t e r of the earth to s e e , for there they are taking y o u . " I w a s still on my bay h o r s e , a n d o n c e m o r e I felt the riders of the west, the north, the e a s t , the s o u t h , b e h i n d m e in f o r m a t i o n , a s b e f o r e , a n d we were g o i n g e a s t . I looked a h e a d a n d s a w the m o u n t a i n s there with rocks a n d forests on t h e m , a n d from the m o u n t a i n s flashed all colors u p w a r d to the h e a v e n s . T h e n I w a s s t a n d i n g on the highest m o u n t a i n of t h e m all, a n d r o u n d a b o u t b e n e a t h m e w a s the w h o l e h o o p of the world. A n d while I s t o o d there I saw m o r e than I c a n tell a n d I u n d e r s t o o d m o r e t h a n I saw; for I w a s s e e i n g in a s a c r e d m a n n e r the s h a p e s of all things in the spirit, a n d the s h a p e of all s h a p e s a s they m u s t live together like o n e b e i n g . A n d I s a w that the s a c r e d h o o p of my p e o p l e w a s o n e of m a n y h o o p s that m a d e o n e circle, wide as daylight a n d a s starlight, a n d in the c e n t e r grew o n e mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of o n e m o t h e r a n d o n e father. A n d I saw that it w a s holy. T h e n as I stood there, two m e n were c o m i n g from the e a s t , h e a d first like arrows flying, a n d b e t w e e n t h e m rose the day-break star. T h e y c a m e a n d gave a herb to m e a n d said: "With this on earth you shall u n d e r t a k e anything a n d do it." It w a s the day-break-star h e r b , the herb of u n d e r s t a n d i n g , a n d they told m e to drop it on the e a r t h . I saw it falling far, a n d w h e n it s t r u c k the earth it rooted a n d grew a n d flowered, four b l o s s o m s o n o n e s t e m , a b l u e , a white, a scarlet, a n d a yellow; a n d the rays from t h e s e s t r e a m e d u p w a r d to the h e a v e n s so that all c r e a t u r e s s a w it a n d in n o p l a c e w a s there d a r k n e s s . 8 T h e n the V o i c e s a i d : "Your Six G r a n d f a t h e r s — n o w you shall go b a c k to them."9 I h a d not noticed how I w a s d r e s s e d until now, a n d I s a w that I w a s p a i n t e d red all over, a n d my j o i n t s were p a i n t e d black, with white stripes b e t w e e n 7. What Black Elk actually said was "The horse's voice went all over the universe like a radio and everyone heard it" (emphasis added). 8. Neihardt adds the light streaming to the heavens, but omits a passage in which Black Elk sees a white cloud in the south and the west over people

who are sick. H e interprets this as "probably the white people coming." 9. Here Neihardt omits a lengthy section in which Black Elk receives the soldier weed of destruction. It is at the end of this section that Black Elk notices how he is painted.

BLACK

ELK

SPEAKS

/

1835

the joints. M y bay h a d lightning stripes all over him, a n d his m a n e w a s c l o u d . And when I b r e a t h e d , my breath w a s lightning. N o w two m e n were l e a d i n g m e , h e a d first like arrows s l a n t i n g u p w a r d — the two that b r o u g h t m e from the earth. A n d a s I followed o n the bay, they turned into four flocks of g e e s e that flew in circles, o n e a b o v e e a c h q u a r t e r , s e n d i n g forth a s a c r e d voice a s they flew: Br-r-r-p, br-r-r-p, br-r-r-p, br-r-r-p! T h e n I saw a h e a d the r a i n b o w flaming a b o v e the t e p e e of the Six G r a n d fathers, built a n d roofed with c l o u d a n d s e w e d with t h o n g s of lightning; a n d u n d e r n e a t h it were all the wings of the air a n d u n d e r t h e m the a n i m a l s a n d m e n . All t h e s e were rejoicing, a n d t h u n d e r w a s like h a p p y laughter. A s I rode in t h r o u g h the rainbow door, there were c h e e r i n g voices from all over the universe, a n d I s a w the Six G r a n d f a t h e r s sitting in a row, with their a r m s held toward m e a n d their h a n d s , p a l m s o u t ; a n d b e h i n d t h e m in the c l o u d were faces thronging, without n u m b e r , of the p e o p l e yet to b e . " H e has t r i u m p h e d ! " cried the six together, m a k i n g t h u n d e r . A n d a s I p a s s e d before t h e m there, e a c h gave again the gift that he h a d given m e b e f o r e — t h e c u p of water a n d the bow a n d a r r o w s , the p o w e r to m a k e live a n d to destroy; the white wing of c l e a n s i n g a n d the healing h e r b ; the s a c r e d p i p e ; the flowering stick. A n d e a c h o n e s p o k e in turn from west to s o u t h , explaining what h e gave a s h e had d o n e b e f o r e , a n d a s e a c h o n e s p o k e he melted down into the earth a n d rose a g a i n ; a n d a s e a c h did this, I felt n e a r e r to the e a r t h . T h e n the oldest of t h e m all s a i d : " G r a n d s o n , all over the universe you have s e e n . N o w you shall go b a c k with power to the p l a c e from w h e n c e you c a m e , a n d it shall h a p p e n yonder that h u n d r e d s shall be s a c r e d , h u n d r e d s shall b e flames! B e h o l d ! " I looked below a n d s a w my p e o p l e there, a n d all were well a n d h a p p y except o n e , a n d he w a s lying like the d e a d — a n d that o n e w a s myself. T h e n the oldest G r a n d f a t h e r 1 s a n g , a n d his s o n g w a s like this: " T h e r e is s o m e o n e lying on earth in a s a c r e d m a n n e r . T h e r e is s o m e o n e — o n earth he lies. In a s a c r e d m a n n e r I have m a d e h i m to w a l k . " N o w the t e p e e , built a n d roofed with c l o u d , b e g a n to sway b a c k a n d forth a s in a wind, a n d the flaming rainbow door w a s growing d i m m e r . I c o u l d h e a r voices of all kinds crying from o u t s i d e : " E a g l e W i n g S t r e t c h e s is c o m i n g forth! B e h o l d h i m ! " W h e n I went t h r o u g h the door, the f a c e of the day of earth w a s a p p e a r i n g with the day-break star u p o n its f o r e h e a d ; a n d the s u n l e a p e d u p a n d looked u p o n m e , a n d I w a s g o i n g forth a l o n e . A n d a s I walked a l o n e , I heard the s u n singing a s it a r o s e , a n d it s a n g like this: "With visible face I a m a p p e a r i n g . In a s a c r e d m a n n e r I a p p e a r . F o r the g r e e n i n g earth a p l e a s a n t n e s s I m a k e . 1. I.e., the fourth Grandfather; his song is one Black Elk himself later used in curing. Neihardt omits a passage in which Black Elk sees himself lying ill on earth and is told to drink a cup of water in which there is a blue man, who is both a fish

and a spirit. Black Elk says that he "received strange power" from the c u p and that he could "actually make this blue man come out and swim in the c u p " when he used it for curing.

1836

/

EDWIN ARLINGTON

ROBINSON

T h e c e n t e r of the nation's h o o p I have m a d e p l e a s a n t . With visible f a c e , b e h o l d m e ! T h e four-leggeds a n d two-leggeds, I have m a d e t h e m to walk; T h e wings of the air, I have m a d e t h e m to fly. With visible f a c e I a p p e a r . M y day, I have m a d e it holy." 2 W h e n the singing s t o p p e d , I w a s feeling lost a n d very lonely. T h e n a V o i c e a b o v e m e said: " L o o k b a c k ! " It w a s a s p o t t e d eagle that w a s h o v e r i n g over m e a n d s p o k e . I looked, a n d w h e r e the flaming r a i n b o w t e p e e , built a n d roofed with c l o u d , h a d b e e n , I s a w only the tall rock m o u n t a i n at the c e n t e r of the world. I w a s all a l o n e on a b r o a d plain now with my feet u p o n the e a r t h , a l o n e but for the s p o t t e d e a g l e g u a r d i n g m e . I c o u l d s e e my p e o p l e ' s village far a h e a d , a n d I walked very fast, for I w a s h o m e s i c k now. T h e n I s a w my own t e p e e , a n d inside I s a w my m o t h e r a n d my father b e n d i n g over a sick boy that w a s myself. A n d a s I e n t e r e d the t e p e e , s o m e o n e w a s saying: " T h e boy is c o m i n g to; you h a d better give him s o m e w a t e r . " 3 T h e n I w a s sitting u p ; a n d I w a s s a d b e c a u s e my m o t h e r a n d my father didn't s e e m to know I h a d b e e n so far away. 1932 2. This song does not appear at this point in the transcript. 3. Here Black Elk says, "They were giving me

EDWIN

some medicine but it was not that that cured m e — it was my vision that cured m e . "

ARLINGTON

ROBINSON

1869-1935 Like his own Miniver Cheevy, Edwin Arlington Robinson felt himself bom too late. He turned to poetry in search of an alternative world of elegance and beauty, but wrote his best poems about wasted, blighted, or impoverished lives. His brief story and portrait poems are in traditional form with metrically regular verse, rhymes, and elevated diction. Such techniques dignify the subject matter and also provide a contrast, where his subject is unpoetic according to traditional standards, that emphasizes its sadness and banality. Robinson was raised in Gardiner, Maine, the Tilbury Town of such poems as "Miniver Cheevy" and "Mr. Flood's Party." His father's lumber business and land speculations failed during the Great Panic of 1893. One of his brothers, a physician, became a drug addict; the other, a businessman, became an alcoholic. Robinson, by nature a scholar and book lover, was able to afford just two years at Harvard. Returning to Gardiner and trying to become a professional poet, he had to depend for support on friends and patrons, until a Pulitzer Prize in 1922 brought him some financial security. By this time he was over fifty. Robinson studied alone and with friends long after his formal schooling ended. He read classic works in many languages as well as such American writers as Hawthorne, Whitman, Emerson, and Henry James, whom he interpreted as individualistic idealists. He was also drawn to the bleak, tragic vision of the British novelist Thomas

LUKE HAVERGAL

/

1837

Hardy. These influences were distilled in the gloomy, austere, yet sonorous verse of his second book, Children of the Nig/it (1897—The Torrent and the Night Before had been published the previous year, at his own expense). Celebrating the pain of isolated lives, Robinson worked through to a residue of affirmation, an occasional "light" or "word" that is glimpsed in the "night" of these poems. Robinson moved to New York City around the turn of the century. The Town Down the River (1910) and The Man against the Sky (1916) won increasing numbers of readers and critics' awards. Avon's Harvest and Collected Poems (both 1922) were successful, as was a trilogy of long poems in imitation of medieval narratives, beginning with Merlin (1917). The last of these, Tristram (1927), brought a third Pulitzer Prize. To some of the tougher-minded critics of the 1920s, the escapism of the later work (precisely what may have made it attractive to a larger audience), uncorrected by the somber wit and sustained irony of the Tilbury poems, seemed overly sentimental. The prizes and honors represented, to a large extent, their belated recognition of his earlier poetry. Although in that earlier work Robinson was a New England regional poet like Robert Frost and a chronicler of small-town life like Edgar Lee Masters and Sherwood Anderson, he thought of himself as estranged both from his time and from the practices of other poets. The difference between him and these others lay in his everpresent sense of a lost, glorious past. The text of the poems included here is that of Collected Poems of Edwin Arlington Robinson (1921, 1937).

Luke Havergal G o to the w e s t e r n g a t e , 1 L u k e H a v e r g a l , — T h e r e w h e r e the vines cling c r i m s o n on the w a l l , — A n d in the twilight wait for what will c o m e . T h e wind will m o a n , the leaves will w h i s p e r s o m e , — W h i s p e r of her, a n d strike you a s they fall; B u t g o , a n d if you trust her s h e will call. G o to the w e s t e r n g a t e , L u k e H a v e r g a l — Luke Havergal. N o , there is not a d a w n in e a s t e r n skies T o rift the fiery night that's in your e y e s ; B u t t h e r e , w h e r e western g l o o m s a r e g a t h e r i n g , T h e dark will e n d the dark, if anything: G o d slays H i m s e l f with every leaf that flies, A n d hell is m o r e than half of p a r a d i s e . N o , there is not a d a w n in e a s t e r n s k i e s — In e a s t e r n s k i e s . O u t of a grave I c o m e to tell you t h i s , — O u t of a grave I c o m e to q u e n c h the kiss T h a t f l a m e s u p o n your f o r e h e a d with a glow T h a t blinds you to the way that you m u s t g o . Yes, there is yet o n e way to w h e r e s h e i s , — Bitter, but o n e that faith m a y never m i s s . 1. T h e natural symbolism of nightfall and autumn associates "the western gate" with the end of life.

5

10

is

20

1838

/

EDWIN ARLINGTON

ROBINSON

O u t of a grave I c o m e to tell you t h i s — T o tell you this. T h e r e is the w e s t e r n g a t e , L u k e H a v e r g a l , T h e r e are the c r i m s o n leaves u p o n the wall. G o , — f o r the w i n d s are tearing t h e m a w a y , — N o r think to riddle the d e a d w o r d s they say, N o r any m o r e to feel t h e m a s they fall; B u t go! a n d if you trust her s h e will call. T h e r e is the w e s t e r n g a t e , L u k e H a v e r g a l — Luke Havergal.

25

so

1896

Richard Cory W h e n e v e r R i c h a r d C o r y went d o w n town, W e p e o p l e on the p a v e m e n t looked at h i m : H e w a s a g e n t l e m a n from sole to crown, C l e a n favored, a n d imperially slim. A n d he w a s always quietly arrayed, A n d he w a s always h u m a n w h e n h e talked; B u t still he fluttered p u l s e s w h e n h e s a i d , " G o o d - m o r n i n g , " a n d h e glittered w h e n he walked. And he w a s r i c h — y e s , richer than a k i n g , — A n d admirably s c h o o l e d in every g r a c e : In fine, we t h o u g h t that h e w a s everything T o m a k e u s wish that we were in his p l a c e . S o on we worked, a n d waited for the light, A n d went without the m e a t , a n d c u r s e d the b r e a d ; A n d R i c h a r d Cory, o n e c a l m s u m m e r night, W e n t h o m e a n d p u t a bullet t h r o u g h his h e a d .

5

10

15 1896

Miniver Cheevy Miniver C h e e v y , child of s c o r n , G r e w lean while he a s s a i l e d the s e a s o n s ; H e wept that h e w a s ever b o r n , And he had reasons. Miniver loved the days of old W h e n s w o r d s were bright a n d s t e e d s were p r a n c i n g ;

5

MR.

FLOOD'S

PARTY

/

1839

T h e vision of a warrior bold W o u l d set him d a n c i n g . Miniver s i g h e d for what w a s not, And d r e a m e d , a n d rested from his labors; H e d r e a m e d of T h e b e s a n d C a m e l o t , A n d Priam's n e i g h b o r s . 1 Miniver m o u r n e d the ripe renown T h a t m a d e s o m a n y a n a m e so fragrant; H e m o u r n e d R o m a n c e , now on the town, A n d Art, a vagrant. Miniver loved the M e d i c i , 2 Albeit h e h a d never s e e n o n e ; H e would have s i n n e d i n c e s s a n t l y C o u l d he have b e e n o n e .

15

20

Miniver c u r s e d the c o m m o n p l a c e A n d eyed a khaki suit with loathing; H e m i s s e d the mediaeval g r a c e O f iron clothing. Miniver s c o r n e d the gold he s o u g h t , B u t sore a n n o y e d w a s he without it; Miniver t h o u g h t , a n d t h o u g h t , a n d t h o u g h t , And thought a b o u t it. Miniver C h e e v y , born too late, S c r a t c h e d his h e a d a n d kept o n thinking; Miniver c o u g h e d , a n d called it fate, A n d kept on drinking.

25

30

1910

Mr. Flood's Party O l d E b e n F l o o d , c l i m b i n g a l o n e o n e night Over the hill b e t w e e n the town below A n d the forsaken u p l a n d h e r m i t a g e T h a t held a s m u c h a s h e s h o u l d ever know O n earth again of h o m e , p a u s e d warily. T h e road w a s his with not a native near; A n d E b e n , having l e i s u r e , said a l o u d , F o r no m a n else in Tilbury T o w n 1 to hear: I. The neighbors of King Priam in Homer's Iliad are his heroic compatriots in the doomed city of Troy. Thebes was an ancient city in Boeotia, rival of Athens and Sparta for supremacy in Greece and the setting of Sophocles' tragedies about Oedipus. Camelot is the legendary court of King Arthur and

5

the knights of the Round Table. 2. Family of wealthy merchants, politicians, churchmen, and art patrons in 16th-century Florence. 1. T h e fictive town in a number of Robinson's poems, modeled on Gardiner, Maine.

1840

/

EDWIN

ARLINGTON

ROBINSON

"Well, M r . F l o o d , we have the harvest m o o n A g a i n , a n d we m a y not have m a n y m o r e ; T h e bird is o n the wing, the p o e t s a y s , 2 A n d you a n d I have s a i d it h e r e before. D r i n k to the b i r d . " H e raised u p to the light T h e j u g that h e h a d g o n e s o far to fill, A n d a n s w e r e d huskily: "Well, M r . F l o o d , S i n c e you p r o p o s e it, I believe I will." A l o n e , a s if e n d u r i n g to the e n d A valiant a r m o r of s c a r r e d h o p e s o u t w o r n , H e s t o o d there in the m i d d l e of the r o a d L i k e R o l a n d ' s g h o s t winding a silent h o r n . 3 B e l o w him, in the town a m o n g the t r e e s , W h e r e friends of other days h a d h o n o r e d h i m , A p h a n t o m s a l u t a t i o n of the d e a d R a n g thinly till old E b e n ' s eyes were d i m . T h e n , a s a m o t h e r lays her s l e e p i n g child D o w n tenderly, fearing it m a y a w a k e , H e set the j u g d o w n slowly at his feet W i t h t r e m b l i n g c a r e , k n o w i n g that m o s t things b r e a k ; A n d only w h e n a s s u r e d that o n firm e a r t h It stood, as the u n c e r t a i n lives of m e n A s s u r e d l y did not, h e p a c e d away, A n d with his h a n d e x t e n d e d p a u s e d a g a i n : "Well, M r . F l o o d , we have not m e t like this In a long t i m e ; a n d m a n y a c h a n g e h a s c o m e T o both of u s , I fear, s i n c e last it w a s W e h a d a drop together. W e l c o m e h o m e ! " Convivially r e t u r n i n g with himself, Again he raised the j u g u p to the light; A n d with a n a c q u i e s c e n t q u a v e r s a i d : "Well, M r . F l o o d , if you insist, I m i g h t . " O n l y a very little, M r . F l o o d — F o r a u l d lang s y n e . 4 N o m o r e , sir; that will d o . " S o , for the t i m e , a p p a r e n t l y it did, A n d E b e n evidently t h o u g h t so t o o ; F o r s o o n a m i d the silver l o n e l i n e s s O f night he lifted u p his voice a n d s a n g , S e c u r e , with only two m o o n s listening, Until the whole h a r m o n i o u s l a n d s c a p e r a n g —

2. Flood paraphrases stanza 7 of the Persian poem The Ruhdiydt of Omar Khayyam in the 1859 translation bv the English poet Edward FitzGerald ( 1 8 0 9 - 1 8 8 3 ) : " C o m e , fill the C u p , and in the Fire of Spring / Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: / T h e Bird of T i m e has but a little way / T o flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing." 3. Roland was King Charlemagne's nephew, cel-

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ebrated in the Chanson de Roland ( S o n g of Roland, c. 1000). Just before dying in the battle of Roncevalles ( 7 7 8 C.E.), he s o u n d e d his horn for help. 4. Old long since (Scottish, literal trans.); hence "the days of long ago," the title and refrain of a famous s o n g by the Scottish poet Robert Burns (1759-1796).

WILLA CATHER

" F o r a u l d l a n g s y n e . " T h e weary throat g a v e out, T h e last word wavered, a n d the s o n g w a s d o n e . H e raised again the j u g regretfully A n d s h o o k his h e a d , a n d w a s again a l o n e . T h e r e w a s not m u c h that w a s a h e a d of him, A n d there w a s nothing in the town b e l o w — W h e r e s t r a n g e r s would have s h u t the m a n y d o o r s T h a t m a n y friends h a d o p e n e d long a g o .

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WILLA

CATHER

1873-1947 Willa Cather was born in Virginia, the oldest child of Charles and Virginia Cather, who moved with their family to the Nebraska Divide when she was ten years old. After a year of farming, they relocated to the town of Red Cloud, and her father went into the real estate business. At the age of seventeen, Cather moved on her own to Lincoln, the state capital and seat of the University of Nebraska; she attended preparatory school for two years and graduated from the university in 1896. In college she studied the traditional classics and participated in the lively contemporary cultural life of the city by reviewing books, plays, and musical performances. Following graduation, she moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to work as an editor of a women's magazine, the Home Monthly, which she gave up five years later to teach high-school English and Latin. During this time she also wrote poems and stories, gathering poems into the book Aprif Twilights, in 1903, and stories into The Troll Garden, in 1905. Also in Pittsburgh, in 1899, she met Isabelle McClung, from a prominent, wealthy family. She lived in the McClung home from 1901 to 1906, when she moved to New York City to write for the journal McCIure's. Throughout her life, Cather remained devoted to McClung, experiencing her marriage in 1916 as a severe personal loss, and was devastated by her death in 1938. Having long wished to write novels, Cather took a leave of absence from McClure's in 1911 and wrote Alexander's Bridge (1912). This novel was successful, but the next three made her reputation. Each focused on a western heroine: Alexandra Bergson in O Pioneers.' (1913), Thea Kronberg in The Song of the Lark (1915), and Antonia Shimerda in My Antonia (1918). While Alexandra is extraordinary as the most successful farmer—the only woman farmer—on the Nebraska Divide, and Thea is extraordinary as a gifted opera singer, Antonia has no unusual gifts; for Cather and the novel's many readers she stands for the entire experience of European settlement of the Great Plains. These three novels also manifest Cather's qualities of lyrical yet understated prose writing; they contain a wealth of detail about the lives of Nebraska settlers—Bohemian Czech, German, Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, French, Russian, and "Americans" from the East—as they learned to farm on the prairie and built communities in which their various ethnicities met and mingled. Cather's is no melting pot ethos, however; rather she sees the frontier as a shifting kaleidoscope of overlapping social groups and individuals. Recognizing that even by the second decade of the twentieth century this period in U.S. history had disappeared, Cather approached her characters with deep respect for what they had endured and accomplished.

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CATHER

Whether these novels (or any of Cather's other work) encode a lesbian sensibility has been a matter of much critical debate. In life Cather showed no romantic interest in men; in 1908 she began to share an apartment with Edith Lewis, a Nebraskan whom she had met in 1903, and they lived together until Cather's death. (They lived mostly in New York City, but Cather also traveled a great deal: to Europe, to New England, to the Southwest, and back to Red Cloud to visit her family.) Estrangement from conventional sexuality and sex roles is typical of many of her main characters, male and female; but heterosexual romance and sexual behavior is equally present in her novels. It seems fair to say that close friendship, much more than romantic or sexual love, is the great ideal in her fiction, whatever the circumstances of her own life might have been. Around \922, according to Cather, her world broke in two; she suffered from the combined effects of poor health, dissatisfaction with the progress of her career, and alarm at the increasing mechanization and mass-produced quality of American life. She joined the Episcopal Church, and her novels took a new direction. Although her books had always celebrated alternative values to the material and conventional, this theme became much more urgent, while the motif of heroic womanhood—which had led many to call her a feminist, though Cather herself kept aloof from all movements—receded. Important books from her "middle period" include A Lost Lady (1923) and The Professor's House (1925), which deal with spiritual and cultural crises in the lives of the main characters. Published in 1927, the novel Death Comes for the Archbishop initiated her third stage. Like many other writers and artists in the 1920s, she had become entranced with the American Southwest—especially New Mexico; her first trip to the region in 1912 figured in her depiction (in The Song of the Lark) of Thea Kronberg finding spiritual renewal in this landscape. Death Comes for the Archbishop, partly written at Mary Austin's home in Santa Fe, is based on the career ofjean Baptiste Lamy (1814— 1888), archbishop of New Mexico, and the priest Joseph Marchebeuf, his close friend and collaborator. Another historical novel, Shadows on the Rock (1931) is set even further back in time, in seventeenth-century Quebec. In both books a composite image of high French culture, ceremonial spirituality, and the American landscape contrasts to the material trivia and empty banality of contemporary life. Inspired by the classical Latin works that she loved so much, Cather believed in the ideas of art and the artist and strove to attain an artistic height from which she might survey the entire human scene. She tried to imbue the particularities of her stories with what she thought of as universal significance. In My Antonia the narrator, Jim Burden, reflects on the poet Virgil's aim of bringing the muse to his own country for the first time; by country, Jim reflects, Virgil means "not a nation or even a province, but the littie rural neighborhood" where he was born. This aim was also Cather's in stories of Nebraska such as "Neighbour Rosicky." But a story like "The Sculptor's Funeral" shows her awareness that the neighborhood may not appreciate the artists who put it on the cultural map. Politically, culturally, and aesthetically, Cather was in many respects deeply conservative as well as conflicted—a sophisticated populist, an agrarian urbanite. She believed in high art and superior people but also thought great human gifts were more often found among the obscure and ordinary than those with advantages. Her vision of the United States excluded Native Americans and African Americans; yet she preferred immigrants from Europe to migrants from the East Coast. She appreciated popular legends and folktales, which appear along with classical myth and allusion in her work. She paid little attention to formal structure; her novels often read more like chronicles than plot-driven stories, which makes them seem artless and real while concealing the sentence-by-sentence care that has gone into the work. She once described her work as deliberately "unfurnished," meaning that it was cut down to only those details absolutely necessary; "suggestion rather than enumeration" was another way she described her goal. The resulting spareness and clarity of her fiction

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puts it in the modernist tradition, even though in her lifetime she had little interest in the modernist movement. The text of "The Sculptor's Funeral" is from Youth and the Bright Medusa (1920); that of "Neighbour Rosicky" is from Obscure Destinies (1932).

Neighbour Rosicky I W h e n D o c t o r Burleigh told n e i g h b o u r Rosicky he h a d a b a d heart, Rosicky protested. " S o ? N o , I g u e s s my heart w a s always pretty g o o d . I got a little a s t h m a , m a y b e . J u s t a awful short breath when I w a s pitchin' hay last s u m m e r , dat's all." "Well, now, Rosicky, if you know m o r e a b o u t it t h a n I d o , what did you c o m e to m e for? It's your heart that m a k e s you short of b r e a t h , I tell you. You're sixty-five years old, a n d you've always worked h a r d , a n d your heart's tired. You've got to b e careful from n o w o n , a n d you can't do heavy work any m o r e . You've got five boys at h o m e to d o it for y o u . " T h e old farmer looked u p at the D o c t o r with a g l e a m of a m u s e m e n t in his q u e e r t r i a n g u l a r - s h a p e d eyes. H i s eyes were large a n d lively, but the lids w e r e c a u g h t u p in the m i d d l e in a c u r i o u s way, so that they f o r m e d a triangle. H e did not look like a sick m a n . His brown f a c e w a s c r e a s e d b u t not wrinkled, he h a d a ruddy c o l o u r in his s m o o t h - s h a v e n c h e e k s a n d in his lips, u n d e r his long brown m o u s t a c h e . H i s hair w a s thin a n d r a g g e d a r o u n d his e a r s , b u t very little grey. His f o r e h e a d , naturally high a n d c r o s s e d by d e e p parallel lines, now ran all the way u p to his p o i n t e d c r o w n . Rosicky's f a c e h a d the habit of looking i n t e r e s t e d , — s u g g e s t e d a c o n t e n t e d disposition a n d a reflective quality that w a s gay rather than grave. T h i s gave him a certain d e t a c h m e n t , the e a s y m a n n e r of a n onlooker a n d observer. "Well, I g u e s s you ain't got n o pills fur a b a d heart, D o c t o r E d . I g u e s s the only thing is fur m e to git m e a new o n e . " D o c t o r Burleigh s w u n g r o u n d in his desk-chair a n d frowned at the old farmer. "I think if I were you I'd take a little c a r e of the old o n e , R o s i c k y . " Rosicky s h r u g g e d . " M a y b e I don't know how. I expect you m e a n fur m e not to drink my coffee no m o r e . " "I wouldn't, in your p l a c e . B u t you'll do a s you c h o o s e a b o u t that. I've never yet b e e n a b l e to s e p a r a t e a B o h e m i a n 1 from his coffee or his p i p e . I've quit trying. B u t the s u r e thing is you've got to c u t out farm work. You c a n feed the s t o c k a n d do c h o r e s a b o u t the b a r n , but you can't d o a n y t h i n g in the fields that m a k e s you short of b r e a t h . " " H o w a b o u t shelling c o r n ? " "Of course not!" Rosicky c o n s i d e r e d with p u c k e r e d brows. "I can't m a k e my heart g o n o longer'n it w a n t s to, c a n I, D o c t o r E d ? " "I think it's g o o d for five or six years yet, m a y b e m o r e , if you'll take the

1. Native of Bohemia, in the Czech Republic.

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CATHER

strain off it. Sit a r o u n d the h o u s e a n d help Mary. If I h a d a good wife like yours, I'd want to stay a r o u n d the h o u s e . " H i s patient c h u c k l e d . "It ain't no p l a c e fur a m a n . I don't like n o old m a n h a n g i n g r o u n d the kitchen too m u c h . A n ' my wife, she's a awful h a r d worker her own self." " T h a t ' s it; you c a n help her a little. M y L o r d , Rosicky, you a r e o n e of the few m e n I know w h o h a s a family he c a n get s o m e c o m f o r t o u t of; h a p p y d i s p o s i t i o n s , never quarrel a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s , a n d they treat you right. I want to s e e you live a few years a n d enjoy t h e m . " " O h , they're g o o d kids, all right," Rosicky a s s e n t e d . T h e D o c t o r wrote h i m a prescription a n d a s k e d him h o w his oldest s o n , R u d o l p h , w h o h a d married in the spring, w a s getting on. R u d o l p h h a d s t r u c k out for himself, on rented l a n d . " A n d how's Polly? I w a s afraid M a r y mightn't like an A m e r i c a n daughter-in-law, but it s e e m s to be working o u t all right." "Yes, she's a fine girl. D a t widder w o m a n bring her d a u g h t e r s u p very n i c e . Polly got lots of s p u n k , a n ' s h e got s o m e style, t o o . D a ' s n i c e , for young folks to have s o m e style." Rosicky inclined his h e a d gallantly. His voice a n d his twinkly s m i l e were a n affectionate c o m p l i m e n t to his daughter-in-law. "It looks like a s t o r m , a n d you'd better b e getting h o m e before it c o m e s . In town in the c a r ? " D o c t o r Burleigh r o s e . " N o , I'm in d e w a g o n . W h e n you got five boys, you ain't got m u c h c h a n c e to ride r o u n d in d e F o r d . I ain't m u c h for c a r s , noway." "Well, it's a g o o d road o u t to your p l a c e ; but I don't w a n t you b u m p i n g a r o u n d in a w a g o n m u c h . A n d never a g a i n on a hay-rake, r e m e m b e r ! " Rosicky p l a c e d the D o c t o r ' s fee delicately b e h i n d the d e s k - t e l e p h o n e , looking the other way, a s if this were a n a b s e n t - m i n d e d g e s t u r e . H e p u t on his p l u s h c a p a n d his c o r d u r o y j a c k e t with a s h e e p s k i n collar, a n d went out. T h e D o c t o r p i c k e d u p his s t e t h o s c o p e a n d frowned at it a s if h e were seriously a n n o y e d with the i n s t r u m e n t . H e w i s h e d it h a d b e e n telling tales a b o u t s o m e other m a n ' s heart, s o m e old m a n w h o didn't look the D o c t o r in the eye s o knowingly, or hold out s u c h a w a r m brown h a n d w h e n h e said good-bye. D o c t o r Burleigh h a d b e e n a p o o r boy in the country before h e went away to m e d i c a l s c h o o l ; he h a d known Rosicky a l m o s t ever s i n c e h e c o u l d r e m e m b e r , a n d he h a d a d e e p affection for M r s . Rosicky. Only last winter he h a d h a d s u c h a g o o d b r e a k f a s t at Rosicky's, a n d that w h e n h e n e e d e d it. H e h a d b e e n o u t all night o n a long, hard c o n f i n e m e n t c a s e at T o m M a r s h a l l ' s — a big rich farm w h e r e there w a s plenty of s t o c k a n d plenty of feed a n d a great deal of e x p e n s i v e farm m a c h i n e r y of the n e w e s t m o d e l , a n d n o c o m f o r t whatever. T h e woman h a d too m a n y children a n d too m u c h work, a n d s h e w a s n o m a n a g e r . W h e n the b a b y w a s b o r n at last, a n d h a n d e d over to the a s s i s t i n g n e i g h b o u r woman, a n d the m o t h e r w a s properly a t t e n d e d to, Burleigh r e f u s e d any breakfast in that slovenly h o u s e , a n d drove his b u g g y — t h e s n o w w a s too d e e p for a c a r — e i g h t miles to A n t o n Rosicky's p l a c e . H e didn't k n o w a n o t h e r f a r m - h o u s e w h e r e a m a n c o u l d get s u c h a w a r m w e l c o m e , a n d s u c h g o o d strong coffee with rich c r e a m . N o wonder the old c h a p didn't w a n t to give u p his c o f f e e ! H e h a d driven in j u s t w h e n the boys h a d c o m e b a c k from the b a r n a n d were w a s h i n g u p for breakfast. T h e long t a b l e , c o v e r e d with a bright oilcloth, w a s set out with d i s h e s waiting for t h e m , a n d the w a r m kitchen w a s full o f the smell of coffee a n d hot b i s c u i t a n d s a u s a g e . Five big h a n d s o m e boys, r u n n i n g from twenty to twelve, all with w h a t B u r l e i g h called natural g o o d

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m a n n e r s — t h e y hadn't a bit of the painful s e l f - c o n s c i o u s n e s s h e h i m s e l f h a d to struggle with w h e n h e w a s a lad. O n e ran to p u t his h o r s e away, a n o t h e r helped him off with his fur c o a t a n d h u n g it u p , a n d J o s e p h i n e , the y o u n g e s t child a n d the only d a u g h t e r , quickly set a n o t h e r p l a c e u n d e r her m o t h e r ' s direction. W i t h Mary, to feed c r e a t u r e s w a s the natural expression of a f f e c t i o n — h e r c h i c k e n s , the calves, her big hungry boys. It w a s a rare p l e a s u r e to feed a y o u n g m a n w h o m s h e s e l d o m s a w a n d of w h o m s h e w a s a s p r o u d a s if he b e l o n g e d to her. S o m e country h o u s e k e e p e r s w o u l d have s t o p p e d to s p r e a d a white cloth over the oilcloth, to c h a n g e the thick c u p s a n d plates for their b e s t c h i n a , a n d the w o o d e n - h a n d l e d knives for p l a t e d o n e s . B u t not M a r y . "You m u s t take u s a s you find u s , D o c t o r E d . I'd be glad to put out my good things for you if you w a s e x p e c t e d , b u t I'm glad to get you any way at all." H e knew s h e w a s g l a d — s h e threw b a c k her h e a d a n d s p o k e out a s if s h e were a n n o u n c i n g him to the w h o l e prairie. Rosicky hadn't said anything at all; he merely s m i l e d his twinkling s m i l e , p u t s o m e m o r e coal on the fire, a n d went into his own r o o m to p o u r the D o c t o r a little drink in a m e d i c i n e g l a s s . W h e n they were all s e a t e d , he w a t c h e d his wife's f a c e from his e n d of the table a n d s p o k e to her in C z e c h . T h e n , with the instinct of p o l i t e n e s s which s e l d o m failed him, he turned to the d o c t o r a n d said slyly: "I w a s j u s t tellin' her not to a s k you n o q u e s t i o n s a b o u t M r s . M a r s h a l l till you e a t s o m e breakfast. M y wife, she's terrible fur to a s k q u e s t i o n s . " T h e boys l a u g h e d , a n d s o did M a r y . S h e w a t c h e d the D o c t o r d e v o u r her biscuit a n d s a u s a g e , too m u c h excited to eat anything herself. S h e d r a n k her coffee a n d sat taking in everything a b o u t her visitor. S h e h a d known him when he w a s a p o o r country boy, a n d w a s boastfully p r o u d of his s u c c e s s , always saying: " W h a t do p e o p l e g o to O m a h a for, to s e e a doctor, w h e n we got the b e s t o n e in the S t a t e right h e r e ? " If M a r y liked p e o p l e at all, s h e felt physical p l e a s u r e in the sight of t h e m , p e r s o n a l exultation in any g o o d fortune that c a m e to t h e m . Burleigh didn't know m a n y w o m e n like that, b u t h e knew she w a s like that. W h e n his h u n g e r w a s satisfied, h e did, of c o u r s e , have to tell t h e m a b o u t M r s . M a r s h a l l , a n d he n o t i c e d what a friendly interest the boys took in the matter. R u d o l p h , the oldest o n e (he w a s still living at h o m e t h e n ) , s a i d : " T h e last time I w a s over there, s h e w a s lifting t h e m big heavy milk-cans, a n d I knew she oughtn't to b e d o i n g it." "Yes, R u d o l p h told m e a b o u t that w h e n h e c o m e h o m e , a n d I said it w a s n ' t right," Mary p u t in warmly. "It w a s all right for m e to d o t h e m things u p to the last, for I w a s terrible strong, but that w o m a n ' s weakly. A n d d o you think she'll be able to n u r s e it, E d ? " S h e s o m e t i m e s forgot to give him the title s h e w a s so p r o u d of. "And to think of your b e i n g u p all night a n d then not able to get a d e c e n t breakfast! I don't know what's the m a t t e r with s u c h people." "Why, M o t h e r , " said o n e of the boys, "if D o c t o r E d h a d got breakfast there, we wouldn't have him here. S o you o u g h t to b e g l a d . " " H e knows I'm glad to have him, J o h n , any t i m e . B u t I'm sorry for that p o o r w o m a n , how b a d she'll feel the D o c t o r h a d to g o away in the cold without his b r e a k f a s t . " "I wish I h a d b e e n in p r a c t i c e w h e n t h e s e were getting b o r n . " T h e D o c t o r

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WlLLA

CATHER

looked down the row of c l o s e - c l i p p e d h e a d s . "I m i s s e d s o m e g o o d b r e a k f a s t s by not b e i n g . " T h e boys b e g a n to laugh at their m o t h e r b e c a u s e s h e flushed s o red, but s h e stood her g r o u n d a n d threw u p her h e a d . "1 don't c a r e , you wouldn't have got away from this h o u s e without b r e a k f a s t . N o doctor ever did. I'd have h a d s o m e t h i n g ready fixed that Anton c o u l d w a r m up for y o u . " T h e boys l a u g h e d harder than ever, a n d e x c l a i m e d at her: "I'll bet you would!" "She would, that!" " F a t h e r , did you get breakfast for the D o c t o r when we were b o r n ? " "Yes, a n d he u s e d to bring m e my breakfast, too, mighty n i c e . I w a s always awful hungry!" Mary a d m i t t e d with a guilty l a u g h . W h i l e the boys were getting the D o c t o r ' s h o r s e , h e went to the window to e x a m i n e the h o u s e plants. " W h a t do you do to your g e r a n i u m s to keep them b l o o m i n g all winter, M a n ' ? I never p a s s this h o u s e that from the road I don't s e e your windows full of flowers." S h e s n a p p e d off a dark red o n e , a n d a ruffled new green leaf, a n d put them in his b u t t o n h o l e . " T h e r e , that looks better. You look too s o l e m n for a y o u n g m a n , E d . Why don't you git m a r r i e d ? I'm worried a b o u t you. S e t t i n ' at breakfast, I looked at you real hard, a n d I s e e n you've got s o m e grey hairs already." " O h , yes! They're c o m i n g . M a y b e they'd c o m e faster if I m a r r i e d . " " D o n ' t talk s o . You'll ruin your health e a t i n g at the hotel. I could send your wife a nice loaf of nut b r e a d , if you only h a d o n e . I don't like to s e e a y o u n g m a n getting grey. I'll tell you s o m e t h i n g , E d ; you m a k e s o m e s t r o n g black tea a n d keep it handy in a bowl, a n d every m o r n i n g j u s t brush it into your hair, a n ' it'll keep the grey from s h o w i n ' m u c h . T h a t ' s the way I d o ! " S o m e t i m e s the Doctor heard the g o s s i p e r s in the drug-store w o n d e r i n g why Rosicky didn't get on faster. H e w a s i n d u s t r i o u s , a n d s o were his boys, but they were rather free a n d easy, weren't p u s h e r s , a n d they didn't always s h o w good j u d g m e n t . T h e y were c o m f o r t a b l e , they were out of debt, but they didn't get m u c h a h e a d . M a y b e , D o c t o r Burleigh reflected, p e o p l e a s g e n e r o u s a n d w a r m - h e a r t e d a n d a f f e c t i o n a t e a s the Rosickys never got a h e a d m u c h ; m a y b e you couldn't enjoy your life a n d put it into the bank, t o o .

11

W h e n Rosicky left D o c t o r Burleigh's office, he went into the f a r m - i m p l e m e n t store to light his p i p e a n d put on his g l a s s e s a n d read over the list Mary h a d given him. T h e n he went into the general m e r c h a n d i s e p l a c e next d o o r a n d stood a b o u t until the pretty girl with the p l u c k e d e y e b r o w s , w h o always waited on him, w a s free. T h o s e eyebrows, two thin India-ink strokes, a m u s e d him, b e c a u s e he r e m e m b e r e d how they u s e d to b e . Rosicky always p r o l o n g e d his s h o p p i n g by a little j o k i n g ; the girl knew the old fellow a d m i r e d her, a n d s h e liked to chaff with h i m . " S e e m s to m e a b o u t every other w e e k you buy ticking, Mr. Rosicky, a n d always the best quality," s h e r e m a r k e d a s s h e m e a s u r e d off the heavy bolt with red s t r i p e s . "You s e e , my wife is always m a k i n ' g o o s e - f e d d e r pillows, a n ' de thin s t u f f don't hold in d e m little d o w n - f e d d e r s . "

NEIGHBOUR

ROSICKY

/

1847

"You m u s t have lots of pillows at your h o m e . " " S u r e . S h e m a k e s quilts of d e m , too. W e s l e e p s easy. N o w she's m a k i n ' a fedder quilt for my son's wife. You know Polly, that married my R u d o l p h . H o w m u c h my bill, M i s s P e a r l ? " "Eight eighty-five." " C h u s t m a k e it n i n e , a n d put in s o m e c a n d y fur d e w o m e n . " "As u s u a l . I never did s e e a m a n buy so m u c h c a n d y for his wife. First thing you know, she'll be getting too fat." "I'd like that. I ain't m u c h fur all d e m slim w o m e n like what d e style is now." "That's o n e for m e , I s u p p o s e , M r . B o h u n k ! " 2 Pearl sniffed a n d elevated her India-ink strokes. W h e n Rosicky went o u t to his w a g o n , it w a s b e g i n n i n g to s n o w , — t h e first snow of the s e a s o n , a n d he w a s glad to s e e it. H e rattled o u t of town a n d along the highway through a wonderfully rich stretch of country, the finest f a r m s in the county. H e a d m i r e d this High Prairie, a s it w a s called, a n d always liked to drive through it. His own p l a c e lay in a r o u g h e r territory, where there w a s s o m e clay in the soil a n d it w a s not so p r o d u c t i v e . W h e n he bought his land, he hadn't the m o n e y to buy on H i g h Prairie; so he told his boys, when they g r u m b l e d , that if their land hadn't s o m e clay in it, they wouldn't own it at all. All the s a m e , he enjoyed looking at t h e s e fine f a r m s , as he enjoyed looking at a prize bull. After he had g o n e eight miles, he c a m e to the graveyard, which lay j u s t at the e d g e of his own hay-land. T h e r e he s t o p p e d his h o r s e s a n d sat still on his wagon s e a t , looking a b o u t at the snowfall. Over yonder on the hill he c o u l d s e e his own h o u s e , c r o u c h i n g low, with the c l u m p of o r c h a r d b e h i n d a n d the windmill b e f o r e , a n d all d o w n the gentle hill-slope the rows of p a l e gold c o r n s t a l k s stood out a g a i n s t the white field. T h e s n o w w a s falling over the cornfield a n d the p a s t u r e a n d the hay-land, steadily, with very little w i n d — a nice dry snow. T h e graveyard had only a light wire f e n c e a b o u t it and w a s all overgrown with long red g r a s s . T h e fine s n o w , settling into this red g r a s s a n d u p o n the few little evergreens a n d the h e a d s t o n e s , looked very pretty. It w a s a nice graveyard, Rosicky reflected, sort of s n u g a n d h o m e l i k e , not c r a m p e d or m o u r n f u l , — a big s w e e p all r o u n d it. A m a n c o u l d lie down in the long grass a n d s e e the c o m p l e t e arch of the sky over h i m , h e a r the w a g o n s go by; in s u m m e r the m o w i n g - m a c h i n e rattled right up to the wire f e n c e . And it was so near h o m e . O v e r there a c r o s s the c o r n s t a l k s his own roof a n d windmill looked so g o o d to him that he p r o m i s e d h i m s e l f to m i n d the D o c t o r and take c a r e of himself. H e w a s awful fond of his p l a c e , he a d m i t t e d . H e wasn't anxious to leave it. A n d it w a s a c o m f o r t to think that he would never have to go farther than the e d g e of his own hayfield. T h e s n o w , falling over his barnyard a n d the graveyard, s e e m e d to draw things together like. A n d they were all old n e i g h b o u r s in the graveyard, m o s t of t h e m friends; there w a s nothing to feel awkward or e m b a r r a s s e d a b o u t . E m b a r r a s s m e n t w a s the most d i s a g r e e a b l e feeling Rosicky knew. H e didn't often have it,—only with certain p e o p l e w h o m he didn't u n d e r s t a n d at all. Well, it was a nice s n o w s t o r m ; a fine sight to s e e the s n o w falling s o quietly 2. Bohemian (slang); here used affectionately.

1848

I

WXLLA

CATHER

a n d graciously over s o m u c h o p e n country. O n his c a p a n d s h o u l d e r s , o n t h e h o r s e s ' backs

and manes,

light,

delicate,

mysterious

it fell; a n d with

it a dry

cool f r a g r a n c e w a s r e l e a s e d into the air. It m e a n t rest for vegetation a n d m e n a n d b e a s t s , for t h e g r o u n d itself; a s e a s o n o f long nights for s l e e p , leisurely b r e a k f a s t s , p e a c e by t h e fire. This and much m o r e went t h r o u g h Rosicky's m i n d , b u t h e merely

told

himself

that

winter

w a s coming,

clucked

to his

h o r s e s , a n d drove o n . W h e n h e r e a c h e d h o m e , J o h n , t h e y o u n g e s t boy, r a n o u t to p u t away h i s t e a m for h i m , a n d h e m e t M a r y c o m i n g u p from

the outside

cellar

with

her

apron full of carrots. T h e y went into t h e h o u s e together. O n t h e t a b l e , covered with oilcloth figured with c l u s t e r s o f b l u e g r a p e s , a p l a c e w a s s e t , a n d he s m e l l e d h o t coffee-cake of s o m e kind. A n t o n never l u n c h e d in town; h e thought that extravagant, a n d a n y h o w h e didn't like the food. S o M a r y always h a d s o m e t h i n g ready for h i m w h e n h e got h o m e . After h e w a s settled in his chair, stirring his coffee in a b i g c u p , Mary took o u t of t h e o v e n a p a n of kolache3

stuffed

with

a p r i c o t s , examined

t h e m anx-

iously to s e e w h e t h e r they h a d got t o o dry, p u t t h e m b e s i d e his p l a t e , a n d then sat d o w n o p p o s i t e h i m . Rosicky a s k e d h e r in C z e c h if s h e wasn't g o i n g to have a n y coffee. S h e replied in E n g l i s h , a s b e i n g s o m e h o w t h e right l a n g u a g e for t r a n s a c t ing b u s i n e s s : " N o w w h a t did D o c t o r E d say, A n t o n ? You tell m e j u s t w h a t . " " H e said I w a s to tell you s o m e c o m p l i m e n t s , b u t I forgot ' e m . " Rosicky's eyes twinkled. " A b o u t you, I m e a n . W h a t d i d h e s a y a b o u t your a s t h m a ? " " H e says I ain't got no a s t h m a . " Rosicky t o o k o n e o f t h e little rolls in his b r o a d brown fingers. T h e t h i c k e n e d nail o f his right t h u m b told t h e story of his p a s t . "Well, what is t h e m a t t e r ? A n d don't try to p u t m e off." " H e don't say n o t h i n g m u c h , only I'm a little older, a n d my heart ain't s o g o o d like it u s e d to b e . " M a r y started a n d b r u s h e d h e r hair b a c k from h e r t e m p l e s with both h a n d s a s if s h e were a little out o f h e r m i n d . From the way s h e glared, s h e m i g h t have b e e n in a r a g e with h i m . " H e says there's s o m e t h i n g t h e m a t t e r with your h e a r t ? D o c t o r E d says so?" " N o w don't yell at m e like I w a s a h o g in d e g a r d e n , M a r y . Y o u k n o w I always d i d like to hear a w o m a n talk soft. H e didn't s a y a n y t h i n g d e m a t t e r wid my heart, only it ain't s o y o u n g like it u s e d to b e , a n ' h e tell m e n o t to pitch hay or r u n d e corn-sheller." M a r y w a n t e d to j u m p u p , b u t s h e s a t still. S h e a d m i r e d t h e way h e never u n d e r any c i r c u m s t a n c e s raised his voice or s p o k e roughly. H e w a s city-bred, a n d s h e w a s country-bred; s h e often said s h e w a n t e d h e r boys to have their p a p a ' s nice ways. "You never have n o pain there, d o you? It's your b r e a t h i n g a n d your s t o m a c h that's b e e n wrong. I wouldn't believe n o b o d y b u t D o c t o r E d a b o u t it. I g u e s s I'll g o s e e h i m myself. Didn't h e give y o u n o a d v i c e ? " " C h u s t to take it easy like, a n ' stay r o u n d d e h o u s e d i s winter. I g u e s s y o u got s o m e c a r p e n t e r work for m e to d o . I kin m a k e s o m e n e w shelves for you, 3. Or kolacky, a sweet bun with fruit filling.

NEIGHBOUR

ROSICKY

/

1849

a n d I want dis long time to build a closet in de boys' r o o m a n d m a k e d e m two little fellers keep dere clo'es h u n g u p . " Rosicky d r a n k his coffee from time to t i m e , while he c o n s i d e r e d . His m o u s t a c h e w a s of the soft long variety a n d c a m e d o w n over his m o u t h like the teeth of a buggy-rake over a b u n d l e of hay. E a c h time h e put d o w n his c u p , he ran his b l u e h a n d k e r c h i e f over his lips. W h e n he took a drink of water, he m a n a g e d very neatly with the b a c k of his h a n d . M a r y sat w a t c h i n g him intently, trying to find any c h a n g e in his f a c e . It is hard to s e e a n y o n e w h o h a s b e c o m e like your own body to y o u . Y e s , his hair h a d got thin, a n d his high f o r e h e a d h a d d e e p lines r u n n i n g from left to right. B u t his neck, always c l e a n - s h a v e d except in the b u s i e s t s e a s o n s , w a s not loose or baggy. It w a s b u r n e d a dark reddish brown, a n d there were d e e p c r e a s e s in it, but it looked firm a n d full of blood. H i s c h e e k s h a d a g o o d colour. O n either side of his m o u t h there w a s a h a l f - m o o n d o w n the length of his c h e e k , not wrinkles, b u t two lines that h a d c o m e there from his habitual expression. H e w a s shorter a n d b r o a d e r than w h e n s h e married him; his b a c k h a d grown b r o a d a n d c u r v e d , a g o o d deal like the shell on a n old turtle, a n d his a r m s a n d legs were short. H e was fifteen years older than Mary, but s h e h a d hardly ever t h o u g h t a b o u t it before. H e w a s her m a n , a n d the kind of m a n s h e liked. S h e w a s r o u g h , a n d he w a s gentle—-city-bred, a s s h e always said. T h e y h a d b e e n s h i p m a t e s o n a r o u g h voyage a n d h a d stood by e a c h other in trying t i m e s . Life h a d g o n e well with t h e m b e c a u s e , at b o t t o m , they h a d the s a m e i d e a s a b o u t life. T h e y a g r e e d , without d i s c u s s i o n , a s to w h a t w a s m o s t i m p o r t a n t a n d what w a s s e c o n d a r y . T h e y didn't often e x c h a n g e o p i n i o n s , even in C z e c h — i t w a s a s if they h a d t h o u g h t the s a m e t h o u g h t together. A g o o d deal h a d to be sacrificed a n d thrown overboard in a hard life like theirs, a n d they h a d never d i s a g r e e d a s to the things that c o u l d go. It h a d b e e n a hard life, a n d a soft life, t o o . T h e r e wasn't anything brutal in the short, b r o a d - b a c k e d m a n with the three-cornered eyes a n d the f o r e h e a d that went on to the top of his skull. H e w a s a city m a n , a gentle m a n , a n d t h o u g h he h a d married a rough farm girl, h e h a d never t o u c h e d her without g e n t l e n e s s . T h e y h a d b e e n at o n e a c c o r d not to hurry through life, not to be always s k i m p i n g a n d saving. T h e y s a w their n e i g h b o u r s buy m o r e land a n d feed m o r e stock than they did, without d i s c o n t e n t . O n c e w h e n the c r e a m e r y a g e n t c a m e to the Rosickys to p e r s u a d e t h e m to sell him their c r e a m , he told t h e m how m u c h m o n e y the F a s s l e r s , their n e a r e s t n e i g h b o u r s , h a d m a d e on their c r e a m last year. " Y e s , " said M a r y , " a n d look at t h e m F a s s l e r children! P a l e , p i n c h e d little things, they look like s k i m m e d milk. I had rather put s o m e c o l o u r into my children's f a c e s than p u t m o n e y into the b a n k . " T h e a g e n t s h r u g g e d a n d turned to A n t o n . "I g u e s s we'll do like s h e s a y s , " said Rosicky.

/// Mary very s o o n got into town to s e e D o c t o r E d , a n d then s h e h a d a talk with her boys a n d set a g u a r d over Rosicky. E v e n J o h n , the y o u n g e s t , h a d his father on his mind. If Rosicky went to throw hay down from the loft, o n e of the boys ran u p the ladder a n d took the fork from him. H e s o m e t i m e s

1850

/

WILLA

GATHER

complained that t h o u g h he w a s getting to be a n old m a n , h e wasn't a n old w o m a n yet. T h a t winter he stayed in the h o u s e in the a f t e r n o o n s a n d c a r p e n t e r e d , or sat in the chair b e t w e e n the window full of p l a n t s a n d the w o o d e n b e n c h where the two pails of drinking-water s t o o d . This spot w a s called " F a t h e r ' s corner," though it was not a c o r n e r at all. H e h a d a shelf there, w h e r e he kept his B o h e m i a n p a p e r s a n d his p i p e s a n d t o b a c c o , a n d his s h e a r s a n d n e e d l e s a n d thread a n d tailor's t h i m b l e . H a v i n g b e e n a tailor in his y o u t h , h e couldn't b e a r to s e e a w o m a n p a t c h i n g at his c l o t h e s , or at the boys'. H e liked tailoring, a n d always p a t c h e d all the overalls a n d j a c k e t s a n d work shirts. O c c a s i o n a l l y he m a d e over a pair of p a n t s o n e of the older boys h a d o u t g r o w n , for the little fellow. While he s e w e d , he let his mind run b a c k over his life. H e h a d a good deal to r e m e m b e r , really; life in three c o u n t r i e s . T h e only part of his youth he didn't like to r e m e m b e r w a s the two years he had spent in L o n d o n , in Cheapside, working for a German tailor w h o was wretchedly poor. Those days, when he w a s nearly always hungry, w h e n his c l o t h e s were d r o p p i n g off him for dirt, a n d the s o u n d of a s t r a n g e l a n g u a g e kept him in c o n t i n u a l bewild e r m e n t , h a d left a sore spot in his mind that wouldn't b e a r t o u c h i n g . H e w a s twenty when he l a n d e d at C a s t l e Garden in N e w York, a n d he h a d a protector w h o got him work in a tailor s h o p in Vesey S t r e e t , down near the W a s h i n g t o n M a r k e t . H e looked u p o n that part of his life a s very happy. H e b e c a m e a g o o d w o r k m a n , he w a s i n d u s t r i o u s , a n d his w a g e s were i n c r e a s e d from time to t i m e . H e m i n d e d his own b u s i n e s s a n d envied nobody's good f o r t u n e . H e went to night s c h o o l a n d learned to read E n g l i s h . H e often did overtime work a n d w a s well paid for it, but s o m e h o w he never s a v e d anything. H e couldn't refuse a loan to a friend, a n d he was self-indulgent. H e liked a good dinner, a n d a little went for beer, a little for t o b a c c o ; a g o o d deal went to the girls. H e often s t o o d t h r o u g h a n o p e r a on S a t u r d a y nights; h e could get standing-room for a dollar. T h o s e were the great days of o p e r a in N e w York, and it gave a fellow s o m e t h i n g to think a b o u t for the rest of the week. Bosicky had a q u i c k ear, a n d a childish love of all the s t a g e s p l e n d o u r ; the scenery, the c o s t u m e s , the ballet. H e usually went with a c h u m , a n d after the p e r f o r m a n c e they h a d beer a n d m a y b e s o m e oysters s o m e w h e r e . It w a s a fine life; for the first five years or s o it satisfied him c o m p l e t e l y . H e w a s never hungrv or cold or dirty, a n d everything a m u s e d him: a fire, a d o g fight, a p a r a d e , a s t o r m , a ferry ride. H e t h o u g h t N e w York the finest, richest, friendliest city in the world. Moreover, he h a d what he called a happy h o m e life. Very near the tailor shop was a small furniture-factory, w h e r e an old A u s t r i a n , Loeffler, e m p l o y e d a few skilled m e n a n d m a d e u n u s u a l furniture, m o s t of it to order, for the rich G e r m a n h o u s e w i v e s u p t o w n . T h e top floor of Loeffler's five-storey factory w a s a loft, w h e r e he kept his c h o i c e l u m b e r a n d stored the old p i e c e s of furniture left on his h a n d s . O n e of the y o u n g w o r k m e n he e m p l o y e d w a s a C z e c h , a n d he a n d Rosicky b e c a m e fast friends. T h e y p e r s u a d e d Loeffler to let t h e m have a s l e e p i n g - r o o m in o n e c o r n e r of the loft. T h e y b o u g h t good b e d s a n d b e d d i n g a n d h a d their pick of the furniture kept up t h e r e . T h e loft w a s low-pitched, but light a n d air\', full of w i n d o w s , a n d g o o d - s m e l l i n g by r e a s o n of the fine l u m b e r put up there to s e a s o n . O l d Loeffler u s e d to go down to the d o c k s a n d buy w o o d from S o u t h A m e r i c a a n d the E a s t from the

NEIGHBOUR

ROSICKY

/

1851

s e a c a p t a i n s . T h e y o u n g m e n were as foolish a b o u t their h o u s e a s a bridal pair. Z i c h e c , the y o u n g c a b i n e t - m a k e r , devised every sort of c o n v e n i e n c e , and Rosicky kept their c l o t h e s in order. At night a n d on S u n d a y s , when the quiver of m a c h i n e r y u n d e r n e a t h was still, it w a s the q u i e t e s t p l a c e in the world, a n d on s u m m e r nights all the s e a winds blew in. Z i c h e c often p r a c t i s e d on his flute in the evening. T h e y were both fond of m u s i c a n d went to the o p e r a together. Rosicky thought he w a n t e d to live like that for ever. B u t a s the years p a s s e d , all alike, h e b e g a n to get a little restless. W h e n spring c a m e r o u n d , he would begin to feel fretted, a n d he got to drinking. H e was likely to drink too m u c h of a S a t u r d a y night. O n S u n d a y h e w a s languid a n d heavy, getting over his s p r e e . O n M o n d a y he p l u n g e d into work again. S o h e never h a d time to figure out what ailed him, a l t h o u g h he knew s o m e t h i n g did. W h e n the g r a s s turned green in Park P l a c e , a n d the lilac h e d g e at the b a c k of Trinity c h u r c h y a r d put out its b l o s s o m s , he w a s torm e n t e d by a longing to run away. T h a t w a s why h e drank too m u c h ; to get a temporary illusion of freedom a n d wide horizons. Rosicky, the old Rosicky, c o u l d r e m e m b e r as if it were yesterday the day when the y o u n g Rosicky f o u n d out what w a s the matter with h i m . It w a s on a F o u r t h of J u l y afternoon, a n d he w a s sitting in Park P l a c e in the s u n . T h e lower part of N e w York was empty. Wall Street, Liberty S t r e e t , B r o a d w a y , all empty. S o m u c h s t o n e a n d a s p h a l t with nothing g o i n g on, s o m a n y e m p t y windows. T h e e m p t i n e s s w a s i n t e n s e , like the stillness in a great factory w h e n the m a c h i n e r y s t o p s a n d the belts a n d b a n d s c e a s e r u n n i n g . It w a s too great a c h a n g e , it took all the strength o u t of o n e . T h o s e blank b u i l d i n g s , without the s t r e a m of life p o u r i n g through t h e m , were like e m p t y jails. It s t r u c k y o u n g Rosicky that this w a s the trouble with big cities; they built you in from the earth itself, c e m e n t e d you away from any c o n t a c t with the g r o u n d . You lived in an u n n a t u r a l world, like the fish in a n a q u a r i u m , w h o were p r o b a b l y m u c h m o r e c o m f o r t a b l e than they ever were in the s e a . O n that very day h e b e g a n to think seriously a b o u t the articles he had read in the B o h e m i a n p a p e r s , d e s c r i b i n g p r o s p e r o u s C z e c h f a r m i n g c o m m u n i t i e s in the W e s t . H e believed h e would like to go o u t there a s a farm h a n d ; it w a s hardly p o s s i b l e that he c o u l d ever have land of his own. His p e o p l e h a d always b e e n w o r k m e n , his father a n d g r a n d f a t h e r h a d worked in s h o p s . H i s mother's p a r e n t s had lived in the country, but they rented their farm a n d had a hard time to get along. N o b o d y in his family h a d ever o w n e d any l a n d , — t h a t b e l o n g e d to a different station of life altogether. Anton's m o t h e r died when he w a s little, a n d he was sent into the country to her p a r e n t s . H e stayed with t h e m until he was twelve, a n d formed t h o s e ties with the earth and the farm a n i m a l s and growing things which are never m a d e at all u n l e s s they are m a d e early. After his g r a n d f a t h e r died, he went b a c k to live with his father a n d s t e p m o t h e r , but s h e w a s very hard on him, a n d his father h e l p e d him to get p a s s a g e to L o n d o n . After that F o u r t h of J u l y day in Park P l a c e , the desire to return to the country never left h i m . T o work on a n o t h e r m a n ' s farm would be all h e a s k e d ; to see the s u n rise and set a n d to plant things a n d w a t c h t h e m grow. H e w a s a very s i m p l e m a n . H e was like a tree that has not m a n y roots, but o n e taproot that g o e s down d e e p . H e s u b s c r i b e d for a B o h e m i a n p a p e r printed in C h i c a g o , then for o n e printed in O m a h a . H i s mind got farther a n d farther west. H e b e g a n to save a little m o n e y to buy his liberty. W h e n he w a s thirty-

1852

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five, there w a s a great meeting in N e w York of B o h e m i a n athletic s o c i e t i e s , a n d Rosicky left the tailor s h o p a n d went h o m e with the O m a h a d e l e g a t e s to try his fortune in a n o t h e r part of the world.

P e r h a p s the fact that his own youth w a s well over before he b e g a n to have a family w a s o n e r e a s o n why Rosicky w a s so fond of his boys. H e h a d a l m o s t a grandfather's i n d u l g e n c e for t h e m . H e h a d never h a d to worry a b o u t any of t h e m — e x c e p t , j u s t now, a little a b o u t R u d o l p h . O n S a t u r d a y night the boys always piled into the Ford, took little Josephine, and went to town to the moving-picture show. O n e S a t u r d a y m o r n i n g they were talking at the breakfast table about starting early that evening, so that they w o u l d have an h o u r or s o to s e e the C h r i s t m a s t h i n g s in the stores before the show began. Rosicky looked down the table. "I h o p e you boys ain't disappointed, but I want you to let me have d e c a r tonight. M a y b e s o m e of you c a n g o in with de n e i g h b o u r s . " T h e i r faces fell. T h e y worked hard all week, a n d they were still like children. A new jack-knife or a box of candy pleased the older o n e s a s m u c h a s the little fellow. "If you a n d m o t h e r are g o i n g to t o w n , " F r a n k said, "maybe you c o u l d t a k e a c o u p l e of u s a l o n g with you, anyway.' " " N o , I want to take d e c a r d o w n to R u d o l p h ' s , a n d let him a n ' Polly g o in to d e show. S h e don't git into town enough, an I'm afraid s h e ' s gettin' lonesome, an he can't afford no c a r y e t . " T h a t settled it. T h e boys were a g o o d deal d a s h e d . T h e i r father took another p i e c e of a p p l e - c a k e a n d went o n : " M a y b e next S a t u r d a y night d e two little fellers c a n g o a l o n g wid d e m . " " O h , is R u d o l p h going to have the c a r every S a t u r d a y n i g h t ? " Rosicky did not reply at o n c e ; then he b e g a n to s p e a k seriously: " L i s t e n , boys; Polly ain't lookin so good. I don't like to s e e n o b o d y lookin' s a d . It c o m e s hard fur a town girl to b e a farmer's wife. I don't w a n t n o t r o u b l e to start in R u d o l p h ' s family. W h e n it starts, it ain't so e a s y to stop. A n A m e r i c a n girl don't git u s e d to our ways all at o n c e . I like to tell Polly s h e a n d R u d o l p h c a n have the c a r every S a t u r d a y night till after N e w Year's, if it's all right with you boys." " S u r e , it's all right, p a p a , " M a r y c u t in. "And it's g o o d you t h o u g h t a b o u t that. T o w n girls is u s e d to m o r e than country girls. I lay a w a k e n i g h t s , s c a r e d she'll make Rudolph discontented with the farm." T h e boys p u t a s g o o d a f a c e o n it as they c o u l d . T h e y surely looked forward to their Saturday nights in town. That evening Rosicky drove the c a r the halfmile down to Rudolph's new, b a r e little h o u s e . Polly w a s in a short-sleeved g i n g h a m d r e s s , c l e a r i n g away the s u p p e r d i s h e s . S h e w a s a trim, slim little thing, with blue eyes a n d shingled yellow hair, a n d her eyebrows were r e d u c e d to a m e r e b r u s h - s t r o k e , like M i s s Pearl's. "Good-evening, Mr. Rosicky. R u d o l p h ' s at the b a r n , I g u e s s . " S h e never called him father, or M a r y mother. S h e w a s sensitive a b o u t having married a foreigner. S h e never in the world would have done it if Rudolph hadn't b e e n such a h a n d s o m e , p e r s u a s i v e fellow a n d such a gallant lover. H e had

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g r a d u a t e d in her c l a s s in the high school in town, a n d their friendship b e g a n in the ninth g r a d e . Rosicky went in, t h o u g h he wasn't exactly a s k e d . " M y boys ain't goin' to town tonight, a n ' I b r o u g h t de c a r over fur you two to go in to d e p i c t u r e show." Polly, carrying d i s h e s to the sink, looked over her s h o u l d e r at h i m . " T h a n k you. B u t I'm late with my work tonight, a n d pretty tired. M a y b e R u d o l p h would like to g o in with y o u . " " O h , I don't g o to d e s h o w s ! I'm too old-fashioned. You won't feel s o tired after you ride in d e air a ways. It's a nice clear night, a n ' it ain't c o l d . You go a n ' fix yourself u p , Polly, a n ' I'll w a s h d e d i s h e s a n ' leave everything n i c e fur you." Polly b l u s h e d a n d t o s s e d her b o b . "I couldn't let you d o that, M r . Rosicky, I wouldn't think of it." Rosicky said nothing. H e f o u n d a bib a p r o n o n a nail b e h i n d the kitchen door. H e s l i p p e d it over his h e a d a n d then took Polly by her two elbows a n d p u s h e d her gently toward the d o o r of her own r o o m . "I w a s h e d u p d e kitchen m a n y times for my wife, w h e n de b a b i e s was sick or s o m e t h i n ' . You go a n ' m a k e yourself look n i c e . I like you to look prettier'n any of d e m town girls w h e n you go in. D e y o u n g folks m u s t have s o m e fun, a n ' I'm goin' to look out fur you, Polly." T h a t kind, r e a s s u r i n g grip on her elbows, the old m a n ' s funny bright eyes, m a d e Polly want to drop her h e a d on his s h o u l d e r for a s e c o n d . S h e restrained herself, b u t s h e lingered in his g r a s p at the d o o r of her r o o m , m u r m u r i n g tearfully: "You always lived in the city w h e n you were y o u n g , didn't you? Don't you ever get l o n e s o m e out h e r e ? " A s s h e turned r o u n d to him, her h a n d fell naturally into his, a n d h e s t o o d holding it a n d s m i l i n g into her f a c e with his peculiar, knowing, i n d u l g e n t smile without a s h a d o w of r e p r o a c h in it. " D e m big cities is all right fur d e rich, b u t dey is terrible hard fur d e p o o r . " "I don't know. S o m e t i m e s I think I'd like to take a c h a n c e . You lived in N e w York, didn't y o u ? " "An' L o n d o n . D a ' s bigger still. I learned my trade d e r e . H e r e ' s R u d o l p h c o m i n ' , you better hurry." "Will you tell m e a b o u t L o n d o n s o m e t i m e ? " " M a y b e . Only I ain't no talker, Polly. R u n a n ' d r e s s yourself u p . " T h e b e d r o o m door c l o s e d b e h i n d her, a n d R u d o l p h c a m e in from the o u t s i d e , looking anxious. H e h a d s e e n the car a n d w a s sorry a n y of his family s h o u l d c o m e j u s t then. S u p p e r hadn't b e e n a very p l e a s a n t o c c a s i o n . H a l t i n g in the doorway, he s a w his father in a kitchen a p r o n , carrying d i s h e s to the sink. H e flushed c r i m s o n a n d s o m e t h i n g flashed in his eye. Rosicky held u p a warning finger. "I brought de car over fur you a n ' Polly to go to d e picture s h o w , a n ' I m a d e her let m e finish here so you won't be late. You go p u t o n a c l e a n shirt, quick!" " B u t don't the boys want the car, F a t h e r ? " " N o t tonight dey don't." Rosicky f u m b l e d u n d e r his a p r o n a n d f o u n d his p a n t s p o c k e t . H e took out a silver dollar a n d said in a hurried whisper: "You go a n ' buy dat girl s o m e ice c r e a m a n ' candy tonight, like you w a s courtin'. S h e ' s awful g o o d friends wid m e . "

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R u d o l p h was very short of c a s h , but h e took the m o n e y as if it h u r t h i m . T h e r e h a d b e e n a crop failure all over the country. H e h a d m o r e than o n c e b e e n sorry he'd m a r r i e d this year. In a few m i n u t e s the y o u n g p e o p l e c a m e out, looking c l e a n a n d a little stiff. Rosicky hurried them off, a n d then he took his own time with the d i s h e s . H e s c o u r e d the pots a n d p a n s a n d put away the milk a n d s w e p t the kitchen. H e p u t s o m e coal in the stove a n d shut off the d r a u g h t s , s o the p l a c e would be w a r m for t h e m when they got h o m e late at night. T h e n h e sat d o w n a n d h a d a pipe a n d listened to the clock tick. Generally s p e a k i n g , marrying a n A m e r i c a n girl w a s certainly a risk. A C z e c h s h o u l d marry a C z e c h . It w a s lucky that Polly w a s the d a u g h t e r of a p o o r widow w o m a n ; R u d o l p h w a s p r o u d , a n d if s h e h a d a p r o s p e r o u s family to throw up at him, they c o u l d never m a k e it go. Polly w a s o n e of four s i s t e r s , a n d they all worked; o n e w a s book-keeper in the bank, o n e t a u g h t m u s i c , a n d Polly a n d her younger sister had b e e n clerks, like Miss Pearl. All four of t h e m were m u s i c a l , h a d pretty voices, a n d s a n g in the M e t h o d i s t choir, which the eldest sister directed. Polly m i s s e d the sociability of a store position. S h e m i s s e d the choir, a n d the c o m p a n y of her sisters. S h e didn't dislike h o u s e w o r k , but s h e disliked s o m u c h of it. Rosicky w a s a little anxious a b o u t this pair. H e w a s afraid Polly would grow s o d i s c o n t e n t e d that R u d y would quit the farm a n d take a factory j o b in O m a h a . H e h a d worked for a winter up there, two years a g o , to get m o n e y to marry on. H e h a d d o n e very well, a n d they would always take him b a c k at the s t o c k y a r d s . B u t to Rosicky that m e a n t the e n d of everything for his s o n . T o be a l a n d l e s s m a n w a s to be a w a g e - e a r n e r , a slave, all your life; to have nothing, to be nothing. Rosicky thought he would c o m e over a n d do a little c a r p e n t e r i n g for Polly after the N e w Year. H e g u e s s e d s h e n e e d e d jollying. R u d o l p h w a s a s e r i o u s sort of c h a p , serious in love a n d s e r i o u s a b o u t his work. Rosicky s h o o k out his pipe a n d walked h o m e a c r o s s the fields. A h e a d of him the lamplight s h o n e from his kitchen w i n d o w s . S u p p o s e he were still in a tailor shop on Vesey S t r e e t , with a b u n c h of p a l e , n a r r o w - c h e s t e d s o n s working on m a c h i n e s , all c o m i n g h o m e tired a n d sullen to e a t s u p p e r in a kitchen that w a s a p a r l o u r a l s o ; with a n o t h e r c r o w d e d , angry family q u a r relling j u s t a c r o s s the d u m b - w a i t e r shaft, a n d s q u e a k i n g pulleys at the windows where dirty w a s h i n g s h u n g on dirty lines a b o v e a court full of old brooms and mops and ash-cans . . . H e s t o p p e d by the windmill to look up at the frosty winter stars a n d draw a long breath before he went inside. T h a t kitchen with the s h i n i n g windows w a s d e a r to him; b u t the s l e e p i n g fields a n d bright stars a n d the n o b l e darkn e s s were d e a r e r still. V O n the day before C h r i s t m a s the w e a t h e r set in very c o l d ; no s n o w , but a bitter, biting wind that whistled a n d sang over the flat land a n d l a s h e d one's f a c e like fine wires. T h e r e w a s b a k i n g going on in the Rosicky kitchen all day, a n d Rosicky sat inside, m a k i n g over a c o a t that Albert had outgrown into an overcoat for J o h n . M a r y h a d a big red g e r a n i u m in b l o o m for C h r i s t m a s , a n d a row of J e r u s a l e m cherry trees, full of berries. It w a s the first year s h e had ever grown t h e s e ; D o c t o r Ed b r o u g h t her the s e e d s from O m a h a

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when he went to s o m e m e d i c a l c o n v e n t i o n . T h e y r e m i n d e d Rosicky of p l a n t s h e had s e e n in E n g l a n d ; a n d all afternoon, a s he s t i t c h e d , he sat thinking a b o u t t h o s e two years in L o n d o n , which his mind usually s h r a n k from even after all this while. H e w a s a lad of e i g h t e e n w h e n h e d r o p p e d down into L o n d o n , with no m o n e y a n d no c o n n e x i o n s except the a d d r e s s of a c o u s i n w h o w a s s u p p o s e d to be working at a c o n f e c t i o n e r ' s . W h e n he went to the pastry s h o p , however, h e found that the c o u s i n h a d g o n e to A m e r i c a . A n t o n t r a m p e d the streets for several days, s l e e p i n g in doorways a n d on the E m b a n k m e n t , until h e w a s in utter despair. H e knew no E n g l i s h , a n d the s o u n d of the s t r a n g e l a n g u a g e all a b o u t him c o n f u s e d him. By c h a n c e he m e t a p o o r G e r m a n tailor w h o h a d learned his t r a d e in V i e n n a , a n d c o u l d s p e a k a little C z e c h . T h i s tailor, Lifschnitz, kept a repair s h o p in a C h e a p s i d e b a s e m e n t , u n d e r n e a t h a c o b bler. H e didn't m u c h n e e d an a p p r e n t i c e , but he w a s sorry for the boy a n d took him in for no w a g e s but his k e e p a n d what he c o u l d pick u p . T h e pickings were s u p p o s e d to be c o p p e r s given you w h e n you took work h o m e to a c u s t o m e r . B u t m o s t of the c u s t o m e r s called for their c l o t h e s t h e m s e l v e s , a n d the c o p p e r s that c a m e Anton's way were very few. H e h a d , however, a p l a c e to s l e e p . T h e tailor's family lived u p s t a i r s in three r o o m s ; a k i t c h e n , a b e d r o o m , where Lifschnitz a n d his wife a n d five children slept, a n d a livingr o o m . T w o c o r n e r s of this living r o o m were c u r t a i n e d off for lodgers; in o n e Rosicky slept on a n old horsehair sofa, with a feather quilt to wrap h i m s e l f in. T h e other c o r n e r was rented to a w r e t c h e d , dirty boy, w h o w a s studying the violin. H e actually p r a c t i s e d there. Rosicky w a s dirty, too. T h e r e w a s n o way to be anything e l s e . M r s . Lifschnitz got the water s h e c o o k e d a n d w a s h e d with from a p u m p in a brick court, four flights down. T h e r e were b u g s in the p l a c e , a n d m u l t i t u d e s of fleas, though the poor w o m a n did the b e s t s h e c o u l d . Rosicky knew s h e often went e m p t y to give a n o t h e r p o t a t o or a spoonful of dripping to the two hungry, sad-eyed boys w h o lodged with her. H e u s e d to think he would never get o u t of there, never get a c l e a n shirt to his b a c k a g a i n . W h a t would he d o , he w o n d e r e d , w h e n his c l o t h e s actually d r o p p e d to p i e c e s a n d the worn cloth wouldn't hold p a t c h e s any longer? It w a s still early w h e n the old farmer put a s i d e his s e w i n g a n d his recollections. T h e sky h a d b e e n a dark grey all day, with not a g l e a m of s u n , a n d the light failed at four o'clock. H e went to shave a n d c h a n g e his shirt while the turkey w a s roasting. R u d o l p h a n d Polly were c o m i n g over for s u p p e r . After s u p p e r they sat r o u n d in the kitchen, a n d the y o u n g e r boys were saying how sorry they were it hadn't s n o w e d . Everybody w a s sorry. T h e y w a n t e d a d e e p s n o w that would lie long a n d keep the w h e a t w a r m , a n d leave the g r o u n d s o a k e d w h e n it m e l t e d . "Yes, sir!" R u d o l p h broke out fiercely; "if we have a n o t h e r dry year like last year, there's g o i n g to be hard times in this c o u n t r y . " Rosicky filled his pipe. "You boys don't know what hard times is. You don't owe nobody, you got plenty to eat a n ' keep w a r m , a n ' plenty water to keep c l e a n . W h e n you got t h e m , you can't have it very h a r d . " R u d o l p h frowned, o p e n e d a n d shut his big right h a n d , a n d d r o p p e d it c l e n c h e d u p o n his k n e e . "I've got to have a g o o d deal m o r e than that, father, or I'll quit this farming g a m b l e . I c a n always m a k e g o o d w a g e s railroading, or at the p a c k i n g h o u s e , a n d b e s u r e of my m o n e y . " " M a y b e s o , " his father a n s w e r e d dryly.

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WILLA

CATHER

Mary, w h o h a d j u s t c o m e in from the pantry a n d w a s wiping her h a n d s on the roller towel, t h o u g h t R u d y a n d his father were getting t o o s e r i o u s . S h e b r o u g h t her d a r n i n g - b a s k e t a n d sat d o w n in the m i d d l e of the g r o u p . "I ain't m u c h afraid of hard t i m e s , R u d y , " s h e said heartily. "We've h a d a plenty, but we've always c o m e t h r o u g h . Y o u r father wouldn't never t a k e nothi n g very h a r d , not even hard t i m e s . I got a m i n d to tell you a story o n him. M a y b e you boys can't hardly r e m e m b e r the year we h a d that terrible hot wind, that b u r n e d everything u p o n the F o u r t h of J u l y ? All the c o r n a n ' the g a r d e n s . A n ' that w a s in the days w h e n we didn't have alfalfa y e t , — I g u e s s it wasn't invented. "Well, that very day your father w a s out cultivatin' c o r n , a n d I w a s here in the kitchen m a k i n ' p l u m p r e s e r v e s . W e h a d b u s h e l s of p l u m s that year. I noticed it w a s terrible hot, b u t it's always hot in the kitchen w h e n you're preservin', a n ' I w a s too b u s y with my p l u m s to m i n d . A n t o n c o m e in from the field a b o u t three o'clock, a n ' I a s k e d him w h a t w a s the matter. " ' N o t h i n ' , " he says, 'but it's pretty hot a n ' I think I won't work no m o r e to-day.' H e s t o o d r o u n d for a few m i n u t e s , a n ' then he says: 'Ain't you n e a r t h r o u g h ? I w a n t you s h o u l d git u p a n i c e s u p p e r for u s tonight. It's F o u r t h of July.' "I told him to git a l o n g , that I w a s right in the m i d d l e of preservin', but the p l u m s would taste g o o d on hot b i s c u i t . 'I'm goin' to have fried c h i c k e n , too,' h e says, a n d he went off a n ' killed a c o u p l e . You three o l d e s t boys w a s little fellers, playin' r o u n d o u t s i d e , real hot a n ' sweaty, a n ' your father took you to the h o r s e tank d o w n by the windmill a n ' took off your c l o t h e s a n ' p u t you in. T h e m two box-elder trees were little t h e n , but they m a d e s h a d e over the tank. T h e n h e took off all his own c l o t h e s , a n ' got in with y o u . W h i l e he w a s playin' in the water with you, the M e t h o d i s t p r e a c h e r drove into our p l a c e to say how all the n e i g h b o u r s w a s goin' to m e e t at the s c h o o l h o u s e that night, to pray for rain. H e drove right to the windmill, of c o u r s e , a n d there w a s your father a n d you three with no c l o t h e s o n . I w a s in the kitchen door, a n ' I h a d to l a u g h , for the p r e a c h e r a c t e d like h e ain't never s e e n a n a k e d m a n b e f o r e . H e surely w a s e m b a r r a s s e d , a n ' your father couldn't git to his c l o t h e s ; they w a s all h a n g i n ' u p on the windmill to let the sweat dry o u t of 'em. S o he laid in the t a n k w h e r e he w a s , a n ' put o n e of you boys o n top of him to cover him u p a little, a n ' talked to the p r e a c h e r . " W h e n you got t h r o u g h playin' in the water, h e p u t c l e a n c l o t h e s on you a n d a c l e a n shirt on himself, a n ' by that time I'd b e g u n to get s u p p e r . H e says: 'It's too hot in here to e a t c o m f o r t a b l e . L e t ' s have a picnic in the o r c h a r d . We'll eat our s u p p e r b e h i n d the mulberry h e d g e , u n d e r t h e m linden trees.' " S o he carried our s u p p e r d o w n , a n ' a bottle of my wild-grape w i n e , a n ' everything t a s t e d g o o d , I c a n tell y o u . T h e wind got c o o l e r a s the s u n w a s goin' d o w n , a n d it t u r n e d out p l e a s a n t , only I n o t i c e d h o w the leaves w a s c u r l e d u p on the linden trees. T h a t m a d e m e think, a n ' I a s k e d your father if that hot wind all day hadn't b e e n terrible h a r d on the g a r d e n s a n ' the c o r n . " ' C o r n , ' h e says, 'there ain't n o c o r n . ' " 'What you talkin' a b o u t ? ' I s a i d . 'Ain't we got forty a c r e s ? ' " 'We ain't got a n ear,' h e says, 'nor n o b o d y e l s e ain't got n o n e . All the corn in this country w a s c o o k e d by three o'clock today, like you'd r o a s t e d it in a n oven.'

NEIGHBOUR

ROSICKY

/

1857

" 'You m e a n you won't get no crop at all?' I a s k e d h i m . I couldn't believe it, after he'd worked so hard. " ' N o c r o p this year,' he says. 'That's why we're havin' a p i c n i c . W e might a s well enjoy w h a t we got.' " A n ' that's h o w your father b e h a v e d , w h e n all the n e i g h b o u r s w a s so disc o u r a g e d they couldn't look you in the f a c e . A n ' we enjoyed ourselves that year, p o o r a s we w a s , a n ' o u r n e i g h b o u r s wasn't a bit better off for bein' m i s e r a b l e . S o m e of 'em grieved till they got poor d i g e s t i o n s a n d couldn't relish what they did h a v e . " T h e y o u n g e r boys said they t h o u g h t their father h a d the b e s t of it. B u t R u d o l p h was thinking that, all the s a m e , the n e i g h b o u r s h a d m a n a g e d to get a h e a d m o r e , in the fifteen years s i n c e that t i m e . T h e r e m u s t be s o m e t h i n g wrong a b o u t his father's way of d o i n g things. H e w i s h e d h e knew w h a t w a s going on in the b a c k of Polly's m i n d . H e knew s h e liked his father, but h e knew, too, that s h e w a s afraid of s o m e t h i n g . W h e n his m o t h e r sent over coffee-cake or p r u n e tarts or a loaf of fresh b r e a d , Polly s e e m e d to regard t h e m with a certain s u s p i c i o n . W h e n s h e observed to him that his brothers h a d nice m a n n e r s , her tone implied that it w a s r e m a r k a b l e they s h o u l d have. With his m o t h e r s h e w a s stiff a n d on her g u a r d . Mary's hearty f r a n k n e s s a n d g u s t s of g o o d h u m o u r irritated her. Polly w a s afraid of b e i n g u n u s u a l or c o n s p i c u o u s in any way, of b e i n g 'ordinary' a s s h e said! W h e n M a r y h a d finished her story, Rosicky laid a s i d e his p i p e . "You boys like m e to tell you a b o u t s o m e of d e m hard times I b e e n through in L o n d o n ? " W a r m l y e n c o u r a g e d , he sat r u b b i n g his f o r e h e a d a l o n g the d e e p c r e a s e s . It w a s b o t h e r s o m e to tell a long story in E n g l i s h (he nearly always talked to the boys in C z e c h ) , b u t he w a n t e d Polly to h e a r this o n e . "Well, you know a b o u t dat tailor s h o p I worked in in L o n d o n ? I had o n e C h r i s t m a s dere I ain't never forgot. T i m e s w a s awful b a d before C h r i s t m a s ; de b o s s ain't got m u c h work, a n ' have it awful hard to pay his rent. It ain't s o m u c h fun, bein' p o o r in a big city like L o n d o n , I'll say! All de windows is full of g o o d t'ings to e a t , a n ' all de p u s h c a r t s in d e streets is full, a n ' you smell 'em all d e t i m e , a n ' you ain't got no m o n e y — n o t a d a m n bit. I didn't m i n d d e cold so m u c h , t h o u g h I didn't have no overcoat, c h u s t a short j a c k e t I'd o u t g r o w e d s o it wouldn't m e e t on m e , a n ' my h a n d s w a s c h a p p e d raw. B u t I always h a d a g o o d a p p e t i t e , like you all know, a n ' d e sight of d e m pork p i e s in de w i n d o w s w a s awful fur m e ! " D a y before C h r i s t m a s w a s terrible foggy dat year, a n ' dat fog gits into your b o n e s a n d m a k e s you all d a m p like. M r s . Lifschnitz didn't give u s nothin' but a little b r e a d a n ' drippin' for s u p p e r , b e c a u s e s h e w a s savin' to try for to give u s a g o o d d i n n e r o n C h r i s t m a s Day. After s u p p e r de b o s s say I go a n ' enjoy myself, s o I went into de streets to listen to de C h r i s t m a s singers. Dey sing old s o n g s a n ' m a k e very nice m u s i c , a n ' I run r o u n d after d e m a g o o d ways, till I got awful hungry. I t'ink m a y b e if I go h o m e , I c a n sleep till m o r n i n g a n ' forgit my belly. "I went into my c o r n e r real quiet, a n d roll up in my fedder quilt. B u t I ain't got my h e a d d o w n , till I smell s o m e t ' i n g g o o d . S e e m like it git stronger a n ' stronger, a n ' I can't git to s l e e p noway. I can't u n d e r s t a n d dat smell. D e r e w a s a g a s light in a hall a c r o s s de court, dat always shine in at my window a little. I got u p a n ' look r o u n d . I got a little w o o d e n box in my c o r n e r fur a stool, ' c a u s e I ain't got no chair. I picks up dat box, a n d u n d e r it dere is a

1858

/

WILLA

CATHER

roast g o o s e on a platter! I can't believe my eyes. I carry it to d e window where d e light c o m e s in, a n ' t o u c h it a n d smell it to find out, an' d e n I taste it to b e s u r e . I say, I will eat c h u s t o n e little bite of dat g o o s e , so I c a n go to s l e e p , a n d to-morrow I won't eat n o n e at all. B u t I tell you, boys, w h e n I s t o p , o n e half of dat g o o s e w a s g o n e ! " T h e narrator b o w e d his h e a d , a n d the bovs s h o u t e d . B u t little J o s e p h i n e slipped b e h i n d his c h a i r a n d kissed him on the neck b e n e a t h his ear. " P o o r little P a p a , I don't want him to be hungry!" " D a ' s long a g o , child. I ain't never b e e n hungry s i n c e I h a d your m u d d e r to c o o k fur m e . " " G o o n a n d tell u s the rest, p l e a s e , " said Polly. "Well, w h e n I c o m e to realize what I d o n e , of c o u r s e , I felt terrible. I felt better in d e s t o m a c h , but very b a d in de heart. I set on my b e d wid dat platter on my k n e e s , a n ' it all c o m e to m e ; how hard dat p o o r w o m a n save to buy dat g o o s e , a n d how s h e get s o m e n e i g h b o u r to c o o k it dat got m o r e fire, a n ' how s h e p u t it in my c o r n e r to keep it away from d e m hungry children. D e r e w a s a old c a r p e t h u n g up to shut my c o r n e r off, a n ' de children wasn't allowed to g o in d e r e . A n ' I know s h e put it in my c o r n e r b e c a u s e s h e trust m e more'n she did de violin boy. I can't s t a n d it to f a c e her after I spoil de C h r i s t m a s . S o 1 put on my s h o e s a n d go out into de city. I tell myself I better throw myself in de river; but I g u e s s I ain't dat kind of a boy. "It w a s after twelve o'clock, a n ' terrible c o l d , a n ' I start o u t to walk a b o u t L o n d o n all night. I walk a l o n g de river awhile, but dey w a s lots of d r u n k s all along; m e n , a n d w o m e n too. I c h u s t m o v e a l o n g to k e e p away from d e police. I git onto de S t r a n d , a n ' den over to N e w Oxford S t r e e t , w h e r e d e r e w a s a big G e r m a n r e s t a u r a n t on d e g r o u n d floor, wid big windows all fixed up fine, a n ' I c o u l d s e e d e p e o p l e havin' parties inside. W h i l e I w a s lookin' in, two m e n a n d two ladies c o m e out, Iaughin' a n d talkin' a n d feelin' happy a b o u t all dey b e e n e a t i n ' a n ' drinkin', a n d dey w a s s p e a k i n ' C z e c h — n o t like de A u s t r i a n s , but like d e h o m e folks talk it. "I g u e s s I went crazy, a n ' I d o n e what I ain't never d o n e before nor s i n c e . I went right u p to d e m gay p e o p l e a n ' b e g u n to b e g d e m : 'Fellow c o u n t r y m e n , for G o d ' s s a k e give m e m o n e y e n o u g h to buy a g o o s e ! ' " D e y l a u g h , of c o u r s e , but de ladies s p e a k awful kind to m e , a n ' dey take m e b a c k into d e r e s t a u r a n t a n d give m e hot coffee a n d c a k e s , a n ' m a k e m e tell all a b o u t how I h a p p e n e d to c o m e to L o n d o n , a n ' what I w a s doin' d e r e . D e y take my n a m e a n d where I work down on p a p e r , a n ' both of d e m ladies give m e ten shillings. " D e big market at C o v e n t G a r d e n 4 ain't very far away, a n ' by dat, time it w a s o p e n . I go dere an buy a big g o o s e a n ' s o m e pork p i e s , a n ' p o t a t o e s a n d o n i o n s , a n ' c a k e s a n ' o r a n g e s fur de c h i l d r e n — a l l I c o u l d carry! W h e n I git h o m e , everybody is still a s l e e p . I pile ail I b o u g h t on de kitchen table, a n ' go in a n ' lay d o w n on my b e d , an I ain't waken up till I h e a r dat w o m a n s c r e a m w h e n s h e c o m e o u t into her kitchen. My g o o d n e s s , but s h e w a s surprise! S h e l a u g h a n ' cry at de s a m e t i m e , a n ' h u g m e a n d waken all de children. S h e ain't s t o p fur no breakfast; s h e git de C h r i s t m a s dinner ready dat m o r n ing, a n d we all sit d o w n a n ' eat all we c a n hold. I ain't never seen dat violin boy have all he c a n hold before. 4. Square in London, site of a famous flower and vegetable market and of the Covent Garden opera house.

NEIGHBOUR ROSICKY

/

1859

"Two-three days after dat, de two m e n c o m e to hunt m e u p , a n ' dey a s k my b o s s , a n d he give m e a good report a n ' tell d e m I w a s a s t e a d y boy all right. O n e of d e m B o h e m i a n s was very s m a r t a n ' run a B o h e m i a n n e w s p a p e r in N e w York, a n ' de odder w a s a rich m a n , in de i m p o r t i n g b u s i n e s s , a n ' dey b e e n travelling togedder. Dey told m e how t'ings w a s e a s i e r in N e w York, a n ' offered to pay my p a s s a g e w h e n dey w a s goin' h o m e s o o n on a b o a t . M y b o s s say to m e : 'You g o . You ain't got no c h a n c e h e r e , a n ' I like to s e e you git a h e a d , fur you always b e e n a g o o d boy to my w o m a n , a n d fur dat fine C h r i s t m a s dinner you give u s all.' A n ' da's how I got to N e w York." T h a t night w h e n R u d o l p h a n d Polly, arm in a r m , were r u n n i n g h o m e a c r o s s the fields with the bitter wind at their b a c k s , his heart leaped for j o y w h e n s h e said s h e t h o u g h t they might have his family c o m e over for s u p p e r on N e w Year's E v e . " L e t ' s get up a nice s u p p e r , a n d not let your m o t h e r help at all; m a k e her be c o m p a n y for o n c e . " " T h a t would be lovely of you, Polly," he said humbly. H e w a s a very s i m p l e , m o d e s t boy, a n d h e , too, felt vaguely that Polly a n d her sisters were m o r e e x p e r i e n c e d a n d worldly than his p e o p l e . T h e winter turned out badly for f a r m e r s . It w a s bitterly cold, a n d after the first light s n o w s before C h r i s t m a s there w a s n o s n o w at a l l — a n d no rain. M a r c h w a s a s bitter a s F e b r u a r y . O n t h o s e days w h e n the wind fairly p u n ished the country, Rosicky sat by his window. In the fall h e a n d the boys h a d put in a big w h e a t planting, a n d now the s e e d h a d frozen in the g r o u n d . All that land would have to b e p l o u g h e d u p a n d p l a n t e d over a g a i n , p l a n t e d in corn. It h a d h a p p e n e d b e f o r e , but he w a s y o u n g e r t h e n , a n d he never worried a b o u t what had to b e . H e w a s s u r e of himself a n d of Mary; h e knew they could b e a r what they had to bear, that they would always pull through s o m e how. B u t he w a s not so s u r e a b o u t the y o u n g o n e s , a n d h e felt troubled b e c a u s e R u d o l p h a n d Polly were having s u c h a hard start. Sitting b e s i d e his flowering window while the p a n e s rattled a n d the wind blew in u n d e r the door, Rosicky gave h i m s e l f to reflection a s h e h a d not d o n e s i n c e t h o s e S u n d a y s in the loft of the furniture factory in N e w York, long a g o . T h e n he w a s trying to find what h e w a n t e d in life for himself; now h e w a s trying to find what he w a n t e d for his boys, a n d why it w a s he s o h u n g e r e d to feel s u r e they would be h e r e , working this very land, after h e w a s g o n e . T h e y would have to work hard on the farm, a n d probably they would never do m u c h m o r e than m a k e a living. B u t if he c o u l d think of t h e m as staying here o n the land, h e wouldn't have to fear any great u n k i n d n e s s for t h e m . H a r d s h i p s , certainly; it w a s a h a r d s h i p to have the w h e a t freeze in the g r o u n d when s e e d w a s so high; a n d to have to sell your s t o c k b e c a u s e you h a d no feed. B u t there w o u l d be other years w h e n everything c a m e a l o n g right, a n d you c a u g h t u p . A n d what you h a d w a s your own. You didn't have to c h o o s e b e t w e e n b o s s e s a n d strikers, a n d go w r o n g either way. You didn't have to do with d i s h o n e s t a n d cruel p e o p l e . T h e y were the only things in his e x p e r i e n c e h e h a d f o u n d terrifying a n d horrible: the look in the eyes of a d i s h o n e s t a n d crafty m a n , of a s c h e m i n g a n d r a p a c i o u s w o m a n . In the country, if you h a d a m e a n n e i g h b o u r , you c o u l d k e e p off his land and m a k e him keep off yours. B u t in the city, all the f o u l n e s s a n d misery a n d brutality of your n e i g h b o u r s w a s part of your life. T h e worst things he had c o m e u p o n in his j o u r n e y through the world were h u m a n , — d e p r a v e d a n d p o i s o n o u s s p e c i m e n s of m a n . T o this day h e c o u l d recall certain terrible

1860

/

WILLA

CATHER

f a c e s in the L o n d o n streets. T h e r e were m e a n p e o p l e everywhere, to b e s u r e , even in their own c o u n t r y town h e r e . B u t they weren't t e m p e r e d , h a r d e n e d , s h a r p e n e d , like the t r e a c h e r o u s p e o p l e in cities w h o live by grinding or c h e a t ing or p o i s o n i n g their fellow-men. H e h a d h e l p e d to bury two of his felloww o r k m e n in the tailoring t r a d e , a n d h e w a s distrustful of the organized industries that s e e o n e o u t of the world in big cities. H e r e , if you were sick, you h a d D o c t o r E d to look after you; a n d if you d i e d , fat M r . H a y c o c k , the kindest m a n in the world, b u r i e d you. It s e e m e d to Rosicky that for g o o d , h o n e s t boys like his, the worst they c o u l d d o on the farm w a s better t h a n the b e s t they w o u l d b e likely to d o in the city. If he'd h a d a m e a n boy, now, o n e w h o w a s c r o o k e d a n d s h a r p a n d tried to put anything over on his b r o t h e r s , then town w o u l d be the p l a c e for h i m . B u t h e h a d n o s u c h boy. As for R u d o l p h , the d i s c o n t e n t e d o n e , h e w o u l d give the shirt off his b a c k to a n y o n e w h o t o u c h e d his heart. W h a t Rosicky really h o p e d for his boys w a s that they c o u l d get t h r o u g h the world without ever k n o w i n g m u c h a b o u t the cruelty of h u m a n b e i n g s . " T h e i r m o t h e r a n d m e ain't p r e p a r e d t h e m for t h a t , " h e s o m e t i m e s s a i d to himself. T h e s e t h o u g h t s b r o u g h t h i m b a c k to a grateful c o n s i d e r a t i o n of his own c a s e . W h a t a n e s c a p e h e h a d h a d , to b e s u r e ! H e , too, in his t i m e , h a d h a d to take m o n e y for repair work from the h a n d of a hungry child w h o let it go s o wistfully; b e c a u s e it w a s m o n e y d u e his b o s s . A n d now, in all t h e s e years, h e h a d never h a d to take a c e n t from a n y o n e in bitter n e e d — n e v e r h a d to look at the f a c e of a w o m a n b e c o m e like a wolf's from struggle a n d f a m i n e . W h e n he t h o u g h t of t h e s e things, Rosicky w o u l d p u t o n his c a p a n d j a c k e t a n d slip d o w n to the b a r n a n d give his work-horses a little extra o a t s , letting t h e m eat it o u t of his h a n d in their slobbery f a s h i o n . It w a s his way of expressing w h a t h e felt, a n d m a d e h i m c h u c k l e with p l e a s u r e . T h e spring c a m e w a r m , with b l u e s k i e s , — b u t dry, dry a s b o n e . T h e boys b e g a n p l o u g h i n g u p the wheat-fields to plant t h e m over in c o r n . Rosicky would s t a n d at the f e n c e c o r n e r a n d w a t c h t h e m , a n d the e a r t h w a s so dry it blew u p in c l o u d s of brown d u s t that hid the h o r s e s a n d the sulky p l o u g h a n d the driver. It w a s a b a d outlook. T h e big alfalfa-field that lay b e t w e e n the h o m e p l a c e a n d R u d o l p h ' s c a m e u p g r e e n , but Rosicky w a s worried b e c a u s e d u r i n g that o p e n windy winter a great m a n y R u s s i a n thistle p l a n t s h a d blown in there a n d l o d g e d . H e kept a s k i n g the boys to rake t h e m o u t ; he w a s afraid their s e e d w o u l d root a n d " t a k e the alfalfa." R u d o l p h said that w a s n o n s e n s e . T h e boys were working so hard p l a n t i n g c o r n , their father felt h e c o u l d n ' t insist a b o u t the thistles, b u t h e set great store by that big alfalfa-field. It w a s a feed you c o u l d d e p e n d o n , — a n d there w a s s o m e d e e p e r r e a s o n , v a g u e , b u t s t r o n g . T h e p e c u l i a r green of that clover w o k e early m e m o r i e s in old Rosicky, w e n t b a c k to s o m e thing in his c h i l d h o o d in the old world. W h e n h e w a s a little boy, h e h a d played in fields of that strong blue-green c o l o u r . O n e m o r n i n g , w h e n R u d o l p h h a d g o n e to town in the car, leaving a workt e a m idle in his b a r n , Rosicky went over to his son's p l a c e , p u t the h o r s e s to the buggy-rake, a n d set a b o u t quietly taking u p t h o s e thistles. H e b e h a v e d with guilty c a u t i o n , a n d rather enjoyed s t e a l i n g a m a r c h o n D o c t o r E d , w h o w a s j u s t then taking his first v a c a t i o n in seven years of p r a c t i c e a n d w a s a t t e n d i n g a clinic in C h i c a g o . Rosicky got the thistles raked u p , but did not s t o p to burn t h e m . T h a t would take s o m e t i m e , a n d his b r e a t h w a s pretty short, s o h e t h o u g h t h e h a d better get the h o r s e s b a c k to the b a r n .

NEIGHBOUR

ROSICKY

/

1861

H e got t h e m into the barn a n d to their stalls, b u t the p a i n h a d c o m e o n s o s h a r p in his c h e s t that h e didn't try to take the h a r n e s s off. H e started for the h o u s e , b e n d i n g lower with every s t e p . T h e c r a m p in his c h e s t w a s shutting him up like a j a c k - k n i f e . W h e n he r e a c h e d the windmill, h e swayed a n d c a u g h t at the ladder. H e s a w Polly c o m i n g d o w n the hill, r u n n i n g with the swiftness of a slim g r e y h o u n d . In a flash s h e h a d her s h o u l d e r u n d e r his armpit. " L e a n on m e , F a t h e r , hard! Don't be afraid. W e c a n get to the h o u s e all right." S o m e h o w they did, t h o u g h Rosicky b e c a m e blind with p a i n ; he c o u l d keep on his legs, but he couldn't steer his c o u r s e . T h e next thing h e w a s c o n s c i o u s of w a s lying on Polly's b e d , a n d Polly b e n d i n g over him wringing o u t b a t h towels in hot water a n d p u t t i n g t h e m on his c h e s t . S h e s t o p p e d only to throw coal into the stove, a n d s h e kept the tea-kettle a n d the b l a c k pot g o i n g . S h e put t h e s e hot a p p l i c a t i o n s o n him for nearly a n hour, s h e told him afterwards, a n d all that time he w a s drawn up stiff a n d b l u e , with the sweat p o u r i n g off him. As the pain gradually l o o s e d its grip, the stiffness went o u t of his j a w s , the black circles r o u n d his eyes d i s a p p e a r e d , a n d a little of his n a t u r a l c o l o u r c a m e b a c k . W h e n his daughter-in-law b u t t o n e d his shirt over his c h e s t at last, he sighed. " D a ' s fine, de way I feel now, Polly. It w a s a awful b a d spell, a n ' I w a s s o sorry it all c o m e on you like it d i d . " Polly w a s flushed a n d excited. "Is the p a i n really g o n e ? C a n I leave you long e n o u g h to t e l e p h o n e over to your p l a c e ? " Rosicky's eyelids fluttered. " D o n ' t t e l e p h o n e , Polly. It ain't n o u s e to s c a r e my wife. It's nice a n d q u i e t h e r e , a n ' if I ain't too m u c h trouble to y o u , j u s t let m e lay still till I feel like myself. I ain't got no p a i n now. It's nice h e r e . " Polly bent over him a n d wiped the m o i s t u r e from his f a c e . " O h , I'm so glad it's over!" s h e broke o u t impulsively. "It j u s t b r o k e my heart to s e e you suffer s o , F a t h e r . " Rosicky m o t i o n e d her to sit d o w n on the c h a i r w h e r e the tea-kettle h a d b e e n , a n d looked u p at her with that lively a f f e c t i o n a t e g l e a m in his eyes. "You w a s awful g o o d to m e , I won't never forgit dat. I h a t e it to b e sick o n you like dis. D o w n at de b a r n I say to myself, dat y o u n g girl ain't h a d m u c h experience in s i c k n e s s , I don't want to s c a r e her, a n ' m a y b e she's got a b a b y c o m i n ' or s o m e t ' i n g . " Polly took his h a n d . H e w a s looking at her s o intently a n d affectionately a n d confidingly; his eyes s e e m e d to c a r e s s her f a c e , to r e g a r d it with p l e a s u r e . S h e frowned with her funny streaks of e y e b r o w s , a n d then s m i l e d b a c k at him. "I g u e s s m a y b e there is s o m e t h i n g of that kind g o i n g to h a p p e n . B u t I haven't told a n y o n e yet, not my m o t h e r or R u d o l p h . You'll b e the first to know." H i s h a n d p r e s s e d h e r s . S h e n o t i c e d that it w a s w a r m a g a i n . T h e twinkle in his yellow-brown eyes s e e m e d to c o m e nearer. "I like mighty well to s e e dat little child, Polly," w a s all h e s a i d . T h e n h e c l o s e d his eyes a n d lay half-smiling. B u t Polly sat still, thinking hard. S h e h a d a s u d d e n feeling that n o b o d y in the world, not her m o t h e r , not R u d o l p h , or a n y o n e , really loved her a s m u c h a s old Rosicky did. It perplexed her. S h e s a t frowning a n d trying to puzzle it out. It w a s a s if Rosicky h a d a s p e c i a l gift

1862

/

WILLA

CATHER

for loving p e o p l e , s o m e t h i n g that w a s like a n e a r for m u s i c or a n eye for colour. It w a s quiet, u n o b t r u s i v e ; it w a s merely there. You s a w it in his e y e s , — p e r h a p s that w a s why they were merry. You felt it in his h a n d s , t o o . After h e d r o p p e d off to s l e e p , s h e sat h o l d i n g his w a r m , b r o a d , flexible brown h a n d . S h e h a d never s e e n a n o t h e r in the least like it. S h e w o n d e r e d if it wasn't a kind of gipsy h a n d , it w a s so alive a n d q u i c k a n d light in its c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , — v e r y s t r a n g e in a farmer. N e a r l y all the f a r m e r s s h e k n e w h a d h u g e l u m p s of fists, like m a u l s , or they were knotty a n d b o n y a n d u n c o m fortable-looking, with stiff fingers. B u t Rosicky's w a s like quicksilver, flexible, m u s c u l a r , a b o u t the c o l o u r of a p a l e cigar, with d e e p , d e e p c r e a s e s a c r o s s the p a l m . It wasn't n e r v o u s , it wasn't a s t u p i d l u m p ; it w a s a w a r m brown h u m a n h a n d , with s o m e c l e v e r n e s s in it, a great deal of generosity, a n d s o m e t h i n g else which Polly c o u l d only call " g y p s y - l i k e " — s o m e t h i n g n i m b l e a n d lively a n d s u r e , in the way that a n i m a l s a r e . Polly r e m e m b e r e d that h o u r long afterwards; it h a d b e e n like a n a w a k e n i n g to her. It s e e m e d to her that s h e h a d never learned s o m u c h a b o u t life from anything a s from old Rosicky's h a n d . It b r o u g h t her to herself; it c o m m u n i c a t e d s o m e direct a n d u n t r a n s l a t a b l e m e s s a g e . W h e n she h e a r d R u d o l p h c o m i n g in the car, s h e ran o u t to m e e t him. " O h , Rudy, your father's b e e n awful sick! H e raked up t h o s e thistles he's b e e n worrying a b o u t , a n d afterward h e c o u l d hardly get to the h o u s e . H e suffered s o I w a s afraid h e w a s g o i n g to d i e . " R u d o l p h j u m p e d to the g r o u n d . " W h e r e is h e n o w ? " " O n the b e d . H e ' s a s l e e p . I w a s terribly s c a r e d , b e c a u s e , you know, I'm so fond of your f a t h e r . " S h e slipped her a r m t h r o u g h his a n d they went into the h o u s e . T h a t afternoon they took Rosicky h o m e a n d put him to b e d , t h o u g h he p r o t e s t e d that h e w a s quite well a g a i n . T h e next m o r n i n g he got u p a n d d r e s s e d a n d sat down to b r e a k f a s t with his family. H e told M a r y that his coffee t a s t e d better t h a n u s u a l to him, a n d h e w a r n e d the boys not to b e a r any tales to D o c t o r E d w h e n h e got h o m e . After breakfast h e sat d o w n by his w i n d o w to d o s o m e p a t c h i n g a n d a s k e d M a r y to thread several n e e d l e s for him before s h e went to f e e d her chicke n s , — h e r eyes were better than his, a n d her h a n d s steadier. H e lit his p i p e a n d took u p J o h n ' s overalls. M a r y h a d b e e n w a t c h i n g him anxiously all morning, a n d a s s h e went o u t of the door with her b u c k e t of s c r a p s , s h e s a w that he w a s smiling. H e w a s thinking, i n d e e d , a b o u t Polly, a n d how he might never have known w h a t a t e n d e r heart s h e h a d if he hadn't got sick over there. Girls n o w a d a y s didn't w e a r their heart o n their sleeve. B u t now h e knew Polly would m a k e a fine w o m a n after the f o o l i s h n e s s w o r e off. E i t h e r a w o m a n h a d that s w e e t n e s s at her heart or s h e hadn't. You couldn't always tell by the look of t h e m ; but if they h a d that, everything c a m e out right in the e n d . After h e h a d t a k e n a few s t i t c h e s , the c r a m p b e g a n in his c h e s t , like yesterday. H e p u t his p i p e c a u t i o u s l y d o w n o n the window-sill a n d b e n t over to e a s e the pull. N o u s e , — h e h a d better try to get to his b e d if h e c o u l d . H e rose a n d g r o p e d his way a c r o s s the familiar floor, which w a s rising a n d falling like the d e c k of a ship. At the d o o r h e fell. W h e n Mary c a m e in, s h e f o u n d h i m lying there, a n d the m o m e n t s h e t o u c h e d h i m s h e k n e w t h a t h e w a s gone.

THE SCULPTOR'S

FUNERAL

/

1863

D o c t o r E d w a s away w h e n Rosicky died, a n d for the first few w e e k s after h e got h o m e h e w a s harddriven. Every day he said to h i m s e l f that he m u s t get o u t to see that family that h a d lost their father. O n e soft, w a r m m o o n l i g h t night in early s u m m e r he started for the farm. His m i n d w a s on o t h e r things, a n d not until his r o a d ran by the graveyard did h e realize that Rosicky wasn't over there o n the hill where the red lamplight s h o n e , but h e r e , in the m o o n light. H e s t o p p e d his car, s h u t off the e n g i n e , a n d sat t h e r e for a while. A s u d d e n h u s h h a d fallen on his soul. Everything h e r e s e e m e d strangely moving a n d significant, t h o u g h signifying what, h e did not know. C l o s e by the wire f e n c e s t o o d Rosicky's m o w i n g - m a c h i n e , w h e r e o n e of the boys h a d b e e n c u t t i n g hay that a f t e r n o o n ; his own work-horses h a d b e e n g o i n g u p a n d down t h e r e . T h e new-cut hay p e r f u m e d all the night air. T h e m o o n l i g h t silvered the long, billowy g r a s s that grew over the graves a n d hid the f e n c e ; the few little evergreens s t o o d o u t b l a c k in it, like s h a d o w s in a pool. T h e sky w a s very b l u e a n d soft, the stars rather faint b e c a u s e the m o o n w a s full. F o r the first time it s t r u c k D o c t o r E d that this w a s really a beautiful graveyard. H e t h o u g h t of city c e m e t e r i e s ; a c r e s of s h r u b b e r y a n d heavy s t o n e , so a r r a n g e d a n d lonely a n d unlike anything in the living world. C i t i e s of the d e a d , i n d e e d ; cities of the forgotten, of the " p u t away." B u t this w a s o p e n a n d free, this little s q u a r e of long g r a s s which the wind for ever stirred. N o t h i n g but the sky o v e r h e a d , a n d the m a n y - c o l o u r e d fields r u n n i n g on until they m e t that sky. T h e h o r s e s worked here in s u m m e r ; the n e i g h b o u r s p a s s e d on their way to town; a n d over yonder, in the cornfield, Rosicky's own cattle would be e a t i n g fodder a s winter c a m e o n . N o t h i n g c o u l d be m o r e u n d e a t h like than this p l a c e ; n o t h i n g c o u l d be m o r e right for a m a n w h o h a d h e l p e d to do the work of great cities a n d h a d always longed for the o p e n country a n d h a d got to it at last. Rosicky's life s e e m e d to him c o m p l e t e a n d beautiful. 1928,1932

The Sculptor's Funeral A g r o u p of the t o w n s p e o p l e s t o o d on the station siding of a little K a n s a s town, awaiting the c o m i n g of the night train, which w a s already twenty m i n u t e s o v e r d u e . T h e s n o w h a d fallen thick over everything; in the p a l e starlight the line of bluffs a c r o s s the wide, white m e a d o w s s o u t h of the town m a d e soft, s m o k e - c o l o u r e d c u r v e s a g a i n s t the clear sky. T h e m e n on the siding s t o o d first o n o n e foot a n d then on the other, their h a n d s thrust d e e p into their t r o u s e r s p o c k e t s , their o v e r c o a t s o p e n , their s h o u l d e r s s c r e w e d u p with the cold; a n d they g l a n c e d from time to time toward the s o u t h e a s t , where the railroad track w o u n d a l o n g the river s h o r e . T h e y c o n v e r s e d in low tones a n d m o v e d a b o u t restlessly, s e e m i n g u n c e r t a i n a s to what w a s e x p e c t e d of t h e m . T h e r e w a s b u t o n e of the c o m p a n y w h o looked a s if he knew exactly why he w a s there, a n d he kept c o n s p i c u o u s l y apart; walking to the far e n d of the platform, r e t u r n i n g to the station door, then p a c i n g u p the track a g a i n , his chin s u n k in the high collar of his overcoat, his burly s h o u l d e r s d r o p p i n g forward, his gait heavy a n d d o g g e d . Presently he w a s a p p r o a c h e d by a tall,

1864

/

WILLA

CATHER

s p a r e , grizzled m a n c l a d in a faded G r a n d Army' suit, w h o shuffled o u t from the g r o u p a n d a d v a n c e d with a certain d e f e r e n c e , c r a n i n g his n e c k forward until his b a c k m a d e the a n g l e of a jack-knife three-quarters o p e n . "I reckon she's a-goin' to b e pretty late agin tonight, J i m , " he r e m a r k e d in a s q u e a k y falsetto. " S ' p o s e it's the s n o w ? " "I don't k n o w , " r e s p o n d e d the other m a n with a s h a d e of a n n o y a n c e , s p e a k i n g from out a n a s t o n i s h i n g c a t a r a c t of red b e a r d that grew fiercely a n d thickly in all d i r e c t i o n s . T h e s p a r e m a n shifted the quill t o o t h p i c k h e w a s c h e w i n g to the other side of his m o u t h . "It ain't likely that a n y b o d y from the E a s t will c o m e with the c o r p s e , I s ' p o s e , " he went on reflectively. "I don't k n o w , " r e s p o n d e d the other, m o r e curtly t h a n b e f o r e . "It's too b a d h e didn't b e l o n g to s o m e l o d g e or other. I like a n order f u n e r a l 2 myself. T h e y s e e m m o r e a p p r o p r i a t e for p e o p l e of s o m e r e p y t a t i o n , " the s p a r e m a n c o n t i n u e d , with a n ingratiating c o n c e s s i o n in his shrill v o i c e , a s h e carefully p l a c e d his toothpick in his vest p o c k e t . H e always c a r r i e d the flag at the G . A. R. funerals in the town. T h e heavy m a n turned on his heel, without replying, a n d walked u p the siding. T h e s p a r e m a n rejoined the u n e a s y g r o u p . " J i m ' s ez full ez a tick, ez ushel," he commented commiseratingly. J u s t then a d i s t a n t whistle s o u n d e d , a n d there w a s a shuffling of feet o n the platform. A n u m b e r of lanky boys, of all a g e s , a p p e a r e d a s s u d d e n l y a n d slimily a s eels w a k e n e d by the c r a c k of t h u n d e r ; s o m e c a m e from the waitingr o o m , w h e r e they h a d b e e n w a r m i n g t h e m s e l v e s by the red stove, or half a s l e e p on the slat b e n c h e s ; o t h e r s u n c o i l e d t h e m s e l v e s from b a g g a g e trucks or slid out of express w a g o n s . T w o c l a m b e r e d d o w n from the driver's seat of a h e a r s e that s t o o d b a c k e d u p a g a i n s t the siding. T h e y s t r a i g h t e n e d their s t o o p i n g s h o u l d e r s a n d lifted their h e a d s , a n d a flash of m o m e n t a r y a n i m a tion kindled their dull eyes at that cold, vibrant s c r e a m , the worldwide call for m e n . It stirred t h e m like the note of a t r u m p e t ; j u s t as it h a d often stirred the m a n w h o w a s c o m i n g h o m e tonight, in his b o y h o o d . T h e night express s h o t , red a s a rocket, from out the e a s t w a r d m a r s h l a n d s a n d w o u n d a l o n g the river s h o r e u n d e r the l o n g lines of shivering p o p l a r s that sentinelled the m e a d o w s , the e s c a p i n g s t e a m h a n g i n g in grey m a s s e s a g a i n s t the p a l e sky a n d blotting out the Milky W a y . In a m o m e n t the red glare from the headlight s t r e a m e d u p the s n o w - c o v e r e d track before the siding a n d glittered o n the wet, b l a c k rails. T h e burly m a n with the dishevelled red b e a r d walked swiftly u p the platform toward the a p p r o a c h i n g train, u n c o v e r i n g his h e a d a s h e went. T h e g r o u p of m e n b e h i n d him h e s i t a t e d , g l a n c e d questioningly at o n e a n o t h e r , a n d awkwardly followed his e x a m p l e . T h e train s t o p p e d , a n d the crowd shuffled u p to the e x p r e s s c a r j u s t a s the door w a s thrown o p e n , the m a n in the G . A. R. suit t h r u s t i n g his h e a d forward with curiosity. T h e e x p r e s s m e s s e n g e r a p p e a r e d in the doorway, a c c o m p a n i e d by a y o u n g m a n in a long ulster a n d travelling c a p . "Are M r . Merrick's friends h e r e ? " i n q u i r e d the y o u n g m a n . T h e g r o u p on the platform swayed uneasily. Philip P h e l p s , the b a n k e r , 1. I.e., Grand Army of the Republic (G.A.R.), or the Union Army, which fought for the North in the Civil War. This story, originally published in 1905, is set in present time, when Civil War veterans

would have been in their sixties. 2. Lodges ("orders")—e.g., the M a s o n s and Elks— used a portion of club dues to cover members' funeral expenses.

THE

SCULPTOR'S FUNERAL

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1865

r e s p o n d e d with dignity: " W e have c o m e to take c h a r g e of the body. M r . Merrick's father is very feeble a n d can't be a b o u t . " " S e n d the a g e n t o u t h e r e , " growled the e x p r e s s m e s s e n g e r , " a n d tell the o p e r a t o r to lend a h a n d . " T h e coffin w a s got out of its rough-box a n d d o w n o n the snowy p l a t f o r m . T h e t o w n s p e o p l e drew b a c k e n o u g h to m a k e r o o m for it a n d then f o r m e d a c l o s e s e m i c i r c l e a b o u t it, looking curiously at the p a l m leaf w h i c h lay a c r o s s the b l a c k cover. N o o n e said anything. T h e b a g g a g e m a n s t o o d by his truck, waiting to get at the trunks. T h e e n g i n e p a n t e d heavily, a n d the fireman d o d g e d in a n d o u t a m o n g the wheels with his yellow torch a n d long oil-can, s n a p p i n g the spindle boxes. T h e y o u n g B o s t o n i a n , o n e of the d e a d s c u l p t o r ' s pupils w h o h a d c o m e with the body, looked a b o u t him helplessly. H e t u r n e d to the banker, the only o n e of that black, u n e a s y , s t o o p - s h o u l d e r e d g r o u p w h o s e e m e d e n o u g h of an individual to be a d d r e s s e d . " N o n e of M r . Merrick's brothers a r e h e r e ? " h e a s k e d uncertainly. T h e m a n with the red b e a r d for the first time s t e p p e d u p a n d j o i n e d the o t h e r s . " N o , they have not c o m e yet; the family is s c a t t e r e d . T h e body will b e taken directly to the h o u s e . " H e s t o o p e d a n d took hold of o n e of the h a n d l e s of the coffin. " T a k e the long hill r o a d u p , T h o m p s o n , it will be e a s i e r on the h o r s e s , " called the liveryman-' a s the u n d e r t a k e r s n a p p e d the d o o r of the h e a r s e a n d p r e p a r e d to m o u n t to the driver's seat. L a i r d , the r e d - b e a r d e d lawyer, t u r n e d again to the stranger: " W e didn't know w h e t h e r there would b e any o n e with him or n o t , " he explained. "It's a long walk, so you'd better go u p in the h a c k . " H e p o i n t e d to a single b a t t e r e d c o n v e y a n c e , but the y o u n g m a n replied stiffly: " T h a n k you, but I think I will g o up with the h e a r s e . If you don't o b j e c t , " turning to the u n d e r t a k e r , "I'll ride with y o u . " T h e y c l a m b e r e d u p over the wheels a n d drove off in the starlight u p the long, white hill toward the town. T h e l a m p s in the still village were s h i n i n g from u n d e r the low, s n o w - b u r d e n e d roofs; a n d b e y o n d , on every s i d e , the plains r e a c h e d out into e m p t i n e s s , p e a c e f u l a n d wide a s the soft sky itself, a n d w r a p p e d in a tangible, white s i l e n c e . W h e n the h e a r s e b a c k e d u p to a w o o d e n sidewalk before a n a k e d , weatherb e a t e n f r a m e h o u s e , the s a m e c o m p o s i t e , ill-defined g r o u p that h a d s t o o d u p o n the station siding w a s h u d d l e d a b o u t the g a t e . T h e front yard w a s a n icy s w a m p , a n d a c o u p l e of w a r p e d p l a n k s , e x t e n d i n g from the sidewalk to the door, m a d e a sort of rickety foot-bridge. T h e g a t e h u n g on o n e h i n g e , a n d w a s o p e n e d wide with difficulty. S t e a v e n s , the y o u n g stranger, n o t i c e d that s o m e t h i n g b l a c k w a s tied to the k n o b of the front door. T h e grating s o u n d m a d e by the c a s k e t , a s it w a s d r a w n from the h e a r s e , was a n s w e r e d by a s c r e a m from the h o u s e ; the front d o o r w a s w r e n c h e d o p e n , a n d a tall, c o r p u l e n t w o m a n r u s h e d o u t b a r e h e a d e d into the s n o w a n d flung herself u p o n the coffin, shrieking: " M y boy, my boy! A n d this is h o w you've c o m e h o m e to m e ! " As S t e a v e n s turned away a n d c l o s e d his eyes with a s h u d d e r of u n u t t e r a b l e r e p u l s i o n , a n o t h e r w o m a n , a l s o tall, b u t flat a n d a n g u l a r , d r e s s e d entirely in black, d a r t e d o u t of the h o u s e a n d c a u g h t M r s . M e r r i c k by the s h o u l d e r s , 3. Keeper of a vehicle-rental service.

1866

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WILLA

CATHER

crying sharply: " C o m e , c o m e , m o t h e r ; you m u s t n ' t g o on like t h i s ! " H e r t o n e c h a n g e d to o n e of o b s e q u i o u s solemnity a s s h e t u r n e d to the b a n k e r : " T h e parlour is ready, M r . P h e l p s . " T h e bearers carried the coffin a l o n g the narrow b o a r d s , while the undertaker r a n a h e a d with the coffin-rests. T h e y bore it into a large, u n h e a t e d r o o m that s m e l l e d of d a m p n e s s a n d d i s u s e a n d furniture p o l i s h , a n d set it down u n d e r a h a n g i n g l a m p o r n a m e n t e d with jingling g l a s s p r i s m s a n d b e f o r e a " R o g e r s g r o u p " of J o h n Alden a n d Priscilla,"' w r e a t h e d with smilax. H e n r y S t e a v e n s stared a b o u t him with the s i c k e n i n g conviction that there h a d b e e n a m i s t a k e , a n d that he h a d s o m e h o w arrived at the w r o n g d e s t i n a t i o n . H e looked at the clover-green B r u s s e l s , 5 the fat p l u s h upholstery, a m o n g the h a n d - p a i n t e d c h i n a p l a c q u e s a n d p a n e l s a n d v a s e s , for s o m e m a r k of identification,—for s o m e t h i n g that might o n c e conceivably have b e l o n g e d to Harvey M e r r i c k . It w a s not until h e recognized his friend in the crayon portrait of a little boy in kilts a n d c u r l s , h a n g i n g a b o v e the p i a n o , that h e felt willing to let any of t h e s e p e o p l e a p p r o a c h the coffin. " T a k e the lid off, M r . T h o m p s o n ; let m e s e e my boy's f a c e , " wailed the elder w o m a n b e t w e e n her s o b s . T h i s time S t e a v e n s looked fearfully, a l m o s t b e s e e c h i n g l y into her f a c e , red a n d swollen u n d e r its m a s s e s of strong, black, shiny hair. H e flushed, d r o p p e d his eyes, a n d t h e n , a l m o s t i n c r e d u l o u s l y , looked a g a i n . T h e r e w a s a kind of power a b o u t her f a c e — a kind of brutal h a n d s o m e n e s s , even; but it w a s s c a r r e d a n d furrowed by violence, a n d so c o l o u r e d a n d c o a r s e n e d by fiercer p a s s i o n s that grief s e e m e d never to have laid a gentle finger there. T h e long n o s e w a s d i s t e n d e d a n d k n o b b e d at the e n d , a n d there were d e e p lines on either side of it; her heavy, b l a c k brows a l m o s t met a c r o s s her f o r e h e a d , her teeth were large a n d s q u a r e , a n d set far a p a r t — t e e t h that c o u l d tear. S h e filled the r o o m ; the m e n were obliterated, s e e m e d t o s s e d a b o u t like twigs in an angry water, a n d even S t e a v e n s felt himself b e i n g d r a w n into the whirlpool. T h e d a u g h t e r — t h e tall, r a w - b o n e d w o m a n in c r e p e , with a m o u r n i n g c o m b in her hair which curiously l e n g t h e n e d her long f a c e — s a t stiffly u p o n the sofa, her h a n d s , c o n s p i c u o u s for their large k n u c k l e s , folded in her lap, her m o u t h a n d eyes d r a w n d o w n , solemnly awaiting the o p e n i n g of the coffin. N e a r the d o o r s t o o d a m u l a t t o w o m a n , evidently a servant in the h o u s e , with a timid b e a r i n g a n d an e m a c i a t e d f a c e pitifully s a d a n d g e n t l e . S h e w a s w e e p i n g silently, the c o r n e r of her c a l i c o a p r o n lifted to her eyes, occasionally s u p p r e s s i n g a long, quivering s o b . S t e a v e n s walked over a n d s t o o d b e s i d e her. F e e b l e s t e p s were h e a r d on the stairs, a n d a n old m a n , tall a n d frail, odoro u s of p i p e s m o k e , with shaggy, u n k e p t grey hair a n d a dingy b e a r d , t o b a c c o stained a b o u t the m o u t h , e n t e r e d uncertainly. H e went slowly u p to the coffin a n d s t o o d rolling a b l u e cotton h a n d k e r c h i e f b e t w e e n his h a n d s , s e e m ing so p a i n e d a n d e m b a r r a s s e d by his wife's orgy of grief that he h a d no c o n s c i o u s n e s s of anything e l s e . 4. New England Puritan couple celebrated in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's immensely popular poem "The Courtship of Miles Standish" ( 1 8 5 8 ) . " ' R o g e r s group' ": small group compositions by John Rogers ( 1 8 2 9 - 1 9 0 4 ) , popular American sculptor who patented his pieces, had them mass-produced, and sold them by mail. T h e pieces

represented fine art to their purchasers, but critics often dismissed them as overly sentimental. 5. Inexpensive factorv-made carpet of a type developed in Brussels. Belgium, composed of colored wool strands looped through a linen foundation.

THE SCULPTOR'S FUNERAL

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1867

" T h e r e , there, A n n i e , d e a r , don't take on s o , " he q u a v e r e d timidly, p u t t i n g out a s h a k i n g h a n d a n d awkwardly patting her elbow. S h e t u r n e d a n d s a n k u p o n his s h o u l d e r with s u c h violence that he tottered a little. H e did not even g l a n c e toward the coffin, but c o n t i n u e d to look at her with a dull, frightened, a p p e a l i n g expression, a s a spaniel looks at the whip. H i s s u n k e n c h e e k s slowly r e d d e n e d a n d b u r n e d with m i s e r a b l e s h a m e . W h e n his wife r u s h e d from the r o o m , her d a u g h t e r strode after her with set lips. T h e servant stole u p to the coffin, b e n t over it for a m o m e n t , a n d then s l i p p e d away to the kitchen, leaving S t e a v e n s , the lawyer, a n d the father to t h e m s e l v e s . T h e old m a n s t o o d looking down at his d e a d son's f a c e . T h e sculptor's s p l e n d i d h e a d s e e m e d even m o r e noble in its rigid stillness than in life. T h e dark hair h a d crept down u p o n the wide f o r e h e a d ; the f a c e s e e m e d strangely long, but in it there w a s not that r e p o s e we expect to find in the f a c e s of the d e a d . T h e brows were s o drawn that there were two d e e p lines a b o v e the b e a k e d n o s e , a n d the chin w a s thrust forward defiantly. It w a s a s t h o u g h the strain of life h a d b e e n so s h a r p a n d bitter that d e a t h c o u l d not at o n c e relax the tension a n d s m o o t h the c o u n t e n a n c e into perfect p e a c e — a s t h o u g h he were still g u a r d i n g s o m e t h i n g p r e c i o u s , which might even yet be w r e s t e d from him. T h e old m a n ' s lips were working u n d e r his stained b e a r d . H e t u r n e d to the lawyer with timid d e f e r e n c e : " P h e l p s a n d the rest a r e c o m i n ' b a c k to set u p with H a r v e , ain't t h e y ? " h e a s k e d . " T h a n k 'ee, J i m , t h a n k e e . " H e b r u s h e d the hair b a c k gently from his son's f o r e h e a d . " H e w a s a g o o d boy, J i m ; always a g o o d boy. H e w a s ez gentle ez a child a n d the kindest of 'em a l l — o n l y we didn't n o n e of u s ever o n d e r s t a n d h i m . " T h e tears trickled slowly down his beard a n d d r o p p e d u p o n the sculptor's c o a t . " M a r t i n , M a r t i n ! O h , Martin! c o m e h e r e , " his wife wailed from the top of the stairs. T h e old m a n started timorously: "Yes, A n n i e , I'm c o m i n g . " H e turned away, h e s i t a t e d , s t o o d for a m o m e n t in m i s e r a b l e i n d e c i s i o n ; then r e a c h e d b a c k a n d p a t t e d the d e a d m a n ' s hair softly, a n d s t u m b l e d from the room. " P o o r old m a n , I didn't think he h a d any tears left. S e e m s a s if his eyes would have g o n e dry long a g o . At his a g e n o t h i n g c u t s very d e e p , " r e m a r k e d the lawyer. S o m e t h i n g in his tone m a d e S t e a v e n s g l a n c e u p . W h i l e the m o t h e r h a d b e e n in the r o o m , the y o u n g m a n had scarcely s e e n any o n e e l s e ; but now, from the m o m e n t he first g l a n c e d into J i m Laird's florid f a c e a n d blood-shot eyes, h e knew that he h a d f o u n d what he h a d b e e n h e a r t s i c k at not finding b e f o r e — t h e feeling, the u n d e r s t a n d i n g , that m u s t exist in s o m e o n e , even here. T h e m a n w a s red a s his b e a r d , with f e a t u r e s swollen a n d blurred by dissipation, a n d a hot, blazing blue eye. His f a c e w a s s t r a i n e d — t h a t of a m a n w h o is controlling h i m s e l f with difficulty—and he kept p l u c k i n g at his b e a r d with a sort of fierce r e s e n t m e n t . S t e a v e n s , sitting by the window, w a t c h e d him turn down the glaring l a m p , still its j a n g l i n g p e n d a n t s with a n angry g e s t u r e , a n d then s t a n d with his h a n d s locked b e h i n d him, s t a r i n g d o w n into the m a s t e r ' s f a c e . H e c o u l d not help w o n d e r i n g what link there h a d b e e n between the porcelain vessel a n d so sooty a l u m p of potter's clay. F r o m the kitchen an u p r o a r w a s s o u n d i n g ; w h e n the dining-room d o o r o p e n e d , the import of it w a s clear. T h e m o t h e r w a s a b u s i n g the m a i d for having forgotten to m a k e the d r e s s i n g for the c h i c k e n s a l a d which h a d b e e n

1868

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WILLA

CATHER

p r e p a r e d for the w a t c h e r s . S t e a v e n s h a d never h e a r d anything in the least like it; it w a s injured, e m o t i o n a l , d r a m a t i c a b u s e , u n i q u e a n d masterly in its e x c r u c i a t i n g cruelty, a s violent a n d u n r e s t r a i n e d a s h a d b e e n her grief of twenty m i n u t e s b e f o r e . W i t h a s h u d d e r of disgust the lawyer went into the dining-room a n d c l o s e d the d o o r into the kitchen. " P o o r Roxy's getting it n o w , " he r e m a r k e d w h e n h e c a m e b a c k . " T h e M e r ricks took her o u t of the p o o r - h o u s e years a g o ; a n d if her loyalty w o u l d let her, I g u e s s the p o o r old thing c o u l d tell tales that w o u l d c u r d l e your b l o o d . S h e ' s the m u l a t t o w o m a n w h o w a s s t a n d i n g in h e r e a while a g o , with her a p r o n to her eyes. T h e old w o m a n is a fury; there never w a s a n y b o d y like her. S h e m a d e Harvey's life a hell for him w h e n h e lived at h o m e ; h e w a s s o sick a s h a m e d of it. I never c o u l d s e e h o w h e kept h i m s e l f s w e e t . " " H e w a s w o n d e r f u l , " said S t e a v e n s slowly, "wonderful; b u t until tonight I have never known how w o n d e r f u l . " " T h a t is the eternal w o n d e r of it, anyway; that it c a n c o m e even f r o m s u c h a d u n g h e a p a s t h i s , " the lawyer cried, with a s w e e p i n g g e s t u r e w h i c h s e e m e d to i n d i c a t e m u c h m o r e than the four walls within which they s t o o d . "I think I'll s e e w h e t h e r I c a n get a little air. T h e r o o m is s o c l o s e I a m b e g i n n i n g to feel rather faint," m u r m u r e d S t e a v e n s , struggling with o n e of the w i n d o w s . T h e s a s h w a s s t u c k , however, a n d would not yield, s o h e sat d o w n dejectedly a n d b e g a n p u l l i n g at his collar. T h e lawyer c a m e over, loose n e d the s a s h with o n e blow of his red fist a n d s e n t the w i n d o w u p a few i n c h e s . S t e a v e n s t h a n k e d h i m , b u t the n a u s e a w h i c h h a d b e e n gradually c l i m b i n g into his throat for the last half h o u r left him with but o n e d e s i r e — a d e s p e r a t e feeling that he m u s t get away from this p l a c e with what w a s left of Harvey M e r r i c k . O h , h e c o m p r e h e n d e d well e n o u g h now the quiet bitt e r n e s s of the s m i l e that h e h a d s e e n s o often on his m a s t e r ' s lips! O n c e w h e n M e r r i c k r e t u r n e d from a visit h o m e , he b r o u g h t with him a singularly feeling a n d suggestive bas-relief of a thin, f a d e d old w o m a n , sitting a n d s e w i n g s o m e t h i n g p i n n e d to her k n e e ; while a full-lipped, full-blooded little u r c h i n , his t r o u s e r s held u p by a single g a l l o w s , 6 s t o o d b e s i d e her, impatiently twitching her gown to call her a t t e n t i o n to a butterfly h e h a d c a u g h t . S t e a v e n s , i m p r e s s e d by the t e n d e r a n d d e l i c a t e m o d e l l i n g of the thin, tired f a c e , h a d a s k e d him if it were his m o t h e r . H e r e m e m b e r e d the dull flush that h a d b u r n e d u p in the sculptor's f a c e . T h e lawyer w a s sitting in a rocking-chair b e s i d e the coffin, his h e a d thrown b a c k a n d his eyes c l o s e d . S t e a v e n s looked at him earnestly, puzzled at the line of the c h i n , a n d w o n d e r i n g why a m a n s h o u l d c o n c e a l a feature of s u c h distinction u n d e r that disfiguring s h o c k of b e a r d . S u d d e n l y , a s t h o u g h h e felt the y o u n g sculptor's keen g l a n c e , J i m L a i r d o p e n e d his e y e s . " W a s he always a g o o d deal of a n o y s t e r ? " 7 h e a s k e d abruptly. " H e w a s terribly shy a s a b o y . " "Yes, h e w a s a n oyster, s i n c e you p u t it s o , " rejoined S t e a v e n s . " A l t h o u g h h e c o u l d be very fond of p e o p l e , h e always gave o n e the i m p r e s s i o n of b e i n g d e t a c h e d . H e disliked violent e m o t i o n ; h e w a s reflective, a n d rather distrustful of h i m s e l f — e x c e p t , of c o u r s e , a s r e g a r d e d his work. H e w a s s u r e e n o u g h there. H e d i s t r u s t e d m e n pretty thoroughly a n d w o m e n even m o r e , yet s o m e how without believing ill of t h e m . H e w a s d e t e r m i n e d , i n d e e d , to believe the b e s t ; but he s e e m e d afraid to i n v e s t i g a t e . " 6. Suspender.

7. A self-contained person (slang).

THE SCULPTOR'S FUNERAL

/

1869

"A burnt d o g d r e a d s the fire," said the lawyer grimly, a n d c l o s e d his eyes. S t e a v e n s went on a n d o n , r e c o n s t r u c t i n g that w h o l e m i s e r a b l e b o y h o o d . All this raw, biting u g l i n e s s h a d b e e n the portion of the m a n w h o s e m i n d w a s to b e c o m e a n e x h a u s t l e s s gallery of beautiful i m p r e s s i o n s — s o sensitive that the m e r e s h a d o w of a p o p l a r leaf flickering a g a i n s t a s u n n y wall w o u l d be e t c h e d a n d held there for ever. Surely, if ever a m a n h a d the m a g i c word in his finger tips, it w a s M e r r i c k . W h a t e v e r h e t o u c h e d , h e revealed its holiest s e c r e t ; liberated it from e n c h a n t m e n t a n d restored it to its pristine loveliness. U p o n whatever h e h a d c o m e in c o n t a c t with, h e h a d left a beautiful record of the e x p e r i e n c e — a sort of ethereal s i g n a t u r e ; a s c e n t , a s o u n d , a c o l o u r that w a s his own. S t e a v e n s u n d e r s t o o d now the real tragedy of his m a s t e r ' s life; neither love nor w i n e , a s m a n y h a d c o n j e c t u r e d ; but a blow which h a d fallen earlier a n d c u t d e e p e r than anything else c o u l d have d o n e — a s h a m e not his, a n d yet s o u n e s c a p a b l y his, to hide in his heart from his very b o y h o o d . A n d w i t h o u t — the frontier w a r f a r e ; the y e a r n i n g of a boy, c a s t a s h o r e u p o n a d e s e r t of n e w n e s s a n d u g l i n e s s a n d s o r d i d n e s s , for all that is c h a s t e n e d a n d old, a n d noble with traditions. At eleven o'clock the tall, flat w o m a n in black a n n o u n c e d that the w a t c h e r s were arriving, a n d a s k e d t h e m to " s t e p into the d i n i n g - r o o m . " As S t e a v e n s r o s e , the lawyer said dryly; "You go on—it'll be a g o o d e x p e r i e n c e for you. I'm not e q u a l to that crowd tonight; I've h a d twenty years of t h e m . " A s S t e a v e n s c l o s e d the door after him he g l a n c e d b a c k at the lawyer, sitting by the coffin in the d i m light, with his chin resting on his h a n d . T h e s a m e misty g r o u p that h a d stood before the d o o r of the e x p r e s s c a r shuffled into the dining-room. In the light of the k e r o s e n e l a m p they s e p a rated a n d b e c a m e individuals. T h e minister, a p a l e , feeble-looking m a n with white hair a n d b l o n d chin-whiskers, took his seat b e s i d e a s m a l l side table a n d p l a c e d his Bible u p o n it. T h e G r a n d Army m a n sat d o w n b e h i n d the stove a n d tilted his chair b a c k comfortably a g a i n s t the wall, fishing his quill toothpick from his w a i s t c o a t p o c k e t . T h e two b a n k e r s , P h e l p s a n d E l d e r , sat off in a c o r n e r b e h i n d the dinner-table, w h e r e they c o u l d finish their disc u s s i o n of the n e w u s u r y law a n d its effect on chattel security l o a n s . T h e real e s t a t e agent, an old m a n with a smiling, hypocritical f a c e , s o o n j o i n e d t h e m . T h e coal a n d l u m b e r d e a l e r a n d the cattle s h i p p e r sat on o p p o s i t e sides of the hard coal-burner, their feet on the nickel-work. S t e a v e n s t o o k a b o o k from his p o c k e t a n d b e g a n to read. T h e talk a r o u n d h i m r a n g e d t h r o u g h various topics of local interest while the h o u s e w a s q u i e t i n g d o w n . W h e n it w a s clear that the m e m b e r s of the family were in b e d , the G r a n d Army m a n hitched his s h o u l d e r s a n d , u n t a n g l i n g his long legs, c a u g h t his heels o n the r o u n d s of his chair. " S ' p o s e there'll be a will, P h e l p s ? " h e q u e r i e d in his w e a k falsetto. T h e b a n k e r l a u g h e d disagreeably, a n d b e g a n t r i m m i n g his nails with a pearl-handled pocket-knife. "There'll scarcely be any n e e d for o n e , will t h e r e ? " h e q u e r i e d in his turn. T h e restless G r a n d Army m a n shifted his position a g a i n , getting his k n e e s still nearer his chin. "Why, the ole m a n says Harve's d o n e right well lately," he chirped. T h e other b a n k e r s p o k e u p . "I reckon he m e a n s by that H a r v e ain't a s k e d him to m o r t g a g e any m o r e f a r m s lately, s o a s he c o u l d go on with his e d u cation."

1870

/

WILLA

CATHER

" S e e m s like my m i n d don't r e a c h b a c k to a time w h e n H a r v e wasn't bein' e d y c a t e d , " tittered the G r a n d Army m a n . T h e r e w a s a general c h u c k l e . T h e minister took out his h a n d k e r c h i e f a n d blew his n o s e sonorously. B a n k e r P h e l p s c l o s e d his knife with a s n a p . "It's too b a d the old m a n ' s s o n s didn't turn o u t b e t t e r , " he r e m a r k e d with reflective authority. " T h e y never h u n g together. H e s p e n t m o n e y e n o u g h o n H a r v e to s t o c k a dozen c a t t l e - f a r m s , a n d he might a s well have p o u r e d it into S a n d C r e e k . If H a r v e h a d stayed at h o m e a n d h e l p e d n u r s e w h a t little they h a d , a n d g o n e into s t o c k on the old m a n ' s b o t t o m farm, they might all have b e e n well fixed. B u t the old m a n h a d to trust everything to t e n a n t s a n d w a s c h e a t e d right a n d left." " H a r v e never c o u l d have h a n d l e d s t o c k n o n e , " i n t e r p o s e d the c a t t l e m a n . " H e hadn't it in him to b e s h a r p . D o you r e m e m b e r w h e n he b o u g h t S a n d e r ' s m u l e s for eight-year olds, when everybody in town k n e w that S a n d e r ' s fatherin-law give 'em to his wife for a w e d d i n g p r e s e n t e i g h t e e n years b e f o r e , a n ' they w a s full-grown m u l e s t h e n ? " T h e c o m p a n y l a u g h e d discreetly, a n d the G r a n d Army m a n r u b b e d his k n e e s with a s p a s m of childish delight. " H a r v e never w a s m u c h a c c o u n t for anything practical, a n d he s h o r e w a s never fond of work," b e g a n the coal a n d l u m b e r dealer. "I m i n d the last time h e w a s h o m e ; the day he left, w h e n the old m a n w a s o u t to the b a r n helpin' his h a n d hitch up to take H a r v e to the train, a n d C a l M o o t s w a s p a t c h i n ' u p the f e n c e ; H a r v e , h e c o m e out o n the s t e p a n d sings out, in his ladylike voice: 'Cal M o o t s , C a l M o o t s ! p l e a s e c o m e cord my trunk.' " " T h a t ' s H a r v e for y o u , " a p p r o v e d the G r a n d Army m a n . "I kin hear him howlin' yet, w h e n h e w a s a big feller in long p a n t s a n d his m o t h e r u s e d to w h a l e him with a rawhide in the b a r n for lettin' the c o w s git f o u n d e r e d in the cornfield w h e n he w a s drivin' 'em h o m e from p a s t u r e . H e killed a c o w of m i n e that-a-way o n c t — a p u r e J e r s e y a n d the b e s t milker I h a d , a n ' the ole m a n h a d to put u p for her. H a r v e , he w a s w a t c h i n ' the s u n set a c r o s t the m a r s h e s w h e n the a n a m i l e got a w a y . " " W h e r e the old m a n m a d e his m i s t a k e w a s in s e n d i n g the boy E a s t to s c h o o l , " said P h e l p s , stroking his g o a t e e a n d s p e a k i n g in a d e l i b e r a t e , judicial t o n e . " T h e r e w a s w h e r e h e got his h e a d full of n o n s e n s e . W h a t H a r v e n e e d e d , of all p e o p l e , w a s a c o u r s e in s o m e first-class K a n s a s City b u s i n e s s c o l l e g e . " T h e letters were s w i m m i n g before S t e a v e n s ' s eyes. W a s it p o s s i b l e that t h e s e m e n did not u n d e r s t a n d , that the p a l m on the coffin m e a n t nothing to t h e m ? T h e very n a m e of their town would have r e m a i n e d for ever buried in the postal g u i d e h a d it not b e e n n o w a n d a g a i n m e n t i o n e d in the world in c o n n e c t i o n with Harvey Merrick's. H e r e m e m b e r e d w h a t his m a s t e r h a d said to him on the day of his d e a t h , after the c o n g e s t i o n of both l u n g s h a d s h u t off any probability of recovery, a n d the s c u l p t o r h a d a s k e d his pupil to s e n d his body h o m e . "It's not a p l e a s a n t p l a c e to b e lying while the world is m o v i n g a n d d o i n g a n d b e t t e r i n g , " he h a d said with a feeble s m i l e , " b u t it rather s e e m s a s t h o u g h we o u g h t to go b a c k to the p l a c e we c a m e f r o m , in the e n d . T h e t o w n s p e o p l e will c o m e in for a look at m e ; a n d after they have h a d their say, I shan't have m u c h to fear from the j u d g m e n t of G o d ! " T h e c a t t l e m a n took u p the c o m m e n t . "Forty's y o u n g for a M e r r i c k to c a s h in; they usually h a n g on pretty well. Probably he h e l p e d it a l o n g with whisky." " H i s m o t h e r ' s p e o p l e were not long lived, a n d Harvey never h a d a r o b u s t

THE SCULPTOR'S FUNERAL

/

1871

constitution," said the minister mildly. H e would have liked to say m o r e . H e had been the boy's S u n d a y - s c h o o l teacher, a n d h a d b e e n fond of h i m ; but he felt that he w a s not in a position to s p e a k . His own s o n s had t u r n e d out badly, a n d it w a s not a year s i n c e o n e of t h e m h a d m a d e his last trip h o m e in the express car, shot in a g a m b l i n g - h o u s e in the B l a c k Hills. " N e v e r t h e l e s s , there is no disputin' that H a r v e frequently looked u p o n the wine when it w a s red, also variegated, a n d it s h o r e m a d e a n o n c o m m o n fool of h i m , " moralized the c a t t l e m a n . J u s t then the door leading into the p a r l o u r rattled loudly a n d every o n e started involuntarily, looking relieved when only J i m Laird c a m e out. T h e G r a n d Army m a n d u c k e d his h e a d w h e n he saw the s p a r k in his b l u e , bloodshot eye. T h e y were all afraid of J i m ; he w a s a d r u n k a r d , but he c o u l d twist the law to suit his client's n e e d s a s no other m a n in all w e s t e r n K a n s a s c o u l d d o , a n d there were m a n y w h o tried. T h e lawyer c l o s e d the d o o r b e h i n d him, l e a n e d b a c k a g a i n s t it a n d folded his a r m s , c o c k i n g his h e a d a little to o n e side. W h e n he a s s u m e d this attitude in the c o u r t - r o o m , ears were always pricked u p , a s it usually foretold a flood of withering s a r c a s m . "I've b e e n with you g e n t l e m e n b e f o r e , " he b e g a n in a dry, even t o n e , " w h e n you've sat by the coffins of boys born a n d raised in this town; a n d , if I r e m e m ber rightly, you were never any too well satisfied w h e n you c h e c k e d t h e m u p . W h a t ' s the matter, anyhow? W h y is it that r e p u t a b l e y o u n g m e n a r e as s c a r c e a s millionaires in S a n d City? It might a l m o s t s e e m to a s t r a n g e r that there w a s s o m e way s o m e t h i n g the m a t t e r with your progressive town. W h y did R u b e n Sayer, the brightest y o u n g lawyer you ever turned out, after he h a d c o m e h o m e from the university as straight a s a die, take to drinking a n d forge a c h e c k a n d s h o o t himself? W h y did Bill Merrit's son die of the s h a k e s in a s a l o o n in O m a h a ? Why w a s Mr. T h o m a s ' s s o n , h e r e , shot in a g a m b l i n g h o u s e ? Why did y o u n g A d a m s burn his mill to b e a t the i n s u r a n c e c o m p a n i e s a n d go to the p e n ? " T h e lawyer p a u s e d a n d u n f o l d e d his a r m s , laying o n e c l e n c h e d fist quietly on the table. "I'll tell you why. B e c a u s e you d r u m m e d n o t h i n g but m o n e y a n d knavery into their e a r s from the time they wore k n i c k e r b o c k e r s ; b e c a u s e you c a r p e d away at t h e m as you've b e e n c a r p i n g here tonight, holding our friends P h e l p s a n d E l d e r u p to t h e m for their m o d e l s , a s our g r a n d f a t h e r s held up G e o r g e W a s h i n g t o n a n d J o h n A d a m s . B u t the boys were y o u n g , a n d raw at the b u s i n e s s you put t h e m to, a n d how c o u l d they m a t c h c o p p e r s with s u c h artists a s P h e l p s a n d E l d e r ? You w a n t e d t h e m to b e s u c c e s s f u l r a s c a l s ; they were only u n s u c c e s s f u l o n e s — t h a t ' s all the d i f f e r e n c e . T h e r e w a s only o n e boy ever raised in this b o r d e r l a n d b e t w e e n ruffianism a n d civilization w h o didn't c o m e to grief, a n d you h a t e d Harvey M e r r i c k m o r e for w i n n i n g out than you h a t e d all the other boys who got u n d e r the w h e e l s . L o r d , L o r d , how you did hate him! P h e l p s , h e r e , is fond of saying that he c o u l d buy a n d sell u s all out any time he's a m i n d to; but he k n e w H a r v e wouldn't have given a tinker's d a m n for his b a n k a n d all his c a t t l e f a r m s put together; a n d a lack of a p p r e c i a t i o n , that way, g o e s hard with P h e l p s . " O l d N i m r o d thinks H a r v e drank too m u c h ; a n d this from s u c h a s N i m r o d and me! " B r o t h e r E l d e r says H a r v e w a s too free with the old m a n ' s m o n e y — f e l l short in filial c o n s i d e r a t i o n , m a y b e . Well, we c a n all r e m e m b e r the very tone in which brother Elder swore his own father w a s a liar, in the c o u n t y c o u r t ;

1872

/

WILLA

CATHER

a n d we all know that the old m a n c a m e o u t of that p a r t n e r s h i p with his s o n a s b a r e a s a s h e a r e d l a m b . B u t m a y b e I'm getting p e r s o n a l , a n d I'd better b e driving a h e a d at what I w a n t to say." T h e lawyer p a u s e d a m o m e n t , s q u a r e d his heavy s h o u l d e r s , a n d w e n t on: " H a r v e y M e r r i c k a n d I went to school together, b a c k E a s t . W e were d e a d in e a r n e s t , a n d we w a n t e d you all to be p r o u d of u s s o m e day. W e m e a n t to b e great m e n . E v e n I, a n d I haven't lost my s e n s e of h u m o u r , g e n t l e m e n , I m e a n t to b e a great m a n . I c a m e b a c k here to p r a c t i s e , a n d I f o u n d y o u didn't in the least want m e to b e a great m a n . You w a n t e d m e to b e a s h r e w d lawyer— o h , yes! O u r veteran here w a n t e d m e to get him a n i n c r e a s e o f p e n s i o n , b e c a u s e he h a d d y s p e p s i a ; P h e l p s w a n t e d a new c o u n t y survey that w o u l d p u t the widow W i l s o n ' s little b o t t o m farm inside his s o u t h line; E l d e r w a n t e d to lend m o n e y at 5 p e r c e n t , a m o n t h , a n d get it c o l l e c t e d ; a n d S t a r k here w a n t e d to w h e e d l e old w o m e n u p in V e r m o n t into investing their a n n u i t i e s in real-estate m o r t g a g e s that a r e not worth the p a p e r they are written o n . O h , you n e e d e d m e hard e n o u g h , a n d you'll go o n n e e d i n g m e ! "Well, I c a m e b a c k here a n d b e c a m e the d a m n e d shyster you w a n t e d m e to b e . You p r e t e n d to have s o m e sort of r e s p e c t for m e ; a n d yet you'll s t a n d u p a n d throw m u d at Harvey Merrick, w h o s e soul you couldn't dirty a n d w h o s e h a n d s you c o u l d n ' t tie. O h , you're a d i s c r i m i n a t i n g lot of C h r i s t i a n s ! T h e r e have b e e n t i m e s w h e n the sight of Harvey's n a m e in s o m e E a s t e r n p a p e r h a s m a d e m e h a n g my h e a d like a w h i p p e d d o g ; a n d , a g a i n , times w h e n I liked to think of him off there in the world, away from all this hogwallow, c l i m b i n g the big, c l e a n u p - g r a d e he'd set for himself. " A n d w e ? N o w that we've fought a n d lied a n d s w e a t e d a n d stolen, a n d h a t e d a s only the d i s a p p o i n t e d strugglers in a bitter, d e a d little W e s t e r n town know how to d o , what have we got to s h o w for it? Harvey M e r r i c k wouldn't have given o n e s u n s e t over your m a r s h e s for all you've got p u t together, a n d you know it. It's not for m e to say why, in the i n s c r u t a b l e w i s d o m of G o d , a g e n i u s s h o u l d ever have b e e n called from this p l a c e of hatred a n d bitter w a t e r s ; b u t I w a n t this B o s t o n m a n to know that the drivel he's b e e n h e a r i n g here tonight is the only tribute any truly great m a n c o u l d have from s u c h a lot of sick, side-tracked, b u r n t - d o g , land-poor s h a r k s a s the here-present fina n c i e r s of S a n d C i t y — u p o n w h i c h town m a y G o d have m e r c y ! " T h e lawyer thrust out his h a n d to S t e a v e n s a s h e p a s s e d him, c a u g h t u p his overcoat in the hall, a n d h a d left the h o u s e b e f o r e the G r a n d Army m a n h a d h a d time to lift his d u c k e d h e a d a n d c r a n e his long n e c k a b o u t at his fellows. Next day J i m L a i r d w a s d r u n k a n d u n a b l e to a t t e n d the funeral services. S t e a v e n s called twice at his office, b u t w a s c o m p e l l e d to start E a s t without s e e i n g h i m . H e h a d a p r e s e n t i m e n t that h e would h e a r from him a g a i n , a n d left his a d d r e s s o n the lawyer's t a b l e ; but if L a i r d f o u n d it, h e never acknowle d g e d it. T h e thing in him that Harvey M e r r i c k h a d loved m u s t have g o n e u n d e r g r o u n d with Harvey Merrick's coffin; for it never s p o k e a g a i n , a n d J i m got the c o l d h e died of driving a c r o s s the C o l o r a d o m o u n t a i n s to d e f e n d o n e of P h e l p s ' s s o n s w h o h a d got into trouble o u t there by c u t t i n g g o v e r n m e n t timber. 1905,1920

1873

AMY

LOWELL

1874-1925 Born in Brookline, Massachusetts, the fifth and last child, twelve years younger than her nearest sibling, Amy Lowell hailed from one of Boston's wealthiest and most prestigious and powerful families. The first Lowell arrived at Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1639; from the revolutionary years on, when a Lowell was made a judge by George Washington, no era was without one or more Lowells prominent in the intellectual, religious, political, philanthropic, and commercial life of New England. In the early nineteenth century her paternal grandfather and his brothers established the Lowell textile mills in Lowell, Massachusetts—the town itself had been founded by the Lowells in 1653. The success of these mills changed the economy of New England. Profits were invested in utilities, highways, railroads, and banks. In the same generation her maternal grandfather, Abbot Lawrence, established a .second New England textile dynasty. All the Lowell men went to Harvard. Traditionally, those who were not in business became Unitarian ministers or scholars—the poet James Bussell Lowell was her great-uncle; her father, Augustus, was important to the founding of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology; her brother Percival was a pioneering scholar of Japanese and Korean civilization and astronomer (he founded the Lowell Observatory and discovered the planet Pluto); her brother Abbot Lawrence was president of Harvard from 1909 to 1933. But none of the millionaires, manufacturers, philanthropists, statesmen, ambassadors, judges, and scholars in Amy Lowell's background could give this energetic and unusually intelligent young woman a model to follow. They were all men, and the rules for Lowell women were different. Women in the family were expected to marry well, imbue their children with a strong sense of family pride, oversee the running of several homes, and participate in upper-class Boston's busy social world. None of this interested Lowell in the least. Yet she believed in the importance of her heritage and shared the self-confidence and drive to contribute notably to public life characteristic of Lowell men. Resisting the kind of formal education available to women of her class at the time, she attended school only between the ages of ten and seventeen. She educated herself through the use of her family's extensive private library as well as the resources of the Boston Athenaeum, a dues-paying library club founded by one of her ancestors early in the nineteenth century. She had enjoyed writing from childhood on, but did not venture into professional authorship until 1912, at the age of thirty-eight. In that year, her first book of poems—A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass—achieved both popular and critical success. The year 1912 was the year that Harriet Monroe launched her influential little magazine, Poetry, and when in January 1913 Lowell read H. D.'s imagistic poetry she was converted to this new style. She decided to devote her popularity and social prominence to popularizing imagism and with characteristic energy and selfconfidence journeyed to England to meet H. D., Ezra Pound, D. H. Lawrence, Bichard Aldington, and other participants in the informal movement. When Pound abandoned imagism for vorticism, Lowell became the chief spokesperson for the movement, editing several imagist anthologies. Two volumes of original criticism by Lowell—Six

French

Poets

(1915) and

Tendencies

in Modern

American

Poetry

(1917)—also forwarded the cause. Pound, upstaged as a publicist, enviously renamed the movement "Amygism." Lowell retorted that "it was not until I entered the arena and Ezra dropped out that Imagism had to be considered seriously." Lowell's own poetry—published in Sword Blades and Poppy Seed (1914), Men, Women, and Ghosts (1916), Can Grande's Castle (1918), Pictures of the Floating World (1919), and Legends (1921)—was never exclusively imagistic but included long historical narrative poems and journalistic prose poems and used standard verse pat-

1874

/

AMY L O W E L L

terns, blank verse, and a Whitmanesque free verse resembling the open line developed by Carl Sandburg. Her best poems tend to enclose sharp imagistic representation within this relatively fluid line, thereby achieving an effect of simultaneous compactness and flexibility. Like many women poets, she worked with a symbolic vocabulary of flowers and color. Lowell enjoyed her success and cheerfully went on the lecture circuit as a celebrity, making innumerable close friendships as a result of her warmth and generosity. Despite health problems that plagued her for most of her life, she remained full of energy and zest. She depended for support on the companionship of Ada Dwyer Russell, a former actress, for whom she wrote many of her most moving appreciations of female beauty. Although she traveled widely in Europe, she was ultimately committed to New England and the Lowell heritage, both of which fused in an attachment to her home, Sevenels, in Brooldine. A devotee of Romantic poetry and especially of Keats, she had begun to collect Keats manuscripts in 1905; these now form the basis of the great collection at Harvard University. In addition to all her other activities in the 1920s, she worked on a two-volume biography of Keats that greatly extended the published information about the poet when it appeared in 1925, although its psychological approach offended many traditional critics. Lowell was just fifty-one when she died. Despite continued sniping from the high modernist poets who thought her work was too accessible, her poetry continued to be both popular and critically esteemed until the 1950s, when scholars focused the canon on a very small number of writers. The efforts of feminists to rediscover and republicize the work of neglected women authors as well as the researches of literary historians into the whole picture of American literary achievement have together brought her work back into the spotlight that it occupied during her lifetime. The texts printed here are from Lowell's Complete Poems (1955).

The Captured Goddess •

Over the h o u s e t o p s , A b o v e the rotating c h i m n e y - p o t s , I have s e e n a shiver of a m e t h y s t , A n d b l u e a n d c i n n a m o n have flickered A moment, At the far e n d of a dusty street. T h r o u g h s h e e t e d rain H a s c o m e a lustre of c r i m s o n , A n d I have w a t c h e d m o o n b e a m s H u s h e d by a film of p a l e s t g r e e n .

5

10

It w a s her w i n g s , Goddess! W h o s t e p p e d over the c l o u d s , A

J

1

-J

if

i

r

.1

A n d laid her rainbow f e a t h e r s A s l a n t on the c u r r e n t s or the air. I followed her for long, W i t h g a z i n g eyes a n d s t u m b l i n g feet. I c a r e d not where s h e led m e ,

is

VENUS TRANSIENS

M y eyes were full of colors: S a f f r o n s , rubies, the yellows of beryls, A n d the indigo-blue of quartz; Flights of r o s e , layers of c h r y s o p r a s e , Points of o r a n g e , spirals of vermilion, T h e s p o t t e d gold of tiger-lily p e t a l s , T h e loud pink of b u r s t i n g h y d r a n g e a s . I followed, A n d w a t c h e d for the flashing of her wings. In the city I f o u n d her, T h e narrow-streeted city. In the m a r k e t - p l a c e I c a m e u p o n her, B o u n d a n d trembling. H e r fluted wings were f a s t e n e d to her s i d e s with c o r d s , S h e w a s n a k e d a n d cold, F o r that day the wind blew Without sunshine.

/

1875

20

25

30

35

M e n chaffered for her, T h e y b a r g a i n e d in silver a n d gold, In c o p p e r , in wheat, A n d called their bids a c r o s s the m a r k e t - p l a c e . T h e G o d d e s s wept.

40

H i d i n g my face I fled, A n d the grey wind h i s s e d b e h i n d m e , Along the narrow streets. 1914

Venus Transiens Tell m e , W a s V e n u s m o r e beautiful T h a n you a r e , When she topped T h e crinkled waves, Drifting s h o r e w a r d O n her plaited shell? W a s Botticelli's 1 vision Fairer than m i n e ; A n d were the p a i n t e d r o s e b u d s H e t o s s e d his lady, O f better worth T h a n the w o r d s I blow a b o u t you

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1. Sandro Botticelli (c. 1440—1510), Italian Renaissance painter among whose paintings is the famous Birth of Venus, depicting the Greek goddess of love and beauty rising from the ocean on a seashell.

1876

/

AMY

LOWELL

T o cover your too great loveliness As with a g a u z e O f m i s t e d silver? For m e , You s t a n d p o i s e d In the blue a n d b u o y a n t air, C i n c t u r e d by bright w i n d s , T r e a d i n g the sunlight. A n d the waves which p r e c e d e you Ripple a n d stir T h e s a n d s at my feet.

20

1919

Madonna of the Evening Flowers All day long I have b e e n working, N o w I a m tired. I call: " W h e r e are y o u ? " B u t there is only the o a k tree rustling in the wind. T h e h o u s e is very quiet, T h e s u n s h i n e s in o n your b o o k s , O n your s c i s s o r s a n d t h i m b l e j u s t put d o w n , B u t you are not t h e r e . S u d d e n l y I a m lonely: W h e r e are y o u ? I go a b o u t s e a r c h i n g . T h e n I s e e you, S t a n d i n g u n d e r a spire of p a l e b l u e larkspur, With a b a s k e t of r o s e s o n your a r m . You a r e cool, like silver, A n d you s m i l e . I think the C a n t e r b u r y b e l l s ' are playing little t u n e s . You tell m e that the p e o n i e s n e e d spraying, T h a t the c o l u m b i n e s have overrun all b o u n d s , T h a t the pyrus j a p o n i c a s h o u l d b e c u t b a c k a n d r o u n d e d . You tell m e t h e s e things. B u t I look at you, heart of silver, W h i t e heart-flame of p o l i s h e d silver, B u r n i n g b e n e a t h the b l u e s t e e p l e s of the l a r k s p u r , A n d I long to kneel instantly at your feet, W h i l e all a b o u t u s peal the l o u d , sweet Te Deums of the C a n t e r b u r y bells.

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25

1919 1. Little bell-shaped blue flowers. Lowell puns on the bells of Canterbury Cathedral in England pealing out religious music.

ST. LOUIS

/

1877

September, 1918 This The The And

afternoon w a s the c o l o u r of water falling t h r o u g h sunlight; trees glittered with the t u m b l i n g of leaves; sidewalks s h o n e like alleys of d r o p p e d m a p l e l e a v e s ; the h o u s e s ran a l o n g t h e m l a u g h i n g out of s q u a r e , o p e n windows. U n d e r a tree in the park, T w o little boys, lying flat on their f a c e s , W e r e carefully g a t h e r i n g red berries T o put in a p a s t e b o a r d box. S o m e day there will be no war. T h e n I shall take o u t this afternoon A n d turn it in my fingers, A n d r e m a r k the sweet t a s t e of it u p o n my p a l a t e , And n o t e the crisp variety of its flights of leaves. To-day I c a n only g a t h e r it A n d put it into my lunch-box, F o r I have time for n o t h i n g B u t the e n d e a v o u r to b a l a n c e myself U p o n a broken world.

5

10

15

1919

St. Louis June Flat, Flat, L o n g a s sight Either way, An i m m e n s e country, 5 With a great river S t e a m i n g it full of m o i s t , u n b e a r a b l e heat. T h e o r c h a r d s a r e little q u i n c u n x e s of N o a h ' s Ark trees, T h e plows a n d h o r s e s are children's toys tracing a m u s i n g l y shallow lines u p o n a n illimitable s u r f a c e . G r e a t c h u n k s of life to m a t c h the country, 10 G r e a t lungs to b r e a t h e this hot, wet air. B u t it is not m i n e . M i n e is a land of hills Lying c o u c h a n t in the a n g l e s of heraldic b e a s t s A b o u t white villages. A land of singing e l m s a n d pine-trees. A restless u p a n d d o w n land Always m o u n t i n g , dipping, slipping into a different c o n t o u r , W h e r e the r o a d s turn every h u n d r e d yards or s o , W h e r e brooks rattle forgotten Indian n a m e s to tired f a r m - h o u s e s ,

1878

/

ROBERT

FROST

A n d faint spires of old m e e t i n g - h o u s e s F l a u n t their g o l d e n w e a t h e r - c o c k s in a brave s h o w of c h a l l e n g e at a s u n s e t sky. H e r e the heat stuffs d o w n with the t h i c k n e s s of boiled f e a t h e r s , T h e river runs in s t e a m . T h e r e , lilacs are in b l o o m , C o o l b l u e - p u r p l e s , wine-reds, whites, Flying c o l o u r to quiet dooryards. G r o w n year on year to a s u d d e n n e s s of old perfection, S a y i n g " B e f o r e ! B e f o r e ! " to e a c h new S p r i n g . H e r e is " N o w , " B u t " B e f o r e " is m i n e with the lilacs, With the white s e a of everywhither, With the h e r a l d i c , story-telling hills.

2s

so

1927

ROBERT

FROST

1874-1963 Although he identified himself with New England, Robert Frost was born in California and lived there until his father died, when Frost was eleven. The family then moved to New England where his mother supported them by teaching school. Frost graduated from high school in 1891 in Lawrence, Massachusetts, sharing the post of valedictorian with Elinor White, whom he married three years later. Occasional attendance at Dartmouth College and Harvard, and a variety of different jobs including an attempt to run a farm in Derry, New Hampshire, marked the next twenty years. Frost made a new start in 1912, taking his family, which included four children, to England. There he worked on his poetry and found a publisher for his first book, A Boy's Will (1913). Ezra Pound reviewed it favorably, excited (as he put it in a letter) by this "VURRY Amur'k'n talent." Pound recommended Frost's poems to American editors and helped get his second book, North of Boston, published in 1914. North of Boston was widely praised by critics in America and England when it appeared; the favorable reception persuaded Frost to return home. He bought another farm in New Hampshire and prospered financially through sales of his books and papers, along with teaching and lecturing at various colleges. The success he enjoyed for the rest of his life, however, came too late to cancel the bitterness left by his earlier struggles. Moreover, he endured personal tragedy: a son committed suicide, and a daughter had a complete mental collapse. The clarity of Frost's diction, the colloquial rhythms, the simplicity of his images, and above all the folksy speaker—these are intended to make the poems look natural, unplanned. In the context of the modernist movement, however, they can be seen as a thoughtful reply to high modernism's fondness for obscurity and difficulty. Although Frost's ruralism affirmed the modernist distaste for cities, he was writing the kind of traditional, accessible poetry that modernists argued could no longer be written. In addition, by investing in the New England terrain, he rejected modernist internationalism and revitalized the tradition of New England regionalism. Beaders who accepted

THE

PASTURE

/

1879

Frost's persona and his setting as typically American accepted the powerful myth that rural New England was the heart of America. Frost achieved an internal dynamic in his poems by playing the rhythms of ordinary speech against formal patterns of line and verse and containing them within traditional forms. The interaction of colloquial diction with blank verse is especially central to his dramatic monologues. To Frost traditional forms were the essence of poetry, material with which poets responded to flux and disorder (what, adopting scientific terminology, he called "decay") by forging something permanent. Poetry, he wrote, was "one step backward taken," resisting time—a "momentary stay against confusion." Throughout the 1920s Frost's poetic practice changed very little; later books— including Mountain

Interval

(1916), Neiv

Hampshire

(1923), and

West-Running

Brook (1928)—confirmed the impression he had created in North of Boston. Most of his poems fall into a few types. Nature lyrics describing and commenting on a scene or event—like "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," "Birches," and "After ApplePicking"—are probably the best known and the most popular. There are also dramatic narratives in blank verse about the griefs of country people, like "The Death of the Hired Man," and poems of commentary or generalization, like "The Gift Outright," which he read at John F. Kennedy's presidential inauguration in 1961. He could also be humorous or sardonic, as in "Fire and Ice." In the nature lyrics, a comparison often emerges between the outer scene and the psyche, a comparison of what Frost in one poem called "outer and inner weather." Because he worked so much with outdoor scenery, and because he presented himself as a New Englander, Frost is often interpreted as an ideological descendant of the nineteenth-century American Transcendentalists. But he is far less affirmative about the universe than they; for where they, looking at nature, discerned a benign creator, he saw "no expression, nothing to express." Frost did share with Emerson and Thoreau, however, the belief that everybody was a separate individuality and that collective enterprises could do nothing but weaken the self. Politically conservative, therefore, he avoided movements of the left and the right precisely because they were movements, group undertakings. In the 1930s when writers tended to be political activists, he was seen as one whose old-fashioned values were inappropriate, even dangerous, in modern times. Frost deeply resented this criticism, and responded to it with a newly hortatory, didactic kind of poetry. In the last twenty years of his life, Frost increased his activities as a teacher and lecturer—at Amherst, at Dartmouth, at Harvard, at the Bread Loaf School of English at Middlebury College in Vermont, and in poetry readings and talks around the country. The text of the poems included here is that of The Poetry of Robert Frost (1969).

The Pasture I'm g o i n g o u t to clean the p a s t u r e spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch t h e water clear, I m a y ) : I shan't b e g o n e l o n g . — Y o u c o m e t o o . I'm going o u t to fetch t h e little calf T h a t ' s s t a n d i n g by t h e m o t h e r . It's s o y o u n g It totters when s h e licks it with her t o n g u e . I shan't be g o n e long.—You c o m e t o o .

s

1913

1880

/

ROBERT

FROST

Mowing T h e r e w a s never a s o u n d b e s i d e the w o o d b u t o n e , A n d that w a s my long scythe w h i s p e r i n g to the g r o u n d . W h a t w a s it it w h i s p e r e d ? I knew not well myself; P e r h a p s it w a s s o m e t h i n g a b o u t the heat of the s u n , S o m e t h i n g , p e r h a p s , a b o u t the lack of s o u n d — A n d that w a s why it w h i s p e r e d a n d did not s p e a k . It w a s n o d r e a m of the gift of idle h o u r s , O r e a s y gold at the h a n d of fay or elf: Anything m o r e t h a n the truth would have s e e m e d too w e a k T o the e a r n e s t love that laid the s w a l e ' in rows, N o t without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers ( P a l e o r c h i s e s ) , a n d s c a r e d a bright g r e e n s n a k e . T h e fact is the s w e e t e s t d r e a m that labor k n o w s . M y long scythe w h i s p e r e d a n d left the hay to m a k e .

5

10

1913

Mending Wall S o m e t h i n g there is that d o e s n ' t love a wall, T h a t s e n d s the frozen-ground-swell u n d e r it, A n d spills the u p p e r b o u l d e r s in the s u n , A n d m a k e s g a p s even two c a n p a s s a b r e a s t . T h e work of h u n t e r s is a n o t h e r thing: I have c o m e after t h e m a n d m a d e repair W h e r e they have left not o n e s t o n e o n a s t o n e , B u t they would have the rabbit o u t of hiding, T o p l e a s e the yelping d o g s . T h e g a p s I m e a n , N o o n e h a s s e e n t h e m m a d e or h e a r d t h e m m a d e , B u t at spring m e n d i n g - t i m e we find t h e m t h e r e . I let my n e i g h b o r know b e y o n d the hill; A n d on a day we m e e t to walk the line A n d set the wall b e t w e e n u s o n c e a g a i n . W e k e e p the wall b e t w e e n u s a s w e g o . T o e a c h the b o u l d e r s that have fallen to e a c h . A n d s o m e are loaves a n d s o m e s o nearly balls W e have to u s e a spell to m a k e t h e m b a l a n c e : " S t a y w h e r e you are until o u r b a c k s are t u r n e d ! " W e wear our fingers r o u g h with h a n d l i n g t h e m . O h , j u s t a n o t h e r kind of o u t d o o r g a m e , O n e o n a side. It c o m e s to little m o r e : T h e r e w h e r e it is we d o not n e e d the wall: H e is all p i n e a n d I a m a p p l e o r c h a r d . M y a p p l e trees will never get a c r o s s A n d eat the c o n e s u n d e r his p i n e s , I tell h i m . 1. G r a s s e s in a marshy meadow.

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THE

DEATH

OF THE H I R E D

MAN

H e only says, " G o o d f e n c e s m a k e g o o d n e i g h b o r s . " S p r i n g is the m i s c h i e f in m e , a n d I w o n d e r If I c o u l d put a notion in his h e a d : "Why do they m a k e g o o d n e i g h b o r s ? Isn't it W h e r e there a r e c o w s ? B u t here there a r e no c o w s . B e f o r e I built a wall I'd a s k to k n o w W h a t I w a s walling in or walling out, A n d to w h o m I w a s like to give o f f e n s e . S o m e t h i n g there is that d o e s n ' t love a wall, T h a t w a n t s it d o w n . " I c o u l d say " E l v e s " to him, B u t it's not elves exactly, a n d I'd rather H e s a i d it for himself. I s e e him there B r i n g i n g a s t o n e g r a s p e d firmly by the top In e a c h h a n d , like a n old-stone s a v a g e a r m e d . H e m o v e s in d a r k n e s s as it s e e m s to m e , N o t of w o o d s only a n d the s h a d e of trees. H e will not go b e h i n d his father's saying, A n d he likes having thought of it s o well H e says a g a i n , " G o o d f e n c e s m a k e g o o d n e i g h b o r s . "

/

1881

30

35

40

45 1914

The Death of the Hired M a n Mary sat m u s i n g o n the l a m p - f l a m e at the table W a i t i n g for W a r r e n . W h e n she h e a r d his s t e p , S h e ran on tip-toe d o w n the d a r k e n e d p a s s a g e T o m e e t him in the doorway with the news A n d p u t him on his g u a r d . " S i l a s is b a c k . " S h e p u s h e d him o u t w a r d with her t h r o u g h the d o o r A n d s h u t it after her. " B e k i n d , " s h e s a i d . S h e took the m a r k e t things from W a r r e n ' s a r m s A n d set t h e m on the p o r c h , then drew him d o w n T o sit b e s i d e her on the w o o d e n s t e p s . " W h e n w a s I ever anything but kind to h i m ? B u t I'll not have the fellow b a c k , " h e s a i d . "I told him so last haying, didn't I? If he left t h e n , I said, that e n d e d it. W h a t g o o d is he? W h o else will harbor him At his a g e for the little h e c a n d o ? W h a t help he is there's n o d e p e n d i n g o n . Off he g o e s always w h e n I n e e d him m o s t . H e thinks h e o u g h t to e a r n a little pay, E n o u g h at least to buy t o b a c c o with, S o h e won't have to b e g a n d b e b e h o l d e n . 'All right,' I say, 'I can't afford to pay Any fixed w a g e s , t h o u g h I wish I c o u l d . ' ' S o m e o n e else c a n . ' ' T h e n s o m e o n e e l s e will have to.' I shouldn't m i n d his b e t t e r i n g himself

5

10

15

20

25

1882

/

ROBERT

FROST

If that w a s w h a t it w a s . You c a n b e certain, W h e n he b e g i n s like that, there's s o m e o n e at him Trying to coax him off with p o c k e t - m o n e y , — In haying t i m e , w h e n any help is s c a r c e . In winter h e c o m e s b a c k to u s . I'm d o n e . "

30

" S h ! not so loud: he'll h e a r y o u , " Mary said. "I want him to: he'll have to s o o n or l a t e . " " H e ' s worn out. He's a s l e e p b e s i d e the stove. W h e n I c a m e u p from Rowe's I f o u n d him h e r e , H u d d l e d a g a i n s t the barn-door fast a s l e e p , A m i s e r a b l e sight, a n d frightening, t o o — You needn't s m i l e — I didn't recognize h i m — I wasn't looking for h i m — a n d he's c h a n g e d . W a i t till you s e e . " " W h e r e did you say he'd b e e n ? "

35

40

" H e didn't say. I d r a g g e d him to the h o u s e , And gave him tea a n d tried to m a k e him s m o k e . I tried to m a k e him talk a b o u t his travels. N o t h i n g would d o : he j u s t kept n o d d i n g off." " W h a t did h e say? D i d he say a n y t h i n g ? " " B u t little." "Anything? M a r y , c o n f e s s H e said he'd c o m e to ditch the m e a d o w for m e . ' "Warren!" " B u t did he? I j u s t want to k n o w . " " O f c o u r s e he did. W h a t would you have him say? S u r e l y you wouldn't g r u d g e the p o o r old m a n S o m e h u m b l e way to save his self-respect. H e a d d e d , if you really c a r e to know, H e m e a n t to clear the u p p e r p a s t u r e , t o o . T h a t s o u n d s like s o m e t h i n g you have h e a r d b e f o r e ? W a r r e n , I wish you c o u l d have h e a r d the way H e j u m b l e d everything. I s t o p p e d to look T w o or three t i m e s — h e m a d e m e feel so q u e e r — T o s e e if h e w a s talking in his s l e e p . H e ran on H a r o l d W i l s o n — y o u r e m e m b e r — T h e boy you h a d in haying four years s i n c e . H e ' s finished s c h o o l , a n d t e a c h i n g in his c o l l e g e . S i l a s d e c l a r e s you'll have to get him b a c k . H e says they two will m a k e a t e a m for work: B e t w e e n t h e m they will lay this farm a s s m o o t h !

so

55

60

6s

T H E D E A T H OF T H E H I R E D M A N

T h e way h e mixed that in with other things. H e thinks y o u n g W i l s o n a likely lad, t h o u g h daft O n e d u c a t i o n — y o u know how they fought All t h r o u g h J u l y u n d e r the blazing s u n , S i l a s u p o n the cart to build the load, H a r o l d a l o n g b e s i d e to pitch it o n . " "Yes, I took c a r e to keep well out of e a r s h o t . " "Well, t h o s e days trouble S i l a s like a d r e a m . You wouldn't think they would. H o w s o m e things linger! Harold's y o u n g college-boy's a s s u r a n c e p i q u e d him. After s o m a n y years h e still k e e p s finding G o o d a r g u m e n t s he s e e s h e might have u s e d . I s y m p a t h i z e . I know j u s t how it feels T o think of the right thing to say too late. H a r o l d ' s a s s o c i a t e d in his m i n d with L a t i n . H e a s k e d m e what I t h o u g h t of Harold's saying H e s t u d i e d L a t i n , like the violin, B e c a u s e he liked i t — t h a t an a r g u m e n t ! H e said h e couldn't m a k e the boy believe H e c o u l d find water with a hazel p r o n g — W h i c h s h o w e d how m u c h g o o d school h a d ever d o n e him. H e w a n t e d to g o over that. B u t m o s t of all H e thinks if he c o u l d have a n o t h e r c h a n c e T o t e a c h him how to build a load of h a y — " "I know, that's S i l a s ' o n e a c c o m p l i s h m e n t . H e b u n d l e s every forkful in its p l a c e , A n d tags a n d n u m b e r s it for future r e f e r e n c e , S o he c a n find a n d easily d i s l o d g e it In the u n l o a d i n g . S i l a s d o e s that well. H e takes it out in b u n c h e s like big birds' n e s t s . You never s e e him s t a n d i n g on the hay H e ' s trying to lift, straining to lift himself." " H e thinks if he c o u l d t e a c h him that, he'd be S o m e g o o d p e r h a p s to s o m e o n e in the world. H e h a t e s to s e e a boy the fool of b o o k s . Poor S i l a s , so c o n c e r n e d for other folk, And nothing to look b a c k w a r d to with pride, A n d n o t h i n g to look forward to with h o p e , S o now a n d never any different." Part of a m o o n w a s falling down the west. D r a g g i n g the w h o l e sky with it to the hills. Its light p o u r e d softly in her lap. S h e saw it A n d s p r e a d her a p r o n to it. S h e put out her h a n d A m o n g the harplike morning-glory strings, T a u t with the dew from garden b e d to e a v e s , As if s h e played u n h e a r d s o m e t e n d e r n e s s T h a t w r o u g h t on him b e s i d e her in the night.

/

1883

84

/

ROBERT

FROST

" W a r r e n , " s h e s a i d , " h e h a s c o m e h o m e to die: You n e e d n ' t b e afraid he'll leave you this t i m e . "

115

" H o m e , " h e m o c k e d gently. "Yes, w h a t else but h o m e ? It all d e p e n d s o n what you m e a n by h o m e . O f c o u r s e he's n o t h i n g to u s , any m o r e T h a n w a s the h o u n d that c a m e a s t r a n g e r to u s O u t of the w o o d s , worn out u p o n the trail."

120

" H o m e is the p l a c e w h e r e , w h e n you have to g o t h e r e , T h e y have to take you i n . " "I s h o u l d have called it S o m e t h i n g you s o m e h o w haven't to d e s e r v e . "

125

W a r r e n l e a n e d out a n d took a s t e p or two, P i c k e d u p a little stick, a n d b r o u g h t it b a c k A n d b r o k e it in his h a n d a n d t o s s e d it by. " S i l a s h a s better c l a i m o n u s you think T h a n o n his brother? T h i r t e e n little miles As the r o a d winds would bring h i m to his door. S i l a s h a s walked that far n o d o u b t today. W h y d o e s n ' t h e g o there? H i s brother's rich, A s o m e b o d y — d i r e c t o r in the b a n k . "

130

" H e never told u s t h a t . "

135 " W e know it t h o u g h . "

"I think his brother o u g h t to help, of c o u r s e . I'll s e e to that if there is n e e d . H e o u g h t of right T o take him in, a n d might b e willing t o — H e m a y b e better than a p p e a r a n c e s . B u t have s o m e pity on S i l a s . D o you think If h e h a d any pride in c l a i m i n g kin O r a n y t h i n g h e looked for from his brother, H e ' d k e e p s o still a b o u t him all this t i m e ? "

no

•

"I w o n d e r what's b e t w e e n t h e m . " "I c a n tell y o u . S i l a s is what h e i s — w e wouldn't mind h i m — B u t j u s t the kind that kinsfolk can't a b i d e . H e never did a thing s o very b a d . H e don't know why h e isn't q u i t e as g o o d As anybody. W o r t h l e s s t h o u g h he is, H e won't he m a d e a s h a m e d to p l e a s e his b r o t h e r . " " I can't think Si ever hurt a n y o n e . "

145

150

AFTER

APPLE-PICKING

" N o , b u t h e hurt my heart the way h e lay A n d rolled his old h e a d on that s h a r p - e d g e d chair-back. H e wouldn't let m e put him on the l o u n g e . You m u s t go in a n d s e e what you c a n d o . I m a d e the b e d up for him there tonight. You'll b e s u r p r i s e d at h i m — h o w m u c h he's b r o k e n . His working days are d o n e ; I'm s u r e of it."

/

1885

155

160

"I'd not b e in a hurry to say that." "I haven't b e e n . G o , look, s e e for yourself. B u t , W a r r e n , p l e a s e r e m e m b e r how it is: He's c o m e to help you ditch the m e a d o w . H e has a p l a n . You m u s t n ' t l a u g h at h i m . H e may not s p e a k of it, a n d then h e may. I'll sit a n d s e e if that small sailing c l o u d Will hit or m i s s the m o o n . " It hit the m o o n . T h e n there were three there, m a k i n g a d i m row, T h e m o o n , the little silver c l o u d , a n d s h e . W a r r e n r e t u r n e d — t o o s o o n , it s e e m e d to her, S l i p p e d to her s i d e , c a u g h t up her h a n d a n d waited.

165

170

"Warren?" she questioned. " D e a d , " w a s all he a n s w e r e d .

175 1914

After Apple-Picking M y long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree T o w a r d h e a v e n still, A n d there's a barrel that I didn't fill B e s i d e it, a n d there m a y be two or three A p p l e s I didn't p i c k u p o n s o m e b o u g h . B u t I a m d o n e with apple-picking now. E s s e n c e of winter sleep is on the night, T h e s c e n t of a p p l e s : I a m d r o w s i n g off. I c a n n o t rub the s t r a n g e n e s s from my sight I got from looking through a p a n e of glass I s k i m m e d this m o r n i n g from the drinking t r o u g h A n d held a g a i n s t the world of hoary g r a s s . It m e l t e d , a n d I let it fall a n d break. B u t I w a s well U p o n my way to s l e e p before it fell, A n d I c o u l d tell W h a t form my d r e a m i n g w a s a b o u t to take. Magnified apples appear and disappear,

5

10

15

86

/

ROBERT

FROST

Stem end and blossom end, A n d every fleck of r u s s e t s h o w i n g clear. M y instep arch not only k e e p s the a c h e , It k e e p s the p r e s s u r e of a l a d d e r - r o u n d . I feel the l a d d e r sway a s the b o u g h s b e n d . A n d I keep h e a r i n g from the cellar bin T h e rumbling sound O f load o n load of a p p l e s c o m i n g in. F o r I have h a d too m u c h O f apple-picking: I a m overtired O f the great harvest I myself d e s i r e d . T h e r e were ten t h o u s a n d t h o u s a n d fruit to t o u c h , C h e r i s h in h a n d , lift d o w n , a n d not let fall. F o r all T h a t s t r u c k the e a r t h , N o m a t t e r if not b r u i s e d or spiked with s t u b b l e , W e n t surely to the cider-apple h e a p As of no worth. O n e c a n s e e what will trouble T h i s sleep of m i n e , whatever s l e e p it is. W e r e he not g o n e , T h e w o o d c h u c k c o u l d say w h e t h e r it's like his L o n g s l e e p , a s I d e s c r i b e its c o m i n g on, Or just some human sleep. 1914

The Wood-Pile O u t walking in the frozen s w a m p o n e gray day, I p a u s e d a n d said, "I will turn b a c k from h e r e . N o , I will g o on f a r t h e r — a n d we shall s e e . " T h e hard s n o w held m e , save where now a n d then O n e foot went t h r o u g h . T h e view w a s all in lines S t r a i g h t u p a n d d o w n of tall slim trees T o o m u c h alike to m a r k or n a m e a p l a c e by S o a s to say for certain I w a s here O r s o m e w h e r e e l s e : I w a s j u s t far from h o m e . A small bird flew before m e . H e w a s careful T o p u t a tree b e t w e e n u s w h e n h e lighted, A n d say no word to tell m e w h o h e w a s W h o w a s so foolish a s to think what he t h o u g h t . H e t h o u g h t that I w a s after h i m for a f e a t h e r — T h e white o n e in his tail; like o n e w h o t a k e s Everything said as p e r s o n a l to himself. O n e flight out sideways would have u n d e c e i v e d h i m . A n d then there w a s a pile of w o o d for which I forgot him a n d let his little fear C a r r y him off the way I might have g o n e ,

5

10

is

20

THE

ROAD

NOT

TAKEN

W i t h o u t so m u c h a s wishing him good-night. H e went b e h i n d it to m a k e his last s t a n d . It w a s a cord of m a p l e , cut a n d split And p i l e d — a n d m e a s u r e d , four by four by eight. And not a n o t h e r like it c o u l d I s e e . N o runner tracks in this year's s n o w l o o p e d n e a r it. A n d it was older sure than this year's c u t t i n g , O r even last year's or the year's b e f o r e . T h e w o o d w a s gray a n d the bark w a r p i n g off it A n d the pile s o m e w h a t s u n k e n . C l e m a t i s H a d w o u n d strings r o u n d a n d r o u n d it like a b u n d l e . W h a t held it, t h o u g h , on o n e side w a s a tree Still growing, a n d on o n e a stake a n d p r o p , T h e s e latter a b o u t to fall. I thought that only S o m e o n e w h o lived in turning to fresh tasks C o u l d so forget his handiwork on which H e spent himself, the labor of his ax, A n d leave it there far from a useful fireplace T o w a r m the frozen s w a m p a s best it c o u l d With the slow s m o k e l e s s b u r n i n g of d e c a y .

The Road Not Taken T w o r o a d s diverged in a yellow w o o d , A n d sorry I c o u l d not travel both A n d be o n e traveler, long I s t o o d And looked d o w n o n e as far a s I c o u l d T o where it b e n t in the u n d e r g r o w t h ; T h e n took the other, a s j u s t a s fair, And having p e r h a p s the better c l a i m , B e c a u s e it w a s grassy a n d w a n t e d wear; T h o u g h a s for that, the p a s s i n g there H a d worn t h e m really a b o u t the s a m e , A n d both that m o r n i n g equally lay In leaves no step h a d trodden black. O h , I kept the first for a n o t h e r day! Yet knowing how way leads o n to way, I d o u b t e d if I s h o u l d ever c o m e b a c k . I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: T w o r o a d s diverged in a w o o d , a n d I— I took the o n e less traveled by, A n d that has m a d e all the d i f f e r e n c e .

1888

/

ROBERT

FROST

The Oven Bird T h e r e is a singer everyone h a s h e a r d , L o u d , a m i d - s u m m e r a n d a m i d - w o o d bird, W h o m a k e s the solid tree trunks s o u n d again. H e says that leaves are old a n d that for flowers M i d - s u m m e r is to s p r i n g a s o n e to ten. H e says the early petal-fall is p a s t , W h e n p e a r a n d cherry b l o o m went d o w n in s h o w e r s O n s u n n y days a m o m e n t o v e r c a s t ; A n d c o m e s that other fall we n a m e the fall. H e says the highway d u s t is over all. T h e bird would c e a s e a n d b e a s other birds B u t that he knows in singing not to sing. T h e q u e s t i o n that h e f r a m e s in all b u t w o r d s Is what to m a k e of a d i m i n i s h e d thing. 1916

Birches W h e n I s e e b i r c h e s b e n d to left a n d right A c r o s s the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think s o m e boy's b e e n s w i n g i n g t h e m . B u t swinging doesn't b e n d t h e m d o w n to stay As ice s t o r m s do. Often you m u s t have s e e n t h e m L o a d e d with ice a s u n n y winter m o r n i n g After a rain. T h e y click u p o n t h e m s e l v e s A s the b r e e z e r i s e s , a n d turn m a n y - c o l o r e d A s the stir c r a c k s a n d c r a z e s their e n a m e l . S o o n the s u n ' s w a r m t h m a k e s t h e m s h e d crystal shells S h a t t e r i n g a n d a v a l a n c h i n g o n the s n o w c r u s t — S u c h h e a p s of b r o k e n g l a s s to s w e e p away You'd think the inner d o m e of heaven h a d fallen. T h e y are d r a g g e d to the withered b r a c k e n by the l o a d , A n d they s e e m not to b r e a k ; t h o u g h o n c e they are b o w e d S o low for long, they never right t h e m s e l v e s : You m a y s e e their trunks a r c h i n g in the w o o d s Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the g r o u n d L i k e girls on h a n d s a n d k n e e s that throw their hair B e f o r e t h e m over their h e a d s to dry in the s u n . B u t I w a s g o i n g to say w h e n T r u t h broke in W i t h all her m a t t e r of fact a b o u t the ice s t o r m , I s h o u l d prefer to have s o m e boy b e n d t h e m A s he went out a n d in to fetch the c o w s — S o m e boy too far from town to learn b a s e b a l l , W h o s e only play w a s what h e f o u n d himself, S u m m e r or winter, a n d c o u l d play a l o n e . O n e by o n e h e s u b d u e d his father's trees

5

10

is

20

25

"OUT,

O U T — "

By riding t h e m d o w n over a n d over again Until he took the stiffness out of t h e m , A n d not o n e but h u n g limp, not o n e w a s left F o r him to c o n q u e r . H e learned all there w a s T o learn a b o u t not l a u n c h i n g out too s o o n A n d so not carrying the tree away C l e a r to the g r o u n d . H e always kept his p o i s e T o the top b r a n c h e s , c l i m b i n g carefully With the s a m e p a i n s you u s e to fill a c u p U p to the brim, a n d even a b o v e the brim. T h e n h e flung o u t w a r d , feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way d o w n through the air to the g r o u n d . S o w a s I o n c e myself a swinger of b i r c h e s . And s o I d r e a m of g o i n g b a c k to b e . It's w h e n I'm weary of c o n s i d e r a t i o n s , A n d life is too m u c h like a p a t h l e s s wood W h e r e your f a c e b u r n s a n d tickles with the c o b w e b s B r o k e n a c r o s s it, a n d o n e eye is w e e p i n g F r o m a twig's having l a s h e d a c r o s s it o p e n . I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then c o m e b a c k to it a n d begin over. M a y n o fate willfully m i s u n d e r s t a n d m e A n d half grant what I wish a n d s n a t c h m e away N o t to return. Earth's the right p l a c e for love: I don't know w h e r e it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by c l i m b i n g a birch tree, A n d c l i m b b l a c k b r a n c h e s u p a snow-white trunk Toward h e a v e n , till the tree c o u l d b e a r n o m o r e , B u t d i p p e d its top a n d set m e d o w n a g a i n . T h a t would b e g o o d both g o i n g a n d c o m i n g b a c k . O n e c o u l d do w o r s e t h a n b e a swinger of b i r c h e s .

/

1889

30

35

40

45

50

55

1916

"Out, O u t — " 1 T h e buzz s a w s n a r l e d a n d rattled in the yard A n d m a d e d u s t a n d d r o p p e d stove-length sticks of w o o d , S w e e t - s c e n t e d stuff w h e n the breeze drew a c r o s s it. A n d from there t h o s e that lifted eyes c o u l d c o u n t Five m o u n t a i n r a n g e s o n e b e h i n d the other U n d e r the s u n s e t far into V e r m o n t . A n d the s a w s n a r l e d a n d rattled, s n a r l e d a n d rattled, As it ran light, or h a d to b e a r a l o a d . A n d n o t h i n g h a p p e n e d : day w a s all b u t d o n e . C a l l it a day, I wish they might have s a i d T o p l e a s e the boy by giving him the half h o u r T h a t a boy c o u n t s s o m u c h w h e n s a v e d from work. 1. A quotation from Shakespeare's Macbeth shadow."

5

10

( 5 . 5 . 2 3 - 2 4 ) : "Out, out, brief candle!/Life's but a walking

1890

/

ROBERT

FROST

His sister s t o o d b e s i d e t h e m in her a p r o n T o tell t h e m " S u p p e r . " At the word, the saw, As if to prove s a w s knew what s u p p e r m e a n t , L e a p e d out at the boy's h a n d , or s e e m e d to l e a p — H e m u s t have given the h a n d . H o w e v e r it w a s , N e i t h e r refused the m e e t i n g . B u t the h a n d ! T h e boy's first outcry w a s a rueful l a u g h , As he s w u n g toward t h e m holding u p the h a n d , H a l f in a p p e a l , but half a s if to keep T h e life from spilling. T h e n the boy s a w a l l — S i n c e h e w a s old e n o u g h to know, big boy D o i n g a m a n ' s work, t h o u g h a child at h e a r t — H e s a w all spoiled. " D o n ' t let him c u t my h a n d off— T h e doctor, w h e n h e c o m e s . Don't let h i m , sister!" S o . B u t the h a n d w a s g o n e already. T h e doctor put him in the dark of ether. H e lay a n d puffed his lips out with his b r e a t h . And t h e n — t h e w a t c h e r at his p u l s e took fright. N o o n e believed. T h e y listened at his heart. L i t t l e — l e s s — n o t h i n g ! — a n d that e n d e d it. N o m o r e to build on there. A n d they, s i n c e they W e r e not the o n e d e a d , turned to their affairs. 1916

Fire and Ice S o m e say the world will e n d in fire, S o m e say in ice. F r o m what I've t a s t e d of d e s i r e I hold with t h o s e w h o favor fire. B u t if it h a d to perish twice, I think I know e n o u g h of hate T o say that for d e s t r u c t i o n ice Is a l s o great And would suffice. 1923

Nothing Gold C a n Stay N a t u r e ' s first g r e e n is gold, H e r h a r d e s t h u e to hold. H e r early l e a f s a flower; B u t only so a n h o u r . T h e n leaf s u b s i d e s to leaf. S o E d e n s a n k to grief, S o d a w n g o e s d o w n to day. N o t h i n g gold c a n stay.

5

1923

DESERT

PLACES

/

1891

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening W h o s e w o o d s t h e s e are I think I know. His h o u s e is in the village, t h o u g h ; H e will not s e e m e s t o p p i n g here T o w a t c h his w o o d s fill u p with snow. M y little h o r s e m u s t think it q u e e r T o s t o p without a f a r m h o u s e n e a r B e t w e e n the w o o d s a n d frozen lake T h e darkest evening of the year. H e gives his h a r n e s s bells a s h a k e T o a s k if there is s o m e m i s t a k e . T h e only other s o u n d ' s the s w e e p O f easy wind a n d downy flake. The But And And

w o o d s are lovely, dark, a n d d e e p , I have p r o m i s e s to k e e p , miles to go before I s l e e p . miles to go before I s l e e p . 1923

Desert Places S n o w falling a n d night falling fast, o h , fast In a field I looked into going p a s t , And the g r o u n d a l m o s t covered s m o o t h in s n o w , B u t a few w e e d s a n d s t u b b l e s h o w i n g last. T h e w o o d s a r o u n d it have it—it is theirs. All a n i m a l s are s m o t h e r e d in their lairs. I a m too absent-spirited to c o u n t ; T h e loneliness i n c l u d e s m e u n a w a r e s . And lonely a s it is, that loneliness Will be m o r e lonely ere it will be l e s s — A blanker w h i t e n e s s of b e n i g h t e d s n o w With no e x p r e s s i o n , n o t h i n g to e x p r e s s . T h e y c a n n o t s c a r e m e with their e m p t y s p a c e s B e t w e e n s t a r s — o n stars where n o h u m a n r a c e is. I have it in m e so m u c h nearer h o m e T o s c a r e myself with my own d e s e r t p l a c e s .

5

10

15 1936

1892

/

ROBERT

FROST

Design I f o u n d a d i m p l e d spider, fat a n d white, O n a white heal-all, 1 h o l d i n g u p a m o t h L i k e a white p i e c e of rigid satin c l o t h — A s s o r t e d c h a r a c t e r s of d e a t h a n d blight Mixed ready to begin the m o r n i n g right, L i k e the ingredients of a w i t c h e s ' b r o t h — A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, A n d d e a d wings carried like a p a p e r kite. W h a t h a d that flower to d o with b e i n g white, T h e wayside b l u e a n d i n n o c e n t heal-all? W h a t b r o u g h t the kindred spider to that height, T h e n steered the white m o t h thither in the night? W h a t b u t d e s i g n of d a r k n e s s to a p p a l l ? — If d e s i g n govern in a thing s o s m a l l .

T h e Gift Outright T h e land w a s o u r s b e f o r e we were the land's. S h e w a s o u r l a n d m o r e t h a n a h u n d r e d years B e f o r e we were her p e o p l e . S h e w a s o u r s In M a s s a c h u s e t t s , in Virginia, B u t we were E n g l a n d ' s , still c o l o n i a l s , P o s s e s s i n g what w e still were u n p o s s e s s e d by, P o s s e s s e d by w h a t we n o w n o m o r e p o s s e s s e d . S o m e t h i n g we were withholding m a d e u s w e a k Until w e f o u n d out that it w a s o u r s e l v e s W e were withholding from our l a n d of living, A n d forthwith f o u n d salvation in s u r r e n d e r . S u c h a s w e were we gave o u r s e l v e s outright ( T h e d e e d of gift w a s m a n y d e e d s of war) T o the l a n d vaguely realizing w e s t w a r d , B u t still u n s t o r i e d , a r t l e s s , u n e n h a n c e d , S u c h a s s h e w a s , s u c h a s s h e would b e c o m e .

1. C o m m o n wildflower whose blossom is normally violet or blue.

1893

SUSAN

GLASPELL

1876-1948 Susan Glaspell—journalist, novelist, short-story writer, playwright, theatrical producer and director, actor—was a multitalented professional who eventually published more than fifty short stories, nine novels, and fourteen plays. Feminist rediscovery of Trifles, her first play—written and produced in 1916 and turned into a prize-winning short story, "A Jury of Her Peers," in 1917—has made this her best-known work today. Born and raised in Davenport, Iowa, Glaspell worked for a year on the Davenport Morning Republican after high school graduation, then attended Drake University in Des Moines from 1895 to 1899. In college she wrote for the campus newspaper as well as various Des Moines papers; after graduation she worked for two years on the Des Moines Daily News. In 1901 she abandoned journalism, returning to Davenport with a plan to earn her living as a fiction writer. Her early stories, combining regional midwestern settings with romantic plots, found favor with the editors of such popular magazines as Harper's, the Ladies' Home Journal, the American Magazine, and the Woman's Home Companion. In 1909 she published her first novel, The Glory of the Conquered.

In 1913 she married the recently divorced George Cram Cook, a Harvard-educated native of Davenport, who was a writer and theatrical director much interested in modernist experimentation. The two moved to the East Coast, traveled widely, and collaborated on many projects. They helped found both the Washington Square Players in 1914 and the group that came to be known as the Provincetown Players in 1916. The Provincetown Players, named for the New England seaport town where many of the members spent their summers, aimed to foster an American theater by producing plays by American playwrights only. Eugene O'Neill became the best-known dramatist of the group; Glaspell was a close second. She not only wrote plays but also acted in them, directed them, and helped produce them. From 1916 to 1922 she wrote nine plays, including Trifles, for the Provincetown Players; in 1922 Cook and Glaspell withdrew from the group, finding that it had become too commercially successful to suit their experimental aims. Cook died in 1924; a later close relationship, with the novelist and playwright Norman Matson, ended in 1932. Throughout the 1930s and 1940s, Glaspell, now a year-round resident of Provincetown, continued to write and publish. Her novel Judd Rankin's Wife (1928) was made into a movie. She won the 1930 Pulitzer Prize for drama for Alison's Room, a play loosely based on the life of Emily Dickinson. Her last novel, Judd Rankin's Daughter, appeared in 1945, three years before she died at the age of seventy-two. For Glaspell, the influence of such European playwrights as Henrik Ibsen and August Strindberg opened the door to much grimmer writing in a play like Trifles than in her popular short stories, with their formulaic happy endings. Her realism— her unsparing depiction of women's narrow, thwarted, isolated, and subjugated lives in rural, regional settings—produces effects quite unlike the nostalgic celebrations of woman-centered societies often associated with women regionalists. The efficiently plotted Trifles also features a formal device found in other Glaspell works, including Alison's Room: the main character at its center never appears. The text is from Plays by Susan Glaspell (1987).

1894

/

SUSAN

GLASPELL

Trifles CHARACTERS

County Attorney Sheriff a Neighboring Farmer

GEORGE HENDERSON, HENRY PETERS, LEWIS HALE, MRS PETERS MRS

HALE

S C E N E : The kitchen in the now abandoned farmhouse of J o h n Wright, a gloomy kitchen, and left without having been put in order—unwashed pans under the sink, a loaf of bread outside the bread-box, a dish-towel on the table—other signs of incompleted work. At the rear the outer door opens and the S H E R I F F comes in followed by the C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y and H A L E . The S H E R I F F and H A L E are men in middle life, the C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y is a young man; all are much bundled up and go at once to the stove. They are followed by the two women—the S H E R I F F ' S wife first; she is a slight wiry woman, a thin nervous face. M R S H A L E is larger and would ordinarily be called more comfortable looking, but she is disturbed now and looks fearfully about as she enters. The women have come in slowly, and stand close together near the door.

[rubbing his hands] T h i s f e e l s g o o d . C o m e u p to the fire, l a d i e s . M R S P E T E R S [after taking a step forward] I'm n o t — c o l d . S H E R I F F [unbuttoning his overcoat and stepping away from the stove as if to mark the beginning of official business] Now, M r Hale, before we move t h i n g s a b o u t , you explain to M r H e n d e r s o n j u s t w h a t y o u s a w w h e n y o u c a m e here yesterday morning. COUNTY ATTORNEY B y t h e way, h a s a n y t h i n g b e e n m o v e d ? A r e t h i n g s j u s t a s you left t h e m y e s t e r d a y ? S H E R I F F [looking about] It's j u s t the s a m e . W h e n it d r o p p e d b e l o w zero last night I t h o u g h t I'd b e t t e r s e n d F r a n k o u t this m o r n i n g to m a k e a fire for u s — n o u s e g e t t i n g p n e u m o n i a with a b i g c a s e o n , b u t I told h i m n o t to t o u c h a n y t h i n g e x c e p t the s t o v e — a n d y o u k n o w F r a n k . COUNTY ATTORNEY S o m e b o d y s h o u l d h a v e b e e n left h e r e y e s t e r d a y . SHERIFF O h — y e s t e r d a y . W h e n I h a d to s e n d F r a n k to M o r r i s C e n t e r for that m a n w h o w e n t c r a z y — I w a n t y o u to k n o w I h a d my h a n d s full y e s t e r d a y . I k n e w you c o u l d g e t b a c k f r o m O m a h a by today a n d a s l o n g a s I w e n t over everything h e r e m y s e l f — COUNTY ATTORNEY W e l l , M r H a l e , tell j u s t w h a t h a p p e n e d w h e n y o u c a m e here yesterday morning. HALE H a r r y a n d I h a d s t a r t e d to t o w n with a l o a d of p o t a t o e s . W e c a m e a l o n g the r o a d f r o m my p l a c e a n d a s I got h e r e I s a i d , 'I'm g o i n g to s e e if I c a n ' t g e t J o h n W r i g h t to g o in with m e o n a p a r t y t e l e p h o n e . ' 1 I s p o k e to W r i g h t a b o u t it o n c e b e f o r e a n d h e p u t m e off, s a y i n g folks t a l k e d t o o m u c h anyway, a n d all h e a s k e d w a s p e a c e a n d q u i e t — I g u e s s y o u k n o w a b o u t h o w m u c h h e t a l k e d h i m s e l f ; b u t I t h o u g h t m a y b e if I w e n t to the

COUNTY ATTORNEY

1. A single telephone line shared by several households.

TRIFLES

/

1895

h o u s e a n d talked a b o u t it b e f o r e his wife, t h o u g h I s a i d to H a r r y that I didn't k n o w a s w h a t his wife w a n t e d m a d e m u c h d i f f e r e n c e to J o h n — COUNTY ATTORNEY L e t ' s talk a b o u t that later, M r H a l e . I d o w a n t to talk a b o u t t h a t , b u t tell n o w j u s t w h a t h a p p e n e d w h e n you g o t to the h o u s e . HALE I didn't h e a r or s e e a n y t h i n g ; I k n o c k e d at the d o o r , a n d still it w a s all q u i e t i n s i d e . I k n e w they m u s t b e u p , it w a s p a s t eight o'clock. S o I k n o c k e d a g a i n , a n d I t h o u g h t I h e a r d s o m e b o d y say, ' C o m e in.' I w a s n ' t s u r e . I'm not s u r e yet, b u t I o p e n e d the d o o r — t h i s d o o r [indicating the door by which the two women are still standing] a n d t h e r e in t h a t r o c k e r — [pointing to it] sat M r s W r i g h t . [They all look at the rocker.] COUNTY ATTORNEY W h a t — w a s she doing? HALE S h e w a s r o c k i n ' b a c k a n d forth. S h e h a d her a p r o n in her h a n d a n d w a s kind o f — p l e a t i n g it. COUNTY ATTORNEY A n d h o w did s h e — l o o k ? HALE Well, she looked queer. COUNTY ATTORNEY H o w d o you m e a n — q u e e r ? HALE W e l l , a s if s h e didn't k n o w w h a t s h e w a s g o i n g to d o next. A n d kind of d o n e u p . COUNTY ATTORNEY H o w did s h e s e e m to feel a b o u t y o u r c o m i n g ? HALE W h y , I don't think s h e m i n d e d — o n e way or o t h e r . S h e didn't p a y m u c h a t t e n t i o n . I s a i d . ' H o w d o . M r s W r i g h t it's c o l d , ain't it?' A n d s h e s a i d , 'Is i t ? ' — a n d w e n t o n kind of p l e a t i n g at h e r a p r o n . W e l l , I w a s s u r p r i s e d : s h e didn't a s k m e to c o m e u p to the s t o v e , or to set d o w n , b u t j u s t s a t t h e r e , n o t even l o o k i n g at m e , s o I s a i d , 'I w a n t to s e e J o h n . ' A n d t h e n s h e — l a u g h e d . I g u e s s you w o u l d call it a l a u g h . I t h o u g h t of H a r r y a n d the t e a m o u t s i d e , s o I s a i d a little s h a r p : ' C a n ' t I s e e J o h n ? ' ' N o , ' s h e s a y s , kind o' dull like. 'Ain't h e h o m e ? ' s a y s I. 'Yes,' says s h e , 'he's h o m e . ' ' T h e n why can't I s e e h i m ? ' I a s k e d her, o u t of p a t i e n c e . ' ' C a u s e he's d e a d , ' says s h e . 'Dead?' says I. S h e j u s t n o d d e d her h e a d , not g e t t i n g a bit e x c i t e d , b u t rockin' b a c k a n d forth. ' W h y — w h e r e is h e ? ' s a y s I, not k n o w i n g w h a t to say. S h e j u s t p o i n t e d u p s t a i r s — l i k e t h a t [himself pointing to the room above] I got u p , with the i d e a of g o i n g u p t h e r e . I w a l k e d from t h e r e to h e r e — t h e n I says, 'Why, w h a t did h e die o f ? ' ' H e d i e d of a r o p e r o u n d his n e c k , ' says s h e , a n d j u s t w e n t o n p l e a t i n ' at her a p r o n . W e l l , I w e n t o u t a n d c a l l e d Harry. I t h o u g h t I m i g h t — n e e d h e l p . W e went upstairs and there he was lyin'— COUNTY ATTORNEY I t h i n k I'd r a t h e r have you g o into t h a t u p s t a i r s , w h e r e you c a n p o i n t it all o u t . J u s t g o o n n o w with the rest of the story. HALE W e l l , m y first t h o u g h t w a s to get that r o p e off. It l o o k e d . . . [stops, his face twitches] . . . b u t H a r r y , h e went u p to h i m , a n d h e s a i d , ' N o , he's d e a d all right, a n d we'd b e t t e r not t o u c h a n y t h i n g . ' S o w e w e n t b a c k d o w n stairs. S h e w a s still sitting that s a m e way. ' H a s a n y b o d y b e e n notified?' I a s k e d . ' N o , ' says s h e u n c o n c e r n e d . ' W h o did this, M r s W r i g h t ? ' s a i d Harry. H e s a i d it b u s i n e s s - l i k e — a n d s h e s t o p p e d p l e a t i n ' of her a p r o n . 'I don't know,' s h e s a y s . 'You don't know}' says Harry. ' N o , ' s a y s s h e . 'Weren't you s l e e p i n ' in the b e d with h i m ? ' says Harry. 'Yes,' s a y s s h e , 'but I w a s o n the i n s i d e . ' ' S o m e b o d y s l i p p e d a r o p e r o u n d his n e c k a n d s t r a n g l e d h i m a n d you didn't w a k e u p ? ' says Harry. 'I didn't w a k e

1896

/

SUSAN

GLASPELL

u p , ' s h e s a i d after h i m . W e m u s t 'a l o o k e d a s if w e didn't s e e h o w t h a t c o u l d b e , for after a m i n u t e s h e s a i d , 'I s l e e p s o u n d . ' H a r r y w a s g o i n g to a s k her m o r e q u e s t i o n s b u t I s a i d m a y b e w e o u g h t to let h e r tell h e r story first to t h e c o r o n e r , or the sheriff, s o H a r r y w e n t fast a s h e c o u l d to Rivers' p l a c e , w h e r e there's a t e l e p h o n e . COUNTY ATTORNEY A n d w h a t did M r s W r i g h t d o w h e n s h e k n e w t h a t y o u h a d g o n e for the c o r o n e r ? HALE S h e m o v e d f r o m that c h a i r to this o n e over h e r e [pointing to a small chair in the corner] a n d j u s t s a t t h e r e with her h a n d s h e l d t o g e t h e r a n d l o o k i n g d o w n . I got a feeling that I o u g h t to m a k e s o m e c o n v e r s a t i o n , s o I s a i d I h a d c o m e in to s e e if J o h n w a n t e d to p u t in a t e l e p h o n e , a n d at that s h e s t a r t e d to l a u g h , a n d t h e n s h e s t o p p e d a n d l o o k e d at m e — s c a r e d , [the C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y , who has had his notebook out, makes a note] I d u n n o , m a y b e it w a s n ' t s c a r e d . I w o u l d n ' t like to s a y it w a s . S o o n H a r r y got b a c k , a n d t h e n D r Lloyd c a m e , a n d y o u , M r P e t e r s , a n d s o I g u e s s that's all I k n o w t h a t y o u d o n ' t . C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y [looking around] I g u e s s we'll g o u p s t a i r s f i r s t — a n d t h e n o u t to the b a r n a n d a r o u n d t h e r e , [to the S H E R I F F ] Y o u ' r e c o n v i n c e d t h a t t h e r e w a s n o t h i n g i m p o r t a n t h e r e — n o t h i n g t h a t w o u l d p o i n t to a n y motive. SHERIFF Nothing here but kitchen things. [The C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y , after again looking around the kitchen, opens the door of a cupboard closet. He gets up on a chair and looks on a shelf. Pulls his hand away, sticky.] COUNTY ATTORNEY Here's a nice mess. [The women draw nearer.] M R S P E T E R S [to the other woman] O h , her fruit: it did f r e e z e , [to the L A W Y E R ] S h e w o r r i e d a b o u t t h a t w h e n it t u r n e d s o c o l d . S h e s a i d the fire'd g o o u t a n d her j a r s w o u l d b r e a k . SHERIFF W e l l , c a n you b e a t t h e w o m e n ! H e l d for m u r d e r a n d worryin' a b o u t her p r e s e r v e s . COUNTY ATTORNEY I g u e s s b e f o r e we're t h r o u g h s h e m a y h a v e s o m e t h i n g m o r e s e r i o u s t h a n p r e s e r v e s to worry a b o u t . HALE W e l l , w o m e n a r e u s e d to worrying over trifles. [The two women move a little closer together.] C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y [with the gallantry of a young politician] A n d yet, for all their w o r r i e s , w h a t w o u l d w e d o w i t h o u t the l a d i e s ? [the women do not unbend. He goes to the sink, takes a dipperful of water from the pail and pouring it into a basin, washes his hands. Starts to wipe them on the rollertowel, turns it for a cleaner place] Dirty t o w e l s ! [kicks his foot against the pans under the sink] N o t m u c h of a h o u s e k e e p e r , w o u l d you say, l a d i e s ? M R S H A L E [stiffly] T h e r e ' s a g r e a t d e a l of w o r k to b e d o n e o n a f a r m . COUNTY ATTORNEY T O b e s u r e . A n d yet [with a little bow to her] I k n o w t h e r e a r e s o m e D i c k s o n c o u n t y f a r m h o u s e s w h i c h d o n o t h a v e s u c h roller towels. [He gives it a pull to expose its length again.] MRS HALE T h o s e towels get dirty awful q u i c k . M e n ' s h a n d s a r e n ' t always a s c l e a n a s they m i g h t b e . COUNTY ATTORNEY A h , loyal to y o u r sex. I s e e . B u t you a n d M r s W r i g h t w e r e n e i g h b o r s . I s u p p o s e you w e r e f r i e n d s , t o o .

TRIFLES

/

1897

[shaking her head] I've not s e e n m u c h of h e r of late y e a r s . I've not b e e n in this h o u s e — i t ' s m o r e t h a n a year. COUNTY ATTORNEY A n d why w a s t h a t ? Y o u didn't like h e r ? MRS HALE I liked h e r all well e n o u g h . F a r m e r s ' wives h a v e their h a n d s full, M r H e n d e r s o n . A n d t h e n — COUNTY ATTORNEY Yes—? M R S H A L E [looking about] It never s e e m e d a very c h e e r f u l p l a c e . COUNTY ATTORNEY N O — i t ' s not c h e e r f u l . I s h o u l d n ' t s a y s h e h a d t h e h o m e m a k i n g instinct. MRS HALE W e l l , I d o n ' t k n o w a s W r i g h t h a d , either. COUNTY ATTORNEY You m e a n that they didn't get o n very well? MRS HALE N o . I d o n ' t m e a n a n y t h i n g . B u t I d o n ' t think a p l a c e ' d b e a n y c h e e r f u l l e r for J o h n W r i g h t ' s b e i n g in it. COUNTY ATTORNEY I'd like to talk m o r e of that a little later. I w a n t to get the lay of t h i n g s u p s t a i r s n o w . [He goes to the left, where three steps lead to a stair door.] SHERIFF I s u p p o s e a n y t h i n g M r s P e t e r s does'll b e all right. S h e w a s to take in s o m e c l o t h e s for her, you k n o w , a n d a few little t h i n g s . W e left in s u c h a hurry y e s t e r d a y . COUNTY ATTORNEY Y e s , b u t I w o u l d like to s e e w h a t you t a k e , M r s P e t e r s , a n d k e e p a n eye o u t for a n y t h i n g that m i g h t b e o f u s e to u s . MRS PETERS Yes, M r Henderson. [The women listen to the men's steps on the stairs, then look about the kitchen.] MRS HALE I'd h a t e to h a v e m e n c o m i n g into m y k i t c h e n , s n o o p i n g a r o u n d a n d criticising. [She arranges the pans under sink which the L A W Y E R had shoved out of place.] MRS PETERS O f c o u r s e it's n o m o r e t h a n their duty. MRS HALE Duty's all right, b u t I g u e s s t h a t d e p u t y sheriff that c a m e o u t to m a k e t h e fire m i g h t h a v e got a little of this o n . [gives the roller towel a pull] W i s h I'd t h o u g h t o f that s o o n e r . S e e m s m e a n to talk a b o u t h e r for not h a v i n g t h i n g s s l i c k e d u p w h e n s h e h a d to c o m e a w a y in s u c h a hurry. M R S P E T E R S [who has gone to a small table in the left rear corner of the room, and lifted one end of a towel that covers a pan] S h e had bread set. [Stands still.] M R S H A L E [eyes fixed on a loaf of bread beside the bread-box, which is on a low shelf at the other side of the room. Moves slowly toward it] S h e was g o i n g to p u t this in t h e r e , [picks up loaf, then abruptly drops it. In a manner of returning to familiar things] It's a s h a m e a b o u t her fruit. I w o n d e r if it's all g o n e , [gets up on the chair and looks] I t h i n k there's s o m e h e r e that's all right, M r s P e t e r s . Y e s — h e r e ; [holding it toward the window] this is c h e r r i e s , t o o . [looking again] I d e c l a r e I b e l i e v e that's t h e only o n e . [gets down, bottle in her hand. Goes to the sink and wipes it off on the outside] She'll feel awful b a d after all her h a r d w o r k in t h e hot w e a t h e r . I r e m e m b e r t h e a f t e r n o o n I p u t u p m y c h e r r i e s last summer. [She puts the bottle on the big kitchen table, center of the room. With a sigh, is about to sit down in the rocking-chair. Before she is seated MRS HALE

1898

/

SUSAN

GLASPELL

realizes what chair it is; with a slow look at it, steps back. The chair which she has touched rocks back and forth.] MRS PETERS W e l l , I m u s t get t h o s e t h i n g s f r o m the front r o o m c l o s e t , [she goes to the door at the right, but after looking into the other room, steps back] Y o u c o m i n g with m e , M r s H a l e ? You c o u l d h e l p m e carry t h e m . [They go in the other room; reappear, M R S P E T E R S carrying a dress and skirt, M R S H A L E following with a pair of shoes.] MRS PETERS M y , it's c o l d in t h e r e . [She puts the clothes on the big table and hurries to the stove.] M R S H A L E [examining the skirt] Wright was close.2 I think maybe that's why s h e kept s o m u c h to herself. S h e didn't even b e l o n g to the L a d i e s Aid. I s u p p o s e s h e felt s h e c o u l d n ' t d o h e r p a r t , a n d t h e n y o u don't e n j o y t h i n g s w h e n y o u feel s h a b b y . S h e u s e d to w e a r pretty c l o t h e s a n d b e lively, w h e n s h e w a s M i n n i e F o s t e r , o n e of the town girls s i n g i n g in t h e choir. B u t t h a t — o h , that w a s thirty y e a r s a g o . T h i s all you w a s to t a k e in? MRS PETERS S h e s a i d s h e w a n t e d a n a p r o n . F u n n y t h i n g to w a n t , for t h e r e isn't m u c h to get y o u dirty in j a i l , g o o d n e s s k n o w s . B u t I s u p p o s e j u s t to m a k e her feel m o r e n a t u r a l . S h e s a i d they w a s in the t o p d r a w e r in this c u p b o a r d . Y e s , h e r e . A n d t h e n h e r little s h a w l t h a t a l w a y s h u n g b e h i n d the door, [opens stair door and looks] Y e s , h e r e it is. [Quickly shuts door leading upstairs.] M R S H A L E [abruptly moving toward her] Mrs Peters? MRS PETERS Yes, Mrs Hale? MRS HALE D o you think s h e did it? M R S P E T E R S [in a frightened voice] O h , I don't k n o w . MRS HALE W e l l , I don't think s h e d i d . A s k i n g for a n a p r o n a n d h e r little s h a w l . W o r r y i n g a b o u t h e r fruit. M R S P E T E R S [starts to speak, glances up, where footsteps are heard in the room above. In a low voice] M r P e t e r s s a y s it looks b a d for h e r . M r H e n d e r s o n is awful s a r c a s t i c in a s p e e c h a n d he'll m a k e fun of h e r s a y i n ' s h e didn't wake up. MRS HALE W e l l , I g u e s s J o h n W r i g h t didn't w a k e w h e n they w a s s l i p p i n g that r o p e u n d e r his n e c k . MRS PETERS N o , it's s t r a n g e . It m u s t h a v e b e e n d o n e awful crafty a n d still. T h e y say it w a s s u c h a — f u n n y w a y to kill a m a n , r i g g i n g it all u p like that. MRS HALE T h a t ' s j u s t w h a t M r H a l e s a i d . T h e r e w a s a g u n in the h o u s e . H e s a y s that's w h a t h e c a n ' t u n d e r s t a n d . MRS PETERS M r H e n d e r s o n s a i d c o m i n g o u t that w h a t w a s n e e d e d for the c a s e w a s a m o t i v e ; s o m e t h i n g to s h o w a n g e r , o r — s u d d e n f e e l i n g . M R S H A L E [who is standing by the table] W e l l , I don't s e e a n y s i g n s o f a n g e r a r o u n d h e r e , [she puts her hand on the dish-towel which lies on the table, stands looking down at table, one half of which is clean, the other half messy] It's w i p e d to h e r e , [makes a move as if to finish work, then turns and looks at loaf of bread outside the bread-box. Drops towel. In that voice of coming back to familiar things.] W o n d e r h o w they a r e finding t h i n g s u p s t a i r s . I h o p e s h e h a d it a little m o r e r e d - u p 3 u p t h e r e . You k n o w , it 2. Miserly.

3. Tidy.

TRIFLES

/

1899

s e e m s kind of sneaking. L o c k i n g her u p in town a n d t h e n c o m i n g o u t h e r e a n d trying to get her own h o u s e to turn a g a i n s t her! MRS PETERS B u t M r s H a l e , the law is the law. MRS HALE I s ' p o s e 'tis, [unbuttoning her coat] B e t t e r l o o s e n u p your t h i n g s , M r s P e t e r s . You won't feel t h e m w h e n you g o o u t . [ M R S P E T E R S takes off her fur tippet, goes to hang it on hook at back of room, stands looking at the under part of the small corner table.] MRS PETERS S h e w a s p i e c i n g a quilt. [She brings the large sewing basket and they look at the bright pieces.] MRS HALE It's log c a b i n p a t t e r n . Pretty, isn't it? I w o n d e r if s h e w a s g o i n ' to quilt it or j u s t k n o t it? [Footsteps have been heard coming down the stairs. The S H E R I F F enters followed by H A L E and the C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y . ] SHERIFF T h e y w o n d e r if s h e w a s g o i n g to quilt it or j u s t k n o t it! [The men laugh, the women look abashed.] C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y [rubbing his hands over the stove] F r a n k ' s fire didn't d o m u c h u p t h e r e , did it? W e l l , let's go out to the b a r n a n d g e t that c l e a r e d up. [The men go outside.] M R S H A L E [resentfully] I don't k n o w a s there's a n y t h i n g s o s t r a n g e , o u r takin' u p o u r t i m e with little things while we're w a i t i n g for t h e m to get the e v i d e n c e , [she sits down at the big table smoothing out a block with decision] I don't s e e a s it's a n y t h i n g to l a u g h a b o u t . M R S P E T E R S [apologetically] O f c o u r s e they've got awful i m p o r t a n t t h i n g s on their m i n d s . [Pulls up a chair and joins M R S H A L E at the table.] M R S H A L E [examining another block] M r s P e t e r s , look at this o n e . H e r e , this is the o n e s h e w a s w o r k i n g o n , a n d look at the s e w i n g ! All t h e rest of it h a s b e e n s o n i c e a n d e v e n . A n d look at this! It's all over the p l a c e ! W h y , it looks a s if s h e didn't k n o w what s h e w a s a b o u t ! [After she has said this they look at each other, then start to glance back at the door. After an instant M R S H A L E has pulled at a knot and ripped the sewing.] MRS PETERS O h , w h a t a r e you d o i n g , M r s H a l e ? M R S H A L E [mildly] J u s t p u l l i n g o u t a stitch or two that's not s e w e d very g o o d , [threading a needle] B a d s e w i n g always m a d e m e fidgety. M R S P E T E R S [nervously] I don't think we o u g h t to t o u c h t h i n g s . MRS HALE I'll j u s t finish u p this e n d . [suddenly stopping and leaning forward] M r s P e t e r s ? MRS PETERS Yes, Mrs Hale? MRS HALE W h a t d o you s u p p o s e s h e w a s s o n e r v o u s a b o u t ? MRS PETERS O h — I don't k n o w . I don't k n o w a s s h e w a s n e r v o u s . I s o m e t i m e s s e w awful q u e e r w h e n I'm j u s t tired, [ M R S H A L E starts to say something, looks at M R S P E T E R S , then goes on sewing] Well I m u s t get t h e s e t h i n g s w r a p p e d u p . T h e y m a y b e t h r o u g h s o o n e r t h a n w e think, [putting apron and other things together] I w o n d e r w h e r e I c a n find a p i e c e of p a p e r , a n d string. MRS HALE In t h a t c u p b o a r d , m a y b e . 4

4. Short cape, falling just below the shoulders.

1900

MRS

/

SUSAN

PETERS

GLASPELL

[looking

in cupboard]

W h y , here's a b i r d - c a g e , [holds

it

up]

Did she have a bird, M r s Hale? MRS HALE W h y , I d o n ' t k n o w w h e t h e r s h e did or n o t — I ' v e n o t b e e n h e r e for s o l o n g . T h e r e w a s a m a n a r o u n d l a s t year s e l l i n g c a n a r i e s c h e a p , b u t I don't k n o w a s s h e t o o k o n e ; m a y b e s h e did. S h e u s e d to s i n g real pretty herself. M R S P E T E R S [glancing around] S e e m s f u n n y to t h i n k of a b i r d h e r e . B u t s h e m u s t h a v e h a d o n e , or why w o u l d s h e h a v e a c a g e ? I w o n d e r w h a t h a p p e n e d to it. I s ' p o s e m a y b e t h e c a t got it. N o , s h e didn't h a v e a c a t . S h e ' s got t h a t f e e l i n g s o m e p e o p l e h a v e a b o u t c a t s — b e i n g afraid of t h e m . M y c a t got in h e r r o o m a n d s h e w a s real u p s e t a n d a s k e d m e to take it o u t . MRS HALE M y s i s t e r B e s s i e w a s like t h a t . Queer, ain't it? M R S P E T E R S [examining the cage] W h y , look a t this d o o r . It's b r o k e . O n e h i n g e is p u l l e d a p a r t . M R S H A L E [looking too] L o o k s a s if s o m e o n e m u s t h a v e b e e n r o u g h with it. MRS HALE

MRS PETERS

MRS PETERS

[She

Why,

brings

yes.

the cage forward

and puts

it on the

table.]

I w i s h if they're g o i n g to find any e v i d e n c e they'd b e a b o u t it. I don't like this p l a c e . MRS PETERS B u t I'm awful g l a d you c a m e with m e , M r s H a l e . It w o u l d b e l o n e s o m e for m e sitting h e r e a l o n e . MRS HALE It w o u l d , w o u l d n ' t it? [dropping her sewing] B u t I tell you w h a t I d o w i s h , M r s P e t e r s . I w i s h I h a d c o m e over s o m e t i m e s w h e n she w a s

MRS

HALE

here. I—[looking

around

the room]—wish

I had.

B u t of c o u r s e you w e r e awful b u s y . M r s H a l e — y o u r h o u s e and your children. MRS HALE I c o u l d ' v e c o m e . I s t a y e d a w a y b e c a u s e it w e r e n ' t c h e e r f u l — a n d t h a t ' s why I o u g h t to h a v e c o m e . I—I've n e v e r liked this p l a c e . M a y b e b e c a u s e it's d o w n in a h o l l o w a n d you don't s e e t h e r o a d . I d u n n o w h a t it is, b u t it's a l o n e s o m e p l a c e a n d always w a s . I w i s h I h a d c o m e over to s e e M i n n i e F o s t e r s o m e t i m e s . I c a n s e e n o w — [ s h a k e s her head] MRS

PETERS

W e l l , you m u s t n ' t r e p r o a c h yourself. M r s H a l e . S o m e h o w w e j u s t d o n ' t s e e h o w it is with o t h e r folks u n t i l — s o m e t h i n g c o m e s u p . MRS HALE N o t h a v i n g c h i l d r e n m a k e s l e s s w o r k — b u t it m a k e s a q u i e t h o u s e , a n d W r i g h t o u t to w o r k all d a y , a n d n o c o m p a n y w h e n h e d i d c o m e in. D i d y o u k n o w J o h n W r i g h t , M r s P e t e r s ? MRS PETERS N o t to k n o w h i m ; I've s e e n h i m in t o w n . T h e y s a y h e w a s a good man. MRS HALE Y e s — g o o d ; h e didn't drink, a n d k e p t his w o r d a s well a s m o s t , I g u e s s , a n d p a i d his d e b t s . B u t he w a s a h a r d m a n , M r s P e t e r s . J u s t to p a s s t h e t i m e of d a y with h i m — [ s h i v e r s ] L i k e a r a w w i n d t h a t g e t s to t h e b o n e , [pauses, her eye falling on the cage] I s h o u l d t h i n k s h e w o u l d a w a n t e d a bird. B u t w h a t d o you s u p p o s e w e n t with it? MRS PETERS I d o n ' t k n o w , u n l e s s it got s i c k a n d d i e d . MRS PETERS

[She

reaches

women MRS

HALE

her head]

watch

over

and

swings

the broken

door,

swings

it again,

both

it.]

You weren't raised round here, were you? [ M R S Y o u didn't k n o w — h e r ?

PETERS

shakes

TRIFLES

/

1901

N o t till they b r o u g h t her y e s t e r d a y . S h e — c o m e to think of it, s h e w a s kind of like a bird h e r s e l f — real s w e e t a n d pretty, b u t kind of timid a n d — f l u t t e r y . H o w — s h e — d i d — c h a n g e , [silence: then as if struck by a happy thought and relieved to get back to everyday things] Tell y o u w h a t , M r s P e t e r s , why d o n ' t y o u t a k e the quilt in with y o u ? It m i g h t t a k e u p her m i n d . MRS PETERS W h y , I think that's a real n i c e i d e a , M r s H a l e . T h e r e c o u l d n ' t p o s s i b l y b e a n y o b j e c t i o n to it, c o u l d t h e r e ? N o w , j u s t w h a t w o u l d I t a k e ? I w o n d e r if her p a t c h e s a r e in h e r e — a n d her t h i n g s . [They look in the sewing basket.] MRS HALE H e r e ' s s o m e r e d . I e x p e c t this h a s got s e w i n g t h i n g s in it. [brings out a fancy box] W h a t a pretty box. L o o k s like s o m e t h i n g s o m e b o d y w o u l d give y o u . M a y b e her s c i s s o r s a r e in h e r e . [Opens box. Suddenly puts her hand to her nose] W h y — [ M R S P E T E R S bends nearer, then turns her face away] T h e r e ' s s o m e t h i n g w r a p p e d u p in this p i e c e of silk. MRS PETERS W h y , this isn't her s c i s s o r s . M R S H A L E [lifting the silk] Oh, Mrs Peters—it's— [ M R S P E T E R S bends closer.] MRS PETERS It's the bird. M R S H A L E [jumping up] B u t , M r s P e t e r s — l o o k at it! It's n e c k ! L o o k at its n e c k ! It's a l l — o t h e r s i d e to. MRS PETERS Somebody—wrung—its—neck. [Their eyes meet. A look of growing comprehension, of horror. Steps are heard outside, M R S H A L E slips box under quilt pieces, and sinks into her chair. Enter S H E R I F F and C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y , M R S P E T E R S rises.] C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y [as one turning from serious things to little pleasantries] Well l a d i e s , h a v e you d e c i d e d w h e t h e r s h e w a s g o i n g to quilt it or k n o t it? MRS PETERS W e think s h e w a s g o i n g t o — k n o t it. COUNTY ATTORNEY W e l l , that's i n t e r e s t i n g , I'm s u r e , [seeing the bird-cage] H a s the bird flown? M R S H A L E [putting more quilt pieces over the box] W e think t h e — c a t got it. C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y [preoccupied] Is t h e r e a c a t ? [ M R S H A L E glances in a quick covert way at M R S P E T E R S . ] MRS PETERS W e l l , not now. T h e y ' r e s u p e r s t i t i o u s , you k n o w . T h e y l e a v e . C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y [to S H E R I F F P E T E R S , continuing an interrupted conversation] N o sign at all of a n y o n e h a v i n g c o m e f r o m the o u t s i d e . T h e i r o w n r o p e . N o w let's g o u p a g a i n a n d g o over it p i e c e by p i e c e , [they start upstairs] It w o u l d have to h a v e b e e n s o m e o n e w h o k n e w j u s t t h e — [ M R S P E T E R S sits down. The two women sit there not looking at one another, but as if peering into something and at the same time holding back. When they talk now it is in the manner of feeling their way over strange ground, as if afraid of what they are saying, but as if they can not help saying it.] MRS HALE S h e liked the bird. S h e w a s g o i n g to b u r y it in t h a t pretty box. M R S P E T E R S [in a whisper] When I was a girl—my kitten—there was a boy took a h a t c h e t , a n d b e f o r e my e y e s — a n d b e f o r e I c o u l d get t h e r e — [covers her face an instant] If they h a d n ' t h e l d m e b a c k I w o u l d h a v e — [catches herself, looks upstairs where steps are heard, falters weakly]—hurt him. MRS PETERS

MRS HALE

1902

/

SUSAN

GLASPELL

[with a slow look around her] I w o n d e r h o w it w o u l d s e e m never to have h a d a n y c h i l d r e n a r o u n d , [pause] N o , W r i g h t w o u l d n ' t like t h e b i r d — a t h i n g that s a n g . S h e u s e d to s i n g . H e killed that, t o o . M R S P E T E R S [moving uneasily] W e don't k n o w w h o killed the bird. MRS HALE I knew J o h n Wright. MRS PETERS It w a s a n awful t h i n g w a s d o n e in this h o u s e that n i g h t , M r s H a l e . Killing a m a n while h e slept, s l i p p i n g a r o p e a r o u n d his n e c k that c h o k e d t h e life o u t of h i m . MRS HALE H i s n e c k . C h o k e d the life o u t of h i m . [Her hand goes out and rests on the bird-cage.] M R S P E T E R S [with rising voice] W e don't k n o w w h o killed h i m . W e don't know. M R S H A L E [her own feeling not interrupted] If there'd b e e n y e a r s a n d years of n o t h i n g , t h e n a bird to s i n g to y o u , it w o u l d b e a w f u l — s t i l l , after the bird w a s still. M R S P E T E R S [something within her speaking] I k n o w w h a t stillness is. W h e n w e h o m e s t e a d e d in D a k o t a , a n d my first b a b y d i e d — a f t e r h e w a s two years old, a n d m e with n o o t h e r t h e n — M R S H A L E [moving] H o w s o o n d o you s u p p o s e they'll b e t h r o u g h , l o o k i n g for the e v i d e n c e ? MRS PETERS I k n o w w h a t stillness is. [pulling herself back] T h e law h a s got to p u n i s h c r i m e , M r s H a l e . M R S H A L E [not as if answering that] I wish you'd seen Minnie Foster when s h e w o r e a w h i t e d r e s s with b l u e r i b b o n s a n d s t o o d u p t h e r e in the choir a n d s a n g , [a look around the room] O h , I wish I'd c o m e over h e r e o n c e in a w h i l e ! T h a t w a s a c r i m e ! T h a t w a s a c r i m e ! W h o ' s g o i n g to p u n i s h that? M R S P E T E R S [looking upstairs] W e mustn't—take on. MRS HALE I might have known she needed help! I know how things can b e — f o r w o m e n . I tell y o u , it's q u e e r . M r s P e t e r s . W e live c l o s e t o g e t h e r a n d w e live far a p a r t . W e all g o t h r o u g h the s a m e t h i n g s — i t ' s all j u s t a different kind of the s a m e thing, [brushes her eyes, noticing the bottle of fruit, reaches out for it] If I w a s y o u , I w o u l d n ' t tell her her fruit w a s g o n e . Tell h e r it ain't. T e l l her it's all right. T a k e this in to p r o v e it to her. S h e — s h e m a y never k n o w w h e t h e r it w a s b r o k e or n o t . M R S P E T E R S [takes the bottle, looks about for something to wrap it in; takes petticoat from the clothes brought from the other room, very nervously begins winding this around the bottle. In a false voice] M y , it's a g o o d t h i n g the m e n c o u l d n ' t h e a r u s . W o u l d n ' t they j u s t l a u g h ! G e t t i n g all stirred u p over a little t h i n g like a — d e a d c a n a r y . A s if t h a t c o u l d h a v e a n y t h i n g to d o w i t h — w i t h — w o u l d n ' t they laugh! [The men are heard coming down stairs.] M R S H A L E [under her breath] M a y b e they w o u l d — m a y b e they w o u l d n ' t . COUNTY ATTORNEY N o , P e t e r s , it's all perfectly c l e a r e x c e p t a r e a s o n for d o i n g it. B u t you k n o w j u r i e s w h e n it c o m e s to w o m e n . If t h e r e w a s s o m e definite t h i n g . S o m e t h i n g to s h o w — s o m e t h i n g to m a k e a story a b o u t — a thing t h a t w o u l d c o n n e c t u p with this s t r a n g e way o f d o i n g i t — [The women's eyes meet for an instant. Enter H A L E from outer door.] HALE W e l l . I've got the t e a m a r o u n d . Pretty c o l d o u t t h e r e . COUNTY ATTORNEY I'm g o i n g to stay h e r e a while by myself, [to the S H E R I F F ] MRS HALE

SHERWOOD

ANDERSON

/

1903

You c a n s e n d F r a n k o u t for m e , can't y o u ? I w a n t to g o over everything. F m not satisfied that w e c a n ' t d o b e t t e r . SHERIFF D O you w a n t to s e e w h a t M r s P e t e r s is g o i n g to t a k e in? [The L A W Y E R goes to the table, picks up the apron, laughs.] COUNTY ATTORNEY O h , I g u e s s they're not very d a n g e r o u s t h i n g s the ladies have p i c k e d o u t . [Moves a few things about, disturbing the quilt pieces which cover the box. Steps back] N o , M r s P e t e r s d o e s n ' t n e e d s u p e r v i s i n g . F o r that m a t t e r , a sheriff's wife is m a r r i e d to the law. E v e r t h i n k of it t h a t way, M r s P e t e r s ? MRS PETERS N o t — j u s t t h a t way. S H E R I F F [chuckling] M a r r i e d to the law. [moves toward the other room] I j u s t w a n t you to c o m e in h e r e a m i n u t e , G e o r g e . W e o u g h t to t a k e a look at t h e s e w i n d o w s . C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y [scoffingly] Oh, windows! SHERIFF We'll b e right o u t , M r H a l e . [ H A L E goes outside. The S H E R I F F follows the C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y into the other room. Then M R S H A L E rises, hands tight together, looking intensely at M R S P E T E R S , whose eyes make a slow turn, finally meeting M R S H A L E S . A moment M R S H A L E holds her, then her own eyes point the way to where the box is concealed. Suddenly M R S P E T E R S throws back quilt pieces and tries to put the box in the hag she is wearing. It is too big. She opens box, starts to take bird out, cannot touch it, goes to pieces, stands there helpless. Sound of a knob turning in the other room, M R S H A L E snatches the box and puts it in the pocket of her big coat. Enter C O U N T Y A T T O R N E Y and

SHERIFF.]

[facetiously] W e l l , H e n r y , at least w e f o u n d o u t t h a t s h e w a s not g o i n g to quilt it. S h e w a s g o i n g t o — w h a t is it y o u call it, l a d i e s ? M R S H A L E [her hand against her pocket] W e call i t — k n o t it, M r H e n d e r s o n .

COUNTY ATTORNEY

CURTAIN

1916

•

SHERWOOD

ANDERSON

1876-1941 Sherwood Anderson was approaching middle age when he abandoned a successful business career to become a writer. Living in Chicago, New Orleans, and Paris, meeting literary people, he worked furiously to make up for his late start, producing novels, short stories, essays, and an autobiography. His short fiction provided a model for younger writers, whose careers he encouraged by literary advice and by practical help in getting published as well. Winesburg, Ohio, which appeared in 1919 when he was forty-three years old, remains a major work of experimental fiction and was in its time a bold treatment of small-town life in the American Midwest in the tradition of Edgar Lee Masters's Spoon

River

Anthology.

1904

/

SHERWOOD

ANDERSON

Anderson was born in southern Ohio, the third of seven children in a family headed by a father whose training and skill as a harness maker were becoming useless in the new world of the automobile. Anderson's father kept his family on the move in search of work; the stamina and tenderness of his mother supplied coherence and security in this nomadic life. Not until 1894, when Anderson was sixteen, did they settle down in the town of Clyde, Ohio, which became the model for Winesburg. Anderson never finished high school. He held a variety of jobs, living in Chicago with an older brother in 1896 and again in 1900 when he worked as an advertising copywriter. His first wife came from a successful Ohio business family; the couple settled in Ohio where Anderson managed a mail-order house as well as two paint firms. But he found increasingly that the need to write conflicted with his career. In 1912 he left his business and his marriage, returning to Chicago, where he met the writers and artists whose activities were creating the Chicago Renaissance. These included the novelists Floyd Dell and Theodore Dreiser; the poets Edgar Lee Masters, Vachel Lindsay, and Carl Sandburg; and the editors Harriet Monroe of Poetry and Margaret C. Anderson of the Little Review. His first major publication was Windy McPherson's Son (1916), the story of a man who runs away from a small Iowa town in futile search for life's meaning; his second was Marching Men (1917), about a charismatic lawyer who tries—unsuccessfully—to reorganize the factory system in a small town. These books reveal three of Anderson's preoccupations: the individual quest for self and social betterment, the small-town environment, and the distrust of modern industrial society. Missing, however, is the interest in human psychology and the sense of conflict between inner and outer worlds that appear in Winesburg and later works. In 1916 Anderson began writing and publishing the tales that were brought together in Winesburg, Ohio. The formal achievement of the book lay in its articulation of individual tales to a loose but coherent structure. The lives of a number of people living in the town of Winesburg are observed by the naive adolescent George Willard, a reporter for the local newspaper. Their stories contribute to his understanding of life and to his preparation for a career as a writer. The book ends when his mother dies and he leaves Winesburg. With the help of the narrator, whose vision is larger than George's, the reader can see how the lives of the characters have been profoundly distorted by the frustration and suppression of so many of their desires. Anderson calls these characters "grotesques," but the intention of Winesburg, Ohio is to show that life in all American small towns is grotesque in the same way. Anderson's attitude toward the characters mixes compassion for the individual with dismay at a social order that can do so much damage. His criticism is not specifically political, however; he is measuring society by a Utopian standard of free emotional and sensual expression. Stylistically Anderson strove for the simplest possible prose, using brief or at least uncomplex sentences and an unsophisticated vocabulary appropriate to the muffled awareness and limited resources of his typical characters. Structurally, his stories build toward a moment when the character breaks out in some frenzied gesture of release that is revelatory of a hidden inner life. In both style and structure Anderson's works were important influences on other writers: he encouraged simplicity and directness of style, made attractive the use of the point of view of outsider characters as a way of criticizing conventional society, and gave the craft of the short story a decided push toward stories presenting a slice of life or a significant moment as opposed to panorama and summary. Winesburg, Ohio appeared near the beginning of Anderson's literary career, and although he continued writing for two decades, he never repeated its success. His best later work was in short stories, published in three volumes: The Triumph of the Egg (1921), Horses and Men (1923), and Death in the Woods and Other Stories

(1933).

He also wrote a number of novels, including Poor White (1920), Many Marriages (1923), Beyond Desire (1932), and Kit Brandon (1936), as well as free verse, prose poems, plays, and essays. A series of autobiographical volumes advertised his career,

MOTHER

/

1905

attempted to define the writer's vocation in America, and discussed his impact on other writers. The more he claimed, however, the less other writers were willing to allow him; both Hemingway and Faulkner, for example, whom he had met in Paris and New Orleans, respectively, satirized his cult of the simple and thereby disavowed his influence. (In fact, he had stimulated and helped both of them—stimulated Hemingway in his quest for stylistic simplicity, Faulkner in his search for the proper subject matter.) During the 1930s Anderson, along with many other writers, was active in liberal causes, and he died at sea on the way to South America while on a goodwill mission for the State Department. The text is that of Winesburg, Ohio (1919).

FROM

WINESBURG,

OHIO

Mother Elizabeth Willard, the m o t h e r of G e o r g e Willard, w a s tall a n d g a u n t a n d her face w a s m a r k e d with s m a l l p o x s c a r s . A l t h o u g h s h e w a s b u t forty-five, s o m e o b s c u r e d i s e a s e h a d taken the fire out of her figure. Listlessly s h e went a b o u t the disorderly old hotel looking at the f a d e d wall-paper a n d the r a g g e d carp e t s a n d , when s h e w a s able to b e a b o u t , d o i n g the work of a c h a m b e r m a i d a m o n g b e d s soiled by the s l u m b e r s of fat traveling m e n . H e r h u s b a n d , T o m Willard, a slender, graceful m a n with s q u a r e s h o u l d e r s , a q u i c k military s t e p , a n d a black m u s t a c h e , trained to turn sharply u p at the e n d s , tried to p u t the wife out of his m i n d . T h e p r e s e n c e of the tall ghostly figure, moving slowly t h r o u g h t h e halls, he took a s a r e p r o a c h to himself. W h e n he t h o u g h t of her he grew angry a n d swore. T h e hotel w a s unprofitable a n d forever on the e d g e of failure a n d he wished h i m s e l f o u t of it. H e t h o u g h t of the old h o u s e a n d t h e w o m a n w h o lived there with h i m a s things d e f e a t e d a n d d o n e for. T h e hotel in which he h a d b e g u n life s o hopefully w a s n o w a m e r e g h o s t of what a hotel s h o u l d b e . A s he went s p r u c e a n d b u s i n e s s l i k e t h r o u g h the streets of W i n e s b u r g , h e s o m e t i m e s s t o p p e d a n d t u r n e d quickly a b o u t a s t h o u g h tearing that the spirit of the hotel a n d of the w o m a n w o u l d follow h i m even into the streets. " D a m n s u c h a life, d a m n it!" h e s p u t t e r e d aimlessly. T o m Willard h a d a p a s s i o n for village politics a n d for years h a d b e e n the leading D e m o c r a t in a strongly R e p u b l i c a n c o m m u n i t y . S o m e day, he told himself, the tide of things political will turn in my favor a n d t h e years of ineffectual service c o u n t big in the bestowal of rewards. H e d r e a m e d of g o i n g to C o n g r e s s a n d even of b e c o m i n g governor. O n c e when a y o u n g e r m e m b e r of the party a r o s e at a political c o n f e r e n c e a n d b e g a n to b o a s t of his faithful service, T o m Willard grew white with fury. " S h u t u p , y o u , " h e r o a r e d , glaring a b o u t . " W h a t d o you know of service? W h a t a r e you b u t a boy? L o o k at w h a t I've d o n e here! I w a s a D e m o c r a t h e r e in W i n e s b u r g w h e n it w a s a c r i m e to be a D e m o c r a t . In the old days they fairly h u n t e d u s with g u n s . " B e t w e e n Elizabeth a n d her o n e s o n G e o r g e there w a s a d e e p u n e x p r e s s e d b o n d of sympathy, b a s e d on a girlhood d r e a m that h a d long a g o died. In the son's p r e s e n c e s h e w a s timid a n d reserved, b u t s o m e t i m e s while h e hurried a b o u t town intent u p o n his duties a s a reporter, s h e went into his r o o m a n d closing the door knelt by a little desk, m a d e of a kitchen table, that sat near

1906

/

SHERWOOD

ANDERSON

a window. In the r o o m by the d e s k s h e went t h r o u g h a c e r e m o n y that w a s half a prayer, half a d e m a n d , a d d r e s s e d to the skies. In the boyish figure s h e y e a r n e d to s e e s o m e t h i n g half forgotten that h a d o n c e b e e n a part of herself r e c r e a t e d . T h e prayer c o n c e r n e d that. " E v e n t h o u g h I die, I will in s o m e way keep defeat from y o u , " s h e cried, a n d s o d e e p w a s her d e t e r m i n a t i o n that her whole body s h o o k . H e r eyes glowed a n d s h e c l e n c h e d her fists. "If I a m d e a d a n d s e e him b e c o m i n g a m e a n i n g l e s s d r a b figure like myself, I will c o m e b a c k , " s h e d e c l a r e d . "I a s k G o d now to give m e that privilege. I d e m a n d it. I will pay for it. G o d may b e a t m e with his fists. I will take any blow that m a y befall if but this my boy be allowed to express s o m e t h i n g for u s b o t h . " P a u s i n g uncertainly, the w o m a n s t a r e d a b o u t the boy's r o o m . " A n d d o not let him b e c o m e s m a r t a n d s u c c e s s f u l either," s h e a d d e d vaguely. T h e c o m m u n i o n b e t w e e n G e o r g e Willard a n d his m o t h e r w a s outwardly a formal thing without m e a n i n g . W h e n s h e w a s ill a n d sat by the w i n d o w in her r o o m he s o m e t i m e s went in the e v e n i n g to m a k e her a visit. T h e y s a t by a window that looked over the roof of a s m a l l f r a m e b u i l d i n g into M a i n S t r e e t . By t u r n i n g their h e a d s they c o u l d s e e , t h r o u g h a n o t h e r window, a l o n g a n alleyway that ran b e h i n d the M a i n Street s t o r e s a n d into the b a c k d o o r of A b n e r Groff's bakery. S o m e t i m e s a s they sat t h u s a p i c t u r e of village life p r e s e n t e d itself to t h e m . At the b a c k d o o r of his s h o p a p p e a r e d A b n e r G r o f f with a stick or a n e m p t y milk bottle in his h a n d . F o r a long time there w a s a f e u d b e t w e e n the baker a n d a grey c a t that b e l o n g e d to Sylvester W e s t , the druggist. T h e boy a n d his m o t h e r s a w the cat c r e e p into the d o o r of the bakery a n d presently e m e r g e followed by the baker w h o swore a n d waved his a r m s a b o u t . T h e baker's eyes were small a n d red a n d his b l a c k hair a n d b e a r d were filled with flour d u s t . S o m e t i m e s h e w a s s o angry that, a l t h o u g h the c a t h a d d i s a p p e a r e d , h e hurled sticks, bits of broken g l a s s , a n d even s o m e of the tools of his t r a d e a b o u t . O n c e h e b r o k e a window at the b a c k of Sinning's H a r d w a r e S t o r e . In the alley the grey cat c r o u c h e d b e h i n d barrels filled with torn p a p e r a n d broken bottles a b o v e which flew a b l a c k s w a r m of flies. O n c e w h e n s h e w a s a l o n e , a n d after w a t c h i n g a p r o l o n g e d a n d ineffectual o u t b u r s t o n the part of the b a k e r , E l i z a b e t h Willard p u t her h e a d d o w n on her long white h a n d s a n d w e p t . After that s h e did not look a l o n g the alleyway any m o r e , but tried to forget the c o n t e s t b e t w e e n the b e a r d e d m a n a n d the c a t . It s e e m e d like a r e h e a r s a l of her own life, terrible in its vividness. In the evening w h e n the s o n sat in the r o o m with his m o t h e r , the s i l e n c e m a d e t h e m both feel awkward. D a r k n e s s c a m e on a n d the e v e n i n g train c a m e in at the station. In the street below feet t r a m p e d u p a n d d o w n u p o n a b o a r d sidewalk. In the station yard, after the e v e n i n g train h a d g o n e , there w a s a heavy s i l e n c e . P e r h a p s S k i n n e r L e a s o n , the express a g e n t , m o v e d a truck the length of the station platform. O v e r on M a i n S t r e e t s o u n d e d a m a n ' s voice, l a u g h i n g . T h e door of the e x p r e s s office b a n g e d . G e o r g e Willard a r o s e a n d c r o s s i n g the r o o m f u m b l e d for the d o o r k n o b . S o m e t i m e s h e k n o c k e d a g a i n s t a chair, m a k i n g it s c r a p e a l o n g the floor. By the w i n d o w sat the sick w o m a n , perfectly still, listless. H e r long h a n d s , white a n d b l o o d l e s s , c o u l d b e s e e n d r o o p i n g over the e n d s of the a r m s of the chair. "I think you h a d better be out a m o n g the boys. You are too m u c h i n d o o r s , " s h e said, striving to relieve the e m b a r r a s s m e n t of the d e p a r t u r e . "I t h o u g h t I would t a k e a w a l k , " replied G e o r g e Willard, w h o felt awkward a n d c o n f u s e d .

MOTHER

/

1907

O n e evening in J u l y , w h e n the transient g u e s t s w h o m a d e the N e w Willard H o u s e their temporary h o m e s h a d b e c o m e s c a r c e , a n d the hallways, lighted only by k e r o s e n e l a m p s t u r n e d low, were p l u n g e d in g l o o m , E l i z a b e t h Willard h a d an a d v e n t u r e . S h e h a d b e e n ill in b e d for several days a n d her son h a d not c o m e to visit her. S h e w a s a l a r m e d . T h e feeble blaze of life that r e m a i n e d in her body w a s blown into a flame by her anxiety a n d s h e c r e p t o u t of b e d , d r e s s e d a n d hurried a l o n g the hallway toward her son's r o o m , s h a k i n g with exaggerated fears. A s s h e went a l o n g s h e s t e a d i e d herself with her h a n d , slipped a l o n g the p a p e r e d walls of the hall a n d b r e a t h e d with difficulty. T h e air whistled t h r o u g h her teeth. As she hurried forward s h e t h o u g h t how foolish s h e w a s . " H e is c o n c e r n e d with boyish affairs," s h e told herself. "Perh a p s he h a s now b e g u n to walk a b o u t in the e v e n i n g with girls." Elizabeth Willard h a d a d r e a d of b e i n g s e e n by g u e s t s in the hotel that h a d o n c e b e l o n g e d to her father a n d the o w n e r s h i p of which still stood r e c o r d e d in her n a m e in the c o u n t y c o u r t h o u s e . T h e hotel w a s continually losing p a t r o n a g e b e c a u s e of its s h a b b i n e s s a n d s h e t h o u g h t of herself a s a l s o shabby. H e r own r o o m w a s in an o b s c u r e c o r n e r a n d w h e n s h e felt able to work s h e voluntarily worked a m o n g the b e d s , preferring the labor that c o u l d be d o n e w h e n the g u e s t s were a b r o a d s e e k i n g trade a m o n g the m e r c h a n t s of W i n e s b u r g . By the d o o r of her son's r o o m the m o t h e r knelt u p o n the floor a n d listened for s o m e s o u n d from within. W h e n s h e h e a r d the boy m o v i n g a b o u t a n d talking in low t o n e s a smile c a m e to her lips. G e o r g e Willard h a d a habit of talking a l o u d to h i m s e l f a n d to h e a r him d o i n g so h a d always given his m o t h e r a p e c u l i a r p l e a s u r e . T h e habit in him, s h e felt, s t r e n g t h e n e d the secret b o n d that existed b e t w e e n t h e m . A t h o u s a n d t i m e s s h e h a d w h i s p e r e d to herself of the matter. " H e is groping a b o u t , trying to find himself," s h e t h o u g h t . " H e is not a dull c l o d , all words a n d s m a r t n e s s . Within him there is a s e c r e t s o m e t h i n g that is striving to grow. It is the thing I let b e killed in myself." In the d a r k n e s s in the hallway by the d o o r the sick w o m a n a r o s e a n d started a g a i n toward her own r o o m . S h e w a s afraid that the d o o r w o u l d o p e n a n d the boy c o m e u p o n her. W h e n s h e h a d r e a c h e d a s a f e d i s t a n c e a n d w a s a b o u t to turn a c o r n e r into a s e c o n d hallway s h e s t o p p e d a n d b r a c i n g herself with her h a n d s waited, thinking to s h a k e off a t r e m b l i n g fit of w e a k n e s s that h a d c o m e u p o n her. T h e p r e s e n c e of the boy in the r o o m h a d m a d e her happy. In her b e d , d u r i n g the long h o u r s a l o n e , the little fears that h a d visited her h a d b e c o m e giants. N o w they were all g o n e . " W h e n I get b a c k to my r o o m I shall s l e e p , " s h e m u r m u r e d gratefully. B u t Elizabeth Willard w a s not to return to her b e d a n d to s l e e p . A s s h e stood trembling in the d a r k n e s s the d o o r of her son's r o o m o p e n e d a n d the boy's father, T o m Willard, s t e p p e d out. In the light that s t r e a m e d o u t at the d o o r he stood with the knob in his h a n d a n d talked. W h a t he s a i d infuriated the w o m a n . T o m Willard w a s a m b i t i o u s for his s o n . H e h a d always t h o u g h t of h i m s e l f a s a s u c c e s s f u l m a n , a l t h o u g h n o t h i n g h e h a d ever d o n e h a d t u r n e d out successfully. H o w e v e r , w h e n h e w a s o u t of sight of the N e w Willard H o u s e a n d h a d no fear of c o m i n g u p o n his wife, he s w a g g e r e d a n d b e g a n to d r a m atize himself a s o n e of the c h i e f m e n of the town. H e w a n t e d his s o n to s u c c e e d . H e it w a s w h o h a d s e c u r e d for the boy the position o n the Winesburg Eagle. N o w , with a ring of e a r n e s t n e s s in his voice, he w a s advising

1908

/

SHERWOOD

ANDERSON

c o n c e r n i n g s o m e c o u r s e of c o n d u c t . "I tell you w h a t , G e o r g e , you've got to w a k e u p , " he said sharply. "Will H e n d e r s o n h a s s p o k e n to m e three t i m e s c o n c e r n i n g the matter. H e says you go a l o n g for h o u r s not h e a r i n g w h e n you are s p o k e n to a n d a c t i n g like a gawky girl. W h a t ails y o u ? " T o m Willard l a u g h e d good-naturedly. "Well, I g u e s s you'll get over it," he s a i d . "I told Will that. You're not a fool a n d you're not a w o m a n . You're T o m Willard's s o n a n d you'll w a k e u p . I'm not afraid. W h a t you say c l e a r s things u p . If b e i n g a n e w s p a p e r m a n h a d p u t the notion of b e c o m i n g a writer into your m i n d that's all right. Only I g u e s s you'll have to w a k e u p to d o that too, e h ? " T o m Willard went briskly a l o n g the hallway a n d d o w n a flight of stairs to the office. T h e w o m a n in the d a r k n e s s c o u l d h e a r him l a u g h i n g a n d talking with a g u e s t w h o w a s striving to wear away a dull evening by d o z i n g in a chair by the office door. S h e returned to the d o o r of her son's r o o m . T h e w e a k n e s s h a d p a s s e d from her body a s by a m i r a c l e a n d s h e s t e p p e d boldly along. A t h o u s a n d i d e a s r a c e d t h r o u g h her h e a d . W h e n s h e h e a r d the s c r a p ing of a c h a i r a n d the s o u n d of a p e n s c r a t c h i n g u p o n p a p e r , s h e a g a i n turned a n d went b a c k a l o n g the hallway to her own r o o m . A definite d e t e r m i n a t i o n h a d c o m e into the m i n d of the d e f e a t e d wife of the W i n e s b u r g H o t e l keeper. T h e d e t e r m i n a t i o n w a s the result of long years of quiet a n d rather ineffectual thinking. " N o w , " s h e told herself, "I will a c t . T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g t h r e a t e n i n g my boy a n d I will w a r d it off." T h e fact that the c o n v e r s a t i o n b e t w e e n T o m Willard a n d his s o n h a d b e e n rather quiet a n d n a t u r a l , as t h o u g h a n u n d e r s t a n d i n g existed b e t w e e n t h e m , m a d d e n e d her. A l t h o u g h for years s h e h a d h a t e d her h u s b a n d , her hatred h a d always before b e e n a q u i t e i m p e r s o n a l thing. H e h a d b e e n merely a part of s o m e thing else that s h e h a t e d . N o w , a n d by the few w o r d s at the door, he h a d b e c o m e the thing personified. In the d a r k n e s s of her own r o o m s h e c l e n c h e d her fists a n d glared a b o u t . G o i n g to a cloth b a g that h u n g o n a nail by the wall s h e took out a long pair of s e w i n g s c i s s o r s a n d held t h e m in her h a n d like a dagger. "I will s t a b h i m , " s h e s a i d a l o u d . " H e h a s c h o s e n to be the voice of evil a n d I will kill h i m . W h e n I have killed him s o m e t h i n g will s n a p within myself a n d I will die a l s o . It will be a r e l e a s e for all of u s . " In her girlhood a n d before her m a r r i a g e with T o m Willard, Elizabeth h a d b o r n e a s o m e w h a t shaky r e p u t a t i o n in W i n e s b u r g . F o r years she h a d b e e n what is called " s t a g e - s t r u c k " a n d h a d p a r a d e d t h r o u g h the streets with traveling m e n g u e s t s at her father's hotel, w e a r i n g loud c l o t h e s a n d urging t h e m to tell her of life in the cities out of which they h a d c o m e . O n c e s h e startled the town by p u t t i n g on m e n ' s c l o t h e s a n d riding a bicycle d o w n M a i n S t r e e t . In her own m i n d the tall girl h a d b e e n in t h o s e days m u c h c o n f u s e d . A great r e s t l e s s n e s s w a s in her a n d it e x p r e s s e d itself in two ways. First there w a s an u n e a s y desire for c h a n g e , for s o m e big definite m o v e m e n t to her life. It w a s this feeling that h a d turned her m i n d to the s t a g e . S h e d r e a m e d of j o i n i n g s o m e c o m p a n y a n d w a n d e r i n g over the world, s e e i n g always new f a c e s a n d giving s o m e t h i n g out of herself to all p e o p l e . S o m e t i m e s at night s h e w a s q u i t e b e s i d e herself with the t h o u g h t , but w h e n s h e tried to talk of the m a t t e r to the m e m b e r s of the theatrical c o m p a n i e s that c a m e to W i n e s b u r g a n d s t o p p e d at her father's hotel, s h e got n o w h e r e . T h e y did not s e e m to know what s h e m e a n t , or if s h e did get s o m e t h i n g of her p a s s i o n e x p r e s s e d , they only l a u g h e d . "It's not like t h a t , " they said. "It's as dull a n d u n i n t e r e s t i n g a s this here. N o t h i n g c o m e s of it."

MOTHER

/

1909

With the traveling m e n w h e n s h e walked a b o u t with t h e m , a n d later with T o m Willard, it w a s q u i t e different. Always they s e e m e d to u n d e r s t a n d a n d sympathize with her. O n the side streets of the village, in the d a r k n e s s u n d e r the trees, they took hold of her h a n d a n d s h e t h o u g h t that s o m e t h i n g unexp r e s s e d in herself c a m e forth a n d b e c a m e a part of a n u n e x p r e s s e d s o m e t h i n g in t h e m . A n d then there w a s the s e c o n d expression of her r e s t l e s s n e s s . W h e n that c a m e s h e felt for a time r e l e a s e d a n d happy. S h e did not b l a m e the m e n w h o walked with her a n d later s h e did not b l a m e T o m Willard. It w a s always the s a m e , b e g i n n i n g with k i s s e s a n d e n d i n g , after s t r a n g e wild e m o t i o n s , with p e a c e a n d then s o b b i n g r e p e n t a n c e . W h e n s h e s o b b e d s h e p u t her h a n d u p o n the f a c e of the m a n a n d h a d always the s a m e t h o u g h t . E v e n t h o u g h he were large a n d b e a r d e d s h e t h o u g h t he h a d b e c o m e s u d d e n l y a little boy. S h e w o n d e r e d why he did not s o b a l s o . In her r o o m , t u c k e d away in a c o r n e r of the old Willard H o u s e , E l i z a b e t h Willard lighted a l a m p a n d p u t it on a d r e s s i n g table that s t o o d by the door. A t h o u g h t h a d c o m e into her m i n d a n d s h e went to a closet a n d b r o u g h t o u t a small s q u a r e box a n d set it on the t a b l e . T h e box c o n t a i n e d material for m a k e - u p a n d h a d b e e n left with other things by a theatrical c o m p a n y that h a d o n c e b e e n s t r a n d e d in W i n e s b u r g . Elizabeth Willard h a d d e c i d e d that she would be beautiful. H e r hair w a s still b l a c k a n d there w a s a great m a s s of it braided a n d coiled a b o u t her h e a d . T h e s c e n e that w a s to t a k e p l a c e in the office below b e g a n to grow in her m i n d . N o ghostly worn-out figure s h o u l d confront T o m Willard, b u t s o m e t h i n g q u i t e u n e x p e c t e d a n d startling. Tall a n d with dusky c h e e k s a n d hair that fell in a m a s s from her s h o u l d e r s , a figure s h o u l d c o m e striding d o w n the stairway b e f o r e the startled l o u n g e r s in the hotel office. T h e figure would be s i l e n t — i t w o u l d b e swift a n d terrible. A s a tigress w h o s e c u b h a d b e e n t h r e a t e n e d would s h e a p p e a r , c o m i n g out of the s h a d o w s , stealing noiselessly a l o n g a n d holding the long wicked s c i s sors in her h a n d . W i t h a little broken s o b in her throat Elizabeth Willard blew o u t the light that s t o o d u p o n the table a n d s t o o d w e a k a n d t r e m b l i n g in the d a r k n e s s . T h e strength that h a d b e e n a m i r a c l e in her body left a n d s h e half reeled a c r o s s the floor, c l u t c h i n g at the b a c k of the c h a i r in which s h e h a d s p e n t s o m a n y long days s t a r i n g o u t over the tin roofs into the m a i n street of W i n e s b u r g . In the hallway there w a s the s o u n d of f o o t s t e p s a n d G e o r g e Willard c a m e in at the door. S i t t i n g in a c h a i r b e s i d e his m o t h e r he b e g a n to talk. " I ' m g o i n g to get out of h e r e , " he said. "I don't know w h e r e I shall g o or w h a t I shall do but I a m g o i n g a w a y . " T h e w o m a n in the chair waited a n d t r e m b l e d . An i m p u l s e c a m e to her. "I s u p p o s e you h a d better w a k e u p , " s h e s a i d . "You think that? You will go to the city a n d m a k e m o n e y , e h ? It will b e better for you, you think, to b e a b u s i n e s s m a n , to b e brisk a n d s m a r t a n d a l i v e ? " S h e w a i t e d a n d t r e m b l e d . T h e son s h o o k his h e a d . "I s u p p o s e I can't m a k e you u n d e r s t a n d , b u t o h , I wish I c o u l d , " h e said earnestly. "I can't even talk to father a b o u t it. I don't try. T h e r e isn't any u s e . I don't know w h a t I shall d o . I j u s t w a n t to g o away a n d look at p e o p l e a n d think." S i l e n c e fell u p o n the r o o m where the boy a n d w o m a n sat together. A g a i n , a s on the other e v e n i n g s , they were e m b a r r a s s e d . After a time the boy tried again to talk. "I s u p p o s e it won't b e for a year or two but I've b e e n thinking

1910

/

SHERWOOD

ANDERSON

a b o u t it," he said, rising a n d g o i n g toward the door. " S o m e t h i n g father said m a k e s it s u r e that I shall have to go a w a y . " H e f u m b l e d with the d o o r k n o b . In the r o o m the s i l e n c e b e c a m e u n b e a r a b l e to the w o m a n . S h e w a n t e d to cry out with joy b e c a u s e of the words that h a d c o m e from the lips of her s o n , but the expression of j o y h a d b e c o m e i m p o s s i b l e to her. "I think you h a d better go out a m o n g the boys. You are too m u c h i n d o o r s , " s h e said. "I t h o u g h t I would go for a little walk," replied the s o n s t e p p i n g awkwardly out of the r o o m a n d c l o s i n g the door.

"Queer" F r o m his seat on a box in the r o u g h b o a r d s h e d that s t u c k like a burr on the rear of C o w l e y & S o n ' s store in W i n e s b u r g , E l m e r Cowley, the j u n i o r m e m ber of the firm, c o u l d s e e through a dirty w i n d o w into the p r i n t s h o p of the Winesburg Eagle. E l m e r w a s p u t t i n g new s h o e l a c e s in his s h o e s . T h e y did not g o in readily a n d he had to take the s h o e s off. W i t h the s h o e s in his h a n d he sat looking at a large hole in the heel of o n e of his s t o c k i n g s . T h e n looking quickly up h e s a w G e o r g e Willard, the only n e w s p a p e r reporter in W i n e s b u r g , s t a n d i n g at the b a c k d o o r of the Eagle p r i n t s h o p a n d staring a b s e n t mindedly a b o u t . "Well, well, what next!" e x c l a i m e d the y o u n g m a n with the s h o e s in his h a n d , j u m p i n g to his feet a n d c r e e p i n g away from the window. A flush crept into E l m e r Cowley's f a c e a n d his h a n d s b e g a n to t r e m b l e . In C o w l e y & S o n ' s store a J e w i s h traveling s a l e s m a n stood by the c o u n t e r talking to his father. H e i m a g i n e d the reporter c o u l d hear w h a t w a s b e i n g said a n d the thought m a d e him furious. With o n e of the s h o e s still held in his h a n d he s t o o d in a c o r n e r of the s h e d a n d s t a m p e d with a s t o c k i n g e d foot u p o n the b o a r d floor. Cowley & S o n ' s store did not f a c e the m a i n street of W i n e s b u r g . T h e front w a s on M a u m e e Street a n d b e y o n d it w a s Voight's w a g o n s h o p a n d a s h e d for the sheltering of f a r m e r s ' h o r s e s . B e s i d e the store a n alleyway ran b e h i n d the m a i n street stores a n d all day drays a n d delivery w a g o n s , intent on bringing in a n d taking out g o o d s , p a s s e d u p a n d d o w n . T h e store itself w a s indes c r i b a b l e . Will H e n d e r s o n o n c e said of it that it sold everything a n d nothing. In the window f a c i n g M a u m e e S t r e e t s t o o d a c h u n k of coal a s large a s a n a p p l e barrel, to indicate that orders for coal were t a k e n , a n d b e s i d e the b l a c k m a s s of the coal s t o o d three c o m b s of honey grown brown a n d dirty in their wooden frames. T h e honey h a d stood in the store window for six m o n t h s . It w a s for s a l e a s were a l s o the c o a t h a n g e r s , p a t e n t s u s p e n d e r b u t t o n s , c a n s of roof p a i n t , bottles of r h e u m a t i s m c u r e , a n d a s u b s t i t u t e for coffee that c o m p a n i o n e d the honey in its patient willingness to serve the p u b l i c . E b e n e z e r Cowley, the m a n w h o stood in the store listening to the e a g e r patter of w o r d s that fell from the lips of the traveling m a n , w a s tall a n d lean a n d looked u n w a s h e d . O n his scrawny n e c k w a s a large w e n partially c o v e r e d by a grey b e a r d . H e wore a long P r i n c e Albert c o a t . ' T h e c o a t h a d b e e n

1. A long, formal, cutaway coat named for Prince Albert ( 1 8 1 9 - 1 8 6 1 ) , husband of Great Britain's Queen Victoria.

"QUEER"

/

1911

p u r c h a s e d to serve as a w e d d i n g g a r m e n t . B e f o r e he b e c a m e a m e r c h a n t E b e n e z e r w a s a farmer a n d after his m a r r i a g e h e wore the P r i n c e Albert c o a t to c h u r c h on S u n d a y s a n d o n S a t u r d a y a f t e r n o o n s w h e n he c a m e into town to t r a d e . W h e n he sold the farm to b e c o m e a m e r c h a n t he wore the c o a t constantly. It h a d b e c o m e brown with a g e a n d w a s covered with g r e a s e s p o t s , but in it E b e n e z e r always felt d r e s s e d up a n d ready for the day in town. A s a m e r c h a n t E b e n e z e r w a s not happily p l a c e d in life a n d he h a d not b e e n happily p l a c e d a s a farmer. Still he existed. His family, c o n s i s t i n g of a d a u g h t e r n a m e d M a b e l a n d the s o n , lived with him in r o o m s a b o v e the store a n d it did not c o s t t h e m m u c h to live. His troubles were not financial. His u n h a p p i n e s s a s a m e r c h a n t lay in the fact that w h e n a traveling m a n with w a r e s to be sold c a m e in at the front door he w a s afraid. B e h i n d the c o u n t e r h e s t o o d s h a k i n g his h e a d . H e w a s afraid, first that he would stubbornly refuse to buy a n d t h u s l o s e the opportunity to sell a g a i n ; s e c o n d that he would not be s t u b b o r n e n o u g h a n d would in a m o m e n t of w e a k n e s s buy what c o u l d not be sold. In the store on the m o r n i n g w h e n E l m e r C o w l e y s a w G e o r g e Willard s t a n d i n g a n d apparently listening at the b a c k d o o r of the Eagle p r i n t s h o p , a situation h a d a r i s e n that always stirred the son's wrath. T h e traveling m a n talked a n d E b e n e z e r listened, his whole figure e x p r e s s i n g uncertainty. "You see how quickly it is d o n e , " said the traveling m a n w h o h a d for sale a small flat metal s u b s t i t u t e for collar b u t t o n s . 2 With o n e h a n d he quickly unfastened a collar from his shirt a n d then f a s t e n e d it on a g a i n . H e a s s u m e d a flattering w h e e d l i n g tone. "I tell you what, m e n have c o m e to the e n d of all this fooling with collar b u t t o n s a n d you are the m a n to m a k e m o n e y o u t of the c h a n g e that is c o m i n g . I a m offering you the exclusive a g e n c y for this town. T a k e twenty d o z e n of t h e s e f a s t e n e r s a n d I'll not visit any other store. I'll leave the field to y o u . " T h e traveling m a n leaned over the c o u n t e r a n d t a p p e d with his finger o n E b e n e z e r ' s b r e a s t . "It's an opportunity a n d I w a n t you to take it," h e u r g e d . "A friend of m i n e told m e a b o u t you. ' S e e that m a n Cowley,' he s a i d . 'He's a live o n e . ' " T h e traveling m a n p a u s e d a n d waited. T a k i n g a b o o k from his pocket he b e g a n writing out the order. Still holding the s h o e in his h a n d E l m e r C o w l e y went through the store, p a s t the two a b s o r b e d m e n , to a g l a s s s h o w c a s e n e a r the front door. H e took a c h e a p revolver from the c a s e a n d b e g a n to wave it a b o u t . "You get o u t of h e r e ! " h e shrieked. " W e don't want any collar f a s t e n e r s h e r e . " An idea c a m e to h i m . " M i n d , I'm not m a k i n g any t h r e a t , " he a d d e d . "I don't say I'll s h o o t . M a y b e I j u s t took this g u n out of the c a s e to look at it. B u t you better get o u t . Yes sir, I'll say that. You better grab u p your things a n d get o u t . " T h e y o u n g storekeeper's voice rose to a s c r e a m a n d g o i n g b e h i n d the c o u n t e r h e b e g a n to a d v a n c e u p o n the two m e n . "We're t h r o u g h b e i n g fools h e r e ! " h e cried. " W e ain't g o i n g to buy any m o r e stuff until we begin to sell. W e ain't going to k e e p on b e i n g q u e e r a n d have folks staring a n d listening. You get o u t of h e r e ! " T h e traveling m a n left. R a k i n g the s a m p l e s of collar f a s t e n e r s off the c o u n t e r into a black leather b a g , he ran. H e w a s a small m a n a n d very bow2. At the time of this story, collars and shirts were separate articles of clothing, attached by buttons.

1912

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SHERWOOD

ANDERSON

legged a n d he ran awkwardly. T h e b l a c k b a g c a u g h t a g a i n s t the d o o r a n d he s t u m b l e d a n d fell. " C r a z y , that's w h a t h e i s — c r a z y ! " h e s p u t t e r e d a s h e a r o s e from the sidewalk a n d hurried away. In the store E l m e r C o w l e y a n d his father stared at e a c h other. N o w that the i m m e d i a t e object of his wrath h a d fled, the y o u n g e r m a n w a s e m b a r r a s s e d . "Well, I m e a n t it. I think we've b e e n q u e e r long e n o u g h , " h e d e c l a r e d , g o i n g to the s h o w c a s e a n d r e p l a c i n g the revolver. S i t t i n g on a barrel h e p u l l e d on a n d f a s t e n e d the s h o e h e h a d b e e n h o l d i n g in his h a n d . H e w a s waiting for s o m e word of u n d e r s t a n d i n g from his father b u t w h e n E b e n e z e r s p o k e his w o r d s only served to r e a w a k e n the wrath in the son a n d the y o u n g m a n ran o u t of the store without replying. S c r a t c h i n g his grey b e a r d with his long dirty fingers, the m e r c h a n t looked at his s o n with the s a m e wavering uncertain stare with which he h a d c o n f r o n t e d the traveling m a n . "I'll be s t a r c h e d , " he said softly. "Well, well, I'll b e w a s h e d a n d ironed a n d s t a r c h e d ! " E l m e r C o w l e y went o u t of W i n e s b u r g a n d a l o n g a country r o a d that paralleled the railroad track. H e did not know w h e r e h e w a s g o i n g or what h e w a s g o i n g to d o . In the shelter of a d e e p c u t w h e r e the r o a d , after turning sharply to the right, d i p p e d u n d e r the tracks h e s t o p p e d a n d the p a s s i o n that h a d b e e n the c a u s e of his o u t b u r s t in the store b e g a n to again find e x p r e s s i o n . "I will not be q u e e r — o n e to be looked at a n d listened t o , " h e d e c l a r e d a l o u d . "I'll b e like other p e o p l e . I'll s h o w that G e o r g e Willard. He'll find out. I'll show him!" T h e d i s t r a u g h t y o u n g m a n s t o o d in the m i d d l e of the road a n d glared b a c k at the town. H e did not know the reporter G e o r g e Willard a n d h a d no s p e c i a l feeling c o n c e r n i n g the tall boy w h o ran a b o u t town g a t h e r i n g the town n e w s . T h e reporter h a d merely c o m e , by his p r e s e n c e in the office a n d in the p r i n t s h o p of the Winesburg Eagle, to s t a n d for s o m e t h i n g in the y o u n g merchant's m i n d . H e t h o u g h t the boy w h o p a s s e d a n d r e p a s s e d C o w l e y & S o n ' s store a n d w h o s t o p p e d to talk to p e o p l e in the street m u s t b e thinking of h i m a n d p e r h a p s l a u g h i n g at h i m . G e o r g e Willard, he felt, b e l o n g e d to the town, typified the town, r e p r e s e n t e d in his p e r s o n the spirit of the town. E l m e r Cowley c o u l d not have believed that G e o r g e Willard h a d a l s o his days of u n h a p p i n e s s , that v a g u e h u n g e r s a n d secret u n n a m a b l e desires visited a l s o his m i n d . D i d he not r e p r e s e n t public o p i n i o n a n d h a d not the p u b l i c opinion of W i n e s b u r g c o n d e m n e d the C o w l e y s to q u e e r n e s s ? D i d h e not walk whistling a n d l a u g h i n g t h r o u g h M a i n S t r e e t ? M i g h t not o n e by striking his p e r s o n strike a l s o the g r e a t e r e n e m y — t h e thing that s m i l e d a n d went its own w a y — the j u d g m e n t of W i n e s b u r g ? E l m e r C o w l e y w a s extraordinarily tall a n d his a r m s were l o n g a n d powerful. H i s hair, his eyebrows, a n d the downy b e a r d that h a d b e g u n to grow u p o n his c h i n , were p a l e a l m o s t to w h i t e n e s s . H i s teeth p r o t r u d e d from b e t w e e n his lips a n d his eyes were b l u e with the c o l o r l e s s b l u e n e s s of the m a r b l e s called " a g g i e s " that the boys of W i n e s b u r g carried in their p o c k e t s . E l m e r h a d lived in W i n e s b u r g for a year a n d h a d m a d e no f r i e n d s . H e w a s , he felt, o n e c o n d e m n e d to go t h r o u g h life without friends a n d h e h a t e d the thought. Sullenly the tall y o u n g m a n t r a m p e d a l o n g the r o a d with his h a n d s stuffed into his t r o u s e r p o c k e t s . T h e day w a s c o l d with a raw wind, b u t p r e s e n t l y the s u n b e g a n to s h i n e a n d the r o a d b e c a m e soft a n d m u d d y . T h e t o p s of the ridges of frozen m u d that f o r m e d the r o a d b e g a n to m e l t a n d the m u d

"QUEER"

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1913

c l u n g to E l m e r ' s s h o e s . H i s feet b e c a m e cold. W h e n he h a d g o n e several miles he turned off the r o a d , c r o s s e d a field a n d e n t e r e d a w o o d . In the w o o d he gathered sticks to build a fire by which h e sat trying to w a r m himself, m i s e r a b l e in body a n d in m i n d . F o r two h o u r s h e sat o n the log by the fire a n d t h e n , arising a n d c r e e p i n g c a u t i o u s l y t h r o u g h a m a s s of u n d e r b r u s h , h e went to a f e n c e a n d looked a c r o s s fields to a small f a r m h o u s e s u r r o u n d e d by low s h e d s . A s m i l e c a m e to his lips a n d h e b e g a n m a k i n g m o t i o n s with his long a r m s to a m a n w h o w a s h u s k i n g corn in o n e of the fields. In his hour of misery the y o u n g m e r c h a n t h a d r e t u r n e d to the farm w h e r e h e h a d lived t h r o u g h boyhood a n d w h e r e there w a s a n o t h e r h u m a n b e i n g to w h o m he felt he c o u l d explain himself. T h e m a n on the farm w a s a halfwitted old fellow n a m e d M o o k . H e h a d o n c e b e e n e m p l o y e d by E b e n e z e r C o w l e y a n d h a d stayed o n the farm w h e n it w a s sold. T h e old m a n lived in o n e of the u n p a i n t e d s h e d s b a c k of the f a r m h o u s e a n d p u t t e r e d a b o u t all day in the fields. M o o k the half-wit lived happily. W i t h childlike faith he believed in the intelligence of the a n i m a l s that lived in the s h e d s with h i m , a n d w h e n h e w a s lonely held long c o n v e r s a t i o n s with the c o w s , the p i g s , a n d even with the c h i c k e n s that ran a b o u t the barnyard. H e it w a s w h o p u t the e x p r e s s i o n regarding b e i n g " l a u n d e r e d " into the m o u t h of his former e m p l o y e r . W h e n excited or s u r p r i s e d by anything he s m i l e d vaguely a n d m u t t e r e d : "I'll b e w a s h e d a n d ironed. Well, well, I'll b e w a s h e d a n d ironed a n d s t a r c h e d . " W h e n the half-witted old m a n left his h u s k i n g of corn a n d c a m e into the wood to m e e t E l m e r Cowley, h e w a s neither s u r p r i s e d nor especially intere s t e d in the s u d d e n a p p e a r a n c e of the y o u n g m a n . H i s feet a l s o were cold a n d h e sat o n the log by the fire, grateful for the w a r m t h a n d a p p a r e n t l y indifferent to w h a t E l m e r h a d to say. E l m e r talked earnestly a n d with great f r e e d o m , walking u p a n d d o w n a n d waving his a r m s a b o u t . "You don't u n d e r s t a n d what's the m a t t e r with m e s o of c o u r s e you don't c a r e , " he d e c l a r e d . "With m e it's different. L o o k how it h a s always b e e n with m e . F a t h e r is q u e e r a n d m o t h e r w a s q u e e r , t o o . E v e n the clothes m o t h e r u s e d to wear were not like other p e o p l e ' s c l o t h e s , a n d look at that c o a t in which father g o e s a b o u t there in town, thinking he's d r e s s e d u p , t o o . W h y don't he get a n e w o n e ? It wouldn't c o s t m u c h . I'll tell you why. F a t h e r doesn't know a n d w h e n m o t h e r w a s alive s h e didn't know either. M a b e l is different. S h e knows but she won't say anything. I will, t h o u g h . I'm not g o i n g to be stared at any longer. W h y look h e r e , M o o k , father doesn't know that his store there in town is j u s t a q u e e r j u m b l e , that he'll never sell the stuff he buys. H e knows n o t h i n g a b o u t it. S o m e t i m e s he's a little worried that t r a d e doesn't c o m e a n d then h e g o e s a n d buys s o m e t h i n g e l s e . In the e v e n i n g s he sits by the fire u p s t a i r s a n d says trade will c o m e after a while. H e isn't worried. H e ' s q u e e r . H e doesn't know e n o u g h to b e w o r r i e d . " T h e excited y o u n g m a n b e c a m e m o r e excited. " H e don't k n o w b u t I k n o w , " he s h o u t e d , s t o p p i n g to gaze d o w n into the d u m b , u n r e s p o n s i v e f a c e of the half-wit. "I know too well. I can't s t a n d it. W h e n we lived o u t h e r e it w a s different. I worked a n d at night I went to b e d a n d slept. I wasn't always s e e i n g p e o p l e a n d thinking a s I a m now. In the evening, there in town, I go to the p o s t office or to the d e p o t to s e e the train c o m e in, a n d no o n e says anything to m e . Everyone s t a n d s a r o u n d a n d l a u g h s a n d they talk but they

1914

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SHERWOOD

ANDERSON

say n o t h i n g to m e . T h e n I feel so q u e e r that I can't talk either. I g o away. I don't say anything. I c a n ' t . " T h e fury of the y o u n g m a n b e c a m e u n c o n t r o l l a b l e . "I won't s t a n d it," h e yelled, looking u p at the b a r e b r a n c h e s of the trees. "I'm not m a d e to s t a n d it." M a d d e n e d by the dull f a c e of the m a n on the log by the fire, E l m e r t u r n e d a n d glared at him as he h a d glared b a c k a l o n g the r o a d at the town of W i n e s b u r g . " G o on b a c k to w o r k , " he s c r e a m e d . " W h a t g o o d d o e s it d o m e to talk to y o u ? " A t h o u g h t c a m e to him a n d his voice d r o p p e d . "I'm a c o w a r d too, e h ? " h e m u t t e r e d . " D o you know why I c a m e clear o u t here afoot? I h a d to tell s o m e o n e a n d you were the only o n e I c o u l d tell. I h u n t e d o u t a n o t h e r q u e e r o n e , you s e e . I ran away, that's w h a t I did. I c o u l d n ' t s t a n d u p to s o m e o n e like that G e o r g e Willard. I h a d to c o m e to y o u . I o u g h t to tell him a n d I will." Again his voice a r o s e to a s h o u t a n d his a r m s flew a b o u t . "I will tell h i m . I won't be q u e e r . I don't c a r e what they think. I won't s t a n d it." E l m e r Cowley ran out of the w o o d s leaving the half-wit sitting o n the log before the fire. Presently the old m a n a r o s e a n d c l i m b i n g over the f e n c e went b a c k to his work in the c o r n . "I'll be w a s h e d a n d ironed a n d s t a r c h e d , " h e d e c l a r e d . "Well, well, I'll be w a s h e d a n d i r o n e d . " M o o k w a s interested. H e went a l o n g a l a n e to a field w h e r e two c o w s s t o o d nibbling at a straw stack. " E l m e r w a s h e r e , " he said to the c o w s . " E l m e r is crazy. You better get b e h i n d the s t a c k where h e don't s e e you. He'll hurt s o m e o n e yet, E l m e r will." At eight o'clock that evening E l m e r C o w l e y p u t his h e a d in at the front door of the office of the Winesburg Eagle w h e r e G e o r g e Willard sat writing. H i s c a p w a s pulled d o w n over his eyes a n d a sullen d e t e r m i n e d look w a s on his f a c e . "You c o m e on o u t s i d e with m e , " he said, s t e p p i n g in a n d c l o s i n g the door. H e kept his h a n d on the k n o b a s t h o u g h p r e p a r e d to resist a n y o n e else c o m i n g in. "You j u s t c o m e a l o n g o u t s i d e . I w a n t to s e e y o u . " G e o r g e Willard a n d E l m e r C o w l e y walked t h r o u g h the m a i n street of W i n e s b u r g . T h e night w a s c o l d a n d G e o r g e Willard h a d on a new overcoat a n d looked very s p r u c e a n d d r e s s e d u p . H e t h r u s t his h a n d s into the overcoat p o c k e t s a n d looked inquiringly at his c o m p a n i o n . H e h a d long b e e n w a n t i n g to m a k e friends with the y o u n g m e r c h a n t a n d find o u t what w a s in his m i n d . N o w h e thought h e saw a c h a n c e a n d w a s d e l i g h t e d . "I w o n d e r what he's u p to? P e r h a p s he thinks he h a s a p i e c e of n e w s for the p a p e r . It can't b e a fire b e c a u s e I haven't h e a r d the fire bell a n d there isn't a n y o n e r u n n i n g , " h e thought. In the m a i n street of W i n e s b u r g , on the cold N o v e m b e r evening, b u t few citizens a p p e a r e d a n d t h e s e hurried a l o n g b e n t on getting to the stove at the b a c k of s o m e s t o r e . T h e windows of the s t o r e s were frosted a n d the wind rattled the tin sign that h u n g over the e n t r a n c e to the stairway l e a d i n g to D o c t o r Welling's office. B e f o r e H e a r n ' s G r o c e r y a b a s k e t of a p p l e s a n d a r a c k filled with new b r o o m s s t o o d on the sidewalk. E l m e r C o w l e y s t o p p e d a n d s t o o d facing G e o r g e Willard. H e tried to talk a n d his a r m s b e g a n to p u m p u p a n d d o w n . His f a c e worked s p a s m o d i c a l l y . H e s e e m e d a b o u t to s h o u t . " O h , you g o on b a c k , " he cried. " D o n ' t stay o u t here with m e . I ain't got anything to tell you. I don't want to s e e you at all." For three h o u r s the distracted y o u n g m e r c h a n t w a n d e r e d t h r o u g h the resident streets of W i n e s b u r g blind with a n g e r , brought o n by his failure to declare his d e t e r m i n a t i o n not to b e q u e e r . Bitterly the s e n s e of d e f e a t

"QUEER"

/

1915

settled u p o n him a n d he w a n t e d to w e e p . After the h o u r s of futile s p u t t e r i n g at n o t h i n g n e s s that h a d o c c u p i e d the a f t e r n o o n a n d his failure in the p r e s e n c e of the y o u n g reporter, h e thought he c o u l d s e e no h o p e of a future for himself. And then a n e w idea d a w n e d for h i m . In the d a r k n e s s that s u r r o u n d e d him he b e g a n to s e e a light. G o i n g to the now d a r k e n e d s t o r e , w h e r e C o w l e y & S o n h a d for over a year waited vainly for trade to c o m e , h e c r e p t stealthily in a n d felt a b o u t in a barrel that s t o o d by the stove at the rear. In the barrel b e n e a t h shavings lay a tin box c o n t a i n i n g C o w l e y & S o n ' s c a s h . Every e v e n i n g E b e n e z e r C o w l e y put the box in the barrel w h e n he c l o s e d the store a n d went u p s t a i r s to b e d . " T h e y wouldn't never think of a c a r e l e s s p l a c e like t h a t , " he told himself, thinking of r o b b e r s . E l m e r took twenty dollars, two ten dollar bills, from the little roll c o n t a i n ing p e r h a p s four h u n d r e d dollars, the c a s h left from the s a l e of the f a r m . T h e n r e p l a c i n g the box b e n e a t h the shavings h e went quietly out at the front d o o r a n d walked again in the streets. T h e idea that he thought might put an end to all of his u n h a p p i n e s s w a s very s i m p l e . "I will get out of h e r e , run away from h o m e , " he told himself. H e knew that a local freight train p a s s e d t h r o u g h W i n e s b u r g at m i d n i g h t a n d went on to C l e v e l a n d w h e r e it arrived at d a w n . H e would steal a ride on the local a n d w h e n he got to C l e v e l a n d would lose h i m s e l f in the c r o w d s there. H e would get work in s o m e s h o p a n d b e c o m e friends with the other w o r k m e n . G r a d u a l l y he would b e c o m e like other m e n a n d would be indist i n g u i s h a b l e . T h e n he c o u l d talk a n d l a u g h . H e would n o longer b e q u e e r a n d would m a k e friends. Life would begin to have w a r m t h a n d m e a n i n g for him a s it h a d for o t h e r s . T h e tall awkward y o u n g m a n , striding t h r o u g h the s t r e e t s , l a u g h e d at himself b e c a u s e he h a d b e e n angry a n d h a d b e e n half afraid of G e o r g e Willard. H e d e c i d e d he would have his talk with the y o u n g reporter before he left town, that he would tell him a b o u t things, p e r h a p s c h a l l e n g e him, c h a l l e n g e all of W i n e s b u r g t h r o u g h h i m . Aglow with new c o n f i d e n c e E l m e r went to the office of the N e w Willard H o u s e ' a n d p o u n d e d on the door. A sleep-eyed boy slept o n a cot in the office. H e received no salary but w a s fed at the hotel table a n d bore with pride the title of "night clerk." B e f o r e the boy E l m e r was bold, insistent. "You wake him u p , " h e c o m m a n d e d . "You tell him to c o m e d o w n by the d e p o t . I got to s e e him a n d I'm g o i n g away on the local. Tell him to d r e s s a n d c o m e on down. I ain't got m u c h t i m e . " T h e midnight local h a d finished its work in W i n e s b u r g a n d the t r a i n s m e n were c o u p l i n g c a r s , swinging lanterns a n d p r e p a r i n g to r e s u m e their flight e a s t . G e o r g e Willard, r u b b i n g his eyes a n d again w e a r i n g the n e w overcoat, ran down to the station platform afire with curiosity. "Well, here I a m . W h a t do you want? You've got s o m e t h i n g to tell m e , e h ? " h e s a i d . E l m e r tried to explain. H e wet his lips with his t o n g u e a n d looked at the train that h a d b e g u n to g r o a n a n d get u n d e r way. "Well, you s e e , " he b e g a n , a n d then lost control of his t o n g u e . "I'll be w a s h e d a n d i r o n e d . I'll be w a s h e d a n d ironed a n d s t a r c h e d , " he m u t t e r e d half incoherently. E l m e r C o w l e y d a n c e d with fury b e s i d e the g r o a n i n g train in the d a r k n e s s 3. The hotel owned and operated by George Willard's parents, where he lives.

1916

/

CARL

SANDBURG

on the station p l a t f o r m . L i g h t s l e a p e d into the air a n d b o b b e d u p a n d d o w n before his eyes. T a k i n g t h e two ten dollar bills f r o m his p o c k e t h e thrust t h e m into G e o r g e Willard's h a n d . " T a k e t h e m , " h e cried. "I don't w a n t t h e m . G i v e t h e m to father. I stole t h e m . " W i t h a snarl of r a g e he t u r n e d a n d his l o n g a r m s b e g a n to flay the air. Like o n e s t r u g g l i n g for r e l e a s e from h a n d s that held him h e s t r u c k o u t , hitting G e o r g e Willard blow after b l o w on t h e b r e a s t , the n e c k , the m o u t h . T h e y o u n g reporter rolled over on the p l a t f o r m half u n c o n s c i o u s , s t u n n e d by the terrific force of t h e b l o w s . S p r i n g i n g a b o a r d the p a s s i n g train a n d r u n n i n g over t h e t o p s of c a r s , E l m e r s p r a n g d o w n to a flat c a r a n d lying on his f a c e looked b a c k , trying to s e e t h e fallen m a n in the d a r k n e s s . Pride s u r g e d u p in h i m . "I s h o w e d h i m , " h e cried. "I g u e s s I s h o w e d him. I ain't s o q u e e r . I g u e s s I s h o w e d him I ain't s o q u e e r . " 1919

•

CARL

SANDBURG

1878-1967 Son of an immigrant Swedish blacksmith who had settled in Galesburg, Illinois, Carl Sandburg was an active populist and socialist, a journalist, and an important figure in the Chicago Renaissance of arts and letters. During the 1920s and 1930s he was one of the best-known and most widely read poets in the nation. His poetic aim was to celebrate the working people of America in poems that they could understand. He wrote sympathetically and affirmatively of the masses in simple language, using a long verse line unfettered by rhyme or regular meter, a line deriving from Whitman but with cadences closer to the rhythms of ordinary speech. "Simple poems for simple people," he said. Sandburg's irregular schooling included brief attendance at Lombard College, but he was too restless to work through to a degree. He held a variety of jobs before moving to Chicago in 1913; he was in the army during the Spanish-American War, served as a war correspondent for the Galesburg Evening Mail, worked for the Social Democratic Party in Wisconsin, was secretary to the Socialist mayor of Milwaukee, and wrote editorials for the Milwaukee Leader. He had long been writing poetry but achieved success with the 1914 publication of his poem "Chicago" in Poetry magazine. Poetry was one element in a surge of artistic activity in Chicago following the 1893 World's Fair. Such midwesterners as the architect Frank Lloyd Wright; the novelists Theodore Dreiser, Henry Blake Fuller, and Floyd Dell; and the poets Edgar Lee Masters and Vachel Lindsay believed not only that Chicago was a great city but that since the Midwest was America's heartland, it was in this region that the cultural life of the nation ought to center. Two literary magazines—Poetry, founded in 1912 by Harriet Monroe, and the Little Review, founded by Margaret C. Anderson in 1914— helped bring this informal movement to international attention. Nothing could be more apt to local interests than a celebratory poem called "Chicago." Four volumes of poetry by Sandburg appeared in the next ten years: Chicago Poems (1914), Comhuskers (1918), Smoke and Steel (1920), and Slabs of the Sunburnt West (1922). These present a panorama of all America, concentrating on the prairies and cities of the Midwest. Like Whitman, Sandburg was aware that American life was

CHICAGO

/

1917

increasingly urban, and he had little interest in the small town and its conventional middle class. In the cities of the Midwest the urban spectacle seemed to display both the vitality of the masses and their exploitation in an inequitable class system. Unlike many radicals whose politics were formed after the turn of the twentieth century, Sandburg believed that the people themselves, rather than a cadre of intellectuals acting on behalf of the people, would ultimately shape their own destiny. His political poems express appreciation for the people's energy and outrage at the injustices they suffer. They also balance strong declarative statements with passages of precise description. Other poems show Sandburg working in more lyrical or purely imagistic modes. If the early "Chicago" is his best-known poem, his most ambitious is the booklength The People, Yes (1936), a collage of prose vignettes, anecdotes, and poetry, making use of his researches into American folk song. Sandburg had published these researches in The American Songbag in 1927, and he also composed a multivolume biography of Abraham Lincoln between 1926 and 1939. The purpose of this painstaking work was to present Lincoln as an authentic folk hero, a great man who had risen from among the people of the American heartland and represented its best values. He wrote features, editorials, and columns for the Chicago Daily News between 1922 and 1930, and pursued other literary projects as well. After World War II, when it became common for poets to read their works at campuses around the country, he enjoyed bringing his old-style populist radicalism to college students. The text of the poems here is that of The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg (1970).

Chicago H o g B u t c h e r for the W o r l d , T o o l M a k e r , S t a c k e r of W h e a t , Player with Railroads a n d the N a t i o n ' s Freight H a n d l e r ; S t o r m y , husky, brawling, City of the B i g S h o u l d e r s : T h e y tell m e you are wicked a n d I believe t h e m , for I have s e e n your p a i n t e d w o m e n u n d e r the g a s l a m p s luring the farm boys. And they tell m e you are crooked a n d I answer: Y e s , it is true I have s e e n the g u n m a n kill a n d g o free to kill a g a i n . And they tell m e you are brutal a n d my reply is: O n the f a c e s of w o m e n a n d children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger. A n d having a n s w e r e d so I turn o n c e m o r e to t h o s e w h o s n e e r at this my city, a n d I give t h e m b a c k the s n e e r a n d say to t h e m : C o m e a n d s h o w m e a n o t h e r city with lifted h e a d s i n g i n g so p r o u d to be alive a n d c o a r s e a n d s t r o n g a n d c u n n i n g . Flinging m a g n e t i c c u r s e s a m i d the toil of piling j o b o n j o b , here is a tall bold slugger set vivid a g a i n s t the little soft cities; F i e r c e a s a d o g with t o n g u e l a p p i n g for a c t i o n , c u n n i n g a s a s a v a g e pitted a g a i n s t the w i l d e r n e s s , Bareheaded, Shoveling, Wrecking,

5

io

is

1918

/

CARL

SANDBURG

Planning, Building, breaking, rebuilding, U n d e r the s m o k e , d u s t all over his m o u t h , l a u g h i n g with white teeth, U n d e r the terrible b u r d e n of destiny l a u g h i n g a s a y o u n g m a n laughs, L a u g h i n g even a s a n ignorant fighter l a u g h s w h o h a s never lost a battle, B r a g g i n g a n d l a u g h i n g that u n d e r his wrist is the p u l s e , a n d u n d e r his ribs the heart of the p e o p l e , Laughing! L a u g h i n g the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Y o u t h , halfn a k e d , sweating, p r o u d to be H o g B u t c h e r , T o o l M a k e r , S t a c k e r of W h e a t , Player with R a i l r o a d s a n d Freight H a n dler to the N a t i o n . 1914,1916 -

Fog

p

T h e fog c o m e s on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor a n d city on silent h a u n c h e s a n d then m o v e s on.

5 1916

Grass1 Pile the b o d i e s high at Austerlitz a n d W a t e r l o o . Shovel t h e m u n d e r a n d let m e w o r k — I a m the g r a s s ; I cover all. A n d pile t h e m high at G e t t y s b u r g And pile t h e m high at Ypres a n d V e r d u n . Shovel t h e m u n d e r a n d let m e work. T w o years, ten years, a n d p a s s e n g e r s a s k the c o n d u c t o r : W h a t p l a c e is this? W h e r e are we now? I a m the g r a s s . Let m e work. 1918 1. T h e proper names in this poem are all famous battlefields in the Napoleonic Wars, the American Civil War, and World War I.

1919

WALLACE

STEVENS

1879-1955 Wallace Stevens was raised in Reading, Pennsylvania, and went to Harvard for three years before leaving school in 1897 to pursue a literary career. Determined, however, that he would never "make a petty struggle for existence," he also looked for a wellpaying job. After briefly trying journalism, he went to law school. In 1916 he began to work for the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company and moved with his wife to Hartford, Connecticut. They made Hartford their lifelong home, Stevens writing his poetry at night and during summers. Visiting Florida frequently on business, he found the contrast between the S o u t h s lush vegetation and tropical climate and the chilly austerity of New England a useful metaphor for opposing ways of imagining the world, as the poem "The Snow Man" shows. Stevens began to publish in little magazines around 1914. In the early years of his career, he frequented literary gatherings in New York City, becoming friends with William Carlos Williams and Marianne Moore, among others. Because his concern was with the private interaction of the observed and the observer, however, he had little interest in artistic causes—less still in politics—and after moving to Hartford, he dropped out of literary circles, although he maintained an active correspondence with his friends. A good businessman, by the mid-1930s Stevens was prosperous. He continued to work for the same company until his death, eventually becoming a vice president. His first volume of poetry, Harmonium, appeared in 1923. The poems in that book, mostly brief lyrics, are dazzling in their wit, imagery, and color; they established Stevens as one of the most accomplished poets of his era, although some critics found in them so much display as to make their "seriousness" questionable. But Stevens's purpose in part was to show that display was a valid poetic exercise—that poetry existed to illuminate the world's surfaces as well as its depths. He brought a newly perceived but real world before the reader, authenticating both the beauty of reality and the dependence of that beauty—indeed the dependence of reality itself—on the human observer. Two repeated activities are looking at things—the self as active observer of reality—and playing musical instruments or singing—the self as creator of reality (as in "The Idea of Order at Key West"). In this concern with the role of the perceiver in the creation of what is nevertheless real—the sense of an inescapable subjectivity in everything we know—Stevens clearly shared a modernist ideology. His search for belief in an era when, he thought, Christianity has lost its power; the idea, increasingly expressed in later poems, that with the fading of traditional religion poetry might become the forger of new faiths also coincides with the convictions of such poets as T. S. Eliot (in his earlier phase) and Ezra Pound. He has an almost postmodern sense, however, that any religious explanation of the world would have to be a fiction. His poems feature the continually unexpected in diction and imagery. They abound in allusions to music and painting; are packed with sense images, especially of sound and color; and are elegant and funny. Consider the surprise and humor in the titles of the selections printed here as well as these: "Floral Decorations for Bananas," "Anatomy of Monotony," "The Bird with the Coppery, Keen Claws," "Frogs Eat Butterflies, Snakes Eat Frogs, Hogs Eat Snakes, Men Eat Hogs." Stevens's line is simple— either blank verse or brief stanzas, usually unrhymed—so that the reader's attention is directed to vocabulary and imagery rather than prosody. Invented words are frequent, some employed simply for sound effects. Multilayered puns that ingeniously convey many important meanings serve to thicken and lighten the poetic texture. Among the poems in Harmonium at least three have become touchstones for critics: "Sunday Morning," "The Comedian as the Letter C , " and "Peter Quince at the Clavier." "The Comedian as the Letter C " establishes a contrast between an idealistic

1920

/

WALLACE

STEVENS

would-be poet with his empty imaginings and the same poet enmeshed in the rich reality of the senses and human affections. "Peter Quince at the Clavier," again, opposes an idea of beauty in the mind with the reality of beauty in the flesh—paradoxically, it is beauty in the flesh that is immortal. "Sunday Morning" opens with a woman taking her ease at home on the day traditionally reserved for churchgoing, and mentally contrasting a fearful, death-obsessed Christianity with her own celebration of earthly pleasure. She would like to think that her behavior is a religion— a celebration—of life, yet death too is real and to some extent she knows that her behavior is as partial as the Christianity she cannot accept. She wonders whether there might ever be a religion that would take the real world rather than another world as its ground, accepting death and change as inevitable and beautiful. The poem, in the form of a meditation deriving from this opening situation, attempts to sketch out the resolution that the woman desires. In the six years following the appearance of Harmonium Stevens published little new work. With the 1930s came a surge of creativity, beginning with the republication of Harmonium in an expanded version in 1 9 3 1 . New volumes and major works appeared regularly thereafter: Ideas of Order in 1935, Owl's Clover in 1936, The Man with a Blue Guitar in 1937, Parts of a World in 1942, Transport to Summer in 1947,

and The Auroras of Autumn in 1950. A book collecting his occasional lectures appeared as The Necessary Angel in 1951; its gist was that poetry was "the supreme fiction" that enabled human beings to apprehend reality as a whole instead of in fragmentary flashes of insight. Stevens's poetry can be usefully thought of as reconceiving and expressing the ideas of the nineteenth-century American Transcendentalists in modernist terms, for they too located the individual at the center of the world while defining that individual chiefly as a perceiver rather than a doer or defining perceiving as the most important human activity. The difference is that the Transcendentalists confidently assumed that their perceptions were guaranteed by God. Stevens was more skeptical. In his poetry of the 1930s and after, Stevens became increasingly abstract and theoretical; the dazzling effects diminished, the diction became plainer. Major, long poems from these years were Notes toward a Supreme Fiction (from Transport to Summer)

and An Ordinary

Evening

in New Haven

(from The Auroras

of Autumn).

In

these later poems Stevens was more concerned about what active role poetry might play in the world than he had been in earlier work. These expository and discursive poems should have been easier to follow than the earlier compressed and elliptical poetry, but critics generally agree that the difficulty and abstractness of their ideas make them much more difficult. And to some readers the absence of the earlier specificity and sparkle also makes the later work less rewarding. But those who enjoyed a taxing poetry of ideas saw the late work as an advance. Stevens's complete Collected Poems (1954) has been celebrated as one of the most important books of American poetry in the twentieth century. The text of the poems included here is that of The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens (1954).

The Snow M a n O n e m u s t have a m i n d o f winter T o regard t h e frost a n d t h e b o u g h s O f t h e pine-trees c r u s t e d with s n o w ; A n d have b e e n cold a long time T o b e h o l d the j u n i p e r s s h a g g e d with i c e , T h e s p r u c e s r o u g h in t h e d i s t a n t glitter

s

A

HIGH-TONED

OLD

CHRISTIAN WOMAN

/

1921

O f the J a n u a r y s u n ; a n d not to think O f any misery in the s o u n d of the wind, In the s o u n d of a few leaves, W h i c h is the s o u n d of the land Full of the s a m e wind T h a t is blowing in the s a m e b a r e p l a c e F o r the listener, w h o listens in the s n o w , A n d , nothing himself, b e h o l d s N o t h i n g that is not there a n d the n o t h i n g that is.

ID

IS

1931

A High-Toned Old Christian Woman Poetry is the s u p r e m e fiction, m a d a m e . T a k e the m o r a l law a n d m a k e a n a v e ' of it A n d from the nave build h a u n t e d h e a v e n . T h u s , T h e c o n s c i e n c e is converted into p a l m s , Like windy c i t h e r n s 2 h a n k e r i n g for h y m n s . W e a g r e e in principle. T h a t ' s clear. B u t take T h e o p p o s i n g law a n d m a k e a peristyle, 3 A n d from the peristyle project a m a s q u e 4 B e y o n d the p l a n e t s . T h u s , our b a w d i n e s s , U n p u r g e d by e p i t a p h , i n d u l g e d at last, Is equally converted into p a l m s , S q u i g g l i n g like s a x o p h o n e s . A n d p a l m for p a l m , M a d a m e , w e a r e where we b e g a n . Allow, T h e r e f o r e , that in the planetary s c e n e Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed, S m a c k i n g their muzzy 5 bellies in p a r a d e , P r o u d of s u c h novelties of the s u b l i m e , S u c h tink a n d tank a n d tunk-a-tunk-tunk, M a y , merely may, m a d a m e , whip from t h e m s e l v e s A jovial h u l l a b a l o o a m o n g the s p h e r e s . T h i s will m a k e widows w i n c e . B u t fictive things W i n k a s they will. W i n k m o s t w h e n widows w i n c e .

5

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1923

1. Main body of a church building, especially the vaulted central portion of a Christian Gothic church. 2. I.e., citterns; pear-shaped guitars. 3. Colonnade surrounding a building, especially

the cells or main chamber of an ancient Greek temple—an "opposing law" to a Christian church. 4. Spectacle or entertainment consisting of music, dancing, mime, and often poetry. 5. Sodden with drunkenness.

1922

/

WALLACE

STEVENS

T h e Emperor of Ice-Cream C a l l the roller of big c i g a r s , T h e m u s c u l a r o n e , a n d bid him whip In kitchen c u p s c o n c u p i s c e n t c u r d s . Let the w e n c h e s d a w d l e in s u c h d r e s s As they are u s e d to wear, a n d let the boys Bring flowers in last m o n t h ' s n e w s p a p e r s . Let be be finale of s e e m . T h e only e m p e r o r is the e m p e r o r of i c e - c r e a m . T a k e from the d r e s s e r of d e a l , 1 L a c k i n g the three g l a s s k n o b s , that s h e e t On which she embroidered fantails2 once A n d s p r e a d it so a s to cover her f a c e . If her horny feet p r o t r u d e , they c o m e T o s h o w how cold s h e is, a n d d u m b . Let the l a m p affix its b e a m . T h e only e m p e r o r is the e m p e r o r of i c e - c r e a m . 1923

Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock T h e h o u s e s are h a u n t e d By white night-gowns. N o n e are g r e e n , O r p u r p l e with green rings, O r green with yellow rings, O r yellow with b l u e rings. N o n e of t h e m are s t r a n g e , W i t h s o c k s of lace And beaded ceintures. P e o p l e are not g o i n g T o d r e a m of b a b o o n s a n d periwinkles. Only, here a n d t h e r e , an old sailor, D r u n k a n d a s l e e p in his b o o t s , C a t c h e s tigers In red weather. 1931

1. Plain, unfinished wood. 2. Stevens explained that "the word fantails does not mean fan, but fantail p i g e o n s . "

SUNDAY

MORNING

/

1923

Sunday Morning' C o m p l a c e n c i e s of the peignoir, a n d late C o f f e e a n d o r a n g e s in a s u n n y chair, A n d the g r e e n f r e e d o m of a c o c k a t o o U p o n a rug mingle to d i s s i p a t e T h e holy h u s h of a n c i e n t sacrifice. S h e d r e a m s a little, a n d s h e feels the dark E n c r o a c h m e n t of that old c a t a s t r o p h e , A s a c a l m d a r k e n s a m o n g water-lights. T h e p u n g e n t o r a n g e s a n d bright, green wings S e e m things in s o m e p r o c e s s i o n of the d e a d , W i n d i n g a c r o s s wide water, without s o u n d . T h e day is like wide water, without s o u n d , Stilled for the p a s s i n g of her d r e a m i n g feet O v e r the s e a s , to silent P a l e s t i n e , D o m i n i o n of the blood a n d s e p u l c h r e .

5

10

15

11

W h y s h o u l d s h e give her b o u n t y to the d e a d ? W h a t is divinity if it c a n c o m e Only in silent s h a d o w s a n d in d r e a m s ? Shall s h e not find in c o m f o r t s of the s u n , In p u n g e n t fruit a n d bright, green wings, or else In any b a l m or b e a u t y of the earth, T h i n g s to be c h e r i s h e d like the thought of h e a v e n ? Divinity m u s t live within herself: P a s s i o n s of rain, or m o o d s in falling snow; Grievings in l o n e l i n e s s , or u n s u b d u e d Elations w h e n the forest b l o o m s ; gusty E m o t i o n s o n wet roads o n a u t u m n nights; All p l e a s u r e s a n d all p a i n s , r e m e m b e r i n g T h e b o u g h of s u m m e r a n d the winter b r a n c h . T h e s e are the m e a s u r e s d e s t i n e d for her s o u l .

20

25

30

ill

J o v e - in the c l o u d s h a d his i n h u m a n birth. N o m o t h e r s u c k l e d him, no sweet land gave L a r g e - m a n n e r e d m o t i o n s to his mythy m i n d . H e moved a m o n g u s , a s a m u t t e r i n g king, M a g n i f i c e n t , would move a m o n g his h i n d s , Until our blood, c o m m i n g l i n g , virginal, With h e a v e n , b r o u g h t s u c h requital to d e s i r e T h e very h i n d s ' d i s c e r n e d it, in a star. 1. This poem was first published in Poetn magazine in 1915; the editor. Harriet Monroe, printed only five of its eight stanzas but arranged them in the order Stevens suggested when consenting to the deletions (1, VIII, IV, V, and VII); he restored the deleted stanzas and the original sequence in

35

subsequent printings. 2. S u p r e m e god in Roman mythology. 3. Farmhands; an allusion to the shepherds who saw the star of Bethlehem that signaled the birth l)i Jt'SUS.

1924

/

WALLACE

STEVENS

Shall our b l o o d fail? O r shall it c o m e to b e T h e blood of p a r a d i s e ? A n d shall the earth S e e m all of p a r a d i s e that we shall know? T h e sky will b e m u c h friendlier then than now, A part of labor a n d a part of p a i n , A n d next in glory to e n d u r i n g love, N o t this dividing a n d indifferent b l u e .

40

45

IV

S h e says, "I a m c o n t e n t w h e n w a k e n e d b i r d s , B e f o r e they fly, test the reality O f misty fields, by their s w e e t q u e s t i o n i n g s ; B u t w h e n the birds a r e g o n e , a n d their w a r m fields R e t u r n no m o r e , w h e r e , t h e n , is p a r a d i s e ? " T h e r e is not any h a u n t of p r o p h e c y , N o r any old c h i m e r a 4 of the grave, N e i t h e r the g o l d e n u n d e r g r o u n d , nor isle M e l o d i o u s , w h e r e spirits gat t h e m h o m e , N o r visionary s o u t h , nor c l o u d y p a l m R e m o t e on heaven's hill,' that h a s e n d u r e d A s April's g r e e n e n d u r e s ; or will e n d u r e L i k e her r e m e m b r a n c e of a w a k e n e d b i r d s , O r her d e s i r e for J u n e a n d evening, t i p p e d By the c o n s u m m a t i o n of the swallow's wings.

50

55

60

v S h e says, " B u t in c o n t e n t m e n t I still feel T h e n e e d of s o m e i m p e r i s h a b l e b l i s s . " D e a t h is the m o t h e r of b e a u t y ; h e n c e from her, A l o n e , shall c o m e fulfillment to our d r e a m s A n d our d e s i r e s . A l t h o u g h s h e strews the leaves O f s u r e obliteration on our p a t h s , T h e p a t h sick sorrow took, the m a n y p a t h s W h e r e t r i u m p h r a n g its brassy p h r a s e , or love W h i s p e r e d a little o u t of t e n d e r n e s s , S h e m a k e s the willow shiver in the s u n F o r m a i d e n s w h o were wont to sit a n d gaze U p o n the g r a s s , r e l i n q u i s h e d to their feet. S h e c a u s e s boys to pile n e w p l u m s a n d p e a r s O n d i s r e g a r d e d p l a t e . T h e m a i d e n s taste A n d stray i m p a s s i o n e d in the littering leaves.

65

70

75

VI

Is there n o c h a n g e of d e a t h in p a r a d i s e ? D o e s ripe fruit never fall? O r d o the b o u g h s H a n g always heavy in that perfect sky, U n c h a n g i n g , yet s o like our p e r i s h i n g earth, W i t h rivers like our own that s e e k for s e a s T h e y never find, the s a m e r e c e d i n g s h o r e s 4. In Greek mythology, a monster with a lion's head, goat's body, and serpent's tail.

so

5. Versions of Paradise in diverse world religions,

SUNDAY

MORNING

T h a t never t o u c h with inarticulate p a n g ? W h y set the p e a r u p o n t h o s e river-banks O r s p i c e the s h o r e s with odors of the p l u m ? Alas, that they s h o u l d wear our colors there, T h e silken weavings of o u r a f t e r n o o n s , A n d pick the strings of our insipid lutes! D e a t h is the m o t h e r of beauty, mystical, Within w h o s e b u r n i n g b o s o m we devise O u r earthly m o t h e r s waiting, sleeplessly.

/

1925

85

90

VII

S u p p l e a n d t u r b u l e n t , a ring of m e n S h a l l c h a n t in orgy on a s u m m e r m o r n T h e i r b o i s t e r o u s devotion to the s u n , N o t a s a g o d , but a s a god might b e , N a k e d a m o n g t h e m , like a s a v a g e s o u r c e . T h e i r c h a n t shall be a c h a n t of p a r a d i s e , O u t of their b l o o d , returning to the sky; And in their c h a n t shall enter, voice by voice, T h e windy lake wherein their lord delights, T h e trees, like serafin, 6 a n d e c h o i n g hills, T h a t choir a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s long afterward. T h e y shall know well the heavenly fellowship O f m e n that perish a n d of s u m m e r m o r n . A n d w h e n c e they c a m e a n d whither they shall go T h e dew u p o n their feet shall m a n i f e s t .

95

100

105

VIII

S h e h e a r s , u p o n that water without s o u n d , A voice that cries, " T h e t o m b in P a l e s t i n e Is not the p o r c h of spirits lingering. It is the grave of J e s u s , w h e r e h e lay." W e live in an old c h a o s of the s u n , O r old d e p e n d e n c y of day a n d night, O r island s o l i t u d e , u n s p o n s o r e d , free, O f that wide water, i n e s c a p a b l e . D e e r walk u p o n our m o u n t a i n s , a n d the quail W h i s t l e a b o u t u s their s p o n t a n e o u s cries; S w e e t berries ripen in the w i l d e r n e s s ; A n d , in the isolation of the sky, At evening, c a s u a l flocks of p i g e o n s m a k e A m b i g u o u s u n d u l a t i o n s a s they sink, D o w n w a r d to d a r k n e s s , o n e x t e n d e d w i n g s .

110

115

120

1915, 1923

I.e., seraphim; angels.

1926

/

WALLACE

STEVENS

Anecdote of the J a r I p l a c e d a j a r in T e n n e s s e e , A n d r o u n d it w a s , u p o n a hill. It m a d e the slovenly w i l d e r n e s s S u r r o u n d that hill. The And The And

w i l d ernes s r o s e u p to it, sprawled a r o u n d , no longer wild. j a r w a s r o u n d u p o n the g r o u n d tall a n d of a port in air.

It t o o k d o m i n i o n everywhere. T h e j a r w a s gray a n d b a r e . It did not give of bird or b u s h , L i k e n o t h i n g else in T e n n e s s e e .

5

10

1923

Peter Quince 1 at the Clavier 1 •

J u s t a s my fingers o n t h e s e keys M a k e m u s i c , so the s e l f s a m e s o u n d s O n my spirit m a k e a m u s i c , t o o . M u s i c is feeling, t h e n , not s o u n d ; A n d t h u s it is that w h a t I feel, H e r e in this r o o m , d e s i r i n g you,

5

T h i n k i n g of your b l u e - s h a d o w e d silk, Is m u s i c . It is like the strain W a k e d in the elders by S u s a n n a . 2 O f a g r e e n evening, clear a n d w a r m , S h e b a t h e d in her still g a r d e n , while T h e red-eyed elders w a t c h i n g , felt

10

•

T h e b a s s e s of their b e i n g s t h r o b In witching c h o r d s , a n d their thin b l o o d P u l s e pizzicati of H o s a n n a . '

1. Stage manager of the rustic actors in A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare; the name also echoes the poem "Quince to Lilac: to G. H." from the once-popular More Songs from Vagabondia by Bliss C a r m a n and Richard Hovey ( 1 8 9 5 ) . Stevens was very fond of this book and its predecessor, Songs from Vagabondia, which appeared in the s a m e year.

15

2. Central character in chapter 1 3 of the Book of Daniel in the Apocrypha. S h e rejects two elders who attempt to seduce her; they retaliate by falsely accusing her of sexual immorality. S h e is saved from punishment by Daniel, who exposes discrepancies in the elders' testimony. 3. Expression of great praise. "Pizzicati": notes or passages played by plucking strings.

PETER

QUINCE

AT T H E

CLAVIER

/

1927

ii In the green water, clear a n d w a r m , S u s a n n a lay. She searched T h e t o u c h of s p r i n g s , And found Concealed imaginings. She sighed, F o r so m u c h melody. U p o n the b a n k , s h e s t o o d In the cool Of spent emotions. S h e felt, a m o n g the leaves, T h e dew O f old devotions. S h e walked u p o n the g r a s s , Still quavering. T h e w i n d s were like her m a i d s , O n timid feet, F e t c h i n g her woven s c a r v e s , Yet wavering. A b r e a t h u p o n her h a n d M u t e d the night. She turned— A cymbal crashed, A n d roaring h o r n s .

20

2?

30

35

40

111

S o o n , with a n o i s e like t a m b o u r i n e s , C a m e her a t t e n d a n t B y z a n t i n e s . T h e y w o n d e r e d why S u s a n n a cried A g a i n s t the elders by her s i d e ; A n d a s they w h i s p e r e d , the refrain W a s like a willow swept by rain.

4S

A n o n , their l a m p s ' uplifted flame R e v e a l e d S u s a n n a a n d her s h a m e . A n d t h e n , the s i m p e r i n g B y z a n t i n e s F l e d , with a n o i s e like t a m b o u r i n e s .

IV B e a u t y is m o m e n t a r y in the m i n d — T h e fitful t r a c i n g of a portal; B u t in the flesh it is i m m o r t a l .

so

928

/

WALLACE

STEVENS

T h e body d i e s ; the body's b e a u t y lives. S o evenings d i e , in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing. S o g a r d e n s die, their m e e k b r e a t h s c e n t i n g T h e cowl of winter, d o n e repenting. S o m a i d e n s d i e , to the auroral C e l e b r a t i o n of a m a i d e n ' s choral. S u s a n n a ' s m u s i c t o u c h e d the bawdy strings O f t h o s e white e l d e r s ; b u t , e s c a p i n g , Left only D e a t h ' s ironic s c r a p i n g . N o w , in its immortality, it plays O n the clear viol of her m e m o r y , A n d m a k e s a c o n s t a n t s a c r a m e n t of p r a i s e .

55

60

65 1923,1931

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird 1

A m o n g twenty snowy m o u n t a i n s , T h e only m o v i n g thing W a s the eye of the blackbird. 11

I w a s of three m i n d s , L i k e a tree In which there are three b l a c k b i r d s . Ill

T h e blackbird whirled in the a u t u m n w i n d s . It w a s a s m a l l part of the p a n t o m i m e .

iv A man and a woman Are o n e . A m a n a n d a w o m a n a n d a blackbird Are o n e .

v I d o not know T h e b e a u t y of O r the b e a u t y T h e blackbird O r j u s t after.

which to prefer, inflections of i n n u e n d o e s , whistling

VI

Icicles filled the long w i n d o w W i t h barbaric g l a s s . T h e s h a d o w of the blackbird

T H I R T E E N WAYS

O F L O O K I N G AT A B L A C K B I R D

/

1929

C r o s s e d it, to a n d fro. The mood T r a c e d in the s h a d o w An i n d e c i p h e r a b l e c a u s e . VII

O thin m e n of H a d d a m , 1 W h y d o you i m a g i n e g o l d e n birds? D o you not s e e h o w the blackbird W a l k s a r o u n d the feet O f the w o m e n a b o u t y o u ?

25

VIII

I know n o b l e a c c e n t s A n d lucid, i n e s c a p a b l e r h y t h m s ; B u t I know, too, T h a t the blackbird is involved In what I know.

30

IX

W h e n the blackbird flew o u t of sight, It m a r k e d the e d g e O f o n e of m a n y circles.

35

At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, E v e n the b a w d s of e u p h o n y W o u l d cry o u t sharply. XI

H e rode over C o n n e c t i c u t In a glass c o a c h . O n c e , a fear p i e r c e d him, In that h e m i s t o o k T h e s h a d o w of his e q u i p a g e For blackbirds. XII

T h e river is moving. T h e blackbird m u s t b e

flying.

xni It w a s evening all a f t e r n o o n . It w a s s n o w i n g A n d it w a s g o i n g to s n o w . T h e blackbird sat In the c e d a r - l i m b s .

50

1931 A city in Connecticut.

1930

/

WALLACE

STEVENS

T h e Idea of Order at Key West 1 S h e s a n g beyond the g e n i u s of the s e a . T h e water never f o r m e d to m i n d or v o i c e , L i k e a body wholly body, fluttering Its e m p t y s l e e v e s ; a n d yet its m i m i c m o t i o n M a d e c o n s t a n t cry, c a u s e d constantly a cry, T h a t w a s not o u r s a l t h o u g h we u n d e r s t o o d , I n h u m a n , of the veritable o c e a n . T h e s e a w a s not a m a s k . N o m o r e w a s s h e . T h e s o n g a n d water were not m e d l e y e d s o u n d E v e n if w h a t s h e s a n g w a s w h a t she h e a r d , S i n c e what s h e s a n g w a s uttered word by word. It may b e that in all her p h r a s e s stirred T h e grinding water a n d the g a s p i n g w i n d ; B u t it w a s s h e a n d not the s e a we h e a r d . F o r s h e w a s the m a k e r of the s o n g s h e s a n g . T h e e v e r - h o o d e d , tragic-gestured s e a W a s merely a p l a c e by which s h e walked to sing. W h o s e spirit is this? we s a i d , b e c a u s e we k n e w It w a s the spirit that we s o u g h t a n d k n e w T h a t we s h o u l d a s k this often a s she s a n g . If it w a s only the dark voice of the s e a T h a t r o s e , or even c o l o r e d by m a n y w a v e s ; If it w a s only the outer voice of sky A n d c l o u d , of the s u n k e n coral water-walled, However clear, it w o u l d have b e e n d e e p air, T h e heaving s p e e c h of air, a s u m m e r s o u n d R e p e a t e d in a s u m m e r without e n d A n d s o u n d a l o n e . B u t it w a s m o r e than that, M o r e even than her voice, a n d o u r s , a m o n g T h e m e a n i n g l e s s p l u n g i n g s of water a n d the wind, T h e a t r i c a l d i s t a n c e s , bronze s h a d o w s h e a p e d O n high horizons, m o u n t a i n o u s a t m o s p h e r e s O f sky a n d s e a . It w a s her voice that m a d e T h e sky a c u t e s t at its v a n i s h i n g . S h e m e a s u r e d to the h o u r its s o l i t u d e . S h e w a s the single artificer of the world In which s h e s a n g . A n d w h e n s h e s a n g , the s e a , W h a t e v e r self it h a d , b e c a m e the self T h a t w a s her s o n g , for s h e w a s the m a k e r . T h e n w e , A s we b e h e l d her striding there a l o n e , K n e w that there never w a s a world for her E x c e p t the o n e s h e s a n g a n d , singing, m a d e . 1. O n e of the islands off the southern coast of Florida, where Stevens vacationed. T h e poem begins with the scene of a woman walking by the sea on a summer's evening and singing.

OF

MODERN

POETRY

/

1931

R a m o n F e r n a n d e z , 2 tell m e , if you know, Why, w h e n the singing e n d e d a n d we t u r n e d T o w a r d the town, tell why the glassy lights, T h e lights in the fishing b o a t s at a n c h o r there, As the night d e s c e n d e d , tilting in the air, M a s t e r e d the night a n d portioned out the s e a , Fixing e m b l a z o n e d zones a n d fiery p o l e s , Arranging, d e e p e n i n g , e n c h a n t i n g night. O h ! B l e s s e d r a g e for order, pale R a m o n , T h e maker's r a g e to order words of the s e a , W o r d s of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred, A n d of ourselves a n d of our origins, In ghostlier d e m a r c a t i o n s , keener s o u n d s . 1936

Of Modern Poetry T h e p o e m of the m i n d in the act of finding W h a t will suffice. It has not always h a d T o find: the s c e n e w a s set; it r e p e a t e d what W a s in the script. T h e n the theatre w a s c h a n g e d T o s o m e t h i n g else. Its p a s t w a s a souvenir. It h a s to be living, to learn the s p e e c h of the p l a c e . It h a s to f a c e the m e n of the time a n d to m e e t T h e w o m e n of the t i m e . It has to think a b o u t war A n d it has to find what will suffice. It h a s T o c o n s t r u c t a n e w s t a g e . It h a s to b e on that s t a g e A n d , like a n insatiable actor, slowly a n d W i t h m e d i t a t i o n , s p e a k words that in the ear, In the delicatest ear of the m i n d , repeat, Exactly, that which it w a n t s to hear, at the s o u n d O f w h i c h , an invisible a u d i e n c e listens, N o t to the play, b u t to itself, e x p r e s s e d In a n e m o t i o n a s of two p e o p l e , a s of two E m o t i o n s b e c o m i n g o n e . T h e actor is A m e t a p h y s i c i a n in the dark, t w a n g i n g An i n s t r u m e n t , t w a n g i n g a wiry string that gives S o u n d s p a s s i n g through s u d d e n Tightnesses, wholly C o n t a i n i n g the m i n d , b e l o w which it c a n n o t d e s c e n d , B e y o n d which it h a s no will to rise. It m u s t B e the finding of a satisfaction, a n d m a y B e of a m a n skating, a w o m a n d a n c i n g , a w o m a n C o m b i n g . T h e p o e m of the act of the m i n d .

5

10

is

20

25

1942 2. A French literary critic and essayist ( 1 8 9 4 - 1 9 4 4 ) . Stevens said that he had invented the name and that its coincidence with a real person was accidental.

1932

/

WALLACE

STEVENS

T h e Plain Sense of Things After the leaves have fallen, we return T o a plain s e n s e of things. It is a s if W e h a d c o m e to a n e n d of the i m a g i n a t i o n , I n a n i m a t e in a n inert savoir.' It is difficult even to c h o o s e the adjective F o r this blank c o l d , this s a d n e s s without c a u s e . T h e great s t r u c t u r e has b e c o m e a m i n o r h o u s e . N o t u r b a n walks a c r o s s the l e s s e n e d floors. T h e g r e e n h o u s e never s o badly n e e d e d p a i n t . T h e c h i m n e y is fifty years old a n d slants to o n e s i d e . A f a n t a s t i c effort h a s failed, a repetition In a r e p e t i t i o u s n e s s of m e n a n d flies.

5

10

Yet the a b s e n c e of the i m a g i n a t i o n h a d Itself to b e i m a g i n e d . T h e great p o n d , T h e plain s e n s e of it, without reflections, leaves, M u d , water like dirty g l a s s , e x p r e s s i n g s i l e n c e O f a sort, T h e great H a d to b e Required,

s i l e n c e of a rat c o m e out to s e e , p o n d a n d its w a s t e of the lilies, all this i m a g i n e d a s a n inevitable k n o w l e d g e , as a necessity requires. 1954

A Quiet Normal Life His p l a c e , a s he sat a n d a s he t h o u g h t , w a s not In a n y t h i n g that he c o n s t r u c t e d , s o frail, S o barely lit, s o s h a d o w e d over a n d n a u g h t , As, for e x a m p l e , a world in w h i c h , like s n o w , He b e c a m e an inhabitant, obedient T o gallant n o t i o n s on the part of cold. It w a s here. T h i s w a s the s e t t i n g a n d the time O f Year. H e r e in his h o u s e a n d in his r o o m , In his chair, the m o s t tranquil t h o u g h t grew p e a k e d A n d the oldest a n d the w a r m e s t heart w a s c u t By gallant n o t i o n s on the part of n i g h t — B o t h late a n d a l o n e , a b o v e the crickets' c h o r d s , 1. Knowledge (French).

10

WILLIAM

CARLOS

WILLIAMS

B a b b l i n g , e a c h o n e , the u n i q u e n e s s of its s o u n d . T h e r e w a s no fury in t r a n s c e n d e n t f o r m s . B u t his a c t u a l c a n d l e blazed with artifice.

/

1933

15 1954

WILLIAM

CARLOS

WILLIAMS

1883-1963 A modernist known for his disagreements with all the other modernists, William Carlos Williams thought of himself as the most underrated poet of his generation. His reputation has risen dramatically since World War II as a younger generation of poets testified to the influence of his work on their idea of what poetry should be. The simplicity of his verse forms, the matter-of-factness of both his subject matter and his means of describing it, seemed to bring poetry into natural relation with everyday life. He is now judged to be among the most important poets writing between the wars. His career continued into the 1960s, taking new directions as he produced, along with shorter lyrics, his epic five-part poem Paterson. He was born in 1883 in Butherford, New Jersey, a town near the city of Paterson. His maternal grandmother, an Englishwoman deserted by her husband, had come to America with her son, married again, and moved to Puerto Rico. Her son—Williams's father—married a woman descended on one side from French Basque people, on the other from Dutch Jews. This mix of origins always fascinated Williams and made him feel that he was different from what he thought of as mainstream Americans, i.e., northeasterners or midwesterners of English descent. After the family moved to New Jersey, Williams's father worked as a salesman for a perfume company; in childhood his father was often away from home, and the two women—mother and grandmother—were the most important adults to him. Throughout Williams's poetry the figure of woman as an earth mother, whom men require for completion and whose reason for being is to supply that completeness, appears, perhaps reflecting that early experience. Except for a year in Europe, Williams attended local schools. He entered the School of Dentistry at the University of Pennsylvania directly after graduating from high school but soon switched to medicine. In college he met and became friends with Ezra Pound; Hilda Doolittle, later to become known as the poet H. D.; and the painter Charles Demuth. These friendships did much to steer him toward poetry, and even as he completed his medical work, interned in New York City, and did postgraduate study in Leipzig, Germany, he was reconceiving his commitment to medicine as a means of self-support in the more important enterprise of becoming a poet. Although he never lost his sense that he was a doctor in order to be a poet, his patients knew him as a dedicated old-fashioned physician, who made house calls, listened to people's problems, and helped them through life's crises. Pediatrics was his specialty; and in the course of his career, he delivered more than two thousand babies. In 1912, after internship and study abroad, Williams married his fiancee of several years, Florence Herman. Despite strains in their relationship caused by Williams's continuing interest in other women, the marriage lasted and became, toward the end of Williams's life, the subject of some beautiful love poetry, including "Asphodel, that Greeny Flower." In the meantime women and the mixed belittlement-adoration

1934

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WILLIAM

CARLOS

WILLIAMS

accorded them by men (including the poet) were persistent themes. The couple settled in Rutherford, where Williams opened his practice. Except for a trip to Europe in 1924, when he saw Pound and met James Joyce, among others, and trips for lectures and poetry readings later in his career, Williams remained in Rutherford all his life, continuing his medical practice until poor health forced him to retire. He wrote at night, and spent weekends in New York City with friends who were writers and artists—the avant-garde painters Marcel Duchamp and Francis Picabia, the poets Marianne Moore and Wallace Stevens, and others. At their gatherings he acquired a reputation for outspoken hostility to most of the "-isms" of the day. The characteristic Williams style emerged clearly in the landmark volume of mixed prose and poetry Spring and All (1923). One can see in this book that the gesture of staying at home was more for him than a practical assessment of his chances of selfsupport. Interested, like his friend Ezra Pound, in making a new kind of poetry, Williams also wanted always to speak as an American within an American context. One can observe this bias in the title of one of his books of essays, In the American Grain (1925), and in his choice of his own region as the setting and subject of Paterson, a long poem about his native city incorporating a great variety of textual fragments—letters, newspaper accounts, poetry—in a modernist collage. Williams detested Eliot's The Waste Land, describing its popularity as a "catastrophe," deploring not only its internationalism but also its pessimism and deliberate obscurity. To him these characteristics were un-American. Yet Williams was not a sentimental celebrant of American life. He objected to Robert Frost's homespun poetry—which might be thought of as similar to his own work—for nostalgically evoking a bygone rural America rather than engaging with what he saw as the real American present. His America was made up of small cities like Paterson, with immigrants, factories, and poor working-class people struggling to get by. The sickness and suffering he saw as a physician entered into his poetry, as did his personal life; but the overall impact of his poetry is social rather than autobiographical. The social aspect of Williams's poetry rises from its accumulation of detail; he opposed the use of poetry for general statements and abstract critique. "No ideas but in things," he wrote. Wallace Stevens had also written, "not ideas about the thing but the thing itself"; yet there is a world of difference between Williams's plainspoken and often opinionated writing and Stevens's cool elegance. Williams drew his vocabulary from up-to-date local speech and searched for a poetic line derived from the cadences of street talk. But he rejected "free verse" as an absurdity; rhythm within the line, and linking one line to another, was the heart of poetic craft to him. While working on Paterson, he invented the "triadic" or "stepped line," a long line broken into three segments, which he used in many poems, including several of the selections printed here. Williams published fiction and essays as well as poetry, especially during the 1930s. Books of short stories {The Edge of the Knife,

1932, and Life along

the Passaic

River,

1938) and novels {White Mule, 1937, and In the Money, 1940) appeared in these years. He was also involved with others in the establishment of several little magazines, each designed to promulgate counterstatements to the powerful influences of Pound, Eliot, and the New Critics. All the time he remained active in his community and in political events; in the 1930s and 1940s he aligned himself with liberal Democratic and, on occasion, leftist issues but always from the vantage point of an unreconstructed individualism. Some of his affiliations were held against him in the McCarthy era and to his great distress he was deprived in 1948 of the post of consultant in poetry at the Library of Congress. It was also in 1948 that he had a heart attack, and in 1951 the first of a series of strokes required him to turn over his medical practice to one of his two sons and made writing increasingly difficult. Nevertheless, he persevered in his work on Paterson, whose five books were published in 1946, 1948, 1949, 1951, and 1958. The Desert Music (1954) and Pictures from Brueghel {1962), containing new poetry, also

PORTRAIT OF A LADY

/

1935

appeared; but by 1961 Williams had to stop writing. By the time of his death a host of younger poets, including Allen Ginsberg, Denise Levertov, Charles Olson, and Robert Creeley, had been inspired by his example. He won the National Book Award in 1950, the Bollingen Prize in 1953, and the Pulitzer Prize in 1962. The texts of the poems included here are those of The Collected Poems of William Carlos Williams, Volume 1: 1909-1939 (1986), edited by A. Walton Litz and Christopher MacGowan, and The Collected

Poems of William

Carlos

Williams,

Volume 2:

1 9 3 9 - 1 9 6 2 (1988), edited by Christopher MacGowan.

The Young Housewife At ten A . M . t h e y o u n g h o u s e w i f e m o v e s a b o u t in negligee b e h i n d the w o o d e n walls of her h u s b a n d ' s h o u s e . I p a s s solitary in my c a r . T h e n again s h e c o m e s to t h e c u r b to call t h e i c e - m a n , fish-man, a n d s t a n d s shy, u n c o r s e t e d , t u c k i n g in stray e n d s o f hair, a n d I c o m p a r e h e r to a fallen leaf. T h e n o i s e l e s s wheels o f m y c a r r u s h with a crackling s o u n d over dried leaves a s I b o w a n d p a s s smiling.

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1916, 1917

Portrait of a Lady Your thighs are a p p l e t r e e s w h o s e b l o s s o m s t o u c h t h e sky. W h i c h sky? T h e sky where W a t t e a u ' h u n g a lady's slipper. Your k n e e s are a s o u t h e r n b r e e z e — o r a g u s t of snow. A g h ! w h a t sort of m a n w a s F r a g o n a r d ? 2 — a s if that a n s w e r e d anything. A h , y e s — b e l o w the k n e e s , s i n c e t h e t u n e d r o p s that way, it is o n e of t h o s e white s u m m e r d a y s , the tall g r a s s o f your a n k l e s 1. J e a n Antoine Watteau ( 1 6 8 4 - 1 7 2 1 ) , French artist who painted landscapes of elegantly dressed lovers in idealized rustic settings. 2. J e a n Honore Fragonard ( 1 7 3 2 - 1 8 0 6 ) , French

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painter who depicted fashionable lovers in paintings more wittily and openly erotic than Watteau's. Fragonard's The Swing depicts a girl who has kicked her slipper into the air.

1936

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CARLOS

WILLIAMS

flickers u p o n the s h o r e — Which shore?— the s a n d clings to my l i p s — Which shore? Agh, petals maybe. How s h o u l d I know? W h i c h s h o r e ? W h i c h shore? I s a i d p e t a l s from a n a p p l e t r e e .

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1920, 1934

Queen-Anne's-Lace 1 H e r body is not so white a s a n e m o n e petals nor so s m o o t h — n o r s o r e m o t e a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by f o r c e ; the g r a s s d o e s not raise a b o v e it. H e r e is n o q u e s t i o n of w h i t e n e s s , white a s c a n b e , with a p u r p l e m o l e at the c e n t e r of e a c h flower. E a c h flower is a h a n d ' s s p a n o f her w h i t e n e s s . W h e r e v e r his h a n d h a s lain there is a tiny p u r p l e b l e m i s h . E a c h part is a b l o s s o m u n d e r his t o u c h to which the fibres of her b e i n g s t e m o n e by o n e , e a c h to its e n d , until the whole field is a white d e s i r e , empty, a single s t e m , a cluster, flower by flower, a p i o u s wish to w h i t e n e s s g o n e o v e r — or n o t h i n g .

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20 1921

T h e Widow's Lament in Springtime S o r r o w is my own yard wfiere the n e w g r a s s flames a s it h a s flamed often before but not with the cold fire that c l o s e s r o u n d m e this year. Thirtyfive years

5

I. A c o m m o n wildflower whose white bloom is composed of numerous tiny blossoms, each with a dark spot at the center, joined to the stalk by fibrous stems.

SPRING AND ALL

I lived with my h u s b a n d . T h e p l u m t r e e is white today with m a s s e s of flowers. M a s s e s of flowers l o a d the cherry b r a n c h e s a n d color s o m e b u s h e s yellow a n d s o m e red b u t the grief in my heart is stronger than they for t h o u g h they were my j o y formerly, today I notice t h e m a n d turn away forgetting. T o d a y my son told m e that in the m e a d o w s , at the e d g e of the heavy w o o d s in the d i s t a n c e , h e s a w trees of white flowers. I feel that I would like to go there a n d fall into t h o s e flowers a n d sink into the m a r s h n e a r t h e m .

/

1937

10

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25

1921

Spring and All 1 By the r o a d to the c o n t a g i o u s h o s p i t a l 2 u n d e r the s u r g e of the b l u e m o t t l e d c l o u d s driven from the n o r t h e a s t — a c o l d wind. B e y o n d , the w a s t e of b r o a d , m u d d y fields brown with dried w e e d s , s t a n d i n g a n d fallen

5

p a t c h e s of s t a n d i n g water the s c a t t e r i n g of tall trees All a l o n g the r o a d the r e d d i s h p u r p l i s h , forked, u p s t a n d i n g , twiggy stuff of b u s h e s a n d s m a l l trees with d e a d , brown leaves u n d e r t h e m leafless v i n e s — L i f e l e s s in a p p e a r a n c e , s l u g g i s h d a z e d spring a p p r o a c h e s —

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T h e y enter the n e w world n a k e d , c o l d , u n c e r t a i n of all 1. In the volume Spring and All (as originally published, 1923), prose statements were interspersed through the poems, which were identified by

roman numerals. Williams added titles later and used the volume's title for the opening poem, 2. I.e., a hospital for treating contagious diseases.

1938

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WILLIAM

CARLOS

WILLIAMS

save that they enter. All a b o u t t h e m the cold, familiar w i n d — N o w the g r a s s , t o m o r r o w the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf

20

O n e by o n e o b j e c t s are d e f i n e d — It q u i c k e n s : clarity, outline of leaf B u t now the stark dignity of e n t r a n c e — S t i l l , the p r o f o u n d c h a n g e h a s c o m e u p o n t h e m : r o o t e d , they grip d o w n a n d b e g i n to a w a k e n

25

1923

•

To Elsie 1 T h e p u r e p r o d u c t s of A m e r i c a go crazy— m o u n t a i n folk from K e n t u c k y or the ribbed north e n d of Jersey with its isolate lakes a n d valleys, its d e a f - m u t e s , thieves old n a m e s and promiscuity between •

devil-may-care m e n w h o have taken to railroading out of s h e e r lust of a d v e n t u r e — •• i • • •- lo and young slatterns, bathed in filth from M o n d a y to S a t u r d a y

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15

to b e tricked o u t that night with g a u d s from i m a g i n a t i o n s which have no p e a s a n t traditions to give t h e m character b u t flutter a n d flaunt

20

I. In Spring and All, this poem was originally numbered XVIII. Elsie, from the State Orphanage, worked for the Williams family as a nursemaid.

To

ELSIE

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1939

s h e e r r a g s — s u c c u m b i n g without emotion save n u m b e d terror u n d e r s o m e h e d g e of choke-cherry or v i b u r n u m — which they c a n n o t e x p r e s s — U n l e s s it be that m a r r i a g e perhaps with a d a s h of Indian blood

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30

will throw up a girl s o d e s o l a t e so hemmed round with d i s e a s e or m u r d e r that she'll b e r e s c u e d by a n agent— reared by the state a n d

35

sent o u t at fifteen to work in some hard-pressed h o u s e in the s u b u r b s — s o m e doctor's family, s o m e E l s i e — v o l u p t u o u s water e x p r e s s i n g with broken brain the truth a b o u t u s — her great ungainly hips a n d flopping b r e a s t s

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45

a d d r e s s e d to c h e a p jewelry a n d rich y o u n g m e n with fine eyes a s if the earth u n d e r o u r feet were a n e x c r e m e n t of s o m e sky a n d we d e g r a d e d p r i s o n e r s destined to h u n g e r until we e a t filth while the i m a g i n a t i o n strains after deer g o i n g by fields of g o l d e n r o d in the stifling heat of S e p t e m b e r Somehow it s e e m s to destroy u s

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6"

1940

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WILLIAM

CARLOS

WILLIAMS

It is only in isolate flecks that something is given off N o one to w i t n e s s a n d a d j u s t , n o o n e to drive the c a r 1923

T h e Red Wheelbarrow so m u c h d e p e n d s upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water b e s i d e the white chickens 1923

This Is J u s t to Say I have e a t e n the p l u m s that were in the icebox a n d which you were probably saving

5

for b r e a k f a s t Forgive m e they were d e l i c i o u s so s w e e t and so cold

10

1934 I. Numbered XXII in Spring and All.

BURNING THE CHRISTMAS GREENS

/

1941

A Sort of a Song L e t the s n a k e wait u n d e r his w e e d a n d the writing be of w o r d s , slow a n d q u i c k , s h a r p to strike, quiet to wait, sleepless. — t h r o u g h m e t a p h o r to r e c o n c i l e the p e o p l e a n d the s t o n e s . C o m p o s e . ( N o ideas but in things) Invent! Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks. 1944

The Dance In B r u e g h e l ' s great p i c t u r e , T h e K e r m e s s , 1 the d a n c e r s g o r o u n d , they go r o u n d a n d a r o u n d , the s q u e a l a n d the blare a n d the tweedle of b a g p i p e s , a b u g l e a n d fiddles tipping their bellies ( r o u n d as the thicksided g l a s s e s w h o s e w a s h they i m p o u n d ) their hips a n d their bellies off b a l a n c e to turn t h e m . Kicking a n d rolling a b o u t the Fair G r o u n d s , swinging their b u t t s , t h o s e s h a n k s m u s t b e s o u n d to b e a r u p u n d e r s u c h rollicking m e a s u r e s , p r a n c e a s they d a n c e in B r u e g h e l ' s great p i c t u r e , T h e K e r m e s s .

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1944

Burning the Christmas Greens T h e i r time p a s t , pulled d o w n c r a c k e d a n d flung to the fire — g o u p in a roar All recognition lost, b u r n t c l e a n c l e a n in the f l a m e , the green d i s p e r s e d , a living red, flame red, red a s b l o o d w a k e s on the a s h — The Wedding Dance by the Flemish painter Pieter Brueghel (or Breughel) the Elder (c.

s

1525-1569).

1942

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WILLIAM

CARLOS

WILLIAMS

a n d e b b s to a steady burning the rekindled bed b e c o m e a l a n d s c a p e of flame At the winter's midnight we went to the trees, the c o a r s e holly, the b a l s a m a n d the h e m l o c k for their green At the thick of the the m o m e n t of the d e e p e s t p l u n g e we c u t from the green

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dark cold's brought branches trees

to fill our n e e d , a n d over doorways, about paper Christmas bells covered with tinfoil a n d f a s t e n e d by red ribbons we s t u c k the green p r o n g s in the windows h u n g woven wreaths a n d a b o v e p i c t u r e s the living green. O n the m a n t l e we built a g r e e n forest and among those hemlock sprays put a herd of small white d e e r a s if they were walking there. All this! a n d it s e e m e d g e n t l e a n d g o o d to u s . T h e i r time p a s t , relief! T h e room b a r e . W e

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35

stuffed the d e a d grate with t h e m u p o n the half burnt o u t log's s m o l d e r i n g eye, o p e n i n g red a n d c l o s i n g u n d e r t h e m a n d we stood there looking d o w n . G r e e n is a s o l a c e a p r o m i s e of p e a c e , a fort a g a i n s t the cold ( t h o u g h we did not say s o ) a c h a l l e n g e a b o v e the snow's hard shell. G r e e n (we might have said) that, w h e r e small birds hide a n d d o d g e a n d lift their plaintive

40

LEAR

rallying cries, blocks for t h e m and knocks down

/

1943

so

the u n s e e i n g bullets of the s t o r m . G r e e n s p r u c e b o u g h s pulled down by a weight of snow—Transformed!

;s

Violence leaped and appeared. R e c r e a n t ! roared to life a s the flame rose through a n d our eyes recoiled from it. In the j a g g e d flames green to red, instant a n d alive. G r e e n ! those sure abutments . . . G o n e ! lost to m i n d

60

a n d q u i c k in the c o n t r a c t i n g tunnel of the grate a p p e a r e d a world! B l a c k mountains, black and red—as

6s

yet u n c o l o r e d — a n d a s h white, an infant l a n d s c a p e of s h i m m e r i n g a s h a n d flame a n d we, in that instant, lost, b r e a t h l e s s to b e w i t n e s s e s , a s if we s t o o d ourselves refreshed a m o n g the s h i n i n g f a u n a of that

70

fire.

75 1944

Lear 1 W h e n the world takes over for u s a n d the storm in the trees r e p l a c e s our brittle c o n s c i e n c e s (like s h i p s , f e m a l e to all s e a s ) w h e n the few last yellow leaves s t a n d out like flags on t o s s e d s h i p s at a n c h o r — o u r m i n d s are rested Yesterday we s w e a t e d a n d d r e a m e d or s w e a t e d in our d r e a m s walking at a loss through the bulk of

5

figures

10

1. T h e aging king whose madness reaches its height during a storm on the heath in Shakespeare's tragedy King Lear ( 1 6 0 6 ) .

1944

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WILLIAM

CARLOS

WILLIAMS

that a p p e a r e d solid, m e n or w o m e n , b u t a s we a p p r o a c h e d down the p a v e d corridor, m e l t e d — W a s it I?—like s m o k e from bonfires blowing away T o d a y the s t o r m , i n e s c a p a b l e , h a s taken the s c e n e a n d we return our hearts to it, however m a d e , m a d e wives by it a n d t h o u g h we s e c u r e ourselves for a dry skin from the d r e n c h of its p a s s i o n a t e a p p r o a c h e s we yield a n d are m a d e q u i e t by its fury Pitiful L e a r , not even you c o u l d o u t s h o u t the s t o r m — t o m a k e a fool cry! Wife to its p o w e r might you not better have yielded s o o n e r ? a s o n s h i p s f a c i n g the s e a s were carried o n c e the figures of w o m e n at r e p o s e to signify the s t r e n g t h of the w a v e s ' l a s h .

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1948

Landscape with the Fall of Icarus' A c c o r d i n g to B r u e g h e l 2 w h e n I c a r u s fell it w a s s p r i n g a farmer w a s p l o u g h i n g his field the w h o l e p a g e a n t r y

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of the year w a s a w a k e tingling near the e d g e of the s e a concerned with itself s w e a t i n g in the s u n that m e l t e d the w i n g s ' w a x

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•

I. In Greek made wings wax. Icarus melted, and

mythology, a young man whose father for him with feathers held together by flew too close to the sun, the wax he fell into the sea and drowned.

2. A landscape by Flemish painter Pieter Brueghel the Elder (c. 1 5 2 5 - 1 5 6 9 ) in which Icarus is depicted by a tiny leg sticking out of the sea in one corner of the picture.

THE

DANCE

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1945

unsignificantly off the c o a s t there w a s a s p l a s h quite u n n o t i c e d this w a s I c a r u s drowning

20 1962

The Dance W h e n the s n o w falls the flakes spin u p o n the long axis that c o n c e r n s t h e m m o s t intimately two a n d two to m a k e a d a n c e the m i n d d a n c e s with itself, taking you by the h a n d , your lover follows there are always two, yourself a n d the other, the point of your s h o e setting the p a c e , if you b r e a k away a n d run the d a n c e is over B r e a t h l e s s l y you will take another partner better or w o r s e w h o will keep at your s i d e , at your s t o p s

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whirls a n d glides until he too leaves off on his way d o w n a s if there w e r e a n o t h e r direction gayer, m o r e carefree s p i n n i n g face to f a c e b u t always d o w n with e a c h other s e c u r e only in e a c h other's a r m s B u t only the d a n c e is s u r e ! m a k e it your own. W h o c a n tell w h a t is to c o m e of it?

25

in the w o o d s of your own n a t u r e whatever twig i n t e r p o s e s , a n d b a r e twigs have a n actuality of their own

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1946

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EZRA

POUND

this flurry of the s t o r m that holds u s , plays with us a n d d i s c a r d s us d a n c i n g , d a n c i n g a s may be credible.

35 1962

EZRA

POUND

1885-1972 Ezra Loomis Pound was born in Hailey, Idaho. When he was still an infant his parents settled in a comfortable suburb near Philadelphia where his father was an assayer at the regional branch of the U.S. Mint. "I knew at fifteen pretty much what I wanted to do," he wrote in 1913; what he wanted was to become a poet. He had this goal in mind as an undergraduate at the University of Pennsylvania (where he met and became lifelong friends with William Carlos Williams and had a romance with Hilda Doolittle, who was later to become the poet H. D.) and at Hamilton College; it also motivated his graduate studies in languages—French, Italian, Old English, and Latin—at the University of Pennsylvania, where he received an M.A. in 1906. He planned to support himself as a college teacher while writing. The poetry that he had in mind in these early years was in vogue at the turn of the twentieth century—melodious in versification and diction, romantic in themes, world-weary in tone—poetry for which the term decadent was used. A particular image of the poet went with such poetry: the poet committed to art for its own sake, careless of convention, and continually shocking the respectable middle class. A rebellions and colorful personality. Pound delighted in this role but quickly found that it was not compatible with the sober behavior expected from professors of language. He lost his first teaching job, at Wabash College in Indiana, in fewer than six months. Convinced that his country had no place for him—and that a country with no place for him had no place for art—he went to Europe in 1908. He settled in London and quickly became involved in its literary life, and especially prominent in movements to revolutionize poetry and identify good new poets. He supported himself by teaching and reviewing for several journals. For a while he acted as secretary to the great Irish poet William Butler Yeats. He married Dorothy Shakespear, daughter of a close friend of Yeats, in 1914. Ten years later he became involved with the American expatriate Olga Rudge and maintained relationships with both women thereafter. As an advocate of the new, he found himself propagandizing against the very poetry that had made him want to be a poet at the start; and this contradiction remained throughout his life: on the one hand, a desire to "make it new"; on the other, a deep attachment to the old. Many of his critical essays were later collected and published in books such as Make It New (1934), The ABC of Reading (1934), Polite Essays (1937), and Literary Essays (1954). He was generous in his efforts to assist other writers in their work and in their attempts to get published; he was helpful to H. D., T. S. Eliot, James Joyce, William Carlos Williams, Robert Frost, Ernest Hemingway, and Marianne Moore, to name just a few. Pound first campaigned for "imagism," his name for a new kind of poetry. Rather than describing something—an object or situation—and then generalizing about it, imagist poets attempted to present the object directly, avoiding the ornate diction andcomplex but predictable verse forms of traditional poetry. Any significance to be

EZRA

POUND

/

1947

derived from the image had to appear inherent in its spare, clean presentation. "Go in fear of abstraction," Pound wrote. Even the rules of grammar seemed artificial; hence this new poetry tended to work in disconnected fragments. Although imagism lasted only briefly as a formal movement, most subsequent twentieth-century poetry showed its influence. Pound soon moved on to "vorticism," which, although still espousing direct and bare presentation, sought for some principle of dynamism and energy in the image. In his imagist phase Pound was connected with H. D. and Richard Aldington, a British poet who became H. D.'s husband; as a vorticist he was allied with the iconoclastic writer and artist Wyndham Lewis. Pound thought of the United States as a culturally backward nation and longed to produce a sophisticated, worldly poetry on behalf of his country. Walt Whitman was his symbol of American poetic narrowness. His major works during his London years consisted of free translations of languages unknown to most Westerners: Provencal, Chinese, Japanese. He also experimented with the dramatic monologue form developed by the English Victorian poet Bobert Browning. Poems from these years appeared in his volumes A Lume Spento (By the spent light; Italian), which appeared in 1908, A Quinzaine

for This

Yule (1908), and Personae

(1910). Persona

means

"mask," and the poems in this last volume developed the dramatic monologue as a means for the poet to assume various identities and to engage in acts of historical reconstruction and empathy. Although his view of poetry would seem to exclude the long poem as a workable form, Pound could not overcome the traditional belief that a really great poem had to be long. He hoped to write such a poem himself, a poem for his time, which would unite biography and history by representing the total content of his mind and memory. To this end he began working on his Cantos in 1915. The cantos were separate poems of varying lengths, combining reminiscence, meditation, description, and transcriptions from books Pound was reading, all of which were to be forged into unity by the heat of the poet's imagination. Ultimately, he produced 116 cantos, whose intricate obscurities continue to fascinate and challenge critics. The London period came to a close with two poems of disillusionment, "Hugh Selwyn Mauberley (Life and Contacts") and "Mauberley," which described the demise of Western civilization in the aftermath of the Great War. Looking for an explanation of what had gone wrong, Pound came upon the "social credit" theories of Major Clifford Hugh Douglas, a social economist who attributed all the ills of civilization to the interposition of money between human exchanges of goods. At this point, poetry and politics fused in Pound's work, and he began to search for a society in which art was protected from money and to record this search in poems and essays. This became a dominant theme in the Cantos. Leaving England for good in 1920, he lived on the Mediterranean Sea, in Paris for a time, and then settled in the small Italian town of Rapallo in 1925. His survey of history having persuaded him that the ideal society was a hierarchy with a strong leader and an agricultural economy, he greeted the Italian fascist dictator Benito Mussolini as a deliverer. His international perspective gave way to an intense localism. During World War II he voluntarily served the Italian government by making numerous Englishlanguage radio broadcasts beamed at England and the United States in which he vilified Jews, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, and American society in general. When the U.S. Army occupied Italy, Pound was arrested, held for weeks in an open-air cage at the prison camp near Pisa, and finally brought to the United States to be tried for treason. The trial did not take place, however, because the court accepted a psychiatric report to the effect that Pound was "insane and mentally unfit to be tried." From 1946 to 1958 he was a patient and a prisoner in St. Elizabeth's Hospital for the criminally insane in Washington, D.C. During those years he received visits, wrote letters, composed cantos, and continued his polemic against American society. In 1948 the Pisan Cantos (LXXIV-LXXXIV) won the Library of Congress's newly established Bollingen Prize for poetry, an event that provoked tremendous debate

1948

/

EZRA

POUND

about Pound's stature as a poet as well as a citizen. Ten years later the efforts of a committee of writers succeeded in winning Pound's release; he returned to Italy, where he died at the age of eighty-seven. He remains one of the most controversial poets of the era. The texts of the poems included here are those of Personae: The Collected Poems (rev., 1 9 4 9 ) and

The

Cantos

(1976).

Portrait d'une F e m m e 1 Your m i n d a n d you a r e our S a r g a s s o S e a , 2 L o n d o n h a s s w e p t a b o u t you this s c o r e years A n d bright s h i p s left you this or that in f e e : I d e a s , old g o s s i p , o d d m e n t s of all things, S t r a n g e s p a r s of k n o w l e d g e a n d d i m m e d w a r e s of p r i c e . G r e a t m i n d s have s o u g h t y o u — l a c k i n g s o m e o n e e l s e . You have b e e n s e c o n d always. T r a g i c a l ? N o . You preferred it to the u s u a l thing: O n e dull m a n , dulling a n d u x o r i o u s , O n e a v e r a g e m i n d — w i t h o n e t h o u g h t l e s s , e a c h year. O h , you are p a t i e n t , I have s e e n you sit H o u r s , w h e r e s o m e t h i n g might have floated u p . A n d now you pay o n e . Y e s , you richly pay. You are a p e r s o n of s o m e interest, o n e c o m e s to you A n d takes s t r a n g e gain away: T r o p h i e s fished u p ; s o m e c u r i o u s s u g g e s t i o n ; F a c t that leads n o w h e r e ; a n d a tale or two, P r e g n a n t with m a n d r a k e s , 3 or with s o m e t h i n g e l s e T h a t might prove useful a n d yet never p r o v e s , T h a t never fits a c o r n e r or s h o w s u s e , O r finds its h o u r u p o n the l o o m of days: T h e t a r n i s h e d , g a u d y , wonderful old work; Idols a n d a m b e r g r i s a n d rare inlays, T h e s e are your r i c h e s , your great s t o r e ; a n d yet F o r all this s e a - h o a r d of d e c i d u o u s things, S t r a n g e w o o d s half s o d d e n , a n d new brighter stuff: In the slow float of differing light a n d d e e p , N o ! there is n o t h i n g ! In the w h o l e a n d all, N o t h i n g that's q u i t e your own. Yet this is y o u .

;

io

is

20

25

30 1912

•

1. Portrait of a lady (French). 2. S e a in the North Atlantic where boats were becalmed; named for its large masses of floating seaweed.

3. Herb used as a cathartic; believed in legend to have human properties, to shriek when pulled from the ground, and to promote pregnancy.

THE

RIVER-MERCHANT'S WIFE:

A

LETTER

/

1949

A Pact I m a k e a p a c t with you, W a l t W h i t m a n — I have d e t e s t e d you long e n o u g h . I c o m e to you a s a grown child W h o h a s h a d a pig-headed father; I a m old e n o u g h now to m a k e friends. It w a s you that broke the new w o o d , N o w is a time for carving. W e have o n e s a p a n d o n e r o o t — L e t there be c o m m e r c e b e t w e e n u s .

5

1913,1916

In a Station of the Metro 1 T h e a p p a r i t i o n of t h e s e f a c e s in the c r o w d ; P e t a l s on a wet, black b o u g h . 1913,1916

T h e River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter 1 While my hair w a s still c u t straight a c r o s s my f o r e h e a d I played a b o u t the front g a t e , pulling flowers. You c a m e by on b a m b o o stilts, playing h o r s e , You walked a b o u t my s e a t , playing with b l u e p l u m s . A n d we went on living in the village of C h o k a n : T w o small p e o p l e , without dislike or s u s p i c i o n . At fourteen I m a r r i e d M y L o r d y o u . I never l a u g h e d , b e i n g bashful. L o w e r i n g my h e a d , I looked at the wall. C a l l e d to, a t h o u s a n d t i m e s , I never looked b a c k .

5

10

At fifteen I s t o p p e d scowling, I desired my d u s t to be mingled with y o u r s Forever a n d forever a n d forever. W h y s h o u l d I c l i m b the look out? At sixteen you d e p a r t e d , You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling e d d i e s , A n d you have b e e n g o n e five m o n t h s . T h e m o n k e y s m a k e sorrowful n o i s e o v e r h e a d . 1. Paris subway. 1. Adaptation from the Chinese of Li Po ( 7 0 1 762), named Rihaku in J a p a n e s e , from the papers

15

of Ernest Fenollosa, an American scholar whose widow gave his papers on J a p a n and China to Pound.

1950

/

EZRA

POUND

You d r a g g e d your feet when you went out. By the g a t e now, the m o s s is grown, the different m o s s e s , T o o d e e p to clear t h e m away! T h e leaves fall early this a u t u m n , in wind. T h e paired butterflies are already yellow with A u g u s t Over the g r a s s in the W e s t g a r d e n ; T h e y hurt m e . I grow older. If you are c o m i n g down t h r o u g h the narrows of the river K i a n g , P l e a s e let m e know b e f o r e h a n d , A n d I will c o m e o u t to m e e t you As far a s C h o - f u - S a . By

20

25

Rihaku

1915

FROM

THE

CANTOS

11 A n d then went down to the s h i p , S e t keel to b r e a k e r s , forth on the godly s e a , a n d W e set u p m a s t a n d sail on that swart ship, B o r e s h e e p a b o a r d her, a n d our b o d i e s also Heavy with w e e p i n g , a n d winds from sternward B o r e us out o n w a r d with bellying c a n v a s , C i r c e ' s 2 this craft, the trim-coifed g o d d e s s . T h e n sat we a m i d s h i p s , wind j a m m i n g the tiller, T h u s with stretched sail, we went over s e a till day's e n d . S u n to his s l u m b e r , s h a d o w s o'er all the o c e a n , C a m e we then to the b o u n d s of d e e p e s t water, T o the K i m m e r i a n , l a n d s , a n d p e o p l e d cities C o v e r e d with c l o s e - w e b b e d mist, u n p i e r c e d ever With glitter of sun-rays N o r with stars s t r e t c h e d , nor looking b a c k from heaven S w a r t e s t night s t r e t c h e d over w r e t c h e d m e n there T h e o c e a n flowing b a c k w a r d , c a m e we then to the p l a c e Aforesaid by C i r c e . H e r e did they rites, P e r i m e d e s a n d E u r y l o c h u s , 4 A n d d r a w i n g sword from my hip I d u g the ell-square pitkin; 5 P o u r e d we libations u n t o e a c h the d e a d , First m e a d then sweet wine, water mixed with white flour. T h e n prayed I m a n y a prayer to the sickly d e a t h ' s - h e a d s ; As set in I t h a c a , sterile bulls of the best 1. Lines 1-68 are an adaptation of book 11 of Homer's Odyssey, which recounts Odysseus's voyage to H a d e s , the underworld of the dead. Odysseus was a native of Ithaca, in Greece. 2 . Odysseus lived for a year with Circe before he determined to return to Ithaca. S h e instructed him to get directions for his trip home by visiting the

5

10

15

20

2s

T h e b a n prophet Tiresias in the underworld. 3. Mythical people living in a foggy region at the edge of the earth. 4. Two of Odysseus's c o m p a n i o n s . 5. Small pit, one ell (forty-five inches) on each side.

THE

CANTOS,

I

/

1951

F o r sacrifice, h e a p i n g the pyre with g o o d s , A s h e e p to T i r e s i a s only, black a n d a b e l l - s h e e p . 6 D a r k b l o o d flowed in the f o s s e , 7 S o u l s out of E r e b u s , 8 c a d a v e r o u s d e a d , of brides O f youths a n d of the old w h o h a d b o r n e m u c h ; S o u l s stained with r e c e n t tears, girls tender, M e n m a n y , m a u l e d with bronze l a n c e h e a d s , Battle spoil, b e a r i n g yet dreory 9 a r m s , T h e s e m a n y c r o w d e d a b o u t m e ; with s h o u t i n g , Pallor u p o n m e , cried to my m e n for m o r e b e a s t s ; S l a u g h t e r e d the herds, s h e e p slain of b r o n z e ; P o u r e d o i n t m e n t , cried to the g o d s , T o Pluto the strong, a n d p r a i s e d P r o s e r p i n e ; 1 U n s h e a t h e d the narrow sword, I sat to keep off the i m p e t u o u s i m p o t e n t d e a d , Till I s h o u l d hear T i r e s i a s . B u t first E l p e n o r 2 c a m e , our friend E l p e n o r , U n b u r i e d , c a s t o n the wide earth, L i m b s that we left in the h o u s e of C i r c e , U n w e p t , u n w r a p p e d in s e p u l c h r e , s i n c e toils u r g e d other. Pitiful spirit. A n d I cried in hurried s p e e c h : " E l p e n o r , how art thou c o m e to this dark c o a s t ? " C a m ' s t thou afoot, outstripping s e a m e n ? " A n d h e in heavy s p e e c h : "111 fate a n d a b u n d a n t wine. I slept in C i r c e ' s i n g l e . ' " G o i n g d o w n the long ladder u n g u a r d e d , "I fell a g a i n s t the b u t t r e s s , " S h a t t e r e d the n a p e - n e r v e , the soul s o u g h t A v e r n u s . 4 " B u t t h o u , O King, I bid r e m e m b e r m e , u n w e p t , u n b u r i e d , " H e a p u p m i n e a r m s , be t o m b by s e a - b o r d , a n d i n s c r i b e d : "A man

of no fortune,

and

with

a name

to

come.

"And set my oar u p , that I s w u n g mid fellows." A n d A n t i c l e a 5 c a m e , w h o m I b e a t off, a n d then T i r e s i a s T h e b a n , H o l d i n g his g o l d e n w a n d , knew m e , a n d s p o k e first: "A s e c o n d t i m e ? 6 why? m a n of ill star, " F a c i n g the s u n l e s s d e a d a n d this j o y l e s s region? " S t a n d from the f o s s e , leave m e my bloody b e v e r 7 "For soothsay." And I stepped back, A n d he strong with the blood, s a i d then: " O d y s s e u s " S h a l t return t h r o u g h spiteful N e p t u n e , 8 over d a r k s e a s , " L o s e all c o m p a n i o n s . " A n d then Anticlea c a m e . 6. The prophet Tiresias is likened to a sheep that leads the herd. 7. Ditch, trench. 8. Land of the dead. Hades. 9. Bloody. 1. G o d d e s s of regeneration and wife of Pluto, god of the underworld. 2. Odysseus's companion who fell to his death from the roof of Circe's house and was left unburied by his friends. 3. Corner, house.

4. Lake near Naples, the entrance to Hades. 5. Odysseus's mother. In the Odyssey; Odysseus weeps at the sight of her but obeys Circe's instructions to speak to no one until Tiresias has first drunk the libation of blood that will enable him to speak. 6. They met once before on earth. 7. Libation. 8. God of the sea, who was to delay Odysseus's return by a storm at sea.

1952

/

EZRA

POUND

L i e quiet D i v u s . I m e a n , that is A n d r e a s D i v u s , In officina W e c h e l i , 1 5 3 8 , out of H o m e r . 9 A n d h e sailed, by S i r e n s a n d t h e n c e o u t w a r d a n d away And unto Circe. Venerandam,' In the C r e t a n ' s p h r a s e , with the g o l d e n crown, A p h r o d i t e , Cypri m u n i m e n t a sortita e s t , 2 mirthful, o r i c h a l c h i , 3 with g o l d e n Girdles a n d breast b a n d s , thou with dark eyelids B e a r i n g the g o l d e n b o u g h of A r g i c i d a . 4 S o that:

70

75 1925

XLV With

Usura'

W i t h u s u r a h a t h n o m a n a h o u s e of good s t o n e e a c h block c u t s m o o t h a n d well fitting that d e s i g n might cover their f a c e , with u s u r a h a t h n o m a n a p a i n t e d p a r a d i s e on his c h u r c h wall harpes et luz or w h e r e virgin receiveth m e s s a g e a n d halo p r o j e c t s from i n c i s i o n , 3 with u s u r a s e e t h no m a n G o n z a g a 4 his heirs a n d his c o n c u b i n e s no p i c t u r e is m a d e to e n d u r e nor to live with b u t it is m a d e to sell a n d sell quickly with u s u r a , sin a g a i n s t n a t u r e , is thy b r e a d ever m o r e of stale rags is thy b r e a d dry a s p a p e r , with n o m o u n t a i n w h e a t , no s t r o n g flour with u s u r a the line grows thick with u s u r a is no clear d e m a r c a t i o n a n d no m a n c a n find site for his dwelling. S t o n e c u t t e r is kept from his s t o n e weaver is kept from his l o o m 2

9. Pound acknowledges using the Renaissance Latin translation of Homer, produced in the workshop ("officina") of Wechel in Paris in 1538, by Andreas Divus. 1. C o m m a n d i n g reverence; a phrase describing Aphrodite, the goddess of love, in the Latin translation of the second Homeric Hymn by Georgius Dartona Cretensis (the " C r e t a n " in line 7 3 ) . 2. T h e fortresses of Cyprus were her appointed realm (Latin). 3. Of copper (Latin); a reference to gifts presented to Aphrodite in the second Homeric Hymn. 4. Aeneas offered the Golden Bough to Proserpina before descending to the underworld. Pound associates Persephone with Aphrodite, goddess of love and slayer of the Greeks (Argi) during the Trojan War, and associates the Golden Bough, sacred to the goddess Diana, with the magic wand of the god

Hermes, slayer of the many-eyed Argus ("Argicida") and liberator of lo. 1. Usury, or lending money at interest (Latin). Pound interpreted this practice as the root of all corruption in the modern world, the c a u s e of the separation of the worker—whether farmer, laborer, or artist—from the work. 2. Harps and lutes (Latin). In medieval and Renaissance depictions of Paradise, the angels are shown playing on such instruments. 3. Description of scenes in religious paintings, especially the Annunciation, in which the Virgin Mary is informed that she is to be the mother of Christ. 4. Luigi Gonzaga ( 1 2 6 7 - 1 3 6 0 ) , prince of M a n t u a and founder of a dynasty that ruled that Italian city until the 18th century.

THE

CANTOS, XLV

WITH USURA wool c o m e s not to market s h e e p bringeth no gain with u s u r a U s u r a is a m u r r a i n , 5 u s u r a blunteth the n e e d l e in the maid's h a n d a n d s t o p p e t h the spinner's c u n n i n g . Pietro L o m b a r d o 6 c a m e not by u s u r a D u c c i o c a m e not by u s u r a nor Pier della F r a n c e s c a ; Z u a n Bellin' 7 not by u s u r a nor w a s ' L a C a l u m n i a ' s p a i n t e d . C a m e not by u s u r a Angelico; c a m e not A m b r o g i o P r a e d i s , 9 C a m e no c h u r c h of c u t stone s i g n e d : Adamo me fecit.' N o t by u s u r a St T r o p h i m e N o t by u s u r a S a i n t H i l a i r e , 2 U s u r a r u s t e t h the chisel It rusteth the craft a n d the c r a f t s m a n It g n a w e t h the thread in the l o o m N o n e learneth to w e a v e gold in her p a t t e r n ; Azure hath a c a n k e r by u s u r a ; c r a m o i s i * is u n b r o i d e r e d E m e r a l d findeth no M e m l i n g 4 U s u r a slayeth t h e child in the w o m b It stayeth the y o u n g m a n ' s c o u r t i n g It hath b r o u g h t palsey to b e d , lyeth b e t w e e n the y o u n g bride a n d her b r i d e g r o o m CONTRA NATURAM5 T h e y have b r o u g h t w h o r e s for E l e u s i s 6 C o r p s e s are set to b a n q u e t at b e h e s t of u s u r a .

/

1953

25

30

35

40

45

50

N . B . Usury: A c h a r g e for the u s e of p u r c h a s i n g power, levied without regard to p r o d u c t i o n ; often without regard to the possibilities of p r o d u c t i o n . ( H e n c e the failure of the M e d i c i b a n k . 7 ) 1937

5. A plague (archaic). 6. I t a l i a n s c u l p t o r { 1 4 3 5 - 1 5 1 5 ) . 7. Duccio di Buoninsegna ( 1 2 6 0 ? - I 3 1 8 ? ) , Piero della Francesca ( 1 4 2 0 ? - 1 4 9 2 ) , and Giovanni Bellini (1430?— 1516) were Italian painters from Florence and nearby towns. 8. Rumor (Italian); allegorical painting by Sandro Botticelli ( 1 4 4 5 - 1 5 1 0 ) , one of the greatest of the Italian Renaissance painters. 9. Fra Angelico ( 1 3 8 7 ? - 1 4 5 5 ) and Praedis (1455?—1506) were Italian painters. 1. Adam made me (Latin); words carved into the church of San Zeno Maggiore in Verona, Italy. To Pound, a symbol of the architect's pride in and feeling of connection with his work.

2. Medieval churches in the French cities of Aries and Poitiers, respectively. 3. Heavy crimson cloth (French). 4. Hans Memling ( 1 4 3 0 ? - 1 4 9 5 ) , Flemish painter. 5. Against nature (Latin). 6. City in ancient Greece, northwest of Athens, where secret religious rites in honor of Demeter and Persephone, the goddess of fertility and her daughter, were celebrated by priestesses every spring. The substitution of whores for priestesses represents the degradation of ancient rituals. 7. A bank operated from 1397 to 1494 by the Medici family of Florence; it anticipated modern banking techniques.

1954

H. D. ( H I L D A

DOOLITTLE)

1886-1961 •

In January 1913, Harriet Monroe's influential little magazine, Poetry, printed three vivid poems by an unknown "H. D., Imagiste." These spare, elegant lyrics were among the first important products of the "imagist movement": poems devoid of explanation and declamation, unrhymed and lacking regular beat, depending on the power of an image to arrest attention and convey emotion. The poet's pen name, the movement's name, and the submission to the magazine were all the work of Ezra Pound, poet and tireless publicist for anything new in the world of poetry. The poems themselves had been written by his friend Hilda Doolittle. In later years, H. D. would look back at these events as epitomizing her dilemma: how to be a woman poet speaking in a world where women were spoken for and about by men. It is, perhaps, a symbol of her sense of difficult) that, though she strove lor a voice that could be recognized as clearl) feminine, she continued to publish under the name that Pound had devised for her. She was born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, one girl in a family of five boys. Her mother—who was her father's second wife—was a musician and music teacher, active in the Moravian church to which many in Bethlehem belonged. The symbols and rituals of this group, along with its tradition of secrecy created in response to centuries of oppression, had much to do with H. D.'s interest in images and her attraction in later life to occult and other symbol systems: the cabala, numerology, the tarot, and psychoanalysis. When her father, an astronomer and mathematician, was appointed director of the observatory at the University of Pennsylvania, the family moved to a suburb of Philadelphia. There, when she was fifteen years old, H. D. met Ezra Pound, a student at the university, already dedicated to poetry and acting the poet's role with dramaticintensity. The two were engaged for a while, but Pound's influence continued long after each had gone on to other partners. H. D. attended college at Bryn Mawr for two years; in 1911 she made a bold move to London, where Pound had gone some years earlier. She married a member of his circle, the English poet Richard Aldington, in 1913. With Aldington she studied Greek and read the classics, but the marriage was not a success and was destroyed by their separation during World War I when Aldington went into the army and served in France. The year 1919 was terrible for H. D.: her brother Gilbert was killed in the fighting in France, her father died soon thereafter, her marriage broke up, close friendships with Pound and with D. H. Lawrence came to an end, she had a nearly fatal case of flu, and amid all this gave birth to a daughter who Aldington said was not his child. Aftereffects of all these traumas haunted her for the rest of her life. But she was rescued from the worst of her emotional and financial troubles by Winifred EUerman, whose father, a shipping magnate, was one of the wealthiest men in England. EUerman, a writer who had adopted the pen name Bryher, had initially been attracted by H. D.'s poetry; their relationship developed first as a love affair and then into a lifelong friendship. In 1923, H. D. settled in Switzerland. With Bryher's financial help she raised her daughter and cared for her ailing mother who had joined her household. During 1933 and 1934 she spent time in Vienna, where she underwent analysis by Sigmund Freud. Freud's theory of the unconscious and the disguised ways in which it reaches surface expression accorded well with H. D.'s understanding of how the unexplained images in a poem could be significant; the images were coded personal meanings. Freud and H. D. had many arguments, especially over the destiny of women, for H. D. was a feminist, and Freud believed that woman's nature was determined by biology. H. D. was instrumental (with Bryher's help) in getting Freud, who was Jewish, safely to London when the Nazi regime took over in Austria. When World War II broke out H. D. went back to London to share England's fate in crisis.

MID-DAY

/

1955

During the 1930s she worked mostly in prose forms and composed several autobiographical pieces (some of which remain unpublished). Like many major poets of the era, H. D. came in time to feel the need to write longer works; the bombardment of London inspired three long related poems about World War II, The Walls Do Not Fall (1944), Tribute to the Angels (1945), and The Flowering of the Rod (1946), which appeared together as Trilogy. In them she combined layers of historical and personal experience; wars going back to the Trojan War all fused in one image of humankind forever imposing and enduring violence. The personal and the historical had always been one to her, and she became increasingly attracted to the image of Helen, the so-called cause of the Trojan War, as an image of herself. According to Homer's Iliad, Helen's beauty led Paris, a Trojan prince, to steal her from her Greek husband, Menelaus; and all the Greek warriors made common cause to get her back. After ten years' encamped before the walls of Troy, they found a devious way to enter the city and destroy it. H. D. was struck by the fact that the legend was related entirely from the male point of view; Helen never had a chance to speak. The object of man's acts and the subject of their poems, she was herself always silent. If Helen tried to speak, would she even have a voice or a point of view? Out of these broodings, and helped by her study of symbols, H. D. wrote her meditative epic of more than fourteen hundred lines, Helen in Egypt. The poem, composed between 1951 and 1955, consists of three books of interspersed verse and prose commentary, which follow Helen's quest. "She herself is the writing" that she seeks to understand, the poet observes. H. D.'s imagist poetry, for which she was known during her lifetime, represents the imagist credo with its vivid phrasing, compelling imagery, free verse, short poetic line, and avoidance of abstraction and generalization. She followed Pound's example in producing many translations of poetry from older literature, choosing her favorite Greek poets for the exercise. Her images come chiefly from nature and are influenced by her early immersion in astronomy. Austere landscapes of sea, wind, stars, and sand are contrasted with exotic figures of flowers, jewelry, and shells. This contrast can be understood as sterility versus fruitfulness, intellect versus passion, control versus abandon, grief versus joy. H. D.'s poetry, although centered on her experience and insights as a woman, was thus also entirely modernist in its representation of the psyche—anybody's psyche—adrift in a violent, fragmented, alien, and insecure reality. The texts of the poems included here are those of Collected Poems 1912-1944, edited by Louis L. Martz (1983).

Mid-day T h e light b e a t s u p o n m e . I am startled— a split leaf c r a c k l e s on the paved floor— I am anguished—defeated. A slight wind s h a k e s the s e e d - p o d s — my t h o u g h t s are spent a s the black s e e d s . M y t h o u g h t s tear m e , I dread their fever. I a m s c a t t e r e d in its whirl. I a m s c a t t e r e d like the hot shrivelled s e e d s .

5

10

1956

/

H.

D.

(HILDA

DOOLITTLE)

T h e shrivelled s e e d s a r e split o n the p a t h — the g r a s s b e n d s with d u s t , the g r a p e slips u n d e r its c r a c k l e d leaf: yet far beyond the s p e n t s e e d - p o d s , a n d the b l a c k e n e d stalks of mint, the p o p l a r is bright o n the hill, the p o p l a r s p r e a d s o u t , deep-rooted a m o n g trees. O poplar, you are great a m o n g the hill-stones, while I p e r i s h o n the p a t h a m o n g the crevices of the r o c k s . 1916

Oread 1 Whirl u p , s e a — whirl your p o i n t e d p i n e s , s p l a s h your great p i n e s on our r o c k s , hurl your g r e e n over u s , cover u s with your p o o l s of fir.

5 1914, 1924

Helen 1 All G r e e c e h a t e s the still eyes in the white f a c e , the lustre as of olives where she stands, a n d the white h a n d s . All G r e e c e reviles the w a n f a c e w h e n s h e s m i l e s , h a t i n g it d e e p e r still w h e n it grows w a n a n d white, remembering past enchantments a n d p a s t ills.

1. A nymph of mountains and hills. 1. In Greek legend, the wife of Menelaus; her kidnaping by the Trojan prince Paris started the Tro-

j a n War. S h e was the daughter of the god Zeus, the product of his rape, when disguised as a swan, of the mortal Leda.

THE

WALLS

Do

Greece sees unmoved, G o d ' s d a u g h t e r , born of love, the b e a u t y of cool feet and slenderest knees, c o u l d love i n d e e d the m a i d , only if s h e were laid, white a s h a m i d funereal c y p r e s s e s .

NOT

FALL

/

1957

i?

1924

From T h e Walls Do Not Fall To Bryher F O R KARNAK FROM LONDON

1923 1942

An incident here a n d there, a n d rails g o n e (for g u n s ) from your (and my) old town s q u a r e : m i s t a n d mist-grey, no colour, still the L u x o r b e e , c h i c k a n d h a r e 1 pursue unalterable purpose

5

in g r e e n , rose-red, lapis; they c o n t i n u e to p r o p h e s y from the s t o n e p a p y r u s : there, a s h e r e , ruin o p e n s the t o m b , the t e m p l e ; enter, there a s h e r e , there a r e no d o o r s : the shrine lies o p e n to the sky, the rain falls, h e r e , there s a n d drifts; eternity e n d u r e s :

io

15

ruin everywhere, yet a s the fallen roof leaves the s e a l e d r o o m open to the air, so, through our d e s o l a t i o n , t h o u g h t s stir, inspiration stalks u s through g l o o m :

20

u n a w a r e , Spirit a n n o u n c e s the P r e s e n c e ; shivering overtakes u s , a s of old, S a m u e l : 2 1. Luxor is a town on the Nile River in Egypt, close to the ruins of the ancient city of T h e b e s , where the Temple of Karnak is located. T h e bee, chick,

and hare are carved symbols appearing on the tempie. 2. A biblical seer and prophet.

1958

/

H.

D.

(HILDA

DOOLITTLE)

t r e m b l i n g at a known street-corner, we know not nor are k n o w n ; the P y t h i a n 3 p r o n o u n c e s — w e p a s s o n to a n o t h e r cellar, to a n o t h e r sliced wall w h e r e p o o r utensils s h o w like rare o b j e c t s in a m u s e u m ;

25

30

P o m p e i i 4 h a s n o t h i n g to t e a c h u s , w e k n o w c r a c k of volcanic fissure, slow flow of terrible lava, p r e s s u r e on heart, l u n g s , the brain a b o u t to b u r s t its brittle c a s e (what the skull c a n e n d u r e ! ) : over u s , A p o c r y p h a l ' fire, u n d e r u s , the earth sway, dip of a s l o p e of a p a v e m e n t

35

floor,

w h e r e m e n roll, d r u n k with a new b e w i l d e r m e n t , sorcery, b e d e v i l m e n t :

40

the b o n e - f r a m e w a s m a d e for no s u c h s h o c k knit within terror, yet the skeleton s t o o d u p to it: the flesh? it w a s m e l t e d away, the heart b u r n t o u t , d e a d e m b e r , tendons, muscles shattered, outer husk dismembered, yet the f r a m e held: we p a s s e d the flame: we w o n d e r w h a t s a v e d u s ? w h a t for?

50

•

Evil w a s active in the land, G o o d was impoverished and sad; 111 p r o m i s e d a d v e n t u r e , G o o d w a s s m u g a n d fat; Dev-ill w a s after u s , tricked u p like J e h o v a h ; G o o d w a s the t a s t e l e s s p o d , stripped from the m a n n a - b e a n s , p u l s e , lentils: 3. Pythia is another name for Delphi, Greek town famous b e c a u s e the Oracle of Apollo was located there. T h e Pythian is the high priestess of that oracle, who was possessed by the Delphic spirit and prophesied.

4 . Ancient Italian city near Naples, burned and buried in a few hours by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 C . E . 5. T h e Apocrypha are books rejected from the Bible b e c a u s e of doubtful authenticity.

THE

WALLS

Do

they were angry w h e n we were so hungry for the n o u r i s h m e n t , G o d ;

NOT FALL

/

1959

60

they s n a t c h e d off our a m u l e t s , c h a r m s a r e not, they said, g r a c e ; but g o d s always f a c e two-ways, so let u s s e a r c h the old highways

65

for the true-rune, the right-spell, recover old v a l u e s ; nor listen if they s h o u t out, your beauty, Isis, Aset or A s t a r t e , 6 is a harlot; you a r e retrogressive, zealot, h a n k e r i n g after old flesh-pots;

70

your heart, moreover, is a d e a d c a n k e r , they c o n t i n u e , a n d your rhythm is the devil's h y m n ,

75

your stylus is d i p p e d in corrosive s u b l i m a t e , how c a n you s c r a t c h out indelible ink of the p a l i m p s e s t 7 of p a s t m i s a d v e n t u r e ?

21

S p l i n t e r e d the crystal of identity, s h a t t e r e d the vessel of integrity,

445

till the L o r d Amen, paw-er of the g r o u n d , b e a r e r of the c u r l e d h o r n s , bellows from the horizon: here a m I, A m e n - R a , Amen, A r i e s , 8 the R a m ;

450

t i m e , time for you to begin a new spiral, s e e — I toss you into the star-whirlpool; till pitying, pitying, snuffing the g r o u n d , 6. Three goddesses of fertility from Egyptian and Phoenician mythologies. 7. A parchment or tablet that has been written on more than once, with the underlying texts only partly erased and hence still visible.

8. Latin name for a constellation, one of the signs of the zodiac. Amen-Ra was the Egyptian god of life and reproduction. "Amen": may it be so, certainly, truly (Hebrew); said at the end of a prayer.

960

/

H.

D.

(HILDA

DOOLITTLE) 455

h e r e a m I, A m e n - R a w h i s p e r s , Amen, Aries, the R a m , b e c o c o o n , s m o t h e r e d in w o o l , be L a m b , 9 mothered again. 22 N o w my right h a n d , now my left h a n d

460

c l u t c h your c u r l e d fleece; take m e h o m e , take m e h o m e , my voice wails from the g r o u n d ; take m e h o m e , F a t h e r :

465

p a l e a s the w o r m in the g r a s s , yet I a m a s p a r k s t r u c k by your hoof from a rock: Amen, you a r e s o w a r m , hide m e in your fleece, c r o p m e u p with the n e w - g r a s s ;

470

let your teeth d e v o u r m e , let m e b e w a r m in your belly, the sun-disk, the re-born S u n .

4" 23

Take me home where canals flow b e t w e e n iris-banks: w h e r e the heron h a s her n e s t : w h e r e the m a n t i s prays o n the river-reed: w h e r e the g r a s s h o p p e r says Amen, Amen, Amen.

9. Traditional reference to Christ.

THE

WALLS

Do

NOT FALL

/

1961

24 O r anywhere where stars blaze through clear air, w h e r e we m a y greet individually, Sirius, Vega, Arcturus,1 w h e r e t h e s e s e p a r a t e entities are intimately c o n c e r n e d with u s , w h e r e e a c h , with its particular attribute, m a y be invoked with a c c u r a t e c h a r m , spell, prayer, which will reveal u n q u e s t i o n a b l y ,

495

whatever h e a l i n g or inspirational e s s e n c e is n e c e s s a r y for whatever p a r t i c u l a r ill the inquiring soul is heir to: O s t a r s , little j a r s of that i n d i s p u t a b l e and absolute Healer, Apothecary, w r o u g h t , f a c e t e d , jewelled

500

boxes, very p r e c i o u s , to hold further u n g u e n t , myrrh, i n c e n s e : j a s p e r , beryl, s a p p h i r e that, a s we draw t h e m nearer

505

by prayer, spell, litany, i n c a n t a t i o n , will reveal their individual f r a g r a n c e , p e r s o n a l m a g n e t i c influence, b e c o m e , a s they o n c e were, personified m e s s e n g e r s , h e a l e r s , helpers of the O n e , Amen,

All-father.

41 Sirius: what mystery is this?

1. Three bright stars.

820

1962

/

H.

D.

(HILDA

DOOLITTLE)

you are s e e d , corn n e a r the s a n d , e n c l o s e d in black-lead, ploughed land. Strtws: what

mystery

is

825

this?

you are d r o w n e d in the river; the s p r i n g freshets p u s h o p e n the w a t e r - g a t e s .

830 •

SirtMS: what

mystery

is

this?

where heat breaks and cracks the s a n d - w a s t e , you are a m i s t of snow: white, little flowers.

»35

42 O , S i r e , is this the p a t h ? over s e d g e , over d u n e - g r a s s , silently sledge-runners pass.

840

O , S i r e , is this the w a s t e ? unbelievably, s a n d glistens like i c e , c o l d , cold; d r a w n to the t e m p l e g a t e , O , S i r e , is this u n i o n at last?

845

43 Still

the walls

do not

I do not know there is lightning

fall,

why;

zrr-hiss, in a not-known,

unregistered

850

dimension;

we are

powerless,

dust

and

powder

our

bodies

fill

blunder

our

lungs

ROBINSONJEFFERS

through and

doors

twisted

the lintels

slant

on

on thin that

air

step even

to a blind

swiftly the

aside, 860

independable,

thick

where

and

tenuous

where

wings the

it should

be

separate

and

the

the floor

of

open, 865

than

floor,

sags

like a ship we know

fine

ether

is heavier and

fog,

air

is

and

855

continually

thickens

then for

floundering; no

rule

870

procedure,

we are voyagers, of the the

discoverers

not-known, unrecorded;

we have possibly

1963

hinges,

cross-wise; we walk

/

no

875

map;

we will

reach

haven,

heaven.

1944

ROBINSON

JEFFERS

1887-1962 Robinson Jeffers was born on January 10, 1887, in Pittsburgh. His father, who was forty-seven when he was born, was a minister and professor of biblical literature. The family, which included Jeffers's mother, twenty years younger than her husband, and a brother seven years younger than he, traveled often to Europe. The family settled in California in 1903; at that time the whole state was sparsely settled and beautifully

1964

/

ROBINSONJEFFERS

rugged. Jeffers found his roots there; and as migration to California eroded the state's wilderness, he looked away from land and out into the Pacific Ocean for the wild nature he could not find elsewhere. Jeffers received his B.A. at Occidental College in Los Angeles in 1905. He attended graduate school at the University of Southern California ( U S C ) in medicine and at the University of Washington in Seattle in forestry between 1906 and 1910. At U S C he met Una Kali Custer, a married woman; they fell in love and were married in 1913. The couple had one daughter (who died in infancy) and twin sons. In 1914 they moved to Carmel, on the Pacific coast south of San Francisco. Jeffers built a stone tower near their home, a symbol of his self, and dedicated himself to writing poetry, something he had wished to do since student days. His first volume, Flagons and Apples, had been published at his own expense in 1912. Not until the 1920s, with the publication of Tamar (1924) and Roan Stallion (1925), did he attract critical attention; at this time he became one of America's best-known—and one of its few financially successful—poets. His reputation rose steadily until about the mid1930s when readers apparently began to tire of his relentless misanthropy. Over the years Jeffers became more self-aware, and more conscious of his poetic aims, but his practice and his goals changed very little. Because he saw the modern world as a falling away from the American past, he had no interest in finding new forms to suit the age. He wrote brief lyrics and long narrative poems, the former in free verse and the latter in a traditional blank verse. Unlike the modernist poets who rejected narrative, Jeffers wrote many long heroic story poems: Cawdor (1928), Dear Judas

(1929), Thurso's

Landing

(1932), Give Your Heart

to the Hawks

(1933), and

Solstice (1935), among others. These were the basis of his popularity during years when the modernists had little audience. In the last two decades of his life he wrote several verse plays based on Greek myths. For many of his short lyrics Jeffers turned for his subject to the landscape and to wild animals, whom he admired more for their strength and ferocity than for their peacefulness. Adopting a Whitmanesque prophetic tone in many lyrics, and using a poetic line modeled on Whitman's open form, he berated rather than celebrated American democracy, expressing his rage at the careless destruction of irrecoverable natural beauty. The text of the poems included here is that of Selected Poetry (1963).

To the Stone-Cutters S t o n e - c u t t e r s fighting time with m a r b l e , you f o r e d e f e a t e d C h a l l e n g e r s o f oblivion E a t cynical e a r n i n g s , k n o w i n g rock splits, r e c o r d s fall d o w n , T h e s q u a r e - l i m b e d R o m a n letters S c a l e in the t h a w s , wear in the rain. T h e p o e t a s well 5 B u i l d s his m o n u m e n t mockingly; F o r m a n will b e blotted o u t , t h e blithe e a r t h d i e , the brave s u n D i e blind a n d b l a c k e n to the heart: Yet s t o n e s have stood for a t h o u s a n d y e a r s , a n d p a i n e d t h o u g h t s f o u n d io T h e honey o f p e a c e in old p o e m s .

CARMEL

POINT

/

1965

Shine, Perishing Republic While this A m e r i c a settles in the m o u l d of its vulgarity, heavily t h i c k e n i n g to e m p i r e , A n d protest, only a b u b b l e in the m o l t e n m a s s , p o p s a n d sighs out, a n d the mass hardens, I sadly smiling r e m e m b e r that the flower f a d e s to m a k e fruit, the fruit rots to m a k e e a r t h . O u t of the m o t h e r ; a n d t h r o u g h the spring e x u l t a n c e s , r i p e n e s s a n d d e c a d e n c e ; a n d h o m e to the mother. You m a k i n g h a s t e h a s t e o n decay: not b l a m e w o r t h y ; life is g o o d , be it s t u b bornly long or s u d d e n l y 5 A mortal s p l e n d o r : m e t e o r s are not n e e d e d less than m o u n t a i n s : s h i n e , perishing r e p u b l i c . B u t for my children, I would have t h e m k e e p their d i s t a n c e from the thicke n i n g c e n t e r ; corruption Never h a s b e e n c o m p u l s o r y , w h e n the cities lie at the m o n s t e r ' s feet there are left the m o u n t a i n s . A n d boys, b e in n o t h i n g s o m o d e r a t e a s in love of m a n , a clever servant, insufferable m a s t e r . T h e r e is the trap that c a t c h e s noblest spirits, that c a u g h t — t h e y s a y — G o d , w h e n he walked on e a r t h . 10 1925

Carmel Point T h e extraordinary p a t i e n c e of things! T h i s beautiful p l a c e d e f a c e d with a c r o p of s u b u r b a n h o u s e s — H o w beautiful w h e n we first b e h e l d it, U n b r o k e n field of p o p p y a n d lupin walled with c l e a n cliffs; N o intrusion but two or three h o r s e s p a s t u r i n g , O r a few milch c o w s r u b b i n g their flanks o n the o u t c r o p r o c k h e a d s N o w the spoiler has c o m e : d o e s it c a r e ? N o t faintly. It h a s all t i m e . It knows the p e o p l e are a tide T h a t swells a n d in time will e b b , a n d all T h e i r works dissolve. M e a n w h i l e the i m a g e of the pristine b e a u t y Lives in the very grain of the g r a n i t e , S a f e a s the e n d l e s s o c e a n that c l i m b s our cliff.—As for u s : W e m u s t u n c e n t e r o u r m i n d s from o u r s e l v e s ; W e m u s t u n h u m a n i z e our views a little, a n d b e c o m e confident As the rock a n d o c e a n that we were m a d e from. 1951

1966

/

MARIANNE

MOORE

Birds and Fishes Every O c t o b e r millions of little fish c o m e a l o n g the s h o r e , C o a s t i n g this granite e d g e of the c o n t i n e n t O n their lawful o c c a s i o n s : b u t what a festival for the seafowl. W h a t a w i t c h e s ' s a b b a t h of wings H i d e s the dark water. T h e heavy p e l i c a n s s h o u t " H a w ! " like J o b ' s friend's warhorse' 5 A n d dive from the high air, the c o r m o r a n t s Slip their long b l a c k b o d i e s u n d e r the water a n d h u n t like wolves T h r o u g h the green half-light. S c r e a m i n g , the gulls w a t c h , Wild with envy a n d m a l i c e , c u r s i n g a n d s n a t c h i n g . W h a t hysterical g r e e d ! W h a t a filling of p o u c h e s ! the m o b 10 Hysteria is nearly h u m a n — t h e s e d e c e n t b i r d s ! — a s if they were finding G o l d in the street. It is better than gold, It c a n b e e a t e n : a n d which o n e in all this fury of wildfowl pities the fish? N o o n e certainly. J u s t i c e a n d m e r c y Are h u m a n d r e a m s , they do not c o n c e r n the birds nor the fish nor eternal G o d . is H o w e v e r — l o o k again before you g o . T h e wings a n d the wild h u n g e r s , the wave-worn skerries, the bright quick minnows Living in terror to die in t o r m e n t — M a n ' s fate a n d t h e i r s — a n d the island rocks a n d i m m e n s e o c e a n beyond,and Lobos2 D a r k e n i n g a b o v e the bay: they are beautiful? 20 T h a t is their quality: not mercy, not m i n d , not g o o d n e s s , b u t the b e a u t y of G o d . 1963 1. In J o b 3 9 . 2 5 , the horse "saith a m o n g the trumpets, Ha, ha."

MARIANNE

2. Rocky promontory jutting out into the Pacific O c e a n near Carmel, California.

MOORE

1887-1972 Marianne Moore was a radically inventive modernist, greatly admired by other poets of her generation, and a powerful influence on such later writers as Robert Lowell, Randall Jarrell, and Richard Wilbur. Like her forerunner Emily Dickinson, she made of the traditional and constraining "woman's place" a protected space to do her own work, but unlike Emily Dickinson, she was a deliberate professional, publishing her poems regularly, in touch with the movements and artists of her time. She was famous for the statement that poetry, though departing from the real world, re-created that world within its forms: poems were "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." Her earlier work is distinguished by great precision of observation and language, ornate diction, and complex stanza and prosodic patterns. Her later work is much less ornate; and in revising her poetry, she tended to simplify and shorten. She was born in Kirkwood, Missouri, a suburb of St. Louis. In her childhood, the family was abandoned by her father; they moved to Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where—in

MARIANNE

MOORE

/

1967

a pattern common among both men and women writers of this period—her mother supported them by teaching school. She went to Bryn Mawr College, graduating in 1 9 0 9 ; traveled with her mother in England and France in 1 9 1 1 ; and returned to Carlisle to teach at the U.S. Indian School between 1 9 1 1 and 1 9 1 5 . Having begun to write poetry in college, she was first published in 1 9 1 5 and 1 9 1 6 in such little magazines as the Egoist (an English magazine with which Ezra Pound was associated), Poetry, and Others (a journal for experimental writing with which William Carlos Williams was associated, founded by Alfred Kreymbourg, a New York poet and playwright). Through these magazines she entered the avant-garde and modernist world. She never married; in 1 9 1 6 she and her mother merged their household with that of Moore's brother, a Presbyterian minister, and they moved with him to a parish in Brooklyn, New York. There Moore was close to literary circles and Ebbets Field, where the Dodgers, then a Brooklyn baseball team, had their home stadium. Moore was a lifelong fan. While holding jobs in schools and libraries, Moore worked at her poetry. A volume called simply Poems was brought out in London in 1 9 2 1 without her knowledge through the efforts of two women friends who were writers, H. D. (whom she had met at Bryn Mawr) and Bryher. Another book, Observations, appeared in 1 9 2 4 and won the Dial Award. In 1 9 2 5 she began to work as editor of the Dial, continuing in this influential position until the magazine was disbanded in 1 9 2 9 . Her reviews and editorial judgments were greatly respected, although her preference for elegance and decorum over sexual frankness was not shared by some of the writers—Hart Crane and James Joyce among them—whose work she rejected or published only after they revised it. As a critic of poetry Moore wrote numerous essays—her collected prose makes a larger book than her collected poetry. She believed that poets usually undervalued prose; "precision, economy of statement, logic" were features of good prose that could "liberate" the imagination, she wrote. In writing about animals she was able to take advantage of two different prose modes that attracted her—scientific and historical description. Her poems were an amalgam of her own observation and her readings, which she acknowledged by quotation marks and often by footnotes as well. In Moore's writings, the reader almost never finds the conventional poetic allusions that invoke a great tradition and assert the present poet's place in it. Like many other modernists, Moore was trying to break with tradition and attach poetry to the world in a new way; unlike them, however, she acknowledged no large social mission and did not present her poetry as necessarily reflecting or commenting on the state of modern civilization. Against the exactitude and "unbearable accuracy" (as she put it) of her language, Moore counterpointed a complex texture of stanza form and versification. Pound worked with the clause, Williams with the line, H. D. with the image, Stevens and Stein with the word; Moore, unlike these modernist contemporaries, used the entire stanza as the unit of her poetry. Her stanza is composed of regular lines counted by syllables, instead of by stress, which are connected in an elaborate verse pattern, and in which rhymes often occur at unaccented syllables and even in the middle of a word. The effects she achieves are complex and subtle; she was often called the "poet's poet" of her day because the reader needed expert technical understanding to recognize what she was doing. Nevertheless, her poetry also had a thematic, declarative edge which the outbreak of World War II led her to expand. The sentiments expressed in her later verse are the need for human decency and the desirability of a political and social system in which dignity is accorded to all. Moore received the Bollingen, National Book, and Pulitzer awards for Collected Poems in 1 9 5 1 and thereafter was a more public figure. Throughout her lifetime she continued to revise, expand, cut, and select, so that from volume to volume a poem with the same name may be a very different work. Her Complete Poems of 1 9 6 7 represented her poetry as she wanted it remembered, but a full understanding of Moore calls for reading all the versions of her changing work.

1968

/

MARIANNE

MOORE

Poetry 1 I, too, dislike it: there a r e things that are i m p o r t a n t b e y o n d all this fiddle. R e a d i n g it, however, with a perfect c o n t e m p t for it, o n e d i s co v ers in it after all, a p l a c e for the g e n u i n e . H a n d s that c a n g r a s p , eyes that c a n dilate, hair that c a n rise if it m u s t , t h e s e things are i m p o r t a n t not b e c a u s e a h i g h - s o u n d i n g interpretation c a n b e p u t u p o n t h e m b u t b e c a u s e they a r e useful. W h e n they b e c o m e s o derivative a s to b e c o m e unintelligible, the s a m e thing m a y b e s a i d for all of u s , that w e d o not a d m i r e w h a t we c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d : the b a t h o l d i n g o n u p s i d e d o w n or in q u e s t of s o m e t h i n g to eat, e l e p h a n t s p u s h i n g , a wild h o r s e taking a roll, a tireless wolf under a tree, the i m m o v a b l e critic twitching his skin like a h o r s e that feels a flea, the b a s e ball fan, t h e s t a t i s t i c i a n — nor is it valid to d i s c r i m i n a t e a g a i n s t " b u s i n e s s d o c u m e n t s a n d

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s c h o o l - b o o k s " ; 2 all t h e s e p h e n o m e n a a r e i m p o r t a n t . O n e m u s t m a k e a distinction however: w h e n d r a g g e d into p r o m i n e n c e by half p o e t s , t htee result is not poetry, nor till the p o e t s a m o n g u s c a n b e "literalists of the i m a g i n a t i o n " 3 — a b o v e i n s o l e n c e a n d triviality a n d c a n p r e s e n t for i n s p e c t i o n , " i m a g i n a r y g a r d e n s with real t o a d s in t h e m , " shall we h a ve it. In t h e m e a n t i m e , if you d e m a n d o n the o n e h a n d , the raw material of poetry in 11 . 1 all its r a w n e s s a n d that w h i c h is on t h e o t h e r h a n d g e n u i n e , t h e n you a r e interested in poetry.

25

1921,1935 1. T h e version printed here follows the text and format of Selected Poems ( 1 9 3 5 ) . 2. Diary of Tolstoy (Dutton), p. 84. "Where the boundary between prose and poetry lies, I shall never be able to understand. The question is raised in manuals of style, yet the answer to it lies beyond me. Poetry is verse; prose is not verse. Or else poetry is everything with the exception of business documents and school books" [Moore's note].

3. Yeats's Ideas of Good and Evil (A. H. Bullen), p. 182. " T h e limitation of his view was from the very intensity of his vision; he was a too literal realist of imagination, as others are of nature; and b e c a u s e he believed that the figures seen by the mind's eye, when exalted by inspiration, were'eternal existences,' symbols of divine e s s e n c e s , he hated every grace of style that might obscure their lineaments" [Moore's note].

THE

PAPER

NAUTILUS

/

1969

T h e Paper Nautilus 1 F o r authorities w h o s e h o p e s are s h a p e d by m e r c e n a r i e s ? Writers e n t r a p p e d by t e a t i m e f a m e a n d by c o m m u t e r s ' c o m f o r t s ? N o t for t h e s e the p a p e r n a u t i l u s c o n s t r u c t s her thin g l a s s shell. Giving her p e r i s h a b l e souvenir of h o p e , a dull white o u t s i d e a n d s m o o t h e d g e d inner s u r f a c e glossy a s the s e a , the watchful m a k e r of it g u a r d s it day a n d night; s h e scarcely e a t s until the e g g s are h a t c h e d . B u r i e d eight-fold in her eight a r m s , for s h e is in a s e n s e a devilfish, her glass r a m ' s h o r n - c r a d l e d freight is hid b u t is not c r u s h e d ; a s H e r c u l e s , 2 bitten by a c r a b loyal to the hydra, w a s hindered to s u c c e e d , the intensively w a t c h e d e g g s c o m i n g from the shell free it w h e n they a r e f r e e d , — leaving its w a s p - n e s t flaws

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of white on white, a n d c l o s e laid Ionic* chiton-folds like the lines in the m a n e of a Parthenon4 horse, r o u n d which the a r m s h a d w o u n d t h e m s e l v e s a s if they k n e w love is the only fortress s t r o n g e n o u g h to trust to.

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35 1941, 1967

1. T h e text is from Complete Poems ( 1 9 6 7 ) . 2. Hero of Greek myth, who performed numerous exploits including battle with the hydra, a manyheaded monster.

3. Classical Greek, specifically Athenian. 4 . Temple in Athens decorated by a carved marble band of sculptures, including processions of horses.

1970

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MARIANNE

MOORE

T h e Mind Is an Enchanting Thing 1 is a n e n c h a n t e d t h i n g like the glaze o n a katydid-wing s u b d i v i d e d by s u n till the nettings are legion. L i k e G i e s e k i n g playing S c a r l a t t i ; 2 like the apteryx 3 -awl a s a b e a k , or the kiwi's rain-shawl of haired f e a t h e r s , the m i n d feeling its way a s t h o u g h blind, walks a l o n g with its eyes o n the g r o u n d . It h a s m e m o r y ' s ear that c a n h e a r without having to hear. L i k e the g y r o s c o p e ' s fall, truly u n e q u i v o c a l b e c a u s e trued by r e g n a n t certainty, it is a p o w e r of s t r o n g e n c h a n t m e n t . It is like the doven e c k a n i m a t e d by s u n ; it is m e m o r y ' s eye; it's c o n s c i e n t i o u s i n c o n s i s t e n c y . It t e a r s off the veil; tears the t e m p t a t i o n , the m i s t the heart w e a r s , from its e y e — i f the heart h a s a f a c e ; it takes apart d e j e c t i o n . It's fire in the dove-neck's i r i d e s c e n c e ; in the inconsistencies of S c a r l a t t i . Unconfusion submits its c o n f u s i o n to proof; it's not a H e r o d ' s o a t h that c a n n o t c h a n g e . 4

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35 1944

1. T h e text is from Complete Poems ( 1 9 6 7 ) . 2. Walter Wilhelm Gieseking (1895-1956), French-born G e r m a n pianist, known for his renditions of compositions by the Italian composer Domenico Scarlatti ( 1 6 8 5 - 1 7 5 7 ) . 3. A flightless New Zealand bird, related to the

kiwi, with a beak shaped like an awl. 4. Herod Antipas (d. 39 C . E . ) , ruler of J u d e a under the Romans. H e had J o h n the Baptist beheaded in fulfillment of a promise to S a l o m e (Mark 6 . 2 2 27).

IN

D I S T R U S T OF M E R I T S

/

1971

In Distrust of Merits 1 S t r e n g t h e n e d to live, s t r e n g t h e n e d to die for m e d a l s a n d p o s i t i o n e d victories? They're fighting, fighting, fighting the blind m a n w h o thinks he s e e s , — w h o c a n n o t s e e that the enslaver is e n s l a v e d ; the hater, h a r m e d . O s h i n i n g O film star, O t u m u l t u o u s o c e a n l a s h e d till small things go a s they will, the m o u n t a i n o u s wave m a k e s u s w h o look, know d e p t h . L o s t at s e a before they fought! O star of David, star of B e t h l e h e m , 2 O b l a c k imperial lion of the L o r d — e m b l e m of a risen w o r l d — b e j o i n e d at last, b e j o i n e d . T h e r e is hate's crown b e n e a t h which all is d e a t h ; there's love's without which n o n e is king; the b l e s s e d d e e d s b l e s s the h a l o . As c o n t a g i o n of s i c k n e s s m a k e s s i c k n e s s , c o n t a g i o n of trust c a n m a k e trust. They're fighting in d e s e r t s a n d c a v e s , o n e by o n e , in b a t t a l i o n s a n d s q u a d r o n s ; they're fighting that I m a y yet recover from the d i s e a s e , M y Self; s o m e have it lightly; s o m e will d i e . " M a n ' s wolf to m a n " a n d we d e v o u r

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2S

o u r s e l v e s . T h e e n e m y c o u l d not have m a d e a greater b r e a c h in o u r d e f e n s e s . O n e piloting a blind m a n c a n e s c a p e h i m , but J o b d i s h e a r t e n e d by false c o m f o r t 3 knew that n o t h i n g c a n be so d e f e a t i n g a s a blind m a n w h o c a n s e e . O alive w h o are d e a d , w h o a r e p r o u d not to s e e , O small d u s t of the e a r t h that walks s o arrogantly trust b e g e t s p o w e r a n d faith is a n affectionate thing. W e vow, we m a k e this p r o m i s e

35

40

to the fighting—it's a p r o m i s e — " W e ' l l never h a t e black, white, red, yellow, J e w , 1. T h e text is from Complete Poems ( 1 9 6 7 ) . 2. A symbol of Christians. "Star of David": a symbol of J u d a i s m .

3. When undergoing Jehovah's test of his fidelity, J o b rejected the attempts of friends who tried to comfort him.

1972

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MARIANNE

MOORE

Gentile, Untouchable."4 W e are not c o m p e t e n t to m a k e o u r vows. W i t h set j a w they are fighting, fighting, fighting,—some we love w h o m we know, s o m e w e love b u t know n o t — t h a t h e a r t s m a y feel a n d not be n u m b . It c u r e s m e ; or a m I w h a t I can't believe in? S o m e in s n o w , s o m e on c r a g s , s o m e in q u i c k s a n d s , little by little, m u c h by m u c h , they a r e fighting fighting fighting that w h e r e there w a s d e a t h there m a y be life. " W h e n a m a n is prey to a n g e r , h e is m o v e d by o u t s i d e things; w h e n h e holds his g r o u n d in p a t i e n c e p a t i e n c e p a t i e n c e , that is a c t i o n or b e a u t y , " the soldier's d e f e n s e a n d h a r d e s t a r m o r for the fight. T h e world's a n o r p h a n s ' h o m e . S h a l l w e never have p e a c e w i t h o u t sorrow? without p l e a s of the dying for help that won't c o m e ? O quiet form u p o n the d u s t , I c a n n o t look a n d yet I m u s t . If t h e s e great patient dyings—all these agonies and wound bearings and bloodshed— c a n t e a c h u s how to live, t h e s e dyings were not w a s t e d . H a t e - h a r d e n e d heart, O heart of iron, iron is iron till it is rust. T h e r e never w a s a war that w a s not inward; I m u s t fight till I have c o n q u e r e d in myself what c a u s e s war, b u t I w o u l d not believe it. I inwardly did nothing. O Iscariot'-like c r i m e ! B e a u t y is everlasting a n d d u s t is for a t i m e .

4. T h e lowest hereditary caste in India. 5. J u d a s Iscariot was the apostle who betrayed J e s u s Christ.

T. S. ELIOT

/

1973

O to Be a Dragon 1 If I, like S o l o m o n , . . . c o u l d have my w i s h — my wish . . . O to be a d r a g o n , a symbol of the power of H e a v e n — of silkworm size or i m m e n s e ; at times invisible. Felicitous phenomenon!

5

1959,

1967

I. The text is from Complete Poems (1967).

T. S.

ELIOT

1888-1965 The publication in 1 9 2 2 of The Waste Land in the British little magazine Criterion and the American Dial was a cultural and literary event. The poem's title and the view it incorporated of modern civilization seemed, to many, to catch precisely the state of culture and society after World War I. The war, supposedly fought to save European civilization, had been the most brutal and destructive in Western history: what kind of civilization, after all, could have allowed it to take place? The long, fragmented structure of The Waste Land, too, contained so many technical innovations that ideas of what poetry was and how it worked seemed fundamentally changed. A generation of poets either imitated or resisted it. The author of this poem was an American living in London, T. S . Eliot. He had a comfortable upbringing in St. Louis: his mother involved herself in cultural and charitable activities and wrote poetry; his father was a successful businessman. His grandfather Eliot had been a New England Unitarian minister who, moving to St. Louis, had founded Washington University. Eliot was thus a product of that New Englandbased "genteel tradition" that shaped the nation's cultural life after the Civil War. He attended Harvard for both undergraduate and graduate work ( 1 9 0 6 - 1 0 , 1 9 1 1 — 1 4 ) . He studied at the Sorbonne in Paris from 1 9 1 0 to 1 9 1 1 and at Oxford from 1 9 1 5 to 1 9 1 6 , writing a dissertation on the idealistic philosophy of the English logician and metaphysician F. H. Bradley ( 1 8 4 6 - 1 9 2 4 ) . The war prevented Eliot from returning to Harvard for the oral defense required for his doctoral degree, and this delay became the occasion of his turning to a life in poetry and letters rather than in academics. Eliot had begun writing traditional poetry as a college student. In 1 9 0 8 , however, he read Arthur Symons's The Symbolist Movement in Literature and learned about Jules LaForgue and other French Symbolist poets. Symons's book altered Eliot's view of poetry, as "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" (published in Poetry in 1 9 1 5 ) and "Preludes" (published in Blast in the same year) clearly showed. Ezra Pound, reading this work, began enthusiastically introducing Eliot in literary circles as a young American who had "trained himself and modernized himself on his own." Pound helped Eliot over several years to get financially established. In addition, he was a perceptive reader and critic of Eliot's draft poems. Eliot settled in England, marrying Vivian Haigh-Wood in 1 9 1 5 . Separated in 1 9 3 2 , they never divorced; Haigh-Wood died in a mental institution in 1 9 4 7 . After marrying,

1974

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T.

S.

ELIOT

Eliot worked in London, first as a teacher and then from 1917 to 1925 in the foreign department of Lloyd's Bank, hoping to find time to write poetry and literary essays. His criticism was published in the Egoist and then in the little magazine that he founded, Criterion, which was published from 1922 to 1939. His persuasive style, a mixture of advocacy and judiciousness, effectively counterpointed Pound's aggressive, confrontational approach; the two together had a tremendous effect on how poetry of the day was written and how poetry of the past was evaluated. More than any other Americans they defined what is now thought of as "high" modernism. Eliot began working on The Waste Land in 1921 and finished it in a Swiss sanatorium while recovering from a mental collapse brought on by overwork, marital problems, and general depression. He accepted some alterations suggested by his wife and cut huge chunks out of the poem on Pound's advice. Indeed, although Pound's work on the poem was all excision, study of the manuscript before and after Pound's suggestions were incorporated has led some critics to suggest that we should think of The Waste Land as jointly authored. The poem as published in Criterion and the Dial had no footnotes; these were added for its publication in book form and added yet another layer (possibly self-mocking) to the complex texture of the poem. The Waste Land consists of five discontinuous segments, each composed of fragments incorporating multiple voices and characters, literary and historical allusions, vignettes of contemporary life, surrealistic images, myths and legends. "These fragments I have shored against my ruins," the poet writes, asking whether he can form any coherent structure from the splinters of civilization. Lacking narrative and expository shape, the poem is organized by recurrent allusions to the myth of seasonal death and rebirth that, according to much anthropological thinking of the time, underlay all religions. In Sir James Frazer's multivolume The Golden Bough ( 1 8 9 0 1915) and Jessie Weston's From Ritual to Romance (1920) Eliot found a repertory of myths through which he could invoke, without specifically naming any religion, the story of a desert land brought to life by a king's sacrifice. Although it gestured toward religious belief, The Waste Land was not affirmative; the quest for regeneration in a cacaphonous, desolate landscape remains unfulfilled. Many readers saw The Waste Land as the definitive cultural statement of its time, but it was not definitive for Eliot. In fact, for Eliot himself the poem may have been much less broadly conceived and, above all, an indirect confession of personal discord. Whatever the fate of culture, the individual needed to work for personal certainty. In a preface to the collection of essays For Lancelot Andrewes (1928) he declared himself a "classicist in literature, royalist in politics, and anglo-catholic in religion." After "The Hollow Men" and the "Sweeney" poems, which continue The Waste Land's critique of modern civilization, he turned increasingly to poems of religious doubt and reconciliation. "The Journey of the Magi" and "Ash Wednesday" are poems about the search for a faith that is desperately needed, yet difficult to sustain. The Four Quartets, begun with "Burnt Norton" in 1934 and completed in 1943, are poems written after his conversion to Anglicanism; they are not so much reports of secure faith as dramatizations of the difficult process of arriving at belief. In this process Eliot found a center for his own life as well as for his later poetry. The Four Quartets incorporate a good deal of the discursive and expository, elements that he had objected to in his earlier essays and dropped from his earlier poems. An emphasis on order, hierarchy, and racial homogeneity emerged in Eliot's social essays of the later 1920s and 1930s; a strain of crude anti-Semitism had appeared in the earlier Sweeney poems. As European politics became increasingly turbulent, the initial cosmopolitan, international sensibility of modernists like Eliot and Pound tended to be replaced by a belief in localism. In addition, the stability promised by totalitarian regimes was often appealing, and the Communist rejection of all religion tended to drive the more theistic modernists into the opposing camp of fascism. Pound's and Eliot's fascist sympathies in the 1930s, together with their immense influence on poetry, had the result of linking the modernist movement with reactionary politics in the public's perception. Modernists, however, did not form a unified

THE

LOVE SONG

OF J. ALFRED

PRUFROCK

/

1975

group; their politics ranged from the extreme right to the far left; many were centrists or liberals; and many despised politics completely. When World War II began, Eliot, unlike Pound, abandoned politics. He had also promulgated a poetics according to which poetry existed in a realm of its own, in which poems were to be considered only in terms of their own structures and in connection with other poetry. This was the thesis of his influential "Tradition and the Individual Talent," which defined the Western poetic tradition as an organic whole, an elastic equilibrium that constantly reformed itself to accommodate new poets who, therefore, became part of this whole. This antipolitical approach to poetry had a major influence on the practices of the school of close-reading critics whose work is known collectively as the "New Criticism." In other, connected literary essays, Eliot denigrated didactic, expository, or narrative poets like Milton and the Victorians while applauding the verbally complex, ironic, indirect, symbolic work of seventeenthcentury Metaphysical poets like Donne and Herbert. For the New Criticism, which analyzed each poem for imagery, allusion, ambiguity, and the like, Eliot's essays provided theory, his difficult poetry opportunities for practical criticism. But when critics used Eliot's standards of difficult indirection to judge literary quality and made interpretation the main task of readers, they often overlooked the simple lyricism, obvious didacticism, and straightforward humor of Eliot's own poetry. And they failed to see the poems' specific cultural and autobiographical content. However elitist his pronouncements, however hostile to modernity he claimed to be, Eliot actually drew very heavily on popular forms and longed to have wide cultural influence. There are vaudeville turns throughout The Waste Land. He admired Charlie Chaplin and wanted "as large and miscellaneous an audience as possible." He pursued this ambition by writing verse plays. Murder in the Cathedral ( 1 9 3 5 ) was a church pageant; The Family Reunion ( 1 9 3 9 ) , The Cocktail Party ( 1 9 4 9 ) , The Confidential Clerk ( 1 9 5 3 ) , and The Elder Statesman ( 1 9 5 9 ) , all religious in theme (though

their symbolism was often hidden), were successfully produced in London and on Broadway. He never became a popular poet, however, despite his tremendous impact on the teaching and writing of poetry. Although Eliot remained a resident of England, he returned to the United States frequently to lecture and to give readings of his poems. He married his assistant, Valerie Fletcher, in 1 9 5 7 . By the time of his death he had become a social and cultural institution. The text of the poems included here is that of The Complete Poems and Plays of T. S. Eliot (1969).

The Love Song of J . Alfred Prufrock S'io credessi che mia risposta fosse a persona che mat tornasse al mondo, qiiesta fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per cid che giammai di questo fondo non tornd vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero, senza tenia d'infamia ti rispondo.'

Let u s g o then, you a n d I, W h e n t h e e v e n i n g is s p r e a d o u t a g a i n s t t h e sky

1. If I thought that my reply would be to one who would ever return to the world, this tlame would stay without further movement; but since none has ever returned alive from this depth, if what I hear is true, I answer you without fear of infamy (Ital-

ian; Dante's Inferno 27.61—66). T h e speaker, Guido da Montefeltro, c o n s u m e d in flame as punishment for giving false counsel, confesses his shame without fear of its being reported since he believes Dante cannot return to earth.

1976

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

Like a patient e t h e r i s e d u p o n a t a b l e ; L e t u s g o , t h r o u g h certain half-deserted s t r e e t s , T h e m u t t e r i n g retreats O f restless nights in one-night c h e a p hotels A n d s a w d u s t r e s t a u r a n t s with oyster-shells: S t r e e t s that follow like a tedious a r g u m e n t O f insidious intent T o lead you to a n o v e r w h e l m i n g q u e s t i o n O h , do not ask, 'What is it?' L e t u s B O a n d m a k e our visit. In the r o o m the w o m e n c o m e a n d go T a l k i n g of M i c h e l a n g e l o . T h e yellow fog that r u b s its b a c k u p o n the w i n d o w - p a n e s , T h e yellow s m o k e that rubs its muzzle o n the w i n d o w - p a n e s , L i c k e d its t o n g u e into the c o r n e r s of the evening, L i n g e r e d u p o n the p o o l s that s t a n d in d r a i n s , L e t fall u p o n its b a c k the soot that falls from c h i m n e y s , S l i p p e d by the t e r r a c e , m a d e a s u d d e n l e a p , A n d s e e i n g that it w a s a soft O c t o b e r night, C u r l e d o n c e a b o u t the h o u s e , a n d fell a s l e e p . A n d i n d e e d there will b e t i m e 2 F o r the yellow s m o k e that slides a l o n g the street R u b b i n g its b a c k u p o n the w i n d o w - p a n e s ; T h e r e will b e t i m e , there will b e time T o p r e p a r e a f a c e to m e e t the f a c e s that you m e e t ; T h e r e will b e time to m u r d e r a n d c r e a t e , A n d time for all the works a n d d a y s ' of h a n d s T h a t lift a n d drop a q u e s t i o n o n your p l a t e ; T i m e for you a n d time for m e , A n d time yet for a h u n d r e d i n d e c i s i o n s , A n d for a h u n d r e d visions a n d revisions, B e f o r e the taking of a toast a n d tea.

20

25

30

In the r o o m the w o m e n c o m e a n d g o T a l k i n g of M i c h e l a n g e l o . A n d i n d e e d there will b e time T o wonder, 'Do I dare?' and, 'Do I dare?' T i m e to turn b a c k a n d d e s c e n d the stair, W i t h a bald s p o t in the m i d d l e of my h a i r — (They will say: ' H o w his hair is g r o w i n g thin!') M y m o r n i n g c o a t , my collar m o u n t i n g firmly to the c h i n , M y necktie rich a n d m o d e s t , but a s s e r t e d by a s i m p l e p i n —

2. An echo of Andrew Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress" ( 1 6 8 1 ) : "Had we but world enough and time."

3. Works and Days is a didactic poem about farming by the Greek poet Hesiod (8th century B . C . E . ) .

THE

LOVE

SONG

OF J.

ALFRED

PRUFROCK

(They will say: ' B u t how his a r m s a n d legs are thin!') Do I dare D i s t u r b the universe? In a m i n u t e there is t i m e F o r d e c i s i o n s a n d revisions which a m i n u t e will reverse. F o r I have known t h e m all already, known t h e m a l l — H a v e known the e v e n i n g s , m o r n i n g s , a f t e r n o o n s , I have m e a s u r e d out my life with coffee s p o o n s ; I know the voices dying with a dying fall 4 B e n e a t h the m u s i c from a farther r o o m . S o how s h o u l d I p r e s u m e ? A n d I have known the eyes already, known t h e m a l l — T h e eyes that fix you in a f o r m u l a t e d p h r a s e , A n d w h e n I a m f o r m u l a t e d , sprawling on a pin, W h e n I a m p i n n e d a n d wriggling on the wall, T h e n how s h o u l d I begin T o spit out all the b u t t - e n d s of my days a n d ways? A n d how s h o u l d I p r e s u m e ? A n d I have known the a r m s already, known t h e m a l l — A r m s that are b r a c e l e t e d a n d white a n d b a r e ( B u t in the lamplight, d o w n e d with light brown hair!) Is it p e r f u m e from a d r e s s T h a t m a k e s m e so d i g r e s s ? A r m s that lie a l o n g a t a b l e , or wrap a b o u t a shawl. A n d s h o u l d I then p r e s u m e ? A n d how s h o u l d I b e g i n ? S h a l l I say, I have g o n e at d u s k t h r o u g h narrow streets A n d w a t c h e d the s m o k e that rises from the p i p e s O f lonely m e n in shirt-sleeves, l e a n i n g out of w i n d o w s ? . . .

/

1977

45

50

55

60

65

70

I s h o u l d have b e e n a pair of r a g g e d claws S c u t t l i n g a c r o s s the floors of silent s e a s . A n d the a f t e r n o o n , the evening, s l e e p s s o peacefully! S m o o t h e d by long fingers, A s l e e p . . . tired . . . or it m a l i n g e r s , S t r e t c h e d on the floor, here b e s i d e you a n d m e . S h o u l d I, after tea a n d c a k e s a n d i c e s , H a v e the strength to force the m o m e n t to its crisis? B u t t h o u g h I have wept a n d f a s t e d , wept a n d prayed, T h o u g h I have s e e n my h e a d (grown slightly bald) b r o u g h t in upon a platter,5 I a m no p r o p h e t — a n d here's no great m a t t e r ; I have s e e n the m o m e n t of my g r e a t n e s s flicker,

4. Echo of Duke Orsino's invocation of music in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night 1.1 A: "If music be the food of love, play on . . . That strain again! It had a dying fall."

75

so

5. T h e head of the prophet John the Baptist, who was killed at the behest of Princess S a l o m e , was brought to her on a platter (see Mark 6.17—20, Matthew 1 4 . 3 - 1 1 ) .

1978

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

And I have s e e n the eternal F o o t m a n hold my c o a t , a n d snicker, A n d in short, I w a s afraid. A n d would it have b e e n worth it, after all, After the c u p s , the m a r m a l a d e , the t e a , A m o n g the p o r c e l a i n , a m o n g s o m e talk of you a n d m e , W o u l d it have b e e n worth while, T o have bitten off the m a t t e r with a s m i l e , T o have s q u e e z e d the universe into a ball T o roll it towards s o m e o v e r w h e l m i n g q u e s t i o n , T o say: 'I a m L a z a r u s , 6 c o m e from the d e a d , C o m e b a c k to tell you all, I shall tell you all'— If o n e , settling a pillow by her h e a d , S h o u l d say: 'That is not w h a t I m e a n t at all. T h a t is not it, at all.' And would it have b e e n worth it, after all, W o u l d it have b e e n worth while, After the s u n s e t s a n d the dooryards a n d the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the t e a c u p s , after the skirts that trail a l o n g the floor— And this, a n d s o m u c h m o r e ? — It is i m p o s s i b l e to say j u s t w h a t I m e a n ! B u t a s if a m a g i c lantern threw the nerves in p a t t e r n s on a s c r e e n : W o u l d it have b e e n worth while If o n e , settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, A n d turning toward the window, s h o u l d say: 'That is not it at all, T h a t is not what I m e a n t , at all.' N o ! I a m not P r i n c e H a m l e t , nor w a s m e a n t to b e ; A m a n a t t e n d a n t lord, o n e that will do T o swell a p r o g r e s s , 7 start a s c e n e or two, Advise the p r i n c e ; no d o u b t , a n easy tool, Deferential, glad to b e of u s e , Politic, c a u t i o u s , a n d m e t i c u l o u s ; Full of high s e n t e n c e , " but a bit o b t u s e ; At t i m e s , i n d e e d , a l m o s t r i d i c u l o u s — A l m o s t , at t i m e s , the F o o l . I grow old . . . I grow old . . . I shall wear the b o t t o m s of my t r o u s e r s rolled. Shall I part my hair b e h i n d ? D o I d a r e to eat a p e a c h ? I shall wear white flannel t r o u s e r s , a n d walk u p o n the b e a c h . I have h e a r d the m e r m a i d s singing, e a c h to e a c h . I do not think that they will sing to m e .

6. T h e resurrection of Lazarus is recounted in John 11.1—44. 7. A journey or procession made by royal courts

and often portrayed on Elizabethan stages. 8. Opinions, sententiousness.

GERONTION

/

1979

I have s e e n t h e m riding s e a w a r d on the waves C o m b i n g the white hair of the waves blown b a c k W h e n the wind blows the water white a n d black. W e have lingered in the c h a m b e r s of the s e a By sea-girls w r e a t h e d with s e a w e e d red a n d brown Till h u m a n voices w a k e u s , a n d we drown.

130 1915, 1917

Gerontion 1 Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both. 2

H e r e I a m , a n old m a n in a dry m o n t h , B e i n g read to by a boy, waiting for rain. I w a s neither at the hot g a t e s 3 N o r fought in the w a r m rain N o r k n e e d e e p in the s a l t - m a r s h , heaving a c u t l a s s , Bitten by flies, fought. M y h o u s e is a d e c a y e d h o u s e , A n d the J e w s q u a t s on the window sill, the owner, S p a w n e d in s o m e e s t a m i n e t 4 of A n t w e r p , Blistered in B r u s s e l s , p a t c h e d a n d p e e l e d in L o n d o n . 5 T h e goat c o u g h s at night in the field o v e r h e a d ; R o c k s , m o s s , s t o n e c r o p , iron, m e r d s . 6 T h e w o m a n k e e p s the kitchen, m a k e s tea, S n e e z e s at evening, p o k i n g the peevish gutter. I an old m a n , A dull h e a d a m o n g windy s p a c e s . S i g n s are taken for w o n d e r s . 'We w o u l d s e e a s i g n ! ' 7 T h e word within a word, u n a b l e to s p e a k a word, S w a d d l e d with d a r k n e s s . In the j u v e s c e n c e of the year C a m e C h r i s t the tiger

5

10

15

20

In d e p r a v e d M a y , 8 d o g w o o d a n d c h e s t n u t , flowering j u d a s , T o b e e a t e n , to be divided, to be d r u n k A m o n g w h i s p e r s ; 9 by M r . Silvero 1. Eliot intended to reprint this dramatic monologue as a prelude to The Waste Land until persuaded not to by Ezra Pound. T h e title is derived from the Greek word meaning "an old man." 2. Lines spoken by the duke of Vienna to describe death in Shakespeare's Measure for Measure 3.1.32-34. 3. An allusion to Thermopylae, the mountain pass where the Spartans heroically resisted the Persians (480

B.C.E.).

4. Cafe. The anti-Semitic passage identifies the landlord with urban decay.

5. Allusions to symptoms and cures for venereal disease. 6. Dung. 7. Echoes of the "signs and wonders" expected as testimony to Christ's divinity in John 4.48 and the demand "Master, we would see a sign from thee" in Matthew 12.38. 8. Cf. The Education of Henry Adams ( 1 9 1 8 ) , chapter 18: the "passionate depravity that marked the Maryland May." 9. In lines 18—22, Gerontion imagines Christ as a powerful beast, like "the Lion of the tribe of J u d a " (Revelation 5.5). Line 22 alludes to dividing and

1980

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

W i t h c a r e s s i n g h a n d s , at L i m o g e s W h o walked all night in the next r o o m ; By H a k a g a w a , b o w i n g a m o n g the T i t i a n s ; By M a d a m e d e T o r n q u i s t , in the dark r o o m Shifting the c a n d l e s ; F r a u l e i n von K u l p W h o t u r n e d in the hall, o n e h a n d on the door. Vacant shuttles W e a v e the wind. I have no g h o s t s , An old m a n in a draughty h o u s e U n d e r a windy k n o b . After s u c h k n o w l e d g e , what forgiveness? T h i n k now History h a s m a n y c u n n i n g p a s s a g e s , contrived corridors A n d i s s u e s , d e c e i v e s with w h i s p e r i n g a m b i t i o n s , G u i d e s u s by vanities. T h i n k now S h e gives w h e n our attention is d i s t r a c t e d A n d w h a t s h e gives, gives with s u c h s u p p l e c o n f u s i o n s T h a t the giving f a m i s h e s the craving. G i v e s too late W h a t ' s not believed in, or is still believed, In m e m o r y only, r e c o n s i d e r e d p a s s i o n . G i v e s too s o o n Into w e a k h a n d s , what's t h o u g h t c a n b e d i s p e n s e d with Till the refusal p r o p a g a t e s a fear. T h i n k N e i t h e r fear nor c o u r a g e s a v e s u s . U n n a t u r a l vices Are fathered by our h e r o i s m . Virtues Are f o r c e d u p o n u s by our i m p u d e n t c r i m e s . T h e s e tears a r e s h a k e n from the w r a t h - b e a r i n g tree. T h e tiger springs in the n e w year. U s h e d e v o u r s . T h i n k at last W e have not r e a c h e d c o n c l u s i o n , w h e n I Stiffen in a rented h o u s e . T h i n k at last I have not m a d e this s h o w p u r p o s e l e s s l y A n d it is not by any c o n c i t a t i o n O f the b a c k w a r d devils. I would m e e t you u p o n this honestly. I that w a s n e a r your heart w a s r e m o v e d therefrom T o lose b e a u t y in terror, terror in inquisition. I have lost my p a s s i o n : why s h o u l d I n e e d to k e e p it S i n c e w h a t is kept m u s t b e a d u l t e r a t e d ? I have lost my sight, s m e l l , h e a r i n g , t a s t e a n d t o u c h : H o w s h o u l d I u s e t h e m for your c l o s e r c o n t a c t ? T h e s e with a t h o u s a n d s m a l l d e l i b e r a t i o n s Protract the profit of their chilled d e l i r i u m , Excite the m e m b r a n e , w h e n the s e n s e h a s c o o l e d , W i t h p u n g e n t s a u c e s , multiply variety In a w i l d e r n e s s of mirrors. W h a t will the spider d o , S u s p e n d its o p e r a t i o n s , will the weevil Delay? D e B a i l h a c h e , F r e s c a , M r s . C a m m e l , whirled B e y o n d the circuit of the s h u d d e r i n g B e a r 1 eating the bread, and drinking the wine, in Christian C o m m u n i o n .

1. T h e polestar in the constellation the Bear,

THE

WASTE

LAND

/

1981

In fractured a t o m s . Gull a g a i n s t the wind, in t h e windy straits O f Belle Isle, or r u n n i n g on the H o r n . White feathers in the snow, the G u l f c l a i m s , And a n old m a n driven by the T r a d e s 2 T o a sleepy corner.

70

T e n a n t s of the h o u s e , T h o u g h t s of a dry brain in a dry s e a s o n .

75 1920

The Waste Land 1 'Nam

Sibyllam

pendere, ilia:

et cum

djioOavEiv

quidem

Cumis

illi pueri

ego ipse

dicerent:

oculis

HfivXka

meis TI

vidi

0e^Eig:

in

ampulla respondebat

8EXO).' 2

FOR EZRA IL M I G L I O R

I. The Burial

POUND FABBRO.'

of the

Dead

4

April is the cruellest m o n t h , b r e e d i n g L i l a c s o u t of the d e a d land, mixing M e m o r y a n d desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. W i n t e r kept u s w a r m , covering E a r t h in forgetful s n o w , feeding A little life with dried t u b e r s . S u m m e r s u r p r i s e d u s , c o m i n g over the S t a r n b e r g e r s e e 5 With a shower of rain; we s t o p p e d in t h e c o l o n n a d e , A n d went on in sunlight, into the H o f g a r t e n , 6 A n d d r a n k coffee, a n d talked for a n hour. Bin gar keine R u s s i n , s t a m m ' a u s L i t a u e n , e c h t d e u t s c h . 7 A n d when we were children, staying at t h e arch-duke's, M y c o u s i n ' s , h e took m e out on a sled, A n d I w a s frightened. H e said, M a r i e , 2. Trade winds. 1. Eliot's notes for the first hardcover edition of The Waste Land opened with his acknowledgment that "not only the title, hut the plan and a good deal of the incidental symbolism of the p o e m " were suggested by J e s s i e L. Weston's book on the Grail Legend, From Ritual to Romance ( 1 9 2 0 ) , and that he was indebted also to J a m e s G. Frazer's The Golden Bough ( 1 8 9 0 - 1 9 1 5 ) , "especially the two volumes Adonis, Attis, Osiris," which deal with vegetation myths and fertility rites. Eliot's notes are incorporated in the footnotes to this text. Many critics believe that the notes were added in a spirit of parody. T h e numerous and extensive literary quotations add to the multivocal effect of the poem. 2. A quotation from Petronius's Satyricon (1st century C . E . ) about the Sibyl (prophetess) of

5

10

15

C u m a e , blessed with eternal life by Apollo but doomed to perpetual old age, who guided Aeneas though H a d e s in Virgil's Aeneid: "For once I myself saw with my own eyes the Sibyl at C u m a e hanging in a c a g e , and when the boys said to her 'Sibyl, what do you want?' she replied, T want to die.' " 3. "The better maker," the tribute in Dante's Purgatorio 2 6 . 1 1 7 to the Provencal poet Arnaut Daniel. 4. T h e title of the Anglican burial service. 5. A lake near Munich. Lines 8—16 were suggested bv the C o u n t e s s Marie Larisch's memoir, My Past ( 1 9 1 3 ) . 6. A public park in Munich, with cafes; former grounds of a Bavarian palace, 7. I a m certainly not Russian; I c o m e from Lithuania, a true G e r m a n ( G e r m a n ) .

1982

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

M a r i e , hold on tight. A n d d o w n we went. In the m o u n t a i n s , there you feel free. I r e a d , m u c h of the night, a n d g o s o u t h in the winter. W h a t are the roots that c l u t c h , what b r a n c h e s grow O u t of this stony r u b b i s h ? S o n of m a n , 8 You c a n n o t say, or g u e s s , for you know only A h e a p of broken i m a g e s , w h e r e the s u n b e a t s , A n d the d e a d tree gives no shelter, the cricket n o relief, 9 A n d the dry s t o n e no s o u n d of water. O n l y T h e r e is s h a d o w u n d e r this red rock,' ( C o m e in u n d e r the s h a d o w of this red r o c k ) , A n d I will s h o w you s o m e t h i n g different from either Your s h a d o w at m o r n i n g striding b e h i n d you O r your s h a d o w at evening rising to m e e t y o u ; I will s h o w you fear in a handful of d u s t . Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? 'You gave m e hyacinths first a year a g o ; T h e y called m e the hyacinth girl.' — Y e t w h e n we c a m e b a c k , late, from the h y a c i n t h 3 g a r d e n , Your a r m s full, a n d your hair wet, I c o u l d not S p e a k , a n d my eyes failed, I w a s neither Living nor d e a d , a n d I knew n o t h i n g , L o o k i n g into the heart of light, the s i l e n c e . Oed! und leer das Meer.

20

25

30

2

35

40

4

M a d a m e S o s o s t r i s , s f a m o u s clairvoyante, H a d a b a d cold, n e v e r t h e l e s s Is known to b e the w i s e s t w o m a n in E u r o p e , With a wicked p a c k of c a r d s . 6 H e r e , said s h e , Is your c a r d , the d r o w n e d P h o e n i c i a n S a i l o r , 7 8. "Cf. Ezekiel II, i" [Eliot's note]. There G o d addresses the prophet Ezekiel as " S o n of m a n " and declares: "stand upon thy feet, and I will speak unto thee." 9. "Cf. Ecclesiastes XII, v" [Eliot's note]. There the preacher describes the bleakness of old age when "the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail." 1. Cf. Isaiah 3 2 . 1 - 2 and the prophecy that the reign of the Messiah "shall be . . . as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." 2. "V. [see] Tristan und Isolde, I, verses 5—8" [Eliot's note]. In Wagner's opera, a sailor aboard Tristan's ship recalls his love back in Ireland: "Fresh blows the wind to the homeland; my Irish child, where are you waiting?" 3. The young boy Hyacinth, in Ovid's Metamorphoses 10, was beloved by Apollo but slain by a jealous rival. T h e Greeks celebrated his festival in May. 4. "Ill, verse 2 4 " [Eliot's note]. In Tristan III, verse 24, the dying Tristan, awaiting the ship that carries his beloved Isolde, is told that "Empty and barren

is the sea." 5. Eliot derived the n a m e from "Sesostris, the Sorceress of E c t a b a n a , " the pseudo-Egyptian n a m e a s s u m e d by a woman who tells fortunes in Aldous Huxley's novel Chrome Yellow ( 1 9 2 1 ) . Sesostris was a twelfth-dynasty Egyptian king. 6. T h e tarot deck of cards. Eliot's note to this passage reads: "I am not familiar with the exact constitution of the Tarot pack of cards, from which I have obviously departed to suit my own convenience. T h e Hanged M a n , a member of the traditional pack, fits my purpose in two ways: b e c a u s e he is associated in my mind with the Hanged G o d of Frazer, and b e c a u s e I associate him with the hooded figure in the passage of the disciples to E m m a u s in Part V. T h e Phoenician Sailor and the Merchant appear later; also the 'crowds of people," and Death by Water is executed in Part IV. T h e Man with Three Staves (an authentic member of the Tarot pack) I associate, quite arbitrarily, with the Fisher King himself." 7. A symbolic figure that includes "Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant" in Part III and " P h l e b a s t h e Phoenician" in Part IV. T h e ancient Phoenicians

THE

WASTE LAND

/

1983

( T h o s e are p e a r l s that w e r e in his e y e s . 8 L o o k ! ) H e r e is B e l l a d o n n a , the L a d y of the R o c k s , 9 T h e lady of s i t u a t i o n s . H e r e is the m a n with three staves, a n d here the W h e e l , A n d here is the one-eyed m e r c h a n t , 1 a n d this c a r d , W h i c h is blank, is s o m e t h i n g he carries on his b a c k , W h i c h I a m forbidden to s e e . I do not find T h e H a n g e d M a n . F e a r d e a t h by water. I s e e c r o w d s of p e o p l e , walking r o u n d in a ring. T h a n k you. If you s e e d e a r M r s . E q u i t o n e , Tell her I bring the h o r o s c o p e myself: O n e m u s t be so careful t h e s e days. Unreal City,2 U n d e r the brown fog of a winter d a w n , A c r o w d flowed over L o n d o n B r i d g e , s o m a n y , I h a d not t h o u g h t d e a t h h a d u n d o n e so m a n y . 3 S i g h s , short a n d infrequent, were e x h a l e d , 4 And e a c h m a n fixed his eyes b e f o r e his feet. F l o w e d u p the hill a n d d o w n King William S t r e e t , T o w h e r e S a i n t M a r y W o o l n o t h kept the h o u r s With a d e a d s o u n d on t h e final stroke of n i n e . 5 T h e r e I s a w o n e I knew, a n d s t o p p e d h i m , crying: ' S t e t s o n ! 'You w h o were with m e in the ships at M y l a e ! 6 'That c o r p s e you p l a n t e d last year in your g a r d e n , ' H a s it b e g u n to s p r o u t ? Will it b l o o m this year? 'Or h a s the s u d d e n frost d i s t u r b e d its b e d ? 'O k e e p the D o g far h e n c e , that's friend to m e n , 'Or with his nails he'll dig it u p a g a i n ! 7 'You! hypocrite l e c t e u r ! — m o n s e m b l a b l e , — m o n frereF 8

were seagoing merchants whose crews spread Egyptian fertility cults throughout the Mediterranean. 8. T h e line is a quotation from Ariel's song in Shakespeare's Tempest 1.2.398. Prince Ferdinand, disconsolate b e c a u s e he thinks his father has drowned in the storm, is consoled when Ariel sings of a miraculous sea change that has transformed death into "something rich and strange." 9. Belladonna, literally meaning "beautiful lady," is the name of both the poisonous plant deadly nightshade and a cosmetic. 1. These three figures are taken from the Tarot deck. 2. "Cf. Baudelaire: 'Fourmillante cite, cite pleine de reves, / Ou le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant' " [Eliot's note]. T h e lines are quoted from " L e s Sept Vieillards" (The Seven Old M e n ) , poem 93 of Les Fleurs du Mai (The Flowers of Evil, 1857) by the French Symbolist Charles Baudelaire (1821 — 1867), and may be translated from the French: "Swarming city, city full of dreams, / Where the specter in broad daylight accosts the passerby." 3. " C / . IrtfernoUh 5 5 - 5 7 ' [Eliot's note]. T h e note continues to quote Dante's lines, which may be translated: " S o long a train of people, / That 1 should never have believed / That death had undone so many."

4. "Cf. Inferno IV, 2 5 - 2 7 " [Eliot's note]. Dante describes, in Limbo, the virtuous pagan dead, who, living before Christ, could not hope for salvation. T h e lines read: "Here, so far as I could tell by listening, / There was no lamentation except sighs, / which caused the eternal air to tremble." 5. "A phenomenon which I have often noticed" [Eliot's note]. T h e church named is in the financial district of London. 6. T h e battle of Mylae ( 2 6 0 B . C . E . ) was a victory for Borne against Carthage. "Stetson": a hat manufacturer. 7. "Cf. the dirge in Webster's White Devil" [Eliot's note]. In the play by John Webster (d. 1625), a crazed woman fears that the corpses of her decadent and murdered relatives might be disinterred: "But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, / For with his nails he'll dig them up again." In echoing the lines Eliot altered "foe" to "friend" and the "wolf" to " D o g , " invoking the brilliant Dog Star Sirius, whose rise in the heavens accompanied the Hooding of the Nile and promised the return of fertility to Egypt. 8. "V. Baudelaire, Preface to Fleurs du Mai" [Eliot's note]. T h e last line of the introductory poem to Les Fleurs du Mai. "Au Lecteur" (To the Beader) may be translated from the French: "Hypocrite reader!—my likeness—my brother!

1984

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

If. A Game

of

Chess

9

T h e C h a i r s h e sat in, like a b u r n i s h e d t h r o n e , 1 G l o w e d on the m a r b l e , w h e r e the g l a s s H e l d u p by s t a n d a r d s w r o u g h t with fruited vines F r o m which a g o l d e n C u p i d o n p e e p e d out (Another hid his eyes b e h i n d his wing) D o u b l e d the f l a m e s of s e v e n b r a n c h e d c a n d e l a b r a Reflecting light u p o n the table a s T h e glitter of her j e w e l s rose to m e e t it, F r o m satin c a s e s p o u r e d in rich p r o f u s i o n . In vials of ivory a n d c o l o u r e d g l a s s U n s t o p p e r e d , lurked her s t r a n g e synthetic p e r f u m e s , U n g u e n t , p o w d e r e d , or l i q u i d — t r o u b l e d , c o n f u s e d A n d d r o w n e d the s e n s e in o d o u r s ; stirred by the air T h a t f r e s h e n e d from the window, t h e s e a s c e n d e d In fattening the p r o l o n g e d c a n d l e - f l a m e s , F l u n g their s m o k e into the l a q u e a r i a , 2 Stirring the pattern o n the coffered ceiling. H u g e s e a - w o o d fed with c o p p e r B u r n e d g r e e n a n d o r a n g e , f r a m e d by the c o l o u r e d s t o n e , In which s a d light a c a r v e d dolphin s w a m . Above the a n t i q u e m a n t e l w a s displayed As t h o u g h a window gave u p o n the sylvan s c e n e 3 T h e c h a n g e of P h i l o m e l , by the b a r b a r o u s king S o rudely f o r c e d ; yet there the nightingale Filled all the d e s e r t with inviolable voice A n d still s h e cried, a n d still the world p u r s u e s , 'Jug J u g ' 4 to dirty e a r s . A n d other withered s t u m p s of t i m e W e r e told u p o n the walls; staring f o r m s L e a n e d out, l e a n i n g , h u s h i n g the r o o m e n c l o s e d . F o o t s t e p s shuffled on the stair. U n d e r the firelight, u n d e r the b r u s h , her hair S p r e a d out in fiery p o i n t s G l o w e d into w o r d s , then would b e savagely still.

85

100

to;

'My nerves are b a d to-night. Yes, b a d . S t a y with m e . ' S p e a k to m e . W h y d o you never s p e a k . S p e a k . 9. The title suggests two plays by T h o m a s Middleton: A Game of Chess ( 1 6 2 7 ) , ahout a marriage of political expediency, and Women Beware Women ( 1 6 5 7 ) , containing a scene in which a mother-inlaw is engrossed in a chess g a m e while her daughter-in-law is seduced nearby. Eliot's note to line 137 refers readers to this play. It is now believed that much of this section reflects Eliot's disintegrating marriage. 1. "Cf. Antony and Cleopatra, II, ii. 190'' [Eliot's note]. In Shakespeare's play, Enobarbus's description of Cleopatra begins: "The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, / Burn'd on the water." 2. "Laquearia, V. Aeneid, I, 7 2 6 " [Eliot's note]. Eliot quotes the passage containing the term laquearia ("paneled ceiling") and describing the banquet hall where Queen Dido welcomed Aeneas

to C a r t h a g e . It reads: "Blazing torches hang from the gilded paneled ceiling, and torches conquer the night with flames." Aeneas b e c a m e Dido's lover but abandoned her to continue his journey to found Rome, and she committed suicide. 3. Eliot's notes for lines 98—99 refer the reader to "Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 140" for the phrase "sylvan s c e n e " and to "Ovid, Metamorphoses, VI, Philomela." T h e lines splice the setting of Eve's temptation in the Garden of Eden, first described through Satan's eyes, with the rape of Philomela by her sister's husband, King T e r e u s , and her transformation into the nightingale. Eliot's note for line 100 refers the reader ahead to the nightingale's song in Part III, line 2 0 4 , of his own poem. 4. T h e conventional rendering of the nightingale's song in Elizabethan poetry.

THE

WASTE

LAND

/

1985

'What are you thinking of? W h a t thinking? W h a t ? 'I never know what you are thinking. T h i n k . ' I think we are in rats' alley 5 W h e r e the d e a d m e n lost their b o n e s . 'What is that n o i s e ? ' T h e wind u n d e r the d o o r . 6 'What is that noise n o w ? W h a t is the wind d o i n g ? ' N o t h i n g again nothing. Do 'You know n o t h i n g ? D o you s e e n o t h i n g ? D o you r e m e m b e r 'Nothing?' I remember T h o s e are pearls that were his eyes. 'Are you alive, or not? Is there n o t h i n g in your h e a d ? ' But 0 0 0 0 that S h a k e s p e h e r i a n R a g — It's so e l e g a n t S o intelligent 'What shall I do n o w ? W h a t shall I d o ? ' 'I shall r u s h out as I a m , a n d walk the street 'With my hair d o w n , s o . W h a t shall we do t o m o r r o w ? 'What shall we ever d o ? ' T h e hot water at ten. A n d if it r a i n s , a c l o s e d c a r at four. A n d we shall play a g a m e of c h e s s ,

115

120

125

130

135

P r e s s i n g lidless eyes a n d waiting for a k n o c k u p o n the door. W h e n Lil's h u s b a n d got d e m o b b e d , 7 I s a i d — 1 didn't m i n c e my w o r d s , I said to her myself,

140

H U R R Y UP PLEASE ITS TIME*

N o w Albert's c o m i n g b a c k , m a k e yourself a bit s m a r t . He'll want to know what you d o n e with that m o n e y h e gave you T o get yourself s o m e teeth. H e did, I w a s t h e r e . You have t h e m all o u t , Lil, a n d get a nice set, H e said, I swear, I can't b e a r to look at y o u . A n d no m o r e can't I, I said, a n d think of p o o r Albert, H e ' s b e e n in the army four years, he wants a g o o d t i m e , A n d if you don't give it him, there's o t h e r s will, I s a i d . O h is there, s h e said. S o m e t h i n g o' that, I s a i d . T h e n I'll know w h o to t h a n k , s h e s a i d , a n d give m e a straight look.

145

150

H U R R Y UP PLEASE ITS T I M E

If you don't like it you c a n get on with it, I s a i d . O t h e r s c a n p i c k a n d c h o o s e if you can't. B u t if Albert m a k e s off, it won't b e for lack of telling. 5. Eliot's note refers readers to "Part III, 1. 1 9 5 . " 6. "Cf. Webster: 'Is the wind in that door still?' " [Eliot's note]. In John Webster's The Devil's Law Case (1623) 3 . 2 . 1 6 2 , a duke is cured of an infection by a wound intended to kill him; a surprised surgeon asks the quoted question, meaning, "Is he

155

still alive?" 7. S l a n g for "demobilized," discharged from the army. 8. Routine call of British bartenders to clear the pub at closing time,

1986

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T.

S.

ELIOT

You o u g h t to b e a s h a m e d , I said, to look so a n t i q u e . (And her only thirty-one.) I can't help it, s h e said, pulling a long f a c e , It's t h e m pills I took, to bring it off, s h e s a i d . ( S h e ' s had five already, a n d nearly died of y o u n g G e o r g e . ) T h e c h e m i s t 9 s a i d it w o u l d be all right, b u t I've never b e e n the s a m e . You are a p r o p e r fool, I said. Well, if Albert won't leave you a l o n e , there it is, I s a i d , W h a t you get married for if you don't want children? H U R R Y UP P L E A S E ITS T I M E

Well, that S u n d a y Albert w a s h o m e , they h a d a hot g a m m o n , 1 A n d they a s k e d m e in to dinner, to get the b e a u t y of it h o t — H U R R Y UP P L E A S E ITS T I M E H U R R Y UP P L E A S E ITS T I M E

G o o n i g h t Bill, G o o n i g h t L o u . G o o n i g h t M a y . G o o n i g h t . T a ta. G o o n i g h t . G o o n i g h t . G o o d night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, g o o d night, g o o d n i g h t . 2 III.

The Fire

Sermon*

T h e river's tent is b r o k e n ; the last fingers of leaf C l u t c h a n d sink into the wet b a n k . T h e wind C r o s s e s the brown land, u n h e a r d . T h e n y m p h s a r e d e p a r t e d . S w e e t T h a m e s , run softly, till I e n d my s o n g . 4 T h e river b e a r s no e m p t y bottles, s a n d w i c h p a p e r s , Silk h a n d k e r c h i e f s , c a r d b o a r d b o x e s , c i g a ret t e e n d s O r other t e s t i mo ny of s u m m e r nights. T h e n y m p h s are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of City d i r e c t o r s ; D e p a r t e d , have left no a d d r e s s e s . By the waters of L e m a n I sat d o w n a n d w e p t 5 . . . S w e e t T h a m e s , run softly till I e n d my s o n g , S w e e t T h a m e s , run softly, for I s p e a k not l o u d or long. B u t at my b a c k in a cold blast I h e a r 6 T h e rattle of the b o n e s , a n d c h u c k l e s p r e a d from ea r to ear.

ISO

A rat crept softly t h r o u g h the vegetation D r a g g i n g its slimy belly on the b a n k W h i l e I w a s fishing in the dull c a n a l O n a winter e v e n i n g r o u n d b e h i n d the g a s h o u s e M u s i n g u p o n t h e king my brother's w r e c k 7 9. Pharmacist. 1. H a m or bacon. 2. A double echo of the popular song "Good night ladies, we're going to leave you now" and mad Ophelia's farewell before drowning, in Shakespeare, Hamlet 4 . 5 . 7 2 . 3. I.e., Buddha's Fire Sermon. S e e n. 7, p. 1990. 4. "V. Spenser, Prothalantion" [Eliot's note]. The line is the refrain of the marriage song by Edmund Spenser (1552—1599), a pastoral celebration of marriage set along the T h a m e s River near London. 5. T h e phrasing recalls Psalm 137.1, in which the exiled Jews mourn for their homeland: "Bv the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept.

when we remembered Zion." L a k e L e m a n is another name for Lake Geneva, location of the sanatorium where Eliot wrote the bulk of The Waste Land. T h e archaic term leman, for "illicit mistress," led to the phrase "waters of l e m a n " signifying lusts. 6. This line and line 196 echo Andrew Marvell ( 1 6 2 1 - 1 6 7 8 ) , To His Coy Mistress, lines 2 1 - 2 4 : "But at my back I always hear / Time's winged chariot hurrying near; / And yonder all before us lie / Deserts of vast eternity." 7. "Cf. The Tempest, I, ii" [Eliot's note]. Another allusion to Shakespeare's play, 1.2.389—90. where Prince Ferdinand, thinking his father dead,

THE

WASTE LAND

And on the king my father s d e a t h before h i m . W h i t e b o d i e s naked o n the low d a m p g r o u n d And b o n e s c a s t in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year. B u t at my b a c k from time to time I hear T h e s o u n d of horns a n d m o t o r s , which shall bring S w e e n e y to M r s . Porter in the s p r i n g . 8 O the m o o n s h o n e bright on M r s . Porter And on her d a u g h t e r T h e y w a s h their feet in s o d a w a t e r 9 Et, O ces vobc d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!;

/

1987

19s

200

1

Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug S o rudely forc'd. Tereu2

20s

U n r e a l City U n d e r the brown fog of a winter n o o n Mr. E u g e n i d e s , the S m y r n a m e r c h a n t U n s h a v e n , with a p o c k e t full of c u r r a n t s C.i.f. 1 L o n d o n : d o c u m e n t s at sight, Asked m e in d e m o t i c F r e n c h T o l u n c h e o n at the C a n n o n S t r e e t Hotel Followed by a w e e k e n d at the M e t r o p o l e . At the violet hour, w h e n the eyes a n d b a c k T u r n u p w a r d from the desk, w h e n the h u m a n e n g i n e waits Like a taxi t h r o b b i n g waiting, I T i r e s i a s , 4 t h o u g h blind, t h r o b b i n g b e t w e e n two lives, describes himself as "Sitting on a bank, / Weeping again the King my father's wrack." 8. "Cf. Day, Parliament of Bees: 'When of the sudden, listening, you shall hear, / A noise of horns and hunting, which shall bring / Actaeon to Diana in the spring, / Where all shall see her naked skin' " [Eliot's note]. Actaeon was changed into a stag and hunted to death as punishment for seeing Diana, goddess of chastity, bathing. J o h n Day ( 1 5 7 4 - c 1640), English poet. 9. "I do not know the origin of the ballad from which these lines are taken: it was reported to me from Sydney, Australia" [Eliot's note]. T h e bawdy song was popular a m o n g World War I troops. 1. "V. Verlaine, Parsifal" [Eliot's note]. The last line of the sonnet "Parsifal" by the French Symbolist Paul Verlaine ( 1 8 4 4 - 1 8 9 6 ) reads: "And O those children's voices singing in the cupola." In Wagner's opera, the feet of Parsifal, the questing knight, are washed before he enters the sanctuary of the Grail. 2. Alludes to Tereus, who raped Philomela, and like jug is a conventional Elizabethan term for the nightingale's song. It is also a slang pronunciation of true. 3. "The currants were quoted at a price 'carriage and insurance free to London"; and the Bill of Lading, etc. were to be handed to the buyer upon payment of the sight draft" [Eliot's note]. S o m e have

210

21s

suggested another possibility for the phrase "carriage and insurance free": "cost, insurance and freight." 4. Eliot's note reads: "Tiresias, although a mere spectator and not indeed a 'character,' is yet the most important personage in the poem, uniting all the rest. J u s t as the one-eyed merchant, seller of currants, melts into the Phoenician Sailor, and the latter is not wholly distinct from Ferdinand Prince of Naples, so all the women are one woman, and the two sexes meet in Tiresias. What Tiresias sees, in fact, is the substance of the poem. T h e whole passage from Ovid is of great anthropological interest." T h e note quotes the Latin passage from Ovid, Metamorphoses 2.421—43, which may be translated: "Jove [very drunk] said jokingly to J u n o : 'You women have greater pleasure in love than that enjoyed by men.' S h e denied it. S o they decided to refer the question to wise Tiresias who knew love from both points of view. For once, with a blow of his staff, he had separated two huge snakes who were copulating in the forest, and miraculously was changed instantly from a man into a woman and remained so for seven years. In the eighth year he saw the snakes again and said: i f a blow against you is so powerful that it changes the sex of the author of it, now 1 shall strike you again.' With these words he struck them, and his former shape and masculinity were restored. As referee in the

1988

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

O l d m a n with wrinkled f e m a l e b r e a s t s , c a n s e e At the violet hour, the evening h o u r that strives H o m e w a r d , a n d brings the sailor h o m e from s e a , 5 T h e typist h o m e at t e a t i m e , c l e a r s her b r e a k f a s t , lights H e r stove, a n d lays out food in tins. O u t of the w i n d o w perilously s p r e a d H e r drying c o m b i n a t i o n s t o u c h e d by the s u n ' s last rays, O n the divan are piled (at night her b e d ) S t o c k i n g s , slippers, c a m i s o l e s , a n d stays. I T i r e s i a s , old m a n with wrinkled d u g s P e r c e i v e d the s c e n e , a n d foretold the r e s t — I too a w a i t e d the e x p e c t e d g u e s t . H e , the y o u n g m a n c a r b u n c u l a r , arrives, A small h o u s e agent's clerk, with o n e bold s t a r e , O n e of the low o n w h o m a s s u r a n c e sits As a silk hat o n a B r a d f o r d 6 millionaire. T h e time is now p r o p i t i o u s , a s h e g u e s s e s , T h e m e a l is e n d e d , s h e is b o r e d a n d tired, E n d e a v o u r s to e n g a g e her in c a r e s s e s W h i c h still a r e u n r e p r o v e d , if u n d e s i r e d . F l u s h e d a n d d e c i d e d , h e a s s a u l t s at o n c e ; Exploring h a n d s e n c o u n t e r no d e f e n c e ; His vanity r e q u i r e s n o r e s p o n s e , A n d m a k e s a w e l c o m e of indifference. (And I T i r e s i a s have foresuffered all E n a c t e d o n this s a m e divan or b e d ; I w h o have sat by T h e b e s b e l o w the wall 7 A n d walked a m o n g the lowest of the d e a d . ) B e s t o w s o n e final p a t r o n i s i n g kiss, A n d g r o p e s his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .

225

240

S h e turns a n d looks a m o m e n t in the g l a s s , Hardly a w a r e of her d e p a r t e d lover; H e r brain allows o n e half-formed t h o u g h t to p a s s : 'Well now that's d o n e : a n d I'm glad it's o v e r / W h e n lovely w o m a n s t o o p s to folly a n d P a c e s a b o u t her r o o m a g a i n , a l o n e , S h e s m o o t h e s her hair with a u t o m a t i c h a n d , A n d p u t s a r e c o r d on the g r a m o p h o n e . 8 sportive quarrel, he supported Jove's claim. J u n o , overly upset by the decision, condemned the arbitrator to eternal blindness. But the all-powerful father (inasmuch as no god can undo what has been done by another god) gave him the power of prophecy, with this honor compensating him for the loss of sight." 5. "This may not appear as exact as Sappho's lines, but I had in mind the 'longshore' or 'dory' fisherman, who returns at nightfall" [Eliot's note]. Fragment 149, by the female Greek poet S a p p h o (fl. 6 0 0 B . c . E . ) , celebrates the Evening Star who "brings homeward all those / Scattered by the dawn, / T h e sheep to fold . . . / T h e children to their mother's side." A more familiar echo is " H o m e is the sailor, home from s e a " in " R e q u i e m "

by the Scottish poet Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894). 6. A Yorkshire, England, manufacturing town where fortunes were m a d e during World War I. 7. Tiresias prophesied in the marketplace below the wall of Thebes, witnessed the tragedies of Oedipus and Creon in that city, and retained his prophetic powers in the underworld. 8. Eliot's note refers to the novel The Vicar of Wakefield ( 1 7 6 6 ) by Oliver Goldsmith ( 1 7 2 8 1774) and the song sung by Olivia when she revisits the scene of her seduction: "When lovely woman stoops to folly / And finds too late that men betray / What charm can soothe her melancholy, / What art can wash her guilt away? / T h e only art her guilt to cover, / T o hide her shame from every

THE

WASTE LAND

'This m u s i c crept by m e u p o n the w a t e r s ' 9 A n d a l o n g the S t r a n d , u p Q u e e n Victoria S t r e e t . O City city, I c a n s o m e t i m e s hear B e s i d e a p u b l i c bar in L o w e r T h a m e s S t r e e t , T h e p l e a s a n t w h i n i n g of a m a n d o l i n e A n d a clatter a n d a c h a t t e r from within W h e r e fishmen l o u n g e at n o o n : w h e r e the walls O f M a g n u s Martyr 1 hold Inexplicable s p l e n d o u r of Ionian white a n d gold. T h e river s w e a t s 2 Oil a n d tar T h e b a r g e s drift W i t h the turning tide R e d sails Wide T o leeward, s w i n g on the heavy s p a r . T h e barges wash Drifting logs Down Greenwich reach P a s t the Isle of D o g s . ' W e i a l a l a leia Wallala leialala Elizabeth a n d L e i c e s t e r 4 Beating oars T h e stern w a s f o r m e d A gilded shell R e d a n d gold T h e brisk swell Rippled b o t h s h o r e s S o u t h w e s t wind Carried down stream T h e peal of bells W h i t e towers W e i a l a l a leia Wallala leialala eye, / T o give repentance to her lover / And wring his b o s o m — i s to die." 9. Eliot's note refers to Shakespeare's The Tempest, the scene where Ferdinand listens to Ariel's song telling of his father's miraculous sea change: "This music crept by me on the waters, / Allaying both their fury and mv passion / With its sweet air" ( 1 . 2 . 3 9 1 - 9 3 ) . 1. "The interior of St. M a g n u s Martyr is to my mind one of the finest a m o n g [Christopher] Wren's interiors" [Eliot's note]. 2. " T h e S o n g of the (three) Thames-daughters begins here. From line 292 to 3 0 6 inclusive they speak in turn. V. Gotterddmmerung, III, i: the Rhine-daughters" [Eliot's note]. Lines 277—78 and 290—91 are from the lament of the Rhine maidens for the lost beauty of the Rhine River in the opera by Richard Wagner ( 1 8 1 3 - 1 8 8 3 ) , Die Gbtterdam-

/

1989

265

270

280

285

merung (The Twilight of the G o d s , 1876). 3. A peninsula in the T h a m e s opposite Greenwich, a borough of London and the birthplace of Queen Elizabeth. Throughout this section Eliot has named places along the T h a m e s River. 4. Reference to the romance between Queen Elizabeth and the earl of Leicester (Robert Dudley). Eliot's note refers to the historian J a m e s A. Froude, "Elizabeth, Vol. I. ch. iv, letter of [bishop] De Quadra [the ambassador] to Philip of Spain: 'In the afternoon we were in a barge, watching the games on the river. (The queen) was alone with Lord Robert and myself on the poop, when they began to talk nonsense, and went so far that Lord Robert at last said, as I was on the spot there was no reason why they should not be married if the queen pleased.' "

1990

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

' T r a m s a n d d u s t y trees. Highbury bore m e . R i c h m o n d a n d K e w U n d i d m e . 5 By R i c h m o n d I raised my k n e e s S u p i n e on the floor of a narrow c a n o e . ' 'My feet are at M o o r g a t e , a n d my heart U n d e r my feet. After the event H e wept. H e p r o m i s e d " a new s t a r t . " I m a d e no c o m m e n t . W h a t s h o u l d I r e s e n t ? ' 'On Margate S a n d s , I can connect N o t h i n g with nothing. T h e broken fingernails of dirty h a n d s . M y p e o p l e h u m b l e p e o p l e w h o expect Nothing.' la la T o C a r t h a g e then I c a m e 6 Burning burning burning burning7 O Lord Thou pluckest me out8 O Lord Thou pluckest burning /V. Death

by

Water

P h l e b a s the P h o e n i c i a n , a fortnight d e a d , Forgot the cry of gulls, a n d the d e e p s e a swell A n d the profit a n d loss. A current under sea Picked his b o n e s in w h i s p e r s . A s h e rose a n d fell H e p a s s e d the s t a g e s of his a g e a n d youth E n t e r i n g the whirlpool. G e n t i l e or J e w O you w h o turn the wheel a n d look to w i n d w a r d , C o n s i d e r P h l e b a s , w h o w a s o n c e h a n d s o m e a n d tall a s y o u .

5. "Cf. Purgatorio, V, 133 ' [Eliot's note]. Eliotparodies Dante's lines, which may be translated: "Remember me, who am La Pia. / Siena made me, M a r e m m a undid m e . " 6. "V. St. Augustine's Confessions: 'to Carthage then I came, where a cauldron of unholy loves sang all about mine ears' " [Eliot's note]. Augustine here recounts his licentious youth. 7. Eliot's note to lines 307—09 refers to "Buddha's Fire Sermon {which corresponds in importance to

the S e r m o n on the M o u n t ) " and "St. Augustine's C o n f e s s i o n s . " T h e "collocation of these two representatives of eastern and western asceticism, as the culmination of this part of the poem, is not an accident." 8. T h e line is from Augustine's Confessions and echoes also Zechariah 3.2, where Jehovah, rebuking S a t a n , calls the high priest J o s h u a "a brand plucked out of the fire."

THE

V. What

the Thunder

WASTE

/

1991

Said

9

After the torchlight red on sweaty f a c e s After the frosty s i l e n c e in the g a r d e n s After the a g o n y in stony p l a c e s T h e s h o u t i n g a n d the crying Prison a n d p a l a c e a n d reverberation O f t h u n d e r of spring over distant m o u n t a i n s H e who w a s living is n o w d e a d W e who were living are now dying With a little p a t i e n c e ' H e r e is n o water but only rock R o c k a n d no water a n d the s a n d y road T h e road winding a b o v e a m o n g the m o u n t a i n s W h i c h are m o u n t a i n s of rock without w a t e r If there were water we s h o u l d stop a n d drink A m o n g s t the rock o n e c a n n o t stop or think S w e a t is dry a n d feet are in the s a n d If there were only water a m o n g s t the rock D e a d m o u n t a i n m o u t h of c a r i o u s teeth that c a n n o t spit H e r e o n e c a n neither s t a n d nor lie nor sit T h e r e is not even s i l e n c e in the m o u n t a i n s B u t dry sterile t h u n d e r without rain T h e r e is not even solitude in the m o u n t a i n s B u t red sullen f a c e s s n e e r a n d snarl F r o m doors of m u d c r a c k e d h o u s e s If there were water A n d n o rock If there were r o c k A n d a l s o water A n d water A spring A pool a m o n g the rock If there were the s o u n d of water only N o t the c i c a d a 2 A n d dry g r a s s singing B u t s o u n d of water over a rock W h e r e the h e r m i t - t h r u s h 3 sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop B u t there is n o water

9. "In the first part of Part V three themes are employed: the journey to E m m a u s , the approach to the Chapel Perilous (see Miss Weston's book) and the present decay of eastern E u r o p e " [Eliot's note]. During his disciples' journey to E m m a u s , after his Crucifixion and Resurrection, J e s u s walked alongside and conversed with them, but they did not recognize him (Luke 24.13—34). 1. The opening nine lines allude to Christ's imprisonment and trial, to his agony in the garden

LAND

325

330

335

340

345

350

355

of G e t h s e m a n e , and to his Crucifixion on Golgotha (Calvary) and burial. 2. Grasshopper. Cf. line 23 and see n. 9, p. 1982. 3. "This is . . . the hermit-thrush which I have heard in Quebec Province. C h a p m a n says (Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America) 'it is most at home in secluded woodland and thickety r e t r e a t s . ' . . . Its 'water dripping song' is justly celebrated" [Eliot's note].

1992

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

W h o is the third w h o walks always b e s i d e y o u ? 4 W h e n I c o u n t , there are only you a n d I together B u t w h e n I look a h e a d u p the white r o a d T h e r e is always a n o t h e r o n e walking b e s i d e you G l i d i n g wrapt in a brown m a n t l e , h o o d e d I do not k n o w w h e t h e r a m a n or a w o m a n — B u t w h o is that on the other side of y o u ? W h a t is that s o u n d high in the air 5 M u r m u r of m a t e r n a l l a m e n t a t i o n W h o are t h o s e h o o d e d h o r d e s s w a r m i n g Over e n d l e s s p l a i n s , s t u m b l i n g in c r a c k e d e a r t h R i n g e d by the flat horizon only W h a t is the city over the m o u n t a i n s C r a c k s a n d reforms a n d b u r s t s in the violet air Falling towers J e r u s a l e m A t h e n s Alexandria Vienna London Unreal

)60

375

A w o m a n drew her long b l a c k hair o u t tight A n d fiddled w h i s p e r m u s i c on t h o s e strings A n d b a t s with baby f a c e s in the violet light W h i s t l e d , a n d b e a t their wings A n d c r a w l e d h e a d d o w n w a r d d o w n a b l a c k e n e d wall A n d u p s i d e d o w n in air were towers Tolling r e m i n i s c e n t bells, that kept the h o u r s A n d voices singing o u t of e m p t y c i s t e r n s a n d e x h a u s t e d wells. In this d e c a y e d hole a m o n g the m o u n t a i n s In the faint m o o n l i g h t , the g r a s s is s i n g i n g Over the t u m b l e d g r a v e s , a b o u t the c h a p e l T h e r e is the e m p t y c h a p e l , only the wind's h o m e . It h a s n o w i n d o w s , a n d the d o o r s w i n g s , Dry b o n e s c a n h a r m n o o n e . Only a c o c k s t o o d on the rooftree C o c o rico c o c o r i c o 6 In a flash of lightning. T h e n a d a m p g u s t B r i n g i n g rain

390

G a n g a 7 w a s s u n k e n , a n d the limp leaves W a i t e d for rain, while the b l a c k c l o u d s G a t h e r e d far distant, over H i m a v a n t . " 4. "The following lines were stimulated by the account of one of the Antarctic expeditions (1 forget which, but I think one of Shackleton's): it was related that the party of explorers, at the extremity of their strength, had the constant delusion that there was one more member than could actually be counted" [Eliot's note]. 5. Eliot's note quotes a passage in G e r m a n from Blick ins Chaos ( 1 9 2 0 ) by Hermann H e s s e ( 1 8 7 7 1962), which may be translated: "Already half of Europe, already at least half of Eastern Europe, on the way to C h a o s , drives drunk in sacred infat-

uation along the edge of the precipice, since drunkenly, as though hymn-singing, as Dimitri Karamazov sang in [the novel] The Brothers Karamazov [ 1882] by Feodor Dostoevsky [ 1 8 2 1 - 1 8 8 1 ] . T h e offended bourgeois laughs at the songs; the saint and the seer hear them with tears." 6. A cock's crow in folklore signaled the departure of ghosts (as in Shakespeare's Hamlet 1.1.157ff.); in Matthew 2 6 . 3 4 and 74, a cock crowed, as Christ predicted, when Peter denied him three times. 7. T h e Indian river G a n g e s . 8. A mountain in the Himalayas.

THE

WASTE LAND

T h e j u n g l e c r o u c h e d , h u m p e d in s i l e n c e . T h e n s p o k e the t h u n d e r

/

1993

400

DA9

Datta: what have we given? M y friend, blood s h a k i n g my heart T h e awful d a r i n g of a m o m e n t ' s s u r r e n d e r W h i c h a n a g e of p r u d e n c e c a n never retract By this, a n d this only, we have existed W h i c h is not to b e f o u n d in o u r o b i t u a r i e s O r in m e m o r i e s d r a p e d by the beneficient s p i d e r 1 O r u n d e r seals broken by the lean solicitor In o u r e m p t y r o o m s

405

-no

DA

Dayadhvam: I have h e a r d the key 2 T u r n in the door o n c e a n d turn o n c e only W e think of the key, e a c h in his p r i s o n T h i n k i n g of the key, e a c h confirms a p r i s o n Only at nightfall, a e t h e r e a l r u m o u r s Revive for a m o m e n t a broken C o r i o l a n u s 3

415

DA

Damyata: T h e boat r e s p o n d e d Gaily, to the h a n d expert with sail a n d o a r T h e s e a w a s c a l m , your heart would have r e s p o n d e d Gaily, w h e n invited, b e a t i n g o b e d i e n t T o controlling h a n d s I sat u p o n the s h o r e F i s h i n g , 4 with t h e arid plain b e h i n d m e S h a l l I at least set my l a n d s in o r d e r ? 5 L o n d o n B r i d g e is falling d o w n falling down falling d o w n Pot s'ascose nelfoco che gli affina Quandofiam uti chelidon —O swallow swallow

420

42s

6

7

9. " 'Datta, dayadhvam, damyata' (Give, sympathise, control). T h e fable of the meaning of the Thunder is found in the Brihadaranyaka—Vpanishad, 5, I" [Eliot's note]. In the Hindu legend, the injunction of Prajapati (supreme deity) is Da, which is interpreted in three different ways by gods, men, and demons, to mean "control ourselves," "give alms," and "have c o m p a s s i o n . " Prajapati assures them that when "the divine voice, The Thunder," repeats the syllable it means all three things and that therefore "one should practice . . . Self-Control, Alms-giving, and C o m p a s sion." 1. Eliot's note refers to Webster's The White Devil 5.6: "they'll remarry / Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider / Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs." 2. "Cf. Inferno, XXXIII, 4 6 " [Eliot's note]. At this point Ugolino recalls his imprisonment with his children, where they starved to death: "And I heard below the door of the horrible tower being locked up." Eliot's note continues: "Also F. H. Bradley, Appearance and Reality, p. 346. 'My external sensations are no less private to myself than are my thoughts or my feelings. In either c a s e my experience falls within my own circle, a circle closed on the outside; and, with all its elements alike, every

sphere is o p a q u e to the others which surround it. . . . In brief, regarded as an existence which appears in a soul, the whole world for each is peculiar and private to that soul.' " 3. B o m a n patrician who defiantly chose self-exile when threatened with banishment by the leaders of the populace. H e is the tragic protagonist in Shakespeare's Coriolanus ( 1 6 0 8 ) . 4. "V. Weston: from Ritual to Romance; chapter on the Fisher King" [Eliot's note]. 5. Cf. Isaiah 3 8 . 1 ; " T h u s saith the Lord, Set thine house in order: for thou shall die, and not live." 6. Eliot's note to Purgatorio 26 quotes in Italian the passage (lines 145—48) where the Provencal poet Arnaut Daniel, recalling his lusts, addresses Dante: "I pray you now, by the G o o d n e s s that guides you to the summit of this staircase, reflect in d u e season on my suffering." Then, in the line quoted in The Waste Land, "he hid himself in the fire that refines them." 7. Eliot's note refers to the Pervigilium Veneris (The Vigil of Venus), an anonymous Latin poem, and suggests a comparison with "Philomela in Parts II and III" of The Waste Land. T h e last stanzas of the Pervigilium recreate the myth of the nightingale in the image of a swallow, and the poet listening to the bird speaks the quoted line, "When

1994

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

he Prince d'Aquitaine d la tour abolie T h e s e f r a g m e n t s I have s h o r e d a g a i n s t my ruins W h y then He fit y o u . H i e r o n y m o ' s m a d a g a i n e . 9 Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih shantih shantih1 8

•

1922

1921

The Hollow M e n Mistah Kurtz—he deadS^' A penny for the Old

W e a r e the hollow m e n W e are t h e stuffed m e n Leaning together H e a d p i e c e filled with straw. A l a s ! O u r dried v o i c e s , w h e n W e whisper together Are quiet a n d m e a n i n g l e s s As wind in dry g r a s s O r rats' feet over broken g l a s s In o u r dry cellar

Guy2/(\)

•

S h a p e without f o r m , s h a d e w i t h o u t c o l o u r , Paralysed force, gesture without motion; T h o s e w h o have c r o s s e d With direct e y e s , to d e a t h ' s other K i n g d o m R e m e m b e r u s — i f at a l l — n o t a s lost Violent s o u l s , b u t only A s the hollow m e n T h e stuffed m e n .

shall 1 be as the swallow," and adds: "that I may c e a s e to be silent." " O Swallow, Swallow" are the opening words of one of the songs interspersed in Tennyson's narrative poem The Princess ( 1 8 4 7 ) . 8. "V. Gerard de Nerval, Sonnet El Desdichado" [Eliot's note]. T h e line reads: " T h e Prince of Aquitaine in the ruined tower." 9. Eliot's note refers to T h o m a s Kyd's revenge play, The Spanish Tragedy, subtitled Hieronymo's Mad Againe ( 1 5 9 4 ) . In it Hieronymo is asked to write a court play and he answers, "I'll fit you," in the double sense of "oblige" and "get even." He manages, although mad, to kill the murderers of his son by acting in the play and assigning parts appropriately, then commits suicide. 1. "Shantih. Repeated as here, a formal ending to

an Upanishad. 'The peace which passeth understanding' is our equivalent to this word" [Eliot's note]. T h e Upanishad is a Vedic treatise, a sacred Hindu text. 1. Quotation from Heart of Darkness, by J o s e p h Conrad ( 1 8 5 7 - 1 9 2 4 ) . Kurtz went into the African jungle as an official of a trading company and degenerated into an evil, tyrannical man. His dying words were "the horror!" 2. Guy Fawkes led a group of conspirators who planned to blow up the English H o u s e of C o m mons in 1 6 0 5 ; he was caught and executed before the plan was carried out. O n the day of his execution (November 5) children make straw effigies of the "guy" and beg for pennies for fireworks.

THE

HOLLOW

MEN

/

1995

II E y e s I d a r e not meet in d r e a m s In d e a t h ' s d r e a m k i n g d o m T h e s e do not a p p e a r : T h e r e , the eyes are S u n l i g h t on a broken c o l u m n T h e r e , is a tree swinging A n d voices are In the wind's singing M o r e distant a n d m o r e s o l e m n T h a n a fading star. L e t m e b e n o nearer In death's d r e a m k i n g d o m L e t m e a l s o wear S u c h deliberate d i s g u i s e s Rat's c o a t , crowskin, c r o s s e d staves In a field B e h a v i n g a s the wind b e h a v e s No nearer—

20

25

30

35

N o t that final m e e t i n g In the twilight k i n g d o m III T h i s is the d e a d land T h i s is c a c t u s land H e r e the s t o n e i m a g e s Are raised, here they receive T h e s u p p l i c a t i o n of a d e a d m a n ' s h a n d U n d e r the twinkle of a fading star. Is it like this In d e a t h ' s other k i n g d o m Waking alone At the h o u r w h e n we a r e T r e m b l i n g with t e n d e r n e s s L i p s that w o u l d kiss F o r m prayers to broken s t o n e . IV T h e eyes are not here T h e r e are no eyes here In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley T h i s broken j a w of our lost k i n g d o m s In this last of m e e t i n g p l a c e s W e g r o p e together

40

45

50

1996

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

A n d avoid s p e e c h G a t h e r e d o n this b e a c h of the t u m i d river Sightless, unless T h e eyes r e a p p e a r A s the p e r p e t u a l star Multifoliate r o s e 3 O f d e a t h ' s twilight k i n g d o m T h e h o p e only Of empty men. V Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o'clock in the morning.* B e t w e e n the idea A n d the reality B e t w e e n the m o t i o n A n d the act Falls the S h a d o w F o r Thine

75

is the

Kingdom^

B e t w e e n the c o n c e p t i o n A n d the creation B e t w e e n the e m o t i o n A n d the r e s p o n s e Falls the S h a d o w Life is very

so

long

B e t w e e n the desire A n d the s p a s m B e t w e e n the p o t e n c y A n d the e x i s t e n c e B e t w e e n the e s s e n c e A n d the d e s c e n t Falls the S h a d o w F o r Thine

70

85

w

is the

Kingdom

F o r T h i n e is Life is F o r T h i n e is the 3. Part 3 of The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri ( 1 2 6 5 - 1 3 2 1 ) , is a vision of Paradise. T h e souls of the saved in heaven range themselves around the deity in the figure of a "multifoliate rose" (Paradiso 2 8 . 3 0 ) .

4. Allusion to a children's rhyming g a m e , "Here we go round the mulberry b u s h , " substituting a prickly pear cactus for the mulberry bush. 5. Part of a line from the Lord's Prayer.

JOURNEY OF THE MAGI

This This This Not

is the is the is the with a

/

way the world ends way the world ends way the world ends bang but a whimper.

1997

95

1925

Journey of the Magi 1 'A cold c o m i n g we h a d of it, J u s t the worst time of the year F o r a j o u r n e y , a n d s u c h a long j o u r n e y : T h e ways d e e p a n d the w e a t h e r s h a r p , T h e very d e a d of winter.' 2 A n d the c a m e l s galled, sore-footed, refractory, Lying down in the m e l t i n g snow. T h e r e were times we regretted T h e s u m m e r p a l a c e s o n s l o p e s , the t e r r a c e s , A n d the silken girls bringing s h e r b e t . T h e n the c a m e l m e n c u r s i n g a n d g r u m b l i n g And r u n n i n g away, a n d w a n t i n g their liquor a n d w o m e n , A n d the night-fires g o i n g o u t , a n d the lack of s h e l t e r s , A n d the cities hostile a n d the towns unfriendly A n d the villages dirty a n d c h a r g i n g high p r i c e s : A hard time we h a d of it. At the e n d we preferred to travel all night, S l e e p i n g in s n a t c h e s , With the voices singing in our e a r s , saying T h a t this w a s all folly. T h e n at d a w n we c a m e d o w n to a t e m p e r a t e valley, W e t , below the s n o w line, s m e l l i n g of vegetation, With a running s t r e a m a n d a water-mill b e a t i n g the d a r k n e s s , A n d three trees on the low sky. And an old white h o r s e galloped away in the m e a d o w . T h e n we c a m e to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel, Six h a n d s at an o p e n d o o r d i c i n g for p i e c e s of silver, And feet kicking the e m p t y wine-skins. B u t there w a s no information, a n d s o we c o n t i n u e d A n d arrived at evening, not a m o m e n t too s o o n Finding the p l a c e ; it w a s (you m a y say) satisfactory. All this w a s a long time a g o , I r e m e m b e r , A n d I would do it a g a i n , b u t set d o w n T h i s set d o w n T h i s : were we led all that way for Birth or D e a t h ? T h e r e w a s a Birth, certainly, 1. T h e three wise men, or kings, who followed the star of Bethlehem, bringing gifts to the newly born Christ.

15

25

30

35

2. T h e s e lines are adapted from the sermon preached at Christmas, in 1622, by Bishop Lancelot Andrewes.

1998

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

W e h a d e v i d e n c e a n d no d o u b t . I h a d s e e n birth a n d d e a t h , B u t h a d t h o u g h t they were different; this Birth w a s H a r d a n d bitter a g o n y for u s , like D e a t h , o u r d e a t h . W e returned to o u r p l a c e s , t h e s e K i n g d o m s , B u t no longer at e a s e here, in the old d i s p e n s a t i o n , W i t h an alien p e o p l e c l u t c h i n g their g o d s . I s h o u l d be glad of a n o t h e r d e a t h .

40

1935

FROM

FOUR

QUARTETS

Burnt Norton 1 tod X6yo\ 6'e6vto5 iyvov ^tboucnv oi tog i&iav exovTeg tbp6vr|aiv. 6665 avm Kara nla Kai iodtt).

/. p. 77. Fr.

/. p. 89. Fr. —Diels: Die Fragmente

der

uoXXoi 2.

60. 2

Vorsokratiker

(Herakleitos)

f3

1

T i m e p r e s e n t a n d time p a s t Are b o t h p e r h a p s p r e s e n t in time f u t u r e , A n d time future c o n t a i n e d in time p a s t . If all time is eternally p r e s e n t All time is u n r e d e e m a b l e . W h a t m i g h t have b e e n is a n a b s t r a c t i o n R e m a i n i n g a p e r p e t u a l possibility Only in a world of s p e c u l a t i o n . W h a t m i g h t h a v e b e e n a n d what h a s b e e n Point to o n e e n d , w h i c h is always p r e s e n t . Footfalls e c h o in t h e m e m o r y D o w n the p a s s a g e w h i c h we did not take T o w a r d s the door we never o p e n e d Into the r o s e - g a r d e n . 4 M y w o r d s e c h o

1. Eliot made "Burnt Norton," published originally as a separate poem, the basis and formal model for "East Coker" ( 1 9 4 0 ) , " T h e Dry Salvages" ( 1 9 4 1 ) , and "Little Gidding" ( 1 9 4 2 ) . Together they make up Four Quartets ( 1 9 4 3 ) . T h e Quartets seeks to capture those rare moments when eternity"intersects" the temporal continuum, while treating also the relations between those moments and the flux of time. Central to "Burnt Norton" is the idea of the Spanish mystic St. J o h n of the C r o s s ( 1 5 4 2 - 1 5 9 1 ) that the ascent of a soul to union with G o d is facilitated by memory and disciplined meditation but that meditation is superseded by a "dark night of the soul" that deepens paradoxically the nearer one approaches the light of God. Burnt Norton is a

•F -

10

manor house in Gloucestershire, England. 2. T h e Greek epigraphs are from the pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus ( 5 4 0 ? - 4 7 5 B . C . E . ) and may be translated: "But although the Word is c o m m o n to all, the majority of people live as though they had each an understanding peculiarly his own" and " T h e way up and the way down are one and the same." 3. T h e opening lines echo Ecclesiastes 3.15: "That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already b e e n . " 4. T h e rose is a symbol of sexual and spiritual love; in Christian traditions it is associated with the harmony of religious truth and with the Virgin Mary. T h e memory may be personal as well.

BURNT

NORTON

T h u s , in your m i n d .

/

1999

15

B u t to what p u r p o s e D i s t u r b i n g the d u s t on a bowl of rose-leaves I do not know. Other echoes Inhabit the g a r d e n . Shall we follow? Quick, said the bird, find t h e m , find t h e m , R o u n d the corner. T h r o u g h the first g a t e , Into our first world, shall we follow T h e d e c e p t i o n of the t h r u s h ? Into our first world. T h e r e they were, dignified, invisible, M o v i n g without p r e s s u r e , over the d e a d leaves, In the a u t u m n h e a t , through the vibrant air, A n d the bird called, in r e s p o n s e to T h e u n h e a r d m u s i c hidden in the shrubbery, A n d the u n s e e n e y e b e a m c r o s s e d , for the r o s e s H a d the look of flowers that are looked at. T h e r e they were a s our g u e s t s , a c c e p t e d a n d a c c e p t i n g . S o we m o v e d , a n d they, in a formal p a t t e r n , Along the e m p t y alley, into the box c i r c l e , 5 T o look d o w n into the d r a i n e d pool. Dry the pool, dry c o n c r e t e , brown e d g e d , A n d the pool w a s filled with water out of sunlight, A n d the lotos r o s e , quietly, quietly, T h e s u r f a c e glittered o u t of heart of light, 6 A n d they were b e h i n d u s , reflected in the pool. T h e n a c l o u d p a s s e d , a n d the pool w a s empty. G o , said the bird, for the leaves were full of children, H i d d e n excitedly, c o n t a i n i n g laughter. G o , g o , g o , said the bird: h u m a n kind C a n n o t b e a r very m u c h reality. T i m e p a s t a n d time future W h a t might have b e e n a n d what h a s b e e n . Point to o n e e n d , which is always p r e s e n t .

20

25

30

35

40

45

Garlic a n d s a p p h i r e s in the m u d Clot the b e d d e d axle-tree. T h e trilling wire in the b l o o d S i n g s below inveterate s c a r s A p p e a s i n g long forgotten w a r s . T h e d a n c e a l o n g the artery T h e circulation of the lymph Are figured in the drift of stars A s c e n d to s u m m e r in the tree W e m o v e above the moving tree

Evergreen boxwood shrubs, planted in a circle. An echo of Dante, Paradiso 1 2 . 2 8 - 2 9 : "From

out of the heart of one of the new lights there moved a voice."

2000

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

In light u p o n the figured l e a f 7 A n d h e a r u p o n the s o d d e n floor B e l o w , the b o a r h o u n d a n d the b o a r P u r s u e their pattern a s before B u t r e c o n c i l e d a m o n g the stars. At the still point of the turning world. N e i t h e r flesh nor f l e s h l e s s ; N e i t h e r from nor t o w a r d s ; at the still point, there the d a n c e is, B u t neither arrest nor m o v e m e n t . A n d do not call it fixity, W h e r e p a s t a n d future are g a t h e r e d . N e i t h e r m o v e m e n t from nor towards, N e i t h e r a s c e n t nor d e c l i n e . E x c e p t for the point, the still p o i n t , T h e r e w o u l d b e no d a n c e a n d there is only the d a n c e . I c a n only say, there we have b e e n : b u t I c a n n o t say w h e r e . A n d I c a n n o t say, how long, for that is to p l a c e it in t i m e . T h e inner f r e e d o m from the practical d e s i r e , T h e r e l e a s e from action a n d suffering, r e l e a s e from the inner A n d the outer c o m p u l s i o n , yet s u r r o u n d e d By a g r a c e of s e n s e , a white light still a n d moving, without m o t i o n , c o n c e n t r a t i o n Erhebung W i t h o u t elimination, both a n e w world A n d the old m a d e explicit, u n d e r s t o o d In the c o m p l e t i o n of its partial e c s t a s y , T h e resolution of its partial horror. Yet the e n c h a i n m e n t of p a s t a n d future W o v e n in the w e a k n e s s of the c h a n g i n g body, P r o t e c t s m a n k i n d from h e a v e n a n d d a m n a t i o n W h i c h flesh c a n n o t e n d u r e . T i m e p a s t a n d time future Allow b u t a little c o n s c i o u s n e s s . T o b e c o n s c i o u s is not to b e in time B u t only in time c a n the m o m e n t in the r o s e - g a r d e n , T h e m o m e n t in the a r b o u r w h e r e the rain b e a t , T h e m o m e n t in the d r a u g h t y c h u r c h at smokefall B e r e m e m b e r e d ; involved with p a s t a n d future. Only through time time is c o n q u e r e d . 8

III

•

H e r e is a p l a c e of disaffection T i m e before a n d time after In a d i m light: neither daylight Investing form with lucid stillness T u r n i n g s h a d o w into transient b e a u t y With slow rotation s u g g e s t i n g p e r m a n e n c e N o r d a r k n e s s to purify the soul E m p t y i n g the s e n s u a l with deprivation

7. An echo of the description of death in Tennyson, In Memoriam ( 1 8 5 0 ) 4 3 . 1 0 - 1 2 : " S o that still garden of the souls / In many a figured leaf enrolls

/ T h e total world since life began, 8. Exaltation ( G e r m a n ) ,

80

B5

90

BURNT

NORTON

C l e a n s i n g affection from the temporal. Neither p l e n i t u d e nor vacancy. Only a flicker Over the strained time-ridden f a c e s D i s t r a c t e d from distraction by distraction Filled with f a n c i e s a n d e m p t y of m e a n i n g T u m i d apathy with no c o n c e n t r a t i o n M e n a n d bits of p a p e r , whirled by the cold wind T h a t blows before a n d after t i m e , W i n d in a n d out of u n w h o l e s o m e lungs T i m e before a n d time after. Eructation of u n h e a l t h y s o u l s Into the faded air, the torpid Driven on the wind that s w e e p s the gloomy hills of L o n d o n , H a m p s t e a d a n d Clerkenwell, C a m p d e n a n d P u t n e y , H i g h g a t e , P r i m r o s e a n d L u d g a t e . 9 N o t here N o t here the d a r k n e s s , in this twittering world. D e s c e n d lower, d e s c e n d only Into the world of p e r p e t u a l solitude, World not world, b u t that which is not world, Internal d a r k n e s s , deprivation And destitution of all property, D e s i c c a t i o n of the world of s e n s e , E v a c u a t i o n of the world of fancy, Inoperancy of the world of spirit; T h i s is the o n e way, a n d the other Is the s a m e , not in m o v e m e n t B u t a b s t e n t i o n from m o v e m e n t ; while the world m o v e s In a p p e t e n c y , on its m e t a l l e d ways O f time p a s t a n d time future.

/

2001

105

110

115

120

125

IV T i m e a n d the bell have buried the day, T h e black c l o u d carries the s u n away. Will the sunflower turn to u s , will the c l e m a t i s Stray d o w n , b e n d to u s ; tendril a n d spray C l u t c h a n d cling? Chill F i n g e r s of yew be c u r l e d D o w n on u s ? After the kingfisher's wing H a s a n s w e r e d light to light, a n d is silent, the light is still At the still point of the turning world.

130

135

V Words move, music moves Only in t i m e ; but that which is only living C a n only d i e . W o r d s , after s p e e c h , r e a c h 9. Districts and neighborhoods in London.

no

2002

/

T.

S.

ELIOT

Into the s i l e n c e . Only by the form, the p a t t e r n , C a n w o r d s or m u s i c r e a c h T h e stillness, as a C h i n e s e j a r still M o v e s perpetually in its stillness. N o t the stillness of the violin, while the note l a s t s , N o t that only, but the co-existence, O r say that the end p r e c e d e s the b e g i n n i n g , A n d the e n d a n d the b e g i n n i n g were always t h e r e B e f o r e the b e g i n n i n g a n d after the e n d . A n d all is always now. W o r d s strain, C r a c k a n d s o m e t i m e s break, u n d e r the b u r d e n , U n d e r the tension, slip, slide, p e r i s h , D e c a y with imprecision, will not stay in p l a c e , Will not stay still. Shrieking voices S c o l d i n g , m o c k i n g , or merely chattering, Always assail t h e m . T h e W o r d in the d e s e r t ' Is m o s t a t t a c k e d by voices of t e m p t a t i o n , T h e crying s h a d o w in the funeral d a n c e , T h e loud l a m e n t of the d i s c o n s o l a t e c h i m e r a . 2 T h e detail of the pattern is m o v e m e n t , As in the figure of the ten s t a i r s . 3 D e s i r e itself is m o v e m e n t N o t in itself d e s i r a b l e ; L o v e is itself u n m o v i n g , Only the c a u s e a n d e n d of m o v e m e n t , Timeless, and undesiring E x c e p t in the a s p e c t of time C a u g h t in the form of limitation Between un-being and being. S u d d e n in a shaft of sunlight Even while the d u s t m o v e s T h e r e rises the h i d d e n l a u g h t e r O f children in the foliage Quick, now, h e r e , now a l w a y s — R i d i c u l o u s the w a s t e s a d time S t r e t c h i n g before a n d after.

155

•

•

1936,1943

•

1. An allusion to Christ's temptation in the wilderness (Luke 4.1—4). 2. A monster in Greek mythology and a symbol of fantasies and delusions.

3. An allusion to St. J o h n of the Cross's figure for the soul's ascent to God: "The Ten Degrees of the Mystical Ladder of Divine Love."

2003

EUGENE

O'NEILL

1888-1953 Eugene O'Neill, the nation's first major playwright, the first to explore serious themes in the theater and to experiment with theatrical conventions, was born on October 16, 1888. His father was James O'Neill, an actor who made a fortune playing the lead role in a dramatization of Alexander Dumas's swashbuckling novel The Count of Monte Cristo, which he performed on tour more than five thousand times. O'Neill's mother, Ella Quinlan, the daughter of a successful Irish immigrant businessman in Cincinnati, hated backstage life and became addicted to morphine. An older brother, James Jr., was born in 1878 and during most of Eugene's childhood was away at various boarding schools. Later "Jamie," his brother's idol, became an actor and an alcoholic. During O'Neill's childhood, his parents toured for part of every year, lived in New York City hotels for another part, and spent summers at their home in New London, Connecticut. O'Neill went to good preparatory schools and started college at Princeton in 1906. He quit after a year. For the next five years he drank and drifted—he eloped, but the marriage was quickly terminated, he shipped out to sea for a year, and he searched for gold in South America. Most of the time he spent in Greenwich Village—an area of lower Manhattan that was becoming home to artists and political radicals. After tuberculosis nearly killed him in 1912, O'Neill decided to stay sober and write plays. His Greenwich Village friends helped him: he joined a new experimental theater group called the Provincetown Players, because in the summer its members staged plays on a wharf in Provincetown, Massachusetts. For the rest of the year they used a small theater in the Village. They did O'Neill's one-act play Thirst in the summer of 1917. The Provincetown group gave O'Neill his forum, and—working closely with Susan Glaspell—he gave them a place in American theater history. Play followed play in these early years; in 1913—14, he wrote nine plays; in 1916—17, six; in 1918, four. The works with likely appeal for general audiences were moved uptown from the Village to Broadway, where their stagings made O'Neill both famous and financially successful. Many of O'Neill's first plays were grim one-acters based on his experiences at sea. In these, the dialogue was a striking departure from stage rhetoric of the day: crude, natural, and slangy. Instead of the elegant witticisms of drawing-room comedy or the flowery eloquence of historical drama, audiences were faced with ships' holds and sailors' bars. An exaggerated realism, veering toward expressionism, was the mode of these earliest works. Around 1920, his plays became longer and his aims more ambitious. He began to experiment with techniques to convey inner emotions that usually were not openly expressed in dramatizable action—the world of the mind, of memories and fears. He ignored standard play divisions of scenes and acts; paid no attention to the expected length of plays (the Mourning Becomes Electra sequence ran for nine hours); made his characters wear masks; split one character between two actors; and reintroduced ghosts, choruses, and Shakespearean-style monologue and direct addresses to the audience. He employed sets, lighting, and sounds to enhance emotion rather than to represent a real place. Important works from this period include The Emperor Jones (1920), in which, under stress, civilized veneer gives way to primitive fear; The Hairy Ape (1922), in which a sailor, becoming aware of how he is viewed by the upper class, degenerates into what he is perceived to be; Desire under the Elms (1924), about family conflict and desire; The Great God Brown (1926), exposing the inner life of a business magnate; and Strange Interlude (1928), similarly uncovering the hidden life of a beautiful woman. In different forms, all these plays subject their leading characters to experiences so intense that their "characters" disintegrate, exposing the chaotic or primitive interior self.

2004

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

O'Neill's father had died in 1920, his mother in 1921, his brother in 1923. During the mid-1920s O'Neill became interested in dramatizing the complicated pattern of his family's life. He was influenced by the popularization of certain ideas of the Viennese psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud: the power of irrational drives; the existence of a subconscious; the roles of repression, suppression, and inhibition in the formation of personality and in adult suffering; the importance of sex; and above all the lifelong influence of parents. But where Freud posited a universal dynamic in the relation between children and parents and rooted development in biology, O'Neill saw each child's experiences as uniquely determined by particular parents. His strongly felt individualism came to focus on the family, rather than the person, as the fundamental human unit. He found inspiration and confirmation for this approach in classical Greek drama, which had always centered on families. His 1931 Mourning Becomes Electra, based on the Oresteia cycle of the classical Greek playwright Aeschylus, situated the ancient story of family murder and divine retribution in Civil War America with great success. Twice-married after the annulment of his early elopement, O'Neill began to suffer from a rare disease of the nervous system in the 1930s and lived in relative seclusion for the last twenty years of his life. Following the production of Mourning Becomes Electra, his output slowed noticeably. Much of his work of the 1930s and 1940s remained in manuscript until after his death, and there was a twelve-year gap in the staging of his plays—between Days without End (1934), which failed on Broadway, and The Iceman Cometh, in 1946, which also did poorly. As a young man, he had been attracted to socialists, communists, and anarchists, more on account of their rebelliousness and energetic nonconformity than their political doctrines. When his play about an interracial marriage appeared {All God's Chillun Got Wings, 1924), he insisted that it was not about race but about "the special lives of individual human beings. It is primarily a study of the two principal characters and their tragic struggle for happiness." Although, as the Edmund character who stands for O'Neill in Long Day's Journey shows, he did experience his Irishness partly in class terms, his radicalism was based on a sense that individual merit should be the human measure, not on a belief in class solidarity. Three years after O'Neill's death, Iceman was successfully revived, and O'Neill's work reattained prominence. His widow released other plays, which were widely acclaimed in posthumous productions. Among such stagings were parts of a projected nine- or eleven-play sequence (critics differ in their interpretation of the surviving manuscript material) about an Irish family in America named the Melody family and some obviously autobiographical dramas about a family named the Tyrones. The Melody plays produced after O'Neill's death include A Touch of the Poet, produced in 1957, and More Stately Mansions, which was staged in 1967; the Tyrone plays include Long Day's foumey

1957.

into Night,

produced in 1956, and A Moon for the Misbegotten

produced in

In inscribing the manuscript of Long Day's Journey to his wife, O'Neill wrote that he had faced his dead in this play, writing "with deep pity and understanding and forgiveness for all the four haunted Tyrones." By this he seemed to mean that his treatment made it impossible to blame any of the characters for the suffering they inflicted on the others; each Tyrone was both a victim and an oppressor, and none of them could escape. O'Neill's word haunted catches his sense that the Tyrones are at the mercy of the past—their psyches are the dwelling places of ghosts, and the word ghosts recurs throughout the play: ghosts of those they remember, those who influenced them, their younger selves, their dreams and ambitions, and their disappointments. A spectator or a first-time reader of the play may experience Long Day's Journey simply as unabating raw emotion, but study shows that O'Neill designed the play as a series of encounters—each character is placed with one, two, or three of the others, until every combination is worked through. At the same time that these various configurations are staged, the family is followed through one day, from the simulacrum of conventional family life in the morning to the tragic truth of their

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

1

/

2005

night. It is thus a literal day in the lives of the Tyrones, and also the Tyrones'journey through life toward death, that we witness. Romantic, realistic, naturalistic, melodramatic, sentimental, cynical, poetic—the family dramas, indeed O'Neill's work in general, are all of these. Even while he made his characters espouse philosophical positions, O'Neill was not trying to write philosophical drama. Nor was he designing plays to fit into a familiar dramatic type: tragedy, comedy, and the like. He wanted to make plays conveying emotions of such intensity and complexity that the theater would become a vital force in American life. In all his works, the spectacle of emotional intensity was meant to produce emotional response in an audience—what Aristotle, in his Poetics, had called "catharsis." As one critic wrote, "The meaning and unity of his work lies not in any controlling intellectual idea and certainly not in a 'message,' but merely in the fact that each play is an experience of extraordinary intensity." O'Neill's plays have been translated and staged all over the world; he won the Pulitzer Prize four times and the Nobel Prize in 1936, the first and so far only American dramatist to do so. The text is that of the Yale University Press Edition (1956).

Long Day's Journey into Night CHARACTERS JAMES TYRONE

his wife their elder son E D M U N D T Y R O N E , their younger son C A T H L E E N , second girl' MARY CAVAN T Y R O N E ,

JAMES TYRONE, JR.,

SCENES

ACT 1

Living room of the Tyrones' summer

home

8 : 3 0 A . M . of a day in August,

1912 ACT 2

The same, around 12:45 The same, about a half hour The same, around 6 : 3 0 that evening The same, around midnight SCENE 1 SCENE 2

ACT 3 ACT 4

later

Act 1 S C E N E — L i v i n g room of J A M E S T Y R O N E ' S summer

home on a morning in August, 1912. At rear are two double doorways with portieres. The one at right leads into a front parlor with the formally arranged, set appearance of a room rarely occupied. The other opens on a dark, windowless back parlor, never used except as a passage from living room to dining room. Against the wall between the doorways is a small bookcase, with a picture of Shakespeare above it, containing novels by Balzac, Zola, Stendhal, philosophical and sociological works by Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Marx, Engels, Kropotkin, Max Sterner, plays by Ibsen, Shaw, Strindberg, poetry by Swinburne, Rossetti, Wilde, Ernest Dowson, Kipling, etc. 2

1. A servant. 2. A variety of 19th-century (especially late-19thcentury) authors are cited. Nobody in the audience would be able to read the titles and authors on

these books—an example of O'Neill's novelistic approach to theatrical detail, also seen in the minute physical descriptions he provides of the characters' appearance and behavior throughout.

2006

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

In the right wall, rear, is a screen door leading out on the porch which extends halfway around the house. Farther forward, a series of three windows looks over the front lawn to the harbor and the avenue that runs along the water front. A small wicker table and an ordinary oak desk are against the wall, flanking the windows. In the left wall, a similar series of windows looks out on the grounds in back of the house. Beneath them is a wicker couch with cushions, its head toward rear. Farther back is a large, glassed-in bookcase with sets of Dumas, Victor Hugo, Charles Lever, three sets of Shakespeare, The World's Best Literature in fifty large and volumes, Hume's History of England, Thiers' History of the Consulate Empire, Smollett's History of England, Gibbon's Roman Empire and miscellaneous volumes of old plays, poetry, and several histories of Ireland. The astonishing thing about these sets is that all the volumes have the look of having been read and reread. The hardwood floor is nearly covered by a rug, inoffensive in design and color. At center is a round table with a green shaded reading lamp, the cord plugged in one of the four sockets in the chandelier above. Around the table within readinglight range are four chairs, three of them wicker armchairs, the fourth (at right front of table) a varnished oak rocker with leather bottom. It is around 8:30. Sunshine comes through the windows at right. As the curtain rises, the family have fust finished breakfast, M A R Y T Y R O N E and her husband enter together from the back parlor, coming from the dining room. M A R Y is fifty-four, about medium height. She still has a young, grace]\d figure, a trifle plump, but showing little evidence of middle-aged waist and hips, although she is not tightly corseted. Her face is distinctly Irish in type. It must once have been extremely pretty, and is still striking. It does not match her healthy figure but is thin and pale with the bone structure prominent. Her nose is long and straight, her mouth wide with full, sensitive lips. She uses no rouge or any sort of make-up. Her high forehead is framed by thick, pure white hair. Accentuated by her pallor and white hair, her dark brown eyes appear black. They are unusually large and beautiful, with black brows and long curling lashes. What strikes one immediately is her extreme nervousness. Her hands are never still. They were once beautiful hands, with long, tapering fingers, but rheumatism has knotted the joints and warped the fingers, so that now they have an ugly crippled look. One avoids looking at them, the more so because one is conscious she is sensitive about their appearance and humiliated by her inability to control the nervousness which draws attention to them. She is dressed simply but with a sure sense of what becomes her. Her hair is arranged with fastidious care. Her voice is soft and attractive. When she is merry, there is a touch of Irish lilt in it. Her most appealing quality is the simple, unaffected charm of a shy conventgirl youthfidness she has never lost—an innate unworldly innocence. J A M E S T Y R O N E is sixty-five but looks ten years younger. About five feet eight, broad-shouldered and deep-chested, he seems taller and slenderer because of his bearing, which has a soldierly quality of head up, chest out, stomach in, shoidders squared. His face has begun to break down but he is still remarkably good looking—a big, finely shaped head, a handsome profile, deep-set light-brown eyes. His grey hair is thin with a bald spot like a monk's tonsure. The stamp of his profession is unmistakably on him. Not that he indidges in any of the deliberate temperamental posturings of the stage star. He is by nature and preference a simple, unpretentious man, whose inclinations are still close to his humble beginnings and his Irish farmer forebears. But the actor shows in all

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT, ACT

1

/

2007

his unconscious habits of speech, movement and gesture. These have the quality of belonging to a studied technique. His voice is remarkably fine, resonant and flexible, and he takes great pride in it. His clothes, assuredly, do not costume any romantic part. He wears a threadbare, ready-made, grey sack suit and shineless black shoes, a collar-less shirt with a thick white handkerchief knotted loosely around his throat. There is nothing picturesquely careless about this get-up. It is commonplace shabby. He believes in wearing his clothes to the limit of usefulness, is dressed now for gardening, and doesn't give a damn how he looks. He has never been really sick a day in his life. He has no nerves. There is a lot of stolid, earthy peasant in him, mixed with streaks of sentimental melancholy and rare flashes of intuitive sensibility. T Y R O N E ' S arm is around his wife's waist as they appear from the back parlor. Entering the living room he gives her a playful hug. You're a fine a r m f u l now, M a r y , with t h o s e twenty p o u n d s you've gained. M A R Y [smiles affectionately] I've g o t t e n t o o fat, you m e a n , d e a r . I really o u g h t to r e d u c e . TYRONE N o n e of that, my lady! You're j u s t right. We'll h a v e n o talk o f r e d u c i n g . Is that why you a t e s o little b r e a k f a s t ? MARY S o little? I t h o u g h t I a t e a lot. TYRONE You didn't. N o t a s m u c h a s I'd like to s e e , anyway. M A R Y [teasingly] O h you! You expect everyone to e a t the e n o r m o u s breakfast you d o . N o o n e e l s e in the world c o u l d w i t h o u t dying of i n d i g e s t i o n . [She comes forward to stand by the right of table.] T Y R O N E [following her] I h o p e I'm not a s big a g l u t t o n a s t h a t s o u n d s . [with hearty satisfaction] B u t t h a n k G o d , I've kept my a p p e t i t e a n d I've the d i g e s t i o n of a y o u n g m a n of twenty, if I a m sixty-five. MARY You surely h a v e , J a m e s . N o o n e c o u l d d e n y that. [She laughs and sits in the wicker armchair at right rear of table. He comes around in back of her and selects a cigar from a box on the table and cuts off the end with a little clipper. From the dining room J A M I E S and E D M U N D ' S voices are heard. Mary turns her head that way.] W h y did the boys stay in the d i n i n g r o o m , I w o n d e r ? C a t h l e e n m u s t be w a i t i n g to c l e a r the t a b l e . T Y R O N E [jokingly but with an undercurrent of resentment] It's a s e c r e t c o n f a b they don't w a n t m e to hear, I s u p p o s e . I'll bet they're c o o k i n g u p s o m e n e w s c h e m e to t o u c h the O l d M a n . [She is silent on this, keeping her head turned toward their voices. Her hands appear on the table top, moving restlessly. He lights his cigar and sits down in the rocker at right of table, which is his chair, and puffs contentedly. ] T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g like the first a f t e r - b r e a k f a s t c i g a r , if it's a g o o d o n e , a n d this n e w lot have the right m e l l o w flavor. T h e y ' r e a g r e a t b a r g a i n , t o o . I got t h e m d e a d c h e a p . It w a s M c G u i r e put m e on to t h e m . M A R Y [a trifle acidly] I h o p e h e didn't p u t you o n to a n y n e w p i e c e o f property at the s a m e t i m e . H i s real e s t a t e b a r g a i n s don't work o u t s o well. T Y R O N E [defensively] I w o u l d n ' t s a y that, M a r y . After all, h e w a s the o n e w h o a d v i s e d m e to b u y that p l a c e o n C h e s t n u t S t r e e t a n d I m a d e a q u i c k turnover o n it for a fine profit. TYRONE

2008

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

[smiles now with teasing affection] I know. T h e famous one stroke o f g o o d l u c k . I'm s u r e M c G u i r e never d r e a m e d — [ T h e n she pats his hand.] N e v e r m i n d , J a m e s . I k n o w it's a w a s t e o f b r e a t h trying to c o n v i n c e you you're n o t a c u n n i n g real e s t a t e s p e c u l a t o r . T Y R O N E [huffily] I've n o s u c h i d e a . B u t l a n d is l a n d , a n d it's s a f e r t h a n t h e s t o c k s a n d b o n d s of W a l l S t r e e t s w i n d l e r s , [then placatingly] B u t let's not a r g u e a b o u t b u s i n e s s this early in the m o r n i n g . [A pause. The boys' voices are again heard and one of them has a fit of coughing, M A R Y listens worriedly. Her fingers play nervously on the table top.] MARY J a m e s , it's E d m u n d you o u g h t to s c o l d for not e a t i n g e n o u g h . H e hardly t o u c h e d a n y t h i n g e x c e p t c o f f e e . H e n e e d s to e a t to k e e p u p his s t r e n g t h . I k e e p telling h i m t h a t b u t h e s a y s h e s i m p l y h a s n o a p p e t i t e . O f c o u r s e , there's n o t h i n g t a k e s a w a y y o u r a p p e t i t e like a b a d s u m m e r cold. TYRONE Y e s , it's only n a t u r a l . S o don't let y o u r s e l f g e t w o r r i e d — M A R Y [quickly] O h , I'm n o t . I k n o w he'll b e all right in a few days if h e t a k e s c a r e of h i m s e l f , [as if she wanted to dismiss the subject but can't] B u t it d o e s s e e m a s h a m e h e s h o u l d h a v e to b e s i c k right n o w . TYRONE Y e s , it is b a d l u c k . [He gives her a quick, worried look.] B u t you m u s t n ' t let it u p s e t y o u , M a r y . R e m e m b e r , you've got to t a k e c a r e of yourself, t o o . M A R Y [quickly] I'm not u p s e t . T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g to b e u p s e t a b o u t . W h a t m a k e s you think I'm u p s e t ? TYRONE W h y , n o t h i n g , e x c e p t you've s e e m e d a bit h i g h - s t r u n g the p a s t few d a y s . M A R Y [forcing a smile] I h a v e ? N o n s e n s e , d e a r . It's y o u r i m a g i n a t i o n , [with sudden tenseness] You really m u s t n o t w a t c h m e all t h e t i m e , J a m e s . I m e a n , it m a k e s m e s e l f - c o n s c i o u s . T Y R O N E [putting a hand over one of her nervously playing ones] Now, now, M a r y . T h a t ' s y o u r i m a g i n a t i o n . If I've w a t c h e d you it w a s to a d m i r e h o w fat a n d b e a u t i f u l y o u l o o k e d . [His voice is suddenly moved by deep feeling. ] I can't tell you the d e e p h a p p i n e s s it gives m e , d a r l i n g , to s e e y o u a s you've b e e n s i n c e you c a m e b a c k to u s , y o u r d e a r old s e l f a g a i n . [He leans over and kisses her cheek impulsively—then turning back adds with a constrained air] S o k e e p u p the g o o d work, M a r y . M A R Y [has turned her head away] I will, d e a r . [She gets up restlessly and goes to the windows at right.] T h a n k h e a v e n s , t h e fog is g o n e . [She turns back.] I d o feel o u t o f s o r t s this m o r n i n g . I w a s n ' t a b l e to get m u c h s l e e p with t h a t awful f o g h o r n g o i n g all night l o n g . TYRONE Y e s , it's like h a v i n g a s i c k w h a l e in t h e b a c k y a r d . It k e p t m e awake, too. M A R Y [affectionately amused] D i d it? You h a d a s t r a n g e way of s h o w i n g y o u r r e s t l e s s n e s s . You w e r e s n o r i n g s o h a r d I c o u l d n ' t tell w h i c h w a s t h e f o g h o r n ! [She comes to him, laughing, and pats his cheek playfully.] Ten f o g h o r n s c o u l d n ' t d i s t u r b y o u . Y o u haven't a n e r v e in y o u . Y o u ' v e never had. T Y R O N E [his vanity piqued—testily] N o n s e n s e . Y o u always e x a g g e r a t e a b o u t my s n o r i n g . MARY

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

1

/

2009

I c o u l d n ' t . If you c o u l d only h e a r y o u r s e l f o n c e — [A burst of laughter comes from the dining room. She turns her head, smiling.] W h a t ' s the j o k e , I w o n d e r ? T Y R O N E [grumpily] It's o n m e . I'll b e t t h a t m u c h . It's a l w a y s o n the O l d Man. M A R Y [teasingly] Y e s , it's terrible the w a y w e all p i c k o n y o u , isn't it? Y o u ' r e s o a b u s e d ! [She laughs—then with a pleased, relieved air] W e l l , n o m a t t e r w h a t the j o k e is a b o u t , it's a relief to h e a r E d m u n d l a u g h . H e ' s b e e n s o d o w n in the m o u t h lately. T Y R O N E [ignoring this—resentfully] S o m e j o k e o f J a m i e ' s , I'll w a g e r . H e ' s forever m a k i n g s n e e r i n g fun of s o m e b o d y , t h a t o n e . MARY N o w don't start in o n p o o r J a m i e , d e a r , [without conviction] He'll turn o u t all right in the e n d , y o u wait a n d s e e . TYRONE H e ' d b e t t e r start s o o n , t h e n . H e ' s nearly thirty-four. M A R Y [ignoring this] G o o d h e a v e n s , a r e they g o i n g to stay in t h e d i n i n g r o o m all day? [She goes to the back parlor doorway and calls] J a m i e ! E d m u n d ! C o m e in the living r o o m a n d give C a t h l e e n a c h a n c e to c l e a r the t a b l e . [ E D M U N D calls back, "We're coming, M a m a . " She goes back to the table.] T Y R O N E [grumbling] Y o u ' d find e x c u s e s for h i m n o m a t t e r w h a t h e did. M A R Y [sitting down beside him, pats his hand] Shush. MARY

Their sons J A M E S , J R . , and E D M U N D enter together from the back parlor. They are both grinning, still chuckling over what had caused their laughter, and as they come forward they glance at their father and their grins grow broader. J A M I E , the elder, is thirty-three. He has his father's broad-shouldered, deepchested physique, is an inch taller and weighs less, but appears shorter and stouter because he lacks T Y R O N E ' S bearing and graceful carriage. He also lacks his father's vitality. The signs of premature disintegration are on him. His face is still good looking, despite marks of dissipation, but it has never been handsome like T Y R O N E ' S , although J A M I E resembles him rather than his mother. He has fine brown eyes, their color midway between his father's lighter and his mother's darker ones. His hair is thinning and already there is indication of a bald spot like T Y R O N E ' S . His nose is unlike that of any other member of the family, pronouncedly aquiline. Combined with his habitual expression of cynicism it gives his countenance a Mephistophelian cast. But on the rare occasions when he smiles without sneering, his personality possesses the remnant of a humorous, romantic, irresponsible Irish charm—that of the beguiling ne'er-do-well, with a strain of the sentimentally poetic, attractive to women and popular with men. He is dressed in an old sack suit, not as shabby as T Y R O N E ' S , and wears a collar and tie. His fair skin is sunburned a reddish, freckled tan. E D M U N D is ten years younger than his brother, a couple of inches taller, thin and wiry. Where J A M I E takes after his father, with little resemblance to his mother, E D M U N D looks like both his parents, but is more like his mother. Her big, dark eyes are the dominant feature in his long, narrow Irish face. His mouth has the same quality ofhypersensitiveness hers possesses. His high fore-head is hers accentuated, with dark brown hair, sunbleached to red at the ends, brushed straight back from it. But his nose is his father's and his face in profile recalls T Y R O N E ' S . E D M U N D ' S hands are noticeably like his mother's, with the same exceptionally long

2010

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

fingers. They even have to a minor degree the same nervousness. It is in the quality of extreme nervous sensibility that the likeness of E D M U N D to his mother is most marked. He is -plainly in bad health. Much thinner than he should be, his eyes appear feverish and his cheeks are sunken. His skin, in spite of being sunburned a deep brown, has a parched sallowness. He wears a shirt, collar and tie, no coat, old flannel trousers, brown sneakers. [turns smilingly to them, in a merry tone that is a bit forced] I've b e e n t e a s i n g your father a b o u t his s n o r i n g , [to T Y R O N E ] I'll leave it to t h e b o y s , J a m e s . T h e y m u s t have h e a r d y o u . N o , not y o u , J a m i e . I c o u l d h e a r you d o w n the hall a l m o s t a s b a d a s your father. Y o u ' r e like h i m . A s s o o n a s your h e a d t o u c h e s the pillow you're off a n d ten f o g h o r n s c o u l d n ' t w a k e J A M I E ' S eyes regarding her with an y o u . [She stops abruptly, catching uneasy, probing look. Her smile vanishes and her manner becomes selfconscious.] Why a r e you s t a r i n g , J a m i e ? [Her hands flutter up to her hair.] Is my hair c o m i n g d o w n ? It's h a r d for m e to d o it u p p r o p e r l y n o w . M y eyes a r e g e t t i n g s o b a d a n d I never c a n find m y g l a s s e s .

MARY

[looks away guiltily] Y o u r hair's all right, M a m a . I w a s only t h i n k i n g h o w well y o u look. T Y R O N E [heartily] J u s t w h a t I've b e e n telling her, J a m i e . S h e ' s s o fat a n d s a s s y , there'll s o o n be no h o l d i n g her. EDMUND Y e s , you certainly l o o k g r a n d , M a m a . [She is reassured and smiles at him lovingly. He winks with a kidding grin.] I'll b a c k you u p a b o u t Papa's snoring. G o s h , what a racket! JAMIE I h e a r d h i m , t o o . [He quotes, putting on a ham-actor manner] "The M o o r , I k n o w his t r u m p e t . " 3 [His mother and brother laugh. ] T Y R O N E [scathingly] If it t a k e s my s n o r i n g to m a k e you r e m e m b e r S h a k e s p e a r e i n s t e a d of the d o p e s h e e t o n the p o n i e s , I h o p e I'll k e e p o n with it. MARY N o w , J a m e s ! You m u s t n ' t b e s o t o u c h y . [ J A M I E shrugs his shoulders and sits down in the chair on her right.] E D M U N D [irritably] Y e s , for P e t e ' s s a k e , P a p a ! T h e first t h i n g after b r e a k fast! G i v e it a r e s t , c a n ' t y o u ? [He slumps down in the chair at left of table next to his brother. His father ignores him.] M A R Y [reprovingly] Y o u r father w a s n ' t finding fault with y o u . You don't have to always t a k e J a m i e ' s p a r t . Y o u ' d t h i n k you w e r e t h e o n e t e n y e a r s older. J A M I E [boredly] W h a t ' s all the f u s s a b o u t ? L e t ' s forget it. T Y R O N E [contemptuously] Y e s , forget! F o r g e t everything a n d f a c e n o t h i n g ! It's a c o n v e n i e n t p h i l o s o p h y if you've no a m b i t i o n in life e x c e p t t o — MARY J a m e s , d o b e q u i e t . [She puts an arm around his shoulder—coaxingly] You m u s t h a v e g o t t e n o u t of the w r o n g s i d e of t h e b e d this m o r n ing, [to the boys, changing the subject] W h a t w e r e you two g r i n n i n g a b o u t like C h e s h i r e c a t s w h e n you c a m e in? W h a t w a s t h e j o k e ? T Y R O N E [with a painful effort to be a good sport] Y e s , let u s in o n it, l a d s .

JAMIE

3. Shakespeare's Othello 2 . 1 . 1 8 0 .

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

1

/

2011

I told your m o t h e r I k n e w d a m n e d well it w o u l d b e o n e o n m e , b u t never m i n d that, I'm u s e d to it. J A M I E [dryry] D o n ' t look at m e . T h i s is the Kid's story. E D M U N D [grins] I m e a n t to tell y o u last night, P a p a , a n d forgot it. Yesterday w h e n I w e n t for a walk I d r o p p e d in at the I n n — M A R Y [worriedly] You s h o u l d n ' t drink n o w , E d m u n d . E D M U N D [ignoring this] A n d w h o do you t h i n k I m e t t h e r e , with a b e a u t i f u l b u n o n , 4 b u t S h a u g h n e s s y , the t e n a n t o n t h a t f a r m of y o u r s . M A R Y [smiling] T h a t d r e a d f u l m a n ! B u t h e is f u n n y . T Y R O N E [scowling] H e ' s not s o funny w h e n you're his l a n d l o r d . H e ' s a wily Shanty Mick, that o n e . H e could hide behind a corkscrew. What's he c o m p l a i n i n g a b o u t now, E d m u n d — f o r I'm d a m n e d s u r e he's c o m p l a i n ing. I s u p p o s e h e w a n t s his rent l o w e r e d . I let h i m h a v e t h e p l a c e for a l m o s t n o t h i n g , j u s t to k e e p s o m e o n e o n it, a n d h e never p a y s t h a t till I t h r e a t e n to evict h i m . EDMUND N o , h e didn't b e e f a b o u t a n y t h i n g . H e w a s s o p l e a s e d with life h e even b o u g h t a drink, a n d that's p r a c t i c a l l y u n h e a r d of. H e w a s d e l i g h t e d b e c a u s e he'd h a d a fight with y o u r friend, H a r k e r , the S t a n d a r d Oil m i l l i o n a i r e , a n d w o n a g l o r i o u s victory. M A R Y [with amused dismay] O h , L o r d ! J a m e s , you'll really h a v e to d o s o m e thing— TYRONE B a d l u c k to S h a u g h n e s s y , anyway! J A M I E [maliciously] I'll b e t the next t i m e y o u s e e H a r k e r at the C l u b a n d give h i m the old r e s p e c t f u l b o w , h e won't s e e y o u . EDMUND Y e s . H a r k e r will think you're n o g e n t l e m a n for h a r b o r i n g a tenant w h o isn't h u m b l e in the p r e s e n c e of a k i n g of A m e r i c a . TYRONE N e v e r m i n d the S o c i a l i s t g a b b l e . I don't c a r e to l i s t e n — M A R Y [tactfully] G o o n with y o u r story, E d m u n d . E D M U N D [grins at his father provocatively] W e l l , you r e m e m b e r , P a p a , the i c e p o n d o n H a r k e r ' s e s t a t e is right next to t h e f a r m , a n d y o u r e m e m b e r S h a u g h n e s s y k e e p s p i g s . W e l l , it s e e m s there's a b r e a k in the f e n c e a n d the p i g s h a v e b e e n b a t h i n g in the millionaire's i c e p o n d , a n d H a r k e r ' s f o r e m a n told h i m h e w a s s u r e S h a u g h n e s s y h a d b r o k e n t h e f e n c e o n p u r p o s e to give his p i g s a free wallow. M A R Y [shocked and amused] G o o d heavens! T Y R O N E [sourly, hut with a trace of admiration] I'm s u r e h e d i d , t o o , t h e dirty scallywag. It's like h i m . EDMUND S o H a r k e r c a m e in p e r s o n to r e b u k e S h a u g h n e s s y . [He chuckles.] A very b o n e h e a d play! If I n e e d e d any further p r o o f that o u r ruling p l u t o c r a t s , e s p e c i a l l y the o n e s w h o i n h e r i t e d their b o o d l e , a r e n o t m e n t a l g i a n t s , that w o u l d c l i n c h it. T Y R O N E [with appreciation, before he thinks] Y e s , he'd b e n o m a t c h for S h a u g h n e s s y . [then he growls] K e e p y o u r d a m n e d a n a r c h i s t r e m a r k s to yourself. I won't h a v e t h e m in my h o u s e . [But he is full of eager anticipation.] What happened? EDMUND H a r k e r h a d a s m u c h c h a n c e a s I w o u l d with J a c k J o h n s o n . 5 S h a u g h n e s s y got a few drinks u n d e r his belt a n d w a s w a i t i n g at the g a t e 4. I.e., drunk.

5. F a m o u s prizefighter.

2012

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

to w e l c o m e h i m . H e told m e h e never g a v e H a r k e r a c h a n c e to o p e n his m o u t h . H e b e g a n by s h o u t i n g that h e w a s n o s l a v e S t a n d a r d Oil c o u l d t r a m p l e o n . H e w a s a K i n g of I r e l a n d , if h e h a d his rights, a n d s c u m w a s s c u m to h i m , n o m a t t e r h o w m u c h m o n e y it h a d s t o l e n f r o m the p o o r . MARY O h , L o r d ! [But she can't help laughing.] EDMUND T h e n h e a c c u s e d H a r k e r o f m a k i n g his f o r e m a n b r e a k d o w n the f e n c e to e n t i c e the p i g s into t h e i c e p o n d in o r d e r to d e s t r o y t h e m . T h e p o o r p i g s , S h a u g h n e s s y yelled, h a d c a u g h t their d e a t h o f c o l d . M a n y o f t h e m w e r e dying of p n e u m o n i a , a n d several o t h e r s h a d b e e n t a k e n d o w n with c h o l e r a f r o m d r i n k i n g the p o i s o n e d w a t e r . H e told H a r k e r h e w a s hiring a lawyer to s u e h i m for d a m a g e s . A n d h e w o u n d u p by s a y i n g that h e h a d to p u t u p with p o i s o n ivy, ticks, p o t a t o b u g s , s n a k e s a n d s k u n k s on his f a r m , b u t h e w a s a n h o n e s t m a n w h o d r e w t h e line s o m e w h e r e , a n d he'd b e d a m n e d if he'd s t a n d for a S t a n d a r d Oil thief t r e s p a s s i n g . S o w o u l d H a r k e r kindly r e m o v e his dirty feet f r o m the p r e m i s e s b e f o r e h e s i c k e d t h e d o g o n h i m . A n d H a r k e r did! [He and J A M I E laugh.] M A R Y [shocked but giggling] H e a v e n s , w h a t a terrible t o n g u e t h a t m a n h a s ! T Y R O N E [admiringly before he thinks] T h e d a m n e d old s c o u n d r e l ! By G o d , you can't b e a t h i m ! [He laughs—then stops abruptly and scowls.] T h e dirty b l a c k g u a r d ! He'll g e t m e in s e r i o u s t r o u b l e yet. I h o p e y o u told h i m I'd be mad as hell— EDMUND I told h i m you'd b e tickled to d e a t h over t h e g r e a t Irish victory, a n d s o you a r e . S t o p faking, P a p a . TYRONE W e l l , I'm n o t tickled to d e a t h . M A R Y [teasingly] You are, too, J a m e s . You're simply delighted! TYRONE N o , M a r y , a j o k e is a j o k e , b u t — EDMUND I told S h a u g h n e s s y h e s h o u l d h a v e r e m i n d e d H a r k e r t h a t a S t a n d a r d Oil m i l l i o n a i r e o u g h t to w e l c o m e t h e flavor o f h o g in his ice w a t e r as an appropriate touch. TYRONE T h e devil you did! [frowning] K e e p y o u r d a m n e d S o c i a l i s t anarc h i s t s e n t i m e n t s o u t of my affairs! EDMUND S h a u g h n e s s y a l m o s t w e p t b e c a u s e h e h a d n ' t t h o u g h t of that o n e , b u t h e s a i d he'd i n c l u d e it in a letter he's writing to H a r k e r , a l o n g with a few o t h e r i n s u l t s he'd o v e r l o o k e d . [He and J A M I E laugh.] TYRONE W h a t a r e you l a u g h i n g a t ? T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g f u n n y — A fine s o n y o u a r e to h e l p t h a t b l a c k g u a r d g e t m e into a l a w s u i t ! MARY N o w , J a m e s , don't l o s e your t e m p e r . T Y R O N E [turns on J A M I E ] A n d you're w o r s e t h a n h e is, e n c o u r a g i n g h i m . I s u p p o s e you're r e g r e t t i n g y o u weren't t h e r e to p r o m p t S h a u g h n e s s y with a few n a s t i e r i n s u l t s . You've a fine t a l e n t for t h a t , if for n o t h i n g e l s e . MARY J a m e s ! T h e r e ' s n o r e a s o n to s c o l d J a m i e . [ J A M I E is about to make some sneering remark to his father, but he shrugs his shoulders. ] E D M U N D [with sudden nervous exasperation] O h , for G o d ' s s a k e , P a p a ! If you're s t a r t i n g t h a t s t u f f a g a i n , I'll b e a t it. [He jumps up.] I left my b o o k u p s t a i r s , anyway. [He goes to the front parlor, saying disgustedly] God, P a p a , I s h o u l d think you'd g e t s i c k o f h e a r i n g y o u r s e l f — [He disappears. T Y R O N E looks after him angrily.] MARY You m u s n ' t m i n d E d m u n d , J a m e s . R e m e m b e r h e isn't well. [ E D M U N D can be heard coughing as he goes upstairs. She adds nervously]

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

1

/

2013

A s u m m e r c o l d m a k e s a n y o n e irritable. [genuinely concerned] It's n o t j u s t a c o l d he's g o t . T h e Kid is d a m n e d sick.

JAMIE

[His father gives hint a sharp warning look hut he doesn't see it] [turns on him resentfully] W h y d o you s a y t h a t ? It is j u s t a c o l d ! A n y o n e c a n tell that! You always i m a g i n e t h i n g s ! T Y R O N E [with another warning glance at J A M I E — e a s i l y ] All J a m i e m e a n t w a s E d m u n d m i g h t have a t o u c h of s o m e t h i n g e l s e , t o o , w h i c h m a k e s his c o l d w o r s e . JAMIE S u r e , M a m a . T h a t ' s all I m e a n t . TYRONE D o c t o r H a r d y thinks it m i g h t b e a bit o f m a l a r i a l fever h e c a u g h t w h e n h e w a s in t h e t r o p i c s . If it is, q u i n i n e will s o o n c u r e it. M A R Y [a look of contemptuous hostility flashes across her face] Doctor Hardy! I w o u l d n ' t believe a t h i n g h e s a i d , if h e s w o r e o n a s t a c k o f B i b l e s ! I k n o w w h a t d o c t o r s a r e . T h e y ' r e all alike. A n y t h i n g , they don't c a r e w h a t , to k e e p you c o m i n g to t h e m . [She stops short, overcome by a fit of acute self-consciousness as she catches their eyes fixed on her. Her hands jerk nervously to her hair. She forces a smile.] W h a t is it? W h a t a r e you l o o k i n g a t ? Is my h a i r — ? T Y R O N E [puts his arm around her—with guilty heartiness, giving her a playful hug] T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g w r o n g with your hair. T h e h e a l t h i e r a n d fatter you g e t , the vainer you b e c o m e . You'll s o o n s p e n d half the d a y p r i m p i n g b e f o r e the mirror. M A R Y [half reassured] I really s h o u l d h a v e n e w g l a s s e s . M y eyes a r e s o b a d now. T Y R O N E [with Irish blarney] Y o u r eyes a r e b e a u t i f u l , a n d well you k n o w it. [He gives her a kiss. Her face lights up with a charming, shy embarrassment. Suddenly and startlingly one sees in her face the girl she had once been, not a ghost of the dead, but still a living part of her. ] MARY You m u s t n ' t b e s o silly, J a m e s . R i g h t in front o f J a m i e ! TYRONE O h , he's o n to y o u , t o o . H e k n o w s this f u s s a b o u t eyes a n d hair is only fishing for c o m p l i m e n t s . E h , J a m i e ? J A M I E [his face has cleared, too, and there is an old boyish charm in his loving smile at his mother] Y e s , You can't kid u s , M a m a . M A R Y [laughs and an Irish lilt comes into her voice] G o a l o n g with b o t h o f you! [then she speaks with a girlish gravity] B u t I did truly h a v e b e a u t i f u l hair o n c e , didn't I, J a m e s ? TYRONE T h e m o s t b e a u t i f u l in the world! MARY It w a s a rare s h a d e of r e d d i s h b r o w n a n d s o l o n g it c a m e d o w n b e l o w my k n e e s . You o u g h t to r e m e m b e r it, t o o , J a m i e . It w a s n ' t until after E d m u n d w a s b o r n t h a t I h a d a s i n g l e grey hair. T h e n it b e g a n to turn white. [The girlishness fades from her face.] T Y R O N E [quickly] A n d that m a d e it prettier t h a n ever. M A R Y [again embarrassed and pleased] Will you listen to y o u r father, J a m i e — a f t e r thirty-five years o f m a r r i a g e ! H e isn't a g r e a t a c t o r for n o t h ing, is h e ? W h a t ' s c o m e over y o u , J a m e s ? A r e you p o u r i n g c o a l s of fire o n my h e a d for t e a s i n g you a b o u t s n o r i n g ? W e l l , t h e n , I t a k e it all b a c k . It m u s t have b e e n only the f o g h o r n I h e a r d . [She laughs, and they laugh with her. Then she changes to a brisk businesslike air.] B u t I c a n ' t stay with you any longer, even to h e a r c o m p l i m e n t s . I m u s t s e e the c o o k a b o u t MARY

2014

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

d i n n e r a n d the day's m a r k e t i n g . [She gets up and sighs with humorous exaggeration.] B r i d g e t is s o lazy. A n d s o sly. S h e b e g i n s telling m e a b o u t her relatives s o I can't g e t a w o r d in e d g e w a y s a n d s c o l d her. W e l l , I m i g h t a s well g e t it over. [She goes to the hack-parlor doorway, then turns, her face worried again.] You m u s t n ' t m a k e E d m u n d work o n the g r o u n d s with y o u , J a m e s , r e m e m b e r , [again with the strange obstinate set to her face] N o t that h e isn't s t r o n g e n o u g h , b u t he'd p e r s p i r e a n d h e m i g h t catch more cold. [She disappears through the back parlor. T Y R O N E turns on J A M I E condemningly.] TYRONE You're a fine l u n k h e a d ! H a v e n ' t you a n y s e n s e ? T h e o n e t h i n g to avoid is saying a n y t h i n g that w o u l d get her m o r e u p s e t over E d m u n d . J A M I E [shrugging his shoidders] All right. H a v e it your way. I think it's the w r o n g idea to let M a m a g o o n k i d d i n g yourself. It will only m a k e t h e s h o c k w o r s e w h e n s h e h a s to f a c e it. Anyway, you c a n s e e s h e ' s deliberately fooling h e r s e l f with that s u m m e r c o l d talk. S h e k n o w s better. TYRONE K n o w s ? N o b o d y k n o w s yet. JAMIE W e l l , I d o . I w a s with E d m u n d w h e n h e went to D o c H a r d y o n M o n d a y . I h e a r d him pull that t o u c h of m a l a r i a stuff. H e w a s stalling. T h a t isn't w h a t he thinks a n y m o r e . You k n o w it a s well a s I d o . You talked to h i m w h e n you went u p t o w n y e s t e r d a y , didn't y o u ? TYRONE H e c o u l d n ' t s a y a n y t h i n g for s u r e yet. H e ' s to p h o n e m e today b e f o r e E d m u n d g o e s to h i m . JAMIE [slowly] H e thinks it's c o n s u m p t i o n / ' d o e s n ' t h e , P a p a ? TYRONE [reluctantly] H e s a i d it m i g h t b e . JAMIE [moved, his love for his brother coming out] P o o r kid! G o d d a m n it! [He turns on his father accusingly.] It m i g h t never h a v e h a p p e n e d if you'd s e n t h i m to a real d o c t o r w h e n h e first got sick. TYRONE W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with H a r d y ? H e ' s always b e e n o u r d o c t o r u p here. JAMIE Everything's the m a t t e r with h i m ! E v e n in this h i c k b u r g he's r a t e d third c l a s s ! H e ' s a c h e a p old q u a c k ! TYRONE T h a t ' s right! R u n h i m d o w n ! R u n d o w n everybody! E v e r y o n e is a fake to y o u ! J A M I E [contemptuously] H a r d y only c h a r g e s a dollar. T h a t ' s w h a t m a k e s you think he's a fine d o c t o r ! T Y R O N E [stung] T h a t ' s e n o u g h ! Y o u ' r e not d r u n k now! T h e r e ' s n o e x c u s e — [He controls himself—a bit defensively] If y o u m e a n I c a n ' t afford o n e o f the fine society d o c t o r s w h o prey o n the rich s u m m e r p e o p l e — JAMIE C a n ' t afford? Y o u ' r e o n e of t h e b i g g e s t property o w n e r s a r o u n d here. TYRONE T h a t d o e s n ' t m e a n I'm r i c h . It's all m o r t g a g e d — JAMIE B e c a u s e you always b u y m o r e i n s t e a d of p a y i n g off m o r t g a g e s . If E d m u n d w a s a lousy a c r e of l a n d you w a n t e d , the sky w o u l d b e the limit! TYRONE T h a t ' s a lie! A n d y o u r s n e e r s a g a i n s t D o c t o r H a r d y a r e lies! H e d o e s n ' t p u t on frills, or have a n office in a f a s h i o n a b l e l o c a t i o n , or drive a r o u n d in a n e x p e n s i v e a u t o m o b i l e . T h a t ' s w h a t you p a y for with t h o s e other five-dollars-to-look-at-your-tongue f e l l o w s , not their skill. 6. Tuberculosis.

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT, ACT

1

/

2015

[with a scornful shrug of his shoulders] O h , all right. I'm a fool to a r g u e . You can't c h a n g e the l e o p a r d ' s s p o t s . T Y R O N E [with rising anger] N o , you c a n ' t . You've t a u g h t m e that l e s s o n only too well. I've lost all h o p e you will ever c h a n g e y o u r s . You d a r e tell m e w h a t I c a n afford? You've never k n o w n the v a l u e of a dollar a n d never will! You've never s a v e d a dollar in your life! At the e n d o f e a c h s e a s o n you're p e n n i l e s s ! You've thrown your salary a w a y every w e e k o n w h o r e s a n d whiskey!

JAMIE

M y salary! C h r i s t ! It's m o r e t h a n you're w o r t h , a n d you c o u l d n ' t get t h a t if it w a s n ' t for m e . If you weren't my s o n , t h e r e isn't a m a n a g e r in the b u s i n e s s w h o w o u l d give you a p a r t , y o u r r e p u t a t i o n stinks s o . As it is, I h a v e to h u m b l e my p r i d e a n d b e g for y o u , s a y i n g you've t u r n e d over a n e w leaf, a l t h o u g h I k n o w it's a lie! JAMIE I never w a n t e d to b e a n a c t o r . You f o r c e d m e o n t h e s t a g e . TYRONE T h a t ' s a lie! You m a d e no effort to find a n y t h i n g e l s e to d o . You left it to m e to g e t you a j o b a n d I h a v e n o i n f l u e n c e e x c e p t in the t h e a t e r . F o r c e d you! You never w a n t e d to d o a n y t h i n g e x c e p t l o a f in b a r r o o m s ! You'd h a v e b e e n c o n t e n t to sit b a c k like a lazy l u n k a n d s p o n g e o n m e for the rest of y o u r life! After all the m o n e y I'd w a s t e d o n your e d u c a t i o n , a n d all you did w a s get fired in d i s g r a c e f r o m every c o l l e g e you w e n t to! JAMIE O h , for G o d ' s s a k e , don't d r a g u p that a n c i e n t history! TYRONE It's not a n c i e n t history that you h a v e to c o m e h o m e every s u m m e r to live o n m e . JAMIE I e a r n my b o a r d a n d l o d g i n g w o r k i n g o n the g r o u n d s . It s a v e s you hiring a m a n . TYRONE B a h ! You have to b e driven to d o even that m u c h ! [His anger ebbs into a weary complaint.] I w o u l d n ' t give a d a m n if you ever d i s p l a y e d the slightest sign of g r a t i t u d e . T h e only t h a n k s is to have you s n e e r at m e for a dirty m i s e r , s n e e r at my p r o f e s s i o n , s n e e r at every d a m n e d t h i n g in the w o r l d — e x c e p t yourself. J A M I E [wry/y] T h a t ' s not t r u e , P a p a . Y o u can't h e a r m e talking to myself, that's all. T Y R O N E [stares at him puzzledly, then quotes mechanically] "Ingratitude, the vilest w e e d that g r o w s " ! 7 JAMIE I c o u l d s e e that line c o m i n g ! G o d , h o w m a n y t h o u s a n d t i m e s — ! [He stops, bored with their quarrel, and shrugs his shoulders.] All right, P a p a . I'm a b u m . A n y t h i n g you like, s o l o n g a s it s t o p s the a r g u m e n t . T Y R O N E [with indignant appeal now] If you'd get a m b i t i o n in y o u r h e a d i n s t e a d of folly! You're y o u n g yet. You c o u l d still m a k e y o u r m a r k . You h a d the talent to b e c o m e a fine actor! You h a v e it still. Y o u ' r e my s o n — ! J A M I E [boredly] L e t ' s forget m e . I'm not i n t e r e s t e d in the s u b j e c t . N e i t h e r a r e y o u . [ T Y R O N E gives up. J A M I E goes on casually.] W h a t started us on this? O h , D o c H a r d y . W h e n is h e g o i n g to call you u p a b o u t E d m u n d ? TYRONE A r o u n d l u n c h t i m e . [He pauses—then defensively] I c o u l d n ' t have s e n t E d m u n d to a b e t t e r d o c t o r . H a r d y ' s t r e a t e d h i m w h e n e v e r h e w a s sick u p h e r e , s i n c e h e w a s k n e e h i g h . H e k n o w s his c o n s t i t u t i o n a s n o o t h e r d o c t o r c o u l d . It's not a q u e s t i o n of my b e i n g miserly, a s you'd like JAMIE

TYRONE

7. Shakespeare's King Lear

1.4.

2016

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

to m a k e o u t . [bitterly] A n d w h a t c o u l d t h e finest s p e c i a l i s t in A m e r i c a d o for E d m u n d , after he's d e l i b e r a t e l y r u i n e d his h e a l t h by t h e m a d life h e ' s led ever s i n c e h e w a s fired f r o m c o l l e g e ? E v e n b e f o r e t h a t w h e n h e w a s in p r e p s c h o o l , h e b e g a n d i s s i p a t i n g a n d p l a y i n g t h e B r o a d w a y s p o r t to i m i t a t e y o u , w h e n h e ' s n e v e r h a d y o u r c o n s t i t u t i o n to s t a n d it. Y o u ' r e a h e a l t h y h u l k like m e — o r y o u w e r e a t his a g e — b u t h e ' s a l w a y s b e e n a b u n d l e o f n e r v e s like his m o t h e r . I've w a r n e d h i m for y e a r s his b o d y c o u l d n ' t s t a n d it, b u t h e w o u l d n ' t h e e d m e , a n d n o w it's too l a t e . W h a t d o y o u m e a n , t o o l a t e ? Y o u talk a s if y o u t h o u g h t — D o n ' t b e a d a m n e d fool! I m e a n t n o t h i n g b u t w h a t ' s p l a i n to a n y o n e ! H i s h e a l t h h a s b r o k e n d o w n a n d h e m a y b e a n invalid for a l o n g t i m e . J A M I E [stares at his father, ignoring his explanation] I k n o w it's a n Irish p e a s a n t i d e a c o n s u m p t i o n is fatal. It p r o b a b l y is w h e n y o u live in a hovel o n a b o g , b u t over h e r e , with m o d e r n t r e a t m e n t — TYRONE D o n ' t I k n o w that! W h a t a r e you g a b b i n g a b o u t , anyway? A n d k e e p y o u r dirty t o n g u e off I r e l a n d , with y o u r s n e e r s a b o u t p e a s a n t s a n d b o g s a n d h o v e l s ! [accusingly] T h e less you say about E d m u n d ' s sickness, t h e b e t t e r for y o u r c o n s c i e n c e ! Y o u ' r e m o r e r e s p o n s i b l e t h a n a n y o n e ! J A M I E [stung] T h a t ' s a lie! I won't s t a n d for t h a t , P a p a ! TYRONE It's t h e t r u t h ! You've b e e n t h e w o r s t i n f l u e n c e for h i m . H e g r e w u p a d m i r i n g y o u a s a h e r o ! A fine e x a m p l e y o u s e t h i m ! If y o u ever g a v e h i m a d v i c e e x c e p t in t h e w a y s of r o t t e n n e s s , I've n e v e r h e a r d of it! Y o u m a d e h i m old b e f o r e his t i m e , p u m p i n g h i m full of w h a t you c o n s i d e r worldly w i s d o m , w h e n h e w a s t o o y o u n g to s e e t h a t y o u r m i n d w a s s o p o i s o n e d by y o u r o w n failure in life, you w a n t e d to b e l i e v e every m a n w a s a k n a v e with his s o u l for s a l e , a n d every w o m a n w h o w a s n ' t a w h o r e w a s a fool!

JAMIE

[sharply]

TYRONE

[guiltily

explosive]

[with a defensive air of weary indifference again] All right. I did p u t E d m u n d w i s e to t h i n g s , b u t not until I s a w h e ' d s t a r t e d to r a i s e hell, a n d k n e w h e ' d l a u g h at m e if I tried t h e g o o d a d v i c e , o l d e r b r o t h e r stuff. All I d i d w a s m a k e a pal o f h i m a n d b e a b s o l u t e l y f r a n k s o h e ' d l e a r n f r o m m y m i s t a k e s t h a t — [ H e shrugs his shoulders—cynically] W e l l , t h a t if y o u c a n ' t b e g o o d you c a n at l e a s t b e c a r e f u l .

JAMIE

[His

father

snorts

contemptuously.

Suddenly

JAMIE

becomes

really

moved. ]

T h a t ' s a rotten a c c u s a t i o n , P a p a . Y o u k n o w h o w m u c h t h e K i d m e a n s to m e , a n d h o w c l o s e we've a l w a y s b e e n — n o t like t h e u s u a l b r o t h e r s ! I'd d o a n y t h i n g for h i m . T Y R O N E [impressed—mollifyingly] I k n o w you m a y h a v e t h o u g h t it w a s for t h e b e s t , J a m i e . I didn't say y o u did it d e l i b e r a t e l y to h a r m h i m . JAMIE B e s i d e s it's d a m n e d rot! I'd like to s e e a n y o n e i n f l u e n c e E d m u n d m o r e t h a n h e w a n t s to b e . H i s q u i e t n e s s f o o l s p e o p l e i n t o t h i n k i n g they c a n d o w h a t they like with h i m . B u t h e ' s s t u b b o r n a s hell i n s i d e a n d w h a t h e d o e s is w h a t h e w a n t s to d o , a n d to hell with a n y o n e e l s e ! W h a t h a d I to d o with all t h e crazy s t u n t s h e ' s p u l l e d in t h e l a s t few y e a r s — w o r k i n g his w a y all over t h e m a p a s a sailor a n d all t h a t stuff. I t h o u g h t t h a t w a s a d a m n e d fool i d e a , a n d I told h i m s o . Y o u c a n ' t i m a g i n e m e g e t t i n g fun o u t of b e i n g o n t h e b e a c h in S o u t h A m e r i c a , or living in filthy d i v e s , d r i n k i n g r o t g u t , c a n y o u ? N o , t h a n k s ! I'll s t i c k to B r o a d w a y , a n d a r o o m with a b a t h , a n d b a r s t h a t s e r v e b o n d e d B o u r b o n .

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT,

ACT

1

/

2017

You a n d B r o a d w a y ! It's m a d e you w h a t you a r e ! [with a touch of pride] W h a t e v e r E d m u n d ' s d o n e , he's h a d the g u t s to g o off o n his o w n , w h e r e h e c o u l d n ' t c o m e w h i n i n g to m e the m i n u t e h e w a s b r o k e . J A M I E [stung into sneering jealousy] H e ' s always c o m e h o m e b r o k e finally, h a s n ' t h e ? A n d w h a t did his g o i n g a w a y get h i m ? L o o k at h i m now! [He is suddenly shamefaced.] C h r i s t ! T h a t ' s a l o u s y t h i n g to say. I don't m e a n that. T Y R O N E [decides to ignore this] H e ' s b e e n d o i n g well o n the p a p e r . I w a s h o p i n g he'd f o u n d t h e w o r k h e w a n t s to d o at l a s t . J A M I E [sneering jealously again] A hick town rag! W h a t e v e r bull they h a n d y o u , they tell m e he's a pretty b u m reporter. If h e weren't y o u r s o n — [ashamed again] N o , that's not t r u e ! T h e y ' r e g l a d to h a v e h i m , b u t it's the s p e c i a l stuff t h a t g e t s h i m by. S o m e o f t h e p o e m s a n d p a r o d i e s he's written a r e d a m n e d g o o d , [grudgingly again] N o t t h a t they'd ever get h i m a n y w h e r e o n the b i g t i m e , [hastily] B u t he's certainly m a d e a d a m n e d g o o d start. TYRONE Y e s . H e ' s m a d e a start. You u s e d to talk a b o u t w a n t i n g to b e c o m e a n e w s p a p e r m a n b u t you w e r e never willing to start at the b o t t o m . You expected— JAMIE O h , for C h r i s t ' s s a k e , P a p a ! C a n ' t you lay off m e ! T Y R O N E [stares at him—then looks away—after a pause] It's d a m n a b l e l u c k E d m u n d s h o u l d b e sick right n o w . It c o u l d n ' t have c o m e at a w o r s e t i m e for h i m . [He adds, unable to conceal an almost furtive uneasiness] O r for y o u r m o t h e r . It's d a m n a b l e s h e s h o u l d h a v e this to u p s e t her, j u s t w h e n s h e n e e d s p e a c e a n d f r e e d o m from worry. S h e ' s b e e n s o well in the two m o n t h s s i n c e s h e c a m e h o m e . [His voice grows husky and trembles a little.] It's b e e n h e a v e n to m e . T h i s h o m e h a s b e e n a h o m e a g a i n . B u t I n e e d n ' t tell y o u , J a m i e . [His son looks at him, for the first time with an understanding sympathy. It is as if suddenly a deep bond of common feeling existed between them in which their antagonisms could be forgotten.] J A M I E [almost gently] I've felt the s a m e way, P a p a . TYRONE Y e s , this t i m e you c a n s e e h o w s t r o n g a n d s u r e of h e r s e l f s h e is. S h e ' s a different w o m a n entirely f r o m the o t h e r t i m e s . S h e h a s c o n t r o l of her n e r v e s — o r s h e h a d until E d m u n d got sick. N o w y o u c a n feel h e r g r o w i n g t e n s e a n d f r i g h t e n e d u n d e r n e a t h . I w i s h to G o d w e c o u l d k e e p the truth f r o m her, b u t w e c a n ' t if h e h a s to b e s e n t to a s a n a t o r i u m . W h a t m a k e s it w o r s e is her father d i e d o f c o n s u m p t i o n . S h e w o r s h i p e d h i m a n d s h e ' s never f o r g o t t e n . Y e s , it will b e h a r d for her. B u t s h e c a n d o it! S h e h a s the will p o w e r now! W e m u s t h e l p her, J a m i e , in every way we can! J A M I E [moved] O f c o u r s e , P a p a , [hesitantly] Outside of nerves, she s e e m s perfectly all right this m o r n i n g . T Y R O N E [with hearty confidence now] N e v e r better. S h e ' s full of fun a n d W h y d o y o u say, m i s c h i e f . [Suddenly he frowns at J A M I E suspiciously.] s e e m s ? W h y s h o u l d n ' t s h e b e all right? W h a t the hell d o you m e a n ? JAMIE D o n ' t start j u m p i n g d o w n my throat! G o d , P a p a , this o u g h t to b e o n e t h i n g w e c a n talk over frankly w i t h o u t a b a t t l e . TYRONE I'm sorry, J a m i e , [tensely] B u t g o o n a n d tell m e — JAMIE T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g to tell. I w a s all w r o n g . It's j u s t t h a t last n i g h t — Well, you k n o w h o w it is, I can't forget the p a s t . I c a n ' t h e l p b e i n g s u s TYRONE

2018

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

p i c i o u s . Any m o r e t h a n you c a n . [bitterly] T h a t ' s the hell of it. A n d it m a k e s it hell for M a m a ! S h e w a t c h e s u s w a t c h i n g h e r — T Y R O N E [sadly] I know, [tensely] W e l l , w h a t w a s it! C a n ' t you s p e a k o u t ! JAMIE N o t h i n g , I tell y o u . J u s t my d a m n e d f o o l i s h n e s s . A r o u n d t h r e e o'clock this m o r n i n g , I w o k e u p a n d h e a r d her m o v i n g a r o u n d in t h e s p a r e r o o m . T h e n s h e went to the b a t h r o o m . I p r e t e n d e d to b e a s l e e p . S h e s t o p p e d in the hall to listen, a s if s h e w a n t e d to m a k e s u r e I w a s . T Y R O N E [with forced scorn] F o r G o d ' s s a k e , is that all? S h e told m e h e r s e l f the f o g h o r n kept her a w a k e all night, a n d every night s i n c e E d m u n d ' s b e e n sick s h e ' s b e e n u p a n d d o w n , g o i n g to his r o o m to s e e h o w h e w a s . J A M I E [eagerly] Y e s , that's right, s h e did s t o p to listen o u t s i d e his r o o m . [hesitantly again] It w a s her b e i n g in t h e s p a r e r o o m t h a t s c a r e d m e . I c o u l d n ' t h e l p r e m e m b e r i n g that w h e n s h e s t a r t s s l e e p i n g a l o n e in t h e r e , it h a s a l w a y s b e e n a s i g n — TYRONE It isn't this t i m e ! It's easily e x p l a i n e d . W h e r e e l s e c o u l d s h e g o last night to get away f r o m my s n o r i n g ? [He gives way to a burst of resentful anger.] By G o d , h o w you c a n live with a m i n d that s e e s n o t h i n g but the worst m o t i v e s b e h i n d everything is b e y o n d m e ! J A M I E [stung] D o n ' t pull that! I've j u s t s a i d I w a s all w r o n g . D o n ' t you s u p p o s e I'm a s glad of that a s you a r e ! T Y R O N E [mollifyingly] I'm s u r e you a r e , J a m i e . [A pause. His expression becomes somber. He speaks slowly with a superstitious dread.] It w o u l d b e like a c u r s e s h e can't e s c a p e if worry over E d m u n d — I t w a s her l o n g s i c k n e s s after b r i n g i n g him into the world t h a t s h e f i r s t — JAMIE S h e didn't h a v e a n y t h i n g to do with it! TYRONE I'm not b l a m i n g her. J A M I E [bitingly] T h e n w h o a r e you b l a m i n g ? E d m u n d , for b e i n g b o r n ? TYRONE You d a m n e d fool! N o o n e w a s to b l a m e . JAMIE T h e b a s t a r d of a d o c t o r w a s ! F r o m w h a t M a m a ' s s a i d , h e w a s a n o t h e r c h e a p q u a c k like H a r d y ! You w o u l d n ' t p a y for a f i r s t - r a t e — TYRONE T h a t ' s a lie! [furiously] S o I'm to b l a m e ! T h a t ' s w h a t you're driving at, is it? You e v i l - m i n d e d loafer! J A M I E [warningly as he hears his mother in the dining room] Ssh! [ T Y R O N E gets hastily to his feet and goes to look out the windows at right. J A M I E speaks with a complete change of tone.] W e l l , if we're g o i n g to c u t the front h e d g e today, we'd better g o to work. [ M A R Y comes in from the back parlor. She gives a quick, suspicious glance from one to the other, her manner nervously self-conscious.] T Y R O N E [turns from the window—with an actor's heartiness] Y e s , it's t o o fine a m o r n i n g to w a s t e i n d o o r s a r g u i n g . T a k e a look o u t the w i n d o w , M a r y . T h e r e ' s n o fog in the h a r b o r . I'm s u r e the spell o f it we've h a d is over n o w . M A R Y [going to him] I h o p e s o , d e a r , [to J A M I E , forcing a smile] D i d I a c t u a l l y h e a r you s u g g e s t i n g w o r k on t h e front h e d g e , J a m i e ? W o n d e r s will never c e a s e ! You m u s t w a n t p o c k e t m o n e y badly. J A M I E [kiddingly] W h e n don't I? [He winks at her, with a derisive glance at his father.] I e x p e c t a salary of at least o n e l a r g e iron m a n 8 at t h e e n d of the w e e k — t o c a r o u s e o n ! S. Slang for "dollar."

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT,

ACT

1

/

2019

[does not respond to his humor—her hands fluttering over the front of her dress] W h a t were you two a r g u i n g a b o u t ? J A M I E [shrugs his shoulders] T h e s a m e old stuff. MARY I h e a r d you say s o m e t h i n g a b o u t a d o c t o r , a n d y o u r f a t h e r a c c u s i n g you of b e i n g e v i l - m i n d e d . J A M I E [quickly] O h , that. I w a s saying a g a i n D o c H a r d y isn't my i d e a of the world's g r e a t e s t p h y s i c i a n . M A R Y [knows he is lying—vaguely] O h . N o , I w o u l d n ' t say h e w a s either. [changing the subject—forcing a smile] T h a t Bridget! I t h o u g h t I'd never get away. S h e told m e a b o u t her s e c o n d c o u s i n o n the p o l i c e f o r c e in S t . L o u i s , [then with nervous irritation] W e l l , if you're g o i n g to w o r k o n the h e d g e why don't you g o ? [hastily] I m e a n , t a k e a d v a n t a g e of the s u n s h i n e b e f o r e the fog c o m e s b a c k , [strangely, as if talking aloud to herself] B e c a u s e I know it will. [Suddenly she is self-consciously aware that they are both staring fixedly at her—flurriedly, raising her hands] O r I s h o u l d say, the r h e u m a t i s m in my h a n d s k n o w s . It's a b e t t e r w e a t h e r p r o p h e t t h a n you a r e , J a m e s . [She stares at her hands with fascinated repulsion.] U g h ! H o w ugly they a r e ! W h o ' d ever believe they w e r e o n c e b e a u t i f u l ? [The} stare at her with a growing dread.] T Y R O N E [takes her hands and gently pushes them down] Now, now, Mary. N o n e of that f o o l i s h n e s s . T h e y ' r e the s w e e t e s t h a n d s in the world. [She smiles, her face lighting up, and kisses him gratefully. He turns to his son.] C o m e on J a m i e . Y o u r m o t h e r ' s right to s c o l d u s . T h e way to start work is to start work. T h e hot s u n will s w e a t s o m e of that b o o z e fat off y o u r middle. [He opens the screen door and goes out on the porch and disappears down a flight of steps leading to the ground, J A M I E rises from his chair and, taking off his coat, goes to the door. At the door he turns back but avoids looking at her, and she does not look at him. ] J A M I E [with an awkward, uneasy tenderness] W e ' r e all s o p r o u d of y o u , M a m a , so darned happy. [She stiffens and stares at him with a frightened defiance. He flounders on.] B u t you've still got to b e c a r e f u l . Y o u m u s t n ' t worry s o m u c h a b o u t E d m u n d . He'll be all right. M A R Y [with a stubborn, bitterly resentful look] O f c o u r s e , he'll b e all right. A n d I don't k n o w w h a t you m e a n , w a r n i n g m e to b e c a r e f u l . J A M I E [rebuffed and hurt, shrugs his shoulders] All right, M a m a . I'm sorry I spoke. [He goes out on the porch. She waits rigidly until he disappears down the steps. Then she sinks down in the chair he had occupied, her face betraying a frightened, furtive desperation, her hands roving over the table top, aimlessly moving objects around. She hears E D M U N D descending the stairs in the front hall. As he nears the bottom he has a fit of coughing. She springs to her feet, as if she wanted to run away from the sound, and goes quickly to the windows at right. She is looking out, apparently calm, as he enters from the front parlor, a book in one hand. She turns to him, her lips set in a welcoming, motherly smile.] MARY H e r e you a r e . I w a s j u s t g o i n g u p s t a i r s to look for y o u . MARY

1

2020

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

I w a i t e d until they w e n t o u t . I don't w a n t to mix u p in a n y a r g u m e n t s . I feel t o o r o t t e n . M A R Y [almost resentfully] O h , I'm s u r e you don't feel h a l f a s badly a s y o u m a k e o u t . Y o u ' r e s u c h a b a b y . You like to get u s w o r r i e d s o we'll m a k e a f u s s over y o u . [hastily] I'm only t e a s i n g , d e a r . I k n o w h o w m i s e r a b l y u n c o m f o r t a b l e you m u s t b e . B u t y o u feel b e t t e r t o d a y , don't y o u ? [worriedly, taking his arm] All the s a m e , you've g r o w n m u c h t o o thin. Y o u n e e d to rest all you c a n . S i t d o w n a n d I'll m a k e you c o m f o r t a b l e . [He sits down in the rocking chair and she puts a pillow behind his back.] There, How's that? EDMUND Grand. Thanks, Mama. M A R Y [kisses him—tenderly] All you n e e d is y o u r m o t h e r to n u r s e y o u . B i g a s you a r e , you're still the b a b y of the family to m e , y o u k n o w . E D M U N D [takes her hand—with deep seriousness] N e v e r m i n d m e . You t a k e c a r e of yourself. T h a t ' s all t h a t c o u n t s . M A R Y [evading his eyes] B u t I a m , d e a r , [forcing a laugh] H e a v e n s , don't you s e e h o w fat I've g r o w n ! I'll h a v e to h a v e all my d r e s s e s let o u t . [She turns away and goes to the windows at right. She attempts a light, amused tone.] T h e y ' v e s t a r t e d c l i p p i n g the h e d g e . P o o r J a m i e ! H o w h e h a t e s w o r k i n g in front w h e r e e v e r y o n e p a s s i n g c a n s e e h i m . T h e r e g o t h e C h a t fields in their n e w M e r c e d e s . It's a b e a u t i f u l c a r , isn't it? N o t like o u r s e c o n d h a n d P a c k a r d . P o o r J a m i e ! H e b e n t a l m o s t u n d e r the h e d g e s o they w o u l d n ' t n o t i c e h i m . T h e y b o w e d to y o u r f a t h e r a n d h e b o w e d b a c k a s if h e w e r e t a k i n g a c u r t a i n call. In t h a t filthy old suit I've tried to m a k e h i m throw away. [Her voice has grown bitter. ] Really, h e o u g h t to have m o r e p r i d e t h a n to m a k e s u c h a s h o w o f himself.

EDMUND

H e ' s right not to give a d a m n w h a t a n y o n e t h i n k s . J a m i e ' s a fool to c a r e a b o u t the C h a t f i e l d s . F o r P e t e ' s s a k e , w h o ever h e a r d of t h e m o u t s i d e this h i c k b u r g ? M A R Y [with satisfaction] N o o n e . You're q u i t e right, E d m u n d . B i g frogs in a s m a l l p u d d l e . It is s t u p i d of J a m i e . [She pauses, looking out the window—then with an undercurrent of lonely yearning] Still, the C h a t f i e l d s a n d p e o p l e like t h e m s t a n d for s o m e t h i n g . I m e a n they h a v e d e c e n t , p r e s e n t a b l e h o m e s they don't h a v e to b e a s h a m e d of. T h e y h a v e friends w h o e n t e r t a i n t h e m a n d w h o m they e n t e r t a i n . T h e y ' r e not c u t off f r o m e v e r y o n e . [She turns back from the window.] N o t t h a t I w a n t a n y t h i n g to d o with t h e m . I've always h a t e d this town a n d e v e r y o n e in it. You k n o w that. I never w a n t e d to live h e r e in t h e first p l a c e , b u t y o u r father liked it a n d i n s i s t e d o n b u i l d i n g this h o u s e , a n d I've h a d to c o m e h e r e every summer. EDMUND W e l l , it's b e t t e r t h a n s p e n d i n g the s u m m e r in a N e w York h o t e l , isn't it? A n d this town's not s o b a d . I like it well e n o u g h . I s u p p o s e b e c a u s e it's the only h o m e we've h a d . MARY I've never felt it w a s m y h o m e . It w a s w r o n g f r o m t h e start. Everyt h i n g w a s d o n e in the c h e a p e s t way. Y o u r f a t h e r w o u l d n e v e r s p e n d the m o n e y to m a k e it right. It's j u s t a s well w e h a v e n ' t a n y f r i e n d s h e r e . I'd b e a s h a m e d to have t h e m s t e p in the d o o r . B u t he's n e v e r w a n t e d family f r i e n d s . H e h a t e s c a l l i n g o n p e o p l e , or r e c e i v i n g t h e m . All h e likes is to h o b n o b with m e n at the C l u b or in a b a r r o o m . J a m i e a n d you a r e t h e s a m e way, b u t you're not to b l a m e . You've never h a d a c h a n c e to m e e t EDMUND

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

1

/

2021

d e c e n t p e o p l e h e r e . I k n o w you b o t h w o u l d have b e e n s o different if you'd b e e n a b l e to a s s o c i a t e with n i c e girls i n s t e a d o f — Y o u ' d never h a v e d i s g r a c e d y o u r s e l v e s a s y o u h a v e , s o t h a t n o w n o r e s p e c t a b l e p a r e n t s will let their d a u g h t e r s b e s e e n with y o u . E D M U N D [irritably] O h , M a m a , forget it! W h o c a r e s ? J a m i e a n d I w o u l d b e b o r e d stiff. A n d a b o u t the O l d M a n , w h a t ' s the u s e of t a l k i n g ? You can't c h a n g e h i m . [mechanically rebuking] D o n ' t call y o u r f a t h e r the O l d M a n . You s h o u l d h a v e m o r e r e s p e c t , [then dully] I k n o w it's u s e l e s s to talk. B u t s o m e t i m e s I feel s o lonely. [Her lips quiver and she keeps her head turned away. ] EDMUND Anyway, you've got to b e fair, M a m a . It m a y h a v e b e e n all his fault in the b e g i n n i n g , but you k n o w t h a t later o n , e v e n if he'd w a n t e d to, w e c o u l d n ' t h a v e h a d p e o p l e h e r e — [ H e flounders guiltily.] I m e a n , you wouldn't have wanted them. M A R Y [wincing—her lips quivering pitifully] Don't. I can't bear having you remind me. EDMUND D o n ' t t a k e it that way! P l e a s e , M a m a ! I'm trying to h e l p . B e c a u s e it's b a d for you to forget. T h e right w a y is to r e m e m b e r . S o you'll always b e o n your g u a r d . You k n o w what's h a p p e n e d b e f o r e , [miserably] God, M a m a , y o u k n o w I h a t e to r e m i n d y o u . I'm d o i n g it b e c a u s e it's b e e n s o w o n d e r f u l h a v i n g you h o m e the way you've b e e n , a n d it w o u l d b e terrible— M A R Y [strickenly] P l e a s e , d e a r . I k n o w you m e a n it for the b e s t , b u t — [ A defensive uneasiness comes into her voice again.] I don't u n d e r s t a n d why you s h o u l d s u d d e n l y say s u c h t h i n g s . W h a t p u t it in y o u r m i n d this m o r n ing? E D M U N D [evasively] N o t h i n g . J u s t b e c a u s e I feel rotten a n d b l u e , I s u p pose. MARY T e l l m e the truth. W h y a r e you s o s u s p i c i o u s all of a s u d d e n ? MARY

EDMUND

I'm

not!

O h , yes you a r e . I c a n feel it. Y o u r father a n d J a m i e , t o o — p a r t i c ularly J a m i e . EDMUND N o w don't start i m a g i n i n g t h i n g s , M a m a . M A R Y [her hands fluttering] It m a k e s it s o m u c h h a r d e r , living in this a t m o s p h e r e of c o n s t a n t s u s p i c i o n , k n o w i n g everyone is s p y i n g o n m e , a n d n o n e of you believe in m e , or trust m e . EDMUND T h a t ' s crazy, M a m a . W e d o trust y o u . MARY If t h e r e w a s only s o m e p l a c e I c o u l d g o to g e t a w a y for a day, or even a n a f t e r n o o n , s o m e w o m a n friend I c o u l d talk t o — n o t a b o u t anyt h i n g s e r i o u s , simply l a u g h a n d g o s s i p a n d forget for a w h i l e — s o m e o n e besides the servants—that stupid Cathleen! E D M U N D [gets up worriedly and puts his arm around her] S t o p it, M a m a . You're g e t t i n g y o u r s e l f w o r k e d u p over n o t h i n g . MARY Y o u r father g o e s o u t . H e m e e t s his f r i e n d s in b a r r o o m s or at the C l u b . You a n d J a m i e h a v e the boys you k n o w . You g o o u t . B u t I a m a l o n e . I've always b e e n a l o n e . E D M U N D [soothingly] C o m e now! You k n o w that's a fib. O n e of u s always stays a r o u n d to k e e p y o u c o m p a n y , or g o e s with y o u in the a u t o m o b i l e w h e n you t a k e a drive. MARY

2022

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

[bitterly] B e c a u s e you're a f r a i d to t r u s t m e a l o n e ! [She turns on him—sharply.] I i n s i s t you tell m e why you a c t s o differently this m o r n i n g — w h y you felt y o u h a d to r e m i n d m e — E D M U N D [hesitates—then blurts out guiltily] It's s t u p i d . It's j u s t t h a t I w a s n ' t a s l e e p w h e n you c a m e in m y r o o m last night. You didn't g o b a c k to y o u r a n d P a p a ' s r o o m . Y o u w e n t in t h e s p a r e r o o m for t h e rest of the night. MARY B e c a u s e your father's s n o r i n g w a s driving m e crazy! F o r h e a v e n ' s s a k e , haven't I often u s e d the s p a r e r o o m a s m y b e d r o o m ? [bitterly] B u t I see what you thought. T h a t was w h e n — E D M U N D [too vehemently] I didn't think a n y t h i n g ! MARY S o y o u p r e t e n d e d to b e a s l e e p in o r d e r to spy o n m e ! EDMUND N o ! I did it b e c a u s e I k n e w if y o u f o u n d o u t I w a s feverish a n d c o u l d n ' t s l e e p , it w o u l d u p s e t y o u . MARY J a m i e w a s p r e t e n d i n g to b e a s l e e p , t o o , I'm s u r e , a n d I s u p p o s e y o u r father— EDMUND S t o p it, M a m a ! MARY O h , I c a n ' t b e a r it, E d m u n d , w h e n e v e n y o u — ! [Her hands flutter up to pat her hair in their aimless, distracted way. Suddenly a strange undercurrent of revengefulness comes into her voice.] It w o u l d s e r v e all of y o u right if it w a s t r u e ! EDMUND M a m a ! D o n ' t s a y that! T h a t ' s t h e w a y y o u talk w h e n — MARY S t o p s u s p e c t i n g m e ! P l e a s e , d e a r ! You h u r t m e ! I c o u l d n ' t s l e e p b e c a u s e I w a s t h i n k i n g a b o u t y o u . T h a t ' s the real r e a s o n ! I've b e e n s o worried ever s i n c e you've b e e n sick. [She puts her arms around him and hugs him with a frightened, protective tenderness.] E D M U N D [soothingly] T h a t ' s f o o l i s h n e s s . Y o u k n o w it's only a b a d c o l d . MARY Y e s , of c o u r s e , I k n o w that! EDMUND B u t listen, M a m a . I w a n t you to p r o m i s e m e t h a t e v e n if it s h o u l d turn o u t to b e s o m e t h i n g w o r s e , you'll k n o w I'll s o o n b e all right a g a i n , anyway, a n d you won't worry y o u r s e l f sick, a n d you'll k e e p o n t a k i n g c a r e of y o u r s e l f — M A R Y [frightenedly] I won't listen w h e n you're s o silly! T h e r e ' s a b s o l u t e l y n o r e a s o n to talk a s if y o u e x p e c t e d s o m e t h i n g d r e a d f u l ! O f c o u r s e , I p r o m i s e y o u . I give y o u my s a c r e d w o r d of h o n o r ! [then with a sad bitterness] B u t I s u p p o s e you're r e m e m b e r i n g I've p r o m i s e d b e f o r e o n my w o r d of h o n o r . MARY

EDMUND

No!

[her bitterness receding into a resigned helplessness] I'm n o t b l a m i n g y o u , d e a r . H o w c a n y o u h e l p it? H o w c a n a n y o n e of u s forget? [strangely] T h a t ' s w h a t m a k e s it s o h a r d — f o r all of u s . W e c a n ' t f o r g e t . E D M U N D [grabs her shoulder] M a m a ! S t o p it! M A R Y [forcing a smile] All right, d e a r . I didn't m e a n to b e s o g l o o m y . D o n ' t m i n d m e . H e r e . L e t m e feel y o u r h e a d . W h y , it's n i c e a n d c o o l . Y o u certainly haven't a n y fever n o w . EDMUND F o r g e t ! It's y o u — MARY B u t I'm q u i t e all right, d e a r , [with a quick, strange, calculating, almost sly glance at him] E x c e p t I n a t u r a l l y feel tired a n d n e r v o u s this m o r n i n g , after s u c h a b a d night. I really o u g h t to g o u p s t a i r s a n d lie d o w n until l u n c h t i m e a n d t a k e a n a p . MARY

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT 2

/

2023

[He gives her an instinctive look of suspicion—then, ashamed of himself, looks quickly away. She hurries on nervously.] W h a t a r e you g o i n g to d o ? R e a d h e r e ? It w o u l d b e m u c h b e t t e r for y o u to g o o u t in t h e f r e s h air a n d s u n s h i n e . B u t don't g e t o v e r h e a t e d , r e m e m ber. B e s u r e a n d w e a r a h a t . [She stops, looking straight at him now. He avoids her eyes. There is a tense pause. Then she speaks jeeringly.] O r a r e y o u afraid to trust m e a l o n e ? E D M U N D [tormentedly] N o ! C a n ' t y o u s t o p t a l k i n g like that! I t h i n k y o u o u g h t to t a k e a n a p . [He goes to the screen door—forcing a joking tone] I'll g o d o w n a n d h e l p J a m i e b e a r u p . I love to lie in t h e s h a d e a n d w a t c h h i m work. [He forces a laugh in which she makes herself join. Then he goes out on the porch and disappears down the steps. Her first reaction is one of relief. She appears to relax. She sinks down in one of the wicker armchairs at rear of table and leans her head back, closing her eyes. But suddenly she grows terribly tense again. Her eyes open and she strains forward, seized by a fit of nervous panic. She begins a desperate battle with herself. Her long fingers, warped and knotted by rheumatism, drum on the arms of the chair, driven by an insistent life of their own, without her consent.] •

CURTAIN

Act 2 SCENE

1

S C E N E — T h e same. It is around quarter to one. No sunlight comes into the room now through the windows at right. Outside the day is still fine but increasingly sultry, with a faint haziness in the air which softens the glare of the sun. E D M U N D sits in the armchair at left of table, reading a book. Or rather he is trying to concentrate on it but cannot. He seems to be listening for some sound from upstairs. His manner is nervously apprehensive and he looks more sickly than in the previous act. The second girl, C A T H L E E N , enters from the back parlor. She carries a tray on which is a bottle of bonded Bourbon, several whiskey glasses and a pitcher of ice water. She is a buxom Irish peasant, in her early twenties, with a red-cheeked comely face, black hair and blue eyes—amiable, ignorant, clumsy, and possessed by a dense, well-meaning stupidity. She puts the tray on the table, E D M U N D pretends to be so absorbed in his book he does not notice her, but she ignores this. [with garrulous familiarity] H e r e ' s t h e whiskey. It'll b e l u n c h t i m e s o o n . Will I call y o u r father a n d M i s t e r J a m i e , or will y o u ? E D M U N D [without looking up from his book] Y o u d o it. CATHLEEN It's a w o n d e r your father w o u l d n ' t look at his w a t c h o n c e in a w h i l e . H e ' s a divil for m a k i n g t h e m e a l s l a t e , a n d t h e n B r i d g e t c u r s e s m e a s if I w a s to b l a m e . B u t he's a g r a n d h a n d s o m e m a n , if h e is o l d . You'll never s e e t h e d a y you're a s g o o d l o o k i n g — n o r M i s t e r J a m i e , either. [She chuckles.] I'll w a g e r M i s t e r J a m i e w o u l d n ' t m i s s t h e t i m e to s t o p w o r k a n d have his d r o p of w h i s k e y if h e h a d a w a t c h to his n a m e ! CATHLEEN

EDMUND

[gives up trying to ignore

her and grins]

Y o u win t h a t o n e .

2024

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

A n d h e r e ' s a n o t h e r I'd win, t h a t you're m a k i n g m e call t h e m s o you c a n s n e a k a drink b e f o r e they c o m e . EDMUND W e l l , I h a d n ' t t h o u g h t of t h a t — CATHLEEN O h n o , not y o u ! B u t t e r w o u l d n ' t m e l t in your m o u t h , I s u p p o s e . EDMUND B u t n o w you s u g g e s t i t — C A T H L E E N [suddenly primly virtuous] I'd n e v e r s u g g e s t a m a n or a w o m a n t o u c h drink, M i s t e r E d m u n d . S u r e , didn't it kill a n u n c l e of m i n e in the old c o u n t r y , [relenting] Still, a d r o p n o w a n d t h e n is no h a r m w h e n y o u ' r e in low spirits, or h a v e a b a d c o l d . EDMUND T h a n k s for h a n d i n g m e a g o o d e x c u s e , [then with forced casualness] Y o u ' d b e t t e r call my m o t h e r , t o o . CATHLEEN W h a t for? S h e ' s always o n t i m e w i t h o u t any c a l l i n g . G o d b l e s s her, s h e h a s s o m e c o n s i d e r a t i o n for the h e l p . EDMUND She's been taking a nap. CATHLEEN S h e w a s n ' t a s l e e p w h e n I finished my work u p s t a i r s a w h i l e b a c k . S h e w a s lying d o w n in t h e s p a r e r o o m with her e y e s w i d e o p e n . S h e ' d a terrible h e a d a c h e , s h e s a i d . E D M U N D [his casualness more forced] O h well t h e n , j u s t call m y f a t h e r . C A T H L E E N [goes to the screen door, grumbling good-naturedly] N o wonder my feet kill m e e a c h night. I won't w a l k o u t in this h e a t a n d g e t s u n s t r o k e . I'll call f r o m the p o r c h . [She goes out on the side porch, letting the screen door slam behind her, and disappears on her way to the front porch. A moment later she is heard shouting.] M i s t e r T y r o n e ! M i s t e r J a m i e ! It's t i m e ! [ E D M U N D , who has been staring frightenedly before him, forgetting his book, springs to his feet nervously. ] EDMUND God, what a wench! [He grabs the bottle and pours a drink, adds ice water and drinks. As he does so, he hears someone coming in the front door. He puts the glass hastily on the tray and sits down again, opening his book, J A M I E comes in from the front parlor, his coat over his arm. He has taken off collar and tie and carries them in his hand. He is wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, E D M U N D looks up as if his reading was interrupted, J A M I E takes one look at the bottle and glasses and smiles cynically. ] JAMIE S n e a k i n g o n e , e h ? C u t o u t t h e bluff, Kid. Y o u ' r e a r o t t e n e r a c t o r than I a m . E D M U N D [grins] Yes, I grabbed one while the going was good. J A M I E [puts a hand affectionately on his shoulder] T h a t ' s b e t t e r . W h y kid m e ? W e ' r e p a l s , aren't w e ? EDMUND I w a s n ' t s u r e it w a s y o u c o m i n g . JAMIE I m a d e the O l d M a n l o o k at his w a t c h . I w a s halfway u p t h e w a l k w h e n C a t h l e e n b u r s t into s o n g . O u r wild Irish lark! S h e o u g h t to b e a train a n n o u n c e r . EDMUND T h a t ' s w h a t drove m e to drink. W h y don't y o u s n e a k o n e while you've got a c h a n c e ? JAMIE I w a s t h i n k i n g of t h a t little t h i n g . [He goes quickly to the window at right.] T h e O l d M a n w a s talking to o l d C a p t a i n T u r n e r . Y e s , he's still at it. [He comes back and takes a drink.] A n d n o w to c o v e r u p f r o m h i s e a g l e CATHLEEN

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

2

/

2025

eye. [He measures two drinks of water and pours them in the whiskey bottle and shakes it up.] T h e r e . T h a t fixes it. [He pours water in the glass and sets it on the table by E D M U N D . ] A n d here's the w a t e r you've b e e n d r i n k i n g . EDMUND F i n e ! You don't think it will fool h i m , d o y o u ? JAMIE M a y b e n o t , b u t h e can't prove it. [Putting on his collar and tie.] I h o p e h e d o e s n ' t forget l u n c h l i s t e n i n g to h i m s e l f talk. I'm h u n g r y . [He sits across the table from E D M U N D — i r r i t a b l y ] T h a t ' s w h a t I h a t e a b o u t w o r k i n g d o w n in front. H e p u t s o n a n a c t for every d a m n e d fool that c o m e s along. E D M U N D [gloomily] You're in l u c k to b e h u n g r y . T h e way I feel I don't c a r e if I ever e a t a g a i n . J A M I E [gives him a glance of concern] L i s t e n , Kid. You k n o w m e . I've never l e c t u r e d y o u , b u t D o c t o r H a r d y w a s right w h e n h e told you to c u t o u t the r e d e y e . EDMUND O h , I'm g o i n g to after h e h a n d s m e the b a d n e w s this a f t e r n o o n . A few b e f o r e t h e n won't m a k e any d i f f e r e n c e . J A M I E [hesitates—then slowly] I'm g l a d you've got y o u r m i n d p r e p a r e d for b a d n e w s . It won't b e s u c h a jolt. [He catches E D M U N D staring at him.] I m e a n , it's a c i n c h you're really sick, a n d it w o u l d b e w r o n g d o p e to kid yourself. E D M U N D [disturbed] I'm not. I k n o w h o w rotten I feel, a n d the fever a n d chills I get at night a r e no j o k e . I think D o c t o r H a r d y ' s last g u e s s w a s right. It m u s t b e the d a m n e d m a l a r i a c o m e b a c k o n m e . JAMIE M a y b e , but don't b e too s u r e . EDMUND W h y ? W h a t d o you t h i n k it is? JAMIE H e l l , h o w w o u l d I k n o w ? I'm n o D o c . [abruptly] W h e r e ' s M a m a ? EDMUND Upstairs. J A M I E [looks at him sharply] W h e n did s h e g o u p ? EDMUND O h , a b o u t t h e t i m e I c a m e d o w n to t h e h e d g e , I g u e s s . S h e s a i d s h e w a s g o i n g to t a k e a n a p . JAMIE Y O U didn't tell m e — E D M U N D [defensively] W h y s h o u l d I? W h a t a b o u t it? S h e w a s tired o u t . S h e didn't get m u c h s l e e p last night. JAMIE I k n o w s h e didn't. [A pause. The brothers avoid looking at each other.] EDMUND T h a t d a m n e d f o g h o r n kept m e a w a k e , t o o . [Another pause. ] JAMIE S h e ' s b e e n u p s t a i r s a l o n e all m o r n i n g , e h ? You haven't s e e n h e r ? EDMUND N o . I've b e e n r e a d i n g h e r e . I w a n t e d to give h e r a c h a n c e to sleep. JAMIE Is s h e c o m i n g d o w n to l u n c h ? EDMUND Of course. J A M I E [dryly] N o of c o u r s e a b o u t it. S h e m i g h t not w a n t a n y l u n c h . O r s h e m i g h t start h a v i n g m o s t o f her m e a l s a l o n e u p s t a i r s . T h a t ' s h a p p e n e d , h a s n ' t it? E D M U N D [with frightened resentment] C u t it o u t , J a m i e ! C a n ' t you think a n y t h i n g b u t — ? [persuasively] You're all w r o n g to s u s p e c t a n y t h i n g . C a t h l e e n s a w her n o t l o n g a g o . M a m a didn't tell her s h e w o u l d n ' t b e d o w n to l u n c h . JAMIE T h e n s h e wasn't t a k i n g a n a p ?

2026

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

N o t right t h e n , b u t s h e w a s lying d o w n , C a t h l e e n s a i d . In the s p a r e r o o m ? EDMUND Y e s . F o r P e t e ' s s a k e , w h a t of it? J A M I E [bursts out] You d a m n e d fool! W h y did y o u leave h e r a l o n e s o l o n g ? W h y didn't y o u s t i c k a r o u n d ? EDMUND B e c a u s e she a c c u s e d m e — a n d you and P a p a — o f spying on her all the t i m e a n d n o t t r u s t i n g her. S h e m a d e m e feel a s h a m e d . I k n o w h o w rotten it m u s t b e for her. A n d s h e p r o m i s e d o n h e r s a c r e d w o r d of honor— J A M I E [with a bitter weariness] You o u g h t to k n o w t h a t d o e s n ' t m e a n anything. EDMUND It d o e s this t i m e ! JAMIE T h a t ' s w h a t w e t h o u g h t the o t h e r t i m e s . [He leans over the table to give his brother's arm an affectionate grasp.] L i s t e n , Kid, I k n o w y o u t h i n k I'm a c y n i c a l b a s t a r d , b u t r e m e m b e r I've s e e n a lot m o r e o f this g a m e t h a n you h a v e . You never k n e w w h a t w a s really w r o n g until y o u w e r e in p r e p s c h o o l . P a p a a n d I kept it f r o m y o u . B u t I w a s w i s e ten y e a r s or m o r e b e f o r e w e h a d to tell y o u . I k n o w t h e g a m e b a c k w a r d s a n d I've b e e n t h i n k i n g all m o r n i n g of the w a y s h e a c t e d last n i g h t w h e n s h e t h o u g h t w e w e r e a s l e e p . I haven't b e e n a b l e to t h i n k of a n y t h i n g e l s e . A n d n o w you tell m e s h e got you to leave h e r a l o n e u p s t a i r s all m o r n i n g . EDMUND

JAMIE

S h e didn't! Y o u ' r e crazy! [placatingly] All right, Kid. D o n ' t start a b a t t l e with m e . I h o p e a s m u c h a s you d o I'm crazy. I've b e e n a s h a p p y a s hell b e c a u s e I'd really b e g u n to believe that this t i m e — [ H e stops—looking through the front parlor toward the hall—lowering his voice, hurriedly] She's coming d o w n s t a i r s . You win o n t h a t . I g u e s s I'm a d a m n e d s u s p i c i o u s l o u s e . [They grow tense with a hopeful, fearful expectancy, J A M I E mutters] D a m n ! I w i s h I'd g r a b b e d a n o t h e r drink.

EDMUND JAMIE

EDMUND

Me,

too.

[He coughs nervously and this brings on a real fit of coughing, J A M I E glances at him with worried pity, M A R Y enters from the front parlor. At first one notices no change except that she appears to be less nervous, to be more as she was when we first saw her after breakfast, but then one becomes aware that her eyes are brighter, and there is a peculiar detachment in her voice and manner, as if she were a little withdrawn from her words and actions.] M A R Y [goes worriedly to E D M U N D and puts her arm around him] You m u s t n ' t c o u g h like that. It's b a d for your t h r o a t . Y o u don't w a n t to g e t a s o r e t h r o a t o n t o p of y o u r c o l d . [She kisses him. He stops coughing and gives her a quick apprehensive glance, but if his suspicions are aroused her tenderness makes him renounce them and he believes what he wants to believe for the moment. On the other hand, J A M I E knows after one probing look at her that his suspicions are justified. His eyes fall to stare at the floor, his face sets in an expression of embittered, defensive cynicism, M A R Y goes on, half sitting on the arm of E D M U N D ' S chair, her arm around him, so her face is above and behind his and he cannot look into her eyes.] B u t I s e e m to b e always p i c k i n g o n y o u , telling you don't d o this a n d don't d o that. F o r g i v e m e , d e a r . It's j u s t t h a t I w a n t to t a k e c a r e of y o u .

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T , A C T 2

/

2027

I k n o w , M a m a . H o w a b o u t y o u ? D o you feel r e s t e d ? Y e s , ever s o m u c h better. I've b e e n lying d o w n ever s i n c e you w e n t It's w h a t I n e e d e d after s u c h a r e s t l e s s n i g h t . I don't feel n e r v o u s

EDMUND MARY

out. now.

T h a t ' s fine.

EDMUND

[He

pats

her hand

on his shoulder,

glance,

contemptuous E D M U N D does

wondering

not notice

JAMIE

gives him a strange,

if his brother

but his mother

can

really

almost

mean

this.

does.]

teasing tone] G o o d h e a v e n s , h o w d o w n in t h e m o u t h you look, J a m i e . W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r n o w ? J A M I E [without looking at her] Nothing. MARY O h , I'd f o r g o t t e n you've b e e n w o r k i n g o n t h e front h e d g e . T h a t a c c o u n t s for your s i n k i n g into t h e d u m p s , d o e s n ' t it? JAMIE If you w a n t t o t h i n k s o , M a m a . M A R Y [keeping her tone] W e l l , that's t h e effect it always h a s , isn't it? W h a t a b i g b a b y y o u a r e ! Isn't h e , E d m u n d ? EDMUND H e ' s c e r t a i n l y a fool to c a r e w h a t a n y o n e t h i n k s . M A R Y [strangely] Y e s , t h e only way is to m a k e y o u r s e l f not c a r e . M A R Y [in a forced

[She

catches

J A M I E giving

her a bitter

glance

and changes

the

subject.]

W h e r e is y o u r f a t h e r ? I h e a r d C a t h l e e n call h i m . EDMUND G a b b i n g with o l d C a p t a i n T u r n e r , J a m i e s a y s . He'll b e l a t e , a s usual. [ J A M I E gets up and goes to the windows at right, glad of an excuse to turn his

back.]

I've told C a t h l e e n t i m e a n d a g a i n s h e m u s t g o w h e r e v e r h e is a n d tell h i m . T h e i d e a o f s c r e a m i n g a s if this w e r e a c h e a p b o a r d i n g h o u s e ! J A M I E [looking out the window] S h e ' s d o w n t h e r e n o w . [sneeringly] Interr u p t i n g t h e f a m o u s B e a u t i f u l V o i c e ! S h e s h o u l d h a ve m o r e r e s p e c t . MARY

M A R Y [sharply—letting

her resentment

toward

him come

out]

It's y o u w h o

s h o u l d hav e m o r e r e s p e c t . S t o p s n e e r i n g at your father! I won't h a v e it! You o u g h t to b e p r o u d you're his s o n ! H e m a y h a v e h i s f a u l t s . W h o h a s n ' t ? B u t h e ' s w o r k e d h a r d all his life. H e m a d e his w a y u p from ignor a n c e a n d poverty t o t h e t o p o f his p r o f e s s i o n ! E v e r y o n e e l s e a d m i r e s h i m a n d y o u s h o u l d b e t h e last o n e to s n e e r — y o u , w h o , t h a n k s to h i m , hav e n e v e r h a d to work h a r d in y o u r life! [SfMWg, J A M I E has turned to stare at her with accusing antagonism. Her eyes waver

guiltily

and she adds

in a tone which

begins

to

placate]

R e m e m b e r y o u r f a t h e r is g e t t i n g o l d , J a m i e . Y o u really o u g h t to s h o w more consideration. JAMIE I ought to? E D M U N D [uneasily] O h , dry u p , J a m i e ! [ J A M I E looks

out the window

again.]

And, for P e t e ' s s a k e , M a m a , why j u m p o n J a m i e all o f a s u d d e n ? M A R Y [bitterly] R e c a u s e he's always s n e e r i n g at s o m e o n e e l s e , always looki n g for t h e w o r s t w e a k n e s s in e v e r y o n e , [then change

to a detached,

impersonal

tone]

with

a strange,

abrupt

B u t I s u p p o s e life h a s m a d e h i m

like that, a n d h e can't h e l p it. N o n e o f u s c a n h e l p t h e t h i n g s life h a s d o n e to u s . T h e y ' r e d o n e b e f o r e you realize it, a n d o n c e they're d o n e they m a k e you d o o t h e r t h i n g s until at last everything c o m e s b e t w e e n you a n d w h a t you'd like to b e , a n d you've lost your t r u e self forever.

2028

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

[ E D M U N D is made apprehensive by her strangeness. He tries to look up in her eyes but she keeps them averted, J A M I E turns to her—then looks quickly out of the window again.] J A M I E [dully] I'm h u n g r y . I w i s h the O l d M a n w o u l d g e t a m o v e o n . It's a rotten trick t h e way h e k e e p s m e a l s waiting, a n d then b e e f s b e c a u s e they're s p o i l e d . M A R Y [with a resentment that has a quality of being automatic and on the surface while inwardly she is indifferent] Y e s , it's very trying, J a m i e . Y o u don't k n o w h o w trying. You don't h a v e to k e e p h o u s e with s u m m e r serv a n t s w h o don't c a r e b e c a u s e they k n o w it isn't a p e r m a n e n t p o s i t i o n . T h e really g o o d s e r v a n t s a r e all with p e o p l e w h o h a v e h o m e s a n d not m e r e l y s u m m e r p l a c e s . A n d y o u r f a t h e r won't even p a y t h e w a g e s the b e s t s u m m e r h e l p a s k . S o every y e a r I h a v e s t u p i d , lazy g r e e n h o r n s to deal with. B u t you've h e a r d m e s a y this a t h o u s a n d t i m e s . S o h a s h e , b u t it g o e s in o n e ear a n d o u t the other. H e t h i n k s m o n e y s p e n t o n a h o m e is m o n e y w a s t e d . H e ' s lived t o o m u c h in h o t e l s . N e v e r t h e b e s t h o t e l s , of c o u r s e . S e c o n d - r a t e h o t e l s . H e d o e s n ' t u n d e r s t a n d a h o m e . H e d o e s n ' t feel at h o m e in it. A n d yet, h e w a n t s a h o m e . H e ' s e v e n p r o u d of h a v i n g this s h a b b y p l a c e . H e loves it h e r e . [She laughs—a hopeless and yet amused laugh.] It's really funny, w h e n y o u c o m e to t h i n k of it. H e ' s a peculiar man.

[again attempting uneasily to look up in her eyes] What makes you r a m b l e o n like t h a t , M a m a ? M A R Y [quickly casual—patting his cheek] W h y , n o t h i n g in p a r t i c u l a r , d e a r . It is f o o l i s h . [As she speaks, C A T H L E E N enters from the back parlor.] C A T H L E E N [volubly] L u n c h is ready, M a ' a m , I w e n t d o w n to M i s t e r T y r o n e , like you o r d e r e d , a n d h e s a i d he'd c o m e right away, b u t h e kept o n talking to t h a t m a n , telling h i m of the t i m e w h e n — M A R Y [indifferently] All right, C a t h l e e n . T e l l B r i d g e t I'm sorry b u t she'll have to wait a few m i n u t e s until M i s t e r T y r o n e is h e r e . [ C A T H L E E N mutters, "Yes, M a ' a m , " and goes off through the back parlor, grumbling to herself.] JAMIE D a m n it! W h y don't you g o a h e a d w i t h o u t h i m ? H e told u s to. M A R Y [with a remote, amused smile] H e d o e s n ' t m e a n it. D o n ' t you k n o w y o u r father yet? H e ' d b e s o terribly h u r t . E D M U N D [jumps up—as if he was glad of an excuse to leave] I'll m a k e h i m get a m o v e o n . [He goes out on the side porch. A moment later he is heard calling from the porch exasperatedly.] Hey! P a p a ! C o m e on! W e can't wait all day! [ M A R Y has risen from the arm of the chair. Her hands play restlessly over the table top. She does not look at J A M I E but she feels the cynically appraising glance he gives her face and hands. ] M A R Y [tensely] W h y d o you s t a r e like t h a t ? JAMIE You k n o w . [He turns back to the window.] MARY I don't k n o w . JAMIE O h , for G o d ' s s a k e , d o you t h i n k you c a n fool m e , M a m a ? I'm not blind. M A R Y [looks directly at him now, her face set again in an expression of blank, stubborn denial] I don't k n o w w h a t you're talking a b o u t . EDMUND

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T , A C T

2

/

2029

N o ? T a k e a look at y o u r eyes in the mirror! [coming in from the porch] I got P a p a m o v i n g . He'll b e h e r e in a m i n u t e , [with a glance from one to the other, which his mother avoids— uneasily] W h a t h a p p e n e d ? W h a t ' s the m a t t e r , M a m a ? M A R Y [disturbed by his coming, gives way to a flurry of guilty, nervous excitement] Y o u r b r o t h e r o u g h t to b e a s h a m e d of himself. H e ' s b e e n insinu a t i n g I don't k n o w w h a t . E D M U N D [turns on J A M I E ] G o d d a m n you! [He takes a threatening step toward him. J A M I E turns his back with a shrug and looks out the window. ] M A R Y [twore upset, grabs E D M U N D ' S arm—excitedly] S t o p this at o n c e , d o you h e a r m e ? H o w d a r e y o u u s e s u c h l a n g u a g e b e f o r e m e ! [Abruptly her tone and manner change to the strange detachment she has shown before.] It's w r o n g to b l a m e y o u r b r o t h e r . H e can't h e l p b e i n g w h a t the p a s t h a s m a d e h i m . Any m o r e then y o u r father c a n . O r y o u . O r I. E D M U N D [jrightenedly—with a desperate hoping against hope] H e ' s a liar! It's a lie, isn't it, M a m a ? M A R Y [keeping her eyes averted] W h a t is a lie? N o w you're talking in riddles like J a m i e . [Then her eyes meet his stricken, accusing look. She stammers] E d m u n d ! D o n ' t ! [She looks away and her manner instantly regains the quality of strange detachment—calmly] T h e r e ' s your father c o m i n g u p the s t e p s n o w . I m u s t tell B r i d g e t . [She goes through the back parlor, E D M U N D moves slowly to his chair. He looks sick and hopeless.] J A M I E [from the window, without looking around] Well? EDMUND [refusing to admit anything to his brother yet—weakly defiant] W e l l , w h a t ? Y o u ' r e a liar. [ J A M I E again shrugs his shoidders. The screen door on the front porch is heard closing, E D M U N D says dully] H e r e ' s P a p a . I h o p e h e l o o s e n s u p with the old bottle. [ T Y R O N E comes in through the front parlor. He is putting on his coat.] TYRONE S o r r y I'm l a t e . C a p t a i n T u r n e r s t o p p e d to talk a n d o n c e h e s t a r t s g a b b i n g you can't get a w a y f r o m h i m . J A M I E [without turning—dryly] You m e a n o n c e h e s t a r t s l i s t e n i n g . [His father regards him with dislike. He comes to the table with a quick measuring look at the bottle of whiskey. Without turning, J A M I E senses this.] It's all right. T h e level in the bottle h a s n ' t c h a n g e d . TYRONE I w a s n ' t n o t i c i n g that. [He adds caustically] A s if it p r o v e d anything with you a r o u n d . I'm o n to y o u r tricks. E D M U N D [dully] D i d I h e a r you say, let's all have a drink? T Y R O N E [frowns at him] J a m i e is w e l c o m e after his h a r d m o r n i n g ' s work, b u t I won't invite y o u . D o c t o r H a r d y — EDMUND T o hell with D o c t o r H a r d y ! O n e isn't g o i n g to kill m e . I f e e l — all in, P a p a . T Y R O N E [with a worried look at him—putting on a fake heartiness] Come a l o n g , t h e n . It's b e f o r e a m e a l a n d I've always f o u n d that g o o d whiskey, t a k e n in m o d e r a t i o n a s a n a p p e t i z e r , is the b e s t o f t o n i c s . [ E D M U N D gets up as his father passes the bottle to him. He pours a big admonishingly.] drink. T Y R O N E frowns I said, in m o d e r a t i o n . JAMIE

EDMUND

2030

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

[He pours his own drink and passes the bottle to J A M I E , grumbling.] It'd b e a w a s t e of b r e a t h m e n t i o n i n g m o d e r a t i o n to y o u . [Ignoring the hint, J A M I E pours a big drink. His father scowls—then, giving it up, resumes his hearty air, raising his glass.] W e l l , here's h e a l t h a n d h a p p i n e s s ! [ E D M U N D gives a bitter laugh.] EDMUND That's a joke! TYRONE W h a t is? EDMUND N o t h i n g . H e r e ' s h o w . [They drink.] T Y R O N E [becoming aware of the atmosphere] W h a t ' s the m a t t e r h e r e ? T h e r e ' s g l o o m in the air you c o u l d c u t with a knife, [turns on J A M I E resentfully] You got the drink you w e r e after, didn't y o u ? W h y a r e you w e a r i n g t h a t g l o o m y look o n y o u r m u g ? J A M I E [shrugging his shoulders] You won't b e s i n g i n g a s o n g y o u r s e l f s o o n . EDMUND Shut up, Jamie. T Y R O N E [uneasy now—changing the subject] I t h o u g h t l u n c h w a s ready. I'm h u n g r y a s a h u n t e r . W h e r e is y o u r m o t h e r ? M A R Y [returning through the back parlor, calls] Here I am. [She comes in. She is excited and self-conscious. As she talks, she glances everywhere except at any of their faces.] I've h a d to c a l m d o w n B r i d g e t . S h e ' s in a t a n t r u m over y o u r b e i n g late a g a i n , a n d I don't b l a m e her. If y o u r l u n c h is dried u p f r o m w a i t i n g in the o v e n , s h e s a i d it s e r v e d you right, you c o u l d like it or leave it for all s h e c a r e d , [with increasing excitement] O h , I'm s o s i c k a n d tired of p r e t e n d i n g this is a h o m e ! You won't h e l p m e ! Y o u won't p u t y o u r s e l f o u t the l e a s t bit! You don't k n o w h o w to a c t in a h o m e ! You don't really w a n t o n e ! You never h a v e w a n t e d o n e — n e v e r s i n c e the d a y w e w e r e m a r r i e d ! You s h o u l d h a v e r e m a i n e d a b a c h e l o r a n d lived in s e c o n d - r a t e h o t e l s a n d e n t e r t a i n e d y o u r friends in b a r r o o m s ! [She adds strangely, as if she were now talking aloud to herself rather than to T Y R O N E ] T h e n n o t h i n g w o u l d ever h a v e h a p p e n e d . [They stare at her. T Y R O N E knows now. He suddenly looks a tired, bitterly sad old man. E D M U N D glances at his father and sees that he knows, but he still cannot help trying to warn his mother.] EDMUND M a m a ! S t o p talking. W h y don't w e g o in to l u n c h . M A R Y [Starts and at once the quality of unnatural detachment settles on her face again. She even smiles with an ironical amusement to herself.] Y e s , it is i n c o n s i d e r a t e o f m e to dig u p the p a s t , w h e n I k n o w y o u r father a n d J a m i e m u s t b e h u n g r y , [putting her arm around E D M U N D ' S shoulder—with a fond solicitude which is at the same time remote] I d o h o p e you h a v e a n a p p e t i t e , d e a r . You really m u s t e a t m o r e [Her eyes become fixed on the whiskey glass on the table beside him—sharply] W h y is t h a t g l a s s t h e r e ? D i d you t a k e a drink? O h , h o w c a n you b e s u c h a fool? D o n ' t you k n o w it's the w o r s t t h i n g ? [She turns on T Y R O N E . ] Y o u ' r e to b l a m e , J a m e s . H o w c o u l d you let h i m ? D o y o u w a n t to kill h i m ? D o n ' t y o u r e m e m b e r m y f a t h e r ? H e w o u l d n ' t s t o p after h e w a s s t r i c k e n . H e s a i d d o c t o r s w e r e f o o l s ! H e t h o u g h t , like y o u , t h a t w h i s k e y is a g o o d t o n i c ! [A look of terror comes into her eyes and she stammers] B u t , o f c o u r s e , there's n o c o m p a r i s o n at all. I don't k n o w w h y I — F o r g i v e m e for s c o l d i n g y o u , J a m e s . O n e s m a l l drink won't h u r t E d m u n d . It m i g h t b e g o o d for h i m , if it gives h i m a n a p p e t i t e . [She pats E D M U N D ' S cheek playfully, the strange detachment again in her

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y

INTO NIGHT,

ACT

2

/

203

1

manner. He jerks his head away. She seems not to notice, hut she moves instinctively away.] J A M I E [roughly, to hide his tense nerves] F o r G o d ' s s a k e , let's e a t . I've b e e n w o r k i n g in the d a m n e d dirt u n d e r the h e d g e all m o r n i n g . I've e a r n e d my grub. [He comes around in back of his father, not looking at his mother, and grabs E D M U N D ' S shoulder.] C o m e o n , Kid. L e t ' s p u t o n the f e e d b a g . [ E D M U N D gets uf, keeping his eyes averted from his mother. They pass her, heading for the back parlor.] T Y R O N E [dully] Y e s , y o u g o in with your m o t h e r , l a d s . I'll j o i n you in a second. [But they keep on without waiting for her. She looks at their backs with a helpless hurt and, as they enter the back parlor, starts to follow them. T Y R O N E ' S eyes are on her, sad and condemning. She feels them and turns sharply without meeting his stare. ] MARY W h y d o you l o o k at m e like that? [Her hands flutter up to pat her hair.] Is it my hair c o m i n g d o w n ? I w a s s o w o r n o u t f r o m last n i g h t , I t h o u g h t I'd b e t t e r lie d o w n this m o r n i n g . I d r o w s e d off a n d h a d a n i c e r e f r e s h i n g n a p . B u t I'm s u r e I fixed m y hair a g a i n w h e n I w o k e u p . [ forcing a laugh] A l t h o u g h , a s u s u a l , I c o u l d n ' t find my g l a s s e s , [sharply] P l e a s e s t o p s t a r i n g ! O n e w o u l d think you w e r e a c c u s i n g m e — [ t h e n pleadingly] J a m e s ! You don't u n d e r s t a n d ! T Y R O N E [with dull anger] I u n d e r s t a n d that I've b e e n a G o d - d a m n e d fool to believe in you! [He walks away from her to pour himself a big drink.] M A R Y [her face again sets in stubborn defiance] I don't k n o w w h a t y o u m e a n by "believing in m e . " All I've felt w a s d i s t r u s t a n d s p y i n g a n d s u s p i c i o n . [then accusingly] W h y a r e you h a v i n g a n o t h e r drink? You n e v e r h a v e m o r e t h a n o n e b e f o r e l u n c h , [bitterly] I k n o w w h a t to e x p e c t . Y o u will b e d r u n k tonight. W e l l , it won't b e the first t i m e , will i t — o r the t h o u s a n d t h ? [again she bursts out pleadingly] O h , J a m e s , p l e a s e ! You don't u n d e r s t a n d ! I'm worried a b o u t E d m u n d ! I'm s o a f r a i d h e — TYRONE I don't w a n t to listen to e x c u s e s , M a r y . M A R Y [strickenly] E x c u s e s ? You m e a n — ? O h , you can't b e l i e v e t h a t of m e ! You m u s t n ' t believe t h a t , J a m e s ! [then slipping away into her strange detachment—quite casually] S h a l l w e n o t g o into l u n c h d e a r ? I don't w a n t a n y t h i n g b u t I k n o w you're h u n g r y . [He walks slowly to where she stands in the doorway. He walks like an old man. As he reaches her she bursts out piteously.] J a m e s ! I tried s o h a r d ! I tried s o h a r d ! P l e a s e b e l i e v e — ! T Y R O N E [moved in spite of himself—helplessly] I s u p p o s e you d i d , M a r y . [then grief-strickenly] F o r the love of G o d , why c o u l d n ' t y o u h a v e the s t r e n g t h to k e e p o n ? M A R Y [her face setting into that stubborn denial again] I don't k n o w w h a t you're talking a b o u t . H a v e the s t r e n g t h to k e e p o n w h a t ? T Y R O N E [hopelessly] N e v e r m i n d . It's n o u s e n o w . [He moves on and she keeps beside him as they disappear in the back parlor. ] CURTAIN

2032

I

EUGENE

O'NEILL

Act SCENE

2 2

S C E N E — T h e same, about a half hour later. The tray with the bottle of whiskey has been removed from the table. The family are returning from lunch as the curtain rises, M A R Y is the first to enter from the back parlor. Her husband follows. He is not with her as he was in the similar entrance after breakfast at the opening of Act One. He avoids touching her or looking at her. There is condemnation in his face, mingled now with the beginning of an old weary, helpless resignation. J A M I E and E D M U N D follow their father. JAMIE'S face is hard with defensive cynicism, E D M U N D tries to copy this defense but without success. He plainly shows he is heartsick as well as physically ill. M A R Y is terribly nervous again, as if the strain of sitting through lunch with them had been too much for her. Yet at the same time, in contrast to this, her expression shows more of that strange aloofness which seems to stand apart from her nerves and the anxieties which harry them. She is talking as she enters—a stream of words that issues casually, in a routine of family conversation, from her mouth. She appears indifferent to the fact that their thoughts are not on what she is saying any more than her own are. As she talks, she comes to the left of the table and stands, facing front, one hand fumbling with the bosom of her dress, the other playing over the table top. T Y R O N E lights a cigar and goes to the screen door, staring out. J A M I E fills a pipe from a jar on top of the bookcase at rear. He lights it as he goes to look out the window at right. E D M U N D sits in a chair by the table, turned half away from his mother so he does not have to watch her.

It's n o u s e finding fault with B r i d g e t . S h e d o e s n ' t listen. I can't t h r e a t e n her, or s h e ' d t h r e a t e n s h e ' d l e a v e . A n d s h e d o e s d o h e r b e s t at t i m e s . It's t o o b a d they s e e m to b e j u s t the t i m e s you're s u r e to b e l a t e , J a m e s . W e l l , there's this c o n s o l a t i o n : it's difficult to tell f r o m her c o o k i n g w h e t h e r s h e ' s d o i n g her b e s t or her w o r s t . [She gives a little laugh of detached amusement—indifferently] N e v e r m i n d . T h e s u m m e r will s o o n b e over, t h a n k g o o d n e s s . Y o u r s e a s o n will o p e n a g a i n a n d w e c a n g o b a c k to s e c o n d - r a t e h o t e l s a n d t r a i n s . I h a t e t h e m , t o o , b u t at least I don't e x p e c t t h e m to b e like a h o m e , a n d there's n o h o u s e k e e p i n g to worry a b o u t . It's u n r e a s o n a b l e to e x p e c t B r i d g e t or C a t h l e e n to a c t a s if this w a s a h o m e . T h e y k n o w it isn't a s well a s w e k n o w it. It never h a s b e e n a n d it never will b e . T Y R O N E [bitterly without turning around] N o , it never c a n b e n o w . B u t it was once, before y o u — M A R Y [her face instantly set in blank denial] B e f o r e I w h a t ? [There is dead silence. She goes on with a return of her detached air.] N o , n o . W h a t e v e r you m e a n , it isn't t r u e , d e a r . It w a s n e v e r a h o m e . You've a l w a y s p r e f e r r e d the C l u b or b a r r o o m . A n d for m e it's always b e e n a s lonely a s a dirty r o o m in a o n e - n i g h t s t a n d hotel. In a real h o m e o n e is n e v e r lonely. Y o u forget I k n o w f r o m e x p e r i e n c e w h a t a h o m e is like. I g a v e u p o n e to m a r r y y o u — m y father's h o m e . [At once, through an association of ideas she turns to E D M U N D . Her manner becomes tenderly solicitous, but there is the strange quality of detachment in it.] I'm worried a b o u t y o u , E d m u n d . You hardly t o u c h e d a t h i n g at l u n c h . T h a t ' s n o way to t a k e c a r e of yourself. It's all right for m e not to h a v e a n a p p e t i t e . I've b e e n g r o w i n g t o o fat. MARY

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT,

ACT

2

/

2033

B u t you m u s t eat. [coaxingly maternal] P r o m i s e m e you will, d e a r , for my s a k e . E D M U N D [dully] Yes, M a m a . M A R Y [pats his cheek as he tries not to shrink away] T h a t ' s a g o o d boy. [There is another pause of dead silence. Then the telephone in the front hall rings and all of them stiffen startledly.] T Y R O N E [hastily] I'll a n s w e r . M c G u i r e s a i d he'd call m e . [He goes out through the front parlor. ] M A R Y [indifferently] M c G u i r e . H e m u s t h a v e a n o t h e r p i e c e of p r o p e r t y o n his list that n o o n e w o u l d t h i n k o f b u y i n g e x c e p t y o u r father. It d o e s n ' t m a t t e r any m o r e , b u t it's always s e e m e d to m e y o u r father c o u l d afford to k e e p o n b u y i n g p r o p e r t y b u t never to give m e a h o m e . [She stops to listen as T Y R O N E ' S voice is heard from the hall.] TYRONE H e l l o , [with forced heartiness] O h , how are you, Doctor? [ J A M I E turns from the window, M A R Y ' S fingers play more rapidly on the table top. T Y R O N E ' S voice, trying to conceal, reveals that he is hearing bad news.] I s e e — [ h u r r i e d l y ] W e l l , you'll explain all a b o u t it w h e n y o u s e e h i m this a f t e r n o o n . Y e s , he'll b e in w i t h o u t fail. F o u r o'clock. I'll d r o p in m y s e l f a n d h a v e a talk with y o u b e f o r e that. I have to g o u p t o w n o n b u s i n e s s , anyway. G o o d b y e , D o c t o r . E D M U N D [dully] T h a t didn't s o u n d like g l a d tidings. [ J A M I E gives him a pitying glance—then looks out the window again. M A R Y ' S face is terrified and her hands flutter distractedly. TYRONE comes in. The strain is obvious in his casualness as he addresses E D M U N D . ] TYRONE It w a s D o c t o r H a r d y . H e w a n t s you to b e s u r e a n d s e e h i m at four. E D M U N D [dully] W h a t did h e say? N o t t h a t I give a d a m n n o w . M A R Y [bursts out excitedly] I w o u l d n ' t believe h i m if h e s w o r e o n a s t a c k of B i b l e s . You m u s t n ' t p a y a t t e n t i o n to a w o r d h e s a y s , E d m u n d . T Y R O N E [sharply] Mary! M A R Y [more excitedly] O h , w e all realize why y o u like h i m , J a m e s ! B e c a u s e he's c h e a p ! B u t p l e a s e don't try to tell m e ! I k n o w all a b o u t D o c t o r H a r d y . H e a v e n k n o w s I o u g h t to after all t h e s e y e a r s . H e ' s a n i g n o r a n t fool! T h e r e s h o u l d b e a law to k e e p m e n like h i m f r o m p r a c t i c i n g . H e h a s n ' t the slightest i d e a — W h e n you're in a g o n y a n d h a l f i n s a n e , h e sits a n d holds your h a n d a n d delivers s e r m o n s on will power! [Her face is drawn in an expression of intense suffering by the memory. For the moment, she loses all caution. With bitter hatred] H e d e l i b e r a t e l y h u m i l i a t e s y o u ! H e m a k e s y o u b e g a n d p l e a d ! H e treats you like a c r i m i n a l ! H e u n d e r s t a n d s n o t h i n g ! A n d yet it w a s exactly the s a m e type of c h e a p q u a c k w h o first g a v e you the m e d i c i n e — a n d you never k n e w w h a t it w a s until t o o late! [passionately] I h a t e d o c t o r s ! They'll sell their s o u l s ! W h a t ' s w o r s e , they'll sell y o u r s , a n d you never k n o w it till o n e day you find y o u r s e l f in hell! EDMUND M a m a ! F o r G o d ' s s a k e , s t o p talking. T Y R O N E [shakily] Y e s , M a r y , it's n o t i m e — M A R Y [suddenly is overcome by guilty confusion—stammers] I—Forgive m e , d e a r . You're right. It's u s e l e s s to b e angry n o w . [There is again a pause of dead silence. When she speaks again, her face has cleared and is calm, and the quality of uncanny detachment is in her voice and manner.]

2034

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

I'm g o i n g u p s t a i r s for a m o m e n t , if you'll e x c u s e m e . I h a v e to fix m y hair, [she adds smilingly] T h a t is if I c a n find m y g l a s s e s . I'll b e right down. T Y R O N E [as she starts through the doorway—-pleading and rebuking] Mary! M A R Y [turns to stare at him calmly] Y e s , d e a r ? W h a t is it? T Y R O N E [helplessly] Nothing. M A R Y [with a strange derisive smile] You're w e l c o m e to c o m e u p a n d w a t c h m e if you're s o s u s p i c i o u s . TYRONE A s if t h a t c o u l d d o a n y g o o d ! Y o u ' d only p o s t p o n e it. A n d I'm not y o u r j a i l o r . T h i s isn't a p r i s o n . MARY N o . I k n o w you c a n ' t h e l p t h i n k i n g it's a h o m e . [She adds quickly with a detached contrition] I'm sorry, d e a r . I don't m e a n to b e bitter. It's not your fault. [She turns and disappears through the back parlor. The three in the room remain silent. It is as if they were waiting until she got upstairs before speaking.] J A M I E [cynically brutal] A n o t h e r s h o t in the a r m ! E D M U N D [angrily] C u t o u t t h a t kind o f talk! TYRONE Y e s ! H o l d y o u r foul t o n g u e a n d y o u r r o t t e n B r o a d w a y loafer's lingo! H a v e y o u n o pity or d e c e n c y ? [losing his temper] Y o u o u g h t to b e kicked o u t in the gutter! B u t if I did it, y o u k n o w d a m n e d well w h o ' d w e e p a n d p l e a d for y o u , a n d e x c u s e y o u a n d c o m p l a i n till I let you c o m e back. J A M I E [a spasm of pain crosses his face] C h r i s t , don't I k n o w t h a t ? N o pity? I h a v e all the pity in the w o r l d for her. I u n d e r s t a n d w h a t a h a r d g a m e to b e a t s h e ' s u p a g a i n s t — w h i c h is m o r e t h a n y o u ever h a v e ! M y lingo didn't m e a n I h a d n o feeling. I w a s m e r e l y p u t t i n g bluntly w h a t w e all k n o w , a n d h a v e to live with n o w , a g a i n , [bitterly] T h e c u r e s a r e n o d a m n e d g o o d e x c e p t for a w h i l e . T h e t r u t h is t h e r e is n o c u r e a n d we've b e e n s a p s to h o p e — [ c y n i c a l l y ] T h e y never c o m e b a c k ! E D M U N D [scornfully parodying his brother's cynicism] They never c o m e b a c k ! E v e r y t h i n g is in the b a g ! It's all a f r a m e - u p ! W e ' r e all fall guys a n d s u c k e r s a n d w e c a n ' t b e a t the g a m e ! [disdainfully] C h r i s t , if I felt t h e way you d o — ! J A M I E [stung for a moment—then shrugging his shoulders, dryly] I thought y o u did. Y o u r p o e t r y isn't very c h e e r y . N o r the s t u f f you r e a d a n d c l a i m to a d m i r e . [He indicates the small bookcase at rear.] Y o u r p e t with the u n p r o n o u n c e a b l e n a m e , for e x a m p l e . EDMUND N i e t z s c h e . You don't k n o w w h a t y o u ' r e t a l k i n g a b o u t . You haven't r e a d h i m . JAMIE E n o u g h to k n o w it's a lot o f b u n k ! TYRONE S h u t u p , b o t h of y o u ! T h e r e ' s little c h o i c e b e t w e e n t h e p h i l o s o p h y you l e a r n e d f r o m B r o a d w a y l o a f e r s , a n d the o n e E d m u n d got f r o m his b o o k s . T h e y ' r e b o t h r o t t e n to the c o r e . You've b o t h f l o u t e d the faith y o u w e r e b o r n a n d b r o u g h t u p i n — t h e o n e t r u e faith of the C a t h o l i c C h u r c h — a n d your denial has brought nothing but self-destruction! [His two sons stare at him contemptuously. They forget their quarrel and are as one against him on this issue.] EDMUND T h a t ' s the b u n k , P a p a ! JAMIE W e don't p r e t e n d , at a n y r a t e , [caustically] I don't n o t i c e you've w o r n a n y h o l e s in t h e k n e e s of y o u r p a n t s g o i n g to M a s s .

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

2

/

2035

It's t r u e I'm a b a d C a t h o l i c in the o b s e r v a n c e , G o d forgive m e . B u t I believe! [angrily] A n d you're a liar! I m a y not g o to c h u r c h b u t every night a n d m o r n i n g of m y life I get o n my k n e e s a n d pray! E D M U N D [bitingly] D i d you p r a y for M a m a ? TYRONE I did. I've p r a y e d to G o d t h e s e m a n y y e a r s for her. EDMUND T h e n N i e t z s c h e m u s t b e right. [He quotes from T h u s S p a k e Zara t h u s t r a . ] " G o d is d e a d : of H i s pity for m a n h a t h G o d d i e d . " T Y R O N E [ignores this] If y o u r m o t h e r h a d p r a y e d , t o o — S h e h a s n ' t d e n i e d her faith, b u t s h e ' s forgotten it, until n o w there's n o s t r e n g t h of t h e spirit left in her to fight a g a i n s t h e r c u r s e , [then dully resigned] B u t w h a t ' s t h e g o o d of talk? W e ' v e lived with this b e f o r e a n d n o w we m u s t a g a i n . T h e r e ' s n o h e l p for it. [bitterly] O n l y I w i s h s h e h a d n ' t l e d m e to h o p e this t i m e . B y G o d , I never will a g a i n ! EDMUND T h a t ' s a rotten t h i n g to say, P a p a ! [defiantly] W e l l , I'll h o p e ! S h e ' s j u s t s t a r t e d . It c a n ' t h a v e got a hold o n her yet. S h e c a n still s t o p . I'm g o i n g to talk to her. J A M I E [shrugs his shoulders] You c a n ' t talk to her n o w . She'll listen b u t s h e won't listen. She'll b e h e r e b u t s h e won't b e h e r e . You k n o w the way s h e gets. TYRONE Y e s , that's the way the p o i s o n a c t s o n h e r a l w a y s . Every d a y f r o m n o w o n , there'll b e t h e s a m e drifting a w a y f r o m u s until by t h e e n d of each night— E D M U N D [miserably] C u t it o u t , P a p a ! [He jumps up from his c h a i r . ] I'm g o i n g to g e t d r e s s e d , [bitterly, as he goes] I'll m a k e s o m u c h n o i s e s h e c a n ' t s u s p e c t I've c o m e to spy o n her. [He disappears through the front parlor and can be heard stamping noisily upstairs. ] J A M I E [after a pause] W h a t did D o c H a r d y s a y a b o u t the K i d ? T Y R O N E [dully] It's w h a t y o u t h o u g h t . H e ' s g o t c o n s u m p t i o n . JAMIE G o d d a m n it! TYRONE T h e r e is n o p o s s i b l e d o u b t , h e s a i d . JAMIE He'll h a v e to g o to a s a n a t o r i u m . TYRONE Y e s , a n d the s o o n e r the better, H a r d y s a i d , for h i m a n d e v e r y o n e a r o u n d h i m . H e c l a i m s that in six m o n t h s to a year E d m u n d will b e c u r e d , if h e o b e y s o r d e r s . [He s i g h s — g l o o m i l y and resentfully] I never thought a child o f m i n e — I t d o e s n ' t c o m e f r o m my s i d e of t h e family. T h e r e w a s n ' t o n e of u s that didn't h a v e l u n g s a s s t r o n g a s a n ox. JAMIE W h o gives a d a m n a b o u t t h a t part of it! W h e r e d o e s H a r d y w a n t to send him? TYRONE T h a t ' s w h a t I'm to s e e h i m a b o u t . JAMIE W e l l , for G o d ' s s a k e , p i c k o u t a g o o d p l a c e a n d not s o m e c h e a p dump! T Y R O N E [stung] I'll s e n d h i m w h e r e v e r H a r d y t h i n k s b e s t ! JAMIE W e l l , don't give H a r d y y o u r old o v e r - t h e - h i l l s - t o - t h e - p o o r h o u s e s o n g a b o u t taxes a n d m o r t g a g e s . TYRONE I'm n o m i l l i o n a i r e w h o c a n throw m o n e y away! W h y s h o u l d n ' t I tell H a r d y the truth? JAMIE B e c a u s e he'll t h i n k you w a n t h i m to p i c k a c h e a p d u m p , a n d b e c a u s e he'll k n o w it isn't t h e t r u t h — e s p e c i a l l y if h e h e a r s a f t e r w a r d s you've s e e n M c G u i r e a n d let t h a t f l a n n e l - m o u t h , g o l d - b r i c k m e r c h a n t s t i n g y o u with a n o t h e r p i e c e of b u m property! TYRONE

2036

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

K e e p y o u r n o s e o u t of my b u s i n e s s ! T h i s is E d m u n d ' s b u s i n e s s . W h a t I'm afraid o f is, with your Irish b o g trotter i d e a t h a t c o n s u m p t i o n is fatal, you'll figure it w o u l d b e a w a s t e of m o n e y to s p e n d a n y m o r e t h a n you c a n h e l p . TYRONE You liar! JAMIE All right. Prove I'm a liar. T h a t ' s w h a t I w a n t . T h a t ' s w h y I b r o u g h t it u p . T Y R O N E [his rage still smoldering] I h a v e every h o p e E d m u n d will b e c u r e d . A n d k e e p y o u r dirty t o n g u e off I r e l a n d ! Y o u ' r e a fine o n e to s n e e r , with the m a p o f it o n your f a c e ! JAMIE N o t after I w a s h my f a c e . [Then before his father can react to this insult to the Old Sod he adds dryly, shrugging his shoulders] W e l l , I've s a i d all I h a v e to say. It's u p to y o u . [abruptly] W h a t d o you w a n t m e to d o this a f t e r n o o n , n o w you're g o i n g u p t o w n ? I've d o n e all I c a n d o o n the h e d g e until you c u t m o r e of it. You don't w a n t m e to g o a h e a d with y o u r c l i p p i n g , I k n o w that. TYRONE N o . Y o u ' d get it c r o o k e d , a s y o u g e t everything e l s e . JAMIE T h e n I'd better g o u p t o w n with E d m u n d . T h e b a d n e w s c o m i n g o n t o p of w h a t ' s h a p p e n e d to M a m a m a y hit h i m h a r d . T Y R O N E [forgetting his quarrel] Y e s , g o with h i m , J a m i e . K e e p u p his spirits, if y o u c a n . [He adds caustically] If y o u c a n w i t h o u t m a k i n g it a n e x c u s e to get d r u n k ! JAMIE W h a t w o u l d I u s e for m o n e y ? T h e last I h e a r d they w e r e still selling b o o z e , not giving it away. [He starts for the front-parlor doorway.] I'll g e t dressed. [He stops in the doorway as he sees his mother approaching from the hall, and moves aside to let her come in. Her eyes look brighter, and her manner is more detached. This change becomes more marked as the scene goes on.] MARY [vaguely] You haven't s e e n m y g l a s s e s a n y w h e r e , h a v e y o u , Jamie? [She doesn't look at him. He glances away, ignoring her question but she doesn't seem to expect an answer. She comes forward, addressing her husband without looking at him.] You haven't s e e n t h e m , h a v e y o u , J a m e s ? [Behind her J A M I E disappears through the front parlor.] T Y R O N E [turns to look out the screen door] N o , Mary. MARY W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with J a m i e ? H a v e you b e e n n a g g i n g at h i m a g a i n ? You s h o u l d n ' t treat h i m with s u c h c o n t e m p t all t h e t i m e . H e ' s not to b l a m e . If he'd b e e n b r o u g h t u p in a real h o m e , I'm s u r e h e w o u l d h a v e b e e n different. [She comes to the windows at right—lightly] Y o u ' r e not m u c h of a w e a t h e r p r o p h e t , d e a r . S e e h o w hazy it's g e t t i n g . I c a n h a r d l y s e e the other s h o r e . T Y R O N E [trying to speak naturally] Y e s , I s p o k e t o o s o o n . W e ' r e in for a n o t h e r night of fog, I'm a f r a i d . MARY O h , well, I won't m i n d it t o n i g h t . TYRONE N o , I don't i m a g i n e y o u will, M a r y . M A R Y [flashes a glance at him—after a pause] I don't s e e J a m i e g o i n g d o w n to the h e d g e . W h e r e did h e g o ? TYRONE H e ' s g o i n g with E d m u n d to the D o c t o r ' s . H e w e n t u p to c h a n g e TYRONE

JAMIE

LONG

his c l o t h e s , [then,

glad

DAY'S J O U R N E Y

of an excuse

INTO

to leave

NIGHT, ACT 2

/

2037

her] I'd b e t t e r d o t h e s a m e

or I'll b e late for m y a p p o i n t m e n t at t h e C l u b . [He

makes

impulsive

a move movement

toward

the front-parlor

she reaches

doorway,

out and clasps

but with

a

swift

his arm.]

[a note of pleading in her voice] D o n ' t g o yet, d e a r . I d o n ' t w a n t to b e a l o n e , [hastily] I m e a n , you have plenty of time. You know you boast you c a n d r e s s in o n e - t e n t h t h e t i m e it t a k e s t h e b o y s , [vaguely] T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g I w a n t e d to s a y . W h a t is it? I've f o r g o t t e n . I'm g l a d J a m i e is g o i n g u p t o w n . Y o u didn't give h i m a n y m o n e y , I h o p e .

MARY

TYRONE

I did

not.

H e ' d only s p e n d it o n drink a n d y o u k n o w w h a t a vile, p o i s o n o u s tongue he has when he's drunk. N o t that I would mind anything he said t o n i g h t , b u t h e a l w a y s m a n a g e s to drive y o u into a r a g e , e s p e c i a l l y if you're d r u n k , t o o , a s y o u will b e . T Y R O N E [resentfully] I w o n ' t . I never g e t d r u n k . M A R Y [teasing indifferently] O h , I'm s u r e you'll h o l d it well. Y o u a l w a y s h a v e . It's h a r d for a s t r a n g e r to tell, b u t after thirty-five y e a r s o f m a r riage— TYRONE I've n e v e r m i s s e d a p e r f o r m a n c e in m y life. T h a t ' s t h e proof! [then bitterly] If I d i d g e t d r u n k it is n o t y o u w h o s h o u l d b l a m e m e . N o m a n h a s ever h a d a b e t t e r r e a s o n . MARY R e a s o n ? W h a t r e a s o n ? Y o u always d r i n k t o o m u c h w h e n y o u g o to t h e C l u b , don't y o u ? P a r t i c u l a r l y w h e n y o u m e e t M c G u i r e . H e s e e s to t h a t . D o n ' t think I'm finding fault, d e a r . Y o u m u s t d o a s y o u p l e a s e . I won't m i n d . MARY

TYRONE

escape.]

I k n o w y o u w o n ' t . [He turns I've g o t t o g e t d r e s s e d .

toward

the front

parlor,

anxious

to

[again she reaches out and grasps his arm—pleadingly] No, please wait a little w h i l e , d e a r . At l e a s t , until o n e o f t h e b o y s c o m e s d o w n . Y o u will all b e leaving m e s o s o o n . T Y R O N E [with bitter sadness] It's y o u w h o a r e leaving u s , M a r y . MARY I? T h a t ' s a silly t h i n g to say, J a m e s . H o w c o u l d I leave? T h e r e is nowhere I could go. W h o would I go to see? I have no friends. TYRONE It's y o u r o w n f a u l t — [ H e stops and sighs helplessly—persuasively] T h e r e ' s surely o n e t h i n g y o u c a n d o this a f t e r n o o n t h a t will b e g o o d for you, M a r y . T a k e a drive in t h e a u t o m o b i l e . G e t a w a y f r o m t h e h o u s e . G e t a little s u n a n d f r e s h air. [injuredly] I b o u g h t t h e a u t o m o b i l e for y o u . You k n o w I don't like t h e d a m n e d t h i n g s . I'd r a t h e r w a l k a n y d a y , o r t a k e a trolley, [with growing resentment] I h a d it h e r e w a i t i n g for y o u w h e n you c a m e b a c k from the s a n a t o r i u m . I h o p e d it w o u l d give y o u p l e a s u r e a n d d i s t r a c t your m i n d . Y o u u s e d to ride in it every d a y , b u t you've hardly u s e d it at all lately. I p a i d a lot o f m o n e y I c o u l d n ' t afford, a n d t h e r e ' s t h e c h a u f f e u r I h a v e to b o a r d a n d l o d g e a n d p a y h i g h w a g e s w h e t h e r h e drives y o u or n o t . [bitterly] W a s t e ! T h e s a m e o l d w a s t e that will l a n d m e in t h e p o o r h o u s e in m y o l d a g e ! W h a t g o o d did it d o y o u ? I m i g h t a s well h a v e thrown t h e m o n e y o u t t h e w i n d o w . M A R Y [with detached calm] Y e s , it w a s a w a s t e o f m o n e y , J a m e s . Y o u shouldn't have bought a secondhand automobile. You were swindled a g a i n a s y o u always a r e , b e c a u s e y o u insist o n s e c o n d h a n d b a r g a i n s in everything. MARY

2038

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

It's o n e o f the b e s t m a k e s ! E v e r y o n e s a y s it's better t h a n a n y o f the n e w o n e s ! M A R Y [ignoring this] It w a s a n o t h e r w a s t e to hire S m y t h e , w h o w a s only a h e l p e r in a g a r a g e a n d h a d never b e e n a c h a u f f e u r . O h , I realize h i s w a g e s a r e l e s s t h a n a real c h a u f f e u r ' s , b u t h e m o r e t h a n m a k e s u p for that, I'm s u r e , by t h e graft h e g e t s f r o m t h e g a r a g e o n repair bills. S o m e t h i n g is always w r o n g . S m y t h e s e e s to t h a t , I'm afraid. TYRONE I don't believe it! H e m a y n o t b e a f a n c y millionaire's flunky b u t he's h o n e s t ! You're a s b a d a s J a m i e , s u s p e c t i n g e v e r y o n e ! MARY You m u s t n ' t b e o f f e n d e d , d e a r . I w a s n ' t o f f e n d e d w h e n you g a v e m e the a u t o m o b i l e . I k n e w y o u didn't m e a n to h u m i l i a t e m e . I k n e w t h a t w a s t h e way y o u h a d to d o everything. I w a s grateful a n d t o u c h e d . I k n e w b u y i n g t h e c a r w a s a h a r d t h i n g for y o u to d o , a n d it p r o v e d h o w m u c h you loved m e , in your way, e s p e c i a l l y w h e n y o u c o u l d n ' t really believe it would do m e any good. TYRONE M a r y ! [He suddenly hugs her to him—brokenly] Dear Mary! For the love o f G o d , for m y s a k e a n d t h e b o y s ' s a k e a n d y o u r o w n , won't you stop now? M A R Y [stammers in guilty confusion for a second] I — J a m e s ! P l e a s e ! [Her

TYRONE

strange,

stubborn

defense

comes

back

instantly.]

S t o p what? W h a t are you

talking a b o u t ? [He

lets his arm fall

around

to his side

brokenly.

She impulsively

puts

her arm

him.]

J a m e s ! W e ' v e loved e a c h other! W e always will! L e t ' s r e m e m b e r only that, a n d n o t try to u n d e r s t a n d w h a t w e c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d , or h e l p t h i n g s that c a n n o t b e h e l p e d — t h e t h i n g s life h a s d o n e to u s w e c a n n o t e x c u s e or e x p l a i n . T Y R O N E [as if he hadn't heard—bitterly] You won't even try? M A R Y [her arms

drop

hopelessly

and she turns

away—with

detachment]

Try

to g o for a drive this a f t e r n o o n , y o u m e a n ? W h y , y e s , if you w i s h m e t o , a l t h o u g h it m a k e s m e feel lonelier t h a n if I s t a y e d h e r e . T h e r e is n o o n e I c a n invite to drive with m e , a n d I never k n o w w h e r e to tell S m y t h e to g o . If t h e r e w a s a friend's h o u s e w h e r e I c o u l d d r o p in a n d l a u g h a n d g o s s i p a w h i l e . B u t , o f c o u r s e , t h e r e isn't. T h e r e never h a s b e e n , [her manner

becoming

more

and more

remote]

At t h e C o n v e n t I h a d s o m a n y

f r i e n d s . G i r l s w h o s e f a m i l i e s lived in lovely h o m e s . I u s e d to visit t h e m a n d they'd visit m e in my father's h o m e . B u t , naturally, after I m a r r i e d a n a c t o r — y o u k n o w h o w a c t o r s w e r e c o n s i d e r e d in t h o s e d a y s — a lot of t h e m g a v e m e t h e c o l d s h o u l d e r . A n d t h e n , right after w e w e r e m a r r i e d , t h e r e w a s t h e s c a n d a l o f that w o m a n w h o h a d b e e n y o u r m i s t r e s s , s u i n g y o u . F r o m t h e n o n , all m y old f r i e n d s either pitied m e o r c u t m e d e a d . I h a t e d t h e o n e s w h o c u t m e m u c h l e s s t h a n t h e pitiers. T Y R O N E [with guilty resentment] F o r G o d ' s s a k e , don't d i g u p w h a t ' s l o n g f o r g o t t e n . If you're that far g o n e in t h e p a s t a l r e a d y , w h e n it's only t h e b e g i n n i n g o f t h e a f t e r n o o n , w h a t will you b e t o n i g h t ? M A R Y [stares at him defiantly now] C o m e t o t h i n k of it, I d o have to drive u p t o w n . T h e r e ' s s o m e t h i n g I m u s t g e t at t h e d r u g s t o r e . T Y R O N E [bitterly scornful] L e a v e it to you to h a v e s o m e o f the stuff hidden, a n d p r e s c r i p t i o n s for m o r e ! I h o p e you'll lay in a g o o d s t o c k a h e a d s o we'll never h a v e a n o t h e r night like t h e o n e w h e n y o u s c r e a m e d for it.

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

2

/

2039

a n d r a n o u t of the h o u s e in your n i g h t d r e s s half crazy, to try a n d throw y o u r s e l f off the d o c k ! M A R Y [tries to ignore this] I have to get t o o t h p o w d e r a n d toilet s o a p a n d c o l d c r e a m — [ S h e breaks down pitiably.] J a m e s ! You m u s t n ' t r e m e m b e r ! You m u s t n ' t h u m i l i a t e m e s o ! T Y R O N E [ashamed 1 ] I'm sorry. Forgive m e , M a r y ! M A R Y [defensively detached again] It d o e s n ' t m a t t e r . N o t h i n g like that ever h a p p e n e d . You m u s t have d r e a m e d it. [He stares

at her hopelessly.

Her voice

seems

to drift farther

and

farther

away. ]

I w a s s o healthy b e f o r e E d m u n d w a s b o r n . You r e m e m b e r , J a m e s . T h e r e wasn't a nerve in m y body. E v e n traveling with you s e a s o n after s e a s o n , with w e e k after w e e k of o n e - n i g h t s t a n d s , in trains w i t h o u t P u l l m a n s , in dirty r o o m s of filthy h o t e l s , e a t i n g b a d f o o d , b e a r i n g c h i l d r e n in hotel r o o m s , I still kept healthy. B u t b e a r i n g E d m u n d w a s the last straw. I w a s s o sick a f t e r w a r d s , a n d t h a t i g n o r a n t q u a c k of a c h e a p hotel d o c t o r — A l l h e k n e w w a s I w a s in p a i n . It w a s e a s y for h i m to s t o p the p a i n . TYRONE M a r y ! F o r G o d ' s s a k e , forget the p a s t ! M A R Y [with strange objective calm] W h y ? H o w c a n I? T h e p a s t is the p r e s e n t , isn't it? It's t h e f u t u r e , t o o . W e all try to lie o u t of t h a t b u t life won't let u s . [going on] I b l a m e only myself. I s w o r e after E u g e n e d i e d I w o u l d never have a n o t h e r b a b y . I w a s to b l a m e for his d e a t h . If I h a d n ' t left him with m y m o t h e r to j o i n you o n the r o a d , b e c a u s e you wrote telling m e you m i s s e d m e a n d w e r e s o lonely, J a m i e w o u l d never h a v e b e e n a l l o w e d , w h e n h e still h a d m e a s l e s , to g o in the baby's r o o m , [her face hardening] I've always believed J a m i e did it o n p u r p o s e . H e w a s j e a l o u s of the baby. H e h a t e d h i m . [as T Y R O N E starts to protest] Oh, I know J a m i e w a s only s e v e n , b u t h e w a s never s t u p i d . H e ' d b e e n w a r n e d it m i g h t kill the b a b y . H e k n e w . I've never b e e n a b l e to forgive h i m for that. T Y R O N E [with bitter sadness] A r e you b a c k with E u g e n e n o w ? C a n ' t you let our d e a d b a b y rest in p e a c e ? M A R Y [as if she hadn't heard him] It w a s my fault. I s h o u l d have i n s i s t e d on staying with E u g e n e a n d not h a v e let you p e r s u a d e m e to j o i n y o u , j u s t b e c a u s e I loved y o u . A b o v e all, I s h o u l d n ' t have let you insist I h a v e a n o t h e r b a b y to t a k e E u g e n e ' s p l a c e , b e c a u s e you t h o u g h t t h a t w o u l d m a k e m e forget his d e a t h . I k n e w from e x p e r i e n c e by t h e n t h a t c h i l d r e n s h o u l d have h o m e s to be b o r n in, if they a r e to b e g o o d c h i l d r e n , a n d w o m e n n e e d h o m e s , if they a r e to b e g o o d m o t h e r s . I w a s afraid all the t i m e I c a r r i e d E d m u n d . I k n e w s o m e t h i n g terrible w o u l d h a p p e n . I k n e w I'd proved by the way I'd left E u g e n e that I wasn't worthy to have a n o t h e r baby, a n d that G o d w o u l d p u n i s h m e if I did. I never s h o u l d have b o r n e Edmund. T Y R O N E [with an uneasy glance through the front parlor] Mary! B e careful with your talk. If h e h e a r d you h e might think you never w a n t e d h i m . H e ' s feeling b a d e n o u g h a l r e a d y w i t h o u t — M A R Y [violently] It's a lie! I did w a n t h i m ! M o r e t h a n a n y t h i n g in the world! You don't u n d e r s t a n d ! I m e a n t , for his s a k e . H e h a s never b e e n h a p p y . H e never will b e . N o r healthy. H e w a s b o r n n e r v o u s a n d t o o s e n s i t i v e , a n d that's my fault. A n d n o w , ever s i n c e he's b e e n s o s i c k I've k e p t r e m e m b e r i n g E u g e n e a n d my father a n d I've b e e n s o f r i g h t e n e d a n d

2040

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

g u i l t y — [ t h e n , catching herself, with an instant change to stubborn denial] O h , I k n o w it's foolish to i m a g i n e d r e a d f u l t h i n g s w h e n there's n o r e a s o n for it. After all, everyone h a s c o l d s a n d g e t s over t h e m . [ T Y R O N E stares at her and sighs helplessly. He turns away toward the front parlor and sees E D M U N D coming down the stairs in the hall.] T Y R O N E [sharply, in a low voice] H e r e ' s E d m u n d . F o r G o d ' s s a k e try a n d b e y o u r s e l f — a t l e a s t until h e g o e s ! You c a n d o t h a t m u c h for h i m ! [He waits, forcing his face into a pleasantly paternal expression. She waits frightenedly, seized again by a nervous panic, her hands fluttering over the bosom of her dress, up to her throat and hair, with a distracted aimlessness. Then, as E D M U N D approaches the doorway, she cannot face him. She goes swiftly away to the windows at left and stares out with her back to the front parlor, E D M U N D enters. He has changed to a readymade blue serge suit, high stiff collar and tie, black shoes. With an actor's heartiness] Well! You look spic a n d s p a n . I'm o n my w a y u p to c h a n g e , t o o . [He starts to pass him.] E D M U N D [dryly] W a i t a m i n u t e , P a p a . I h a t e to b r i n g u p d i s a g r e e a b l e topics, b u t there's the m a t t e r of c a r f a r e . I'm b r o k e . T Y R O N E [starts automatically on a customary lecture] You'll always b e b r o k e until you l e a r n the v a l u e — [ c h e c k s himself guiltily, looking at his son's sick face with worried pity] B u t you've b e e n l e a r n i n g , l a d . You w o r k e d h a r d b e f o r e y o u t o o k ill. You've d o n e s p l e n d i d l y . I'm p r o u d of y o u . [He pulls out a small roll of bills from his pants pocket and carefully expresses selects one. E D M U N D takes it. He glances at it and his face astonishment. His father again reacts customarily—sarcastically] T h a n k y o u . [He quotes] " H o w s h a r p e r t h a n a s e r p e n t ' s t o o t h it i s — " EDMUND "To have a thankless child."9 I know. Give m e a c h a n c e , Papa. I'm k n o c k e d s p e e c h l e s s . T h i s isn't a dollar. It's a ten s p o t . T Y R O N E [embarrassed by his generosity] P u t it in y o u r p o c k e t . You'll p r o b ably m e e t s o m e o f your f r i e n d s u p t o w n a n d you c a n ' t hold y o u r e n d u p a n d b e s o c i a b l e with n o t h i n g in y o u r j e a n s . EDMUND You m e a n t it? G o s h , t h a n k y o u , P a p a . [He is genuinely pleased and grateful for a moment—then he stares at his father's face with uneasy suspicion.] B u t why all of a s u d d e n — ? [cynically] D i d D o c H a r d y tell y o u I w a s g o i n g to d i e ? [Then he sees his father is bitterly hurt.] N o ! T h a t ' s a r o t t e n c r a c k . I w a s only k i d d i n g , P a p a . [He puts an arm around his father impulsively and gives him an affectionate hug.] I'm very g r a t e f u l . H o n e s t , Papa. T Y R O N E [touched, returns his hug] You're welcome, lad. M A R Y [suddenly turns to them in a confused panic of frightened anger] I won't h a v e it! [She stamps her foot.] D o you h e a r , E d m u n d ! S u c h m o r b i d n o n s e n s e ! S a y i n g you're g o i n g to d i e ! It's t h e b o o k s you r e a d ! N o t h i n g b u t s a d n e s s a n d d e a t h ! Y o u r father s h o u l d n ' t a l l o w y o u to h a v e t h e m . A n d s o m e of the p o e m s you've written y o u r s e l f a r e e v e n w o r s e ! Y o u ' d think y o u didn't w a n t to live! A boy o f y o u r a g e with everything b e f o r e h i m ! It's j u s t a p o s e you get o u t of b o o k s ! Y o u ' r e n o t really s i c k at all! TYRONE M a r y ! H o l d your t o n g u e ! 9. Shakespeare's King Lear \

A3\2.

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y

INTO NIGHT,

ACT

2

/

2041

[instantly changing to a detached tone] B u t , J a m e s , it's a b s u r d of E d m u n d to b e s o g l o o m y a n d m a k e s u c h a g r e a t to-do a b o u t n o t h i n g . [turning to E D M U N D but avoiding his eyes—teasingly affectionate] Never m i n d , d e a r . I'm o n to y o u . [She comes to him.] You w a n t to b e p e t t e d a n d s p o i l e d a n d m a d e a f u s s over, isn't t h a t it? You're still s u c h a b a b y . [She puts her arm around him and hugs him. He remains rigid and unyielding. Her voice begins to tremble.] B u t p l e a s e don't carry it t o o far, d e a r . D o n ' t s a y h o r r i b l e t h i n g s . I k n o w it's foolish to t a k e t h e m s e r i o u s l y b u t I can't h e l p it. You've got m e — s o f r i g h t e n e d . [She breaks and hides her face on his shoulder, sohfctng. E D M U N D is moved in spite of himself. He pats her showhier with an awkward tenderness.] EDMUND D o n ' t , m o t h e r . [His eyes meet his father's.] T Y R O N E [huskily—clutching at hopeless hope] M a y b e if you a s k e d y o u r m o t h e r now w h a t you s a i d y o u w e r e g o i n g t o — [ H e fumbles with his watch.] By G o d , look at the t i m e ! I'll h a v e to s h a k e a leg. [He hurries away through the front parlor, M A R Y lifts her head. Her manner is again one of detached motherly solicitude. She seems to have forgotten the tears which are still in her eyes.] MARY H o w do you feel, d e a r ? [She feels his forehead.] Y o u r h e a d is a little hot, but that's j u s t f r o m g o i n g o u t in the s u n . You look ever s o m u c h better t h a n you did this m o r n i n g , [taking his hand] C o m e a n d sit d o w n . You m u s t n ' t s t a n d o n your feet s o m u c h . You m u s t learn to h u s b a n d y o u r strength. [She gets him to sit and she sits sideways on the arm of his chair, an arm around his shoulder, so he cannot meet her eyes.] E D M U N D [starts to blurt out the appeal he now feels is quite hopeless] Listen, Mama— M A R Y [interrupting quickly] N o w , now! D o n ' t talk. L e a n b a c k a n d rest. [persuasively] Y o u k n o w , I t h i n k it w o u l d b e m u c h b e t t e r for you if you stayed h o m e this a f t e r n o o n a n d let m e take c a r e of y o u . It's s u c h a tiring trip u p t o w n in the dirty old trolley o n a hot day like this. I'm s u r e y o u ' d b e m u c h b e t t e r off h e r e with m e . E D M U N D [dwliy] You forget I h a v e a n a p p o i n t m e n t with H a r d y , [trying again to get his appeal started] L i s t e n , M a m a — M A R Y [<jMJcfery] You c a n t e l e p h o n e a n d s a y y o u don't feel well e n o u g h , [excitedly] It's simply a w a s t e of t i m e a n d m o n e y s e e i n g h i m . He'll only tell you s o m e lie. He'll p r e t e n d he's found s o m e t h i n g s e r i o u s t h e m a t t e r b e c a u s e that's his b r e a d a n d b u t t e r . [ S h e gives a hard sneering itttie laugh.] T h e old idiot! All h e k n o w s a b o u t m e d i c i n e is to look s o l e m n a n d p r e a c h will power! E D M U N D [trying to catch her eyes] M a m a ! P l e a s e listen! I w a n t to a s k y o u s o m e t h i n g ! Y o u — Y o u ' r e only j u s t s t a r t e d . You c a n still s t o p . You've got the will power! We'll all h e l p y o u . I'll d o a n y t h i n g ! W o n ' t y o u , M a m a ? M A R Y [stammers pleadingly] P l e a s e d o n ' t — t a l k a b o u t t h i n g s y o u don't understand! E D M U N D [dully] All right, I give u p . I k n e w it w a s n o u s e . M A R Y [in blank denial now] Anyway, I don't k n o w w h a t you're referring to. B u t I d o k n o w y o u s h o u l d b e the last o n e — R i g h t after I r e t u r n e d from the s a n a t o r i u m , you b e g a n to b e ill. T h e d o c t o r t h e r e h a d w a r n e d MARY

2042

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

m e I m u s t have p e a c e at h o m e with n o t h i n g to u p s e t m e , a n d all I've d o n e is worry a b o u t y o u . [then distractedly] B u t that's n o e x c u s e ! I'm only trying to e x p l a i n . It's not a n e x c u s e ! [She hugs him to her—-pleadingly] P r o m i s e m e , d e a r , you won't believe I m a d e you a n e x c u s e . E D M U N D [bitterly] What else can I believe? M A R Y [slowly takes her arm away—her manner remote and objective again] Y e s , I s u p p o s e you c a n ' t h e l p s u s p e c t i n g that. E D M U N D [ashamed but still hitter] W h a t d o you e x p e c t ? MARY N o t h i n g , I don't b l a m e y o u . H o w could you believe m e — w h e n I can't believe m y s e l f ? I've b e c o m e s u c h a liar. I never lied a b o u t a n y t h i n g o n c e u p o n a t i m e . N o w I h a v e to lie, e s p e c i a l l y to myself. B u t h o w c a n you u n d e r s t a n d , w h e n I don't myself. I've never u n d e r s t o o d a n y t h i n g a b o u t it, e x c e p t that o n e d a y l o n g a g o I f o u n d I c o u l d n o l o n g e r call my s o u l my o w n . [She pauses—then lowering her voice to a strange tone of whispered confidence] B u t s o m e day, d e a r , I will find it a g a i n — s o m e day w h e n you're all well, a n d I s e e you h e a l t h y a n d h a p p y a n d s u c c e s s f u l , a n d I don't have to feel guilty any m o r e — s o m e day w h e n the B l e s s e d Virgin M a r y forgives m e a n d gives m e b a c k the faith in H e r love a n d pity I u s e d to h a v e in my c o n v e n t d a y s , a n d I c a n pray to H e r a g a i n — w h e n S h e s e e s n o o n e in the world c a n believe in m e e v e n for a m o m e n t any m o r e , then S h e will believe in m e , a n d with H e r h e l p it will b e s o e a s y . I will h e a r m y s e l f s c r e a m with a g o n y , a n d at the s a m e t i m e I will l a u g h b e c a u s e I will b e s o s u r e of myself, [then as E D M U N D remains hopelessly silent, she adds sadly] O f c o u r s e , y o u c a n ' t believe t h a t , e i t h e r . [She rises from the arm of his chair and goes to stare out the windows at right with her back to him—casually] N o w I think of it, you m i g h t a s well g o u p t o w n . I forgot I'm taking a drive. I h a v e to go to the d r u g s t o r e . You w o u l d hardly w a n t to g o t h e r e with m e . You'd b e s o a s h a m e d . [brokenly] M a m a ! Don't! I s u p p o s e you'll divide that ten d o l l a r s y o u r f a t h e r g a v e y o u with J a m i e . You always divide with e a c h o t h e r , don't y o u ? L i k e g o o d s p o r t s . W e l l , I know what he'll d o with his s h a r e . G e t d r u n k s o m e p l a c e w h e r e h e c a n b e with the only kind of w o m a n h e u n d e r s t a n d s or likes. [She turns to him, pleading frightenedly] E d m u n d ! P r o m i s e m e you won't drink! It's s o d a n g e r o u s ! You k n o w D o c t o r H a r d y told y o u — E D M U N D [bitterly] I t h o u g h t h e w a s a n old idiot. Anyway, by tonight, w h a t will you c a r e ? M A R Y [pitifully] Edmund! [ I A M I E ' S voice is heard from the front hall, " C o m e on, Kid, let's beat it." M A R Y ' S manner at once becomes detached again.] G o o n , E d m u n d . J a m i e ' s w a i t i n g . [She goes to the front-parlor doorway.] T h e r e c o m e s y o u r father d o w n s t a i r s , t o o . [ T Y R O N E S voice calls, " C o m e on, E d m u n d . " ] E D M U N D [jumping up from his chair] I'm c o m i n g . [He stops beside her—without looking at her.] Goodbye, Mama. M A R Y [kisses him with detached affection] Goodbye, d e a r . If you're c o m i n g h o m e for d i n n e r , try not to b e l a t e . A n d tell y o u r father. You know what B r i d g e t is. [He turns and hurries away. T Y R O N E calls from the hall, " G o o d b y e , Mary," and then J A M I E , " G o o d b y e , M a m a . " S h e calls back]

EDMUND MARY

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

3

/

2043

G o o d b y e . [The front screen door is heard closing after them. She comes and stands by the table, one hand drumming on it, the other g u t t e r i n g up to pat her hair. She stares about the room with / t i g h t e n e d , forsaken eyes and whispers to hersei/.] It's so lonely h e r e . [Then her face hardens into hitter self-contempt.] Y o u ' r e lying to y o u r s e l f a g a i n . You w a n t e d to get rid of t h e m . T h e i r c o n t e m p t a n d d i s g u s t aren't p l e a s a n t c o m p a n y . You're g l a d they're g o n e . [ S h e gives a Zitt/e despairing laugh.] T h e n M o t h e r of G o d , why d o I feel s o lonely?

CURTAIN

Act

3

S C E N E — T h e same. It is around half past six in the evening. Dusk is gathering in the living room, an early dusk due to the fog which has rolled in from the Sound and is like a white curtain drawn down outside the windows. From a lighthouse beyond the harbor's mouth, a foghorn is heard at regular intervals, moaning like a mournful whale in labor, and from the harbor itse(f, intermittently, comes the warning ringing of he?/s on yachts at anchor. The tray with the hottJe of whisfeey, glasses, and pitcher of ice water is on the table, as it was in the pre-luncheon scene of the previous act. M A R Y a n d the second girl, C A T H L E E N , are discovered. The /atter is standing at left of table. She ho/ds a n empty whisfeey gfass in her hand as if she'd forgotten she had it. She shows the effects of drink. Her stupid, good-humored face wears a pleased and flattered simper. M A R Y is paler than before and her eyes shine with unnatural hrdhance. The strange detachment in her manner has intensified. She has hidden deeper within herse/f and found refuge and release in a dream where present reality is but an appearance to be accepted and dismissed unfeelingly—even with a hard cynicism—or entirely ignored. There is at times an uncanny gay, free youthfulness in her manner, as if in spirit she were released to become again, simply and without self-consciousness, the naive, happy, chattering schoolgirl of her convent days. She wears the dress into which she had changed for her drive to town, a simp/e, fairly expensive affair, which would be extremely becoming if it were not for the careless, almost siovenZy way she wears it. Her hair is no longer fastidiously in place. It has a s/ightry disheveled, lopsided look. She talks to C A T H L E E N with a confiding familiarity, as if the second giW were an old, intimate friend. As the curtain rises, she is standing by the screen door Joofeing out. A moan of the foghorn is heard. [amused—giWishZy] T h a t f o g h o r n ! Isn't it awful, C a t h l e e n ? [talks more familiarly than usual but never with intentional impertinence because she sincerefy likes her mistress] It is i n d e e d , M a ' a m . It's like a b a n s h e e . M A R Y [Goes o n as if she hadn't heard. In nearly all the following dialogue there is the feeling that she has C A T H L E E N with her merely as an excuse to keep talking.] I don't m i n d it tonight. L a s t night it drove m e crazy. I lay a w a k e worrying until I c o u l d n ' t s t a n d it any m o r e . CATHLEEN B a d c e s s to it. 1 I w a s s c a r e d o u t of my wits r i d i n g b a c k from town. I t h o u g h t that ugly m o n k e y , S m y t h e , w o u l d drive u s in a d i t c h or MARY

CATHLEEN

I, Bad luck lo it (Irish).

2044

I

EUGENE

O'NEILL

a g a i n s t a tree. You c o u l d n ' t s e e y o u r h a n d in front of y o u . I'm g l a d y o u h a d m e sit in b a c k with y o u , M a ' a m . If I'd b e e n in front with t h a t m o n k e y — H e c a n ' t k e e p his dirty h a n d s to himself. G i v e h i m h a l f a c h a n c e a n d he's p i n c h i n g m e o n the leg or you-know-where—asking your p a r d o n , M a ' a m , b u t it's t r u e . M A R Y [dreamily] It w a s n ' t t h e fog I m i n d e d , C a t h l e e n , I really love fog. CATHLEEN T h e y s a y it's g o o d for the c o m p l e x i o n . MARY It h i d e s you f r o m t h e world a n d t h e w o r l d from y o u . Y o u feel t h a t everything h a s c h a n g e d , a n d n o t h i n g is w h a t it s e e m e d to b e . N o o n e c a n find or t o u c h you a n y m o r e . CATHLEEN I w o u l d n ' t c a r e s o m u c h if S m y t h e w a s a fine, h a n d s o m e m a n like s o m e c h a u f f e u r s I've s e e n — I m e a n , if it w a s all in f u n , for I'm a d e c e n t girl. B u t for a shriveled r u n t like S m y t h e — ! I've told h i m , y o u m u s t t h i n k I'm h a r d u p t h a t I'd n o t i c e a m o n k e y like y o u . I've w a r n e d h i m , o n e d a y I'll give a c l o u t that'll k n o c k h i m into next w e e k . A n d s o I will! MARY It's the f o g h o r n I h a t e . It won't let you a l o n e . It k e e p s r e m i n d i n g y o u , a n d w a r n i n g y o u , a n d c a l l i n g y o u b a c k . [Site smiles strangely.] But it c a n ' t t o n i g h t . It's j u s t a n ugly s o u n d . It d o e s n ' t r e m i n d m e of a n y t h i n g . [She gives a teasing, girlish laugh.] E x c e p t , p e r h a p s , M r . T y r o n e ' s s n o r e s . I've always h a d such fun t e a s i n g h i m a b o u t it. H e h a s s n o r e d ever s i n c e I c a n r e m e m b e r , e s p e c i a l l y w h e n he's h a d too m u c h to drink, a n d yet he's like a c h i l d , h e h a t e s to a d m i t it. [Site laughs, coming to the table.] W e l l , I s u p p o s e I s n o r e at t i m e s , t o o , a n d I don't like to a d m i t it. S o I h a v e n o right to m a k e fun of h i m , h a v e I? [Sire sits tn trie rocker at right of table. ] CATHLEEN A h , s u r e , everybody healthy snores. It's a sign of sanity, they say. [then, worriedly] W h a t t i m e is it, M a ' a m ? I o u g h t to g o b a c k in the k i t c h e n . T h e d a m p is in B r i d g e t ' s r h e u m a t i s m a n d s h e ' s like a r a g i n g divil. She'll bite my h e a d off. [She puts r i e r glass on the table and makes a movement toward the back parlor. ] MARY [with a flash of apprehension] N o , don't go, Cathleen. I don't want to be a l o n e , yet. CATHLEEN You won't b e for l o n g . T h e M a s t e r a n d t h e b o y s will b e h o m e soon. MARY I d o u b t if they'll c o m e b a c k for d i n n e r . T h e y h a v e t o o g o o d a n e x c u s e to r e m a i n in the b a r r o o m s w h e r e they feel at h o m e . [ C A T H L E E N stares at her, stupidly puzzled, M A R Y goes on smilingly] D o n ' t worry a b o u t B r i d g e t . I'll tell her I k e p t y o u with m e , a n d you c a n t a k e a b i g drink of whiskey to her w h e n y o u g o . S h e won't mind t h e n . C A T H L E E N [ g r i n s — a t her ease again] N o , M a ' a m . That's the one thing can m a k e h e r c h e e r f u l . S h e loves her d r o p . MARY H a v e a n o t h e r drink yourself, if y o u w i s h , C a t h l e e n . CATHLEEN I don't know if I'd b e t t e r , M a ' a m . I c a n feel w h a t I've h a d already, [reaching for the bottle] W e l l , m a y b e o n e m o r e won't h a r m . [She pours a drink.] H e r e ' s your good health, Ma'am. [She drinks without bothering about a chaser.] MARY [dreamily] I really did h a v e g o o d h e a l t h o n c e , C a t h l e e n . B u t that w a s long ago.

LONG

DAY'S JOURNEY

INTO N I G H T , A C T 3

/

2045

[worried again] T h e M a s t e r ' s s u r e to n o t i c e w h a t ' s g o n e f r o m t h e b o t t l e . H e h a s t h e eye o f a h a w k for t h a t . M A R Y [amusedly] O h , we'll play J a m i e ' s trick o n h i m . J u s t m e a s u r e a few drinks o f w a t e r a n d p o u r t h e m in. C A T H L E E N [does t h i s — w i t h a siMy g t g g k ] G o d s a v e m e , it'll b e h a l f w a t e r . He'll k n o w by t h e t a s t e . M A R Y [indifferently] N o , by t h e t i m e h e c o m e s h o m e he'll b e t o o d r u n k t o tell t h e d i f f e r e n c e . H e h a s s u c h a g o o d e x c u s e , h e b e l i e v e s , to d r o w n h i s sorrows. C A T H L E E N [phiZosophtcaZZy] W e l l , it's a g o o d m a n ' s failing. I w o u l d n ' t give a t r a u n e e n 2 for a t e e t o t a l e r . T h e y ' v e n o h i g h spirits, [then, stupidly puzzled] G o o d e x c u s e ? Y o u m e a n M a s t e r E d m u n d , M a ' a m ? I c a n tell t h e M a s t e r is worried a b o u t h i m . CATHLEEN

M A R Y [stiffens

defensively—but

in a strange

way the reaction

has a

mechanical

qwaZity, a s if it did not penetrate to real emotion] D o n ' t b e silly, C a t h l e e n . W h y s h o u l d h e b e ? A t o u c h of g r i p p e is n o t h i n g . A n d M r . T y r o n e never is w o r r i e d a b o u t a n y t h i n g , e x c e p t m o n e y a n d p r o p e r t y a n d t h e fear he'll e n d his d a y s in poverty. I m e a n , d e e p l y w o r r i e d . B e c a u s e h e c a n n o t really u n d e r s t a n d a n y t h i n g e l s e . [ S h e gives a ZittZe laugh of detached, affectionate amusement.] M y h u s b a n d is a very p e c u l i a r m a n , C a t h l e e n . C A T H L E E N [vaguely resentful] W e l l , h e ' s a fine, h a n d s o m e , kind g e n t l e m a n j u s t t h e s a m e , M a ' a m . N e v e r m i n d his w e a k n e s s . MARY O h , I don't m i n d . I've loved h i m dearly for thirty-six y e a r s . T h a t p r o v e s I k n o w h e ' s lovable at h e a r t a n d c a n ' t h e l p b e i n g w h a t h e i s , d o e s n ' t it? C A T H L E E N [haziZy reassured] T h a t ' s right. M a ' a m . L o v e h i m dearly, for a n y fool c a n s e e h e w o r s h i p s t h e g r o u n d y o u w a l k o n . [fighting the effect of her

last drink

and trying

to be soherZy conversational]

S p e a k i n g of acting,

M a ' a m , h o w is it y o u never w e n t o n t h e s t a g e ? M A R Y [resentfully] I? W h a t p u t t h a t a b s u r d n o t i o n in y o u r h e a d ? I w a s b r o u g h t u p in a r e s p e c t a b l e h o m e a n d e d u c a t e d in t h e b e s t c o n v e n t in t h e M i d d l e W e s t . B e f o r e I m e t M r . T y r o n e I hardly k n e w t h e r e w a s s u c h a t h i n g a s a t h e a t e r . I w a s a very p i o u s girl. I e v e n d r e a m e d o f b e c o m i n g a n u n . I've n e v e r h a d t h e s l i g h t e s t d e s i r e to b e a n a c t r e s s . C A T H L E E N [bluntly] W e l l , I c a n ' t i m a g i n e y o u a holy n u n , M a ' a m . S u r e , you never d a r k e n t h e d o o r o f a c h u r c h , G o d forgive y o u . M A R Y [ignores this] I've n e v e r felt at h o m e in t h e t h e a t e r . E v e n t h o u g h M r . T y r o n e h a s m a d e m e g o with h i m o n all his t o u r s , I've h a d little to d o with t h e p e o p l e in his c o m p a n y , or with a n y o n e o n t h e s t a g e . N o t that I h a v e a n y t h i n g a g a i n s t t h e m . T h e y h a v e always b e e n k i n d to m e , a n d I to t h e m . B u t I've never felt at h o m e with t h e m . T h e i r life is n o t m y life. It h a s always s t o o d b e t w e e n m e a n d — [ S h e gets up—abruptly] B u t let's not talk o f old t h i n g s that c o u l d n ' t b e h e l p e d . [ S h e goes to the p o r c h door and stares out.] H o w thick t h e f o g is. I c a n ' t s e e t h e r o a d . All t h e p e o p l e in t h e world c o u l d p a s s by a n d I w o u l d never k n o w . I w i s h it w a s always that way. It's g e t t i n g d a r k a l r e a d y . It will s o o n b e night, t h a n k g o o d n e s s . [She turns back—vaguely] It w a s kind of y o u t o k e e p m e c o m p a n y this a f t e r n o o n , C a t h l e e n . I w o u l d h a v e b e e n lonely driving u p t o w n a l o n e . 2. Coin of very low value (Irish).

2046

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

S u r e , w o u l d n ' t I rather ride in a fine a u t o m o b i l e t h a n stay h e r e a n d listen to B r i d g e t ' s lies a b o u t her r e l a t i o n s ? It w a s like a v a c a t i o n , M a ' a m . [She pauses—then stupidly] T h e r e w a s only o n e t h i n g I didn't like. M A R Y [vaguely] What was that, Cathleen? CATHLEEN T h e way the m a n in the d r u g s t o r e a c t e d w h e n I t o o k in the p r e s c r i p t i o n for y o u . [indignantly] T h e i m p i d e n c e * of him! M A R Y [with stubborn blankness] W h a t a r e you talking a b o u t ? W h a t d r u g store? W h a t p r e s c r i p t i o n ? [then hastily, as C A T H L E E N stares in stupid amazement] O h , of c o u r s e , I'd f o r g o t t e n . T h e m e d i c i n e for the r h e u m a t i s m in my h a n d s . W h a t did the m a n say? [then with indifference] Not that it m a t t e r s , a s l o n g a s h e filled t h e p r e s c r i p t i o n . CATHLEEN It m a t t e r e d to m e , t h e n ! I'm n o t u s e d to b e i n g t r e a t e d like a thief. H e g a v e m e a l o n g look a n d s a y s insultingly, " W h e r e did y o u get hold of t h i s ? " a n d I s a y s , "It's n o n e of your d a m n e d b u s i n e s s , b u t if you m u s t k n o w , it's for the lady I w o r k for, M r s . Tyrone, who's sitting o u t in the a u t o m o b i l e . " T h a t s h u t h i m u p q u i c k . H e g a v e a look o u t at you a n d s a i d , " O h , " a n d went to get the m e d i c i n e . M A R Y [vaguely] Y e s , h e k n o w s m e . [She sits in the armchair at right rear of table. She adds in a calm, detached voice] It's a s p e c i a l kind of m e d i c i n e . I h a v e to t a k e it b e c a u s e t h e r e is n o o t h e r that c a n s t o p the p a i n — a l l the p a i n — I m e a n , in my h a n d s . [She raises her hands and regards them with melancholy sympathy. There is no tremor in them now.] P o o r h a n d s ! You'd never believe it, b u t they w e r e o n c e o n e of my g o o d p o i n t s , a l o n g with m y hair a n d e y e s , a n d I h a d a fine figure, t o o . [Her tone has become more and more far-off and dreamy.] T h e y were a m u s i c i a n ' s h a n d s . I u s e d to love the p i a n o . I w o r k e d s o h a r d at my m u s i c in the C o n v e n t — i f you c a n call it work w h e n you d o s o m e t h i n g you love. M o t h e r E l i z a b e t h a n d my m u s i c t e a c h e r b o t h s a i d I h a d m o r e talent t h a n any s t u d e n t they r e m e m b e r e d . M y father p a i d for s p e c i a l l e s s o n s . H e s p o i l e d m e . H e w o u l d d o a n y t h i n g I a s k e d . H e w o u l d h a v e s e n t m e to E u r o p e to study after I g r a d u a t e d f r o m the C o n v e n t . I m i g h t h a v e g o n e — i f I h a d n ' t fallen in love with M r . Tyrone. O r I m i g h t have b e c o m e a n u n . I h a d two d r e a m s . T o b e a n u n , that w a s t h e m o r e b e a u t i f u l o n e . T o b e c o m e a c o n c e r t p i a n i s t , that w a s the o t h e r . [She pauses, regarding her hands fixfeeling.] edly, C A T H L E E N blinks her eyes to fight off drowsiness and a tipsy I haven't t o u c h e d a p i a n o in s o m a n y y e a r s . I c o u l d n ' t play with such crippled fingers, even if I w a n t e d to. F o r a t i m e after my m a r r i a g e I tried to k e e p u p my m u s i c . B u t it w a s h o p e l e s s . O n e - n i g h t s t a n d s , c h e a p h o t e l s , dirty t r a i n s , l e a v i n g c h i l d r e n , never h a v i n g a h o m e — [ S h e stares at her hands with fascinated disgust.] S e e , C a t h l e e n , h o w ugly they a r e ! S o m a i m e d a n d c r i p p l e d ! You w o u l d t h i n k they'd b e e n t h r o u g h s o m e horrible a c c i d e n t ! [She gives a strange little laugh.] S o they h a v e , c o m e to think of it. [She suddenly thrusts her hands behind her back.] I won't look at t h e m . T h e y ' r e w o r s e t h a n the f o g h o r n for r e m i n d i n g m e — [ t h e n with defiant self-assurance] B u t even they c a n ' t t o u c h m e n o w . [She brings her hands from behind her back and deliberately stares at them—calmly] T h e y ' r e far away. I s e e t h e m , b u t the p a i n h a s g o n e .

CATHLEEN

3. Impudence.

LONG

DAY'S JOURNEY

INTO N I G H T , A C T 3

/

2047

[stupidly puzzled] You've t a k e n s o m e o f t h e m e d i c i n e ? It m a d e you a c t funny, M a ' a m . If I didn't k n o w better, I'd think y o u ' d a d r o p taken.

CATHLEEN

[dreamily] It kills t h e p a i n . Y o u g o b a c k until at last y o u a r e b e y o n d its r e a c h . O n l y t h e p a s t w h e n y o u w e r e h a p p y is real. [She pauses—then

MARY

as if her words had been changes There

an evocation

in her w h o l e manner

w h i c h called

and facial

is a q u a l i t y of an innocent

convent

back

h a p p i n e s s she

expression. S h e looks girl about

younger.

her, and she s m i l e s

shyly.] If y o u think M r . T y r o n e is h a n d s o m e n o w , C a t h l e e n , you s h o u l d have s e e n h i m w h e n I first m e t h i m . H e h a d t h e r e p u t a t i o n o f b e i n g o n e of t h e b e s t l o o k i n g m e n in t h e c o u n t r y . T h e girls in t h e C o n v e n t w h o h a d s e e n h i m a c t , or s e e n his p h o t o g r a p h s , u s e d to rave a b o u t h i m . H e w a s a g r e a t m a t i n e e idol t h e n , you k n o w . W o m e n u s e d to wait at t h e stage door just to see him c o m e out. You c a n imagine how excited I was w h e n m y father w r o t e m e he a n d J a m e s T y r o n e h a d b e c o m e f r i e n d s , a n d that I w a s to m e e t h i m w h e n I c a m e h o m e for E a s t e r v a c a t i o n . I s h o w e d the letter to all t h e girls, a n d h o w e n v i o u s they w e r e ! M y f a t h e r t o o k m e to s e e h i m a c t first. It w a s a play a b o u t t h e F r e n c h R e v o l u t i o n a n d the l e a d i n g part w a s a n o b l e m a n . I c o u l d n ' t t a k e m y eyes off h i m . I w e p t w h e n h e w a s t h r o w n in p r i s o n — a n d t h e n w a s s o m a d at m y s e l f b e c a u s e I w a s afraid m y eyes a n d n o s e w o u l d b e r e d . M y f a t h e r h a d s a i d w e ' d g o b a c k s t a g e to his d r e s s i n g r o o m right after t h e play, a n d s o w e d i d . [ S h e gives a little excited, shy laugh.] I w a s s o b a s h f u l all I c o u l d d o w a s s t a m m e r a n d b l u s h like a little fool. B u t h e didn't s e e m to think I w a s a fool. I know h e liked m e t h e first m o m e n t w e w e r e i n t r o d u c e d . [coqwettishly] I g u e s s m y eyes a n d n o s e c o u l d n ' t h a v e b e e n r e d , after all. I w a s really very pretty t h e n , C a t h l e e n . A n d h e w a s h a n d s o m e r t h a n m y w i l d e s t d r e a m , in his m a k e - u p a n d his n o b l e m a n ' s c o s t u m e t h a t w a s s o b e c o m i n g to h i m . H e w a s different from all ordinary m e n , like s o m e o n e from a n o t h e r world. At t h e s a m e t i m e h e w a s s i m p l e , a n d kind, a n d u n a s s u m ing, not a bit s t u c k - u p o r v a i n . I fell in love right t h e n . S o did h e , he told m e a f t e r w a r d s . I forgot all a b o u t b e c o m i n g a n u n o r a c o n c e r t p i a n i s t . All I w a n t e d w a s to b e h i s wife. [ S h e pauses, staring before her with unnaturally

hrtght, dreamy

eyes,

and

a rapt,

tender,

girlish s m i l e . ] Thirty-six

years a g o , b u t I c a n s e e it a s clearly a s if it w e r e tonight! W e ' v e loved e a c h o t h e r ever s i n c e . A n d in all t h o s e thirty-six y e a r s , t h e r e h a s n e v e r b e e n a b r e a t h o f s c a n d a l a b o u t h i m . I m e a n , with a n y o t h e r w o m a n . N e v e r s i n c e h e m e t m e . T h a t h a s m a d e m e very h a p p y , C a t h l e e n . It h a s m a d e m e forgive s o m a n y o t h e r t h i n g s . [fighting tipsy drowsiness—sentimentally] H e ' s a fine g e n t l e m a n a n d you're a lucky w o m a n , [then, fidgeting] C a n I t a k e t h e drink to B r i d g e t , M a ' a m ? It m u s t b e n e a r d i n n e r t i m e a n d I o u g h t t o b e in t h e k i t c h e n h e l p i n g h e r . If s h e don't g e t s o m e t h i n g to q u i e t h e r t e m p e r , she'll b e after m e with the c l e a v e r . MARY [with a vague exasperation at being fcrowght back from her dream] Y e s , y e s , g o . I don't n e e d y o u n o w . C A T H L E E N [with relief] T h a n k y o u , M a ' a m . [ S h e pours out a big drink and starts for the back parlor with it.] Y o u won't b e a l o n e long. T h e M a s t e r and the b o y s — M A R Y [impatiently] N o , n o , they won't c o m e . T e l l B r i d g e t I won't wait. CATHLEEN

2048

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

Y o u c a n serve d i n n e r p r o m p t l y at h a l f p a s t six. I'm not h u n g r y b u t I'll sit at t h e t a b l e a n d we'll g e t it over w i t h . CATHLEEN Y O U o u g h t to e a t s o m e t h i n g , M a ' a m . It's a q u e e r m e d i c i n e if it takes away your appetite. MARY [has begun to drift into dreams again reacts mechanically] What m e d i c i n e ? I don't k n o w w h a t you m e a n , [in dismissal] You b e t t e r t a k e the drink to B r i d g e t . CATHLEEN Yes, M a ' a m . [She disappears through the back parlor, MARY waits until she hears the pantry door close behind her. Then she settles back in relaxed dreaminess, staring fixedly at nothing. Her arms rest limply along the arms of the chair, her hands with long, warped, swollen-knuckled, sensitive fingers drooping in complete calm. It is growing dark in the room. There is a pause of dead quiet. Then from the world outside comes the melancholy moan of the foghorn, followed by a chorus of bells, muffled by the fog, from the anchored craft in the harbor, MARY'S face gives no sign she has heard, but her hands jerk and the fingers automatically play for a moment on the air. She frowns and shakes her head mechanically as if a fly had walked across her mind. She suddenly loses all the girlish quality and is an aging, cynically sad, embittered woman.] MARY [bitterly] Y o u ' r e a s e n t i m e n t a l fool. W h a t is s o w o n d e r f u l a b o u t that first m e e t i n g b e t w e e n a silly r o m a n t i c schoolgirl a n d a m a t i n e e idol} Y o u w e r e m u c h h a p p i e r b e f o r e y o u k n e w h e e x i s t e d , in t h e C o n v e n t w h e n you u s e d to pray to the B l e s s e d Virgin, [longingly] If I c o u l d only fund the faith I lost, s o I c o u l d p r a y a g a i n ! [She pauses—then begins to recite the Hail Mary in aflat, empty tone.] " H a i l , M a r y , full of g r a c e ! T h e L o r d is with T h e e ; b l e s s e d art Thou a m o n g w o m e n . " [sneeringly] You e x p e c t the B l e s s e d Virgin to b e f o o l e d by a lying d o p e fiend r e c i t i n g w o r d s ! You can't h i d e f r o m her! [She springs to her feet. Her hands fly up to pat her hair distractedly.] I m u s t g o u p s t a i r s . I haven't t a k e n e n o u g h . W h e n you start a g a i n you never k n o w exactly h o w m u c h you n e e d . [She goes toward the front parlor—then stops in the doorway as she hears the sound of voices from the front path. She starts guiltily.] T h a t m u s t b e t h e m — [ S h e hurries back to sit down. Her face sets in stubborn defensiveness—resentfully] Why a r e they c o m i n g b a c k ? T h e y don't w a n t to. A n d I'd m u c h r a t h e r b e a l o n e . [Suddenly her whole manner changes. She becomes pathetically relieved and eager.] O h , I'm s o g l a d they've c o m e ! I've b e e n s o horribly lonely! [The front door is heard closing and T Y R O N E calls uneasily from the hall.] TYRONE Are you there, Mary? [The light in the hall is turned on and shines through the front parlor to fall on M A R Y . ] MARY [rises from her chair, her face lighting up lovingly—with excited eagerness] I'm h e r e , d e a r . In the living r o o m . I've b e e n w a i t i n g for y o u . [ T Y R O N E comes in through the front parlor, E D M U N D is behind him. T Y R O N E has had a lot to drink but beyond a slightly glazed look in his eyes and a trace of blur in his speech, he does not show it. EDMVND has also had more than a few drinks without much apparent effect, except that his sunken cheeks are flushed and his eyes look bright and feverish. They stop in the doorway to stare appraisingly at her. What they see fulfills their worst expectations. But for the moment M A R Y is unconscious

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

3

/

2049

of their condemning eyes. She kisses her husband and then E D M U N D . Her manner is unnaturally effusive. They submit skriwkingly. She talks excitedly.] I'm s o h a p p y you've c o m e . I h a d given u p h o p e . I w a s a f r a i d you w o u l d n ' t c o m e h o m e . It's s u c h a d i s m a l , foggy e v e n i n g . It m u s t b e m u c h m o r e c h e e r f u l in t h e b a r r o o m s u p t o w n , w h e r e t h e r e a r e p e o p l e y o u c a n talk a n d j o k e with. N o , don't d e n y it. I know h o w you feel. I don't b l a m e you a bit. I'm all the m o r e grateful to you for c o m i n g h o m e . I w a s sitting h e r e s o lonely a n d b l u e . C o m e a n d sit d o w n . [She sits at left rear of table, E D M U N D at left of table, and T Y R O N E in the rocker at right of it.] D i n n e r won't b e ready for a m i n u t e . You're a c t u a l l y a little early. Will w o n d e r s never c e a s e . H e r e ' s the whiskey, d e a r . S h a l l I p o u r a drink for y o u ? [Without waiting for a re-ply she does so.] A n d you, E d m u n d ? I don't w a n t to e n c o u r a g e y o u , b u t o n e b e f o r e d i n n e r , a s a n a p p e t i z e r , c a n ' t d o any harm. [She pours a drink for him. They make no move to take the drinks. She talks on as if unaware of their silence.] W h e r e ' s J a m i e ? B u t , of c o u r s e , he'll never c o m e h o m e s o l o n g a s h e h a s the p r i c e of a drink left. [ S h e reaches out and clasps her husband's hand— sadly] I'm afraid J a m i e h a s b e e n lost to u s for a l o n g t i m e , d e a r . [Her face hardens.] B u t we m u s t n ' t allow h i m to d r a g E d m u n d d o w n with h i m , a s he'd like to d o . H e ' s j e a l o u s b e c a u s e E d m u n d h a s always b e e n the b a b y — j u s t a s h e u s e d to b e of E u g e n e . He'll never b e c o n t e n t until h e m a k e s E d m u n d a s h o p e l e s s a failure a s h e is. E D M U N D [miserably] S t o p talking, M a m a . T Y R O N E [dully] Y e s , M a r y , the l e s s you say n o w — [ t h e n to Edmund, a bit tipsily] All the s a m e there's truth in your m o t h e r ' s w a r n i n g . B e w a r e of t h a t b r o t h e r of y o u r s , or he'll p o i s o n life for you with his d a m n e d s n e e r i n g serpent's tongue! E D M U N D [as before] O h , c u t it o u t , P a p a . M A R Y [goes on as if nothing had been said] It's h a r d to b e l i e v e , s e e i n g J a m i e a s h e is now, that h e w a s ever my b a b y . D o you r e m e m b e r w h a t a healthy, h a p p y b a b y h e w a s , J a m e s ? T h e o n e - n i g h t s t a n d s a n d filthy trains a n d c h e a p h o t e l s a n d b a d food never m a d e him c r o s s or sick. H e w a s always s m i l i n g or l a u g h i n g . H e hardly ever cried. E u g e n e w a s the s a m e , t o o , h a p p y a n d healthy, d u r i n g the two years h e lived b e f o r e I let h i m die t h r o u g h my n e g l e c t . TYRONE O h , for the love of G o d ! I'm a fool for c o m i n g h o m e ! EDMUND Papa! Shut up! M A R Y [smiles with detached tenderness at E D M U N D ] It w a s E d m u n d w h o w a s the c r o s s p a t c h w h e n h e w a s little, always g e t t i n g u p s e t a n d frighte n e d a b o u t n o t h i n g at all. [ S h e p a t s his hand—teasingly] Everyone used to say, d e a r , you'd cry at the d r o p of a h a t . E D M U N D [cannot control his hittemess] Maybe I guessed there was a good r e a s o n not to l a u g h . T Y R O N E [reproving and pitying] N o w , now, lad. You k n o w b e t t e r t h a n to pay attention— M A R Y [as if she hadn't heard—sadly again] W h o w o u l d have t h o u g h t J a m i e would grow u p to d i s g r a c e u s . Y o u r e m e m b e r , J a m e s , for years after h e

2050

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

w e n t to b o a r d i n g s c h o o l , w e r e c e i v e d s u c h glowing r e p o r t s . E v e r y o n e liked h i m . All his t e a c h e r s told u s w h a t a fine brain h e h a d , a n d h o w easily h e l e a r n e d his l e s s o n s . E v e n after h e b e g a n to drink a n d they h a d to expel h i m , they w r o t e u s h o w sorry they w e r e , b e c a u s e h e w a s s o likable a n d s u c h a brilliant s t u d e n t . T h e y p r e d i c t e d a w o n d e r f u l f u t u r e for h i m if he w o u l d only learn to t a k e life s e r i o u s l y . [She pauses—then adds with a strange, sad detachment] It's s u c h a pity. P o o r J a m i e ! It's h a r d to u n d e r s t a n d — [ A b r u p t l y a change comes over her. Her face hardens and she stares at her husband with accusing hostility.] N o , it isn't at all. Y o u b r o u g h t h i m u p to b e a b o o z e r . S i n c e h e first o p e n e d his e y e s , h e ' s s e e n you drinking. Always a bottle o n the b u r e a u in the c h e a p hotel r o o m s ! A n d if h e h a d a n i g h t m a r e w h e n h e w a s little, or a s t o m a c h - a c h e , y o u r r e m e d y w a s to give h i m a t e a s p o o n f u l of w h i s k e y to q u i e t h i m . T Y R O N E [stung] S o I'm to b l a m e b e c a u s e that lazy h u l k h a s m a d e a d r u n k e n loafer of h i m s e l f ? Is that w h a t I c a m e h o m e to listen to? I m i g h t have k n o w n ! W h e n you h a v e the p o i s o n in y o u , y o u w a n t to b l a m e everyo n e b u t yourself! P a p a ! You told m e not to p a y a t t e n t i o n , [then, resentfully] Anyway it's t r u e . You did the s a m e t h i n g with m e . I c a n r e m e m b e r that t e a s p o o n f u l of b o o z e every t i m e I w o k e u p with a n i g h t m a r e . M A R Y [in a detached reminiscent tone] Y e s , you w e r e c o n t i n u a l l y h a v i n g n i g h t m a r e s a s a child. Y o u w e r e b o r n afraid. B e c a u s e I w a s s o afraid to b r i n g you into the world. [She pauses—then goes on with the same detachment] P l e a s e don't think I b l a m e your father, E d m u n d . H e didn't k n o w any better. H e never w e n t to s c h o o l after h e w a s t e n . H i s p e o p l e w e r e the m o s t i g n o r a n t kind of poverty-stricken Irish. I'm s u r e they h o n e s t l y believed w h i s k e y is the h e a l t h i e s t m e d i c i n e for a c h i l d w h o is s i c k or frightened. [ T Y R O N E is about to burst out in angry defense of his family but E D M U N D intervenes. ] E D M U N D [sharply] Papal [changing the subject] A r e w e g o i n g to h a v e this drink, or aren't w e ? T Y R O N E [controlling himself—dully] You're right. I'm a fool to take n o t i c e . [He picks up his glass listlessly.] D r i n k hearty, l a d . [ E D M U N D drinks but T Y R O N E remains staring at the glass in his hand. E D M U N D at once realizes how much the whiskey has been watered. He frowns, glancing from the bottle to his mother—starts to say something but stops.] M A R Y [in a changed tone—repentantly] I'm sorry if I s o u n d e d bitter, J a m e s . I'm n o t . It's all s o far away. B u t I did feel a little hurt w h e n you w i s h e d you h a d n ' t c o m e h o m e . I w a s s o relieved a n d h a p p y w h e n you c a m e , a n d grateful to y o u . It's very dreary a n d s a d to b e h e r e a l o n e in the fog with night falling. T Y R O N E [moved] I'm g l a d I c a m e , M a r y , w h e n y o u a c t like y o u r real self. MARY I w a s s o l o n e s o m e I kept C a t h l e e n with m e j u s t to h a v e s o m e o n e to talk to. [Her manner and quality drift back to the shy convent girl again.] D o you k n o w w h a t I w a s telling her, d e a r ? A b o u t t h e night m y father t o o k m e to y o u r d r e s s i n g r o o m a n d I first fell in love with y o u . D o you remember? T Y R O N E [deeply moved—his voice husky] C a n you think I'd ever forget, Mary? EDMUND

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT,

ACT

3

/

205

1

[ E D M U N D looks away from them, sad and embarrassed.] [tenderly] N o . I k n o w you still love m e , J a m e s , in s p i t e of everything. T Y R O N E [His face works and he blinks back tears—with quiet intensity] Y e s ! As G o d is my j u d g e ! Always a n d forever, M a r y ! MARY A n d I love y o u , d e a r , in s p i t e of everything. [There is a pause in which E D M U N D moves embarrassedly. The strange detachment comes over her manner again as if she were speaking impersonally of people seen from a distance.] B u t I m u s t c o n f e s s , J a m e s , a l t h o u g h I c o u l d n ' t help loving y o u , I w o u l d never have m a r r i e d you if I'd k n o w n you d r a n k s o m u c h . I r e m e m b e r the first night your b a r r o o m friends h a d to help you u p to the d o o r of o u r hotel r o o m , a n d k n o c k e d a n d t h e n ran a w a y b e f o r e I c a m e to the door. W e were still o n o u r h o n e y m o o n , do you r e m e m b e r ? T Y R O N E [with guilty vehemence] I don't r e m e m b e r ! It w a s n ' t o n o u r h o n e y m o o n ! A n d I never in my life h a d to be h e l p e d to b e d , or m i s s e d a performance! MARY

[as though he hadn't spoken] I h a d w a i t e d in that ugly hotel r o o m h o u r after h o u r . I kept m a k i n g e x c u s e s for y o u . I told m y s e l f it m u s t be s o m e b u s i n e s s c o n n e c t e d with the theater. I k n e w s o little a b o u t the theater. T h e n I b e c a m e terrified. I i m a g i n e d all s o r t s of horrible a c c i d e n t s . I got on my k n e e s a n d p r a y e d that n o t h i n g h a d h a p p e n e d to y o u — a n d then they b r o u g h t you u p a n d left you o u t s i d e the d o o r . [She gives a little, sad sigh.] I didn't k n o w how often that w a s to h a p p e n in the years to c o m e , h o w m a n y t i m e s I w a s to wait in ugly hotel r o o m s . I b e c a m e q u i t e u s e d to it. E D M U N D [hursts out with a look of accusing hate at his father] Christ! N o w o n d e r — ! [He controls himself—gruffly] W h e n is d i n n e r . M a m a ? It m u s t be time. T Y R O N E [overwhelmed by shame which he tries to hide, fumbles with his watch] Yes. It m u s t b e . L e t ' s s e e . [He stares at his watch without seeing it—pleadingly] M a r y ! C a n ' t you f o r g e t — ? M A R Y [with detached pity] N o , d e a r . B u t I forgive. I always forgive y o u . S o don't look s o guilty. I'm sorry I r e m e m b e r e d o u t l o u d . I don't w a n t to b e s a d , or to m a k e you s a d . I w a n t to r e m e m b e r only the h a p p y part of the p a s t . [Her manner drifts back to the shy, gay convent girl.] D o you r e m e m ber o u r w e d d i n g , d e a r ? I'm s u r e you've c o m p l e t e l y forgotten w h a t my w e d d i n g g o w n looked like. M e n don't n o t i c e s u c h t h i n g s . T h e y don't think they're i m p o r t a n t . B u t it w a s i m p o r t a n t to m e , I c a n tell y o u ! H o w I f u s s e d a n d worried! I w a s s o excited a n d happy! M y father told m e to buy a n y t h i n g I w a n t e d a n d never m i n d what it c o s t . T h e b e s t is n o n e too g o o d , he s a i d . I'm afraid h e s p o i l e d m e dreadfully. M y m o t h e r didn't. S h e w a s very p i o u s a n d strict. I think s h e w a s a little j e a l o u s . S h e didn't a p p r o v e of my m a r r y i n g — e s p e c i a l l y a n a c t o r . I think s h e h o p e d I would b e c o m e a n u n . S h e u s e d to s c o l d my father. S h e ' d g r u m b l e , "You never tell m e , never m i n d w h a t it c o s t s , w h e n I buy anything! You've s p o i l e d that girl s o , I pity her h u s b a n d if s h e ever m a r r i e s . She'll e x p e c t him to give her the m o o n . She'll never m a k e a g o o d w i f e . " [ S h e laughs affectionately.] P o o r m o t h e r ! [ S h e smiles at T Y R O N E with a strange, incongruous coquetry.] B u t s h e w a s m i s t a k e n , wasn't s h e , J a m e s ? I haven't b e e n s u c h a b a d wife, have I? T Y R O N E [huskily, trying to force a smile] I'm not c o m p l a i n i n g , M a r y . MARY

2052

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

[a shadow of vague guilt crosses her face] At l e a s t , I've loved y o u dearly, a n d d o n e the b e s t I c o u l d — u n d e r the c i r c u m s t a n c e s . [The shadow vanishes and her shy, girlish expression returns.] T h a t w e d d i n g g o w n w a s nearly the d e a t h of m e a n d t h e d r e s s m a k e r , t o o ! [She laughs.] I w a s s o p a r t i c u l a r . It w a s never q u i t e g o o d e n o u g h . At last s h e s a i d s h e r e f u s e d to t o u c h it a n y m o r e or s h e m i g h t spoil it, a n d I m a d e h e r l e a v e s o I c o u l d b e a l o n e to e x a m i n e m y s e l f in t h e mirror. I w a s s o p l e a s e d a n d vain. I t h o u g h t to myself, " E v e n if y o u r n o s e a n d m o u t h a n d e a r s a r e a trifle t o o l a r g e , y o u r eyes a n d hair a n d figure, a n d y o u r h a n d s , m a k e u p for it. Y o u ' r e j u s t a s pretty a s a n y a c t r e s s he's ever m e t , a n d y o u don't h a v e to u s e p a i n t . " [She pauses, wrinkling her brow in an effort of memory.] W h e r e is m y w e d d i n g g o w n n o w , I w o n d e r ? I kept it w r a p p e d u p in t i s s u e p a p e r in m y t r u n k . I u s e d to h o p e I w o u l d h a v e a d a u g h t e r a n d w h e n it c a m e t i m e for her to m a r r y — S h e c o u l d n ' t h a v e b o u g h t a lovelier g o w n , a n d I k n e w , J a m e s , you'd never tell her, never m i n d the c o s t . Y o u ' d w a n t h e r to p i c k u p s o m e t h i n g at a b a r g a i n . It w a s m a d e of soft, s h i m m e r i n g s a t i n , t r i m m e d with w o n d e r f u l old d u c h e s s e l a c e , in tiny ruffles a r o u n d the n e c k a n d s l e e v e s , a n d w o r k e d in with the folds that w e r e d r a p e d r o u n d in a b u s t l e effect at the b a c k . T h e b a s q u e 4 w a s b o n e d a n d very tight. I r e m e m b e r I held m y b r e a t h w h e n it w a s fitted, s o m y w a i s t w o u l d b e a s s m a l l a s p o s s i b l e . M y f a t h e r even let m e h a v e d u c h e s s e l a c e o n m y white s a t i n s l i p p e r s , a n d l a c e with o r a n g e b l o s s o m s in m y veil. O h , h o w I loved that g o w n ! It w a s s o b e a u t i f u l ! W h e r e is it n o w , I w o n d e r ? I u s e d to t a k e it o u t f r o m t i m e to t i m e w h e n I w a s lonely, b u t it always m a d e m e cry, s o finally a l o n g while a g o — [ S h e wrinkles her forehead again.] I w o n d e r w h e r e I hid it? P r o b a b l y in o n e of the old t r u n k s in t h e a t t i c . S o m e d a y I'll h a v e to look.

MARY

[She stops, staring before her. T Y R O N E sighs, shaking his head hopelessly, and attempts to catch his son's eye, looking for sympathy, but E D M U N D is staring at the floor.] T Y R O N E [forces a casual tone] Isn't it d i n n e r t i m e , d e a r ? [with a feeble attempt at teasing] You're forever s c o l d i n g m e for b e i n g l a t e , b u t n o w I'm o n t i m e for o n c e , it's d i n n e r that's l a t e . [She doesn't appear to hear him. He adds, still pleasantly] W e l l , if I c a n ' t e a t yet, I c a n drink. I'd f o r g o t t e n I h a d t h i s . [He drinks his drink, E D M U N D watches him. T Y R O N E scowls and looks at his wife with sharp suspicion—roughly] W h o ' s b e e n t a m p e r i n g with m y w h i s k e y ? T h e d a m n e d s t u f f is half water! J a m i e ' s b e e n a w a y a n d h e w o u l d n ' t o v e r d o his trick like t h i s , anyway. A n y fool c o u l d t e l l — M a r y , a n s w e r m e ! [with angry disgust] I h o p e to G o d y o u haven't t a k e n to drink o n t o p of— EDMUND S h u t u p , P a p a ! [to his mother, without looking at her] Y o u t r e a t e d C a t h l e e n a n d B r i d g e t , isn't that it, M a m a ? M A R Y [with indifferent casualness] Y e s , of c o u r s e . T h e y w o r k h a r d for p o o r w a g e s . A n d I'm the h o u s e k e e p e r , I h a v e to k e e p t h e m f r o m leaving. B e s i d e s , I w a n t e d to treat C a t h l e e n b e c a u s e I h a d h e r drive u p t o w n with m e , a n d s e n t h e r to g e t my p r e s c r i p t i o n filled.

4. Tight-fitting bodice.

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT,

ACT 3

/

2053

F o r G o d ' s s a k e , M a m a ! You can't trust her! D o you w a n t everyo n e o n e a r t h to k n o w ? M A R Y [her face hardening stubbornly] K n o w w h a t ? T h a t I s u f f e r from rheum a t i s m in m y h a n d s a n d have to take m e d i c i n e to kill t h e p a i n ? W h y s h o u l d I b e a s h a m e d of t h a t ? [turns on E D M U N D with a hard, accusing antagonism—almost a revengeful enmity] I never k n e w w h a t r h e u m a t i s m w a s b e f o r e y o u w e r e b o r n ! A s k y o u r father! EDMUND

[ E D M U N D looks

away, shrinking

into

himself]

D o n ' t m i n d her, l a d . It d o e s n ' t m e a n a n y t h i n g . W h e n s h e g e t s to the s t a g e w h e r e s h e gives t h e old crazy e x c u s e a b o u t h e r h a n d s s h e ' s g o n e far a w a y f r o m u s . M A R Y [turns on him—with a strangely triumphant, taunting smile] I'm g l a d you realize that, J a m e s ! N o w p e r h a p s you'll give u p trying t o r e m i n d m e ,

TYRONE

y o u a n d E d m u n d ! [abruptly,

in a detached,

matter-of-fact

tone]

W h y don't

you light t h e light, J a m e s ? It's g e t t i n g dark. I know y o u h a t e t o , b u t E d m u n d h a s p r o v e d to you that o n e b u l b b u r n i n g d o e s n ' t c o s t m u c h . T h e r e ' s n o s e n s e letting y o u r fear o f the p o o r h o u s e m a k e y o u t o o stingy. T Y R O N E [reacts mechanically] I never c l a i m e d o n e b u l b c o s t m u c h ! It's h a v i n g t h e m o n , o n e h e r e a n d o n e t h e r e , that m a k e s t h e E l e c t r i c Light C o m p a n y r i c h . [He gets

up and turns

on the reading

lamp—roughly]

But

I'm a fool to talk r e a s o n to y o u . [to E D M U N D ] I'll g e t a fresh bottle o f whiskey, l a d , a n d we'll have a real drink. [He goes through the back parlor. ] detached amusement] He'll s n e a k a r o u n d to the o u t s i d e cellar d o o r s o t h e s e r v a n t s won't s e e h i m . H e ' s really a s h a m e d o f k e e p i n g his whiskey p a d l o c k e d in t h e cellar. Y o u r father is a s t r a n g e m a n , E d m u n d . It took m a n y y e a r s b e f o r e I u n d e r s t o o d h i m . Y o u m u s t try to u n d e r s t a n d a n d forgive h i m , t o o , a n d n o t feel c o n t e m p t b e c a u s e h e ' s close-fisted. H i s father d e s e r t e d his m o t h e r a n d their six c h i l d r e n a y e a r o r s o after they c a m e to A m e r i c a . H e told t h e m h e h a d a p r e m o n i t i o n h e w o u l d d i e s o o n , a n d h e w a s h o m e s i c k for I r e l a n d , a n d w a n t e d to g o b a c k t h e r e to die. S o h e went a n d h e d i d d i e . H e m u s t have b e e n a p e c u l i a r m a n , t o o . Y o u r father h a d to g o to work in a m a c h i n e s h o p w h e n h e w a s only ten years old.

M A R Y [with

[protests dully] O h , for P e t e ' s s a k e , M a m a . I've h e a r d P a p a tell t h a t m a c h i n e s h o p story t e n t h o u s a n d t i m e s . MARY Y e s , dear, you've h a d to listen, b u t I don't think you've ever tried to understand. E D M U N D [ignoring this—miserably] L i s t e n , M a m a ! Y o u ' r e n o t s o far g o n e yet you've forgotten everything. Y o u haven't a s k e d m e w h a t I f o u n d o u t this a f t e r n o o n . D o n ' t y o u c a r e a d a m n ? M A R Y [shakenly] D o n ' t s a y that! You hurt m e , d e a r ! EDMUND W h a t I've got is s e r i o u s , M a m a . D o c H a r d y k n o w s for s u r e n o w . M A R Y [stiffens into scornfid, defensive stubbornness] T h a t lying old q u a c k ! I w a r n e d you h e ' d i n v e n t — ! E D M U N D [miserably dogged] H e c a l l e d in a s p e c i a l i s t to e x a m i n e m e , s o he'd b e a b s o l u t e l y s u r e . M A R Y [ignoring this] D o n ' t tell m e a b o u t H a r d y ! If y o u h e a r d w h a t t h e d o c t o r at t h e s a n a t o r i u m , w h o really k n o w s s o m e t h i n g , s a i d a b o u t h o w he'd t r e a t e d m e ! H e s a i d h e o u g h t t o b e l o c k e d u p ! H e s a i d it w a s a EDMUND

2054

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

w o n d e r I hadn't g o n e m a d ! I told h i m I h a d o n c e , t h a t t i m e I r a n d o w n in my n i g h t d r e s s to throw myself off the d o c k . You r e m e m b e r t h a t , don't y o u ? A n d yet you w a n t m e to pay a t t e n t i o n to w h a t D o c t o r H a r d y s a y s . Oh, no! E D M U N D [bitterly] I r e m e m b e r , all right. It w a s right after t h a t P a p a a n d J a m i e d e c i d e d they c o u l d n ' t hide it f r o m m e a n y m o r e . J a m i e told m e . I c a l l e d h i m a liar! I tried to p u n c h h i m in the n o s e . B u t I k n e w h e w a s n ' t lying. [His voice trembles, his eyes begin to fill with tears. ] G o d , it m a d e everything in life s e e m rotten! M A R Y [pitiably] O h , d o n ' t . M y baby! You hurt m e s o dreadfully! E D M U N D [ditZ/y] I'm sorry, M a m a . It w a s you w h o b r o u g h t it u p . [then with a bitter, stubborn persistence] L i s t e n , M a m a . I'm g o i n g to tell you w h e t h e r y o u w a n t to h e a r or n o t . I've got to g o to a s a n a t o r i u m . M A R Y [dazedly, as if this was something that had never occurred to her] Go a w a y ? [violently] N o ! I won't have it! H o w d a r e D o c t o r H a r d y a d v i s e s u c h a t h i n g w i t h o u t c o n s u l t i n g m e ! H o w d a r e y o u r f a t h e r allow h i m ! W h a t right h a s h e ? You a r e my baby! L e t h i m a t t e n d to J a m i e ! [more and more excited and bitter] I k n o w why h e w a n t s you s e n t to a s a n a t o r i u m . T o t a k e you f r o m m e ! H e ' s always tried to d o that. H e ' s b e e n j e a l o u s of every o n e of my b a b i e s ! H e k e p t finding ways to m a k e m e leave t h e m . T h a t ' s w h a t c a u s e d E u g e n e ' s d e a t h . H e ' s b e e n j e a l o u s of you m o s t o f all. H e k n e w I loved you m o s t b e c a u s e — E D M U N D [miserably] O h , s t o p t a l k i n g crazy, c a n ' t y o u , M a m a ! S t o p trying to b l a m e h i m . A n d why a r e you s o a g a i n s t my g o i n g a w a y n o w ? I've b e e n a w a y a lot, a n d I've never n o t i c e d it b r o k e y o u r h e a r t ! M A R Y [bitterly] I'm afraid you're n o t very s e n s i t i v e , after all. [sadly] You m i g h t have g u e s s e d , d e a r , that after I k n e w you k n e w — a b o u t m e — I h a d to b e g l a d w h e n e v e r you were w h e r e you c o u l d n ' t s e e m e . E D M U N D [brokenly] M a m a ! D o n ' t ! [He reaches out blindly and takes her hand—but he drops it immediately, overcome by bitterness again.] All this talk a b o u t loving m e — a n d you won't even listen w h e n I try to tell y o u how s i c k — M A R Y [with an abrupt transformation into a detached bullying motherliness] N o w , n o w . T h a t ' s e n o u g h ! I don't c a r e to h e a r b e c a u s e I k n o w it's n o t h i n g b u t H a r d y ' s i g n o r a n t lies. [He shrinks back into himself. She keeps on in a forced, teasing tone but with an increasing undercurrent of resentment.] You're s o like y o u r f a t h e r , d e a r . You love to m a k e a s c e n e o u t o f n o t h i n g s o you c a n b e d r a m a t i c a n d tragic, [with a belittling laugh] If I g a v e you the slightest e n c o u r a g e m e n t , you'd tell m e next y o u w e r e g o i n g to d i e — EDMUND P e o p l e d o die of it. Y o u r o w n f a t h e r — M A R Y [sharply] W h y d o you m e n t i o n h i m ? T h e r e ' s n o c o m p a r i s o n at all with y o u . H e h a d c o n s u m p t i o n , [angrily] I h a t e y o u w h e n you b e c o m e g l o o m y a n d m o r b i d ! I forbid y o u to r e m i n d m e of my father's d e a t h , d o you h e a r m e ? E D M U N D [his face hard—grimly] Y e s , I h e a r y o u , M a m a . I w i s h to G o d I didn't! [He gets upfront his chair and stands staring condemningly at her— bitterly] It's pretty hard to t a k e at t i m e s , h a v i n g a d o p e fiend for a m o t h e r ! [She winces—all life seeming to drain from her face, leaving it with the appearance of a plaster cast. Instantly E D M U N D wishes he could take back what he has said. He stammers miserably.]

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT 3

/

2055

Forgive m e , M a m a . I w a s angry. Y o u hurt m e . [There is a pause in which the foghorn and the ships' hells are heard.] M A R Y [goes slowly to the windows at right like an automaton—looking out, a blank, far-off quality in her voice] J u s t listen to that awful f o g h o r n . A n d t h e b e l l s . W h y is it f o g m a k e s everything s o u n d s o s a d a n d lost, I wonder? E D M U N D [brokenly] I — I c a n ' t stay h e r e . I don't w a n t a n y d i n n e r . [He hurries away through the front parlor. She keeps staring out the window until she hears the front door close behind him. Then she comes back and sits in her chair, the same blank look on her face.] M A R Y [vaguely] I m u s t g o u p s t a i r s . I haven't t a k e n e n o u g h . [She pauses— then longingly] I h o p e , s o m e t i m e , w i t h o u t m e a n i n g it, I will t a k e a n overd o s e . I never c o u l d d o it deliberately. T h e B l e s s e d Virgin w o u l d never forgive m e , t h e n . [She hears T Y R O N E returning and turns as he comes in, through the back parlor, with a bottle of whiskey he has just uncorked. He is fuming.] T Y R O N E [wrathfully] T h e p a d l o c k is all s c r a t c h e d . T h a t d r u n k e n loafer h a s tried to p i c k t h e lock with a p i e c e o f wire, t h e w a y he's d o n e b e f o r e , [with satisfaction, as if this was a perpetual battle of wits with his elder son] B u t I've f o o l e d h i m this t i m e . It's a s p e c i a l p a d l o c k a p r o f e s s i o n a l b u r g l a r c o u l d n ' t pick. [He puts the bottle on the tray and suddenly is aware of E D M U N D ' S absence.] Where's Edmund? M A R Y [with a vague far-away air] H e went out. Perhaps he's going uptown a g a i n to find J a m i e . H e still h a s s o m e m o n e y left, I s u p p o s e , a n d it's b u r n i n g a h o l e in h i s p o c k e t . H e s a i d h e didn't w a n t a n y d i n n e r . H e d o e s n ' t s e e m to have a n y a p p e t i t e t h e s e d a y s , [then stubbornly] B u t it's just a s u m m e r cold. [ T Y R O N E stares at her and shakes his head helplessly and pours himself a big drink and drinks it. Suddenly it is too much for her and she breaks out and sobs.] O h , J a m e s , I'm s o f r i g h t e n e d ! [She gets up and throws her arms around him and hides her face on his shoulder—sobbingly] I k n o w he's g o i n g to die! TYRONE D o n ' t say that! It's n o t t r u e ! T h e y p r o m i s e d m e in six m o n t h s h e ' d be cured. MARY Y o u don't believe that! I c a n tell w h e n you're a c t i n g ! A n d it will b e my fault. I s h o u l d never h a v e b o r n e h i m . It w o u l d h a v e b e e n b e t t e r for his s a k e . I c o u l d never h u r t h i m t h e n . H e w o u l d n ' t h a v e h a d to k n o w h i s m o t h e r w a s a d o p e fiend—and h a t e her! T Y R O N E [his voice quivering] H u s h , M a r y , for t h e love o f G o d ! H e loves y o u . H e k n o w s it w a s a c u r s e p u t on y o u w i t h o u t y o u r k n o w i n g or willing it. H e ' s p r o u d you're h i s m o t h e r ! [abruptly as he hears the pantry door opening] H u s h , now! H e r e c o m e s C a t h l e e n . Y o u don't w a n t h e r to s e e y o u crying. [She turns quickly away from him to the windows at right, hastily wiping her eyes. A moment later C A T H L E E N appears in the back-parlor doorway. She is uncertain in her walk and grinning woozily.] C A T H L E E N [starts guiltily when she sees T Y R O N E — w i t h dignity] D i n n e r is s e r v e d , S i r . [raising her voice unnecessarily] D i n n e r is s e r v e d , M a ' a m . [She forgets her dignity and addresses T Y R O N E with good-natured familiarity] S o you're h e r e , a r e y o u ? W e l l , well. W o n ' t B r i d g e t b e in a r a g e ! I told

2056

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

her t h e M a d a m e s a i d you w o u l d n ' t b e h o m e , [then reading accusation in his eye] D o n ' t b e l o o k i n g at m e that way. If I've a d r o p t a k e n , I didn't s t e a l it. I w a s invited. [She turns with huffy dignity and disappears through the back parlor.] T Y R O N E [sighs—then summoning his actor's heartiness] C o m e along, dear. L e t ' s have o u r d i n n e r . I'm h u n g r y a s a h u n t e r . M A R Y [comes to him—her face is composed in plaster again and her tone is remote] I'm afraid you'll h a v e to e x c u s e m e , J a m e s . I c o u l d n ' t p o s s i b l y e a t a n y t h i n g . M y h a n d s p a i n m e dreadfully. I t h i n k the b e s t t h i n g for m e is to g o to b e d a n d rest. G o o d night d e a r . [She kisses him mechanically and turns toward the front parlor.] T Y R O N E [harshly] U p to t a k e m o r e of t h a t G o d - d a m n e d p o i s o n , is that it? You'll b e like a m a d g h o s t b e f o r e the night's over! M A R Y [starts to walk away—blankly] I don't k n o w w h a t y o u ' r e talking a b o u t , J a m e s . You say s u c h m e a n , bitter t h i n g s w h e n you've d r u n k t o o m u c h . Y o u ' r e a s b a d a s J a m i e or E d m u n d . [She moves off through the front parlor. He stands a second as if not knowing what to do. He is a sad, bewildered, broken old man. He walks wearily off through the back parlor toward the dining room.] CURTAIN

Act 4 S C E N E — T h e same. It is around midnight. The lamp in the front hall has been turned out, so that now no light shines through the front parlor. In the living room only the reading lamp on the table is lighted. Outside the windows the wall of fog appears denser than ever. As the curtain rises, the foghorn is heard, followed by the ships' bells from the harbor. T Y R O N E is seated at the table. He wears his pince-nez* and is playing solitaire. He has taken off his coat and has on an old brown dressing gown. The whiskey bottle on the tray is three-quarters empty. There is afreshfidl bottle on the table, which he has brought from the cellar so there will be an ample reserve on hand. He is drunk and shows it by the owlish, deliberate manner in which he peers at each card to make certain of its identity, and then plays it as if he wasn't certain of his aim. His eyes have a misted, oily look and his mouth is slack. But despite all the whiskey in him, he has not escaped, and he looks as he appeared at the close of the preceding act, a sad, defeated old man, possessed by hopeless resignation. As the curtain rises, he finishes a game and sweeps the cards together. He shuffles them clumsily, dropping a couple on the floor. He retrieves them with difficulty, and starts to shuffle again, when he hears someone entering the front door. He peers over his pince-nez through the front parlor. thick] W h o ' s t h a t ? Is it y o u , E d m u n d ? voice answers curtly, "Yes." Then he evidently collides something in the dark hall and can be heard cursing. A moment the hall lamp is turned on. T Y R O N E frowns and calls.] T u r n that light o u t b e f o r e you c o m e in.

TYRONE

[his voice

[EDMUND'S

5. Eyeglasses clipped to the nose.

with later

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT,

ACT

4

/

2057

[But E D M U N D doesn't. He comes in through the front parlor. He is drunk now, too, but like his father he carries it well, and gives little physical sign of it except in his eyes and a chip-on-the-shoulder aggressiveness in his manner. T Y R O N E speaks, at first with a warm, relieved welcome.] I'm g l a d you've c o m e , l a d . I've b e e n d a m n e d lonely, [then resentfully] You're a fine o n e to run away a n d leave m e to sit a l o n e h e r e all night w h e n y o u k n o w — [ w i t h sharp irritation] I told y o u to turn o u t t h a t light! W e ' r e n o t giving a ball. T h e r e ' s n o r e a s o n to h a v e t h e h o u s e a b l a z e with electricity at this t i m e o f night, b u r n i n g u p m o n e y ! E D M U N D [angrily] A b l a z e with electricity! O n e b u l b ! H e l l , e v e r y o n e k e e p s a light o n in the front hall until they g o to b e d . [He rubs his knee.] I d a m n e d n e a r b u s t e d my k n e e o n the hat s t a n d . TYRONE T h e light from h e r e s h o w s in the hall. You c o u l d s e e y o u r way well e n o u g h if y o u w e r e s o b e r . EDMUND If / w a s s o b e r ? I like that! TYRONE I don't give a d a m n w h a t other p e o p l e d o . If they w a n t to b e w a s t e f u l f o o l s , for the s a k e o f s h o w , let t h e m b e ! EDMUND O n e b u l b ! C h r i s t , don't b e s u c h a c h e a p s k a t e ! I've p r o v e d by figures if you left the light b u l b o n all n i g h t it w o u l d n ' t b e a s m u c h a s o n e drink! TYRONE T o hell with y o u r figures! T h e p r o o f is in t h e bills I h a v e to pay! E D M U N D [sits down opposite his father—contemptuously] Y e s , f a c t s don't m e a n a thing, d o they? W h a t you w a n t to b e l i e v e , that's the only truth! [derisively] S h a k e s p e a r e w a s a n Irish C a t h o l i c , for e x a m p l e . T Y R O N E [stubbornly] S o h e w a s . T h e p r o o f is in his p l a y s . EDMUND Well h e w a s n ' t , a n d there's n o p r o o f of it in his p l a y s , e x c e p t to you! [jeeringly] T h e D u k e of W e l l i n g t o n , t h e r e w a s a n o t h e r g o o d Irish Catholic! TYRONE I never s a i d h e w a s a g o o d o n e . H e w a s a r e n e g a d e b u t a C a t h o l i c j u s t the s a m e . EDMUND W e l l , h e w a s n ' t . You j u s t w a n t to believe n o o n e b u t a n Irish Catholic general could beat Napoleon. TYRONE I'm not g o i n g to a r g u e with y o u . I a s k e d you to turn o u t t h a t light in the hall. EDMUND I h e a r d y o u , a n d a s far a s I'm c o n c e r n e d it s t a y s o n . TYRONE N o n e of y o u r d a m n e d i n s o l e n c e ! Are you g o i n g to o b e y m e or n o t ? EDMUND N o t ! If you w a n t to b e a crazy m i s e r p u t it o u t yourself! T Y R O N E [with threatening anger] L i s t e n to m e ! I've p u t u p with a lot f r o m you b e c a u s e f r o m the m a d t h i n g s you've d o n e at t i m e s I've t h o u g h t you weren't q u i t e right in y o u r h e a d . I've e x c u s e d y o u a n d never lifted my h a n d to y o u . B u t there's a s t r a w that b r e a k s the c a m e l ' s b a c k . You'll o b e y m e a n d p u t o u t that light or, b i g a s y o u a r e , I'll give you a t h r a s h i n g that'll t e a c h y o u — ! [Suddenly he remembers E D M U N D ' S illness and instantly becomes guilty and shamefaced.] F o r g i v e m e , lad. I f o r g o t — Y o u s h o u l d n ' t g o a d m e into l o s i n g my t e m p e r . E D M U N D [ashamed himself now] F o r g e t it, P a p a . I a p o l o g i z e , t o o . I h a d n o right b e i n g n a s t y a b o u t n o t h i n g . I a m a bit s o u s e d , I g u e s s . I'll p u t o u t the d a m n e d light. [He starts to get up.] TYRONE N o , stay w h e r e you a r e . L e t it b u r n . [He stands up abruptly—and a bit drunkenly—and begins turning on

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the three hulhs in the chandelier, with a childish, bitterly dramatic selfpity.] We'll h a v e t h e m all o n ! L e t t h e m b u r n ! T o hell with t h e m ! T h e p o o r h o u s e is the e n d of t h e r o a d , a n d it m i g h t a s well be s o o n e r a s later! [He finishes turning on the lights.] E D M U N D [has watched this proceeding with an awakened sense of humor— now he grins, teasing affectionately] T h a t ' s a g r a n d c u r t a i n . [He laughs. ] You're a w o n d e r , P a p a . T Y R O N E [sits down sheepishly—grumbles pathetically] T h a t ' s right, l a u g h at t h e old fool! T h e p o o r old h a m ! B u t the final c u r t a i n will b e in the p o o r h o u s e j u s t t h e s a m e , a n d that's n o t c o m e d y ! [Then as E D M U N D is still grinning, he changes the subject.] W e l l , well, let's not a r g u e . You've got b r a i n s in t h a t h e a d o f y o u r s , t h o u g h you d o y o u r b e s t to d e n y t h e m . You'll live to learn the v a l u e of a dollar. Y o u ' r e n o t like y o u r d a m n e d t r a m p of a b r o t h e r . I've given u p h o p e he'll ever g e t s e n s e . W h e r e is h e , by t h e way? EDMUND H o w would I know? TYRONE I t h o u g h t you'd g o n e b a c k u p t o w n to m e e t h i m . EDMUND N o . I w a l k e d o u t to the b e a c h . I h a v e n ' t s e e n h i m s i n c e this afternoon. TYRONE W e l l , if y o u split the m o n e y I g a v e you with h i m , like a f o o l — EDMUND S u r e I d i d . H e ' s always s t a k e d m e w h e n h e h a d a n y t h i n g . TYRONE T h e n it d o e s n ' t t a k e a s o o t h s a y e r to tell h e ' s p r o b a b l y in the whorehouse. EDMUND W h a t of it if h e is? W h y n o t ? T Y R O N E [contemptuously] W h y n o t , i n d e e d . It's the fit p l a c e for h i m . If he's ever h a d a loftier d r e a m t h a n w h o r e s a n d w h i s k e y , he's never s h o w n it. EDMUND O h , for P e t e ' s s a k e , P a p a ! If you're g o i n g to start that stuff, I'll b e a t it. [He starts to get up.] T Y R O N E [placatingly] All right, all right, I'll s t o p . G o d k n o w s , I don't like the s u b j e c t either. Will you j o i n m e in a drink? EDMUND A h ! N o w you're talking! T Y R O N E [passes the bottle to him—mechanically] I'm w r o n g to treat y o u . You've h a d e n o u g h a l r e a d y . E D M U N D [pouring a big drink—a bit drunkenly] E n o u g h is not a s g o o d a s a f e a s t . [He hands back the bottle.] TYRONE It's t o o m u c h in your c o n d i t i o n . EDMUND F o r g e t my c o n d i t i o n ! [He raises his glass.] H e r e ' s h o w . TYRONE D r i n k hearty. [They drink.] If you w a l k e d all the way to t h e b e a c h you m u s t be d a m p and chilled. EDMUND O h , I d r o p p e d in at the Inn o n t h e way o u t a n d b a c k . TYRONE It's not a night I'd p i c k for a l o n g walk. EDMUND I loved the fog. It w a s w h a t I n e e d e d . [He sounds more tipsy and looks it.] TYRONE You s h o u l d h a v e m o r e s e n s e t h a n to r i s k — EDMUND T o hell with s e n s e ! W e ' r e all crazy. W h a t d o w e w a n t with s e n s e ? sardonically.] [He quotes from Dowson b

6. Ernest Dowson ( 1 8 6 7 - 1 9 0 0 ) , English poet.

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT,

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" T h e y a r e not long, the w e e p i n g a n d the laughter, L o v e a n d desire a n d h a t e : I think they have n o portion in u s after W e p a s s the g a t e . T h e y a r e not long, the days of wine a n d r o s e s : O u t of a misty d r e a m O u r p a t h e m e r g e s for a while, then c l o s e s Within a d r e a m . " [staring before him] T h e fog w a s w h e r e I w a n t e d to b e . H a l f w a y d o w n the p a t h y o u c a n ' t s e e this h o u s e . You'd never k n o w it w a s h e r e . O r a n y of t h e o t h e r p l a c e s d o w n the a v e n u e . I c o u l d n ' t s e e b u t a few feet a h e a d . I didn't m e e t a s o u l . E v e r y t h i n g l o o k e d a n d s o u n d e d u n r e a l . N o t h i n g w a s w h a t it is. T h a t ' s w h a t I w a n t e d — t o b e a l o n e with m y s e l f in a n o t h e r world w h e r e truth is u n t r u e a n d life c a n h i d e from itself. O u t b e y o n d the h a r b o r , w h e r e t h e r o a d r u n s a l o n g the b e a c h , I even lost the f e e l i n g of b e i n g o n l a n d . T h e fog a n d the s e a s e e m e d p a r t of e a c h o t h e r . It w a s like w a l k i n g o n the b o t t o m o f the s e a . As if I h a d d r o w n e d l o n g a g o . A s if I w a s a g h o s t b e l o n g i n g to the fog, a n d the fog w a s the g h o s t of t h e s e a . It felt d a m n e d p e a c e f u l to b e n o t h i n g m o r e t h a n a g h o s t within a g h o s t . [He sees his father staring at him with mingled worry and irritated disapproval. He grins mockingly.] D o n ' t look at m e a s if I'd g o n e nutty. I'm talking s e n s e . W h o w a n t s to s e e life a s it is, if they c a n h e l p it? It's the t h r e e G o r g o n s 7 in o n e . You look in their f a c e s a n d turn to s t o n e . O r it's P a n . 8 You s e e h i m a n d you d i e — t h a t is, i n s i d e y o u — a n d have to g o o n living a s a g h o s t . [impressed and at the same time revolted] You h a v e a p o e t in y o u but it's a d a m n e d m o r b i d o n e ! [forcing a smile] Devil t a k e your p e s s i m i s m . I feel low-spirited e n o u g h . [He sighs.] W h y c a n ' t you r e m e m b e r y o u r S h a k e s p e a r e a n d forget the third-raters. You'll find w h a t you're trying to say in h i m — a s you'll find everything e l s e worth s a y i n g . [He quotes, using his fine voice] " W e a r e s u c h stuff a s d r e a m s a r e m a d e o n , a n d o u r little life is r o u n d e d with a s l e e p . " 9 E D M U N D [ironically] F i n e ! T h a t ' s b e a u t i f u l . B u t I w a s n ' t trying to s a y that. W e a r e s u c h s t u f f a s m a n u r e is m a d e o n , s o let's drink u p a n d forget it. T h a t ' s m o r e my i d e a . T Y R O N E [disgustedly] A c h ! K e e p s u c h s e n t i m e n t s to yourself. I s h o u l d n ' t have given you t h a t drink. EDMUND It did p a c k a w a l l o p , all right. O n y o u , t o o . [He grins with affectionate teasing.] E v e n if you've never m i s s e d a p e r f o r m a n c e ! [aggressively] W e l l , what's w r o n g with b e i n g d r u n k ? It's w h a t we're after, isn't it? L e t ' s not kid e a c h o t h e r , P a p a . N o t t o n i g h t . W e k n o w w h a t we're trying to forget, [hurriedly] B u t let's not talk a b o u t it. It's n o u s e n o w . T Y R O N E [didZy] N o . All w e c a n d o is try to b e r e s i g n e d — a g a i n . EDMUND O r b e s o d r u n k you c a n forget. [He recites, and recites well, with bitter, ironical passion, the Symons' translation of Baudelaire's' prose TYRONE

7. In Greek mythology, three monstrous sisters so ugly that the sight of them turned one to stone. 8. Greek god of woods, fields, and flocks, half man and half goat, associated with wildness.

9. Shakespeare's The Tempest 4.1.1 56—58. 1. Charles Baudelaire ( 1 8 2 1 - 1 8 6 7 ) , French poet. Arthur Symons ( 1 8 6 5 - 1 9 4 5 ) , English poet and literary critic.

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poem.] " B e always d r u n k e n . N o t h i n g e l s e m a t t e r s : t h a t is t h e only q u e s tion. If you w o u l d n o t feel the h o r r i b l e b u r d e n of T i m e w e i g h i n g o n y o u r s h o u l d e r s a n d c r u s h i n g you to t h e e a r t h , b e d r u n k e n c o n t i n u a l l y . D r u n k e n with w h a t ? W i t h w i n e , with poetry, or with v i r t u e , a s y o u will. B u t b e d r u n k e n . A n d if s o m e t i m e s , o n the stairs of a p a l a c e , or o n t h e g r e e n s i d e of a d i t c h , or in the d r e a r y s o l i t u d e of y o u r own r o o m , you s h o u l d a w a k e n a n d the d r u n k e n n e s s b e h a l f or wholly s l i p p e d a w a y f r o m y o u , a s k of the w i n d , or of the w a v e , or of the star, or of the b i r d , or of the c l o c k , of w h a t e v e r flies, or s i g h s , or r o c k s , or s i n g s , or s p e a k s , a s k w h a t h o u r it is; a n d the w i n d , w a v e , star, bird, c l o c k , will a n s w e r y o u : 'It is the h o u r to b e d r u n k e n ! B e d r u n k e n , if you w o u l d not b e m a r t y r e d s l a v e s of T i m e ; b e d r u n k e n c o n t i n u a l l y ! W i t h w i n e , with poetry, or with v i r t u e , a s you will.' " [He grins at his father provocatively.] T Y R O N E [thickly humorous] I w o u l d n ' t worry a b o u t t h e virtue p a r t of it, if I w e r e y o u . [then disgustedly] P a h ! It's m o r b i d n o n s e n s e ! W h a t little truth is in it you'll find nobly s a i d in S h a k e s p e a r e , [then appreciatively] But you r e c i t e d it well, lad. W h o w r o t e it? EDMUND Baudelaire. TYRONE N e v e r h e a r d of h i m . E D M U N D [grins provocatively] H e a l s o w r o t e a p o e m a b o u t J a m i e a n d the Great White Way. TYRONE T h a t loafer! I h o p e to G o d h e m i s s e s the last c a r a n d h a s to stay uptown! E D M U N D [goes on, ignoring this] A l t h o u g h h e w a s F r e n c h a n d never s a w B r o a d w a y a n d d i e d b e f o r e J a m i e w a s b o r n . H e k n e w h i m a n d Little O l d N e w York j u s t the s a m e . [He recites the Symons' translation of Baudelaire's "Epilogue."] "With heart at rest I c l i m b e d the citadel's S t e e p height, a n d s a w the city a s from a tower, H o s p i t a l , brothel, p r i s o n , a n d s u c h hells, W h e r e evil c o m e s up softly like a flower. T h o u knowest, O S a t a n , p a t r o n of my p a i n , N o t for vain tears I went up at that h o u r ; B u t like a n old s a d faithful lecher, fain T o drink delight of that e n o r m o u s trull W h o s e hellish b e a u t y m a k e s m e y o u n g a g a i n . W h e t h e r thou s l e e p , with heavy v a p o u r s full, S o d d e n with day, or, new a p p a r e l l e d , s t a n d In gold-laced veils of e v e n i n g beautiful, I love thee, i n f a m o u s city! H a r l o t s a n d H u n t e d have p l e a s u r e s of their own to give, T h e vulgar herd c a n never u n d e r s t a n d . " [with irritable disgust] M o r b i d filth! W h e r e the hell d o you get y o u r t a s t e in literature? Filth a n d d e s p a i r a n d p e s s i m i s m ! A n o t h e r a t h e i s t , I s u p p o s e . W h e n you d e n y G o d , you d e n y h o p e . T h a t ' s the t r o u b l e with y o u . If you'd g e t d o w n o n y o u r k n e e s —

TYRONE

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

4

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2061

[as if he hadn't heard—sardonically] It's a g o o d l i k e n e s s o f J a m i e , don't you think, h u n t e d by h i m s e l f a n d whiskey, h i d i n g in a B r o a d w a y hotel r o o m with s o m e fat t a r t — h e likes t h e m f a t — r e c i t i n g D o w s o n ' s C y n a r a to her. [He recites derisively, hut with deep feeling]

EDMUND

"All night u p o n m i n e heart I felt her w a r m heart b e a t , Night-long within m i n e a r m s in love a n d sleep s h e lay; S u r e l y the k i s s e s of her b o u g h t red m o u t h were s w e e t ; B u t I w a s d e s o l a t e a n d sick of a n old p a s s i o n , W h e n I a w o k e a n d f o u n d the d a w n w a s gray: I have b e e n faithful to t h e e , C y n a r a ! in my f a s h i o n . " [jeeringly] A n d the p o o r fat b u r l e s q u e q u e e n d o e s n ' t get a w o r d of it, b u t s u s p e c t s s h e ' s b e i n g i n s u l t e d ! A n d J a m i e never loved a n y C y n a r a , a n d w a s never faithful to a w o m a n in his life, even in his f a s h i o n ! B u t h e lies t h e r e , k i d d i n g h i m s e l f h e is s u p e r i o r a n d e n j o y s p l e a s u r e s " t h e vulgar h e r d c a n never u n d e r s t a n d " ! [He laughs.] It's n u t s — c o m p l e t e l y n u t s ! T Y R O N E [vaguely—his voice thick] It's m a d n e s s , y e s . If you'd g e t o n y o u r k n e e s a n d pray. W h e n you d e n y G o d , you d e n y sanity. E D M U N D [ignoring this] B u t w h o a m I to feel s u p e r i o r ? I've d o n e the s a m e d a m n e d t h i n g . A n d it's n o m o r e crazy t h a n D o w s o n h i m s e l f , i n s p i r e d by a n a b s i n t h e h a n g o v e r , writing it to a d u m b b a r m a i d , w h o t h o u g h t h e w a s a p o o r crazy s o u s e , a n d g a v e h i m the g a t e to m a r r y a waiter! [He laughs— then soberly, with genuine sympathy] P o o r D o w s o n . B o o z e a n d c o n s u m p tion got h i m . [He starts and for a second looks miserable and frightened. Then with defensive irony] P e r h a p s it w o u l d b e tactful of m e to c h a n g e the s u b j e c t . T Y R O N E [thickly] W h e r e y o u get y o u r t a s t e in a u t h o r s — T h a t d a m n e d library of y o u r s ! [He indicates the small bookcase at rear.] V o l t a i r e , R o u s seau, S c h o p e n h a u e r , Nietzsche, Ibsen! Atheists, fools, and m a d m e n ! And your p o e t s ! T h i s D o w s o n , a n d this B a u d e l a i r e , a n d S w i n b u r n e a n d O s c a r Wilde, and Whitman and Poe! Whore-mongers and degenerates! Pah! W h e n I've t h r e e g o o d s e t s of S h a k e s p e a r e t h e r e [he nods at the large bookcase] you c o u l d r e a d . E D M U N D [provocatively] They say he was a s o u s e , too. TYRONE T h e y lie! I don't d o u b t h e liked his g l a s s — i t ' s a g o o d m a n ' s faili n g — b u t h e k n e w h o w to drink s o it didn't p o i s o n his brain with morb i d n e s s a n d filth. D o n ' t c o m p a r e h i m with the p a c k you've got in t h e r e . [He indicates the small bookcase again.] Y o u r dirty Zola! A n d y o u r D a n t e G a b r i e l R o s s e t t i w h o w a s a d o p e fiend! [He starts and looks guilty.] E D M U N D [with defensive dryness] P e r h a p s it w o u l d b e w i s e to c h a n g e the s u b j e c t , [a pause] You c a n ' t a c c u s e m e of not k n o w i n g S h a k e s p e a r e . Didn't I win five d o l l a r s f r o m you o n c e w h e n you b e t m e I c o u l d n ' t learn a l e a d i n g part of his in a w e e k , a s you u s e d to d o in s t o c k in the old d a y s . I l e a r n e d M a c b e t h a n d r e c i t e d it letter p e r f e c t , with you giving m e t h e cues. T Y R O N E [approvingly] T h a t ' s t r u e . S o you did. [He smiles teasingly and sighs.] It w a s a terrible o r d e a l , I r e m e m b e r , h e a r i n g y o u m u r d e r the lines. I kept w i s h i n g I'd p a i d over the bet w i t h o u t m a k i n g you p r o v e it. [He chuckles and E D M U N D grins. Then he starts as he hears a sound from upstairs—with dread]

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O'NEILL

D i d you h e a r ? S h e ' s m o v i n g a r o u n d . I w a s h o p i n g s h e ' d g o n e to s l e e p . F o r g e t it! H o w a b o u t a n o t h e r drink? [He reaches out and gets the bottle, pours a drink and hands it back. Then with a strained casualness, as his father pours a drink] W h e n did M a m a g o to b e d ? TYRONE R i g h t after y o u left. S h e w o u l d n ' t eat a n y d i n n e r . W h a t m a d e y o u r u n away? EDMUND N o t h i n g . [Abruptly raising his glass.] W e l l , here's h o w . T Y R O N E [mechanically] D r i n k hearty, l a d . [They drink. T Y R O N E again listens to sounds upstairs—with dread] S h e ' s m o v i n g a r o u n d a lot. I h o p e to G o d she doesn't c o m e down. E D M U N D [dully] Y e s . She'll b e n o t h i n g b u t a g h o s t h a u n t i n g the p a s t by this t i m e . [He pauses—then miserably] Back before I was b o r n — TYRONE D o e s n ' t s h e d o the s a m e with m e ? B a c k b e f o r e s h e ever k n e w m e . You'd think the only h a p p y days s h e ' s ever k n o w n w e r e in her father's h o m e , or at the C o n v e n t , p r a y i n g a n d p l a y i n g the p i a n o , [jealous resentment in his bitterness] A s I've told you b e f o r e , you m u s t t a k e her m e m ories with a grain of salt. H e r w o n d e r f u l h o m e w a s ordinary e n o u g h . H e r father wasn't t h e g r e a t , g e n e r o u s , n o b l e Irish g e n t l e m a n s h e m a k e s o u t . H e w a s a n i c e e n o u g h m a n , g o o d c o m p a n y a n d a g o o d talker. I liked him a n d h e liked m e . H e w a s p r o s p e r o u s e n o u g h , t o o , in h i s w h o l e s a l e grocery b u s i n e s s , a n a b l e m a n . B u t h e h a d his w e a k n e s s . S h e c o n d e m n s my drinking b u t s h e forgets h i s . It's t r u e h e never t o u c h e d a d r o p till h e w a s forty, b u t after t h a t h e m a d e u p for lost t i m e . H e b e c a m e a s t e a d y c h a m p a g n e drinker, the worst kind. T h a t w a s his g r a n d p o s e , to drink only c h a m p a g n e . W e l l , it finished h i m q u i c k — t h a t a n d t h e c o n s u m p t i o n — [He stops with a guilty glance at his son. ] EDMUND

EDMUND

[sardonically]

W e don't s e e m a b l e to avoid u n p l e a s a n t t o p i c s , d o

we? [sighs sadly] N o . [then with a pathetic attempt at heartiness] What do you say to a g a m e or two of C a s i n o , l a d ? EDMUND All right. T Y R O N E [shuffling the cards clumsily] W e c a n ' t l o c k u p a n d g o to b e d till J a m i e c o m e s o n the last t r o l l e y — w h i c h I h o p e h e w o n ' t — a n d I don't w a n t to g o u p s t a i r s , anyway, till s h e ' s a s l e e p . EDMUND N e i t h e r d o I. T Y R O N E [keeps shuffling the cards fumblingly, forgetting to deal them] As I w a s saying, you m u s t t a k e her t a l e s of t h e p a s t with a grain of salt. T h e p i a n o playing a n d h e r d r e a m of b e c o m i n g a c o n c e r t p i a n i s t . T h a t w a s p u t in her h e a d by t h e n u n s flattering her. S h e w a s their p e t . T h e y loved her for b e i n g s o d e v o u t . T h e y ' r e i n n o c e n t w o m e n , a n y w a y , w h e n it c o m e s to the world. T h e y don't k n o w t h a t not o n e in a million w h o s h o w s p r o m ise ever rises to c o n c e r t playing. N o t that y o u r m o t h e r didn't play well for a s c h o o l g i r l , b u t that's n o r e a s o n to t a k e it for g r a n t e d s h e c o u l d have— E D M U N D [sharply] W h y don't you d e a l , if we're g o i n g to play. TYRONE E h ? I a m . [dealing with very uncertain judgment of distance] And the idea s h e m i g h t have b e c o m e a n u n . T h a t ' s the w o r s t . Y o u r m o t h e r w a s o n e of t h e m o s t b e a u t i f u l girls you c o u l d ever s e e . S h e k n e w it, t o o . S h e w a s a bit of a r o g u e a n d a c o q u e t t e , G o d b l e s s her, b e h i n d all h e r TYRONE

LONG

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s h y n e s s a n d b l u s h e s . S h e w a s n e v e r m a d e to r e n o u n c e t h e w o r l d . S h e w a s b u r s t i n g with h e a l t h a n d high spirits a n d t h e love of loving. EDMUND F o r G o d ' s s a k e , P a p a ! W h y don't y o u p i c k u p y o u r h a n d ? T Y R O N E [picks it up—dully] Y e s , let's s e e w h a t I h a v e h e r e . [They

both stare

at their

cards

unseeingly.

Then

they both start.

TYRONE

whispers]

Listen! She's coming downstairs. We'll p l a y o u r g a m e . P r e t e n d n o t to n o t i c e a n d she'll soon go up again. E D M U N D [staring through the front parlor—with relief] I d o n ' t s e e her. S h e must have started down and then turned back. TYRONE Thank God. EDMUND Y e s . It's pretty h o r r i b l e to s e e h e r t h e way s h e m u s t b e n o w . [with bitter misery] T h e h a r d e s t thing to t a k e is t h e b l a n k wall s h e b u i l d s a r o u n d her. O r it's m o r e like a b a n k of f o g in w h i c h s h e h i d e s a n d l o s e s herself. D e l i b e r a t e l y , t h a t ' s t h e hell of it! Y o u k n o w s o m e t h i n g in h e r d o e s it d e l i b e r a t e l y — t o g e t b e y o n d o u r r e a c h , to b e rid of u s , to forget w e ' r e alive! It's a s if, in s p i t e of loving u s , s h e h a t e d u s ! T Y R O N E [remonstrates gently] N o w , n o w , l a d . It's not her. It's t h e d a m n e d poison. E D M U N D [bitterly] S h e t a k e s it to g e t t h a t effect. At l e a s t , I k n o w s h e did M y play, isn't it? H e r e . [He plays a card.] this t i m e ! [abruptly] TYRONE [plays mechanically—gently reproachful] S h e ' s b e e n terribly f r i g h t e n e d a b o u t y o u r i l l n e s s , for all h e r p r e t e n d i n g . D o n ' t b e t o o h a r d o n her, lad. R e m e m b e r s h e ' s n o t r e s p o n s i b l e . O n c e that c u r s e d p o i s o n gets a hold on a n y o n e — EDMUND

TYRONE

[hurriedly]

E D M U N D [his face

grows

hard

and

he stares

at his father

with

bitter

accusa-

tion] It n e v e r s h o u l d h a v e g o t t e n a h o l d o n her! I k n o w d a m n e d well s h e ' s n o t to b l a m e ! A n d I k n o w w h o is! Y o u a r e ! Y o u r d a m n e d s t i n g i n e s s ! If y o u ' d s p e n t m o n e y for a d e c e n t d o c t o r w h e n s h e w a s s o s i c k after I was born, she'd never have known m o r p h i n e existed! Instead you put her in t h e h a n d s o f a hotel q u a c k w h o w o u l d n ' t a d m i t his i g n o r a n c e a n d t o o k t h e e a s i e s t way o u t , not giving a d a m n w h a t h a p p e n e d to h e r a f t e r w a r d s ! All b e c a u s e his f e e w a s c h e a p ! A n o t h e r o n e of y o u r b a r g a i n s ! [stung—angrily] B e q u i e t ! H o w d a r e you talk of s o m e t h i n g you his temper] Y o u m u s t try to s e e k n o w n o t h i n g a b o u t ! [trying to control m y s i d e o f it, t o o , l a d . H o w w a s I to k n o w h e w a s t h a t kind of a d o c t o r ? He had a good reputation— EDMUND A m o n g t h e s o u s e s in t h e hotel b a r , I s u p p o s e ! TYRONE T h a t ' s a lie! I a s k e d t h e hotel p r o p r i e t o r to r e c o m m e n d t h e b e s t — EDMUND Y e s ! At t h e s a m e t i m e crying p o o r h o u s e a n d m a k i n g it p l a i n y o u w a n t e d a c h e a p o n e ! I k n o w your s y s t e m ! By G o d , I o u g h t to after this afternoon! T Y R O N E [guiltily defensive] W h a t a b o u t this a f t e r n o o n ? EDMUND N e v e r m i n d n o w . W e ' r e talking a b o u t M a m a ! I'm s a y i n g n o m a t ter h o w y o u e x c u s e y o u r s e l f you k n o w d a m n e d well y o u r s t i n g i n e s s is to blame— TYRONE A n d I s a y y o u ' r e a liar! S h u t y o u r m o u t h right n o w , o r — E D M U N D [ignoring this] After you f o u n d o u t s h e ' d b e e n m a d e a m o r p h i n e TYRONE

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O'NEILL

a d d i c t , why didn't y o u s e n d her to a c u r e t h e n , a t t h e start, while s h e still h a d a c h a n c e ? N o , t h a t w o u l d h a v e m e a n t s p e n d i n g s o m e m o n e y ! I'll bet y o u told her all s h e h a d to d o w a s u s e a little will p o w e r ! T h a t ' s w h a t y o u still b e l i e v e in y o u r h e a r t , in s p i t e of w h a t d o c t o r s , w h o really k n o w s o m e t h i n g a b o u t it, h a v e told y o u ! TYRONE Y o u lie a g a i n ! I k n o w b e t t e r t h a n t h a t n o w ! B u t h o w w a s I to k n o w t h e n ? W h a t did I k n o w of m o r p h i n e ? It w a s y e a r s b e f o r e I d i s c o v e r e d w h a t w a s w r o n g . I t h o u g h t s h e ' d n e v e r got over h e r s i c k n e s s , that's all. W h y didn't I s e n d h e r to a c u r e , y o u s a y ? [bitterly] H a v e n ' t I? I've s p e n t t h o u s a n d s u p o n t h o u s a n d s in c u r e s ! A w a s t e . W h a t g o o d h a v e they d o n e her? S h e a l w a y s s t a r t e d a g a i n . B e c a u s e you've n e v e r given her a n y t h i n g t h a t w o u l d h e l p h e r w a n t to s t a y off it! N o h o m e e x c e p t this s u m m e r d u m p in a p l a c e s h e h a t e s a n d you've r e f u s e d e v e n to s p e n d m o n e y to m a k e this l o o k d e c e n t , while y o u k e e p b u y i n g m o r e p r o p e r t y , a n d p l a y i n g s u c k e r for every c o n m a n with a g o l d m i n e , or a silver m i n e , or a n y kind of g e t - r i c h - q u i c k s w i n d l e ! You've d r a g g e d h e r a r o u n d o n t h e r o a d , s e a s o n after s e a s o n , o n o n e - n i g h t s t a n d s , with n o o n e s h e c o u l d talk t o , w a i t i n g night after night in dirty hotel r o o m s for you to c o m e b a c k with a b u n o n after t h e b a r s c l o s e d ! C h r i s t , is it a n y w o n d e r she didn't w a n t to b e c u r e d . J e s u s , w h e n I t h i n k of it I h a t e your g u t s !

EDMUND

[strickenly] E d m u n d ! [then in a rage] H o w d a r e y o u talk to y o u r father like t h a t , you i n s o l e n t y o u n g c u b ! After all I've d o n e for y o u . EDMUND We'll c o m e to t h a t , w h a t y o u ' r e d o i n g for m e ! T Y R O N E [looking guilty again—ignores this] Will y o u s t o p r e p e a t i n g y o u r m o t h e r ' s crazy a c c u s a t i o n s , w h i c h s h e n e v e r m a k e s u n l e s s it's t h e p o i s o n talking? I n e v e r d r a g g e d her o n t h e r o a d a g a i n s t h e r will. N a t u r a l l y , I w a n t e d her with m e . I loved her. A n d s h e c a m e b e c a u s e s h e loved m e a n d w a n t e d to b e with m e . T h a t ' s t h e t r u t h , n o m a t t e r w h a t s h e s a y s w h e n s h e ' s not herself. A n d s h e n e e d n ' t h a v e b e e n lonely. T h e r e w a s a l w a y s t h e m e m b e r s of m y c o m p a n y to talk to, if s h e ' d w a n t e d . S h e h a d her c h i l d r e n , t o o , a n d I i n s i s t e d , in s p i t e of t h e e x p e n s e , o n h a v i n g a n u r s e to travel with her.

TYRONE

[bitterly] Y e s , y o u r o n e g e n e r o s i t y , a n d t h a t b e c a u s e you w e r e j e a l o u s of h e r p a y i n g t o o m u c h a t t e n t i o n to u s , a n d w a n t e d u s o u t of y o u r way! It w a s a n o t h e r m i s t a k e , t o o ! If s h e ' d h a d to t a k e c a r e of m e all by herself, a n d h a d that to o c c u p y h e r m i n d , m a y b e s h e ' d h a v e b e e n able— T Y R O N E [goaded into vindictiveness] O r for t h a t m a t t e r , if y o u insist in j u d g i n g t h i n g s by w h a t s h e says w h e n s h e ' s n o t in her right m i n d , if you h a d n ' t b e e n b o r n s h e ' d n e v e r — [ H e stops ashamed.] E D M U N D [suddenly spent and miserable] S u r e . I know that's what she feels, Papa. T Y R O N E [protests penitently] S h e d o e s n ' t ! S h e loves you a s d e a r l y a s ever m o t h e r loved a s o n ! I only s a i d that b e c a u s e you p u t m e in s u c h a G o d d a m n e d r a g e , r a k i n g u p t h e p a s t , a n d s a y i n g you h a t e m e — E D M U N D [dwHy] I didn't m e a n it, P a p a . [He suddenly smiles—kidding a bit drunkenly] I'm like M a m a , I c a n ' t h e l p liking y o u , in s p i t e of everything. T Y R O N E [grins a bit drunkenly in return] I m i g h t s a y t h e s a m e of y o u . You're n o g r e a t s h a k e s a s a s o n . It's a c a s e of "A p o o r t h i n g b u t m i n e EDMUND

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

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4

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2065

o w n . " 2 [They both chuckle with real, if alcoholic, affection. TYRONE changes the subject. ] W h a t ' s h a p p e n e d to o u r g a m e ? W h o s e play is it? EDMUND Yours, I guess. [ T Y R O N E flays

a card

which

E D M U N D takes

and

the game

gets

forgotten

again. ]

You m u s t n ' t let y o u r s e l f b e too d o w n h e a r t e d , lad, by the b a d n e w s you h a d today. B o t h the d o c t o r s p r o m i s e d m e , if y o u o b e y o r d e r s at this p l a c e you're g o i n g , you'll b e c u r e d in six m o n t h s , or a y e a r at m o s t . E D M U N D [his face hard again] D o n ' t kid m e . You don't believe t h a t . T Y R O N E [too vehemently] O f c o u r s e I believe it! W h y s h o u l d n ' t I believe it w h e n b o t h H a r d y a n d the s p e c i a l i s t — ? EDMUND You think I'm g o i n g to d i e . TYRONE T h a t ' s a lie! You're crazy! E D M U N D [more bitterly] S o why w a s t e m o n e y ? T h a t ' s why you're s e n d i n g m e to a s t a t e f a r m — T Y R O N E [in guilty confusion] W h a t s t a t e f a r m ? It's the H i l l t o w n S a n a t o r i u m , that's all I k n o w , a n d both d o c t o r s s a i d it w a s the b e s t p l a c e for you. E D M U N D [scathingly] F o r the m o n e y ! T h a t is, for n o t h i n g , or p r a c t i c a l l y n o t h i n g . D o n ' t lie, P a p a ! You k n o w d a m n e d well H i l l t o w n S a n a t o r i u m is a s t a t e i n s t i t u t i o n ! J a m i e s u s p e c t e d you'd cry p o o r h o u s e to H a r d y a n d h e w o r m e d the t r u t h o u t of h i m . T Y R O N E [furiously] T h a t d r u n k e n loafer! I'll kick h i m o u t in the gutter! H e ' s p o i s o n e d y o u r m i n d a g a i n s t m e ever s i n c e you w e r e old e n o u g h to listen! EDMUND You can't d e n y it's the truth a b o u t the s t a t e f a r m , c a n y o u ? TYRONE It's not t r u e the way you look at it! W h a t if it is r u n by t h e s t a t e ? T h a t ' s n o t h i n g a g a i n s t it. T h e s t a t e h a s the m o n e y to m a k e a b e t t e r p l a c e t h a n a n y private s a n a t o r i u m . A n d why s h o u l d n ' t I t a k e a d v a n t a g e of it? It's my r i g h t — a n d y o u r s . W e ' r e r e s i d e n t s . I'm a p r o p e r t y o w n e r . I h e l p to s u p p o r t it. I'm taxed to d e a t h — E D M U N D [with bitter irony] Y e s , o n p r o p e r t y v a l u e d at a q u a r t e r o f a million. TYRONE L i e s ! It's all m o r t g a g e d ! EDMUND H a r d y a n d the s p e c i a l i s t k n o w w h a t you're w o r t h . I w o n d e r w h a t they t h o u g h t of you w h e n they h e a r d y o u m o a n i n g p o o r h o u s e a n d s h o w ing you w a n t e d to w i s h m e on charity! TYRONE It's a lie! All I told t h e m w a s I c o u l d n ' t afford a n y m i l l i o n a i r e ' s s a n a t o r i u m b e c a u s e I w a s l a n d p o o r . T h a t ' s the truth! EDMUND A n d t h e n y o u w e n t to the C l u b to m e e t M c G u i r e a n d let h i m stick you with a n o t h e r b u m p i e c e of property! [as T Y R O N E starts to deny] D o n ' t lie a b o u t it! W e m e t M c G u i r e in the hotel b a r after h e left y o u . J a m i e kidded him about hooking you, and he winked and laughed! T Y R O N E [lying feebly] H e ' s a liar if h e s a i d — EDMUND D o n ' t lie a b o u t it! [with gathering intensity] G o d , P a p a , ever s i n c e I w e n t to s e a a n d w a s o n my o w n , a n d f o u n d o u t w h a t h a r d w o r k for little p a y w a s , a n d w h a t it felt like to b e b r o k e , a n d s t a r v e , a n d c a m p on p a r k b e n c h e s b e c a u s e I h a d n o p l a c e to s l e e p , I've tried to b e fair to you TYRONE

2. Shakespeare's As You Like It 5.4.60.

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EUGENE

O'NEILL

b e c a u s e I k n e w w h a t y o u ' d b e e n u p a g a i n s t a s a kid. I've tried to m a k e a l l o w a n c e s . C h r i s t , y o u h a v e to m a k e a l l o w a n c e s in this d a m n e d family or g o n u t s ! I h a v e tried to m a k e a l l o w a n c e s for m y s e l f w h e n I r e m e m b e r all the rotten stuff I've p u l l e d ! I've tried to feel like M a m a that y o u c a n ' t h e l p b e i n g w h a t you a r e w h e r e m o n e y is c o n c e r n e d . B u t G o d A l m i g h t y , this last s t u n t o f y o u r s is t o o m u c h ! It m a k e s m e w a n t to p u k e ! N o t b e c a u s e of the rotten way you're t r e a t i n g m e . T o hell with that! I've t r e a t e d you rottenly, in m y way, m o r e t h a n o n c e . B u t to t h i n k w h e n it's a q u e s t i o n of y o u r s o n h a v i n g c o n s u m p t i o n , y o u c a n s h o w y o u r s e l f u p b e f o r e the w h o l e town a s s u c h a s t i n k i n g old t i g h t w a d ! D o n ' t y o u k n o w H a r d y will talk a n d the w h o l e d a m n e d t o w n will know! J e s u s , P a p a , haven't you a n y p r i d e or s h a m e ? [bursting with rage] A n d don't t h i n k I'll let you get a w a y with it! I won't go to a n y d a m n e d s t a t e f a r m j u s t to s a v e y o u a few l o u s y d o l l a r s to b u y m o r e b u m p r o p e r t y with! You s t i n k i n g old m i s e r — ! [He chokes huskily, his voice trembling with rage, and then is shaken by a fit of coughing.] [has shrunk back in his chair under this attack, his guilty contrition greater than his anger—he stammers] B e q u i e t ! D o n ' t s a y t h a t to m e ! You're d r u n k ! I won't m i n d y o u . S t o p c o u g h i n g , l a d . You've g o t y o u r s e l f w o r k e d u p over n o t h i n g . W h o s a i d y o u h a d to g o to this H i l l t o w n p l a c e ? You c a n g o a n y w h e r e y o u like. I don't give a d a m n w h a t it c o s t s . All I c a r e a b o u t is to have y o u g e t well. D o n ' t call m e a s t i n k i n g m i s e r , j u s t b e c a u s e I don't w a n t d o c t o r s to t h i n k I'm a m i l l i o n a i r e they c a n s w i n d l e . [ E D M U N D has stopped coughing. He looks sick and weak. His father stares at him frightenedly.] You look w e a k , l a d . Y o u ' d b e t t e r t a k e a b r a c e r . E D M U N D [grabs the bottle and pours his glass brimfull—weakly] Thanks. [He gulps down the whiskey. ] T Y R O N E [pours himself a big drink, which empties the bottle, and drinks it; his head bows and he stares dully at the cards on the table— vaguely] W h o s e play is it? [He goes on dully, without resentment.] A s t i n k i n g old m i s e r . W e l l , m a y b e you're right. M a y b e I c a n ' t h e l p b e i n g , a l t h o u g h all m y life s i n c e I h a d a n y t h i n g I've t h r o w n m o n e y over t h e b a r to b u y d r i n k s for e v e r y o n e in the h o u s e , or l o a n e d m o n e y to s p o n g e s I k n e w w o u l d never p a y it b a c k — [ w i t h a loose-mouthed sneer of selfcontempt] B u t , of c o u r s e , t h a t w a s in b a r r o o m s , w h e n I w a s full of w h i s key. I c a n ' t feel that way a b o u t it w h e n I'm s o b e r in my h o m e . It w a s at h o m e I first l e a r n e d t h e v a l u e of a dollar a n d the fear o f the p o o r h o u s e . I've never b e e n a b l e to b e l i e v e in my l u c k s i n c e . I've a l w a y s f e a r e d it w o u l d c h a n g e a n d everything I h a d w o u l d b e t a k e n a w a y . B u t still, the m o r e p r o p e r t y y o u o w n , t h e s a f e r y o u t h i n k y o u a r e . T h a t m a y not b e logical, b u t it's the way I have to feel. B a n k s fail, a n d y o u r m o n e y ' s g o n e , b u t y o u t h i n k y o u c a n k e e p l a n d b e n e a t h y o u r feet. [Abruptly his tone becomes scornfully superior.] You s a i d y o u realized w h a t I'd b e e n u p a g a i n s t a s a boy. T h e hell you d o ! H o w c o u l d y o u ? Y o u ' v e h a d everyt h i n g — n u r s e s , s c h o o l s , c o l l e g e , t h o u g h y o u didn't stay t h e r e . Y o u ' v e h a d f o o d , c l o t h i n g . O h , I k n o w y o u h a d a fling of h a r d work with y o u r b a c k a n d h a n d s , a bit of b e i n g h o m e l e s s a n d p e n n i l e s s in a f o r e i g n l a n d , a n d I r e s p e c t y o u for it. B u t it w a s a g a m e of r o m a n c e a n d a d v e n t u r e to y o u . It w a s play.

TYRONE

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT 4

/

2067

sarcastic] Y e s , p a r t i c u l a r l y the t i m e I tried to c o m m i t suic i d e at J i m m i e t h e Priest's, a n d a l m o s t d i d . TYRONE You weren't in y o u r right m i n d . N o s o n o f m i n e w o u l d e v e r — Y o u were drunk. EDMUND I w a s s t o n e c o l d s o b e r . T h a t w a s the t r o u b l e . I'd s t o p p e d to t h i n k t o o long. T Y R O N E [with drunken peevishness] D o n ' t start your d a m n e d a t h e i s t morb i d n e s s a g a i n ! I don't c a r e t o listen. I w a s trying t o m a k e plain to y o u — [scornfully] W h a t d o you k n o w o f the v a l u e o f a dollar? W h e n I w a s t e n my father d e s e r t e d m y m o t h e r a n d w e n t b a c k to I r e l a n d to d i e . W h i c h h e d i d s o o n e n o u g h , a n d d e s e r v e d t o , a n d I h o p e h e ' s r o a s t i n g in hell. H e m i s t o o k r a t p o i s o n for flour, o r s u g a r , or s o m e t h i n g . T h e r e w a s g o s s i p it w a s n ' t by m i s t a k e b u t that's a l i e . N o o n e in m y family e v e r — EDMUND M y b e t i s , it w a s n ' t by m i s t a k e . TYRONE M o r e m o r b i d n e s s ! Y o u r b r o t h e r p u t t h a t in y o u r h e a d . T h e w o r s t h e c a n s u s p e c t is t h e only truth for h i m . B u t never m i n d . M y m o t h e r w a s left, a s t r a n g e r in a s t r a n g e l a n d , with four s m a l l c h i l d r e n , m e a n d a s i s t e r a little older a n d two y o u n g e r t h a n m e . M y t w o o l d e r b r o t h e r s h a d m o v e d to o t h e r p a r t s . T h e y c o u l d n ' t h e l p . T h e y w e r e hard p u t t o it to k e e p t h e m s e l v e s alive. T h e r e w a s n o d a m n e d r o m a n c e in o u r poverty. T w i c e w e w e r e evicted f r o m t h e m i s e r a b l e hovel w e c a l l e d h o m e , with my m o t h e r ' s few sticks o f furniture t h r o w n o u t in t h e s t r e e t , a n d m y m o t h e r a n d s i s t e r s crying. I c r i e d , t o o , t h o u g h I tried hard n o t to, b e c a u s e I w a s t h e m a n o f the family. At t e n years old! T h e r e w a s n o m o r e s c h o o l for m e . I w o r k e d twelve h o u r s a d a y in a m a c h i n e s h o p , l e a r n i n g to m a k e files. A dirty b a r n o f a p l a c e w h e r e rain d r i p p e d t h r o u g h t h e roof, w h e r e you r o a s t e d in s u m m e r , a n d t h e r e w a s n o s t o v e in winter, a n d y o u r h a n d s got n u m b with c o l d , w h e r e t h e only light c a m e t h r o u g h t w o s m a l l filthy w i n d o w s , s o o n grey days I'd have to sit b e n t over with m y eyes a l m o s t t o u c h i n g t h e files in o r d e r t o s e e ! Y o u talk o f work! A n d w h a t d o y o u think I g o t for it? Fifty c e n t s a week! It's t h e truth! Fifty c e n t s a week! A n d m y p o o r m o t h e r w a s h e d a n d s c r u b b e d for the Y a n k s by t h e day, a n d m y older s i s t e r s e w e d , a n d m y two y o u n g e r s t a y e d a t h o m e t o k e e p t h e h o u s e . W e never h a d c l o t h e s e n o u g h to w e a r , n o r e n o u g h food to e a t . Well I r e m e m b e r o n e T h a n k s g i v i n g , o r m a y b e it w a s C h r i s t m a s , w h e n s o m e Y a n k in w h o s e h o u s e m o t h e r h a d b e e n s c r u b b i n g g a v e h e r a dollar extra for a p r e s e n t , a n d o n t h e way h o m e s h e s p e n t it all o n f o o d . I c a n r e m e m b e r h e r h u g g i n g a n d k i s s i n g u s a n d s a y i n g with t e a r s o f j o y r u n n i n g d o w n h e r tired f a c e : " G l o r y b e to G o d , for o n c e in o u r lives we'll have e n o u g h for e a c h o f u s ! " [He wipes tears from his eyes.] A fine, b r a v e , s w e e t w o m a n . T h e r e never w a s a braver o r finer. E D M U N D [dully

Yes, s h e must have been. H e r o n e fear w a s s h e ' d g e t old a n d s i c k a n d h a v e t o d i e in t h e

E D M U N D [moved] TYRONE

poorhouse.

[He

pauses—then

adds

with

grim

humor]

It w a s in

those

d a y s I l e a r n e d to b e a m i s e r . A dollar w a s worth s o m u c h t h e n . A n d o n c e you've l e a r n e d a l e s s o n , it's h a r d t o u n l e a r n it. Y o u have to look for b a r g a i n s . If I t o o k this s t a t e f a r m s a n a t o r i u m for a g o o d b a r g a i n , you'll have t o forgive m e . T h e d o c t o r s d i d tell m e it's a g o o d p l a c e . Y o u m u s t believe t h a t , E d m u n d . A n d I s w e a r I never m e a n t y o u t o g o t h e r e if y o u didn't w a n t t o . [vehemently] Y o u c a n c h o o s e a n y p l a c e y o u like!

2068

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

N e v e r m i n d w h a t it c o s t s ! Any p l a c e I c a n afford. A n y p l a c e y o u l i k e — within r e a s o n . [At this qualification, a grin twitches E D M U N D ' S lips. His resentment has gone. His father goes on with an elaborately offhand, casual air.] T h e r e w a s a n o t h e r s a n a t o r i u m the s p e c i a l i s t r e c o m m e n d e d . H e s a i d it h a d a r e c o r d a s g o o d a s a n y p l a c e in the c o u n t r y . It's e n d o w e d by a g r o u p of millionaire factory o w n e r s , for t h e benefit of their w o r k e r s principally, but you're eligible to g o t h e r e b e c a u s e you're a r e s i d e n t . T h e r e ' s s u c h a pile of m o n e y b e h i n d it, they don't h a v e to c h a r g e m u c h . It's only s e v e n d o l l a r s a w e e k b u t you g e t ten t i m e s t h a t v a l u e , [hastily] I don't w a n t to p e r s u a d e you to a n y t h i n g , u n d e r s t a n d . I'm s i m p l y r e p e a t i n g w h a t I w a s told. E D M U N D [concealing his smile—casually] O h , I k n o w that. It s o u n d s like a g o o d b a r g a i n to m e . I'd like to g o t h e r e . S o that s e t t l e s that. [Abruptly he is miserably desperate again—dully] It d o e s n ' t m a t t e r a d a m n n o w , anyway. L e t ' s forget it! [changing the subject] How about our game? W h o s e play is it? T Y R O N E [mechanically] I don't k n o w . M i n e , I g u e s s . N o , it's y o u r s . [ E D M U N D plays a card. His father takes it. Then about to play from his hand, he again forgets the game.] Y e s , m a y b e life overdid the l e s s o n for m e , a n d m a d e a dollar w o r t h t o o m u c h , a n d the t i m e c a m e w h e n that m i s t a k e r u i n e d my c a r e e r a s a fine actor, [sadly] I've never a d m i t t e d this to a n y o n e b e f o r e , lad, b u t tonight I'm s o h e a r t s i c k I feel at the e n d o f everything, a n d w h a t ' s the u s e of fake pride a n d p r e t e n s e . T h a t G o d - d a m n e d play I b o u g h t for a s o n g a n d m a d e s u c h a g r e a t s u c c e s s i n — a great m o n e y s u c c e s s — i t r u i n e d m e with its p r o m i s e of a n e a s y f o r t u n e . I didn't w a n t to d o a n y t h i n g e l s e , a n d by the t i m e I w o k e u p to the fact I'd b e c o m e a s l a v e to the d a m n e d t h i n g a n d did try o t h e r p l a y s , it w a s t o o l a t e . T h e y h a d identified m e with t h a t o n e p a r t , a n d didn't w a n t m e in a n y t h i n g e l s e . T h e y w e r e right, t o o . I'd lost the great talent I o n c e h a d t h r o u g h years o f e a s y r e p e t i t i o n , never l e a r n i n g a n e w p a r t , never really w o r k i n g h a r d . Thirty-five to forty t h o u s a n d d o l l a r s n e t profit a s e a s o n like s n a p p i n g y o u r fingers! It w a s t o o great a t e m p t a t i o n . Yet b e f o r e I b o u g h t t h e d a m n e d t h i n g I w a s c o n s i d e r e d o n e of the t h r e e or four y o u n g a c t o r s with t h e g r e a t e s t artistic p r o m ise in A m e r i c a . I'd w o r k e d like hell. I'd left a g o o d j o b a s a m a c h i n i s t to t a k e s u p e r s ' * p a r t s b e c a u s e I loved t h e t h e a t e r . I w a s wild with a m b i t i o n . I r e a d all t h e plays ever written. I s t u d i e d S h a k e s p e a r e a s y o u ' d s t u d y t h e B i b l e . I e d u c a t e d myself. I got rid o f a n Irish b r o g u e y o u c o u l d c u t with a knife. I loved S h a k e s p e a r e . I w o u l d h a v e a c t e d in any of his p l a y s for n o t h i n g , for t h e j o y o f b e i n g alive in his g r e a t poetry. A n d I a c t e d well in h i m . I felt i n s p i r e d by h i m . I c o u l d h a v e b e e n a g r e a t S h a k e s p e a r e a n a c t o r , if I'd kept o n . I k n o w that! In 1 8 7 4 w h e n E d w i n B o o t h 4 c a m e to the t h e a t e r in C h i c a g o w h e r e I w a s l e a d i n g m a n , I p l a y e d C a s s i u s to his B r u t u s o n e night, B r u t u s to his C a s s i u s the next, O t h e l l o to his I a g o , a n d s o o n . T h e first n i g h t I p l a y e d O t h e l l o , h e s a i d to o u r m a n a g e r . " T h a t y o u n g m a n is p l a y i n g O t h e l l o b e t t e r t h a n I ever d i d ! " [proudly] T h a t f r o m 3. Supernumeraries, extras. 4. Edwin Booth ( 1 8 3 3 - 1 8 9 3 ) , American actor and theatrical manager.

LONG

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO

NIGHT, ACT

4

/

2069

B o o t h , t h e g r e a t e s t a c t o r o f his d a y or a n y other! A n d it w a s t r u e ! A n d I w a s only twenty-seven years old! As I l o o k b a c k o n it n o w , t h a t night w a s the high s p o t in my c a r e e r . I h a d life w h e r e I w a n t e d it! A n d for a t i m e after that I kept o n u p w a r d with a m b i t i o n h i g h . M a r r i e d y o u r m o t h e r . A s k her w h a t I w a s like in t h o s e d a y s . H e r love w a s a n a d d e d i n c e n t i v e to a m b i t i o n . B u t a few years later my g o o d b a d l u c k m a d e m e find t h e big m o n e y - m a k e r . It w a s n ' t that in my eyes at first. It w a s a g r e a t r o m a n t i c part I k n e w I c o u l d play b e t t e r t h a n a n y o n e . B u t it w a s a g r e a t box office s u c c e s s f r o m the s t a r t — a n d then life h a d m e w h e r e it w a n t e d m e — a t f r o m thirty-five to forty t h o u s a n d net profit a s e a s o n ! A f o r t u n e in t h o s e d a y s — o r even in t h e s e , [bitterly] W h a t the hell w a s it I w a n t e d to buy, I w o n d e r , t h a t w a s w o r t h — W e l l , n o m a t t e r . It's a late day for r e g r e t s . [He glances vaguely at his cards.] M y play, isn't it? [mewed, stares at his father with understanding—slowly] I'm g l a d you've told m e this, P a p a . I k n o w you a lot b e t t e r n o w . T Y R O N E [with a loose, twisted smile] M a y b e I s h o u l d n ' t h a v e told y o u . M a y b e you'll only feel m o r e c o n t e m p t for m e . A n d it's a p o o r w a y to c o n v i n c e you of the v a l u e of a dollar. [Then as if this phrase automatically aroused an habitual association in his mind, he glances up at the chandelier disapprovingly.] T h e g l a r e f r o m t h o s e extra lights h u r t s m y e y e s . You don't m i n d if I turn t h e m o u t , d o y o u ? W e don't n e e d t h e m , a n d there's n o u s e m a k i n g the E l e c t r i c C o m p a n y rich. E D M U N D [controlling a wild impulse to laugh—agreeably] N o , sure not. Turn them out. T Y R O N E [gets heavily and a bit waveringly to his feet and gropes uncertainly for the lights—his mind going back to its line of thought] N o , I don't k n o w w h a t the hell it w a s I w a n t e d to buy. [He clicks out one bulb.] O n m y s o l e m n o a t h , E d m u n d , I'd gladly f a c e n o t h a v i n g a n a c r e of l a n d to call my o w n , n o r a p e n n y in the b a n k — [ H e clicks out another bulb.] I'd b e willing to h a v e n o h o m e b u t the p o o r h o u s e in my old a g e if I c o u l d look b a c k n o w o n h a v i n g b e e n the fine artist I m i g h t h a v e b e e n . [He turns out the third bulb, so only the reading lamp is on, and sits down again heavily, E D M U N D suddenly cannot hold back a burst of strained, ironical laughter. T Y R O N E is hurt.] W h a t t h e devil a r e you l a u g h i n g a t ? EDMUND N o t at y o u , P a p a . At life. It's s o d a m n e d crazy. T Y R O N E [growls] M o r e of your m o r b i d n e s s ! T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g w r o n g with life. It's w e w h o — [ H e quotes] " T h e fault, d e a r B r u t u s , is not in o u r s t a r s , b u t in o u r s e l v e s that we a r e u n d e r l i n g s . " 5 [He pauses—then sadly] T h e p r a i s e E d w i n B o o t h g a v e my O t h e l l o . I m a d e the m a n a g e r p u t d o w n his exact w o r d s in writing. I kept it in my wallet for y e a r s . I u s e d to r e a d it every o n c e in a while until finally it m a d e m e feel s o b a d I didn't w a n t to f a c e it a n y m o r e . W h e r e is it now, I w o n d e r ? S o m e w h e r e in this h o u s e . I r e m e m b e r I p u t it a w a y c a r e f u l l y — E D M U N D [with a wry ironical sadness] It m i g h t b e in a n old t r u n k in the attic, a l o n g with M a m a ' s w e d d i n g d r e s s . [Then as his father stares at him, he adds quickly] F o r P e t e ' s s a k e , if we're g o i n g to play c a r d s , let's play. [He takes the card his father had played and leads. For a moment, they EDMUND

5. Shakespeare's Julius

Caesar

1.2.134.

2070

/

EUGENE

O'NEILL

play the game, like mechanical chess players. Then T Y R O N E stops, listening to a sound upstairs.] TYRONE S h e ' s still m o v i n g a r o u n d . G o d k n o w s w h e n she'll g o to s l e e p . E D M U N D [pleads tensely] F o r C h r i s t ' s s a k e . P a p a , forget it! [He reaches out and pours a drink. T Y R O N E starts to protest, then gives it up. E D M U N D drinks. He puts down the glass. His expression changes. When he speaks it is as if he were deliberately giving way to drunkenness and seeking to hide behind a maudlin manner.] Y e s , s h e m o v e s a b o v e a n d b e y o n d u s , a g h o s t h a u n t i n g the p a s t , a n d h e r e we sit p r e t e n d i n g to forget, b u t s t r a i n i n g o u r e a r s listening for t h e slightest s o u n d , h e a r i n g the fog drip from the e a v e s like the u n e v e n tick of a r u n d o w n , crazy c l o c k — o r like the dreary t e a r s o f a trollop s p a t t e r i n g in a p u d d l e of stale b e e r o n a h o n k y - t o n k t a b l e t o p ! [He laughs with maudlin appreciation.] N o t s o b a d , that last, e h ? O r i g i n a l , not B a u d e laire. G i v e m e credit! [then with alcoholic talkativeness] You've j u s t told m e s o m e high s p o t s in your m e m o r i e s . W a n t to h e a r m i n e ? T h e y ' r e all c o n n e c t e d with the s e a . H e r e ' s o n e . W h e n I w a s on the S q u a r e h e a d s q u a r e rigger, b o u n d for B u e n o s A i r e s . Full m o o n in the T r a d e s . T h e old h o o k e r driving f o u r t e e n k n o t s . I lay o n the b o w s p r i t , f a c i n g a s t e r n , with the w a t e r f o a m i n g into s p u m e u n d e r m e , the m a s t s with every sail white in the m o o n l i g h t , t o w e r i n g high a b o v e m e . I b e c a m e d r u n k with the b e a u t y a n d s i n g i n g rhythm of it, a n d for a m o m e n t I lost m y s e l f — a c t u a l l y lost my life. I w a s set free! I d i s s o l v e d in the s e a , b e c a m e white sails a n d Hying spray, b e c a m e b e a u t y a n d r h y t h m , b e c a m e m o o n l i g h t a n d the s h i p a n d the high d i m - s t a r r e d sky! I b e l o n g e d , w i t h o u t p a s t or f u t u r e , within p e a c e a n d unity a n d a wild j o y , within s o m e t h i n g g r e a t e r t h a n my own life, or the life of M a n , to Life itself! T o G o d , if you want to p u t it that way. T h e n a n o t h e r t i m e , o n the A m e r i c a n L i n e , w h e n I w a s l o o k o u t o n the crow's n e s t in the d a w n w a t c h . A c a l m s e a , t h a t t i m e . O n l y a lazy g r o u n d swell a n d a slow drowsy roll of the s h i p . T h e p a s s e n g e r s a s l e e p a n d n o n e of the c r e w in sight. N o s o u n d of m a n . B l a c k s m o k e p o u r i n g from the f u n n e l s b e h i n d a n d b e n e a t h m e . D r e a m i n g , not k e e p i n g looko u t , f e e l i n g a l o n e , a n d a b o v e , a n d a p a r t , w a t c h i n g the d a w n c r e e p like a p a i n t e d d r e a m over t h e sky a n d s e a w h i c h slept t o g e t h e r . T h e n the m o m e n t of e c s t a t i c f r e e d o m c a m e . T h e p e a c e , the e n d of the q u e s t , the last h a r b o r , the j o y of b e l o n g i n g to a fulfillment b e y o n d m e n ' s lousy, pitiful, g r e e d y f e a r s a n d h o p e s a n d d r e a m s ! A n d several o t h e r t i m e s in my life, w h e n I w a s s w i m m i n g far o u t , or lying a l o n e on a b e a c h , I have h a d the s a m e e x p e r i e n c e . B e c a m e the s u n , the hot s a n d , g r e e n s e a w e e d a n c h o r e d to a rock, s w a y i n g in the tide. L i k e a saint's vision o f b e a t i t u d e . L i k e the veil of t h i n g s a s they s e e m d r a w n b a c k by a n u n s e e n h a n d . F o r a s e c o n d you s e e — a n d s e e i n g the s e c r e t , a r e the s e c r e t . F o r a s e c o n d there is m e a n i n g ! T h e n the h a n d lets the veil fall a n d you a r e a l o n e , lost in the fog a g a i n , a n d you s t u m b l e o n t o w a r d n o w h e r e , for n o g o o d r e a s o n ! [He grins wryly.] It w a s a great m i s t a k e , my b e i n g b o r n a m a n , I w o u l d have b e e n m u c h m o r e s u c c e s s f u l a s a s e a gull or a fish. As it is, I will always b e a s t r a n g e r w h o never feels at h o m e , w h o d o e s not really w a n t a n d is not really w a n t e d , w h o c a n never b e l o n g , w h o m u s t always b e a little in love with d e a t h ! T Y R O N E [stares at him—impressed] Y e s , there's the m a k i n g s of a p o e t in

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you all right, [then protesting uneasily] B u t that's m o r b i d c r a z i n e s s a b o u t not b e i n g w a n t e d a n d loving d e a t h . E D M U N D [sardonically] T h e makings of a p o e t . N o , I'm a f r a i d I'm like the guy w h o is always p a n h a n d l i n g for a s m o k e . H e h a s n ' t e v e n got the m a k ings. H e ' s got only the h a b i t . I c o u l d n ' t t o u c h w h a t I tried to tell you j u s t n o w . I j u s t s t a m m e r e d . T h a t ' s the b e s t I'll ever d o . I m e a n , if I live. W e l l , it will be faithful r e a l i s m , at least. S t a m m e r i n g is the native e l o q u e n c e of u s fog p e o p l e . [A pause. Then they both jump startledly as there is a noise from outside the house, as if someone had stumbled and fallen on the front steps. E D M U N D grins.] W e l l , that s o u n d s like the a b s e n t b r o t h e r . H e m u s t h a v e a p e a c h o f a bun on. T Y R O N E [scowling] T h a t loafer! H e c a u g h t the last c a r , b a d l u c k to it. [He gets to his feet.] G e t h i m to b e d , E d m u n d . I'll go o u t o n the p o r c h . H e h a s a t o n g u e like a n a d d e r w h e n he's d r u n k . I'd only l o s e my t e m p e r . [He goes out the door to the side porch as the front door in the hall bangs shut behind J A M I E . E D M U N D watches with amusement J A M I E ' S wavering progress through the front parlor, J A M I E comes in. He is very drunk and woozy on his legs. His eyes are glass}', his face bloated, his speech blurred, his mouth slack like his father's, a leer on his lips.] J A M I E [swaying and blinking in the doorway—in a loud voice] W h a t ho! W h a t ho! E D M U N D [sharply] Nix o n the loud n o i s e ! J A M I E [blinks at him] O h , hello, Kid. [with great seriousness] I'm a s d r u n k a s a fiddler's b i t c h . E D M U N D [dryly] T h a n k s for telling m e your great s e c r e t . J A M I E [grins foolishly] Yes. Unneshesary information N u m b e r O n e , eh? [He bends and slaps at the knees of his trousers.] H a d s e r i o u s a c c i d e n t . T h e front s t e p s tried to t r a m p l e on m e . T o o k a d v a n t a g e of fog to waylay m e . O u g h t to b e a l i g h t h o u s e o u t t h e r e . D a r k in h e r e , t o o . [scowling] W h a t the hell is this, the m o r g u e ? L e s h h a v e s o m e light o n s u b j e c t . [He sways forward to the table, reciting Kipling ] 6

" F o r d , ford, ford o' K a b u l river, F o r d o' K a b u l river in the dark! K e e p the c r o s s i n g - s t a k e s b e s i d e you, a n ' they will surely g u i d e you ' C r o s s the ford o' Kabul river in the d a r k . " [He fumbles at the chandelier and manages to turn on the three bulbs.] T h a s h m o r e like it. T h e hell with old G a s p a r d . 7 W h e r e is the old tightwad? EDMUND O u t o n the p o r c h . JAMIE C a n ' t e x p e c t u s to live in the B l a c k H o l e of C a l c u t t a . 8 [His eyes fix on the full bottle of whiskey.] S a y ! H a v e I got the d . t . ' s ? 9 [He reaches out 6. Rudyard Kipling ( 1 8 6 5 - 1 9 3 6 ) . English author. 7. Jamie's contemptuous name for his father, drawn from a character in the popular drama The Bells. 8. Small dungeon in Calcutta, India, where, on

J u n e 20, 1756, a total of 123 of 146 British prisoners died of suffocation. Hence, any small, cramped space. 9. Delirium tremens.

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fumblingly and grabs it.] By G o d , it's real. W h a t ' s m a t t e r with the O l d M a n t o n i g h t ? M u s t b e ossified to forget h e left this o u t . G r a b o p p o r t u n i t y by the forelock. Key to my s u c c e s s . [He slops a big drink into a glass.] EDMUND You're s t i n k i n g n o w . T h a t will k n o c k you stiff. JAMIE W i s d o m f r o m the m o u t h of b a b e s . C a n the w i s e stuff, K i d . You're still wet b e h i n d the e a r s . [He lowers himself into a chair, holding the drink carefully aloft. ] EDMUND All right. P a s s o u t if you w a n t to. JAMIE C a n ' t , that's t r o u b l e . H a d e n o u g h to sink a s h i p , b u t c a n ' t sink. W e l l , here's h o p i n g . [He drinks.] EDMUND S h o v e over the b o t t l e . I'll have o n e , t o o . J A M I E [with sudden, big-brotherly solicitude, grabbing the bottle] N o , you don't. N o t while I'm a r o u n d . R e m e m b e r d o c t o r ' s o r d e r s . M a y b e n o o n e e l s e gives a d a m n if you d i e , b u t I d o . M y kid b r o t h e r . I love y o u r g u t s , Kid. E v e r y t h i n g e l s e is g o n e . You're all I've got left, [pulling bottle closer to him] S o n o b o o z e for y o u , if I c a n h e l p it. [Beneath his drunken sentimentality there is a genuine sincerity. ] E D M U N D [irritably] O h , lay off it. J A M I E [is hurt and his face hardens] You don't believe I c a r e , e h ? J u s t d r u n k e n bull. [He shoves the bottle over.] All right. G o a h e a d a n d kill yourself. E D M U N D [seeing he is hurt—affectionately] S u r e I k n o w you c a r e , J a m i e , a n d I'm g o i n g o n the w a g o n . B u t t o n i g h t d o e s n ' t c o u n t . T o o m a n y d a m n e d t h i n g s have h a p p e n e d today. [He pours a drink.] H e r e ' s h o w . [He drinks. ] J A M I E [sobers up momentarily and with a pitying look] I k n o w , Kid. It's b e e n a lousy day for y o u . [then with sneering cynicism] I'll bet old G a s p a r d h a s n ' t tried to k e e p you off b o o z e . P r o b a b l y give you a c a s e to t a k e with you to the s t a t e f a r m for p a u p e r p a t i e n t s . T h e s o o n e r y o u kick the b u c k e t , t h e l e s s e x p e n s e , [with contemptuous hatred] W h a t a b a s t a r d to h a v e for a father! C h r i s t , if you p u t h i m in a b o o k , n o o n e w o u l d believe it! E D M U N D [defensively] O h , P a p a ' s all right, if y o u try to u n d e r s t a n d h i m — a n d k e e p y o u r s e n s e of h u m o r . J A M I E [cynically] H e ' s b e e n p u t t i n g o n the old s o b a c t for y o u , e h ? H e c a n always kid y o u . B u t not m e . N e v e r a g a i n , [then slowly] Although, in a way, I d o feel sorry for h i m a b o u t o n e t h i n g . B u t h e h a s even t h a t c o m i n g to h i m . H e ' s to b l a m e , [hurriedly] B u t to hell with that. [He grabs the bottle and pours another drink, appearing very drunk again.] T h a t l a s h drink's g e t t i n g m e . T h i s o n e o u g h t to p u t the lights o u t . D i d you tell G a s p a r d I got it o u t o f D o c H a r d y this s a n a t o r i u m is a charity dump? E D M U N D [reluctantly] Y e s . I told h i m I w o u l d n ' t g o t h e r e . It's all s e t t l e d now. H e s a i d I c a n g o a n y w h e r e I w a n t . [He adds, smiling without resentment] W i t h i n r e a s o n , of c o u r s e . J A M I E [drunkenly imitating his father] O f c o u r s e , l a d . A n y t h i n g within reas o n , [sneering] T h a t m e a n s a n o t h e r c h e a p d u m p . O l d G a s p a r d , t h e m i s e r in " T h e B e l l s , " that's a p a r t h e c a n play w i t h o u t m a k e - u p . E D M U N D [irritably] O h , s h u t u p , will y o u . I've h e a r d that G a s p a r d s t u f f a million t i m e s . J A M I E [shrugs his shoulders—thickly] A w right, if you're s h a t i s f i e d — l e t h i m get a w a y with it. It's y o u r f u n e r a l — I m e a n , I h o p e it won't b e .

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[changing the subject] W h a t did you do u p t o w n t o n i g h t ? G o to Mamie Burns? J A M I E [very drunk, his head nodding] S u r e t h i n g . W h e r e e l s e c o u l d I find s u i t a b l e f e m i n i n e c o m p a n i o n s h i p ? A n d love. D o n ' t forget love. W h a t is a m a n w i t h o u t a g o o d w o m a n ' s love? A G o d - d a m n e d hollow shell. E D M U N D [chuckles tipsily, letting himself go now and be drunk] You're a nut. J A M I E [quotes with gusto from Oscar Wilde's "The Harlot's House"] EDMUND

1

" T h e n , turning to my love, I said, 'The d e a d are d a n c i n g with the d e a d , T h e d u s t is whirling with the d u s t . ' B u t s h e — s h e h e a r d the violin, A n d left my side a n d e n t e r e d in: L o v e p a s s e d into the h o u s e of lust. T h e n s u d d e n l y the t u n e went false, T h e d a n c e r s wearied of the waltz . . . " [He breaks off, thickly] N o t strictly a c c u r a t e . If m y love w a s with m e , I didn't n o t i c e it. S h e m u s t have b e e n a g h o s t . [He pauses.] G u e s s w h i c h o n e of M a m i e ' s c h a r m e r s I p i c k e d to b l e s s m e with her w o m a n ' s love. It'll h a n d you a l a u g h , Kid. I p i c k e d F a t Violet. E D M U N D [laughs drunkenly] N o , h o n e s t ? S o m e pick! G o d , s h e w e i g h s a ton. W h a t the hell for, a j o k e ? JAMIE N o j o k e . Very s e r i o u s . By the t i m e I hit M a m i e ' s d u m p I felt very s a d a b o u t m y s e l f a n d all the other p o o r b u m s in the world. R e a d y for a w e e p on any old w o m a n l y b o s o m . You k n o w h o w y o u g e t w h e n J o h n B a r l e y c o r n t u r n s o n the soft m u s i c i n s i d e y o u . T h e n , s o o n a s I got in t h e d o o r , M a m i e b e g a n telling m e all her t r o u b l e s . B e e f e d h o w rotten b u s i n e s s w a s , a n d s h e w a s g o i n g to give F a t Violet t h e g a t e . C u s t o m e r s didn't fall for Vi. O n l y r e a s o n she'd kept her w a s s h e c o u l d play the p i a n o . L a t e l y Vi's g o n e o n d r u n k s a n d b e e n t o o boiled to play, a n d w a s e a t i n g her o u t of h o u s e a n d h o m e , a n d a l t h o u g h Vi w a s a g o o d h e a r t e d d u m b b e l l , a n d s h e felt sorry for her b e c a u s e s h e didn't k n o w h o w the hell s h e ' d m a k e a living, still b u s i n e s s w a s b u s i n e s s , a n d s h e c o u l d n ' t afford to run a h o u s e for fat t a r t s . W e l l , that m a d e m e feel sorry for F a t Violet, s o I s q u a n d e r e d two b u c k s o f your d o u g h to e s c o r t her u p s t a i r s . W i t h n o d i s h o n o r a b l e i n t e n t i o n s w h a t e v e r . I like t h e m fat, b u t n o t t h a t fat. All I w a n t e d w a s a little heart-to-heart talk c o n c e r n i n g t h e infinite s o r r o w o f life. E D M U N D [chuckles drunkenly] P o o r Vi! I'll bet you r e c i t e d K i p l i n g a n d S w i n b u r n e a n d D o w s o n a n d g a v e h e r "I h a v e b e e n faithful to t h e e , C y n a r a , in my f a s h i o n . " J A M I E [grins loosely] S u r e — w i t h the O l d M a s t e r , J o h n B a r l e y c o r n , p l a y i n g soft m u s i c . S h e s t o o d it for a w h i l e . T h e n s h e got g o o d a n d s o r e . G o t the idea I t o o k her u p s t a i r s for a j o k e . G a v e m e a g r a n d b a w l i n g o u t . S a i d s h e w a s b e t t e r t h a n a d r u n k e n b u m w h o r e c i t e d poetry. T h e n s h e b e g a n to cry. S o I h a d to say I loved her b e c a u s e s h e w a s fat, a n d s h e w a n t e d to believe that, a n d I s t a y e d with her to p r o v e it, a n d t h a t c h e e r e d h e r 1. Irish author ( 1 8 5 4 - 1 9 0 0 ) .

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u p , a n d s h e k i s s e d m e w h e n I left, a n d s a i d she'd fallen h a r d for m e , a n d w e b o t h cried a little m o r e in the hallway, a n d everything w a s fine, e x c e p t M a m i e B u r n s t h o u g h t I'd g o n e b u g h o u s e . E D M U N D [quotes derisively] "Harlots and H u n t e d have p l e a s u r e s of their own to give, T h e vulgar herd c a n never u n d e r s t a n d . " [nods his head drunkenly] Egzactly! Hell of a g o o d t i m e , at t h a t . You s h o u l d have s t u c k a r o u n d with m e , Kid. M a m i e B u r n s i n q u i r e d after y o u . S o r r y to h e a r you w e r e sick. S h e m e a n t it, t o o . [He pauses—then with maudlin humor, in a ham-actor tone] T h i s night h a s o p e n e d m y e y e s to a g r e a t c a r e e r in s t o r e for m e , my boy! I shall give the art of a c t i n g b a c k to the p e r f o r m i n g s e a l s , w h i c h a r e its m o s t p e r f e c t e x p r e s s i o n . By a p p l y i n g my n a t u r a l G o d - g i v e n t a l e n t s in their p r o p e r s p h e r e , I shall attain the p i n n a c l e of s u c c e s s ! I'll b e the lover o f the fat w o m a n in Barn u m a n d Bailey's c i r c u s ! [ E D M U N D laughs, J A M I E ' S mood changes to arrogant disdain.] P a h ! I m a g i n e m e s u n k to the fat girl in a hick town h o o k e r s h o p ! M e ! W h o have m a d e s o m e o f t h e b e s t - l o o k e r s o n B r o a d w a y sit u p a n d b e g ! [He quotes from Kipling's "Sestina of the Tramp-Royal"]

JAMIE

" S p e a k i n ' in g e n e r a l , I 'ave tried 'em all, T h e appy roads that take you o'er the w o r l d . " [with sodden melancholy] N o t s o a p t . H a p p y r o a d s is b u n k . W e a r y r o a d s is right. G e t you n o w h e r e fast. T h a t ' s w h e r e I've g o t — n o w h e r e . W h e r e everyone l a n d s in the e n d , even if m o s t of the s u c k e r s won't a d m i t it. E D M U N D [derisively] C a n it! You'll b e c r y i n g in a m i n u t e . J A M I E [starts and stares at his brother for a second with bitter hostility— thickly] D o n ' t g e t — t o o d a m n e d f r e s h , [then abruptly] B u t you're right. T o hell with r e p i n i n g ! F a t Violet's a g o o d kid. G l a d I s t a y e d with her. C h r i s t i a n a c t . C u r e d her b l u e s . Hell of a g o o d t i m e . You s h o u l d have s t u c k with m e . Kid. T a k e n your m i n d off your t r o u b l e s . W h a t ' s t h e u s e c o m i n g h o m e to get the b l u e s over w h a t c a n ' t b e h e l p e d . All o v e r — finished n o w — n o t a h o p e ! [He stops, his head nodding drunkenly, his eyes closing—then suddenly he looks up, his face hard, and quotes jeeringly.] "If I were h a n g e d on the h i g h e s t hill. M o t h e r o' m i n e , O m o t h e r o' m i n e ! I know w h o s e love would follow m e still . . ." [violently] Shut up! [in a cruel, sneering tone with hatred in it] W h e r e ' s the h o p h e a d ? G o n e to s l e e p ? [ E D M U N D jerks as if he'd been struck. There is a tense silence. EDMUND'S face looks stricken and sick. Then in a burst of rage he springs from his chair. ] EDMUND You dirty b a s t a r d ! [He punches his brother in the face, a blow that glances off the cheekbone. For a second J A M I E reacts pugnaciously and half rises from his chair to do battle, but suddenly he seems to sober up to a shocked realization of what he has said and he sinks back limply.] EDMUND JAMIE

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[miserably] T h a n k s , Kid. I certainly h a d t h a t c o m i n g . D o n ' t k n o w what m a d e m e — b o o z e t a l k i n g — Y o u k n o w m e , Kid. E D M U N D [his anger ebbing] I k n o w you'd never say that u n l e s s — B u t G o d , J a m i e , n o m a t t e r h o w d r u n k you a r e , it's n o e x c u s e ! [He pauses—miserably] I'm sorry I hit y o u . You a n d I never s c r a p — t h a t b a d . [He sinks back on his chair.] J A M I E [huskily] It's all right. G l a d you did. M y dirty t o n g u e . L i k e to c u t it out. [He hides his face in his hands—dully] I s u p p o s e it's b e c a u s e I feel so d a m n e d s u n k . B e c a u s e this t i m e M a m a h a d m e f o o l e d . I really believed s h e h a d it licked. S h e thinks I always believe the w o r s t , b u t this time I believed the b e s t . [His voice flutters.] I s u p p o s e I c a n ' t forgive h e r — yet. It m e a n t s o m u c h . I'd b e g u n to h o p e , if s h e ' d b e a t e n the g a m e , I c o u l d , t o o . [He begins to sob, and the horrible part of his weeping is that ] it appears sober, not the maudlin tears of drunkenness. E D M U N D [blinking back tears himself] G o d , don't I k n o w h o w you feel! S t o p it, J a m i e ! J A M I E [trying to control his sobs] I've k n o w n a b o u t M a m a s o m u c h l o n g e r t h a n y o u . N e v e r forget the first t i m e I got w i s e . C a u g h t her in the a c t with a hypo. C h r i s t , I'd never d r e a m e d b e f o r e that a n y w o m e n but w h o r e s took d o p e ! [He pauses.] A n d then this s t u f f o f you g e t t i n g c o n s u m p t i o n . It's got m e licked. W e ' v e b e e n m o r e t h a n b r o t h e r s . You're the only pal I've ever h a d . I love your g u t s . I'd d o a n y t h i n g for y o u . E D M U N D [reaches out and pats his arm] I k n o w that, J a m i e . J A M I E [his crying over—drops his hands from his face—with a strange bitterness] Yet I'll bet you've h e a r d M a m a a n d old G a s p a r d spill s o m u c h b u n k a b o u t my h o p i n g for the w o r s t , you s u s p e c t right n o w I'm t h i n k i n g to m y s e l f that P a p a is old a n d can't last m u c h l o n g e r , a n d if you w e r e to d i e , M a m a a n d I w o u l d g e t all he's got, a n d s o I'm p r o b a b l y h o p i n g — E D M U N D [indignantly] S h u t u p , you d a m n e d fool! W h a t the hell p u t t h a t in y o u r n u t ? [He stares at his brother accusingly.] Y e s , that's w h a t I'd like to k n o w . W h a t p u t t h a t in your m i n d ? J A M I E [confusedly—appearing drunk again] Don't be a dumbbell! What I s a i d ! Always s u s p e c t e d of h o p i n g for the worst. I've got s o I c a n ' t h e l p — [then drunkenly resentfid] W h a t a r e you trying to d o , a c c u s e m e ? D o n ' t play the w i s e guy with m e ! I've l e a r n e d m o r e of life t h a n you'll ever know! J u s t b e c a u s e you've r e a d a lot of h i g h b r o w j u n k , don't t h i n k y o u c a n fool m e ! You're only a n o v e r g r o w n kid! M a m a ' s b a b y a n d P a p a ' s p e t ! T h e family W h i t e H o p e ! You've b e e n g e t t i n g a s w e l l e d h e a d lately. A b o u t n o t h i n g ! A b o u t a few p o e m s in a hick town n e w s p a p e r ! H e l l , I u s e d to write better stuff for the Lit m a g a z i n e in c o l l e g e ! You b e t t e r w a k e u p ! You're s e t t i n g n o rivers o n fire! You let h i c k town b o o b s flatter you with bunk about your f u t u r e — [Abruptly his tone changes to disgusted contrition, E D M U N D has looked away from him, trying to ignore this tirade.] H e l l , Kid, forget it. T h a t g o e s for S w e e n y . You k n o w I don't m e a n it. N o o n e h o p e s m o r e t h a n I d o you'll k n o c k 'em all d e a d . N o o n e is p r o u d e r you've s t a r t e d to m a k e g o o d , [drunkenly assertive] W h y s h o u l d n ' t I b e p r o u d ? H e l l , it's purely selfish. You reflect credit o n m e . I've h a d m o r e to d o with b r i n g i n g you u p t h a n a n y o n e . I w i s e d you u p a b o u t w o m e n , s o you'd never b e a fall guy, or m a k e a n y m i s t a k e s you didn't w a n t to JAMIE

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m a k e ! A n d w h o s t e e r e d you o n to r e a d i n g poetry first? S w i n b u r n e , 2 for e x a m p l e ? I did! A n d b e c a u s e I o n c e w a n t e d to write, I p l a n t e d it in y o u r m i n d t h a t s o m e d a y you'd write! H e l l , you're m o r e t h a n my b r o t h e r . I m a d e y o u ! You're my F r a n k e n s t e i n ! ' [He has risen to a note of drunken arrogance, E D M U N D is grinning with amusement now. ] EDMUND All right, I'm y o u r F r a n k e n s t e i n . S o let's h a v e a drink. [He laughs.] You crazy n u t ! J A M I E [thickly] I'll have a drink. N o t y o u . G o t to t a k e c a r e of y o u . [He reaches out with a foolish grin of doting affection and grabs his brother's hand.] D o n ' t b e s c a r e d of this s a n a t o r i u m b u s i n e s s . H e l l , you c a n b e a t that s t a n d i n g o n y o u r h e a d . Six m o n t h s a n d you'll b e in the pink. P r o b ably haven't got c o n s u m p t i o n at all. D o c t o r s lot o f f a k e r s . T o l d m e y e a r s a g o to c u t o u t b o o z e or I'd s o o n b e d e a d — a n d h e r e I a m . T h e y ' r e all c o n m e n . A n y t h i n g to g r a b y o u r d o u g h . I'll b e t this s t a t e f a r m stuff is political graft g a m e . D o c t o r s get a c u t for every p a t i e n t they s e n d . E D M U N D [disgustedly amused] You're t h e limit! At t h e L a s t J u d g m e n t , you'll b e a r o u n d telling e v e r y o n e it's in the b a g . JAMIE A n d I'll b e right. S l i p a p i e c e of c h a n g e to t h e J u d g e a n d b e s a v e d , b u t if you're b r o k e you c a n g o to hell! [He grins at this blasphemy and E D M U N D has to laugh, J A M I E goes on.] [mockingly] " T h e r e f o r e p u t m o n e y in thy p u r s e . " 4 T h a t ' s the only d o p e , T h e s e c r e t of my s u c c e s s ! L o o k w h a t it's got m e ! [He lets E D M U N D ' S hand go to pour a big drink, and gulps it down. He stares at his brother with bleary affection—takes his hand again and begins to talk thickly but with a strange, convincing sincerity.] L i s t e n , Kid, you'll b e g o i n g away. M a y n o t g e t a n o t h e r c h a n c e to talk. O r m i g h t not b e d r u n k e n o u g h to tell you truth. S o got to tell you now. S o m e t h i n g I o u g h t to h a v e told you l o n g a g o — f o r y o u r o w n g o o d . [He pauses—struggling with himself, E D M U N D stares, impressed and uneasy. Jamie blurts out] N o t d r u n k e n bull, b u t "in vino V e r i t a s " stuff. You b e t t e r t a k e it seriously. W a n t to w a r n y o u — a g a i n s t m e . M a m a a n d P a p a a r e right. I've b e e n rotten b a d i n f l u e n c e . A n d w o r s t of it is, I did it o n p u r p o s e . E D M U N D [uneasily] S h u t u p ! I don't w a n t to h e a r — JAMIE Nix, Kid! You listen! D i d it o n p u r p o s e to m a k e a b u m of y o u . O r part of m e did. A b i g p a r t . T h a t p a r t that's b e e n d e a d s o l o n g . T h a t h a t e s life. M y p u t t i n g you w i s e s o you'd learn f r o m my m i s t a k e s . B e l i e v e d t h a t m y s e l f at t i m e s , b u t it's a f a k e . M a d e my m i s t a k e s look g o o d . M a d e getting d r u n k r o m a n t i c . M a d e w h o r e s f a s c i n a t i n g v a m p i r e s i n s t e a d of p o o r , s t u p i d , d i s e a s e d s l o b s they really a r e . M a d e fun o f work a s s u c k e r ' s g a m e . N e v e r w a n t e d you to s u c c e e d a n d m a k e m e l o o k even w o r s e by c o m p a r i s o n . W a n t e d you to fail. Always j e a l o u s of y o u . M a m a ' s b a b y , P a p a ' s pet! [He stares at E D M U N D with increasing enmity.] A n d it w a s y o u r b e i n g b o r n t h a t s t a r t e d M a m a o n d o p e . I k n o w that's not y o u r fault, b u t all the s a m e , G o d d a m n you, I can't help hating your g u t s — ! 5

2. Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909), English poet and critic. 3. In the novel Frankenstein by the English author Mary Shelley ( 1 7 9 7 - 1 8 5 1 ) , the scientist Dr. Frankenstein creates a monster. J a m i e confuses

the scientist with his creation, although it is possible that the mistake is O'Neill's. 4. Shakespeare's Othello 1.3.354. 5. In wine there is truth (Latin).

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[almost frightenedly] J a m i e ! C u t it out! Y o u ' r e crazy! B u t don't get w r o n g i d e a , Kid. I love you m o r e t h a n I h a t e y o u . M y saying w h a t I'm telling you n o w p r o v e s it. I r u n the risk you'll h a t e m e — a n d you're all I've got left. B u t I didn't m e a n to tell y o u t h a t last s t u f f — g o that far b a c k . D o n ' t k n o w w h a t m a d e m e . W h a t I w a n t e d to say is, I'd like to s e e you b e c o m e the g r e a t e s t s u c c e s s in the world. B u t you'd b e t t e r b e o n your g u a r d . B e c a u s e I'll d o my d a m n e d e s t to m a k e y o u fail. C a n ' t h e l p it. I h a t e myself. G o t to t a k e r e v e n g e . O n e v e r y o n e e l s e . E s p e c i a l l y y o u . O s c a r W i l d e ' s " R e a d i n g G a o l " h a s the d o p e t w i s t e d . T h e m a n w a s d e a d a n d s o h e h a d to kill the thing h e loved. T h a t ' s w h a t it o u g h t to b e . T h e d e a d part of m e h o p e s you won't g e t well. M a y b e he's even g l a d the g a m e h a s got M a m a a g a i n ! H e w a n t s c o m p a n y , h e d o e s n ' t w a n t to b e the only c o r p s e a r o u n d t h e h o u s e ! [He gives a hard, tortured laugh.]

EDMUND JAMIE

J e s u s , J a m i e ! You really have g o n e crazy! T h i n k it over a n d you'll s e e I'm right. T h i n k it over w h e n you're away from m e in the s a n a t o r i u m . M a k e u p y o u r m i n d you've got to tie a c a n to m e — g e t m e o u t of y o u r l i f e — t h i n k o f m e a s d e a d — t e l l p e o p l e , "I h a d a b r o t h e r , b u t he's d e a d . " A n d w h e n y o u c o m e b a c k , look o u t for m e . I'll b e w a i t i n g to w e l c o m e you with that " m y old p a l " stuff, a n d give you the g l a d h a n d , a n d at the first g o o d c h a n c e I g e t s t a b you in the back. EDMUND S h u t u p ! I'll b e G o d - d a m n e d if I'll listen to you a n y m o r e — J A M I E [as if he hadn't heard] O n l y don't forget m e . R e m e m b e r I w a r n e d y o u — f o r y o u r s a k e . G i v e m e credit. G r e a t e r love h a t h n o m a n t h a n this, that h e saveth his b r o t h e r f r o m himself, [very drunkenly, his head bobbing] T h a t ' s all. F e e l b e t t e r n o w . G o n e to c o n f e s s i o n . K n o w you a b s o l v e m e , don't y o u , K i d ? You u n d e r s t a n d . You're a d a m n e d fine kid. O u g h t to b e . I m a d e y o u . S o g o a n d get well. D o n ' t die o n m e . Y o u ' r e all I've got left. G o d b l e s s you, Kid. [His eyes close. He mumbles] T h a t last d r i n k — t h e old K. O . [He falls into a drunken doze, not completely asleep, E D M U N D buries his face in his hands miserably. T Y R O N E comes in quietly through the screen door from the porch, his dressing gown wet with fog, the collar turned up around his throat. His face is stern and disgusted but at the same time pitying, E D M U N D does not notice his entrance.] T Y R O N E [in a low voice] T h a n k G o d he's a s l e e p . [ E D M U N D looks up with a start.] I t h o u g h t he'd never s t o p talking. [He turns down the collar of his dressing gown.] W e ' d b e t t e r let h i m stay w h e r e h e is a n d s l e e p it off. [ E D M U N D remains silent. T Y R O N E regards him—then goes on] I h e a r d the last part of his talk. It's w h a t I've w a r n e d y o u . I h o p e you'll h e e d the w a r n i n g , n o w it c o m e s f r o m his own m o u t h . [ E D M U N D gives no sign of having heard. T Y R O N E adds pityingly] B u t don't t a k e it t o o m u c h to h e a r t , lad. H e loves to e x a g g e r a t e t h e w o r s t of h i m s e l f w h e n he's d r u n k . H e ' s d e v o t e d to y o u . It's the o n e g o o d t h i n g left in h i m . [He looks down on J A M I E with a bitter sadness.] A s w e e t s p e c t a c l e for m e ! M y first-born, w h o I h o p e d w o u l d b e a r my n a m e in h o n o r a n d dignity, w h o s h o w e d s u c h brilliant p r o m i s e ! E D M U N D [miserably] K e e p q u i e t , can't y o u , P a p a ? T Y R O N E [pours a drink] A w a s t e ! A w r e c k , a d r u n k e n hulk, d o n e with a n d finished! EDMUND

JAMIE

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[He drinks, J A M I E has become restless, sensing gling up from his stupor. Now he gets his eyes The latter moves back a step defensively, his [suddenly points a finger at him and recites

his father's presence, strugopen to blink up at T Y R O N E . face growing hard.] with dramatic emphasis]

" C l a r e n c e is c o m e , false, fleeting, perjured C l a r e n c e , T h a t s t a b b e d m e in the field bv T e w k s b u r y . S e i z e on h i m , F u r i e s , take him into t o r m e n t . " 6 [then resentfully] from Rossetti ]

W h a t the hell a r e you s t a r i n g at? [He recites

sardonically

7

" L o o k in my f a c e . M y n a m e is M i g h t - H a v e - B e e n ; I a m a l s o called N o M o r e , T o o L a t e , F a r e w e l l . " I'm well a w a r e o f that, a n d G o d k n o w s I don't w a n t to l o o k at it. P a p a ! Quit it! J A M I E [derisively] G o t a g r e a t i d e a for y o u , P a p a . P u t on revival of " T h e B e l l s " this s e a s o n . G r e a t part in it you c a n play w i t h o u t m a k e - u p . O l d G a s p a r d , the miser! [ T Y R O N E turns away, trying to control his temper.] EDMUND Shut up, Jamie! J A M I E [jeeringly] I c l a i m E d w i n B o o t h never s a w t h e day w h e n h e c o u l d give a s g o o d a p e r f o r m a n c e a s a t r a i n e d s e a l . S e a l s a r e intelligent a n d h o n e s t . T h e y don't put u p any bluffs a b o u t the Art o f A c t i n g . T h e y a d m i t they're j u s t h a m s e a r n i n g their daily fish. T Y R O N E [stwwg, turns on him in a rage] You loafer! EDMUND P a p a ! D o you w a n t to start a row that will b r i n g M a m a d o w n ? J a m i e , g o b a c k to s l e e p ! You've s h o t off y o u r m o u t h t o o m u c h a l r e a d y . [ T Y R O N E turns away.] J A M I E [thickly] All right, Kid. N o t l o o k i n g for a r g u m e n t . T o o d a m n e d sleepy. [He closes his eyes, his head nodding. T Y R O N E comes to the table and sits down, turning his chair so he won't look at J A M I E . At once he becomes sleepy, too.] T Y R O N E [heavily] I wish to G o d s h e ' d g o to b e d s o that I c o u l d , t o o . [drowsily] I'm d o g tired. I c a n ' t stay u p all night like I u s e d to. G e t t i n g o l d — old a n d finished, [with a bone-cracking yawn] C a n ' t k e e p m y eyes o p e n . I think I'll c a t c h a few w i n k s . W h y don't you d o the s a m e , E d m u n d ? It'll p a s s the t i m e until s h e — [His voice trails off. His eyes close, his chin sags, and he begins to breathe and heavily through his mouth, E D M U N D sits tensely. He hears something jerks nervously forward in his chair, staring through the front parlor into the hall. He jumps up with a hunted, distracted expression. It seems for a second he is going to hide in the back parlor. Then he sits down again and waits, his eyes averted, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. Suddenly all five bulbs of the chandelier in the front parlor are turned on from a wall switch, and a moment later someone starts playing the piano in there—the opening of one of Chopin's" simpler waltzes, d o n e TYRONE

EDMUND

6. Shakespeare's Richard 111 1.4.55—57. 7. Dante Gabriel Rossetti ( 1 8 2 1 - 1 8 8 2 ) , English poet and painter.

8. Frederic Chopin ( 1 8 1 0 - 1 8 4 9 ) , Polish composer famous for works for the piano.

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with a forgetful, stiff-fingered groping, as if an awkward schoolgirl were and sober practicing it for the first time. T Y R O N E starts to wide-awakeness dread, and J A M I E s head jerks back and his eyes oven. For a moment they listen frozenly. The playing stops as abruptly as it began, and M A R Y appears in the doorway. She wears a sky-blue dressing gown over her nightdress, dainty slippers and pompons on her bare feet. Her face is paler than ever. Her eyes look enormous. They glisten like polished black jewels. The uncanny thing is that her face now appears so youthful. Experience seems ironed out of it. It is a marble mask of girlish innocence, the mouth caught in a shy smile. Her white hair is braided in two pigtails which hang over her breast. Over one arm, carried neglectfully, trailing on the floor, as if she had forgotten she held it, is an old-fashioned white satin wedding gown, trimmed with duchesse lace. She hesitates in the doorway, glancing round the room, her forehead puckered puzzledly, like someone who has come to a room to get something but has become absent-minded on the way and forgotten what it was. They stare at her. She seems aware of them merely as she is aware of other objects in the room, the furniture, the windows, familiar things she accepts automatically as naturally belonging there but which she is too preoccupied to notice. ] [breaks the cracking silence—bitterly, self-defensively sardonic] The Mad Scene. Enter Ophelia!9 [His father and brother both turn on him fiercely, E D M U N D is quicker. He slaps J A M I E across the mouth with the back of his hand.] T Y R O N E [his voice trembling with suppressed fury] G o o d boy, E d m u n d . T h e dirty b l a c k g u a r d ! H i s own m o t h e r ! J A M I E [mumbles guiltily, without resentment] All right, Kid. H a d it c o m i n g . B u t I told you h o w m u c h I'd h o p e d — [ H e puts his hands over his face and begins to sob. ] TYRONE I'll kick you o u t in the g u t t e r t o m o r r o w , s o h e l p m e G o d . [But J A M I E ' S sobbing breaks his anger, and he turns and shakes his shoulder, pleading] J a m i e , for the love of G o d , s t o p it! [Then M A R Y speaks, and they freeze into silence again, staring at her. She has paid no attention whatever to the incident. It is simply a part of the familiar atmosphere of the room, a background which does not touch her preoccupation; and she speaks aloud to herself, not to them.] MARY I play s o badly n o w . I'm all o u t o f p r a c t i c e . S i s t e r T h e r e s a will give m e a dreadful s c o l d i n g . She'll tell m e it isn't fair to my father w h e n h e s p e n d s s o m u c h m o n e y for extra l e s s o n s . S h e ' s q u i t e right, it isn't fair, w h e n he's so g o o d a n d g e n e r o u s , a n d s o p r o u d of m e . I'll p r a c t i c e every day from n o w o n . B u t s o m e t h i n g horrible h a s h a p p e n e d to my h a n d s . T h e fingers have g o t t e n s o s t i f f — [ S h e lifts her hands to examine them with a frightened puzzlement.] T h e k n u c k l e s a r e all s w o l l e n . T h e y ' r e s o ugly. I'll h a v e to g o to the Infirmary a n d s h o w S i s t e r M a r t h a , [with a sweet smile of affectionate trust] S h e ' s old a n d a little cranky, b u t I love her j u s t the s a m e , a n d s h e h a s t h i n g s in her m e d i c i n e c h e s t that'll c u r e a n y t h i n g . She'll give m e s o m e t h i n g to r u b o n my h a n d s , a n d tell m e to pray to the B l e s s e d Virgin, a n d they'll b e well a g a i n in no t i m e . [She JAMIE

9. An allusion to Shakespeare's Hamlet.

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EUGENE

O'NEILL

forgets her hands and comes into the room, the wedding gown trailing on the floor. She glances around vaguely, her forehead puckered again.] L e t m e s e e . W h a t did I c o m e h e r e to find? It's terrible, h o w a b s e n t - m i n d e d I've b e c o m e . I'm always d r e a m i n g a n d forgetting. T Y R O N E [in a stifled voice] W h a t ' s t h a t s h e ' s carrying, E d m u n d ? E D M U N D [dully] Her wedding gown, I suppose. TYRONE C h r i s t ! [He gets to his feet and stands directly in her path—in anguish] M a r y ! Isn't it b a d e n o u g h — ? [controlling himself—gently persuasive] H e r e , let m e t a k e it, d e a r . You'll only s t e p o n it a n d t e a r it a n d get it dirty d r a g g i n g it o n the floor. T h e n you'd b e sorry a f t e r w a r d s . [She lets him take it, regarding him from somewhere far away within herself, without recognition, without either affection or animosity.] M A R Y [with the shy politeness of a well-bred young girl toward an elderly gentleman who relieves her of a bundle] T h a n k y o u . You a r e very k i n d . [She regards the wedding gown with a puzzled interest.] It's a w e d d i n g g o w n . It's very lovely, isn't it? [A shadow crosses her face and she looks vaguely uneasy.] I r e m e m b e r n o w . I f o u n d it in the attic h i d d e n in a trunk. B u t I don't k n o w w h a t I w a n t e d it for. I'm g o i n g to b e a n u n — t h a t is, if I c a n only find—[She looks around the room, her forehead puckered again.] W h a t is it I'm l o o k i n g for? I k n o w it's s o m e t h i n g I lost. [She moves back from T Y R O N E , aware of him now only as some obstacle in her path.] T Y R O N E [in hopeless appeal] Mary! [But it cannot penetrate her preoccupation. She doesn't seem to hear him. He gives up helplessly, shrinking into himself, even his defensive drunkenness taken from him, leaving him sick and sober. He sinks back on his chair, holding the wedding gown in his arms with an unconscious clumsy, protective gentleness.] J A M I E [drops his hand from his face, his eyes on the table top. He has suddenly sobered up, too—dully] It's n o g o o d , P a p a . [He recites from Swinburne's "A Leave-taking" and does it well, simply but with a bitter sadness.] " L e t u s rise u p a n d part; s h e will not know. L e t u s g o s e a w a r d a s the great w i n d s g o , Full of blown s a n d a n d f o a m ; w h a t help is here? T h e r e is no help, for all t h e s e things are s o , A n d all the world is bitter a s a tear. A n d how t h e s e things a r e , t h o u g h ye strove to s h o w , S h e would not k n o w . " [looking around her] S o m e t h i n g I m i s s terribly. It c a n ' t b e a l t o g e t h e r lost. [She starts to move around in back of J A M I E ' S chair.] J A M I E [turns to look up into her face—and cannot help appealing pleadingly in his turn] Mama! [She does not seem to hear. He looks away hopelessly.] Hell! W h a t ' s the u s e ? It's n o g o o d . [He recites from "A Leave-taking" again with increased bitterness. ] MARY

" L e t u s go h e n c e , my s o n g s ; s h e will not hear. L e t u s go h e n c e together without fear; K e e p silence now, for singing-time is over,

LONG

And She Yea, She

DAY'S J O U R N E Y INTO N I G H T ,

ACT

4

/

2081

over all old things a n d all things dear. loves not you nor m e as all we love her. t h o u g h we s a n g a s a n g e l s in her ear, would not h e a r . "

[looking around her] S o m e t h i n g I n e e d terribly. I r e m e m b e r w h e n I h a d it I w a s never lonely nor afraid. I can't h a v e lost it forever, I w o u l d die if I t h o u g h t that. B e c a u s e then t h e r e w o u l d b e n o h o p e . [She moves like a sleepwalker, around the back O / J A M I E ' S chair, then forward toward left front, passing behind E D M U N D . ] E D M U N D [turns impulsively and grabs her arm. As he pleads he has the quality of a bewilderedly hurt little boy.] M a m a ! It isn't a s u m m e r c o l d ! I've got consumption! M A R Y [For a second he seems to have broken through to her. She trembles and her expression becomes terrified. She calls distractedly, as if giving a command to herself.] N o ! [And instantly she is far away again. She murmurs gently but impersonally] You m u s t not try to t o u c h m e . You m u s t not try to hold m e . It isn't right, w h e n I a m h o p i n g to b e a n u n . [He lets his hand drop from her arm. She moves left to the front end of the sofa beneath the windows and sits down, facing front, her hands folded in her lap, in a demure school-girlish pose.] J A M I E [gives Edmund a strange look of mingled pity and jealous gloating] You d a m n e d fool. It's n o g o o d . [He recites again from the Swinburne poem.] MARY

" L e t u s go h e n c e , go h e n c e ; s h e will not s e e . S i n g all o n c e m o r e together; surely s h e , S h e too, r e m e m b e r i n g days a n d w o r d s that w e r e , Will turn a little toward u s , sighing; b u t w e , W e are h e n c e , we are g o n e , a s t h o u g h we h a d not b e e n t h e r e . N a y , a n d t h o u g h all m e n s e e i n g h a d pity o n m e , S h e w o u l d not s e e . " [trying to shake off his hopeless stupor] O h , we're fools to pay a n y a t t e n t i o n . It's the d a m n e d p o i s o n . B u t I've never k n o w n her to d r o w n h e r s e l f in it a s d e e p a s this, [gruffly] P a s s m e that b o t t l e , J a m i e . A n d s t o p reciting that d a m n e d m o r b i d poetry. I won't have it in my h o u s e !

TYRONE

[ J A M I E pushes the bottle toward him. He pours a drink without disarranging the wedding gown he holds carefully over his other arm and on his lap, and shoves the bottle back, J A M I E pours his and passes the bottle to E D M U N D , who, in turn, pours one. T Y R O N E lifts his glass and his sons follow suit mechanically, but before they can drink M A R Y speaks and they slowly lower their drinks to the table, forgetting them.] M A R Y [staring dreamily before her. Her face looks extraordinarily youthful and innocent. The shyly eager, trusting smile is on her lips as she talks aloud to herself.] I h a d a talk with M o t h e r E l i z a b e t h . S h e is s o s w e e t a n d g o o d . A s a i n t on e a r t h . I love her dearly. It m a y b e sinful of m e b u t I love her b e t t e r t h a n m y own m o t h e r . B e c a u s e s h e always u n d e r s t a n d s , even b e f o r e you say a w o r d . H e r kind b l u e eyes l o o k right into y o u r h e a r t . You can't k e e p a n y s e c r e t s from her. You c o u l d n ' t d e c e i v e her, even if you w e r e m e a n e n o u g h to w a n t to. [She gives a little rebellious toss of her

2082

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CLAUDE

MCKAY

head—with girlish pique] All t h e s a m e , 1 don't t h i n k s h e w a s s o u n d e r s t a n d i n g this t i m e . I told her 1 w a n t e d to be a n u n . I e x p l a i n e d h o w s u r e I w a s o f my v o c a t i o n , that I h a d p r a y e d to the B l e s s e d Virgin to m a k e m e s u r e , a n d to find m e worthy. I told M o t h e r I h a d h a d a t r u e vision w h e n I w a s p r a y i n g in the s h r i n e of O u r L a d y of L o u r d e s , o n the little i s l a n d in the lake. I s a i d I k n e w , a s surely as I k n e w I w a s k n e e l i n g t h e r e , that the B l e s s e d Virgin h a d s m i l e d a n d b l e s s e d m e with h e r c o n s e n t . B u t M o t h e r E l i z a b e t h told m e I m u s t be m o r e s u r e t h a n t h a t , e v e n , t h a t I m u s t p r o v e it wasn't simply my i m a g i n a t i o n . S h e s a i d , if I w a s s o s u r e , then I w o u l d n ' t m i n d p u t t i n g m y s e l f to a test by g o i n g h o m e after I g r a d u a t e d , a n d living a s o t h e r girls lived, g o i n g o u t to p a r t i e s a n d d a n c e s a n d e n j o y i n g myself; a n d then if after a year or two I still felt s u r e , I c o u l d c o m e b a c k to s e e her a n d w e w o u l d talk it over a g a i n . [She tosses her head—indignantly] I never d r e a m e d Holy M o t h e r w o u l d give m e s u c h a d v i c e ! I w a s really s h o c k e d . I s a i d , of c o u r s e , I w o u l d d o a n y t h i n g s h e s u g g e s t e d , b u t I k n e w it w a s simply a w a s t e o f t i m e . After I left her, I felt all m i x e d u p , s o I w e n t to the s h r i n e a n d p r a y e d to t h e B l e s s e d Virgin a n d f o u n d p e a c e a g a i n b e c a u s e I k n e w s h e h e a r d my p r a y e r a n d w o u l d always love m e a n d s e e n o h a r m ever c a m e to m e s o l o n g a s I never lost my faith in her. [She pauses and a look of growing uneasiness comes over her face. She passes a hand over her forehead as if brushing cobwebs from her brain—vaguely] T h a t w a s in the winter of s e n i o r year. T h e n in the s p r i n g s o m e t h i n g h a p p e n e d to m e . Y e s , I r e m e m b e r . 1 fell in love with J a m e s T y r o n e a n d w a s s o h a p p y for a t i m e . [She stares before her in a sad dream. T Y R O N E stirs in his chair, E D M U N D and J A M I E remain motionless. ] CURTAIN

1940

CLAUDE

McKAY

1889-1948 One of his biographers aptly calls Claude McKay a lifelong wanderer, a "sojourner" in the Harlem Renaissance. A Jamaican by birth, he did not become an American citizen until 1940; he left Harlem just when the Renaissance was getting started; he criticized leading black intellectuals like W. E .B. Du Bois and Alain Locke (who, in his 1922 book of poetry, is genturn, criticized him). Nevertheless, Harlem Shadows, erally considered the book that initiated the Harlem Renaissance; his Home to Harlem (1928) was the only best-selling African American novel of the decade. Whether the Harlem Renaissance was a unified movement or a resonant label encompassingartists with diverse aims, whether McKay was an American Harlemite or a man of the world, he was unquestionably one of the most important black writers of the 1920s. As well as influencing African American literature, he has had a major impact on writing by West Indians and Africans.

CLAUDE

MCKAY

/

2083

Claude McKay (Festus Claudius McKay) w a s born in Sunny Ville, a rural village in central Jamaica. This village, with its setting of spectacular natural beauty, hegirne i p later ye;|r< his symbol of « |o«t ; i » M e n a i j » » M r K a y ' c grandfather, a West African Ashanti, had been brought to the island a s a slave, and McKay's father passed on to his s o n what he remembered of Ashanti values and rituals. Economicnecessity led the young McKay to Kingston (Jamaica's principal city) in 1 9 0 9 , where he w a s apprenticed to a cabinetmaker and wheelwright. Combining his emerging literary ambitions with a n interest in Jamaican folkways, McKay published two ground-breaking books of dialect poetry—Songs of Jamaica and Constab Ballads—in 1 9 1 2 . Prize money from these books took him to the United States to study agriculture, but his literary ambitions drew him to N e w York City after two years in school (first at the Tuskegee Institute, then at Kansas State College). He married his Jamaican sweetheart, Eulalie Imelda Lewars, in 1 9 1 4 ; the couple had a daughter, but the marriage did not last. Supporting himself in jobs like restaurant kitchen helper and Pullman railroad waiter, he began to publish in avant-garde journals; by 1 9 1 7 he w a s appearing in Tlie Seven Arts, Pearson's, and the prominent left-wing Liberator, edited by Max Eastman. The Liberator published his famous poem "If W e Must Die" in 1 9 1 9 . His poetry, much of it written in strict sonnet form, braided racial subject matter, radical politics, and poetic technique into compelling statements that were also good poetry according to traditional standards. McKay's radical politics, already formed in Jamaica, rose from his belief that racism_wnii in'icpirihl'' from capitalism, which^he s a w a s a structure designed to perppfnin> economic inequality. T o h i m attacking capitalism w a s attacking racial fTrjTTsTiceT Before the publication of Harlem Shadows, McKay had spent 1 9 1 9 - 2 1 in TngTand; in 1 9 2 3 he went to Moscow, where he w a s welcomed a s a celebrity. His connections to the Communist regime in Russia made him a target for the FBI, which issued orders to keep him from returning to the United States. H e stayed in Europe until 1 9 3 4 , living mainly in France but also in Spain and Morocco. Home to Harlem ( 1 9 2 8 ) , written mostly in France, w a s an episodic guide to Harlem's artistic, popular, and intellectual life. Later events turned it into o n e of the movement's" last statements; retrenchment in the publishing industry after the stock market crash of 1 9 2 9 , the emergence of younger African American writers with different values, and dissension among Harlem artists themselves combined to bring a n end to the Harlem Renaissance and altered the character of life in Harlem itself. When McKay w a s finally able to return to the United States in 1 9 3 4 , the nation was deep in the Great Depression. With general unemployment at over 2 5 percent, paid literary work w a s extremely hard to come by. In 1 9 3 5 he joined the N e w York City branch of the Federal Writers' Project, a N e w Deal organization giving work to unemployed writers. Except lor his important autobiography, A Long Way from Home ( 1 9 3 7 ) , he did little creative work, and his health tailed. Through his friendship with Ellen Tarry, a young African American writer who w a s a Catholic, he received medical care from Friendship House, a Catholic lay organization in Harlem. In the later years of his life, appalled by Stalin's purges, McKay repudiated his earlier Communist sympathies. H e began to work at Friendship House and, after moving to Chicago, worked for the Catholic Youth Organization. H e converted to Catholicism in 1 9 4 4 and died in Chicago four years later. All texts are from Harlem Shadows ( 1 9 2 2 ) .

2084

/

CLAUDE

MCKAY

Africa T h e s u n s o u g h t thy dim b e d a n d b r o u g h t forth light, T h e s c i e n c e s were s u c k l i n g s at thy b r e a s t ; W h e n all the world w a s y o u n g in p r e g n a n t night T h y slaves toiled at thy m o n u m e n t a l b e s t . T h o u a n c i e n t t r e a s u r e - l a n d , t h o u m o d e r n prize, N e w p e o p l e s marvel at thy p y r a m i d s ! T h e years roll o n , thy sphinx of riddle eyes W a t c h e s the m a d world with i m m o b i l e lids. T h e H e b r e w s h u m b l e d t h e m at P h a r a o h ' s n a m e . C r a d l e of Power! Yet all things were in vain! H o n o r a n d Glory, A r r o g a n c e a n d F a m e ! T h e y went. T h e d a r k n e s s swallowed t h e e a g a i n . T h o u art the harlot, now thy time is d o n e , O f all the mighty n a t i o n s of the s u n .

5

10

1921, 1922

T h e Harlem Dancer A p p l a u d i n g y o u t h s l a u g h e d with y o u n g p r o s t i t u t e s A n d w a t c h e d her perfect, half-clothed b o d y sway; H e r voice w a s like the s o u n d of b l e n d e d flutes Blown by b l a c k players u p o n a picnic day. S h e s a n g a n d d a n c e d o n gracefully a n d c a l m , T h e light g a u z e h a n g i n g l o o s e a b o u t her f o r m ; T o m e s h e s e e m e d a proudly-swaying p a l m G r o w n lovelier for p a s s i n g t h r o u g h a s t o r m . U p o n her swarthy n e c k b l a c k shiny curls L u x u r i a n t fell; a n d t o s s i n g c o i n s in p r a i s e , T h e wine-flushed, bold-eyed b o y s , a n d even the girls, D e v o u r e d her s h a p e with e a g e r , p a s s i o n a t e g a z e ; B u t looking at her falsely-smiling f a c e , I k n e w her self w a s not in that s t r a n g e p l a c e . 1917, 1922

The Lynching H i s Spirit in s m o k e a s c e n d e d to high h e a v e n . H i s father, by the c r u d e s t way of p a i n , H a d b i d d e n him to his b o s o m o n c e a g a i n ; T h e awful sin r e m a i n e d still unforgiven. All night a bright a n d solitary star ( P e r c h a n c e the o n e that ever g u i d e d h i m , Yet gave him u p at last to F a t e ' s wild w h i m )

AMERICA

H u n g pitifully o'er the swinging char. D a y d a w n e d , a n d s o o n the mixed c r o w d s c a m e to view T h e ghastly body swaying in the s u n T h e w o m e n t h r o n g e d to look, but never a o n e S h o w e d sorrow in her eyes of steely b l u e ; A n d little l a d s , lynchers that were to b e , D a n c e d r o u n d the dreadful thing in fiendish g l e e .

/

2085

io

1919, 1922

Harlem Shadows 1 h e a r the halting footsteps of a l a s s In N e g r o H a r l e m w h e n the night lets fall Its veil. I s e e the s h a p e s of girls w h o p a s s T o b e n d a n d barter at desire's call. Ah, little dark girls who in slippered feet G o prowling through the night from street to street!

s

T h r o u g h the long night until the silver b r e a k O f day the little gray feet know no rest; T h r o u g h the lone night until the last snow-flake H a s d r o p p e d from heaven u p o n the earth's white b r e a s t , T h e dusky, half-clad girls of tired feet Are trudging, thinly s h o d , from street to street. A h , stern h a r s h world, that in the w r e t c h e d way O f poverty, d i s h o n o r a n d d i s g r a c e , H a s p u s h e d the timid little feet of clay, T h e s a c r e d brown feet of my fallen r a c e ! Ah, heart of m e , the weary, weary feet In H a r l e m w a n d e r i n g from street to street.

io

is

1918,1922

America A l t h o u g h s h e feeds m e b r e a d of b i t t e r n e s s , A n d sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth, S t e a l i n g my breath of life, I will c o n f e s s I love this c u l t u r e d hell that tests my youth! H e r vigor flows like tides into my blood, Giving m e strength erect a g a i n s t her h a t e . H e r b i g n e s s s w e e p s my b e i n g like a flood. Yet a s a rebel fronts a king in s t a t e , I s t a n d within her walls with not a s h r e d O f terror, m a l i c e , not a word of j e e r . Darkly I gaze into the days a h e a d ,

5

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KATHERINE

ANNE

PORTER

A n d s e e her might a n d granite w o n d e r s there, B e n e a t h the t o u c h of T i m e ' s u n e r r i n g h a n d , L i k e p r i c e l e s s t r e a s u r e s sinking in the s a n d . 1921,1922 •

If We Must Die If we m u s t die, let it not be like hogs H u n t e d a n d p e n n e d in a n inglorious spot, W h i l e r o u n d u s bark the m a d a n d h u n g r y d o g s , M a k i n g their m o c k at our a c c u r s e d lot. If we m u s t die, O let u s nobly d i e , S o that our p r e c i o u s b l o o d may not b e s h e d In vain; then even the m o n s t e r s we defy Shall be c o n s t r a i n e d to h o n o r u s t h o u g h d e a d ! O k i n s m e n ! we m u s t m e e t the c o m m o n foe! T h o u g h far o u t n u m b e r e d let u s s h o w u s brave, A n d for their t h o u s a n d blows deal o n e d e a t h b l o w ! W h a t t h o u g h before u s lies the o p e n grave? L i k e m e n we'll f a c e the m u r d e r o u s , cowardly p a c k , P r e s s e d to the wall, dying, but fighting b a c k ! 1919, 1922

KATHERINE

ANNE

PORTER

1890-1980 Over a long writing life Katherine Anne Porter produced only four books of stories and one novel, Ship of Fools, which did not appear until she was over seventy. Her reputation as a prose writer did not depend on quantity; each story was technically skilled, emotionally powerful, combining traditional narration with new symbolic techniques and contemporary subject matter. Callie Porter—she changed the name to Katherine Anne when she became a writer—was born in the small settlement of Indian Creek, Texas; her mother died soon after giving birth to her fourth child, when Porter was not quite two years old. Her father moved them all to his mother's home in Kyle, Texas, where the maternal grandmother raised the family in extreme poverty. The father gave up all attempts to support them either financially or emotionally; the security provided by the strong, loving, but pious and stern grandmother ended with her death when Porter was eleven. Porter married to leave home immediately after her sixteenth birthday, only to find that rooted domesticity was not for her. Long before her divorce in 1915, she had separated from her first husband and begun a life of travel, activity, and changes of jobs. She started writing in 1916 as a reporter for a Dallas newspaper. In 1917 she moved to Denver, the next year to New York City's Greenwich Village. Between 1918 and

KATHERINE

ANNE

PORTER

/

2087

1924 she lived mainly in Mexico, freelancing, meeting artists and intellectuals, and becoming involved in revolutionary politics. In Mexico she found the resources of journalism inadequate to her ambitions; using an anecdote she had heard from an archaeologist as a kernel, she wrote her first story, "Maria Concepcion," which was published in the prestigious Century magazine in 1922. Like all her stories, it dealt with powerful emotions and had a strong sense of locale. Critics praised her as a major talent. Although she considered herself a serious writer from this time on, Porter was distracted from fiction by many crosscurrents. A self-supporting woman with expensive tastes, she hesitated to give up lucrative freelance offers. She enjoyed travel and gladly took on jobs that sent her abroad. She became involved in political causes, including the Sacco-Vanzetti case. She was married four times. Porter planned each story meticulously—taking extensive notes, devising scenarios, roughing out dialogue, and revising many times, sometimes over a period of years. She did not write confessional or simple autobiographical fiction, but each story originated in an important real experience of her life and drew on deep feelings. Although not a feminist, Porter devoted much of her work to exploring the tensions in women's lives in the modern era. The story that made her famous for life, so that everything else she published thereafter was looked on as a literary event, was "Flowering J u d a s " (1929), set in Mexico and dealing with revolutionary politics, lust, and betrayal. The reality of mixed motives and the difference between pure idealism and egotistical opportunism as they are encountered in revolutionary politics are among the themes in this deceptively simple narrative. It appeared in the little magazine Hound and Horn. The collections Flowering

Judas

and Noon

Wine came out in 1930 and 1937.

In 1930 Porter went back to Mexico and the following year to Europe on a Guggenheim fellowship; she lived in Berlin, Paris, and Basel before returning to the United States in 1936. Two more collections of stories and novellas appeared in 1939 (Pale Horse, Pale Rider)

and in 1944 (The Leaning

Tower).

In these later collections there

are several stories about Miranda Gay, a character who is partly autobiographical and partly an idealized image of the southern belle as she faces the modern world. Pale Horse, Pale Rider narrates Miranda's wartime romance and strongly endorses the personal over the political. Soon after arriving in Europe in 1931 Porter began working on a novel, but it was not until 1962 that Ship of Fools, which runs to almost five hundred printed pages, appeared. Set on an ocean liner crossing the Atlantic to Germany in August 1931, it explores the characters and developing relationships of a large number of passengers; the ship, as Porter wrote in a preface, stands for "this world on its voyage to eternity." As in "Flowering J u d a s " and Pale Horse, Pale Rider the personal and the political intersect in Ship of Fools, since the coming of Nazism in Germany frames the interlinked stories of the travelers. In its film version, Ship of Fools brought Porter a great deal of money. Capitalizing on the publicity, her publishers brought out the Collected Stories in 1965, from which followed the National Book Award, the Pulitzer Prize, the Gold Medal for fiction of the National Institute of Arts and Letters, and election to the American Academy of Letters, all in the next two years. The happiest occasions in her later years—she lived to be ninety—were connected with endowing and establishing the Katherine Anne Porter Room at the University of Maryland, not far from her last home near Washington, D . C The text is from the Collected Stories (1965).

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Flowering J u d a s 1 B r a g g i o n i sits h e a p e d u p o n the e d g e of a straight-backed c h a i r m u c h too small for him, a n d sings to L a u r a in a furry, m o u r n f u l v o i c e . L a u r a h a s b e g u n to find r e a s o n s for avoiding her own h o u s e until the latest p o s s i b l e m o m e n t , for B r a g g i o n i is there a l m o s t every night. N o m a t t e r h o w late s h e is, h e will be sitting there with a surly, waiting e x p r e s s i o n , pulling at his kinky yellow hair, t h u m b i n g the strings of his guitar, s n a r l i n g a t u n e u n d e r his b r e a t h . L u p e the Indian m a i d m e e t s L a u r a at the door, a n d says with a flicker of a g l a n c e towards the u p p e r r o o m , " H e w a i t s . " L a u r a w i s h e s to lie d o w n , s h e is tired of her hairpins a n d the feel of her long tight sleeves, but s h e says to him, " H a v e you a n e w s o n g for m e this e v e n i n g ? " If h e says yes, she a s k s him to s i n g it. If h e says n o , s h e r e m e m b e r s his favorite o n e , a n d a s k s him to s i n g it a g a i n . L u p e brings her a c u p of c h o c o l a t e a n d a plate of rice, a n d L a u r a e a t s at the s m a l l table u n d e r the l a m p , first inviting B r a g g i o n i , w h o s e a n s w e r is always the s a m e : "I have e a t e n , a n d b e s i d e s , c h o c o l a t e t h i c k e n s the v o i c e . " L a u r a says, " S i n g , t h e n , " a n d B r a g g i o n i h e a v e s h i m s e l f into s o n g . H e s c r a t c h e s the guitar familiarly as t h o u g h it were a pet a n i m a l , a n d sings p a s s i o n a t e l y off key, taking the high n o t e s in a p r o l o n g e d painful s q u e a l . L a u r a , w h o h a u n t s the m a r k e t s listening to the ballad s i n g e r s , a n d s t o p s every day to hear the blind boy playing his reed-flute in S i x t e e n t h of S e p t e m b e r S t r e e t , 2 listens to Braggioni with pitiless courtesy, b e c a u s e s h e d a r e s not smile at his m i s e r a b l e p e r f o r m a n c e . N o b o d y d a r e s to s m i l e at h i m . B r a g g i o n i is cruel to everyone, with a kind of specialized i n s o l e n c e , b u t h e is s o vain of his t a l e n t s , a n d so sensitive to slights, it would require a cruelty a n d vanity greater than his own to lay a finger on the vast c u r e l e s s w o u n d of his selfe s t e e m . It would require c o u r a g e , too, for it is d a n g e r o u s to offend h i m , a n d nobody h a s this c o u r a g e . Braggioni loves h i m s e l f with s u c h t e n d e r n e s s a n d a m p l i t u d e a n d eternal charity that his followers—for he is a leader of m e n , a skilled revolutionist, a n d his skin has b e e n p u n c t u r e d in h o n o r a b l e w a r f a r e — w a r m t h e m s e l v e s in the reflected glow, a n d say to e a c h other: " H e h a s a real nobility, a love of h u m a n i t y raised a b o v e m e r e p e r s o n a l a f f e c t i o n s . " T h e e x c e s s of this self-love h a s flowed out, inconveniently for her, over L a u r a , w h o , with s o m a n y o t h e r s , o w e s her c o m f o r t a b l e situation a n d her salary to h i m . W h e n h e is in a a very g o o d h u m o r , h e tells her, "I a m t e m p t e d to forgive you for b e i n g a gringa. Gringita!"* a n d L a u r a , b u r n i n g , i m a g i n e s herself l e a n i n g forward s u d d e n l y , a n d with a s o u n d b a c k - h a n d e d slap w i p i n g the suety s m i l e from his f a c e . If h e notices her eyes at t h e s e m o m e n t s h e gives n o sign. S h e knows w h a t B r a g g i o n i w o u l d offer her, a n d s h e m u s t resist t e n a c i o u s l y without a p p e a r i n g to resist, a n d if s h e c o u l d avoid it s h e w o u l d not a d m i t even to herself the slow drift of his intention. D u r i n g t h e s e long e v e n i n g s which have spoiled a long m o n t h for her, s h e sits in her d e e p c h a i r with a n 1. One of a genus of trees and shrubs with purplish rosy flowers. According to legend. J u d a s lscariot, betrayer of J e s u s , hanged himself from such a tree. 2. A street in Morelia, a city in western Mexico

where the story is set. 3. A young female foreigner, non-Mexican girl; a patronizing term meaning "cute little foreign girl." Diminutive of grittga, which is used pejoratively, especially for an American.

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open book on her k n e e s , resting her eyes o n the c o n s o l i n g rigidity of the printed p a g e when the sight a n d s o u n d of B r a g g i o n i singing t h r e a t e n to identify t h e m s e l v e s with all her r e m e m b e r e d afflictions a n d to a d d their weight to her u n e a s y p r e m o n i t i o n s of the future. T h e g l u t t o n o u s bulk of Braggioni has b e c o m e a symbol of her m a n y disillusions, for a revolutionist s h o u l d be lean, a n i m a t e d by heroic faith, a vessel of a b s t r a c t virtues. T h i s is n o n s e n s e , s h e knows it now a n d is a s h a m e d of it. Revolution m u s t have l e a d e r s , a n d leadership is a c a r e e r for energetic m e n . S h e is, her c o m r a d e s tell her, full of r o m a n t i c error, for w h a t s h e defines a s c y n i c i s m in t h e m is merely "a developed s e n s e of reality." S h e is a l m o s t too willing to say, "I a m wrong, I s u p p o s e I don't really u n d e r s t a n d the p r i n c i p l e s , " a n d afterward s h e m a k e s a secret truce with herself, d e t e r m i n e d not to s u r r e n d e r her will to s u c h expedient logic. B u t s h e c a n n o t help feeling that s h e h a s b e e n betrayed irreparably by the d i s u n i o n b e t w e e n her way of living a n d her feeling of w h a t life s h o u l d b e , a n d at t i m e s s h e is a l m o s t c o n t e n t e d to rest in this s e n s e of grievance a s a private store of c o n s o l a t i o n . S o m e t i m e s s h e w i s h e s to run away, but s h e stays. N o w s h e longs to fly o u t of this r o o m , d o w n the narrow stairs, a n d into the street w h e r e the h o u s e s lean together like c o n s p i r a t o r s u n d e r a single mottled l a m p , a n d leave B r a g g i o n i singing to himself. Instead s h e looks at B r a g g i o n i , frankly a n d clearly, like a g o o d child who u n d e r s t a n d s the rules of behavior. H e r k n e e s cling together u n d e r s o u n d b l u e s e r g e , a n d her r o u n d white collar is not p u r p o s e l y nun-like. S h e w e a r s the uniform of a n i d e a , a n d h a s r e n o u n c e d vanities. S h e w a s born R o m a n C a t h o l i c , a n d in spite of her fear of b e i n g s e e n by s o m e o n e w h o might m a k e a s c a n d a l of it, she slips now a n d again into s o m e c r u m b l i n g little c h u r c h , kneels on the chilly s t o n e , a n d says a Hail M a r y on the gold rosary s h e b o u g h t in T e h u a n t e p e c . It is no g o o d a n d she e n d s by e x a m i n i n g the altar with its tinsel flowers a n d r a g g e d b r o c a d e s , a n d feels tender a b o u t the b a t t e r e d dolls h a p e of s o m e m a l e saint w h o s e white, l a c e - t r i m m e d d r a w e r s h a n g limply a r o u n d his a n k l e s below the hieratic dignity of his velvet r o b e . S h e h a s e n c a s e d herself in a set of principles derived from her early training, leaving no detail of g e s t u r e or of p e r s o n a l taste u n t o u c h e d , a n d for this r e a s o n s h e will not wear lace m a d e o n m a c h i n e s . T h i s is her private heresy, for in her special g r o u p the m a c h i n e is s a c r e d , a n d will be the salvation of the workers. S h e loves fine l a c e , a n d there is a tiny e d g e of fluted c o b w e b on this collar, which is o n e of twenty precisely alike, folded in blue t i s s u e p a p e r in the u p p e r drawer of her c l o t h e s c h e s t . Braggioni c a t c h e s her g l a n c e solidly a s if he h a d b e e n waiting for it, l e a n s forward, b a l a n c i n g his p a u n c h b e t w e e n his s p r e a d k n e e s , a n d sings with t r e m e n d o u s e m p h a s i s , weighing his words. H e h a s , the s o n g relates, n o father a n d no m o t h e r , nor even a friend to c o n s o l e h i m ; lonely a s a wave of the s e a he c o m e s a n d g o e s , lonely a s a w a v e . H i s m o u t h o p e n s r o u n d a n d yearns sideways, his balloon c h e e k s grow oily with the labor of s o n g . H e b u l g e s marvelously in his expensive g a r m e n t s . Over his lavender collar, c r u s h e d u p o n a p u r p l e necktie, held by a d i a m o n d h o o p : over his a m m u n i t i o n belt of tooled leather worked in silver, b u c k l e d cruelly a r o u n d his g a s p i n g m i d d l e : over the tops of his glossy yellow s h o e s Braggioni swells with omin o u s r i p e n e s s , his m a u v e silk h o s e s t r e t c h e d t a u t , his a n k l e s b o u n d with the stout leather t h o n g s of his s h o e s . W h e n he s t r e t c h e s his eyelids at L a u r a s h e notes again that his eyes are

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the true tawny yellow cat's eyes. H e is rich, not in money, h e tells her, b u t in power, a n d this p o w e r brings with it the b l a m e l e s s o w n e r s h i p of t h i n g s , a n d the right to i n d u l g e his love of s m a l l luxuries. "I have a t a s t e for the e l e g a n t r e f i n e m e n t s , " h e s a i d o n c e , flourishing a yellow silk h a n d k e r c h i e f before her n o s e . " S m e l l that? It is J o c k e y C l u b , imported from N e w Y o r k . " N o n e t h e l e s s h e is w o u n d e d by life. H e will say s o presently. "It is true everything turns to d u s t in the h a n d , to gall o n the t o n g u e . " H e sighs a n d his leather belt c r e a k s like a s a d d l e girth. "I a m d i s a p p o i n t e d in everything a s it c o m e s . Everything." H e s h a k e s his h e a d . "You, p o o r thing, you will b e disa p p o i n t e d t o o . You are b o r n for it. W e are m o r e alike than you realize in s o m e t h i n g s . W a i t a n d s e e . S o m e day you will r e m e m b e r w h a t I have told you, you will know that B r a g g i o n i w a s your friend." L a u r a feels a slow chill, a purely physical s e n s e of d a n g e r , a w a r n i n g in her b l o o d that violence, mutilation, a s h o c k i n g d e a t h , wait for her with lesse n i n g p a t i e n c e . S h e h a s t r a n s l a t e d this fear into s o m e t h i n g h o m e l y , i m m e d i a t e , a n d s o m e t i m e s h e s i t a t e s before c r o s s i n g the street. " M y p e r s o n a l fate is nothing, except as the t e s t i m o n y of a m e n t a l a t t i t u d e , " s h e r e m i n d s herself, q u o t i n g from s o m e forgotten p h i l o s o p h i c primer, a n d is s e n s i b l e e n o u g h to a d d , "Anyhow, I shall not b e killed by a n a u t o m o b i l e if I c a n h e l p it." "It m a y b e true I a m a s c o r r u p t , in a n o t h e r way, a s B r a g g i o n i , " s h e thinks in spite of herself, " a s c a l l o u s , a s i n c o m p l e t e , " a n d if this is s o , any kind of d e a t h s e e m s p r e f e r a b l e . Still s h e sits quietly, s h e d o e s not r u n . W h e r e c o u l d s h e g o ? Uninvited s h e h a s p r o m i s e d herself to this p l a c e ; s h e c a n n o longer i m a g i n e herself a s living in a n o t h e r country, a n d there is n o p l e a s u r e in r e m e m b e r i n g her life before s h e c a m e h e r e . Precisely what is the n a t u r e of this devotion, its true m o t i v e s , a n d what are its o b l i g a t i o n s ? L a u r a c a n n o t say. S h e s p e n d s part of her days in X o c h imilco, n e a r by, t e a c h i n g Indian children to say in E n g l i s h , " T h e c a t is o n the m a t . " W h e n s h e a p p e a r s in the c l a s s r o o m they crowd a b o u t her with smiles on their w i s e , i n n o c e n t , clay-colored f a c e s , crying, " G o o d m o r n i n g , my titcher!" in i m m a c u l a t e v o i c e s , a n d they m a k e of her d e s k a fresh g a r d e n of flowers every day. D u r i n g her leisure s h e g o e s to u n i o n m e e t i n g s a n d listens to b u s y important voices q u a r r e l i n g over t a c t i c s , m e t h o d s , internal politics. S h e visits the p r i s o n e r s of her own political faith in their c e l l s , w h e r e they entertain t h e m selves with c o u n t i n g c o c k r o a c h e s , r e p e n t i n g of their i n d i s c r e t i o n s , c o m p o s ing their m e m o i r s , writing o u t m a n i f e s t o e s a n d p l a n s for their c o m r a d e s w h o a r e still walking a b o u t free, h a n d s in p o c k e t s , sniffing fresh air. L a u r a brings t h e m food a n d cigarettes a n d a little m o n e y , a n d s h e brings m e s s a g e s disg u i s e d in equivocal p h r a s e s from the m e n o u t s i d e w h o d a r e not set foot in the prison for fear of d i s a p p e a r i n g into the cells kept e m p t y for t h e m . If the p r i s o n e r s c o n f u s e night a n d day, a n d c o m p l a i n , " D e a r little L a u r a , time d o e s n ' t p a s s in this infernal hole, a n d I won't know w h e n it is t i m e to s l e e p u n l e s s I have a r e m i n d e r , " s h e brings t h e m their favorite n a r c o t i c s , a n d says in a tone that d o e s not w o u n d t h e m with pity, " T o n i g h t will really b e night for y o u , " a n d t h o u g h her S p a n i s h a m u s e s t h e m , they find her c o m f o r t i n g , useful. If they lose p a t i e n c e a n d all faith, a n d c u r s e the s l o w n e s s of their friends in c o m i n g to their r e s c u e with m o n e y a n d i n f l u e n c e , they trust her not to r e p e a t everything, a n d if s h e i n q u i r e s , " W h e r e d o you think we c a n find m o n e y , or i n f l u e n c e ? " they are certain to a n s w e r , "Well, there is Braggioni, why d o e s n ' t he do s o m e t h i n g ? "

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S h e s m u g g l e s letters from h e a d q u a r t e r s to m e n hiding from firing s q u a d s in b a c k streets in mildewed h o u s e s , where they sit in t u m b l e d b e d s a n d talk bitterly a s if all M e x i c o were at their heels, w h e n L a u r a knows positively they might a p p e a r at the b a n d c o n c e r t in the A l a m e d a 4 on S u n d a y m o r n i n g , a n d no o n e would notice t h e m . B u t Braggioni says, " L e t t h e m sweat a little. T h e next time they may be careful. It is very restful to have t h e m o u t of the way for a while." S h e is not afraid to k n o c k on any d o o r in any street after midnight, a n d enter in the d a r k n e s s , a n d say to o n e of t h e s e m e n w h o is really in danger: " T h e y will be looking for y o u — s e r i o u s l y — t o m o r r o w m o r n i n g after six. H e r e is s o m e m o n e y from V i c e n t e . G o to V e r a C r u z a n d wait." S h e borrows m o n e y from the R o u m a n i a n agitator to give to his bitter e n e m y the Polish agitator. T h e favor of Braggioni is their d i s p u t e d territory, a n d Braggioni holds the b a l a n c e nicely, for h e c a n u s e t h e m b o t h . T h e Polish agitator talks love to her over c a f e t a b l e s , h o p i n g to exploit w h a t he believes is her secret s e n t i m e n t a l p r e f e r e n c e for him, a n d he gives her m i s i n f o r m a t i o n which he b e g s her to repeat a s the s o l e m n truth to certain p e r s o n s . T h e R o u m a n i a n is m o r e adroit. H e is g e n e r o u s with his m o n e y in all g o o d c a u s e s , a n d lies to her with a n air of i n g e n u o u s c a n d o r , a s if h e were her g o o d friend a n d confidant. S h e never repeats anything they may say. B r a g g i o n i never asks q u e s t i o n s . H e h a s other ways to discover all that he w i s h e s to know about them. N o b o d y t o u c h e s her, but all p r a i s e her gray eyes, a n d the soft, r o u n d u n d e r lip which p r o m i s e s gayety, yet is always grave, nearly always firmly c l o s e d : and they c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d why s h e is in M e x i c o . S h e walks b a c k a n d forth on her e r r a n d s , with puzzled eyebrows, carrying her little folder of drawings a n d m u s i c a n d school p a p e r s . N o d a n c e r d a n c e s m o r e beautifully than L a u r a walks, a n d s h e inspires s o m e a m u s i n g , u n e x p e c t e d a r d o r s , which c a u s e little g o s s i p , b e c a u s e nothing c o m e s of t h e m . A y o u n g c a p t a i n w h o h a d b e e n a soldier in Z a p a t a ' s 5 a r m y a t t e m p t e d , d u r i n g a h o r s e b a c k ride n e a r C u e r n a v a c a , to express his desire for her with the n o b l e simplicity befitting a r u d e folk-hero: but gently, b e c a u s e he w a s g e n t l e . T h i s g e n t l e n e s s w a s his defeat, for w h e n he alighted, a n d r e m o v e d her foot from the stirrup, a n d e s s a y e d to draw her d o w n into his a r m s , her h o r s e , ordinarily a t a m e o n e , s h i e d fiercely, reared a n d p l u n g e d away. T h e y o u n g hero's h o r s e c a r e e r e d blindly after his s t a b l e - m a t e , a n d the hero did not return to the hotel until rather late that evening. At breakfast h e c a m e to her table in full c h a r r o d r e s s , 6 gray b u c k s k i n j a c k e t a n d t r o u s e r s with strings of silver b u t t o n s d o w n the leg, a n d he w a s in a h u m o r o u s , c a r e l e s s m o o d . " M a y I sit with y o u ? " a n d "You a r e a wonderful rider. I was terrified that you might be thrown a n d d r a g g e d . I s h o u l d never have forgiven myself. B u t I c a n n o t a d m i r e you e n o u g h for your riding!" "I learned to ride in A r i z o n a , " said L a u r a . "If you will ride with m e again this m o r n i n g , I p r o m i s e you a h o r s e that will not shy with y o u , " h e s a i d . B u t L a u r a r e m e m b e r e d that s h e m u s t return to M e x i c o City at n o o n . Next m o r n i n g the children m a d e a celebration a n d s p e n t their playtime writing on the b l a c k b o a r d , " W e Iov ar richer," a n d with tinted chalks they 4. Public promenade bordered with trees. 5. Emiliano Zapata (c. 1 8 7 9 - 1 9 1 9 ) , Mexican peasant revolutionary general whose movement, zapatismo, combined agrarian and Mexican Indian cultural aspirations; one of the most significant fig-

ures in Mexico from 1910 to 1919, when he was murdered. 6. C o s t u m e worn by a peasant horseman of special status.

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drew w r e a t h s of flowers a r o u n d the w o r d s . T h e y o u n g hero wrote her a letter: "1 a m a very foolish, wasteful, impulsive m a n . I s h o u l d have first said I love you, a n d then you would not have run away. B u t you shall s e e m e a g a i n . " L a u r a t h o u g h t , "I m u s t s e n d him a box of c o l o r e d c r a y o n s , " but s h e w a s trying to forgive herself for having s p u r r e d her h o r s e at the w r o n g m o m e n t . A brown, s h o c k - h a i r e d youth c a m e a n d s t o o d in her p a t i o o n e night a n d s a n g like a lost soul for two h o u r s , b u t L a u r a c o u l d think of n o t h i n g to d o a b o u t it. T h e moonlight s p r e a d a w a s h of gauzy silver over the c l e a r s p a c e s of the g a r d e n , a n d the s h a d o w s were c o b a l t b l u e . T h e scarlet b l o s s o m s of the J u d a s tree were dull p u r p l e , a n d the n a m e s of the colors r e p e a t e d t h e m selves a u t o m a t i c a l l y in her m i n d , while s h e w a t c h e d not the boy, but his s h a d o w , fallen like a dark g a r m e n t a c r o s s the f o u n t a i n rim, trailing in the water. L u p e c a m e silently a n d w h i s p e r e d expert c o u n s e l in her ear: "If you will throw him o n e little flower, h e will sing a n o t h e r s o n g or two a n d go away." L a u r a threw the flower, a n d he s a n g a last s o n g a n d went a w a y with the flower t u c k e d in the b a n d of his h a t . L u p e said, " H e is o n e of the o r g a n izers of the T y p o g r a p h e r s U n i o n , a n d before that h e sold c o r r i d o s 7 in the M e r c e d m a r k e t , a n d before that, h e c a m e from G u a n a j u a t o , w h e r e I w a s born. I would not trust any m a n , but I trust least t h o s e from G u a n a j u a t o . " S h e did not tell L a u r a that h e would be b a c k a g a i n the next night, a n d the next, nor that h e w o u l d follow her at a certain fixed d i s t a n c e a r o u n d the M e r c e d m a r k e t , t h r o u g h the Z o c o l o , u p F r a n c i s c o I. M a d e r o A v e n u e , a n d so a l o n g the P a s e o de la R e f o r m a to C h a p u l t e p e c Park, a n d into the Philosopher's F o o t p a t h , still with that flower withering in his hat, a n d a n indivisible attention in his eyes. N o w L a u r a is a c c u s t o m e d to h i m , it m e a n s n o t h i n g except that he is nineteen years old a n d is observing a c o n v e n t i o n with all propriety, a s t h o u g h it were f o u n d e d on a law of n a t u r e , which in the end it might well prove to b e . H e is b e g i n n i n g to write p o e m s which he prints o n a w o o d e n p r e s s , a n d he leaves t h e m s t u c k like handbills in her door. S h e is p l e a s a n t l y d i s t u r b e d by the a b s t r a c t , u n h u r r i e d w a t c h f u l n e s s of his b l a c k eyes which will in time turn easily towards a n o t h e r object. S h e tells herself that throwing the flower w a s a m i s t a k e , for s h e is twenty-two years old a n d knows better; but s h e r e f u s e s to regret it, a n d p e r s u a d e s herself that her negation of all external events a s they o c c u r is a sign that s h e is gradually perfecting herself in the s t o i c i s m s h e strives to cultivate a g a i n s t that d i s a s t e r s h e fears, t h o u g h s h e c a n n o t n a m e it. S h e is not at h o m e in the world. Every day s h e t e a c h e s children w h o r e m a i n s t r a n g e r s to her, t h o u g h s h e loves their tender r o u n d h a n d s a n d their c h a r m i n g o p p o r t u n i s t savagery. S h e k n o c k s at unfamiliar d o o r s not k n o w i n g w h e t h e r a friend or a stranger shall a n s w e r , a n d even if a known f a c e e m e r g e s from the s o u r g l o o m of that u n k n o w n interior, still it is the f a c e of a stranger. N o m a t t e r what this stranger says to her, nor what her m e s s a g e to h i m , the very cells of her flesh reject k n o w l e d g e a n d kinship in o n e m o n o t o n o u s word. N o . N o . N o . S h e d r a w s her s t r e n g t h from this o n e holy t a l i s m a n i c w o r d which d o e s not suffer her to be led into evil. D e n y i n g everything, s h e may walk anywhere in safety, s h e looks at everything w i t h o u t a m a z e m e n t . N o , r e p e a t s this firm u n c h a n g i n g voice of her b l o o d ; a n d s h e looks at 7. Popular ballads.

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Braggioni without a m a z e m e n t . H e is a great m a n , he w i s h e s to i m p r e s s this simple girl w h o covers her great r o u n d b r e a s t s with thick dark c l o t h , a n d who hides long, invaluably beautiful legs u n d e r a heavy skirt. S h e is a l m o s t thin except for the i n c o m p r e h e n s i b l e fullness of her b r e a s t s , like a n u r s i n g mother's, a n d B r a g g i o n i , w h o c o n s i d e r s h i m s e l f a j u d g e of w o m e n , s p e c u l a t e s again on the puzzle of her notorious virginity, a n d takes the liberty of s p e e c h which she p e r m i t s without a sign of modesty, i n d e e d , without any sort of sign, which is d i s c o n c e r t i n g . "You think you are so c o l d , gringita! Wait a n d s e e . You will s u r p r i s e yourself s o m e day! M a y I be there to advise y o u ! " H e s t r e t c h e s his eyelids at her, a n d his ill-humored cat's eyes waver in a s e p a r a t e g l a n c e for the two points of light m a r k i n g the o p p o s i t e e n d s of a s m o o t h l y drawn p a t h b e t w e e n the swollen curve of her b r e a s t s . H e is not put off by that b l u e s e r g e , nor by her resolutely fixed g a z e . T h e r e is all the time in the world. H i s c h e e k s a r e bellying with the wind of s o n g . " O girl with the dark e y e s , " h e s i n g s , a n d reconsiders. " B u t yours are not dark. I c a n c h a n g e all that. O girl with the green eyes, you have stolen my heart away!" then his mind w a n d e r s to the s o n g , a n d L a u r a feels the weight of his attention b e i n g shifted e l s e w h e r e . S i n g i n g t h u s , he s e e m s h a r m l e s s , h e is quite h a r m l e s s , there is n o t h i n g to d o but sit patiently a n d say " N o , " w h e n the m o m e n t c o m e s . S h e d r a w s a full b r e a t h , a n d her mind w a n d e r s a l s o , but not far. S h e d a r e s not w a n d e r too far. Not for nothing h a s Braggioni taken p a i n s to be a g o o d revolutionist a n d a p r o f e s s i o n a l lover of h u m a n i t y . H e will never die of it. H e h a s the m a l i c e , the c l e v e r n e s s , the w i c k e d n e s s , the s h a r p n e s s of wit, the h a r d n e s s of heart, stipulated for loving the world profitably. He will never die of it. H e will live to s e e himself kicked out from his f e e d i n g t r o u g h by other hungry worldsaviors. Traditionally he m u s t sing in spite of his life which drives h i m to b l o o d s h e d , h e tells L a u r a , for his father w a s a T u s c a n y 8 p e a s a n t w h o drifted to Y u c a t a n a n d married a M a y a w o m a n : a w o m a n of r a c e , a n aristocrat. T h e y g a v e him the love a n d k n o w l e d g e of m u s i c , t h u s : a n d u n d e r the rip of his t h u m b n a i l , the strings of the i n s t r u m e n t c o m p l a i n like e x p o s e d nerves. O n c e he w a s called D e l g a d i t o by all the girls a n d m a r r i e d w o m e n w h o ran after him; he w a s s o scrawny all his b o n e s s h o w e d u n d e r his thin c o t t o n clothing, a n d he c o u l d s q u e e z e his e m p t i n e s s to the very b a c k b o n e with his two h a n d s . H e w a s a p o e t a n d the revolution w a s only a d r e a m t h e n ; t o o m a n y w o m e n loved him a n d s a p p e d away his y o u t h , a n d h e c o u l d never find e n o u g h to eat a n y w h e r e , anywhere! N o w he is a leader of m e n , crafty m e n who whisper in his ear, hungry m e n w h o wait for h o u r s o u t s i d e his office for a word with him, e m a c i a t e d m e n with wild f a c e s w h o waylay him at the street gate with a timid, " C o m r a d e , let m e tell you . . ." a n d they blow the foul breath from their e m p t y s t o m a c h s in his f a c e . H e is always s y m p a t h e t i c . H e gives t h e m h a n d f u l s of small c o i n s from his own p o c k e t , h e p r o m i s e s t h e m work, there will be d e m o n s t r a t i o n s , they m u s t join the u n i o n s a n d a t t e n d the m e e t i n g s , a b o v e all they m u s t b e on the w a t c h for s p i e s . T h e y are c l o s e r to him than his own b r o t h e r s , without t h e m h e c a n do n o t h i n g — u n t i l tomorrow, c o m r a d e ! Until tomorrow. " T h e y a r e s t u p i d , they are lazy, they are t r e a c h e r o u s , they would c u t my throat for n o t h i n g , " he says to L a u r a . H e h a s g o o d food a n d 8. A region in north-central Italy.

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a b u n d a n t drink, he hires a n a u t o m o b i l e a n d drives in the P a s e o on S u n d a y m o r n i n g , a n d enjoys plenty of s l e e p in a soft bed b e s i d e a wife who d a r e s not disturb him; a n d he sits p a m p e r i n g his b o n e s in easy billows of fat, s i n g i n g to L a u r a , w h o knows a n d thinks t h e s e things a b o u t h i m . W h e n h e w a s fift e e n , he tried to drown h i m s e l f b e c a u s e he loved a girl, his first love, a n d s h e l a u g h e d at h i m . "A t h o u s a n d w o m e n have paid for t h a t , " a n d his tight little m o u t h turns d o w n at the c o r n e r s . N o w he p e r f u m e s his hair with J o c k e y C l u b , a n d confides to L a u r a : " O n e w o m a n is really a s g o o d a s a n o t h e r for m e , in the dark. I prefer t h e m all." H i s wife organizes u n i o n s a m o n g the girls in the cigarette f a c t o r i e s , a n d walks in picket lines, a n d even s p e a k s at m e e t i n g s in the evening. B u t s h e c a n n o t be b r o u g h t to a c k n o w l e d g e the benefits of true liberty. "I tell her I m u s t have my f r e e d o m , net. S h e d o e s not u n d e r s t a n d my point of view." L a u r a h a s h e a r d this m a n y t i m e s . Braggioni s c r a t c h e s the guitar a n d m e d i t a t e s . " S h e is a n instinctively virtuous w o m a n , p u r e gold, no d o u b t of that. If s h e were not, I s h o u l d lock her u p , a n d s h e knows it." H i s wife, w h o works so hard for the g o o d of the factory girls, e m p l o y s part of her leisure lying on the floor w e e p i n g b e c a u s e there are so m a n y w o m e n in the world, a n d only o n e h u s b a n d for her, a n d s h e never knows w h e r e nor w h e n to look for h i m . H e told her: " U n l e s s you c a n learn to cry w h e n I a m not h e r e , I m u s t go away for g o o d . " T h a t day he went away a n d t o o k a r o o m at the H o t e l M a d r i d . It is this m o n t h of s e p a r a t i o n for the s a k e of higher p r i n c i p l e s that h a s b e e n spoiled not only for M r s . B r a g g i o n i , w h o s e s e n s e of reality is beyond criticism, but for L a u r a , w h o feels herself b o g g e d in a n i g h t m a r e . T o n i g h t L a u r a envies M r s . B r a g g i o n i , w h o is a l o n e , a n d free to w e e p a s m u c h a s s h e p l e a s e s a b o u t a c o n c r e t e w r o n g . L a u r a h a s j u s t c o m e from a visit to the prison, a n d s h e is waiting for t o m o r r o w with a bitter anxiety a s if t o m o r r o w may not c o m e , but time m a y be c a u g h t immovably in this h o u r , with herself transfixed, Braggioni singing on forever, a n d E u g e n i o ' s body not yet discovered by the g u a r d . Braggioni says: "Are you g o i n g to s l e e p ? " A l m o s t before s h e c a n s h a k e her h e a d , he b e g i n s telling her a b o u t the M a y - d a y d i s t u r b a n c e s c o m i n g on in M o r e l i a , for the C a t h o l i c s hold a festival in h o n o r of the B l e s s e d Virgin, a n d the S o c i a l i s t s c e l e b r a t e their martyrs o n that day. " T h e r e will be two indep e n d e n t p r o c e s s i o n s , starting from either e n d of town, a n d they will m a r c h until they m e e t , a n d the rest d e p e n d s . . ." H e a s k s her to oil a n d load his pistols. S t a n d i n g u p , h e u n b u c k l e s his a m m u n i t i o n belt, a n d s p r e a d s it laden a c r o s s her k n e e s . L a u r a sits with the shells slipping t h r o u g h the c l e a n i n g cloth d i p p e d in oil, a n d he says a g a i n h e c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d why s h e works so hard for the revolutionary idea u n l e s s s h e loves s o m e m a n w h o is in it. "Are you not in love with s o m e o n e ? " " N o , " says L a u r a . " A n d no o n e is in love with y o u ? " " N o . " " T h e n it is your own fault. N o w o m a n n e e d go b e g g i n g . Why, what is the m a t t e r with you? T h e legless b e g g a r w o m a n in the A l a m e d a has a perfectly faithful lover. Did you know t h a t ? " L a u r a p e e r s down the pistol barrel a n d says n o t h i n g , b u t a long, slow f a i n t n e s s rises a n d s u b s i d e s in her; B r a g g i o n i curves his swollen fingers a r o u n d the throat of the guitar a n d softly s m o t h e r s the m u s i c o u t of it, a n d w h e n s h e h e a r s him again he s e e m s to have forgotten her, a n d is s p e a k i n g in the hypnotic voice he u s e s w h e n talking in s m a l l r o o m s to a listening, c l o s e - g a t h e r e d crowd. S o m e day this world, n o w s e e m i n g l y s o c o m p o s e d a n d

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eternal, to the e d g e s of every s e a shall be merely a tangle of g a p i n g t r e n c h e s , of c r a s h i n g walls a n d broken b o d i e s . Everything m u s t be torn from its a c c u s t o m e d p l a c e w h e r e it h a s rotted for c e n t u r i e s , hurled skyward a n d distributed, c a s t d o w n a g a i n c l e a n a s rain, without s e p a r a t e identity. N o t h i n g shall survive that the stiffened h a n d s of poverty have c r e a t e d for the rich a n d no o n e shall be left alive except the elect spirits d e s t i n e d to p r o c r e a t e a new world c l e a n s e d of cruelty a n d i n j u s t i c e , ruled by b e n e v o l e n t a n a r c h y : " P i s t o l s are g o o d , I love t h e m , c a n n o n are even better, but in the e n d I pin my faith to g o o d d y n a m i t e , " he c o n c l u d e s , a n d strokes the pistol lying in her h a n d s . " O n c e I d r e a m e d of destroying this city, in c a s e it offered r e s i s t a n c e to G e n eral Ortiz, but it fell into his h a n d s like an overripe p e a r . " H e is m a d e restless by his own words, rises a n d s t a n d s waiting. L a u r a holds u p the belt to him: " P u t that o n , a n d g o kill s o m e b o d y in M o r e l i a , a n d you will be h a p p i e r , " s h e says softly. T h e p r e s e n c e of d e a t h in the r o o m m a k e s her bold. "Today, I f o u n d E u g e n i o g o i n g into a stupor. H e r e f u s e d to allow m e to call the prison doctor. H e h a d taken all the tablets I b r o u g h t h i m yesterday. H e said he took t h e m b e c a u s e he w a s b o r e d . " " H e is a fool, a n d his d e a t h is his own b u s i n e s s , " says B r a g g i o n i , f a s t e n i n g his belt carefully. "I told him if h e h a d waited only a little while longer, you w o u l d have got him set f r e e , " says L a u r a . " H e said he did not w a n t to w a i t . " " H e is a fool a n d w e are well rid of h i m , " says B r a g g i o n i , r e a c h i n g for his hat. H e g o e s away. L a u r a knows his m o o d h a s c h a n g e d , s h e will not s e e him any m o r e for a while. H e will s e n d word w h e n h e n e e d s her to go on e r r a n d s into s t r a n g e streets, to s p e a k to the s t r a n g e f a c e s that will a p p e a r , like clay m a s k s with the power of h u m a n s p e e c h , to m u t t e r their t h a n k s to B r a g g i o n i for his h e l p . N o w s h e is free, a n d s h e thinks, I m u s t run while there is t i m e . B u t she d o e s not g o . Braggioni e n t e r s his own h o u s e where for a m o n t h his wife h a s s p e n t m a n y h o u r s every night w e e p i n g a n d tangling her hair u p o n her pillow. S h e is w e e p i n g now, a n d s h e w e e p s m o r e at the sight of him, the c a u s e of all her sorrows. H e looks a b o u t the r o o m . N o t h i n g is c h a n g e d , the s m e l l s a r e g o o d a n d familiar, he is well a c q u a i n t e d with the w o m a n w h o c o m e s toward him with no r e p r o a c h except grief on her f a c e . H e says to her tenderly: "You are so g o o d , p l e a s e don't cry any m o r e , you d e a r g o o d c r e a t u r e . " S h e says, "Are you tired, my a n g e l ? Sit here a n d I will w a s h your f e e t . " S h e brings a bowl of water, a n d kneeling, u n l a c e s his s h o e s , a n d w h e n from her k n e e s s h e r a i s e s her s a d eyes u n d e r her b l a c k e n e d lids, he is sorry for everything, a n d b u r s t s into tears. "Ah, yes, I a m hungry, I a m tired, let u s eat s o m e t h i n g t o g e t h e r , " he says, b e t w e e n s o b s . His wife l e a n s her h e a d on his a r m a n d says, " F o r g i v e m e ! " a n d this time he is refreshed by the s o l e m n , e n d l e s s rain of her t e a r s . L a u r a takes off her s e r g e d r e s s a n d p u t s o n a white linen nightgown a n d g o e s to bed. S h e t u r n s her h e a d a little to o n e s i d e , a n d lying still, r e m i n d s herself that it is time to s l e e p . N u m b e r s tick in her brain like little c l o c k s , s o u n d l e s s d o o r s c l o s e of t h e m s e l v e s a r o u n d her. If you would s l e e p , you m u s t not r e m e m b e r anything, the children will say t o m o r r o w , g o o d m o r n i n g , my t e a c h e r , the p o o r p r i s o n e r s w h o c o m e every day bringing flowers to their jailor. 1-2-3-4-5—it is m o n s t r o u s to c o n f u s e love with revolution, night with day, life with d e a t h — a h , E u g e n i o ! T h e tolling of the midnight bell is a signal, but what d o e s it m e a n ? G e t

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u p , L a u r a , a n d follow m e : c o m e out of your s l e e p , out of your b e d , o u t of this s t r a n g e h o u s e . W h a t a r e you d o i n g in this h o u s e ? W i t h o u t a w o r d , without fear s h e rose a n d r e a c h e d for E u g e n i o ' s h a n d , but he e l u d e d her with a s h a r p , sly smile a n d drifted away. T h i s is not all, you shall s e e — M u r d e r e r , he s a i d , follow m e , I will s h o w you a new country, b u t it is far a w a y a n d we m u s t hurry. N o , said L a u r a , not u n l e s s you take my h a n d , n o ; a n d s h e c l u n g first to the stair rail, a n d then to the t o p m o s t b r a n c h of the J u d a s tree that bent d o w n slowly a n d set her u p o n the e a r t h , a n d then to the rocky ledge of a cliff, a n d then to the j a g g e d wave of a s e a that w a s not water b u t a d e s e r t of c r u m b l i n g s t o n e . W h e r e are you taking m e , s h e a s k e d in w o n d e r but without fear. T o d e a t h , a n d it is a l o n g way off, a n d we m u s t hurry, s a i d E u g e n i o . N o , said L a u r a , not u n l e s s you take my h a n d . T h e n eat t h e s e flowers, p o o r prisoner, said E u g e n i o in a voice of pity, take a n d eat: a n d from the J u d a s tree h e stripped the w a r m b l e e d i n g flowers, a n d held t h e m to her lips. S h e s a w that his h a n d w a s fleshless, a c l u s t e r of small white petrified b r a n c h e s , a n d his eye s o c k e t s were without light, b u t s h e a t e the flowers greedily for they satisfied both h u n g e r a n d thirst. IVJurderer! s a i d E u g e n i o , a n d C a n n i b a l ! T h i s is my body a n d my b l o o d . L a u r a cried N o ! a n d at the s o u n d of her own voice, s h e a w o k e trembling, a n d w a s afraid to s l e e p a g a i n . 1929,1930

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1891-1960 Zora Neale Hurston was born in 1891 in Eatonville, Florida, an all-black town. Her father, a Baptist preacher of considerable eloquence, was not a family man and made life difficult for his wife and eight children. The tie between mother and daughter was strong; Lucy Hurston was a driving force and strong support for all her children. But her death when Zora Hurston was about eleven left the child with little home life. Hitherto, the town of Eatonville had been like an extended family to her, and her early childhood was protected from racism because she encountered no white people. With her mother's death, Hurston's wanderings and her initiation into American racism began. The early security had given her the core of self-confidence she needed to survive. She moved from one relative's home to another until she was old enough to support herself, and with her earnings she began slowly to pursue an education. Although she had never finished grade school in Eatonville she was able to enter and complete college. In the early 1920s at Howard University in Washington, D.C. (the nation's leading African American university at that time), she studied with the great black educator Alain Locke, who was to make history with his anthology The New Negro in 1925. After a short story, "Drenched in Light," appeared in the New York African American magazine Opportunity, she decided to move to Harlem and pursue a literary career there. As her biographer, Bobert Hemenway, writes, "Zora Hurston was an extraordinarily witty woman, and she acquired an instant reputation in New York for her high spirits and side-splitting tales of Eatonville life. She could walk into a room of strangers . . . and almost immediately gather people, charm, amuse, and impress them." The Eatonville vignettes printed here convey the flavor of this discourse. Generous, outspoken, high spirited, an interesting conversationalist, she worked as a personal secretary for

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the politically liberal novelist Fannie Hurst and entered Barnard College. Her career took two simultaneous directions: at Barnard she studied with the famous anthropologist Franz Boas and developed an interest in black folk traditions, and in Harlem she became well known as a storyteller, an informal performing artist. Thus she was doubly committed to the oral narrative, and her work excels in its representation of people talking. When she graduated from Barnard in 1927 she received a fellowship to return to Florida and study the oral traditions of Eatonville. From then on, she strove to achieve a balance between focusing on the folk and her origins and focusing on herself as an individual. After the fellowship money ran out, Hurston was supported by Mrs. B. Osgood Mason, an elderly white patron of the arts. Mason had firm ideas about what she wanted her proteges to produce; she required them all to get her permission before publishing any of the work that she had subsidized. In this relationship, Hurston experienced a difficulty that all the black artists of the Harlem Benaissance had to face—the fact that well-off white people were the sponsors of, and often the chief audience for, their work. Hurston's work was not entirely popular with the male intellectual leaders of the Harlem community. She quarreled especially with Langston Hughes, refusing to align her work with anybody's ideologies; she rejected the idea that a black writer's chief concern should be how blacks were being portrayed to the white reader. She did not write to "uplift her race," either; because in her view it was already uplifted, she (like Claude McKay) was not embarrassed to present her characters as mixtures of good and bad, strong and weak. Some of the other Harlem writers thought her either naive or egotistical, but Hurston argued that freedom could only mean freedom from all coercion, no matter what the source. The Great Depression brought an end to the structure that had undergirded Hurston's fieldwork, and she turned fully to writing. Unfortunately her most important work appeared in the mid-1930s when there was little interest in it, or in African American writing in general. She published Jonah's Gourd Vine in 1934 (a novel whose main character is based on her father); Mules and Men in 1935 (based on material from her field trips in Florida—this was her best-selling book, but it earned a total of only $943.75); and Their Eyes Were Watching God, in 1937. This novel about an African American woman's quest for selfhood has become a popular and critical favorite, both a woman's story, and a descriptive critique of southern African American folk society, showing its divisions and diversity. Technically, it is a loosely organized, highly metaphorical novel, with passages of broad folk humor and of extreme artistic compression. Other books followed in 1938 and 1939, and she wrote an autobiography—Dust Tracks on a Road—which appeared in 1942, with its occasional expression of antiwhite sentiments removed by her editors. At this point, however, Hurston had no audience. For the last decade of her life she lived in Florida, working from time to time as a maid.

How It Feels to Be Colored M e 1 I a m c o l o r e d but I offer n o t h i n g in the way of e x t e n u a t i n g c i r c u m s t a n c e s except the fact that I a m the only N e g r o in the U n i t e d S t a t e s w h o s e g r a n d father on the m o t h e r ' s side w a s wot an Indian chief. I r e m e m b e r the very day that I b e c a m e c o l o r e d . U p to m y thirteenth year I lived in the little N e g r o town of Eatonville, F l o r i d a . It is exclusively a colored town. T h e only white p e o p l e I knew p a s s e d t h r o u g h the town g o i n g to 1. The text is that of 1 Love Myself When I Am Laughing and Impressive ( 1 9 7 9 ) , edited by Alice Walker.

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or c o m i n g from O r l a n d o . T h e native whites rode d u s t y h o r s e s , the N o r t h e r n tourists c h u g g e d down the s a n d y village r o a d in a u t o m o b i l e s . T h e town k n e w the S o u t h e r n e r s a n d never s t o p p e d c a n e c h e w i n g w h e n they p a s s e d . B u t the N o r t h e r n e r s were s o m e t h i n g else a g a i n . T h e y were p e e r e d at c a u t i o u s l y from b e h i n d the c u r t a i n s by the timid. T h e m o r e v e n t u r e s o m e would c o m e o u t o n the p o r c h to w a t c h t h e m g o p a s t a n d got j u s t a s m u c h p l e a s u r e o u t of the tourists a s the tourists got o u t of the village. T h e front p o r c h might s e e m a d a r i n g p l a c e for the rest of the town, b u t it w a s a gallery seat for m e . M y favorite p l a c e was a t o p the g a t e - p o s t . P r o s c e n i u m b o x 2 for a b o r n first-nighter. N o t only did I enjoy the s h o w , b u t I didn't m i n d the a c t o r s k n o w i n g that I liked it. I usually s p o k e to t h e m in p a s s i n g . I'd wave at t h e m a n d w h e n they returned my s a l u t e , I would say s o m e t h i n g like this: "Howdy-do-well-I-thank-you-where-you-goin'?" U s u a l l y a u t o m o b i l e or the h o r s e p a u s e d at this, a n d after a q u e e r e x c h a n g e of c o m p l i m e n t s , I would p r o b a b l y " g o a p i e c e of the w a y " with t h e m , a s w e say in farthest Florida. If o n e of my family h a p p e n e d to c o m e to the front in time to s e e m e , of c o u r s e n e g o t i a t i o n s would b e rudely broken off. B u t even s o , it is clear that I w a s the first " w e l c o m e - t o - o u r - s t a t e " Floridian, a n d I h o p e the M i a m i C h a m b e r of C o m m e r c e will p l e a s e take n o t i c e . D u r i n g this p e r i o d , white p e o p l e differed from c o l o r e d to m e only in that they r o d e through town a n d never lived t h e r e . T h e y liked to h e a r m e " s p e a k p i e c e s " a n d sing a n d w a n t e d to s e e m e d a n c e the p a r s e - m e - l a , a n d g a v e m e g e n e r o u s l y of their small silver for d o i n g t h e s e things, which s e e m e d s t r a n g e to m e for I w a n t e d to do t h e m so m u c h that I n e e d e d bribing to s t o p . Only they didn't know it. T h e c o l o r e d p e o p l e g a v e n o d i m e s . T h e y d e p l o r e d any joyful t e n d e n c i e s in m e , but I w a s their Zora n e v e r t h e l e s s . I b e l o n g e d to t h e m , to the nearby hotels, to the c o u n t y — e v e r y b o d y ' s Zora. B u t c h a n g e s c a m e in the family w h e n I w a s thirteen, a n d I w a s s e n t to school in J a c k s o n v i l l e . I left Eatonville, the town of the o l e a n d e r s , a s Zora. W h e n I d i s e m b a r k e d from the river-boat at J a c k s o n v i l l e , s h e w a s no m o r e . It s e e m e d that I h a d suffered a s e a c h a n g e . I w a s not Zora of O r a n g e C o u n t y any m o r e , I w a s n o w a little c o l o r e d girl. I f o u n d it o u t in certain ways. In my heart a s well a s in the mirror, I b e c a m e a fast b r o w n — w a r r a n t e d not to rub nor run. B u t I a m not tragically c o l o r e d . T h e r e is no great sorrow d a m m e d u p in my s o u l , nor lurking b e h i n d my eyes. I do not m i n d at all. I d o not b e l o n g to the s o b b i n g school of N e g r o h o o d w h o hold that n a t u r e s o m e h o w h a s given t h e m a lowdown dirty deal a n d w h o s e feelings are all hurt a b o u t it. E v e n in the helter-skelter skirmish that is my life, I have s e e n that the world is to the s t r o n g r e g a r d l e s s of a little p i g m e n t a t i o n m o r e or l e s s . N o , I do not w e e p at the w o r l d — I a m too busy s h a r p e n i n g my oyster knife. S o m e o n e is always at my elbow r e m i n d i n g m e that I a m the g r a n d d a u g h t e r of s l a v e s . It fails to register d e p r e s s i o n with m e . Slavery is sixty years in the p a s t . T h e operation w a s s u c c e s s f u l a n d the patient is d o i n g well, t h a n k y o u . T h e terrible struggle that m a d e m e an A m e r i c a n o u t of a potential slave said " O n the l i n e ! " T h e R e c o n s t r u c t i o n s a i d " G e t set!"; a n d the g e n e r a t i o n before said " G o ! " I a m off to a flying start a n d I m u s t not halt in the stretch to look 2. Box at the front of the auditorium, closest to the stage.

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behind a n d w e e p . Slavery is the price I paid for civilization, a n d the choice was not with m e . It is a bully a d v e n t u r e a n d worth all that I have paid through my a n c e s t o r s for it. N o o n e on earth ever h a d a greater c h a n c e for glory. T h e world to b e won a n d nothing to be lost. It is thrilling to t h i n k — t o know that for any act of m i n e , I shall get twice a s m u c h praise or twice a s m u c h b l a m e . It is quite exciting to hold the c e n t e r of the national s t a g e , with the s p e c t a t o r s not knowing w h e t h e r to laugh or to w e e p . T h e position of my white neighbor is m u c h m o r e difficult. N o brown s p e c ter pulls u p a c h a i r b e s i d e m e when I sit d o w n to eat. N o d a r k g h o s t thrusts its leg a g a i n s t m i n e in b e d . T h e g a m e of k e e p i n g what o n e h a s is never so exciting a s the g a m e of getting. I do not always feel c o l o r e d . Even now I often a c h i e v e the u n c o n s c i o u s Zora of Eatonville before the H e g i r a . 1 I feel m o s t colored w h e n 1 a m thrown a g a i n s t a s h a r p white b a c k g r o u n d . For i n s t a n c e at B a r n a r d . " B e s i d e s the waters of the H u d s o n " I feel my r a c e . A m o n g the t h o u s a n d white p e r s o n s , I a m a dark rock s u r g e d u p o n , a n d overswept, but t h r o u g h it all, I remain myself. W h e n covered by the waters, I a m ; a n d the e b b b u t reveals m e a g a i n . S o m e t i m e s it is the other way a r o u n d . A white p e r s o n is set d o w n in our midst, but the c o n t r a s t is j u s t a s s h a r p for m e . F o r i n s t a n c e , w h e n I sit in the drafty b a s e m e n t that is T h e N e w W o r l d C a b a r e t * with a white p e r s o n , my color c o m e s . W e enter c h a t t i n g a b o u t any little n o t h i n g that we have in c o m m o n a n d are s e a t e d by the j a z z waiters. In the a b r u p t way that j a z z o r c h e s t r a s have, this o n e p l u n g e s into a n u m b e r . It loses no t i m e in c i r c u m l o c u t i o n s , but gets right d o w n to b u s i n e s s . It c o n s t r i c t s the thorax a n d splits the heart with its t e m p o a n d narcotic h a r m o n i e s . T h i s o r c h e s t r a grows ramb u n c t i o u s , rears o n its hind legs a n d a t t a c k s the tonal veil with primitive fury, r e n d i n g it, c l a w i n g it until it b r e a k s through to the j u n g l e beyond. I follow t h o s e h e a t h e n — f o l l o w t h e m exultingly. I d a n c e wildly inside myself; I yell within, I w h o o p ; I s h a k e my a s s e g a i 5 a b o v e my h e a d , I hurl it true to the m a r k yeeeeoowwl I a m in the j u n g l e a n d living in the j u n g l e way. M y f a c e is p a i n t e d red a n d yellow a n d my body is p a i n t e d b l u e . M y p u l s e is t h r o b b i n g like a war d r u m . I w a n t to s l a u g h t e r s o m e t h i n g — g i v e p a i n , give d e a t h to what, I do not know. B u t the p i e c e e n d s . T h e m e n of the o r c h e s t r a wipe their lips a n d rest their fingers. I c r e e p b a c k slowly to the v e n e e r we call civilization with the last tone a n d find the white friend sitting m o t i o n l e s s in his seat s m o k i n g calmly. " G o o d m u s i c they have h e r e , " h e r e m a r k s , d r u m m i n g the table with his fingertips. M u s i c . T h e great b l o b s of p u r p l e a n d red e m o t i o n have not t o u c h e d him. H e h a s only heard what I felt. H e is far away a n d I s e e him but dimly a c r o s s the o c e a n a n d the c o n t i n e n t that have fallen b e t w e e n u s . H e is s o pale with his w h i t e n e s s then a n d I a m so c o l o r e d . At certain times I have no r a c e , I a m me. W h e n I set my hat at a certain a n g l e a n d s a u n t e r d o w n S e v e n t h A v e n u e , H a r l e m City, feeling a s snooty a s 3. Forced march of M u h a m m a d from Mecca to Medina in 6 2 2 C . E . ; hence any forced flight or journey for safety.

4. Popular Harlem nightclub in the 1920s. 5. A slender spear used by some South African peoples.

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the lions in front of the F o r t y - S e c o n d S t r e e t Library, for i n s t a n c e . S o far a s my feelings a r e c o n c e r n e d , Peggy H o p k i n s J o y c e on the B o u l e M i c h 6 with her g o r g e o u s r a i m e n t , stately c a r r i a g e , k n e e s k n o c k i n g together in a m o s t a r i s t o c r a t i c m a n n e r , h a s n o t h i n g on m e . T h e c o s m i c Zora e m e r g e s . I b e l o n g to n o r a c e nor t i m e . I a m the eternal feminine with its string of b e a d s . I have n o s e p a r a t e feeling a b o u t b e i n g a n A m e r i c a n citizen a n d c o l o r e d . I a m merely a f r a g m e n t of the G r e a t S o u l that s u r g e s within the b o u n d a r i e s . M y country, right or w r o n g . S o m e t i m e s , I feel d i s c r i m i n a t e d a g a i n s t , but it d o e s not m a k e m e angry. It merely a s t o n i s h e s m e . H o w can any deny t h e m s e l v e s the p l e a s u r e of my c o m p a n y ? It's beyond m e . B u t in the m a i n , I feel like a brown b a g of m i s c e l l a n y p r o p p e d a g a i n s t a wall. A g a i n s t a wall in c o m p a n y with other b a g s , white, red a n d yellow. P o u r out the c o n t e n t s , a n d there is d i s c o v e r e d a j u m b l e of small things p r i c e l e s s a n d w o r t h l e s s . A first-water d i a m o n d , an e m p t y s p o o l , bits of broken g l a s s , lengths of string, a key to a door long s i n c e c r u m b l e d away, a rusty knifeb l a d e , old s h o e s s a v e d for a road that never w a s a n d never will b e , a nail b e n t u n d e r the weight of things too heavy for any nail, a dried flower or two still a little fragrant. In your h a n d is the brown b a g . O n the g r o u n d before you is the j u m b l e it h e l d — s o m u c h like the j u m b l e in the b a g s , c o u l d they be e m p t i e d , that all might be d u m p e d in a single h e a p a n d the b a g s refilled without altering the c o n t e n t of any greatly. A bit of c o l o r e d g l a s s m o r e or less w o u l d not matter. P e r h a p s that is how the G r e a t Stuffer of B a g s filled t h e m in the first p l a c e — w h o k n o w s ? 1928

The Gilded Six-Bits 1 I w a s a N e g r o yard a r o u n d a N e g r o h o u s e in a N e g r o s e t t l e m e n t that looked to the payroll of the G a n d G Fertilizer works for its s u p p o r t . B u t there w a s s o m e t h i n g happy a b o u t the p l a c e . T h e front yard w a s p a r t e d in the middle by a sidewalk from g a t e to d o o r - s t e p , a sidewalk e d g e d o n either side by q u a r t bottles driven n e c k d o w n into the g r o u n d o n a slant. A m e s s of h o m e y flowers planted without a plan but b l o o m i n g cheerily from their helter-skelter p l a c e s . T h e f e n c e a n d h o u s e were w h i t e w a s h e d . T h e p o r c h a n d s t e p s s c r u b b e d white. T h e front d o o r s t o o d o p e n to the s u n s h i n e s o that the floor of the front r o o m c o u l d finish drying after its weekly s c o u r i n g . It w a s S a t u r d a y . Everything c l e a n from the front g a t e to the privy h o u s e . Yard raked s o that the strokes of the rake would m a k e a p a t t e r n . F r e s h n e w s p a p e r c u t in fancy e d g e on the kitchen s h e l v e s . M i s s i e M a y w a s b a t h i n g herself in the galvanized w a s h t u b in the b e d r o o m . H e r dark-brown skin glistened u n d e r the s o a p s u d s that skittered d o w n from 6. Boulevard St. Michel, a street on the Left Bank of Paris running near the Sorbonne University and through the Latin Quarter. It is lined with cafes that were—and still a r e — m u c h frequented by Americans in Paris. Joyce was a much-

photographed socialite and heiress. I. T h e text is from the printing in Story magazine ( 1 9 3 3 ) . "Gilded": lightly plated with thin gold or gold-colored foil. "Six-bits": seventy-five cents (two bits equals one quarter).

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her w a s h rag. H e r stiff y o u n g b r e a s t s thrust forward aggressively like broadb a s e d c o n e s with the tips l a c q u e r e d in black. S h e heard m e n ' s voices in the d i s t a n c e a n d g l a n c e d at the dollar clock on the dresser. " H u m p h ! Ah'm way b e h i n d time t'day! J o e gointer be h e a h 'fore Ah git m a h clothes on if Ah don't m a k e h a s t e . " S h e g r a b b e d the clean m e a l s a c k at h a n d a n d dried herself hurriedly a n d began to d r e s s . B u t before s h e c o u l d tie her slippers, there c a m e the ring of singing metal on w o o d . N i n e t i m e s . M i s s i e M a y grinned with delight. S h e h a d not s e e n the big tall m a n c o m e stealing in the gate a n d c r e e p u p the walk grinning happily at the joyful mischief h e w a s a b o u t to c o m m i t . B u t s h e knew that it w a s her h u s b a n d throwing silver dollars in the d o o r for her to pick u p a n d pile b e s i d e her plate at dinner. It w a s this way every S a t u r d a y a f t e r n o o n . T h e nine dollars hurled into the o p e n door, he scurried to a hiding p l a c e b e h i n d the c a p e j a s m i n e b u s h a n d waited. M i s s i e M a y promptly a p p e a r e d at the door in m o c k a l a r m . " W h o dat c h u n k i n ' m o n e y in m a h d o ' w a y ? " S h e d e m a n d e d . N o a n s w e r from the yard. S h e l e a p e d off the p o r c h a n d b e g a n to s e a r c h the shrubbery. S h e p e e p e d u n d e r the p o r c h a n d h u n g over the g a t e to look u p a n d d o w n the road. While s h e did this, the m a n b e h i n d the j a s m i n e darted to the chinaberry tree. S h e spied him a n d gave c h a s e . " N o b o d y ain't gointer be c h u c k i n ' m o n e y at m e a n d Ah not d o 'em n o t h i n ' , " s h e s h o u t e d in m o c k anger. H e ran a r o u n d the h o u s e with M i s s i e M a y at his heels. S h e overtook him at the kitchen door. H e ran inside b u t c o u l d not close it after him before s h e c r o w d e d in a n d locked with him in a r o u g h a n d t u m b l e . F o r several m i n u t e s the two were a furious m a s s of m a l e a n d f e m a l e energy. S h o u t i n g , l a u g h i n g , twisting, turning, t u s s l i n g , tickling e a c h other in the ribs; M i s s i e M a y c l u t c h i n g onto J o e a n d J o e trying, b u t not too h a r d , to get away. " M i s s i e M a y , take yo' h a n d o u t m a h p o c k e t ! " J o e s h o u t e d o u t b e t w e e n laughs. "Ah ain't, J o e , not l e s s e n you gwine g i m m e w h a t e v e ' it is g o o d you got in yo' pocket. T u r n it g o , J o e , do Ah'II tear yo' c l o t h e s . " " G o on tear 'em. You de o n e dat p u s h e s de n e e d l e s r o u n d h e a h . M o v e yo' hand Missie May." " L e m m e git dat p a p e r s a c k o u t yo' p o c k e t . Ah bet its c a n d y k i s s e s . " "Tain't. M o v e yo' h a n d . W o m a n ain't g o n o b u s i n e s s in a m a n ' s c l o t h e s nohow. G o way." M i s s i e M a y g o u g e d way d o w n a n d gave a n u p w a r d j e r k a n d t r i u m p h e d . " U n h h u n h ! A h got it. It 'tis s o c a n d y k i s s e s . A h knowed you h a d s o m e t h i n ' for m e in yo' c l o t h e s . N o w Ah got to s e e whut's in every p o c k e t you g o t . " J o e smiled indulgently a n d let his wife go through all of his p o c k e t s a n d take out the things that he h a d hidden there for her to find. S h e b o r e off the chewing g u m , the c a k e of sweet s o a p , the p o c k e t h a n d k e r c h i e f a s if s h e h a d wrested t h e m from him, as if they h a d not b e e n b o u g h t for the s a k e of this friendly battle. " W h e w ! dat play-fight d o n e got m e all w a r m e d u p . " J o e e x c l a i m e d . " G o t m e s o m e water in d e kittle?" "Yo' water is o n de fire a n d yo' c l e a n things is c r o s s de b e d . Hurry up a n d

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w a s h yo'self a n d git c h a n g e d s o we kin eat. Ah'm hongry." As M i s s i e s a i d this, s h e b o r e the s t e a m i n g kettle into the b e d r o o m . "You ain't hongry, s u g a r , " J o e c o n t r a d i c t e d her. " Y o u s e j e s ' a little empty. Ah'm de o n e whut's hongry. Ah could eat up c a m p meetin', b a c k off 'ssocia t i o n , a n d drink J u r d a n 2 dry. H a v e it on d e table w h e n Ah git out de t u b . " " D o n ' t you m e s s wid m a h b u s i n e s s , m a n . You git in yo' c l o t h e s . A h ' m a real wife, not no d r e s s a n d b r e a t h . ' Ah might not look lak o n e , but if you burn m e , you won't git a thing but wife a s h e s . " J o e s p l a s h e d in the b e d r o o m a n d M i s s i e May f a n n e d a r o u n d in the k i t c h e n . A fresh red a n d white c h e c k e d cloth on the table. Big pitcher of b u t t e r m i l k b e a d e d with pale d r o p s of butter from the c h u r n . H o t fried mullet, c r a c k l i n g b r e a d , h a m h o c k a t o p a m o u n d of string b e a n s a n d new p o t a t o e s , a n d p e r c h e d on the window-sill a p o n e 4 of spicy p o t a t o p u d d i n g . Very little talk d u r i n g the meal but that little c o n s i s t e d of b a n t e r that p r e t e n d e d to deny affection but in reality flaunted it. Like w h e n M i s s i e M a y r e a c h e d for a s e c o n d helping of the tater p o n e . J o e s n a t c h e d it out of her reach. After M i s s i e M a y h a d m a d e two or three u n s u c c e s s f u l g r a b s at the p a n , s h e b e g g e d , "Aw, J o e g i m m e s o m e m o ' dat tater p o n e . " " N o p e , s w e e t e n i n ' is for us men-folks. Y'all pritty lil frail eels don't n e e d nothin' lak dis. You too sweet already." "Please, Joe." " N a w , naw. Ah don't want you to git no sweeter than w h u t you is already. W e goin' d o w n de road a lil p i e c e t'night so you go put on yo' S u n d a y - g o - t o meetin' things." M i s s i e M a y looked at her h u s b a n d to s e e if he was playing s o m e prank. " S h o nuff, J o e ? " "Yeah. W e goin' to d e ice c r e a m parlor." " W h e r e de ice c r e a m parlor at, J o e ? " "A new m a n d o n e c o m e h e a h from C h i c a g o a n d he d o n e got a p l a c e a n d took a n d o p e n e d it up for a ice c r e a m parlor, a n d bein' a s it's real swell, Ah w a n t s you to be o n e de first ladies to walk in dere a n d have s o m e set d o w n . " " D o J e s u s , Ah ain't knowed nothin' 'bout it. W h o de m a n d o n e i t ? " " M i s t e r Otis D. S l e m m o n s , of s p o t s a n d p l a c e s — M e m p h i s , C h i c a g o , J a c k sonville, Philadelphia a n d so o n . " " D a t heavy-set m a n wid his m o u t h full of gold t e e t h e s ? " "Yeah. W h e r e did you s e e im a t ? " "Ah went down to d e s t o ' tuh git a box of lye a n d A h s e e n 'im standing' on d e c o r n e r talkin' to s o m e of de m e n s , a n d Ah c o m e on b a c k a n d went to s c r u b b i n ' de floor, a n d he p a s s e d a n d tipped his hat whilst Ah w a s s c o u r i n ' de s t e p s . Ah thought Ah never s e e n him b e f o ' . " J o e s m i l e d pleasantly. "Yeah, he's u p to d a t e . H e got d e finest c l o t h e s Ah ever s e e n on a colored m a n ' s b a c k . " "Aw, h e don't look no better in his clothes than you d o in yourn. H e got a puzzlegut on im a n d he so chuckle-headed, 1 ' he got a p o n e b e h i n d his n e c k . " J o e looked down at his own a b d o m e n a n d said wistfully, " W i s h t Ah had a build on m e lak he got. H e ain't puzzle-gutted, honey. H e j e s ' got a corper2 . T h e Jordan River in biblical Palestine (now 3. All show; i.e., not a real wife.

4. Loaf- or oval-shaped cake. 5. Stupid, blockhcaded. " P u / / l e g u t " : fat bellv.

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ation. D a t m a k e ' m look lak a rich white m a n . All rich m e n s is got s o m e belly on ' e m . " "Ah s e e n de pitchers of Henry Ford a n d he's a spare-built m a n a n d R o c k e feller look lak he ain't got but o n e gut. B u t Ford a n d Rockefeller a n d dis S l e m m o n s a n d all de rest kin be a s many-gutted a s dey p l e a s e , Ah'm satisfied wid you j e s ' lak you is, baby. G o d took pattern after a pine tree a n d built you n o b l e . Y o u s e a pritty m a n , a n d if Ah knowed any way to m a k e you m o ' pritty still Ah'd take a n d do it." J o e r e a c h e d over gently a n d toyed with M i s s i e May's ear. "You j e s ' say dat c a u s e you love m e , but Ah know Ah can't hold no light to Otis D . S l e m m o n s . Ah ain't never b e e n n o w h e r e a n d Ah ain't got nothin' but y o u . " M i s s i e May got on his lap a n d kissed him a n d he kissed b a c k in kind. T h e n h e went on. "All de w o m e n s is crazy 'bout 'im everywhere he g o . " " H o w you know d a t , J o e ? " " H e tole u s so hisself." " D a t don't m a k e it s o . H i s m o u f is c u t cross-ways, ain't it? Well, he kin lie j e s ' lak anybody e l s e . " " G o o d L a w d , M i s s i e ! You w o m e n s s h o is hard to s e n s e into things. He's got a five-dollar gold p i e c e for a stick-pin a n d he got a ten-dollar gold piece on his w a t c h c h a i n a n d his m o u f is j e s ' c r a m m e d full of gold t e e t h e s . S h o wisht it wuz m i n e . A n d whut m a k e it so cool, h e got m o n e y c u m u l a t e d . And w o m e n s give it all to 'im." "Ah don't s e e whut d e w o m e n s s e e on 'im. Ah wouldn't give 'im a wink if de sheriff wuz after 'im." "Well, he tole u s how de white w o m e n s in C h i c a g o give im all dat gold money. S o h e don't 'low nobody to t o u c h it at all. N o t even put dey finger on it. Dey tole 'im not to. You kin m a k e 'miration at it, but don't tetch it." "Whyn't he stay u p dere where dey so crazy 'bout ' i m ? " "Ah reckon dey d o n e m a d e 'im vast-rich a n d he w a n t s to travel s o m e . H e say dey wouldn't leave 'im hit a lick of work. H e got m o ' lady p e o p l e crazy 'bout him than he kin s h a k e a stick a t . " " J o e , Ah h a t e s to s e e you so d u m b . Dat stray nigger j e s ' tell y'all anything a n d y'all b'lieve it." " G o 'head on now, honey a n d put on yo' c l o t h e s . H e talkin' 'bout his pritty w o m e n s — A h want 'im to s e e mine." M i s s i e May went off to dress a n d J o e spent the time trying to m a k e his s t o m a c h p u n c h out like S l e m m o n s ' middle. H e tried the rolling s w a g g e r of the stranger, but f o u n d that his tall b o n e - a n d - m u s c l e stride fitted ill with it. H e j u s t h a d time to drop b a c k into his seat before M i s s i e M a y c a m e in d r e s s e d to g o . O n the way h o m e that night J o e w a s exultant. "Didn't Ah say ole Otis was swell? C a n ' t he talk C h i c a g o talk? Wuzn't dat funny w h u t he said when great big fat ole Ida A r m s t r o n g c o m e in? H e a s t e d m e , 'Who is dat broad wid de forte s h a k e ? ' Dat's a new word. U s always thought forty w a s a set of figgers but he s h o w e d u s w h e r e it m e a n s a whole h e a p of things. S o m e t i m e s he don't say forty, he j e s ' say thirty-eight a n d two a n d dat m e a n de s a m e thing. Know w h u t he tole m e w h e n Ah wuz payin' for our ice c r e a m ? H e say, 'Ah have to h a n d it to you, J o e . D a t wife of yours is j e s ' thirty-eight a n d two. Y e s s u h , she's forte!' Ain't he killin'?" "He'll do in c a s e of a r u s h . B u t he sho is got uh h e a p uh gold on 'im. Dat's

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de first time A h ever s e e d gold m o n e y . It lookted g o o d on him s h o nuff, b u t it'd look a w h o l e h e a p better on y o u . " " W h o , m e ? M i s s i e M a y y o u s e crazy! W h e r e would a p o ' m a n lak m e git gold m o n e y f r o m ? " M i s s i e M a y w a s silent for a m i n u t e , then she s a i d , " U s might find s o m e goin' long de r o a d s o m e t i m e . U s c o u l d . " " W h o w o u l d be losin' gold m o n e y r o u n d h e a h ? W e ain't even s e e n n o n e d e s e white folks w e a r i n ' no gold m o n e y on dey w a t c h c h a i n . You m u s t be figgerin' M i s t e r P a c k a r d or M i s t e r C a d i l l a c goin' p a s s t h r o u g h h e a h . " "You don't k n o w w h u t b e e n lost 'round h e a h . M a y b e s o m e b o d y way b a c k in m e m o r i a l t i m e s 6 lost they gold m o n e y a n d went on off a n d it ain't never b e e n f o u n d . A n d then if w e w u z to find it, you c o u l d wear s o m e 'thout havin' no g a n g of w o m e n s lak dat S l e m m o n s say he g o t . " J o e l a u g h e d a n d h u g g e d her. " D o n ' t b e s o wishful 'bout m e . Ah'm satisfied d e way A h is. S o long as Ah b e yo' h u s b a n d , Ah don't keer 'bout n o t h i n ' e l s e . Ah'd ruther all d e other w o m e n s in de world to b e d e a d t h a n for you to have de t o o t h a c h e . L e s s we go to b e d a n d git o u r night r e s t . " It w a s S a t u r d a y night o n c e m o r e before J o e c o u l d p a r a d e his wife in S l e m m o n s ' ice c r e a m parlor a g a i n . H e worked the night shift a n d S a t u r d a y w a s his only night off. Every other e v e n i n g a r o u n d six o'clock h e left h o m e , a n d dying d a w n s a w him hustling h o m e a r o u n d the lake w h e r e the c h a l l e n g i n g s u n flung a flaming sword from e a s t to west a c r o s s the t r e m b l i n g water. T h a t w a s the b e s t part of l i f e — g o i n g h o m e to M i s s i e M a y . T h e i r whitew a s h e d h o u s e , the m o c k battle on S a t u r d a y , the dinner a n d ice c r e a m parlor a f t e r w a r d s , c h u r c h on S u n d a y nights w h e n M i s s i e o u t d r e s s e d any w o m a n in t o w n — a l l , everything w a s right. O n e night a r o u n d eleven the a c i d 7 ran o u t at the G . a n d G . T h e f o r e m a n k n o c k e d off the c r e w a n d let the s t e a m die d o w n . As J o e r o u n d e d the lake o n his way h o m e , a lean m o o n rode the lake in a silver b o a t . If anybody h a d a s k e d J o e a b o u t the m o o n on the lake, he would have said he hadn't p a i d it any attention. B u t h e saw it with his feelings. It m a d e him years painfully for M i s s i e . C r e a t i o n o b s e s s e d him. H e t h o u g h t a b o u t children. T h e y h a d b e e n m a r r i e d for m o r e than a year now. T h e y h a d m o n e y put away. T h e y o u g h t to b e m a k i n g little feet for s h o e s . A little boy child would b e a b o u t right. H e s a w a d i m light in the b e d r o o m a n d d e c i d e d to c o m e in through the kitchen door. H e c o u l d w a s h the fertilizer d u s t off h i m s e l f before p r e s e n t i n g h i m s e l f to M i s s i e M a y . It would be nice for her not to know that he w a s there until h e slipped into his p l a c e in b e d a n d h u g g e d her b a c k . S h e always liked that. H e e a s e d the kitchen d o o r o p e n slowly a n d silently, but w h e n he went to set his dinner b u c k e t o n the table he b u m p e d it into a pile of d i s h e s , a n d s o m e t h i n g c r a s h e d to the floor. H e heard his wife g a s p in fright a n d hurried to r e a s s u r e her. " I s s m e , honey. Don't get s k e e r e d . " T h e r e w a s a q u i c k , large m o v e m e n t in the b e d r o o m . A r u s t l e , a t h u d , a n d a stealthy s i l e n c e . T h e light went out. W h a t ? R o b b e r s ? M u r d e r e r s ? S o m e varmint a t t a c k i n g his helpless wife, 6. Wordplay on "in time immemorial"; time so long ago as to be forgotten.

7. Used in making fertilizer,

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p e r h a p s . H e s t r u c k a m a t c h , threw himself on guard a n d s t e p p e d over the door-sill into the b e d r o o m . T h e great belt on the wheel of T i m e slipped and eternity s t o o d still. By the m a t c h light he c o u l d s e e the man's legs fighting with his b r e e c h e s in his frantic desire to get t h e m on. H e had both c h a n c e a n d time to kill the intruder in his helpless c o n d i t i o n — h a l f in a n d half out of his p a n t s — b u t he was too w e a k to take a c t i o n . T h e s h a p e l e s s e n e m i e s of h u m a n i t y that live in the hours of T i m e h a d waylaid J o e . H e w a s a s s a u l t e d in his w e a k n e s s . L i k e S a m s o n a w a k e n i n g after his h a i r c u t . 8 S o he j u s t o p e n e d his m o u t h a n d laughed. T h e m a t c h went out a n d he struck a n o t h e r a n d lit the l a m p . A howling wind r a c e d a c r o s s his heart, but u n d e r n e a t h its fury he h e a r d his wife sobbing a n d S l e m m o n s p l e a d i n g for his life. Offering to b u y it with all that he had. " P l e a s e , s u h , don't kill m e . Sixty-two dollars at d e sto'. G o l d money." J o e j u s t stood. S l e m m o n s looked at the window, but it w a s s c r e e n e d . J o e stood out like a r o u g h - b a c k e d m o u n t a i n between him a n d the door. B a r r i n g him from e s c a p e , from s u n r i s e , from life. H e c o n s i d e r e d a surprise a t t a c k u p o n the big clown that s t o o d there laughing like a c h e s s y c a t . 9 B u t before his fist could travel a n i n c h , J o e ' s own r u s h e d out to c r u s h him like a battering r a m . T h e n J o e s t o o d over h i m . " G i t into yo' d a m n r a g s , S l e m m o n s , a n d dat q u i c k . " S l e m m o n s s c r a m b l e d to his feet a n d into his vest a n d coat. As he g r a b b e d his hat, J o e ' s fury overrode his intentions a n d he g r a b b e d at S l e m m o n s with his left h a n d a n d s t r u c k at him with his right. T h e right l a n d e d . T h e left grazed the front of his vest. S l e m m o n s was k n o c k e d a s o m e r s a u l t into the kitchen a n d fled through the o p e n door. J o e f o u n d h i m s e l f a l o n e with M i s s i e May, with the g o l d e n w a t c h c h a r m c l u t c h e d in his left fist. A short bit of broken c h a i n d a n g l e d b e t w e e n his fingers. M i s s i e M a y w a s s o b b i n g . Wails of w e e p i n g without w o r d s . J o e s t o o d , a n d after awhile he f o u n d out that he h a d s o m e t h i n g in his h a n d . A n d then h e stood a n d felt without thinking a n d without s e e i n g with his n a t u r a l eyes. M i s s i e M a y kept on crying a n d J o e kept on feeling so m u c h a n d not knowing what to d o with all his feelings, he put S l e m m o n s ' w a t c h c h a r m in his p a n t s pocket a n d took a g o o d laugh a n d went to bed. " M i s s i e M a y , w h u t you cryin' f o r ? " " C a u s e Ah love you s o hard a n d Ah know you don't love me no m o ' . " J o e s a n k his f a c e into the pillow for a spell then he said huskily, "You don't know de feelings of dat yet, M i s s i e M a y . " " O h J o e , honey, h e said he wuz gointer give m e dat gold m o n e y a n d h e j e s ' kept on after m e — " J o e w a s very still a n d silent for a long time. T h e n he said, "Well, don't cry no mo', M i s s i e May. Ah got yo' gold p i e c e for y o u . " T h e h o u r s went p a s t on their rusty a n k l e s . J o e still a n d q u i e t on o n e bedrail a n d M i s s i e M a y w r u n g dry of s o b s on the other. Finally the s u n ' s tide crept u p o n the shore of night a n d d r o w n e d all its h o u r s . M i s s i e M a y with her f a c e stiff a n d streaked towards the window saw the d a w n c o m e into her yard. It 8. In Judges 1 3 - 1 6 , S a m s o n is a man whose exceptional strength resides in his hair, which his treacherous lover, Delilah, cuts off while he sleeps.

9. I.e., Cheshire cat; an allusion to the grinning cat in the fantasy Alice's Adventures in Wonderland ( 1 8 6 5 ) , by Lewis Carroll ( 1 8 3 2 - 1 8 8 9 ) .

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w a s day. N o t h i n g m o r e . J o e wouldn't be c o m i n g h o m e a s u s u a l . N o n e e d to fling o p e n the front door a n d s w e e p off the p o r c h , m a k i n g it n i c e for J o e . N e v e r no m o r e breakfast to cook; no m o r e w a s h i n g a n d s t a r c h i n g of J o e ' s j u m p e r - j a c k e t s a n d p a n t s . N o more nothing. S o why get u p ? With this s t r a n g e m a n in her b e d , s h e felt e m b a r r a s s e d to get u p a n d d r e s s . S h e d e c i d e d to wait till he h a d d r e s s e d a n d g o n e . T h e n s h e would get u p , d r e s s quickly a n d be g o n e forever beyond reach of J o e ' s looks a n d l a u g h s . B u t he never m o v e d . Red light turned to yellow, then w h i t e . F r o m beyond the no-man's land between them c a m e a voice. A s t r a n g e voice that yesterday h a d been J o e ' s . " M i s s i e M a y , ain't you g o n n a fix m e no b r e a k f u s ' ? " S h e s p r a n g o u t of bed. "Yeah, J o e . Ah didn't reckon you w u z h o n g r y . " N o n e e d to die today. J o e n e e d e d her for a few m o r e m i n u t e s a n y h o w . S o o n there w a s a roaring fire in the c o o k stove. W a t e r b u c k e t full a n d two c h i c k e n s killed. J o e loved fried chicken a n d rice. S h e didn't d e s e r v e a thing a n d g o o d J o e w a s letting her c o o k him s o m e b r e a k f a s t . S h e r u s h e d hot biscuits to the table as J o e took his seat. H e a t e with his eyes on his plate. N o laughter, n o banter. " M i s s i e M a y , you ain't eatin' yo' b r e a k f u s ' . " "Ah don't c h o o s e n o n e , Ah thank y u h . " His coffee c u p w a s empty. S h e s p r a n g to refill it. W h e n s h e t u r n e d from the stove a n d bent to set the c u p beside J o e ' s p l a t e , s h e saw the yellow coin on the table b e t w e e n t h e m . S h e s l u m p e d into her seat a n d wept into her a r m s . Presently J o e said calmly, " M i s s i e M a y , you cry too m u c h . Don't l o o k b a c k lak Lot's wife a n d turn to salt."' T h e s u n , the hero of every day, the i m p e r s o n a l old m a n that b e a m s a s brightly on d e a t h as on birth, c a m e u p every m o r n i n g a n d r a c e d a c r o s s the b l u e d o m e a n d dipped into the s e a of fire every evening. W a t e r ran d o w n hill a n d birds n e s t e d . M i s s i e knew why s h e didn't leave J o e . S h e couldn't. S h e loved h i m t o o m u c h , but s h e c o u l d not u n d e r s t a n d why J o e didn't leave her. H e w a s polite, even kind at t i m e s , but aloof. T h e r e were no m o r e S a t u r d a y r o m p s . N o ringing silver dollars to s t a c k b e s i d e her plate. N o p o c k e t s to rifle. In fact the yellow coin in his t r o u s e r s w a s like a m o n s t e r hiding in the cave of his p o c k e t s to destroy her. S h e often w o n d e r e d if he still h a d it, but n o t h i n g c o u l d have i n d u c e d her to a s k nor yet to explore his p o c k e t s to s e e for herself. Its s h a d o w w a s in the h o u s e w h e t h e r or no. O n e night J o e c a m e h o m e a r o u n d midnight a n d c o m p l a i n e d of p a i n s in the b a c k . H e a s k e d M i s s i e to rub him down with liniment. It h a d b e e n three m o n t h s s i n c e M i s s i e h a d t o u c h e d his body a n d it all s e e m e d s t r a n g e . B u t she r u b b e d him. Grateful for the c h a n c e . B e f o r e m o r n i n g , youth t r i u m p h e d a n d M i s s i e exulted. B u t the next day, a s s h e joyfully m a d e u p their b e d , b e n e a t h her pillow s h e found the p i e c e of m o n e y with the bit of c h a i n attached. A l o n e to herself, s h e looked at the thing with loathing, but look s h e m u s t . 1. According to Genesis 19.26, Lot's wife was turned into a pillar ol salt for looking hack at the destroyed city of S o d o m when she and her husband were fleeing from it.

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S h e took it into her h a n d s with trembling a n d saw first thing that it w a s no gold p i e c e . It w a s a gilded half dollar. T h e n s h e knew why S l e m m o n s h a d forbidden a n y o n e to t o u c h his gold. H e trusted village eyes at a d i s t a n c e not to recognize his stick-pin as a gilded quarter, a n d his w a t c h c h a r m a s a fourbit p i e c e . S h e was glad at first that J o e h a d left it there. P e r h a p s h e w a s through with her p u n i s h m e n t . T h e y were m a n and wife a g a i n . T h e n a n o t h e r t h o u g h t c a m e clawing at her. H e had c o m e h o m e to buy from her a s if s h e were any w o m a n in the long h o u s e . - Fifty c e n t s for her love. As if to say that he c o u l d pay a s well as S l e m m o n s . S h e slid the coin into his S u n d a y p a n t s p o c k e t a n d d r e s s e d herself a n d left his h o u s e . Halfway b e t w e e n her h o u s e a n d the q u a r t e r s * s h e m e t her h u s b a n d ' s mother, a n d after a short talk s h e turned a n d went b a c k h o m e . N e v e r would she admit defeat to that w o m a n w h o prayed for it nightly. If s h e h a d not the s u b s t a n c e of m a r r i a g e she had the o u t s i d e show. J o e m u s t leave her. S h e let him s e e s h e didn't want his old gold four-bits too. S h e saw no m o r e of the coin for s o m e time t h o u g h s h e knew that J o e c o u l d not help finding it in his p o c k e t . B u t his health kept poor, a n d h e c a m e h o m e at least every ten days to be r u b b e d . T h e s u n swept a r o u n d the horizon, trailing its robes of w e e k s a n d days. O n e m o r n i n g a s J o e c a m e in from work, he found M i s s i e M a y c h o p p i n g w o o d . W i t h o u t a word he took the ax a n d c h o p p e d a h u g e pile before he stopped. "You ain't got no b u s i n e s s c h o p p i n ' w o o d , a n d you know it." " H o w c o m e ? Ah b e e n c h o p p i n ' it for de last l o n g e s t . " "Ah ain't blind. You m a k i n ' feet for s h o e s . " 4 "Won't you be glad to have a lil baby chile, J o e ? " "You know dat 'thout astin' m e . " " I s s gointer be a boy chile a n d d e very spit of y o u . " "You r e c k o n , M i s s i e May?" " W h o else c o u l d it look l a k ? " J o e said nothing, but he thrust his hand d e e p into his p o c k e t a n d fingered s o m e t h i n g there. It w a s a l m o s t six m o n t h s later M i s s i e M a y took to bed a n d J o e went a n d got his m o t h e r to c o m e wait on the h o u s e . M i s s i e M a y delivered a fine boy. H e r travail w a s over w h e n J o e c a m e in from work o n e m o r n i n g . His m o t h e r a n d the old w o m e n were drinking great bowls of coffee a r o u n d the fire in the kitchen. T h e m i n u t e J o e c a m e into the r o o m his m o t h e r called him a s i d e . " H o w did M i s s i e M a y m a k e o u t ? " he a s k e d quickly. " W h o , dat gal? S h e s t r o n g a s a ox. S h e gointer have plenty m o ' . W e d o n e fixed her wid de s u g a r a n d lard to s w e e t e n her for de nex' o n e . " J o e stood silent awhile. "You ain't ast 'bout d e baby, J o e . You o u g h t e r be mighty p r o u d c a u s e h e s h o is de spittin' i m a g e of yuh, s o n . Dat's yourn all right, if you never git a n o t h e r o n e , dat un is yourn. A n d you know Ah'm mighty p r o u d too, s o n , c a u s e Ah never thought well of you marryin' M i s s i e M a y c a u s e her m a u s e d 2 . House of prostitution. 3. Workers' dwellings.

4. You're pregnant (folk expression).

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HURSTON

tuh fan her foot r o u n d right s m a r t a n d Ah b e e n mighty s k e e r e d dat M i s s i e M a y w a s gointer git m i s p u t on her r o a d . " J o e said nothing. H e fooled a r o u n d the h o u s e till late in the day then j u s t before he went to work, he went a n d s t o o d at the foot of the b e d a n d a s k e d his wife how s h e felt. H e did this every day d u r i n g the week. O n S a t u r d a y h e went to O r l a n d o to m a k e his m a r k e t . 5 It h a d b e e n a long time s i n c e he h a d d o n e that. M e a t a n d lard, m e a l a n d flour, s o a p a n d s t a r c h . C a n s of corn a n d t o m a toes. All the s t a p l e s . H e fooled a r o u n d town for awhile a n d b o u g h t b a n a n a s a n d a p p l e s . W a y after while he went a r o u n d to the c a n d y s t o r e . " H e l l o w , J o e , " the clerk greeted h i m . "Ain't s e e n you in a long t i m e . " " N o p e , Ah ain't b e e n h e a h . B e e n r o u n d in spots a n d p l a c e s . " " W a n t s o m e of t h e m m o l a s s e s k i s s e s you always b u y ? " " Y e s s u h . " H e threw the gilded half dollar o n the c o u n t e r . "Will dat s p e n d ? " " W h u t is it, J o e ? W e l l , I'll b e d o g g o n e ! A gold-plated four-bit p i e c e . W h e r e ' d you git it, J o e ? " " O f f e n a stray nigger dat c o m e t h r o u g h Eatonville. H e h a d it o n his w a t c h chain for a c h a r m — g o i n ' r o u n d m a k i n g out iss gold m o n e y . H a ha! H e h a d a q u a r t e r on his tie pin a n d it w u z all g o l d e d u p t o o . Tryin' to fool p e o p l e . M a k i n ' out he s o rich a n d everything. H a ! H a ! Tryin' to tole off folkses wives from h o m e . " " H o w did you git it, J o e ? D i d he fool you, t o o ? " " W h o , m e ? N a w s u h ! H e ain't fooled m e n o n e . K n o w w h u t Ah d o n e ? H e c o m e r o u n d m e wid his s m a r t talk. Ah h a u l e d off a n d k n o c k e d 'im down a n d took his old four-bits way from 'im. G o i n t e r buy my wife s o m e good ole l a s s e s k i s s e s wid it. G i m m e fifty c e n t s worth of d e m c a n d y k i s s e s . " "Fifty c e n t s buys a mighty lot of c a n d y k i s s e s , J o e . W h y don't you split it u p a n d take s o m e c h o c o l a t e b a r s , too. T h e y eat g o o d , t o o . " " Y e s s u h , dey d o , b u t A h w a n t s all dat in k i s s e s . Ah got a lil boy chile h o m e now. Tain't a w e e k old yet, b u t h e kin s u c k a s u g a r tit a n d m a y b e e a t o n e t h e m kisses hisself." J o e got his c a n d y a n d left the s t o r e . T h e clerk t u r n e d to the next c u s t o m e r . " W i s h t I c o u l d be like t h e s e d a r k i e s . L a u g h i n ' all the t i m e . N o t h i n ' worries 'em." B a c k in Eatonville, J o e r e a c h e d his own front door. T h e r e w a s the ring of singing metal on w o o d . Fifteen t i m e s . M i s s i e M a y couldn't run to the door, but s h e crept there a s quickly a s s h e c o u l d . " J o e B a n k s , Ah hear you c h u n k i n ' m o n e y in m a h do'way. You wait till Ah got m a h strength b a c k a n d Ah'm gointer fix you for d a t . " 1933

5. A big shopping trip.

2109

EDNA

ST. VINCENT

MILLAY

1892-1950 Edna St. Vincent Millay's output ranged from Elizabethan sonnets through plays and sketches to political speeches. In the 1920s she became a kind of national symbol of the modern woman—liberated from Victorian mores, independent, self-supporting, full of energy and talent. She was raised in a small town on the coast of Maine by her divorced mother, who supported herself and three daughters through work as a practical nurse. The mother provided her children with books and music lessons and encouraged ambition and independence. Millay began to write poetry in high school and published her first book of poetry, Renascence and Other Poems, in 1917, when she was twenty-five. She went to Vassar College from 1913 to 1917 through the generosity of a benefactor impressed by her writing. At Vassar she studied languages, wrote songs and verse plays, and became interested in acting. After graduation she went to New York City, settling in the Greenwich Village section of the city and becoming associated with the unconventional life of the literary and political rebels who lived there. A member of the Provincetown Players group, she acted and also wrote two plays for them. The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver (1923, later retitled The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems) was awarded a Pulitzer Prize. Millay lived in Europe from 1921 to 1923 and, upon her return, married and moved with her businessman husband Eugene Boissevain to a farm in upstate New York. She participated in the protests against the executions of Sacco and Vanzetti in 1927 and during the 1930s wrote anti-Fascist newspaper verse, radio plays, and speeches. She was an advocate of early U.S. entrance into World War II. Although as a young woman Millay achieved notoriety mainly for love poetry that described free, guiltless sexuality, her poems are more founded in the failure of love than in the joy of sex. The tone of her earliest work was flippantly cynical; later work became more muted and lyrical. Her New England poems, about nature and the familiar, fit into a regional tradition. Working with closed stanza forms and regular metrical lines, she displayed a high degree of technical virtuosity within quite deliberately chosen limits. "I will put chaos into fourteen lines," she wrote in one sonnet, joining the traditionalists like Robert Frost in a devotion to poetry as permanence. The text of the poems included here is that of Collected Poems: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1956).

Recuerdo 1 W e were very tired, we were very m e r r y — W e h a d g o n e b a c k a n d forth all night on the ferry. It w a s b a r e a n d bright, a n d s m e l l e d like a s t a b l e — B u t we looked into a fire, w e l e a n e d a c r o s s a t a b l e , W e lay on a hill-top u n d e r n e a t h the m o o n ; A n d the whistles kept blowing, a n d the d a w n c a m e s o o n . W e were very tired, we were very m e r r y — W e h a d g o n e b a c k a n d forth all night on the ferry; And you ate a n a p p l e , a n d I a t e a p e a r , F r o m a dozen of e a c h we h a d b o u g h t s o m e w h e r e ; 1. Remembrance, souvenir.

5

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EDNA

ST.

VINCENT

MILLAY

A n d the sky went w a n , a n d the wind c a m e cold, A n d the s u n rose dripping, a bucketful of gold. W e were very tired, we were very merry, W e had g o n e b a c k a n d forth all night on the ferry. W e hailed, " G o o d morrow, m o t h e r ! " to a shawl-covered h e a d , And b o u g h t a m o r n i n g p a p e r , which neither of u s read; A n d s h e wept, " G o d bless y o u ! " for the a p p l e s a n d p e a r s , A n d we gave her all our m o n e y but our s u b w a y fares.

15

1922

I Think I Should Have Loved You Presently I think I s h o u l d have loved you presently, And given in e a r n e s t words I flung in j e s t ; A n d lifted h o n e s t eyes for you to s e e , A n d c a u g h t your h a n d a g a i n s t my c h e e k a n d b r e a s t ; A n d all my pretty follies flung a s i d e T h a t won you to m e , a n d b e n e a t h your g a z e , N a k e d of r e t i c e n c e a n d s h o r n of p r i d e , S p r e a d like a c h a r t my little wicked ways. I, that h a d b e e n to you, h a d you r e m a i n e d , B u t o n e m o r e w a k i n g from a recurrent d r e a m , C h e r i s h no less the certain s t a k e s I g a i n e d , And walk your m e m o r y ' s halls, a u s t e r e , s u p r e m e , A g h o s t in m a r b l e of a girl you knew W h o would have loved you in a day or two.

5

10

1922 •

Apostrophe to Man (On

reflecting

that

the world

is ready

to go to war

again)

D e t e s t a b l e r a c e , c o n t i n u e to e x p u n g e yourself, die out. B r e e d faster, crowd, e n c r o a c h , sing h y m n s , build b o m b i n g a i r p l a n e s ; M a k e s p e e c h e s , unveil s t a t u e s , i s s u e b o n d s , p a r a d e ; C o n v e r t again into explosives the bewildered a m m o n i a a n d the d i s t r a c t e d cellulose; C o n v e r t again into p u t r e s c e n t m a t t e r drawing flies 5 T h e hopeful bodies of the y o u n g ; exhort, Pray, pull long f a c e s , be e a r n e s t , b e all but o v e r c o m e , be p h o t o g r a p h e d ; C o n f e r , perfect your f o r m u l a e , c o m m e r c i a l i z e B a c t e r i a harmful to h u m a n t i s s u e , Put d e a t h on the m a r k e t ; in B r e e d , crowd, e n c r o a c h , e x p a n d , e x p u n g e yourself, die o u t , Homo

called

sapiens.

1934

I TOO BENEATH YOUR

MOON,

ALMIGHTY

SEX

/

2111

In the Grave No Flower' H e r e d o c k a n d tare. B u t there N o flower. H e r e beggar-ticks, 'tis t r u e ; H e r e the rank-smelling Thorn-apple,—and who W o u l d plant this by his dwelling? H e r e every m a n n e r of w e e d T o m o c k the faithful harrow: T h i s t l e s , that feed N o n e but the finches; yarrow, B l u e vervain, yellow charlock; here B i n d w e e d , that c h o k e s the struggling year; B r o a d plantain a n d narrow. B u t there no flower. T h e rye is vexed a n d thinned, T h e wheat c o m e s limping h o m e , By vetch a n d whiteweed harried, a n d the s a n d y b l o o m O f the s o u r - g r a s s ; here D a n d e l i o n s , — a n d the wind Will blow t h e m everywhere.

5

10

15

20

Save there. There N o flower. 1934

I Too beneath Your Moon, Almighty Sex I too b e n e a t h your m o o n , almighty Sex, G o forth at nightfall crying like a cat, L e a v i n g the lofty tower I l a b o u r e d at F o r birds to foul a n d boys a n d girls to vex With tittering chalk; a n d you, a n d the long n e c k s O f n e i g h b o u r s sitting where their m o t h e r s sat Are well a w a r e of s h a d o w y this a n d that In m e , that's neither noble nor c o m p l e x . S u c h a s I a m , however, I have b r o u g h t T o what it is, this tower; it is my own; T h o u g h it w a s reared T o B e a u t y , it w a s w r o u g h t

5

10

1. This poem is the second of a pair of elegies to Millay's mother. The flowers named in the poem are those of common weeds.

2112

/

E.

E.

CUMMINGS

F r o m what I h a d to build with: h o n e s t b o n e Is there, a n d a n g u i s h ; p r i d e ; a n d b u r n i n g t h o u g h t ; A n d lust is there, a n d nights not s p e n t a l o n e . 1939

I Forgot for a Moment July

1940

I forgot for a m o m e n t F r a n c e ; I forgot E n g l a n d ; I forgot my c a r e : I lived for a m o m e n t in a world w h e r e I w a s free to be With the things a n d p e o p l e that I love, a n d I w a s happy t h e r e . I forgot for a m o m e n t H o l l a n d , I forgot my heavy c a r e . I lived for a m o m e n t in a world s o lovely, s o inept At twisted w o r d s a n d c r o o k e d d e e d s , it w a s a s if I slept a n d d r e a m t .

5

It s e e m e d that all w a s well with H o l l a n d — n o t a t a n k h a d c r u s h e d T h e tulips t h e r e . M i l e after mile the level lowlands b l o s s o m e d — y e l l o w s q u a r e , white s q u a r e , S c a r l e t strip a n d m a u v e strip bright b e n e a t h the brightly c l o u d e d sky, the r o u n d c l o u d s a n d the g e n t l e air. io A l o n g the straight c a n a l s b e t w e e n striped fields of tulips in the m o r n i n g sailed B r o a d s h i p s , their hulls by tulip-beds c o n c e a l e d , only the sails s h o w i n g . It s e e m e d that all w a s well with E n g l a n d — t h e h a r s h foreign voice hysterically vowing, O n c e m o r e , to k e e p its word, at length w a s disbelieved, a n d h u s h e d . It s e e m e d that all w a s well with F r a n c e , with her straight r o a d s 15 L i n e d with slender p o p l a r s , a n d the p e a s a n t s on the skyline p l o u g h i n g . 1940

E. E.

CUMMINGS

1894-1962 Beginning in the 1920s and 1930s, Edward Estlin Cummings built a reputation as author of a particularly agreeable kind of modernist poetry, distinguished by clever formal innovation, a tender lyricism, and the thematic celebration of individuals against mass society. These qualities were evident in his first literary success, a zesty prose account of his experience in a French prison camp during World War I, The Enormous Room (1922). He and a friend had joined the ambulance corps in France the day after the United States entered the war; their disdain for the bureaucracy, expressed in outspoken letters home, aroused antagonism among French officials and

IN J U S T -

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2113

they were imprisoned. To be made a prisoner by one's own side struck Cummings as outrageous and yet funny; from the experience he produced an ironic, earthy celebration of the ordinary soldier and an attack on bureaucracy. His poetry continued the attack on depersonalized, commercial, exploitative mass culture and celebrated loners, lovers, and nonconformists. He was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His father was a Congregationalist minister and teacher at Harvard; the family was close-knit and Cummings, a muchloved son. While a student at Harvard (he graduated in 1915 and took an M.A. in 1916) he began to write poetry based on the intricate stanza patterns of the preRaphaelite and Metaphysical writers he was reading in English literature classes. When he began to innovate—as he did after discovering the poetry of Ezra Pound—he was able to build (like Pound himself) from a firm apprenticeship in traditional techniques. After the war, Cummings established a life that included a studio in Greenwich Village, travel and sojourns in France, and summers at the family home in New Hampshire. He was a painter as well as a poet; simple living and careful management of a small allowance from his mother, along with prizes, royalties, and commissions, enabled him to work full time as an artist. He published four volumes of well-received poetry in the 1920s and a book of collected poems toward the end of the 1930s. In the 1950s he visited and read at many college campuses, where students enjoyed his tricks of verse and vocabulary and appreciated his tender yet earthy poetry. He received a special citation by the National Book Award committee in 1955 and the Bollingen Prize in 1957. Cummings was less ambitious in his attempts to reshape poetry than Stein, Eliot, Pound, Stevens, or Williams, partly because he was much more concerned to be widely accessible. Cummings s verse is characterized by common speech and attention to the visual form of the poem—that is, the poem as it appears on the page as distinguished from its sound when read aloud. Experiments with capitalization or lack of it, punctuation, line breaks, hyphenation, and verse shapes were all carried out for the reader's eyes rather than ears. To express his sense that life was always in process, he wrote untitled poems without beginnings and endings, consisting of fragmentary lines. There is always humor in his poetry, and his outrage at cruelty and exploitation is balanced with gusto and celebration of the body. The text of the poems included here is that of Complete Poems (1991).

in Justin J u s t spring w h e n tthe world is m u d l u s c i o u s the little lame balloonman whistles

far

a n d wee

5

a n d eddieandbill c o m e r u n n i n g from m a r b l e s a n d piracies a n d it's spring w h e n the world is puddle-wonderful the q u e e r old b a l l o o n m a n whistles

to

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E.

E.

CUMMINGS

far and wee a n d bettyandisbel c o m e d a n c i n g from h o p - s c o t c h a n d j u m p - r o p e a n d it's spring and the goat-footed balloonMan far and wee

is

20

whistles

1920, 1923

O sweet spontaneous O sweet s p o n t a n e o u s earth how often have the doting fingers of prurient p h i l o s o p h e r s p i n c h e d and poked thee ,has the n a u g h t y t h u m b of s c i e n c e p r o d d e d thy

beauty .how often have religions taken thee u p o n their scraggy k n e e s squeezing and buffeting thee that thou m i g h t e s t c o n c e i v e gods (but true to the i n c o m p a r a b l e c o u c h of d e a t h thy rhythmic lover

s

10

is

20

"NEXT TO OF C O U R S E

GOD AMERICA

I

thou a n s w e r e s t

/

2115

2s

t h e m only with spring) 1920, 1923

Buffalo Bill s Buffalo Bill V defunct w h o u s e d to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion a n d b r e a k onetwothreefourfive p i g e o n s j u s t l i k e t h a t Jesus

s

he was a handsome man a n d what i want to know is how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death

10

1920,1923

"next to of course god america i "next to of c o u r s e g o d a m e r i c a i love you land of the pilgrims' a n d so forth oh say c a n you s e e by the dawn's early my country 'tis of c e n t u r i e s c o m e a n d g o and are no m o r e what of it we s h o u l d worry in every l a n g u a g e even d e a f a n d d u m b thy s o n s a c c l a i m your glorious n a m e by gorry by j i n g o by g e e by g o s h by g u m why talk of b e a u t y what c o u l d be m o r e b e a u t iful than t h e s e heroic h a p p y d e a d who r u s h e d like lions to the roaring s l a u g h t e r they did not stop to think they died i n s t e a d then shall the voice of liberty be m u t e ? " He spoke.

And d r a n k rapidly a glass of water 1926

William F. Cody ( 1 8 4 6 - 1 9 1 7 ) , American scout and Wild West showman.

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CUMMINGS

i sing of Olaf glad and big i sing of O l a f glad a n d big w h o s e w a r m e s t heart recoiled at war: a c o n s c i e n t i o u s object-or his wellbeloved co!onel(trig w e s t p o i n t e r 1 m o s t succinctly b r e d ) took erring O l a f s o o n in h a n d ; b u t — t h o u g h a n host of overjoyed n o n c o m s ( f i r s t k n o c k i n g o n the h e a d h i m ) d o t h r o u g h icy w a t e r s roll that h e l p l e s s n e s s which others stroke with b r u s h e s recently e m p l o y e d a n e n t this m u d d y toiletbowl, while kindred intellects evoke a l l e g i a n c e per blunt i n s t r u m e n t s — 0 1 a f ( b e i n g to all intents a c o r p s e a n d w a n t i n g any rag u p o n what G o d u n t o him g a v e ) r e s p o n d s , without getting a n n o y e d "I will not kiss your fucking flag" straightway the silver bird looked grave (departing hurriedly to shave) b u t — t h o u g h all kinds of officers (a y e a r n i n g nation's blueeyed pride) their p a s s i v e prey did kick a n d c u r s e until for wear their clarion voices a n d b o o t s were m u c h the w o r s e , a n d e g g e d the firstclassprivates on his r e c t u m wickedly to t e a s e by m e a n s of skilfully a p p l i e d b a y o n e t s r o a s t e d hot with h e a t — 0 1 a f ( u p o n what were o n c e k n e e s ) does almost ceaselessly repeat "there is s o m e shit I will not e a t " our p r e s i d e n t , b e i n g of which a s s e r t i o n s duly notified threw the yellowsonofabitch into a d u n g e o n , w h e r e h e died C h r i s t ( o f His m e r c y infinite) i pray to s e e ; a n d Olaf, t o o

1. G r a d u a t e of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, New York.

5

10

15

20

25

30

ANYONE

L I V E D IN A P R E T T Y H O W T O W N

preponderatingly because u n l e s s statistics lie he w a s m o r e brave than m e : m o r e blond than y o u .

/

2117

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1931

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond s o m e w h e r e i have never travelled,gladly b e y o n d any e x p e r i e n c e y o u r eyes have their s i l e n c e : in your m o s t frail g e s t u r e are things which e n c l o s e m e , or which i c a n n o t t o u c h b e c a u s e they are too n e a r your slightest look easily will u n c l o s e m e t h o u g h i have c l o s e d myself a s fingers, you o p e n always petal by petal myself a s S p r i n g o p e n s ( t o u c h i n g skilfully, mysteriously)her first r o s e or if your wish be to close me,i a n d my life will s h u t very beautifully,suddenly, a s w h e n the heart of this flower i m a g i n e s the s n o w carefully everywhere d e s c e n d i n g ; n o t h i n g which we are to perceive in this world e q u a l s the p o w e r of your i n t e n s e fragiIity:whose texture c o m p e l s m e with the c o l o u r of its c o u n t r i e s , r e n d e r i n g d e a t h a n d forever with e a c h b r e a t h i n g (i do not know w h a t it is a b o u t you that c l o s e s a n d o p e n s ; o n l y s o m e t h i n g in m e u n d e r s t a n d s the voice of your eyes is d e e p e r t h a n all r o s e s ) nobody,not even the rain,has s u c h s m a l l h a n d s

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anyone lived in a pretty how town a n y o n e lived in a pretty how town (with u p so floating m a n y bells d o w n ) s p r i n g s u m m e r a u t u m n winter he s a n g his didn't he d a n c e d his did. W o m e n a n d m e n ( b o t h little a n d s m a l l ) c a r e d for a n y o n e not at all they s o w e d their isn't they r e a p e d their s a m e s u n m o o n stars rain children g u e s s e d ( b u t only a few a n d d o w n they forgot a s u p they grew

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a u t u m n winter spring s u m m e r ) that n o o n e loved him m o r e by m o r e w h e n by n o w a n d tree by leaf s h e l a u g h e d his j o y s h e cried his grief bird by s n o w a n d stir by still anyone's any w a s all to her s o m e o n e s m a r r i e d their everyones l a u g h e d their cryings a n d did their d a n c e (sleep w a k e h o p e a n d t h e n ) t h e y said their nevers they slept their d r e a m stars (and how with

rain s u n m o o n only the s n o w c a n begin to explain children are a p t to forget to r e m e m b e r u p so floating m a n y bells d o w n )

o n e day a n y o n e d i e d i g u e s s ( a n d n o o n e s t o o p e d to kiss his f a c e ) b u s y folk b u r i e d t h e m side by s i d e little by little a n d w a s by w a s all by all a n d d e e p by d e e p a n d m o r e by m o r e they d r e a m their s l e e p n o o n e a n d a n y o n e e a r t h by april wish by spirit a n d if by y e s . W o m e n a n d m e n ( b o t h d o n g a n d ding) s u m m e r a u t u m n winter s p r i n g r e a p e d their s o w i n g a n d went their c a m e s u n m o o n stars rain

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my father moved through dooms of love my father m o v e d t h r o u g h d o o m s of love t h r o u g h s a m e s of a m t h r o u g h haves of give, singing e a c h m o r n i n g o u t of e a c h night my father m o v e d t h r o u g h d e p t h s of height this m o t i o n l e s s forgetful w h e r e turned at his g l a n c e to s h i n i n g h e r e ; that if(so timid air is firm) u n d e r his eyes w o u l d stir a n d s q u i r m newly a s from u n b u r i e d w h i c h floats the first who,his april t o u c h drove s l e e p i n g selves to s w a r m their f a t e s w o k e d r e a m e r s to their ghostly roots

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a n d s h o u l d s o m e why completely w e e p my father's fingers b r o u g h t her s l e e p : vainly no s m a l l e s t voice might cry for h e c o u l d feel the m o u n t a i n s grow. Lifting the valleys of the s e a my father m o v e d through griefs of joy; praising a f o r e h e a d called the m o o n singing d e s i r e into begin

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joy w a s his s o n g a n d joy s o p u r e a heart of star by him c o u l d steer a n d p u r e so now a n d now s o yes the wrists of twilight would rejoice keen as m i d s u m m e r ' s keen beyond c o n c e i v i n g m i n d of s u n will s t a n d , s o strictly(over u t m o s t him s o hugely)stood my father's d r e a m his flesh w a s flesh his b l o o d w a s b l o o d : n o hungry m a n but wished him f o o d ; n o cripple wouldn't c r e e p o n e mile uphill to only s e e him s m i l e . S c o r n i n g the p o m p of m u s t a n d shall my father m o v e d through d o o m s of feel; his a n g e r w a s a s right a s rain his pity w a s a s green a s grain s e p t e m b e r i n g a r m s of year extend less h u m b l y wealth to foe a n d friend t h a n h e to foolish a n d to w i s e offered i m m e a s u r a b l e is

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proudly a n d ( b y o c t o b e r i n g flame b e c k o n e d ) a s earth will d o w n w a r d c l i m b , s o n a k e d for i m m o r t a l work his s h o u l d e r s m a r c h e d a g a i n s t the dark his sorrow w a s a s true a s b r e a d : n o liar looked h i m in the h e a d ; if every friend b e c a m e his foe he'd l a u g h a n d build a world with snow. M y fath er m o v e d t h r o u g h theys of w e , s i n g i n g e a c h new leaf o u t of e a c h tree (and every child w a s s u r e that spring d a n c e d w h e n s h e h e a r d my father sing) then let m e n kill which c a n n o t s h a r e , let b l o o d a n d flesh b e m u d a n d m i r e ,

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s c h e m i n g i m a g i n e , p a s s i o n willed, f r e e d o m a d r u g that's b o u g h t a n d sold giving to steal a n d cruel kind, a heart to fear,to d o u b t a m i n d , to differ a d i s e a s e of s a m e , c o n f o r m the p i n n a c l e of a m

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t h o u g h dull were all we t a s t e as bright, bitter all utterly things sweet, maggoty minus and d u m b death all we inherit,all b e q u e a t h a n d n o t h i n g quite so least a s truth — i say t h o u g h h a t e w e r e why m e n b r e a t h e — b e c a u s e my father lived his soul love is the whole a n d m o r e t h a n all

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1894-1967 Jean Toomer's Cane, the author's one contribution to Harlem Renaissance literature, received immediate acclaim when it appeared in 1923. Unlike African American artists who felt they had to choose either to publicize the nobility of rural black people or to represent a sophisticated black artistic sensibility, Toomer reconciled the two, describing rural people through the analytic filter of a modern, urban literary style. Born in Washington, D.C., Toomer never knew his father. He grew up with his grandfather, who had been an important Louisiana politician during the Reconstruction era, and his mother. After high school graduation he attended several colleges— the University of Wisconsin, the Massachusetts College of Agriculture, the American College of Physical Training in Chicago, the University of Chicago, and the City College of New York—without completing a degree. He held numerous short-term jobs in various parts of the country, including four months in 1921 as superintendent of a small black school in Sparta, Georgia. This, his only sustained encounter with a rural population, formed the basis of Cane. He began writing when he was in his middle twenties, publishing poems and stories in several avant-garde little magazines, among them Broom, the Little Review, and Prairie. He also published in such African American publications as the Liberator, Crisis, and Opportunity. Although Cane is a long work, it is composed as an assemblage of short stories, sketches, poems, even a play. These are combined in a threepart structure held together, like many modernist narratives, by the narrator's quest for wholeness. Cane asks whether an alienated, sophisticated, contemporary African American can find himself by connecting to a black folk heritage that he has never known. The circumstances are specifically African American, but the theme of returning to, or finding, or even inventing, one's roots is typical of much modernist art. Part I of Cane, set in rural Georgia, depicts the difficult lives of rural blacks while

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celebrating their strength and integrity. Part II shows black urban life in Washington, D.C., and Chicago as it has been corrupted by white materialism. The autobiographical third part describes an African American intellectual teaching in the South, trying to put down roots in an unfamiliar setting that is nevertheless supposed to be "his." The work is distinguished by its poetic, imagistic, evocative prose, its linguistic innovativeness, and its method of construction. All these aspects of Cane showToomer's awareness of contemporary literary movements and register his ambition to be both a Harlem Renaissance author and a literary modernist. Toomer spent much of the last forty years of his life looking for a spiritual community; he had difficulty finding publishers for the writing he produced during these decades. For a while he was a disciple of the Russian mystic George I. Gurdjieff. In the late 1940s he became a committed Quaker. At his death he left many unpublished short stories, as well as novels, plays, and an autobiography. The text is that of the first edition (1923) as corrected in 1973.

From Georgia

Cane1 Dusk

T h e sky, lazily d i s d a i n i n g to p u r s u e T h e setting s u n , too indolent to hold A l e n g t h e n e d t o u r n a m e n t for flashing gold, Passively d a r k e n s for night's b a r b e c u e , A feast of m o o n a n d m e n a n d barking h o u n d s , A n orgy for s o m e g e n i u s of the S o u t h With blood-hot eyes a n d c a n e - l i p p e d s c e n t e d m o u t h , S u r p r i s e d in m a k i n g folk-songs from soul s o u n d s . T h e sawmill blows its whistle, buzz-saws s t o p , A n d s i l e n c e b r e a k s the b u d of knoll a n d hill, Soft settling pollen w h e r e plowed l a n d s fulfill T h e i r early p r o m i s e of a b u m p e r c r o p . S m o k e from the pyramidal s a w d u s t pile C u r l s u p , b l u e g h o s t s of t r e e s , tarrying low W h e r e only c h i p s a n d s t u m p s are left to s h o w T h e solid p r o o f of former d o m i c i l e . M e a n w h i l e , the m e n , with vestiges of p o m p , R a c e m e m o r i e s of king a n d c a r a v a n , H i g h - p r i e s t s , a n ostrich, a n d a j u j u - m a n , 2 G o s i n g i n g through the f o o t p a t h s of the s w a m p .

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T h e i r voices rise . . the pine trees a r e g u i t a r s , S t r u m m i n g , p i n e - n e e d l e s fall like s h e e t s of rain . . T h e i r voices rise . . the c h o r u s of the c a n e Is c a r o l i n g a vesper to the stars . . 1. Of the book's three sections, the first and the last are Georgia scenes. " F e r n " appears in the first section, preceded immediately by the poem "Georgia Dusk." The poem "Portrait in Georgia" appears in the first section immediately preceding a story of the lynching of a black woman's black lover by

her white lover and his white cohorts. "Seventh Street" is the first sketch in the center section devoted to Washington, D.C. and Chicago. 2. West African tribesman who controls the magical fetish or charm, or "juju."

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O s i n g e r s , r e s i n o u s a n d soft your s o n g s A b o v e the s a c r e d whisper of the p i n e s , G i v e virgin lips to cornfield c o n c u b i n e s , Bring d r e a m s of C h r i s t to dusky c a n e - l i p p e d t h r o n g s .

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Fern F a c e flowed into her eyes. F l o w e d in soft c r e a m f o a m a n d plaintive ripples, in s u c h a way that wherever your g l a n c e may m o m e n t a r i l y have rested, it immediately thereafter wavered in the direction of her eyes. T h e soft suggestion of d o w n slightly d a r k e n e d , like the s h a d o w of a bird's w i n g might, the c r e a m y brown color of her u p p e r lip. Why, after n o t i c i n g it, you s o u g h t her e y e s , I c a n n o t tell y o u . H e r n o s e w a s a q u i l i n e , S e m i t i c . If you have h e a r d a J e w i s h c a n t o r 3 sing, if h e h a s t o u c h e d you a n d m a d e your own sorrow s e e m trivial w h e n c o m p a r e d with his, you will know my feeling w h e n I follow the curves of her profile, like m o b i l e rivers, to their c o m m o n delta. T h e y were s t r a n g e eyes. In this, that they s o u g h t n o t h i n g — t h a t is, n o t h i n g that w a s obvious a n d tangible a n d that o n e c o u l d s e e , a n d they gave the i m p r e s s i o n that n o t h i n g w a s to be d e n i e d . W h e n a w o m a n s e e k s , you will have o b s e r v e d , her eyes deny. Fern's eyes desired n o t h i n g that you c o u l d give her; there w a s no r e a s o n why they s h o u l d withhold. M e n s a w her eyes a n d fooled t h e m selves. Fern's eyes said to t h e m that s h e w a s easy. W h e n s h e w a s y o u n g , a few m e n took her, but got n o joy from it. A n d t h e n , o n c e d o n e , they felt b o u n d to her (quite unlike their hit a n d run with other girls), felt a s t h o u g h it would take t h e m a lifetime to fulfill a n obligation w h i c h they c o u l d find no n a m e for. T h e y b e c a m e a t t a c h e d to her, a n d h u n g e r e d after finding the barest trace of w h a t s h e might d e s i r e . As s h e grew u p , n e w m e n w h o c a m e to town felt a s a l m o s t everyone did w h o ever s a w her: that they w o u l d not be d e n i e d . M e n were everlastingly bringing her their b o d i e s . S o m e t h i n g inside of her got tired of t h e m , I g u e s s , for I a m certain that for the life of her she c o u l d not tell why or h o w s h e b e g a n to turn t h e m off. A m a n in fever is no trifling thing to s e n d away. T h e y b e g a n to leave her, baffled a n d a s h a m e d , yet vowing to t h e m s e l v e s that s o m e day they would do s o m e fine thing for her: s e n d her c a n d y every w e e k a n d not let her know w h o m it c a m e from, w a t c h o u t for her wedding-day a n d give her a magnificent s o m e t h i n g with n o n a m e on it, buy a h o u s e a n d d e e d it to her, r e s c u e her from s o m e unworthy fellow w h o h a d tricked her into marrying h i m . As you know, m e n are apt to idolize or fear that w h i c h they c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d , e s p e c i a l l y if it be a w o m a n . S h e did not deny t h e m , yet the fact w a s that they were d e n i e d . A sort of superstition c r e p t into their c o n s c i o u s n e s s of her b e i n g s o m e h o w a b o v e t h e m . B e i n g a b o v e t h e m m e a n t that s h e w a s not to b e a p p r o a c h e d by a n y o n e . S h e b e c a m e a virgin. N o w a virgin in a small s o u t h e r n town is by no m e a n s the u s u a l thing, if you will believe m e . T h a t the s e x e s w e r e m a d e to m a t e is the p r a c t i c e of the S o u t h . Particularly, b l a c k folks w e r e m a d e to m a t e . A n d it is b l a c k folks w h o m I have b e e n talking a b o u t t h u s far. W h a t white m e n t h o u g h t of F e r n I c a n arrive at only by analogy. T h e y let her a l o n e . A n y o n e , of c o u r s e , c o u l d s e e her, c o u l d s e e her eyes. If y o u w a l k e d u p the Dixie Pike m o s t any time of day, you'd b e m o s t like to s e e her resting listless3. Singer in religious services.

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like on the railing of her p o r c h , b a c k p r o p p e d a g a i n s t a p o s t , h e a d tilted a little forward b e c a u s e there w a s a nail in the p o r c h post j u s t w h e r e her h e a d c a m e which for s o m e r e a s o n or other s h e never took the t r o u b l e to pull out. H e r eyes, if it were s u n s e t , rested idly where the s u n , m o l t e n a n d glorious, w a s p o u r i n g d o w n b e t w e e n the fringe of p i n e s . O r m a y b e they g a z e d at the gray c a b i n on the knoll from which a n e v e n i n g folk-song w a s c o m i n g . Perh a p s they followed a cow that h a d b e e n turned loose to r o a m a n d feed on cotton-stalks a n d corn leaves. Like a s not they'd settle on s o m e v a g u e s p o t above the horizon, t h o u g h hardly a trace of wistfulness w o u l d c o m e to t h e m . If it were d u s k , then they'd wait for the search-light of the e v e n i n g train which you c o u l d s e e miles u p the track before it flared a c r o s s the Dixie Pike, c l o s e to her h o m e . W h e r e v e r they looked, you'd follow t h e m a n d then waver b a c k . L i k e her f a c e , the whole c o u n t r y s i d e s e e m e d to flow into her eyes. F l o w e d into t h e m with the soft listless c a d e n c e of G e o r g i a ' s S o u t h . A y o u n g N e g r o , o n c e , w a s looking at her, s p e l l b o u n d , from the road. A white m a n p a s s i n g in a buggy h a d to flick him with his whip if h e w a s to get by without r u n n i n g him over. I first s a w her on her p o r c h . I w a s p a s s i n g with a fellow w h o s e crusty n u m b n e s s (I w a s from the N o r t h a n d s u s p e c t e d of b e i n g p r e j u d i c e d a n d s t u c k - u p ) w a s melting a s he f o u n d m e w a r m . I a s k e d him w h o s h e w a s . " T h a t ' s F e r n , " w a s all that I c o u l d get from him. S o m e folks already t h o u g h t that I w a s given to n o s i n g a r o u n d ; I let it go at that, so far a s q u e s t i o n s were c o n c e r n e d . B u t at first sight of her I felt a s if I h e a r d a J e w i s h c a n t o r sing. As if his singing rose a b o v e the u n h e a r d c h o r u s of a folk-song. A n d I felt b o u n d to her. I too h a d my d r e a m s : s o m e t h i n g I w o u l d do for her. I have k n o c k e d a b o u t from town to town too m u c h not to know the futility of m e r e c h a n g e of p l a c e . B e s i d e s , picture if you c a n , this c r e a m c o l o r e d solitary girl sitting at a t e n e m e n t window looking d o w n on the indifferent throngs of H a r l e m . Better that s h e listen to folk-songs at d u s k in G e o r g i a , you would say, a n d s o would I. Or, s u p p o s e s h e c a m e u p N o r t h a n d married. Even a d o c t o r or a lawyer, say, o n e w h o w o u l d b e s u r e to get a l o n g — t h a t is, m a k e m o n e y . You a n d I know, who have h a d e x p e r i e n c e in s u c h things, that love is not a thing like p r e j u d i c e which c a n b e bettered by c h a n g e s of town. C o u l d m e n in W a s h i n g t o n , C h i c a g o , or N e w York, m o r e than the m e n of G e o r g i a , bring her s o m e t h i n g left v a c a n t by the b e s t o w a l of their b o d i e s ? You a n d I who know m e n in t h e s e cities will have to say, they could not. S e e her out a n d o u t a prostitute a l o n g S t a t e S t r e e t in C h i c a g o . S e e her m o v e into a s o u t h e r n town w h e r e white m e n a r e m o r e a g g r e s s i v e . S e e her b e c o m e a white m a n ' s c o n c u b i n e . . . S o m e t h i n g I m u s t do for her. T h e r e w a s myself. W h a t c o u l d I do for her? Talk, of c o u r s e . P u s h b a c k the fringe of p i n e s u p o n new horizons. T o what p u r p o s e ? a n d what for? H e r ? M y s e l f ? M e n in her c a s e s e e m to lose their s e l f i s h n e s s . I lost m i n e before I t o u c h e d her. I a s k you, friend (it m a k e s no difference if you sit in the Pullm a n or the J i m C r o w 4 a s the train c r o s s e s her r o a d ) , what t h o u g h t s would c o m e to y o u — t h a t is, after you'd finished with the t h o u g h t s that leap into m e n ' s m i n d s at the sight of a pretty w o m a n w h o will not deny t h e m ; what t h o u g h t s would c o m e to you, h a d you s e e n her in a q u i c k flash, keen a n d intuitively, as she sat there on her p o r c h w h e n your train t h u n d e r e d by? W o u l d you have got off at the next station a n d c o m e b a c k for her to take her

4. In the segregated South, black persons were required to sit in the "Jim C r o w " section of railway cars and were not allowed as passengers in the first-class " P u l l m a n " lounges, or sleeping cars.

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w h e r e ? W o u l d you have c o m p l e t e l y forgotten her a s s o o n a s you r e a c h e d M a c o n , Atlanta, A u g u s t a , P a s a d e n a , M a d i s o n , C h i c a g o , B o s t o n , or N e w O r l e a n s ? W o u l d you tell your wife or s w e e t h e a r t a b o u t a girl you s a w ? Y o u r t h o u g h t s c a n help m e , a n d I would like to know. S o m e t h i n g I w o u l d d o for her . . . O n e e v e n i n g I walked u p the Pike on p u r p o s e , a n d s t o p p e d to say hello. S o m e of her family were a b o u t , b u t they m o v e d away to m a k e r o o m for m e . D a m n if I knew how to begin. W o u l d y o u ? Mr. a n d M i s s S o - a n d - S o , p e o p l e , the weather, the c r o p s , the new p r e a c h e r , the frolic, the c h u r c h benefit, rabbit a n d p o s s u m h u n t i n g , the n e w soft drink they h a d at old Pap's s t o r e , the s c h e d u l e of the trains, w h a t kind of town M a c o n w a s , N e g r o ' s migration north, bollweevils, s y r u p , the B i b l e — t o all t h e s e things s h e gave a y a s s u r or n a s s u r , without further c o m m e n t . I b e g a n to w o n d e r if p e r h a p s my own e m o t i o n a l sensibility h a d played o n e of its tricks o n m e . " L e t s take a w a l k , " I at last v e n t u r e d . T h e s u g g e s t i o n , c o m i n g after s o long a n isolation, w a s novel e n o u g h , I g u e s s , to s u r p r i s e . B u t it w a s n t that. S o m e t h i n g told m e that m e n before m e h a d s a i d j u s t that a s a p r e l u d e to the offering of their b o d i e s . I tried to tell her with my eyes. I think s h e u n d e r s t o o d . T h e thing from her that m a d e my throat c a t c h , v a n i s h e d . Its p a s s i n g left her visible in a way I'd t h o u g h t , but never s e e n . W e walked d o w n the Pike with p e o p l e on all the p o r c h e s g a p i n g at u s . " D o e s n t it m a k e you m a d ? " S h e m e a n t the row of petty g o s s i p i n g p e o p l e . S h e m e a n t the world. T h r o u g h a c a n e b r a k e that w a s ripe for c u t t i n g , the b r a n c h w a s r e a c h e d . U n d e r a s w e e t - g u m tree, a n d w h e r e reddish leaves h a d d a m m e d the c r e e k a little, we sat d o w n . D u s k , s u g g e s t i n g the a l m o s t i m p e r c e p t i b l e p r o c e s s i o n of giant t r e e s , settled with a p u r p l e haze a b o u t the c a n e . I felt s t r a n g e , a s I always do in G e o r g i a , particularly at d u s k . I felt that things u n s e e n to m e n were tangibly i m m e d i a t e . It would not have s u r p r i s e d m e h a d I h a d vision. P e o p l e have t h e m in G e o r g i a m o r e often than you would s u p p o s e . A b l a c k w o m a n o n c e saw the m o t h e r of C h r i s t a n d drew her in c h a r c o a l on the c o u r t h o u s e wall . . . W h e n o n e is o n the soil of one's a n c e s t o r s , m o s t anything c a n c o m e to o n e . . . F r o m force of habit, I s u p p o s e , I held F e r n in my a r m s — t h a t is, without at first n o t i c i n g it. T h e n my m i n d c a m e b a c k to her. H e r e y e s , u n u s u a l l y weird a n d o p e n , held m e . H e l d G o d . H e flowed in a s I've s e e n the c o u n t r y s i d e flow in. S e e n m e n . I m u s t have d o n e s o m e t h i n g — w h a t , I don't know, in the c o n f u s i o n of my e m o t i o n . S h e s p r a n g u p . R u s h e d s o m e d i s t a n c e from m e . Fell to her k n e e s , a n d b e g a n swaying, swaying. H e r body w a s tortured with s o m e t h i n g it c o u l d not let out. L i k e boiling s a p it flooded a r m s a n d fingers till s h e s h o o k t h e m a s if they b u r n e d her. It f o u n d her throat, a n d s p a t t e r e d inarticulately in plaintive, convulsive s o u n d s , mingled with calls to C h r i s t J e s u s . A n d then s h e s a n g , brokenly. A J e w i s h c a n t o r singing with a broken voice. A child's v o i c e , uncertain, or a n old m a n ' s . D u s k hid her; I c o u l d h e a r only her s o n g . It s e e m e d to m e as t h o u g h s h e were p o u n d i n g her h e a d in a n g u i s h u p o n the g r o u n d . I r u s h e d at her. S h e fainted in my a r m s . T h e r e w a s talk a b o u t her fainting with m e in the canefield. A n d I got o n e or two ugly looks from town m e n who'd set t h e m s e l v e s up to p r o t e c t her. In fact, there w a s talk of m a k i n g m e leave town. B u t they never did. T h e y kept a watch-out for m e , t h o u g h . Shortly after, I c a m e b a c k N o r t h . F r o m the train

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window I saw her a s I c r o s s e d her road. S a w her on her p o r c h , h e a d tilted a little forward w h e r e the nail w a s , eyes vaguely f o c u s e d on the s u n s e t . S a w her f a c e flow into t h e m , the c o u n t r y s i d e a n d s o m e t h i n g that I call G o d , flowing into t h e m . . . N o t h i n g ever really h a p p e n e d . N o t h i n g ever c a m e to F e r n , not even I. S o m e t h i n g I would do for her. S o m e fine u n n a m e d thing . . . A n d , friend, you? S h e is still living, I have r e a s o n to know. H e r n a m e , a g a i n s t the c h a n c e that you might h a p p e n d o w n that way, is F e r n i e M a y Rosen. *

*

Portrait in

* Georgia

Hair—braided chestnut, coiled like a lyncher's r o p e , Eyes—fagots, L i p s — o l d s c a r s , or the first red blisters, B r e a t h — t h e last s w e e t s c e n t of c a n e , A n d her slim body, white a s the a s h of black flesh after flame.

Seventh

5

Street

M o n e y b u r n s the p o c k e t , p o c k e t h u r t s , B o o t l e g g e r s in silken shirts, Ballooned, zooming Cadillacs, Whizzing, whizzing d o w n the street-car t r a c k s . S e v e n t h Street is a b a s t a r d of Prohibition a n d the W a r . 5 A c r u d e - b o n e d , softskinned w e d g e of nigger life b r e a t h i n g its loafer air, jazz s o n g s a n d love, thrusting u n c o n s c i o u s r h y t h m s , black r e d d i s h b l o o d into the white a n d w h i t e w a s h e d w o o d of W a s h i n g t o n . S t a l e soggy w o o d of W a s h i n g t o n . W e d g e s rust in soggy w o o d . . . Split it! In two! Again! S h r e d it! . . the s u n . W e d g e s are brilliant in the s u n ; r i b b o n s of wet wood dry a n d blow away. B l a c k reddish blood. P o u r i n g for c r u d e - b o n e d soft-skinned life, w h o set you flowing? B l o o d s u c k e r s of the W a r would spin in a frenzy of dizziness if they d r a n k your blood. Prohibition would p u t a s t o p to it. W h o set you flowing? W h i t e a n d whitewash d i s a p p e a r in blood. W h o set you flowing? F l o w i n g d o w n the s m o o t h a s p h a l t of S e v e n t h S t r e e t , in s h a n t i e s , brick office b u i l d i n g s , theaters, d r u g s t o r e s , r e s t a u r a n t s , a n d c a b a r e t s ? E d d y i n g o n the c o r n e r s ? Swirling like a blood-red s m o k e u p where the buzzards fly in h e a v e n ? G o d would not d a r e to s u c k black red blood. A N i g g e r G o d ! H e would d u c k his h e a d in s h a m e a n d call for the J u d g m e n t Day. W h o set you flowing? M o n e y b u r n s the p o c k e t , p o c k e t h u r t s , B o o t l e g g e r s in silken shirts, Ballooned, zooming Cadillacs, Whizzing, whizzing d o w n the street-car tracks. 1923

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F. S C O T T F I T Z G E R A L D 1896-1940 -

In the 1920s and 1930s F. Scott Fitzgerald was equally famous as a writer and as a celebrity author whose lifestyle seemed to symbolize the two decades; in the 1920s he stood for all-night partying, drinking, and the pursuit of pleasure while in the 1930s he stood for the gloomy aftermath of excess. "Babylon Revisited," written immediately after the crash, is simultaneously a personal and a national story. Fitzgerald was born in a middle-class neighborhood in St. Paul, Minnesota, descended on his father's side from southern colonial landowners and legislators, on his mother's from Irish immigrants. Much of his boyhood was spent in Buffalo and Syracuse, New York. The family was not prosperous and it took an aunt's support to send him to a Catholic boarding school in New Jersey in 1911. Two years later he entered Princeton University, where he participated in extracurricular literary and dramatic activities, forming friendships with campus intellectuals like the prominent critic Edmund Wilson who were to help him in later years. But he failed to make the football team and felt the disappointment for years. After three years of college Fitzgerald quit to join the army, but the war ended before he saw active service. Stationed in Montgomery, Alabama, he met and courted Zelda Sayre, a local belle who rejected him. In 1919 he went to New York City, determined to make a fortune and win Zelda. Amazingly, he succeeded. A novel he had begun in college, revised, and published in 1920 as This Side of Paradise became an immediate best-seller, making its author rich and famous at the age of twenty-four. As one of the earliest examples of a novel about college life, This Side of Paradise was accepted as the voice of the younger generation in a society increasingly oriented toward youth. He combined the traditional narrative and rhetorical gifts of a good fiction writer, it appeared, with a thoroughly modern sensibility. A week after the novel appeared, Scott and Zelda were married. Living extravagantly in New York City and St. Paul, and on Long Island, they more than spent the money Fitzgerald made from two collections of short stories—Flappers and Philosophers (1921) and Tales of the Jazz Age (1922)—and a second novel, The Beautiful and Damned (1922). Their only child, a daughter, was born in 1921. In 1924, the Fitzgeralds moved to Europe to live more cheaply. They made friends with American expatriates, Hemingway, Stein, and Pound among others. During this time Fitzgerald published his best-known and most successful novel, The Great Gatsby (1925), and another book of short stories, All the Sad Young Men (1926). The Great Gatsby tells the story of a self-made young man whose dream of success, personified in a rich and beautiful young woman named Daisy, turns out to be a fantasy in every sense: Daisy belongs to a corrupt society, Gatsby corrupts himself in the quest for her, and above all, the rich have no intention of sharing their privileges. The novel is narrated from the point of view of Nick Carraway, an onlooker who is both moved and repelled by the tale he tells and whose responses form a sort of subplot: this experiment in narrative point of view was widely imitated. The structure of The Great Gatsby is compact; the style dazzling; and its images of automobiles, parties, and garbage heaps seem to capture the contradictions of a consumer society. The novel became an instant classic and remains so to this day. Fitzgerald wrote dozens of short stories during the twenties; many were published in the mass-circulation weekly the Saturday Evening Post, which paid extremely well. Despite the pace at which he worked—in all he wrote 178 short stories—the Fitzgeralds could not get out of debt. Scott became alcoholic, and Zelda broke down in 1930 and spent most of the rest of her life in mental institutions. In 1931 Fitzgerald reestablished himself permanently in the United States, living at first near Baltimore, where his wife was hospitalized. A fourth novel, Tender Is the Night, appeared in 1934. The novel follows the emotional decline of a young American psychiatrist

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whose personal energies are sapped, his career corroded equally by his marriage to a beautiful and wealthy patient and his own weakness of character ("character" was one of Fitzgerald's favorite concepts). As in The Great Gatsby, the character begins as a disciple of the work ethic and turns into a pursuer of wealth, and the American Dream accordingly turns into a nightmare. Unlike Gatsby, whose characters never really connect with each other, Tender Is the Night shows a range of intimacies, none of them successful. The novel did not sell well. In 1937 Fitzgerald turned to Hollywood screenwriting; toward the end of the decade things were looking up for him, and he planned to revive his career as a fiction writer. But his health had been ruined by heavy drinking; he died of a heart attack in Hollywood at the age of forty-four, leaving an unfinished novel about a film mogul, The Last Tycoon, which was brought out by Edmund Wilson in 1941. Wilson also successfully promoted Fitzgerald's posthumous reputation by editing a collection of his writings, which he called The CrackUp, in 1945. The text of "Winter Dreams" is from Metropolitan magazine (1922), that of "Babylon Revisited" is from Stories ofF. Scott Fitzgerald (1951).

Winter Dreams S o m e of the c a d d i e s were p o o r a s sin a n d lived in o n e - r o o m h o u s e s with a n e u r a s t h e n i c c o w in the front yard, but Dexter G r e e n ' s father o w n e d the s e c o n d b e s t grocery store in D i l l a r d — t h e best o n e w a s " T h e H u b , " patronized by the wealthy p e o p l e from L a k e E r m i n i e — a n d Dexter c a d d i e d only for pocket-money. In the fall w h e n the days b e c a m e crisp a n d grey a n d the long M i n n e s o t a winter s h u t down like the white lid of a box, Dexter's skis m o v e d over the s n o w that hid the fairways of the golf c o u r s e . At t h e s e t i m e s the country gave him a feeling of p r o f o u n d m e l a n c h o l y — i t o f f e n d e d him that the links s h o u l d lie in e n f o r c e d fallowness, h a u n t e d by ragged s p a r r o w s for the long s e a s o n . It w a s dreary, too, that on the tees w h e r e the gay colors fluttered in s u m m e r there were now only the d e s o l a t e s a n d - b o x e s k n e e - d e e p in c r u s t e d ice. W h e n he c r o s s e d the hills the wind blew cold a s misery, a n d if the s u n w a s o u t he t r a m p e d with his eyes s q u i n t e d u p a g a i n s t the hard d i m e n s i o n l e s s g l a r e . In April the winter c e a s e d abruptly. T h e s n o w ran d o w n into L a k e E r m i n i e scarcely tarrying for the early golfers to brave the s e a s o n with red a n d b l a c k balls. W i t h o u t elation, without a n interval of moist glory the cold w a s g o n e . Dexter knew that there w a s s o m e t h i n g d i s m a l a b o u t this northern spring, j u s t a s he k n e w there w a s s o m e t h i n g g o r g e o u s a b o u t the fall. Fall m a d e him c l e n c h his h a n d s a n d t r e m b l e a n d repeat idiotic s e n t e n c e s to h i m s e l f a n d m a k e brisk a b r u p t g e s t u r e s of c o m m a n d to i m a g i n a r y a u d i e n c e s a n d a r m i e s . O c t o b e r filled him with h o p e which N o v e m b e r r a i s e d to a sort of e c s t a t i c t r i u m p h , a n d in this w o o d the fleeting brilliant i m p r e s s i o n s of the s u m m e r at L a k e E r m i n i e were ready grist to his will. H e b e c a m e a golf c h a m p i o n a n d d e f e a t e d Mr. T . A. H e d r i c k in a m a r v e l o u s m a t c h played over a h u n d r e d times in the fairways of his i m a g i n a t i o n , a m a t c h e a c h detail of which h e c h a n g e d a b o u t u n t i r i n g l y — s o m e t i m e s winning with a l m o s t l a u g h a b l e e a s e , s o m e t i m e s c o m i n g u p magnificently from b e h i n d . A g a i n , s t e p p i n g from a Pierce-Arrow a u t o m o b i l e , like M r . M o r t i m e r J o n e s , h e strolled frigidly into the l o u n g e of the E r m i n i e G o l f C l u b — o r p e r h a p s , s u r r o u n d e d by a n admir-

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ing c r o w d , he gave a n exhibition of fancy diving from the s p r i n g b o a r d of the E r m i n i e C l u b raft. . . . A m o n g t h o s e m o s t i m p r e s s e d w a s Mr. M o r t i m e r Jones. A n d o n e day it c a m e to p a s s that M r . J o n e s , h i m s e l f a n d not his g h o s t , c a m e u p to Dexter, a l m o s t with tears in his eyes a n d s a i d that Dexter w a s the b e s t c a d d y in the c l u b a n d wouldn't he d e c i d e not to quit if M r . J o n e s m a d e it worth his while, b e c a u s e every other c a d d y in the c l u b lost o n e ball a hole for h i m — r e g u l a r l y — " N o , sir," said Dexter, decisively, "I don't want to c a d d y any m o r e . " T h e n , after a p a u s e , "I'm too o l d . " "You're—why, you're not m o r e t h a n f o u r t e e n . W h y did you d e c i d e j u s t this m o r n i n g that you w a n t e d to quit? You p r o m i s e d that next w e e k you'd go over to the state t o u r n a m e n t with m e . " "I d e c i d e d I w a s too o l d . " Dexter h a n d e d in his "A C l a s s " b a d g e , c o l l e c t e d w h a t m o n e y w a s d u e him from the c a d d y m a s t e r a n d c a u g h t the train for Dillard. "The best c a d d y I ever s a w , " s h o u t e d M r . M o r t i m e r J o n e s over a drink that a f t e r n o o n . " N e v e r lost a ball! Willing! Intelligent! Quiet! H o n e s t ! Grateful!—" T h e little girl w h o h a d d o n e this w a s e l e v e n — b e a u t i f u l l y ugly as little girls are a p t to b e w h o are d e s t i n e d after a few years to be i n e x p r e s s a b l y lovely a n d bring no e n d of misery to a great n u m b e r of m e n . T h e spark, however, w a s p e r c e p t i b l e . T h e r e w a s a general u n g o d l i n e s s in the way her lips twisted down at the c o r n e r s w h e n s h e s m i l e d a n d in t h e — H e a v e n help u s ! — i n the a l m o s t p a s s i o n a t e quality of her eyes. Vitality is born early in s u c h w o m e n . It w a s utterly in e v i d e n c e now, s h i n i n g t h r o u g h her thin f r a m e in a sort of glow. S h e h a d c o m e eagerly o u t o n to the c o u r s e at n i n e o'clock with a white linen n u r s e a n d five small n e w golf c l u b s in a white c a n v a s b a g which the n u r s e w a s carrying. W h e n Dexter first s a w her s h e w a s s t a n d i n g by the c a d d y h o u s e , rather ill-at-ease a n d trying to c o n c e a l the fact by e n g a g i n g her n u r s e in a n obviously u n n a t u r a l c o n v e r s a t i o n i l l u m i n e d by startling a n d irrevelant s m i l e s from herself. "Well, it's certainly a n i c e day, H i l d a , " Dexter h e a r d her say, then she drew d o w n the c o r n e r s of her m o u t h , s m i l e d a n d g l a n c e d furtively a r o u n d , her eyes in transit falling for an instant on Dexter. T h e n to the n u r s e : "Well, I g u e s s there aren't very m a n y p e o p l e o u t here this m o r n i n g , are there?" T h e smile a g a i n radiant, blatantly artificial—convincing. "I don't know what we're s u p p o s e d to d o n o w , " said the n u r s e , looking n o w h e r e in particular. " O h , that's all r i g h t " — t h e s m i l e — " I ' l l fix it u p . " Dexter stood perfectly still, his m o u t h faintly ajar. H e k n e w that if h e m o v e d forward a s t e p his stare w o u l d b e in her line of v i s i o n — i f h e m o v e d b a c k w a r d h e would lose his full view of her f a c e — F o r a m o m e n t h e h a d not realized how y o u n g s h e w a s . N o w h e r e m e m b e r e d having s e e n her several times the year b e f o r e — i n b l o o m e r s . S u d d e n l y , involuntarily, h e l a u g h e d , a short a b r u p t l a u g h — t h e n , startled by himself, he turned a n d b e g a n to walk quickly away. "Boy!"

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Dexter s t o p p e d . "Boy—" B e y o n d q u e s t i o n he w a s a d d r e s s e d . N o t only that, but h e w a s treated to that a b s u r d s m i l e , that p r e p o s t e r o u s s m i l e — t h e m e m o r y of which at least half a dozen m e n were to carry to the grave. " B o y , d o you know w h e r e the golf t e a c h e r i s ? " " H e ' s giving a l e s s o n . " "Well, do you know where the c a d d y - m a s t e r i s ? " " H e ' s not here yet this m o r n i n g . " " O h . " F o r a m o m e n t this baffled her. S h e s t o o d alternately on her right a n d left foot. "We'd like to get a c a d d y , " said the n u r s e . " M r s . M o r t i m e r J o n e s sent u s o u t to play golf a n d we don't know how without we get a c a d d y . " H e r e s h e w a s s t o p p e d by a n o m i n o u s g l a n c e from M i s s J o n e s , followed i m m e d i a t e l y by the s m i l e . " T h e r e aren't any c a d d i e s here except m e , " said Dexter to the n u r s e . "And I got to stay here in c h a r g e until the c a d d y - m a s t e r gets h e r e . " "Oh." M i s s J o n e s a n d her retinue now withdrew a n d at a p r o p e r d i s t a n c e from Dexter b e c a m e involved in a h e a t e d c o n v e r s a t i o n . T h e c o n v e r s a t i o n w a s c o n c l u d e d by M i s s J o n e s taking o n e of the c l u b s a n d hitting it on the g r o u n d with violence. F o r further e m p h a s i s s h e r a i s e d it again a n d w a s a b o u t to bring it down smartly u p o n the n u r s e ' s b o s o m , w h e n the n u r s e seized the c l u b a n d twisted it from her h a n d s . "You darn fool!" cried M i s s J o n e s wildly. A n o t h e r a r g u m e n t e n s u e d . Realizing that the e l e m e n t s of the c o m e d y were implied in the s c e n e , Dexter several times b e g a n to s m i l e but e a c h time slew the s m i l e before it r e a c h e d maturity. H e c o u l d not resist the m o n s t r o u s c o n viction that the little girl w a s justified in b e a t i n g the n u r s e . T h e situation w a s resolved by the fortuitous a p p e a r a n c e of the caddym a s t e r w h o w a s a p p e a l e d to i m m e d i a t e l y by the n u r s e . " M i s s J o n e s is to have a little c a d d y a n d this o n e says h e can't g o . " " M r . M c K e n n a said I w a s to wait here till you c a m e , " said Dexter quickly. "Well, he's h e r e n o w . " M i s s J o n e s s m i l e d cheerfully at the c a d d y - m a s t e r . T h e n s h e d r o p p e d her b a g a n d set off at a haughty m i n c e toward the first tee. " W e l l ? " T h e c a d d y - m a s t e r turned to Dexter. " W h a t you s t a n d i n g there like a d u m m y for? G o p i c k up the y o u n g lady's c l u b s . " "I don't think I'll go out today," said Dexter. "You d o n ' t — " "I think I'll q u i t . " T h e enormity of his d e c i s i o n frightened him. H e w a s a favorite c a d d y a n d the thirty dollars a m o n t h he e a r n e d t h r o u g h the s u m m e r were not to be m a d e e l s e w h e r e in Dillard. B u t he h a d received a s t r o n g e m o t i o n a l s h o c k a n d his perturbation required a violent a n d i m m e d i a t e outlet. It is not s o s i m p l e a s that, either. As so frequently w o u l d be the c a s e in the future, Dexter w a s u n c o n s c i o u s l y d i c t a t e d to by his winter d r e a m s . N o w , of c o u r s e , the quality a n d the seasonability of t h e s e winter d r e a m s varied, but the stuff of t h e m r e m a i n e d . T h e y p e r s u a d e d Dexter several years later to p a s s u p a b u s i n e s s c o u r s e at the S t a t e University—his father, pros-

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p e r i n g now, w o u l d have p a i d his w a y — f o r the p r e c a r i o u s a d v a n t a g e of a t t e n d i n g a n older a n d m o r e f a m o u s university in t h e E a s t , w h e r e h e w a s b o t h e r e d by his s c a n t y f u n d s . B u t do not get the i m p r e s s i o n , b e c a u s e his winter d r e a m s h a p p e n e d to b e c o n c e r n e d at first with m u s i n g s o n t h e rich, that there w a s a n y t h i n g s h o d d y in the boy. H e w a n t e d not a s s o c i a t i o n with glittering things a n d glittering p e o p l e — h e w a n t e d the glittering t h i n g s t h e m selves. O f t e n he r e a c h e d o u t for the b e s t without k n o w i n g why h e w a n t e d i t — a n d s o m e t i m e s h e ran u p a g a i n s t the m y s t e r i o u s d e n i a l s a n d p r o h i b i t i o n s in w h i c h life i n d u l g e s . It is with o n e of t h o s e d e n i a l s a n d not with his c a r e e r a s a w h o l e that this story d e a l s . H e m a d e m o n e y . It w a s rather a m a z i n g . After c o l l e g e h e w e n t to the city from w h i c h L a k e E r m i n i e draws its wealthy p a t r o n s . W h e n h e w a s only twenty-three a n d h a d b e e n there not q u i t e two y e a r s , there w e r e already p e o p l e w h o liked to say, " N o w there's a b o y — " All a b o u t him rich m e n ' s s o n s were p e d d l i n g b o n d s p r e c a r i o u s l y , or investing p a t r i m o n i e s p r e c a r i o u s l y , or p l o d d i n g t h r o u g h the two d o z e n v o l u m e s of c a n n e d r u b b i s h in the " G e o r g e W a s h i n g t o n C o m m e r c i a l C o u r s e , " b u t D e x t e r b o r r o w e d a t h o u s a n d dollars on his c o l l e g e d e g r e e a n d his steady e y e s , a n d b o u g h t a p a r t n e r s h i p in a laundry.

It w a s a s m a l l laundry w h e n h e w e n t into it. D e x t e r m a d e a specialty of learning how the E n g l i s h w a s h e d fine w o o l e n golf s t o c k i n g s without shrinking t h e m . Inside of a year h e w a s c a t e r i n g to the t r a d e w h o wore knickerb o c k e r s . M e n w e r e i n s i s t i n g that their Shetland h o s e a n d s w e a t e r s g o to his laundry j u s t a s they h a d i n s i s t e d on a c a d d y w h o c o u l d find golf b a l l s . A little later he w a s d o i n g their wives' lingerie a s w e l l — a n d r u n n i n g five b r a n c h e s in different parts of the city. B e f o r e he w a s twenty-seven h e o w n e d t h e largest string of l a u n d r i e s in his s e c t i o n of the country. It w a s t h e n that h e sold out a n d went to N e w York. B u t the part of his story that c o n c e r n s u s here g o e s b a c k to w h e n h e w a s m a k i n g his first big s u c c e s s . W h e n h e w a s twenty-three M r . W . L . H a r t , o n e of the grey-haired m e n w h o like to say " N o w there's a b o y " — g a v e h i m a g u e s t c a r d to the L a k e E r m i n i e C l u b for over a w e e k - e n d . S o he s i g n e d his n a m e o n e day on t h e register, a n d that a f t e r n o o n played golf in a f o u r s o m e with M r . H a r t a n d M r . S a n d w o o d a n d M r . T . A . H e d r i c k . H e did not c o n s i d e r it n e c e s s a r y to r e m a r k that he h a d o n c e carried M r . H a r t ' s b a g over this s a m e links a n d that he k n e w every trap a n d gully with his eyes s h u t — b u t h e f o u n d h i m s e l f g l a n c i n g at the four c a d d i e s w h o trailed t h e m , trying to c a t c h a g l e a m or g e s t u r e that w o u l d r e m i n d him of himself, that w o u l d l e s s e n the g a p w h i c h lay b e t w e e n his p a s t a n d his f u t u r e . It w a s a c u r i o u s day, s l a s h e d abruptly with fleeting, familiar i m p r e s s i o n s . O n e m i n u t e he h a d the s e n s e of b e i n g a t r e s p a s s e r — i n t h e next he w a s i m p r e s s e d by the t r e m e n d o u s superiority he felt toward M r . T . A . H e d r i c k , w h o w a s a bore a n d not even a g o o d golfer any m o r e . T h e n , b e c a u s e of a ball M r . H a r t lost n e a r the fifteenth g r e e n a n enorm o u s thing h a p p e n e d . W h i l e they w e r e s e a r c h i n g t h e stiff g r a s s e s of t h e r o u g h there w a s a c l e a r call of " F o r e ! " from b e h i n d a hill in their rear. A n d a s they all t u r n e d abruptly from their s e a r c h a bright n e w ball s l i c e d abruptly over t h e hill a n d c a u g h t M r . T . A. H e d r i c k r a t h e r neatly in the stomach. M r . T . A. H e d r i c k g r u n t e d a n d c u r s e d .

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" B y G a d ! " cried Mr. H e d r i c k , "they o u g h t to p u t s o m e of t h e s e crazy w o m e n off the c o u r s e . It's getting to be o u t r a g e o u s . " A h e a d a n d a voice c a m e up together over the hill: " D o you m i n d if we go t h r o u g h ? " "You hit m e in the s t o m a c h ! " t h u n d e r e d M r . H e d r i c k . " D i d I ? " T h e girl a p p r o a c h e d the g r o u p of m e n . "I'm sorry. I yelled ' F o r e ! ' " H e r g l a n c e fell c a s u a l l y o n e a c h of the m e n . S h e n o d d e d to S a n d w o o d a n d then s c a n n e d the fairway for her ball. " D i d I b o u n c e off into the r o u g h ? " It w a s i m p o s s i b l e to d e t e r m i n e w h e t h e r this q u e s t i o n w a s i n g e n u o u s or m a l i c i o u s . In a m o m e n t , however, s h e left n o d o u b t , for a s her p a r t n e r c a m e up over the hill s h e called cheerfully. " H e r e I a m ! I'd have g o n e on the green except that I hit s o m e t h i n g . " As s h e took her s t a n c e for a short m a s h i e shot, Dexter looked at her closely. S h e wore a b l u e g i n g h a m d r e s s , r i m m e d at throat a n d s h o u l d e r s with a white e d g i n g that a c c e n t u a t e d her tan. T h e quality of e x a g g e r a t i o n , of t h i n n e s s that h a d m a d e her p a s s i o n a t e eyes a n d d o w n t u r n i n g m o u t h a b s u r d at eleven w a s g o n e now. S h e w a s arrestingly beautiful. T h e color in her c h e e k s w a s c e n t e r e d like the color in a p i c t u r e — i t w a s not a " h i g h " color, b u t a sort of fluctuating a n d feverish w a r m t h , so s h a d e d that it s e e m e d at any m o m e n t it w o u l d r e c e d e a n d d i s a p p e a r . T h i s color a n d the mobility of her m o u t h gave a c o n t i n u a l i m p r e s s i o n of flux, of i n t e n s e life, of p a s s i o n a t e vitality—bala n c e d only partially by the s a d luxury of her eyes. S h e s w u n g her m a s h i e impatiently a n d without interest, p i t c h i n g the ball into a s a n d p i t on the other side of the g r e e n . With a q u i c k i n s i n c e r e smile a n d a c a r e l e s s " T h a n k y o u ! " s h e went on after it. " T h a t J u d y J o n e s ! " r e m a r k e d M r . H e d r i c k o n the next t e e , a s they w a i t e d — s o m e m o m e n t s — f o r her to play on a h e a d . "All s h e n e e d s is to be t u r n e d u p a n d s p a n k e d for six m o n t h s a n d then to be m a r r i e d off to a n o l d - f a s h i o n e d cavalry c a p t a i n . " " G o s h , she's g o o d looking!" s a i d M r . S a n d w o o d , w h o w a s j u s t over thirty. " G o o d - l o o k i n g ! " cried M r . H e d r i c k c o n t e m p t u o u s l y . " S h e always looks a s if s h e w a n t e d to be kissed! T u r n i n g t h o s e big cow-eyes o n every y o u n g calf in t o w n ! " It is doubtful if M r . H e d r i c k i n t e n d e d a r e f e r e n c e to the m a t e r n a l instinct. " S h e ' d play pretty g o o d golf if she'd try," said M r . S a n d w o o d . " S h e h a s no f o r m , " said M r . H e d r i c k solemnly. " S h e h a s a n i c e figure," said M r . S a n d w o o d . " B e t t e r t h a n k the L o r d s h e doesn't drive a swifter b a l l , " s a i d M r . H a r t , winking at Dexter. " C o m e on. Let's g o . " L a t e r in the a f t e r n o o n the s u n went d o w n with a riotous swirl of gold a n d varying b l u e s a n d s c a r l e t s , a n d left the dry rustling night of w e s t e r n s u m m e r . Dexter w a t c h e d from the v e r a n d a h of the E r m i n i e C l u b , w a t c h e d the even overlap of the waters in the little wind, silver m o l a s s e s u n d e r the harvest m o o n . T h e n the m o o n held a finger to her lips a n d the lake b e c a m e a clear pool, p a l e a n d quiet. Dexter p u t on his b a t h i n g suit a n d s w a m out to the farthest raft, where he s t r e t c h e d dripping o n the wet c a n v a s of the spring board. T h e r e w a s a fish j u m p i n g a n d a star s h i n i n g a n d the lights a r o u n d the lake were g l e a m i n g . Over on a dark p e n i n s u l a a p i a n o w a s playing the s o n g s of

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last s u m m e r a n d of s u m m e r s before t h a t — s o n g s from " T h e Pink L a d y " a n d " T h e C h o c o l a t e S o l d i e r " a n d " M i l e . M o d i s t e " — a n d b e c a u s e the s o u n d of a p i a n o over a stretch of water h a d always s e e m e d beautiful to Dexter h e lay perfectly quiet a n d listened. T h e t u n e the p i a n o w a s playing at that m o m e n t h a d b e e n gay a n d n e w five years before w h e n Dexter w a s a s o p h o m o r e at c o l l e g e . T h e y h a d played it at a p r o m o n c e a n d b e c a u s e h e c o u l d not afford the luxury of p r o m s in t h o s e days h e h a d s t o o d o u t s i d e the g y m n a s i u m a n d listened. T h e s o u n d of the t u n e a n d the s p l a s h of the fish j u m p i n g precipitated in him a sort of e c s t a s y a n d it w a s with that e c s t a s y he viewed what h a p p e n e d to h i m n o w . T h e e c s t a s y w a s a g o r g e o u s a p p r e c i a t i o n . It w a s his s e n s e that, for o n c e , h e w a s magnificently a t u n e to life a n d that everything a b o u t him w a s r a d i a t i n g a b r i g h t n e s s a n d a g l a m o r h e might never know a g a i n . A low pale o b l o n g d e t a c h e d itself s u d d e n l y from the d a r k n e s s of the peni n s u l a , spitting forth the reverberate s o u n d of a r a c i n g m o t o r b o a t . T w o white s t r e a m e r s of cleft water rolled t h e m s e l v e s o u t b e h i n d it a n d a l m o s t i m m e diately the boat w a s b e s i d e him, d r o w n i n g out the hot tinkle of the p i a n o in the d r o n e of its spray. Dexter raising h i m s e l f on his a r m s w a s a w a r e of a figure s t a n d i n g at the wheel, of two d a r k eyes r e g a r d i n g him over the lengthe n i n g s p a c e of w a t e r — t h e n the boat h a d g o n e by a n d w a s s w e e p i n g in an i m m e n s e a n d p u r p o s e l e s s circle of spray r o u n d a n d r o u n d in the m i d d l e of the lake. W i t h e q u a l eccentricity o n e of the circles flattened out a n d h e a d e d b a c k toward the raft. " W h o ' s t h a t ? " s h e c a l l e d , s h u t t i n g off the motor. S h e w a s s o n e a r now that Dexter c o u l d s e e her b a t h i n g suit, w h i c h c o n s i s t e d a p p a r e n t l y of p i n k r o m p ers. " O h — y o u ' r e o n e of the m e n I hit in the s t o m a c h . " T h e n o s e of the b o a t b u m p e d the raft. After a n inexpert s t r u g g l e , Dexter m a n a g e d to twist the line a r o u n d a two-by-four. T h e n the raft tilted rakishly as s h e s p r u n g o n . "Well, k i d d o , " s h e s a i d huskily, " d o y o u " — s h e broke off. S h e h a d sat herself u p o n the s p r i n g b o a r d , f o u n d it d a m p a n d j u m p e d u p q u i c k l y , — " d o you want to g o surf-board r i d i n g ? " H e i n d i c a t e d that he would b e delighted. " T h e n a m e is J u d y J o n e s . G h a s t l y r e p u t a t i o n but e n o r m o u s l y p o p u l a r . " S h e favored him with an a b s u r d s m i r k — r a t h e r , what tried to be a smirk, for, twist her m o u t h a s s h e might, it w a s not g r o t e s q u e , it w a s merely beautiful. " S e e that h o u s e over on the p e n i n s u l a ? " "No." "Well, there's a h o u s e there that I live in only you can't s e e it b e c a u s e it's too dark. A n d in that h o u s e there is a fella waiting for m e . W h e n h e drove u p by the d o o r I drove o u t by the d o c k b e c a u s e h e h a s watery eyes a n d a s k s m e if I have a n i d e a l . " T h e r e w a s a fish j u m p i n g a n d a star s h i n i n g a n d the lights a r o u n d the lake were g l e a m i n g . Dexter sat b e s i d e J u d y J o n e s a n d s h e e x p l a i n e d h o w her boat w a s driven. T h e n s h e w a s in the water, s w i m m i n g to the floating s u r f - b o a r d with exquisite crawl. W a t c h i n g her w a s a s without effort to the eye a s w a t c h ing a b r a n c h waving or a sea-gull flying. H e r a r m s , b u r n e d to b u t t e r n u t , m o v e d s i n u o u s l y a m o n g the dull p l a t i n u m ripples, e l b o w a p p e a r i n g first, c a s t i n g the f o r e a r m b a c k with a c a d e n c e of falling water, then r e a c h i n g out and down stabbing a path ahead.

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T h e y m o v e d o u t into the lake a n d , turning, Dexter s a w that s h e w a s kneeling on the low rear of the n o w up-tilted surf-board. " G o faster," s h e called, "fast as it'll g o . " O b e d i e n t l y he j a m m e d the lever forward a n d the white spray m o u n t e d at the bow. W h e n he looked a r o u n d again the girl w a s s t a n d i n g u p on the r u s h i n g b o a r d , her a r m s s p r e a d ecstatically, her eyes lifted toward the moon. "It's awful c o l d , k i d d o , " s h e s h o u t e d . " W h a t ' s your n a m e a n y w a y s ? " " T h e n a m e is Dexter G r e e n . W o u l d it a m u s e you to k n o w h o w g o o d you look b a c k t h e r e ? " " Y e s , " s h e s h o u t e d , "it w o u l d a m u s e m e . E x c e p t that I'm too cold. C o m e to dinner tomorrow n i g h t . " H e kept thinking how glad h e w a s that he h a d never c a d d i e d for this girl. T h e d a m p g i n g h a m clinging m a d e her like a s t a t u e a n d t u r n e d her i n t e n s e mobility to immobility at last. " — A t seven o'clock," she s h o u t e d , " J u d y J o n e s , Girl, w h o hit m a n in s t o m a c h . Better write it d o w n , " — a n d then, " F a s t e r — o h , faster!" H a d he b e e n a s c a l m inwardly a s he w a s in a p p e a r a n c e , Dexter w o u l d have h a d time to e x a m i n e his s u r r o u n d i n g s in detail. H e received, however, a n e n d u r i n g i m p r e s s i o n that the h o u s e w a s the m o s t e l a b o r a t e h e h a d ever s e e n . H e h a d known for a long time that it w a s the finest o n L a k e E r m i n i e , with a P o m p e i i a n s w i m m i n g pool a n d twelve a c r e s of lawn a n d g a r d e n . B u t w h a t gave it a n air of b r e a t h l e s s intensity w a s the s e n s e that it w a s i n h a b i t e d by J u d y J o n e s — t h a t it w a s a s c a s u a l a thing to her as the little h o u s e in the village h a d o n c e b e e n to Dexter. T h e r e w a s a feeling of mystery in it, of b e d r o o m s u p s t a i r s m o r e beautiful a n d s t r a n g e t h a n other b e d r o o m s , of gay a n d radiant activities taking p l a c e t h r o u g h t h e s e d e e p corridors a n d of r o m a n c e s that were not m u s t y a n d laid already in lavender, b u t were fresh a n d b r e a t h i n g a n d set forth in rich m o t o r cars a n d in great d a n c e s w h o s e flowers were scarcely withered. T h e y were m o r e real b e c a u s e he c o u l d feel t h e m all a b o u t him, p e r v a d i n g the air with the s h a d e s a n d e c h o e s of still vibrant e m o t i o n . A n d s o while h e waited for her to a p p e a r he p e o p l e d the soft d e e p s u m m e r r o o m a n d the s u n p o r c h that o p e n e d from it with the m e n w h o h a d already loved J u d y J o n e s . H e k n e w the sort of m e n they w e r e — t h e m e n w h o w h e n h e first went to college h a d e n t e r e d from the great p r e p - s c h o o l s with graceful c l o t h e s a n d the d e e p tan of healthy s u m m e r , w h o did n o t h i n g or anything with the s a m e d e b o n a i r e e a s e . Dexter h a d s e e n that, in o n e s e n s e , he w a s better t h a n t h e s e m e n . H e w a s n e w e r a n d stronger. Yet in a c k n o w l e d g i n g to h i m s e l f that h e w i s h e d his children to b e like t h e m h e w a s a d m i t t i n g that h e w a s b u t the r o u g h , strong stuff from which this graceful aristocracy eternally s p r a n g . W h e n , a year b e f o r e , the time h a d c o m e w h e n he c o u l d wear g o o d c l o t h e s , he h a d known w h o were the b e s t tailors in A m e r i c a , a n d the b e s t tailor in A m e r i c a h a d m a d e him the suit he wore this evening. H e h a d a c q u i r e d that particular reserve p e c u l i a r to his university, that set it off from other universities. H e recognized the value to him of s u c h a m a n n e r i s m a n d h e h a d a d o p t e d it; he k n e w that to be c a r e l e s s in d r e s s a n d m a n n e r r e q u i r e d m o r e c o n f i d e n c e t h a n to b e careful. B u t c a r e l e s s n e s s w a s for his children. H i s

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mother's n a m e h a d b e e n Krimslich. S h e was a B o h e m i a n 1 of the p e a s a n t c l a s s a n d s h e h a d talked broken E n g l i s h to the e n d of her days. H e r son m u s t keep to the set p a t t e r n s . H e waited for J u d y J o n e s in her h o u s e , a n d he saw t h e s e other y o u n g m e n a r o u n d him. It excited him that m a n y m e n had loved her. It i n c r e a s e d her value in his eyes. At a little after seven J u d y J o n e s c a m e d o w n s t a i r s . S h e wore a b l u e silk afternoon d r e s s . H e w a s d i s a p p o i n t e d at first that s h e h a d not put on s o m e thing m o r e e l a b o r a t e , a n d this feeling w a s a c c e n t u a t e d w h e n , after a brief greeting, s h e went to the d o o r of a butler's pantry a n d p u s h i n g it o p e n c a l l e d : "You c a n have dinner, M a r t h a . " H e had rather e x p e c t e d that a butler would a n n o u n c e dinner, that there would be a cocktail p e r h a p s . It even o f f e n d e d him that s h e s h o u l d know the maid's n a m e . T h e n he put these t h o u g h t s b e h i n d him as they sat d o w n together on a chintz-covered l o u n g e . " F a t h e r a n d m o t h e r won't be h e r e , " s h e s a i d . " O u g h t I to b e s o r r y ? " "They're really q u i t e n i c e , " s h e c o n f e s s e d , as if it h a d j u s t o c c u r r e d to her. "I think my father's the best looking m a n of his a g e I've ever s e e n . A n d m o t h e r looks a b o u t thirty." H e r e m e m b e r e d the last time he h a d s e e n her father, a n d f o u n d he w a s glad the p a r e n t s were not to be here tonight. T h e y w o u l d w o n d e r w h o he w a s . H e h a d b e e n born in K e e b l e , a M i n n e s o t a village fifty m i l e s farther north a n d he always gave K e e b l e a s his h o m e instead of Dillard. C o u n t r y towns were well e n o u g h to c o m e from if they weren't inconveniently in sight a n d u s e d as foot-stools by f a s h i o n a b l e lakes. B e f o r e dinner he f o u n d the c o n v e r s a t i o n unsatisfactory. T h e beautiful J u d y s e e m e d faintly i r r i t a b l e — a s m u c h s o a s it w a s p o s s i b l e to b e with a c o m p a r a t i v e stranger. T h e y d i s c u s s e d L a k e E r m i n i e a n d its golf c o u r s e , the surf-board riding of the night before a n d the cold s h e h a d c a u g h t , which m a d e her voice m o r e husky a n d c h a r m i n g than ever. T h e y talked of his university which s h e h a d visited frequently d u r i n g the p a s t two years, a n d of the nearby city which supplied L a k e E r m i n i e with its p a t r o n s a n d whither Dexter would return next day to his p r o s p e r i n g l a u n d r i e s . D u r i n g dinner she slipped into a m o o d y d e p r e s s i o n which gave Dexter a feeling of guilt. W h a t e v e r p e t u l a n c e s h e uttered in her throaty voice worried him. W h a t e v e r she s m i l e d a t — a t h i m , at a silver fork, at n o t h i n g — , it disturbed him that her smile c o u l d have no root in mirth, or even in a m u s e m e n t . W h e n the red c o r n e r s of her lips curved d o w n , it w a s less a smile t h a n an invitation to a kiss. T h e n , after dinner, s h e led him out on the dark s u n - p o r c h a n d deliberately c h a n g e d the a t m o s p h e r e . " D o I seem gloomy?" she demanded. " N o , b u t I'm afraid I'm boring y o u , " he a n s w e r e d quickly. "You're not. I like you. B u t I've j u s t h a d rather an u n p l e a s a n t a f t e r n o o n . T h e r e was a — m a n I c a r e d a b o u t . H e told m e out of a c l e a r sky that he w a s p o o r a s a c h u r c h - m o u s e . He'd never even hinted it b e f o r e . D o e s this s o u n d horribly m u n d a n e ? " 1. Native of Bohemia, in the Czech Republic.

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" P e r h a p s he w a s afraid to tell y o u . " "I s u p p o s e he w a s , " she a n s w e r e d thoughtfully. " H e didn't start right. You s e e , if I'd t h o u g h t of him a s p o o r — w e l l , I've b e e n m a d a b o u t loads of poor m e n , a n d fully i n t e n d e d to marry them all. But in this c a s e , I hadn't t h o u g h t of him that way a n d my interest in him wasn't strong e n o u g h to survive the shock." "I know. A s if a girl calmly informed her fiance that s h e w a s a widow. H e might not object to widows, but " " L e t ' s start right," s h e s u g g e s t e d suddenly. " W h o are y o u , a n y h o w ? " F o r a m o m e n t Dexter hesitated. T h e r e were two versions of his life that h e c o u l d tell. T h e r e w a s Dillard a n d his c a d d y i n g a n d his struggle through c o l l e g e , or "I'm n o b o d y , " he a n n o u n c e d . " M y c a r e e r is largely a m a t t e r of f u t u r e s . " "Are you p o o r ? " " N o , " he said frankly, "I'm probably m a k i n g m o r e m o n e y than any m a n my a g e in the northwest. I know that's an o b n o x i o u s r e m a r k , but you a d v i s e d m e to start right." T h e r e w a s a p a u s e . S h e s m i l e d , a n d with a t o u c h of a m u s e m e n t . "You s o u n d like a m a n in a play." "It's your fault. You t e m p t e d m e into being a s s e r t i v e . " S u d d e n l y s h e turned her dark eyes directly upon him a n d the c o r n e r s of her m o u t h d r o o p e d until her face s e e m e d to o p e n like a flower. H e d a r e d scarcely to b r e a t h e , he h a d the s e n s e that s h e w a s exerting s o m e force u p o n him; m a k i n g him overwhelmingly c o n s c i o u s of the youth a n d mystery that wealth i m p r i s o n s a n d preserves, the f r e s h n e s s of m a n y c l o t h e s , of cool r o o m s a n d g l e a m i n g things, s a f e a n d p r o u d a b o v e the hot s t r u g g l e s of the poor. T h e p o r c h w a s bright with the b o u g h t luxury of s t a r s h i n e . T h e wicker of the settee s q u e a k e d fashionably when he put his a r m a r o u n d her, c o m m a n d e d by her eyes. H e kissed her c u r i o u s a n d lovely m o u t h a n d c o m m i t t e d himself to the following of a grail. It b e g a n like t h a t — a n d c o n t i n u e d , with varying s h a d e s of intensity, on s u c h a note right up to the d e n o u e m e n t . Dexter s u r r e n d e r e d a part of h i m s e l f to the m o s t direct a n d unprincipled personality with which he h a d ever c o m e in c o n t a c t . W h a t e v e r the beautiful J u d y J o n e s d e s i r e d , s h e went after with the full p r e s s u r e of her c h a r m . T h e r e w a s no d i v e r g e n c e of m e t h o d , no j o c k eying for position or p r e m e d i t a t i o n of e f f e c t s — t h e r e w a s very little m e n t a l quality in any of her affairs. S h e simply m a d e m e n c o n s c i o u s to the h i g h e s t d e g r e e of her physical loveliness. Dexter h a d no desire to c h a n g e her. H e r deficiencies were knit up with a p a s s i o n a t e energy that t r a n s c e n d e d a n d justified t h e m . W h e n , a s J u d y ' s h e a d lay a g a i n s t his s h o u l d e r that first night, s h e whispered: "I don't know what's the matter with m e . L a s t night I thought I w a s in love with a m a n a n d tonight I think I'm in love with y o u — " — i t s e e m e d to him a beautiful a n d r o m a n t i c thing to say. It w a s the exquisite excitability that for the m o m e n t he controlled a n d o w n e d . B u t a w e e k later he w a s c o m p e l l e d to view this s a m e quality in a different light. S h e took him in her roadster to a picnic s u p p e r a n d after s u p p e r s h e d i s a p p e a r e d , likewise in her roadster, with a n o t h e r m a n . Dexter b e c a m e e n o r m o u s l y u p s e t a n d w a s scarcely able to b e decently civil to the other p e o p l e p r e s e n t . W h e n

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s h e a s s u r e d him that s h e h a d not k i s s e d the other m a n he knew s h e w a s lying—yet he w a s glad that s h e had t a k e n the trouble to lie to h i m . H e w a s , a s he f o u n d before the s u m m e r e n d e d , o n e of a d o z e n , a varying d o z e n , w h o c i r c u l a t e d a b o u t her. E a c h of t h e m h a d at o n e time b e e n favored a b o v e all o t h e r s — a b o u t half of t h e m still b a s k e d in the s o l a c e of o c c a s i o n a l s e n t i m e n t a l revivals. W h e n e v e r o n e s h o w e d signs of d r o p p i n g out t h r o u g h long neglect s h e g r a n t e d him a brief h o n e y e d h o u r w h i c h e n c o u r a g e d him to tag a l o n g for a year or so longer. J u d y m a d e t h e s e forays u p o n the helpless a n d d e f e a t e d without m a l i c e , i n d e e d half u n c o n s c i o u s that there w a s anything m i s c h i e v o u s in what s h e did. W h e n a n e w m a n c a m e to town everyone d r o p p e d o u t — d a t e s were a u t o matically c a n c e l l e d . T h e helpless part of trying to do anything a b o u t it w a s that s h e did it all herself. S h e w a s not a girl w h o c o u l d b e " w o n " in the kinetic s e n s e — s h e w a s p r o o f a g a i n s t c l e v e r n e s s , s h e w a s p r o o f a g a i n s t c h a r m , if any of t h e s e a s s a i l e d her too strongly s h e w o u l d i m m e d i a t e l y resolve the affair to a physical b a s i s a n d u n d e r the m a g i c of her physical s p l e n d o r the s t r o n g a s well a s the brilliant played her g a m e a n d not their own. S h e w a s e n t e r t a i n e d only by the gratification of her d e s i r e s a n d by the direct exercise of her own c h a r m . P e r h a p s from s o m u c h youthful love, s o m a n y youthful lovers s h e h a d c o m e , in self d e f e n s e , to n o u r i s h herself wholly from within. S u c c e e d i n g Dexter's first exhilaration c a m e r e s t l e s s n e s s a n d d i s s a t i s f a c tion. T h e h e l p l e s s e c s t a s y of losing h i m s e l f in her c h a r m w a s a powerful opiate rather t h a n a tonic. It w a s f o r t u n a t e for his work d u r i n g the winter that t h o s e m o m e n t s of e c s t a s y c a m e infrequently. Early in their a c q u a i n t a n c e it h a d s e e m e d for a while that there w a s a d e e p a n d s p o n t a n e o u s m u t u a l a t t r a c t i o n — t h a t first A u g u s t for e x a m p l e — t h r e e days of long evenings on her dusky v e r a n d a h , of s t r a n g e w a n k i s s e s t h r o u g h the late aftern o o n , in s h a d o w y alcoves or b e h i n d the p r o t e c t i n g trellises of the g a r d e n a r b o r s , of m o r n i n g s w h e n s h e w a s fresh a s a d r e a m a n d a l m o s t shy at m e e t i n g him in the clarity of the rising day. T h e r e w a s all the e c s t a s y of a n e n g a g e m e n t a b o u t it, s h a r p e n e d by his realization that there w a s no e n g a g e m e n t . It w a s d u r i n g t h o s e three days that, for the first t i m e , he h a d a s k e d her to marry h i m . S h e said " m a y b e s o m e d a y , " s h e said "kiss m e , " s h e said "I'd like to marry y o u , " s h e said "I love y o u , " — s h e s a i d — n o t h i n g . T h e three days were interrupted by the arrival of a N e w York m a n w h o visited the J o n e s ' for half S e p t e m b e r . T o Dexter's agony, r u m o r e n g a g e d t h e m . T h e m a n w a s the s o n of the p r e s i d e n t of a great trust c o m p a n y . B u t at the e n d of a m o n t h it w a s reported that J u d y w a s yawning. At a d a n c e o n e night s h e sat all e v e n i n g in a m o t o r b o a t with a n old b e a u , while the N e w Yorker s e a r c h e d the c l u b for her frantically. S h e told the old b e a u that s h e w a s b o r e d with her visitor a n d two days later h e left. S h e w a s s e e n with him at the station a n d it w a s reported that he looked very m o u r n f u l i n d e e d . O n this note the s u m m e r e n d e d . Dexter w a s twenty-four a n d h e f o u n d himself increasingly in a position to do a s he w i s h e d . H e j o i n e d two c l u b s in the city a n d lived at o n e of t h e m . T h o u g h h e w a s by no m e a n s a n integral part of the stag-lines at t h e s e c l u b s he m a n a g e d to b e o n h a n d at d a n c e s w h e r e J u d y J o n e s w a s likely to a p p e a r . H e c o u l d have g o n e out socially a s m u c h a s he l i k e d — h e w a s a n eligible y o u n g m a n , now, a n d p o p u l a r with d o w n t o w n

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fathers. His c o n f e s s e d devotion to J u d y J o n e s h a d rather solidified his position. B u t he h a d no social a s p i r a t i o n s a n d rather d e s p i s e d the d a n c i n g m e n who were always on tap for the T h u r s d a y or S a t u r d a y parties a n d w h o filled in at dinners with the y o u n g e r married set. Already he w a s playing with the idea of g o i n g E a s t to N e w York. H e w a n t e d to take J u d y J o n e s with h i m . N o disillusion a s to the world in which she h a d grown u p c o u l d c u r e his illusion as to her desirability. R e m e m b e r t h a t — f o r only in the light of it c a n what he did for her be understood. E i g h t e e n m o n t h s after he first m e t J u d y J o n e s he b e c a m e e n g a g e d to a n o t h e r girl. H e r n a m e w a s Irene S c h e e r e r a n d her father w a s o n e of the m e n w h o h a d always believed in Dexter. Irene w a s light haired a n d sweet and h o n o r a b l e a n d a little stout a n d she h a d two b e a u s w h o m s h e p l e a s a n t l y r e l i n q u i s h e d w h e n Dexter formally a s k e d her to marry h i m . S u m m e r , fall, winter, spring, a n o t h e r s u m m e r , a n o t h e r f a l l — s o m u c h h e h a d given of his active life to the curved lips of J u d y J o n e s . S h e h a d treated him with interest, with e n c o u r a g e m e n t , with m a l i c e , with indifference, with c o n t e m p t . S h e h a d inflicted on him the i n n u m e r a b l e little slights a n d indignities p o s s i b l e in s u c h a c a s e — a s if in revenge for having ever c a r e d for h i m at all. S h e h a d b e c k o n e d him a n d yawned at him a n d b e c k o n e d h i m a g a i n a n d he h a d r e s p o n d e d often with bitterness a n d n a r r o w e d eyes. S h e h a d b r o u g h t him e c s t a t i c h a p p i n e s s a n d intolerable agony of spirit. S h e h a d c a u s e d him untold i n c o n v e n i e n c e a n d not a little t r o u b l e . S h e h a d i n s u l t e d him a n d she h a d ridden over him a n d s h e h a d played his interest in her a g a i n s t his interest in his w o r k — f o r fun. S h e h a d d o n e everything to him except to criticize h i m — t h i s s h e h a d not d o n e — i t s e e m e d to h i m only b e c a u s e it might have sullied the utter indifference s h e m a n i f e s t e d a n d sincerely felt toward h i m . W h e n a u t u m n h a d c o m e a n d g o n e again it o c c u r r e d to him that h e c o u l d not have J u d y J o n e s . H e h a d to b e a t this into his m i n d b u t h e c o n v i n c e d h i m s e l f at last. H e lay a w a k e at night for a while a n d a r g u e d it over. H e told himself the trouble a n d the p a i n she h a d c a u s e d h i m , h e e n u m e r a t e d her glaring deficiencies a s a wife. T h e n h e said to h i m s e l f that he loved her a n d after a while h e fell a s l e e p . F o r a week, lest he i m a g i n e her husky voice over the t e l e p h o n e or her eyes o p p o s i t e him at l u n c h , he worked hard a n d late a n d at night he went to his office a n d plotted o u t his years. At the e n d of a w e e k h e went to a d a n c e a n d c u t in on her o n c e . F o r a l m o s t the first time s i n c e they h a d m e t h e did not a s k her to sit o u t with him or tell her that s h e w a s lovely. It hurt him that she did not m i s s t h e s e t h i n g s — that w a s all. H e w a s not j e a l o u s w h e n h e s a w that there w a s a n e w m a n tonight. H e h a d b e e n h a r d e n e d a g a i n s t j e a l o u s y long b e f o r e . H e stayed late at the d a n c e . H e sat for a n hour with Irene S c h e e r e r a n d talked a b o u t books a n d a b o u t m u s i c . H e k n e w very little a b o u t either. B u t he w a s b e g i n n i n g to be m a s t e r of his own time now a n d h e h a d a rather priggish notion that h e — t h e y o u n g a n d already f a b u l o u s l y s u c c e s s f u l Dexter G r e e n — s h o u l d know m o r e a b o u t s u c h things. T h a t w a s in O c t o b e r w h e n he w a s twenty-five. In J a n u a r y Dexter a n d Irene b e c a m e e n g a g e d . It w a s to b e a n n o u n c e d in J u n e a n d they were to b e m a r r i e d three m o n t h s later.

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T h e M i n n e s o t a winter p r o l o n g e d itself interminably a n d it w a s a l m o s t M a y w h e n the winds c a m e soft a n d the s n o w ran d o w n into L a k e E r m i n i e at last. F o r the first time in over a year Dexter w a s enjoying a certain tranquility of spirit. J u d y J o n e s h a d b e e n in Florida a n d afterwards in H o t S p r i n g s a n d s o m e w h e r e she h a d b e e n e n g a g e d a n d s o m e w h e r e she h a d broken it off. At first, w h e n Dexter h a d definitely given her u p , it h a d m a d e him s a d that p e o p l e still linked t h e m together a n d a s k e d for news of her, b u t w h e n he b e g a n to be p l a c e d at dinner next to Irene S c h e e r e r p e o p l e didn't a s k him a b o u t her any m o r e — t h e y told him a b o u t her. H e c e a s e d to b e a n authority o n her. M a y at last. Dexter walked the streets at night w h e n the d a r k n e s s w a s d a m p as rain, w o n d e r i n g that so s o o n , with so little d o n e , s o m u c h of e c s t a s y h a d g o n e from h i m . M a y o n e year b a c k h a d b e e n m a r k e d by J u d y ' s p o i g n a n t , unforgivable, yet forgiven t u r b u l e n c e — i t h a d b e e n o n e of t h o s e rare times w h e n h e f a n c i e d s h e h a d grown to c a r e for h i m . T h a t old penny's worth of h a p p i n e s s h e h a d spent for this b u s h e l of c o n t e n t . H e k n e w that Irene w o u l d be no m o r e t h a n a curtain s p r e a d b e h i n d him, a h a n d m o v i n g a m o n g g l e a m ing tea c u p s , a voice calling to children . . . fire a n d loveliness were g o n e , m a g i c of night a n d the h u s h e d w o n d e r of the h o u r s a n d s e a s o n s . . . s l e n d e r lips, d o w n turning, d r o p p i n g to his lips like p o p p y p e t a l s , b e a r i n g him up into a h e a v e n of eyes . . . a h a u n t i n g g e s t u r e , light of a w a r m l a m p on her hair. T h e thing w a s d e e p in h i m . H e w a s too s t r o n g , too alive for it to die lightly. In the m i d d l e of M a y w h e n the w e a t h e r b a l a n c e d for a few days on the thin bridge that led to d e e p s u m m e r he t u r n e d in o n e night at Irene's h o u s e . T h e i r e n g a g e m e n t w a s to be a n n o u n c e d in a w e e k n o w — n o o n e would be surprised at it. A n d tonight they would sit together on the l o u n g e at the C o l l e g e C l u b a n d look on for an h o u r at the d a n c e r s . It g a v e him a s e n s e of solidity to go with h e r — . S h e w a s so sturdily p o p u l a r , s o intensely a " g o o d egg-" H e m o u n t e d the s t e p s of the brown s t o n e h o u s e a n d s t e p p e d inside. " I r e n e , " h e called. M r s . S c h e e r e r c a m e out of the living r o o m to m e e t him. " D e x t e r , " s h e said. "Irene's g o n e u p s t a i r s with a splitting h e a d a c h e . S h e w a n t e d to go with you but I m a d e her g o to b e d . " " N o t h i n g serious I — " " O h , n o . S h e ' s going to play golf with you in the m o r n i n g . You c a n s p a r e her for j u s t o n e night, can't you, D e x t e r ? " H e r smile w a s kind. S h e a n d Dexter liked e a c h other. In the living r o o m he talked for a m o m e n t before h e said g o o d n i g h t . R e t u r n i n g to the C o l l e g e C l u b , w h e r e he h a d r o o m s , h e s t o o d in the doorway for a m o m e n t a n d w a t c h e d the d a n c e r s . H e l e a n e d a g a i n s t the d o o r p o s t , n o d d e d at a m a n or t w o — y a w n e d . "Hello, kiddo." T h e familiar voice at his elbow startled h i m . J u d y J o n e s h a d left a m a n a n d c r o s s e d the r o o m to h i m — J u d y J o n e s , a s l e n d e r e n a m e l l e d doll in cloth of gold, gold in a b a n d at her h e a d , gold in two slipper p o i n t s at her d r e s s ' s h e m . T h e fragile glow of her f a c e s e e m e d to b l o s s o m as s h e s m i l e d at him. A breeze of w a r m t h a n d light blew t h r o u g h the r o o m . H i s h a n d s in the pock-

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ets of his d i n n e r j a c k e t tightened spasmodically- H e w a s filled with a s u d d e n excitement. " W h e n did you get b a c k ? " he a s k e d casually. " C o m e here a n d I'll tell you a b o u t it." S h e turned a n d he followed her. S h e had b e e n a w a y — h e c o u l d have wept at the w o n d e r of her return. S h e h a d p a s s e d through e n c h a n t e d streets, doing y o u n g things that were like plaintive m u s i c . All m y s t e r i o u s h a p p e n i n g s , all fresh a n d q u i c k e n i n g h o p e s , h a d g o n e away with her, c o m e b a c k with her now. S h e turned in the doorway. " H a v e you a car here? If you haven't I h a v e . " "I have a c o u p e . " In then, with a rustle of golden cloth. H e s l a m m e d the door. Into so m a n y cars s h e h a d s t e p p e d — l i k e this—like t h a t — h e r b a c k a g a i n s t the leather, s o — h e r elbow resting on the d o o r — w a i t i n g . S h e would have b e e n soiled long s i n c e h a d there b e e n anything to soil h e r , — e x c e p t h e r s e l f — b u t t h e s e things were all her own o u t p o u r i n g . With a n effort he forced himself to start the c a r a n d avoiding her s u r p r i s e d g l a n c e b a c k e d into the street. T h i s w a s nothing, h e m u s t r e m e m b e r . S h e h a d d o n e this before a n d he had put her behind him, as he would have s l a s h e d a b a d a c c o u n t from his b o o k s . H e drove slowly d o w n t o w n a n d affecting a d i s i n t e r e s t e d a b s t r a c t i o n traversed the d e s e r t e d streets of the b u s i n e s s section, p e o p l e d here a n d there, w h e r e a movie w a s giving out its crowd or where c o n s u m p t i v e or pugilistic youth l o u n g e d in front of pool halls. T h e clink of g l a s s e s a n d the slap of h a n d s on the bars i s s u e d from s a l o o n s , cloisters of glazed glass a n d dirty yellow light. S h e w a s w a t c h i n g him closely a n d the s i l e n c e w a s e m b a r r a s s i n g yet in this crisis he c o u l d find no c a s u a l word with which to p r o f a n e the h o u r . At a convenient turning he b e g a n to zig-zag b a c k toward the C o l l e g e C l u b . " H a v e you m i s s e d m e ? " s h e a s k e d suddenly. "Everybody m i s s e d y o u . " H e w o n d e r e d if s h e knew of Irene S c h e e r e r . S h e h a d b e e n b a c k only a d a y — h e r a b s e n c e h a d b e e n a l m o s t c o n t e m p o r a n e o u s with his e n g a g e m e n t . " W h a t a r e m a r k ! " J u d y l a u g h e d s a d l y — w i t h o u t s a d n e s s . S h e looked at him searchingly. H e b e c a m e a b s o r b e d for a m o m e n t in the d a s h b o a r d . "You're h a n d s o m e r than you u s e d to b e , " s h e said thoughtfully. "Dexter, you have the m o s t r e m e m b e r a b l e e y e s . " H e c o u l d have l a u g h e d at this, but he did not laugh. It w a s the sort of thing that w a s said to s o p h o m o r e s . Yet it s t a b b e d at h i m . "I'm awfully tired of everything, k i d d o . " S h e called everyone kiddo, endowing the o b s o l e t e s l a n g with c a r e l e s s , individual c a m a r a d e r i e . "I wish you'd marry m e . " T h e d i r e c t n e s s of this c o n f u s e d him. H e s h o u l d have told her now that he w a s g o i n g to marry a n o t h e r girl but he c o u l d not tell her. H e c o u l d as easily have sworn that he h a d never loved her. "I think we'd get a l o n g , " s h e c o n t i n u e d , on the s a m e n o t e , " u n l e s s probably you've forgotten m e a n d fallen in love with a n o t h e r girl." H e r c o n f i d e n c e w a s obviously e n o r m o u s . S h e h a d said, in effect, that s h e f o u n d s u c h a thing i m p o s s i b l e to believe, that if it were true he had merely

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c o m m i t t e d a childish i n d i s c r e t i o n — a n d probably to s h o w off. S h e w o u l d forgive him, b e c a u s e it w a s not a m a t t e r of any m o m e n t but rather s o m e t h i n g to be b r u s h e d a s i d e lightly. " O f c o u r s e you c o u l d never love anybody but m e , " s h e c o n t i n u e d . "I like the way you love m e . O h , Dexter, have you forgotten last y e a r ? " " N o , I haven't forgotten." " N e i t h e r have I!" W a s s h e sincerely m o v e d — o r was s h e carried a l o n g by the wave of her own acting? "I wish we c o u l d be like that a g a i n , " s h e said, a n d h e forced h i m s e l f to answer: "I don't think we c a n . " "I s u p p o s e not. . . . I h e a r you're giving Irene S c h e e r e r a violent r u s h . " T h e r e w a s not the faintest e m p h a s i s o n the n a m e , yet Dexter w a s s u d d e n l y ashamed. " O h , take m e h o m e , " cried J u d y suddenly. "I don't w a n t to g o b a c k to that idiotic d a n c e — w i t h t h o s e c h i l d r e n . " T h e n , a s he t u r n e d up the street that led to the r e s i d e n c e district, J u d y b e g a n to cry quietly to herself. H e h a d never s e e n her cry b e f o r e . T h e dark street lightened, the dwellings of the rich l o o m e d u p a r o u n d t h e m , h e s t o p p e d his c o u p e in front of the great white b u l k of the M o r t i m e r J o n e s ' h o u s e , s o m n o l e n t , g o r g e o u s , d r e n c h e d with the s p l e n d o r of the d a m p m o o n l i g h t . Its solidity startled him. T h e strong walls, the fine steel of the girders, the b r e a d t h a n d b e a m a n d p o m p of it were t h e r e only to bring o u t the c o n t r a s t with the y o u n g b e a u t y b e s i d e h i m . It w a s sturdy to a c c e n t u a t e her s l i g h t n e s s — a s if to s h o w what a breeze c o u l d be g e n e r a t e d by a butterfly's wing. H e sat perfectly quiet, his nerves in wild c l a m o r , afraid that if h e m o v e d he would find her irresistibly in his a r m s . T w o tears h a d rolled d o w n her wet f a c e a n d t r e m b l e d on her u p p e r lip. "I'm m o r e beautiful than anybody e l s e , " s h e said brokenly, "why can't I b e h a p p y ? " H e r moist eyes tore at his s t a b i l i t y — m o u t h turned slowly d o w n w a r d with a n exquisite s a d n e s s . "I'd like to marry you if you'll have m e , Dexter. I s u p p o s e you think I'm not worth h a v i n g b u t I'll b e s o beautiful for y o u , Dexter." A million p h r a s e s of anger, of p r i d e , of p a s s i o n , of h a t r e d , of t e n d e r n e s s fought on his lips. T h e n a perfect wave of e m o t i o n w a s h e d over h i m , carrying off with it a s e d i m e n t of w i s d o m , of c o n v e n t i o n , of d o u b t , of honor. T h i s w a s his girl w h o w a s s p e a k i n g , his own, his beautiful, his p r i d e . "Won't you c o m e i n ? " he h e a r d her draw in her b r e a t h sharply. Waiting. "All right," his voice w a s trembling, "I'll c o m e i n . " It s e e m s s t r a n g e to say that neither w h e n it w a s over nor a long t i m e afterward did h e regret that night. L o o k i n g at it from the p e r s p e c t i v e of ten y e a r s , the fact that J u d y ' s flare for him e n d u r e d j u s t o n e m o n t h s e e m e d of little import a n c e . N o r did it m a t t e r that by his yielding h e s u b j e c t e d h i m s e l f to a d e e p e r a g o n y in the e n d a n d gave s e r i o u s hurt to Irene S c h e e r e r a n d to Irene's p a r e n t s w h o h a d b e f r i e n d e d h i m . T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g sufficiently pictorial a b o u t Irene's grief to s t a m p itself on his m i n d . Dexter w a s at b o t t o m h a r d - m i n d e d . T h e a t t i t u d e of the city o n his action

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was of no i m p o r t a n c e to him, not b e c a u s e he w a s g o i n g to leave the city, but b e c a u s e any o u t s i d e a t t i t u d e on the situation s e e m e d superficial. H e w a s completely indifferent to p o p u l a r opinion. Nor, w h e n he h a d s e e n that it w a s no u s e , that he did not p o s s e s s in himself the power to m o v e f u n d a m e n t a l l y or to hold J u d y J o n e s , did h e b e a r any m a l i c e toward her. H e loved her a n d he would love her until the day he was too old for l o v i n g — b u t h e c o u l d not have her. S o he t a s t e d the d e e p pain that is reserved only for the s t r o n g , j u s t as he h a d tasted for a little while the d e e p h a p p i n e s s . Even the u l t i m a t e falsity of the g r o u n d s u p o n which J u d y t e r m i n a t e d the e n g a g e m e n t — t h a t s h e did not want to "take him a w a y " from I r e n e , that it — w a s on her c o n s c i e n c e — d i d not revolt him. H e w a s b e y o n d any revulsion or any a m u s e m e n t . H e went e a s t in F e b r u a r y with the intention of selling out his l a u n d r i e s a n d settling in N e w Y o r k — b u t the war 2 c a m e to A m e r i c a in M a r c h a n d c h a n g e d his p l a n s . H e returned to the west, h a n d e d over the m a n a g e m e n t of the b u s i n e s s to his partner a n d went into the first officers' training c a m p in late April. H e w a s o n e of t h o s e y o u n g t h o u s a n d s w h o g r e e t e d the war with a certain a m o u n t of relief, w e l c o m i n g the liberation from w e b s of t a n g l e d emotion. T h i s story is not his biography, r e m e m b e r , a l t h o u g h things c r e e p into it which have nothing to do with t h o s e d r e a m s he h a d w h e n h e w a s y o u n g . W e are a l m o s t d o n e with t h e m a n d with him now. T h e r e is only o n e m o r e incident to be related here a n d it h a p p e n s seven years farther on. It took p l a c e in N e w York, w h e r e h e h a d d o n e w e l l — s o well that there were n o barriers too high for him now. H e w a s thirty-two years old, a n d , except for o n e flying trip immediately after the war, h e h a d not b e e n west in seven years. A m a n n a m e d Devlin from Detroit c a m e into his office to s e e him in a b u s i n e s s way, a n d then a n d there this incident o c c u r r e d , a n d c l o s e d out, s o to s p e a k , this particular side of his life. " S o you're from the m i d d l e w e s t , " said the m a n Devlin with c a r e l e s s curiosity. " T h a t ' s f u n n y — I thought m e n like you were p r o b a b l y b o r n a n d raised on Wall S t r e e t . You k n o w — w i f e of o n e of my b e s t friends in Detroit c a m e from your city. I w a s an u s h e r at the w e d d i n g . " Dexter waited with no a p p r e h e n s i o n of what w a s c o m i n g . T h e r e w a s a m a g i c that his city would never lose for him. J u s t a s J u d y ' s h o u s e h a d always s e e m e d to him m o r e m y s t e r i o u s a n d gay than other h o u s e s , s o his d r e a m of the city itself, now that he h a d g o n e from it, w a s p e r v a d e d with a m e l a n c h o l y beauty. " J u d y S i m m s , " s a i d Devlin with no particular interest, " J u d y J o n e s s h e w a s once." "Yes. I knew h e r . " A dull i m p a t i e n c e s p r e a d over h i m . H e h a d h e a r d , of c o u r s e , that s h e w a s m a r r i e d , — p e r h a p s deliberately he h a d h e a r d no m o r e . "Awfully nice girl," b r o o d e d Devlin, m e a n i n g l e s s l y , "I'm sort of sorry for her." " W h y ? " S o m e t h i n g in Dexter w a s alert, receptive, at o n c e . " O h , J o e S i m m s h a s g o n e to p i e c e s in a way. I don't m e a n he b e a t s her, you u n d e r s t a n d , or anything like that. B u t he drinks a n d r u n s a r o u n d — " " D o e s n ' t s h e run a r o u n d ? " 2. World War I, which the United States entered in 1917.

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" N o . S t a y s at h o m e with her k i d s . " "Oh." " S h e ' s a little too old for h i m , " said Devlin. " T o o o l d ! " cried Dexter, "why m a n , she's only twenty-seven." H e w a s p o s s e s s e d with a wild notion of r u s h i n g o u t into the streets a n d taking a train to Detroit. H e rose to his feet, s p a s m o d i c a l l y , involuntarily. "I g u e s s you're b u s y , " Devlin apologized quickly. "I didn't r e a l i z e — " " N o , I'm not b u s y , " said Dexter, steadying his v o i c e . "I'm not b u s y at all. N o t b u s y at all. D i d you say s h e w a s — t w e n t y - s e v e n . N o , I s a i d s h e w a s twenty-seven." "Yes, you d i d , " a g r e e d Dexter drily. " G o on, then. G o o n . " " W h a t do you m e a n ? " "About Judy J o n e s . " Devlin looked at him helplessly. "Well, t h a t ' s — I told you all there is to it. H e treats her like the devil. O h , they're not g o i n g to get divorced or anything. W h e n he's particularly o u t r a g e o u s s h e forgives h i m . In fact, I'm inclined to think s h e loves h i m . S h e w a s a pretty girl w h e n s h e first c a m e to D e t r o i t . " A pretty girl! T h e p h r a s e s t r u c k Dexter a s l u d i c r o u s . "Isn't s h e — a pretty girl any m o r e ? " " O h , she's all right." " L o o k h e r e , " said Dexter, sitting down suddenly, "I don't u n d e r s t a n d . You say she w a s a 'pretty girl' a n d now you say she's 'all right.' I don't u n d e r s t a n d what you m e a n — J u d y J o n e s wasn't a pretty girl, at all. S h e w a s a great beauty. Why, I knew her, I knew her. S h e w a s — " Devlin l a u g h e d pleasantly. "I'm not trying to start a row," h e s a i d . "I think J u d y ' s a n i c e girl a n d I like her. I can't u n d e r s t a n d how a m a n like J o e S i m m s c o u l d fall m a d l y in love with her, b u t he d i d . " T h e n h e a d d e d , " M o s t of the w o m e n like h e r . " Dexter looked closely at Devlin, thinking wildly that there m u s t be a r e a s o n for this, s o m e insensitivity in the m a n or s o m e private m a l i c e . " L o t s of w o m e n f a d e just-Iike-tfoat." Devlin s n a p p e d his fingers. "You m u s t have s e e n it h a p p e n . P e r h a p s I've forgotten how pretty s h e w a s at her wedding. I've s e e n her so m u c h s i n c e t h e n , you s e e . S h e h a s nice e y e s . " A sort of d u l l n e s s settled d o w n u p o n Dexter. F o r the first time in his life he felt like getting very drunk. H e knew that he w a s l a u g h i n g loudly at s o m e thing Devlin h a d said but h e did not know w h a t it w a s or why it w a s funny. W h e n Devlin went, in a few m i n u t e s , h e lay d o w n on his l o u n g e a n d looked o u t the w i n d o w at the N e w York skyline into which the s u n w a s s i n k i n g in dully lovely s h a d e s of p i n k a n d gold. H e h a d t h o u g h t that having n o t h i n g else to lose h e w a s i n v u l n e r a b l e at l a s t — b u t he knew that h e h a d j u s t lost s o m e t h i n g m o r e , a s surely a s if he h a d married J u d y J o n e s a n d s e e n her f a d e away before his eyes. T h e d r e a m w a s g o n e . S o m e t h i n g h a d b e e n taken from h i m . In a sort of p a n i c h e p u s h e d the p a l m s of his h a n d s into his eyes a n d tried to b r i n g u p a p i c t u r e of the waters l a p p i n g at L a k e E r m i n i e a n d the m o o n l i t v e r a n d a h , a n d g i n g h a m o n the golf links a n d the dry s u n a n d the gold color of her neck's soft d o w n . A n d her m o u t h d a m p to his k i s s e s a n d her eyes plaintive with m e l a n c h o l y a n d her f r e s h n e s s like n e w fine linen in the m o r n i n g . W h y

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these things were no longer in the world. They h a d existed a n d they existed no m o r e . For the first time in years the tears were s t r e a m i n g d o w n his f a c e . B u t they were for h i m s e l f now. H e did not c a r e a b o u t m o u t h a n d eyes a n d m o v i n g h a n d s . H e w a n t e d to c a r e a n d he could not c a r e . F o r he h a d g o n e away a n d h e could never go b a c k any m o r e . T h e g a t e s were c l o s e d , the s u n w a s g o n e down a n d there w a s no b e a u t y but the grey b e a u t y of steel that w i t h s t a n d s all time. E v e n the grief he could have b o r n e w a s left b e h i n d in the c o u n t r y of illusion, of y o u t h , of the r i c h n e s s of life, w h e r e his winter d r e a m s had flourished. " L o n g a g o , " h e said, "long a g o , there w a s s o m e t h i n g in m e , but now that thing is g o n e . N o w that thing is g o n e , that thing is g o n e . I c a n n o t cry. I c a n n o t c a r e . T h a t thing will c o m e b a c k no m o r e . " 1922

B a b y l o n Revisited 1 " A n d where's M r . C a m p b e l l ? " C h a r l i e a s k e d . " G o n e to Switzerland. Mr. C a m p b e l l ' s a pretty sick m a n , Mr. W a l e s . " "I'm sorry to hear that. A n d G e o r g e H a r d t ? " C h a r l i e inquired. " B a c k in A m e r i c a , g o n e to work." "And where is the S n o w B i r d ? " " H e w a s in here last week. Anyway, his friend, Mr. S c h a e f f e r , is in P a r i s . " T w o familiar n a m e s from the long list of a year a n d a half a g o . C h a r l i e scribbled a n a d d r e s s in his n o t e b o o k a n d tore out the p a g e . "If you s e e M r . S c h a e f f e r , give him t h i s , " h e said. "It's my brother-in-law's adaresiT I haven't settled o n a hotel yet." F l e w a s not really d i s a p p o i n t e d to find Paris w a s so empty. B u t the stillness in the Ritz bar w a s s t r a n g e a n d p o r t e n t o u s . It w a s not a n A m e r i c a n bar any m o r e — h e felt polite in it, a n d not a s if he o w n e d it. It h a d g o n e b a c k into F r a n c e . H e felt the stillness from the m o m e n t he got out of the taxi a n d saw the d o o r m a n , usually in a frenzy of activity at this hour, g o s s i p i n g with a chasseur2 by the servants' e n t r a n c e . P a s s i n g t h r o u g h the corridor, he h e a r d only a single, b o r e d voice in the o n c e - c l a m o r o u s w o m e n ' s r o o m . W h e n he turned into the bar he traveled the twenty feet of g r e e n c a r p e t with his eyes fixed straight a h e a d by old habit; a n d then, with his foot firmly on the rail, he t u r n e d a n d surveyed the r o o m , e n c o u n t e r i n g only a single pair of eyes that fluttered u p from a n e w s p a p e r in the corner. C h a r l i e a s k e d for the h e a d b a r m a n , P a u l , w h o in the latter days of the bull market h a d c o m e to work in his own c u s t o m - b u i l t c a r — d i s e m b a r k i n g , however, with d u e nicety at the n e a r e s t corner. B u t P a u l w a s at his country h o u s e today a n d Alix giving him i n f o r m a t i o n . " N o , no m o r e , " C h a r l i e said, "I'm g o i n g slow t h e s e d a y s . " 1. Babylon was an ancient, prosperous city of the Near East, associated by the Hebrews and Greeks with materialism and pursuit of sensual pleasure;

here, referring to Paris, where the story is set in the aftermath of the stock market crash of 1929. 2. Messenger-bov, errand runner (French).

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Alix c o n g r a t u l a t e d him: "You were g o i n g pretty strong a c o u p l e of years ago." "I'll stick to it all right," C h a r l i e a s s u r e d h i m . "I've s t u c k to it for over a year a n d a half n o w . " " H o w do you find c o n d i t i o n s in A m e r i c a ? " "I haven't b e e n to A m e r i c a for m o n t h s . I'm in b u s i n e s s in P r a g u e , repres e n t i n g a c o u p l e of c o n c e r n s t h e r e . T h e y don't know a b o u t m e d o w n t h e r e . " Alix smiled. " R e m e m b e r the night of G e o r g e H a r d t ' s b a c h e l o r d i n n e r h e r e ? " s a i d C h a r lie. " B y the way, what's b e c o m e of C l a u d e F e s s e n d e n ? " Alix lowered his voice confidentially: " H e ' s in P a r i s , b u t he d o e s n ' t c o m e here any m o r e . Paul doesn't allow it. H e ran u p a bill of thirty t h o u s a n d francs, c h a r g i n g all his drinks a n d his l u n c h e s , a n d usually his dinner, for m o r e than a year. A n d w h e n Paul finally told him h e h a d to pay, h e gave him a bad check." Alix s h o o k his h e a d sadly. "I don't u n d e r s t a n d it, s u c h a d a n d y fellow. N o w he's all b l o a t e d u p — " H e m a d e a p l u m p a p p l e of his h a n d s . C h a r l i e w a t c h e d a g r o u p of strident q u e e n s installing t h e m s e l v e s in a corner. " N o t h i n g affects t h e m , " he t h o u g h t . " S t o c k s rise a n d fall, p e o p l e loaf or work, but they g o o n forever." T h e p l a c e o p p r e s s e d h i m . H e called for the dice a n d s h o o k with Alix for the drink. " H e r e for long, M r . W a l e s ? " "I'm here for four or five days to s e e my little girl." " O h - h ! You have a little g i r l ? " O u t s i d e , the fire-red, g a s - b l u e , g h o s t - g r e e n signs s h o n e smokily t h r o u g h the tranquil rain. It w a s late afternoon a n d the streets were in m o v e m e n t ; the bistros* g l e a m e d . At the c o r n e r of the B o u l e v a r d d e s C a p u c i n e s he took a taxi. T h e P l a c e de la C o n c o r d e m o v e d by in pink m a j e s t y ; they c r o s s e d the logical S e i n e , a n d C h a r l i e felt the s u d d e n provincial quality of the left b a n k . 4 C h a r l i e directed his taxi to the A v e n u e de I'Opera, w h i c h w a s out of his way. B u t he w a n t e d to s e e the b l u e h o u r s p r e a d over the m a g n i f i c e n t f a c a d e , a n d i m a g i n e that the c a b h o r n s , playing e n d l e s s l y the first few b a r s of Le Plus que Lent,"' were the t r u m p e t s of the S e c o n d E m p i r e . T h e y were c l o s i n g the iron grill in front of B r e n t a n o ' s B o o k - s t o r e , a n d p e o p l e were already at dinner b e h i n d the trim little b o u r g e o i s h e d g e of D u v a l ' s . H e h a d never e a t e n at a really c h e a p r e s t a u r a n t in P a r i s . F i v e - c o u r s e dinner, four f r a n c s fifty, e i g h t e e n c e n t s , wine i n c l u d e d . F o r s o m e o d d r e a s o n h e w i s h e d that h e h a d . As they rolled o n to the Left B a n k a n d h e felt its s u d d e n p r o v i n c i a l i s m , he t h o u g h t , "I spoiled this city for myself. I didn't realize it, b u t the days c a m e a l o n g o n e after a n o t h e r , a n d then two years were g o n e , a n d everything w a s gone, and I was gone." H e w a s thirty-five, a n d g o o d to look at. T h e Irish mobility of his f a c e w a s s o b e r e d by a d e e p wrinkle b e t w e e n his eyes. As he r a n g his brother-in-law's bell in the R u e P a l a t i n e , the wrinkle d e e p e n e d till it p u l l e d d o w n his b r o w s ; h e felt a c r a m p i n g s e n s a t i o n in his belly. F r o m b e h i n d the m a i d w h o o p e n e d 3. Small, informal restaurants. 4. Paris is divided by the Seine River; the grander buildings and broader streets are on the Right

Bank. To Charlie, the Left Bank is more like a town than a city, 5. A popular song.

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the door darted a lovely little girl of nine w h o shrieked " D a d d y ! " a n d flew up, struggling like a fish, into his a r m s . S h e pulled his h e a d a r o u n d b y o n e ear a n d set her c h e e k a g a i n s t his. " M y old p i e , " he s a i d . " O h , daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, d a d s , d a d s , d a d s ! " S h e drew him into the s a l o n , where the family waited, a b o y a n d a girl his daughter's a g e , his sister-in-law a n d her h u s b a n d . H e g r e e t e d M a r i o n with his voice p i t c h e d carefully to avoid either f p ' g " " ^ * 3 " r h u s i a s m or dislike, b u t her r e s p o n s e w a s m o r e f r a n k l y t p p j d , t h o u g h <;he m i n i m i z e d h e r e x p r e s s i o n 15f mvajji»riubjejj^ her regard toward his child". The two m e n c l a s p e d h a n d s in a friendly way a n d L i n c o l n Peters rested his for a m o m e n t on Charlie's s h o u l d e r . T h e r o o m w a s w a r m a n d comfortably A m e r i c a n . T h e three children m o v e d intimately a b o u t , playing t h r o u g h the yellow o b l o n g s that led to other r o o m s ; the c h e e r o f six o'clock s p o k e in the eager s m a c k s of the fire a n d the s o u n d s of Frencfi activity in the kitchen. B u t C h a r l i e d i d not relax; his heart s a t u p rigidly in his body a n d he drew c o n f i d e n c e from his d a u g h t e r , w h o from time to time c a m e c l o s e to h i m , holding in her a r m s the doll h e h a d b r o u g h t . "Really extremely well," he declared in a n s w e r to L i n c o l n ' s q u e s t i o n . "There's a lot of b u s i n e s s there that isn't m o v i n g at all, b u t we're d o i n g even better than ever. In fact, d a m n well. I'm bringing my sister over from A m e r i c a next m o n t h to keep h o u s e for m e . M y i n c o m e last year w a s bigger t h a n it w a s w h e n I h a d m o n e y . You s e e , the C z e c h s — " H i s b o a s t i n g w a s for a specific p u r p o s e ; b u t after a m o m e n t , s e e i n g a faint restiveness in L i n c o l n ' s e y e , he c h a n g e d the s u b j e c t : " T h o s e a r e fine children o f yours, well b r o u g h t u p , g o o d m a n n e r s . " " W e think H o n o r i a ' s a great little girl t o o . " M a r i o n Peters c a m e b a c k from the kitchen. S h e w a s a >" ' • m m ^ r i with wnrripd pypc, wh" h d o n c e p o s s e s s e d a fresh Arnrrir.in I m r l i n r i i t Charlie h a d never b e e n sensitive to it a n d w a s always s u r p r i s e d w h e n p e o p l e s p o k e of h o w pretty s h e h a d b e e n . F r o m the first there h a d b e e n a n instinctive antipathy b e t w e e n t h e m . "Well, h o w d o you find H o n o r i a ? " s h e a s k e d . " W o n d e r f u l . I w a s a s t o n i s h e d h o w m u c h she's grown in ten m o n t h s . All the children a r e looking well." " W e haven't h a d a d o c t o r for a year. H o w d o you like b e i n g b a c k in. P a r i s ? " "It s e e m s very funny to s e e s o few A m e r i c a n s a r o u n d . " "I'm d e l i g h t e d , " M a r i o n said vehemently. " N o w at least y o u c a n g o into a store without their a s s u m i n g you're a millionaire. We've suffered like everybody, b u t on the w h o l e it's a g o o d deal p l e a s a n t e r . " " B u t it w a s nice while it l a s t e d , " C h a r l i e s a i d . " W e were a sort of royalty, a l m o s t infallible, with a sort o f m a g i c a r o u n d u s . In the b a r this a f t e r n o o n " — he s t u m b l e d , s e e i n g his m i s t a k e — " t h e r e wasn't a m a n I k n e w . " S h e looked at him keenly. "I s h o u l d think y o u ' d have h a d e n o u g h of b a r s . " "I only stayed a m i n u t e . I take o n e drink every a f t e r n o o n , a n d n o m o r e . " " D o n ' t you want a cocktail before d i n n e r ? " L i n c o l n a s k e d . "I take only o n e drink every a f t e r n o o n , a n d I've h a d t h a t . " "I h o p e you keep to i t , " said M a r i o n . H e r d i ' d i k r w i p . i - w i d e n t in the c o l d n e s s with which s h e s p o k e , b u t C h a r l i e only s m i l e d ; he h a d larger p l a n s . H e r very a g g r e s s i v e n e s s gave h i m an advanfr

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t a g e , a n d he knew e n o u g h to wait. H e w a n t e d t h e m to initiate the d i s c u s s i o n of what they knew h a d brought him to P a r i s . At d i n n e r h e couldn't d e c i d e w h e t h e r H o n o r i a w a s m o s t like him or her mother. F o r t u n a t e if s h e didn't c o m b i n e the traits of b o t h that h a d b r o u g h t them to disaster. A great wave of p r o t e c t i v e n e s s went over h i m . H e t h o u g h t he knew what to do for her. H e believed in c h a r a c t e r ; h e w a n t e d to j u m p b a c k a w h o l e g e n e r a t i o n a n d t r u s t j n j j h n r a r t p r a g a i n a s the eterjnjlly_Aalujtble e l e m e n t . Everything else wore out. H e left s o o n after dinner, but not to go h o m e . H e w a s c u r i o u s to s e e P a r i s by night with clearer a n d m o r e j u d i c i o u s eyes than t h o s e of o t h e r d a y s . H e for the C a s i n o a n d w a t c h e d J o s e p h i n e Baker'' g o t h r o u g h b o u g h t a strapontin her c h o c o l a t e a r a b e s q u e s . After an hour he left a n d strolled toward M o n t m a r t r e , u p the R u e Pigalle into the P l a c e B l a n c h e . T h e rain h a d s t o p p e d a n d t h e r e were a few p e o p l e cocottes7 in evening c l o t h e s d i s e m b a r k i n g from taxis in front of c a b a r e t s , a n d prowling singly or in p a i r s , a n d m a n y N e g r o e s . H e p a s s e d a lighted d o o r from which i s s u e d m u s i c , a n d s t o p p e d with the s e n s e of familiarity; it w a s Bricktop's, w h e r e h e h a d p a r t e d with so m a n y h o u r s a n d s o m u c h m o n e y . A few doors farther o n he f o u n d a n o t h e r a n c i e n t rendezvous a n d i n c a u t i o u s l y p u t his h e a d inside. I m m e d i a t e l y an e a g e r o r c h e s t r a b u r s t into s o u n d , a pair of professional d a n c e r s l e a p e d to their feet a n d a m a i t r e d'hotel s w o o p e d toward h i m , crying, " C r o w d j u s t arriving, sir!" B u t he withdrew quickly. "You have to be d a m n d r u n k , " he t h o u g h t . Zelli's w a s c l o s e d , the bleak a n d sinister c h e a p hotels s u r r o u n d i n g it were dark; up in the R u e B l a n c h e there w a s m o r e light a n d a local, colloquial F r e n c h crowd. T h e Poet's C a v e h a d d i s a p p e a r e d , but the two great m o u t h s of the C a f e of H e a v e n a n d the C a f e of Hell still y a w n e d — e v e n d e v o u r e d , a s he w a t c h e d , the m e a g e r c o n t e n t s of a tourist b u s — a G e r m a n , a J a p a n e s e , a n d a n A m e r i c a n c o u p l e who g l a n c e d at him with frightened eyes. S o m u c h for the effort a n d ingenuity of M o n t m a r t r e . All t h e c a t e r i n g to vice a n d w a s t e w a s o n a n utterly childish s c a l e , a n d he s u d d e n l y realized the m e a n i n g of the word " d i s s i p a t e " — t o d i s s i p a t e into thin air; to m a k e n o t h i n g out of s o m e t h i n g . In the little h o u r s of the night every m o v e from p l a c e to p l a c e w a s an e n o r m o u s h u m a n j u m p , an i n c r e a s e of paying for the privilege of slower a n d slower m o t i o n . H e r e m e m b e r e d t h o u s a n d - f r a n c n o t e s given to a n o r c h e s t r a for playing a single n u m b e r , h u n d r e d - f r a n c n o t e s t o s s e d to a d o o r m a n for c a l l i n g a c a b . B u t it hadn't b e e n given for nothing. It had b e e n given, even the m o s t wildly s q u a n d e r e d s u m , a s a n offering to destiny that he might not r e m e m b e r the things m o s t worth r e m e m b e r i n g , the things that n o w h e w o u l d always r e m e m b e r — h i s child t a k p p f r i i m h k control, h i s w i f p p s r a p e d tnj^ravp jn V p r m o H t r In the glare of a brasserie" a w o m a n s p o k e to h i m . H e b o u g h t her s o m e e g g s a n d coffee, a n d then, e l u d i n g her e n c o u r a g i n g s t a r e , gave her a twentyfranc note a n d took a taxi to his hotel. 6. African American jazz singer and dancer ( 1 9 0 6 - 1 9 7 5 ) . who arrived in Paris with a vaudeville troupe in 1925 and remained as a star entertainer. "Strapontin": folding seat.

7. Coquettes (French, literal trans.); prostitutes. 8. Large, plain restaurant specializing in simple meals and beer.

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H e woke u p o n a fine fall day—football weather. T h e d e p r e s s i o n of yesterday w a s g o n e a n d h e liked t h e p e o p l e on t h e streets. At n o o n h e sat o p p o s i t e H o n o r i a at L e G r a n d Vatel, the only r e s t a u r a n t h e c o u l d think o f not reminiscent of c h a m p a g n e dinners a n d long l u n c h e o n s that b e g a n at two a n d e n d e d in a blurred a n d v a g u e twilight. " N o w , h o w a b o u t v e g e t a b l e s ? O u g h t n ' t you to have s o m e v e g e t a b l e s ? " "Well, y e s . " " H e r e ' s epinards

a n d chou-fleur

and carrots and

haricots."9

"I'd like chou-fleur." "Wouldn't you like to have two v e g e t a b l e s ? " "I usually only have o n e at l u n c h . " T h e waiter w a s p r e t e n d i n g to b e inordinately fond of children. "Quelle mignonne

la petite!

Elle

parle

exactement

comme

une

est

Francaise."'

" H o w a b o u t d e s s e r t ? Shall we wait a n d s e e ? " T h e waiter d i s a p p e a r e d . H o n o r i a looked at her father expectantly. " W h a t a r e we going to d o ? " "First, we're going to that toy store in t h e R u e S a i n t - H o n o r e a n d b u y you anything you like. A n d then we're going to t h e vaudeville at t h e E m p i r e . " S h e hesitated. "I like it a b o u t the vaudeville, but not t h e toy s t o r e . " "Why n o t ? " "Well, you b r o u g h t m e this doll." S h e h a d it with her. " A n d I've got lots of things. A n d we're not rich any m o r e , a r e w e ? " " W e never were. B u t today you a r e to have anything you w a n t . " "All right," s h e a g r e e d resignedly. W h e n there h a d b e e n her m o t h e r a n d a F r e n c h n u r s e h e h a d b e e n inclined to b e strict; n o w he e x t e n d e d himself, r e a c h e d o u t for a n e w t o l e r a n c e ; h e m u s t b e both p a r e n t s to her a n d not shut any o f her o u t o f c o m m u n i c a t i o n . "I want to get to know y o u , " h e said gravely. "First let m e i n t r o d u c e myself. M y n a m e is C h a r l e s J . W a l e s , of P r a g u e . " " O h , d a d d y ! " her voice c r a c k e d with laughter. "And w h o a r e y o u , p l e a s e ? " h e p e r s i s t e d , a n d s h e a c c e p t e d a role i m m e diately: " H o n o r i a W a l e s , R u e P a l a t i n e , P a r i s . " " M a r r i e d or s i n g l e ? " " N o , not m a r r i e d . S i n g l e . " H e indicated the doll. " B u t I see_you have a child, m a d a m e . " Unwilling to disinherit it, sjoe took it to her heart a n d t h o u g h t quickly: "Yes, I've b e e n married, but I'm not married now. M y h u s b a n d is d e a d . " H e went on quickly, " A n d t h e child's n a m e ? " " S i m o n e . T h a t ' s after my b e s t friend at s c h o o l . " "I'm very p l e a s e d that you're doing s o well at s c h o o l . " "I'm third this m o n t h , " s h e b o a s t e d . " E l s i e " — t h a t w a s her c o u s i n — " i s only a b o u t e i g h t e e n t h , a n d Richard is a b o u t at t h e b o t t o m . " "You like R i c h a r d a n d E l s i e , don't y o u ? " " O h , yes. I like Richard quite well a n d I like her all right." 9. Green beans (French). "Chou-fleur": cauliflower.

"Evhiards

: spinach.

1. How cute s h e is! S h e speaks exactly like a French girl (French).

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C a u t i o u s l y a n d c a s u a l l y he a s k e d : " A n d A u n t M a r i o n a n d U n c l e L i n c o l n — which d o you like b e s t ? " "Oh, Uncle Lincoln, I guess." H e w a s increasingly a w a r e of her p r e s e n c e . As they c a m e in, a m u r m u r of ". . . a d o r a b l e " followed t h e m , a n d n o w the p e o p l e at the next table b e n t all their s i l e n c e s u p o n her, staring a s if s h e were s o m e t h i n g n o m o r e c o n s c i o u s than a flower. "Why don't I live with y o u ? " s h e a s k e d s u d d e n l y . " B e c a u s e m a m m a ' s dead?" "You m u s t stay here a n d learn m o r e F r e n c h . It w o u l d have b e e n h a r d for d a d d y to take c a r e of you so well." "I don't really n e e d m u c h taking c a r e of any m o r e . I d o everything for myself." G o i n g o u t of the r e s t a u r a n t , a m a n a n d a w o m a n u n e x p e c t e d l y hailed h i m . "Well, the old W a l e s ! " " H e l l o there, L o r r a i n e . . . . D u n e . " S u d d e n g h o s t s o u t of the p a s t : D u n c a n S c h a e f f e r , a friend from c o l l e g e . L o r r a i n e Quarries, a loyply, p a l e b l o n d e of thirty; n n p n f a r r n \ A z d - w 4 > f > - h a r l h e l p e d t h e m rnythf mrmthn into d a y s in the lavish t i m e s of three years ago. " M y h u s b a n d couldn't c o m e this y e a r , " s h e said, in a n s w e r to his q u e s t i o n . "We're p o o r a s hell. S o he gave m e two h u n d r e d a m o n t h a n d told m e I c o u l d d o my worst on that. . . . T h i s your little girl?" " V " W h a t a b o u t c o m i n g b a c k a n d sitting d o w n ? " D u n c a n a s k e d . " C a n ' t d o it." H e w a s glad for a n e x c u s e . A s always, h e felt Lorraine's jL _s.sinn provocative attraction, hut his own rhythm w a s different now. "Well, how a b o u t d i n n e r ? " s h e a s k e d . "I'm not free. G i v e m e your a d d r e s s a n d let m e call y o u . " " C h a r l i e , I believe you're s o b e r , " s h e said judicially. "I honestly believe he's sober, D u n e . P i n c h him a n d s e e if he's s o b e r . " C h a r l i e i n d i c a t e d H o n o r i a with his h e a d . T h e y both l a u g h e d . " W h a t ' s your a d d r e s s ? " s a i d D u n c a n skeptically. H e h e s i t a t e d , unwilling to give the n a m e of his hotel. "I'm not settled yet. I'd better call y o u . W e ' r e g o i n g to s e e the vaudeville at the E m p i r e . " " T h e r e ! T h a t ' s w h a t I w a n t to d o , " L o r r a i n e s a i d . "I w a n t to s e e s o m e clowns a n d a c r o b a t s a n d j u g g l e r s . T h a t ' s j u s t w h a t we'll d o , D u n e . " "We've got to d o a n e r r a n d first," s a i d C h a r l i e . " P e r h a p s we'll s e e you there." "All right, you s n o b . . . . G o o d - b y , beautiful little girl." "Good-by." H o n o r i a b o b b e d politely. S o m e h o w , a n u n w e l c o m e e n c o u n t e r . T h e y liked him b e c a u s e h e w a s f u n c tioning, b e c a u s e h e w a s s e r i o u s ; they w a n t e d to s e e h i m , b e c a u s e h e w a s 9 t T o n ^ e i : ~ r i r a r r t l T e y were now, b e c a u s e they w a n t e d to d r a w a c e r t a i n s u s t e i c e from his strength. • " At t K e _ E m p i r e , H o n o r i a pwwkUy refused r " « i r u p o n h e r father's f o l d e d c o a t . S h e w a s already a n individual with a c o d e of her o w n , a n d C h a r l i e w a s ~ T n o r e a n d m o r e a b s o r b e d by t h e d e s j j r e o f p u t t i n g a little of h i m s e l f into her J T p f o r e s h e crystallized utterly. It w a s h o p e l e s s to try to k n o w her in s o short a time. Q

g f p

BABYLON

BEVISITED

/

2149

B e t w e e n the a c t s they c a m e u p o n D u n c a n and L o r r a i n e in the lobby w h e r e the b a n d w a s playing. "Have a drink?" "All right, b u t not u p at the bar. We'll take a t a b l e . " " T h e perfect f a t h e r . " L i s t e n i n g a b s t r a c t e d l y to L o r r a i n e , C h a r l i e w a t c h e d H o n o r i a ' s eyes leave their table, a n d he followed t h e m wistfully a b o u t the r o o m , w o n d e r i n g what they saw. H e met her g l a n c e a n d s h e smiled. "I liked that l e m o n a d e , " s h e s a i d . W h a t had s h e said? W h a t h a d he expected? G o i n g h o m e in a taxi afterward, he pulled her over until her head rested a g a i n s t his c h e s t . "Darling, do you ever think a b o u t your m o t h e r ? " "Yes, s o m e t i m e s , " s h e a n s w e r e d vaguely. "I don't want you to forget her. H a v e you got a p i c t u r e of h e r ? " "Yes, I think s o . Anyhow, A u n t M a r i o n h a s . W h y don't you want m e to forget h e r ? " " S h e loved you very m u c h . " "I loved her t o o . " T h e y were silent for a m o m e n t . " D a d d y , I want to c o m e a n d live with y o u , " s h e said s u d d e n l y . His heart leaped; he h a d w a n t e d it to c o m e like this. "Aren't you perfectly h a p p y ? " "Yes, b u t I love you better than anybody. A n d you love m e better than anybody, don't you, now that m u m m y ' s d e a d ? " " O f c o u r s e I d o . B u t you won't always like m e best, honey. You'll grow u p and m e e t s o m e b o d y your own a g e a n d go marry him a n d forget you ever h a d a daddy." "Yes, that's t r u e , " s h e a g r e e d tranquilly. H e didn't go in. H e w a s c o m i n g b a c k at nine o'clock a n d he w a n t e d to keep himself fresh a n d new for the thing he m u s t say then. " W h e n you're safe i n s i d e , j u s t s h o w yourself in that w i n d o w . " "All right. Good-by, d a d s , d a d s , d a d s , d a d s . " H e waited in the dark street until s h e a p p e a r e d , all w a r m a n d glowing, in the window above a n d kissed her fingers out into the night.

in T h e y were waiting. M a r i o n sat b e h i n d the coffee service in a dignified black dinner d r e s s that j u s t faintly s u g g e s t e d m o u r n i n g . L i n c o l n w a s walking u p a n d down with the a n i m a t i o n of o n e who h a d already b e e n talking. T h e y were a s anxious a s he w a s to get into the q u e s t i o n . H e o p e n e d it a l m o s t immediately: "I s u p p o s e you know what I want to s e e you a b o u t — w h y I really c a m e to Paris." M a r i o n played with the black stars on her n e c k l a c e a n d frowned. "I'm awfully anxious to have a h o m e , " he c o n t i n u e d . "And I'm awfully anxious to have H o n o r i a in it. 1 a p p r e c i a t e your taking in H o n o r i a for her mother's s a k e , but things have c h a n g e d n o w " — h e h e s i t a t e d a n d then continued m o r e f o r c i b l y — " c h a n g e d radically with m e , a n d I want to a s k you to

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r e c o n s i d e r the matter. It would b e silly for m e to deny that a b o u t three years ago I was acting badly—" M a r i o n looked u p at him with hard eyes. " — b u t all that's over. As I told you, I haven't h a d m o r e t h a n a drink a day for over a year, a n d I take that drink deliberately, so that the i d e a of a l c o h o l won't get too big in my i m a g i n a t i o n . You s e e the i d e a ? " " N o , " said M a r i o n succinctly. "It's a sort of s t u n t I set myself. It k e e p s the m a t t e r in p r o p o r t i o n . " "I get y o u , " said L i n c o l n . "You don't w a n t to a d m i t it's got any attraction for y o u . " " S o m e t h i n g like that. S o m e t i m e s I forget a n d don't take it. B u t I try to take it. Anyhow, I couldn't afford to drink in my p o s i t i o n . T h e p e o p l e I represent are more~than satisfied^vvithwhat I v e d o n e , a n d F m bringing m y l i s t e r over from Burlington to W w p h n n s p i n r mp^anAVw^pt awfully t n h a y e j j o " oria too. You know that even w h e n her m o t h e r a n d I weren't getting a l o n g well we never let anything that h a p p e n e d t o u c h H o n o r i a . I know she's fond of m e a n d I know I'm able to take c a r e of her a n d — w e l l , t h e r e you a r e . H o w do you feel a b o u t i t ? " H e knew that now h e would have to take a b e a t i n g . It w o u l d last a n h o u r or two h o u r s , a n d it would be difficult, but if h e m o d u l a t e d his inevitable r e s e n t m e n t to the c h a s t e n e d attitude of the reformed sinner, h e might win his point in the e n d . K e e p your t e m p e r , he told himself. You don't w a n t to be justified. You want Honoria. L i n c o l n s p o k e first: "We've b e e n talking it over ever s i n c e we got your letter last m o n t h . W e ' r e happy to have H o n o r i a h e r e . S h e ' s a dear little thing, a n d we're glad to be able to help her, but of c o u r s e that isn't the question—" M a r i o n interrupted suddenly. " H o w long are you g o i n g to stay s o b e r , C h a r lie?" she asked. "Permanently, I hope." " H o w c a n anybody c o u n t o n t h a t ? " "You know I never did drink heavily until I g a v e u p b u s i n e s s a n d c a m e over here with n o t h i n g to do. T h e n H e l e n a n d I b e g a n to run a r o u n d with—" " P l e a s e leave H e l e n out of it. I can't b e a r to h e a r you talk a b o u t her like that." H e stared at her grimly; h e h a d never b e e n certain h o w fond of e a c h other the sisters were in life. " M y drinking only l a s t e d a b o u t a year a n d a h a l f — f r o m the time w e c a m e over until I — c o l l a p s e d . " "It w a s t i m e e n o u g h . " "It w a s time e n o u g h , " he a g r e e d . " M y duty is entirely to H e l e n , " s h e s a i d . "I try to think w h a t s h e w o u l d have w a n t e d m e to d o . Frankly, from the night you did that terrible thing you haven't really existed for m e . I can't help that. S h e w a s my s i s t e r . " "Yes." " W h e n s h e w a s dying s h e a s k e d m e to look out for H o n o r i a . If you hadn't b e e n in a s a n i t a r i u m t h e n , it might have h e l p e d m a t t e r s . " H e h a d no a n s w e r .

BABYLON

REVISITED

/

2151

"I'll never in my life b e able to forget the m o r n i n g w h e r i J J c l c n lmockcd atjny_door, s o a k e d to the skin a n d shivering a n d said you'd locked her o u t . " C h a r l i e g r i p p e d the s i d e s of the chair. T h i s w a s m o r e dithcult than he expected; he w a n t e d to l a u n c h out into a long e x p o s t u l a t i o n a n d explanation, but h e only s a i d : " T h e night I locked her o u t — " a n d s h e i n t e r r u p t e d , "I don't feel u p to going over that a g a i n . " After a m o m e n t ' s silence L i n c o l n said: "We're getting off the s u b j e c t . You want M a r i o n to set a s i d e her legal g u a r d i a n s h i p a n d give you H o n o r i a . I think the m a i n point for her is w h e t h e r s h e h a s c o n f i d e n c e . ! " yon pr nnt.". "I don't b l a m e M a r i o n , " C h a r l i e said slowly, " b u t I think s h e c a n have entire c o n f i d e n c e in m e . I h a d a g o o d record u p to three years a g o . O f c o u r s e , it's within h u m a n possibilities I might go w r o n g any t i m e . B u t if we wait m u c h longer I'll lose H o n o r i a ' s c h i l d h o o d a n d my c h a n c e for a h o m e . " H e s h o o k his h e a d , "I'll simply lose her, don't you s e e ? " "Yes, I s e e , " said L i n c o l n . "Why didn't you think of all this b e f o r e ? " M a r i o n a s k e d . "I s u p p o s e I did, from time to t i m e , but H e l e n a n d I were getting a l o n g badly. W h e n I c o n s e n t e d to the g u a r d i a n s h i p . I was flat o n m y b a c k in a s a n i t a r i u m a n d the m a r k e t h a d c l e a n e d m e out. I knew I'd a c t e d badly, a n d I thought if it would bring any p e a c e to H e l e n , I'd a g r e e to anything. B u t now it's different. I'm functioning, I'm behaving d a m n well, s o far a s — " " P l e a s e don't swear at m e , " M a r i o n said. H e looked at her, startled. With e a c h r e m a r k the force of her dislike b e c a m e m o r e a n d m o r e a p p a r e n t . S h e h a d built u p all her fear of life into one wall a n d f a c e d it toward him. T h i s trivial reproof w a s possibly the result of s o m e trouble with the c o o k several h o u r s before. C h a r l i e b e c a m e i n c r e a s ingly a l a r m e d at leaving H o n o r i a in this a t m o s p h e r e of hostility a g a i n s t himself: s o o n e r or later it would c o m e out, in a word here, q s h a k e of the h e a d ffiere, a n d s o m e of that distrust would be irrevocably i m p l a n t e d in H o n o r i a . B u t h e pulled his t e m p e r d o w n o u t of his f a c e a n d shut it u p inside h i m ; h e h a d won a point, for L i n c o l n realized the absurdity of M a r i o n ' s r e m a r k a n d a s k e d her lightly s i n c e w h e n s h e h a d o b j e c t e d to the word " d a m n . " "Another t h i n g , " C h a r l i e said: "I'm able to give her certain a d v a n t a g e s now. I'm going to take a F r e n c h governess to P r a g u e with m e . I've got a l e a s e on a new a p a r t m e n t — " H e s t o p p e d , realizing that he was blundering. T h e y c o u l d n ' t be e x p e c t e d to a c c e p t with e q u a n i m i t y the fact that his i n c o m e w a s a g a i n twice a s large as their own. "I s u p p o s e you c a n give her m o r e luxuries t h a n we c a n , " said M a r i o n . " W h e n you were throwing away m o n e y we were living a l o n g w a t c h i n g every ten f r a n c s . . . . I s u p p o s e you'll start doing it a g a i n . " " O h , n o , " he s a i d . "I've learned. I worked hard for ten years, you k n o w — until I got lucky in the m a r k e t , like s o m a n y p e o p l e . Terribly lucky. It won't happen again." T h e r e w a s a long s i l e n c e . All of t h e m felt their nerves straining, a n d for the first time in a year C h a r l i e w a n t e d a drink. H e w a s s u r e n o w that L i n c o l n Peters w a n t e d him to have his child. M a r i o n s h u d d e r e d s u d d e n l y ; part of her s a w that C h a r l i e ' s feet were p l a n t e d on the earth now, a n d her own m a t e r n a l feeling r e c o g n i z e d the natu r a l n e s s of his d e s i r e ; b u t s h e h a d lived for a long time with a p r e j u d i c e — a

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p r e j u d i c e f o u n d e d o n a c u r i o u s disbelief in her sister's h a p p i n e s s , a n d w h i c h , in the s h o c k of o n e terrible night, h a d turned to hatred for him. It h a d all h a p p e n e d at a point in her life w h e r e the d i s c o u r a g e m e n t of UXhealth a n d a d v e r s e c i r c u m s t a n c e s m a d e iLnexessacy-for b t o believe in t a n g i b l e v i l l a i n v a n d a tangible villain. "1 can't help what I think!" she cried out suddenly. " H o w m u c h you w e r e r e s p o n s i b l e for H e l e n ' s d e a t h , I don't know. It's s o m e t h i n g you'll have to s q u a r e with your own c o n s c i e n c e . " A n electric c u r r e n t of agony s u r g e d t h r o u g h h i m ; for a m o m e n t he w a s a l m o s t on his feet, a n u n u t t e r e d s o u n d e c h o i n g in his throat. H e h u n g on to himself for a m o m e n t , a n o t h e r m o m e n t . " H o l d on t h e r e , " said L i n c o l n u n c o m f o r t a b l y . "I never t h o u g h t you were r e s p o n s i b l e for t h a t . " " H e l e n died of heart t r o u b l e , " C h a r l i e said dully. "Yes, heart t r o u b l e . " M a r i o n s p o k e a s if the p h r a s e h a d a n o t h e r m e a n i n g for her. T h e n , in the flatness that followed her o u t b u r s t , s h e saw him plainly a n d s h e knew he h a d s o m e h o w arrived at control over the s i t u a t i o n . G l a n c i n g at her h u s b a n d , s h e f o u n d n o help from h i m , a n d a s abruptly a s if it were a m a t t e r of n o i m p o r t a n c e , s h e threw u p the s p o n g e . " D o what you like!" s h e cried, springing u p from her chair. " S h e ' s your child. I'm not the p e r s o n to s t a n d in your way. I think if it were my child I'd rather see h e r — " S h e m a n a g e d to c h e c k herself. "You two d e c i d e it. I can't s t a n d this. I'm sick. I'm g o i n g to b e d . " S h e hurried from the r o o m ; after a m o m e n t L i n c o l n said: " T h i s has b e e n a hard day for her. You know how strongly she f e e l s — " His voice w a s a l m o s t a p o l o g e t i c : " W h e n a w o m a n gets an idea in her h e a d . " "Of course." "It's g o i n g to be all right. I think s h e s e e s now that y o u — c a n provide for the child, a n d s o we can't very well s t a n d in your way or H o n o r i a ' s w a y . " " T h a n k you, L i n c o l n . " "I'd better go a l o n g a n d s e e how she i s . " "I'm g o i n g . " H e w a s still trembling w h e n h e r e a c h e d the street, but a walk d o w n the R u e B o n a p a r t e to the quais2 set him u p , a n d as he c r o s s e d the S e i n e , fresh a n d n e w by the quai l a m p s , h e felt exultant. B u t b a c k in his r o o m h e c o u l d n ' t s l e e p . T h e i m a g e of H e l e n h a u n t e d h i m . H e l e n w h o m h e h a d I O V P H s o until t h e y h a d s e n s e l e s s l y b e g u n toabjjsjMjjtcJxQEher's l o v e , t e a r i t q n j o ^ h r e d s . O n that terrible FcbrOTafy night that M a r i o n r e m e m b e r e d s o vividly, a slow q u a r rel h a d g o n e on for h o u r s . T h e r e w a s a s c e n e at the F l o r i d a , a n d then h e a t t e m p t e d to take her h o m e , a n d then s h e kissed y o u n g W e b b at a table; after that there w a s what s h e h a d hysterically said. W h e n h e arrived h o m e a l o n e he t u r n e d the key in the lock in wild anger. H o w c o u l d h e k n o w s h e would arrive an h o u r later a l o n e , that there would be a s n o w s t o r m in w h i c h s h e w a n d e r e d a b o u t in slippers, too c o n f u s e d to find a taxi? T h e n the afterm a t h , her e s c a p i n g p n e u m o n i a by a m i r a c l e , a n d all the a t t e n d a n t horror. T h e y were " r e c o n c i l e d , " but that w a s the b e g i n n i n g of the e n d , a n d M a r i o n , p r

2 . Quay (French); a section of the Left Bank is lined with quays.

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who h a d s e e n with her own eyes a n d w h o i m a g i n e d it to b e o n e of m a n y s c e n e s from her sister's m a r t y r d o m , never forgot. G o i n g over it again b r o u g h t H e l e n nearer, a n d in the white, soft light that steals u p o n half sleep n e a r m o r n i n g he f o u n d h i m s e l f talking to her a g a i n . S h e said that h e w a s perfectly right a b o u t H o n o r i a a n d that s h e w a n t e d H o n o r i a to b e with him. S h e said she w a s glad he w a s b e i n g g o o d a n d doing better. S h e said a lot of other things—very friendly t h i n g s — b u t s h e w a s in a swing in a white d r e s s , a n d swinging faster a n d faster all the t i m e , so that at the e n d he c o u l d not hear clearly all that s h e s a i d . /V H e woke up feeling happy. T h e door of the world w a s o p e n a g a i n . H e m a d e p l a n s , vistas, futures for H o n o r i a a n d himself, b u t s u d d e n l y h e grew s a d , r e m e m b e r i n g all the p l a n s h e a n d H e l e n h a d m a d e . S h e h a d not p l a n n e d to d i e . T h e p r e s e n t w a s the t h i n g — w o r k to do a n d s o m e o n e to love. Rut not to love too m u c h , for h e k n e w t h e injury that a father-can do to a d a u g h t e r or~a m o t h e r to a^srrn~1?y^ttacning t h e m too closely: afterward, o u t in the world, the child would s e e k in the m a r r i a g e p a r t n e r the s a m e blind tendern e s s a n d , failing probably to find it, turn a g a i n s t love a n d life. It w a s a n o t h e r bright, crisp day. H e called L i n c o l n Peters at the b a n k where he worked a n d a s k e d if he c o u l d c o u n t on taking H o n o r i a w h e n he left for P r a g u e . L i n c o l n a g r e e d that there w a s n o r e a s o n for delay. O n e t h i n g — t h e legal g u a r d i a n s h i p . M a r i o n w a n t e d to retain that a while longer. S h e w a s u p s e t by the w h o l e matter, a n d it would oil things if s h e felt that the situation w a s still in her control for a n o t h e r year. C h a r l i e a g r e e d , w a n t i n g only the tangible, visible child. T h e n the q u e s t i o n of a g o v e r n e s s . C h a r l e s sat in a g l o o m y a g e n c y a n d talked to a c r o s s B e a r n a i s e a n d to a b u x o m Breton p e a s a n t , 3 neither of w h o m h e c o u l d have e n d u r e d . T h e r e were others w h o m h e w o u l d s e e tomorrow. H e l u n c h e d with L i n c o l n Peters at Griffons, trying to keep d o w n his exultation. " T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g q u i t e like your own c h i l d , " L i n c o l n s a i d . " B u t you unders t a n d how M a r i o n feels t o o . " " S h e ' s forgotten h o w hard I worked for seven years t h e r e , " C h a r l i e said. " S h e just remembers one night." " T h e r e ' s a n o t h e r t h i n g . " L i n c o l n h e s i t a t e d . "While you a n d H e l e n were tearing a r o u n d E u r o p e throwing m o n e y away, we were j u s t getting a l o n g . I didn't t o u c h any of the prosperity b e c a u s e I never got a h e a d e n o u g h to carry anything but my i n s u r a n c e . I think M a r i o n felt there w a s s o m e kind of injustice in i t — y o u not even working toward the e n d , a n d getting richer a n d richer." "It went j u s t as q u i c k a s it c a m e , " said C h a r l i e . "Yes, a lot of it stayed in the h a n d s of chasseurs a n d s a x o p h o n e players a n d maitres d'hotel—well, the big party's over now. I j u s t said that to explain Marion's feeling a b o u t t h o s e crazy years. If you drop in a b o u t six o'clock tonight before M a r i o n ' s too tired, we'll settle the details on the s p o t . " 3. B e a m and Breton are two French provincial regions. The implication is that Charlie wants a higherclass (preferably Parisian) governess.

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B a c k at his hotel, C h a r l i e f o u n d a pneumatique that h a d b e e n redirected from the Ritz bar w h e r e C h a r l i e h a d left his a d d r e s s for the p u r p o s e of finding a certain m a n . " D E A R C H A R L I E : You were so s t r a n g e w h e n we s a w you the other day that I w o n d e r e d if I did s o m e t h i n g to offend y o u . If s o , I'm not c o n s c i o u s of it. In fact, I have t h o u g h t a b o u t you too m u c h for the last year, a n d it's always b e e n in the b a c k of my m i n d that I m i g h t s e e you if I "came over h e r e . W e did have s u c h g o o d t i m e s that crazy spring, like the night you a n d I stole the b u t c h e r ' s tricycle, a n d the t i m e we tried to call on the p r e s i d e n t a n d you h a d the old derby rim a n d the wire c a n e . Everybody s e e m s s o old lately, b u t I don't feel old a bit. C o u l d n ' t w e get together s o m e time today for old time's s a k e ? I've got a vile hang-over for the m o m e n t , but will be feeling better this a f t e r n o o n a n d will look for you a b o u t five in the s w e a t s h o p at the Ritz. "Always devotedly, LORRAINE."

t

H i s first feeling w a s o n e of a w e that he h a d actually, in his m a t u r e y e a r s , stolen a tricycle a n d p e d a l e d L o r r a i n e all over the Etoile b e t w e e n the s m a l l h o u r s a n d d a w n . In r e t r o s p e c t it w a s a n i g h t m a r e . L o c k i n g out H e l e n didn't fit in with any other act of his life, but the tricycle incident d i d — i t w a s o n e of m a n y . H o w m a n y weeks or m o n t h s of d i s s i p a t i o n to arrive at that c o n d i t i o n of utter irresponsibility? H e tried to p i c t u r e how L o r r a i n e h a d a p p e a r e d to him t h e n — v e r y attractive; H e l e n w a s u n h a p p y a b o u t it, t h o u g h s h e said nothing. Yesterday, in the r e s t a u r a n t , L o r r a i n e h a d s e e m e d trite, blurred, worn away. H e e m p h a t i c a l l y did not want to s e e her, a n d h e w a s g l a d Alix h a d not given away his hotel a d d r e s s . It w a s a relief to think, i n s t e a d , of H o n o r i a , to think of S u n d a y s s p e n t with her a n d of saying g o o d m o r n i n g to her a n d of k n o w i n g s h e w a s there in his h o u s e at night, drawing her b r e a t h in the d a r k n e s s . At five h e took a taxi a n d b o u g h t p r e s e n t s for all the P f t e r s — « p ' q ' i a p l cloth doll, a box of R o m a n s j ) k f i e r s J o w e r s for M a r i o n , big linen handkerrhiefTfot- I inrTrffT: ~i H e saw, w h e n h e arrived in the a p a r t m e n t , that M a r i o n h a d a c c e p t e d the inevitable. S h e greeted him now a s t h o u g h h e were a recalcitrant m e m b e r of the family, rather than a m e n a c i n g outsider. H o n o r i a h a d b e e n told s h e w a s going; C h a r l i e w a s glad to s e e that her tact m a d e her c o n c e a l her excessive h a p p i n e s s . Only on his lap did she w h i s p e r her delight a n d the q u e s t i o n " W h e n ? " before s h e slipped away with the other children. H e a n d M a r i o n were a l o n e for a m i n u t e in the r o o m , a n d o n a n i m p u l s e h e s p o k e out boldly: ''"Family q u a r r e l s are bitter things. T h e y don't go a c c o r d i n g to a n y r u l e s . They're not like a c h e s or w o u n d s ; they're m o r e like splits in the skin t h a t won't heal b e c a u s e there's not e n o u g h m a t e r i a l . I wish you a n d I c o u l d b e g n hette.r t e r m s . " " S o m e things are hard to forget," s h e a n s w e r e d . "It's a q u e s t i o n of confid e n c e . " T h e r e w a s n o a n s w e r to this a n d presently s h e a s k e d , " W h e n d o you p r o p o s e to take h e r ? " "As s o o n a s I c a n get a g o v e r n e s s . I h o p e d the day after t o m o r r o w . " " T h a t ' s i m p o s s i b l e . I've got to get her things in s h a p e . N o t b e f o r e S a t u r day."

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H e yielded. C o m i n g b a c k into the r o o m , L i n c o l n offered him a drink. "I'll take my daily whisky," he said. It w a s w a r m h e r e , it w a s a h o m e , p e o p l e together by a fire. T h e children felt very safe a n d i m p o r t a n t ; the m o t h e r a n d father were s e r i o u s , watchful. T h e y h a d things to do for the children m o r e i m p o r t a n t t h a n his visit h e r e . A spoonful of m e d i c i n e w a s , after all, m o r e i m p o r t a n t than the strained relations b e t w e e n M a r i o n a n d himself. TJipy-wwrw not dull p e o p l e , but they were very m u c h in the grip of life a n d r i r n i r n s t a n r p s \jp w o n d e r e d if he couldn't ! 3o s o m e t h i n g to get L i n c o l n out of his rut at the b a n k . A long peal at the door-bell; the bonne a tout faire4 passed through and went d o w n the corridor. T h e d o o r o p e n e d u p o n a n o t h e r long ring, a n d then voices, a n d the three in the salon looked u p expectantly; R i c h a r d m o v e d to bring the corridor within his r a n g e of vision, a n d M a r i o n r o s e . T h e n the m a i d c a m e b a c k a l o n g the corridor, closely followed by the v o i c e s , which develo p e d u n d e r the light into D u n c a n S c h a e f f e r a n d L o r r a i n e Quarries. T h e y were gay, they were hilarious, they were roaring with l a u g h t e r . F o r a m o m e n t C h a r l i e w a s a s t o u n d e d ; u n a b l e to u n d e r s t a n d how they ferreted out the P e t e r s ' a d d r e s s . "Ah-h-h!" D u n c a n w a g g e d his finger roguishly at C h a r l i e . "Ah-h-h!" T h e y both slid down a n o t h e r c a s c a d e of laughter. A n x i o u s a n d at a l o s s , C h a r l i e s h o o k h a n d s with t h e m quickly a n d p r e s e n t e d t h e m to L i n c o l n a n d M a r i o n . M a r i o n n o d d e d , scarcely s p e a k i n g . S h e h a d d r a w n b a c k a s t e p toward the fire; her little girl s t o o d b e s i d e her, a n d M a r i o n p u t an a r m a b o u t her s h o u l d e r . With growing a n n o y a n c e at the intrusion, C h a r l i e waited for t h e m to explain t h e m s e l v e s . After s o m e c o n c e n t r a t i o n D u n c a n s a i d : " W e c a m e to invite you o u t to dinner. L o r r a i n e a n d I insist that all this shishi, cagy b u s i n e s s 'bout your a d d r e s s got to s t o p . " C h a r l i e c a m e c l o s e r to t h e m , a s if to force t h e m b a c k w a r d d o w n the corridor. "Sorry, but I can't. Tell m e where you'll b e a n d I'll p h o n e you in half an hour." T h i s m a d e no i m p r e s s i o n . L o r r a i n e sat down s u d d e n l y o n the side of a chair, a n d f o c u s i n g her eyes on R i c h a r d , cried, " O h , what a n i c e little boy! C o m e h e r e , little b o y . " R i c h a r d g l a n c e d at his m o t h e r , but did not m o v e . With a p e r c e p t i b l e s h r u g of her s h o u l d e r s , L o r r a i n e t u r n e d b a c k to C h a r l i e : " C o m e a n d d i n e . S u r e your c o u s i n s w o n ' m i n e . S e e you s o sel'om. O r solemn." "I c a n ' t , " said C h a r l i e sharply. "You two have dinner a n d I'll p h o n e y o u . " H e r voice b e c a m e s u d d e n l y u n p l e a s a n t . "All right, we'll go. B u t I r e m e m ber o n c e w h e n you h a m m e r e d on my d o o r at four A . M . I w a s e n o u g h of a g o o d sport to give you a drink. C o m e on, D u n e . " Still in slow m o t i o n , with blurred, angry f a c e s , with u n c e r t a i n feet, they retired a l o n g the corridor. " G o o d n i g h t , " C h a r l i e said. " G o o d night!" r e s p o n d e d L o r r a i n e e m p h a t i c a l l y . W h e n he went b a c k into the salon M a r i o n h a d not m o v e d , only now her

4. Maid of all work (French). T h e Peters family cannot afford to hire several servants with specialized tasks.

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son w a s s t a n d i n g in the circle of her other a r m . L i n c o l n w a s still s w i n g i n g H o n o r i a b a c k a n d forth like a p e n d u l u m from side to s i d e . " W h a t an o u t r a g e ! " C h a r l i e broke out. " W h a t an a b s o l u t e o u t r a g e ! " N e i t h e r of t h e m a n s w e r e d . C h a r l i e d r o p p e d into an a r m c h a i r , p i c k e d u p his drink, set it d o w n a g a i n a n d s a i d : " P e o p l e I haven't s e e n for two years having the c o l o s s a l n e r v e — " H e broke off. M a r i o n h a d m a d e the s o u n d " O h ! " in o n e swift, furious b r e a t h , turned her body from him with a j e r k a n d left the r o o m . L i n c o l n set down H o n o r i a carefully. "You children g o in a n d start your s o u p , " he said, a n d w h e n they obeyed, he said to C h a r l i e : " M a r i o n ' s not well a n d s h e can't s t a n d s h o c k s . T h a t kind of p e o p l e m a k e her really physically sick." "I didn't tell t h e m to c o m e h e r e . T h e y w o r m e d your n a m e o u t of s o m e b o d y . They deliberately—" "Well, it's too b a d . It doesn't help m a t t e r s . E x c u s e m e a m i n u t e . " Left a l o n e , C h a r l i e sat t e n s e in his chair. In the next r o o m h e could h e a r the children eating, talking in m o n o s y l l a b l e s , already oblivious to the s c e n e b e t w e e n their elders. H e h e a r d a m u r m u r of c o n v e r s a t i o n from a farther r o o m a n d then the ticking bell of a t e l e p h o n e receiver picked u p , a n d in a p a n i c he m o v e d to the other side of the r o o m a n d o u t of e a r s h o t . In a m i n u t e L i n c o l n c a m e b a c k . " L o o k h e r e , C h a r l i e . I think we'd better call off dinner for tonight. M a r i o n ' s in b a d s h a p e . " "Is s h e angry with m e ? " " S o r t of," he said, a l m o s t roughly. " S h e ' s not s t r o n g a n d — " "You m e a n she's c h a n g e d her m i n d a b o u t H o n o r i a ? " " S h e ' s pretty bitter right now. I don't know. You p h o n e m e at the b a n k tomorrow." "I wish you'd explain to her I never d r e a m e d t h e s e p e o p l e would c o m e h e r e . I'm j u s t a s sore a s you a r e . " "I couldn't explain anything to her n o w . " C h a r l i e got u p . H e took his c o a t a n d hat a n d started d o w n the corridor. T h e n h e o p e n e d the door of the dining r o o m a n d said in a s t r a n g e v o i c e , " G o o d night, c h i l d r e n . " H o n o r i a rose a n d ran a r o u n d the table to h u g h i m . " G o o d night, s w e e t h e a r t , " he said vaguely, a n d then trying to m a k e his voice m o r e tender, trying to conciliate s o m e t h i n g , " G o o d night, dear children." V C h a r l i e went directly to the Ritz bar with the furious idea of finding Lorraine a n d D u n c a n , but they were not there, a n d he realized that in any c a s e there w a s n o t h i n g he c o u l d d o . H e h a d not t o u c h e d his drink at the P e t e r s , a n d now he ordered a whisky-and-soda. P a u l c a m e over to say hello. "It's a great c h a n g e , " he said sadly. " W e do a b o u t half the b u s i n e s s w e did. S o m a n y fellows I hear a b o u t b a c k in the S t a t e s lost everything, m a y b e not in the first c r a s h , but then in the s e c o n d . Your friend G e o r g e H a r d t lost every c e n t , I hear. Are you b a c k in the S t a t e s ? " " N o , I'm in b u s i n e s s in P r a g u e . " "I heard that you lost a lot in the c r a s h . "

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"I d i d , " a n d he a d d e d grimly, " b u t I lost everything I w a n t e d in the b o o m . " "Selling short." " S o m e t h i n g like t h a t . " Again the m e m o r y of t h o s e days swept over him like a n i g h t m a r e — t h e p e o p l e they h a d m e t travelling; then p e o p l e w h o couldn't a d d a row of figures or s p e a k a c o h e r e n t s e n t e n c e . T h e little m a n H e l e n had c o n s e n t e d to d a n c e with at the ship's party, w h o h a d insulted her ten feet from the table; the w o m e n a n d girls carried s c r e a m i n g with drink or d r u g s o u t of public places— — T h e m e n w h o locked their wives out in the s n o w , b e c a u s e the s n o w of twenty-nine wasn't real snow. If you didn't w a n t it to be snow, you j u s t p a i d s o m e money. H e went to the p h o n e a n d called the P e t e r s ' a p a r t m e n t ; Lincoln a n s w e r e d . "I called u p b e c a u s e this thing is on my m i n d . H a s M a r i o n said anything definite?" " M a r i o n ' s s i c k , " Lincoln a n s w e r e d shortly. "I know this thing isn't altogether your fault, but I can't have her go to p i e c e s a b o u t it. I'm afraid we'll have to let it slide for six m o n t h s ; I can't take the c h a n c e of working her u p to this state a g a i n . " <*T

it

1 see. "I'm sorry, C h a r l i e . " H e went b a c k to his table. His whisky g l a s s w a s empty, but he s h o o k his h e a d when Alix looked at it questioningly. T h e r e wasn't m u c h he c o u l d do now except s e n d H o n o r i a s o m e things; he would s e n d her a lot of things tomorrow. H e t h o u g h t rather angrily that this w a s j u s t m o n e y — h e had given so m a n y p e o p l e m o n e y . . . . " N o , no m o r e , " he said to a n o t h e r waiter. " W h a t do I owe y o u ? " H e would c o m e b a c k s o m e day; they couldn't m a k e him pay forever. B u t he w a n t e d his child, a n d n o t h i n g was m u c h g o o d now, b e s i d e that fact. H e wasn't y o u n g any m o r e , with a lot of nice t h o u g h t s a n d d r e a m s to have by himself. H e w a s absolutely s u r e H e l e n wouldn't have w a n t e d h i m to be s o alone. 1931

WILLIAM

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1897-1962 Between 1929 and 1936 William Faulkner published novels about childhood, families, sex, race, obsessions, time, the past, his native South, and the modern world. He invented voices for characters ranging from sages to children, criminals, the insane, even the dead—sometimes all within one book. He developed, beyond this ventriloquism, his own unmistakable narrative voice, urgent, intense, highly rhetorical. He experimented with narrative chronology and with techniques for representing mind and memory. He invented an entire southern county and wrote its history. He was a native Mississippian, born near Oxford, where his parents moved when he was about five. His great-grandfather had been a local legend: a colonel in the

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Civil War, lawyer, railroad builder, financier, politician, writer, and public figure who was shot and killed by a business and political rival in 1889. Faulkner's grandfather carried on some of the family enterprises, and his father worked first for the railroad (the Gulf and Chicago) and later as business manager of the University of Mississippi. The father was a reclusive man who loved to hunt, drink, and swap stories with his hunting friends; the mother, ambitious, sensitive, and literary, was a more profound influence on Faulkner, her favorite of four sons. In Faulkner's childhood his mother's mother also lived with them; she was a high-spirited, independent, and imaginative old lady whose death in 1907 seems to have affected Faulkner deeply. Faulkner dropped out of high school in 1915 and had no further formal education beyond a year ( 1 9 1 9 - 2 0 ) as a special student at the University of Mississippi. Through family connections, various jobs were made for him, but he was unhappy in all of them. In 1918 Estelle Oldham, his high school love, married someone else; Faulkner briefly left Oxford. First he went to New Haven where his best friend and informal tutor, Phil Stone, was in the Yale law school; then he enlisted in the British Royal Flying Corps and was sent to Canada to train. World War I ended before he saw active service; nevertheless, when he returned to Oxford in 1919 he was limping from what he claimed was a war wound. Back at home, Faulkner drifted from one job to another and wrote poetry that was a melange of Shakespearean, pastoral, Victorian, and Edwardian modes, with an overlay of French Symbolism, which he published in The Marble Faun, in 1924. In 1925 he went to New Orleans where, for the first time, he met and mingled with literary people, including Sherwood Anderson, who encouraged Faulkner to develop his own style, to concentrate on prose, and to use his region for material. Faulkner wrote his first novel, Soldier's Pay, in New Orleans, and Anderson recommended it to his own publisher, Liveright; it appeared in 1926. He also published in the New Orleans magazine The Double

Dealer

and the newspaper The Times

Pic-

ayune. He learned about the experimental writing of James Joyce and the ideas of Sigmund Freud. After a trip to Europe at the end of the same year, he returned to Oxford. In 1929 he married Estelle Oldham, who had been divorced and had returned to Oxford with her two children. They bought a ruined mansion, Rowan Oak, in 1930 and began to restore it to its antebellum appearance. A daughter born in 1931 died in infancy; a second daughter, Jill, was born in 1933. Faulkner's second novel was a satire on New Orleans intellectuals called Mosquitos (1927). His more typical subject matter emerged with his rejected novel Flags in the Dust, and the shortened version of it that appeared in 1929 as Sartoris. In this work Faulkner focused on the interconnections between a prominent southern family and the local community; the Sartoris family as well as many other characters appeared in later works, and the region, renamed Yoknapatawpha County, was to become the locale of Faulkner's imaginative world. The social and historical emphasis in Sartoris was not directly followed up in the works Faulkner wrote next. The Sound and the Fury (1929)—Faulkner's favorite novel—and As / Lay Dying (1930) were dramatically experimental attempts to articulate the inexpressible aspects of individual psychology. The Sound and the Fury has four sections, each with a different narrator, each supplying a different piece of the plot. Three of the narrators are brothers: Benjy, the idiot; Quentin, the suicide; and Jason, the business failure. Each of them, for different reasons, mourns the loss of their sister Caddie. While the story moves out to the disintegration of the old southern family to which these brothers belong, its focus is on the private obsessions of the brothers, and it invents an entirely different style for each narrator. Only the last section, told from a traditionally omniscient point of view, provides a sequential narration; the other three jump freely in time and space. The structure of As / Lay Dying is even more complex. Like The Sound and the Fury, it is organized around the loss of a beloved woman. The precipitating event in the novel is the death of a mother.

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The story moves forward in chronological time as the "poor white" Bundren family takes her body to the town of Jefferson for burial. Its narration is divided into fiftynine sections of interior monologue by fifteen characters, each with a different perception of the action and a different way of relating to reality. The family's adventures and misadventures on the road are comic, tragic, grotesque, absurd, and deeply moving. Neither these books nor his early short stories were very popular. Sanctuary, a sensational work about sex, gangsters, official corruption, and urban violence, attracted considerable attention, however. It appeared in 1931, and took its place among a great deal of hard-boiled fiction that appeared in the decade, notably by such authors as Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. During four different intervals— 1932-37, 1 9 4 2 - 4 5 , 1951, and 1954—Faulkner spent time in Hollywood or on contract as a scriptwriter. He worked well with the director Howard Hawks, and wrote the scripts for two famous movies, an adaptation of Ernest Hemingway's To Have and Have Not and an adaptation of Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep, both starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. He continued to produce brilliant and inventive novels during these years. Light in August (1932) counterpointed a comic pastoral about the pregnant earth-mother figure Lena Grove with a grim tragedy about the embittered outcast Joe Christmas, who may or may not be racially mixed; it interrelated individual psychology and cultural pathology. Absalom, Absalom!, which followed in 1936, is thought by many to be Faulkner's masterpiece. The story of Thomas Sutpen, the ruthless would-be founder of a southern dynasty after the Civil War, is related by four different speakers, each trying to find "the meaning" of the story. The reader, observing how the story changes in each telling, comes to see that making stories is the human w ay of making meaning. Like Faulkner's earlier novels, Absalom is thus simultaneously about an individual, about the South, and about itself as a work of fiction. But its emphasis shifts from the private psychology that dominated in earlier work to social psychology: to the collective mind of the South. With World War II, Faulkner's work became more traditional and less difficult. He began to write about the rise, in Yoknapatawpha County, of the poor white family named Snopes—this family had appeared in earlier works (like "Barn Burning")— and the simultaneous decline of the region's "aristocratic" families. The Hamlet (1940) was the first of three novels devoted to the Snopeses. Because all his works had been set in Yoknapatawpha County and were interconnected, the region and its people began to take on an existence independent of any one book in which they appeared. Faulkner's national reputation soared after the publication in 1946 of an anthology of his writings, The Portable Faulkner, edited by the critic Malcolm Cowley. He already had a major reputation abroad, especially in France, where his work in translation was a powerful influence on the French so-called new novel and its practitioners such as Michel Butor and Alain Robbe-Grillet. His antiracist Intruder in the Dust (1948) occasioned the award of the Nobel Prize in 1950. In the 1950s Faulkner visited many college campuses. His writing took on more of the air of an old-fashioned yarn; he dealt with more legendary and local color materials; he rounded out the Snopes saga with The Town (1957) and The Mansion (1959). At the age of sixty-five he died of a heart attack. The texts are those of Collected Stories (1950).

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A Rose for Emily I W h e n M i s s Emily G r i e r s o n died, our w h o l e town went to her funeral: the m e n t h r o u g h a sort of respectful affection for a fallen m o n u m e n t , the w o m e n mostly out of curiosity to s e e the inside of her h o u s e , which no o n e save a n old m a n s e r v a n t — a c o m b i n e d g a r d e n e r a n d c o o k — h a d s e e n in at least ten years. It w a s a big, s q u a r i s h f r a m e h o u s e that h a d o n c e b e e n white, d e c o r a t e d with c u p o l a s a n d spires a n d scrolled b a l c o n i e s in the heavily l i g h t s o m e style of the seventies, set on what h a d o n c e b e e n our m o s t s e l e c t street. B u t g a r a g e s a n d cotton gins h a d e n c r o a c h e d a n d obliterated even the a u g u s t n a m e s of that n e i g h b o r h o o d ; only M i s s Emily's h o u s e w a s left, lifting its s t u b b o r n a n d c o q u e t t i s h d e c a y a b o v e the cotton w a g o n s a n d the g a s o l i n e p u m p s — a n eyesore a m o n g e y e s o r e s . A n d now M i s s Emily h a d g o n e to j o i n the r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s of t h o s e a u g u s t n a m e s w h e r e they lay in the cedarb e m u s e d c e m e t e r y a m o n g the r a n k e d a n d a n o n y m o u s graves of U n i o n a n d C o n f e d e r a t e soldiers who fell at the battle of J e f f e r s o n . Alive, M i s s Emily h a d b e e n a tradition, a duty, a n d a c a r e ; a sort of hereditary obligation u p o n the town, d a t i n g from that day in 1 8 9 4 w h e n C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s , the m a y o r — h e w h o f a t h e r e d the edict that no N e g r o w o m a n s h o u l d a p p e a r on the streets without a n a p r o n — r e m i t t e d her taxes, the d i s p e n s a t i o n dating from the d e a t h of her father o n into perpetuity. N o t that M i s s Emily would have a c c e p t e d charity. C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s invented a n involved tale to the effect that M i s s Emily's father h a d l o a n e d m o n e y to the town, which the town, a s a m a t t e r of b u s i n e s s , preferred this way of repaying. Only a m a n of C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s ' g e n e r a t i o n a n d t h o u g h t c o u l d have invented it, a n d only a w o m a n c o u l d have believed it. W h e n the next g e n e r a t i o n , with its m o r e m o d e r n i d e a s , b e c a m e m a y o r s a n d a l d e r m e n , this a r r a n g e m e n t c r e a t e d s o m e little d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n . O n the first of the year they m a i l e d her a tax n o t i c e . F e b r u a r y c a m e , a n d there w a s no reply. T h e y wrote her a formal letter, a s k i n g her to call at the s h e r i f f s office at her c o n v e n i e n c e . A w e e k later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to s e n d his c a r for her, a n d received in reply a note on p a p e r of a n a r c h a i c s h a p e , in a thin, flowing calligraphy in f a d e d ink, to the effect that s h e no longer went out at all. T h e tax notice w a s a l s o e n c l o s e d , without comment. T h e y called a special m e e t i n g of the B o a r d of A l d e r m e n . A d e p u t a t i o n waited u p o n her, k n o c k e d at the d o o r t h r o u g h which n o visitor h a d p a s s e d s i n c e s h e c e a s e d giving c h i n a - p a i n t i n g l e s s o n s eight or ten years earlier. T h e y were a d m i t t e d by the old N e g r o into a d i m hall from w h i c h a stairway m o u n t e d into still m o r e s h a d o w . It s m e l l e d of d u s t a n d d i s u s e — a c l o s e , d a n k smell. T h e N e g r o led t h e m into the parlor. It w a s f u r n i s h e d in heavy, leathercovered furniture. W h e n the N e g r o o p e n e d the blinds of o n e window, they c o u l d s e e that the leather w a s c r a c k e d ; a n d w h e n they sat d o w n , a faint d u s t rose sluggishly a b o u t their thighs, s p i n n i n g with slow m o t e s in the single sun-ray. O n a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace s t o o d a crayon portrait of M i s s Emily's father. T h e y rose w h e n s h e e n t e r e d — a small, fat w o m a n in black, with a thin

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gold c h a i n d e s c e n d i n g to her waist a n d v a n i s h i n g into her belt, l e a n i n g on an ebony c a n e with a t a r n i s h e d gold h e a d . H e r skeleton w a s s m a l l a n d s p a r e ; p e r h a p s that w a s why what would have b e e n merely p l u m p n e s s in a n o t h e r w a s obesity in her. S h e looked bloated, like a body long s u b m e r g e d in motionless water, a n d of that pallid h u e . H e r eyes, lost in the fatty ridges of her f a c e , looked like two small p i e c e s of coal p r e s s e d into a l u m p of d o u g h a s they m o v e d from o n e f a c e to a n o t h e r while the visitors s t a t e d their e r r a n d . S h e did not a s k t h e m to sit. S h e j u s t s t o o d in the d o o r a n d listened quietly until the s p o k e s m a n c a m e to a s t u m b l i n g halt. T h e n they c o u l d h e a r the invisible watch ticking at the e n d of the gold c h a i n . H e r voice w a s dry a n d cold. "I have n o taxes in J e f f e r s o n . C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s explained it to m e . P e r h a p s o n e of you c a n gain a c c e s s to the city r e c o r d s a n d satisfy y o u r s e l v e s . " " B u t we have. W e a r e the city authorities, M i s s Emily. Didn't you get a notice from the sheriff, s i g n e d by h i m ? " "I received a p a p e r , y e s , " M i s s Emily s a i d . " P e r h a p s he c o n s i d e r s h i m s e l f the sheriff I have no taxes in J e f f e r s o n . " " B u t there is n o t h i n g on the books to s h o w that, you s e e . W e m u s t go by the—" " S e e C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s . I have no taxes in J e f f e r s o n . " "But, Miss Emily—" " S e e C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s . " ( C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s h a d b e e n d e a d a l m o s t ten years.) "1 have no taxes in J e f f e r s o n . T o b e ! " T h e N e g r o a p p e a r e d . " S h o w these g e n t l e m e n o u t . " // S o s h e v a n q u i s h e d t h e m , h o r s e a n d foot, j u s t a s s h e h a d v a n q u i s h e d their fathers thirty years before a b o u t the smell. T h a t w a s two years after her father's d e a t h a n d a short time after her s w e e t h e a r t — t h e o n e we believed would marry h e r — h a d d e s e r t e d her. After her father's d e a t h s h e went out very little; after her s w e e t h e a r t went away, p e o p l e hardly saw her at all. A few of the ladies h a d the temerity to call, but were not received, a n d the only sign of life a b o u t the p l a c e w a s the N e g r o m a n — a y o u n g m a n t h e n — g o i n g in a n d out with a market b a s k e t . " J u s t a s if a m a n — a n y m a n — c o u l d keep a kitchen properly," the ladies said; so they were not surprised when the smell d e v e l o p e d . It w a s a n o t h e r link b e t w e e n the g r o s s , t e e m i n g world a n d the high a n d mighty G r i e r s o n s . A neighbor, a w o m a n , c o m p l a i n e d to the mayor, J u d g e S t e v e n s , eighty years old. " B u t what will you have m e do a b o u t it, m a d a m ? " he s a i d . "Why, s e n d her word to s t o p it," the w o m a n s a i d . "Isn't there a l a w ? " "I'm sure that won't be n e c e s s a r y , " J u d g e S t e v e n s s a i d . "It's p r o b a b l y j u s t a s n a k e or a rat that nigger of hers killed in the yard. I'll s p e a k to him a b o u t it." T h e next day he received two m o r e c o m p l a i n t s , o n e from a m a n who c a m e in diffident d e p r e c a t i o n . " W e really m u s t do s o m e t h i n g a b o u t it, J u d g e . I'd be the last o n e in the world to bother M i s s Emily, but we've got to do s o m e t h i n g . " T h a t night the B o a r d of A l d e r m e n m e t — t h r e e gray-beards a n d o n e y o u n g e r m a n , a m e m b e r of the rising g e n e r a t i o n .

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"It's s i m p l e e n o u g h , " h e s a i d . " S e n d her word to have her p l a c e c l e a n e d u p . G i v e her a certain time to d o it in, a n d if she don't " " D a m m i t , sir," J u d g e S t e v e n s said, "will you a c c u s e a lady to her f a c e of smelling b a d ? " S o the next night, after midnight, four m e n c r o s s e d M i s s Emily's lawn a n d s l u n k a b o u t the h o u s e like b u r g l a r s , sniffing a l o n g the b a s e of the brickwork a n d at the cellar o p e n i n g s while o n e of t h e m p e r f o r m e d a r e g u l a r s o w i n g motion with his h a n d out of a s a c k s l u n g from his s h o u l d e r . T h e y broke o p e n the cellar d o o r a n d sprinkled lime there, a n d in all the o u t b u i l d i n g s . As they r e c r o s s e d the lawn, a window that h a d b e e n dark w a s lighted a n d M i s s Emily sat in it, the light b e h i n d her, a n d her upright torso m o t i o n l e s s a s that of a n idol. T h e y crept quietly a c r o s s the lawn a n d into the s h a d o w of the l o c u s t s that lined the street. After a w e e k or two the smell went away. T h a t w a s w h e n p e o p l e h a d b e g u n to feel really sorry for her. P e o p l e in o u r town, r e m e m b e r i n g how old lady Wyatt, her g r e a t - a u n t , h a d g o n e c o m p l e t e l y crazy at last, believed that the G r i e r s o n s held t h e m s e l v e s a little too high for what they really w e r e . N o n e of the y o u n g m e n were q u i t e g o o d e n o u g h for M i s s Emily a n d s u c h . W e h a d long t h o u g h t of t h e m a s a t a b l e a u ; M i s s E m i l y a slender figure in white in the b a c k g r o u n d , her father a s p r a d d l e d s i l h o u e t t e in the f o r e g r o u n d , his b a c k to her a n d c l u t c h i n g a h o r s e w h i p , the two of t h e m f r a m e d by the back-flung front door. S o w h e n she got to b e thirty a n d w a s still single, we were not p l e a s e d exactly, b u t v i n d i c a t e d ; even with i n s a n ity in the family s h e wouldn't have t u r n e d d o w n all of her c h a n c e s if they h a d really materialized. W h e n her father died, it got a b o u t that the h o u s e w a s all that w a s left to her; a n d in a way, p e o p l e were g l a d . At last they c o u l d pity M i s s Emily. B e i n g left a l o n e , a n d a p a u p e r , s h e h a d b e c o m e h u m a n i z e d . N o w s h e too would know the old thrill a n d the old d e s p a i r of a p e n n y m o r e or l e s s . T h e day after his d e a t h all the ladies p r e p a r e d to call at the h o u s e a n d offer c o n d o l e n c e a n d aid, a s is our c u s t o m . M i s s Emily m e t t h e m at the door, d r e s s e d a s u s u a l a n d with n o trace of grief on her f a c e . S h e told t h e m that her father w a s not d e a d . S h e did that for three d a y s , with the ministers calling on her, a n d the d o c t o r s , trying to p e r s u a d e her to let t h e m d i s p o s e of the body. J u s t a s they were a b o u t to resort to law a n d force, s h e broke d o w n , a n d they buried her father quickly. W e did not say s h e was crazy t h e n . W e believed s h e h a d to d o that. W e r e m e m b e r e d all the y o u n g m e n her father h a d driven away, a n d we knew that with nothing left, s h e would have to cling to that which h a d r o b b e d her, a s p e o p l e will. HI

S h e w a s sick for a long t i m e . W h e n we s a w her a g a i n , her hair w a s c u t short, m a k i n g her look like a girl, with a v a g u e r e s e m b l a n c e to t h o s e a n g e l s in c o l o r e d c h u r c h w i n d o w s — s o r t of tragic a n d s e r e n e . T h e town h a d j u s t let the c o n t r a c t s for paving the s i d e w a l k s , a n d in the s u m m e r after her father's d e a t h they b e g a n to work. T h e c o n s t r u c t i o n c o m pany c a m e with niggers a n d m u l e s a n d m a c h i n e r y , a n d a f o r e m a n n a m e d H o m e r B a r r o n , a Y a n k e e — a big, dark, ready m a n , with a big voice a n d eyes lighter than his f a c e . T h e little boys would follow in g r o u p s to h e a r him c u s s the niggers, a n d the niggers s i n g i n g in t i m e to the rise a n d fall of picks. Pretty

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s o o n he knew everybody in town. W h e n e v e r you h e a r d a lot of l a u g h i n g anywhere a b o u t the s q u a r e , H o m e r B a r r o n w o u l d b e in the c e n t e r of t h e g r o u p . Presently we b e g a n to s e e him a n d M i s s Emily on S u n d a y a f t e r n o o n s driving in the yellow-wheeled b u g g y a n d the m a t c h e d t e a m of bays from the livery s t a b l e . At first we w e r e glad that M i s s Emily w o u l d have an interest, b e c a u s e the ladies all s a i d , " O f c o u r s e a G r i e r s o n w o u l d not think seriously of a N o r t h erner, a day l a b o r e r . " B u t there w e r e still o t h e r s , older p e o p l e , w h o said that even grief c o u l d not c a u s e a real lady to forget noblesse oblige—without calling it noblesse oblige. T h e y j u s t s a i d , " P o o r Emily. H e r kinsfolk s h o u l d c o m e to h e r . " S h e h a d s o m e kin in A l a b a m a ; but years a g o her father h a d fallen out with t h e m over the e s t a t e of old lady Wyatt, t h e crazy w o m a n , a n d there w a s no c o m m u n i c a t i o n b e t w e e n the two families. T h e y h a d not even b e e n r e p r e s e n t e d at the funeral. A n d a s s o o n a s the old p e o p l e s a i d , " P o o r E m i l y , " the w h i s p e r i n g b e g a n . " D o you s u p p o s e it's really s o ? " they said to o n e a n o t h e r . " O f c o u r s e it is. W h a t else c o u l d " T h i s b e h i n d their h a n d s ; rustling of c r a n e d silk a n d satin b e h i n d j a l o u s i e s c l o s e d u p o n the s u n of S u n d a y a f t e r n o o n a s the thin, swift clop-clop-clop of the m a t c h e d t e a m p a s s e d : " P o o r E m i l y . " S h e carried her h e a d high e n o u g h — e v e n w h e n we believed that s h e w a s fallen. It w a s a s if s h e d e m a n d e d m o r e t h a n ever the r e c o g n i t i o n of her dignity a s the last G r i e r s o n ; a s if it h a d w a n t e d that t o u c h of e a r t h i n e s s to reaffirm her i m p e r v i o u s n e s s . L i k e w h e n s h e b o u g h t the rat p o i s o n , t h e a r s e n i c . T h a t w a s over a year after they h a d b e g u n to say " P o o r E m i l y , " a n d while the two f e m a l e c o u s i n s were visiting her. "I w a n t s o m e p o i s o n , " s h e said to the druggist. S h e w a s over thirty t h e n , still a slight w o m a n , t h o u g h thinner than u s u a l , with c o l d , h a u g h t y b l a c k eyes in a f a c e the flesh of which w a s s t r a i n e d a c r o s s t h e t e m p l e s a n d a b o u t the e y e s o c k e t s a s you i m a g i n e a lighthouse-keeper's f a c e o u g h t to look. "I want s o m e p o i s o n , " s h e said. "Yes, M i s s Emily. W h a t kind? F o r rats a n d s u c h ? I'd r e c o m — " "I want the b e s t you have. I don't c a r e what k i n d . " T h e druggist n a m e d several. "They'll kill a n y t h i n g u p to a n e l e p h a n t . B u t what you want i s — " " A r s e n i c , " M i s s Emily s a i d . "Is that a g o o d o n e ? " "Is a r s e n i c ? Yes m a ' a m . B u t w h a t you w a n t — " "I want a r s e n i c . " T h e druggist looked d o w n at her. S h e looked b a c k at h i m , e r e c t , her f a c e like a strained flag. "Why, of c o u r s e , " the druggist said. "If that's what you want. B u t the law r e q u i r e s you to tell what you are g o i n g to u s e it for." M i s s Emily j u s t stared at h i m , her h e a d tilted b a c k in o r d e r to look him eye for eye, until h e looked away a n d w e n t a n d got the a r s e n i c a n d w r a p p e d it u p . T h e N e g r o delivery boy b r o u g h t her the p a c k a g e ; the d r u g g i s t didn't c o m e b a c k . W h e n s h e o p e n e d the p a c k a g e at h o m e there w a s written on the box, u n d e r the skull a n d b o n e s : " F o r r a t s . " IV S o the next day we all s a i d , " S h e will kill h e r s e l f ; a n d we said it w o u l d b e the best thing. W h e n s h e h a d first b e g u n to b e s e e n with H o m e r B a r r o n , we h a d said, " S h e will marry h i m . " T h e n we s a i d , " S h e will p e r s u a d e him y e t , "

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b e c a u s e H o m e r h i m s e l f h a d r e m a r k e d — h e liked m e n , a n d it w a s known that he d r a n k with the y o u n g e r m e n in the E l k s ' C l u b — t h a t he w a s not a marrying m a n . L a t e r we said, " P o o r Emily," b e h i n d the j a l o u s i e s a s they p a s s e d on S u n d a y afternoon in the glittering buggy, M i s s Emily with her h e a d high a n d H o m e r B a r r o n with his hat c o c k e d a n d a cigar in his teeth, reins a n d whip in a yellow glove. T h e n s o m e of the ladies b e g a n to say that it w a s a d i s g r a c e to the town a n d a bad e x a m p l e to the y o u n g p e o p l e . T h e m e n did not want to interfere, but at last the ladies forced the B a p t i s t m i n i s t e r — M i s s Emily's p e o p l e were E p i s c o p a l — t o call u p o n her. H e would never divulge what h a p p e n e d d u r i n g that interview, but h e refused to go b a c k a g a i n . T h e next S u n d a y they again drove a b o u t the streets, a n d the following day the minister's wife wrote to M i s s Emily's relations in A l a b a m a . S o s h e h a d blood-kin u n d e r her roof again a n d we sat b a c k to w a t c h develo p m e n t s . At first nothing h a p p e n e d . T h e n we were s u r e that they were to be married. W e learned that M i s s Emily h a d b e e n to the jeweler's a n d o r d e r e d a m a n ' s toilet set in silver, with the letters H . B . o n e a c h p i e c e . T w o days later we learned that s h e h a d b o u g h t a c o m p l e t e outfit of m e n ' s clothing, i n c l u d i n g a nightshirt, a n d we said, " T h e y a r e m a r r i e d . " W e were really g l a d . W e were glad b e c a u s e the two f e m a l e c o u s i n s were even m o r e G r i e r s o n than M i s s Emily h a d ever b e e n . S o we were not surprised w h e n H o m e r B a r r o n — t h e streets h a d b e e n fini s h e d s o m e time s i n c e — w a s g o n e . W e were a little d i s a p p o i n t e d that there w a s not a public blowing-off, but we believed that h e h a d g o n e on to p r e p a r e for M i s s Emily's c o m i n g , or to give her a c h a n c e to get rid of the c o u s i n s . (By that time it w a s a c a b a l , a n d we were all M i s s Emily's allies to help c i r c u m v e n t the c o u s i n s . ) S u r e e n o u g h , after a n o t h e r w e e k they d e p a r t e d . A n d , a s we h a d expected all along, within three days H o m e r B a r r o n w a s b a c k in town. A n e i g h b o r saw the N e g r o m a n a d m i t him at the kitchen d o o r at d u s k o n e evening. A n d that w a s the last we s a w of H o m e r B a r r o n . A n d of M i s s Emily for s o m e t i m e . T h e N e g r o m a n went in a n d out with the m a r k e t b a s k e t , but the front d o o r r e m a i n e d c l o s e d . N o w a n d then we would s e e her at a window for a m o m e n t , a s the m e n did that night w h e n they sprinkled the l i m e , but for a l m o s t six m o n t h s s h e did not a p p e a r on the streets. T h e n w e knew that this w a s to be expected too; a s if that quality of her father which h a d thwarted her w o m a n ' s life s o m a n y times h a d b e e n too virulent a n d too f u r i o u s to d i e . W h e n we next s a w M i s s Emily, s h e h a d grown fat a n d her hair w a s t u r n i n g gray. D u r i n g the next few years it grew grayer a n d grayer until it a t t a i n e d a n even p e p p e r - a n d - s a l t iron-gray, w h e n it c e a s e d turning. U p to the day of her d e a t h at seventy-four it w a s still that vigorous iron-gray, like the hair of a n active m a n . F r o m that time o n her front d o o r r e m a i n e d c l o s e d , save for a period of six or seven years, w h e n s h e w a s a b o u t forty, d u r i n g which s h e g a v e l e s s o n s in china-painting. S h e fitted u p a s t u d i o in o n e of the d o w n s t a i r s r o o m s , w h e r e the d a u g h t e r s a n d g r a n d d a u g h t e r s of C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s ' c o n t e m p o r a r i e s were sent to her with the s a m e regularity a n d in the s a m e spirit that they were sent on S u n d a y s with a twenty-five-cent p i e c e for the collection p l a t e . M e a n while her taxes h a d b e e n r e m i t t e d . T h e n the newer generation b e c a m e the b a c k b o n e a n d the spirit of the

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town, a n d the p a i n t i n g p u p i l s grew u p a n d fell away a n d did not s e n d their children to her with b o x e s of color a n d t e d i o u s b r u s h e s a n d p i c t u r e s c u t from the ladies' m a g a z i n e s . T h e front d o o r c l o s e d u p o n the last o n e a n d r e m a i n e d c l o s e d for g o o d . W h e n the town got free p o s t a l delivery M i s s E m i l y a l o n e r e f u s e d to let t h e m fasten the metal n u m b e r s a b o v e her d o o r a n d a t t a c h a mailbox to it. S h e would not listen to t h e m . Daily, monthly, yearly we w a t c h e d the N e g r o grow grayer a n d m o r e s t o o p e d , g o i n g in a n d o u t with the m a r k e t b a s k e t . E a c h D e c e m b e r we sent her a tax n o t i c e , which w o u l d be returned by the p o s t office a w e e k later, u n c l a i m e d . N o w a n d then we would s e e her in o n e of the d o w n s t a i r s wind o w s — s h e h a d evidently s h u t u p the top floor of the house-—like the carven torso of an idol in a n i c h e , looking or not looking at u s , we c o u l d never tell which. T h u s s h e p a s s e d from g e n e r a t i o n to g e n e r a t i o n — d e a r , i n e s c a p a b l e , impervious, tranquil, a n d p e r v e r s e . A n d s o s h e died. Fell ill in the h o u s e filled with d u s t a n d s h a d o w s , with only a d o d d e r i n g N e g r o m a n to wait o n her. W e did not even know s h e w a s sick; we h a d long s i n c e given up trying to get any i n f o r m a t i o n from the N e g r o . H e talked to n o o n e , p r o b a b l y not even to her, for his voice h a d grown h a r s h a n d rusty, a s if from d i s u s e . S h e died in o n e of the d o w n s t a i r s r o o m s , in a heavy w a l n u t b e d with a c u r t a i n , her gray h e a d p r o p p e d on a pillow yellow a n d moldy with a g e a n d lack of sunlight.

V T h e N e g r o m e t the first of the ladies at the front d o o r a n d let t h e m in, with their h u s h e d , sibilant voices a n d their quick, c u r i o u s g l a n c e s , a n d then he d i s a p p e a r e d . H e walked right through the h o u s e a n d o u t the b a c k a n d w a s not s e e n a g a i n . T h e two f e m a l e c o u s i n s c a m e at o n c e . T h e y held the funeral on the s e c o n d day, with the town c o m i n g to look at M i s s Emily b e n e a t h a m a s s of b o u g h t flowers, with the crayon f a c e of her father m u s i n g p r o f o u n d l y a b o v e the bier a n d the ladies sibilant a n d m a c a b r e ; a n d the very old m e n — s o m e in their b r u s h e d C o n f e d e r a t e u n i f o r m s — o n the p o r c h a n d the lawn, talking of M i s s Emily a s if s h e h a d b e e n a c o n t e m p o r a r y of theirs, believing that they h a d d a n c e d with her a n d c o u r t e d her p e r h a p s , c o n f u s i n g t i m e with its m a t h e matical p r o g r e s s i o n , a s the old d o , to w h o m all the p a s t is not a d i m i n i s h i n g r o a d , b u t , i n s t e a d , a h u g e m e a d o w which no winter ever q u i t e t o u c h e s , divided from t h e m n o w by the narrow bottle-neck of the m o s t r e c e n t d e c a d e of years. Already we k n e w that there w a s o n e r o o m in that region a b o v e stairs which no o n e h a d s e e n in forty years, a n d w h i c h would have to b e forced. T h e y waited until M i s s E m i l y w a s decently in the g r o u n d before they o p e n e d it. T h e violence of b r e a k i n g d o w n the d o o r s e e m e d to fill this r o o m with p e r v a d i n g d u s t . A thin, acrid pall a s of the t o m b s e e m e d to lie everywhere u p o n this r o o m d e c k e d a n d furnished a s for a bridal: u p o n the v a l a n c e curtains of faded rose color, u p o n the r o s e - s h a d e d lights, u p o n the d r e s s i n g table, u p o n the delicate array of crystal a n d the m a n ' s toilet things b a c k e d with t a r n i s h e d silver, silver s o tarnished that the m o n o g r a m w a s o b s c u r e d . A m o n g t h e m lay a collar a n d tie, a s if they h a d j u s t b e e n r e m o v e d , w h i c h ,

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lifted, left u p o n the s u r f a c e a pale c r e s c e n t in the d u s t . U p o n a c h a i r h u n g the suit, carefully folded; b e n e a t h it the two m u t e s h o e s a n d the d i s c a r d e d socks. T h e m a n h i m s e l f lay in the bed. F o r a long while we j u s t s t o o d t h e r e , looking d o w n at the p r o f o u n d a n d fleshless grin. T h e body h a d apparently o n c e lain in the attitude of a n e m b r a c e , but now the long s l e e p that o u t l a s t s love, that c o n q u e r s even the g r i m a c e of love, h a d c u c k o l d e d h i m . W h a t w a s left of h i m , rotted b e n e a t h what w a s left of the nightshirt, had b e c o m e inextricable from the b e d in which he lay; a n d u p o n him a n d u p o n the pillow b e s i d e him lay that even c o a t i n g of the patient a n d biding d u s t . T h e n we n o t i c e d that in the s e c o n d pillow w a s the i n d e n t a t i o n of a h e a d . O n e of u s lifted s o m e t h i n g from it, a n d l e a n i n g forward, that faint a n d invisible d u s t dry a n d acrid in the nostrils, we s a w a long s t r a n d of iron-gray hair. 1931

That Evening Sun 7 M o n d a y is no different from any other w e e k d a y in J e f f e r s o n now. T h e streets are paved now, a n d the t e l e p h o n e a n d electric c o m p a n i e s a r e c u t t i n g d o w n m o r e a n d m o r e of the s h a d e t r e e s — t h e water o a k s , the m a p l e s a n d l o c u s t s a n d e l m s — t o m a k e r o o m for iron poles b e a r i n g c l u s t e r s of b l o a t e d a n d ghostly a n d b l o o d l e s s g r a p e s , a n d we have a city laundry w h i c h m a k e s the r o u n d s on M o n d a y m o r n i n g , g a t h e r i n g the b u n d l e s of c l o t h e s into brightc o l o r e d , s p e c i a l l y - m a d e m o t o r c a r s : the soiled w e a r i n g of a w h o l e week now flees apparitionlike b e h i n d alert a n d irritable electric h o r n s , with a long d i m i n i s h i n g n o i s e of rubber a n d a s p h a l t like tearing silk, a n d even the N e g r o w o m e n w h o still take in white people's w a s h i n g after the old c u s t o m , fetch a n d deliver it in a u t o m o b i l e s . B u t fifteen years a g o , on M o n d a y m o r n i n g the q u i e t , dusty, s h a d y streets would be full of N e g r o w o m e n with, b a l a n c e d o n their steady, t u r b a n e d h e a d s , b u n d l e s of c l o t h e s tied up in s h e e t s , a l m o s t a s large a s c o t t o n b a l e s , carried so without t o u c h of h a n d b e t w e e n the kitchen d o o r of the white h o u s e a n d the b l a c k e n e d w a s h p o t b e s i d e a c a b i n d o o r in N e g r o Hollow. N a n c y would set her b u n d l e on the top of her h e a d , then u p o n the b u n d l e in turn s h e would set the b l a c k straw sailor hat which s h e w o r e winter a n d s u m m e r . S h e w a s tall, with a high, s a d f a c e s u n k e n a little w h e r e her teeth were m i s s i n g . S o m e t i m e s we would go a part of the way d o w n the l a n e a n d a c r o s s the p a s t u r e with her, to w a t c h the b a l a n c e d b u n d l e a n d the hat that never b o b b e d nor wavered, even w h e n s h e walked d o w n into the ditch a n d up the other side a n d s t o o p e d t h r o u g h the f e n c e . S h e would go d o w n o n her h a n d s a n d k n e e s a n d crawl t h r o u g h the g a p , her h e a d rigid, uptilted, the b u n d l e steady a s a rock or a b a l l o o n , a n d rise to her feet a g a i n a n d go on. S o m e t i m e s the h u s b a n d s of the w a s h i n g w o m e n would fetch a n d deliver the c l o t h e s , b u t J e s u s never did that for N a n c y , even before father told him to stay away from our h o u s e , even w h e n Dilsey w a s sick a n d N a n c y would c o m e to c o o k for u s .

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A n d then a b o u t half the time we'd have to g o d o w n the l a n e to N a n c y ' s c a b i n a n d tell her to c o m e on a n d c o o k b r e a k f a s t . W e w o u l d s t o p at the ditch, b e c a u s e father told u s to not have anything to d o with J e s u s — h e w a s a short black m a n , with a razor s c a r down his f a c e — a n d we would throw rocks at N a n c y ' s h o u s e until s h e c a m e to the door, l e a n i n g her h e a d a r o u n d it without any c l o t h e s o n . " W h a t yawl m e a n , c h u n k i n g my h o u s e ? " N a n c y said. " W h a t you little devils m e a n ? " " F a t h e r says for you to c o m e on a n d get b r e a k f a s t , " C a d d y s a i d . " F a t h e r says it's over a half an hour now, a n d you've got to c o m e this m i n u t e . " "I aint studying no b r e a k f a s t , " N a n c y s a i d . "I g o i n g to get my s l e e p o u t . " "I bet you're d r u n k , " J a s o n said. " F a t h e r says you're drunk. Are you drunk, Nancy?" " W h o says I i s ? " N a n c y s a i d . "I got to get my s l e e p out. I aint studying no breakfast." S o after a while we quit c h u n k i n g the c a b i n a n d went b a c k h o m e . W h e n s h e finally c a m e , it w a s too late for m e to go to s c h o o l . S o we t h o u g h t it w a s whisky until that day they a r r e s t e d her again a n d they were taking her to jail a n d they p a s s e d M r Stovall. H e w a s the c a s h i e r in the b a n k a n d a d e a c o n in the B a p t i s t c h u r c h , a n d N a n c y b e g a n to say: " W h e n you g o i n g to pay m e , white m a n ? W h e n you g o i n g to pay m e , white m a n ? It's b e e n three times now s i n c e you paid m e a c e n t — " M r Stovall k n o c k e d her d o w n , but s h e kept on saying, " W h e n you g o i n g to pay m e , white m a n ? It's b e e n three times now s i n c e — " until M r Stovall kicked her in the m o u t h with his heel a n d the m a r s h a l c a u g h t M r Stovall back, a n d N a n c y lying in the street, laughing. S h e turned her h e a d a n d spat out s o m e blood a n d teeth a n d said, "It's b e e n three t i m e s now s i n c e h e paid m e a cent." T h a t was h o w s h e lost her teeth, a n d all that day they told a b o u t N a n c y a n d M r Stovall, a n d all that night the o n e s that p a s s e d the jail c o u l d h e a r N a n c y singing a n d yelling. T h e y c o u l d s e e her h a n d s holding to the window b a r s , a n d a lot of t h e m s t o p p e d a l o n g the f e n c e , listening to her a n d to the jailer trying to m a k e her s t o p . S h e didn't shut up until a l m o s t daylight, w h e n the jailer b e g a n to h e a r a b u m p i n g a n d s c r a p i n g u p s t a i r s a n d h e went up there a n d found N a n c y h a n g i n g from the window bar. H e said that it w a s c o c a i n e a n d not whisky, b e c a u s e no nigger would try to c o m m i t s u i c i d e u n l e s s he w a s full of c o c a i n e , b e c a u s e a nigger full of c o c a i n e wasn't a nigger any longer. T h e j a i l e r c u t her d o w n a n d revived her; then he b e a t her, w h i p p e d her. S h e had h u n g herself with her d r e s s . S h e h a d fixed it all right, but w h e n they arrested her s h e didn't have on anything except a d r e s s a n d so s h e didn't have anything to tie her h a n d s with a n d s h e couldn't m a k e her h a n d s let go of the window ledge. S o the jailer h e a r d the noise a n d ran up there a n d found N a n c y h a n g i n g from the window, stark n a k e d , her belly already swelling out a little, like a little balloon. W h e n Dilsey w a s sick in her c a b i n a n d N a n c y w a s c o o k i n g for u s , w e c o u l d s e e her a p r o n swelling o u t ; that w a s before father told J e s u s to stay away from the h o u s e . J e s u s w a s in the kitchen, sitting b e h i n d the stove, with his razor s c a r on his black f a c e like a p i e c e of dirty string. H e said it w a s a w a t e r m e l o n that N a n c y had u n d e r her d r e s s .

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"It never c o m e off of your vine, t h o u g h , " N a n c y said. " O f f of w h a t v i n e ? " C a d d y s a i d . "I c a n c u t d o w n the vine it did c o m e off of," J e s u s s a i d . " W h a t m a k e s you w a n t to talk like that before t h e s e c h i l l e n ? " N a n c y s a i d . "Whyn't you g o o n to work? You d o n e et. You want M r J a s o n to c a t c h you h a n g i n g a r o u n d his k i t c h e n , talking that way before t h e s e c h i l l e n ? " " T a l k i n g w h a t w a y ? " C a d d y said. " W h a t v i n e ? " "I c a n t h a n g a r o u n d white m a n ' s k i t c h e n , " J e s u s s a i d . " B u t white m a n c a n h a n g a r o u n d m i n e . W h i t e m a n c a n c o m e in my h o u s e , b u t I c a n t s t o p h i m . W h e n white m a n w a n t to c o m e in my h o u s e , I aint got no h o u s e . I c a n t s t o p him, b u t h e c a n t kick m e o u t e n it. H e c a n t do t h a t . " Dilsey w a s still sick in her c a b i n . F a t h e r told J e s u s to stay off o u r p l a c e . Dilsey w a s still sick. It w a s a long t i m e . W e were in the library after s u p p e r . "Isn't N a n c y t h r o u g h in the kitchen y e t ? " m o t h e r s a i d . "It s e e m s to m e that s h e h a s h a d plenty of time to have finished the d i s h e s . " " L e t Quentin go a n d s e e , " father s a i d . " G o a n d s e e if N a n c y is t h r o u g h , Quentin. Tell her she c a n go on h o m e . " I went to the kitchen. N a n c y w a s t h r o u g h . T h e d i s h e s were p u t a w a y a n d the fire w a s out. N a n c y w a s sitting in a chair, c l o s e to the cold s t o v e . S h e looked at m e . " M o t h e r w a n t s to know if you are t h r o u g h , " I s a i d . " Y e s , " N a n c y said. S h e looked at m e . "I d o n e finished." S h e looked at m e . " W h a t is i t ? " I s a i d . " W h a t is i t ? " "I aint n o t h i n g but a n i g g e r , " N a n c y s a i d . "It aint n o n e of my f a u l t . " S h e looked at m e , sitting in the chair before the c o l d stove, the sailor hat on her h e a d . I went b a c k to the library. It w a s the c o l d stove a n d all, w h e n you think of a kitchen b e i n g w a r m a n d b u s y a n d cheerful. A n d with a c o l d stove a n d the d i s h e s all p u t away, a n d n o b o d y w a n t i n g to e a t at that h o u r . "Is s h e t h r o u g h ? " m o t h e r s a i d . "Yessum," I said. " W h a t is s h e d o i n g ? " m o t h e r s a i d . " S h e ' s not d o i n g anything. S h e ' s t h r o u g h . " • "I'll g o a n d s e e , " father s a i d . " M a y b e she's waiting for J e s u s to c o m e a n d take her h o m e , " C a d d y s a i d . " J e s u s is g o n e , " I s a i d . N a n c y told u s h o w o n e m o r n i n g s h e w o k e u p a n d J e s u s was gone. " H e quit m e , " N a n c y s a i d . " D o n e g o n e to M e m p h i s , I r e c k o n . D o d g i n g t h e m city po-lice for a while, I r e c k o n . " "And a g o o d r i d d a n c e , " father s a i d . "I h o p e he stays t h e r e . " " N a n c y ' s s c a i r e d of the d a r k , " J a s o n said. " S o a r e y o u , " C a d d y said. "I'm n o t , " J a s o n said. "Scairy cat," Caddy said. "I'm n o t , " J a s o n said. "You, C a n d a c e ! " m o t h e r s a i d . F a t h e r c a m e b a c k . "I a m g o i n g to walk d o w n the l a n e with N a n c y , " he s a i d . " S h e says that J e s u s is b a c k . " " H a s s h e s e e n h i m ? " m o t h e r said. " N o . S o m e N e g r o sent her w o r d that h e w a s b a c k in town. I w o n t be l o n g . " "You'll leave m e a l o n e , to take N a n c y h o m e ? " m o t h e r s a i d . " I s her safety m o r e p r e c i o u s to you than m i n e ? "

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"I wont be l o n g , " father said. "You'll leave t h e s e children u n p r o t e c t e d , with that N e g r o a b o u t ? " "I'm g o i n g t o o , " C a d d y s a i d . " L e t m e g o , F a t h e r . " " W h a t would h e do with t h e m , if h e were u n f o r t u n a t e e n o u g h to have t h e m ? " father s a i d . "I want to g o , t o o , " J a s o n said. " J a s o n ! " m o t h e r said. S h e w a s s p e a k i n g to father. You c o u l d tell that by the way s h e said the n a m e . L i k e s h e believed that all day father h a d b e e n trying to think of doing the thing s h e wouldn't like the m o s t , a n d that she knew all the time that after a while he would think of it. I stayed quiet, b e c a u s e father a n d I both knew that m o t h e r would w a n t him to m a k e m e stay with her if s h e j u s t t h o u g h t of it in time. S o father didn't look at m e . I w a s the oldest. I w a s n i n e ' a n d C a d d y w a s seven a n d J a s o n w a s five. " N o n s e n s e , " father s a i d . " W e wont be l o n g . " N a n c y h a d her hat on. W e c a m e to the lane. " J e s u s always b e e n g o o d to m e , " N a n c y said. " W h e n e v e r he h a d two dollars, o n e of t h e m w a s m i n e . " W e walked in the l a n e . "If I c a n j u s t get through the l a n e , " N a n c y s a i d . "I b e all right t h e n . " T h e lane w a s always dark. " T h i s is w h e r e J a s o n got s c a r e d o n H a l lowe'en," Caddy said. "I didn't," J a s o n s a i d . " C a n t A u n t R a c h e l do anything with h i m ? " father s a i d . A u n t R a c h e l w a s old. S h e lived in a c a b i n beyond N a n c y ' s , by herself. S h e h a d white hair a n d she s m o k e d a p i p e in the door, all day long; s h e didn't work any m o r e . T h e y said s h e w a s J e s u s ' m o t h e r . S o m e t i m e s s h e said s h e w a s a n d s o m e times s h e said s h e wasn't any kin to J e s u s . "Yes, you d i d , " C a d d y said. "You were s c a i r d e r than Frony. You were scairder than T . P . even. S c a i r d e r than n i g g e r s . " " C a n t nobody do nothing with h i m , " N a n c y said. " H e say I d o n e w o k e u p the devil in him a n d aint but o n e thing going to lay it d o w n a g a i n . " "Well, he's g o n e n o w , " father s a i d . " T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g for you to b e afraid of now. A n d if you'd j u s t let white m e n a l o n e . " " L e t what white m e n a l o n e ? " C a d d y s a i d . " H o w let t h e m a l o n e ? " " H e aint g o n e n o w h e r e , " N a n c y said. "I c a n feel h i m . I c a n feel him now, in this l a n e . H e h e a r i n g u s talk, every word, hid s o m e w h e r e , waiting. I aint s e e n h i m , a n d I aint g o i n g to s e e him a g a i n b u t o n c e m o r e , with that razor in his m o u t h . T h a t razor o n that string d o w n his b a c k , inside his shirt. A n d then I aint going to b e even s u r p r i s e d . " "I wasn't s c a i r e d , " J a s o n s a i d . "If you'd b e h a v e yourself, you'd have kept out of t h i s , " father s a i d . " B u t it's all right now. H e ' s p r o b a b l y in S t . L o u i s now. P r o b a b l y got a n o t h e r wife by n o w a n d forgot all a b o u t y o u . " "If h e h a s , I better not find o u t a b o u t it," N a n c y s a i d . "I'd s t a n d there right over t h e m , a n d every time h e w r a p p e d her, I'd c u t that a r m off. I'd cut his h e a d off a n d I'd slit her belly a n d I'd s h o v e — " " H u s h , " father s a i d . I. The members of the family in this story reappear as the main characters of The Sound and the Fury, a novel which Faulkner wrote soon after finishing The Evening Swn. Quentin, who tells the story at about age 24 (see the second paragraph

under section I, "fifteen years ago"), commits suicide at age 18 in The Sound and the Fury—an example of how Faulkner modified the Yoknapatawpha world in the process of adding to it.

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"Slit w h o s e belly, N a n c y ? " C a d d y s a i d . "I wasn't s c a i r e d , " J a s o n s a i d . "I'd walk right d o w n this lane by myself." " Y a h , " C a d d y said. "You wouldn't d a r e to put your foot d o w n in it if we were not here t o o . " // Dilsey w a s still sick, s o we took N a n c y h o m e every night until m o t h e r said, " H o w m u c h longer is this g o i n g o n ? I to be left a l o n e in this big h o u s e while you take h o m e a frightened N e g r o ? " W e fixed a pallet in the kitchen for N a n c y . O n e night we w a k e d u p , h e a r i n g the s o u n d . It w a s not singing a n d it w a s not crying, c o m i n g u p the dark stairs. T h e r e w a s a light in mother's room a n d we h e a r d father g o i n g d o w n the hall, down the b a c k stairs, a n d C a d d y a n d I went into the hall. T h e floor w a s cold. O u r toes curled away from it while we listened to the s o u n d . It w a s like singing a n d it wasn't like singing, like the s o u n d s that N e g r o e s m a k e . T h e n it s t o p p e d a n d we h e a r d father g o i n g down the b a c k stairs, a n d we went to the h e a d of the stairs. T h e n the s o u n d b e g a n a g a i n , in the stairway, not loud, a n d we c o u l d s e e N a n c y ' s eyes halfway u p the stairs, a g a i n s t the wall. T h e y looked like cat's eyes d o , like a big cat a g a i n s t the wall, w a t c h i n g u s . W h e n we c a m e down the s t e p s to w h e r e s h e w a s , s h e quit m a k i n g the s o u n d a g a i n , a n d we s t o o d there until father c a m e b a c k up from the kitchen, with his pistol in his h a n d . H e went b a c k d o w n with N a n c y a n d they c a m e b a c k with N a n c y ' s pallet. W e s p r e a d the pallet in our r o o m . After the light in mother's r o o m went off, we c o u l d s e e N a n c y ' s eyes a g a i n . " N a n c y , " C a d d y w h i s p e r e d , " a r e you asleep, Nancy?" N a n c y w h i s p e r e d s o m e t h i n g . It w a s oh or n o , I dont know w h i c h . L i k e nobody h a d m a d e it, like it c a m e from n o w h e r e a n d went n o w h e r e , until it w a s like N a n c y w a s not there at all; that I h a d looked so hard at her eyes o n the stairs that they h a d got printed on my eyeballs, like the s u n d o e s w h e n you have c l o s e d your eyes a n d there is no s u n . " J e s u s , " N a n c y w h i s p e r e d . Jesus. " W a s it J e s u s ? " C a d d y s a i d . " D i d he try to c o m e into the k i t c h e n ? " " J e s u s . " N a n c y s a i d . L i k e this: J e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e s u s , until the s o u n d went out, like a m a t c h or a c a n d l e d o e s . "It's the other J e s u s s h e m e a n s , " I s a i d . " C a n you s e e u s , N a n c y ? " C a d d y w h i s p e r e d . " C a n you s e e our eyes t o o ? " "I aint nothing but a nigger," N a n c y s a i d . " G o d k n o w s . G o d k n o w s . " " W h a t did you s e e d o w n there in the k i t c h e n ? " C a d d y w h i s p e r e d . " W h a t tried to get i n ? " " G o d k n o w s , " N a n c y s a i d . W e c o u l d s e e her eyes. " G o d k n o w s . " Dilsey got well. S h e c o o k e d dinner. "You'd better stay in b e d a day or two longer," father s a i d . " W h a t f o r ? " Dilsey s a i d . "If I h a d b e e n a day later, this p l a c e w o u l d b e to r a c k a n d ruin. G e t on out of here now, a n d let m e get my kitchen straight again." Dilsey c o o k e d s u p p e r t o o . A n d that night, j u s t before dark, N a n c y c a m e into the kitchen. " H o w d o you know he's b a c k ? " Dilsey s a i d . "You aint s e e n h i m . "

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" J e s u s is a n i g g e r , " J a s o n said. "I c a n feel h i m , " N a n c y s a i d . "I c a n feel him laying yonder in the d i t c h . " " T o n i g h t ? " Dilsey s a i d . "Is h e there t o n i g h t ? " "Dilsey's a nigger t o o , " J a s o n said. "You try to eat s o m e t h i n g , " Dilsey said. "I dont want n o t h i n g , " N a n c y s a i d . "I aint a n i g g e r , " J a s o n s a i d . " D r i n k s o m e c o f f e e , " Dilsey s a i d . S h e p o u r e d a c u p of coffee for N a n c y . " D o you know he's out there tonight? H o w c o m e you know it's t o n i g h t ? " "I k n o w , " N a n c y said. " H e ' s there, waiting. I know. I d o n e lived with him too long. I know what he is fixing to do fore he know it himself." " D r i n k s o m e c o f f e e , " Dilsey said. N a n c y held the c u p to her m o u t h a n d blew into the c u p . H e r m o u t h p u r s e d o u t like a s p r e a d i n g a d d e r ' s , like a r u b b e r m o u t h , like she h a d blown all the color o u t of her lips with blowing the coffee. "I aint a n i g g e r , " J a s o n s a i d . "Are you a nigger, N a n c y ? " "I hellborn, c h i l d , " N a n c y said. "I wont be n o t h i n g s o o n . I g o i n g b a c k where I c o m e from s o o n . "

in S h e b e g a n to drink the coffee. W h i l e s h e w a s drinking, holding the c u p in both h a n d s , s h e b e g a n to m a k e the s o u n d a g a i n . S h e m a d e the s o u n d into the c u p a n d the coffee s p l o s h e d out onto her h a n d s a n d her d r e s s . H e r eyes looked at u s a n d s h e sat there, her elbows on her k n e e s , holding the c u p in both h a n d s , looking at u s a c r o s s the wet c u p , m a k i n g the s o u n d . " L o o k at N a n c y , " J a s o n s a i d . " N a n c y c a n t c o o k for u s now. Dilsey's got well n o w . " "You h u s h u p , " Dilsey s a i d . N a n c y held the c u p in both h a n d s , looking at u s , m a k i n g the s o u n d , like there were two of t h e m : o n e looking at u s a n d the other m a k i n g the s o u n d . "Whyn't you let M r J a s o n t e l e f o a m the mars h a l ? " Dilsey s a i d . N a n c y s t o p p e d t h e n , holding the c u p in her long brown h a n d s . S h e tried to drink s o m e coffee a g a i n , but it s p l o s h e d o u t of the c u p , onto her h a n d s a n d her d r e s s , a n d s h e put the c u p d o w n . J a s o n w a t c h e d her. "I c a n t swallow it," N a n c y said. "I swallows b u t it wont go d o w n m e . " "You go down to the c a b i n , " Dilsey said. " F r o n y will fix you a pallet a n d I'll be there s o o n . " " W o n t no nigger s t o p h i m , " N a n c y said. "I aint a n i g g e r , " J a s o n said. " A m I, D i l s e y ? " "I reckon n o t , " Dilsey said. S h e looked at N a n c y . "I d o n t reckon s o . W h a t you going to d o , t h e n ? " N a n c y looked at u s . H e r eyes went fast, like s h e w a s afraid there wasn't time to look, without hardly m o v i n g at all. S h e looked at u s , at all three of us at o n e time. "You r e m e m b e r that night I stayed in yawls' r o o m ? " s h e said. S h e told a b o u t how we waked u p early the next m o r n i n g , a n d played. W e h a d to play quiet, on her pallet, until father woke u p a n d it w a s time to get breakfast. " G o a n d a s k your m a w to let m e stay here t o n i g h t , " N a n c y said. "I wont n e e d n o pallet. W e c a n play s o m e m o r e . " C a d d y a s k e d m o t h e r . J a s o n went too. "I c a n t have N e g r o e s s l e e p i n g in the b e d r o o m s , " m o t h e r s a i d . J a s o n cried. H e cried until m o t h e r said he couldn't

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have any d e s s e r t for three days if h e didn't stop. T h e n J a s o n said h e w o u l d stop if Dilsey w o u l d m a k e a c h o c o l a t e c a k e . F a t h e r w a s t h e r e . " W h y dont you d o s o m e t h i n g a b o u t i t ? " m o t h e r s a i d . " W h a t d o we have officers f o r ? " "Why is N a n c y afraid of J e s u s ? " C a d d y s a i d . "Are you afraid of father, mother?" " W h a t c o u l d the officers d o ? " father s a i d . "If N a n c y hasn't s e e n h i m , how c o u l d the officers find h i m ? " " T h e n why is s h e a f r a i d ? " m o t h e r s a i d . " S h e says h e is t h e r e . S h e says s h e k n o w s h e is t h e r e t o n i g h t . " "Yet w e pay t a x e s , " m o t h e r s a i d . "I m u s t wait here a l o n e in this big h o u s e while you take a N e g r o w o m a n h o m e . " "You know that I a m not lying o u t s i d e with a razor," father s a i d . "I'll stop if Dilsey will m a k e a c h o c o l a t e c a k e , " J a s o n s a i d . M o t h e r told u s to go o u t a n d father s a i d he didn't know if J a s o n w o u l d get a c h o c o l a t e c a k e or not, but h e k n e w w h a t J a s o n w a s g o i n g to get in a b o u t a m i n u t e . W e went b a c k to the kitchen a n d told N a n c y . " F a t h e r said for you to g o h o m e a n d lock the door, a n d you'll b e all right," C a d d y said. "All right from what, N a n c y ? Is J e s u s m a d at y o u ? " N a n c y w a s holding the coffee c u p in her h a n d s a g a i n , her elbows on her k n e e s a n d her h a n d s holding the c u p b e t w e e n her k n e e s . S h e w a s looking into the c u p . " W h a t have you d o n e that m a d e J e s u s m a d ? " C a d d y s a i d . N a n c y let the c u p g o . It didn't b r e a k on the floor, b u t the coffee spilled out, a n d N a n c y sat there with her h a n d s still m a k i n g the s h a p e of the c u p . S h e b e g a n to m a k e the s o u n d a g a i n , not l o u d . N o t singing a n d not u n s i n g i n g . W e w a t c h e d her. " H e r e , " Dilsey s a i d . "You quit that, now. You get aholt of yourself. You wait h e r e . I g o i n g to get V e r s h to walk h o m e with y o u . " Dilsey went out. W e looked at N a n c y . H e r s h o u l d e r s kept s h a k i n g , b u t s h e quit m a k i n g the s o u n d . W e w a t c h e d her. " W h a t ' s J e s u s g o i n g to d o to y o u ? " C a d d y said. " H e went away." N a n c y looked at u s . " W e h a d fun that night I stayed in yawls' r o o m , didn't we? "I didn't," J a s o n s a i d . "I didn't have any f u n . " "You were a s l e e p in m o t h e r ' s r o o m , " C a d d y s a i d . "You were not t h e r e . " " L e t ' s go d o w n to my h o u s e a n d have s o m e m o r e f u n , " N a n c y s a i d . " M o t h e r w o n t let u s , " I s a i d . "It's too late n o w . " " D o n t b o t h e r h e r , " N a n c y s a i d . W e c a n tell her in the m o r n i n g . S h e w o n t mind." " S h e wouldn't let u s , " I s a i d . " D o n ' t a s k her n o w , " N a n c y said. " D o n t b o t h e r her n o w . " " S h e didn't say we couldn't g o , " C a d d y s a i d . " W e didn't a s k , " I s a i d . "If you g o , I'll tell," J a s o n s a i d . "We'll have f u n , " N a n c y s a i d . " T h e y won't m i n d , j u s t to my h o u s e . I b e e n working for yawl a long t i m e . T h e y won't m i n d . " "I'm not afraid to g o , " C a d d y s a i d . " J a s o n is the o n e that's afraid. He'll tell." "I'm n o t , " J a s o n s a i d . "Yes, you a r e , " C a d d y s a i d . "You'll tell." "I won't tell," J a s o n said. "I'm not a f r a i d . "

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" J a s o n ain't afraid to g o with m e , " N a n c y s a i d . "Is you, J a s o n ? " " J a s o n is g o i n g to tell," C a d d y s a i d . T h e lane w a s dark. W e p a s s e d the p a s t u r e g a t e . "I bet if s o m e t h i n g w a s to j u m p o u t from b e h i n d that g a t e , J a s o n would holler." "I w o u l d n ' t , " J a s o n s a i d . W e walked down the l a n e . N a n c y w a s talking loud. " W h a t are you talking s o loud for, N a n c y ? " C a d d y s a i d . " W h o ; m e ? " N a n c y s a i d . " L i s t e n at Quentin a n d C a d d y a n d J a s o n saying I'm talking l o u d . " "You talk like there w a s five of u s h e r e , " C a d d y s a i d . "You talk like father w a s here t o o . " " W h o ; m e talking loud, M r J a s o n ? " N a n c y s a i d . " N a n c y called J a s o n 'Mister,' " C a d d y s a i d . " L i s t e n how C a d d y a n d Quentin a n d J a s o n talk," N a n c y s a i d . "We're not talking l o u d , " C a d d y said. "You're the o n e that's talking like father—" " H u s h , " N a n c y s a i d ; " h u s h , Mr. J a s o n . " " N a n c y called J a s o n 'Mister' a g u h — " " H u s h , " N a n c y s a i d . S h e w a s talking loud w h e n we c r o s s e d the ditch a n d s t o o p e d t h r o u g h the f e n c e w h e r e s h e u s e d to s t o o p t h r o u g h with the c l o t h e s on her h e a d . T h e n we c a m e to her h o u s e . W e were g o i n g fast t h e n . S h e o p e n e d the door. T h e smell of the h o u s e w a s like the l a m p a n d the smell of N a n c y w a s like the wick, like they were waiting for o n e a n o t h e r to begin to smell. S h e lit the l a m p a n d c l o s e d the d o o r a n d p u t the b a r u p . T h e n s h e quit talking l o u d , looking at u s . " W h a t ' r e we g o i n g to d o ? " C a d d y said. " W h a t do yawl want to d o ? " N a n c y said. "You said we w o u l d have s o m e f u n , " C a d d y said. T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g a b o u t N a n c y ' s h o u s e ; s o m e t h i n g you c o u l d smell b e s i d e s N a n c y a n d the h o u s e . J a s o n s m e l l e d it, even. "I don't w a n t to stay h e r e , " he s a i d . "I want to go h o m e . " " G o home, then," Caddy said. "I don't want to go by myself," J a s o n s a i d . "We're g o i n g to have s o m e f u n , " N a n c y s a i d . " H o w ? " Caddy said. N a n c y s t o o d by the door. S h e w a s looking at u s , only it w a s like s h e h a d e m p t i e d her e y e s , like s h e h a d quit u s i n g t h e m . " W h a t d o you want to d o ? " s h e said. "Tell u s a story," C a d d y said. " C a n you tell a story?" "Yes," Nancy said. "Tell it," C a d d y s a i d . W e looked at N a n c y . "You don't know any s t o r i e s . " " Y e s , " N a n c y s a i d . "Yes I d o . " S h e c a m e a n d sat in a chair before the h e a r t h . T h e r e w a s a little fire t h e r e . N a n c y built it u p , w h e n it w a s already hot inside. S h e built a g o o d blaze. S h e told a story. S h e talked like her eyes looked, like her eyes w a t c h i n g u s a n d her voice talking to u s did not b e l o n g to her. L i k e s h e w a s living s o m e w h e r e e l s e , waiting s o m e w h e r e else. S h e w a s o u t s i d e the c a b i n . H e r voice w a s inside a n d the s h a p e of her, the N a n c y that c o u l d s t o o p u n d e r a b a r b e d wire f e n c e with a b u n d l e of c l o t h e s b a l a n c e d on her h e a d a s t h o u g h without weight, like a b a l l o o n , w a s there. B u t that w a s all. " A n d s o this here q u e e n

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c o m e walking u p to the ditch, w h e r e that b a d m a n w a s hiding. S h e w a s walking up to the d i t c h , a n d s h e say, 'If I can j u s t get p a s t this h e r e ditch,' w a s what s h e say " " W h a t d i t c h ? " C a d d y s a i d . "A ditch like that o n e o u t there? W h y did a q u e e n want to go into a d i t c h ? " " T o get to her h o u s e , " N a n c y s a i d . S h e looked at u s . " S h e h a d to c r o s s the ditch to get into her h o u s e quick a n d bar the d o o r . " "Why did s h e want to go h o m e a n d b a r the d o o r ? " C a d d y s a i d . /V N a n c y looked at u s . S h e quit talking. S h e looked at u s . J a s o n ' s legs s t u c k straight out of his p a n t s w h e r e he sat on N a n c y ' s lap. "I don't think that's a good story," h e s a i d . "I want to go h o m e . " " M a y b e we h a d better," C a d d y s a i d . S h e got u p from the floor. "I bet they are looking for u s right n o w . " S h e went toward the door. " N o , " N a n c y said. " D o n ' t o p e n it." S h e got up q u i c k a n d p a s s e d C a d d y . S h e didn't t o u c h the door, the w o o d e n bar. " W h y n o t ? " C a d d y said. " C o m e b a c k to the l a m p , " N a n c y s a i d . "We'll have fun. You don't have to go-" " W e o u g h t to g o , " C a d d y s a i d . " U n l e s s we have a lot of f u n . " S h e a n d N a n c y c a m e b a c k to the fire, the l a m p . "I want to go h o m e , " J a s o n s a i d . "I'm g o i n g to tell." "I know a n o t h e r story," N a n c y s a i d . S h e s t o o d c l o s e to the l a m p . S h e looked at C a d d y , like w h e n your eyes look u p at a stick b a l a n c e d on your n o s e . S h e h a d to look down to s e e C a d d y , but her eyes looked like that, like w h e n you are b a l a n c i n g a stick. "I won't listen to it," J a s o n s a i d . "I'll b a n g on the floor." "It's a g o o d o n e , " N a n c y said. "It's better than the other o n e . " " W h a t ' s it a b o u t ? " C a d d y said. N a n c y w a s s t a n d i n g by the l a m p . H e r h a n d w a s on the l a m p , a g a i n s t the light, long a n d b r o w n . "Your h a n d is on that hot g l o b e , " C a d d y s a i d . " D o n ' t it feel hot to your hand?" N a n c y looked at her h a n d on the l a m p c h i m n e y . S h e took her h a n d away, slow. S h e s t o o d there, looking at C a d d y , wringing her long h a n d a s t h o u g h it were tied to her wrist with a string. " L e t ' s do s o m e t h i n g e l s e , " C a d d y said. "I want to go h o m e , " J a s o n s a i d . "I got s o m e p o p c o r n , " N a n c y s a i d . S h e looked at C a d d y a n d then at J a s o n a n d then at m e a n d then at C a d d y a g a i n . "I got s o m e p o p c o r n . " "I don't like p o p c o r n , " J a s o n s a i d . "I'd rather have c a n d y . " N a n c y looked at J a s o n . "You c a n hold the p o p p e r . " S h e w a s till wringing her h a n d ; it w a s long a n d limp a n d brown. "All right," J a s o n said. "I'll stay a while if I c a n do that. C a d d y can't hold it. I'll want to go h o m e again if C a d d y holds the p o p p e r . " N a n c y built up the fire. " L o o k at N a n c y p u t t i n g her h a n d s in the fire," C a d d y said. " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with you, N a n c y ? " "I got p o p c o r n , " N a n c y s a i d . "I got s o m e . " S h e took the p o p p e r from u n d e r the b e d . It w a s b r o k e n . J a s o n b e g a n to cry.

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" N o w we can't have any p o p c o r n , " he said. " W e o u g h t to go h o m e , anyway," C a d d y said. " C o m e o n , Q u e n t i n . " " W a i t , " N a n c y s a i d ; "wait. I c a n fix it. Don't you want to h e l p m e fix i t ? " "I don't think I want a n y , " C a d d y said. "It's too late n o w . " "You help m e , J a s o n , " N a n c y said. " D o n ' t you want to help m e ? " " N o , " J a s o n s a i d . "I want to go h o m e . " " H u s h , " N a n c y s a i d ; " h u s h . W a t c h . W a t c h m e . I c a n fix it s o J a s o n c a n hold it a n d p o p the c o r n . " S h e got a p i e c e of wire a n d fixed the p o p p e r . "It won't hold g o o d , " C a d d y said. "Yes, it will," N a n c y said. "Yawl w a t c h . Yawl help m e shell s o m e c o r n . " T h e p o p c o r n w a s u n d e r the b e d too. W e shelled it into the p o p p e r a n d N a n c y helped J a s o n hold the p o p p e r over the fire. "It's not p o p p i n g , " J a s o n s a i d . "I want to go h o m e . " "You wait," N a n c y s a i d . "It'll begin to p o p . We'll have fun t h e n . " S h e w a s sitting close to the fire. T h e l a m p w a s turned u p s o high it w a s b e g i n n i n g to smoke. "Why don't you turn it down s o m e ? " I s a i d . "It's all right," N a n c y said. "I'll clean it. Yawl wait. T h e p o p c o r n will start in a m i n u t e . " "I don't believe it's going to s t a r t , " C a d d y s a i d . " W e o u g h t to start h o m e , anyway. They'll be w o r r i e d . " " N o , " N a n c y said. "It's g o i n g to p o p . Dilsey will tell u m yawl with m e . I b e e n working for yawl long time. T h e y won't mind if yawl at my h o u s e . You wait, now. It'll start p o p p i n g any m i n u t e n o w . " T h e n J a s o n got s o m e s m o k e in his eyes a n d he b e g a n to cry. H e d r o p p e d the p o p p e r into the fire. N a n c y got a wet rag a n d wiped J a s o n ' s f a c e , but he didn't stop crying. " H u s h , " she s a i d . " H u s h . " B u t he didn't h u s h . C a d d y took the p o p p e r o u t of the fire. "It's b u r n e d u p , " s h e said. "You'll have to get s o m e m o r e p o p c o r n , N a n c y . " " D i d you p u t all of it i n ? " N a n c y said. " Y e s , " C a d d y s a i d . N a n c y look at C a d d y . T h e n s h e took the p o p p e r a n d o p e n e d it a n d p o u r e d the c i n d e r s into her a p r o n a n d b e g a n to sort the g r a i n s , her h a n d s long a n d brown, a n d we w a t c h i n g her. " H a v e n ' t you got any m o r e ? " C a d d y s a i d . " Y e s , " N a n c y s a i d ; "yes. L o o k . T h i s here ain't burnt. All we n e e d to d o i s — " "I want to go h o m e , " J a s o n said. "I'm g o i n g to tell." " H u s h , " C a d d y s a i d . W e all listened. N a n c y ' s h e a d w a s already t u r n e d toward the barred door, her eyes filled with red lamplight. " S o m e b o d y is coming," Caddy said. T h e n N a n c y b e g a n to m a k e that s o u n d a g a i n , not loud, sitting t h e r e a b o v e the fire, her long h a n d s d a n g l i n g b e t w e e n her k n e e s ; all of a s u d d e n water b e g a n to c o m e out on her f a c e in big d r o p s , r u n n i n g down her f a c e , carrying in e a c h o n e a little turning ball of firelight like a s p a r k until it d r o p p e d off her chin. " S h e ' s not crying," I said. "I ain't crying," N a n c y s a i d . H e r eyes were c l o s e d . "I ain't crying. W h o is it?" "I don't k n o w , " C a d d y said. S h e went to the d o o r a n d looked out. "We've got to go n o w , " she said. " H e r e c o m e s father." "I'm g o i n g to tell," J a s o n said. "Yawl m a d e m e c o m e . "

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T h e water still ran d o w n N a n c y ' s f a c e . S h e turned in her chair. " L i s t e n . Tell h i m . Tell him we g o i n g to have fun. Tell him I take g o o d c a r e of yawl until in the m o r n i n g . Tell him to let m e c o m e h o m e with yawl a n d s l e e p on the floor. Tell h i m I won't n e e d n o pallet. We'll have fun. You r e m e m b e r last time how we h a d so m u c h f u n ? " "I didn't have f u n , " J a s o n s a i d . "You hurt m e . You p u t s m o k e in my eyes. I'm g o i n g to tell."

y F a t h e r c a m e in. H e looked at u s . N a n c y did not get u p . "Tell h i m , " s h e said. " C a d d y m a d e u s c o m e d o w n h e r e , " J a s o n said. "I didn't want t o . " F a t h e r c a m e to the fire. N a n c y looked u p at h i m . " C a n ' t you go to A u n t R a c h e l ' s a n d s t a y ? " he s a i d . N a n c y looked u p at father, her h a n d s b e t w e e n her k n e e s . " H e ' s not h e r e , " father s a i d . "I w o u l d have s e e n h i m . T h e r e ' s not a soul in s i g h t . " " H e in the d i t c h , " N a n c y s a i d . " H e waiting in the ditch y o n d e r . " " N o n s e n s e , " father s a i d . H e looked at N a n c y . " D o you k n o w he's t h e r e ? " "I got the s i g n , " N a n c y s a i d . "What sign?" "I got it. It w a s on the table w h e n I c o m e in. It w a s a h o g b o n e , with b l o o d m e a t still on it, laying by the l a m p . H e ' s o u t t h e r e . W h e n yawl walk o u t that door, I g o n e . " " G o n e w h e r e , N a n c y ? " C a d d y said. "I'm not a tattletale," J a s o n s a i d . " N o n s e n s e , " father s a i d . " H e out t h e r e , " N a n c y s a i d . " H e looking t h r o u g h that w i n d o w this m i n u t e , waiting for yawl to g o . T h e n I g o n e . " " N o n s e n s e , " father s a i d . " L o c k u p your h o u s e a n d we'll t a k e you on to Aunt Rachel's." " T w o n t d o n o g o o d , " N a n c y s a i d . S h e didn't look at father now, but h e looked d o w n at her, at her long, limp m o v i n g h a n d s . " P u t t i n g it off wont d o no g o o d . " " T h e n w h a t do you w a n t to d o ? " father s a i d . "I don't k n o w , " N a n c y s a i d . "I can't d o n o t h i n g . J u s t p u t if off. A n d that don't d o n o g o o d . I reckon it b e l o n g to m e . I reckon what I g o i n g to get ain't no m o r e than m i n e . " "Get what?" Caddy said. "What's yours?" " N o t h i n g , " father s a i d . "You all m u s t get to b e d . " "Caddy made me c o m e , " J a s o n said. " G o o n to A u n t R a c h e l ' s , " father s a i d . "It won't do no g o o d , " N a n c y s a i d . S h e sat b e f o r e the fire, her e l b o w s o n her k n e e s , her long h a n d s b e t w e e n her k n e e s . " W h e n even your own kitchen wouldn't d o n o g o o d . W h e n even if I w a s s l e e p i n g o n the floor in the r o o m with your chillen, a n d the next m o r n i n g there I a m , a n d b l o o d — " " H u s h , " father s a i d . " L o c k the d o o r a n d p u t o u t the l a m p a n d g o to b e d . " "I s c a r e d of the d a r k , " N a n c y s a i d . "I s c a r e d for it to h a p p e n in the d a r k . " "You m e a n you're g o i n g to sit right h e r e with the l a m p l i g h t e d ? " father

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said. T h e n N a n c y b e g a n to m a k e the s o u n d a g a i n , sitting b e f o r e the fire, her long h a n d s b e t w e e n her k n e e s . " A h , d a m n a t i o n , " father s a i d . " C o m e along, chillen. It's p a s t b e d t i m e . " " W h e n yawl g o h o m e , I g o n e , " N a n c y said. S h e talked q u i e t e r now, a n d her f a c e looked quiet, like her h a n d s . "Anyway, I got my coffin m o n e y s a v e d u p with M r . L o v e l a d y . " Mr. Lovelady w a s a short, dirty m a n w h o c o l l e c t e d the N e g r o i n s u r a n c e , c o m i n g a r o u n d to the c a b i n s or the k i t c h e n s every S a t u r d a y m o r n i n g , to collect fifteen c e n t s . H e a n d his wife lived at the hotel. O n e m o r n i n g his wife c o m m i t t e d s u i c i d e . T h e y h a d a child, a little girl. H e a n d the child went away. After a w e e k or two he c a m e b a c k a l o n e . W e w o u l d s e e him g o i n g a l o n g the l a n e s a n d the b a c k streets o n S a t u r d a y m o r n i n g s . " N o n s e n s e , " father said. "You'll be the first thing I'll s e e in the kitchen tomorrow m o r n i n g . " "You'll s e e what you'll s e e , I r e c k o n , " N a n c y s a i d . " B u t it will take the L o r d to say w h a t that will b e . "

V/ W e left her sitting before the fire. " C o m e a n d p u t the bar u p , " father said. B u t s h e didn't m o v e . S h e didn't look at u s a g a i n , sitting quietly there b e t w e e n the l a m p a n d the fire. F r o m s o m e d i s t a n c e d o w n the lane we c o u l d look b a c k a n d s e e her t h r o u g h the o p e n door. " W h a t , F a t h e r ? " C a d d y said. " W h a t ' s g o i n g to h a p p e n ? " " N o t h i n g , " father s a i d . J a s o n w a s on father's b a c k , s o J a s o n w a s the tallest of all of u s . W e went d o w n into the ditch. I looked at it, q u i e t . I c o u l d n ' t s e e m u c h w h e r e the m o o n l i g h t a n d the s h a d o w s tangled. "If J e s u s is hid h e r e , he c a n s e e u s , c a n t h e ? " C a d d y s a i d . " H e ' s not t h e r e , " father said. " H e went away a long t i m e a g o . " "You m a d e m e c o m e , " J a s o n s a i d , high; a g a i n s t the sky it looked like father h a d two h e a d s , a little o n e a n d a big o n e . "I didn't w a n t t o . " W e went u p o u t of the ditch. W e c o u l d still s e e N a n c y ' s h o u s e a n d the o p e n door, but we c o u l d n ' t s e e N a n c y now, sitting before the fire with the d o o r o p e n , b e c a u s e she w a s tired. "I j u s t d o n e got tired," s h e s a i d . "I j u s t a nigger. It ain't no fault of m i n e . " B u t we c o u l d h e a r her, b e c a u s e s h e b e g a n j u s t after we c a m e u p out of the ditch, the s o u n d that w a s not singing a n d not u n s i n g i n g . " W h o will do our w a s h i n g now, F a t h e r ? " I said. "I'm not a n i g g e r , " J a s o n said, high a n d c l o s e a b o v e father's h e a d . "You're w o r s e , " C a d d y s a i d , "you are a tattletale. If s o m e t h i n g w a s to j u m p out, you'd be scairder t h a n a n i g g e r . " "I w o u l d n ' t , " J a s o n s a i d . "You'd cry," C a d d y s a i d . " C a d d y , " father said. "I wouldn't!" J a s o n s a i d . "Scairy cat," Caddy said. " C a n d a c e ! " father s a i d . 1931

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Barn Burning T h e store in w h i c h the J u s t i c e of t h e P e a c e ' s c o u r t w a s sitting s m e l l e d of c h e e s e . T h e boy, c r o u c h e d on his nail keg at the b a c k of the c r o w d e d r o o m , knew he s m e l l e d c h e e s e , a n d m o r e : from w h e r e h e sat h e c o u l d s e e the ranked shelves c l o s e - p a c k e d with the solid, s q u a t , d y n a m i c s h a p e s of tin c a n s w h o s e labels his s t o m a c h read, not from the lettering w h i c h m e a n t n o t h i n g to his m i n d but from the scarlet devils a n d the silver curve of f i s h — t h i s , the c h e e s e w h i c h he knew h e s m e l l e d a n d the h e r m e t i c m e a t which his intestines believed h e s m e l l e d c o m i n g in intermittent g u s t s m o m e n t a r y a n d brief b e t w e e n the other c o n s t a n t o n e , the smell a n d s e n s e j u s t a little of fear b e c a u s e mostly of d e s p a i r a n d grief, the old fierce pull of b l o o d . H e c o u l d not s e e the table w h e r e the J u s t i c e sat a n d b e f o r e which his father a n d his father's e n e m y (our enemy he t h o u g h t in that d e s p a i r ; ournl mine and him both! He's my father!) s t o o d , b u t h e c o u l d h e a r t h e m , the two of t h e m that is, b e c a u s e his father h a d said no word yet: " B u t what proof have you, M r . H a r r i s ? " "I told y o u . T h e h o g got into my c o r n . I c a u g h t it u p a n d s e n t it b a c k to him. H e h a d no f e n c e that w o u l d hold it. I told him s o , w a r n e d h i m . T h e next t i m e I p u t the hog in my p e n . W h e n he c a m e to get it I gave him e n o u g h wire to p a t c h u p his p e n . T h e next t i m e 1 p u t the h o g u p a n d kept it. I rode down to his h o u s e a n d saw the wire I gave him still rolled on to the spool in his yard. I told him he c o u l d have the h o g when he paid m e a dollar p o u n d fee. T h a t e v e n i n g a nigger c a m e with the dollar a n d got the hog. H e w a s a s t r a n g e nigger. H e s a i d , ' H e say to tell you w o o d a n d hay kin b u r n . ' I s a i d , ' W h a t ? ' 'That whut he say to tell y o u , ' the n i g g e r said. 'Wood a n d hay kin b u r n . ' T h a t night my barn b u r n e d . I got the s t o c k out but 1 lost the b a r n . " " W h e r e is t h e nigger? H a v e you got h i m ? " " H e was a s t r a n g e nigger, I tell you. I don't know what b e c a m e of h i m . " " B u t that's not proof. D o n ' t you s e e that's not p r o o f ? " " G e t that boy u p h e r e . H e k n o w s . " F o r a m o m e n t the boy t h o u g h t too that the m a n m e a n t his older brother until H a r r i s s a i d , " N o t h i m . T h e little o n e . T h e b o y , " a n d , c r o u c h i n g , small for his a g e , small a n d wiry like his father, in p a t c h e d a n d f a d e d j e a n s even too small for h i m , with straight, u n c o m b e d , brown_hair a n d eyes gray a n d wild a s s t o r m s c u d , he saw the m e n b e t w e e n irirmejj2j|rid t h e table part a n d _ b e c o m e a lane_of grim f a c e s , at the e n d of which h e s a w the J u s t i c e , a s h a b b y , collarless7 graying m a n in s p e c t a c l e s , b e c k o n i n g h i m . H e felt no floor u n d e r his bare feet; he s e e m e d to walk b e n e a t h the p a l p a b l e weight of the grim t u r n i n g f a c e s . H i s father, stiff in his b l a c k S u n d a y c o a t d o n n e d not for the trial but for the m o v i n g , did not even look at h i m . He aims for me to lie, he t h o u g h t , a g a i n with that frantic grief a n d d e s p a i r . And I will have to do hit. " W h a t ' s your n a m e , b o y ? " the J u s t i c e s a i d . " C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s S n o p e s , " 1 the boy w h i s p e r e d . " H e y ? " the J u s t i c e s a i d . " T a l k louder. C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s ? I r e c k o n a n y b o d y n a m e d for C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s in this c o u n t r y can't help but tell t h e truth, c a n 1. The boy is named for Colonel Sartoris, a leading citizen of Jefferson (Faulkner's invented town based on his hometown of Oxford, MississippOand

officer in the Confederate Army. T h e S n o p e s e s are a poor white family from the s a m e region. Both families appear in other works by Faulkner.

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t h e y ? " T h e boy said nothing. Enemy! Enemy! he thought; for a m o m e n t he c o u l d not even s e e , c o u l d not see that the J u s t i c e ' s f a c e w a s kindly nor discern that his voice w a s troubled w h e n he s p o k e to the m a n n a m e d H a r r i s : " D o you want m e to q u e s t i o n this b o y ? " B u t he could hear, a n d d u r i n g t h o s e s u b s e q u e n t long s e c o n d s while there w a s absolutely no s o u n d in the c r o w d e d little r o o m save that of quiet a n d intent b r e a t h i n g it w a s a s if h e h a d s w u n g outward at the e n d of a g r a p e vine, over a ravine, a n d at the top of the swing had b e e n c a u g h t in a p r o l o n g e d instant of m e s m e r i z e d gravity, weightless in time. " N o ! " Harris said violently, explosively. " D a m n a t i o n ! S e n d him o u t of h e r e ! " N o w t i m e , the fluid world, rushed b e n e a t h him a g a i n , the voices c o m ing to him again through the smell of c h e e s e a n d s e a l e d m e a t , the fear a n d d e s p a i r a n d the old grief of blood: " T h i s c a s e is c l o s e d . I can't find a g a i n s t you, S n o p e s , but I c a n give you advice. L e a v e this country a n d don't c o m e b a c k to it." H i s father s p o k e for the first t i m e , his voice cold a n d harsh, level, without e m p h a s i s : "I aim to. I don't figure to stay in a country a m o n g p e o p l e w h o . . ." he said s o m e t h i n g u n p r i n t a b l e a n d vile, a d d r e s s e d to n o o n e . "That'll d o , " the J u s t i c e said. " T a k e your w a g o n a n d get out of this country before dark. C a s e d i s m i s s e d . " His father t u r n e d , a n d he followed the stiff black c o a t , the wiry figure walking a little stiffly from w h e r e a C o n f e d e r a t e provost's m a n ' s m u s k e t ball had taken him in the heel on a stolen h o r s e thirty years a g o , followed the two b a c k s now, s i n c e his older brother had a p p e a r e d from s o m e w h e r e in the crowd, no taller than the father but thicker, c h e w i n g t o b a c c o steadily, between the two lines of grim-faced m e n a n d out of the store and a c r o s s the worn gallery a n d down the s a g g i n g s t e p s a n d a m o n g the d o g s a n d half-grown boys in the mild M a y d u s t , w h e r e a s he p a s s e d a voice h i s s e d : "Barn burner!" Again he c o u l d not s e e , whirling; there w a s a f a c e in a red haze, m o o n l i k e , bigger than the full m o o n , the owner of it half again his size, he l e a p i n g in the red haze toward the f a c e , feeling no blow, feeling no s h o c k w h e n his h e a d struck the earth, s c r a b b l i n g up a n d leaping a g a i n , feeling no blow this time either a n d tasting no blood, s c r a b b l i n g up to s e e the other boy in full flight a n d h i m s e l f already leaping into pursuit a s his father's hand j e r k e d him back, the h a r s h , cold voice s p e a k i n g a b o v e him: " G o get in the w a g o n . " It s t o o d in a grove of l o c u s t s a n d m u l b e r r i e s a c r o s s the road. H i s two hulking sisters in their S u n d a y d r e s s e s a n d his m o t h e r a n d her sister in c a l i c o a n d s u n b o n n e t s were already in it, sitting on a n d a m o n g the sorrv r e s i d u e of the dozen a n d m o r e movings which even the boy c o u l d r e m e m b e r — t h e batt e r e d s t o v e , thp hroken b e d s a n d c h a i r s , the clock inlaid with mother-ofp e a r f ^ h i r h would not r u n , s t o p p e d at s o m e fourteen m i n u t e s p a s t two o'clock of a d e a d a n d forgotten day a n d t i m e , which had b e e n hisrnliFFieT's dowry. S h e w a s crying, t h o u g h when s h e saw him s h e drew her sleeve a c r o s s her face a n d b e g a n to d e s c e n d from the w a g o n . " G e t b a c k , " the father s a i d . " H e ' s hurt. I got to get s o m e water a n d w a s h his . . ." " G e t b a c k in the w a g o n , " his father s a i d . H e got in too, over the tail-gate. His father m o u n t e d to the seat w h e r e the older brother already sat a n d struck the g a u n t m u l e s two s a v a g e blows with the peeled willow, but without heat. It w a s not even s a d i s t i c ; it w a s exactly that s a m e quality which in later years

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w o u l d c a u s e his d e s c e n d a n t s to over-run t h e e n g i n e b e f o r e p u t t i n g a m o t o r c a r into m o t i o n , striking a n d reining b a c k in the s a m e m o v e m e n t . T h e w a g o n w e n t o n , t h e store with its quiet c r o w d o f grimly w a t c h i n g m e n d r o p p e d b e h i n d ; a curve in t h e r o a d hid it. Forever h e t h o u g h t . Maybe he's done satisfied now, now that he has . . . s t o p p i n g himself, n o t to say it a l o u d even t o himself. H i s m o t h e r ' s h a n d t o u c h e d his s h o u l d e r . " D o e s hit h u r t ? " s h e s a i d . " N a w , " h e s a i d . " H i t don't hurt. L e m m e b e . " " C a n ' t you wipe s o m e of t h e b l o o d off b e f o r e hit d r i e s ? " "I'll w a s h to-night," h e said. " L e m m e b e , I tell y o u . " T h e w a g o n went o n . H e did n o t k n o w w h e r e they were going. N o n e of t h e m ever did or ever a s k e d , b e c a u s e it w a s always s o m e w h e r e , always a h o u s e of sorts waiting for t h e m a day or two days or even three days away. Likely his father h a d already a r r a n g e d to m a k e a c r o p o n a n o t h e r farm b e f o r e h e . . . A g a i n h e h a d to s t o p himself. H e (the father) always d i d . T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g a b o u t his wolflike i n d e p e n d e n c e a n d even c o u r a g e w h e n t h e a d v a n t a g e w a s at least neutral which i m p r e s s e d s t r a n g e r s , a s if they g o t f r o m his latent ravening ferocity not s o m u c h a s e n s e o f d e p e n d a b i l i t y a s a feeling that his f e r o c i o u s conviction in t h e T i g h t n e s s of his o w n a c t i o n s w o u l d b e o f a d v a n t a g e to all w h o s e interest lay with h i s . T h a t night they c a m p e d , in a grove o f o a k s a n d b e e c h e s w h e r e a spring ran. T h e nights were still cool a n d they h a d a fire a g a i n s t it, of a rail lifted from a nearby f e n c e a n d c u t into l e n g t h s — a s m a l l fire, n e a t , niggard a l m o s t , a shrewd fire; s u c h fires were his father's habit a n d c u s t o m always, even in freezing w e a t h e r . O l d e r , t h e boy might have r e m a r k e d this a n d w o n d e r e d why not a b i g o n e ; why s h o u l d n o t a m a n w h o h a d n o t only s e e n t h e w a s t e a n d _ e x t r a v a g a n c e o f war, b u t w h o h a d inTilirblood a n j n h e r e n t v o r a c i o u s prodigality with material n o t his o w n , have b u r n e d everything in sight? T h e n T v e m i g h t have g o n e a step farther a n d t h o u g h t that that w a s t h e r e a s o n : that niggard blaze w a s t h e living fruit o f nights p a s s e d d u r i n g t h o s e four years in the w o o d s hiding from all m e n , b l u e or gray, with his strings o f h o r s e s ( c a p t u r e d h o r s e s , h e called t h e m ) . A n d older still, h e might have divined t h e true r e a s o n : that t h e e l e m e n t o f fire s p o k e to s o m e d e e p m a i n s p r i n g o f his father's being, a s t h e e l e m e n t of steel or of p o w d e r s p o k e to other m e n , a s the o n e w e a p o n for t h e preservation o f integrity, e l s e b r e a t h w e r e n o t worth the b r e a t h i n g , a n d h e n c e to b e r e g a r d e d with r e s p e c t a n d u s e d with d i s c r e tion. B u t h e did not think this n o w a n d h e h a d s e e n t h o s e s a m e n i g g a r d blazes all his life. H e merely a t e his s u p p e r b e s i d e it a n d w a s already half a s l e e p over his iron plate w h e n his father c a l l e d h i m , a n d o n c e m o r e h e followed the stiff b a c k , t h e stiff a n d r u t h l e s s l i m p , u p t h e s l o p e a n d o n to t h e starlit road w h e r e , turning, h e c o u l d s e e h i s father a g a i n s t t h e stars b u t without f a c e or d e p t h — a s h a p e b l a c k , flat, a n d b l o o d l e s s a s t h o u g h c u t f r o m tin in the iron folds o f t h e f r o c k c o a t which h a d n o t b e e n m a d e for h i m , t h e voice h a r s h l i k e j j n a n d without h e a t l i k e j i m - . "You were fixing to tell t h e m . Y o u would have told h i m . " H e didn't a n s w e r . H i s father s t r u c k h i m with t h e flat of his h a n d o n t h e side o f t h e h e a d , h a r d but without h e a t , exactly a s h e h a d s t r u c k t h e two m u l e s at t h e ^ t o r e , exactly: as~rurwojjljd_sijjj^^ t h e m with a n y stick in order to ldfl_ajwreejfly^. T v j j v o i c e stULwjthout heat or a n g e r : "You're g e t t i n g to biff a m a n . Y o u g o t to

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learn. You got to learn to stick to your own blood or you ain't g o i n g to have any blood to stick to y o u . D o you think either of t h e m , any m a n there this morning, w o u l d ? Don't you know all they w a n t e d w a s a c h a n c e to get at m e b e c a u s e they knew I h a d t h e m beat? E h ? " L a t e r , twenty years later, h e w a s to tell himself, " I f J h a d said they w a n t e d only, truth, j u s t i c e , h e would have hit m e a g a i n . " B u t n o w h e said nothing. H e w a s not crying. H e j u s t s t o o d There. A n s w e r m e , " his father said. " Y e s , " h e w h i s p e r e d . H i s father turned. " G e t on to b e d . We'll b e there t o m o r r o w . " T o - m o r r o w they were there.. In t h e early afternoon t h e w a g o n s t o p p e d before a p a i n t l e s s two-room h o u s e identical a l m o s t with t h e dozen others it h a d s t o p p e d before even in t h e boy's ten years, a n d a g a i n , a s on t h e other dozen o c c a s i o n s , his m o t h e r a n d a u n t got down a n d b e g a n to u n l o a d t h e w a g o n , a l t h o u g h his two sisters a n d his father a n d brother h a d not m o v e d . "Likely hit ain't fitten for h a w g s , " o n e of the sisters s a i d . " N e v e r t h e l e s s , fit it will a n d you'll h o g it a n d like i t , " his father s a i d . " G e t out of t h e m chairs a n d help your M a u n l o a d . " T h e two sisters got d o w n , big, bovine, in a flutter o f c h e a p r i b b o n s ; o n e o f t h e m drew from the j u m b l e d w a g o n b e d a battered lantern, t h e other a worn b r o o m . H i s father h a n d e d t h e reins to t h e older s o n a n d b e g a n to c l i m b stiffly over the wheel. " W h e n they get u n l o a d e d , take t h e t e a m to t h e barn a n d feed t h e m . " T h e n h e said, a n d at first t h e boy t h o u g h t h e w a s still speaking to his brother: " C o m e with m e . " " M e ? " he said. " Y e s , " his father s a i d . " Y o u . " " A b n e r , " his m o t h e r said. H i s father p a u s e d a n d looked b a c k — t h e h a r s h level stare b e n e a t h t h e shaggy, graying, irascible brows. "I reckon I'll have a word with the m a n that a i m s to begin to-morrow owning m e body a n d soul for t h e next eight m o n t h s . " T h e y went b a c k u p t h e road. A week a g o — o r before last night, that i s — he would have a s k e d where they were going, b u t not n o w . H i s father h a d struck h i m before last night b u t never before h a d h e p a u s e d afterward to explain why; it w a s a s if the blow a n d t h e following c a l m , o u t r a g e o u s voice still rang, r e p e r c u s s e d , divulging nothing to h i m save t h e terrible h a n d i c a p of b e i n g y o u n g , t h e light weight of his few years, j u s t heavy e n o u g h to prevent his s o a r i n g free of the world a s it s e e m e d to b e ordered b u t not heavy e n o u g h to keep h i m footed solid in it, to resist it a n d try to c h a n g e t h e c o u r s e o f its events. Presently h e c o u l d s e e the grove of o a k s a n d c e d a r s a n d the other flowering trees a n d s h r u b s w h e r e t h e h o u s e would b e , t h o u g h not t h e h o u s e yet. T h e y walked b e s i d e a f e n c e m a s s e d with h o n e y s u c k l e a n d C h e r o k e e r o s e s a n d c a m e to a gate swinging o p e n b e t w e e n two brick pillars, a n d n o w , beyond a s w e e p of drive, h e s a w t h e h o u s e for t h e first time a n d at that instant h e forgot his father a n d t h e terror a n d d e s p a i r b o t h , a n d even w h e n h e r e m e m b e r e d his father again (who h a d not s t o p p e d ) t h e terror a n d d e s p a i r d i d not return. B e c a u s e , for all t h e twelve m o v i n g s , they h a d s o j o u r n e d until now in a p o o r country, a land of small f a r m s a n d fields a n d h o u s e s , a n d h e h a d never s e e n a h o u s e like this before. Hit's big as a courthouse h e t h o u g h t quietly, with a s u r g e of p e a c e a n d j o y w h o s e r e a s o n h e c o u l d n o t have t h o u g h t into w o r d s , b e i n g too y o u n g for that: They

are safe from

him. People

whose

lives

2182

/

are a part

WILLIAM

of this peace

than

a buzzing

spell

of this

which

FAULKNER

wasp:

peace

belong

and dignity capable

and dignity

to it impervious

are beyond

of stinging

his touch,

for a little

rendering

even

to the puny

the barns

flames

he no more

moment

and stable

he might

to

but that's contrive

them

all; the

and

cribs

. . . this,

the p e a c e a n d joy, e b b i n g for a n instant a s h e looked again at t h e stiff b l a c k back, the stiff a n d i m p l a c a b l e limp of t h e figure which w a s not d w a r f e d by the h o u s e , for t h e r e a s o n that it h a d never looked big anywhere a n d w h i c h now, a g a i n s t t h e s e r e n e c o l u m n e d b a c k d r o p , h a d m o r e than ever that impervious quality of s o m e t h i n g c u t ruthlessly from tin, d e p t h l e s s , ' a s t h o u g h , sidewise to t h e s u n , it w o u l d c a s t n o s h a d o w . W a t c h i n g h i m , t h e b o y r e m a r k e d the absolutely undeviating c o u r s e which his father held a n d s a w the stiff foot c o m e squarely d o w n in a pile of fresh d r o p p i n g s w h e r e a h o r s e h a d s t o o d in the drive a n d which his father c o u l d have avoided by a s i m p l e c h a n g e o f stride. B u t it e b b e d only for a m o m e n t , t h o u g h h e c o u l d not have t h o u g h t this into w o r d s either, walking on in t h e spell of t h e h o u s e , w h i c h h e c o u l d even want b u t without envy, without sorrow, certainly never with that rave n i n g a n d j e a l o u s rage which u n k n o w n to h i m walked in t h e ironlike b l a c k c o a t b e f o r e h i m : Maybe from

what

maybe

he will feel

he couldn't

help

it too. Maybe

it will even

change

him now

but be.

T h e y c r o s s e d t h e portico. N o w h e c o u l d hear his father's stiff foot a s it c a m e down on t h e b o a r d s with clocklike finality, a s o u n d o u t of all proportion to t h e d i s p l a c e m e n t of the body it bore a n d w h i c h w a s not dwarfed either by the white d o o r before it, a s t h o u g h it h a d a t t a i n e d to a sort of vicious a n d ravening m i n i m u m not to b e dwarfed by a n y t h i n g — t h e flat, w i d e , b l a c k hat, the formal c o a t of b r o a d c l o t h which h a d o n c e b e e n b l a c k b u t which h a d now that friction-glazed g r e e n i s h c a s t of t h e b o d i e s of old h o u s e flies, t h e lifted sleeve which w a s t o o large, t h e lifted h a n d like a c u r l e d claw. T h e d o o r o p e n e d s o promptly that t h e boy knew t h e N e g r o m u s t have b e e n w a t c h i n g t h e m all t h e t i m e , a n old m a n with n e a t grizzled hair, in a linen j a c k e t , w h o stood barring t h e door with his body, saying, " W i p e yo foots, white m a n , fo you c o m e in here. M a j o r ain't h o m e n o h o w . " " G e t o u t of my way, n i g g e r , " his father s a i d , without heat too, flinging t h e door b a c k a n d t h e N e g r o a l s o a n d entering, his h a t still on his h e a d . A n d now t h e boy s a w t h e prints of t h e stiff foot on t h e d o o r j a m b a n d s a w t h e m a p p e a r on t h e pale r u g b e h i n d t h e m a c h i n e l i k e deliberation of the foot which s e e m e d to b e a r (or t r a n s m i t ) twice t h e weight w h i c h t h e body c o m p a s s e d . T h e Negro was shouting "Miss Lula! Miss Lula!" somewhere behind them, then t h e boy, d e l u g e d a s t h o u g h by a w a r m wave by a s u a v e turn of c a r p e t e d stair a n d a p e n d a n t glitter of c h a n d e l i e r s a n d a m u t e g l e a m o f gold f r a m e s , h e a r d t h e swift feet a n d s a w her too, a l a d y — p e r h a p s h e h a d never s e e n h e r like before e i t h e r — i n a gray, s m o o t h gown with lace at t h e throat a n d a n a p r o n tied at the waist a n d t h e sleeves t u r n e d back, wiping c a k e or b i s c u i t d o u g h from her h a n d s with a towel a s s h e c a m e u p t h e hall, l o o k i n g n o t at his father at all b u t at t h e tracks on t h e b l o n d r u g with a n e x p r e s s i o n o f incredulous amazement. "I tried," t h e N e g r o cried. "I tole h i m to . . . " "Will you p l e a s e g o a w a y ? " s h e said in a s h a k i n g voice. " M a j o r d e S p a i n is not at h o m e . Will you p l e a s e g o a w a y ? " ^ H i s father h a d not s p o k e n a g a i n . H e d i d n o t s p e a k a g a i n . H e d i d n o t even look at her. H e j u s t s t o o d stiff in t h e c e n t e r o f the r u g , in his h a t , t h e s h a g g y iron-gray brows twitching slightly a b o v e t h e p e b b l e - c o l o r e d eyes a s h e

BARN

BURNING

/

2183

a p p e a r e d to e x a m i n e the h o u s e with brief deliberation. T h e n with the s a m e deliberation h e t u r n e d ; the boy w a t c h e d him pivot on the g o o d leg a n d saw the stiff foot d r a g r o u n d the arc of the turning, leaving a final l o n g a n d fading s m e a r . His father never looked at it, he never o n c e looked d o w n at the rug. T h e N e g r o held the door. It c l o s e d b e h i n d t h e m , u p o n the hysteric a n d i n d i s t i n g u i s h a b l e w o m a n - w a i l . H i s father s t o p p e d at the top of the s t e p s a n d s c r a p e d his boot c l e a n on the e d g e of it. At the g a t e h e s t o p p e d a g a i n . H e stood for a m o m e n t , p l a n t e d stiffly on the stiff foot, looking b a c k at the h o u s e . "Pretty a n d white, ain't i t ? " h e said. " T h a t ' s sweat. N i g g e r sweat. M a y b e it ain't white e n o u g h yet to suit h i m . M a y b e h e w a n t s to mix s o m e white sweat with it." T w o hours later the boy w a s c h o p p i n g w o o d b e h i n d the h o u s e within which his m o t h e r a n d a u n t a n d the two sisters (the m o t h e r a n d a u n t , not the two girls, he knew that; even at this d i s t a n c e a n d muffled by walls the flat loud voices of the two girls e m a n a t e d an incorrigible idle inertia) were setting up the stove to p r e p a r e a m e a l , w h e n h e h e a r d the hooves a n d s a w the linen-clad m a n on a fine sorrel m a r e , w h o m h e recognized even before he saw the rolled rug in front of the N e g r o youth following on a fat bay carriage h o r s e — a s u f f u s e d , angry f a c e v a n i s h i n g , still at full g a l l o p , b e y o n d the c o r n e r of the h o u s e w h e r e his father a n d brother were sitting in the two tilted c h a i r s ; a n d a m o m e n t later, a l m o s t before he c o u l d have p u t the axe d o w n , h e h e a r d the hooves again a n d w a t c h e d the sorrel m a r e go b a c k o u t of the yard, already galloping a g a i n . T h e n his father b e g a n to s h o u t o n e of the sisters' n a m e s , w h o presently e m e r g e d b a c k w a r d from the kitchen d o o r d r a g g i n g the rolled rug a l o n g the g r o u n d by o n e e n d while the other sister walked b e h i n d it. "If you ain't g o i n g to tote, go on a n d set u p the w a s h p o t , " the first said. "You, S a r t y ! " the s e c o n d s h o u t e d . " S e t u p the w a s h p o t ! " H i s father a p p e a r e d at the door, f r a m e d a g a i n s t that s h a b b i n e s s , a s he h a d b e e n a g a i n s t that other b l a n d perfection, impervious to either, the mother's a n x i o u s f a c e at his s h o u l d e r . " G o o n , " the father said. " P i c k it u p . " T h e two sisters s t o o p e d , b r o a d , lethargic; stooping, they p r e s e n t e d an incredible e x p a n s e of p a l e cloth a n d a flutter of tawdry r i b b o n s . "If I thought e n o u g h of a r u g to have to git hit all the way from F r a n c e I wouldn't keep hit w h e r e folks c o m i n g in would have to t r o m p on hit," the first said. T h e y raised the rug. " A b n e r , " the m o t h e r said. " L e t m e do it." "You go b a c k a n d git d i n n e r , " his father s a i d . "I'll tend to t h i s . " F r o m the woodpile t h r o u g h the rest of the afternoon the boy w a t c h e d t h e m , the rug s p r e a d flat in the d u s t b e s i d e the b u b b l i n g w a s h - p o t , the two sisters s t o o p i n g over it with that p r o f o u n d a n d lethargic r e l u c t a n c e , while the father s t o o d over t h e m in turn, i m p l a c a b l e a n d grim, driving t h e m t h o u g h never raising his voice a g a i n . H e c o u l d smell the h a r s h h o m e m a d e lye they were u s i n g ; he saw his m o t h e r c o m e to the door o n c e a n d look toward t h e m with a n expression not anxious now hut very like d e s p a i r , he s a w his father t u r n ' a n d he tell to with the axe a n d saw from the c o r n e r of his eye his father raise from the g r o u n d a flattish f r a g m e n t of field s t o n e a n d e x a m i n e it a n d return to the p o t , a n d this time his m o t h e r actually s p o k e : "Abner. Abner. P l e a s e don't. P l e a s e , A b n e r . " T h e n he was d o n e t o o . It w a s d u s k ; the whippoorwills h a d already b e g u n .

2184

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WILLIAM

FAULKNER

H e c o u l d smell coffee from the r o o m w h e r e they would presently e a t the cold food r e m a i n i n g from the mid-afternoon m e a l , t h o u g h w h e n h e e n t e r e d the h o u s e he realized they were having coffee again probably b e c a u s e there w a s a fire on the h e a r t h , before which the rug n o w lay s p r e a d over the b a c k s of the two c h a i r s . T h e tracks of his father's foot were g o n e . W h e r e they h a d b e e n were now long, water-cloudy s c o r i a t i o n s r e s e m b l i n g the s p o r a d i c c o u r s e of a lilliputian m o w i n g m a c h i n e . It still h u n g there while they ate the c o l d food a n d then went to b e d , s c a t t e r e d without order or claim u p a n d d o w n the two r o o m s , his m o t h e r in o n e b e d , w h e r e his father would later lie, the older brother in the other, himself, the a u n t , a n d the two sisters o n pallets on the floor. B u t his father w a s not in b e d yet. T h e last thing the boy r e m e m b e r e d w a s the d e p t h l e s s , h a r s h silhouette of the hat a n d c o a t b e n d i n g over the r u g a n d it s e e m e d to him that he h a d not even c l o s e d his eyes w h e n the s i l h o u e t t e w a s s t a n d i n g over h i m , the fire a l m o s t d e a d b e h i n d it, the stiff foot p r o d d i n g him a w a k e . " C a t c h u p the m u l e , " his father s a i d . W h e n h e r e t u r n e d with the m u l e his father w a s s t a n d i n g in the b l a c k door, the rolled r u g over his s h o u l d e r . "Ain't you g o i n g to r i d e ? " he s a i d . " N o . Give m e your foot." H e b e n t his k n e e into his father's h a n d , the wiry, s u r p r i s i n g power flowed smoothly, rising, h e rising with it, on to the m u l e ' s b a r e b a c k (they h a d o w n e d a s a d d l e o n c e ; the boy c o u l d r e m e m b e r it t h o u g h not w h e n or where) a n d with the s a m e effortlessness his father s w u n g the r u g u p in front of h i m . N o w in the starlight they r e t r a c e d the afternoon's patfi, u p the dusty r o a d rife with h o n e y s u c k l e , through the gate a n d u p the black tunnel of the drive to the lightless h o u s e , where he sat on the m u l e a n d felt the r o u g h warp of the rug d r a g a c r o s s his thighs a n d v a n i s h . " D o n ' t you want m e to h e l p ? " he w h i s p e r e d . H i s father did not a n s w e r a n d now h e h e a r d again that stiff foot striking the hollow p o r t i c o with that w o o d e n a n d clocklike deliberation, that o u t r a g e o u s o v e r s t a t e m e n t of the weight it carried. T h e rug, h u n c h e d , not flung (the boy c o u l d tell that even in the d a r k n e s s ) from his father's s h o u l d e r , s t r u c k the a n g l e of wall a n d floor with a s o u n d unbelievably loud, t h u n d e r o u s , then the foot a g a i n , u n h u r r i e d a n d e n o r m o u s ; a light c a m e on in the h o u s e a n d the boy sat, t e n s e , hreathing steadily a n d quietly a n d just a littkJfest J _though the foot itself did not i n c r e a s e its beat at all, d e s c e n d i n g the s t e p s now: n o w the boy c o u l d s e e h i m . " D o n ' t you want to ride n o w ? " h e w h i s p e r e d . " W e kin both ride n o w , " the light within the h o u s e altering now, flaring up a n d sinking. He's coming down the stairs now, h e t h o u g h t . H e h a d already ridden the m u l e u p b e s i d e the h o r s e block; presently his father w a s up b e h i n d him a n d he d o u b l e d the reins over a n d s l a s h e d the m u l e a c r o s s the n e c k , but before the a n i m a l c o u l d begin to trot the h a r d , thin arm c a m e r o u n d him, the h a r d , k n o t t e d h a n d j e r k i n g the m u l e b a c k to a walk. In the first red rays of the s u n they were in the lot, p u t t i n g p l o w g e a r o n the m u l e s . T h i s time the sorrel m a r e w a s in the lot before h e h e a r d it at all, the rider collarless a n d even b a r e h e a d e d , trembling, s p e a k i n g in a s h a k i n g voice a s the w o m a n in the h o u s e h a d d o n e , his father merely looking up o n c e before s t o o p i n g again to the h a m e he w a s buckling, s o that the m a n on the m a r e s p o k e to his s t o o p i n g back: "You m u s t realize you have r u i n e d that rug. Wasn't t h e r e anybody h e r e ,

BARN

BURNING

/

2185

any of your w o m e n . . ." h e c e a s e d , s h a k i n g , t h e boy w a t c h i n g h i m , t h e older brother l e a n i n g n o w in t h e s t a b l e door, c h e w i n g , blinking slowly a n d steadily at nothing apparently. "It c o s t a h u n d r e d dollars. B u t y o u never h a d a h u n d r e d dollars. Y o u never will. S o I'm g o i n g to c h a r g e y o u twenty b u s h e l s of corn a g a i n s t your c r o p . I'll a d d it in your c o n t r a c t a n d w h e n y o u c o m e to the c o m m i s s a r y you c a n sign it. T h a t won't keep M r s . d e S p a i n quiet b u t m a y b e it will t e a c h you to wipe your feet off before you enter her house again." T h e n h e w a s g o n e . T h e boy looked at his father, w h o still h a d not s p o k e n or even looked u p a g a i n , w h o w a s now a d j u s t i n g the logger-head in t h e h a m e . " P a p , " h e said. H i s father looked at h i m — t h e i n s c r u t a b l e f a c e , t h e s h a g g y brows b e n e a t h which t h e gray eyes glinted coldly. S u d d e n l y t h e boy went toward h i m , fast, s t o p p i n g a s suddenly. "You d o n e t h e best you c o u l d ! " h e cried. " I f h e w a n t e d hit d o n e different why didn't he wait a n d tell you how? H e won't git n o twenty b u s h e l s ! H e won't git n o n e ! We'll g e t h e r hit a n d hide hit! I kin w a t c h . . ." " D i d y o u p u t the cutter b a c k in that straight s t o c k like I told y o u ? " "No, sir," he said. "Then go do it." T h a t w a s W e d n e s d a y . D u r i n g the rest o f that w e e k h e worked steadily, at what w a s within his s c o p e a n d s o m e which w a s beyond it, with a n industry that did not n e e d to b e driven nor even c o m m a n d e d twice; h e h a d this from his m o t h e r , with t h e difference that s o m e at least of what h e d i d h e liked to do, s u c h a s splitting wood with t h e half-size a x e which his m o t h e r a n d a u n t h a d e a r n e d , or saved m o n e y s o m e h o w , to p r e s e n t him with at C h r i s t m a s . In c o m p a n y with t h e two older w o m e n ( a n d on o n e a f t e r n o o n , even o n e o f the sisters), h e built p e n s for the s h o a t a n d t h e c o w which were a part of his father's c o n t r a c t with t h e landlord, a n d o n e a f t e r n o o n , his father b e i n g a b s e n t , g o n e s o m e w h e r e on o n e of t h e m u l e s , h e went to t h e field. T h e y were r u n n i n g a m i d d l e b u s t e r now, h i s brother holding t h e plow straight while h e h a n d l e d t h e reins, a n d walking b e s i d e t h e straining m u l e , the rich black soil s h e a r i n g cool a n d d a m p a g a i n s t his b a r e a n k l e s , h e t h o u g h t Maybe have always

this is the end of it. Maybe to fay for just from

being

a rug will what

he used

even

that

be a cheap

twenty price

bushels for

that seems

he even

collect

and

bushels.

corn,

rug, fire; the terror

teams

of horses—gone,

Maybe

it will

all add up and balance

and grief, the being done

to and

to be; t h i n k i n g , d r e a m i n g n o w , s o that his

brother h a d to s p e a k sharply to h i m to m i n d t h e m u l e : Maybe the twenty

hard

him to stop forever

pulled

with for ever and ever.

won't vanish—

two ways like between

two ,

T h e n it w a s S a t u r d a y ; h e looked u p from b e n e a t h the m u l e h e w a s harn e s s i n g a n d s a w his father in t h e black c o a t a n d h a t . " N o t t h a t , " his father said. " T h e w a g o n g e a r . " A n d t h e n , two h o u r s later, sitting in t h e w a g o n b e d behind his father a n d brother on the s e a t , t h e w a g o n a c c o m p l i s h e d a final curve, a n d h e s a w t h e w e a t h e r e d p a i n t l e s s store with its tattered t o b a c c o a n d p a t e n t - m e d i c i n e p o s t e r s a n d t h e tethered w a g o n s a n d s a d d l e a n i m a l s below t h e gallery. H e m o u n t e d t h e g n a w e d s t e p s b e h i n d his father a n d brother, a n d there again w a s t h e lane of quiet, w a t c h i n g f a c e s for t h e three of t h e m to walk t h r o u g h . H e s a w the m a n in s p e c t a c l e s sitting at t h e plank table a n d he did not n e e d to b e told this w a s a J u s t i c e o f t h e P e a c e ; h e sent o n e glare of fierce, exultant, partisan d e f i a n c e at t h e m a n in collar a n d cravat

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now, w h o m he h a d s e e n hut twice b e f o r e in his life, a n d that o n a g a l l o p i n g h o r s e , w h o n o w wore on his f a c e a n expression not of r a g e buJ__ojjunaz£d unbelief^^vjhjcjjobe^boy c o u l d not have known w a s at t h e j n j u s d j b l e _ c i r c u m s t a n c e of b e i n g suearr5rT/rRfoF his own t e n a n t s , a n c f c a m e a n d s t o o d a g a i n s t h i s T a t h e r a n d cried at the J u s t i c e : " H e ain't d o n e it! H e ain't b u r n t . . ." " G o b a c k to the w a g o n , " his father said. " B u r n t ? " the J u s t i c e said. " D o I u n d e r s t a n d this r u g w a s b u r n e d t o o ? " " D o e s anybody here claim it w a s ? " his father said. " G o b a c k to t h e w a g o n . " B u t h e did not, he merely retreated i o the rear of t h e r o o m , c r o w d e d a s that other h a d b e e n , b u t not to sit down this t i m e , i n s t e a d , to s t a n d p r e s s i n g a m o n g the m o t i o n l e s s b o d i e s , listening to the voices: "And you c l a i m twenty b u s h e l s of corn is t o o high for the d a m a g e you did to the r u g ? " ." H e b r o u g h t the r u g to m e a n d said he w a n t e d the tracks w a s h e d o u t of it. I w a s h e d t h e tracks o u t a n d took the r u g b a c k to h i m . " " B u t you didn't carry the r u g b a c k to h i m in the s a m e condition it w a s in before you m a d e the tracks on it." His father did not a n s w e r , a n d n o w for p e r h a p s half a m i n u t e there w a s no s o u n d at all save that of b r e a t h i n g , t h e faint, steady s u s p i r a t i o n of c o m plete a n d intent listening. "You decline to a n s w e r that, M r . S n o p e s ? " Again his father did not a n s w e r . "I'm g o i n g to find a g a i n s t y o u , M r . S n o p e s . I'm g o i n g to find that you were r e s p o n s i b l e for the injury to M a j o r d e S p a i n ' s r u g a n d hold you liable for it. B u t twenty b u s h e l s of corn s e e m s a little high for a m a n in your c i r c u m s t a n c e s to have to pay. M a j o r d e S p a i n c l a i m s it c o s t a h u n d r e d dollars. O c t o b e r corn will b e worth a b o u t fifty c e n t s . I figure that if M a j o r d e S p a i n c a n s t a n d a ninety-five-dollar loss on s o m e t h i n g he p a i d c a s h for, you c a n s t a n d a five-dollar loss you haven't e a r n e d yet. I hold you in d a m a g e s to M a j o r de S p a i n to t h e a m o u n t of ten b u s h e l s of corn over a n d a b o v e your c o n t r a c t with h i m , to b e p a i d to him o u t of your c r o p at g a t h e r i n g t i m e . C o u r t adjourned." It h a d taken no time hardly, the m o r n i n g w a s but half b e g u n . H e t h o u g h t they would return h o m e a n d p e r h a p s b a c k to the field, s i n c e they were late, far b e h i n d all other f a r m e r s . B u t instead his father p a s s e d on behind the w a g o n , merely i n d i c a t i n g with his h a n d for the older brother to follow with it, a n d c r o s s e d t h e road toward the b l a c k s m i t h s h o p o p p o s i t e , p r e s s i n g o n after his father, overtaking h i m , s p e a k i n g , w h i s p e r i n g u p at the h a r s h , c a l m face b e n e a t h the w e a t h e r e d hat: " H e won't git n o ten b u s h e l s neither. H e won't git o n e . We'll . . ." until his father g l a n c e d for an instant down at h i m , the f a c e absolutely c a l m , the grizzled eyebrows tangled above the cold eyes, the voice a l m o s t p l e a s a n t , a l m o s t g e n t l e : ' Y o u think s o ? Well, we'll wait till O c t o b e r anyway." T h e m a t t e r of the w a g o n — t h e setting of a s p o k e or two a n d the tightening of the t i r e s — d i d not take long either, t h e b u s i n e s s of the tires a c c o m p l i s h e d by driving the w a g o n into the spring b r a n c h b e h i n d t h e s h o p a n d letting it s t a n d t h e r e , the m u l e s nuzzling into t h e water from t i m e to t i m e , a n d the boy o n t h e seat with t h e idle reins, looking u p t h e slope a n d t h r o u g h the sooty t u n n e l of the s h e d w h e r e the slow h a m m e r r a n g a n d w h e r e his father sat on a n u p e n d e d cypress bolt, easily, either talking or listening, still sitting there w h e n the boy b r o u g h t the d r i p p i n g w a g o n u p out of t h e b r a n c h a n d halted it before the door.

BARN

BURNING

/

2187

" T a k e t h e m o n to the s h a d e a n d h i t c h , " his father said. H e did s o a n d returned. His father a n d the smith a n d a third m a n s q u a t t i n g on his heels inside the door were talking, a b o u t c r o p s a n d a n i m a l s ; the boy, s q u a t t i n g too in the a m m o n i a c d u s t a n d hoof-parings a n d s c a l e s of rust, h e a r d his father tell a long a n d u n h u r r i e d story out of the time before the birth of the older brother even w h e n h e h a d b e e n a professional horsetrader. A n d then his father c a m e up b e s i d e him where he stood before a tattered last year's c i r c u s p o s t e r on the other side of the store, gazing rapt a n d quiet at the scarlet h o r s e s , the incredible poisings a n d c o n v o l u t i o n s of tulle a n d tights a n d the p a i n t e d leers of c o m e d i a n s , a n d said "It's time to e a t . " B u t not at h o m e . S q u a t t i n g b e s i d e his brother a g a i n s t the front wall, he w a t c h e d his father e m e r g e from the store a n d p r o d u c e from a p a p e r s a c k a s e g m e n t of c h e e s e a n d divide it carefully a n d deliberately into three with his pocket knife a n d p r o d u c e c r a c k e r s from the s a m e sack. T h e y all three s q u a t ted on the gallery a n d a t e , slowly, without talking; then in the store a g a i n , they drank from a tin dipper tepid water s m e l l i n g of the c e d a r b u c k e t a n d of living b e e c h trees. And still they did not go h o m e . It w a s a h o r s e lot this t i m e , a tall rail f e n c e u p o n a n d a l o n g which m e n stood a n d sat a n d out of which o n e by o n e h o r s e s were led, to be walked a n d trotted a n d then c a n t e r e d b a c k a n d forth a l o n g the road while the slow s w a p p i n g a n d buying went on a n d the s u n b e g a n to slant w e s t w a r d , t h e y — t h e three of t h e m — w a t c h i n g a n d listening, the older brother with his m u d d y eyes a n d his steady, inevitable t o b a c c o , the father c o m m e n t i n g now a n d then on certain of the a n i m a l s , to n o o n e in particular. It w a s after s u n d o w n w h e n they r e a c h e d h o m e . T h e y a t e s u p p e r by l a m p light, then, sitting on the d o o r s t e p , the boy w a t c h e d the night fully a c c o m plish, listening to the whippoorwills a n d the frogs, w h e n he h e a r d his mother's voice: "Abner! N o ! N o ! O h , G o d . O h , G o d . A b n e r ! " a n d he r o s e , whirled, a n d saw the altered light through the d o o r w h e r e a c a n d l e s t u b now b u r n e d in a bottle n e c k on the table a n d his father, still in the hat a n d c o a t , at o n c e formal a n d b u r l e s q u e a s t h o u g h d r e s s e d carefully for s o m e s h a b b y a n d c e r e m o n i a l violence, emptying the reservoir of the l a m p b a c k into the five-gallon k e r o s e n e c a n from which it h a d b e e n filled, while the m o t h e r t u g g e d at his a r m until he shifted the l a m p to the other h a n d a n d flung her back, not savagely or viciously, j u s t hard, into the wall, her h a n d s flung out a g a i n s t the wall for b a l a n c e , her m o u t h o p e n a n d in her f a c e the s a m e quality of h o p e l e s s d e s p a i r a s h a d b e e n in her voice. T h e n his father s a w him s t a n d ing in the door. " G o to the barn a n d get that c a n of oil we were oiling the w a g o n w i t h , " h e said. T h e boy did not m o v e . T h e n he c o u l d s p e a k . " W h a t . . ." he cried. " W h a t a r e you . . ." " G o get that oil," his father s a i d . " G o . " T h e n he w a s moving, r u n n i n g , o u t s i d e the h o u s e , toward the s t a b l e : this is the old habit, the old blood which he h a d not b e e n p e r m i t t e d to c h o o s e for himself, which h a d b e e n b e q u e a t h e d him willy nilly a n d which h a d run for so long (and w h o knew w h e r e , b a t t e n i n g on what of o u t r a g e a n d savagery a n d lust) before it c a m e to him. / could keep on, he t h o u g h t . I could run on and

on and

never

look

back,

never

need

to see his face

again.

Only

I can't.

I

can't, the r u s t e d c a n in his h a n d now, the liquid s p l o s h i n g in it a s h e ran b a c k to the h o u s e a n d into it, into the s o u n d of his mother's w e e p i n g in the next r o o m , a n d h a n d e d the c a n to his father.

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"Ain't you g o i n g to even s e n d a n i g g e r ? " he cried. "At least you s e n t a nigger b e f o r e ! " T h i s time his father didn't strike h i m . T h e h a n d c a m e even f a s t e r t h a n the blow h a d , the s a m e h a n d which h a d set the c a n on the table with a l m o s t excruciating c a r e flashing from the c a n toward him too q u i c k for him to follow it, gripping him by the b a c k of his shirt a n d on to tiptoe before h e h a d s e e n it quit the c a n , the f a c e s t o o p i n g at him in b r e a t h l e s s a n d frozen ferocity, the cold, d e a d voice s p e a k i n g over him to the older brother w h o leaned a g a i n s t the t a b l e , c h e w i n g with that steady, c u r i o u s , s i d e w i s e m o t i o n of c o w s : " E m p t y the c a n into the big o n e a n d g o o n . I'll c a t c h u p with y o u . " " B e t t e r tie him u p to the b e d p o s t , " the brother s a i d . " D o like I told y o u , " the father said. T h e n the boy w a s moving, his b u n c h e d shirt a n d the hard, bony h a n d b e t w e e n his s h o u l d e r - b l a d e s , his toes j u s t t o u c h i n g the floor, a c r o s s the r o o m a n d into the other o n e , p a s t the sisters sitting with s p r e a d heavy thighs in the two chairs over the c o l d h e a r t h , a n d to w h e r e his m o t h e r a n d a u n t sat side by side o n the bed, the a u n t ' s a r m s a b o u t his mother's s h o u l d e r s . " H o l d h i m , " the father s a i d . T h e a u n t m a d e a startled m o v e m e n t . " N o t y o u , " the father said. " L e n n i e . T a k e hold of h i m . I want to s e e you d o it." His m o t h e r took him by the wrist. "You'll hold him better t h a n that. If he gets loose don't you know what he is g o i n g to d o ? H e will go u p y o n d e r . " H e j e r k e d his h e a d toward the road. " M a y b e I'd better tie h i m . " "I'll hold h i m , " his m o t h e r w h i s p e r e d . " S e e you do t h e n . " T h e n his father w a s g o n e , the stiff foot heavy a n d m e a s u r e d u p o n the b o a r d s , c e a s i n g at last. T h e n he b e g a n to struggle. H i s m o t h e r c a u g h t him in both a r m s , he j e r k i n g a n d w r e n c h i n g at t h e m . H e w o u l d be s t r o n g e r in the e n d , he knew that. B u t he h a d no time to wait for it. " L e m m e g o ! " h e cried. "I don't want to have to hit y o u ! " " L e t him g o ! " the a u n t s a i d . "If he don't g o , before G o d , I a m going there myself!" " D o n ' t you s e e I c a n ' t ! " his m o t h e r cried. " S a r t y ! Sarty! N o ! N o ! H e l p m e , Lizzie!" T h e n he w a s free. His a u n t g r a s p e d at him but it w a s too late. H e whirled, running, his m o t h e r s t u m b l e d forward o n to her k n e e s b e h i n d him, crying to the nearer sister: " C a t c h him, N e t ! C a t c h h i m ! " B u t that w a s too late too, the sister (the sisters were twins, born at the s a m e t i m e , yet either of t h e m now gave the i m p r e s s i o n of being, e n c o m p a s s i n g a s m u c h living m e a t a n d v o l u m e a n d weight a s any other two of the family) not yet having b e g u n to rise from the chair, her h e a d , f a c e , a l o n e merely t u r n e d , p r e s e n t i n g to him in the flying instant a n a s t o n i s h i n g e x p a n s e of y o u n g f e m a l e f e a t u r e s untroubled by any s u r p r i s e even, w e a r i n g only a n expression of bovine interest. T h e n he w a s out of the r o o m , o u t of the h o u s e , in the mild d u s t of the starlit road a n d the heavy rifeness of h o n e y s u c k l e , the pale ribbon u n s p o o l i n g with terrific s l o w n e s s u n d e r his r u n n i n g feet, r e a c h i n g the g a t e at last a n d t u r n i n g in, r u n n i n g , his heart a n d l u n g s d r u m m i n g , on u p the drive toward the lighted h o u s e , the lighted door. H e did not knock, he b u r s t in, s o b b i n g for b r e a t h , i n c a p a b l e for the m o m e n t of s p e e c h ; he s a w the a s t o n i s h e d f a c e of the N e g r o in the linen j a c k e t without knowing w h e n the N e g r o h a d a p p e a r e d . " D e S p a i n ! " h e cried, p a n t e d . " W h e r e ' s . . ." then he s a w the white m a n too e m e r g i n g from a white d o o r d o w n the hall. " B a r n ! " h e c r i e d . " B a r n ! "

BARN

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2189

" W h a t ? " the white m a n said. " B a r n ? " " Y e s ! " the boy cried. " B a r n ! " " C a t c h h i m ! " the white m a n s h o u t e d . B u t it was too late this time too. T h e N e g r o g r a s p e d his shirt, but the entire sleeve, rotten with w a s h i n g , carried away, a n d h e w a s out that d o o r too a n d in the drive a g a i n , a n d h a d actually never c e a s e d to run even while he w a s s c r e a m i n g into the white m a n ' s f a c e . B e h i n d him the white m a n w a s s h o u t i n g , " M y h o r s e ! F e t c h my h o r s e ! " a n d he t h o u g h t for an instant of c u t t i n g a c r o s s the park a n d c l i m b i n g the f e n c e into the road, but he did not know the park nor how high the vinem a s s e d f e n c e might b e a n d h e d a r e d not risk it. S o he ran on down the drive, blood a n d b r e a t h roaring; presently he w a s in the road again t h o u g h he c o u l d not s e e it. H e c o u l d not h e a r either: the galloping m a r e w a s a l m o s t u p o n him before he heard her, a n d even then he held his c o u r s e , a s if the very urgency of his wild grief a n d n e e d m u s t in a m o m e n t m o r e find him wings, waiting until the ultimate instant to hurl h i m s e l f a s i d e a n d into the w e e d c h o k e d r o a d s i d e ditch as the h o r s e t h u n d e r e d p a s t a n d o n , for a n instant in furious s i l h o u e t t e a g a i n s t the stars, the tranquil early s u m m e r night sky which, even before the s h a p e of the h o r s e a n d rider v a n i s h e d , s t a i n e d abruptly a n d violently u p w a r d : a long, swirling roar incredible a n d s o u n d l e s s , blotting the stars, a n d h e springing u p a n d into the road a g a i n , r u n n i n g a g a i n , knowing it w a s too late yet still r u n n i n g even after he h e a r d the shot a n d , a n instant later, two s h o t s , p a u s i n g now without knowing he h a d c e a s e d to r u n , crying " P a p ! P a p ! " , r u n n i n g again before h e k n e w h e h a d b e g u n to r u n , s t u m b l i n g , tripping over s o m e t h i n g a n d s c r a b b l i n g up again without c e a s i n g to r u n , looking b a c k w a r d over his s h o u l d e r at the glare a s h e got u p , r u n n i n g on a m o n g the invisible trees, panting, s o b b i n g , " F a t h e r ! F a t h e r ! " At midnight he w a s sitting on the crest of a hill. H e did not know it w a s midnight a n d h e did not know how far he h a d c o m e . B u t there w a s n o glare b e h i n d him now a n d he sat now, his b a c k toward what he h a d called h o m e for four days anyhow, his f a c e toward the dark w o o d s which he would e n t e r w h e n b r e a t h w a s strong a g a i n , small, s h a k i n g steadily in the chill d a r k n e s s , h u g g i n g himself into the r e m a i n d e r of his thin, rotten shirt, the grief a n d d e s p a i r n o w n o longer terror a n d fear but j u s t grief a n d d e s p a i r . Father. My father, he thought. " H e w a s b r a v e ! " he cried s u d d e n l y , a l o u d but not l o u d , no m o r e than a whisper: " H e was! H e w a s in the war! H e w a s in C o l o n e l S a r t o r i s ' cav'ry!" not knowing that his father h a d g o n e to that war a private in the fine old E u r o p e a n s e n s e , wearing no u n i f o r m , a d m i t t i n g the authority of a n d giving fidelity to no m a n or army or flag, g o i n g to war a s M a l b r o u c k 2 himself did: for booty—it m e a n t nothing a n d less than n o t h i n g to him if it were e n e m y booty or his own. T h e slow c o n s t e l l a t i o n s w h e e l e d on. It would be d a w n a n d then s u n - u p after a while a n d h e would b e hungry. B u t that w o u l d be to-morrow a n d now he w a s only cold, a n d walking would c u r e that. His b r e a t h i n g w a s e a s i e r now a n d he d e c i d e d to get up a n d go on, a n d then h e f o u n d that he h a d b e e n a s l e e p b e c a u s e he k n e w it w a s a l m o s t d a w n , the night a l m o s t over. H e c o u l d tell that from the whippoorwills. T h e y were everywhere now a m o n g the dark 2. Figure in an 18th-century French ballad, "Malbrouck Has G o n e to the War," popularly identified with John Churchill, first duke of Marlborough ( 1 6 5 0 - 1 7 2 2 ) , who rose through the ranks from

private to become a famous military commander. Despite his military genius, he was often accused of greed and disloyalty.

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trees below him, c o n s t a n t a n d inflectioned a n d c e a s e l e s s , s o that, a s the instant for giving over to the day birds drew n e a r e r a n d nearer, there w a s n o interval at all b e t w e e n t h e m . H e got u p . H e w a s a little stiff, b u t walking would c u r e that too a s it w o u l d the cold, a n d s o o n there would b e the s u n . H e went on d o w n the hill, toward the dark w o o d s within which the liquid silver voices of the birds called u n c e a s i n g — t h e rapid a n d urgent b e a t i n g of the urgent a n d quiring heart of the late spring night. H e did not look b a c k . 1938

HART

CRANE

1899-1932 The tortured life of Hart Crane—his bitter relationships with his parents, uncontrollable drinking, and guilt-ridden homosexuality in an era when homosexuals had to conceal their orientation—led to suicide at the age of thirty-three. Born and raised in Ohio, Crane went to New York City in 1 9 1 7 , ostensibly to prepare for college but in fact to investigate the possibility of a literary career. Returning to Cleveland for four years ( 1 9 1 9 - 2 3 ) , he tried unsuccessfully to enter business as a means of financing an after-hours literary life. During these years he read widely and developed a large circle of intellectual friends and correspondents. He also published some of the poems that made his early reputation: "My Grandmother's Love Letters" in 1 9 2 0 , "Chaplinesque" in 1 9 2 1 , and "For the Marriage of Faustus and Helen" in 1 9 2 2 . He also began work on the love sequence Voyages. By 1 9 2 3 , believing himself ready to succeed as a writer, he moved back to New York City. His most productive years came between 1 9 2 3 and 1 9 2 7 . He completed Voyages in 1 9 2 4 , published his first collection, White Buildings, in 1 9 2 6 , and composed ten of the fifteen poems that were to make up The Bridge in 1 9 2 6 . He held occasional jobs, but received most of his support from his parents, friends, and above all from the patronage of a banker, Otto Kahn. Crane defined himself as a follower of Walt Whitman in the visionary, prophetic, affirmative American tradition, aiming at nothing less than to master the techniques of modernism while reversing its direction— to make it positive, celebratory, and deeply meshed with contemporary American life without sacrificing technical complexity or richness. For him as for the somewhat older William Carlos Williams, Eliot's The Waste Land was both threat and model. That poem could become an "absolute impasse," he wrote, unless one could "go through it to a different goal," leaving its negations behind. This was the task he attempted in The Bridge. Crane's practice centered on metaphor—the device that, in his view, represented the difference between poetry and expository prose. He believed that metaphor had preceded logic in the development of human thought and that it still remained the primary mode in which human knowledge was acquired and through which experience was connected to mind. The center of The Bridge, for example, is the Brooklyn Bridge—a tangible object transformed metaphorically into the sign of connection, technology, America, history, and the future. The poem, published in 1 9 3 0 , was not particularly well received by the critics; this was a great disappointment to Crane, and even though Poetry magazine awarded it a prize and the Guggenheim Foundation gave him a fellowship in the same year, he was perplexed about his future. In Mexico

CHAPLINESQUE

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2191

he completed work for a third book, Key West, but on the return trip to New York City he jumped overboard and drowned. The Bridge is a visionary poem made up of fifteen individual sections of varying lengths. It encapsulates a heroic quest, at once personal and epic, to find and enunciate "America." Like Walt Whitman's "Song of the Open Road," which also focused on a symbol of expansion and dynamism, The Bridge moves westward in imagination from Brooklyn to California. It also goes back into the American past, dwelling on historical or legendary figures like Columbus, Pocahontas, and Rip Van Winkle. It moves upward under the guidance of Whitman; down in "The Tunnel" it meets the wandering spirit of Edgar Allan Poe. The material bridge stands at the center of all this motion and stands, finally, for the poem and poetry itself. The separate lyrics making up The Bridge are arranged like music, with recurring, modulated themes rather than a narrative or an expository line. As in most modernist poems, the verse is open and varied, the syntax complicated and often ambiguous, the references often dependent on a personal, sometimes inaccessible train of thought. Like his model Whitman, Crane wrote from the paradoxical, conflicted position of the outsider claiming to speak from and for the very center of America. The text of the poems included here is that of Complete Poems of Hart Crane, edited by Marc Simon (1993).

Chaplinesque 1 W e m a k e our m e e k a d j u s t m e n t s , C o n t e n t e d with s u c h r a n d o m c o n s o l a t i o n s As the wind d e p o s i t s In slithered a n d too a m p l e p o c k e t s . F o r we c a n still love the world, who A f a m i s h e d kitten on the s t e p , a n d know R e c e s s e s for it from the fury of the street, O r w a r m torn elbow coverts.

find

W e will s i d e s t e p , a n d to the final smirk Dally the d o o m of that inevitable t h u m b T h a t slowly c h a f e s its p u c k e r e d index toward u s , F a c i n g the dull squint with what i n n o c e n c e A n d what s u r p r i s e ! A n d yet t h e s e fine c o l l a p s e s are not lies M o r e than the p i r o u e t t e s of any pliant c a n e ; O u r o b s e q u i e s 2 a r e , in a way, no e n t e r p r i s e . W e c a n e v a d e you, a n d all else but the heart: W h a t b l a m e to u s if the heart live o n .

1. Crane wrote in letters of seeing Charlie Chaplin's film The Kid (1921) and said that he aimed "to put in words some of the Chaplin pantomime, so beautiful, and so full of eloquence, and so mod-

5

10

15

ern." T h e film "made me feel myself, as a poet, as being 'in the s a m e boat' with him," C r a n e wrote. 2. In the double sense of "funeral rites" and "obsequiousness."

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CRANE

T h e g a m e e n f o r c e s smirks; b u t we have s e e n T h e m o o n in lonely alleys m a k e A grail of laughter of an empty a s h c a n , A n d through all s o u n d of gaiety a n d q u e s t H a v e h e a r d a kitten in the wilderness. 1921, 1926

At Melville's

Tomb

Often b e n e a t h the wave, wide from this ledge T h e dice of drowned m e n ' s b o n e s he s a w b e q u e a t h An e m b a s s y . T h e i r n u m b e r s a s he w a t c h e d , B e a t on the dusty s h o r e a n d were o b s c u r e d . 2 A n d wrecks p a s s e d without s o u n d of bells, T h e calyx of death's bounty giving b a c k A scattered chapter, livid hieroglyph, T h e portent w o u n d in corridors of s h e l l s . 3 T h e n in the circuit c a l m of o n e vast coil, Its lashings c h a r m e d a n d m a l i c e r e c o n c i l e d , F r o s t e d eyes there were that lifted a l t a r s ; 4 A n d silent a n s w e r s crept a c r o s s the stars. C o m p a s s , q u a d r a n t a n d sextant contrive N o farther t i d e s 5 . . . H i g h in the azure s t e e p s M o n o d y shall not wake the mariner. T h i s f a b u l o u s s h a d o w only the s e a k e e p s .

5

io

is 1926

1. This poem was published in Poetry magazine only after C r a n e provided the editor, Harriet Monroe, with a detailed explanation of its images. His letter, and Monroe's inquiries and comments, were published with the poem. Crane's detailed comments in the letter are incorporated in the notes to the poem. Herman Melville { 1 8 1 9 - 1 8 9 1 ) , American author. 2. "Dice bequeath an embassy, in the first place, by being ground (in this connection only, of course) in little cubes from the bones of drowned men by the action of the sea, and are finally thrown up on the sand, having 'numbers' but no identification. These being the bones of dead men who never completed their voyage, it seems legitimate to refer to them as the only surviving evidence of certain messages undelivered, mute evidence of certain things. . . . Dice as a symbol of chance and circumstance is also implied" [Crane's note], 3. "This calyx refers in a double ironic sense both to a cornucopia and the vortex made by a sinking vessel. As soon as the water has closed over a ship this whirlpool sends up broken spars, wreckage, etc., which can be alluded to as livid hieroglyphs, making a scattered chapter so far as any complete record of the recent ship and crew is concerned.

In fact, about as much definite knowledge might come from all this as anyone might gain from the roar of his own veins, which is easily heard (haven't you ever done it?) by holding a shell close to one's ear" [Crane's note]. A calyx is a whorl of leaves forming the outer casing of the bud of a plant. 4. "Refers simply to a conviction that a man, not knowing perhaps a definite god yet being endowed with a reverence for deity—such a man naturally postulates a deity somehow, and the altar of that deity by the very action of the eyes lifted in searching" [Crane's note]. 5. "Hasn't it often occurred that instruments originally invented for record and computation have inadvertently so extended the concepts of the entity they were invented to measure (concepts of space, etc.) in the mind and imagination that employed them, that they may metaphorically be said to have extended the original boundaries of the entity measured? This little bit of 'relativity' ought not to be discredited in poetry now that scientists are proceeding to measure the universe on principles of pure ratio, quite as metaphorical, so far as previous standards of scientific methods extended, as some of the axioms in Job" [Crane's note].

To

FROM From

going

and from

THE

BRIDGE

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2193

BRIDGE

to and fro walking

BROOKLYN

in the

tip and

earth, down

in it.

— T h e Book of J o b '

To Brooklyn Bridge How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him, Shedding white rings of tumult, building high Over the chained bay waters Liberty— 5

10

15

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes As apparitional as sails that cross Some page of figures to be filed away; —Till elevators drop us from our day . . . I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights With multitudes bent toward some flashing Never disclosed, but hastened to again, Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

scene

And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced As though the sun took step of thee, yet left Some motion ever unspent in thy stride,— Implicitly thy freedom staying thee! Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets, Tilting there momently, shrill shirt ballooning, A jest falls from the speechless caravan. 2

20

Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks, A rip-tooth of the sky's acetylene; All afternoon the cloud-flown derricks turn . . . Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still. 25

30

And obscure as that heaven of the Jews, Thy guerdon . . . Accolade thou dost bestow Of anonymity time cannot raise: Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show. O harp and altar, (How could mere Terrific threshold Prayer of pariah,

of the fury fused, toil align thy choiring strings!) of the prophet's pledge, and the lover's cry,—

1. Satan's answer to Jehovah when asked where he has been (Job 1.7).

2. M a d m a n , inmate of a hospital for the insane,

2194

35

40

/

HART

CRANE

Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars, Beading thy -path—condense eternity: And we have seen night lifted in thine arms. Under thy shadow by the piers I waited; Only in darkness is thy shadow clear. The City's fiery parcels all undone, Already snow submerges an iron year . . . O Sleepless as the river under thee, Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod, Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend And of the curveship lend a myth to God.

1927,1930

II. Powhatan's Daughter 1 "—Pocahuntus, of eleven place,

a well-featured

or twelve

and

make

heels upwards, as she was,

but wanton

years, get the boyes forth them

whom

all the fort

wheele,

falling

yong girle

on their

she would followe,

. . .of

with her into the hands,

and wheele

the

age

market

turning

their

so herself,

naked

over."

The

River'

S t i c k your p a t e n t n a m e on a s i g n b o a r d brother—all over—going west—young man T i n t e x — J a p a l a c — C e r t a i n - t e e d Overalls a d s 2 a n d l a n d s s a k e s ! u n d e r the new playbill ripped in the g u a r a n t e e d c o r n e r — s e e Bert W i l l i a m s 3 w h a t ? M i n s t r e l s w h e n you steal a c h i c k e n j u s t save m e t h e wing for if it isn't E r i e it ain't for m i l e s a r o u n d a M a z d a — a n d the t e l e g r a p h i c night c o m i n g o n T h o m a s 1. Powhatan was the Native American chief with whom English settlers in Virginia ( 1 6 0 7 ) had to deal. Pocahontas ( 1 5 9 5 - 1 6 1 7 ) was his daughter, whom C r a n e associated with the American "continent," a "nature symbol" comparable to the "traditional Hertha of ancient Teutonic mythology." The epigraph is from William Strachey, History of Travaile into Virginia Britannica ( 1 6 1 5 ) . 1. C r a n e wrote the following in a letter: "I'm trying in this part of the poem to chart the pioneer experience of our forefathers—and to tell the story backwards . . . on the 'backs' of hoboes. T h e s e hoboes are simply 'psychological ponies' to carry the reader across the country and back to the Mis-

. . . and the din slogans the

past and of

year—

sissippi, which you will notice is described as a great River of T i m e . I also unlatch the door to the pure Indian world which opens out in 'The Dance' section, so the reader is gradually led back in time to the pure savage world, while existing at the s a m e time in the present." In the opening lines the image of a subway is translated into an image of a luxury express train, the Twentieth Century Limited, traveling from New York City to C h i c a g o . 2. Advertising slogans: trade names of a dye, a varnish, and a brand of overalls. 3. Egbert A. Williams ( 1 8 7 6 - 1 9 2 2 ) , popular black minstrel show entertainer.

II.

10

15

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2195

a E d i f o r d 4 — a n d whistling down the tracks a headlight rushing with the s o u n d — c a n you i m a g i n e — w h i l e an Express m a k e s time like SCIENCE—COMMERCE A N D THE HOLYGHOST RADIO ROARS IN EVERY HOME WE HAVE THE NORTHPOLE WALLSTREET AND VIRGINBIRTH WITHOUT STONES OR W I R E S OR E V E N RUNning brooks c o n n e c t i n g ears a n d no m o r e s e r m o n s windows flashing roar b r e a t h t a k i n g — a s you like it 5 . . . e h ? S o the 2 0 t h C e n t u r y — s o whizzed the L i m i t e d — r o a r e d by a n d left three m e n , still hungry on the tracks, ploddingly w a t c h i n g the tail lights wizen a n d converge, slipp i n g gimleted and neatly out of sight.

•

25

POWHATAN'S DAUGHTER

•

•

•

•

•

•

T h e last bear, shot drinking in the D a k o t a s L o p e d under wires that s p a n the m o u n t a i n s t r e a m K e e n i n s t r u m e n t s , 6 strung to a vast precision B i n d town to town a n d d r e a m to ticking d r e a m . B u t s o m e m e n take their liquor s l o w — a n d c o u n t — T h o u g h they'll c o n f e s s no rosary nor c l u e —

to

those

whose addresses are

never

near

so

T h e river's m i n u t e by the far brook's year. U n d e r a world of whistles, wires a n d s t e a m C a b o o s e - l i k e they go r u m i n a t i n g through Ohio, Indiana—blind baggage— T o C h e y e n n e tagging . . . M a y b e K a l a m a z o o .

35

T i m e ' s r e n d i n g s , time's blendings they c o n s t r u e As final reckonings of fire a n d snow; S t r a n g e bird-wit, like the e l e m e n t a l gist O f unwalled winds they offer, singing low My Old Kentucky Home a n d Casey Jones, Some Sunny Day. I heard a r o a d - g a n g c h a n t i n g so. A n d afterwards, who had a colt's e y e s — o n e said, "Jesus! Oh I remember watermelon days!" And sped High in a c l o u d of m e r r i m e n t , recalled " — A n d when my A u n t Sally S i m p s o n s m i l e d , " he d r a w l e d — "It was a l m o s t L o u i s i a n a , long a g o . " " T h e r e ' s no p l a c e like Booneville t h o u g h , B u d d y , " O n e said, excising a last burr from his vest, " — F o r early trouting." T h e n p e e r i n g in the c a n , " — B u t I kept on the t r a c k s . " P o s s e s s e d , resigned,

40

45

4. A combined reference to T h o m a s A. Edison ( 1 8 4 7 - 1 9 3 1 ) , inventor of the electric light bulb (trade name "Mazda"), and Henry Ford (1863— 1947), automobile manufacturer.

5 . An echo of Shakespeare's As You Like It 2.1.16— 17: "Books in the running brooks, / S e r m o n s in stones." 6. T h e telephone and telegraph.

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CRANE

H e trod the fire d o w n pensively a n d grinned, S p r e a d i n g dry shingles of a b e a r d . . . . Behind M y father's c a n n e r y works I u s e d to s e e Rail-squatters r a n g e d in n o m a d raillery, T h e a n c i e n t m e n — w i f e l e s s or r u n a w a y H o b o - t r e k k e r s that forever s e a r c h An e m p i r e w i l d e r n e s s of freight a n d rails. E a c h s e e m e d a child, like m e , on a loose p e r c h , H o l d i n g to c h i l d h o o d like s o m e t e r m l e s s play. J o h n , J a k e or C h a r l e y , h o p p i n g the slow freight — M e m p h i s to T a l l a h a s s e e — r i d i n g the r o d s , Blind fists of n o t h i n g , h u m p t y - d u m p t y c l o d s . Yet they t o u c h s o m e t h i n g like a key p e r h a p s . F r o m p o l e to pole a c r o s s the hills, the s t a t e s — T h e y know a body u n d e r the wide rain; Y o u n g s t e r s with eyes like fjords, old r e p r o b a t e s With r a c e t r a c k j a r g o n , — d o t t i n g i m m e n s i t y T h e y lurk a c r o s s her, knowing her yonder b r e a s t Snow-silvered, s u m a c - s t a i n e d or smoky b l u e — Is p a s t the valley-sleepers, s o u t h or west. — A s I have trod the Tumorous m i d n i g h t s , too,

but who have touched her, knowing her

A n d p a s t the circuit of the l a m p ' s thin flame ( O N i g h t s that b r o u g h t m e to her body b a r e ! ) H a v e d r e a m e d beyond the print that b o u n d her n a m e . T r a i n s s o u n d i n g the long blizzards o u t — I h e a r d Wail into d i s t a n c e s I knew were h e r s . P a p o o s e s crying on the wind's long m a n e S c r e a m e d redskin dynasties that fled the brain, — D e a d e c h o e s ! B u t I knew her b o d y t h e r e , T i m e like a s e r p e n t down her s h o u l d e r , dark, And s p a c e , an eaglet's wing, laid o n her hair. U n d e r the O z a r k s , d o m e d by Iron M o u n t a i n , T h e old g o d s of the rain lie w r a p p e d in p o o l s W h e r e eyeless fish curvet a s u n k e n fountain * A n d r e - d e s c e n d with corn from q u e r u l o u s c r o w s . S u c h pilferings m a k e u p their t i m e l e s s e a t a g e , Propitiate t h e m for their timber torn By iron, i r o n — a l w a y s the iron dealt c l e a v a g e ! T h e y doze now, below axe a n d p o w d e r horn. A n d P u l l m a n b r e a k f a s t e r s glide glistening steel F r o m tunnel into field—iron strides the d e w — S t r a d d l e s the hill, a d a n c e of wheel on w h e e l . You have a half-hour's wait at S i s k i y o u , O r stay the night a n d take the next train t h r o u g h . S o u t h w a r d , near C a i r o p a s s i n g , you c a n s e e The Ohio merging,—borne down T e n n e s s e e ; A n d if it's s u m m e r a n d the s u n ' s in d u s k

"or., e c , myths of tier fathers

II.

100

10s

no

us

120

125

bo

135

POWHATAN'S DAUGHTER

/

2197

M a y b e the b r e e z e will lift the River's m u s k — A s t h o u g h the waters b r e a t h e d that you might know Memphis Johnny, Steamboat Bill, Missouri Joe. O h , lean from the window, if the train slows d o w n , As t h o u g h you t o u c h e d h a n d s with s o m e a n c i e n t c l o w n , — A little while gaze a b s e n t l y below A n d h u m Deep River with t h e m while they g o . Yes, turn again a n d sniff o n c e m o r e — l o o k s e e , 0 Sheriff, R r a k e m a n a n d A u t h o r i t y — Hitch up your p a n t s a n d c r u n c h a n o t h e r q u i d , 7 For you, too, feed the River timelessly. And few e v a d e full m e a s u r e of their fate; Always they s m i l e o u t eerily what they s e e m . 1 c o u l d believe h e j o k e d at heaven's g a t e — D a n M i d l a n d — j o l t e d from the cold b r a k e - b e a m . 8 D o w n , d o w n — b o r n p i o n e e r s in time's d e s p i t e , G r i m e d tributaries to a n a n c i e n t flow— T h e y win n o frontier by their wayward plight, B u t drift in stillness, a s from J o r d a n ' s 9 brow. You will not h e a r it a s the s e a ; even s t o n e Is not m o r e h u s h e d by gravity . . . B u t slow, A s loth to take m o r e t r i b u t e — s l i d i n g p r o n e L i k e o n e w h o s e eyes were buried long a g o T h e River, s p r e a d i n g , flows—and s p e n d s your d r e a m . W h a t are you, lost within this tideless spell? You are your father's father, a n d the s t r e a m — A liquid t h e m e that floating niggers swell. D a m p t o n n a g e a n d alluvial m a r c h of d a y s — N i g h t s turbid, v a s c u l a r with silted s h a l e A n d roots s u r r e n d e r e d d o w n of m o r a i n e clays: T h e M i s s i s s i p p i drinks the farthest d a l e . O quarrying p a s s i o n , u n d e r t o w e d sunlight! The basalt surface drags a jungle grace O c h r e o u s a n d lynx-barred in l e n g t h e n i n g might; P a t i e n c e ! a n d you shall r e a c h the biding p l a c e ! Over D e S o t o ' s b o n e s the freighted floors T h r o b past the City storied of three t h r o n e s . 1 D o w n two m o r e turns the M i s s i s s i p p i p o u r s (Anon tall i r o n s i d e s 2 u p from salt l a g o o n s )

7. Chunk of chewing tobacco. 8. Structure on a railroad car where hoboes ride. Dan Midland was a legendary hobo who fell to his death from a train. 9. River mentioned frequently in the Bible. 1. New Orleans, at various times under Spanish, French, and English rule. The body of the Spanish

explorer Hernando de Soto (1500—1542) was consigned to the Mississippi River. In 1862 Admiral David G. Farragut ( 1 8 0 1 - 1 8 7 0 ) led a Union fleet up the Mississippi from the Gulf and captured New Orleans. 2. Warships.

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CRANE

A n d flows within itself, h e a p s itself free. All fades but o n e thin skyline 'round . . . A h e a d N o e m b r a c e o p e n s but the s t i n g i n g s e a ; T h e River lifts itself from its long bed, Poised wholly on its d r e a m , a m u s t a r d glow T o r t u r e d with history, its o n e will—flow! — T h e P a s s i o n s p r e a d s in wide t o n g u e s , c h o k e d a n d slow, M e e t i n g the Gulf, h o s a n n a s silently below. 1930

The

Dance

1

T h e swift red flesh, a winter k i n g — W h o squired the glacier w o m a n down the sky? S h e ran the neighing c a n y o n s all the spring; S h e s p o u t e d a r m s ; s h e rose with m a i z e — t o die.

Then

your

blood

remembering first

invasion her

15

2(1

of

secrecy,

its first encounters with her her

Mythical brows we s a w retiring—loth. D i s t u r b e d a n d d e s t i n e d , into d e n s e r g r e e n . G r e e t i n g they s p e d u s , on the arrow's o a t h : N o w lie incorrigibly what years b e t w e e n . . .

truly—

see her

its

A n d in the a u t u m n d r o u t h , w h o s e b u r n i s h e d h a n d s With mineral w a r i n e s s f o u n d out the s t o n e W h e r e prayers, forgotten, s t r e a m e d the m e s a s a n d s ? H e holds the twilight's d i m , p e r p e t u a l t h r o n e .

you

shall

kin,

chieftain

lover

. . . his

shade

that

haunts lakes

the and

hills

T h e r e w a s a b e d of leaves, a n d broken play; T h e r e was a veil u p o n you, P o c a h o n t a s , brideO P r i n c e s s w h o s e brown lap w a s virgin M a y ; A n d bridal flanks a n d eyes bid tawny pride. I left the village for d o g w o o d . By the c a n o e T u g g i n g below the mill-race, I c o u l d s e e Your hair's keen c r e s c e n t r u n n i n g , a n d the b l u e First m o t h of e v e n i n g take wing stealthily. W h a t l a u g h i n g c h a i n s the water wove a n d threw! I learned to c a t c h the trout's m o o n w h i s p e r ; I Drifted how m a n y h o u r s I never knew, B u t , w a t c h i n g , saw that fleet y o u n g c r e s c e n t d i e , — And o n e star, swinging, take its p l a c e , a l o n e , C u p p e d in the l a r c h e s of the m o u n t a i n p a s s — Until, immortally, it bled into the d a w n . I left my sleek boat nibbling margin g r a s s . . .

1. This section presents Crane's imaginary consummation of his adventure westward and quest into the past. C r a n e wrote that "Pocahontas (the continent) is the c o m m o n basis of our meeting, she

survives the extinction of the Indian, who finallv, after being a s s u m e d into the elements of nature . . . persists only as a kind of 'eye' in the sky, or a star."

II.

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POWHATAN'S DAUGHTER

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I took the p o r t a g e c l i m b , then c h o s e A further valley-shed; I could not s t o p . Feet nozzled wat'ry w e b s of u p p e r flows; O n e white veil g u s t e d from the very top. O A p p a l a c h i a n S p r i n g ! I g a i n e d the l e d g e ; S t e e p , i n a c c e s s i b l e smile that e a s t w a r d b e n d s And northward r e a c h e s in that violet w e d g e O f A d i r o n d a c k s ! — w i s p e d of azure w a n d s , Over how m a n y bluffs, t a r n s , s t r e a m s I s p e d ! — A n d knew myself within s o m e b o d i n g s h a d e : — G r e y t e p e e s tufting the blue knolls a h e a d , S m o k e swirling through the yellow c h e s t n u t g l a d e . . . A distant c l o u d , a t h u n d e r - b u d — i t grew, T h a t blanket of the skies: the p a d d e d foot W i t h i n , — I h e a r d it; 'til its rhythm drew, — S i p h o n e d the black pool from the heart's hot root!

45

so

55

60

A cyclone t h r e s h e s in the turbine crest, S w o o p i n g in e a g l e feathers down your b a c k ; Know, M a q u o k e e t a , 2 greeting; know death's best; — F a l l , S a c h e m , strictly as the t a m a r a c k ! A birch kneels. All her whistling fingers fly. T h e o a k grove circles in a c r a s h of leaves; T h e long m o a n of a d a n c e is in the sky. D a n c e , M a q u o k e e t a : P o c a h o n t a s grieves . . . And every t e n d o n s c u r r i e s toward the twangs O f lightning deltaed down your s a b e r hair. N o w s n a p s the flint in every tooth; red f a n g s And splay t o n g u e s thinly busy the b l u e air . . . D a n c e , M a q u o k e e t a ! s n a k e that lives b e f o r e , T h a t c a s t s his pelt, a n d lives beyond! S p r o u t , horn! S p a r k , tooth! M e d i c i n e - m a n , relent, r e s t o r e — L i e to u s , — d a n c e us b a c k the tribal m o r n ! S p e a r s a n d a s s e m b l i e s : black d r u m s thrusting o n — 0 yelling b a t t l e m e n t s , — I , too, w a s liege T o rainbows currying e a c h p u l s a n t b o n e : S u r p a s s e d the c i r c u m s t a n c e , d a n c e d out the siege!

65

And buzzard-circleted, s c r e a m e d from the s t a k e ; 1 c o u l d not pick the arrows from my side. W r a p p e d in that fire, I saw m o r e e s c o r t s w a k e — Flickering, sprint u p the hill groins like a tide.

2. T h e name of an American Indian cab driver who told C r a n e it meant "Big River" and signified a god whose rains refreshed the plains.

2200

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I h e a r d the h u s h of lava wrestling your a r m s , A n d s t a g teeth f o a m a b o u t the raven throat; F l a m e c a t a r a c t s of h e a v e n in s e e t h i n g s w a r m s F e d d o w n your anklets to the s u n s e t ' s m o a t . O , like the lizard in the furious n o o n , T h a t d r o p s his legs a n d colors in the s u n , — A n d l a u g h s , p u r e s e r p e n t , T i m e itself, a n d m o o n O f his own fate, I s a w thy c h a n g e b e g u n ! A n d s a w thee dive to kiss that destiny L i k e o n e white m e t e o r , s a c r o s a n c t a n d blent At last with all that's c o n s u m m a t e a n d free T h e r e , w h e r e the first a n d last g o d s k e e p thy tent.

T h e w e d of the levin, 3 t h u n d e r - s h o d a n d l e a n , L o , t h r o u g h what infinite s e a s o n s d o s t thou g a z e — A c r o s s what b i v o u a c s of thine a n g e r e d slain, A n d see'st thy bride i m m o r t a l in the m a i z e ! T o t e m a n d fire-gall, s l u m b e r i n g p y r a m i d 4 — T h o u g h other c a l e n d a r s n o w s t a c k the sky, T h y f r e e d o m is her l a r g e s s e , P r i n c e , a n d hid O n p a t h s thou k n e w e s t b e s t to c l a i m her by.

90

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ioo

H i g h u n t o L a b r a d o r the s u n strikes free H e r s p e e c h l e s s d r e a m of snow, a n d stirred a g a i n , S h e is the torrent a n d the s i n g i n g t r e e ; A n d s h e is virgin to the last of m e n . . . W e s t , west a n d s o u t h ! winds over C u m b e r l a n d A n d winds a c r o s s the l l a n o 5 g r a s s r e s u m e H e r hair's w a r m s i b i l a n c e . H e r b r e a s t s are f a n n e d O s t r e a m by s l o p e a n d v i n e y a r d — i n t o b l o o m ! A n d w h e n the c a r i b o u slant d o w n for salt D o arrows thirst a n d l e a p ? D o a n t l e r s s h i n e Alert, star-triggered in the listening vault O f d u s k ? — A n d are her p e r f e c t b r o w s to thine? W e d a n c e d , O B r a v e , we d a n c e d b e y o n d their f a r m s , In c o b a l t desert c l o s u r e s m a d e o u r vows . . . N o w is the s t r o n g prayer folded in thine a r m s , T h e s e r p e n t with the eagle in the b o u g h s . 1927,1930 *

3. Lightning. 4. Suggests the smoldering volcano Popocatepetl near Mexico City and the huge pyramids of the

#

*

Mayas. "Fire-gall": charred ashes. 5. Treeless plain,

VII.

THE

TUNNEL

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2201

VII. The Tunnel To Find Right

5

10

the Western

thro' the Gates

path of

Wrath.

—Blake 1

Performances, assortments, resumes— U p T i m e s S q u a r e to C o l u m b u s C i r c l e lights C h a n n e l the c o n g r e s s e s , nightly s e s s i o n s , Refractions of the t h o u s a n d t h e a t r e s , f a c e s — M y s t e r i o u s k i t c h e n s . . . . You shall s e a r c h t h e m all. S o m e d a y by heart you'll learn e a c h f a m o u s sight A n d w a t c h the c u r t a i n lift in hell's d e s p i t e ; You'll find the g a r d e n in the third act d e a d , F i n g e r your k n e e s — a n d wish yourself in b e d With tabloid c r i m e - s h e e t s p e r c h e d in e a s y sight. T h e n let you r e a c h your hat and go. A s u s u a l , let y o u — a l s o walking d o w n — e x c l a i m to twelve u p w a r d leaving a subscription praise for w h a t time slays. O r can't you quite m a k e up your m i n d to ride; A walk is better u n d e r n e a t h the L 2 a brisk T e n blocks or s o before? B u t you find yourself P r e p a r i n g p e n g u i n flexions of the a r m s , — As u s u a l you will m e e t the s c u t t l e yawn: T h e s u b w a y yawns the q u i c k e s t p r o m i s e h o m e . B e m i n i m u m , then, to swim the hiving s w a r m s O u t of the S q u a r e , the C i r c l e b u r n i n g b r i g h t ' — Avoid the g l a s s doors gyring at your right, W h e r e boxed a l o n e a s e c o n d , eyes take fright — Q u i t e u n p r e p a r e d r u s h n a k e d b a c k to light: A n d d o w n b e s i d e the turnstile p r e s s the coin Into the slot. T h e g o n g s already rattle. A n d so of cities you b e s p e a k s u b w a y s , rivered u n d e r streets a n d rivers. . . . In the c a r the overtone of motion u n d e r g r o u n d , the m o n o t o n e of motion is the s o u n d of other f a c e s , a l s o u n d e r g r o u n d —

1. The opening lines of "Morning," by the visionary English poet William Blake ( 1 7 5 7 - 1 8 2 7 ) . 2. Elevated railway (abbreviation).

3. An echo of Blake's poem "The Tyger"; also the lighted sign indicating a subway station.

2202

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" L e t ' s have a pencil J i m m y — l i v i n g now at Floral P a r k F l a t b u s h — o n the fourth of J u l y — like a pigeon's m u d d y d r e a m — p o t a t o e s to dig in the field—travlin the t o w n — t o o — night after n i g h t — t h e C u l v e r l i n e — t h e girls all s h a p i n g u p — i t u s e d to b e — " O u r t o n g u e s r e c a n t like b e a t e n w e a t h e r v a n e s . T h i s a n s w e r lives like verdigris, 4 like hair B e y o n d extinction, s u r c e a s e of the b o n e ; A n d repetition f r e e z e s — " W h a t "what do you want? getting w e a k on the links? f a n d a d d l e daddy don't a s k for c h a n g e — i s T H I S F O U R T E E N T H ? it's half past six s h e s a i d — i f you don't like my gate why did you swing o n it, why didja swing o n it anyhow—" A n d s o m e h o w a n y h o w swingT h e p h o n o g r a p h s of h a d e s in the brain Are t u n n e l s that re-wind t h e m s e l v e s , a n d love A burnt m a t c h skating in a u r i n a l — Somewhere above Fourteenth T A K E T H E E X P R E S S T o b r u s h s o m e new p r e s e n t i m e n t of p a i n —

65

70

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so

" B u t I want service in this office S E R V I C E I said—after the s h o w she cried a little afterwards b u t W h o s e head is s w i n g i n g from the swollen s t r a p ? W h o s e body s m o k e s a l o n g the bitten rails, B u r s t s from a s m o l d e r i n g b u n d l e far b e h i n d In b a c k forks of the c h a s m s of the b r a i n , — Puffs from a riven s t u m p far o u t b e h i n d In interborough fissures of the mind . . . ? A n d why do I often m e e t your visage h e r e , Your eyes like a g a t e l a n t e r n s — o n a n d on B e l o w the t o o t h p a s t e a n d the d a n d r u f f a d s ? — A n d did their riding eyes right t h r o u g h your s i d e , A n d did their eyes like u n w a s h e d platters ride? A n d D e a t h , aloft,—gigantically d o w n P r o b i n g through y o u — t o w a r d m e , O e v e r m o r e ! 5 A n d when they d r a g g e d your retching flesh, Your t r e m b l i n g h a n d s that night t h r o u g h B a l t i m o r e — T h a t last night on the ballot r o u n d s , did you, S h a k i n g , did you deny the ticket, P o e ?

4. Green coating or stain on copper. 5. Echoes of "the agate lamp within thy hand" from "To Helen," "Death looks gigantically down"

from "The City in the S e a , " and the refrain "Nevcrmorc" in "The Raven," all poems bv Edgar Allan Poe ( 1 8 0 9 - 1 8 4 9 ) .

VII.

THE TUNNEL

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2203

For G r a v e s e n d M a n o r c h a n g e at C h a m b e r s Street. T h e platform hurries along to a d e a d s t o p . 85

90

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IOO

105

no

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120

T h e intent e s c a l a t o r lifts a s e r e n a d e Stilly O f s h o e s , u m b r e l l a s , e a c h eye a t t e n d i n g its s h o e , then Bolting outright s o m e w h e r e above where streets Burst s u d d e n l y in rain. . . . T h e g o n g s recur: E l b o w s a n d levers, g u a r d a n d hissing door. T h u n d e r is g a l v o t h e r m i c 6 here below. . . . T h e c a r W h e e l s off. T h e train r o u n d s , b e n d i n g to a s c r e a m , T a k i n g the final level for the dive U n d e r the river— And s o m e w h a t e m p t i e r than before, D e m e n t e d , for a hitching s e c o n d , h u m p s ; then L e t s g o . . . . T o w a r d corners of the floor N e w s p a p e r s wing, revolve and wing. B l a n k windows gargle signals through the roar. And d o e s the D a e m o n take you h o m e , a l s o , W o p w a s h e r w o m a n , with the b a n d a g e d hair? After the corridors are swept, the c u s p i d o r s — T h e g a u n t sky-barracks cleanly now, a n d b a r e , O G e n o e s e , do you bring m o t h e r eyes a n d h a n d s B a c k h o m e to children a n d to g o l d e n hair? D a e m o n , d e m u r r i n g a n d eventful yawn! W h o s e h i d e o u s laughter is a bellows mirth — O r the muffled s l a u g h t e r of a day in b i r t h — O cruelly to i n o c u l a t e the brinking d a w n With a n t e n n a e toward worlds that glow a n d s i n k ; — T o s p o o n u s out m o r e liquid than the d i m L o c u t i o n of the eldest star, a n d p a c k T h e c o n s c i e n c e navelled in the p l u n g i n g wind, Umbilical to c a l l — a n d straightway die! O c a u g h t like p e n n i e s b e n e a t h soot a n d s t e a m , Kiss of our agony thou g a t h e r e s t ; C o n d e n s e d , thou takest all—shrill ganglia I m p a s s i o n e d with s o m e s o n g we fail to k e e p . And yet, like L a z a r u s , 7 to feel the s l o p e , T h e sod a n d billow breaking,—lifting g r o u n d , — A s o u n d of waters b e n d i n g astride the sky U n c e a s i n g with s o m e W o r d that will not die . . . !

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125

•

•

•

•

•

A t u g b o a t , wheezing wreaths of s t e a m , L u n g e d p a s t , with o n e galvanic blare stove up the River. I c o u n t e d the e c h o e s a s s e m b l i n g , o n e after o n e , S e a r c h i n g , t h u m b i n g the midnight on the piers.

6. I.e.. galvanothermic, producing heat by electricity.

7. H e was resurrected from the grave by J e s u s in John 1 1 . 4 3 - 4 4 .

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L i g h t s , c o a s t i n g , left the oily t y m p a n u m of w a t e r s ; T h e b l a c k n e s s s o m e w h e r e g o u g e d glass o n a sky. A n d this thy harbor, O my City, I have driven u n d e r , T o s s e d from the coil of ticking towers. . . . T o m o r r o w , A n d to b e . . . . H e r e by the River that is E a s t — H e r e at the w a t e r s ' e d g e the h a n d s drop m e m o r y ; S h a d o w l e s s in that abyss they u n a c c o u n t i n g lie. H o w far away the star has p o o l e d the s e a — O r shall the h a n d s be drawn away, to die? Kiss of our agony T h o u g a t h e r e s t , O H a n d of Fire gatherest— 1927, 1930

VIII. Atlantis Music

is then the knowledge

and system.

of that which

relates

to love in

harmony

—Plato'

T h r o u g h the b o u n d c a b l e s t r a n d s , the a r c h i n g p a t h U p w a r d , veering with light, the flight of s t r i n g s , — T a u t miles of shuttling moonlight s y n c o p a t e T h e w h i s p e r e d r u s h , telepathy of wires. U p the index of night, granite a n d s t e e l — T r a n s p a r e n t m e s h e s — f l e c k l e s s the g l e a m i n g s t a v e s — Sibylline voices flicker, waveringly s t r e a m As t h o u g h a g o d were i s s u e of the strings. . . . And t h r o u g h that c o r d a g e , t h r e a d i n g with its call O n e arc synoptic of all tides b e l o w — T h e i r labyrinthine m o u t h s of history P o u r i n g reply a s t h o u g h all s h i p s at s e a C o m p l i g h t e d in o n e vibrant b r e a t h m a d e c r y , — " M a k e thy love s u r e — t o w e a v e w h o s e s o n g we ply!" — F r o m black embankments, moveless soundings hailed, S o seven o c e a n s a n s w e r from their d r e a m . And o n , obliquely u p bright carrier b a r s N e w o c t a v e s trestle the twin m o n o l i t h s B e y o n d w h o s e frosted c a p e s the m o o n b e q u e a t h s T w o worlds of sleep ( O a r c h i n g s t r a n d s of s o n g ! ) — O n w a r d a n d u p the crystal-flooded aisle W h i t e t e m p e s t nets file u p w a r d , u p w a r d ring W i t h silver terraces the h u m m i n g s p a r s , T h e loft of vision, p a l l a d i u m helm of stars. S h e e r l y the eyes, like s e a g u l l s s t u n g with r i m e — Slit a n d propelled by glistening fins of l i g h t — 1. From The Republic

3.403.

VIII.

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60

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ATLANTIS

Pick biting way u p towering l o o m s that p r e s s S i d e l o n g with flight of blade on t e n d o n b l a d e — T o m o r r o w s into y e s t e r y e a r — a n d link W h a t cipher-script of time no traveller r e a d s B u t w h o , t h r o u g h s m o k i n g pyres of love a n d d e a t h , S e a r c h e s the timeless l a u g h of mythic s p e a r s . L i k e hails, f a r e w e l l s — u p p l a n e t - s e q u i n e d heights S o m e trillion whispering h a m m e r s g l i m m e r T y r e : 2 S e r e n e l y , sharply u p the long anvil cry O f inchling a e o n s s i l e n c e rivets Troy. And you, aloft t h e r e — J a s o n ! ' h e s t i n g S h o u t ! Still w r a p p i n g h a r n e s s to the s w a r m i n g air! Silvery the r u s h i n g w a k e , s u r p a s s i n g call, B e a m s yelling A e o l u s ! 4 splintered in the straits! F r o m gulfs unfolding, terrible of d r u m s , Tall Vision-of-the-Voyage, tensely s p a r e — B r i d g e , lifting night to cycloramic crest O f d e e p e s t d a y — O C h o i r , translating t i m e Into what m u l t i t u d i n o u s V e r b the s u n s A n d synergy of w a t e r s ever f u s e , r e c a s t In myriad s y l l a b l e s , — P s a l m of C a t h a y ! O L o v e , thy white, pervasive P a r a d i g m . . . ! W e left the haven h a n g i n g in the n i g h t — S h e e n e d harbor lanterns b a c k w a r d fled the keel. Pacific here at time's e n d , b e a r i n g c o r n , — E y e s s t a m m e r through the p a n g s of d u s t a n d steel. A n d still the circular, i n d u b i t a b l e frieze O f heaven's m e d i t a t i o n , yoking wave T o kneeling wave, o n e s o n g devoutly b i n d s — T h e vernal s t r o p h e c h i m e s from d e a t h l e s s strings! O T h o u steeled C o g n i z a n c e w h o s e leap c o m m i t s T h e agile p r e c i n c t s of the lark's return; Within w h o s e lariat s w e e p e n c i n c t u r e d sing In single chrysalis the m a n y t w a i n , — O f stars T h o u art the stitch a n d stallion glow A n d like an organ, T h o u , with s o u n d of d o o m — S i g h t , s o u n d a n d flesh T h o u l e a d e s t from time's r e a l m As love strikes clear direction for the h e l m . Swift peal of s e c u l a r light, intrinsic Myth W h o s e fell u n s h a d o w is d e a t h ' s utter w o u n d , — O River-throated—iridescently u p b o r n e T h r o u g h the bright d r e n c h a n d fabric of o u r veins; W i t h white e s c a r p m e n t s swinging into light, S u s t a i n e d in tears the cities are e n d o w e d

2. Ancient Phoenician port. 3. Leader of the Greek Argonauts in the search

for the Golden Fleece. 4. Greek god of the winds.

/

2205

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/

ERNEST

HEMINGWAY

A n d justified c o n c l a m a n t with ripe fields Revolving t h r o u g h their harvests in sweet t o r m e n t . Forever Deity's glittering P l e d g e , O T h o u W h o s e c a n t i c l e fresh chemistry a s s i g n s T o wrapt i n c e p t i o n a n d b e a t i t u d e , — Always t h r o u g h blinding c a b l e s , to our joy, O f thy white seizure springs the prophecy: Always t h r o u g h spiring c o r d a g e , p y r a m i d s O f silver s e q u e l , Deity's y o u n g n a m e Kinetic of white choiring wings . . . a s c e n d s . M i g r a t i o n s that m u s t n e e d s void m e m o r y , Inventions that c o b b l e s t o n e the h e a r t , — U n s p e a k a b l e T h o u Bridge to T h e e , O L o v e . Thy p a r d o n for this history, whitest Flower, O A n s w e r e r of a l l , — A n e m o n e , — N o w while thy petals s p e n d the s u n s a b o u t u s , hold( O T h o u w h o s e r a d i a n c e doth inherit m e ) A t l a n t i s , — h o l d thy floating singer late! S o to thine E v e r p r e s e n c e , beyond t i m e , Like s p e a r s e n s a n g u i n e d of o n e tolling star T h a t b l e e d s infinity—the o r p h i c 5 strings, S i d e r e a l p h a l a n x e s , leap a n d c o n v e r g e : — O n e S o n g , o n e B r i d g e of Fire! Is it C a t h a y , N o w pity s t e e p s the g r a s s a n d rainbows ring T h e s e r p e n t with the e a g l e in the leaves . . . ? W h i s p e r s antiphonal in azure swing. 1930 5. Prophetic and enchanting, so named from the mythological poet and musician Orpheus, whose lyre or harp could charm the powers of hell.

ERNEST

HEMINGWAY

1899-1961 The narrator in Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms, reflecting on his war experiences, observes at one point, "1 was always embarrassed by the words sacred, glorious, and sacrifice and the expression in vain. . . . I had seen nothing sacred, and the things that were glorious had no glory and the sacrifices were like the stockyards at Chicago if nothing was done with the meat except to bury it. There were many words that you could not stand to hear." Hemingway's aim and achievement as a novelist and short-story writer were to convey his concerns in a prose style built from what was left after eliminating all the words one "could not stand to hear." As flamboyant in his personal style as he was severe in his writing, Hemingway became an interna-

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tional celebrity after the publication in 1 9 2 6 of his first novel, The Sun Also Rises. At the time of his death, he was probably the most famous writer in the world. He was born and raised in Oak Park, Illinois, one of six children. His mother was a music teacher, director of the church choir, and a lover of high culture who had contemplated a career as an opera singer. His father was a successful physician, prone to depression, who enjoyed hunting, fishing, and cooking and who shared in household responsibilities more than most men of his era. The family spent summers at their cottage in northern Michigan, where many of Hemingway's stories are set. After high school, Hemingway took a job on the Kansas City Star. When the United States entered the war in 1 9 1 7 , Hemingway was eager to go. An eye problem barred him from the army, so he joined the ambulance corps. Within three weeks he was wounded by shrapnel. After six months in the hospital Hemingway went home as a decorated hero: when wounded, he had carried a comrade more badly hurt than he to safety. He found readjustment difficult and became increasingly estranged from his family, especially his mother. Years later, when his father committed suicide, Hemingway blamed his mother for that death. In 1 9 2 0 he married Hadley Richardson and went to Paris. Supported partly by her money and partly by his journalism, Hemingway worked at becoming a writer. He came to know Gertrude Stein, Sherwood Anderson, Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and others in the large community of expatriate artistic and literary Americans. Besides reading his manuscripts and advising him, Fitzgerald and Anderson, better known than he, used their influence to get his book of short stories In Our Time published in the United States in 1 9 2 5 . In this book, stories about the adolescent Nick Adams as he grows up in northern Michigan alternate with very brief, powerful vignettes of war and crime. In 1 9 2 6 his novel The Sun Also Rises appeared; it presents the stripped-down "Hemingway style" at its finest. "I always try to write on the principle of the iceberg," he told an interviewer. "There is seven-eighths of it under water for every part that shows." Narrated by Jake Barnes, whose World War I wounds have left him sexually impotent, The Sun Also Rises depicts Jake's efforts to live according to a self-conscious code of dignity, of "grace under pressure," in the midst of a circle of self-seeking American and English expatriates in Paris. He finds an ideal in the rich tradition of Spanish peasant life, especially as epitomized in bullfighting and the bullfighter. The Sun Also Rises was directly responsible for a surge of American tourism to Pamplona, Spain, where the novel's bullfights are set. In 1 9 2 7 Hemingway brought out his second collection of stories, Men without Women. Adapting journalistic techniques in telegraphic prose that minimized narrator commentary and depended heavily on uncontextualized dialogue, these stories developed a modem, speeded-up, streamlined style that has been endlessly imitated. His second novel, A Farewell to Arms, appeared in 1 9 2 9 . It described a romance between an American army officer, Frederick Henry, and a Rritish nurse, Catherine Barkley. The two run away from war, trying to make "a separate peace," but their idyll is shattered when Catherine dies in childbirth. Hemingway's work has been much criticized for its depictions of women. The wholly good Catherine lives for Frederick Henry alone; and Maria, in his Spanish Civil War novel (For Whom the Bell Tolls, 1 9 4 0 ) , is a fantasy figure of total submissiveness. Characters like Brett Ashley in The Sun

Also Rises and Pilar in For Whom

the Bell Tolls, however, are strong, complex

figures. Overall, Hemingway identified the rapid change in women's status after World War I and the general blurring of sex roles that accompanied the new sexual freedom as aspects of modernity that men were simultaneously attracted to and found hard to deal with. More recently, especially in light of the themes of some of his posthumously published writings, critics have begun to re-interpret Hemingway's work as preoccupied with the cultural and psychological meanings of masculinity in a way that bespeaks considerable sexual ambivalence. As Hemingway aged, his interest in exclusively masculine forms of self-assertion

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and self-definition became more pronounced. War, hunting, and similar pursuits that he had used at first to show men manifesting dignity in the face of certain defeat increasingly became depicted (in his life as well as his writing) as occasions for competitive masculine display and triumph. Soon after the publication of The Sun Also Rises, his first marriage broke up; in all he was married four times. In the 1930s and 1940s he adopted the style of life of a celebrity. In the 1930s two new themes entered his work. One was the decade's ever-present theme of politics. A political loner distrustful of all ideological abstractions, Hemingway was nevertheless drawn into antifascist politics by the Spanish Civil War. In To Have and Have Not (1937), the earliest of his political novels, the good characters are working-class people and the antagonists are idle rich. For Whom the Bell Tolls draws on Hemingway's experiences in Spain as a war correspondent, celebrating both the peasant antifascists and the Americans who fought on their behalf. Hemingway's opposition to fascism did not, however, keep him from viewing the pro-Loyalist communists, who were also active in the Spanish Civil War, with considerable skepticism. His one play, The Fifth Column—which was printed along with his collected stories in 1938 and staged in 1940—specifically blames the communists for betraying the cause. The second new theme, obviously autobiographical, was that of the successful writer losing his talent in an atmosphere of success, celebrity, and wealth. This is clearly expressed in "The Snows of Kilimanjaro," reprinted here, which also contains passages of his most lyrical and evocative writing as the writer looks back on earlier, happy days living in Paris and skiing in the Austrian Alps. The story also draws on Hemingway's experiences on African hunting safaris and shows the writer blaming his wife for what has happened to him, yet simultaneously recognizing that the fault is his alone. Hemingway was fiercely anti-Nazi during World War II. As well as working as a war correspondent, work that sent him often to Europe, he used his fishing boat to keep watch for German submarines off the coast of Cuba, where he had a home. After the war ended, he continued his travels and was badly hurt in Africa in October 1953 in the crash of a small plane. He had already published his allegorical fable The Old Man and the Sea (1952), in the mass-circulation weekly magazine Life; this, his last major work published during his lifetime, won a Pulitzer Prize in 1953 and was central to his winning the Nobel Prize in 1954. The plane crash had damaged his mental and physical health, and he never fully recovered. Subject increasingly to depression and an incapacitating paranoia—afflictions that seem to have run in his family—he was hospitalized several times before killing himself in 1961. Yet it does appear that some of his suspicions about being watched by U.S. government agents may have been justified. Many writers associated with radical causes had dossiers compiled on them by the FBI. Several books have been published posthumously based on the voluminous manuscript collections he left. These include a book of reminiscences about his life in 1920s Paris, A Moveable Feast (1964); a novel about literary fame and sexual ambiguity constructed from several unfinished drafts, Islands in the Stream (1970); and The Nick Adams Stories (1972), a collection that added eight previously unpublished stories to the group. The text is that of The Fifth Column

and the First Forty-nine

Stories

(1938).

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T h e Snows of Kilimanjaro 1 Kilimanjaro

is a snow covered

to be the highest

mountain

Masai

"Ngaje

Ngai,"

there

is the

dried

explained

what

mountain

in Africa.

the House and

frozen

the leopard

19,71 Its western

of God. carcass

was seeking

Close of a at that

Ofeet

high, and is said

summit

is called

to the western leopard.

No

the

summit one

has

altitude.

" T h e marvellous thing is that it's p a i n l e s s , " h e said. " T h a t ' s how you know w h e n it s t a r t s . " " I s it really?" "Absolutely. I'm awfully sorry a b o u t the odor t h o u g h . T h a t m u s t b o t h e r i,

you. "Don't! Please don't." " L o o k at t h e m , " he s a i d . " N o w is it sight or is it s c e n t that brings t h e m like t h a t ? " T h e cot the m a n lay on w a s in the wide s h a d e of a m i m o s a tree a n d a s h e looked out p a s t the s h a d e o n t o the glare of the plain t h e r e were three of the big birds s q u a t t e d o b s c e n e l y , while in the sky a d o z e n m o r e s a i l e d , m a k i n g quick-moving s h a d o w s a s they p a s s e d . "They've b e e n there s i n c e the day the truck broke d o w n , " he s a i d . " T o d a y ' s the first time any have lit on the g r o u n d . I w a t c h e d the way they sailed very carefully at first in c a s e I ever w a n t e d to u s e t h e m in a story. T h a t ' s funny n o w . " "I wish you w o u l d n ' t , " s h e said. "I'm only talking," he said. "It's m u c h e a s i e r if I talk. B u t I don't w a n t to bother you." "You know it d o e s n ' t b o t h e r m e , " s h e s a i d . "It's that I've gotten s o very nervous not b e i n g a b l e to do anything. I think we might m a k e it a s e a s y a s we c a n until the p l a n e c o m e s . " " O r until the p l a n e doesn't c o m e . " " P l e a s e tell m e w h a t I c a n d o . T h e r e m u s t be s o m e t h i n g I c a n d o . " "You c a n take the leg off a n d that might s t o p it, t h o u g h I d o u b t it. O r you can shoot m e . You're a good shot now. I t a u g h t you to s h o o t didn't I ? " " P l e a s e don't talk that way. C o u l d n ' t I r e a d to y o u ? " "Read what?" "Anything in the b o o k b a g that we haven't r e a d . " "I can't listen to it," h e s a i d . " T a l k i n g is the e a s i e s t . W e quarrel a n d that m a k e s the time p a s s . " "I don't quarrel. I never want to quarrel. L e t ' s not q u a r r e l any m o r e . N o m a t t e r how nervous we get. M a y b e they will b e b a c k with a n o t h e r truck today. M a y b e the p l a n e will c o m e . " "I don't want to m o v e , " the m a n said. " T h e r e is no s e n s e in m o v i n g now except to m a k e it e a s i e r for y o u . " " T h a t ' s cowardly." " C a n ' t you let a m a n die a s comfortably a s h e c a n without calling him n a m e s ? W h a t ' s the u s e of s l a n g i n g m e ? " "You're not g o i n g to d i e . " 1. Mount Kilimanjaro is in Tanzania, near the border with Kenya. It is no longer snow covered.

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" D o n ' t be silly. I'm dying now. A s k t h o s e b a s t a r d s . " H e looked over to where the h u g e , filthy birds sat, their n a k e d h e a d s s u n k in the h u n c h e d f e a t h e r s . A fourth p l a n e d d o w n , to run quick-legged a n d then w a d d l e slowly toward the o t h e r s . " T h e y are a r o u n d every c a m p . You never notice t h e m . You can't die if you don't give u p . " " W h e r e did you read that? You're s u c h a bloody fool." "You might think a b o u t s o m e o n e e l s e . " " F o r Christ's s a k e , " h e said. " T h a t ' s b e e n my t r a d e . " H e lay then a n d w a s quiet for a while a n d looked a c r o s s the h e a t s h i m m e r of the plain to the e d g e of the b u s h . T h e r e were a few T o m m i e s 2 that s h o w e d m i n u t e a n d white a g a i n s t the yellow a n d , far off, h e s a w a h e r d of zebra, white against the green of the b u s h . T h i s w a s a p l e a s a n t c a m p u n d e r big trees a g a i n s t a hill, with g o o d water, a n d c l o s e by, a nearly dry w a t e r hole w h e r e s a n d g r o u s e flighted in the m o r n i n g s . "Wouldn't you like m e to r e a d ? " s h e a s k e d . S h e w a s sitting o n a c a n v a s chair b e s i d e his cot. " T h e r e ' s a b r e e z e c o m i n g u p . " "No thanks." " M a y b e the truck will c o m e . " "I don't give a d a m n a b o u t the t r u c k . " "I d o . " "You give a d a m n a b o u t s o m a n y things that 1 d o n ' t . " " N o t s o many, H a r r y . " "What about a drink?" "It's s u p p o s e d to be b a d for you. It said in B l a c k ' s to avoid all a l c o h o l . You shouldn't drink." " M o l o ! " he s h o u t e d . "Yes B w a n a . " "Bring whiskey-soda." "Yes B w a n a . " "You s h o u l d n ' t , " she said. " T h a t ' s what I m e a n by giving u p . It says it's b a d for you. I know it's b a d for y o u . " " N o , " he s a i d . "It's g o o d for m e . " S o now it w a s all over, he t h o u g h t . S o now he would never have a c h a n c e to finish it. S o this w a s the way it e n d e d in a bickering over a drink. S i n c e the g a n g r e n e started in his right leg he h a d no pain a n d with the p a i n the horror had g o n e a n d all he felt now w a s a great tiredness a n d a n g e r that this w a s the end of it. F o r this, that now w a s c o m i n g , he h a d very little curiosity. F o r years it h a d o b s e s s e d h i m ; but now it m e a n t n o t h i n g in itself. It w a s s t r a n g e how e a s y b e i n g tired e n o u g h m a d e it. N o w h e would never write the things that he had s a v e d to write until he knew e n o u g h to write t h e m well. Well, he w o u l d not have to fail at trying to write them either. M a y b e you c o u l d never write t h e m , a n d that w a s why you put them off a n d delayed the starting. Well he would never know, now. "I wish we'd never c o m e , " the w o m a n s a i d . S h e w a s looking at him holding the g l a s s a n d biting her lip. "You never would have gotten a n y t h i n g like this in Paris. You always said you loved P a r i s . W e c o u l d have stayed in Paris or 2. Familiar name for the Thomson's gazelle of East Africa, smallest of the gazelles.

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g o n e a n y w h e r e . I'd have g o n e anywhere. I said I'd go a n y w h e r e you w a n t e d . If you w a n t e d to shoot we could have g o n e s h o o t i n g in H u n g a r y a n d heen comfortable." "Your bloody m o n e y , " he said. "That's not fair," s h e said. "It w a s always yours a s m u c h a s m i n e . I left everything a n d I went wherever you w a n t e d to go a n d I've d o n e what you w a n t e d to d o . B u t I wish we'd never c o m e h e r e . " "You said you loved it." "I did when you were all right. But now I hate it. I don't s e e why that had to h a p p e n to your leg. W h a t have we d o n e to have that h a p p e n to u s ? " "I s u p p o s e what I did w a s to forget to put iodine on it w h e n I first s c r a t c h e d it. T h e n I didn't pay any attention to it b e c a u s e I never infect. T h e n , later, when it got bad, it w a s probably u s i n g that w e a k carbolic solution w h e n the other a n t i s e p t i c s ran out that paralyzed the m i n u t e blood v e s s e l s a n d started the g a n g r e n e . " H e looked at her. " W h a t e l s e ? " "I don't m e a n t h a t . " "If we would have hired a good m e c h a n i c instead of a half b a k e d kikuyu driver, h e would have c h e c k e d the oil a n d never b u r n e d out that b e a r i n g in the t r u c k . " "I don't m e a n t h a t . " "If you hadn't left your own p e o p l e , your g o d d a m n e d O l d W e s t b u r y , Sara t o g a , P a l m B e a c h p e o p l e to take m e o n — " "Why, I loved you. T h a t ' s not fair. I love you now. I'll always love you. Don't you love m e ? " " N o , " said the m a n . "I don't think s o . I never h a v e . " "Harry, what are you saying? You're out of your h e a d . " " N o . I haven't any h e a d to go out of." " D o n ' t drink t h a t , " s h e s a i d . " D a r l i n g , p l e a s e don't drink that. W e have to do everything we c a n . " "You do it," he s a i d . "I'm tired." Now in his mind he saw a railway station at Karagatch and he was standing with his pack and that was the headlight of the Simplon-Orient' cutting the dark now and he was leaving Tltrace then after the retreat. That was one of the things he had saved to write, with, in the morning at breakfast, looking out the window and seeing snow on the mountains in Bulgaria and Nansen's Secretary' asking the old man if it were snow and the old man looking at it and saying, No, that's not snow. It's too early for snow. And the Secretary repeating to the other girls, No, you see. It's not snow and them all saying, It's not snow we were mistaken. But it was the snow all right and he sent them on into it when he evolved exchange of popidations. And it was snow they tramped along in until they died that winter. It was snow too that fell all Christmas week that year up in the Gauertal, that year they lived in the woodcutter's house with the big square porcelain stove that filled half the room, and they slept on mattresses filled with beech leaves, the time the deserter came with his feet bloody in the snow. He said the 1

4

3. A fast train going from Paris to Constantinople, crossing the Alps into Italy over the Simplon Pass. 4. A region spanning parts of Greece and Turkey,

scene of border wars in 1922 that Hemingway had covered as a war correspondent while living in Paris.

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police were right behind him and they gave him woolen socks and held the gendarmes talking until the tracks had drifted over. In Schrunz,* on Christmas day, the snow was so bright it hurt your eyes when you looked out from the weinstube and saw every one coming home from church. That was where they walked up the sleigh-smoothed urine-yellowed road along the river with the steep pine hills, skis heavy on the shoulder, and where they ran that great run down the glacier above the Madlener-haus, the snow as smooth to see as cake frosting and as light as powder and he remembered the noiseless rush the speed made as you dropped down like a bird. They were snow-bound a week in the Madlener-haus that time in the blizzard playing cards in the smoke by the lantern light and the stakes were higher all the time as Herr Lent lost more. Finally he lost it all. Everything, the skischule money and all the season's profit and then his capital. He could see him with his long nose, picking up the cards and then opening, "Sans Voir. " There was always gambling then. When there was no snow you gambled and when there was too much you gambled. He thought of all the time in his life he had spent gambling. But he had never written a line of that, nor of that cold, bright Christmas day with the mountains showing across the plain that Barker had flown across the lines to bomb the Austrian officers' leave train, machine-gunning them as they scattered and ran. He remembered Barker afterwards coming into the mess and starting to tell about it. And how quiet it got and then somebody saying, "You bloody murderous bastard." Those were the same Austrians they killed then that he skied with later. No not the same. Hans, that he skied with all that year, had been in the KaiserJagers and when they went hunting hares together up the little valley above the saw-mill they had talked of the fighting on Pasubio and of the attack on Perticara and Asalone and he had never written a word of that. Nor of Monte Corono, nor the Sette Commumi, nor of Arsiero. How many winters had he lived in the Vorarlberg and the Arlberg? It was four and then he remembered the man who had the fox to sell when they had walked into Bludenz, that time to buy presents, and the cherry-pit taste of good kirsch, the fast-slipping rush of running powder-snow on crust, singing "Hi! Ho! said Roily!" as you ran down the last stretch to the steep drop, taking it straight, then running the orchard in three turns and out across the ditch and onto the icy road behind the inn. Knocking your bindings loose, kicking the skis free and leaning them up against the wooden wall of the inn, the lamplight coming from the window, where inside, in the smoky, new-wine smelling warmth, they were playing the accordion. 6

7

" W h e r e did we stay in P a r i s ? " h e a s k e d the w o m a n w h o w a s sitting by h i m in a c a n v a s chair, now, in Africa. "At the C r i l l o n . 8 You know t h a t . " " W h y d o I know t h a t ? "

5. Alpine ski resort in the western part of Austria. 6. Without seeing (French); a blind opening bet in poker or other gambling g a m e s . 7. T h e Kaiser's Hunters ( G e r m a n ) ; name of elite Austrian troops. In World War I, Germany and

Austria fought against the United Kingdom, France, Italy, and the United States. 8. Luxury hotel in Paris, as is the Hcnri-Quatre (below).

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'That's where we always s t a y e d . " " N o . Not always." " T h e r e a n d at the Pavillion Henri-Quatre in S t . G e r m a i n . You said you loved it t h e r e . " " L o v e is a d u n g h i l l , " said Harry. "And I'm the c o c k that g e t s on it to c r o w . " "If you have to g o a w a y , " she said, "is it absolutely n e c e s s a r y to kill off everything you leave b e h i n d ? I m e a n do you have to take away everything? D o you have to kill your h o r s e , a n d your wife a n d burn your s a d d l e a n d your armour?" " Y e s , " he s a i d . "Your d a m n e d m o n e y w a s my a r m o u r . M y Swift a n d my Armour." "Don't." "All right. I'll s t o p that. I don't want to hurt y o u . " "It's a little bit late n o w . " "All right then. I'll g o on hurting y o u . It's m o r e a m u s i n g . T h e only thing I ever really liked to d o with you I can't d o n o w . " " N o , that's not true. You liked to do m a n y things a n d everything you w a n t e d to do I d i d . " " O h , for C h r i s t s a k e s t o p bragging, will y o u ? " H e looked at her a n d saw her crying. " L i s t e n , " h e said. " D o you think that it is fun to d o this? I don't know why I'm doing it. It's trying to kill to keep yourself alive, I i m a g i n e . I w a s all right w h e n we started talking. I didn't m e a n to start this, a n d now I'm crazy a s a coot a n d being a s cruel to you a s I c a n b e . Don't pay any a t t e n t i o n , darling, to what I say. I love you, really. You know I love y o u . I've never loved any o n e else the way I love y o u . " H e slipped into the familiar lie he m a d e his b r e a d a n d butter by. "You're sweet to m e . " "You b i t c h , " h e said. "You rich bitch. T h a t ' s poetry. I'm full of poetry now. Rot a n d poetry. Rotten poetry." " S t o p it. Harry, why do you have to turn into a devil n o w ? " "I don't like to leave a n y t h i n g , " the m a n s a i d . "I don't like to leave things behind." •

•

•

It w a s evening now a n d he had b e e n a s l e e p . T h e s u n w a s g o n e b e h i n d the hill a n d there w a s a s h a d o w all a c r o s s the plain a n d the small a n i m a l s were feeding c l o s e to c a m p ; quick d r o p p i n g h e a d s a n d switching tails, he w a t c h e d t h e m k e e p i n g well o u t away from the b u s h now. T h e birds no longer waited on the g r o u n d . T h e y were all p e r c h e d heavily in a tree. T h e r e were m a n y m o r e of t h e m . His p e r s o n a l boy w a s sitting by the b e d . " M e m s a h i b ' s g o n e to s h o o t , " the boy s a i d . " D o e s B w a n a w a n t ? " "Nothing." S h e h a d g o n e to kill a p i e c e of m e a t a n d , knowing how he liked to w a t c h the g a m e , she h a d g o n e well away s o she would not d i s t u r b this little p o c k e t of the plain that he c o u l d s e e . S h e w a s always thoughtful, he t h o u g h t . O n anything she knew a b o u t , or h a d r e a d , or that s h e h a d ever h e a r d . It w a s not her fault that w h e n he went to her he w a s already over. H o w could a w o m a n know that you m e a n t nothing that you s a i d ; that you s p o k e only from habit a n d to be c o m f o r t a b l e ? After he no longer m e a n t what he

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said, his lies were m o r e s u c c e s s f u l with w o m e n t h a n w h e n he h a d told t h e m the truth. It w a s not so m u c h that he lied as that there w a s no truth to tell. H e h a d h a d his life a n d it w a s over a n d then h e went on living it again with different p e o p l e a n d m o r e m o n e y , with the b e s t of the s a m e p l a c e s , a n d s o m e n e w ones. You kept from thinking a n d it w a s all m a r v e l l o u s . You were e q u i p p e d with g o o d insides s o that you did not g o to p i e c e s that way, the way m o s t of t h e m h a d , a n d you m a d e a n attitude that you c a r e d n o t h i n g for the work you u s e d to d o , now that you could no longer do it. B u t , in yourself, you s a i d that you would write a b o u t t h e s e p e o p l e ; a b o u t the very rich; that you were really not of t h e m but a spy in their country; that you w o u l d leave it a n d write of it a n d for o n c e it w o u l d b e written by s o m e o n e w h o k n e w w h a t h e w a s writing of. B u t he would never do it, b e c a u s e e a c h day of not writing, of c o m f o r t , of b e i n g that which h e d e s p i s e d , dulled his ability a n d s o f t e n e d his will to work s o that, finally, h e did no work at all. T h e p e o p l e h e knew now w e r e all m u c h m o r e c o m f o r t a b l e w h e n he did not work. Africa w a s w h e r e he h a d b e e n h a p p i e s t in the g o o d time of his life, s o h e h a d c o m e o u t h e r e to start a g a i n . T h e y h a d m a d e this safari with the m i n i m u m of c o m f o r t . T h e r e w a s no h a r d s h i p ; but there w a s no luxury a n d h e h a d t h o u g h t that h e c o u l d get b a c k into training that way. T h a t in s o m e way h e c o u l d work the fat off his soul the way a fighter went into the m o u n t a i n s to work a n d train in order to burn it out of his body. S h e h a d liked it. S h e said s h e loved it. S h e loved anything that w a s exciting, that involved a c h a n g e of s c e n e , w h e r e there were n e w p e o p l e a n d w h e r e things were p l e a s a n t . A n d he h a d felt the illusion of r e t u r n i n g strength of will to work. N o w if this w a s how it e n d e d , a n d h e k n e w it w a s , h e m u s t not turn like s o m e s n a k e biting itself b e c a u s e its b a c k w a s b r o k e n . It wasn't this w o m a n ' s fault. If it h a d not b e e n s h e it w o u l d have b e e n a n o t h e r . If h e lived by a lie h e s h o u l d try to die by it. H e h e a r d a shot beyond the hill. S h e shot very well this g o o d , this rich b i t c h , this kindly c a r e t a k e r a n d destroyer of his talent. N o n s e n s e . H e h a d destroyed his talent himself. W h y s h o u l d h e b l a m e this w o m a n b e c a u s e s h e kept him well? H e h a d destroyed his talent by not u s i n g it, by betrayals of h i m s e l f a n d w h a t h e believed in, by drinking so m u c h that he b l u n t e d the e d g e of his p e r c e p t i o n s , by laziness, by sloth, a n d by s n o b b e r y , by pride a n d by p r e j u d i c e , 9 by h o o k a n d by crook. W h a t w a s this? A c a t a l o g u e of old b o o k s ? W h a t w a s his talent anyway? It w a s a talent all right but i n s t e a d of u s i n g it, he h a d traded on it. It w a s never w h a t he h a d d o n e , but always what h e c o u l d do. A n d he h a d c h o s e n to m a k e his living with s o m e t h i n g else i n s t e a d of a p e n or a p e n c i l . It w a s s t r a n g e , too, wasn't it, that w h e n h e fell in love with a n o t h e r w o m a n , that w o m a n s h o u l d always have m o r e m o n e y t h a n the last o n e ? B u t w h e n he no longer w a s in love, w h e n h e w a s only lying, a s to this w o m a n , now, w h o h a d the m o s t m o n e y of all, w h o h a d all the m o n e y there w a s , w h o h a d h a d a h u s b a n d a n d children, w h o h a d taken lovers a n d b e e n dissatisfied with t h e m , a n d w h o loved him dearly a s a writer, a s a m a n , a s a c o m p a n i o n a n d a s a p r o u d p o s s e s s i o n ; it w a s s t r a n g e that w h e n he did not love her at all a n d w a s lying, that he s h o u l d be able to give her m o r e for her m o n e y than w h e n h e h a d really loved. 9. Reference to title of a novel by the English writer J a n e Austen ( 1 7 7 5 - 1 8 1 7 ) .

THE

SNOWS OF KILIMANJARO

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2215

W e m u s t all be c u t o u t for what we d o , he t h o u g h t . H o w e v e r you m a k e your living is where your talent lies. H e h a d sold vitality, in o n e form or another, all his life a n d w h e n your affections are not too involved you give m u c h better value for the m o n e y . H e h a d f o u n d that o u t b u t h e would never write that, now, either. N o , he would not write that, a l t h o u g h it w a s well worth writing. N o w she c a m e in sight, walking a c r o s s the o p e n toward the c a m p . S h e w a s w e a r i n g j o d h p u r s a n d carrying her rifle. T h e two boys h a d a T o m m i e s l u n g a n d they were c o m i n g a l o n g behind her. S h e w a s still a good-looking w o m a n , he t h o u g h t , a n d s h e h a d a p l e a s a n t body. S h e h a d a great talent a n d a p p r e c i a t i o n for the b e d , s h e w a s not pretty, but he liked her f a c e , s h e read e n o r m o u s l y , liked to ride a n d shoot a n d , certainly, s h e d r a n k too m u c h . H e r h u s b a n d h a d died w h e n s h e w a s still a c o m p a r a t i v e l y y o u n g w o m a n a n d for a while s h e had devoted herself to her two j u s t - g r o w n children, w h o did not n e e d her a n d were e m b a r r a s s e d at having her a b o u t , to her s t a b l e of h o r s e s , to b o o k s , a n d to bottles. S h e liked to read in the e v e n i n g before d i n n e r a n d s h e d r a n k S c o t c h a n d s o d a while s h e r e a d . By dinner s h e w a s fairly d r u n k a n d after a bottle of wine at dinner s h e was usually d r u n k e n o u g h to sleep. T h a t w a s before the lovers. After s h e h a d the lovers s h e did not drink so m u c h b e c a u s e s h e did not have to be d r u n k to s l e e p . B u t the lovers b o r e d her. S h e h a d b e e n married to a m a n w h o h a d never b o r e d her a n d t h e s e p e o p l e bored her very m u c h . T h e n o n e of her two children w a s killed in a p l a n e c r a s h a n d after that w a s over s h e did not want the lovers, a n d drink b e i n g n o anaesthetic s h e h a d to m a k e a n o t h e r life. S u d d e n l y , she h a d b e e n acutely frightened of b e i n g a l o n e . B u t s h e w a n t e d s o m e o n e that s h e r e s p e c t e d with her. It h a d b e g u n very simply. S h e liked what he wrote a n d s h e h a d always envied the life he led. S h e t h o u g h t h e did exactly w h a t he w a n t e d to. T h e s t e p s by which she h a d a c q u i r e d him a n d the way in which s h e h a d finally fallen in love with him were all part of a regular p r o g r e s s i o n in w h i c h s h e h a d built herself a new life a n d he h a d traded away w h a t r e m a i n e d of his old life. H e h a d traded it for security, for c o m f o r t too, there w a s n o denying that, a n d for what else? H e did not know. S h e would have b o u g h t him a n y t h i n g h e w a n t e d . H e knew that. S h e was a d a m n e d nice w o m a n t o o . H e w o u l d a s s o o n be in b e d with her a s any o n e ; rather with her, b e c a u s e s h e w a s richer, b e c a u s e s h e w a s very p l e a s a n t a n d appreciative a n d b e c a u s e s h e never m a d e s c e n e s . A n d now this life that s h e h a d built again w a s c o m i n g to a term b e c a u s e he h a d not u s e d iodine two w e e k s a g o w h e n a thorn h a d s c r a t c h e d his knee a s they m o v e d forward trying to p h o t o g r a p h a h e r d of w a t e r b u c k s t a n d i n g , their h e a d s u p , p e e r i n g while their nostrils s e a r c h e d the air, their ears s p r e a d wide to h e a r the first noise that would s e n d t h e m r u s h i n g into the b u s h . T h e y h a d bolted, too, before h e got the p i c t u r e . H e r e she c a m e now. H e turned his h e a d on the cot to look toward her. " H e l l o , " he s a i d . "I shot a T o m m y r a m , " s h e told h i m . "He'll m a k e you g o o d broth a n d I'll have t h e m m a s h s o m e p o t a t o e s with the K l i m . 1 H o w do you f e e l ? " " M u c h better." 1. Powdered milk or milk substitute.

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"Isn't that lovely? You know I thought p e r h a p s you w o u l d . You were s l e e p ing w h e n I left." "I h a d a good s l e e p . Did you walk f a r ? " " N o . J u s t a r o u n d b e h i n d the hill. I m a d e quite a g o o d shot on the T o m m y . " "You shoot marvellously, you k n o w . " "I love it. I've loved Africa. Really. If you're all right it's the m o s t fun that I've ever h a d . You don't know the fun it's b e e n to s h o o t with you. I've loved the c o u n t r y . " "I love it t o o . " " D a r l i n g , you don't know how marvellous it is to s e e you feeling better. I couldn't s t a n d it w h e n you felt that way. You won't talk to m e like that a g a i n , will you? P r o m i s e m e ? " " N o , " he s a i d . "I don't r e m e m b e r what I s a i d . " "You don't have to destroy m e . D o you? I'm only a m i d d l e - a g e d w o m a n who loves you a n d wants to do what you want to d o . I've b e e n destroyed two or three t i m e s already. You wouldn't want to destroy m e a g a i n , w o u l d y o u ? " "I'd like to destroy you a few times in b e d , " h e s a i d . "Yes. T h a t ' s the good d e s t r u c t i o n . T h a t ' s the way we're m a d e to b e destroyed. T h e p l a n e will be here t o m o r r o w . " " H o w d o y6u k n o w ? " "I'm s u r e . It's b o u n d to c o m e . T h e boys have the wood all ready a n d the g r a s s to m a k e the s m u d g e . - I went d o w n a n d looked at it again today. T h e r e ' s plenty of r o o m to land a n d we have the s m u d g e s ready at both e n d s . " " W h a t m a k e s you think it will c o m e t o m o r r o w ? " "I'm s u r e it will. It's o v e r d u e now. T h e n , in town, they will fix u p your leg a n d then we will have s o m e g o o d d e s t r u c t i o n . N o t that dreadful talking k i n d . " " S h o u l d we have a drink? T h e s u n is d o w n . " " D o you think you s h o u l d ? " "I'm having o n e . " "We'll have o n e together. Molo, letti dui whiskey-soda!" she called. "You'd better put on your m o s q u i t o b o o t s , " h e told her. "I'll wait till I b a t h e . . ." While it grew dark they d r a n k a n d j u s t b e f o r e it w a s dark a n d there w a s no longer e n o u g h light to s h o o t , a hyena c r o s s e d the open on his way a r o u n d the hill. " T h a t b a s t a r d c r o s s e s there every n i g h t , " the m a n s a i d . "Every night for two w e e k s . " " H e ' s the o n e m a k e s the noise at night. I don't m i n d it. They're a filthy animal though." Drinking together, with no pain now except the d i s c o m f o r t of lying in the o n e position, the boys lighting a fire, its s h a d o w j u m p i n g on the t e n t s , he c o u l d feel the return of a c q u i e s c e n c e in this life of p l e a s a n t s u r r e n d e r . S h e was very g o o d to h i m . H e had b e e n cruel a n d u n j u s t in the a f t e r n o o n . S h e w a s a fine w o m a n , marvellous really. And j u s t then it o c c u r r e d to him that h e w a s g o i n g to die. It c a m e with a r u s h ; not a s a rush of water nor of wind; b u t of a s u d d e n evil-smelling e m p t i n e s s a n d the o d d thing w a s that the hyena s l i p p e d lightly a l o n g the e d g e of it. 2. Fire made to produce a dense smoke, to guide the plane to a landing place.

THE

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2217

"What is it, H a r r y ? " s h e a s k e d him. " N o t h i n g , " he said. "You h a d better move over to the other s i d e . T o windward." " D i d M o l o c h a n g e the d r e s s i n g ? " "Yes. I'm j u s t u s i n g the boric n o w . " " H o w do you f e e l ? " " A little wobbly." "I'm going in to b a t h e , " s h e s a i d . "I'll be right out. I'll eat with you a n d then we'll put the cot i n . " S o , he said to himself, we did well to s t o p the quarrelling. H e h a d never quarrelled m u c h with this w o m a n , while with the w o m e n that h e loved he had quarrelled so m u c h they h a d finally, always, with the c o r r o s i o n of the quarrelling, killed what they h a d together. H e h a d loved too m u c h , d e m a n d e d too m u c h , a n d he wore it all out. He thought about alone in Constantinople* that time, having quarrelled in Paris before he had gone out. He had whored the whole time and then, when that was over, and he had failed to kill his loneliness, but only made it worse, he had written her, the first one, the one who left him, a letter telling her how he had never been able to kill it. . . . How when he thought he saw her outside the R e g e n c e one time it made him go all faint and sick inside, and that he would follow a woman who looked like her in some way, along the Boulevard, afraid to see it was not she, afraid to lose the feeling it gave him. How every one he had slept with had only made him miss her more. How what she had done could never matter since he knew he could not cure himself of loving her. He wrote this letter at the Club, cold sober, and mailed it to New York asking her to write him at the office in Paris. That seemed safe. And that night missing her so much it made him feel hollow sick inside, he wandered up past Taxim's, picked a girl up and took her out to supper. He had gone to a place to dance with her afterward, she danced badly, and left her for a hot Armenian slut, that swung her belly against him so it almost scalded. He took her away from a British gunner subaltern after a row. The gunner asked him outside and they fought in the street on the cobbles in the dark. He'd hit him twice, hard, on the side of the jaw and when he didn t go down he knew he was in for a fight. The gunner hit him in the body, then beside his eye. He swung with his left again and landed and the gunner fell on him and grabbed his coat and tore the sleeve off and he clubbed him twice behind the ear and then smashed him with his right as he pushed him away. When the gunner went down his head hit first and he ran with the girl because they heard the M. P.'s coming. They got into a taxi and drove out to Rimmily Hissa along the Bosphorus, and around, and back in the cool night and went to bed and she felt as over-ripe as she looked but smoother, rose-petal, syrupy, smooth-bellied, big-breasted and needed no pillow under her buttocks, and he left her before she was awake looking blousy enough in the first daylight and turned up at the Pera Palace with a black eye, carrying his coat because one sleeve was missing. That same night he left for Anatolia and he remembered, later on that riding all day through fields of the poppies that they raised for opium and

trip, how

3. Now Istanbul, capital of Turkey. In the rest of the paragraph there are references to streets and places in and around the city.

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strange it made you feel, finally, and all the distances seemed wrong, to where they had made the attack with the newly arrived Constantine officers, that did not know a goddamned thing, and the artillery had fired into the troops and the British observer had cried like a child. That was the day he'd first seen dead men wearing white ballet skirts and upturned shoes with pompons on them. The Turks had come steadily and lumpily and he had seen the skirted men running and the officers shooting into them and running then themselves and he and the British observer had run too until his lungs ached and his mouth was full of the taste of pennies and they stopped behind some rocks and there were the Turks coming as lumpily as ever. Later he had seen the things that he could never think of and later still he had seen much worse. So when he got back to Paris that time he could not talk about it or stand to have it mentioned. And there in the cafe as he passed was that American poet with a pile of saucers in front of him and a stupid look on his potato face talking about the Dada movement with a Roumanian who said his name was Tristan Tzara, who always wore a monocle and had a headache, and, back at the apartment with his wife that now he loved again, the quarrel all over, the madness all over, glad to be home, the office sent his mail up to the flat. So then the letter in answer to the one he'd written came in on a platter one morning and when he saw the handwriting he went cold all over and tried to slip the letter underneath another. But his wife said, "Who is that letter from, dear?" and that was the end of the beginning of that. 4

He remembered the good times with them all, and the quarrels. They always picked the finest places to have the quarrels. And why had they always quarrelled when he was feeling best? He had never written any of that because, at first, he never wanted to hurt any one and then it seemed as though there was enough to write without it. But he had always thought that he would write it finally. There was so much to write. He had seen the world change; not just the events; although he had seen many of them and had watched the people, but he had seen the subtler change and he could remember how the people were at different times. He had been in it and he had watched it and it was his duty to write of it; but now he never would. " H o w d o you f e e l ? " s h e s a i d . S h e h a d c o m e o u t from the tent n o w after her b a t h . "All right." " C o u l d you e a t n o w ? " H e saw M o l o b e h i n d her with the folding table a n d the other boy with the d i s h e s . "I want to w r i t e , " he s a i d . "You o u g h t to take s o m e broth to keep your strength u p . " " I ' m g o i n g to die t o n i g h t , " he said. "I don't n e e d my s t r e n g t h u p . " " D o n ' t be m e l o d r a m a t i c , Harry, p l e a s e , " s h e s a i d . " W h y don't you u s e your n o s e ? I'm rotted half way u p my thigh n o w . W h a t the hell s h o u l d I fool with broth for? M o l o bring w h i s k e y - s o d a . " " P l e a s e take the b r o t h , " s h e said gently. "All right." T h e broth w a s too hot. H e h a d to hold it in the c u p until it c o o l e d e n o u g h to take it a n d then h e j u s t got it down without g a g g i n g . 4. An international movement in painting, sculpture, and literature that flourished between 1916 and 1922, stressing fantasy, surrealism, and non-

sense. T h e term is a child's cry, chosen b e c a u s e it has no meaning. Tristan Tzara (below) was the leading publicist for the movement.

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2219

"You're a fine w o m a n , " he said. " D o n ' t pay any attention to m e . " S h e looked at him with her well-known, well-loved f a c e from Spur a n d Town and Country,* only a little the worse for drink, only a little the w o r s e for b e d , but Town and Country never s h o w e d t h o s e g o o d b r e a s t s a n d t h o s e useful thighs a n d t h o s e lightly s m a l l - o f - b a c k - c a r e s s i n g h a n d s , a n d a s h e looked a n d saw her well known p l e a s a n t s m i l e , he felt d e a t h c o m e a g a i n . T h i s time there w a s no r u s h . It w a s a puff, as of a wind that m a k e s a c a n d l e flicker a n d the flame go tall. " T h e y c a n bring my net o u t later a n d h a n g it from the tree a n d build the fire u p . I'm not g o i n g in the tent tonight. It's not worth moving. It's a clear night. T h e r e won't b e any r a i n . " S o this w a s how you died, in whispers that you did not hear. Well, there w o u l d be no m o r e quarrelling. H e c o u l d p r o m i s e that. T h e o n e e x p e r i e n c e that he h a d never h a d he w a s not going to spoil now. H e probably would. You spoiled everything. B u t p e r h a p s he wouldn't. "You can't take dictation, c a n y o u ? " "I never l e a r n e d , " she told him. " T h a t ' s all right." T h e r e wasn't t i m e , of c o u r s e , a l t h o u g h it s e e m e d a s t h o u g h it t e l e s c o p e d so that you might p u t it all into o n e p a r a g r a p h if you c o u l d get it right. There was a log house, chinked white with mortar, on a hill above the lake. There was a bell on a pole by the door to call the people in to meals. Behind the house were fields and behind the fields was the timber. A line ofi lombardy poplars ran from the house to the dock. Other poplars ran along the point. A road went up to the hills along the edge of the timber and along that road he picked blackberries. Then that log house was burned down and all the guns that had been on deer foot racks above the open fire place were burned and afterwards their barrels, with the lead melted in the magazines, and the stocks burned away, lay out on the heap of ashes that were used to make lye for the big iron soap kettles, and you asked Grandfather if you could have them to play with, and he said, no. You see they were his guns still and he never bought any others. Nor did he hunt any more. The house was rebuilt in the same place out of lumber now and painted white and from its porch you saw the poplars and the lake beyond; but there were never any more guns. The barrels of the guns that had hung on the deer feet on the wall of the log house lay out there on the heap of ashes and no one ever touched them. In the Black Forest, after the war, we rented a trout stream and there were two ways to walk to it. One was down the valley from Triberg and around the valley road in the shade of the trees that bordered the white road, and then up a side road that went up through the hills past many small farms, with the big Schwarzwald houses, until that road crossed the stream. That was where our fishing began. The other way was to climb steeply up to the edge of the woods and then go across the top of the hills through the pine woods, and then out to the edge of a meadow and down across this meadow to the bridge. There were birches along the stream and it was not big, but narrow, clear and fast, with pools where it had cut under the roots of the birches. At the Hotel in Triberg the h

7

5. Two magazines designed for a wealthy audience. 6. Wooded, mountainous region in southern Ger-

many. 7. Black Forest (German).

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proprietor had a fine season. It was very pleasant and we were all great friends. The next year came the inflation and the money he had made the year before was not enough to buy supplies to open the hotel and he hanged himself. You could dictate that, but you could not dictate the Place Contrescarpe* where the flower sellers dyed their flowers in the street and the dye ran over the paving where the autobus started and the old men and the women, always drunk on wine and bad marc; and the children with their noses running in the cold; the smell of dirty sweat and poverty and drunkenness at the Cafe des Amateurs and the whores at the Bal Musette' they lived above. The Concierge who entertained the trooper of the Garde Republicaine in her loge, his horsehair-plumed helmet on a chair. The locataire across the hall whose husband was a bicycle racer and her joy that morning at the Cremerie when she had opened LAuto and seen where he placed third in Paris-Tours, his first big race. She had blushed and laughed and then gone upstairs crying with the yellow sporting paper in her hand. The husband of the woman who ran the Bal Musette drove a taxi and when he, Harry, had to take an early plane the husband knocked upon the door to wake him and they each drank a glass of white wine at the zinc of the bar before they started. He knew his neighbors in that quarter then because they all were poor. 9

Around that P l a c e there were two kinds; the drunkards and the sportifs. The drunkards killed their poverty that way; the sportifs took it out in exercise. They and it was no struggle for them to were the descendants of the Communards know their politics. They knew who had shot their fathers, their relatives, their brothers, and their friends when the Versailles troops came in and took the town after the Commune and executed any one they could catch with calloused hands, or who wore a cap, or carried any other sign he was a working man. And in that poverty, and in that quarter across the street from a Boucherie Chevaline* and a wine co-operative he had written the start of all he was to do. There never was another part of Paris that he loved like that, the sprawling trees, the old white plastered houses painted brown below, the long green of the autobus in that round square, the purple flower dye upon the paving, the sudden drop down the hill of the rue Cardinal Lemoine to the River, and the other way the narrow crowded world of the rue Mouffetard. The street that ran up toward the Pantheon and the other that he always took with the bicycle, the only asphalted street in all that quarter, smooth under the tires, with the high narrow houses and the cheap tail hotel where Paul Verlaine* had died. There were only two rooms in the apartments where they lived and he had a room on the top floor of that hotel that cost him sixty francs a month where he did his writing, and from it he could see the roofs and chimney pots and ail the hills of Paris. From the apartment you could only see the wood and coal man's place. He sold wine too, bad wine. The golden horse's head outside the Boucherie Chevaline where the carcasses hung yellow gold and red in the open window, and the green painted co-operative where they bought their wine; good wine and 2

8. Square in a working-class neighborhood of Paris. 9. White brandy (French). 1. D a n c e hall (French). 2. Participants in the 1871 workers' uprising in Paris and the C o m m u n e , a local government established on March 18, 1 8 7 1 , but suppressed by the

Versailles government two months later. 3. A butcher shop selling horsemeat, once common in poorer neighborhoods throughout Europe. 4. French Symbolist poet ( 1 8 4 4 - 1 8 9 6 ) . Hemingway rented and worked in a room in which Verlaine had lived.

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cheap. The rest was plaster walls and the windows of the neighbors. The neighbors who, at night, when some one lay drunk in the street, moaning and groaning in that typical French i v r e s s e 5 that you were propaganded to believe did not exist, would open their windows and then the murmur of talk. "Where is the policeman? When you don't want him the bugger is always there. He's sleeping with some concierge. Get the A g e n t . " Till some one threw a bucket of water from a window and the moaning stopped. "What's that? Water. Ah, that's intelligent." And the windows shutting. Marie, hisfemme de menage,'' protesting against the eight-hour day saying, "If a husband works until six he gets only a little drunk on the way home and does not waste too much. If he works only until five he is drunk every night and one has no money. It is the wife of the working man who suffers from this shortening of hours." "Wouldn't you like s o m e m o r e b r o t h ? " the w o m a n a s k e d him now. " N o , t h a n k you very m u c h . It is awfully g o o d . " "Try j u s t a little." "I would like a w h i s k e y - s o d a . " "It's not g o o d for y o u . " " N o . It's b a d for m e . C o l e Porter 7 wrote the words a n d the m u s i c . T h i s k n o w l e d g e that you're g o i n g m a d for m e . " "You know I like you to drink." " O h yes. Only it's b a d for m e . " W h e n s h e g o e s , he t h o u g h t . I'll have all I want. N o t all I want but all there is. Ayee he w a s tired. T o o tired. H e w a s g o i n g to s l e e p a little while. H e lay still a n d d e a t h w a s not t h e r e . It m u s t have g o n e a r o u n d a n o t h e r street. It went in p a i r s , on bicycles, a n d m o v e d absolutely silently o n the p a v e m e n t s . No, he had never written about Paris. Not the Paris that he cared about. But what about the rest that he had never written? What about the ranch and the silvered gray of the sage brush, the quick, clear water in the irrigation ditches, and the heavy green of the alfalfa. The trail went up into the hills and the cattle in the summer were shy as deer. The bawling and the steady noise and slow moving mass raising a dust as you brought them down in the fall. And behind the mountains, the clear sharpness of the peak in the evening light and, riding down along the trail in the moonlight, bright across the valley. Now he remembered coming down through the timber in the dark holding the horse's tail when you could not see and all the stories that he meant to write. About the half-wit chore boy who was left at the ranch that time and told not to let any one get any hay, and that old bastard from the Forks who had beaten the boy when he had worked for him stopping to get some feed. The boy refusing and the old man saying he would beat him again. The boy got the rifle from the kitchen and shot him when he tried to come into the barn and when they came back to the ranch he'd been dead a week, frozen in the corral, and the dogs had eaten part of him. But what was left you packed on a sled wrapped in a blanket and roped on and you got the boy to help you haul it, and the two 5. Drunkenness (French). B e c a u s e the French drank only wine and brandy rather than hard liquor, it was often claimed that there was no real drunkenness among them.

6. Charwoman (French). 7. Popular American song 1964).

composer

(1893-

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of you took it out over the road on skis, and sixty miles down to town to turn the hoy over. He having no idea that he would he arrested. Thinking he had done his duty and that you were his friend and he would he rewarded. He'd helped to haul the old man in so everybody could know how bad the old man had been and how he'd tried to steal some feed that didn't belong to him, and when the sheriff put the handcuffs on the boy he couldn't believe it. Then he'd started to cry. That was one story he had saved to write. He knew at least twenty good stories from out there and he had never written one. Why? "You tell t h e m why," he s a i d . "Why what, d e a r ? " "Why n o t h i n g . " S h e didn't drink so m u c h , now, s i n c e s h e h a d h i m . B u t if he lived he would never write a b o u t her, he knew that now. N o r a b o u t any of t h e m . T h e rich were dull a n d they d r a n k too m u c h , or they played too m u c h b a c k g a m m o n . T h e y were dull a n d they were repetitious. H e r e m e m b e r e d p o o r J u l i a n a n d his r o m a n t i c a w e of t h e m a n d how he h a d started a story o n c e that b e g a n , " T h e very rich are different from you a n d m e . " 8 A n d how s o m e o n e h a d s a i d to J u l i a n , Yes, they have m o r e m o n e y . B u t that w a s not h u m o r o u s to J u l i a n . H e thought they were a special g l a m o u r o u s r a c e a n d w h e n h e f o u n d they weren't it wrecked him j u s t a s m u c h a s any other thing that w r e c k e d h i m . H e h a d b e e n c o n t e m p t u o u s of t h o s e w h o w r e c k e d . You did not have to like it b e c a u s e you u n d e r s t o o d it. H e c o u l d b e a t anything, he t h o u g h t , b e c a u s e no thing c o u l d hurt him if he did not c a r e . All right. N o w he would not c a r e for d e a t h . O n e thing h e h a d always d r e a d e d w a s the p a i n . H e c o u l d s t a n d pain a s well a s any m a n , until it went on too long, a n d wore him out, but here h e h a d s o m e t h i n g that h a d hurt frightfully a n d j u s t w h e n he h a d felt it b r e a k i n g h i m , the pain h a d s t o p p e d . He remembered long ago when Williamson, the bombing officer, had been hit by a stick bomb some one in a German patrol had thrown as he was coming in through the wire that night and, screaming, had begged every one to kill him. He was a fat man, very brave, and a good officer, although addicted to fantastic shows. But that night he was caught in the wire, with a flare lighting him up and his bowels spilled out into the wire, so when they brought him in, alive, they had to cut him loose. Shoot me, Harry. For Christ sake shoot me. They had had an argument one time about our Lord never sending you anything you could not bear and some one's theory had been that meant that at a certain time the pain passed you out automatically. But he had always remembered Williamson, that night. Nothing passed out Williamson until he gave him all his morphine tablets that he had always saved to use himself and then they did not work right away. Still this now, that he h a d , w a s very easy; a n d if it w a s no w o r s e a s it went on there was n o t h i n g to worry a b o u t . E x c e p t that h e would rather b e in better company. H e t h o u g h t a little a b o u t the c o m p a n y that he would like to h a v e . 8. These are the opening words of "The Rich Boy" by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Hemingway originally used Fitzgerald's name instead of "Julian." but was persuaded to make the change by his editor. Maxwell Perkins.

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N o , he t h o u g h t , w h e n everything you d o , you do too long, a n d do too late, you can't expect to find the p e o p l e still there. T h e p e o p l e all are g o n e . T h e party's over a n d you a r e with your h o s t e s s now. I'm getting as b o r e d with dying a s with everything e l s e , h e t h o u g h t . "It's a b o r e , " he said out loud. " W h a t is, my d e a r ? " "Anything you d o too bloody l o n g . " H e looked at her f a c e b e t w e e n him a n d the fire. S h e w a s l e a n i n g b a c k in the chair a n d the firelight s h o n e on her p l e a s a n t l y lined f a c e a n d h e c o u l d s e e that she w a s sleepy. H e h e a r d the hyena m a k e a n o i s e j u s t o u t s i d e the r a n g e of the fire. "I've b e e n writing," he s a i d . " B u t I got tired." " D o you think you will b e able to s l e e p ? " "Pretty s u r e . W h y don't you turn i n ? " "I like to sit here with y o u . " " D o you feel anything s t r a n g e ? " he a s k e d her. " N o . J u s t a little sleepy." "I d o , " he s a i d . H e h a d j u s t felt d e a t h c o m e by a g a i n . "You know the only thing I've never lost is curiosity," h e s a i d to her. "You've never lost anything. You're the m o s t c o m p l e t e m a n I've ever known." " C h r i s t , " he said. " H o w little a w o m a n knows. W h a t is that? Y o u r intuition?" B e c a u s e , j u s t t h e n , d e a t h h a d c o m e a n d rested its h e a d on the foot of the cot a n d h e c o u l d smell its b r e a t h . " N e v e r believe any of that a b o u t a scythe a n d a s k u l l , " 9 he told her. "It c a n b e two bicycle p o l i c e m e n a s easily, or b e a bird. O r it c a n have a wide s n o u t like a h y e n a . " It had m o v e d u p on him now, but it h a d no s h a p e any m o r e . It simply occupied space. "Tell it to go a w a y . " It did not go away but moved a little closer. "You've got a hell of a b r e a t h , " h e told it. "You stinking b a s t a r d . " It m o v e d up c l o s e r to him still a n d he c o u l d not s p e a k to it, a n d w h e n it saw he c o u l d not s p e a k it c a m e a little closer, a n d now he tried to s e n d it away without s p e a k i n g , but it m o v e d in on him s o its weight w a s all u p o n his c h e s t , a n d while it c r o u c h e d there a n d h e c o u l d not m o v e , or s p e a k , he heard the w o m a n say, " B w a n a is a s l e e p now. T a k e the cot u p very gently a n d carry it into the t e n t . " H e c o u l d not s p e a k to tell her to m a k e it g o away a n d it c r o u c h e d now, heavier, s o he c o u l d not b r e a t h e . And then, while they lifted the cot, s u d d e n l y it w a s all right a n d the weight went from his c h e s t . It w a s m o r n i n g a n d h a d b e e n m o r n i n g for s o m e time a n d h e heard the p l a n e . It s h o w e d very tiny a n d then m a d e a wide circle a n d the boys ran o u t a n d lit the fires, u s i n g k e r o s e n e , a n d piled on g r a s s s o there were two big 9. In medieval imagery death is often represented as a skeleton draped in a long cape so that only the skull shows. H e carries a scythe.

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s m u d g e s at e a c h e n d of the level p l a c e a n d the m o r n i n g breeze blew t h e m toward the c a m p a n d the p l a n e circled twice m o r e , low this t i m e , a n d then glided down a n d levelled off a n d landed smoothly a n d , c o m i n g walking toward him, w a s old C o m p t o n in s l a c k s , a tweed j a c k e t a n d a brown felt hat. " W h a t ' s the matter, old c o c k ? " C o m p t o n said. " B a d leg," he told h i m . "Will you have s o m e b r e a k f a s t ? " " T h a n k s . I'll j u s t have s o m e tea. It's the P u s s M o t h 1 you know. I won't be able to take the M e m s a h i b . T h e r e ' s only r o o m for o n e . Your lorry is on the way." H e l e n had taken C o m p t o n a s i d e a n d w a s s p e a k i n g to h i m . C o m p t o n c a m e b a c k m o r e cheery than ever. "We'll get you right in," he said. "I'll be b a c k for the M e m . N o w I'm afraid I'll have to stop at A r u s h a to refuel. We'd better get g o i n g . " " W h a t a b o u t the t e a ? " "I don't really c a r e a b o u t it you k n o w . " T h e boys h a d picked up the cot a n d carried it a r o u n d the green tents a n d down a l o n g the rock a n d out o n t o the plain a n d a l o n g p a s t the s m u d g e s that were b u r n i n g brightly now, a n d the g r a s s all c o n s u m e d , a n d the wind f a n n i n g the fire, to the little p l a n e . It w a s difficult getting him in, but o n c e in he lay b a c k in the leather s e a t , a n d the leg w a s s t u c k straight out to o n e side of the seat where C o m p t o n sat. C o m p t o n started the m o t o r a n d got in. H e waved to H e l e n a n d to the boys a n d , a s the clatter m o v e d into the old familiar roar, they s w u n g a r o u n d with C o m p i e w a t c h i n g for wart-hog holes a n d r o a r e d , b u m p i n g , a l o n g the stretch b e t w e e n the fires a n d with the last b u m p rose a n d he saw t h e m all s t a n d i n g below, waving, a n d the c a m p b e s i d e the hill, flattening now, a n d the plain s p r e a d i n g , c j u m p s of t r e e s , a n d the b u s h flattening, while the g a m e trails ran now s m o o t h l y to the dry w a t e r h o l e s , a n d there w a s a new water that he h a d never known of. T h e zebra, small r o u n d e d b a c k s now, a n d the w i l d e b e e s t e , b i g - h e a d e d d o t s s e e m i n g to c l i m b a s they moved in long fingers a c r o s s the plain, now s c a t t e r i n g as the s h a d o w c a m e toward t h e m , they were tiny now, a n d the m o v e m e n t h a d n o gallop, a n d the plain a s far a s you c o u l d s e e , gray-yellow now a n d a h e a d old C o m p i e ' s tweed b a c k a n d the brown felt hat. T h e n they were over the first hills a n d the w i l d e b e e s t e were trailing u p t h e m , a n d then they were over m o u n t a i n s with s u d d e n d e p t h s of green-rising forest a n d the solid b a m b o o s l o p e s , a n d then the heavy forest a g a i n , s c u l p t u r e d into p e a k s a n d hollows until they c r o s s e d , a n d hills s l o p e d down a n d ' t h e n a n o t h e r plain, hot now, a n d p u r p l e b r o w n , b u m p y with heat a n d C o m p i e looking b a c k to s e e h o w h e w a s riding. T h e n there were other m o u n t a i n s dark a h e a d . A n d then instead of g o i n g on to A r u s h a they turned left, he evidently figured that they h a d the g a s , a n d looking d o w n he saw a pink sifting c l o u d , m o v i n g over the g r o u n d , a n d in the air, like the first s n o w in a blizzard, that c o m e s from n o w h e r e , a n d he knew the l o c u s t s were c o m i n g up from the S o u t h . T h e n they b e g a n to c l i m b a n d they were g o i n g to the E a s t it s e e m e d , a n d then it d a r k e n e d a n d they were in a s t o r m , the rain s o thick it s e e m e d like flying t h r o u g h a waterfall, a n d then they were o u t a n d C o m p i e t u r n e d his h e a d a n d grinned a n d p o i n t e d a n d there, a h e a d , all h e c o u l d s e e , a s wide a s all the world, great, high, a n d unbelievably white in the s u n , w a s the 1. A small, light airplane seating two people.

LANGSTON

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2225

s q u a r e top of K i l i m a n j a r o . A n d then he knew that there w a s w h e r e he w a s going. J u s t then the hyena s t o p p e d w h i m p e r i n g in the night a n d s t a r t e d to m a k e a s t r a n g e , h u m a n , a l m o s t crying s o u n d . T h e w o m a n h e a r d it a n d stirred uneasily. S h e did not w a k e . In her d r e a m s h e w a s at the h o u s e on L o n g Island a n d it w a s the night before her d a u g h t e r ' s d e b u t . S o m e h o w her father w a s there a n d he h a d b e e n very r u d e . T h e n the noise the hyena m a d e w a s so loud s h e woke a n d for a m o m e n t s h e did not know w h e r e s h e w a s a n d s h e w a s very afraid. T h e n s h e took the flashlight a n d s h o n e it on the other cot that they h a d carried in after Harry h a d g o n e to s l e e p . S h e c o u l d s e e his bulk u n d e r the m o s q u i t o bar but s o m e h o w he h a d gotten his leg o u t a n d it h u n g d o w n a l o n g s i d e the cot. T h e d r e s s i n g s h a d all c o m e d o w n a n d s h e c o u l d not look at it. " M o l o , " she called, "Molo! Molo!" T h e n s h e s a i d , "Harry, Harry!" T h e n her voice rising, "Harry! P l e a s e , O h Harry!" T h e r e w a s no a n s w e r a n d s h e c o u l d not hear him b r e a t h i n g . O u t s i d e the tent the hyena m a d e the s a m e s t r a n g e n o i s e that h a d awake n e d her. B u t s h e did not hear him for the b e a t i n g of her heart. 1936, 1938

LANGSTON

HUGHES

1902-1967 Langston Hughes was the most popular and versatile of the many writers connected with the Harlem Renaissance. Along with Zora Neale Hurston, and in contrast to Jean Toomer and Countee Cullen (who wanted to work with purely literary patterns, whether traditional or experimental), he wanted to capture the dominant oral and improvisatory traditions of black culture in written form. Hughes was born in Joplin, Missouri; and in childhood, since his parents were separated, he lived mainly with his maternal grandmother in Lawrence, Kansas. He did, however, reside intermittently both with his mother in Detroit and Cleveland, where he finished high school and began to write poetry, and with his father, who, disgusted with American racism, had gone to Mexico. Like other poets in this era— T. S. Eliot, Hart Crane, Edgar Lee Masters, and Robert Frost—Hughes had a mother sympathetic to his poetic ambitions and a businesslike father with whom he was in deep, scarring conflict. Hughes entered Columbia University in i 9 2 0 but left after a year. Traveling and drifting, he shipped out as a merchant seaman and worked at a nightclub in Paris (France) and as a busboy in Washington, D.C. All this time he was writing and publishing poetry, chiefly in the two important African American periodicals Opportunity and the Crisis. Eleven of Hughes's poems were published in Alain Locke's pioneering anthology, The New Negro (1925), and he was also well represented in Countee Cullen's 1927 anthology, Caroling Dusk. Carl Van Vechten, one of the white patrons of African American writing, helped get The Weary Blues, Hughes's first vol-

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ume of poems, published in 1926. It was in this year, too, that his important essay "The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain" appeared in the Nation; in that essay Hughes described the immense difficulties in store for the serious black artist "who would produce a racial art" but insisted on the need for courageous artists to make the attempt. Other patrons appeared: Amy Spingarn financed his college education at Lincoln University (Pennsylvania) and Charlotte Mason subsidized him in New York City between 1928 and 1930. The publication of his novel Not without Laughter in 1930 solidified his reputation and sales, enabling him to support himself. By the 1930s he was being called "the bard of Harlem." The Great Depression brought an abrupt end to much African American literary activity, but Hughes was already a public figure. In the activist 1930s he was much absorbed in radical politics. Hughes and other blacks were drawn by the American Communist Party, which made racial justice an important plank in its platform, promoting an image of working-class solidarity that nullified racial boundaries. He visited the Soviet Union in 1932 and produced a significant amount of radical writing up to the eve of World War II. He covered the Spanish civil war for the Baltimore Afro-American in 1937. By the end of the decade he had also been involved in drama and screenplay writing and had begun an autobiography, all the while publishing poetry. In 1943 he invented the folksy, streetwise character Jesse B. Semple, whose commonsense prose monologues on race were eventually collected in four volumes; in 1949 he created Alberta K. Johnson, Semple's female equivalent. In the 1950s and 1960s Hughes published a variety of anthologies for children and adults, including First Book of Negroes (1952), The First Book of jazz (1955), and The Book of Negro Folklore (1958). In 1953 he was called to testify before Senator Joseph McCarthy's committee on subversive activities in connection with his 1930s radicalism. The FBI listed him as a security risk until 1959; and during these years, when he could not travel outside the United States because he would not have been allowed to reenter the country, Hughes worked to rehabilitate his reputation as a good American by producing patriotic poetry. From 1960 to the end of his life he was again on the international circuit. Like other Harlem Renaissance writers (many of whom were not Harlemites), Hughes faced many difficulties in writing a self-proclaimed "Negro" poetry. Could or should any individual speak for an entire "race"? If he or she tried to, wouldn't that speech tend to homogenize and stereotype a diverse people? Harlem poets, aware that the audience for their poetry was almost all white, had to consider whether a particular image of black people would help or harm the cause. To the extent that they felt compelled to idealize black folk, their work risked lapsing into racist primitivism. African American writers questioned, too, whether their work should emphasize their similarities to or differences from whites. Different writers arrived at different answers, and there was much debate within the movement. Hughes's solution to these problems was to turn from the rural black population toward the city. The shift to the contemporary urban context freed Hughes from the concerns over primitivism; he could be a realist and modernist. He could use stanza forms deriving from blues music and adapt the vocabulary of everyday black speech to poetry without affirming stereotypes. And he could insist that whatever the differences between black and white Americans, all Americans were equally entitled to liberty, justice, and opportunity. The source of the poems printed here is Collected Poems (1994).

MOTHER

TO S O N

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2227

The Negro Speaks of Rivers I've known rivers: I've known rivers a n c i e n t a s the world a n d older t h a n the flow of h u m a n blood in h u m a n veins. M y soul h a s grown d e e p like the rivers. I I I I

b a t h e d in the E u p h r a t e s w h e n d a w n s were y o u n g . built my hut near the C o n g o a n d it lulled m e to s l e e p . looked u p o n the Nile a n d raised the p y r a m i d s a b o v e it. h e a r d the singing of the M i s s i s s i p p i w h e n A b e L i n c o l n went d o w n to N e w O r l e a n s , a n d I've s e e n its m u d d y b o s o m turn all golden in the s u n s e t

s

I've known rivers: A n c i e n t , dusky rivers. M y soul has grown d e e p like the rivers.

10 1921,1926

Mother to Son Well, s o n , I'll tell y o u : Life for m e ain't b e e n no crystal stair. It's h a d tacks in it, A n d splinters, A n d b o a r d s torn u p , A n d p l a c e s with n o c a r p e t on the floor— Bare. B u t all the time I'se b e e n a-climbin' o n , A n d r e a c h i n ' landin's, A n d turnin' c o r n e r s , A n d s o m e t i m e s goin' in the dark W h e r e there ain't b e e n no light. S o boy, don't you turn b a c k . Don't you set down on the s t e p s ' C a u s e you finds it's kinder h a r d . Don't you fall n o w — F o r I'se still goin', honey, I'se still climbin', And life for m e ain't b e e n no crystal stair.

5

10

15

20

1922,1926

2228

/

LANGSTON

HUGHES

I, T o o I, too, sing A m e r i c a . I a m the darker brother. T h e y s e n d m e to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, A n d eat well, A n d grow strong. Tomorrow, I'll sit at the table When company comes. Nobody'll d a r e S a y to m e , " E a t in the k i t c h e n , " Then.

5

10

Besides, They'll s e e how beautiful I a m And b e a s h a m e d — I, too, a m A m e r i c a . 1932

Mulatto I am your

son,

white

man!

Georgia dusk A n d the t u r p e n t i n e w o o d s . O n e of the pillars of the t e m p l e fell. You are my Like

son!

hell!

T h e m o o n over the t u r p e n t i n e w o o d s . T h e S o u t h e r n night Full of s t a r s , G r e a t big yellow stars. W h a t ' s a body but a toy? Juicy bodies O f nigger w e n c h e s Blue black Against black f e n c e s .

SONG

FOR A DARK GIRL

O , you little b a s t a r d boy, W h a t ' s a body but a toy? T h e s c e n t of p i n e wood stings the soft night air. What's the body of your mother? Silver m o o n l i g h t everywhere. What's the body of your mother? S h a r p p i n e s c e n t in the evening air. A nigger night, A nigger joy, A little yellow B a s t a r d boy. Naw, you ain't my brother. Niggers ain't my brother. Not ever. Niggers ain't my brother. T h e S o u t h e r n night is full of s t a r s , G r e a t big yellow s t a r s . O , sweet a s earth, Dusk dark bodies G i v e sweet birth T o little yellow b a s t a r d boys. Git on back there in the You ain't white. T h e bright Pine wood A A

2229

20

25

30

35

night,

stars s c a t t e r everywhere. s c e n t in the e v e n i n g air. nigger night, nigger joy.

J am your son, white

/

40

man!

A little yellow B a s t a r d boy.

45 1927

S o n g for a Dark Girl W a y D o w n S o u t h in Dixie 1 ( B r e a k the heart of m e ) T h e y h u n g my black y o u n g lover T o a c r o s s r o a d s tree.

Last line of "Dixie," the popular minstrel song, probably composed by Daniel D. Emmett (1815—1904).

2230

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LANGSTON

HUGHES

W a y Down S o u t h in Dixie ( B r u i s e d body high in air) I a s k e d the white L o r d J e s u s W h a t was the u s e of prayer. W a y D o w n S o u t h in Dixie ( B r e a k the heart of m e ) L o v e is a naked s h a d o w O n a gnarled a n d n a k e d tree.

5

10

1927

Silhouette S o u t h e r n gentle lady, D o not s w o o n . They've j u s t h u n g a b l a c k m a n In the dark of the m o o n . They've h u n g a black m a n T o a r o a d s i d e tree In the dark of the m o o n F o r the world to s e e H o w Dixie p r o t e c t s Its white w o m a n h o o d .

5

io

S o u t h e r n gentle lady, Be good! Be good! 1949

Visitors to the Black Belt You c a n talk a b o u t Across the railroad t r a c k s — T o m e it's

here

O n this side of the t r a c k s . You c a n talk a b o u t Up in H a r l e m — T o m e it's

here

In H a r l e m . You c a n say J a z z on the S o u t h S i d e — T o m e it's hell O n the S o u t h S i d e :

DEMOCRACY

Kitchenettes With n o heat And garbage In the halls.

/

2231

15

W h o ' r e you, outsider? A s k m e who a m I. 1949

Note on Commercial Theatre You've taken my blues a n d g o n e — You sing e m on B r o a d w a y A n d you sing 'em in Hollywood Bowl, And you mixed 'em up with s y m p h o n i e s And you fixed 'em S o they don't s o u n d like m e . Yep, you d o n e taken my b l u e s a n d g o n e .

5

You also took my spirituals a n d g o n e . You put m e in Macbeth A n d all kinds of Swing

a n d Carmen

Jones

Mikados

A n d in everything but what's a b o u t m e — B u t s o m e d a y somebody'11 S t a n d up a n d talk a b o u t m e , A n d write a b o u t m e — Black and beautiful— A n d sing a b o u t m e , A n d put on plays a b o u t m e !

10

15

I reckon it'll be M e myself! Yes, it'll be m e .

20 1949

Democracy D e m o c r a c y will not c o m e T o d a y , this year N o r ever T h r o u g h c o m p r o m i s e a n d fear. I have as m u c h right As the other fellow has

5

2232

/

JOHN

STEINBECK

T o stand O n my two feet And own the land. I tire s o of hearing p e o p l e say, Let things take their course. Tomorrow is another day. I do not n e e d my f r e e d o m w h e n I'm d e a d . I c a n n o t live o n tomorrow's b r e a d .

10

is

Freedom Is a s t r o n g s e e d Planted In a great n e e d . I live h e r e , t o o . I want freedom J u s t as you.

20 1949

JOHN

STEINBECK

1902-1968 Most of John Steinbeck's best writing is set in the region of California that he called home, the Salinas Valley and Monterey peninsula of California, where visitors today will find official remembrances of him everywhere. Steinbeck believed in the American promise of opportunity for all, but believed also that social injustices and economic inequalities had put opportunity beyond reach for many. His work merged literary modernism with literary realism, celebrated traditional rural communities along with social outcasts and immigrant cultures, and endorsed conservative values and radical politics at the same time. Steinbeck's father managed a flour mill and later became treasurer of Monterey County; his mother, who had taught school before marriage, was active in local civic affairs. Their home was full of books, and Steinbeck read avidly from an early age. After graduating from Salinas High School in 1919, he began to study at Stanford University but took time off for a variety of short-term jobs at local mills, farms, and estates. During this period he developed an abiding respect for people who worked on farms and in factories, and committed his literary abilities to their cause. He left college for good in 1925, having completed less than three years of coursework, and continued his roving life. With financial help from his father, Steinbeck spent most of 1929 writing. He moved to the seaside town of Pacific Grove, on the Monterey coast, and in 1930 was married (the first of three times). In 1935 achieved commercial success with his third novel, Tortilla Flat, a celebration of the supposedly earthy, uninhibited MexicanAmerican culture of the "paisanos" who lived in the Monterey hills. The book favorably contrasted these lusty, idealized types to the valley's respectable, conventional, AngloProtestant population. Steinbeck's next novel, In Dubious Battle (1936), contrasted the decency of striking migratory farm workers both to the cynicism of landowners and their vigilantes, and to the equal cynicism of Communist labor union organizers who exploit the workers' plight for their own purposes. Sympathy for the underdog

THE

GRAPES

OF WRATH

/

2233

appears again in Of Mice and Men (1937), a best-selling short novel about two itinerant ranch hands, and yet again in The Grapes of Wrath (1939), his most famous and most ambitious novel. That massive work was inspired by events in the mid-1930s, when the southern plains states were hit by severe droughts that combined with decades of land overuse to produce crop failures, soil erosion, and huge dust storms. As banks foreclosed on farm mortgages, thousands were driven from their homes. Leaving the "Dust Bowl" region, these "Okies" as they were called (for the state of Oklahoma, where many of them came from) went on the road in trucks and automobiles to find better lives. Steinbeck wrote about the hardships and strength of these people by alternating poetic, impressionistic chapters about their migration along U.S. Highway 66—like those printed here—with chapters specifically following the Joad family as it struggles to reach California and make a new life there. Because of its supposed radicalism, the novel was banned or burned in several states; because of its treatment of Oklahoma, it was denounced in Congress by a representative of that state; but even so, it became the nation's number one best-seller and won a Pulitzer Prize in 1940. Cannery Row (1945), a local-color novel about workers in the sardine canneries of Monterey, also became a best-seller. After World War II Steinbeck's work displayed increasing hostility to American culture, whose mass commercialization seemed to him to be destroying individual creativity. His most important later works are The Wayward Bus (1947); East of Eden (1952); Sweet Thursday

(1954); and Travels with Charley

in Search

of America

(1962),

in which he recounts his automobile tour of the United States, taken with his dog. Steinbeck won the Nobel Prize in 1963. The text is from the Library of America's corrected edition of The Grapes of Wrath (1996).

From

T h e Grapes of Wrath Chapter

11

T h e h o u s e s were left v a c a n t on t h e land, a n d t h e land w a s v a c a n t b e c a u s e of this. Only t h e tractor s h e d s o f c o r r u g a t e d iron, silver a n d g l e a m i n g , were alive; a n d they were alive with metal a n d g a s o l i n e a n d oil, t h e disks o f t h e plows shining. T h e tractors h a d lights shining, for there is n o day a n d night for a tractor a n d t h e disks turn t h e earth in t h e d a r k n e s s a n d they glitter in the daylight. A n d w h e n a horse s t o p s work a n d g o e s into t h e b a r n there is a life a n d a vitality left, there is a b r e a t h i n g a n d a w a r m t h , a n d t h e feet shift on t h e straw, a n d t h e j a w s c h a m p o n t h e hay, a n d t h e e a r s a n d t h e eyes a r e alive. T h e r e is a w a r m t h of life in t h e b a r n , a n d the heat a n d smell o f life. B u t w h e n t h e m o t o r o f a tractor s t o p s , it is a s d e a d a s t h e ore it c a m e from. T h e heat g o e s o u t o f it like t h e living heat that leaves a c o r p s e . T h e n t h e c o r r u g a t e d iron doors a r e c l o s e d a n d t h e tractor m a n drives h o m e to town, p e r h a p s twenty miles away, a n d h e n e e d not c o m e b a c k for w e e k s or m o n t h s , for t h e tractor is d e a d . A n d this is easy a n d efficient. S o e a s y that t h e w o n d e r g o e s o u t o f work, s o efficient that t h e w o n d e r g o e s o u t of land a n d t h e working of it, a n d with t h e w o n d e r t h e d e e p u n d e r s t a n d i n g a n d t h e relation. A n d in the tractor m a n there grows t h e c o n t e m p t that c o m e s only to a stranger w h o h a s little u n d e r s t a n d i n g a n d n o relation. F o r nitrates a r e not the land, nor p h o s p h a t e s ; a n d t h e length of fiber in t h e c o t t o n is not t h e land. C a r b o n is not a m a n , n o r salt n o r water n o r c a l c i u m . H e is all t h e s e , but h e is m u c h m o r e , m u c h m o r e ; a n d t h e land is s o m u c h m o r e t h a n its analysis. T h e m a n w h o is m o r e t h a n his chemistry, walking on t h e e a r t h ,

2234

/

JOHN

STEINBECK

turning his plow point for a s t o n e , d r o p p i n g his h a n d l e s to slide over a n o u t c r o p p i n g , kneeling in the earth to e a t his l u n c h ; that m a n w h o is m o r e than his e l e m e n t s knows the land that is m o r e than its a n a l y s i s . B u t the m a c h i n e m a n , driving a d e a d tractor on land h e d o e s not know a n d love, u n d e r s t a n d s only chemistry; a n d he is c o n t e m p t u o u s of the land a n d of himself. W h e n the c o r r u g a t e d iron doors a r e s h u t , he g o e s h o m e , a n d his h o m e is not the l a n d . T h e doors of the e m p t y h o u s e s s w u n g o p e n , a n d drifted b a c k a n d forth in the wind. B a n d s of little boys c a m e out from the towns to b r e a k the windows a n d to pick over the debris, looking for t r e a s u r e s . A n d here's a knife with half the blade g o n e . T h a t ' s a g o o d thing. A n d — s m e l l s like a rat died h e r e . And look what Whitey wrote on the wall. H e wrote that in the toilet in s c h o o l , too, a n ' t e a c h e r m a d e 'im w a s h it off. W h e n the folks first left, a n d the e v e n i n g of the first day c a m e , the h u n t i n g cats s l o u c h e d in from the fields a n d m e w e d on the p o r c h . And w h e n no o n e c a m e out, the c a t s crept through the o p e n d o o r s a n d walked m e w i n g t h r o u g h the e m p t y r o o m s . A n d then they went b a c k to the fields a n d were wild cats from then o n , h u n t i n g g o p h e r s a n d field m i c e , a n d s l e e p i n g in d i t c h e s in the daytime. W h e n the night c a m e , the b a t s , which had s t o p p e d at the d o o r s for fear of light, s w o o p e d into the h o u s e s a n d sailed a b o u t through the e m p t y r o o m s , a n d in a little while they stayed in dark r o o m c o r n e r s d u r i n g the day, folded their wings high, a n d h u n g h e a d - d o w n a m o n g the rafters, a n d the smell of their d r o p p i n g s w a s in the e m p t y h o u s e s . And the m i c e m o v e d in a n d stored w e e d s e e d s in c o r n e r s , in b o x e s , in the b a c k s of d r a w e r s in the k i t c h e n s . And w e a s e l s c a m e in to hunt the m i c e , a n d the brown owls flew shrieking in a n d out a g a i n . N o w there c a m e a little shower. T h e w e e d s s p r a n g u p in front of the d o o r s t e p , where they h a d not b e e n allowed, a n d g r a s s grew up through the p o r c h b o a r d s . T h e h o u s e s were v a c a n t , a n d a v a c a n t h o u s e falls quickly apart. Splits started up the s h e a t h i n g from the rusted nails. A d u s t settled on the floors, a n d only m o u s e a n d w e a s e l a n d c a t tracks d i s t u r b e d it. O n a night the wind l o o s e n e d a shingle a n d flipped it to the g r o u n d . T h e next wind pried into the hole where the shingle h a d b e e n , lifted off t h r e e , a n d the next, a dozen. T h e midday s u n b u r n e d t h r o u g h the hole a n d threw a glaring spot on the floor. T h e wild c a t s crept in from the fields at night, but they did not m e w at the d o o r s t e p any m o r e . T h e y m o v e d like s h a d o w s of a c l o u d a c r o s s the m o o n , into the r o o m s to h u n t the m i c e . A n d on windy nights the doors b a n g e d , a n d the r a g g e d c u r t a i n s fluttered in the broken windows. Chapter

12

H i g h w a y 6 6 is the m a i n migrant r o a d . 6 6 — t h e long c o n c r e t e p a t h a c r o s s the country, waving gently up a n d down on the m a p , from the M i s s i s s i p p i to B a k e r s f i e l d — o v e r the red l a n d s a n d the gray l a n d s , twisting up into the m o u n t a i n s , c r o s s i n g the Divide a n d d o w n into the bright a n d terrible d e s e r t , and a c r o s s the desert to the m o u n t a i n s a g a i n , a n d into the rich California valleys. 6 6 is the path of a p e o p l e in flight, r e f u g e e s from d u s t a n d s h r i n k i n g land,

THE

GRAPES

OF WRATH

/

2235

from the t h u n d e r of tractors a n d shrinking o w n e r s h i p , from the desert's slow northward invasion, from the twisting winds that howl u p out of T e x a s , from the floods that bring no r i c h n e s s to the land a n d steal what little r i c h n e s s is there. F r o m all of t h e s e the p e o p l e are in flight, a n d they c o m e into 6 6 from the tributary side r o a d s , from the wagon tracks a n d the rutted country r o a d s . 6 6 is the m o t h e r road, the road of flight. Clarksville a n d Ozark a n d Van B u r e n a n d Fort S m i t h on 6 4 , a n d there's a n e n d of A r k a n s a s . And all the roads into O k l a h o m a City, 6 6 d o w n from T u l s a , 2 7 0 u p from M c A l e s t e r . 81 from W i c h i t a Falls s o u t h , from E n i d north. E d m o n d , M c L o u d , Purcell. 6 6 out of O k l a h o m a City; El R e n o a n d C l i n t o n , g o i n g west on 6 6 . Hydro, Elk City, a n d T e x o l a ; a n d there's a n e n d to O k l a h o m a . 6 6 a c r o s s the P a n h a n d l e of T e x a s . S h a m r o c k a n d M c L e a n , C o n w a y a n d Amarillo, the yellow. W i l d o r a d o a n d V e g a a n d B o i s e , a n d there's an e n d of T e x a s . T u c u m c a r i a n d S a n t a R o s a a n d into the N e w M e x i c a n m o u n t a i n s to A l b u q u e r q u e , where the road c o m e s d o w n from S a n t a F e . T h e n down the g o r g e d Rio G r a n d e to L o s L u n a s a n d west again o n 6 6 to G a l l u p , a n d there's the border of N e w M e x i c o . A n d now the high m o u n t a i n s . H o l b r o o k a n d W i n s l o w a n d Flagstaff in the high m o u n t a i n s of Arizona. T h e n the great p l a t e a u rolling like a g r o u n d swell. Ashfork a n d K i n g m a n a n d s t o n e m o u n t a i n s a g a i n , w h e r e water m u s t be h a u l e d a n d sold. T h e n out of the broken sun-rotted m o u n t a i n s of Arizona to the C o l o r a d o , with green r e e d s on its b a n k s , a n d that's the e n d of Arizona. T h e r e ' s California j u s t over the river, a n d a pretty town to start it. N e e d l e s , on the river. B u t the river is a stranger in this p l a c e . U p from N e e d l e s a n d over a b u r n e d r a n g e , a n d there's the desert. A n d 6 6 g o e s on over the terrible desert, where the d i s t a n c e s h i m m e r s a n d the black c e n t e r m o u n t a i n s h a n g u n b e a r a b l y in the d i s t a n c e . At last there's Barstow, a n d m o r e d e s e r t until at last the m o u n t a i n s rise u p a g a i n , the good m o u n t a i n s , a n d 6 6 winds t h r o u g h t h e m . T h e n s u d d e n l y a p a s s , a n d below the beautiful valley, below o r c h a r d s a n d vineyards a n d little h o u s e s , a n d in the d i s t a n c e a city. A n d , o h , my G o d , it's over. T h e p e o p l e in flight s t r e a m e d out on 6 6 , s o m e t i m e s a single car, s o m e t i m e s a little c a r a v a n . All day they rolled slowly a l o n g the road, a n d at night they s t o p p e d near water. In the day a n c i e n t leaky radiators sent up c o l u m n s of s t e a m , loose c o n n e c t i n g rods h a m m e r e d a n d p o u n d e d . A n d the m e n driving the trucks a n d the overloaded cars listened apprehensively. H o w far b e t w e e n towns? It is a terror between towns. If s o m e t h i n g b r e a k s — w e l l , if s o m e t h i n g breaks we c a m p right here while J i m walks to town a n d gets a part a n d walks b a c k a n d — h o w m u c h food we got? Listen to the motor. L i s t e n to the w h e e l s . L i s t e n with your e a r s a n d with your h a n d s on the steering wheel; listen with the p a l m of your h a n d on the gear-shift lever; listen with your feet on the floor b o a r d s . L i s t e n to the p o u n d ing old jalopy with all your s e n s e s ; for a c h a n g e of t o n e , a variation of rhythm may m e a n — a week here? T h a t rattle—that's t a p p e t s . Don't hurt a bit. T a p pets can rattle till J e s u s c o m e s again without no h a r m . B u t that t h u d d i n g a s the c a r moves a l o n g — c a n ' t hear t h a t — j u s t kind of feel it. M a y b e oil isn't gettin' s o m e p l a c e . M a y b e a bearing's startin' to go. J e s u s , if it's a b e a r i n g , what'll we do? M o n e y ' s goin' fast. A n d why's the son-of-a-bitch heat up s o hot today? T h i s ain't no c l i m b . Le's look. G o d Almighty, the fan belt's g o n e ! H e r e , m a k e a belt o u t a this

2236

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little p i e c e a rope. L e ' s s e e how l o n g — t h e r e . I'll splice the e n d s . N o w t a k e her s l o w — s l o w , till we c a n get to a town. T h a t rope belt won't last long. 'F w e c a n on'y get to C a l i f o r n i a w h e r e the o r a n g e s grow before this h e r e o f j u g blows u p . 'F we on'y c a n . A n d the t i r e s — t w o layers of fabric worn t h r o u g h . On'y a four-ply tire. M i g h t get a h u n d r e d miles m o r e o u t a her if we don't hit a r o c k a n ' blow her. Which'H we t a k e — a h u n d e r d , m a y b e , miles, or m a y b e spoil the t u b e ? W h i c h ? A h u n d e r d m i l e s . Well, that's s o m e p i n you got to think a b o u t . W e got t u b e p a t c h e s . M a y b e w h e n s h e g o e s she'll only s p r i n g a leak. H o w a b o u t m a k i n ' a b o o t ? M i g h t get five h u n d e r d m o r e m i l e s . L e ' s g o on till s h e b l o w s . W e got to get a tire, b u t , J e s u s , they w a n t a lot for a o f tire. T h e y look a fella over. T h e y know he got to go o n . T h e y k n o w h e can't wait. A n d the price g o e s u p . T a k e it or leave it. I ain't in b u s i n e s s for my h e a l t h . I'm here-a-sellin' tires. I ain't givin' 'em away. I can't help w h a t h a p p e n s to y o u . I got to think w h a t h a p p e n s to m e . H o w far's the nex' town? I s e e n forty-two c a r s a you fellas g o by yesterday. W h e r e you all c o m e from? W h e r e all of you goin'? Well, California's a big S t a t e . It ain't that big. T h e w h o l e U n i t e d S t a t e s ain't that big. It ain't that big. It ain't big e n o u g h . T h e r e ain't r o o m e n o u g h for you a n ' m e , for your kind a n ' my kind, for rich a n d p o o r together all in o n e country, for thieves a n d h o n e s t m e n . For h u n g e r a n d fat. Whyn't you go b a c k w h e r e you c o m e f r o m ? T h i s is a free country. Fella c a n go w h e r e h e w a n t s . T h a t ' s w h a t you think! Ever h e a r of the b o r d e r patrol o n the C a l i f o r n i a line? Police from L o s A n g e l e s — s t o p p e d you b a s t a r d s , t u r n e d you b a c k . S a y s , if you can't b u y n o real e s t a t e we don't w a n t y o u . S a y s , got a driver's l i c e n s e ? Le's s e e it. T o r e it u p . S a y s you can't c o m e in without no driver's l i c e n s e . It's a free country. W e l l , try to get s o m e f r e e d o m to d o . Fella says you're j u s ' a s free a s you got j a c k to pay for it. In C a l i f o r n i a they got high w a g e s . I got a han'bill h e r e tells a b o u t it. Baloney! I s e e n folks c o m i n ' b a c k . S o m e b o d y ' s kiddin' you. You w a n t that tire or don't ya? G o t to take it, b u t , J e s u s , mister, it c u t s into our money! W e ain't got m u c h left. Well, I ain't n o charity. T a k e her a l o n g . G o t to, I g u e s s . Let's look her over. O p e n her u p , look a' the c a s i n g — y o u son-of-a-bitch, you s a i d the c a s i n g w a s g o o d . S h e ' s broke d a m n n e a r t h r o u g h . T h e hell s h e is. W e l l — b y G e o r g e ! H o w c o m e I didn't s e e that? You did s e e it, you son-of-a-bitch. You w a n t a c h a r g e u s four b u c k s for a b u s t e d c a s i n g . I'd like to take a s o c k at y o u . N o w k e e p your shirt on. I didn't s e e it, I tell y o u . H e r e — t e l l ya w h a t I'll d o . I'll give ya this o n e for three-fifty. You'll take a flying j u m p at the m o o n ! We'll try to m a k e the nex' town. T h i n k we c a n m a k e it o n that tire? G o t to. I'll g o o n the rim before I'd give that son-of-a-bitch a d i m e . W h a t d o ya think a guy in b u s i n e s s is? L i k e h e says, he ain't in it for his h e a l t h . T h a t ' s w h a t b u s i n e s s is. W h a t ' d you think it w a s ? F e l l a ' s g o t — S e e that sign 'longside the road there? S e r v i c e C l u b . L u n c h e o n T u e s d a y , C o l -

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m a d o H o t e l ? W e l c o m e , brother. T h a t ' s a S e r v i c e C l u b . Fella h a d a story. W e n t to o n e of t h e m m e e t i n g s a n ' told the story to all t h e m b u s i n e s s m e n . S a y s , w h e n I w a s a kid my ol' m a n give m e a haltered heifer a n ' says take her down a n ' git her serviced. A n ' the fella says, I d o n e it, a n ' ever' time s i n c e then w h e n I h e a r a b u s i n e s s m a n talkin' a b o u t service, I w o n d e r who's gettin' s c r e w e d . Fella in b u s i n e s s got to lie a n ' c h e a t , b u t h e calls it s o m e p i n e l s e . T h a t ' s what's i m p o r t a n t . You go steal that tire a n ' you're a thief, but he tried to steal your four dollars for a b u s t e d tire. T h e y call that s o u n d b u s i n e s s . D a n n y in the b a c k seat wants a c u p a water. H a v e to wait. G o t n o water here. L i s t e n — t h a t the rear e n d ? C a n ' t tell. S o u n d t e l e g r a p h s t h r o u g h the f r a m e . T h e r e g o e s a g a s k e t . G o t to go on. L i s t e n to her whistle. F i n d a nice p l a c e to c a m p a n ' I'll j e r k the h e a d off. B u t , G o d Almighty, the food's gettin' low, the money's gettin' low. W h e n we can't buy n o m o r e g a s — w h a t t h e n ? D a n n y in the b a c k s e a t w a n t s a c u p a water. Little fella's thirsty. L i s t e n to that g a s k e t whistle. Chee-rist! T h e r e s h e went. B l o w e d t u b e a n ' c a s i n g all to hell. H a v e to fix her. S a v e that c a s i n g to m a k e b o o t s ; c u t 'em o u t a n ' stick 'em i n s i d e a w e a k place. C a r s pulled up b e s i d e the r o a d , e n g i n e h e a d s off, tires m e n d e d . C a r s limping a l o n g 6 6 like w o u n d e d things, p a n t i n g a n d struggling. T o o hot, l o o s e c o n n e c t i o n s , l o o s e b e a r i n g s , rattling b o d i e s . D a n n y w a n t s a c u p of water. P e o p l e in flight a l o n g 6 6 . A n d the c o n c r e t e r o a d s h o n e like a mirror u n d e r the s u n , a n d in the d i s t a n c e the heat m a d e it s e e m that t h e r e were p o o l s of water in the road. D a n n y w a n t s a c u p a water. He'll have to wait, p o o r little fella. H e ' s hot. Nex' service station. Service station, like the fella says. T w o h u n d r e d a n d fifty t h o u s a n d p e o p l e over the road. Fifty t h o u s a n d old c a r s — w o u n d e d , s t e a m i n g . W r e c k s a l o n g the r o a d , a b a n d o n e d . Well, w h a t h a p p e n e d to t h e m ? W h a t h a p p e n e d to the folks in that c a r ? D i d they walk? W h e r e are they? W h e r e d o e s the c o u r a g e c o m e from? W h e r e d o e s the terrible faith c o m e f r o m ? A n d here's a story you c a n hardly believe, but it's t r u e , a n d it's funny a n d it's beautiful. T h e r e w a s a family of twelve a n d they were forced off the l a n d . T h e y h a d no car. T h e y built a trailer out of j u n k a n d l o a d e d it with their p o s s e s s i o n s . T h e y pulled it to the side of 6 6 a n d waited. A n d pretty s o o n a s e d a n p i c k e d t h e m u p . Five of t h e m rode in the s e d a n a n d seven o n the trailer, a n d a d o g on the trailer. T h e y got to C a l i f o r n i a in two j u m p s . T h e m a n w h o pulled t h e m fed t h e m . A n d that's true. B u t how c a n s u c h c o u r a g e b e , a n d s u c h faith in their own s p e c i e s ? Very few things would t e a c h s u c h faith. T h e p e o p l e in flight from the terror b e h i n d — s t r a n g e things h a p p e n to t h e m , s o m e bitterly cruel a n d s o m e so beautiful that the faith is refired forever.

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15

A l o n g 6 6 the h a m b u r g e r s t a n d s — A l & S u s y ' s P l a c e — C a r l ' s L u n c h — J o e & M i n n i e — W i l l ' s E a t s . B o a r d - a n d - b a t s h a c k s . T w o g a s o l i n e p u m p s in front, a s c r e e n door, a long bar, stools, a n d a foot rail. N e a r the door three slot m a c h i n e s , s h o w i n g through g l a s s the wealth in nickels three b a r s will bring. And b e s i d e t h e m , the nickel p h o n o g r a p h with r e c o r d s piled u p like p i e s , ready to swing out to the turntable a n d play d a n c e m u s i c , "Ti-pi-ti-pi-tin," " T h a n k s for the M e m o r y , " B i n g C r o s b y , Benny G o o d m a n . At o n e e n d of the c o u n t e r a covered c a s e ; candy c o u g h d r o p s , caffeine s u l p h a t e c a l l e d S l e e p l e s s , N o - D o z e ; c a n d y , c i g a r e t t e s , razor b l a d e s , aspirin, B r o m o - S e l t z e r , AlkaSeltzer. T h e walls d e c o r a t e d with p o s t e r s , b a t h i n g girls, b l o n d e s with big b r e a s t s a n d slender hips a n d waxen f a c e s , in white b a t h i n g s u i t s , a n d holding a bottle of C o c a - C o l a a n d s m i l i n g — s e e w h a t you get with a C o c a - C o l a . L o n g bar, a n d salts, p e p p e r s , m u s t a r d p o t s , a n d p a p e r n a p k i n s . B e e r t a p s b e h i n d the c o u n t e r , a n d in b a c k the coffee u r n s , shiny a n d s t e a m i n g , with g l a s s g a u g e s s h o w i n g the coffee level. A n d p i e s in wire c a g e s a n d o r a n g e s in pyra m i d s of four. A n d little piles of Post T o a s t i e s , corn flakes, s t a c k e d up in designs. T h e signs on c a r d s , p i c k e d out with s h i n i n g m i c a : Pies Like M o t h e r U s e d to M a k e . C r e d i t M a k e s E n e m i e s , Let's B e F r i e n d s . L a d i e s M a y S m o k e B u t B e Careful W h e r e You Lay Your B u t t s . E a t H e r e a n d K e e p Your Wife for a Pet. I I T Y W Y B A D ? D o w n at o n e e n d the c o o k i n g p l a t e s , p o t s of stew, p o t a t o e s , pot roast, roast beef, gray roast pork waiting to be sliced. M i n n i e or S u s y or M a e , m i d d l e - a g i n g b e h i n d the c o u n t e r , hair c u r l e d a n d rouge a n d p o w d e r on a s w e a t i n g f a c e . T a k i n g o r d e r s in a soft low voice, calling t h e m to the c o o k with a s c r e e c h like a p e a c o c k . M o p p i n g the c o u n t e r with circular s t r o k e s , p o l i s h i n g the big s h i n i n g coffee u r n s . T h e c o o k is J o e or Carl or Al, hot in a white c o a t a n d a p r o n , beady sweat on white f o r e h e a d , below the white cook's c a p ; m o o d y , rarely s p e a k i n g , looking up for a m o m e n t at e a c h new entry. W i p i n g the griddle, s l a p p i n g d o w n the h a m b u r g e r . H e r e p e a t s M a e ' s orders gently, s c r a p e s the griddle, w i p e s it d o w n with b u r l a p . M o o d y a n d silent. M a e is the c o n t a c t , smiling, irritated, n e a r to o u t b r e a k ; smiling while her eyes look on p a s t — u n l e s s for truck drivers. T h e r e ' s the b a c k b o n e of the j o i n t . W h e r e the trucks stop, that's w h e r e the c u s t o m e r s c o m e . C a n ' t fool truck drivers, they know. T h e y bring the c u s t o m . T h e y know. G i v e 'em a stale c u p of coffee a n ' they're off the j o i n t . T r e a t 'em right a n ' they c o m e b a c k . M a e really s m i l e s with all her might at truck drivers. S h e bridles a little, fixes her b a c k hair s o that her b r e a s t s will lift with her raised a r m s , p a s s e s the time of day a n d i n d i c a t e s great things, great t i m e s , great j o k e s . Al never s p e a k s . H e is no c o n t a c t . S o m e t i m e s he s m i l e s a little at a j o k e , but he never l a u g h s . S o m e t i m e s he looks up at the v i v a c i o u s n e s s in M a e ' s v o i c e , a n d then h e s c r a p e s the griddle with a s p a t u l a , s c r a p e s the g r e a s e into an iron t r o u g h a r o u n d the p l a t e . H e p r e s s e s d o w n a h i s s i n g h a m b u r g e r with his s p a t u l a . H e lays the split b u n s on the plate to toast a n d heat. H e g a t h e r s up stray o n i o n s from the plate a n d h e a p s t h e m on the m e a t a n d p r e s s e s t h e m in with the s p a t u l a . H e p u t s half the b u n on top of the m e a t , p a i n t s the other half with melted butter, with thin pickle relish. H o l d i n g the b u n on the m e a t , he slips

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the s p a t u l a u n d e r the thin p a d of m e a t , flips it over, lays the b u t t e r e d half on top, a n d d r o p s the h a m b u r g e r on a small p l a t e . Quarter of a dill pickle, two black olives b e s i d e the s a n d w i c h . Al skims the plate d o w n the c o u n t e r like a quoit. A n d he s c r a p e s his griddle with the s p a t u l a a n d looks moodily at the stew kettle. C a r s whisking by on 6 6 . L i c e n s e plates. M a s s . , T e n n . , R.I., N.Y., Vt., O h i o . G o i n g west. F i n e c a r s , c r u i s i n g at sixty-five. T h e r e g o e s o n e of t h e m C o r d s . L o o k s like a coffin on w h e e l s . B u t , J e s u s , how they travel! S e e that L a S a l l e ? M e for that. I ain't a hog. I go for a L a S a l l e . 'F ya goin' big, what's a m a t t e r with a C a d ' ? J u s ' a little bigger, little faster. I'd take a Zephyr myself. You ain't ridin' no f o r t u n e , but you got c l a s s a n ' s p e e d . Give m e a Zephyr. Well, sir, you may get a l a u g h o u t a this—I'll take a B u i c k - P u i c k . T h a t ' s good enough. But, hell, that c o s t s in the Zephyr c l a s s a n ' it ain't got the s a p . I d o n ' c a r e . I d o n ' want nothin' to do with nothing of Henry F o r d ' s . I d o n ' like 'im. Never did. G o t a brother worked in the plant. O u g h t a hear him tell. Well, a Zephyr got s a p . T h e big cars on the highway. L a n g u i d , heat-raddled ladies, small n u c l e u s e s a b o u t w h o m revolve a t h o u s a n d a c c o u t e r m e n t s : c r e a m s , o i n t m e n t s to g r e a s e t h e m s e l v e s , coloring matter in p h i a l s — b l a c k , pink, red, white, g r e e n , silver— to c h a n g e the color of hair, eyes, lips, nails, brows, l a s h e s , lids. Oils, s e e d s , a n d pills to m a k e the bowels m o v e . A b a g of bottles, syringes, pills, p o w d e r s , fluids, jellies to m a k e their sexual i n t e r c o u r s e s a f e , o d o r l e s s , a n d u n p r o d u c tive. A n d this apart from c l o t h e s . W h a t a hell of a n u i s a n c e ! L i n e s of w e a r i n e s s a r o u n d the eyes, lines of d i s c o n t e n t d o w n from the m o u t h , breasts lying heavily in little h a m m o c k s , s t o m a c h a n d thighs straining a g a i n s t c a s e s of rubber. A n d the m o u t h s panting, the eyes sullen, disliking s u n a n d wind a n d earth, r e s e n t i n g food a n d w e a r i n e s s , h a t i n g time that rarely m a k e s t h e m beautiful a n d always m a k e s t h e m old. B e s i d e t h e m , little pot-bellied m e n in light suits a n d p a n a m a h a t s ; c l e a n , pink m e n with puzzled, worried e y e s , with restless eyes. Worried b e c a u s e f o r m u l a s d o not work o u t ; hungry for security a n d yet s e n s i n g its d i s a p p e a r a n c e from the earth. In their lapels the insignia of lodges a n d service c l u b s , p l a c e s where they c a n go a n d , by a weight of n u m b e r s of little worried m e n , r e a s s u r e t h e m s e l v e s that b u s i n e s s is noble a n d not the c u r i o u s ritualized thievery they know it is; that b u s i n e s s m e n are intelligent in spite of the records of their stupidity; that they are kind a n d c h a r i t a b l e in spite of the principles of s o u n d b u s i n e s s ; that their lives are rich i n s t e a d of the thin t i r e s o m e routines they know; a n d that a time is c o m i n g w h e n they will not be afraid any m o r e . A n d t h e s e two, going to C a l i f o r n i a ; g o i n g to sit in the lobby of the BeverlyWilshire Hotel a n d w a t c h p e o p l e they envy g o by, to look at m o u n t a i n s — m o u n t a i n s , mind you, a n d great t r e e s — h e with his worried eyes a n d s h e thinking how the s u n will dry her skin. G o i n g to look at the Pacific O c e a n , a n d I'll bet a h u n d r e d t h o u s a n d dollars to nothing at all, he will say, "It isn't a s big a s I thought it would b e . " A n d she will envy p l u m p y o u n g b o d i e s on the b e a c h . G o i n g to California really to go h o m e a g a i n . T o say, " S o - a n d - S o w a s at the table next to u s at the T r o c a d e r o . S h e ' s really a m e s s , but s h e d o e s

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wear nice c l o t h e s . " A n d h e , "I talked to g o o d s o u n d b u s i n e s s m e n o u t t h e r e . T h e y don't s e e a c h a n c e till we get rid of that fellow in the W h i t e H o u s e . " A n d , "I got it from a m a n in the k n o w — s h e h a s syphilis, you know. S h e w a s in that W a r n e r p i c t u r e . M a n said she'd slept her way into p i c t u r e s . W e l l , s h e got w h a t s h e w a s looking for." B u t the worried eyes are never c a l m , a n d the p o u t i n g m o u t h is never g l a d . T h e big c a r c r u i s i n g a l o n g at sixty. I w a n t a c o l d drink. Well, there's s o m e t h i n g up a h e a d . W a n t to s t o p ? D o you think it would b e c l e a n ? C l e a n a s you're going to find in this G o d - f o r s a k e n country. Well, m a y b e the bottled s o d a will b e all right. T h e great c a r s q u e a l s a n d pulls to a s t o p . T h e fat worried m a n h e l p s his wife out. M a e looks at a n d p a s t t h e m as they enter. Al looks u p from his griddle, a n d d o w n a g a i n . M a e k n o w s . They'll drink a five-cent s o d a a n d c r a b that it ain't c o l d e n o u g h . T h e w o m a n will u s e six p a p e r n a p k i n s a n d d r o p t h e m on the floor. T h e m a n will c h o k e a n d try to p u t the b l a m e on M a e . T h e w o m a n will sniff a s t h o u g h s h e s m e l l e d rotting m e a t a n d they will g o o u t again a n d tell forever afterward that the p e o p l e in the W e s t a r e s u l l e n . A n d M a e , w h e n s h e is a l o n e with Al, h a s a n a m e for t h e m . S h e calls t h e m s h i t h e e l s . T r u c k drivers. T h a t ' s the stuff. H e r e ' s a big transport c o m i n ' . H o p e they s t o p ; take away the t a s t e of t h e m s h i t h e e l s . W h e n I worked in that hotel in A l b u q u e r q u e , Al, the way they s t e a l — e v e r ' d a r n thing. A n ' the bigger the c a r they got, the m o r e they s t e a l — towels, silver, s o a p d i s h e s . I can't figger it. A n d Al, morosely, W h e r e ya think they get t h e m big c a r s a n d stuff? B o r n with 'em? You won't never have nothin'. T h e transport truck, a driver a n d relief. H o w 'bout s t o p p i n ' for a c u p a J a v a ? I know this d u m p . How's the s c h e d u l e ? O h , we're a h e a d ! Pull u p , t h e n . They's a o f war h o r s e in h e r e that's a kick. G o o d J a v a , too. T h e truck pulls u p . T w o m e n in khaki riding t r o u s e r s , b o o t s , short j a c k e t s , a n d shiny-visored military c a p s . S c r e e n d o o r — s l a m . H'ya, M a e ? Well, if it ain't Big Bill the Rat! W h e n ' d you get b a c k on this r u n ? Week ago. T h e other m a n p u t s a nickel in the p h o n o g r a p h , w a t c h e s the disk slip free a n d the t u r n t a b l e rise u p u n d e r it. B i n g C r o s b y ' s v o i c e — g o l d e n . " T h a n k s for the m e m o r y , of s u n b u r n at the s h o r e — You might h a v e b e e n a h e a d a c h e , b u t you never were a b o r e — " A n d the truck driver s i n g s for M a e ' s e a r s , you might have b e e n a h a d d o c k b u t you never w a s a w h o r e — M a e l a u g h s . W h o ' s ya frien', Bill? N e w o n this r u n , ain't h e ? T h e other p u t s a nickel in the slot m a c h i n e , wins four s l u g s , a n d p u t s t h e m b a c k . W a l k s to the c o u n t e r . Well, what's it g o n n a b e ? O h , c u p a J a v a . K i n d a pie ya got? Banana cream, pineapple cream, chocolate c r e a m — a n ' apple. M a k e it a p p l e . W a i t — Kind is that big thick o n e ? M a e lifts it out a n d sniffs it. B a n a n a c r e a m . C u t off a h u n k ; m a k e it a big h u n k .

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M a n at the slot m a c h i n e says, T w o all a r o u n d . T w o it is. S e e n any n e w etchin's lately, Bill? Well, here's o n e . N o w , you be careful front of a lady. O h , this ain't b a d . Little kid c o m e s in late ta s c h o o l . T e a c h e r says, " W h y ya l a t e ? " Kid says, " H a d a take a heifer d o w n — g e t 'er b r e d . " T e a c h e r says, " C o u l d n ' t your ol' m a n d o i t ? " Kid says, " S u r e h e c o u l d , but not a s g o o d a s the b u l l . " M a e s q u e a k s with laughter, h a r s h s c r e e c h i n g laughter. Al, slicing o n i o n s carefully on a b o a r d , looks u p a n d s m i l e s , a n d then looks d o w n a g a i n . T r u c k drivers, that's the stuff. G o n n a leave a q u a r t e r e a c h for M a e . Fifteen c e n t s for pie a n ' coffee a n ' a d i m e for M a e . A n ' they ain't tryin' to m a k e her, neither. Sitting together o n the stools, s p o o n s sticking u p o u t of the coffee m u g s . P a s s i n g the time of day. A n d Al, r u b b i n g d o w n his griddle, listening b u t m a k i n g n o c o m m e n t . B i n g C r o s b y ' s voice s t o p s . T h e t u r n t a b l e d r o p s d o w n a n d the record swings into its p l a c e in the pile. T h e p u r p l e light g o e s off. T h e nickel, which h a s c a u s e d all this m e c h a n i s m to work, h a s c a u s e d C r o s b y to sing a n d a n o r c h e s t r a to p l a y — t h i s nickel d r o p s from b e t w e e n the c o n t a c t points into the box where the profits go. T h i s nickel,unlike m o s t m o n e y , h a s actually d o n e a j o b of work, h a s b e e n physically r e s p o n s i b l e for a r e a c t i o n . S t e a m s p u r t s from the valve of the coffee urn. T h e c o m p r e s s o r of the ice m a c h i n e c h u g s softly for a time a n d then s t o p s . T h e electric fan in the c o r n e r waves its h e a d slowly b a c k a n d forth, s w e e p i n g the r o o m with a w a r m b r e e z e . O n the highway, on 6 6 , the cars whiz by. T h e y w a s a M a s s a c h u s e t t s c a r s t o p p e d a while a g o , said M a e . B i g Bill g r a s p e d his c u p a r o u n d the top s o that the s p o o n s t u c k u p b e t w e e n his first a n d s e c o n d fingers. H e drew in a snort of air with the coffee, to cool it. "You o u g h t to be o u t o n 6 6 . C a r s from all over the country. All h e a d i n ' west. Never s e e n s o m a n y b e f o r e . S u r e s o m e h o n e y s on the r o a d . " " W e s e e n a wreck this m o r n i n ' , " his c o m p a n i o n s a i d . " B i g car. Big C a d ' , a special j o b a n d a honey, low, c r e a m - c o l o r , s p e c i a l j o b . Hit a truck. F o l d e d the radiator right b a c k into the driver. M u s t a b e e n doin' ninety. S t e e r i n ' wheel went right on t h r o u g h the guy a n ' l e f him a-wigglin' like a frog on a hook. P e a c h of a car. A honey. You c a n have her for p e a n u t s now. Drivin' a l o n e , the guy w a s . " Al looked u p from his work. " H u r t the t r u c k ? " " O h , J e s u s C h r i s t ! W a s n ' t a truck. O n e of t h e m c u t - d o w n c a r s full a stoves a n ' p a n s a n ' m a t t r e s s a n ' kids a n ' c h i c k e n s . G o i n ' w e s t , you know. T h i s guy c o m e by u s doin' n i n e t y — r ' a r e d u p on two wheels j u s t to p a s s u s , a n ' a car's c o m i n ' so he c u t s in a n ' w h a n g s this here truck. Drove like he's blin' drunk. J e s u s , the air w a s full a b e d c l o t h e s a n ' c h i c k e n s a n ' kids. Killed o n e kid. Never s e e n s u c h a m e s s . W e pulled u p . Ol' m a n that's drivin' the truck, he j u s ' Stan's there lookin' at that d e a d kid. C a n ' t get a word o u t of 'im. J u s ' r u m d u m b . G o d Almighty, the r o a d is full a t h e m families goin' w e s t . N e v e r s e e n so m a n y . G e t s worse all a t i m e . W o n d e r where the hell they all c o m e f r o m ? " " W o n d e r where they all go t o , " said M a e . " C o m e here for g a s s o m e t i m e s , but they don't hardly never buy nothin' e l s e . P e o p l e says they steal. W e ain't got nothin' layin' a r o u n d . T h e y never stole n o t h i n ' from u s . " Big Bill, m u n c h i n g his p i e , looked u p the road t h r o u g h the s c r e e n e d window. " B e t t e r tie your stuff d o w n . I think you got s o m e of 'em c o m i n ' n o w . " A 1 9 2 6 N a s h s e d a n pulled wearily off the highway. T h e b a c k seat w a s

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piled nearly to the ceiling with s a c k s , with p o t s a n d p a n s , a n d on the very top, right up a g a i n s t the ceiling, two boys r o d e . O n the top of the car, a m a t t r e s s a n d a folded tent; tent poles tied a l o n g the r u n n i n g b o a r d . T h e c a r pulled up to the g a s p u m p s . A dark-haired, h a t c h e t - f a c e d m a n got slowly out. And the two boys slid d o w n from the load a n d hit the g r o u n d . M a e walked a r o u n d the c o u n t e r a n d stood in the door. T h e m a n w a s d r e s s e d in gray wool t r o u s e r s a n d a b l u e shirt, dark blue with s w e a t on the b a c k a n d u n d e r the a r m s . T h e boys in overalls a n d nothing e l s e , r a g g e d p a t c h e d overalls. T h e i r hair w a s light, a n d it stood up evenly all over their h e a d s , for it h a d b e e n r o a c h e d . T h e i r f a c e s were s t r e a k e d with d u s t . T h e y went directly to the m u d p u d d l e u n d e r the h o s e a n d d u g their t o e s into the mud. T h e m a n a s k e d , " C a n we git s o m e water, m a ' a m ? " A look of a n n o y a n c e c r o s s e d M a e ' s f a c e . " S u r e , go a h e a d . " S h e said softly over her s h o u l d e r , "I'll keep my eye on the h o s e . " S h e w a t c h e d while the m a n slowly u n s c r e w e d the radiator c a p a n d ran the h o s e in. A w o m a n in the car, a flaxen-haired w o m a n , said, " S e e if you can't get it here." T h e m a n t u r n e d off the h o s e a n d s c r e w e d on the c a p a g a i n . T h e little boys took the h o s e from him a n d they u p e n d e d it a n d d r a n k thirstily. T h e m a n took off his dark, stained hat a n d s t o o d with a c u r i o u s humility in front of the s c r e e n . " C o u l d you s e e your way to sell u s a loaf of b r e a d , m a ' a m ? " M a e said, " T h i s ain't a grocery store. W e got b r e a d to m a k e s a n ' w i d g e s . " "I know, m a ' a m . " His humility w a s insistent. " W e n e e d b r e a d a n d there ain't nothin' for quite a p i e c e , they s a y . " " 'F we sell bread we g o n n a run o u t . " M a e ' s tone w a s faltering. "We're h u n g r y , " the m a n s a i d . "Whyn't you buy a san'widge? W e got nice s a n ' w i d g e s , h a m b u r g s . " "We'd s u r e a d m i r e to do that, m a ' a m . B u t we can't. W e got to m a k e a d i m e do all of u s . " And he said e m b a r r a s s e d l y , " W e ain't got but a little." M a e said, "You can't get no loaf a b r e a d for a d i m e . W e only got fifteencent l o a f s . " F r o m behind her Al growled, " G o d Almighty, M a e , give 'em b r e a d . " "We'll run out fore the bread truck c o m e s . " " B u n o u t , then, g o d d a m n it," said Al. A n d he looked sullenly down at the potato s a l a d he w a s mixing. M a e s h r u g g e d her p l u m p s h o u l d e r s a n d looked to the truck drivers to show t h e m what she w a s up a g a i n s t . S h e held the s c r e e n d o o r o p e n a n d the m a n c a m e in, bringing a smell of sweat with him. T h e boys e d g e d in b e h i n d him a n d they went immediately to the c a n d y c a s e a n d stared i n — n o t with craving or with h o p e or even with d e s i r e , but j u s t with a kind of w o n d e r that s u c h things c o u l d b e . T h e y were alike in size a n d their f a c e s were alike. O n e s c r a t c h e d his dusty ankle with the toe nails of his other foot. T h e other w h i s p e r e d s o m e soft m e s s a g e a n d then they s t r a i g h t e n e d their a r m s so that their c l e n c h e d fists in the overall p o c k e t s s h o w e d t h r o u g h the thin b l u e cloth. M a e o p e n e d a drawer a n d took out a long w a x p a p e r - w r a p p e d loaf. " T h i s here is a fifteen-cent loaf." T h e m a n put his hat b a c k on his h e a d . H e a n s w e r e d with inflexible humility, "Won't y o u — c a n ' t you s e e your way to cut off ten c e n t s ' w o r t h ? "

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Al said snarlingly, " G o d d a m n it, M a e . Give 'em the loaf." T h e m a n turned toward Al. " N o , we w a n t ta buy ten c e n t s ' worth of it. W e got it figgered awful c l o s e , mister, to get to C a l i f o r n i a . " M a e said resignedly, "You c a n have this for ten c e n t s . " "That'd be robbin' you, m a ' a m . " " G o a h e a d — A l says to take it." S h e p u s h e d the w a x p a p e r e d loaf a c r o s s the counter. T h e m a n took a d e e p leather p o u c h from his rear p o c k e t , u n t i e d the strings, a n d s p r e a d it o p e n . It was heavy with silver a n d with greasy bills. " M a y s o u n ' funny to b e s o tight," he apologized. " W e got a t h o u s a n ' miles to g o , a n ' we d o n ' know if we'll m a k e it." H e d u g in the p o u c h with a forefinger, located a d i m e , a n d p i n c h e d in for it. W h e n he put it d o w n on the c o u n t e r he had a p e n n y with it. H e was a b o u t to drop the penny b a c k into the p o u c h w h e n his eye fell on the boys frozen before the c a n d y c o u n t e r . H e moved slowly down to t h e m . H e pointed in the c a s e at big long sticks of striped p e p p e r m i n t . "Is t h e m penny c a n d y , m a ' a m ? " M a e moved d o w n a n d looked in. " W h i c h o n e s ? " " T h e r e , t h e m stripy o n e s . " T h e little boys raised their eyes to her f a c e a n d they s t o p p e d b r e a t h i n g ; their m o u t h s were partly o p e n e d , their half-naked b o d i e s were rigid. " O h — t h e m . Well, n o — t h e m ' s two for a p e n n y . " "Well, g i m m e two then, m a ' a m . " H e p l a c e d the c o p p e r cent carefully on the counter. T h e boys expelled their held breath softly. M a e held the big sticks out. " T a k e ' e m , " said the m a n . T h e y r e a c h e d timidly, e a c h took a stick, a n d they held t h e m d o w n at their sides a n d did not look at t h e m . B u t they looked at e a c h other, a n d their m o u t h c o r n e r s s m i l e d rigidly with e m b a r r a s s m e n t . " T h a n k you, m a ' a m . " T h e m a n p i c k e d up the b r e a d a n d went o u t the door, a n d the little boys m a r c h e d stiffly behind him, the red-striped sticks held tightly a g a i n s t their legs. T h e y l e a p e d like c h i p m u n k s over the front seat a n d onto the top of the load, a n d they b u r r o w e d b a c k out of sight like c h i p m u n k s . T h e m a n got in a n d started his car, a n d with a roaring m o t o r a n d a c l o u d of blue oily s m o k e the a n c i e n t N a s h c l i m b e d up on the highway a n d went on its way to the west. F r o m inside the r e s t a u r a n t the truck drivers a n d M a e a n d Al stared after them. Big Bill w h e e l e d b a c k . " T h e m wasn't two-for-a-cent c a n d y , " h e said. " W h a t ' s that to y o u ? " M a e said fiercely. " T h e m w a s nickel a p i e c e c a n d y , " s a i d Bill. " W e got to get goin'," said the other m a n . "We're d r o p p i n ' t i m e . " T h e y r e a c h e d in their p o c k e t s . Bill put a coin on the c o u n t e r a n d the other m a n looked at it a n d r e a c h e d again a n d put down a coin. T h e y s w u n g a r o u n d a n d walked to the door. " S o l o n g , " said Bill. M a e called, " H e y ! W a i t a m i n u t e . You got c h a n g e . " "You go to hell," said Bill, a n d the s c r e e n door s l a m m e d . M a e w a t c h e d t h e m get into the great truck, w a t c h e d it l u m b e r off in low gear, a n d heard the shift up the whining g e a r s to c r u i s i n g ratio. " A l — " s h e said softly.

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H e looked u p from the h a m b u r g e r h e w a s p a t t i n g thin a n d s t a c k i n g b e t w e e n waxed p a p e r s . " W h a t ya w a n t ? " " L o o k t h e r e . " S h e p o i n t e d at the c o i n s b e s i d e the c u p s — t w o half-dollars. Al walked n e a r a n d looked, a n d then he went b a c k to his work. " T r u c k drivers," M a e said reverently, " a n ' after t h e m s h i t h e e l s . " Flies s t r u c k the s c r e e n with little b u m p s a n d d r o n e d away. T h e c o m p r e s s o r c h u g g e d for a time a n d then s t o p p e d . O n 6 6 the traffic whizzed by, t r u c k s a n d fine s t r e a m l i n e d c a r s a n d j a l o p i e s ; a n d they went by with a v i c i o u s whiz. M a e took d o w n the p l a t e s a n d s c r a p e d the pie c r u s t s into a b u c k e t . S h e found her d a m p cloth a n d wiped the c o u n t e r with circular s w e e p s . A n d her eyes were on the highway, w h e r e life whizzed by. Al wiped his h a n d s on his a p r o n . H e looked at a p a p e r p i n n e d to the wall over the griddle. T h r e e lines of m a r k s in c o l u m n s on the p a p e r . Al c o u n t e d the longest line. H e walked a l o n g the c o u n t e r to the c a s h register, r a n g " N o S a l e , " a n d took out a handful of nickels. " W h a t ya doin'}" M a e a s k e d . " N u m b e r three's ready to pay off," s a i d Al. H e went to the third slot m a c h i n e a n d played his nickels in, a n d on the fifth spin of the w h e e l s the three b a r s c a m e up a n d the j a c k pot d u m p e d o u t into the c u p . Al g a t h e r e d u p the big handful of coins a n d went b a c k of the c o u n t e r . H e d r o p p e d t h e m in the drawer a n d s l a m m e d the c a s h register. T h e n he went b a c k to his p l a c e a n d c r o s s e d out the line of d o t s . " N u m b e r t h r e e gets m o r e play'n the o t h e r s , " h e s a i d . " M a y b e I o u g h t to shift 'em a r o u n d . " H e lifted a lid a n d stirred the slowly s i m m e r i n g stew. "I w o n d e r what they'll d o in C a l i f o r n i a ? " said M a e . "Who?" " T h e m folks that w a s j u s t i n . " " C h r i s t k n o w s , " s a i d Al. " S ' p o s e they'll get w o r k ? " " H o w the hell would I k n o w ? " s a i d Al. S h e stared e a s t w a r d a l o n g the highway. " H e r e c o m e s a transport, d o u b l e . W o n d e r if they s t o p ? H o p e they d o . " A n d a s the h u g e truck c a m e heavily d o w n from the highway a n d p a r k e d , M a e seized her cloth a n d wiped the w h o l e length of the c o u n t e r . A n d s h e t o o k a few swipes at the g l e a m i n g coffee urn too, a n d t u r n e d u p the bottle-gas u n d e r the urn. Al b r o u g h t out a handful of little turnips a n d started to peel t h e m . M a e ' s f a c e w a s gay w h e n the d o o r o p e n e d a n d the two u n i f o r m e d truck drivers e n t e r e d . " H i , sister!" "I won't b e a sister to n o m a n , " s a i d M a e . T h e y l a u g h e d a n d M a e l a u g h e d . "What'll it b e , boys}" " O h , a c u p a J a v a . W h a t kinda p i e ya g o t ? " "Pineapple cream an' banana cream an' chocolate cream an' apple." " G i v e m e a p p l e . N o , w a i t — w h a t ' s that big thick o n e ? " M a e p i c k e d u p the pie a n d s m e l l e d it. " P i n e a p p l e c r e a m , " s h e s a i d . "Well, c h o p out a h u n k a t h a t . " T h e c a r s whizzed viciously by o n 6 6 . 1939

COUNTEE

CULLEN

1903-1946 The African American artists associated with the Harlem Renaissance faced difficult problems as they attempted to enunciate a collective identity for themselves and their people. Should they demonstrate excellence by working within traditional art forms, or should they develop new forms specifically derived from black experience? Should they write (or paint, or sing) only about their experiences as black people, or should they write like Americans, or about universal issues? If the answer was always to write as blacks, could it be maintained that there was just one black experience common to all African Americans? Countee Cullen, a black middle-class New Yorker, experienced these issues in a particularly divisive fashion: he wanted to be a traditional poet but felt it his duty to articulate a black experience that was not entirely his own. He was the adopted son of a Methodist minister and enjoyed a secure, comfortable childhood. He attended New York public schools, and traveled to Europe. He earned a Phi Beta Kappa key at New York University, where he received his B.A. in 1925; he took an M.A. at Harvard in 1926. He returned to New York as a public-school teacher. His first book of poems, Color, appeared in 1925, when he was only twentytwo. His youth, his technical proficiency, and the themes of the poems—truth, beauty, and goodness, in the world of time and circumstance—established him as the "black Keats," a prodigy. Cullen's anthology of black poetry, Caroling Dusk (1927), was an important document for Harlem Renaissance poets. He prefaced his selection with the assertion that the traditional forms of English poetry, not transcriptions of black dialects or militant manifestos, were the proper tools of the artist. In this idea he went counter to the practices of such other Harlem writers as Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes; he wanted to be a poet as he understood poets to be. Nevertheless, the titles of his books—Co/or as well as Copper

Sun in 1927 and The Ballad

of die Brown

Girl

in 1928—showed that, like Claude McKay and Jean Toomer, he felt a responsibility to write about being black even if he did so in modes alien to black folk traditions. Cullen won a Guggenheim fellowship to complete The Black Clirist in 1929 and published a novel, One Way to Heaven, in 1932. He succeeded in his aim of becoming a literary man recognized for his skill as a traditional artist; it is an important part of his achievement that in an era when American society was far more racially segregated than it is now he worked to bring black themes to the awareness of white readers who admired him because he worked with poetic modes that they found familiar. The text of the poems included here is that of Co/or (1925).

Yet D o I Marvel I d o u b t not G o d is g o o d , well-meaning, kind, And did H e stoop to q u i b b l e c o u l d tell why T h e little buried m o l e c o n t i n u e s blind, W h y flesh that mirrors H i m m u s t s o m e day d i e , M a k e plain t h e r e a s o n tortured T a n t a l u s Is baited by the fickle fruit, d e c l a r e If merely brute c a p r i c e d o o m s S i s y p h u s ' 1. Tantalus and Sisyphus arc figures in Greek mythology who were punished in Hades. Tantalus was offered food and water that was then instantly

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snatched away. Sisyphus had to roll a heavy stone to the top of a hill and, after it roiled hack down, repeat the ordeal perpetually.

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T o struggle u p a n e v e r - e n d i n g stair. I n s c r u t a b l e H i s ways a r e , a n d i m m u n e T o c a t e c h i s m by a m i n d too strewn W i t h petty c a r e s to slightly u n d e r s t a n d W h a t awful brain c o m p e l s H i s awful h a n d . Yet do I marvel at this c u r i o u s thing: T o m a k e a poet black, a n d bid him sing!

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1925

Incident O n c e riding in old B a l t i m o r e , Heart-filled, head-filled with g l e e , I saw a Baltimorean K e e p looking straight at m e . N o w I w a s eight a n d very small, A n d h e w a s no whit bigger, A n d so I s m i l e d , b u t h e p o k e d out H i s t o n g u e , a n d called m e , " N i g g e r . " I s a w the whole of B a l t i m o r e F r o m M a y until D e c e m b e r ; O f all the things that h a p p e n e d there T h a t ' s all that I r e m e m b e r .

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Heritage W h a t is Africa to m e : C o p p e r s u n or scarlet s e a , J u n g l e star or j u n g l e track, S t r o n g b r o n z e d m e n , or regal black Women from whose loins I s p r a n g W h e n the birds of E d e n s a n g ? One three centuries removed From the scenes his fathers loved, Spicy grove, cinnamon tree, What is Africa to me?

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S o I lie, w h o all day long W a n t no s o u n d except the s o n g S u n g by wild b a r b a r i c birds Goading massive j u n g l e h e r d s , J u g g e r n a u t s 1 of flesh that p a s s 1. T h e juggernaut is a sacred Hindu ido\ dragged on a huge car in the path of which devotees were believed to throw themselves—hence any power

demanding b\ind sacrince, image of elephants,

here spliced with the

HERITAGE

T r a m p l i n g tall defiant g r a s s W h e r e y o u n g forest lovers lie, Plighting troth b e n e a t h the sky. S o I lie, w h o always hear, T h o u g h I c r a m a g a i n s t my ear B o t h my t h u m b s , a n d keep t h e m t h e r e , G r e a t d r u m s t h r o b b i n g through the air. S o I lie, w h o s e fount of pride, D e a r d i s t r e s s , a n d joy allied, Is my s o m b e r flesh a n d skin, With the dark blood d a m m e d within Like great p u l s i n g tides of wine T h a t , I fear, m u s t b u r s t the fine C h a n n e l s of the chafing net W h e r e they s u r g e a n d f o a m a n d fret. Africa? A b o o k o n e t h u m b s Listlessly, till s l u m b e r c o m e s . U n r e m e m b e r e d are her b a t s C i r c l i n g t h r o u g h the night, her cats C r o u c h i n g in the river r e e d s , S t a l k i n g gentle flesh that f e e d s By the river brink; n o m o r e D o e s the bugle-throated roar Cry that m o n a r c h claws have leapt F r o m the s c a b b a r d s where they slept. Silver s n a k e s that o n c e a year Doff the lovely c o a t s you wear, S e e k no covert in your fear L e s t a mortal eye s h o u l d s e e ; W h a t ' s your n a k e d n e s s to m e ? H e r e no l e p r o u s flowers rear F i e r c e c o r o l l a s 2 in the air; H e r e no bodies sleek a n d wet, D r i p p i n g mingled rain a n d s w e a t , T r e a d the s a v a g e m e a s u r e s of J u n g l e boys a n d girls in love. W h a t is last year's s n o w to m e , ' L a s t year's anything? T h e tree B u d d i n g yearly m u s t forget H o w its p a s t a r o s e or s e t — B o u g h a n d b l o s s o m , flower, fruit, Even w h a t shy bird with m u t e W o n d e r at her travail there, Meekly labored in its hair. One three centuries removed From the scenes lits/atrjers loved, Spicy grove, cinnamon tree, What is Africa to me? The whorl of petals forming the inner envelope a flower. An echo of the lament "Where are the snows of

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yesteryear?" from the poem "Grand T e s t a m e n t " by the 1 5th-century French poet Francois Villon.

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S o I lie, w h o find n o p e a c e Night or day, n o slight r e l e a s e F r o m t h e unremittant b e a t M a d e by cruel p a d d e d feet W a l k i n g through my body's street. U p a n d down they g o , a n d back, T r e a d i n g o u t a j u n g l e track. S o I lie, w h o never quite Safely sleep from rain at n i g h t — I c a n never rest at all W h e n t h e rain begins to fall; Like a soul g o n e m a d with pain I m u s t m a t c h its weird refrain; Ever m u s t I twist a n d s q u i r m , Writhing like a baited w o r m , While its primal m e a s u r e s drip T h r o u g h my body, crying, " S t r i p ! Doff this n e w e x u b e r a n c e . C o m e a n d d a n c e t h e Lover's D a n c e ! " In a n old r e m e m b e r e d way Rain works on m e night a n d day. Quaint, o u t l a n d i s h h e a t h e n g o d s B l a c k m e n fashion o u t of r o d s , Clay, a n d brittle bits of s t o n e , In a likeness like their o w n , M y conversion c a m e high-priced; I b e l o n g to J e s u s C h r i s t , P r e a c h e r of humility; H e a t h e n g o d s a r e n a u g h t to m e . F a t h e r , S o n , a n d Holy G h o s t , S o I m a k e a n idle b o a s t ; J e s u s of t h e twice-turned c h e e k 4 L a m b of G o d , a l t h o u g h I s p e a k With my m o u t h t h u s , in my heart D o I play a d o u b l e part. Ever at T h y glowing altar M u s t my heart grow sick a n d falter, W i s h i n g H e I served were black, T h i n k i n g then it w o u l d not lack P r e c e d e n t o f pain to g u i d e it, L e t w h o would or might deride it; S u r e l y then this flesh would know Yours h a d b o r n e a kindred w o e . L o r d , I fashion dark g o d s , t o o , D a r i n g even to give You Dark despairing features where, C r o w n e d with dark

rebellious

hair,

4. In his Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5.39), J e s u s declared that when struck luni the other cheek rather than strike hack.

D'ARCY

MCNICKLE

P a t i e n c e wavers j u s t so m u c h as M o r t a l grief c o m p e l s , while t o u c h e s Quick a n d hot, of anger, rise T o s m i t t e n c h e e k a n d weary eyes. L o r d , forgive m e if my n e e d Sometimes shapes a human creed. All day long and all Might through, One thing only must I do: Quench my pride and coo/ my Mood, Lest / perish in the flood. Lest a hidden ember set Ttmfcer that / thowght was wet Burning like the dryest flax, M e f c n g Ztfee the merest wax, Lest the grave restore its dead. N o t yet has twy heart or head In the least way realized They and I are ch'iZtzed1.

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D'ARCY

McNICKLE

1904-1977 Among the small number of writers working in the 1930s to establish a native presence in American letters, DArcy McNickle—fiction writer, scholar, and prestigious public advocate for Native Americans—is probably the most important. Born in St. Ignatius, Montana, he was the child of a mixed-blood mother (French Canadian and Cree) and a father whose parents were Irish immigrants. In 1905 his mother was admitted to the Salish Kootenai Confederated Tribes (the Flathead) of Montana. In accord with provisions of the Dawes Allotment Act of 1887, the family acquired a farm on the Flathead Reservation, where McNickle lived as a child. But after his parents divorced in 1914 he was sent to an Indian boarding school in Oregon. The assimilationist aim of that school, shared by most institutions of its type, involved trying to eradicate every trace of the students' native culture. In 1921 he enrolled in the University of Montana, majoring in English literature and creative writing; he later studied for a year at Oxford University. By 1927 he had moved to New York City, apparently intending both to distance himself from his childhood and Indian background and to become a professional writer. In 1934, however, he began to work for the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs and to write on Native American themes, mostly in nonfiction works of history and sociology. After leaving the bureau in 1952 he held various scholarly positions; for the last five years of his life he was program director at the Newberry Library's Center for the History of the American Indian. He was married three times and had two daughters. McNiclde's complicated and multiple identities allowed him to write fiction convincingly from many perspectives and to depict cross-cultural tensions and misrecognitions with particular acuity. In "Hard Riding," which is narrated from the

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perspective of a reservation supervisor, the tribe retains its integrity and preserves its values. In other works, however—particularly his novels The Surrounded (1936) and Wind from an Enemy Sky (posthumously

published

in 1978)—McNickle

shows native

identity fractured by white contempt and exploitation, and pushes his stories to violent conclusions. Most of McNickle's short stories were not published in his lifetime; exact dates for them have not yet been established. The text of "Hard Riding" is from The Hawk Is Hungry

and Other Stories

(\992).

Hard Riding Riding his gray m a r e a h a r d g a l l o p in t h e s u m m e r dust, B r i n d e r M a t h e r l a b o r e d with t h o u g h t w h i c h c o u l d n ' t q u i t e c o m e into focus. T h e h o r s e l a b o r e d t o o , its gait growing heavy a s loose sand fouled its footing; b u t at e a c h a t t e m p t to b r e a k stride into a trot, there w a s t h e prick of s p u r point, a j e r k at t h e r e i n s . It w a s a habit with t h e rider. " K e e p going! E a r n your feed, you h a m m e r h e a d ! " B r i n d e r w a s always saying that his h o r s e s didn't e a r n their feed. Yet h e w a s t h e h a r d e s t rider in t h e country. F e e l i n g a s h e did a b o u t h o r s e s , h e q u i t e naturally h a d d o u b t s a b o u t India n s . A n d h e h a d to work with I n d i a n s . H e w a s their s u p e r i n t e n d e n t . . . a n u r s e to their h e l p l e s s n e s s , w a s t h e way h e s o m e t i m e s t h o u g h t of it. It w a s getting toward s u n d o w n . T h e e a s t w a r d mirror of t h e sky reflected o r a n g e a n d c r i m s o n flame thwarting t h e p r i s m a t i c h e a v e n s . It w a s after s u p per, after a hard day at t h e A g e n c y office, a n d B r i n d e r w a s a n x i o u s to g e t his task d o n e a n d b e h o m e to rest. T h e h e a t of t h e d a y h a d fagged him. His f o c u s i n g t h o u g h t c a m e o u t in w o r d s , audibly. "They've b e e n fooling with t h e i d e a for a m o n t h , m o r e than a m o n t h , a n d I still can't tell what they'll d o . S o m e h o w I've g o t to p u t it over. E i t h e r p u t it over or drop it. I'll tell t h e m that. T a k e it or leave it. . . . " A h e a d , a n o t h e r mile, h e s a w t h e white s c h o o l h o u s e , t h e w i n d o w s ablaze with t h e e v e n i n g s u n . H e w o n d e r e d if t h o s e h e h a d c a l l e d t o g e t h e r w o u l d b e t h e r e , if they w o u l d all b e t h e r e . A full turn-out, h e r e a s o n e d , w o u l d i n d i c a t e that they w e r e i n t e r e s t e d . H e c o u l d b e e n c o u r a g e d if h e s a w t h e m all on hand. A s h e drew nearer, h e o b s e r v e d that a g r o u p s t o o d waiting. H e tried to e s t i m a t e the n u m b e r . . . twelve or fifteen. O t h e r s w e r e still c o m i n g . T h e r e w e r e riders in t h e d i s t a n c e c o m i n g by other r o a d s . T h e frown relaxed on his heavy, s u n - r e d d e n e d f a c e . F o r t h e m o m e n t h e w a s satisfied. H e h a d c a l l e d t h e entire Tribal C o u n c i l of twenty, a n d evidently they w o u l d all b e on h a n d . Goodl

H e let his h o r s e slow to less than a c a n t e r for t h e first t i m e in t h e threemile ride from the A g e n c y . " H e l l o , boys. Everybody c o m i n g tonight? Let's g o i n s i d e . " H e s t r o d e , tall a n d dignified, t h r o u g h t h e g r o u p . T h e y s m i l e d to his w o r d s , s a y i n g n o t h i n g . O n e by o n e they followed him into t h e s c h o o l r o o m . H e w a s always for starting things with a r u s h ; they always h u n g b a c k . It w a s a familiar p a t t e r n . H e w a l k e d to the teacher's d e s k

HARD RIDING

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a n d s p r e a d out before him a s h e a f of p a p e r which h e h a d b r o u g h t in a heavy envelope. In five years o n e got to know s o m e t h i n g a b o u t I n d i a n s . E v e n in one's first j o b a s s u p e r i n t e n d e n t of a Reservation, five years w a s a g o o d s c h o o l i n g . T h e important thing, the first thing to learn, w a s not to let t h e m stall y o u . T h e y w o u l d do it every time if you let t h e m . T h e y would say to a n e w idea, " L e t u s talk a b o u t t h a t " or " G i v e u s t i m e . We'll think a b o u t it." O n e h a d to know w h e n to c u t short. Put it over or drop it. T a k e it or leave it. N o t realizing that at the start, he h a d let t h e s e crazy M o u n t a i n I n d i a n s ' stall on him a long time before he h a d b e g u n to get results. H e h a d c o m e to them with a s i m p l e idea a n d only now, after five years, w a s it b e g i n n i n g to work. C a t t l e . . . that w a s the idea. B e e f cattle. B l o o d e d stock. G o o d bulls. Fall r o u n d - u p s . T h e s h i p m e n t E a s t . C a s h profits. In l a n g u a g e a s s i m p l e a s that he h a d finally got t h e m to s e e his point. H e h a d a special liking for cattle. It b e g a n long before h e h a d ever s e e n an Indian, b a c k h o m e in N e w York S t a t e . B o y h o o d r e a d i n g a b o u t hard riding a n d fast s h o o t i n g o n the cattle trails . . . that w a s what started it. T h e n , in his first j o b in the Indian S e r v i c e , h e h a d worked u n d e r a h a r d - m i n d e d S c o t c h m a n w h o s e record a s a s t o c k m a n w a s u n b e a t a b l e . H e h a d learned the gospel from him. H e learned to talk the lingo. " I n d i a n s don't know, m o r e than that don't give a d a m n , a b o u t d r a g g i n g their feet behind a plow. Don't say a s I b l a m e 'em. B u t Indians'll always ride h o r s e s . They're born to that. A n d if they're going to ride h o r s e s they might as well be riding herd on a b u n c h of s t e e r s . It pays m o n e y . " H e put it that way, following his S c o t c h p r e c e p t o r . H e put it to the I n d i a n s , to W a s h i n g t o n officials, a n d to anybody he c o u l d b u t t o n h o l e for a few m i n u t e s . It w a s a c o m p l e t e g o s p e l . It was a p p r o p r i a t i o n s of m o n e y from C o n g r e s s for cattle p u r c h a s e s . It won flattering r e m a r k s from certain visitors who were always a r o u n d inquiring a b o u t Indian welfare. In time, it won over the Indians. It s h o u l d have won t h e m sooner. T h e point w a s j u s t that, not to let t h e m stall on y o u . After five years he had learned his l e s s o n . P u t it over, or drop it. H e h a d taken off his b r o a d - b r i m m e d c a t t l e m a n ' s hat a n d laid it on the d e s k b e s i d e his p a p e r s . T h e hat w a s part of the creed. H e surveyed the s c o r e of wordless, p e n s i v e , b u c k s k i n - s m e l l i n g I n d i a n s , s o m e s l o u c h e d forward, holding their big hats b e t w e e n their k n e e s ; o t h e r s , hats o n , silently s m o k i n g . H e had to p u t it a c r o s s , this thing h e w a n t e d t h e m to d o . H e h a d to do it now, tonight, or else drop it. T h a t w a s what he h a d c o n c l u d e d . "I think you fellows have learned a lot s i n c e I b e e n with you. I a p p r e c i a t e the way you co-operate with m e . S o m e t i m e s it's kinda hard to m a k e things clear, but o n c e you s e e what it m e a n s to you, you're all for it. I like t h a t . " H e p a u s e d a n d m o p p e d his brow. T h e s c h o o l r o o m w a s an oven. T h e m e e t i n g s h o u l d have b e e n held o u t s i d e — b u t never m i n d . "In our s t o c k a s s o c i a t i o n , we run our cattle together on a c o m m o n r a n g e . W e s h a r e the c o s t s of riding r a n g e , r o u n d i n g u p , b r a n d i n g , a n d buying breeding bulls. Every time you sell a steer you pay a five-dollar fee into the pot, a n d that's what pays the bills. T h a t ' s o n e of the things I h a d to tell you a b o u t . 1. These tribal people originate in the mountains and, therefore, have no tradition of raising cattle.

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You didn't u n d e r s t a n d at first, but o n c e you did, you went a h e a d . T o d a y , it's paying dividends. "You never h a d a s m u c h c a s h profit in your life before. You s t e e r s are better b e e f a n i m a l s , b e c a u s e the b r e e d i n g is better. W e got the c l a s s in b u l l s . And you get better prices b e c a u s e you c a n dicker with the buyers. B u t you know all that. I'm j u s t r e m i n d i n g y o u . " S o m e o n e c o u g h e d in the b a c k of the r o o m a n d Brinder, always o n g u a r d , like the c o w b o y s c o n t e n d i n g with rustlers a n d s h e e p m e n he u s e d to read a b o u t , s t r a i g h t e n e d his b a c k a n d looked sharply. B u t it w a s only a c o u g h , r e p e a t e d several t i m e s — a n irritating, ineffective kind of cigarette c o u g h . N o o n e e l s e in the a u d i e n c e m a d e a s o u n d . All were held in the spell of Brinder's w o r d s , or at any rate were waiting for him to finish what he h a d to say. " W e have o n e b a d defect yet. You know what I m e a n , but I'll m e n t i o n it j u s t the s a m e . In other w o r d s , fellows, we all of u s know that every year a certain n u m b e r of cattle d i s a p p e a r . T h e wolves don't get t h e m a n d they don't die of natural c a u s e s . T h e y are always strong, fat, two- or three-year-old steers that d i s a p p e a r , the kind that wolves don't monkey with a n d that don't die naturally. I ain't p o i n t i n g my finger at anybody, b u t you know a s well's I do that there's a certain e l e m e n t on the B e s e r v a t i o n that don't deserve fresh m e a t , but always has it. They're too lazy or too ornery or they j u s t don't know what it's all a b o u t . B u t they get fresh m e a t j u s t the s a m e . "I w a n t you fellows to get this. L e t it sink in d e e p . Every time a fat steer g o e s to feed s o m e S l i c k Steve too lazy to earn his k e e p , s o m e of you are out a r o u n d seventy-five, eighty dollars. You lose that m u c h . P o n d e r that, you fellows." H e rustled the p a p e r s on the d e s k , looking for a row of figures: n u m b e r of beef a n i m a l s lost in five years ( e s t i m a t e d ) , their m o n e y v a l u e , in r o u n d n u m b e r s . H e hurled his figures at t h e m , c u d g e l i n g . " S o m e of you don't mind the loss. B e c a u s e it's p o o r p e o p l e getting the m e a t . It k e e p s s o m e o n e from starving. T h a t ' s what you say. W h a t I say i s — that ain't a p r o p e r way to look at it. First of all, b e c a u s e it's stealing a n d we can't go to c o u n t e n a n c i n g stealing, p u t t i n g up with it, I m e a n . N o b o d y has to starve, r e m e m b e r that. If you want to d o s o m e t h i n g on your own b o o k for the old p e o p l e w h o can't work, you c a n . You c a n d o what you like with your m o n e y . B u t lazy p e o p l e , t h e s e S l i c k S t e v e s w h o wouldn't work on a bet, n o b o d y s h o u l d give it e a s y to t h e m , that's what I'm saying." H e waited a m o m e n t , letting the words find their way h o m e . " T h e r e ' s a s o l u t i o n , a s I told you last m o n t h . W e w a n t to set u p a c o u r t , a c o u r t of Indian j u d g e s , a n d you will deal with t h e s e fellows in your own way. G i v e a few of t h e m six m o n t h s in jail to think it over, a n d t i m e s wi\\ begin to c h a n g e a r o u n d here. . . ." T h a t w a s the very point he h a d r e a c h e d the last time h e talked to the C o u n c i l , a m o n t h before. H e h a d g o n e no further, t h e n , b e c a u s e they h a d b e g u n a s k i n g q u e s t i o n s , a n d from their q u e s t i o n s he h a d discovered that they hadn't the least idea what he w a s driving at. O r s o they m a d e it a p p e a r . "If we have a tribal c o u r t , " s o m e b o d y w o u l d ask, " d o we have to p u t s o m e b o d y in j a i l ? " T h a t , obviously, w a s intentionally naive. It w a s i n t e n d e d to stal] him off. O r s o m e old m a n would say: "If s o m e b o d y h a s to go to jail, let the S u p e r i n t e n d e n t do it. W h y s h o u l d we have to start p u t t i n g our own p e o p l e in j a i l ? " S u c h n o n s e n s e as that h a d b e e n talked.

HARD RIDING

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Finally, the perennial q u e s t i o n of m o n e y c a m e up. W o u l d the G o v e r n m e n t pay for the c o u r t ? A t r e a c h e r o u s q u e s t i o n , a n d he had a n s w e r e d without flinching. " T h a t ' s a n o t h e r t h i n g , " h e h a d said brightly. "We're g o i n g to get away from the idea of the G o v e r n m e n t paying for everything. H a v i n g your own b u s i n e s s this way, m a k i n g a profit from it, you c a n pay for this yourselves. T h a t will m a k e you i n d e p e n d e n t . It will b e your own c o u r t , not the G o v e r n m e n t ' s c o u r t , not the S u p e r i n t e n d e n t ' s court. N o . T h e court will be s u p p o r t e d by the fee m o n e y you pay w h e n you sell a s t e e r . " T h a t s p e e c h broke up the m e e t i n g . It w a s greeted by a c o n f u s i o n of talk in the native t o n g u e which gradually s u b s i d e d in form of o n e s p e a k e r , o n e of the a n c i e n t s , w h o obviously w a s a r e s p e c t e d leader. Afterwards, a young, E n g l i s h - s p e a k i n g t r i b e s m a n translated. " T h e old m a n h e r e , L o o k i n g G l a s s , says the G o v e r ' m e n t don't give u s nothing for nothing. T h e m o n e y it s p e n d s on u s , that's our own m o n e y , h e says. It b e l o n g s to u s a n d they k e e p it there at W a s h i n g t o n , a n d n o b o d y c a n say how m u c h it is or how m u c h has b e e n lost. H e says, w h e r e is all that m o n e y that they can't afford to pay for this c o u r t ? T h a t ' s what he s a y s . " T h e r e w a s the s n a r e which tripped u p m o s t A g e n c y p l a n s , s c r a t c h a n old Indian, a n d the reaction w a s always the s a m e . " W h e r e ' s the m o n e y the Gove r n m e n t owes u s ? W h e r e ' s our land? W h e r e ' s our t r e a t y ? " T h e y were like a whistle with only o n e s t o p , t h o s e old fellows. T h e i r t u n e w a s invariable, relentless a n d shrill. T h a t w a s why o n e d r e a d e d holding a m e e t i n g w h e n the old m e n were p r e s e n t . N o w the y o u n g fellows, w h o u n d e r s t o o d A g e n c y plans. . . . Anyhow, here he was trying it a g a i n , g o i n g over the plan with great c a r e a n d p a t i e n c e . M u c h of the m i s u n d e r s t a n d i n g h a d b e e n ironed out in the m e a n t i m e . S o he h a d b e e n led to believe. "This court will p u t a n e n d to all this t r o u b l e , " he was going o n , trying to g a u g e the effect of his w o r d s , w a t c h i n g for a reaction. At last it c a m e . O n e of the old m e n w a s getting to his feet. H e was a small m a n , e m a c i a t e d by a g e a n d thin living, yet neat looking. His old wife, obviously, took g o o d c a r e of his c l o t h e s , s e w e d buckskin p a t c h e s on his overalls a n d kept him in n e w m o c c a s i n s . H e talked firmly, yet softly, and not for very long. H e sat d o w n a s s o o n a s he h a d finished a n d let the interpreter translate for h i m . " T h e old m a n h e r e , Big F a c e , says the c o u r t , m a y b e , is all right. T h e y have talked it over a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s , a n d m a y b e it's all right. O u r a g e n t , h e says, is a good m a n . H e rides too fast. H e talks too fast. B u t he has a good heart, so m a y b e the court is all right. T h a t ' s what Big F a c e s a y s . " T h e words were g o o d , a n d Brinder c a u g h t himself smiling, which w a s b a d practice w h e n dealing with the old fellows. T h e y were m a s t e r s at laying traps for the u n w a r y — t h a t , too, he h a d learned in five years. T h e i r own e x p r e s s i o n s never c h a n g e d , o n c e they got going, a n d you c o u l d never tell what might be in their m i n d s . J u s t the s a m e , he felt easier. Big F a c e , the m o s t a r g u m e n t a t i v e of the lot, had c o m e a r o u n d to a c c e p t this new idea, a n d that was s o m e t h i n g g a i n e d . T h e m o n t h h a d not b e e n lost. H e h a d s o m e t h i n g m o r e to say. H e w a s getting to his feet a g a i n , giving a tug to his belt a n d looking a r o u n d , a s if to m a k e sure of his following. H e had b e e n a p p o i n t e d s p o k e s m a n . T h a t m u c h w a s clear.

2254

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WARCY

MCNICKLE

H e m a d e a s o m e w h a t longer s p e e c h , in which h e s e e m e d to e x p r e s s agitation, perhaps uncertainty. O n e c o u l d never b e sure o f t o n e v a l u e s . S o m e t i m e s t h e m o s t excitable s o u n d i n g p a s s a g e s of this s t r a n g e t o n g u e were very t a m e in E n g l i s h . B r i n d e r h a d s t o p p e d smiling a n d w a i t e d for t h e translation. " B i g F a c e here says there's only one thing they can't d e c i d e a b o u t . T h a t ' s a b o u t j u d g e s . N o b o d y w a n t s to b e a j u d g e . T h a t ' s what they don't like. M a y b e the court is all right, b u t n o b o d y w a n t s to b e j u d g e . " B r i n d e r w a s rather s t u m p e d by that. H e r o s e to his feet, quickly; giving everyone a sharp glance. W a s this the trap? "Tell t h e old m a n I don't u n d e r s t a n d that. It is a n h o n o r , b e i n g a j u d g e . P e o p l e p a y m o n e y to b e a j u d g e in s o m e p l a c e s . Tell B i g F a c e I don't understand his o b j e c t i o n . " T h e old m a n w a s o n his feet a s s o o n a s t h e words h a d b e e n translated for him. "It's like this. T o b e a j u d g e , you got to b e a b o u t perfect. You got to know everything, a n d you got to live u p to it. O t h e r w i s e , you got n o t h i n g to say to anybody w h o d o e s wrong. Anybody w h o p u t s himself u p to b e that g o o d , h e ' s j u s t a liar. A n d p e o p l e will laugh at h i m . W e a r e friends among ourselves a n d nobody interferes in a n o t h e r p e r s o n ' s b u s i n e s s . T h a t ' s h o w it is, a n d n o b o d y w a n t s to set h i m s e l f u p a n d b e a j u d g e . T h a t ' s what B i g F a c e s a y s . " T h e r e it w a s — a s neatly contrived a little pitfall a s h e h a d ever s e e n . H e h a d to a d m i r e it—all t h e time letting h i m s e l f g e t f u r i o u s . N o t that h e let t h e m s e e it. N o , in five years, h e h a d learned that m u c h . K e e p your h e a d , a n d w h e n in d o u b t , talk your h e a d off. H e drew a d e e p b r e a t h a n d p l u n g e d into a n explanation o f all t h e things h e h a d already e x p l a i n e d , r e m i n d i n g t h e m of t h e m o n e y they lost e a c h year, of the worthless fellows w h o were m a k i n g a n e a s y living from their efforts, of t h e p r o p e r way to deal with t h e p r o b l e m . H e repeated all t h e a r g u m e n t s a n d threw in a s m a n y m o r e a s h e c o u l d think of. "You have d e c i d e d all this. You a g r e e t h e court is a g o o d thing. B u t h o w c a n you have a court without j u d g e s ? It's the j u d g e s that m a k e a c o u r t . " H e couldn't tell w h e t h e r h e w a s getting a n y w h e r e or n o t — i n all likelihood, not. T h e y were talking all together o n c e m o r e a n d it didn't look a s if they were paying m u c h attention to h i m . H e waited. " W h a t ' s it all a b o u t ? " h e finally a s k e d the interpreter, a y o u n g mixed-blood, w h o w a s u s u a l l y pretty good

about

telling

Brinder

which

way the wind

oi

thought blew among the old p e o p l e . "I can't m a k e o u t , " t h e interpreter m u r m u r e d , drawing c l o s e r to Brinder. " T h e y a r e saying lots of t h i n g s . B u t I think they're going to decide on t h e j u d g e s — t h e y ' v e got s o m e kind of p l a n — w a t c h o u t for i t — n o w , o n e of t h e old m e n will s p e a k . " It w a s B i g F a c e raising to his feet o n c e m o r e . L o o k i n g smaller, m o r e wizened than ever. T h e blurring twilight of t h e room absorbed s o m e of his s u b s t a n c e a n d m a d e B r i n d e r feel that he w a s l o s i n g his grip o n t h e situation. A s h a d o w is a difficult adversary a n d B i g F a c e w a s rapidly t u r n i n g into o n e . " T h e a g e n t w a n t s this court. H e thinks it's a g o o d thing. S o w e have talked s o m e m o r e — a n d w e a g r e e . W e will have this court." H e p a u s e d briefly, a l l o w i n g B r i n d e r only

a moment's

bewilderment.

"Only w e couldn't d e c i d e w h o would b e j u d g e . S o m e said this o n e , s o m e said that o n e . It w a s hard. . . ."

RICHARD WRIGHT

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Brinder c o u g h e d . " H a v e you d e c i d e d on any o n e , Big F a c e ? " H e no longer knew which way things were drifting but only h o p e d for the b e s t . T h e old fellow's eyes, m i s t e d by a g e , actually twinkled. In the body of councillors s o m e b o d y l a u g h e d a n d c o u g h e d in the s a m e b r e a t h . F e e t stirred a n d bodies shifted. S o m e t h i n g w a s in the air. Haltingly, B i g F a c e n a m e d the m e n — t h e m o s t a m a z i n g trio the Reservation h a d to offer. " W a l k s - i n - t h e - G r o u n d — J a c o b G o p h e r — T w i s t e d H o r n . . ." In the silence that followed, Brinder tried hard to believe h e h a d heard the w r o n g n a m e s . A m i s t a k e h a d b e e n m a d e . It w a s i m p o s s i b l e to take it seriously. T h e s e three m e n — n o , it was i m p o s s i b l e ! T h e first, an a g e d i m b e cile dripping s a l i v a — r e a d y to die! T h e s e c o n d , s t o n e d e a f a n d blind! T h e third, an utter fool, a half-witted clown, to w h o m no o n e l i s t e n e d . "You m e a n t h i s ? " Brinder still could not s e e the full s i t u a t i o n , but w a s afraid that the strategy w a s deliberate a n d final. " T h o s e will b e the j u d g e s of this c o u r t , " Big F a c e replied, smiling in his u s u a l friendly way. " B u t these m e n can't be j u d g e s ! T h e y are too old, or e l s e too foolish. N o o n e will listen to t h e m . . ." Brinder broke off short. H e s a w that h e h a d stated the strategy of the old m e n especially a s they h a d i n t e n d e d it. His friendliness withered away. Big F a c e did not h e s i t a t e , did not break off smiling. "It is better, we think, that fools s h o u l d be j u d g e s . If p e o p l e won't listen to t h e m , no o n e will m i n d . " Brinder h a d n o t h i n g to say, not j u s t then. H e let the front legs of his c h a i r drop to the floor, picked up his hat. His face h a d p a l e d . After five y e a r s — still to let this h a p p e n . . . . U s i n g great effort, he turned it off a s a j o k e . " B o y s , you s h o u l d of e l e c t e d m e j u d g e to your k a n g a r o o court. I would have m a d e a crackerjack."2 T h e Indians l a u g h e d a n d didn't know what h e m e a n t , not exactly. B u t maybe he w a s right. 1989,

1992

2. I.e., would have become something excellent (colloquial). "Kangaroo court": a mock court in which the principles of justice are ignored or perverted.

RICHARD

WRIGHT

1908-1960 With the 1940 publication of Native Son Richard Wright became the first African American author of a best-seller. Native Son is an uncompromising study of an African American underclass youth who is goaded to brutal violence by the oppression, hatred, and incomprehension of the white world. The sensational story disregarded conventional wisdom about how black authors should approach a white reading audience. Bigger Thomas, the main character, embodied everything that such an audience might fear and detest, but by situating the point of view within this character's consciousness Wright forced readers to see the world through Bigger's eyes and thus to understand him. The novel was structured like a hard-boiled detective story, contained layers of literary allusion and symbol, and combined Marxist

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RICHARD WRIGHT

social analysis with existential philosophy—in brief, it was at once a powerful social statement and a complex work of literary art. Wright was born near Natchez, Mississippi. When he was five, his father abandoned the family—Wright, his younger brother, and his mother—and for the next ten years Wright was raised by a series of relatives in Mississippi. By 1925, when he went to Memphis on his own, he had moved twenty times. Extreme poverty, a constantly interrupted education that never went beyond junior high school, and the religious fundamentalism of his grandmother, along with the constant experiences of humiliation and hatred in a racially segregated South: all these contributed to Wright's growing sense that the hidden anger of black people was justified and that only by acknowledging and expressing it could they move beyond it. The title of Native Son made the point that the United States is as much the country of black as of white; the story showed that blacks had been deprived of their inheritance. Two years after moving to Memphis, Wright went north to Chicago. There he took a series of odd jobs and then joined the WPA Writers' Project (a government project of the Depression years to help support authors) as a writer of guidebooks and as a director of the Federal Negro Theater. He began to study Marxist theory, contributing poetry to leftist literary magazines and joining the Communist Party in 1932. By 1935 he had become the center of a group of African American Chicago writers and had started to write fiction. He was influenced by the naturalistic fiction of James T. Farrell, whose study of sociology at the University of Chicago had helped give structure to his popular Studs Lonigan trilogy about working people of Irish descent. Wright moved to New York in 1937 to write for the New York Writers' Project and as a reporter on the Communist Daily

Worker.

In 1938 he published Uncle

Tom's

Children, a collection of four short stories. (An earlier novel, Lawd Today, was not published until after his death.) Set in the rural South, the stories center on racial conflict and physical violence. Wright's theme of the devastating effect of relentless, institutionalized hatred and humiliation on the black male's psyche was paramount in all of them. After Native Son, Wright turned to autobiographical writings that eventuated in Black Boy, published in 1945. Many consider this to be his best book, and such writers as Ralph Ellison and James Baldwin took it as a model for their own work in the 1950s and 1960s. A Communist activist in the early 1940s, Wright became increasingly disillusioned and broke completely with the party in 1944. Visiting France in 1946, he was warmly received by leading writers and philosophers. In 1947 he settled permanently in that country, where he was perceived from the first as one of the important experimental modernist prose writers and was ranked on a level with Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Faulkner. An existential novel, The Outsider (1953), was followed by five more books: two novels and three collections of lectures, travel writings, and sociopolitical commentary. The collection Eight Men, from which the story printed here is taken, was the last literary project he worked on, and it appeared the year after his death. Wright's immersion in Marxist doctrine gave him tools for representing society as divided into antagonistic classes and run for the benefit of the few. But in each of his works he portrays individuals who, no matter how they are deformed and brutalized by oppression and exploitation, retain a transcendent spark of selfhood. Ultimately, it is in this spark that Wright put his faith. His writing from first to last affirmed the dignity and humanity of society's outcasts without romanticizing them, and indicted those who had cast them out. As Ralph Ellison expressed it, Wright's example "converted the American Negro impulse toward self-annihilation and 'going underground' into a will to confront the world" and to "throw his findings unashamedly into the guilty conscience of America." The text was first published in Harper's Bazaar (1939) under the title "Almos' a Man." Under its present title it appeared in Eight Men (1961), a posthumous collection of Wright's short fiction.

THE MAN WHO WAS ALMOST A MAN

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The Man Who Was Almost a Man Dave struck out a c r o s s the fields, looking h o m e w a r d t h r o u g h paling light. W h u t ' s the u s e talkin wid e m niggers in the field? Anyhow, his m o t h e r w a s putting s u p p e r on the table. T h e m niggers can't u n d e r s t a n n o t h i n g . O n e of t h e s e days h e w a s g o i n g to get a g u n a n d p r a c t i c e s h o o t i n g , then they couldn't talk to him a s t h o u g h he were a little boy. H e s l o w e d , looking at the g r o u n d . S h u c k s , Ah ain s c a r e d a t h e m even ef they are biggern m e ! Aw, Ah know whut A h m a do. A h m g o i n g by ol J o e ' s sto n git that S e a r s R o e b u c k c a t l o g n look at t h e m g u n s . M e b b e M a will l e m m e buy o n e w h e n s h e gits m a h pay from oi m a n H a w k i n s . A h m a b e g her t g i m m e s o m e m o n e y . A h m ol e r n o u g h to hava g u n . A h m s e v e n t e e n . Almost a m a n . H e s t r o d e , feeling his long loosej o i n t e d limbs. S h u c k s , a m a n o u g h t a hava little g u n aftah he d o n e worked hard all day. H e c a m e in sight of J o e ' s store. A yellow lantern glowed on the front p o r c h . H e m o u n t e d s t e p s a n d went through the s c r e e n door, h e a r i n g it b a n g b e h i n d him. T h e r e w a s a strong smell of coal oil a n d m a c k e r e l fish. H e felt very confident until he s a w fat J o e walk in t h r o u g h the rear door, then his c o u r a g e b e g a n to ooze. "Howdy, Dave! Whutcha want?" " H o w yuh, M i s t a h J o e ? Aw, Ah d o n w a n n a buy nothing. Ah j u s w a n t e d t see ef yuhd l e m m e look at tha c a t l o g e r w h i l e . " " S u r e ! You w a n n a s e e it h e r e ? " " N a w s u h . Ah w a n s t take it h o m e wid m e . Ah'll bring it b a c k t e r m o r r o w when Ah c o m e in from the fiels." "You plannin on b u y i n g s o m e t h i n g ? " "Yessuh." "Your m a lettin you have your own m o n e y n o w ? " " S h u c k s . M i s t a h J o e , A h m gittin t b e a m a n like anybody e l s e ! " J o e l a u g h e d a n d wiped his greasy white f a c e with a red b a n d a n n a . " W h u t you plannin on b u y i n ? " D a v e looked at the floor, s c r a t c h e d his h e a d , s c r a t c h e d his thigh, a n d smiled. T h e n he looked u p shyly. "Ah'll tell yuh, M i s t a h J o e , ef yuh p r o m i s e yuh won't tell." "I p r o m i s e . " " W a a l , A h m a buy a g u n . " "A g u n ? W h a t you want with a g u n ? " "Ah w a n n a keep it." "You ain't nothing but a boy. You don't n e e d a g u n . " "Aw, l e m m e have the catlog, M i s t a h J o e . Ah'll bring it b a c k . " J o e walked through the rear door. D a v e w a s e l a t e d . H e looked a r o u n d at barrels of s u g a r a n d flour. H e heard J o e c o m i n g back. H e c r a n e d his neck to s e e if he were bringing the book. Y e a h , he's got it. G a w d d o g , he's got it! " H e r e , but b e s u r e you bring it back. It's the only o n e I g o t . " "Sho, Mistah J o e . " " S a y , if you w a n n a buy a g u n , why don't you buy o n e from m e ? I gotta g u n to sell." "Will it s h o o t ? " " S u r e it'll s h o o t . "

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"I'll let you have it for two d o l l a r s . " " J u s t two d o l l a h s ? S h u c k s , Ah c o u l d buy tha w h e n Ah git m a h p a y . " "I'll have it here w h e n you w a n t it." "Awright, s u h . Ah b e in fer it." H e went t h r o u g h the door, h e a r i n g it s l a m again b e h i n d h i m . A h m a git s o m e m o n e y from M a n buy m e a g u n ! Only two d o l l a h s ! H e t u c k e d the thick c a t a l o g u e u n d e r his a r m a n d hurried. " W h e r e yuh b e e n , b o y ? " His m o t h e r held a s t e a m i n g dish of black-eyed peas. "Aw, M a , Ah j u s t s t o p p e d d o w n the r o a d t talk wid the b o y s . " "Yuh know b e t t a h t keep s u p p a h w a i t i n . " H e sat d o w n , resting the c a t a l o g u e on the e d g e of the t a b l e . "Yuh git u p from there a n d git to the well n w a s h yosef! Ah ain feedin n o hogs in m a h h o u s e ! " S h e g r a b b e d his s h o u l d e r a n d p u s h e d h i m . H e s t u m b l e d o u t of the r o o m , then c a m e b a c k to get the c a t a l o g u e . "Whut this?" "Aw, M a , it's j u s a c a t l o g . " " W h o yuh git it f r o m ? " " F r o m J o e , down at the s t o . " " W a a l , t h a s g o o d . W e kin u s e it in the o u t h o u s e . " " N a w , M a . " H e g r a b b e d for it. " G i m m e m a c a t l o g , M a . " S h e held o n t o it a n d glared at him. "Quit hollerin at m e ! W h u t ' s w r o n g wid y u h ? Y u h c r a z y ? " " B u t M a , p l e a s e . It ain m i n e ! It's J o e ' s ! H e tol m e t bring it b a c k t im termorrow." S h e gave u p the b o o k . H e s t u m b l e d d o w n the b a c k s t e p s , h u g g i n g the thick b o o k u n d e r his a r m . W h e n h e h a d s p l a s h e d water on his f a c e a n d h a n d s , h e g r o p e d b a c k to the kitchen a n d f u m b l e d in a c o r n e r for the towel. H e b u m p e d into a chair; it clattered to the floor. T h e c a t a l o g u e s p r a w l e d at his feet. W h e n h e h a d dried his eyes he s n a t c h e d up the b o o k a n d held it again u n d e r his a r m . H i s m o t h e r s t o o d w a t c h i n g h i m . " N o w , ef yuh g o n n a a c t a fool over that ol book, Ah'II take it n burn it u p . " "Naw, Ma, please." " W a a l , set d o w n n b e still!" H e sat d o w n a n d drew the oil l a m p c l o s e . H e t h u m b e d p a g e after p a g e , u n a w a r e of the food his m o t h e r set on the t a b l e . H i s father c a m e in. T h e n his small brother. " W h u t c h a got there, D a v e ? " his father a s k e d . " J u s a c a t l o g , " h e a n s w e r e d , not looking u p . "Yeah, here they i s ! " H i s eyes glowed at b l u e - a n d - b l a c k revolvers. H e g l a n c e d u p , feeling s u d d e n guilt. H i s father w a s w a t c h i n g h i m . H e e a s e d the b o o k u n d e r the table a n d rested it on his k n e e s . After the b l e s s i n g w a s a s k e d ,

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he a t e . H e s c o o p e d u p p e a s a n d swallowed fat m e a t without c h e w i n g . Buttermilk helped to w a s h it d o w n . H e did not w a n t to m e n t i o n m o n e y before his father. H e would do m u c h better by c o r n e r i n g his m o t h e r w h e n s h e w a s a l o n e . H e looked at his father uneasily o u t of the e d g e of his eye. " B o y , how c o m e yuh d o n quit foolin wid tha b o o k n e a t yo s u p p a h ? " "Yessuh." " H o w you n ol m a n H a w k i n s gitten e r l o n g ? " "Suh?" " C a n ' t yuh hear? W h y d o n yuh lissen? Ah a s t yu how w u z yuh n ol m a n H a w k i n s gittin e r l o n g ? " " O h , swell, P a . Ah plows m o lan than anybody over t h e r e . " " W a a l , yuh o u g h t a keep yo m i n d on w h u t yuh d o i n . " "Yessuh." H e p o u r e d his plate full of m o l a s s e s a n d s o p p e d it u p slowly with a c h u n k of c o r n b r e a d . W h e n his father a n d brother h a d left the kitchen, h e still sat a n d looked again at the g u n s in the c a t a l o g u e , longing to m u s t e r c o u r a g e e n o u g h to p r e s e n t his c a s e to his mother. L a w d , ef Ah only h a d tha pretty o n e ! H e c o u l d a l m o s t feel the slickness of the w e a p o n with his fingers. If h e h a d a g u n like that he would polish it a n d k e e p it s h i n i n g s o it w o u l d never rust. N Ah'd keep it l o a d e d , by G a w d ! " M a ? " H i s voice w a s hesitant. "Hunh?" "Ol m a n H a w k i n s give yuh m a h m o n e y yit?" "Yeah, but ain no u s a yuh thinking bout throwin n o n a it erway. A h m k e e p in tha m o n e y s o s yuh kin have c l o e s t g o to s c h o o l this winter." H e r o s e a n d went to her side with the o p e n c a t a l o g u e in his p a l m s . S h e w a s w a s h i n g d i s h e s , her h e a d bent low over a p a n . Shyly he r a i s e d the b o o k . W h e n he s p o k e , his voice w a s husky, faint. " M a , G a w d knows Ah w a n s o n e of t h e s e . " " O n e of w h u t ? " s h e a s k e d , not raising her eyes. " O n e of t h e s e , " he s a i d a g a i n , not d a r i n g even to point. S h e g l a n c e d up at the p a g e , then at him with wide eyes. " N i g g e r , is yuh g o n e p l u m b c r a z y ? " "Aw, M a . " " G i t outta here! D o n yuh talk t m e b o u t no g u n ! Yuh a f o o l ! " " M a , Ah kin buy o n e fer two d o l l a h s . " " N o t ef Ah knows it, yuh a i n ! " " B u t yuh p r o m i s e d m e o n e . " "Ah d o n c a r e w h u t Ah p r o m i s e d ! Yuh ain n o t h i n g but a boy yit!" " M a , ef y u h l e m m e buy o n e Ah'll never ast yuh fer n o t h i n g n o m o . " "Ah tol yuh t git outta h e r e ! Yuh ain g o n n a t o u c h a p e n n y of tha m o n e y fer n o g u n ! T h a s how c o m e Ah has M i s t a h H a w k i n s t pay yo w a g e s t m e , c a u s e Ah knows yuh ain got n o s e n s e . " " B u t , M a , we n e e d a g u n . P a ain got n o g u n . W e n e e d a g u n in the h o u s e . Yuh kin never tell w h u t might h a p p e n . " " N o w d o n yuh try to m a k a fool o u t t a m e , boy! E f we did hava g u n , yuh wouldn't have it!" H e laid the c a t a l o g u e down a n d slipped his a r m a r o u n d her waist. "Aw, M a , Ah d o n e worked hard alia s u m m e r n ain ast yuh fer nothin, is Ah, n o w ? "

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WRIGHT

" T h a s whut yuh s p o s e t d o ! " " B u t M a , Ah w a n s a g u n . Y u h kin l e m m e have two dollahs o u t t a m a h m o n e y . P l e a s e , M a . I kin give it to Pa . . . P l e a s e , M a ! Ah loves yuh, M a . " W h e n s h e s p o k e her voice c a m e soft a n d low. " W h a t yuh w a n wida g u n , D a v e ? Yuh d o n n e e d no g u n . Yuh'll git in trouble. N ef yo pa j u s t h o u g h t Ah let yuh have m o n e y t buy a g u n he'd hava fit." "Ah'll hide it, M a . It ain but two d o l l a h s . " " L a w d , chil, whut's w r o n g wid y u h ? " "Ain nothing wrong, M a . A h m a l m o s a m a n now. Ah w a n s a g u n . " " W h o g o n n a sell yuh a g u n ? " "Ol J o e at the s t o . " " N it d o n c o s but two d o l l a h s ? " " T h a s all, M a . J u s t two d o l l a h s . P l e a s e , M a . " S h e w a s s t a c k i n g the p l a t e s away; her h a n d s m o v e d slowly, reflectively. D a v e kept an a n x i o u s s i l e n c e . Finally, s h e turned to h i m . "Ah'll let yuh git tha g u n ef yuh p r o m i s e m e o n e t h i n g . " " W h u t ' s tha, M a ? " "Yuh bring it straight b a c k t m e , yuh h e a r ? It b e fer P a . " " Y e s s u m ! L e m m e go now, M a . " S h e s t o o p e d , turned slightly to o n e s i d e , raised the h e m of her d r e s s , rolled d o w n the top of her stocking, a n d c a m e u p with a slender w a d of bills. " H e r e , " s h e s a i d . " L a w d knows yuh d o n n e e d no g u n . B u t yer p a d o e s . Yuh bring it right b a c k t m e , yuh h e a r ? A h m a p u t it u p . N o w ef yuh d o n , A h m a have yuh p a p i c k yuh s o hard yuh won fergit it." "Yessum." H e took the money, ran down the s t e p s , a n d a c r o s s the yard. "Dave! Yuuuuuh Daaaaave!" H e heard, but he w a s not going to s t o p now. " N a w , L a w d ! " T h e first m o v e m e n t he m a d e the following m o r n i n g w a s to r e a c h u n d e r his pillow for the g u n . In the gray light of d a w n he held it loosely, feeling a s e n s e of power. C o u l d kill a m a n with a g u n like this. Kill anybody, black or white. A n d if he were holding his g u n in his h a n d , n o b o d y c o u l d run over h i m ; they would have to r e s p e c t h i m . It w a s a big g u n , with a long barrel a n d a heavy h a n d l e . H e raised a n d lowered it in his h a n d , marveling at its weight. H e h a d not c o m e straight h o m e with it a s his m o t h e r h a d a s k e d ; i n s t e a d he h a d stayed out in the fields, holding the w e a p o n in his h a n d , a i m i n g it now a n d then at s o m e imaginary foe. B u t h e had not fired it; h e h a d b e e n afraid that his father might hear. Also he w a s not s u r e h e knew how to fire it. T o avoid s u r r e n d e r i n g the pistol he h a d not c o m e into the h o u s e until he knew that they were all a s l e e p . W h e n his m o t h e r h a d tiptoed to his b e d s i d e late that night a n d d e m a n d e d the g u n , he h a d first played p o s s u m ; then he h a d told her that the g u n w a s h i d d e n o u t d o o r s , that he w o u l d b r i n g it to her in the m o r n i n g . N o w he lay turning it slowly in his h a n d s . H e b r o k e it, took out the c a r t r i d g e s , felt t h e m , a n d then put t h e m b a c k . H e slid out of b e d , got a long strip of old flannel from a trunk, w r a p p e d the g u n in it, a n d tied it to his n a k e d thigh while it w a s still l o a d e d . H e did not go in to breakfast. Even t h o u g h it w a s not yet daylight, h e s t a r t e d for J i m

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H a w k i n s ' p l a n t a t i o n . J u s t a s the s u n w a s rising he r e a c h e d the b a r n s where the mules a n d plows were kept. "Hey! T h a t you, D a v e ? " H e t u r n e d . J i m H a w k i n s s t o o d eying him s u s p i c i o u s l y . "What're yuh d o i n g here s o e a r l y ? " "Ah didn't know Ah wuz gittin u p s o early, M i s t a h H a w k i n s . Ah w u z fixin t hitch up ol J e n n y n take her t the fiels." " G o o d . S i n c e you're s o early, how a b o u t plowing that stretch d o w n by the woods?" "Suits me, Mistah Hawkins." " O . K . G o to it!" H e hitched J e n n y to a plow a n d started a c r o s s the fields. H o t dog! T h i s w a s j u s t w h a t h e w a n t e d . If he c o u l d get d o w n by the w o o d s , h e c o u l d s h o o t his g u n a n d nobody would hear. H e walked b e h i n d the plow, h e a r i n g the traces c r e a k i n g , feeling the g u n tied tight to his thigh. W h e n he r e a c h e d the w o o d s , he plowed two whole rows before h e d e c i d e d to take out the g u n . Finally, h e s t o p p e d , looked in all d i r e c t i o n s , then u n t i e d the g u n a n d held it in his h a n d . H e turned to the m u l e a n d s m i l e d . " K n o w w h u t this is, J e n n y ? N a w , yuh w o u l d n know! Y u h s j u s a ol m u l e ! Anyhow, this is a g u n , n it kin s h o o t , by G a w d ! " H e held the g u n at a r m ' s length. W h u t t hell, A h m a s h o o t this thing! H e looked at J e n n y a g a i n . " L i s s e n h e r e , J e n n y ! W h e n Ah pull this ol trigger, A h d o n w a n yuh t run n a c k a fool n o w ! " J e n n y stood with h e a d d o w n , her short e a r s pricked straight. D a v e walked off a b o u t twenty feet, held the g u n far out from him at a r m ' s length, a n d turned his h e a d . Hell, he told himself, Ah ain afraid. T h e g u n felt l o o s e in his fingers; h e waved it wildly for a m o m e n t . T h e n h e s h u t his eyes a n d tightened his forefinger. B l o o m ! A report half d e a f e n e d him a n d he t h o u g h t his right h a n d w a s torn from his a r m . H e h e a r d J e n n y whinnying a n d galloping over the field, a n d h e f o u n d h i m s e l f on his k n e e s , s q u e e z i n g his fingers hard b e t w e e n his legs. His h a n d w a s n u m b ; he j a m m e d it into his m o u t h , trying to w a r m it, trying to s t o p the p a i n . T h e g u n lay at his feet. H e did not quite know what h a d h a p p e n e d . H e s t o o d u p a n d stared at the g u n a s t h o u g h it were a living thing. H e gritted his teeth a n d kicked the g u n . Y u h a l m o s broke m a h a r m ! H e turned to look for J e n n y ; s h e w a s far over the fields, tossing her h e a d a n d kicking wildly. " H o i on there, ol m u l e ! " W h e n he c a u g h t up with her s h e s t o o d trembling, walling her big white eyes at him. T h e plow w a s far away; the traces h a d b r o k e n . T h e n D a v e s t o p p e d short, looking, not believing. J e n n y w a s b l e e d i n g . H e r left side w a s red a n d wet with blood. H e went closer. L a w d , have mercy! W o n d a h did Ah s h o o t this m u l e ? H e g r a b b e d for J e n n y ' s m a n e . S h e flinched, s n o r t e d , whirled, t o s s i n g her h e a d . " H o i on now! Hoi o n . " T h e n he saw the hole in J e n n y ' s s i d e , right b e t w e e n the ribs. It w a s r o u n d , wet, red. A c r i m s o n s t r e a m s t r e a k e d d o w n the front leg, flowing fast. G o o d G a w d ! Ah wuzn't shootin at tha m u l e . H e felt p a n i c . H e knew h e h a d to s t o p that b l o o d , or J e n n y would bleed to d e a t h . H e h a d never s e e n s o m u c h b l o o d

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in all his life. H e c h a s e d the m u l e for a half a mile, trying to c a t c h her. Finally s h e s t o p p e d , b r e a t h i n g hard, s t u m p y tail half a r c h e d . H e c a u g h t her m a n e a n d led her b a c k to where the plow a n d g u n lay. T h e n he s t o o p e d a n d grabbed handfuls of d a m p black earth a n d tried to p l u g the bullet h o l e . J e n n y s h u d d e r e d , whinnied, a n d broke from h i m . " H o i on! Hoi on n o w ! " H e tried to p l u g it a g a i n , but blood c a m e anyhow. H i s fingers were hot a n d sticky. H e r u b b e d dirt into his p a l m s , trying to dry t h e m . T h e n a g a i n h e a t t e m p t e d to p l u g the bullet hole, b u t J e n n y shied away, kicking her heels high. H e s t o o d h e l p l e s s . H e h a d to do s o m e t h i n g . H e ran at J e n n y ; s h e d o d g e d him. H e w a t c h e d a red s t r e a m of blood flow d o w n J e n n y ' s leg a n d form a bright pool at her feet. " J e n n y . . . J e n n y , " h e called weakly. His lips t r e m b l e d . S h e ' s b l e e d i n g t d e a t h ! H e looked in the direction of h o m e , w a n t i n g to go b a c k , w a n t i n g to get h e l p . B u t he s a w the pistol lying in the d a m p b l a c k clay. H e h a d a q u e e r feeling that if he only did s o m e t h i n g , this would not b e ; J e n n y would not be there b l e e d i n g to d e a t h . W h e n h e went to her this t i m e , s h e did not m o v e . S h e s t o o d with sleepy, dreamy eyes; a n d w h e n he t o u c h e d her s h e gave a low-pitched whinny a n d knelt to the g r o u n d , her front k n e e s s l o p p i n g in b l o o d . " J e n n y . . . J e n n y . . ." h e w h i s p e r e d . For a long time s h e held her neck e r e c t ; then her h e a d s a n k , slowly. H e r ribs swelled with a mighty h e a v e a n d s h e went over. Dave's s t o m a c h felt empty, very empty. H e p i c k e d up the g u n a n d held it gingerly b e t w e e n his t h u m b a n d forefinger. H e buried it at the foot of a tree. H e took a stick a n d tried to cover the pool of blood with d i r t — b u t what w a s the u s e ? T h e r e w a s J e n n y lying with her m o u t h o p e n a n d her eyes walled a n d glassy. H e c o u l d not tell J i m H a w k i n s he h a d shot his m u l e . B u t h e h a d to tell s o m e t h i n g . Y e a h , Ah'll tell e m J e n n y started gittin wil n fell on the joint of the plow. . . . B u t that would hardly h a p p e n to a m u l e . H e walked a c r o s s the field slowly, h e a d d o w n . It w a s s u n s e t . T w o of J i m H a w k i n s ' m e n were over n e a r the e d g e of the w o o d s digging a hole in which to bury J e n n y . D a v e w a s s u r r o u n d e d by a knot of p e o p l e , all of w h o m were looking d o w n at the d e a d m u l e . "I don't s e e how in the world it h a p p e n e d , " said J i m H a w k i n s for the tenth time. T h e crowd p a r t e d a n d Dave's m o t h e r , father, a n d small brother p u s h e d into the c e n t e r . " W h e r e D a v e ? " his m o t h e r c a l l e d . " T h e r e h e i s , " said J i m H a w k i n s . His m o t h e r g r a b b e d h i m . " W h u t h a p p e n e d , D a v e ? W h u t yuh d o n e ? " "Nothin." " C m o n , boy, talk," his father said. D a v e took a d e e p b r e a t h a n d told the story he k n e w n o b o d y believed. " W a a l , " h e drawled. "Ah b r u n g ol J e n n y d o w n h e r e s o s Ah c o u l d d o m a h plowin. Ah plowed b o u t two rows, j u s t like yuh s e e . " H e s t o p p e d a n d p o i n t e d at the long rows of u p t u r n e d e a r t h . " T h e n s o m e t h i n m u s t a b e e n w r o n g wid

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ol J e n n y . S h e wouldn a c k right a-tall. S h e started snortin n kickin her heels. Ah tried t hoi her, but s h e pulled erway, rearin n goin in. T h e n w h e n the point of the plow was stickin up in the air, s h e s w u n g erroun n twisted herself b a c k on it . . . S h e s t u c k herself n started t bleed. N fo Ah c o u l d do anything, s h e wuz d e a d . " " D i d you ever hear of anything like that in all your life?" a s k e d J i m Hawkins. T h e r e were white a n d black s t a n d i n g in the crowd. T h e v m u r m u r e d . Dave's m o t h e r c a m e c l o s e to him a n d looked hard into his f a c e . "Tell the truth, D a v e , " she said. " L o o k s like a bullet hole to m e , " said o n e m a n . " D a v e , whut yuh do wid the g u n ? " his m o t h e r a s k e d . T h e crowd s u r g e d in, looking at him. H e j a m m e d his h a n d s into his pockets, s h o o k his h e a d slowly from left to right, a n d b a c k e d away. His eyes were wide a n d painful. " D i d h e hava g u n ? " a s k e d J i m H a w k i n s . " B y G a w d , Ah tol yuh tha wu a g u n w o u n d , " said a m a n , s l a p p i n g his thigh. H i s father c a u g h t his s h o u l d e r s a n d s h o o k him till his teeth rattled. "Tell whut h a p p e n e d , yuh rascal! Tell whut . . ." D a v e looked at J e n n y ' s stiff legs a n d b e g a n to cry. " W h u t yuh d o wid tha g u n ? " his m o t h e r a s k e d . " W h u t wuz he doin wida g u n ? " his father a s k e d . " C o m e on a n d tell the t r u t h , " said H a w k i n s . "Ain't n o b o d y g o i n g to hurt you . . ." His m o t h e r c r o w d e d c l o s e to him. " D i d yuh shoot tha m u l e , D a v e ? " D a v e cried, s e e i n g blurred white a n d black f a c e s . "Ahh ddinn g g g o tt s s h o o o t hher . . . Ah s s s w e a r ffo G a w d Ahh d d i n . . . . Ah wuz a-tryin t s s s e e e f the old g g g u n would s s h o o t . " " W h e r e yuh git the gun f r o m ? " his father a s k e d . "Ah got it from J o e , at the s t o . " " W h e r e yuh git the m o n e y ? " " M a give it t m e . " " H e kept worryin m e , B o b . Ah h a d t. Ah tol im t bring the g u n right b a c k to m e . . . It w a s fer yuh, the g u n . " " B u t how yuh h a p p e n to shoot that m u l e ? " a s k e d J i m H a w k i n s . "Ah wuzn shootin at the m u l e , M i s t a h H a w k i n s . T h e g u n j u m p e d w h e n Ah pulled the trigger . . . N fo Ah knowed anythin J e n n y w a s there ableedin." S o m e b o d y in the crowd l a u g h e d . J i m H a w k i n s walked c l o s e to D a v e a n d looked into his f a c e . "Well, looks like you have b o u g h t you a m u l e , D a v e . " "Ah swear fo G a w d , Ah didn g o t kill the m u l e , M i s t a h H a w k i n s ! " " B u t you killed her!" All the crowd w a s l a u g h i n g now. T h e y s t o o d on tiptoe a n d p o k e d h e a d s over o n e another's s h o u l d e r s . "Well, boy, looks like yuh d o n e b o u g h t a d e a d m u l e ! H a h a h a ! " "Ain tha e r s h a m e . " "Hohohohoho."

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D a v e s t o o d , h e a d d o w n , twisting his feet in the dirt. "Well, you needn't worry a b o u t it, B o b , " said J i m H a w k i n s to D a v e ' s father. " J u s t let the boy k e e p o n working a n d pay m e two dollars a m o n t h . " " W h u t yuh w a n fer yo m u l e , M i s t a h H a w k i n s ? " J i m H a w k i n s s c r e w e d u p his eyes. "Fifty d o l l a r s . " " W h u t yuh do wid tha g u n ? " D a v e ' s father d e m a n d e d . D a v e said nothing. "Yuh w a n m e t take a tree n b e a t yuh till yuh talk!" "Nawsuh!" " W h u t yuh d o wid i t ? " "Ah throwed it erway." "Where?" "Ah . . . Ah throwed it in the c r e e k . " " W a a l , c m o n h o m e . N firs thing in the m a w n i n git to tha c r e e k n fin t h a gun." "Yessuh." " W h u t yuh pay fer i t ? " "Two dollahs." " T a k e tha g u n n git yo m o n e y b a c k n carry it t M i s t a h H a w k i n s , y u h n e a r ? N d o n fergit A h m a lam you b l a c k b o t t o m g o o d fer this! N o w m a r c h y o s e f o n home, suh!" D a v e turned a n d walked slowly. H e h e a r d p e o p l e l a u g h i n g . D a v e glared, his eyes welling with t e a r s . H o t a n g e r b u b b l e d in h i m . T h e n h e swallowed a n d s t u m b l e d on. T h a t night D a v e did not s l e e p . H e w a s glad that he h a d g o t t e n o u t of killing the m u l e so easily, b u t h e w a s hurt. S o m e t h i n g hot s e e m e d to turn over inside him e a c h t i m e he r e m e m b e r e d h o w they h a d l a u g h e d . H e t o s s e d on his b e d , feeling his hard pillow. N P a says he's g o n n a b e a t m e . . . H e r e m e m b e r e d other b e a t i n g s , a n d his b a c k quivered. N a w , naw, A h s h o d o n w a n im t b e a t m e tha way no m o . D a m e m all! N o b o d y ever g a v e him anything. All h e did w a s work. T h e y treat m e like a m u l e , n then they b e a t m e . H e gritted his teeth. N M a h a d t tell o n m e . Well, if h e h a d to, h e w o u l d take old m a n H a w k i n s that two dollars. B u t that m e a n t selling the g u n . A n d h e w a n t e d to k e e p that g u n . Fifty dollars for a dead mule. H e t u r n e d over, thinking how h e h a d fired the g u n . H e h a d a n itch to fire it a g a i n . E f other m e n kin s h o o t a g u n , by G a w d , Ah kin! H e w a s still, listening. M e b b e they all sleepin now. T h e h o u s e w a s still. H e h e a r d the soft b r e a t h i n g of his brother. Yes, now! H e would g o d o w n a n d get that g u n a n d s e e if h e c o u l d fire it! H e e a s e d o u t of b e d a n d s l i p p e d into overalls. T h e m o o n w a s bright. H e ran a l m o s t all the way to the e d g e of the w o o d s . H e s t u m b l e d over the g r o u n d , looking for the s p o t w h e r e he h a d buried the g u n . Y e a h , h e r e it is. Like a h u n g r y d o g s c r a t c h i n g for a b o n e , h e p a w e d it u p . H e p u f f e d his b l a c k c h e e k s a n d blew dirt from the trigger a n d barrel. H e broke it a n d f o u n d four cartridges u n s h o t . H e l o o k e d a r o u n d ; the fields w e r e filled with s i l e n c e a n d m o o n l i g h t . H e c l u t c h e d the g u n stiff a n d hard in his fingers. B u t , a s s o o n a s he w a n t e d to pull the trigger, h e s h u t his eyes a n d turned his h e a d . N a w , An can't s h o o t wid m a h eyes c l o s e d n m a h h e a d t u r n e d . W i t h effort he held his eyes o p e n ; then h e s q u e e z e d . Bloooom! He

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w a s stiff, not breathing. T h e g u n w a s still in his h a n d s . D a m m i t , he'd d o n e it! H e fired a g a i n . Blooooom! H e smiled. Blooooom! Blooooom! Click, click. T h e r e ! It w a s empty. If anybody c o u l d s h o o t a g u n , h e c o u l d . H e p u t the g u n into his hip pocket a n d started a c r o s s the fields. W h e n he r e a c h e d the top of a ridge he s t o o d straight a n d p r o u d in the moonlight, looking at J i m H a w k i n s ' big white h o u s e , feeling the g u n s a g g i n g in his pocket. L a w d , ef Ah h a d j u s t o n e m o bullet Ah'd taka shot at tha h o u s e . Ah'd like t s c a r e ol m a n H a w k i n s j u s a little . . . J u s a e n o u g h t let im k n o w D a v e S a u n d e r s is a m a n . T o his left the road c u r v e d , r u n n i n g to the tracks of the Illinois C e n t r a l . hoooofH e j e r k e d his h e a d , listening. F r o m far off c a m e a faint hooof-hoooof; hoooof; hoooof-hoooof. . . . H e s t o o d rigid. T w o dollahs a m o n t . L e s s e e now . . . T h a m e a n s it'll take b o u t two years. S h u c k s ! Ah'll b e d a m ! H e started d o w n the r o a d , toward the tracks. Y e a h , here s h e c o m e s ! H e stood b e s i d e the track a n d held h i m s e l f stiffly. H e r e s h e c o m e s , e r r o u n the ben . . . C m o n , yuh slow p o k e ! C m o n ! H e h a d his h a n d on his g u n ; s o m e thing quivered in his s t o m a c h . T h e n the train t h u n d e r e d p a s t , the gray a n d brown box c a r s r u m b l i n g a n d clinking. H e g r i p p e d the g u n tightly; then h e j e r k e d his h a n d o u t of his p o c k e t . Ah b e t c h a Bill wouldn't do it! Ah b e t c h a . . . . T h e c a r s slid p a s t , steel grinding u p o n steel. A h m ridin yuh ternight, s o h e p m e G a w d ! H e w a s hot all over. H e h e s i t a t e d j u s t a m o m e n t ; then h e g r a b b e d , pulled a t o p of a car, a n d lay flat. H e felt his p o c k e t ; the g u n w a s still there. A h e a d the long rails were glinting in the m o o n l i g h t , s t r e t c h i n g away, away to s o m e w h e r e , s o m e w h e r e w h e r e he c o u l d be a m a n . . . 1939,1961

CARLOS

BULOSAN

1911-1956 Carlos Bulosan was the first, and is still the most important, Filipino-American author, one of the earliest voices in the Asian-American literary tradition. Although the lives of Filipinos were always his first concern, his claim that all "who came to the United States as immigrants are Americans too" connects his writing to the rich history of American immigrant literature in general. Bulosan came from an extremely poor peasant family in the Philippines and had almost no formal education. He arrived in Seattle in 1931, one of thousands of young Filipino men who came for jobs after the Immigrant Act of 1924 had excluded the Japanese. Like two older brothers who had emigrated earlier, he worked seasonally from Alaska to southern California—canning fish, planting cauliflower, picking fruit—for low wages in miserable conditions. White Americans had always discriminated against the Asians whose labor underpinned so much West Coast prosperity, but Filipinos were treated with particular brutality and contempt. As Bulosan put it, "in many ways it was a crime to be a Filipino in California." Within a few years he became active in the dangerous work of organizing migrant farm workers into unions. From 1936 to 1938 he was hospitalized in Los Angeles with tuberculosis; during this time he read widely and began writing poetry. When,

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during World War II, the Philippines were attacked by the Japanese and Filipinos were allowed to join the U.S. Army, mainland hostility toward them abated somewhat. Bulosan's first book, a collection of poems titled Letter for America, appeared in 1942. He began to publish stories in prestigious magazines like The New Yorker, Town and Country,

and Harper's

Bazaar.

The Laughter

of My Father

( 1 9 4 4 ) , sketches of Filipino

peasant life, won critical acclaim, as did his powerful memoir, America Is in the Heart (1946). Over the years he had many romances with white women but never married. Marriage between whites and Filipinos was, in fact, illegal in the western states during those decades. Bulosan's writing shifts from oratorical generalization in praise of American ideals to naturalistic, hard-boiled accounts of poverty, exploitation, and prejudice. His stylistic ambivalence well represents his divided feelings. He was in love with an imaginary United States but found that "the terrible truth in America shatters the Filipinos' dream of fraternity." Many of Bulosan's short stories exist now in manuscript only and are difficult to date. The text of "Be American" is from On Becoming Filipino (1995), edited by E. San Juan Jr.

Be American It w a s not C o n s o r c i o ' s fault. M y c o u s i n w a s a n illiterate p e a s a n t from t h e vast plains of L u z o n . W h e n h e c a m e off the b o a t in S a n F r a n c i s c o , h e c o u l d neither read nor write E n g l i s h or I l o c a n o , o u r dialect. I m e t h i m w h e n h e arrived, a n d right away h e h a d bright ideas in h i s h e a d . " C o u s i n , I want to b e A m e r i c a n , " h e told m e . " G o o d , " I said. " T h a t is t h e right thing to d o . B u t you have plenty o f time. You a r e p l a n n i n g to live p e r m a n e n t l y in t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s , a r e you n o t ? " " S u r e , c o u s i n , " h e s a i d . " B u t I want to b e A m e r i c a n right away. O n t h e b o a t I s a y , ' C o n s o r c i o stoody E n g l e e s h right away.' G o o d ideeyas, e h , cousin?" "It i s , " I s a i d . " B u t t h e first thing for you to d o is look for a j o b . " " S u r e , c o u s i n . You have j o o b for m e ? " I did. I took h i m to a c o u n t r y m a n of o u r s w h o o w n e d a small r e s t a u r a n t on Kearny S t r e e t . H e h a d not d o n e any d i s h w a s h i n g in t h e Philippines, s o he broke a few d i s h e s before h e realized that t h e d i s h e s were not c o c o n u t shells that h e c o u l d flagrantly throw a r o u n d t h e p l a c e , t h e way h e u s e d to d o in his village w h e r e c o c o n u t shells were p l a t e s a n d c a r v e d trunks of trees were platters a n d his fingers were s p o o n s . H e h a d never s e e n b r e a d a n d butter b e f o r e , s o he lost s o m e weight before h e realized that h e h a d to e a t t h e s e b a s i c things like t h e rest o f u s , a n d b e a n A m e r i c a n , w h i c h w a s his own idea in t h e first p l a c e . H e h a d never slept in a b e d with a m a t t r e s s b e f o r e , s o h e h a d to suffer from severe c o l d before h e realized that h e h a d to s l e e p inside t h e b e d , u n d e r t h e b l a n k e t s , b u t not on t o p of t h e s p r e a d , w h i c h w a s what h e h a d d o n e d u r i n g his first two w e e k s in A m e r i c a . A n d o f c o u r s e h e h a d never worn s h o e s b e f o r e , s o h e h a d to suffer a few blisters o n both feet before h e realized that h e h a d to walk lightfooted, easy, a n d even graceful, but not t h e way h e u s e d to d o it in his village, w h i c h w a s like wrestling with a c a r a b a o 1 or goat. I. Water buffalo, used for plowing on Filipino farms.

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All these natural things he h a d to learn d u r i n g his first two w e e k s . B u t he talked a b o u t his A m e r i c a n i z a t i o n with great c o n f i d e n c e . "You s e e , c o u s i n , " he told m e , "I have e a r n e d mony quick. I p o o t the hoot d a s h e s in the sink, w a s h - w a s h , day c o m e , day out, week g o n e — m o n y ! Simple?" "Fine," I said. "You know what I d o n e with m o n y ? " "No." "1 spent all." "On what?" " B o o k s . C o m e s e e my r o o m . " I went with him to his small r o o m at the b a c k of the r e s t a u r a n t w h e r e he w a s working, near the w a s h r o o m s . And s u r e e n o u g h , he h a d lined the four walls of his r o o m with big b o o k s . I looked at the titles. H e h a d a c h e a p edition of the c l a s s i c s , b o o k s on s c i e n c e , law a n d m a t h e m a t i c s . H e even h a d s o m e b r o c h u r e s on political a n d g o v e r n m e n t a l m a t t e r s . All were b o o k s that a student or even a p r o f e s s o r would take time to r e a d . 1 turned to my c o u s i n . H e w a s smiling with p r i d e . "Well, 1 h o p e t h e s e big b o o k s will m a k e you an A m e r i c a n faster," I told him. " S u r e , c o u s i n . H o w long I w a i t ? " "Five y e a r s . " "Five years?" T h e r e w a s g e n u i n e s u r p r i s e in his dark p e a s a n t f a c e . " T o o long. I d o not wait. I m a k e f a s t e r — o n e year." "It is the law," I a s s u r e d him. " N o g o o d law. O n e year e n o u g h for C o n s o r c i o . H e m a k e g o o d A m e r i c a n citizen." " T h e r e is n o t h i n g you c a n d o a b o u t it." "I c h a n g e law." "Go ahead." "You s e e , c o u s i n . " But he w a s puzzled. S o I left him. I left S a n F r a n c i s c o . W h e n I s a w him a year later, he w a s no longer w a s h i n g d i s h e s . B u t he still h a d the p a r d o n a b l e naivete of a p e a s a n t from the plains of L u z o n . " W h e r e are you working n o w ? " I a s k e d him. " B a k e r y , " he s a i d . "I m a k e d a b r e a d . I m a k e da d o n o t . I m a k e d a p y s . " "Where?" " C o m e , cousin. I show you." It w a s a small s h o p , a three-men affair. C o n s o r c i o w a s the handy-boy in the p l a c e , s c r u b b i n g the floor, w a s h i n g the pots a n d p a n s ; a n d he was also

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the m e s s e n g e r . T h e o w n e r w a s the b a k e r , while his wife w a s the s a l e s w o m a n . M y c o u s i n lived at the b a c k of the b u i l d i n g , n e a r the w a s h r o o m s . H e h a d a cot in a c o r n e r of the d a r k r o o m . B u t the b o o k s were g o n e . " W h a t h a p p e n e d to your b o o k s ? " I a s k e d h i m . H e looked s a d . T h e n h e s a i d , "I sold, c o u s i n . " "Why?" "I c a n n o t r e a d . I c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d . W o r d s too big a n d too l o n g . " "You s h o u l d begin with s i m p l e g r a m m a r b o o k s . " " T h o s e c a n n o t read a l s o . W h a t to do now, c o u s i n ? " "You still w a n t to b e a n A m e r i c a n c i t i z e n ? " "Sure." " G o to night s c h o o l . " "Is a p l a c e like t h a t ? " "Yes." "No use, cousin. N o money." " T h e s c h o o l is f r e e , " I told h i m . "It is for foreign-born p e o p l e . F o r a d u l t s , so they c o u l d study A m e r i c a n history." " F r e e ? I go n o w . " " T h e s c h o o l o p e n s only at n i g h t . " "I work n i g h t . " "Well, work in the d a y t i m e . L o o k for a n o t h e r j o b . You still want to b e a n A m e r i c a n , don't y o u ? " " S u r e . B u t I like b o s s - m a n . W h a t to d o ? " "Tell him the t r u t h . " "You help m e ? " I did. W e went to the b o s s - m a n . I explained the m a t t e r a s truthfully a s I c o u l d a n d h e u n d e r s t o o d C o n s o r c i o ' s p r o b l e m s . B u t h e a s k e d m e to find s o m e o n e to take the p l a c e of my c o u s i n ' s p l a c e , w h i c h I did too, s o we s h o o k h a n d s a r o u n d a n d d e p a r t e d in the b e s t of h u m o r . I h e l p e d C o n s o r c i o register at the night s c h o o l , looked for a n o t h e r j o b for him a s j a n i t o r in a n a p a r t m e n t building. T h e n I left h i m , w i s h i n g him the b e s t of luck. I w o r k e d in Alaska the next two years. W h e n I r e t u r n e d to the m a i n land, I m a d e it my duty to p a s s t h r o u g h S a n F r a n c i s c o . B u t my c o u s i n h a d left his j a n i t o r j o b a n d the night s c h o o l . I c o u l d not find his n e w add r e s s , a n d it s e e m e d that no o n e k n e w him well e n o u g h in the Filipino community. I did not think m u c h of his d i s a p p e a r a n c e b e c a u s e we are a w a n d e r i n g p e o p l e d u e to the n a t u r e of our lowly o c c u p a t i o n s , which take u s from p l a c e to p l a c e , following the s e a s o n s . W h e n I received a box of g r a p e s from a friend, I k n e w he w a s working in the g r a p e fields in either F r e s n o or D e l a n o , d e p e n d ing on the freight mark. W h e n I received a box of a s p a r a g u s , I knew he w a s working in S t o c k t o n . B u t w h e n it w a s a c r a t e of l e t t u c e , h e w a s working in

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S a n t a M a r i a or S a l i n a s , d e p e n d i n g o n the freight m a r k a g a i n . A n d in the s u m m e r t i m e w h e n I received a large barrel of s a l m o n , I k n e w he w a s working in the s a l m o n c a n n e r i e s in A l a s k a . T h e r e were no letters, n o p o s t c a r d s — nothing. B u t t h e s e s u r p r i s i n g b o x e s , c r a t e s , a n d barrels that arrived periodically were the b e s t letters in the world. W h a t they c o n t a i n e d were lovingly distributed a m o n g my city friends. Similarly, w h e n I w a s in o n e of my own w a n d e r i n g s , which were d o n e in cities a n d large towns, I s e n t my friend or friends u n s e a l e d e n v e l o p e s b u r s t i n g with the c o l o r e d p i c t u r e s of a c t r e s s e s a n d other beautiful w o m e n . I a d d r e s s e d t h e s e gifts to p o o l r o o m s a n d r e s t a u rants in towns w h e r e my friends h a d lived or worked for a s e a s o n , b e c a u s e they were b o u n d to g o to any of t h e s e havens of the h o m e l e s s w a n d e r e r . However, w h e n a n o t h e r c u r i o u s w a n d e r e r o p e n e d the e n v e l o p e s a n d pilfered the p i c t u r e s , it w a s not a c r i m e . T h e e n j o y m e n t which w a s originally i n t e n d e d for my friends w a s his a n d his friends. T h a t is the law of the n o m a d : finders keepers. B u t C o n s o r c i o h a d not yet learned the unwritten law of the n o m a d . I did not expect him to s e n d m e boxes, c r a t e s , a n d barrels from far-away A l a s k a . S o I did not know where I c o u l d locate h i m . I w a n d e r e d in a n d out of L o s Angeles the next two years. At the b e g i n n i n g of the third year, w h e n I was talking to the s l e e p i n g birds in P e r s h i n g S q u a r e , I felt a light h a n d on my s h o u l d e r s . I w a s not usually c u r i o u s a b o u t h a n d s , but it w a s well after midnight a n d the c o p s were w a n d e r i n g in a n d o u t of the p l a c e . S o I turned a r o u n d — a n d f o u n d C o n s o r c i o . I f o u n d a n e w C o n s o r c i o . H e h a d a g e d a n d the p e a s a n t naivete w a s g o n e from his f a c e . In his eyes n o w w a s a hidden fear. His h a n d s d a n c e d a n d flew w h e n he was talking, a n d even w h e n h e w a s not talking, a s t h o u g h he were s l a p p i n g the wind with both h a n d s or c l a p p i n g with o n e h a n d . H a v e you ever h e a r d the noise of o n e h a n d c l a p p i n g ? T h a t w a s C o n s o r c i o after five years in A m e r i c a . H e w a s either s l a p p i n g the wind with both h a n d s or c l a p p i n g with o n e h a n d . S o I g u i d e d him out of the dark p a r k to a lighted p l a c e , where we h a d coffee until the city a w o k e to give u s a n o t h e r day of h o p e . O f c o u r s e , I sat in s i l e n c e for a long time b e c a u s e it was the year of d e e p s i l e n c e . A n d C o n s o r c i o sat for a long time too, b e c a u s e by n o w he h a d learned to hide in the d e e p s i l e n c e that w a s flung like a m o u r n i n g c l o a k a c r o s s the f a c e of the land. W h e n we talked our s e n t e n c e s were short a n d p u n c t u a t e d by long s i l e n c e s . S o we c o n v e r s e d s o m e w h a t like this: "Been wandering everywhere." "No job." "Nothing anywhere." " W h e r e have you b e e n all t h e s e y e a r s ? " Silence. " N o finished s c h o o l ? " Silence. " N o t A m e r i c a n citizen y e t ? " "You s h o u l d have told m e . "

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" T o l d you w h a t ? " "Filipinos can't b e c o m e A m e r i c a n c i t i z e n s . " "Well, I c o u l d have told you. B u t I w a n t e d you to l e a r n . " "At least I s p e a k better E n g l i s h n o w . " " T h i s is a country of great o p p o r t u n i t y . " Silence. " N o work?" " N o work." "How long?" "I have f o r g o t t e n . " " B e t t e r t i m e s will c o m e . " "You have a wonderful d r e a m , c o u s i n , " he told m e a n d left. H e left L o s A n g e l e s for a long t i m e . T h e n , two years later, I received a c r a t e of o r a n g e s from h i m . T h e freight m a r k was S a n J o s e . N o w I knew he w a s working a n d h a d l e a r n e d the unwritten law of the w a n d e r e r s o n this troubled e a r t h . S o as I a t e the o r a n g e s , I recalled his last s t a t e m e n t : Yow have a wonderful dream, cousin. . . . I h a d a wonderful d r e a m . B u t I d r e a m e d it for both of u s , for m a n y of u s w h o w a n d e r e d in s i l e n c e . T h e n the b o x e s a n d c r a t e s b e c a m e m o r e f r e q u e n t . T h e n a barrel of s a l m o n c a m e from A l a s k a . And, finally, the letters c a m e . M y c o u s i n C o n s o r c i o , the o n e - t i m e illiterate p e a s a n t from the vast plains of L u z o n , h a d i n d e e d b e c o m e a n A m e r i c a n without k n o w i n g it. H i s letters were full of w o n d e r i n g a n d p o n d e r i n g a b o u t m a n y things in A m e r i c a . N o w h e realized his naivete w h e n he h a d landed in S a n F r a n c i s c o . B u t he realized a l s o that h e c o u l d not a s k too m u c h in a s t r a n g e land. A n d it w a s this realization that liberated him from his p e a s a n t p r i s o n , his h e r i t a g e , a n d eventually led him to a kind of work to which h e d e d i c a t e d his time a n d life until the e n d . I w a s in O r e g o n w h e n I received a n e w s p a p e r from C o n s o r c i o , postm a r k e d P i s m o B e a c h . It w a s the first i s s u e of his p u b l i c a t i o n for agricultural workers in California. It w a s in E n g l i s h . F r o m then on, I received all i s s u e s of his p u b l i c a t i o n . For five years it existed d e f e n d i n g the workers a n d u p h o l d ing the rights a n d liberties of all A m e r i c a n s , native or foreign-born, s o that, a s he b e g a n to u n d e r s t a n d the n a t u r e of A m e r i c a n society, he b e c a m e m o r e belligerent in his editorials a n d h a d to go to jail a few times for his i d e a s about freedom and peace. Yes, i n d e e d C o n s o r c i o : you have b e c o m e a n A m e r i c a n , a real A m e r i c a n . And this land that we have k n o w n too well is not yet d e n u d e d by the rapacity of m e n . Rolling like a beautiful w o m a n with an overflowing a b u n d a n c e of fecundity a n d m u r m u r o u s with her eternal mystery, there s h e lies before us like a great mother. T o her we always return from our prodigal w a n d e r i n g s a n d s e a r c h i n g s for a n a n c h o r a g e in the s e a of life; from her we always draw our s u s t e n a n c e a n d n o b l e t h o u g h t s , to a d d to her glorious history. B u t the war c a m e . A n d the war e n d e d C o n s o r c i o ' s n e w s p a p e r work a n d his c r u s a d e for a better A m e r i c a . A n d it e n d e d his life a l s o . W h e n he w a s b r o u g h t b a c k from o v e r s e a s , he knew h e w o u l d not last long. B u t he talked

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the way he h a d written his editorials, m e a s u r e d s e n t e n c e s that r a n g like m u s i c , great poetry, a n d soft, soft. H e would not s h e d a tear; but his heart m u s t have b e e n crying, s e e i n g eternal d a r k n e s s c o m i n g toward him, d e e p , d e e p in the night of p e r p e t u a l s l e e p . Yes, h e w o u l d not s h e d a tear; b u t h e m u s t have b e e n crying, s e e i n g that there was so m u c h to do with so little time left. T h e r e w a s in his voice a k i n d n e s s for m e — u n h a p p y , p e r h a p s , that h e c o u l d not impart what he h a d learned from his w a n d e r i n g s o n this e a r t h : u n h a p p y , a l s o , b e c a u s e he knew that it would take all the p e o p l e to u n m a k e the u n h a p p i n e s s which had c a u g h t up with u s . A n d now, fifteen years after his arrival in S a n F r a n c i s c o , he was dying. And he died. B u t at least he received his m o s t c h e r i s h e d d r e a m : A m e r i c a n citizenship. H e did realize later that he h a d b e c o m e an A m e r i c a n before h e received his p a p e r s , w h e n h e b e g a n to think a n d write lovingly a b o u t our A m e r i c a . H e gave up many things, a n d finally his own life, to realize his dream. B u t C o n s o r c i o is not truly d e a d . H e lives again in my u n d y i n g love for the A m e r i c a n e a r t h . A n d s o o n , w h e n I s e e the last winter c o m i n g to the last leaf, I will be w a r m with the thought that a n o t h e r w a n d e r e r shall inherit the wonderful d r e a m which my c o u s i n a n d I h a d d r e a m e d a n d tried to realize in America. 1995

MURIEL

RUKEYSER

1913-1980 Rukeyser was born in New York City, the child of well-off Jewish parents who gave her a good education, sending her to the Fieldston School, Vassar College, and Columbia University. She was attracted early on to radical causes, identifying herself throughout life with the disadvantaged and oppressed and associating with the Socialists, Communists, labor activists, and free-spirited artists who formed a lively heterogeneous subculture of their own in New York City during the 1920s and 1930s. Active on behalf of Sacco and Vanzetti, she was most outraged at the plight of labor, appalled at dangerous working conditions and low wages in factories. She perceived the idealism and solidarity of the labor movement as a liberating alternative to the emptiness and shallowness of affluent individualism, which she portrayed in surrealistic imagistic montages of destruction and despair. While vigorously forwarding a program of social consciousness in poetry, however, Bukeyser was equally vigorously dedicated to the principle of artistic freedom and personally devoted to an aesthetic of poetic complexity; thus unlike many social poets of the 1930s she did not try to write in the supposed style of simple working people. She denied that there was any conflict between poetry written at a high level of technical and textual sophistication and poetry that was politically motivated and dedicated. For her poetry was a way of seeing the world, an instrument for writing

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about anything and everything. As an artist she devoted her life to demonstrating how the same supple and subtle verse could serve to write about nature, about private life, and about the most public concerns. Rukeyser began to publish poetry while still a student at Vassar and published her first collection of poetry, Theory of Flight, in 1935. Next came U.S. 1 in 1938 and A Turning Wind in 1939. With the outbreak of World War II, Rukeyser's main motif became the atrocities of war, a prominent theme in Beast in View (1944). She was briefly married, and soon after World War II, while living for a short while in California, she became a single parent. Returning to New York with a child to rear and support, she divided her time between income-producing work like teaching and work on her own poetry. She was less prolific in the 1950s than she had been earlier and concentrated more on autobiographical than social poetry during that decade. When, after the "silent fifties," social issues again came to the fore in American thinking during the 1960s, Rukeyser returned to social themes and produced some fine feminist poetry in the 1970s. The text is from Collected Poems (1978).

Effort at Speech Between Two People S p e a k to m e . T a k e my h a n d . W h a t are you n o w ? I will tell you all. I will c o n c e a l n o t h i n g . W h e n I w a s three, a little child r e a d a story a b o u t a rabbit w h o died, in the story, a n d I c r a w l e d u n d e r a c h a i r : a pink rabbit : it w a s my birthday, a n d a c a n d l e b u r n t a sore spot o n my finger, a n d I w a s told to b e happy. O h , grow to know m e . I a m not h a p p y . I will b e o p e n : N o w I a m thinking of white sails a g a i n s t a sky like m u s i c , like glad h o r n s blowing, a n d birds tilting, a n d a n a r m a b o u t m e . T h e r e w a s o n e I loved, w h o w a n t e d to live, sailing. S p e a k to m e . T a k e my h a n d . W h a t are you n o w ? W h e n I w a s n i n e , I w a s fruitily s e n t i m e n t a l , fluid : a n d my widowed a u n t played C h o p i n , 1 a n d I b e n t my h e a d o n the p a i n t e d w o o d w o r k , a n d w e p t . I want now to be c l o s e to y o u . I w o u l d link the m i n u t e s of my days c l o s e , s o m e h o w , to your days. I a m not happy. I will b e o p e n . I have liked l a m p s in e v e n i n g c o r n e r s , a n d quiet p o e m s . T h e r e h a s b e e n fear in my life. S o m e t i m e s I s p e c u l a t e O n what a tragedy his life w a s , really. :

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T a k e my h a n d . Fist my m i n d in your h a n d . W h a t a r e you now? W h e n I w a s f o u r t e e n , I h a d d r e a m s of s u i c i d e , a n d I s t o o d at a s t e e p window, at s u n s e t , h o p i n g t o w a r d d e a t h : if the light h a d not m e l t e d c l o u d s a n d p l a i n s to b e a u t y ,

1. Frederic Francois Chopin (1810—1849), Polish composer who settled in Paris in 1831 and is known for his works for the piano.

"LONG

ENOUGH"

if light h a d not t r a n s f o r m e d that day, I w o u l d have leapt. I a m u n h a p p y . I a m lonely. S p e a k to m e . :

:

I will b e o p e n . I think he never loved m e : he loved the bright b e a c h e s , the little lips of f o a m that ride small w a v e s , he loved the veer of gulls: he said with a gay m o u t h : I love you. G r o w to know m e . W h a t are you n o w ? If we c o u l d t o u c h o n e a n o t h e r , if t h e s e our s e p a r a t e entities c o u l d c o m e to grips, c l e n c h e d like a C h i n e s e puzzle . . . yesterday I stood in a c r o w d e d street that w a s live with p e o p l e , a n d no o n e s p o k e a word, a n d the m o r n i n g s h o n e . Everyone silent, moving. . . . T a k e my h a n d . S p e a k to m e .

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35 1935

"Long E n o u g h " "Long enough. Long enough," I heard a woman say— I a m that w o m a n w h o too long U n d e r the w e b lay. L o n g e n o u g h in the e m p i r e O f his d a r k e n e d eyes Bewildered in the greying silver Light of his f a n t a s i e s . I have b e e n lying here too long, F r o m s h a d o w - b e g i n to s h a d o w - b e g a n W h e r e s t r e t c h e s over m e the s u b t l e R u l e of the F l o a t i n g M a n . A y o u n g m a n a n d a n old-young w o m a n M y dive in the river b e t w e e n A n d rise, the children of a n o t h e r country; T h a t riverbank, that g r e e n . B u t too long, too long, too long Is the j o u r n e y t h r o u g h the ice A n d too secret are the e n t r a n c e s T o my s t r e t c h e d h i d i n g p l a c e . W a l k o u t of the p u d o r w e b 1 A n d into a lifetime S a i d the w o m a n ; a n d I sleeper b e g a n to w a k e A n d to say my own n a m e .

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1958 1. The confining meshes of female shame.

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Myth L o n g afterward, O e d i p u s , old a n d b l i n d e d , walked the roads. H e s m e l l e d a familiar s m e l l . It w a s the Sphinx. O e d i p u s said, "I w a n t to a s k o n e q u e s t i o n . W h y didn't I recognize my m o t h e r ? " "You gave the w r o n g a n s w e r , " said the S p h i n x . " B u t that w a s w h a t m a d e everything p o s s i b l e , " said O e d i p u s . " N o , " she said. " W h e n I a s k e d , W h a t walks on four legs in the m o r n i n g , two at n o o n , a n d three in the evening, you a n s w e r e d , Man. You didn't say a n y t h i n g a b o u t w o m a n . " " W h e n you say M a n , " s a i d O e d i p u s , "you i n c l u d e w o m e n too. Everyone knows t h a t . " S h e s a i d , " T h a t ' s what you think."

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American Prose since 1 9 4 5 THE

UNITED STATES AND WORLD

POWER

Distribution of power is a p u r p o s e of war, a n d the c o n s e q u e n c e s of a world war are necessarily global. H a v i n g a g r e e d to a policy of u n c o n d i t i o n a l surrender, the allied c o u n t r i e s of Britain, the Soviet U n i o n , a n d the U n i t e d S t a t e s positioned t h e m s e l v e s to a c h i e v e n o t h i n g short of total victory over their e n e m i e s in W o r l d W a r II: G e r m a n y a n d J a p a n . Yet e a c h country's c o n tribution to victory m a d e for startling c o n t r a s t s in the following half century. Britain, b e l e a g u e r e d s i n c e the war's start in S e p t e m b e r 1 9 3 9 , fought a g a i n s t o d d s that d e p l e t e d its r e s o u r c e s a n d severely d i s r u p t e d its traditional c l a s s s t r u c t u r e . T h e Soviet U n i o n , a n a m a l g a m a t i o n of n a t i o n s u n d e r the central power of B u s s i a , suffered the war's worst c a s u a l t i e s w h e n a t t a c k e d by G e r m a n y in J u n e 1941 a n d afterward d u r i n g the h i d e o u s c o n t e s t of attrition along the war's bitter e a s t e r n front well into 1 9 4 5 . A l t h o u g h newly e s t a b lished a s a world power after the e n d of hostilities, the U . S . S . R . r e m a i n e d at an e c o n o m i c d i s a d v a n t a g e a n d dissolved in 1 9 9 1 after five d e c a d e s of C o l d W a r a g a i n s t its ideological adversaries in the W e s t . It w a s the U n i t e d S t a t e s , entering the war after J a p a n ' s attack on Pearl H a r b o r o n D e c e m b e r 7, 1 9 4 1 , that e m e r g e d a s a world power in excellent e c o n o m i c s h a p e . T h i s new power, experienced both at h o m e a n d a b r o a d , b e c a m e a m a j o r force in r e s h a p i n g A m e r i c a n c u l t u r e for the b a l a n c e of the twentieth century. T h e great social effort involved in fighting W o r l d W a r II reorganized America's e c o n o m y a n d altered its p e o p l e ' s lifestyles. P o s t w a r e x i s t e n c e revealed different kinds of men a n d w o m e n , with new a s p i r a t i o n s a m o n g both majority a n d minority p o p u l a t i o n s . N e w possibilities for a c t i o n e m p o w e r e d individuals a n d g r o u p s in the p u r s u i t of p e r s o n a l f r e e d o m a n d individual self-expression. D u r i n g W o r l d W a r II A m e r i c a n industry h a d e x p a n d e d dramatically for military p u r p o s e s ; p l a n t s that h a d m a n u f a c t u r e d C h e v r o l e t s , P l y m o u t h s , S t u d e b a k e r s , P a c k a r d s , a n d F o r d s now m a d e B - 2 4 L i b e r a t o r s a n d G r u m m a n A v e n g e r s . With three million m e n in u n i f o r m , the vastly e x p a n d e d workforce c o m p r i s e d i n c r e a s i n g n u m b e r s of w o m e n . After hostilities were c o n c l u d e d m a n y of t h e s e w o m e n were reluctant to return to h o m e m a k i n g ; after a d e c a d e or s o of domesticity, w o m e n e m e r g e d a s a political force on b e h a l f of rights a n d o p p o r t u n i t i e s in the w o r k p l a c e . T h i s pattern extended to other g r o u p s as well. African A m e r i c a n s , w h e t h e r they enlisted or were drafted, served in fighting units t h r o u g h o u t the war a n d were unwilling to return to s e c o n d - c l a s s s t a t u s afterward; nor c o u l d a majority c u l t u r e aware of their contribution c o n t i n u e to e n f o r c e s e g r e g a t i o n a n d other forms of p r e j u d i c e s o easily a s before the war. E c o n o m i c power at the world level c o n t i n u e d to influence A m e r i c a n culture through the first two p o s t w a r d e c a d e s . T h e first t w o — a n d only t w o — atomic b o m b s were exploded in J a p a n in A u g u s t 1 9 4 5 ; their effect w a s s o 2275

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horrific that a strategy of g e o g r a p h i c a l " c o n t a i n m e n t " e m e r g e d a s a military policy. W h e n C o m m u n i s t N o r t h K o r e a invaded S o u t h K o r e a in 1 9 5 0 , therefore, the U n i t e d S t a t e s rejected r e s p o n d i n g with a t o m i c w e a p o n s in favor of a U n i t e d Nations—sponsored " p o l i c e a c t i o n " that f o u g h t with c o n ventional w e a p o n s only a n d d e c l i n e d to p u r s u e e n e m y forces b e y o n d specific b o u n d a r i e s . B u t if hot war w a s o u t , cold war w a s in, specifically the type of c o n t e s t in w h i c h military strength w a s built u p for d e t e r r e n c e r a t h e r t h a n c o m b a t . H e r e e c o n o m i c c o n d u c t w o u l d b e a m a j o r factor in the A m e r i c a n d e c i s i o n to c o n t a i n the Soviet U n i o n ' s a t t e m p t to e x p a n d its i n f l u e n c e . In the years following W o r l d W a r II the U . S . S . R . h a d a s s u m e d a s t a n c e c o n sidered adversarial to W e s t e r n interests. Ideologically, the o p p o s i t i o n w a s b e t w e e n W e s t e r n c a p i t a l i s m a n d Soviet s t a t e s o c i a l i s m ; militarily, the c o n t e s t exhibited itself in the W e s t ' s rebuilding of G e r m a n y a n d the f o r m a t i o n of the N o r t h Atlantic T r e a t y O r g a n i z a t i o n ( N A T O ) v e r s u s the Soviet U n i o n ' s influe n c e over E a s t e r n E u r o p e ' s n a t i o n s by m e a n s of the W a r s a w P a c t . G e o p o litically, the U . S . S . R . s p o n s o r e d the f o r m a t i o n of socialist g o v e r n m e n t s in what b e c a m e known a s its satellite n a t i o n s of P o l a n d , H u n g a r y , a n d C z e c h oslovakia, s e p a r a t e d by w h a t British P r i m e M i n i s t e r W i n s t o n C h u r c h i l l characterized a s a n Iron C u r t a i n inhibiting c o n t a c t with the d e m o c r a c i e s of W e s t e r n E u r o p e . In Africa, w h e r e n e w n a t i o n s g a i n e d i n d e p e n d e n c e from colonial rule, W e s t a n d E a s t c o m p e t e d for i n f l u e n c e . Overall, the W e s t perceived a threat in the U . S . S . R . ' s 1 9 4 8 a t t a i n m e n t of n u c l e a r w e a p o n r y a n d its m a i n t e n a n c e of m a s s i v e troop s t r e n g t h b e y o n d its b o r d e r s . W h e n C o m m u n i s t revolutionaries took control of m a i n l a n d C h i n a in 1 9 4 9 , the C o l d W a r m o v e d b e y o n d E u r o p e a n b o u n d a r i e s to e n c o m p a s s the entire g l o b e . Until the c o l l a p s e of the Soviet U n i o n , e c o n o m i c warfare motivated Americ a n activity a s decisively a s h a d the w a g i n g of W o r l d W a r II. T h r o u g h o u t the 1 9 5 0 s a n d into the early 1 9 6 0 s , social critics p e r c e i v e d a s t a b l e conformity to A m e r i c a n life, a d e d i c a t i o n to a n increasingly materialistic s t a n d a r d of living, w h o s e ethical merit w a s e n s u r e d by a continuity with the prewar w o r l d — a continuity that proved to b e delusory. In this initial p o s t w a r period white m a l e s benefited e s p e c i a l l y from the economy and saw the n a t u r e of their lives c h a n g e . T h e G . I . Bill provided v e t e r a n s with a college e d u c a t i o n ; after W o r l d W a r II A m e r i c a would eventually have as m u c h a s 50 p e r c e n t of its p o p u l a t i o n c o l l e g e e d u c a t e d , a p e r c e n t a g e u n t h i n k a b l e in p r e w a r years a n d u n m a t c h e d by any other n a t i o n . W i t h world m a r k e t s o p e n to A m e r i c a n g o o d s , the e x p a n d e d e c o n o m y offered s o p h i s t i c a t e d t e c h n i c a l a n d p r o f e s s i o n a l j o b s for t h e s e c o l l e g e g r a d u a t e s ; within a g e n e r a t i o n the a l p h a b e t s o u p of great c o r p o r a t i o n s — I T & T , G E , R C A , I B M , a n d so f o r t h — c a m e to d o m i n a t e e m p l o y m e n t p a t t e r n s at h o m e a n d a r o u n d the g l o b e . H i g h e r i n c o m e s a n d d e m o g r a p h i c e x p a n s i o n c r e a t e d vast n e w s u b u r b s beyond the limits of older cities, a n d the p o p u l a t i o n of the U n i t e d S t a t e s b e g a n a westward shift. N e w r o a d s a c c o m m o d a t e d this increasingly m o b i l e society, i n c l u d i n g the interstate highway s y s t e m b e g u n in 1 9 5 5 . By 1 9 6 0 the a v e r a g e A m e r i c a n family w a s m o v i n g to a n e w p l a c e of r e s i d e n c e at the rate of o n c e every five y e a r s , a s n e w o p p o r t u n i t i e s b e c k o n e d a n d lifestyles e x p a n d e d b e y o n d the m o r e traditional stability of " h o m e . " A n a g e of plenty c r e a t e d a new m a n a g e r i a l c l a s s , b u t a l s o e n s u r e d a n a m p l e p i e c e o f the p i e for workers p r o t e c t e d by well-organized, s e c u r e u n i o n s . N a m e d for the m a n w h o served a s p r e s i d e n t from 1 9 5 3 to 1 9 6 1 , the early p o s t w a r period c a m e to be k n o w n a s the " E i s e n h o w e r E r a . " Dwight D . E i s e n -

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hower had c o m m a n d e d the Allied forces d u r i n g their p u s h to total victory in World W a r II. C o m p a r a t i v e l y apolitical, he w a s a s k e d to run a s a D e m o c r a t i c presidential c a n d i d a t e in 1 9 4 8 before a c c e p t i n g the R e p u b l i c a n n o m i n a t i o n in 1 9 5 2 . His i m p a c t on A m e r i c a n c u l t u r e of the 1 9 5 0 s s u g g e s t e d the prese n c e of a benign father figure w h o h a d fought to m a k e the world s e c u r e a n d who now c o u l d p r e s i d e over its e n j o y m e n t of a c h i e v e d ideals. At h o m e , he provided federal funds to build freeways that swept s u b u r b a n workers h o m e from their city j o b s . Militarily, h e w a s c o m m a n d e r - i n - c h i e f of a globally powerful but never-used f o r c e , the S t r a t e g i c Air C o m m a n d , a fleet of b o m b e r s up to half of which were in the air at all t i m e s , p o i s e d to deliver a n u c l e a r strike m e a s u r e d in how m a n y times over it c o u l d annihilate an e n e m y . Yet e d u c a t i o n was a w e a p o n , too, a n d w h e n the Soviet U n i o n ' s 1 9 5 7 l a u n c h of the Sputnik satellite s u g g e s t e d the W e s t w a s lagging b e h i n d , a n e w technology r a c e b e g a n that r e e n d o w e d A m e r i c a n s c h o o l s a n d c o l l e g e s with rich r e s o u r c e s a n d a crucial s e n s e of c o m m i t m e n t . A l s o d u r i n g this era the m o v e m e n t for African A m e r i c a n civil rights, directed to overturning legislated segregation in the S o u t h rather than r e f o r m i n g de facto a b u s e s t h r o u g h o u t the country, p r o c e e d e d t h r o u g h local court action a n d only o c c a s i o n a l l y with federal involvement. T h e p u s h w a s on to return w o m e n to a d o m e s t i c i t y m a d e p l e a s u r a b l e by new labor-saving m a c h i n e r y a n d c o n s u m e r g o o d s . But ways of life c o n s o n a n t with a n isolated, s t a b l e e c o n o m y c o u l d not survive in the new a t m o s p h e r e of A m e r i c a n power a n d w e a l t h . T h e p a s s a g e from the 1 9 5 0 s to the 1 9 6 0 s m a r k s the great w a t e r s h e d of the p o s t w a r half century. C o n f l i c t s b e t w e e n conformity a n d individuality, tradition a n d innovation, stability a n d disruption were a n n o u n c e d a n d a n t i c i p a t e d even before they effectively influenced history a n d c u l t u r e . T h e earliest h a r b i n g e r w a s the 1 9 6 0 election of J o h n F. K e n n e d y as p r e s i d e n t . F o r m e r s e n a t o r from M a s s a c h u s e t t s , heir to a large (but comparatively recently m a d e ) family fort u n e , K e n n e d y w a s a generation y o u n g e r a n d i m m e n s e l y m o r e g l a m o r o u s than E i s e n h o w e r . T o a m a i n s t r e a m society that might have b e c o m e c o m p l a cent with the material s u c c e s s of E i s e n h o w e r ' s years a n d h a d n e g l e c t e d the less f o r t u n a t e , K e n n e d y offered an energetic p r o g r a m of involvement. Formally titled " T h e N e w F r o n t i e r , " it r e a c h e d from the participation of individual A m e r i c a n s in the P e a c e C o r p s (working to aid u n d e r d e v e l o p e d c o u n t r i e s a r o u n d the world) to the g r a n d effort at c o n q u e r i n g s p a c e . In the midst of his brief p r e s i d e n c y , in O c t o b e r 1 9 6 2 , the Soviet U n i o n installed ballistic missiles in C u b a ; w h e n K e n n e d y p r o t e s t e d this act a n d b e g a n a naval b l o c k a d e of the island nation, the possibility of n u c l e a r warfare c a m e c l o s e r than ever b e f o r e , until the U . S . S . R . relented a n d withdrew its w e a p o n s . D o m e s t i c t e n s i o n s a l s o rose w h e n Robert K e n n e d y , the p r e s i d e n t ' s brother a n d U . S . attorney general, took a newly activist a p p r o a c h toward d e s e g r e gation, s e n d i n g federal troops into the S o u t h to e n f o r c e the law. B u t there was a cultural g r a c e to the K e n n e d y era a s well, with the p r e s i d e n t ' s wife, J a c q u e l i n e , m a k i n g involvement in the arts not j u s t f a s h i o n a b l e b u t a l s o a matter of g o v e r n m e n t policy. T h e Sixties, a s they are k n o w n , really b e g a n with the a s s a s s i n a t i o n of J o h n F. K e n n e d y on N o v e m b e r 2 2 , 1 9 6 3 . T h e t u m u l t u o u s dozen years of American history that followed e m b r a c e d a m o r e c o m b a t i v e period in civil rights, climaxing with the m o s t s u s t a i n e d a n d effective a t t e m p t s to r e m e d y the evils of racial discrimination s i n c e the years of R e c o n s t r u c t i o n after the Civil W a r . For the first time s i n c e the S u f f r a g e m o v e m e n t following World W a r I,

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w o m e n organized to p u r s u e their legal, ethical, a n d cultural i n t e r e s t s , n o w defined a s f e m i n i s m . Active d i s s e n s i o n within the c u l t u r e e m e r g e d in r e s p o n s e to military involvement in V i e t n a m , w h e r e in 1 9 6 1 P r e s i d e n t K e n nedy h a d sent small n u m b e r s of advisers to help the R e p u b l i c of S o u t h Vietn a m resist p r e s s u r e s from C o m m u n i s t N o r t h V i e t n a m . P r e s i d e n t s L y n d o n J o h n s o n a n d R i c h a r d Nixon e x p a n d e d a n d c o n t i n u e d the U . S . p r e s e n c e ; a n d an increasingly strident o p p o s i t i o n — f u e l e d by p r o t e s t s on A m e r i c a n c o l l e g e c a m p u s e s a n d a m o n g the country's liberal i n t e l l e c t u a l s — t u r n e d into a m u c h larger cultural revolution. B e t w e e n 1 9 6 7 a n d 1 9 7 0 the n a t i o n e x p e r i e n c e d m a n y o u t b r e a k s of v i o l e n c e , i n c l u d i n g political a s s a s s i n a t i o n s (of p r e s i d e n t i a l c a n d i d a t e Robert K e n n e d y a n d civil rights leader Dr. M a r t i n L u t h e r K i n g J r . in 1 9 6 8 ) , u r b a n riots, a n d m a s s i v e c a m p u s d i s r u p t i o n s . T o r n apart by o p p o s i t i o n to P r e s i d e n t J o h n s o n a n d the c l i m a t e of v i o l e n c e s u r r o u n d i n g its national c o n v e n t i o n in C h i c a g o in A u g u s t 1 9 6 8 , the D e m ocratic Party lost to R e p u b l i c a n c a n d i d a t e R i c h a r d N i x o n , w h o w a s h i m s e l f b u r d e n e d with the V i e t n a m W a r a n d e s c a l a t i n g d i s s e n t (leading to s t u d e n t d e a t h s at K e n t S t a t e a n d J a c k s o n S t a t e universities in M a y 1 9 7 0 ) . By the time the V i e t n a m W a r e n d e d in 1 9 7 5 with the c o l l a p s e of S a i g o n to N o r t h V i e t n a m e s e a n d Viet C o n g f o r c e s , the U n i t e d S t a t e s h a d a l s o b e e n buffeted by l a r g e - s c a l e d o m e s t i c troubles in the form of the W a t e r g a t e s c a n d a l : a revelation of P r e s i d e n t Nixon's a b u s e s of g o v e r n m e n t a l privileges that led to his resignation in A u g u s t 1 9 7 4 . T h e s e e v e n t s m a r k the e n d of o n e of the m o r e discomfortingly disruptive eras in A m e r i c a n history. By the e n d of the 1 9 7 0 s s o m e c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of the p r e v i o u s d e c a d e ' s c o u n t e r c u l t u r a l revolt h a d b e e n a c c e p t e d in the m a i n s t r e a m , i n c l u d i n g informalities of d r e s s , relaxation of sexual c o d e s of behavior, a n d an i n c r e a s e d r e s p e c t for individual rights. T h e 1 9 8 0 s e x p e r i e n c e d a call for traditional v a l u e s , which were interpreted not a s a return to c o m m u n i t y a n d selfsacrifice b u t the p u r s u i t of w e a l t h . D u r i n g the p r e s i d e n c y of R o n a l d R e a g a n i n c o m e s r o s e while taxes fell; the Sixties' distrust of g o v e r n m e n t m u t a t e d into a d e f e n s e of p e r s o n a l a c q u i s i t i o n . F o l l o w i n g the d e b a c l e in V i e t n a m , where m o r e than fifty t h o u s a n d A m e r i c a n s d i e d in a losing war, the military restricted itself in the 1 9 8 0 s a n d early 1 9 9 0 s to q u i c k , sharply specified interventions (in G r e n a d a , P a n a m a , a n d m o s t d r a m a t i c a l l y in Iraq) relying less o n v a g u e d e t e r r e n c e t h a n o n p r e c i s e a p p l i c a t i o n s of t e c h n o l o g i c a l expertise. E c o n o m i c a l l y , A m e r i c a b o o m e d , b u t in new ways: m a n u f a c t u r i n g d o m i n a n c e w a s r e p l a c e d by service efficiency, m a s s i v e workforces w e r e downsized into m o r e profitable u n i t s , while i n v e s t m e n t a n d e n t r e p r e n e u r s h i p r e p l a c e d older m o d e s of d e v e l o p m e n t . As the twentieth c e n t u r y a p p r o a c h e d its turn, global p o w e r e x p e r i e n c e d its g r e a t e s t r e a d j u s t m e n t s i n c e W o r l d W a r II. A m e r i c a n e c o n o m i c m i g h t h a d d e p l e t e d the Soviet U n i o n ' s ability to c o m p e t e , a n d a s that state's ethnic r e p u b l i c s a c h i e v e d i n d e p e n d e n c e a n d the old W a r s a w P a c t a l l i a n c e of E a s t ern E u r o p e a n n a t i o n s c o l l a p s e d , the E u r o p e a n U n i o n — o n c e restricted to W e s t e r n d e m o c r a c i e s — a s s u m e d even g r e a t e r i m p o r t a n c e . W i t h the a t t a c k o n N e w York's World T r a d e C e n t e r a n d the P e n t a g o n by terrorists on S e p t e m b e r 1 1 , 2 0 0 1 , the third m i l l e n n i u m t h r e a t e n e d to e c h o the first with a r e n e w e d e m p h a s i s o n religion s e t t i n g political a g e n d a s a n d working to s e e t h o s e a g e n d a s fulfilled.

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D E V E L O P M E N T S

In s u c h a turbulent half century, literature a l s o e n c o m p a s s e s a great deal of c h a n g e . N o t surprisingly, d u r i n g this period m a n y i m p o r t a n t writers reexa m i n e d both w h a t fiction a n d d r a m a are m e a n t to a c c o m p l i s h a n d how to a c c o m p l i s h it. J u s t a s p e o p l e in the first two d e c a d e s following W o r l d W a r II a d d r e s s e d themselves to taking material a d v a n t a g e of the extensive g a i n s won by global victory, s o too did writers s e e k to capitalize on the s u c c e s s e s of a p r e v i o u s literary g e n e r a t i o n . C u l t u r a l h o m o g e n e i t y w a s a n ideal d u r i n g the 1 9 5 0 s , patriotically s o in t e r m s of building u p the f o u n d a t i o n s of A m e r i c a n society to resist a n d c o n t a i n C o m m u n i s m , materialistically s o w h e n it c a m e to enjoying the benefits of m a s s m a r k e t i n g in a c o n s u m e r - d r i v e n world. F o l l o w i n g this trend, writers a s s u m e d that a short story, a novel, or a play c o u l d represent the e x p e r i e n c e s of an entire p e o p l e , that a c o m m o n national e s s e n c e lay b e n e a t h distinctions of g e n d e r , r a c e , ethnicity, religion, or region. Literature b e t w e e n 1 9 4 5 a n d the Sixties let r e a d e r s believe that there c o u l d b e s u c h a thing a s the representative A m e r i c a n short story, n u a n c e d for uppermiddle-class p a t r o n s in the p a g e s of The New Yorker m a g a z i n e while s l a n t e d to m o r e homely interests in Collier's a n d The Saturday Evening Post. It w a s typical for a story in t h e s e j o u r n a l s to b e set within the s a m e context a s the m e d i u m ' s advertising: C a d i l l a c s , s u b u r b a n station w a g o n s , a n d the o c c a s i o n a l E u r o p e a n - d e l i v e r e d M e r c e d e s - B e n z in The New Yorker, F o r d s and C h e v r o l e t s in Collier's a n d the Post. An a d for an all-electric kitchen might well a p p e a r on the p a g e o p p o s i t e a short story starting off with its c h a r a c t e r s s h a r i n g b r e a k f a s t in a n all-electric kitchen, or at least w i s h i n g they c o u l d have o n e . A m e r i c a n life, of c o u r s e , w a s far from b e i n g s o u n i f o r m . B u t there w a s great s u c c e s s in selling the idea of cultural conformity to a p e o p l e s u p p o s e d l y united by the war effort, by their patiently saving d u r i n g the years of w a r t i m e s h o r t a g e s , a n d by the threat of C o m m u n i s m . T h e s e s a m e i m p u l s e s to h o m o g e n i z a t i o n c o u l d be transferred from the p a g e s of weekly m a g a z i n e s to the m e d i u m that would r e p l a c e t h e m , television; h e r e situation c o m e d i e s a n d the o c c a s i o n a l serious d r a m a would m u r m u r reass u r a n c e s that all the b e s t f e a t u r e s of A m e r i c a n life c o u l d b e held in c o m m o n . Novels of the i m m e d i a t e p o s t w a r period followed this trend in m o r e d e p t h , in larger s c a l e , a n d with m o r e s e l f - c o n s c i o u s justification. E r n e s t H e m i n g way, a m a s t e r of the short story himself, h a d fostered the notion of novel writing a s " g o i n g the d i s t a n c e , " s l u g g i n g it o u t all the way, a s it w e r e , in a fifteen-round c h a m p i o n s h i p prizefight. Publicized by others a s o n e of the d o m i n a n t literary figures of his day, H e m i n g w a y p r o m o t e d his own e x a m p l e to influence a new g e n e r a t i o n of novelists w h o believed they h a d to a c t like him to be taken seriously. H e n c e the desire to write what w a s called " t h e great A m e r i c a n novel," a m a j o r work that would c h a r a c t e r i z e the larger a s p e c t s of e x p e r i e n c e . A m b i t i o n s were not simply to write a war novel, for e x a m p l e , but the war novel; not j u s t a work a b o u t c o r p o r a t e big b u s i n e s s , but s o m e t h i n g that generalized the s u b j e c t for all t i m e s . R e g i o n a l i s m c o u l d remain an interest, but only if it provided d e e p e r m e a n i n g ; here the e x a m p l e of William F a u l k n e r e n c o u r a g e d the belief a m o n g y o u n g e r writers that dealing with the A m e r i c a n S o u t h m e a n t g r a p p l i n g with m o n u m e n t a l i s s u e s of

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guilt a n d the inexorable power of history. M a j o r d r a m a t i s t s b e h a v e d the s a m e way; if their i m m e d i a t e p r e d e c e s s o r s h a d d r a w n on classically tragic a l l u s i o n s in d e e p e n i n g their t h e m e s , p o s t w a r playwrights e m b r a c e d o t h e r w i s e m u n d a n e c h a r a c t e r s as universal types; the d e a t h of a s a l e s m a n , for e x a m p l e , would b e e x a m i n e d in the s a m e spotlight o n c e reserved for great p e o p l e , for here indeed w a s a figure w h o s t o o d for the p o s t w a r h u m a n b e i n g . Like the notion of cultural conformity itself, this u n d e r s t a n d i n g of literature c a m e u n d e r s e r i o u s c h a l l e n g e d u r i n g the 1 9 6 0 s . Critical m o v e m e n t s of the time a r t i c u l a t e d a new literary u n e a s e , a n d writers b e g a n r e s p o n d i n g to critical m o v e m e n t s with n e w literary s t r a t e g i e s . T h e first s u c h c h a l l e n g e w a s the " d e a t h of the n o v e l " controversy, s p a r k e d by s o m e writers' s e n s e that social reality h a d b e c o m e too u n s t a b l e to serve a s a reliable a n c h o r for their narratives a n d fueled by certain critics' conviction that fiction h a d e x h a u s t e d its formal possibilities. T h e short story a n d the novel, it w a s a r g u e d , d e m a n d e d a set of fairly limited c o n v e n t i o n s ; t h e s e c o n v e n t i o n s , s u c h a s characterization a n d d e v e l o p m e n t by m e a n s of d i a l o g u e , imagery, a n d symb o l i s m , however, relied on a securely d e s c r i b a b l e world to m a k e s e n s e . J u s t a s t h e s e c o n v e n t i o n s were b e c o m i n g stale by o v e r u s e , so the s u b j e c t s to which they were applied increasingly e x c e e d e d any orderly a c c o u n t . E v e n a s A m e r i c a n life in the 1 9 5 0 s e s p o u s e d conformity, t e c h n o l o g i c a l a d v a n c e s in the e x c h a n g e of information h a d m a d e the p a r t i c u l a r s of s u c h life ever m o r e hard to m a n a g e . As b o u n d a r i e s of time a n d s p a c e were e c l i p s e d by television, air travel, a n d a n a c c o m p a n y i n g global a w a r e n e s s , the o n c e e s s e n t i a l unities of r e p r e s e n t a t i o n (time, s p a c e , a n d a c t i o n ) no longer provided g r o u n d on which to build a work of literary art. As m o r e b e c a m e known a b o u t the world itself, the writer's ability to m a k e s e n s e of the w h o l e w a s c h a l l e n g e d . A culture that looked for totalized e x p r e s s i o n s from its writers now s e e m e d to d e m a n d the i m p o s s i b l e . A parallel d e v e l o p m e n t in literary theory p o s e d a n o t h e r great threat to c o n v e n t i o n a l literature. K n o w n a s " D e c o n s t r u c t i o n " a n d b r o u g h t to Americ a n s h o r e s from F r a n c e by m e a n s of a series of university c o n f e r e n c e s a n d a c a d e m i c p u b l i c a t i o n s b e g i n n i n g in 1 9 6 6 , this style of criticism q u e s t i o n e d the underlying a s s u m p t i o n s b e h i n d any s t a t e m e n t , e x p o s i n g how what was a c c e p t e d a s a b s o l u t e truth usually d e p e n d e d on rhetoric rather than fact, e x p o s i n g i n d e e d how " f a c t " itself w a s c o n s t r u c t e d by intellectual o p e r a t i o n s . T h i s style of criticism b e c a m e attractive to literary s c h o l a r s w h o h a d b e e n f r a m i n g social a n d political q u e s t i o n s in m u c h the s a m e t e r m s — b e l i e v i n g , for e x a m p l e , that the V i e t n a m W a r h a d b e e n p r e s e n t e d to the A m e r i c a n p e o p l e t h r o u g h s l o g a n s rather t h a n realities. M a n y fiction writers a n d d r a m atists, who had s o u g h t s t a b l e e m p l o y m e n t in universities a n d c o l l e g e s , took part vigorously in t h e s e d i s c u s s i o n s . T h e D e a t h of the Novel d e b a t e s a n d D e c o n s t r u c t i o n c o n v e r g e d to destabilize literary g e n r e s that were o n c e t h o u g h t to b e a m o s t reliable w i n d o w on the world. T w o literary d e v e l o p m e n t s e m e r g e d in r e s p o n s e . F o r writers w h o v a l u e d reportage a n d h a d d e v e l o p e d literary t e c h n i q u e s that kept p a c e with the explosive growth of the information a g e , the traditional c o n v e n t i o n s of fiction were not d e a d : it w a s rather that the novel a n d the short story were n o longer their p r o p e r h o m e . H e n c e the invention of the nonfiction novel a n d its attend a n t s c h o o l of N e w J o u r n a l i s m , which held that c h a r a c t e r i z a t i o n , imagery, symbol, a n d the like were no longer the exclusive province of fiction but

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appropriate tools for an improved j o u r n a l i s m . O n e of D e c o n s t r u c t i o n ' s claims w a s that there is no a b s o l u t e objectivity; every a u t h o r , j o u r n a l i s t or not, writes from a point of view w h o s e p e r s p e c t i v e carries with it any n u m b e r of colorings a n d b i a s e s . W h y not capitalize o n that p e r s p e c t i v e — b e h o n e s t a b o u t it, a n d report not so m u c h the event as the writer's p l a c e in it? Given all that literary art c a n tell a b o u t the h u m a n i m a g i n a t i o n , t e c h n i q u e s that could be called f r a u d u l e n t in a fiction writer's h a n d s might be praiseworthy as a j o u r n a l i s t ' s m o s t c a n d i d honesty. In the p r o c e s s , the s u b j e c t m a t t e r — itself an u n g r a s p a b l e object, u n d e r the n e w t e r m s of literary t h e o r y — w o u l d b e e n r i c h e d with the m o r e k n o w a b l e s e n s e of the writer's p r e s e n c e . T h u s book-length s t u d i e s of newsworthy events b e g a n to be crafted in the m a n n e r of novels, while feature j o u r n a l i s m read m o r e like a short story, u s i n g a s it did the writing t e c h n i q u e s m o r e traditionally a s s o c i a t e d with Active artists. T h e s e c o n d d e v e l o p m e n t involved not t r a n s p o s i n g the c o n v e n t i o n s of fiction to a n o t h e r m e d i u m but d i s c a r d i n g t h e m as c o m p l e t e l y a s p o s s i b l e . T h e b e g i n n i n g s of this m o v e m e n t involved rejecting the principal c o n v e n t i o n of traditional fiction, the s u s p e n s i o n of disbelief that e n a b l e d an invented story to b e p r e s e n t e d a s factual. By e m p h a s i z i n g their own p r e s e n c e a s c r e a t o r s of the tale a n d m a k i n g their m a i n s u b j e c t the p r o c e d u r e s by which their narratives were brought into being, writers of Metafiction (as the form w a s called) s i d e s t e p p e d o b j e c t i o n s from both the D e c o n s t r u c t i o n i s t s a n d the D e a t h of the Novel critics. T h e r e were no false illusions in M e t a f i c t i o n ; what you saw w a s what you got, a literary work r e p r e s e n t i n g nothing other than itself. T h e value of s u c h work lay in the a u t h o r , not the tale: how interesting the writer c o u l d m a k e the p r o c e s s , how m u c h e v i d e n c e of i m a g i n a t i o n a n d intelligence a n d creative personality s h o w e d t h r o u g h . A g o o d a n a l o g y for Metafiction w a s the p r a c t i c e of A b s t r a c t E x p r e s s i o n i s t p a i n t e r s from a g e n eration before, w h o h a d m a d e the c a n v a s not a s u r f a c e o n which to r e p r e s e n t but a n a r e n a in which to act, the action of their paint taking p r e c e d e n c e over anything else b e i n g d e p i c t e d . F r o m the specific t e c h n i q u e of M e t a f i c t i o n , innovative writers of this period e x p a n d e d their repertoire to i n c l u d e m o r e broadly expressive narratives involving not j u s t writing but e x i s t e n c e itself. Fiction is not a b o u t e x p e r i e n c e , t h e s e a u t h o r s c l a i m e d ; it is e x p e r i e n c e itself. T h e difficult a i m here w a s to c a p t u r e the e s s e n c e of e x p e r i e n c e without the m e d i a t i n g c o n v e n t i o n s of representative illusion. Fiction in the 1 9 6 0 s , m u c h like the d e c a d e itself, w a s often e x t r e m e in its m e t h o d s a n d disruptive in its effects. Yet m u c h like the social a n d political legacy of the d e c a d e , the l e g a c i e s of Sixties writing influenced later literary d e v e l o p m e n t s . Even in the heyday of D e c o n s t r u c t i o n a n d the D e a t h of the Novel, realistic fiction c o n t i n u e d to be written, in a style e n r i c h e d by having its previously u n q u e s t i o n e d p r a c t i c e s s o rigorously c r o s s - e x a m i n e d . A n e w g r o u p of realistic writers called M i n i m a l i s t s m a d e t h e s e c h a l l e n g e s central to their work, crafting a m a n n e r of description that with great intensity limited itself to what c o u l d be m o s t reliably a c c e p t e d . W h a t the M i n i m a l i s t s d e s c r i b e d w a s not e n d o r s e d by the a u t h o r s as true; rather they were signs of what their c h a r a c t e r s a c c e p t e d a s truth, not o b j e c t s from n a t u r e but conventions a c c e p t e d by societies to g o a b o u t the b u s i n e s s of living. In a typically Minimalist story, a l t h o u g h nothing s a d is m e n t i o n e d a n d n o c h a r a c t e r grieves, s o m e o n e d o e s i n d e e d m a k e a sign that s h e is saying s o m e t h i n g m e a n t to b e s a d , and a n o t h e r c h a r a c t e r emits a perfect sign of b e i n g deeply u n h a p p y

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in r e s p o n s e . O b j e c t s that a b o u n d in s u c h works are drawn from the c o n s u m e r ' s world not for what they are but for what they signify, b e it g o o d t a s t e or poor, wealth or deprivation. All told, it is a c a p a b l e way of writing r e a l i s m in a world w h e r e p h i l o s o p h i c a l definitions d i s c o u r a g e s u c h a term. S o c i a l revolutions of the 1 9 6 0 s left a legacy even richer t h a n t h o s e of critical a n d p h i l o s o p h i c a l c h a n g e . Civil rights activism h e l p e d c r e a t e the B l a c k Arts M o v e m e n t , w h i c h in turn r e p l a c e d the tokenistic notion of a c c e p t ing only o n e African A m e r i c a n writer at a time with a m u c h b r o a d e r a w a r e n e s s of imaginative e x p r e s s i o n by a wide r a n g e of literary talent. A parallel m o v e m e n t s a w s o u t h e r n writers s e e k i n g other styles of r e s p o n s e t h a n m o u r n ing the loss of the Civil W a r or feeling guilty a b o u t slavery; a n o t h e r s a w J e w i s h A m e r i c a n writers m o v i n g beyond t h e m a t i c s of a s s i m i l a t i o n a n d identity to e m b r a c e s u b j e c t s a n d t e c h n i q u e s r e a c h i n g from the p e r s o n a l to the metafictive. F e m i n i s t a n d n o n f e m i n i s t w o m e n writers f o u n d that s u b g e n r e s s u c h a s fantasy a n d s c i e n c e fiction c o u l d be useful in overthrowing longheld stereotypes of g e n d e r ; p r e s e n t - d a y life c o u l d b e d e s c r i b e d with a n e w f r a n k n e s s a n d e x p a n d e d a w a r e n e s s a p p r o p r i a t e to w o m e n ' s wider a n d m o r e egalitarian role in society. N a t i v e A m e r i c a n writers received n e w a t t e n t i o n from m a i n s t r e a m c u l t u r e , first initiated by attention to the land's ecology a n d a recognition that the "Wild W e s t " view of A m e r i c a n history involved strategic stereotyping of Indian p e o p l e s . W e l c o m e now were artistic e x p r e s s i o n s of the cultural complexity of the A m e r i c a n p o p u l a t i o n from C h i n e s e A m e r i c a n s , J a p a n e s e A m e r i c a n s , M e x i c a n A m e r i c a n s , a n d other g r o u p s previously e x c l u d e d from the literary c a n o n . T h e m o s t d r a m a t i c d e v e l o p m e n t , o n e that i n d i c a t e d the m u c h b r o a d e n i n g r a n g e of a c h i e v e m e n t a m o n g writers of m a n y different b a c k g r o u n d s a n d pers u a s i o n s , w a s the s u c c e s s of African A m e r i c a n w o m e n d u r i n g the 1 9 7 0 s a n d 1 9 8 0 s in finding a literary voice a n d m a k i n g it h e a r d a s a n i m p o r t a n t articulation of e x p e r i e n c e . H e r e w a s a r e m i n d e r of how s o m u c h of w h a t p a s s e s for reality is n o t h i n g but artifice, fabrication, a n d c o n v e n t i o n — f o r here w a s a large g r o u p of p e o p l e w h o h a d b e e n written o u t of history a n d d e n i e d a s p e a k i n g part in national d i a l o g u e . W i t h identity r e p r e s s e d a n d so m u c h of a u s a b l e p a s t effaced, t h e s e writers n e v e r t h e l e s s were able to find a m e a n s of expression that h e l p e d redefine r e a d e r s ' u n d e r s t a n d i n g of the world.

W R I T E R S

A N D

T H E I R

W O R K

A h a l l m a r k of the p o s t w a r period is its shift from unity a s an ideal to diversity, a n d d u r i n g t h e s e t i m e s A m e r i c a n writing h a s b e e n c h a r a c t e r i z e d by a great variety of styles all e m p l o y e d at the s a m e t i m e . Yet a s t h e s e writers e n g a g e in a d i a l o g u e with e a c h other's t h e m e s a n d a p p r o a c h e s , certain p a t t e r n s e m e r g e — s o m e t i m e s merely r e s p o n s i v e , other t i m e s d e v e l o p m e n t a l , a n d o c c a s i o n a l l y revolutionary. If there is a n y t h i n g in c o m m o n to the p e r i o d , it is a n a p p r e c i a t i o n of a n d s o m e t i m e s outright delight in l a n g u a g e a s a tool of literary e x p r e s s i o n . F i n d i n g a voice is any p e r s o n ' s first t a s k in s e e k i n g to b e h e a r d ; a n d b e c a u s e w o r d s a r e the b a s i c c o m p o n e n t of literature, the writer's u s e of t h e m will be the first e v i d e n c e of his or h e r artistic talent. In A m e r i c a n writing s i n c e 1 9 4 5 , the invitation to c o m p a r e a n d c o n t r a s t is richly rewarding.

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C o n s i d e r the a p p r o a c h e s taken to a c o m m o n figure, the s a l e s p e r s o n , by Arthur Miller a n d David M a m e t . T h e older playwright p o s e s his c h a r a c t e r struggling to articulate his identity as an a n t i h e r o , fighting to k e e p his h e a d above water in a world s o powerful as to overwhelm him. F o u r d e c a d e s later, David M a m e t ' s s a l e s staff is a w a s h in a tide of l a n g u a g e , their slick talking m a n a g i n g to s u b m e r g e all t r a c e s of reality in a realty world built on illusive p r e m i s e s ; as long a s a c h a r a c t e r c a n talk, he survives. A similar c o n t r a s t distinguishes older a n d newer writers of the A m e r i c a n S o u t h . T e n n e s s e e Williams, like Arthur Miller, p r e s e n t s c h a r a c t e r s d e s p e r a t e l y s e e k i n g to articulate their p r o b l e m s , p r o b l e m s that story writers E u d o r a Welty a n d F l a n n e r y O ' C o n n o r c h o o s e to portray a s either p i c t u r e s q u e or g r o t e s q u e . A g e n e r a t i o n later Barry H a n n a h , w h o s e narrator from M i s s i s s i p p i , in " M i d n i g h t a n d I'm N o t F a m o u s Yet," is f a c e d with articulating s o m e t h i n g m u c h t o u g h e r , the n a t u r e of the war he's fighting in V i e t n a m , finds a c o m f o r t i n g solution in the power of his s p e e c h , an ability to c o u c h this horrific e x p e r i e n c e in l a n g u a g e w h o s e o n g o i n g power m a n a g e s to c o n s t r u c t a narrative of his own m a k i n g that carries him safely h o m e (where g r o t e s q u e r i e s r e m i n i s c e n t of O ' C o n n o r ' s await his equally s m o o t h t r e a t m e n t ) . Ultimately, l a n g u a g e c a n b e c o m e the event itself, as in S u z a n - L o r i Parks's ritualization of the a s s a s s i n a t i o n of President A b r a h a m L i n c o l n in The American Play, a work w h o s e power i n d i c a t e s how this event c o n t i n u e s to influence the lives of African A m e r i c a n s a c e n tury a n d a half later. In a world that w o u l d define away h u m a n dignity, writers strive to find a p l a c e for it, no m a t t e r how hard they have to s e a r c h . S u c h a q u e s t c h a r a c terizes S a u l Bellow's " L o o k i n g for Mr. G r e e n " b u t a l s o motivates G r a c e Paley's s e a r c h for m o r e effective ways to do so in "A C o n v e r s a t i o n with M y F a t h e r . " In this latter p i e c e the narrator's p a r e n t a s k s for a narrative remin i s c e n t of the s a m e R u s s i a n m a s t e r s w h o influenced S a u l Bellow's develo p m e n t as a deeply p h i l o s o p h i c a l fiction writer; but Paley's narrator, w h o is a writer m u c h like herself, resists the world's tragic s e n s e of c l o s u r e a s if telling stories were itself a way to c h a n g e reality. Writers d e a l i n g with specific p r o b l e m s , s u c h a s B a l p h Ellison, J a m e s B a l d w i n , a n d B e r n a r d M a l a m u d , find ritualization a helpful way of u n d e r s t a n d i n g the n a t u r e s of the African A m e r i c a n a n d J e w i s h A m e r i c a n e x p e r i e n c e ; a n d in a m o r e general s e n s e , their c o n t e m p o r a r y Kurt V o n n e g u t works to e x p o s e rituals for the devices that they a r e . His e x a m i n a t i o n of the potency of the p h r a s e "fates worse t h a n d e a t h " (in a n e s s a y that u s e s , in the m a n n e r of the N e w J o u r n a l i s m , m a n y devices characteristic of fiction) s h o w s how l a n g u a g e o n c e again s h a p e s perc e p t i o n s of reality a n d e n c o u r a g e s certain ways of c o n d u c t , a r e m i n d e r that V o n n e g u t himself did not b e c o m e p o p u l a r until the 1 9 6 0 s , w h e n s u c h u n d e r s t a n d i n g s were a m o r e p r o m i n e n t cultural f e a t u r e . N e w voices a n d n e w styles of expression also d i s t i n g u i s h the half century following W o r l d W a r II. B e g i n n i n g in the 1 9 5 0 s , J a m e s Baldwin f o u n d imaginative f o r m s for i s s u e s politicized in the civil rights s t r u g g l e ; half a g e n e r a tion later, Amiri B a r a k a (then known a s L e R o i J o n e s ) s p o k e m o r e stridently for African A m e r i c a n m a l e identity, giving c e n t e r s t a g e to a c h a r a c t e r w h o s e p r o n o u n c e m e n t s a r e received a s so t h r e a t e n i n g that his e n c o m p a s s i n g society c a n n o t a c c e p t him. W o m e n with a feminist p e r s p e c t i v e , s u c h a s U r s u l a K. L e G u i n , turn to a previously m a l e d o m a i n , s c i e n c e fiction, to c r e a t e U t o p i a s where everything is quite literally r e n a m e d (a r e m i n d e r that the n a m e

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1945

p r e c e d e s how a thing is p e r c e i v e d ) . At the s a m e t i m e , African A m e r i c a n w o m e n strive for a voice of their own, n e g l e c t e d a s it has b e e n by historical forces s i n c e A m e r i c a ' s birth. It is noteworthy that P a u l e M a r s h a l l , T o n i M o r rison, a n d Alice W a l k e r m u s t first of all have their c h a r a c t e r s sit d o w n a n d talk with e a c h other before s u c h redefinitions c a n e m e r g e . S o m e t i m e s it's for a g r e e m e n t , other times for d i a l o g u e a n d d e b a t e ; but in all c a s e s , a s in L e G u i n ' s " S h e U n n a m e s T h e m , " the ability to s p e a k m u s t itself b e d e v e l o p e d before c o n d i t i o n s c a n be c h a n g e d . T h i s s p e e c h testifies to the period's develo p i n g a w a r e n e s s that d e s c r i b i n g the t e r m s of existence centrally i n f l u e n c e s the n a t u r e of existence itself. Tradition itself b e c o m e s s o m e t h i n g pliable in t h e s e writers' h a n d s . W h e t h e r Philip Roth c h a l l e n g i n g the d i m e n s i o n s of J e w i s h A m e r i c a n societal p r a c t i c e in " D e f e n d e r of the F a i t h , " N . S c o t t M o m a d a y revitalizing tribal u n d e r s t a n d i n g s in The Way to Rainy Mountain, Maxine H o n g Kingston i n c o r p o r a t i n g the d r e a m s of her C h i n e s e A m e r i c a n p r o t a g o n i s t in Tripmaster Monkey into the larger s w e e p of both A m e r i c a n p o p u l a r c u l t u r e a n d c a n o n ical literature, or I s h m a e l R e e d critiquing the s u b c u l t u r e of African A m e r i c a n s in The Last Days of Louisiana Red, individual c u l t u r e s a r e n o w s e e n a s p a r t i c i p a n t s in a richly i n t e r c h a n g i n g m u l t i c u l t u r e that redefines a n A m e r i c a less a m e l t i n g pot than a collage of i m m e n s e variety, e a c h part d r a w i n g certain s t r e n g t h s from o t h e r s . In this context the n a t u r e of reality c h a n g e s , whether defined scientifically by T h o m a s P y n c h o n , socio-culturally by Rudolfo A n a y a , or in t e r m s of d o m i n a t i n g e m o t i o n s by S t e p h e n Dixon. P e o ple c a n well be what they m a k e of t h e m s e l v e s , as G e r a l d Vizenor s h o w s in his u p d a t e of the trickster figure (from Native A m e r i c a n l e g e n d ) in " A l m o s t B r o w n e . " F r e e d from the stricter c o n s t r a i n t s of literary r e a l i s m , a writer like D o n a l d B a r t h e l m e c a n e x a m i n e the imaginative i m p o r t a n c e of h u m a n relations from a multiplicity of p e r s p e c t i v e s , i n c l u d i n g not j u s t r e m i n i s c e n c e but that of the full inventory of p o p u l a r r e p r e s e n t a t i o n a l f o r m s . T h a n k s to c o m p u t e r technology, novelists may now i n c l u d e artificial intelligence a m o n g their c a s t of c h a r a c t e r s , a s R i c h a r d P o w e r s d e m o n s t r a t e s in Galatea 2.2. C h a l l e n g e d by new u n d e r s t a n d i n g s of how reality is c o n s t r u c t e d , literary realism is t r a n s f o r m e d . J o h n C h e e v e r ' s " T h e S w i m m e r " takes r e c o u r s e to the m a g i c a l to express what in a n earlier time might have b e e n a sociologically a n d psychologically inclined story. J o h n U p d i k e u s e s the o c c a s i o n of a family's dissolution to explore lyrical d i m e n s i o n s of the e x p e r i e n c e a s well a s its d y n a m i c s of severed relations. In " M e d l e y " T o n i C a d e B a m b a r a c o n s t r u c t s a society in t e r m s of its m u s i c a l l a n g u a g e rather than simply its behavioral styles, while R a y m o n d Carver's " C a t h e d r a l " quite minimally feels o u t the s h a p e of things a s if its auditor were blind, a s the story's c h a r a c t e r in q u e s t i o n is. Carver's m e t h o d a s s u m e s n o t h i n g , patiently c o n s t r u c t i n g its world from s c r a t c h . B u t p o s t w a r writing a l s o provides o p p o r t u n i t i e s for great e x p a n s i o n , a s A n n i e Dillard u n d e r t a k e s in " H o l y the F i r m , " w h e r e the o c c a s i o n of a little girl suffering severe b u r n s is e x a m i n e d from p e r s p e c t i v e s e n c o m p a s s i n g the p h i l o s o p h i c a l a n d spiritual a s well a s m o r e i m m e d i a t e c o n c e r n s . T h e p o s t w a r world offers m u l t i f o r m varieties of e x i s t e n c e , a n d if there is a p r o g r e s s to writing it is in a u t h o r s ' s u c c e s s at finding ways to treat u n i q u e e x p e r i e n c e s in ways a c c e s s i b l e to a n d enjoyable by a g e n e r a l r e a d e r s h i p . Ann Beattie's world, o n e that in the h a n d s of a realistic, socially i n c l i n e d writer might o n c e have b e e n a s s u m e d to c o n f o r m with a national ideal, is in fact

INTRODUCTION

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m a d e of its c h a r a c t e r s ' own c o n s t r u c t i o n s — c o n s t r u c t s that p r e s e n t a c o m pelling picture by virtue ,of their play of signs rather than c o r r e s p o n d e n c e s to similar o b j e c t s in the reader's world. T h e worlds of D i a n e G l a n c y , L e s l i e Silko, a n d L o u i s e E r d r i c h , while typically d e s c r i b e d as Native A m e r i c a n , are m o r e than sociological r e p r e s e n t a t i o n s of a p a r t i c u l a r g r o u p ; i n s t e a d e a c h writer u s e s idiosyncratic t e c h n i q u e s to d e s c r i b e an e x p e r i e n c e that exists primarily in the writing, in the n a t u r e of the event's p e r c e p t i o n , a s o p p o s e d to any reductive explanation of events t h e m s e l v e s . G l o r i a A n z a l d u a a n d S a n dra C i s n e r o s display a similar r a n g e of t e c h n i q u e s in b u i l d i n g their M e x i c a n A m e r i c a n worlds, worlds that are d i s t i n g u i s h e d by their u n i q u e style of lang u a g e — a g a i n , e x a m p l e s of how different n a m e s for things yield an experie n c e of different things, all a s s h a p e d by the writer's descriptive power. In a similar m a n n e r , fables from P u e r t o Rico influence the A m e r i c a n lives lived by p r o t a g o n i s t s in the fiction of J u d i t h Ortiz C o f e r , l e n d i n g her work a multicultural p o t e n c y that e x c e e d s any s i m p l e r e c o u n t i n g of e x i s t e n c e . It h a s b e e n said that o u r c o n t e m p o r a r y c u l t u r e provides the g r e a t e s t variety of literary expression available at any o n e t i m e . F r o m a war effort that d e m a n d e d unity of p u r p o s e a n d a c o l d war period that for a time e n c o u r a g e d conformity to a h o m o g e n e t i c ideal, A m e r i c a n writing h a s e m e r g e d at the e n d of this century to i n c l u d e a s o p h i s t i c a t e d m a s t e r y of t e c h n i q u e in service of a task b r o a d e n e d by a n u n d e r s t a n d i n g of literature's role in c h a r a c t e r i z i n g reality. With i n c l u s i v e n e s s the n e w rule a n d imaginative potential a s a fresh ideal, writing h a s survived threats of its d e a t h to flourish m o r e fully t h a n ever.

AMERICAN PROSE SINCE 1945 CONTEXTS

TEXTS 1941

Eudora Welty, "Petrified Man" 1945

U.S. drops atomic bombs on

Hiroshima and Nagasaki; J a p a n surrenders, ending World War II • Cold War begins 1947

T e n n e s s e Williams, A

Named 1949

1947

Streetcar

Jackie Robinson b e c o m e s the first

black Major L e a g u e ballplayer

Desire Arthur Miller, Death of a

Salesman Senator J o s e p h McCarthy begins

1950

attacks on c o m m u n i s m 1950-53 1951

•

Green" 1952

Korean War

Saul Bellow, "Looking for Mr.

Ralph Ellison, Invisible

Man 1953

H o u s e Concurrent Resolution 108

dictates government's intention to "terminate" its treaty relations with the Native American tribes 1954

Brown v. Board of

Education

declares segregated schools unconstitutional 1955

Flannery O'Connor, "Good Country

People" 1956

Martin Luther King Jr. leads b u s

boycott in Montgomery, Alabama 1958

Bernard Malamud, "The Magic

Barrel" 1959

Philip Roth, "Defender of the

Faith" 1960

I960

T h o m a s Pynchon, "Entropy"

Wool worth lunch counter sit-in in

Greensboro, N . C . , marks beginning of civil rights movement 1963

King delivers "I Have a D r e a m "

speech • black church in Birmingham, Alabama, bombed, killing four girls • President J o h n F. Kennedy assassinated 1964

John Cheever, "The Swimmer" •

Amiri Baraka (LeRoi J o n e s ) , 1965

Dutchman

J a m e s Baldwin, "Going to Meet the

1965

Riots break out in Watts section of

Los Angeles • Malcolm X assassinated

Man"

1965-73 1966

Vietnam War

[National Organization for Women

( N O W ) founded 1968

Donald Barthelme, "The Balloon" •

1968

1969 Rainy

King assassinated • Senator Robert

F. Kennedy assassinated

Norman Mailer, The Armies of the Night N. Scott Momaday, The Way to

1969

Mountain

U . S . astronauts land on the moon •

Stonewall riots in New York City initiate gay liberation movement • Woodstock Festival held near Bethel, Newr York

B o l d f a c e titles indicate works in the anthology.

2286

TEXTS 1970

CONTEXTS

Ishmael Reed, " N e o - H o o D o o

1970

Manifesto"

National Guard kills four students

during antiwar demonstration at Kent State University, Ohio 1972

Watergate scandal • military draft

ends 1973

Alice Walker, "Everyday Use"

1973

Roe. v. Wade legalizes abortion •

American Indian Movement members occupy Wounded Knee 1974

Grace Paley, "A Conversation with

1974

1975

President Richard Nixon resigns in

wake of Watergate, avoiding impeachment

My Father" Barry Hannah, "Midnight and I'm

Not F a m o u s Yet" • John Updike, "Separating"

1977

Annie Dillard, "Holy the Firm"

1978

Ann Beattie, "Weekend"

1980

Toni C a d e Bambara, "Medley"

1981

Leslie Marmon Silko, "Lullaby"

1982

Rudolfo Anaya, "The Christmas

1976

U.S. bicentennial

1982

Equal Rights Amendment defeated •

Play" • Raymond Carver, "Cathedral" •

antinuclear movement protests manufacture

David Mamet, Glengarry Glen Ross • Kurt

of nuclear weapons * A I D S officially

Vonnegut, "Fates Worse Than Death"

identified in the United States

1983

Paule Marshall, " R e e n a " « T o n i

Morrison, "RecitatiF' 1984

Stephen Dixon, "Time to G o "

1985

Ursula K. Le Guin, " S h e U n n a m e s

T h e m " • Don DeLillo, White Noise 1986

Louise Erdrich, "Fleur"

1987

Gloria Anzaldua, Borderlands

1La

Frontera 1989

Maxine Hong Kingston,

Tripmaster

1989

Monkey

Soviet Union collapses; Cold War

ends • oil tanker Exxon Valdez runs aground in Alaska 1990

Congress passes Native American

Graves Protection and Repatriation Act 1991

Sandra Cisneros, Woman

Hollering

1991

1993

Diane Glancy, "Polar Breath"

1995

Suzan-Lori Parks, The America Play

• Richard Powers, Galatea

1999

Ralph Ellison,

United States enters Persian Gulf

War • World Wide Web introduced

Creek • Gerald Vizenor, "Almost Browne"

1995

2.2.

Federal building in Oklahoma City

bombed in a terrorist attack 1997

Pathfinder robot explores Mars

2001

Execution of Timothy McVeigh,

Juneteenth convicted in 1995 Oklahoma City b o m b i n g * September 11 terrorist attacks on Pentagon and World Trade Center

2287

2288

EUDORA

WELTY

\909-200l In her essay titled "Place in Fiction," Eudora Welty spoke of her work as filled with the spirit of place: "Location is the ground conductor of all the currents of emotion and belief and moral conviction that charge out from the story in its course." Both her outwardly uneventful life and her writing are most intimately connected to the topography and atmosphere, the season and the soil of the native Mississippi that was her lifelong home. Born in Jackson in 1909, to parents who came from the North, and raised in comfortable circumstances (her father headed an insurance company), she attended Mississippi State College for Women, then graduated from the University of Wisconsin in 1929. After a course in advertising at the Columbia University School of Business, she returned to Mississippi, first working as a radio writer and newspaper society editor, then for the Works Progress Administration, taking photographs of and interviewing local residents. Those travels would be reflected in her fiction and also in a book of her photographs, One Time and Place, published in 1971. She began writing fiction after her return to Mississippi in 1931 and five years later published her first story, "Death of a Traveling Salesman," in a small magazine. Over the next two years, six of her stories were published in the Southern Review, a serious literary magazine one of whose editors was the poet and novelist Robert Penn Warren. She also received strong support from Katherine Anne Porter, who contributed an introduction to Welty's first book of stories, A Curtain of Green (1941). That introduction hailed the arrival of another gifted southern fiction writer, and in fact the volume contained some of the best stories she was ever to write, such as "Petrified Man" (printed here). Her profusion of metaphor and the difficult surface of her narrative—often oblique and indirect in its effect—were in part a mark of her admiration for modern writers like Virginia Woolf and (as with any young southern writer) William Faulkner. Although Welty's stories were as shapely as that of her mentor, Porter, they were more richly idiomatic and comic in their inclination. A second collection, The Wide Net, appeared two years later; and her first novel, The Robber Bridegroom, was published in 1942. In that year and the next she was awarded the O. Henry Memorial Prize for the best piece of short fiction, and from then on she received a steady stream of awards and prizes, including the Pulitzer Prize for her novel The Optimist's Daughter {1972). Her most ambitious and longest piece of fiction is Losing Battles {1970), in which she aimed to compose a narrative made up almost wholly out of her characters' voices in mainly humorous interplay. Like Robert Frost, Welty loves gossip in all its actuality and intimacy, and if that love failed in the novels to produce compelling, extended sequences, it did result in many lively and entertaining pages. Perhaps her finest single book after A Curtain of Green was The Golden Apples (1949), a sequence of tales about a fabulous, invented, small Mississippi community named Morgana. Her characters appear and reappear in these related stories and come together most memorably in the brilliant "June Recital," perhaps her masterpiece. As an entertainer, her wonderfully sharp sense of humor is strongly evident. Although the characters and themes that fill the pages of her fiction consist, in part, of involuted southern families, physically handicapped, mentally retarded, or generally unstable kinfolk—and although this fiction is shot through with undercurrents of death, violence, and degradation—everything Welty touches is transformed by the incorrigibly humorous twist of her narrative idiom. No matter how desperate a situation may be, she makes us listen to the way a character talks about it; it is style rather than information we find ourselves paying attention to. And although her attitude toward human folly is satiric, it is satire devoid of the wish to undermine and mock her characters. Instead, they are given irresistible life and a memorable expres-

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MAN

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siveness in the vivid realizations of her prose. Her narrative unfolds on the principle of varied repetitions or reiterations that have (she has claimed) the function of a deliberate double exposure in photography. She once remarked in an essay that "fine story writers seem to be in a sense obstructionists." By making us pay attention to who is speaking and what the implications are of that speech, by asking us to imagine the way in which a silent character is responding to that speech, and by making us read behind the deceptively simple response she gives to that character, we are made active readers, playfully engaged in the complicated scene of a typical Welty story. "Why I Live at the P.O.," "Keela, the Outcast Indian Maiden," the unforgettable "Powerhouse" with its Fats Waller-like hero, "Petrified Man," "June Recital," and many others are solid proof of both the strength and the joy of her art. And although she has been called a "regional" writer, she herself has noted the condescending nature of that term, which she says is an "outsider's term; it has no meaning for the insider who is doing the writing, because as far as he knows he is simply writing about life" (On Writing). So it is with Eudora Welty's fiction. The text is that published in A Curtain of Green (1941).

Petrified Man " R e a c h in my p u r s e a n d git m e a cigarette without no p o w d e r in it if you kin, M r s . Fletcher, h o n e y , " said L e o t a to her ten o'clock s h a m p o o - a n d - s e t c u s t o m e r . "I don't like no p e r f u m e d c i g a r e t t e s . " M r s . F l e t c h e r gladly r e a c h e d over to the lavender shelf u n d e r the lavenderframed mirror, s h o o k a hair net l o o s e from the c l a s p of the p a t e n t - l e a t h e r bag, a n d s l a p p e d her h a n d d o w n quickly on a p o w d e r puff which b u r s t out when the p u r s e was o p e n e d . "Why, look at the p e a n u t s , L e o t a ! " said M r s . F l e t c h e r in her marvelling voice. " H o n e y , them g o o b e r s h a s b e e n in my p u r s e a w e e k if they's b e e n in it a day. M r s . Pike b o u g h t t h e m p e a n u t s . " " W h o ' s M r s . P i k e ? " a s k e d M r s . F l e t c h e r , settling b a c k . H i d d e n in this d e n of curling fluid a n d h e n n a 1 p a c k s , s e p a r a t e d by a lavender swing-door from the other c u s t o m e r s , w h o were b e i n g gratified in other b o o t h s , s h e c o u l d give her curiosity its f r e e d o m . S h e looked expectantly at the black part in L e o t a ' s yellow curls a s s h e b e n t to light the cigarette. " M r s . Pike is this lady from N e w O r l e a n s , " said L e o t a , puffing, a n d p r e s s ing into M r s . Fletcher's s c a l p with strong red-nailed fingers. "A friend, not a c u s t o m e r . You s e e , like m a y b e I told you last time, m e a n d F r e d a n d S a l a n d J o e all h a d u s a f u s s , so S a l a n d J o e u p a n d m o v e d out, so we didn't d o a thing but rent out their r o o m . S o we rented it to M r s . Pike. A n d Mr. P i k e . " S h e flicked an a s h into the basket of dirty towels. " M r s . Pike is a very d e c i d e d blonde. She b o u g h t m e the p e a n u t s . " " S h e m u s t be c u t e , " said M r s . Fletcher. " H o n e y , 'cute' ain't the word for what s h e is. I'm tellin' you, M r s . Pike is attractive. S h e h a s her a g o o d t i m e . S h e ' s got a s h a r p eye out, M r s . Pike has." S h e d a s h e d the c o m b t h r o u g h the air, a n d p a u s e d d r a m a t i c a l l y a s a c l o u d 1. Reddish brown dye for tinting hair.

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of M r s . F l e t c h e r ' s h e n n a e d hair floated o u t of the lavender teeth like a s m a l l storm-cloud. " H a i r fallin'." "Aw, L e o t a . " " U h - h u h , c o m m e n c i n ' to fall o u t , " said L e o t a , c o m b i n g again, a n d letting fall a n o t h e r c l o u d . "Is it any d a n d r u f f in i t ? " M r s . F l e t c h e r w a s frowning, her hair-line eyebrows diving down toward her n o s e , a n d her wrinkled, b e a d y - l a s h e d eyelids batting with concentration. " N o p e . " S h e c o m b e d a g a i n . " J u s t fallin' o u t . " " B e t it w a s that last p e r m ' n e n t you g a v e m e that did it," M r s . F l e t c h e r s a i d cruelly. " R e m e m b e r you c o o k e d m e f o u r t e e n m i n u t e s . " "You h a d fourteen m i n u t e s c o m i n ' to y o u , " s a i d Leota with finality. "Bound to be s o m e t h i n ' , " p e r s i s t e d M r s . F l e t c h e r . "Dandruff, dandruff. I c o u l d n ' t of c a u g h t a thing like that from M r . F l e t c h e r , c o u l d I ? " " W e l l , " L e o t a a n s w e r e d at last, "you k n o w what I h e a r d in here yestiddy, o n e of T h e l m a ' s ladies w a s settin' over yonder in T h e l m a ' s b o o t h gittin' a m a c h i n e l e s s , a n d I don't m e a n to insist or i n s i n u a t e or anything, M r s . F l e t c h e r , but T h e l m a ' s lady j u s t h a p p ' m e d to throw o u t — I forgotten what s h e w a s talkin' a b o u t at the t i m e — t h a t you w a s p-r-e-g., a n d lots of times that'll make your hair do awful funny, fall o u t a n d G o d k n o w s what all. It j u s t ain't our fault, is the way I look at i t . " T h e r e w a s a p a u s e . T h e w o m e n stared at e a c h other in the mirror. "Who was it?" demanded M r s . Fletcher. " H o n e y , I really couldn't say," said Leota. " N o t that you look it." " W h e r e ' s T h e l m a ? I'll get it o u t of h e r , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r . " N o w , honey, I wouldn't g o a n d git m a d over a little thing like t h a t , " Leota said, combing hastily, as though to hold M r s . F l e t c h e r down by the hair. "I'm s u r e it w a s s o m e b o d y didn't m e a n no h a r m in the world. H o w far g o n e are you?" " J u s t wait," said M r s . F l e t c h e r , a n d shrieked for T h e l m a , w h o c a m e in a n d took a d r a g from L e o t a ' s c i g a r e t t e . " T h e l m a , honey, throw your mind b a c k to yestiddy if you k i n , " said L e o t a , d r e n c h i n g M r s . Fletcher's hair with a thick fluid a n d c a t c h i n g the overflow in a cold wet towel at her n e c k . "Well, I got my lady half w o u n d for a s p i r a l , " said T h e l m a doubtfully. "This won't take but a m i n u t e , " said L e o t a . " W h o is it you got in there, old H o r s e F a c e ? J u s t c a s t your mind back a n d try to r e m e m b e r w h o your lady w a s yestiddy w h o h a p p ' m to m e n t i o n that my c u s t o m e r w a s pregnant, that's all. S h e ' s d e a d to k n o w . " T h e l m a d r o o p e d her blood-red lips a n d looked over M r s . F l e t c h e r ' s h e a d into the mirror. "Why, honey, I ain't got the f a i n t e s t , " s h e b r e a t h e d . "I really don't recollect the faintest. B u t I'm s u r e s h e meant no h a r m . I d e c l a r e , I forgot my hair finally got c o m b e d a n d t h o u g h t it w a s a stranger b e h i n d m e . " " W a s it that M r s . H u t c h i n s o n ? " M r s . F l e t c h e r w a s tensely polite. " M r s . H u t c h i n s o n ? O h , M r s . H u t c h i n s o n . " T h e l m a b a t t e d her eyes. " N a w , p r e c i o u s , s h e c o m e on T h u r s d a y a n d didn't ev'm m e n t i o n your n a m e . I d o u b t if s h e ev'm knows you're o n the w a y . " " T h e l m a ! " cried L e o t a s t a u n c h l y . "All I know is, w h o e v e r it is '11 b e sorry s o m e day. Why, I j u s t barely knew it myself!" cried M r s . F l e t c h e r , "just let her wait!"

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"Why? W h a t ' r e you g o n n a do to h e r ? " It w a s a child's voice, a n d the w o m e n looked down. A little boy w a s m a k i n g tents with a l u m i n u m wave p i n c h e r s 2 on the floor u n d e r the sink. "Billy Boy, h o n , m u s t n ' t bother n i c e l a d i e s , " L e o t a s m i l e d . S h e s l a p p e d him brightly a n d b e h i n d her b a c k waved T h e l m a out of the b o o t h . "Ain't Billy Boy a sight? Only three years old a n d already j u s t nuts a b o u t the beautyparlor b u s i n e s s . " "I never s a w him here b e f o r e , " s a i d M r s . Fletcher, still unmollified. " H e ain't b e e n here b e f o r e , that's how c o m e , " said L e o t a . " H e b e l o n g s to M r s . Pike. S h e got her a j o b but it was Fay's Millinery. H e oughtn't to try on t h o s e ladies' h a t s , they c o m e d o w n over his eyes like I don't know w h a t . T h e y j u s t git to look r i d i c u l o u s , that's what, a n ' of c o u r s e he's g o n n a put 'em o n : h a t s . T h e y tole M r s . Pike they didn't a p p r e c i a t e him h a n g i n ' a r o u n d t h e r e . H e r e , h e couldn't hurt a t h i n g . " "Well! I don't like children that m u c h , " said M r s . Fletcher. " W e l l ! " said L e o t a moodily. "Well! I'm a l m o s t t e m p t e d not to have this o n e , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r . " T h a t M r s . H u t c h i n s o n ! J u s t looks straight through you w h e n s h e s e e s you o n the street a n d then spits at you b e h i n d your b a c k . " " M r . F l e t c h e r would beat you on the h e a d if you didn't have it n o w , " s a i d L e o t a reasonably. "After g o i n g this far." M r s . F l e t c h e r sat up straight. " M r . F l e t c h e r can't do a thing with m e . " " H e c a n ' t ! " L e o t a winked at herself in the mirror. " N o , siree, he can't. If he s o m u c h a s raises his voice a g a i n s t m e , he knows good a n d well I'll have o n e of my sick h e a d a c h e s , a n d then I'm j u s t not fit to live with. A n d if I really look that p r e g n a n t a l r e a d y — " "Well, now, honey, I j u s t want you to k n o w — I h a b m ' t told any of my ladies a n d I ain't goin' to tell ' e m — e v e n that you're losin' your hair. You j u s t get you o n e of t h o s e S t o r k - a - L u r e d r e s s e s a n d stop worryin'. W h a t p e o p l e don't know don't hurt nobody, a s M r s . Pike s a y s . " " D i d you tell M r s . P i k e ? " a s k e d M r s . F l e t c h e r sulkily. "Well, M r s . Fletcher, look, you ain't ever goin' to lay eyes on M r s . Pike or her lay eyes on you, so what diffunce d o e s it m a k e in the long r u n ? " "I k n e w it!" M r s . F l e t c h e r deliberately n o d d e d her h e a d so a s to destroy a ringlet L e o t a w a s working on b e h i n d her ear. " M r s . P i k e ! " L e o t a sighed. "I reckon I might a s well tell you. It wasn't any m o r e T h e l m a ' s lady tole m e you w a s p r e g n a n t than a b a t . " "Not Mrs. Hutchinson?" " N a w , L o r d ! It w a s M r s . P i k e . " " M r s . P i k e ! " M r s . F l e t c h e r c o u l d only sputter a n d let curling fluid roll into her ear. " H o w c o u l d M r s . Pike possibly know I w a s p r e g n a n t or o t h e r w i s e , when s h e doesn't even know m e ? T h e nerve of s o m e p e o p l e ! " "Well, here's how it w a s . R e m e m b e r S u n d a y ? " " Y e s , " said M r s . Fletcher. " S u n d a y , M r s . Pike a n ' m e w a s all by ourself. Mr. Pike a n d F r e d h a d g o n e over to E a g l e L a k e , sayin' they w a s goin' to c a t c h 'em s o m e fish, but they didn't a c o u r s e . S o we w a s gettin' in M r s . Pike's car, it's a 1 9 3 9 D o d g e — " " 1 9 3 9 , eh," said Mrs. Fletcher. " — A n ' we w a s gettin' u s a J a x beer a p i e c e — t h a t ' s the b e e r that M r s . Pike 2. Clips used to form and hold (or set) hair curl or wave.

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says is m a d e right in N . O . , s o s h e won't drink no other kind. S o I s e e n you drive u p to the d r u g s t o r e a n ' run in for j u s t a s e c o n t , leavin' I r e c k o n M r . F l e t c h e r in the car, a n ' c o m e r u n n i n ' out with looked like a p e r s c r i p t i o n . S o I says to M r s . Pike, j u s t to b e m a k i n ' talk, 'Right yonder's M r s . F l e t c h e r , a n d I reckon that's Mr. F l e t c h e r — s h e ' s o n e of my regular c u s t o m e r s , ' I s a y s . " "I h a d on a figured print," said M r s . F l e t c h e r tentatively. "You s u r e d i d , " a g r e e d L e o t a . " S o M r s . Pike, s h e give you a g o o d l o o k — she's very o b s e r v a n t , a g o o d j u d g e of c h a r a c t e r , c u t e a s a m i n u t e , you k n o w — a n d s h e says, 'I bet you a n o t h e r J a x that lady's three m o n t h s o n the way.' " " W h a t gall!" said M r s . Fletcher. " M r s . P i k e ! " " M r s . Pike ain't goin' to bite y o u , " said L e o t a . " M r s . Pike is a lovely girl, you'd be crazy a b o u t her, M r s . F l e t c h e r . B u t s h e can't sit still a m i n u t e . W e went to the travellin' freak s h o w yestiddy after work. I got t h r o u g h e a r l y — nine o'clock. In the v a c a n t store next door. W h a t , you ain't b e e n ? " " N o , I despise freaks," declared Mrs. Fletcher. "Aw. Well, honey, talkin' a b o u t bein' p r e g n a n t a n ' all, you o u g h t to s e e t h o s e twins in a bottle, you really owe it to yourself." " W h a t t w i n s ? " a s k e d M r s . F l e t c h e r o u t of the side of her m o u t h . "Well, honey, they got t h e s e two twins in a bottle, s e e ? B o r n j o i n e d p l u m b t o g e t h e r — d e a d a c o u r s e . " L e o t a d r o p p e d her voice into a soft lyrical h u m . " T h e y w a s a b o u t this l o n g — p a r d o n — m u s t of b e e n full t i m e , all right, wouldn't you s a y ? — a n ' they h a d t h e s e two h e a d s a n ' two f a c e s a n ' four a r m s a n ' four legs, all kind of j o i n e d here. S e e , this f a c e looked this-a-way, a n d the other f a c e looked that-a-way, over their s h o u l d e r , s e e . K i n d a p a t h e t i c . " " G l a h ! " said M r s . F l e t c h e r disapprovingly. "Well, ugly? H o n e y , I m e a n to tell y o u — t h e i r p a r e n t s w a s first c o u s i n s a n d all like that. Billy Boy, git m e a fresh towel from off T e e n y ' s s t a c k — t h i s 'n's wringin' w e t — a n ' quit ticklin' my a n k l e s with that curler. I d e c l a r e ! H e don't m i s s nothin'." " M e a n d M r . F l e t c h e r aren't o n e s p e c k of kin, or h e c o u l d never of h a d m e , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r placidly. " O f c o u r s e not!" p r o t e s t e d L e o t a . " N e i t h e r is m e a n ' F r e d , not that we know of. Well, honey, what M r s . Pike liked w a s the p y g m i e s . They've got t h e s e p y g m i e s d o w n there, too, a n ' M r s . Pike w a s j u s t wild a b o u t 'em. You know, the teeniniest m e n in the universe? Well, honey, they c a n j u s t rest b a c k on their little b o h u n k u s a n ' roll a r o u n d a n ' you can't hardly tell if they're sittin' or standin'. That'll give you s o m e idea. They're a b o u t forty-two years old. J u s t s u p p o s e it w a s your h u s b a n d ! " "Well, M r . F l e t c h e r is five foot n i n e a n d o n e half," said M r s . F l e t c h e r quickly. " F r e d ' s five foot t e n , " said L e o t a , " b u t I tell him he's still a s h r i m p , a c c o u n t of I'm s o tall." S h e m a d e a d e e p wave over M r s . F l e t c h e r ' s other t e m p l e with the c o m b . "Well, t h e s e p y g m i e s are a kind of a dark b r o w n , M r s . Fletcher. N o t b a d lookin' for what they a r e , you k n o w . " "I wouldn't c a r e for t h e m , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r . " W h a t d o e s that M r s . Pike s e e in t h e m ? " "Aw, I don't k n o w , " said L e o t a . " S h e ' s j u s t c u t e , that's all. B u t they got this m a n , this petrified m a n , that ever'thing ever s i n c e he w a s nine years old, w h e n it g o e s t h r o u g h his d i g e s t i o n , s e e , s o m e h o w M r s . Pike says it g o e s to his j o i n t s a n d has b e e n turning to s t o n e . "

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" H o w awful!" s a i d M r s . Fletcher. " H e ' s forty-two too. T h a t looks like a b a d a g e . " " W h o said s o , that M r s . Pike? I bet she's forty-two," said M r s . F l e t c h e r . " N a w , " said L e o t a , " M r s . Pike's thirty-three, born in J a n u a r y , a n A q u a r i a n . H e c o u l d m o v e his h e a d — l i k e this. A c o u r s e his h e a d a n d m i n d ain't a j o i n t , s o to s p e a k , a n d I g u e s s his s t o m a c h ain't, e i t h e r — n o t yet, anyways. B u t s e e — h i s food, he e a t s it, a n d it g o e s d o w n , s e e , a n d then h e d i g e s t s i t " — L e o t a rose on her toes for an i n s t a n t — " a n d it g o e s out to his j o i n t s a n d before you c a n say 'Jack R o b i n s o n , ' it's s t o n e — p u r e s t o n e . H e ' s turning to s t o n e . How'd you liked to be married to a guy like that? All h e c a n d o , h e c a n m o v e his h e a d j u s t a q u a r t e r of an i n c h . A c o u r s e h e looks j u s t terrible." "I s h o u l d think he w o u l d , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r frostily. " M r . F l e t c h e r t a k e s b e n d i n g exercises every night of the world. I m a k e h i m . " "All F r e d d o e s is lay a r o u n d the h o u s e like a rug. I wouldn't be s u r p r i s e d if he woke u p s o m e day a n d couldn't m o v e . T h e petrified m a n j u s t sat there moving his q u a r t e r of a n i n c h t h o u g h , " said L e o t a reminiscently. " D i d M r s . Pike like the petrified m a n ? " a s k e d M r s . F l e t c h e r . " N o t a s m u c h a s s h e did the o t h e r s , " said L e o t a deprecatingly. " A n d then s h e likes a m a n to be a g o o d d r e s s e r , a n d all t h a t . " "Is M r . Pike a g o o d d r e s s e r ? " a s k e d M r s . F l e t c h e r sceptically. " O h , well, y e a h , " said L e o t a , " b u t he's twelve or fourteen years older'n her. S h e ast L a d y E v a n g e l i n e a b o u t h i m . " " W h o ' s L a d y E v a n g e l i n e ? " a s k e d M r s . Fletcher. "Well, it's this m i n d r e a d e r they got in the freak s h o w , " s a i d L e o t a . " W a s real g o o d . L a d y E v a n g e l i n e is her n a m e , a n d if I h a d a n o t h e r dollar I wouldn't do a thing b u t have my other p a l m read. S h e h a d what M r s . Pike said w a s the 'sixth m i n d ' b u t s h e h a d the worst m a n i c u r e I ever saw on a living p e r s o n . " " W h a t did s h e tell M r s . P i k e ? " a s k e d M r s . Fletcher. " S h e told her M r . Pike w a s a s true to her a s h e c o u l d b e a n d b e s i d e s , would c o m e into s o m e m o n e y . " " H u m p h ! " said M r s . Fletcher. " W h a t d o e s h e d o ? " "I can't tell," said L e o t a , " b e c a u s e he don't work. L a d y E v a n g e l i n e didn't tell m e e n o u g h a b o u t my n a t u r e or anything. A n d I would like to g o b a c k a n d find out s o m e m o r e a b o u t this boy. U s e d to go with this boy until he got married to this girl. O h , s h o o t , that w a s a b o u t three a n d a half years a g o , when you w a s still goin' to the R o b e r t E . L e e B e a u t y S h o p in J a c k s o n . H e married her for her m o n e y . A n o t h e r fortune-teller tole m e that at the t i m e . S o I'm not in love with him any m o r e , anyway, b e s i d e s b e i n g m a r r i e d to F r e d , but M r s . Pike t h o u g h t , j u s t for the hell of it, s e e , to a s k L a d y E v a n g e l i n e w a s he happy." " D o e s M r s . Pike know everything a b o u t you a l r e a d y ? " a s k e d M r s . F l e t c h e r unbelievingly. " M e r c y ! " " O h , yeah, I tole her ever'thing a b o u t ever'thing, from n o w o n b a c k to I don't know w h e n — t o w h e n I first started goin' o u t , " said L e o t a . " S o I ast L a d y E v a n g e l i n e for o n e of my q u e s t i o n s , w a s he happily m a r r i e d , a n d s h e says, j u s t like s h e w a s glad I a s k her, 'Honey,' s h e says, 'naw, h e idn't. You write d o w n this day, M a r c h 8, 1 9 4 1 , ' s h e says, 'and m o c k it d o w n : three years from today him a n d her won't b e o c c u p y i n ' the s a m e b e d . ' T h e r e it is, u p on the wall with t h e m other d a t e s — s e e , M r s . F l e t c h e r ? A n d s h e says, ' C h i l d , you o u g h t to be glad you didn't git h i m , b e c a u s e he's s o m e r c e n a r y . ' S o I'm

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glad I married F r e d . H e s u r e ain't m e r c e n a r y , m o n e y don't m e a n a thing to h i m . B u t I s u r e would like to go b a c k a n d have my other p a l m r e a d . " " D i d M r s . Pike believe in w h a t the fortune-teller s a i d ? " a s k e d M r s . F l e t c h e r in a s u p e r i o r tone of voice. " L o r d , yes, she's from N e w O r l e a n s . Ever'body in N e w O r l e a n s believes ever'thing spooky. O n e of 'em in N e w O r l e a n s before it w a s raided says to M r s . Pike o n e s u m m e r s h e w a s goin' to go from S t a t e to S t a t e a n d m e e t s o m e grey-headed m e n , a n d , sure e n o u g h , she says s h e went on a b e a u t i c i a n c o n v e n t i o n up to C h i c a g o . . . ." " O h ! " said M r s . F l e t c h e r . " O h , is M r s . Pike a b e a u t i c i a n t o o ? " " S u r e s h e i s , " p r o t e s t e d L e o t a . " S h e ' s a b e a u t i c i a n . I'm goin' to git her in here if I c a n . B e f o r e s h e married. B u t it don't leave y o u . S h e says s u r e e n o u g h , there w a s three m e n w h o w a s a very large part of m a k i n g her trip what it w a s , a n d they all three h a d grey in their hair a n d they w e n t in six S t a t e s . G o t C h r i s t m a s c a r d s from 'em. Billy Boy, go s e e if T h e l m a ' s got any dry c o t t o n . L o o k how M r s . F l e t c h e r ' s a-drippin'." " W h e r e did M r s . Pike m e e t M r . P i k e ? " a s k e d M r s . F l e t c h e r primly. " O n a n o t h e r train," said L e o t a . "I met M r . Fletcher, or rather he m e t m e , in a rental library," said M r s . F l e t c h e r with dignity, a s s h e w a t c h e d the net c o m e down over her h e a d . " H o n e y , m e a n ' F r e d , we m e t in a r u m b l e s e a t 3 eight m o n t h s a g o a n d we w a s practically on what you might call the way to the altar inside of half an h o u r , " s a i d L e o t a in a guttural voice, a n d bit a bobby pin o p e n . " C o u r s e it don't last. M r s . Pike says n o t h i n ' like that ever l a s t s . " " M r . F l e t c h e r a n d myself are a s m u c h in love a s the day we m a r r i e d , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r belligerently a s L e o t a stuffed c o t t o n into her e a r s . " M r s . Pike says it don't l a s t , " r e p e a t e d L e o t a in a l o u d e r voice. " N o w go git u n d e r the dryer. You c a n turn yourself o n , can't y o u ? I'll be b a c k to c o m b you out. D u r i n ' l u n c h I p r o m i s e d to give M r s . Pike a facial. You k n o w — f r e e . H e r bein' in the b u s i n e s s , s o to s p e a k . " "I bet s h e n e e d s o n e , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r , letting the swing-door fly b a c k against Leota. " O h , pardon m e . " A w e e k later, on time for her a p p o i n t m e n t , M r s . F l e t c h e r s a n k heavily into L e o t a ' s chair after first r e m o v i n g a drug-store rental book, called Life Is Like That, from the s e a t . S h e stared in a d i s c o u r a g e d way into the mirror. "You c a n tell it w h e n I'm sitting d o w n , all right," s h e s a i d . L e o t a s e e m e d p r e o c c u p i e d a n d s t o o d s h a k i n g o u t a lavender cloth. S h e b e g a n to pin it a r o u n d M r s . F l e t c h e r ' s n e c k in s i l e n c e . "I s a i d you s u r e c a n tell it w h e n I'm sitting straight on a n d c o m i n g at you this w a y , " M r s . F l e t c h e r s a i d . " W h y , honey, naw you c a n ' t , " s a i d L e o t a gloomily. "Why, I'd never know. If s o m e b o d y w a s to c o m e u p to m e on the street a n d say, ' M r s . F l e t c h e r is p r e g n a n t ! ' I'd say, ' H e c k , s h e don't look it to m e . ' " "If a certain party hadn't f o u n d it o u t a n d s p r e a d it a r o u n d , it wouldn't be too late even n o w , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r frostily, b u t L e o t a w a s a l m o s t c h o k i n g s p e a k clearly. S h e her with the c l o t h , p i n n i n g it so tight, a n d s h e couldn't p a d d l e d her h a n d s in the air until L e o t a wearily l o o s e n e d her. 3. Folding seat at the rear of an automobile.

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" L i s t e n , honey, you're j u s t a virgin c o m p a r e d to M r s . M o n t j o y , " L e o t a w a s going o n , still a b s e n t - m i n d e d . S h e b e n t M r s . F l e t c h e r b a c k in the c h a i r a n d , sighing, t o s s e d liquid from a t e a c u p on to her h e a d a n d d u g both h a n d s into her s c a l p . "You know M r s . M o n t j o y — h e r h u s b a n d ' s that premature-greyheaded fella?" " S h e ' s in the T r o j a n G a r d e n C l u b , is all I k n o w , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r . "Well, h o n e y , " said L e o t a , but in a weary voice, " s h e c o m e in here not the week before a n d not the day before s h e h a d her b a b y — s h e c o m e in here the very s e l f s a m e day, I m e a n to tell you. C h i l d , we w a s all p l u m b s c a r e d to d e a t h . T h e r e she w a s ! C o m e for her s h a m p o o a n ' set. Why, M r s . F l e t c h e r , in a n h o u r a n ' twenty m i n u t e s s h e w a s layin' up there in the Babtist Hospital with a s e b ' m - p o u n d s o n . It w a s that close a s h a v e . I d e c l a r e , if I hadn't b e e n so tired I would of d r a n k u p a bottle of gin that n i g h t . " " W h a t g a l l , " said M r s . Fletcher. "1 never knew her at all well." " S e e , her h u s b a n d w a s waitin' o u t s i d e in the car, a n d her b a g s w a s all p a c k e d a n ' in the b a c k seat, a n ' s h e w a s all ready, 'cept she w a n t e d her s h a m p o o a n ' set. A n ' havin' o n e pain right after a n o t h e r . H e r h u s b a n d kep' c o m i n ' in h e r e , scared-like, but couldn't do nothin' with her a c o u r s e . S h e yelled bloody m u r d e r , too, but s h e always yelled her h e a d off w h e n I give her a perm'nent." " S h e m u s t of b e e n crazy," said M r s . Fletcher. " H o w did s h e l o o k ? " " S h o o t ! " said L e o t a . "Well, I c a n g u e s s , " asid M r s . Fletcher. "Awful." " J u s t w a n t e d to look pretty while s h e w a s havin' her baby, is all," said L e o t a airily. " C o u r s e , we w a s glad to give the lady what s h e w a s a f t e r — t h a t ' s our m o t t o — b u t I bet a hour later s h e wasn't payin' no mind to t h e m little end curls. I bet she wasn't thinkin' a b o u t she o u g h t to have o n a net. It wouldn't of d o n e her no g o o d if s h e h a d . " " N o , I don't s u p p o s e it w o u l d , " said M r s . Fletcher. "Yeah m a n ! S h e w a s a-yellin'. J u s t like w h e n 1 give her p e r m ' n e n t . " " H e r h u s b a n d o u g h t to m a k e her b e h a v e . Don't it s e e m that way to y o u ? " asked M r s . Fletcher. " H e o u g h t to put his foot d o w n . " " H a , " said L e o t a . "A lot he c o u l d d o . M a y b e s o m e w o m e n is s o f t . " " O h , you m i s t a k e m e , 1 don't m e a n for her to get s o f t — f a r from it! W o m e n have to s t a n d up for t h e m s e l v e s , or there's j u s t no telling. B u t now you take m e — I ask M r . Fletcher's advice n o w a n d then, a n d he a p p r e c i a t e s it, e s p e cially on s o m e t h i n g important, like is it time for a p e r m a n e n t — n o t that I've told him a b o u t the baby. H e says, 'Why, dear, go a h e a d ! ' J u s t a s k their advice."

" H u h ! If I ever ast Fred's advice we'd be floatin' down the Yazoo River o n a h o u s e b o a t or s o m e t h i n ' by this t i m e , " said L e o t a . "I'm sick of F r e d . I told him to go over to V i c k s b u r g . " "Is he g o i n g ? " d e m a n d e d M r s . Fletcher. " S u r e . S e e , the fortune-teller—I went b a c k a n d h a d my other p a l m r e a d , since we've got to rent the r o o m a g i n — s a i d my lover w a s goin' to work in Vicksburg, s o I don't know w h o s h e c o u l d m e a n , u n l e s s s h e m e a n t F r e d . And Fred ain't workin' h e r e — t h a t m u c h is s o . " "Is he going to work in V i c k s b u r g ? " a s k e d M r s . F l e t c h e r . " A n d — " " S u r e . L a d y E v a n g e l i n e said s o . S a i d the future is g o i n g to be brighter than the present. H e don't want to g o , but I ain't g o n n a put u p with nothin' like

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that. L a y s a r o u n d the h o u s e a n ' b u l l s — d i d b u l l — w i t h that good-for-nothin' M r . Pike. H e says if h e g o e s who'll cook, b u t I says I never get to eat anyway-— not m e a l s . Billy Boy, t a k e M r s . G r o v e r that Screen Secrets a n d leg i t . " M r s . F l e t c h e r h e a r d s t a m p i n g feet g o o u t the door. "Is that that M r s . Pike's little boy h e r e a g a i n ? " she a s k e d , sitting u p gingerly. "Yeah, that's still h i m . " L e o t a s t u c k out her t o n g u e . M r s . F l e t c h e r c o u l d hardly believe her eyes. "Well! H o w ' s M r s . P i k e , your attractive n e w friend with the s h a r p eyes w h o s p r e a d s it a r o u n d town that perfect s t r a n g e r s are p r e g n a n t ? " s h e a s k e d in a s w e e t e n e d t o n e . " O h , Mizziz P i k e . " L e o t a c o m b e d M r s . Fletcher's hair with heavy strokes. "You act like you're tired," s a i d M r s . Fletcher. " T i r e d ? Feel like it's four o'clock in the afternoon a l r e a d y , " s a i d L e o t a . "I ain't told you the awful l u c k we h a d , m e a n d F r e d ? It's the worst thing you ever h e a r d of. M a y b e you think M r s . Pike's got s h a r p eyes. S h o o t , there's a limit! W e l l , you know, we rented out o u r r o o m to this M r . a n d M r s . Pike from N e w O r l e a n s w h e n Sal a n ' J o e F e n t r e s s got m a d at u s ' c a u s e they d r a n k u p s o m e h o m e - b r e w we h a d in the c l o s e t — S a l a n ' J o e did. S o , a w e e k a g o S a t ' d a y M r . a n d M r s . Pike m o v e d in. Well, I k i n d a fixed u p the r o o m , you k n o w — p u t a sofa pillow o n the c o u c h a n d p i c k e d s o m e r a g g e d r o b b i n s a n d p u t in a v a s e , but they never did say they a p p r e c i a t e d it. Anyway, then I p u t s o m e old m a g a z i n e s on the t a b l e . " "I think that w a s lovely," said M r s . F l e t c h e r . " W a i t . S o , c o m e night 'fore last, F r e d a n d this M r . Pike, w h o F r e d j u s t took u p with, w a s b a c k from they said they w a s fishin', b e i n ' a s neither o n e of 'em has got a j o b to his n a m e , a n d w e w a s all settin' a r o u n d their r o o m . S o M r s . Pike w a s settin' there, r e a d i n ' a old Startling G-Man Tales that w a s m i n e , m i n d you, I'd b o u g h t it myself, a n d all of a s u d d e n s h e j u m p s ! — i n t o the a i r — y o u ' d 'a' t h o u g h t she'd set o n a s p i d e r — a n ' s a y s , 'Canfield'—ain't that silly, that's M r . P i k e — ' C a n f i e l d , my G o d A'mighty,' s h e says, 'honey,' s h e says, 'we're rich, a n d you won't have to work.' N o t that h e t u r n e d o n e h a n d anyway. Well, m e a n d F r e d r u s h e s over to her, a n d M r . Pike, too, a n d there s h e s e t s , pointin' her finger at a p h o t o in my copy of Startling G-Man. ' S e e that m a n ? ' yells M r s . Pike. ' R e m e m b e r him, C a n f i e l d ? ' 'Never forget a f a c e , ' says M r . Pike. 'It's M r . Petrie, that we stayed with h i m in the a p a r t m e n t next to o u r s in T o u l o u s e S t r e e t in N . O . for six w e e k s . M r . Petrie.' 'Well,' says M r s . P i k e , like s h e can't hold out o n e s e c o n t longer, ' M r . Petrie is w a n t e d for five h u n d r e d dollars c a s h , for r a p i n ' four w o m e n in C a l i f o r n i a , a n d I know w h e r e h e is.' " " M e r c y ! " said M r s . F l e t c h e r . " W h e r e w a s h e ? " At s o m e time L e o t a h a d w a s h e d her hair a n d now s h e yanked her u p by the b a c k locks a n d sat her u p . "Know where he w a s ? " "I certainly d o n ' t , " M r s . F l e t c h e r said. H e r s c a l p hurt all over. L e o t a flung a towel a r o u n d the top of her c u s t o m e r ' s h e a d . " N o w h e r e else but in that freak show! I s a w him j u s t a s plain as M r s . Pike. He w a s the petrified m a n ! " " W h o w o u l d ever have t h o u g h t t h a t ! " cried M r s . F l e t c h e r sympathetically. " S o M r . Pike says, 'Well w h a t t a you know a b o u t that', a n ' h e looks real hard at the p h o t o a n d whistles. A n d s h e starts dancin a n d singin' a b o u t their

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g o o d luck. S h e m e a n t o u r b a d luck! I m a d e a point of tellin' that fortuneteller the next time I s a w her. I said, ' L i s t e n , that m a g a z i n e w a s layin' a r o u n d the h o u s e for a m o n t h , a n d there w a s the freak s h o w r u n n i n ' night a n ' day, not two s t e p s away from my own b e a u t y parlor, with M r . Petrie j u s t settin' there waitin'. A n ' it h a d to b e M r . a n d M r s . Pike, a l m o s t perfect s t r a n g e r s . ' " " W h a t gall," said M r s . Fletcher. S h e w a s only sitting there, w r a p p e d in a t u r b a n , but s h e did not m i n d . " F o r t u n e - t e l l e r s don't c a r e . A n d M r s . Pike, s h e g o e s a r o u n d actin' like s h e thinks s h e w a s M r s . G o d , " said L e o t a . " S o they're goin' to leave tomorrow, Mr. a n d M r s . Pike. A n d in the m e a n t i m e I got to keep that m e a n , b a d little ole kid h e r e , gettin' u n d e r my feet ever' m i n u t e of the day a n ' talkin' b a c k too." " H a v e they g o t t e n the five h u n d r e d dollars' reward a l r e a d y ? " a s k e d M r s . Fletcher. "Well," said L e o t a , "at first M r . Pike didn't want to do anything a b o u t it. C a n you feature that? S a i d he kinda liked that ole bird a n d s a i d h e w a s real nice to 'em, lent 'em m o n e y or s o m e t h i n ' . B u t M r s . Pike simply tole him he could j u s t go to hell, a n d I c a n s e e her point. S h e says, 'You ain't worked a lick in six m o n t h s , a n d h e r e I m a k e five h u n d r e d dollars in two s e c o n t s , a n d w h a t t h a n k s do I get for it? You go to hell, Canfield,' she says. S o , " L e o t a went o n in a d e s p o n d e n t voice, "they called u p the c o p s a n d they c a u g h t the ole bird, all right, right there in the freak s h o w w h e r e I saw him with my own e y e s , thinkin' h e w a s petrified. H e ' s the o n e . Did it u n d e r his real n a m e — Mr. Petrie. F o u r w o m e n in C a l i f o r n i a , all in the m o n t h of A u g u s t . S o M r s . Pike gits five h u n d r e d dollars. A n d my m a g a z i n e , a n d right next d o o r to my beauty parlor. I cried all night, but F r e d said it wasn't a bit of u s e a n d to go to sleep, b e c a u s e the w h o l e thing w a s j u s t a sort of c o i n c i d e n c e — y o u know: can't do n o t h i n ' a b o u t it. H e says it put him clean out of the notion of goin' to V i c k s b u r g for a few days till we rent out the r o o m a g i n — n o tellin' w h o we'll git this t i m e . " " B u t c a n you i m a g i n e anybody knowing this old m a n , that's raped four w o m e n ? " p e r s i s t e d M r s . Fletcher, a n d she s h u d d e r e d audibly. " D i d M r s . Pike speak to him w h e n s h e m e t him in the freak s h o w ? " L e o t a h a d b e g u n to c o m b M r s . Fletcher's hair. "I says to her, I says, 'I didn't n o t i c e you fallin' on his n e c k w h e n he w a s the petrified m a n — d o n ' t tell m e you didn't recognize your fine friend?' And s h e says, 'I didn't recognize h i m with that white p o w d e r all over his f a c e . H e j u s t looked familiar,' M r s . Pike says, 'and lots of p e o p l e look familiar.' B u t s h e says that ole petrified m a n did put her in m i n d of s o m e b o d y . S h e w o n d e r e d w h o it was! K e p ' her a w a k e , w h i c h m a n she'd ever knew it r e m i n d e d her of. S o w h e n she seen the p h o t o , it all c o m e to her. L i k e a flash. Mr. Petrie. T h e way he'd turn his h e a d a n d look at her w h e n s h e took him in his b r e a k f a s t . " " T o o k him in his b r e a k f a s t ! " shrieked M r s . Fletcher. " L i s t e n — d o n ' t tell m e . I'd 'a' felt s o m e t h i n g . " " F o u r w o m e n . I g u e s s t h o s e w o m e n didn't have the faintest notion at the time they'd b e worth a h u n d r e d a n ' twenty-five b u c k s a p i e c e s o m e day to M r s . Pike. W e ast her how old the fella w a s then, an's s h e says h e m u s t a h a d o n e foot in the grave, at least. C a n you b e a t i t ? " " N o t really petrified at all, of c o u r s e , " said M r s . F l e t c h e r meditatively. S h e drew herself u p . "I'd 'a' felt s o m e t h i n g , " she said proudly.

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" S h o o t ! I did feel s o m e t h i n ' , " said L e o t a . "I tole F r e d w h e n I got h o m e I felt s o funny. I s a i d , ' F r e d , that ole petrified m a n s u r e did leave m e with a funny feelin'.' H e says, ' F u n n y - h a h a or funny-peculiar?' a n d 1 says, ' F u n n y p e c u l i a r . ' " S h e p o i n t e d her c o m b into the air e m p h a t i c a l l y . "I'll bet you d i d , " s a i d M r s . Fletcher. T h e y both h e a r d a crackling n o i s e . L e o t a s c r e a m e d , "Billy Boy! W h a t you doin' in my p u r s e ? " "Aw, I'm j u s t eatin' t h e s e ole stale p e a n u t s u p , " said Billy Boy. "You c o m e here to m e ! " s c r e a m e d L e o t a , recklessly flinging d o w n the c o m b , w h i c h s c a t t e r e d a whole ashtray full of bobby pins a n d k n o c k e d d o w n a row of C o c a - C o l a bottles. " T h i s is the last s t r a w ! " "I c a u g h t him! I c a u g h t h i m ! " giggled M r s . Fletcher. "I'll hold him on my lap. You b a d , b a d boy, you! I g u e s s I better learn how to s p a n k little old b a d b o y s , " s h e said. L e o t a ' s eleven o'clock c u s t o m e r p u s h e d o p e n the swing-door u p o n L e o t a ' s p a d d l i n g him heartily with the b r u s h , while he gave angry but belittling s c r e a m s which p e n e t r a t e d beyond the booth a n d filled the w h o l e c u r i o u s b e a u t y parlor. F r o m everywhere ladies b e g a n to gather r o u n d to w a t c h the p a d d l i n g . Billy Boy kicked both L e o t a a n d M r s . F l e t c h e r a s hard as he c o u l d , M r s . F l e t c h e r with her new fixed smile. Billy Boy s t o m p e d through the g r o u p of wild-haired ladies a n d went out the door, but flung b a c k the w o r d s , "If you're s o s m a r t , why ain't you r i c h ? " 1941

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WILLIAMS

1911-1983 Speaking of Blanche DuBois, the heroine of A Streetcar Named Desire, Tennessee Williams once said, "She was a demonic creature; the size of her feeling was too great for her to contain." In Williams's plays—he wrote and rewrote more than twenty fulllength dramas as well as films and shorter works—his characters are driven by the size of their feelings, much as Williams himself felt driven to write about them. He was born Thomas Lanier Williams in Columbus, Mississippi, on March 26, 1911. His mother, "Miss Edwina," the daughter of an Episcopalian minister, was repressed and genteel, very much the southern belle in her youth. His father, Cornelius, was a traveling salesman, often away from his family and often violent and drunk when at home. As a child, Williams was sickly and overly protected by his mother; he was closely attached to his sister, Rose, repelled by the roughhouse world of boys, and alienated from his father. The family's move from Mississippi to St. Louis, where Cornelius became a sales manager of the shoe company he had traveled for, was a shock to Mrs. Williams and her young children, used to living in small southern towns where a minister's daughter was an important person. Yet Mrs. Williams was a woman who could take care of herself, a "survivor." Williams went to the University of Missouri, but left after two years; his father then found him a job in the shoe-factory warehouse. He worked there for nearly three

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years, writing feverishly at night. His closest friend at the time was a burly co-worker, easygoing and attractive to women, named Stanley Kowalski. Williams found the life so difficult, however, that he succumbed to a nervous breakdown. After recovering at the home of his beloved grandparents, he went on to further studies, finally graduating at the age of twenty-seven. Earlier, Rose had been suffering increasing mental imbalance; the final trauma was apparently brought on by one of Cornelius's alcoholic rages, in which he beat Edwina and, trying to calm Rose, made a gesture that she took to be a sexual one. Shortly thereafter, Edwina signed the papers allowing Rose to be "tragically becalmed" by a prefrontal lobotomy. She spent most of her life in sanatoriums, except when Williams brought her out for visits. The next year Williams left for New Orleans, the first of many temporary homes; it would provide the setting for A Streetcar Named Desire. In New Orleans, he changed his name to "Tennessee," later giving—as often when discussing his life—various romantic reasons for doing so. There also he actively entered the homosexual world. Williams had had plays produced at local theaters and in 1939 he won a prize for a collection of one-act plays, American Blues. The next year, Battle of Angels failed 1957). His first success was The (it would later be rewritten as Orpheus Descending, Glass Menagerie (1945). Williams called it a "memory play," seen through the recollections of the writer, Tom, who talks to the audience about himself and about the scenes depicting his mother, Amanda, poverty-stricken but genteelly living on memories of her southern youth and her "gentlemen callers"; his crippled sister, Laura, who finds refuge in her "menagerie" of little glass animals; and the traumatic effect of a modern "gentleman caller" on them. While there are similarities between Edwina, Rose, and Tennessee, on the one hand, and Amanda, Laura, and Tom on the other, there are also differences: the play is not literally autobiographical. The financial success of Menagerie was at first exhilarating, then debilitating. Williams fled to Mexico, to work full time on an earlier play, The Poker Niglit. It had begun as The Moth; its first image, as Williams's biographer, Donald Spoto, tells us, was "simply that of a woman, sitting with folded hands near a window, while moonlight streamed in and she awaited in vain the arrival of her boy friend": named Blanche, she was at first intended as a young Amanda. During rehearsals of Menagerie, Williams had asked members of the stage crew to teach him to play poker, and he began to visualize the play as a series of confrontations between working-class poker players and two refined southern women. As the focus of his attention changed from Stanley to Blanche, The Poker Night gradually turned into A Streetcar Named Desire. When it opened in 1947, it was an even greater success than Glass Menagerie, and it won the Pulitzer Prize. Williams was able to travel and to buy a home in Key West, Florida, where he did much of his ensuing work. At about this time his "transitory heart" found "a home at last" in a young man named Frank Merlo. For more than a decade thereafter, a new Williams play appeared almost every two years. Among the most successful were The Rose Tattoo (1950), in which the tempestuous heroine Serafina, worshiping the memory of her dead husband, finds love again; the Pulitzer Prize—winning Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955), which portrays the conflict of the dying Big Daddy and his impotent son, Brick, watched and controlled by Brick's wife, "Maggie the Cat"; and The Night of the Iguana (1961), which brings a varied group of tormented people together at a rundown hotel on the Mexican coast. His plays were produced widely abroad and also became equally successful films. Yet some of the ones now regarded as the best of this period were commercial failures: Summer and Smoke (1948), for example, and the surrealistic and visionary Camino Real (1953). For years, Williams had depended on a wide variety of drugs, especially to help him sleep and to keep him awake in the early mornings when he invariably worked. In the 1960s, these began to take a real toll. Other factors contributed to the decline of his later years: the death of Frank Merlo, the emergence of younger playwrights of whom

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he felt blindly jealous, and the violent nature of the 1960s themselves, which seemed both to mirror his own inner chaos and to leave him behind. Yet, despite Broadway failures, critical disparagements, and a breakdown for which he was hospitalized, he kept valiantly working. His biographer notes that in his late work, Rose was "the source and inspiration of everything he wrote, either directly— with a surrogate character representing her—or indirectly, in the situation of romanticized mental illness or unvarnished verisimilitude." This observation is certainly true of his last Broadway play, the failed Clothes for a Summer Hotel (1980), ostensibly about the ghosts of Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and of the play he obsessively wrote and rewrote, The Two Character Play, which chronicles the descent into madness and death of a brother and sister who are also lovers. Despite Williams's self-destructiveness, both in his writing and in his social life, the work of his great years was now being seriously studied and often revived by regional and community theaters. Critics began to see that he was one of America's best and most dedicated playwrights. And he kept on working. He was collaborating on a film of two stories about Rose when he died on February 23, 1983, apparently having choked to death on the lid of a pill bottle. Williams, who was always reluctant to talk about his work (likening it to a "bird that will be startled away, as by a hawk's shadow"), did not see himself in a tradition in American dramaturgy. He acknowledged the influence of Anton Chekhov, the nineteenth-century Russian writer of dramas with lonely, searching characters; of D. H. Lawrence, the British novelist who emphasized the theme of a sexual life force; and above all of the American Hart Crane, homosexual poete maud.it, who, he said, "touched fire that burned [himself] alive," adding that "perhaps it is only through selfimmolation of such a nature that we living beings can offer to you the entire truth of ourselves." Such a statement indicates the deeply confessional quality of Williams's writing, even in plays not directly autobiographical. Although he never acknowledged any debt to Eugene O'Neill, Williams shared with that playwright an impatience over realistic theater conventions. The Glass Menagerie, for example, uses screened projections, lighting effects, and music to emphasize that it takes place in Tom's memory. A Streetcar Named Desire moves in and out of the house on Elysian Fields, while music and lighting reinforce all the major themes. Williams also relies on the effects of language, especially of a vivid and colloquial southern speech that may be compared with that of William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, or Flannery O'Connor. Rhythms of language become almost a musical indication of character, distinguishing Blanche from other characters. Reading or seeing his plays, we become aware of how symbolic repetitions—in Blanche's and Stanley's turns of phrase, the naked light bulb and the paper lantern, the Mexican woman selling flowers for the dead, the "Varsouviana" waltz and the reverberating voices—produce a heightening of reality; what Williams called "poetic realism." More than a half century later, does the destruction of Blanche, the "lady," still have the power to move us? Elia Kazan, in his director's notes, thought of her as "an outdated creature, approaching extinction . . . like a dinosaur." But Blythe Danner, who played Blanche in a 1988 revival, acutely observes that Williams "was attached to the things that were going to destroy him" and that Blanche, similarly, is both attracted to and repelled by Stanley: "It's Tennessee fighting, fighting, fighting what he doesn't want to get into, what is very prevalent in his mind. That incredible contradiction in so many people is what he captures better than any other playwright." From our present perspective, moreover, we are less concerned over contemporary criticisms of Williams's plays for their violence and their obsession with sexuality, which in some of the later work was regarded by some critics as an almost morbid preoccupation with "perversion"—murder, rape, drugs, incest, nymphomania. We now know that the shriller voices making such accusations were attacking Williams for his homosexuality, which, we must remember, could not be publicly spoken of in this country until comparatively recently. These topics, however, also figure as

A STREETCAR NAMED

DESIRE,

SCENE O N E

/

2 3 0 1

instances of his deeper subject, the themes of desire and loneliness. As he said in an interview, "Desire is rooted in a longing for companionship, a release from the loneliness that haunts every individual." Loneliness and desire propel his characters into extreme behavior, no doubt, but such behavior literally dramatizes the plight that Williams saw as universal. The text is taken from The Theatre of Tennessee Williams, volume 1 (1971).

A Streetcar Named Desire And so it was I entered the broken world To trace the visionary company of love, its voice An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled) But not for long to hold each desperate choice. —"The

Broken

THE

Tower"

by Hart Crane 1

CHARACTERS

BLANCHE

PABLO

STELLA

A N E G R O WOMAN

STANLEY

A DOCTOR

MITCH

A NURSE

EUNICE

A YOUNG C O L L E C T O R

STEVE

A M E X I C A N WOMAN

Scene

One

The exterior of a two-story corner building on a street in New Orleans which is named Elysian Fields and runs between the L &• N tracks and the river. The section is poor but, unlike corresponding sections in other American cities, it has a raffish charm. The houses are mostly white frame, weathered grey, with rickety outside stairs and galleries and quaintly ornamented gables. This building contains two flats, upstairs and down. Faded white stairs ascend to the entrances of both. It is first dark of an evening early in May. The sky that shows around the dim white building is a peculiarly tender blue, almost a turquoise, which invests the scene with a kind of lyricism and gracefully attenuates the atmosphere of decay. You can almost feel the warm breath of the brown river beyond the river warehouses with their faint redolences of bananas and coffee. A corresponding air is evoked by the music of Negro entertainers at a barroom around the corner. In this part of New Orleans you are practically always just around the corner, or a few doors down the street, from a tinny piano being played with the infatuated fluency of brown fingers. This "Blue Piano" expresses the spirit of the life which goes on here. Two women, one white and one colored, are taking the air on the steps of the building. The white woman is E U N I C E , who occupies the upstairs flat; the colored woman a neighbor, for New Orleans is a cosmopolitan city where there is a relatively warm and easy intermingling of races in the old part of town. 2

1. American poet ( 1 8 9 9 - 1 9 3 2 ) . 2. Elysian Fields is in fact a New Orleans street at the northern tip of the French Quarter, between

the Louisville & Nashville railroad tracks and the Mississippi River. In Greek mythology, the Elysian Fields are the abode of the blessed in the afterlife.

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Above the music of the "Blue Piano" be heard overlapping.

the voices of people

on the street

can

[Two men come around the corner, STANLEY KOWALSKI and MITCH. They are about twenty-eight or thirty years old, roughly dressed in blue denim work, clothes. STANLEY carries his bowling jacket and a red-stained package from a butcher's. They stop at the foot of the steps.] S T A N L E Y [bellowing] H e y t h e r e ! S t e l l a , baby! [STELLA comes out on the first floor landing, a gentle young woman, about twenty-five, and of a background obviously quite different from her husband's.] S T E L L A [mildly] D o n ' t holler at m e like that. H i , M i t c h . STANLEY

STELLA STANLEY

Catch!

What? Meat!

[He heaves the package at her. She cries out in protest but manages to catch it: then she laughs breathlessly. Her husband and his companion have already started back around the corner.] S T E L L A [calling after him] Stanley! Where are you going? STANLEY

Bowling!

STELLA C a n I come watch? S T A N L E Y C o m e o n . [He goes out.] STELLA B e over s o o n , [to the white woman] H e l l o , E u n i c e . H o w a r e y o u ? EUNICE I'm all right. Tell S t e v e to g e t h i m a p o o r boy's s a n d w i c h ' c a u s e n o t h i n g ' s left h e r e . [They all laugh; the colored woman does not stop, S T E L L A goes out.] C O L O R E D W O M A N W h a t w a s that p a c k a g e h e th'ew a t 'er? [She rises from steps, laughing louder.] EUNICE

You h u s h , now!

N E G R O WOMAN

Catch

what!

[She continues to laugh, B L A N C H E comes around the corner, carrying a valise. She looks at a slip of paper, then at the building, then again at the slip and again at the building. Her expression is one of shocked disbelief. Her appearance is incongruous to this setting. She is daintily dressed in a white suit with a fluffy bodice, necklace and earrings of pearl, white gloves and hat, looking as if she were arriving at a summer tea or cocktail party in the garden district. She is about five years older than STELLA. Her delicate beauty must avoid a strong light. There is something about her uncertain manner, as well as her white clothes, that suggests a moth.] E U N I C E [finally] W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r , h o n e y ? A r e y o u lost? B L A N C H E [with faintly hysterical humor] T h e y told m e to t a k e a s t r e e t - c a r n a m e d D e s i r e , a n d t h e n t r a n s f e r to o n e c a l l e d C e m e t e r i e s ' a n d ride six b l o c k s a n d g e t off a t — E l y s i a n F i e l d s ! E U N I C E That's where you are now. B L A N C H E At E l y s i a n F i e l d s ? E U N I C E T h i s h e r e is E l y s i a n F i e l d s . BLANCHE They mustn't have—understood—what number I wanted . . . 3. T h e end of a streetcar line that stopped at a cemetery. Desire is a street in New Orleans.

A STREETCAR NAMED

EUNICE

DESIRE,

W h a t n u m b e r y o u lookin' for? [ B L A N C H E wearily refers to the slip of

BLANCHE

SCENE ONE

/

2303

paver.]

Six thirty-two.

E U N I C E Y o u don't have to look n o further. BLANCHE [uncomprehendingly] I'm l o o k i n g for m y s i s t e r , S t e l l a D u B o i s , I m e a n — M r s . Stanley Kowalski. E U N I C E T h a t ' s t h e p a r t y . — Y o u j u s t did m i s s h e r , t h o u g h . BLANCHE T h i s — c a n this b e — h e r h o m e ? EUNICE She's got the downstairs here a n d I got the up. BLANCHE

Oh. She's—out?

E U N I C E Y o u n o t i c e d that b o w l i n g alley a r o u n d t h e c o r n e r ? BLANCHE I'm—not sure I did. E U N I C E W e l l , that's w h e r e s h e ' s a t , w a t c h i n ' h e r h u s b a n d bowl. [There a pause.] Y o u w a n t to leave y o u r s u i t c a s e h e r e a n ' g o find h e r ? BLANCHE

No.

NEGRO WOMAN BLANCHE

BLANCHE

I'll g o tell h e r y o u c o m e .

Thanks.

N E G R O WOMAN

EUNICE

is

Y O U w e l c o m e . [She goes

out.]

S h e wasn't e x p e c t i n g y o u ? N o . N o , not tonight.

E U N I C E W e l l , why don't y o u j u s t g o in a n d m a k e y o u r s e l f at h o m e till they get b a c k . BLANCHE H o w could I — d o that? EUNICE W e o w n this p l a c e s o I c a n let you in. [She gets up and opens the downstairs door. A light goes on behind the blind, turning it light blue, B L A N C H E slowly follows her into the downstairs flat. The surrounding areas dim out as the interior is lighted. Two rooms can be seen, not too clearly defined. The one first entered is primarily a kitchen but contains a folding bed to be used by B L A N C H E . The room beyond this is a bedroom. Off this room is a narrow door to a bathroom. ] E U N I C E [defensively, noticing B L A N C H E S look] It's sort o f m e s s e d u p right now b u t w h e n it's c l e a n it's real s w e e t . BLANCHE

I S it?

EUNICE U h - h u h , I think s o . S o you're S t e l l a ' s s i s t e r ? BLANCHE Y e s . [wanting to get rid of her] T h a n k s for letting m e in. E U N I C E Por nada, a s t h e M e x i c a n s say, por nadal S t e l l a s p o k e o f y o u . 4

BLANCHE

EUNICE BLANCHE

EUNICE BLANCHE

Yes?

I think s h e s a i d y o u t a u g h t s c h o o l . Yes.

A n d you're from M i s s i s s i p p i , h u h ? Yes.

EUNICE S h e showed m e a picture of your home-place, the plantation. BLANCHE Belle Reve?5 E U N I C E A g r e a t b i g p l a c e with white c o l u m n s . BLANCHE

Yes.

. .

EUNICE A p l a c e like that m u s t b e awful h a r d to k e e p u p . BLANCHE If y o u will e x c u s e m e , I'm j u s t a b o u t to d r o p . 4. It's nothing (Spanish).

5. Beautiful Dream (French).

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E U N I C E S u r e , h o n e y . W h y don't you set d o w n ? BLANCHE W h a t I m e a n t w a s I'd like to b e left a l o n e . E U N I C E [offended] Aw. I'll m a k e m y s e l f s c a r c e , in that c a s e . BLANCHE I didn't m e a n t to b e r u d e , b u t — EUNICE I'll d r o p by t h e b o w l i n g alley a n ' h u s t l e h e r u p . [She goes out the door.] [ B L A N C H E sits in a chair very stiffly with her shoulders slightly hunched and her legs pressed close together and her hands tightly clutching her purse as if she were quite cold. After a while the blind look goes out of her eyes and she begins to look slowly around. A cat screeches. She catches her breath with a startled gesture. Suddenly she notices something in a half opened closet. She springs up and crosses to it, and removes a whiskey bottle. She pours a half tumbler of whiskey and tosses it down. She carefidly replaces the bottle and washes out the tumbler at the sink. Then she resumes her seat in front of the table.] B L A N C H E [faintly to herself] I've got to k e e p hold o f myself! [ S T E L L A comes quickly around the corner of the building and runs to the door of the downstairs flat.] S T E L L A [calling out joyfully] Blanche! [For a moment they stare at each other. Then B L A N C H E springs up and runs to her with a wild cry. ] BLANCHE S t e l l a , o h , S t e l l a , S t e l l a ! S t e l l a for S t a r ! [She begins to speak with feverish vivacity as if she feared for either of them to stop and think. They catch each other in a spasmodic embrace.] BLANCHE N o w , t h e n , let m e l o o k at y o u . B u t don't y o u look at m e , S t e l l a , no, n o , n o , n o t till later, n o t till I've b a t h e d a n d r e s t e d ! A n d turn t h a t over-light off! T u r n that off! I won't b e l o o k e d at in this m e r c i l e s g l a r e ! [ S T E L L A laughs and complies.] C o m e b a c k h e r e n o w ! O h , my b a b y ! S t e l l a ! S t e l l a for S t a r ! [She embraces her again. ] I t h o u g h t y o u w o u l d never c o m e b a c k to this horrible p l a c e ! W h a t a m I s a y i n g ? I didn't m e a n to s a y t h a t . I m e a n t to b e n i c e a b o u t it a n d s a y — O h , w h a t a c o n v e n i e n t l o c a t i o n a n d s u c h — H a - a - h a ! P r e c i o u s l a m b ! You haven't s a i d a ivord to m e . S T E L L A You haven't given m e a c h a n c e t o , h o n e y ! [She laughs, but her glance at B L A N C H E is a little anxious.] B L A N C H E W e l l , n o w you talk. O p e n y o u r pretty m o u t h a n d talk w h i l e I look a r o u n d for s o m e liquor! I k n o w you m u s t h a v e s o m e l i q u o r o n the p l a c e ! W h e r e c o u l d it b e , I w o n d e r ? O h , I spy, I spy! [She rushes to the closet and removes the bottle; she is shaking all over and panting for breath as she tries to laugh. The bottle nearly slips from her grasp.] S T E L L A [noticing] B l a n c h e , y o u sit d o w n a n d let m e p o u r the d r i n k s . I don't k n o w w h a t we've g o t to mix w i t h . M a y b e a c o k e ' s in t h e icebox. L o o k ' n s e e , h o n e y , while I ' m — BLANCHE N o c o k e , h o n e y , not with m y n e r v e s t o n i g h t ! W h e r e — w h e r e — where is—? STELLA S t a n l e y ? B o w l i n g ! H e loves it. T h e y ' r e h a v i n g a — f o u n d s o m e soda!—tournament . . . B L A N C H E J u s t w a t e r , baby, to c h a s e it! N o w don't g e t w o r r i e d , y o u r sister h a s n ' t t u r n e d into a d r u n k a r d , s h e ' s j u s t all s h a k e n u p a n d h o t a n d tired a n d dirty! You sit d o w n , now, a n d e x p l a i n this p l a c e to m e ! W h a t a r e you d o i n g in a p l a c e like this?

A STREETCAR

STELLA

NAMED

DESIRE,

SCENE

ONE

/

2305

Now, Blanche—

B L A N C H E O h , I'm n o t g o i n g to b e h y p o c r i t i c a l , I'm g o i n g t o b e h o n e s t l y critical a b o u t it! N e v e r , never, never in m y worst d r e a m s c o u l d I p i c t u r e — O n l y P o e ! O n l y M r . E d g a r Allan P o e ! — c o u l d d o it j u s t i c e ! O u t there I s u p p o s e is the g h o u l - h a u n t e d w o o d l a n d o f W e i r ! 6 [She laughs.] STELLA N o , honey, those are the L & N tracks. B L A N C H E NO, n o w s e r i o u s l y , p u t t i n g j o k i n g a s i d e . W h y didn't y o u tell m e , why didn't y o u write m e , h o n e y , w h y didn't y o u let m e k n o w ? S T E L L A [carefully, pouring herself a drink] Tell you what, Blanche? B L A N C H E W h y , t h a t y o u h a d t o live in t h e s e c o n d i t i o n s ! S T E L L A Aren't y o u b e i n g a little i n t e n s e a b o u t it? It's n o t t h a t b a d a t all! N e w O r l e a n s isn't like o t h e r cities. B L A N C H E T h i s h a s g o t n o t h i n g to d o with N e w O r l e a n s . Y o u m i g h t a s well s a y — f o r g i v e m e , b l e s s e d b a b y ! [She suddenly stops short.] T h e s u b j e c t is closed! S T E L L A [a little drily] Thanks. [During the pause, B L A N C H E stares at her. She smiles at B L A N C H E . ] B L A N C H E [looking down at her glass, which shakes in her hand] Y o u ' r e all I've g o t in t h e world, a n d you're n o t g l a d to s e e m e ! S T E L L A [sincerely] W h y , B l a n c h e , y o u k n o w that's n o t t r u e . B L A N C H E NO?—I'd forgotten how quiet you were. S T E L L A Y o u n ever did give m e a c h a n c e t o s a y m u c h , B l a n c h e . S o I j u s t got in t h e h a b i t o f b e i n g q u i e t a r o u n d y o u . B L A N C H E [vaguely] A g o o d habit to g e t into . . . [then, abruptly] You haven't a s k e d m e h o w I h a p p e n e d t o g e t a w a y f r o m t h e s c h o o l b e f o r e t h e spring term ended. S T E L L A W e l l , I t h o u g h t you'd v o l u n t e e r that i n f o r m a t i o n — i f y o u w a n t e d to tell m e . B L A N C H E Y o u t h o u g h t I'd b e e n fired? S T E L L A N o , I—thought you might have—resigned . . . B L A N C H E I w a s s o e x h a u s t e d by all I'd b e e n t h r o u g h m y — n e r v e s b r o k e . [nervously tamping cigarette] I w a s on the verge of—lunacy, almost! S o Mr. G r a v e s — M r . Graves is the high school s u p e r i n t e n d e n t — h e suggested I take a leave of a b s e n c e . I couldn't put all of those details into the wire . . . [She drinks quickly.] O h , this buzzes right through m e a n d feels s o good! STELLA Won't you have another? B L A N C H E N o , o n e ' s m y limit. STELLA

Sure?

B L A N C H E YOU haven't s a i d a w o r d a b o u t my a p p e a r a n c e . S T E L L A Y o u look j u s t fine. B L A N C H E G o d love y o u for a liar! D a y l i g h t ne v e r e x p o s e d s o total a ruin! B u t y o u — y o u ' v e p u t o n s o m e w e i g h t , y e s , you're j u s t a s p l u m p a s a little p a r t r i d g e ! A n d it's s o b e c o m i n g to y o u ! STELLA

Now, Blanche—

B L A N C H E Y e s , it is, it is or I w o u l d n ' t s a y it! Y o u j u s t h a v e to w a t c h a r o u n d t h e h i p s a little. S t a n d u p . STELLA

BLANCHE

Not

now.

Y o u h e a r m e ? I s a i d s t a n d u p ! [ S T E L L A complies

6. From the refrain of Poe's gothic ballad " U l a l u m e " ( 1 8 4 7 ) .

reluctantly.]

You

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TENNESSEE

WILLIAMS

m e s s y child, y o u , you've spilt s o m e t h i n g on that pretty w h i t e l a c e collar! A b o u t your h a i r — y o u o u g h t to h a v e it c u t in a f e a t h e r b o b with y o u r dainty f e a t u r e s . S t e l l a , y o u have a m a i d , don't y o u ? S T E L L A N o . W i t h only two r o o m s i t ' s — B L A N C H E W h a t ? Two r o o m s , did y o u say? S T E L L A T h i s o n e a n d — [ S h e is embarrassed.] B L A N C H E T h e o t h e r o n e ? [She laughs sharply. There is an embarrassed silence.] B L A N C H E I a m g o i n g to t a k e j u s t o n e little tiny n i p m o r e , sort o f t o p u t the s t o p p e r o n , s o to s p e a k . . . . T h e n p u t t h e b o t t l e a w a y s o I won't b e t e m p t e d . [She rises.] I w a n t y o u to look at my figure! [She turns around.] You k n o w I haven't p u t on o n e o u n c e in t e n y e a r s , S t e l l a ? I w e i g h w h a t I w e i g h e d t h e s u m m e r y o u left B e l l e R e v e . T h e s u m m e r D a d d i e d a n d you left u s . . . S T E L L A [a little wearily] It's j u s t i n c r e d i b l e , B l a n c h e , h o w well you're looking. B L A N C H E [They both laugh uncomfortably.] B u t , S t e l l a , there's only two r o o m s , I don't s e e w h e r e you're g o i n g t o p u t m e ! S T E L L A W e ' r e g o i n g t o p u t you in h e r e . B L A N C H E W h a t kind of b e d ' s t h i s — o n e o f t h o s e c o l l a p s i b l e t h i n g s ? [She sits on it.] S T E L L A D o e s it feel all right? B L A N C H E [dubiously] W o n d e r f u l , h o n e y . I don't like a b e d that gives m u c h . B u t there's n o d o o r b e t w e e n t h e two r o o m s , a n d S t a n l e y — w i l l it b e decent? S T E L L A S t a n l e y is P o l i s h , you k n o w . B L A N C H E O h , y e s . T h e y ' r e s o m e t h i n g like Irish, aren't they? STELLA

Well—

B L A N C H E O n l y n o t s o — h i g h b r o w ? [They both laugh again in the same way.] I b r o u g h t s o m e n i c e c l o t h e s to m e e t all y o u r lovely f r i e n d s in. S T E L L A I'm afraid you won't t h i n k they a r e lovely. B L A N C H E W h a t a r e they like? STELLA They're Stanley's friends. BLANCHE

STELLA BLANCHE

Polacks?

T h e y ' r e a mixed lot, B l a n c h e . Heterogeneous—types?

S T E L L A O h , y e s . Y e s , types is right! B L A N C H E W e l l — a n y h o w — I b r o u g h t n i c e c l o t h e s a n d I'll w e a r t h e m . I g u e s s you're h o p i n g I'll s a y I'll p u t u p at a hotel, b u t I'm n o t g o i n g t o p u t u p at a hotel. I w a n t to b e near y o u , g o t to b e with s o m e b o d y , I can't b e alone! B e c a u s e — a s y o u m u s t have n o t i c e d — I ' m — n o t v e r y w e l l . . . . [Her voice drops and her look is frightened. ] S T E L L A Y o u s e e m a little bit n e r v o u s o r o v e r w r o u g h t or s o m e t h i n g . B L A N C H E Will S t a n l e y like m e , o r will I b e j u s t a visiting in-law, S t e l l a ? I c o u l d n ' t s t a n d that. S T E L L A You'll g e t a l o n g fine t o g e t h e r , if you'll j u s t try n o t t o — w e l l — c o m p a r e h i m with m e n that w e w e n t o u t with at h o m e . BLANCHE

IS he so—different?

S T E L L A Y e s . A different s p e c i e s . BLANCHE In w h a t way; what's h e like?

A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE, SCENE O N E

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2307

S T E L L A O h , y o u can't d e s c r i b e s o m e o n e you're in love with! H e r e ' s a picture of him! [She hands a photograph to B L A N C H E . ] BLANCHE

A n officer?

S T E L L A A M a s t e r S e r g e a n t in t h e E n g i n e e r s ' C o r p s . T h o s e a r e d e c o r a tions! B L A N C H E H e h a d t h o s e on w h e n you m e t h i m ? S T E L L A I a s s u r e y o u I w a s n ' t j u s t b l i n d e d by all t h e b r a s s . B L A N C H E That's not what I — S T E L L A B u t o f c o u r s e t h e r e w e r e t h i n g s to a d j u s t m y s e l f to later o n . B L A N C H E S u c h a s his civilian b a c k g r o u n d ! [ S T E L L A laughs uncertainly.] H o w did he take it w h e n you s a i d I w a s c o m i n g ? S T E L L A O h , S t a n l e y d o e s n ' t k n o w yet. B L A N C H E [frightened] Y o u — h a v e n ' t told h i m ? STELLA He's on the road a good deal. BLANCHE STELLA

O h . Travels? Yes.

B L A N C H E G o o d . I m e a n — i s n ' t it? S T E L L A [half to herself] I c a n hardly s t a n d it w h e n h e is a w a y for a night . . . BLANCHE

STELLA

Why, Stella!

W h e n h e ' s a w a y for a w e e k I nearly g o wild!

BLANCHE

Gracious!

S T E L L A A n d w h e n h e c o m e s b a c k I cry o n his l a p like a b a b y . . . [She smiles to herself. ] B L A N C H E I g u e s s that is w h a t is m e a n t by b e i n g in love . . . [ S T E L L A looks up with a radiant smile. ] S t e l l a — STELLA

What?

B L A N C H E [in an uneasy rush] I haven't a s k e d you t h e t h i n g s you p r o b a b l y t h o u g h t I w a s g o i n g to a s k . A n d s o I'll e x p e c t y o u to b e u n d e r s t a n d i n g a b o u t w h a t / have to tell you. S T E L L A W h a t , B l a n c h e ? [Her face turns anxious.] B L A N C H E W e l l , S t e l l a — y o u ' r e g o i n g to r e p r o a c h m e , I k n o w that you're b o u n d to r e p r o a c h m e — b u t b e f o r e you d o — t a k e into c o n s i d e r a t i o n — you left! I s t a y e d a n d s t r u g g l e d ! Y o u c a m e to N e w O r l e a n s a n d l o o k e d o u t for yourself! I s t a y e d at Belle Reve a n d tried to hold it t o g e t h e r ! I'm not m e a n i n g this in a n y r e p r o a c h f u l way, b u t all t h e b u r d e n d e s c e n d e d on my s h o u l d e r s . S T E L L A T h e best I c o u l d d o w a s m a k e my o w n living, B l a n c h e . [ B L A N C H E begins to shake again with intensity.] B L A N C H E I know, I k n o w . B u t you a r e t h e o n e t h a t a b a n d o n e d B e l l e R e v e , not I! I s t a y e d a n d f o u g h t for it, b l e d for it, a l m o s t d i e d for it! S T E L L A S t o p this hysterical o u t b u r s t a n d tell m e w h a t ' s h a p p e n e d ? W h a t d o y o u m e a n f o u g h t a n d b l e d ? W h a t kind of— B L A N C H E I k n e w y o u w o u l d , S t e l l a . I k n e w you w o u l d t a k e this a t t i t u d e a b o u t it! STELLA

About—what?—please!

B L A N C H E [slowly] T h e l o s s — t h e loss . . . S T E L L A B e l l e R e v e ? L o s t , is it? N o ! BLANCHE

Yes, Stella.

[They stare at each other across the yellow-checked linoleum of the table. B L A N C H E slowly nods her head and S T E L L A looks slowly down at her hands

2308

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TENNESSEE

WILLIAMS

folded on the table. The music of the "Blue Piano" grows louder, C H E touches her handkerchief to her forehead.] STELLA B u t h o w did it g o ? W h a t h a p p e n e d ? B L A N C H E [springing up] Y o u ' r e a fine o n e to a s k m e h o w it w e n t ! STELLA

BLAN-

Blanche!

BLANCHE

Y o u ' r e a fine o n e to sit t h e r e accusing

STELLA

Blanche!

me o f it!

BLANCHE I, I, I t o o k t h e b l o w s in m y f a c e a n d m y body! All o f t h o s e d e a t h s ! T h e l o n g p a r a d e to t h e graveyard! F a t h e r , m o t h e r ! M a r g a r e t , t h a t d r e a d ful way! S o b i g with it, it c o u l d n ' t b e p u t in a coffin! B u t h a d to b e b u r n e d like r u b b i s h ! Y o u j u s t c a m e h o m e in t i m e for t h e f u n e r a l s , S t e l l a . A n d f u n e r a l s a r e pretty c o m p a r e d to d e a t h s . F u n e r a l s a r e q u i e t , b u t d e a t h s — not always. S o m e t i m e s their b r e a t h i n g is h o a r s e , a n d s o m e t i m e s it rattles, a n d s o m e t i m e s they even cry o u t t o y o u , " D o n ' t let m e g o ! " E v e n the o l d , s o m e t i m e s , say, " D o n ' t let m e g o . " A s if y o u w e r e a b l e to s t o p t h e m ! B u t f u n e r a l s a r e q u i e t , with pretty flowers. A n d , o h , w h a t g o r g e o u s b o x e s they p a c k t h e m a w a y in! U n l e s s y o u w e r e t h e r e a t t h e b e d w h e n they cried o u t , " H o l d m e ! " you'd never s u s p e c t t h e r e w a s t h e s t r u g g l e for b r e a t h a n d b l e e d i n g . Y o u didn't d r e a m , b u t I s a w ! Saw! Saw! A n d n o w y o u sit t h e r e telling m e with y o u r e y e s t h a t I let t h e p l a c e g o ! H o w in hell d o y o u t h i n k all t h a t s i c k n e s s a n d d y i n g w a s p a i d for? D e a t h is e x p e n sive, M i s s S t e l l a ! A n d old C o u s i n J e s s i e ' s right after M a r g a r e t ' s , h e r s ! W h y , t h e G r i m R e a p e r h a d p u t u p h i s tent o n o u r d o o r s t e p ! . . . S t e l l a . B e l l e R e v e w a s h i s h e a d q u a r t e r s ! H o n e y — t h a t ' s h o w it s l i p p e d t h r o u g h m y fingers! W h i c h o f t h e m left u s a f o r t u n e ? W h i c h o f t h e m left a c e n t of i n s u r a n c e e v e n ? O n l y p o o r J e s s i e — o n e h u n d r e d to p a y for h e r coffin. T h a t w a s all, S t e l l a ! A n d I with m y pitiful salary a t t h e s c h o o l . Y e s , a c c u s e m e ! S i t t h e r e a n d s t a r e a t m e , t h i n k i n g I let t h e p l a c e g o ! I let t h e p l a c e g o ? W h e r e w e r e you! In b e d with y o u r — P o l a c k ! S T E L L A [springing] B l a n c h e ! Y o u b e still! T h a t ' s e n o u g h ! [She starts out.] BLANCHE Where are you going? STELLA I'm g o i n g into t h e b a t h r o o m to w a s h m y f a c e . BLANCHE O h , S t e l l a , S t e l l a , you're crying! STELLA D o e s that surprise you? BLANCHE F o r g i v e m e — I didn't m e a n t o — [The sound of men's voices is heard, S T E L L A goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. When the men appear, and B L A N C H E realizes it must be STANLEY returning, she moves uncertainly from the bathroom door to the dressing table, looking apprehensively toward the front door. S T A N L E Y enters, followed

by STEVE and M I T C H . S T A N L E Y pauses

near

his door, STEVE by the foot of the spiral stair, and MITCH is slightly above and to the right of them, about to go out. As the men enter, we hear some of the following dialogue. ] STANLEY

Is t h a t h o w h e g o t it?

S T E V E S u r e that's h o w h e g o t it. H e hit t h e o l d w e a t h e r - b i r d for 3 0 0 b u c k s on a six-number-ticket. MITCH D o n ' t tell h i m t h o s e t h i n g s ; he'll believe it. [Mitch starts out.] S T A N L E Y [restraining Mitch] Hey, M i t c h — c o m e back here. [BLANCHE, at the sound of voices, retires in the bedroom. She picks up

A STREETCAR NAMED

DESIRE,

SCENE ONE

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2309

STANLEY'S photo from dressing table, looks at it, puts it down. When STANLEY enters the apartment, she darts and hides behind the screen at the head of bed.] S T E V E [to S T A N L E Y and

MITCH]

Hey, are we playin' poker tomorrow?

STANLEY S u r e — a t Mitch's. M I T C H [hearing this, returns quickly to the stair rail] N o — n o t at m y p l a c e . M y m o t h e r ' s still stick! S T A N L E Y O k a y , at m y p l a c e . . . [ M I T C H starts out again.] B u t y o u b r i n g t h e beer! [MITCH pretends not to hear—calls out "Good night, all," and goes out, singing. E U N I C E ' S voice is heard, above.] B r e a k it u p d o w n t h e r e ! I m a d e t h e s p a g h e t t i d i s h a n d a t e it myself. S T E V E [going upstairs] I told you a n d p h o n e d y o u w e w a s playing, [to the men] J a x 7 beer! E U N I C E Y o u never p h o n e d m e o n c e . S T E V E I told y o u at b r e a k f a s t — a n d p h o n e d you at l u n c h . . . E U N I C E W e l l , never m i n d a b o u t that. You j u s t g e t y o u r s e l f h o m e h e r e o n c e in a while. S T E V E Y o u w a n t it in t h e p a p e r s ? [More laughter and shouts of parting come from the men. STANLEY throws the screen door of the kitchen open and comes in. He is of medium height, about five feet eight or nine, and strongly, compactly birilt. Animal joy in his being is implicit in all his movements and attitudes. Since earliest manhood the center of his life has been pleasure with women, the giving and taking of it, not with weak indulgence, dependently, but with the power and pride of a richly feathered male bird among hens. Branching out from this complete and satisfying center are all the auxiliary channels of his life, such as his heartiness with men, his appreciation of rough humor, his love of good drink and food and games, his car, his radio, everything that is his, that bears his emblem of the gaudy seed-bearer. He sizes women up at a glance, with sexual classifications, crude images flashing into his mind and determining the way he smiles at them.] B L A N C H E [drawing involuntarily I'm B l a n c h e . STANLEY Stella's sister? BLANCHE

STANLEY BLANCHE

STANLEY BLANCHE

back from

his stare]

You must be Stanley.

Yes.

H'lo. W h e r e ' s t h e little w o m a n ? In t h e b a t h r o o m .

O h . Didn't k n o w y o u were c o m i n g in t o w n . I—uh—

STANLEY Where you from, Blanche? BLANCHE W h y , I—live in L a u r e l . [He has crossed to the closet and removed the whiskey bottle.] S T A N L E Y In L a u r e l , h u h ? O h , y e a h . Y e a h , in L a u r e l , that's right. N o t in my territory. L i q u o r g o e s fast in h o t w e a t h e r . [He holds the bottle to the light to observe its depletion.] Have a shot? BLANCHE N o , I — r a r e l y t o u c h it. 7. A local brand of beer.

2310

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TENNESSEE

WILLIAMS

S T A N L E Y S o m e p e o p l e rarely t o u c h it, b u t it t o u c h e s t h e m o f t e n . B L A N C H E [faintly] Ha-ha. S T A N L E Y M y c l o t h e s ' r e stickin' to m e . D o y o u m i n d if I m a k e m y s e l f c o m fortable? [He starts to remove his shirt.] BLANCHE Please, please do. S T A N L E Y B e c o m f o r t a b l e is my m o t t o . BLANCHE It's m i n e , t o o . It's h a r d to stay l o o k i n g f r e s h . I haven't w a s h e d or even p o w d e r e d my f a c e a n d — h e r e y o u a r e ! S T A N L E Y You k n o w y o u c a n c a t c h c o l d sitting a r o u n d in d a m p t h i n g s , e s p e c i a l l y w h e n you b e e n e x e r c i s i n g h a r d like b o w l i n g is. Y o u ' r e a t e a c h e r , aren't y o u ? BLANCHE

STANLEY BLANCHE

Yes.

W h a t do you teach, Blanche? English.

S T A N L E Y I never w a s a very g o o d E n g l i s h s t u d e n t . H o w l o n g y o u h e r e for, Blanche? BLANCHE I — d o n ' t k n o w yet. S T A N L E Y You g o i n g t o s h a c k u p h e r e ? B L A N C H E I t h o u g h t I w o u l d if it's n o t i n c o n v e n i e n t for y o u all. STANLEY

Good.

BLANCHE Traveling wears m e out. S T A N L E Y W e l l , t a k e it e a s y . [A cat screeches near the window, B L A N C H E springs up.] B L A N C H E W h a t ' s that? STANLEY C a t s . . . Hey, Stella! S T E L L A [faintly, from the bathroom] Yes, Stanley. S T A N L E Y H a v e n ' t fallen in, h a v e y o u ? [He grins at B L A N C H E . She tries unsuccessfidly to smile back. There is a silence.] I'm afraid I'll strike y o u a s b e i n g t h e u n r e f i n e d type. S t e l l a ' s s p o k e o f y o u a g o o d d e a l . Y o u w e r e m a r r i e d o n c e , weren't y o u ? [The music of the polka rises up, faint in the distance.] BLANCHE Yes. W h e n I was quite young. STANLEY What happened? B L A N C H E T h e b o y — t h e boy d i e d . [She sinks back down.] I'm afraid I ' m — g o i n g to b e sick! [Her head falls on her arms.] Scene

Two

It is six o'clock the following evening, B L A N C H E is bathing, S T E L L A is completing her toilette, B L A N C H E S dress, a flowered print, is laid out on S T E L L A ' S bed. S T A N L E Y enters the kitchen from outside, leaving the door open on the perpetual "Blue Piano" around the corner. S T A N L E Y W h a t ' s all this m o n k e y d o i n g s ? S T E L L A O h , S t a n ! [She jumps up and kisses him, which he accepts with lordly composure.] I'm t a k i n g B l a n c h e t o G a l a t o i r e ' s for s u p p e r a n d t h e n to a s h o w , b e c a u s e it's y o u r p o k e r n i g h t . S T A N L E Y H o w a b o u t m y s u p p e r , h u h ? I'm n o t g o i n g to n o G a l a t o i r e ' s for supper! S T E L L A I put you a cold plate on ice.

A STREETCAR NAMED

DESIRE,

SCENE TWO

/

2 3 1 1

S T A N L E Y W e l l , isn't that j u s t d a n d y ! S T E L L A I'm g o i n g to try to k e e p B l a n c h e o u t till t h e party b r e a k s u p b e c a u s e I don't k n o w h o w s h e w o u l d t a k e it. S o we'll g o to o n e o f the little p l a c e s in the Q u a r t e r a f t e r w a r d a n d you'd better give m e s o m e m o n e y . S T A N L E Y W h e r e is s h e ? S T E L L A S h e ' s s o a k i n g in a h o t t u b to q u i e t h e r n e r v e s . S h e ' s terribly u p s e t . STANLEY Over what? S T E L L A She's been through such an ordeal. STANLEY

Yeah?

STELLA Stan, we've—lost Belle Reve! S T A N L E Y T h e p l a c e in t h e c o u n t r y ? STELLA

STANLEY

Yes.

How?

S T E L L A [vaguely] O h , it h a d t o b e — s a c r i f i c e d o r s o m e t h i n g . [There is a pause while S T A N L E Y considers, S T E L L A is changing into her dress.] W h e n s h e c o m e s in b e s u r e t o s a y s o m e t h i n g n i c e a b o u t h e r a p p e a r a n c e . A n d , oh! D o n ' t m e n t i o n t h e b a b y . I haven't s a i d a n y t h i n g yet, I'm w a i t i n g until s h e g e t s in a q u i e t e r c o n d i t i o n . S T A N L E Y [ominously]

So?

S T E L L A A n d try t o u n d e r s t a n d h e r a n d b e n i c e to h e r , S t a n . B L A N C H E [singing in the bathroom] " F r o m t h e l a n d o f t h e sky b l u e w a t e r , They brought a captive m a i d ! " S T E L L A S h e w a s n ' t e x p e c t i n g t o find u s in s u c h a s m a l l p l a c e . Y o u s e e I'd tried to g l o s s t h i n g s over a little in m y letters. STANLEY

So?

S T E L L A A n d a d m i r e h e r d r e s s a n d tell h e r s h e ' s l o o k i n g w o n d e r f u l . T h a t ' s i m p o r t a n t with B l a n c h e . H e r little w e a k n e s s ! S T A N L E Y Y e a h . I g e t t h e i d e a . N o w let's skip b a c k a little to w h e r e y o u s a i d the c o u n t r y p l a c e w a s d i s p o s e d of. STELLA

Oh!—yes . . .

S T A N L E Y H o w a b o u t that? L e t ' s h a v e a f e w m o r e d e t a i l s o n t h a t s u b j e c k . S T E L L A It's b e s t n o t to talk m u c h a b o u t it until s h e ' s c a l m e d d o w n . S T A N L E Y S o that's t h e d e a l , h u h ? S i s t e r B l a n c h e c a n n o t b e a n n o y e d with b u s i n e s s d e t a i l s right n o w ! S T E L L A Y o u s a w h o w s h e w a s last night. S T A N L E Y U h - h u m , I s a w h o w s h e w a s . N o w let's h a v e a g a n d e r at t h e bill of s a l e . S T E L L A I haven't s e e n a n y . S T A N L E Y S h e didn't s h o w y o u n o p a p e r s , n o d e e d o f s a l e o r n o t h i n g like that, h u h ? S T E L L A It s e e m s like it w a s n ' t sold. S T A N L E Y W e l l , w h a t in hell w a s it t h e n , give away? T o c h a r i t y ? S T E L L A S h h h ! She'll h e a r y o u . S T A N L E Y I don't c a r e if s h e h e a r s m e . L e t ' s s e e t h e p a p e r s ! S T E L L A T h e r e weren't a n y p a p e r s , s h e didn't s h o w a n y p a p e r s , I don't c a r e about papers. S T A N L E Y H a v e y o u ever h e a r d o f t h e N a p o l e o n i c c o d e ? 8 8. This codification of French law ( 1 8 0 2 ) , made by Napoleon as emperor, is the basis for Louisiana's civil law.

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WILLIAMS

S T E L L A N o , S t a n l e y , I h a v e n ' t h e a r d o f t h e N a p o l e o n i c c o d e a n d if I h a v e , 1 don't s e e w h a t i t — S T A N L E Y L e t m e e n l i g h t e n you o n a p o i n t or t w o , b a b y . STELLA

Yes?

S T A N L E Y In t h e s t a t e o f L o u i s i a n a w e h a v e t h e N a p o l e o n i c c o d e a c c o r d i n g to w h i c h w h a t b e l o n g s to t h e wife b e l o n g s to t h e h u s b a n d a n d vice v e r s a . F o r i n s t a n c e if I h a d a p i e c e o f p r o p e r t y , o r you h a d a p i e c e o f p r o p e r t y — S T E L L A M y h e a d is s w i m m i n g ! S T A N L E Y All right. I'll wait till s h e g e t s t h r o u g h s o a k i n g in a h o t t u b a n d t h e n I'll i n q u i r e if she is a c q u a i n t e d with t h e N a p o l e o n i c c o d e . It l o o k s to m e like y o u h a v e b e e n s w i n d l e d , b a b y , a n d w h e n y o u ' r e s w i n d l e d u n d e r swindled. t h e N a p o l e o n i c c o d e I'm s w i n d l e d too. A n d I d o n ' t like to b e S T E L L A T h e r e ' s p l e n t y o f t i m e to a s k h e r q u e s t i o n s later b u t if y o u d o n o w she'll g o to p i e c e s a g a i n . I d o n ' t u n d e r s t a n d w h a t h a p p e n e d to B e l l e R e v e b u t y o u don't k n o w h o w r i d i c u l o u s you a r e b e i n g w h e n y o u s u g g e s t that m y s i s t e r o r I or a n y o n e o f o u r family c o u l d h a v e p e r p e t r a t e d a s w i n d l e on anyone else. STANLEY

T h e n w h e r e ' s t h e m o n e y if t h e p l a c e w a s s o l d ?

STELLA

N o t sold—lost, [He stalks

into

lost!

bedroom,

and she follows

him.]

Stanley! [He pulls

open

out an armful

the wardrobe of

trunk

standing

in middle

of room

and

jerks

dresses.]

S T A N L E Y O p e n your e y e s t o this stuff! Y o u t h i n k s h e g o t t h e m o u t o f a teacher's pay? STELLA

Hush!

S T A N L E Y L o o k at t h e s e f e a t h e r s a n d furs t h a t s h e c o m e h e r e t o p r e e n h e r s e l f in! W h a t ' s this h e r e ? A s o l i d - g o l d d r e s s , I b e l i e v e ! A n d this o n e ! W h a t is t h e s e h e r e ? F o x - p i e c e s ! [He blows on them.] G e n u i n e fox furp i e c e s , a half a m i l e long! W h e r e a r e your f o x - p i e c e s , S t e l l a ? B u s h y s n o w w h i t e o n e s , n o l e s s ! W h e r e a r e your w h i t e f o x - p i e c e s ? S T E L L A T h o s e a r e i n e x p e n s i v e s u m m e r furs t h a t B l a n c h e h a s h a d a l o n g time. S T A N L E Y I g o t a n a c q u a i n t a n c e w h o d e a l s in this sort o f m e r c h a n d i s e . I'll h a v e h i m in h e r e to a p p r a i s e it. I'm willing to b e t y o u t h e r e ' s t h o u s a n d s of d o l l a r s i n v e s t e d in this stuff h e r e ! STELLA D o n ' t b e s u c h a n idiot, S t a n l e y !

STANLEY STELLA

[He hurls

the furs

the trunk

and pulls

to the day bed. Then up a fistful

he jerks

of costume

open

a small

drawer

in

jewelry.]

A n d what have we here? T h e treasure chest of a pirate! Oh, Stanley!

S T A N L E Y P e a r l s ! R o p e s of t h e m ! W h a t is this sister o f y o u r s , a d e e p - s e a diver? B r a c e l e t s of solid g o l d , too! W h e r e a r e your p e a r l s a n d gold b r a c e l e t s ? S T E L L A S h h h ! B e still, S t a n l e y ! S T A N L E Y A n d d i a m o n d s ! A c r o w n for a n e m p r e s s ! S T E L L A A r h i n e s t o n e tiara s h e wore to a c o s t u m e ball. STANLEY

What's rhinestone?

S T E L L A Next door to g l a s s . S T A N L E Y A r e you kidding? I have a n a c q u a i n t a n c e that works in a j e w e l r y store. I'll have h i m in h e r e to m a k e a n a p p r a i s a l of this. H e r e ' s your p l a n t a tion, or what w a s left o f it, h e r e !

A STREETCAR N A M E D D E S I R E , S C E N E Two

/

2 3 1 3

STELLA You have no idea how stupid a n d horrid you're b e i n g ! N o w c l o s e that trunk before s h e c o m e s o u t of the b a t h r o o m ! [He kicks the trunk partly closed and sits on the kitchen table.] STANLEY T h e K o w a l s k i s a n d t h e D u B o i s e s h a v e different n o t i o n s . STELLA [angrily] I n d e e d they h a v e , t h a n k h e a v e n s ! — I ' m g o i n g o u t s i d e . [She snatches up her white hat and gloves and crosses to the outside door. ] Y o u c o m e o u t with m e while B l a n c h e is g e t t i n g d r e s s e d . STANLEY S i n c e w h e n d o y o u give m e o r d e r s ? STELLA Are you g o i n g to stay h e r e a n d i n s u l t her? STANLEY You're d a m n tootin' I'm g o i n g to s t a y h e r e . [STELLA goes out to the porch, BLANCHE comes out of the bathroom in a red satin robe.] BLANCHE [airily] H e l l o , S t a n l e y ! H e r e I a m , all freshly b a t h e d a n d s c e n t e d , a n d f e e l i n g like a b r a n d n e w h u m a n b e i n g ! [He lights a cigarette.] STANLEY T h a t ' s g o o d . BLANCHE [drawing the curtains at the windows] E x c u s e m e while I slip o n m y pretty n e w d r e s s ! STANLEY G o right a h e a d , B l a n c h e . [She closes the drapes between the rooms.] BLANCHE I u n d e r s t a n d t h e r e ' s to b e a little c a r d party to w h i c h we l a d i e s a r e cordially not invited! STANLEY [ominously] Yeah? [BLANCHE throws off her robe and slips into a flowered BLANCHE W h e r e ' s S t e l l a ? STANLEY O u t o n t h e p o r c h . BLANCHE I'm g o i n g to a s k a favor o f you in a m o m e n t . STANLEY W h a t c o u l d that b e , I w o n d e r ? BLANCHE S o m e b u t t o n s in b a c k ! You m a y e n t e r ! [He crosses through drapes with a smoldering look.] H o w d o I look? STANLEY Y o u look all right. BLANCHE M a n y t h a n k s ! N o w t h e b u t t o n s ! STANLEY I c a n ' t d o n o t h i n g with t h e m .

print

dress.]

BLANCHE YOU m e n with y o u r b i g c l u m s y fingers. M a y I h a v e a d r a g on your c i g ? STANLEY H a v e o n e for yourself. BLANCHE W h y , t h a n k s ! . . . . It l o o k s like m y t r u n k h a s e x p l o d e d . STANLEY M e a n ' S t e l l a w e r e h e l p i n g you u n p a c k . BLANCHE W e l l , you c e r t a i n l y did a fast a n d t h o r o u g h j o b of it! STANLEY It looks like you r a i d e d s o m e stylish s h o p s in P a r i s . BLANCHE H a - h a ! Y e s — c l o t h e s a r e m y p a s s i o n ! STANLEY W h a t d o e s it c o s t for a s t r i n g of f u r - p i e c e s like t h a t ? BLANCHE W h y , t h o s e w e r e a tribute f r o m a n a d m i r e r of m i n e ! STANLEY H e m u s t h a v e h a d a lot o f — a d m i r a t i o n ! BLANCHE O h , in m y y o u t h I excited s o m e a d m i r a t i o n . B u t look at m e n o w ! [She smiles at him radiantly.] W o u l d you think it p o s s i b l e that I w a s o n c e c o n s i d e r e d to b e — a t t r a c t i v e ? STANLEY Y o u r l o o k s a r e okay. BLANCHE I w a s fishing for a c o m p l i m e n t , S t a n l e y . STANLEY I don't g o in for t h a t stuff.

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

BLANCHE What—stuff? STANLEY C o m p l i m e n t s to w o m e n a b o u t their l o o k s . I never m e t a w o m a n that didn't k n o w if s h e w a s g o o d - l o o k i n g or n o t w i t h o u t b e i n g told, a n d s o m e of t h e m give t h e m s e l v e s credit for m o r e t h a n they've g o t . I o n c e w e n t o u t with a doll w h o s a i d to m e , "I a m t h e g l a m o r o u s t y p e , I a m t h e glamorous type!" I said, " S o what?" BLANCHE STANLEY BLANCHE STANLEY by this BLANCHE STANLEY

A n d what did s h e say then? S h e didn't s a y n o t h i n g . T h a t s h u t h e r u p like a c l a m . D i d it e n d t h e r o m a n c e ? It e n d e d the c o n v e r s a t i o n — t h a t w a s all. S o m e m e n a r e t o o k in Hollywood glamor stuff a n d s o m e m e n are not. I'm s u r e you b e l o n g in t h e s e c o n d c a t e g o r y . T h a t ' s right.

BLANCHE I c a n n o t i m a g i n e a n y w i t c h of a w o m a n c a s t i n g a spell over y o u . STANLEY T h a t ' s — r i g h t . BLANCHE Y o u ' r e s i m p l e , s t r a i g h t f o r w a r d a n d h o n e s t , a little bit o n t h e primitive s i d e I s h o u l d think. T o i n t e r e s t y o u a w o m a n w o u l d h a v e t o — [She -pauses with an indefinite gesture.] STANLEY [slowly] L a y . . . her c a r d s o n t h e t a b l e . BLANCHE [smiling] W e l l , I n e v e r c a r e d for w i s h y - w a s h y p e o p l e . T h a t w a s why, w h e n you w a l k e d in h e r e last n i g h t , I s a i d to m y s e l f — " M y s i s t e r h a s m a r r i e d a m a n ! " — O f c o u r s e t h a t w a s all t h a t I c o u l d tell a b o u t y o u . STANLEY [booming] N o w let's c u t t h e r e - b o p ! 9 BLANCHE [pressing hands to her ears] Ouuuuu! STELLA [calling from the steps] S t a n l e y ! Y o u c o m e o u t h e r e a n d let B l a n c h e finish d r e s s i n g ! BLANCHE I'm t h r o u g h d r e s s i n g , h o n e y . STELLA W e l l , you c o m e o u t , t h e n . STANLEY Y o u r s i s t e r a n d I a r e h a v i n g a little talk. BLANCHE [lightly] H o n e y , d o m e a favor. R u n to t h e d r u g s t o r e a n d g e t m e a l e m o n C o k e with p l e n t y of c h i p p e d ice in i t ! — W i l l you d o that for m e , sweetie? STELLA [uncertainly] Y e s . [She goes around the corner of the building.] BLANCHE T h e p o o r little t h i n g w a s o u t t h e r e l i s t e n i n g to u s , a n d I h a v e a n i d e a s h e d o e s n ' t u n d e r s t a n d y o u a s well a s I d o . . . . All right; n o w , M r . K o w a l s k i , let u s p r o c e e d w i t h o u t a n y m o r e d o u b l e - t a l k . I'm r e a d y to a n s w e r all q u e s t i o n s . I've n o t h i n g to h i d e . W h a t is it? STANLEY T h e r e is s u c h a t h i n g in this s t a t e o f L o u i s i a n a a s t h e N a p o l e o n i c c o d e , a c c o r d i n g to w h i c h w h a t e v e r b e l o n g s to m y wife is a l s o m i n e — a n d vice v e r s a . BLANCHE M y , b u t you h a v e a n i m p r e s s i v e j u d i c i a l air! [She sprays herself with her atomizer; then playfully sprays him with it. He seizes the atomizer and slams it down on the dresser. She throws back her head and laughs. ] STANLEY If I didn't k n o w that you w a s m y wife's s i s t e r I'd g e t i d e a s a b o u t you! BLANCHE S u c h a s w h a t ! STANLEY D o n ' t play s o d u m b . Y o u k n o w w h a t ! 9. N o n s e n s e syllables (from " b o p , " a form of jazz).

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E Two

/

2315

BLANCHE [she puts the atomizer on the table] All right. C a r d s o n t h e t a b l e . T h a t s u i t s m e . [She turns to STANLEY.] I k n o w I fib a g o o d d e a l . After all, a w o m a n ' s c h a r m is fifty p e r c e n t i l l u s i o n , b u t w h e n a t h i n g is i m p o r t a n t I tell t h e t r u t h , a n d this is t h e t r u t h : I haven't c h e a t e d m y s i s t e r or you or a n y o n e e l s e a s l o n g a s I h a v e lived. STANLEY W h e r e ' s t h e p a p e r s ? In t h e t r u n k ? BLANCHE E v e r y t h i n g that I o w n is in t h a t trunk. [STANLEY crosses to the trunk, shoves it roughly open and begins to open compartments.] BLANCHE W h a t in t h e n a m e o f h e a v e n a r e you t h i n k i n g of! W h a t ' s in t h e b a c k of that little boy's m i n d of y o u r s ? T h a t I a m a b s c o n d i n g with s o m e t h i n g , a t t e m p t i n g s o m e kind of t r e a c h e r y o n m y s i s t e r ? — L e t m e d o t h a t ! It will b e f a s t e r a n d s i m p l e r . . . [She crosses to the trunk and takes out a box.] I k e e p m y p a p e r s m o s t l y in this tin box. [She opens it.] STANLEY W h a t ' s t h e m u n d e r n e a t h ? [He indicates another sheaf of paper.] BLANCHE T h e s e a r e love-letters, yellowing with a n t i q u i t y , all f r o m o n e boy. [He snatches them up. She speaks fiercely.] G i v e t h o s e b a c k to m e ! STANLEY I'll h a v e a look at t h e m first! BLANCHE T h e t o u c h of your h a n d s i n s u l t s t h e m ! STANLEY D o n ' t pull that stuff! [He rips off the ribbon and starts to examine them, BLANCHE snatches them from him, and they cascade to the floor. ] BLANCHE N o w that you've t o u c h e d t h e m I'll b u r n t h e m ! STANLEY [staring, baffled] W h a t in hell a r e they? BLANCHE [on the floor gathering them up] P o e m s a d e a d boy w r o t e . I h u r t h i m t h e way that you w o u l d like to hurt m e , b u t you c a n ' t ! I'm n o t y o u n g a n d v u l n e r a b l e any m o r e . B u t m y y o u n g h u s b a n d w a s a n d I — n e v e r m i n d a b o u t that! J u s t give t h e m b a c k to m e ! STANLEY W h a t d o you m e a n by s a y i n g you'll h a v e to b u r n t h e m ? BLANCHE I'm sorry, I m u s t h a v e lost my h e a d for a m o m e n t . E v e r y o n e h a s s o m e t h i n g h e won't let o t h e r s t o u c h b e c a u s e o f t h e i r — i n t i m a t e nature . . . [She now seems faint with exhaustion and she sits down with the strong box and puts on a pair of glasses and goes methodically through a large stack of papers.] Ambler & Ambler. H m m m m m . . . . Crabtree. . . . More Ambler & Ambler. STANLEY W h a t is A m b l e r & A m b l e r ? BLANCHE A firm that m a d e l o a n s o n the p l a c e . STANLEY T h e n it was lost o n a m o r t g a g e ? BLANCHE [touching her forehead] That must've been what happened. STANLEY I don't w a n t n o ifs, a n d s or b u t s ! W h a t ' s all t h e rest of t h e m papers? [She hands him the entire box. He carries it to the table and starts to examine the paper. ] BLANCHE [picking up a large envelope containing more papers] T h e r e are t h o u s a n d s of p a p e r s , s t r e t c h i n g b a c k over h u n d r e d s of y e a r s , a f f e c t i n g B e l l e R e v e a s , p i e c e by p i e c e , o u r i m p r o v i d e n t g r a n d f a t h e r s a n d f a t h e r a n d u n c l e s a n d b r o t h e r s e x c h a n g e d t h e l a n d for their e p i c f o r n i c a t i o n s — to p u t it plainly! [She removes her glasses with an exhausted laugh.] T h e

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

four-letter w o r d d e p r i v e d u s o f o u r p l a n t a t i o n , till finally all t h a t w a s l e f t — a n d S t e l l a c a n verify t h a t ! — w a s t h e h o u s e itself a n d a b o u t twenty a c r e s of g r o u n d , i n c l u d i n g a g r a v e y a r d , to w h i c h n o w all b u t S t e l l a a n d I h a v e r e t r e a t e d . [She pours the contents of the envelope on the table.] H e r e all o f t h e m a r e , all p a p e r s ! I h e r e b y e n d o w y o u with t h e m ! T a k e t h e m , p e r u s e t h e m — c o m m i t t h e m to m e m o r y , e v e n ! I t h i n k it's w o n derfully fitting t h a t B e l l e R e v e s h o u l d finally b e this b u n c h of old p a p e r s in y o u r b i g , c a p a b l e h a n d s ! . . . I w o n d e r if S t e l l a ' s c o m e b a c k with m y l e m o n C o k e . . . [She leans back and closes her eyes.] STANLEY I h a v e a lawyer a c q u a i n t a n c e w h o will s t u d y t h e s e o u t . BLANCHE P r e s e n t t h e m to h i m with a b o x o f a s p i r i n t a b l e t s . STANLEY [becoming somewhat sheepish] You see, under the Napoleonic c o d e — a m a n h a s to take a n i n t e r e s t in his wife's a f f a i r s — e s p e c i a l l y n o w that s h e ' s g o i n g to h a v e a b a b y . [BLANCHE opens her eyes. The "Blue Piano" sounds louder.] BLANCHE S t e l l a ? S t e l l a g o i n g to h a v e a b a b y ? [dreamily] I didn't k n o w s h e w a s g o i n g to h a v e a b a b y ! [She gets up and crosses to the outside door, STELLA appears around the corner with a carton from the drugstore. STANLEY goes into the bedroom with the envelope and the box. The inner rooms fade to darkness and the outside wall of the house is visible, BLANCHE meets STELLA at the foot of the steps to the sidewalk.] BLANCHE S t e l l a , S t e l l a for star! H o w lovely to h a v e a b a b y ! It's all right. E v e r y t h i n g ' s all right. STELLA I'm sorry h e did t h a t to y o u . BLANCHE O h , I g u e s s h e ' s j u s t not t h e type that g o e s for j a s m i n e p e r f u m e , b u t m a y b e h e ' s w h a t w e n e e d to mix with o u r b l o o d n o w that we've lost B e l l e R e v e . W e t h r a s h e d it o u t . I feel a bit s h a k y , b u t I t h i n k I h a n d l e d it nicely, I l a u g h e d a n d t r e a t e d it all a s a j o k e , [STEVE and PABLO appear, carrying a case of beer.] I c a l l e d h i m a little boy a n d l a u g h e d a n d flirted. Y e s , I w a s flirting with y o u r h u s b a n d ! [as the men approach] The guests a r e g a t h e r i n g for t h e p o k e r party. [The two men pass between them, and enter the house.] W h i c h way d o w e g o n o w , S t e l l a — t h i s w a y ? STELLA N o , this way. [She leads BLANCHE away.] BLANCHE [laughing] T h e blind are leading the blind! [A tamale VENDOR is heard calling.] VENDOR'S VOICE R e d - h o t ! Scene

Three

THE POKER NIGHT1 There is a picture of Van Gogh's of a billiard-parlor at night. The kitchen now suggests that sort of lurid nocturnal brilliance, the raw colors of childhood's spectrum. Over the yellow linoleum of the kitchen table hangs an electric bulb with a vivid green glass shade. The poker players—STANLEY, STEVE, MITCH and PABLO—wear colored shirts, solid blues, a purple, a red-and-white check, a light green, and they are men at the peak of their physical manhood, as coarse 1

1. Williams's first title for A Streetcar Desire.

Named

2. The Night Cafe, by Vincent Van Gogh ( 1 8 5 . 3 1890), Dutch postimpressionist painter.

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E T H R E E

/ 2317

and direct and powerful as the primary colors. There are vivid slices of watermelon on the table, whiskey bottles and glasses. The bedroom is relatively dim with only the light that spills between the portieres and through the wide window on the street. For a moment,

there is absorbed

silence

as a hand is

dealt.

STEVE A n y t h i n g wild this d e a l ? PABLO O n e - e y e d j a c k s a r e wild. STEVE G i v e m e two c a r d s . PABLO Y o u , M i t c h ? MITCH I'm o u t . PABLO O n e . MITCH A n y o n e w a n t a s h o t ? STANLEY Y e a h . M e . PABLO W h y don't s o m e b o d y g o to t h e C h i n a m a n ' s a n d b r i n g b a c k a l o a d of c h o p s u e y ? STANLEY W h e n I'm l o s i n g you w a n t to e a t ! A n t e u p ! O p e n e r s ? O p e n e r s ! G e t y'r a s s off t h e t a b l e , M i t c h . N o t h i n g b e l o n g s o n a p o k e r t a b l e b u t c a r d s , c h i p s a n d whiskey. [He lurches up and tosses some watermelon rinds to the floor.] MITCH K i n d of o n y o u r h i g h h o r s e , ain't y o u ? STANLEY H o w m a n y ? STEVE G i v e m e t h r e e . STANLEY O n e . MITCH I'm o u t a g a i n . I o u g h t a g o h o m e pretty s o o n . STANLEY S h u t Up. MITCH I g o t t a s i c k m o t h e r . S h e don't g o to s l e e p until I c o m e in a t n i g h t . STANLEY T h e n why don't you stay h o m e with h e r ? MITCH S h e s a y s to g o o u t , s o I g o , b u t I don't e n j o y it. All t h e while I k e e p wondering how she is. STANLEY Aw, for t h e s a k e of J e s u s , g o h o m e , t h e n ! PABLO W h a t ' v e you g o t ? STEVE S p a d e flush. MITCH You all a r e m a r r i e d . B u t I'll b e a l o n e w h e n s h e g o e s . — I ' m g o i n g to t h e b a t h r o o m . STANLEY H u r r y b a c k a n d we'll fix y o u a s u g a r - t i t . MITCH A w , g o rut. [He crosses through the bedroom into the bathroom.] STEVE [dealing a hand] S e v e n c a r d s t u d . 3 [telling his joke as he deals] T h i s ole f a r m e r is o u t in b a c k of his h o u s e sittin' d o w n t h ' o w i n g c o r n to t h e c h i c k e n s w h e n all at o n c e h e h e a r s a l o u d c a c k l e a n d this y o u n g h e n c o m e s lickety split a r o u n d t h e s i d e of t h e h o u s e with t h e r o o s t e r right b e h i n d her a n d g a i n i n g o n her fast. STANLEY [impatient with the story] Deal! STEVE B u t w h e n t h e r o o s t e r c a t c h e s sight of t h e f a r m e r t h ' o w i n g t h e c o r n he p u t s o n t h e b r a k e s a n d lets t h e h e n g e t a w a y a n d s t a r t s p e c k i n g c o r n . A n d t h e old f a r m e r s a y s , " L o r d G o d , I h o p e s I n e v e r gits that h o n g r y ! " [STEVE and PABLO laugh. The sisters appear around the corner of the building. ] 3. An adventurous and risky variant of poker.

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

STELLA T h e g a m e is still g o i n g o n . BLANCHE H o w d o I look? STELLA Lovely, B l a n c h e . BLANCHE I feel s o h o t a n d frazzled. W a i t till I p o w d e r b e f o r e y o u o p e n the d o o r . D o I look d o n e i n ? STELLA W h y n o . Y o u a r e a s f r e s h a s a d a i s y . BLANCHE O n e t h a t ' s b e e n p i c k e d a few d a y s . [STELLA opens

the door and they1

enter.]

STELLA W e l l , well, well. I s e e y o u b o y s a r e still a t it? STANLEY W h e r e y o u b e e n ? STELLA B l a n c h e a n d I t o o k in a s h o w . B l a n c h e , this is M r . G o n z a l e s a n d Mr. Hubbell. BLANCHE P l e a s e don't get u p . STANLEY N o b o d y ' s g o i n g to g e t u p , s o don't b e w o r r i e d . STELLA H o w m u c h l o n g e r is this g a m e g o i n g t o c o n t i n u e ? STANLEY Till w e get r e a d y t o q u i t . BLANCHE P o k e r is s o f a s c i n a t i n g . C o u l d I kibitz? STANLEY Y o u c o u l d n o t . W h y d o n ' t y o u w o m e n g o u p a n d sit with E u n i c e ? STELLA B e c a u s e it is n e a r l y two-thirty, [BLANCHE crosses into the bedroom and partially closes the portieres. ] C o u l d n ' t y o u call it q u i t s a f t e r o n e m o r e hand? [A chair

scrapes.

STELLA [sharply] [The

STANLEY gives

a loud whack

of his hand

on her

thigh.]

That's not fun, Stanley.

men laugh,

STELLA goes into the

bedroom.]

STELLA It m a k e s m e s o m a d w h e n h e d o e s t h a t in front o f p e o p l e . BLANCHE I t h i n k I will b a t h e . STELLA A g a i n ? BLANCHE M y n e r v e s a r e in k n o t s . Is t h e b a t h r o o m o c c u p i e d ? STELLA I don't k n o w . [BLANCHE knocks, hands

on a

MITCH opens

the door and comes

out, still wiping

his

towel.]

BLANCHE O h ! — g o o d e v e n i n g . MITCH H e l l o . [He stares at her.] STELLA B l a n c h e , this is H a r o l d M i t c h e l l . M y s i s t e r , B l a n c h e D u B o i s . MITCH [with awkward courtesy] H o w d o you d o , M i s s D u B o i s . STELLA H o w is y o u r m o t h e r n o w , M i t c h ? MITCH A b o u t t h e s a m e , t h a n k s . S h e a p p r e c i a t e d y o u r s e n d i n g over t h a t custard.—Excuse me, please. [He crosses coughing

slowly

back

into the kitchen,

a little shyly. He realizes

with an embarrassed with a certain

laugh

hands

glancing

back

at BLANCHE and

he still has the towel in his hands

and

it to STELLA. BLANCHE looks after

him

interest. ]

BLANCHE T h a t o n e s e e m s — s u p e r i o r to t h e o t h e r s . STELLA Y e s , h e i s . BLANCHE I t h o u g h t h e h a d a sort o f s e n s i t i v e look. STELLA H i s m o t h e r is sick. BLANCHE Is h e m a r r i e d ? STELLA N o . BLANCHE Is h e a wolf? STELLA W h y , B l a n c h e ! [BLANCHE laughs.] I d o n ' t think h e w o u l d b e .

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E T H R E E

/ 2 3 1 9

BLANCHE W h a t d o e s — w h a t d o e s h e d o ? [She is unbuttoning her blouse.] STELLA H e ' s on t h e p r e c i s i o n b e n c h in t h e s p a r e p a r t s d e p a r t m e n t . At t h e p l a n t S t a n l e y travels for. BLANCHE Is t h a t s o m e t h i n g m u c h ? STELLA N o . S t a n l e y ' s t h e only o n e of his c r o w d that's likely to g e t anywhere. BLANCHE W h a t m a k e s y o u think S t a n l e y will? STELLA L o o k at h i m . BLANCHE I've l o o k e d at h i m . STELLA T h e n y o u s h o u l d k n o w . BLANCHE I'm sorry, b u t I haven't n o t i c e d t h e s t a m p of g e n i u s e v e n o n Stanley's forehead. [She takes off the blouse and stands in her pink silk brassiere and white skirt in the light through the portieres. The game has continued in undertones.] STELLA It isn't o n his f o r e h e a d a n d it isn't g e n i u s . BLANCHE O h . W e l l , w h a t is it, a n d w h e r e ? I w o u l d like to k n o w . STELLA It's a drive that h e h a s . You're s t a n d i n g in t h e light, B l a n c h e ! BLANCHE O h , a m I! [She moves out of the yellow streak of light, STELLA has removed her dress and put on a light blue satin kimona.] STELLA [with girlish laughter] You o u g h t to s e e their w i v e s . BLANCHE [laughingly] I c a n i m a g i n e . B i g , beefy t h i n g s , I s u p p o s e . STELLA Y o u k n o w that o n e u p s t a i r s ? [more laughter] O n e t i m e [laughing] the plaster—[laughing] c r a c k e d — STANLEY Y o u h e n s c u t o u t that c o n v e r s a t i o n in t h e r e ! STELLA Y o u c a n ' t h e a r u s . STANLEY W e l l , y o u c a n h e a r m e a n d I s a i d to h u s h u p ! STELLA T h i s is m y h o u s e a n d I'll talk a s m u c h a s I w a n t to! BLANCHE S t e l l a , don't start a row. STELLA H e ' s h a l f d r u n k ! — I ' l l b e o u t in a m i n u t e . [She goes into the bathroom, BLANCHE rises and crosses leisurely to a small white radio and turns it on.] STANLEY A w r i g h t , M i t c h , you in? MITCH W h a t ? O h ! — N o , I'm o u t ! [BLANCHE moves back into the streak of light. She raises her arms and stretches, as she moves indolently back to the chair. Rhumba music comes over the radio, MITCH rises at the table.] STANLEY W h o t u r n e d that o n in t h e r e ? BLANCHE 1 did. D o you m i n d ? STANLEY T u r n it off! STEVE Aw, let t h e girls h a v e their m u s i c . PABLO S u r e , t h a t ' s g o o d , leave it o n ! STEVE S o u n d s like X a v i e r C u g a t ! 4 [STANLEY jumps up and, crossing to the radio, turns it off. He stops short at the sight of BLANCHE in the chair. She returns his look without flinching. Then he sits again at the poker table. Two of the men have started arguing hotly.] 4. C u b a n bandleader, well known for composing and playing rhumbas.

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

STEVE I didn't h e a r you n a m e it. PABLO D i d n ' t I n a m e it, M i t c h ? MITCH I w a s n ' t listenin'. PABLO W h a t w e r e you d o i n g , t h e n ? STANLEY H e w a s l o o k i n g t h r o u g h t h e m d r a p e s . [He jumps up and jerks roughly at curtains to close them.] N o w d e a l t h e h a n d over a g a i n a n d let's play c a r d s or q u i t . S o m e p e o p l e g e t a n t s w h e n they w i n . [MITCH rises as STANLEY returns to his seat.] STANLEY [yelling] Sit d o w n ! MITCH I'm g o i n g to t h e " h e a d . " D e a l m e o u t . PABLO S u r e h e ' s got a n t s n o w . S e v e n five-dollar bills in his p a n t s p o c k e t f o l d e d u p tight a s s p i t b a l l s . STEVE T o m o r r o w you'll s e e h i m at t h e c a s h i e r ' s w i n d o w g e t t i n g t h e m c h a n g e d into q u a r t e r s . STANLEY A n d w h e n h e g o e s h o m e he'll d e p o s i t t h e m o n e by o n e in a piggy b a n k his m o t h e r give h i m for C h r i s t m a s , [dealing] T h i s g a m e is S p i t in the O c e a n . 5 [MITCH laughs uncomfortably and continues through the portieres. He stops just inside.] BLANCHE [softly] H e l l o ! T h e Little B o y s ' R o o m is b u s y right n o w . MITCH W e ' v e — b e e n d r i n k i n g b e e r . BLANCHE I h a t e b e e r . MITCH I t ' s — a hot w e a t h e r drink. BLANCHE O h , I don't t h i n k s o ; it a l w a y s m a k e s m e w a r m e r . H a v e y o u g o t any c i g s ? [She has slipped on the dark red satin wrapper.] MITCH S u r e . BLANCHE W h a t kind a r e they? MITCH Luckies. BLANCHE O h , g o o d . W h a t a pretty c a s e . S i l v e r ? MITCH Y e s . Y e s ; r e a d the i n s c r i p t i o n . BLANCHE O h , is t h e r e a n i n s c r i p t i o n ? I c a n ' t m a k e it o u t . [He strikes a match and moves closer.] O h ! [reading with feigned difficulty] " A n d if G o d c h o o s e , / I shall b u t love t h e e b e t t e r — a f t e r — d e a t h ! " W h y , t h a t ' s f r o m m y favorite s o n n e t by M r s . B r o w n i n g ! 6 MITCH Y o u k n o w it? BLANCHE C e r t a i n l y I d o ! MITCH T h e r e ' s a story c o n n e c t e d with that i n s c r i p t i o n . BLANCHE It s o u n d s like a r o m a n c e . MITCH A pretty s a d o n e . BLANCHE O h ? MITCH T h e girl's d e a d n o w . BLANCHE [in a tone of deep sympathy] Oh! MITCH S h e k n e w s h e w a s dying w h e n s h e give m e this. A very s t r a n g e girl, very s w e e t — v e r y ! BLANCHE S h e m u s t h a v e b e e n f o n d o f y o u . S i c k p e o p l e h a v e s u c h d e e p , sincere attachments. MITCH T h a t ' s right, they c e r t a i n l y d o . BLANCHE S o r r o w m a k e s for sincerity, I think. 5 . Another variant of poker. 6. Elizaheth Barrett Browning, 19th-century Brit-

ish poet, was most famous for her s e q u e n c e of love poems Sonnets from the Portuguese.

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MITCH It s u r e b r i n g s it o u t in p e o p l e . BLANCHE T h e little t h e r e is b e l o n g s to p e o p l e w h o h a v e e x p e r i e n c e d s o m e sorrow. MITCH I believe y o u a r e right a b o u t that. BLANCHE I'm p o s i t i v e t h a t I a m . S h o w m e a p e r s o n w h o h a s n ' t k n o w n any s o r r o w a n d I'll s h o w y o u a s h u p e r f i c i a l — L i s t e n to m e ! M y t o n g u e is a l i t t l e — t h i c k ! Y o u boys a r e r e s p o n s i b l e for it. T h e s h o w let o u t at e l e v e n a n d we c o u l d n ' t c o m e h o m e o n a c c o u n t of t h e p o k e r g a m e s o w e h a d to g o s o m e w h e r e a n d drink. I'm not a c c u s t o m e d to h a v i n g m o r e t h a n o n e drink. T w o is t h e l i m i t — a n d three! [She laughs.] T o n i g h t I h a d t h r e e . STANLEY M i t c h ! MITCH D e a l m e o u t . I'm t a l k i n g to M i s s — BLANCHE D u B o i s . MITCH M i s s D u B o i s ? BLANCHE It's a F r e n c h n a m e . It m e a n s w o o d s a n d B l a n c h e m e a n s w h i t e , s o t h e two t o g e t h e r m e a n w h i t e w o o d s . L i k e a n o r c h a r d in s p r i n g ! Y o u c a n r e m e m b e r it by that. MITCH You're F r e n c h ? BLANCHE W e a r e F r e n c h by e x t r a c t i o n . O u r first A m e r i c a n a n c e s t o r s w e r e French Huguenots. MITCH YOU a r e S t e l l a ' s sister, a r e you n o t ? BLANCHE Y e s , S t e l l a is m y p r e c i o u s little sister. I call her little in s p i t e of t h e fact s h e ' s s o m e w h a t o l d e r t h a n I. J u s t slightly. L e s s t h a n a year. Will you d o s o m e t h i n g for m e ? MITCH S u r e . W h a t ? BLANCHE I b o u g h t this a d o r a b l e little c o l o r e d p a p e r l a n t e r n at a C h i n e s e s h o p o n B o u r b o n . P u t it over t h e light b u l b ! Will y o u , p l e a s e ? MITCH B e g l a d to. BLANCHE I c a n ' t s t a n d a n a k e d light b u l b , a n y m o r e t h a n I c a n a r u d e r e m a r k or a v u l g a r a c t i o n . MITCH [adjusting the lantern] I g u e s s w e strike you a s b e i n g a pretty r o u g h bunch. BLANCHE I'm very a d a p t a b l e — t o c i r c u m s t a n c e s . MITCH W e l l , that's a g o o d t h i n g to b e . You a r e visiting S t a n l e y a n d S t e l l a ? BLANCHE S t e l l a h a s n ' t b e e n s o well lately, a n d I c a m e d o w n to h e l p her for a w h i l e . S h e ' s very r u n d o w n . MITCH You're n o t — ? BLANCHE M a r r i e d ? N o , n o . I'm a n old m a i d s c h o o l t e a c h e r ! MITCH YOU m a y t e a c h s c h o o l but you're certainly not a n old m a i d . BLANCHE T h a n k y o u , sir! I a p p r e c i a t e y o u r gallantry! MITCH S o you a r e in t h e t e a c h i n g p r o f e s s i o n ? BLANCHE Y e s . A h , yes . . . MITCH G r a d e s c h o o l or high s c h o o l o r — STANLEY [bellowing] Mitch! MITCH C o m i n g ! BLANCHE G r a c i o u s , w h a t l u n g - p o w e r ! . . . I t e a c h high s c h o o l . In L a u r e l . MITCH W h a t d o you t e a c h ? W h a t s u b j e c t ? BLANCHE G u e s s ! MITCH I bet you t e a c h art or m u s i c ? [BLANCHE laughs delicately. ] O f c o u r s e I c o u l d b e w r o n g . You m i g h t t e a c h a r i t h m e t i c . BLANCHE N e v e r a r i t h m e t i c , sir; n e v e r a r i t h m e t i c ! [with a laugh] I don't

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

e v e n k n o w m y m u l t i p l i c a t i o n t a b l e s ! N o , I h a v e t h e m i s f o r t u n e of b e i n g a n E n g l i s h i n s t r u c t o r . I a t t e m p t to instill a b u n c h o f b o b b y - s o x e r s a n d d r u g s t o r e R o m e o s with r e v e r e n c e for H a w t h o r n e a n d W h i t m a n a n d P o e ! MITCH I g u e s s t h a t s o m e of t h e m a r e m o r e i n t e r e s t e d in o t h e r t h i n g s . BLANCHE HOW very right you a r e ! T h e i r literary h e r i t a g e is n o t w h a t m o s t of t h e m t r e a s u r e a b o v e all e l s e ! B u t they're s w e e t t h i n g s ! A n d in t h e s p r i n g , it's t o u c h i n g to n o t i c e t h e m m a k i n g their first d i s c o v e r y o f love! As if n o b o d y h a d ever k n o w n it b e f o r e ! [The bathroom door opens and STELLA comes out. BLANCHE continues talking to MITCH.] O h ! H a v e y o u finished? W a i t — I ' l l turn o n t h e r a d i o . [She turns the knobs on the radio and it begins to play "Wien, Wien, nur du allein." BLANCHE waltzes to the music with romantic gestures. MITCH is delighted and moves in awkward imitation like a dancing bear. STANLEY stalks fiercely through the portieres into the bedroom. He crosses to the small white radio and snatches it off the table. With a shouted oath, he tosses the instrument out the window.] STELLA D r u n k — d r u n k — a n i m a l t h i n g , y o u ! [She rushes through to the poker table.] All of y o u — p l e a s e g o h o m e ! If a n y of y o u h a v e o n e s p a r k of d e c e n c y in y o u — BLANCHE [wildly] Stella, watch out, h e ' s — 7

[STANLEY charges after STELLA.] MEN [feebly] T a k e it e a s y , S t a n l e y . E a s y , f e l l o w . — L e t ' s a l l — STELLA Y o u lay your h a n d s o n m e a n d I'll— [She backs out of sight. He advances and disappears. There is the sound of a blow, STELLA cries out. BLANCHE screams and runs into the kitchen. The men rushfonvard and there is grappling and cursing. Something is overturned with a crash.] BLANCHE [shrilly] M y s i s t e r is g o i n g to h a v e a b a b y ! MITCH T h i s is terrible. BLANCHE L u n a c y , a b s o l u t e l u n a c y ! MITCH G e t h i m in h e r e , m e n . [STANLEY is forced, pinioned by the two men, into the bedroom. He nearly throws them off. Then all at once he subsides and is limp in their grasp. They speak quietly and lovingly to him and he leans his face on one of their shoulders.] STELLA [in a high, unnatural voice, out of sight] I w a n t to g o a w a y , I w a n t to g o away! MITCH P o k e r s h o u l d n ' t b e p l a y e d in a h o u s e with w o m e n . [BLANCHE rushes into the bedroom.] BLANCHE I w a n t m y sister's c l o t h e s ! We'll g o to t h a t w o m a n ' s u p s t a i r s ! MITCH W h e r e is t h e c l o t h e s ? BLANCHE [opening the closet] I've got t h e m ! [She rushes through to STELLA.] S t e l l a , S t e l l a , p r e c i o u s ! D e a r , d e a r little s i s t e r , d o n ' t b e a f r a i d ! [Wit/i her arm around STELLA, BLANCHE guides her to the outside door and upstairs. ] STANLEY [drtHy] W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r ; w h a t ' s h a p p e n e d ? MITCH Y o u j u s t b l e w y o u r t o p , S t a n . 7. Vienna, Vienna, you are my only (German); a waltz from an operetta by Franz Lehar.

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/

2323

PABLO H e ' s okay, n o w . STEVE S u r e , m y boy's okay! MITCH P u t h i m on t h e b e d a n d get a wet towel. PABLO I t h i n k c o f f e e w o u l d d o h i m a world of g o o d , n o w . STANLEY [thickly] I want water. MITCH P u t h i m u n d e r t h e s h o w e r ! [The men talk quietly as they lead him to the bathroom. ] STANLEY L e t t h e rut g o of m e , you s o n s of b i t c h e s ! [Sounds of blows are heard. The water goes on full tilt.] STEVE L e t ' s g e t q u i c k o u t o f h e r e ! [They rush to the poker table and sweep up their winnings on their way out.] MITCH [sadly but firmly] P o k e r s h o u l d not b e p l a y e d in a h o u s e with women. [The door closes on them and the place is still. The Negro entertainers in the bar around the corner play "Paper Doll" slow and blue. After a moment STANLEY comes out of the bathroom dripping water and still in his clinging wet polka dot drawers.] STANLEY S t e l l a ! [There is a pause.] M y b a b y doll's left m e ! [He breaks into sobs. Then he goes to the phone and dials, still shuddering with sobs.] E u n i c e ? I w a n t m y baby! [He waits a moment; then he hangs up and dials again.] E u n i c e ! I'll k e e p o n ringin' until I talk with m y b a b y ! [An indistinguishable shrill voice is heard. He hurls phone to floor. Dissonant brass and piano sounds as the rooms dim out to darkness and the outer walls appear in the night light. The "Blue Piano" plays for a brief interval. Finally, STANLEY stumbles half-dressed out to the porch and down the wooden steps to the pavement before the building. There he throws back his head like a baying hound and bellows his wife's name: "Stella! Stella, sweetheart! Stella!"] 8

STANLEY Stell-lahhhhh! EUNICE [calling down from the door of her upper apartment] Quit t h a t h o w l i n g o u t t h e r e a n ' g o b a c k to b e d ! STANLEY I w a n t m y b a b y d o w n h e r e . S t e l l a , S t e l l a ! EUNICE S h e ain't c o m i n ' d o w n s o you quit! O r you'll git th' law o n y o u ! STANLEY S t e l l a ! EUNICE Y o u c a n ' t b e a t on a w o m a n a n ' t h e n call 'er b a c k ! S h e w o n ' t c o m e ! A n d her g o i n ' t ' h a v e a b a b y ! . . . Y o u stinker! Y o u w h e l p of a P o l a c k , y o u ! I h o p e they d o h a u l you in a n d turn t h e fire h o s e o n y o u , s a m e a s t h e last t i m e ! STANLEY [humbly] E u n i c e , I w a n t m y girl to c o m e d o w n with m e ! EUNICE H a h ! [She slams her door.] STANLEY [with heaven-splitting violence] STELL-LAHHHHH! [The low-tone clarinet moans. The door upstairs opens again, STELLA slips down the rickety stairs in her robe. Her eyes are glistening with tears and her hair loose about her throat and shoulders. They stare at each other. Then they come together with low, animal moans. He falls to his knees on the steps and presses his face to her belly, curving a little with 8. Popular song of the early 1940s by Johnny Black.

2324

/

T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS maternity. raises him off her feet landing in

Her level and her

eyes go blind with tenderness as she catches his head and with her. He snatches the screen door open and lifts her bears her into the dark flat, BLANCHE comes out the upper robe and slips fearfidly down the steps.]

BLANCHE W h e r e is m y little s i s t e r ? S t e l l a ? S t e l l a ? [She stops before the dark entrance of her sister's flat. Then catches her breath as if struck. She rushes down to the walk before the house. She looks right and left as if for a sanctuary. The music fades away, MITCH appears from around the corner.] MITCH M i s s D u B o i s ? BLANCHE O h ! MITCH All q u i e t o n t h e P o t o m a c n o w ? BLANCHE S h e r a n d o w n s t a i r s a n d w e n t b a c k in t h e r e with h i m . MITCH S u r e s h e did. BLANCHE I'm terrified! MITCH H o - h o ! T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g to b e s c a r e d of. T h e y ' r e c r a z y a b o u t e a c h other. BLANCHE I'm not u s e d to s u c h — MITCH N a w , it's a s h a m e this h a d to h a p p e n w h e n you j u s t g o t h e r e . B u t d o n ' t t a k e it s e r i o u s . BLANCHE V i o l e n c e ! Is s o — MITCH S e t d o w n on t h e s t e p s a n d h a v e a c i g a r e t t e with m e . BLANCHE I'm not p r o p e r l y d r e s s e d . MITCH T h a t d o n ' t m a k e n o d i f f e r e n c e in t h e Q u a r t e r . BLANCHE S u c h a pretty silver c a s e . MITCH I s h o w e d you t h e i n s c r i p t i o n , didn't I? BLANCHE Y e s . [During the pause, she looks up at the sky.] T h e r e ' s s o m u c h — s o m u c h c o n f u s i o n in t h e w o r l d . . . [He coughs diffidently.] T h a n k you for b e i n g s o kind! I n e e d k i n d n e s s n o w . Scene

Four

It is early the following morning. There is a confusion of street cries like a choral chant. STELLA is lying down in the bedroom. Her face is serene in the early morning sunlight. One hand rests on her belly, rounding slightly with new maternity. From the other dangles a book of colored comics. Her eyes and lips have that almost narcotized tranquility that is in the faces of Eastern idols. The table is sloppy with remains of breakfast and the debris of the preceding night, and STANLEY'S gaudy pyjamas lie across the threshold of the bathroom. The outside door is slightly ajar on a sky of summer brilliance. BLANCHE appears at this door. She has spent a sleepless night and her appearance entirely contrasts with STELLA'S. She presses her knuckles nervously to her lips as she looks through the door, before entering. BLANCHE S t e l l a ? STELLA [stirring lazily] Hmmh? [BLANCHE utters a moaning cry and runs into the bedroom, herself down beside STELLA in a rush of hysterical tenderness.] BLANCHE B a b y , m y b a b y sister!

throwing

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E FOUR STELLA [drawing

away from

[BLANCHE straightens at her sister with

her]

2325

B l a n c h e , w h a t is t h e m a t t e r with y o u ?

wp slowly

knuckles

/

and stands

pressed

to her

beside

the bed looking

down

lips.]

BLANCHE H e ' s left? STELLA S t a n ? Y e s . BLANCHE Will h e b e b a c k ? STELLA H e ' s g o n e t o g e t t h e c a r g r e a s e d . W h y ? BLANCHE W h y ! I've b e e n half crazy, S t e l l a ! W h e n I f o u n d o u t y o u ' d b e e n i n s a n e e n o u g h to c o m e b a c k in h e r e after w h a t h a p p e n e d — I s t a r t e d to r u s h in after y o u ! STELLA I'm g l a d y o u didn't. BLANCHE W h a t w e r e y o u t h i n k i n g o f ? [STELLA makes an indefinite gesture. ] Answer me! What? What? STELLA P l e a s e , B l a n c h e ! S i t d o w n a n d s t o p yelling. BLANCHE All right, S t e l l a . I will r e p e a t t h e q u e s t i o n quietly n o w . H o w c o u l d y o u c o m e b a c k in this p l a c e last n i g h t ? W h y , y o u m u s t h a v e s l e p t with h i m ! [STELLA gets up in a calm

and leisurely

way.]

STELLA B l a n c h e , I'd f o r g o t t e n h o w e x c i t a b l e y o u a r e . Y o u ' r e m a k i n g m u c h too m u c h fuss about this. BLANCHE A m I? STELLA Y e s , y o u a r e , B l a n c h e . I k n o w h o w it m u s t h a v e s e e m e d to y o u a n d I'm awful sorry it h a d to h a p p e n , b u t it w a s n ' t a n y t h i n g a s s e r i o u s a s y o u s e e m to t a k e it. In t h e first p l a c e , w h e n m e n a r e d r i n k i n g a n d p l a y i n g p o k e r a n y t h i n g c a n h a p p e n . It's a l w a y s a p o w d e r - k e g . H e didn't know what he w a s doing. . . . H e was as good as a lamb when I c a m e b a c k a n d h e ' s really very, very a s h a m e d o f h i m s e l f . BLANCHE A n d t h a t — t h a t m a k e s it all right? STELLA N o , it isn't all right for a n y b o d y to m a k e s u c h a terrible r o w , b u t — p e o p l e d o s o m e t i m e s . S t a n l e y ' s always s m a s h e d t h i n g s . W h y , o n o u r w e d d i n g n i g h t — s o o n a s w e c a m e in h e r e — h e s n a t c h e d off o n e o f m y s l i p p e r s a n d r u s h e d a b o u t t h e p l a c e s m a s h i n g light b u l b s with it. BLANCHE H e d i d — w h a t ? STELLA H e s m a s h e d all t h e light b u l b s with t h e h e e l o f m y s l i p p e r ! [She laughs.]

BLANCHE A n d y o u — y o u let h i m ? D i d n ' t run, didn't scream? STELLA I w a s — s o r t o f — t h r i l l e d by it. [She waits for a moment.] Eunice and you had breakfast? BLANCHE D o y o u s u p p o s e I w a n t e d a n y b r e a k f a s t ? STELLA T h e r e ' s s o m e c o f f e e left o n t h e s t o v e . BLANCHE You're s o — m a t t e r o f fact a b o u t it, S t e l l a . STELLA W h a t o t h e r c a n I b e ? H e ' s t a k e n t h e r a d i o to g e t it fixed. It didn't l a n d o n t h e p a v e m e n t s o only o n e t u b e w a s s m a s h e d . BLANCHE A n d y o u a r e s t a n d i n g t h e r e s m i l i n g ! STELLA W h a t d o y o u w a n t m e to d o ? BLANCHE Pull y o u r s e l f t o g e t h e r a n d f a c e t h e f a c t s . STELLA W h a t a r e they, in y o u r o p i n i o n ? BLANCHE In m y o p i n i o n ? Y o u ' r e m a r r i e d to a m a d m a n ! STELLA N o ! BLANCHE Y e s , y o u a r e , your fix is w o r s e t h a n m i n e i s ! O n l y y o u ' r e n o t

2326

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

b e i n g s e n s i b l e a b o u t it. I'm g o i n g to do s o m e t h i n g . G e t h o l d o f m y s e l f a n d m a k e m y s e l f a n e w life! STELLA Y e s ? BLANCHE B u t you've given in. A n d that isn't right, you're n o t old! Y o u c a n get o u t . I'm not in a n y t h i n g I w a n t to g e t o u t of. STELLA [slowly and emphatically] What—Stella? BLANCHE [incredulously] STELLA I s a i d I a m not in a n y t h i n g that I h av e a d e s i r e to g e t o u t of. L o o k at t h e m e s s in this r o o m ! A n d t h o s e e m p t y b o t t l e s ! T h e y w e n t t h r o u g h two c a s e s last night! H e p r o m i s e d this m o r n i n g t h a t h e w a s g o i n g to q u i t h a v i n g t h e s e p o k e r p a r t i e s , b u t you k n o w h o w l o n g s u c h a p r o m i s e is g o i n g to k e e p . O h , well, it's his p l e a s u r e , like m i n e is m o v i e s a n d b r i d g e . P e o p l e h a ve got to t o l e r a t e e a c h o t h e r ' s h a b i t s , I g u e s s . BLANCHE I don't u n d e r s t a n d y o u . [STELLA turns toward her.] I don't u n d e r s t a n d y o u r i n d i f f e r e n c e . Is this a C h i n e s e p h i l o s o p h y y o u ' v e — c u l t i v a t e d ? STELLA Is w h a t — w h a t ? BLANCHE T h i s — s h u f f l i n g a b o u t a n d m u m b l i n g — ' O n e t u b e s m a s h e d — b e e r b o t t l e s — m e s s in t h e k i t c h e n ! ' — a s if n o t h i n g o u t of t h e o r d i n a r y has twirls

h a p p e n e d ! [STELLA laughs

uncertainly

and

picking

up

the

hroom,

it in her hands. ]

BLANCHE A r e you deliberately s h a k i n g that t h i n g in my f a c e ? STELLA N o . BLANCHE S t o p it. L e t g o of that b r o o m . I won't h a v e you c l e a n i n g u p for him! STELLA T h e n w h o ' s g o i n g to d o it? A r e y o u ? BLANCHE I? I! STELLA N o , I didn't think s o . BLANCHE O h , let m e think, if only my m i n d w o u l d f u n c t i o n ! W e ' v e got to g e t h o l d of s o m e m o n e y , that's t h e way o u t ! STELLA I g u e s s t h a t m o n e y is always n i c e to get h o l d of. BLANCHE L i s t e n to m e . I h a v e a n id e a of s o m e k i n d . [Shakily she twists a cigarette into her holder.] D o you r e m e m b e r S h e p H u n t l e i g h ? [STELLA shakes her head.] O f c o u r s e you r e m e m b e r S h e p H u n t l e i g h . I w e n t o u t with h i m at c o l l e g e a n d w o r e his pin for a w h i l e . W e l l — STELLA W e l l ? BLANCHE I r a n into h i m last winter. Y o u k n o w I w e n t to M i a m i d u r i n g t h e Christmas holidays? STELLA N o . BLANCHE W e l l , I did. I t o o k t h e trip a s a n i n v e s t m e n t , t h i n k i n g I'd m e e t s o m e o n e with a million d o l l a r s . STELLA D i d y o u ? BLANCHE Y e s . I r a n into S h e p H u n t l e i g h — I ran into h i m o n B i s c a y n e B o u l e v a r d , o n C h r i s t m a s E v e , a b o u t d u s k . . . g e t t i n g into his c a r — C a d illac c o n v e r t i b l e ; m u s t h a v e b e e n a b l o c k long! STELLA I s h o u l d think it w o u l d h a v e b e e n — i n c o n v e n i e n t in traffic! BLANCHE You've h e a r d of oil w e l l s ? STELLA Y e s — r e m o t e l y . BLANCHE H e h a s t h e m , all over T e x a s . T e x a s is literally s p o u t i n g g o l d in his p o c k e t s .

A STREETCAR NAMED

DESIRE,

SCENE

FOUR

/

2327

STELLA M y , my. BLANCHE Y'know h o w indifferent I a m to m o n e y . I think of m o n e y in t e r m s of w h a t it d o e s for y o u . B u t h e c o u l d do it, h e c o u l d c e r t a i n l y d o it! STELLA D o w h a t , B l a n c h e ? BLANCHE W h y — s e t u s u p in a — s h o p ! STELLA W h a t kind o f a s h o p ? BLANCHE O h , a — s h o p of s o m e kind! H e c o u l d d o it with h a l f w h a t his wife throws a w a y at the r a c e s . STELLA H e ' s m a r r i e d ? BLANCHE H o n e y , w o u l d I b e h e r e if the m a n weren't m a r r i e d ? [STELLA laughs a little, BLANCHE suddenly springs up and crosses to phone. She speaks shrilly.] H o w do I get W e s t e r n U n i o n ? — O p e r a t o r ! W e s t e r n Union! STELLA T h a t ' s a dial p h o n e , h o n e y . BLANCHE I can't dial, I'm t o o — STELLA J u s t dial O . BLANCHE O ? STELLA Y e s , " O " for O p e r a t o r ! [BLANCHE considers a moment; then she puts the phone down.] BLANCHE G i v e m e a p e n c i l . W h e r e is a slip of p a p e r ? I've got to write it d o w n f i r s t — t h e m e s s a g e , I m e a n . . . [She goes to the dressing table, and grabs up a sheet of Kleenex and an eyebrow pencil for writing equipment.] L e t m e s e e n o w . . . [She bites the pencil.] ' D a r l i n g S h e p . S i s t e r a n d I in desperate situation.' STELLA I b e g y o u r p a r d o n ! BLANCHE ' S i s t e r a n d I in d e s p e r a t e s i t u a t i o n . Will explain d e t a i l s later. W o u l d you be i n t e r e s t e d i n — ? ' [She bites the pencil again.] ' W o u l d you b e — i n t e r e s t e d — i n . . . ' [She smashes the pencil on the table and springs up.] You never get a n y w h e r e with direct a p p e a l s ! STELLA [with a laugh] Don't be so ridiculous, darling! BLANCHE B u t I'll think of s o m e t h i n g , I've got to t h i n k o f — s o m e t h i n g ! D o n ' t l a u g h at m e , S t e l l a ! P l e a s e , p l e a s e d o n ' t — I — I w a n t you to look at the c o n t e n t s of my p u r s e ! H e r e ' s w h a t ' s in it! [She snatches her purse open.] Sixty-five m e a s l y c e n t s in coin of t h e r e a l m ! STELLA [crossing to bureau] S t a n l e y d o e s n ' t give m e a r e g u l a r a l l o w a n c e , h e likes to p a y bills himself, b u t — t h i s m o r n i n g h e g a v e m e ten d o l l a r s to s m o o t h things over. You t a k e five of it, B l a n c h e , a n d I'll k e e p the rest. BLANCHE O h , n o . N o , S t e l l a . STELLA [insisting] I k n o w h o w it h e l p s your m o r a l e j u s t h a v i n g a little pocket-money on you. BLANCHE N o , t h a n k y o u — I ' l l t a k e to the s t r e e t s ! STELLA T a l k s e n s e ! H o w did you h a p p e n to g e t s o low o n f u n d s ? BLANCHE M o n e y j u s t g o e s — i t g o e s p l a c e s . [She rubs her forehead.] Somet i m e today I've got to get hold o f a B r o m o ! ' ' STELLA I'll fix you o n e n o w . BLANCHE N o t y e t — I ' v e got to k e e p thinking! STELLA I w i s h you'd j u s t let t h i n g s g o , at least for a — w h i l e . . . 9. Short for Bromo-seltzer, a headache remedy.

2328

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

BLANCHE S t e l l a , I c a n ' t live with h i m ! Y o u c a n , h e ' s your h u s b a n d . B u t h o w c o u l d I s t a y h e r e with h i m , after last n i g h t , with j u s t t h o s e c u r t a i n s between us? STELLA B l a n c h e , you s a w h i m at his w o r s t last n i g h t . BLANCHE O n t h e c o n t r a r y , I s a w h i m a t his b e s t ! W h a t s u c h a m a n h a s to offer is a n i m a l f o r c e a n d h e g a v e a w o n d e r f u l exhibition o f that! B u t t h e only w a y to live with s u c h a m a n is t o — g o to b e d with h i m ! A n d that's your j o b — n o t m i n e ! STELLA After you've r e s t e d a little, you'll s e e it's g o i n g to w o r k o u t . Y o u don't h a v e to worry a b o u t a n y t h i n g while y o u ' r e h e r e . I m e a n — expenses.. . BLANCHE I h a v e to p l a n for u s b o t h , to g e t u s b o t h — o u t ! STELLA Y o u t a k e it for g r a n t e d t h a t I a m in s o m e t h i n g t h a t I w a n t to get o u t of. BLANCHE I t a k e it for g r a n t e d t h a t y o u still h a v e sufficient m e m o r y of B e l l e R e v e to find this p l a c e a n d t h e s e p o k e r p l a y e r s i m p o s s i b l e to live with. STELLA W e l l , y o u ' r e t a k i n g entirely t o o m u c h for g r a n t e d . BLANCHE I c a n ' t believe y o u ' r e in e a r n e s t . STELLA No? BLANCHE I u n d e r s t a n d h o w it h a p p e n e d — a little. Y o u s a w h i m in u n i f o r m , a n officer, not h e r e b u t — STELLA I'm not s u r e it w o u l d h a v e m a d e a n y d i f f e r e n c e w h e r e I s a w h i m . BLANCHE NOW don't s a y it w a s o n e of t h o s e m y s t e r i o u s e l e c t r i c t h i n g s b e t w e e n p e o p l e ! If y o u d o I'll l a u g h in y o u r f a c e . STELLA I a m not g o i n g to s a y a n y t h i n g m o r e at all a b o u t it! BLANCHE All right, t h e n , don't! STELLA B u t t h e r e a r e t h i n g s t h a t h a p p e n b e t w e e n a m a n a n d a w o m a n in t h e d a r k — t h a t sort of m a k e everything e l s e s e e m — u n i m p o r t a n t . [Pause.] BLANCHE W h a t you a r e t a l k i n g a b o u t is b r u t a l d e s i r e — j u s t — D e s i r e ! — the n a m e of that rattle-trap streetcar that b a n g s through the Quarter, u p o n e old n a r r o w s t r e e t a n d d o w n a n o t h e r . . . STELLA H a v e n ' t y o u ever r i d d e n o n t h a t s t r e e t c a r ? BLANCHE It b r o u g h t m e h e r e . — W h e r e I'm n o t w a n t e d a n d w h e r e I'm a s h a m e d to b e . . . STELLA T h e n d o n ' t you t h i n k y o u r s u p e r i o r a t t i t u d e is a bit o u t of p l a c e ? BLANCHE I a m n o t b e i n g or f e e l i n g at all s u p e r i o r , S t e l l a . B e l i e v e m e I'm n o t ! It's j u s t t h i s . T h i s is h o w I l o o k a t it. A m a n like t h a t is s o m e o n e to go o u t w i t h — o n c e — t w i c e — t h r e e t i m e s w h e n t h e devil is in y o u . B u t live with? H a v e a c h i l d by? STELLA I h a v e told y o u I love h i m . BLANCHE T h e n I tremble for y o u ! I j u s t — t r e m b l e for y o u . . . . STELLA I c a n ' t h e l p y o u r t r e m b l i n g if y o u insist o n t r e m b l i n g ! [There

is a pause. ]

BLANCHE M a y I — s p e a k — p l a i n l y ? STELLA Y e s , d o . G o a h e a d . A s plainly a s y o u w a n t t o . [Outside,

a train

approaches.

are both in the bedroom. from

outside.

in his arms, undershirt

He stands and

They are silent

Under unseen

overhears

and grease-stained

cover

till the noise

of the train's

by the women,

their following seersucker

noise

holding

conversation. pants.]

subsides.

They

STANLEY enters some

packages

He wears

an

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E FOUR BLANCHE W e l l — i f you'll forgive m e — h e ' s STELLA W h y , y e s , I s u p p o s e h e i s .

/

2329

common!

BLANCHE S u p p o s e ! Y o u c a n ' t h a v e f o r g o t t e n t h a t m u c h of o u r b r i n g i n g u p , S t e l l a , t h a t y o u j u s t suppose that any p a r t of a g e n t l e m a n ' s in his n a t u r e ! Not one particle, no! O h , if h e w a s j u s t — o r d i n a r y ! J u s t plain— but good and wholesome, b u t — n o . There's something downright—bestial—about h i m ! You're h a t i n g m e s a y i n g t h i s , aren't y o u ? STELLA [coldly] G o o n a n d s a y it all, B l a n c h e . BLANCHE H e a c t s like a n a n i m a l , h a s a n a n i m a l ' s h a b i t s ! E a t s like o n e , m o v e s like o n e , talks like o n e ! T h e r e ' s e v e n s o m e t h i n g — s u b - h u m a n — s o m e t h i n g not q u i t e to t h e s t a g e o f h u m a n i t y yet! Y e s , s o m e t h i n g — a p e like a b o u t h i m , like o n e o f t h o s e p i c t u r e s I've s e e n i n — a n t h r o p o l o g i c a l s t u d i e s ! T h o u s a n d s a n d t h o u s a n d s of y e a r s h a v e p a s s e d h i m right by, a n d t h e r e h e i s — S t a n l e y K o w a l s k i — s u r v i v o r of t h e S t o n e A g e ! B e a r i n g t h e r a w m e a t h o m e f r o m t h e kill in the j u n g l e ! A n d y o u — y o u h e r e — w a i t i n g for h i m ! M a y b e he'll strike y o u or m a y b e g r u n t a n d kiss y o u ! T h a t is, if k i s s e s h a v e b e e n d i s c o v e r e d yet! N i g h t falls a n d t h e o t h e r a p e s g a t h e r ! T h e r e in t h e front o f t h e c a v e , all g r u n t i n g like h i m , a n d swilling a n d g n a w i n g a n d h u l k i n g ! H i s p o k e r night! you call i t — t h i s party o f a p e s ! S o m e b o d y g r o w l s — s o m e c r e a t u r e s n a t c h e s a t s o m e t h i n g — t h e fight is o n ! God! M a y b e w e a r e a l o n g way f r o m b e i n g m a d e in G o d ' s i m a g e , b u t S t e l l a — m y s i s t e r — t h e r e h a s b e e n some p r o g r e s s s i n c e t h e n ! S u c h t h i n g s a s a r t — a s poetry a n d m u s i c — s u c h k i n d s of n e w light h a v e c o m e into t h e world s i n c e t h e n ! In s o m e k i n d s of p e o p l e s o m e t e n d e r e r f e e l i n g s h a v e h a d s o m e little b e g i n n i n g ! T h a t w e h a v e got to m a k e grow! A n d cling to, a n d h o l d a s o u r flag! In this d a r k m a r c h t o w a r d w h a t e v e r it is we're a p p r o a c h i n g . . . . Don't—don't hang back with the brutes! [Another train passes outside. STANLEY hesitates, licking his lips. Then suddenly he turns stealthily about and withdraws through front door. The women are still unaware of his presence. When the train has passed he calls through the closed front door.] STANLEY H e y ! H e y , S t e l l a ! STELLA [who has listened gravely to BLANCHE] Stanley! BLANCHE S t e l l , I — [But STELLA has gone to the front door. STANLEY enters casually

with his

packages.] STANLEY H i y u h , S t e l l a . B l a n c h e b a c k ? STELLA Y e s , s h e ' s b a c k . STANLEY H i y u h , B l a n c h e . [He grins at her.] STELLA Y o u m u s t ' v e got u n d e r t h e c a r . STANLEY T h e m d a r n m e c h a n i c s at Fritz's d o n ' t k n o w their a s s f r ' m — H e y ! [STELLA has embraced him with both arms, fiercely, and full in the view of BLANCHE. He laughs and clasps her head to him. Over her head he grins through the curtains at BLANCHE. AS the lights fade away, with a lingering brightness on their embrace, the music of the "Blue Piano" and trumpet and drums is heard. ]

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

Scene

Five

BLANCHE is seated in the bedroom fanning herself with a palm leaf as she reads over a just-completed letter. Suddenly she bursts into a peal of laughter, STELLA is dressing in the bedroom. STELLA W h a t a r e you l a u g h i n g at, h o n e y ? BLANCHE M y s e l f , myself, for b e i n g s u c h a liar! I'm writing a letter to S h e p . [She picks up the letter.] " D a r l i n g S h e p . I a m s p e n d i n g t h e s u m m e r o n t h e wing, m a k i n g flying visits h e r e a n d t h e r e . A n d w h o k n o w s , p e r h a p s I shall t a k e a s u d d e n n o t i o n to swoop d o w n o n Dallas! H o w w o u l d you feel a b o u t t h a t ? H a - h a ! [She laughs nervously and brightly, touching her throat as if actually talking to SHEP.] F o r e w a r n e d is f o r e a r m e d , a s they s a y ! " — H o w d o e s that s o u n d ? STELLA U h - h u h . . . BLANCHE [going on nervously] " M o s t of my sister's f r i e n d s g o n o r t h in t h e s u m m e r but s o m e have h o m e s on the G u l f and there has b e e n a continu e d r o u n d of e n t e r t a i n m e n t s , t e a s , c o c k t a i l s , a n d l u n c h e o n s — " [A disturbance is heard upstairs at the Hubbells' apartment.] STELLA E u n i c e s e e m s to b e h a v i n g s o m e t r o u b l e with S t e v e . [EUNICE'S voice shouts in terrible wrath.] EUNICE I h e a r d a b o u t you a n d that b l o n d e ! STEVE T h a t ' s a d a m n lie! EUNICE Y o u ain't p u l l i n g t h e wool over m y e y e s ! I w o u l d n ' t m i n d if y o u ' d stay d o w n at the F o u r D e u c e s , b u t you a l w a y s g o i n g u p . STEVE W h o ever s e e n m e u p ? EUNICE I s e e n you c h a s i n g h e r ' r o u n d t h e b a l c o n y — I ' m g o n n a call the vice s q u a d ! STEVE Don't you throw t h a t at m e ! EUNICE [shrieking] You hit m e ! I'm g o n n a call t h e p o l i c e ! [A clatter of aluminum striking a wall is heard, followed by a man's angry roar, shouts and overturned furniture. There is a crash; then a relative hush. ] BLANCHE [brightly] D i d h e kill h e r ? [EUNICE appears on the steps in daemonic disorder.] STELLA N o ! S h e ' s c o m i n g d o w n s t a i r s . EUNICE C a l l t h e p o l i c e , I'm g o i n g to call t h e p o l i c e ! [She rushes around the corner.] [They laugh lightly. STANLEY comes around the corner in his green and scarlet silk bowling shirt. He trots up the steps and bangs into the kitchen. BLANCHE registers his entrance with nervous gestures.] STANLEY W h a t ' s a m a t t e r with E u n - u s s ? STELLA S h e a n d S t e v e h a d a row. H a s s h e got t h e p o l i c e ? STANLEY N a w . S h e ' s g e t t i n ' a drink. STELLA T h a t ' s m u c h m o r e p r a c t i c a l ! [STEVE comes down nursing a bruise on his forehead and looks in the door. ] STEVE S h e h e r e ? STANLEY N a w , n a w . At t h e F o u r D e u c e s . STEVE T h a t r u t t i n g h u n k ! [He looks around the corner a bit timidly, then turns with affected boldness and runs after her.]

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E FIVE

/

233 1

BLANCHE I m u s t j o t that d o w n in m y n o t e b o o k . H a - h a ! F m c o m p i l i n g a n o t e b o o k of q u a i n t little w o r d s a n d p h r a s e s I've p i c k e d u p h e r e . STANLEY Y o u won't p i c k u p n o t h i n g h e r e you ain't h e a r d b e f o r e . BLANCHE C a n I c o u n t o n t h a t ? STANLEY You c a n c o u n t o n it u p to five h u n d r e d . BLANCHE T h a t ' s a m i g h t y high n u m b e r . [He jerks open the bureau drawer, slams it shut and throws shoes in a corner. At each noise BLANCHE winces slightly. Finally she speaks.] W h a t sign w e r e you b o r n u n d e r ? STANLEY [while he is dressing] Sign? BLANCHE A s t r o l o g i c a l s i g n . I bet you w e r e b o r n u n d e r A r i e s . A r i e s p e o p l e are forceful a n d d y n a m i c . T h e y d o t e o n n o i s e ! T h e y love to b a n g t h i n g s a r o u n d ! You m u s t h a v e h a d lots of b a n g i n g a r o u n d in t h e a r m y a n d n o w that you're o u t , you m a k e u p for it by t r e a t i n g i n a n i m a t e o b j e c t s with s u c h a fury! [STELLA has been going in and out of closet during this scene. Now she pops her head out of the closet.] STELLA S t a n l e y w a s b o r n j u s t five m i n u t e s after C h r i s t m a s . BLANCHE C a p r i c o r n — t h e G o a t ! STANLEY W h a t sign w e r e yon born u n d e r ? BLANCHE O h , m y birthday's next m o n t h , t h e fifteenth of S e p t e m b e r ; that's u n d e r Virgo. STANLEY W h a t ' s V i r g o ? BLANCHE Virgo is t h e Virgin. STANLEY [contemptuously] Hah! [He advances a little as he knots his tie.] S a y , d o you h a p p e n to know s o m e b o d y n a m e d S h a w ? [Her face expresses a faint shock. She reaches for the cologne bottle and dampens her handkerchief as she answers carefully.] BLANCHE W h y , everybody k n o w s s o m e b o d y n a m e d S h a w ! STANLEY W e l l , this s o m e b o d y n a m e d S h a w is u n d e r t h e i m p r e s s i o n h e m e t you in L a u r e l , b u t I figure h e m u s t h a v e got you m i x e d u p with s o m e o t h e r party b e c a u s e this o t h e r party is s o m e o n e h e m e t at a hotel c a l l e d the Flamingo. [BLANCHE laughs breathlessly as she touches the cologne-dampened handkerchief to her temples.] BLANCHE I'm afraid h e d o e s h a v e m e m i x e d u p with this " o t h e r p a r t y . " T h e H o t e l F l a m i n g o is not t h e sort of e s t a b l i s h m e n t I w o u l d d a r e to b e s e e n in! STANLEY Y o u k n o w of it? BLANCHE Y e s , I've s e e n it a n d s m e l l e d it. STANLEY You m u s t ' v e got pretty c l o s e if you c o u l d s m e l l it. BLANCHE T h e o d o r of c h e a p p e r f u m e is p e n e t r a t i n g . STANLEY T h a t s t u f f you u s e is e x p e n s i v e ? BLANCHE Twenty-five d o l l a r s a n o u n c e ! I'm nearly o u t . T h a t ' s j u s t a hint if you w a n t to r e m e m b e r my birthday! [She speaks lightly but her voice has a note of fear.] STANLEY S h a w m u s t ' v e got you m i x e d u p . H e g o e s in a n d o u t o f L a u r e l all t h e t i m e s o h e c a n c h e c k o n it a n d c l e a r u p a n y m i s t a k e . [He turns away and crosses to the portieres, BLANCHE closes her eyes as if faint. Her hand trembles as she lifts the handkerchief again to her forehead, STEVE and EUNICE come around corner, STEVE'S arm is around EUNICE'S shoidder and she is sobbing luxuriously and he is cooing love-

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

words. There is a murmur of thunder as they go slowly upstairs in a tight embrace.] STANLEY [to STELLA] I'll wait for y o u a t t h e F o u r D e u c e s ! STELLA H e y ! D o n ' t I r a t e o n e k i s s ? STANLEY N o t in front of y o u r sister. [He goes out. BLANCHE rises from her chair. She seems faint; looks her with an expression of almost panic.] BLANCHE S t e l l a ! W h a t h a v e y o u h e a r d a b o u t m e ? STELLA Huh? BLANCHE W h a t h a v e p e o p l e b e e n telling y o u a b o u t m e ? STELLA T e l l i n g ? BLANCHE Y o u haven't h e a r d a n y — u n k i n d — g o s s i p a b o u t m e ? STELLA W h y , n o , B l a n c h e , of c o u r s e n o t ! BLANCHE H o n e y , t h e r e w a s — a g o o d d e a l of talk in L a u r e l . STELLA A b o u t yow, B l a n c h e ?

about

BLANCHE I w a s n ' t s o g o o d t h e last two y e a r s or s o , after B e l l e R e v e h a d s t a r t e d to slip t h r o u g h m y fingers. STELLA All of u s d o t h i n g s w e — BLANCHE I n e v e r w a s h a r d or self-sufficient e n o u g h . W h e n p e o p l e a r e s o f t — s o f t p e o p l e h a v e got to s h i m m e r a n d g l o w — t h e y ' v e g o t to p u t o n soft c o l o r s , t h e c o l o r s of butterfly w i n g s , a n d p u t a — p a p e r l a n t e r n over t h e light. . . . It isn't e n o u g h to b e soft. Y o u ' v e g o t to b e soft and attractive. A n d I — I ' m f a d i n g n o w ! I don't k n o w h o w m u c h l o n g e r I c a n t u r n t h e trick. [The afternoon has faded to dusk, STELLA goes into the bedroom and turns on the light under the paper lantern. She holds a bottled soft drink in her hand. ] BLANCHE H a v e you b e e n l i s t e n i n g to m e ? STELLA I d o n ' t listen to you w h e n you a r e b e i n g m o r b i d ! [She advances with the bottled Coke.] BLANCHE [with abrupt change to gaiety] Is t h a t C o k e for m e ? STELLA N o t for a n y o n e e l s e ! BLANCHE W h y , y o u p r e c i o u s t h i n g , y o u ! Is it j u s t C o k e ? STELLA [turning] Y o u m e a n y o u w a n t a s h o t in it! BLANCHE W e l l , h o n e y , a s h o t n e v e r d o e s a C o k e a n y h a r m ! L e t m e ! Y o u m u s t n ' t wait o n m e ! STELLA I like to wait o n y o u , B l a n c h e . It m a k e s it s e e m m o r e like h o m e . [She goes into the kitchen, finds a glass and pours a shot of whiskey into it.] BLANCHE I h a v e to a d m i t I love to b e w a i t e d o n . . . [She rushes into the bedroom, STELLA goes to her with the glass, BLANCHE suddenly clutches STELLA'S free hand with a moaning sound and presses the hand to her lips, STELLA is embarrassed by her show of emotion. BLANCHE speaks in a choked voice.] Y o u ' r e — y o u ' r e — s o good to m e ! A n d I — STELLA B l a n c h e . BLANCHE I k n o w , I won't! Y o u h a t e m e to talk s e n t i m e n t a l ! B u t h o n e y , believe I feel t h i n g s m o r e t h a n I tell y o u ! I won't s t a y l o n g ! I w o n ' t , I promise I— STELLA B l a n c h e !

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E FIVE BLANCHE [hysterically] I won't, I p r o m i s e , I'll g o ! G o soon! won't h a n g a r o u n d until h e — t h r o w s m e o u t . . . STELLA N o w will you s t o p talking f o o l i s h ?

/

2333

I will really!

I

BLANCHE Y e s , h o n e y . W a t c h h o w y o u p o u r — t h a t fizzy s t u f f f o a m s over! [BLANCHE laughs shrilly and grabs the glass, but her hand shakes so it almost slips from her grasp, STELLA pours the Coke into the glass. It foams over and spills, BLANCHE gives a piercing cry.] STELLA [shocked by the cry] Heavens! BLANCHE R i g h t o n m y pretty w h i t e skirt! STELLA O h . . . U s e m y h a n k y . B l o t gently. BLANCHE [slowly recovering] I know—gently—gently . . . STELLA D i d it s t a i n ? BLANCHE N o t a bit. H a - h a ! Isn't that lucky? [She sits down shakily, taking a grateful drink. She holds the glass in both hands and continues to laugh a little.] STELLA W h y d i d you s c r e a m like t h a t ? BLANCHE I d o n ' t k n o w why I s c r e a m e d ! [continuing nervously] Mitch— M i t c h is c o m i n g at s e v e n . I g u e s s I a m j u s t f e e l i n g n e r v o u s a b o u t o u r r e l a t i o n s . [She begins to talk rapidly and breathlessly.] H e hasn't gotten a t h i n g b u t a g o o d - n i g h t k i s s , that's all I h a v e given h i m , S t e l l a . I w a n t his r e s p e c t . A n d m e n don't w a n t a n y t h i n g they g e t t o o e a s y . B u t o n t h e o t h e r h a n d m e n l o s e i n t e r e s t quickly. E s p e c i a l l y w h e n t h e girl is o v e r — t h i r t y . T h e y think a girl over thirty o u g h t t o — t h e v u l g a r t e r m i s — " p u t o u t . " . . . And I—I'm not "putting out." Of course h e — h e doesn't k n o w — I m e a n I haven't i n f o r m e d h i m — o f m y real a g e ! STELLA W h y a r e y o u s e n s i t i v e a b o u t y o u r a g e ? BLANCHE B e c a u s e of h a r d k n o c k s m y vanity's b e e n given. W h a t I m e a n i s — h e t h i n k s I'm sort o f — p r i m a n d p r o p e r , y o u k n o w ! [She laughs out sharply.] I w a n t to deceive h i m e n o u g h to m a k e h i m — w a n t m e . . . STELLA B l a n c h e , d o you w a n t him? BLANCHE I w a n t to rest! I w a n t to b r e a t h e quietly a g a i n ! Y e s — I want M i t c h . . . very badly! J u s t think! If it h a p p e n s ! I c a n l e a v e h e r e a n d not b e anyone's problem . . . [STANLEY comes around the corner with a drink under his belt.] STANLEY [bawling] Hey, Steve! Hey, E u n i c e ! Hey, Stella! [There are joyous calls from above. Trumpet and drums are heard from around the corner.] STELLA [kissing BLANCHE impulsively] It will h a p p e n ! BLANCHE [doubtfully] It will? STELLA It will! [She goes across into the kitchen, looking back at BLANCHE.] It will, h o n e y , it will. . . . B u t don't t a k e a n o t h e r drink! [Her voice catches as she goes out the door to meet her husband.] [BLANCHE sinks faintly back in her chair with her drink. EUNICE shrieks with laughter and runs down the steps, STEVE bounds after her with goatlike screeches and chases her around corner. STANLEY and STELLA twine arms as they follow, laughing. Dusk settles deeper. The music from the Four Deuces is slow and blue. ] BLANCHE A h , m e , a h , m e , a h , m e . . . [Her eyes fall shut and the palm leaf fan drops from her fingers. She slaps her hand on the chair arm a couple of times. There is a little glimmer

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

of lightning about the building, A YOCNG MAN comes along the street and rings the bell.] BLANCHE C o m e in. [The YOUNG MAN appears through the portieres. She regards him with interest. ] BLANCHE W e l l , well! W h a t c a n I d o for you? YOUNG MAN I'm c o l l e c t i n g for The Evening Star. BLANCHE I didn't k n o w that s t a r s t o o k u p c o l l e c t i o n s . YOUNG MAN It's t h e p a p e r . BLANCHE I k n o w , I w a s j o k i n g — f e e b l y ! Will y o u — h a v e a drink? YOUNG MAN N O , m a ' a m . N o , t h a n k y o u . I can't d r ink o n t h e j o b . BLANCHE O h , well, n o w , let's s e e . . . . N o , I don't h a v e a d i m e ! I'm not t h e lady of t h e h o u s e . I'm h e r sister f r o m M i s s i s s i p p i . I'm o n e of t h o s e p o o r r e l a t i o n s you've h e a r d a b o u t . YOUNG MAN T h a t ' s all right. I'll d r o p by later. [He starts to go out. She approaches a little.] BLANCHE H e y ! [He turns back shyly. She puts a cigarette in a long holder.] C o u l d you give m e a light? [She crosses toward him. They meet at the door between the two rooms. ] YOUNG MAN S u r e . [He takes out a lighter.] T h i s d o e s n ' t always work. BLANCHE It's t e m p e r a m e n t a l ? [It flares.] A h ! — t h a n k y o u . [He starts away again.] H e y ! [He turns again, still more uncertainly. She goes close to him.] U h — w h a t t i m e is it? YOUNG MAN F i f t e e n of s e v e n , m a ' a m . BLANCHE S o late? D o n ' t you j u s t love t h e s e l o n g rainy a f t e r n o o n s in N e w O r l e a n s w h e n a n h o u r isn't j u s t a n h o u r — b u t a little p i e c e o f eternity d r o p p e d into y o u r h a n d s — a n d w h o k n o w s w h a t to d o with it? [She touches his shoulders.] Y o u — u h — d i d n ' t g e t w e t in t h e rain? YOUNG MAN N o , m a ' a m . I s t e p p e d i n s i d e . BLANCHE In a d r u g s t o r e ? A n d h a d a s o d a ? YOUNG MAN U h - h u h . BLANCHE Chocolate? YOUNG MAN N O , m a ' a m . C h e r r y . BLANCHE [laughing] Cherry! YOUNG MAN A c h e r r y s o d a . BLANCHE Y o u m a k e my m o u t h w a t e r . [She touches his cheek lightly, and smiles. Then she goes to the trunk. ] YOUNG MAN W e l l , I'd better b e g o i n g — BLANCHE [stopping him] Young man! [He turns. She takes a large, gossamer scarf from the trunk and drapes it about her shoulders. In the ensuing pause, the "Blue Piano" is heard. It continues through the rest of this scene and the opening of the next. The young man clears his throat and looks yearningly at the door. ] Y o u n g m a n ! Y o u n g , y o u n g , y o u n g m a n ! H a s a n y o n e ever told you t h a t you look like a y o u n g P r i n c e o u t of t h e A r a b i a n N i g h t s ? [The YOUNG MAN laughs uncomfortably and stands like a bashfid kid. BLANCHE speaks softly to him.] W e l l , you d o , h o n e y l a m b ! C o m e h e r e . I w a n t to k i s s y o u , j u s t o n c e , softly a n d sweetly o n your m o u t h ! [Without waiting for him to accept, she crosses quickly to him and presses her lips to his. ]

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E S I X /

2335

N o w r u n a l o n g , n o w , quickly! It w o u l d b e n i c e to k e e p y o u , b u t I've g o t to b e g o o d — a n d k e e p m y h a n d s off c h i l d r e n . [He stares at her a moment. She ovens the door for him and blows a kiss at him as he goes down the steps with a dazed look. She stands there a little dreamily after he has disappeared. Then MITCH appears around the corner with a bunch of roses.] BLANCHE [g«i/y] L o o k w h o ' s c o m i n g ! M y R o s e n k a v a l i e r ! B o w t o m e first . . . now p r e s e n t t h e m ! Ahhhh—Merciiii!' [She looks at him over them, coquettishly beams at her self-consciously.]

pressing

them

to her lips.

He

.

Scene

Six

It is about two A.M on the same evening. The outer wall of the building is which only a neuvisible, BLANCHE and MITCH come in. The utter exhaustion rasthenic personality can know is evident in BLANCHES voice and manner. MITCH is stolid but depressed. They have probably been out to the amusement park on Lake Pontchartrain, for MITCH is bearing, upside down, a plaster statuette of Mae West, the sort of prize won at shooting galleries and carnival games of chance. BLANCHE [stopping lifelessly at the steps] Well—[MITCH laughs uneasily.] Well . . . MITCH I g u e s s it m u s t b e pretty l a t e — a n d you're tired. BLANCHE E v e n t h e h o t t a m a l e m a n h a s d e s e r t e d t h e s t r e e t , a n d h e h a n g s o n till t h e e n d . [MITCH laughs uneasily again.] H o w will y o u g e t h o m e ? MITCH I'll walk over to B o u r b o n a n d c a t c h a n owl-car. BLANCHE [laughing grimly] Is that s t r e e t c a r n a m e d D e s i r e still g r i n d i n g a l o n g t h e t r a c k s at this h o u r ? MITCH [heavily] I'm afraid y o u haven't g o t t e n m u c h fun o u t o f this evening, Blanche. BLANCHE I s p o i l e d it for you. MITCH N o , y o u didn't, b u t I felt all t h e t i m e t h a t I w a s n ' t giving y o u much—entertainment. BLANCHE I s i m p l y c o u l d n ' t rise to t h e o c c a s i o n . T h a t w a s all. I don't t h i n k I've ever tried s o h a r d to b e g a y a n d m a d e s u c h a d i s m a l m e s s o f it. I g e t ten p o i n t s for t r y i n g ! — I did try. MITCH W h y d i d you try if y o u didn't feel like it, B l a n c h e ? BLANCHE I w a s j u s t o b e y i n g t h e l a w o f n a t u r e . MITCH W h i c h law is t h a t ? BLANCHE T h e o n e t h a t says t h e lady m u s t e n t e r t a i n t h e g e n t l e m a n — o r n o d i c e ! S e e if y o u c a n l o c a t e my d o o r key in this p u r s e . W h e n I'm s o tired m y fingers a r e all t h u m b s ! MITCH [rooting in her purse] T h i s it? BLANCHE N O , h o n e y , that's t h e key to my t r u n k w h i c h I m u s t s o o n b e packing. MITCH Y o u m e a n you a r e leaving h e r e s o o n ? BLANCHE I've o u t s t a y e d my w e l c o m e . 1. "Merci": thank you (French). "My Rosenkavalier": Knight of the Rose (German); title of a romanticopera ( 1 9 1 1 ) by Richard Strauss.

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MITCH

T h i s it? [The music fades away. ] BLANCHE E u r e k a ! H o n e y , you o p e n t h e d o o r w h i l e I take a last l o o k at t h e sky. [She leans on the porch rail. He opens the door and stands awkwardly behind her.] I'm l o o k i n g for t h e P l e i a d e s , t h e S e v e n S i s t e r s , b u t t h e s e girls a r e not o u t t o n i g h t . O h , yes they a r e , t h e r e they a r e ! G o d b l e s s t h e m ! All in a b u n c h g o i n g h o m e f r o m their little b r i d g e party. . . . Y' get t h e d o o r o p e n ? G o o d boy! I g u e s s y o u — w a n t to g o n o w . . . [He shuffles and coughs a little. ] MITCH C a n I — u h — k i s s y o u — g o o d night? BLANCHE W h y d o you always a s k m e if you m a y ? MITCH I don't k n o w w h e t h e r you w a n t m e to or n o t . BLANCHE W h y s h o u l d you b e s o d o u b t f u l ? MITCH T h a t night w h e n w e p a r k e d by t h e lake a n d I k i s s e d y o u , y o u — BLANCHE H o n e y , it w a s n ' t t h e kiss I o b j e c t e d to. I liked t h e k i s s very m u c h . It w a s t h e o t h e r l i t t l e — f a m i l i a r i t y — t h a t I — f e l t o b l i g e d t o — d i s c o u r a g e . . . . I didn't r e s e n t it! N o t a bit in t h e world! In f a c t , I w a s s o m e w h a t flattered t h a t y o u — d e s i r e d m e ! B u t , h o n e y , you k n o w a s well a s I d o that a s i n g l e girl, a girl a l o n e in t h e w o r l d , h a s g o t to k e e p a firm h o l d o n her e m o t i o n s or she'll b e lost! MITCH [solemnly] Lost? BLANCHE I g u e s s you a r e u s e d to girls t h a t like to b e lost. T h e kind that get lost i m m e d i a t e l y , o n t h e first d a t e ! MITCH I like you to b e exactly t h e way t h a t you a r e , b e c a u s e in all m y — e x p e r i e n c e — I h a v e ne v e r k n o w n a n y o n e like y o u . [BLANCHE looks at him gravely; then she bursts into laughter and then claps a hand to her mouth.] MITCH A r e you l a u g h i n g at m e ? BLANCHE N o , h o n e y . T h e lord a n d lady of t h e h o u s e h a v e n o t yet r e t u r n e d , s o c o m e in. We'll h a v e a n i g h t c a p . L e t ' s leave t h e lights off. S h a l l w e ? MITCH Y o u j u s t — d o w h a t you w a n t to. [BLANCHE precedes him into the kitchen. The outer wall of the building disappears and the interiors of the two rooms can be dimly seen.] BLANCHE [remaining in the first room] T h e other room's more comforta b l e — g o o n in. T h i s c r a s h i n g a r o u n d in t h e d a r k is m y s e a r c h for s o m e liquor. MITCH You w a n t a drink? BLANCHE I w a n t you to h a v e a drink! Y o u h a v e b e e n s o a n x i o u s a n d s o l e m n all e v e n i n g , a n d s o h a v e I; w e h a v e b o t h b e e n a n x i o u s a n d s o l e m n a n d n o w for t h e s e few last r e m a i n i n g m o m e n t s of o u r lives t o g e t h e r — I w a n t to c r e a t e — j o i e de vivre! I'm lighting a c a n d l e . MITCH T h a t ' s g o o d . BLANCHE W e a r e g o i n g to b e very B o h e m i a n . W e a r e g o i n g to p r e t e n d t h a t w e a r e sitting in a little a r t i s t s ' c a f e o n t h e L e f t B a n k in P a r i s ! [She lights a candle stub and puts it in a bottle.] Je suis la Dame aux Camellias! Vous Understand French? etes—Armand! MITCH [heavily] Naw. Naw, I— 2

2. I am the Lady of the Camellias! You a r e — Armand! (French). Both are characters in the popular romantic play La Dame aux Camelias ( 1 8 5 2 )

by the French author Alexandre D u m a s fits; she is a courtesan who gives up her true love, Armand.

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BLANCHE Voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir? Vous ne comprenez pas? Ah, quelle dommage! —I m e a n it's a d a m n e d g o o d t h i n g . . . . I've f o u n d s o m e liquor! J u s t e n o u g h for two s h o t s w i t h o u t a n y d i v i d e n d s , h o n e y . . . MITCH [heavily] That's—good. 3

[She enters the bedroom with the drinks and the candle.] BLANCHE Sit d o w n ! W h y don't you t a k e off your c o a t a n d l o o s e n y o u r collar? MITCH I b e t t e r l e a v e it o n . BLANCHE N O . I w a n t you to b e c o m f o r t a b l e . MITCH I a m a s h a m e d of t h e way I p e r s p i r e . M y shirt is s t i c k i n g to m e . BLANCHE P e r s p i r a t i o n is healthy, i f p e o p l e didn't p e r s p i r e they w o u l d d i e in five m i n u t e s . [She takes his coat from him.] T h i s is a n i c e c o a t . W h a t kind of m a t e r i a l is it? MITCH T h e y call that s t u f f a l p a c a . BLANCHE O h . A l p a c a . MITCH It's very light-weight a l p a c a . BLANCHE O h . L i g h t - w e i g h t a l p a c a . MITCH I don't like to w e a r a w a s h - c o a t e v e n in s u m m e r b e c a u s e I s w e a t t h r o u g h it. BLANCHE O h . MITCH A n d it don't look n e a t o n m e . A m a n with a heavy b u i l d h a s got to b e c a r e f u l of w h a t h e p u t s o n h i m s o h e d o n ' t l o o k too c l u m s y . BLANCHE YOU a r e not t o o heavy. MITCH Y o u don't t h i n k I a m ? BLANCHE Y o u a r e not t h e d e l i c a t e type. Y o u h a v e a m a s s i v e b o n e - s t r u c t u r e a n d a very i m p o s i n g p h y s i q u e . MITCH T h a n k y o u . L a s t C h r i s t m a s I w a s given a m e m b e r s h i p to t h e N e w O r l e a n s Athletic C l u b . BLANCHE O h , g o o d . MITCH It w a s t h e finest p r e s e n t I ever w a s given. I w o r k o u t t h e r e with t h e w e i g h t s a n d I s w i m a n d I k e e p m y s e l f fit. W h e n I s t a r t e d t h e r e , I w a s g e t t i n g soft in t h e belly b u t n o w m y belly is h a r d . It is s o h a r d n o w t h a t a m a n c a n p u n c h m e in t h e belly a n d it don't hurt m e . P u n c h m e ! G o o n ! S e e ? [She pokes lightly at him.] BLANCHE G r a c i o u s . [Her hand touches her chest.] MITCH G u e s s h o w m u c h I w e i g h , B l a n c h e ? BLANCHE O h , I'd s a y in t h e vicinity o f — o n e h u n d r e d a n d eighty? MITCH G u e s s a g a i n . BLANCHE N o t t h a t m u c h ? MITCH N o . M o r e . BLANCHE W e l l , you're a tall m a n a n d you c a n carry a g o o d d e a l of w e i g h t without looking awkward. MITCH I w e i g h two h u n d r e d a n d s e v e n p o u n d s a n d I'm six feet o n e a n d o n e h a l f i n c h e s tall in m y b a r e f e e t — w i t h o u t s h o e s o n . A n d t h a t is w h a t I weigh stripped. BLANCHE O h , m y g o o d n e s s , m e ! It's a w e - i n s p i r i n g . MITCH [embarrassed] M y w e i g h t is not a very i n t e r e s t i n g s u b j e c t to talk a b o u t . [He hesitates for a moment.] What's yours? 3. Would you like to sleep with me this evening? You don't understand? Ah, what a pity! (French).

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BLANCHE M y w e i g h t ? MITCH Y e s . BLANCHE Guess! MITCH L e t m e lift y o u . her and puts his BLANCHE S a m s o n ! 4 G o o n , lift m e . [He comes behind hands on her waist and raises her lightly off the ground.] Well? MITCH Y o u a r e light a s a f e a t h e r . BLANCHE H a - h a ! [He lowers her but keeps his hands on her waist, BLANCHE ] You m a y r e l e a s e m e n o w . speaks with an affectation of demureness. MITCH Huh? BLANCHE [gaily] I s a i d u n h a n d m e , sir. [He fumblingly embraces her. Her voice sounds gently reproving.] Now, Mitch. Just because Stanley and S t e l l a aren't at h o m e is n o r e a s o n why you s h o u l d n ' t b e h a v e like a g e n tleman. MITCH J u s t give m e a s l a p w h e n e v e r 1 s t e p o u t of b o u n d s . BLANCHE T h a t won't b e n e c e s s a r y . Y o u ' r e a n a t u r a l g e n t l e m a n , o n e of t h e very few t h a t a r e left in the w o r l d . I don't w a n t you to t h i n k t h a t I a m s e v e r e a n d old m a i d s c h o o l - t e a c h e r i s h or a n y t h i n g like t h a t . It's j u s t — well— MITCH Huh? BLANCHE I g u e s s it is j u s t that I h a v e — o l d - f a s h i o n e d i d e a l s ! [She rolls her eyes, knowing he cannot see her face, MITCH goes to the front door. There is a considerable silence between them, BLANCHE sighs and MITCH coughs ] self-consciously. MITCH [finally] Where's Stanley and Stella tonight? BLANCHE T h e y h a v e g o n e o u t . W i t h M r . a n d M r s . H u b b e l l u p s t a i r s . MITCH W h e r e did they g o ? BLANCHE I think they w e r e p l a n n i n g to g o to a m i d n i g h t p r e v u e at L o e w ' s State. MITCH W e s h o u l d all g o o u t t o g e t h e r s o m e n i g h t . BLANCHE N O . T h a t w o u l d n ' t b e a g o o d p l a n . MITCH W h y n o t ? BLANCHE Y o u a r e a n old friend of S t a n l e y ' s ? MITCH W e w a s t o g e t h e r in t h e Two-forty-first. 5 BLANCHE I g u e s s h e talks to you frankly? MITCH S u r e . BLANCHE H a s h e talked to you a b o u t m e ? BLANCHE O h — n o t very m u c h . BLANCHE T h e way y o u say t h a t , I s u s p e c t that h e h a s . MITCH N o , h e h a s n ' t s a i d m u c h . BLANCHE B u t w h a t h e has s a i d . W h a t w o u l d you s a y his a t t i t u d e t o w a r d me was? MITCH W h y d o you w a n t to a s k t h a t ? BLANCHE W e l l — MITCH D o n ' t you get a l o n g with h i m ? BLANCHE W h a t d o you think? MITCH I don't think h e u n d e r s t a n d s y o u . BLANCHE T h a t is p u t t i n g it mildly. If it weren't for S t e l l a a b o u t to h a v e a b a b y , I w o u l d n ' t b e a b l e to e n d u r e t h i n g s h e r e . 4. Legendary strong man, in the Old Testament.

5. Battalion of engineers, in World War II.

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MITCH H e i s n ' t — n i c e to y o u ? BLANCHE H e is i n s u f f e r a b l y r u d e . G o e s o u t of his way to o f f e n d m e . MITCH In w h a t way, B l a n c h e ? BLANCHE W h y , in every c o n c e i v a b l e way. MITCH I'm s u r p r i s e d to h e a r that. BLANCHE Are y o u ? MITCH W e l l , I — d o n ' t s e e how a n y b o d y c o u l d b e r u d e to y o u . BLANCHE It's really a pretty frightful s i t u a t i o n . You s e e , t h e r e ' s n o privacy h e r e . T h e r e ' s j u s t t h e s e p o r t i e r e s b e t w e e n t h e two r o o m s at night. H e stalks t h r o u g h t h e r o o m s in his u n d e r w e a r at night. A n d I h a v e to a s k him to c l o s e t h e b a t h r o o m d o o r . T h a t sort of c o m m o n n e s s isn't n e c e s sary. You p r o b a b l y w o n d e r why I don't m o v e o u t . W e l l , I'll tell you frankly. A t e a c h e r ' s salary is barely sufficient for her living e x p e n s e s . I didn't s a v e a p e n n y last year a n d s o I h a d to c o m e h e r e for t h e s u m m e r . T h a t ' s why I have to p u t u p with my sister's h u s b a n d . A n d h e h a s to p u t u p with m e , a p p a r e n t l y so m u c h a g a i n s t his w i s h e s . . . . S u r e l y h e m u s t h a v e told you how m u c h he hates m e ! MITCH I don't think h e h a t e s y o u . BLANCHE H e h a t e s m e . O r why w o u l d he insult m e ? T h e first t i m e I laid eyes o n h i m I t h o u g h t to myself, that m a n is my e x e c u t i o n e r ! T h a t m a n will d e s t r o y m e , u n l e s s MITCH Blanche— BLANCHE Y e s , h o n e y ? MITCH C a n I a s k y o u a q u e s t i o n ? BLANCHE Y e s . W h a t ? MITCH H o w old a r e y o u ? [She makes a nervous gesture.] BLANCHE W h y d o you w a n t to k n o w ? MITCH I t a l k e d to m y m o t h e r a b o u t you a n d s h e s a i d , " H o w old is B l a n c h e ? " A n d I w a s n ' t a b l e to tell her. [There is another pause.] BLANCHE You t a l k e d to your m o t h e r a b o u t m e ? MITCH Y e s . BLANCHE W h y ? MITCH I told m y m o t h e r how n i c e you w e r e , a n d I liked y o u . BLANCHE W e r e you s i n c e r e a b o u t t h a t ? MITCH Y o u k n o w I w a s . BLANCHE W h y did your m o t h e r w a n t to k n o w m y a g e ? MITCH M o t h e r is sick. BLANCHE I'm sorry to h e a r it. B a d l y ? MITCH S h e won't live long. M a y b e j u s t a few m o n t h s . BLANCHE O h . MITCH S h e worries b e c a u s e I'm not s e t t l e d . BLANCHE O h . MITCH S h e w a n t s m e to b e settled d o w n b e f o r e s h e — [ H i s voice is hoarse and he clears his throat twice, shuffling nervously around with his hands in and out of his pockets.] BLANCHE Y o u love her very m u c h , don't y o u ? MITCH Y e s . BLANCHE I think you h a v e a g r e a t c a p a c i t y for d e v o t i o n . You will b e lonely w h e n s h e p a s s e s o n , won't y o u ? [MITCH clears his throat and nods.] I understand what that is.

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MITCH T o b e lonely? BLANCHE I loved s o m e o n e , too, a n d t h e p e r s o n I loved I lost. MITCH D e a d ? [She crosses to the window and sits on the sill, looking out. She pours herself another drink.] A m a n ? BLANCHE H e w a s a boy, j u s t a boy, w h e n I w a s a very y o u n g girl. W h e n I w a s sixteen, I m a d e t h e d i s c o v e r y — l o v e . All at o n c e a n d m u c h , m u c h t o o c o m p l e t e l y . It w a s like you s u d d e n l y t u r n e d a b l i n d i n g light o n s o m e t h i n g t h a t h a d always b e e n half in s h a d o w , that's h o w it s t r u c k t h e world for m e . B u t I w a s u n l u c k y . D e l u d e d . T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g different a b o u t t h e boy, a n e r v o u s n e s s , a s o f t n e s s a n d t e n d e r n e s s w h i c h w a s n ' t like a m a n ' s , a l t h o u g h h e w a s n ' t t h e l e a s t bit e f f e m i n a t e l o o k i n g — s t i l l — that t h i n g w a s t h e r e . . . . H e c a m e to m e for h e l p . I didn't k n o w t h a t . I didn't find o u t a n y t h i n g till after o u r m a r r i a g e w h e n w e ' d r u n a w a y a n d c o m e b a c k a n d all I k n e w w a s I'd failed h i m in s o m e m y s t e r i o u s w a y a n d w a s n ' t a b l e to give t h e h e l p h e n e e d e d b u t c o u l d n ' t s p e a k of! H e w a s in t h e q u i c k s a n d s a n d c l u t c h i n g at m e — b u t I w a s n ' t h o l d i n g h i m o u t , I w a s s l i p p i n g in with h i m ! I didn't k n o w t h a t . I didn't k n o w a n y t h i n g e x c e p t I loved h i m u n e n d u r a b l y b u t w i t h o u t b e i n g a b l e to h e l p h i m or h e l p m y s e l f . T h e n I f o u n d o u t . In t h e w o r s t of all p o s s i b l e w a y s . B y c o m i n g s u d d e n l y into a r o o m that I t h o u g h t w a s e m p t y — w h i c h w a s n ' t e m p t y , b u t h a d t w o p e o p l e in it . . . t h e b o y I h a d m a r r i e d a n d a n o l d e r m a n w h o h a d b e e n his friend for y e a r s . . . [A locomotive is heard approaching outside. She claps her hands to her ears and crouches over. The headlight of the locomotive glares into the room as it thunders past. As the noise recedes she straightens slowly and continues speaking. ] A f t e r w a r d w e p r e t e n d e d that n o t h i n g h a d b e e n d i s c o v e r e d . Y e s , t h e t h r e e of u s d r o v e o u t to M o o n L a k e C a s i n o , very d r u n k a n d l a u g h i n g all t h e way. [Polka music sounds, in a minor key faint with distance.] W e d a n c e d t h e V a r s o u v i a n a ! 6 S u d d e n l y in t h e m i d d l e of t h e d a n c e t h e boy I h a d m a r r i e d b r o k e a w a y f r o m m e a n d r a n o u t of t h e c a s i n o . A few m o m e n t s later—a shot! [The polka stops abruptly, BLANCHE rises stiffly. Then, the polka resumes in a major key.] I r a n o u t — a l l d i d ! — a l l r a n a n d g a t h e r e d a b o u t t h e terrible t h i n g at t h e e d g e of t h e lake! I c o u l d n ' t get n e a r for t h e c r o w d i n g . T h e n s o m e b o d y c a u g h t m y a r m . " D o n ' t g o a n y c l o s e r ! C o m e b a c k ! Y o u don't w a n t to s e e ! " S e e ? S e e w h a t ! T h e n I h e a r d v o i c e s s a y — A l l a n ! A l l a n ! T h e G r e y boy! H e ' d s t u c k t h e revolver into his m o u t h , a n d fired—so t h a t t h e b a c k of his h e a d h a d b e e n — b l o w n away! [She sways and covers her face.] It w a s b e c a u s e — o n t h e d a n c e f l o o r — u n a b l e to s t o p m y s e l f — I ' d s u d denly s a i d — " I s a w ! I k n o w ! Y o u d i s g u s t m e . . . " A n d t h e n t h e s e a r c h l i g h t w h i c h h a d b e e n t u r n e d o n t h e world w a s t u r n e d off a g a i n a n d ne v e r for o n e m o m e n t s i n c e h a s t h e r e b e e n a n y light that's s t r o n g e r t h a n t h i s — kitchen—candle . . . [MITCH gets up awkwardly and moves toward her a little. The polka music increases, MITCH stands beside her.] 6. Fast Polish dance, similar to the polka.

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MITCH [drawing her slowly into his arms] You n e e d s o m e b o d y . A n d I n e e d s o m e b o d y , t o o . C o u l d it b e — y o u a n d m e , B l a n c h e ? [She stares at him vacantly for a moment. Then with a soft cry huddles in his embrace. She makes a sobbing effort to speak but the words won't come. He kisses her forehead and her eyes and finally her lips. The Polka tune fades out. Her breath is drawn and released in long, gratefid sobs.] BLANCHE S o m e t i m e s — t h e r e ' s G o d — s o quickly! Scene It is late afternoon

in

Seven

mid-September.

The portieres are open and a table is set for a birthday supper, flowers. STELLA is completing the decorations as STANLEY comes in.

with cake

and

STANLEY W h a t ' s all this stuff for? STELLA H o n e y , it's B l a n c h e ' s birthday. STANLEY S h e h e r e ? STELLA In t h e b a t h r o o m . STANLEY [mimicking] " W a s h i n g out s o m e things"? STELLA I r e c k o n s o . STANLEY H o w l o n g s h e b e e n in t h e r e ? STELLA All a f t e r n o o n . STANLEY [mimicking] " S o a k i n g in a hot t u b " ? STELLA Y e s . STANLEY T e m p e r a t u r e 1 0 0 o n t h e n o s e , a n d s h e s o a k s h e r s e l f in a hot t u b . STELLA S h e says it c o o l s her off for the e v e n i n g . STANLEY A n d you run o u t a n ' get her c o k e s , I s u p p o s e ? A n d serve 'em to H e r M a j e s t y in the t u b ? [STELLA shrugs.] S e t d o w n h e r e a m i n u t e . STELLA S t a n l e y , I've got t h i n g s to d o . STANLEY S e t d o w n ! I've got th' d o p e o n y o u r big sister, S t e l l a . STELLA S t a n l e y , s t o p p i c k i n g on B l a n c h e . STANLEY T h a t girl c a l l s me c o m m o n ! STELLA L a t e l y you b e e n d o i n g all you c a n think of to r u b her t h e w r o n g way, S t a n l e y , a n d B l a n c h e is s e n s i t i v e a n d you've got to realize that B l a n c h e a n d I g r e w u p u n d e r very different c i r c u m s t a n c e s t h a n you did. STANLEY S o I b e e n told. A n d told a n d told a n d told! You k n o w s h e ' s b e e n f e e d i n g u s a p a c k of lies h e r e ? STELLA N o , I don't, a n d — STANLEY W e l l , s h e h a s , however. B u t now t h e c a t ' s o u t of t h e b a g ! I f o u n d out s o m e things! STELLA W h a t — t h i n g s ? STANLEY T h i n g s I a l r e a d y s u s p e c t e d . B u t n o w I got p r o o f f r o m the m o s t reliable s o u r c e s — w h i c h I h a v e c h e c k e d o n ! [BLANCHE is singing in the bathroom a saccharine popidar ballad which is used contrapuntally with STANLEYS speech.] STELLA [to STANLEY] L o w e r your v o i c e ! STANLEY S o m e c a n a r y bird, h u h ! STELLA N o w p l e a s e tell m e quietly w h a t you t h i n k you've f o u n d o u t a b o u t my sister. STANLEY L i e N u m b e r O n e : All this s q u e a m i s h n e s s s h e p u t s o n ! Y o u

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s h o u l d j u s t k n o w t h e line s h e ' s b e e n f e e d i n g to M i t c h . H e t h o u g h t s h e h a d n e v e r b e e n m o r e t h a n k i s s e d by a fellow! B u t S i s t e r B l a n c h e is n o lily! H a - h a ! S o m e lily s h e is! STELLA W h a t h a v e you h e a r d a n d w h o f r o m ? STANLEY O u r s u p p l y - m a n dow n a t t h e p l a n t h a s b e e n g o i n g t h r o u g h L a u rel for y e a r s a n d h e k n o w s all a b o u t her a n d e v e r y b o d y e l s e in t h e t o w n of L a u r e l k n o w s all a b o u t her. S h e is a s f a m o u s in L a u r e l a s if s h e w a s t h e P r e s i d e n t of t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s , only s h e is n o t r e s p e c t e d by a n y party! T h i s s u p p l y - m a n s t o p s at a h o t e l c a l l e d t h e F l a m i n g o . BLANCHE [singing blithely] " S a y , it's only a p a p e r m o o n , S a i l i n g over a c a r d b o a r d s e a — B u t it w o u l d n ' t b e m a k e - b e l i e v e If y o u b e l i e v e d in m e ! " 7 STELLA W h a t a b o u t t h e — F l a m i n g o ? STANLEY S h e s t a y e d t h e r e , t o o . STELLA M y s i s t e r lived at B e l l e R e v e . STANLEY T h i s is after t h e h o m e - p l a c e h a d s l i p p e d t h r o u g h her lily-white fingers! S h e m o v e d to t h e F l a m i n g o ! A s e c o n d - c l a s s h o t e l w h i c h h a s t h e a d v a n t a g e o f not i n t e r f e r i n g in t h e private s o c i a l life o f t h e p e r s o n a l i t i e s t h e r e ! T h e F l a m i n g o is u s e d to all k i n d s of g o i n g s - o n . B u t e v e n t h e m a n a g e m e n t of t h e F l a m i n g o w a s i m p r e s s e d by D a m e B l a n c h e ! In f a c t they w a s s o i m p r e s s e d by D a m e B l a n c h e that they r e q u e s t e d her to t u r n in h e r r o o m k e y — f o r p e r m a n e n t l y ! T h i s h a p p e n e d a c o u p l e of w e e k s b e f o r e she showed here. BLANCHE [singing] "It's a B a r n u m a n d B a i l e y w o r l d , J u s t a s p h o n y a s it c a n b e — B u t it w o u l d n ' t b e m a k e - b e l i e v e If you b e l i e v e d in m e ! " STELLA W h a t — c o n t e m p t i b l e — l i e s ! STANLEY S u r e , I c a n s e e h o w y o u w o u l d b e u p s e t by t h i s . S h e p u l l e d t h e w o o l over y o u r eyes a s m u c h a s M i t c h ' s ! STELLA It's p u r e i n v e n t i o n ! T h e r e ' s not a w o r d of t r u t h in it a n d if if I w e r e a m a n a n d this c r e a t u r e h a d d a r e d to invent s u c h t h i n g s in m y p r e s e n c e — BLANCHE [singing] " W i t h o u t your love, It's a h o n k y - t o n k p a r a d e ! W i t h o u t your love, It's a m e l o d y p l a y e d In a p e n n y a r c a d e . . . " STANLEY H o n e y , I told y o u I t h o r o u g h l y c h e c k e d o n t h e s e s t o r i e s ! N o w wait till I finished. T h e t r o u b l e with D a m e B l a n c h e w a s t h a t s h e c o u l d n ' t p u t o n her a c t any m o r e in L a u r e l ! T h e y got w i s e d u p after two or t h r e e d a t e s with her a n d t h e n they q u i t , a n d s h e g o e s o n to a n o t h e r , t h e s a m e old line, s a m e old a c t , s a m e old h o o e y ! B u t t h e t o w n w a s t o o s m a l l for this to g o o n forever! A n d a s t i m e w e n t by s h e b e c a m e a t o w n c h a r a c t e r . R e g a r d e d a s not j u s t different b u t d o w n r i g h t l o c o — n u t s , [STELLA draws back.] A n d for t h e last y e a r or two s h e h a s b e e n w a s h e d u p like p o i s o n . T h a t ' s why s h e ' s h e r e this s u m m e r , visiting royalty, p u t t i n g o n all this a c t — b e c a u s e s h e ' s p r a c t i c a l l y told by t h e m a y o r to g e t o u t of t o w n ! Y e s , d i d y o u k n o w t h e r e w a s a n a r m y c a m p n e a r L a u r e l a n d y o u r sister's w a s o n e of t h e p l a c e s c a l l e d " O u t - o f - B o u n d s " ? BLANCHE "It's only a p a p e r m o o n , J u s t a s p h o n y a s it c a n b e — B u t it w o u l d n ' t b e m a k e - b e l i e v e If you b e l i e v e d in m e ! " STANLEY W e l l , s o m u c h for her b e i n g s u c h a refined a n d p a r t i c u l a r type of girl. W h i c h b r i n g s u s to L i e N u m b e r T w o . BLANCHE I d o n ' t w a n t to h e a r any m o r e ! 7. From "It's Only a Paper M o o n " ( 1 9 3 3 ) , a popular song by Harold Arlen.

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E SEVEN

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2343

STANLEY S h e ' s n o t g o i n g b a c k to t e a c h s c h o o l ! In fact I a m willing to b e t you that s h e n e v e r h a d n o i d e a o f r e t u r n i n g to L a u r e l ! S h e didn't r e s i g n temporarily f r o m t h e h i g h s c h o o l b e c a u s e o f h e r n e r v e s ! N o , s i r e e , B o b ! S h e didn't. T h e y k i c k e d h e r o u t of that high s c h o o l b e f o r e t h e s p r i n g t e r m e n d e d — a n d I h a t e t o tell you t h e r e a s o n t h a t s t e p w a s t a k e n ! A s e v e n t e e n - y e a r - o l d b o y — s h e ' d g o t t e n mixed u p with! BLANCHE

"It's a B a r n u m a n d Bailey world, J u s t a s p h o n y a s it c a n b e — "

[In the bathroom of laughter

the water

are heard

goes on loud; little breathless

as if a child

were frolicking

cries and

peals

in the tub.]

STELLA T h i s is m a k i n g m e — s i c k ! STANLEY T h e boy's d a d l e a r n e d a b o u t it a n d g o t in t o u c h with t h e h i g h s c h o o l s u p e r i n t e n d e n t . B o y , o h , boy, I'd like to h a v e b e e n in t h a t office w h e n D a m e B l a n c h e w a s c a l l e d on t h e c a r p e t ! I'd like t o h a v e s e e n h e r trying to s q u i r m o u t o f that o n e ! B u t they h a d h e r o n t h e h o o k g o o d a n d p r o p e r t h a t t i m e a n d s h e k n e w that the j i g w a s all u p ! T h e y told h e r s h e better m o v e o n to s o m e f r e s h territory. Y e p , it w a s p r a c t i c k l y a t o w n o r d i n a n c e p a s s e d a g a i n s t her! [The bathroom a towel about

door is opened her

and BLANCHE thrusts

her head out,

holding

hair.]

BLANCHE S t e l l a ! STELLA [faintly] Yes, Blanche? G i v e m e a n o t h e r b a t h - t o w e l to dry m y hair with. I've j u s t w a s h e d

BLANCHE it. STELLA

Y e s , B l a n c h e . [She crosses

bathroom

door

with

a

in a dazed

way from

the kitchen

to the

towel.]

BLANCHE W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r , h o n e y ? STELLA M a t t e r ? W h y ? BLANCHE YOU h a v e s u c h a s t r a n g e e x p r e s s i o n o n y o u r f a c e ! STELLA O h — [ s h e tries to laugh] I g u e s s I'm a little tired! BLANCHE W h y don't y o u b a t h e , t o o , s o o n a s I g e t o u t ? STANLEY [calling from the kitchen] H o w s o o n is that g o i n g t o b e ? BLANCHE N o t s o terribly long! P o s s e s s y o u r s o u l in p a t i e n c e ! STANLEY It's n o t m y s o u l , it's m y kidneys I'm worried a b o u t ! [BLANCHE slams back

into the

the door.

STANLEY laughs

harshly,

STELLA comes

slowly

kitchen.]

STANLEY W e l l , w h a t d o y o u think o f it? STELLA I d o n ' t believe all o f t h o s e s t o r i e s a n d I think y o u r s u p p l y - m a n w a s m e a n a n d rotten to tell t h e m . It's p o s s i b l e that s o m e o f t h e t h i n g s h e s a i d a r e partly t r u e . T h e r e a r e t h i n g s a b o u t m y sister I d o n ' t a p p r o v e of— things that c a u s e d s o r r o w at h o m e . S h e w a s a l w a y s — f l i g h t y ! STANLEY Flighty! STELLA B u t w h e n s h e w a s y o u n g , very y o u n g , s h e m a r r i e d a b o y w h o w r o t e poetry. . . . H e w a s extremely g o o d - l o o k i n g . I think B l a n c h e didn't j u s t love h i m b u t w o r s h i p p e d t h e g r o u n d h e w a l k e d o n ! A d o r e d h i m a n d t h o u g h t h i m a l m o s t t o o fine t o b e h u m a n ! B u t t h e n s h e f o u n d o u t — STANLEY W h a t ? STELLA T h i s b e a u t i f u l a n d t a l e n t e d y o u n g m a n w a s a d e g e n e r a t e . D i d n ' t your s u p p l y - m a n give y o u that i n f o r m a t i o n ? STANLEY All w e d i s c u s s e d w a s r e c e n t history. T h a t m u s t h a v e b e e n a pretty long time ago.

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TENNESSEE WILLIAMS

STELLA

Y e s , it w a s — a pretty l o n g t i m e a g o . . . [STANLEY comes up and takes her by the shoulders rather gently. She gently withdraws from him. Automatically she starts sticking little pink candles in the birthday cake.] STANLEY H o w m a n y c a n d l e s you p u t t i n g in that c a k e ? STELLA I'll s t o p at twenty-five. STANLEY Is c o m p a n y e x p e c t e d ? STELLA W e a s k e d M i t c h to c o m e over for c a k e a n d i c e - c r e a m . [STANLEY looks a little uncomfortable. He lights a cigarette from the one he has just finished.] STANLEY I w o u l d n ' t b e e x p e c t i n g M i t c h over t o n i g h t . [STELLA pauses in her occupation with candles and looks slowly around at STANLEY.] STELLA W h y ? STANLEY M i t c h is a b u d d y of m i n e . W e w e r e in t h e s a m e outfit t o g e t h e r — Two-forty-first E n g i n e e r s . W e w o r k in t h e s a m e p l a n t a n d n o w o n t h e s a m e b o w l i n g t e a m . Y o u think I c o u l d f a c e him if— STELLA S t a n l e y K o w a l s k i , did y o u — d i d you r e p e a t w h a t t h a t — ? STANLEY Y o u ' r e g o d d a m right I told h i m ! I'd h a v e t h a t o n m y c o n s c i e n c e t h e rest of m y life if I k n e w all that s t u f f a n d let m y b e s t friend g e t c a u g h t ! STELLA Is M i t c h t h r o u g h with h e r ? STANLEY W o u l d n ' t y o u b e i f — ? STELLA I s a i d , Is Mitch through with her? [BLANCHES voice is lifted again, serenely as a bell. She sings " B u t it wouldn't b e make-believe If you believed in m e . " ] STANLEY N o , I d o n ' t t h i n k he's n e c e s s a r i l y t h r o u g h with h e r — j u s t w i s e d up! STELLA S t a n l e y , s h e t h o u g h t M i t c h w a s — g o i n g t o — g o i n g to m a r r y her. I was hoping so, too. STANLEY W e l l , he's n o t g o i n g to m a r r y her. M a y b e h e was, b u t h e ' s n o t g o i n g to j u m p in a t a n k with a s c h o o l of s h a r k s — n o w ! [He rises.] B l a n c h e ! O h , B l a n c h e ! C a n I p l e a s e get in m y b a t h r o o m ? [There is a pause.] BLANCHE Y e s , i n d e e d , sir! C a n you wait o n e s e c o n d while I dry? STANLEY H a v i n g w a i t e d o n e h o u r I g u e s s o n e s e c o n d o u g h t to p a s s in a hurry. STELLA A n d s h e h a s n ' t got her j o b ? W e l l , w h a t will s h e d o ! STANLEY S h e ' s not stayin' h e r e after T u e s d a y . Y o u k n o w t h a t , don't y o u ? J u s t to m a k e s u r e I b o u g h t her ticket myself. A b u s t i c k e t . STELLA In t h e first p l a c e , B l a n c h e w o u l d n ' t g o o n a b u s . STANLEY She'll g o o n a b u s a n d like it. STELLA N o , s h e won't, n o , s h e won't, S t a n l e y ! STANLEY She'll go! P e r i o d . P . S . She'll g o Tuesday! STELLA [s/otvly] W h a t ' l l — s h e — d o ? W h a t o n e a r t h will s h e — d o ! STANLEY H e r f u t u r e is m a p p e d o u t for her. STELLA W h a t d o you m e a n ? [BLANCHE sings.] STANLEY H e y , c a n a r y bird! T o o t s ! G e t OUT of t h e BATHROOM! [The bathroom door flies open and BLANCHE emerges with a gay peal of laughter, but as STANLEY crosses past her, a frightened look appears in her face, almost a look of panic. He doesn't look at her but slams the bathroom door shut as he goes in.

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E EIGHT

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2345

BLANCHE [snatching up a hairbrush] O h , I feel s o g o o d after m y l o n g , hot b a t h , I feel s o g o o d a n d c o o l a n d — r e s t e d ! STELLA [sadly and doubtfully from the kitchen] D o you, B l a n c h e ? BLANCHE [snatching up a hairbrush] Y e s , I d o , s o r e f r e s h e d ! [She tinkles her highball glass.] A h o t b a t h a n d a l o n g , c o l d d r i n k a l w a y s give m e a b r a n d n e w o u t l o o k on life! [She looks through the portieres at STELLA, standing between them, and slowly stops brushing.] Something has happ e n e d ! — W h a t is it? STELLA [turning away quickly] Why, nothing has happened, Blanche. BLANCHE You're lying! S o m e t h i n g h a s ! [She stares fearfidly at STELLA, who pretends to be busy at the table. The distant piano goes into a hectic breakdown.] Scene

Eight

Three quarters of an hour later. The view through the big windows is fading gradually into a still-golden dusk. A torch of sunlight blazes on the side of a big water-tank or oil-drum across the empty lot toward the business district which is now pierced by pinpoints of lighted windows or windows reflecting the sunset. The three people are completing a dismal birthday supper. STANLEY looks sullen, STELLA is embarrassed and sad. BLANCHE has a tight, artificial smile on her drawn face. There is a fourth place at the table which is left vacant. BLANCHE [suddenly] S t a n l e y , tell u s a j o k e , tell u s a f u n n y story to m a k e u s all l a u g h . 1 don't k n o w w h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r , we're all s o s o l e m n . Is it b e c a u s e I've b e e n s t o o d u p by m y b e a u ? [STELLA laughs feebly.] It's the first t i m e in m y e n t i r e e x p e r i e n c e with m e n , a n d I've h a d a g o o d d e a l of all s o r t s , that I've a c t u a l l y b e e n s t o o d u p by a n y b o d y ! H a - h a ! I don't k n o w h o w to take it. . . . Tell u s a f u n n y little story, S t a n l e y ! S o m e t h i n g to h e l p u s o u t . STANLEY I didn't think you liked m y s t o r i e s , B l a n c h e . BLANCHE I like t h e m w h e n they're a m u s i n g b u t not i n d e c e n t . STANLEY I don't k n o w a n y refined e n o u g h for your t a s t e . BLANCHE T h e n let m e tell o n e . STELLA Y e s , you tell o n e , B l a n c h e . You u s e d to k n o w lots of g o o d s t o r i e s . [The music fades. ] BLANCHE L e t m e s e e , n o w . . . . I m u s t r u n t h r o u g h m y r e p e r t o i r e ! O h , y e s — I love p a r r o t s t o r i e s ! D o you all like p a r r o t s t o r i e s ? W e l l , this o n e ' s a b o u t t h e old m a i d a n d t h e p a r r o t . T h i s old m a i d , s h e h a d a p a r r o t that cursed a blue streak and knew more vulgar expressions than Mr. Kowalski! STANLEY H u h . BLANCHE A n d t h e only way to h u s h t h e p a r r o t u p w a s to p u t t h e c o v e r b a c k o n its c a g e s o it w o u l d think it w a s night a n d g o b a c k to s l e e p . W e l l , o n e m o r n i n g t h e old m a i d h a d j u s t u n c o v e r e d t h e p a r r o t for t h e d a y — w h e n w h o s h o u l d s h e s e e c o m i n g u p t h e front w a l k b u t t h e p r e a c h e r ! W e l l , s h e r u s h e d b a c k to t h e p a r r o t a n d s l i p p e d t h e c o v e r b a c k o n t h e c a g e a n d t h e n s h e let in t h e p r e a c h e r . A n d t h e p a r r o t w a s perfectly still,

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

j u s t as quiet as a m o u s e , but just as she was asking the preacher how m u c h s u g a r h e w a n t e d in his c o f f e e — t h e p a r r o t b r o k e t h e s i l e n c e with a l o u d — [ S h e whistles.]—and s a i d — " G o d damn, b u t t h a t w a s a s h o r t day!" [She throws back her head and laughs, STELLA also makes an ineffectual effort to seem amused. STANLEY pays no attention to the story but reaches way over the table to spear his fork into the remaining chop which he eats with his fingers.] BLANCHE A p p a r e n t l y M r . K o w a l s k i w a s not a m u s e d . STELLA M r . K o w a l s k i is t o o b u s y m a k i n g a p i g of h i m s e l f to t h i n k o f anything else! STANLEY T h a t ' s right, baby. STELLA Y o u r f a c e a n d your fingers a r e d i s g u s t i n g l y g r e a s y . G o a n d w a s h up and then help m e clear the table. [He hurls a plate to the floor.] STANLEY T h a t ' s h o w I'll c l e a r t h e t a b l e ! [He seizes her arm.] D o n ' t ever t a l k t h a t way to m e ! " P i g — P o l a c k — d i s g u s t i n g — v u l g a r — g r e a s y ! " — t h e m kind of w o r d s h a v e b e e n o n y o u r t o n g u e a n d y o u r sister's t o o m u c h a r o u n d h e r e ! W h a t d o y o u two t h i n k y o u a r e ? A p a i r of q u e e n s ? R e m e m b e r w h a t H u e y L o n g 8 s a i d — " E v e r y M a n is a K i n g ! " A n d I a m t h e k i n g a r o u n d h e r e , s o don't forget it! [He hurls a cup and saucer to the floor.] M y p l a c e is c l e a r e d ! Y o u w a n t m e to c l e a r y o u r p l a c e s ? [STELLA begins to cry weakly. STANLEY stalks out on the porch and lights a cigarette. The Negro entertainers around the corner are heard.] BLANCHE W h a t h a p p e n e d while I w a s b a t h i n g ? W h a t d i d h e tell y o u , Stella? STELLA N o t h i n g , n o t h i n g , n o t h i n g ! BLANCHE I t h i n k h e told y o u s o m e t h i n g a b o u t M i t c h a n d m e ! Y o u k n o w why M i t c h didn't c o m e b u t you won't tell m e ! [STELLA shakes her head helplessly.] I'm g o i n g to call h i m ! STELLA I w o u l d n ' t call h i m , B l a n c h e . BLANCHE I a m , I'm g o i n g to call h i m o n t h e p h o n e . STELLA [miserably] I w i s h you w o u l d n ' t . BLANCHE I i n t e n d to b e given s o m e e x p l a n a t i o n from s o m e o n e ! [She rushes to the phone in the bedroom, STELLA goes out on the porch and stares reproachfully at her husband. He grunts and turns away from her.] STELLA I h o p e y o u ' r e p l e a s e d with y o u r d o i n g s . I n e v e r h a d s o m u c h t r o u b l e s w a l l o w i n g f o o d in m y life, l o o k i n g a t t h a t girl's f a c e a n d t h e e m p t y chair! [She cries quietly.] BLANCHE [at the phone] Hello. Mr. Mitchell, please. . . . Oh. . . . I would like to leave a n u m b e r if I m a y . M a g n o l i a 9 0 4 7 . A n d s a y it's i m p o r t a n t to call. . . . Y e s , very i m p o r t a n t . . . . T h a n k y o u . [She remains by the phone with a lost, frightened look. STANLEY turns slowly back toward his wife and takes her clumsily in his arms.] STANLEY S t e l l , it's g o n n a b e all right after s h e g o e s a n d after you've h a d t h e b a b y . It's g o n n a b e all right a g a i n b e t w e e n you a n d m e t h e w a y t h a t it w a s . Y o u r e m e m b e r the way t h a t it w a s ? T h e m n i g h t s w e h a d t o g e t h e r ? G o d , h o n e y , it's g o n n a b e s w e e t w h e n w e c a n m a k e n o i s e in t h e night 8. Demagogic Louisiana political leader, governor, and senator ( 1 8 9 3 - 1 9 3 5 ) .

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E EIGHT

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2347

the way t h a t we u s e d to a n d g e t the c o l o r e d lights g o i n g with n o b o d y ' s sister b e h i n d t h e c u r t a i n s to h e a r u s ! [Their upstairs neighbors are heard in bellowing laughter at something. STANLEY chuckles.] Steve an' Eunice . . . STELLA C o m e o n b a c k in. [She returns to the kitchen and starts lighting the candles on the white cake.] Blanche? BLANCHE Y e s . [She returns from the bedroom to the table in the kitchen.] O h , t h o s e pretty, pretty little c a n d l e s ! O h , don't b u r n t h e m , S t e l l a . STELLA I certainly will. [STANLEY comes back in.] BLANCHE You o u g h t to s a v e t h e m for baby's b i r t h d a y s . O h , I h o p e c a n d l e s a r e g o i n g to g l o w in his life a n d I h o p e that his eyes a r e g o i n g to b e like c a n d l e s , like two b l u e c a n d l e s lighted in a white c a k e ! STANLEY [sitting down] W h a t poetry! BLANCHE [she pauses reflectively for a moment] I shouldn't have called him. STELLA T h e r e ' s lots of t h i n g s c o u l d h a v e h a p p e n e d . BLANCHE T h e r e ' s n o e x c u s e for it, S t e l l a . I d o n ' t h a v e to p u t u p with i n s u l t s . I won't b e t a k e n for g r a n t e d . STANLEY G o d d a m n , it's hot in h e r e with t h e s t e a m f r o m t h e b a t h r o o m . BLANCHE I've s a i d I w a s sorry t h r e e t i m e s . [The piano fades out.] I t a k e hot b a t h s for m y n e r v e s . H y d r o t h e r a p y , they call it. Y o u h e a l t h y P o l a c k , w i t h o u t a nerve in y o u r body, of c o u r s e you don't k n o w w h a t anxiety feels like! STANLEY I a m not a P o l a c k . P e o p l e from P o l a n d a r e P o l e s , not P o l a c k s . B u t w h a t I a m is a o n e - h u n d r e d - p e r - c e n t A m e r i c a n , b o r n a n d r a i s e d in t h e g r e a t e s t c o u n t r y o n e a r t h a n d p r o u d a s hell of it, s o don't ever call m e a Polack. [The phone rings, BLANCHE rises expectantly.] BLANCHE O h , that's for m e , I'm s u r e . STANLEY I'm not s u r e . K e e p y o u r s e a t . [He crosses leisurely to phone.] H'lo. Aw, y e h , h e l l o , M a c . [He leans against wall, staring insultingly in at BLANCHE. She sinks back in her chair with a frightened look, STELLA leans over and touches her shoulder. ] BLANCHE O h , k e e p your h a n d s off m e , S t e l l a . W h a t is t h e m a t t e r with y o u ? W h y d o y o u look at m e with that pitying look? STANLEY [bawling] Q U I E T I N T H E R E ! — W e ' v e got a n o i s y w o m a n o n the p l a c e . — G o o n , M a c . At Riley's? N o , I don't w a n t a bowl at Riley's. I h a d a little t r o u b l e with Riley last w e e k . I'm t h e t e a m c a p t a i n , ain't I? All right, t h e n , we're not g o n n a bowl at Riley's, we're g o n n a bowl at t h e W e s t S i d e or t h e G a l a ! All right, M a c . S e e y o u ! [He hangs up and returns to the table, BLANCHE fiercely controls herself, drinking quickly from her tumbler of water. He doesn't look at her but reaches in a pocket. Then he speaks slowly and with false amiability.] S i s t e r R l a n c h e , I've got a little b i r t h d a y r e m e m b r a n c e for y o u . BLANCHE O h , h a v e y o u , S t a n l e y ? I w a s n ' t e x p e c t i n g any, I — I d o n ' t k n o w why S t e l l a w a n t s to o b s e r v e m y birthday! I'd m u c h r a t h e r forget i t — w h e n y o u — r e a c h twenty-seven! W e l l — a g e is a s u b j e c t that y o u ' d p r e f e r t o — ignore! STANLEY T w e n t y - s e v e n ?

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BLANCHE [quickly] W h a t is it? Is it for me? [He is holding a little envelope toward her.] STANLEY Y e s , I h o p e you like it! BLANCHE W h y , w h y — W h y , it's a — STANLEY T i c k e t ! B a c k to L a u r e l ! O n t h e G r e y h o u n d ! T u e s d a y ! [The Varsouviana music steals in softly and continues playing, STELLA rises abruptly and turns her back, BLANCHE tries to smile. Then she tries to laugh. Then she gives both up and springs from the table and runs into the next room. She clutches her throat and then runs into the bathroom. Coughing, gagging sounds are heard.] Well! STELLA Y o u didn't n e e d to d o t h a t . STANLEY D o n ' t forget all that I t o o k off her. STELLA Y o u n e e d n ' t h a v e b e e n s o c r u e l to s o m e o n e a l o n e a s s h e i s . STANLEY D e l i c a t e p i e c e s h e is. STELLA S h e is. S h e w a s . Y o u didn't k n o w B l a n c h e a s a girl. N o b o d y , n o b o d y , w a s t e n d e r a n d t r u s t i n g a s s h e w a s . B u t p e o p l e like y o u a b u s e d her, a n d f o r c e d h e r to c h a n g e . [He crosses into the bedroom, ripping off his shirt, and changes into a brilliant silk bowling shirt. She follows him.] D o you t h i n k you're g o i n g b o w l i n g n o w ? STANLEY S u r e . STELLA Y o u ' r e not g o i n g b o w l i n g . [She catches hold of his shirt.] W h y d i d y o u d o this to h e r ? STANLEY I d o n e n o t h i n g to n o o n e . L e t g o of m y shirt. You've torn it. STELLA I w a n t to k n o w why. T e l l m e why. STANLEY W h e n w e first m e t , m e a n d y o u , you t h o u g h t I w a s c o m m o n . H o w right you w a s , b a b y . I w a s c o m m o n a s dirt. Y o u s h o w e d m e t h e s n a p s h o t o f t h e p l a c e with t h e c o l u m n s . I p u l l e d you d o w n off t h e m c o l u m n s a n d h o w you loved it, h a v i n g t h e m c o l o r e d lights g o i n g ! A n d w a s n ' t w e h a p p y t o g e t h e r , w a s n ' t it all o k a y till s h e s h o w e d h e r e ? [STELLA makes a slight movement. Her look goes suddenly inward as if some interior voice had called her name. She begins a slow, shuffling progress from the bedroom to the kitchen, leaning and resting on the back of the chair and then on the edge of a table with a blind look and listening expression. STANLEY, finishing with his shirt, is unaware of her reaction.] A n d w a s n ' t w e h a p p y t o g e t h e r ? W a s n ' t it all o k a y ? Till s h e s h o w e d h e r e . Hoity-Toity, d e s c r i b i n g m e a s a n a p e . [He suddenly notices the change in STELLA.] H e y , w h a t is it, S t e l ? [He crosses to her.] STELLA [quietly] T a k e m e to t h e h o s p i t a l . [He is with her now, supporting her with his arm, murmuring indistinguishably as they go outside. ] Scene

Nine

A while later that evening, BLANCHE is seated in a tense hunched position in a bedroom chair that she has recovered with diagonal green and white stripes. She has on her scarlet satin robe. On the table beside chair is a bottle of liquor and a glass. The rapid, feverish polka tune, the "Varsouviana," is heard. The

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E N I N E music is in her mind; she is drinking to escape it and the sense of closing in on her, and she seems to whisper the words of the song. An fan is turning hack and forth across her.

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2349 disaster electric

MITCH comes around the corner in work clothes: blue denim shirt and pants. He is unshaven. He climbs the steps to the door and rings, BLANCHE is startled. BLANCHE W h o is it, p l e a s e ? MITCH [hoarsely] Me. Mitch. [The polka tune stops.] BLANCHE M i t c h ! — J u s t a m i n u t e . [She rushes about frantically, hiding the bottle in a closet, crouching at the mirror and dabbing her face with cologne and powder. She is so excited that her breath is audible as she dashes about. At last she rushes to the door in the kitchen and lets him in.] M i t c h ! — Y ' k n o w , I really s h o u l d n ' t let you in after t h e t r e a t m e n t I h a v e received f r o m you this e v e n i n g ! S o utterly u n c a v a l i e r ! B u t h e l l o , b e a u tiful! [She offers him her lips. He ignores it and pushes past her into the flat. She looks fearfully after him as he stalks into the bedroom.] M y , my, w h a t a c o l d s h o u l d e r ! A n d s u c h u n c o u t h a p p a r e l ! W h y , you haven't even s h a v e d ! T h e u n f o r g i v a b l e insult to a lady! B u t I forgive y o u . I forgive you b e c a u s e it's s u c h a relief to s e e y o u . You've s t o p p e d that p o l k a t u n e that I h a d c a u g h t in m y h e a d . H a v e y o u ever h a d a n y t h i n g c a u g h t in y o u r h e a d ? N o , of c o u r s e you haven't, y o u d u m b a n g e l - p u s s , you'd n e v e r get a n y t h i n g awful c a u g h t in y o u r h e a d ! [He stares at her while she follows him while she talks. It is obvious he has had a few drinks on the way over.] MITCH D o w e h a v e to h a v e t h a t fan o n ? BLANCHE N O ! MITCH I d o n ' t like f a n s .

that

BLANCHE T h e n let's turn it off, h o n e y . I'm not partial to t h e m ! [She presses the switch and the fan nods slowly off. She clears her throat uneasily as MITCH plumps himself down on the bed in the bedroom and lights a cigarette.] I d o n ' t k n o w w h a t t h e r e is to drink. I — h a v e n ' t i n v e s t i g a t e d . MITCH I don't w a n t S t a n ' s liquor. BLANCHE It isn't S t a n ' s . E v e r y t h i n g h e r e isn't S t a n ' s . S o m e t h i n g s o n t h e p r e m i s e s a r e a c t u a l l y m i n e ! H o w is your m o t h e r ? Isn't y o u r m o t h e r well? MITCH W h y ? BLANCHE S o m e t h i n g ' s t h e m a t t e r t o n i g h t , b u t never m i n d . I won't c r o s s e x a m i n e t h e w i t n e s s . I'll j u s t — [ S h e touches her forehead vaguely. The polka tune starts up again.]—pretend I don't n o t i c e a n y t h i n g different a b o u t you! T h a t — m u s i c a g a i n . . . MITCH W h a t m u s i c ? BLANCHE T h e " V a r s o u r v i a n a " ! T h e p o l k a t u n e they w e r e p l a y i n g w h e n Allan—Wait! [A distant revolver shot is heard, BLANCHE seems relieved.] T h e r e n o w , t h e s h o t ! It a l w a y s s t o p s after t h a t . [The polka music dies out again. ] Y e s , n o w it's s t o p p e d .

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MITCH Are you b o x e d out of your m i n d ? BLANCHE I'll g o a n d s e e w h a t I c a n find in t h e way o f — [ S h e crosses into the closet, pretending to search for the bottle.] O h , by t h e way, e x c u s e m e for n o t b e i n g d r e s s e d . B u t I'd p r a c t i c a l l y given you u p ! H a d y o u f o r g o t t e n y o u r invitation to s u p p e r ? MITCH I w a s n ' t g o i n g to s e e you any m o r e . BLANCHE W a i t a m i n u t e . I can't h e a r w h a t you're s a y i n g a n d you talk s o little t h a t w h e n you d o say s o m e t h i n g , I don't w a n t to m i s s a s i n g l e syll a b l e o f it. . . . W h a t a m I l o o k i n g a r o u n d h e r e for? O h , y e s — l i q u o r ! W e ' v e h a d s o m u c h e x c i t e m e n t a r o u n d h e r e this e v e n i n g that I am b o x e d o u t of my m i n d ! [She pretends suddenly to find the bottle. He draws his foot up on the bed and stares at her contemptuously.] Here's something. S o u t h e r n C o m f o r t ! W h a t is that, I w o n d e r ? MITCH If y o u don't k n o w , it m u s t b e l o n g to S t a n . BLANCHE T a k e y o u r foot off the b e d . It h a s a light c o v e r o n it. O f c o u r s e you boys don't n o t i c e t h i n g s like that. I've d o n e s o m u c h w i t h this p l a c e s i n c e I've b e e n h e r e . MITCH I bet you h a v e . BLANCHE Y o u s a w it b e f o r e I c a m e . W e l l , look at it now! T h i s r o o m is a l m o s t — d a i n t y ! I w a n t to k e e p it that way. I w o n d e r if this stuff o u g h t to b e m i x e d with s o m e t h i n g ? U m m m , it's s w e e t , s o s w e e t ! It's terribly, terribly s w e e t ! W h y , it's a liqueur, I b e l i e v e ! Y e s , that's w h a t it is, a l i q u e u r ! [MITCH grunts.] I'm afraid you won't like it, b u t try it, a n d m a y b e you will. MITCH I told y o u already I don't w a n t n o n e of his liquor a n d I m e a n it. You o u g h t to lay off his liquor. H e says y o u b e e n l a p p i n g it u p all s u m m e r like a wild c a t ! BLANCHE W h a t a f a n t a s t i c s t a t e m e n t ! F a n t a s t i c of him to say it, f a n t a s t i c of you to r e p e a t it! I won't d e s c e n d to t h e level of s u c h c h e a p a c c u s a t i o n s to a n s w e r t h e m , e v e n ! MITCH Huh. BLANCHE W h a t ' s in your m i n d ? I s e e s o m e t h i n g in your e y e s ! MITCH [getting up] It's d a r k in h e r e . BLANCHE I like it dark. T h e d a r k is c o m f o r t i n g to m e . MITCH I don't think I ever s e e n you in t h e light, [BLANCHE laughs breathlessly.] T h a t ' s a fact! BLANCHE IS it? MITCH I've n ever s e e n you in t h e a f t e r n o o n . BLANCHE W h o s e fault is t h a t ? MITCH You n ever w a n t to g o o u t in t h e a f t e r n o o n . BLANCHE W h y , M i t c h , you're at t h e p l a n t in t h e a f t e r n o o n ! MITCH N o t S u n d a y a f t e r n o o n . I've a s k e d you to g o o u t with m e s o m e t i m e s o n S u n d a y s b u t you always m a k e a n e x c u s e . Y o u n e v e r w a n t to g o o u t till after six a n d t h e n it's always s o m e p l a c e that's n o t l i g h t e d m u c h . BLANCHE T h e r e is s o m e o b s c u r e m e a n i n g in this b u t I fail to c a t c h it. MITCH W h a t it m e a n s is I've ne v e r h a d a real g o o d l o o k at y o u , B l a n c h e . L e t ' s turn t h e light o n h e r e . BLANCHE [fearfully] L i g h t ? W h i c h light? W h a t for? MITCH T h i s o n e with t h e p a p e r t h i n g o n it. [He tears the paper lantern off the light bulb. She utters a frightened gasp.]

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BLANCHE W h a t did you d o that for? MITCH S o I c a n take a look at you g o o d a n d p l a i n ! BLANCHE O f c o u r s e you don't really m e a n to b e i n s u l t i n g ! MITCH N o , j u s t r e a l i s t i c . BLANCHE I d o n ' t w a n t r e a l i s m . I w a n t m a g i c ! [MITCH laughs.] Y e s , y e s , m a g i c ! I try to give that to p e o p l e . I m i s r e p r e s e n t t h i n g s to t h e m . I don't tell truth, I tell w h a t ought to b e truth. A n d if that is sinful, t h e n let m e b e d a m n e d for i t ! — D o n ' t turn the light on! [MITCH crosses to the switch. He turns the light on and stares at her. She cries out and covers her face. He turns the lights off again.] MITCH [slowly and bitterly] I don't m i n d you b e i n g o l d e r t h a n w h a t I t h o u g h t . B u t all the rest o f i t — C h r i s t ! T h a t p i t c h a b o u t y o u r i d e a l s b e i n g s o o l d - f a s h i o n e d a n d all t h e m a l a r k e y t h a t you've d i s h e d o u t all s u m m e r . O h , I k n e w you w e r e n ' t sixteen any m o r e . B u t I w a s a fool e n o u g h to believe you w a s s t r a i g h t . BLANCHE W h o told you I w a s n ' t — " s t r a i g h t " ? M y loving brother-in-law. A n d you believed h i m . MITCH I c a l l e d h i m a liar at first. A n d t h e n I c h e c k e d o n t h e story. First I a s k e d o u r s u p p l y - m a n w h o travels t h r o u g h L a u r e l . A n d t h e n I talked directly over l o n g - d i s t a n c e to this m e r c h a n t . BLANCHE W h o is this m e r c h a n t ? MITCH Kiefaber. BLANCHE T h e m e r c h a n t K i e f a b e r of L a u r e l ! I k n o w t h e m a n . H e w h i s t l e d at m e . I p u t h i m in his p l a c e . S o n o w for r e v e n g e h e m a k e s u p s t o r i e s about me. MITCH T h r e e p e o p l e , K i e f a b e r , S t a n l e y a n d S h a w , s w o r e to t h e m ! BLANCHE R u b - a - d u b - d u b , t h r e e m e n in a t u b ! A n d s u c h a filthy t u b ! MITCH D i d n ' t y o u stay at a hotel c a l l e d T h e F l a m i n g o ? BLANCHE F l a m i n g o ? N o ! T a r a n t u l a w a s t h e n a m e of it! I s t a y e d a t a hotel called T h e Tarantula Arms! MITCH [stupidly] Tarantula? BLANCHE Y e s , a b i g spider! T h a t ' s w h e r e I b r o u g h t m y v i c t i m s . [She pours herself another drink.] Y e s , I h a d m a n y i n t i m a c i e s with s t r a n g e r s . After t h e d e a t h of A l l a n — i n t i m a c i e s with s t r a n g e r s w a s all I s e e m e d a b l e to fill m y e m p t y h e a r t with. . . . I think it w a s p a n i c , j u s t p a n i c , t h a t drove m e from o n e to a n o t h e r , h u n t i n g for s o m e p r o t e c t i o n — h e r e a n d t h e r e , in t h e m o s t — u n l i k e l y p l a c e s — e v e n , a t last, in a s e v e n t e e n - y e a r - o l d boy b u t — s o m e b o d y w r o t e t h e s u p e r i n t e n d e n t a b o u t i t — " T h i s w o m a n is m o r a l l y unfit for her p o s i t i o n ! " [She throws back her head with convulsive, sobbing laughter. Then she repeats the statement, gasps, and drinks.] True? Yes, I suppose—unfit somehow—anyway. . . . S o I c a m e here. There was nowhere else I could go. I was played out. You know what p l a y e d o u t is? M y y o u t h w a s s u d d e n l y g o n e u p t h e w a t e r - s p o u t , a n d — I m e t y o u . Y o u s a i d you n e e d e d s o m e b o d y . W e l l , I n e e d e d s o m e b o d y , t o o . I t h a n k e d G o d for y o u , b e c a u s e you s e e m e d to b e g e n t l e — a cleft in t h e r o c k of t h e world t h a t I c o u l d hide in! B u t I g u e s s I w a s a s k i n g , h o p i n g — too m u c h ! K i e f a b e r , S t a n l e y a n d S h a w h a v e tied a n old tin c a n to the tail of t h e kite. [There is a pause, MITCH stares at her dumbly.]

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MITCH Y o u lied to m e , B l a n c h e . BLANCHE D o n ' t say I lied to y o u . MITCH L i e s , lies, i n s i d e a n d o u t , all lies. BLANCHE N e v e r i n s i d e , I didn't lie in m y h e a r t . . . [A VENDOR c o m e s around the corner. S h e is a blind MEXICAN WOMAN in a dark shawl, carrying hunches of those gaudy tin flowers that lowerclass Mexicans display at funerals and other festive occasions. She is calling barely audibly. Her figure is only faintly visible outside the building.] MEXICAN WOMAN F l o r e s . F l o r e s , F l o r e s p a r a los m u e r t o s . 9 F l o r e s . F l o r e s . BLANCHE W h a t ? O h ! S o m e b o d y o u t s i d e . . . [She goes to the door, opens it and stares at the MEXICAN WOMAN.] MEXICAN WOMAN [she is at the door and offers BLANCHE some of her flowers] F l o r e s ? F l o r e s p a r a los m u e r t o s ? BLANCHE [frightened] N o , no! Not now! Not now! [She darts back into the apartment, slamming the door.] MEXICAN WOMAN [she turns away and starts to move down the street] Flores p a r a los m u e r t o s . [The polka tune fades in.] BLANCHE [as if to herself] C r u m b l e and fade a n d — r e g r e t s — r e c r i m i n a tions . . . " I f you'd d o n e t h i s , it w o u l d n ' t ' v e c o s t m e t h a t ! " MEXICAN WOMAN C o r o n e s 1 p a r a los m u e r t o s . C o r o n e s . . . BLANCHE L e g a c i e s ! H u h . . . . A n d o t h e r t h i n g s s u c h a s b l o o d s t a i n e d pill o w - s l i p s — " H e r linen n e e d s c h a n g i n g " — " Y e s , M o t h e r . B u t c o u l d n ' t w e g e t a c o l o r e d girl to d o i t ? " N o , w e c o u l d n ' t of c o u r s e . E v e r y t h i n g g o n e but t h e — MEXICAN WOMAN F l o r e s . BLANCHE D e a t h — I u s e d to sit h e r e a n d s h e u s e d to sit over t h e r e a n d d e a t h w a s a s c l o s e a s you a r e . . . . W e didn't d a r e e v e n a d m i t w e h a d ever h e a r d of it! MEXICAN WOMAN F l o r e s p a r a los m u e r t o s , f l o r e s — f l o r e s . . . BLANCHE T h e o p p o s i t e is d e s i r e . S o d o you w o n d e r ? H o w c o u l d y o u p o s sibly w o n d e r ! N o t far f r o m B e l l e R e v e , b e f o r e w e h a d lost B e l l e R e v e , w a s a c a m p w h e r e they t r a i n e d y o u n g s o l d i e r s . O n S u n d a y n i g h t s they w o u l d g o in town to get d r u n k — MEXICAN WOMAN [softly] Corones . . . BLANCHE — a n d o n t h e way b a c k they w o u l d s t a g g e r o n t o m y l a w n a n d c a l l — " B l a n c h e ! B l a n c h e ! " — t h e d e a f old lady r e m a i n i n g s u s p e c t e d n o t h ing. B u t s o m e t i m e s I s l i p p e d o u t s i d e to a n s w e r their c a l l s . . . . L a t e r t h e p a d d y - w a g o n w o u l d g a t h e r t h e m u p like d a i s i e s . . . t h e l o n g w a y home . . . [The MEXICAN WOMAN turns slowly and drifts back off with her soft mournful cries, BLANCHE goes to the dresser and leans forward on it. After a moment, MITCH rises and follows her purposefully. The polka music fades away. He places his hands on her waist and tries to turn her about.] BLANCHE W h a t d o you w a n t ? MITCH [fumbling to embrace her] W h a t I b e e n m i s s i n g all s u m m e r . 9. Flowers for the dead (Spanish).

1. Wreaths (Spanish).

A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE, SCENE T E N

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BLANCHE T h e n marry m e , M i t c h ! MITCH I don't t h i n k I w a n t to marry you a n y m o r e . BLANCHE NO? MITCH [dropping his hands from her waist] You're n o t c l e a n e n o u g h to b r i n g in t h e h o u s e with m y m o t h e r . BLANCHE GO away, t h e n . [He stares at her.] G e t o u t of h e r e q u i c k b e f o r e I start s c r e a m i n g fire! [Her throat is tightening with hysteria.] G e t o u t of h e r e q u i c k b e f o r e I start s c r e a m i n g fire. [He still remains staring. She suddenly rushes to the big window with its pale blue square of the soft summer light and cries wildly.] Fire! Fire! F i r e ! [With a startled gasp, MITCH turns and goes out the outer door, clatters awkwardly down the steps and around the corner of the building. BLANCHE staggers back from the window and falls to her knees. The distant piano is slow and blue.] Scene

Ten

It is a few hours later that night. BLANCHE has been drinking fairly steadily since MITCH left. She has dragged her wardrobe trunk into the center of the bedroom. It hangs open with flowery dresses thrown across it. As the drinking and packing went on, a mood of hysterical exhilaration came into her and she has decked herself out in a somewhat soiled and crumpled white satin evening gown and a pair of scuffed silver slippers with brilliants set in their heels. Now she is placing the rhinestone tiara on her head before the mirror of the dressing-table and murmuring excitedly as if to a group of spectral admirers. BLANCHE H o w a b o u t t a k i n g a s w i m , a m o o n l i g h t s w i m at t h e old rockquarry? If a n y o n e ' s s o b e r e n o u g h to drive a car! H a - h a ! B e s t w a y in t h e world to s t o p your h e a d buzzing! O n l y you've got to b e c a r e f u l to dive w h e r e the d e e p p o o l i s — i f you hit a r o c k you don't c o m e u p till t o m o r row . . . [Tremblingly she lifts the hand mirror for a closer inspection. She catches her breath and slams the mirror face down with such violence that the glass cracks. She moans a little and attempts to rise. STANLEY appears around the corner of the building. He still has on the vivid green silk bowling shirt. As he rounds the corner the honky-tonk music is heard. It continues softly throughout the scene. He enters the kitchen, slamming the door. As he peers in at BLANCHE he gives a low whistle. He has had a few drinks on the way and has brought some quart beer bottles home with him.] BLANCHE HOW is m y s i s t e r ? STANLEY S h e is d o i n g okay. BLANCHE A n d h o w is t h e b a b y ? STANLEY [grinning amiably] T h e b a b y won't c o m e b e f o r e m o r n i n g s o they told m e to g o h o m e a n d get a little s h u t - e y e . BLANCHE D o e s t h a t m e a n w e a r e to b e a l o n e in h e r e ? STANLEY Y e p . J u s t m e a n d y o u , B l a n c h e . U n l e s s y o u got s o m e b o d y hid u n d e r the b e d . W h a t ' v e you got o n t h o s e fine f e a t h e r s for?

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BLANCHE O h , that's right. You left b e f o r e my wire c a m e . STANLEY You got a wire? BLANCHE I r e c e i v e d a t e l e g r a m from a n old a d m i r e r o f m i n e . STANLEY A n y t h i n g g o o d ? BLANCHE I think s o . An invitation. STANLEY W h a t to? A fireman's ball? BLANCHE [throwing back her head] A c r u i s e of t h e C a r i b b e a n o n a y a c h t ! STANLEY W e l l , well. W h a t d o you k n o w ? BLANCHE I h a v e never b e e n s o s u r p r i s e d in my life. STANLEY I g u e s s n o t . BLANCHE It c a m e like a bolt f r o m t h e b l u e ! STANLEY W h o d i d you say it w a s f r o m ? BLANCHE A n old b e a u of m i n e . STANLEY T h e o n e t h a t give you t h e w h i t e f o x - p i e c e s ? BLANCHE M r . S h e p H u n t l e i g h . I w o r e his A T O p i n m y last year a t c o l l e g e . I h a d n ' t s e e n h i m a g a i n until last C h r i s t m a s . I r a n in to h i m o n B i s c a y n e Boulevard. T h e n — j u s t now—this wire—inviting m e on a cruise of the C a r i b b e a n ! T h e p r o b l e m is c l o t h e s . I tore into m y t r u n k to s e e w h a t I h a v e that's s u i t a b l e for t h e t r o p i c s ! STANLEY A n d c o m e u p with t h a t — g o r g e o u s — d i a m o n d — t i a r a ? BLANCHE T h i s old relic? H a - h a ! It's only r h i n e s t o n e s . STANLEY G o s h . I t h o u g h t it w a s T i f f a n y d i a m o n d s . [He unbuttons his shirt.] BLANCHE W e l l , a n y h o w , I s h a l l b e e n t e r t a i n e d in style. STANLEY U h - h u h . It g o e s to s h o w , y o u never k n o w w h a t is c o m i n g . BLANCHE J u s t w h e n I t h o u g h t m y l u c k h a d b e g u n to fail m e — STANLEY I n t o t h e p i c t u r e p o p s this M i a m i m i l l i o n a i r e . BLANCHE T h i s m a n is not f r o m M i a m i . T h i s m a n is f r o m D a l l a s . STANLEY T h i s m a n is f r o m D a l l a s ? BLANCHE Y e s , this m a n is f r o m D a l l a s w h e r e g o l d s p o u t s o u t o f t h e ground! STANLEY W e l l , j u s t s o h e ' s f r o m s o m e w h e r e ! [He starts removing his shirt.] BLANCHE C l o s e t h e c u r t a i n s b e f o r e y o u u n d r e s s a n y further. STANLEY [amiably] T h i s is all I'm g o i n g to u n d r e s s right n o w . [He rips the sack off a quart beer bottle] S e e n a b o t t l e - o p e n e r ? [She moves slowly toward the dresser, where she stands with her hands knotted together.] I u s e d to h a v e a c o u s i n w h o c o u l d o p e n a b e e r b o t t l e with his t e e t h . [pounding the bottle cap on the corner of table] T h a t w a s his only a c c o m p l i s h m e n t , all h e c o u l d d o — h e w a s j u s t a h u m a n b o t t l e - o p e n e r . A n d t h e n o n e t i m e , at a w e d d i n g party, h e b r o k e his front t e e t h off! After t h a t h e w a s s o a s h a m e d of h i m s e l f h e u s e d t' s n e a k o u t of t h e h o u s e w h e n c o m pany c a m e . . . [The bottle cap pops off and a geyser of foam shoots up. Stanley laughs happily, holding up the bottle over his head.] H a - h a ! R a i n f r o m h e a v e n ! [He extends the bottle toward her] S h a l l w e b u r y t h e h a t c h e t a n d m a k e it a l o v i n g - c u p ? H u h ? BLANCHE N o , t h a n k y o u . STANLEY W e l l , it's a red-letter night for u s b o t h . You h a v i n g a n oil millionaire a n d m e h a v i n g a b a b y .

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E T E N [He goes to the bureau from

the bottom

in the bedroom

and crouches

to remove

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something

drawer. ]

BLANCHE [drawing back] W h a t a r e you d o i n g in h e r e ? STANLEY H e r e ' s s o m e t h i n g I a l w a y s b r e a k o u t on s p e c i a l o c c a s i o n s like t h i s . T h e silk p y j a m a s I w o r e o n my w e d d i n g night! BLANCHE O h . STANLEY W h e n t h e t e l e p h o n e rings a n d they say, "You've g o t a s o n ! " I'll t e a r this off a n d wave it like a flag! [He shakes out a brilliant pyjama coat.] I g u e s s we a r e b o t h e n t i t l e d to p u t o n t h e d o g . [He goes back to the kitchen with

the coat

over

his

arm.]

BLANCHE W h e n I think of h o w divine it is g o i n g to b e to h a v e s u c h a t h i n g a s privacy o n c e m o r e — I c o u l d w e e p with joy! STANLEY T h i s m i l l i o n a i r e f r o m D a l l a s is not g o i n g to i n t e r f e r e with your privacy a n y ? BLANCHE It won't b e t h e sort of t h i n g y o u h a v e in m i n d . T h i s m a n is a g e n t l e m a n a n d h e r e s p e c t s m e . [improvising feverishly] W h a t h e w a n t s is m y c o m p a n i o n s h i p . H a v i n g g r e a t w e a l t h s o m e t i m e s m a k e s p e o p l e lonely! A c u l t i v a t e d w o m a n , a w o m a n of i n t e l l i g e n c e a n d b r e e d i n g , c a n e n r i c h a m a n ' s l i f e — i m m e a s u r a b l y ! I h a v e t h o s e t h i n g s to offer, a n d this d o e s n ' t t a k e t h e m a w a y . P h y s i c a l b e a u t y is p a s s i n g . A transitory p o s s e s s i o n . B u t b e a u t y of the m i n d a n d r i c h n e s s of t h e spirit a n d t e n d e r n e s s o f t h e h e a r t — a n d I h a v e all of t h o s e t h i n g s — a r e n ' t t a k e n a w a y , b u t grow! I n c r e a s e with t h e y e a r s ! H o w s t r a n g e that I s h o u l d b e c a l l e d a d e s t i t u t e w o m a n ! W h e n I h a v e all of t h e s e t r e a s u r e s l o c k e d in m y h e a r t . [A choked sob comes from her.] I think of m y s e l f a s a very, very rich w o m a n ! B u t I have been foolish—casting my pearls before swine! STANLEY S w i n e , h u h ? BLANCHE Y e s , s w i n e ! S w i n e ! A n d I'm t h i n k i n g not only of you b u t of y o u r f r i e n d , M r . M i t c h e l l . H e c a m e to s e e m e t o n i g h t . H e d a r e d to c o m e h e r e in his work c l o t h e s ! A n d to r e p e a t s l a n d e r to m e , v i c i o u s s t o r i e s t h a t h e h a d g o t t e n f r o m you! I g a v e h i m his w a l k i n g p a p e r s . . . STANLEY You did, h u h ? BLANCHE B u t t h e n h e c a m e b a c k . H e r e t u r n e d with a box of r o s e s to b e g m y f o r g i v e n e s s ! H e i m p l o r e d my f o r g i v e n e s s . B u t s o m e t h i n g s a r e not forgivable. D e l i b e r a t e cruelty is not forgivable. It is t h e o n e u n f o r g i v a b l e t h i n g in my o p i n i o n a n d it is t h e o n e t h i n g of w h i c h I h a v e n e v e r , n e v e r b e e n guilty. A n d s o I told h i m , I s a i d to h i m . " T h a n k y o u , " b u t it w a s foolish o f m e to think that w e c o u l d ever a d a p t o u r s e l v e s to e a c h o t h e r . O u r w a y s of life a r e t o o different. O u r a t t i t u d e s a n d o u r b a c k g r o u n d s a r e i n c o m p a t i b l e . W e h a v e to b e realistic a b o u t s u c h t h i n g s . S o farewell, m y friend! A n d let t h e r e b e n o h a r d f e e l i n g s . . . STANLEY W a s this b e f o r e or after t h e t e l e g r a m c a m e f r o m t h e T e x a s oil millionaire? BLANCHE W h a t t e l e g r a m ? N o ! N o , after! A s a m a t t e r of f a c t , t h e wire c a m e just a s — STANLEY A s a m a t t e r of fact t h e r e w a s n ' t n o wire at all! BLANCHE O h , o h ! STANLEY T h e r e isn't n o m i l l i o n a i r e ! A n d M i t c h didn't c o m e b a c k with roses 'cause I know where he i s — BLANCHE O h !

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STANLEY T h e r e isn't a g o d d a m t h i n g b u t i m a g i n a t i o n ! BLANCHE O h ! STANLEY A n d lies a n d c o n c e i t a n d tricks! BLANCHE O h ! STANLEY A n d look a t yourself! T a k e a look at y o u r s e l f in t h a t w o r n - o u t M a r d i G r a s outfit, r e n t e d for fifty c e n t s from s o m e rag-picker! A n d with t h e crazy c r o w n o n ! W h a t q u e e n d o you think you a r e ? BLANCHE O h God . . . STANLEY I've b e e n on to you f r o m t h e start! N o t o n c e d i d you pull any wool over this boy's e y e s ! You c o m e in h e r e a n d s p r i n k l e t h e p l a c e with p o w d e r a n d s p r a y p e r f u m e a n d c o v e r t h e l i g h t - b u l b with a p a p e r l a n t e r n , a n d lo a n d b e h o l d t h e p l a c e h a s t u r n e d into E g y p t a n d you a r e t h e Q u e e n of t h e N i l e ! S i t t i n g o n y o u r t h r o n e a n d swilling d o w n m y liquor! I s a y — Ha!—Ha! D o you h e a r m e ? Ha—ha—ha! [He walks into the bedroom. ] BLANCHE D o n ' t c o m e in h e r e ! [Lurid reflections appear on the walls around BLANCHE. The shadows are of a grotesque and menacing form. She catches her breath, crosses to the phone and jiggles the hook. STANLEY goes into the bathroom and closes the door.] O p e r a t o r , o p e r a t o r ! G i v e m e l o n g - d i s t a n c e , p l e a s e . . . . I w a n t to g e t in t o u c h with M r . S h e p H u n t l e i g h of D a l l a s . H e ' s s o well k n o w n h e d o e s n ' t r e q u i r e a n y a d d r e s s . J u s t a s k a n y b o d y w h o — W a i t ! ! — N o , I c o u l d n ' t find it right n o w . . . . P l e a s e u n d e r s t a n d , I — N o ! N o , wait! . . . O n e m o m e n t ! S o m e o n e is—Nothing! Hold on, please! [She sets the phone down and crosses warily into the kitchen. The night is filled with inhuman voices like cries in a jungle. The shadows and lurid reflections move sinuously as flames along the wall spaces. Through the back wall of the rooms, which have become transparent, can be seen the sidewalk. A prostitute has rolled a drunkard. He pursues her along the walk, overtakes her and there is a struggle. A policeman's whistle breaks it up. The figures disappear. Some moments later the Negro Woman appears around the corner with a sequined bag which the prostitute had dropped on the walk. She is rooting excitedly through it. BLANCHE presses her knuckles to her lips and returns slowly to the phone. She speaks in a hoarse whisper. ] BLANCHE O p e r a t o r ! O p e r a t o r ! N e v e r m i n d l o n g - d i s t a n c e . G e t W e s t e r n U n i o n . T h e r e isn't t i m e to b e — W e s t e r n — W e s t e r n U n i o n ! [She waits anxiously.] W e s t e r n U n i o n ? Yes! I — w a n t t o — T a k e d o w n this m e s s a g e ! " I n d e s p e r a t e , d e s p e r a t e c i r c u m s t a n c e s ! H e l p m e ! C a u g h t in a t r a p . C a u g h t i n — " Oh! [The bathroom door is thrown open and STANLEY comes out in the brilliant silk pyjamas. He grins at her as he knots the tasseled sash about his waist. She gasps and backs away from the phone. He stares at her for a count often. Then a clicking becomes audible from the telephone, steady and rasping.] STANLEY Y o u left th' p h o n e off th' h o o k . [He crosses to it deliberately and sets it back on the hook. After he has replaced it, he stares at her again, his mouth slowly curving into a grin, as he weaves between BLANCHE and the outer door. Tlie barely audible "Blue Piano" begins to drum up louder. The sound of it turns into the

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E ELEVEN

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2357

roar of an approaching locomotive, BLANCHE crouches, pressing her fists to her ears until it has gone by.] BLANCHE [finally straightening] L e t m e — l e t m e g e t by y o u ! STANLEY G e t by m e ? S u r e . G o a h e a d . [He moves back a pace in the doorway.] BLANCHE Y o u — y o u s t a n d over t h e r e ! [She indicates a further position.] STANLEY [grinning] Y o u got plenty of r o o m to w a l k by m e n o w . BLANCHE N o t with y o u t h e r e ! B u t I've got to g e t o u t s o m e h o w ! STANLEY Y o u t h i n k I'll i n t e r f e r e with y o u ? H a - h a ! [The "Blue Piano" goes softly. She turns confusedly and makes a faint gesture. The inhuman jungle voices rise up. He takes a step toward her, biting his tongue which protrudes between his lips.] STANLEY [softly] C o m e to t h i n k o f i t — m a y b e y o u w o u l d n ' t b e b a d t o — interfere with . . . [BLANCHE moves backward through the door into the bedroom.] BLANCHE S t a y b a c k ! D o n ' t y o u c o m e t o w a r d m e a n o t h e r s t e p or I'll— STANLEY W h a t ? BLANCHE S o m e awful t h i n g will h a p p e n ! It will! STANLEY W h a t a r e y o u p u t t i n g o n n o w ? [They are now both inside the bedroom. ] BLANCHE I w a r n y o u , d o n ' t , I'm in d a n g e r ! [He takes another step. She smashes a bottle on the table and faces him, clutching the broken top.] STANLEY W h a t d i d y o u d o t h a t for? BLANCHE S o I c o u l d twist t h e b r o k e n e n d in y o u r f a c e ! STANLEY I b e t y o u w o u l d d o that! BLANCHE I w o u l d ! I will if y o u — STANLEY O h ! S o y o u w a n t s o m e r o u g h h o u s e ! All right, let's h a v e s o m e roughhouse! [He springs toward her, overturning the table. She cries out and strikes at him with the bottle top but he catches her wrist.] T i g e r — t i g e r ! D r o p t h e b o t t l e - t o p ! D r o p it! W e ' v e h a d this d a t e with e a c h other from the beginning! [She moans. The bottle-top falls. She sinks to her knees: He picks up her inert figure and carries her to the bed. The hot trumpet and drums from the Four Deuces sound loudly. ] Scene

Eleven

It is some weeks later, STELLA is packing BLANCHES things. Sounds of water can be heard running in the bathroom. The portieres are partly open on the poker players—STANLEY, STEVE, MITCH and PABLO—who sit around the table in the kitchen. The atmosphere of the kitchen is now the same raw, lurid one of the disastrous poker night. The building is framed by the sky of turquoise, STELLA has been crying as she arranges the flowery dresses in the open trunk. EUNICE comes down the steps from her flat above and enters the kitchen. There is an outburst from the poker table. STANLEY D r e w to a n i n s i d e s t r a i g h t a n d m a d e it, by G o d . PABLO Maldita sea tu suerto!

2358

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TENNESSEE

WILLIAMS

STANLEY P u t it in E n g l i s h , g r e a s e b a l l . PABLO I a m c u r s i n g y o u r r u t t i n g l u c k . STANLEY [prodigiously elated] Y o u k n o w w h a t l u c k is? L u c k is b e l i e v i n g y o u ' r e lucky. T a k e at S a l e r n o . 2 I b e l i e v e d I w a s lucky. I figured t h a t 4 o u t of 5 w o u l d not c o m e t h r o u g h but I w o u l d . . . a n d I did. I p u t t h a t d o w n a s a r u l e . T o h o l d front p o s i t i o n in this r a t - r a c e you've got to b e l i e v e y o u a r e lucky. MITCH Y o u . . . you . . . you . . . B r a g . . . b r a g . . . bull . . . b u l l . [STELLA goes into the bedroom and starts folding a dress.] STANLEY W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r with h i m ? EUNICE [walking past the table] I a l w a y s d i d s a y that m e n a r e c a l l o u s t h i n g s with n o f e e l i n g s , b u t this d o e s b e a t a n y t h i n g . M a k i n g p i g s of yours e l v e s . [She comes through the portieres into the bedroom.] STANLEY W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r with h e r ? STELLA H o w is m y b a b y ? EUNICE S l e e p i n g like a little a n g e l . B r o u g h t y o u s o m e g r a p e s . [She puts them on a stool and lowers her voice.] B l a n c h e ? STELLA B a t h i n g . EUNICE H o w is s h e ? STELLA S h e w o u l d n ' t e a t a n y t h i n g b u t a s k e d for a d r i n k . EUNICE W h a t d i d you tell h e r ? STELLA I — j u s t told her t h a t — w e ' d m a d e a r r a n g e m e n t s for her to r e s t in t h e c o u n t r y . S h e ' s got it m i x e d in her m i n d with S h e p H u n t l e i g h . [BLANCHE opens the bathroom door slightly.] BLANCHE S t e l l a . STELLA Y e s , B l a n c h e . BLANCHE If a n y o n e calls while I ' m b a t h i n g t a k e t h e n u m b e r a n d tell t h e m I'll call right b a c k . STELLA Y e s . BLANCHE T h a t c o o l yellow s i l k — t h e b o u c l e . S e e if it's c r u s h e d . If it's not t o o c r u s h e d I'll w e a r it a n d o n t h e lapel that silver a n d t u r q u o i s e p i n in the s h a p e of a s e a h o r s e . Y o u will find t h e m in t h e h e a r t - s h a p e d b o x I k e e p m y a c c e s s o r i e s in. A n d S t e l l a . . . T r y a n d l o c a t e a b u n c h of artificial violets in that box, t o o , to pin with t h e s e a h o r s e o n t h e lapel of t h e j a c k e t . [She closes the door, STELLA turns to EUNICE.] STELLA I don't k n o w if I d i d t h e right t h i n g . EUNICE W h a t e l s e c o u l d you d o ? STELLA I c o u l d n ' t believe her story a n d g o o n living with S t a n l e y . EUNICE D o n ' t ever b e l i e v e it. L i f e h a s got to g o o n . N o m a t t e r w h a t h a p p e n s , you've got to k e e p o n g o i n g . [The bathroom door opens a little. ] BLANCHE [looking out] Is t h e c o a s t c l e a r ? STELLA Y e s , B l a n c h e , [to EUNICE] Tell her h o w well s h e ' s l o o k i n g . BLANCHE P l e a s e c l o s e t h e c u r t a i n s b e f o r e I c o m e o u t . STELLA T h e y ' r e c l o s e d . STANLEY — H o w m a n y for y o u ? PABLO T w o . STEVE T h r e e . 2. Important beachhead in the Allied invasion of Italy in World War II.

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E ELEVEN

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2359

[BLANCHE appears in the anther light of the door. She has a tragic radiance in her red satin robe following the sculptural lines of her body. The "Varsouviana" rises audibly as BLANCHE enters the bedroom.} BLANCHE [with faintly hysterical vivacity] I h a v e j u s t w a s h e d m y hair. STELLA D i d y o u ? BLANCHE I'm not s u r e I got t h e s o a p o u t . EUNICE S u c h fine hair! BLANCHE [accepting the compliment] It's a p r o b l e m . Didn't I get a c a l l ? STELLA W h o f r o m , B l a n c h e ? BLANCHE S h e p H u n t l e i g h . . . STELLA W h y , n o t yet, h o n e y ! BLANCHE H o w s t r a n g e ! I — [At the sound of BLANCHES voice MITCH'S arm supporting his cards has sagged and his gaze is dissolved into space. STANLEY slaps him on the shoulder.] STANLEY H e y , M i t c h , c o m e to! [The sound of this new voice shocks BLANCHE. She makes a shocked gesture, forming his name with her lips. STELLA nods and looks quickly away, BLANCHE stands quite still for some moments—the silver-backed mirror in her hand and a look of sorrowful perplexity as though all human experience shows on her face, BLANCHE finally speaks but with sudden hysteria.] BLANCHE W h a t ' s g o i n g o n h e r e ? [She turns from STELLA to EUNICE and back to STELLA. Her rising voice penetrates the concentration of the game, MITCH ducks his head lower but STANLEY shoves back his chair as if about to rise, STEVE places a restraining hand on his arm.] BLANCHE [continuing] W h a t ' s h a p p e n e d h e r e ? I w a n t a n e x p l a n a t i o n of what's h a p p e n e d here. STELLA [agonizingly] Hush! Hush! EUNICE H u s h ! H u s h ! H o n e y . STELLA P l e a s e , B l a n c h e . BLANCHE W h y a r e you l o o k i n g at m e like t h a t ? Is s o m e t h i n g w r o n g with me? EUNICE Y o u look w o n d e r f u l , B l a n c h e . D o n ' t s h e look w o n d e r f u l ? STELLA Y e s . EUNICE I u n d e r s t a n d you a r e g o i n g o n a trip. STELLA Y e s , B l a n c h e is. S h e ' s g o i n g o n a v a c a t i o n . EUNICE I'm g r e e n with envy. BLANCHE H e l p m e , h e l p m e get d r e s s e d ! STELLA [handing her dress] Is this w h a t y o u — BLANCHE Y e s , it will d o ! I'm a n x i o u s to get o u t o f h e r e — t h i s p l a c e is a trap! EUNICE W h a t a pretty b l u e j a c k e t . STELLA It's lilac c o l o r e d . BLANCHE You're b o t h m i s t a k e n . It's D e l i a R o b b i a b l u e . ' T h e b l u e of t h e r o b e in t h e old M a d o n n a p i c t u r e s . A r e t h e s e g r a p e s w a s h e d ? [She fingers the bunch of grapes which EUNICE had brought in.] 3. A shade of light blue seen in terra cottas made by the Delia Robbia family in the Italian Renaissance.

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

EUNICE Huh? BLANCHE W a s h e d , I s a i d . A r e they w a s h e d ? EUNICE T h e y ' r e f r o m t h e F r e n c h M a r k e t . BLANCHE T h a t d o e s n ' t m e a n they've b e e n w a s h e d . [The cathedral bells chime.] T h o s e c a t h e d r a l b e l l s — t h e y ' r e t h e only c l e a n t h i n g in t h e Quarter. W e l l , I'm g o i n g n o w . I'm r e a d y to g o . EUNICE [whispering] S h e ' s g o i n g to w a l k o u t b e f o r e they g e t h e r e . STELLA W a i t , B l a n c h e . BLANCHE I d o n ' t w a n t to p a s s in front of t h o s e m e n . EUNICE T h e n wait'll t h e g a m e b r e a k s u p . STELLA S i t d o w n a n d . . . [BLANCHE turns weakly, hesitantly about. She lets them push her into a chair.] BLANCHE I c a n s m e l l t h e s e a air. T h e rest of m y t i m e I'm g o i n g to s p e n d o n t h e s e a . A n d w h e n I d i e , I'm g o i n g to d i e o n t h e s e a . Y o u k n o w w h a t I shall d i e of [She plucks a grape.] I shall d i e of e a t i n g a n u n w a s h e d g r a p e o n e day o u t o n t h e o c e a n . I will d i e — w i t h m y h a n d in t h e h a n d of s o m e n i c e - l o o k i n g s h i p ' s d o c t o r , a very y o u n g o n e with a s m a l l b l o n d m u s t a c h e a n d a b i g silver w a t c h . " P o o r l a d y , " they'll say, " t h e q u i n i n e d i d h e r n o g o o d . T h a t u n w a s h e d g r a p e h a s t r a n s p o r t e d her s o u l to h e a v e n . " [The cathedral chimes are heard.] A n d I'll b e b u r i e d at s e a s e w n u p in a c l e a n white s a c k a n d d r o p p e d o v e r b o a r d — a t n o o n — i n t h e b l a z e of s u m m e r — a n d into a n o c e a n a s b l u e a s [chimes again] m y first lover's e y e s ! [A DOCTOR and a MATRON have appeared around the corner of the building and climbed the steps to the porch. The gravity of their profession is exaggerated—the unmistakable aura of the state institution with its cynical detachment. The DOCTOR rings the doorbell. The murmur of the game is interrupted.] EUNICE [whispering to STELLA] T h a t m u s t b e t h e m . [STELLA presses her fists to her lips.] BLANCHE [rising slowly] W h a t is it? EUNICE [affectedly casual] E x c u s e m e while I s e e w h o ' s at t h e d o o r . STELLA Y e s . [EUNICE goes into the kitchen.] BLANCHE [tensely] I w o n d e r if it's for m e . [A whispered colloquy takes place at the door.} EUNICE [returning, brightly] S o m e o n e is c a l l i n g for B l a n c h e . BLANCHE It is for m e , t h e n ! [She looks fearfully from one to the other and then to the portieres. The "Varsouviana" faintly plays.] Is it t h e g e n t l e m a n I was expecting from Dallas? EUNICE I t h i n k it is, B l a n c h e . BLANCHE I'm n o t q u i t e ready. STELLA A s k h i m to wait o u t s i d e . BLANCHE I . . . [EUNICE goes back to the portieres. Drums sound very softly.] STELLA E v e r y t h i n g p a c k e d ? BLANCHE M y silver toilet a r t i c l e s a r e still o u t . STELLA A h ! EUNICE [returning] T h e y ' r e w a i t i n g in front o f t h e h o u s e . BLANCHE T h e y ! W h o ' s " t h e y " ?

A STREETCAR NAMED D E S I R E , S C E N E ELEVEN

/ 2361

EUNICE T h e r e ' s a lady with h i m . BLANCHE I c a n n o t i m a g i n e w h o this " l a d y " c o u l d b e ! H o w is s h e d r e s s e d ? EUNICE J u s t — j u s t a sort of a — p l a i n - t a i l o r e d outfit. BLANCHE P o s s i b l y s h e ' s — [ H e r voice dies out nervously.] STELLA S h a l l w e g o , B l a n c h e ? BLANCHE M u s t w e g o t h r o u g h that r o o m ? STELLA I wall g o with y o u . BLANCHE H o w d o I look? STELLA Lovely. EUNICE [echoing] Lovely. [BLANCHE moves fearfully to the portieres. EUNICE draws them open for her. BLANCHE goes into the kitchen.] BLANCHE [to the men] P l e a s e don't get u p . I'm only p a s s i n g t h r o u g h . [She crosses quickly to outside door, STELLA and EUNICE follow. The poker players stand awkwardly at the table—all except MITCH who remains seated, looking down at the table, BLANCHE steps out on a small porch at the side of the door. She stops short and catches her breath.] DOCTOR H o w d o you d o ? BLANCHE Y o u a r e not t h e g e n t l e m a n I w a s e x p e c t i n g . [She suddenly gasps and starts back up the steps. She stops by STELLA, who stands just outside the door, and speaks in a frightening whisper.] T h a t m a n isn't S h e p H u n t leigh. [The "Varsouviana" is playing distantly, STELLA stares back at BLANCHE. EUNICE is holding STELLA'S arm. There is a moment of silence—no sound but that of STANLEY steadily shuffling the cards, BLANCHE catches her breath again and slips back into the flat. She enters the flat with a peculiar smile, her eyes wide and brilliant. As soon as her sister goes past her, STELLA closes her eyes and clenches her hands. EUNICE throws her arms comfortingly about her. Then she starts up to her flat, BLANCHE stops just inside the door, MITCH keeps staring down at his hands on the table, but the other men look at her curiously. At last she starts around the table toward the bedroom. As she does, STANLEY suddenly pushes back his chair and rises as if to block her way. The MATRON follows her into the flat. ] STANLEY D i d you forget s o m e t h i n g ? BLANCHE [shrilly] Y e s ! Y e s , I forgot s o m e t h i n g ! [She rushes past him into the bedroom. Lurid reflections appear on the walls in odd, sinuous shapes. The "Varsouviana" is filtered into a weird distortion, accompanied by the cries and noises of the jungle, BLANCHE seizes the back of a chair as if to defend herself] STANLEY [sotto v o c e ] 4 D o c , you b e t t e r g o in. DOCTOR [sotto voce, motioning to the MATRON] N u r s e , b r i n g h e r o u t . [The MATRON advances on one side, STANLEY on the other. Divested of all the softer properties of womanhood, the MATRON is a peculiarly sinister figure in her severe dress. Her voice is bold and toneless as a firebell.] MATRON H e l l o , B l a n c h e . [The greeting is echoed and re-echoed by other mysterious voices behind the walls, as if reverberated through a canyon of rock.] STANLEY S h e says t h a t s h e forgot s o m e t h i n g . 4. In an undertone.

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T E N N E S S E E WILLIAMS

[The echo sounds in threatening whispers.} MATRON T h a t ' s all right. STANLEY W h a t did you forget, B l a n c h e ? BLANCHE I—I MATRON It don't m a t t e r . W e c a n p i c k it u p later. STANLEY S u r e . W e c a n s e n d it a l o n g with t h e trunk. BLANCHE [retreating in panic] I don't k n o w y o u — I d o n ' t k n o w y o u . I w a n t to b e — l e f t a l o n e — p l e a s e ! MATRON N o w , B l a n c h e ! ECHOES [rising and falling] Now, Blanche—now, Blanche—now, Blanche! STANLEY Y o u left n o t h i n g h e r e b u t spilt t a l c u m a n d old e m p t y p e r f u m e b o t t l e s — u n l e s s it's t h e p a p e r l a n t e r n y o u w a n t to t a k e with y o u . You want the lantern? [He crosses to dressing table and seizes the paper lantern, tearing it off the light bidb, and extends it toward her. She cries out as if the lantern was herself. The MATRON steps boldly toward her. She screams and tries to break past the MATRON. All the men spring to their feet, STELLA raws out to the porch, with EUNICE following to comfort her, simultaneously with the confused voices of the men in the kitchen, STELLA rushes into EUNICE'S embrace on the porch.] STELLA O h , my G o d , E u n i c e h e l p m e ! D o n ' t let t h e m d o t h a t to her, d o n ' t let t h e m h u r t her! O h , G o d , o h , p l e a s e G o d , d o n ' t hurt her! W h a t a r e they d o i n g to h e r ? W h a t a r e they d o i n g ? [She tries to break from EUNICE'S arms.] EUNICE N o , h o n e y , n o , n o , h o n e y . S t a y h e r e . D o n ' t g o b a c k in t h e r e . S t a y with m e a n d don't look. STELLA W h a t h a v e I d o n e to my s i s t e r ? O h , G o d , w h a t h a v e I d o n e to m y sister? EUNICE Y o u d o n e t h e right t h i n g , t h e only t h i n g y o u c o u l d d o . S h e c o u l d n ' t stay h e r e ; t h e r e w a s n ' t n o o t h e r p l a c e for h e r to g o . [While STELLA and EUNICE are speaking on the porch the voices of the men in the kitchen overlap them, MITCH has started toward the bedroom. STANLEY crosses to block him. STANLEY pushes him aside, MITCH lunges and strikes at STANLEY. STANLEY pushes MITCH back, MITCH collapses at the table, sobbing. During the preceding scenes, the MATRON catches hold of BLANCHES arm and prevents her flight, BLANCHE turns wildly and scratches at the MATRON. The heavy woman pinions her arms, BLANCHE cries out hoarsely and slips to her knees.] MATRON T h e s e fingernails h a v e to b e t r i m m e d . [The DOCTOR comes into the room and she looks at him.] J a c k e t , D o c t o r ? DOCTOR N o t u n l e s s n e c e s s a r y . [He takes off his hat and now he becomes personalized. The unhuman quality goes. His voice is gentle and reassuring as he crosses to BLANCHE and crouches in front of her. As he speaks her name, her terror subsides a little. The lurid reflections fade from the walls, the inhuman cries and noises die out and her own hoarse crying is calmed.] DOCTOR M i s s D u B o i s . [She turns her face to him and stares at him with desperate pleading. He smiles; then he speaks to the MATRON.]

JOHN CHEEVER

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2363

It won't b e n e c e s s a r y . A s k her to let g o of m e . DOCTOR [to the MATRON] L e t g o . BLANCHE [faintly] [The

MATRON releases

TOR. He draws the

her through

her. BLANCHE extends

her up gently

her hands

and supports

her with

toward

the DOC-

his arm and

leads

portieres.]

BLANCHE [holding

tight to his arm] W h o e v e r you a r e — I h a v e a l w a y s d e p e n d e d o n t h e k i n d n e s s of s t r a n g e r s . [The

poker

kitchen

players

to the front

stand

back

As they go out on the porch, she is crouched

STELLA

as BLANCHE and the DOCTOR cross

door. She allows

the

him to lead her as if she were

STELLA cries out her sister's

a few steps up on the

blind.

name from

where

stairs.]

Blanche! Blanche, Blanche! [BLANCHE walks

on without

MATRON. They go around STELLA and places blanket, stairs

the child

STELLA accepts

and enters

returning

STANLEY [a bit uncertainly] [She

sobs with

complete

surrender

abandon.

to crying

except

the table.

for

to blue

down-

STANLEY, are

STANLEY has gone

of the steps looking

at STELLA.]

There

luxurious

is something

now that her sister

soothingly]

beside

about

at the foot

in a pale

EUNICE continues

the men,

the

EUNICE descends

It is wrapped

sobbingly.

where

places

by the DOCTOR and

out

Stella?

inhuman

STANLEY [voluptuously, love. [He kneels

the child,

to their

and stands

followed

of the building.

in her arms.

the kitchen

silently

on the porch

turning,

the corner

N o w , h o n e y . N o w , love. N o w ,

her and his fingers

find

in

her

is gone. ]

the opening

of her

now, blouse.]

N o w , n o w , love, N o w , love. . . . [The

luxurious

ing music

STEVE

sobbing,

of the "Blue

the sensual Piano"

murmur

and the muted

fade

away under

the

swell-

trumpet.]

T h i s g a m e is s e v e n - c a r d s t u d . CURTAIN 1947

JOHN

CHEEVER

1912-1982 "It seems to me that man's inclination toward light, toward brightness, is very nearly botanical—and I mean spiritual light. One not only needs it, one struggles for it." These sentences from an interview with John Cheever, conducted by the novelist John Hersey, at first glance look strange coming from a "New Yorker writer" of entertaining stories in which harried, comfortably off, white middle-class suburbanites conduct their lives. "Our Chekhov of the exurbs," he was dubbed by the reviewer John Leonard, with reference to the mythical community of Shady Hill (which Cheever created along the lines of existing ones in Fairfield or Westchester county). Yet Chekhov's own characters, living as they do in darkness, are aspirers toward "spiritual

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light," with a similarly "botanical" inclination. Trapped in their beautifully appointed houses and neighborhoods but carried along by the cool, effortless prose of their creator, Cheever's characters are viewed with a sympathetic irony, well-seasoned by sadness. Cheever's early years were not notable for their idyllic quality, and he reveals little nostalgia for a lost childhood. B o m in Quincy, Massachusetts, he grew up in what he describes as shabby gentility, with his father departing the family when his son was fifteen. (Cheever had an older brother, Fred, with whom he formed a strong and troubled relationship.) Two years later his father lost his money in the crash of 1929, and by that time Cheever had been expelled from Thayer Academy, in Braintree. The expulsion marked the end of his formal education and the beginning of his career as a writer; for, remarkably, he wrote a short story about the experience, titled it "Expelled," and sent it to the New Republic, where Malcolm Cowley (who would become a lifelong friend) published it. During the 1930s Cheever lived in New York City, in impoverished circumstances, taking odd jobs to support himself and winning a fellowship to the writer's colony at Yaddo, in Saratoga Springs. His New York life would provide the material for many of his early stories, whose protagonists are rather frequently in desperate economic situations. With the coming of World War II, Cheever joined the armed forces and served in the Pacific theater but saw no combat. In 1941 he married Mary Winternitz, a marriage that was to produce three children and last through four decades. About the marriage Cheever said, "That two people—both of us tempermental, quarrelsome and intensely ambitious—could have gotten along for such a vast period of time is for me a very good example of the boundlessness of human nature." Meanwhile, with the help of Malcolm Cowley, he began to publish in The New Yorker and in 1943, while in service, his first book of stories {The Way Some People Live) was published to favorable reviews. Over the decades to follow, the stories continued to appear, largely in The New Yorker, where he became—along with J . D. Salinger and John Updike—a recurrent phenomenon. Five further volumes of short fiction were published, and in 1978 The Stories of fohn Cheever gathered together those he wished to be remembered for. But although he is praised for his skill as a realist depictor of suburban manners and morals, Cheever's art cannot be adequately understood in such terms. As Stephen C. Moore has usefully pointed out, "His best stories move from a base in a mimetic presentation of surface reality—the scenery of apparently successful American middle class life—to fables of heroism." Cheever's embattled heroes express themselves in taking up challenges that are essentially fabulous, and foolhardy; swimming home across the backyard pools of Westchester ("The Swimmer," printed here); performing feats of physical daredeviltry in suburban living rooms ("O Youth and Beauty"); or dealing with the myriad demands and temptations that beset the hero who, having escaped death in an airplane, returns home to more severe trials ("The Country Husband"). Whatever the specific narrative, we are always aware of the storyteller's art, shaping ordinary life into the odder, more willful figures of fantasy and romance. Although Cheever will be remembered primarily as a writer of short stories, his output includes a respectable number of novels. In 1957 he won a National Book Award for his first one, The Wapshot Chronicle (it was followed by The Wapshot Scandal, in 1964), notable for its New England seacoast and domestic flavor, if less so for a continuously engaging narrative line. Perhaps his most gripping novel is Bullet Park (1969), which, like the best of the stories, is both realistic and fabulous. The suburban milieu, seen from the 5:42 train from New York, has never been done more accurately, even lovingly, by Cheever. And as is to be expected, his protagonist's carefully built, pious suburban existence turns out to be a mess. Although the novel provoked interesting disagreement about its merits (some critics felt the narrative manipulations both ruthless and sentimental), there was no disagreement about the vivid quality of its represented life, on the commuter train or at the cocktail party. In

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the years just previous to his death, and after a bout with alcohol and drug addiction, Cheever published his two final novels, Falconer (1978) and Oh What a Paradise It Seems (1980), the former of which was much praised for its harrowing rendering of prison life. (Farragut, the novel's hero, is sent to Falconer Prison for killing his brother; Cheever lived in Ossining, New York, home of Sing Sing Prison, during his later years.) From the beginning to the end of his career, he was and remained a thoroughly professional writer, wary of pronouncing on the world at large (there is a noticeable absence of politics and ideology in his work) or on the meaning and significance of his own art. As one sees from his published Journals (1991), he agonized over the disruptive facts of his alcoholism and his homosexuality. But he also managed to remain a private man, seemingly untouched by experiments—or fads—in the writing of fiction. Whether or not, as T. S. Eliot said about HenryJames, he had a mind so fine that no idea could violate it, Cheever remained firmly resistant to ideas of all sorts. This insular tendency is probably a reason why his work makes less than a "major" claim on us, but it is also the condition for his devoted and scrupulous attention to the particularities of middle-class life at the far edge of its promised dream. The text is from The Brigadier and the Golf Widow (1964).

The Swimmer It w a s o n e of t h o s e m i d s u m m e r S u n d a y s w h e n everyone sits a r o u n d saying: "I drank too m u c h last n i g h t . " You might h av e h e a r d it w h i s p e r e d by the p a r i s h i o n e r s leaving c h u r c h , h e a r d it from the lips of the priest himself, h e a r d it from t h e golf links struggling with his c a s s o c k in the vestiarium,1 a n d the tennis c o u r t s , h e a r d it from the wildlife p r e s e r v e w h e r e t h e l e a d e r of the A u d u b o n g r o u p w a s suffering from a terrible h a n g o v e r . "I drank too m u c h , " said D o n a l d Westerhazy. " W e all drank too m u c h , " said L u c i n d a Merrill. "It m u s t have b e e n the w i n e , " said H e l e n W e s t e r h a z y . "I drank too m u c h of that c l a r e t . " T h i s w a s at the e d g e of the W e s t e r h a z y s ' pool. T h e pool, fed by an a r t e s i a n well with a high iron c o n t e n t , w a s a p a l e s h a d e of g r e e n . It w a s a fine day. In the west there w a s a m a s s i v e s t a n d of c u m u l u s c l o u d so like a city s e e n from a d i s t a n c e — f r o m the b o w of an a p p r o a c h i n g s h i p — t h a t it might have h a d a n a m e . L i s b o n . H a c k e n s a c k . 2 T h e s u n w a s hot. N e d d y Merrill s a t by the g r e e n water, o n e h a n d in it, o n e a r o u n d a g l a s s of gin. H e w a s a s l e n d e r m a n — h e s e e m e d to have t h e e s p e c i a l s l e n d e r n e s s of y o u t h — a n d while he w a s far from y o u n g he h a d slid d o w n his b a n i s t e r that m o r n i n g a n d given the bronze b a c k s i d e of A p h r o d i t e ' on the hall table a s m a c k , a s h e j o g g e d toward the smell of coffee in his dining r o o m . H e might have b e e n c o m p a r e d to a s u m m e r ' s day, particularly the last h o u r s of o n e , a n d while h e l a c k e d a tennis racket or a sail b a g the i m p r e s s i o n w a s definitely o n e of y o u t h , sport, a n d c l e m e n t w e a t h e r . H e h a d b e e n s w i m m i n g a n d now he w a s b r e a t h i n g deeply, stertorously a s if h e c o u l d gulp into his l u n g s the c o m p o n e n t s of that m o m e n t , the heat of the s u n , the i n t e n s e n e s s of his p l e a s u r e . It all s e e m e d to flow into his c h e s t . His own h o u s e s t o o d in Bullet P a r k , 4 eight miles to the s o u t h , w h e r e his four beautiful d a u g h t e r s w o u l d have h a d their l u n c h 1. Cloakroam for religious vestments adjacent to a church's sanctuary. 2. A town in New jersey. Lisbon is the capital of Portugal.

3. Greek goddess of love and beauty. 4. Fictive suburb used as a location for many of Cheever's stories and novels.

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JOHN

CHEEVER

a n d might be playing tennis. T h e n it o c c u r r e d to h i m that by taking a d o g l e g to the s o u t h w e s t he c o u l d r e a c h his h o m e by water. His life w a s not confining a n d the delight he took in this observation c o u l d not be explained by its s u g g e s t i o n of e s c a p e . H e s e e m e d to s e e , with a cartographer's eye, that string of s w i m m i n g p o o l s , that q u a s i - s u b t e r r a n e a n s t r e a m that curved a c r o s s the county. H e had m a d e a discovery, a contribution to m o d e r n g e o g r a p h y ; h e would n a m e the s t r e a m L u c i n d a after his wife. H e w a s not a practical j o k e r nor w a s h e a fool but he was d e t e r m i n e d l y original a n d had a v a g u e a n d m o d e s t idea of h i m s e l f a s a legendary figure. T h e day w a s beautiful a n d it s e e m e d to him that a long swim might e n l a r g e a n d c e l e b r a t e its beauty. H e took off a sweater that w a s h u n g over his s h o u l d e r s a n d d o v e in. H e h a d an inexplicable c o n t e m p t for m e n w h o did not hurl t h e m s e l v e s into p o o l s . H e s w a m a c h o p p y crawl, b r e a t h i n g either with every stroke or every fourth stroke a n d c o u n t i n g s o m e w h e r e well in the b a c k of his m i n d the o n e two one-two of a flutter kick. It w a s not a serviceable stroke for long d i s t a n c e s but the d o m e s t i c a t i o n of s w i m m i n g h a d s a d d l e d the sport with s o m e c u s t o m s a n d in his part of the world a crawl w a s c u s t o m a r y . T o b e e m b r a c e d a n d s u s t a i n e d by the light green water w a s less a p l e a s u r e , it s e e m e d , t h a n the r e s u m p t i o n of a natural c o n d i t i o n , a n d h e would have liked to s w i m without trunks, but this w a s not p o s s i b l e , c o n s i d e r i n g his project. H e hoisted h i m s e l f up on the far c u r b — h e never u s e d the l a d d e r — a n d started a c r o s s the lawn. W h e n L u c i n d a a s k e d where he w a s g o i n g he said he w a s g o i n g to swim h o m e . T h e only m a p s a n d c h a r t s he h a d to go by were r e m e m b e r e d or i m a g i n a r y but t h e s e were clear e n o u g h . First there were the G r a h a m s , the H a m m e r s , the L e a r s , the H o w l a n d s , a n d the C r o s s c u p s . H e would c r o s s D i t m a r S t r e e t to the B u n k e r s a n d c o m e , after a short p o r t a g e , to the Levys, the W e l c h e r s , a n d the public pool in L a n c a s t e r . T h e n t h e r e were the H a l l o r a n s , the S a c h s e s , the B i s w a n g e r s , Shirley A d a m s , the G i l m a r t i n s , a n d the C l y d e s . T h e day w a s lovely, a n d that he lived in a world s o g e n e r o u s l y s u p p l i e d with water s e e m e d like a c l e m e n c y , a b e n e f i c e n c e . His heart w a s high a n d h e ran a c r o s s the g r a s s . M a k i n g his way h o m e by an u n c o m m o n route g a v e him the feeling that he w a s a pilgrim, a n explorer, a m a n with a destiny, a n d h e k n e w that he would find friends all a l o n g the way; friends would line the b a n k s of the L u c i n d a River. H e went t h r o u g h a h e d g e that s e p a r a t e d the W e s t e r h a z y s ' land from the G r a h a m s ' , walked u n d e r s o m e flowering a p p l e t r e e s , p a s s e d the s h e d that h o u s e d their p u m p a n d filter, a n d c a m e o u t at the G r a h a m s ' p o o l . "Why, N e d d y , " M r s . G r a h a m said, "what a m a r v e l o u s s u r p r i s e . I've b e e n trying to get you on the p h o n e all m o r n i n g . H e r e , let m e get you a d r i n k . " H e s a w t h e n , like any explorer, that the h o s p i t a b l e c u s t o m s a n d traditions of the natives would have to b e h a n d l e d with d i p l o m a c y if h e w a s ever g o i n g to reach his d e s t i n a t i o n . H e did not w a n t to mystify or s e e m r u d e to the G r a h a m s nor did he have the time to linger t h e r e . H e s w a m the length of their pool a n d j o i n e d t h e m in the s u n a n d w a s r e s c u e d , a few m i n u t e s later, by the arrival of two c a r l o a d s of friends from C o n n e c t i c u t . D u r i n g the uproarious r e u n i o n s h e w a s able to slip away. H e went d o w n by the front of the G r a h a m s ' h o u s e , s t e p p e d over a thorny h e d g e , a n d c r o s s e d a v a c a n t lot to the H a m m e r s ' . M r s . H a m m e r , looking u p from her r o s e s , s a w him swim by

T H E SWIMMER

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a l t h o u g h s h e wasn't q u i t e s u r e w h o it w a s . T h e L e a r s h e a r d h i m s p l a s h i n g p a s t the o p e n windows of their living r o o m . T h e H o w l a n d s a n d the C r o s s c u p s were away. After leaving the H o w l a n d s ' he c r o s s e d D i t m a r S t r e e t a n d started for the B u n k e r s ' , w h e r e he c o u l d hear, even at that d i s t a n c e , the n o i s e of a party. T h e water refracted the s o u n d of voices a n d laughter a n d s e e m e d to s u s p e n d it in midair. T h e B u n k e r s ' pool w a s o n a rise a n d he c l i m b e d s o m e stairs to a terrace where twenty-five or thirty m e n a n d w o m e n were drinking. T h e only p e r s o n in the water w a s Rusty T o w e r s , w h o floated there o n a r u b b e r raft. O h how b o n n y a n d lush were the b a n k s of the L u c i n d a River! Prospero u s m e n a n d w o m e n g a t h e r e d by the s a p p h i r e - c o l o r e d waters while caterer's m e n in white c o a t s p a s s e d t h e m cold gin. O v e r h e a d a red d e H a v i l a n d trainer w a s circling a r o u n d a n d a r o u n d a n d a r o u n d in the sky with s o m e t h i n g like the glee of a child in a swing. N e d felt a p a s s i n g affection for the s c e n e , a t e n d e r n e s s for the g a t h e r i n g , a s if it was s o m e t h i n g he might t o u c h . In the d i s t a n c e he h e a r d t h u n d e r . A s s o o n a s E n i d B u n k e r saw him s h e b e g a n to s c r e a m : " O h look who's h e r e ! W h a t a m a r v e l o u s s u r p r i s e ! W h e n L u c i n d a said that you couldn't c o m e I t h o u g h t I'd die." S h e m a d e her way to him t h r o u g h the c r o w d , a n d w h e n they h a d finished kissing s h e led h i m to the bar, a p r o g r e s s that w a s slowed by the fact that he s t o p p e d to kiss eight or ten other w o m e n a n d s h a k e the h a n d s of a s m a n y m e n . A smiling b a r t e n d e r he h a d seen at a h u n d r e d parties gave him a gin a n d tonic a n d h e s t o o d by the bar for a m o m e n t , a n x i o u s not to get s t u c k in any c o n v e r s a t i o n that w o u l d delay his voyage. W h e n he s e e m e d a b o u t to be s u r r o u n d e d he dove in a n d s w a m c l o s e to the side to avoid colliding with Busty's raft. At the far e n d of the pool he b y p a s s e d the T o m l i n s o n s with a b r o a d s m i l e a n d j o g g e d u p the g a r d e n p a t h . T h e gravel cut his feet but this w a s the only u n p l e a s a n t n e s s . T h e party w a s confined to the pool, a n d a s he went toward the h o u s e he heard the brilliant, watery s o u n d of voices f a d e , h e a r d the n o i s e of a radio from the B u n k e r s ' kitchen, w h e r e s o m e o n e w a s listening to a b a l l g a m e . S u n day a f t e r n o o n . H e m a d e his way through the p a r k e d c a r s a n d d o w n the grassy border of their driveway to Alewives' L a n e . H e did not want to b e s e e n on the r o a d in his b a t h i n g trunks but there w a s no traffic a n d he m a d e the short d i s t a n c e to the Levys' driveway, m a r k e d with a private property sign a n d a green t u b e for the New York Times. All the d o o r s a n d w i n d o w s of t h e big h o u s e were o p e n but there were no s ig ns of life; not even a d o g b a r k e d . H e went a r o u n d the side of the h o u s e to the pool a n d s a w that the Levys h a d only recently left. G l a s s e s a n d bottles a n d d i s h e s of n u t s were on a table at the d e e p e n d , w h e r e there w a s a b a t h h o u s e or g a z e b o , h u n g with J a p a n e s e lanterns. After s w i m m i n g the pool he got h i m s e l f a g l a s s a n d p o u r e d a drink. It w a s his fourth or fifth drink a n d he h a d s w u m nearly half the length of the L u c i n d a River. H e felt tired, c l e a n , a n d p l e a s e d at that m o m e n t to be a l o n e ; p l e a s e d with everything. It would s t o r m . T h e s t a n d of c u m u l u s c l o u d — t h a t c i t y — h a d risen a n d d a r k e n e d , a n d while he sat there he h e a r d the p e r c u s s i v e n e s s of t h u n d e r a g a i n . T h e de H a v i l a n d trainer w a s still circling o v e r h e a d a n d it s e e m e d to N e d that he c o u l d a l m o s t h e a r the pilot l a u g h with p l e a s u r e in the a f t e r n o o n ; but when there w a s a n o t h e r peal of t h u n d e r he took off for h o m e . A train whistle blew a n d h e w o n d e r e d what time it had gotten to b e . F o u r ? Five? H e

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t h o u g h t of the provincial station at that h o u r , w h e r e a waiter, his t u x e d o c o n c e a l e d by a r a i n c o a t , a d w a r f with s o m e flowers w r a p p e d in n e w s p a p e r , a n d a w o m a n w h o h a d b e e n crying w o u l d b e waiting for t h e local. It w a s s u d d e n l y g r o w i n g dark; it w a s that m o m e n t w h e n t h e p i n - h e a d e d birds s e e m to organize their s o n g into s o m e a c u t e a n d k n o w l e d g e a b l e r e c o g n i t i o n of t h e s t o r m ' s a p p r o a c h . T h e n there w a s a fine n o i s e of r u s h i n g w a t e r from the crown of a n o a k at his b a c k , a s if a spigot there h a d b e e n t u r n e d . T h e n the n o i s e of f o u n t a i n s c a m e from t h e c r o w n s of all t h e tall t r e e s . W h y did h e love s t o r m s , w h a t w a s t h e m e a n i n g of his e x c i t e m e n t w h e n the d o o r s p r a n g o p e n a n d the rain wind fled rudely u p the stairs, why h a d t h e s i m p l e t a s k of s h u t t i n g the w i n d o w s of a n old h o u s e s e e m e d fitting a n d u r g e n t , why did the first watery n o t e s of a s t o r m wind have for h i m t h e u n m i s t a k a b l e s o u n d of g o o d n e w s , c h e e r , glad tidings? T h e n t h e r e w a s an e x p l o s i o n , a s m e l l of c o r d i t e , a n d rain l a s h e d the J a p a n e s e l a n t e r n s that M r s . Levy h a d b o u g h t in Kyoto the year b e f o r e last, or w a s it t h e year b e f o r e that? H e stayed in the Levys' g a z e b o until the s t o r m h a d p a s s e d . T h e rain h a d c o o l e d the air a n d he shivered. T h e force of t h e wind h a d s t r i p p e d a m a p l e of its red a n d yellow leaves a n d s c a t t e r e d t h e m over the g r a s s a n d t h e water. S i n c e it w a s m i d s u m m e r the tree m u s t b e b l i g h t e d , a n d yet h e felt a p e c u l i a r s a d n e s s at this sign of a u t u m n . H e b r a c e d his s h o u l d e r s , e m p t i e d his g l a s s , a n d s t a r t e d for t h e W e l c h e r s ' p o o l . T h i s m e a n t c r o s s i n g the L i n d l e y s ' riding ring a n d h e w a s s u r p r i s e d to find it overgrown with g r a s s a n d all the j u m p s d i s m a n t l e d . H e w o n d e r e d if the L i n d l e y s h a d sold their h o r s e s or g o n e away for the s u m m e r a n d p u t t h e m o u t to b o a r d . H e s e e m e d to r e m e m b e r having heard s o m e t h i n g a b o u t the L i n d l e y s a n d their h o r s e s b u t the m e m o r y w a s u n c l e a r . O n he w e n t , b a r e f o o t t h r o u g h the wet g r a s s , to t h e W e l c h e r s ' , w h e r e he f o u n d their pool w a s dry. T h i s b r e a c h in his c h a i n of water d i s a p p o i n t e d him absurdly, a n d h e felt like s o m e explorer w h o s e e k s a torrential h e a d w a t e r a n d finds a d e a d s t r e a m . H e w a s d i s a p p o i n t e d a n d mystified. It w a s c o m m o n e n o u g h to g o away for the s u m m e r but n o o n e ever d r a i n e d his p o o l . T h e W e l c h e r s h a d definitely g o n e away. T h e pool furniture w a s folded, s t a c k e d , a n d c o v e r e d with a tarp a u l i n . T h e b a t h h o u s e w a s l o c k e d . All t h e w i n d o w s of the h o u s e were s h u t , a n d w h e n he went a r o u n d to t h e driveway in front h e s a w a for-sale sign nailed to a t r e e . W h e n h a d h e last h e a r d from the W e l c h e r s — w h e n , that is, h a d h e a n d L u c i n d a last regretted an invitation to d i n e with t h e m . It s e e m e d only a w e e k or so a g o . W a s his m e m o r y failing or h a d he so d i s c i p l i n e d it in the r e p r e s s i o n of u n p l e a s a n t f a c t s that he h a d d a m a g e d his s e n s e of the truth? T h e n in the d i s t a n c e h e h e a r d t h e s o u n d of a t e n n i s g a m e . T h i s c h e e r e d h i m , c l e a r e d away all his a p p r e h e n s i o n s a n d let him r e g a r d t h e overc a s t sky a n d the cold air with i n d i f f e r e n c e . T h i s w a s t h e day that N e d d y Merrill s w a m a c r o s s the c o u n t y . T h a t w a s the day! H e s t a r t e d off t h e n for his m o s t difficult p o r t a g e . H a d you g o n e for a S u n d a y a f t e r n o o n ride that day you m i g h t h a v e s e e n h i m , c l o s e to n a k e d , s t a n d i n g on t h e s h o u l d e r s of r o u t e 4 2 4 , w a i t i n g for a c h a n c e to c r o s s . You m i g h t have w o n d e r e d if he w a s the victim of foul play, h a d his c a r b r o k e n d o w n , or w a s he m e r e l y a fool. S t a n d i n g b a r e f o o t in t h e d e p o s i t s of the h i g h w a y — b e e r c a n s , r a g s , a n d b l o w o u t p a t c h e s — e x p o s e d to

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all kinds of ridicule, he s e e m e d pitiful. H e h a d k n o w n w h e n h e started that this was a p a r t of his j o u r n e y — i t h a d b e e n o n his m a p s — b u t c o n f r o n t e d with the lines of traffic, w o r m i n g t h r o u g h the s u m m e r y light, he f o u n d himself u n p r e p a r e d . H e w a s l a u g h e d at, j e e r e d at, a b e e r c a n w a s thrown at h i m , a n d he h a d n o dignity or h u m o r to bring to the situation. H e c o u l d h av e g o n e b a c k , b a c k to the W e s t e r h a z y s ' , w h e r e L u c i n d a w o u l d still b e sitting in the s u n . H e h a d s i g n e d n o t h i n g , vowed n o t h i n g , p l e d g e d n o t h i n g not even to himself. Why, believing a s h e did, that all h u m a n o b d u r a c y w a s s u s c e p t i b l e to c o m m o n s e n s e , w a s he u n a b l e to turn b a c k ? W h y w a s h e d e t e r m i n e d to c o m p l e t e his j o u r n e y even if it m e a n t p u t t i n g his life in d a n g e r ? At what point h a d this p r a n k , this j o k e , this p i e c e of h o r s e p l a y b e c o m e s e r i o u s ? H e could not go b a c k , he c o u l d not even recall with any c l e a r n e s s the green water at the W e s t e r h a z y s ' , the s e n s e of inhaling the day's c o m p o n e n t s , the friendly a n d relaxed voices saying that they h a d drunk too m u c h . In t h e s p a c e of a n hour, m o r e or less, h e h a d covered a d i s t a n c e that m a d e his return impossible. A n old m a n , tooling d o w n the highway at fifteen m i l e s a n hour, let him get to the middle of t h e r o a d , w h e r e there w a s a g r a s s divider. H e r e h e w a s e x p o s e d to the ridicule of t h e n o r t h b o u n d traffic, but after ten or fifteen m i n u t e s h e w a s a b l e to c r o s s . F r o m here he h a d only a short walk to t h e R e c r e a t i o n C e n t e r at the e d g e of the Village of L a n c a s t e r , w h e r e there were s o m e h a n d b a l l c o u r t s a n d a p u b l i c pool. T h e effect of the water on v o i c e s , the illusion of brilliance a n d s u s p e n s e , w a s the s a m e here a s it h a d b e e n at the B u n k e r s ' b u t the s o u n d s here were louder, harsher, a n d m o r e shrill, a n d a s s o o n a s h e e n t e r e d the c r o w d e d e n c l o s u r e he w a s c o n f r o n t e d with r e g i m e n t a t i o n , "ALL SWIMMERS MUST TAKE A SHOWER BEFORE USING THE POOL. ALL SWIMMERS MUST USE THE FOOTBATH. ALL SWIMMERS MUST WEAR THEIR IDENTIFICATION DISKS." H e took a s h o w e r , w a s h e d his feet in a cloudy a n d bitter solution a n d m a d e his way to the e d g e of the water. It s t a n k of chlorine a n d looked to him like a sink. A p a i r of lifeguards in a pair of towers blew police whistles at w h a t s e e m e d to b e regular intervals a n d a b u s e d the s w i m m e r s t h r o u g h a p u b l i c a d d r e s s s y s t e m . N e d d y r e m e m b e r e d the s a p p h i r e water at the B u n k e r s ' with longing a n d t h o u g h t that he might c o n t a m i n a t e h i m s e l f — d a m a g e his own p r o s p e r o u s n e s s a n d c h a r m — b y s w i m m i n g in this m u r k , but h e r e m i n d e d h i m s e l f that he w a s a n explorer, a pilgrim, a n d that this w a s merely a s t a g n a n t b e n d in the L u c i n d a River. H e dove, s c o w l i n g with d i s t a s t e , into t h e c h l o r i n e a n d h a d to swim with his h e a d a b o v e water to avoid c o l l i s i o n s , but even so he w a s b u m p e d into, s p l a s h e d a n d j o s t l e d . W h e n he got to the s h a l l o w e n d b o t h lifeguards were s h o u t i n g at h i m : " H e y , you, you without the identification disk, get o u t a the w a t e r . " H e did, but they h a d no way of p u r s u i n g him a n d he went t h r o u g h the reek of s u n t a n oil a n d chlorine o u t t h r o u g h the hurric a n e f e n c e a n d p a s s e d the h a n d b a l l c o u r t s . By c r o s s i n g the r o a d h e e n t e r e d the w o o d e d part of the H a l l o r a n e s t a t e . T h e w o o d s were not c l e a r e d a n d the footing w a s t r e a c h e r o u s a n d difficult until he r e a c h e d the lawn a n d the clipped b e e c h h e d g e that e n c i r c l e d their pool. T h e H a l l o r a n s were friends, a n elderly c o u p l e of e n o r m o u s wealth w h o s e e m e d to b a s k in the s u s p i c i o n that they might b e C o m m u n i s t s . T h e y were zea lous reformers but they were not C o m m u n i s t s , a n d yet w h e n they were

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a c c u s e d , as they s o m e t i m e s w e r e , of s u b v e r s i o n , it s e e m e d to gratify a n d excite t h e m . T h e i r b e e c h h e d g e w a s yellow a n d h e g u e s s e d this h a d b e e n blighted like the Levys' m a p l e . H e called hullo, hullo, to warn t h e H a l l o r a n s of his a p p r o a c h , to p a l l i a t e his invasion of their privacy. T h e H a l l o r a n s , for r e a s o n s that h a d never b e e n explained to h i m , did not w e a r b a t h i n g s u i t s . N o e x p l a n a t i o n s w e r e in order, really. T h e i r n a k e d n e s s w a s a detail in their u n c o m p r o m i s i n g zeal for reform a n d h e s t e p p e d politely o u t of his trunks b e f o r e he w e n t t h r o u g h the o p e n i n g in the h e d g e . M r s . H a l l o r a n , a s t o u t w o m a n with white hair a n d a s e r e n e f a c e , w a s r e a d i n g the Times. M r . H a l l o r a n w a s taking b e e c h leaves out of the water with a s c o o p . T h e y s e e m e d not s u r p r i s e d or d i s p l e a s e d to s e e h i m . T h e i r p o o l w a s p e r h a p s the oldest in the county, a fieldstone r e c t a n g l e , fed by a brook. It h a d no filter or p u m p a n d its waters were the o p a q u e gold of the s t r e a m . "I'm s w i m m i n g a c r o s s the c o u n t y , " N e d s a i d . "Why, I didn't know o n e c o u l d , " e x c l a i m e d M r s . H a l l o r a n . "Well, I've m a d e it from the W e s t e r h a z y s ' , N e d s a i d . " T h a t m u s t b e a b o u t four m i l e s . " H e left his trunks at the d e e p e n d , walked to the s h a l l o w e n d , a n d s w a m this s t r e t c h . A s h e w a s p u l l i n g h i m s e l f o u t of the water he h e a r d M r s . H a l loran say: "We've b e e n terribly sorry to h e a r a b o u t all your m i s f o r t u n e s , Neddy." " M y m i s f o r t u n e s ? " N e d a s k e d . "I don't know w h a t you m e a n . " " W h y , we h e a r d that you'd sold the h o u s e a n d that your p o o r c h i l d r e n . . ." "I don't recall having sold the h o u s e , " N e d s a i d , " a n d the girls are at h o m e . " " Y e s , " M r s . H a l l o r a n s i g h e d . "Yes . . ." H e r v o i c e filled the air with a n u n s e a s o n a b l e m e l a n c h o l y a n d N e d s p o k e briskly. " T h a n k you for t h e s w i m . " "Well, have a nice trip," said M r s . H a l l o r a n . B e y o n d the h e d g e he p u l l e d on his trunks a n d f a s t e n e d t h e m . T h e y w e r e l o o s e a n d he w o n d e r e d if, d u r i n g the s p a c e of a n a f t e r n o o n , h e c o u l d h a v e lost s o m e weight. H e w a s cold a n d he w a s tired a n d t h e n a k e d H a l l o r a n s a n d their d a r k water h a d d e p r e s s e d h i m . T h e swim w a s too m u c h for his strength but how c o u l d h e have g u e s s e d this, sliding d o w n the b a n i s t e r that m o r n i n g a n d sitting in the W e s t e r h a z y s ' s u n ? H i s a r m s w e r e l a m e . H i s legs felt r u b b e r y a n d a c h e d at the j o i n t s . T h e worst of it w a s the cold in his b o n e s a n d the feeling that he m i g h t never b e w a r m a g a i n . L e a v e s w e r e falling d o w n a r o u n d him a n d he s m e l l e d w o o d s m o k e on the wind. W h o w o u l d b e b u r n i n g w o o d at this time of year? H e n e e d e d a drink. W h i s k e y w o u l d w a r m h i m , p i c k him u p , carry him t h r o u g h the last of his j o u r n e y , refresh his feeling that it w a s original a n d valorous to swim a c r o s s t h e c o u n t y . C h a n n e l s w i m m e r s took brandy. H e n e e d e d a s t i m u l a n t . H e c r o s s e d the lawn in front of the H a l l o r a n s ' h o u s e a n d went down a little p a t h to w h e r e they h a d built a h o u s e for their only d a u g h t e r H e l e n a n d her h u s b a n d Eric S a c h s . T h e S a c h s e s ' p o o l w a s s m a l l a n d he f o u n d H e l e n a n d her h u s b a n d t h e r e . " O h , Neddy," H e l e n s a i d . " D i d you l u n c h at M o t h e r ' s ? " " N o t really," N e d s a i d . "I did s t o p to s e e your p a r e n t s . " T h i s s e e m e d to b e e x p l a n a t i o n e n o u g h . "I'm terribly sorry to b r e a k in o n you like this b u t I've taken a chill a n d I w o n d e r if you'd give m e a d r i n k . " "Why, I'd love t o , " H e l e n s a i d , " b u t there h a s n ' t b e e n a n y t h i n g in this h o u s e to drink s i n c e Eric's o p e r a t i o n . T h a t w a s t h r e e years a g o . "

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W a s he losing his m e m o r y , h a d his gift for c o n c e a l i n g painful facts let him forget that h e h a d sold his h o u s e , that his children were in t r o u b l e , a n d that his friend h a d b e e n ill? His eyes slipped from Eric's f a c e to his a b d o m e n , where he s a w three p a l e , s u t u r e d s c a r s , two of t h e m at least a foot long. G o n e w a s his navel, a n d what, N e d d y t h o u g h t , w o u l d the roving h a n d , bedc h e c k i n g one's gifts at 3 A.M. m a k e of a belly with n o navel, no link to birth, this b r e a c h in the s u c c e s s i o n ? "I'm sure you c a n get a drink at the B i s w a n g e r s ' , " H e l e n s a i d . "They're having an e n o r m o u s d o . You c a n hear it from here. L i s t e n ! " S h e raised her h e a d a n d from a c r o s s the road, the l a w n s , the g a r d e n s , the w o o d s , the fields, he heard a g a i n the brilliant n o i s e of voices over water. "Well, I'll get w e t , " h e s a i d , still feeling that he h a d no f r e e d o m of c h o i c e a b o u t his m e a n s of travel. H e dove into the S a c h s e s ' c o l d water a n d , g a s p i n g , c l o s e to drowning, m a d e his way from o n e e n d of the pool to the other. " L u c i n d a a n d I want terribly to s e e y o u , " h e said over his s h o u l d e r , his f a c e set toward the B i s w a n g e r s ' . "We're sorry it's b e e n s o long a n d we'll call you very s o o n . " H e c r o s s e d s o m e fields to the B i s w a n g e r s ' a n d the s o u n d s of revelry there. T h e y w o u l d be h o n o r e d to give him a drink, they w o u l d b e h a p p y to give him a drink, they would in fact be lucky to give him a drink. T h e B i s w a n g e r s invited him a n d L u c i n d a for dinner four t i m e s a year, six w e e k s in a d v a n c e . T h e y were always rebuffed a n d yet they c o n t i n u e d to s e n d out their invitations, unwilling to c o m p r e h e n d the rigid a n d u n d e m o c r a t i c realities of their society. T h e y were the sort of p e o p l e who d i s c u s s e d the p r i c e of things at c o c k t a i l s , e x c h a n g e d m a r k e t tips d u r i n g dinner, a n d after d i n n e r told dirty stories to mixed c o m p a n y . T h e y did not b e l o n g to N e d d y ' s s e t — t h e y were not even on L u c i n d a ' s C h r i s t m a s c a r d list. H e went toward their pool with feelings of indifference, charity, a n d s o m e u n e a s e , s i n c e it s e e m e d to be getting dark a n d t h e s e were the longest days of the year. T h e party w h e n h e j o i n e d it w a s noisy a n d large. G r a c e B i s w a n g e r w a s the kind of h o s t e s s w h o a s k e d the o p t o m e t r i s t , the veterinarian, the real-estate dealer a n d the d e n t i s t . N o o n e w a s s w i m m i n g a n d the twilight, reflected on the water of the pool, h a d a wintry g l e a m . T h e r e w a s a bar a n d h e started for this. W h e n G r a c e B i s w a n g e r s a w him s h e c a m e toward h i m , not affectionately a s he h a d every right to expect, but bellicosely. "Why, this party h a s everything," s h e said loudly, " i n c l u d i n g a g a t e crasher." S h e c o u l d not deal him a social b l o w — t h e r e w a s n o q u e s t i o n a b o u t this a n d he did not flinch. "As a g a t e c r a s h e r , " he a s k e d politely, "do I rate a drink?" " S u i t yourself," s h e s a i d . "You don't s e e m to pay m u c h attention to invitations." S h e turn ed her b a c k on him a n d j o i n e d s o m e g u e s t s , a n d he went to the bar a n d ordered a whiskey. T h e b a r t e n d e r served him but he served him rudely. His w a s a world in which the caterer's m e n kept the social s c o r e , a n d to b e rebuffed by a part-time b a r k e e p m e a n t that he h a d s uf f e r e d s o m e loss of social e s t e e m . O r p e r h a p s the m a n w a s new a n d u n i n f o r m e d . T h e n he heard G r a c e at his b a c k say: " T h e y went for broke o v e r n i g h t — n o t h i n g but i n c o m e — a n d he s h o w e d u p d r u n k o n e S u n d a y a n d a s k e d u s to loan him five t h o u s a n d dollars. . . ." S h e w a s always talking a b o u t m o n e y . It w a s w o r s e

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t h a n e a t i n g your p e a s off a knife. H e dove into the p o o l , s w a m its l e n g t h a n d w e n t away. T h e next pool o n his list, t h e last b u t two, b e l o n g e d to his old m i s t r e s s , Shirley A d a m s . If h e h a d s u f f e r e d any injuries at t h e B i s w a n g e r s ' they w o u l d b e c u r e d h e r e . L o v e — s e x u a l r o u g h h o u s e in f a c t — w a s the s u p r e m e elixir, t h e painkiller, t h e brightly c o l o r e d pill that w o u l d p u t the s p r i n g b a c k into his s t e p , the j o y of life in his heart. T h e y h a d h a d a n affair last w e e k , last m o n t h , last year. H e c o u l d n ' t r e m e m b e r . It w a s he w h o h a d b r o k e n it off, his w a s the u p p e r h a n d , a n d he s t e p p e d t h r o u g h the g a t e of t h e wall that s u r r o u n d e d her pool with n o t h i n g s o c o n s i d e r e d a s s e l f - c o n f i d e n c e . It s e e m e d in a way to b e his pool a s the lover, particularly the illicit lover, enjoys the p o s s e s s i o n s of his m i s t r e s s with a n authority u n k n o w n to holy matrim o n y . S h e w a s t h e r e , her hair t h e color of b r a s s , b u t her figure, at the e d g e of the lighted, c e r u l e a n water, excited in him no p r o f o u n d m e m o r i e s . It h a d b e e n , he t h o u g h t , a l i g h t h e a r t e d affair, a l t h o u g h s h e h a d w e p t w h e n h e broke it off. S h e s e e m e d c o n f u s e d to s e e him a n d he w o n d e r e d if s h e w a s still w o u n d e d . W o u l d s h e , G o d forbid, w e e p a g a i n ? " W h a t d o you w a n t ? " s h e a s k e d . "I'm s w i m m i n g a c r o s s t h e c o u n t y . " " G o o d C h r i s t . Will you ever grow u p ? " " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r ? " "If you've c o m e h e r e for m o n e y , " s h e s a i d , "I won't give you a n o t h e r c e n t . " "You c o u l d give m e a d r i n k . " "I c o u l d but I won't. I'm not a l o n e . " "Well, I'm on m y w a y . " H e dove in a n d s w a m the pool, b u t w h e n h e tried to haul h i m s e l f u p o n t o the c u r b h e f o u n d that t h e s t r e n g t h in his a r m s a n d his s h o u l d e r s h a d g o n e , a n d h e p a d d l e d to t h e l a d d e r a n d c l i m b e d o u t . L o o k i n g over his s h o u l d e r he s a w , in the lighted b a t h h o u s e , a y o u n g m a n . G o i n g o u t o n t o the d a r k lawn h e s m e l l e d c h r y s a n t h e m u m s or m a r i g o l d s — s o m e s t u b b o r n a u t u m n a l frag r a n c e — o n the night air, s t r o n g as g a s . L o o k i n g o v e r h e a d he s a w that the s t a r s h a d c o m e out, but why s h o u l d he s e e m to s e e A n d r o m e d a , C e p h e u s , a n d C a s s i o p e i a ? W h a t h a d b e c o m e of the c o n s t e l l a t i o n s of m i d s u m m e r ? H e b e g a n to cry. It w a s p r o b a b l y the first t i m e in his a d u l t life that h e h a d ever cried, certainly the first t i m e in his life that he h a d ever felt s o m i s e r a b l e , c o l d , tired, a n d bewildered. H e c o u l d not u n d e r s t a n d t h e r u d e n e s s of t h e c a t e r e r ' s bark e e p or the r u d e n e s s of a m i s t r e s s w h o h a d c o m e to him on her k n e e s a n d s h o w e r e d his t r o u s e r s with t e a r s . H e h a d s w u m too long, h e h a d b e e n i m m e r s e d too long, a n d his n o s e a n d his throat w e r e s o r e f r o m the water. W h a t h e n e e d e d then w a s a drink, s o m e c o m p a n y , a n d s o m e c l e a n dry c l o t h e s , a n d while h e c o u l d have c u t directly a c r o s s the r o a d to his h o m e h e w e n t o n to the G i l m a r t i n s ' p o o l . H e r e , for the first t i m e in his life, h e did not dive but went d o w n the s t e p s into t h e icy water a n d s w a m a h o b b l e d s i d e stroke that h e m i g h t h a v e l e a r n e d a s a y o u t h . H e s t a g g e r e d with f a t i g u e o n his way to the C l y d e s ' a n d p a d d l e d the length of their p o o l , s t o p p i n g a g a i n a n d a g a i n with his h a n d on the c u r b to rest. H e c l i m b e d u p t h e l a d d e r a n d w o n d e r e d if he h a d the strength to get h o m e . H e h a d d o n e w h a t h e w a n t e d , he h a d s w u m the county, but h e w a s s o s t u p e f i e d with e x h a u s t i o n that his

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t r i u m p h s e e m e d v a g u e . S t o o p e d , h o l d i n g o n t o the g a t e p o s t s for s u p p o r t , he turned u p the driveway of his h o u s e . T h e p l a c e w a s dark. W a s it so late that they h a d all g o n e to b e d ? H a d L u c i n d a stayed at the W e s t e r h a z y s ' for s u p p e r ? H a d the girls j o i n e d her there or g o n e s o m e p l a c e else? H a d n ' t they a g r e e d , a s they u s u a l l y did on S u n d a y , to regret all their invitations a n d stay at h o m e ? H e tried the g a r a g e d o o r s to s e e what c a r s were in but the d o o r s w e r e l o c k e d a n d rust c a m e off the h a n d l e s o n t o his h a n d s . G o i n g toward the h o u s e , h e s a w that the force of the t h u n d e r s t o r m h a d k n o c k e d o n e of the rain g u t t e r s l o o s e . It h u n g d o w n over the front door like a n u m b r e l l a rib, but it c o u l d b e fixed in the m o r n i n g . T h e h o u s e w a s locked, a n d he t h o u g h t that the s t u p i d c o o k or the s t u p i d m a i d m u s t have locked t h e p l a c e u p until he r e m e m b e r e d that it h a d b e e n s o m e t i m e s i n c e they h a d e m p l o y e d a m a i d or a c o o k . H e s h o u t e d , p o u n d e d on the door, tried to force it with his s h o u l d e r , a n d t h e n , l o o k i n g in at the w i n d o w s , saw that the p l a c e w a s e m p t y .

1964

RALPH

ELLISON

1914-1994 "If the Negro, or any other writer, is going to do what's expected of him, he's lost the battle before he takes the field." This remark of Ralph Ellison's, taken from his Paris Review interview of 1953, serves in more than one sense as an appropriate motto for his own career. He did not do what his critics, literary or political, suggested that he ought to but insisted on being a writer rather than a spokesman for a cause or a representative figure. His importance to American letters is partly due to this independence. It is also true, that he did the unexpected in not following his fine first novel with the others that were predicted. While maintaining a strong presence on the literary scene by writing essays on a wide variety of social and cultural issues, Ellison published only excerpts from his work in progress: a massive novel that may well have run to three volumes, a single book of which was assembled after his death and published as Juneteenth (1999). Ellison was born in Oklahoma; grew up in Oklahoma City; won a state scholarship; and attended the Tuskegee Institute, where he was a music major, his instrument, the trumpet. His musical life was wide enough to embrace both "serious music" and the world of Southwest—Kansas City jazz just reaching its heyday when Ellison was a young man. He became friends with Jimmy Rushing, the blues singer, and was acquainted with other members of what would be the great Count Basie band of the 1930s; this "deep, rowdy stream of jazz" figured for him as an image of the power and control that constituted art. Although he was a serious student of music and composition, his literary inclinations eventually dominated his musical ones; but testimony to his abiding knowledge and love of music may be found in some of the essays from Shadow and Act (1964), a collection of his prose.

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Ellison left Tuskegee and went north to New York City. There, in 1936, he met Richard Wright, who encouraged him as a writer, and Ellison began to publish reviews and short stories. Invisible Man, begun in 1945, was published seven years later and won the National Book Award. Ellison subsequently received a number of awards and lectureships, taught at the Salzburg Seminar, at Bard College, and at the University of Chicago, and in 1970 was named Albert Schweitzer Professor of the Humanities at New York University, where he taught until his retirement. Yet he admitted to being troubled by the terms in which Invisible Man's success—and perhaps his own career as well—were defined. In the Paris Review interview he deprecatingly referred to his novel as largely a failure, wished that rather than a "statement" about the American Negro it could be read "simply as a novel," and hoped that in twenty years it would be so read, casually adding, "if it's around that long." Invisible Man may have outlived Ellison's expectations, but not without suffering attacks from critics. The most powerful of these, Irving Howe, took the author to task for not following the lead of Richard Wright and devoting his fiction to the Negro cause. Howe believed that African Americans should write social protest novels about the tragedy of black ghetto life. Invisible Man had used its protagonist's "invisibility" to entertain a much broader range of possibilities; and though by no means socially irresponsible, the novel is dedicated to the richness of life and art that becomes possible when the imagination is liberated from close realism.

From

Invisible M a n 1 Chapter

I

[BATTLE ROYAL] It g o e s a long way b a c k , s o m e twenty y e a r s . All m y life I h a d b e e n looking for s o m e t h i n g , a n d everywhere I t u r n e d s o m e o n e tried to tell m e what it w a s . I a c c e p t e d their a n s w e r s t o o , t h o u g h they w e r e often in c o n t r a d i c tion a n d even self-contradictory. I w a s naive. I w a s looking for myself a n d a s k i n g everyone except m y s e l f q u e s t i o n s w h i c h I, a n d only I, c o u l d a n s w e r . It took m e a l o n g t i m e a n d m u c h painful b o o m e r a n g i n g of m y e x p e c t a t i o n s to achieve a realization everyone e l s e a p p e a r s to h a v e b e e n b o r n with: T h a t I a m n o b o d y b u t myself. B u t first I h a d to discover that I a m an invisible man! A n d yet I a m n o freak of n a t u r e , n o r of history. I w a s in t h e c a r d s , other things having b e e n e q u a l (or u n e q u a l ) eighty-five y e a r s a g o . I a m not a s h a m e d of my g r a n d p a r e n t s for having b e e n s l a v e s . I a m only a s h a m e d of myself for having at o n e t i m e b e e n a s h a m e d . A b o u t eighty-five years a g o they w e r e told that they w e r e free, u n i t e d with o t h e r s of o u r c o u n t r y in everything p e r t a i n i n g to the c o m m o n g o o d , a n d , in everything s o c i a l , s e p a r a t e like t h e fingers of the h a n d . A n d they believed it. T h e y exulted in it. T h e y s t a y e d in their p l a c e , worked hard, a n d b r o u g h t u p my father to do the s a m e . B u t my g r a n d f a t h e r is the o n e . H e w a s a n o d d old guy, my g r a n d f a t h e r , a n d I a m told I take after h i m . It w a s h e w h o c a u s e d the t r o u b l e . O n his d e a t h b e d h e

1. T h e text is from Invisible Man ( 1 9 5 2 ) . Ras the Destroyer, Rinehart, and Brother J a c k , mentioned in the prologue, are characters who will appear later.

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called my father to him a n d said, " S o n , after I'm g o n e I want you to k e e p u p the g o o d fight. I never told you, but our life is a war a n d I have b e e n a traitor all my born d a y s , a spy in the enemy's country ever s i n c e I give u p my g u n b a c k in the R e c o n s t r u c t i o n . Live with your h e a d in the lion's m o u t h . I w a n t you to o v e r c o m e 'em with y e s e s , u n d e r m i n e 'em with grins, a g r e e 'em to d e a t h a n d d e s t r u c t i o n , let 'em swoller you till they vomit or b u s t wide o p e n . " T h e y t h o u g h t the old m a n h a d g o n e out of his m i n d . H e h a d b e e n the m e e k e s t of m e n . T h e y o u n g e r children were r u s h e d from the r o o m , the s h a d e s drawn a n d the flame of the l a m p turned s o low that it s p u t t e r e d on the wick like the old m a n ' s b r e a t h i n g . " L e a r n it to the y o u n g u n s , " h e whisp e r e d fiercely; then he died. B u t my folks were m o r e a l a r m e d over his last words than over his dying. It w a s a s t h o u g h he h a d not died at all, his w o r d s c a u s e d s o m u c h anxiety. I w a s w a r n e d e m p h a t i c a l l y to forget what he h a d said a n d , i n d e e d , this is the first time it has b e e n m e n t i o n e d o u t s i d e the family circle. It h a d a t r e m e n d o u s effect u p o n m e , however. I c o u l d never be s u r e of what he m e a n t . G r a n d f a t h e r h a d b e e n a quiet old m a n w h o never m a d e any t r o u b l e , yet on his d e a t h b e d he h a d called h i m s e l f a traitor a n d a spy, a n d he h a d s p o k e n of his m e e k n e s s a s a d a n g e r o u s activity. It b e c a m e a c o n s t a n t puzzle w h i c h lay u n a n s w e r e d in the b a c k of my m i n d . A n d whenever things went well for m e I r e m e m b e r e d my g r a n d f a t h e r a n d felt guilty a n d u n c o m f o r t a b l e . It w a s a s t h o u g h I w a s carrying o u t his advice in spite of myself. A n d to m a k e it w o r s e , everyone loved m e for it. I w a s p r a i s e d by the m o s t lily-white m e n of the town. I w a s c o n s i d e r e d a n e x a m p l e of d e s i r a b l e c o n d u c t — j u s t a s my grandfather h a d b e e n . A n d what puzzled m e w a s that the old m a n h a d defined it a s treachery. W h e n I w a s p r a i s e d for my c o n d u c t I felt a guilt that in s o m e way I w a s d o i n g s o m e t h i n g that w a s really a g a i n s t the w i s h e s of the white folks, that if they h a d u n d e r s t o o d they would have desired m e to a c t j u s t the o p p o s i t e , that I s h o u l d have b e e n sulky a n d m e a n , a n d that that really w o u l d have b e e n w h a t they w a n t e d , even t h o u g h they were fooled a n d t h o u g h t they w a n t e d m e to act a s I did. It m a d e m e afraid that s o m e day they w o u l d look u p o n m e as a traitor a n d I would be lost. Still I w a s m o r e afraid to act any other way b e c a u s e they didn't like that at all. T h e old m a n ' s w o r d s were like a c u r s e . O n my g r a d u a t i o n day I delivered a n oration in which I s h o w e d that humility w a s the secret, i n d e e d , the very e s s e n c e of p r o g r e s s . ( N o t that I believed t h i s — h o w c o u l d I, r e m e m b e r i n g my g r a n d f a t h e r ? — I only believed that it worked.) It w a s a great s u c c e s s . Everyone p r a i s e d m e a n d I w a s invited to give the s p e e c h at a g a t h e r i n g of the town's l e a d i n g white citizens. It w a s a t r i u m p h for our w h o l e c o m m u n i t y . It w a s in the m a i n b a l l r o o m of the l e a d i n g hotel. W h e n I got there I discovered that it w a s on the o c c a s i o n of a s m o k e r , a n d I w a s told that s i n c e I w a s to be there anyway I might a s well take part in the battle royal to be fought by s o m e of my s c h o o l m a t e s a s part of the e n t e r t a i n m e n t . T h e battle royal c a m e first. All of the town's big s h o t s were there in their t u x e d o e s , wolfing d o w n the buffet f o o d s , drinking beer a n d whiskey a n d s m o k i n g b l a c k c i g a r s . It w a s a large room with a high ceiling. C h a i r s were a r r a n g e d in neat rows a r o u n d three sides of a p o r t a b l e boxing ring. T h e fourth side w a s clear, revealing a g l e a m i n g s p a c e of p o l i s h e d floor. I h a d s o m e misgivings over the battle royal,

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by the way. N o t from a d i s t a s t e for fighting, b u t b e c a u s e I didn't c a r e too m u c h for the other fellows w h o were to take part. T h e y were t o u g h g u y s w h o s e e m e d to have no g r a n d f a t h e r ' s c u r s e worrying their m i n d s . N o o n e c o u l d m i s t a k e their t o u g h n e s s . A n d b e s i d e s , I s u s p e c t e d that fighting a b a t t l e royal might detract f r o m the dignity of my s p e e c h . In t h o s e pre-invisible days I visualized myself a s a potential B o o k e r T . W a s h i n g t o n . B u t the other fellows didn't c a r e too m u c h for m e either, a n d there were nine of t h e m . I felt s u p e r i o r to t h e m in my way, a n d I didn't like the m a n n e r in w h i c h we were all c r o w d e d together into the s e r v a n t s ' elevator. N o r did they like my b e i n g there. In fact, a s the warmly lighted floors flashed p a s t the elevator we h a d w o r d s over the fact that I , by taking part in the fight, h a d k n o c k e d o n e of their friends o u t of a night's work. W e were led out of the elevator t h r o u g h a r o c o c o hall into a n a n t e r o o m a n d told to get into our fighting togs. E a c h of u s w a s i s s u e d a pair of boxing gloves a n d u s h e r e d out into the big mirrored hall, which we e n t e r e d looking c a u t i o u s l y a b o u t u s a n d w h i s p e r i n g , lest we might accidentally be h e a r d a b o v e the noise of the r o o m . It w a s foggy with cigar s m o k e . A n d already the whiskey w a s taking effect. I w a s s h o c k e d to s e e s o m e of the m o s t i m p o r t a n t m e n of the town quite tipsy. T h e y were all t h e r e — b a n k e r s , lawyers, j u d g e s , d o c t o r s , fire chiefs, t e a c h e r s , m e r c h a n t s . E v e n o n e of the m o r e f a s h i o n a b l e p a s t o r s . S o m e t h i n g we c o u l d not s e e w a s g o i n g o n u p front. A clarinet w a s vibrating s e n s u o u s l y a n d the m e n were s t a n d i n g u p a n d m o v i n g eagerly forward. W e were a small tight g r o u p , c l u s t e r e d together, o u r b a r e u p p e r b o d i e s t o u c h i n g a n d s h i n i n g with anticipatory s w e a t ; while u p front the big s h o t s were b e c o m i n g increasingly excited over s o m e t h i n g we still c o u l d not s e e . S u d d e n l y I h e a r d the school s u p e r i n t e n d e n t , w h o h a d told m e to c o m e , yell, " B r i n g u p the s h i n e s , g e n t l e m e n ! B r i n g u p the little s h i n e s ! " W e were r u s h e d u p to the front of the b a l l r o o m , w h e r e it s m e l l e d even m o r e strongly of t o b a c c o a n d whiskey. T h e n we were p u s h e d into p l a c e . I a l m o s t wet my p a n t s . A s e a of f a c e s , s o m e hostile, s o m e a m u s e d , ringed a r o u n d u s , a n d in the center, f a c i n g u s , s t o o d a magnificent b l o n d e — s t a r k n a k e d . T h e r e w a s d e a d s i l e n c e . I felt a b l a s t of c o l d air chill m e . I tried to b a c k away, but they were b e h i n d m e a n d a r o u n d m e . S o m e of the boys s t o o d with lowered h e a d s , trembling. I felt a wave of irrational guilt a n d fear. M y teeth c h a t t e r e d , my skin turned to g o o s e flesh, my k n e e s k n o c k e d . Yet I w a s strongly a t t r a c t e d a n d looked in spite of myself. H a d the p r i c e of looking b e e n b l i n d n e s s , I would have looked. T h e hair w a s yellow like that of a c i r c u s kewpie doll, the f a c e heavily p o w d e r e d a n d r o u g e d , a s t h o u g h to form a n a b s t r a c t m a s k , the eyes hollow a n d s m e a r e d a cool b l u e , the color of a b a b o o n ' s butt. I felt a desire to spit u p o n her as my eyes b r u s h e d slowly over her body. H e r b r e a s t s were firm a n d r o u n d a s the d o m e s of E a s t I n d i a n t e m p l e s , a n d I s t o o d s o c l o s e a s to s e e the fine skin texture a n d b e a d s of pearly perspiration glistening like d e w a r o u n d the p i n k a n d e r e c t e d b u d s of her n i p p l e s . I w a n t e d at o n e a n d the s a m e time to run from the r o o m , to sink t h r o u g h the floor, or go to her a n d cover her from my eyes a n d the eyes of the others with my body; to feel the soft thighs, to c a r e s s her a n d destroy her, to love her a n d m u r d e r her, to hide from her, a n d yet to stroke w h e r e below the s m a l l A m e r i c a n flag t a t t o o e d u p o n her belly her thighs f o r m e d a capital V. I h a d a notion that of all in the r o o m s h e s a w only m e with her i m p e r s o n a l eyes.

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A n d then s h e b e g a n to d a n c e , a slow s e n s u o u s m o v e m e n t ; the s m o k e of a h u n d r e d cigars clinging to her like the t h i n n e s t of veils. S h e s e e m e d like a fair bird-girl girdled in veils calling to m e from the angry s u r f a c e of s o m e gray a n d t h r e a t e n i n g s e a . I w a s t r a n s p o r t e d . T h e n I b e c a m e a w a r e of the clarinet playing a n d the big s h o t s yelling at u s . S o m e t h r e a t e n e d u s if we looked a n d others if we did not. O n my right I saw o n e boy faint. A n d now a m a n g r a b b e d a silver pitcher from a table a n d s t e p p e d c l o s e a s he d a s h e d ice water u p o n him a n d s t o o d him u p a n d forced two of u s to s u p port him a s his h e a d h u n g a n d m o a n s i s s u e d from his thick b l u i s h lips. A n o t h e r boy b e g a n to p l e a d to go h o m e . H e w a s the largest of the g r o u p , w e a r i n g dark red fighting trunks m u c h too small to c o n c e a l the erection which p r o j e c t e d from him a s t h o u g h in a n s w e r to the i n s i n u a t i n g lowregistered m o a n i n g of the clarinet. H e tried to hide h i m s e l f with his boxing gloves. A n d all the while the b l o n d e c o n t i n u e d d a n c i n g , s m i l i n g faintly at the big s h o t s w h o w a t c h e d her with f a s c i n a t i o n , a n d faintly s m i l i n g at our fear. I n o t i c e d a certain m e r c h a n t w h o followed her hungrily, his lips l o o s e a n d drooling. H e w a s a large m a n w h o wore d i a m o n d s t u d s in a shirtfront w h i c h swelled with the a m p l e p a u n c h u n d e r n e a t h , a n d e a c h time the b l o n d e swayed her u n d u l a t i n g hips h e ran his h a n d t h r o u g h the thin hair of his bald h e a d a n d , with his a r m s u p h e l d , his p o s t u r e c l u m s y like that of a n intoxicated p a n d a , w o u n d his belly in a slow a n d o b s c e n e grind. T h i s c r e a t u r e w a s c o m pletely hypnotized. T h e m u s i c h a d q u i c k e n e d . As the d a n c e r flung herself a b o u t with a d e t a c h e d expression on her f a c e , the m e n b e g a n r e a c h i n g out to t o u c h her. I c o u l d s e e their beefy fingers sink into the soft flesh. S o m e of the others tried to s t o p t h e m a n d s h e b e g a n to m o v e a r o u n d the floor in graceful circles, a s they gave c h a s e , slipping a n d sliding over the p o l i s h e d floor. It w a s m a d . C h a i r s went c r a s h i n g , drinks were spilt, a s they ran l a u g h ing a n d howling after her. T h e y c a u g h t her j u s t a s s h e r e a c h e d a door, r a i s e d her from the floor, a n d t o s s e d her as college boys are t o s s e d at a hazing, a n d above her red, fixed-smiling lips I saw the terror a n d d i s g u s t in her eyes, a l m o s t like my own terror a n d that which I s a w in s o m e of the other boys. A s I w a t c h e d , they t o s s e d her twice a n d her soft b r e a s t s s e e m to flatten a g a i n s t the air a n d her legs flung wildly as s h e s p u n . S o m e of the m o r e s o b e r o n e s h e l p e d her to e s c a p e . A n d I started off the floor, h e a d i n g for the a n t e r o o m with the rest of the boys. S o m e were still crying a n d in hysteria. B u t a s we tried to leave w e were s t o p p e d a n d ordered to get into the ring. T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g to do but w h a t we were told. All ten of u s c l i m b e d u n d e r the r o p e s a n d allowed ourselves to b e blindfolded with b r o a d b a n d s of white cloth. O n e of the m e n s e e m e d to feel a bit s y m p a t h e t i c a n d tried to c h e e r u s u p as we s t o o d with our b a c k s a g a i n s t the r o p e s . S o m e of u s tried to grin. " S e e that boy over t h e r e ? " o n e of the m e n said. "I want you to run a c r o s s at the bell a n d give it to him right in the belly. If you don't get him, I'm g o i n g to get y o u . I don't like his l o o k s . " E a c h of u s w a s told the s a m e . T h e blindfolds were p u t on. Yet even then I h a d b e e n g o i n g over my s p e e c h . In my m i n d e a c h word w a s a s bright as f l a m e . I felt the cloth p r e s s e d into p l a c e , a n d frowned so that it w o u l d b e l o o s e n e d w h e n I relaxed. B u t now I felt a s u d d e n fit of blind terror. I w a s u n u s e d to d a r k n e s s . It w a s a s t h o u g h I h a d s u d d e n l y found myself in a dark r o o m filled with poi-

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s o n o u s c o t t o n m o u t h s . I c o u l d hear the bleary voices yelling insistently for the battle royal to b e g i n . " G e t going in t h e r e ! " " L e t m e at that big nigger!" I strained to p i c k u p the school s u p e r i n t e n d e n t ' s voice, a s t h o u g h to s q u e e z e s o m e security out of that slightly m o r e familiar s o u n d . " L e t m e at t h o s e b l a c k s o n s a b i t c h e s ! " s o m e o n e yelled. " N o , J a c k s o n , n o ! " a n o t h e r voice yelled. " H e r e , s o m e b o d y , help m e hold Jack." "I w a n t to get at that ginger-colored nigger. T e a r him limb from l i m b , " the first voice yelled. I s t o o d a g a i n s t the r o p e s trembling. F o r in t h o s e days I w a s what they called ginger-colored, a n d he s o u n d e d a s t h o u g h he might c r u n c h m e b e t w e e n his teeth like a crisp ginger c o o k i e . Quite a struggle w a s g o i n g on. C h a i r s were b e i n g kicked a b o u t a n d 1 c o u l d hear voices g r u n t i n g a s with a terrific effort. I w a n t e d to s e e , to s e e m o r e desperately than ever b e f o r e . B u t the blindfold w a s tight a s a thick skinp u c k e r i n g s c a b a n d w h e n I raised my gloved h a n d s to p u s h the layers of white a s i d e a voice yelled, " O h , no you don't, b l a c k b a s t a r d ! L e a v e that alone!" " R i n g the bell before J a c k s o n kills him a c o o n ! " s o m e o n e b o o m e d in the s u d d e n s i l e n c e . A n d I h e a r d the bell c l a n g a n d the s o u n d of the feet scuffling forward. A glove s m a c k e d a g a i n s t my h e a d . I pivoted, striking o u t stiffly a s s o m e o n e went p a s t , a n d felt the j a r ripple a l o n g the length of my a r m to my s h o u l d e r . T h e n it s e e m e d a s t h o u g h all nine of the boys h a d t u r n e d u p o n m e at o n c e . Blows p o u n d e d m e from all s i d e s while I s t r u c k o u t a s b e s t I c o u l d . S o m a n y blow l a n d e d u p o n m e that I w o n d e r e d if I were not the only blindfolded fighter in the ring, or if the m a n called J a c k s o n hadn't s u c c e e d e d in getting m e after all. Blindfolded, I c o u l d no longer control my m o t i o n s . I h a d n o dignity. I s t u m b l e d a b o u t like a b a b y or a d r u n k e n m a n . T h e s m o k e h a d b e c o m e thicker a n d with e a c h n e w blow it s e e m e d to s e a r a n d further restrict my l u n g s . M y saliva b e c a m e like hot bitter g l u e . A glove c o n n e c t e d with my h e a d , filling my m o u t h with w a r m blood. It w a s everywhere. I c o u l d not tell if the m o i s t u r e I felt u p o n my body w a s sweat or blood. A blow l a n d e d hard a g a i n s t the n a p e of my neck. I felt myself g o i n g over, my h e a d hitting the floor. S t r e a k s of b l u e light filled the b l a c k world b e h i n d the blindfold. I lay p r o n e , p r e t e n d i n g that I w a s k n o c k e d out, but felt myself seized by h a n d s a n d y a n k e d to my feet. " G e t going, black boy! Mix it u p ! " M y a r m s were like l e a d , my h e a d s m a r t i n g from b l o w s . I m a n a g e d to feel my way to the r o p e s a n d held o n , trying to c a t c h my b r e a t h . A glove l a n d e d in my m i d - s e c t i o n a n d I went over a g a i n , feeling a s t h o u g h the s m o k e h a d b e c o m e a knife j a b b e d into my g u t s . P u s h e d this way a n d that by the legs milling a r o u n d m e , I finally p u l l e d erect a n d discovered that I c o u l d s e e the black, s w e a t - w a s h e d f o r m s w e a v i n g in the smoky-blue a t m o s p h e r e like d r u n k e n d a n c e r s weaving to the rapid d r u m like t h u d s of b l o w s . Everyone fought hysterically. It w a s c o m p l e t e a n a r c h y . Everybody fought everybody e l s e . N o g r o u p fought together for long. T w o , three, four, fought

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o n e , then turned to fight e a c h other, were t h e m s e l v e s a t t a c k e d . B l o w s l a n d e d below the belt a n d in the kidney, with the gloves o p e n a s well a s c l o s e d , a n d with my eye partly o p e n e d now there w a s not s o m u c h terror. I m o v e d c a r e fully, avoiding blows, a l t h o u g h not too m a n y to attract a t t e n t i o n , fighting from g r o u p to g r o u p . T h e boys g r o p e d a b o u t like blind, c a u t i o u s c r a b s c r o u c h i n g to protect their m i d - s e c t i o n s , their h e a d s pulled in short a g a i n s t their s h o u l d e r s , their a r m s s t r e t c h e d nervously before t h e m , with their fists testing the smoke-filled air like the k n o b b e d feelers of hypersensitive snails. In o n e corner I g l i m p s e d a boy violently p u n c h i n g the air a n d h e a r d him s c r e a m in pain a s h e s m a s h e d his h a n d a g a i n s t a ring p o s t . F o r a s e c o n d I saw him b e n t over holding his h a n d , then g o i n g d o w n a s a blow c a u g h t his u n p r o t e c t e d h e a d . I played o n e g r o u p a g a i n s t the other, slipping in a n d throwing a p u n c h then s t e p p i n g o u t of r a n g e while p u s h i n g the others into the m e l e e to take the blows blindly a i m e d at m e . T h e s m o k e w a s agonizing a n d there were no r o u n d s , n o bells at three m i n u t e intervals to relieve our e x h a u s t i o n . T h e r o o m s p u n a r o u n d m e , a swirl of lights, s m o k e , s w e a t i n g b o d i e s s u r r o u n d e d by t e n s e white f a c e s . I bled from both n o s e a n d m o u t h , the blood spattering u p o n my c h e s t . T h e m e n kept yelling, " S l u g him, b l a c k boy! K n o c k his g u t s o u t ! " " U p p e r c u t him! Kill him! Kill that big boy!" T a k i n g a fake fall, I saw a boy going d o w n heavily b e s i d e m e a s t h o u g h we were felled by a single blow, saw a s n e a k e r - c l a d foot s h o o t into his groin as the two w h o h a d k n o c k e d him d o w n s t u m b l e d u p o n h i m . I rolled out of r a n g e , feeling a twinge of n a u s e a . T h e h a r d e r we f o u g h t the m o r e t h r e a t e n i n g the m e n b e c a m e . A n d yet, I h a d b e g u n to worry a b o u t my s p e e c h a g a i n . H o w w o u l d it g o ? W o u l d they recognize my ability? W h a t w o u l d they give m e ? I w a s fighting a u t o m a t i c a l l y w h e n s u d d e n l y I n o t i c e d that o n e after a n o t h e r of the boys w a s leaving the ring. I w a s s u r p r i s e d , filled with p a n i c , a s t h o u g h I h a d b e e n left a l o n e with a n u n k n o w n d a n g e r . T h e n I u n d e r s t o o d . T h e boys h a d a r r a n g e d it a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s . It w a s the c u s t o m for the two m e n left in the ring to s l u g it out for the winner's prize. I d i s c o v e r e d this too late. W h e n the bell s o u n d e d two m e n in t u x e d o e s l e a p e d into the ring a n d r e m o v e d the blindfold. I f o u n d myself f a c i n g T a t l o c k , the biggest of the g a n g . I felt sick at my s t o m a c h . Hardly h a d the bell s t o p p e d ringing in my e a r s than it c l a n g e d again a n d I s a w him m o v i n g swiftly toward m e . T h i n k i n g of n o t h i n g else to do I hit him s m a s h on the n o s e . H e kept c o m i n g , bringing the rank s h a r p violence of stale sweat. His f a c e w a s a b l a c k b l a n k of a f a c e , only his eyes alive—with hate of m e a n d aglow with a feverish terror from what h a d h a p p e n e d to u s all. I b e c a m e a n x i o u s . I w a n t e d to deliver my s p e e c h a n d h e c a m e at m e a s t h o u g h he m e a n t to b e a t it out of m e . I s m a s h e d h i m again a n d a g a i n , taking his blows a s they c a m e . T h e n o n a s u d d e n i m p u l s e I s t r u c k him lightly a n d a s we c l i n c h e d , I w h i s p e r e d , " F a k e like I k n o c k e d you out, you c a n have the p r i z e . " "I'll b r e a k your b e h i n d , " h e w h i s p e r e d hoarsely. " F o r them}" " F o r me, s o n o f a b i t c h ! " T h e y were yelling for u s to b r e a k it u p a n d T a t l o c k s p u n m e half a r o u n d with a blow, a n d a s a j o g g l e d c a m e r a s w e e p s in a reeling s c e n e , I saw the

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howling red f a c e s c r o u c h i n g t e n s e b e n e a t h the c l o u d of blue-gray s m o k e . F o r a m o m e n t the world wavered, u n r a v e l e d , flowed, then my h e a d c l e a r e d a n d T a t l o c k b o u n c e d before m e . T h a t fluttering s h a d o w before my eyes w a s his j a b b i n g left h a n d . T h e n falling forward, my h e a d a g a i n s t his d a m p shoulder, I w h i s p e r e d , "I'll m a k e it five dollars m o r e . " " G o to hell!" B u t his m u s c l e s relaxed a trifle b e n e a t h my p r e s s u r e a n d I b r e a t h e d , "Seven?" " G i v e it to your m a , " he s a i d , ripping m e b e n e a t h the h e a r t . A n d while I still held him I b u t t e d him a n d m o v e d away. I felt myself b o m b a r d e d with p u n c h e s . I fought b a c k with h o p e l e s s d e s p e r a t i o n . I w a n t e d to deliver my s p e e c h m o r e t h a n a n y t h i n g else in the world, b e c a u s e I felt that only t h e s e m e n c o u l d j u d g e truly my ability, a n d now this s t u p i d clown w a s ruining my c h a n c e s . I b e g a n fighting carefully now, m o v i n g in to p u n c h him a n d out again with my greater s p e e d . A lucky blow to his chin a n d I h a d him g o i n g t o o — u n t i l I h e a r d a loud voice yell, "I got my m o n e y on the big b o y . " H e a r i n g this, I a l m o s t d r o p p e d my g u a r d . I w a s c o n f u s e d : S h o u l d I try to win a g a i n s t the voice o u t there? W o u l d not this go a g a i n s t my s p e e c h , a n d w a s not this a m o m e n t for humility, for n o n r e s i s t a n c e ? A blow to my h e a d a s I d a n c e d a b o u t sent my right eye p o p p i n g like a jack-in-the-box a n d settled my d i l e m m a . T h e r o o m went red a s I fell. It w a s a d r e a m fall, my body l a n g u i d a n d f a s t i d i o u s a s to w h e r e to land, until the floor b e c a m e i m p a t i e n t a n d s m a s h e d u p to m e e t m e . A m o m e n t later I c a m e to. An hypnotic voice s a i d F I V E e m p h a t i c a l l y . A n d I lay t h e r e , hazily w a t c h i n g a dark red spot of my own blood s h a p i n g itself into a butterfly, glistening a n d s o a k i n g into the soiled gray world of the c a n v a s . W h e n the voice drawled T E N I w a s lifted u p a n d d r a g g e d to a chair. I s a t d a z e d . M y eye p a i n e d a n d swelled with e a c h throb of my p o u n d i n g heart a n d I w o n d e r e d if now I w o u l d be allowed to s p e a k . I w a s wringing wet, my m o u t h still bleeding. W e were g r o u p e d a l o n g the wall now. T h e other boys i g n o r e d m e a s they c o n g r a t u l a t e d T a t l o c k a n d s p e c u l a t e d a s to how m u c h they w o u l d be p a i d . O n e boy w h i m p e r e d over his s m a s h e d h a n d . L o o k i n g u p front, I s a w a t t e n d a n t s in white j a c k e t s rolling the p o r t a b l e ring away a n d p l a c i n g a small s q u a r e r u g in the v a c a n t s p a c e s u r r o u n d e d by c h a i r s . P e r h a p s , I t h o u g h t , I will s t a n d o n the r u g to deliver my s p e e c h . T h e n the M . C . called to u s , " C o m e on u p h e r e boys a n d get your m o n e y . " W e ran forward to w h e r e the m e n l a u g h e d a n d talked in their c h a i r s , waiting. Everyone s e e m e d friendly now. " T h e r e it is o n the r u g , " the m a n s a i d . I s a w the rug c o v e r e d with c o i n s of all d i m e n s i o n s a n d a few c r u m p l e d bills. B u t what excited m e , s c a t t e r e d h e r e a n d there, were the gold p i e c e s . " B o y s , it's all y o u r s , " the m a n s a i d . "You get all you g r a b . " " T h a t ' s right, S a m b o , " a b l o n d m a n said, winking at m e confidentially. I t r e m b l e d with e x c i t e m e n t , forgetting my p a i n . I w o u l d g e t the gold a n d the bills, I t h o u g h t . I w o u l d u s e both h a n d s . I w o u l d throw my body a g a i n s t the boys n e a r e s t m e to b l o c k t h e m from the gold. " G e t down a r o u n d the rug n o w , " the m a n c o m m a n d e d , " a n d don't a n y o n e t o u c h it until I give the s i g n a l . " " T h i s o u g h t to be g o o d , " I h e a r d .

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As told, we got a r o u n d the s q u a r e rug on our k n e e s . Slowly the m a n raised his freckled h a n d as we followed it u p w a r d with our eyes. I h e a r d , " T h e s e niggers look like they're a b o u t to pray!" T h e n , " R e a d y , " the m a n s a i d . " G o ! " I l u n g e d for a yellow coin lying on the b l u e d e s i g n of the c a r p e t , t o u c h i n g it a n d s e n d i n g a s u r p r i s e d shriek to j o i n t h o s e rising a r o u n d m e . I tried frantically to remove my h a n d but c o u l d not let g o . A hot, violent force tore through my body, s h a k i n g m e like a wet rat. T h e r u g w a s electrified. T h e hair bristled up on my h e a d a s I s h o o k myself free. M y m u s c l e s j u m p e d , my nerves j a n g l e d , writhed. B u t I saw that this w a s not s t o p p i n g the other boys. L a u g h ing in fear a n d e m b a r r a s s m e n t , s o m e were holding b a c k a n d s c o o p i n g u p the c o i n s k n o c k e d off by the painful c o n t o r t i o n s of the o t h e r s . T h e m e n roared a b o v e u s a s we struggled. " P i c k it u p , g o d d a m n i t , pick it u p ! " s o m e o n e called like a b a s s - v o i c e d parrot. " G o o n , get it!" I crawled rapidly a r o u n d the floor, p i c k i n g up the c o i n s , trying to avoid the c o p p e r s a n d to get g r e e n b a c k s a n d the gold. Ignoring the s h o c k by laughing, a s I b r u s h e d the c o i n s off quickly, I d i s c o v e r e d that I c o u l d c o n t a i n the electricity—a c o n t r a d i c t i o n , but it works. T h e n the m e n b e g a n to p u s h u s onto the rug. L a u g h i n g e m b a r r a s s e d l y , we struggled o u t of their h a n d s a n d kept after the c o i n s . W e were all wet a n d slippery a n d hard to hold. S u d d e n l y I s a w a boy lifted into the air, glistening with s w e a t like a c i r c u s s e a l , a n d d r o p p e d , his wet b a c k landing flush u p o n the c h a r g e d rug, h e a r d him yell a n d s a w him literally d a n c e u p o n his b a c k , his elbows b e a t i n g a frenzied tattoo u p o n the floor, his m u s c l e s twitching like the flesh of a h o r s e s t u n g by m a n y flies. W h e n he finally rolled off, his f a c e w a s gray a n d no o n e s t o p p e d him w h e n he ran from the floor a m i d b o o m i n g laughter. " G e t the m o n e y , " the M . C . called. " T h a t ' s g o o d hard A m e r i c a n c a s h ! " A n d we s n a t c h e d a n d g r a b b e d , s n a t c h e d a n d g r a b b e d . I w a s careful not to c o m e too c l o s e to the r u g now, a n d w h e n I felt the hot whiskey b r e a t h d e s c e n d u p o n m e like a c l o u d of foul air I r e a c h e d o u t a n d g r a b b e d the leg of a chair. It w a s o c c u p i e d a n d I held on desperately. " L e g g o , nigger! L e g g o ! " T h e h u g e f a c e wavered d o w n to m i n e as he tried to p u s h m e free. B u t my body w a s slippery a n d he w a s too drunk. It w a s Mr. C o l c o r d , w h o o w n e d a chain of movie h o u s e s a n d " e n t e r t a i n m e n t p a l a c e s . " E a c h time he g r a b b e d m e I slipped out of his h a n d s . It b e c a m e a real s t r u g g l e . I feared the r u g m o r e than I did the drunk, s o I held o n , s u r p r i s i n g myself for a m o m e n t by trying to topple him u p o n the rug. It w a s s u c h a n e n o r m o u s idea that I f o u n d myself actually carrying it out. I tried not to be o b v i o u s , yet w h e n I g r a b b e d his leg, trying to t u m b l e him o u t of the chair, h e raised up roaring with laughter, a n d , looking at m e with s o b e r n e s s d e a d in the eye, kicked m e viciously in the c h e s t . T h e c h a i r leg flew o u t of my h a n d a n d I felt myself going a n d rolled. It was a s t h o u g h I h a d rolled t h r o u g h a b e d of hot c o a l s . It s e e m e d a w h o l e century would p a s s before I would roll free, a c e n t u r y in which I was s e a r e d t h r o u g h the d e e p e s t levels of my body to the fearful breath within m e a n d the b r e a t h s e a r e d a n d h e a t e d to the point of explosion. It'll all be over in a flash, I t h o u g h t a s I rolled clear. It'll all b e over in a flash. B u t not yet, the m e n on the other side were waiting, red f a c e s swollen as t h o u g h from apoplexy a s they bent forward in their c h a i r s . S e e i n g their fin-

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RALPH

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gers c o m i n g toward m e I rolled away a s a f u m b l e d football rolls off the receiver's fingertips, b a c k into the c o a l s . T h a t time I luckily sent the r u g sliding out of p l a c e a n d h e a r d the c o i n s ringing a g a i n s t the floor a n d the boys scuffling to pick t h e m u p a n d the M . C . calling, "All right, boys, that's all. G o get d r e s s e d a n d get your m o n e y . " I w a s limp a s a dish rag. M y b a c k felt a s t h o u g h it h a d b e e n b e a t e n with wires. W h e n we h a d d r e s s e d the M . C . c a m e in a n d gave u s e a c h five dollars, except T a t l o c k , w h o got ten for b e i n g last in the ring. T h e n h e told u s to leave. I w a s not to get a c h a n c e to deliver my s p e e c h , I t h o u g h t . I w a s g o i n g o u t into the d i m alley in d e s p a i r w h e n I w a s s t o p p e d a n d told to g o b a c k . I returned to the b a l l r o o m , w h e r e the m e n were p u s h i n g b a c k their chairs a n d g a t h e r i n g in g r o u p s to talk. T h e M . C . k n o c k e d on a table for q u i e t . " G e n t l e m e n , " he said, " w e a l m o s t forgot a n important part of the p r o g r a m . A m o s t s e r i o u s part, g e n t l e m e n . T h i s boy w a s b r o u g h t here to deliver a s p e e c h which h e m a d e at his graduation yesterday . . ." "Bravo!" "I'm told that h e is the s m a r t e s t boy we've got out t h e r e in G r e e n w o o d . I'm told that he knows m o r e big w o r d s t h a n a pocket-sized d i c t i o n a r y . " M u c h applause and laughter. " S o now, g e n t l e m e n , I want you to give h i m your a t t e n t i o n . " T h e r e w a s still l a u g h t e r a s I f a c e d t h e m , my m o u t h dry, my eye throbbing. I b e g a n slowly, b u t evidently my throat w a s t e n s e , b e c a u s e they b e g a n shouting, " L o u d e r ! L o u d e r ! " " W e of the y o u n g e r g e n e r a t i o n extol the w i s d o m of that great leader a n d e d u c a t o r , " I s h o u t e d , " w h o first s p o k e t h e s e flaming w o r d s of w i s d o m : 'A ship lost at s e a for m a n y days s u d d e n l y s i g h t e d a friendly vessel. F r o m the m a s t of the u n f o r t u n a t e vessel w a s s e e n a signal: " W a t e r , water; we die of thirst!" T h e a n s w e r from the friendly vessel c a m e b a c k : " C a s t d o w n your b u c k e t w h e r e you a r e . " T h e c a p t a i n of the d i s t r e s s e d v e s s e l , at last h e e d i n g the injunction, c a s t d o w n his b u c k e t , a n d it c a m e u p full of fresh sparkling water from the m o u t h of the A m a z o n River.' A n d like him I say, a n d in his w o r d s , 'To t h o s e of my r a c e w h o d e p e n d u p o n b e t t e r i n g their c o n d i t i o n in a foreign land, or w h o u n d e r e s t i m a t e the i m p o r t a n c e of cultivating friendly relations with the S o u t h e r n white m a n , w h o is his next-door neighbor, I would say: " C a s t d o w n your b u c k e t w h e r e you a r e " — c a s t it down in m a k i n g friends in every manly way of the p e o p l e of all r a c e s by w h o m w e are surrounded . . . ' " I s p o k e a u t o m a t i c a l l y a n d with s u c h fervor that I did not realize that the m e n were still talking a n d l a u g h i n g until my dry m o u t h , filling u p with blood from the c u t , a l m o s t strangled m e . I c o u g h e d , w a n t i n g to s t o p a n d g o to o n e of the tall b r a s s , sand-filled s p i t t o o n s to relieve myself, b u t a few of the m e n , especially the s u p e r i n t e n d e n t , were listening a n d I w a s afraid. S o I g u l p e d it d o w n , blood, saliva a n d all, a n d c o n t i n u e d . ( W h a t p o w e r s of e n d u r a n c e I h a d d u r i n g t h o s e days! W h a t e n t h u s i a s m ! W h a t a belief in the Tightness of things!) I s p o k e even l o u d e r in spite of the p a i n . B u t still they talked a n d still they l a u g h e d , a s t h o u g h d e a f with cotton in dirty e a r s . S o I s p o k e with greater e m o t i o n a l e m p h a s i s . I c l o s e d my ears a n d s w a l l o w e d b l o o d until I w a s n a u s e a t e d . T h e s p e e c h s e e m e d a h u n d r e d t i m e s a s long a s b e f o r e , but I c o u l d

INVISIBLE MAN, CHAPTER

I

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2383

not leave o u t a single word. All h a d to be s a i d , e a c h m e m o r i z e d n u a n c e c o n s i d e r e d , r e n d e r e d . N o r w a s that all. W h e n e v e r I uttered a word of three or m o r e syllables a g r o u p of voices would yell for m e to r e p e a t it. I u s e d the p h r a s e "social responsibility," a n d they yelled: " W h a t ' s that word you say, b o y ? " " S o c i a l responsibility," I s a i d . "What?" "Social..." "Louder." ". . . responsibility." "More!" "Respon—" "Repeat!" "—sibility." T h e r o o m filled with the u p r o a r of laughter until, no d o u b t , d i s t r a c t e d by having to gulp d o w n my b l o o d , I m a d e a m i s t a k e a n d yelled a p h r a s e I h a d often s e e n d e n o u n c e d in n e w s p a p e r editorials, h e a r d d e b a t e d in private. " S o c i a l . . ." " W h a t ? " they yelled. ". . . e q u a l i t y — " T h e laughter h u n g smokelike in the s u d d e n stillness. I o p e n e d my e y e s , puzzled. S o u n d s of d i s p l e a s u r e filled the r o o m . T h e M . C . r u s h e d forward. T h e y s h o u t e d hostile p h r a s e s at m e . B u t I did not u n d e r s t a n d . A small dry m u s t a c h e d m a n in the front row blared o u t , " S a y that slowly, son! "What, sir?" " W h a t you j u s t s a i d ! " " S o c i a l responsibility, sir," I s a i d . "You weren't b e i n g s m a r t , were you, b o y ? " he said, not unkindly. " N o , sir!" "You sure that a b o u t 'equality' w a s a m i s t a k e ? " " O h , yes, sir," I said. "I w a s swallowing b l o o d . " "Well, you h a d better s p e a k m o r e slowly s o we c a n u n d e r s t a n d . W e m e a n to do right by you, but you've got to know your p l a c e at all t i m e s . All right, now, g o on with your s p e e c h . " I w a s afraid. I w a n t e d to leave but I w a n t e d a l s o to s p e a k a n d I w a s afraid they'd s n a t c h m e down. " T h a n k you, sir," I said, b e g i n n i n g where I h a d left off, a n d having t h e m ignore m e a s b e f o r e . Yet when I finished there w a s a t h u n d e r o u s a p p l a u s e . I w a s s u r p r i s e d to s e e the s u p e r i n t e n d e n t c o m e forth with a p a c k a g e w r a p p e d in white t i s s u e p a p e r , a n d , g e s t u r i n g for quiet, a d d r e s s the m e n . " G e n t l e m e n , you s e e that I did not overpraise the boy. H e m a k e s a g o o d s p e e c h a n d s o m e day he'll lead his p e o p l e in the p r o p e r p a t h s . A n d I don't have to tell you that that is i m p o r t a n t in t h e s e days a n d t i m e s . T h i s is a g o o d , s m a r t boy, a n d so to e n c o u r a g e him in the right direction, in the n a m e of the B o a r d of E d u c a t i o n I wish to p r e s e n t him a prize in the form of this . . ." H e p a u s e d , removing the t i s s u e p a p e r a n d revealing a g l e a m i n g calfskin brief c a s e . ". . . in the form of this first-class article from S h a d W h i t m o r e ' s s h o p . "

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BELLOW

" B o y , " he said, a d d r e s s i n g m e , " t a k e this prize a n d k e e p it well. C o n s i d e r it a b a d g e of office. Prize it. K e e p d e v e l o p i n g a s you are a n d s o m e day it will b e filled with i m p o r t a n t p a p e r s that will help s h a p e the destiny of your p e o ple." I w a s so m o v e d that I c o u l d hardly express my t h a n k s . A rope of bloody saliva forming a s h a p e like a n u n d i s c o v e r e d c o n t i n e n t d r o o l e d u p o n the leather a n d I wiped it quickly away. I felt a n i m p o r t a n c e that I h a d never dreamed. " O p e n it a n d s e e what's i n s i d e , " I w a s told. M y fingers a - t r e m b l e , I c o m p l i e d , s m e l l i n g the fresh leather a n d finding a n official-looking d o c u m e n t inside. It w a s a s c h o l a r s h i p to the s t a t e college for N e g r o e s . M y eyes filled with tears a n d I ran awkwardly off the floor. I w a s overjoyed; I did not even m i n d w h e n I d i s c o v e r e d that the gold p i e c e s I h a d s c r a m b l e d for were b r a s s p o c k e t tokens advertising a certain m a k e of automobile. W h e n I r e a c h e d h o m e everyone w a s excited. Next day the n e i g h b o r s c a m e to c o n g r a t u l a t e m e . I even felt s a f e from g r a n d f a t h e r , w h o s e d e a t h b e d c u r s e usually spoiled my t r i u m p h s . I s t o o d b e n e a t h his p h o t o g r a p h with my brief c a s e in h a n d a n d s m i l e d t r i u m p h a n t l y into his stolid b l a c k p e a s a n t ' s f a c e . It w a s a f a c e that f a s c i n a t e d m e . T h e eyes s e e m e d to follow everywhere I w e n t . T h a t night I d r e a m e d I w a s at a c i r c u s with him a n d that he r e f u s e d to l a u g h at the c l o w n s n o m a t t e r w h a t they did. T h e n later h e told m e to o p e n my brief c a s e a n d read what w a s inside a n d I did, finding a n official e n v e l o p e s t a m p e d with the state seal; a n d inside the e n v e l o p e I f o u n d a n o t h e r a n d another, endlessly, a n d I t h o u g h t I would fall of w e a r i n e s s . " T h e m ' s y e a r s , " h e said. " N o w o p e n that o n e . " A n d I did a n d in it I f o u n d an e n g r a v e d d o c u m e n t c o n t a i n i n g a short m e s s a g e in letters of gold. " B e a d it," my g r a n d father s a i d . " O u t l o u d ! " " T o W h o m It M a y C o n c e r n , " I i n t o n e d . " K e e p T h i s N i g g e r - B o y R u n n i n g . " I a w o k e with the old m a n ' s laughter ringing in my e a r s . (It w a s a d r e a m I w a s to r e m e m b e r a n d d r e a m a g a i n for m a n y years after. B u t at that time I h a d no insight into its m e a n i n g . First I h a d to a t t e n d college.) 1952

SAUL b.

BELLOW 1915

When Saul Bellow was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1976 his citation read: "For the human understanding and subtle analysis of contemporary culture that are combined in his work." Except for the poet Robert Lowell, no American writer of the post—World War II period has a better claim to these virtues than Bellow, who has devoted himself almost exclusively and passionately to the novel and its attempt to imagine life in the United States, particularly in the great cities of Chicago and New York.

SAUL BELLOW

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He was born in Lachine, Quebec, grew up in the Jewish ghetto of Montreal, and moved to Chicago when he was nine. He attended the University of Chicago, then transferred to Northwestern, where he took a degree in anthropology and sociology, the effects of which study are everywhere evident in the novels he was to write. He taught English for a time, served in the merchant marine during World War II, then after the war spent some fifteen years away from Chicago, teaching at New York University and Princeton and living in Paris. In 1962 he returned to Chicago and since then has been a lecturer at the University of Chicago. He has married five times. Bellow's first novel, Dangling Man, was not published until he was nearly thirty and is a short series of elegantly morose meditations, told through the journal of a young man waiting to be inducted into the army and with the "freedom" of having nothing to do but wait. Eventually he is drafted: "Long live regimentation," he sardonically exults. His second novel, The Victim (1947), continues the investigation of ways people strive to be relieved of self-determination. This book concerns a week in the life of Asa Leventhal, alone in New York City while his wife visits a relative, who is suddenly confronted by a figure from the past (Kirby Allbee, a Gentile) who succeeds in implicating Leventhal with the past and its present manifestations. The Victim is Bellow's most somberly naturalistic depiction of a man brought up against forces larger than himself, yet from the opening sentence ("On some nights New York is as hot as Bangkok") a poetic dimension makes itself felt and helps create the sense of mystery and disturbance felt by both the main character and the reader. Dangling Man and The Victim are highly wrought, mainly humorless books; in two long novels published in the 1950s Bellow opened up into new ranges of aspiration and situational zaniness, which brought him respectful admiration from many critics. The Adventures

ofAugie

March

(1953) and Henderson

the Rain King (1959) are each

narrated by an " I " who, like his predecessor Huck Finn, is good at lighting out for the territory ahead of whoever means to tie him down. The hero's adventures, whether occurring in Chicago, Mexico, or Africa, are exuberantly delivered in an always stimulating and sometimes overactive prose. Augie is filled with sights and sounds, colors and surfaces; its tone is self-involved, affectionate, and affirmative in its ring; Henderson, Bellow's most extravagant narrative, has the even more fabulous air of a questromance in which the hero returns home from Africa at peace with the world he had been warring against. The ironic motto for Bellow's novels of the 1950s may well be "Seize the Day," as in the title of perhaps his finest piece of fiction. This short novel is both painful and exhilarating because it so fully exposes its hero (Tommy Wilhelm, an aging out-ofwork ex-actor) to the insults of other people who don't understand him, to a city (New York's Upper West Side) impervious to his needs, and to a narrative prose that mixes ridicule and affection so thoroughly as to make them scarcely distinguishable. Seize the Day combines, within Tommy's monologues, a wildness and pathos of bitter comedy that was a powerful new element in Bellow's work. In "Where Do We Go from Here?: The Future of Fiction," an essay published in 1965, Bellow pointed out that nineteenth-century American literature—Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman, Melville—was highly didactic in its efforts to "instruct a young and raw nation." Bellow sees himself in this instructive tradition and in the international company of "didactic" novelists like Dostoyevsky, D. H. Lawrence, and Joseph Conrad; he believes also that "the imagination is looking for new ways to express virtue . . . we have barely begun to comprehend what a human being is." These concerns animate the novels Bellow has written in the years since Henderson. In Herzog (1964) the hero is another down-and-outer, a professor-intellectual, a student of Romanticism and of the glorification of Self, which Herzog believes both modern life and modernist literature have been working to undercut. At the same time he is a comic and pathetic victim of marital disorder; like all Bellow's heroes, Herzog has a terrible time with women, yet cannot live without them. In Mr. Sammler's Planet (1970), written out of the disorders of the late 1960s, the atmosphere is grimmer.

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Sammler, an aging Jew living (again) on New York's West Side, analyzes and judges but cannot understand the young or blacks, or the mass of people gathered at Broadway and Ninety-sixth Street. He sees about him everywhere "poverty of soul" but admits that he too has "a touch of the same disease—the disease of the single self explaining what was what and who was who." These novels, as well as Humboldt's Gift ( 1 9 7 5 ) , have been accused of parading too single-handedly attitudes toward which their author is sympathetic, whereas The Dean's December ( 1 9 8 2 ) was criticized by John Updike, in a review, for being too much "about Saul Bellow," even though indirectly. Subsequently, a collection of shorter fiction, Him with Heartbreak

His Foot

( 1 9 8 7 ) and Ravelstein

( 1 9 8 9 ) , A Theft

in His Mouth

( 1 9 8 4 ) ; the novels, More

( 2 0 0 0 ) ; three novellas, The Bellarosa

( 1 9 8 9 ) , and The Actual

Die of

Connection

( 1 9 9 7 ) ; and three stories collected as Sowe-

thing to Remember Me By ( 1 9 9 1 ) exhibit various talky, informal protagonists and narrators with a lot on their minds. Matters of form and plot in these works seem less important than the ideas and active energy struck off by human beings in turmoil— usually comic turmoil. What Bellow finds moving in Theodore Dreiser's work, "his balkiness and sullenness, and then his allegiance to life," is still found in his own: complaint and weariness, fault-finding, accusation of self and others—these gestures directed at "life" also make up the stuff of life and the "allegiance" out of which Bellow's heroes are made. We read him for this range of interest; for flexibility and diversity of style and idiom; and for the eloquences of nostalgia, invective, and lamentation that make up his intensely imagined world. These are the qualities evident in one of his most important short stories, "Looking for Mr. Green," in which the protagonist rejects both cynicism and snobbery in favor of establishing an individual's worth; only if Mr. Green exists as a person worthy of respect can Bellow's character feel the same way about himself. The text is that of Mosby's

Memoirs

and Other

Stories

(1968).

Looking for Mr. Green Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. . . .1 H a r d work? N o , it wasn't really s o hard. H e wasn't u s e d to walking a n d stair-climbing, b u t t h e physical difficulty of his new j o b w a s n o t what G e o r g e G r e b e felt m o s t . H e w a s delivering relief c h e c k s in t h e N e g r o district, a n d a l t h o u g h h e w a s a native C h i c a g o a n this w a s not a part o f t h e city h e knew m u c h a b o u t — i t n e e d e d a d e p r e s s i o n to i n t r o d u c e h i m to it. N o , it wasn't literally hard work, not a s r e c k o n e d in f o o t - p o u n d s , b u t yet h e w a s b e g i n n i n g to feel t h e strain o f it, to grow a w a r e o f its p e c u l i a r difficulty. H e c o u l d find the streets a n d n u m b e r s , b u t t h e clients w e r e not w h e r e they were s u p p o s e d to b e , a n d h e felt like a h u n t e r i n e x p e r i e n c e d in t h e c a m o u f l a g e o f his g a m e . It w a s a n u n f a v o r a b l e d a y , t o o — f a l l , a n d c o l d , dark w e a t h e r , windy. B u t , anyway, i n s t e a d o f shells in his d e e p t r e n c h c o a t p o c k e t h e h a d t h e c a r d b o a r d of c h e c k s , p u n c t u r e d for t h e s p i n d l e s o f t h e file, t h e holes r e m i n d i n g h i m of the holes in player-piano p a p e r . A n d h e didn't look m u c h like a h u n t e r , either; his w a s a city figure entirely, belted u p in this Irish c o n s p i r a t o r ' s c o a t . 2 H e w a s s l e n d e r without b e i n g tall, stiff in t h e b a c k , his legs looking s h a b b y in a pair o f old tweed p a n t s g o n e t h r o u g h a n d fringy a t t h e c u f f s . W i t h this 1. From Ecclesiastes 9 . 1 0 ; the verse continues, "for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest."

2. Like those worn by members of the anti-British underground in Ireland.

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stiffness, he kept his h e a d forward, so that his f a c e w a s red from the s h a r p n e s s of the w e a t h e r ; a n d it w a s a n indoors sort of f a c e with gray eyes that p e r s i s t e d in s o m e kind of thought a n d yet s e e m e d to avoid definiteness of c o n c l u s i o n . H e wore s i d e b u r n s that s u r p r i s e d you s o m e w h a t by the t o u g h curl of the blond hair a n d the effect of a s s e r t i o n in their length. H e w a s not s o mild a s he looked, nor so youthful; a n d n e v e r t h e l e s s there w a s no effort on his part to s e e m what he w a s not. H e w a s a n e d u c a t e d m a n ; h e w a s a b a c h e l o r ; he w a s in s o m e ways s i m p l e ; without lushing, he liked a drink; his luck h a d not b e e n g o o d . N o t h i n g w a s deliberately h i d d e n . H e felt that his luck w a s better than u s u a l today. W h e n he h a d r e p o r t e d for work that m o r n i n g he h a d e x p e c t e d to be shut u p in the relief office at a clerk's j o b , for he h a d b e e n hired d o w n t o w n a s a clerk, a n d h e w a s glad to have, i n s t e a d , the f r e e d o m of the streets a n d w e l c o m e d , at least at first, the vigor of the cold a n d even the blowing of the hard wind. B u t on the other h a n d he w a s not getting on with the distribution of the c h e c k s . It w a s true that it w a s a city j o b ; nobody e x p e c t e d you to p u s h too hard at a city j o b . H i s supervisor, that y o u n g Mr. Raynor, h a d practically told h i m that. Still, he w a n t e d to do well at it. For o n e thing, w h e n he knew h o w quickly he c o u l d deliver a b a t c h of c h e c k s , he would know a l s o how m u c h time he c o u l d expect to clip for himself. And then, too, the clients w o u l d b e waiting for their m o n e y . T h a t w a s not the m o s t i m p o r t a n t c o n s i d e r a t i o n , t h o u g h it certainly m a t t e r e d to h i m . N o , but h e w a n t e d to do well, simply for doing-well's s a k e , to a c q u i t h i m s e l f decently of a j o b b e c a u s e he so rarely h a d a j o b to d o that required j u s t this sort of energy. O f this p e c u l i a r energy he n o w h a d a s u p e r a b u n d a n c e ; o n c e it h a d started to flow, it flowed all too heavily. A n d , for the time b e i n g anyway, he w a s balked. H e c o u l d not find M r . G r e e n . S o h e s t o o d in his big-skirted t r e n c h c o a t with a large e n v e l o p e in his h a n d a n d p a p e r s s h o w i n g from his p o c k e t , w o n d e r i n g why p e o p l e s h o u l d be s o hard to l o c a t e w h o were too feeble or sick to c o m e to the station to collect their own c h e c k s . B u t Raynor h a d told him that tracking t h e m d o w n w a s not e a s y at first a n d h a d offered him s o m e advice on how to p r o c e e d . "If you c a n s e e the p o s t m a n , he's your first m a n to ask, a n d your b e s t bet. If you can't c o n n e c t with him, try the stores a n d t r a d e s p e o p l e a r o u n d . T h e n the j a n i t o r a n d the n e i g h b o r s . B u t you'll find the c l o s e r you c o m e to your m a n the less p e o p l e will tell you. T h e y don't w a n t to tell you a n y t h i n g . " " B e c a u s e I'm a s t r a n g e r . " " B e c a u s e you're white. W e o u g h t to have a N e g r o d o i n g this, but we don't at the m o m e n t , a n d of c o u r s e you've got to eat, too, a n d this is public employm e n t . J o b s have to be m a d e . O h , that holds for m e too. M i n d you, I'm not letting myself out. I've got three years of seniority o n you, that's all. A n d a law d e g r e e . O t h e r w i s e , you might be b a c k of the d e s k a n d I might be g o i n g out into the field this cold day. T h e s a m e d o u g h pays u s both a n d for the s a m e , exact, identical r e a s o n . W h a t ' s my law d e g r e e got to d o with it? B u t you have to p a s s out t h e s e c h e c k s , M r . G r e b e , a n d it'll help if you're s t u b b o r n , so I h o p e you a r e . " "Yes, I'm fairly s t u b b o r n . " Raynor s k e t c h e d hard with a n e r a s e r in the old dirt of his d e s k , left-handed, a n d said, " S u r e , what else c a n you a n s w e r to s u c h a q u e s t i o n . Anyhow, the trouble you're g o i n g to have is that they don't like to give information a b o u t anybody. T h e y think you're a plain-clothes dick or an i n s t a l l m e n t collector, or s u m m o n s - s e r v e r or s o m e t h i n g like that. Till you've b e e n s e e n a r o u n d the neighborhood for a few m o n t h s a n d p e o p l e know you're only from the relief."

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It w a s dark, ground-freezing, p r e - T h a n k s g i v i n g w e a t h e r ; the wind played h o b with the s m o k e , r u s h i n g it d o w n , a n d G r e b e m i s s e d his gloves, which he h a d left in Raynor's office. A n d no o n e would a d m i t k n o w i n g G r e e n . It w a s p a s t three o'clock a n d the p o s t m a n h a d m a d e his last delivery. T h e nearest grocer, h i m s e l f a N e g r o , h a d never h e a r d the n a m e Tulliver G r e e n , or said he hadn't. G r e b e w a s inclined to think that it w a s t r u e , that he h a d in the end c o n v i n c e d the m a n that he w a n t e d only to deliver a c h e c k . B u t he wasn't s u r e . H e n e e d e d e x p e r i e n c e in interpreting looks a n d signs a n d , even m o r e , the will not to be put off or d e n i e d a n d even the force to bully if n e e d b e . If the g r o c e r did know, h e h a d got rid of him easily. B u t s i n c e m o s t of his trade w a s with reliefers, why s h o u l d he prevent the delivery of a c h e c k ? M a y b e G r e e n , or M r s . G r e e n , if there w a s a M r s . G r e e n , p a t r o n i z e d a n o t h e r grocer. A n d w a s there a M r s . G r e e n ? It w a s o n e of G r e b e ' s great h a n d i c a p s that h e hadn't looked at any of the c a s e r e c o r d s . R a y n o r s h o u l d have let him read files for a few h o u r s . B u t he a p p a r e n t l y s a w no n e e d for that, probably c o n s i d e r i n g the j o b u n i m p o r t a n t . W h y p r e p a r e systematically to deliver a few checks? B u t now it w a s time to look for the j a n i t o r . G r e b e took in the b u i l d i n g in the wind a n d g l o o m of the late N o v e m b e r d a y — t r a m p l e d , f r o s t - h a r d e n e d lots on o n e s i d e ; o n the other, an a u t o m o b i l e j u n k yard a n d then the infinite work of Elevated f r a m e s , weak-looking, g a p i n g with r u b b i s h fires; two s e t s of l e a n i n g brick p o r c h e s three stories high a n d a flight of c e m e n t stairs to the cellar. D e s c e n d i n g , h e e n t e r e d the u n d e r g r o u n d p a s s a g e , w h e r e he tried the doors until o n e o p e n e d a n d he f o u n d h i m s e l f in the f u r n a c e r o o m . T h e r e s o m e o n e rose toward him a n d a p p r o a c h e d , s c r a p i n g on the coal grit a n d b e n d i n g u n d e r the c a n v a s - j a c k e t e d p i p e s . "Are you the j a n i t o r ? " " W h a t do you w a n t ? " "I'm looking for a m a n who's s u p p o s e d to be living h e r e . G r e e n . " "What Green?" " O h , you m a y b e have m o r e than o n e G r e e n ? " s a i d G r e b e with new, p l e a s ant h o p e . " T h i s is Tulliver G r e e n . " "I don't think I c'n help you, mister. I don't know a n y . " "A crippled m a n . " T h e j a n i t o r stood bent before h i m . C o u l d it b e that he w a s crippled? O h , G o d ! what if h e w a s . G r e b e ' s gray eyes s o u g h t with excited difficulty to s e e . B u t n o , he w a s only very short a n d s t o o p e d . A h e a d a w a k e n e d from meditation, a strong-haired b e a r d , low, wide s h o u l d e r s . A s t a l e n e s s of sweat a n d coal rose from his b l a c k shirt a n d the b u r l a p s a c k he w o r e a s a n a p r o n . "Crippled how?" G r e b e t h o u g h t a n d then a n s w e r e d with the light voice of u n m i x e d c a n d o r , "I don't know. I've never s e e n h i m . " T h i s w a s d a m a g i n g , b u t his only other c h o i c e w a s to m a k e a lying g u e s s , a n d he w a s not u p to it. "I'm delivering c h e c k s for the relief to shut-in c a s e s . If he weren't c r i p p l e d he'd c o m e to collect himself. T h a t ' s why I said crippled. B e d r i d d e n , c h a i r - r i d d e n — i s there anybody like t h a t ? " T h i s sort of f r a n k n e s s w a s o n e of G r e b e ' s oldest t a l e n t s , g o i n g b a c k to c h i l d h o o d . B u t it g a i n e d him n o t h i n g h e r e . " N o s u h . I've got four buildin's s a m e a s this that I t a k e c a r e of. I d o n ' know all the t e n a n t s , leave a l o n e the t e n a n t s ' t e n a n t s . T h e r o o m s turn over so fast, p e o p l e movin' in a n d out every day. I can't tell y o u . " T h e j a n i t o r o p e n e d his grimy lips b u t G r e b e did not hear him in the p i p i n g

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of the valves a n d the c o n s u m i n g pull of air to flame in the body of the furnace. H e knew, however, what h e h a d said. "Well, all the s a m e , t h a n k s . Sorry I b o t h e r e d y o u . I'll prowl a r o u n d u p s t a i r s again a n d s e e if I c a n turn u p s o m e o n e w h o k n o w s h i m . " O n c e m o r e in the cold air a n d early d a r k n e s s h e m a d e the short circle from the cellarway to the e n t r a n c e c r o w d e d b e t w e e n the brickwork pillars a n d b e g a n to c l i m b to the third floor. P i e c e s of plaster g r o u n d u n d e r his feet; strips of b r a s s t a p e from which the c a r p e t i n g h a d b e e n torn away m a r k e d old b o u n d a r i e s at the s i d e s . In the p a s s a g e , the cold r e a c h e d him w o r s e t h a n in the street; it t o u c h e d him to the b o n e . T h e hall toilets ran like s p r i n g s . H e thought grimly a s h e h e a r d the wind b u r n i n g a r o u n d the b u i l d i n g with a s o u n d like that of the f u r n a c e , that this w a s a great p i e c e of c o n s t r u c t e d shelter. T h e n he s t r u c k a m a t c h in the g l o o m a n d s e a r c h e d for n a m e s a n d n u m b e r s a m o n g the writings a n d scribbles o n the walls. H e s a w WHOODYDOODY G O TO J E S U S , a n d zigzags, c a r i c a t u r e s , sexual s c r a w l s , a n d c u r s e s . S o the s e a l e d r o o m s of p y r a m i d s were a l s o d e c o r a t e d , a n d the c a v e s of h u m a n dawn. T h e information on his c a r d w a s , T U L L I V E R G R E E N — A P T 3 D . T h e r e were no n a m e s , however, a n d no n u m b e r s . His s h o u l d e r s d r a w n u p , tears of cold in his eyes, b r e a t h i n g vapor, h e went the length of the corridor a n d told himself that if h e h a d b e e n lucky e n o u g h to have the t e m p e r a m e n t for it he would b a n g o n o n e of the d o o r s a n d bawl o u t "Tulliver G r e e n ! " until he got results. B u t it wasn't in him to m a k e a n u p r o a r a n d h e c o n t i n u e d to burn m a t c h e s , p a s s i n g the light over the walls. At the rear, in a c o r n e r off the hall, h e discovered a door h e h a d not s e e n before a n d he t h o u g h t it b e s t to investigate. It s o u n d e d e m p t y w h e n he k n o c k e d , but a y o u n g N e g r e s s a n s w e r e d , hardly m o r e than a girl. S h e o p e n e d only a bit, to g u a r d the w a r m t h of the room. "Yes s u h ? " "I'm from the district relief station o n Prairie A v e n u e . I'm looking for a m a n n a m e d Tulliver G r e e n to give h i m his c h e c k . D o you know h i m ? " N o , s h e didn't; but he thought s h e h a d not u n d e r s t o o d anything of what he h a d s a i d . S h e h a d a d r e a m - b o u n d , d r e a m - b l i n d f a c e , very soft a n d b l a c k , s h u t off. S h e wore a m a n ' s j a c k e t a n d pulled the e n d s together at her throat. H e r hair w a s p a r t e d in three d i r e c t i o n s , at the sides a n d transversely, s t a n d ing u p at the front in a dull puff. "Is there s o m e b o d y a r o u n d here w h o might k n o w ? " "I j u s ' taken this r o o m las' w e e k . " H e observed that s h e shivered, b u t even her shiver w a s s o m n a m b u l i s t i c a n d there w a s no s h a r p c o n s c i o u s n e s s of cold in the big s m o o t h eyes of her handsome face. "All right, m i s s , t h a n k y o u . T h a n k s , " he said, a n d went to try a n o t h e r p l a c e . H e r e he w a s a d m i t t e d . H e w a s grateful, for the r o o m w a s w a r m . It w a s full of p e o p l e , a n d they were silent a s he e n t e r e d — t e n p e o p l e , or a d o z e n , p e r h a p s m o r e , sitting o n b e n c h e s like a p a r l i a m e n t . T h e r e w a s n o light, p r o p erly s p e a k i n g , b u t a t e m p e r e d d a r k n e s s that the w i n d o w g a v e , a n d everyone s e e m e d to him e n o r m o u s , the m e n p a d d e d o u t in heavy work c l o t h e s a n d winter c o a t s , a n d the w o m e n h u g e , too, in their s w e a t e r s , h a t s , a n d old furs. And, b e s i d e s , b e d a n d b e d d i n g , a b l a c k c o o k i n g r a n g e , a p i a n o piled towering to the ceiling with p a p e r s , a dining-room table of the old style of p r o s p e r o u s C h i c a g o . A m o n g t h e s e p e o p l e G r e b e , with his c o l d - h e i g h t e n e d fresh color a n d his s m a l l e r s t a t u r e , e n t e r e d like a s c h o o l b o y . E v e n t h o u g h he w a s m e t

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with s m i l e s a n d g o o d will, he knew, before a single word w a s s p o k e n , that all the c u r r e n t s ran a g a i n s t him a n d that he would m a k e no h e a d w a y . Nevertheless he b e g a n . " D o e s anybody here know how I c a n deliver a c h e c k to M r . Tulliver G r e e n ? " " G r e e n ? " It w a s the m a n that h a d let him in w h o a n s w e r e d . H e w a s in short sleeves, in a c h e c k e r e d shirt, a n d h a d a q u e e r , high h e a d , profusely overgrown a n d long as a s h a k o ; 1 the veins entered it strongly, from his foreh e a d . "I never h e a r d m e n t i o n of h i m . Is this where he live?" "This is the a d d r e s s they gave m e at the station. H e ' s a sick m a n , a n d he'll n e e d his c h e c k . C a n ' t anybody tell m e w h e r e to find h i m ? " H e stood his g r o u n d a n d waited for a reply, his c r i m s o n wool s c a r f w o u n d a b o u t his neck a n d d r o o p i n g o u t s i d e his t r e n c h c o a t , p o c k e t s weighted with the block of c h e c k s a n d official f o r m s . T h e y m u s t have realized that h e w a s not a college boy e m p l o y e d a f t e r n o o n s by a bill collector, trying foxily to p a s s for a relief clerk, recognized that he w a s a n older m a n w h o k n e w h i m s e l f what n e e d w a s , w h o had had m o r e than a n a v e r a g e s e a s o n i n g in h a r d s h i p . It w a s evident e n o u g h if you looked at the m a r k s u n d e r his eyes a n d at the sides of his m o u t h . "Anybody know this sick m a n ? " " N o s u h . " O n all sides he s a w h e a d s s h a k e n a n d smiles of d e n i a l . N o o n e knew. A n d m a y b e it w a s true, he c o n s i d e r e d , s t a n d i n g silent in the e a r t h e n , m u s k y h u m a n g l o o m of the p l a c e a s the r u m b l e c o n t i n u e d . B u t h e c o u l d never really b e s u r e . " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with this m a n ? " said s h a k o - h e a d . "I've never s e e n him. All I c a n tell you is that h e can't c o m e in p e r s o n for his money. It's my first day in this district." " M a y b e they given you the w r o n g n u m b e r ? " "I don't believe s o . B u t w h e r e else c a n I a s k a b o u t h i m ? " H e felt that this p e r s i s t e n c e a m u s e d t h e m deeply, a n d in a way h e s h a r e d their a m u s e m e n t that h e s h o u l d s t a n d u p so t e n a c i o u s l y to t h e m . T h o u g h s m a l l e r , t h o u g h slight, h e w a s his own m a n , he retracted n o t h i n g a b o u t himself, a n d he looked b a c k at t h e m , gray-eyed, with a m u s e m e n t a n d a l s o with a sort of c o u r a g e . O n the b e n c h s o m e m a n s p o k e in his throat, the w o r d s i m p o s s i b l e to c a t c h , a n d a w o m a n a n s w e r e d with a wild, shrieking l a u g h , which w a s quickly c u t off. "Well, s o nobody will tell m e ? " "Ain't nobody w h o k n o w s . " "At least, if h e lives h e r e , he pays rent to s o m e o n e . W h o m a n a g e s the building?" " G r e a t h a m C o m p a n y . T h a t ' s on Thirty-ninth S t r e e t . " G r e b e wrote it in his p a d . B u t , in the street a g a i n , a s h e e t of wind-driven p a p e r clinging to his leg while h e d e l i b e r a t e d what direction to take next, it s e e m e d a feeble lead to follow. Probably this G r e e n didn't rent a flat, b u t a r o o m . S o m e t i m e s there were a s m a n y a s twenty p e o p l e in a n a p a r t m e n t ; the real-estate agent would know only the l e s s e e . A n d not even the a g e n t c o u l d tell you w h o the renters w e r e . In s o m e p l a c e s the b e d s were even u s e d in shifts, w a t c h m e n or jitney drivers or short-order c o o k s in night j o i n t s t u r n i n g out after a day's sleep a n d s u r r e n d e r i n g their b e d s to a sister, a n e p h e w , or p e r h a p s a stranger, j u s t off the b u s . T h e r e were large n u m b e r s of n e w c o m e r s in this terrific, blight-bitten portion of the city b e t w e e n C o t t a g e G r o v e a n d 3. Stiff military headdress with a high crown and a plume.

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A s h l a n d , w a n d e r i n g from h o u s e to h o u s e a n d r o o m to r o o m . W h e n you saw t h e m , how c o u l d you know t h e m ? T h e y didn't carry b u n d l e s on their b a c k s or look p i c t u r e s q u e . You only s a w a m a n , a N e g r o , walking in the street or riding in the car, like everyone e l s e , with his t h u m b c l o s e d on a transfer. A n d therefore how were you s u p p o s e d to tell? G r e b e t h o u g h t the G r e a t h a m a g e n t would only laugh at his q u e s t i o n . B u t how m u c h it would have simplified the j o b to be a b l e to say that G r e e n w a s old, or blind, or c o n s u m p t i v e . An hour in the files, taking a few n o t e s , a n d he needn't have b e e n at s u c h a d i s a d v a n t a g e . W h e n R a y n o r gave him the block of c h e c k s he a s k e d , " H o w m u c h s h o u l d 1 know a b o u t t h e s e p e o p l e ? " T h e n Raynor had looked a s t h o u g h he were p r e p a r i n g to a c c u s e him of trying to m a k e the j o b m o r e i m p o r t a n t than it w a s . H e s m i l e d , b e c a u s e by then they were o n fine t e r m s , but nevertheless he h a d b e e n getting ready to say s o m e t h i n g like that w h e n the c o n f u s i o n b e g a n in the station over S t a i k a a n d her children. G r e b e h a d waited a long time for this j o b . It c a m e to him through the pull of a n old s c h o o l m a t e in the C o r p o r a t i o n C o u n s e l ' s office, never a c l o s e friend, but s u d d e n l y s y m p a t h e t i c a n d i n t e r e s t e d — p l e a s e d to s h o w , m o r e over, how well he h a d d o n e , how strongly he w a s c o m i n g on even in t h e s e m i s e r a b l e times. Well, he w a s c o m i n g t h r o u g h strongly, a l o n g with the D e m ocratic a d m i n i s t r a t i o n itself. G r e b e h a d g o n e to s e e him in City Hall, a n d they h a d h a d a c o u n t e r l u n c h or b e e r s at least o n c e a m o n t h for a year, a n d finally it h a d b e e n p o s s i b l e to swing the j o b . H e didn't m i n d b e i n g a s s i g n e d the lowest clerical g r a d e , nor even b e i n g a m e s s e n g e r , t h o u g h Raynor thought he did. T h i s Raynor w a s a n original sort of guy a n d G r e b e h a d taken to him i m m e diately. As w a s p r o p e r on the first day, G r e b e h a d c o m e early, but he waited long, for R a y n o r w a s late. At last he d a r t e d into his c u b i c l e of a n office a s though he h a d j u s t j u m p e d from o n e of t h o s e hurtling h u g e red Indian Aven u e c a r s . His thin, r o u g h f a c e w a s w i n d - s t u n g a n d h e w a s grinning a n d saying s o m e t h i n g breathlessly to himself. In his hat, a small f e d o r a , a n d his c o a t , the velvet collar a neat fit a b o u t his neck, a n d his silk muffler that set off the nervous twist of his c h i n , he swayed a n d t u r n e d h i m s e l f in his swivel chair, feet leaving the g r o u n d ; so that he p r a n c e d a little a s he s a t . M e a n w h i l e he took G r e b e ' s m e a s u r e out of his e y e s , eyes of an u n u s u a l vertical length a n d slightly s a r d o n i c . S o the two m e n sat for a while, saying nothing, while the supervisor raised his hat from his m i s c o m b e d hair a n d p u t it in his l a p . H i s c o l d - d a r k e n e d h a n d s were not c l e a n . A steel b e a m p a s s e d t h r o u g h the little makeshift r o o m , from which m a c h i n e belts o n c e h a d h u n g . T h e building w a s a n old factory. "I'm y o u n g e r than you; I h o p e you won't find it hard taking orders from m e , " said Raynor. " B u t I don't m a k e t h e m u p , either. You're h o w old, a b o u t ? " "Thirty-five." "And you t h o u g h t you'd b e inside d o i n g p a p e r work. B u t it so h a p p e n s I have to s e n d you o u t . " "I don't m i n d . " "And it's mostly a N e g r o load we have in this district." " S o I t h o u g h t it would b e . " " F i n e . You'll get a l o n g . C'est un bon boulot.4 D o you know F r e n c h ? " Some. 4. It's a good job (French slang).

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"I t h o u g h t you'd be a university m a n . " " H a v e you b e e n in F r a n c e ? " s a i d G r e b e . " N o , that's the F r e n c h of the Berlitz S c h o o l . I've b e e n at it for m o r e t h a n a year, j u s t a s I'm s u r e p e o p l e have b e e n , all over the world, office boys in C h i n a a n d braves in T a n g a n y i k a . In fact, I d a m n well know it. S u c h is the attractive power of civilization. It's overrated, b u t w h a t d o you want? Que voulez-vous?^ I get Le Wire a n d all the spicy p a p e r s , j u s t like in T a n g a n y i k a . It m u s t b e mystifying, o u t t h e r e . B u t my r e a s o n is that I'm a i m i n g at the diplomatic service. I have a c o u s i n who's a c o u r i e r , a n d the way h e d e s c r i b e s it is awfully attractive. H e rides in the wagon-lits and reads books. While w e — W h a t did you d o b e f o r e ? " "I s o l d . " "Where?" " C a n n e d m e a t at S t o p a n d S h o p . In the b a s e m e n t . " " A n d before t h a t ? " " W i n d o w s h a d e s , at G o l d b l a t t ' s . " "Steady work?" " N o , T h u r s d a y s a n d S a t u r d a y s . I a l s o sold s h o e s . " "You've b e e n a s h o e - d o g too. Well. A n d prior to that? H e r e it is in your folder." H e o p e n e d the r e c o r d . " S a i n t O l a f ' s C o l l e g e , instructor in c l a s s i c a l l a n g u a g e s . Fellow, University of C h i c a g o , 1926—27. I've h a d L a t i n , t o o . L e t ' s trade q u o t a t i o n s — ' D u m sviro svero. " 'Da dextram misero. " 'Alea jacta est. " 'Excelsior.' " Raynor s h o u t e d with laughter, a n d other workers c a m e to look at h i m over the partition. G r e b e a l s o l a u g h e d , feeling p l e a s e d a n d easy. T h e luxury of fun on a n e r v o u s m o r n i n g . W h e n they were d o n e a n d n o o n e w a s w a t c h i n g or listening, R a y n o r said rather seriously, " W h a t m a d e you study L a t i n in the first p l a c e ? W a s it for the p r i e s t h o o d ? " "No." " J u s t for the hell of it? F o r the c u l t u r e ? O h , the things p e o p l e think they c a n p u l l ! " H e m a d e his cry hilarious a n d tragic. "I ran my p a n t s off s o I c o u l d study for the bar, a n d I've p a s s e d the bar, s o I get twelve dollars a week m o r e than you a s a b o n u s for having s e e n life straight a n d w h o l e . I'll tell y o u , a s a m a n of c u l t u r e , that even t h o u g h n o t h i n g looks to be real, a n d everything s t a n d s for s o m e t h i n g e l s e , a n d that thing for a n o t h e r thing, a n d that thing for a still further o n e — t h e r e ain't any c o m p a r i s o n b e t w e e n twenty-five a n d thirty-seven dollars a week, r e g a r d l e s s of the last reality. Don't you think that w a s clear to your G r e e k s ? T h e y were a thoughtful p e o p l e , b u t they didn't part with their s l a v e s . " T h i s w a s a great deal m o r e t h a n G r e b e h a d looked for in his first interview with his supervisor. H e w a s too shy to s h o w all the a s t o n i s h m e n t h e felt. H e l a u g h e d a little, a r o u s e d , a n d b r u s h e d at the s u n b e a m that c o v e r e d his h e a d with its d u s t . " D o you think my m i s t a k e w a s s o t e r r i b l e ? " " D a m n right it w a s terrible, a n d you know it now that you've h a d the whip of hard t i m e s laid o n your b a c k . You s h o u l d have b e e n p r e p a r i n g y o u r s e l f for t r o u b l e . Your p e o p l e m u s t have b e e n well off to s e n d you to the university. h

7

5. What do you want? (French). 6. European railroad sleeping-cars. 7. T h e Latin phrases are translated, in order, as

follows: "Where there's life there's hope" (literally, "while I breathe I hope"); "Give the right hand to the wretched"; "The die is cast"; "Higher!"

L O O K I N G FOR M R . G R E E N

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S t o p m e , if I'm s t e p p i n g o n your t o e s . D i d your m o t h e r p a m p e r you? Did your father give in to you? W e r e you b r o u g h t u p tenderly, with p e r m i s s i o n to go a n d find out what were the last things that everything else s t a n d s for while everybody else labored in the fallen world of a p p e a r a n c e s ? " "Well, no, it wasn't exactly like t h a t . " G r e b e smiled. The fallen world of appearances! no l e s s . B u t now it w a s his turn to deliver a s u r p r i s e . " W e weren't rich. M y father w a s the last g e n u i n e E n g l i s h butler in C h i c a g o — " "Are you k i d d i n g ? " "Why s h o u l d I b e ? " "In a livery?" "In livery. U p on the G o l d C o a s t . " " A n d he w a n t e d you to b e e d u c a t e d like a g e n t l e m a n ? " " H e did not. H e sent m e to the A r m o r Institute to study c h e m i c a l engineering. B u t w h e n he died I c h a n g e d s c h o o l s . " H e s t o p p e d himself, a n d c o n s i d e r e d h o w quickly R a y n o r h a d r e a c h e d h i m . In no time h e h a d your valise o n the table a n d all your stuff u n p a c k e d . A n d afterward, in the s t r e e t s , he w a s still reviewing how far h e m i g h t have g o n e , a n d how m u c h he might have b e e n led to tell if they h a d not b e e n interrupted by M r s . Stakia's great n o i s e . B u t j u s t then a y o u n g w o m a n , o n e of Raynor's workers, ran into the c u b i c l e e x c l a i m i n g , " H a v e n ' t you h e a r d all the f u s s ? " " W e haven't h e a r d a n y t h i n g . " "It's S t a i k a , giving out with all her might. T h e reporters a r e c o m i n g . S h e said s h e p h o n e d the p a p e r s , a n d you know s h e d i d . " " B u t what is s h e u p t o ? " s a i d Raynor. " S h e brought her w a s h a n d she's ironing it h e r e , with our c u r r e n t , b e c a u s e the relief won't pay her electric bill. S h e h a s her ironing b o a r d set u p by the a d m i t t i n g desk, a n d her kids a r e with her, all six. T h e y never are in s c h o o l m o r e than o n c e a week. S h e ' s always d r a g g i n g t h e m a r o u n d with her b e c a u s e of her r e p u t a t i o n . " "I don't want to m i s s any of t h i s , " said Raynor, j u m p i n g u p . G r e b e , a s h e followed with the secretary, said, " W h o is this S t a i k a ? " " T h e y call her the ' B l o o d M o t h e r of F e d e r a l Street.' S h e ' s a p r o f e s s i o n a l d o n o r at the h o s p i t a l s . I think they pay ten dollars a pint. O f c o u r s e it's n o j o k e , but s h e m a k e s a very big thing out of it a n d s h e a n d the kids are in the p a p e r s all the t i m e . " A small crowd, staff a n d clients divided by a plywood barrier, s t o o d in the n a r r o w s p a c e of the e n t r a n c e , a n d S t a i k a w a s s h o u t i n g in a gruff, m a n n i s h voice, p l u n g i n g the iron on the b o a r d a n d s l a m m i n g it o n the metal rest. " M y father a n d m o t h e r c a m e in a s t e e r a g e , a n d I w a s b o r n in o u r h o u s e , Robey by H u r o n . I'm n o dirty i m m i g r a n t . I'm a U . S . citizen. M y h u s b a n d is a g a s s e d veteran from F r a n c e with lungs weaker'n p a p e r , that hardly c a n h e go to the toilet by himself. T h e s e six children of m i n e , I have to buy the s h o e s for their feet with my own blood. E v e n a lousy little white C o m m u n i o n necktie, that's a c o u p l e d r o p s of b l o o d ; a little p i e c e of m o s q u i t o veil for my V a d j a so she won't be a s h a m e d in c h u r c h for the other girls, they take my blood for it by G o l d b l a t t . T h a t ' s how I keep goin'. A fine thing if I h a d to d e p e n d on the relief. A n d there's plenty of p e o p l e o n the r o l l s — f a k e s ! T h e r e ' s nothin' they can't get, that c a n g o a n d wrap b a c o n at Swift a n d A r m o u r any time. They're lookin' for t h e m by the Y a r d s . T h e y never have to b e o u t of work. Only they rather lay in their lousy b e d s a n d e a t the public's m o n e y . "

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S h e w a s not afraid, in a p r e d o m i n a n t l y N e g r o s t a t i o n , to s h o u t this way a b o u t Negroes. G r e b e a n d Raynor worked t h e m s e l v e s forward to get a c l o s e r view of the w o m a n . S h e w a s flaming with a n g e r a n d with p l e a s u r e at herself, b r o a d a n d h u g e , a g o l d e n - h e a d e d w o m a n w h o wore a c o t t o n c a p laced with p i n k ribbon. S h e w a s b a r e l e g g e d a n d h a d on b l a c k gym s h o e s , her H o o v e r a p r o n 8 w a s o p e n a n d her great b r e a s t s , not m u c h restrained by a m a n ' s u n d e r s h i r t , h a m p e r e d her a r m s a s s h e worked at the kid's d r e s s o n the iron b o a r d . And the children, silent a n d white, with a kind of locked o b s t i n a c y , in s h e e p s k i n s a n d l u m b e r j a c k e t s , s t o o d b e h i n d her. S h e h a d c a p t u r e d the station, a n d the pleas u r e this gave her w a s e n o r m o u s . Yet her g r i e v a n c e s were true g r i e v a n c e s . S h e w a s telling the truth. B u t s h e b e h a v e d like a liar. T h e look of her small eyes w a s h i d d e n , a n d while s h e r a g e d s h e a l s o s e e m e d to be s p i n n i n g a n d planning. " T h e y s e n d m e out college c a s e workers in silk p a n t s to talk m e o u t of what I got c o m i n ' . Are they better'n m e ? W h o told t h e m ? Fire t h e m . L e t 'em go a n d get m a r r i e d , a n d then you won't have to c u t electric from p e o p l e ' s budget." T h e chief supervisor, M r . E w i n g , couldn't s i l e n c e her a n d he s t o o d with folded a r m s at the h e a d of his staff, b a l d , b a l d - h e a d e d , saying to his subord i n a t e s like the ex-school principal h e w a s , "Pretty s o o n she'll b e tired a n d g°" " N o s h e w o n ' t , " said B a y n o r to G r e b e . "She'll get what s h e w a n t s . S h e knows m o r e a b o u t the relief even then E w i n g . S h e ' s b e e n on the rolls for years, a n d s h e always gets what s h e w a n t s b e c a u s e s h e p u t s on a noisy show. E w i n g k n o w s it. He'll give in s o o n . H e ' s only saving f a c e . If he g e t s b a d publicity, the C o m m i s s i o n e r ' l l have him on the c a r p e t , d o w n t o w n . S h e ' s got him s u b m e r g e d ; she'll s u b m e r g e everybody in t i m e , a n d that i n c l u d e s nations and governments." G r e b e replied with his c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s m i l e , d i s a g r e e i n g c o m p l e t e l y . W h o would take Staika's o r d e r s , a n d what c h a n g e s c o u l d her yelling ever bring about? N o , w h a t G r e b e s a w in her, the p o w e r that m a d e p e o p l e listen, w a s that her cry e x p r e s s e d the war of flesh a n d b l o o d , p e r h a p s t u r n e d a little crazy a n d certainly ugly, on this p l a c e a n d this c o n d i t i o n . A n d at first, when he went o u t , the spirit of S t a i k a s o m e h o w p r e s i d e d over the w h o l e district for him, a n d it took color from her; h e s a w her color, in the spotty c u r b fires, a n d the fires u n d e r the El, the straight alley of flamy g l o o m . L a t e r , t o o , w h e n he went into a tavern for a shot of rye, the s w e a t of beer, a s s o c i a t i o n with W e s t S i d e Polish streets, m a d e him think of her a g a i n . H e wiped the c o r n e r s of his m o u t h with his muffler, his h a n d k e r c h i e f b e i n g inconvenient to r e a c h for, a n d went out again to get o n with the delivery of his c h e c k s . T h e air bit cold a n d hard a n d a few flakes of s n o w f o r m e d n e a r h i m . A train s t r u c k by a n d left a quiver in the f r a m e s a n d a bristling icy hiss over the rails. C r o s s i n g the street, he d e s c e n d e d a flight of b r o a d s t e p s into a b a s e m e n t grocery, setting off a little bell. It w a s a dark, long store a n d it c a u g h t you with its stinks of s m o k e d m e a t , s o a p , dried p e a c h e s , a n d fish. T h e r e w a s a fire wrinkling a n d flapping in the little stove, a n d the proprietor w a s waiting,

8. Woman's coverall, popular during World War I.

L O O K I N G FOR M R .

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an Italian with a long, hollow f a c e a n d s t u b b o r n bristles. H e kept his h a n d s warm u n d e r his a p r o n . N o , he didn't know G r e e n . You knew p e o p l e but not n a m e s . T h e s a m e m a n might not have the s a m e n a m e twice. T h e p o l i c e didn't know, either, a n d mostly didn't c a r e . W h e n s o m e b o d y w a s shot or knifed they took the body away a n d didn't look for the m u r d e r e r . In the first p l a c e , n o b o d y would tell t h e m anything. S o they m a d e u p a n a m e for the c o r o n e r a n d called it q u i t s . A n d in the s e c o n d p l a c e , they didn't give a g o d d a m n a n y h o w . B u t they couldn't get to the b o t t o m of a thing even if they w a n t e d to. N o b o d y would get to know even a tenth of what went on a m o n g t h e s e p e o p l e . T h e y s t a b b e d a n d stole, they did every c r i m e a n d a b o m i n a t i o n you ever h e a r d of, m e n a n d m e n , w o m e n a n d w o m e n , p a r e n t s a n d children, w o r s e than the a n i m a l s . T h e y carried o n their own way, a n d the horrors p a s s e d off like a s m o k e . T h e r e w a s never anything like it in the history of the whole world. It w a s a long s p e e c h , d e e p e n i n g with every word in its fantasy a n d p a s s i o n a n d b e c o m i n g increasingly s e n s e l e s s a n d terrible: a s w a r m a m a s s e d by s u g gestion a n d invention, a h u g e , h u g g i n g , d e s p a i r i n g knot, a h u m a n wheel of h e a d s , legs, bellies, a r m s , rolling t h r o u g h his s h o p . G r e b e felt that he m u s t interrupt h i m . H e said sharply, " W h a t are you talking a b o u t ! All I a s k e d w a s w h e t h e r you knew this m a n . " " T h a t isn't even the half of it. I b e e n here six years. You probably don't want to believe this. B u t s u p p o s e it's t r u e ? " "All the s a m e , " said G r e b e , " t h e r e m u s t be a way to find a p e r s o n . " T h e Italian's c l o s e - s p a c e d eyes h a d b e e n queerly c o n c e n t r a t e d , a s were his m u s c l e s , while he leaned a c r o s s the c o u n t e r trying to c o n v i n c e G r e b e . N o w he gave u p the effort a n d sat d o w n on his stool. " O h — I s u p p o s e . O n c e in a while. B u t I b e e n telling you, even the c o p s don't get a n y w h e r e . " "They're always after s o m e b o d y . It's not the s a m e t h i n g . " "Well, keep trying if you w a n t . I can't help y o u . " B u t he didn't keep trying. H e had no m o r e time to s p e n d on G r e e n . H e slipped G r e e n ' s c h e c k to the b a c k of the block. T h e next n a m e on the list was

F I E L D , WINSTON.

H e f o u n d the back-yard b u n g a l o w without the least t r o u b l e ; it s h a r e d a lot with a n o t h e r h o u s e , a few feet of yard b e t w e e n . G r e b e knew t h e s e twos h a c k a r r a n g e m e n t s . T h e y h a d b e e n built in vast n u m b e r s in the days before the s w a m p s were filled a n d the streets raised, a n d they were all the s a m e — a board-walk a l o n g the f e n c e , well u n d e r street level, three or four ballh e a d e d p o s t s for c l o t h e s l i n e s , g r e e n i n g w o o d , d e a d s h i n g l e s , a n d a long, long flight of stairs to the rear door. A twelve-year-old boy let him into the k i t c h e n , a n d there the old m a n w a s , sitting by the table in a wheel chair. " O h , it's d' G o v e r n m e n t m a n , " he said to the boy w h e n G r e b e drew out his c h e c k s . " G o bring m e my box of p a p e r s . " H e c l e a r e d a s p a c e on the table. " O h , you don't have to go to all that t r o u b l e , " said G r e b e . B u t Field laid out his p a p e r s : S o c i a l S e c u r i t y c a r d , relief certification, letters from the s t a t e hospital in M a n t e n o , a n d a naval d i s c h a r g e d a t e d S a n D i e g o , 1 9 2 0 . " T h a t ' s plenty," G r e b e said. " J u s t s i g n . " "You got to know w h o I a m , " the old m a n s a i d . "You're from the G o v e r n m e n t . It's not your c h e c k , it's a G o v e r n m e n t c h e c k a n d you got no b u s i n e s s to h a n d it over till everything is p r o v e d . " H e loved the c e r e m o n y of it, a n d G r e b e m a d e no m o r e o b j e c t i o n s . Field e m p t i e d his box a n d finished out the circle of c a r d s a n d letters.

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" T h e r e ' s everything I d o n e a n d b e e n . J u s t the d e a t h certificate a n d they c a n c l o s e b o o k o n m e . " H e said this with a certain h a p p y pride a n d magnifi c e n c e . Still h e did not sign; h e merely held the little p e n upright o n the golden-green c o r d u r o y of his thigh. G r e b e did not hurry h i m . H e felt the old m a n ' s h u n g e r for c o n v e r s a t i o n . "I got to get better c o a l , " he said. "I s e n d my little g r a n ' s o n to the yard with my order a n d they fill his w a g o n with s c r e e n i n g . T h e stove ain't m a d e for it. It fall t h r o u g h the grate. T h e order says F r a n k l i n C o u n t y egg-size c o a l . " "I'll report it a n d s e e w h a t c a n be d o n e . " " N o t h i n g c a n be d o n e , I expect. You know a n d I know. T h e r e ain't no little ways to m a k e things better, a n d the only big thing is m o n e y . T h a t ' s the only s u n b e a m s , m o n e y . N o t h i n g is b l a c k w h e r e it s h i n e s , a n d the only p l a c e you s e e b l a c k is w h e r e it ain't shining. W h a t we c o l o r e d have to have is o u r own rich. T h e r e ain't n o other w a y . " G r e b e sat, his r e d d e n e d f o r e h e a d bridged levelly by his c l o s e - c u t hair a n d his c h e e k s lowered in the wings of his c o l l a r — t h e c a k e d fire s h o n e hard within the isinglass-and-iron f r a m e s b u t the r o o m w a s not c o m f o r t a b l e — s a t a n d listened while the old m a n u n f o l d e d his s c h e m e . T h i s w a s to c r e a t e o n e N e g r o millionaire a m o n t h by s u b s c r i p t i o n . O n e clever, g o o d - h e a r t e d y o u n g fellow e l e c t e d every m o n t h w o u l d sign a c o n t r a c t to u s e the m o n e y to start a b u s i n e s s e m p l o y i n g N e g r o e s . T h i s would b e advertised by c h a i n letters a n d word of m o u t h , a n d every N e g r o w a g e e a r n e r w o u l d c o n t r i b u t e a dollar a m o n t h . Within five years there would b e sixty millionaires. "That'll fetch r e s p e c t , " h e s a i d with a t h r o a t - s t o p p e d s o u n d that c a m e out like a foreign syllable. "You got to take a n d organize all the m o n e y that gets thrown away on the policy wheel a n d h o r s e r a c e . As long a s they c a n take it away from y o u , they got n o r e s p e c t for y o u . M o n e y , that's d' s u n of h u m a n k i n d ! " Field w a s a N e g r o of mixed b l o o d , p e r h a p s C h e r o k e e , or N a t c h e z ; his skin w a s r e d d i s h . A n d h e s o u n d e d , s p e a k i n g a b o u t a golden s u n in this d a r k r o o m , a n d looked, s h a g g y a n d s l a b - h e a d e d , with the m i n g l e d b l o o d of his f a c e a n d b r o a d lips, the little p e n still upright in his h a n d , like o n e of the u n d e r g r o u n d kings of mythology, old j u d g e M i n o s himself. A n d n o w he a c c e p t e d the c h e c k a n d s i g n e d . N o t to soil the slip, he held it d o w n with his k n u c k l e s . T h e table b u d g e d a n d c r e a k e d , the c e n t e r of the gloomy, h e a t h e n m i d d e n of the kitchen c o v e r e d with b r e a d , m e a t , a n d c a n s , a n d the s c r a m b l e of p a p e r s . " D o n ' t you think my s c h e m e ' d w o r k ? " "It's worth thinking a b o u t . S o m e t h i n g o u g h t to be d o n e , I a g r e e . " "It'll work if p e o p l e will do it. T h a t ' s all. T h a t ' s the only thing, any t i m e . W h e n they u n d e r s t a n d it in the s a m e way, all of t h e m . " " T h a t ' s t r u e , " s a i d G r e b e , rising. H i s g l a n c e m e t the old m a n ' s . "I know you got to g o , " h e s a i d . "Well, G o d b l e s s y o u , boy, you ain't b e e n sly with m e . I c a n tell in a m i n u t e . " H e went b a c k t h r o u g h the buried yard. S o m e o n e n u r s e d a c a n d l e in a s h e d , w h e r e a m a n u n l o a d e d kindling w o o d from a sprawl-wheeled baby b u g g y a n d two v o i c e s carried o n a high c o n v e r s a t i o n . As h e c a m e u p t h e sheltered p a s s a g e he h e a r d the hard b o o s t of the wind in the b r a n c h e s a n d a g a i n s t the h o u s e fronts, a n d t h e n , r e a c h i n g the sidewalk, h e s a w the n e e d l e eye red of c a b l e towers in the o p e n icy height h u n d r e d s of feet a b o v e the river a n d the f a c t o r i e s — t h o s e keen p o i n t s . F r o m h e r e , his view w a s o b s t r u c t e d all the way to the S o u t h B r a n c h a n d its timber b a n k s , a n d the

LOOKING FOR M R . G R E E N

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c r a n e s b e s i d e the water. Rebuilt after the G r e a t F i r e , 9 this part of the city was, not fifty years later, in ruins a g a i n , factories b o a r d e d u p , buildings deserted or fallen, g a p s of prairie between. B u t it wasn't d e s o l a t i o n that this m a d e you feel, but rather a faltering of organization that set free a h u g e energy, a n e s c a p e d , u n a t t a c h e d , u n r e g u l a t e d p o w e r from the giant raw p l a c e . N o t only m u s t p e o p l e feel it b u t , it s e e m e d to G r e b e , they were c o m p e l l e d to m a t c h it. In their very b o d i e s . H e no less than o t h e r s , h e realized. S a y that his p a r e n t s h a d b e e n servants in their time, w h e r e a s he w a s not s u p p o s e d to b e o n e . H e thought that they h a d never d o n e any service like this, which no o n e visible a s k e d for, a n d probably flesh a n d blood c o u l d not even p e r f o r m . N o r c o u l d a n y o n e s h o w why it s h o u l d be p e r f o r m e d ; or s e e w h e r e the perf o r m a n c e would lead. T h a t did not m e a n that he w a n t e d to b e r e l e a s e d from it, he realized with a grimly pensive f a c e . O n the contrary. H e h a d s o m e t h i n g to d o . T o be c o m p e l l e d to feel this energy a n d yet have n o t a s k to d o — t h a t w a s horrible; that w a s suffering; h e knew w h a t that w a s . It w a s n o w quitting time. Six o'clock. H e c o u l d go h o m e if he liked, to his r o o m , that is, to w a s h in hot water, to p o u r a drink, lie d o w n on his quilt, read the p a p e r , e a t s o m e liver p a s t e o n crackers before g o i n g o u t to dinner. B u t to think of this actually m a d e him feel a little sick as t h o u g h he h a d swallowed hard air. H e h a d six c h e c k s left, a n d h e was d e t e r m i n e d to deliver at least o n e of t h e s e : M r . Green's check. S o he started a g a i n . H e h a d four or five dark blocks to g o , p a s t o p e n lots, c o n d e m n e d h o u s e s , old f o u n d a t i o n s , c l o s e d s c h o o l s , b l a c k c b u r c h e s , m o u n d s , a n d he reflected that there m u s t b e m a n y p e o p l e alive w h o h a d o n c e s e e n the n e i g h b o r h o o d rebuilt a n d new. N o w there w a s a s e c o n d layer of ruins; c e n t u r i e s of history a c c o m p l i s h e d t h r o u g h h u m a n m a s s i n g . N u m bers h a d given the p l a c e forced growth; e n o r m o u s n u m b e r s h a d a l s o b r o k e n it down. O b j e c t s o n c e s o new, so c o n c r e t e that it c o u l d have o c c u r r e d to a n y o n e they s t o o d for other things, h a d c r u m b l e d . T h e r e f o r e , reflected G r e b e , the secret of t h e m w a s out. It w a s that they s t o o d for t h e m s e l v e s by a g r e e m e n t , a n d were natural a n d not u n n a t u r a l by a g r e e m e n t , a n d w h e n the things t h e m s e l v e s c o l l a p s e d the a g r e e m e n t b e c a m e visible. W h a t w a s it, otherwise, that kept cities from looking p e c u l i a r ? R o m e , that w a s a l m o s t perm a n e n t , did not give rise to t h o u g h t s like t h e s e . A n d w a s it abidingly real? B u t in C h i c a g o , where the cycles were s o fast a n d the familiar died o u t , a n d again rose c h a n g e d , a n d died again in thirty years, you saw the c o m m o n a g r e e m e n t or c o v e n a n t , a n d you were forced to think a b o u t a p p e a r a n c e s a n d realities. ( H e r e m e m b e r e d Raynor a n d he s m i l e d . Raynor w a s a clever boy.) O n c e you h a d g r a s p e d this, a great m a n y things b e c a m e intelligible. F o r i n s t a n c e , why Mr. Field s h o u l d c o n c e i v e s u c h a s c h e m e . O f c o u r s e , if p e o p l e were to a g r e e to c r e a t e a millionaire, a real millionaire would c o m e into existence. A n d if you w a n t e d to know how M r . Field w a s inspired to think of this, why, he h a d within sight of his kitchen window the c h a r t , the very b o n e s of a s u c c e s s f u l s c h e m e — t h e El with its b l u e a n d g r e e n confetti of signals. P e o p l e c o n s e n t e d to pay d i m e s a n d ride the crash-box c a r s , a n d so it w a s a s u c c e s s . Yet how a b s u r d it looked; how little reality there w a s to start with. And yet Y e r k e s , 1 the great financier w h o built it, h a d known that he c o u l d get p e o p l e to a g r e e to d o it. Viewed a s itself, what a s c h e m e of a s c h e m e if s e e m e d , how c l o s e to a n a p p e a r a n c e . T h e n why w o n d e r at M r . Field's i d e a ? 9. The Chicago Fire of 1 8 7 1 . 1. Charles Tyson Yerkes ( 1 8 3 7 - 1 9 0 5 ) , American financier.

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H e h a d g r a s p e d the principle. And then G r e b e r e m e m b e r e d , too, that M r . Yerkes h a d e s t a b l i s h e d the Yerkes Observatory a n d e n d o w e d it with millions. N o w how did the notion c o m e to him in his N e w York m u s e u m of a p a l a c e or his A e g e a n - b o u n d yacht to give m o n e y to a s t r o n o m e r s ? W a s he a w e d by the s u c c e s s of his bizarre e n t e r p r i s e a n d therefore ready to s p e n d m o n e y to find out w h e r e in the universe b e i n g a n d s e e m i n g were identical? Yes, he w a n t e d to know what a b i d e s ; a n d w h e t h e r flesh is Bible g r a s s ; a n d he offered m o n e y to be b u r n e d in the fire of s u n s . Okay, t h e n , G r e b e t h o u g h t further, t h e s e things exist b e c a u s e p e o p l e c o n s e n t to exist with t h e m — w e have got so f a r — a n d a l s o there is a reality which doesn't d e p e n d o n c o n s e n t but within which c o n s e n t is a g a m e . B u t what a b o u t n e e d , the n e e d that k e e p s s o m a n y vast t h o u s a n d s in position? You tell m e that, you private little g e n t l e m a n a n d decent s o u l — h e u s e d t h e s e w o r d s a g a i n s t himself scornfully. W h y is the c o n s e n t given to misery? A n d why so painfully ugly? B e c a u s e t h e r e is something that is d i s m a l a n d p e r m a n e n t l y ugly? H e r e he s i g h e d a n d g a v e it u p , a n d thought it w a s e n o u g h for the p r e s e n t m o m e n t that he h a d a real c h e c k in his p o c k e t for a Mr. G r e e n w h o m u s t be real beyond q u e s t i o n . If only his neighbors didn't think they h a d to c o n c e a l him. T h i s time he s t o p p e d at the s e c o n d floor. H e s t r u c k a m a t c h a n d f o u n d a door. Presently a m a n a n s w e r e d his k n o c k a n d G r e b e h a d the c h e c k ready a n d s h o w e d it even before h e b e g a n . " D o e s Tulliver G r e e n live here? I'm from the relief." T h e m a n narrowed the o p e n i n g a n d s p o k e to s o m e o n e at his b a c k . " D o e s he live h e r e ? " "Uh-uh. No." " O r a n y w h e r e in this building? H e ' s a sick m a n a n d he can't c o m e for his d o u g h . " H e exhibited the c h e c k in the light, which w a s s m o k y — t h e air s m e l l e d of c h a r r e d l a r d — a n d the m a n held off the brim of his c a p to study it. " U h - u h . N e v e r s e e n the n a m e . " " T h e r e ' s n o b o d y a r o u n d here that u s e s c r u t c h e s ? " H e s e e m e d to think, but it w a s G r e b e ' s i m p r e s s i o n that h e w a s simply waiting for a d e c e n t interval to p a s s . " N o , s u h . N o b o d y I ever s e e . " "I've b e e n looking for this m a n all a f t e r n o o n " — G r e b e s p o k e out with sudden f o r c e — " a n d I'm g o i n g to have to carry this c h e c k b a c k to the station. It s e e m s s t r a n g e not to b e able to find a p e r s o n to give him s o m e t h i n g w h e n you're looking for him for a good r e a s o n . I s u p p o s e if I h a d b a d n e w s for him I'd find him q u i c k e n o u g h . " T h e r e w a s a r e s p o n s i v e m o t i o n in the other m a n ' s f a c e . " T h a t ' s right, I reckon." "It a l m o s t doesn't do any g o o d to have a n a m e if you can't b e f o u n d by it. It doesn't s t a n d for anything. H e might a s well not have a n y , " h e went o n , smiling. It w a s a s m u c h of a c o n c e s s i o n a s h e c o u l d m a k e to his d e s i r e to laugh. "Well, now, there's a little old knot-back m a n I s e e o n c e in a while. H e might be the o n e you lookin' for. D o w n s t a i r s . " " W h e r e ? Bight side or left? W h i c h d o o r ? " "I don't know which. T h i n - f a c e little k n o t - b a c k with a stick." B u t no o n e a n s w e r e d at any of the d o o r s o n the first floor. H e went to the e n d of the corridor, s e a r c h i n g by m a t c h l i g h t , a n d f o u n d only a stairless exit to the yard, a drop of a b o u t six feet. B u t there w a s a b u n g a l o w n e a r the alley,

L O O K I N G FOR M R .

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an old h o u s e like Mr. Field's. T o j u m p was u n s a f e . H e ran from the front door, through the u n d e r g r o u n d p a s s a g e a n d into the yard. T h e p l a c e w a s o c c u p i e d . T h e r e w a s a light through the c u r t a i n s , u p s t a i r s . T h e n a m e on the ticket u n d e r the b r o k e n , s c o o p - s h a p e d mailbox w a s G r e e n ! H e exultantly rang the bell a n d p r e s s e d a g a i n s t the locked door. T h e n the lock clicked faintly a n d a long s t a i r c a s e o p e n e d before him. S o m e o n e w a s slowly c o m i n g d o w n — a w o m a n . H e h a d the i m p r e s s i o n in the w e a k light that s h e w a s s h a p i n g her hair a s s h e c a m e , m a k i n g herself p r e s e n t a b l e , for he s a w her a r m s raised. B u t it w a s for s u p p o r t that they were r a i s e d ; s h e w a s feeling her way downward, d o w n the wall, s t u m b l i n g . Next he w o n d e r e d a b o u t the pressure of her feet o n the t r e a d s ; s h e did not s e e m to be w e a r i n g s h o e s . A n d it w a s a freezing stairway. His ring h a d got her out of b e d , p e r h a p s , a n d s h e had forgotten to put t h e m on. A n d then he saw that s h e w a s not only s h o e l e s s but n a k e d ; s h e w a s entirely n a k e d , c l i m b i n g d o w n while s h e talked to herself, a heavy w o m a n , n a k e d a n d drunk. S h e b l u n d e r e d into h i m . T h e c o n t a c t of her b r e a s t s , though they t o u c h e d only his c o a t , m a d e him g o b a c k a g a i n s t the d o o r with a blind s h o c k . S e e what he h a d t r a c k e d d o w n , in his h u n t i n g game! T h e w o m a n was saying to herself, furious with insult. " S o 1 cain't k, h u h ? I'll s h o w that son-of-a-bitch kin I, cain't I." W h a t s h o u l d he do now? G r e b e a s k e d himself. Why, h e s h o u l d g o . H e s h o u l d turn away a n d g o . H e couldn't talk to this w o m a n . H e c o u l d n ' t keep her s t a n d i n g n a k e d in the cold. B u t when he tried h e f o u n d h i m s e l f u n a b l e to turn away. H e said, "Is this where M r . G r e e n lives?" B u t s h e w a s still talking to herself a n d did not h e a r him. "Is this Mr. G r e e n ' s h o u s e ? " At last s h e t u r n e d her furious d r u n k e n g l a n c e o n h i m . " W h a t d o you w a n t ? " Again her eyes w a n d e r e d from him; there w a s a dot of blood in their e n r a g e d brilliance. H e w o n d e r e d why s h e didn't feel the cold. "I'm from the relief." "Awright, w h a t ? " "I've got a c h e c k for Tulliver G r e e n . " T h i s time s h e h e a r d him a n d put out her h a n d . " N o , n o , for Mr. G r e e n . H e ' s got to s i g n , " he s a i d . H o w w a s h e g o i n g to get G r e e n ' s s i g n a t u r e tonight! "I'll take it. H e c a i n ' t . " H e desperately s h o o k his h e a d , thinking of M r . Field's p r e c a u t i o n s a b o u t identification. "I can't let you have it. It's for h i m . Are you M r s . G r e e n ? " " M a y b e I is, a n d m a y b e I ain't. W h o want to k n o w ? " "Is he u p s t a i r s ? " "Awright. T a k e it up yourself, you g o d d a m n fool." S u r e , he w a s a g o d d a m n fool. O f c o u r s e he c o u l d not go u p b e c a u s e G r e e n would probably be d r u n k a n d n a k e d , too. A n d p e r h a p s he would a p p e a r on the landing s o o n . H e looked eagerly u p w a r d . U n d e r the light w a s a high narrow brown wall. E m p t y ! It r e m a i n e d empty! " H e l l with you, t h e n ! " he h e a r d her cry. T o deliver a c h e c k for coal a n d c l o t h e s , he w a s k e e p i n g her in the cold. S h e did not feel it, but his f a c e w a s b u r n i n g with frost a n d self-ridicule. H e b a c k e d away from her. "I'll c o m e tomorrow, tell h i m . " "Ah, hell with you. D o n ' never c o m e . W h a t you doin' here in the nighttime? D o n ' c o m e b a c k . " S h e yelled s o that he saw the b r e a d t h of her t o n g u e . S h e

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s t o o d astride in the long c o l d box of the hall a n d held on to the b a n i s t e r a n d the wall. T h e b u n g a l o w itself w a s s h a p e d s o m e t h i n g like a box, a c l u m s y , high box p o i n t i n g into the freezing air with its s h a r p , wintry lights. "If you a r e M r s . G r e e n , I'll give you the c h e c k , " h e said, c h a n g i n g his m i n d . " G i v e h e r e , t h e n . " S h e took it, took the p e n offered with it in her left h a n d , a n d tried to sign the receipt on the wall. H e looked a r o u n d , a l m o s t a s though to s e e w h e t h e r his m a d n e s s w a s b e i n g o b s e r v e d , a n d c a m e n e a r believing that s o m e o n e w a s s t a n d i n g o n a m o u n t a i n of u s e d tires in the a u t o - j u n k i n g s h o p next door. " B u t are you M r s . G r e e n ? " h e now t h o u g h t to a s k . B u t s h e w a s already c l i m b i n g the stairs with the c h e c k , a n d it w a s too late, if h e h a d m a d e an error, if he w a s now in t r o u b l e , to u n d o the thing. B u t he wasn't g o i n g to worry a b o u t it. T h o u g h s h e might not b e M r s . G r e e n , he w a s c o n v i n c e d that M r . G r e e n w a s u p s t a i r s . W h o e v e r s h e w a s , the w o m a n s t o o d for G r e e n , w h o m he w a s not to s e e this t i m e . W e l l , you silly b a s t a r d , he s a i d to himself, so you think you f o u n d h i m . S o w h a t ? M a y b e you really did find h i m — w h a t of it? B u t it w a s i m p o r t a n t that there w a s a real M r . G r e e n w h o m they c o u l d not keep him from r e a c h i n g b e c a u s e h e s e e m e d to c o m e a s a n e m i s s a r y from hostile a p p e a r a n c e s . A n d t h o u g h the self-ridicule w a s slow to d i m i n i s h , a n d his f a c e still blazed with it, h e h a d , n e v e r t h e l e s s , a feeling of elation, too. " F o r after all," h e said, " h e could be f o u n d ! " 1951, 1968

GRACE b.

PALEY 1922

"A Conversation with My Father" is not Grace Paley's only story about a daughter's visit with an elderly, terminally ill father. Like other repeated situations in her work, such visits are part of the way this daughter, a short story writer much like Paley herself, uses dialogues with a traditionalist parent to explore innovative issues in her literary art. Unlike some of her contemporaries, whose concern with the making of fiction overshadows the situations such stories would otherwise convey, Paley always directs her imaginative explanations to realistic events, events in which larger social and moral issues reinforce the artistic points she wishes to make. Her ability to adapt nontraditional techniques into realistic short stories makes her accessible to a readership otherwise unfriendly to the aesthetic solipsism of self-exploratory fiction (or "metafiction" as it has come to be called). That Paley's protagonist talks with her father rather than simply writing about him indicates an important characteristic: in such narratives the author does not wish to present a lecture (though figures in her stories sometimes give them) but rather to achieve an understanding through dialogue. This debative quality is evident in the stories in her first collection, The Little Disturbances of Man ( 1 9 5 9 ) , some of which draw on situations first encountered when adapting to marriage and family life in the difficult circumstances of an army camp. By the time of Enormous Changes at the Last Minute ( 1 9 7 4 ) Paley develops her most noteworthy theme, that of women (often single mothers) building satisfactory relationships with the world around them by talking with each other (and sometimes to themselves). The title story from this sec-

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ond collection also shows Paley expanding her language to include an almost poetic phraseology whose facility with metaphors and similes makes much of her narrative action happen directly on the page. Here the same father is recalled as a child first seeing the American flag, then as a young immigrant taking advantage of what that symbol represents: "Under its protection and working like a horse, he'd read Dickens, gone to medical school, and shot like a surface-to-air missile right into the middle class." By choosing a comparison to current military technology that erupts from the sentence's quainter, almost century-old references, Paley invites her reader to be startled by the same realization that has motivated her to write. Grace Paley was born in New York City, the child of Russian Jewish immigrants from Ukraine. She attended Hunter College, but graduated from the Merchants and Bankers Business and Secretarial School. Married during college, she had two children and then was later divorced, not remarrying until 1972. During the 1950s she became an activist for social issues, first working to close Washington Square (in her Greenwich Village neighborhood) to traffic, later protesting the Vietnam War; in 1978 she was arrested on the White House lawn in a demonstration against nuclear weapons. The success of Enormous Changes at the Last Minute drew her to the attention of other writers, and throughout the 1970s and 1980s she was a regular participant on literary panels with innovative fictionalists such as Donald Barthelme and William H. Gass. Her third collection, Later the Same Day, continues her method of using metafictive techniques for writing otherwise realistic short stories. In the front matter of Enormous Changes at the Last Minute, where a disclaimer about correspondences between fact and fiction would customarily appear, she posts this warning: "Everyone in this book is imagined into life except the father. No matter what story he has to live in, he's my father, I. Goodside, M.D., artist, and storyteller." In addition to her fiction, Paley has also authored poetry and direct social commentary. Especially noteworthy is her essay from the September 1975 issue of Ms. magazine, "Other People's Children," objecting to the massive and hurried evacuation of South Vietnamese children during the Vietnam War's last days on the grounds that mothers' rights and interests were grossly violated. The text is from Enormous Changes at the Last Minute (1974).

A Conversation with My Father M y father is eighty-six years old a n d in b e d . His heart, that bloody m o t o r , is equally old a n d will not d o certain j o b s any m o r e . It still floods his h e a d with brainy light. B u t it won't let his legs carry the weight of his body a r o u n d the h o u s e . D e s p i t e my m e t a p h o r s , his m u s c l e failure is not d u e to his old heart, he says, b u t to a p o t a s s i u m s h o r t a g e . S i t t i n g on o n e pillow, l e a n i n g o n three, he offers l a s t - m i n u t e advice a n d m a k e s a r e q u e s t . "I would like you to write a s i m p l e story j u s t o n c e m o r e , " h e says, " t h e kind de M a u p a s s a n t wrote, or C h e k h o v , 1 the kind you u s e d to write. J u s t recognizable p e o p l e a n d then write d o w n what h a p p e n e d to t h e m n e x t . " I say, "Yes, why not? T h a t ' s p o s s i b l e . " I w a n t to p l e a s e him, t h o u g h I don't r e m e m b e r writing that way. I would like to try to tell s u c h a story, if h e m e a n s the kind that b e g i n s : " T h e r e w a s a w o m a n . . . " followed by plot, the a b s o l u t e line b e t w e e n two points which I've always d e s p i s e d . N o t for literary r e a s o n s , 1. Anton Chekhov ( 1 8 6 0 - 1 9 0 4 ) , Russian dramatist and story writer, whose characters often discuss moral nuances at length. G u y de M a u p a s s a n t

( 1 8 5 0 - 1 8 9 3 ) , French author of well-made sentimental stories and novels.

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but b e c a u s e it takes all h o p e away. E v e r y o n e , real or invented, d e s e r v e s the o p e n destiny of life. Finally I thought of a story that had b e e n h a p p e n i n g for a c o u p l e of years right a c r o s s the street. I wrote it d o w n , then read it a l o u d . " P a , " I said, "how a b o u t this? D o you m e a n s o m e t h i n g like t h i s ? " O n c e in my time there w a s a w o m a n a n d s h e h a d a s o n . T h e y lived nicely, in a small a p a r t m e n t in M a n h a t t a n . T h i s boy at a b o u t fifteen b e c a m e a j u n k i e , which is not u n u s u a l in our n e i g h b o r h o o d . In order to m a i n t a i n her close friendship with him, s h e b e c a m e a j u n k i e too. S h e said it w a s part of the youth c u l t u r e , with which s h e felt very m u c h at h o m e . After a while, for a n u m b e r of r e a s o n s , the boy gave it all u p a n d left the city a n d his m o t h e r in d i s g u s t . H o p e l e s s a n d a l o n e , s h e grieved. W e all visit her. " O . K . , P a , that's it," I said, " a n u n a d o r n e d a n d m i s e r a b l e t a l e . " " B u t that's not what I m e a n , " my father said. "You m i s u n d e r s t o o d m e o n p u r p o s e . You know there's a lot m o r e to it. You know that. You left everything out. T u r g e n e v 2 wouldn't do that. C h e k h o v wouldn't d o that. T h e r e are in fact B u s s i a n writers you never h e a r d of, you don't have a n inkling of, a s g o o d a s a n y o n e , w h o c a n write a plain ordinary story, w h o would not leave o u t w h a t you have left out. I object not to facts but to p e o p l e sitting in trees talking s e n s e l e s s l y , voices from who knows w h e r e . . . " " F o r g e t that o n e , P a , what have I left out now? In this o n e ? " " H e r looks, for i n s t a n c e . " " O h . Quite h a n d s o m e , I think. Y e s . " "Her hair?" " D a r k , with heavy b r a i d s , a s t h o u g h s h e were a girl or a foreigner." " W h a t were her p a r e n t s like, her s t o c k ? T h a t s h e b e c a m e s u c h a p e r s o n . It's interesting, you k n o w . " " F r o m out of town. Professional p e o p l e . T h e first to be divorced in their county. How's that? E n o u g h ? " I a s k e d . "With you, it's all a j o k e , " he s a i d . " W h a t a b o u t the boy's father? W h y didn't you m e n t i o n h i m ? W h o w a s he? O r w a s the boy born out of w e d l o c k ? " " Y e s , " I said. " H e w a s born out of w e d l o c k . " " F o r G o d s a k e s , doesn't a n y o n e in your stories get m a r r i e d ? D o e s n ' t a n y o n e have the time to run d o w n to City Hall before they j u m p into b e d ? " " N o , " I s a i d . "In real life, yes. B u t in my stories, n o . " "Why do you a n s w e r m e like t h a t ? " " O h , P a , this is a s i m p l e story a b o u t a s m a r t w o m a n w h o c a m e to N.Y.C.-' full of interest love trust e x c i t e m e n t very u p to d a t e , a n d a b o u t her s o n , what a hard time s h e h a d in this world. M a r r i e d or not, it's of small c o n s e q u e n c e . " "It is of great c o n s e q u e n c e , " he said. " O . K . , " I said. " O . K . O . K . yourself," he said, " b u t listen. I believe you that s h e ' s goodlooking, but I don't think s h e w a s so s m a r t . " " T h a t ' s t r u e , " I s a i d . "Actually that's the trouble with stories. P e o p l e start out f a n t a s t i c . You think they are extraordinary, but it t u r n s o u t a s the work 2. Ivan Turgenev ( 1 8 1 8 - 1 8 8 3 ) . Russian novelist, noted for his tragic vision.

3. I.e., New York City,

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goes along, they're j u s t average with a g o o d e d u c a t i o n . S o m e t i m e s the other way a r o u n d , the person's a kind of d u m b innocent, but he outwits you a n d you can't even think of an e n d i n g good e n o u g h . " " W h a t do you do t h e n ? " h e a s k e d . H e had b e e n a d o c t o r for a c o u p l e of d e c a d e s a n d then a n artist for a c o u p l e of d e c a d e s a n d he's still interested in details, craft, t e c h n i q u e . "Well, you j u s t have to let the story lie a r o u n d till s o m e a g r e e m e n t c a n be r e a c h e d b e t w e e n you a n d the s t u b b o r n h e r o . " "Aren't you talking silly, n o w ? " h e a s k e d . " S t a r t a g a i n , " he said. "It so h a p p e n s I'm not g o i n g out this evening. Tell the story a g a i n . S e e what you can do this t i m e . " " O . K . , " I s a i d . " B u t it's not a five-minute j o b . " S e c o n d a t t e m p t : O n c e , a c r o s s the street from u s , there w a s a fine h a n d s o m e w o m a n , our neighbor. S h e h a d a son w h o m s h e loved b e c a u s e she'd known him since birth (in helpless c h u b b y infancy, a n d in the wrestling, h u g g i n g a g e s , seven to ten, a s well a s earlier a n d later). T h i s boy, w h e n he fell into the fist of a d o l e s c e n c e , b e c a m e a j u n k i e . H e w a s not a h o p e l e s s o n e . H e w a s in fact hopeful, an i d e o l o g u e a n d s u c c e s s f u l converter. With his busy brilliance, he wrote p e r s u a s i v e articles for his high-school newspaper. S e e k i n g a wider a u d i e n c e , u s i n g important c o n n e c t i o n s , h e d r u m m e d into Lower M a n h a t t a n n e w s s t a n d distribution a periodical called Oh! Golden Horse! In order to keep him from feeling guilty ( b e c a u s e guilt is the stony heart of nine tenths of all clinically d i a g n o s e d c a n c e r s in A m e r i c a today, s h e s a i d ) , a n d b e c a u s e s h e h a d always believed in giving b a d habits r o o m at h o m e where o n e c o u l d keep an eye on t h e m , s h e too b e c a m e a j u n k i e . H e r kitchen w a s f a m o u s for a w h i l e — a c e n t e r for intellectual a d d i c t s w h o knew what they were doing. A few felt artistic like C o l e r i d g e a n d others were scientific a n d revolutionary like L e a r y . 4 A l t h o u g h she w a s often high herself, certain good m o t h e r i n g reflexes r e m a i n e d , a n d s h e saw to it that there w a s lots of o r a n g e j u i c e a r o u n d a n d honey a n d milk a n d vitamin pills. However, s h e never c o o k e d anything but chili, a n d that no m o r e than o n c e a week. S h e explained, w h e n we talked to her, seriously, with neighborly c o n c e r n , that it w a s her part in the youth c u l t u r e a n d s h e would rather be with the young, it w a s a n honor, than with her own g e n e r a t i o n . O n e week, while n o d d i n g through an A n t o n i o n P film, this boy w a s severely j a b b e d by the elbow of a stern a n d proselytizing girl, sitting b e s i d e him. S h e offered i m m e d i a t e a p r i c o t s a n d nuts for his s u g a r level, s p o k e to him sharply, a n d took him h o m e . S h e had h e a r d of him a n d his work a n d she herself p u b l i s h e d , edited, a n d wrote a competitive j o u r n a l called Man Does Live By Bread Alone. In the organic heat of her c o n t i n u o u s p r e s e n c e h e c o u l d not help but b e c o m e interested o n c e m o r e in his m u s c l e s , his arteries, a n d nerve c o n n e c t i o n s . In fact he b e g a n to love t h e m , t r e a s u r e t h e m , p r a i s e t h e m with funny little s o n g s in Man Does Live . . . 4. Timothy Leary (1920—1996), psychologist who in the 1960s encouraged experimentation with hallucinogenic drugs. Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772—1834). English poet whose Kubla Khan was

written under the influence of opium. 3. Michelangelo Antonioni (b. 19 12), Italian filmmaker known for his intellectual style.

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the fingers of my my transcendental

flesh transcend soul

T o the m o u t h of his h e a d (that glory of will a n d d e t e r m i n a t i o n ) h e b r o u g h t hard a p p l e s , n u t s , w h e a t g e r m , a n d s o y b e a n oil. H e s a i d to his old friends, from n o w o n , I g u e s s I'll keep my wits a b o u t m e . I'm g o i n g o n the n a t c h . H e said he w a s a b o u t to begin a spiritual d e e p - b r e a t h i n g j o u r n e y . H o w a b o u t you too, M o m ? he a s k e d kindly. H i s conversion w a s s o radiant, s p l e n d i d , that n e i g h b o r h o o d kids his a g e b e g a n to say that he h a d never b e e n a real addict at all, only a j o u r n a l i s t a l o n g for the smell of the story. T h e m o t h e r tried several t i m e s to give u p what h a d b e c o m e without her s o n a n d his friends a lonely habit. T h i s effort only b r o u g h t it to s u p p o r t a b l e levels. T h e boy a n d his girl took their electronic m i m e o g r a p h a n d m o v e d to the b u s h y e d g e of a n o t h e r b o r o u g h . T h e y were very strict. T h e y said they w o u l d not s e e her again until s h e h a d b e e n off d r u g s for sixty d a y s . At h o m e a l o n e in the evening, w e e p i n g , the m o t h e r r e a d a n d r e r e a d the seven i s s u e s of Oh! Golden Horse! T h e y s e e m e d to her a s truthful a s ever. W e often c r o s s e d the street to visit a n d c o n s o l e . B u t if w e m e n tioned any of our children w h o were at c o l l e g e or in the h o s p i t a l or d r o p o u t s at h o m e , s h e would cry o u t , M y baby! M y baby! a n d b u r s t into terrible, face-scarring, t i m e - c o n s u m i n g t e a r s . T h e E n d . First my father w a s silent, then h e said, " N u m b e r O n e : You have a n i c e s e n s e of h u m o r . N u m b e r T w o : I s e e you can't tell a plain story. S o don't w a s t e t i m e . " T h e n he said sadly, " N u m b e r T h r e e : I s u p p o s e that m e a n s s h e w a s a l o n e , s h e w a s left like that, his m o t h e r . A l o n e . P r o b a b l y s i c k ? " I said, " Y e s . " " P o o r w o m a n . P o o r girl, to b e born in a time of fools to live a m o n g fools. T h e e n d . T h e e n d . You were right to p u t that d o w n . T h e e n d . " I didn't w a n t to a r g u e , b u t I h a d to say, "Well, it is not n e c e s s a r i l y the e n d , Pa " " Y e s , " h e s a i d , " w h a t a tragedy. T h e e n d of a p e r s o n . " " N o , P a , " I b e g g e d h i m . "It d o e s n ' t have to b e . S h e ' s only a b o u t forty. S h e c o u l d b e a h u n d r e d different things in this world a s t i m e g o e s on. A t e a c h e r or a social worker. An ex-junkie! S o m e t i m e s it's better t h a n h a v i n g a m a s t e r ' s in e d u c a t i o n . " " J o k e s , " he said. "As a writer that's your m a i n t r o u b l e . You don't want to recognize it. T r a g e d y ! Plain tragedy! H i s t o r i c a l tragedy! N o h o p e . T h e e n d . " " O h , P a , " I said. " S h e could c h a n g e . " "In your own life, too, you have to look it in the f a c e . " H e took a c o u p l e of nitroglycerin. " T u r n to five," h e s a i d , p o i n t i n g to the dial o n the oxygen tank. H e i n s e r t e d the t u b e s into his nostrils a n d b r e a t h e d d e e p . H e c l o s e d his eyes a n d said, " N o . " I h a d p r o m i s e d the family to always let him have the last w o r d w h e n arguing, but in this c a s e I h a d a different responsibility. T h a t w o m a n lives a c r o s s the street. S h e ' s my k n o w l e d g e a n d my invention. I'm sorry for her. I'm not g o i n g to leave her there in that h o u s e crying. (Actually neither would Life, w h i c h unlike m e h a s n o pity.)

KURT VONNEGUT

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2 4 0 5

Therefore: S h e did c h a n g e . O f c o u r s e her s o n never c a m e h o m e a g a i n . But right now, she's the receptionist in a storefront c o m m u n i t y clinic in the E a s t Village. 6 M o s t of the c u s t o m e r s are y o u n g p e o p l e , s o m e old friends. T h e head doctor h a s said to her, "If we only h a d three p e o p l e in this clinic with your experiences . . ." " T h e doctor said t h a t ? " M y father took the oxygen t u b e s out of his nostrils a n d said, " J o k e s . J o k e s a g a i n . " " N o , P a , it c o u l d really h a p p e n that way, it's a funny world n o w a d a y s . " "No, he said. " T r u t h first. S h e will slide back. A p e r s o n m u s t have character. S h e d o e s n o t . " "No, P a , " I said. " T h a t ' s it. S h e ' s got a j o b . Forget it. S h e ' s in that storefront working." " H o w long will it b e ? " h e a s k e d . "Tragedy! You too. W h e n will you look it in the f a c e ? " 1974 6. Immigrant neighborhood in lower Manhattan that in the 1960s b e c a m e home to anti-establishment youth counterculture.

KURT

VONNEGUT b.

1922

As a counterculture hero of the turbulent 1960s and a best-selling author among readers of popular fiction in the three decades afterwards, Kurt Vonnegut is at once more traditional and more complicated than his enthusiasts might believe. To a generation of young people who felt their country had forsaken them, he offered examples of common decency and cultural idealism as basic as a grade-school civics lesson. For a broader readership who felt conventional fiction was inadequate to express the way their lives had been disrupted by the era's radical social changes, he wrote novels structured in more pertinently contemporary terms, bereft of such unifying devices as conclusive characterization and chronologically organized plots. His most famous novel, Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), takes as its organizing incident the Allied firebombing of the German city of Dresden late in World War II, as witnessed by the American prisoner of war Billy Pilgrim. Yet despite its origins in World War II, the manner of its telling is much more akin to the writing of Americans of the time who were trying to understand the Vietnam War. Both Slaughterhouse-Five and the war in Southeast Asia abjured the certainties of an identifiable beginning, middle, and end; both presented a mesmerizing sense of confused, apparently directionless present, with no sense of totalization or conclusiveness. Together, this World War II novel and the later war within which it was written speak for the unsettling nature of the American 1960s. Yet, this unconventional structure is paired with the language of American vernacular (much in the manner of Vonnegut's hero, Mark Twain). Where more elevated speech would obscure his point, this author speaks plainly and simply, drawing his words, phrases, and inflections from the American middle class and its common experiences of life. Vonnegut was born in Indianapolis, Indiana, to a family prominent in both business and the arts. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, the sensitive, well-read

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teenager saw his mother's inherited wealth dissipated, his father's profession as an architect crumble for lack of work, and his extended family begin scattering around the country in search of new careers. Service as a World War II infantryman taught not only how politics reshapes the world but how science (Vonnegut had been studying biochemistry in college before enlistment) could be used to create effects not always beneficial to humankind but as destructive as the Dresden firestorm. Working as a publicist for the General Electric Corporation after the war, the author learned firsthand about the strategies for managing the lifestyles of millions. In short, before writing his first story in 1950 Kurt Vonnegut had shared many formative experiences of his generation. Reworking those experiences would yield fictions and public statements that helped his fellow Americans adjust to a reinvented postwar world. Vonnegut's advice, like Mark Twain's, would be unapologetically lowbrow. Part of each writer's appeal is that he pokes holes in the pseudo-sophistications of supposedly more serious approaches, and in "Fates Worse Than Death" (printed here) Vonnegut begins by emphasizing that the self-consciously highbrow New Yorker magazine has never published his work. Indeed, his short stories of the 1950s were written for the immensely more general readership of Collier's and The Saturday Evening Post. These narratives (collected in 1968 as Welcome to the Monkey House) deflate the pretentions of wealth, expertise, and influence with demonstrations of middle-class values and common sense. At the same time, Vonnegut was writing novels in formats borrowed from popular subgenres: science fiction dystopia for Player Piano (1952), space opera in The Sirens of Titan (1959), the spy thriller as model for Mother Night (1961), scientific apocalypse and intrigue for Cat's Cradle (1963), and a prince-and-thepauper critique of riches in God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater (1965). Each work challenges the technical and thematic conventions of the novel, yet each time within the familiarity of a commonly available form. In the middle 1960s, with his family magazine markets having gone out of business, Vonnegut began writing essays for popular magazines such as Esquire, McCall's, and the Ladies

Home Journal.

Reviewing The Random

House

Dictionary

for the New

York

Times Book Review (October 30, 1966), he contrasted the assignment's linguistic complexity with his own shuffling, hands-in-pockets approach. As lexographers debated theories like prescriptive versus descriptive standards of language, for example, Vonnegut could just shrug and say that the former, "as nearly as I could tell, was like an honest cop, while descriptive was like a boozed-up war buddy from Mobile, Ala." In other essays the author would use similar self-effacing humor to undermine positions that used intellectual pretentions to support their points. To the overenthusiasts for science fiction who try to include writers like Leo Tolstoy and Franz Kafka in their brotherhood, he objects that "it is as though I were to claim everybody of note belonged fundamentally to Delta Upsilon, my own lodge, incidentally, whether he knew it or not. Kafka would have made a desperately unhappy D. U." Thus a false analogy is transformed into a logical fallacy: that of the excluded middle, saying Kakfa is to science fiction not as science fiction is to Delta Upsilon, but as Kafka is to D. U. The argument is thus won by playing with the unquestioned standards of logic, overturning intellectual pretentions by the silliness of their own deductions. and the widespread appreciation of his With the success of Slaughterhouse-Five essays and personal appearances, Kurt Vonnegut became much more a public spokesman. From his new home in New York City (where he moved in 1970 following nearly two decades of writing in obscurity on Cape Cod, Massachusetts) the author has written later novels such as Galapagos (1985), Hocus Pocus (1990), and Timequake (1997), works treating such large issues as the evolution and possible devolution of humankind and America's economic and social role at the end of the twentieth century. Vonnegut's challenges to the conventions of traditional fiction make him as innovative as any of the literary disruptionists of the postmodern era, yet he trusts in the honesty of plain and accurate statement. Hence his advice in "How to Write with Style," from his 1981 collection, Palm Sunday: "I myself find that I trust my writing

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most, and others seem to trust it most, when I sound like a person from Indianapolis, which I am." The text is that of Fates Worse Than Death (1991).

Fates Worse Than Death Lecture

at St. John the Divine, 23 May 1982

NYC

G o o d morning, This is a pretty small c h u r c h , but I g u e s s I have to start s o m e w h e r e . Actually, this is not my m a i n line of work. P r e a c h i n g in C a t h e d r a l s is j u s t a hobby. I m a k e u p stories for a living. I get my i d e a s from d r e a m s . T h e wildest d r e a m I have h a d s o far is a b o u t The New Yorker m a g a z i n e . In this d r e a m , the m a g a z i n e has p u b l i s h e d a three-part e s s a y by J o n a t h a n S c h e l l , 2 which proves that life on E a r t h is a b o u t to e n d . I a m s u p p o s e d to go to the largest G o t h i c c a t h e d r a l in the world, w h e r e all the p e o p l e a r e waiting, a n d say s o m e t h i n g w o n d e r f u l — r i g h t before a hydrogen b o m b is d r o p p e d on the E m p i r e S t a t e B u i l d i n g . P e o p l e a s far away a s Bridgeport will die instantly. H e r e is how I interpret the d r e a m : I c o n s i d e r myself a n i m p o r t a n t writer, a n d I think The New Yorker s h o u l d be a s h a m e d that it h a s never p u b l i s h e d me.

•

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•

I will s p e a k today a b o u t the worst i m a g i n a b l e c o n s e q u e n c e s of d o i n g without hydrogen b o m b s . T h i s s h o u l d be a relief. I a m s u r e you a r e sick a n d tired of hearing how all living things sizzle a n d p o p inside a radioactive fireball. W e have known that for m o r e than a third of this c e n t u r y — e v e r s i n c e we d r o p p e d an a t o m b o m b on the yellow p e o p l e of H i r o s h i m a . They certainly sizzled a n d popped. After all is said a n d d o n e , what w a s that sizzling a n d p o p p i n g , d e s p i t e the brilliant technology which c a u s e d it, but our old friend d e a t h ? L e t u s not forget that S a i n t J o a n of A r c 3 w a s m a d e to sizzle a n d p o p in old t i m e s with nothing m o r e t h a n firewood. S h e w o u n d up d e a d . T h e p e o p l e of H i r o s h i m a w o u n d u p d e a d . D e a d is d e a d . S c i e n t i s t s , for all their creativity, will never discover a m e t h o d for m a k i n g p e o p l e d e a d e r than d e a d . S o if s o m e of you are worried a b o u t b e i n g hydrog e n - b o m b e d , you are merely fearing d e a t h . T h e r e is n o t h i n g n e w in that. If there weren't any hydrogen b o m b s , d e a t h would still b e after y o u . A n d what is d e a t h but an a b s e n c e of life? T h a t ' s all it is. T h a t is all it ever c a n b e . D e a t h is nothing. W h a t is all this fuss a b o u t ?

•

•

•

L e t u s " u p the a n t e , " a s g a m b l e r s say. L e t u s talk a b o u t fates worse t h a n d e a t h . W h e n the R e v e r e n d J i m J o n e s saw that his followers in G u y a n a were 1. One of the world's largest cathedrals, located at Amsterdam Avenue and 112th Street in New York City. 2. American journalist and essayist (b. 1943),

noted for the thoroughness of his research and commitment to larger implications. 3. French military leader and saint burned at the stake for witchcraft ( 1 4 1 2 - 1 4 3 1 ) .

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VONNEGUT

f a c i n g fates worse than d e a t h , he gave them Kool-Aid laced with c y a n i d e . 4 If our g o v e r n m e n t s e e s that we are facing fates w o r s e than d e a t h , it will s h o w e r our e n e m i e s with hydrogen b o m b s , a n d t h e n we will be s h o w e r e d in t u r n . T h e r e will be plenty of Kool-Aid for everyone, in a m a n n e r of s p e a k i n g , w h e n the right time c o m e s . W h a t will the right time look like? I will not w a s t e your time with trivial fates, which a r e only marginally w o r s e t h a n d e a t h . S u p p o s e we were c o n q u e r e d by an e n e m y , for e x a m p l e , w h o didn't u n d e r s t a n d our wonderful e c o n o m i c system, a n d so Braniff Airlines a n d International H a r v e s t e r a n d s o on all went b u s t , a n d millions of A m e r i c a n s w h o w a n t e d to work couldn't find any j o b s a n y w h e r e . O r s u p p o s e w e were c o n q u e r e d by a n e n e m y w h o was too c h e a p to take g o o d c a r e of c h i l d r e n a n d old p e o p l e . O r s u p p o s e we were c o n q u e r e d by a n e n e m y w h o wouldn't s p e n d m o n e y on anything but w e a p o n s for World W a r T h r e e . T h e s e a r e all tribulations we c o u l d live with, if we h a d t o — a l t h o u g h G o d forbid. B u t s u p p o s e we foolishly got rid of our n u c l e a r w e a p o n s , o u r Kool-Aid, a n d an e n e m y c a m e over here a n d crucified u s . Crucifixion w a s the m o s t painful thing which the a n c i e n t R o m a n s ever f o u n d to d o to a n y o n e . T h e y knew a s m u c h a b o u t pain a s we d o a b o u t g e n o c i d e . T h e y s o m e t i m e s crucified h u n d r e d s of p e o p l e at o n e t i m e . T h a t is what they did to all the survivors of the army of S p a r t a c u s , which w a s c o m p o s e d mostly of e s c a p e d s l a v e s . T h e y crucified t h e m all. T h e r e were several miles of c r o s s e s . If we were u p on c r o s s e s , with nails through our feet a n d h a n d s , wouldn't we wish that we still h a d hydrogen b o m b s , so that life c o u l d be e n d e d everywhere? Absolutely. W e know of o n e p e r s o n w h o w a s crucified in olden t i m e s , w h o w a s s u p posedly a s c a p a b l e a s we or the R u s s i a n s are of e n d i n g life everywhere. B u t he c h o s e to e n d u r e a g o n y instead. All h e said w a s , " F o r g i v e t h e m , F a t h e r — they know not w h a t they d o . " H e let life go o n , a s awful a s it w a s for him, b e c a u s e here we a r e , aren't we? B u t h e w a s a special c a s e . It is unfair to u s e J e s u s C h r i s t a s a n e x e m p l a r of how m u c h pain a n d humiliation we ordinary h u m a n b e i n g s s h o u l d p u t u p with before calling for the end of everything.

I don't believe that we are a b o u t to be crucified. N o potential e n e m y we n o w f a c e has anywhere near e n o u g h c a r p e n t e r s . N o t even the P e n t a g o n at b u d g e t time h a s m e n t i o n e d crucifixion. I a m sorry to have to put that idea into their h e a d s . I will have only myself to b l a m e if, a year from now, the J o i n t C h i e f s of Staff testify u n d e r oath that we are on the brink of b e i n g crucified. B u t what if they said, i n s t e a d , that we w o u l d b e e n s l a v e d if we did not a p p r o p r i a t e e n o u g h m o n e y for w e a p o n r y ? T h a t c o u l d b e t r u e . D e s p i t e our world-wide reputation for sloppy w o r k m a n s h i p , wouldn't s o m e e n e m y get a kick o u t of forcing u s into involuntary servitude, b u y i n g a n d selling u s like s o m a n y h o u s e h o l d a p p l i a n c e s or farm m a c h i n e s or inflatable erotic toys? And slavery would surely b e a fate w o r s e than d e a t h . W e c a n a g r e e on 4. Mass suicide of an apocalyptic cult on November 18, 1978.

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that, Fm s u r e . W e s h o u l d s e n d a m e s s a g e to the P e n t a g o n : "If A m e r i c a n s are a b o u t to b e c o m e e n s l a v e d , it is Kool-Aid T i m e . " T h e y will know what we m e a n . •

•

•

O f c o u r s e , at Kool-Aid time all higher forms of life on E a r t h , not j u s t u s a n d our e n e m i e s , will be killed. Even t h o s e beautiful a n d fearless a n d utterly stupid sea birds, the blue-footed b o o b i e s of the G a l a p a g o s I s l a n d s , * will die, b e c a u s e we object to slavery. I have s e e n t h o s e birds, by the w a y — u p c l o s e . I c o u l d have u n s c r e w e d their h e a d s , if I w a n t e d to. I m a d e a trip to the G a l a p a g o s I s l a n d s two m o n t h s a g o — i n the c o m p a n y of, a m o n g other p e o p l e , P a u l M o o r e , the b i s h o p of this very c a t h e d r a l . T h a t is the sort of c o m p a n y I keep t h e s e d a y s — e v e r y t h i n g from bishops to blue-footed b o o b i e s . I have never s e e n a h u m a n slave, though. B u t my four great-grandfathers s a w slaves. W h e n they c a m e to this country in s e a r c h of j u s t i c e a n d opportunity, there were millions of Americ a n s who were slaves. •

•

•

T h e e q u a t i o n which links a strong d e f e n c e p o s t u r e to not b e i n g e n s l a v e d is laid down in that stirring fight song, m u c h heard lately, " R u l e B r i t a n n i a . " I will sing the e q u a t i o n : " R u l e , Britannia, Britannia rule the w a v e s — " T h a t , of c o u r s e , is a poetic d e m a n d for a navy s e c o n d to n o n e . T h e next line explains why it is essential to have a navy that g o o d : " B r i t o n s never, never, never shall be s l a v e s . " It may surprise s o m e of you to learn what a n old e q u a t i o n that is. T h e S c o t t i s h poet who wrote it, J a m e s T h o m s o n , died in 1 7 4 8 — o n e q u a r t e r of a century before there w a s s u c h a country a s the U n i t e d S t a t e s of A m e r i c a . T h o m s o n p r o m i s e d Britons that they would never b e slaves at a time w h e n the e n s l a v e m e n t of p e r s o n s with inferior w e a p o n r y w a s a r e s p e c t a b l e i n d u s try. Plenty of p e o p l e were going to be slaves, a n d it would serve t h e m right, t o o — b u t Britons would not be a m o n g t h e m . S o that isn't really a very nice s o n g . It is a b o u t not b e i n g h u m i l i a t e d which is all right. B u t it is a l s o a b o u t humiliating others, which is not a moral thing to do. T h e humiliation of others s h o u l d never be a national goal. T h e r e is o n e poet w h o s h o u l d have b e e n a s h a m e d of himself. •

•

•

If the Soviet U n i o n c a m e over here a n d e n s l a v e d u s , it wouldn't be the first time A m e r i c a n s were slaves. If we c o n q u e r e d the R u s s i a n s a n d e n s l a v e d t h e m , it wouldn't be the first time R u s s i a n s were slaves. A n d the last time A m e r i c a n s were slaves, a n d the last t i m e R u s s i a n s were slaves, they displayed a s t o n i s h i n g spiritual strengths a n d r e s o u r c e f u l n e s s . T h e y were g o o d at loving o n e a n o t h e r . T h e y t r u s t e d G o d . T h e y d i s c o v e r e d in the s i m p l e s t , m o s t natural s a t i s f a c t i o n s , r e a s o n s to b e glad to be alive. T h e y were able to believe that better days were c o m i n g in the sweet by-and5. Group of islands, belonging to Ecuador, in the Pacific Ocean, \isited by the English naturalist Charles Uarwin ( 1 8 0 9 - 1 8 8 2 ) in 1832 before he

began research on natural selection as a principal force in the origin of species.

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by. A n d here is a f a s c i n a t i n g statistic: they c o m m i t t e d s u i c i d e less often t h a n their m a s t e r s did. S o A m e r i c a n s a n d R u s s i a n s c a n both stand slavery, if they have t o — a n d still want life to go on a n d on. C o u l d it b e that slavery isn't a fate w o r s e than d e a t h . After all, p e o p l e are t o u g h , you know? M a y b e w e shouldn't s e n d that m e s s a g e to the P e n t a g o n — a b o u t slavery a n d Kool-Aid t i m e .

B u t s u p p o s e e n e m i e s c a m e a s h o r e in great n u m b e r s , b e c a u s e we l a c k e d the m e a n s to s t o p t h e m , a n d they p u s h e d us out of our h o m e s a n d off our a n c e s tral l a n d s , a n d into s w a m p s a n d d e s e r t s . S u p p o s e that they even tried to destroy our religion, telling u s that our G r e a t G o d J e h o v a h , or w h a t e v e r w e w a n t e d to call H i m , w a s a s ridiculous a s a p i e c e of j u n k jewelry. A g a i n : this is a wringer millions of A m e r i c a n s have already b e e n t h r o u g h — or are still g o i n g t h r o u g h . It is a n o t h e r c a t a s t r o p h e w h i c h A m e r i c a n s c a n e n d u r e , if they have t o — a n d still, miraculously, m a i n t a i n s o m e m e a s u r e of dignity, or self-respect. As b a d a s life is for our I n d i a n s , they still like it better than d e a t h . •

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S o I haven't h a d m u c h luck, have I, in identifying fates worse than d e a t h . Crucifixion is the only clear winner so far, a n d we aren't a b o u t to b e crucified. W e aren't a b o u t to b e e n s l a v e d , e i t h e r — t o be treated a s white A m e r i c a n s u s e d to treat b l a c k A m e r i c a n s . A n d no potential e n e m y that I have h e a r d of w a n t s to c o m e over here to treat all of u s the way we still treat A m e r i c a n Indians. W h a t other fates w o r s e than death c o u l d I n a m e ? Life without petroleum?

. . .

In m e l o d r a m a s of a c e n t u r y a g o , a f e m a l e ' s loss of virginity o u t s i d e of holy wedlock w a s s o m e t i m e s s p o k e n a s a fate w o r s e than d e a t h . I h o p e that isn't what the P e n t a g o n or the Kremlin h a s in m i n d — b u t you never know. I w o u l d rather die for virginity than for p e t r o l e u m , I think. It's m o r e literary, s o m e h o w .

I m a y be blinding myself to the racist a s p e c t s of h y d r o g e n b o m b s , w h o s e only function is to e n d everything. P e r h a p s there are tribulations w h i c h white p e o p l e s h o u l d not be a s k e d to tolerate. B u t the R u s s i a n slaves w e r e white. T h e s u p p o s e d l y u n e n s l a v a b l e B r i t o n s were e n s l a v e d by the R o m a n s . E v e n p r o u d B r i t o n s , if they were e n s l a v e d now, w o u l d have to say, " H e r e we go a g a i n . " A r m e n i a n s a n d J e w s have certainly b e e n treated hideously in m o d e r n a s well a s a n c i e n t t i m e s — a n d they have still w a n t e d life to go on a n d on a n d on. A b o u t a third of our own white p e o p l e w e r e r o b b e d a n d r u i n e d a n d s c o r n e d after our Civil W a r . T h e y still w a n t e d life to g o on a n d on a n d on.

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H a v e there ever b e e n large n u m b e r s of h u m a n b e i n g s of any sort w h o have not, despite everything, d o n e everything they c o u l d to k e e p life g o i n g o n a n d on and on? Soldiers. ' D e a t h before D i s h o n o r ' w a s the motto of several military f o r m a t i o n s during the Civil W a r — o n both sides. It may be the m o t t o of the E i g h t y - s e c o n d Airborne D i v i s i o n 6 right now. A m o t t o like that m a d e a certain a m o u n t of s e n s e , I s u p p o s e , w h e n military d e a t h was what h a p p e n e d to the soldier o n the right or the left of y o u — o r in front of y o u — o r in b a c k of you. B u t military d e a t h now c a n easily m e a n the d e a t h of everything, i n c l u d i n g , a s I have already said, the blue-footed b o o b i e s of the G a l a p a g o s I s l a n d s . T h e w e b b e d feet of t h o s e birds really are the brightest b l u e , by the way. W h e n two blue-footed b o o b i e s begin a c o u r t s h i p , they s h o w e a c h other w h a t beautiful, bright b l u e feet they have. •

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If you go to the G a l a p a g o s I s l a n d s , a n d s e e all the s t r a n g e c r e a t u r e s , you are b o u n d to think what C h a r l e s Darwin t h o u g h t w h e n h e went t h e r e : H o w m u c h time N a t u r e has in which to a c c o m p l i s h simply anything. If we d e s olate this p l a n e t , N a t u r e c a n get life going a g a i n . All it takes is a few million years or s o , the wink of an eye to N a t u r e . Only h u m a n k i n d is r u n n i n g out of time. M y g u e s s is that we will not d i s a r m , even t h o u g h we s h o u l d , a n d that w e really will blow u p everything by a n d by. History s h o w s that h u m a n b e i n g s are vicious e n o u g h to c o m m i t every i m a g i n a b l e atrocity, i n c l u d i n g the c o n struction of factories w h o s e only p u r p o s e was to kill p e o p l e a n d burn t h e m up. It may be that we were put here on Earth to blow the p l a c e to s m i t h e r e e n s . W e m a y be N a t u r e ' s way of c r e a t i n g new galaxies. W e m a y b e p r o g r a m m e d to improve a n d improve our w e a p o n s , a n d to believe that d e a t h is better t h a n dishonor. A n d t h e n , o n e day, a s d i s a r m a m e n t rallies a r e b e i n g held all over the planet, ka-blooey! A n e w Milky W a y is born.

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P e r h a p s we s h o u l d be a d o r i n g instead of loathing our hydrogen b o m b s . T h e y c o u l d be the e g g s for new galaxies.

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W h a t c a n save u s ? Divine intervention, c e r t a i n l y — a n d this is the p l a c e to a s k for it. W e might pray to be r e s c u e d from our inventiveness, j u s t a s the d i n o s a u r s may have prayed to be r e s c u e d from their size. B u t the inventiveness which we so regret now m a y a l s o be giving u s , a l o n g with the rockets a n d w a r h e a d s , the m e a n s to a c h i e v e what h a s hitherto b e e n an impossibility, the unity of m a n k i n d . I a m talking mainly a b o u t television sets. E v e n in my own lifetime, it u s e d to be n e c e s s a r y for a y o u n g soldier to get into fighting before he b e c a m e disillusioned a b o u t war. His p a r e n t s b a c k 6. A highly effective paratroop assault unit of the U . S . Army, noted for its brilliant combat record.

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h o m e were equally ignorant, a n d believed him to be slaying m o n s t e r s . B u t now, t h a n k s to m o d e r n c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , the p e o p l e of every industrialized nation are n a u s e a t e d by war by the time they are ten years old. A m e r i c a ' s first g e n e r a t i o n of television viewers h a s g o n e to war a n d c o m e h o m e a g a i n — a n d we have never s e e n veterans like t h e m before. W h a t m a k e s the V i e t n a m v e t e r a n s so s o m e h o w spooky? W e c o u l d a l m o s t d e s c r i b e t h e m a s b e i n g ' u n w h o l e s o m e l y m a t u r e ' . T h e y have never h a d illusions a b o u t war. T h e y are the first soldiers in history w h o k n e w even in c h i l d h o o d , from having h e a r d a n d s e e n s o m a n y p i c t u r e s of a c t u a l a n d restaged battles, that war is m e a n i n g l e s s b u t c h e r y of ordinary p e o p l e like t h e m selves. It u s e d to b e that v e t e r a n s c o u l d s h o c k their p a r e n t s w h e n they c a m e h o m e , a s E r n e s t H e m i n g w a y 7 did, by a n n o u n c i n g that everything a b o u t war w a s repulsive a n d s t u p i d a n d d e h u m a n i z i n g . B u t the p a r e n t s of o u r V i e t n a m veterans were disillusioned a b o u t war, too, m a n y of t h e m having s e e n it first h a n d , before their children ever went o v e r s e a s . T h a n k s to m o d e r n c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , A m e r i c a n s of all a g e s were d e a d sick of war even before w e went into V i e t n a m . T h a n k s to m o d e r n c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , the poor, u n l u c k y y o u n g p e o p l e from the Soviet U n i o n , now killing a n d dying in A f g h a n i s t a n , were d e a d sick of war before they ever got t h e r e . T h a n k s to m o d e r n c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , the s a m e m u s t be true of the poor, unlucky y o u n g p e o p l e from A r g e n t i n a a n d G r e a t Britain, now killing a n d dying in the F a l k l a n d I s l a n d s . 8 The New York Post calls t h e m 'Argies' a n d 'Brits'. T h a n k s to m o d e r n c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , we know that they are a g o o d deal m o r e m a r v e l o u s a n d c o m p l i c a t e d t h a n that, a n d that what is h a p p e n i n g to t h e m d o w n there, on the rim of the A n t a r c t i c , is a lot m o r e horrible a n d s h a m e f u l than a s o c c e r m a t c h .

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W h e n I w a s a boy it w a s u n u s u a l for a n A m e r i c a n , or a p e r s o n of any nationality, for that matter, to know m u c h a b o u t foreigners. T h o s e w h o did were s p e c i a l i s t s — d i p l o m a t s , explorers, j o u r n a l i s t s , a n t h r o p o l o g i s t s . A n d they usually knew a lot a b o u t j u s t a few g r o u p s of foreigners, E s k i m o s , m a y b e , or A r a b s , or what have y o u . T o t h e m , as to the s c h o o l c h i l d r e n of I n d i a n a p o l i s , large a r e a s of the g l o b e were terra incognita. N o w look what has h a p p e n e d . T h a n k s to m o d e r n c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , we have s e e n sights a n d h e a r d s o u n d s from virtually every s q u a r e mile of the land m a s s on this planet. Millions of u s have actually visited m o r e exotic p l a c e s than h a d m a n y explorers d u r i n g my c h i l d h o o d . M a n y of you have b e e n to T i m b u k t u . M a n y of you have b e e n to K a t m a n d u . M y dentist j u s t got h o m e from Fiji. H e told m e all a b o u t Fiji. If h e h a d taken his fingers out of my m o u t h , I would have told him a b o u t the G a l a p a g o s I s l a n d s . S o we now know for certain that there are no potential h u m a n e n e m i e s anywhere w h o a r e anything but h u m a n b e i n g s a l m o s t exactly like o u r s e l v e s . T h e y n e e d food. H o w a m a z i n g . T h e y love their children. H o w a m a z i n g . T h e y obey their l e a d e r s . H o w a m a z i n g . T h e y think like their n e i g h b o r s . H o w amazing. 7. American fiction writer ( 1 8 9 9 - 1 9 6 1 ) . 8. At the time of this speech ( 1 9 8 2 ) , the former Soviet Union was attempting military suppression

of the revolt in Afghanistan, and Great Britain was at war with Argentina over possession of the Falkland Islands in the south Atlantic.

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T h a n k s to m o d e r n c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , we now have s o m e t h i n g we never h a d before: r e a s o n to m o u r n deeply the d e a t h or w o u n d i n g of any h u m a n b e i n g on any side in any war. •

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It w a s b e c a u s e of rotten c o m m u n i c a t i o n s , of m a l i c i o u s , racist i g n o r a n c e that we were able to c e l e b r a t e the killing of a l m o s t all the i n h a b i t a n t s in Hiros h i m a , J a p a n , thirty-seven years a g o . W e t h o u g h t they were vermin. T h e y t h o u g h t we were vermin. T h e y would have c l a p p e d their little yellow h a n d s with glee, a n d g r i n n e d with their c r o o k e d b u c k teeth, if they c o u l d have incinerated everybody in K a n s a s City, say. T h a n k s to how m u c h the p e o p l e of the world now know a b o u t all the other p e o p l e of the world, the fun of killing e n e m i e s has lost its zing. It h a s so lost its zing that no s a n e citizen of the Soviet U n i o n , if we were to g o to war with that society, would feel anything but horror if his country were to kill p r a c tically everybody in N e w York a n d C h i c a g o a n d S a n F r a n c i s c o . Killing e n e m i e s has s o lost its zing, that no s a n e citizen of the U n i t e d S t a t e s would feel anything but horror if our country were to kill practically everybody in M o s c o w a n d L e n i n g r a d a n d Kiev. O r in N a g a s a k i , 9 J a p a n , for that matter. W e have often h e a r d it said that p e o p l e would have to c h a n g e , or we w o u l d go on having world w a r s . I bring you g o o d news this m o r n i n g : p e o p l e have changed. W e aren't so ignorant a n d bloodthirsty any m o r e .

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I told you a crazy d r e a m I h a d — a b o u t The New Yorker m a g a z i n e a n d this c a t h e d r a l . I will tell you a s a n e d r e a m now. I d r e a m e d last night of our d e s c e n d a n t s a t h o u s a n d years from now, which is to say all of h u m a n i t y . If you are at all into r e p r o d u c t i o n , a s w a s the E m p e r o r C h a r l e m a g n e , 1 you c a n pick u p a n awful lot of relatives in a thous a n d years. Every p e r s o n in this c a t h e d r a l w h o has a drop of white b l o o d is a d e s c e n d a n t of C h a r l e m a g n e . A t h o u s a n d years from now, if there are still h u m a n b e i n g s on E a r t h , every o n e of t h o s e h u m a n b e i n g s will be d e s c e n d e d from u s — a n d from everyone who has c h o s e n to r e p r o d u c e . In my d r e a m , our d e s c e n d a n t s are n u m e r o u s . S o m e of t h e m a r e rich, s o m e are poor, s o m e a r e likable, s o m e are i n s u f f e r a b l e . I a s k t h e m how humanity, a g a i n s t all o d d s , m a n a g e d to keep going for a n o t h e r m i l l e n n i u m . T h e y tell m e that they a n d their a n c e s t o r s did it by preferring life over d e a t h for t h e m s e l v e s a n d others at every opportunity, even at the e x p e n s e of b e i n g d i s h o n o r e d . T h e y e n d u r e d all sorts of insults a n d h u m i l i a t i o n s a n d d i s a p p o i n t m e n t s without c o m m i t t i n g either s u i c i d e or m u r d e r . T h e y are a l s o the p e o p l e w h o d o the insulting a n d h u m i l i a t i n g a n d disappointing. I e n d e a r myself to t h e m by s u g g e s t i n g a m o t t o they might like to p u t on their belt b u c k l e s or tee-shirts or whatever. T h e y aren't all h i p p i e s , by the way. T h e y aren't all A m e r i c a n s , either. T h e y aren't even all white p e o p l e . 9. City destroyed bv the second atomic bomb on August 9, 1945.

1. King of the Franks and Holv Roman Emperor (742-814).

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I give t h e m a q u o t a t i o n from that great 19th c e n t u r y moralist a n d robber b a r o n , J i m Fisk, w h o m a y have c o n t r i b u t e d m o n e y to this c a t h e d r a l . J i m F i s k uttered his f a m o u s words after a particularly disgraceful e p i s o d e having to d o with t h e Erie Railroad. F i s k himself h a d n o c h o i c e b u t to find h i m s e l f c o n t e m p t i b l e . H e thought this over, a n d then s h r u g g e d a n d s a i d w h a t we all m u s t learn to say, if w e want to g o o n living m u c h longer: " N o t h i n g is lost save h o n o r . " I t h a n k you for your attention. 1991

1982

JAMES

BALDWIN

1924-1987 James Baldwin was born in Harlem, the first of nine children. From his novel Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953) and his story "The Rockpile," we learn how extremely painful was the relationship between his father (actually his stepfather) and his eldest son. David Baldwin, son of a slave, was a lay preacher rigidly committed to a vengeful God who would eventually judge white people as they deserved; in the meantime, much of the vengeance was taken out on James. His father's "unlimited capacity for introspection and rancor," as the son later put it, must have had a profound effect on the sermonizing style Baldwin was to develop. Just as important was his conversion and resulting service as a preacher in his father's church, as we can see from both the rhythm and the message of his prose—which is very much a spoken prose. Baldwin did well in school and, having received a hardship deferment from military service (his father was dying), began to attach himself to Greenwich Village, where he concentrated on the business of becoming a writer. In 1944 he met Richard Wright, at that time "the greatest black writer in the world for me," in whose early books Baldwin "found expressed, for the first time in my life, the sorrow, the rage, and the murderous bitterness which was eating up my life and the lives of those about me." Wright helped him win a Eugene Saxton fellowship, and in 1948, when Baldwin went to live in Paris, he was following in Wright's footsteps (Wright had become an expatriate to the same city a year earlier). It is perhaps for this reason that in his early essays written for Partisan

Review

and published in 1955 as Notes

of a Native

Son

(with the title's explicit reference to Wright's novel) Baldwin dissociated himself from the image of American life found in Wright's "protest work" and, as Ralph Ellison was also doing, went about protesting in his own way. As far as his novels are concerned, Baldwin's way involved a preoccupation with the intertwining of sexual with racial concerns, particularly in America. His interest in what it means to be black and homosexual in relation to white society is most fully and interestingly expressed in his long and somewhat ragged third novel, Another Country (1962). (He had previously written Go Tell It on the Mountain, and a second novel, Giovanni's Room, 1955, about a white expatriate in Paris and his male lover.) Another Country contains scenes full of lively detail and intelligent reflection, although it lacks—as do all his novels—a compelling design that draws the book together. In his novels Baldwin made slight use of the talents for irony and sly teasing he is master of in his essays; nor, unlike Ellison or Mailer, did he show much interest in stylistic experimentation. In his short stories collected in Going to Meet the Man

G O I N G TO M E E T THE M A N / 2 4 1 5

( 1 9 6 5 ) , the racial terrorism of America as he perceived it made its own grotesque stylistic statement. The writer's challenge was to maintain steady control in the face of such atrocities that might otherwise disrupt the narrative's ability to contain such events. His later novels, Tell Me How Long the Train's

Been

Gone

( 1 9 6 8 ) and Just

above

My Head ( 1 9 7 9 ) . were overlong and tended toward the shapeless. Like Mailer, Baldwin risked advertising himself too strenuously and sometimes fell into stridency and sentimentality. Like Ellison, he experienced many pressures to be something more than just a writer, but he nevertheless produced a respectable series of novels and stories, even if no single fiction of his is comparable in breadth and daring to Invisible Man. There has surely been no black writer better able to imagine white experience, to speak in various tones of different kinds and behaviors of people or places other than his own. In its sensitivity to shades of discrimination and moral shape, and in its commitment—despite everything—to America, his voice was comparable in importance to that of any person of letters from recent decades, and tributes paid to him at his death were agreed on that fact. The text is the title story from Going to Meet the Man ( 1 9 6 5 ) .

Going to Meet the M a n "What's the matter?" she asked. "I don't k n o w , " h e said, trying to l a u g h , "I g u e s s I'm tired." "You've b e e n working too h a r d , " s h e said. "I keep telling y o u . " "Well, g o d d a m m i t , w o m a n , " h e said, "it's not my f a u l t ! " H e tried a g a i n ; h e wretchedly failed a g a i n . T h e n h e j u s t lay there, silent, angry, a n d h e l p l e s s . E x c i t e m e n t filled h i m like a t o o t h a c h e , b u t it refused to enter his flesh. H e stroked h e r b r e a s t . T h i s w a s his wife. H e c o u l d not a s k h e r to d o j u s t a little thing for him, j u s t to help h i m out, j u s t for a little while, t h e way h e c o u l d a s k a nigger girl to d o it. H e lay there, a n d h e sighed. T h e i m a g e o f a b l a c k girl c a u s e d a d i s t a n t excitement in him, like a far-away light; b u t , a g a i n , t h e excitement w a s m o r e like pain; i n s t e a d o f forcing h i m to a c t , it m a d e action impossible. " G o to s l e e p , " s h e said, gently, "you got a hard day t o m o r r o w . " " Y e a h , " h e said, a n d rolled over o n his s i d e , facing her, o n e h a n d still o n o n e breast. " G o d d a m n t h e niggers. T h e b l a c k stinking c o o n s . You'd think they'd learn. W o u l d n ' t you think they'd learn? I m e a n , wouldn't you?" " T h e y going to b e o u t there t o m o r r o w , " s h e said, a n d took his h a n d away, "get s o m e s l e e p . " H e lay there, o n e h a n d b e t w e e n his legs, staring at t h e frail s a n c t u a r y of his wife. A faint light c a m e from t h e s h u t t e r s ; t h e m o o n w a s full. T w o d o g s , far away, were barking at e a c h other, b a c k a n d forth, insistently, a s t h o u g h they were a g r e e i n g to m a k e a n a p p o i n t m e n t . H e h e a r d a c a r c o m i n g north on t h e road a n d h e half sat u p , his h a n d r e a c h i n g for his holster, which w a s o n a chair near t h e b e d , o n t o p of his p a n t s . T h e lights hit t h e s h u t t e r s a n d s e e m e d to travel a c r o s s t h e r o o m a n d then went o u t . T h e s o u n d of t h e c a r slipped away, h e h e a r d it hit gravel, then h e a r d it n o m o r e . S o m e liver-lipped s t u d e n t s , probably, h e a d i n g b a c k to that c o l l e g e — b u t c o m i n g from w h e r e ? His w a t c h said it w a s two in the m o r n i n g . T h e y c o u l d b e c o m i n g from anyw h e r e , from o u t of state m o s t likely, a n d they would b e at t h e c o u r t - h o u s e tomorrow. T h e niggers were getting ready. Well, they would b e ready, t o o .

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H e m o a n e d . H e w a n t e d to let whatever w a s in him o u t ; but it wouldn't c o m e out. G o d d a m n ! h e said a l o u d , a n d t u r n e d a g a i n , o n his s i d e , away from G r a c e , staring at the s h u t t e r s . H e w a s a big, healthy m a n a n d he h a d never h a d any trouble s l e e p i n g . A n d he wasn't old e n o u g h yet to have any t r o u b l e getting it u p — h e w a s only forty-two. A n d he w a s a g o o d m a n , a G o d - f e a r i n g m a n , he h a d tried to do his duty all his life, a n d he h a d b e e n a d e p u t y sheriff for several years. N o t h i n g had ever b o t h e r e d him b e f o r e , certainly not getting it u p . S o m e t i m e s , s u r e , like any other m a n , he knew that he w a n t e d a little m o r e spice than G r a c e c o u l d give him a n d he would drive over yonder a n d pick up a black p i e c e or arrest her, it c a m e to the s a m e thing, b u t he couldn't d o that now, n o m o r e . T h e r e w a s n o telling what might h a p p e n o n c e your a s s w a s in the air. A n d they were low e n o u g h to kill a m a n t h e n , too, every o n e of t h e m , or the girl herself might d o it, right while s h e w a s m a k i n g believe you m a d e her feel s o g o o d . T h e niggers. W h a t h a d the g o o d L o r d Almighty h a d in m i n d w h e n he m a d e the niggers? Well. T h e y were pretty g o o d at that, all right. D a m n . D a m n . G o d d a m n . T h i s wasn't helping him to s l e e p . H e t u r n e d a g a i n , toward G r a c e a g a i n , a n d moved c l o s e to her w a r m body. H e felt s o m e t h i n g he h a d never felt before. H e felt that he would like to hold her, hold her, hold her, a n d be buried in her like a child a n d never have to get up in the m o r n i n g again a n d go d o w n t o w n to f a c e t h o s e f a c e s , g o o d C h r i s t , they were ugly! a n d never have to enter that jail h o u s e again a n d smell that smell a n d hear that singing; never again feel that filthy, kinky, greasy hair u n d e r his h a n d , never again w a t c h t h o s e b l a c k b r e a s t s leap a g a i n s t the l e a p i n g cattle p r o d , never h e a r t h o s e m o a n s again or w a t c h that blood run d o w n or the fat lips split or the s e a l e d eyes struggle o p e n . T h e y were a n i m a l s , they were no better than anim a l s , what c o u l d be d o n e with p e o p l e like that? H e r e they h a d b e e n in a civilized country for years a n d they still lived like a n i m a l s . T h e i r h o u s e s were dark, with oil cloth or c a r d b o a r d in the w i n d o w s , the smell w a s e n o u g h to m a k e you p u k e your g u t s o u t , a n d there they sat, a whole tribe, p u m p i n g out kids, it looked like, every d a m n five m i n u t e s , a n d l a u g h i n g a n d talking a n d playing m u s i c like they didn't have a c a r e in the world, a n d he r e c k o n e d they didn't, neither, a n d c o m i n g to the door, into the sunlight, j u s t s t a n d i n g there, j u s t looking foolish, not thinking of a n y t h i n g b u t j u s t getting b a c k to what they were d o i n g , saying, Yes s u h , M r . J e s s e . 1 surely will, Mr. J e s s e . F i n e weather, Mr. J e s s e . Why, I thank you, M r . J e s s e . H e h a d worked for a mailorder h o u s e for a while a n d it had b e e n his j o b to collect the p a y m e n t s for the stuff they b o u g h t . T h e y were too d u m b to know that they were b e i n g c h e a t e d blind, but that was no skin off his a s s — h e w a s j u s t s u p p o s e d to do his j o b . T h e y would be l a t e — t h e y didn't have the s e n s e to put m o n e y a s i d e ; but it was easy to s c a r e t h e m , a n d h e never really h a d any trouble. Hell, they all liked him, the kids u s e d to s m i l e w h e n he c a m e to the door. H e gave t h e m c a n d y , s o m e t i m e s , or c h e w i n g g u m , a n d r u b b e d their r o u g h bullet h e a d s — m a y b e the c a n d y s h o u l d have b e e n p o i s o n e d . T h o s e kids were grown now. H e had h a d trouble with o n e of t h e m today. " T h e r e w a s this nigger today," he s a i d ; a n d s t o p p e d ; his voice s o u n d e d p e c u l i a r . H e t o u c h e d G r a c e . "You a w a k e ? " he a s k e d . S h e m u m b l e d s o m e thing, impatiently, s h e was probably telling him to go to s l e e p . It w a s all right. H e knew that he was not a l o n e . " W h a t a funny t i m e , " he said, "to be thinking a b o u t a thing like t h a t — y o u

G O I N G TO M E E T THE M A N / 2 4 1 7

listening?" S h e m u m b l e d s o m e t h i n g a g a i n . H e rolled over o n his b a c k . " T h i s nigger's o n e of the r i n g l e a d e r s . W e h a d trouble with h i m b e f o r e . W e m u s t have h a d h i m o u t there at t h e work farm three or four t i m e s . W e l l , B i g j i m C . a n d s o m e o f the boys really h a d to whip that nigger's a s s t o d a y . " H e looked over at G r a c e ; h e c o u l d not tell w h e t h e r s h e w a s listening or not; a n d h e w a s afraid to a s k a g a i n . " T h e y h a d this line you know, to r e g i s t e r " — h e l a u g h e d , but s h e did n o t — " a r i d they wouldn't stay w h e r e Big J i m C . w a n t e d t h e m , n o , they h a d to start blocking traffic all a r o u n d t h e court h o u s e s o c o u l d n ' t nothing or nobody get t h r o u g h , a n d B i g J i m C . told t h e m to d i s p e r s e a n d they wouldn't m o v e , they j u s t kept u p that singing, a n d B i g J i m C . figured that the others w o u l d m o v e if this nigger would m o v e , h i m b e i n g t h e ringleader, but h e wouldn't m o v e a n d h e wouldn't let t h e others m o v e , s o they h a d to b e a t h i m a n d a c o u p l e of the others a n d they threw t h e m in t h e w a g o n — b u t J didn't s e e this nigger till I got to the jail. T h e y were still s i n g i n g a n d I w a s s u p p o s e d to m a k e t h e m s t o p . Well, I couldn't m a k e t h e m s t o p for m e b u t I knew h e c o u l d m a k e t h e m s t o p . H e w a s lying o n the g r o u n d j e r k i n g a n d m o a n i n g , they h a d threw h i m in a cell by himself, a n d b l o o d w a s c o m i n g o u t his e a r s from w h e r e Big J i m C . a n d his boys h a d w h i p p e d h i m . W o u l d n ' t you think they'd learn? I p u t t h e prod to h i m a n d h e j e r k e d s o m e m o r e a n d h e kind of s c r e a m e d — b u t h e didn't have m u c h voice left. "You m a k e t h e m stop that s i n g i n g , " I said to him, "you hear m e ? You m a k e t h e m s t o p that s i n g i n g . " H e a c t e d like h e didn't h e a r m e a n d I p u t it to h i m a g a i n , u n d e r his a r m s , a n d h e j u s t rolled a r o u n d o n the floor a n d blood started c o m i n g from his m o u t h . H e ' d p i s s e d his p a n t s already." H e p a u s e d . H i s m o u t h felt dry a n d his throat w a s a s r o u g h a s s a n d p a p e r ; a s h e talked, h e b e g a n to hurt all over with that p e c u l i a r excitement which r e f u s e d to b e r e l e a s e d . "You all are g o i n g to stop your singing, 1 said to h i m , a n d you a r e g o i n g to s t o p c o m i n g d o w n to t h e court h o u s e a n d d i s r u p t i n g traffic a n d m o l e s t i n g the p e o p l e a n d k e e p i n g u s from o u r duties a n d k e e p i n g d o c t o r s from getting to sick white w o m e n a n d getting all t h e m N o r t h e r n e r s in this town to give o u r town a b a d n a m e — ! " A s h e said this, h e kept p r o d d i n g t h e boy, s w e a t p o u r i n g from b e n e a t h t h e h e l m e t h e h a d not yet taken off. T h e boy rolled a r o u n d in his own dirt a n d water a n d blood a n d tried to s c r e a m again a s t h e prod hit his testicles, b u t t h e s c r e a m did not c o m e out, only a kind of rattle a n d a m o a n . H e s t o p p e d . H e w a s not s u p p o s e d to kill t h e nigger. T h e cell w a s filled with a terrible odor. T h e boy w a s still. "You h e a r m e ? " h e called. "You h a d e n o u g h ? " T h e singing went on. "You h a d e n o u g h ? " H i s foot leapt o u t , h e h a d not known it w a s g o i n g t o , a n d c a u g h t t h e boy flush o n the j a w . Jesus, h e t h o u g h t , this ain't

no nigger,

this is a goddamn

bull,

and he s c r e a m e d again,

"You h a d e n o u g h ? Y o u g o i n g to m a k e t h e m s t o p that singing n o w ? " B u t t h e boy w a s o u t . A n d n o w h e w a s s h a k i n g w o r s e than t h e boy h a d b e e n shaking. H e w a s glad n o o n e c o u l d s e e h i m . At t h e s a m e t i m e , h e felt very c l o s e to a very peculiar, particular joy; s o m e t h i n g d e e p in h i m a n d d e e p in his m e m o r y w a s stirred, b u t whatever w a s in his m e m o r y e l u d e d h i m . H e took off his h e l m e t . H e walked to the cell door. " W h i t e m a n , " said t h e boy, from t h e floor, b e h i n d h i m . H e s t o p p e d . F o r s o m e r e a s o n , h e g r a b b e d his privates. "You r e m e m b e r O l d J u l i a ? " T h e boy said, from t h e floor, with his m o u t h full of blood, a n d o n e e y e , barely o p e n , glaring like the eye o f a c a t in t h e dark, " M y g r a n d m o t h e r ' s

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n a m e w a s M r s . J u l i a B l o s s o m . Mrs. J u l i a B l o s s o m . You g o i n g to call our w o m e n by their right n a m e s y e t . — A n d t h o s e kids ain't g o i n g to s t o p singing. W e g o i n g to keep o n s i n g i n g until every o n e of you m i s e r a b l e white m o t h e r s go stark raving o u t of your m i n d s . " T h e n h e c l o s e d the o n e eye; h e s p a t b l o o d ; his h e a d fell b a c k a g a i n s t the floor. H e looked d o w n at the boy, w h o m he h a d b e e n s e e i n g , off a n d o n , for m o r e than a year, a n d s u d d e n l y r e m e m b e r e d h i m : O l d J u l i a h a d b e e n o n e of his mail-order c u s t o m e r s , a nice old w o m a n . H e h a d not s e e n her for y e a r s , he s u p p o s e d that s h e m u s t be d e a d . H e h a d walked into the yard, the boy h a d b e e n sitting in a swing. H e h a d s m i l e d at the boy, a n d a s k e d , " O l d J u l i a h o m e ? " T h e boy looked at him for a long time before h e a n s w e r e d . " D o n ' t no O l d J u l i a live h e r e . " "This is her h o u s e . I know her. S h e ' s lived her for y e a r s . " T h e boy s h o o k his h e a d . "You might know a O l d J u l i a s o m e p l a c e e l s e , white m a n . B u t don't n o b o d y by that n a m e live h e r e . " H e w a t c h e d the boy; the boy w a t c h e d h i m . T h e boy certainly wasn't m o r e than ten. White man. H e didn't have time to be fooling a r o u n d with s o m e crazy kid. H e yelled, " H e y ! O l d J u l i a ! " B u t only s i l e n c e a n s w e r e d h i m . T h e e x p r e s s i o n on the boy's f a c e did not c h a n g e . T h e s u n b e a t d o w n on t h e m b o t h , still a n d silent; he h a d the feeling that he h a d b e e n c a u g h t u p in a n i g h t m a r e , a n i g h t m a r e d r e a m e d by a child; p e r h a p s o n e of the n i g h t m a r e s he h i m s e l f h a d d r e a m e d a s a child. It h a d that feeling—everything familiar, without u n d e r g o i n g any other c h a n g e , h a d b e e n subtly a n d hideously d i s p l a c e d : the t r e e s , the s u n , the p a t c h e s of g r a s s in the yard, the l e a n i n g p o r c h a n d the weary p o r c h s t e p s a n d the c a r d - b o a r d in the windows a n d the b l a c k hole of the d o o r which looked like the e n t r a n c e to a c a v e , a n d the eyes of the p i c k a n i n n y , all, all, were c h a r g e d with malevo l e n c e . White man. H e looked at the boy. " S h e ' s g o n e o u t ? " T h e boy said nothing. " W e l l , " he said, "tell her I p a s s e d by a n d I'll p a s s by next w e e k . " H e started to g o ; he s t o p p e d . "You want s o m e c h e w i n g g u m ? " T h e boy got d o w n from the swing a n d started for the h o u s e . H e s a i d , "I don't want n o t h i n g you got, white m a n . " H e walked into the h o u s e a n d c l o s e d the door b e h i n d h i m . N o w the boy looked a s t h o u g h he were d e a d . J e s s e w a n t e d to g o over to him a n d p i c k him u p a n d pistol whip him until the boy's h e a d b u r s t o p e n like a m e l o n . H e b e g a n to t r e m b l e with w h a t h e believed w a s r a g e , s w e a t , both cold a n d hot, r a c e d d o w n his body, the singing filled him a s t h o u g h it were a weird, u n c o n t r o l l a b l e , m o n s t r o u s howling r u m b l i n g u p from the d e p t h s of his own belly, he felt a n icy fear rise in h i m a n d r a i s e h i m u p , a n d he s h o u t e d , he howled, "You lucky we pump s o m e white b l o o d into you every o n c e in a w h i l e — y o u r w o m e n ! H e r e ' s what I got for all the b l a c k b i t c h e s in the w o r l d — ! " T h e n he w a s , abruptly, a l m o s t too w e a k to s t a n d ; to his bewild e r m e n t , his horror, b e n e a t h his own fingers, h e felt h i m s e l f violently stiffen—with no w a r n i n g at all; h e d r o p p e d his h a n d s a n d he s t a r e d at the boy a n d he left the cell. "All that s i n g i n g they d o , " h e s a i d . "All that s i n g i n g . " H e c o u l d not r e m e m ber the first time h e h a d h e a r d it; he h a d b e e n h e a r i n g it all his life. It w a s the s o u n d with which he w a s m o s t f a m i l i a r — t h o u g h it w a s a l s o the s o u n d

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of which h e h a d b e e n least c o n s c i o u s — a n d it h a d always c o n t a i n e d a n o b s c u r e comfort. T h e y were singing to G o d . T h e y were singing for m e r c y a n d they h o p e d to go to h e a v e n , a n d he h a d even s o m e t i m e s felt, w h e n looking into the eyes of s o m e of the old w o m e n , a few of the very old m e n , that they were singing for mercy for his soul, too. O f c o u r s e he h a d never thought of their heaven or of what G o d w a s , or c o u l d b e , for t h e m ; G o d w a s the s a m e for everyone, he s u p p o s e d , a n d h e a v e n w a s w h e r e good p e o p l e w e n t — h e s u p p o s e d . H e h a d never t h o u g h t m u c h a b o u t what it m e a n t to be a g o o d p e r s o n . H e tried to b e a g o o d p e r s o n a n d treat everybody right: it wasn't his fault if the niggers h a d taken it into their h e a d s to fight a g a i n s t G o d a n d go a g a i n s t the rules laid down in the Bible for everyone to r e a d ! Any p r e a c h e r would tell you that. H e w a s only d o i n g his duty: p r o t e c t i n g white p e o p l e from the niggers a n d the niggers from t h e m s e l v e s . A n d there were still lots of g o o d niggers a r o u n d — h e h a d to r e m e m b e r that; they weren't all like that boy this a f t e r n o o n ; a n d the g o o d niggers m u s t be mighty s a d to s e e what w a s h a p p e n i n g to their p e o p l e . T h e y would t h a n k him w h e n this w a s over. In that way they h a d , the best of t h e m , not q u i t e looking him in the eye, in a low voice, with a little smile: W e surely t h a n k s you, M r . J e s s e . F r o m the b o t t o m of our h e a r t s , we t h a n k s y o u . H e s m i l e d . T h e y hadn't all g o n e crazy. T h i s trouble would p a s s . — H e k n e w that the y o u n g p e o p l e h a d c h a n g e d s o m e of the w o r d s to the s o n g s . H e h a d s c a r c e l y listened to the words before a n d he did not listen to t h e m now; but he knew that the words were different; he c o u l d hear that m u c h . H e did not know if the f a c e s were different, h e h a d never, before this trouble b e g a n , w a t c h e d t h e m as they s a n g , but he certainly did not like what he s a w now. T h e y h a t e d him, a n d this hatred w a s blacker than their h e a r t s , blacker than their s k i n s , redder than their blood, a n d harder, by far, than his c l u b . E a c h day, e a c h night, he felt worn out, a c h i n g , with their smell in his nostrils a n d filling his l u n g s , a s t h o u g h he were d r o w n i n g — d r o w n i n g in niggers; a n d it was all to be d o n e again w h e n he a w o k e . It would never e n d . It would never e n d . P e r h a p s this w a s what the singing had m e a n t all along. T h e y h a d not b e e n s i n g i n g b l a c k folks into h e a v e n , they h a d b e e n singing white folks into hell. Everyone felt this black s u s p i c i o n in m a n y ways, but no o n e knew how to express it. M e n m u c h older than h e , w h o h a d b e e n r e s p o n s i b l e for law a n d order m u c h longer than h e , were now m u c h q u i e t e r t h a n they h a d b e e n , a n d the tone of their j o k e s , in a way that he c o u l d not q u i t e p u t his finger o n , had c h a n g e d . T h e s e m e n were his m o d e l s , they h a d b e e n friends to his father, a n d they h a d t a u g h t him what it m e a n t to b e a m a n . H e looked to t h e m for c o u r a g e now. It wasn't that he didn't know that w h a t he w a s d o i n g w a s r i g h t — h e knew that, n o b o d y h a d to tell him that; it w a s only that he m i s s e d the e a s e of former years. B u t they didn't have m u c h time to h a n g o u t with e a c h other t h e s e days. T h e y t e n d e d to stay c l o s e to their families every free m i n u t e b e c a u s e nobody knew what might h a p p e n next. E x p l o s i o n s rocked the night of their tranquil town. E a c h t i m e e a c h m a n w o n d e r e d silently if p e r h a p s this time the d y n a m i t e h a d not fallen into the w r o n g h a n d s . T h e y thought that they k n e w where all the g u n s w e r e ; but they c o u l d not possibly know every m o v e that w a s m a d e in that secret p l a c e w h e r e the darkies lived. F r o m time to time it w a s s u g g e s t e d that they form a p o s s e a n d s e a r c h the h o m e of every nigger, but they hadn't d o n e it yet. F o r o n e thing, this might have b r o u g h t the b a s t a r d s from the N o r t h d o w n on their b a c k s ;

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for a n o t h e r , a l t h o u g h the niggers were s c a t t e r e d t h r o u g h o u t the t o w n — d o w n in the hollow n e a r the railroad tracks, way west n e a r the mills, u p o n the hill, the well-off o n e s , a n d s o m e out n e a r the c o l l e g e — n o t h i n g s e e m e d to h a p p e n in o n e part of town without the niggers i m m e d i a t e l y k n o w i n g it in the other. T h i s m e a n t that they c o u l d not take t h e m by s u r p r i s e . T h e y rarely m e n t i o n e d it, but they knew that s o m e of the niggers h a d g u n s . It s t o o d to r e a s o n , a s they said, s i n c e , after all, s o m e of t h e m h a d b e e n in the Army. T h e r e were niggers in the Army right now a n d G o d knows they wouldn't have had any trouble stealing this h a l f - a s s e d g o v e r n m e n t b l i n d — t h e w h o l e world w a s d o i n g it, look at the E u r o p e a n c o u n t r i e s a n d all t h o s e c o u n t r i e s in Africa. T h e y m a d e j o k e s a b o u t it—bitter j o k e s ; a n d they c u r s e d the g o v e r n m e n t in W a s h i n g t o n , w h i c h h a d betrayed t h e m ; but they h a d not yet f o r m e d a p o s s e . N o w , if their town h a d b e e n laid o u t like s o m e towns in the N o r t h , where all the niggers lived together in o n e locality, they c o u l d have g o n e d o w n a n d set fire to the h o u s e s a n d b r o u g h t a b o u t p e a c e that way. If the niggers h a d all lived in o n e p l a c e , they c o u l d have kept the fire in o n e p l a c e . B u t the way this town w a s laid out, the fire c o u l d hardly be controlled. It would s p r e a d all over t o w n — a n d the niggers would probably be h e l p i n g it to s p r e a d . Still, from time to t i m e , they s p o k e of doing it, anyway; s o that now there w a s a real fear a m o n g t h e m that s o m e b o d y might g o crazy a n d light the m a t c h . T h e y rarely m e n t i o n e d anything not directly related to the war that they were fighting, but this h a d failed to establish b e t w e e n t h e m the u n s p o k e n c o m m u n i c a t i o n of soldiers d u r i n g a war. E a c h m a n , in the thrilling s i l e n c e which sped o u t w a r d from their e x c h a n g e s , their laughter, a n d their a n e c d o t e s , s e e m e d wrestling, in various d e g r e e s of d a r k n e s s , with a secret which he c o u l d not a r t i c u l a t e to himself, a n d w h i c h , however directly it related to the war, related yet m o r e surely to his privacy a n d his p a s t . T h e y c o u l d no longer be s u r e , after all, that they h a d all d o n e the s a m e t h i n g s . T h e y h a d never d r e a m e d that their privacy c o u l d c o n t a i n any e l e m e n t of terror, c o u l d threaten, that is, to reveal itself, to the scrutiny of a j u d g m e n t day, while r e m a i n i n g u n r e a d a b l e a n d i n a c c e s s i b l e to t h e m s e l v e s ; nor h a d they d r e a m e d that the p a s t , while certainly refusing to be forgotten, c o u l d yet so s t u b b o r n l y refuse to b e r e m e m b e r e d . T h e y felt t h e m s e l v e s mysteriously set at n a u g h t , a s no longer e n t e r i n g into the real c o n c e r n s of other p e o p l e — w h i l e h e r e they w e r e , o u t - n u m b e r e d , fighting to save the civilized world. T h e y h a d thought that p e o p l e would c a r e — p e o p l e didn't c a r e ; not e n o u g h , anyway, to help t h e m . It would have b e e n a help, really, or at least a relief, even to have b e e n forced to s u r r e n d e r . T h u s they h a d lost, p r o b a b l y forever, their old a n d easy c o n n e c t i o n with e a c h other. T h e y were f o r c e d to d e p e n d on e a c h other m o r e a n d , at the s a m e t i m e , to trust e a c h other l e s s . W h o c o u l d tell w h e n o n e of t h e m might not betray t h e m all, for m o n e y , or for the e a s e of c o n f e s s i o n ? B u t no o n e d a r e d i m a g i n e what there might be to c o n f e s s . T h e y were soldiers fighting a war, but their relationship to e a c h other w a s that of a c c o m p l i c e s in a c r i m e . T h e y all h a d to k e e p their m o u t h s s h u t . / stepped

in the river

at

Jordan.

O u t of the d a r k n e s s of the r o o m , out of n o w h e r e , the line c a m e flying u p at him, with the melody a n d the beat. H e t u r n e d wordlessly toward his sleeping wife. J stepped in the river at Jordan. W h e r e h a d he h e a r d that s o n g ? " G r a c e , " he w h i s p e r e d . "You a w a k e ? " S h e did not a n s w e r . If s h e w a s a w a k e , s h e w a n t e d him to s l e e p . H e r b r e a t h i n g w a s slow a n d easy, her body slowly rose a n d fell.

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J stepped in the river at Jordan. The water came to my knees. H e b e g a n to sweat. H e felt a n overwhelming fear, which yet c o n t a i n e d a c u r i o u s a n d dreadful p l e a s u r e . / stepped in the river at Jordan. The water came to my waist. It h a d b e e n night, a s it w a s now, h e w a s in the car b e t w e e n his m o t h e r a n d his father, sleepy, his h e a d in his mother's l a p , sleepy, a n d yet full of excitement. T h e singing c a m e from far away, a c r o s s the dark fields. T h e r e were no lights a n y w h e r e . T h e y h a d said good-bye to all the others a n d t u r n e d off on this dark dirt road. T h e y were a l m o s t h o m e . I stepped in the river at Jordan, The water came over my head, I looked way over to the other side, He was making up my dying bed! "I g u e s s they s i n g i n g for h i m , " his father said, s e e m i n g very weary a n d s u b d u e d now. " E v e n w h e n they're s a d , they s o u n d like they j u s t a b o u t to go a n d tear off a p i e c e . " H e yawned a n d l e a n e d a c r o s s the boy a n d s l a p p e d his wife lightly on the s h o u l d e r , allowing his h a n d to rest t h e r e for a m o m e n t . "Don't they?" " D o n ' t talk that w a y , " s h e s a i d . "Well, that's what w e g o i n g to d o , " he said, "you c a n m a k e u p your m i n d to t h a t . " H e started whistling. "You s e e ? W h e n I begin to feel it, I g e t s kind of m u s i c a l , t o o . " Oh, Lord! Come on and ease my troubling mind! H e h a d a b l a c k friend, his a g e , eight, w h o lived nearby. H i s n a m e w a s O t i s . T h e y wrestled together in the dirt. N o w the t h o u g h t of O t i s m a d e him sick. H e b e g a n to shiver. H i s m o t h e r p u t her a r m a r o u n d h i m . " H e ' s tired," s h e said. "We'll b e h o m e s o o n , " said his father. H e b e g a n to whistle a g a i n . " W e didn't s e e Otis this m o r n i n g , " J e s s e s a i d . H e did not know why h e said this. His voice, in the d a r k n e s s of the car, s o u n d e d s m a l l a n d a c c u s i n g . "You haven't s e e n Otis for a c o u p l e of m o r n i n g s , " his m o t h e r s a i d . T h a t w a s true. B u t he w a s only c o n c e r n e d a b o u t this m o r n i n g . " N o , " s a i d his father, "I reckon Otis's folks w a s afraid to let him s h o w himself this m o r n i n g . " " B u t Otis didn't d o n o t h i n g ! " N o w his voice s o u n d e d q u e s t i o n i n g . " O t i s can't do n o t h i n g , " s a i d his father, "he's too little." T h e c a r lights picked u p their w o o d e n h o u s e , which now solemnly a p p r o a c h e d t h e m , the lights falling a r o u n d it like yellow d u s t . T h e i r d o g , c h a i n e d to a tree, b e g a n to bark. " W e j u s t want to m a k e s u r e Otis don't d o n o t h i n g , " said his father, a n d s t o p p e d the car. H e looked d o w n at J e s s e . "And you tell h i m w h a t your D a d d y said, you h e a r ? " "Yes sir," he said. H i s father s w i t c h e d off the lights. T h e d o g m o a n e d a n d p r a n c e d , b u t they ignored him a n d went inside. H e c o u l d not s l e e p . H e lay a w a k e , h e a r i n g the night s o u n d s , the d o g yawning a n d m o a n i n g o u t s i d e , the s a w i n g of the crickets, the cry of the owl, d o g s barking far away, then n o s o u n d s at all, j u s t the heavy, e n d l e s s buzzing of the night. T h e d a r k n e s s p r e s s e d o n his eyelids like a scratchy blanket. H e t u r n e d , h e t u r n e d a g a i n . H e w a n t e d to call his m o t h e r ,

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but h e knew his father would not like this. H e w a s terribly afraid. T h e n he h e a r d his father's voice in the other r o o m , low, with a j o k e in it; b u t this did not help h i m , it frightened him m o r e , h e knew w h a t was g o i n g to h a p p e n . H e put his h e a d u n d e r the blanket, then p u s h e d his h e a d o u t a g a i n , for fear, s t a r i n g at the dark window. H e h e a r d his mother's m o a n , his father's sigh; he gritted his teeth. T h e n their bed b e g a n to rock. H i s father's b r e a t h i n g s e e m e d to fill the world. T h a t m o r n i n g , before the s u n h a d g a t h e r e d all its s t r e n g t h , m e n a n d w o m e n , s o m e flushed a n d s o m e pale with e x c i t e m e n t , c a m e with n e w s . J e s s e ' s father s e e m e d to know what the n e w s w a s before the first j a l o p y s t o p p e d in the yard, a n d h e ran out, crying, " T h e y got him, t h e n ? T h e y got him?" T h e first j a l o p y held eight p e o p l e , three m e n a n d two w o m e n a n d t h r e e children. T h e children were sitting on the laps of the g r o w n - u p s . J e s s e knew two of t h e m , the two boys; they shyly a n d u n c o m f o r t a b l y greeted e a c h other. H e did not know the girl. "Yes, they got h i m , " said o n e of the w o m e n , the older o n e , w h o w o r e a wide hat a n d a fancy, faded blue d r e s s . " T h e y f o u n d him early this m o r n i n g . " " H o w far had he g o t ? " J e s s e ' s father a s k e d . " H e hadn't got no further than H a r k n e s s , " o n e of the m e n s a i d . " L o o k like he got lost u p there in all t h e m t r e e s — o r m a y b e he j u s t got s o s c a r e d he couldn't m o v e . " T h e y all l a u g h e d . "Yes, a n d you know it's near a graveyard, t o o , " said the y o u n g e r w o m a n , a n d they l a u g h e d a g a i n . "Is that w h e r e they got him n o w ? " a s k e d J e s s e ' s father. By this time there were three cars piled b e h i n d the first o n e , with everyone looking excited a n d shining, a n d J e s s e noticed that they were carrying food. It w a s like a F o u r t h of J u l y p i c n i c . "Yeah, that's where he i s , " said o n e of the m e n , " d e c l a r e , J e s s e , you going to keep u s here all day long, a n s w e r i n g your d a m n fool q u e s t i o n s . C o m e on, we ain't got no time to w a s t e . " " D o n ' t b o t h e r p u t t i n g up no f o o d , " cried a w o m a n from o n e of the other c a r s , "we got e n o u g h . J u s t c o m e o n . " "Why, thank y o u , " said J e s s e ' s father, "we be right a l o n g , t h e n . " "I better get a s w e a t e r for the boy," s a i d his m o t h e r , "in c a s e it turns c o l d . " J e s s e w a t c h e d his mother's thin legs c r o s s the yard. H e knew that s h e a l s o w a n t e d to c o m b her hair a little a n d m a y b e put on a better d r e s s , the d r e s s she wore to c h u r c h . H i s father g u e s s e d this, too, for he yelled behind her, " N o w don't you go trying to turn yourself into no movie star. You j u s t c o m e o n . " B u t h e l a u g h e d a s he said this, a n d winked at the m e n ; his wife w a s y o u n g e r a n d prettier than m o s t of the other w o m e n . H e c l a p p e d J e s s e on the h e a d a n d started pulling him toward the car. "You all go o n , " h e s a i d , "I'll b e right b e h i n d you. J e s s e , you go tie u p that there d o g while I get this c a r started." T h e c a r s s p u t t e r e d a n d c o u g h e d a n d s h o o k ; the c a r a v a n b e g a n to m o v e ; bright d u s t filled the air. As s o o n a s he w a s tied u p , the d o g b e g a n to bark. J e s s e ' s m o t h e r c a m e out of the h o u s e , carrying a j a c k e t for his father a n d a sweater for J e s s e . S h e had put a ribbon in her hair a n d h a d an old shawl a r o u n d her s h o u l d e r s . " P u t t h e s e in the car, s o n , " she said, a n d h a n d e d everything to h i m . S h e

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bent d o w n a n d stroked the d o g , looked to s e e if there w a s water in his bowl, then went b a c k up the three p o r c h s t e p s a n d c l o s e d the door. " C o m e o n , " said his father, "ain't n o t h i n g in there for n o b o d y to s t e a l . " H e was sitting in the car, which trembled a n d b e l c h e d . T h e last c a r of the caravan had d i s a p p e a r e d b u t the s o u n d of singing floated b e h i n d t h e m . J e s s e got into the car, sitting close to his father, loving the smell of the car, a n d the trembling, a n d the bright day, a n d the s e n s e of g o i n g on a great a n d u n e x p e c t e d j o u r n e y . H i s m o t h e r got in a n d c l o s e d the d o o r a n d the c a r b e g a n to m o v e . N o t until then did he ask, " W h e r e are we going? Are we g o i n g on a p i c n i c ? " H e had a feeling that he k n e w where they were going, but h e w a s not s u r e . " T h a t ' s right," his father said, "we're g o i n g on a p i c n i c . You won't ever forget this p i c n i c — ! " "Are w e , " he a s k e d , after a m o m e n t , " g o i n g to s e e the b a d n i g g e r — t h e o n e that k n o c k e d d o w n old M i s s S t a n d i s h ? " "Well, I r e c k o n , " said his m o t h e r , "that we might s e e h i m . " H e started to ask, Will a lot of niggers he there? Will Otis he there?—but he did not a s k his q u e s t i o n , to w h i c h , in a s t r a n g e a n d u n c o m f o r t a b l e way, he already knew the a n s w e r . T h e i r friends, in the other c a r s , s t r e t c h e d u p the road a s far as h e c o u l d s e e ; other c a r s h a d j o i n e d t h e m ; there were c a r s b e h i n d t h e m . T h e y were singing. T h e s u n s e e m e d s u d d e n l y very hot, a n d he w a s at o n c e very h a p p y a n d a little afraid. H e did not q u i t e u n d e r s t a n d what w a s h a p p e n i n g , a n d he did not know what to a s k — h e h a d no o n e to a s k . H e h a d grown a c c u s t o m e d , for the solution of s u c h mysteries, to go to O t i s . H e felt that Otis knew everything. B u t he c o u l d not a s k O t i s a b o u t this. Anyway, he h a d not s e e n Otis for two days; he h a d not s e e n a b l a c k f a c e anywhere for m o r e than two days; a n d he n o w realized, a s they b e g a n c h u g g i n g u p the long hill which eventually led to H a r k n e s s , that there were n o black f a c e s on the road this m o r n i n g , no b l a c k p e o p l e a n y w h e r e . F r o m the h o u s e s in which they lived, all a l o n g the road, no s m o k e c u r l e d , no life s t i r r e d — m a y b e o n e or two c h i c k e n s were to b e s e e n , that w a s all. T h e r e w a s no o n e at the w i n d o w s , n o o n e in the yard, no o n e sitting on the p o r c h e s , a n d the doors were c l o s e d . H e h a d c o m e this road m a n y a time a n d s e e n w o m e n w a s h i n g in the yard (there were no c l o t h e s on the c l o t h e s l i n e s ) , m e n working in the fields, children playing in the d u s t ; b l a c k m e n p a s s e d t h e m on the r o a d other m o r n i n g s , other days, on foot, or in w a g o n s , s o m e t i m e s in c a r s , tipping their h a t s , smiling, j o k i n g , their teeth a solid white a g a i n s t their skin, their eyes a s w a r m a s the s u n , the b l a c k n e s s of their skin like dull fire a g a i n s t the white of the b l u e or the grey of their torn c l o t h e s . T h e y p a s s e d the nigger c h u r c h — dead-white, d e s o l a t e , locked u p ; a n d the graveyard, w h e r e no o n e knelt or walked, a n d he saw no flowers. H e w a n t e d to ask, Where are they? Where are they all? B u t he did not d a r e . As the hill grew s t e e p e r , the s u n grew colder. H e looked at his m o t h e r a n d his father. T h e y looked straight a h e a d , s e e m i n g to be listening to the singing which e c h o e d a n d e c h o e d in this graveyard s i l e n c e . T h e y were s t r a n g e r s to h i m now. T h e y were looking at s o m e t h i n g he c o u l d not s e e . His father's lips h a d a s t r a n g e , cruel c u r v e , he wet his lips from time to t i m e , a n d swallowed. H e w a s terribly a w a r e of his father's t o n g u e , it w a s a s t h o u g h h e h a d never s e e n it b e f o r e . A n d his father's body s u d d e n l y s e e m e d i m m e n s e , bigger than a m o u n t a i n . H i s eyes, which were grey-green, looked yellow in the sunlight; or at least there was a light in t h e m

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which h e h a d never s e e n before. H i s m o t h e r p a t t e d her hair a n d a d j u s t e d the ribbon, l e a n i n g forward to look into the car mirror. "You look all r i g h t , " said his father, a n d l a u g h e d . " W h e n that nigger looks at you, he's g o i n g to s w e a r h e throwed his life away for n o t h i n g . W o u l d n ' t b e s u r p r i s e d if h e don't c o m e b a c k to h a u n t y o u . " A n d h e l a u g h e d a g a i n . T h e s i n g i n g n o w slowly b e g a n to c e a s e ; a n d he realized that they w e r e nearing their d e s t i n a t i o n . T h e y h a d r e a c h e d a straight, narrow, p e b b l y r o a d , with trees o n either side. T h e sunlight filtered d o w n on t h e m from a g r e a t height, a s t h o u g h they were u n d e r - w a t e r ; a n d the b r a n c h e s of the trees s c r a p e d a g a i n s t the c a r s with a tearing s o u n d . T o the right of t h e m , a n d b e n e a t h t h e m , invisible now, lay the town; a n d to the left, miles of trees which led to the high m o u n t a i n r a n g e w h i c h his a n c e s t o r s h a d c r o s s e d in order to settle in this valley. N o w , all w a s silent, except for the b u m p i n g of the tires a g a i n s t the rocky r o a d , the s p u t t e r i n g of m o t o r s , a n d the s o u n d of a crying child. A n d they s e e m e d to m o v e m o r e slowly. T h e y were b e g i n n i n g to c l i m b a g a i n . H e w a t c h e d the c a r s a h e a d a s they toiled patiently u p w a r d , d i s a p p e a r i n g into the sunlight of the clearing. Presently, h e felt their vehicle a l s o rise, h e a r d his father's c h a n g e d b r e a t h i n g , the sunlight hit his f a c e , the trees m o v e d away from t h e m , a n d they w e r e t h e r e . As their c a r c r o s s e d the clearing, he looked a r o u n d . T h e r e s e e m e d to b e millions, there w e r e certainly h u n d r e d s of p e o p l e in the clearing, s t a r i n g toward s o m e t h i n g he c o u l d not s e e . T h e r e w a s a fire. H e c o u l d not s e e the f l a m e s , b u t he s m e l l e d the s m o k e . T h e n they were on the other side of the c l e a r i n g , a m o n g the trees a g a i n . H i s father drove off the road a n d p a r k e d the c a r b e h i n d a great m a n y other c a r s . H e looked d o w n at J e s s e . "You all r i g h t ? " h e a s k e d . "Yes sir," he said. "Well, c o m e o n , t h e n , " his father s a i d . H e r e a c h e d over a n d o p e n e d the d o o r on his m o t h e r ' s s i d e . H i s m o t h e r s t e p p e d o u t first. T h e y followed her into the clearing. At first h e w a s a w a r e only of c o n f u s i o n , of his m o t h e r a n d father g r e e t i n g a n d b e i n g g r e e t e d , h i m s e l f b e i n g h a n d l e d , h u g g e d , a n d patted, a n d told how m u c h he h a d g r o w n . T h e wind blew the s m o k e from the fire a c r o s s the c l e a r i n g into his eyes a n d n o s e . H e c o u l d not s e e over the b a c k s of the p e o p l e in front of h i m . T h e s o u n d s of l a u g h i n g a n d c u r s i n g a n d w r a t h — a n d s o m e t h i n g e l s e — r o l l e d in w a v e s from the front of the m o b to the b a c k . T h o s e in front e x p r e s s e d their delight at what they saw, a n d this delight rolled b a c k w a r d , wave u p o n wave, a c r o s s the clearing, m o r e acrid than the s m o k e . H i s father r e a c h e d d o w n s u d d e n l y a n d sat J e s s e o n his shoulders. N o w h e saw the fire—of twigs a n d b o x e s , piled high; f l a m e s m a d e p a l e o r a n g e a n d yellow a n d thin a s a veil u n d e r the s t e a d i e r light of the s u n ; greyb l u e s m o k e rolled u p w a r d a n d p o u r e d over their h e a d s . B e y o n d the shifting c u r t a i n of fire a n d s m o k e , h e m a d e o u t first only a length of g l e a m i n g c h a i n , a t t a c h e d to a great limb of the tree; then h e s a w that this c h a i n b o u n d two black h a n d s together at the wrist, dirty yellow p a l m f a c i n g dirty yellow p a l m . T h e s m o k e p o u r e d u p ; the h a n d s d r o p p e d o u t of sight; a cry went u p from the c r o w d . T h e n the h a n d s slowly c a m e into view a g a i n , p u l l e d u p w a r d by the c h a i n . T h i s time he saw the kinky, s w e a t i n g , bloody h e a d — h e h a d never before s e e n a h e a d with s o m u c h hair o n it, hair so b l a c k a n d s o t a n g l e d that it s e e m e d like a n o t h e r j u n g l e . T h e h e a d w a s h a n g i n g . H e s a w the fore-

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h e a d , flat a n d high, with a kind of arrow of hair in the c e n t e r , like h e h a d , like his father h a d ; they called it a widow's p e a k ; a n d the m a n g l e d eye b r o w s , the wide n o s e , the c l o s e d eyes, a n d the glinting eye l a s h e s a n d the h a n g i n g lips, all s t r e a m i n g with blood a n d s w e a t . H i s h a n d s w e r e straight a b o v e his h e a d . All his weight pulled d o w n w a r d from his h a n d s ; a n d he w a s a big m a n , a bigger m a n t h a n his father, a n d b l a c k a s an African j u n g l e c a t , a n d n a k e d . J e s s e p u l l e d u p w a r d ; his father's h a n d s held him firmly by the a n k l e s . H e w a n t e d to say s o m e t h i n g , h e did not know w h a t , but n o t h i n g h e said c o u l d h a v e b e e n h e a r d , for now the crowd roared a g a i n a s a m a n s t e p p e d forward a n d p u t m o r e w o o d on the fire. T h e flames leapt u p . H e t h o u g h t he h e a r d the h a n g i n g m a n s c r e a m , but he w a s not s u r e . S w e a t w a s p o u r i n g from the hair in his a r m p i t s , p o u r e d d o w n his s i d e s , over his c h e s t , into his navel a n d his groin. H e w a s lowered a g a i n ; h e w a s r a i s e d a g a i n . N o w J e s s e k n e w that he heard him s c r e a m . T h e h e a d w e n t b a c k , t h e m o u t h w i d e o p e n , blood b u b b l i n g from the m o u t h ; the veins of the n e c k j u m p e d o u t ; J e s s e c l u n g to his father's n e c k in terror a s the cry rolled over the c r o w d . T h e cry of all the p e o p l e r o s e to a n s w e r the dying m a n ' s cry. H e w a n t e d d e a t h to c o m e quickly. T h e y w a n t e d to m a k e d e a t h wait: a n d it w a s they w h o held d e a t h , n o w , o n a l e a s h w h i c h they l e n g t h e n e d little by little. What did he do? J e s s e w o n d e r e d . What did the man do? What did he do?—but h e c o u l d not a s k his father. H e w a s s e a t e d on his father's s h o u l d e r s , but his father w a s far away. T h e r e were two older m e n , friends of his father's, raising a n d lowering t h e c h a i n ; everyo n e , indiscriminately, s e e m e d to b e r e s p o n s i b l e for the fire. T h e r e w a s no hair left on the nigger's privates, a n d the e y e s , now, w e r e wide o p e n , a s white a s the eyes of a clown or a doll. T h e s m o k e now carried a terrible o d o r a c r o s s the c l e a r i n g , the odor of s o m e t h i n g b u r n i n g which w a s b o t h sweet a n d r o t t e n . H e t u r n e d his h e a d a little a n d saw the field of f a c e s . H e w a t c h e d his m o t h e r ' s f a c e . H e r eyes were very bright, her m o u t h w a s o p e n : s h e w a s m o r e beautiful than he h a d ever s e e n her, a n d m o r e s t r a n g e . H e b e g a n to feel a j o y he h a d never felt b e f o r e . H e w a t c h e d the h a n g i n g , g l e a m i n g body, t h e m o s t beautiful a n d terrible object h e h a d ever s e e n till t h e n . O n e of his father's friends r e a c h e d u p a n d in his h a n d s he held a knife: a n d J e s s e w i s h e d that h e h a d b e e n that m a n . It w a s a long, bright knife a n d the s u n s e e m e d to c a t c h it, to play with it, to c a r e s s it—it w a s brighter than the fire. A n d a wave of l a u g h t e r s w e p t the c r o w d . J e s s e felt his father's h a n d s o n his a n k l e s slip a n d tighten. T h e m a n with the knife walked toward the c r o w d , s m i l i n g slightly; a s t h o u g h this were a signal, s i l e n c e fell; he h e a r d his m o t h e r c o u g h . T h e n the m a n with the knife walked u p to the h a n g i n g body. H e t u r n e d a n d smiled a g a i n . N o w there w a s a s i l e n c e all over the field. T h e h a n g i n g h e a d looked u p . It s e e m e d fully c o n s c i o u s now, a s t h o u g h the fire h a d b u r n e d o u t terror a n d p a i n . T h e m a n with the knife took the nigger's privates in his h a n d , o n e h a n d , still smiling, a s t h o u g h h e w e r e w e i g h i n g t h e m . In the c r a d l e of the o n e white h a n d , t h e nigger's privates s e e m e d a s r e m o t e a s m e a t b e i n g w e i g h e d in the s c a l e s ; but s e e m e d heavier, t o o , m u c h heavier, a n d J e s s e felt his s c r o t u m tighten; a n d h u g e , h u g e , m u c h bigger t h a n his father's, flaccid, h a i r l e s s , the largest thing h e h a d ever s e e n till t h e n , a n d the b l a c k e s t . T h e white h a n d s t r e t c h e d t h e m , c r a d l e d t h e m , c a r e s s e d t h e m . T h e n t h e dying m a n ' s eyes looked straight into J e s s e ' s e y e s — i t c o u l d not have b e e n a s l o n g as a s e c o n d , b u t it s e e m e d longer than a year. T h e n J e s s e s c r e a m e d , a n d the crowd s c r e a m e d a s the knife flashed, first u p , t h e n d o w n , c u t t i n g the dreadful

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thing away, a n d the blood c a m e roaring d o w n . T h e n the crowd r u s h e d forw a r d , tearing at the body with their h a n d s , with knives, with r o c k s , with s t o n e s , howling a n d c u r s i n g . J e s s e ' s h e a d , of its own weight, fell d o w n w a r d toward his father's h e a d . S o m e o n e s t e p p e d forward a n d d r e n c h e d the body with k e r o s e n e . W h e r e the m a n h a d b e e n , a great sheet of flame a p p e a r e d . J e s s e ' s father lowered him to the g r o u n d . "Well, I told y o u , " said his father, "you wasn't never g o i n g to forget this p i c n i c . " H i s father's f a c e w a s full of s w e a t , his eyes were very p e a c e f u l . At that m o m e n t J e s s e loved his father m o r e than he h a d ever loved h i m . H e felt that his father h a d carried him t h r o u g h a mighty test, h a d revealed to him a great secret which w o u l d b e the key to his life forever. "I r e c k o n , " he s a i d . "I r e c k o n . " J e s s e ' s father took him by the h a n d a n d , with his m o t h e r a little b e h i n d t h e m , talking a n d l a u g h i n g with the other w o m e n , they walked t h r o u g h the c r o w d , a c r o s s the clearing. T h e b l a c k body w a s on the g r o u n d , the c h a i n which h a d held it w a s b e i n g rolled u p by o n e of his father's friends. W h a t e v e r the fire h a d left u n d o n e , the h a n d s a n d the knives a n d the s t o n e s of the p e o p l e had a c c o m p l i s h e d . T h e h e a d w a s c a v e d in, o n e eye w a s torn o u t , o n e ear w a s h a n g i n g . B u t o n e h a d to look carefully to realize this, for it w a s , now, merely, a b l a c k c h a r r e d object on the black, c h a r r e d g r o u n d . H e lay s p r e a d e a g l e d with what h a d b e e n a w o u n d b e t w e e n what h a d b e e n his legs. " T h e y g o i n g to leave him h e r e , t h e n ? " J e s s e w h i s p e r e d . " Y e a h , " said his father, "they'll c o m e a n d get him by a n d by. I r e c k o n we better get over there a n d get s o m e of that food before it's all g o n e . " "I r e c k o n , " h e m u t t e r e d now to himself, "I r e c k o n . " G r a c e stirred a n d t o u c h e d him on the thigh: the moonlight covered her like glory. S o m e t h i n g b u b b l e d up in him, his n a t u r e again returned to h i m . H e thought of the boy in the cell; he t h o u g h t of the m a n in the fire; h e thought of the knife a n d g r a b b e d himself a n d stroked h i m s e l f a n d a terrible s o u n d , s o m e t h i n g b e t w e e n a high laugh a n d a howl, c a m e o u t of him a n d d r a g g e d his s l e e p i n g wife u p on o n e elbow. S h e stared at him in a moonlight which h a d now grown cold a s ice. H e t h o u g h t of the m o r n i n g a n d g r a b b e d her, l a u g h i n g a n d crying, crying a n d l a u g h i n g , a n d he w h i s p e r e d , as he stroked her, a s h e took her, " C o m e o n , s u g a r , I'm g o i n g to d o you like a nigger, j u s t like a nigger, c o m e o n , s u g a r , a n d love m e j u s t like you'd love a n i g g e r . " H e t h o u g h t of the m o r n i n g a s he labored a n d s h e m o a n e d , t h o u g h t of m o r n i n g a s he labored harder than he ever h a d b e f o r e , a n d before his labors h a d e n d e d , h e h e a r d the first c o c k crow a n d the d o g s begin to bark, a n d the s o u n d of tires on the gravel road.

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1925-1964 Flannery O'Connor, one of the twentieth century's finest writers of short stories, was born in Savannah; lived with her mother in Milledgeville, Georgia, for much of her life; and died before her fortieth birthday—victim like her father of disseminated lupus, an incurable disease. She was stricken with the disease in 1950 while at work on her first novel, but injections of a cortisone derivative managed to arrest it, though the cortisone weakened her bones to the extent that from 1955 on she could get around only on crutches. She was able to write, travel, and lecture until 1964 when the lupus reactivated itself and killed her. A Roman Catholic throughout her life, she is quoted as having remarked, apropos of a trip to Lourdes, "1 had the best-looking crutches in Europe." This remark suggests the kind of hair-raising jokes that centrally inform her writing as well as a refusal to indulge in self-pity over her fate. She published two novels, Wise Blood (1952) and The Violent Bear It Away ( 1 9 6 0 ) ,

both weighty with symbolic and religious concerns and ingeniously contrived in the black-humored manner of Nathanael West, her American predecessor in this mode. But her really memorable creations of characters and actions take place in the stories, which are extremely funny, sometimes unbearably so, and finally we may wonder just what it is we are laughing at. Upon consideration the jokes are seen to be dreadful ones, as with Manley Pointer's treatment of Joy Hopewell's artificial leg in "Good Country People" or Mr. Shiftlet's of his bride in "The Life You Save May Be Your Own." Another American "regionalist," the poet Robert Frost, whose own work contains its share of dreadful jokes, once confessed to being more interested in people's speech than in the people themselves. A typical Flannery O'Connor story consists at its most vital level in people talking, clucking their endless reiterations of cliches about life, death, and the universe. These cliches are captured with beautiful accuracy by an artist who had spent her life listening to them, lovingly and maliciously keeping track until she could put them to use. Early in her life she hoped to be a cartoonist, and there is cartoonlike mastery in her vivid renderings of character through speech and other gesture. Critics have called her a maker of grotesques, a label that like other ones—regionalist, southern lady, or Roman Catholic novelist—might have annoyed if it didn't obviously amuse her too. She once remarked tartly that "anything that comes out of the South is going to be called grotesque by the Northern reader, unless it is grotesque, in which case it is going to be called realistic." Of course, this capacity for mockery, along with a facility in portraying perverse behavior, may work against other demands we make of the fiction writer, and it is true that O'Connor seldom suggests that her characters have inner lives that are imaginable, let alone worth respect. Instead, the emphasis is on the sharp eye and the ability to tell a tale and keep it moving inevitably toward completion. These completions are usually violent, occurring when the character—in many cases a woman— must confront an experience that she cannot handle by the old trustworthy language and habit-hardened responses. O'Connor's art lies partly in making it impossible for us merely to scorn the banalities of expression and behavior by which these people get through their lives. However dark the comedy, it keeps in touch with the things of this world, even when some force from another world threatens to annihilate the embattled protagonist. And although the stories are filled with religious allusions and parodies, they do not try to inculcate a doctrine. One of her best ones is titled "Revelation," but a reader often finishes a story with no simple, unambiguous sense of what has been revealed. Instead, we must trust the internal fun and richness of each tale to reveal what it has to reveal. We can agree also, in sadness, with the critic Irving

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Howe's conclusion to his review of her posthumous collection of stories that it is intolerable for such a writer to have died at the age of thirty-nine. The text is from A Good Man Is Hard to Find (1955).

Good Country People B e s i d e s the neutral e x p r e s s i o n that s h e wore w h e n s h e w a s a l o n e , M r s . F r e e m a n h a d two o t h e r s , forward a n d r e v e r s e , that s h e u s e d for all her h u m a n d e a l i n g s . H e r forward e x p r e s s i o n w a s s t e a d y a n d driving like the a d v a n c e of a heavy truck. H e r eyes never swerved to left or right b u t t u r n e d a s the story t u r n e d a s if they followed a yellow line d o w n the c e n t e r of it. S h e s e l d o m u s e d the other e x p r e s s i o n b e c a u s e it w a s not often n e c e s s a r y for her to retract a s t a t e m e n t , b u t w h e n s h e did, her f a c e c a m e to a c o m p l e t e stop, there w a s a n a l m o s t i m p e r c e p t i b l e m o v e m e n t of her b l a c k e y e s , d u r i n g which they s e e m e d to b e r e c e d i n g , a n d then the observer w o u l d s e e that M r s . F r e e m a n , t h o u g h s h e might s t a n d there a s real a s several grain s a c k s thrown o n top of e a c h other, w a s n o longer there in spirit. A s for getting anything a c r o s s to her w h e n this w a s the c a s e , M r s . H o p e w e l l h a d given it up. S h e might talk her h e a d off. M r s . F r e e m a n c o u l d never b e b r o u g h t to a d m i t herself w r o n g o n any point. S h e w o u l d s t a n d there a n d if s h e c o u l d b e b r o u g h t to say anything, it w a s s o m e t h i n g like, "Well, I wouldn't of said it w a s a n d I wouldn't of said it w a s n ' t , " or letting her gaze r a n g e over the top kitchen shelf w h e r e there w a s a n a s s o r t m e n t of d u s t y bottles, s h e might remark, "I s e e you ain't ate m a n y of t h e m figs you p u t u p last s u m m e r . " T h e y carried on their i m p o r t a n t b u s i n e s s in the kitchen at b r e a k f a s t . Every m o r n i n g M r s . H o p e w e l l got u p at seven o'clock a n d lit her g a s h e a t e r a n d Joy's. J o y w a s her d a u g h t e r , a large b l o n d e girl w h o h a d a n artificial leg. M r s . H o p e w e l l t h o u g h t of her a s a child t h o u g h s h e w a s thirty-two years old a n d highly e d u c a t e d . J o y would get u p while her m o t h e r w a s e a t i n g a n d l u m b e r into the b a t h r o o m a n d s l a m the door, a n d before long, M r s . F r e e m a n would arrive at the b a c k door. J o y w o u l d h e a r her m o t h e r call, " C o m e on i n , " a n d then they w o u l d talk for a while in low voices that were i n d i s t i n g u i s h a b l e in the b a t h r o o m . By the time J o y c a m e in, they h a d usually finished the w e a t h e r report a n d were on o n e or the other of M r s . F r e e m a n ' s d a u g h t e r s , G l y n e s e or C a r r a m a e . J o y called t h e m Glycerin a n d C a r a m e l . G l y n e s e , a r e d h e a d , w a s e i g h t e e n a n d h a d m a n y a d m i r e r s ; C a r r a m a e , a b l o n d e , w a s only fifteen b u t already married a n d p r e g n a n t . S h e c o u l d not keep anything o n her s t o m ach. Every m o r n i n g M r s . F r e e m a n told M r s . H o p e w e l l h o w m a n y t i m e s s h e h a d v o m i t e d s i n c e the last report. M r s . H o p e w e l l liked to tell p e o p l e that G l y n e s e a n d C a r r a m a e were two of the finest girls s h e knew a n d that M r s . F r e e m a n w a s a lady a n d that s h e w a s never a s h a m e d to take her a n y w h e r e or i n t r o d u c e her to a n y b o d y they might m e e t . T h e n s h e would tell how s h e h a d h a p p e n e d to hire the F r e e m a n s in the first p l a c e a n d h o w they were a g o d s e n d to her a n d h o w s h e h a d h a d t h e m four years. T h e r e a s o n for her k e e p i n g t h e m so l o n g w a s t h a t they were not trash. T h e y were g o o d country p e o p l e . S h e h a d t e l e p h o n e d the m a n w h o s e n a m e they h a d given a s a r e f e r e n c e a n d h e h a d told her that M r . F r e e m a n w a s a g o o d f a r m e r b u t that his wife w a s the n o s i e s t w o m a n ever to

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walk the e a r t h . " S h e ' s got to be into everything," the m a n s a i d . "If s h e don't get there b e f o r e the d u s t settles, you c a n bet she's d e a d , that's all. She'll want to know all your b u s i n e s s . I c a n s t a n d him real g o o d , " he h a d said, " b u t m e nor my wife neither c o u l d have stood that w o m a n o n e m o r e m i n u t e on this p l a c e . " T h a t h a d put M r s . Hopewell off for a few days. S h e h a d hired t h e m in the e n d b e c a u s e there were no other a p p l i c a n t s but s h e had m a d e u p her mind b e f o r e h a n d exactly how s h e would h a n d l e the w o m a n . S i n c e s h e w a s the type w h o h a d to b e into everything, t h e n , M r s . H o p e w e l l h a d d e c i d e d , s h e would not only let her be into everything, s h e would see to it that s h e w a s into e v e r y t h i n g — s h e would give her the r e s p o n sibility of everything, s h e would put her in c h a r g e . M r s . H o p e w e l l h a d n o b a d qualities of her own b u t s h e w a s able to u s e other p e o p l e ' s in s u c h a constructive way that s h e never felt the lack. S h e h a d hired the F r e e m a n s a n d s h e h a d kept t h e m four years. N o t h i n g is perfect. T h i s w a s o n e of M r s . H o p e w e l l ' s favorite sayings. A n o t h e r w a s : that is life! A n d still a n o t h e r , the m o s t i m p o r t a n t , w a s : well, other p e o p l e have their o p i n i o n s too. S h e w o u l d m a k e t h e s e s t a t e m e n t s , usually at the t a b l e , in a tone of gentle i n s i s t e n c e a s if no o n e held t h e m but her, a n d the large hulking J o y , w h o s e c o n s t a n t o u t r a g e h a d obliterated every expression from her f a c e , would stare j u s t a little to the side of her, her eyes icy b l u e , with the look of s o m e o n e w h o h a s a c h i e v e d b l i n d n e s s by a n a c t of will a n d m e a n s to keep it. W h e n M r s . H o p e w e l l said to M r s . F r e e m a n that life w a s like that, M r s . F r e e m a n would say, "I always said so myself." N o t h i n g h a d b e e n arrived at by a n y o n e that h a d not first b e e n arrived at by her. S h e w a s q u i c k e r than Mr. F r e e m a n . W h e n M r s . Hopewell said to her after they h a d b e e n on the p l a c e a while, "You know, you're the wheel b e h i n d the w h e e l , " a n d w i n k e d , M r s . F r e e m a n h a d said, "I know it. I've always b e e n quick. It's s o m e that are q u i c k e r than o t h e r s . " "Everybody is different," M r s . H o p e w e l l said. "Yes, m o s t p e o p l e i s , " M r s . F r e e m a n s a i d . "It takes all kinds to m a k e the world." "I always said it did myself." T h e girl w a s u s e d to this kind of d i a l o g u e for b r e a k f a s t a n d m o r e of it for dinner; s o m e t i m e s they h a d it for s u p p e r t o o . W h e n they h a d no g u e s t they ate in the kitchen b e c a u s e that w a s easier. M r s . F r e e m a n always m a n a g e d to arrive at s o m e point d u r i n g the m e a l a n d to w a t c h t h e m finish it. S h e would s t a n d in the doorway if it were s u m m e r b u t in the winter s h e w o u l d s t a n d with o n e elbow on top of the refrigerator a n d look d o w n o n t h e m , or s h e would s t a n d by the g a s heater, lifting the b a c k of her skirt slightly. O c c a sionally s h e would s t a n d a g a i n s t the wall a n d roll her h e a d from side to s i d e . At no time w a s s h e in any hurry to leave. All this w a s very trying o n M r s . H o p e w e l l but s h e w a s a w o m a n of great p a t i e n c e . S h e realized that n o t h i n g is perfect a n d that in the F r e e m a n s s h e h a d g o o d c o u n t r y p e o p l e a n d that if, in this day a n d a g e , you get g o o d country p e o p l e , you h a d better h a n g onto t h e m . S h e h a d h a d plenty of e x p e r i e n c e with trash. B e f o r e the F r e e m a n s s h e h a d averaged o n e t e n a n t family a year. T h e wives of t h e s e f a r m e r s were not the kind you would want to be a r o u n d you for very long. M r s . H o p e w e l l , w h o had divorced her h u s b a n d long a g o , n e e d e d s o m e o n e to walk over the fields

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with her; a n d when J o y h a d to be i m p r e s s e d for t h e s e services, her r e m a r k s were usually s o ugly a n d her f a c e s o g l u m that M r s . H o p e w e l l w o u l d say, "If you can't c o m e pleasantly, I don't want you at all," to which the girl, s t a n d i n g s q u a r e a n d rigid-shouldered with her n e c k thrust slightly forward, would reply, "If you w a n t m e , h e r e I a m — L I K E I A M . " M r s . H o p e w e l l e x c u s e d this attitude b e c a u s e of the leg (which h a d b e e n shot off in a h u n t i n g a c c i d e n t when J o y w a s t e n ) . It w a s hard for M r s . H o p e well to realize that her child w a s thirty-two now a n d that for m o r e than twenty years s h e h a d h a d only o n e leg. S h e thought ol her still a s a child b e c a u s e it tore her heart to think i n s t e a d of the p o o r stout girl in her thirties w h o h a d never d a n c e d a s t e p or h a d any normal g o o d t i m e s . H e r n a m e w a s really J o y but a s s o o n a s s h e w a s twenty-one a n d away from h o m e , s h e h a d h a d it legally c h a n g e d . M r s . Hopewell w a s certain that s h e h a d t h o u g h t a n d thought until she h a d hit u p o n the ugliest n a m e in any l a n g u a g e . T h e n s h e h a d g o n e a n d h a d the beautiful n a m e , J o y , c h a n g e d without telling her m o t h e r until after s h e h a d d o n e it. H e r legal n a m e w a s H u l g a . W h e n M r s . H o p e w e l l t h o u g h t the n a m e , H u l g a , s h e t h o u g h t of the b r o a d b l a n k hull of a b a t t l e s h i p . S h e would not u s e it. S h e c o n t i n u e d to call her J o y to which the girl r e s p o n d e d but in a purely m e c h a n i c a l way. H u l g a h a d learned to tolerate M r s . F r e e m a n who s a v e d her from taking walks with her mother. Even G l y n e s e a n d C a r r a m a e were useful w h e n they o c c u p i e d attention that might otherwise have b e e n directed at her. At first she h a d t h o u g h t s h e c o u l d not s t a n d M r s . F r e e m a n for s h e h a d f o u n d that it w a s not p o s s i b l e to be r u d e to her. M r s . F r e e m a n w o u l d take on s t r a n g e r e s e n t m e n t s a n d for days together s h e would be sullen but the s o u r c e of her d i s p l e a s u r e w a s always o b s c u r e ; a direct attack, a positive leer, blatant uglin e s s to her f a c e — t h e s e never t o u c h e d her. A n d without w a r n i n g o n e day, she b e g a n calling her H u l g a . S h e did not call her that in front of M r s . H o p e w e l l w h o would have b e e n i n c e n s e d but when s h e a n d the girl h a p p e n e d to be o u t of the h o u s e together, s h e would say s o m e t h i n g a n d a d d the n a m e H u l g a to the e n d of it, a n d the big s p e c t a c l e d J o y - H u l g a would scowl a n d redden a s if her privacy h a d b e e n intruded u p o n . S h e c o n s i d e r e d the n a m e her p e r s o n a l affair. S h e h a d arrived at it first purely on the b a s i s of its ugly s o u n d a n d then the full g e n i u s of its fitness h a d s t r u c k her. S h e h a d a vision of the n a m e working like the ugly s w e a t i n g V u l c a n who stayed in the f u r n a c e a n d to w h o m , p r e s u m a b l y , the g o d d e s s h a d to c o m e w h e n c a l l e d . 1 S h e saw it as the n a m e of her highest creative a c t . O n e of her m a j o r t r i u m p h s w a s that her m o t h e r h a d not b e e n able to turn her d u s t into J o y , but the greater o n e w a s that s h e h a d b e e n a b l e to turn it herself into H u l g a . However, M r s . F r e e m a n ' s relish for u s i n g the n a m e only irritated her. It w a s as if M r s . F r e e m a n ' s beady s t e e l - p o i n t e d eyes h a d p e n e t r a t e d far e n o u g h behind her f a c e to r e a c h s o m e secret fact. S o m e thing a b o u t her s e e m e d to f a s c i n a t e M r s . F r e e m a n a n d then o n e day H u l g a realized that it w a s the artificial leg. M r s . F r e e m a n h a d a s p e c i a l f o n d n e s s for the details of secret infections, h i d d e n d e f o r m i t i e s , a s s a u l t s u p o n child r e n . O f d i s e a s e s , she preferred the lingering or i n c u r a b l e . H u l g a h a d h e a r d M r s . H o p e w e l l give her the details of the h u n t i n g a c c i d e n t , h o w the leg h a d b e e n literally blasted off, how s h e h a d never lost c o n s c i o u s n e s s . M r s . F r e e m a n c o u l d listen to it any time a s if it h a d h a p p e n e d an h o u r a g o . I. Vulcan was the Greek god of fire whom Venus, goddess of love, "presumably" obeyed as her consort.

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W h e n H u l g a s t u m p e d into the kitchen in the m o r n i n g ( s h e c o u l d walk without m a k i n g the awful noise but she m a d e i t — M r s . H o p e w e l l w a s cert a i n — b e c a u s e it w a s ugly-sounding), s h e g l a n c e d at t h e m a n d did not s p e a k . M r s . Hopewell would be in her red k i m o n o with her hair tied a r o u n d her h e a d in rags. S h e would b e sitting at the t a b l e , finishing her breakfast a n d M r s . F r e e m a n would be h a n g i n g by her elbow o u t w a r d from the refrigerator, looking d o w n at the table. H u l g a always p u t her e g g s on the stove to boil a n d then s t o o d over t h e m with her a r m s folded, a n d M r s . H o p e w e l l would look at h e r — a kind of indirect gaze divided b e t w e e n her a n d M r s . F r e e m a n — a n d would think that if s h e would only keep herself u p a little, s h e wouldn't be so b a d looking. T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g w r o n g with her f a c e that a p l e a s a n t expression wouldn't help. M r s . H o p e w e l l said that p e o p l e who looked on the bright side of things would be beautiful even if they were not. W h e n e v e r s h e looked at J o y this way, she c o u l d not help but feel that it would have b e e n better if the child had not taken the P h . D . It h a d certainly not brought her out any a n d now that she h a d it, there w a s no m o r e e x c u s e for her to go to school a g a i n . M r s . Hopewell t h o u g h t it w a s n i c e for girls to g o to school to have a g o o d time but J o y h a d " g o n e t h r o u g h . " Anyhow, s h e would not have b e e n strong e n o u g h to go a g a i n . T h e d o c t o r s h a d told M r s . Hopewell that with the b e s t of c a r e , J o y might s e e forty-five. S h e h a d a w e a k heart. J o y h a d m a d e it plain that if it h a d not b e e n for this c o n d i t i o n , s h e would be far from t h e s e red hills a n d good country p e o p l e . S h e would b e in a university lecturing to p e o p l e who knew what s h e w a s talking a b o u t . A n d M r s . H o p e w e l l c o u l d very well picture her there, looking like a s c a r e c r o w a n d lecturing to m o r e of the s a m e . H e r e s h e went a b o u t all day in a six-yearold skirt a n d a yellow sweat shirt with a faded cowboy on a h o r s e e m b o s s e d on it. S h e t h o u g h t this was funny; M r s . Hopewell thought it w a s idiotic a n d s h o w e d simply that she was still a child. S h e w a s brilliant but s h e didn't have a grain of s e n s e . It s e e m e d to M r s . H o p e w e l l that every year s h e grew less like other p e o p l e a n d m o r e like h e r s e l f — b l o a t e d , r u d e , a n d squint-eyed. A n d she said s u c h s t r a n g e things! T o her own m o t h e r s h e h a d s a i d — w i t h o u t warning, without e x c u s e , s t a n d i n g up in the middle of a m e a l with her f a c e p u r p l e a n d her m o u t h half f u l l — " W o m a n ! d o you ever look inside? D o you ever look inside a n d s e e what you are not? G o d ! " she h a d cried sinking d o w n again a n d staring at her p l a t e , " M a l e b r a n c h e 2 was right: we are not our own light. W e are not our own light!" M r s . H o p e w e l l h a d no idea to this day what brought that on. S h e h a d only m a d e the r e m a r k , h o p i n g J o y would take it in, that a smile never hurt a n y o n e . T h e girl h a d taken the P h . D . in p h i l o s o p h y a n d this left M r s . H o p e w e l l at a c o m p l e t e loss. You c o u l d say, " M y d a u g h t e r is a n u r s e , " or " M y d a u g h t e r is a school t e a c h e r , " or even, " M y d a u g h t e r is a c h e m i c a l e n g i n e e r . " You could not say, " M y d a u g h t e r is a p h i l o s o p h e r . " T h a t w a s s o m e t h i n g that h a d e n d e d with the G r e e k s a n d R o m a n s . All day J o y sat on her n e c k in a d e e p chair, reading. S o m e t i m e s s h e went for walks but s h e didn't like d o g s or c a t s or birds or flowers or n a t u r e or nice y o u n g m e n . S h e looked at nice y o u n g m e n as if she c o u l d smell their stupidity. O n e day M r s . Hopewell h a d picked up o n e of the books the girl had j u s t put down a n d o p e n i n g it at r a n d o m , s h e r e a d , " S c i e n c e , on the other h a n d , has to a s s e r t its s o b e r n e s s a n d s e r i o u s n e s s afresh a n d d e c l a r e that it is con2. Nicolas Malebranche ( 1 6 3 8 - 1 7 1 5 ) , French philosopher.

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c e r n e d solely with what-is. N o t h i n g — h o w c a n it b e for s c i e n c e anything b u t a horror a n d a p h a n t a s m ? If s c i e n c e is right, then o n e thing s t a n d s firm: s c i e n c e w i s h e s to know n o t h i n g of nothing. S u c h is after all the strictly scientific a p p r o a c h to N o t h i n g . W e know it by w i s h i n g to know n o t h i n g of N o t h i n g . " T h e s e w o r d s h a d b e e n u n d e r l i n e d with a b l u e pencil a n d they worked on M r s . H o p e w e l l like s o m e evil i n c a n t a t i o n in g i b b e r i s h . S h e s h u t the b o o k quickly a n d w e n t o u t of the r o o m a s if s h e were having a chill. T h i s m o r n i n g w h e n the girl c a m e in, M r s . F r e e m a n w a s on C a r r a m a e . " S h e thrown u p four t i m e s after s u p p e r , " s h e said, " a n d w a s u p twict in the night after three o'clock. Yesterday s h e didn't do n o t h i n g but r a m b l e in the b u r e a u drawer. All s h e did. S t a n d u p there a n d s e e w h a t s h e c o u l d run u p on. " S h e ' s got to e a t , " M r s . H o p e w e l l m u t t e r e d , s i p p i n g her c o f f e e , while s h e w a t c h e d Joy's b a c k at the stove. S h e w a s w o n d e r i n g w h a t the child h a d said to the Bible s a l e s m a n . S h e c o u l d not i m a g i n e what kind of a c o n v e r s a t i o n she c o u l d possibly have h a d with h i m . H e w a s a tall g a u n t h a t l e s s youth w h o h a d called yesterday to sell t h e m a B i b l e . H e h a d a p p e a r e d at the door, carrying a large b l a c k s u i t c a s e that weighted him s o heavily on o n e side that h e h a d to b r a c e h i m s e l f a g a i n s t the door facing. H e s e e m e d on the point of c o l l a p s e b u t h e said in a cheerful voice, " G o o d m o r n i n g , M r s . C e d a r s ! " a n d set the s u i t c a s e d o w n on the m a t . H e w a s not a bad-looking y o u n g m a n t h o u g h h e h a d on a bright b l u e suit a n d yellow s o c k s that were not pulled u p far e n o u g h . H e h a d p r o m i n e n t f a c e b o n e s a n d a s t r e a k of sticky-looking brown hair falling a c r o s s his f o r e h e a d . "I'm M r s . H o p e w e l l , " s h e s a i d . " O h ! " h e said, p r e t e n d i n g to look puzzled b u t with his eyes sparkling, "I saw it said ' T h e C e d a r s ' on the mailbox s o I t h o u g h t you w a s M r s . C e d a r s ! " a n d he burst o u t in a p l e a s a n t l a u g h . H e p i c k e d u p the s a t c h e l a n d u n d e r cover of a p a n t , he fell forward into her hall. It w a s rather a s if the s u i t c a s e h a d m o v e d first, j e r k i n g him after it. " M r s . H o p e w e l l ! " h e s a i d a n d g r a b b e d her h a n d . "I h o p e you are well!" a n d he l a u g h e d a g a i n a n d then all at o n c e his f a c e s o b e r e d completely. H e p a u s e d a n d g a v e her a straight e a r n e s t look a n d said, " L a d y , I've c o m e to s p e a k of s e r i o u s t h i n g s . " "Well, c o m e i n , " s h e m u t t e r e d , n o n e too p l e a s e d b e c a u s e her dinner w a s a l m o s t ready. H e c a m e into the parlor a n d sat d o w n on the e d g e of a straight chair a n d put the s u i t c a s e b e t w e e n his feet a n d g l a n c e d a r o u n d the r o o m a s if he were sizing her u p by it. H e r silver g l e a m e d o n the two s i d e b o a r d s ; s h e d e c i d e d h e h a d never b e e n in a r o o m a s e l e g a n t a s this. " M r s . H o p e w e l l , " he b e g a n , u s i n g her n a m e in a way that s o u n d e d a l m o s t i n t i m a t e , "I know you believe in C h r u s t i a n s e r v i c e . " "Well y e s , " s h e m u r m u r e d . "I k n o w , " he said a n d p a u s e d , looking very wise with his h e a d c o c k e d on o n e s i d e , "that you're a g o o d w o m a n . F r i e n d s have told m e . " M r s . H o p e w e l l never liked to b e taken for a fool. " W h a t a r e you s e l l i n g ? " she asked. " B i b l e s , " the y o u n g m a n said a n d his eye r a c e d a r o u n d the r o o m before he a d d e d , "I s e e you have no family B i b l e in your parlor, I s e e that is the o n e lack you g o t ! " M r s . H o p e w e l l c o u l d not say, " M y d a u g h t e r is a n atheist a n d won't let m e keep the B i b l e in the parlor." S h e said, stiffening slightly, "I k e e p my B i b l e by my b e d s i d e . " T h i s w a s not the truth. It w a s in the attic s o m e w h e r e .

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" L a d y , " he s a i d , "the word of G o d o u g h t to b e in the p a r l o r . " "Well, I think that's a m a t t e r of t a s t e , " s h e b e g a n . "I think . . ." " L a d y , " he s a i d , "for a C h r u s t i a n , the word of G o d o u g h t to be in every room in the h o u s e b e s i d e s in his heart. I k n o w you're a C h r u s t i a n b e c a u s e I c a n s e e it in every line of your f a c e . " S h e s t o o d u p a n d said, "Well, y o u n g m a n , I don't w a n t to buy a Bible a n d I smell my dinner b u r n i n g . " H e didn't get u p . H e b e g a n to twist his h a n d s a n d looking d o w n at t h e m , h e said softly, "Well lady, I'll tell you the t r u t h — n o t m a n y p e o p l e want to buy o n e n o w a d a y s a n d b e s i d e s , I know I'm real s i m p l e . I don't know how to say a thing b u t to say it. I'm j u s t a country b o y . " H e g l a n c e d u p into her unfriendly f a c e . " P e o p l e like you don't like to fool with country p e o p l e like me!" " W h y ! " s h e cried, " g o o d country p e o p l e are the salt of the e a r t h ! B e s i d e s , we all have different ways of doing, it takes all kinds to m a k e the world g o 'round. T h a t ' s life!" "You said a m o u t h f u l , " he s a i d . "Why, I think there aren't e n o u g h g o o d country p e o p l e in the world!" s h e said, stirred. "I think that's what's w r o n g with it!" H i s f a c e h a d b r i g h t e n e d . "I didn't i n r a d u c e myself," he said. "I'm M a n l e y Pointer from o u t in the country a r o u n d W i l l o h o b i e , not even from a p l a c e , j u s t from near a p l a c e . " "You wait a m i n u t e , " s h e said. "I have to s e e a b o u t my d i n n e r . " S h e went out to the kitchen a n d f o u n d J o y s t a n d i n g n e a r the d o o r w h e r e s h e h a d b e e n listening. " G e t rid of the salt of the e a r t h , " s h e said, " a n d let's e a t . " M r s . H o p e w e l l g a v e her a p a i n e d look a n d turned the h e a t d o w n u n d e r the v e g e t a b l e s . "I can't b e r u d e to a n y b o d y , " s h e m u r m u r e d a n d went b a c k into the parlor. H e h a d o p e n e d the s u i t c a s e a n d w a s sitting with a B i b l e on e a c h k n e e . "You might a s well p u t t h o s e u p , " s h e told h i m . "I don't w a n t o n e . " "I a p p r e c i a t e your h o n e s t y , " h e said. "You don't s e e any m o r e real h o n e s t p e o p l e u n l e s s you go way o u t in the c o u n t r y . " "I k n o w , " s h e said, "real g e n u i n e folks!" T h r o u g h the c r a c k in the d o o r s h e heard a g r o a n . "I g u e s s a lot of boys c o m e telling you they're working their way t h r o u g h c o l l e g e , " he said, " b u t I'm not g o i n g to tell you that. S o m e h o w , " h e s a i d , "I don't want to go to c o l l e g e . I want to devote my life to C h r u s t i a n service. S e e , " he said, lowering his voice, "I got this heart c o n d i t i o n . I may not live long. W h e n you know it's s o m e t h i n g w r o n g with you a n d you m a y not live long, well then, lady . . ." H e p a u s e d , with his m o u t h o p e n , a n d s t a r e d at her. H e a n d J o y h a d the s a m e condition! S h e knew that her eyes were filling with tears but s h e c o l l e c t e d herself quickly a n d m u r m u r e d , "Won't you stay for dinner? We'd love to have y o u ! " a n d w a s sorry the instant s h e h e a r d herself say it. "Yes m a m , " he said in a n a b a s h e d voice, "I w o u l d s h e r love to do t h a t ! " J o y h a d given him o n e look on b e i n g i n t r o d u c e d to h i m a n d then t h r o u g h out the m e a l h a d not g l a n c e d at him a g a i n . H e h a d a d d r e s s e d several r e m a r k s to her, which she h a d p r e t e n d e d not to hear. M r s . H o p e w e l l c o u l d not u n d e r stand deliberate r u d e n e s s , a l t h o u g h s h e lived with it, a n d s h e felt s h e h a d always to overflow with hospitality to m a k e up for Joy's lack of courtesy. S h e

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u r g e d him to talk a b o u t himself a n d he did. H e said h e w a s the s e v e n t h child of twelve a n d that his father h a d b e e n c r u s h e d u n d e r a tree w h e n h e h i m s e l f w a s eight years old. H e h a d b e e n c r u s h e d very badly, in fact, a l m o s t cut in two a n d w a s practically not r e c o g n i z a b l e . His m o t h e r had got a l o n g the b e s t s h e c o u l d by hard working a n d she had always s e e n that her c h i l d r e n went to S u n d a y S c h o o l a n d that they r e a d the Bible every evening. H e w a s now n i n e t e e n years old a n d he had b e e n selling Bibles for four m o n t h s . In that time he h a d sold seventy-seven Bibles a n d h a d the p r o m i s e of two m o r e s a l e s . H e w a n t e d to b e c o m e a missionary b e c a u s e he t h o u g h t that w a s the way you c o u l d do m o s t for p e o p l e . " H e who losest his life shall find it," h e s a i d simply a n d he w a s so s i n c e r e , s o g e n u i n e a n d e a r n e s t that M r s . H o p e w e l l w o u l d not for the world have s m i l e d . H e p r e v e n t e d his p e a s from sliding o n t o the table by blocking t h e m with a p i e c e of b r e a d which he later c l e a n e d his plate with. S h e c o u l d s e e J o y observing s i d e w i s e how he h a n d l e d his knife a n d fork a n d s h e s a w too that every few m i n u t e s , the boy w o u l d dart a keen a p p r a i s i n g g l a n c e at the girl a s if he were trying to attract her attention. After dinner J o y cleared the d i s h e s off the table a n d d i s a p p e a r e d a n d M r s . H o p e w e l l w a s left to talk with him. H e told her again a b o u t his c h i l d h o o d a n d his father's a c c i d e n t a n d a b o u t various things that h a d h a p p e n e d to h i m . Every five m i n u t e s or s o s h e would stifle a yawn. H e sat for two h o u r s until finally s h e told him s h e m u s t go b e c a u s e s h e h a d an a p p o i n t m e n t in town. H e p a c k e d his Bibles a n d t h a n k e d her a n d p r e p a r e d to leave, but in the doorway he s t o p p e d a n d w r u n g her h a n d a n d said that not on any of his trips had he m e t a lady a s n i c e a s her a n d h e a s k e d if he c o u l d c o m e a g a i n . S h e h a d said s h e would always be happy to s e e h i m . J o y had b e e n s t a n d i n g in the road, a p p a r e n t l y looking at s o m e t h i n g in the d i s t a n c e , when he c a m e down the s t e p s toward her, bent to the side with his heavy valise. H e s t o p p e d w h e r e s h e w a s s t a n d i n g a n d c o n f r o n t e d her directly. M r s . Hopewell c o u l d not h e a r what he said b u t s h e t r e m b l e d to think what J o y would say to h i m . S h e c o u l d s e e that after a m i n u t e J o y said s o m e t h i n g a n d that then the hoy b e g a n to s p e a k a g a i n , m a k i n g an excited g e s t u r e with his free h a n d . After a m i n u t e J o y said s o m e t h i n g else at which the boy b e g a n to s p e a k o n c e m o r e . T h e n to her a m a z e m e n t , M r s . Hopewell saw the two of t h e m walk off together, toward the g a t e . J o y h a d walked all the way to the gate with him a n d M r s . Hopewell c o u l d not i m a g i n e what they had said to e a c h other, a n d she h a d not yet d a r e d to a s k . M r s . F r e e m a n w a s insisting upon her a t t e n t i o n . S h e h a d m o v e d from the refrigerator to the h e a t e r s o that M r s . H o p e w e l l h a d to turn a n d f a c e her in order to s e e m to be listening. " G l y n e s e g o n e out with Harvey Hill a g a i n last night," s h e s a i d . " S h e h a d this sty." " H i l l , " M r s . H o p e w e l l said absently, "is that the o n e w h o works in the garage?" " N o m e , he's the o n e that g o e s to c h i r o p r a c t e r s c h o o l , " M r s . F r e e m a n s a i d . " S h e h a d this sty. B e e n h a d it two days. S o she says w h e n he b r o u g h t her in the other night he says, ' L e m m e get rid of that sty for you,' a n d s h e s a y s , ' H o w ? ' a n d he says, 'You j u s t lay yourself d o w n a c r o s t the seat of t h a t c a r a n d I'll s h o w you.' S o s h e d o n e it a n d he p o p p e d her neck. K e p t on a - p o p p i n g it several times until s h e m a d e him quit. T h i s m o r n i n g , " M r s . F r e e m a n said, " s h e ain't got no sty. S h e ain't got no traces of a sty." "I never h e a r d of that b e f o r e , " M r s . H o p e w e l l s a i d .

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" H e ast her to marry him before the Ordinary,"* M r s . F r e e m a n went o n , "and she told him s h e wasn't going to b e married in n o office." "Well, G l y n e s e is a fine girl," M r s . Hopewell said. " G l y n e s e a n d C a r r a m a e are both fine girls." " C a r r a m a e s a i d w h e n her a n d L y m a n w a s married L y m a n said it s u r e felt s a c r e d to him. S h e said he said he wouldn't take five h u n d r e d dollars for being married by a p r e a c h e r . " " H o w m u c h would he t a k e ? " the girl a s k e d from the stove. " H e said he wouldn't take five h u n d r e d d o l l a r s , " M r s . F r e e m a n r e p e a t e d . "Well we all have work to d o , " M r s . Hopewell said. " L y m a n said it j u s t felt m o r e s a c r e d to h i m , " M r s . F r e e m a n s a i d . " T h e doctor w a n t s C a r r a m a e to eat p r u n e s . S a y s instead of m e d i c i n e . S a y s t h e m c r a m p s is c o m i n g from p r e s s u r e . You know where I think it i s ? " "She'll be better in a few w e e k s , " M r s . Hopewell said. "In the t u b e , " M r s . F r e e m a n said. " E l s e s h e wouldn't be a s sick a s s h e i s . " H u l g a h a d c r a c k e d her two e g g s into a s a u c e r a n d w a s bringing t h e m to the table a l o n g with a c u p of coffee that she had filled too full. S h e sat d o w n carefully a n d b e g a n to eat, m e a n i n g to keep M r s . F r e e m a n there by q u e s t i o n s if for any r e a s o n she s h o w e d an inclination to leave. S h e c o u l d perceive her mother's eye on her. T h e first r o u n d - a b o u t q u e s t i o n would be a b o u t the Bible s a l e s m a n a n d she did not wish to bring it on. " H o w did h e p o p her n e c k ? " she a s k e d . Mrs. F r e e m a n went into a description of how he h a d p o p p e d her neck. S h e said he o w n e d a '55 M e r c u r y but that G l y n e s e said s h e would rather marry a m a n with only a '36 P l y m o u t h who would be married by a p r e a c h e r . T h e girl a s k e d what if he had a '32 P l y m o u t h a n d M r s . F r e e m a n said what G l y n e s e h a d said w a s a '36 P l y m o u t h . Mrs. Hopewell said there were not m a n y girls with G l y n e s e ' s c o m m o n s e n s e . S h e said what s h e a d m i r e d in t h o s e girls w a s their c o m m o n s e n s e . S h e said that r e m i n d e d her that they had had a nice visitor yesterday, a y o u n g m a n selling Bibles. " L o r d , " s h e said, " h e bored m e to d e a t h but h e w a s s o s i n c e r e and g e n u i n e I couldn't be r u d e to him. H e w a s j u s t g o o d country p e o p l e , you k n o w , " s h e said, " — j u s t the salt of the e a r t h . " "I s e e n him walk u p , " M r s . F r e e m a n said, " a n d then l a t e r — I s e e n him walk off," a n d H u l g a c o u l d feel the slight shift in her voice, the slight insinuation, that he had not walked off a l o n e , had he? H e r f a c e r e m a i n e d expressionless but the color rose into her n e c k a n d s h e s e e m e d to swallow it d o w n with the next spoonful of e g g . M r s . F r e e m a n w a s looking at her a s if they had a secret together. "Well, it takes all kinds of p e o p l e to m a k e the world go ' r o u n d , " M r s . Hopewell said. "It's very g o o d we aren't all a l i k e . " " S o m e p e o p l e are m o r e alike than o t h e r s , " M r s . F r e e m a n s a i d . H u l g a got up a n d s t u m p e d , with a b o u t twice the noise that w a s n e c e s s a r y , into her r o o m a n d locked the door. S h e w a s to m e e t the Bible s a l e s m a n at ten o'clock at the g a t e . S h e had thought a b o u t it half the night. S h e h a d started thinking of it a s a great j o k e a n d then s h e h a d b e g u n to s e e p r o f o u n d implications in it. S h e had Iain in b e d i m a g i n i n g d i a l o g u e s for t h e m that were i n s a n e on the s u r f a c e but that r e a c h e d below to d e p t h s that no Bible 3. Justice oi the peace who performs the marriage ceremony in c h a m b e r s rather than in p u b l i c .

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s a l e s m a n would be a w a r e of. T h e i r c o n v e r s a t i o n yesterday h a d b e e n of this kind. H e h a d s t o p p e d in front of her a n d h a d simply s t o o d there. H i s f a c e w a s b o n y a n d sweaty a n d bright, with a little p o i n t e d n o s e in the c e n t e r of it, a n d his look w a s different from what it h a d b e e n at the d i n n e r t a b l e . H e w a s gazing at her with o p e n curiosity, with f a s c i n a t i o n , like a child w a t c h i n g a new fantastic a n i m a l at the zoo, a n d h e w a s b r e a t h i n g a s if h e h a d run a great d i s t a n c e to r e a c h her. H i s gaze s e e m e d s o m e h o w familiar b u t s h e c o u l d not think w h e r e s h e h a d b e e n r e g a r d e d with it b e f o r e . F o r a l m o s t a m i n u t e he didn't say anything. T h e n on what s e e m e d an i n s u c k of b r e a t h , h e w h i s p e r e d , "You ever a t e a c h i c k e n that w a s two days o l d ? " T h e girl looked at him stonily. H e might have j u s t p u t this q u e s t i o n u p for c o n s i d e r a t i o n at the m e e t i n g of a p h i l o s o p h i c a l a s s o c i a t i o n . " Y e s , " s h e presently replied a s if s h e h a d c o n s i d e r e d it from all a n g l e s . "It m u s t have b e e n mighty s m a l l ! " h e said t r i u m p h a n t l y a n d s h o o k all over with little n e r v o u s giggles, getting very red in the f a c e , a n d s u b s i d i n g finally into his gaze of c o m p l e t e a d m i r a t i o n , while the girl's e x p r e s s i o n r e m a i n e d exactly the s a m e . " H o w old a r e y o u ? " he a s k e d softly. S h e waited s o m e t i m e before s h e a n s w e r e d . T h e n in a flat voice s h e s a i d , "Seventeen." H i s s m i l e s c a m e in s u c c e s s i o n like w a v e s b r e a k i n g on the s u r f a c e of a little lake. "I s e e you got a w o o d e n l e g , " he s a i d . "I think you're brave. I think you're real s w e e t . " T h e girl s t o o d b l a n k a n d solid a n d silent. " W a l k to the g a t e with m e , " h e said. "You're a brave sweet little thing a n d I liked you the m i n u t e I s e e n you walk in the d o o r . " H u l g a b e g a n to m o v e forward. " W h a t ' s your n a m e ? " h e a s k e d , s m i l i n g d o w n o n the top of h e r h e a d . "Hulga," she said. " H u l g a , " he m u r m u r e d , " H u l g a . H u l g a . I never h e a r d of anybody n a m e H u l g a b e f o r e . You're shy, aren't you, H u l g a ? " he a s k e d . S h e n o d d e d , w a t c h i n g his large red h a n d o n the h a n d l e of the giant valise. "I like girls that wear g l a s s e s , " h e s a i d . "I think a lot. I'm not like t h e s e p e o p l e that a s e r i o u s t h o u g h t don't ever enter their h e a d s . It's b e c a u s e I m a y die." "I m a y die t o o , " s h e s a i d s u d d e n l y a n d looked u p at h i m . H i s eyes were very small a n d brown, glittering feverishly. " L i s t e n , " h e s a i d , "don't you think s o m e p e o p l e w a s m e a n t to m e e t o n a c c o u n t of what all they got in c o m m o n a n d all? L i k e they both think s e r i o u s t h o u g h t s a n d a l l ? " H e shifted the valise to his other h a n d s o that the h a n d n e a r e s t her w a s free. H e c a u g h t hold of her elbow a n d s h o o k it a little. "I don't work on S a t u r d a y , " h e s a i d . "I like to walk in the w o o d s a n d s e e w h a t M o t h e r N a t u r e is wearing. O'er the hills a n d far away. Pic-nics a n d t h i n g s . C o u l d n ' t w e go o n a pic-nic t o m o r r o w ? S a y yes, H u l g a , " h e s a i d a n d g a v e her a dying look a s if h e felt his insides a b o u t to d r o p o u t of h i m . H e h a d even s e e m e d to sway slightly toward her. D u r i n g the night s h e h a d i m a g i n e d that s h e s e d u c e d h i m . S h e i m a g i n e d that the two of t h e m walked o n the p l a c e until they c a m e to the s t o r a g e b a r n beyond the two b a c k fields a n d there, s h e i m a g i n e d , that things c a m e to s u c h

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a p a s s that s h e very easily s e d u c e d him a n d that t h e n , of c o u r s e , s h e h a d to reckon with his r e m o r s e . T r u e g e n i u s c a n get a n idea a c r o s s even to a n inferior m i n d . S h e i m a g i n e d that she took his r e m o r s e in h a n d a n d c h a n g e d it into a d e e p e r u n d e r s t a n d i n g of life. S h e took all his s h a m e away a n d t u r n e d it into s o m e t h i n g useful. S h e set off for the g a t e at exactly ten o'clock, e s c a p i n g without drawing M r s . Hopewell's attention. S h e didn't take anything to eat, forgetting that food is usually taken on a p i c n i c . S h e wore a pair of slacks a n d a dirty white shirt, a n d as a n afterthought, s h e h a d put s o m e Vapex on the collar of it s i n c e s h e did not own any p e r f u m e . W h e n s h e r e a c h e d the g a t e no o n e w a s there. S h e looked up a n d down the e m p t y highway a n d h a d the furious feeling that s h e h a d b e e n tricked, that he h a d only m e a n t to m a k e her walk to the gate after the idea of h i m . T h e n s u d d e n l y he stood u p , very tall, from b e h i n d a b u s h on the o p p o s i t e e m b a n k m e n t . S m i l i n g , he lifted his hat which w a s new a n d w i d e - b r i m m e d . H e h a d not worn it yesterday a n d s h e w o n d e r e d if he had b o u g h t it for the o c c a s i o n . It was toast-colored with a red a n d white b a n d a r o u n d it a n d w a s slightly too large for h i m . H e s t e p p e d from behind the b u s h still carrying the black valise. H e had on the s a m e suit a n d the s a m e yellow s o c k s s u c k e d down in his s h o e s from walking. H e c r o s s e d the highway and said, "I knew you'd c o m e ! " T h e girl w o n d e r e d acidly how he had known this. S h e p o i n t e d to the valise and a s k e d , "Why did you bring your B i b l e s ? " H e took her elbow, smiling down on her a s if he c o u l d not s t o p . "You can never tell w h e n you'll n e e d the word of G o d , H u l g a , " he s a i d . S h e h a d a m o m e n t in which s h e d o u b t e d that this w a s actually h a p p e n i n g a n d then they b e g a n to climb the e m b a n k m e n t . T h e y went d o w n into the p a s t u r e toward the w o o d s . T h e boy walked lightly by her side, b o u n c i n g on his t o e s . T h e valise did not s e e m to be heavy today; he even s w u n g it. T h e y c r o s s e d half the p a s t u r e without saying anything a n d then, p u t t i n g his h a n d easily on the small of her b a c k , he a s k e d softly, " W h e r e d o e s your w o o d e n leg j o i n on?" S h e turned a n ugly red a n d glared at him a n d for an instant the boy looked a b a s h e d . "I didn't m e a n you no h a r m , " he said. "I only m e a n t you're so brave a n d all. I g u e s s G o d takes c a r e of y o u . " " N o , " she said, looking forward a n d walking fast, "I don't even believe in God." At this he s t o p p e d a n d whistled. " N o ! " he e x c l a i m e d a s if h e were too a s t o n i s h e d to say anything e l s e . S h e walked on a n d in a s e c o n d he w a s b o u n c i n g at her s i d e , f a n n i n g with his hat. " T h a t ' s very u n u s u a l for a girl," he r e m a r k e d , w a t c h i n g her out of the corner of his eye. W h e n they r e a c h e d the e d g e of the w o o d , he put his h a n d on her b a c k again a n d drew her a g a i n s t him without a word a n d kissed her heavily. T h e kiss, which h a d m o r e p r e s s u r e than feeling b e h i n d it, p r o d u c e d that extra s u r g e of adrenalin in the girl that e n a b l e s o n e to carry a p a c k e d trunk out of a b u r n i n g h o u s e , but in her, the power went at o n c e to the brain. Even before he r e l e a s e d her, her m i n d , clear a n d d e t a c h e d a n d ironic anyway, w a s regarding him from a great d i s t a n c e , with a m u s e m e n t but with pity. S h e h a d never b e e n kissed before a n d she w a s p l e a s e d to discover that it w a s a n

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unexceptional e x p e r i e n c e a n d all a m a t t e r of the mind's control. S o m e p e o p l e might enjoy drain water if they were told it w a s vodka. W h e n the boy, l o o k i n g e x p e c t a n t but u n c e r t a i n , p u s h e d her gently away, s h e turned a n d walked o n , saying nothing a s if s u c h b u s i n e s s , for her, were c o m m o n e n o u g h . H e c a m e a l o n g p a n t i n g at her s i d e , trying to help her w h e n h e saw a root that she might trip over. H e c a u g h t a n d held b a c k the long swaying b l a d e s of thorn vine until s h e h a d p a s s e d beyond t h e m . S h e led the way a n d h e c a m e b r e a t h i n g heavily b e h i n d her. T h e n they c a m e o u t on a sunlit hillside, sloping softly into a n o t h e r o n e a little smaller. B e y o n d , they c o u l d s e e the rusted top of the old barn w h e r e the extra hay w a s stored. T h e hill w a s sprinkled with small pink w e e d s . " T h e n you ain't s a v e d ? " h e asked suddenly, stopping. T h e girl s m i l e d . It w a s the first time s h e h a d smiled at h i m at all. "In my e c o n o m y , " s h e said, "I'm s a v e d a n d you a r e d a m n e d but I told you I didn't believe in G o d . " N o t h i n g s e e m e d to destroy the boy's look of a d m i r a t i o n . H e g a z e d at her now a s if the fantastic a n i m a l at the zoo h a d put its p a w t h r o u g h the b a r s a n d given him a loving p o k e . S h e t h o u g h t he looked a s if h e w a n t e d to kiss her again a n d s h e walked on before h e h a d the c h a n c e . "Ain't there s o m e w h e r e s we c a n sit d o w n s o m e t i m e ? " h e m u r m u r e d , his voice softening toward the e n d of the s e n t e n c e . "In that b a r n , " s h e s a i d . T h e y m a d e for it rapidly a s if it might slide away like a train. It w a s a l a r g e two-story b a r n , cool a n d dark i n s i d e . T h e boy p o i n t e d u p the l a d d e r that led into the loft a n d said, "It's too b a d we can't go up t h e r e . " "Why can't w e ? " s h e a s k e d . "Yer leg," h e said reverently. T h e girl gave him a c o n t e m p t u o u s look a n d p u t t i n g both h a n d s on the ladder, s h e c l i m b e d it while h e s t o o d below, a p p a r e n t l y a w e s t r u c k . S h e pulled herself expertly t h r o u g h the o p e n i n g a n d then looked d o w n at him a n d said, "Well, c o m e on if you're c o m i n g , " a n d he b e g a n to c l i m b the ladder, awkwardly bringing the s u i t c a s e with h i m . " W e won't n e e d the B i b l e , " s h e o b s e r v e d . "You never c a n tell," h e said, p a n t i n g . After he h a d got into the loft, he w a s a few s e c o n d s c a t c h i n g his b r e a t h . S h e h a d sat d o w n in a pile of straw. A wide s h e a t h of sunlight, filled with d u s t particles, s l a n t e d over her. S h e lay b a c k a g a i n s t a b a l e , her f a c e t u r n e d away, looking o u t the front o p e n i n g of the b a r n w h e r e hay w a s thrown from a w a g o n into the loft. T h e two pinks p e c k l e d hillsides lay b a c k a g a i n s t a dark ridge of w o o d s . T h e sky w a s c l o u d less a n d cold b l u e . T h e boy d r o p p e d d o w n by her side a n d p u t o n e a r m u n d e r her a n d the other over her a n d b e g a n m e t h o d i c a l l y k i s s i n g her f a c e , m a k i n g little n o i s e s like a fish. H e did not r e m o v e his hat b u t it w a s p u s h e d far e n o u g h b a c k not to interfere. W h e n her g l a s s e s got in his way, h e took t h e m off of her a n d slipped t h e m into his p o c k e t . T h e girl at first did not return any of the k i s s e s but presently s h e b e g a n to a n d after s h e h a d p u t several on his c h e e k , s h e r e a c h e d his lips a n d r e m a i n e d t h e r e , kissing him again a n d again a s if s h e were trying to draw all the b r e a t h o u t of him. H i s breath w a s clear a n d sweet like a child's a n d the k i s s e s were sticky like a child's. H e m u m b l e d a b o u t loving her a n d a b o u t k n o w i n g w h e n he first s e e n her that he loved her, but the m u m b l i n g w a s like the sleepy

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fretting of a child being put to sleep by his m o t h e r . H e r m i n d , t h r o u g h o u t this, never s t o p p e d or lost itself for a s e c o n d to her feelings. "You ain't said you loved m e n o n e , " he w h i s p e r e d finally, p u l l i n g b a c k from her. "You got to say t h a t . " S h e looked away from him off into the hollow sky a n d then d o w n at a black ridge a n d then down farther into what a p p e a r e d to be two green swelling lakes. S h e didn't realize he h a d taken her g l a s s e s but this l a n d s c a p e c o u l d not s e e m exceptional to her for she s e l d o m paid any c l o s e attention to her surroundings. "You got to say it," he r e p e a t e d . "You got to say you love m e . " S h e w a s always careful how she c o m m i t t e d herself. "In a s e n s e , " s h e b e g a n , "if you u s e the word loosely, you might say that. B u t it's not a word I u s e . I don't have illusions. I'm o n e of t h o s e p e o p l e w h o s e e through to nothing." T h e boy w a s frowning. "You got to say it. I said it a n d you got to say it," he said. T h e girl looked at him a l m o s t tenderly. "You p o o r b a b y , " s h e m u r m u r e d . "It's j u s t as well you don't u n d e r s t a n d , " a n d s h e pulled him by the n e c k , f a c e d o w n a g a i n s t her. " W e a r e all d a m n e d , " s h e s a i d , " b u t s o m e of u s have taken off our blindfolds a n d s e e that there's n o t h i n g to s e e . It's a kind of s a l v a t i o n . " T h e boy's a s t o n i s h e d eyes looked blankly t h r o u g h the e n d s of her hair. " O k a y , " he a l m o s t whined, " b u t do you love m e or d o n ' t c h e r ? " " Y e s , " s h e said a n d a d d e d , "in a s e n s e . B u t I m u s t tell you s o m e t h i n g . T h e r e m u s t n ' t be anything d i s h o n e s t b e t w e e n u s . " S h e lifted his h e a d a n d looked him in the eye. "I a m thirty years o l d , " s h e s a i d . "I have a n u m b e r of degrees." T h e boy's look w a s irritated but d o g g e d . "I don't c a r e , " h e s a i d . "I don't c a r e a thing a b o u t what all you d o n e . I j u s t want to know if you love m e or d o n ' t c h e r ? " a n d he c a u g h t her to him a n d wildly p l a n t e d her f a c e with k i s s e s until s h e said, "Yes, y e s . " " O k a y t h e n , " he s a i d , letting her go. "Prove it." S h e s m i l e d , looking dreamily out on the shifty l a n d s c a p e . S h e h a d s e d u c e d him without even m a k i n g u p her mind to try. " H o w ? " s h e a s k e d , feeling that he s h o u l d be delayed a little. H e leaned over a n d p u t his lips to her ear. " S h o w m e w h e r e your w o o d e n leg j o i n s o n , " he w h i s p e r e d . T h e girl uttered a s h a r p little cry a n d her f a c e instantly d r a i n e d of color. T h e obscenity of the s u g g e s t i o n w a s not what s h o c k e d her. As a child s h e h a d s o m e t i m e s b e e n s u b j e c t to feelings of s h a m e b u t e d u c a t i o n h a d r e m o v e d the last traces of that a s a g o o d s u r g e o n s c r a p e s for c a n c e r ; s h e would no m o r e have felt it over w h a t he w a s a s k i n g than s h e would have believed in his Bible. B u t she w a s a s sensitive a b o u t the artificial leg a s a p e a c o c k a b o u t his tail. N o o n e ever t o u c h e d it but her. S h e took c a r e of it a s s o m e o n e else w o u l d his soul, in private a n d a l m o s t with her own eyes t u r n e d away. " N o , " s h e said. "I known it," he m u t t e r e d , sitting u p . "You're j u s t playing m e for a s u c k e r . " " O h no n o ! " s h e cried. "It j o i n s o n at the k n e e . Only at the k n e e . W h y do you want to s e e i t ? " T h e boy gave her a long p e n e t r a t i n g look. " B e c a u s e , " h e said, "it's w h a t m a k e s you different. You ain't like anybody e l s e . " S h e sat s t a r i n g at h i m . T h e r e w a s n o t h i n g a b o u t her f a c e or her r o u n d

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freezing-blue eyes to i n d i c a t e that this had moved her; b u t s h e felt a s if her heart h a d s t o p p e d a n d left her mind to p u m p her bloooi. S h e d e c i d e d that for the first time in her life s h e w a s f a c e to face with real i n n o c e n c e . T h i s boy, with an instinct that c a m e from beyond w i s d o m , h a d t o u c h e d the truth a b o u t her. W h e n after a m i n u t e , s h e said in a h o a r s e high voice, "All right," it w a s like s u r r e n d e r i n g to him completely. It w a s like losing her own life a n d finding it a g a i n , m i r a c u l o u s l y , in his. Very gently he b e g a n to roll the s l a c k leg u p . T h e artificial l i m b , in a white s o c k a n d brown flat s h o e , w a s b o u n d in a heavy material like c a n v a s a n d e n d e d in a n ugly j o i n t u r e where it w a s a t t a c h e d to the s t u m p . T h e boy's f a c e a n d his voice were entirely reverent a s he u n c o v e r e d it a n d said, " N o w s h o w m e how to take it off a n d o n . " > S h e took it off for him a n d put it b a c k on again a n d then he took it off himself, h a n d l i n g it a s tenderly as if it were a real o n e . " S e e ! " h e said with a delighted child's f a c e . " N o w I c a n do it myself!" " P u t it b a c k o n , " s h e s a i d . S h e w a s thinking that s h e would run away with him a n d that every night he would take the leg off a n d every m o r n i n g p u t it b a c k on a g a i n . " P u t it b a c k o n , " s h e s a i d . " N o t yet," he m u r m u r e d , setting it on its foot o u t of her r e a c h . " L e a v e it off for a while. You got m e i n s t e a d . " S h e gave a cry of a l a r m but he p u s h e d her d o w n a n d b e g a n to kiss her a g a i n . W i t h o u t the leg s h e felt entirely d e p e n d e n t on h i m . H e r brain s e e m e d to have s t o p p e d thinking altogether a n d to be a b o u t s o m e other function that it w a s not very g o o d at. Different e x p r e s s i o n s r a c e d b a c k a n d forth over her f a c e . Every now a n d then the boy, his eyes like two steel s p i k e s , w o u l d g l a n c e behind him w h e r e the leg s t o o d . Finally s h e p u s h e d him off a n d said, " P u t it b a c k o n m e n o w . " " W a i t , " h e s a i d . H e leaned the other way a n d pulled the valise toward him a n d o p e n e d it. It h a d a pale b l u e s p o t t e d lining a n d there were only two Bibles in it. H e took o n e of t h e s e o u t a n d o p e n e d the cover of it. It w a s hollow a n d c o n t a i n e d a p o c k e t flask of whiskey, a p a c k of c a r d s , a n d a small blue box with printing on it. H e laid t h e s e out in front of her o n e at a time in a n evenly-spaced row, like o n e p r e s e n t i n g offerings at the shrine of a g o d d e s s . H e put the b l u e box in her h a n d . T H I S P R O D U C T T O B E U S E D O N L Y F O R T H E P R E V E N T I O N O F D I S E A S E , s h e r e a d , a n d d r o p p e d it. T h e boy w a s u n s c r e w i n g the top of the flask. H e s t o p p e d a n d p o i n t e d , with a s m i l e , to the d e c k of c a r d s . It w a s not an ordinary d e c k b u t o n e with an o b s c e n e picture on the b a c k of e a c h c a r d . " T a k e a s w i g , " he said, offering her the bottle first. H e held it in front of her, but like o n e m e s m e r i z e d , s h e did not m o v e . H e r voice w h e n she s p o k e h a d a n a l m o s t p l e a d i n g s o u n d . "Aren't y o u , " s h e m u r m u r e d , "aren't you j u s t g o o d country p e o p l e ? " T h e boy c o c k e d his h e a d . H e looked a s if he were j u s t b e g i n n i n g to u n d e r s t a n d that she might be trying to insult him. " Y e a h , " h e s a i d , c u r l i n g his lip slightly, "but it ain't held m e b a c k n o n e . I'm a s g o o d a s you any day in the week." "Give m e my l e g , " she said. H e p u s h e d it farther away with his foot. " C o m e on now, let's begin to have u s a g o o d t i m e , " h e said coaxingly. " W e ain't got to know o n e a n o t h e r g o o d yet."

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"Give m e my leg!" s h e s c r e a m e d a n d tried to lunge for it but he p u s h e d her down easily. "What's the matter with you all of a s u d d e n ? " he a s k e d , frowning as he screwed the top on the flask a n d p u t it quickly b a c k inside the B i b l e . "You j u s t a while a g o said you didn't believe in nothing. I t h o u g h t you w a s s o m e girl!" H e r face w a s a l m o s t p u r p l e . "You're a C h r i s t i a n ! " s h e h i s s e d . "You're a fine C h r i s t i a n ! You're j u s t like t h e m a l l — s a y o n e thing a n d d o a n o t h e r . You're a perfect C h r i s t i a n , you're . . ." T h e boy's m o u t h w a s set angrily. "I h o p e you don't think," he said in a lofty indignant t o n e , "that I believe in that c r a p ! I may sell Bibles but I know which end is u p a n d 1 wasn't born yesterday a n d I know w h e r e I'm g o i n g ! " " G i v e m e my l e g ! " s h e s c r e e c h e d . H e j u m p e d up s o quickly that s h e barely s a w him s w e e p the c a r d s a n d the b l u e box into the Bible a n d throw the Bible into the valise. S h e s a w him g r a b the leg a n d then s h e s a w it for a n instant slanted forlornly a c r o s s the inside of the s u i t c a s e with a B i b l e at either side of its o p p o s i t e e n d s . H e s l a m m e d the lid s h u t a n d s n a t c h e d u p the valise a n d s w u n g it down the hole a n d then s t e p p e d t h r o u g h himself. W h e n all of him h a d p a s s e d but his h e a d , he turned a n d r e g a r d e d her with a look that no longer h a d any a d m i r a t i o n in it. "I've gotten a lot of interesting t h i n g s , " he said. " O n e time I got a w o m a n ' s g l a s s eye this way. A n d you needn't to think you'll c a t c h m e b e c a u s e Pointer ain't really my n a m e . I u s e a different n a m e at every h o u s e I call at a n d don't stay n o w h e r e long. A n d I'll tell you a n o t h e r thing, H u l g a , " h e said, u s i n g the n a m e a s if he didn't think m u c h of it, "you ain't s o s m a r t . I b e e n believing in n o t h i n g every s i n c e I w a s b o r n ! " a n d then the toast-colored hat d i s a p p e a r e d d o w n the hole a n d the girl w a s left, sitting on the straw in the dusty sunlight. W h e n she turned her c h u r n i n g f a c e toward the o p e n i n g , s h e s a w his b l u e figure struggling s u c c e s s f u l l y over the green s p e c k l e d lake. M r s . Hopewell a n d M r s . F r e e m a n , w h o were in the b a c k p a s t u r e , digging up o n i o n s , saw him e m e r g e a little later from the w o o d s a n d h e a d a c r o s s the m e a d o w toward the highway. "Why, that looks like that nice dull y o u n g m a n that tried to sell m e a Bible yesterday," M r s . H o p e w e l l said, s q u i n t i n g . " H e m u s t have b e e n selling t h e m to the N e g r o e s b a c k in t h e r e . H e w a s so s i m p l e , " she said, " b u t I g u e s s the world would be better off if we were all that s i m p l e . " M r s . F r e e m a n ' s gaze drove forward a n d j u s t t o u c h e d him before he disa p p e a r e d u n d e r the hill. T h e n s h e returned her attention to the evil-smelling onion shoot s h e w a s lifting from the g r o u n d . " S o m e can't be that s i m p l e , " s h e said. "I know I never c o u l d . " 1955

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PAULE b.

MARSHALL 1929

Much of Paule Marshall's fiction explores the contrast between the Brooklyn of her childhood and her Caribbean heritage, specifically the Barbados from which her parents emigrated and to which her mother took her on visits. Such a heritage, at the crossroads of New World exploration and slave-trade exploitation, makes for a complex set of choices. How does one define oneself, her characters wonder: as Africans displaced to another hemisphere, as Americans in a newly formed multicultural society, or as Caribbeans whose identities are themselves a result of colonial forces? Finding an identity apart from the trauma of racial oppression is a deeply psychological as well as artistic exercise. Marshall's early novels are noteworthy for giving women the power to define themselves, a power derived from their ability to verbalize their feelings. In her essay "Poets in the Kitchen" Marshall tells of how much she learned listening to her mother talking with friends and relatives—not just the subjects they covered but the rhythmic imperative of speech that liberated their powers of expression. When the two characters in "Reena" spend most of their story conversing, it is for this writer a sign of women gaining control of their thoughts and ultimately of their world. This is the oral tradition so evident in Marshall's fiction. The technique establishes Marshall as the earliest contributor to what critic Mary Helen Washington describes as "the renaissance of black women writers" that by the 1970s was flourishing with work from Gloria Naylor, Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, and Toni Cade Bambara as well. In addition to its strong focus on the oral nature of storytelling, "Reena" reflects another important factor in Marshall's fiction, that of the autobiographical. By naming her narrator after herself and drawing so closely on her OWTI background, Marshall invites the readers to accept her work as memoirs if they wish. Her career shows that the power to write fiction depends on the developed ability to work with one's place in the world, to understand it and employ it as the base of independence and selfsufficiency. Brown Girl, Brownstones (1959), Marshall's first novel, traces a young woman's quest for assimilation in the context of her parents' immigrant limitations. Whereas earlier writers at times treat such conditions in terms of embracing survival and recording defeats, Marshall shows from the start how affirmation is possible by addressing spiritual rather than material concerns. Assimilation by itself can mean a surrender to materialism, a point made strongly in this first novel and reinforced in the stories of Soul Clap Hands and Sing (1961), where men's worldly success seems paltry compared to the inner life women can lose in the process. That a much more important goal can be achieved by a fundamental revolution in values emerges as the underlying theme of The Chosen Place, the Timeless People (1969), a novel that introduces mainland researchers to a supposedly inferior society in the Caribbean where multiple heritage and colonial domination are demonstrated in specifics of character, plot, and action. A similar contrast of values distinguishes Praisesong for the Widow (1983); in this novel Marshall returns to the Caribbean in a ritual journey to honor West Indian ancestors and reclaim what vestiges of African heritage they were able to maintain. In Daughters (1991) Marshall's confident protagonist, supported by a strong mother and good community, asserts herself politically, socially, and personally. This accomplishment completes the trend toward independence and selfsufficiency that began with the short fiction of Reena and Other Stories (1983) and is expressed so confidently in her novel The Fisher King (2000). Marshall's professional career builds on both her fiction and her 1953 degree in English from Brooklyn College. After working as a journalist, she taught writing at Yale and Columbia. As background for both The Chosen Place, the Timeless People and Praisesong for the Widow Marshall spent time in Haiti. In addition to her fiction,

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she has published essays and poetry, and remains a leading spokesperson for literary and social issues. The text is that of Reena and Other Stories (1983).

Reena Like m o s t p e o p l e with u n p l e a s a n t c h i l d h o o d s , I a m o n c o n s t a n t g u a r d a g a i n s t the p a s t — t h e p a s t being for m e the p e o p l e a n d p l a c e s a s s o c i a t e d with the years I served out my girlhood in Brooklyn. T h e p l a c e s n o longer matter that m u c h s i n c e m o s t of t h e m have v a n i s h e d . T h e old g r a m m a r s c h o o l , for i n s t a n c e , P . S . 1 35 ("Dirty 5's" we called it a n d with justification) has b e e n r e p l a c e d by a low, coldly functional a r r a n g e m e n t of g l a s s a n d Perm a s t o n e which b e a r s its n a m e b u t h a s n o n e of the feel of a school a b o u t it. T h e small, grudgingly lighted stores a l o n g F u l t o n S t r e e t , the s o d a parlor that w a s like a c h u r c h with its s t a i n e d - g l a s s p a n e l s in the d o o r a n d m a r b l e floor have given way to t h o s e i m p e r s o n a l e m p o r i u m s , the s u p e r m a r k e t s . O u r h o u s e even, a b r o w n s t o n e relic w h o s e halls s m e l l e d comfortingly of d u s t a n d lemon oil, the s o m n o l e n t street u p o n which it s t o o d , the tall, m u s c u l a r trees which s h a d e d it were leveled years a g o to m a k e way for a city h o u s i n g proje c t — a stark, g r a c e l e s s warren for the poor. S o that now w h e n e v e r I revisit that old section of Brooklyn a n d s e e t h e s e new a n d ugly f o r m s , I feel n o t h i n g . I might as well b e in a s t r a n g e city. B u t it is a n o t h e r m a t t e r with the p e o p l e of my p a s t , the f a c e s that in their d a r k n e s s were myriad reflections of m i n e . W h e n e v e r I e n c o u n t e r t h e m at the funeral or w a k e , the w e d d i n g or c h r i s t e n i n g — t h o s e c e r e m o n i e s by w h i c h the p a s t reaffirms its h o l d — m y g u a r d drops a n d m e m o r i e s b a n i s h e d to the rear of the m i n d r u s h forward to rout the p r e s e n t . I a l m o s t b e c o m e the child a g a i n — a n x i o u s a n d angry, disgracefully diffident. R e e n a w a s o n e of the p e o p l e from that t i m e , a n d a m a i n c o n t r i b u t o r to my s e n s e of i n e f f e c t u a l n e s s then. S h e h a d not d o n e this deliberately. It w a s j u s t that w h e n e v e r s h e talked a b o u t herself (and this w a s not as often a s m o s t p e o p l e ) s h e s e e m e d to be talking a b o u t m e a l s o . S h e ruthlessly analyzed herself, s p a r i n g herself nothing. H e r honesty w a s so a b s o l u t e it w a s a kind of cruelty. S h e had not c h a n g e d , I w a s to discover in m e e t i n g her again after a s e p aration of twenty years. N o r h a d I really. F o r a l t h o u g h the years h a d altered our positions (she w a s n o longer the lord a n d I the lackey) a n d I c o u l d even afford to forgive her now, s h e still h a d the ability to d i s t u r b m e profoundly by d r e d g i n g to the s u r f a c e t h o s e a s p e c t s of myself that I kept b u r i e d . T h i s time, a s I listened to her talk over the stretch of o n e long night, s h e m a d e vivid without knowing it what is p e r h a p s the m o s t critical fact of my exist e n c e — t h a t definition of m e , of her a n d millions like u s , f o r m u l a t e d by others to serve out their f a n t a s i e s , a definition we have to c o m b a t at a n u n c o n s c i o n a b l e c o s t to the self a n d even u s e , at t i m e s , in order to survive; the c a u s e of s o m u c h s h a m e a n d rage a s well a s , oddly e n o u g h , a s o u r c e of

1. Public School.

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pride: simply, what it h a s m e a n t , w h a t it m e a n s , to b e a b l a c k w o m a n in America. W e m e t — R e e n a a n d m y s e l f — a t the funeral of her a u n t w h o h a d b e e n my g o d m o t h e r a n d w h o m I h a d a l s o called a u n t , A u n t Vi, a n d loved, for s h e a n d her h o u s e h a d b e e n , respectively, a s o u r c e of u n d e r s t a n d i n g a n d a p l a c e of c a l m for m e a s a child. R e e n a entered the c h u r c h w h e r e the funeral service w a s b e i n g held a s t h o u g h s h e , not the minister, were c o m i n g to officiate, sat down a m o n g the i m m e d i a t e family u p front, a n d t u r n e d to i n s p e c t t h o s e behind her. I s a w her f a c e t h e n . It w a s a g o o d copy of the original. T h e familiar m o l d w a s there, that is, a n d the configuration of b o n e b e n e a t h the skin w a s the s a m e d e s p i t e the slight fleshiness I h a d never s e e n there b e f o r e ; her f e a t u r e s h a d even r e t a i n e d their distinctive t o u c h e s : the positive set to her m o u t h , the assertive lift to her n o s e , the s a m e insistent, u n s e t t l i n g eyes which w h e n s h e w a s angry b e c a m e a s b l a c k a s her s k i n — a n d this w a s total, unnerving, a n d very b e a u tiful. Yet s o m e t h i n g h a d h a p p e n e d to her f a c e . It w a s different d e s p i t e its s a m e n e s s . A g i n g even while it r e m a i n e d enviably y o u n g . T i m e h a d s k e t c h e d in, very lightly, the e v i d e n c e of the twenty years. As s o o n a s the funeral service w a s over, I left, hurrying out of the c h u r c h into the early N o v e m b e r night. T h e wind, already at its winter strength, brought with it the smell of d e a d leaves a n d the i m a g e of A u n t Vi there in the c h u r c h , a s d e a d a s the l e a v e s — a s well as the t h o u g h t of R e e n a , w h o m I would s e e later at the w a k e . H e r real n a m e h a d b e e n D o r e e n , a s t a n d a r d for girls a m o n g W e s t I n d i a n s (her m o t h e r , like my p a r e n t s , w a s from B a r b a d o s ) , but s h e h a d c h a n g e d it to R e e n a on her twelfth b i r t h d a y — " A s a p r e s e n t to m y s e l f " — a n d h a d enforced the c h a n g e on her family by r e f u s i n g to a n s w e r to the old n a m e . " R e e n a . W i t h two e's!" s h e would say a n d imprint t h o s e e's on your m i n d with the indelible b l a c k of her eyes a n d a thin t h r e a t e n i n g finger that w a s like a quill. S h e a n d I h a d not b e e n friends t h r o u g h our own c h o i c e . R a t h e r , our m o t h ers, who h a d known e a c h other s i n c e c h i l d h o o d , h a d forced the relationship. And from the b e g i n n i n g , I h a d b e e n at a d i s a d v a n t a g e . F o r R e e n a , a s early a s the a g e of twelve, h a d h a d a quality that w a s u n i q u e , superior, a n d therefore d a n g e r o u s . S h e s e e m e d defined, even t h e n , all of a p i e c e , the raw e d g e s of her a d o l e s c e n c e s m o o t h e d over; i n d e e d , s h e s e e m e d to have e s c a p e d a d o l e s c e n c e altogether a n d m a d e o n e dazzling l e a p from c h i l d h o o d into the very a r e n a of adult life. At thirteen, for i n s t a n c e , s h e w a s r e a d i n g Zola, H a u p t m a n n , S t e i n b e c k , while I w a s still in the thrall of the Little M i n i s t e r a n d L o r n a D o o n e . 2 W h e n I c o u l d only barely c o n c e i v e of the world b e y o n d Brooklyn, s h e w a s talking of the Civil W a r in S p a i n , lynchings in the S o u t h , Hitler in P o l a n d * — a n d talking with the o u t r a g e a n d p a s s i o n of a revolutionary. I would try, I r e m e m b e r , to c o n s o l e myself with the t h o u g h t that s h e was really a n adult m a s q u e r a d i n g a s a child, which m e a n t that I c o u l d not possibly be her m a t c h . F o r her part, B e e n a p u t u p with m e a n d w a s , by t u r n s , p a t r o n i z i n g a n d 2. I.e., staples of mature readership instead of children's literature. Emile Zola ( 1 8 4 0 - 1 9 0 2 ) , French novelist. Gerhardt Hauptmann (1862— 1946), German dramatist, novelist, and poet. John

Steinbeck ( 1 9 0 2 - 1 9 6 8 ) , American novelist. T h e Little Minister and Lorna Doone are characters of children's literature. 3. Important news events of the late 1930s.

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impatient. I merely served a s the a u d i e n c e before w h o m s h e r e h e a r s e d her ideas and the yardstick by which she m e a s u r e d her worldliness a n d knowledge. " D o you realize that this stupid country s u p p l i e d J a p a n with the s c r a p iron to m a k e the w e a p o n s she's now u s i n g a g a i n s t i t ? " s h e h a d s h o u t e d at m e once. I h a d not known that. J u s t a s she o v e r w h e l m e d m e , s h e overwhelmed her family, with the result that d e s p i t e a half dozen brothers a n d sisters w h o c o n s u m e d q u a n t i t i e s of bread a n d j a m whenever they visited u s , s h e b e h a v e d like an only child a n d got away with it. H e r father, a gentle m a n with skin the color of dried t o b a c c o a n d with the n o s e R e e n a h a d inherited j u t t i n g o u t like a c r a g from his nondescript f a c e , h a d c o m e from G e o r g i a a n d w a s always m a k i n g j o k e s a b o u t having married a f o r e i g n e r — R e e n a ' s m o t h e r b e i n g from the W e s t I n d i e s . W h e n not j o k i n g , h e s e e m e d slightly bewildered by his large family a n d s o in awe of R e e n a that he avoided her. Reena's m o t h e r , a s m a l l , dry, formidably black w o m a n , w a s less a p e r s o n to m e than the a b s t r a c t principle of force, power, energy. S h e w a s alternately strict a n d i n d u l g e n t with R e e n a a n d , d e s p i t e the inconsistency, surprisingly effective. T h e y lived w h e n I knew t h e m in a cold-water railroad flat a b o v e a k o s h e r 4 b u t c h e r on B e l m o n t A v e n u e in Brownsville, s o m e d i s t a n c e from u s — a n d this in itself a d d e d to Reena's exotic quality. F o r it w a s a p l a c e w h e r e S u n d a y b e c a m e S a t u r d a y , with all the stores o p e n a n d p u s h c a r t s piled with vegetables a n d yard g o o d s lined u p a l o n g the c u r b , a c r o w d e d p l a c e w h e r e p e o p l e hawked a n d spat freely in the s t r e a m i n g gutters a n d the m e n looked a s if they h a d j u s t s t e p p e d from the p a g e s of the O l d T e s t a m e n t with their p r o f u s e b e a r d s a n d long, black, satin c o a t s . W h e n R e e n a w a s fifteen her family m o v e d to J a m a i c a 5 in Q u e e n s a n d s i n c e , in t h o s e d a y s , J a m a i c a w a s c o n s i d e r e d too far away for visiting, our families lost c o n t a c t a n d I did not s e e R e e n a again until we were both in college a n d then only o n c e a n d not to s p e a k to. . . . I h a d walked s o m e d i s t a n c e a n d by the time I got to the w a k e , which w a s b e i n g held at A u n t Vi's h o u s e , it w a s well u n d e r way. It w a s a g o o d w a k e . A u n t Vi would have b e e n p l e a s e d . T h e r e w a s plenty to drink, a n d m o r e than e n o u g h to eat, i n c l u d i n g s o m e B a r b a d i a n favorites: c o c o n u t b r e a d , p o n e m a d e with the c a s s a v a root, a n d the little crisp codfish c a k e s that a r e s o hot with p e p p e r s they bring tears to the eyes as you bite into t h e m . I h a d m i s s e d the b e g i n n i n g , w h e n everyone h a d p r o b a b l y sat a r o u n d talking a b o u t A u n t Vi a n d recalling the few events that h a d d i s t i n g u i s h e d her otherwise u n d i s t i n g u i s h e d life. ( S o m e o n e , I'm s u r e , h a d told of the time s h e h a d m i s s e d the excursion b o a t to Atlantic City* a n d h a d h a d her own private p i c n i c — c o m p l e t e with p i g e o n p e a s a n d rice a n d f r i c a s s e e c h i c k e n — o n the pier at 4 2 n d S t r e e t . ) By the time I arrived, t h o u g h , it would have b e e n indiscreet to m e n t i o n her n a m e , for by then the wake h a d b e c o m e — a n d this would also have p l e a s e d h e r — a celebration of life. I had h a d two drinks, o n e right after the other, a n d w a s well into my third 4. Signifying food approved for consumption under Jewish dietary laws; a reminder that Brownsville was traditionally an Orthodox Jewish neighborhood.

5. An outlying part of New York City in the borough of Queens. 6. A seaside resort and amusement park in New Jersey.

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w h e n R e e n a , w h o m u s t have b e e n u p s t a i r s , e n t e r e d the b a s e m e n t k i t c h e n w h e r e I w a s . S h e s a w m e before I h a d quite s e e n her, a n d with a cry that alerted the entire r o o m to her p r e s e n c e a n d c h a r g e d the air with h e r s p e c i a l force, s h e r u s h e d toward m e . " H e y , I'm the o n e w h o w a s s u p p o s e d to be the writer, not you! D o you know, I still can't believe it," s h e said, s t e p p i n g b a c k , her b l a c k n e s s heighte n e d by a white m o c k i n g s m i l e . "I read both your b o o k s over a n d over a g a i n a n d I can't really believe it. M y Little P a u l i e ! " I did not m i n d . F o r there w a s r e s p e c t a n d even w o n d e r b e h i n d the p a t r o n izing words a n d in her eyes. T h e old i m b a l a n c e b e t w e e n u s h a d e n d e d a n d I w a s s u d d e n l y glad to s e e her. I told her s o a n d we both b e g a n talking at o n c e , b u t Reena's voice overp o w e r e d m i n e , s o that all I c o u l d do after a time w a s listen while s h e disc u s s e d my b o o k s , a n d dutifully a n s w e r her q u e s t i o n s a b o u t my p e r s o n a l life. "And what a b o u t y o u ? " I said, a l m o s t brutally, at the first c h a n c e I got. "What've you b e e n up to all this t i m e ? " S h e got up abruptly. " G o o d L o r d , in here's noisy a s hell. C o m e o n , let's go u p s t a i r s . " W e got fresh drinks a n d went u p to A u n t Vi's b e d r o o m , w h e r e in the soft light from the l a m p s , the h u g e Victorian b e d a n d the pink satin b e d s p r e a d with r o s e s of the s a m e material strewn over its s u r f a c e looked a s if they h a d never b e e n u s e d . A n d , in a way, this w a s true. A u n t Vi h a d s e l d o m slept in her b e d or, for that matter, lived in her h o u s e , b e c a u s e in order to pay for it, s h e h a d h a d to work at a sleeping-in j o b which gave her only T h u r s d a y s a n d every other S u n d a y off. R e e n a sat o n the b e d , c r u s h i n g the r o s e s , a n d I sat on o n e of the n u m e r o u s trunks which c r o w d e d the r o o m . T h e y c o n t a i n e d every d r e s s , c o a t , hat, a n d s h o e that A u n t Vi h a d worn s i n c e c o m i n g to the U n i t e d S t a t e s . I again a s k e d R e e n a w h a t she h a d b e e n d o i n g over the years. " D o you w a n t a blow by blow a c c o u n t ? " s h e s a i d . B u t d e s p i t e the flippancy, s h e w a s s u d d e n l y s e r i o u s . A n d w h e n s h e b e g a n it w a s clear that s h e h a d written o u t the narrative in her m i n d m a n y t i m e s . T h e w o r d s c a m e too easily; the events, the i n c i d e n t s h a d b e e n o r d e r e d in t i m e , a n d the m e a n i n g of her behavior a n d of the p e o p l e with w h o m s h e h a d b e e n involved h a d b e e n painstakingly analyzed. S h e talked willingly, with d e s p e r a t i o n a l m o s t . A n d the w o r d s by t h e m s e l v e s weren't e n o u g h . S h e u s e d her h a n d s to give t h e m form a n d urgency. I b e c a m e totally involved with her a n d all that s h e s a i d . S o m u c h so that a s the night wore on I w a s not certain at t i m e s w h e t h e r it was s h e or I s p e a k i n g . F r o m the time her family m o v e d to J a m a i c a until s h e w a s n i n e t e e n or s o , Reena's life s o u n d e d , from what s h e told m e in the b e g i n n i n g , a s ordinary a s m i n e a n d m o s t of the girls we knew. After high s c h o o l s h e h a d g o n e o n to o n e of the free city c o l l e g e s , where s h e h a d m a j o r e d in j o u r n a l i s m , w o r k e d part time in the school library, a n d , surprisingly e n o u g h , j o i n e d a h o u s e p l a n . (Even I hadn't g o n e that far.) It w a s a n a l l - N e g r o c l u b , s i n c e t h e r e w a s a tacit u n d e r s t a n d i n g that N e g r o a n d white girls did not j o i n e a c h other's h o u s e p l a n s . " I n t e g r a t i o n , N o r t h e r n style," s h e said, s h r u g g i n g . It s e e m s that R e e n a h a d h a d a p u r p o s e a n d a p l a n in j o i n i n g the g r o u p . "I t h o u g h t , " s h e said with a wry s m i l e , "I c o u l d get t h o s e girls u p off their c o m p l a c e n t r u m p s a n d out d o i n g s o m e t h i n g a b o u t social i s s u e s . . . . I couldn't get t h e m to b u d g e . I r e m e m b e r after the war w h e n a N e g r o ex-

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soldier h a d his eyes g o u g e d out by a b u s driver d o w n S o u t h I tried getting them to d e m o n s t r a t e on c a m p u s . I talked until I w a s h o a r s e , but to n o avail. They were too b u s y p l a n n i n g the a n n u a l a u t u m n frolic." H e r laugh w a s bitter but forgiving a n d it e n d e d in a long, reflective s i l e n c e . After which s h e said quietly, "It wasn't that they didn't give a d a m n . It w a s j u s t , I s u p p o s e , that like m o s t p e o p l e they didn't w a n t to get involved to the extent that they might have to s t a n d u p a n d be c o u n t e d . If it ever c a m e to that. T h e n a n o t h e r thing. T h e y thought they were s a f e , s p e c i a l . After all, they h a d grown u p in the N o r t h , m o s t of t h e m , a n d s o h a d e s c a p e d the southern-style p r e j u d i c e ; their p a r e n t s , like m i n e , were struggling to p u t them through c o l l e g e ; they c o u l d look forward to b e i n g tidy little schoolt e a c h e r s , social workers, a n d lab t e c h n i c i a n s . O h , they were s a f e ! " T h e sarc a s m s c o r e d her voice a n d then abruptly gave way to pity. " P o o r things, they weren't s a f e , you s e e , a n d would never be a s long a s millions like t h e m s e l v e s in H a r l e m , on C h i c a g o ' s S o u t h S i d e , 7 down S o u t h , all over the p l a c e , were u n s a f e . I tried to tell t h e m t h i s — a n d they a c c u s e d m e of b e i n g oversensitive. T h e y tried not to listen. B u t I would have held out a n d , I'm s u r e , even brought s o m e of t h e m a r o u n d eventually if this other b u s i n e s s with a silly boy hadn't h a p p e n e d at the s a m e t i m e . . . ." R e e n a told m e then a b o u t her first, brief, a n d a p p a r e n t l y i n n o c e n t affair with a boy s h e h a d met at o n e of the h o u s e p l a n p a r t i e s . It h a d e n d e d , s h e said, w h e n the boy's p a r e n t s h a d m e t her. " T h a t w a s it," s h e said a n d the flat of her h a n d c u t into the air. " H e w a s forbidden to s e e m e . T h e r e a s o n ? H e couldn't bring himself to tell m e , but I knew. I w a s too black. "Naturally, it wasn't the first time s o m e t h i n g like that h a d h a p p e n e d . In fact, you might say that w a s the t h e m e of my c h i l d h o o d . B e c a u s e I w a s dark I was always b e i n g p l a s t e r e d with V a s e l i n e so I wouldn't look ashy. W h e n e v e r I had my picture taken they would pile a whitish p o w d e r on my f a c e a n d m a k e the lights so bright I always c a m e out looking ghostly. M y m o t h e r s t o p p e d s p e a k i n g to any n u m b e r of p e o p l e b e c a u s e they s a i d I w o u l d have b e e n pretty if I hadn't b e e n s o dark. Like nearly every little b l a c k girl, I h a d my s h a r e of d r e a m s of waking u p to find myself with long, b l o n d c u r l s , b l u e eyes, a n d skin like milk. S o I s h o u l d have b e e n p r e p a r e d . B e s i d e s , that boy's p a r e n t s were really rejecting t h e m s e l v e s in rejecting m e . " T a k e u s " — a n d her h a n d s , o p e n i n g in front of my f a c e a s s h e s u d d e n l y leaned forward, s e e m e d to offer m e the whole of b l a c k h u m a n i t y . " W e live s u r r o u n d e d by white i m a g e s , a n d white in this world is s y n o n y m o u s with the g o o d , light, beauty, s u c c e s s , so that, d e s p i t e ourselves s o m e t i m e s , we run after that w h i t e n e s s a n d deny our d a r k n e s s , which h a s b e e n m a d e into the symbol of all that is evil a n d inferior. I wasn't a p e r s o n to that boy's p a r e n t s , but a symbol of the d a r k n e s s they were in flight from, so that j u s t a s t h e y — that boy, his p a r e n t s , t h o s e silly girls in the h o u s e p l a n — w e r e r u n n i n g from m e , I started r u n n i n g from t h e m . . . ." It m u s t have b e e n shortly after this h a p p e n e d w h e n I s a w R e e n a at a d e b a t e which w a s b e i n g held at my c o l l e g e . S h e did not s e e m e , s i n c e s h e w a s o n e of the s p e a k e r s a n d I w a s merely part of her a u d i e n c e in the c r o w d e d auditorium. T h e topic h a d s o m e t h i n g to do with intellectual f r e e d o m in the colleges ( M c C a r t h y i s m 8 w a s c o m i n g into v o g u e then) a n d a s i d e from a J e w i s h 7. African American neighborhoods in New York City and Chicago, respectively. 8. Anticommunist investigations led by U . S . sen-

ator J o s e p h McCarthy, Republican from Wisconsin from 1946 to 1957.

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boy from City C o l l e g e , R e e n a w a s the m o s t e f f e c t i v e — s h a r p , p r o v o c a t i v e , her position the m o s t radical. T h e others on the p a n e l s e e m e d i n t i m i d a t e d not only by the strength a n d c o g e n c y of her a r g u m e n t b u t by the s h e e r i m p a c t of her b l a c k n e s s in their white midst. H e r color might have b e e n a w e a p o n s h e u s e d to dazzle a n d d i s a r m h e r o p p o n e n t s . A n d s h e h a d highlighted it with the c l o t h e s s h e w a s w e a r i n g : a white d r e s s p a t t e r n e d with large b l o c k s of primary colors I r e m e m b e r (it looked M e x i c a n ) a n d a pair of intricately wrought silver e a r r i n g s — l o n g a n d with m a n y little parts which c l a s h e d like m u t e d c y m b a l s over t h e m i c r o p h o n e e a c h time s h e m o v e d her h e a d . S h e wore her hair c r o p p e d short like a boy's a n d it w a s not s t r a i g h t e n e d like m i n e a n d the other N e g r o girls' in the a u d i e n c e , b u t left in its c o a r s e natural state: a small forest u n d e r w h i c h her f a c e e m e r g e d in its i n t e n s e a n d startling h a n d s o m e n e s s . I r e m e m b e r s h e left t h e a u d i t o r i u m in t r i u m p h that day, s u r r o u n d e d by a noisy e n t o u r a g e from h e r college—all of them white. " W e were very s e r i o u s , " s h e said n o w , d e s c r i b i n g the leftwing g r o u p s h e h a d b e l o n g e d to t h e n — a n d there w a s a d e f e n s i v e n e s s in her voice w h i c h s o u g h t to protect t h e m from all c e n s u r e . " W e b e l i e v e d — b e c a u s e w e were young, I s u p p o s e , a n d h a d n o t h i n g a s yet to r i s k — t h a t w e c o u l d d o s o m e t h i n g a b o u t the injustices which everyone a r o u n d us s e e m e d to take for g r a n t e d . S o w e picketed a n d d e m o n s t r a t e d a n d b o m b a r d e d W a s h i n g t o n with o u r p r o t e s t s , only to have o u r n a m e s a d d e d to the Attorney G e n e r a l ' s list for all o u r trouble. W e were always s t a n d i n g on street c o r n e r s h a n d i n g o u t leaflets or getting p e o p l e to sign petitions. W e always s e e m e d to pick the c o l d e s t days to d o t h a t . " H e r smile held long after the w o r d s h a d died. " I , w e all, h a d s u c h a s e n s e of p u r p o s e t h e n , " s h e said softly, a n d a s a d n e s s lay a s l a n t t h e smile now, d a r k e n i n g it. " W e were forever holding m e e t i n g s , having e n d l e s s d i s c u s s i o n s , a r g u i n g , s h o u t i n g , theorizing. A n d we h a d fun. T h o s e parties! T h e r e w a s always s o m e b o d y with a guitar. W e were always singing. . . ." S u d d e n l y , s h e b e g a n s i n g i n g — a n d her voice w a s s u r e , militant, a n d faintly self-mocking, "But

the banks

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a guard

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are

made

at every

the vaults the workers

are

of

stuffed sweated

marble

door with for

. .

silver ."9

W h e n s h e s p o k e again the w o r d s were a s a d c o d a to the s o n g . "Well, a s you probably know, things c a m e to a n ugly h e a d with M c C a r t h y reigning in W a s h i n g t o n , a n d I w a s o n e of t h e p e o p l e temporarily s u s p e n d e d from school." S h e broke off a n d we both waited, the ice in o u r g l a s s e s m e l t e d a n d the drinks g o n e flat. "At first, I didn't m i n d , " s h e said finally. "After all, w e were right. T h e fact that they s u s p e n d e d u s proved it. B e s i d e s , I w a s in t h e m i d d l e o f a n affair, a real o n e this t i m e , a n d too busy with that to c a r e a b o u t a n y t h i n g e l s e . " S h e p a u s e d a g a i n , frowning. " H e w a s w h i t e , " s h e said quickly a n d g l a n c e d at m e a s t h o u g h to s u r p r i s e either s h o c k or disapproval in my f a c e . " W e were very involved. At o n e 9. A popular protest song among labor activists during the Great Depression of the 1930s.

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p o i n t — I think j u s t after we h a d b e e n s u s p e n d e d a n d he started w o r k i n g — we even t h o u g h t of getting married. Living in N e w York, m o v i n g in the crowd we did, we might have b e e n able to m a n a g e it. B u t I couldn't. T h e r e were too m a n y c o m p l e x things g o i n g on b e n e a t h the s u r f a c e , " s h e said, her voice strained by the h o p e l e s s n e s s she m u s t have felt then, her h a n d s s h a p i n g it in the air b e t w e e n u s . " N e i t h e r o n e of us c o u l d really e s c a p e what our color h a d c o m e to m e a n in this country. Let m e explain. B o b w a s always, for s o m e o d d r e a s o n , talking a b o u t how m u c h the N e g r o suffered, a n d a l t h o u g h I would a g r e e with him I would a l s o try to get a c r o s s that, you know, like all p e o p l e we a l s o h a d fun o n c e in a while, loved our children, liked m a k i n g l o v e — t h a t we were h u m a n b e i n g s , for G o d ' s s a k e . B u t he only w a n t e d to hear a b o u t the suffering. It w a s a s if this c o m f o r t e d him a n d e a s e d his own s u f f e r i n g — a n d he did suffer b e c a u s e of any n u m b e r of things: his own uncertainty, for o n e , his difficulties with his family, for a n o t h e r . . . " O n c e , I r e m e m b e r , w h e n his father c a m e into N e w York, B o b insisted that I m e e t h i m . I don't know why I a g r e e d to go with h i m . . . ." S h e took a d e e p breath a n d raised her h e a d very high. "I'll never forget or forgive the look on that old m a n ' s f a c e w h e n he o p e n e d his hotel-room door a n d saw m e . T h e horror. I might have b e e n the personification of every evil in the world. His inability to believe that it was his son s t a n d i n g there holding my h a n d . His s h o c k . I'm s u r e he never fully recovered. I know I never did. N o r can I forget Bob's laugh in the elevator afterwards, the way he kept r e p e a t i n g : 'Did you see his f a c e when he saw you? Did y o u ? . . . ' H e h a d u s e d m e , you s e e . I had b e e n the m e a n s , the i n s t r u m e n t of his revenge. "And I wasn't any better. I u s e d him. I took every opportunity to treat him shabbily, trying, you s e e , through him, to get at that white world which h a d not only d e n i e d m e , but h a d turned my own a g a i n s t m e . " H e r eyes c l o s e d . "I went n u m b all over w h e n I u n d e r s t o o d what we were d o i n g to, a n d with, e a c h other. I stayed n u m b for a long t i m e . " As B e e n a d e s c r i b e d the events which f o l l o w e d — t h e b r e a k with B o b , her gradual withdrawal from the left-wing g r o u p ("I h a d h a d it with t h e m too. I got tired of being 'their N e g r o , ' their pet. B e s i d e s , they were j u s t all talk, really. All theories a n d a b s t r a c t i o n s . I d o u b t that, with all their e l a b o r a t e plans for the N e g r o a n d for the workers of the world, any of t h e m h a d ever been near a factory or up to H a r l e m " ) — a s she s p o k e a b o u t her r e i n s t a t e m e n t in s c h o o l , her voice s u g g e s t e d the n u m b n e s s s h e h a d felt t h e n . It only stirred into life again w h e n s h e talked of her g r a d u a t i o n . "You s h o u l d have s e e n my p a r e n t s . It w a s really their day. M y m o t h e r w a s so proud s h e c o m p l a i n e d a b o u t everything: her s e a t , the h e a t , the s p e a k e r ; a n d my father j u s t sat there long after everybody had left, too a w e d to m o v e . G o d , it m e a n t so m u c h to t h e m . It was as if I h a d m a d e u p for the g e n e r a t i o n s his p e o p l e h a d picked cotton in G e o r g i a a n d my mother's family h a d cut c a n e in the W e s t Indies. It frightened m e . " I a s k e d her after a long wait what she h a d d o n e after g r a d u a t i n g . " H o w do you m e a n , what I did. L o o k e d for a j o b . Tell m e , have you ever looked for work in this m a n ' s city?" "I k n o w . " I said, holding up my h a n d . " D o n ' t tell m e . " W e both looked at my raised hand which s o u g h t to waive the d i s c u s s i o n , then at e a c h other a n d s u d d e n l y we l a u g h e d , a laugh s o loud a n d violent with pain a n d o u t r a g e it brought t e a r s .

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" G i r l , " R e e n a s a i d , the tears silver a g a i n s t her b l a c k n e s s . "You c o u l d p u t m e blindfolded right now at the T i m e s Building on 4 2 n d S t r e e t a n d I w o u l d be a b l e to find my way to every n e w s p a p e r office in town. B u t tell m e , how c o m e white folks is so hard?" " J u s t bo'n h a r d . " W e were l a u g h i n g again a n d this time I nearly slid off the trunk a n d R e e n a fell b a c k a m o n g the satin r o s e s . "I didn't know there were so m a n y ways of saying 'no' without ever o n c e u s i n g the w o r d , " s h e said, the laughter lodged in her throat, b u t her eyes h a d g o n e hard. " S o m e t i m e s I'd find myself in the elevator, o n my way o u t , a n d smiling all over myself b e c a u s e I t h o u g h t I had gotten the j o b , before it would hit m e that they h a d really said n o , not yes. S o m e of t h o s e p e o p l e in p e r s o n n e l h a d so p e r f e c t e d their smiles they looked a l m o s t g e n u i n e . T h e o n e s w h o u s e d to get m e , t h o u g h , were t h o s e who tried to m a k e the interview into a n intim a t e c h a t b e t w e e n friends. They'd p u t you in a c o m f o r t a b l e chair, offer you a cigarette, a n d order coffee. H o w I h a t e d that coffee. T h e y didn't know i t — or m a y b e they d i d — b u t it w a s like offering m e h e m l o c k . . . . " 'You think C h r i s t h a d it t o u g h ? " H e r l a u g h t e r r u s h e d a g a i n s t the air which resisted it. "I w a s crucified five days a w e e k a n d half-day o n S a t u r d a y . I b e c a m e a l m o s t p a r a n o i d . I b e g a n to think there might b e s o m e t h i n g other than color w r o n g with m e which everybody b u t m e c o u l d s e e , s o m e rare d i s e a s e that h a d t u r n e d m e into a m o n s t e r . " M y p a r e n t s suffered. A n d that b o t h e r e d m e m o s t , b e c a u s e I felt I h a d failed t h e m . M y father didn't say anything b u t I k n e w b e c a u s e he a v o i d e d m e m o r e than u s u a l . H e w a s a s h a m e d , I think, that he hadn't b e e n a b l e , a s a m a n a n d a s my father, to prevent this. M y m o t h e r — w e l l , you k n o w her. In o n e breath s h e w o u l d try to c o m f o r t m e by c u r s i n g t h e m : ' B u t G o r blind t h e m . ' " — a n d B e e n a ' s voice c a p t u r e d her m o t h e r ' s a g g r e s s i v e a c c e n t — " 'if you h a d c o m e looking for a j o b m o p p i n g d o w n their floors they w o u l d o' hire you, the b r u t e s . B u t m a r k my w o r d s , their time goin' c o m e , c a u s e G o d don't love ugly a n d h e ain't s t u c k on pretty . . . ' A n d in the next b r e a t h s h e w o u l d c u r s e m e , ' J o u r n a l i s m ! J o u r n a l i s m ! W h o e v e r h e a r d of c o l o r e d p e o p l e taking u p j o u r n a l i s m . You m u s t feel you's white or s o m e t h i n g s o . T h e p e o p l e is right to c h u c k you out their office. . . . ' P o o r thing, to m a k e u p for saying all that s h e would w a s h my white gloves every night a n d c o o k c e r e a l for m e in the m o r n i n g a s if I were a little girl a g a i n . O n c e s h e went o u t a n d b o u g h t m e a suit s h e couldn't afford from L o r d a n d Taylor's. I looked like a S m i t h girl in b l a c k f a c e in it. . . . S o g u e s s w h e r e I e n d e d u p ? " "As a social investigator for the W e l f a r e D e p a r t m e n t . W h e r e e l s e ? " W e were helpless with laughter a g a i n . "You t o o ? " " N o " I s a i d , "I t a u g h t , but that w a s j u s t a s b a d . " " N o , " s h e said, s o b e r i n g abruptly. " N o t h i n g ' s a s b a d a s working for Welfare. D o you know w h a t they really m e a n by a social investigator? A spy. S o m e o n e w h o s e dirty j o b it is to s n o o p into the c o r n e r s of the lives of the p o o r a n d m a k e their poverty m o r e vivid by taking from t h e m the last s h r e d of privacy. ' M r s . J o n e s , is that a n e w d r e s s you're w e a r i n g ? ' ' M r s . B r o w n , this k e r o s e n e h e a t e r is not listed in the h o u s e h o l d i t e m s . D i d you get an authorization for it?' ' M r s . S m i t h , is that a t e l e p h o n e I h e a r ringing u n d e r the s o f a ? ' I w a s utterly demoralized within a m o n t h .

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"And a n o t h e r thing. I t h o u g h t I knew a b o u t poverty. I m e a n , I r e m e m b e r , a s a child, having to eat s o u p m a d e with t h o s e white b e a n s the g o v e r n m e n t u s e d to give o u t free for days running, s o m e t i m e s , b e c a u s e there w a s n o t h i n g else. I had lived in Brownsville, a m o n g all the p o o r J e w s a n d P o l e s a n d Irish there. B u t what I s a w in H a r l e m , where I h a d my c a s e load, w a s different s o m e h o w . P e r h a p s b e c a u s e it s e e m e d so final. T h e r e didn't s e e m to be any way to e s c a p e from t h o s e dark hallways a n d dingy f u r n i s h e d r o o m s . . . . All that d e f e a t . " C l o s i n g her eyes, s h e finished the stale whiskey a n d s o d a in her glass. "I r e m e m b e r a client of m i n e , a girl my a g e with three children already a n d no father for t h e m a n d living in the expensive s q u a l o r of a r o o m i n g h o u s e . H e r b e w i l d e r m e n t . H e r resignation. H e r anger. S h e c o u l d have pulled herself out of the m e s s s h e w a s in? P e o p l e say that, you know, i n c l u d i n g s o m e N e g r o e s . B u t this girl didn't have a c h a n c e . S h e h a d b e e n t r a p p e d from the day she w a s born in s o m e small town d o w n S o u t h . " S h e b e c a m e my r e f e r e n c e . F r o m then on a n d even now, whenever I h e a r p e o p l e a n d g r o u p s c o m i n g u p with all kinds of solutions to the q u o t e N e g r o p r o b l e m , I a s k o n e q u e s t i o n . W h a t are they really d o i n g for that girl, to save her or to save the children? . . . T h e a n s w e r isn't very e n c o u r a g i n g . " It was s o m e time before she c o n t i n u e d , a n d then s h e told m e that after Welfare she h a d g o n e to work for a private socialwork a g e n c y , in their p u b licity d e p a r t m e n t , a n d h a d started on her m a s t e r ' s in j o u r n a l i s m at C o l u m bia. 1 S h e a l s o left h o m e a r o u n d this t i m e . "I h a d to. M y m o t h e r started p u t t i n g the p r e s s u r e o n m e to get m a r r i e d . T h e hints, the r e m a r k s — a n d you know my m o t h e r w a s never the s u b t l e t y p e — h e r anxiety, which m a d e m e anxious a b o u t getting m a r r i e d after a while. B e s i d e s , it w a s time for m e to be on my o w n . " In c o n t r a s t to the u n m i s t a k a b l y radical c h a r a c t e r of her late a d o l e s c e n c e (her m e m b e r s h i p in the left-wing g r o u p , the affair with B o b , her s u s p e n s i o n from c o l l e g e ) , R e e n a ' s life of this period s o u n d e d ordinary, s t a n d a r d — a n d she a d m i t t e d it with a slightly self-deprecating, a p o l o g e t i c s m i l e . It w a s similar to that of any n u m b e r of u n m a r r i e d professional N e g r o w o m e n in N e w York or L o s A n g e l e s or W a s h i n g t o n : the j o b t e a c h i n g or d o i n g social work which brought in a fairly d e c e n t salary, the small a p a r t m e n t with k i t c h e n e t t e which they s o m e t i m e s s h a r e d with a r o o m m a t e ; a car, s o m e of t h e m ; m e m b e r s h i p in various political a n d social action organizations for the militant few like R e e n a ; the v a c a t i o n s in M e x i c o , E u r o p e , the W e s t I n d i e s , a n d now Africa; the o c c a s i o n a l d a t e . " T h e interesting m e n were invariably m a r r i e d , " R e e n a said a n d then m e n t i o n e d having had o n e affair d u r i n g that t i m e . S h e had f o u n d out he w a s m a r r i e d a n d h a d thought of her only a s the perfect m i s t r e s s . " T h e b a s t a r d , " s h e said, but her smile forgave h i m . " W o m e n a l o n e ! " s h e cried, l a u g h i n g sadly, a n d her raised o p e n e d a r m s , the e m p t y glass s h e held in o n e h a n d m a d e e l o q u e n t their a l o n e n e s s . "Alone a n d lonely, a n d indulging t h e m s e l v e s while they wait. T h e girls of the h o u s e plan have r e a c h e d their majority only to find that all t h o s e years they s p e n t a c c u m u l a t i n g their d e g r e e s a n d finding the well-paying j o b s in the h o p e that this would raise their stock h a v e , i n s t e a d , put t h e m at a d i s a d v a n t a g e . F o r the few eligible m e n a r o u n d — t h o s e w h o are their intellectual a n d profes1. An Ivy League university in New York City, well known for its prestigious school of journalism.

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sional p e e r s , w h o m they can r e s p e c t (and there are very few of t h e m ) — d o n ' t necessarily marry t h e m , but y o u n g e r w o m e n without the d e g r e e s a n d t h e fat j o b s , w h o are no threat, or they don't marry at all b e c a u s e they a r e either q u e e r or mother-ridden. O r they marry white w o m e n . N o w , intellectually I a c c e p t this. In fact, s o m e of my best friends are white w o m e n . . . " A n d a g a i n our l a u g h t e r — t h a t loud, s c a r i n g burst which we u s e d to c a u t e r i z e our hurt m o u n t e d into the u n a c c e p t i n g silence of the r o o m . "After all, our goal is a fully integrated society. A n d p e r h a p s , a s s o m e p e o p l e believe, the only solution to the r a c e p r o b l e m is m i s c e g e n a t i o n . B e s i d e s , a m a n s h o u l d b e a b l e to marry w h o m e v e r he w i s h e s . Emotionally, t h o u g h , I a m less kind a n d u n d e r s t a n d i n g , a n d I resent like hell the r e a s o n s s o m e b l a c k m e n give for r e j e c t i n g u s for t h e m . " "We're too m i d d l e - c l a s s - o r i e n t e d , " I s a i d . " C o n s e r v a t i v e . " "Right. Even t h o u g h , t h a n k G o d , that doesn't apply to m e . " " T o o t h r e a t e n i n g . . . c a s t r a t i n g . . ." " T o o i n d e p e n d e n t a n d i m p a t i e n t with t h e m for not b e i n g m o r e a m b i t i o u s . . . c o n t e m p t u o u s . . ." "Sexually inhibited a n d u n i m a g i n a t i v e . . ." "And the old myth of the excessive sexuality of the black w o m a n g o e s o u t the w i n d o w , " R e e n a cried. " N o t s u p p o r t i v e , unwilling to s u b m e r g e our interests for theirs . . ." " L a c k i n g in the subtle art of getting a n d k e e p i n g a m a n . . ." W e h a d recited the a c c u s a t i o n s in the form a n d tone of a litany, a n d in the s i l e n c e which followed we s h a r e d a thin, h o p e l e s s s m i l e . " T h e y c o n d e m n u s , " R e e n a said softly but with anger, "without taking history into a c c o u n t . W e are still, most of u s , the black w o m a n w h o h a d to be a l m o s t frighteningly strong in order for u s all to survive. F o r , after all, s h e was the o n e w h o m they left (and I don't hold this a g a i n s t t h e m ; I u n d e r s t a n d ) with the children to r a i s e , w h o h a d to make it s o m e h o w or the other. A n d we a r e still, s o m a n y of u s , living that history. "You would think that they would u n d e r s t a n d this, but few d o . S o it's up to u s . W e have got to u n d e r s t a n d t h e m a n d save t h e m for o u r s e l v e s . H o w ? By being, on o n e h a n d , p e r s o n s in our own right a n d , on the other, fully the w o m a n a n d the wife. . . . C h r i s t , listen to who's talking! I h a d my c h a n c e . And I tried. Very hard. B u t it wasn't e n o u g h . " T h e festive s o u n d s of the wake had died to a s o b e r m u r m u r beyond the b e d r o o m . T h e crowd h a d g o n e , leaving only R e e n a a n d myself u p s t a i r s a n d the last of A u n t Vi's c l o s e s t friends in the b a s e m e n t below. T h e y were drinking coffee. I s m e l l e d it, felt its w a r m t h a n d intimacy in the e m p t y h o u s e , heard the distant t a p p i n g of the c u p s a g a i n s t the s a u c e r s a n d v o i c e s m u t e d by grief. T h e wake h a d c o m e full circle: they were a g a i n m o u r n i n g A u n t Vi. A n d R e e n a might have b e e n m o u r n i n g with t h e m , sitting there a m i d the satin r o s e s , f r a m e d by the m a s s i v e h e a d b o a r d . H e r h a n d s lay a s if they h a d b e e n broken in her lap. H e r eyes were like t h o s e of s o m e o n e blind or d e a d . I got up to go a n d get s o m e coffee for her. "You met my h u s b a n d , " s h e said quickly, s t o p p i n g m e . " H a v e I ? " I said, sitting d o w n a g a i n . "Yes, before we were married even. At a n a u t o g r a p h party for you. H e was f r e e - l a n c i n g — h e ' s a p h o t o g r a p h e r — a n d o n e of the N e g r o m a g a z i n e s h a d sent him to cover the party." As s h e went on to d e s c r i b e him I r e m e m b e r e d him vaguely, not his f a c e ,

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but his rather large body stretching a n d b e n d i n g with a d a n c e r ' s fluidity a n d grace a s h e took the p i c t u r e s . I h a d heard him talking to a g r o u p of p e o p l e about s o m e i s s u e on r a c e relations very m u c h in the news then a n d h a d b e e n struck by his v e h e m e n c e . F o r the m o m e n t I h a d f o u n d this a l m o s t o d d , s i n c e he w a s so fair s k i n n e d h e c o u l d have p a s s e d for white. They h a d m e t , R e e n a told m e now, at a benefit s h o w for a H a r l e m day nursery given by o n e of the progressive g r o u p s s h e b e l o n g e d to, a n d h a d married a m o n t h afterward. F r o m all that s h e said they h a d h a d a full a n d exciting life for a long time. H e r words were s o vivid that I c o u l d a l m o s t s e e t h e m : s h e with her startling b l a c k n e s s a n d extraordinary force a n d h e with his near-white skin a n d a militancy which m a t c h e d h e r s ; both of t h e m moving a m o n g the disaffected in N e w York, their s t a n d on political a n d social i s s u e s equally u n c o m p r o m i s i n g , the line of their a l l e g i a n c e r e a c h i n g directly to all t h o s e t r a p p e d in H a r l e m . A n d they h a d lived the m e a n i n g of this alleg i a n c e , s o that even w h e n they c o u l d have afforded a life a m o n g the black bourgeoisie of S t . A l b a n s or T e a n e c k , 2 they h a d c h o s e n to live if not in Harlem so close that there w a s no difference. " I — w e — w e r e s o h a p p y I w a s frightened at t i m e s . N o t that anything would c h a n g e b e t w e e n u s , b u t that s o m e o n e or s o m e t h i n g in the world o u t s i d e us would invade our private p l a c e a n d destroy u s out of envy. P e r h a p s this is what did h a p p e n . . . ." S h e s h r u g g e d a n d even tried to smile but s h e c o u l d not m a n a g e it. " S o m e t h i n g slipped in while we weren't looking a n d b e g a n its deadly work. " M a y b e it started w h e n D a v e took a j o b with a N e g r o m a g a z i n e . F m not s u r e . Anyway, in no t i m e , he h a t e d it: the r o u t i n e , u n i m a g i n a t i v e p i c t u r e s he h a d to take a n d the m a g a z i n e itself, which dealt only in unrealities: the highsociety world of the black b o u r g e o i s i e a n d the s p e c t a c u l a r strides N e g r o e s were m a k i n g in all fields—you know the type. Yet D a v e wouldn't leave. It wasn't the money, b u t a kind of safety which h e h a d never e x p e r i e n c e d before which kept him there. H e w o u l d talk a b o u t free-lancing a g a i n , a b o u t storming the g a t e s of the white m a g a z i n e s d o w n t o w n , of o p e n i n g his own studio but he never a c t e d on any o n e of t h e s e things. You s e e , d e s p i t e his t a l e n t — a n d h e w a s very t a l e n t e d — h e h a d a diffidence that w a s fatal. " W h e n I u n d e r s t o o d this I literally forced him to o p e n the s t u d i o — a n d p e r h a p s I s h o u l d have b e e n m o r e subtle a n d indirect, b u t that's not my n a t u r e . B e s i d e s , I w a s frightened a n d d e s p e r a t e to help. N o t h i n g h a p p e n e d for a t i m e . Dave's work w a s too experimental to be c o m m e r c i a l . G r a d u a l l y , t h o u g h , his p h o t o g r a p h s started a p p e a r i n g in the prestige c a m e r a m a g a z i n e s a n d m o n e y from various a w a r d s a n d exhibits a n d a n o c c a s i o n a l a s s i g n m e n t started c o m i n g in. "This wasn't e n o u g h s o m e h o w . D a v e also w a n t e d the big, g a u d y c o m m e r cial s u c c e s s that would dazzle a n d c o n f o u n d that white world d o w n t o w n a n d force it to see him. A n d yet, a s I said b e f o r e , h e c o u l d n ' t b r i n g himself to t r y — a n d this c o n t r a d i c t i o n b e g a n to get to him after awhile. "It w a s t h e n , I think, that I b e g a n to fail him. I didn't know how to help, you s e e . I h a d never felt s o i n a d e q u a t e b e f o r e . A n d this w a s very s t r a n g e a n d d i s t u r b i n g for s o m e o n e like m e . I w a s b e i n g s u b m e r g e d in his p r o b l e m s — a n d I b e g a n fighting a g a i n s t this. "I started working again (I h a d s t o p p e d after the s e c o n d b a b y ) . A n d I w a s 2. Middle-class areas outside M a n h a t t a n — S t . Albans is in Queens; Teaneck is in New Jersey.

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lucky b e c a u s e I got b a c k my old j o b . And unlucky b e c a u s e D a v e s a w it a s my way of pointing up his deficiencies. I couldn't c o n v i n c e him o t h e r w i s e : that 1 h a d to do it for my own sanity. H e would a c c u s e m e of w a n t i n g to s e e him fail, of trapping him in all kinds of responsibilities. . . . After a t i m e w e both got c a u g h t up in this thing, an u g l i n e s s c a m e b e t w e e n u s , a n d I b e g a n to a n s w e r his a n g e r with a n g e r a n d to trade him insult for insult. " T h i n g s fell apart very quickly after that. 1 couldn't b e a r the p a i n of living with h i m — t h e insults, our m u t u a l d e s p a i r , his m o c k i n g , the s i l e n c e . I couldn't s u b j e c t the children to it any longer. T h e divorce didn't take long. And thank G o d , b e c a u s e of the children, we are p l e a s a n t w h e n we h a v e to s e e e a c h other. H e ' s m a k i n g o u t very well, I h e a r . " S h e said nothing m o r e , but simply b o w e d her h e a d a s t h o u g h waiting for m e to p a s s j u d g m e n t o n her. I don't know how long we r e m a i n e d like this, b u t w h e n R e e n a finally raised her h e a d , the d a r k n e s s at the w i n d o w h a d v a n i s h e d a n d d a w n w a s a still, gray s m o k e against the p a n e . " D o you k n o w , " she s a i d , a n d her eyes were clear a n d a s m i l e h a d won out over p a i n , "I enjoy b e i n g a l o n e . I don't tell p e o p l e this b e c a u s e they'll a c c u s e m e of either lying or d e l u d i n g myself. But I do. P e r h a p s , a s my m o t h e r tells m e , it's only temporary. 1 don't think s o , t h o u g h . I feel I don't ever w a n t to be involved a g a i n . It's not that I've lost interest in m e n . I go out o c c a s i o n a l l y , but it's never anything s e r i o u s . You s e e , I have all that I want for n o w . " H e r children first of all, s h e told m e , a n d from her d e s c r i p t i o n they s o u n d e d intelligent a n d c a p a b l e . S h e w a s a friend a s well a s a m o t h e r to t h e m , it s e e m e d . T h e y were p l a n n i n g , the four of t h e m , to s p e n d the s u m m e r touring C a n a d a . "1 will feel that I have d o n e well by t h e m if I give t h e m , if nothing m o r e , a s e n s e of t h e m s e l v e s a n d their worth a n d i m p o r t a n c e a s black p e o p l e . Everything I do with t h e m , for t h e m , is to this e n d . I don't want t h e m ever to be c o n f u s e d a b o u t this. T h e y m u s t have their identifications straight from the beginning. N o white dolls for t h e m ! " T h e n her j o b . S h e w a s working now a s a r e s e a r c h e r for a small p r o g r e s s i v e n e w s m a g a z i n e with the p r o m i s e that o n c e she c o m p l e t e d her m a s t e r ' s in j o u r n a l i s m (she w a s working on the thesis now) s h e might get a c h a n c e to d o s o m e minor reporting. And like m o s t p e o p l e , s h e h o p e d to write s o m e d a y . "If I can ever s t o p talking away my s u b s t a n c e , " s h e said l a u g h i n g . A n d s h e w a s still active in any n u m b e r of social action g r o u p s . In a n o t h e r w e e k or so s h e would be h e a d i n g a d e l e g a t i o n of m o t h e r s d o w n to City Hall "to give the mayor a little hell a b o u t c o n d i t i o n s in the s c h o o l s in H a r l e m . " S h e h a d started an organization that w a s carrying on a n a l m o s t door-to-door c a m p a i g n in her n e i g h b o r h o o d to e x p o s e , a s s h e put it, "the b l o o d s u c k e r s : all t h o s e s l u m l o r d s a n d s t o r e k e e p e r s with their fixed s c a l e s , the finance c o m p a n i e s that never tell you the real price of a thing, the petty s a l e s m e n that leech off the poor. . . . " I n M a y s h e w a s taking her two older girls on a nationwide pilgrimage to W a s h i n g t o n to urge for a m o r e rapid i m p l e m e n t a t i o n of the school d e s e g r e g a t i o n law. "It's u n c a n n y , " s h e said, a n d the laugh which a c c o m p a n i e d the w o r d s w a s w a r m , soft with w o n d e r at herself, girlish e v e n , a n d the air in the r o o m which h a d refused her laughter before r u s h e d to a b s o r b this now. "Really u n c a n n y . H e r e I a m , practically m i d d l e - a g e d , with three children to r a i s e by myself a n d with little or no m o n e y to d o it, a n d yet I feel, strangely e n o u g h , a s t h o u g h life is j u s t b e g i n n i n g — t h a t it's new a n d fresh with all kinds of pos-

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sibilities. M a y b e it's b e c a u s e I've b e e n through my purgatory a n d I can't ever be overwhelmed a g a i n . I don't know. Anyway, you s h o u l d s e e m e on evenings after I put the children to bed. I sit a l o n e in the living r o o m (I've repainted it a n d c h a n g e d all the furniture s i n c e Dave's g o n e , so that it would at least look different)—I sit there m a k i n g p l a n s a n d all of t h e m s e e m p o s s i b l e . T h e most important plan right now is Africa. I've already started saving the fare." I a s k e d her w h e t h e r she was p l a n n i n g to live there p e r m a n e n t l y a n d she said simply, "I want to live a n d work there. For how long, for a lifetime, I can't say. All I know is that I have to. F o r myself a n d for my children. It is important that they s e e black p e o p l e who have truly a p l a c e a n d history of their own a n d w h o a r e building for a new a n d , hopefully, m o r e s e n s i b l e world. And I m u s t s e e it, get c l o s e to it, b e c a u s e I can never lose the s e n s e of b e i n g a d i s p l a c e d p e r s o n here in A m e r i c a b e c a u s e of my color. O h , I know I s h o u l d remain a n d fight not only for integration (even t h o u g h , frankly, I question whether I want to be integrated into A m e r i c a a s it s t a n d s now, with its c o m p l a c e n c y a n d m a t e r i a l i s m , its s o u l l e s s n e s s ) but to help c h a n g e the country into s o m e t h i n g better, s o u n d e r — i f that is still p o s s i b l e . B u t I have to go to Africa . . . " P o o r Aunt V i , " s h e said after a long s i l e n c e a n d s t r a i g h t e n e d o n e of the roses she h a d c r u s h e d . " S h e never really got to enjoy her b e d of r o s e s what with only T h u r s d a y s a n d every other S u n d a y off. All that hard work. All her life. . . . O u r lives have got to m a k e m o r e s e n s e , if only for h e r . " W e got up to leave shortly afterward. R e e n a w a s staying on to attend the burial, later in the m o r n i n g , but I w a s taking the s u b w a y to M a n h a t t a n . W e parted with the u s u a l p r o m i s e to get together a n d e x c h a n g e d t e l e p h o n e n u m bers. And R e e n a did p h o n e a w e e k or s o later. I don't r e m e m b e r what we talked a b o u t t h o u g h . S o m e m o n t h s later I invited her to a party I w a s giving before leaving the country. B u t s h e did not c o m e . 1983

TONI

MORRISON b. 1931

The 1993 Nobel Laureate in literature, Toni Morrison is a novelist of great importance in her own right and has been the central figure in putting fiction by and about African American women at the forefront of the late-twentieth-century literary canon. Whereas the legacy of slavery had effaced a usable tradition, and critical stereotypes at times restricted such writers' range, Morrison's fiction serves as a model for reconstructing a culturally empowering past. She joins the great American tradition of selfinvention: her own example and her editorial work have figured importantly in the careers of other writers, such as Toni Cade Bambara (included in this volume) and Gayl Jones. Morrison was bom in Lorain, Ohio, where much of her fiction is set (a departure from earlier African American narratives typically located in the rural South or urban

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North). Having earned a B.A. from Howard with a major in English and minor in classics, and an M.A. from Cornell University (with a thesis on suicide in the novels of Virginia Woolf and William Faulkner), Morrison began a teaching career in 1955 that reached from Texas Southern University back to Howard, where her students included the future activist Stokeley Carmichael and the future critic Houston A. Baker Jr. At this time she married Harold Morrison, a Jamaican architect, with whom she had two children before ending their marriage in 1964. Already writing, she took a job with the publishing firm of Random House and eventually settled in New York City, where she worked until 1983. During these same years she held visiting teaching appointments at institutions including Yale University and Bard College. As a first novel, The Bluest Eye (1970) is uncommonly mature for its confident use of a variety of narrative voices. Throughout her career Morrison will be dedicated to constructing a practical cultural identity of both a race and a gender whose selfimages have been obscured or denied by dominating forces, and in The Bluest Eye she already shows that narrative strategy is an important element in such construction. It is a girl's need to be loved that generates the novel's action, action that involves displaced and alienated affections (and eventually incestuous rape); it is the family's inability to produce a style of existence in which love can be born and thrive that leads to such a devastating fate for Morrison's protagonist. Love is also denied in Sula (1974), in which relationships extend in two directions: between contemporaries (Sula and her friend Nel) and with previous generations. With Song of Solomon (1977) Morrison seeks more positive redemption of her characters. Turning away from his parents' loveless marriage, Milkman Dead makes a physical and mental journey to his ancestral roots. Here he discovers a more useful legacy in communal tales about Grandmother and Great-Grandfather, each long dead but infusing the local culture with emotionally sustaining lore. It is this lore that Milkman uses to learn how the spiritual guidance offered by his aunt Pilate eclipses the material concerns of his parents' world. Allegory becomes an important strategy in Tar Baby (1981), drawing on the strong folk culture of Haiti where two contrasting persons form a troubled relationship based on their own distinct searches for and rejections of a heritage. Yet it is in a rebuilding of history, rather than allegory or myth, that Morrison achieves her great strength as a novelist in Beloved (1987), the winner of her first major award, the Pulitzer Prize. Set in the middle 1870s, when race relations in America were at their most crucial juncture (slavery having ended and the course of the South's Reconstruction not yet fully determined), this novel shows a mother (Sethe) being haunted and eventually destroyed by the ghost of a daughter (Beloved) whom she had killed eighteen years earlier rather than let her be taken by a vicious slavemaster. This novel is central to Morrison's canon because it involves so many important themes and techniques, from love and guilt to history's role in clarifying the past's influence on the present, all told in a style of magical realism that transforms (without denying) more mundane facts. fazz (1992) finds Morrison reinforcing her strategy of narrative voice, here modeled on the progression of a jazz solo to demonstrate how improvisation with detail can change the nature of what is expressed. Present and past weave together in her characters' lives as the narrative seeks to understand the jealousies of love and the sometimes macabre manifestations of hatred. Paradise (1988) takes a nineteenth-century Utopia and reexamines its ideals in the face of 1970s realities—a reminder of how neither past nor present can be insulated from the other. Presently serving as the prestigious Golheen Professor of the Humanities at Princeton University, Morrison has moved easily into the role of spokesperson for literary issues. Together with her Nobel lecture, her essays collected as Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination (1992) challenge stereotypes in white critical thinking about black literature. Her short story "Recitatif," written for the 1983 anthology edited by Amiri and Amina Baraka, Confirmation, directly addresses the

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issues of individual and family, past and present, and race and its effacements that motivate the larger sense of her work. A recitatif is a vocal performance in which a narrative is not stated but sung. In her work Morrison's voice sings proudly of a past that in the artistic nature of its reconstruction puts all Americans in touch with a more positively usable heritage. The text is that printed in Confirmation (1983), edited by Amiri and Amina Baraka.

Recitatif M y m o t h e r d a n c e d all night a n d Roberta's w a s sick. T h a t ' s why w e were taken to St. Bonny's. P e o p l e want to p u t their a r m s a r o u n d you w h e n you tell t h e m you were in a shelter, but it really wasn't b a d . N o big long r o o m with o n e h u n d r e d b e d s like B e l l e v u e . 1 T h e r e were four to a r o o m , a n d w h e n R o b e r t a a n d m e c a m e , there w a s a s h o r t a g e of state kids, s o we were the only o n e s a s s i g n e d to 4 0 6 a n d could go from b e d to b e d if we w a n t e d to. And we w a n t e d to, too. W e c h a n g e d b e d s every night a n d for the w h o l e four m o n t h s we were there we never picked o n e o u t a s our own p e r m a n e n t b e d . It didn't start o u t that way. T h e m i n u t e I walked in a n d the Big B o z o introduced u s , I got sick to my s t o m a c h . It w a s o n e thing to be taken o u t of your own b e d early in the m o r n i n g — i t was s o m e t h i n g e l s e to b e s t u c k in a strange p l a c e with a girl from a whole other r a c e . A n d M a r y , that's my mother, s h e w a s right. Every now a n d then s h e would s t o p d a n c i n g long e n o u g h to tell m e s o m e t h i n g important a n d o n e of the things s h e said w a s that they never w a s h e d their hair a n d they s m e l l e d funny. R o b e r t a s u r e did. S m e l l funny, I m e a n . S o w h e n the Big Bozo (nobody ever called her M r s . Itkin, j u s t like n o b o d y ever said S t . B o n a v e n t u r e ) — w h e n s h e said, "Twyla, this is R o b e r t a . R o b e r t a , this is Twyla. M a k e e a c h other w e l c o m e . " I s a i d , " M y m o t h e r won't like you p u t t i n g m e in h e r e . " " G o o d , " said B o z o . " M a y b e then she'll c o m e a n d take you h o m e . " H o w ' s that for m e a n ? If R o b e r t a h a d l a u g h e d I would have killed her, but s h e didn't. S h e j u s t walked over to the window a n d s t o o d with her b a c k to us. " T u r n a r o u n d , " said the B o z o . " D o n ' t be r u d e . N o w Twyla. R o b e r t a . W h e n you hear a loud buzzer, that's the call for dinner. C o m e d o w n to the first floor. Any fights a n d no m o v i e . " A n d then, j u s t to m a k e s u r e w e knew w h a t we would be m i s s i n g , "The Wizard ofOz."2 R o b e r t a m u s t have t h o u g h t I m e a n t that my m o t h e r would b e m a d a b o u t my b e i n g put in the shelter. N o t a b o u t r o o m i n g with her, b e c a u s e a s s o o n as Bozo left s h e c a m e over to m e a n d said, "Is your m o t h e r sick t o o ? " " N o , " I s a i d . " S h e j u s t likes to d a n c e all n i g h t . " " O h , " s h e n o d d e d her h e a d a n d I liked the way s h e u n d e r s t o o d things s o fast. S o for the m o m e n t it didn't m a t t e r that we looked like salt a n d p e p p e r s t a n d i n g there a n d that's what the other kids called u s s o m e t i m e s . W e were eight years old a n d got F's all the time. M e b e c a u s e I c o u l d n ' t r e m e m b e r what I read or what the t e a c h e r said. A n d R o b e r t a b e c a u s e s h e c o u l d n ' t read I. Bellevue Hospital in New York City is known for its psychiatric ward. St. Bonaventure's offers the services of a youth shelter and school.

2. T h e famous children's book published in 1900 by American writer L. Frank IS.mm ( 1 8 5 6 - 1 9 1 9 ) ; it was made into a film in 1939.

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at all a n d didn't even listen to the teacher. S h e wasn't g o o d at a n y t h i n g except j a c k s , at which she was a killer: p o w s c o o p p o w s c o o p p o w s c o o p . W e didn't like e a c h other all that m u c h at first, b u t nobody else w a n t e d to play with u s b e c a u s e we weren't real o r p h a n s with beautiful d e a d p a r e n t s in the sky. W e were d u m p e d . Even the N e w York City P u e r t o R i c a n s a n d the u p s t a t e Indians ignored u s . All kinds of kids were in there, b l a c k o n e s , white o n e s , even two K o r e a n s . T h e food w a s g o o d , t h o u g h . At least I t h o u g h t s o . R o b e r t a h a t e d it a n d left w h o l e p i e c e s of things on her p l a t e : S p a m , S a l i s b u r y s t e a k — e v e n j e l l o with fruit cocktail in it, a n d s h e didn't c a r e if I ate what she wouldn't. Mary's idea of s u p p e r was p o p c o r n a n d a c a n of YooH o o . 3 Hot m a s h e d p o t a t o e s a n d two w e e n i e s was like T h a n k s g i v i n g for m e . It really wasn't b a d , S t . Bonny's. T h e big girls on the s e c o n d floor p u s h e d u s a r o u n d n o w a n d then. B u t that w a s all. T h e y wore lipstick a n d eyebrow pencil a n d wobbled their k n e e s while they w a t c h e d T V . Fifteen, sixteen, even, s o m e of t h e m were. T h e y were p u t - o u t girls, s c a r e d r u n a w a y s m o s t of t h e m . Poor little girls w h o fought their u n c l e s off but looked t o u g h to u s , a n d m e a n . G o d did they look m e a n . T h e staff tried to keep t h e m s e p a r a t e from the y o u n g e r children, but s o m e t i m e s they c a u g h t us w a t c h i n g t h e m in the o r c h a r d where they played radios a n d d a n c e d with e a c h other. They'd light out after u s a n d pull our hair or twist our a r m s . W e were s c a r e d of t h e m , R o b e r t a a n d m e , but neither of u s w a n t e d the other o n e to know it. S o we got a good list of dirty n a m e s we c o u l d s h o u t b a c k w h e n we ran from t h e m t h r o u g h the o r c h a r d . I u s e d to d r e a m a lot a n d a l m o s t always the orchard w a s there. T w o a c r e s , four m a y b e , of t h e s e little a p p l e trees. H u n dreds of t h e m . E m p t y a n d crooked like b e g g a r w o m e n when I first c a m e to S t . Bonny's but fat with flowers w h e n I left. I don't know why I d r e a m t a b o u t that o r c h a r d so m u c h . N o t h i n g really h a p p e n e d t h e r e . N o t h i n g all that important, I m e a n . J u s t the big girls d a n c i n g a n d playing the radio. R o b e r t a and m e watching. M a g g i e fell d o w n there o n c e . T h e kitchen w o m a n with legs like p a r e n t h e s e s . And the big girls l a u g h e d at her. W e s h o u l d have h e l p e d her u p , I know, b u t we were s c a r e d of t h o s e girls with lipstick a n d eyebrow pencil. M a g g i e couldn't talk. T h e kids said s h e h a d her t o n g u e c u t o u t , but I think she w a s j u s t born that way: m u t e . S h e w a s old a n d sandy-colored a n d s h e worked in the kitchen. I don't know if s h e w a s nice or not. I j u s t r e m e m ber her legs like p a r e n t h e s e s a n d how s h e rocked w h e n she walked. S h e worked from early in the m o r n i n g till two o'clock, a n d if s h e w a s l a t e , if s h e had too m u c h c l e a n i n g a n d didn't get out till two-fifteen or s o , she'd c u t through the o r c h a r d so s h e wouldn't m i s s her b u s a n d have to wait a n o t h e r hour. S h e wore this really stupid little h a t — a kid's hat with ear f l a p s — a n d s h e wasn't m u c h taller than we were. A really awful little h a t . E v e n for a m u t e , it w a s d u m b — d r e s s i n g like a kid a n d never saying a n y t h i n g at all. " B u t what a b o u t if s o m e b o d y tries to kill h e r ? " I u s e d to w o n d e r a b o u t that. " O r what if s h e w a n t s to cry? C a n s h e c r y ? " " S u r e , " R o b e r t a said. " B u t j u s t t e a r s . N o s o u n d s c o m e o u t . " " S h e can't s c r e a m ? " "Nope. Nothing." "Can she hear?" "I g u e s s . " 3, A chocolate soft drink.

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" L e t ' s call h e r , " I said. A n d we did. " D u m m y ! D u m m y ! " S h e never turned her h e a d . " B o w legs! B o w l e g s ! " N o t h i n g . S h e j u s t rocked o n , the chin s t r a p s of her baby-boy hat swaying from side to side. I think we were w r o n g . I think she could hear a n d didn't let on. And it s h a m e s m e even now to think there w a s s o m e b o d y in there after all w h o h e a r d u s call her t h o s e n a m e s a n d couldn't tell on u s . W e got a l o n g all right, Roberta a n d m e . C h a n g e d b e d s every night, got F's in civics a n d c o m m u n i c a t i o n skills a n d gym. T h e B o z o w a s d i s a p p o i n t e d in u s , s h e s a i d . O u t of 130 of us state c a s e s , 9 0 were u n d e r twelve. A l m o s t all were real o r p h a n s with beautiful d e a d p a r e n t s in the sky. W e were the only o n e s d u m p e d a n d the only o n e s with F's in three c l a s s e s i n c l u d i n g gym. S o we got a l o n g — w h a t with her leaving w h o l e p i e c e s of things on her plate a n d b e i n g nice a b o u t not a s k i n g q u e s t i o n s . I think it w a s the day before M a g g i e fell down that we f o u n d o u t our m o t h e r s were c o m i n g to visit u s on the s a m e S u n d a y . W e h a d b e e n at the shelter twenty-eight days ( R o b e r t a twenty-eight a n d a half) a n d this w a s their first visit with u s . O u r m o t h e r s would c o m e at ten o'clock in time for c h a p e l , then l u n c h with u s in the t e a c h e r s ' l o u n g e . I thought if my d a n c i n g m o t h e r met her sick m o t h e r it might be good for her. A n d R o b e r t a t h o u g h t her sick m o t h e r would get a big b a n g out of a d a n c i n g o n e . W e got excited a b o u t it a n d c u r l e d e a c h other's hair. After breakfast we sat on the bed w a t c h i n g the road from the window. Roberta's s o c k s were still wet. S h e w a s h e d t h e m the night before a n d put t h e m on the radiator to dry. T h e y hadn't, but s h e p u t t h e m on anyway b e c a u s e their tops were s o p r e t t y — s c a l l o p e d in pink. E a c h of us had a p u r p l e c o n s t r u c t i o n - p a p e r basket that we had m a d e in craft c l a s s . M i n e h a d a yellow crayon rabbit on it. Roberta's h a d e g g s with wiggly lines of color. Inside were c e l l o p h a n e grass a n d j u s t the jelly b e a n s b e c a u s e I'd eaten the two m a r s h m a l l o w e g g s they gave u s . T h e Big Bozo c a m e herself to get u s . S m i l i n g s h e told u s we looked very nice a n d to c o m e d o w n s t a i r s . W e were so surprised by the smile we'd never s e e n b e f o r e , neither of u s m o v e d . " D o n ' t you want to s e e your m o m m i e s ? " I stood up first a n d spilled the jelly b e a n s all over the floor. Bozo's s m i l e d i s a p p e a r e d while we s c r a m b l e d to get the candy up off the floor a n d put it back in the g r a s s . S h e e s c o r t e d u s d o w n s t a i r s to the first floor, where the other girls were lining u p to file into the c h a p e l . A b u n c h of g r o w n - u p s s t o o d to o n e s i d e . Viewers mostly. T h e old biddies w h o w a n t e d servants a n d the fags w h o w a n t e d c o m p a n y looking for children they might want to a d o p t . O n c e in a while a g r a n d m o t h e r . A l m o s t never anybody y o u n g or anybody w h o s e f a c e wouldn't s c a r e you in the night. B e c a u s e if any of the real o r p h a n s h a d y o u n g relatives they wouldn't be real o r p h a n s . I saw M a r y right away. S h e h a d on t h o s e green slacks I hated a n d h a t e d even m o r e now b e c a u s e didn't she know we were going to c h a p e l ? A n d that fur j a c k e t with the p o c k e t linings so ripped s h e h a d to pull to get her h a n d s out of t h e m . B u t her f a c e w a s pretty—like always, a n d she s m i l e d a n d waved like s h e w a s the little girl looking for her mother—not me. I walked slowly, trying not to drop the jelly b e a n s a n d h o p i n g the p a p e r h a n d l e would hold. I h a d to u s e my last C h i c l e t b e c a u s e by the time I finished cutting everything out, all the Elmer's w a s g o n e . I a m left-handed a n d the

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s c i s s o r s never worked for m e . It didn't m a t t e r , t h o u g h ; I might j u s t a s well have c h e w e d the g u m . M a r y d r o p p e d to her k n e e s a n d g r a b b e d m e , m a s h i n g the b a s k e t , the jelly b e a n s , a n d the g r a s s into her ratty fur j a c k e t . "Twyla, baby. Twyla, b a b y ! " I c o u l d have killed her. Already I heard the big girls in the o r c h a r d the next time saying, "Twyyyyyla, b a b y ! " B u t I couldn't stay m a d at M a r y while s h e w a s smiling a n d h u g g i n g m e a n d s m e l l i n g of L a d y E s t h e r d u s t i n g powder. I w a n t e d to stay buried in her fur all day. T o tell the truth I forgot a b o u t R o b e r t a . M a r y a n d I got in line for the traipse into c h a p e l a n d I w a s feeling p r o u d b e c a u s e s h e looked s o beautiful even in t h o s e ugly g r e e n slacks that m a d e her b e h i n d stick out. A pretty m o t h e r on earth is better t h a n a beautiful d e a d o n e in the sky even if s h e did leave you all a l o n e to g o d a n c i n g . I felt a tap o n my s h o u l d e r , t u r n e d , a n d saw R o b e r t a smiling. I s m i l e d back, but not too m u c h lest s o m e b o d y think this visit w a s the biggest thing that ever h a p p e n e d in my life. T h e n R o b e r t a said, " M o t h e r , I want you to m e e t my r o o m m a t e , Twyla. A n d that's Twyla's m o t h e r . " I looked up it s e e m e d for m i l e s . S h e w a s big. B i g g e r than any m a n a n d on her c h e s t w a s the biggest c r o s s I'd ever s e e n . I s w e a r it w a s six i n c h e s l o n g e a c h way. A n d in the c r o o k of her a r m w a s the biggest Bible ever m a d e . M a r y , s i m p l e - m i n d e d as ever, g r i n n e d a n d tried to y a n k her h a n d out of the pocket with the raggedy l i n i n g — t o s h a k e h a n d s , I g u e s s . R o b e r t a ' s m o t h e r looked d o w n at m e a n d then looked d o w n at M a r y t o o . S h e didn't say anything, j u s t g r a b b e d R o b e r t a with her Bible-free h a n d a n d s t e p p e d out of line, walking quickly to the rear of it. M a r y w a s still grinning b e c a u s e she's not too swift w h e n it c o m e s to what's really g o i n g o n . T h e n this light b u l b g o e s off in her h e a d a n d s h e says " T h a t b i t c h ! " really loud a n d u s a l m o s t in the c h a p e l now. O r g a n m u s i c whining; the B o n n y A n g e l s s i n g i n g sweetly. Everybody in the world t u r n e d a r o u n d to look. A n d M a r y would have kept it u p — k e p t calling n a m e s if I hadn't s q u e e z e d her h a n d a s hard a s I c o u l d . T h a t helped a little, b u t s h e still twitched a n d c r o s s e d a n d u n c r o s s e d her legs all t h r o u g h service. Even g r o a n e d a c o u p l e of t i m e s . W h y did I think s h e would c o m e there a n d act right? S l a c k s . N o hat like the g r a n d m o t h e r s a n d viewers, a n d g r o a n i n g all the while. W h e n we s t o o d for h y m n s she kept her m o u t h s h u t . W o u l d n ' t even look at the w o r d s on the p a g e . S h e actually r e a c h e d in her p u r s e for a mirror to c h e c k her lipstick. All I c o u l d think of w a s that s h e really n e e d e d to b e killed. T h e s e r m o n l a s t e d a year, a n d I k n e w the real o r p h a n s were looking s m u g a g a i n . W e were s u p p o s e d to have l u n c h in the t e a c h e r s ' l o u n g e , b u t M a r y didn't bring anything, s o we p i c k e d fur a n d c e l l o p h a n e g r a s s off the m a s h e d jelly b e a n s a n d a t e t h e m . I c o u l d have killed her. I s n e a k e d a look at R o b e r t a . H e r m o t h e r h a d b r o u g h t c h i c k e n legs a n d h a m s a n d w i c h e s a n d o r a n g e s a n d a w h o l e box of c h o c o l a t e - c o v e r e d g r a h a m s . R o b e r t a d r a n k milk from a t h e r m o s while her m o t h e r read the Bible to her. T h i n g s a r e not right. T h e w r o n g food is always with the w r o n g p e o p l e . M a y b e that's why I got into waitress work l a t e r — t o m a t c h u p the right p e o p l e with the right food. R o b e r t a j u s t let t h o s e c h i c k e n legs sit t h e r e , b u t s h e did bring a s t a c k of g r a h a m s u p to m e later w h e n the visit w a s over. I think s h e w a s sorry that her m o t h e r w o u l d not s h a k e my mother's h a n d . A n d I liked that a n d I liked the fact that s h e didn't say a word a b o u t Mary g r o a n i n g all the way t h r o u g h the service a n d not bringing any l u n c h .

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Roberta left in M a y w h e n the a p p l e trees were heavy a n d w h i t e . O n her last day we went to the o r c h a r d to watch the big girls s m o k e a n d d a n c e by the radio. It didn't matter that they s a i d , "Twyyyyyla, b a b y . " W e sat on the g r o u n d a n d b r e a t h e d . L a d y E s t h e r . A p p l e b l o s s o m s . I still g o soft w h e n I smell o n e or the other. R o b e r t a w a s g o i n g h o m e . T h e big c r o s s a n d the big Bible w a s c o m i n g to get her a n d s h e s e e m e d sort of glad a n d sort of not. I thought I would die in that r o o m of four b e d s without her a n d I k n e w B o z o h a d p l a n s to m o v e s o m e other d u m p e d kid in there with m e . R o b e r t a p r o m ised to write every day, which w a s really sweet of her b e c a u s e s h e couldn't read a lick so how c o u l d s h e write anybody. I would have d r a w n p i c t u r e s a n d sent t h e m to her but s h e never gave m e her a d d r e s s . Little by little s h e f a d e d . H e r wet s o c k s with the p i n k s c a l l o p e d t o p s a n d her big s e r i o u s - l o o k i n g e y e s — that's all I c o u l d c a t c h w h e n I tried to bring her to m i n d . I w a s working b e h i n d the c o u n t e r at the H o w a r d J o h n s o n ' s on the T h r u w a y j u s t before the K i n g s t o n exit. N o t a b a d j o b . Kind of a long ride from N e w b u r g h , 4 but okay o n c e I got there. M i n e w a s the s e c o n d night s h i f t — e l e v e n to seven. Very light until a G r e y h o u n d c h e c k e d in for b r e a k f a s t a r o u n d sixthirty. At that h o u r the s u n w a s all the way clear of the hills b e h i n d the r e s t a u r a n t . T h e p l a c e looked better at n i g h t — m o r e like s h e l t e r — b u t I loved it w h e n the s u n broke in, even if it did s h o w all the c r a c k s in the vinyl a n d the speckled floor looked dirty no m a t t e r what the m o p boy did. It w a s A u g u s t a n d a b u s crowd w a s j u s t u n l o a d i n g . T h e y w o u l d s t a n d a r o u n d a long while: g o i n g to the J o h n , a n d looking at gifts a n d junk-for-sale m a c h i n e s , reluctant to sit d o w n s o s o o n . Even to eat. I w a s trying to fill the coffee p o t s a n d get t h e m all s i t u a t e d on the electric b u r n e r s w h e n I s a w her. S h e w a s sitting in a b o o t h s m o k i n g a cigarette with two guys s m o t h e r e d in h e a d a n d facial hair. H e r own hair w a s so big a n d wild I c o u l d hardly s e e her f a c e . B u t the eyes. I would know t h e m anywhere. S h e h a d on a powderblue halter a n d shorts outfit a n d e a r r i n g s the size of b r a c e l e t s . T a l k a b o u t lipstick a n d eyebrow pencil. S h e m a d e the big girls look like n u n s . I couldn't get off the c o u n t e r until seven o'clock, but I kept w a t c h i n g the b o o t h in c a s e they got up to leave before that. M y r e p l a c e m e n t w a s on t i m e for a c h a n g e , s o I c o u n t e d a n d s t a c k e d my receipts a s fast a s I c o u l d a n d s i g n e d off. I walked over to the b o o t h , s m i l i n g a n d w o n d e r i n g if s h e w o u l d r e m e m b e r m e . O r even if s h e w a n t e d to r e m e m b e r m e . M a y b e s h e didn't w a n t to b e r e m i n d e d of S t . Bonny's or to have anybody know s h e w a s ever t h e r e . I know I never talked a b o u t it to anybody. I put my h a n d s in my a p r o n p o c k e t s a n d l e a n e d a g a i n s t the b a c k of the b o o t h facing t h e m . "Roberta? Roberta Fisk?" S h e looked u p . " Y e a h ? " "Twyla." S h e s q u i n t e d for a s e c o n d a n d then s a i d , " W o w . " "Remember me?" " S u r e . Hey. W o w . " "It's b e e n a w h i l e , " I s a i d , a n d gave a smile to the two hairy g u y s . "Yeah. W o w . You work h e r e ? " " Y e a h , " I s a i d . "I live in N e w b u r g h . " " N e w b u r g h ? N o k i d d i n g ? " S h e l a u g h e d then a private laugh that i n c l u d e d 4. A community eighty miles north of New York City.

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the guys but only the guys, a n d they l a u g h e d with her. W h a t c o u l d 1 d o but laugh too a n d w o n d e r why I w a s s t a n d i n g there with my k n e e s s h o w i n g out from u n d e r that uniform. W i t h o u t looking I c o u l d s e e the blue a n d white triangle on my h e a d , my hair s h a p e l e s s in a net, my a n k l e s thick in white oxfords. N o t h i n g c o u l d have b e e n less s h e e r than my s t o c k i n g s . T h e r e w a s this s i l e n c e that c a m e down right after I l a u g h e d . A s i l e n c e it w a s her turn to fill up. With i n t r o d u c t i o n s , m a y b e , to her boyfriends or an invitation to sit d o w n a n d have a C o k e . I n s t e a d s h e lit a cigarette off the o n e she'd j u s t finished a n d said, "We're on our way to the C o a s t . H e ' s got a n a p p o i n t m e n t with H e n d r i x . " S h e g e s t u r e d c a s u a l l y toward the boy next to her. " H e n d r i x ? 5 F a n t a s t i c , " I said. "Really f a n t a s t i c . W h a t ' s s h e d o i n g n o w ? " Roberta c o u g h e d on her cigarette a n d the two guys rolled their eyes u p at the ceiling. "Hendrix. J i m i Hendrix, a s s h o l e . H e ' s onlv the b i g g e s t — O h , wow. Forget it." I w a s d i s m i s s e d without a n y o n e saying g o o d b y e , so I t h o u g h t I w o u l d do it for her. " H o w ' s your m o t h e r ? " I a s k e d . H e r grin c r a c k e d her whole f a c e . S h e swallowed. " F i n e , " she said. " H o w ' s y o u r s ? " "Pretty a s a p i c t u r e , " I said a n d turned away. T h e b a c k s of my k n e e s were d a m p . H o w a r d J o h n s o n ' s really w a s a d u m p in the sunlight. J a m e s is a s c o m f o r t a b l e a s a h o u s e slipper. H e liked my c o o k i n g a n d I liked his big loud family. T h e y have lived in N e w b u r g h all of their lives a n d talk a b o u t it the way p e o p l e do who have always known a h o m e . His g r a n d m o t h e r is a p o r c h swing older than his father a n d w h e n they talk a b o u t streets a n d a v e n u e s a n d buildings they call t h e m n a m e s they no longer have. T h e y still call the A & P'1 Rico's b e c a u s e it s t a n d s on property o n c e a m o m a n d p o p store o w n e d by Mr. R i c o . And they call the new c o m m u n i t y college T o w n Hall b e c a u s e it o n c e w a s . M y mother-in-law p u t s u p jelly a n d c u c u m b e r s a n d buys b u t t e r w r a p p e d in cloth from a dairy. J a m e s a n d his father talk a b o u t fishing a n d b a s e b a l l a n d I c a n s e e t h e m all together o n the H u d s o n in a raggedy skiff. H a l f the p o p u l a t i o n of N e w b u r g h is on welfare now, b u t to my h u s b a n d ' s family it w a s still s o m e u p s t a t e p a r a d i s e of a time l o n g p a s t . A time of ice h o u s e s a n d vegetable w a g o n s , coal f u r n a c e s a n d children w e e d i n g g a r d e n s . W h e n our son was born my mother-in-law gave m e the crib blanket that had b e e n h e r s . But the town they r e m e m b e r e d h a d c h a n g e d . S o m e t h i n g q u i c k w a s in the air. M a g n i f i c e n t old h o u s e s , so r u i n e d they h a d b e c o m e shelter for s q u a t t e r s a n d rent risks, were b o u g h t a n d r e n o v a t e d . S m a r t I B M p e o p l e 7 m o v e d out of their s u b u r b s b a c k into the city a n d put s h u t t e r s up a n d herb g a r d e n s in their b a c k y a r d s . A b r o c h u r e c a m e in the mail a n n o u n c i n g the o p e n i n g of a F o o d E m p o r i u m . G o u r m e t food it s a i d — a n d listed items the rich I B M crowd would want. It w a s located in a new mall at the e d g e of town a n d I drove out to s h o p there o n e d a y — j u s t to s e e . It w a s late in J u n e . After the tulips were g o n e a n d the Queen Elizabeth r o s e s were o p e n everywhere. I trailed my cart a l o n g the aisle t o s s i n g in s m o k e d oysters a n d Robert's s a u c e a n d things I 5. Jimi Hendrix (1942—1970), American musician and rock music star. 6. Supermarket, part of a national chain.

7. High-salaried employees of the International Business M a c h i n e Corporation, headquartered in the suburbs ol New York City.

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knew would sit in my c u p b o a r d for years. Only w h e n I f o u n d s o m e Klondike ice c r e a m b a r s did I feel less guilty a b o u t s p e n d i n g J a m e s ' s fireman's salary so foolishly. M y father-in-law ate them with the s a m e g u s t o little J o s e p h did. W a i t i n g in the check-out line I h e a r d a voice say, " T w y l a ! " T h e c l a s s i c a l m u s i c piped over the aisles h a d affected m e a n d the w o m a n leaning toward m e w a s d r e s s e d to kill. D i a m o n d s on her h a n d , a s m a r t white s u m m e r d r e s s . "I'm M r s . B e n s o n , " I said. " H o . H o . T h e Big B o z o , " s h e s a n g . F o r a split s e c o n d I didn't know what she w a s talking a b o u t . S h e h a d a b u n c h of a s p a r a g u s a n d two c a r t o n s of fancy water. "Roberta!" "Right." " F o r heaven's s a k e . R o b e r t a . " "You look g r e a t , " s h e said. " S o do you. W h e r e are you? H e r e ? In N e w b u r g h ? " "Yes. Over in A n n a n d a l e . " I w a s o p e n i n g my m o u t h to say m o r e when the c a s h i e r called my attention to her e m p t y c o u n t e r . " M e e t you o u t s i d e . " R o b e r t a pointed her finger a n d went into the e x p r e s s line. I placed the groceries a n d kept myself from g l a n c i n g a r o u n d to c h e c k Roberta's p r o g r e s s . I r e m e m b e r e d H o w a r d J o h n s o n ' s a n d looking for a c h a n c e to s p e a k only to be greeted with a stingy " w o w . " B u t s h e w a s waiting for m e a n d her h u g e hair w a s sleek now, s m o o t h a r o u n d a s m a l l , nicely s h a p e d h e a d . S h o e s , d r e s s , everything lovely a n d s u m m e r y a n d rich. I w a s dying to know what h a p p e n e d to her, how s h e got from J i m i Hendrix to A n n a n d a l e , a n e i g h b o r h o o d full of d o c t o r s a n d I B M e x e c u t i v e s . E a s y , I thought. Everything is so easy for t h e m . T h e y think they own the world. " H o w l o n g , " I a s k e d her. " H o w long have you b e e n h e r e ? " "A year. I got married to a m a n w h o lives here. A n d you, you're married too, right? B e n s o n , you s a i d . " "Yeah. J a m e s B e n s o n . " "And is he n i c e ? " " O h , is he n i c e ? " "Well, is h e ? " R o b e r t a ' s eyes were steady a s t h o u g h s h e really m e a n t the q u e s t i o n a n d w a n t e d an answer. " H e ' s wonderful, R o b e r t a . W o n d e r f u l . " " S o vou're h a p p y . " "Very." " T h a t ' s g o o d , " she said a n d n o d d e d her h e a d . "I always h o p e d you'd be happy. Any kids? I know you have k i d s . " " O n e . A boy. H o w a b o u t y o u ? " "Four." "Four?" S h e l a u g h e d . " S t e p kids. He's a widower." "Oh." " G o t a m i n u t e ? Let's have a c o f f e e . " I thought a b o u t the Klondikes melting a n d the i n c o n v e n i e n c e of g o i n g all the way to my car a n d p u t t i n g the b a g s in the trunk. S e r v e d m e right for buying all that stuff I didn't n e e d . R o b e r t a w a s a h e a d of m e .

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" P u t t h e m in my car. It's right h e r e . " A n d then I s a w the dark b l u e l i m o u s i n e . "You married a C h i n a m a n ? " " N o , " s h e l a u g h e d . " H e ' s the driver." " O h , my. If the Big B o z o c o u l d s e e you n o w . " W e both giggled. Really giggled. S u d d e n l y , in j u s t a p u l s e b e a t , twenty years d i s a p p e a r e d a n d all of it c a m e r u s h i n g b a c k . T h e big girls ( w h o m w e called gar g i r l s — R o b e r t a ' s m i s h e a r d word for the evil s t o n e f a c e s d e s c r i b e d in a civics c l a s s ) t h e r e d a n c i n g in the o r c h a r d , the ploppy m a s h e d p o t a t o e s , the d o u b l e w e e n i e s , the S p a m with p i n e a p p l e . W e went into the coffee s h o p holding o n to o n e a n o t h e r a n d I tried to think why we were glad to s e e e a c h other this time a n d not before. O n c e , twelve years a g o , we p a s s e d like s t r a n g e r s . A b l a c k girl a n d a white girl m e e t i n g in a H o w a r d J o h n s o n ' s on the r o a d a n d having n o t h i n g to say. O n e in a b l u e a n d white triangle waitress h a t — t h e other on her way to s e e H e n drix. N o w w e were b e h a v i n g like sisters s e p a r a t e d for m u c h too long. T h o s e four short m o n t h s were n o t h i n g in t i m e . M a y b e it w a s the thing itself. J u s t b e i n g there, together. T w o little girls w h o k n e w w h a t n o b o d y else in the world k n e w — h o w not to a s k q u e s t i o n s . H o w to believe what h a d to be believed. T h e r e w a s p o l i t e n e s s in that r e l u c t a n c e a n d generosity a s well. Is your m o t h e r sick too? N o , s h e d a n c e s all night. O h — a n d a n u n d e r s t a n d i n g nod. W e sat in a b o o t h by the window a n d fell into recollection like v e t e r a n s . " D i d you ever learn to r e a d ? " " W a t c h . " S h e p i c k e d u p the m e n u . " S p e c i a l of the day. C r e a m of c o r n s o u p . E n t r e e s . T w o dots a n d a wriggly line. Q u i c h e . C h e f s a l a d , s c a l l o p s . . ." I w a s l a u g h i n g a n d a p p l a u d i n g w h e n the waitress c a m e u p . " R e m e m b e r the E a s t e r b a s k e t s ? " "And how we tried to introduce t h e m ? " "Your m o t h e r with that c r o s s like two t e l e p h o n e p o l e s . " " A n d yours with t h o s e tight s l a c k s . " W e l a u g h e d so loudly h e a d s turned a n d m a d e the laughter harder to s u p press. " W h a t h a p p e n e d to the J i m i H e n d r i x d a t e ? " R o b e r t a m a d e a blow-out s o u n d with her lips. " W h e n he died I t h o u g h t a b o u t y o u . " " O h , you heard a b o u t him finally?" "Finally. C o m e on, I w a s a small-town c o u n t r y w a i t r e s s . " "And I w a s a small-town country d r o p o u t . G o d , were we wild. I still don't know how I got o u t of there a l i v e . " " B u t you d i d . " "I did. I really did. N o w I'm M r s . K e n n e t h N o r t o n . " " S o u n d s like a m o u t h f u l . " "It i s . " "Servants and all?" R o b e r t a held u p two fingers. " O w ! W h a t d o e s he d o ? " " C o m p u t e r s a n d stuff. W h a t d o I k n o w ? " "I don't r e m e m b e r a hell of a lot from t h o s e d a y s , but L o r d , S t . Bonny's is as clear a s daylight. R e m e m b e r M a g g i e ? T h e day s h e fell d o w n a n d t h o s e g a r girls l a u g h e d at h e r ? "

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Roberta looked up from her s a l a d a n d stared at m e . " M a g g i e didn't fall," she said. "Yes, s h e did. You r e m e m b e r . " " N o , Twyla. T h e y k n o c k e d her d o w n . T h o s e girls p u s h e d her d o w n a n d tore her c l o t h e s . In the o r c h a r d . " "I d o n ' t — t h a t ' s not what h a p p e n e d . " " S u r e it is. In the o r c h a r d . R e m e m b e r how s c a r e d w e w e r e ? " "Wait a m i n u t e . I don't r e m e m b e r any of t h a t . " "And B o z o w a s fired." "You're crazy. S h e w a s there when I left. You left before m e . " "I went b a c k . You weren't there when they fired B o z o . " "What?" " T w i c e . O n c e for a year w h e n I w a s a b o u t ten, a n o t h e r for two m o n t h s when I w a s fourteen. T h a t ' s w h e n I ran away." "You ran away from S t . B o n n y ' s ? " "I h a d to. W h a t do you w a n t ? M e d a n c i n g in that o r c h a r d ? " "Are you s u r e a b o u t M a g g i e ? " " O f c o u r s e I'm s u r e . You've b l o c k e d it, Twyla. It h a p p e n e d . T h o s e girls had behavior p r o b l e m s , you k n o w . " "Didn't they, t h o u g h . B u t why can't I r e m e m b e r the M a g g i e t h i n g ? " "Believe m e . It h a p p e n e d . A n d we were t h e r e . " " W h o did you r o o m with w h e n you went b a c k ? " I a s k e d her a s if I w o u l d know her. T h e M a g g i e thing w a s troubling m e . " C r e e p s . T h e y tickled t h e m s e l v e s in the n i g h t . " M y ears were itching a n d I w a n t e d to go h o m e suddenly. T h i s w a s all very well but s h e couldn't j u s t c o m b her hair, w a s h her f a c e a n d p r e t e n d everything w a s hunky-dory. After the H o w a r d J o h n s o n ' s s n u b . A n d n o apology. Nothing. " W e r e you on d o p e or what that time at H o w a r d J o h n s o n ' s ? " I tried to m a k e my voice s o u n d friendlier than I felt. " M a y b e , a little. I never did d r u g s m u c h . W h y ? " "I don't know; you a c t e d sort of like you didn't want to know m e t h e n . " " O h , Twyla, you know how it w a s in t h o s e days: b l a c k — w h i t e . You know how everything w a s . " B u t I didn't know. I t h o u g h t it w a s j u s t the o p p o s i t e . B u s l o a d s of b l a c k s a n d whites c a m e into H o w a r d J o h n s o n ' s together. T h e y r o a m e d together then: s t u d e n t s , m u s i c i a n s , lovers, p r o t e s t e r s . You got to s e e everything at H o w a r d J o h n s o n ' s a n d b l a c k s were very friendly with whites in t h o s e d a y s . B u t sitting there with n o t h i n g on my plate b u t two hard t o m a t o w e d g e s w o n d e r i n g a b o u t the m e l t i n g Klondikes it s e e m e d childish r e m e m b e r i n g the slight. W e went to her car, a n d with the help of the driver, got my stuff into my station w a g o n . "We'll k e e p in t o u c h this t i m e , " s h e said. " S u r e , " I s a i d . " S u r e . Give m e a c a l l . " "I will," she said, a n d then j u s t a s I w a s sliding b e h i n d the wheel, s h e leaned into the window. " B y the way. Your m o t h e r . D i d s h e ever s t o p d a n c ing? I s h o o k my h e a d . " N o . N e v e r . " Roberta nodded. "And yours? D i d s h e ever get w e l l ? " S h e s m i l e d a tiny s a d s m i l e . " N o . S h e never did. L o o k , call m e , o k a y ? "

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" O k a y , " I said, but I k n e w I wouldn't. R o b e r t a h a d m e s s e d u p my p a s t s o m e h o w with that b u s i n e s s a b o u t M a g g i e . 1 wouldn't forget a thing like that. W o u l d I? Strife c a m e to u s that fall. At least that's what the p a p e r c a l l e d it. Strife. Racial strife. T h e word m a d e m e think of a b i r d — a big shrieking bird out of 1 , 0 0 0 , 0 0 0 , 0 0 0 B . C . F l a p p i n g its wings a n d c a w i n g . Its eye with n o lid always b e a r i n g down on you. All day it s c r e e c h e d a n d at night it slept on the rooftops. It woke you in the m o r n i n g a n d from the Today s h o w to the eleven o'clock n e w s it kept you a n awful c o m p a n y . I couldn't figure it out from o n e day to the next. I knew I w a s s u p p o s e d to feel s o m e t h i n g strong, but I didn't know what, and J a m e s wasn't any help. J o s e p h w a s o n the list of kids to be transferred from the j u n i o r high school to a n o t h e r o n e at s o m e far-out-of-the-way p l a c e a n d I thought it w a s a g o o d thing until I heard it w a s a b a d thing. I m e a n I didn't know. All the s c h o o l s s e e m e d d u m p s to m e , a n d the fact that o n e was nicer looking didn't hold m u c h weight. B u t the p a p e r s were full of it a n d then the kids b e g a n to get j u m p y . In A u g u s t , mind y o u . S c h o o l s weren't even o p e n yet. I thought J o s e p h might be frightened to g o over there, but he didn't s e e m s c a r e d s o I forgot a b o u t it, until I f o u n d myself driving a l o n g H u d s o n Street out there by the school they were trying to integrate a n d s a w a line of w o m e n m a r c h i n g . And w h o d o you s u p p o s e w a s in line, big a s life, holding a sign in front of her bigger than her m o t h e r ' s c r o s s ? M O T H E R S HAVE R I G H T S TOO! it s a i d .

I drove o n , a n d then c h a n g e d my m i n d . I circled the block, slowed d o w n , a n d honked my horn. Roberta looked over a n d w h e n s h e s a w m e s h e waved. I didn't wave back, but I didn't m o v e either. S h e h a n d e d her sign to a n o t h e r w o m a n and c a m e over to w h e r e I w a s p a r k e d . "Hi." " W h a t are you d o i n g ? " " P i c k e t i n g . W h a t ' s it look l i k e ? " "What for?" " W h a t do you m e a n 'What for?' T h e y w a n t to take my kids and s e n d t h e m o u t of the n e i g h b o r h o o d . T h e y don't want to g o . " " S o what if they go to a n o t h e r s c h o o l ? M y boy's being b u s s e d too, a n d I don't m i n d . Why s h o u l d y o u ? " "It's not a b o u t u s , Twyla. M e a n d you. It's a b o u t our k i d s . " " W h a t ' s m o r e us than t h a t ? " "Well, it is a free c o u n t r y . " " N o t yet, but it will b e . " " W h a t the hell d o e s that m e a n ? I'm not d o i n g a n y t h i n g to y o u . " "You really think t h a t ? " "I know it." "I w o n d e r what m a d e m e think you were different." "I w o n d e r what m a d e m e think you were different." " L o o k at t h e m , " I said. " J u s t look. W h o do they think they are? S w a r m i n g all over the p l a c e like they own it. And now they think they c a n d e c i d e w h e r e my child g o e s to s c h o o l . L o o k at t h e m , R o b e r t a . They're B o z o s . " Roberta turned a r o u n d a n d looked at the w o m e n . A l m o s t all of t h e m were s t a n d i n g still now, waiting. S o m e were even e d g i n g toward u s . R o b e r t a

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looked at m e out of s o m e refrigerator b e h i n d her eyes. " N o , they're not. They're j u s t m o t h e r s . " "And what a m I? S w i s s c h e e s e ? " "I u s e d to curl your hair." "I h a t e d your h a n d s in my hair." T h e w o m e n were moving. O u r f a c e s looked m e a n to t h e m of c o u r s e a n d they looked a s t h o u g h they c o u l d not wait to throw t h e m s e l v e s in front of a police car, or better yet, into my car a n d d r a g m e away by my a n k l e s . N o w they s u r r o u n d e d my car a n d gently, gently b e g a n to rock it. 1 swayed b a c k a n d forth like a sideways yo-yo. A u t o m a t i c a l l y I r e a c h e d for R o b e r t a , like the old days in the o r c h a r d w h e n they s a w u s w a t c h i n g t h e m a n d we had to get out of there, a n d if o n e of us fell the other pulled her u p a n d if o n e of u s w a s c a u g h t the other stayed to kick a n d s c r a t c h , a n d neither would leave the other b e h i n d . M y arm shot o u t of the c a r window but no receiving h a n d was there. R o b e r t a was looking at m e sway from side to side in t h e car a n d her face w a s still. M y p u r s e slid from the c a r s e a t d o w n u n d e r the d a s h b o a r d . T h e four p o l i c e m e n who had been drinking T a b " in their c a r finally got the m e s s a g e a n d strolled over, forcing their way t h r o u g h the w o m e n . Quietly, firmly they s p o k e . " O k a y , ladies. B a c k in line or off the s t r e e t s . " S o m e of t h e m went away willingly; o t h e r s had to be urged away from the c a r d o o r s a n d the h o o d . R o b e r t a didn't m o v e . S h e w a s looking steadily at m e . 1 w a s f u m b l i n g to turn on the ignition, which wouldn't c a t c h b e c a u s e the gearshift w a s still in drive. T h e s e a t s of the c a r were a m e s s b e c a u s e the swaying h a d thrown my grocery c o u p o n s all over it a n d my p u r s e w a s s p r a w l e d on the floor. " M a y b e I a m different now, Twyla. B u t you're not. You're the s a m e little state kid who kicked a poor old black lady w h e n s h e w a s d o w n on the g r o u n d . You kicked a black lady a n d you have the nerve to call m e a b i g o t . " T h e c o u p o n s w e r e everywhere a n d the g u t s of my p u r s e were b u n c h e d u n d e r the d a s h b o a r d . W h a t was s h e saying? B l a c k ? M a g g i e wasn't black. " S h e wasn't b l a c k , " I s a i d . " L i k e hell s h e wasn't, a n d you kicked her. W e both did. You kicked a b l a c k lady w h o couldn't even s c r e a m . " "Liar!" "You're the liar! W h y don't you j u s t go on h o m e a n d leave u s a l o n e , h u h ? " S h e t u r n e d away a n d I s k i d d e d away from the c u r b . T h e next m o r n i n g I went into the g a r a g e a n d cut the side out of the carton o u r portable T V had c o m e in. It wasn't nearly big e n o u g h , but after a while I had a d e c e n t sign: red spray-painted letters on a white b a c k g r o u n d — A N D s o DO C H I L D R E N * * * * . I m e a n t j u s t to go d o w n to the s c h o o l a n d t a c k it u p s o m e w h e r e s o t h o s e c o w s on the picket line a c r o s s the street c o u l d s e e it, but w h e n I got t h e r e , s o m e ten or so o t h e r s had already a s s e m b l e d — p r o testing the c o w s a c r o s s the street. Police p e r m i t s a n d everything. I got in line a n d we strutted in time on o u r side while R o b e r t a ' s g r o u p strutted on theirs. T h a t first day we were all dignified, p r e t e n d i n g the other side didn't exist. T h e s e c o n d day there w a s n a m e calling a n d finger g e s t u r e s . But that w a s a b o u t all. P e o p l e c h a n g e d signs from t i m e to t i m e , but R o b e r t a never did and neither did I. Actually my sign didn't m a k e s e n s e without R o b e r t a ' s . "And 8. A carbonated diet soft drink.

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so d o children w h a t ? " o n e of the w o m e n on my side a s k e d m e . H a v e rights, I said, a s t h o u g h it w a s o b v i o u s . R o b e r t a didn't a c k n o w l e d g e my p r e s e n c e in a n y way a n d I g o t to thinking m a y b e s h e didn't know I w a s there. I b e g a n to p a c e myself in the line, j o s t l i n g p e o p l e o n e m i n u t e a n d lagging b e h i n d the next, s o R o b e r t a a n d I c o u l d r e a c h the e n d o f our respective lines at the s a m e time a n d there would b e a m o m e n t in o u r turn w h e n we would f a c e e a c h other. Still, I couldn't tell w h e t h e r s h e saw m e a n d knew my sign w a s for her. T h e next day I went early b e f o r e w e were s c h e d u l e d to a s s e m b l e . I waited until s h e got there before I e x p o s e d my n e w c r e a t i o n . A s s o o n a s s h e h o i s t e d her M O T H E R S HAVE R I G H T S T O O I

b e g a n to wave my n e w o n e , which said, HOW W O U L D YOU KNOW? I k n o w s h e s a w that o n e , b u t I h a d gotten a d d i c t e d now. M y signs got crazier e a c h day, a n d the w o m e n o n m y side d e c i d e d that I w a s a kook. T h e y c o u l d n ' t m a k e h e a d s or tails o u t of my brilliant s c r e a m i n g p o s t e r s . I b r o u g h t a p a i n t e d sign in q u e e n l y red with h u g e b l a c k letters that s a i d , is YOUR M O T H E R W E L L ? R o b e r t a took her l u n c h b r e a k a n d didn't c o m e b a c k for the rest of the d a y or any d a y after. T w o days later I s t o p p e d g o i n g t o o a n d couldn't have b e e n m i s s e d b e c a u s e n o b o d y u n d e r s t o o d my s i g n s anyway. It w a s a nasty six w e e k s . C l a s s e s were s u s p e n d e d a n d J o s e p h didn't g o to anybody's s c h o o l until O c t o b e r . T h e c h i l d r e n — e v e r y b o d y ' s c h i l d r e n — s o o n got bored with that extended v a c a t i o n they t h o u g h t w a s g o i n g to b e s o great. T h e y looked at T V until their eyes flattened. I s p e n t a c o u p l e o f m o r n i n g s tutoring my s o n , a s the other m o t h e r s said w e s h o u l d . T w i c e I o p e n e d a text from last year that he h a d never t u r n e d in. T w i c e he y a w n e d in my f a c e . O t h e r m o t h e r s organized living r o o m s e s s i o n s s o the kids w o u l d k e e p u p . N o n e o f the kids c o u l d c o n c e n t r a t e s o they drifted b a c k to The Price Is Right a n d The Brady Bunch.9 W h e n t h e s c h o o l finally o p e n e d there were fights o n c e or twice a n d s o m e sirens r o a r e d t h r o u g h the streets every o n c e in a while. T h e r e were a lot of p h o t o g r a p h e r s from Albany. A n d j u s t w h e n A B C w a s a b o u t to s e n d u p a news crew, the kids settled d o w n like n o t h i n g in the world h a d h a p p e n e d . J o s e p h h u n g my H O W W O U L D YOU KNOW? sign in his b e d r o o m . I don't know w h a t b e c a m e o f AND S O D O C H I L D R E N * * * * . I think my father-in-law c l e a n e d s o m e fish o n it. H e w a s always p u t t e r i n g a r o u n d in our g a r a g e . E a c h of his five children lived in N e w b u r g h a n d he a c t e d a s t h o u g h he h a d five extra h o m e s . I c o u l d n ' t help looking for R o b e r t a w h e n J o s e p h g r a d u a t e d from high s c h o o l , b u t I didn't s e e her. It didn't trouble m e m u c h w h a t s h e h a d said to m e in t h e c a r . I m e a n the kicking part. I know I didn't d o that, I c o u l d n ' t d o that. B u t I w a s puzzled by her telling m e M a g g i e w a s b l a c k . W h e n I t h o u g h t a b o u t it I actually couldn't b e c e r t a i n . S h e wasn't pitch-black, I knew, or I would have r e m e m b e r e d that. W h a t I r e m e m b e r w a s the kiddie h a t , a n d t h e s e m i c i r c l e legs. I tried to r e a s s u r e myself a b o u t the r a c e thing for a l o n g time until it d a w n e d on m e that the truth w a s already there, a n d R o b e r t a knew it. I didn't kick her; I didn't j o i n in with the g a r girls a n d kick that lady, b u t I s u r e did want to. W e w a t c h e d a n d never tried to h e l p her a n d never c a l l e d for h e l p . M a g g i e w a s my d a n c i n g m o t h e r . D e a f , I t h o u g h t , a n d d u m b . N o b o d y i n s i d e . N o b o d y w h o w o u l d h e a r you if you cried in the night. N o b o d y w h o c o u l d tell you anything i m p o r t a n t that you c o u l d u s e . R o c k i n g , d a n c i n g , 9. Respectively, a popular television game show and situation comedy.

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swaying as s h e walked. And w h e n the gar girls p u s h e d her d o w n , a n d started r o u g h h o u s i n g , I knew s h e wouldn't s c r e a m , c o u l d n ' t — j u s t like m e — a n d I was glad a b o u t that. W e d e c i d e d not to have a tree, b e c a u s e C h r i s t m a s would be at my motherin-law's h o u s e , s o why have a tree at both p l a c e s ? J o s e p h w a s at S U N Y N e w Paltz 1 a n d we h a d to e c o n o m i z e , we s a i d . B u t at the last m i n u t e , I c h a n g e d my m i n d . N o t h i n g could be that b a d . S o I r u s h e d a r o u n d town looking for a tree, s o m e t h i n g small but wide. By the time I f o u n d a p l a c e , it w a s s n o w i n g a n d very late. I dawdled like it was the m o s t i m p o r t a n t p u r c h a s e in the world a n d the tree m a n w a s fed up with m e . Finally I c h o s e o n e a n d h a d it tied onto the trunk of the car. I drove away slowly b e c a u s e the s a n d trucks were not out yet a n d the streets c o u l d be m u r d e r at the b e g i n n i n g of a snowfall. D o w n t o w n the streets were wide a n d rather e m p t y except for a c l u s t e r of p e o p l e c o m i n g out of the N e w b u r g h Hotel. T h e o n e hotel in town that wasn't built o u t of c a r d b o a r d a n d Plexiglas. A party, probably. T h e m e n h u d d l e d in the s n o w were d r e s s e d in tails and the w o m e n h a d on furs. S h i n y things glittered from u n d e r n e a t h their c o a t s . It m a d e m e tired to look at t h e m . T i r e d , tired, tired. O n the next c o r n e r w a s a small diner with loops a n d loops of p a p e r bells in the window. I s t o p p e d the c a r a n d went in. J u s t for a c u p of coffee a n d twenty m i n u t e s of p e a c e before I went h o m e a n d tried to finish everything before C h r i s t m a s E v e . "Twyla?" T h e r e she w a s . In a silvery evening gown a n d dark fur coat. A m a n a n d a n o t h e r w o m a n were with her, the m a n f u m b l i n g for c h a n g e to put in the cigarette m a c h i n e . T h e w o m a n was h u m m i n g a n d t a p p i n g on the c o u n t e r with her fingernails. T h e y all looked a little bit drunk. "Well. It's y o u . " " H o w are y o u ? " I s h r u g g e d . "Pretty g o o d . Frazzled. C h r i s t m a s a n d all." " R e g u l a r ? " called the w o m a n from the c o u n t e r . " F i n e , " Roberta called b a c k a n d then, "Wait for m e in the c a r . " S h e slipped into the booth b e s i d e m e . "I have to tell you s o m e t h i n g , Twyla. I m a d e u p my m i n d if I ever s a w you a g a i n , I'd tell y o u . " "I'd j u s t a s soon not hear anything, R o b e r t a . It doesn't m a t t e r now, anyway." " N o , " s h e said. " N o t a b o u t that." " D o n ' t be l o n g , " said the w o m a n . S h e carried two regulars to g o a n d the m a n peeled his cigarette p a c k a s they left. "It's a b o u t S t . Bonny's a n d M a g g i e . " "Oh, please." " L i s t e n to m e . I really did think s h e w a s black. I didn't m a k e that u p . I really thought s o . B u t now I can't be s u r e . I j u s t r e m e m b e r her a s old, s o old. And b e c a u s e s h e couldn't talk—well, you know, I t h o u g h t s h e w a s crazy. S h e ' d b e e n brought u p in an institution like my m o t h e r w a s a n d like I t h o u g h t I would be too. And you were right. W e didn't kick her. It was the gar girls. Only t h e m . B u t , well, I w a n t e d to. 1 really w a n t e d t h e m to hurt her. I said we did it, too. You a n d m e , but that's not true. And I don't want you to carry 1. A c a m p u s in the State University of New York system.

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that a r o u n d . It w a s j u s t that I w a n t e d to do it so b a d that d a y — w a n t i n g to is d o i n g it." H e r eyes were watery from the drinks she'd h a d , I g u e s s . I know it's that way with m e . O n e glass of wine a n d I start bawling over the littlest thing. " W e were kids, R o b e r t a . " "Yeah. Y e a h . I know, j u s t k i d s . " "Eight." "Eight." "And lonely." "Scared, too." S h e wiped her c h e e k s with the heel of her h a n d a n d s m i l e d . "Well, that's all I w a n t e d to s a y . " I n o d d e d a n d couldn't think of any way to fill the s i l e n c e that went from the diner p a s t the p a p e r bells on out into the snow. It w a s heavy now. I t h o u g h t I'd better wait for the s a n d trucks before starting h o m e . "Thanks, Roberta." "Sure." " D i d I tell you? My m o t h e r , s h e never did s t o p d a n c i n g . " "Yes. You told m e . A n d m i n e , s h e never got well." R o b e r t a lifted her h a n d s from the tabletop a n d covered her f a c e with her p a l m s . W h e n s h e took t h e m away s h e really w a s crying. " O h shit, Twyla. S h i t , shit, shit. W h a t the hell h a p p e n e d to M a g g i e ? " 1983

JOHN b.

UPDIKE 1932

"To transcribe middleness with all its grits, bumps and anonymities, in its fullness of satisfaction and mystery: is it possible . . . or worth doing?" John Updike's novels and stories give a positive answer to the question he asks in his early memoir, The Dogwood Tree: A Boyhood; for he is arguably the most significant transcriber, or creator rather, of "middleness" in American writing since William Dean Howells (about whom he has written appreciatively). Falling in love in high school, meeting a college roommate, going to the eye doctor or dentist, eating supper on Sunday night, visiting your mother with your wife and son—these activities are made to yield up their possibilities to a writer as responsively curious in imagination and delicately precise in his literary expression as Updike has shown himself to be. Born in Shillington, Pennsylvania, John Updike was an only child. He was gifted at drawing and caricature, and after graduating summa cum laude from Harvard in 1954, he spent a year studying art in England, then returned to America and went to work for Tlie New Yorker, where his first stories appeared and to which he is still a regular contributor. When later in the 1950s he left the magazine, he also left New York City and with his wife and children settled in Ipswich, Massachusetts. There he pursued "his solitary trade as methodically as the dentist practiced his," resisting the temptations of university teaching as successfully as the blandishments of media talk shows. Like Howells, his ample production has been achieved through dedicated, steady work; his books are the fruit of patience, leisure, and craft.

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Since 1958 when his first novel, The Poorhoase Fair, appeared, Updike has published not only many novels and stories but also six books of poetry, a play, and a vast store of book reviews and other prose writings. He is most admired by some readers as the author of the "Olinger" stories about life in an imaginary Pennsylvania town that takes on its colors from the real Shillington of his youth. The heroes of these stories are adolescents straining to break out of their fast-perishing environments, as they grow up and as their small town turns into something else. Updike treats them with a blend of affection and ironic humor that is wonderfully assured in its touch, although his sense of place, of growing up during the Depression and the years of World War II, is always vividly present. Like Howells (whose fine memoir of his youthful days in Ohio, A Boy's Town, is an ancestor of Updike's The Dogwood Tree) he shows how one's spirit takes on its coloration from the material circumstances— houses, clothes, landscape, food, parents—one is bounded by. This sense of place, which is also a sense of life, is found in the stories and in the novels too, although Updike has found it harder to invent convincing forms in which to tell longer tales. His most ambitious novel is probably The Centaur (1964), memorable for its portrayal of three days of confusion and error in the life of an American high school teacher seen through his son's eyes, but the book is also burdened with an elaborate set of mythical trappings that seem less than inevitable. Connies (1968), a novel that gained him a good deal of notoriety as a chronicler of sexual relationships, marital and adulterous, is jammed with much interesting early-1960s lore about suburban life but seems uncertain whether it is an exercise in realism or a creative fantasy, as does Marry Me (1976). It is in the four "Rabbit" novels that Updike found his most congenial and engaging subject for longer fiction. In each book he has managed to render the sense of an era—the 1950s in Rabbit, Run; the late 1960s in Rabbit Redux; the great gasoline crisis of 1979 in Rabbit Is Rich; the end of the Reagan era (and the end of Rabbit) in Rabbit at Rest (1990)—through the eyes of a hero who both is and is not like his creator. Harry "Rabbit" Angstrom, ex-high school basketball star, a prey to nostalgia and in love with his own past, perpetually lives in a present he can't abide. Rabbit, Run shows him trying to escape from his town, his job, his wife, and his child by a series of disastrously sentimental and humanly irresponsible actions; yet Updike makes us feel Rabbit's yearnings even as we judge the painful consequences of yielding to them. Ten years later the fading basketball star has become a fortyish, dispirited printer with a wayward wife and a country that is both landing on the moon and falling to pieces. Rabbit Redux is masterly in presenting a small town rotting away from its past certainties; it also attempts to deal with the Vietnam War and the black revolution. Rabbit Is Rich is a more gentle, sadder chronicling of the hero's settling into grandfatherhood as he draws ever closer to death; while Rabbit at Rest, the longest and richest of the four novels, brings him to a moving conclusion; indeed, Rabbit himself is worthy of a generational coda, one presented in the reflections of his son and illegitimate daughter in "Rabbit Remembered," collected in Licks of Love (2000). In Rogers Version (1986) and S (1988) Updike has adopted—or permitted his protagonists to adopt—a more broadly, sometimes a harsher, satiric view of contemporary religion, computer technology, feminism, and other forms of "liberation." Still, for all his virtuosity as a novelist, his best work may be found in the stories and in his short novel Of the Farm (1965). In "Separating" (printed here) the boy from "The Happiest I've Been" has grown up, married, and fathered children and is now about to leave them as he moves into divorce. It is a beautiful example of Updike's careful, poised sense of how things work, a sense that can also be observed in the poem "Dog's Death" and in his memoir Self-Consciousness (1989). Near the end of "The Dogwood Tree" he summarized his boyish dream of becoming an artist: He saw art—between drawing and writing he ignorantly made no distinction— as a method of riding a thin pencil out of Shillington, out of time altogether,

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into an infinity of unseen and even unborn hearts. He pictured this infinity as radiant. How innocent! Most writers would name that innocence only to deplore it. Updike maintains instead that, as with the Christian faith he still professes, succeeding years have given him no better assumptions with which to replace it. In any case, his fine sense of fact has protected him from fashionable extravagances in black humor and experimental narratives, while enabling him to be both a satirist and a celebrator of our social and domestic conditions. In recent years, he has allowed a fabulative, almost magical atmosphere to appear in some works, as with his 2000 novel, Gertrude and Claudius. Yet even here, as he does in the generational family saga based on spiritual perceptions, In the Beauty of the Lilies (1996), John Updike remains our era's most sensitive craftsman of personal and societal manners. The text is that of The New Yorker, June 23, 1975.

eparating T h e day w a s fair. Brilliant. All that J u n e the w e a t h e r h a d m o c k e d the M a p l e s ' internal misery with solid s u n l i g h t — g o l d e n shafts a n d c a s c a d e s of green in which their c o n v e r s a t i o n s h a d w o r m e d u n s e e i n g , their s a d murm u r i n g selves the only stain in N a t u r e . U s u a l l y by this time of the year they h a d a c q u i r e d t a n s ; but w h e n they m e t their elder d a u g h t e r ' s p l a n e on her return from a year in E n g l a n d they were a l m o s t a s p a l e a s s h e , t h o u g h J u d i t h w a s too dazzled by the s u n n y o p u l e n t j u m b l e of her native land to notice. T h e y did not spoil her h o m e c o m i n g by telling her immediately. W a i t a few days, let her recover from j e t lag, h a d b e e n o n e of their f o r m u l a t i o n s , in that string of gray d i a l o g u e s — o v e r c o f f e e , over c o c k t a i l s , over C o i n t r e a u — t h a t h a d s h a p e d the strategy of their d i s s o l u t i o n , while the earth p e r f o r m e d its a n n u a l stunt of renewal u n n o t i c e d beyond their c l o s e d windows. R i c h a r d had thought to leave at E a s t e r ; J o a n h a d insisted they wait until the four children were at last a s s e m b l e d , with all e x a m s p a s s e d a n d c e r e m o n i e s a t t e n d e d , a n d the b a u b l e of s u m m e r to c o n s o l e t h e m . S o he h a d d r u d g e d away, in love, i n . d r e a d , repairing s c r e e n s , getting the m o w e r s s h a r p e n e d , rolling a n d p a t c h i n g their new tennis court. T h e c o u r t , clay, h a d c o m e t h r o u g h its first winter pitted a n d w i n d s w e p t b a r e of r e d c o a t . Years a g o the M a p l e s h a d o b s e r v e d how often, a m o n g their friends, divorce followed a d r a m a t i c h o m e i m p r o v e m e n t , a s if the m a r r i a g e were m a k i n g o n e last twitchy effort to live; their own worst crisis h a d c o m e a m i d the plaster d u s t a n d e x p o s e d p l u m b i n g of a kitchen renovation. Yet, a s u m m e r a g o , a s canary-yellow bulldozers gaily c h u r n e d a grassy, daisy-dotted knoll into a m u d d y p l a t e a u , a n d a c r e w of pigtailed y o u n g m e n raked a n d t a m p e d clay into a p l a n e , this t r a n s f o r m a t i o n did not strike t h e m a s o m i n o u s , but festive in its i m p u d e n c e ; their m a r r i a g e c o u l d rend the earth for fun. T h e next spring, waking e a c h day at d a w n to a sliding s e n s a t i o n a s if the b e d were b e i n g tipped, R i c h a r d found the b a r r e n tennis c o u r t , its net a n d t a p e s still rolled in the b a r n , a n e n v i r o n m e n t c o n g r u o u s with his m o o d of purposeful d e s o l a t i o n , a n d the c r u m b l i n g of h a n d f u l s of clay into c r a c k s a n d holes (dogs h a d frolicked on the c o u r t in a thaw; rivulets h a d evolved t r e n c h e s ) an activity suitably e l e m e n t a l a n d i n t e r m i n a b l e . In his s e a l e d heart he h o p e d the day would never c o m e .

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N o w it was h e r e . A Friday. J u d i t h w a s r e a c c l i m a t e d ; all four children were a s s e m b l e d , before j o b s a n d c a m p s a n d visits again s c a t t e r e d t h e m . J o a n thought they s h o u l d be told o n e by o n e . R i c h a r d w a s for m a k i n g an a n n o u n c e m e n t at the table. S h e said, "I think j u s t m a k i n g a n a n n o u n c e m e n t is a cop-out. They'll start quarrelling a n d playing to e a c h other instead of f o c u s s i n g . They're e a c h individuals, you know, not j u s t s o m e c o r p o r a t e o b s t a cle to your f r e e d o m . " " O . K . , O.K. I a g r e e . " J o a n ' s plan was exact. T h a t evening, they were giving J u d i t h a belated w e l c o m e - h o m e dinner, of lobster a n d c h a m p a g n e . T h e n , the party over, they, the two of t h e m , who n i n e t e e n years before would p u s h her in a baby carriage a l o n g T e n t h Street to W a s h i n g t o n S q u a r e , 1 were to walk her out of the h o u s e , to the bridge a c r o s s the salt creek, a n d tell her, swearing her to secrecy. T h e n R i c h a r d Jr., w h o w a s going directly from work to a rock c o n c e r t in B o s t o n , would be told, either late w h e n h e r e t u r n e d on the train or early S a t u r d a y m o r n i n g before he went off to his j o b ; h e w a s seventeen a n d e m p l o y e d a s o n e of a g o l f - c o u r s e m a i n t e n a n c e crew. T h e n the two y o u n g e r children, J o h n a n d M a r g a r e t , c o u l d , a s the m o r n i n g wore on, be informed. " M o p p e d u p , a s it w e r e , " Richard s a i d . " D o you have any better p l a n ? T h a t leaves you the rest of S a t u r d a y to a n s w e r any q u e s t i o n s , p a c k , a n d m a k e your wonderful d e p a r t u r e . " " N o , " he said, m e a n i n g he had no better plan, a n d a g r e e d to hers, t h o u g h it h a d an e d g e of false order, a plea for control in the s e m b l a n c e of its a c h i e v e m e n t , like J o a n ' s long c h o r e lists a n d financial a c c o u n t i n g s a n d , in the days w h e n he first knew her, her too c o p i o u s lecture n o t e s . H e r plan turned o n e hurdle for him into f o u r — f o u r knife-sharp walls, e a c h with a sheer blind drop on the other s i d e . All spring he h a d b e e n morbidly c o n s c i o u s of insides a n d o u t s i d e s , of barriers a n d partitions. H e a n d J o a n s t o o d a s a thin barrier b e t w e e n the children a n d the truth. E a c h m o m e n t w a s a partition, with the past on o n e side a n d the future on the other, a future c o n t a i n i n g this u n t h i n k a b l e now. Beyond four knifelike walls a new life for him waited vaguely. H i s skull c u p p e d a s e c r e t , a white f a c e , a f a c e both frightened a n d s o o t h i n g , b o t h strange a n d k n o w n , that he w a n t e d to shield from t e a r s , which h e felt all a b o u t him, solid as the sunlight. S o h a u n t e d , he h a d b e c o m e o b s e s s e d with battening down the h o u s e a g a i n s t his a b s e n c e , r e p l a c i n g s c r e e n s a n d s a s h c o r d s , hinges a n d l a t c h e s — a H o u d i n i 2 m a k i n g things s n u g before his e s c a p e . T h e lock. H e h a d still to r e p l a c e a lock on o n e of the d o o r s of the s c r e e n e d p o r c h . T h e task, like m o s t s u c h , proved m o r e difficult than he h a d i m a g i n e d . T h e old lock, a l u m i n u m frozen by c o r r o s i o n , h a d b e e n deliberately r e n d e r e d o b s o l e t e by m a n u f a c t u r e r s . T h r e e h a r d w a r e stores h a d n o t h i n g that even approximately m a t c h e d the mortised hole its removal (surprisingly easy) left. Another hole h a d to be g o u g e d , with bits too small a n d s a w s too big, a n d the old hole fitted with a block of w o o d — t h e c h i s e l s dull, the s a w rusty, his fingers thick with lack of sleep. T h e s u n p o u r e d d o w n , beyond the p o r c h , on a world of neglect. T h e b u s h e s already n e e d e d p r u n i n g , the windward side 1. In Greenwich Village, an area in lower Manhattan. New York City.

2. Harry Houdini ( 1 8 7 4 - 1 9 2 6 ) , American magician and escape artist.

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of the h o u s e w a s s h e d d i n g flakes of paint, rain would get in w h e n h e w a s g o n e , i n s e c t s , rot, d e a t h . His family, all t h o s e he would l o s e , filtered t h r o u g h the e d g e s of his a w a r e n e s s as he struggled with screw holes, splinters, o p a q u e i n s t r u c t i o n s , m i n u t i a e of m e t a l . J u d i t h sat on the p o r c h , a p r i n c e s s r e t u r n e d from exile. S h e regaled t h e m with stories of fuel s h o r t a g e s , of b o m b s c a r e s in the U n d e r g r o u n d , of Pakistani w o r k m e n loudly lusting after her a s s h e walked p a s t o n her way to d a n c e s c h o o l . J o a n c a m e a n d went, in a n d o u t of the h o u s e , c a l m e r than she s h o u l d have b e e n , praising his s t r u g g l e s with the lock a s if this were o n e m o r e a n d not the last of their chain of s h a r e d c h o r e s . T h e y o u n g e r of his s o n s , J o h n , now at fifteen suddenly, unwittingly h a n d s o m e , for a few m i n u t e s held the rickety s c r e e n d o o r while his father c l u m s i l y h a m m e r e d a n d chiselled, e a c h blow a kind of s o b in Richard's e a r s . H i s y o u n g e r d a u g h t e r , having b e e n at a s l u m b e r party, slept on the p o r c h h a m m o c k through all the n o i s e — heavy a n d pink, trusting a n d f o r s a k e n . T i m e , like the sunlight, c o n t i n u e d relentlessly; the sunlight slowly s l a n t e d . T o d a y w a s o n e of the l o n g e s t days. T h e lock clicked, worked. H e w a s t h r o u g h . H e h a d a drink; h e d r a n k it on the p o r c h , listening to his d a u g h t e r . "It w a s s o s w e e t , " s h e w a s saying, " d u r i n g the worst of it, how all the b u t c h e r ' s a n d bakery s h o p s kept o p e n by c a n d l e light. They're all so plucky a n d c u t e . F r o m the p a p e r s , things s o u n d e d s o m u c h w o r s e h e r e — p e o p l e s h o o t i n g p e o p l e in g a s lines, a n d everybody freezing. R i c h a r d a s k e d her, " D o you still want to live in E n g l a n d f o r e v e r ? " Forever: the c o n c e p t , now a reality u p o n h i m , p r e s s e d a n d s c r a t c h e d at the b a c k of his throat. " N o , " J u d i t h c o n f e s s e d , t u r n i n g her oval f a c e to him, its eyes still childishly far apart, but the lips set a s over s o m e t h i n g s u c c u l e n t a n d satisfactory. "I w a s anxious to c o m e h o m e . I'm a n A m e r i c a n . " S h e w a s a w o m a n . T h e y h a d raised her; h e a n d J o a n h a d e n d u r e d together to raise her, a l o n e of the four. T h e others h a d still s o m e raising left in t h e m . Yet it w a s the t h o u g h t of telling J u d i t h — t h e i m a g e of her, their first baby, walking b e t w e e n t h e m a r m in a r m to the b r i d g e — t h a t broke h i m . T h e partition b e t w e e n h i m s e l f a n d the t e a r s b r o k e . R i c h a r d sat down to the celebratory m e a l with the b a c k of his throat a c h i n g ; the c h a m p a g n e , the lobster s e e m e d p h a s e s of s u n s h i n e ; h e s a w t h e m a n d tasted t h e m t h r o u g h tears. H e blinked, swallowed, croakily j o k e d a b o u t hay fever. T h e tears w o u l d not s t o p leaking t h r o u g h ; they c a m e not t h r o u g h a hole that c o u l d be p l u g g e d b u t t h r o u g h a p e r m e a b l e spot in a m e m b r a n e , steadily, purely, endlessly, fruitfully. T h e y b e c a m e , his t e a r s , a shield for himself a g a i n s t t h e s e o t h e r s — t h e i r f a c e s , the fact of their a s s e m b l y , a last time a s i n n o c e n t s , at a table w h e r e he sat the last time a s h e a d . T e a r s d r o p p e d from his n o s e a s he broke the lobster's b a c k ; salt flavored his c h a m p a g n e as h e s i p p e d it; the raw c l e n c h at the b a c k of his throat w a s d e l i c i o u s . H e c o u l d not help himself. His children tried to ignore his tears. J u d i t h o n his right, lit a cigarette, gazed u p w a r d in the direction of her too e n e r g e t i c , too s o p h i s t i c a t e d exhalation; on her other s i d e , J o h n earnestly bent his f a c e to the extraction of the last m o r s e l s — l e g s , tail s e g m e n t s — f r o m the scarlet c o r p s e . J o a n , at the o p p o site end of the table, g l a n c e d at him s u r p r i s e d , her r e p r o a c h d i s p l a c e d by a q u i c k g r i m a c e , of forgiveness, or of s a l u t e to his s u p e r i o r gift of strategy. B e t w e e n t h e m , M a r g a r e t , n o longer called B e a n , thirteen a n d large for her

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a g e , gazed from the other side of his p a n e of tears as if into a s h o p w i n d o w at s o m e t h i n g s h e c o v e t e d — a t her father, a crystalline h e a p of splinters a n d m e m o r i e s . It was not s h e , however, but J o h n who, in the k i t c h e n , a s they cleared the p l a t e s a n d c a r a p a c e s away, a s k e d J o a n the q u e s t i o n : "Why is Daddy crying?" Richard h e a r d the q u e s t i o n but not the m u r m u r e d a n s w e r . T h e n he h e a r d B e a n cry, " O h , n o - o h ! " — t h e faintly d r a m a t i z e d e x c l a m a t i o n of o n e w h o h a d long e x p e c t e d it. J o h n returned to the table carrying a bowl of s a l a d . H e n o d d e d tersely at his father a n d his lips s h a p e d the conspiratorial w o r d s " S h e t o l d . " "Told w h a t ? " Richard a s k e d a l o u d , insanely. T h e boy sat d o w n a s if to r e b u k e his father's distraction with the e x a m p l e of his own good m a n n e r s a n d said quietly, " T h e s e p a r a t i o n . " J o a n a n d M a r g a r e t r e t u r n e d ; the child, in Richard's twisted vision, s e e m e d d i m i n i s h e d in size, a n d relieved, relieved to have h a d the b o o g e y m a n at last proved real. H e called out to h e r — t h e d i s t a n c e s at the table h a d grown i m m e n s e — " Y o u knew, you always k n e w , " but the c l e n c h i n g at the b a c k of his throat prevented him from m a k i n g s e n s e of it. F r o m afar he h e a r d J o a n talking, levelly, sensibly, reciting what they had p r e p a r e d : it w a s a s e p a r a t i o n for the s u m m e r , a n e x p e r i m e n t . S h e a n d D a d d y both a g r e e d it would be g o o d for t h e m ; they n e e d e d s p a c e a n d time to think; they liked e a c h other but did not m a k e e a c h other happy e n o u g h , s o m e h o w . J u d i t h , imitating her mother's factual t o n e , but in her youth off-key, too cool, said, "I think it's silly. You s h o u l d either live together or get d i v o r c e d . " Richard's crying, like a wave that has c r e s t e d a n d c r a s h e d , h a d b e c o m e t u m u l t u o u s ; but it w a s overtopped by a n o t h e r t u m u l t , for J o h n , w h o h a d b e e n so reserved, now grew larger a n d larger at the table. P e r h a p s his y o u n g e r sister's b e i n g credited with knowing set him off. " W h y didn't you tell u s ? " he a s k e d , in a large r o u n d voice quite unlike his own. "You s h o u l d have told u s you weren't getting a l o n g . " R i c h a r d w a s startled into a t t e m p t i n g to force words t h r o u g h his t e a r s . " W e do get along, that's the trouble, s o it doesn't s h o w even to us^—" " T h a t we do not love e a c h o t h e r " w a s the rest of the s e n t e n c e ; he couldn't finish it. J o a n finished for him, in her style. "And we've always, especially, loved our children." J o h n w a s not mollified. " W h a t do you c a r e a b o u t us?" h e b o o m e d . " W e ' r e j u s t little things you had." His sisters' l a u g h i n g forced a l a u g h from him, which he turned hard a n d parodistic: " H a ha ha." R i c h a r d a n d J o a n realized s i m u l t a n e o u s l y that the child w a s drunk, on J u d i t h ' s h o m e c o m i n g c h a m p a g n e . Feeling b o u n d to keep the center of the s t a g e , J o h n took a cigarette from J u d i t h ' s p a c k , p o k e d it into his m o u t h , let it h a n g from his lower lip, a n d s q u i n t e d like a gangster. "You're not little things we h a d , " Richard called to h i m . "You're the w h o l e point. B u t you're grown. O r a l m o s t . " T h e boy w a s lighting m a t c h e s . I n s t e a d of holding t h e m to his cigarette (for they h a d never s e e n him s m o k e ; being " g o o d " h a d b e e n his way of setting himself a p a r t ) , he held t h e m to his mother's f a c e , c l o s e r a n d closer, for her to blow out. T h e n he lit the whole f o l d e r — a hiss a n d then a torch, held against his mother's f a c e . P r i s m e d by tears, the flame filled Richard's vision; he didn't know how it w a s extinguished. H e h e a r d M a r g a r e t say, " O h s t o p

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s h o w i n g off," a n d saw J o h n , in r e s p o n s e , b r e a k the cigarette in two a n d p u t the halves entirely into his m o u t h a n d c h e w , sticking out his t o n g u e to display the s h r e d s to his sister. J o a n talked to h i m , r e a s o n i n g — a fountain of r e a s o n , unintelligible. " T a l k e d a b o u t it for years . . . our children m u s t help u s . . . D a d d y a n d I both want . . ." As the boy listened, he carefully w a d d e d a p a p e r napkin into the leaves of his s a l a d , f a s h i o n e d a ball of p a p e r a n d l e t t u c e , a n d p o p p e d it into his m o u t h , looking a r o u n d the table for the e x p e c t e d laughter. N o n e c a m e . J u d i t h said, " B e m a t u r e , " a n d d i s m i s s e d a p l u m e of s m o k e . R i c h a r d got u p from this stifling table a n d led the boy o u t s i d e . T h o u g h the h o u s e w a s in twilight, the o u t d o o r s still b r i m m e d with light, the long w a s t e light of high s u m m e r . B o t h l a u g h i n g , he s u p e r v i s e d J o h n ' s spitting out the lettuce a n d p a p e r a n d t o b a c c o into the p a c h y s a n d r a . 3 H e t o o k him by the h a n d — a s q u a r e gritty h a n d , but for its s o f t n e s s a m a n ' s . Yet, it held o n . T h e y ran together up into the field, past the tennis c o u r t . T h e raw b a n k i n g left by the bulldozers w a s dotted with d a i s i e s . P a s t the c o u r t a n d a flat s t r e t c h where they u s e d to play family b a s e b a l l s t o o d a soft green rise g l o r i o u s in the s u n , e a c h w e e d a n d s p e c i e s of g r a s s distinct a s illumination o n p a r c h m e n t . "I'm sorry, s o sorry," R i c h a r d cried. "You were the only o n e w h o ever tried to help m e with all the g o d d a m j o b s a r o u n d this p l a c e . " S o b b i n g , s a f e within his tears a n d the c h a m p a g n e , J o h n explained, "It's not j u s t the s e p a r a t i o n , it's the w h o l e c r u m m y year, I hate that s c h o o l , you can't m a k e any friends, the history t e a c h e r ' s a s c u d . " 4 T h e y sat on the crest of the rise, s h a k i n g a n d w a r m from their tears but easier in their v o i c e s , a n d R i c h a r d tried to f o c u s on the child's s a d y e a r — t h e weekdays long with h o m e w o r k , the w e e k e n d s spent in his r o o m with m o d e l a i r p l a n e s , while his p a r e n t s m u r m u r e d d o w n below, n u r s i n g their s e p a r a t i o n . H o w selfish, how blind, Richard t h o u g h t ; his eyes felt s c o u r e d . H e told his s o n , "We'll think a b o u t getting you transferred. Life's too short to be m i s erable." T h e y h a d said what they c o u l d , but did not w a n t the m o m e n t to heal, a n d talked o n , a b o u t the s c h o o l , a b o u t the t e n n i s court, w h e t h e r it w o u l d ever again be a s g o o d a s it h a d b e e n that first s u m m e r . T h e y walked to i n s p e c t it a n d p r e s s e d a few m o r e t a p e s m o r e firmly d o w n . A little stiltedly, p e r h a p s trying to m a k e too m u c h of the m o m e n t , to p r o l o n g it, R i c h a r d led the boy to the spot in the field w h e r e the view w a s b e s t , of the metallic b l u e river, the e m e r a l d m a r s h , the s c a t t e r e d i s l a n d s velvet with s h a d o w in the low light, the white bits of b e a c h far away. " S e e , " he s a i d . "It g o e s o n b e i n g beautiful. It'll be here t o m o r r o w . " "I k n o w , " J o h n a n s w e r e d , impatiently. T h e m o m e n t h a d c l o s e d . B a c k in the h o u s e , the others h a d o p e n e d s o m e white w i n e , the c h a m p a g n e b e i n g drunk, a n d still sat at the t a b l e , the three f e m a l e s , gossiping. W h e r e J o a n sat h a d b e c o m e the h e a d . S h e t u r n e d , s h o w i n g him a tearless f a c e , a n d a s k e d , "All r i g h t ? " "We're fine," he said, r e s e n t i n g it, t h o u g h relieved, that the party went on without h i m . 3. Green, leafy plant, frequently usee! as groundcover.

4. Disagreeable, objectionable person,

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In b e d s h e explained, "I couldn't cry I g u e s s b e c a u s e I cried s o m u c h all spring. It really wasn't fair. It's your idea, a n d you m a d e it look a s t h o u g h I w a s kicking you o u t . " "I'm sorry," he s a i d . "I couldn't s t o p . I w a n t e d to but c o u l d n ' t . " "You didn't want to. You loved it. You were having your way, m a k i n g a general a n n o u n c e m e n t . " "I love having it over," he a d m i t t e d . " G o d , t h o s e kids were great. S o brave a n d funny." J o h n , returned to the h o u s e , h a d settled to a m o d e l a i r p l a n e in his r o o m , a n d kept s h o u t i n g down to t h e m , "I'm O . K . N o s w e a t . " " A n d the way," Richard went on, cozy in his relief, "they never q u e s t i o n e d the r e a s o n s we gave. N o t h o u g h t of a third p e r s o n . N o t even J u d i t h . " " T h a t was t o u c h i n g , " J o a n said. H e gave her a h u g . "You were great too. T h a n k y o u . " Guiltily, h e realized h e did not feel s e p a r a t e d . "You still have Dickie to d o , " s h e told h i m . T h e s e w o r d s set before him a black m o u n t a i n in the d a r k n e s s ; its cold b r e a t h , its n e a r weight affected his c h e s t . O f the four children D i c k i e w a s m o s t nearly his c o n s c i e n c e . J o a n did not n e e d to a d d , " T h a t ' s o n e p i e c e of your dirty work I won't d o for y o u . " "I know. I'll do it. You go to s l e e p . " Within m i n u t e s , her b r e a t h i n g slowed, b e c a m e oblivious a n d d e e p . It w a s q u a r t e r to midnight. Dickie's train from the c o n c e r t would c o m e in at o n e fourteen. Richard set the a l a r m for o n e . H e h a d slept atrociously for w e e k s . B u t whenever he c l o s e d his lids s o m e g l i m p s e of the last h o u r s s c o r c h e d t h e m — J u d i t h exhaling toward the ceiling in a kind of aversion, B e a n ' s m u t e staring, the s u n s t r u c k growth of the field w h e r e he a n d J o h n h a d r e s t e d . T h e m o u n t a i n before him m o v e d closer, moved within him; he w a s h u g e , m o m e n t o u s . T h e a c h e at the b a c k of his throat felt s t a l e . H i s wife slept a s if slain b e s i d e h i m . W h e n , e x a s p e r a t e d by his hot lids, his c r o w d e d heart, h e rose from b e d a n d d r e s s e d , s h e a w o k e e n o u g h to turn over. H e told her t h e n , "If I could u n d o it all, I w o u l d . " " W h e r e would you b e g i n ? " she a s k e d . T h e r e w a s n o p l a c e . Giving him c o u r a g e , s h e was always giving him c o u r a g e . H e put on s h o e s without s o c k s in the dark. T h e children were b r e a t h i n g in their r o o m s , the d o w n s t a i r s w a s hollow. In their c o n f u s i o n they h a d left lights b u r n i n g . H e t u r n e d off all but o n e , the kitchen o v e r h e a d . T h e c a r started. H e h a d h o p e d it wouldn't. H e met only moonlight o n the r o a d ; it s e e m e d a d i a p h a n o u s c o m p a n i o n , flickering in the leaves a l o n g the r o a d s i d e , h a u n t i n g his rearview mirror like a p u r s u e r , melting u n d e r his headlights. T h e c e n t e r of town, not q u i t e d e s e r t e d , w a s eerie at this hour. A y o u n g c o p in uniform kept c o m p a n y with a g a n g of T-shirted kids on the s t e p s of the b a n k . A c r o s s from the railroad station, several bars kept o p e n . C u s t o m e r s , mostly y o u n g , p a s s e d in a n d out of the w a r m night, savoring s u m m e r ' s novelty. V o i c e s s h o u t e d from c a r s a s they p a s s e d ; a n i m m e n s e conversation s e e m e d in p r o g r e s s . R i c h a r d p a r k e d a n d in his w e a r i n e s s put his head on the p a s s e n g e r s e a t , out of the c o m motion a n d wheeling lights. It was a s w h e n , in the m o v i e s , a n a s s a s s i n grimly carries his m i s s i o n through the j o s t l e of a c a r n i v a l — e x c e p t the movies c a n n o t s h o w the p r e c i p i t o u s , p a l p a b l e slope you cling to within. You c a n n o t c l i m b b a c k d o w n ; you c a n only fall. T h e synthetic fabric of the c a r s e a t , w a r m e d by his c h e e k , confided to him an a n c i e n t , distant s c e n t of vanilla.

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A train whistle c a u s e d him to lift his h e a d . It w a s on t i m e ; he h a d h o p e d it would be late. T h e slender d r a w g a t e s d e s c e n d e d . T h e bell of a p p r o a c h tingled happily. T h e great metal body, horizontally fluted, rocked to a stop, a n d sleepy teen-agers d i s e m b a r k e d , his son a m o n g t h e m . Dickie did not s h o w surprise that his father w a s m e e t i n g him at this terrible hour. H e s a u n t e r e d to the c a r with two friends, both taller than he. H e s a i d " H i " to his father a n d took the p a s s e n g e r ' s seat with a n e x h a u s t e d p r o m p t n e s s that e x p r e s s e d gratitude. T h e friends got into the b a c k , a n d R i c h a r d w a s grateful; a few m o r e m i n u t e s ' p o s t p o n e m e n t would be won by driving t h e m h o m e . H e a s k e d , " H o w w a s the c o n c e r t ? " " G r o o v y , " o n e boy said from the b a c k s e a t . "It bit," the other s a i d . "It w a s O . K . , " Dickie said, m o d e r a t e by n a t u r e , so r e a s o n a b l e that in his c h i l d h o o d the u n r e a s o n of the world h a d given him h e a d a c h e s , s t o m a c h a c h e s , n a u s e a . W h e n the s e c o n d friend had b e e n d r o p p e d off at his dark h o u s e , the boy blurted, " D a d , my eyes are killing m e with hay fever! I'm out there c u t t i n g that m o t h e r i n g g r a s s all day!" " D o we still have t h o s e d r o p s ? " " T h e y didn't do any g o o d last s u m m e r . " " T h e y might t h i s . " Richard s w u n g a U-turn on the e m p t y street. T h e drive h o m e took a few m i n u t e s . T h e m o u n t a i n w a s h e r e , in his throat. " R i c h a r d , " he said, a n d felt the boy, s l u m p e d a n d r u b b i n g his e y e s , g o t e n s e at his t o n e , "I didn't c o m e to meet you j u s t to m a k e your life easier. I c a m e b e c a u s e your m o t h e r a n d I have s o m e n e w s for you, a n d you're a hard m a n to get ahold of these days. It's s a d n e w s . " " T h a t ' s O . K . " T h e r e a s s u r a n c e c a m e o u t soft, but q u i c k , a s if r e l e a s e d from the tip of a spring. Richard h a d feared that his tears w o u l d return a n d c h o k e h i m , but the boy's m a n l i n e s s set a n e x a m p l e , a n d his voice i s s u e d forth steady a n d dry. "It's s a d n e w s , but it needn't be tragic n e w s , at least for you. It s h o u l d have no practical effect on your life, t h o u g h it's b o u n d to have an e m o t i o n a l effect. You'll work at your j o b , a n d go b a c k to s c h o o l in S e p t e m b e r . Your m o t h e r a n d I are really p r o u d of what you're m a k i n g of your life; we don't w a n t that to c h a n g e at all." " Y e a h , " the boy said lightly, o n the intake of his b r e a t h , holding h i m s e l f u p . T h e y t u r n e d the c o r n e r ; the c h u r c h they went to l o o m e d like a g u t t e d fort. T h e h o m e of the w o m a n R i c h a r d h o p e d to marry s t o o d a c r o s s the g r e e n . H e r b e d r o o m light b u r n e d . "Your m o t h e r a n d I," h e said, "have d e c i d e d to s e p a r a t e . F o r the s u m m e r . N o t h i n g legal, no divorce yet. W e want to s e e h o w it feels. F o r s o m e years now, we haven't b e e n d o i n g e n o u g h for e a c h other, m a k i n g e a c h other a s happy a s we s h o u l d b e . H a v e you s e n s e d t h a t ? " " N o , " the boy said. It w a s an h o n e s t , u n e m o t i o n a l a n s w e r : true or false in a quiz. G l a d for the factual b a s i s , R i c h a r d p u r s u e d , even garrulously, the details. His a p a r t m e n t a c r o s s town, his utter accessibility, the split vacation arrangem e n t s , the a d v a n t a g e s to the children, the a d d e d mobility a n d variety of the s u m m e r . Dickie listened, a b s o r b i n g . " D o the others k n o w ? " R i c h a r d d e s c r i b e d how they h a d b e e n told.

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" H o w did they take i t ? " " T h e girls pretty calmly. J o h n flipped o u t ; h e s h o u t e d a n d a t e a cigarette and m a d e a s a l a d out of his napkin a n d told us how m u c h h e h a t e d s c h o o l . " His brother c h u c k l e d . " H e d i d ? " "Yeah. T h e school i s s u e w a s m o r e u p s e t t i n g for him than M o m a n d m e . H e s e e m e d to feel better for having e x p l o d e d . " " H e d i d ? " T h e repetition w a s the first sign that he w a s s t u n n e d . "Yes. D i c k i e , I w a n t to tell you s o m e t h i n g . T h i s last hour, waiting for your train to get in, h a s b e e n a b o u t the worst of my life. I h a t e this. Hate it. M y father would have died before doing it to m e . " H e felt i m m e n s e l y lighter, saying this. H e h a d d u m p e d the m o u n t a i n on the boy. T h e y were h o m e . M o v i n g swiftly a s a s h a d o w , Dickie was out of the car, through the bright kitchen. R i c h a r d called after him, " W a n t a g l a s s of milk or a n y t h i n g ? " "No thanks." " W a n t u s to call the c o u r s e tomorrow a n d say you're too sick to w o r k ? " " N o , that's all right." T h e a n s w e r w a s faint, delivered at the door to his r o o m ; Richard listened for the s l a m of a t a n t r u m . T h e d o o r c l o s e d normally. T h e s o u n d w a s sickening. J o a n h a d s u n k into that first d e e p trough of sleep a n d w a s slow to a w a k e . Richard h a d to repeat, "I told h i m . " " W h a t did h e s a y ? " " N o t h i n g m u c h . C o u l d you go say good night to him? P l e a s e . " S h e left their r o o m , without p u t t i n g on a b a t h r o b e . H e sluggishly c h a n g e d b a c k into his p a j a m a s a n d walked down the hall. Dickie w a s already in b e d , J o a n w a s sitting b e s i d e him, a n d the boy's b e d s i d e c l o c k radio w a s m u r m u r i n g m u s i c . W h e n she s t o o d , a n inexplicable l i g h t — t h e m o o n ? — o u t l i n e d her body t h r o u g h the nightie. R i c h a r d sat on the w a r m p l a c e s h e h a d i n d e n t e d on the child's narrow m a t t r e s s . H e a s k e d him, " D o you w a n t the radio o n like t h a t ? " "It always i s . " " D o e s n ' t it keep you a w a k e ? It would m e . " "No." "Are you s l e e p y ? " "Yeah." " G o o d . S u r e you want to get u p a n d go to work? You've h a d a big n i g h t . " "I want t o . " Away at school this winter he h a d learned for the first time that you c a n go short of sleep a n d live. As an infant he h a d slept with a n i m m o b i l e , sweating intensity that h a d a l a r m e d his babysitters. As the children a g e d , h e b e c a m e the first to go to b e d , earlier for a time than his y o u n g e r brother a n d sister. Even now, he would g o s l a c k in the m i d d l e of a television s h o w , his sprawled legs hairy a n d brown. " O . K . G o o d boy. D i c k i e , listen. I love you s o m u c h , I never knew how m u c h until now. N o m a t t e r how this works out, I'll always be with you. Really." Richard bent to kiss a n averted f a c e but his s o n , sinewy, t u r n e d a n d with wet c h e e k s e m b r a c e d him a n d gave him a kiss, on the lips, p a s s i o n a t e a s a w o m a n ' s . In his father's ear he m o a n e d o n e word, the crucial, intelligent word: "Why?" Why. It w a s a whistle of wind in a crack, a knife thrust, a window thrown

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o p e n on e m p t i n e s s . T h e white f a c e w a s g o n e , the d a r k n e s s w a s f e a t u r e l e s s . Richard h a d forgotten why.

PHILIP b.

ROTH

1933

From the moment Philip Roth's collection of stories Goodbye, Columbus won the Houghton Mifflin Literary Fellowship for 1959, his career has received the ambiguous reward of much anxious concern, directed at it by critics and centered on whether he would develop the promise displayed in this first book. Ten years later, with Portnoy's Complaint, Roth became overnight the famous author of a "dirty" best-seller, yet his success only made his critics more uneasy. Was this gifted portrayer of Jewish middle-class life really more interested in scoring points off caricatures than in creating and exploring characters? Did his very facility with words inhibit the exercise of deeper sympathies and more humanly generous purposes? Roth grew up in Newark, New Jersey, attended the branch of Rutgers University there, graduated from Bucknell University, took an M.A. in English literature at the University of Chicago, then served in the army. Over the years he has taught at a number of universities while receiving many awards and fellowships. Like John Barth, another "university" writer, Roth is an ironic humorist, although the impulse behind his early stories is darker and less playful. Goodbye, Columbus is about Jews on the verge of being or already having been assimilated into the larger American culture, and the stories confidently take the measure of their embattled heroes, as in "The Conversion of the Jews" or "Epstein" or the long title story. "Defender of the Faith" (printed here), arguably the best piece in the collection, is distinguished for the way Roth explores rather than exploits the conflict between personal feelings and religious loyalties as they are felt by Nathan Marx, a U.S. Army sergeant in a Missouri training company near the end of World War II. Throughout Goodbye, Columbus the narrator's voice is centrally important: in some stories it is indistinguishable from that of a campus wiseguy; in others it reaches out to a calmer and graver sense of disparities between promises and performance. Roth's first two novels, Letting Go (1962) and When She Was Good (1967), markedly extended the territory charted in Goodbye, Columbus and showed him eager and equipped to write about people other than Jews. Letting Go is conventional in technique and in its subjects—love, marriage, university life—but Roth's easy mastery of the look and feel of places and things is everywhere evident. F. Scott Fitzgerald is the American writer whose presence in these early novels is most strongly felt; in particular, the section from Letting Go told in the first person by a graduate student in English betrays its indebtedness to Fitzgerald's Nick Carraway, the narrator of The Great Gatsby. This Fitzgeraldian atmosphere, with its nostalgic presentation of adolescence and early romantic visions, is even more evident in When She Was Good, which is strong in its rendering of middle-American living rooms and kitchens, the flushed atmosphere of late-night 1950s sex in parked cars, or the lyrics of popular songs—bits of remembered trivia that Roth, like his predecessor, has a genius for bringing to life. The less-than-overwhelming reception of his second novel probably helped Roth

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move away from relatively sober realism; certainly Portnoy's Complaint (1969) is a louder and more virtuoso performance than the earlier books. Alexander Portnoy's recollections of early childhood miseries are really a pretext for Roth to perform a succession of clever numbers in the inventive mode of a stand-up comic. Memories of growing up in New Jersey, listening to radio programs, playing Softball, ogling girls at the ice-skating rink, or ( m o s t sensationally) m a s t u r b a t i n g in outlandish ways add up to an entertaining narrative that is sometimes crude but more often delicate and precise. After Portnoy Roth moved toward fantasy and further showmanly operations: Our Gang ( 1 9 7 0 ) attempted to do for Richard Nixon and his associates what actual events were to do one better; The Breast (1971) is a rather unamusing fable about a man's metamorphosis into that object; The Great American Novel (1973) threatened to sink under its weight of baseball lore dressed up in tall tales and sick jokes. But in My Life as a Man (1974) and The Professor of Desire (1977) he returned to matters that have traditionally preoccupied the social novelist and that inform his own best work: marriage, divorce, the family, being a Jew, and being psychoanalyzed—the pressures of civilization and the resultant individual discontents. His finest work is to be found in the Zuckerman trilogy (Zuckerman Bound, 1985) and its successor, The Counterlife (1987). In these novels Roth created a hero-asnovelist whose experience parallels in important ways his creator's. A scandalous novel, "Carnovsky," refers to Portnoy's Complaint; a critic named Milton Appel is a stand-in for the real critic Irving Howe, who once subjected Roth's work to hostile criticism. Yet for all the dangers of self-pity or self-absorption such autobiographical reference involves, the novels add up to something much deeper, more comic and touching, than self-advertisement and complaint. Scenes like the death of Zuckerman's father in a Florida hospital and the subsequent return of the son to the vanished Newark where he grew up are moving expressions of the generous purposes and human sympathies we find in Roth's work at its best. And those purposes and sympathies are also evident in his autobiographical writing: in The Facts (1988) and especially in Patrimony (1991), a poignant memoir of his father. In the 1990s and into the twenty-first century, Roth has developed his art of impersonation into sometimes excessive and audacious forms. Operation Shylock (1993) poses a presumably real Philip Roth who encounters an impostor; Sabbath's Theater (1995) recasts his typical protagonist as a puppeteer who manipulates women much the same way; American Pastoral (1997) brings back Nathan Zuckerman for a high school reunion and the investigation of a "more ordinary" classmate's life. Zuckerman remains on hand for / Married a Communist (1998) and The Human Stain (2000), while David Kepesh (who had turned into a female breast in the author's much earlier fantasy) reappears as a professor who seduces his students in The Dying Animal (2001). Throughout, Roth's emphasis remains on invention, reminding readers that the writerly self is a virtually inexhaustible resource for the imagination. The text is that printed in Goodbye, Columbus (1959).

Defender of the Faith In M a y of 1 9 4 5 , only a few weeks after the fighting had e n d e d in E u r o p e , I w a s rotated b a c k to the S t a t e s , w h e r e I s p e n t the r e m a i n d e r of the war with a training c o m p a n y at C a m p C r o w d e r , M i s s o u r i . W e h a d b e e n r a c i n g a c r o s s G e r m a n y s o swiftly d u r i n g the late winter a n d s p r i n g that w h e n I b o a r d e d the p l a n e that drizzly m o r n i n g in Berlin, I c o u l d n ' t believe o u r d e s t i n a t i o n lay to the w e s t . M y m i n d might inform m e o t h e r w i s e , b u t there w a s an inertia

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of the spirit that told m e w e were flying to a new front w h e r e w e w o u l d d i s e m b a r k a n d c o n t i n u e our p u s h e a s t w a r d — e a s t w a r d until we'd circled the g l o b e , m a r c h i n g t h r o u g h villages a l o n g w h o s e twisting, c o b b l e d streets crowds of the e n e m y would w a t c h u s take p o s s e s s i o n of w h a t u p till then they'd c o n s i d e r e d their own. I h a d c h a n g e d e n o u g h in two years not to m i n d the trembling of the old p e o p l e , the crying of the very y o u n g , the u n c e r t a i n fear in the eyes of the o n c e - a r r o g a n t . After two years I h a d b e e n f o r t u n a t e e n o u g h to develop an infantryman's heart w h i c h , like his feet, at first a c h e s a n d swells, but finally grows horny e n o u g h for him to travel the weirdest p a t h s without feeling a thing. C a p t a i n P a u l Barrett w a s to be my C . O . at C a m p C r o w d e r . T h e day I reported for duty he c a m e out of his office to s h a k e my h a n d . H e w a s short, gruff, a n d fiery, a n d indoors or out h e w o r e his p o l i s h e d h e l m e t liner' d o w n on his little eyes. In E u r o p e h e h a d received a battlefield c o m m i s s i o n a n d a s e r i o u s c h e s t w o u n d , a n d h a d b e e n r e t u r n e d to the S t a t e s only a few m o n t h s before. H e s p o k e easily to m e , but w a s , I t h o u g h t , u n n e c e s s a r i l y a b u s i v e towards the troops. At the e v e n i n g f o r m a t i o n , h e i n t r o d u c e d m e . " G e n t l e m e n , " he called. " S e r g e a n t T h u r s t o n , a s you know, is n o longer with this C o m p a n y . Your new First S e r g e a n t is S e r g e a n t N a t h a n M a r x here. H e is a veteran of the E u r o p e a n theater a n d c o n s e q u e n t l y will take no s h i t . " I sat up late in the orderly r o o m that evening, trying halfheartedly to solve the riddle of duty rosters, p e r s o n n e l f o r m s , a n d m o r n i n g reports. T h e CQ 2 slept with his m o u t h o p e n on a m a t t r e s s on the floor. A trainee s t o o d r e a d i n g the next day's duty roster, which w a s p o s t e d o n the bulletin b o a r d directly inside the s c r e e n door. It w a s a w a r m e v e n i n g a n d I c o u l d h e a r the m e n ' s radios playing d a n c e m u s i c over in the b a r r a c k s . T h e trainee, w h o I k n e w h a d b e e n s t a r i n g at m e w h e n e v e r I looked groggily into the f o r m s , finally took a step in my direction. " H e y , S a r g e — w e having a G . I . party tomorrow n i g h t ? " A G . I . party is a barracks-cleaning. "You usually have t h e m on Friday n i g h t s ? " " Y e s , " a n d then h e a d d e d mysteriously, "that's the whole t h i n g . " " T h e n you'll have a G . I . party." H e turned away a n d I h e a r d him m u m b l i n g . H i s s h o u l d e r s w e r e m o v i n g a n d I w o n d e r e d if h e w a s crying. " W h a t ' s your n a m e , s o l d i e r ? " I a s k e d . H e t u r n e d , not crying at all. I n s t e a d his g r e e n - s p e c k l e d e y e s , long a n d narrow, flashed like fish in the s u n . H e walked over to m e a n d sat o n the e d g e of my desk. H e r e a c h e d out a h a n d . " S h e l d o n , " h e s a i d . " S t a n d o n your own two feet, S h e l d o n . " C l i m b i n g off the d e s k , he said, " S h e l d o n G r o s s b a r t . " H e s m i l e d wider at the intimacy into which he'd led m e . "You a g a i n s t c l e a n i n g the b a r r a c k s Friday night, G r o s s b a r t ? M a y b e we shouldn't have G . I . p a r t i e s — m a y b e we s h o u l d get a m a i d . " M y tone startled m e : I felt like a C h a r l i e M c C a r t h y , with every top s e r g e a n t I h a d ever known a s my E d g a r B e r g e n . 3 1. Plastic liner worn under a helmet to prevent chafing and bruising. 2. Noncommissioned officer in charge of quarters

at night or on weekends. 3. A ventriloquist who, with Charlie McCarthy, his dummy, was a popular radio comedian.

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" N o , S e r g e a n t . " H e grew s e r i o u s , but with a s e r i o u s n e s s that s e e m e d only to be the stifling of a s m i l e . "It's j u s t G . I . parties on Friday night, of all nights . . ." H e slipped u p to the c o r n e r of the d e s k a g a i n — n o t q u i t e sitting, but not quite s t a n d i n g either. H e looked at m e with t h o s e s p e c k l e d eyes flashing a n d then m a d e a g e s t u r e with his h a n d . It w a s very slight, no m o r e than a rotation b a c k a n d forth of the wrist, a n d yet it m a n a g e d to e x c l u d e from our affairs everything else in the orderly r o o m , to m a k e the two of u s the c e n t e r of the world. It s e e m e d , in fact, to exclude everything a b o u t the two of u s except our h e a r t s . " S e r g e a n t T h u r s t o n w a s o n e t h i n g , " h e w h i s p e r e d , a n eye flashing to the s l e e p i n g CQ, "but we thought with you h e r e , things might be a little different." "We?" "The Jewish personnel." " W h y ? " I said, harshly. H e hesitated a m o m e n t , a n d then, uncontrollably, his h a n d went u p to his m o u t h . "I m e a n . . ." h e said. " W h a t ' s on your m i n d ? " W h e t h e r I was still angry at the " S h e l d o n " busin e s s or s o m e t h i n g else, I hadn't a c h a n c e to t e l l — b u t clearly I w a s angry. ". . . we thought you . . . M a r x , you know, like Karl Marx. T h e M a r x brothers. T h o s e guys are a l l . . . M-A-R-X, isn't that how you spell it, S e r g e a n t ? " "M-A-R-X." " F i s h b e i n s a i d — " H e s t o p p e d . " W h a t I m e a n to say, S e r g e a n t — " H i s f a c e a n d n e c k were red, a n d his m o u t h m o v e d but no w o r d s c a m e out. In a m o m e n t , he raised himself to attention, gazing down at m e . It w a s a s t h o u g h he h a d s u d d e n l y d e c i d e d he c o u l d expect n o m o r e s y m p a t h y from m e t h a n from T h u r s t o n , the r e a s o n being that I w a s of T h u r s t o n ' s faith a n d not his. T h e y o u n g m a n h a d m a n a g e d to c o n f u s e h i m s e l f a s to what my faith really was, but I felt n o desire to straighten him out. Very simply, I didn't like h i m . W h e n I did n o t h i n g but return his gaze, h e s p o k e , in a n altered t o n e . "You s e e , S e r g e a n t , " he explained to m e , " F r i d a y nights, J e w s a r e s u p p o s e d to g o to s e r v i c e s . " " D i d S e r g e a n t T h u r s t o n tell you you couldn't go to t h e m w h e n there w a s a G.I. party?" "No." " D i d h e say you h a d to stay a n d s c r u b the f l o o r s ? " "No, Sergeant." " D i d the C a p t a i n say you h a d to stay a n d s c r u b the f l o o r s ? " " T h a t isn't it, S e r g e a n t . It's the other guys in the b a r r a c k s . " H e l e a n e d toward m e . " T h e y think we're goofing off. B u t we're not. T h a t ' s w h e n J e w s go to services, Friday night. W e have t o . " "Then go." " B u t the other guys m a k e a c c u s a t i o n s . T h e y have no right." " T h a t ' s not the Army's p r o b l e m , G r o s s b a r t . It's a p e r s o n a l p r o b l e m you'll have to work out yourself." " B u t it's unfair." I got up to leave. " T h e r e ' s nothing I c a n do a b o u t it," I s a i d . G r o s s b a r t stiffened in front of m e . " B u t this is a m a t t e r of religion, sir." "Sergeant." "I m e a n ' S e r g e a n t , ' " he said, a l m o s t snarling.

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" L o o k , go s e e the c h a p l a i n . T h e I . G . 4 You want to s e e C a p t a i n B a r r e t t , I'll a r r a n g e an a p p o i n t m e n t . " " N o , no. I don't want to m a k e trouble, S e r g e a n t . T h a t ' s the first thing they throw up to you. I j u s t want my rights!" " D a m n it, G r o s s b a r t , stop whining. You have your rights. You c a n stay a n d s c r u b floors or you c a n go to shul*—" T h e smile s w a m in a g a i n . Spittle g l e a m e d at the corners of his m o u t h . "You m e a n c h u r c h , S e r g e a n t . " "I m e a n shul, G r o s s b a r t ! " I walked past him a n d o u t s i d e . N e a r m e I h e a r d the s c r u n c h i n g of a g u a r d ' s b o o t s on gravel. In the lighted w i n d o w s of the barracks the y o u n g m e n in T-shirts a n d fatigue p a n t s were sitting on their b u n k s , polishing their rifles. S u d d e n l y there w a s a light rustling behind m e . I t u r n e d a n d saw G r o s s b a r t ' s dark f r a m e fleeing b a c k to the b a r r a c k s , r a c i n g to tell his J e w i s h friends that they were r i g h t — t h a t like Karl a n d H a r p o , I w a s o n e of t h e m . T h e next m o r n i n g , while c h a t t i n g with the C a p t a i n , I r e c o u n t e d the incid e n t of the previous evening, a s if to u n b u r d e n myself of it. S o m e h o w in the telling it s e e m e d to the C a p t a i n that I w a s not so m u c h explaining G r o s s b a r t ' s position a s d e f e n d i n g it. " M a r x , I'd fight side by side with a nigger if the fellow proved to m e he w a s a m a n . I pride myself," the C a p t a i n s a i d looking out the window, "that I've got an o p e n m i n d . C o n s e q u e n t l y , S e r g e a n t , nobody g e t s special treatm e n t h e r e , for the g o o d or the b a d . All a m a n ' s got to do is prove himself. A m a n fires well on the r a n g e , I give him a w e e k e n d p a s s . H e s c o r e s high in P T , he gets a w e e k e n d p a s s . H e earns it." H e turned from the window a n d pointed a finger at m e . "You're a J e w i s h fellow, a m I right, M a r x ? " "Yes, sir." "And I a d m i r e you. I a d m i r e you b e c a u s e of the ribbons on your c h e s t , not b e c a u s e you h a d a h e m stitched on your dick before you were old e n o u g h to even know you had o n e . I j u d g e a m a n by what he s h o w s m e on the field of battle, S e r g e a n t . It's what he's got here," he said, a n d then, t h o u g h I e x p e c t e d he would point to his heart, he j e r k e d a t h u m b towards the b u t t o n s s t r a i n i n g to hold his b l o u s e a c r o s s his belly. " G u t s , " he said. " O k a y , sir, I only w a n t e d to p a s s on to you how the m e n felt." " M r . Marx, you're g o i n g to be old before your time if you worry a b o u t how the m e n feel. L e a v e that stuff to the C h a p l a i n — p u s s y , the c l a p , c h u r c h picnics with the little girls from J o p l i n , that's all his b u s i n e s s , not yours. Let's u s train t h e s e fellas to shoot straight. If the J e w i s h p e r s o n n e l feels the other m e n are a c c u s i n g t h e m of goldbricking . . . well, I j u s t don't know. S e e m s awful funny how s u d d e n l y the Lord is calling s o loud in Private G r o s s m a n ' s ear he's j u s t got to run to c h u r c h . " " S y n a g o g u e , " I said. " S y n a g o g u e is right, S e r g e a n t . I'll write that d o w n for handy r e f e r e n c e . T h a n k you for s t o p p i n g by." T h a t evening, a few m i n u t e s before the c o m p a n y g a t h e r e d o u t s i d e the orderly r o o m for the c h o w f o r m a t i o n , I called the CQ, C o r p o r a l R o b e r t 4. Inspector general, who, apart from the chaplain, provided the only route by which complaints

could be registered, 5. Synagogue.

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L a H i l l , in to s e e m e . L a H i l l w a s a dark burly fellow w h o s e hair c u r l e d o u t of his clothes wherever it c o u l d . H e carried a glaze in his eyes that m a d e o n e think of caves a n d d i n o s a u r s . " L a H i l l , " I said, " w h e n you take the f o r m a t i o n , remind the m e n that they're free to attend c h u r c h services whenever they are held, provided they report to the orderly r o o m before they leave the a r e a . " LaHill didn't flicker; h e s c r a t c h e d his wrist, but gave no indication that he'd h e a r d or u n d e r s t o o d . " L a H i l l , " I said, "church. You r e m e m b e r ? C h u r c h , priest, M a s s , c o n f e s sion . . ." H e curled o n e lip into a ghastly s m i l e ; I took it for a signal that for a s e c o n d he h a d flickered b a c k u p into the h u m a n r a c e . "Jewish p e r s o n n e l w h o want to attend services this e v e n i n g are to fall o u t in front of the orderly r o o m at 1 9 0 0 . " A n d then 1 a d d e d , " B y order of C a p t a i n Barrett." A little while later, a s a twilight softer than any I h a d s e e n that year d r o p p e d over C a m p C r o w d e r , I h e a r d LaHill's thick, inflectionless voice outside my window: "Give m e your e a r s , troopers. T o p p i e says for m e to tell you that at 1 9 0 0 h o u r s all J e w i s h p e r s o n n e l is to fall o u t in front here if they wants to attend the J e w i s h M a s s . " At seven o'clock, I looked out of the orderly-room window a n d s a w three soldiers in s t a r c h e d khakis s t a n d i n g a l o n e on the d u s t y q u a d r a n g l e . T h e y looked at their w a t c h e s , a n d fidgeted while they w h i s p e r e d b a c k a n d forth. It was getting darker, a n d a l o n e on the d e s e r t e d field they looked tiny. W h e n I walked to the door I heard the n o i s e s of the G . I . party c o m i n g from the s u r r o u n d i n g b a r r a c k s — b u n k s b e i n g p u s h e d to the wall, f a u c e t s p o u n d i n g water into b u c k e t s , b r o o m s whisking at the w o o d e n floors. In the w i n d o w s big puffs of cloth m o v e d r o u n d a n d r o u n d , c l e a n i n g the dirt away for S a t urday's i n s p e c t i o n . I walked o u t s i d e a n d the m o m e n t my foot hit the g r o u n d I thought I h e a r d G r o s s b a r t , who w a s now in the center, call to the other two, "Ten-Jiwt!" O r m a y b e w h e n they all three j u m p e d to a t t e n t i o n , I i m a g ined I h e a r d the c o m m a n d . At my a p p r o a c h , G r o s s b a r t s t e p p e d forward. " T h a n k you, sir," h e s a i d . " S e r g e a n t , G r o s s b a r t , " I r e m i n d e d h i m . "You call officers 'Sir.' I'm not a n officer. You've b e e n in the Army three w e e k s — y o u know t h a t . " H e turned his p a l m s out at his sides to i n d i c a t e that, in truth, h e a n d 1 lived beyond convention. " T h a n k you, anyway," he s a i d . " Y e s , " the tall boy b e h i n d him said. " T h a n k s a lot." A n d the third w h i s p e r e d , " T h a n k y o u , " but his m o u t h barely fluttered so that he did not alter by m o r e than a lip's m o v e m e n t , the p o s t u r e of attention. "For what?" I said. G r o s s b a r t snorted, happily. " F o r the a n n o u n c e m e n t before. T h e C o r p o r a l ' s a n n o u n c e m e n t . It helped. It m a d e it . . ." " F a n c i e r . " It w a s the tall boy finishing G r o s s b a r t ' s s e n t e n c e . G r o s s b a r t smiled. " H e m e a n s formal, sir. P u b l i c , " he said to m e . " N o w it won't s e e m a s t h o u g h we're j u s t taking off, goldbricking, b e c a u s e the work has b e g u n . " "It w a s by order of C a p t a i n B a r r e t t , " I said. " A h h , but you pull a little weight . . ." G r o s s b a r t s a i d . " S o we thank y o u . " T h e n he turned to his c o m p a n i o n s . " S e r g e a n t Marx, I w a n t you to m e e t Larry Fishbein."

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T h e tall boy s t e p p e d forward a n d extended his h a n d . 1 s h o o k it. "You from N e w York?" he a s k e d . "Yes." " M e t o o . " H e h a d a c a d a v e r o u s f a c e that c o l l a p s e d inward from his cheekb o n e to his j a w , a n d w h e n he s m i l e d — a s he did at the news of o u r c o m m u n a l a t t a c h m e n t — r e v e a l e d a mouthful of bad teeth. H e blinked his eyes a g o o d deal, a s t h o u g h he were fighting b a c k t e a r s . " W h a t b o r o u g h ? " he a s k e d . I turned to G r o s s b a r t . "It's five after seven. W h a t time a r e s e r v i c e s ? " "Shul," he s m i l e d , "is in ten m i n u t e s . I want you to m e e t M i c k e y H a l p e r n . T h i s is N a t h a n Marx, our S e r g e a n t . " T h e third boy h o p p e d forward. "Private M i c h a e l H a l p e r n . " H e s a l u t e d . " S a l u t e officers, H a l p e r n . " T h e boy d r o p p e d his h a n d , a n d in his nervousn e s s c h e c k e d to s e c if his shirt p o c k e t s were b u t t o n e d on the way d o w n . " S h a l l I m a r c h t h e m over, s i r ? " G r o s s b a r t a s k e d , "or a r e you c o m i n g along?" F r o m b e h i n d G r o s s b a r t , F i s h b e i n piped up. "Afterwards they're having r e f r e s h m e n t s . A L a d i e s ' Auxiliary from S t . L o u i s , the rabbi told u s last w e e k . " " T h e c h a p l a i n , " whispered H a l p e r n . "You're w e l c o m e to c o m e a l o n g , " G r o s s b a r t s a i d . T o avoid his p l e a , I looked away, a n d saw, in the windows of the b a r r a c k s , a c l o u d of f a c e s staring out at the four of u s . " L o o k , hurry out of h e r e , G r o s s b a r t . " "Okay, t h e n , " he s a i d . H e turned to the o t h e r s . " D o u b l e t i m e , marchl" and they started off, but ten feet away G r o s s b a r t s p u n a b o u t , a n d r u n n i n g backwards he called to m e , " G o o d shahus, sir." And then the three were swallowed into the M i s s o u r i d u s k . Even after they'd d i s a p p e a r e d over the p a r a d e g r o u n d s , w h o s e green w a s now a d e e p twilight b l u e , I c o u l d hear G r o s s b a r t s i n g i n g the d o u b l e - t i m e c a d e n c e , a n d as it grew d i m m e r a n d d i m m e r it s u d d e n l y t o u c h e d s o m e d e e p m e m o r y — a s did the slant of l i g h t — a n d I w a s r e m e m b e r i n g the shrill s o u n d s of a Bronx p l a y g r o u n d , where years a g o , b e s i d e the G r a n d C o n c o u r s e , 7 1 h a d played on long spring evenings s u c h as this. T h o s e thin fading s o u n d s . . . It w a s a p l e a s a n t m e m o r y for a y o u n g m a n s o far from p e a c e a n d h o m e , a n d it brought so very many recollections with it that I b e g a n to grow exceedingly tender a b o u t myself. In fact, I indulged myself to a reverie so s t r o n g that I felt within a s t h o u g h a h a n d had o p e n e d a n d w a s r e a c h i n g d o w n i n s i d e . It had to r e a c h so very far to t o u c h m e . It h a d to reach p a s t t h o s e days in the forests of B e l g i u m a n d the dying I'd refused to w e e p over; past the nights in t h o s e G e r m a n f a r m h o u s e s w h o s e books we'd b u r n e d to w a r m u s , a n d which I couldn't bother to m o u r n ; past t h o s e e n d l e s s s t r e t c h e s w h e n I'd shut off all s o f t n e s s I might feel for my fellows, a n d m a n a g e d even to deny myself the p o s t u r e of a c o n q u e r o r — t h e s w a g g e r that I, a s a J e w , might well have worn a s my boots w h a c k e d a g a i n s t the rubble of M i i n s t e r , B r a u n s c h w e i g , a n d finally Berlin. But now o n e night n o i s e , o n e r u m o r of h o m e a n d time p a s t , a n d m e m o r y p l u n g e d down through all I had a n e s t h e t i z e d a n d c a m e to what I s u d d e n l y r e m e m b e r e d to be myself. S o it w a s not altogether c u r i o u s that in s e a r c h of 6

6. Sabbath.

7. Bronx, New York, avenue.

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more of m e I f o u n d myself following G r o s s b a r t ' s tracks to C h a p e l N o . 3 where the J e w i s h services were being held. I took a seat in the last row, which w a s empty. T w o rows in front sat G r o s s b a r t , F i s h b e i n , a n d H a l p e r n , e a c h holding a little white dixie c u p . F i s h bein was p o u r i n g the c o n t e n t s of his c u p into G r o s s b a r t ' s , a n d G r o s s b a r t looked mirthful a s the liquid drew a p u r p l e arc b e t w e e n his h a n d a n d F i s h bein's. In the glary yellow light, I saw the c h a p l a i n on the pulpit c h a n t i n g the first line of the r e s p o n s i v e reading. G r o s s b a r t ' s p r a y e r b o o k r e m a i n e d closed on his lap; he s w i s h e d the c u p a r o u n d . Only H a l p e r n r e s p o n d e d in prayer. T h e fingers of his right h a n d were s p r e a d wide a c r o s s the cover of the book, a n d his c a p was pulled down low onto his brow s o that it w a s round like a yarmulke" rather than long a n d pointed. F r o m time to t i m e , G r o s s b a r t wet his lips at the c u p ' s e d g e ; F i s h b e i n , his long yellow f a c e , a dying light bulb, looked from here to there, leaning forward at the n e c k to c a t c h sight of the f a c e s down the row, in f r o n t — t h e n b e h i n d . H e s a w m e a n d his eyelids beat a tattoo. His elbow slid into G r o s s b a r t ' s side, his n e c k inclined towards his friend, a n d then, w h e n the c o n g r e g a t i o n r e s p o n d e d , G r o s s b a r t ' s voice was a m o n g t h e m . F i s h b e i n looked into his b o o k now t o o ; his lips, however, didn't m o v e . Finally it w a s time to drink the wine. T h e c h a p l a i n s m i l e d down at t h e m as G r o s s b a r t swigged in o n e long g u l p , H a l p e r n s i p p e d , m e d i t a t i n g , a n d F i s h bein faked devotion with an e m p t y c u p . At last the c h a p l a i n s p o k e : "As I look d o w n a m o n g s t the c o n g r e g a t i o n — " he grinned at the word, "this night, I s e e m a n y new f a c e s , a n d I want to w e l c o m e you to Friday night services here at C a m p C r o w d e r . I a m M a j o r L e o B e n Ezra, your chaplain . . ." T h o u g h an A m e r i c a n , the c h a p l a i n s p o k e E n g l i s h very deliberately, syllabically a l m o s t , a s t h o u g h to c o m m u n i c a t e , above all, to the lip-readers in the a u d i e n c e . "I have only a few w o r d s to say before we a d j o u r n to the r e f r e s h m e n t r o o m w h e r e the kind ladies of the T e m p l e S i n a i , S t . L o u i s , M i s s o u r i , have a nice setting for y o u . " A p p l a u s e a n d whistling broke out. After a m o m e n t a r y grin, the c h a p l a i n raised his p a l m s to the c o n g r e g a t i o n , his eyes flicking u p w a r d a m o m e n t , a s if to remind the troops where they were a n d W h o E l s e might be in attend a n c e . In the s u d d e n s i l e n c e that followed, I thought I heard G r o s s b a r t ' s c a c k l e — " L e t the goyim 1 ' c l e a n the floors!" W e r e t h o s e the words? I wasn't s u r e , but F i s h b e i n , grinning, n u d g e d H a l p e r n . H a l p e r n looked d u m b l y at him, then went b a c k to his prayerbook, which had been o c c u p y i n g him all through the rabbi's talk. O n e h a n d t u g g e d at the black kinky hair that s t u c k out u n d e r his c a p . His lips m o v e d . T h e rabbi c o n t i n u e d . "It is a b o u t the food that I want to s p e a k to you for a m o m e n t . I know, I know, I k n o w , " he intoned, wearily, " h o w in the m o u t h s of m o s t of you the trafe' food t a s t e s like a s h e s . I know how you g a g , s o m e of you, a n d how your p a r e n t s suffer to think of their children eating foods u n c l e a n a n d offensive to the p a l a t e . W h a t can 1 tell you? I c a n only say c l o s e your eyes a n d swallow a s best you c a n . E a t what you m u s t to live a n d throw away the rest. I wish 1 could help m o r e . For t h o s e of you w h o find this i m p o s s i b l e , m a y I a s k that you try a n d try, but then c o m e to s e e m e in private 8. Skullcap. 9. Gentiles.

1. Unkosher—unfit to eat.

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w h e r e , if your revulsion is s u c h , we will have to s e e k aid from t h o s e higher up." A r o u n d of c h a t t e r rose a n d s u b s i d e d ; then everyone s a n g "Ain K e l o h a n o h , " after all t h o s e years I d i s c o v e r e d I still k n e w the w o r d s . S u d d e n l y , the service over, G r o s s b a r t w a s u p o n m e . " H i g h e r u p ? H e m e a n s the G e n e r a l ? " " H e y , S h e l l y , " F i s h b e i n i n t e r r u p t e d , " h e m e a n s G o d . " H e s m a c k e d his f a c e a n d looked at H a l p e r n . " H o w high c a n you g o ! " " S h h h ! " G r o s s b a r t said. " W h a t do you think, S e r g e a n t ? " "I don't know. You better a s k the c h a p l a i n . " "I'm g o i n g to. I'm m a k i n g a n a p p o i n t m e n t to s e e him in private. S o is Mickey." H a l p e r n s h o o k his h e a d . " N o , n o , S h e l d o n . . ." "You have rights, Mickey. T h e y can't p u s h u s a r o u n d . " "It's okay. It b o t h e r s my m o t h e r , not m e . . ." G r o s s b a r t looked at m e . "Yesterday h e threw u p . F r o m the h a s h . It w a s all h a m a n d G o d knows w h a t e l s e . " "I have a c o l d — t h a t w a s why," H a l p e r n said. H e p u s h e d his yamalkah b a c k into a c a p . " W h a t a b o u t you, F i s h b e i n ? " I a s k e d . "You kosher t o o ? " H e flushed, which m a d e the yellow m o r e gray than pink. "A little. B u t I'll let it ride. I have a very s t r o n g s t o m a c h . A n d I don't eat a lot anyway . . . " I c o n t i n u e d to look at him, a n d he held u p his wrist to re-enforce what he'd j u s t s a i d . H i s w a t c h w a s tightened to the last hole a n d h e p o i n t e d that out to m e . " S o I don't m i n d . " " B u t services are i m p o r t a n t to y o u ? " I a s k e d h i m . H e looked at G r o s s b a r t . " S u r e , sir." "Sergeant." " N o t s o m u c h at h o m e , " said G r o s s b a r t , c o m i n g b e t w e e n u s , "but away from h o m e it gives o n e a s e n s e of his J e w i s h n e s s . " " W e have to stick t o g e t h e r , " F i s h b e i n s a i d . I started to walk towards the door; H a l p e r n s t e p p e d b a c k to m a k e way for me. " T h a t ' s what h a p p e n e d in G e r m a n y , " G r o s s b a r t w a s saying, loud e n o u g h for m e to hear. " T h e y didn't stick together. T h e y let t h e m s e l v e s get p u s h e d around." I turned. " L o o k , G r o s s b a r t , this is the Army, not s u m m e r c a m p . " H e s m i l e d . " S o ? " H a l p e r n tried to s n e a k off, but G r o s s b a r t held his a r m . " S o ? " h e said a g a i n . " G r o s s b a r t , " I a s k e d , " h o w old a r e y o u ? " "Nineteen." " A n d y o u ? " I said to F i s h b e i n . "The same. The same month even." "And w h a t a b o u t h i m ? " I p o i n t e d to H a l p e r n , who'd finally m a d e it safely to the door. " E i g h t e e n , " G r o s s b a r t w h i s p e r e d . " B u t he's like h e can't tie his s h o e s or b r u s h his teeth himself. I feel sorry for h i m . " "I feel sorry for all of u s , G r o s s b a r t , but j u s t a c t like a m a n . J u s t don't overdo it." " O v e r d o what, s i r ? " " T h e sir b u s i n e s s . Don't overdo t h a t , " I said, a n d I left him s t a n d i n g t h e r e .

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I p a s s e d by H a l p e r n but he did not look u p . T h e n I w a s o u t s i d e , b l a c k surr o u n d e d m e — b u t b e h i n d I h e a r d G r o s s b a r t call, " H e y , Mickey, liebschen,2 c o m e on b a c k . R e f r e s h m e n t s ! " Liebschen! M y g r a n d m o t h e r ' s word for m e ! O n e morning, a w e e k later, while 1 w a s working at my desk, C a p t a i n Barrett s h o u t e d for m e to c o m e into his office. W h e n I e n t e r e d , he h a d his h e l m e t liner s q u a s h e d d o w n so that I couldn't even s e e his eyes. H e w a s o n the p h o n e , a n d w h e n h e s p o k e to m e , he c u p p e d o n e h a n d over the m o u t h piece. " W h o the fuck is G r o s s b a r t ? " "Third p l a t o o n , C a p t a i n , " I s a i d . "A t r a i n e e . " " W h a t ' s all this stink a b o u t food? His m o t h e r called a g o d d a m c o n g r e s s m a n a b o u t the food . . . " H e u n c o v e r e d the m o u t h p i e c e a n d slid his h e l m e t up s o I c o u l d s e e the curl of his b o t t o m eyelash. "Yes, sir," h e said into the p h o n e . "Yes, sir. I'm still h e r e , sir. I'm a s k i n g M a r x here right now . . ." H e covered the m o u t h p i e c e again a n d looked b a c k to m e . " L i g h t f o o t Harry's on the p h o n e , " he said, b e t w e e n his teeth. " T h i s c o n g r e s s m a n calls G e n e r a l L y m a n w h o calls C o l o n e l S o u s a w h o calls the M a j o r w h o calls m e . They're j u s t dying to stick this thing o n m e . W h a t ' s a m a t t e r , " h e s h o o k the p h o n e at m e , "I don't feed the troops? W h a t the hell is t h i s ? " "Sir, G r o s s b a r t is s t r a n g e . . ." Barrett greeted that with a mockingly indulgent s m i l e . I altered my a p p r o a c h . " C a p t a i n , he's a very orthodox J e w a n d so he's only allowed to e a t certain f o o d s . " " H e throws u p , the c o n g r e s s m a n s a i d . Every time he e a t s s o m e t h i n g his m o t h e r says h e throws u p ! " " H e ' s a c c u s t o m e d to observing the dietary laws, C a p t a i n . " " S o why's his old lady have to call the W h i t e H o u s e ! " "Jewish p a r e n t s , sir, they're apt to be m o r e protective t h a n you expect. I m e a n J e w s have a very c l o s e family life. A boy g o e s away from h o m e , s o m e times the m o t h e r is liable to get very u p s e t . Probably the boy mentioned s o m e t h i n g in a letter a n d his m o t h e r m i s i n t e r p r e t e d . " "I'd like to p u n c h him o n e right in the m o u t h . T h e r e ' s a g o d d a m war on a n d he w a n t s a silver platter!" "I don't think the boy's to b l a m e , sir. I'm s u r e we c a n straighten it o u t by j u s t asking h i m . J e w i s h p a r e n t s w o r r y — " "All p a r e n t s worry, for C h r i s t s a k e . B u t they don't get on their high h o r s e a n d start pulling s t r i n g s — " I interrupted, my voice higher, tighter than b e f o r e . " T h e h o m e life, C a p tain, is so very i m p o r t a n t . . . but you're right, it may s o m e t i m e s get o u t of h a n d . It's a very wonderful thing, C a p t a i n , but b e c a u s e it's s o c l o s e , this kind of t h i n g — " H e didn't listen any longer to my a t t e m p t to p r e s e n t both myself a n d Lightfoot Harry with an explanation for the letter. H e t u r n e d b a c k to the p h o n e . " S i r ? " h e said. "Sir, M a r x here tells m e J e w s have a t e n d e n c y to be p u s h y . H e says he thinks he can settle it right here in the C o m p a n y . . . Y e s , sir . . . I will call back, sir, s o o n as I c a n . . ." H e h u n g u p . " W h e r e a r e the m e n , Sergeant?" " O n the r a n g e . " 2. Darling.

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With a w h a c k on the top, he c r u s h e d his h e l m e t over his eyes, a n d c h a r g e d out of his chair. "We're going for a r i d e . " T h e C a p t a i n drove a n d I sat b e s i d e h i m . It w a s a hot spring day a n d u n d e r my newly s t a r c h e d fatigues it felt as t h o u g h my armpits were m e l t i n g d o w n o n t o my sides a n d c h e s t . T h e roads were dry a n d by the time we r e a c h e d the firing r a n g e , my teeth felt gritty with d u s t t h o u g h my m o u t h h a d b e e n shut the whole trip. T h e C a p t a i n s l a m m e d the brakes on a n d told m e to get the hell o u t a n d find G r o s s b a r t . I found him on his belly, firing wildly at the 5 0 0 feet target. W a i t i n g their turns behind him were H a l p e r n a n d F i s h b e i n . F i s h b e i n , w e a r i n g a pair of rimless G . I . g l a s s e s I hadn't s e e n on him b e f o r e , gave the a p p e a r a n c e of a n old peddler w h o would gladly have sold you the rifle a n d cartridges that were s l u n g all over him. I stood back by the a m m o boxes, waiting for G r o s s b a r t to finish spraying the distant targets. F i s h b e i n straggled b a c k to s t a n d n e a r m e . "Hello, Sergeant Marx." " H o w are y o u ? " I m u m b l e d . " F i n e , t h a n k you. S h e l d o n ' s really a g o o d s h o t . " "I didn't n o t i c e . " "I'm not s o g o o d , but 1 think I'm getting the h a n g of it now . . . S e r g e a n t , I don't m e a n to, you know, a s k what I shouldn't . . ." T h e boy s t o p p e d . H e w a s trying to s p e a k intimately but the noise of the s h o o t i n g n e c e s s i t a t e d that he s h o u t at m e . " W h a t is i t ? " I a s k e d . D o w n the r a n g e I s a w C a p t a i n Barrett s t a n d i n g up in the j e e p , s c a n n i n g the line for m e a n d G r o s s b a r t . " M y p a r e n t s keep a s k i n g a n d a s k i n g w h e r e we're going. Everybody says the Pacific. I don't c a r e , but my p a r e n t s . . . If I c o u l d relieve their m i n d s I think I c o u l d c o n c e n t r a t e m o r e on my s h o o t i n g . " "I don't know w h e r e , F i s h b e i n . Try to c o n c e n t r a t e anyway." " S h e l d o n says you might be a b l e to find o u t — " "I don't know a thing, F i s h b e i n . You j u s t take it easy, a n d don't let Sheldon—" "I'm taking it easy, S e r g e a n t . It's at h o m e — " G r o s s b a r t had j u s t finished on the line a n d w a s d u s t i n g his fatigues with o n e h a n d . I left F i s h b e i n ' s s e n t e n c e in the m i d d l e . " G r o s s b a r t , the C a p t a i n w a n t s to s e e y o u . " H e c a m e toward u s . His eyes blazed a n d twinkled. " H i ! " "Don't point that g o d d a m rifle!" "I wouldn't shoot you, S a r g e . " H e gave m e a smile wide a s a p u m p k i n a s he turned the barrel a s i d e . " D a m n you, G r o s s b a r t — t h i s is no j o k e ! Follow m e . " I walked a h e a d of him a n d h a d the awful s u s p i c i o n that b e h i n d m e G r o s s bart w a s marching, his rifle on his s h o u l d e r , a s t h o u g h h e were a o n e - m a n detachment. At the j e e p h e gave the C a p t a i n a rifle s a l u t e . "Private S h e l d o n G r o s s b a r t , sir." "At e a s e , G r o s s m a n . " T h e C a p t a i n slid over to the e m p t y front s e a t , a n d c r o o k i n g a finger, invited G r o s s b a r t closer. " B a r t , sir. S h e l d o n G r o s s b a r t . It's a c o m m o n error." G r o s s b a r t n o d d e d to m e — I u n d e r s t a n d , he indicated. I looked away, j u s t as the m e s s truck pulled

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up to the r a n g e , disgorging a half dozen K.P.'s with rolled-up sleeves. T h e m e s s sergeant s c r e a m e d at them while they set up the c h o w line e q u i p m e n t . " G r o s s b a r t , your m a m a wrote s o m e c o n g r e s s m a n that we don't feed you right. D o you know t h a t ? " the C a p t a i n s a i d . "It w a s my father, sir. H e wrote to R e p r e s e n t a t i v e F r a n c o n i that my religion forbids m e to eat certain f o o d s . " " W h a t religion is that, G r o s s b a r t ? " "Jewish." " J e w i s h , sir," I said to G r o s s b a r t . " E x c u s e m e , sir. J e w i s h , sir.' " " W h a t have you b e e n living o n ? " the C a p t a i n a s k e d . "You've b e e n in the Army a m o n t h already. You don't look to m e like you're falling to p i e c e s . " "I eat b e c a u s e I have to, sir. B u t S e r g e a n t Marx will testify to the fact that I don't eat o n e mouthful m o r e than I n e e d to in order to survive." " M a r x , " Barrett a s k e d , "is that s o ? " "I've never s e e n G r o s s b a r t eat, sir," I s a i d . " B u t you heard the r a b b i , " G r o s s b a r t said. " H e told us what to d o , a n d I listened." T h e C a p t a i n looked at m e . "Well, M a r x ? " "I still don't know what he e a t s a n d doesn't eat, sir." G r o s s b a r t raised his rifle, as t h o u g h to offer it to m e . " B u t , S e r g e a n t — " " L o o k , G r o s s b a r t , j u s t a n s w e r the C a p t a i n ' s q u e s t i o n s ! " I said sharply. Barrett s m i l e d at m e a n d I r e s e n t e d it. "All right, G r o s s b a r t , " he said, " W h a t is it you want? T h e little p i e c e of p a p e r ? You want o u t ? " " N o , sir. Only to be allowed to live a s a J e w . And for the o t h e r s , t o o . " "What others?" " F i s h b e i n , sir, a n d H a l p e r n . " " T h e y don't like the way we serve e i t h e r ? " " H a l p e r n throws u p , sir. I've s e e n it." "I thought you threw u p . " " J u s t o n c e , sir. I didn't know the s a u s a g e w a s s a u s a g e . " "We'll give m e n u s , G r o s s b a r t . We'll show training films a b o u t the food, s o you c a n identify w h e n we're trying to poison y o u . " G r o s s b a r t did not answer. O u t before m e , the m e n had b e e n organized into two long c h o w lines. At the tail end of o n e I spotted F i s h b e i n — o r rather, his g l a s s e s spotted m e . T h e y winked sunlight b a c k at m e like a friend. Halpern stood next to him, patting inside his collar with a khaki handkerchief. They moved with the line a s it b e g a n to e d g e up towards the food. T h e m e s s sergeant was still s c r e a m i n g at the K.P.'s, who stood ready to ladle out the food, bewildered. For a m o m e n t I w a s actually terrorized by the t h o u g h t that s o m e h o w the m e s s s e r g e a n t was g o i n g to get involved in G r o s s b a r t ' s p r o b l e m . " C o m e over h e r e , M a r x , " the C a p t a i n said to m e . " M a r x , you're a J e w i s h fella, a m I r i g h t ? " I played straight m a n . "Yes, sir." " H o w long you b e e n in the Army? Tell this boy." " T h r e e years a n d two m o n t h s . " "A year in c o m b a t , G r o s s b a r t . Twelve g o d d a m m o n t h s in c o m b a t all through E u r o p e . I a d m i r e this m a n , " the C a p t a i n said, s n a p p i n g a wrist against my c h e s t . B u t do you hear him p e e p i n g a b o u t the food? D o you? I want an a n s w e r , G r o s s b a r t . Yes or n o . "

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" N o , sir." " A n d why not? H e ' s a J e w i s h fella." " S o m e things are m o r e i m p o r t a n t to s o m e J e w s than other things to other Jews." Barrett blew u p . " L o o k , G r o s s b a r t , M a r x h e r e is a good m a n , a g o d d a m hero. W h e n you were sitting o n your sweet a s s in high s c h o o l , S e r g e a n t M a r x w a s killing G e r m a n s . W h o d o e s m o r e for the J e w s , you by throwing up over a lousy p i e c e of s a u s a g e , a p i e c e of firstcut m e a t — o r M a r x by killing t h o s e Nazi b a s t a r d s ? If I w a s a J e w , G r o s s b a r t , I'd kiss this m a n ' s feet. H e ' s a g o d d a m h e r o , you know that? A n d he e a t s w h a t we give h i m . W h y do you have to c a u s e trouble is what I w a n t to know! W h a t is it you're b u c k i n ' for, a discharge?" " N o , sir." "I'm talking to a waH! S e r g e a n t , get him o u t of my way." B a r r e t t p o u n c e d over to the driver's seat. "I'm g o i n g to s e e the c h a p l a i n ! " T h e e n g i n e r o a r e d , the j e e p s p u n a r o u n d , a n d then, raising a whirl of d u s t , the C a p t a i n w a s h e a d e d b a c k to c a m p . F o r a m o m e n t , G r o s s b a r t a n d I stood s i d e by s i d e , w a t c h i n g the j e e p . T h e n h e looked at m e a n d said, "I don't w a n t to start trouble. T h a t ' s the first thing they toss up to u s . " W h e n h e s p o k e I s a w that his teeth were white a n d straight, a n d the sight of t h e m s u d d e n l y m a d e m e u n d e r s t a n d that G r o s s b a r t actually did have pare n t s : that o n c e u p o n a time s o m e o n e h a d taken little Sheldon to the dentist. H e w a s s o m e o n e ' s s o n . D e s p i t e all the talk a b o u t his p a r e n t s , it w a s hard to believe in G r o s s b a r t a s a child, a n h e i r — a s related by b l o o d to anyone, m o t h e r , father, or, a b o v e all, to m e . T h i s realization led m e to a n o t h e r . " W h a t d o e s your father d o , G r o s s b a r t ? " I a s k e d , a s we started to walk b a c k towards the c h o w line. " H e ' s a tailor." "An A m e r i c a n ? " " N o w , yes. A son in the Aimy," h e said, jokingly. " A n d your m o t h e r ? " I a s k e d . H e winked. "A ballabusta*—she practically s l e e p s with a d u s t c l o t h in her hand." "She's also an immigrant?" "All s h e talks is Yiddish, still." " A n d your father t o o ? " "A little E n g l i s h . ' C l e a n , ' ' P r e s s , ' ' T a k e the p a n t s in . . . ' T h a t ' s the extent of it. B u t they're g o o d to m e . . ." " T h e n , G r o s s b a r t — " I r e a c h e d o u t a n d s t o p p e d h i m . H e t u r n e d towards m e a n d w h e n o u r eyes m e t his s e e m e d to j u m p b a c k , shiver in their s o c k e t s . H e looked afraid. " G r o s s b a r t , then you were the o n e w h o wrote that letter, weren't y o u ? " It took only a s e c o n d or two for his eyes to flash h a p p y a g a i n . " Y e s . " H e walked o n , a n d I kept p a c e . "It's what my father would have written if h e h a d known how. It w a s his n a m e , t h o u g h . He s i g n e d it. H e even m a i l e d it. I sent it h o m e . F o r the N e w York p o s t m a r k . " 3. Good housekeeper.

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I was a s t o n i s h e d , a n d he saw it. With c o m p l e t e s e r i o u s n e s s , h e thrust his right arm in front of m e . " B l o o d is blood, S e r g e a n t , " he said, p i n c h i n g the blue vein in his wrist. "What the hell are you trying to d o , G r o s s b a r t ? I've s e e n you eat. D o you know that? I told the C a p t a i n I don't know what you eat, but I've s e e n you eat like a h o u n d at c h o w . " " W e work hard, S e r g e a n t . W e ' r e in training. F o r a f u r n a c e to work, you've got to feed it c o a l . " "If you wrote the letter, G r o s s b a r t , then why did you say you threw u p all the t i m e ? " "I w a s really talking a b o u t Mickey there. B u t h e w o u l d never write, Sergeant, t h o u g h I p l e a d e d with h i m . He'll waste away to n o t h i n g if I don't help. S e r g e a n t , I u s e d my n a m e , my father's n a m e , b u t it's M i c k e y a n d F i s h b e i n too I'm w a t c h i n g out for." "You're a regular Messiah,'* aren't y o u ? " W e were at the c h o w line now. "That's a good o n e , S e r g e a n t . " H e smiled. " B u t w h o knows? W h o c a n tell? M a y b e you're the M e s s i a h . . . a little bit. W h a t M i c k e y says is the M e s s i a h is a collective idea. H e went to Y e s h i v a h , ' Mickey, for a while. H e says together we're the M e s s i a h . M e a little bit, you a little bit . . . You s h o u l d hear that kid talk, S e r g e a n t , w h e n h e gets g o i n g . " " M e a little bit, you a little bit. You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you, G r o s s b a r t ? T h a t m a k e s everything so clean for y o u . " "It doesn't s e e m too b a d a thing to believe, S e r g e a n t . It only m e a n s we s h o u l d all give a little, is all . . ." I walked off to eat my rations with the other n o n c o m s . T w o days later a letter a d d r e s s e d to C a p t a i n Barrett p a s s e d over my d e s k . It h a d c o m e through the c h a i n of c o m m a n d — f r o m the office of C o n g r e s s m a n F r a n c o n i , where it h a d b e e n received, to G e n e r a l L y m a n , to C o l o n e l S o u s a , to M a j o r L a m o n t , to C a p t a i n Barrett. I read it over twice while the C a p t a i n w a s at the officers' m e s s . It w a s d a t e d M a y 14th, the day Barrett had s p o k e n with G r o s s b a r t on the rifle r a n g e . Dear Congressman: First let m e thank you for your interest in b e h a l f of my s o n , Private Sheldon G r o s s b a r t . Fortunately, I w a s able to s p e a k with S h e l d o n o n the p h o n e the other night, a n d I think I've b e e n able to solve our p r o b l e m . H e is, a s I m e n t i o n e d in my last letter, a very religious boy, a n d it w a s only with the greatest difficulty that I c o u l d p e r s u a d e him that the religious thing to d o — what G o d H i m s e l f would want S h e l d o n to d o — w o u l d b e to suffer the p a n g s of religious r e m o r s e for the good of his country a n d all m a n k i n d . It took s o m e doing, C o n g r e s s m a n , b u t finally he saw the light. In fact, w h a t he said (and I wrote d o w n the words o n a s c r a t c h p a d s o a s never to forget), what he said w a s , "I g u e s s you're right, D a d . S o m a n y millions of my fellow J e w s gave up their lives to the e n e m y , the least I can do is live for a while m i n u s 4. T h e deliverer who will rule over the people of Israel at the end of time.

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a bit of my heritage s o a s to help e n d this struggle a n d regain for all the children of G o d dignity a n d h u m a n i t y . " T h a t , C o n g r e s s m a n , would m a k e any father p r o u d . By the way, S h e l d o n w a n t e d m e to k n o w — a n d to p a s s o n to y o u — t h e n a m e of a soldier who helped him r e a c h this d e c i s i o n : S E R G E A N T N A T H A N M A R A . S e r g e a n t M a r x is a c o m b a t veteran who is S h e l d o n ' s First S e r g e a n t . T h i s m a n has helped S h e l d o n over s o m e of the first h u r d l e s he's h a d to f a c e in the Army, a n d is in part r e s p o n s i b l e for S h e l d o n ' s c h a n g i n g his m i n d a b o u t the dietary laws. I know S h e l d o n would a p p r e c i a t e any recognition M a r x could receive. T h a n k you a n d good luck. I look forward to s e e i n g your n a m e on the next election ballot. Respectfully, Samuel E. Grossbart A t t a c h e d to the G r o s s b a r t c o m m u n i q u e was a c o m m u n i q u e a d d r e s s e d to G e n e r a l M a r s h a l l L y m a n , the post c o m m a n d e r , a n d s i g n e d by R e p r e s e n t a t i v e C h a r l e s E . F r a n c o n i of the H o u s e of R e p r e s e n t a t i v e s . T h e c o m m u n i q u e informed G e n e r a l L y m a n that S e r g e a n t N a t h a n Marx w a s a credit to the U . S . Army a n d the J e w i s h p e o p l e . W h a t w a s G r o s s b a r t ' s motive in r e c a n t i n g ? D i d he feel he'd g o n e too far? W a s the letter a strategic r e t r e a t — a crafty a t t e m p t to s t r e n g t h e n what he c o n s i d e r e d our alliance? O r h a d h e actually c h a n g e d his m i n d , via a n imaginary d i a l o g u e b e t w e e n G r o s s b a r t pere a n d fils? I w a s puzzled, but only for a few d a y s — t h a t is, only until I realized that whatever his r e a s o n s , h e h a d actually d e c i d e d to d i s a p p e a r from my life: he was g o i n g to allow h i m s e l f to b e c o m e j u s t a n o t h e r trainee. I saw him at i n s p e c t i o n but h e never w i n k e d ; at c h o w f o r m a t i o n s but he never flashed m e a sign; on S u n d a y s , with the other trainees, he would sit a r o u n d w a t c h i n g the n o n c o m s ' Softball t e a m , for w h o m I p i t c h e d , but not o n c e did he s p e a k a n u n n e c e s s a r y or u n u s u a l word to m e . F i s h b e i n a n d H a l p e r n retreated from sight too, at G r o s s b a r t ' s c o m m a n d I w a s s u r e . Apparently he'd s e e n that w i s d o m lay in t u r n i n g b a c k before he p l u n g e d u s over into the u g l i n e s s of privilege u n d e s e r v e d . O u r s e p a r a t i o n allowed m e to forgive him our past e n c o u n t e r s , a n d , finally, to a d m i r e him for his g o o d s e n s e . M e a n w h i l e , free of G r o s s b a r t , I grew u s e d to my j o b a n d my a d m i n i s t r a t i v e t a s k s . I s t e p p e d on a s c a l e o n e day a n d d i s c o v e r e d I h a d truly b e c o m e a n o n c o m b a t a n t : I h a d g a i n e d seven p o u n d s . 1 found p a t i e n c e to get p a s t the first three p a g e s of a book. I t h o u g h t a b o u t the future m o r e a n d m o r e , a n d wrote letters to girls I'd known before the w a r — I even got a few a n s w e r s . I sent away to C o l u m b i a for a L a w S c h o o l c a t a l o g u e . I c o n t i n u e d to follow the war in the Pacific, but it w a s not my war a n d I read of b o m b i n g s a n d battles like a civilian. I thought I c o u l d s e e the end in sight a n d s o m e t i m e s at night I d r e a m e d that I w a s walking on the streets of M a n h a t t a n — B r o a d w a y , Third A v e n u e , a n d 1 16th S t r e e t , where I h a d lived t h o s e three years I'd a t t e n d e d C o l u m b i a C o l l e g e . I curled myself a r o u n d t h e s e d r e a m s a n d I b e g a n to be happy. A n d then o n e S a t u r d a y w h e n everyone w a s away a n d I w a s a l o n e in the

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orderly r o o m r e a d i n g a month-old copy of The Sporting News, G r o s s b a r t reappeared. "You a baseball fan, S e r g e a n t ? " 1 looked u p . " H o w are y o u ? " " F i n e , " G r o s s b a r t said. "They're m a k i n g a soldier out of m e . " " H o w are F i s h b e i n a n d H a l p e r n ? " " C o m i n g a l o n g , " he s a i d . "We've got no training this a f t e r n o o n . They're at the m o v i e s . " " H o w c o m e you're not with t h e m ? " "I w a n t e d to c o m e over a n d say h e l l o . " H e s m i l e d — a shy, regular-guy s m i l e , a s t h o u g h he a n d I well knew that our friendship drew its s u s t e n a n c e from u n e x p e c t e d visits, r e m e m b e r e d birthdays, and borrowed l a w n m o w e r s . At first it offended m e , a n d then the feeling w a s swallowed by the general u n e a s i n e s s I felt at the t h o u g h t that everyone on the p o s t w a s locked away in a dark movie theater a n d I w a s here a l o n e with G r o s s b a r t . I folded my paper. " S e r g e a n t , " he said, "I'd like to a s k a favor. It is a favor a n d I'm m a k i n g no b o n e s a b o u t it." H e s t o p p e d , allowing m e to refuse him a h e a r i n g — w h i c h , of c o u r s e , forced m e into a courtesy I did not intend. " G o a h e a d . " "Well, actually it's two f a v o r s . " I said nothing. " T h e first one's a b o u t t h e s e r u m o r s . Everybody says we're g o i n g to the Pacific." "As I told your friend F i s h b e i n , 1 don't know. You'll j u s t have to wait to find out. L i k e everybody e l s e . " "You think there's a c h a n c e of any of u s g o i n g E a s t ? " " G e r m a n y , " I said, " m a y b e . " "I m e a n t N e w York." "I don't think s o , G r o s s b a r t . O f f h a n d . " " T h a n k s for the information, S e r g e a n t , " he said. "It's not information, G r o s s b a r t . J u s t what I s u r m i s e . " "It certainly would be g o o d to b e near h o m e . My p a r e n t s . . . you k n o w . " H e took a step towards the d o o r a n d then turned b a c k . " O h the other thing. M a y I a s k the o t h e r ? " " W h a t is i t ? " " T h e other thing is—I've got relatives in S t . L o u i s a n d they say they'll give m e a whole P a s s o v e r dinner if I can get down t h e r e . G o d , S e r g e a n t , that'd m e a n a n awful lot to m e . " I stood up. " N o passes during basic, Grossbart." " B u t we're off from now till M o n d a y m o r n i n g , S e r g e a n t . I c o u l d leave the post a n d no o n e would even k n o w . " "I'd know. You'd k n o w . " " B u t that's all. J u s t the two of u s . L a s t night I called my a u n t a n d you s h o u l d have h e a r d her. ' C o m e , c o m e , ' s h e s a i d . 'I got gefilte fish, chrain,'' the w o r k s ! ' J u s t a day, S e r g e a n t , I'd take the b l a m e if anything h a p p e n e d . " " T h e c a p t a i n isn't here to sign a p a s s . " 6. Horseradish.

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"You c o u l d s i g n . " "Look, Grossbart—" " S e r g e a n t , for two m o n t h s practically I've b e e n e a t i n g trafe till I w a n t to die." "I t h o u g h t you'd m a d e up your m i n d to live with it. T o be m i n u s a little bit of h e r i t a g e . " H e p o i n t e d a finger at m e . " Y o u ! " h e s a i d . " T h a t wasn't for you to r e a d ! " "I read it. S o w h a t . " " T h a t letter w a s a d d r e s s e d to a c o n g r e s s m a n . " " G r o s s b a r t , don't feed m e any c r a p . You wanted m e to read it." " W h y a r e you p e r s e c u t i n g m e , S e r g e a n t ? " "Are you kidding!" "I've run into this b e f o r e , " he said, "but never from my o w n ! " " G e t o u t of h e r e , G r o s s b a r t ! G e t the hell o u t of my s i g h t ! " H e did not m o v e . " A s h a m e d , that's what you a r e . S o you t a k e it out o n the rest of u s . T h e y say Hitler h i m s e l f w a s half a J e w . S e e i n g this, I wouldn't d o u b t it!" " W h a t are you trying to d o with m e , G r o s s b a r t ? W h a t a r e you after? You want m e to give you special privileges, to c h a n g e the food, to find o u t a b o u t your o r d e r s , to give you w e e k e n d p a s s e s . " "You even talk like a goy!" G r o s s b a r t s h o o k his fist. "Is this a w e e k e n d p a s s I'm a s k i n g for? Is a S e d e r 7 s a c r e d or n o t ? " S e d e r ! It s u d d e n l y o c c u r r e d to m e that P a s s o v e r h a d b e e n c e l e b r a t e d w e e k s before. I c o n f r o n t e d G r o s s b a r t with the fact. " T h a t ' s right," h e s a i d . " W h o says n o ? A m o n t h a g o , a n d I w a s in the field eating h a s h ! A n d now all I a s k is a s i m p l e f a v o r — a J e w i s h boy I t h o u g h t would u n d e r s t a n d . M y a u n t ' s willing to g o o u t of her w a y — t o m a k e a S e d e r a m o n t h l a t e r — " H e t u r n e d to g o , m u m b l i n g . " C o m e b a c k h e r e ! " I called. H e s t o p p e d a n d looked at m e . " G r o s s b a r t , why can't you b e like the rest? W h y d o you have to stick o u t like a s o r e t h u m b ? W h y do you b e g for special t r e a t m e n t ? " " B e c a u s e I'm a J e w , S e r g e a n t . I am different. Better, m a y b e not. B u t different." " T h i s is a war, G r o s s b a r t . F o r the time b e i n g be the s a m e . " "I r e f u s e . " "What?" "I r e f u s e . I can't s t o p b e i n g m e , that's all there is to it." T e a r s c a m e to his eyes. "It's a hard thing to b e a J e w . B u t now I s e e w h a t M i c k e y s a y s — i t ' s a h a r d e r thing to stay o n e . " H e r a i s e d a h a n d sadly toward m e . " L o o k at y o u . " " S t o p crying!" " S t o p this, s t o p that, s t o p the other thing! You s t o p , S e r g e a n t . S t o p c l o s i n g your heart to your o w n ! " A n d wiping his f a c e with his sleeve, h e ran o u t the door. " T h e least we c a n d o for o n e a n o t h e r . . . the least . . . " A n h o u r later I s a w G r o s s b a r t h e a d e d a c r o s s the field. H e wore a pair of s t a r c h e d khakis a n d carried only a little leather ditty b a g . I went to the door a n d from the o u t s i d e felt the h e a t of the day. It w a s q u i e t — n o t a soul in sight except over by the m e s s hall four K.P.'s sitting r o u n d a p a n , s l o p e d forward from the w a i s t s , g a b b i n g a n d p e e l i n g p o t a t o e s in the s u n . 7. Ceremonial dinner on the first evening of Passover.

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" G r o s s b a r t ! " I called. H e looked toward m e a n d c o n t i n u e d walking. " G r o s s b a r t , get over h e r e ! " H e turned a n d s t e p p e d into his long s h a d o w . Finally h e s t o o d before m e . " W h e r e are you g o i n g ? " I s a i d . " S t . L o u i s . I don't c a r e . " "You'll get c a u g h t without a p a s s . " " S o I'll get c a u g h t without a p a s s . " "You'll go to the s t o c k a d e . " "I'm in the s t o c k a d e . " H e m a d e an a b o u t - f a c e a n d h e a d e d off. I let him go only a s t e p : " C o m e b a c k h e r e , " I said, a n d he followed m e into the office, w h e r e I typed o u t a p a s s a n d s i g n e d the C a p t a i n ' s n a m e a n d my own initials after it. H e took the p a s s from m e a n d then, a m o m e n t later, h e r e a c h e d out a n d g r a b b e d my h a n d . " S e r g e a n t , you don't know how m u c h this m e a n s to m e . " "Okay. Don't get in any t r o u b l e . " "I wish I c o u l d s h o w you h o w m u c h this m e a n s to m e . " " D o n ' t do m e any favors. Don't write any m o r e c o n g r e s s m e n for c i t a t i o n s . " Amazingly, h e s m i l e d . "You're right. I won't. B u t let m e do s o m e t h i n g . " " B r i n g m e a p i e c e of that gefilte fish. J u s t get out of h e r e . " "I will! W i t h a slice of carrot a n d a little h o r s e r a d i s h . I won't forget." "All right. J u s t s h o w your p a s s at the g a t e . A n d don't tell anybody." "I won't. It's a m o n t h late, but a g o o d Y o m T o v to y o u . " " G o o d Yom T o v , 8 G r o s s b a r t , " I s a i d . "You're a good J e w , S e r g e a n t . You like to think you have a hard heart, but u n d e r n e a t h you're a fine d e c e n t m a n . I m e a n t h a t . " T h o s e last three w o r d s t o u c h e d m e m o r e than any w o r d s from G r o s s b a r t ' s m o u t h had the right to. "All right, G r o s s b a r t . N o w call m e 'sir' a n d get the hell out of h e r e . " H e ran out the d o o r a n d w a s g o n e . I felt very p l e a s e d with myself—-it w a s a great relief to stop fighting G r o s s b a r t . A n d it h a d c o s t m e nothing. Barrett would never find out, a n d if he did, I could m a n a g e to invent s o m e e x c u s e . F o r a while I sat at my desk, c o m f o r t a b l e in my d e c i s i o n . T h e n the s c r e e n door flew b a c k a n d G r o s s b a r t b u r s t in a g a i n . " S e r g e a n t ! " he said. B e h i n d him I saw F i s h b e i n a n d H a l p e r n , both in s t a r c h e d khakis, both carrying ditty b a g s exactly like G r o s s b a r t ' s . " S e r g e a n t , I c a u g h t M i c k e y a n d Larry c o m i n g o u t of the m o v i e s . I a l m o s t missed them." " G r o s s b a r t , did I say tell n o o n e ? " " B u t my a u n t said I c o u l d bring friends. T h a t I s h o u l d , in f a c t . " "I'm the S e r g e a n t , G r o s s b a r t — n o t your a u n t ! " G r o s s b a r t looked at m e in disbelief; he pulled H a l p e r n u p by his sleeve. "Mickey, tell the S e r g e a n t what this would m e a n to y o u . " " G r o s s b a r t , for G o d ' s s a k e , s p a r e u s — " "Tell him what you told m e , Mickey. H o w m u c h it would m e a n . " H a l p e r n looked at m e a n d , s h r u g g i n g his s h o u l d e r s , m a d e his a d m i s s i o n . "A lot."

8. Praise the day.

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F i s h b e i n s t e p p e d forward without p r o m p t i n g . " T h i s would m e a n a great deal to m e a n d my p a r e n t s , S e r g e a n t M a r x . " " N o ! " I shouted. G r o s s b a r t w a s s h a k i n g his h e a d . " S e r g e a n t , I could s e e you d e n y i n g m e , but how you c a n deny Mickey, a Yeshivah boy, that's beyond m e . " "I'm not denying Mickey anything. You j u s t p u s h e d a little too h a r d , G r o s s bart. You denied h i m . " "I'll give him my p a s s , t h e n , " G r o s s b a r t s a i d . "I'll give him my aunt's a d d r e s s a n d a little n o t e . At least let him g o . " In a s e c o n d he h a d c r a m m e d the p a s s into H a l p e r n ' s p a n t s ' p o c k e t . H a l pern looked at m e , F i s h b e i n t o o . G r o s s b a r t was at the door, p u s h i n g it o p e n . " M i c k e y , bring m e a p i e c e of gefilte fish at l e a s t . " A n d then he w a s o u t s i d e again. T h e three of us looked at o n e a n o t h e r a n d then I said, " H a l p e r n , h a n d that p a s s over." H e took it from his pocket a n d gave it to m e . F i s h b e i n h a d now m o v e d to the doorway, where he lingered. H e stood there with his m o u t h slightly o p e n a n d then pointed to himself. "And m e ? " he a s k e d . His utter r i d i c u l o u s n e s s e x h a u s t e d m e . I s l u m p e d down in my seat a n d I felt p u l s e s knocking at the b a c k of my e y e s . " F i s h b e i n , " I said, "you unders t a n d I'm not trying to deny you anything, don't y o u ? If it w a s my Army I'd serve gefilte fish in the m e s s hall. I'd sell k u g e l 9 in the PX, h o n e s t to G o d . " Halpern smiled. "You u n d e r s t a n d , don't you, H a l p e r n ? " "Yes, S e r g e a n t . " "And you, F i s h b e i n ? I don't want e n e m i e s . I'm j u s t like y o u — I want to serve my time a n d go h o m e . I m i s s the s a m e things you m i s s . " " T h e n , S e r g e a n t , " F i s h b e i n interrupted, "Why don't you c o m e t o o ? " "Where?" " T o S t . L o u i s . T o Shelley's a u n t . We'll have a regular S e d e r . Play hidet h e - m a t z a h . " H e gave a b r o a d , black-toothed s m i l e . I saw G r o s s b a r t in the doorway a g a i n , on the other side of the s c r e e n . " P s s s t ! " H e waved a p i e c e of p a p e r . " M i c k e y , here's the a d d r e s s . Tell her I couldn't get a w a y . " H a l p e r n did not m o v e . H e looked at m e a n d I saw the s h r u g moving u p his a r m s into his s h o u l d e r s a g a i n . I took the cover off my typewriter a n d m a d e out p a s s e s for him a n d F i s h b e i n . " G o , " I said, " t h e t h r e e of y o u . " I thought H a l p e r n w a s g o i n g to kiss my hand. T h a t afternoon, in a bar in J o p l i n , I d r a n k b e e r a n d listened with half a n ear to the C a r d i n a l g a m e . I tried to look s q u a r e l y at what I'd b e c o m e involved in, a n d b e g a n to w o n d e r if p e r h a p s the struggle with G r o s s b a r t wasn't a s m u c h my fault a s his. W h a t w a s I that I had to muster g e n e r o u s feelings? W h o w a s I to have b e e n feeling s o g r u d g i n g , s o tight-hearted? After all, I wasn't b e i n g a s k e d to m o v e the world. H a d I a right, t h e n , or a r e a s o n , to c l a m p down on G r o s s b a r t , w h e n that m e a n t c l a m p i n g d o w n on H a l p e r n , too? A n d F i s h b e i n , that ugly a g r e e a b l e soul, wouldn't he suffer in the b a r g a i n a l s o ? O u t of the m a n y recollections that had t u m b l e d over m e t h e s e p a s t few 9. Baked pudding of noodles or potatoes.

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days, I heard from s o m e c h i l d h o o d m o m e n t my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s voice: " W h a t are you m a k i n g a tsimas?"' It w a s what s h e would a s k my m o t h e r w h e n , say, I had cut myself with a knife a n d her d a u g h t e r w a s busy bawling m e out. I would need a h u g and a kiss a n d my m o t h e r would moralize! B u t my grandmother k n e w — m e r c y overrides j u s t i c e . I should have known it, t o o . W h o was N a t h a n M a r x to b e s u c h a p e n n y p i n c h e r with k i n d n e s s ? Surely, I thought, the M e s s i a h h i m s e l f — i f he should ever c o m e — w o n ' t niggle over nickels a n d d i m e s . G o d willing, he'll h u g a n d kiss. T h e next day, while we were playing Softball over on the P a r a d e G r o u n d s , I d e c i d e d to a s k B o b Wright, who was n o n c o m in c h a r g e over at C l a s s i f i c a tion a n d A s s i g n m e n t , w h e r e he thought our trainees would be sent when their cycle e n d e d in two w e e k s . I a s k e d casually, b e t w e e n i n n i n g s , and he said, "They're p u s h i n g t h e m all into the Pacific. S h u l m a n cut the orders on your boys the other d a y . " T h e news s h o c k e d m e , a s t h o u g h I were father to H a l p e r n , F i s h b e i n , a n d Grossbart. T h a t night I w a s j u s t sliding into sleep w h e n s o m e o n e t a p p e d on the door. " W h a t is i t ? " "Sheldon." H e o p e n e d the door a n d c a m e in. For a m o m e n t I felt his p r e s e n c e without being able to see him. " H o w w a s i t ? " I a s k e d , a s t h o u g h to the d a r k n e s s . H e p o p p e d into sight before m e . " G r e a t , S e r g e a n t . " I felt my springs s a g ; G r o s s b a r t was sitting on the e d g e of the b e d . I sat u p . " H o w a b o u t v o u ? " he a s k e d . " H a v e a nice w e e k e n d ? " "Yes." H e took a d e e p paternal b r e a t h . " T h e others went to sleep . . ." W e sat silently for a while, as a h o m e y feeling invaded my ugly little c u b i c l e : the door was locked, the cat out, the children safely in bed. " S e r g e a n t , can I tell you s o m e t h i n g ? P e r s o n a l ? " I did not a n s w e r a n d he s e e m e d to know why. " N o t a b o u t m e . A b o u t Mickey. S e r g e a n t , I never felt for anybody like I feel for him. L a s t night I heard M i c k e y in the bed next to m e . H e w a s crying s o , it could have broken your heart. Real s o b s . " "I'm sorry to hear that." "I had to talk to him to stop him. H e held my h a n d , S e r g e a n t — h e wouldn't let it go. H e was almost hysterical. H e kept saying if he only knew w h e r e we were going. Even if he knew it was the Pacific, that would be better than nothing. J u s t to know." L o n g a g o , s o m e o n e had taught G r o s s b a r t the s a d law that only lies c a n get the truth. Not that I couldn't believe in H a l p e r n ' s c r y i n g — h i s eyes ahvays s e e m e d red-rimmed. B u t , fact or not, it b e c a m e a lie when G r o s s b a r t uttered it. H e w a s entirely strategic. B u t t h e n — i t c a m e with the force of indictm e n t — s o w a s I! T h e r e are strategies of a g g r e s s i o n , but there a r e strategies of retreat, as well. And s o , recognizing that I myself, had b e e n without craft and guile, I told him what I knew. "It is the P a c i f i c . " H e let out a small g a s p , which w a s not a lie. "I'll tell him. I wish it w a s otherwise." 1. Fuss (Yiddish. literal trans.); here a side dish made of mixed cooked vegetables and Iruit.

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" S o d o I." H e j u m p e d on my w o r d s . "You m e a n you think you c o u l d do s o m e t h i n g ? A change maybe?" " N o , I couldn't do a t h i n g . " " D o n ' t you know anybody over at C & A ? " " G r o s s b a r t , there's n o t h i n g I c a n d o . If your orders are for the Pacific then it's the P a c i f i c . " "But Mickey." " M i c k e y , you, m e — e v e r y b o d y , G r o s s b a r t . T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g to b e d o n e . M a y b e the war'll end before you go. Pray for a m i r a c l e . " "But—" " G o o d night, G r o s s b a r t . " I settled b a c k , a n d w a s relieved to feel the springs u p b e n d again as G r o s s b a r t rose to leave. I c o u l d s e e him clearly now; his j a w h a d d r o p p e d a n d h e looked like a d a z e d prizefighter. I n o t i c e d for the first time a little p a p e r b a g in his h a n d . "Grossbart"—I smiled—"my gift?" " O h , yes, S e r g e a n t . H e r e , from all of u s . " H e h a n d e d m e the b a g . "It's e g g roll." " E g g ro\Y?" I a c c e p t e d the b a g a n d felt a d a m p g r e a s e s p o t on the b o t t o m . I o p e n e d it, s u r e that G r o s s b a r t w a s j o k i n g . " W e t h o u g h t you'd probably like it. You know, C h i n e s e e g g roll. W e t h o u g h t you'd probably have a t a s t e f o r — " "Your a u n t served e g g rolY?" " S h e wasn't h o m e . " " G r o s s b a r t , s h e invited you. You told m e s h e invited you a n d your f r i e n d s . " "I know. I j u s t reread the letter. N e x t w e e k . " I got out of b e d a n d walked to the window. It w a s black as far off a s I c o u l d s e e . " G r o s s b a r t , " I said. B u t I w a s not calling h i m . "What?" " W h a t are you, G r o s s b a r t ? H o n e s t to G o d , what a r e y o u ? " I think it w a s the first time I'd a s k e d him a q u e s t i o n for w h i c h h e didn't have an i m m e d i a t e a n s w e r . " H o w c a n you do this to p e o p l e ? " I a s k e d . " S e r g e a n t , the day away did u s all a world of g o o d . F i s h b e i n , you s h o u l d s e e him, he Zoves C h i n e s e food." " B u t the S e d e r , " I said. " W e took s e c o n d best, S e r g e a n t . " R a g e c a m e c h a r g i n g at m e . I didn't s i d e s t e p — I g r a b b e d it, pulled it in, h u g g e d it to my c h e s t . " G r o s s b a r t , you're a \iar\ You're a schemer a n d a crook! You've got n o r e s p e c t for anything! N o t h i n g at all! N o t for m e , for the truth, not even for poor H a l p e r n ! You u s e u s a l l — " " S e r g e a n t , S e r g e a n t , I feel for Mickey, h o n e s t to G o d , I do. I love Mickey. I try—" "You try! You feel!" I l u r c h e d t o w a r d s him a n d g r a b b e d his shirt front. I s h o o k him furiously. " G r o s s b a r t , get o u t . G e t o u t a n d stay the hell away from m e ! B e c a u s e if I s e e you, I'll m a k e your life m i s e r a b l e . YOM understand that?" "Yes." I let him free, a n d w h e n h e walked from the r o o m I w a n t e d to spit on the

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floor where he h a d s t o o d . I couldn't stop the fury from rising in my heart. It engulfed m e , o w n e d m e , till it s e e m e d I could only rid myself of it with tears or an act of violence. I s n a t c h e d from the bed the b a g G r o s s b a r t had given m e a n d with all my strength threw it out the window. A n d the next morning, as the m e n policed the a r e a a r o u n d the b a r r a c k s , I heard a great cry go u p from o n e of the trainees who'd b e e n a n t i c i p a t i n g only this m o r n i n g handful of cigarette butts a n d c a n d y w r a p p e r s . " E g g roll!" he s h o u t e d . " H o l y C h r i s t , C h i n e s e g o d d a m e g g roll!" A week later w h e n I read the orders that h a d c o m e down from C & A I couldn't believe my eyes. Every single trainee w a s to be s h i p p e d to C a m p S t o n e h a m , California, a n d from there to the Pacific. Every trainee but o n e : Private S h e l d o n G r o s s b a r t w a s to be sent to Fort M o n m o u t h , N e w J e r s e y . I read the m i m e o g r a p h e d sheet several t i m e s . D e e , Farrell, F i s h b e i n , Fuselli, Fylypowycz, Glinicki, G r o m k e , G u c w a , H a l p e r n , Hardy, H e l e b r a n d t . . . right down to A n t o n Zygadlo, all were to be h e a d e d W e s t before the m o n t h was out. All except G r o s s b a r t . H e h a d pulled a string a n d I wasn't it. I lifted the p h o n e a n d called C & A. T h e voice on the other e n d said smartly, " C o r p o r a l S h u l m a n , sir." " L e t m e s p e a k to S e r g e a n t W r i g h t . " " W h o is this calling, s i r ? " "Sergeant Marx." And to my s u r p r i s e , the voice said, " O J i . " T h e n : " J u s t a m i n u t e , S e r g e a n t . " S h u l m a n ' s oh stayed with m e while I waited for Wright to c o m e to the p h o n e . Why oh? W h o w a s S h u l m a n ? A n d then, s o simply, I knew I'd discovered the string G r o s s b a r t had pulled. In fact, I c o u l d hear G r o s s b a r t the day he'd discovered S h u l m a n , in the PX, or the bowling alley, or m a y b e even at services. " G l a d to m e e t you. W h e r e you from? Bronx? M e too. D o you know so-and-so? A n d so-and-so? M e too! You work at C & A? Really? Hey, how's c h a n c e s of getting E a s t ? C o u l d you do s o m e t h i n g ? C h a n g e s o m e t h i n g ? Swindle, cheat, lie? W e gotta help e a c h other, you know . . . if the J e w s in G e r many . . ." At the other e n d B o b Wright a n s w e r e d . " H o w a r e you, N a t e ? How's the pitching a r m ? " " G o o d . B o b , I w o n d e r if you could do m e a favor." I h e a r d clearly my own words a n d they so r e m i n d e d m e of G r o s s b a r t that I d r o p p e d m o r e easily than I could have imagined into what I h a d p l a n n e d . " T h i s may s o u n d crazy, B o b , but I got a kid here on orders to M o n m o u t h w h o wants t h e m c h a n g e d . H e had a brother killed in E u r o p e a n d he's hot to go to the Pacific. S a y s he'd feel like a coward if he w o u n d up s t a t e s i d e . I don't know, B o b , c a n a n y t h i n g be d o n e ? Put s o m e b o d y else in the M o n m o u t h s l o t ? " " W h o ? " he a s k e d cagily. "Anybody. First guy on the a l p h a b e t . I don't c a r e . T h e kid j u s t a s k e d if s o m e t h i n g could be d o n e . " "What's his n a m e ? " "Grossbart, Sheldon." Wright didn't answer. " Y e a h , " I said, "he's a J e w i s h kid, so he thought I c o u l d help him out. You know."

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ROTH

"I g u e s s I c a n do s o m e t h i n g , " he finally said. " T h e M a j o r hasn't b e e n a r o u n d h e r e for w e e k s — T D Y 2 to the golf c o u r s e . I'll try, N a t e that's all I c a n say. "I'd a p p r e c i a t e it, B o b . S e e you S u n d a y , " a n d I hung u p , p e r s p i r i n g . A n d the following day the c o r r e c t e d orders a p p e a r e d : F i s h b e i n , F u s e l l i , Fylypowycz, Glinicki, Grossbart, Gucwa, H a l p e r n , H a r d y . . . L u c k y Private Harley Alton w a s to go to Fort Monmouth, N e w J e r s e y , w h e r e for s o m e r e a s o n or other, they w a n t e d an enlisted m a n with infantry training. After chow that night I s t o p p e d b a c k at the orderly r o o m to straighten o u t the g u a r d duty roster. G r o s s b a r t w a s waiting for m e . H e s p o k e first. "You son of a b i t c h ! " I sat down at my d e s k a n d while he glared down at m e I b e g a n to m a k e the n e c e s s a r y alterations in the duty roster. " W h a t do you have a g a i n s t m e ? " he cried. "Against my family} Would it kill you for m e to be near my father, G o d knows how m a n y m o n t h s h e h a s left to h i m . " "Why?" " H i s h e a r t , " G r o s s b a r t said. " H e hasn't h a d e n o u g h troubles in a lifetime, you've got to a d d to t h e m . I c u r s e the day I ever m e t you, Marx! S h u l m a n told m e what h a p p e n e d over t h e r e . T h e r e ' s n o limit to your a n t i - S e m i t i s m , is there! T h e d a m a g e you've d o n e here isn't e n o u g h . You have to m a k e a special p h o n e call! You really want m e d e a d ! " I m a d e the last few n o t a t i o n s in the duty roster a n d got up to leave. " G o o d night, G r o s s b a r t . " "You owe m e a n e x p l a n a t i o n ! " H e s t o o d in my p a t h . " S h e l d o n , you're the o n e w h o o w e s e x p l a n a t i o n s . " H e s c o w l e d . " T o yow?" " T o m e , I think so, yes. M o s t l y to F i s h b e i n a n d H a l p e r n . " " T h a t ' s right, twist things around. I owe n o b o d y n o t h i n g , I've d o n e all I c o u l d do for t h e m . N o w I think I've got the right to w a t c h out for myself." " F o r e a c h other we have to learn to w a t c h out, S h e l d o n . You told m e yourself." "You call this w a t c h i n g o u t for m e , w h a t you d i d ? " " N o . F o r all of u s . " I p u s h e d him aside and started for the door. I h e a r d his furious b r e a t h i n g b e h i n d m e , a n d it s o u n d e d like s t e a m r u s h i n g from the e n g i n e of his terrible strength. "You'll b e all right," I said from the door. And, I t h o u g h t , s o would F i s h b e i n a n d H a l p e r n b e all right, even in the Pacific, if only G r o s s b a r t c o u l d c o n t i n u e to s e e in the o b s e q u i o u s n e s s of the o n e , the soft spirituality of the other, s o m e profit for himself. I stood o u t s i d e the orderly r o o m , a n d I h e a r d G r o s s b a r t w e e p i n g b e h i n d m e . Over in the b a r r a c k s , in the lighted w i n d o w s , I c o u l d s e e the boys in their T-shirts sitting on their b u n k s talking a b o u t their orders, a s they'd b e e n d o i n g for the p a s t two days. With a kind of quiet n e r v o u s n e s s , they p o l i s h e d s h o e s , s h i n e d belt b u c k l e s , s q u a r e d away u n d e r w e a r , trying a s best they c o u l d to a c c e p t their fate. B e h i n d m e , G r o s s b a r t swallowed h a r d , a c c e p t i n g his. 2. Temporary' Duty, an army orders term used ironically here.

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And then, resisting with all my will a n i m p u l s e to turn a n d s e e k p a r d o n for my vindictiveness, I a c c e p t e d my own. 1959

N. S C O T T

MOMADAY

b. 1 9 3 4 "In a certain sense," writes N. Scott Momaday in The Man Made of Words, "we are all made of words; . . . our most essential being consists in language. It is the element in which we think and dream and act, in which we live our daily lives." Since the publication of his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel House Made of Dawn (1968), Momaday's writing has crossed boundaries of language, form, and genre, thereby creating for Momaday himself, through will and imagination, an American Indian identity in words. Navarre Scott Momaday was born at the Kiowa and Comanche Indian Hospital in Lawton, Oklahoma, the only child of Al Momaday, a Kiowa, and Natachee Scott, who was part Cherokee. He spent most of his early years in New Mexico and Arizona, moving in 1946 to Jemez Pueblo in New Mexico's Rio Grande Valley. There his parents, both artists and teachers, took jobs at a small day school. Growing up on reservations, including those of the Navajo and the Apache, Momaday experienced the rhythms of traditional tribal life, but saw, too, the changes wrought by postwar material culture, and their human costs—the alcoholism, unemployment, and personal disintegration that mark the life of Abel, the returning veteran in House Made of Dawn. Early on, Momaday's mother instilled in him the value of a bicultural education that would open the future without closing off his native heritage. Momaday attended reservation, public, and mission schools, then graduated from military high school in Virginia and the University of New Mexico. He received his Ph.D. in 1963 from Stanford University, where his mentor in American and English literature was the poet and critic Yvor Winters. Since then his teaching career has taken him to Santa Barbara, Berkeley, the University of Moscow, Stanford, and the University of Arizona. What some scholars call the "Native American Renaissance" is usually said to have begun with the publication of House Made of Dawn in 1968 and its reception of the Pulitzer Prize the following year. And, indeed, from 1968 to the present, Native American writers have published a substantial body of fine poetry, fiction, and autobiography, gaining considerable notice both in the United States and abroad. Over the decades since the publication of House Made of Dawn, Momaday has published two more novels, The Ancient Child (1989) and In the Bear's House (1999); four volumes of poems, Angle of Geese and Other Poems (1974), Before an Old ing of the Crucifixion,

Carmel

Mission,

fune

I 9 6 0 ( J 9 7 5 ) , and The Gourd

PaintDancer

(1976); stories and poems in In the Presence of the Sun (1992); and three works of autobiography, The Journey to Tai-me (1967, privately published), The Way to Rainy Mountain (1969), and The Names: A Memoir (1976) as well as critical works. His deliberate engagement with a variety of forms—oral and written poetry, prose fiction and nonfiction, autobiography, legend, history, photography, painting—all "forms of discovery," in Winters's words, has helped him to lay claim to his Kiowa past.

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Momaday's idea of the past as a journey is consciously expressed in The journey of Tai-me. This work relates the story of the Sun Dance—a ceremony for spiritual guidance and power performed by many Plains Indian groups that his grandmother Aho saw outlawed in the late 1800s—to his revelatory memory on journeying to Oklahoma to see the sacred Tai-me bundle: "I became more keenly aware of myself as someone who had walked through time and in whose blood there is something inestimably old and undying. It was as if I had remembered something that happened two hundred years ago. I meant then to seek after the source of my memory and myself." In The Way to Rainy Mountain (1969), Momaday undertakes this search, collecting, with his father as translator, Kiowa tales and myths and clustering them with brief, loose historical commentaries and personal family stories. What seem to be fragments come together in a complex structure—twenty-four "quintessential novels," divided into three sections, framed by poems and prose pieces—that follow the Kiowa from emergence through maturity to decline as a Plains Indian culture. Central to Rainy Mountain, and to all of Momaday's writing, is the land, the focal point of memory, the defining place for Kiowa culture. The same rootedness that defines Momaday's ancestors gives his work its conjuring power, a power that comes from distilling in words and pictures, as Momaday writes, "the glare of noon and all the colors of the dawn and dusk." The text is from The Way to Rainy Mountaiti (1969).

From The Way to Rainy Mountain Headwaters

(I

N o o n in the i n t e r m o u n t a i n plain: T h e r e is s c a n t telling of the m a r s h — A log, hollow a n d w e a t h e r - s t a i n e d , An insect at the m o u t h , a n d m o s s — Yet waters rise a g a i n s t the roots, S t a n d b r i m m i n g to the stalks. W h a t m o v e s ? W h a t m o v e s on this a r c h a i c force W a s wild a n d welling at the s o u r c e . , A i • '• i

5

'

.

Introduction A single knoll rises out of the plain in O k l a h o m a , north a n d w e s t of the W i c h i t a R a n g e . F o r my p e o p l e , the K i o w a s , 1 it is a n old l a n d m a r k , a n d they gave it the n a m e Rainy M o u n t a i n . T h e h a r d e s t w e a t h e r in the world is t h e r e . Winter brings blizzards, hot tornadic winds arise in the spring, a n d in s u m m e r the prairie is a n anvil's e d g e . T h e grass t u r n s brittle a n d brown, a n d it c r a c k s b e n e a t h your feet. T h e r e are green belts a l o n g the rivers a n d c r e e k s , linear groves of hickory a n d p e c a n , willow a n d witch hazel. At a d i s t a n c e in July or A u g u s t the s t e a m i n g foliage s e e m s a l m o s t to writhe in fire. G r e a t green a n d yellow g r a s s h o p p e r s are everywhere in the tall g r a s s , p o p p i n g u p like corn to sting the flesh, a n d tortoises crawl a b o u t on the red e a r t h , g o i n g n o w h e r e in the plenty of time. L o n e l i n e s s is a n a s p e c t of the l a n d . All things in the plain are isolate; there is no c o n f u s i o n of o b j e c t s in the eye, but one hill or one tree or one m a n . T o look u p o n that l a n d s c a p e in the early m o r n i n g , 1. The Kiowa were a mobile hunting and gathering people of the Southern Plains.

THE

WAY TO RAINY M O U N T A I N

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with the s u n at your back, is to lose the s e n s e of p r o p o r t i o n . Y o u r i m a g i n a t i o n c o m e s to life, a n d this, you think, is where C r e a t i o n w a s b e g u n . I returned to Rainy M o u n t a i n in July. M y g r a n d m o t h e r h a d died in the spring, a n d I w a n t e d to be at her grave. S h e h a d lived to b e very old a n d at last infirm. H e r only living d a u g h t e r was with her w h e n s h e d i e d , a n d I w a s told that in d e a t h her face was that of a child. I like to think of her a s a child. W h e n she w a s born, the Kiowas were living the last great m o m e n t of their history. F o r m o r e than a h u n d r e d years they h a d controlled the o p e n r a n g e from the S m o k y Hill River to the R e d , from the h e a d w a t e r s of the C a n a d i a n to the fork of the A r k a n s a s a n d C i m a r r o n . In alliance with the C o m a n c h e s , they had ruled the w h o l e of the s o u t h e r n Plains. W a r w a s their s a c r e d b u s i n e s s , a n d they were a m o n g the finest h o r s e m e n the world has ever known. B u t warfare for the K i o w a s w a s preeminently a m a t t e r of disposition rather than of survival, a n d they never u n d e r s t o o d the grim, unrelenting a d v a n c e of the U . S . Cavalry. W h e n at last, divided a n d ill-provisioned, they were driven o n t o the S t a k e d Plains in the cold rains of a u t u m n , they fell into p a n i c . In Palo D u r o C a n y o n 2 they a b a n d o n e d their crucial stores to pillage a n d h a d nothing then but their lives. In order to save t h e m s e l v e s , they s u r r e n d e r e d to the soldiers at Fort S i l l ' a n d were i m p r i s o n e d in the old s t o n e corral that now s t a n d s a s a military m u s e u m . M y g r a n d m o t h e r w a s s p a r e d the humiliation of t h o s e high gray walls by eight or ten years, but s h e m u s t have known from birth the affliction of defeat, the dark b r o o d i n g of old warriors. H e r n a m e w a s A h o , a n d s h e b e l o n g e d to the last c u l t u r e to evolve in N o r t h A m e r i c a . H e r forebears c a m e down from the high country in w e s t e r n M o n tana nearly three c e n t u r i e s a g o . T h e y were a m o u n t a i n p e o p l e , a m y s t e r i o u s tribe of h u n t e r s w h o s e l a n g u a g e h a s never b e e n positively classified in any major g r o u p . In the late s e v e n t e e n t h century they b e g a n a long migration to the s o u t h a n d e a s t . It w a s a j o u r n e y toward the d a w n , a n d it led to a golden a g e . A l o n g the way the Kiowas were befriended by the C r o w s , w h o gave t h e m the c u l t u r e a n d religion of the P l a i n s . T h e y a c q u i r e d h o r s e s , a n d their a n c i e n t n o m a d i c spirit w a s s u d d e n l y free of the g r o u n d . T h e y a c q u i r e d T a i m e , 4 the s a c r e d S u n D a n c e doll, from that m o m e n t the object a n d symbol of their w o r s h i p , a n d s o s h a r e d in the divinity of the s u n . N o t least, they a c q u i r e d the s e n s e of destiny, therefore c o u r a g e a n d p r i d e . W h e n they e n t e r e d u p o n the s o u t h e r n Plains they h a d b e e n t r a n s f o r m e d . N o longer were they slaves to the s i m p l e necessity of survival; they were a lordly a n d d a n g e r o u s society of fighters a n d thieves, h u n t e r s a n d priests of the s u n . A c c o r d ing to their origin myth, they entered the world through a hollow log. F r o m o n e point of view, their migration was the fruit of a n old p r o p h e c y , for i n d e e d they e m e r g e d from a s u n l e s s world. Although my g r a n d m o t h e r lived out her long life in the s h a d o w of Rainy M o u n t a i n , the i m m e n s e l a n d s c a p e of the c o n t i n e n t a l interior lay like m e m ory in her blood. S h e could tell of the C r o w s , w h o m s h e h a d never s e e n , a n d of the Rlack Hills, where s h e h a d never b e e n . I w a n t e d to s e e in reality what 2. On the Staked Plains, or the Texas Panhandle, that part of the state jutting north between New Mexico and Oklahoma. 3. U.S. cavalry fort in Oklahoma and site of the

Kiowa-Comanche Agency. 4. T h e sacred being who aids the Kiowa in times of trouble; this being is embodied in the holy doll central to Kiowa ritual.

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she h a d seen m o r e perfectly in the m i n d ' s eye, a n d traveled fifteen h u n d r e d miles to begin my p i l g r i m a g e . Yellowstone, it s e e m e d to m e , w a s the top of the world, a region of d e e p lakes a n d dark timber, c a n y o n s a n d waterfalls. B u t , beautiful a s it is, o n e might have the s e n s e of c o n f i n e m e n t there. T h e skyline in all directions is close at h a n d , the high wall of the w o o d s a n d d e e p c l e a v a g e s of s h a d e . T h e r e is a perfect f r e e d o m in the m o u n t a i n s , but it b e l o n g s to the e a g l e a n d the elk, the b a d g e r a n d the bear. T h e K i o w a s r e c k o n e d their s t a t u r e by the dist a n c e they c o u l d s e e , a n d they were b e n t a n d blind in the w i l d e r n e s s . D e s c e n d i n g e a s t w a r d , the h i g h l a n d m e a d o w s a r e a stairway to the plain. In J u l y the inland s l o p e of the R o c k i e s is luxuriant with flax a n d b u c k w h e a t , s t o n e c r o p a n d larkspur. T h e e a r t h unfolds a n d the limit of the land r e c e d e s . C l u s t e r s of t r e e s , a n d a n i m a l s grazing far in the d i s t a n c e , c a u s e the vision to r e a c h away a n d w o n d e r to build u p o n the m i n d . T h e s u n follows a longer c o u r s e in the day, a n d the sky is i m m e n s e beyond all c o m p a r i s o n . T h e great billowing c l o u d s that sail u p o n it are s h a d o w s that m o v e u p o n the grain like water, dividing light. F a r t h e r d o w n , in the l a n d of the C r o w s a n d B l a c k f e e t , the plain is yellow. S w e e t clover takes hold of the hills a n d b e n d s u p o n itself to cover a n d seal the soil. T h e r e the K i o w a s p a u s e d on their way; they h a d c o m e to the p l a c e where they m u s t c h a n g e their lives. T h e s u n is at h o m e on the p l a i n s . Precisely there d o e s it have the certain c h a r a c t e r of a god. W h e n the Kiowas c a m e to the land of the C r o w s , they c o u l d s e e the dark lees of the hills at d a w n a c r o s s the B i g h o r n River, the profusion of light on the grain s h e l v e s , the oldest deity r a n g i n g after the s o l s t i c e s . N o t yet would they veer s o u t h w a r d to the c a l d r o n of the l a n d that lay below; they m u s t w e a n their blood from the northern winter a n d hold the m o u n t a i n s a while longer in their view. T h e y b o r e T a i - m e in p r o c e s s i o n to the e a s t . A dark mist lay over the B l a c k Hills, a n d the land w a s like iron. At the top of a ridge I c a u g h t sight of Devil's T o w e r u p t h r u s t a g a i n s t the gray sky a s if in the birth of time the c o r e of the earth h a d broken t h r o u g h its c r u s t a n d the m o t i o n of the world w a s b e g u n . T h e r e are things in n a t u r e that e n g e n d e r a n awful quiet in the heart of m a n ; Devil's T o w e r is o n e of t h e m . T w o centuries a g o , b e c a u s e they c o u l d not do o t h e r w i s e , the K i o w a s m a d e a legend at the b a s e of the rock. M y g r a n d m o t h e r said: Eight children were there at play, seven sisters a n d their brother. S u d denly the boy w a s s t r u c k d u m b ; he t r e m b l e d a n d b e g a n to run u p o n his h a n d s a n d feet. His fingers b e c a m e c l a w s , a n d his body w a s covered with fur. Directly there w a s a b e a r where the boy h a d b e e n . T h e sisters were terrified; they ran, a n d the b e a r after t h e m . T h e y c a m e to the s t u m p of a great tree, a n d the tree s p o k e to t h e m . It b a d e t h e m c l i m b u p o n it, a n d a s they did s o it b e g a n to rise into the air. T h e b e a r c a m e to kill t h e m , but they were j u s t beyond its r e a c h . It reared a g a i n s t the tree a n d s c o r e d the bark all a r o u n d with its c l a w s . T h e seven sisters w e r e b o r n e into the sky, a n d they b e c a m e the stars of the B i g D i p p e r . F r o m that m o m e n t , a n d s o long a s the l e g e n d lives, the K i o w a s have k i n s m e n in the night sky. W h a t e v e r they were in the m o u n t a i n s , they c o u l d be no m o r e . H o w e v e r t e n u o u s their well-being, however m u c h they h a d suffered a n d would suffer a g a i n , they h a d f o u n d a way out of the w i l d e r n e s s .

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M y g r a n d m o t h e r h a d a reverence for the s u n , a holy regard that now is all but g o n e o u t of m a n k i n d . T h e r e w a s a w a r i n e s s in her, a n d a n a n c i e n t a w e . S h e w a s a C h r i s t i a n in her later years, but s h e h a d c o m e a long way a b o u t , a n d s h e never forgot her birthright. As a child s h e h a d b e e n to the S u n D a n c e s ; she h a d taken part in t h o s e a n n u a l rites, a n d by t h e m s h e h a d learned the restoration of her p e o p l e in the p r e s e n c e of T a i - m e . S h e w a s a b o u t seven w h e n the last Kiowa S u n D a n c e w a s held in 1 8 8 7 on the W a s h i t a River a b o v e Rainy M o u n t a i n C r e e k . T h e buffalo were g o n e . In order to c o n s u m m a t e the a n c i e n t s a c r i f i c e — t o i m p a l e the h e a d of a buffalo bull u p o n the m e d i c i n e t r e e — a delegation of old m e n j o u r n e y e d into T e x a s , there to b e g a n d barter for an a n i m a l from the G o o d n i g h t herd. S h e w a s ten w h e n the Kiowas c a m e together for the last time as a living S u n D a n c e c u l t u r e . T h e y could find no buffalo; they h a d to h a n g an old hide from the s a c r e d tree. B e f o r e the d a n c e c o u l d begin, a c o m p a n y of soldiers rode o u t from Fort Sill u n d e r orders to d i s p e r s e the tribe. F o r b i d d e n without c a u s e the e s s e n t i a l act of their faith, 5 having s e e n the wild herds s l a u g h t e r e d a n d left to rot u p o n the g r o u n d , the Kiowas b a c k e d away forever from the m e d i c i n e tree. T h a t was J u l y 2 0 , 1 8 9 0 , at the great b e n d of the W a s h i t a . M y g r a n d m o t h e r w a s there. W i t h o u t b i t t e r n e s s , a n d for a s long a s s h e lived, s h e b o r e a vision of deicide. N o w that I c a n have her only in m e m o r y , I s e e my g r a n d m o t h e r in the several p o s t u r e s that were p e c u l i a r to her: s t a n d i n g at the wood stove on a winter m o r n i n g a n d turning m e a t in a great iron skillet; sitting at the s o u t h window, bent a b o v e her b e a d w o r k , a n d afterwards, w h e n her vision failed, looking d o w n for a long time into the fold of her h a n d s ; g o i n g o u t u p o n a c a n e , very slowly a s s h e did w h e n the weight of a g e c a m e u p o n her; praying. I r e m e m b e r her m o s t often at prayer. S h e m a d e long, r a m b l i n g prayers o u t of suffering a n d h o p e , having s e e n m a n y things. I w a s never s u r e that I h a d the right to hear, s o exclusive were they of all m e r e c u s t o m a n d c o m p a n y . T h e last time I s a w her s h e prayed s t a n d i n g by the side of her b e d at night, naked to the waist, the light of a k e r o s e n e l a m p moving u p o n her dark skin. H e r long, b l a c k hair, always drawn a n d b r a i d e d in the day, lay u p o n her s h o u l d e r s a n d a g a i n s t her b r e a s t s like a shawl. I do not s p e a k Kiowa, a n d I never u n d e r s t o o d her prayers, but there w a s s o m e t h i n g inherently s a d in the s o u n d , s o m e m e r e s t hesitation u p o n the syllables of sorrow. S h e b e g a n in a high a n d d e s c e n d i n g pitch, e x h a u s t i n g her breath to s i l e n c e ; then a g a i n a n d a g a i n — a n d always the s a m e intensity of effort, of s o m e t h i n g that is, a n d is not, like urgency in the h u m a n voice. T r a n s p o r t e d s o in the d a n c i n g light a m o n g the s h a d o w s of her r o o m , s h e s e e m e d beyond the r e a c h of t i m e . B u t that w a s illusion; I think I knew then that I s h o u l d not s e e her a g a i n . H o u s e s are like sentinels in the plain, old k e e p e r s of the w e a t h e r w a t c h . T h e r e , in a very little while, wood takes o n the a p p e a r a n c e of great a g e . All colors wear s o o n away in the wind a n d rain, a n d then the w o o d is b u r n e d gray a n d the grain a p p e a r s a n d the nails turn red with rust. T h e w i n d o w p a n e s are black a n d o p a q u e ; you i m a g i n e there is n o t h i n g within, a n d i n d e e d there are m a n y g h o s t s , b o n e s given u p to the land. T h e y s t a n d here a n d there 5. From the 1880s on, the U.S. government sought to ban all "heathenish" practices among Native American peoples in a continuing effort to Christianize and "civilize" them.

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a g a i n s t the sky, a n d you a p p r o a c h t h e m for a longer time than you expect. T h e y b e l o n g in the d i s t a n c e ; it is their d o m a i n . O n c e there w a s a lot of s o u n d in my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s h o u s e , a lot of c o m i n g a n d going, f e a s t i n g a n d talk. T h e s u m m e r s there were full of excitement a n d reunion. T h e Kiowas are a s u m m e r p e o p l e ; they a b i d e the cold a n d keep to t h e m s e l v e s , b u t w h e n the s e a s o n turns a n d the land b e c o m e s w a r m a n d vital they c a n n o t hold still; an old love of g o i n g returns u p o n t h e m . T h e a g e d visitors w h o c a m e to my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s h o u s e w h e n I w a s a child were m a d e of lean a n d leather, a n d they b o r e t h e m s e l v e s upright. T h e y wore great b l a c k hats a n d bright a m p l e shirts that s h o o k in the wind. T h e y r u b b e d fat u p o n their hair a n d w o u n d their b r a i d s with strips of c o l o r e d cloth. S o m e of t h e m p a i n t e d their f a c e s a n d carried the s c a r s of old a n d c h e r i s h e d e n m i t i e s . T h e y were an old c o u n c i l of warlords, c o m e to r e m i n d a n d be r e m i n d e d of w h o they w e r e . T h e i r wives a n d d a u g h t e r s served t h e m well. T h e w o m e n might indulge t h e m s e l v e s ; g o s s i p w a s at o n c e the m a r k a n d c o m p e n s a t i o n of their servitude. T h e y m a d e loud a n d e l a b o r a t e talk a m o n g t h e m s e l v e s , full of j e s t a n d g e s t u r e , fright a n d false a l a r m . T h e y went a b r o a d in fringed a n d flowered s h a w l s , bright b e a d w o r k a n d G e r m a n silver. T h e y were at h o m e in the kitchen, a n d they p r e p a r e d m e a l s that were b a n q u e t s . T h e r e were f r e q u e n t prayer m e e t i n g s , a n d great n o c t u r n a l f e a s t s . W h e n I w a s a child I played with my c o u s i n s o u t s i d e , w h e r e the lamplight fell u p o n the g r o u n d a n d the s i n g i n g of the old p e o p l e rose u p a r o u n d u s a n d carried away into the d a r k n e s s . T h e r e were a lot of g o o d things to eat, a lot of laughter a n d s u r p r i s e . And afterwards, w h e n the quiet r e t u r n e d , I lay d o w n with my g r a n d m o t h e r a n d c o u l d hear the frogs away by the river a n d feel the motion of the air. N o w t h e r e is a funeral s i l e n c e in the r o o m s , the e n d l e s s wake of s o m e final word. T h e walls have c l o s e d in u p o n my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s h o u s e . W h e n I returned to it in m o u r n i n g , I saw for the first time in my life how small it w a s . It w a s late at night, a n d there w a s a white m o o n , nearly full. I sat for a long time on the s t o n e s t e p s by the kitchen door. F r o m there I c o u l d s e e o u t a c r o s s the land; I c o u l d s e e the long row of trees by the creek, the low light u p o n the rolling p l a i n s , a n d the stars of the B i g D i p p e r . O n c e I looked at the m o o n a n d c a u g h t sight of a s t r a n g e thing. A cricket h a d p e r c h e d u p o n the handrail, only a few i n c h e s away from m e . M y line of vision w a s s u c h that the c r e a t u r e filled the m o o n like a fossil. It h a d g o n e there, I t h o u g h t , to live a n d d i e , for there, of all p l a c e s , w a s its small definition m a d e whole a n d eternal. A warm wind rose u p a n d purled like the longing within m e . T h e next m o r n i n g I a w o k e at d a w n a n d went out on the dirt road to Rainy M o u n t a i n . It w a s already hot, a n d the g r a s s h o p p e r s b e g a n to fill the air. Still, it w a s early in the m o r n i n g , a n d the birds s a n g out of the s h a d o w s . T h e long yellow g r a s s on the m o u n t a i n s h o n e in the bright light, a n d a scissortail hied a b o v e the land. T h e r e , w h e r e it o u g h t to b e , at the e n d of a long a n d legendary way, w a s my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s grave. H e r e a n d there on the dark s t o n e s were a n c e s t r a l n a m e s . L o o k i n g b a c k o n c e , I s a w the m o u n t a i n a n d c a m e away.

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IV T h e y lived at first in the m o u n t a i n s . T h e y did not yet know of T a i - m e , but this is what they knew: T h e r e w a s a m a n a n d his wife. T h e y h a d a b e a u tiful child, a little girl w h o m they would not allow to go o u t of their sight. B u t o n e day a friend of the family c a m e a n d a s k e d if she might take the child o u t s i d e to play. T h e m o t h e r g u e s s e d that would be all right, but s h e told the friend to leave the child in its c r a d l e a n d to p l a c e the c r a d l e in a tree. W h i l e the child w a s in the tree, a redbird c a m e a m o n g the b r a n c h e s . It w a s not like any bird that you have s e e n ; it w a s very beautiful, a n d it did not fly away. It kept still u p o n a limb, c l o s e to the child. After a while the child got out of its c r a d l e a n d b e g a n to c l i m b after the redbird. A n d at the s a m e time the tree b e g a n to grow taller, a n d the child was b o r n e up into the sky. S h e w a s then a w o m a n , a n d she found herself in a s t r a n g e p l a c e . Instead of a redbird, there w a s a y o u n g m a n s t a n d i n g before her. T h e m a n s p o k e to her a n d said: "I have b e e n w a t c h i n g you for a long t i m e , a n d I k n e w that I would find a way to bring you h e r e . I have brought you here to be my w i f e . " T h e w o m a n looked all a r o u n d ; s h e s a w that he w a s the only living m a n t h e r e . S h e saw that he w a s the s u n .

There the land itself ascends into the sky. These mountains lie at the top of the continent, and they cast a long rain shadow on the sea of grasses to the east. They arise out of the last North American wilderness, and they have wilderness names: Wasatch, Bitterroot, Bighorn, Wind River. I have walked in a mountain meadow bright with Indian paintbrush, lupine, and wild buckwheat, and I have seen high in the branches of a lodgepole pine the male pine grosbeak, round and rose-colored, its dark, striped wings nearly invisible in the soft, mottled light. And the uppermost branches of the tree seemed very slowly to ride across the blue sky.

XIII If a n arrow is well m a d e , it will have tooth m a r k s u p o n it. T h a t is how you know. T h e K i o w a s m a d e fine arrows a n d s t r a i g h t e n e d t h e m in their teeth. T h e n they drew t h e m to the bow to s e e if they were straight. O n c e there w a s a m a n a n d his wife. T h e y were a l o n e at night in their tipi. By the

The old men were the best arrowmakers, for they could bring time and patience to their craft. The young men—the fighters and hunters—were willing to pay a high price for arrows that were well made.

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light of the fire the m a n w a s m a k i n g arrows. After a while he c a u g h t sight of s o m e t h i n g . T h e r e w a s a small o p e n i n g in the tipi where two hides were s e w n together. S o m e o n e w a s there on the o u t s i d e , looking in. T h e m a n went o n with his work, but he said to his wife: " S o m e o n e is standing o u t s i d e . D o not be afraid. Let u s talk easily, a s of ordinary t h i n g s . " H e took up a n arrow a n d s t r a i g h t e n e d it in his teeth; t h e n , a s it w a s right for him to d o , he drew it to the b o w a n d took a i m , first in this direction a n d then in that. A n d all the while he w a s talking, a s if to his wife. B u t this is how he s p o k e : "I know that you a r e there on the o u t s i d e , for I c a n feel your eyes u p o n m e . If you are a Kiowa, you will u n d e r s t a n d w h a t I a m saying, a n d you will s p e a k your n a m e . " B u t there w a s no a n s w e r , a n d the m a n went o n in the s a m e way, pointing the arrow all a r o u n d . At last his aim fell u p o n the p l a c e w h e r e his e n e m y s t o o d , a n d he let go of the string. T h e arrow went straight to the enemy's heart.

When my father was a boy, an old man used to come to Mammedaty's6 house and -pay his respects. He was a lean old man in braids and was impressive in his age and bearing. His name was Cheney, and he was an arrowmaker. Every morning, my father tells me, Cheney would paint his wrinkled face, go out, and pray aloud to the rising sun. In my mind I can see that man as if he were there now. I like to watch him as he makes his prayer. I know where he stands and where his voice goes on the rolling grasses and where the sun comes up on the land. There, at dawn, you can feel the silence. It is cold and clear and deep like water. It takes hold of you and will not let you go.

•

XVII B a d w o m e n are thrown away. O n c e there w a s a h a n d s o m e y o u n g m a n . H e w a s wild a n d r e c k l e s s , a n d the chief talked to the wind a b o u t h i m . After that, the m a n went h u n t i n g . A great whirlwind p a s s e d by, a n d h e w a s blind. T h e Kiowas have no n e e d of a blind m a n ; they left him a l o n e with his wife a n d child. T h e winter w a s c o m i n g on a n d food w a s s c a r c e . In four days the m a n ' s wife grew tired of c a r i n g for h i m . A herd of buffalo c a m e near, a n d the m a n knew the s o u n d . H e a s k e d his wife to h a n d him a b o w a n d an arrow. "You m u s t tell m e , " h e s a i d , " w h e n the buffalo

In the Kiowa calendars7 there is graphic proof that the lives of women were hard, whether they were "bad captives, women" or not. Only the who were slaves, held lower status. During the Sun Dance of 1843, a man stabbed his wife in the breast because she accepted Chief Dohasan s invitation to ride with him in the ceremonial procession. And in the winter of 1851—52, Big Bow stole the wife of a man who was away on a raiding expedition. He brought her to his father's camp and made her wait outside in the hitter cold while he went in to collect his things. But

6. Momaday's paternal grandfather. 7. The Kiowa recorded their history in pictures that functioned as calendars.

T H E W A Y TO RAINY M O U N T A I N

are directly in front of m e . " A n d in that way he killed a bull, but his wife said that he h a d m i s s e d . H e a s k e d for a n o t h e r arrow a n d killed a n o t h e r bull, but again his wife said that he h a d m i s s e d . N o w the m a n w a s a hunter, a n d he knew the s o u n d a n arrow m a k e s w h e n it strikes h o m e , but h e said nothing. T h e n his wife h e l p e d herself to the m e a t a n d ran away with her child. T h e m a n w a s blind; he ate g r a s s a n d kept himself alive. In seven days a b a n d of Kiowas f o u n d him a n d took him to their c a m p . T h e r e in the firelight a w o m a n was telling a story. S h e told of how her h u s b a n d h a d b e e n killed by e n e m y warriors. T h e blind m a n list e n e d , a n d he knew her v o i c e . T h a t w a s a b a d w o m a n . At s u n r i s e they threw her away.

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his father knew what was going on, and he held Big Bow and would not let him go. The woman was made to wait in the snow until her feet were frozen.

Mammedaty's grandmother, Kau-auointy,8 was a Mexican captive, taken from her homeland when she was a child of eight or ten years. I never knew her, but I have been to her grave at Rainy Mountain. KAU-AU-OINTY BORN

1834

DIED

1929

AT

REST

She raised a lot of eyebrows, they for she would not play the part Kiowa woman. From slavery she up to become a figure in the tribe. owned a great herd of cattle, and could ride as well as any man. had blue eyes.

say, of a rose She she She

XXIV E a s t of my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s h o u s e , s o u t h of the p e c a n grove, there is buried a w o m a n in a beautiful d r e s s . M a m m e d a t y u s e d to know where s h e is buried, but now no o n e k n o w s . If you s t a n d on the front p o r c h of the h o u s e a n d look e a s t w a r d towards C a r n e g i e , you know that the w o m a n is buried s o m e w h e r e within the r a n g e of your vision. B u t her grave is u n m a r k e d . S h e w a s buried in a c a b inet, a n d s h e wore a beautiful d r e s s . H o w beautiful it w a s ! It w a s o n e of t h o s e fine buckskin d r e s s e s , a n d it w a s d e c o r a t e d with elk's teeth a n d beadwork. T h a t d r e s s is still there, u n d e r the g r o u n d .

8. Momaday's great-great grandmother.

Aho's high moccasins are made of softest, cream-colored skins. On each instep there is a bright disc of star, beadwork—an eight-pointed red and pale blue on a white field— and there are bands of beadwork at the soles and ankles. The flaps of the leggings are wide and richly ornamented with blue and red and green and white and lavender beads.

East of my grandmother's house the sun rises out of the plain. Once in his life a man ought to concentrate his mind upon the remembered earth, I believe. He ought to give himself up to a particular landscape in his experience, to look at it from as many angles as he can, to wonder about it, to dwell upon it. He ought to imagine

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that he touches it with his hands at every season and listens to the sounds that are made upon it. He ought to imagine the creatures there and all the faintest motions of the wind. He ought to recollect the glare of noon and all the colors of the dawn and dusk. Epilogue D u r i n g the first h o u r s after midnight on the m o r n i n g of N o v e m b e r 13, 1 8 3 3 , it s e e m e d that the world w a s c o m i n g to a n e n d . S u d d e n l y the stillness of the night w a s broken; there were brilliant flashes of light in the sky, light of s u c h intensity that p e o p l e were a w a k e n e d by it. With the s p e e d a n d density of a driving rain, stars were falling in the u n i v e r s e . S o m e were brighter t h a n V e n u s ; o n e w a s said to be as large a s the m o o n . T h a t m o s t brilliant s h o w e r of L e o n i d m e t e o r s has a s p e c i a l p l a c e in the m e m o r y of the Kiowa p e o p l e . It is a m o n g the earliest entries in the Kiowa c a l e n d a r s , a n d it m a r k s the b e g i n n i n g a s it were of the historical period in the tribal m i n d . In the p r e c e d i n g year T a i - m e h a d b e e n stolen by a b a n d of O s a g e s , a n d a l t h o u g h it w a s later r e t u r n e d , the loss w a s an a l m o s t u n i m a ginable tragedy; a n d in 1 8 3 7 the Kiowas m a d e the first of their t r e a t i e s 9 with the U n i t e d S t a t e s . T h e falling stars s e e m e d to i m a g e the s u d d e n a n d violent disintegration of an old order. But indeed the golden a g e of the Kiowas h a d b e e n short-lived, ninety or a h u n d r e d years, say, from a b o u t 1 7 4 0 . T h e c u l t u r e would persist for a while in d e c l i n e , until a b o u t 1 8 7 5 , but then it would b e g o n e , a n d there w o u l d be very little material e v i d e n c e that it h a d ever b e e n . Yet it is within the r e a c h of m e m o r y still, t h o u g h t e n u o u s l y now, a n d m o r e o v e r it is even defined in a remarkably rich a n d living verbal tradition which d e m a n d s to be preserved for its own s a k e . T h e living m e m o r y a n d the verbal tradition which trans c e n d s it were brought together for m e o n c e a n d for all in the p e r s o n of Kosahn. A hundred-year-old w o m a n c a m e to my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s h o u s e o n e aftern o o n in July. A h o w a s d e a d ; M a m m e d a t y h a d died before I w a s b o r n . T h e r e were very few Kiowas left who c o u l d r e m e m b e r the S u n D a n c e s ; K o - s a h n w a s o n e of t h e m ; she w a s a grown w o m a n w h e n my g r a n d p a r e n t s c a m e into the world. H e r body w a s twisted a n d her f a c e deeply lined with a g e . H e r thin white hair w a s held in p l a c e by a c a p of black netting, t h o u g h s h e w o r e braids a s well, a n d she h a d but o n e eye. S h e w a s d r e s s e d in the m a n n e r of a Kiowa m a t r o n , a dark, full-cut d r e s s that r e a c h e d nearly to the a n k l e s , full, flowing sleeves, a n d a wide, apron-like s a s h . S h e sat on a b e n c h in the arbor so c o n c e n t r a t e d in her great a g e that s h e s e e m e d extraordinarily s m a l l . S h e w a s quiet for a t i m e — s h e might a l m o s t have b e e n a s l e e p — a n d then s h e b e g a n to s p e a k a n d to sing. S h e s p o k e of m a n y things, a n d o n c e s h e s p o k e of the Sun Dance: M y sisters a n d I were very y o u n g ; that w a s a long t i m e a g o . Early o n e m o r n i n g they c a m e to wake us u p . T h e y h a d b r o u g h t a great buffalo in 9. This treaty provided for the passage of settlers through Kiowa and C o m a n c h e lands.

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from the plain. Everyone went out to s e e a n d to pray. W e h e a r d a great m a n y voices. O n e m a n said that the lodge w a s a l m o s t ready. W e were told to go there^ a n d s o m e o n e gave m e a p i e c e of cloth. It w a s very beautiful. T h e n I a s k e d what I ought to do with it, a n d they said that I m u s t tie it to the T a i - m e tree. T h e r e were other p i e c e s of cloth o n the tree, a n d so I p u t m i n e there as well. W h e n the lodge f r a m e w a s finished, a w o m a n — s o m e t i m e s a m a n — b e g a n to sing. It w a s like this: Everything is ready. Now the four societies must go out. They must go out and get the leaves, the branches for the lodge. And when the b r a n c h e s were tied in p l a c e , again there w a s singing: Let the boys go out. Come on, boys, now we must get the

earth.

T h e boys b e g a n to s h o u t . N o w they were not j u s t ordinary boys, not all of t h e m ; they were t h o s e for w h o m prayers h a d b e e n m a d e , a n d they were d r e s s e d in different ways. T h e r e was a n old, old w o m a n . S h e h a d s o m e t h i n g on her back. T h e boys went o u t to s e e . T h e old w o m a n h a d a b a g full of earth on her b a c k . It w a s a certain kind of s a n d y e a r t h . T h a t is what they m u s t have in the l o d g e . T h e d a n c e r s m u s t d a n c e u p o n the sandy e a r t h . T h e old w o m a n held a digging tool in her h a n d . S h e t u r n e d towards the s o u t h a n d p o i n t e d with her lips. It w a s like a kiss, a n d s h e b e g a n to sing: We have brought the earth. Now it is time to play; As old as I am, I still have the feeling

of play.

T h a t w a s the b e g i n n i n g of the S u n D a n c e . T h e d a n c e r s treated t h e m selves with buffalo m e d i c i n e , a n d slowly they b e g a n to take their s t e p s . . . . A n d all the p e o p l e were a r o u n d , a n d they wore splendid t h i n g s — beautiful buckskin a n d b e a d s . T h e chiefs wore n e c k l a c e s , a n d their p e n d a n t s s h o n e like the s u n . T h e r e were m a n y p e o p l e , a n d o h , it w a s b e a u tiful! T h a t w a s the b e g i n n i n g of the S u n D a n c e . It w a s all for T a i - m e , you know, a n d it w a s a long time a g o . It w a s — a l l of this a n d m o r e — a q u e s t , a g o i n g forth u p o n the way to Rainy M o u n t a i n . Probably K o - s a h n too is d e a d now. At t i m e s , in the quiet of evening, I think s h e m u s t have w o n d e r e d , d r e a m i n g , w h o s h e w a s . W a s s h e b e c o m e in her sleep that old purveyor of the s a c r e d e a r t h , p e r h a p s , that ancient o n e who, old a s s h e w a s , still h a d the feeling of play? A n d in her m i n d , at t i m e s , did s h e s e e the falling s t a r s ? Rainy Mountain

Cemetery

M o s t is your n a m e the n a m e of this dark s t o n e . D e r a n g e d in d e a t h , the mind to be i n h e r e s Forever in the nominal u n k n o w n , T h e wake of nothing a u d i b l e he h e a r s W h o listens here a n d now to h e a r your n a m e .

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T h e early s u n , red a s a hunter's m o o n , R u n s in the plain. T h e m o u n t a i n b u r n s a n d s h i n e s ; A n d silence is the long a p p r o a c h of n o o n U p o n the s h a d o w that your n a m e d e f i n e s — A n d d e a t h this c o l d , b l a c k density of s t o n e .

10

1969

RUDOLFO b.

A.

ANAYA

1937

Llano is the Spanish adjective meaning "plain, simple, even, smooth, level"; as a noun, its feminine form (liana) indicates a "mason's trowel," while the masculine, llano, describes the condition of plain, flat ground. It was in the village of Pastura, on the eastern llanos of New Mexico, that Rudolfo Anaya was born on October 30, 1937. This high, arid, windy landscape figures in much of Anaya's fiction, suggesting the way that nature's trowel works incessantly to level out human effort. As a Hispanic American, the author can trace his ancestry back through four centuries of activity in this region. As critic Margarite Fernandez Olmos indicates, his parents' backgrounds combined both sides of the region's rural life: his mother's family were farmers growing crops and raising pigs, sheep, and cows in the Puerto de Luna valley, while his father was a free-ranging vaquero, a cowboy whose own family tradition was to work with cattle herds in the open rather than settling the land. After Anaya's father was killed in an accident, his mother married another vaquero, who helped raise his step-son with an understanding of both farming and ranching lifestyles. When still a small child, Anaya moved with his family to the town of Santa Rosa, New Mexico—"the social hub of the surrounding rural communities," as Olmos describes it, where on busy Highway 66 Anaya could witness the transcontinental link between East Coast and West Coast cultures. Yet the nearby Pescos River and its opportunities for hunting and fishing let the author grow up in close proximity to nature, an experience he would appreciate for its spiritual dimensions. By age fifteen, he and his family joined the urban migration that had begun in the years following World War II and moved to a barrio (Hispanic neighborhood) in Albuquerque. Here he learned the ways of big cities, another influence on his subsequent fiction. But it was an accident more typical of rural life that directed his interests to literature: while diving into an irrigation ditch that he and his friends were using as a swimming hole, Anaya fractured two vertebrae in his neck and spent much of his seventeenth year recovering in a world of books and meditation. After a false start in business school, he became an English major at the University of New Mexico, where he began writing fiction (for himself) and went on to earn two M.A. degrees in English and in counseling, allowing him to work as a high school teacher and guidance counselor. Bless Me, Ultima (1972) was Anaya's first novel, published to acclaim within the just-emerging network of the Chicano arts movement that would eventually include recognition of such writers as Rolando Hinjosa, Estella Portillo, Bernice Zamora, and Ricardo Sanchez. As a result of its success, Anaya was appointed to a professorship at the University of New Mexico, where he taught until achieving emeritus status in 1993. In the novel, Ultima is a practitioner of folk-healing arts developed by women who serves as mentor to the boy Antonio, who in the coming-of-age tradition of the bildingsroman

(David

Copperfield,

A Portrait

of the Artist as a Young Man,

The

Magic

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Mountain) must make the choices that will define his adult life. In Antonio's case, these conflicts reflect the alternatives of Anaya's own boyhood: farming one's land or wandering as a vaquero, taking one's cultural lead from the Hispanic or the Anglo, and sorting out the gender biases in competing systems of religious belief. Heart of Aztldn (1976) and Tortuga (1979) complete what critics describe as Anaya's initial Chicano trilogy of novels, as the narrative action shifts from the countryside to the city and then to the experiences of a teenager recovering from a paralyzing accident. In all three works the author blends the modern with the ancient, the formalities of culture with folklorish roots, and the plainly discursive with the richly allegorical, producing narratives that proceed on many different levels all at one time. "The Christmas Play," collected in The Silence of the Llano (1982), displays Anaya's characteristic literary techniques, including the mix of Hispanic and Anglo references that helps create the Chicano experience—a condition of living in the borderland area that until 1848 was part of Mexico and that today retains many aspects of Mexican culture, including the Hispanic, Indian, and mestizo (mixed race). In recent years his writing has expanded from autobiography to a more general social vision of Chicano life. Alburquque (1992)—the title reflects the original spelling of the city— follows the quest of a young boxer who must look beyond his adoptive family to finds his roots. With Zia Summer (1995) Anaya writes a full-fledged detective novel, introducing a private eye named Sonny Baca who seeks the murderer of a prominent politician's wife by sorting through the type of social and ethnic issues the author had treated previously in a more personal manner. Other Sonny Baca novels have followed, all of them set in the city that he continues to name according to its original Spanish spelling, a reminder of how far the largest city in New Mexico has come from its days as a frontier outpost (while retaining its mix of Spanish, Native American, and mestizo cultures). The text is from Anaya's The Silence of the Llano (1982).

The Christmas Play It w a s the day before C h r i s t m a s vacation a n d the s c h o o l h o u s e w a s quiet, like a t o m b frozen by winter. T h e b u s e s didn't c o m e in b e c a u s e of the blizzard, a n d even m o s t of the town kids stayed h o m e . B u t H o r s e a n d B o n e s a n d the rest of the g a n g from L o s J a r o s were there. T h e y were the d u m b e s t kids in s c h o o l , but they never m i s s e d a single day. Hell c o u l d freeze over but they would still c o m e m a r c h i n g a c r o s s the tracks, wrestling, kicking at e a c h other, s t o m p i n g into the c l a s s r o o m s where they fidgeted nervously all day a n d m a d e things m i s e r a b l e for their t e a c h e r s . " W h e r e are the g i r l s ? " B o n e s sniffed the wind wildly a n d p l u n k e d into a frozen desk. " T h e y didn't c o m e , " I a n s w e r e d . "Why?" "jChingada!"1 " W h a t a b o u t the p l a y ? " "I don't k n o w , " I said a n d p o i n t e d to the hall w h e r e M i s s Violet c o n f e r r e d with the other t e a c h e r s w h o h a d c o m e to s c h o o l . T h e y all wore their s w e a t e r s a n d shivered. D o w n s t a i r s the f u r n a c e g r o a n e d a n d m a d e the s t e a m radiators ping, but it w a s still cold. 1. Fucker (Spanish).

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" N o play. S h i t ! " Abel g r o a n e d . M i s s Violet c a m e in. " W h a t did you say, A b e l ? " " N o play. S h u c k s . " " W e c a n still have a play." M i s s Violet sat down a n d we g a t h e r e d a r o u n d her. "If the boys play the p a r t s . . . ." W e all looked at e a c h other. T h e girls had set up all the stuff in the audit o r i u m ; a n d they h a d , with M i s s Violet's help, c o m p o s e d the story a b o u t the T h r e e W i s e M e n . Originally we j u s t s t o o d a r o u n d a n d a c t e d like s h e p h e r d s , but now we would have to do everything b e c a u s e the girls stayed h o m e . " Y e a h h h h h h ! " H o r s e b r e a t h e d on M i s s Violet. " T h e other t e a c h e r s don't have m u c h to d o , with s o m a n y kids a b s e n t , " s h e turned away from the inquisitive H o r s e , " a n d they would like to c o m e to our play. . . ." " A g h h h h , n o o o o o , " B o n e s growled. " W e have to read all the p a r t s , " Lloyd said. H e w a s carefully p i c k i n g at his nose. " W e c o u l d p r a c t i c e all m o r n i n g , " M i s s Violet s a i d . S h e looked at m e . "I think it's a great i d e a , " Red n o d d e d his h e a d vigorously. H e always tried to help the t e a c h e r . "jA la v e c a ! " 2 " W h a t d o e s that m e a n ? " M i s s Violet a s k e d . "It m e a n s okay!" S o the rest of the m o r n i n g we sat a r o u n d r e a d i n g the p a r t s for the play. It was hard b e c a u s e the kids from L o s J a r o s c o u l d n ' t read. After l u n c h we went to the a u d i t o r i u m for o n e q u i c k p r a c t i c e before the other t e a c h e r s c a m e in with their c l a s s e s . B e i n g on s t a g e s c a r e d u s a n d s o m e of the boys b e g a n to b a c k d o w n . B o n e s c l i m b e d up a s t a g e rope a n d p e r c h e d on a b e a m near the ceiling. H e refused to c o m e d o w n a n d be in the play. " B o o o o o o o o o - e n z ! " M i s s Violet called. " C o m e d o w n ! " B o n e s s n a p p e d down at her like a c o r n e r e d d o g . " T h e play is for s i s s i e s ! " he s h o u t e d . H o r s e threw a c h u n k of two-by-four at him a n d a l m o s t c l o b b e r e d him. T h e b o a r d fell a n d hit the Kid a n d k n o c k e d him out cold. It w a s funny b e c a u s e a l t h o u g h he turned white a n d w a s out, his legs kept going, like he w a s r a c i n g s o m e o n e a c r o s s the bridge. M i s s Violet worked frantically to revive him. S h e w a s very worried. " H e r e . " R e d h a d g o n e for water which h e s p l a s h e d on the Kid's f a c e . T h e Kid g r o a n e d a n d o p e n e d his eyes. " j C a b r o n C a b a l l o ! " ' he c u r s e d . T h e rest of u s were either p u t t i n g on the silly r o b e s a n d towels to m a k e u s look like s h e p h e r d s , or w a n d e r i n g a r o u n d the s t a g e . S o m e o n e t i p p e d the C h r i s t C h i l d over a n d it lost its h e a d . " T h e r e ain't no s u c h thing as virgin birth," F l o r e n c e s a i d , looking d o w n at the d e c a p i t a t e d doll. H e looked like a m a d m a n , with his long legs sticking out b e n e a t h the short robe a n d his h e a d w o u n d in a t u r b a n . "You're all a b u n c h of s i s s i e s ! " B o n e s s h o u t e d from a b o v e . H o r s e a i m e d the two-by-four again but M i s s Violet s t o p p e d him in t i m e . " G o put the h e a d on the doll," s h e s a i d . "I gotta go to the b a t h r o o m , " Abel said. H e held the front of his p a n t s . 2. Okay (Spanish).

3. Fag horse (Spanish).

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M i s s Violet n o d d e d her h e a d slowly, c l o s e d her eyes a n d s a i d , " N o . " "You c o u l d be s u e d for not letting him g o , " Lloyd s a i d in his girlish v o i c e . H e was c h e w i n g a T o o t s i e Roll. C h o c o l a t e d r i p p e d d o w n the s i d e s of his m o u t h a n d m a d e him look evil. "I c o u l d b e tried for m u r d e r ! " M i s s Violet r e a c h e d for Lloyd, but h e d u c k e d a n d d i s a p p e a r e d b e h i n d o n e of the c a r d b o a r d c o w s by the m a n g e r . " C o m e o n you guys, let's c o o p e r a t e ! " R e d s h o u t e d . H e h a d b e e n b u s y trying to get everyone to s t a n d in their p l a c e s . W e h a d d e c i d e d to m a k e everyone s t a n d in o n e p l a c e d u r i n g the play. It w o u l d b e e a s i e r that way. Only the kings would step forth to the m a n g e r a n d offer their gifts. " P l a c e s ! P l a c e s ! " M i s s Violet s h o u t e d . " J o s e p h ? " s h e called a n d I s t e p p e d forward. " M a r y ? " W h o is M a r y ? " "Horse!" Red answered. " N o ! N o ! N o ! " H o r s e cried. W e c h a s e d him d o w n o n the s t a g e a n d k n o c k e d over a lot of p r o p s , b u t we finally got the beautiful robe on h i m . " H o r s e is a virgin!" B o n e s called. " A g h h h h h ! jCabron!"'' H o r s e started u p the r o p e b u t we p u l l e d h i m d o w n . " H o r s e ! H o r s e ! " M i s s Violet tried to s u b d u e h i m . "It's only for a little while. A n d no o n e will know. H e r e . " S h e p u t a heavy veil on his h e a d a n d tied it a r o u n d his f a c e s o that it c o v e r e d all except his eyes. " N a g g g g g h ! " H o r s e s c r e a m e d . It w a s awful to h e a r him cry, like h e w a s in pain. "I'll give you a n A , " M i s s Violet said in e x a s p e r a t i o n . T h a t m a d e H o r s e think. H e h a d never gotten a n A in anything in his life. "An A , " he m u t t e r e d , his large horse j a w s working a s he w e i g h e d the disg r a c e of his role for the g r a d e . " O k a y , " h e s a i d finally, " O k a y . B u t r e m e m b e r , you said a n A . " "I'll b e your w i t n e s s , " Lloyd said from b e h i n d the c o w . " H o r s e is a virgin!" B o n e s s a n g , a n d H o r s e quit the j o b a n d we h a d to p e r s u a d e him all over again. " B o n e s is j u s t j e a l o u s , " R e d c o n v i n c e d h i m . " C o m e d o w n ! " M i s s Violet yelled at B o n e s . " G i m m e a n A , " B o n e s growled. "All right," s h e a g r e e d . H e thought awhile, then yelled, " N o , g i m m e two A ' s ! " " G o to. . . ." S h e s t o p p e d herself a n d said, " S t a y u p t h e r e . B u t if you fall a n d b r e a k your n e c k it's not my fault!" "You c o u l d b e s u e d by his family for saying t h a t , " Lloyd s a i d . H e wiped his m o u t h a n d the c h o c o l a t e s p r e a d all over his f a c e . "I got to p e e . . . ." Abel g r o a n e d . " H o r s e , kneel h e r e . " H o r s e w a s to kneel by the m a n g e r a n d I s t o o d at his s i d e , with o n e h a n d on his s h o u l d e r . W h e n I put my a r m a r o u n d his s h o u l d e r , H o r s e ' s lips s p u t t e r e d a n d I thought he would bolt. His big horse-eyes looked u p at m e nervously. O n e of the c a r d b o a r d donkeys kept tipping over a n d hitting H o r s e ; this only served to m a k e him m o r e n e r v o u s . S o m e of the kids were s t a t i o n e d b e h i n d the c a r d b o a r d a n i m a l s to keep t h e m u p , a n d they giggled a n d kept looking a r o u n d the e d g e s at e a c h other. T h e y started a spitw a d g a m e a n d that m a d e M i s s Violet angry. " P l e a s e b e h a v e ! " s h e s h o u t e d , " p l e e e e e e e e - z ! " T h e V i t a m i n Kid h a d recov4. F a g (Spanish).

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ered a n d was r u n n i n g a r o u n d the s t a g e . S h e collared him a n d m a d e him s t a n d in o n e spot. " K i n g s h e r e , " she s a i d . I g u e s s s o m e o n e h a d put the robe on the Kid w h e n he w a s k n o c k e d out, b e c a u s e otherwise no o n e c o u l d have held him long e n o u g h to slip the robe on. " D o e s everybody have c o p i e s of the p l a y ? " R e d s h o u t e d . "If you have to look at the lines, k e e p the script hidden s o the a u d i e n c e doesn't s e e . . . ." "I can s e e e e e e e . . . ." It w a s B o n e s . H e l e a n e d to look d o w n at F l o r e n c e ' s copy of the play a n d a l m o s t fell off the rafter. W e all g a s p e d , but he recovered. T h e n he b r a g g e d , " T a r z u u u u u u u n , king of the j u n g l e ! " A n d he started calling e l e p h a n t s like T a r z a n d o e s in the m o v i e , " A g h h h - u h h h h - u h h h h u h h h h h h h h h . . . ." "jCabron!" "jChingada!" Everyone w a s l a u g h i n g . " B o n e s , " M i s s Violet p l e a d e d . I thought s h e w a s g o i n g to cry. " P l e a s e c o m e down." "I ain't no sissy!" he s n a r l e d . "You know, I'm going to have to report you to the principal. . . ." B o n e s l a u g h e d . H e had b e e n s p a n k e d so m a n y times by the principal that it didn't m e a n anything a n y m o r e . T h e y had b e c o m e a l m o s t like friends, or like e n e m i e s w h o r e s p e c t e d e a c h other. N o w w h e n B o n e s w a s sent in for m i s b e h a v i n g he said the principal j u s t m a d e him sit. T h e n , B o n e s said, the principal very slowly lit a cigarette a n d s m o k e d it, blowing rings of s m o k e in B o n e s ' f a c e all the while. B o n e s liked it. I g u e s s they both got a satisfaction out of it. W h e n the cigarette was g o n e a n d its light c r u s h e d in the ashtray, B o n e s w a s e x c u s e d . T h e n B o n e s went b a c k to the r o o m a n d told the t e a c h e r he h a d really gotten it this time a n d he p r o m i s e d to be a g o o d boy a n d not b r e a k any rules. But five m i n u t e s later h e broke a rule, a n d of c o u r s e he couldn't help it b e c a u s e they said his brother w h o worked at the m e a t market had brought B o n e s up on raw m e a t . "I ain't got p a g e five," Abel cried. His f a c e w a s red a n d he looked sick. "You don't n e e d p a g e five, your lines a r e o n p a g e t w o , " Red told h i m . H e w a s very good a b o u t helping M i s s Violet; I only w i s h e d I c o u l d help m o r e . But the kids wouldn't listen to m e b e c a u s e I wasn't big like R e d , a n d b e s i d e s there I w a s s t u c k with my a r m a r o u n d H o r s e . " F l o r e n c e by the light. . . ." Tall, angelic F l o r e n c e m o v e d u n d e r the light bulb that w a s the star of the e a s t . W h e n the rest of the lights were turned off the light b u l b behind F l o r e n c e would be the only light. " W a t c h your h e a d . . . ." "Everybody r e a d y ? " T h e three wise m e n were ready. S a m u e l , F l o r e n c e , a n d the Kid. H o r s e a n d I were ready. T h e fellows holding up the c a r d b o a r d a n i m a l s were ready, a n d Red w a s ready. " H e r e they c o m e , " M i s s Violet w h i s p e r e d . S h e s t e p p e d into the w i n g s . I g l a n c e d up a n d saw the s c r e a m i n g horde of first g r a d e r s r u s h i n g d o w n the aisle to sit in the front rows. T h e fourth a n d fifth g r a d e r s sat behind t h e m . T h e i r t e a c h e r s looked at the s t a g e , s h o o k their h e a d s a n d (eft, c l o s i n g the d o o r s b e h i n d t h e m . T h e a u d i e n c e w a s all o u r s . "I got to p e e , " Abel w h i s p e r e d . " S h h h h h h , " M i s s Violet c o a x e d , "everybody q u i e t . " S h e hit the light switch a n d the a u d i t o r i u m d a r k e n e d . Only the star of the east s h o n e o n the s t a g e .

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M i s s Violet w h i s p e r e d for Red to begin. H e s t e p p e d to the c e n t e r of the s t a g e a n d b e g a n his narration. " T h e F i r s t C h r i s t m a s ! " he a n n o u n c e d loudly. H e was a g o o d reader. " H e y , it's R e d ! " s o m e o n e in the a u d i e n c e s h o u t e d , a n d everybody giggled. I'm s u r e Red b l u s h e d , but h e went o n ; he wasn't a s h a m e d of stuff like that. "I got to . . ." Abel m o a n e d . Lloyd began to u n w r a p a n o t h e r T o o t s i e Roll a n d the cow he w a s holding teetered. " T h e cow's m o v i n g , " s o m e o n e in the first row w h i s p e r e d . H o r s e g l a n c e d nervously b e h i n d m e . I w a s afraid he would run. H e w a s trembling. ". . . A n d they were led by the star of the e a s t . . ." a n d here Red pointed to the light b u l b . T h e kids went wild with laughter. ". . . S o they j o u r n e y e d that cold night until they c a m e to the town of B e t h l e h e m . . . ." "Abel p e e d ! " B o n e s called from a b o v e . W e turned a n d s a w the light of the east reflecting off a golden pool at Abel's feet. Abel looked relieved. "jA la v e c a ! " "jPuto!"5 " H o w n a s t y , " Lloyd scoffed. H e turned a n d spit a mouthful of c h e w e d - u p T o o t s i e Roll. It landed on M a x i e w h o w a s holding u p a c a r d b o a r d donkey behind us. M a x i e got u p , c l e a n i n g himself. T h e donkey toppled over, "jjodido!"'' h e c u r s e d Lloyd a n d s h o v e d him. Lloyd fell over his cow. "You could b e s u e d for t h a t , " he t h r e a t e n e d from the floor. " B o y s ! B o y s ! " M i s s Violet called excitedly from the dark. I felt H o r s e ' s h e a d tossing at the e x c i t e m e n t . I c l a m p e d my a r m s d o w n to hold him, and he bit mv h a n d .

jAy!" ". . . A n d there in a m a n g e r , they found the b a b e . . . ." Red turned a n d n o d d e d for m e to s p e a k . "I a m J o s e p h ! " I said a s loud a s I c o u l d , trying to ignore the sting of the horse bite, " a n d this is the baby's mother. . . ." " D a m n y o u ! " H o r s e c u r s e d w h e n I said that. H e j u m p e d up a n d let m e have a hard fist in the f a c e . "It's H o r s e ! " the a u d i e n c e s q u e a l e d . H e had d r o p p e d the veil, a n d he s t o o d there trembling, like a trapped a n i m a l . " H o r s e the virgin!" B o n e s called. " B o y s , B o w o o o o - o i z z ! " M i s s Violet p l e a d e d . " A n d t h e t h r e e k i n g s b r o u g h t g i f t s t o t h e C h r i s t c h i l d . . . ." Red was reading very fast to try to get through the play, b e c a u s e everything was really falling apart on the s t a g e . T h e a u d i e n c e wasn't helping either, b e c a u s e they kept s h o u t i n g , "Is that you, H o r s e ? " or "Is that you, T o n y ? " T h e Kid s t e p p e d up with the first gift. "I bring, I bring. . . ." H e looked at his script but he couldn't r e a d . "Incense." I whispered. ";Que?"7 " I n c e n s e , " I r e p e a t e d . M i s s Violet had r e a r r a n g e d H o r s e s r o b e a n d p u s h e d him b a c k to kneel by m e . M y eyes were watering from his blow. " I n - s e n s e , " the Kid said a n d he threw the crayon box we were u s i n g for 5. Fag (Spanish). 6. Fucker (Spanish).

7. What (Spanish)?

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i n c e n s e right into the m a n g e r a n d b u s t e d the doll's h e a d a g a i n . T h e r o u n d h e a d j u s t rolled o u t into the c e n t e r of the s t a g e w h e r e R e d s t o o d a n d he looked d o w n at it with a puzzled expression on his f a c e . T h e n the Kid s t e p p e d b a c k a n d slipped o n Abel's p e e . H e tried to get up a n d r u n , b u t that only m a d e it w o r s e . H e kept slipping a n d getting u p , a n d slipping a n d getting u p , a n d all the while the a u d i e n c e h a d g o n e wild with laughter a n d hysteria. ". . . A n d t h e s e c o n d w i s e m a n b r o u g h t m y r r h ! " R e d s h o u t e d a b o v e the din. " M e e r r r , merrrrda, m i e r d a ! " 8 B o n e s cried like a m o n k e y . "I bring m y r a , " S a m u e l s a i d . " M y r a ! " s o m e o n e in the a u d i e n c e s h o u t e d , a n d all the fifth g r a d e r s t u r n e d to look at a girl n a m e d M y r a . All the boys s a i d s h e sat o n her wall at h o m e after s c h o o l a n d s h o w e d her p a n t i e s to t h o s e w h o w a n t e d to s e e . "Hey, H o r s e ! " " j C h i n g a d a ! " the H o r s e said, working his teeth nervously. H e s t o o d u p a n d I p u s h e d a n d h e knelt a g a i n . T h e Kid w a s holding o n to Abel, trying to regain his footing, a n d Abel j u s t s t o o d very straight a n d said, "I h a d t o . " "And the third wise m a n b r o u g h t g o l d ! " R e d s h o u t e d triumphantly. W e were n e a r i n g the e n d . F l o r e n c e s t e p p e d forward, b o w e d low a n d h a n d e d a n e m p t y cigar box to H o r s e . " F o r the virgin," h e grinned. " j C a b r o n ! " T h e H o r s e j u m p e d up a n d s h o v e d F l o r e n c e a c r o s s the s t a g e , a n d at the s a m e time a b l o o d - c u r d l i n g s c r e a m filled the air a n d B o n e s c a m e sailing t h r o u g h the air a n d l a n d e d on H o r s e . F l o r e n c e m u s t have hit the light b u l b a s h e went b a c k b e c a u s e there w a s a p o p a n d d a r k n e s s a s the light of the e a s t went out. " . . . A n d t h a t ' s h o w it w a s o n t h e first C h r i s t m a s ! " I h e a r d brave R e d call out a b o v e the c o n f u s i o n a n d free-for-all o n s t a g e a n d the howling of the a u d i e n c e . T h e bell r a n g a n d everybody ran o u t s h o u t i n g , " M e r r y C h r i s t m a s ! " "Merry Christmas!" "jChingada!" In a very few m o m e n t s the a u d i t o r i u m w a s q u i e t . Only R e d a n d I a n d M i s s Violet r e m a i n e d on the s t a g e . M y e a r s were ringing, like w h e n I s t o o d u n d e r the railroad bridge while a train went by o v e r h e a d . F o r the first t i m e s i n c e we c a m e in it w a s quiet in the a u d i t o r i u m . O v e r h e a d the wind c o n t i n u e d to blow. T h e blizzard h a d not died out. " W h a t a play," M i s s Violet l a u g h e d , " m y L o r d , what a p l a y ! " S h e sat o n a c r a t e in the m i d d l e of the j u m b l e d m e s s a n d l a u g h e d . T h e n s h e looked u p at the e m p t y b e a m a n d c a l l e d , " B o n e s , c o m e d o w n ! " H e r voice e c h o e d in the lonely a u d i t o r i u m . R e d a n d I s t o o d quietly by her. " S h a l l we start p u t t i n g the things a w a y ? " R e d finally a s k e d . M i s s Violet looked u p at u s a n d n o d d e d with a s m i l e . W e s t r a i g h t e n e d u p the s t a g e a s b e s t we c o u l d . While we worked we felt the wind of the blizzard i n c r e a s e , a n d the skylight of the a u d i t o r i u m grew dark with s n o w . "I think that's a b o u t all we c a n d o , " M i s s Violet s a i d . " T h e s t o r m s e e m s to be getting w o r s e . . . ." W e p u t on our j a c k e t s , c l o s e d the a u d i t o r i u m d o o r a n d walked d o w n the big, e m p t y hall. T h e j a n i t o r m u s t have t u r n e d off the f u r n a c e , b e c a u s e there was no noise. 8. Shit (Spanish).

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" T h i s p l a c e is like a t o m b , " M i s s Violet shivered. It w a s like a t o m b . W i t h o u t the kids the s c h o o l h o u s e w a s a giant, q u i e t t o m b with the m o a n i n g wind crying a r o u n d its e d g e s . It w a s s t r a n g e how everything h a d b e e n s o full of life a n d funny a n d in a way s a d , a n d n o w everything w a s quiet. O u r f o o t s t e p s e c h o e d in the hall. 1982

THOMAS b.

PYNCHON 1937

Thomas Pynchon has managed to remain the most private of contemporary American writers, without so much as a photograph of him in circulation. A few facts are known: born on Long Island, graduated from Cornell University (where he was a student in Vladimir Nabokov's course) in the late 1950s, served a term in the navy, and now lives—it is said—in southern, or is it northern, California. Beyond that, silence, which has been broken only by five strange and distinctive novels, plus a few short stories. "Entropy," one of Pynchon's first publications (1960), is printed here as an introduction to his work. Its thematics of an elusive order within radical disorder anticipates his first novel, particularly in its reference to modern physics. As for V. (1963) itself, this complex work cannot be understood by reference to convenient fictional signposts. Although it showed an indebtedness to Faulkner and Joyce (an indebtedness shared by most ambitious American novelists), Pynchon's style was already wholly his own. In writing that was by turns labyrinthine, eloquent, and colloquial, he showed a particular fondness for imitating other styles and writing. But these imitations and parodies instead of disparaging or minimizing their subjects radiated a generous spirit of exuberance that extended to the many characters who inhabit V. and whose individual paranoias—Pynchon's word to characterize the human attempt to make connections between events—propel them into unbelievably complicated and absurd plots. The interest of V. was largely in the remarkably unending inventiveness with which Pynchon developed those plots, which might involve anything from diplomatic spy stories in nineteenth-century Africa to the bombing of Malta during World War II to surgical reconstruction of a young woman's nose, or a hunt for alligators in the sewers of New York City. The comic talent shown in various New York episodes from V. was also evident in The Crying of Lot 49 (1966). This short, perfectly controlled novel teases us and itself with questions about the meaning of our American heritage, as embodied in the form of the mysterious legacy left to its heroine, Oedipa Maas. (The jokey yet portentous name exemplifies Pynchon's teasing way of playing at "significance.") What is the connection between this legacy and the mysterious alternative to the U.S. Postal System on which Oedipa believes she has stumbled? Is there a secret network of alienated citizens carrying on their lives outside the ordinary systems and institutions of American life? Or is it all Oedipa's delusion, her private paranoia? These questions are considered through a style that continually surprises and unsettles us, though it is less discontinuous than V.'s. In Pynchon's world everything serious has its silly aspects (the Marx Brothers, among countless other comic acts, are in the background), while bits of trivia and foolery are suddenly elevated, through the style, into objects of sublime contemplation—as at the novel's end, when Oedipa thinks of "squatters" who

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slept in junkyards in the stripped shells of wrecked Plymouths, or even, daring, spent the night up some pole in a lineman's tent like caterpillars, swung among a web of telephone wires, living in the very copper rigging and secular miracle of communication, untroubled by the dumb voltages flickering their miles, the night long, in the thousands of unheard messages. Here his sentences enact the daring freedom he admires, in contrast to the institutions of a technological society. Pynchon's longest and most daring and exhaustive effort came with the publication, in 1973, of Gravity's Rainbow. This encyclopedic fantasy operates through brilliant improvisations, tall tales, obscene parables, and burlesque stage routines, all of which work together into a story of supersonic capabilities and annihilative retributions. A huge cast of characters, each with a crazy name and a plot to unravel, is located all over the map, but mainly in World War II London and in postwar Germany. As the four main and the countless subsidiary plots take shape, characters—and the reader as well—attempt to "read" the messages flickering, the dumb intent to communicate, in the most casual as well as the most portentous sign. Pynchon's knowingness and fascination with popular culture are overwhelmingly evident in Gravity's Rainbow as is his preoccupation with the lore of theoretical science, of obscure historical tales, and of contemporary comic books. No one denies the formidably encyclopedic nature of this astonishing effort; the question is, as Warner Berthoff has asked it, whether that effort may not also be "encyclopedically monotonous and static." More readers begin Gravity's Rainbow than finish it. After 1973, except for the publication in 1984 of some of his early stories (in Slow Learner), all was silent on the Pynchon front until Vineland appeared in 1990, followed by Mason & Dixon in 1997. Vineland is wonderful on the California terrain and has much free-wheeling and funny inventiveness; at other times Pynchon seems to be flogging his material and repeating himself. Mason & Dixon, about the plotters of the line that would differentiate the American North and South, is written in the manner of his more ambitious works, a massive "mega-novel" that by its very excesses of character, plot, and references to history (arcane and otherwise) seeks to overwhelm the reader with its display of authority. But although there is still no consensus on his stature as an enduring American writer, there is general recognition of the quirky, uncanny exactitude of his imagination. Pynchon's theatrical spellbindings as a man of metaphor, his feats of association (in Robert Frost's phrase), are employed on subjects—like the rocket in Gravity's Rainbow—that were thought to be beyond words. For daring, wit, and exuberance, there is no contemporary writer who excels him. The text is that printed in Slow Learner (1984).

Entropy Boris has just given me a summary of his views. He is a weather prophet. The weather will continue bad, he says. There will be more calamities, more death, more despair. Not the slightest indication of a change anywhere . . . We must get into step, a lockstep toward the prison of death. There is no escape. The weather will not change. —Tropic of Cancer'

D o w n s t a i r s , M e a t b a l l M u l l i g a n ' s l e a s e - b r e a k i n g party w a s m o v i n g into its 4 0 t h hour. O n the kitchen floor, a m i d a litter of e m p t y c h a m p a g n e fifths, 1. Novel (1934) by American writer Henry Miller ( 1 8 9 1 - 1 9 8 0 ) .

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were S a n d o r R o j a s a n d three friends, playing spit in the o c e a n a n d staying a w a k e on H e i d s e c k 2 a n d benzedrine pills. In the living r o o m D u k e , V i n c e n t , Krinkles a n d P a c o sat c r o u c h e d over a 1 5-inch s p e a k e r which h a d b e e n bolted into the top of a w a s t e p a p e r b a s k e t , listening to 2 7 watts' worth of The Heroes' Gate at Kiev.'1 T h e y all wore h o r n r i m m e d s u n g l a s s e s a n d rapt e x p r e s s i o n s , a n d s m o k e d funny-looking cigarettes which c o n t a i n e d not, a s you might expect, t o b a c c o , but an adulterated form of cannabis sativa.4 T h i s g r o u p w a s the D u k e di Angelis q u a r t e t . T h e y r e c o r d e d for a local label called T a m b u a n d h a d to their credit o n e 10" L P entitled Sotigs of Outer Space. F r o m time to time o n e of t h e m would flick the a s h e s from his cigarette into the s p e a k e r c o n e to watch t h e m d a n c e a r o u n d . M e a t b a l l h i m s e l f w a s s l e e p i n g over by the window, holding a n e m p t y m a g n u m to his c h e s t a s if it were a teddy bear. Several g o v e r n m e n t girls, w h o worked for p e o p l e like the S t a t e D e p a r t m e n t a n d N S A , had p a s s e d out o n c o u c h e s , chairs a n d in o n e c a s e the b a t h r o o m sink. T h i s w a s in early F e b r u a r y of '57 a n d b a c k then there were a lot of American expatriates a r o u n d W a s h i n g t o n , D . C . , w h o would talk, every time they m e t you, a b o u t how s o m e d a y they were g o i n g to go over to E u r o p e for real but right now it s e e m e d they were working for the g o v e r n m e n t . Everyone saw a fine irony in this. T h e y would s t a g e , for i n s t a n c e , polyglot parties where the n e w c o m e r w a s sort of ignored if he couldn't carry on s i m u l t a n e o u s c o n versations in three or four l a n g u a g e s . T h e y would h a u n t A r m e n i a n delicat e s s e n s for w e e k s at a stretch a n d invite you over for b u l g h o u r a n d l a m b in tiny kitchens w h o s e walls were covered with bullfight p o s t e r s . T h e y would have affairs with sultry girls from A n d a l u c i a or the M i d i 5 w h o s t u d i e d e c o n o m i c s at G e o r g e t o w n . T h e i r D o m e w a s a collegiate R a t h s k e l l e r out on Wisc o n s i n A v e n u e called the O l d H e i d e l b e r g a n d they had to settle for cherry b l o s s o m s instead of lime trees w h e n spring c a m e , but in its lethargic way their life provided, a s they said, kicks. At the m o m e n t , M e a t b a l l ' s party s e e m e d to be g a t h e r i n g its s e c o n d wind. O u t s i d e there w a s rain. Rain splatted a g a i n s t the tar p a p e r on the roof a n d w a s fractured into a fine spray off the n o s e s , eyebrows a n d lips of w o o d e n gargoyles u n d e r the e a v e s , a n d ran like drool d o w n the w i n d o w p a n e s . T h e day before, it h a d s n o w e d a n d the day before that there h a d b e e n w i n d s of gale force a n d before that the sun h a d m a d e the city glitter bright a s April, though the c a l e n d a r read early F e b r u a r y . It is a c u r i o u s s e a s o n in W a s h i n g ton, this false spring. S o m e w h e r e in it are L i n c o l n ' s Birthday a n d the C h i n e s e N e w Year, a n d a forlornness in the streets b e c a u s e cherry b l o s s o m s are weeks away still a n d , a s S a r a h V a u g h a n h a s p u t it, spring will be a little late this year. Generally c r o w d s like the o n e which would gather in the O l d Heidelb e r g on weekday a f t e r n o o n s to drink Wiirtzburger a n d to sing Lili M a r l e n e (not to m e n t i o n T h e S w e e t h e a r t of S i g m a C h i ) are inevitably a n d incorrigibly R o m a n t i c . And as every g o o d R o m a n t i c k n o w s , the soul (spiritus, ruach, pneuma) is nothing, substantially, but air; it is only natural that w a r p i n g s in the a t m o s p h e r e s h o u l d be recapitulated in t h o s e w h o b r e a t h e it. S o that over and above the public c o m p o n e n t s — h o l i d a y s , tourist a t t r a c t i o n s — t h e r e are private m e a n d e r i n g s , linked to the c l i m a t e as if this spell were a stretto p a s 2. A very dry champagne. 3. Music by the Russian composer Modest Mussorgsky ( 1 8 3 9 - 1 8 8 1 ) from his Pictures at an Exhi-

bition. 4. Marijuana. 5. Regions of Spain and France, respectively.

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s a g e in the year's f u g u e : h a p h a z a r d weather, a i m l e s s loves, u n p r e d i c t e d c o m m i t m e n t s : m o n t h s o n e c a n easily s p e n d in f u g u e , b e c a u s e oddly e n o u g h , later on, w i n d s , rains, p a s s i o n s of F e b r u a r y a n d M a r c h are never r e m e m b e r e d in that city, it is a s if they h a d never b e e n . T h e last b a s s notes of The Heroes' Gate b o o m e d u p t h r o u g h the floor a n d woke C a l l i s t o from an u n e a s y s l e e p . T h e first thing he b e c a m e a w a r e of w a s a small bird he h a d b e e n holding gently b e t w e e n his h a n d s , a g a i n s t his body. H e turned his h e a d sidewise on the pillow to smile d o w n at it, at its b l u e h u n c h e d - d o w n h e a d a n d sick, lidded e y e s , w o n d e r i n g how m a n y m o r e nights h e would have to give it w a r m t h before it w a s well a g a i n . H e h a d b e e n h o l d i n g the bird like that for three days: it w a s the only way h e k n e w to restore its health. N e x t to him the girl stirred a n d w h i m p e r e d , her a r m thrown a c r o s s her f a c e . M i n g l e d with the s o u n d s of the rain c a m e the first tentative, queru l o u s m o r n i n g voices of the other birds, h i d d e n in p h i l o d e n d r o n s a n d s m a l l fan p a l m s : p a t c h e s of scarlet, yellow a n d b l u e l a c e d t h r o u g h this R o u s s e a u 6 like fantasy, this h o t h o u s e j u n g l e it h a d taken h i m seven years to weave together. H e r m e t i c a l l y s e a l e d , it was a tiny e n c l a v e of regularity in the city's c h a o s , alien to the v a g a r i e s of the w e a t h e r , of national politics, of any civil disorder. T h r o u g h trial-and-error C a l l i s t o h a d p e r f e c t e d its ecological bala n c e , with the help of the girl its artistic h a r m o n y , s o that the swayings of its plant life, the stirrings of its birds a n d h u m a n i n h a b i t a n t s were all a s integral a s the rhythms of a perfectly-executed m o b i l e . H e a n d the girl c o u l d no longer, of c o u r s e , b e o m i t t e d from that s a n c t u a r y ; they h a d b e c o m e n e c essary to its unity. W h a t they n e e d e d from o u t s i d e w a s delivered. T h e y did not go out. "Is he all right," s h e w h i s p e r e d . S h e lay like a tawny q u e s t i o n m a r k f a c i n g him, her eyes s u d d e n l y h u g e a n d d a r k a n d blinking slowly. C a l l i s t o ran a finger b e n e a t h the f e a t h e r s at the b a s e of the bird's n e c k ; c a r e s s e d it gently. " H e ' s g o i n g to b e well, I think. S e e : h e h e a r s his friends b e g i n n i n g to w a k e u p . " T h e girl h a d h e a r d the rain a n d the birds even before s h e w a s fully a w a k e . H e r n a m e w a s A u b a d e : s h e w a s part F r e n c h a n d part A n n a m e s e , a n d s h e lived on her own c u r i o u s a n d lonely p l a n e t , w h e r e the c l o u d s a n d the odor of p o i n c i a n a s , the bitterness of wine a n d the a c c i d e n t a l fingers at the small of her b a c k or feathery a g a i n s t her b r e a s t s c a m e to her r e d u c e d inevitably to the t e r m s of s o u n d : of m u s i c w h i c h e m e r g e d at intervals from a howling d a r k n e s s of d i s c o r d a n c y . " A u b a d e , " h e said, "go s e e . " O b e d i e n t , s h e a r o s e ; p a d d e d to the window, pulled a s i d e the d r a p e s a n d after a m o m e n t said: "It is 3 7 . Still 3 7 . " C a l l i s t o frowned. " S i n c e T u e s d a y , t h e n , " h e said. " N o c h a n g e . " Henry A d a m s , 7 three g e n e r a t i o n s before his o w n , h a d stared a g h a s t at Power; C a l l i s t o f o u n d h i m s e l f n o w in m u c h the s a m e state over T h e r m o d y n a m i c s , the inner life of that power, realizing like his p r e d e c e s s o r that the Virgin a n d the d y n a m o s t a n d a s m u c h for love a s for p o w e r ; that the two are i n d e e d identical; a n d that love therefore not only m a k e s the world go r o u n d b u t also m a k e s the b o c c i e ball s p i n , the n e b u l a p r e c e s s . It w a s this latter or sidereal e l e m e n t w h i c h d i s t u r b e d h i m . T h e c o s m o l o g i s t s h a d pred i c t e d a n eventual h e a t - d e a t h for the universe ( s o m e t h i n g like L i m b o : form a n d m o t i o n a b o l i s h e d , heat-energy identical at every p o i n t in it); the m e t e 6. Henri Rousseau (1844—1910). French primitive painter of exotic landscapes. 7. American historian and man of letters ( 1 8 3 8 -

1918) whose writings explore the nature of power, cultural figurations of which ranged from the Virgin Mary to the modern dynamo engine.

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orologists, day-to-day, staved it off by c o n t r a d i c t i n g with a r e a s s u r i n g array of varied t e m p e r a t u r e s . B u t for three days now, d e s p i t e the changeful weather, the m e r c u r y h a d stayed at 37 d e g r e e s F a h r e n h e i t . Leery at o m e n s of a p o c a l y p s e , C a l l i s t o shifted b e n e a t h the covers. H i s fingers p r e s s e d the bird m o r e firmly, a s if n e e d i n g s o m e p u l s i n g or suffering a s s u r a n c e of a n early b r e a k in the t e m p e r a t u r e . It w a s that last cymbal c r a s h that did it. M e a t b a l l w a s h u r l e d w i n c i n g into c o n s c i o u s n e s s as the synchronized w a g g i n g of h e a d s over the w a s t e b a s k e t s t o p p e d . T h e final hiss r e m a i n e d for a n instant in the r o o m , then m e l t e d into the whisper of rain o u t s i d e . " A a r r g g h h , " a n n o u n c e d M e a t b a l l in the s i l e n c e , looking at the e m p t y m a g n u m . Krinkles, in slow m o t i o n , t u r n e d , s m i l e d a n d held out a cigarette. " T e a t i m e , m a n , " he s a i d . " N o , n o , " s a i d M e a t b a l l . " H o w m a n y t i m e s I got to tell you g u y s . N o t at my p l a c e . You o u g h t to know, W a s h i n g t o n is lousy with F e d s . " Krinkles looked wistful. " J e e z , M e a t b a l l , " he said, "you don't w a n t to d o nothing n o m o r e . " " H a i r of d o g , " s a i d M e a t b a l l . " O n l y h o p e . Any j u i c e l e f t ? " H e b e g a n to crawl toward the kitchen. " N o c h a m p a g n e , I don't think," D u k e said. " C a s e of tequila b e h i n d the i c e b o x . " T h e y put on an Earl B o s t i c 8 s i d e . M e a t b a l l p a u s e d at the kitchen door, glowering at S a n d o r R o j a s . " L e m o n s , " he said after s o m e t h o u g h t . H e crawled to the refrigerator a n d got out three l e m o n s a n d s o m e c u b e s , f o u n d the tequila a n d set a b o u t restoring order to his nervous s y s t e m . H e drew b l o o d o n c e c u t t i n g the l e m o n s a n d h a d to u s e two h a n d s s q u e e z i n g t h e m a n d his foot to c r a c k the ice tray b u t after a b o u t ten m i n u t e s he f o u n d himself, t h r o u g h s o m e m i r a c l e , b e a m i n g d o w n into a m o n s t e r tequila s o u r . " T h a t looks y u m m y , " S a n d o r R o j a s s a i d . " H o w a b o u t you m a k e m e o n e . " M e a t b a l l blinked at him. "Kitchi lofass a shegithe,"9 h e replied a u t o m a t i c a l l y , a n d w a n d e r e d away into the b a t h r o o m . "I say," h e called o u t a m o m e n t later to no o n e in particular. "I say, there s e e m s to b e a girl or s o m e t h i n g s l e e p i n g in the sink." H e took her by the s h o u l d e r s a n d s h o o k . " W h a , " s h e s a i d . "You don't look too c o m f o r t a b l e , " M e a t b a l l said. " W e l l , " s h e a g r e e d . S h e s t u m b l e d to the shower, t u r n e d on the cold water a n d sat d o w n c r o s s l e g g e d in the spray. " T h a t ' s b e t t e r , " she smiled. " M e a t b a l l , " S a n d o r R o j a s yelled from the kitchen. " S o m e b o d y is trying to c o m e in the window. A burglar, I think. A s e c o n d - s t o r y m a n . " " W h a t are you worrying a b o u t , " M e a t b a l l s a i d . "We're o n the third floor." H e loped b a c k into the kitchen. A s h a g g y w o e b e g o n e figure s t o o d o u t on the fire e s c a p e , raking his fingernails d o w n the w i n d o w p a n e . M e a t b a l l o p e n e d the window. " S a u l , " h e said. " S o r t of wet o u t , " S a u l s a i d . H e c l i m b e d in, dripping. "You h e a r d , I g u e s s . " " M i r i a m left y o u , " M e a t b a l l said, "or s o m e t h i n g , is all I h e a r d . " T h e r e w a s a s u d d e n flurry of k n o c k i n g at the front door. " D o c o m e i n , " S a n d o r R o j a s called. T h e d o o r o p e n e d a n d there were three c o e d s from G e o r g e W a s h i n g t o n , all of w h o m were m a j o r i n g in p h i l o s o p h y . T h e y were e a c h holding a gallon of C h i a n t i . S a n d o r l e a p e d u p a n d d a s h e d into the living r o o m . " W e h e a r d there w a s a party," o n e b l o n d e s a i d . " Y o u n g b l o o d , " S a n d o r s h o u t e d . H e w a s a n e x - H u n g a r i a n f r e e d o m fighter w h o h a d easily the worst c h r o n i c c a s e of what certain critics of the m i d d l e c l a s s have called D o n 8. American j a z z m u s i c i a n ( 1 9 1 3 - 1 9 6 5 ) w h o p o p ularized his music by recording rhythm and blues

material. 9. Little horse prick in your asshole (Hungarian).

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G i o v a n n i s m in the District of C o l u m b i a . Purche porti la gonnella, voi sapete quel che fa.1 Like Pavlov's dog: a c o n t r a l t o voice or a whiff of A r p e g e a n d S a n d o r would begin to salivate. M e a t b a l l r e g a r d e d the trio blearily as they filed into the k i t c h e n ; he s h r u g g e d . " P u t the wine in the icebox," he said, "and good morning." A u b a d e ' s neck m a d e a golden bow a s s h e b e n t over the s h e e t s of f o o l s c a p , scribbling away in the green m u r k of the r o o m . "As a y o u n g m a n at P r i n c e t o n , " C a l l i s t o w a s dictating, nestling the bird a g a i n s t the gray hairs of his c h e s t , " C a l l i s t o h a d learned a m n e m o n i c device for r e m e m b e r i n g the L a w s of T h e r m o d y n a m i c s : you can't win, things are g o i n g to get w o r s e before they get better, who says they're g o i n g to get better. At the a g e of 5 4 , c o n f r o n t e d with G i b b s ' 2 notion of the u n i v e r s e , h e s u d d e n l y realized that u n d e r g r a d u a t e c a n t had b e e n o r a c l e , after all. T h a t spindly m a z e of e q u a t i o n s b e c a m e , for h i m , a vision of u l t i m a t e , c o s m i c h e a t - d e a t h . H e h a d known all along, of c o u r s e , that n o t h i n g but a theoretical e n g i n e or system ever r u n s at 100% efficiency; a n d a b o u t the t h e o r e m of C l a u s i u s , which s t a t e s that the entropy of an isolated system always continually i n c r e a s e s . It w a s not, however, until G i b b s a n d B o l t z m a n n * b r o u g h t to this principle the m e t h o d s of statistical m e c h a n i c s that the horrible significance of it all d a w n e d on h i m : only then did he realize that the isolated s y s t e m — g a l a x y , e n g i n e , h u m a n being, c u l t u r e , w h a t e v e r — m u s t evolve s p o n t a n e o u s l y toward the C o n d i t i o n of the M o r e P r o b a b l e . H e w a s forced, therefore, in the s a d dying fall of m i d d l e a g e , to a radical reevaluation of everything h e h a d learned up to t h e n ; all the cities a n d s e a s o n s a n d c a s u a l p a s s i o n s of his days had now to b e looked at in a n e w a n d elusive light. H e did not know if he w a s e q u a l to the task. H e w a s a w a r e of the d a n g e r s of the reductive fallacy a n d , he h o p e d , strong e n o u g h not to drift into the graceful d e c a d e n c e of a n enervated fatalism. His had always b e e n a vigorous, Italian sort of p e s s i m i s m : like M a c h i a v e l l i , he allowed the forces of virtu a n d fortuna4 to be a b o u t 5 0 / 5 0 ; but the e q u a t i o n s now i n t r o d u c e d a r a n d o m factor which p u s h e d the o d d s to s o m e u n u t t e r a b l e a n d i n d e t e r m i n a t e ratio which he f o u n d himself afraid to c a l c u l a t e . " A r o u n d him l o o m e d v a g u e h o t h o u s e s h a p e s ; the pitifully small heart fluttered a g a i n s t his own. C o u n t e r p o i n t e d a g a i n s t his words the girl h e a r d the c h a t t e r of birds a n d fitful c a r h o n k i n g s s c a t t e r e d a l o n g the wet m o r n i n g a n d Earl Bostic's alto rising in o c c a s i o n a l wild p e a k s t h r o u g h the floor. T h e a r c h i t e c t o n i c purity of her world was constantly t h r e a t e n e d by s u c h hints of anarchy: g a p s a n d e x c r e s c e n c e s a n d skew lines, a n d a shifting or tilting of p l a n e s to which she h a d continually to r e a d j u s t lest the w h o l e s t r u c t u r e shiver into a disarray of discrete a n d m e a n i n g l e s s s i g n a l s . C a l l i s t o h a d d e s c r i b e d the p r o c e s s o n c e a s a kind of " f e e d b a c k " : s h e crawled into d r e a m s e a c h night with a s e n s e of e x h a u s t i o n , a n d a d e s p e r a t e resolve never to relax that vigilance. E v e n in the brief periods when C a l l i s t o m a d e love to her, s o a r i n g a b o v e the b o w i n g of taut nerves in h a p h a z a r d d o u b l e - s t o p s would be the o n e s i n g i n g string of her determination. 1. If you wear a shirt, you know what to do (Italian). 2. Josiah Willard Gibbs ( 1 8 3 9 - 1 9 0 3 ) , American physicist and chemist, a founder of statistical mechanics. 3. Ludwig Bolt/mann ( 1 8 4 4 - 1 9 0 6 ) , Austrian physicist who studied how atoms determine visual

properties of matter. Rudolf C l a u s i u s (1822— 1888), G e r m a n physicist, developer of the science of thermodynamics. 4. Nicolo Machiavelli ( 1 4 6 9 - 1 5 2 7 ) , Florentine statesman and writer on government, contrasted virtuous behavior [inrtii) with good luck ifortuna).

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" N e v e r t h e l e s s , " c o n t i n u e d C a l l i s t o , " h e f o u n d in entropy or the m e a s u r e of disorganization for a c l o s e d system a n a d e q u a t e m e t a p h o r to apply to certain p h e n o m e n a in his own world. H e saw, for e x a m p l e , the y o u n g e r generation r e s p o n d i n g to M a d i s o n A v e n u e with the s a m e s p l e e n his own h a d o n c e reserved for Wall S t r e e t : a n d in A m e r i c a n ' c o n s u m e r i s m ' d i s c o v e r e d a similar t e n d e n c y from the least to the m o s t p r o b a b l e , from differentiation to s a m e n e s s , from o r d e r e d individuality to a kind of c h a o s . H e f o u n d himself, in short, restating G i b b s ' prediction in social t e r m s , a n d e n v i s i o n e d a heatd e a t h for his c u l t u r e in which i d e a s , like heat-energy, would no longer be transferred, s i n c e e a c h point in it would ultimately have the s a m e quantity of energy; a n d intellectual motion w o u l d , accordingly, c e a s e . " H e g l a n c e d up suddenly. " C h e c k it n o w , " he said. Again s h e rose a n d p e e r e d out at the t h e r m o m e t e r . " 3 7 , " s h e s a i d . " T h e rain h a s s t o p p e d . " H e b e n t his h e a d quickly a n d held his lips a g a i n s t a quivering wing. " T h e n it will c h a n g e s o o n , " he said, trying to keep his voice firm. Sitting on the stove S a u l was like any big rag doll that a kid has b e e n taking o u t s o m e i n c o m p r e h e n s i b l e rage on. " W h a t h a p p e n e d , " M e a t b a l l s a i d . "If you feel like talking, I m e a n . " " O f c o u r s e I feel like talking," S a u l said. " O n e thing I did, I s l u g g e d h e r . " " D i s c i p l i n e m u s t be m a i n t a i n e d . " " H a , ha. I wish you'd b e e n there. O h M e a t b a l l , it w a s a lovely fight. S h e of Chemistry and Physics at m e , only it m i s s e d e n d e d up throwing a Handbook a n d went through the window, a n d w h e n the glass broke I reckon s o m e t h i n g in her broke too. S h e s t o r m e d out of the h o u s e crying, o u t in the rain. N o raincoat or a n y t h i n g . " "She'll be b a c k . " "No." " W e l l ! " S o o n M e a t b a l l said: "It w a s s o m e t h i n g e a r t h s h a t t e r i n g , no d o u b t . Like who is better, Sal M i n e o or Ricky N e l s o n . " 5 " W h a t it w a s a b o u t , " S a u l said, " w a s c o m m u n i c a t i o n theory. W h i c h of c o u r s e m a k e s it very h i l a r i o u s . " "I don't know anything a b o u t c o m m u n i c a t i o n theory." " N e i t h e r d o e s my wife. C o m e right d o w n to it, w h o d o e s ? T h a t ' s the j o k e . " W h e n M e a t b a l l saw the kind of smile S a u l h a d on his f a c e h e said: " M a y b e you would like tequila or s o m e t h i n g . " " N o . I m e a n , I'm sorry. It's a field you c a n go off the d e e p e n d in, is all. You get where you're w a t c h i n g all the time for security c o p s : b e h i n d b u s h e s , a r o u n d c o r n e r s . M U F F E T is top s e c r e t . " "Wha." "Multi-unit factorial field electronic t a b u l a t o r . " "You were fighting a b o u t t h a t . " " M i r i a m has b e e n r e a d i n g s c i e n c e fiction a g a i n . T h a t a n d Scientific American. It s e e m s she is, a s we say, b u g g e d at this idea of c o m p u t e r s a c t i n g like p e o p l e . I m a d e the m i s t a k e of saying you c a n j u s t a s well turn that a r o u n d , a n d talk a b o u t h u m a n behavior like a p r o g r a m fed into an I B M m a c h i n e . " "Why not," Meatball said. " I n d e e d , why not. In fact it is sort of crucial to c o m m u n i c a t i o n , not to 1

5. Contemporary figures from film and television who were icons of bad and good teenage behavior, respectively.

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m e n t i o n information theory. Only w h e n I said that s h e hit the roof. U p went the b a l l o o n . A n d I can't figure o u t why. If anybody s h o u l d know why, I s h o u l d . I refuse to believe the g o v e r n m e n t is w a s t i n g taxpayers' m o n e y o n m e , w h e n it has s o m a n y bigger a n d better things to w a s t e it o n . " M e a t b a l l m a d e a m o u e . " M a y b e s h e t h o u g h t you were a c t i n g like a cold, d e h u m a n i z e d a m o r a l scientist t y p e . " " M y g o d , " S a u l flung u p a n a r m . " D e h u m a n i z e d . H o w m u c h m o r e h u m a n c a n I get? I worry, M e a t b a l l , I d o . T h e r e a r e E u r o p e a n s w a n d e r i n g a r o u n d N o r t h Africa t h e s e days with their t o n g u e s torn o u t of their h e a d s b e c a u s e t h o s e t o n g u e s have s p o k e n the w r o n g w o r d s . Only the E u r o p e a n s thought they were the right w o r d s . " " L a n g u a g e barrier," M e a t b a l l s u g g e s t e d . S a u l j u m p e d d o w n off the stove. " T h a t , " h e said, angry, "is a g o o d c a n d i d a t e for sick j o k e of the year. N o , a c e , it is wot a barrier. If it is anything it's a kind of l e a k a g e . Tell a girl: 'I love you.' N o trouble with two-thirds of that, it's a c l o s e d circuit. J u s t you a n d s h e . B u t that nasty four-letter word in the m i d d l e , that's the o n e you have to look o u t for. Ambiguity. R e d u n d a n c e . Irrelevance, even. L e a k a g e . All this is n o i s e . N o i s e s c r e w s u p your signal, m a k e s for disorganization in the c i r c u i t . " M e a t b a l l shuffled a r o u n d . "Well, now, S a u l , " he m u t t e r e d , "you're sort of, I don't know, e x p e c t i n g a lot from p e o p l e . I m e a n , you know. W h a t it is is, m o s t of the things we say, I g u e s s , a r e mostly n o i s e . " " H a ! H a l f of w h a t you j u s t s a i d , for e x a m p l e . " "Well, you do it t o o . " "I k n o w . " S a u l s m i l e d grimly. "It's a b i t c h , ain't it." "I bet that's what k e e p s divorce lawyers in b u s i n e s s . W h o o p s . " " O h I'm not sensitive. B e s i d e s , " frowning, "you're right. You find I think that m o s t ' s u c c e s s f u l ' m a r r i a g e s — M i r i a m a n d m e , u p to last n i g h t — a r e sort of f o u n d e d on c o m p r o m i s e s . You never run at top efficiency, usually all you have is a m i n i m u m b a s i s for a w o r k a b l e thing. I believe the p h r a s e is T o g e t h erness." "Aarrgghh." "Exactly. You find that o n e a bit noisy, don't you. B u t the n o i s e c o n t e n t is different for e a c h of u s b e c a u s e you're a b a c h e l o r a n d I'm not. O r wasn't. T h e hell with it." "Well s u r e , " M e a t b a l l said, trying to be helpful, "you were u s i n g different w o r d s . By ' h u m a n b e i n g ' you m e a n t s o m e t h i n g that you c a n look at like it w a s a c o m p u t e r . It helps you think better on the j o b or s o m e t h i n g . B u t Miriam meant something entirely—" " T h e hell with it." M e a t b a l l fell silent. "I'll take that drink," S a u l said after a while. T h e c a r d g a m e h a d b e e n a b a n d o n e d a n d S a n d o r ' s friends were slowly getting w a s t e d on tequila. O n the living r o o m c o u c h , o n e of the c o e d s a n d Krinkles were e n g a g e d in a m o r o u s c o n v e r s a t i o n . " N o , " Krinkles w a s saying, " n o , I can't p u t D a v e down. In fact I give D a v e a lot of credit, m a n . E s p e c i a l l y c o n s i d e r i n g his a c c i d e n t a n d all." T h e girl's s m i l e f a d e d . " H o w terrible," s h e s a i d . " W h a t a c c i d e n t ? " " H a d n ' t you h e a r d ? " Krinkles s a i d . " W h e n D a v e w a s in the army, j u s t a private E - 2 , they sent h i m d o w n to O a k R i d g e on special duty. S o m e t h i n g to d o with the M a n h a t t a n P r o j e c t . 6 H e w a s handling hot 6. The research that developed the atomic bomb for use at the end of World War II.

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stuff o n e day a n d got a n o v e r d o s e of radiation. S o now he's got to w e a r lead gloves all the t i m e . " S h e s h o o k her h e a d sympathetically. " W h a t a n awful b r e a k for a p i a n o player." M e a t b a l l h a d a b a n d o n e d S a u l to a bottle of tequila a n d w a s a b o u t to g o to sleep in a closet w h e n the front door flew open a n d the p l a c e w a s invaded by five enlisted p e r s o n n e l of the U . S . Navy, all in varying s t a g e s of a b o m i n a t i o n . " T h i s is the p l a c e , " s h o u t e d a fat, pimply s e a m a n a p p r e n t i c e w h o h a d lost his white hat. " T h i s here is the h o o r h o u s e that chief w a s telling u s a b o u t . " A stringylooking 3rd c l a s s boatswain's m a t e p u s h e d him a s i d e a n d c a s e d the living r o o m . "You're right, S l a b , " he s a i d . " B u t it don't look like m u c h , even for S t a t e s i d e . I s e e n better tail in N a p l e s , Italy." " H o w m u c h , hey," b o o m e d a large s e a m a n with a d e n o i d s , w h o w a s holding a M a s o n j a r full of white lightning. " O h , my g o d , " said M e a t b a l l . O u t s i d e the t e m p e r a t u r e r e m a i n e d c o n s t a n t at 3 7 d e g r e e s F a h r e n h e i t . In the h o t h o u s e A u b a d e s t o o d absently c a r e s s i n g the b r a n c h e s of a y o u n g m i m o s a , h e a r i n g a motif of sap-rising, the r o u g h a n d unresolved anticipatory t h e m e of t h o s e fragile pink b l o s s o m s w h i c h , it is said, i n s u r e fertility. T h a t m u s i c rose in a tangled tracery: a r a b e s q u e s of order c o m p e t i n g fugally with the improvised d i s c o r d s of the party d o w n s t a i r s , which p e a k e d s o m e t i m e s in c u s p s a n d o g e e s of n o i s e . T h a t p r e c i o u s signal-to-noise ratio, w h o s e d e l i c a t e b a l a n c e required every calorie of her strength, s e e s a w e d inside the s m a l l t e n u o u s skull a s s h e w a t c h e d C a l l i s t o , sheltering the bird. C a l l i s t o w a s trying to confront any idea of the h e a t - d e a t h now, as he nuzzled the feathery l u m p in his h a n d s . H e s o u g h t c o r r e s p o n d e n c e s . S a d e , of c o u r s e . A n d T e m p l e D r a k e , g a u n t a n d h o p e l e s s in her little park in Paris, at the e n d of Sanctuary.7 Final e q u i l i b r i u m . Nightwood.8 A n d the t a n g o . Any t a n g o , but m o r e than any p e r h a p s the s a d sick d a n c e in Stravinsky's L'Histoire du Soldat.9 H e t h o u g h t b a c k : what h a d t a n g o m u s i c b e e n for t h e m after the war, what m e a n i n g s h a d he m i s s e d in all the stately c o u p l e d a u t o m a t o n s in the cafes-dansants,1 or in the m e t r o n o m e s which h a d ticked behind the eyes of his own p a r t n e r s ? N o t even the c l e a n c o n s t a n t winds of Switzerland c o u l d c u r e the grippe espagnole:2 Stravinsky h a d h a d it, they all h a d h a d it. A n d how m a n y m u s i c i a n s were left after P a s s c h e n d a e l e , after the M a r n e ? ' It c a m e d o w n in this c a s e to seven: violin, d o u b l e - b a s s . C l a r i n e t , b a s s o o n . C o r n e t , t r o m b o n e . T y m p a n i . A l m o s t a s if any tiny t r o u p e of s a l t i m b a n q u e s h a d set a b o u t conveying the s a m e information a s a full pit-orchestra. T h e r e w a s hardly a full c o m p l e m e n t left in E u r o p e . Yet with violin a n d tympani Stravinsky h a d m a n a g e d to c o m m u n i c a t e in that t a n g o the s a m e e x h a u s t i o n , the s a m e a i r l e s s n e s s o n e s a w in the slicked-down y o u t h s w h o were trying to imitate V e r n o n C a s t l e , a n d in their m i s t r e s s e s , w h o simply did not c a r e . Ma maitresse.* C e l e s t e . R e t u r n ing to N i c e after the s e c o n d war he had found that c a f e r e p l a c e d by a p e r f u m e s h o p which c a t e r e d to A m e r i c a n tourists. A n d n o secret vestige of her in the c o b b l e s t o n e s or in the old p e n s i o n next door; no p e r f u m e to m a t c h her b r e a t h heavy with the sweet S p a n i s h wine s h e always drank. A n d s o i n s t e a d h e h a d p u r c h a s e d a Henry Miller 5 novel a n d left for P a r i s , a n d read the b o o k on the 7. Sexually notorious novel published in 1931 by American writer William Faulkner ( 1 8 9 7 - 1 9 6 2 ) . 8. Novel published in 1936 by American expatriate writer Djuna Barnes ( 1 8 9 2 - 1 9 8 2 ) . 9. A 1918 work by the Russian composer Igor Stravinsky ( 1 8 8 2 - 1 9 7 1 ) .

2. Spanish flu (Spanish). 3. Battle sites in World War 1 noted for their extremely high casualties. 4. My mistress (French). 5. Miller was famous for his strongly sexual novels written in Paris during the 1930s.

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train so that w h e n he arrived he h a d b e e n given at least a little forewarning. And s a w that C e l e s t e a n d the others a n d even T e m p l e D r a k e were not all that h a d c h a n g e d . " A u b a d e , " he said, "my h e a d a c h e s . " T h e s o u n d of his voice g e n e r a t e d in the girl a n a n s w e r i n g s c r a p of m e l o d y . H e r m o v e m e n t toward the kitchen, the towel, the cold water, a n d his eyes following her f o r m e d a weird a n d intricate c a n o n ; a s s h e p l a c e d the c o m p r e s s on his foreh e a d his sigh of g r a t i t u d e s e e m e d to signal a n e w s u b j e c t , a n o t h e r series of modulations. " N o , " M e a t b a l l w a s still saying, " n o , I'm afraid not. T h i s is not a h o u s e of ill r e p u t e . I'm sorry, really I a m . " S l a b w a s a d a m a n t . " B u t the chief s a i d , " he kept r e p e a t i n g . T h e s e a m a n offered to s w a p the m o o n s h i n e for a g o o d p i e c e . M e a t b a l l looked a r o u n d frantically, as if s e e k i n g a s s i s t a n c e . In the m i d d l e of the r o o m , the D u k e di Angelis q u a r t e t were e n g a g e d in a historic m o m e n t . V i n c e n t w a s s e a t e d a n d the others s t a n d i n g : they were g o i n g through the m o t i o n s of a g r o u p having a s e s s i o n , only without i n s t r u m e n t s . "I s a y , " M e a t ball s a i d . D u k e moved his h e a d a few t i m e s , s m i l e d faintly, lit a c i g a r e t t e , a n d eventually c a u g h t sight of M e a t b a l l . "Quiet, m a n , " h e w h i s p e r e d . Vincent b e g a n to fling his a r m s a r o u n d , his fists c l e n c h e d ; t h e n , abruptly, w a s still, then r e p e a t e d the p e r f o r m a n c e . T h i s went on for a few m i n u t e s while M e a t b a l l s i p p e d his drink moodily. T h e navy h a d withdrawn to the kitchen. Finally at s o m e invisible signal the g r o u p s t o p p e d t a p p i n g their feet a n d D u k e grinned a n d s a i d , "At least we e n d e d t o g e t h e r . " M e a t b a l l glared at h i m . "I say," h e s a i d . "I have this n e w c o n c e p t i o n , m a n , " D u k e said. "You r e m e m b e r your n a m e s a k e . You r e m e m b e r G e r r y . " " N o , " said M e a t b a l l . "I'll r e m e m b e r April, if that's any h e l p . " "As a m a t t e r of f a c t , " D u k e said, "it w a s L o v e for S a l e . W h i c h s h o w s how m u c h you know. T h e point is, it w a s M u l l i g a n , C h e t B a k e r 6 a n d that crew, way b a c k t h e n , out yonder. You d i g ? " "Baritone sax," Meatball said. "Something about a baritone sax." " B u t no p i a n o , m a n . N o guitar. O r a c c o r d i o n . You know what that m e a n s . " " N o t exactly," M e a t b a l l said. "Well first let m e j u s t say, that I a m n o M i n g u s , no J o h n L e w i s . 7 Theory w a s never my strong point. I m e a n things like r e a d i n g were always difficult for m e a n d a l l — " "I k n o w , " M e a t b a l l said drily. "You got your c a r d taken away b e c a u s e you c h a n g e d key on H a p p y Birthday at a Kiwanis C l u b p i c n i c . " " R o t a r i a n . B u t it o c c u r r e d to m e , in o n e of t h e s e flashes of insight, that if that first q u a r t e t of M u l l i g a n ' s h a d no p i a n o , it c o u l d only m e a n o n e t h i n g . " " N o c h o r d s , " said P a c o , the baby-faced b a s s . " W h a t he is trying to say," D u k e s a i d , "is n o root c h o r d s . N o t h i n g to listen to while you blow a horizontal line. W h a t o n e d o e s in s u c h a c a s e is, o n e thinks the r o o t s . " A horrified a w a r e n e s s w a s d a w n i n g o n M e a t b a l l . " A n d the next logical e x t e n s i o n , " he said. " I s to think everything," D u k e a n n o u n c e d with s i m p l e dignity. " R o o t s , line, everything." M e a t b a l l looked at D u k e , a w e d . " B u t , " h e s a i d . 6. T h e American jazz musicians Gerry Mulligan ( 1 9 2 7 - 1 9 9 6 ) and Chet Baker ( 1 9 2 9 - 1 9 8 8 ) became famous in 1952 for their revolutionary

pianoless quartet. 7. Jazz musicians noted for their compositions based in musical theory.

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"Well," D u k e said modestly, "there are a few b u g s to work o u t . " " B u t , " M e a t b a l l said. " J u s t listen," D u k e s a i d . "You'll c a t c h o n . " A n d off they went again into orbit, p r e s u m a b l y s o m e w h e r e a r o u n d the asteroid belt. After a while Krinkles m a d e an e m b o u c h u r e a n d started moving his fingers a n d D u k e c l a p p e d his h a n d to his f o r e h e a d . " O a f ! " he roared. " T h e new h e a d we're u s i n g , you r e m e m b e r , I wrote last n i g h t ? " " S u r e , " Krinkles said, " t h e new h e a d . I c o m e in on the bridge. All your h e a d s I c o m e in t h e n . " " R i g h t , " D u k e s a i d . " S o w h y — " " W h a , " said Krinkles, " 16 b a r s , I wait, I c o m e i n — " " 1 6 ? " D u k e s a i d . " N o . N o , Krinkles. Eight you waited. You want m e to sing it? A cigarette that bears a lipstick's t r a c e s , an airline ticket to r o m a n t i c p l a c e s . " Krinkles s c r a t c h e d his h e a d . " T h e s e Foolish T h i n g s , you m e a n . " " Y e s , " D u k e said, "yes, Krinkles. B r a v o . " " N o t I'll R e m e m b e r April," Krinkles s a i d . "Minghe morte," * said D u k e . "I figured we were playing it a little s l o w , " Krinkles s a i d . Meatball c h u c k l e d . " B a c k to the old drawing b o a r d , " he s a i d . " N o , m a n , " D u k e said, " b a c k to the airless void." And they took off a g a i n , only it s e e m e d P a c o w a s playing in G s h a r p while the rest were in E flat, so they h a d to start all over. 1

In the kitchen two of the girls from G e o r g e W a s h i n g t o n a n d the sailors were singing Let's All G o D o w n a n d Piss on the Forrestal.'' T h e r e w a s a twoh a n d e d , bilingual morra g a m e on over by the icebox. S a u l h a d filled several p a p e r b a g s with water a n d was sitting on the fire e s c a p e , d r o p p i n g t h e m on p a s s e r s b y in the street. A fat g o v e r n m e n t girl in a B e n n i n g t o n sweatshirt, recently e n g a g e d to an e n s i g n a t t a c h e d to the Forrestal, c a m e c h a r g i n g into the kitchen, head lowered, a n d butted S l a b in the s t o m a c h . F i g u r i n g this w a s a s g o o d an e x c u s e for a fight a s any, S l a b ' s b u d d i e s piled in. T h e morra players were n o s e - t o - n o s e , s c r e a m i n g trots, sette at the t o p s of their l u n g s . F r o m the shower the girl M e a t b a l l had taken out of the sink a n n o u n c e d that she was drowning. S h e h a d apparently sat on the drain a n d the water w a s now u p to her neck. T h e noise in M e a t b a l l ' s a p a r t m e n t had r e a c h e d a s u s tained, ungodly c r e s c e n d o . 1

M e a t b a l l stood a n d w a t c h e d , s c r a t c h i n g his s t o m a c h lazily. T h e way h e figured, there were only a b o u t two ways he c o u l d c o p e : (a) lock h i m s e l f in the closet a n d m a y b e eventually they would all g o away, or (b) try to c a l m everybody d o w n , o n e by o n e . (a) w a s certainly the m o r e attractive alternative. But then he started thinking a b o u t that closet. It w a s dark a n d stuffy a n d he would be a l o n e . H e did not feature b e i n g a l o n e . A n d then this c r e w off the good ship L o l l i p o p 2 or whatever it was might take it u p o n t h e m s e l v e s to kick down the closet door, for a lark. A n d if that h a p p e n e d he would b e , at the very least, e m b a r r a s s e d . T h e other way was m o r e a pain in the n e c k , b u t probably better in the long run. S o he d e c i d e d to try a n d keep his lease-breaking party from deteriorating into total c h a o s : he gave wine to the sailors a n d s e p a r a t e d the morra players; he introduced the fat g o v e r n m e n t girl to S a n d o r R o j a s , w h o would keep her out of trouble; he helped the girl in the shower to dry off a n d get into b e d ; he h a d a n o t h e r talk with S a u l ; he called a r e p a i r m a n for the refrigerator, 8. Dead prick (Italian). 9. Aircraft carrier in the U.S. Navy. 1. "Morra": finger game originally played by Italians. The c o m m a n d s are numbers: here, three

(trots, French) and seven (sette, Italian). 2. T h e subject of film and song popularized in the 1930s bv the American child actress ShirlevTempie.

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which s o m e o n e h a d d i s c o v e r e d w a s o n t h e blink. T h i s is what h e d i d until nightfall, w h e n m o s t o f the revellers h a d p a s s e d o u t a n d t h e party t r e m b l e d on t h e t h r e s h o l d of its third d a y . U p s t a i r s C a l l i s t o , h e l p l e s s in t h e p a s t , did n o t feel t h e faint rhythm inside the bird begin to s l a c k e n a n d fail. A u b a d e w a s by the window, w a n d e r i n g the a s h e s of h e r o w n lovely world; t h e t e m p e r a t u r e held steady, t h e sky h a d b e c o m e a uniform d a r k e n i n g gray. T h e n s o m e t h i n g from d o w n s t a i r s — a girl's s c r e a m , a n overturned chair, a g l a s s d r o p p e d o n t h e floor, h e w o u l d never know what e x a c t l y — p i e r c e d that private time-warp a n d h e b e c a m e a w a r e o f the faltering, t h e c o n s t r i c t i o n o f m u s c l e s , t h e tiny t o s s i n g s o f the bird's h e a d ; a n d his o w n p u l s e b e g a n to p o u n d m o r e fiercely, a s if trying to c o m p e n s a t e . " A u b a d e , " h e called weakly, "he's dying." T h e girl, flowing a n d rapt, c r o s s e d the h o t h o u s e to gaze d o w n at C a l l i s t o ' s h a n d s . T h e two r e m a i n e d like that, p o i s e d , for o n e m i n u t e , a n d two, while t h e h e a r t b e a t ticked a graceful diminu e n d o d o w n at last into stillness. C a l l i s t o raised his h e a d slowly. "I held h i m , " h e p r o t e s t e d , i m p o t e n t with t h e w o n d e r of it, " t o give h i m t h e w a r m t h of my body. A l m o s t a s if I were c o m m u n i c a t i n g life to h i m , or a s e n s e of life. W h a t h a s h a p p e n e d ? H a s t h e transfer of h e a t c e a s e d to work? Is there n o m o r e . . . " H e did not finish. "I w a s j u s t at t h e w i n d o w , " s h e s a i d . H e s a n k back, terrified. S h e s t o o d a m o m e n t m o r e , irresolute; s h e h a d s e n s e d his o b s e s s i o n long a g o , realized s o m e h o w that that c o n s t a n t 3 7 w a s now decisive. S u d d e n l y t h e n , a s if s e e i n g the single a n d u n a v o i d a b l e c o n c l u s i o n to all this s h e m o v e d swiftly to t h e window before C a l l i s t o c o u l d s p e a k ; tore away t h e d r a p e s a n d s m a s h e d o u t the g l a s s with two exquisite h a n d s which c a m e a w a y b l e e d i n g a n d glistening with splinters; a n d t u r n e d to f a c e t h e m a n o n t h e b e d a n d wait with h i m until t h e m o m e n t o f e q u i l i b r i u m w a s r e a c h e d , w h e n 3 7 d e g r e e s F a h r e n h e i t s h o u l d prevail both o u t s i d e a n d i n s i d e , a n d forever, a n d the hovering, c u r i o u s d o m i n a n t of their s e p a r a t e lives s h o u l d resolve into a tonic o f d a r k n e s s a n d the final a b s e n c e of all m o t i o n . 1984

RAYMOND

CARVER

1938-1988 Minimal fiction; designer fiction; even "dirty fiction," a phrase the British magazine Granta used to characterize the new style of American writing that was supposedly polluting the realistic short story with unconventional, irrealistic techniques—these were terms tossed around by critics of an abruptly new style of work that at times seemed to dominate the 1980s. Popularized by Bobbie Ann Mason, Ann Beattie, Frederick Barthelme, and Barry Hannah as well, its chief practitioner was a master of fine arts graduate from the University of Iowa's Writers Workshop, Raymond Carver, whose collections Will You Please Be Quiet, Please? (1976), What We Talk about When We Talk about Love (1981), and Cathedral (1983) set the most imitated

style of their generation. Moved to put some order to these many definitions, writer

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John Barth—whose nonrealistic, innovative work had helped characterize the writing of the decades before—coined the term Post-Alcoholic Blue-Collar Minimalist Hyperrealism to describe the school Carver may have inadvertently founded. A recovering alcoholic, Carver had also worked as a janitor, sawmill hand, delivery person, and sales representative, suggesting the profile Barth had in mind. But more pertinent to the style of his fiction was his training at Iowa and teaching in creative writing programs at universities around the country. By the time of his death, his became the most accepted style in such academic programs and in the literary magazines they generated. This style's success is important. With conventions of literary realism having been challenged and theorists questioning all such previously stable assumptions, readers of Barth, Donald Barthelme, Kurt Vonnegut, and other such experimenters may have felt that simple realism was no longer an up-to-date way in which to write. Raymond Carver proved that it was, and that previous challenges to realistic tradition had only made it all the more effective, especially when those challenges are incorporated in the new style. Carver's patient narration does not strive for a reader's suspension of disbelief. Rather, as in the introduction of the bizarre situation experienced in "Cathedral" (printed here), its plain, even flat statement presents matter unadorned by devices meant to persuade or convince. So a blind man wants to learn what the architecture of a cathedral suggests? Here it is, Carver's story says: what you see is what there is; take it or leave it; if you are blind, he will help you feel your way through, but never as a direction to meaning, only to an apprehension of the facts. Carver's characters are usually working-class people somewhat down on their luck. Often, alcohol figures in their lives, less as a stimulant than as a further depressant. Totally unexceptional, their failures, like their hopes, are small, even puny. But from such stripped down essentials the author is able to write in a plain, simple manner, sticking to the absolute minimum so that no one can accuse him of trying to create illusions. Much was made of Raymond Carver's alcoholism and recovery. He made no apologies for his hard, sometimes abusive life, the rigors of which contributed to ill health and an early death. His stories and poems have the same quiet toughness to them, not flamboyant in confrontation with life's meanness but dedicated to holding on against time's slowly destructive friction with a grittiness all their own. The text is from Cathedral

(1983).

Cathedral T h i s blind m a n , a n old friend o f my wife's, h e w a s o n his way to s p e n d the night. H i s wife h a d died. S o h e w a s visiting the d e a d wife's relatives in C o n necticut. H e called my wife from his in-laws'. A r r a n g e m e n t s were m a d e . H e would c o m e by train, a five-hour trip, a n d m y wife would m e e t h i m a t t h e station. S h e hadn't seen him s i n c e s h e worked for him o n e s u m m e r in S e a t t l e ten years a g o . B u t she a n d the blind m a n h a d kept in t o u c h . T h e y m a d e t a p e s a n d m a i l e d t h e m b a c k a n d forth. I wasn't e n t h u s i a s t i c a b o u t his visit. H e w a s n o o n e I knew. A n d his b e i n g blind b o t h e r e d m e . M y idea of b l i n d n e s s c a m e from t h e movies. In t h e movies, t h e blind m o v e d slowly a n d never l a u g h e d . S o m e t i m e s they were led by seeing-eye d o g s . A blind m a n in m y h o u s e w a s n o t s o m e t h i n g I looked forward t o . T h a t s u m m e r in S e a t t l e s h e h a d n e e d e d a j o b . S h e didn't have any m o n e y . T h e m a n s h e w a s going to marry at t h e e n d of the s u m m e r was in officers' training s c h o o l . H e didn't have any money, either. B u t s h e w a s in love with the guy, a n d he w a s in love with her, etc. S h e ' d s e e n s o m e t h i n g in the p a p e r :

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H E L P WANTED—Reading to Blind Man, a n d a t e l e p h o n e n u m b e r . S h e p h o n e d a n d went over, w a s hired on the spot. S h e ' d worked with this blind m a n all s u m m e r . S h e r e a d stuff to h i m , c a s e s t u d i e s , reports, that sort of thing. S h e h e l p e d him organize his little office in the c o u n t y social-service d e p a r t m e n t . They'd b e c o m e g o o d friends, my wife a n d the blind m a n . H o w d o I k n o w t h e s e t h i n g s ? S h e told m e . A n d s h e told m e s o m e t h i n g e l s e . O n her last day in the office, the blind m a n a s k e d if h e c o u l d t o u c h her f a c e . S h e a g r e e d to this. S h e told m e he t o u c h e d his fingers to every part of her f a c e , h e r n o s e — even her neck! S h e never forgot it. S h e even tried to write a p o e m a b o u t it. S h e w a s always trying to write a p o e m . S h e w r o t e a p o e m or two every year, usually after s o m e t h i n g really i m p o r t a n t h a d h a p p e n e d to her. W h e n we first s t a r t e d g o i n g out together, s h e s h o w e d m e t h e p o e m . In the p o e m , s h e r e c a l l e d his fingers a n d the way they h a d m o v e d a r o u n d over her f a c e . In the p o e m , s h e talked a b o u t what s h e h a d felt at the t i m e , a b o u t what went t h r o u g h her m i n d w h e n the blind m a n t o u c h e d her n o s e a n d lips. I c a n r e m e m b e r I didn't think m u c h of the p o e m . O f c o u r s e , I didn't tell h e r that. M a y b e I j u s t don't u n d e r s t a n d poetry. I a d m i t it's not the first t h i n g I r e a c h for w h e n I p i c k u p s o m e t h i n g to r e a d . Anyway, this m a n who'd first enjoyed her favors, the officer-to-be, he'd b e e n her c h i l d h o o d s w e e t h e a r t . S o okay. I'm saying that at the e n d of the s u m m e r s h e let the blind m a n run his h a n d s over her f a c e , said g o o d b y e to him, m a r r i e d her c h i l d h o o d e t c . , w h o w a s now a c o m m i s s i o n e d officer, a n d s h e m o v e d away from S e a t t l e . B u t they'd kept in t o u c h , s h e a n d the blind m a n . S h e m a d e the first c o n t a c t after a year or s o . S h e c a l l e d h i m u p o n e night from a n Air F o r c e b a s e in A l a b a m a . S h e w a n t e d to talk. T h e y talked. H e a s k e d her to s e n d h i m a t a p e a n d tell him a b o u t h e r life. S h e did this. S h e s e n t the t a p e . O n t h e t a p e , s h e told the blind m a n a b o u t her h u s b a n d a n d a b o u t their life together in t h e military. S h e told the blind m a n s h e loved her h u s b a n d b u t s h e didn't like it w h e r e they lived a n d s h e didn't like it that he w a s a part of the military-industrial thing. S h e told the blind m a n s h e ' d written a p o e m a n d he w a s in it. S h e told him that s h e w a s writing a p o e m a b o u t what it w a s like to b e a n Air F o r c e officer's wife. T h e p o e m w a s n ' t finished yet. S h e w a s still writing it. T h e blind m a n m a d e a t a p e . H e s e n t her the t a p e . S h e m a d e a t a p e . T h i s went on for y e a r s . M y wife's officer w a s p o s t e d to o n e b a s e a n d t h e n a n o t h e r . S h e s e n t t a p e s from M o o d y A F B , 1 M c G u i r e , M c C o n n e l l , a n d finally T r a v i s , n e a r S a c r a m e n t o , w h e r e o n e night s h e got to feeling lonely a n d c u t off from p e o p l e s h e kept l o s i n g in that m o v i n g - a r o u n d life. S h e got to feeling s h e c o u l d n ' t g o it a n o t h e r s t e p . S h e w e n t in a n d swallowed all the pills a n d c a p s u l e s in the m e d i c i n e c h e s t a n d w a s h e d t h e m d o w n with a bottle of gin. T h e n s h e got into a hot b a t h a n d passed out. B u t i n s t e a d of dying, s h e got sick. S h e threw u p . H e r officer—why s h o u l d he have a n a m e ? he w a s the c h i l d h o o d s w e e t h e a r t , a n d w h a t m o r e d o e s h e w a n t ? — c a m e h o m e from s o m e w h e r e , f o u n d her, a n d c a l l e d t h e a m b u l a n c e . In t i m e , s h e p u t it all on a t a p e a n d s e n t t h e t a p e to t h e blind m a n . O v e r t h e y e a r s , s h e p u t all k i n d s of stuff on t a p e s a n d s e n t t h e t a p e s off lickety-split. Next to writing a p o e m every year, I think it w a s h e r c h i e f m e a n s of r e c r e a tion. O n o n e t a p e , s h e told the blind m a n she'd d e c i d e d to live away from 1. Air force base. N a m e s of other air force bases follow.

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her officer for a time. O n a n o t h e r t a p e , s h e told him a b o u t her divorce. S h e and I b e g a n g o i n g out, a n d of c o u r s e s h e told her blind m a n a b o u t it. S h e told him everything, or s o it s e e m e d to m e . O n c e s h e a s k e d m e if I'd like to hear the latest t a p e from the blind m a n . T h i s w a s a year a g o . I w a s on the t a p e , s h e s a i d . S o I said okay, I'd listen to it. I got u s drinks a n d we settled d o w n in the living r o o m . W e m a d e ready to listen. First s h e i n s e r t e d the t a p e into the player a n d a d j u s t e d a c o u p l e of dials. T h e n s h e p u s h e d a lever. T h e t a p e s q u e a k e d a n d s o m e o n e b e g a n to talk in this loud v o i c e . S h e lowered the v o l u m e . After a few m i n u t e s of h a r m l e s s c h i t c h a t , I h e a r d my own n a m e in the m o u t h of this stranger, this blind m a n I didn't even know! A n d then this: " F r o m all you've said a b o u t him, I c a n only c o n c l u d e — " B u t we were interrupted, a k n o c k at the door, s o m e t h i n g , a n d we didn't ever get b a c k to the t a p e . M a y b e it w a s j u s t a s well. I'd h e a r d all I w a n t e d to. N o w this s a m e blind m a n w a s c o m i n g to s l e e p in my h o u s e . " M a y b e I c o u l d take him bowling," I said to my wife. S h e w a s at the draining b o a r d d o i n g s c a l l o p e d p o t a t o e s . S h e p u t down the knife s h e w a s u s i n g a n d turned a r o u n d . "If you love m e , " s h e s a i d , "you c a n d o this for m e . If you don't love m e , okay. B u t if you h a d a friend, any friend, a n d the friend c a m e to visit, I'd m a k e him feel c o m f o r t a b l e . " S h e wiped her h a n d s with the dish towel. "I don't have any blind f r i e n d s , " I said. "You don't have any f r i e n d s , " s h e s a i d . " P e r i o d . B e s i d e s , " s h e s a i d , " g o d d a m it, his wife's j u s t died! Don't you u n d e r s t a n d that? T h e m a n ' s lost his w i f e ! " I didn't a n s w e r . S h e ' d told m e a little a b o u t the blind m a n ' s wife. H e r n a m e w a s B e u l a h . B e u l a h ! T h a t ' s a n a m e for a c o l o r e d w o m a n . " W a s his wife a N e g r o ? " I a s k e d . "Are you c r a z y ? " my wife s a i d . " H a v e you j u s t flipped or s o m e t h i n g ? " S h e picked u p a p o t a t o . I s a w it hit the floor, then roll u n d e r the stove. " W h a t ' s wrong with y o u ? " s h e said. "Are you d r u n k ? " "I'm j u s t a s k i n g , " I s a i d . Right then my wife filled m e in with m o r e detail than I c a r e d to know. I m a d e a drink a n d sat at the kitchen table to listen. P i e c e s of the story b e g a n to fall into p l a c e . B e u l a h h a d g o n e to work for the blind m a n the s u m m e r after my wife h a d s t o p p e d working for him. Pretty s o o n B e u l a h a n d the blind m a n h a d t h e m selves a c h u r c h w e d d i n g . It w a s a little w e d d i n g — w h o ' d want to go to s u c h a w e d d i n g in the first p l a c e ? — j u s t the two of t h e m , p l u s the minister a n d the minister's wife. B u t it w a s a c h u r c h w e d d i n g j u s t the s a m e . It was w h a t B e u l a h h a d w a n t e d , he'd s a i d . B u t even then B e u l a h m u s t have b e e n carrying the c a n c e r in her g l a n d s . After they h a d b e e n i n s e p a r a b l e for eight y e a r s — my wife's word, inseparable—Beulah's health went into a rapid d e c l i n e . S h e died in a S e a t t l e hospital r o o m , the blind m a n sitting b e s i d e the b e d a n d holding on to her h a n d . They'd m a r r i e d , lived a n d worked together, slept t o g e t h e r — h a d sex, s u r e — a n d then the blind m a n h a d to bury her. All this without his having ever s e e n what the g o d d a m n e d w o m a n looked like. It w a s beyond my u n d e r s t a n d i n g . H e a r i n g this, I felt sorry for the blind m a n for a little bit. A n d then I f o u n d myself thinking what a pitiful life this w o m a n m u s t have led. I m a g i n e a w o m a n w h o c o u l d never s e e herself a s s h e w a s seen in the eyes of her loved o n e . A w o m a n w h o c o u l d g o on day after day and never receive the s m a l l e s t c o m p l i m e n t from her beloved. A w o m a n

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w h o s e h u s b a n d c o u l d never read the expression o n her f a c e , be it misery or s o m e t h i n g better. S o m e o n e who c o u l d wear m a k e u p or n o t — w h a t difference to him? S h e c o u l d , if s h e w a n t e d , w e a r green e y e - s h a d o w a r o u n d o n e eye, a straight pin in her nostril, yellow s l a c k s a n d p u r p l e s h o e s , no m a t t e r . A n d then to slip off into d e a t h , the blind m a n ' s h a n d on her h a n d , his blind eyes s t r e a m i n g t e a r s — I ' m i m a g i n i n g n o w — h e r last thought m a y b e this: that he never even knew w h a t s h e looked like, a n d s h e on a n e x p r e s s to the grave. Robert w a s left with a small i n s u r a n c e policy a n d half of a twenty-peso Mexican coin. T h e other half of the coin went into the box with her. P a t h e t i c . S o w h e n the time rolled a r o u n d , my wife went to the d e p o t to p i c k h i m u p . With n o t h i n g to do but w a i t — s u r e , I b l a m e d him for t h a t — I w a s having a drink a n d w a t c h i n g the T V w h e n I h e a r d the c a r pull into the drive. I got u p from the sofa with my drink a n d went to the w i n d o w to h a v e a look. I saw my wife l a u g h i n g a s s h e parked the car. I s a w her get o u t of the c a r a n d shut the door. S h e w a s still w e a r i n g a s m i l e . J u s t a m a z i n g . S h e w e n t a r o u n d to the other side of the c a r to where the blind m a n w a s already starting to get out. T h i s blind m a n , f e a t u r e this, he w a s w e a r i n g a full b e a r d ! A beard on a blind m a n ! T o o m u c h , I say. T h e blind m a n r e a c h e d into the b a c k seat a n d d r a g g e d out a s u i t c a s e . M y wife t o o k his a r m , s h u t the c a r door, a n d , talking all the way, m o v e d him down the drive a n d then u p the s t e p s to the front p o r c h . I turned off the T V . I finished my drink, rinsed the g l a s s , dried my h a n d s . T h e n I went to the door. M y wife said, "I want you to m e e t R o b e r t . R o b e r t , this is my h u s b a n d . I've told you all a b o u t h i m . " S h e w a s b e a m i n g . S h e h a d this blind m a n by his coat sleeve. T h e blind m a n let g o of his s u i t c a s e a n d u p c a m e his h a n d . I took it. H e s q u e e z e d hard, held my h a n d , a n d then he let it g o . "I feel like we've already m e t , " he b o o m e d . " L i k e w i s e , " I said. I didn't know what else to say. T h e n I s a i d , " W e l c o m e . I've h e a r d a lot a b o u t y o u . " W e b e g a n to m o v e t h e n , a little g r o u p , from the p o r c h into the living r o o m , my wife g u i d i n g him by the a r m . T h e blind m a n w a s carrying his s u i t c a s e in his other h a n d . M y wife s a i d things like, " T o your left h e r e , Robert. T h a t ' s right. N o w w a t c h it, there's a chair. T h a t ' s it. Sit down right here. T h i s is the s o f a . W e j u s t b o u g h t this sofa two w e e k s ago." I started to say s o m e t h i n g a b o u t the old sofa. I'd liked that old s o f a . B u t I didn't say anything. T h e n I w a n t e d to say s o m e t h i n g e l s e , small-talk, a b o u t the s c e n i c ride a l o n g the H u d s o n . H o w g o i n g to N e w York, you s h o u l d sit on the right-hand side of the train, a n d coming/rorw N e w York, the left-hand side. " D i d you have a g o o d train r i d e ? " I s a i d . " W h i c h s i d e of the train did you sit o n , by the w a y ? " " W h a t a q u e s t i o n , which s i d e ! " my wife s a i d . " W h a t ' s it m a t t e r w h i c h s i d e ? " s h e said. "I j u s t a s k e d , " I s a i d . "Right s i d e , " the blind m a n s a i d . "I hadn't b e e n on a train in nearly forty years. Not s i n c e I w a s a kid. With my folks. T h a t ' s b e e n a long t i m e . I'd nearly forgotten the s e n s a t i o n . I have wjnter in my b e a r d n o w , " he s a i d . " S o I've b e e n told, anyway. D o I look d i s t i n g u i s h e d , my d e a r ? " the blind m a n s a i d to my wife.

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"You look d i s t i n g u i s h e d , R o b e r t , " she s a i d . " R o b e r t , " s h e s a i d . " R o b e r t , it's j u s t s o good to s e e y o u . " M y wife finally took her eyes off the blind m a n a n d looked at m e . I h a d the feeling s h e didn't like w h a t s h e saw. 1 s h r u g g e d . I've never m e t , or personally known, a n y o n e w h o w a s blind. T h i s blind m a n w a s late forties, a heavy-set, b a l d i n g m a n with s t o o p e d s h o u l d e r s , a s if he carried a great weight t h e r e . H e wore brown s l a c k s , brown s h o e s , a lightbrown shirt, a tie, a sports c o a t . Spiffy. H e a l s o h a d this full b e a r d . B u t h e didn't u s e a c a n e a n d he didn't wear dark g l a s s e s . I'd always t h o u g h t dark g l a s s e s were a m u s t for the blind. F a c t w a s , I w i s h e d h e h a d a pair. At first g l a n c e , his eyes looked like a n y o n e else's eyes. B u t if you looked c l o s e , there was s o m e t h i n g different a b o u t t h e m . T o o m u c h white in the iris, for o n e thing, a n d the pupils s e e m e d to move a r o u n d in the s o c k e t s without his knowing it or b e i n g a b l e to s t o p it. C r e e p y . As I stared at his f a c e , I s a w the left pupil turn in toward his n o s e while the other m a d e a n effort to k e e p in o n e p l a c e . B u t it w a s only an effort, for that eye w a s on the r o a m without his knowing it or w a n t i n g it to b e . I said, " L e t m e get you a drink. W h a t ' s your p l e a s u r e ? W e have a little of everything. It's o n e of our p a s t i m e s . " " B u b , I'm a S c o t c h m a n myself," he said fast e n o u g h in this big v o i c e . " R i g h t , " I said. B u b ! " S u r e you a r e . I knew it." H e let his fingers t o u c h his s u i t c a s e , which w a s sitting a l o n g s i d e the s o f a . H e w a s taking his b e a r i n g s . I didn't b l a m e him for that. "I'll m o v e that u p to your r o o m , " my wife said. " N o , that's fine," the blind m a n said loudly. "It can go u p w h e n I go u p . " "A little water with the S c o t c h ? " I s a i d . "Very little," he s a i d . "I knew it," I said. H e said, " J u s t a tad. T h e Irish actor, Barry F i t z g e r a l d ? 2 I'm like that fellow. W h e n I drink water, Fitzgerald s a i d , I drink water. W h e n I drink whiskey, I drink whiskey." M y wife l a u g h e d . T h e blind m a n b r o u g h t his h a n d up u n d e r his b e a r d . H e lifted his b e a r d slowly a n d let it d r o p . I did the drinks, three big g l a s s e s of S c o t c h with a s p l a s h of water in e a c h . T h e n we m a d e ourselves c o m f o r t a b l e a n d talked a b o u t Robert's travels. First the long flight from the W e s t C o a s t to C o n n e c t i c u t , we c o v e r e d that. T h e n from C o n n e c t i c u t u p here by train. W e h a d a n o t h e r drink c o n c e r n i n g that leg of the trip. I r e m e m b e r e d having read s o m e w h e r e that the blind didn't s m o k e b e c a u s e , a s s p e c u l a t i o n had it, they couldn't s e e the s m o k e they exhaled. I t h o u g h t I knew that m u c h a n d that m u c h only a b o u t blind p e o p l e . Rut this blind m a n s m o k e d his cigarette down to the n u b b i n a n d then lit a n o t h e r o n e . T h i s blind m a n filled his ashtray a n d my wife e m p t i e d it. W h e n we sat down at the table for dinner, we had a n o t h e r drink. M y wife h e a p e d Robert's plate with c u b e steak, s c a l l o p e d p o t a t o e s , g r e e n b e a n s . I b u t t e r e d him u p two slices of b r e a d . I said, " H e r e ' s bread a n d b u t t e r for y o u . " I swallowed s o m e of my drink. " N o w let u s p r a y , " I said, a n d the blind m a n

2. Noted for his stock characterizations of Irish figures {often priests) in American films of the 1940s and 1950s.

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lowered his h e a d . M y wife looked at m e , her m o u t h a g a p e . "Pray the p h o n e won't ring a n d the food doesn't get c o l d , " I s a i d . W e d u g in. W e a t e everything there w a s to eat o n the t a b l e . W e a t e like there w a s no tomorrow. W e didn't talk. W e a t e . W e s c a r f e d . W e grazed that table. W e were into s e r i o u s eating. T h e blind m a n h a d right away l o c a t e d his f o o d s , he knew j u s t w h e r e everything w a s o n his p l a t e . I w a t c h e d with a d m i r a t i o n a s h e u s e d his knife a n d fork o n the m e a t . He'd c u t two p i e c e s of m e a t , fork the m e a t into his m o u t h , a n d then go all out for the s c a l l o p e d p o t a t o e s , the b e a n s next, a n d then he'd tear off a h u n k of b u t t e r e d b r e a d a n d eat that. H e ' d follow this u p with a big drink of milk. It didn't s e e m to b o t h e r him to u s e his fingers o n c e in a while, either. W e finished everything, i n c l u d i n g half a strawberry p i e . F o r a few m o m e n t s , we sat a s if s t u n n e d . S w e a t b e a d e d o n our f a c e s . Finally, we got up from the table a n d left the dirty p l a t e s . W e didn't look b a c k . W e took ourselves into the living r o o m a n d s a n k into our p l a c e s a g a i n . R o b e r t a n d my wife sat on the sofa. I took the big chair. W e h a d u s two or three m o r e drinks while they talked a b o u t the m a j o r things that h a d c o m e to p a s s for t h e m in the p a s t ten years. F o r the m o s t part, I j u s t listened. N o w a n d then I j o i n e d in. I didn't w a n t him to think I'd left the r o o m , a n d I didn't w a n t her to think I w a s feeling left out. T h e y talked of things that h a d h a p p e n e d to t h e m — t o t h e m ! — t h e s e p a s t ten years. I waited in vain to h e a r my n a m e o n my wife's sweet lips: " A n d then my d e a r h u s b a n d c a m e into my l i f e " — s o m e t h i n g like that. B u t I h e a r d n o t h i n g of the sort. M o r e talk of Robert. Robert h a d d o n e a little of everything, it s e e m e d , a regular blind jack-of-all-trades. B u t m o s t recently he a n d his wife h a d h a d a n A m w a y 3 d i s t r i b u t o r s h i p , from w h i c h , I g a t h e r e d , they'd e a r n e d their living, s u c h a s it w a s . T h e blind m a n w a s a l s o a h a m radio operator. H e talked in his loud voice a b o u t c o n v e r s a t i o n s he'd h a d with fellow o p e r a t o r s in G u a m , in the P h i l i p p i n e s , in A l a s k a , a n d even in T a h i t i . H e said he'd have a lot of friends there if h e ever w a n t e d to go visit t h o s e p l a c e s . F r o m time to t i m e , he'd turn his blind face toward m e , put his h a n d u n d e r his b e a r d , a s k m e s o m e t h i n g . H o w long h a d I b e e n in my p r e s e n t position? ( T h r e e years.) D i d I like my work? (I didn't.) W a s I g o i n g to stay with it? (What were the o p t i o n s ? ) Finally, w h e n I t h o u g h t h e w a s b e g i n n i n g to run d o w n , I got u p a n d turned on the T V . M y wife looked at m e with irritation. S h e w a s h e a d i n g toward a boil. T h e n s h e looked at the blind m a n a n d s a i d , " R o b e r t , do you have a T V ? " T h e blind m a n s a i d , " M y d e a r , I have two T V s . I have a color set a n d a black-and-white thing, an old relic. It's funny, b u t if I turn the T V o n , a n d I'm always turning it o n , I turn on the color set. It's funny, don't you t h i n k ? " I didn't know w h a t to say to that. I h a d a b s o l u t e l y n o t h i n g to say to that. N o opinion. S o I w a t c h e d the n e w s p r o g r a m a n d tried to listen to w h a t the a n n o u n c e r w a s saying. " T h i s is a color T V , " the blind m a n s a i d . " D o n ' t a s k m e how, b u t I c a n tell." " W e traded u p a while a g o , " I s a i d . T h e blind m a n h a d a n o t h e r t a s t e of his drink. H e lifted his b e a r d , sniffed it, a n d let it fall. H e l e a n e d forward on the sofa. H e p o s i t i o n e d his ashtray i. A retail sales business operated by taking orders at home.

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on the coffee t a b l e , then put the lighter to his cigarette. H e l e a n e d b a c k on the sofa a n d c r o s s e d his legs at the a n k l e s . My wife covered her m o u t h , a n d then s h e y a w n e d . S h e s t r e t c h e d . S h e said, "I think I'll go upstairs a n d put on my r o b e . I think I'll c h a n g e into s o m e t h i n g e l s e . Robert, you m a k e yourself c o m f o r t a b l e , " s h e s a i d . "I'm c o m f o r t a b l e , " the blind m a n said. "I want you to feel c o m f o r t a b l e in this h o u s e , " s h e s a i d . "I a m c o m f o r t a b l e , " the blind m a n s a i d . After she'd left the r o o m , h e a n d I listened to the w e a t h e r report a n d then to the sports r o u n d u p . By that t i m e , she'd b e e n g o n e so long I didn't know if she w a s g o i n g to c o m e back. I t h o u g h t she might have g o n e to b e d . I w i s h e d she'd c o m e b a c k d o w n s t a i r s . I didn't want to be left a l o n e with a blind m a n . I a s k e d him if he w a n t e d a n o t h e r drink, a n d he said s u r e . T h e n I a s k e d if he w a n t e d to s m o k e s o m e d o p e with m e . I said I'd j u s t rolled a n u m b e r . I hadn't, but I p l a n n e d to d o so in a b o u t two s h a k e s . "I'll try s o m e with y o u , " h e s a i d . " D a m n right," I said. " T h a t ' s the stuff." I got our drinks a n d sat d o w n on the sofa with h i m . T h e n I rolled u s two fat n u m b e r s . I lit o n e a n d p a s s e d it. I b r o u g h t it to his fingers. H e took it a n d inhaled. " H o l d it a s long a s you c a n , " I s a i d . I c o u l d tell he didn't k n o w the first thing. M y wife c a m e b a c k d o w n s t a i r s w e a r i n g her pink robe a n d her p i n k slippers. "What do I smell?" she said. " W e t h o u g h t we'd have u s s o m e c a n n a b i s , " I s a i d . M y wife gave m e a s a v a g e look. T h e n s h e looked at the blind m a n a n d said, " R o b e r t , I didn't know you s m o k e d . " H e said, "I do now, my dear. T h e r e ' s a first time for everything. B u t I don't feel anything yet." " T h i s stuff is pretty m e l l o w , " I s a i d . " T h i s stuff is mild. It's d o p e you c a n r e a s o n with," I s a i d . "It doesn't m e s s you u p . " " N o t m u c h it doesn't, b u b , " he said, a n d l a u g h e d . M y wife sat on the sofa b e t w e e n the blind m a n a n d m e . I p a s s e d her the n u m b e r . S h e took it a n d toked a n d then p a s s e d it b a c k to m e . " W h i c h way is this g o i n g ? " s h e said. T h e n she said, "I shouldn't be s m o k i n g this. I c a n hardly keep my eyes o p e n a s it is. T h a t dinner did m e in. I shouldn't have eaten so m u c h . " "It was the strawberry p i e , " the blind m a n said. " T h a t ' s w h a t did it," h e said, a n d he l a u g h e d his big l a u g h . T h e n h e s h o o k his h e a d . " T h e r e ' s m o r e strawberry p i e , " I said. " D o you want s o m e m o r e , R o b e r t ? " my wife s a i d . " M a y b e in a little w h i l e , " h e s a i d . W e gave our attention to the T V . M y wife y a w n e d a g a i n . S h e s a i d , "Your b e d is m a d e u p w h e n you feel like g o i n g to b e d , Robert. I know you m u s t have had a long day. W h e n you're ready to go to b e d , say s o . " S h e p u l l e d his arm. "Robert?" H e c a m e to a n d s a i d , "I've h a d a real nice t i m e . T h i s b e a t s t a p e s , doesn't it?"

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I s a i d , " C o m i n g at y o u , " a n d I put the n u m b e r b e t w e e n his fingers. H e inhaled, held the s m o k e , a n d then let it go. It w a s like he'd b e e n d o i n g it s i n c e h e w a s n i n e years old. " T h a n k s , b u b , " h e s a i d . " B u t I think this is all for m e . I think I'm b e g i n n i n g to feel it," he s a i d . H e held the b u r n i n g r o a c h out for my wife. " S a m e h e r e , " s h e s a i d . " D i t t o . M e , t o o . " S h e took the r o a c h a n d p a s s e d it to m e . "I m a y j u s t sit here for a while b e t w e e n you two guys with m y eyes c l o s e d . B u t don't let m e b o t h e r you, okay? E i t h e r o n e of y o u . If it b o t h e r s you, say s o . O t h e r w i s e , I m a y j u s t sit here with my eyes c l o s e d until you're ready to go to b e d , " s h e s a i d . "Your b e d ' s m a d e u p , R o b e r t , w h e n you're ready. It's right next to o u r r o o m at the top of the stairs. We'll s h o w you up w h e n you're ready. You w a k e m e up now, you guys, if I fall a s l e e p . " S h e said that a n d then s h e c l o s e d her eyes a n d went to s l e e p . T h e news p r o g r a m e n d e d . I got u p a n d c h a n g e d the c h a n n e l . I sat b a c k d o w n on the sofa. I w i s h e d my wife hadn't p o o p e d out. H e r h e a d lay a c r o s s the b a c k of the sofa, her m o u t h o p e n . S h e ' d t u r n e d s o that her r o b e h a d slipped away from her legs, e x p o s i n g a j u i c y thigh. 1 r e a c h e d to draw her robe b a c k over her, a n d it w a s then that I g l a n c e d at the blind m a n . W h a t the hell! I flipped the robe o p e n a g a i n . "You say w h e n you want s o m e strawberry p i e , " I s a i d . "I will," he s a i d . I said, "Are you tired? D o you w a n t m e to take you u p to your b e d ? Are you ready to hit the h a y ? " " N o t yet," h e s a i d . " N o , I'll stay u p with y o u , b u b . If that's all right. I'll stay u p until you're ready to turn in. W e haven't h a d a c h a n c e to talk. Know what I m e a n ? I feel like m e a n d her m o n o p o l i z e d the e v e n i n g . " H e lifted his b e a r d a n d he let it fall. H e p i c k e d up his cigarettes a n d his lighter. " T h a t ' s all right," I s a i d . T h e n I s a i d , "I'm glad for the c o m p a n y . " A n d I g u e s s I w a s . Every night I s m o k e d d o p e a n d stayed u p a s long a s I c o u l d before I fell a s l e e p . M y wife a n d I hardly ever went to b e d at the s a m e t i m e . W h e n I did g o to s l e e p , I h a d t h e s e d r e a m s . S o m e t i m e s I'd wake up from o n e of t h e m , my heart g o i n g crazy. S o m e t h i n g a b o u t the c h u r c h a n d the M i d d l e A g e s w a s on the T V . N o t your run-of-the-mill T V fare. I w a n t e d to w a t c h s o m e t h i n g e l s e . I t u r n e d to the other c h a n n e l s . B u t there w a s n o t h i n g on t h e m , either. S o I t u r n e d b a c k to the first c h a n n e l a n d apologized. " B u b , it's all right," the blind m a n said. "It's fine with m e . W h a t e v e r you want to w a t c h is okay. I'm always l e a r n i n g s o m e t h i n g . L e a r n i n g never e n d s . It won't hurt m e to learn s o m e t h i n g tonight. I got e a r s , " h e s a i d . W e didn't say anything for a t i m e . H e w a s l e a n i n g forward with his h e a d turned at m e , his right ear a i m e d in the direction of the set. Very d i s c o n certing. N o w a n d then his eyelids d r o o p e d a n d then they s n a p p e d o p e n a g a i n . N o w a n d then he put his fingers into his b e a r d a n d t u g g e d , like he w a s thinking a b o u t s o m e t h i n g h e w a s h e a r i n g on the television. O n the s c r e e n , a g r o u p of m e n w e a r i n g cowls w a s b e i n g set u p o n a n d t o r m e n t e d by m e n d r e s s e d in skeleton c o s t u m e s a n d m e n d r e s s e d a s devils. T h e m e n d r e s s e d a s devils wore devil m a s k s , h o r n s , a n d long tails. T h i s p a g e a n t w a s part of a p r o c e s s i o n . T h e E n g l i s h m a n w h o w a s narrating the

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thing said it took p l a c e in S p a i n o n c e a year. I tried to explain to the blind m a n what w a s h a p p e n i n g . " S k e l e t o n s , " h e said. "I know a b o u t s k e l e t o n s , " he said, a n d he n o d d e d . T h e T V s h o w e d this o n e c a t h e d r a l . T h e n there w a s a l o n g , slow look at a n o t h e r o n e . Finally, the picture switched to the f a m o u s o n e in P a r i s , with its flying b u t t r e s s e s a n d its spires r e a c h i n g u p to the c l o u d s . T h e c a m e r a pulled away to s h o w the whole of the cathedral rising a b o v e the skyline. T h e r e were t i m e s w h e n the E n g l i s h m a n w h o w a s telling the thing would shut u p , would simply let the c a m e r a move a r o u n d over the c a t h e d r a l s . O r else the c a m e r a would tour the c o u n t r y s i d e , m e n in fields walking b e h i n d oxen. I waited a s long a s I c o u l d . T h e n I felt I h a d to say s o m e t h i n g . I s a i d , "They're s h o w i n g the o u t s i d e of this c a t h e d r a l now. G a r g o y l e s . Little s t a t u e s carved to look like m o n s t e r s . N o w I g u e s s they're in Italy. Y e a h , they're in Italy. T h e r e ' s p a i n t i n g s on the walls of this o n e c h u r c h . " "Are t h o s e f r e s c o p a i n t i n g s , b u b ? " h e a s k e d , a n d he s i p p e d from his drink. I r e a c h e d for my g l a s s . B u t it w a s empty. I tried to r e m e m b e r w h a t I c o u l d r e m e m b e r . "You're a s k i n g m e are t h o s e f r e s c o e s ? " I s a i d . " T h a t ' s a g o o d q u e s tion. I don't k n o w . " T h e c a m e r a m o v e d to a c a t h e d r a l o u t s i d e L i s b o n . T h e differences in the P o r t u g u e s e cathedral c o m p a r e d with the F r e n c h a n d Italian were not that great. B u t they were t h e r e . M o s t l y the interior stuff. T h e n s o m e t h i n g o c c u r r e d to m e , a n d I s a i d , " S o m e t h i n g h a s o c c u r r e d to m e . D o you have any idea what a c a t h e d r a l is? W h a t they look like, that is? D o you follow m e ? If s o m e b o d y says c a t h e d r a l to you, do you have any notion w h a t they're talking a b o u t ? D o you know the difference b e t w e e n that a n d a B a p t i s t church, say?" H e let the s m o k e dribble from his m o u t h . "I know they took h u n d r e d s of workers fifty or a h u n d r e d years to b u i l d , " he s a i d . "I j u s t h e a r d the m a n say that, of c o u r s e . I know g e n e r a t i o n s of the s a m e families worked o n a c a t h e dral. I heard him say that, too. T h e m e n w h o b e g a n their life's work on t h e m , they never lived to s e e the c o m p l e t i o n of their work. In that w i s e , b u b , they're no different from the rest of u s , r i g h t ? " H e l a u g h e d . T h e n his eyelids d r o o p e d again. His h e a d n o d d e d . H e s e e m e d to be s n o o z i n g . M a y b e he w a s i m a g i n i n g himself in Portugal. T h e T V w a s s h o w i n g a n o t h e r c a t h e d r a l now. T h i s o n e was in G e r m a n y . T h e E n g l i s h m a n ' s voice d r o n e d on. " C a t h e d r a l s , " the blind m a n said. H e sat u p a n d rolled his h e a d b a c k a n d forth. "If you w a n t the truth, b u b , that's a b o u t all I know. W h a t I j u s t s a i d . W h a t I h e a r d him say. B u t m a y b e you c o u l d d e s c r i b e o n e to m e ? I wish you'd do it. I'd like that. If you want to know, I really don't have a g o o d i d e a . " I stared hard at the shot of the c a t h e d r a l on the T V . H o w c o u l d I even begin to d e s c r i b e it? B u t say my life d e p e n d e d o n it. S a y my life w a s b e i n g t h r e a t e n e d by an i n s a n e guy w h o said I h a d to d o it or e l s e . I stared s o m e m o r e at the c a t h e d r a l before the p i c t u r e flipped off into the c o u n t r y s i d e . T h e r e w a s no u s e . I turned to the blind m a n a n d said, " T o begin with, they're very tall." I w a s looking a r o u n d the r o o m for c l u e s . " T h e y r e a c h way up. U p a n d u p . T o w a r d the sky. They're so big, s o m e of t h e m , they have to have t h e s e s u p p o r t s . T o help hold t h e m u p , so to s p e a k . T h e s e s u p p o r t s are called b u t t r e s s e s . T h e y remind m e of v i a d u c t s , for s o m e r e a s o n . B u t maybe you don't know v i a d u c t s , either? S o m e t i m e s the c a t h e d r a l s have devils

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a n d s u c h carved into the front. S o m e t i m e s lords a n d ladies. D o n ' t a s k m e why this i s , " I said. H e w a s n o d d i n g . T h e whole u p p e r part of his body s e e m e d to b e moving b a c k a n d forth. "I'm not d o i n g so g o o d , a m I ? " I s a i d . H e s t o p p e d n o d d i n g a n d leaned forward o n the e d g e of the sofa. As h e listened to m e , he w a s r u n n i n g his fingers t h r o u g h his b e a r d . I wasn't getting through to him, I c o u l d s e e that. B u t he waited for m e to go on j u s t the s a m e . H e n o d d e d , like he w a s trying to e n c o u r a g e m e . I tried to think what else to say. "They're really b i g , " I s a i d . "They're m a s s i v e . They're built of s t o n e . M a r b l e , too, s o m e t i m e s . In t h o s e olden d a y s , w h e n they built c a t h e drals, m e n w a n t e d to b e c l o s e to G o d . In t h o s e olden d a y s , G o d w a s a n important part of everyone's life. You c o u l d tell this from their c a t h e d r a l building. I'm sorry," I s a i d , " b u t it looks like that's the b e s t I c a n do for you. I'm j u s t no g o o d at it." " T h a t ' s all right, b u b , " the blind m a n said. " H e y , listen. I h o p e you don't m i n d my a s k i n g y o u . C a n I a s k you s o m e t h i n g ? L e t m e a s k you a s i m p l e q u e s t i o n , yes or n o . I'm j u s t c u r i o u s a n d there's n o o f f e n s e . You're my host. B u t let m e a s k if you a r e in any way religious? You don't m i n d my a s k i n g ? " I s h o o k my h e a d . H e couldn't s e e that, t h o u g h . A wink is the s a m e a s a n o d to a blind m a n . "I g u e s s I don't believe in it. In anything. S o m e t i m e s it's hard. You know what I'm s a y i n g ? " " S u r e , I d o , " he said. "Right," I said. T h e E n g l i s h m a n w a s still holding forth. M y wife s i g h e d in her s l e e p . S h e drew a long b r e a t h a n d went o n with her s l e e p i n g . "You'll have to forgive m e , " I said. " B u t I can't tell you what a c a t h e d r a l looks like. It j u s t isn't in m e to do it. I can't do any m o r e t h a n I've d o n e . " T h e blind m a n sat very still, his h e a d d o w n , a s he listened to m e . I s a i d , " T h e truth is, c a t h e d r a l s don't m e a n anything s p e c i a l to m e . N o t h ing. C a t h e d r a l s . They're s o m e t h i n g to look at o n late-night T V . T h a t ' s all they a r e . " It w a s then that the blind m a n c l e a r e d his throat. H e b r o u g h t s o m e t h i n g u p . H e t o o k a h a n d k e r c h i e f from his b a c k p o c k e t . T h e n h e said, "I get it, b u b . It's okay. It h a p p e n s . Don't worry a b o u t it," h e s a i d . " H e y , listen to m e . Will you d o m e a favor? I got a n idea. W h y don't you find us s o m e heavy p a p e r ? A n d a p e n . We'll d o s o m e t h i n g . We'll draw o n e together. G e t u s a p e n a n d s o m e heavy p a p e r . G o o n , b u b , get the stuff," h e s a i d . S o I went u p s t a i r s . My legs felt like they didn't have any strength in t h e m . T h e y felt like they did after I'd d o n e s o m e r u n n i n g . In my wife's r o o m , I looked a r o u n d . I f o u n d s o m e ballpoints in a little b a s k e t on her table. A n d then I tried to think w h e r e to look for the kind of p a p e r h e w a s talking a b o u t . D o w n s t a i r s , in the k i t c h e n , I f o u n d a s h o p p i n g b a g with o n i o n skins in the b o t t o m of the b a g . I e m p t i e d the b a g a n d s h o o k it. I b r o u g h t it into the living r o o m a n d sat down with it n e a r his legs. I m o v e d s o m e t h i n g s , s m o o t h e d the wrinkles from the b a g , s p r e a d it out on the coffee t a b l e . T h e blind m a n got d o w n from the s o f a a n d sat next to m e on the c a r p e t . H e ran his fingers over the p a p e r . H e went u p a n d down the s i d e s of the p a p e r . T h e e d g e s , even the e d g e s . H e fingered the c o r n e r s .

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"All right," h e s a i d . "All right, let's d o h e r . " H e found my h a n d , the h a n d with the p e n . H e c l o s e d his h a n d over my h a n d . " G o a h e a d , b u b , d r a w , " h e said. " D r a w . You'll s e e . I'll follow a l o n g with y o u . It'll be okay. J u s t begin now like I'm telling y o u . You'll s e e . D r a w , " the blind m a n s a i d . S o I b e g a n . First I drew a box that looked like a h o u s e . It c o u l d have b e e n the h o u s e I lived in. T h e n I put a roof on it. At either e n d of the roof, I drew spires. Crazy. " S w e l l , " h e s a i d . "Terrific. You're doing fine," h e s a i d . " N e v e r t h o u g h t anything like this c o u l d h a p p e n in your lifetime, did you, b u b ? Well, it's a s t r a n g e life, we all know that. G o o n now. K e e p it u p . " I put in windows with a r c h e s . I drew flying b u t t r e s s e s . I h u n g great d o o r s . I couldn't s t o p . T h e T V station went off the air. I put d o w n the p e n a n d c l o s e d a n d o p e n e d my fingers. T h e blind m a n felt a r o u n d over the p a p e r . H e moved the tips of his fingers over the p a p e r , all over what I h a d d r a w n , a n d he n o d d e d . " D o i n g fine," the blind m a n said. I took u p the pen a g a i n , a n d he f o u n d my h a n d . I kept at it. I'm no artist. But I kept drawing j u s t the s a m e . M y wife o p e n e d u p her eyes a n d gazed at u s . S h e sat u p o n the sofa, her robe h a n g i n g o p e n . S h e said, " W h a t are you doing? Tell m e , I want to k n o w . " I didn't a n s w e r her. T h e blind m a n said, "We're drawing a c a t h e d r a l . M e a n d him are working on it. P r e s s h a r d , " he said to m e . " T h a t ' s right. T h a t ' s g o o d , " he s a i d . " S u r e . You got it, b u b . I c a n tell. You didn't think you c o u l d . B u t you c a n , can't you? You're c o o k i n g with g a s now. You know what I'm saying? W e ' r e g o i n g to really have u s s o m e t h i n g here in a m i n u t e . How's the old a r m ? " he s a i d . " P u t s o m e p e o p l e in there now. W h a t ' s a c a t h e d r a l without p e o p l e ? " M y wife said, " W h a t ' s g o i n g o n ? Robert, what are you d o i n g ? W h a t ' s g o i n g on? "It's all right," h e said to her. " C l o s e your eyes n o w , " the blind m a n said to m e . I did it. I c l o s e d t h e m j u s t like h e said. "Are they c l o s e d ? " h e s a i d . " D o n ' t f u d g e . " "They're c l o s e d , " I s a i d . " K e e p t h e m that w a y , " he s a i d . H e said, " D o n ' t stop now. D r a w . " S o we kept on with it. H i s fingers rode my fingers a s my h a n d went over the p a p e r . It w a s like n o t h i n g e l s e in my life u p to now. T h e n he said, "I think that's it. I think you got it," he said. " T a k e a look. W h a t do you t h i n k ? " Rut I h a d my eyes c l o s e d . I t h o u g h t I'd keep t h e m that way for a little longer. I thought it w a s s o m e t h i n g I o u g h t to d o . " W e l l ? " he said. "Are you l o o k i n g ? " M y eyes were still c l o s e d . I w a s in my h o u s e . I knew that. B u t I didn't feel like I was inside anything. "It's really s o m e t h i n g , " I s a i d . 1983

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CADE

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1939-1995 "Her writing is woven, aware of its music, its overlapping waves of scenic action, so clearly on its way," Toni Morrison wrote about editing the work of her friend Toni Cade Bambara, "like a magnet collecting details in its wake, each of which is essential to the final effect." In her preface to the posthumous collection of fiction, essays, and conversations titled Deep Sightings and Rescue Missions (1996), Morrison describes Bambara as an "ever vocal woman," and it is the remarkable presence of living voice that distinguishes the stories collected in Gorilla, My Love (1972) and The Sea Birds Are Still Alive (1977) and Bambara's novels, The Salt Eaters (1981) and the posthumously published Those Bones Are Not My Child (1999). Born and raised in New York City, Toni Cade Bambara was as much a social activist as a writer. She worked in organizations dedicated to the most practical of day-to-day benefits for minority city dwellers and also traveled to Cuba and Vietnam to lobby for revised national politics. She spent the last fifteen years of her professional life working on television documentaries, including The Bombing of Orange Avenue (about the Philadelphia police department's deadly assault on the MOVE organization). Yet it is for her short stories that she will be remembered, particularly the first-person narratives of her women storytellers about their experiences in the black community. Like herself, her protagonists are activists in their societies, societies that in their flux demand creative readjustment at every stage. Such is the dynamic of "Medley" (printed here), in which a culture's music indexes the pace and rhythms of its social existence. As in this story, Bambara's plots are always moving, existing in a state of being "on their way" toward an imperatively stated conclusion, as Toni Morrison has said of this writer's prose style. As her novel, The Salt Eaters, shows, Bambara was sensitive to the role storytelling plays in healthy communities. Here, when an activist is frustrated over divisiveness in the people she wishes tq help, a traditional healer comes to the rescue with her tales of folk values. Life is change, Bambara understood; the fluid nature of language itself teaches that there is no stable, secure place beyond the voice's constant ability to reinvent itself. Hence Bambara meant to be of service herself in editing Tales and Stories of Black Folks (1971), an anthology that provides ample evidence for how African Americans not only created their own folk legends but adapted European and African materials to their own uniquely American ends. In this writer's fiction readers can see the same process taking place, a joyful embrace of voice as the most personal statement possible in a world dependent on self-invention for survival. The text is that of The Sea Birds Are Still Alive (1977).

Medley I c o u l d tell the m i n u t e I got in the d o o r a n d d r o p p e d my b a g , I wasn't staying. D i s h e s piled sky-high in the sink looking like s o m e c i r c u s a c t . G l a s s e s all ghosty on the c o u n t e r . B u s t e d tea b a g s , c u r l i n g c a n t e l o u p e rinds, white c a r t o n s from the C h i n a m e n , g r e e n s a c k s from the deli, a n d that d a m n d o g c r e e p i n g u p on m e for m e to w r a s s l e his h e a d or kick him in the ribs o n e . N o , I definitely wasn't staying. C o u l d n ' t even figure why I'd c o m e . B u t picked my way to the hallway anyway till the laundry-stuffed p i l l o w c a s e s s t o p p e d m e . Larry's b a s s blocking the view to the b e d r o o m . " T h a t you, S w e e t P e a ? "

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" N o , m a n , ain't m e at all," I say, working my way b a c k to the s u i t c a s e a n d shoving that d a m n d o g o u t the way. " S e e ya r o u n d , " I holler, the door s l a m m i n g behind m e , c u t t i n g off the words a b r u p t . Quite naturally sitting c r o s s - l e g g e d at the c l u b , I e m b r o i d e r a little o n the h o m e c o m i n g tale, what with a n a u d i e n c e of two crazy w o m e n a n d a fresh bottle of J a c k D a n i e l s . ' G o t so I c o u l d actually s e e s h o n u f f t o a d s t o o l s g r o w i n g in the sink. C a n t e l o u p e s e e d s s p r o u t i n g in the m u c k . A g o d d a m n c o m p o s t h e a p breeding near the stove, g a r b a g e g a r d e n s on the grill. " S w e e t P e a , you o u g h t a h u s h , c a u s e you can't possibly keep on lying s o , " Pot Limit's s c r e a m i n g , tears p o p p i n g from her eyes. " L a w d hold my l e g s , c a u s e this liar b o u t to kill m e off." " N e v e r mind a b o u t Larry's h o u s e k e e p i n g , girl," Sylvia's s o o t h i n g m e , s l o s h ing perfectly g o o d b o u r b o n all over the table. "You c a n c o m e a n d stay with m e till your h o u s e c o m e s t h r o u g h . It'll be like old t i m e s at A u n t M e r r i a m ' s . " I e a s e b a c k into the b o o t h to wait for the next set. T h e d r u m m e r ' s fooling with the e q u i p m e n t , t a p p i n g the m i k e s , h o p i n g he's w a t c h e d , so I w a t c h him. B u t feeling worried in my m i n d a b o u t Larry, c a u s e I've b e e n t h r o u g h days like that myself. C o l d c r e a m c a k e d on my f a c e from the day b e f o r e , hair m a t t e d , b a t h r o b e funky, not a c l e a n pair of drawers to my n a m e . Even the e m e r g e n c y o n e s , the draggy cotton n u m b e r s stuffed way in the b a c k of the drawer u n d e r the s c e n t e d p a p e r g o n e . A n d no c l e a n silverware in the box a n d the last of the p a p e r c u p s g o n e too. Icebox e m p t y c e p t for a rock of c h e e s e a n d the lone water j u g that ain't even half full that's how a n y h o w the thing's g o n e on. And not a c l u e a s to the next s t e p . B u t then Pot Limit'U c o m e b a m m i n g on the d o o r to say S o - a n d - s o ' s in town a n d c a n s h e have the c a r d table for a g a m e . O r Sylvia'll s e n d a funny c a r d inviting herself to d i n n e r a n d even giving m e the m e n u . T h e n I zoom through that h o u s e like a m a n i c work brigade till m e a n d the p l a c e ready for white-glove i n s p e c t i o n . B u t w h a t if s o m e s o m e b o d y or other don't intervene for Larry, I'm thinking. T h e d r u m m e r ' s m e s s i n r o u n d on the c y m b a l s , h e a d c o c k e d to the s i d e , rings sparkling. T h e other d u d e s are s t e p p i n g out from b e h i n d the c u r t a i n . T h e p i a n o m a n playing with the wah-wah d o i n g splashy, breathy s c i e n c e fiction stuff. Sylvia c h e c k i n g m e out to m a k e s u r e I ain't too b l u e . B l u e got hold to m e , but I lean foward out of the s h a d o w s a n d b a b b l e s o m e t h i n g a b o u t how off the b o u r b o n t a s t e s t h e s e days. H a t e worryin Sylvia, w h o is the kind of friend w h o b l e e d s at the eyes with your p a i n . I drain my g l a s s a n d h u m along with the o p e n i n g riff of the guitar a n d I keep my eyes strictly off the b a s s player, whoever h e is. Larry L a n d e r s looked m o r e like a b a s s player than ole M i n g u s himself. G o t t h e s e long a r m s that d r a p e d o w n over the b a s s like they were grown special for that p u r p o s e . F i n e , strong h a n d s with long fingers a n d m u s c u l a r k n u c k l e s , the d i m p l e s d e e p black at the j o i n t s . His c a l l u s e s so other-colored a n d hard, looked like Larry h a d swiped his g r a n d m o t h e r ' s t a r n i s h e d t h i m b l e s to play with. He'd move in on that b a s s like he w a s g o i n g to h u m p it or s o m e t h i n g , slide up behind it a s he lifted it from the rug, all slinky. H e ' d b e c o m e o n e with the wood. H e a d d i p p e d d o w n sideways b o b b i n g out the rhythm, feet tapping, legs jiggling, he'd look g o o d . T h i n g a b o u t it, t h o u g h , 1. A potent brand of Tennessee sour masb whisky.

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ole Larry couldn't play for shit. C o u l d n ' t never find the right p l a c e m e n t for the n o t e s . N e v e r p l u c k i n g with e n o u g h strength, d e s p i t e the perfectly c a p a ble h a n d s . Either you didn't hear him at all or w h a t you h e a r d w a s off. T h e m a n couldn't play for n u t h i n is what I'm saying. B u t Larry L a n d e r s w a s b a a d in the shower, t h o u g h . He'd s o a p m e u p a n d d o w n with t h e m great, fine h a n d s , d o i n g a d e e p b a s s walking in the b a c k of his m o u t h . A n d I'd j u s t have to sing, t h o u g h I can't sing to save my life. B u t we'd have o n e hellafyin m u s i c a l time in the s h o w e r , l e m m e tell y o u . " G r e e n D o l p h i n S t r e e t " 2 never s o u n d e d like n u t h i n till Larry b o p p e d o u t t h e m c h a n g e s a n d actually m a d e m e s o u n d g o o d . O n " M y F u n n y V a l e n t i n e " 3 he'd do a whizzing s o u n d i n g bow t h i n g that m a d e his throat vibrate real sexy a n d I'd c u t e s y u p the i n t r o d u c t i o n , w h i c h is, c o m e to think of it, my favorite part. B u t the m a i n n u m b e r w h e n the hot water started r u n n i n g o u t w a s "I F e e l Like M a k i n g L o v e . " T h a t w a s usually the wind up of our repertoire c a u s e you c a n i m a g i n e what that s o n g c a n do to you in the shower a n d all. G o t s o w e spent a helluva Iotta time in the shower. J u s t a s well, c a u s e didn't n o b o d y call Larry for gigs. H e a n i c e m a n , c o n s i d e r a t e , g e n e r o u s , b a a d in the shower, a n d g o o d t a s t e in m u s i c . B u t h e j u s t wasn't nobody's b a s s player. K n e w all the s t a n c e s , t h o u g h , the p o s t u r e s , the facial e x p r e s s i o n s , h a d the c h o r e o g r a p h y d o w n . A n d right in the m i d d l e of s u p p e r he'd get s o m e Ron Carter'' thing g o i n g in his h e a d a n d h o p u p from the table to g o get the b a s s . H a u l that s u c k e r right in the kitchen a n d do a n u m b e r in d u m b show, all the playing in his throat, the a c t i n g with his h a n d s . B u t that ain't n u t h i n . I m e a n that can't get it. I c a n i m p e r s o n a t e Betty C a r t e r 5 if it c o m e s to that. T h e a r m s crooked j u s t s o , the fingers p o p p i n g , the body working, the c a p a n d all, the teeth, a u t h e n t i c . B u t I got s e n s e e n o u g h to k n o w I ain't nobody's singer. Actually, I a m a m o t h e r , t h o u g h I'm only j u s t n o w getting it together. A n d too, I'm a n A-I m a n i c u r i s t . M e a n d my c o u s i n S i n b a d c o m e N o r t h working our s h o w in c a t h o u s e s at first. S e t u p a s a l o n right s m a c k in the m i d d l e of M i z Maybry's S a t u r d a y traffic. B u t that wasn't n o kind of life to be bringing my d a u g h t e r into. S o I parked her at a b o a r d i n g s c h o o l till I c o u l d m a k e s o m e other kind of life. W a s n ' t no kind of life for S i n b a d either, s o we quit. O u r first s h o p w a s a three-chair affair o n A u s t i n . H a d a s t u d e n t b a r b e r w h o c o u l d do a n y t h i n g — b l o w - o u t s , d o ' s , c o r n rows, weird c u t s , a f r o s , p r e s s a n d curl, whatever you w a n t e d . P l u s he din't g a b you to d e a t h . A n d he always b r o u g h t his s i d e s a n d didn't blast e m neither. H e went on to N e w York a n d o p e n e d his own s h o p . W a s a b o o t b l a c k too t h e n , a n old d u d e n a m e d J a m e s N o u g h t o n , h a d a c r o o k e d b a c k a n d worked at the p o s t office at night, a n d k n e w everything a b o u t everything, read all the t i m e . " W h a t c h a w a n t to know a b o u t M a r c u s G a r v e y , 6 S w e e t P e a ? " If it wasn't Garvey, it w a s the rackets or the trucking i n d u s t r y or the flora a n d f a u n a of G r e e n l a n d or the p l a n e t s or how the s p e c i a l effects in the d i s a s t e r movies were d o n e . O n e S a t u r d a y I a s k e d h i m to tell m e a b o u t the 2. S o n g m a d e into a modern jazz classic by the Miles Davis Quintet and other groups. 3. Modern jazz classic, popular among trumpet players.

4. Contemporary jazz bassist (b. 1937). 5. Contemporary jazz singer (b. 1930). 6. American black nationalist leader 1940).

(1887—

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war, c a u s e my nephew'd b e e n drafted a n d it all s e e m e d s o w r o n g to m e , our m e n over there in N a m fighting folks w h o fighting for the s a m e things we are, to get that b l o o d - s u c k e r off our b a c k s . Well, what I say that for. O l d d u d e gave u s a d e e p knee b e n d , straight u p eight-credit dissertation on W o r l d W a r s I a n d I I — t h e a r c h d u k e getting offed, Africa c u t up like so m u c h c a k e , C h u r c h i l l a n d his c i g a r s , G a b r i e l H e a t t e r on the radio, Hitler at the O l y m p i c s igging O w e n s , R e d C r o s s d o i n g B l o o d s dirty refusing d o n u t s a n d b a n d a g e s , A. Philip R a n d o l p h s c a r i n g the white folks to d e a t h , M a r y M c L e o d B e t h u n e 7 at the W h i t e H o u s e , Liberty B o n d drives, the R u s s i a n front, frostbite of the feet, the J e w stiffs, the gypsies n o o n e m o u r n e d . . . the whole J o h n s o n . T a l k e d straight t h r o u g h the day, M i z Mary's fish dinner growing cold o n the radiator, his o n e a n d only c u s t o m e r walking off with o n e dull s h o e . Fell out e x h a u s t e d , his s h o e rag limp in his lap, o n e a r m d r a p e d over the left foot platform, the other c l u t c h i n g his heart. T o o k S i n b a d a n d our c o u s i n P e p p e r to get the old m a n h o m e . I stayed with him all night with the ice p a c k a n d a fifth of O l d C r o w . 8 H e liked to die. After while trade p i c k e d up a n d with a better c l a s s of folk t o o . T h e n m e a n d S i n b a d moved to N o r t h a n d Gaylord a n d called the s h o p C h e z S i n b a d . N o m o r e winos s t u m b l i n g in or d e a d b e a t s w a s t i n g my time talking r a u n c h y shit. T h e p a p e r b o y , the n u m b e r s m a n , the d u d e s with c l a s s i e r hot stuff c o m ing in on T u e s d a y m o r n i n g s only. W e did up the p l a c e n i c e . Light g l o b e s from a N e w O r l e a n s w h o r e h o u s e , S i n b a d likes to lie. B r o w n - a n d - b l a c k - a n d silver-striped wallpaper. L o t s of mirrors a n d h a n g i n g p l a n t s . T h e m old b a r b e r chairs s p r u c e d u p a n d called a n t i q u e s a n d d a m n if s o m e o n e didn't buy o n e off u s for eight h u n d r e d , c r a c k e d m e u p . I cut my s c h e d u l e d o w n to ten h o u r s in the s h o p so I c o u l d d o private s e s s i o n s with the g a m b l e r s a n d other b u s i n e s s m e n a n d w o m e n w h o don't like sitting a r o u n d the s h o p even t h o u g h it's comfy, specially my part. G o t m e a cigar s h o w c a s e with a m a r b l e top for serving coffee in clear glass m u g s with h e a t p r o o f h a n d l e s too. M y ten h o u r s in the s h o p are s p e n t leisurely. A n d my twenty h o u r s out are m a k i n g m e a mint. T a k e s d u s t to b e a m o t h e r , don't you know. It w a s a perfect s c h e d u l e o n c e Larry L a n d e r s c a m e into my life. H e parttimed at a r e c o r d s h o p a n d b a r t e n d e d at T o p p ' s on the days a n d nights I worked at the s h o p s . T h a t gave u s m o s t of M o n d a y a n d W e d n e s d a y s to listen to sides a n d hit the c l u b s . G a v e m e Fridays all to myself to study in the library a n d w a d e t h r o u g h t h e m college bulletins a n d get to the m u s e u m a n d generally chart o u t a routine for w h e n D e b b i e a n d m e are a t e a m . S u n d a y s I always drive to D e l a w a r e to s e e her, a n d Larry d e t o u r s to D . C . to s e e his s o n s . M y b a n k b o o k started telling m e I w a s s o o n g o i n g to be a full-time m a m a again a n d a college girl to boot, if I c a n ever talk myself into d o i n g a school thing a g a i n , old a s I a m . Life with Larry w a s cool. N o t j u s t c a u s e he wouldn't h e a r a b o u t m e g o i n g halves on the bills. B u t c a u s e he w a s an easy m a n to b e easy with. H e liked 7. American educator and founder of the National Council of Negro Women ( 1 8 7 5 - 1 9 5 5 ) . J e s s e Owens ( 1 9 1 3 - 1 9 8 0 ) , black track and field star. Chancellor Adolf Hitler ( 1 8 8 9 - 1 9 4 5 ) , representing Germany as host of the 1936 Olympic G a m e s ,

refused to honor Owens, who had won four gold medals. Randolph ( 1 8 8 9 - 1 9 7 9 ) , American labor leader and organizer of the Brotherhood of Sleeping C a r Porters. 8. A c o m m o n brand of whisky.

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talking softly a n d listening to m u s i c . A n d he liked having folks over for d i n n e r a n d c a r d s . Larry a real nice m a n a n d I liked him a lot. A n d I liked his friend H e c t o r , w h o lived in the b a c k of the a p a r t m e n t . O l e m o o n - f a c e H e c t o r went to s c h o o l with Larry years a g o a n d is s o m e kind of kin. A n d they o n c e failed in the funeral b u s i n e s s together a n d I g u e s s t h o s e stories of t h e m t i m e s kinda k e e p t h e m friends. T h e time they h a d to put Larry's brother away is their b e s t story, H e c t o r ' s story really, s i n c e Larry got to play a little grief m u s i c r o u n d the e d g e s . T h e y d e c i d e d to p a s s u p a c h u r c h service, s i n c e B a m w a s s u c h a t r e a c h e r o u s d e s p e r a d o wouldn't nobody want to p r e a c h over his body a n d wouldn't nobody want to c o m e to h e a r no lies a b o u t the dearly d e p a r t e d untimely ripped or c u t d o w n or whatever. S o H e c t o r a n d Larry set u p s o m e kind of p o p s t a n d a w n i n g right at the gravesite, expecting c l o s e blood only. B u t s e e m s the whole town t u r n e d out to m a k e s u r e ole evil, hell-raising B a m w a s truly d e a d . D u d e s straight from the b a r b e r chair, the striped p o n c h o s blowing like wings, fuzz a n d f o a m on they f a c e a n d all, l u m b e r i n g u p the hill to the hole taking b e t s a n d talking shit, relating how O l e C r a z y B a m h a d shot u p the town, shot up the jail, shot u p the hospital p u r s u i n g s o m e b o o t l e g g e r who'd c o m e up o n e keg short of the order. W o m e n from all a r o u n d c o m e to d e m a n d the lid b e lifted so they c o u l d c h e c k for t h e m s e l v e s a n d b e s u r e that B a m was s t o n e cold. N o m a t t e r how I tried I couldn't think of n o b o d y b a d e n o u g h to think on w h e n they told the story of the m a n I'd never m e t . Larry a n d H e c t o r s o bent over l a u g h i n g b o u t the funeral, I c o u l d n ' t hardly p u t the events in p r o p e r s e q u e n c e . B u t I c o u l d surely picture s o m e n e i g h b o r lady calling on Larry a n d Barn's m a m a reporting how the w h o l e town h a d turned out for the burying. A n d the m a m a s n a t c h i n g up the first b l a c k thing she c o u l d find to wrap a r o u n d herself a n d m a k e a n a p p e a r a n c e . N o u s e p a s s i n g u p a s c e n e like that. A n d Larry p r a n c i n g r o u n d the kitchen b e i n g his m a m a . A n d I'm too s t u n n e d to l a u g h , not at s o m e b o d y ' s m a m a , a n d s o m e body's brother d e a d . B u t him a n d H e c t o r l a u g h i n g to b e a t the b a n d a n d I can't help myself. T h i n g a b o u t it, t h o u g h , the funeral b u s i n e s s stories a r e H e c t o r ' s stories a n d he's not what you'd call a g o o d storyteller. H e never gives you the n a m e s , so you got all t h e s e he's a n d she's floating a r o u n d . A n d h e don't believe in giving details, so you got to s c r a m b l e to paint your own p i c t u r e s . T o w a r d the end of that particular tale of B a m , all I c o u l d picture w a s the t o w n s p e o p l e driving a stake through the d e a d m a n ' s heart, then hurling that coffin into the hole right quick. T h e r e w a s a l s o s o m e t h i n g in that story a b o u t the civil rights workers w a n t i n g to m a k e a c a s e c a u s e a white c o p h a d c u t B a m d o w n . B u t looked like H e c t o r didn't have a hold to that part of the story, s o I j u s t don't know. S t o r i e s are not H e c t o r ' s long suit. B u t h e is an a b s o l u t e artist on w i n d o w s . O l e M o o n - F a c e c a n w a s h s o m e windows a n d m a k e you cry a b o u t it too. M a k e s t h e s e s m o o t h little turns out there on that little bitty sill j u s t like he wasn't four stories u p without a belt. I'd park myself at the breakfast c o u n t e r a n d thread the new c u r t a i n s on the rods while H e c t o r mixed u p the v i n e g a r solution real chef-like. W r i n g out the rags j u s t s o , s c r u n c h u p the n e w s p a p e r s into soft w a d s that m a k e you think of cat's p a w s . H e c t o r w a s a cat h i m s e l f out there on the sill, m a k i n g t h e s e m a r v e l o u s circles in the g l a s s , r u b b i n g the h a r d h e a d s p o t s with a strip of steel wool h e h a d p i n n e d to his overalls.

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H e c t o r offered to d o my c a r o n c e . B u t I put a s t o p to that after that first time. M y windshield s o clear a n d sparkling felt like I w a s in a n a c c i d e n t a n d h e a d i n g over the h o o d , no g l a s s there. B u t it w a s a p l e a s u r e to have coffee and watch Hector. After while, t h o u g h , Larry started hinting that the apartm e n t wasn't big e n o u g h for four. I a g r e e d , thinking h e m e a n t Earl h a d to g o . C o m e to find Larry m e a n t H e c t o r , which w a s a real drag. I love to b e a r o u n d p e o p l e w h o do whatever it is they d o with style a n d c a r e . Larry's dog's n a m e d Earl P. J e s s u p B o w e r s , if you c a n get ready for that. And I s h o u l d m e n t i o n straightaway that I do not like d o g s o n e bit, which is why I w a s glad w h e n Larry said s o m e b o d y h a d to g o . C a t s are b a d e n o u g h . H o r s e s a r e a total drag. B y the a g e of nine I w a s fed u p with all that n o b l e horse this a n d n o b l e h o r s e that. T h e y got g o o d P R , 9 h o r s e s . B u t I really can't u s e e m . W a s a fire o n c e w h e n I w a s little a n d s o m e d u m b h o r s e a l m o s t b u r n t my daddy u p m e s s i n a r o u n d , twisting, snorting, b r o n c i n g , r e a r i n g u p , d o i n g everything but c o m i n on out the barn like even the c h i c k e n s h a d s e n s e e n o u g h to d o . I told my d a d d y to let that horse's a s s b u r n . H o r s e s b e a s d u m b a s c o w s . C o w s j u s t don't have g o o d p r e s s a g e n t s at all. I u s e d to like cows w h e n I w a s real little a n d n e e d e d to h u g m e s o m e t h i n g bigger t h a n a goldfish. B u t don't let it rain, the dumbbells'll fall right in a ditch a n d you b r e a k a plow a n d s h o u t yourself h o a r s e trying to get t h e m fools to c o m e u p o u t the ditch. C h i p m u n k s I don't m i n d w h e n I'm at the b r e a k f a s t c o u n t e r with my tea a n d they're o n their side of the g l a s s d o i n g D i s n e y things in the yard. B l u e jays a r e law-and-order birds, thoroughly d e s p i c a b l e . A n d there's o n e prize fool in my A u n t M e r r i a m ' s yard I will o n e day surely kill. H e tries to "whip whip whippoorwill" like the Indians do in the Fort T h i s or T h a t movies when they're signaling to e a c h other c l o s i n g in o n G e o r g e M o n t g o m e r y but don't never get a r o u n d to wiping that s u c k e r out. B u t d o g s are o n e of my favorite h a t r e d s . All the time woofing, bolting d o w n their food, s l o p p i n g water o n the newly waxed l i n o l e u m , m e s s i n with you w h e n you trying to r e a d , chewin on the slippers. Earl P. J e s s u p B o w e r s w a s a n e s p e c i a l drag. B u t I c o u l d p u t u p with Earl when H e c t o r w a s a r o u n d . O n c e H e c t o r w a s g o n e a n d t h e m windows got cloudy a n d gritty, I w a s t h r o u g h . Kicked that d o g every c h a n c e I got. A n d after thinking what it m e a n t , how the deal went d o w n , p l a c e too small for four and it w a s H e c t o r not E a r l — I started moving u p my c a l e n d a r so I c o u l d get out of there. I ain't the kind of lady to p r e s s no u l t i m a t u m on no m a n . Like " C h o s e , m e or the d o g . " T h a t ' s unattractive. Kicking H e c t o r o u t w a s too. An insult to m e , o n c e I got to thinking o n it. E s p e c i a l l y s i n c e I h a d carefully explained from j u m p street to Larry that I got o n e item o n my a g e n d a , m a k i n g a h o m e for m e a n d my kid. S o if anybody should've b e e n given walking p a p e r s , should've b e e n m e . Anyway. O n e day M o o d y c o m e s waltzing into C h e z S i n b a d ' s a n d tips his hat. H e g l a n c e s at his nails a n d g l a n c e s at m e . A n d I figure here is my h o u s e in a green c o r d u r o y suit. Pot Limit h a d j u s t read my c a r d s a n d the j a c k of d i a m o n d s kept c o m i n g u p on my r e s o u r c e s i d e . Sylvia a n d m e put our h e a d s together a n d figure it got to be s o m e g a m b l e r or hustler w h o w a n t s his nails d o n e . W h a t other j a c k s d o I know to m a k e my f o r t u n e ? I'm so positive a b o u t 9. Public relations; here suggesting a good image, good reputation.

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M o o d y , I whip o u t a p o s t c a r d from the drawer where I keep the e m e r i e s a n d write my d a u g h t e r to start p a c k i n g . " H o w m u c h you m a k e a day, M i s s L a d y ? " " T h u r s d a y s are always good for fifty," I lie. H e h a n d s m e fifty a n d g l a n c e s over at S i n b a d , who n o d s that it's c o o l . "I'd like my nails d o n e at four-thirty. M y p l a c e . " " G o t a c u s t o m e r at that t i m e , M r . M o o d y , a n d I like to stay reliable. H o w bout five-twenty?" H e s m i l e s a slow smile a n d g l a n c e s at S i n b a d , w h o n o d s a g a i n , everything's cool. " F i n e , " h e says. "And do you think you c a n m a n a g e a shave without cutting a person's throat?" " M r . M o o d y , I don't know you well e n o u g h to have j u s t c a u s e . A n d n o n e of your friends have gotten to m e yet with that particular p r o p o s i t i o n . C a n ' t say what I'm p r e p a r e d to do in the future, but for now I c a n surely shave you real careful-like." M o o d y s m i l e s a g a i n , then turns to S i n b a d , w h o says it's cool a n d he'll give m e the a d d r e s s . T h i s look-nod d i a l o g u e b u r n s my a s s . T h a t ' s like w h e n you take a d u d e to l u n c h a n d pay the c h e c k a n d the waiter's s t a n d i n g there with your m o n e y in his p a w s a s k i n g the dude w a s everything all right a n d later for yow. Shit. B u t I take d o w n M o o d y ' s a d d r e s s a n d let the rest roll off m e like so m u c h s t e a m i n g lava. I start p a c k i n g up my little alligator c a s e — b u f f e r , batteries, c l i p p e r s , e m e r i e s , m a s s a g e r , sifter, arrowroot a n d c o r n s t a r c h , clear sealer, magnifying g l a s s , a n d my own mixture of green a n d p u r p l e p i g m e n t s . "Five-twenty ain't five-twenty-one, is it, M i s s L a d y ? " " N o t in my b o o k , " I say, swinging my a p p o i n t m e n t b o o k a r o u n d s o he c a n s e e how full it is a n d how neatly the times are printed in. C o u r s e I always fill in phony n a m e s c a s e s o m e c r e e p starts p r e s s i n g m e for a s e s s i o n . F o r six T h u r s d a y s r u n n i n g a n d two M o n d a y nights, I'm at M o o d y ' s b e n d i n g over t h e m nails with a miner's light s t r a p p e d to my f o r e h e a d , the magnifying glass in its s t a n d , nicking j u s t e n o u g h of the nails at the s i d e s , tinting j u s t e n o u g h with the color so h e can m a r k t h e m c a r d s a s h e shuffles. T a k e s a n h o u r to do it proper. T h e n I sift my talc c o n c o c t i o n a n d b r u s h his h a n d s till they're s m o o t h . T h e m c a r d s m o v e a r o u n d so fast in his h a n d s , he c a n actually tell m e he's a b o u t to deal from the b o t t o m in the next three m o v e s a n d I m i s s it a n d I'm not new to this. I b e e n a g a m b l e r ' s m a n i c u r i s t for m o r e years than I c a r e to m e n t i o n . T e n times he'll cut a n d e a c h time the s a m e fifteen c a r d s in the top c u t a n d e a c h time in exactly the s a m e order. I n c r e d i b l e . N o w , I've known h a n d s . M y first h u s b a n d , for i n s t a n c e . T o s e e t h e m h a n d s work their s h o w in the g r a n d s t a n d s , at a c i r c u s , in a p a r a d e , the parim u t u e l s — a r t i s t r y in a c t i o n . W e m e t on the train. As a m a t t e r of fact, he w a s trying to b u r g l e my bag. S o m e story to tell the g r a n d c h i l d r e n , h u n h ? I h a d to get him straight a b o u t robbing from folks. I don't play that. Ya g o n n a steal, hell, steal b a c k s o m e of t h e m millions we got in e s c r o w is my o p i n i o n . W e s p e n t three good years on the circuit. T h e n credit c a r d s m o v e d in. T h e n c h o k e - a n d - g r a b m u g g e r s killed the w h o l e tradition. H e w a s r e d u c e d to a m e r e shell of his former self, a s they say, a n d took to p u t t i n g t h e m h a n d s on m e . I try not to think on w h e n things went sour. Try not to think a b o u t t h e m big s l a p p i n g h a n d s , only of t h e m working h a n d s . M o o d y ' s working h a n d s were s o m e t h i n g like that, but even better. S o I'm i m p r e s s e d a n d he's

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i m p r e s s e d . A n d he pays m e fifty a n d tips m e fifty a n d s h u t s up when I s h a v e him a n d k e e p s his h a n d s off my lovely p e r s o n . I'm s o excited c o u n t i n g u p my b r e a d , moving u p the calendar, m a k i n g impulsive calls to D e l a w a r e a n d the two of u s s q u e a l i n g over the wire like a c o u p l a fools, that what Larry got to say a b o u t all t h e s e goings-on j u s t rolls off my b a c k like so m u c h molten lead. "Well, who be u p there while h e got his head in your lap a n d you squeezing his g o d d a m n b l a c k h e a d s ? " "I don't s q u e e z e his g o d d a m n b l a c k h e a d s , Larry, on a c c o u n t of he don't have no g o d d a m n b l a c k h e a d s . I give him a s h a v e , a s t e a m , a n d an egg-white f a c e m a s k . A n d when I'm t h r o u g h , his f a c e is a s s m o o t h as his h a n d s . " "I'll b e t , " Larry says. T h a t m a k e s m e m a d c a u s e I expect s o m e kind of r e s p e c t for my work, which is better than j u s t g o o d . "And he doesn't have his h e a d in my lap. He's got a whole barbershop set up o n his s o l a r i u m . " " H i s w h a t ? " Larry s q u i n t i n g at m e , raising the w o o d e n s p o o n he stirring the spaghetti with, a n d I raise the knife I'm c h o p p i n g the o n i o n s with. T h i n g a b o u t it, t h o u g h , he don't l a u g h . It's funny a s hell to m e , but Larry got no s e n s e of h u m o r s o m e t i m e s , which is too bad c a u s e he's a lotta fun when he's l a u g h i n g a n d joking. "It's not a b e d r o o m . He's got this screened-in s u n p o r c h where he raises African violets a n d — " " P l e a s e , Sweet P e a . W h y don't you quit? You think I'm d u m b ? " "I'm s e r i o u s . I'm s e r i o u s a n d I'm m a d c a u s e I ain't got no reason to lie to you whatever w a s g o i n g o n , L a r r y . " H e turns b a c k to the pot a n d I c o n t i n u e working on the s a u c e a n d I'm p i s s e d off c a u s e this is silly. " H e sits in the barber chair a n d I s h a v e him a n d give him a m a n i c u r e . " " W h a t else you b e giving him? A m a n don't be paying a good-looking w o m a n to c o m e to his h o u s e a n d all a n d d o n ' t — " "Larry, if you h a d the d o u g h a n d felt like it, wouldn't you pay Pot Limit to c o m e read your c a r d s ? A n d couldn't you keep your h a n d s to yourself a n d s h e a good-looking w o m a n ? And couldn't you s e e yourself paying Sylvia to c o m e a n d c o o k for you a n d no funny stuff, a n d she's o n e of the best-looking w o m e n in t o w n ? " Larry c o o l e d out fast. M y next shot w a s to bring u p the fact that he was insulting my work. D o I g o a r o u n d saying the w o m e n who p a s s up Bill the b a r t e n d e r a n d c o m e to him are after his j o i n t ? N o , c a u s e I r e s p e c t the fact that Larry L a n d e r s mixes the best pina c o l a d a s this side of B a r b a d o s . A n d he's flashy with the b l e n d e r a n d the g l a s s e s a n d the whole show. H e ' s g o o d a n d I r e s p e c t that. B u t he c o o l e d out s o fast I didn't have to bring it u p . I don't believe in overkill, b e s i d e s I like to keep s o m e things in reserve. H e c o o l e d out s o fast I realized he wasn't really j e a l o u s . H e was j u s t going t h r o u g h o n e of t h e m obligatory m a l e n u m b e r s , all symbolic, no d e p t h . Like the time this d u d e c a m e into the s h o p to talk s o m e trash a n d S i n b a d got his a s s on his s h o u l d e r s , talking a b o u t the d u d e s h o w e d no r e s p e c t for him c a u s e for all he knew I c o u l d b e S i n b a d ' s w o m a n . A n d m e a r g u i n g that s i n c e that ain't the c a s e , what's the d e a l ? I m e a n why get hot over what if if what if ain't. M e n a r e crazy. N o w there is S i n b a d , my blood c o u s i n w h o grew up right in the s a m e h o u s e like a brother d a m n near, p u t t i n g m e through simple-ass c h a n g e s like that. W h o ' s got time for grand o p e r a a n d c o m i c

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strips, I'm trying to m a k e a life for m e a n d my kid. B u t m e n a r e like that. Gorillas, if you k n o w what I m e a n . Like at T o p p ' s s o m e t i m e s . I'll d r o p in to have a drink with Larry w h e n he's on the b a r a n d then I leave. A n d m a y b e s o m e dude'll take it in his h e a d to walk m e to the car. T h a t ' s c o o l . I lay it out right q u i c k that m e a n d Larry a r e a we a n d then we take it from t h e r e , j u s t two p e o p l e g a s s i n g in the s u m m e r breeze a n d that's j u s t fine. B u t don't let s o m e other d u d e holler over s o m e thing like " H e y , m a n , c a n you h a n d l e all that? Why don't you step a s i d e , j u n i o r , a n d let a m a n . . ." a n d blah-de-da-de-dah. T h e y c a n b e the b e s t of friends or total s t r a n g e r s j u s t kidding a r o u n d , but right away they two gorillas p o u n d i n g on their c h e s t , p o u n d i n g on their c h e s t a n d talking over my h e a d , yelling over the t o p s of c a r s j u s t like I'm not a person with s o m e say-so in the matter. It's a m a n - t o - m a n ritual that ain't got nothing to d o with m e . S o I j u s t get in my c a r a n d take off a n d leave t h e m to get it on if they've a m i n d to. T h e y got it. B u t if o n e of the gorillas is a relative, or a friend of m i n e , or a nice kinda m a n I got in mind for o n e of my friends, I will stick a r o u n d long e n o u g h to s h o u t e m d o w n a n d point out that they a r e s o m e ugly gorillas a n d are s h o w i n g no r e s p e c t for m e a n d therefore owe m e a n apology. B u t if they don't fit into o n e of t h e m c a t e g o r i e s , I figure it ain't my p l a c e to try to d e v e l o p t h e m s o they c a n m a k e the leap from gorilla to h u m a n . If their own m a m a s a n d d a d d i e s didn't c a r e w h e t h e r they t u r n e d o u t to b e a m o e b a s or catfish or whatever, it ain't my weight. I got my own weight. I'm a m o t h e r . S o they got it. L i k e I u s e to tell my d a u g h t e r ' s daddy, the key to getting a l o n g a n d living with other folks is to keep clear w h o s e weight is w h o s e . H i s drinking, for i n s t a n c e , w a s not my weight. A n d him waking m e u p in the night for t h e m long, r a m b l i n g , ninety-proof m o n o l o g u e s b o u t how the w h o l e world's m a d e u p of victims, r e s c u e r s , a n d e x e c u t i o n e r s a n d I'm the dirty bitch c a u s e I ain't r e s c u i n g him fast e n o u g h to suit h i m . T h e n got so I w a s the executioner, to h e a r him tell it. I don't say n u t h i n c a u s e my p h i l o s o p h y of life a n d d e a t h is this—I'll go w h e n the w a g o n c o m e s , b u t I ain't g o i n g out b e h i n d s o m e b o d y else's shit. I a r r a n g e d my priorities l o n g a g o w h e n I j u m p e d into my w o m a n stride. S o m e things I'll g o off on. S o m e things I'll hold my s i l e n c e a n d wait it out. S o m e things I j u s t b u m p off, c a u s e the b e s t solution to s o m e p r o b l e m s is to j u s t a b a n d o n t h e m . B u t I struggled with M a c , D e b b i e ' s daddy. T a l k e d to his family, his c h u r c h , AA, hid the b o t t l e s , t h r e a t e n e d the liquor m a n , left a g o o d j o b to play n u r s e , m i s t r e s s , kitten, buddy. B u t then h e s t o p p e d calling m e D a h l i n a n d started calling m e M a m a . I don't play that. I'm my d a u g h t e r ' s m a m a . S o I split. D i d my b e s t to s w e e t e n t h e m last few m o n t h s , b u t I'd b e e n leaving for a l o n g time. T h e silliest thing a b o u t all of Larry's g r u m b l i n g s b a c k then w a s M o o d y h a d no eyes for m e a n d vice versa. I j u s t like the m o n e y . A n d I like w a t c h i n g h i m m e s s a r o u n d with the c a r d s . H e ' s exquisite, dazzling, s t u n n i n g shuffling, c u t t i n g , marking, d e a l i n g from the b o t t o m , the m i d d l e , the near top. I ain't never s e e n nothing like it, a n d I s e e n a whole lot. T h e thing that m a d e m e m a d , t h o u g h , a n d m a d e m e know Larry L a n d e r s wasn't ready to deal with n o w o m a n full grown w a s the way h e kept bringing it u p , always talking a b o u t w h a t he figured w a s o n M o o d y ' s m i n d , like what's o n my m i n d don't c o u n t . S o I finally did have to u s e u p my reserves a n d point out to Larry that h e w a s insulting my work a n d that I would never d r e a m of a c c u s i n g h i m of

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not being a g o o d bartender, of j u s t b e i n g a n o t h e r pretty f a c e , like they say. "You can't tell m e he don't have e y e s , " he kept saying. "What a b o u t my eyes? Don't my eyes c o u n t ? " I g a v e it u p after a c o u p l a tries. All I know is, M o o d y wasn't even thinking a b o u t m e . I w a s i m p r e s s e d with his work a n d n e e d e d the trade a n d vice versa. O n e time, for i n s t a n c e , I w a s d o i n g his h a n d s on the s o l a r i u m a n d thought I s a w a glint of metal up u n d e r his j a c k e t . I r e a r r a n g e d myself in the chair so I c o u l d work my elbow in there to s e e if he w a s carrying h e a t . I t h o u g h t I w a s b e i n g cool a b o u t it. " H o w b o u t k e e p i n g your tits on your side of the t a b l e , M i s s L a d y . " I would rather he think anything b u t that. I would rather he think I w a s clumsy in my work even. " W a s n ' t a b o u t tits, M o o d y . I w a s j u s t trying to s e e if you h a d a holster on a n d w a s too lazy to a s k . " " W o u l d have e x p e c t e d you too. You a straight-up, direct kind of p e r s o n . " H e o p e n e d his j a c k e t away with the heel of his h a n d , b e i n g careful with his nails. I liked that. "It's not a b o u t y o u , " h e said quietly, j e r k i n g his chin in the direction of the revolver. " H a d to transport s o m e m o n e y today a n d forgot to take it off. Sorry." I gave myself two d e m e r i t s . O n e for the tits, the other for setting u p a situation where h e w o u n d u p telling m e s o m e t h i n g a b o u t his c o m i n g s a n d goings. I'm too old to be m a k i n g m i s t a k e s like that. S o I apologized. T h e n gave myself two stars. H e h a d a good opinion of m e a n d my work. I did a n extra-fine j o b on his h a n d s that day. T h e n the h o u s e h a p p e n e d . I h a d b e e n r e a d i n g the rental a d s a n d F o r S a l e c o l u m n s for m o n t h s a n d looking at s o m e awful, tacky p l a c e s . T h e n o n e M o n day m e a n d Sylvia lucked u p on this c u t e little white-brick j o b u p o n a hill away from the street. L o t s of light a n d e n o u g h r o o m a n d not too m u c h yard to kill m e off. I paid my m o n e y d o w n a n d r u s h e d t h e m p a p e r s t h r o u g h . G o t b a c k to Larry's p l a c e all excited a n d f o u n d him with his m o u t h all p o k e d out. H a l f grumbling, half p r o p o s i n g , he hinted a r o u n d that w e all s h o u l d live at his p l a c e like a family. Only he didn't q u i t e lay it o u t plain in c a s e of rejection. And I'll tell you s o m e t h i n g , I wouldn't want to b e no m a n . M u s t be hard on the heart always having to get o u t there, setting yourself u p to be possibly shot down, a p p r o a c h i n g the lady, calling, the invitation, the r a p . I don't think I c o u l d h a n d l e it myself u n l e s s everybody w a s j u s t straight up at all times from day o n e till the e n d . I didn't a n s w e r Larry's n o n p r o p o s e d proposal c a u s e it didn't c o m e clear to m e till after dinner. S o I j u s t let my silence carry whatever m e a n i n g it will. Ain't n u t h i n too m u c h c h a n g e d from the first day h e c a m e to get m e from my A u n t M e r r i a m ' s p l a c e . M y a g e n d a is still to m a k e a h o m e for my girl. M a r r i a g e j u s t ain't o n e of the things on my m i n d no m o r e , not after two. G o t no regrets or b a d feelings a b o u t t h e m h u s b a n d s neither. L i k e the p o e m says, w h e n you're h a n d e d a l e m o n , m a k e l e m o n a d e , honey, m a k e l e m o n a d e . T h a t ' s G w e n B r o o k s ' ' m o t t o , that's m i n e too. You get a l e m o n , well, j u s t m a k e l e m o n a d e . " G o i n g on the road next w e e k , " M o o d y a n n o u n c e s o n e day t h r o u g h the s t e a m towel. " L i k e you to travel with m e , keep my h a n d s in s h a p e . K e e p the w o m e n off my neck. C h e c k the d u d e s at my b a c k . Ain't a s k i n g you to carry 1. Gwendolyn Brooks ( 1 9 1 7 - 2 0 0 0 ) . American poet, novelist, and autobiographer.

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heat or m o n e y or put yourself in no danger. B u t I c o u l d u s e your h e l p . " H e p a u s e s a n d I e a s e my b u n s into the chair, staring at the s t e a m c u r l i n g from the towel. "Wicked schedule though—Mobile, Birmingham, Sarasota Springs, Jacksonville, then P u e r t o R i c o a n d b a c k . C a n pay you two t h o u s a n d a n d e x p e n s e s . You're g o o d , M i s s Lady. You're g o o d a n d you got good s e n s e . A n d while I don't believe in nothing but my skill and c h a n c e , I gotta say you've brought m e luck. You a lucky lady, M i s s L a d y . " H e raises his h a n d s a n d c r a c k s his k n u c k l e s a n d it's like the talking towel has eyes as well c a u s e d a m n if he ain't c h e c k i n g his c u t i c l e s . "I'll call you later, M o o d y , " I m a n a g e to say, mind reeling. W i t h two thous a n d I c a n get my stuff o u t of s t o r a g e , a n d buy D e b b i e a real nice b e d r o o m set, pay tuition at the college too a n d start my three-credit-at-a-time grind. C o u r s e I never d r e a m e d the week would be s o unnerving, e x h a u s t i n g , c o n stantly on my feet, serving drinks, woofing sisters, trying to distract d u d e s , k e e p i n g track of fifty-leven u m p t e e n goings on. Did have to carry the heat on three o c c a s i o n s a n d h a d to do a helluva lotta driving. P l u s w a s m o s t of the time holed u p in the hotel r o o m close to the p h o n e . I h a d p i c t u r e d myself lazying on the b e a c h in Florida d r e a m i n g up c r u i s e s a r o u n d the world with two m a t c h i n g s t e a m e r trunks with the drawers a n d h a n g e r s a n d stuff. I'd pictured traipsing through the c a s i n o s in P u e r t o R i c o ordering c h i c k e n s a l a d a n d coffee liqueur a n d tipping the c r o u p i e r s with b l u e c h i p s . Shit n o . W a s work. A n d I s u r e a s hell learned how M o o d y got his n a m e . G o t s o we didn't even s p e a k , but I kept t h o s e h a n d s in s h a p e a n d his f a c e s m o o t h a n d p l a c i d . A n d w h e t h e r he w o n , lost, broke even, or got wiped o u t , I don't even know. H e gave m e my m o n e y a n d took off for New O r l e a n s . T h a t trip liked to kill m e . "You never did say n o t h i n g interesting a b o u t M o o d y , " Pot L i m i t says insinuatingly, swinging her legs in from the aisle c a u s e ain't n o b o d y there to s n a t c h so s h e might a s well sit c o m f o r t a b l e . "Yeah, s h e thought she'd put u s off the trail with a rip-roaring tale a b o u t Larry's h o u s e k e e p i n g . " T h e y s l a p p i n g five a n d h u n c h i n g e a c h other a n d m a k i n g a w h o l e lotta n o i s e , spilling J a c k D a n i e l s on my t u r q u o i s e T - s t r a p s from P u e r t o R i c o . " C o m e o n , fess u p , S w e e t P e a , " they crooning. " D i d you give him s o m e ? " " A h h h , yawl bitches are t i r e s o m e , you know t h a t ? " " N a a w , n a a w , " say Sylvia, g r a b b i n g my a r m . "You c a n tell u s . W e w a n t t a know all a b o u t the trip, specially the n i g h t s . " S h e winks at Pot L i m i t . "Tell u s a b o u t this M o o d y m a n a n d his wonderful h a n d s o n e m o r e t i m e , c e p t we want to hear how the h a n d s feel on the flesh, h o n e y . " Pot Limit d o i n g a b u m p a n d grind in the chair that a l m o s t m a k e s m e j o i n in the fun, except I'm worried in my mind a b o u t Larry L a n d e r s . J u s t then the p i a n o player c o m e s by a n d leans over Sylvia, blowing in her ear. A n d m e a n d Pot Limit m i m i c the confectionary g o i n g s - o n . A n d j u s t a s well, c a u s e there's nothin to tell a b o u t M o o d y . It wasn't a movie after all. And in real life the good-looking g a m b l e r ' s got c a r d s on his m i n d . J u s t like 1 got my child on my m i n d . Onliest thing to say a b o u t the trip is I'm five p o u n d s lighter, not a s h a d e darker, but two t h o u s a n d c l o s e r toward my goal. " E a s e u p , " Sylvia says, interrupting the p i a n o player to fuss over m e . T h e n the d r u m m e r c o m e s by a n d e a s e s in on Pot Limit. A n d I e a s e b a c k into the s h a d o w s of the booth to think Larry over. I'm staring at the e n t r a n c e half expecting Larry to c o m e into T o p p s , but

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it's not his night. T h e n too, the thing is e n d e d if I'd only know it. Larry the kind of m a n you're either living with him or you're out. I for o n e would've liked u s to c o n t i n u e , m e a n d D e b b i e in our p l a c e , him a n d E a r l at his. B u t he got so g r u m p y the time I said that, I s u r e wasn't g o n n a bring it u p a g a i n . G o t g r u m p y in the s h o w e r too, got so he didn't want to w a s h my b a c k . B u t that last night fore I left for B i r m i n g h a m , we h a d u s o n e crazy m u s i c a l time in the shower. I kept trying to lure him into " M a i d e n V o y a g e , " which I really can't do without b a c k - u p , c a u s e I can't sing all t h e m c h a n g e s . After while he c o m e out from b e h i n d his sulk a n d did a J o n L u c i e n c o m b i n a t i o n on vocal a n d b a s s , alternating the s e c t i o n s , eight b a r s of s i n g i n g w o r d s , eight b a r s of singing b a s s . It w a s b a a d . T h e n he insisted on d o i n g "I L o v e You M o r e T o d a y T h a n Y e s t e r d a y . " A n d we like to b r e a k our a r c h e s , s t o m p i n g out the beat a g a i n s t the shower m a t . T h e b a t h r o o m w a s all s t e a m y a n d we h a d the c u r t a i n s o p e n so we c o u l d see the p l a n t s a n d w a t c h the c a n d l e s b u r n i n g . I h a d b o u g h t u s a big fat c a k e of s a n d a l w o o d s o a p a n d it w a s m a t c h i n g t h e m c a n d l e s s c e n t for s c e n t . M u s t ' v e b e e n two o'clock in the m o r n i n g a n d looked like the hot water would last forever a n d ever a n d ever. Larry finally let g o of the love s o n g s , which were m a k i n g m e feel kinda funny c a u s e I t h o u g h t it w a s u n d e r s t o o d that I w a s splitting, j u s t like he'd always m a d e it clear either I w a s there or n o w h e r e . T h e n we hit on a tune I don't even know the n a m e of c e p t I like to s c a t a n d do my thing Larry calls Swahili wailing. H e laid d o w n the m o s t intricate weaving, walking, b o p p i n g , strutting b o t t o m to my singing I ever h e a r d . It inspired m e . T o o k that melody a n d went right on o u t that s h o w e r , t h e m c a n d l e s bout u s e d u p , the fatty s o a p long s i n c e a b a n d o n e d in the d i s h , our bodies barely visible in the s t e a m e d - u p mirrors walling his b a t h r o o m . T o o k that melody right on out the r o o m a n d out of d o o r s a n d s o m e w h e r e o u t this world. Larry c h a n g i n g i n s t r u m e n t s fast a s I'm c h a n g i n g m o o d s , colors. T o o k an alto solo a n d gave m e a rest, worked a n intro up on the p i a n o playing the c h o r d s a c r o s s my back, drove m e all u p into the high register while he w e a v e d in a n d out a r o u n d my h e a d on a flute s o u n d i n g like t h e m chilly p i p e s of the A n d e s . 2 A n d I w a s Y m a S u m a c 3 for o n e m i n u t e t h e r e , u p there b r e a t h i n g s o m e rare air a n d losing my m i n d , I was so high on j u s t s h e e r m u s i c . M u s i c a n d water, the healthiest things in the world. A n d that hot water p o u n d i n g like it w a s part of the g r o u p with a union c a r d a n d all. A n d I c o u l d tell that if that b a s s could've fit in the t u b , Larry would've d r a g g e d that b a d boy in there a n d played the hell out of t h e m soggy strings o n c e a n d for all. I dipped way down a n d r e a c h e d way b a c k for s n a t c h e s of Jelly Roll M o r ton's " D e e p C r e e k R l u e s " 4 a n d Larry s o painful, so stinging on the b a s s , c o u l d m a k e you cry. T h e n I'm r a c i n g fast through B e s s i e a n d all the other S m i t h singers, Mildred Bailey, Billie a n d imitators, Betty R o c h e , N a t K i n g C o l e vintage 4 6 , a little J o e Carroll, King P l e a s u r e , s o m e B a b s . ' F o u n d myself pulling lines out of s o n g s I don't even like, but r a n s a c k e d s o n g s j u s t for the meaningful lines or two c a u s e I realized we were d o i n g m o r e than j u s t m a k i n g m u s i c together, a n d it h a d to b e said j u s t how things s t o o d . T h e n I w a s off again a n d lost Larry s o m e w h e r e d o w n there d o i n g s c a l e s , s o u n d like. And he went b a c k to that first s u p p o r t i n g line that h a d drove m e 2. Mountain range in South America. "Chilly pipes": i.e., Chilean folk music. 3. Peruvian singer popular with American audiences in the 1950s.

4. Dixieland jazz classic of the 1920s. 5. Blues and jazz musicians of the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s.

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up into the A n d e s . A n d h e stayed there waiting for m e to return a n d do s o m e m o r e Swahili wailing. B u t I w a s e l s e w h e r e a n d liked it o u t there a n d i g n o r e d the fact that he w a s a i m i n g for a wind-up of "I L o v e You M o r e T o d a y T h a n Y e s t e r d a y . " I s a n g myself out till all I c o u l d ever have left in life w a s " B r o w n B a b y " to sing to my little girl. Larry stayed on the g r o u n d with the s a m e s u p p o r t i n g line, a n d the hot water started getting funny a n d I k n e w my t i m e w a s u p . S o I c a m e c r a s h i n g d o w n , j a r r i n g the s o n g out of s h a p e , diving b a c k into the melody line a n d s o m e h o w , not even knowing what s o n g e a c h other w a s d o i n g , we finished u p together j u s t a s the water t u r n e d c o l d . 1977

MAXINE

HONG b.

KINGSTON

1940

Maxine Hong Kingston was born in Stockton, California, to parents who had emigrated from China. Before they emigrated, Kingston's father was a schoolteacher and a poet; her mother was a rural doctor in a profession consisting almost entirely of men. In America they took on quite different identities: her father, at times unemployed, worked in a gambling house and a laundry; her mother raised six children, of whom Kingston was the eldest. Kingston graduated from the University of California at Berkeley, studying there in the turbulent middle sixties. Her debut as a writer was auspicious: in 1976, an Warrior, unknown, she published her first and most widely read book, The Woman and was catapulted to literary fame. Subtitled "Memoirs of a Girlhood among Ghosts," it draws on autobiographical fact and combines it with legends, especially Asian ones, to make a distinct imaginative creation. Reviews of the book, almost universally laudatory, emphasized its poetic and lyric beauty. The Woman Warrior is about the cultural conflicts Americans of Chinese descent must confront. Still, what remains in the mind is its quality of vivid particularity, as for example at the beginning of "Shaman," the book's third section: Once in a long while, four times so far for me, my mother brings out the metal tube that holds her medical diploma. On the tube are gold circles crossed with seven red lines each—"joy" ideographs in abstract. There are also little flowers that look like gears for a gold machine. . . . When I open it the smell of China flies out, a thousand-year-old bat flying heavy-handed out of the Chinese caverns where bats are as white as dust, a smell that comes from long ago, far back in my brain. Although The Woman Warrior received the National Book Critics' Circle award for general nonfiction, there is nothing "general" in the sensuous density of its reference. The importance of storytelling to Kingston's enterprise in The Woman Warrior and its successor, China Men (1980), cannot be overemphasized. The Chinese phrase for storytelling is "talking story," and in No Name Woman (anthologized here), the first section from Warrior, the narrator's mother "talks" her a story—which she is instructed to keep silent about—of the suicide in China of her father's sister. This woman, the narrator's aunt, became pregnant out of wedlock (she may have been raped); and in response to this violation of a taboo, the village treats her with a vengeful hostility that leads to her own and her infant's death. The narrator (Kingston in no

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disguise) is fascinated and appalled by his family secret; how can she, as a writer, presume to publish it to the world? In an interview with Bill Moyers on public television, Kingston said that her attempt was to push the account toward "form" by giving it a "redemptive" meaning, making it a "beautiful" story rather than a sordid one. As is the case typically with her practice as a writer, her effort is to mediate between present and past: "I think that my stories have a constant breaking in and out of the present and past. So the reader might be walking along very well in the present, but the past breaks through and changes and enlightens the present and vice versa." Kingston had originally conceived of The Woman Warrior and China Men as one long book, but decided to preserve an overall division by gender: Warrior is about her female antecedents; while China Men, which won the 1980 National Book Award for nonfiction, deals with her relation to her father and complements that relation by providing epiclike biographies of earlier male forebears, especially those Chinese who came to America and worked on building the railroads. In a final section, she writes about her brother who served in the U.S. Navy during the Vietnam War. Interestingly enough, as she said in the interview with Moyers, her father annotated both of these memoir-meditations, thus carrying further the conversation between the generations. Tripmaster Monkey (1989), presented more deliberately as a novel, is an exercise as excessive as the young fifth-generation American hero, Wittman Ah Sing, who is portrayed there. Subtitled "His Fake Book," the novel is an extended, picaresque account of Wittman's adventures as an aspiring playwright who imagines himself to be an incarnation of the legendary Monkey King—a trickster hero said to have brought the Buddha's teaching to China. Combining magic, realism, and black humor, Tripmaster Monkey is about a young male's search for a community in America. Although Kingston's myth-laden narratives have been called "exotic," she dislikes the word, since she has dedicated her art to exploring what it means to be a human being in American society. In fact, she thinks of her books as more American than Chinese, sees William Carlos Williams's In the American Grain as a true prose predecessor, and probably would not be unhappy to think of the hero of Tripmaster Monkey as a later, different version of Huck Finn or Augie March. As critic Jennie Wang explains in even larger dimensions, Kingston's Wittman Ah Sing is "the maker/magician created in the wake of James Joyce's 'bygmester,' conceived in the mind's fancy of a metafictionist," who joins in his multiculturalism both American and postmodern ambitions. The text is that of The Woman Warrior (1976).

No N a m e Woman "You m u s t not tell a n y o n e , " my m o t h e r said, "what I a m a b o u t to tell y o u . In C h i n a your father h a d a sister w h o killed herself. S h e j u m p e d into the family well. W e say that your father has all brothers b e c a u s e it is a s if s h e h a d never b e e n born. "In 1 9 2 4 j u s t a few days after our village c e l e b r a t e d s e v e n t e e n hurry-up w e d d i n g s — t o m a k e s u r e that every y o u n g m a n w h o went 'out on the r o a d ' would responsibly c o m e h o m e — y o u r father a n d his b r o t h e r s a n d your grandfather a n d his brothers a n d your aunt's n e w h u s b a n d sailed for A m e r i c a , the G o l d M o u n t a i n . It w a s your grandfather's last trip. T h o s e lucky e n o u g h to get c o n t r a c t s waved good-bye from the d e c k s . T h e y fed a n d g u a r d e d the stowaways a n d h e l p e d t h e m off in C u b a , N e w York, Bali, H a w a i i . 'We'll m e e t in California next year,' they s a i d . All of t h e m s e n t m o n e y h o m e . "I r e m e m b e r looking at your a u n t o n e day w h e n s h e a n d I were d r e s s i n g ;

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I h a d not noticed before that s h e h a d s u c h a protruding melon of a s t o m a c h . B u t I did not think, ' S h e ' s p r e g n a n t , ' until s h e b e g a n to look like other pregnant w o m e n , her shirt p u l l i n g a n d the white t o p s of her b l a c k p a n t s s h o w i n g . S h e c o u l d not have b e e n p r e g n a n t , you s e e , b e c a u s e her h u s b a n d h a d b e e n g o n e for years. N o o n e said anything. W e did not d i s c u s s it. In early s u m m e r s h e w a s ready to have the child, long after the time w h e n it c o u l d have b e e n possible. " T h e village h a d a l s o b e e n c o u n t i n g . O n the night the baby w a s to be born the villagers raided our h o u s e . S o m e were crying. Like a great saw, teeth s t r u n g with lights, files of p e o p l e walked zigzag a c r o s s our land, tearing the rice. T h e i r l a n t e r n s d o u b l e d in the d i s t u r b e d black water, which d r a i n e d away through the broken b u n d s . 1 As the villagers c l o s e d in, we c o u l d s e e that s o m e of t h e m , probably m e n a n d w o m e n we knew well, wore white m a s k s . T h e p e o p l e with long hair h u n g it over their f a c e s . W o m e n with short hair m a d e it s t a n d up on e n d . S o m e h a d tied white b a n d s a r o u n d their f o r e h e a d s , a r m s , a n d legs. "At first they threw m u d a n d rocks at the h o u s e . T h e n they threw e g g s a n d b e g a n s l a u g h t e r i n g o u r stock. W e c o u l d hear the a n i m a l s s c r e a m their d e a t h s — t h e r o o s t e r s , the p i g s , a last great roar from the ox. F a m i l i a r wild h e a d s flared in our night w i n d o w s ; the villagers encircled u s . S o m e of the f a c e s s t o p p e d to p e e r at u s , their eyes r u s h i n g like s e a r c h l i g h t s . T h e h a n d s flattened a g a i n s t the p a n e s , f r a m e d h e a d s , a n d left red prints. " T h e villagers broke in the front a n d the b a c k d o o r s at the s a m e t i m e , even t h o u g h we h a d not locked the doors a g a i n s t t h e m . T h e i r knives d r i p p e d with the blood of o u r a n i m a l s . T h e y s m e a r e d blood on the d o o r s a n d walls. O n e w o m a n s w u n g a c h i c k e n , w h o s e throat she h a d slit, splattering b l o o d in red arcs a b o u t her. W e stood together in the m i d d l e of our h o u s e , in the family hall with the p i c t u r e s a n d tables of the a n c e s t o r s a r o u n d u s , a n d looked straight a h e a d . "At that time the h o u s e h a d only two wings. W h e n the m e n c a m e b a c k , we would build two m o r e to e n c l o s e o u r courtyard a n d a third o n e to begin a s e c o n d courtyard. T h e villagers p u s h e d t h r o u g h both w i n g s , even your g r a n d p a r e n t s ' r o o m s , to find your a u n t ' s , which w a s a l s o m i n e until the m e n returned. F r o m this r o o m a new w i n g for o n e of the y o u n g e r families would grow. T h e y ripped u p her c l o t h e s a n d s h o e s a n d broke her c o m b s , grinding t h e m u n d e r f o o t . T h e y tore her work from the l o o m . T h e y s c a t t e r e d the cooking fire a n d rolled the new weaving in it. W e c o u l d h e a r t h e m in the kitchen b r e a k i n g our bowls a n d b a n g i n g the p o t s . T h e y overturned the great waisthigh e a r t h e n w a r e j u g s ; d u c k e g g s , pickled fruits, v e g e t a b l e s b u r s t out a n d mixed in acrid torrents. T h e old w o m a n from the next field swept a b r o o m through the air a n d l o o s e d the spirits-of-the-broom over our h e a d s . 'Pig,' ' G h o s t . ' 'Pig,' they s o b b e d a n d s c o l d e d while they r u i n e d o u r h o u s e . " W h e n they left, they took s u g a r a n d o r a n g e s to b l e s s t h e m s e l v e s . T h e y cut p i e c e s from the d e a d a n i m a l s . S o m e of t h e m took bowls that were not broken a n d c l o t h e s that were not torn. Afterward we s w e p t u p the rice a n d s e w e d it b a c k up into s a c k s . B u t the smells from the spilled p r e s e r v e s lasted. Your a u n t gave birth in the pigsty that night. T h e next m o r n i n g when I went for the water, I f o u n d her a n d the baby p l u g g i n g u p the family well. " D o n ' t let your father know that I told y o u . H e d e n i e s her. N o w that you 1. Embankments built to control the How of water, here probably irrigation water.

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have started to m e n s t r u a t e , what h a p p e n e d to her c o u l d h a p p e n to y o u . Don't h u m i l i a t e u s . You wouldn't like to b e forgotten a s if you h a d never b e e n born. T h e villagers are w a t c h f u l . " W h e n e v e r s h e h a d to warn u s a b o u t life, my m o t h e r told stories that ran like this o n e , a story to grow u p o n . S h e tested o u r strength to e s t a b l i s h realities. T h o s e in the e m i g r a n t g e n e r a t i o n s w h o c o u l d not r e a s s e r t b r u t e survival died y o u n g a n d far from h o m e . T h o s e of u s in the first A m e r i c a n g e n e r a t i o n s have h a d to figure out how the invisible world the e m i g r a n t s built a r o u n d o u r c h i l d h o o d s fits in solid A m e r i c a . T h e i m m i g r a n t s c o n f u s e d the g o d s by diverting their c u r s e s , m i s l e a d i n g t h e m with c r o o k e d streets a n d false n a m e s . T h e y m u s t try to c o n f u s e their offspring a s well, w h o , I s u p p o s e , t h r e a t e n t h e m in similar w a y s — a l w a y s trying to get things straight, always trying to n a m e the u n s p e a k a b l e . T h e C h i n e s e I know hide their n a m e s ; s o j o u r n e r s take n e w n a m e s w h e n their lives c h a n g e a n d g u a r d their real n a m e s with s i l e n c e . C h i n e s e - A m e r i c a n s , w h e n you try to u n d e r s t a n d what things in you are C h i n e s e , how d o you s e p a r a t e what is p e c u l i a r to c h i l d h o o d , to poverty, insanities, o n e family, your m o t h e r w h o m a r k e d your g r o w i n g with stories, from what is C h i n e s e ? W h a t is C h i n e s e tradition a n d what is the m o v i e s ? If I want to learn what c l o t h e s my a u n t w o r e , w h e t h e r flashy or ordinary, I would have to begin, " R e m e m b e r F a t h e r ' s drowned-in-the-well s i s t e r ? " I c a n n o t a s k that. M y m o t h e r h a s told m e o n c e a n d for all the useful p a r t s . S h e will a d d n o t h i n g u n l e s s p o w e r e d by N e c e s s i t y , a riverbank that g u i d e s her life. S h e p l a n t s v e g e t a b l e g a r d e n s rather than l a w n s ; s h e c a r r i e s the o d d s h a p e d t o m a t o e s h o m e from the fields a n d e a t s food left for the g o d s . W h e n e v e r we did frivolous t h i n g s , we u s e d u p energy; we flew high kites. W e children c a m e u p off the g r o u n d over the m e l t i n g c o n e s o u r p a r e n t s b r o u g h t h o m e from work a n d the A m e r i c a n movie on N e w Year's D a y — O h , You Beautiful Doll with Betty G r a b l e o n e year, a n d She Wore a Yellow Ribbon with J o h n W a y n e a n o t h e r year. After the o n e carnival ride e a c h , we p a i d in guilt; o u r tired father c o u n t e d his c h a n g e on the d a r k walk h o m e . Adultery is e x t r a v a g a n c e . C o u l d p e o p l e w h o h a t c h their own c h i c k s a n d eat the e m b r y o s a n d the h e a d s for d e l i c a c i e s a n d boil the feet in vinegar for party food, leaving only the gravel, e a t i n g even t h e gizzard l i n i n g — c o u l d s u c h p e o ple e n g e n d e r a prodigal a u n t ? T o b e a w o m a n , to have a d a u g h t e r in starvation time w a s a w a s t e e n o u g h . M y a u n t c o u l d not have b e e n t h e lone r o m a n t i c w h o gave u p everything for sex. W o m e n in the old C h i n a did not c h o o s e . S o m e m a n h a d c o m m a n d e d her to lie with him a n d b e his s e c r e t evil. I w o n d e r w h e t h e r he m a s k e d himself when h e j o i n e d the raid on her family. P e r h a p s s h e had e n c o u n t e r e d him in the fields or on the m o u n t a i n w h e r e the daughters-in-law c o l l e c t e d fuel. O r p e r h a p s he first n o t i c e d her in the m a r k e t p l a c e . H e w a s not a s t r a n g e r b e c a u s e the village h o u s e d n o s t r a n g e r s . S h e h a d to have d e a l i n g s with him other than sex. P e r h a p s he worked a n adjoining field, or he sold her the cloth for the d r e s s s h e s e w e d a n d w o r e . H i s d e m a n d m u s t have s u r p r i s e d , then terrified her. S h e o b e y e d h i m ; s h e always did a s s h e w a s told. W h e n the family f o u n d a y o u n g m a n in the next village to b e her h u s b a n d , she h a d s t o o d tractably b e s i d e the best rooster, his proxy, 2 a n d p r o m i s e d before they m e t that s h e would b e his forever. S h e w a s lucky that he was her 2. Someone or something that has the power to substitute or act for another.

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KINGSTON

a g e a n d s h e would be the first wife, a n a d v a n t a g e s e c u r e now. T h e night s h e first saw him, h e h a d sex with her. T h e n he left for A m e r i c a . S h e h a d a l m o s t forgotten w h a t he looked like. W h e n s h e tried to envision him, s h e only saw the black a n d white f a c e in the g r o u p p h o t o g r a p h the m e n h a d h a d taken before leaving. T h e other m a n w a s not, after all, m u c h different from her h u s b a n d . T h e y both gave o r d e r s : s h e followed. "If you tell your family, I'll b e a t y o u . I'll kill you. B e here again next w e e k . " N o o n e talked sex, ever. A n d s h e might have s e p a r a t e d the r a p e s from the rest of living if only s h e did not have to buy her oil from him or gather w o o d in the s a m e forest. I want her fear to have lasted j u s t a s long a s r a p e l a s t e d s o that the fear c o u l d have b e e n c o n t a i n e d . N o d r a w n o u t fear. B u t w o m e n at sex h a z a r d e d birth a n d h e n c e lifetimes. T h e fear did not s t o p but p e r m e a t e d everywhere. S h e told the m a n , "I think I'm p r e g n a n t . " H e organized the raid a g a i n s t her. O n nights w h e n my m o t h e r a n d father talked a b o u t their life b a c k h o m e , s o m e t i m e s they m e n t i o n e d a n " o u t c a s t t a b l e " w h o s e b u s i n e s s they still s e e m e d to be settling, their voices tight. In a c o m m e n s a l t r a d i t i o n , ' w h e r e food is p r e c i o u s , the powerful older p e o p l e m a d e w r o n g d o e r s eat a l o n e . I n s t e a d of letting t h e m start s e p a r a t e new lives like the J a p a n e s e , w h o c o u l d b e c o m e s a m u r a i s a n d g e i s h a s , 4 the C h i n e s e family, f a c e s averted b u t eyes glowering s i d e w a y s , h u n g on to the offenders a n d fed t h e m leftovers. M y a u n t m u s t have lived in the s a m e h o u s e a s my p a r e n t s a n d e a t e n at a n o u t c a s t table. M y m o t h e r s p o k e a b o u t the raid a s if s h e h a d s e e n it, w h e n s h e a n d my a u n t , a daughter-in-law to a different h o u s e h o l d , s h o u l d not have b e e n living together at all. D a u g h t e r s - i n - l a w lived with their h u s b a n d s ' p a r e n t s , not their o w n ; a synonym for m a r r i a g e in C h i n e s e is " t a k i n g a daughter-inl a w . " H e r h u s b a n d ' s p a r e n t s c o u l d have sold her, m o r t g a g e d her, s t o n e d her. B u t they h a d s e n t her b a c k to her own m o t h e r a n d father, a m y s t e r i o u s act hinting at d i s g r a c e s not told m e . P e r h a p s they h a d thrown her out to deflect the a v e n g e r s . S h e w a s the only d a u g h t e r ; her four b r o t h e r s went with her father, h u s b a n d , a n d u n c l e s " o u t o n the r o a d " a n d for s o m e years b e c a m e w e s t e r n m e n . W h e n the g o o d s were divided a m o n g the family, three of the brothers took land, a n d the y o u n g e s t , my father, c h o s e a n e d u c a t i o n . After my grandpare n t s gave their d a u g h t e r away to her h u s b a n d ' s family, they h a d d i s p e n s e d all the a d v e n t u r e a n d all the property. T h e y e x p e c t e d her a l o n e to k e e p the traditional ways, which her b r o t h e r s , now a m o n g the b a r b a r i a n s , c o u l d fumble without d e t e c t i o n . T h e heavy, d e e p - r o o t e d w o m e n were to m a i n t a i n the p a s t a g a i n s t the flood, s a f e for returning. B u t the rare u r g e w e s t h a d fixed u p o n our family, a n d so my a u n t c r o s s e d b o u n d a r i e s not d e l i n e a t e d in s p a c e . T h e work of preservation d e m a n d s that the feelings playing a b o u t in one's g u t s not b e turned into a c t i o n . J u s t w a t c h their p a s s i n g like cherry b l o s s o m s . B u t p e r h a p s my a u n t , my forerunner, c a u g h t in a slow life, let d r e a m s grow a n d fade a n d after s o m e m o n t h s or years went toward w h a t p e r s i s t e d . F e a r at the e n o r m i t i e s of the forbidden kept her d e s i r e s d e l i c a t e , wire a n d b o n e . S h e looked at a m a n b e c a u s e s h e liked the way the hair w a s t u c k e d b e h i n d his e a r s , or s h e liked the q u e s t i o n - m a r k line of a l o n g torso curving at the 3. A tradition in which people eat together at the same table.

4. In J a p a n e s e society women trained to entertain men. Samurai: the J a p a n e s e warrior elite.

No

NAME WOMAN

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2561

s h o u l d e r a n d straight at the hip. F o r w a r m eyes or a soft voice or a slow w a l k — t h a t ' s a l l — a few hairs, a line, a b r i g h t n e s s , a s o u n d , a p a c e , s h e gave up family. S h e offered u s u p for a c h a r m that v a n i s h e d with t i r e d n e s s , a pigtail that didn't toss w h e n the wind died. W h y , the w r o n g lighting c o u l d e r a s e the d e a r e s t thing a b o u t h i m . It c o u l d very well have b e e n , however, that my a u n t did not take s u b t l e e n j o y m e n t of her friend, b u t , a wild w o m a n , kept rollicking c o m p a n y . I m a g ining her free with sex doesn't fit, t h r o u g h . I don't know any w o m e n like that, or m e n either. U n l e s s I s e e her life b r a n c h i n g into m i n e , s h e gives m e no a n c e s t r a l help. T o s u s t a i n her b e i n g in love, s h e often worked at herself in the mirror, g u e s s i n g at the colors a n d s h a p e s that would interest h i m , c h a n g i n g t h e m frequently in order to hit on the right c o m b i n a t i o n . S h e w a n t e d h i m to look back. O n a farm near the s e a , a w o m a n w h o t e n d e d her a p p e a r a n c e r e a p e d a r e p u t a t i o n for eccentricity. All the married w o m e n b l u n t - c u t their hair in flaps a b o u t their e a r s or pulled it b a c k in tight b u n s . N o n o n s e n s e . N e i t h e r style blew easily into h e a r t - c a t c h i n g t a n g l e s . A n d at their w e d d i n g s they displayed t h e m s e l v e s in their long hair for the last t i m e . "It b r u s h e d the b a c k s of my k n e e s , " my m o t h e r tells m e . "It w a s b r a i d e d , a n d even s o , it b r u s h e d the b a c k s of my k n e e s . " At the mirror my a u n t c o m b e d individuality into her b o b . A b u n c o u l d have b e e n contrived to e s c a p e into b l a c k s t r e a m e r s blowing in the wind or in quiet wisps a b o u t her f a c e , but only the older w o m e n in o u r p i c t u r e a l b u m wear b u n s . S h e b r u s h e d her hair b a c k from her f o r e h e a d , t u c k i n g the flaps b e h i n d her e a r s . S h e l o o p e d a p i e c e of t h r e a d , knotted into a circle b e t w e e n her index fingers a n d t h u m b s , a n d ran the d o u b l e s t r a n d a c r o s s her f o r e h e a d . W h e n s h e c l o s e d her fingers a s if s h e were m a k i n g a pair of s h a d o w g e e s e bite, the string twisted together c a t c h i n g the little hairs. T h e n s h e p u l l e d the thread away from her skin, ripping the hair o u t neatly, her eyes w a t e r i n g from the n e e d l e s of p a i n . O p e n i n g her fingers, s h e c l e a n e d the t h r e a d , then rolled it a l o n g her hairline a n d the tops of her eyebrows. M y m o t h e r did the s a m e to m e a n d my sisters a n d herself. I u s e d to believe that the e x p r e s s i o n " c a u g h t by the short h a i r s " m e a n t a captive held with a depilatory string. It especially hurt at the t e m p l e s , but my m o t h e r said we were lucky w e didn't have to have our feet b o u n d w h e n we were s e v e n . S i s t e r s u s e d to sit o n their b e d s a n d cry together, s h e s a i d , a s their m o t h e r s or their slave r e m o v e d the b a n d a g e s for a few m i n u t e s e a c h night a n d let the b l o o d g u s h b a c k into their veins. I h o p e that the m a n my a u n t loved a p p r e c i a t e d a s m o o t h brow, that h e wasn't j u s t a tits-and-ass m a n . O n c e my a u n t f o u n d a freckle on her c h i n , at a spot that the a l m a n a c said p r e d e s t i n e d her for u n h a p p i n e s s . S h e d u g it out with a hot n e e d l e a n d w a s h e d the w o u n d with peroxide. M o r e attention to her looks than t h e s e p u l l i n g s of hairs a n d p i c k i n g s at s p o t s would have c a u s e d g o s s i p a m o n g the villagers. T h e y o w n e d work clothes a n d good c l o t h e s , a n d they wore g o o d c l o t h e s for f e a s t i n g the new s e a s o n s . B u t s i n c e a w o m a n c o m b i n g her hair hexes b e g i n n i n g s , my a u n t rarely f o u n d a n o c c a s i o n to look her b e s t . W o m e n looked like great s e a s n a i l s — t h e c o r d e d w o o d , b a b i e s , a n d laundry they carried were the whorls on their b a c k s . T h e C h i n e s e did not a d m i r e a b e n t b a c k ; g o d d e s s e s a n d

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KINGSTON

warriors stood straight. Still there m u s t have b e e n a m a r v e l o u s freeing of b e a u t y w h e n a worker laid d o w n her b u r d e n a n d s t r e t c h e d a n d a r c h e d . S u c h c o m m o n p l a c e loveliness, however, w a s not e n o u g h for my a u n t . S h e d r e a m e d of a lover for the fifteen days of N e w Year's, the time for families to e x c h a n g e visits, m o n e y , a n d food. S h e plied her secret c o m b . A n d s u r e e n o u g h s h e c u r s e d the year, the family, the village, a n d herself. Even a s her hair lured her i m m i n e n t lover, m a n y other m e n looked at her. U n c l e s , c o u s i n s , n e p h e w s , brothers would have looked, too, h a d they b e e n h o m e between j o u r n e y s . P e r h a p s they h a d already b e e n restraining their curiosity, a n d they left, fearful that their g l a n c e s , like a field of n e s t i n g birds, might be startled a n d c a u g h t . Poverty hurt, a n d that w a s their first r e a s o n for leaving. B u t a n o t h e r , final r e a s o n for leaving the c r o w d e d h o u s e w a s the never-said. S h e m a y have b e e n u n u s u a l l y beloved, the p r e c i o u s only d a u g h t e r , spoiled a n d mirror gazing b e c a u s e of the affection the family lavished on her. W h e n her h u s b a n d left, they w e l c o m e d the c h a n c e to take her b a c k from the inlaws; s h e c o u l d live like the little d a u g h t e r for j u s t a while longer. T h e r e are stories that my g r a n d f a t h e r w a s different from other p e o p l e , "crazy ever s i n c e the little J a p b a y o n e t e d him in the h e a d . " H e u s e d to p u t his n a k e d p e n i s on the dinner t a b l e , l a u g h i n g . A n d o n e day he b r o u g h t h o m e a baby girl, w r a p p e d u p inside his brown western-style g r e a t c o a t . 5 H e h a d traded o n e of his s o n s , probably my father, the y o u n g e s t , for her. M y g r a n d m o t h e r m a d e him trade b a c k . W h e n he finally got a d a u g h t e r of his o w n , he d o t e d on her. T h e y m u s t have all loved her, except p e r h a p s my father, the only brother who never went b a c k to C h i n a , having o n c e b e e n traded for a girl. B r o t h e r s a n d sisters, newly m e n a n d w o m e n , h a d to efface their sexual color a n d p r e s e n t plain m i e n s . D i s t u r b i n g hair a n d eyes, a smile like n o other, t h r e a t e n e d the ideal of five g e n e r a t i o n s living u n d e r o n e roof. T o f o c u s b l u r s , p e o p l e s h o u t e d face to f a c e a n d yelled from r o o m to r o o m . T h e i m m i g r a n t s I know have loud voices, u n m o d u l a t e d to A m e r i c a n tones even after years away from the village w h e r e they called their friendships out a c r o s s the fields. I have not b e e n able to s t o p my m o t h e r ' s s c r e a m s in public libraries or over t e l e p h o n e s . W a l k i n g erect ( k n e e s straight, t o e s p o i n t e d forward, not p i g e o n toed, which is C h i n e s e - f e m i n i n e ) a n d s p e a k i n g in a n i n a u d i b l e voice, I have tried to turn myself A m e r i c a n - f e m i n i n e . C h i n e s e c o m m u n i c a t i o n w a s l o u d , public. Only sick p e o p l e h a d to w h i s p e r . B u t at the dinner t a b l e , w h e r e the family m e m b e r s c a m e n e a r e s t o n e a n o t h e r , n o o n e c o u l d talk, not the outc a s t s nor any e a t e r s . Every word that falls from the m o u t h is a coin lost. Silently they gave a n d a c c e p t e d food with both h a n d s . A p r e o c c u p i e d child w h o took his bowl with o n e h a n d got a sideways g l a r e . A c o m p l e t e m o m e n t of total attention is d u e everyone alike. C h i l d r e n a n d lovers have no singularity h e r e , but my a u n t u s e d a secret v o i c e , a s e p a r a t e a t t e n t i v e n e s s . S h e kept the m a n ' s n a m e to herself t h r o u g h o u t her labor a n d dying; s h e did not a c c u s e him that he be p u n i s h e d with her. T o save her i n s e m i n a t o r ' s n a m e s h e gave silent birth. H e may have b e e n s o m e b o d y in her own h o u s e h o l d , but i n t e r c o u r s e with a m a n o u t s i d e the family would have b e e n no less a b h o r r e n t . All the village were k i n s m e n , a n d the titles s h o u t e d in loud country voices never let kinship 5. A heavy overcoat.

No

NAME WOMAN

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2563

be forgotten. Any m a n within visiting d i s t a n c e would have b e e n neutralized as a l o v e r — " b r o t h e r , " " y o u n g e r b r o t h e r , " "older b r o t h e r " — o n e h u n d r e d a n d fifteen relationship titles. P a r e n t s r e s e a r c h e d birth c h a r t s p r o b a b l y not s o m u c h to a s s u r e g o o d fortune as to c i r c u m v e n t incest in a p o p u l a t i o n that has but o n e h u n d r e d s u r n a m e s . Everybody has eight million relatives. H o w u s e l e s s then sexual m a n n e r i s m s , how d a n g e r o u s . As if it c a m e from a n atavism 1 ' d e e p e r than fear, I u s e d to a d d " b r o t h e r " silently to boys' n a m e s . It hexed the boys, w h o would or would not a s k m e to d a n c e , a n d m a d e them less scary a n d as familiar a n d deserving of benevo l e n c e as girls. B u t , of c o u r s e , I hexed myself a l s o — n o d a t e s . I s h o u l d have s t o o d u p , both a r m s waving, a n d s h o u t e d out a c r o s s libraries, " H e y , you! L o v e m e b a c k . " I h a d no idea, t h o u g h , now to m a k e attraction selective, how to control its direction a n d m a g n i t u d e . If I m a d e myself American-pretty so that the five or six C h i n e s e boys in the c l a s s fell in love with m e , everyone e l s e — t h e C a u c a s i a n , N e g r o , a n d J a p a n e s e b o y s — w o u l d too. S i s t e r l i n e s s , dignified a n d honorable, made much more sense. Attraction e l u d e s control so stubbornly that whole societies d e s i g n e d to organize relationships a m o n g p e o p l e c a n n o t keep order, not even w h e n they bind p e o p l e to o n e a n o t h e r from c h i l d h o o d a n d raise t h e m together. A m o n g the very p o o r a n d the wealthy, brothers married their a d o p t e d s i s t e r s , like doves. O u r family allowed s o m e r o m a n c e , paying adult brides' prices a n d providing dowries s o that their s o n s a n d d a u g h t e r s c o u l d marry s t r a n g e r s . M a r r i a g e p r o m i s e s to turn s t r a n g e r s into friendly r e l a t i v e s — a nation of siblings. In the village s t r u c t u r e , spirits s h i m m e r e d a m o n g the live c r e a t u r e s , bala n c e d a n d held in e q u i l i b r i u m by time a n d land. B u t o n e h u m a n being flaring up into violence c o u l d o p e n u p a black hole, a m a e l s t r o m 7 that pulled in the sky. T h e frightened villagers, w h o d e p e n d e d on o n e a n o t h e r to m a i n tain the real, went to my a u n t to s h o w her a p e r s o n a l , physical r e p r e s e n t a t i o n of the b r e a k she h a d m a d e in the " r o u n d n e s s . " Misallying c o u p l e s s n a p p e d off the future, which w a s to b e e m b o d i e d in true offspring. T h e villagers p u n i s h e d her for a c t i n g a s if she could have a private life, secret a n d apart from t h e m . If my a u n t h a d betrayed the family at a time of large grain yields a n d p e a c e , w h e n m a n y boys were born, a n d wings were being built on m a n y h o u s e s , p e r h a p s she might have e s c a p e d s u c h severe p u n i s h m e n t . B u t the m e n — hungry, greedy, tired of p l a n t i n g in dry s o i l — h a d b e e n forced to leave the village in order to s e n d food-money h o m e . T h e r e were g h o s t p l a g u e s , bandit p l a g u e s , wars with the J a p a n e s e , floods. M y C h i n e s e brother a n d sister h a d died of an u n k n o w n s i c k n e s s . Adultery, p e r h a p s only a m i s t a k e d u r i n g g o o d t i m e s , b e c a m e a c r i m e when the village n e e d e d food. T h e r o u n d m o o n c a k e s a n d r o u n d doorways, the round tables of g r a d u a t e d size that fit o n e r o u n d n e s s inside a n o t h e r , r o u n d windows a n d rice b o w l s — these t a l i s m a n s h a d lost their power to warn this family of the law: a family m u s t be whole, faithfully k e e p i n g the d e s c e n t line by having s o n s to feed the old and the d e a d , who in turn look after the family. T h e villagers c a m e to 6. A trait with origins farther hack than the preceding generation—a throwback.

7. A powerful, violent whirlpool,

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MAXINE HONG

KINGSTON

s h o w my a u n t a n d her lover-in-hiding a broken h o u s e . T h e villagers were s p e e d i n g u p the circling of events b e c a u s e she w a s t o o s h o r t s i g h t e d to s e e that her infidelity h a d already h a r m e d the village, that w a v e s of c o n s e q u e n c e s would return u n p r e d i c t a b l y , s o m e t i m e s in d i s g u i s e , a s now, to hurt her. T h i s r o u n d n e s s h a d to b e m a d e coin-sized s o that s h e w o u l d s e e its c i r c u m f e r e n c e : p u n i s h her at the birth of her baby. A w a k e n her to the inexorable. P e o p l e w h o r e f u s e d fatalism b e c a u s e they c o u l d invent small r e s o u r c e s insisted on culpability. D e n y a c c i d e n t s a n d wrest fault from the s t a r s . After the villagers left, their l a n t e r n s now s c a t t e r i n g in v a r i o u s d i r e c t i o n s toward h o m e , the family broke their s i l e n c e a n d c u r s e d her. "Aiaa, we're g o i n g to d i e . D e a t h is c o m i n g . D e a t h is c o m i n g . L o o k w h a t you've d o n e . You've killed u s . G h o s t ! D e a d ghost! G h o s t ! You've never b e e n b o r n . " S h e ran out into the fields, far e n o u g h from the h o u s e so that s h e c o u l d n o longer h e a r their v o i c e s , a n d p r e s s e d herself a g a i n s t the e a r t h , her own l a n d n o m o r e . W h e n s h e felt the birth c o m i n g , s h e t h o u g h t that s h e h a d b e e n hurt. H e r body seized together. "They've hurt m e too m u c h , " s h e t h o u g h t . " T h i s is gall, a n d it will kill m e . " W i t h f o r e h e a d a n d k n e e s a g a i n s t the e a r t h , her body c o n v u l s e d a n d then relaxed. S h e turned on her b a c k , lay on the g r o u n d . T h e b l a c k well of sky a n d stars went o u t a n d o u t a n d o u t forever; her body a n d her complexity s e e m e d to d i s a p p e a r . S h e w a s o n e of the s t a r s , a bright dot in b l a c k n e s s , without h o m e , without a c o m p a n i o n , in eternal cold a n d s i l e n c e . An agoraphobia 1 4 rose in her, s p e e d i n g higher a n d higher, bigger a n d bigger; s h e w o u l d not b e a b l e to c o n t a i n it; there w o u l d b e n o e n d to fear. Flayed, u n p r o t e c t e d a g a i n s t s p a c e , s h e felt p a i n return, f o c u s i n g her body. T h i s p a i n chilled h e r — a cold, s t e a d y kind of s u r f a c e p a i n . I n s i d e , s p a s m o d ically, the other p a i n , the pain of the child, h e a t e d her. F o r h o u r s s h e lay o n the g r o u n d , alternately body a n d s p a c e . S o m e t i m e s a vision of normal c o m fort obliterated reality: s h e s a w the family in the e v e n i n g g a m b l i n g at the dinner t a b l e , the y o u n g p e o p l e m a s s a g i n g their elder's b a c k s . S h e s a w t h e m c o n g r a t u l a t i n g o n e a n o t h e r , high j o y on the m o r n i n g s the rice s h o o t s c a m e u p . W h e n t h e s e p i c t u r e s b u r s t , the stars drew yet further apart. B l a c k s p a c e opened. S h e got to her feet to fight better a n d r e m e m b e r e d that old-fashioned w o m e n gave birth in their pigsties to fool the j e a l o u s , p a i n - d e a l i n g g o d s , w h o do not s n a t c h piglets. B e f o r e the next s p a s m s c o u l d s t o p her, s h e ran to the pigsty, e a c h s t e p a r u s h i n g o u t into e m p t i n e s s . S h e c l i m b e d over the f e n c e a n d knelt in the dirt. It w a s g o o d to have a f e n c e e n c l o s i n g her, a tribal person alone. L a b o r i n g , this w o m a n w h o h a d carried her child a s a foreign growth that s i c k e n e d her every day, expelled it at last. S h e r e a c h e d d o w n to t o u c h the hot, wet, m o v i n g m a s s , surely s m a l l e r than a n y t h i n g h u m a n , a n d c o u l d feel that it w a s h u m a n after a l l — f i n g e r s , t o e s , nails, n o s e . S h e p u l l e d it u p on to her belly, a n d it lay c u r l e d there, but in the air, feet precisely t u c k e d o n e u n d e r the other. S h e o p e n e d her l o o s e shirt a n d b u t t o n e d the child i n s i d e . After resting, it s q u i r m e d a n d t h r a s h e d a n d s h e p u s h e d it u p to her b r e a s t . It t u r n e d its h e a d this way a n d that until it f o u n d her n i p p l e . T h e r e , it m a d e little snuffling n o i s e s . S h e c l e n c h e d her teeth at its p r e c i o u s n e s s , lovely a s a y o u n g calf, a piglet, a little d o g . 8. An abnormal fear of open space.

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S h e may have g o n e to the pigsty a s a last act of responsibility: s h e would protect this child a s s h e h a d p r o t e c t e d its father. It would look after her soul, leaving s u p p l i e s on her grave. B u t how would this tiny child without family find her grave w h e n there would be no marker for her a n y w h e r e , neither in the earth nor the family hall? N o o n e would give her a family hall n a m e . S h e h a d taken the child with her into the w a s t e s . At its birth the two of t h e m h a d felt the s a m e raw pain of s e p a r a t i o n , a w o u n d that only the family p r e s s ing tight c o u l d c l o s e . A child with no d e s c e n t line would not soften her life but only trail after her, ghostlike, b e g g i n g her to give it p u r p o s e . At d a w n the villagers on their way to the fields would s t a n d a r o u n d the f e n c e a n d look. Full of milk, the little g h o s t slept. W h e n it a w o k e , she h a r d e n e d her b r e a s t s a g a i n s t the milk that crying l o o s e n s . T o w a r d m o r n i n g s h e picked u p the baby a n d walked to the well. C a r r y i n g the baby to the well s h o w s loving. O t h e r w i s e a b a n d o n it. T u r n its f a c e into the m u d . M o t h e r s w h o love their children take t h e m a l o n g . It w a s probably a girl; there is s o m e h o p e of forgiveness for boys. " D o n ' t tell a n y o n e you h a d an a u n t . Your father d o e s not w a n t to hear her n a m e . S h e h a s never b e e n b o r n . " I have believed that sex w a s u n s p e a k a b l e and words so strong a n d fathers so frail that " a u n t " w o u l d do my father mysterious h a r m . I have t h o u g h t that my family, having settled a m o n g i m m i grants w h o h a d a l s o b e e n their n e i g h b o r s in the a n c e s t r a l land, n e e d e d to c l e a n their n a m e , a n d a w r o n g word would incite the k i n s p e o p l e even here. B u t there is m o r e to this s i l e n c e : they want m e to p a r t i c i p a t e in her p u n i s h ment. And I have. In the twenty years s i n c e I heard this story I have not a s k e d for details nor said my aunt's n a m e ; I do not know it. P e o p l e w h o c a n c o m f o r t the d e a d c a n also c h a s e after t h e m to hurt t h e m f u r t h e r — a reverse a n c e s t o r w o r s h i p . T h e real p u n i s h m e n t was not the raid swiftly inflicted by the villagers, but the family's deliberately forgetting her. H e r betrayal so m a d d e n e d t h e m , they saw to it that s h e would suffer forever, even after d e a t h . Always hungry, always needing, s h e would have to b e g food from other g h o s t s , s n a t c h a n d steal it from t h o s e w h o s e living d e s c e n d a n t s give t h e m gifts. S h e would have to fight the g h o s t s m a s s e d at c r o s s r o a d s for the b u n s a few thoughtful citizens leave to d e c o y her away from village a n d h o m e s o that the a n c e s t r a l spirits c o u l d feast u n h a r a s s e d . At p e a c e , they c o u l d act like g o d s , not g h o s t s , their d e s c e n t lines providing t h e m with p a p e r suits a n d d r e s s e s , spirit m o n e y , p a p e r h o u s e s , p a p e r a u t o m o b i l e s , c h i c k e n , m e a t , a n d r i c e 9 into e t e r n i t y — e s s e n c e s delivered u p in s m o k e a n d f l a m e s , s t e a m a n d i n c e n s e rising from e a c h rice bowl. In an a t t e m p t to m a k e the C h i n e s e c a r e for p e o p l e o u t s i d e the family, C h a i r m a n M a o 1 e n c o u r a g e s u s now to give our p a p e r replicas to the spirits of o u t s t a n d i n g soldiers a n d workers, no m a t t e r w h o s e a n c e s t o r s they m a y b e . M y a u n t r e m a i n s forever hungry. G o o d s a r e not distributed evenly a m o n g the d e a d . My a u n t h a u n t s m e — h e r g h o s t drawn to m e b e c a u s e now, after fifty years of neglect, I a l o n e devote p a g e s of p a p e r to her, t h o u g h not o r i g a m i e d into

9. Traditionally, offerings left at the graves of ancestors. 1. Mao Tse-Tung ( 1 8 9 3 - 1 9 7 6 ) , head of the Chi-

nese C o m m u n i s t Party and leader of China from 1949 to 1959 and 1969 to 1976.

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h o u s e s a n d c l o t h e s . I d o not think s h e always m e a n s m e well. I a m telling on her, a n d s h e w a s a spite s u i c i d e , d r o w n i n g herself in t h e drinking water. T h e C h i n e s e a r e always very frightened of the d r o w n e d o n e , w h o s e w e e p i n g ghost, wet hair h a n g i n g a n d skin b l o a t e d , waits silently by t h e water to pull down a substitute. 1976

i

GLORIA

ANZALDUA

b. 1 9 4 2 The term Chicano was originally pejorative, used on both sides of the border to identify Mexican Americans of the lowest social class. Just as the once demeaning label black was appropriated and revalued by African Americans during the civil rights, black power, and black arts movements of the 1960s, so Chicano was embraced by Hispanic activists as a badge of pride, especially among university students and farm workers. By 1987, when the first edition of Gloria Anzaldua's Borderlands ILa Frontera: The New Mestiza appeared, two more politically sensitive terms had been added specifically identifying Mexican American to the sociocultural lexicon: Chicana, women, particularly in light of their announced aims and the general interests of the Chicano movement, and mestiza, describing Chicana women who are especially concerned with a heritage that is both Chicana and native American. Together with Cherrie Moraga, her co-editor on This Bridge

Called

My Back:

Writings

by

Radical

Women of Color (1981), Anzaldua emerged as a pioneer in both the writing and the study of Chicana literature. The daughter of ranchers in Jesus Maria of the Valley, Texas, Gloria Anzaldua labored as a migrant fieldworker before earning a B.A. from Pan American University (1969) and an M.A. from the University of Texas at Austin (1973); she did further graduate study at the University of California at Santa Cruz. She has taught creative writing, Chicano studies, and feminist studies at major universities from Texas to California. As a writer, she has published a novel, La Prieta (Spanish for "the dark one," 1997), other anthologies, and a series of children's books, the most notable of which—Prietita and the Ghost

Woman IPrietita

y La Llorona

(1996)—introduces young readers

to an important figure in Chicana culture. La Llorona is one of the three principal representations of women in Mexican culture: La Virgen de Guadalupe, a vision of the Virgin Mary who appeared to an Indian, Juan Diego, in 1531 on a hillside outside Mexico City that was sacred to the worship ofTonantzin, the Indian "Mother of Heaven"; La Chingada, incorrectly translated as "The Raped One" but whom Anzaldua insists be accurately identified as "The Fucked One," the deposed Aztec princess (also known as La Malinche, Dona Marina, and Malintzin Tenepal) who served as the translator for and lover of the Spanish military leader Hernan Cortes during his consolidation of colonial power between 1519 and 1522; and La Llorona, "The Woman Who Cries," a spurned mistress of Mexican legend who drowned her children and was fated to eternally seek their recovery. Each of these representations metaphorically controls a narrow realm of possibility for Chicanas. At the core of Anzaldiia's work is the belief that because metaphors structure the way we think, the metaphorical influences of these types of women must be reshaped so that Chicanas can escape the binary constraint of being

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judged as either a virgin or a whore (and nothing else). Borderlands ILa Frontera is Anzaldiia's most comprehensive effort toward that restructuring. Although written mainly in English, the personal essay and narrative poem printed here reflect another key part of Anzaldiia's art: not only does she wish to write in Spanish from time to time but she does not always translate that Spanish into English. When she does not provide such a translation in a piece that is primarily in English, it is because she wants to speak directly to those who either cannot or choose not to communicate in English. This practice, much like her blending of fiction, poetry, social commentary, and personal memoir, helps create the richness of narrative that characterizes her work. The text is from the second edition of Borderlands ILa Frontera (1999).

How to T a m e a Wild Tongue "We're g o i n g to have to control your t o n g u e , " the dentist says, pulling out all t h e m e t a l from m y m o u t h . Silver bits plop a n d tinkle into t h e b a s i n . M y m o u t h is a m o t h e r l o d e . T h e dentist is c l e a n i n g o u t my r o o t s . I g e t a whiff o f t h e s t e n c h w h e n I g a s p . "I can't c a p that tooth yet, you're still d r a i n i n g , " h e says. "We're g o i n g to have to d o s o m e t h i n g a b o u t your t o n g u e , " I h e a r t h e a n g e r rising in his v o i c e . M y t o n g u e k e e p s p u s h i n g out the w a d s o f c o t t o n , p u s h i n g b a c k the drills, the long thin n e e d l e s . "I've never s e e n anything a s strong or a s s t u b b o r n , " h e says. A n d I think, h o w do you t a m e a wild t o n g u e , train it to b e quiet, h o w d o you bridle a n d s a d d l e it? H o w d o you m a k e it lie d o w n ? " W h o is to say that r o b b i n g a p e o p l e o f its l a n g u a g e is less violent than w a r ? " — R a y Gwyn S m i t h 1 I r e m e m b e r b e i n g c a u g h t s p e a k i n g S p a n i s h at r e c e s s — t h a t w a s g o o d for three licks o n t h e k n u c k l e s with a s h a r p ruler. I r e m e m b e r b e i n g sent to t h e corner of t h e c l a s s r o o m for "talking b a c k " to t h e A n g l o t e a c h e r w h e n all I w a s trying to d o w a s tell h e r how to p r o n o u n c e m y n a m e . " I f you w a n t to b e A m e r i c a n , s p e a k 'American.' If you don't like it, g o b a c k to M e x i c o w h e r e you b e l o n g . " "I w a n t y o u to s p e a k E n g l i s h . Pa'hallar el ingles

bien.

Que

vale

toda

huen

tu educacion

trabajo

si todavia

tienes hablas

que saber ingles

hablar con

un

'accent,' " my m o t h e r w o u l d say, mortified that I s p o k e E n g l i s h like a Mexic a n . At P a n A m e r i c a n University, I, a n d all C h i c a n o s t u d e n t s were r e q u i r e d to take two s p e e c h c l a s s e s . T h e i r p u r p o s e : to get rid of o u r a c c e n t s . Attacks o n one's form of expression with the intent to c e n s o r a r e a violation of t h e F i r s t A m e n d m e n t . El Anglo

con cara

de inocente

nos arranco

la

lengua.

Wild t o n g u e s can't b e t a m e d , they c a n only b e c u t o u t .

1, Ray Gwyn Smith [(b. 1944), Welsh painter and art educator active in the United States], Moorland Is Cold Country, unpublished book [Anzaldua's note].

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ANZALDUA

Overcoming

the Tradition

of

Silence

Ahogadas, escupimos el oscuro. Peleando con nuestra propia sombra el silencio nos sepulta. En boca cerrada no entran moscas. " F l i e s don't enter a c l o s e d m o u t h " is a saying I kept h e a r i n g w h e n I w a s a child. Ser habladora w a s to be a g o s s i p a n d a liar, to talk too m u c h . Muchachitas bien criadas, well-bred girls don't a n s w e r b a c k . E s unafalta de respeto to talk b a c k to one's m o t h e r or father. I r e m e m b e r o n e of the sins I'd recite to the priest in the c o n f e s s i o n box the few times I went to c o n f e s s i o n : talking b a c k to my m o t h e r , hablar pa' 'trds, repelar. Hocicona, repelona, chismosa, having a b i g m o u t h , q u e s t i o n i n g , carrying tales are all signs of b e i n g mal criada. In my c u l t u r e they a r e all words that are derogatory if applied to w o m e n — I ' v e never h e a r d t h e m applied to m e n . T h e first time I h e a r d two w o m e n , a P u e r t o R i c a n a n d a C u b a n , say the word "nosotras," I w a s s h o c k e d . I h a d not known the word existed. C h i c a n a s u s e nosotros w h e t h e r we're m a l e or f e m a l e . W e are r o b b e d of our f e m a l e b e i n g by the m a s c u l i n e plural. L a n g u a g e is a m a l e d i s c o u r s e . A n d our t o n g u e s have b e c o m e dry the w i l d e r n e s s h a s dried out o u r t o n g u e s and we have forgotten s p e e c h . — I r e n a Klepfisz 2 Even our own p e o p l e , other S p a n i s h s p e a k e r s nos quieren poner candados en la boca. T h e y would hold u s b a c k with their b a g of reglas de academia. Oye como

ladra:

el lenguaje

de la

frontera

Quien tiene boca se equivoca. — M e x i c a n saying "Pocho/ cultural traitor, you're s p e a k i n g the o p p r e s s o r ' s l a n g u a g e by s p e a k i n g E n g l i s h , you're ruining the S p a n i s h l a n g u a g e , " I have b e e n a c c u s e d by various L a t i n o s a n d L a t i n a s . C h i c a n o S p a n i s h is c o n s i d e r e d by the purist a n d by m o s t L a t i n o s deficient, a mutilation of S p a n i s h . B u t C h i c a n o S p a n i s h is a b o r d e r t o n g u e which d e v e l o p e d naturally. C h a n g e , evolucion, enriquecimiento de palabras nuevas por invencion o adopcion have c r e a t e d variants of C h i c a n o S p a n i s h , un nuevo, lenguaje. Un lenguaje que corresponde a un modo de vivir. C h i c a n o S p a n i s h is not incorrect, it is a living l a n g u a g e . F o r a p e o p l e w h o are neither S p a n i s h nor live in a c o u n t r y in which S p a n ish is the first l a n g u a g e ; for a p e o p l e w h o live in a c o u n t r y in w h i c h E n g l i s h is the reigning t o n g u e but w h o are not A n g l o ; for a p e o p l e w h o c a n n o t 2. Irena Klepfisz [(b. 1941), North American critic], "Di rayze uheytn I The Journey Home." in The Tribe of Dina: A Jewish Women's Anthology. Melanie Kaye/Kantrowit/. and Irena Klepfisz, eds. (Montpelier, VT: Sinister Wisdom Books, 1986), 4 9 (Anzaldua's note].

3. An anglicized Mexican or American of Mexican origin who speaks Spanish with an accent characteristic of North Americans and who distorts and reconstructs the language according to the influence of English. Anzaldua offers a definition later in this selection.

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entirely identify with either s t a n d a r d (formal, C a s t i l l i a n ) S p a n i s h nor stand a r d E n g l i s h , what r e c o u r s e is left to t h e m but to c r e a t e their own l a n g u a g e ? A l a n g u a g e which they c a n c o n n e c t their identity to, o n e c a p a b l e of c o m m u n i c a t i n g the realities a n d v a l u e s true to t h e m s e l v e s — a l a n g u a g e with t e r m s that a r e neither espanol ni ingles, but b o t h . W e s p e a k a p a t o i s , a forked t o n g u e , a variation of two l a n g u a g e s . C h i c a n o S p a n i s h s p r a n g o u t of the C h i c a n o s ' n e e d to identify ourselves a s a distinct p e o p l e . W e n e e d e d a l a n g u a g e with which we c o u l d c o m m u n i c a t e with o u r s e l v e s , a secret l a n g u a g e . F o r s o m e of u s , l a n g u a g e is a h o m e land c l o s e r than the S o u t h w e s t — f o r m a n y C h i c a n o s today live in the M i d w e s t a n d the E a s t . A n d b e c a u s e we are a c o m p l e x , h e t e r o g e n e o u s p e o p l e , we s p e a k m a n y l a n g u a g e s . S o m e of the l a n g u a g e s we s p e a k a r e : 1. S t a n d a r d E n g l i s h 2. Working class and slang English 3. S t a n d a r d S p a n i s h 4. Standard Mexican Spanish 5. N o r t h M e x i c a n S p a n i s h d i a l e c t 6. C h i c a n o S p a n i s h ( T e x a s , N e w M e x i c o , A r i z o n a a n d C a l i f o r n i a have regional v a r i a t i o n s ) 7. T e x - M e x 8. Pachuco ( c a l l e d calo) M y " h o m e " t o n g u e s a r e the l a n g u a g e s I s p e a k with my sister a n d b r o t h e r s , with my friends. T h e y are the last five listed, with 6 a n d 7 b e i n g c l o s e s t to my heart. F r o m s c h o o l , the m e d i a a n d j o b s i t u a t i o n s , I've p i c k e d u p s t a n d a r d a n d working c l a s s E n g l i s h . F r o m M a m a g r a n d e L o c h a a n d from r e a d i n g S p a n i s h a n d M e x i c a n literature, I've p i c k e d up S t a n d a r d S p a n i s h a n d S t a n dard M e x i c a n S p a n i s h . F r o m los recien llegados, M e x i c a n i m m i g r a n t s , a n d braceros, I learned the N o r t h M e x i c a n dialect. With M e x i c a n s I'll try to s p e a k either S t a n d a r d M e x i c a n S p a n i s h or the N o r t h M e x i c a n dialect. F r o m my p a r e n t s a n d C h i c a n o s living in the V a l l e y , 4 1 p i c k e d u p C h i c a n o T e x a s S p a n ish, a n d I s p e a k it with my m o m ; y o u n g e r brother (who married a M e x i c a n and who rarely mixes S p a n i s h with E n g l i s h ) , a u n t s a n d older relatives. With C h i c a n a s from Nuevo Mexico ox Arizona I will s p e a k C h i c a n o S p a n ish a little, but often they don't u n d e r s t a n d what I'm saying. With m o s t California C h i c a n a s I s p e a k entirely in E n g l i s h ( u n l e s s I forget). W h e n I first moved to S a n F r a n c i s c o , I'd rattle off s o m e t h i n g in S p a n i s h , unintentionally e m b a r r a s s i n g t h e m . Often it is only with a n o t h e r C h i c a n a tejana that I c a n talk freely. W o r d s distorted by E n g l i s h a r e known a s a n g l i c i s m s or pochisntos. The pocho is a n anglicized M e x i c a n or A m e r i c a n of M e x i c a n origin w h o s p e a k s S p a n i s h with a n a c c e n t characteristic of N o r t h A m e r i c a n s a n d w h o distorts a n d r e c o n s t r u c t s the l a n g u a g e a c c o r d i n g to the i n f l u e n c e of E n g l i s h . 5 TexM e x , or S p a n g l i s h , c o m e s m o s t naturally to m e . I m a y switch b a c k a n d forth from E n g l i s h to S p a n i s h in the s a m e s e n t e n c e or in the s a m e word. W i t h my sister a n d my brother N u n e a n d with C h i c a n o tejano c o n t e m p o r a r i e s I s p e a k in Tex-Mex. F r o m kids a n d p e o p l e my own a g e I p i c k e d u p Pachuco. 4. I.e., of the Rio G r a n d e River in southern Texas, bordering Mexico. 5. R. C. Ortega, Dialectologia Del Barrio, trans.

Pachuco

(the

Hortencia S. Alvvan (Los Angeles, CA: R. C. Ortega Publisher & Bookseller, 1977), 132 [Anzaldiia's note].

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l a n g u a g e o f the zoot suiters) is a l a n g u a g e of rebellion, both a g a i n s t S t a n d a r d S p a n i s h a n d S t a n d a r d E n g l i s h . It is a s e c r e t l a n g u a g e . A d u l t s of the c u l t u r e a n d o u t s i d e r s c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d it. It is m a d e u p of s l a n g w o r d s from both E n g l i s h a n d S p a n i s h . Ruca m e a n s girl or w o m a n , vato m e a n s g u y or d u d e , chale

m e a n s n o , simon

m e a n s y e s , churo

is s u r e , talk is periquiar,

pigionear

m e a n s petting, que gacho m e a n s h o w nerdy, ponte dguila m e a n s w a t c h o u t , d e a t h is called la pelona. T h r o u g h lack of p r a c t i c e a n d not having others w h o c a n s p e a k it, I've lost m o s t of t h e Pachuco tongue.

Chicano

Spanish

C h i c a n o s , after 2 5 0 years o f S p a n i s h / A n g l o colonization have d e v e l o p e d significant differences in t h e S p a n i s h we s p e a k . W e c o l l a p s e two a d j a c e n t vowels into a single syllable a n d s o m e t i m e s shift t h e stress in c e r t a i n w o r d s s u c h a s maiz/maiz, cohetelcuete. W e leave o u t certain c o n s o n a n t s w h e n they a p p e a r b e t w e e n vowels: lado/lao, mojado/mojao. C h i c a n o s from S o u t h T e x a s p r o n o u n c e d / a s j a s in jue ifue). C h i c a n o s u s e " a r c h a i s m s , " w o r d s that a r e no longer in t h e S p a n i s h l a n g u a g e , w o r d s that have b e e n evolved o u t . W e say semos,

truje,

haiga,

ansina,

a n d naiden.

W e r e t a i n t h e " a r c h a i c " j , a s in

jalar, that derives from a n earlier h, (the F r e n c h halar or the G e r m a n i c halon which w a s lost to s t a n d a r d S p a n i s h in t h e 1 6 t h c e n t u r y ) , b u t which is still f o u n d in several regional dialects s u c h a s t h e o n e s p o k e n in S o u t h T e x a s . ( D u e to g e o g r a p h y , C h i c a n o s from t h e Valley o f S o u t h T e x a s were c u t off linguistically from other S p a n i s h s p e a k e r s . W e t e n d to u s e w o r d s that t h e S p a n i a r d s b r o u g h t over from M e d i e v a l S p a i n . T h e majority of t h e S p a n i s h colonizers in M e x i c o a n d t h e S o u t h w e s t c a m e from E x t r e m a d u r a — H e r n a n C o r t e s ' w a s o n e o f t h e m — a n d A n d a l u c i a . 6 A n d a l u c i a n s p r o n o u n c e 11 like a y, a n d their d's tend to b e a b s o r b e d by a d j a c e n t vowels: tirado b e c o m e s tirao. T h e y b r o u g h t el lenguaje

popular,

dialectos

y

regionalismos.)

7

C h i c a n o s a n d other S p a n i s h s p e a k e r s a l s o shift 11 to y a n d z to s . 8 W e leave out initial syllables, saying tar for estar, toy for estoy; hora for ahora (cuhanos a n d puertorriquenos a l s o leave o u t initial letters of s o m e w o r d s . ) W e a l s o leave o u t t h e final syllable s u c h a s pa for para. T h e intervocalic y, t h e 11 a s in tortilla,

ella,

botella,

g e t s r e p l a c e d by tortia

or tortiya,

ea, hotea.

a n additional syllable at t h e b e g i n n i n g o f certain w o r d s : atocar agastar

for gastar.

S o m e t i m e s we'll s a y lavaste

las vacijas,

W e add

for

other times

tocar, lavates

( s u b s t i t u t i n g t h e ates verb e n d i n g s for t h e aste). W e u s e a n g l i c i s m s , words b o r r o w e d from E n g l i s h : bola from ball, carpeta from c a r p e t , mdchina de lavar ( i n s t e a d of lavadora) from w a s h i n g m a c h i n e . T e x - M e x argot, c r e a t e d by a d d i n g a S p a n i s h s o u n d at t h e b e g i n n i n g or e n d of a n E n g l i s h word s u c h a s cookiar for c o o k , watchar for w a t c h , parkiar for park, a n d rapiar for r a p e , is t h e result of t h e p r e s s u r e s o n S p a n i s h s p e a k e r s to a d a p t to E n g l i s h . W e don't u s e the word vosotroslas or its a c c o m p a n y i n g verb f o r m . W e don't say claro (to m e a n y e s ) , imaginate, or me emociona, unless we picked u p 6. Region in southern Spain. Extremadura is a city in centra] Spain. Cortes (1485—1 5 4 7 ) . Spanish soldier and explorer active in Mexico. 7. Eduardo Hernandez-Chavez, Andrew D. Cohen, and Anthony F. Beltramo, El Lenguaje de

los Chicanos: Regional and Social Characteristics of Language Used by Mexican Americans (Arlington, VA: Center for Applied Linguistics, 1975), 3 9 [Anzaldua's note]. 8. Hernandez-Chavez, xvii [Anzaldua's note].

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S p a n i s h from L a t i n a s , o u t o f a b o o k , or in a c l a s s r o o m . O t h e r S p a n i s h s p e a k i n g g r o u p s a r e g o i n g t h r o u g h t h e s a m e , or similar, d e v e l o p m e n t in their Spanish.

Linguistic Deslenguadas.

Somos

los del espanol

Terrorism deficiente.

W e are your linguistic

n i g h t m a r e , your linguistic a b e r r a t i o n , your linguistic mestizaje, the subj e c t of your burla. B e c a u s e we s p e a k with t o n g u e s of fire we a r e culturally crucified. Racially, culturally a n d linguistically somos huerfanos—we speak an orphan tongue. C h i c a n a s w h o grew u p s p e a k i n g C h i c a n o S p a n i s h h a v e internalized t h e belief that w e s p e a k p o o r S p a n i s h . It is illegitimate, a b a s t a r d l a n g u a g e . A n d b e c a u s e w e internalize h o w o u r l a n g u a g e h a s b e e n u s e d a g a i n s t u s by t h e d o m i n a n t c u l t u r e , w e u s e o u r l a n g u a g e d i f f e r e n c e s a g a i n s t e a c h other. C h i c a n a feminists often skirt a r o u n d e a c h other with s u s p i c i o n a n d hesitation. F o r t h e l o n g e s t t i m e I c o u l d n ' t figure it o u t . T h e n it d a w n e d o n m e . T o b e c l o s e to a n o t h e r C h i c a n a is like looking into t h e mirror. W e a r e afraid of what we'll s e e there. Vena. S h a m e . L o w e s t i m a t i o n o f self. In c h i l d h o o d we a r e told that o u r l a n g u a g e is wrong. R e p e a t e d a t t a c k s o n o u r native t o n g u e d i m i n i s h o u r s e n s e of self. T h e a t t a c k s c o n t i n u e t h r o u g h o u t o u r lives. C h i c a n a s feel u n c o m f o r t a b l e talking in S p a n i s h to L a t i n a s , afraid of their c e n s u r e . T h e i r l a n g u a g e w a s not o u t l a w e d in their c o u n t r i e s . T h e y h a d a whole lifetime of b e i n g i m m e r s e d in their native t o n g u e ; g e n e r a t i o n s , c e n turies in which S p a n i s h w a s a first l a n g u a g e , t a u g h t in s c h o o l , h e a r d o n r a d i o a n d T V , a n d r e a d in t h e n e w s p a p e r . If a p e r s o n , C h i c a n a or L a t i n a , h a s a low e s t i m a t i o n o f my native t o n g u e , s h e a l s o h a s a low e s t i m a t i o n of m e . O f t e n with mexicanas y latinas we'll s p e a k E n g l i s h a s a neutral l a n g u a g e . Even a m o n g C h i c a n a s w e tend to s p e a k E n g l i s h at parties or c o n f e r e n c e s . Yet, at t h e s a m e t i m e , we're afraid t h e other will think we're agringadas b e c a u s e we don't s p e a k C h i c a n o S p a n i s h . W e o p p r e s s e a c h other trying to o u t - C h i c a n o e a c h other, vying to b e t h e " r e a l " C h i c a n a s , to s p e a k like C h i c a n o s . T h e r e is n o o n e C h i c a n o l a n g u a g e j u s t a s there is n o o n e C h i c a n o e x p e r i e n c e . A m o n o l i n g u a l C h i c a n a w h o s e first l a n g u a g e is E n g l i s h or S p a n i s h is j u s t a s m u c h a C h i c a n a a s o n e w h o s p e a k s several variants o f S p a n i s h . A C h i c a n a from M i c h i g a n or C h i c a g o or Detroit is j u s t a s m u c h a C h i c a n a a s o n e from t h e S o u t h w e s t . C h i c a n o S p a n ish is a s diverse linguistically a s it is regionally. By t h e e n d o f this century, S p a n i s h s p e a k e r s will c o m p r i s e t h e biggest minority g r o u p in t h e U . S . , a country where s t u d e n t s in high s c h o o l s a n d c o l l e g e s a r e e n c o u r a g e d to take F r e n c h c l a s s e s b e c a u s e F r e n c h is c o n s i d e r e d m o r e " c u l t u r e d . " B u t for a l a n g u a g e to r e m a i n alive it m u s t b e u s e d . 9 B y t h e e n d of this c e n t u r y E n g l i s h , a n d not S p a n i s h , will b e t h e m o t h e r t o n g u e of most Chicanos and Latinos. S o , if you want to really hurt m e , talk badly a b o u t my l a n g u a g e . E t h n i c identity is twin skin to linguistic identity—I a m my l a n g u a g e . Until I c a n 9. Irena Klepfisz, "Secular Jewish Identity: Yidishkayt in America," in The Tribe ofDina, eds., 43 [ An/aid L I . i s note].

Kaye/Kantrowitz,

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take pride in my l a n g u a g e , I c a n n o t take pride in myself. Until I c a n a c c e p t a s legitimate C h i c a n o T e x a s S p a n i s h , T e x - M e x a n d all the other l a n g u a g e s I s p e a k , I c a n n o t a c c e p t the legitimacy of myself. Until I a m free to write bilingually a n d to switch c o d e s without having always to t r a n s l a t e , while I still have to s p e a k E n g l i s h or S p a n i s h w h e n I would rather s p e a k S p a n g l i s h , a n d as long a s I have to a c c o m m o d a t e the E n g l i s h s p e a k e r s rather than having t h e m a c c o m m o d a t e m e , my t o n g u e will be illegitimate. I will no longer be m a d e to feel a s h a m e d of existing. I will have my v o i c e : Indian, S p a n i s h , white. I will have my serpent's t o n g u e — m y w o m a n ' s v o i c e , my sexual voice, my poet's voice. I will o v e r c o m e the tradition of s i l e n c e . M y fingers m o v e sly a g a i n s t your p a l m Like w o m e n everywhere, we s p e a k in c o d e . . . . —Melanie Kaye/Kantrowitz1 "Vistas,"

corridos,

y comida:

My Native

Tongue

In the 1 9 6 0 s , I read my first C h i c a n o novel. It w a s City of Night by J o h n R e c h y 2 a gay T e x a n , son of a S c o t t i s h father a n d a M e x i c a n m o t h e r . F o r days I walked a r o u n d in s t u n n e d a m a z e m e n t that a C h i c a n o c o u l d write a n d c o u l d get p u b l i s h e d . W h e n I read 7 Am Joaquin* I w a s s u r p r i s e d to s e e a bilingual b o o k by a C h i c a n o in print. W h e n I s a w poetry written in T e x - M e x for the first t i m e , a feeling of p u r e j o y flashed t h r o u g h m e . I felt like w e really existed a s a p e o p l e . In 1 9 7 1 , w h e n I s t a r t e d t e a c h i n g H i g h S c h o o l E n g l i s h to C h i c a n o s t u d e n t s , I tried to s u p p l e m e n t the r e q u i r e d texts with works by C h i c a n o s , only to be r e p r i m a n d e d a n d forbidden to do s o by the principal. H e c l a i m e d that I w a s s u p p o s e d to t e a c h " A m e r i c a n " a n d E n g l i s h lite r a t u r e . At the risk of b e i n g fired, I swore my s t u d e n t s to secrecy a n d slipped in C h i c a n o short stories, p o e m s , a play. In g r a d u a t e s c h o o l , while working toward a P h . D . , I h a d to " a r g u e " with o n e advisor after the other, s e m e s t e r after s e m e s t e r , before I w a s allowed to m a k e C h i c a n o literature a n a r e a of f o c u s . Even before I read b o o k s by C h i c a n o s or M e x i c a n s , it w a s the M e x i c a n movies I s a w at the drive-in—the T h u r s d a y night special of $ 1.00 a c a r l o a d — that gave m e a s e n s e of b e l o n g i n g . "Vdmonos a las vistas," my m o t h e r w o u l d call out a n d we'd a l l — g r a n d m o t h e r , b r o t h e r s , sister a n d c o u s i n s — s q u e e z e into the car. W e ' d wolf d o w n c h e e s e a n d b o l o g n a white b r e a d s a n d w i c h e s while w a t c h i n g P e d r o Infante in m e l o d r a m a t i c tear-jerkers like Nosotros los pobres,'1 the first " r e a l " M e x i c a n movie (that w a s not a n imitation of E u r o p e a n m o v i e s ) . I r e m e m b e r s e e i n g Cuando los hijos se van'' a n d s u r m i s i n g that all M e x i c a n movies played u p the love a m o t h e r h a s for her children a n d what ungrateful s o n s a n d d a u g h t e r s suffer w h e n they are not devoted to their m o t h e r s . I r e m e m b e r the singing-type " w e s t e r n s " of J o r g e N e g r e t e a n d M i g u e l A c e v e s M e j i a . h W h e n w a t c h i n g M e x i c a n m o v i e s , I felt a s e n s e of 1. Melanie Kaye/Kantrowitz, "Sign," in We Speak in Code: Poems and Other Writings (Pittsburgh, PA: Motheroot Publications, Inc., 1980), 85 [Anzaldua's note]. 2. American novelist (b. 1934). T h e book was published in 1963. 3. Rodolfo Gonzales [(b. 1928), C h i c a n o novelist], I Am Joaquin/Yo Soy Joaquin (New York, NY':

Bantam Books, 1972). It was first published in 1967 [Anzaldua's note], 4. A 1947 film. Infante ( 1 9 1 7 - 1 9 5 7 ) , Mexican film actor and singer. 5. A 1941 film. 6. Mexican singer and film actor (b. 1916). Negrete ( 1 9 1 1 - 1 9 5 3 ) , Mexican singing actor.

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h o m e c o m i n g a s well a s alienation. P e o p l e w h o were to a m o u n t to s o m e t h i n g didn't go to M e x i c a n m o v i e s , or bailes or t u n e their radios to bolero, rancherita, a n d corrido m u s i c . T h e whole time I w a s growing u p , there w a s norteno m u s i c s o m e t i m e s called N o r t h M e x i c a n border m u s i c , or T e x - M e x m u s i c , or C h i c a n o m u s i c , or cantina (bar) m u s i c . I grew u p listening to conjuntos, three- or four-piece b a n d s m a d e up of folk m u s i c i a n s playing guitar, bajo sexto,7 d r u m s a n d button a c c o r d i o n , which C h i c a n o s h a d borrowed from the G e r m a n i m m i g r a n t s w h o h a d c o m e to C e n t r a l T e x a s a n d M e x i c o to farm a n d build b r e w e r i e s . In the Rio G r a n d e Valley, Steve J o r d a n a n d Little J o e H e r n a n d e z were p o p u l a r , a n d F l a c o J i m e n e z 8 w a s the a c c o r d i o n king. T h e rhythms of T e x - M e x m u s i c are t h o s e of the polka, a l s o a d a p t e d from the G e r m a n s , w h o in turn h a d borrowed the polka from the C z e c h s a n d B o h e m i a n s . I r e m e m b e r the hot, sultry evenings w h e n corridos—songs of love a n d d e a t h on the T e x a s - M e x i c a n b o r d e r l a n d s — r e v e r b e r a t e d o u t of c h e a p a m p l i fiers from the local cantinas a n d wafted in t h r o u g h my b e d r o o m window. Corridos first b e c a m e widely u s e d a l o n g the S o u t h T e x a s / M e x i c a n border during the early conflict b e t w e e n C h i c a n o s a n d A n g l o s . T h e corridos are usually a b o u t M e x i c a n h e r o e s w h o do valiant d e e d s a g a i n s t the A n g l o o p p r e s sors. P a n c h o Villa's 9 s o n g , " L a cucaracha," is the m o s t f a m o u s o n e . Corridos of J o h n F. K e n n e d y a n d his d e a t h are still very p o p u l a r in the Valley. O l d e r C h i c a n o s r e m e m b e r Lydia M e n d o z a , o n e of the great border corrido s i n g e r s w h o w a s called la Gloria de Tejas.' H e r "El tango negro," s u n g d u r i n g the G r e a t D e p r e s s i o n , m a d e her a singer of the p e o p l e . T h e e v e r p r e s e n t corridos narrated o n e h u n d r e d years of border history, bringing n e w s of events a s well a s entertaining. T h e s e folk m u s i c i a n s a n d folk s o n g s are o u r c h i e f cultural m y t h m a k e r s , a n d they m a d e o u r hard lives s e e m b e a r a b l e . I grew up feeling a m b i v a l e n t a b o u t our m u s i c . C o u n t r y - w e s t e r n a n d rockand-roll h a d m o r e s t a t u s . In the 5 0 s a n d 6 0 s , for the slightly e d u c a t e d a n d agringado C h i c a n o s , there existed a s e n s e of s h a m e at b e i n g c a u g h t listening to our m u s i c . Yet I couldn't stop my feet from t h u m p i n g to the m u s i c , c o u l d not stop h u m m i n g the words, nor hide from myself the exhilaration I felt when I h e a r d it. T h e r e are m o r e subtle ways that we internalize identification, especially in the forms of i m a g e s a n d e m o t i o n s . F o r m e food a n d certain s m e l l s are tied to my identity, to my h o m e l a n d . W o o d s m o k e c u r l i n g u p to a n i m m e n s e blue sky; w o o d s m o k e p e r f u m i n g my g r a n d m o t h e r ' s c l o t h e s , her skin. T h e s t e n c h of cow m a n u r e a n d the yellow p a t c h e s on the g r o u n d ; the c r a c k of a . 2 2 rifle a n d the reek of cordite. H o m e m a d e white c h e e s e sizzling in a p a n , melting inside a folded tortilla. M y sister Hilda's hot, spicy menudo2 chile Colorado m a k i n g it d e e p red, p i e c e s of vanza a n d h o m i n y floating o n top. M y brother C a r i t o b a r b e c u i n g / a j i t a s in the b a c k y a r d . E v e n now a n d 3 , 0 0 0 miles away, I c a n s e e my m o t h e r s p i c i n g the g r o u n d beef, pork a n d v e n i s o n with 7. Twelve-string guitar tuned one octave lower than normal. 8. Mexican American musicians. Estehan Jordan (b. 1939). J o s e Maria De Leon Hernandez (b. 1940). Leonardo Jimenez (b. 1939). 9. Villa (ca. 1 8 7 7 - 1 9 2 3 ) , born Doroteo Arango,

Mexican revolutionary leader. 1. Mendoza (b. 1916), Mexican American singer, songwriter, and musician. 2. Mexican soup made of simmered tripe, onion, garlic, chili, and hominy.

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chile. M y m o u t h salivates at the thought of the hot s t e a m i n g tamales be e a t i n g if I were h o m e . Si le preguntas

a mi mama,

"iQue

I would

eres?"

"Identity is the e s s e n t i a l c o r e of w h o we are a s individuals, the c o n s c i o u s e x p e r i e n c e of the self i n s i d e . " —Kaufman3 Nosotros los C h i c a n o s straddle the b o r d e r l a n d s . O n o n e side of u s , we are c o n s t a n t l y e x p o s e d to the S p a n i s h of the M e x i c a n s , o n the other side w e h e a r the A n g l o s ' i n c e s s a n t c l a m o r i n g so that we forget our l a n g u a g e . A m o n g ourselves we don't say nosotros los americanos, o nosotros los espaiioles, o nosotros los hispanos. W e say nosotros los mexicanos (by mexicanos we d o not m e a n citizens of M e x i c o ; we do not m e a n a national identity, b u t a racial o n e ) . W e distinguish b e t w e e n mexicanos del otro lado a n d mexicanos de este lado. D e e p in our hearts we believe that b e i n g M e x i c a n h a s n o t h i n g to d o with w h i c h country o n e lives in. B e i n g M e x i c a n is a s t a t e of s o u l — n o t o n e of m i n d , not o n e of citizenship. N e i t h e r e a g l e nor s e r p e n t , 4 b u t b o t h . A n d like the o c e a n , neither a n i m a l r e s p e c t s b o r d e r s . Dime con quien andas y te dire quien eres. (Tell m e w h o your friends a r e a n d I'll tell you w h o y o u are.) — M e x i c a n saying St le preguntas a mi mama, "{Que eres?" te dird, "Soy mexicana." M y brothers a n d sister say the s a m e . I s o m e t i m e s will a n s w e r "soy mexicana" a n d at others will say "soy Chicana" o "soy tejana." B u t I identified a s "Raza" before I ever identified a s "mexicana" or " C h i c a n a . " A s a c u l t u r e , we call o u r s e l v e s S p a n i s h w h e n referring to ourselves a s a linguistic g r o u p a n d w h e n c o p p i n g o u t . It is then that we forget our p r e d o m inant Indian g e n e s . W e are 7 0 to 8 0 % I n d i a n . 5 W e call ourselves H i s p a n i c 6 or S p a n i s h - A m e r i c a n or L a t i n A m e r i c a n or L a t i n w h e n linking o u r s e l v e s to other S p a n i s h - s p e a k i n g p e o p l e s of the W e s t e r n h e m i s p h e r e a n d w h e n c o p p i n g out. W e call ourselves M e x i c a n - A m e r i c a n 7 to signify we are neither M e x i c a n nor A m e r i c a n , but m o r e the n o u n " A m e r i c a n " t h a n the adjective " M e x i c a n " (and w h e n c o p p i n g o u t ) . C h i c a n o s a n d other p e o p l e of color suffer e c o n o m i c a l l y for not acculturating. T h i s voluntary (yet forced) alienation m a k e s for p s y c h o l o g i c a l conflict, a kind of dual identity—we don't identify with the A n g l o - A m e r i c a n cultural v a l u e s a n d we don't totally identify with the M e x i c a n cultural v a l u e s . W e are a synergy of two c u l t u r e s with various d e g r e e s of M e x i c a n n e s s or A n g l o n e s s . I have s o internalized the b o r d e r l a n d conflict that s o m e t i m e s I feel like o n e 3. Gersben Kaufman [(b. 1943), American psychologist]. Shame: The Power of Caring ( C a m bridge: Schenkman Books, Inc. 1980), 68. This book was instrumental in my understanding of s h a m e [from Anzaldua's note]. 4. Male and female, respectively, cultural figurations. 5. John R. Chavez |(b. 1949), American scholar and educator], The Lost Land: The Chicano Images of the Southwest (Albuquerque, N M : University of

New Mexico Press, 1984), 8 8 - 9 0 [from Anzaldua's note]. 6. " H i s p a n i c " is derived from Hispanis {Espaiia, a name given to the Iberian Peninsula in ancient times when it was a part of the Roman Empire) and is a term designated by the U.S. government to make it easier to handle us on paper [Anzaldua's note]. 7. T h e Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo created the Mexican-American in 1848 [Anzaldua's note].

E L SONAVABITCHE

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c a n c e l s out the other a n d we are zero, nothing, no o n e . A veces no soy nada ni nadie. Pew hasta cuando no lo soy, lo soy. W h e n not c o p p i n g out, w h e n we know we are m o r e than n o t h i n g , w e call ourselves M e x i c a n , referring to r a c e a n d ancestry; mestizo w h e n affirming both our Indian a n d S p a n i s h (but we hardly ever own our B l a c k a n c e s t r y ) ; C h i c a n o w h e n referring to a politically a w a r e p e o p l e born a n d / o r r a i s e d in the U . S . ; Raza w h e n referring to C h i c a n o s ; tejanos w h e n w e a r e C h i c a n o s from T e x a s . C h i c a n o s did not know we were a p e o p l e until 1 9 6 5 w h e n C e s a r C h a v e z 8 a n d the farmworkers u n i t e d a n d I Am Joaquin w a s p u b l i s h e d a n d la Raza Unida9 party w a s f o r m e d in T e x a s . With that r e c o g n i t i o n , we b e c a m e a distinct p e o p l e . S o m e t h i n g m o m e n t o u s h a p p e n e d to the C h i c a n o s o u l — w e b e c a m e a w a r e of our reality a n d a c q u i r e d a n a m e a n d a l a n g u a g e ( C h i c a n o S p a n i s h ) that reflected that reality. N o w that we h a d a n a m e , s o m e of the f r a g m e n t e d p i e c e s b e g a n to fall t o g e t h e r — w h o we w e r e , w h a t we w e r e , how we h a d evolved. W e b e g a n to get g l i m p s e s of w h a t we might eventually become. Yet the struggle of identities c o n t i n u e s , the struggle of b o r d e r s is our reality still. O n e day the inner struggle will c e a s e a n d a true integration take p l a c e . In the m e a n t i m e , tenemos que hacerla lucha. iQuien estd protegiendo los ranchos de mi gente? iQuien estd tratando de cerrar lajisura entre la india y el bianco en nuestra sangre? El Chicano, si, el Chicano que anda como un ladron en su propia casa.1 Los Chicanos, how patient we s e e m , how very patient. T h e r e is the q u i e t of the Indian a b o u t u s . W e know how to survive. W h e n other r a c e s have given u p their t o n g u e , we've kept o u r s . W e know w h a t it is to live u n d e r the h a m m e r blow of the d o m i n a n t norteamericano culture. But more than we c o u n t the blows, we c o u n t the days the w e e k s the years the c e n t u r i e s the e o n s until the white laws a n d c o m m e r c e a n d c u s t o m s , will rot in the d e s e r t s they've c r e a t e d , lie b l e a c h e d . Humildes yet p r o u d , quietos yet wild, nosotros los mexicanos C h i c a n o s will walk by the c r u m b l i n g a s h e s a s we g o a b o u t our b u s i n e s s . S t u b b o r n , persevering, i m p e n e t r a b l e a s s t o n e , yet p o s s e s s i n g a malleability that renders us u n b r e a k a b l e , we, the mestizas a n d mestizos, will remain. 1987

El sonavabitche (for Aishe Berger) C a r flowing down a lava of highway j u s t h a p p e n e d to g l a n c e o u t the window in time to s e e brown f a c e s b e n t b a c k s 8. C h i c a n o union organizer (b. 1927). 9. In America La Raza Vnida party is known as the United Farm Workers; it was founded in 1962. 1. Anglos, in order to alleviate their guilt for dispossessing the Chicano, stressed the Spanish part of us and perpetrated the myth of the Spanish

Southwest. W e have accepted the fiction that we are Hispanic, that is Spanish, in order to accommodate ourselves to the dominant culture and its abhorrence of Indians. Chavez, 88—91 [Anzaldiia's note].

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ANZALDUA

like prehistoric b o u l d e r s in a field so c o m m o n a sight no o n e notices b l o o d r u s h e s to my f a c e twelve years I'd sat o n the m e m o r y the a n g e r s c o r c h i n g m e my throat so tight I c a n barely get the w o r d s out.

•

I got to the farm in time to h e a r the s h o t s ricochet off b a r n , spit into the s a n d , in time to s e e tall m e n in u n i f o r m s t h u m p i n g fists on d o o r s metallic v o i c e s yelling Halt! their h a w k eyes constantly shifting. W h e n I h e a r the w o r d s , "Corran muchachos"' I run b a c k to the car, d u c k i n g , s e e the glistening f a c e s , a r m s outflung, of the mexicanos r u n n i n g h e a d l o n g t h r o u g h the fields kicking up c l o u d s of dirt s e e t h e m r e a c h the tree line foliage o p e n i n g , s w i s h i n g c l o s e d b e h i n d t h e m . I h e a r the t u s s l i n g of b o d i e s , g r u n t s , p a n t i n g s q u e a k of leather s q u a w k of walkie-talkies s u n reflecting off g u n b a r r e l s the world a blinding light a great buzzing in my e a r s my k n e e s like a s p e n s in the w i n d . I s e e that wide c a v e r n o u s look of the h u n t e d the look of h a r e s thick limp b l u e - b l a c k hair T h e bare heads humbly bent of t h o s e w h o do not s p e a k the e m b e r in their eyes e x t i n g u i s h e d . I lean on the shanty wall of that migrant c a m p north of M u n c i e , I n d i a n a . W e t s , a voice says. I turn to s e e a C h i c a n o p u s h i n g the h e a d of his muchachita2 b a c k into the naguas* of the m o t h e r a tin p l a t e f a c e d o w n o n the floor tortillas s c a t t e r e d a r o u n d t h e m . H i s other h a n d signals m e over. 1. "Run boys" [Anzaldua's note]. 2. Little girl [Anzaldua's note].

3 . Skirt [Anzaldua's note].

20

25

30

40

EL

SONAVABITCHE

H e too is from el valle de Tejas* I h a d b e e n his kid's teacher. I'd c o m e to get the grower to fill u p the s e w a g e ditch n e a r the huts saying it wouldn't d o for the children to play in it. S m o k e from a c o o k i n g fire a n d shirtless ninos g a t h e r a r o u n d u s . Mojados^ h e says a g a i n , l e a n i n g on his c h i p p e d C h e v y station w a g o n B e e n h e r e two weeks a b o u t a dozen of t h e m . T h e sonavabitche works t h e m from s u n u p to d a r k — 1 5 h o u r s s o m e t i m e s . Como mulas los trabaja6 no saben como hacer la perra.7 L a s t S u n d a y they a s k e d for a day off w a n t e d to pray a n d rest, write letters to their familias. sabes lo que hizo el sonavabitche?8 H e t u r n s away a n d spits. S a y s he h a s to hold b a c k half their w a g e s that they'd e a t e n the other half: s a c k of b e a n s , s a c k of rice, s a c k of flour. Frijoleros si lo son' b u t no way c o u l d they have e a t e n that m a n y / r i j o f e s . I nooj. Como le dije, son doce'—started out 1 3 five days p a c k e d in the b a c k of a p i c k u p b o a r d e d u p tight fast c r o s s - c o u n t r y run no s t o p s except to c h a n g e drivers, to g a s u p no food they p i s s e d into their s h o e s — t h o s e that h a d guaraches2 slept s l u m p e d a g a i n s t e a c h other sabe Dios* w h e r e they shit. O n e s m o t h e r e d to d e a t h on the way here M i s s , you should've s e e n t h e m w h e n they s t u m b l e d out. First thing the sonavabitche did w a s c l a m p a h a n d k e r c h i e f over his n o s e then o r d e r e d t h e m stripped h o s e d t h e m down h i m s e l f 4. Rio Grande Valley in Texas [Anzaldiia's note]. 5. Wetbacks, undocumented workers, illegal immigrants from Mexico and parts south [Anzaldua's note]. 6. He works them like mules [Anzaldiia's note]. 7. They don't know how to make the work easier for themselves [Anzaldua's note].

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50

55

60

65

70

75

so

85

90

8. And you know what the son of a bitch did? [Anzaldiia's note]. 9. Bean eaters they are [Anzaldua's note]. 1. Like I told you, they're 12 [Anzaldua's note]. 2. Sandals [Anzaldiia's note). 3. God knows [Anzaldua's note],

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in front of everybody. They hobbled about l e a r n i n g to walk all over a g a i n . Flacos con cams de viejos* aunque la mita'eran jovenes.5 Como le estaha diciendob today w a s payday. You s a w t h e m , la migra7 c a m e b u s t i n g in waving their pinche pistolas.g S a i d s o m e o n e m a d e a call, w h a t you call it? A n o n y m o u s . G u e s s w h o ? T h a t sonavabitche, w h o else? D o n e this three t i m e s s i n c e we've b e e n c o m i n g h e r e Sepa Dios how m a n y t i m e s in b e t w e e n . W e t s , free labor, esclavos.9 Pobres jijos de la Chingada.1 T h i s the last time we work for him no m a t t e r how fregados2 we are he said, s h a k i n g his h e a d , spitting at the g r o u n d . Vdmonos, mujer, empaca el mugrero.* H e h a n d s m e a c u p of c o f f e e , half of it s u g a r , half of it milk my throat s o dry I even d o w n the d r e g s . It h a s to b e d o n e . S t e e l i n g myself

95

ioo

105

110

115

I take that walk to the big h o u s e . Finally the big m a n lets m e in. H o w a b o u t a drink? I s h a k e my h e a d . H e looks m e over, o p e n s his eyes wide a n d s m i l e s , says how sorry he is i m m i g r a t i o n 4 is getting s o t o u g h a p o o r M e x i c a n can't m a k e a living a n d they s u r e d o n e e d the work. M y throat so thick the w o r d s stick. H e s t u d i e s m e , then says, Well, what c a n I d o you for? I w a n t two w e e k s w a g e s i n c l u d i n g two S a t u r d a y s a n d S u n d a y s , m i n i m u m w a g e , 1 5 h o u r s a day. I'm m o r e startled t h a n h e . 4. Skinny with old faces [Anzaldua's note]. 5. Though half were youths [Anzaldua's note]. 6. As I was telling you [Anzaldua's note]. 7. Slang for immigration officials [Anzaldua's note]. 8. G u n s [Anzaldua's note]. 9. Slaves [Anzaldua's note], 1. "Poor sons of the fucked o n e " [Anzaldua's note]. La Chingada is the preferred Chicana term for La Malinche or Malintzin, the deposed Aztec

120

125

uo

princess who served Hernan Cortes as translator and b e c a m e his lover during the Spanish C o n q u e s t of Mexico (1 5 1 9 - 2 2 ) . 2. Poor, beaten, downtrodden, in need [Anzaldua's note]. 3. Let's go, woman, pack our junk [Anzaldua's note]. 4. T h e U . S . Immigration and Naturalization Service,

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W h o a there, sinorita, wets work for whatever you give t h e m the s e a s o n hasn't b e e n g o o d . B e s i d e s m o s t are halfway to Mexico by now. T w o w e e k s w a g e s , I say, the w o r d s swelling in my throat. M i s s u h w h a t did you say your n a m e w a s ? I f u m b l e for my card. You can't do this, I haven't broken no law, his lidded eyes d a r k e n , I step b a c k . I'm leaving in two m i n u t e s a n d I want c a s h the w h o l e a m o u n t right here in my p u r s e w h e n I walk out. N o h o a r s e n e s s , no trembling. It startled both of u s . You want m e telling every single o n e of your n e i g h b o r s what you've b e e n d o i n g all t h e s e years? T h e mayor, too? M a y b e m a k e a call to W a s h i n g t o n ? Slitted eyes s t u d i e d the c a r d a g a i n . T h e y h a d no c a r d s , n o p a p e r s . I'd s e e n it over a n d over. W o r k t h e m , then turn t h e m in before paying t h e m . Well, now, h e w a s saying, I know we c a n work s o m e t h i n g out, a sweet y o u n g t h a n g like yourself. C a s h , I s a i d . I didn't know a n y o n e in D . C . now I didn't have to. You want to keep it for yourself? T h a t it? H i s eyes were pin pricks. Sweat money, Mister, blood money, not my s w e a t , but s a m e blood. Y e a h , but who's to say you won't a b s c o n d with it? If I ever h e a r that you got illegals on your l a n d even a single o n e , I'm going to c o m e here in b r o a d daylight a n d have you h u n g by your balls. H e walks slowly to his desk. K n e e s s h a k i n g , I c o u n t every bill taking my t i m e . 1987

ALICE b.

WALKER 1944

Of the two daughters at odds over family heirlooms in the story "Everyday Use" (printed here), Alice Walker resembles each one. Like the burned Maggie, she spent a childhood even more limited than her family's rural poverty dictated, for as a little girl she was shot in the eye with a BB gun; the disfigurement plagued her until it was corrected during her college years. Like Dee, she was able to attend college—first Spelman College and then Sarah Lawrence College on a scholarship—and acquire urban sophistications from the North. Many of Walker's characters become adept in the new cultural language of Black Arts and black power to which the author herself contributed as a young writer—and all of them are subjected to the same dismay Dee's mother feels at having to rule against this daughter's wishes. Like the mother, therefore, Walker is given to seeing both sides of a situation; and when it comes to making a choice between her characters' opposing positions, she tends to be selfcritical of her own personality first and extremely sparing in her judgment of others. From her birthplace in Eatonton, Georgia, Walker gained a thorough understanding of the rural South, an understanding she employs when evaluating the importance of Flannery O'Connor, an older white writer who lived in nearby Milledgeville. As her essay "Beyond the Peacock" shows, Walker's own eminence as a writer invites readers to see the region and its heritage in a different perspective, as visitors' habits of romanticizing how the bricks of the O'Connor home were handmade on the site by slaves as contrasted to the author's pained awareness of how the slaves surely suffered in the process. That O'Connor's work survives and even profits by such critical reexamination speaks again for Walker's sense of balance. As a child of sharecroppers educated at a sophisticated northern college, Walker is able to weigh human and artistic concerns in a way that lets Flannery O'Connor be read for the complex writer she is. After college Walker returned to the South, first to work against segregation in the civil rights movement and then to begin her teaching career at Jackson State College in Mississippi. Her first novel, The Third Life of Grange Copeland (1970), follows its protagonist through three generations of domestic experience. In Meridian (1976) Walker changes her narrative approach to encompass fragmentary recollections of the 1960s among characters trying to make sense of their recent past. This novel reflects many of the topics treated in the author's short story collection, In Love & Trouble (1973), in which a range of African American women almost always have unhappy relationships with men. Walker's third novel, The Color Purple (1982), makes her strongest narrative statement, formulated as it is from what she calls a "womanist" (as opposed to strictly feminist) perspective. This approach draws on the black folk expression "womanish," which in a mother-to-daughter context signifies a call to adult, mature, responsible (and courageous) behavior. Such behavior is beneficial to both women and men, and is necessary, Walker argues, for the survival of all African Americans by keeping creativity alive. Both the plot and the stylistic nature of The Color Purple show how this happens, as the young black woman Celie draws on her sister's letters (written from Africa) for her own letters that she writes to God. Though Celie's life by any other terms could be considered disastrous (including rape, incest, and the killing of her babies by her father and both physical and psychological abuse by her husband), her ability to express herself and act successfully gives her status as an individual in the world. To everything that will listen, Celie says "I am here." Walker's work has continued with other novels, short stories, collections of poetry, and several important volumes of essays. In "The Same River Twice" (1996) she wrote about how the filming of The Color Purple both challenged and changed her life. As

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a sociocultural critic, she has examined the atrocity of female genital mutilation in parts of Africa, incorporating her conclusions in her novel Possessing the Secret ofJoy (1992), and as a literary critic has spoken for a richer and more complete understanding of Zora Neale Hurston, whose employment of folk materials in narrative anticipates Walker's own. Throughout her career she speaks for the need for strength from African American women, and her writing is ever conscious of providing workable models for such strength being achieved. The text is from In Love & Trouble (1973).

Everyday Use For Your

Grandmama

I will wait for her in the yard that M a g g i e a n d I m a d e s o c l e a n a n d wavy yesterday afternoon. A yard like this is m o r e c o m f o r t a b l e t h a n m o s t p e o p l e know. It is not j u s t a yard. It is like a n e x t e n d e d living r o o m . W h e n the hard clay is swept c l e a n a s a floor a n d the fine s a n d a r o u n d the e d g e s lined with tiny, irregular grooves, a n y o n e c a n c o m e a n d sit a n d look u p into the e l m tree a n d wait for the b r e e z e s that never c o m e inside the h o u s e . M a g g i e will b e nervous until after her sister g o e s : s h e will s t a n d h o p e l e s s l y in c o r n e r s , h o m e l y a n d a s h a m e d of the burn s c a r s d o w n her a r m s a n d l e g s , eyeing her sister with a mixture of envy a n d a w e . S h e thinks her sister h a s held life always in the p a l m of o n e h a n d , that " n o " is a word the world never learned to say to her. You've no d o u b t s e e n t h o s e T V s h o w s where the child w h o h a s " m a d e it" is c o n f r o n t e d , a s a s u r p r i s e , by her own m o t h e r a n d father, tottering in weakly from b a c k s t a g e . (A p l e a s a n t s u r p r i s e , of c o u r s e : W h a t w o u l d they d o if p a r e n t a n d child c a m e on the s h o w only to c u r s e out a n d insult e a c h other?) O n T V m o t h e r a n d child e m b r a c e a n d smile into e a c h other's f a c e s . S o m e t i m e s the m o t h e r a n d father w e e p , the child w r a p s t h e m in her a r m s a n d l e a n s a c r o s s the table to tell h o w s h e would not have m a d e it without their h e l p . I have s e e n t h e s e p r o g r a m s . S o m e t i m e s I d r e a m a d r e a m in which D e e a n d I are s u d d e n l y b r o u g h t together on a T V p r o g r a m of this sort. O u t of a dark a n d soft-seated l i m o u s i n e I a m u s h e r e d into a bright r o o m filled with m a n y p e o p l e . T h e r e I m e e t a smiling, gray, sporty m a n like J o h n n y C a r s o n w h o s h a k e s my h a n d a n d tells m e what a fine girl I have. T h e n we are on the s t a g e a n d D e e is e m b r a c i n g m e with tears in her eyes. S h e pins on my d r e s s a large o r c h i d , even t h o u g h s h e has told m e o n c e that she thinks orchids are tacky flowers. In real life I a m a large, big-boned w o m a n with r o u g h , m a n - w o r k i n g h a n d s . In the winter I wear flannel nightgowns to b e d a n d overalls d u r i n g the day. I c a n kill a n d c l e a n a h o g a s mercilessly a s a m a n . M y fat k e e p s m e hot in zero weather. I c a n work o u t s i d e all day, b r e a k i n g ice to get water for w a s h ing; I c a n eat pork liver c o o k e d over the o p e n fire m i n u t e s after it c o m e s s t e a m i n g from the hog. O n e winter I k n o c k e d a bull c a l f straight in the brain between the eyes with a s l e d g e h a m m e r a n d h a d the m e a t h u n g u p to chill before nightfall. B u t of c o u r s e all this d o e s not s h o w o n television. I a m the way my d a u g h t e r would want m e to b e : a h u n d r e d p o u n d s lighter, my skin like an u n c o o k e d barley p a n c a k e . M y hair glistens in the hot bright lights. Johnny C a r s o n h a s m u c h to d o to k e e p u p with my q u i c k a n d witty t o n g u e .

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B u t that is a m i s t a k e . I know even before I wake u p . W h o ever k n e w a J o h n s o n with a q u i c k t o n g u e ? W h o c a n even i m a g i n e m e looking a s t r a n g e white m a n in the eye? It s e e m s to m e I have talked to t h e m always with o n e foot raised in flight, with my head t u r n e d in whichever way is farthest from t h e m . D e e , t h o u g h . S h e would always look a n y o n e in the eye. H e s i t a t i o n w a s no part of her n a t u r e . " H o w d o I look, M a m a ? " M a g g i e says, showing j u s t e n o u g h of her thin body e n v e l o p e d in pink skirt and red b l o u s e for m e to know she's there, a l m o s t hidden by the door. " C o m e out into the y a r d , " I say. H a v e you ever s e e n a l a m e a n i m a l , p e r h a p s a d o g run over by s o m e c a r e l e s s p e r s o n rich e n o u g h to own a car, sidle up to s o m e o n e w h o is ignorant e n o u g h to be kind to t h e m ? T h a t is the way my M a g g i e walks. S h e h a s b e e n like this, chin on c h e s t , eyes o n g r o u n d , feet in shuffle, ever s i n c e the fire that b u r n e d the other h o u s e to the g r o u n d . D e e is lighter than M a g g i e , with nicer hair a n d a fuller figure. S h e ' s a w o m a n now, t h o u g h s o m e t i m e s I forget. H o w long a g o w a s it that the other h o u s e b u r n e d ? T e n , twelve years? S o m e t i m e s I c a n still h e a r the flames a n d feel M a g g i e ' s a r m s sticking to m e , her hair s m o k i n g a n d her d r e s s falling off her in little black papery flakes. H e r eyes s e e m e d s t r e t c h e d o p e n , blazed o p e n by the flames reflected in t h e m . And D e e . I s e e her s t a n d i n g off u n d e r the sweet g u m tree s h e u s e d to dig g u m out of; a look of c o n c e n t r a t i o n on her f a c e a s s h e w a t c h e d the last dingy gray board of the h o u s e fall in toward the red-hot brick c h i m n e y . W h y don't you do a d a n c e a r o u n d the a s h e s ? I'd w a n t e d to a s k her. S h e had h a t e d the h o u s e that m u c h . I u s e d to think she h a t e d M a g g i e , too. But that w a s before we raised the money, the c h u r c h a n d m e , to s e n d her to A u g u s t a to s c h o o l . S h e u s e d to read to us without pity; forcing w o r d s , lies, other folks' habits, whole lives upon u s two, sitting t r a p p e d a n d ignorant u n d e r n e a t h her voice. S h e w a s h e d us in a river of make-believe, b u r n e d u s with a lot of knowledge we didn't necessarily n e e d to know. P r e s s e d us to her with the s e r i o u s way s h e r e a d , to shove u s away at j u s t the m o m e n t , like d i m w i t s , w e s e e m e d a b o u t to understand. D e e w a n t e d nice things. A yellow o r g a n d y d r e s s to wear to her g r a d u a t i o n from high s c h o o l ; black p u m p s to m a t c h a green suit she'd m a d e from a n old suit s o m e b o d y gave m e . S h e w a s d e t e r m i n e d to stare d o w n any d i s a s t e r in her efforts. H e r eyelids would not flicker for m i n u t e s at a t i m e . O f t e n I fought off the t e m p t a t i o n to s h a k e her. At sixteen s h e h a d a style of her own: a n d knew what style w a s . I never h a d an e d u c a t i o n myself. After s e c o n d g r a d e the s c h o o l w a s c l o s e d d o w n . Don't a s k m e why: in 1 9 2 7 c o l o r e d a s k e d fewer q u e s t i o n s t h a n they d o now. S o m e t i m e s M a g g i e r e a d s to m e . S h e s t u m b l e s a l o n g g o o d - n a t u r e d l y but can't s e e well. S h e knows she is not bright. Like g o o d looks a n d m o n e y , q u i c k n e s s p a s s e d her by. S h e will marry J o h n T h o m a s (who h a s m o s s y teeth in an e a r n e s t face) a n d then I'll be free to sit here a n d I g u e s s j u s t sing c h u r c h s o n g s to myself. A l t h o u g h I never w a s a g o o d singer. Never c o u l d carry a t u n e . I w a s always better at a m a n ' s j o b . I u s e d to love to milk till I w a s h o o k e d in the side in ' 4 9 . C o w s are s o o t h i n g a n d slow a n d don't b o t h e r you, u n l e s s you try to milk t h e m the w r o n g way.

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I have deliberately turned my b a c k o n the h o u s e . It is three r o o m s , j u s t like the o n e that b u r n e d , except the roof is tin; they don't m a k e shingle roofs any m o r e . T h e r e are no real windows, j u s t s o m e holes cut in the s i d e s , like the portholes in a s h i p , but not r o u n d a n d not s q u a r e , with r a w h i d e holding the shutters up on the o u t s i d e . T h i s h o u s e is in a p a s t u r e , too, like the other o n e . N o d o u b t w h e n D e e s e e s it s h e will want to tear it d o w n . S h e wrote m e o n c e that no m a t t e r w h e r e we " c h o o s e " to live, s h e will m a n a g e to c o m e s e e us. B u t s h e will never bring her friends. M a g g i e a n d I t h o u g h t a b o u t this a n d M a g g i e a s k e d m e , " M a m a , w h e n did D e e ever have any f r i e n d s ? " S h e had a few. Furtive boys in pink shirts h a n g i n g a b o u t on w a s h d a y after school. N e r v o u s girls who never l a u g h e d . I m p r e s s e d with her they w o r s h i p e d the well-turned p h r a s e , the c u t e s h a p e , the s c a l d i n g h u m o r that e r u p t e d like b u b b l e s in lye. S h e read to t h e m . W h e n she was c o u r t i n g J i m m y T s h e didn't have m u c h time to pay to u s , but turned all her faultfinding power on him. He flew to marry a c h e a p city girl from a family of ignorant flashy p e o p l e . S h e hardly had time to r e c o m p o s e herself. W h e n she c o m e s I will m e e t — b u t there they are! M a g g i e a t t e m p t s to m a k e a d a s h for the h o u s e , in her shuffling way, but I stay her with my h a n d . " C o m e b a c k h e r e , " I say. A n d s h e s t o p s a n d tries to dig a well in the s a n d with her t o e . It is hard to s e e t h e m clearly through the strong s u n . B u t even the first g l i m p s e of leg out of the c a r tells m e it is D e e . H e r feet were always neatlooking, as if G o d himself had s h a p e d t h e m with a certain style. F r o m the other side of the car c o m e s a short, stocky m a n . Hair is all over his h e a d a foot long a n d h a n g i n g from his chin like a kinky m u l e tail. I hear M a g g i e s u c k in her b r e a t h . " U h n n n h , " is what it s o u n d s like. L i k e w h e n you s e e the wriggling e n d of a s n a k e j u s t in front of your foot on the road. " U h n n n h . " D e e next. A d r e s s down to the g r o u n d , in this hot weather. A d r e s s so loud it hurts my eyes. T h e r e are yellows a n d o r a n g e s e n o u g h to throw b a c k the light of the s u n . I feel my whole f a c e w a r m i n g from the heat waves it throws out. Earrings gold, too, a n d h a n g i n g down to her s h o u l d e r s . B r a c e l e t s d a n gling a n d m a k i n g n o i s e s w h e n s h e m o v e s her a r m u p to s h a k e the folds of the dress out of her a r m p i t s . T h e d r e s s is loose a n d flows, a n d a s s h e walks closer, I like it. I hear M a g g i e go " U h n n n h " a g a i n . It is her sister's hair. It s t a n d s straight up like the wool on a s h e e p . It is b l a c k a s night a n d a r o u n d the e d g e s are two long pigtails that rope a b o u t like small lizards d i s a p p e a r i n g behind her e a r s . " W a - s u - z o - T e a n - o ! " s h e says, c o m i n g on in that gliding way the d r e s s m a k e s her m o v e . T h e short stocky fellow with the hair to his navel is all grinning and he follows up with " A s a l a m a l a k i m , my m o t h e r a n d sister!" H e m o v e s to h u g M a g g i e but s h e falls back, right u p a g a i n s t the b a c k of my chair. I feel her trembling there a n d when I look u p I s e e the perspiration falling off her chin. "Don't get u p , " says D e e . S i n c e I a m s t o u t it takes s o m e t h i n g of a p u s h . You can s e e m e trying to move a s e c o n d or two before I m a k e it. S h e t u r n s , showing white heels through her s a n d a l s , a n d g o e s b a c k to the car. O u t s h e p e e k s next with a Polaroid. S h e s t o o p s d o w n quickly a n d lines u p p i c t u r e after picture of m e sitting there in front of the h o u s e with M a g g i e c o w e r i n g behind m e . S h e never takes a shot without m a k i n g s u r e the h o u s e is

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i n c l u d e d . W h e n a c o w c o m e s nibbling a r o u n d the e d g e of the yard s h e s n a p s it a n d m e a n d M a g g i e and the h o u s e . T h e n s h e p u t s the Polaroid in the b a c k seat of the car, a n d c o m e s u p a n d k i s s e s m e o n the f o r e h e a d . M e a n w h i l e A s a l a m a l a k i m is g o i n g t h r o u g h m o t i o n s with M a g g i e ' s h a n d . M a g g i e ' s h a n d is a s limp a s a fish, a n d probably a s cold, d e s p i t e the s w e a t , a n d s h e k e e p s trying to pull it b a c k . It looks like A s a l a m a l a k i m w a n t s to s h a k e h a n d s b u t w a n t s to do it fancy. O r m a y b e he don't k n o w h o w p e o p l e s h a k e h a n d s . Anyhow, he s o o n gives u p on M a g g i e . " W e l l , " I say. " D e e . " " N o , M a m a , " s h e says. " N o t ' D e e , ' W a n g e r o L e e w a n i k a K e m a n j o ! " " W h a t h a p p e n e d to ' D e e ' ? " I w a n t e d to know. " S h e ' s d e a d , " W a n g e r o said. "I c o u l d n ' t b e a r it any longer, b e i n g n a m e d after the p e o p l e w h o o p p r e s s m e . " "You know a s well a s m e you w a s n a m e d after your a u n t D i c i e , " I said. D i c i e is my sister. S h e n a m e d D e e . W e called her " B i g D e e " after D e e w a s born. " B u t w h o w a s she n a m e d a f t e r ? " a s k e d W a n g e r o . "I g u e s s after G r a n d m a D e e , " I s a i d . "And w h o w a s s h e n a m e d a f t e r ? " a s k e d W a n g e r o . " H e r m o t h e r , " I s a i d , a n d s a w W a n g e r o w a s getting tired. " T h a t ' s a b o u t a s far b a c k a s I c a n trace it," I said. T h o u g h , in fact, I probably c o u l d have carried it b a c k b e y o n d the Civil W a r t h r o u g h the b r a n c h e s . " W e l l , " said A s a l a m a l a k i m , " t h e r e you a r e . " " U h n n n h , " I h e a r d M a g g i e say. " T h e r e I w a s n o t , " I said, "before ' D i c i e ' c r o p p e d up in o u r family, s o why s h o u l d I try to trace it that far b a c k ? " H e j u s t s t o o d there grinning, looking d o w n o n m e like s o m e b o d y inspecting a M o d e l A car. Every o n c e in a while he a n d W a n g e r o sent eye signals over m y h e a d . " H o w d o you p r o n o u n c e this n a m e ? " I a s k e d . "You don't have to call m e by it if you don't w a n t t o , " s a i d W a n g e r o . " W h y shouldn't I ? " I a s k e d . "If that's w h a t you w a n t u s to call you, we'll call y o u . " "I know it might s o u n d awkward at first," said W a n g e r o . "I'll get u s e d to it," I s a i d . " R e a m it o u t a g a i n . " Well, s o o n w e got the n a m e o u t of the way. A s a l a m a l a k i m h a d a n a m e twice a s long a n d three t i m e s a s h a r d . After I tripped over it two or three times he told m e to j u s t call him H a k i m - a - b a r b e r . I w a n t e d to a s k him w a s he a barber, b u t I didn't really think h e w a s , s o I didn't a s k . "You m u s t b e l o n g to t h o s e beef-cattle p e o p l e s d o w n the r o a d , " I s a i d . T h e y s a i d " A s a l a m a l a k i m " w h e n they m e t y o u , too, but they didn't s h a k e h a n d s . Always too busy: feeding the c a t t l e , fixing the f e n c e s , p u t t i n g u p salt-lick shelters, throwing d o w n hay. W h e n the white folks p o i s o n e d s o m e of the herd the m e n stayed u p all night with rifles in their h a n d s . I walked a mile a n d a half j u s t to s e e the sight. H a k i m - a - b a r b e r s a i d , "I a c c e p t s o m e of their d o c t r i n e s , b u t f a r m i n g a n d raising cattle is not my style." (They didn't tell m e , a n d I didn't ask, w h e t h e r W a n g e r o ( D e e ) h a d really g o n e a n d married h i m . ) W e sat d o w n to eat a n d right away h e s a i d h e didn't eat collards a n d p o r k w a s u n c l e a n . W a n g e r o , t h o u g h , went o n t h r o u g h the chitlins a n d corn b r e a d ,

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the greens a n d everything e l s e . S h e talked a b l u e streak over the sweet potatoes. Everything delighted her. Even the fact that we still u s e d the b e n c h e s her d a d d y m a d e for the table w h e n we couldn't afford to b u y c h a i r s . " O h , M a m a ! " s h e cried. T h e n turned to H a k i m - a - b a r b e r . "I never knew how lovely t h e s e b e n c h e s a r e . You can feel the r u m p p r i n t s , " s h e said, running her h a n d s u n d e r n e a t h her a n d a l o n g the b e n c h . T h e n s h e gave a sigh a n d her hand c l o s e d over G r a n d m a Dee's b u t t e r d i s h . " T h a t ' s it!" s h e s a i d . "I knew there w a s s o m e t h i n g I w a n t e d to a s k you if I c o u l d h a v e . " S h e j u m p e d u p from the table a n d went over in the c o r n e r w h e r e the c h u r n s t o o d , the milk in it c l a b b e r by now. S h e looked at the c h u r n a n d looked at it. " T h i s c h u r n top is w h a t I n e e d , " she said. " D i d n ' t U n c l e B u d d y whittle it out of a tree you all u s e d to h a v e ? " " Y e s , " I said. " U h h u h , " s h e said happily. "And I want the d a s h e r , t o o . " " U n c l e B u d d y whittle that, t o o ? " a s k e d the barber. D e e ( W a n g e r o ) looked u p at m e . "Aunt Dee's first h u s b a n d whittled the d a s h , " said M a g g i e s o low you a l m o s t couldn't hear her. " H i s n a m e w a s Henry, but they called him S t a s h . " " M a g g i e ' s brain is like a n e l e p h a n t ' s , " W a n g e r o said, l a u g h i n g . "I c a n u s e the c h u r n top a s a c e n t e r p i e c e for the alcove t a b l e , " s h e said, sliding a p l a t e over the c h u r n , " a n d I'll think of s o m e t h i n g artistic to d o with the d a s h e r . " W h e n s h e finished w r a p p i n g the d a s h e r the h a n d l e s t u c k out. I took it for a m o m e n t in my h a n d s . You didn't even have to look c l o s e to s e e w h e r e h a n d s p u s h i n g the d a s h e r u p a n d down to m a k e butter h a d left a kind of sink in the w o o d . In fact, there were a lot of small sinks; you c o u l d s e e w h e r e t h u m b s a n d fingers h a d s u n k into the w o o d . It w a s beautiful light yellow w o o d , from a tree that grew in the yard w h e r e Big D e e a n d S t a s h h a d lived. After dinner D e e ( W a n g e r o ) went to the trunk at the foot of my b e d a n d started rifling t h r o u g h it. M a g g i e h u n g b a c k in the kitchen over the d i s h p a n . O u t c a m e W a n g e r o with two quilts. T h e y h a d b e e n p i e c e d by G r a n d m a D e e a n d then Big D e e a n d m e h a d h u n g t h e m on the quilt f r a m e s o n the front p o r c h a n d quilted t h e m . O n e w a s in the L o n e S t a r p a t t e r n . T h e other w a s W a l k A r o u n d the M o u n t a i n . In both of t h e m were s c r a p s of d r e s s e s G r a n d m a D e e h a d worn fifty a n d m o r e years a g o . Bits a n d p i e c e s of G r a n d p a Jarrell's Paisley shirts. A n d o n e teeny faded blue p i e c e , a b o u t the size of a p e n n y matchbox, that w a s from G r e a t G r a n d p a Ezra's uniform that he wore in the Civil War. " M a m a , " W a n g e r o said sweet a s a bird. " C a n I have t h e s e old q u i l t s ? " I heard s o m e t h i n g fall in the kitchen, a n d a m i n u t e later the kitchen d o o r slammed. "Why don't you take o n e or two of the o t h e r s ? " I a s k e d . " T h e s e old things was j u s t d o n e by m e a n d Big D e e from s o m e tops your g r a n d m a p i e c e d before she d i e d . " " N o , " said W a n g e r o . "I don't want t h o s e . T h e y are s t i t c h e d a r o u n d the borders by m a c h i n e . " "That'll m a k e t h e m last b e t t e r , " I s a i d . "That's not the p o i n t , " said W a n g e r o . " T h e s e are all p i e c e s of d r e s s e s G r a n d m a u s e d to wear. S h e did all this stitching by h a n d . I m a g i n e ! " S h e held the quilts securely in her a r m s , stroking t h e m . " S o m e of the p i e c e s , like t h o s e lavender o n e s , c o m e from old c l o t h e s her

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m o t h e r h a n d e d d o w n to her," I said, moving up to t o u c h the q u i l t s . D e e ( W a n g e r o ) moved b a c k j u s t e n o u g h s o that I couldn't r e a c h the quilts. T h e y already b e l o n g e d to her. " I m a g i n e ! " s h e b r e a t h e d a g a i n , c l u t c h i n g t h e m closely to her b o s o m . " T h e truth i s , " I said, "1 p r o m i s e d to give t h e m quilts to M a g g i e , for when s h e marries J o h n T h o m a s . " S h e g a s p e d like a b e e h a d s t u n g her. " M a g g i e can't a p p r e c i a t e t h e s e q u i l t s ! " s h e said. " S h e ' d probably b e backward e n o u g h to p u t t h e m to everyday u s e . " "I reckon s h e w o u l d , " I said. " G o d knows I b e e n saving 'em for l o n g e n o u g h with nobody u s i n g 'em. I h o p e s h e will!" I didn't want to bring u p how I h a d offered D e e ( W a n g e r o ) a quilt w h e n s h e went away to c o l l e g e . T h e n s h e h a d told m e they were o l d - f a s h i o n e d , o u t of style. " B u t they're priceless!" s h e w a s saying now, furiously; for s h e has a t e m p e r . " M a g g i e would put t h e m o n the b e d a n d in five years they'd b e in rags. L e s s than t h a t ! " " S h e c a n always m a k e s o m e m o r e , " 1 s a i d . " M a g g i e knows how to q u i l t . " D e e ( W a n g e r o ) looked at m e with hatred. "You j u s t will not u n d e r s t a n d . T h e point is t h e s e quilts, these q u i l t s ! " " W e l l , " I s a i d , s t u m p e d . " W h a t would you do with t h e m ? " " H a n g t h e m , " s h e said. As if that w a s the only thing you could do with quilts. M a g g i e by now w a s s t a n d i n g in the door. I c o u l d a l m o s t hear the s o u n d her feet m a d e a s they s c r a p e d over e a c h other. " S h e can have t h e m , M a m a , " s h e s a i d , like s o m e b o d y u s e d to never winning anything, or having a n y t h i n g reserved for her. "I c a n ' m e m b e r G r a n d m a D e e without the q u i l t s . " I looked at her hard. S h e h a d filled her b o t t o m lip with checkerberry s n u f f a n d it gave her a f a c e a kind of dopey, h a n g d o g look. It w a s G r a n d m a D e e a n d Big D e e w h o t a u g h t her how to quilt herself. S h e s t o o d there with her scarred h a n d s hidden in the folds of her skirt. S h e looked at her sister with s o m e t h i n g like fear b u t s h e wasn't m a d at her. T h i s w a s M a g g i e ' s p o r t i o n . T h i s w a s the way s h e knew G o d to work. W h e n I looked at her like that s o m e t h i n g hit m e in the top of my h e a d a n d ran d o w n to the s o l e s of my feet. J u s t like when I'm in c h u r c h a n d the spirit of G o d t o u c h e s m e a n d I get happy a n d s h o u t . I did s o m e t h i n g I never had d o n e before: h u g g e d M a g g i e to m e , then d r a g g e d her o n into the r o o m , s n a t c h e d the quilts o u t of M i s s W a n g e r o ' s h a n d s a n d d u m p e d t h e m into M a g g i e ' s lap. M a g g i e j u s t sat there on my b e d with her m o u t h o p e n . " T a k e o n e or two of the o t h e r s , " I said to D e e . B u t s h e turned without a word a n d went out to H a k i m - a - b a r b e r . "You j u s t don't u n d e r s t a n d , " s h e said, a s M a g g i e a n d I c a m e o u t to the car. " W h a t don't I u n d e r s t a n d ? " I w a n t e d to know. "Your h e r i t a g e , " she said. A n d then s h e turned to M a g g i e , k i s s e d her, a n d said, "You o u g h t to try to m a k e s o m e t h i n g of yourself, t o o , M a g g i e . It's really a new day for u s . But from the way you a n d M a m a still live you'd never know it." S h e put on s o m e s u n g l a s s e s that hid everything a b o v e the tip o f her n o s e a n d her c h i n .

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M a g g i e s m i l e d ; m a y b e at the s u n g l a s s e s . B u t a real s m i l e , not s c a r e d . After we w a t c h e d the c a r d u s t settle I a s k e d M a g g i e to bring m e a dip of snuff. And then the two of u s sat there j u s t enjoying, until it w a s t i m e to go in the h o u s e a n d go to b e d . 1973

LESLIE

MARMON b.

SILKO

1948

Born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Leslie Marmon Silko was raised in Old Laguna, a village fifty miles west of Albuquerque. The Spaniards had founded a mission there early in the eighteenth century, but Old Laguna had been formed centuries earlier by cattle-keeping Pueblos who successfully repelled raids on them by the Navajos and the Apaches. Writing of the unchanging character of Pueblo religious practices over the centuries, the historian Joe S. Sando notes that The tradition of religious beliefs permeates every aspect of the people's life; it determines man's relation with the natural world and with his fellow man. Its basic concern is continuity of a harmonious relationship with the world in which man lives. Silko's work concerns itself with such matters. Her own heritage is complicated in that her great-grandfather Robert Marmon was white, whereas her mother was a mixed-blood Plains Indian who kept her daughter on the traditional cradle board during her first year of infancy. (There is also some Mexican blood in her background.) Rather than being handicapped by this heritage, Silko has made it a source of strength. She writes: "I suppose at the core of my writing is the attempt to identify what it is to be a half-breed or mixed blooded person; what it is to grow up neither white nor fully traditional Indian." At the same time, she insists that "what I know is Laguna. This place I am from is everything I am as a writer and human being." She grew up an active child, had a horse of her own by age eight, and by thirteen owned a rifle, with which she took part in deer hunts. Commuting to Albuquerque, she attended Catholic schools, took a B.A. from the University of New Mexico, then began law school under a special program for Native Americans. But she soon gave it up to become a writer and teacher. Her first published story, "The Man to Send Rain Clouds" (1969), came out of a college assignment in a writing course. She had heard, in Laguna, of an old man found dead in a sheep camp who had been given a traditional burial—a fact resented by the priest who was not called in. The story she wrote about this situation, published in the New Mexico Quarterly, put her on the road to success as a writer. In 1974 a selection of her poems was published in a volume titled Laguna Women, and in 1977 her novel Ceremony, brought her recognition as a leading voice among native American writers. Ceremony, which shows the dark aspects of modern American Indian life, began as a short story about a World War II veteran, in acute physical and emotional straits as the novel begins, but who manages to survive by reestablishing contact with his native roots. When the book was published, Silko insisted it was not just or even mainly about characters: "This novel is essentially about the powers inherent in the process of storytelling. . . . The chanting or telling of ancient stories

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to effect certain cures or protect from illness and harm have always been a part of the Pueblo's curing ceremonies." So, she continued, this story of a family was an attempt "to search for a ceremony to deal with despair"—that despair which has led to the "suicide, the alcoholism, and the violence which occur in so many Indian communities today." Thus there is a strong moral connection between her purely aesthetic delight in the drafting of a story and the therapeutic, functional uses she hopes that it will play in the larger community of Native Americans. In both Ceremony and the aptly titled Storyteller of 1 9 8 1 (which also contains poems and photographs), Silko's prose is an expressive, active presence, sympathetically creative of landscape as well as of animals and human beings. Plants themselves assume narrative status in her third novel, Gardens in the Dunes ( 1 9 9 9 ) , which looks back to late-nineteenth-century events to underscore a basic theme: that myth and history do not coincide. The text is from Storyteller

(1981).

Lullaby T h e s u n h a d g o n e d o w n b u t t h e s n o w in t h e wind gave off its o w n light. It c a m e in thick tufts like n e w w o o l — w a s h e d b e f o r e t h e weaver s p i n s it. Ayah r e a c h e d o u t for it like h e r own b a b i e s h a d , a n d s h e s m i l e d w h e n s h e r e m e m b e r e d h o w s h e h a d l a u g h e d a t t h e m . S h e w a s a n old w o m a n now, a n d her life h a d b e c o m e m e m o r i e s . S h e s a t d o w n with her b a c k a g a i n s t the wide Cottonwood tree, feeling t h e r o u g h bark o n h e r b a c k b o n e s ; s h e f a c e d e a s t a n d listened to t h e wind a n d s n o w sing a high-pitched Y e i b e c h e i s o n g . O u t of the wind s h e felt w a r m e r , a n d s h e c o u l d w a t c h the wide fluffy s n o w fill in her t r a c k s , steadily, until the direction s h e h a d c o m e from w a s g o n e . B y t h e light of the s n o w s h e c o u l d s e e the dark outline of the b i g arroyo' a few feet away. S h e w a s sitting o n t h e e d g e o f C e b o l l e t a C r e e k , w h e r e in t h e springtime t h e thin c o w s w o u l d graze o n g r a s s already c h e w e d flat to t h e g r o u n d . In the wide d e e p c r e e k b e d w h e r e only a trickle o f water flowed in t h e s u m mer, t h e skinny cows w o u l d w a n d e r , looking for n e w g r a s s a l o n g w i n d i n g p a t h s s p l a s h e d with m a n u r e . Ayah pulled t h e o l d Army b l a n k e t over h e r h e a d like a s h a w l . J i m m i e ' s b l a n k e t — t h e o n e h e h a d s e n t to her. T h a t w a s a long time a g o a n d t h e g r e e n wool w a s f a d e d , a n d it w a s unraveling o n t h e e d g e s . S h e d i d n o t w a n t to think a b o u t J i m m i e . S o s h e t h o u g h t a b o u t t h e w e a v i n g a n d t h e w a y h e r m o t h e r h a d d o n e it. O n t h e wall w o o d e n l o o m set into t h e s a n d u n d e r a t a m a r a c k tree for s h a d e . S h e c o u l d s e e it clearly. S h e h a d b e e n only a little girl w h e n h e r g r a n d m a g a v e h e r t h e w o o d e n c o m b s to pull t h e twigs a n d b u r r s from t h e raw, freshly w a s h e d wool. A n d while s h e c o m b e d t h e wool, her g r a n d m a s a t b e s i d e h e r , s p i n n i n g a silvery s t r a n d o f yarn a r o u n d t h e s m o o t h c e d a r s p i n d l e . H e r m o t h e r worked at the l o o m with yarns dyed bright yellow a n d red a n d gold. S h e w a t c h e d t h e m dye t h e yarn in boiling black p o t s full o f b e e w e e d p e t a l s , j u n i p e r b e r r i e s , a n d s a g e . T h e b l a n k e t s h e r m o t h e r m a d e were soft a n d woven s o tight that rain rolled off t h e m like birds' feathers. Ayah r e m e m b e r e d s l e e p i n g w a r m o n c o l d windy nights, w r a p p e d in her m o t h e r ' s b l a n k e t s o n t h e h o g a n ' s s a n d y floor. 1. Gully carved by water.

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T h e snow drifted now, with the northwest wind hurling it in g u s t s . It drifted up a r o u n d her b l a c k o v e r s h o e s — o l d o n e s with little m e t a l b u c k l e s . S h e smiled at the s n o w which w a s trying to cover her little by little. S h e c o u l d r e m e m b e r w h e n they h a d no black rubber o v e r s h o e s ; only the high buckskin leggings that they w r a p p e d over their elkhide m o c c a s i n s . If the s n o w was dry or frozen, a p e r s o n c o u l d walk all day a n d not get wet; a n d in the evenings the b e a m s of the ceiling would h a n g with lengths of p a l e b u c k skin leggings, drying out slowly. S h e felt p e a c e f u l r e m e m b e r i n g . S h e didn't feel cold any m o r e . J i m m i e ' s blanket s e e m e d w a r m e r than it h a d ever b e e n . A n d s h e c o u l d r e m e m b e r the m o r n i n g he w a s born. S h e c o u l d r e m e m b e r w h i s p e r i n g to her m o t h e r , w h o w a s sleeping on the other side of the h o g a n , 2 to tell her it w a s time now. S h e did not want to wake the o t h e r s . T h e s e c o n d time s h e called to her, her m o t h e r stood up a n d pulled on her s h o e s ; s h e knew. T h e y walked to the old stone h o g a n together, Ayah walking a step b e h i n d her m o t h e r . S h e waited a l o n e , learning the rhythms of the p a i n s while her m o t h e r went to call the old w o m a n to help t h e m . T h e m o r n i n g w a s already w a r m even before d a w n a n d Ayah s m e l l e d the b e e flowers b l o o m i n g a n d the y o u n g willow g r o w i n g at the springs. S h e c o u l d r e m e m b e r that so clearly, b u t his birth m e r g e d into the births of the other children a n d to her it b e c a m e all the s a m e birth. T h e y n a m e d him for the s u m m e r m o r n i n g a n d in E n g l i s h they called him J i m m i e . It wasn't like J i m m i e died. H e j u s t never c a m e b a c k , a n d o n e day a d a r k blue s e d a n with white writing on its doors pulled up in front of the b o x c a r s h a c k w h e r e the r a n c h e r let the Indians live. A m a n in a khaki u n i f o r m t r i m m e d in gold gave t h e m a yellow p i e c e of p a p e r a n d told t h e m that J i m m i e was d e a d . H e said the Army would try to get the body b a c k a n d then it would be s h i p p e d to t h e m ; but it wasn't likely b e c a u s e the helicopter h a d b u r n e d after it c r a s h e d . All of this w a s told to C h a t o b e c a u s e h e c o u l d u n d e r s t a n d English. S h e s t o o d inside the doorway holding the baby while C h a t o listened. C h a t o s p o k e E n g l i s h like a white m a n a n d he s p o k e S p a n i s h t o o . H e w a s taller than the white m a n a n d he s t o o d straighter too. C h a t o didn't explain why; he j u s t told the military m a n they c o u l d k e e p the body if they f o u n d it. T h e white m a n looked bewildered; he n o d d e d his h e a d a n d h e left. T h e n C h a t o looked at her a n d s h o o k his h e a d , a n d then h e told her, " J i m m i e isn't c o m i n g h o m e a n y m o r e , " a n d w h e n h e s p o k e , he u s e d the w o r d s to s p e a k of the d e a d . S h e didn't cry t h e n , b u t s h e hurt inside with anger. A n d s h e m o u r n e d him a s the years p a s s e d , w h e n a h o r s e fell with C h a t o a n d b r o k e his leg, a n d the white r a n c h e r told them he wouldn't pay C h a t o until h e c o u l d work a g a i n . S h e m o u r n e d J i m m i e b e c a u s e h e w o u l d have w o r k e d for his father then; he would have s a d d l e d the big bay h o r s e a n d ridden the f e n c e lines e a c h day, with wire cutters a n d heavy gloves, fixing the b r e a k s in the b a r b e d wire a n d p u t t i n g the stray cattle b a c k inside a g a i n . S h e m o u r n e d him after the white d o c t o r s c a m e to take D a n n y a n d Ella away. S h e w a s at the s h a c k a l o n e that day they c a m e . It w a s b a c k in the days before they hired N a v a j o w o m e n to go with t h e m a s interpreters. S h e recognized o n e of the d o c t o r s . S h e h a d s e e n him at the children's clinic at C a n o n c i t o a b o u t a m o n t h a g o . T h e y were w e a r i n g khaki u n i f o r m s a n d they waved p a p e r s at her a n d a b l a c k ball-point p e n , trying to m a k e her under2. Navajo dwelling usually made of logs and mud.

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SILKO

s t a n d their E n g l i s h words. S h e w a s frightened by the way they looked at the children, like the lizard w a t c h e s the fly. D a n n y w a s swinging on the tire swing on the elm tree b e h i n d the rancher's h o u s e , a n d Ella w a s toddling a r o u n d the front door, d r a g g i n g the b r o o m s t i c k horse C h a t o m a d e for her. Ayah c o u l d s e e they w a n t e d her to sign the p a p e r s , a n d C h a t o h a d t a u g h t her to sign her n a m e . It w a s s o m e t h i n g s h e w a s p r o u d of. S h e only w a n t e d t h e m to g o , a n d to take their eyes away from her children. S h e took the pen from the m a n without looking at his face a n d s h e s i g n e d the p a p e r s in three different p l a c e s he pointed to. S h e stared at the g r o u n d by their feet a n d waited for t h e m to leave. B u t they s t o o d there a n d b e g a n to point a n d g e s t u r e at the children. D a n n y s t o p p e d swinging. Ayah c o u l d s e e his fear. S h e m o v e d s u d d e n l y a n d g r a b b e d Ella into her a r m s ; the child s q u i r m e d , trying to get b a c k to her toys. Ayah ran with the baby toward D a n n y ; s h e s c r e a m e d for him to run a n d then s h e g r a b b e d him a r o u n d his c h e s t a n d carried him t o o . S h e ran s o u t h into the foothills of j u n i p e r trees a n d black lava rock. B e h i n d her she h e a r d the d o c t o r s r u n n i n g , b u t they h a d b e e n taken by s u r p r i s e , a n d a s the hills b e c a m e s t e e p e r a n d the c h o l l a c a c t u s were thicker, they s t o p p e d . W h e n s h e r e a c h e d the top of the hill, s h e s t o p p e d to listen in c a s e they were circling a r o u n d her. B u t in a few m i n u t e s s h e heard a c a r e n g i n e start a n d they drove away. T h e children h a d b e e n too surprised to cry while s h e ran with t h e m . D a n n y w a s s h a k i n g a n d Ella's little fingers were gripping Ayah's b l o u s e . S h e stayed up in the hills for the rest of the day, sitting o n a black lava b o u l d e r in the s u n s h i n e where s h e c o u l d s e e for miles all a r o u n d her. T h e sky w a s light blue a n d c l o u d l e s s , a n d it w a s w a r m for late April. T h e s u n w a r m t h relaxed her a n d took the fear a n d a n g e r away. S h e lay b a c k on the rock and w a t c h e d the sky. It s e e m e d to her that s h e c o u l d walk into the sky, s t e p p i n g t h r o u g h c l o u d s endlessly. D a n n y played with little p e b b l e s a n d s t o n e s , p r e t e n d i n g they were birds e g g s a n d then little rabbits. Ella sat at her feet a n d d r o p p e d fistfuls of dirt into the breeze, w a t c h i n g the d u s t a n d particles of s a n d intently. Ayah w a t c h e d a hawk soar high a b o v e t h e m , d a r k wings gliding; h u n t i n g or only w a t c h i n g , she did not know. T h e hawk w a s patient a n d he circled all afternoon before he d i s a p p e a r e d a r o u n d the high volcanic p e a k the M e x i c a n s called G u a d a l u p e . L a t e in the afternoon, Ayah looked d o w n at the gray b o x c a r s h a c k with the paint all p e e l e d from the w o o d ; the stove pipe on the roof w a s r u s t e d a n d c r o o k e d . T h e fire s h e h a d built that m o r n i n g in the oil d r u m stove h a d b u r n e d out. Ella w a s a s l e e p in her lap now a n d D a n n y sat c l o s e to her, c o m p l a i n i n g that he w a s hungry; he a s k e d w h e n they would go to the h o u s e . " W e will stay u p here until your father c o m e s , " s h e told him, " b e c a u s e t h o s e white m e n were c h a s i n g u s . " T h e boy r e m e m b e r e d then a n d h e n o d d e d at her silently. If J i m m i e h a d b e e n there he c o u l d have r e a d t h o s e p a p e r s a n d explained to her what they s a i d . Ayah would have known t h e n , never to sign t h e m . T h e d o c t o r s c a m e b a c k the next day a n d they brought a B I A ' p o l i c e m a n with t h e m . T h e y told C h a t o they h a d her s i g n a t u r e a n d that w a s all they n e e d e d . E x c e p t for the kids. S h e listened to C h a t o sullenly; s h e h a t e d him when he told her it w a s the old w o m a n w h o died in the winter, spitting blood; it was 3. Bureau of Indian Affairs.

LULLABY

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her old g r a n d m a w h o had given the children this d i s e a s e . " T h e y don't spit b l o o d , " s h e said coldly. " T h e whites lie." S h e held Ella a n d D a n n y c l o s e to her, ready to run to the hills again. "I want a m e d i c i n e m a n first," s h e said to C h a t o , not looking at h i m . H e s h o o k his h e a d . "It's too late now. T h e p o l i c e m a n is with t h e m . You signed the p a p e r . " His voice w a s g e n t l e . It w a s worse t h a n if they h a d died: to lose the children a n d to know that s o m e w h e r e , in a p l a c e called C o l o r a d o , in a p l a c e full of sick a n d dying strangers, her children were without her. T h e r e h a d b e e n b a b i e s that died soon after they were b o r n , a n d o n e that died before h e c o u l d walk. S h e had carried t h e m herself, up to the b o u l d e r s a n d great p i e c e s of the cliff that long a g o c r a s h e d d o w n from L o n g M e s a ; she laid t h e m in the crevices of s a n d s t o n e a n d buried t h e m in fine brown s a n d with r o u n d q u a r t z p e b b l e s that w a s h e d d o w n the hills in the rain. S h e had e n d u r e d it b e c a u s e they h a d b e e n with her. B u t she c o u l d not b e a r this p a i n . S h e did not s l e e p for a long time after they took her children. S h e stayed on the hill where they h a d fled the first time, a n d she slept rolled u p in the blanket J i m m i e h a d sent her. S h e carried the p a i n in her belly a n d it w a s fed by everything s h e saw: the blue sky of their last day together a n d the d u s t a n d p e b b l e s they played with; the swing in the elm tree a n d b r o o m s t i c k horse c h o k e d life from her. T h e pain filled her s t o m a c h a n d there was no room for food or for her lungs to fill with air. T h e air a n d the food would have b e e n theirs. S h e h a t e d C h a t o , not b e c a u s e he let the p o l i c e m a n a n d d o c t o r s put the s c r e a m i n g children in the g o v e r n m e n t car, but b e c a u s e h e h a d t a u g h t her to sign her n a m e . B e c a u s e it was like the old o n e s always told her a b o u t l e a r n i n g their l a n g u a g e or any of their ways: it e n d a n g e r e d you. S h e slept a l o n e on the hill until the m i d d l e of N o v e m b e r w h e n the first s n o w s c a m e . T h e n s h e m a d e a b e d for herself w h e r e the children h a d slept. S h e did not lie down beside C h a t o again until m a n y years later, when he w a s sick a n d shivering and only her body c o u l d keep him w a r m . T h e illness c a m e after the white rancher told C h a t o he was too old to work for him a n y m o r e , a n d C h a t o a n d his old w o m a n s h o u l d be out of the s h a c k by the next afternoon b e c a u s e the rancher had hired new p e o p l e to work there. T h a t h a d satisfied her. T o s e e how the white m a n repaid C h a t o ' s years of loyalty a n d work. All of C h a t o ' s fine-sounding E n g l i s h talk didn't c h a n g e things. It snowed steadily a n d the l u m i n o u s light from the s n o w gradually diminished into the d a r k n e s s . S o m e w h e r e in C e b o l l e t a a d o g b a r k e d a n d other village d o g s j o i n e d with it. Ayah looked in the direction s h e h a d c o m e , from the bar where C h a t o w a s buying the wine. S o m e t i m e s h e told her to go o n a h e a d a n d wait; a n d then he never c a m e . And when s h e finally went b a c k looking for him, s h e would find him p a s s e d out at the b o t t o m of the w o o d e n s t e p s to Azzie's Bar. All the wine would be g o n e a n d m o s t of the m o n e y too, from the pale b l u e c h e c k that c a m e to t h e m o n c e a m o n t h in a g o v e r n m e n t e n v e l o p e . It w a s then that s h e would look at his f a c e a n d his h a n d s , s c a r r e d by ropes a n d the b a r b e d wire of all t h o s e years, a n d s h e would think, this m a n is a stranger; for forty years s h e h a d s m i l e d at him a n d c o o k e d his food, but he r e m a i n e d a stranger. S h e stood u p a g a i n , with the s n o w a l m o s t to her k n e e s , a n d she walked b a c k to find C h a t o . It was hard to walk in the d e e p s n o w a n d she felt the air burn in her lungs. She s t o p p e d a short d i s t a n c e from the bar to rest a n d r e a d j u s t the blanket.

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B u t this time he wasn't waiting for her on the b o t t o m s t e p with his old S t e t s o n hat pulled d o w n a n d his s h o u l d e r s h u n c h e d u p in his l o n g wool overcoat. S h e w a s careful not to slip o n the w o o d e n s t e p s . W h e n s h e p u s h e d the d o o r o p e n , w a r m air a n d cigarette s m o k e hit her f a c e . S h e looked a r o u n d slowly a n d deliberately, in every corner, in every d a r k p l a c e that the old m a n might find to s l e e p . T h e bar owner didn't like I n d i a n s in there, especially N a v a j o s , but h e let C h a t o c o m e in b e c a u s e he c o u l d talk S p a n i s h like he w a s o n e of t h e m . T h e m e n at the bar s t a r e d at her, a n d the b a r t e n d e r s a w that s h e left the d o o r o p e n w i d e . S n o w f l a k e s were flying inside like m o t h s a n d m e l t i n g into a p u d d l e on the oiled w o o d floor. H e m o t i o n e d to her to c l o s e the door, but she did not s e e him. S h e held herself straight a n d walked a c r o s s the r o o m slowly, s e a r c h i n g the r o o m with every step. T h e s n o w in her hair m e l t e d a n d s h e c o u l d feel it o n her f o r e h e a d . At the far c o r n e r of the r o o m , s h e saw red f l a m e s at the m i c a window of the old stove door; s h e looked b e h i n d the stove j u s t to m a k e s u r e . T h e bar got q u i e t except for the S p a n i s h polka m u s i c playing on the j u k e b o x . S h e s t o o d by the stove a n d s h o o k the s n o w from her blanket a n d held it n e a r the stove to dry. T h e wet wool smell r e m i n d e d her of new-born g o a t s in early M a r c h , b r o u g h t inside to w a r m n e a r the fire. S h e felt c a l m . In p a s t years they w o u l d have told her to get o u t . B u t her hair w a s white now a n d her f a c e w a s wrinkled. T h e y looked at her like s h e w a s a spider crawling slowly a c r o s s the r o o m . T h e y were afraid; s h e c o u l d feel the fear. S h e looked at their f a c e s steadily. T h e y r e m i n d e d her of the first time the white p e o p l e b r o u g h t her children b a c k to her that winter. D a n n y h a d b e e n shy a n d hid b e h i n d the thin white w o m a n w h o b r o u g h t t h e m . A n d the b a b y h a d not known her until Ayah took her into her a r m s , a n d then E l l a h a d nuzzled c l o s e to her a s s h e h a d w h e n s h e w a s n u r s i n g . T h e b l o n d e w o m a n w a s n e r v o u s a n d kept looking at a dainty gold w a t c h on her wrist. S h e s a t on the b e n c h near the small window a n d w a t c h e d the dark s n o w c l o u d s g a t h e r a r o u n d the m o u n t a i n s ; s h e w a s worrying a b o u t the u n p a v e d r o a d . S h e w a s frightened by w h a t s h e s a w inside t o o : the strips of venison drying o n a rope a c r o s s the ceiling a n d the children j a b b e r i n g excitedly in a l a n g u a g e s h e did not know. S o they stayed for only a few h o u r s . Ayah w a t c h e d the gove r n m e n t c a r d i s a p p e a r d o w n the r o a d a n d s h e k n e w they were already b e i n g w e a n e d from t h e s e lava hills a n d from this sky. T h e last time they c a m e w a s in early J u n e , a n d Ella stared at her the way the m e n in the b a r were now staring. Ayah did not try to p i c k her u p ; s h e s m i l e d at her i n s t e a d a n d s p o k e cheerfully to D a n n y . W h e n he tried to a n s w e r her, he c o u l d not s e e m to r e m e m b e r a n d he s p o k e E n g l i s h w o r d s with the N a v a j o . B u t he gave her a s c r a p of p a p e r that h e h a d f o u n d s o m e w h e r e a n d carried in his p o c k e t ; it w a s folded in half, a n d he shyly looked u p at her a n d said it w a s a bird. S h e a s k e d C h a t o if they were h o m e for g o o d this t i m e . H e s p o k e to the white w o m a n a n d s h e s h o o k her h e a d . " H o w m u c h l o n g e r ? " h e a s k e d , a n d s h e s a i d s h e didn't know; b u t C h a t o s a w how s h e stared at the b o x c a r s h a c k . Ayah turned away then. S h e did not say g o o d - b y e . S h e felt satisfied that the m e n in the bar feared her. M a y b e it w a s her f a c e a n d the way s h e held her m o u t h with teeth c l e n c h e d tight, like there w a s n o t h i n g a n y o n e c o u l d d o to her now. S h e walked north d o w n the r o a d ,

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s e a r c h i n g for the old m a n . S h e did this b e c a u s e s h e h a d the blanket, a n d there would b e no p l a c e for him except with her a n d the b l a n k e t in the old a d o b e barn n e a r the arroyo. T h e y always slept there w h e n they c a m e to C e b o l l e t a . If the m o n e y a n d the wine were g o n e , s h e w o u l d b e relieved b e c a u s e then they c o u l d go h o m e a g a i n ; b a c k to the old h o g a n with a dirt roof a n d rock walls w h e r e s h e herself had b e e n born. A n d the next day the old m a n c o u l d g o b a c k to the few s h e e p they still h a d , to follow a l o n g b e h i n d t h e m , guiding t h e m , into dry sandy arroyos where s p a r s e g r a s s grew. S h e knew he did not like walking b e h i n d old e w e s w h e n for s o m a n y years he rode big quarter h o r s e s a n d worked with cattle. B u t s h e wasn't sorry for h i m ; he s h o u l d have known all a l o n g what would h a p p e n . T h e r e h a d not b e e n e n o u g h rain for their g a r d e n in five y e a r s ; a n d that w a s when C h a t o finally hitched a ride into the town a n d b r o u g h t b a c k brown boxes of rice a n d s u g a r a n d big tin c a n s of welfare p e a c h e s . After that, at the first of the m o n t h they went to C e b o l l e t a to a s k the p o s t m a s t e r for the c h e c k ; a n d then C h a t o would g o to the bar a n d c a s h it. T h e y did this a s they p l a n t e d the g a r d e n every M a y , not b e c a u s e anything w o u l d survive the s u m m e r d u s t , but b e c a u s e it w a s time to do this. T h e j o u r n e y p a s s e d the days that s m e l l e d silent a n d dry like the c a v e s a b o v e the c a n y o n with yellow p a i n t e d buffaloes on their walls. H e w a s walking a l o n g the p a v e m e n t w h e n s h e f o u n d h i m . H e did not s t o p or turn a r o u n d w h e n h e heard her b e h i n d him. S h e walked b e s i d e h i m a n d she noticed how slowly he m o v e d now. H e s m e l l e d strongly of w o o d s m o k e a n d urine. Lately he h a d b e e n forgetting. S o m e t i m e s he called her by his sister's n a m e a n d s h e h a d b e e n g o n e for a long t i m e . O n c e s h e h a d f o u n d him w a n d e r i n g o n the road to the white m a n ' s r a n c h , a n d s h e a s k e d him why h e was g o i n g that way; he l a u g h e d at her a n d s a i d , "You know they can't run that ranch without m e , " a n d h e walked on d e t e r m i n e d , limping on the leg that had b e e n c r u s h e d m a n y years before. N o w h e looked at her curiously, a s if for the first t i m e , but he kept shuffling a l o n g , moving slowly a l o n g the side of the highway. His gray hair h a d grown long a n d s p r e a d o u t on the shoulders of the long overcoat. H e wore the old felt hat pulled d o w n over his ears. His b o o t s were worn o u t at the toes a n d he h a d stuffed p i e c e s of an old red shirt in the h o l e s . T h e rags m a d e his feet look like little a n i m a l s up to their ears in snow. S h e l a u g h e d at his feet; the s n o w muffled the s o u n d of her laugh. H e s t o p p e d a n d looked at her a g a i n . T h e wind h a d quit blowing and the s n o w w a s falling straight d o w n ; the s o u t h e a s t sky w a s b e g i n n i n g to clear a n d Ayah c o u l d s e e a star. " L e t ' s rest a w h i l e , " she said to him. T h e y walked away from the r o a d a n d up the s l o p e to the giant b o u l d e r s that h a d t u m b l e d d o w n from the red s a n d r o c k m e s a t h r o u g h o u t the c e n t u r i e s of r a i n s t o r m s a n d e a r t h t r e m o r s . In a p l a c e w h e r e the b o u l d e r s s h u t out the wind, they sat d o w n with their b a c k s a g a i n s t the rock. S h e offered half of the blanket to him a n d they sat w r a p p e d together. T h e storm p a s s e d swiftly. T h e c l o u d s m o v e d e a s t . T h e y were m a s s i v e a n d full, c r o w d i n g together a c r o s s the sky. S h e w a t c h e d t h e m with the feeling of h o r s e s — s t e e l y blue-gray h o r s e s startled a c r o s s the sky. T h e powerful h a u n c h e s p u s h e d into the d i s t a n c e s a n d the tail hairs s t r e a m e d white mist behind t h e m . T h e sky c l e a r e d . Ayah s a w that there w a s n o t h i n g b e t w e e n her

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a n d the s t a r s . T h e light w a s crystalline. T h e r e was n o s h i m m e r , no distortion through earth haze. S h e b r e a t h e d the clarity of the night sky; s h e s m e l l e d the purity of the half m o o n a n d the s t a r s . H e w a s lying o n his side with his knees pulled up near his belly for w a r m t h . His eyes were c l o s e d now, a n d in the light from the stars a n d the m o o n , he looked y o u n g again. S h e c o u l d s e e it d e s c e n d out of the night sky: an icy stillness f r o m the e d g e of the thin m o o n . S h e recognized the freezing. It c a m e gradually, sinking snowflake by snowflake until the c r u s t w a s heavy a n d d e e p . It h a d the strength of the stars in O r i o n , a n d its j o u r n e y w a s e n d l e s s . Ayah k n e w that with the wine h e would s l e e p . H e would not feel it. S h e t u c k e d the blanket a r o u n d h i m , r e m e m b e r i n g how it w a s w h e n Ella h a d b e e n with her; a n d s h e felt the rush so big inside her heart for the b a b i e s . And s h e s a n g the only s o n g s h e knew to sing for b a b i e s . S h e c o u l d not r e m e m b e r if s h e h a d ever s u n g it to her children, but s h e knew that her g r a n d m o t h e r h a d s u n g it a n d her m o t h e r h a d s u n g it: The earth is your mother, she holds you. The sky is your father, he protects you. Sleep, sleep. Rainbow is your sister, she loves you. The winds are your brothers, they sing to you. Sleep, sleep. We are together always We are together always There never was a time when this was not so. 1981

SANDRA b.

CISNEROS 1954

Sandra Cisneros began her life as a writer at age ten, much like the young Chicana narrator of The House on Mango Street (1984), the volume of interrelated vignettes from a child's perspective that brought Cisneros her first major attention. In brief, sharply drawn but quietly expressed segments, the narrator, Esperanza, conveys the ambience of growing up in a street in Chicago's Mexican American community. The social bond of this neighborhood eases the contrast between Esperanza's nurturing family and the more hostile forces of poverty and racism. Cisneros cultivates a sense of warmth and naive humor for her protagonists, qualities that are evident in the

MY LUCY FRIEND W H O S M E L L S

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story printed here, which forms an introductory part to Woman Hollering Creek ( 1 9 9 1 ) , a volume that also deals with more troublesome aspects of young women facing hostile forces in the world. Sex is a topic in all Cisneros's work, including her poetry collected as My Wicked

Wicked

Ways

( 1 9 8 7 ) and Loose

Woman

(1994)—

sometimes gentle and even silly, other times brutally assaultive. What remains constant is the author's view that by romanticizing sexual relations women cooperate with a male view that can be oppressive, if not physically destructive. Born in Chicago, the child of a Mexican father and Mexican American mother, Cisneros spent time in Texas and Mexico as well. Her Catholic education led to a B.A. degree from Chicago's Loyola University, after which she earned a graduate degree in creative writing from the University of Iowa's Writers Workshop. Teaching in San Antonio, Texas, she has used her position as a writer and an educator to expound Chicana feminism, especially as this movement combines cultural issues with women's concerns. A dissatisfaction with the politics of publishing has made her an advocate of small-press dissemination. Most of all, as in the stories reprinted here, she is eager to show the rich dynamics of characters existing in the blend of Mexican and American cultures that begins with speaking two languages and extends to almost every aspect of life. Spanish words, Mexican holidays, ethnic foods, and localized religious practices punctuate the narrative; her characters have a facility with cultural play that reflects what for others would be an anthropologically enhanced understanding. The text is from Woman

Hollering

Creek

(1991).

My Lucy Friend Who Smells Like Corn L u c y A n g u i a n o , T e x a s girl w h o smells like c o r n , like Frito B a n d i t o c h i p s , like tortillas, s o m e t h i n g like that warm smell o f nixtamal' or bread t h e way her head smells w h e n she's l e a n i n g close to you over a p a p e r c u t - o u t doll or on the p o r c h w h e n we a r e s q u a t t i n g over m a r b l e s trading this pretty crystal that leaves a b l u e star on your hand for that giant cat-eye with a g r a s s h o p p e r green spiral in t h e c e n t e r like t h e j u i c e of b u g s on t h e windshield w h e n you drive to the border, like t h e yellow blood o f butterflies. Have

you ever

eaten

dog food?

I have.

After c r u n c h i n g like i c e , s h e o p e n s

her big m o u t h to prove it, only a pink t o n g u e rolling a r o u n d in there like a blind worm, a n d J a n e y looking in b e c a u s e s h e said S h o w m e . B u t m e I like that Lucy, corn smell hair a n d a q u a flip-flops j u s t like m i n e that w e b o u g h t at the K mart for only 7 9 c e n t s s a m e time. I'm going to sit in t h e s u n , don't c a r e if it's a million trillion d e g r e e s o u t s i d e , so my skin c a n g e t so dark it's blue where it b e n d s like L u c y ' s . H e r whole family like that. E y e s like knife slits. L u c y a n d her sisters. N o r m a , M a r g a r i t a , Ofelia, H e r m i n i a , N a n c y , Olivia, C h e l i , y la A m b e r S u e . S c r e e n door with no s c r e e n . Bang! Little black d o g biting his fur. F a t c o u c h on the p o r c h . S o m e o f t h e windows painted blue, s o m e pink, b e c a u s e her daddy got tired that day or forgot. M a m a in t h e kitchen feeding c l o t h e s into the wringer w a s h e r a n d c l o t h e s rolling o u t all stiff a n d twisted a n d flat like paper. L u c y got her a r m s t u c k o n c e a n d h a d to yell M a a a ! a n d her m a m a h a d to p u t t h e m a c h i n e in reverse a n d then her h a n d rolled back, t h e finger 2

1. T h e cornmeal from which corn tortillas are prepared. 2. And the (Spanish). La is sometimes used in

Mexican Spanish before a woman's name, as here; sec also la Ofelia. below.

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b l a c k a n d later, h e r nail fell off. But did your What

happened

to your

arm?

Did they have

arm get flat like

to pump

it with

air?

the

clothes?

N o , only t h e

finger, a n d s h e didn't cry neither. L e a n a c r o s s t h e p o r c h rail a n d pin t h e pink s o c k o f t h e baby A m b e r S u e on top o f C h e l i ' s flowered T-shirt, a n d t h e blue j e a n s o f la O f e l i a over t h e inside s e a m of Olivia's b l o u s e , over t h e flannel nightgown of M a r g a r i t a s o it don't stretch o u t , a n d then you take t h e work shirts of their d a d d y a n d h a n g t h e m u p s i d e d o w n like this, a n d this way all the c l o t h e s don't g e t s o wrinkled a n d take u p less s p a c e a n d you don't w a s t e p i n s . T h e girls all w e a r e a c h other's c l o t h e s , except Olivia, w h o is stingy. T h e r e ain't n o boys h e r e . Only girls a n d o n e father w h o is never h o m e hardly a n d o n e m o t h e r w h o says Ay! I'm real tired a n d s o m a n y sisters there's n o time to c o u n t t h e m . I'm sitting in t h e s u n even t h o u g h it's t h e hottest part of the day, t h e part that m a k e s t h e streets dizzy, w h e n t h e heat m a k e s a little h a t o n t h e t o p o f your h e a d a n d b a k e s t h e d u s t a n d w e e d g r a s s a n d sweat u p g o o d , all s t e a m y a n d s m e l l i n g like s w e e t c o r n . I w a n t to r u b h e a d s a n d sleep in a b e d with little sisters, s o m e at t h e t o p a n d s o m e at t h e feets. I think it w o u l d b e fun to s l e e p with sisters y o u c o u l d yell at o n e at a t i m e or all together, i n s t e a d of a l o n e o n t h e fold-out c h a i r in the living r o o m . W h e n I g e t h o m e A b u d j a ' will s a y Didn't I tell you? a n d I'll g e t it b e c a u s e I w a s s u p p o s e d to w e a r this d r e s s again tomorrow. B u t first I'm g o i n g to j u m p off a n old pissy m a t t r e s s in t h e A n g u i a n o yard. I'm g o i n g to s c r a t c h your m o s q u i t o b i t e s , L u c y , s o they'll itch y o u , then p u t M e r c u r o c h r o m e smiley f a c e s o n t h e m . We're g o i n g to trade s h o e s a n d wear t h e m o n o u r h a n d s . W e ' r e g o i n g to walk over to J a n e y Ortiz's h o u s e a n d say We're never ever going

to he your friend

again forever!

W e ' r e g o i n g to r u n h o m e b a c k w a r d s a n d

we're g o i n g to r u n h o m e frontwards, look twice u n d e r t h e h o u s e w h e r e t h e rats hide a n d I'll stick o n e foot in there b e c a u s e you d a r e d m e , sky s o b l u e a n d h e a v e n inside t h o s e white c l o u d s . I'm g o i n g to p e e l a s c a b from my k n e e a n d e a t it, s n e e z e o n t h e c a t , give you three M & M ' s I've b e e n s a v i n g for you s i n c e yesterday, c o m b your hair with my fingers a n d braid it into teenytiny b r a i d s real pretty. W e ' r e g o i n g to wave to a lady w e don't k n o w o n t h e b u s . H e l l o ! I'm g o i n g to s o m e r s a u l t o n t h e rail o f the front p o r c h even t h o u g h my chones s h o w . A n d c u t p a p e r dolls w e draw o u r s e l v e s , a n d c o l o r in their c l o t h e s with c r a y o n s , my a r m a r o u n d your n e c k . A n d w h e n we look at e a c h other, o u r a r m s g u m m y f r o m a n o r a n g e P o p s i c l e we split, w e c o u l d b e sisters, right? W e c o u l d b e , you a n d m e waiting for our t e e t h s to fall a n d m o n e y . You l a u g h i n g s o m e t h i n g into m y e a r that tickles, a n d m e g o i n g H a H a H a H a . H e r a n d m e , m y L u c y friend w h o smells like corn. 4

1991

3. Grandmother (Spanish, affectionate form).

4. Baby talk for calzones, "underwear" (Spanish).

2597

LOUISE b.

ERDRICH 1954

Louise Erdrich grew up in the small town of Wahpeton, North Dakota, just on the Minnesota border. Her mother was French-Chippewa, her maternal grandmother was tribal chairman on the Turtle Mountain Reservation, and both her mother and father worked in the Bureau of Indian Affairs boarding school in Wahpeton. Although she wrote stories as a child, encouraged by her father, who paid her a nickel for each one, Erdrich's growing up was marked by no special awareness of her Chippewa background. She has said that she never thought about "what was Native American and what wasn't. . . . There wasn't a political climate at the time about Indian rights."The eldest of seven children, she "grew up just taking it all in as something that was part of me." In 1972 she entered Dartmouth College, participating in a native American studies program run by Michael Dorris—himself part American Indian and a writer—whom eventually she would marry (a relationship ending with their separation and his suicide in 1997). In her undergraduate years she won prizes for poetry and fiction and worked at a variety of jobs, such as teaching poetry in prisons, editing a Boston Indian Council newspaper, and flag-signaling on a construction site. Deciding on a career as a writer, she took an M.F.A. degree at Johns Hopkins, for which degree she submitted a number of poems—later to appear in her collection, jacklight—as well as part of a novel. There followed the usual sending out of poems and stories, the rejection slips, eventually the acceptances. Her first novel, Love Medicine, which won the National Book Critics Circle award for 1984, began as a short story. Working closely with her husband, she not only expanded the story into a novel but planned that novel as the first of a tetralogy, ranging over different periods of time and focusing on the lives of two Chippewa families. Her interest in the interactions between characters and their families and friends lies at the center of her fiction. As Erdrich explained, she and Dorris "continuously plot and continuously talk about who the characters are, what they eat, what clothes they wear, what their favorite colors are and what's going to happen to them. In that way, I think it's a true kind of collaboration." Successive chapters of Love Medicine jump from 1981 to 1934 to 1948, each chapter told through a particular character's point of view (sometimes we see the same event from succeeding points of view). But the individual chapter is more a discrete whole than is the case with a traditional novel, a technique Erdrich uses in many of her novels, including Tracks (1988), the second chapter of which was published as the story "Fleur" (printed here). Like many of Erdrich's narratives, Tracks draws life from the context of High Plains Dakotas town life, where Anglo and Native American cultures meet (if not mix). Erdrich's style is easy, offhand, quietly unostentatious, but always with a kick in the language, as in the first paragraph of "The Red Convertible," whose protagonist, Lyman Lamartine, tells us: I was the first one to drive a convertible on my reservation. And of course, it was red, a red Olds. I owned that car along with my brother Henry Junior. We owned it together until his boots filled with water on a windy night and he bought out my share. Now Henry owns the whole car, and his younger brother (that's myself) Lyman walks everywhere he goes. Such clarity and directness are only part of the story, however, since her style also calls upon lyric resources, notable in the following sentence from her second novel, The Beet

Queen:

After the miraculous sheets of black ice came the floods, stranding boards and snaky knots of debris high in the branches, leaving brown leeches to dry like

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raisins on the sidewalks when the water receded, and leaving the smell of river mud, a rotten sweetness, in the backyards and gutters. The Beet Queen moves outside the reservation, where the two families in Love Medicine lived, to a small town near it called Argus, made up of whites and a few Chippewas. The novel focuses on a sister and brother, abandoned by their mother in 1932, and takes them up through forty years to a time when the family gathers at a town beet festival. Different members of the extended family pick up and lay down the narrative, while an omniscient voice intersperses itself between those of the characters. As is evident in her novels The Bingo Palace (1994), The Antelope Wife (1998), and The Last Report on the Miracles

at Little No (2001) and her story collection Tales

of Burning Love (1996), Erdrich writes without sentimentality, yet with a real feeling for place and people, for individual lives as they extend themselves over time and space. The text is from Esquire magazine, August 1986.

•

Fleur T h e first time s h e d r o w n e d in t h e c o l d a n d glassy waters o f L a k e T u r c o t , F l e u r Pillager w a s only a girl. T w o m e n s a w t h e b o a t tip, s a w h e r struggle in the w a v e s . T h e y rowed over to t h e p l a c e s h e w e n t d o w n , a n d j u m p e d in. W h e n they d r a g g e d h e r over t h e g u n w a l e s , s h e w a s cold to t h e t o u c h a n d stiff, s o they s l a p p e d h e r f a c e , s h o o k h e r by t h e h e e l s , w o r k e d h e r a r m s b a c k a n d forth, a n d p o u n d e d h e r b a c k until s h e c o u g h e d u p lake water. S h e shivered all over like a d o g , then took a b r e a t h . B u t it wasn't long afterward that t h o s e two m e n d i s a p p e a r e d . T h e first w a n d e r e d off a n d t h e other, J e a n H a t , got h i m s e l f run over by a cart. It went to show, my g r a n d m a s a i d . It figured to h e r , all right. B y s a v i n g F l e u r Pillager, t h o s e two m e n h a d lost t h e m s e l v e s . T h e next time s h e fell in t h e l a k e , F l e u r Pillager w a s twenty years old a n d n o o n e t o u c h e d h e r . S h e w a s h e d o n s h o r e , h e r skin a dull d e a d gray, b u t w h e n G e o r g e M a n y W o m e n b e n t to look closer, h e s a w h e r chest m o v e . T h e n h e r eyes s p u n o p e n , s h a r p b l a c k riprock, a n d s h e l o o k e d at h i m . "You'll take m y p l a c e , " s h e h i s s e d . Everybody s c a t t e r e d a n d left h e r t h e r e , s o n o o n e knows h o w s h e d r a g g e d herself h o m e . S o o n after that w e n o t i c e d M a n y W o m e n c h a n g e d , grew afraid, wouldn't leave his h o u s e , a n d w o u l d not b e forced to g o n e a r water. F o r his c a u t i o n , h e lived until t h e d a y that his s o n s b r o u g h t h i m a n e w tin b a t h t u b . T h e n t h e first t i m e h e u s e d t h e t u b h e s l i p p e d , got k n o c k e d o u t , a n d b r e a t h e d water while h i s wife s t o o d in t h e other r o o m frying b r e a k f a s t . M e n stayed clear of F l e u r Pillager after the s e c o n d d r o w n i n g . E v e n t h o u g h s h e w a s good-looking, nobody d a r e d to court h e r b e c a u s e it w a s clear that M i s s h e p e s h u , t h e w a t e r m a n , t h e m o n s t e r , w a n t e d h e r for himself. H e ' s a devil, that o n e , love-hungry with desire a n d m a d d e n e d for the t o u c h of y o u n g girls, t h e strong a n d d a r i n g especially, t h e o n e s like F l e u r . O u r m o t h e r s w a r n u s that we'll think he's h a n d s o m e , for h e appears with green e y e s , c o p p e r skin, a m o u t h t e n d e r a s a child's. B u t if you fall into his a r m s , h e s p r o u t s h o r n s , f a n g s , c l a w s , fins. H i s feet are j o i n e d a s o n e a n d his skin, b r a s s s c a l e s , rings to t h e t o u c h . You're f a s c i n a t e d , c a n n o t m o v e . H e

FLEUR

/

2599

c a s t s a shell n e c k l a c e at your feet, w e e p s g l e a m i n g chips that h a r d e n into m i c a on your b r e a s t s . H e holds you under. T h e n he takes the body of a lion or a fat brown w o r m . H e ' s m a d e of gold. H e ' s m a d e of b e a c h m o s s . He's a thing of dry f o a m , a thing of d e a t h by drowning, the d e a t h a C h i p p e w a c a n n o t survive. U n l e s s you are F l e u r Pillager. W e all knew s h e c o u l d n ' t s w i m . After the first t i m e , we t h o u g h t she'd never g o b a c k to lake T u r c o t . W e t h o u g h t she'd keep to herself, live quiet, s t o p killing m e n off by d r o w n i n g in the lake. After the first t i m e , we thought she'd keep the g o o d ways. B u t t h e n , after the s e c o n d drowning, we knew that we were d e a l i n g with s o m e t h i n g m u c h m o r e serious. S h e was haywire, o u t of control. S h e m e s s e d with evil, l a u g h e d at the old w o m e n ' s advice, a n d d r e s s e d like a m a n . S h e got herself into s o m e half-forgotten m e d i c i n e , studied ways we shouldn't talk a b o u t . S o m e say s h e kept the finger of a child in her p o c k e t a n d a p o w d e r of u n b o r n rabbits in a leather thong a r o u n d her neck. S h e laid the heart of a n owl o n her t o n g u e so she c o u l d s e e at night, a n d went out, hunting, not even in her own body. W e know for sure b e c a u s e the next morning, in the s n o w or d u s t , we followed the tracks of her b a r e feet a n d saw where they c h a n g e d , w h e r e the c l a w s s p r a n g out, the p a d b r o a d e n e d a n d p r e s s e d into the dirt. By night we h e a r d her chuffing c o u g h , the b e a r c o u g h . By day her silence a n d the wide grin she threw to bring d o w n our g u a r d m a d e u s frightened. S o m e t h o u g h t that Fleur Pillager s h o u l d b e driven off the reservation, but not a single p e r s o n who s p o k e like this h a d the nerve. A n d finally, w h e n p e o p l e were j u s t a b o u t to get together a n d throw her o u t , she left on her own a n d didn't c o m e b a c k all s u m m e r . T h a t ' s w h a t this story is a b o u t . D u r i n g that s u m m e r , w h e n she lived a few miles s o u t h in A r g u s , things h a p p e n e d . S h e a l m o s t destroyed that town. W h e n she got d o w n to A r g u s in the year of 1 9 2 0 , it w a s j u s t a s m a l l grid of six streets on either side of the railroad d e p o t . T h e r e were two elevators, one central, the other a few miles west. T w o stores c o m p e t e d for the trade of the three h u n d r e d citizens, a n d three c h u r c h e s q u a r r e l e d with o n e a n o t h e r for their s o u l s . T h e r e w a s a f r a m e building for L u t h e r a n s , a heavy brick o n e for E p i s c o p a l i a n s , a n d a long narrow shingled C a t h o l i c c h u r c h . T h i s last h a d a tall slender s t e e p l e , twice a s high a s any b u i l d i n g or tree. N o d o u b t , a c r o s s the low, flat wheat, w a t c h i n g from the r o a d a s s h e c a m e near A r g u s on foot, F l e u r saw that steeple rise, a s h a d o w thin a s a n e e d l e . M a y b e in that raw s p a c e it drew her the way a lone tree d r a w s lightning. M a y b e , in the e n d , the C a t h o l i c s are to b l a m e . F o r if s h e hadn't s e e n that sign of p r i d e , that slim prayer, that marker, m a y b e s h e w o u l d have kept walking. B u t Fleur Pillager t u r n e d , a n d the first p l a c e s h e went o n c e s h e c a m e into town w a s to the b a c k d o o r of the priest's r e s i d e n c e a t t a c h e d to the l a n d m a r k c h u r c h . S h e didn't g o there for a h a n d o u t , a l t h o u g h s h e got that, but to a s k for work. S h e got that too, or the town got her. It's hard to tell which c a m e out w o r s e , her or the m e n or the town, a l t h o u g h the u p s h o t of it all w a s that Fleur lived. T h e four m e n w h o worked at the butcher's h a d c a r v e d u p a b o u t a t h o u s a n d c a r c a s s e s b e t w e e n t h e m , m a y b e half of that steers a n d the other half pigs, sheep, a n d g a m e a n i m a l s like deer, elk, a n d bear. T h a t ' s not even m e n t i o n i n g

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the c h i c k e n s , which were beyond c o u n t i n g . P e t e Kozka o w n e d the p l a c e , a n d e m p l o y e d Lily V e d d a r , T o r G r u n e w a l d , a n d my stepfather, D u t c h J a m e s , w h o h a d b r o u g h t my m o t h e r d o w n from the reservation the year b e f o r e s h e disa p p o i n t e d him by dying. D u t c h took m e out of s c h o o l to take her p l a c e . I kept h o u s e half the time a n d worked the other in the b u t c h e r s h o p , s w e e p i n g floors, p u t t i n g s a w d u s t d o w n , r u n n i n g a h a m b o n e a c r o s s the street to a c u s tomer's b e a n pot or a p a c k a g e of s a u s a g e to the corner. I w a s a g o o d o n e to have a r o u n d b e c a u s e until they n e e d e d m e , I w a s invisible. I b l e n d e d into the stained brown walls, a skinny, b i g - n o s e d girl with s t a r i n g e y e s . B e c a u s e I c o u l d f a d e into a c o r n e r or s q u e e z e b e n e a t h a shelf, I k n e w everything, w h a t the m e n said w h e n no o n e w a s a r o u n d , a n d w h a t they did to F l e u r . Kozka's M e a t s served f a r m e r s for a fifty-mile a r e a , both to s l a u g h t e r , for it h a d a stock p e n a n d c h u t e , a n d to c u r e the m e a t by s m o k i n g it or s p i c i n g it in s a u s a g e . T h e s t o r a g e locker w a s a marvel, m a d e of m a n y t h i c k n e s s e s of brick, earth i n s u l a t i o n , a n d M i n n e s o t a timber, lined i n s i d e with s a w d u s t a n d vast b l o c k s of ice c u t from L a k e T u r c o t , h a u l e d d o w n from h o m e e a c h winter by h o r s e a n d s l e d g e . A r a m s h a c k l e b o a r d building, part s l a u g h t e r h o u s e , part s t o r e , w a s fixed to the low, thick s q u a r e of the lockers. T h a t ' s w h e r e F l e u r worked. K o z k a hired her for her strength. S h e c o u l d lift a h a u n c h or carry a p o l e of s a u s a g e s without s t u m b l i n g , a n d she s o o n l e a r n e d c u t t i n g from Pete's wife, a stringthin b l o n d e w h o c h a i n - s m o k e d a n d h a n d l e d the razor-edged knives with nerveless p r e c i s i o n , slicing c l o s e to her stained fingers. F l e u r a n d Fritzie Kozka worked a f t e r n o o n s , w r a p p i n g their c u t s in p a p e r , a n d F l e u r h a u l e d the p a c k a g e s to the lockers. T h e m e a t w a s left o u t s i d e the heavy o a k d o o r s that were only o p e n e d at 5 : 0 0 e a c h afternoon, before the m e n a t e s u p p e r . S o m e t i m e s D u t c h , T o r , a n d Lily stayed at the lockers, a n d w h e n they did I stayed too, c l e a n e d floors, restoked the fires in the front s m o k e h o u s e s , while the m e n sat a r o u n d the s q u a t cast-iron stove s p e a r i n g slats of h e r r i n g o n t o h a r d t a c k b r e a d . T h e y played long g a m e s of poker or c r i b b a g e o n a b o a r d m a d e from the p l a n e d e n d of a salt c r a t e . T h e y talked a n d I listened, a l t h o u g h there wasn't m u c h to h e a r s i n c e a l m o s t nothing ever h a p p e n e d in A r g u s . T o r w a s m a r r i e d , D u t c h h a d lost my m o t h e r , a n d Lily r e a d c i r c u l a r s . T h e y mainly d i s c u s s e d a b o u t the a u c t i o n s to c o m e , e q u i p m e n t , or w o m e n . Every s o often, P e t e Kozka c a m e o u t front to m a k e a whist, leaving Fritzie to s m o k e cigarettes a n d fry raised d o u g h n u t s in the b a c k r o o m . H e s a t a n d played a few r o u n d s but kept his t h o u g h t s to himself. Fritzie did not tolerate h i m talking b e h i n d her back, a n d the o n e b o o k h e read w a s the N e w T e s t a m e n t . If he said s o m e t h i n g , it c o n c e r n e d w e a t h e r or a s u r p l u s of s h e e p s t o m a c h s , a h a m that s m o k e d green or the m a r k e t s for corn a n d w h e a t . H e h a d a g o o d - l u c k t a l i s m a n , the opal-white lens of a cow's eye. Playing c a r d s , he r u b b e d it b e t w e e n his fingers. T h a t soft s o u n d a n d the s l a p of c a r d s w a s a b o u t the only c o n v e r s a t i o n . F l e u r finally g a v e t h e m a s u b j e c t . H e r c h e e k s were wide a n d flat, her h a n d s large, c h a p p e d , m u s c u l a r . Fleur's s h o u l d e r s were b r o a d a s b e a m s , her hips fishlike, slippery, narrow. An old g r e e n d r e s s c l u n g to her waist, worn thin where s h e sat. H e r braids were thick like the tails of a n i m a l s , a n d s w u n g a g a i n s t her w h e n s h e m o v e d , deliberately, slowly in her work, held in a n d h a l f - t a m e d , but only half. I c o u l d tell, but the others never saw. T h e y never looked into her sly brown eyes or

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noticed her teeth, s t r o n g a n d s h a r p a n d very w h i t e . H e r legs were b a r e , a n d s i n c e she p a d d e d in b e a d w o r k e d m o c c a s i n s they never saw that her fifth toes were m i s s i n g . T h e y never knew she'd d r o w n e d . T h e y were b l i n d e d , they were s t u p i d , they only s a w her in the flesh. A n d yet it wasn't j u s t that s h e w a s a C h i p p e w a , or even that s h e w a s a w o m a n , it wasn't that s h e w a s good-looking or even that s h e w a s a l o n e that m a d e their brains h u m . It w a s how she played c a r d s . W o m e n didn't usually play with m e n , so the evening that F l e u r drew a chair to the m e n ' s table without being so m u c h a s a s k e d , there w a s a s h o c k of s u r p r i s e . " W h a t ' s t h i s , " said Lily. H e w a s fat, with a s n a k e ' s cold p a l e eyes a n d p r e c i o u s skin, s m o o t h a n d lily-white, which is h o w h e got his n a m e . Lily h a d a dog, a s t u m p y m e a n little bull of a thing with a belly drum-tight from e a t i n g pork rinds. T h e d o g liked to play c a r d s j u s t like Lily, a n d s t r a d d l e d his barrel thighs through g a m e s of s t u d , r u m poker, vingt-un.' T h e d o g s n a p p e d at Fleur's a r m that first night, but cringed b a c k , its snarl frozen, w h e n s h e took her p l a c e . "I t h o u g h t , " s h e said, her voice soft a n d stroking, "you might deal m e i n . " T h e r e w a s a s p a c e b e t w e e n the heavy bin of s p i c e d flour a n d the wall where I j u s t fit. I h u n k e r e d d o w n there, kept my eyes o p e n , s a w her b l a c k hair swing over the chair, her feet solid on the w o o d floor. I couldn't s e e u p on the table w h e r e the c a r d s s l a p p e d d o w n , s o after they were d e e p in their g a m e I raised myself u p in the s h a d o w s , a n d c r o u c h e d o n a sill of w o o d . I w a t c h e d Fleur's h a n d s s t a c k a n d ruffle, divide the c a r d s , spill t h e m to e a c h player in a blur, rake t h e m u p a n d shuffle a g a i n . T o r , short a n d s c r a p p y , shut o n e eye a n d s q u i n t e d the other at Fleur. D u t c h s c r e w e d his lips a r o u n d a wet cigar. " G o t t a s e e a m a n , " he m u m b l e d , getting u p to go out b a c k to the privy. T h e others broke, p u t their c a r d s d o w n , a n d F l e u r sat a l o n e in the l a m p l i g h t that glowed in a s h e e n a c r o s s the p u s h of her b r e a s t s . I w a t c h e d her closely, then s h e p a i d m e a b e a m of notice for the first t i m e . S h e t u r n e d , looked straight at m e , a n d g r i n n e d the white wolf grin a Pillager t u r n s on its victims, except that s h e wasn't after m e . " P a u l i n e t h e r e , " s h e s a i d . " H o w m u c h m o n e y you g o t ? " W e h a d all b e e n p a i d for the w e e k that day. Eight c e n t s w a s in my p o c k e t . " S t a k e m e , " s h e said, holding o u t her long fingers. I put the c o i n s in her p a l m a n d then I m e l t e d b a c k to nothing, part of the walls a n d t a b l e s . It w a s a long time b e f o r e I u n d e r s t o o d that the m e n would not have s e e n m e no matter what I did, how I m o v e d . I wasn't a n y t h i n g like F l e u r . M y d r e s s h u n g loose a n d my b a c k w a s already c u r v e d , a n old w o m a n ' s . W o r k h a d r o u g h e n e d m e , r e a d i n g m a d e my eyes s o r e , c a r i n g for my m o t h e r before s h e died h a d h a r d e n e d my f a c e . I w a s not m u c h to look at, s o they never s a w m e . W h e n the m e n c a m e b a c k a n d sat a r o u n d the t a b l e , they h a d d r a w n together. T h e y shot e a c h other small g l a n c e s , s t u c k their t o n g u e s in their c h e e k s , b u r s t o u t l a u g h i n g at o d d m o m e n t s , to rattle Fleur. B u t s h e never m i n d e d . T h e y played their vingt-un, staying even a s F l e u r slowly g a i n e d . T h o s e p e n n i e s I h a d given her drew nickels a n d a t t r a c t e d d i m e s until there w a s a s m a l l pile in front of her. 1. Twenty-one (French); a card game.

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T h e n s h e h o o k e d t h e m with five c a r d draw, n o t h i n g wild. S h e dealt, disc a r d e d , drew, a n d then s h e s i g h e d a n d her c a r d s gave a little shiver. T o r ' s eye g l e a m e d , a n d D u t c h s t r a i g h t e n e d in his s e a t . "I'll pay to s e e that h a n d , " said Lily V e d d a r . F l e u r s h o w e d , a n d s h e h a d n o t h i n g there, n o t h i n g at all. Tor's thin smile c r a c k e d o p e n , a n d h e threw his h a n d in t o o . "Well, we know o n e t h i n g , " he s a i d , l e a n i n g b a c k in his chair, "the s q u a w can't bluff." With that I lowered myself into a m o u n d of swept s a w d u s t a n d slept. I woke u p d u r i n g the night, but n o n e of t h e m h a d m o v e d yet, s o I couldn't either. Still later, the m e n m u s t have g o n e o u t a g a i n , or Fritzie c o m e o u t to b r e a k the g a m e , b e c a u s e I w a s lifted, s o o t h e d , c r a d l e d in a w o m a n ' s a r m s a n d rocked so q u i e t that I kept my eyes s h u t while F l e u r rolled m e into a closet of grimy ledgers, oiled p a p e r , balls of string, a n d thick files that fit b e n e a t h m e like a m a t t r e s s . T h e g a m e went on after work the next evening. I got my eight c e n t s b a c k five t i m e s over, a n d F l e u r kept the rest of the dollar she'd won for a s t a k e . T h i s time they didn't play s o late, b u t they played regular, a n d then k e p t g o i n g at it night after night. T h e y played poker now, or variations, for o n e w e e k straight, a n d e a c h time F l e u r won exactly o n e dollar, n o m o r e a n d n o l e s s , too c o n s i s t e n t for luck. By this t i m e , Lily a n d the other m e n were s o lit with s u s p e n s e t h a t they got P e t e to j o i n the g a m e with t h e m . T h e y c o n c e n t r a t e d , the fat d o g sitting t e n s e in Lily V e d d a r ' s lap, T o r s u s p i c i o u s , D u t c h stroking his h u g e s q u a r e brow, P e t e steady. It wasn't that F l e u r w o n that h o o k e d t h e m in s o , b e c a u s e s h e lost h a n d s too. It w a s rather that s h e never h a d a freak h a n d or even anything a b o v e a straight. S h e only took on her low c a r d s , w h i c h didn't sit right. By c h a n c e , F l e u r s h o u l d have g o t t e n a full or a flush by now. T h e irritating thing w a s s h e b e a t with pairs a n d never bluffed, b e c a u s e s h e couldn't, a n d still s h e e n d e d e a c h night with exactly o n e dollar. Lily couldn't believe, first of all, that a w o m a n c o u l d b e s m a r t e n o u g h to play c a r d s , b u t even if s h e w a s , that s h e would then be stupid e n o u g h to c h e a t for a dollar a night. By day I w a t c h e d h i m turn the p r o b l e m over, his hard white f a c e dull, small fingers p r o b i n g at his k n u c k l e s , until he finally t h o u g h t h e h a d F l e u r figured a s a bit-time player, c a u t i o n her g a m e . R a i s i n g the s t a k e s w o u l d throw her. M o r e than a n y t h i n g now, h e w a n t e d F l e u r to c o m e away with s o m e t h i n g b u t a dollar. T w o bits less or ten m o r e , the s u m didn't matter, j u s t s o h e broke her streak. Night after night s h e played, won her dollar, a n d left to stay in a p l a c e that j u s t Fritzie a n d I knew a b o u t . F l e u r b a t h e d in the s l a u g h t e r i n g t u b , then slept in the u n u s e d brick s m o k e h o u s e b e h i n d the l o c k e r s , a w i n d o w l e s s p l a c e tarred o n the inside with s c o r c h e d fats. W h e n I b r u s h e d a g a i n s t her skin I noticed that s h e s m e l l e d of the walls, rich a n d woody, slightly b u r n t . S i n c e that night s h e p u t m e in the c l o s e t I w a s no l o n g e r afraid o f her, but followed her c l o s e , stayed with her, b e c a m e her m o v i n g s h a d o w that the m e n never n o t i c e d , the s h a d o w that c o u l d have s a v e d her. A u g u s t , the m o n t h that b e a r s fruit, c l o s e d a r o u n d the s h o p , a n d P e t e a n d Fritzie left for M i n n e s o t a to e s c a p e the h e a t . N i g h t by night, r u n n i n g , F l e u r

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h a d won thirty dollars, a n d only Pete's p r e s e n c e h a d kept Lily at bay. B u t Pete w a s g o n e now, a n d o n e payday, with the heat s o b a d n o o n e c o u l d m o v e but Fleur, the m e n sat a n d played a n d waited while she finished work. T h e c a r d s sweat, limp in their fingers, the table w a s slick with g r e a s e , a n d even the walls were w a r m to the t o u c h . T h e air w a s m o t i o n l e s s . F l e u r w a s in the next r o o m boiling h e a d s . H e r green d r e s s , d r e n c h e d , w r a p p e d her like a t r a n s p a r e n t s h e e t . A skin of lakeweed. B l a c k snarls of veining c l u n g to her a r m s . H e r b r a i d s were l o o s e , half unraveled, tied b e h i n d her n e c k in a thick loop. S h e s t o o d in s t e a m , turning skulls t h r o u g h a vat with a w o o d e n p a d d l e . W h e n s c r a p s boiled to the s u r f a c e , s h e b e n t with a r o u n d tin sieve a n d s c o o p e d t h e m out. S h e ' d filled two d i s h p a n s . "Ain't that e n o u g h n o w ? " called Lily. "We're waiting." T h e s t u m p of a d o g t r e m b l e d in his lap, alive with r a g e . It never s m e l l e d m e or n o t i c e d m e a b o v e Fleur's s m o k y skin. T h e air w a s heavy in my corner, a n d p r e s s e d m e d o w n . F l e u r sat with t h e m . " N o w what d o you s a y ? " Lily a s k e d the d o g . It b a r k e d . T h a t w a s the signal for the real g a m e to start. " L e t ' s up the a n t e , " said Lily, w h o h a d b e e n stalking this night all m o n t h . H e h a d a roll of m o n e y in his p o c k e t . F l e u r h a d five bills in her d r e s s . T h e m e n h a d e a c h s a v e d their full pay. "Ante a dollar t h e n , " said F l e u r , a n d p i t c h e d hers in. S h e lost, b u t they let her s c r a p e along, c e n t by cent. A n d then s h e won s o m e . S h e played unevenly, a s if c h a n c e were all s h e h a d . S h e reeled t h e m in. T h e g a m e went o n . T h e d o g w a s stiff now, p o i s e d on Lily's k n e e s , a ball of vicious m u s c l e with its yellow eyes slit in c o n c e n t r a t i o n . It gave a d v i c e , s e e m e d to sniff the lay of Fleur's c a r d s , twitched a n d n u d g e d . F l e u r w a s u p , then d o w n , s a v e d by a s c r a t c h . T o r dealt seven c a r d s , three d o w n . T h e pot grew, r o u n d by r o u n d , until it held all the m o n e y . N o b o d y folded. T h e n it all r o d e on o n e last c a r d a n d they went silent. F l e u r p i c k e d hers u p a n d drew a long b r e a t h . T h e h e a t lowered like a bell. H e r c a r d shook, but s h e stayed in. Lily s m i l e d a n d took the dog's h e a d tenderly b e t w e e n his p a l m s . " S a y F a t s o , " h e said, c r o o n i n g the w o r d s . "You reckon that girl's b l u f f i n g ? " T h e d o g w h i n e d a n d Lily l a u g h e d . " M e t o o , " he said, "let's s h o w . " H e s w e p t his bills a n d coins into the pot a n d then they t u r n e d their c a r d s over. Lily looked o n c e , looked a g a i n , then he s q u e e z e d the d o g like a fist of d o u g h a n d s l a m m e d it o n the t a b l e . F l e u r threw o u t her a r m s a n d drew the m o n e y over, grinning that s a m e wolf grin that she'd u s e d on m e , the grin that h a d t h e m . S h e j a m m e d the bills in her d r e s s , s c o o p e d the coins up in waxed white p a p e r that s h e tied with string. " L e t ' s go a n o t h e r r o u n d , " said Lily, his voice c h o k e d with b u r r s . B u t F l e u r o p e n e d her m o u t h a n d y a w n e d , then walked out b a c k to gather s l o p s for the o n e big h o g that w a s waiting in the s t o c k p e n to be killed. T h e m e n sat still a s r o c k s , their h a n d s s p r e a d on the oiled wood table. D u t c h h a d c h e w e d his cigar to d a m p s h r e d s , Tor's eye w a s dull. Lily's gaze was the only o n e to follow Fleur. I didn't m o v e . I felt t h e m g a t h e r i n g , s a w my stepfather's veins, the o n e s in his f o r e h e a d that s t o o d out in a n g e r . T h e dog rolled off the table a n d curled in a knot below the c o u n t e r , w h e r e n o n e of the m e n c o u l d t o u c h it.

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Lily rose a n d s t e p p e d out b a c k to the c l o s e t of ledgers where P e t e kept his private stock. H e b r o u g h t b a c k a bottle, u n c o r k e d a n d tipped it b e t w e e n his fingers. T h e l u m p in his throat m o v e d , then he p a s s e d it on. T h e y d r a n k , quickly felt the whiskey's fire, a n d p l a n n e d with their eyes things they couldn't say a l o u d . W h e n they left, I followed. I hid out b a c k in the clutter of broken b o a r d s a n d c h i c k e n c r a t e s b e s i d e the s t o c k p e n , w h e r e they waited. F l e u r c o u l d not be s e e n at first, a n d then the m o o n broke a n d s h o w e d her, slipping c a u t i o u s l y a l o n g the rough b o a r d c h u t e with a b u c k e t in her h a n d . H e r hair fell, wild a n d c o a r s e , to her waist, a n d her d r e s s w a s a floating p a t c h in the dark. S h e m a d e a pig-calling s o u n d , r a n g the tin pail lightly a g a i n s t the w o o d , froze s u s p i c i o u s l y . B u t too late. In the s o u n d of the ring Lily m o v e d , fat a n d n i m ble, s t e p p e d right b e h i n d F l e u r a n d p u t out his c r e a m y h a n d s . At his first t o u c h , s h e whirled a n d d o u s e d him with the b u c k e t of s o u r s l o p s . H e p u s h e d her a g a i n s t the big f e n c e a n d the p a c k a g e of c o i n s split, went clinking a n d j u m p i n g , winked a g a i n s t the w o o d . F l e u r rolled over o n c e a n d v a n i s h e d into the yard. T h e m o o n fell b e h i n d a c u r t a i n of r a g g e d c l o u d s , a n d Lily followed into the dark m u c k . B u t he tripped, p i t c h e d over the h u g e flank of the pig, w h o lay mired to the s n o u t , heavily snoring. I s p r a n g o u t of the w e e d s a n d c l i m b e d the side of the p e n , s t u c k like g l u e . I s a w the sow rise to her n e a t , k n o b b y k n e e s , gain her b a l a n c e a n d sway, c u r i o u s , a s Lily s t u m b l e d forward. F l e u r h a d b a c k e d into the a n g l e of r o u g h w o o d j u s t b e y o n d , a n d w h e n Lily tried to j o s t l e p a s t , the sow tipped u p o n her hind legs a n d struck, q u i c k a n d hard a s a s n a k e . S h e p l u n g e d her h e a d into Lily's thick side a n d s n a t c h e d a m o u t h ful of his shirt. S h e l u n g e d a g a i n , c a u g h t him lower, s o that h e g r u n t e d in p a i n e d s u r p r i s e . H e s e e m e d to p o n d e r , b r e a t h i n g d e e p . T h e n h e l a u n c h e d his h u g e body in a s w i m m e r ' s dive. T h e s o w s c r e a m e d a s his body s m a c k e d over h e r s . S h e rolled, striking out with her knife-sharp h o o v e s , a n d Lily g a t h e r e d h i m s e l f u p o n her, took her foot-long f a c e by the e a r s a n d s c r a p e d her s n o u t a n d c h e e k s a g a i n s t the trestles of the p e n . H e hurled the sow's tight skull a g a i n s t a n iron post, but instead of k n o c k i n g her d e a d , h e merely w o k e her from her d r e a m . S h e r e a r e d , shrieked, drew him with her s o that they p o s e d s t a n d i n g upright. T h e y b o w e d jerkily to e a c h other, a s if to b e g i n . T h e n his a r m s s w u n g a n d flailed. S h e s a n k her b l a c k fangs into his s h o u l d e r , c l a s p i n g h i m , d a n c i n g him forward a n d b a c k w a r d t h r o u g h the p e n . T h e i r s t e p s p i c k e d up p a c e , went wild. T h e two d i p p e d a s o n e , b o x - s t e p p e d , tripped o n e a n o t h e r . S h e ran her split foot t h r o u g h his hair. H e g r a b b e d her kinked tail. T h e y went d o w n a n d c a m e u p , the s a m e s h a p e a n d then the s a m e color until the m e n couldn't tell o n e from the other in that light a n d F l e u r w a s a b l e to l a u n c h herself over the g a t e s , swing d o w n , hit gravel. T h e m e n saw, yelled, a n d c h a s e d her at a d e a d run to the s m o k e h o u s e . A n d Lily too, o n c e the sow gave up in d i s g u s t a n d freed h i m . T h a t is w h e r e I s h o u l d have g o n e to Fleur, s a v e d her, thrown myself on D u t c h . B u t I went stiff with fear a n d couldn't u n l a t c h myself from the trestles or m o v e at all. I c l o s e d my eyes a n d p u t my h e a d in my a r m s , tried to h i d e , s o there is nothing to d e s c r i b e but what I couldn't block o u t , Fleur's h o a r s e b r e a t h , s o loud it filled m e , her cry in the old l a n g u a g e , a n d my n a m e r e p e a t e d over a n d over a m o n g the w o r d s .

FLEUR

/

2605

T h e heat w a s still d e n s e the next m o r n i n g w h e n I c a m e b a c k to work. Fleur w a s g o n e but the m e n were there, s l a c k - f a c e d , h u n g over. Lily w a s paler a n d softer t h a n ever, a s if his flesh h a d s t e a m e d on his b o n e s . T h e y s m o k e d , took pulls off a bottle. It wasn't noon yet. I worked awhile, waiting s h o p a n d s h a r p e n i n g steel. B u t I w a s sick, I w a s s m o t h e r e d , I w a s sweating so hard that my h a n d s slipped on the knives, a n d I w i p e d my fingers c l e a n of the greasy t o u c h of the c u s t o m e r s ' c o i n s . Lily o p e n e d his m o u t h a n d roared o n c e , not in anger. T h e r e w a s no m e a n i n g to the s o u n d . His boxer dog, s p r a w l e d limp b e s i d e his foot, never lifted its h e a d . N o r did the other men. T h e y didn't notice w h e n I s t e p p e d o u t s i d e , h o p i n g for a clear b r e a t h . A n d then I forgot t h e m b e c a u s e I knew that we were all b a l a n c e d , ready to tip, to fly, to be c r u s h e d a s s o o n a s the w e a t h e r b r o k e . T h e sky w a s so low that I felt the weight of it like a yoke. C l o u d s h u n g d o w n , witch t e a t s , a t o r n a d o ' s green-brown c o n e s , a n d a s I w a t c h e d o n e flicked o u t a n d b e c a m e a delicate probing t h u m b . E v e n a s I p i c k e d u p my heels a n d ran b a c k i n s i d e , the wind blew s u d d e n l y , cold, a n d then c a m e rain. Inside, the m e n h a d d i s a p p e a r e d already a n d the whole p l a c e w a s trembling a s if a h u g e h a n d w a s p i n c h e d at the rafters, s h a k i n g it. I ran straight through, s c r e a m i n g for D u t c h or for any of t h e m , a n d then I s t o p p e d at the heavy doors of the lockers, w h e r e they h a d surely taken shelter. I s t o o d there a m o m e n t . Everything went still. T h e n I h e a r d a cry b u i l d i n g in the wind, faint at first, a whistle a n d then a shrill s c r e a m that tore t h r o u g h the walls a n d gathered a r o u n d m e , s p o k e plain so I u n d e r s t o o d that I s h o u l d m o v e , put my a r m s out, a n d s l a m d o w n the great iron bar that fit a c r o s s the h a s p a n d lock. O u t s i d e , the wind w a s stronger, like a h a n d held a g a i n s t m e . I struggled forward. T h e b u s h e s t o s s e d , the a w n i n g s flapped off storefronts, the rails of p o r c h e s rattled. T h e o d d c l o u d b e c a m e a fat s n o u t that n o s e d a l o n g the earth a n d sniffled, j a b b e d , p i c k e d at things, s u c k e d t h e m u p , blew t h e m a p a r t , rooted a r o u n d a s if it w a s following a certain s c e n t , then s t o p p e d b e h i n d m e at the b u t c h e r s h o p a n d bored d o w n like a drill. I went flying, l a n d e d s o m e w h e r e in a ball. W h e n I o p e n e d my eyes a n d looked, s t r a n g e r things were h a p p e n i n g . A herd of cattle flew t h r o u g h the air like giant birds, d r o p p i n g d u n g , their m o u t h s o p e n e d in s t u n n e d bellows. A c a n d l e , still lighted, blew p a s t , a n d t a b l e s , n a p k i n s , g a r d e n tools, a w h o l e s c h o o l of drifting e y e g l a s s e s , j a c k e t s on h a n g e r s , h a m s , a c h e c k e r b o a r d , a l a m p s h a d e , a n d at last the s o w from behind the lockers, on the r u n , her hooves a blur, set free, s w o o p i n g , diving, s c r e a m i n g a s everything in A r g u s fell apart a n d got t u r n e d u p s i d e d o w n , s m a s h e d , a n d thoroughly w r e c k e d . D a y s p a s s e d before the town went looking for the m e n . T h e y were b a c h elors, after all, except for T o r , w h o s e wife h a d suffered a blow to the h e a d that m a d e her forgetful. Everyone w a s o c c u p i e d with digging o u t , in high relief b e c a u s e even t h o u g h the C a t h o l i c steeple h a d b e e n torn off like a p e a k e d c a p a n d sent a c r o s s five fields, t h o s e h u d d l e d in the cellar were u n h u r t . W a l l s h a d fallen, windows were d e m o l i s h e d , b u t the stores were intact a n d s o were the b a n k e r s a n d s h o p o w n e r s w h o h a d taken refuge in their safes or b e n e a t h their c a s h registers. It w a s a fair-minded d i s a s t e r , no

2606

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LOUISE

ERDRICH

o n e c o u l d b e said to have suffered m u c h m o r e than the next, at least not until Pete a n d Fritzie c a m e h o m e . O f all the b u s i n e s s e s in A r g u s , Kozka's M e a t s h a d suffered worst. T h e b o a r d s of the front building h a d b e e n split to kindling, piled in a h u g e pyramid, a n d the s h o p e q u i p m e n t w a s b l a s t e d far a n d w i d e . P e t e p a c e d off the d i s t a n c e the iron b a t h t u b h a d b e e n f l u n g — a h u n d r e d feet. T h e glass c a n d y c a s e went fifty, a n d l a n d e d without s o m u c h a s a c r a c k e d p a n e . T h e r e were other s u r p r i s e s a s well, for the b a c k r o o m s w h e r e Fritzie a n d P e t e lived were u n d i s t u r b e d . Fritzie s a i d the d u s t still c o a t e d her c h i n a figures, a n d u p o n her kitchen t a b l e , in the ashtray, p e r c h e d the last cigarette she'd p u t o u t in h a s t e . S h e lit a n d finished it, looking t h r o u g h the window. F r o m there, s h e c o u l d s e e that the old s m o k e h o u s e F l e u r h a d slept in w a s c r u s h e d to a r e d d i s h s a n d a n d the s t o c k p e n s were c o m pletely torn a p a r t , the rails s t a c k e d helter-skelter. Fritzie a s k e d for F l e u r . P e o p l e s h r u g g e d . T h e n s h e a s k e d a b o u t the others a n d , suddenly, the town u n d e r s t o o d that three m e n were m i s s i n g . T h e r e w a s a rally of h e l p , a g a t h e r i n g of shovels a n d v o l u n t e e r s . W e p a s s e d b o a r d s from h a n d to h a n d , s t a c k e d t h e m , u n c o v e r e d what lay b e n e a t h t h e pile of j a g g e d splinters. T h e lockers, full of m e a t that w a s Pete a n d Fritzie's i n v e s t m e n t , slowly c a m e into sight, still intact. W h e n e n o u g h r o o m w a s m a d e for a m a n to s t a n d on the roof, there were c a l l s , a general u r g e to h a c k through a n d s e e what lay below. B u t Fritzie s h o u t e d that she wouldn't allow it b e c a u s e the m e a t would spoil. A n d so the work c o n t i n u e d , b o a r d by b o a r d , until at last the heavy o a k doors of the freezer were revealed a n d p e o p l e p r e s s e d to the entry. Everyone w a n t e d to b e the first, but s i n c e it w a s my s t e p f a t h e r lost, I w a s let g o in w h e n P e t e a n d Fritzie w e d g e d t h r o u g h into the s u d d e n icy air. P e t e s c r a p e d a m a t c h on his boot, lit the l a m p Fritzie h e l d , a n d then the three of u s s t o o d still in its circle. Light glared off the s k i n n e d a n d h a n g i n g c a r c a s s e s , the crates of w r a p p e d s a u s a g e s , the bright a n d c l o u d y b l o c k s of lake i c e , p u r e a s winter. T h e cold bit into u s , p l e a s a n t at first, then n u m b i n g . W e m u s t have stood there a c o u p l e of m i n u t e s before we s a w the m e n , or m o r e rightly, the h u m p s of fur, the iced a n d s h a g g y hides they wore, the b e a r s k i n s they h a d taken d o w n a n d w r a p p e d a b o u t t h e m s e l v e s . W e s t e p p e d closer a n d Fritzie tilted the lantern b e n e a t h the flaps of fur into their f a c e s . T h e d o g w a s there, p e r c h e d a m o n g t h e m , heavy a s a d o o r s t o p . T h e t h r e e h a d h u n c h e d a r o u n d a barrel w h e r e the g a m e w a s still laid o u t , a n d a d e a d lantern a n d a n e m p t y bottle too. B u t they h a d thrown d o w n their last h a n d s a n d h u n k e r e d tight, c l u t c h i n g o n e a n o t h e r , k n u c k l e s raw from b e a t i n g at the d o o r they h a d a l s o a t t a c k e d with h o o k s . F r o s t stars g l e a m e d off their e y e l a s h e s a n d the s t u b b l e of their b e a r d s . T h e i r f a c e s were set in c o n c e n t r a t i o n , m o u t h s o p e n a s if to s p e a k s o m e careful t h o u g h t , s o m e a g r e e m e n t they'd c o m e to in e a c h other's a r m s . Power travels in the bloodlines, h a n d e d o u t before birth. It c o m e s d o w n through the h a n d s , which in the Pillagers were s t r o n g a n d k n o t t e d , big, spidery, a n d r o u g h , with sensitive fingertips g o o d at d e a l i n g c a r d s . It c o m e s through the eyes, too, belligerent, darkest b r o w n , the eyes of t h o s e in the b e a r c l a n , impolite a s they gaze directly at a p e r s o n . In my d r e a m s , I look straight b a c k at F l e u r , at the m e n . I a m n o l o n g e r the w a t c h e r o n the dark sill, the skinny girl.

FLEUR

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2607

T h e b l o o d draws u s b a c k , as if it r u n s t h r o u g h a vein of e a r t h . I've c o m e h o m e a n d , except for talking to my c o u s i n s , live a quiet life. F l e u r lives q u i e t too, d o w n o n L a k e T u r c o t with her boat. S o m e say she's m a r r i e d to the w a t e r m a n , M i s s h e p e s h u , or that she's living in s h a m e with white m e n or windigos, or that she's killed t h e m all. I'm a b o u t the only o n e h e r e w h o ever g o e s to visit her. L a s t winter, I went to help out in her c a b i n w h e n s h e b o r e the child, w h o s e green eyes a n d skin the color of a n old p e n n y m a d e m o r e talk, a s no o n e c o u l d d e c i d e if the child w a s mixed blood or w h a t , fathered in a s m o k e h o u s e , or by a m a n with b r a s s s c a l e s , or by the lake. T h e girl is bold, smiling in her s l e e p , a s if s h e knows w h a t p e o p l e w o n d e r , a s if s h e h e a r s the old m e n talk, turning the story over. It c o m e s u p different every time a n d h a s no e n d i n g , n o b e g i n n i n g . T h e y get the m i d d l e w r o n g t o o . T h e y only know they don't know anything. 1988

American Poetry since 1 9 4 5 M o r e than a d e c a d e after the e n d of W o r l d W a r II, two i m p o r t a n t a n d transforming s h o c k s were a d m i n i s t e r e d to A m e r i c a n poetry: Allen G i n s b e r g ' s Howl ( 1 9 5 6 ) a n d Robert Lowell's Life Studies ( 1 9 5 9 ) . G i n s b e r g first delivered his p o e m a l o u d , d u r i n g a r e a d i n g at the Six Gallery in S a n F r a n c i s c o in the fall of 1 9 5 5 ; the following year it w a s p u b l i s h e d by L a w r e n c e Ferlinghetti's City L i g h t s B o o k s h o p . In a single stroke, with the energy o f a r e b o r n Whitm a n , G i n s b e r g m a d e poetry o n e of the rallying points for u n d e r g r o u n d protest a n d p r o p h e t i c d e n u n c i a t i o n of the p r o s p e r o u s , c o m p l a c e n t , gray-spirited E i s e n h o w e r years. T h e setting in which the p o e m a p p e a r e d is a l s o significant, for Howl, like other work a s s o c i a t e d with what c a m e to b e known a s the S a n F r a n c i s c o R e n a i s s a n c e , c h a l l e n g e d the c o n v e n t i o n s of a literary tradition d o m i n a t e d by the E a s t C o a s t . With its o p e n , experimental form a n d s t r o n g oral e m p h a s i s , Howl s o u n d e d a d e p a r t u r e from the w e l l - s h a p e d lyric. Lowell, a m o r e "difficult," less p o p u l a r poet, w a s rooted in the literary c u l t u r e of B o s t o n . B u t with Life Studies h e too c h a l l e n g e d the literary s t a t u s q u o , bringing a new d i r e c t n e s s a n d a u t o b i o g r a p h i c a l intensity into A m e r i c a n poetry a s h e e x p o s e d the p s y c h o l o g i c a l t u r b u l e n c e suffered by a n inbred N e w E n g l a n der. Lowell's m o v e m e n t into a m o r e o p e n , less heavily symbolic style w a s inspired, in part, by h e a r i n g the work of G i n s b e r g a n d o t h e r s while o n a r e a d i n g tour of the W e s t C o a s t . T h e c o n n e c t i o n b e t w e e n t h e s e two v o l u m e s a n d the t i m e s in which they were written is direct a n d a p p a r e n t . T h e i r p o e m s a n t i c i p a t e d a n d explored strains in A m e r i c a n social relationships that i s s u e d in the o p e n conflicts of the 1 9 6 0 s a n d 1 9 7 0 s a n d s h a p e d A m e r i c a n life for d e c a d e s to c o m e : public u n r e s t a b o u t the u s e s of g o v e r n m e n t a n d industrial power; the institutions of m a r r i a g e a n d the family; the rights a n d p o w e r s of racial minorities, w o m e n , a n d h p m o s e x u a l s ; the u s e of d r u g s ; alternative s t a t e s of c o n s c i o u s n e s s . T a k e n together the b o o k s a l s o s u g g e s t e d that the invigorating e n e r g i e s of p o s t w a r A m e r i c a n poetry would a r i s e from diverse r e g i o n s of the country, their c o m m o n a i m restoring poetry to a m o r e vital relation with c o n t e m p o r a r y life.

THE

1940s: OLDER

POETs AND

YOUNGER

S o c i a l p r e s s u r e s a l o n e do not fully explain why A m e r i c a n p o e t s s u c h a s Lowell a n d G i n s b e r g felt ready to c l a i m n e w authority a n d n e w a r e a s of experie n c e in their writing. However radical the c h a n g e s in the style a n d c o n t e n t of A m e r i c a n poetry in the 1 9 5 0 s a n d 1 9 6 0 s , its a s s u r a n c e w a s rooted in s u b t l e , far-reaching d e v e l o p m e n t s of the d e c a d e b e f o r e . A m e r i c a n poetry h a d flourished in the late 1 9 4 0 s b e c a u s e of a new c o n f i d e n c e in native literary traditions, derived in part from the a c h i e v e m e n t s of the early m o d e r n i s t s in 2609

2610

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AMERICAN POETRY SINCE

1945

the first half of the century. T h e two m o s t p r o m i n e n t figures, T . S . Eliot a n d E z r a P o u n d , were both expatriates w h o s e work c o n t i n u e d to d o m i n a t e the literary s c e n e into the 1 9 4 0 s . Eliot's Four Quartets, written in E n g l a n d , w a s arguably the b e s t " A m e r i c a n " p o e m of the 1 9 4 0 s , a n d a n o t h e r c a n d i d a t e for that honor, P o u n d ' s Pisan Cantos, which f o r m s o n e of the finest s e c t i o n s in his lifelong e p i c , w a s written d u r i n g the poet's i n c a r c e r a t i o n for t r e a s o n in Italy a n d p u b l i s h e d in 1 9 4 8 . A l t h o u g h the r e p u t a t i o n s of t h e s e two p o e t s o v e r s h a d o w e d for s o m e time t h o s e of their c o n t e m p o r a r i e s (with the p o s s i b l e exception of Robert F r o s t , w h o won the Pulitzer Prize in 1 9 3 1 ) , the p o s t w a r period s a w the e m e r g e n c e of other i m p o r t a n t m o d e l s . F o r e x a m p l e , the work of William C a r l o s W i l l i a m s b e c a m e influential for y o u n g e r p o e t s only after the war, with the a p p e a r a n c e of the first two b o o k s of his Paterson in 1 9 4 6 a n d 1 9 4 8 a n d his i m p o r t a n t collection The Desert Music in 1 9 5 4 . F o r postwar p o e t s like Allen G i n s b e r g , D e n i s e Levertov, a n d R o b e r t Creeley, Williams's work offered a p o e t i c alternative to Eliot's version of m o d e r n i s m . W a l l a c e S t e v e n s a l s o e m e r g e d a s a n i n f l u e n c e in the 1 9 4 0 s a n d 1 9 5 0 s , p u b l i s h i n g Transport

to Summer

in 1 9 4 7 ,

The

Auroras

of Autumn

in 1 9 5 0 ,

and

his Collected Poems in 1 9 5 4 . S t e v e n s ' s meditative style a n d "gaiety of lang u a g e " b e c a m e i m p o r t a n t to m a n y p o e t s , i n c l u d i n g T h e o d o r e R o e t h k e , J a m e s Merrill, a n d J o h n Ashbery. In a d d i t i o n , the i m p a c t of two m a j o r w o m e n m o d e r n i s t s , H . D . a n d G e r t r u d e S t e i n (both of w h o m lived in E u r o p e for m o s t of their c a r e e r s ) , w a s not fully felt until after the war. H . D . c o m p l e t e d her book-length s e q u e n c e , Trilogy, in 1 9 4 6 , a n d her meditative e p i c , Helen in Egypt, a p p e a r e d in 1 9 6 1 . H e r work provided for R o b e r t D u n c a n , D e n i s e Levertov, a n d others a m o d e l e l s e w h e r e u n a v a i l a b l e for the u n i o n o f visionary power with energy of l a n g u a g e . A l t h o u g h G e r t r u d e S t e i n died in 1 9 4 6 , a n u m b e r of her radical e x p e r i m e n t s in p o e t i c l a n g u a g e were first p u b l i s h e d only in the late 1 9 5 0 s . I n d e e d , the i m p o r t a n c e of her work for c o n t e m p o r a r y experimental p o e t s in the 1 9 8 0 s recalls the c o m p o s e r Virgil T h o m s o n ' s epithet for S t e i n : " T h e M o t h e r of U s All." A s the a c c o m p l i s h m e n t s of a n older g e n e r a t i o n e m e r g e d , c o n f i r m i n g for postwar p o e t s the strength of A m e r i c a n poetry, they a l s o c a s t a d a u n t i n g s h a d o w a g a i n s t which a s u b s e q u e n t g e n e r a t i o n m e a s u r e d itself. F o l l o w i n g the revolutionary e x p e r i m e n t s a n d a m b i t i o u s d e s i g n s of their p r e d e c e s s o r s , it w a s p o s s i b l e for p o s t w a r p o e t s to feel there w a s little left to d o . N o n e t h e less, d u r i n g a n d i m m e d i a t e l y after 1 9 4 5 , y o u n g e r p o e t s w h o were to prove t h e m s e l v e s a m o n g the s t r o n g e s t a n d m o s t i m p o r t a n t of their g e n e r a t i o n b e g a n p u b l i s h i n g n o t a b l e b o o k s : G w e n d o l y n B r o o k s ' s A Street in Bronzeville ( 1 9 4 5 ) ; E l i z a b e t h B i s h o p ' s first v o l u m e , North & South ( 1 9 4 6 ) ; R o b e r t Lowell's Lord Weary's Castle ( 1 9 4 6 ) ; D e n i s e Levertov's first b o o k , p u b l i s h e d in E n g l a n d , The Double Image ( 1 9 4 6 ) ; R i c h a r d Wilbur's The Beautiful Changes ( 1 9 4 7 ) ; Robert D u n c a n ' s Heavenly City, Earthly City ( 1 9 4 7 ) ; J o h n Berrym a n ' s The Dispossessed ( 1 9 4 8 ) ; a n d the i m p o r t a n t s e c o n d v o l u m e by T h e o d o r e R o e t h k e , The Lost Son ( 1 9 4 8 ) . In a d d i t i o n , p o s t w a r p o e t s s o o n b e g a n to claim their i n d e p e n d e n c e in p o e t i c m a n i f e s t o s . O n e of the m o s t p r o v o c ative of t h e s e w a s C h a r l e s O l s o n ' s Projective Verse ( 1 9 5 0 ) , w h i c h called for a unit of poetic expression b a s e d not o n a p r e d e t e r m i n e d metrical foot b u t on the poet's " b r e a t h " a n d the rhythms of the body. By the e n d of the 1 9 4 0 s , with the d e a t h of the great Irish poet W. B . Y e a t s in 1 9 3 9 a n d the i m m i g r a t i o n to the U n i t e d S t a t e s of his m o s t notable E n g l i s h

INTRODUCTION

s u c c e s s o r , W . H . A u d e n , it w a s clear that the c e n t e r of English l a n g u a g e h a d shifted from Britain to A m e r i c a . ertov would later d e s c r i b e her own m o v e from E n g l a n d in 1 9 4 7 a s a discovery of the vitality of life a n d s p e e c h

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poetic activity in the I n d e e d , D e n i s e Levto the U n i t e d S t a t e s in A m e r i c a n poetry.

POETRY

In the 1 9 5 0 s a n d 1 9 6 0 s p o e t s a c q u i r e d a new visibility in A m e r i c a n life. Earlier p o e t s h a d b e e n relatively isolated from the p u b l i c : P o u n d , Eliot, a n d H. D . lived in E u r o p e ; W a l l a c e S t e v e n s w a s a b u s i n e s s m a n in H a r t f o r d ; William C a r l o s W i l l i a m s w a s a small-town doctor in N e w J e r s e y . Poetry r e a d i n g s h a d b e e n relatively rare p e r f o r m a n c e s by the few f a m o u s p o e t s of the familiar p o e m s the a u d i e n c e already knew but w a n t e d to hear from the illustrious p r e s e n c e of the a u t h o r . After the war, writers' c o n f e r e n c e s a n d w o r k s h o p s , r e c o r d i n g s , a n d p u b l i s h e d a n d b r o a d c a s t interviews b e c a m e m o r e c o m m o n . A network of p o e t s traveling to give readings a n d of p o e t s - i n - r e s i d e n c e at universities b e g a n to f o r m . In the 1 9 6 0 s a n d 1 9 7 0 s , r e a d i n g s b e c a m e less formal, m o r e n u m e r o u s a n d a c c e s s i b l e , held not only in a u d i t o r i u m s but in c o f f e e h o u s e s , b a r s , a n d lofts. T h e p u r p o s e of t h e s e m o r e c a s u a l r e a d i n g s w a s often to i n t r o d u c e n e w p o e t s or, p e r h a p s , n e w p o e m s by a n already recognized writer. T h e p o e t c o m i n g of a g e after the war w a s , a s o n e of t h e m , Richard Wilbur, p u t it, m o r e a "poet-citizen" than an a l i e n a t e d artist. P o e t s often m a d e a living by p u t t i n g together a c o m b i n a t i o n of t e a c h i n g p o s i t i o n s , readings, and foundation grants. A poet's e d u c a t i o n in the 1 9 5 0 s differed from that of p o e t s in a n earlier g e n e r a t i o n . Poetry in the p o s t w a r years b e c a m e firmly linked to the E n g l i s h literature c u r r i c u l u m in ways that it h a d not b e e n in the p a s t . M a n y of the y o u n g p o e t s were t a u g h t to read verse a n d s o m e t i m e s to write it by influential literary critics w h o were often p o e t s t h e m s e l v e s : J o h n C r o w e R a n s o m , Yvor W i n t e r s , Robert P e n n W a r r e n , R. P. B l a c k m u r , a n d Allen T a t e . T h e r e now existed, for better or w o r s e , the college m a j o r in E n g l i s h literature, a s there h a d not b e e n in s o narrow a n d disciplined a s e n s e for the p o e t i c giants of a generation earlier. Eliot, for e x a m p l e , h a d d o n e g r a d u a t e work in philosophy, P o u n d in R o m a n c e philology, Williams h a d g o n e to m e d i c a l s c h o o l , a n d e a c h had forged his own literary criticism. A y o u n g e r p o e t , on the other h a n d , studied Eliot's e s s a y s , or learned critical a p p r o a c h e s to literature in E n g l i s h c o u r s e s s u c h a s the o n e s Allen G i n s b e r g took from M a r k V a n D o r e n a n d Lionel Trilling at C o l u m b i a or J a m e s Merrill from R e u b e n B r o w e r at A m h e r s t . A p o p u l a r critical text, Understanding Poetry ( 1 9 3 8 ) by C l e a n t h Brooks a n d Robert P e n n W a r r e n , taught s t u d e n t s to b e c l o s e r e a d e r s of E n g l i s h M e t a p h y s i c a l p o e m s of the s e v e n t e e n t h century, s u c h a s t h o s e by J o h n D o n n e a n d A n d r e w Marvell. A s the p o e t W. D . S n o d g r a s s testifies, "In school we h a d b e e n t a u g h t to write a very difficult a n d very intellectual p o e m . W e tried to a c h i e v e the o b s c u r e a n d d e n s e texture of the F r e n c h S y m b o l i s t s (very intuitive a n d often d e r a n g e d p o e t s ) , but by u s i n g m e t h o d s similar to those of the very intellectual a n d c o n s c i o u s p o e t s of the E n g l i s h R e n a i s s a n c e , especially the M e t a p h y s i c a l p o e t s . " A y o u n g writer, t h u s trained to read intricate traditional lyrics, did not expect to e n c o u n t e r m u c h , if any, c o n t e m p o r a r y verse in the c l a s s r o o m . T h e

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s t u d e n t had to s e e k out m o d e r n p o e m s in the literary quarterlies or c o m e on t h e m through the c h a n c e r e c o m m e n d a t i o n s of informed friends a n d t e a c h ers. A n d w h e t h e r a b e g i n n i n g poet fell, in this private, a c c i d e n t a l way, u n d e r the influence of Eliot's ironic elegies or S t e v e n s ' s high r h a p s o d i e s or W i l l i a m C a r l o s Williams's h o m e m a d e d o c u m e n t a r i e s or H . D.'s visionary p o w e r s , h e or s h e w a s p r e p a r e d to think of a p o e m a s s o m e t h i n g s e p a r a t e from the poet's self: objective, free from the quirks of the p e r s o n a l .

THE

1950s AND T H E 1960s: LYRIC M E D I T A T I O N S AND " C H I L D R E N OF MIDAS"

THE

In the 1 9 5 0 s , a l t h o u g h there w a s n o d o m i n a n t prescription for a p o e m , the short lyric m e d i t a t i o n w a s held in high r e g a r d . Avoiding the first p e r s o n , p o e t s would find an o b j e c t , a l a n d s c a p e , or a n o b s e r v e d e n c o u n t e r that e p i t o m i z e d a n d clarified their feelings. A p o e m w a s the p r o d u c t of r e t r o s p e c t i o n , a g e s ture of c o m p o s u r e following the initial s h o c k or s t i m u l u s that provided the o c c a s i o n for writing. Often c o m p o s e d in intricate s t a n z a s a n d skillfully rhymed, s u c h a p o e m deployed its m a s t e r y of v e r s e form a s o n e sign of the civilized m i n d ' s power to explore, t a m e , a n d distill raw e x p e r i e n c e . R i c h a r d Wilbur's verse w a s especially v a l u e d for its s p e c u l a t i v e n e a t n e s s , a p o i s e that w a s often a s s o c i a t e d with the a w a r e n e s s of the historical v a l u e s of E u r o p e a n c u l t u r e . It w a s a time of r e n e w e d travel in E u r o p e ; t h e r e were Fulbright fellowships for A m e r i c a n s t u d e n t s to study a b r o a d , prizes for writers w h o w a n t e d to travel a n d write in E u r o p e . W i l b u r a n d others wrote p o e m s a b o u t E u r o p e a n art a n d artifacts a n d l a n d s c a p e s a s a way of t e s t i n g A m e r i c a n experience a g a i n s t alternative ways of life; for e x a m p l e , they c o n t r a s t e d A m e r i c a n P u r i t a n i s m a n d its n o t i o n s of virtue with s u c h c o m p l i c a t e d p l e a s u r e s a s t h o s e e m b o d i e d in the s e v e n t e e n t h - c e n t u r y s c u l p t e d f o u n t a i n d e s c r i b e d in Wilbur's "A B a r o q u e W a l l - F o u n t a i n in the Villa S c i a r r a . " U n l i k e the p e s s i m i s t i c Eliot of The Waste Land, s u c h p o e t s f o u n d the t r e a s u r e s of the p a s t — i t s art a n d l i t e r a t u r e — n o u r i s h i n g in p o e m s w h o s e chief p l e a s u r e w a s that of evaluation a n d b a l a n c i n g , of w e i g h i n g s u c h alternatives a s spirituality a n d worldliness. T h a t w a s o n e side of the p i c t u r e . T h e other s i d e , e q u a l l y i m p o r t a n t , w a s the way m a n y of t h e s e s a m e y o u n g p o e t s r e a c t e d to (to, rather t h a n against) their training. Richard H o w a r d , in a h a p p y p h r a s e , c a l l s this p o s t w a r g e n eration of p o e t s "the children of M i d a s . " H e is thinking of the last p h a s e s of the classical myth, w h e n King M i d a s , having d i s c o v e r e d that everything he t o u c h e s inconveniently t u r n s to gold, prays to lose the gift of the g o l d e n t o u c h . " W h a t s e e m s to m e especially p r o p e r to t h e s e p o e t s , " H o w a r d says, ". . . is the last d e v e l o p m e n t , the l o n g i n g to lose the gift of order, d e s p o i l i n g the self of all that h a d b e e n , merely, propriety." In the 1 9 5 0 s a n d 1 9 6 0 s there were s o m e very e x t r e m e e x a m p l e s of p o e t s t r a n s f o r m i n g t h e m s e l v e s : Allen G i n s b e r g , w h o b e g a n by writing formal q u a t r a i n s , b e c a m e the free a n d r a m b u n c t i o u s poet of Howl; Sylvia Plath, w h o b e g a n a s a w e l l - m a n n e r e d imitator of Eliot a n d Dylan T h o m a s , t u r n e d into the i n t e n s e p r o t a g o n i s t of Ariel ( 1 9 6 6 ) . It is a special m a r k of this period that a p o e t a s b o o k i s h , as literary, a s a c a d e m i c a s J o h n B e r r y m a n , w h o started out writing like A u d e n a n d Y e a t s , s h o u l d a l s o have written the wildest a n d m o s t d i s q u i e t i n g lyrics of his t i m e , The Dream Songs ( 1 9 6 4 , 1 9 6 8 ) .

INTRODUCTION

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T h e new c o n f i d e n c e a n d technical s o p h i s t i c a t i o n of A m e r i c a n poetry in the 1 9 4 0 s fostered the m o r e exploratory styles of the 1 9 5 0 s a n d 1 9 6 0 s . S o m e c h a n g e s were m o r e n o t i c e a b l e a n d notorious than o t h e r s . F o r o n e thing, poetry extended its s u b j e c t m a t t e r to m o r e explicit a n d e x t r e m e a r e a s of a u t o b i o g r a p h y : insanity, sex, divorce, a n d a l c o h o l i s m . T h e c o n v e n i e n t but not very p r e c i s e label confessional c a m e to be a t t a c h e d to certain b o o k s : Robert Lowell's Life Studies, which explored the d i s o r d e r s of several generations of his N e w E n g l a n d family; A n n e S e x t o n ' s To Bedlam and Part Way Back ( 1 9 6 0 ) a n d All My Pretty Ones ( 1 9 6 2 ) , which dealt openly with abortion, w o m e n ' s sexuality, the poet's own life in m e n t a l h o s p i t a l s ; W . D . S n o d grass's Heart's Needle ( 1 9 6 9 ) , w h o s e central lyric s e q u e n c e c h r o n i c l e d the s t a g e s of divorce from the point of view of a h u s b a n d s e p a r a t e d from his wife a n d child; a n d J o h n B e r r y m a n ' s Dream Songs, which e x p o s e d his a l c o h o l i s m a n d struggle with insanity. Allen G i n s b e r g ' s Howl c e l e b r a t e d his h o m o s e x uality. Sylvia Plath's Ariel explored the h e i g h t e n e d e n e r g i e s of a w o m a n o n the e d g e . S o m e of the poetry of this period w a s avowedly political, t e n d i n g in the 1 9 5 0 s to general protest a n d in the 1 9 6 0 s to m o r e specifically f o c u s e d critiques. T h e B e a t s of the 1 9 5 0 s — w i t h Howl a s their m a n i f e s t o — h a d n o o n e particular object of p r o t e s t . T h e i r work envisioned freer lifestyles a n d explored u n d e r g r o u n d alternatives to life in a s t a n d a r d i z e d or m e c h a n i z e d society. T h e p u n on the word beat linked t h e m on the o n e side to a downtrodden drifting u n d e r g r o u n d c o m m u n i t y — d r u g s , homosexuality, political r a d i c a l i s m — a n d , on the other, to a n e w " b e a t i t u d e , " m a d e available by E a s t e r n religious c u l t s that m a n y m e m b e r s of this g e n e r a t i o n e s p o u s e d . G a r y Snyder, w h o in the 1 9 5 0 s was with the B e a t s in S a n F r a n c i s c o , is o n e e x a m p l e of how their p r o t e s t s were e x t e n d e d a n d f o c u s e d in the next d e c a d e s . In his b o o k s of the 1 9 6 0 s a n d 1 9 7 0 s s u c h a s Earth House Hold a n d Turtle Island, h e d r a m a t i z e s a very specific alternative to A m e r i c a n s u b u r b a n a n d u r b a n sprawl: h e d e s c r i b e s a n d a d v o c a t e s a life of a l m o s t T h o r e a u v i a n s i m plicity in a c o m m u n e in the S i e r r a s . M a n y p o e t s in the 1 9 6 0 s identified t h e m s e l v e s with specific reform a n d protest m o v e m e n t s . D e n i s e Levertov, A d r i e n n e R i c h , a n d Robert Lowell, a m o n g o t h e r s , directed p o e m s a g a i n s t A m e r i c a n participation in the V i e t n a m W a r and our g o v e r n m e n t ' s s u p p o r t of the corrupt S o u t h V i e t n a m r e g i m e . Robert Lowell publicly refused President J o h n s o n ' s invitation to a W h i t e H o u s e dinner a n d w a s a participant in the 1 9 6 7 m a r c h a g a i n s t the P e n t a g o n , which N o r m a n Mailer d e s c r i b e s in The Armies of the Night ( 1 9 6 8 ) , Robert BIy a n d others u s e d the o c c a s i o n of receiving poetry prizes to m a k e antiwar s t a t e m e n t s . T h e i m p o r t a n t f r e e d o m m o v e m e n t s of the 1 9 6 0 s — a d v o c a t i n g b l a c k power, w o m e n ' s liberation, a n d gay r i g h t s — h a d s u p p o r t e r s a m o n g committed poets. Black poets such as Gwendolyn Brooks and LeRoi J o n e s (later Amiri B a r a k a ) , w h o h a d already h a d c o n s i d e r a b l e s u c c e s s with white a u d i e n c e s , t u r n e d to a d d r e s s exclusively b l a c k c o n s t i t u e n c i e s . S m a l l p r e s s e s , notably the B r o a d s i d e P r e s s , were f o u n d e d for the p u b l i c a t i o n of African A m e r i c a n p o e t s , a n d others devoted t h e m s e l v e s to feminist writing. S o m e poetry of the late 1 9 6 0 s h a d the i n s i s t e n c e , urgency, a n d s i n g l e - m i n d e d n e s s of political tracts. B u t the m o r e e n d u r i n g effect of political p r o t e s t o n poetry was to m a k e a broader, m o r e insistent r a n g e of voices available to verse; p o e m s d r a m a t i z e d individual p r e d i c a m e n t s , s t r e s s i n g the underlying a n g e r s a n d desires that a l s o i s s u e in political action. African A m e r i c a n p o e t s exper-

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i m e n t e d in bringing out the distinctive s p e e c h rhythms of black E n g l i s h ; they s t r e s s e d the oral v a l u e s of v e r s e — i t s o p e n n e s s to s o n g , to angry c h a n t , a n d to the c a d e n c e d c o m p l a i n t of the " b l u e s . " With this e m p h a s i s on the p o w e r of voice, a n d with their recovery of n o n - E u r o p e a n traditions, especially t h o s e of Africa, black p o e t s in the 1 9 6 0 s a n d 1 9 7 0 s exerted powerful i n f l u e n c e s on c o n t e m p o r a r y A m e r i c a n poetry. T h e i r work h e l p e d to define the i n c r e a s ing i m p o r t a n c e of oral traditions in poetry of the 1 9 7 0 s a n d 1 9 8 0 s a n d spurred the o p e n i n g u p of A m e r i c a n poetry to other, n o n - E u r o p e a n traditions, including t h o s e of native A m e r i c a n s o c i e t i e s a n d the C a r i b b e a n , M e x i c o , a n d Latin A m e r i c a . At the s a m e time the f e m i n i s t m o v e m e n t m a d e m a n y p o e t s a w a r e of the need for a poetic l a n g u a g e to explore the e x p e r i e n c e s of w o m e n hitherto silenced or u n r e p r e s e n t e d in literature. A m o n g t h e s e w a s Wreck A d r i e n n e Rich, w h o s e significantly titled collections Diving into the a n d The Dream of a Common Language s u g g e s t the necessity to p r o b e what lies b e n e a t h the s u r f a c e a n d to forge a l a n g u a g e of s h a r e d e x p e r i e n c e . In an indirect but vital s e n s e the h e i g h t e n e d e n e r g i e s of a l m o s t all poetry in the 1 9 6 0 s a n d 1 9 7 0 s had political i m p l i c a t i o n s . With the i n c r e a s i n g standardization of s p e e c h , a d o c u m e n t e d d e c l i n e in r e a d i n g skills in the s c h o o l s , a n d the d o m i n a n c e of nationwide television, p o e m s provided a special r e s o u r c e for individual e x p r e s s i o n , a r e s i s t a n c e to the leveling force of official l a n g u a g e , a n d a c c e s s to profoundly individual a r e a s of c o n s c i o u s n e s s . In that context p o e t s a s superficially apolitical a s J a m e s Wright, W . S . M e r w i n , Eliza b e t h B i s h o p , J a m e s Merrill, a n d J o h n A s h b e r y were by their very cultivation of what s e e m e d at the time private vision m a k i n g distinctly political c h o i c e s . In the s a m e period, a poet s u c h a s G e o r g e O p p e n w a s exploring the relations b e t w e e n the self as s i n g u l a r a n d a s n u m e r o u s , part of a larger c o m m o n world.

THE

1950s AND THE

1960s: POETIC

FORMS

In r e s p o n s e to the p r e s s u r e s , inner a n d o u t e r , of the 1 9 5 0 s a n d 1 9 6 0 s , n e w kinds of p o e m s took their p l a c e a l o n g s i d e the favored " o b j e c t i v e " p o e m s of the late 1 9 4 0 s . As s o m e p o e t s a i m e d m o r e at e x p o s i n g than at c o m p o s i n g the self, they d e m a n d e d m o r e o p e n f o r m s to s u g g e s t v a g a r i e s , twists, a n d c o n f u s i o n s of m i n d or e l s e the mind's potential d i r e c t n e s s a n d s p o n t a n e i t y . T h e i r p o e m s d e p e n d e d on less rhyme, s p a r e r u s e of regular s t a n z a s a n d metrics, even new ways of s p a c i n g a p o e m on the p a g e . C r i t i c s talked of " o r g a n i c " form, u s i n g free verse, which took its length of line or its visual form on the p a g e from the poet's provisional or i n t e n s e feelings at the m o m e n t of c o m position. T h e m o s t insistent f o r m u l a t i o n s of this a t t i t u d e are to be f o u n d in the m a n i f e s t o s of the so-called B l a c k M o u n t a i n s c h o o l , a g r o u p of p o e t s gathered at B l a c k M o u n t a i n C o l l e g e in N o r t h C a r o l i n a a n d very m u c h influe n c e d by its rector, C h a r l e s O l s o n . Ordinary lineation, straight left-hand m a r g i n s , a n d regular m e t e r s a n d verse f o r m s were to b e d i s c a r d e d in favor of a p l a c e m e n t of lines a n d p h r a s e s that c o r r e s p o n d e d to the m e n t a l a n d physical energy enlisted to get the words on the p a g e . O l s o n ' s p u r p o s e w a s to put the p o e m in t o u c h — a s in certain f o r m s of m e d i t a t i o n or y o g a — w i t h the body, with an individual poet's natural rhythms, often buried by a c q u i r e d verbal skills. T h e poet was not to revise p o e m s to any great extent; h e or s h e might m a k e c o n s i d e r a b l e mental p r e p a r a t i o n or store up intense f e e l i n g

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before writing, b u t t h e p o e m itself w a s to r e p r e s e n t feeling at t h e m o m e n t of c o m p o s i t i o n . Another corollary o f O l s o n ' s theories w a s t h e notion that a p o e m w a s provisional. In c o n t r a s t to the 1 9 4 0 s model of a p o e m a s a c o m pleted a n d p e r m a n e n t o b j e c t , a n u m b e r of p o e t s s a w their work a s transitory, i n c o m p l e t e , a n i n s t r u m e n t o f p a s s a g e . O l s o n himself, of c o u r s e , s a w his Maximns Poems a s a continually o p e n , lifelong work, w h e r e a s other p o e t s , A d r i e n n e Rich a n d Allen G i n s b e r g a m o n g t h e m , carefully d a t e e a c h o f their p o e m s a s if to s u g g e s t that t h e feelings involved a r e peculiarly s u b j e c t to revision by later e x p e r i e n c e . A parallel d e v e l o p m e n t — o n l y very loosely related to the S a n F r a n c i s c o B e a t explosion a n d B l a c k M o u n t a i n m a n i f e s t o s — t o o k p l a c e a m o n g a g r o u p of p o e t s involved with a n d inspired by t h e work of n o n r e p r e s e n t a t i o n a l or abstract expressionist p a i n t e r s in N e w York. T h e so-called N e w York s c h o o l included J o h n Ashbery, K e n n e t h K o c h , J a m e s S c h u y l e r , a n d the figure w h o s e friendship a n d e n t h u s i a s m held t h e m all together, F r a n k O ' H a r a . It w a s O ' H a r a with his breezy diary p o e m s , a l m o s t throwaways, w h o m o s t typified their belief in t h e p o e m a s a c h r o n i c l e of its o c c a s i o n a n d of t h e a c t o f c o m p o s i n g it. As O ' H a r a said in his offhand parody o f s o b e r poetic c r e d o s , Personism: A Manifesto ( 1 9 5 9 ) : " T h e p o e m is at last b e t w e e n two p e r s o n s instead of two p a g e s . . . . In all m o d e s t y , I c o n f e s s that it m a y b e t h e d e a t h of literature a s w e know i t . "

THE 1970s A N D T H E 1980s: C O N S O L I D A T I O N , EXPERIMENTATION, AND MULTIPLE TRADITIONS T h e 1 9 6 0 s h a d c h a n g e d t h e f a c e o f A m e r i c a n poetry. F o r m a n y p o e t s in t h e 1 9 7 0 s the task s e e m e d not s o m u c h to innovate a s to c o n s o l i d a t e a n d p e r h a p s reinterpret t h e a c h i e v e m e n t o f the previous three d e c a d e s . Rut a fresh i m p e tus of experimentation a n d poetic c o m m i t m e n t c a m e from p o e t s of minority traditions w h o g a i n e d a c c e s s to p r e s s e s a n d publication in t h e 1 9 7 0 s a n d 1 9 8 0 s . A flourishing L a t i n o literature w a s first d i s s e m i n a t e d by t h e p u b l i s h ing h o u s e Quinto S o l in t h e early 1 9 7 0 s , a n d in t h e 1 9 8 0 s t h e Arte P u b l i c o Press of H o u s t o n p u b l i s h e d a n u m b e r of fine writers, m a k i n g available t h e work of s u c h p o e t s a s D e n i s e C h a v e z , L u c h a C o r p i , P a t M o r a , Alberto Rios, R i c a r d o S a n c h e z , B e r n i c e Z a m o r a , a n d L o r n a D e e C e r v a n t e s . In 1 9 8 3 J o s e p h B r u h a c edited a n d p u b l i s h e d a n i m p o r t a n t collection of c o n t e m p o rary native A m e r i c a n poetry, Songs

from

This

Earth

on Titrtle's

Back,

and

several notable v o l u m e s o f poetry by Native A m e r i c a n s a p p e a r e d in t h e late 1 9 7 0 s a n d 1 9 8 0 s , a m o n g t h e m works by P a u l a G u n n Allen, J o y H a r j o , L i n d a H o g a n , a n d S i m o n J . Ortiz. Several arresting books a p p e a r e d from p o e t s whose backgrounds are Asian American, including Mei-mei Berssenbrugge, Marilyn C h i n , Garret Kaoru H o n g o , Li-Young L e e , a n d C a t h y S o n g . In addition, t h e r e s u r g e n c e of African A m e r i c a n traditions that fired t h e 1 9 6 0 s a n d early 1 9 7 0 s f o u n d diverse a n d gifted heirs. T h e legacy o f Robert H a y d e n ' s historical imagination a n d formal skill a n d t h e d y n a m i c e x a m p l e o f G w e n dolyn Brooks's evolution a s well a s A u d r e Lorde's recovery o f t h e power o f African myth b e c a m e r e s o u r c e s available to p o e t s like M i c h a e l H a r p e r , Bita Dove, a n d N a t h a n i e l M a c k e y . What c h a r a c t e r i z e d t h e best poetry of t h e period w a s its p l u r a l i s m a n d its

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p o w e r to a b s o r b a variety of i n f l u e n c e s . D e s p i t e a d i s t r e s s i n g t e n d e n c y o n the part of s o m e p o e t s a n d critics to define " s c h o o l s " o f poetry a s if they were m u t u a l l y exclusive, t h e finest p o e m s testified to a n enlivening interaction b e t w e e n traditions, affirming t h e i m a g i n a t i o n ' s f r e e d o m to draw from m a n y s o u r c e s : H a w a i i a n oral traditions f o u n d their way into t h e poetry o f W . S . M e r w i n , A d r i e n n e R i c h took inspiration from t h e work o f C h i c a n a p o e t s , G a r y S n y d e r drew o n H o p i s o u r c e s , a n d t h e p r e s e n c e o f E l i z a b e t h B i s h o p m a d e itself felt in s o m e of C a t h y S o n g ' s work. In a d d i t i o n , a significant n u m b e r o f A m e r i c a n p o e t s u n d e r s t o o d their t r a n s l a t i o n s of poetry from other l a n g u a g e s , a m o n g t h e m S p a n i s h a n d R u s s i a n , a s a n i m p o r t a n t a s p e c t of their own work. A s t h e earlier m o d e r n i s t s r e a c h e d o u t to traditions beyond t h e W e s t e r n — P o u n d to t h e C h i n e s e i d e o g r a p h , H . D . to E g y p t i a n a n d P h o e n i c i a n m y t h s , a n d later C h a r l e s O l s o n to M a y a n I n d i a n c u l t u r e — A m e r i c a n p o e t s of t h e 1 9 7 0 s a n d 1 9 8 0 s were redefining w h a t c o n s t i t u t e s America.

THE

1970s A N D 1980s: POETIC

FORMS

J u s t a s p o e t s t u r n e d to alternative traditions for other ways of thinking a b o u t the world, they a l s o explored alternative poetic f o r m s . T r a d i t i o n a l verse a n d m e t r i c s were not left b e h i n d b u t took their p l a c e a m o n g a n u m b e r o f r e s o u r c e s , rather than serving a s t h e obligatory m o d e l s of p o e t i c d e c o r u m . T h e r e a c h of the early m o d e r n i s t s in their epic c o n s t r u c t i o n s h a d s u g g e s t e d e x t e n s i o n s of poetic possibility, b u t in t h e 1 9 7 0 s a n d 1 9 8 0 s p o e t s s o u g h t their o w n ways to c o m b i n e a n a m b i t i o n for inclusive s t r u c t u r e s with their feeling for life's fluidity. T h e m o d e l o f t h e p o e t i c diary or j o u r n a l provided o n e way. R o b e r t Creeley's Pieces a n d A Day Book both e m p h a s i z e d t h e activity o f writing rather t h a n t h e finished work. In a related effort, Robert Lowell said o f his Notebook, " I f I s a w s o m e t h i n g o n e day, I wrote it that day, or t h e next, or t h e next. T h i n g s I felt or s a w or read were drift to t h e whirlpool, t h e s q u e e z e o f t h e s o n n e t a n d t h e loose ravel o f b l a n k v e r s e . " A d r i e n n e Rich's s e q u e n c e Contradictions a l s o s h a r e s this quality o f form g r o u n d e d in a n o c c a sion a n d o p e n to e x p e r i e n c e . S e q u e n c e s of p o e m s provided a n o t h e r way o f c o u n t e r i n g n e a t c l o s u r e by e m p h a s i z i n g t h e complexity of c o n s c i o u s n e s s a n d fluidity o f external life. J o h n B e r r y m a n ' s Dream Songs, however strict its stanzaic form a n d u s e o f r h y m e , h a s e n o r m o u s flexibility o f voice a n d rich varied e x p o s u r e s o f the self, a n d Robert H a y d e n ' s " E l e g i e s for P a r a d i s e Valley," f r o m his final b o o k , American Journal, c r e a t e s t h r o u g h a related series of i n s t a n t s t h e w h o l e s w e e p of a p a r t i c u l a r time a n d p l a c e a n d reveals his d e e p e s t origins. O t h e r p o e t s c o n ceived of part o f their work a s o n g o i n g s e q u e n c e s to w h i c h they c o n t i n u e d to a d d over t h e years. T h i s is how R o b e r t D u n c a n u n d e r s t o o d h i s The Structure

of Rime

a n d Passages

and how Gary Snyder u n d e r s t a n d s his

Mountains

and Rivers without End, b e g u n in t h e 1 9 6 0 s a n d not c o m p l e t e d until 1 9 9 6 . L o n g p o e m s provided still a n o t h e r alternative t o t h e lyric. J a m e s Merrill's series of three book-length works, Divine Comedies, a n d t h e c o d a that folBefore lowed, were a sign that p o e t i c a m b i t i o n w a s taking a n e w direction. his d e a t h in F e b r u a r y 1 9 8 8 , D u n c a n c o m p l e t e d the collection o f later p o e m s , which h a d b e e n g e s t a t i n g for twenty years: Ground Work: Before the War a n d Ground Work II: In the Dark. B o t h , h e wrote in a p o e m , " u n d e r w r i t e

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the grand d e s i g n . " In a y o u n g e r g e n e r a t i o n , Rita Dove's book-length s e q u e n c e Thomas and Beulah s h o w e d a p o e t finding her own way to r e n d e r the larger s c o p e of t i m e , p l a c e , a n d social m o v e m e n t s t h r o u g h a series of particular i n s t a n t s . M a n y p o e t s did not want to think of their work a s the f r a g m e n t s of m o d e r n literature. T h e y p e r h a p s r e m e m b e r e d that W h i t m a n desired to put the w h o l e of A m e r i c a into Leaves of Grass, or that W a l l a c e S t e v e n s , w h o s e first p u b l i s h e d v o l u m e w a s Harmonium, w a n t e d to call his As poetry m o v e d away from the collected p o e m s The Whole of Harmonium. single lyrics of the i m m e d i a t e p o s t w a r p e r i o d , shorter poetic efforts o p e n e d into larger c o n s t r u c t i o n s , a n d the rigid b o u n d a r y b e t w e e n poetry a n d p r o s e often dissolved. Oral traditions, with a n e m p h a s i s o n storytelling a n d on repetition a n d variation, refute generic c a t e g o r i e s , w h e r e a s the work of J o h n Ashbery; the i n t e r c o n n e c t e d e s s a y s a n d p o e m s of " L a n g u a g e " p o e t s like C h a r l e s B e r n s t e i n , M i c h a e l P a l m e r , a n d S u s a n H o w e ; or the "talk p o e m s " of p e r f o r m a n c e artists like David Antin c h a l l e n g e d definitions of poetry restricted to the e n c l o s e d lyric. T h e period's interest in longer p o e m s or related series of p o e m s w a s not an effort to c r e a t e a n "objective c o r r e l a t i v e " for a s m a l l , poetic truth. R a t h e r , these p o e t s s o u g h t a n e x t e n d e d p o w e r that p r e s e n t s particular a n d diverse m o d e l s both of the m i n d ' s c o n t i n u i n g struggle to a p p r e h e n d itself a n d the world a n d of the rich a n d m y s t e r i o u s i n t e r a c t i o n s b e t w e e n l a n g u a g e a n d the world.

POETRY

IN

T H E

1990s

A N D

T H E

TWENTY-FIRST

C E N T U R Y

T h e c l o s i n g d e c a d e s of the twentieth century s a w the p a s s i n g of m a j o r figures who, in their work a n d t h r o u g h their i n f l u e n c e , h e l p e d s h a p e A m e r i c a n poetry. Robert Lowell, Elizabeth B i s h o p , J a m e s Wright, R o b e r t D u n c a n , Robert H a y d e n , a n d Robert P e n n W a r r e n died in the 1 9 7 0 s a n d 1 9 8 0 s . T h e loss of J a m e s Merrill, Allen G i n s b e r g , D e n i s e Levertov, G w e n d o l y n B r o o k s , a n d A. R. A m m o n s in the 1 9 9 0 s a n d early 2 0 0 0 s now reconfigures A m e r i c a n poetry a s the country b e g i n s a n e w century. Merrill w a s a n A m e r i c a n formal m a s t e r w h o s e s t a t u r e in a n d i m p a c t on A m e r i c a n poetry have only i n c r e a s e d with the p u b l i c a t i o n in 2 0 0 1 of his Collected Poems. Clever, e l e g a n t , restrained, then by turns surprisingly moving, his work—like A u d e n ' s or F r o s t ' s — m o v e s to s e r i o u s n e s s (and feeling) t h r o u g h wit. G i n s b e r g w a s the period's formal revolutionary a n d its exhibitionist of e m o t i o n ; Howl carried on the traditions of W a l t W h i t m a n a n d William C a r l o s W i l l i a m s in its liberation of A m e r i c a n poetry from a restrictive poetic d e c o r u m . Levertov's lovely a n d m y s t e r i o u s p o e m s , built out of everyday e x p e r i e n c e , a r e a n important link to the imagist work of W i l l i a m s a n d H . D . ("They have . . . given / the l a n g u a g e into o u r h a n d s , " s h e o n c e w r o t e ) . B r o o k s b r o u g h t to A m e r i c a n poetry a n exemplary love of form a n d l a n g u a g e , in c o m b i n a t i o n with a n a c u t e s e n s e of African A m e r i c a n history a n d lived e x p e r i e n c e . A y o u n g e r g e n e r a t i o n of p o e t s , s u c h a s Rita D o v e a n d M i c h a e l S . H a r p e r , now t h e m s e l v e s significant figures, c a m e to poetry s h a p e d , in part, by the e x a m p l e of B r o o k s ' s work. In his own way A m m o n s w a s a s great a n e x p e r i m e n t e r a s G i n s b e r g ; like J o h n C a g e in m u s i c he w a s willing to i n c l u d e the arbitrary in his s e n s e of form, c o m p o s i n g , for e x a m p l e , a long p o e m o n the t a p e of a n a d d i n g m a c h i n e . H i s book-length p o e m Garbage, with its digressive form, its joyful

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energy in the f a c e of t r a n s i e n c e , c a n now b e s e e n as o n e of the significant a c h i e v e m e n t s of late-twentieth-century A m e r i c a n poetry. D e s p i t e the delibT . S. Eliot's Four Quartets and e r a t e irreverence of its title, Garbage—like profitably b e read a s an e p i c exploration s e c t i o n s of W i l l i a m s ' s Paterson—can of both n a t u r e a n d spirit. T h e i n c r e a s i n g significance of Merrill, B r o o k s , a n d A m m o n s for c o n t e m porary p o e t s follows the m o d e l of Elizabeth B i s h o p , w h o died in 1 9 7 9 . H e r work defied m o s t of the g e n e r a l i z a t i o n s s u b s e q u e n t l y m a d e a b o u t her e r a ; it c o n t a i n e d no e x t e n d e d s e q u e n c e s , no e p i c s t r u c t u r e s , b u t simply an ability to " m a k e the c a s u a l p e r f e c t , " in R o b e r t Lowell's p h r a s e . Yet s i n c e her d e a t h her strategies of d e s c r i p t i o n , a n e c d o t e , a n d the p e r s i s t e n t q u e s t i o n i n g of her own a n a l o g i e s have b e c o m e s o m e of t h e m o s t i m p o r t a n t i n f l u e n c e s in latetwentieth- a n d early-twenty-first-century poetry. Rita D o v e , Robert Pinsky, J a n e K e n y o n , J a n e S h o r e , C a t h y S o n g , a n d B i s h o p ' s friend J a m e s Merrill (in of Salts) are only a few of t h e p o e t s in w h o m his final v o l u m e A Scattering we c a n h e a r t h e s e l e s s o n s of B i s h o p ' s work. A n o t h e r l e s s o n her work provides is a n a n t i d o t e to the division that f o r m e d b e t w e e n formalist a n d antiformalist poetry in t h e 1 9 9 0 s . W h e n we n o w look at the work of p o e t s from that d e c a d e , we s e e how m a n y m o v e in a n d o u t of traditional f o r m s , a s did B i s h o p . S o m e , like Merrill, daringly r e c o n f i g u r e t h e s o n n e t ; s o m e , like A m m o n s , B r o o k s , Pinsky, or L o u i s e G l i i c k , a r e a c u t e l y a w a r e of poetry's m e a s u r e a n d formal p r o p e r t i e s but are not b o u n d by traditional form. A new century, a n d i n d e e d a new m i l l e n n i u m , now c h a l l e n g e s today's A m e r ican p o e t s to explore new f o r m s a n d r e s p o n s e s . E v e n s o , the visionary strain of A m e r i c a n r o m a n t i c i s m that we find in early m o d e r n i s t s like W a l l a c e S t e v e n s , T . S. Eliot, a n d H a r t C r a n e (as well a s their n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y e x e m p l a r s D i c k i n s o n a n d E m e r s o n ) r e m a i n s a significant e l e m e n t in the work of s u c h different p o e t s a s S t a n l e y K u n i t z , G a r y S n y d e r , M a r y Oliver, C h a r l e s W r i g h t , J o y H a r j o , a n d J o r i e G r a h a m . W i t h its p u s h toward the t r a n s c e n d e n t a l or the a b s t r a c t , a n d its a t t e m p t to p e n e t r a t e from t h e s e e n to the u n s e e n , this c o n t e m p o r a r y poetry often c e n t e r s on a n e p i p h a n i c m o m e n t akin to Eliot's in the r o s e g a r d e n or Virginia W o o l f ' s " m o m e n t of b e i n g . " F r e q u e n t l y , t h o u g h not always, s u c h a m o m e n t is a c h i e v e d within a n d t h r o u g h the natural world. B u t a here is a crucial difference: if f r a g m e n t a t i o n — a s in Eliot's Waste Land—was radical m o d e r n i s t t e c h n i q u e , it is a given in w h a t is s o m e t i m e s c a l l e d p o s t m o d ern (or, for s o m e , " p o s t c o n t e m p o r a r y " ) poetry. In a c u l t u r e deeply s k e p t i c a l of any single version of r e a l i t y — i n s t e a d , m u l t i p l e versions of reality c o m p e t e — ideas of unity a n d totality are s u s p e c t . A p o e t ' s integration of a visionary m o m e n t into the s t r u c t u r e s of e x p e r i e n c e is often s e l f - c o n s c i o u s a n d u n s t a b l e , qualities reflected by shifts of register within a single p o e m a n d a m o n g p o e m s in a single v o l u m e . T h e poet's a p p r e h e n s i o n of an invisible world is c o u n t e r e d by ( a n d r e s i s t e d by) s u c h self-aware q u e s t i o n i n g a s we find in J o r i e G r a h a m or is u n d e r c u t by a deflating h u m o r s u c h a s o c c u r s in C h a r l e s W r i g h t or C h a r l e s is telling. In the work of S i m i c . In this r e g a r d , the title of A m m o n s ' s Garbage m a n y c o n t e m p o r a r y p o e t s a t t r a c t e d to t r a n s c e n d e n t a l vision there exists an e q u a l attraction to the e p h e m e r a l : a p a r t i c u l a r n i g h t t i m e sky, a child p r a c t i c i n g ballet, t h e sharply limned f e a t u r e s of a specific n a t u r a l setting. O n e of the things d i s t i n g u i s h i n g t h e s e p o e m s a s c o n t e m p o r a r y is that the two i m p u l s e s are not unified or r e c o n c i l e d ; rather, like the n u c l e i from a divided cell in L o u ise Gliick's p o e m " M i t o s i s , " " N o o n e actually r e m e m b e r s t h e m / a s not divided."

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2619

In a related way, poetry at the start of the twenty-first century h a s revised twentieth-century m o d e r n i s m ' s e m p h a s i s on the i m a g e a s the d o m i n a n t poetic vehicle for unifying thought a n d feeling. O t h e r poetic r e s o u r c e s have c o m e to the fore, as p e r h a p s anticipated by Robert Pinsky's call in 1 9 7 3 for a poetry that would i n c l u d e the p r o s e virtues of explanation, a r g u m e n t , a n d d e c l a r a t i o n . While the i m a g e , especially a s its i m p o r t a n c e w a s a r t i c u l a t e d by E z r a P o u n d a n d by William C a r l o s Williams's edict " n o ideas but in t h i n g s , " c o n t i n u e s to have a p l a c e in c o n t e m p o r a r y poetry, that poetry l e a n s toward the mix of i m a g e with narrative or the discursive, of p r e c i s e observation a l o n g with philosophical reflection. A n d yet a s poetry h a s recovered s o m e of narrative's pre-imagist power, it h a s , like its a n a l o g u e s in p r o s e fiction, s u b j e c t e d the idea of narrative to scrutiny. Today's poetry frequently r e n d e r s its narratives through o p e n - e n d e d j u x t a p o s i t i o n s , multiple stories, or alterations in points of view within a single p o e m . E o r r o w i n g from the t e c h n o l o g i e s of film a n d video ( j u m p c u t s , tracking s h o t s , shifting c a m e r a a n g l e s , split s c r e e n s ) , a s well a s from t h o s e of the c o m p u t e r , c o n t e m p o r a r y poetry often i m a g i n e s a reader s a t u r a t e d with the s o u n d s of c o n t e m p o r a r y d i s c o u r s e , a r e a d e r whose attention quickly shifts. T h e r e f o r e m a n y p o e t s m o v e in a n d o u t of various kinds of l a n g u a g e , a s if testing the limits a n d possibilities of the different d i s c o u r s e s that m a k e up c o n t e m p o r a r y life. T h i s exploration is c o n d u c t e d in poetry m o r e interested in the freedom offered by digression a n d errancy than in c o h e r e n c e or c l o s u r e . T h e play of l a n g u a g e o v e r l a p p i n g both private a n d public l i f e — a n d s o m e t i m e s o b s c u r i n g the b o u n d a r y b e t w e e n the t w o — i s n o w h e r e m o r e evident than in the work of J o h n Ashbery, for m a n y years now a central figure in A m e r i c a n poetry. Ashbery's work e n a c t s shifts in attention that blur the distinctions b e t w e e n s e r i o u s a n d trivial. Its multiple and m o b i l e p e r c e p t i o n s a r e a n e m b l e m for the formal a n d linguistic heterogeneity that m a r k s c o n t e m p o r a r y poetry, in w h i c h , rather than a s e n s e of parts b l e n d e d together, we often find u n e x p e c t e d j u m p s — i n a p o e m ' s f o c u s or b e t w e e n poetic s t y l e s — t h a t resist any easy c o h e r e n c e . T h e twentieth century's chief p h i l o s o p h e r of l a n g u a g e , L u d w i g Wittgenstein ( 1 8 8 9 — 1 9 5 1 ) , o n c e said that " p h i l o s o p h y really o u g h t to be written a s poetic c o m p o s i t i o n " a n d a n u m b e r of c o n t e m p o r a r y p o s t s put a s i d e the idea of poetry a s an a u t o n o m o u s r e a l m a n d o p e n up the s p a c e of poetry to philosophical thinking, w h o s e s u b j e c t is s o m e t i m e s the n a t u r e of l a n g u a g e itself. T h e i m p o r t a n c e of s u c h work a s J o r i e G r a h a m ' s lies, in large part, in her ability to s h a p e poetic forms in which disjunctive a c t s of thinking o c c u r , whether the p o e m a d d r e s s e s q u e s t i o n s of m e t a p h y s i c s , e p i s t e m o l o g y , or expression. Clearly this poetry (like Ashbery's) owes a debt to W a l l a c e S t e vens, with his e m p h a s i s on the p o e m a s a n activity of the m i n d , a n d to G e r t r u d e Stein's o n g o i n g e x a m i n a t i o n of l a n g u a g e . Another i m p o r t a n t influe n c e is late-twentieth-century p o s t s t r u c t u r a l i s m a n d d e c o n s t r u c t i o n , w h o s e p r e o c c u p a t i o n with l a n g u a g e d i s m a n t l e d s o m e of the b o u n d a r i e s b e t w e e n philosophy, poetry, psychology, a n d linguistics a n d e m p h a s i z e d writing a s a site of multiple d i s c o u r s e s . T o d a y the very idea of poetry a s self-expression has b e e n c o m p l i c a t e d by a f o c u s on the social power of l a n g u a g e a n d the c o n s t r u c t e d n a t u r e of subjectivity; the s k e p t i c i s m toward unity a n d cohere n c e that m a r k s our era often extends to the very idea of the self. T h e work of a n u m b e r of p o e t s radically e x p e r i m e n t i n g with linguistic d e f o r m a t i o n (Michael P a l m e r , S u s a n H o w e , N a t h a n i e l M a c k e y ) c a n be s e e n in part a s a response to u n e x a m i n e d a s s u m p t i o n s b e h i n d the idea of the p e r s o n a l lyric,

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AMERICAN POETRY SINCE

1945

with its e m p h a s i s o n feeling a n d sincerity. T h o s e p o e t s w h o locate their work primarily within p e r s o n a l experience often take a s a t h e m e the way s t r u c t u r e s of m e m o r y , l a n g u a g e , a n d existing narratives arbitrarily s h a p e t h o s e experie n c e s . Merrill's trilogy of e p i c s a n d n e w c o s m o l o g i e s , The Changing Light at Sandover, offers o n e m o d e l of a u t o b i o g r a p h i c a l artifice. W i t h a witty, ironic s e l f - a w a r e n e s s , this b o o k m a k e s its s u b j e c t the d o m e s t i c life of two m a l e p a r t n e r s w h o s e visionary i m p u l s e s are realized t h r o u g h a O u i j a b o a r d . N o t h ing in Merrill's p o e m a p p e a r s u n m e d i a t e d or singular, not the spirits evoked in the O u i j a s e s s i o n s or the fictional versions of the poet's self. S u b s e q u e n t and Frank b o o k s like Rita Dove's Mother Love, L o u i s e d u c k ' s Meadowlands, Bidart's Desire a p p r o a c h the materials of a life t h r o u g h mythological f r a m e works, s u g g e s t i n g the ways in which a r e a d i n g of one's e x p e r i e n c e is filtered a n d s h a p e d by existing narratives. W h i l e the work of p o e t s like Billy C o l l i n s c o n t i n u e s to have the air of s p o n t a n e o u s self-expression, C o l l i n s ' s h u m o r o u s a w a r e n e s s of his s p e a k e r ' s self-dramatizations r e m i n d s u s that the colloquial style is a l s o a form of artifice. Yet even in a period at t i m e s overly c o n s c i o u s of self a n d world a s fictional c o n s t r u c t s , there a r e p o e t s — l i k e A d r i e n n e R i c h , Philip L e v i n e , or Rita D o v e — e n g a g e d with history a n d politics, a n d c o m mitted to poetry's relation to a c o m m o n world. O n e e x a m p l e of s u c h e n g a g e m e n t is Dove's On the Bus with Rosa Parks ( 2 0 0 0 ) , which b r i n g s t o g e t h e r the poet's m e d i t a t i o n s o n private life with a m e d i t a t i o n on the history of the civil rights m o v e m e n t . At the s a m e t i m e , the shifts a m o n g the v o l u m e ' s p a r t s a n d the r a n g e of its styles resist any e a s y h a r m o n y a n d c o h e r e n c e a n d reflect c o n t e m p o r a r y struggles to m a k e c o n n e c t i o n s b e t w e e n self a n d world. A n o t h e r feature of c o n t e m p o r a r y poetry is its increasingly international flavor. T o a d o p t the culinary m e t a p h o r of C h a r l e s S i m i c , this is " a n a g e w h e n A m e r i c a n p o e t s are read in S i b e r i a a n d F r e n c h p o e t s in K a n s a s , " s o t h a t " a poetic style is a c o n c o c t i o n of m a n y r e c i p e s from m a n y c u i s i n e s . " S i m i c is o n e of t h o s e p o e t s w h o s e work e m b o d i e s s u c h c o n c o c t i o n s . H e w a s b o r n in Yugoslavia a n d i m m i g r a t e d to the U n i t e d S t a t e s at f o u r t e e n , a n d his work s h o w s the influence of both his E a s t e r n E u r o p e a n s e n s e of c o s m i c a n d historical d r e a d a n d his love of the s u r r e a l i s m h e f o u n d in S p a n i s h poetry. O t h e r e x a m p l e s of a cultural mix a r e J o r i e G r a h a m , w h o w a s b o r n in N e w York, grew u p in R o m e , a n d a t t e n d e d c o l l e g e at the S o r b o n n e ; L i - Y o u n g L e e , w h o i m m i g r a t e d a s a child to the U n i t e d S t a t e s from I n d o n e s i a ; Alberto R i o s , w h o s e heritage i n c l u d e s S p a n i s h a n d E n g l i s h ; a n d Y u s e f K o m u n y a k a a a n d J o h n B a l a b a n , w h o both draw from e x p e r i e n c e s in V i e t n a m . T h e m a n y A m e r i c a n p o e t s now writing from a c o n s c i o u s s e n s e of m u l t i c u l t u r a l b a c k g r o u n d s are also a n i m p o r t a n t e l e m e n t in this cultural mix. In a d d i t i o n , s o m e c o n t e m p o r a r y A m e r i c a n p o e t s i n c l u d e t r a n s l a t i o n s in their work, while s o m e have g a t h e r e d p o e m s from other c o u n t r i e s into c o l l e c t i o n s like J o y Harjo's anthology of i n d i g e n o u s w o m e n ' s poetry or Pierre J o r i s a n d J e r o m e Rothenberg's Poems for the Millennium. F u r t h e r e v i d e n c e of the international a s p e c t of c o n t e m p o r a r y poetry is the influential p r e s e n c e on A m e r i c a n soil of s u c h p o e t s as C z e s l a w M i l o s z ( w h o s e work R o b e r t Pinsky h a s t r a n s l a t e d ) , a P o l i s h p o e t w h o is a n A m e r i c a n r e s i d e n t ; the C a r i b b e a n p o e t D e r e k W a l c o t t ; a n d the Irish p o e t s S e a m u s H e a n e y , P a u l M u l d o o n , a n d E a v a n B o l a n d , all of w h o m live a n d t e a c h part of the year in the U n i t e d S t a t e s . C o n t e m p o r a r y poetry v a l u e s heterogeneity in its f o r m s a n d its l a n g u a g e , a n d p l u r a l i s m in its cultural i n f l u e n c e s . O n o n e h a n d , the A m e r i c a n p o e t l a u r e a t e s h i p , instituted in its c u r r e n t form in 1 9 8 6 , reflects t h e s e v a l u e s . In

INTRODUCTION

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2621

contrast to its British equivalent, which until recently w a s a lifetime appointm e n t , the A m e r i c a n version is a one-year term ( a l t h o u g h it w a s e x t e n d e d to two years for Rita D o v e a n d Robert H a a s a n d to three years for R o b e r t Pinsky). T h e fact that a single d e c a d e — f r o m 1 9 9 1 until 2 0 0 1 — c o n t a i n s s e v e n different l a u r e a t e s (one of w h o m w a s the R u s s i a n - b o r n J o s e p h Brodsky) would s e e m to affirm a pluralistic vision of d o m i n a n t figures a n d p o e t i c styles. T h e l a u r e a t e s h i p c a n b e u n d e r s t o o d a s a n a t t e m p t to b r i n g poetry further into the m a i n s t r e a m of A m e r i c a n c u l t u r e ( t h o u g h A m e r i c a n poetry h a s long cultivated voices o u t s i d e that m a i n s t r e a m ) , but its o m i s s i o n s are telling: a m o n g t h e m , G i n s b e r g , Merrill, A m m o n s , a n d B r o o k s . A full repres e n t a t i o n of A m e r i c a n poetry in the twenty-first century would n e e d to b e m o r e wide r a n g i n g than the list of l a u r e a t e s . T h a t poetry i n c l u d e s powerful work s h a p e d by traditional f o r m s — s u c h a s Y u s e f K o m u n y a k a a ' s Talking Dirty to the Gods, M a r k S t r a n d ' s A Blizzard of One, a n d M a r y J o Salter's A Kiss in Space; the poetic m i n i m a l i s m of a R o b e r t C r e e l e y or F r a n z W r i g h t ; the explorations of l a n g u a g e c o n d u c t e d by S u s a n H o w e , R o n S i l l i m a n , Lyn H e j i n i a n , a n d C h a r l e s B e r n s t e i n ; the s o m e t i m e s e c s t a t i c m u s i c of the world in G e r a l d S t e r n , M a r y Oliver, S u s a n Mitchell, or Li-Young L e e ; a n d the jazzinfluenced rhythms of a Billy C o l l i n s , J o y H a r j o , N a t h a n i e l M a c k e y , or Michael S. Harper. A m o n g the e m b l e m s for the c o n t e m p o r a r y period is the Internet, in w h i c h multiple r e a l i t i e s — i n c l u d i n g t h o s e of different c u l t u r e s a n d different identities—co-exist in virtual reality. T h e r e , distinctions b e t w e e n p u b l i c a n d private a n d b e t w e e n fiction a n d reality a r e fluid. S o m e c o n t e m p o r a r y p o e t s c e l e b r a t e c o m p u t e r technology a s a n e w r e s o u r c e for poetry. T h e y c r e a t e digital p r o d u c t i o n s that i n c l u d e multiple fonts, type sizes, a n d visual i m a g e s ; they edit online j o u r n a l s a n d they turn to hypertext to c r e a t e c o m p u t e r s c r e e n p o e m s with s i m u l t a n e o u s a n d o p e n - e n d e d possibilities, w h e r e the reader's c h o i c e s s h a p e different poetic f o r m s . At the s a m e time there a r e c o n t e m p o r a r y p o e t s w h o c o n t i n u e to write the drafts of their p o e m s with pencil a n d p a p e r a n d , like C h a r l e s Wright, feel m o r e affinity with c l a s s i c a l C h i n e s e p o e t s than with c o m p u t e r technology. C o n t e m p o r a r y poetry exists in a variety of m e d i a : o n the p a g e s of a b o o k ( p e r h a p s digitally p r o d u c e d ) , on the c o m p u t e r s c r e e n , in p e r f o r m a n c e work (like David Antin's talk p o e m s or J o y Harjo's r e a d i n g s a c c o m p a n i e d by her b a n d ) , a n d at poetry s l a m s all over the country. It is p o s s i b l e to e x p e r i e n c e the work of writers a n d p o e t s like S h e r m a n Alexie a n d W a n d a C o l e m a n on the p a g e or in a s t a n d i n g - r o o m only p e r f o r m a n c e at the W o r l d C h a m p i o n s h i p Poetry B o u t in T a o s , N e w M e x i c o . A m e r i c a n poetry is enjoying a r e n a i s s a n c e a n d in m a n y ways is today m o r e widely available, in m o r e varied f o r m s , t h a n ever. W h e t h e r or not this rise in popularity a n d accessibility is a c c o m p a n i e d by a n e q u a l rise in quality r e m a i n s a q u e s t i o n to b e d e b a t e d by p o e t s , r e a d e r s , a n d critics. B u t the d e b a t e itself is a sign of poetry's vitality. P e r h a p s , t h e n , what m o s t c h a r a c terizes poetry in the early years of this c e n t u r y is the a b s e n c e of a single d o m i n a n t style. T h e heterogeneity of s u c h poetry p r o m i s e s to be a defining characteristic a n d a strength. Yet a m i d s u c h variation in style, in format, in m e t h o d , the b e s t c o n t e m p o r a r y p o e m s still m a n a g e to startle u s with their f r e s h n e s s a n d d i s t i n c t n e s s , w h e t h e r we are r e a d i n g t h e m for the first time or the tenth. Like C h a r l e s Wright in " T h e A p p a l a c h i a n B o o k of the D e a d V I , " we discover that "the right word will take your b r e a t h a w a y . "

AMERICAN POETRY S I N C E 1945 CONTEXTS

TEXTS 1944

Stanley Kunitz, " F a t h e r a n d S o n "

1945

Randall Jarrell, " T h e D e a t h o f the

1945

U.S. drops atomic b o m b s on

Hiroshima and Nagasaki; J a p a n surrenders,

Ball T u r r e t G u n n e r "

ending World War II • Cold war between U . S . and Soviet Union begins 1948

Theodore Roethke, "The Lost S o n "

1950

Richard Wilbur, " C e r e m o n y "

1950

Senator J o s e p h McCarthy begins

attacks on c o m m u n i s m 1953

Charles Olson, " M a x i m u s , to

HimselF' 1954

Beat Generation poets begin to

gather at S a n Francisco's City Lights Bookshop 1955-68

John Berryman composes The

Dream

Songs

(pub. 1964, 1968, 1977)

1956

Allen Ginsberg, Howl

1956

Martin Luther King Jr. leads bus

boycott in Montgomery, Alabama 1959

1959

Robert Creeley, " K o r e " • Robert

Fidel Castro b e c o m e s c o m m u n i s t

dictator of C u b a

Lowell, "My Last Afternoon with Uncle Devereux Winslow" 1960

1960

Gwendolyn Brooks, " W e R e a l C o o l "

Woolworth lunch counter sit-in in

• Robert D u n c a n , "Often I Am Permitted to

Greensboro, N . C . , marks beginning of civil

Return to a M e a d o w "

rights movement

1961

1961

Denise Levertov, " T h e J a c o b ' s

1962

Armed C u b a n refugees invade C u b a

at Bay of Pigs with U . S . support

Ladder"

1962

Robert Hayden, " M i d d l e P a s s a g e "

United States and Soviet Union

close to war over Russian missiles based in C u b a ; missiles withdrawn 1963

King delivers "I Have a D r e a m "

speech ' J o h n F. Kennedy assassinated 1964

Frank O'Hara, "A Step away from

T h e m " • Amiri Baraka (LeRoi J o n e s ) , "An Agony. As N o w " 1965

Hippie culture flourishes in S a n

Francisco • Malcolm X assassinated 1965-73 1966

1966

J a m e s Merrill, "The Broken H o m e " •

Vietnam War

National Organization for Women

( N O W ) founded • Hayden and Brooks

Sylvia Plath, Ariel

criticized at Black Writers' Conference, Fisk University, for composing "academic'' poetry 1968

George Oppen, Of Being

1968

Numerous

King assassinated • Senator Robert

F. Kennedy assassinated 1969

1969

Galway Kinnell, " T h e P o r c u p i n e " •

U.S. astronauts land on the moon •

Lorine Niedecker, "My Life by Water" •

Stonewall riots in New York City initiate gay

Robert Penn Warren,

liberation movement

1971

Audubon

Audre Lordc, "Black Mother

Woman"

Boldface titles indicate works in the anthology.

2622

CONTEXTS

TEXTS 1972

Anne Sexton, The Death of the

1972

Fathers 1973

Watergate scandal • military draft

ends Adrienne Rich, Diving into the

1973

Wreck

Roe v. Wade legalizes abortion •

American Indian movement members occupy Wounded Knee 1974

President Richard Nixon resigns in

wake of Watergate, avoiding impeachment 1975

John Ashbery, "Self-Portrait in a

Convex Mirror" • Michael S. Harper, "Nightmare Begins Responsibility" 1976

Elizabeth Bishop, "In the W a i t i n g

1976

U . S . bicentennial

1982

Equal Rights Amendment defeated *

Room" 1979

Philip Levine, "Starlight" - Mary

Oliver, "The Black S n a k e " 1981

Lorna Dee Cervantes, "The Body as

Braille" • J a m e s Dickey, "Falling" • Simon J. Ortiz, " F r o m S a n d C r e e k " 1982

J a m e s Wright, "The Journey"

A I D S officially identified in United States 1983

Joy Harjo, " C a l l It F e a r " • Cathy

Song, "Chinatown" 1985

Alberto Rios, "Advice to a First

C o u s i n " * Kunitz, " T h e Welifleet W h a l e " 1986

Rita Dove, Thomas

and Beulah

* Li-

Young Lee, " E a t i n g T o g e t h e r " 1989

Soviet Union collapses • oil tanker

Exxon Valdez runs aground in Alaska 1990

1990

Robert Pinsky, "The Want B o n e "

Congress passes Native American

Graves Protection and Repatriation Act 1991

United States enters Persian Gulf

War • World Wide Web introduced 1992

Louise Gliick, "Vespers"

1993

Gary Snyder, "Ripples on the

Surface" • A. R. Ammons, 1995

Garbage 1995

Jorie Graham, The Dream of the

1996

Federal building in Oklahoma City

bombed in a terrorist attack

Unified Field W. S. Merwin, " L a m e n t for the

Makers"

1998

1997

Pathfinder

robot explores Mars

2001

Execution of Timothy McVeigh,

Billy Collins, "1 C h o p S o m e Parsley

While L i s t e n i n g to Art Blakey's Version of ' T h r e e Blind M i c e ' " 1999

Charles Simic, "Arriving Celebrities"

2000

Charles Wright, "North American

Bear" convicted in 1995 Oklahoma City b o m b i n g " September I I terrorist attacks on Pentagon and World Trade Center

2 6 23

2624

STANLEY b.

KUNITZ

1905

For over thirty years at his home in Provincetown, Massachusetts, Stanley Kunitz has tended a terraced hillside garden he created—"Stanley's folly," his wife, the painter Elise Asher, calls it. The garden is to Kunitz an emblem for creativity and renewal much like poetry itself, and many of his poems draw images of plants and animals from this place. When Kunitz's 1995 collection, Passing Through, was published to coincide with his ninetieth birthday, it won the National Book Award and took its place in a poetic career that began sixty-five years earlier with his first book, Intellectual Things (1930). "Through the years I have found this gift of poetry to be life sustaining, life enhancing, and absolutely unpredictable," he said. It is a testament to the ongoing renewal of Kunitz's poetic gifts that in his eighties and nineties he has written some of the finest poems of his career. For the period 2 0 0 0 - 0 1 , at the age of ninety-five, he was named poet laureate of the United States. Perhaps one reason Kunitz turned to the life-sustaining power of poetry was that his own life began in such painful circumstances. Six months before the poet's birth his father committed suicide, and during Kunitz's childhood, his mother refused to let her husband's name be spoken in her presence: "She locked his name / in her deepest cabinet / and would not let him out / though I could hear him thumping" ("The Portrait"). Kunitz needed, he has remarked, to find a way to transform his losses into creative experience. His early poetry, like the powerful "Father and Son," dramatizes that transformation and, with its dense syntax and hermetic imagery, suggests secret pain. Though Kunitz's tone ranges from wry playfulness in a love poem like "After the Last Dynasty" to elegiac lament in "The Wellfleet Whale," much of his work over the years has been an excavation of what he called, in the title of one of his poems, "The Thing That Eats the Heart." A child of immigrants from a Lithuanian Jewish shtetl, Kunitz grew up in Worcester, Massachusetts, and revisits the surrounding landscape in a number of poems, like "Quinnipoxet," with its "abandoned reservoir" where "the snapping turtles cruised / and the bullheads swayed / in their bower of tree-stumps." An avid reader and a brilliant student, he earned a scholarship to Harvard University at a time when the university had a quota (2 percent) for Jewish students. He graduated summa cum laude, but, as Kunitz recounts it, when he continued his studies at Harvard and inquired about a teaching position, the university let it be known that his Jewish ancestry precluded an appointment. "It shattered me," he has said. He then left academia for many years and worked as a reporter, an editor, and for a while as a small farmer. During World War II, he served in the armed forces, and in 1946 he began a peripatetic teaching career that included such institutions as Bennington, the New School of Social Research, the University of Washington, and Brandeis. In 1963 he took up a position at Columbia University, where he remained until 1985. While Kunitz's first book Intellectual Things (the title comes from William Blake's "the tear is an intellectual thing") brought him attention, his next, Passport to War (1944), went largely unnoticed. Yet he continued to write and publish poetry; and finally, when he was past fifty, he gained national recognition with his Selected Poems J 9 2 8 - 5 8 (1959), which won a Pulitzer Prize. Kunitz's early poems are evidence of his strong sense of drama. Tightly rhymed and metered, they often owe their startling images (for example, "The night nailed like an orange to my brow" from "Father and Son") to the influence of metaphysical poets like John Donne and George Herbert. But there is also something hidden about the early work, as if the complexity of the poet's language were a form of protection against the sources of his feeling. Then, with his important collection The Testing-Tree (1971), published when Kunitz was in his sixties ("my emancipation proclamation," he has called it), his work became more open and relaxed. "My early writing was dense and convoluted," he said at the time,

F A T H E R AND S O N

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2625

"so, I guess, was I. Now what I am seeking is a transparency of language and vision. Maybe age itself compels me to embrace the great simplicities." The transparency Kunitz sought revealed itself in a looser, two- to three-beat line, a more colloquial language. Most significant, since The Testing Tree—whose title poem says, "the heart breaks and breaks / and lives by breaking"—Kunitz's work speaks its feeling more simply and directly. The poems of Next-to-Last Things ( 1 9 8 5 ) and Passing Through ( 1 9 9 5 ) continue this greater openness. One of these late poems, "The Wellfleet Whale," beautifully demonstrates Kunitz's distinctive idiom, combining precise observation of the natural world with a colloquial language that moves in the swells of ritual elegy and incantation. Kunitz is notable as well for his generosity and commitment to other poets and artists; he was a close friend of the poet Theodore Roethke and the painter Mark Rothko. At Columbia, Kunitz helped shape the M.F.A. program and served as a teacher and mentor to many younger writers. He has supported a wider community of artists through his work as a founder of the residency program at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, Massachusetts; Louise Gliick and Yosef Komunyakaa are among the many poets nurtured by this program at early stages of their careers. He also helped create Poets House, a literary center and library in New York City. For Kunitz, the sources of poetry are located beyond the individual self; in his words, "The poem comes in the form of a blessing—'like rapture breaking on the mind,' as I tried to phrase it in my youth." For more than seventy years Kunitz's work has captured that sense of rapture and created a life-enhancing music of celebration and lament.

Father and Son N o w in the s u b u r b s a n d the falling light I followed h i m , a n d now d o w n s a n d y road W h i t e r than b o n e - d u s t , t h r o u g h t h e sweet C u r d l e of fields, where the p l u m s D r o p p e d with their load of r i p e n e s s , o n e by o n e . 1 M i l e after mile I followed, with s k i m m i n g feet, After the s e c r e t m a s t e r of my b l o o d , H i m , s t e e p e d in t h e odor of p o n d s , w h o s e i n d o m i t a b l e love Kept m e in c h a i n s . S t r o d e years; s t r e t c h e d into bird; R a c e d t h r o u g h t h e s l e e p i n g country w h e r e I w a s y o u n g , T h e s i l e n c e unrolling b e f o r e m e as I c a m e , T h e night nailed like a n o r a n g e to m y brow. H o w s h o u l d I tell him my fable a n d the f e a r s , H o w bridge the c h a s m in a c a s u a l t o n e , Saying, " T h e h o u s e , the s t u c c o o n e you built, W e lost. S i s t e r m a r r i e d a n d went from h o m e , A n d n o t h i n g c o m e s b a c k , it's s t r a n g e , from w h e r e s h e g o e s . I lived o n a hill that h a d too m a n y r o o m s : L i g h t we c o u l d m a k e , but not e n o u g h of w a r m t h , A n d w h e n the light failed, I c l i m b e d u n d e r the hill. T h e p a p e r s a r e delivered every day; I a m a l o n e a n d never s h e d a t e a r . " 1. Kunitz notes that these lines refer to the environs of rural Massachusetts as they were in his youth.

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STANLEY

KUNITZ

At the water's e d g e , w h e r e the s m o t h e r i n g ferns lifted T h e i r a r m s , " F a t h e r ! " I cried, " R e t u r n ! You know T h e way. I'll wipe the m u d s t a i n s from your c l o t h e s ; N o t r a c e , I p r o m i s e , will r e m a i n . Instruct Your s o n , whirling b e t w e e n two wars, In the G e m a r a 2 of your g e n t l e n e s s , F o r I would b e a child to t h o s e who m o u r n And brother to the foundlings of the field A n d friend of i n n o c e n c e a n d all bright eyes. O t e a c h m e how to work a n d k e e p m e k i n d . " •

A m o n g the turtles a n d the lilies h e turned to m e T h e white ignorant hollow of his f a c e . 1944

After the Last Dynasty 1 R e a d i n g in Li P o 2 how "the p e a c h b l o s s o m follows the w a t e r " I keep thinking of you b e c a u s e you were so m u c h like Chairman Mao,* naturally with the sex transposed a n d the figure slighter, Loving you w a s a kind of C h i n e s e guerrilla war. T h a n k s to your lightfoot g e n i u s no E i g h t h R o u t e A r m y 4 kept its lines m o r e fluid, traveled with less b a g g a g e , s o nibbled the a d v a n t a g e . Even with your small b a d heart you m a d e a d a n c e of d e p a r t u r e s . In the cold spring rains w h e n last you failed m e I had n o t h i n g left to s p e n d but a red crayon l a n g u a g e on the c h a r a c t e r of the e n e m y to b r e a k a p p o i n t m e n t s , to fight u s not with his strength but with his w e a k n e s s , 2. The G e m a r a is the second and supplementary part of the Talmud, the oral law of the Jews, providing an extensive commentary by later rabbinical scholars on the traditional texts presented in the first part, the Mishna [Kunitz's note], 1. T h e Ch'ing Dynasty ( 1 6 4 4 - 1 9 1 2 ) was the last in a series of Chinese dynasties, defined by rulers who c a m e from the same familv or line. 2. C h i n e s e poet ( 7 0 1 - 7 6 2 ) .

3. "Chairman Mao's summation of his strategy of guerilla warfare: 'Enemy advances, we retreat; enemy halts, we harass; enemy tires, we attack; enemy retreats, we pursue' " [Kunitz's note]. M a o Tse-tung ( 1 8 9 3 - 1 9 7 6 ) , communist leader of the People's Republic of China. 4. China's Red Army in the war of resistance with Japan.

THE

WELLFLEET

WHALE

/

2627

to kill u s not with his health but with his s i c k n e s s . Pet, spitfire, blue-eyed pony, here is a new note I want to pin on your door, t h o u g h I a m ten years late a n d you are n o w h e r e : Tell m e , are you still m i s t r e s s of the valley, what trophies drift downriver, why did you keep m e waiting? 1971

The Wellfleet Whale A few summers ago, on C a p e Cod, a whale foundered on the beach, a sixty-three-foot finback whale. When the tide went out, I approached him. He was lying there, in monstrous desolation, making the most terrifying noises—rumbling—groaning. I put my hands on his flanks and I could lee] the life inside him. And while I was standing there, suddenly he opened his eye. It was a big, red, cold eye, and it was staring directly at me. A shudder of recognition passed between us. Then the eye closed forever. I've been thinking about whales ever since.

—Journal entry

I

You have your l a n g u a g e too, an eerie medley of clicks a n d hoots a n d trills, location-notes a n d love calls, whistles a n d g r u n t s . O c c a s i o n a l l y , it's like furniture being s m a s h e d , or the c r e a k i n g of a m o s s y door, s o u n d s that all melt into a liquid s o n g with e n d l e s s variations, as if to c o m p e n s a t e for the vast loneliness of the s e a . S o m e t i m e s a d i s e m b o d i e d voice breaks in a s if from distant reefs, a n d it's a s m u c h a s o n e c a n b e a r to listen to its long m o u r n f u l cry, a sorrow without n a m e , both m o r e a n d less than h u m a n . It d r a g s a c r o s s the ear like a record running down. 1. "Written in 1981 and first read at Harvard that year as the Phi Beta Kappa poem. T h e actual beaching of the whale in Wellfleet Harbor

occurred September 12, 1 9 6 6 " [Kunitz's note], Wellfleet is on C a p e C o d , Massachusetts,

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STANLEY

KUNITZ

N o wind. N o w a v e s . N o c l o u d s . Only the w h i s p e r of the tide, a s it withdrew, stroking the s h o r e , a lazy drift of gulls o v e r h e a d , a n d tiny p o i n t s of light b u b b l i n g in the c h a n n e l . It w a s the tag-end of s u m m e r . F r o m the harbor's m o u t h you c o a s t e d into sight, flashing n e w s of your advent, the c r e s c e n t of your dorsal fin c l i p p i n g the d i a m o n d e d s u r f a c e . W e c h e e r e d at the sign of your g r e a t n e s s w h e n the b l a c k barrel of your h e a d e r u p t e d , r a m m i n g the water, a n d you flowered for u s in the j e t of your s p o u t i n g .

20

25

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35

3 All afternoon you s w a m tirelessly r o u n d the bay, with s u c h a n e a s y m o t i o n , the slightest d o w n b e a t of your tail, an almost imperceptible u n d u l a t i o n of your flippers, you s e e m e d like s o m e t h i n g p o u r e d , not driven; you s e e m e d to marry g r a c e with power. A n d w h e n you b o u n d e d into air; s l a p p i n g your flukes, w e thrilled to look u p o n p u r e energy i n c a r n a t e a s nobility of f o r m . You s e e m e d to a s k of u s not sympathy, or love, or u n d e r s t a n d i n g , but awe and wonder. T h a t night we w a t c h e d you s w i m m i n g in the m o o n . Your b a c k w a s m o l t e n silver. W e g u e s s e d your silent p a s s a g e by the p h o s p h o r e s c e n c e in your w a k e . At d a w n w e f o u n d you s t r a n d e d o n the r o c k s .

so

55

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THE WELLFLEET

WHALE

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2629

T h e r e c a m e a boy a n d a m a n a n d yet other m e n r u n n i n g , a n d two schoolgirls in yellow halters and a housewife bedecked with c u r l e r s , a n d w h o l e families in b e a c h b u g g i e s with a s s o r t e d yelping d o g s . T h e tide w a s a l m o s t out. W e c o u l d walk a r o u n d you, a s you heaved d e e p e r into the s h o a l , c r u s h e d by your own weight, c o l l a p s i n g into yourself, your flippers a n d your flukes quivering, your blowhole s p a s m o d i c a l l y b u b b l i n g , roaring. In the pit of your g a p i n g m o u t h you b a r e d your fringework of b a l e e n , 2 a thicket of horned bristles. W h e n the C u r a t o r of M a m m a l s arrived from B o s t o n to take s a m p l e s of your blood you were already oozing from below. S o m e b o d y h a d carved his initials in your flank. H u n t e r s of souvenirs h a d p e e l e d off strips of your skin, a m e m b r a n e thin a s paper. You were blistered a n d c r a c k e d by the s u n . T h e gulls h a d b e e n p e c k i n g at y o u . T h e s o u n d you m a d e w a s a h o a r s e a n d fitful bleating. W h a t drew u s , like a m a g n e t , to your dying? You m a d e a b o n d b e t w e e n u s , the k e e p e r s of the nightfall w a t c h , w h o g a t h e r e d in a ring a r o u n d y o u , b o o z i n g in the bonfire light. T o w a r d d a w n we s h a r e d with y o u your hour of d e s o l a t i o n , the h u g e lingering p a s s i o n of your unearthly outcry, a s you s w u n g your blind h e a d toward u s a n d laboriously o p e n e d a b l o o d s h o t , glistening eye, in which we s w a m with terror a n d recognition.

2. Elastic, horny material forming the fringed plate that hangs from the upper jaw of baleen whales instead of teeth.

2630

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STANLEY

KUNITZ

Voyager, c h i e f of the p e l a g i c 3 world, you b r o u g h t with you the myth of a n o t h e r country, dimly r e m e m b e r e d , w h e r e flying reptiles l u m b e r e d over the s t e a m i n g m a r s h e s a n d t r u m p e t i n g t h u n d e r lizards wallowed in the r e e d s . W h i l e e m p i r e s rose a n d fell o n land, your nation b r e a s t e d the o p e n m a i n , r o c k e d in the c o n s o l i n g rhythm of the tides. W h i c h a n c e s t o r first p l u n g e d h e a d - d o w n t h r o u g h zones of c o l o r e d twilight to s c o u r the b o t t o m of the dark? You r a n g e d the N o r t h Atlantic t r a c k from P o r t - o f - S p a i n to Baffin Bay," e d g i n g b e t w e e n the ice-floes t h r o u g h the fat of s u m m e r , lob-tailing, b r e a c h i n g , s o u n d i n g , grazing in the p a s t u r e s of the s e a on krilP-rich o r a n g e p l a n k t o n c r a c k l i n g with life. You prowled d o w n the c o n t i n e n t a l shelf, g u i d e d by the s u n a n d stars a n d the taste of alluvial 6 silt on your way s o u t h w a r d to the w a r m l a g o o n s , the tropic of d e s i r e , w h e r e the lovers lie belly to belly in the r u b a n d nuzzle of their s p o r t i n g ; a n d you t u r n e d , like a g o d in exile, o u t of your wide primeval e l e m e n t , delivered to the mercy of t i m e . M a s t e r of the w h a l e - r o a d s , let the white wings of the gulls s p r e a d out their cover. You have b e c o m e like u s , disgraced and mortal.

105

no

115

120

125

130

135

1985

3. Living or occurring in the open ocean. 4. Inlet of the Atlantic O c e a n between West Greenland and East Baffin Island. Port-of-Spain is the capital of Trinidad and T o b a g o .

5. Small marine crustaceans that are the principal food of baleen whales. 6. Sediment deposited by flowing water.

263 1

ROBERT

PENN

WARREN

1905-1989 In 1969, with a long, distinguished career as a man of letters already behind him, Robert Penn Warren published his long poem Audubon: A Vision. Although Warren wrote many poems of distinction before the publication of the volume, until the 1960s he was best known for his fiction. In the six books of poetry that followed Audubon, Warren developed the claim he had begun earlier in his career to a powerful, distinctive, American voice. The mark of Warren's poetry, from early to late, is passion, a passion directed toward the physical world and toward a knowledge of truth. He is a poet full of yearning for more, more than what life usually discloses, yet an intense love for the world accompanies this yearning. Warren was born in 1905 in Guthrie in southern Kentucky, and much of his writing reflects his engagement with the lessons of history as they can be read in the experience of the American South. He took this sense of history most immediately from his father, who read history and poetry aloud to the family, and from his maternal grandfather, Gabriel Telemachus Penn. Warren spent his boyhood summers on this grandfather's isolated tobacco farm. There the old man, who fought on the Confederate side in the Civil War, told Warren tales of war while the two mapped out battles together, or the boy listened while his grandfather recited poetry "by the yard," especially Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns. The memory of an idyllic boyhood spent dreaming amid the natural world informs many of Warren's poems, among them "American Portrait: Old Style," where he returns, in his seventies, to visit both the place of that boyhood and his childhood friend, K. The decisive literary moment in Warren's life came when, at the age of sixteen, he enrolled at Vanderbilt University in Nashville. He had wanted to be a naval officer but an eye injury prevented him from taking up his commission at Annapolis. Vanderbilt was enjoying a feverish interest in poetry at the time. (Even football players, Warren reported, seemed to be writing verse, and Warren remembers that people lined up for the latest issues of the Dial and other literary periodicals in which they might find new work by Yeats or Eliot or Hart Crane.) Part of the excitement was due to the presence of the poet John Crowe Ransom, who taught Warren's freshman composition class and soon involved him, even as an undergraduate, with the Fugitives, a group of faculty members and "bookish, intelligent young businessmen" who met to discuss literature and philosophy. By the time Warren joined, it was largely a poetry club at which Ransom and others read and criticized one another's work. It was here that Warren met Allen Tate, the gifted poet and critic, who found the redheaded undergraduate, five years his junior, "the most gifted person I have ever known." For years to come they constituted a kind of southern axis in American letters and in 1930 joined several other southern writers in a political manifesto, I'll Take My Stand. The collection of twelve essays envisioned an agrarian South with strong local cultures as the only humane alternative to an increasingly self-destructive industrialism centered in the North. Warren attended graduate school at the University of California, at Yale, and then as a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford University in England. From 1935 to 1942 he was on the English faculty at Louisiana State University. Along with Cleanth Brooks and Charles W. Pipkin, he was the founder there of the Southern Review, which for the seven years of their involvement was the most influential literary quarterly in the country. It was the principal forum for pioneering interpretative essays by "New Critics" such as Ransom, Kenneth Burke, and R. P. Blackmur. (Brooks and Warren were also the editors of Understanding Poetry, the important school anthology and text that introduced students to "close reading" on New Critical principles.) In addition, Southern Review published the best fiction by emerging southern writers such as Katherine Anne Porter and Eudora Welty.

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WARREN

Warren's own fiction brought him wide critical attention in the 1940s. All the King's Men (1946), which was conceived as a verse play before it became a novel, won the Pulitzer Prize and later became a film. It portrayed the rise and fall of a southern demagogue who closely resembled Huey Long, the Louisiana governor and senator who was assassinated in the rotunda of the Louisiana statehouse in 1935. Warren's interest was in showing the tangled motjves of his protagonist, Willie Stark, a Depression governor who led a regime both corrupt and yet progressive in its social programs. In its focus on violent subjpcts with historical and psychoA Vision. logical resonance, Warren's fiction anticipates his sequence Audubon: Other novels, like World Enough and Time (1950), set in the Kentucky of the 1820s, are based on documents and grow out of his ongoing study of and response to the history of the South. For ten years, from 1944 to 1954, Warren was intensely active in fiction, and published almost no poems. In 1952 he married the writer Eleanor Clark, his second wife, and prompted by the landscapes where they lived in Europe and by the birth of a son and daughter in the mid-1950s, he returned to poetry with a new intimacy and autobiographical intensity. His earlier work, like "Bearded Oaks," had been strongly influenced by the formal control and the elegant, well-mannered rationality of John Crowe Ransom's verse. But beginning with the volume Promises (1957), and revealed fully in Audubon, Warren's poetic line loosened up, moved with vigor and raw energy. Although the tone of his poems sometimes grows too insistent or rhetorical, his muscular syntax and rhythm forged a "voice-instrument calibrated to experience," in the words of Dave Smith, a poet of a younger generation, indebted to Warren's work. In Democracy and Poetry (1975), his Jefferson Lecture in the Humanities, Warren said, "What poetry most significantly celebrates is the capacity of man to face the deep, dark inwardness of his nature and fate." In Audubon, Warren's version of the historical John James Audubon must enter what Yeats once called "the abyss of the self" to create a heroic selfhood at the center of the poetry. Ornithologist and painter of Birds of America, Audubon (1785—1851) was artist and scientist, solitary searcher and classifier, consumed by his tasks. Basing part of his poem on Audubon's autobiographical account, Warren imagines a man launched into his true vision after an encounter with violence at the heart of experience: he narrowly escapes being robbed and murdered in the wilderness by a crone and her sons. In this incident Audubon must also confront the violent desire of his own "lust of the eye" and thereby reconcile in himself the need for both passion and reverence toward existence. Passion directs Warren's hero to slay the birds in order to paint them, to put them "In our imagination" (Audubon VI, "Love and Knowledge"). But reverence demands the heart's total response to the beauty of existence itself. This is why Warren commands his hero and himself: "Continue to walk in the world. Yes, love it!" While the most representative figure in Warren's poems is solitary— the individual, like Audubon, confronting versions of the American sublime—Warren has also written a number of fine poems in other registers, among them some moving love poems, such as "After the Dinner Party.' The sense of history that animates so much of his fiction has become, in his poems, the persistent struggle of memory to overcome the passage of time, to make then into now, as reflected in the title of his volume Now and Then: Poems 1976—1978 (1978). The struggle with time is one aspect of the heroic engagement with existence, which was the dramatic center of Warren's work until his death in 1989.

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Bearded Oaks T h e o a k s , how subtle a n d m a r i n e , B e a r d e d , a n d all the layered light A b o v e t h e m s w i m s ; a n d t h u s the s c e n e , R e c e s s e d , awaits the positive night. S o , waiting, we in the g r a s s now lie B e n e a t h the l a n g u o r o u s tread of light: T h e g r a s s e s , kelp-like, satisfy T h e n a m e l e s s m o t i o n s of the air. U p o n the floor of light, a n d t i m e , U n m u r m u r i n g , of polyp m a d e , W e rest; we a r e , a s light withdraws, Twin atolls on a shelf of s h a d e . A g e s to our c o n s t r u c t i o n w e n t , D i m a r c h i t e c t u r e , h o u r by hour: A n d violence, forgot now, lent T h e p r e s e n t stillness all its power. T h e s t o r m of n o o n a b o v e u s rolled, O f light the fury, furious gold, T h e long d r a g troubling u s , the d e p t h : D a r k is u n r o c k i n g , unrippling, still.

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P a s s i o n a n d slaughter, ruth, d e c a y D e s c e n d , minutely w h i s p e r i n g d o w n , Silted d o w n swaying s t r e a m s , to lay F o u n d a t i o n for our v o i c e l e s n e s s . All o u r d e b a t e is voiceles h e r e , As all our rage, the rage of s t o n e If h o p e is h o p e l e s s , then fearless is fear, A n d history is t h u s u n d o n e . O u r feet o n c e wrought the hollow street With e c h o w h e n the l a m p s were d e a d At w i n d o w s , o n c e o u r headlight glare D i s t u r b e d the d o e that, leaping, fled. I do not love you less that now T h e c a g e d heart m a k e s iron stroke, O r less that all that light o n c e gave T h e g r a d u a t e dark s h o u l d now revoke. W e live in time s o little time And we learn all so painfully, T h a t we m a y s p a r e this hour's term T o p r a c t i c e for eternity.

25

30

35

40 1942

2634

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ROBERT PENN

WARREN

From J.

Was

Not

Audubon

1

the

Dauphin

Lost

[A]

W a s n o t t h e lost d a u p h i n , t h o u g h h a n d s o m e w a s only B a s e - b o r n a n d not even a b l e T o m a k e a d e c e n t living, w a s only Himself, J e a n J a c q u e s , a n d his p a s s i o n — w h a t Is m a n b u t his p a s s i o n ? Saw, E a s t w a r d a n d over t h e cypress s w a m p , t h e d a w n , R e d d e r t h a n m e a t , break; A n d t h e large bird, L o n g n e c k o u t t h r u s t , wings c r o o k e d to scull air, m o v e d In a slow calligraphy, c r a n k , flat, a n d b l a c k a g a i n s t T h e color o f G o d ' s blood spilt, a s t h o u g h Pulled by a string. Saw It p r o c e e d a c r o s s t h e inflamed d i s t a n c e .

5

10

is

M o c c a s i n s s e t in hoar frost, eyes fixed o n t h e bird, T h o u g h t : " O n that sky it is b l a c k . " T h o u g h t : " I n my m i n d it is w h i t e . " h e r o n , t h e great o n e . " T h i n k i n g : "Ardea occidentalis, D a w n : his heart s h o o k in t h e t e n s i o n of t h e world.

20

D a w n : a n d w h a t is your p a s s i o n ? [b]

October: and the bear, Daft in the honey-light, y a w n s .

•

T h e bear's t o n g u e , p i n k a s a baby's, o u t - c r i s p s to t h e c u r l e d tip, It b l e e d s t h e b l a c k b l o o d of t h e blueberry.

25

T h e teeth a r e m o r e importantly white T h a n h a s ever b e e n i m a g i n e d . T h e b e a r feels his o w n fat S w e e t e n , like a d r o w s e , d e e p to t h e b o n e . B e m u s e d , a b o v e t h e f u m e of ruined b l u e b e r r i e s , T h e last b e e h u m s . 1. John J a m e s Audubon (1785—185 1), naturalson of French parents (hence "Jean J a c q u e s " in line 4 ) , but later an American citizen. Painter, ornithologist. Kentucky settler, he dedicated his life to the pursuit, classification, and depiction of the Birds

30

of America (first published in England, 1827). Among the stories told about his birth w a s one (false) that he was the Dauphin, the son of the dethroned Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette of France.

AUDUBON

/

2635

T h e wings, like m i c a , glint In the sunlight. H e leans on his g u n . T h i n k s H o w thin is the m e m b r a n e b e t w e e n himself a n d the world. * VI.

Love

* and

35

* Knowledge

T h e i r footless d a n c e Is of the beautiful liability of their n a t u r e . T h e i r eyes a r e r o u n d , boldly convex, bright a s a j e w e l , A n d m e r c i l e s s . T h e y do not know C o m p a s s i o n , a n d if they did, W e s h o u l d not b e worthy of it. T h e y fly In air that glitters like fluent crystal A n d is hard a s perfectly t r a n s p a r e n t iron, they cleave it With no effort. T h e y cry In a t o n g u e m u l t i t u d i n o u s , often like m u s i c .

5

10

H e slew t h e m , at s u r p r i s i n g d i s t a n c e s , with his g u n . Over a body held in his h a n d , his h e a d w a s b o w e d low, B u t not in grief. H e put t h e m w h e r e they a r e , a n d there we s e e t h e m : In our i m a g i n a t i o n . W h a t is love? O u r n a m e for it is k n o w l e d g e . V7I. Tell

Me a Story

L o n g a g o , in K e n t u c k y , I, a boy, s t o o d B y a dirt road, in first dark, a n d h e a r d T h e great g e e s e hoot northward. I c o u l d not s e e t h e m , there b e i n g n o m o o n And the stars s p a r s e . I h e a r d t h e m . I did not know what w a s h a p p e n i n g in my heart. It w a s the s e a s o n before the elderberry b l o o m s , T h e r e f o r e they were g o i n g north. T h e s o u n d w a s p a s s i n g northward.

Tell m e a story. In this century, a n d m o m e n t , of m a n i a , Tell m e a story.

15

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ROBERT PENN

WARREN

M a k e it a story of great d i s t a n c e s , a n d starlight. T h e n a m e of the story will be T i m e , B u t you m u s t not p r o n o u n c e its n a m e .

15

Tell m e a story of d e e p delight. 1969

Acquaintance with Time in Early Autumn Never—yes, never—before these months just passed H a d I known the n a t u r e of T i m e , a n d felt its s t r o n g heart, S t r o k e by stroke, a g a i n s t my o w n , like love, B u t love without f a c e , or s h a p e , or h i s t o r y — P u r e B e i n g that, by being, our b e i n g d e n i e s . S u m m e r fulfills the field, the heart, the w o m b , While s u m m e r l o n g , infinitesimally, L e a f s t e m , at b o u g h - j u n c t u r e , d r i e s , E v e n a s our tireless b o d i e s p l u n g e , W i t h d e l i c i o u s m u s c u l a r flexion a n d heart's hilarity, W h i t e to the b l a c k a m m o n i a c purity of A m o u n t a i n pool. B u t b l a c k Is b l u e a s it stares u p at s u m m e r ' s d e p t h l e s s a z u r e , A n d azure w a s what w e s a w b e n e a t h At the t i m e l e s s instant h a n g i n g At arc-height. V o i c e s of j o y h o w distant s e e m ! I float, p u b i c hair a w a s h , a n d gaze first—alone At o n e lone leaf, f l a m e - r e d — t h e Above s u m m e r ' s b u l g e of g r e e n , H i g h - h u n g a g a i n s t the sky. Y e s , sky w a s b l u e , but water, I s u d d e n l y felt, W a s b l a c k , a n d striped with cold, a n d o n e cold claw R e a c h e d ghostly up T o find my flesh, to p i e r c e T h e heart, a s t h o u g h R e l e a s i n g , in that dark i n w a r d n e s s , A single d r o p . O h , leaf, C l i n g on! F o r I have felt k n e e c r e a k on stair, A n d s o m e t i m e s , d a n c i n g , notice h o w rarely A girl's inner thigh will b r u s h my o w n , Like a d r e a m . W h o s e d r e a m ? The sun P o u r s d o w n on the leaf its l a c q u e r of C h i n e s e red.

5

io

15

20

25

30

AFTER THE D I N N E R

PARTY

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2637

T h e n , in the lucent e m p t i n e s s , While cries of j o y of c o m p a n i o n s f a d e , I feel that I s e e , even in T h e golden p a r a d o x of air u n m o v i n g E a c h t e n d o n of that s t e m , by its own will, Release Its tiny c l a w - h o o k s , a n d trust A s h i n i n g destiny. T h e leaf—it is T o o m o o r l e s s not to fall. B u t D o e s not. Minutely, It s l i d e s — c a l m , c a l m — a l o n g the air s i d e w i s e , S u s t a i n e d by the kiss of under-air.

35

40

45

W h i l e a g e s p a s s , I w a t c h the red-gold leaf, Sunlit, d e s c e n d to water I know is black. It t o u c h e s . B r e a t h C o m e s back, a n d I hate G o d As m u c h a s gravity or the great globe's tilt. H o w shall we know the a s t r o l a b e 1 of joy? Shall gratitude run forward a s well a s b a c k ? W h o o n c e would have thought that the heart, Still ravening on the world's provocation a n d beauty, might, After time long lost In the t a n g l e d briars of y o u t h , H a v e p i c k e d today a s payday, the p a y m e n t

50

55

In life's dime-thin, t h u m b - w o r n , two-sided, two-faced c o i n ?

1980

After the Dinner Party You two sit at the table late, e a c h , now a n d t h e n , Twirling a near-empty wine g l a s s to w a t c h the last red L i q u i d climb up the crystalline spin to the last m o m e n t w h e n Centrifugality fails: with n o t h i n g now s a i d . W h a t is left to say w h e n the last logs s a g a n d wink? T h e dark o u t s i d e is s t r e a k e d with the c a s u a l snowflake O f winter's d e m i s e , all g u e s t s long g o n e h o m e , a n d you think O f others who never again c a n c o m e to p a r t a k e ; . .. - . •., . • • • O f food, wine, laughter, a n d p h i l o s o p h y — T h o u g h tonight o n e g u e s t h a s q u o t e d a killing p h r a s e we owe T o a lost o n e w h o s e grin, in eternal atrophy, N o w in dark c e l e b r a t e s s o m e last u n w o r d e d j e s t n o n e c a n know. N o w a chair s c r a p e s , s u d d e n , on tiles, a n d o n e of you M o v e s s o u n d l e s s , a s in hypnotic certainty, Old instrument for observing and calculating the position of heavenly bodies.

5

- s 10

2638

/

THEODORE

ROETHKE

T h e length of t a b l e . S t a n d s there a m o m e n t or two, T h e n sits, r e a c h e s o u t a h a n d , o p e n a n d empty.

is

H o w long it s e e m s till a h a n d finds that h a n d there laid, While a s h , still glowing, c r u m b l e s , a n d s i l e n c e is s u c h T h a t t h e c r u m b l i n g of a s h is a u d i b l e . N o w n a u g h t ' s left u n s a i d O f the old h e a r t - c o n c e r n s , t h e last, tonight, which

20

H a d b e e n o f the a b s e n t children, w h o s e bright gaze O v e r - a r c h e s t h e future's horizon, in t h e mist o f your p r a y e r s . T h e last l o g is black, while a s h b e n e a t h displays N o last glow. Y o u snuff c a n d l e s . S o o n t h e old stairs Will c r e a k with your grave a n d synchronized tread a s e a c h m o u n t s T o a b r i e f n e s s of light, then true weight of d a r k n e s s , a n d then T h a t h e a r t - d i m n e s s in which neither j o y n o r sorrow c o u n t s . E v e n s o , o n e h a n d g r o p e s o u t for a n o t h e r , a g a i n .

25

1985

THEODORE

ROETHKE

1908-1963 Theodore Roethke had the kind of childhood a poet might have invented. He was born in Saginaw, Michigan, where both his German grandfather and his father kept greenhouses for a living. The greenhouse world, he later said, represented for him "both heaven and hell, a kind of tropics created in the savage climate of Michigan, where austere German Americans turned their love of order and their terrifying efficiency into something truly beautiful." Throughout his life he was haunted both by the ordered, protected world of the greenhouse—the constant activity of growth, the cultivated flowers—and by the desolate landscape of his part of Michigan. "The marsh, the mire, the Void, is always there, immediate and terrifying. It is a splendid place for schooling the spirit. It is America." Roethke's poetry often reenacted this "schooling" of the spirit by revisiting the landscapes of his childhood: the nature poems that make up the largest part of his early work try to bridge the distance between a child's consciousness and the adult mysteries presided over by his father. Roethke arranged and rearranged these poems to give the sense of a spiritual autobiography, especially in preparing the volumes The Lost Son (1948), Praise to the End! (1951), and The Waking (1953). The greenhouse world emerged as a "reality harsher than reality," the cultivator's activity pulsating and threatening. Its overseers, like "Frau Bauman, Frau Schmidt, and Frau Schwartze," emerge as gods, fates, muses, and witches all in one. It was by focusing on the minute processes of botanical growth—the rooting, the budding—that the poet found a way of participating in the mysteries of this once alien world, "alive in a slippery grave." In his books The Lost Son and Other Poems and Praise to the End! Roethke explored

the regenerative possibilities of prerational speech (like children's riddles) in which language as sound recaptures nonlogical states of being. In these poems, his most

CUTTINGS

/

2639

dazzling and original work, Roethke opened up the possibilities of language. One of the sections of the long poem The Lost Son is called "The Gibber," a pun, because the word means both a meaningless utterance and the pouch at the base of the calyx of a flower. The pun identifies principles of growth with the possibilities of speech freed from logical meanings, and the sequence as a whole suggests the power of both nature and language to revive the spirit of an adult life: "A lively understandable spirit / Once entertained you. / It will come again. / Be still. / Wait." If the nature poems of Roethke's first four books explore the anxieties with him since childhood, his later love poems show him in periods of release and momentary pleasure: And I dance round and round, A fond and foolish man, And see and suffer myself In another being at last. The love poems, many of them included in Words for the Wind (1958) and The Far Field (1964), are among the most appealing in modern American verse. They stand in sharp relief to the suffering Roethke experienced in other areas of his personal life—several mental breakdowns and periods of alcoholism—which led to a premature death. The Far Field, a posthumous volume, includes fierce, strongly rhymed lyrics in which Roethke tried "bare, even terrible statement," pressing toward the threshold of spiritual insight: A man goes far to find out what he is— Death of the self in a long, tearless night, All natural shapes blazing unnatural light. The nature poems of this last volume, gathered as "The North American Sequence" (from which the title poem of the book, The Far Field, is taken) use extended landscape to find natural analogies for the human passage toward the dark unknown, hoping "in their rhythms to catch the very movement of mind itself." Roethke is remembered as one of the great teachers of poetry, especially by those young poets and critics who studied with him at the University of Washington from 1948 until the time of his death in 1963. James Wright, David Wagoner, and Richard Hugo, among others, attended his classes. He was noted for his mastery of sound and metrics. Although his own poetry was intensely personal, his starting advice to students always deemphasized undisciplined self-expression. "Write like someone else," was his instruction to beginners. In Roethke's own career, however, this advice had its costs. His apprenticeship to Yeats, in particular, endangered his own poetic voice; in some late poems the echo of this great predecessor makes Roethke all but inaudible. Roethke was much honored later in his career: a Pulitzer Prize for The Waking (1953); a National Book Award and Bollingen Prize for the collected poems, Woriis for the Wind (1958); and a posthumous National Book Award for The Far Field (1964).

Cuttings Sticks-in-a-drowse d r o o p over s u g a r y l o a m , T h e i r intricate stem-fur dries; B u t still the delicate slips keep coaxing up water; T h e small cells b u l g e ;

2640

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THEODORE

ROETHKE

O n e n u b of growth Nudges a sand-crumb loose, P o k e s through a m u s t y s h e a t h Its pale tendrilous h o r n . 1948

Cuttings (later)

T h i s u r g e , wrestle, r e s u r r e c t i o n of dry s t i c k s , C u t s t e m s struggling to put d o w n feet, W h a t saint strained so m u c h , R o s e on s u c h l o p p e d l i m b s to a new life? I c a n hear, u n d e r g r o u n d , that s u c k i n g a n d s o b b i n g , In my veins, in my b o n e s I feel i t , — T h e small w a t e r s s e e p i n g u p w a r d , T h e tight grains p a r t i n g at last. When sprouts break out, Slippery as fish I quail, lean to b e g i n n i n g s , sheath-wet.

5

10

1948

My Papa's Waltz T h e whiskey o n your b r e a t h C o u l d m a k e a small boy dizzy; B u t I h u n g on like d e a t h : S u c h waltzing w a s not easy. W e r o m p e d until the p a n s Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother's c o u n t e n a n c e C o u l d not unfrown itself. T h e h a n d that held my wrist W a s b a t t e r e d on o n e k n u c k l e ; At every s t e p you m i s s e d M y right ear s c r a p e d a b u c k l e . You b e a t time on my h e a d With a p a l m c a k e d hard by dirt, T h e n waltzed m e off to bed Still clinging to your shirt. 1948

I KNEW A WOMAN

/

2641

Night Crow W h e n I s a w that c l u m s y crow F l a p from a w a s t e d tree, A s h a p e in the mind rose u p : Over the gulfs of d r e a m F l e w a t r e m e n d o u s bird F u r t h e r a n d further away Into a m o o n l e s s black, D e e p in the brain, far b a c k .

s

1948

I Knew a Woman I knew a w o m a n , lovely in her b o n e s , W h e n s m a l l birds s i g h e d , s h e would sigh b a c k at t h e m ; Ah, w h e n s h e m o v e d , s h e m o v e d m o r e ways than o n e : T h e s h a p e s a bright c o n t a i n e r c a n c o n t a i n ! O f her c h o i c e virtues only g o d s s h o u l d s p e a k , O r E n g l i s h p o e t s w h o grew u p on G r e e k (I'd have t h e m sing in c h o r u s , c h e e k to c h e e k ) . H o w well her w i s h e s went! S h e stroked my c h i n , S h e taught m e T u r n , a n d C o u n t e r - t u r n , a n d S t a n d ; 1 S h e t a u g h t m e T o u c h , that u n d u l a n t white skin; I nibbled meekly from her proffered h a n d ; S h e w a s the sickle; I, p o o r I, the r a k e , C o m i n g b e h i n d her for her pretty s a k e (But what p r o d i g i o u s m o w i n g we did m a k e ) . Love likes a g a n d e r , a n d a d o r e s a g o o s e : H e r full lips p u r s e d , the errant note to seize; S h e played it q u i c k , s h e played it light a n d l o o s e ; M y eyes, they dazzled at her flowing k n e e s ; H e r several p a r t s c o u l d keep a p u r e r e p o s e , O r o n e hip quiver with a m o b i l e n o s e ( S h e moved in circles, a n d t h o s e circles m o v e d ) . L e t s e e d be g r a s s , a n d g r a s s turn into hay: I'm martyr to a motion not my o w n ; W h a t ' s freedom for? T o know eternity. I swear s h e c a s t a s h a d o w white a s s t o n e . B u t who would c o u n t eternity in days? T h e s e old b o n e s live to learn her w a n t o n ways: (I m e a s u r e time by how a body s w a y s ) .

5

10

15

20

25

1958 1. Parts of a Pindaric ode.

2642

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THEODORE

ROETHKE

Wish for a Young Wife M y lizard, my lively writher, M a y your limbs never wither, M a y the eyes in your f a c e Survive the g r e e n ice O f envy's m e a n g a z e ; M a y you live o u t your life W i t h o u t h a t e , without grief, A n d your hair ever b l a z e , In the s u n , in the s u n , When I am undone, W h e n I a m no o n e .

5

10

1964

In a Dark Time In a dark t i m e , the eye b e g i n s to s e e , I m e e t my s h a d o w in the d e e p e n i n g s h a d e ; I h e a r my e c h o in the e c h o i n g w o o d — A lord of n a t u r e w e e p i n g to a tree. I live b e t w e e n the heron a n d the wren, B e a s t s of the hill a n d s e r p e n t s of the d e n . W h a t ' s m a d n e s s but nobility of soul At o d d s with c i r c u m s t a n c e ? T h e day's o n fire! I know the purity of p u r e d e s p a i r , M y s h a d o w p i n n e d a g a i n s t a s w e a t i n g wall. T h a t p l a c e a m o n g the r o c k s — i s it a c a v e , O r winding p a t h ? T h e e d g e is w h a t I have. A steady s t o r m of c o r r e s p o n d e n c e s ! A night flowing with b i r d s , a ragged m o o n , A n d in b r o a d day the m i d n i g h t c o m e a g a i n ! A m a n g o e s far to find o u t w h a t he i s — D e a t h of the self in a long, t e a r l e s s night, All natural s h a p e s blazing u n n a t u r a l light. D a r k , d a r k my light, a n d darker my d e s i r e . M y soul, like s o m e h e a t - m a d d e n e d s u m m e r fly, K e e p s buzzing at the sill. W h i c h I is I? A fallen m a n , I c l i m b out of my fear. T h e m i n d e n t e r s itself, a n d G o d the m i n d , A n d o n e is O n e , free in the tearing wind.

5

10

is

20

1964

CHARLES OLSON

/

2643

The Waking I wake to s l e e p , a n d take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I c a n n o t fear. I learn by g o i n g where I have to go. W e think by feeling. W h a t is there to know? I h e a r my b e i n g d a n c e from ear to ear. I w a k e to s l e e p , a n d take my w a k i n g slow.

5

O f t h o s e s o c l o s e b e s i d e m e , which are you? G o d b l e s s the G r o u n d ! I shall walk softly there, A n d learn by g o i n g where I have to g o . Light t a k e s the T r e e ; but w h o c a n tell u s how? T h e lowly w o r m c l i m b s u p a winding stair; I w a k e to s l e e p , a n d take my w a k i n g slow. G r e a t N a t u r e h a s a n o t h e r thing to d o T o you a n d m e ; so take the lively air, A n d , lovely, learn by g o i n g w h e r e to g o .

10

15

T h i s s h a k i n g k e e p s m e steady. I s h o u l d know. W h a t falls away is always. A n d is near. I w a k e to s l e e p , a n d take my waking slow. I learn by g o i n g w h e r e I have to go. 1953

CHARLES

OLSON

1910-1970 Writing of the sense of place in Charles Olson's poems, Robert Creeley says, "In short, the world is not separable, and we are in it." Being in the world, for Olson, meant experiencing it as present; for him, what happens in a poem happens now. Art, he said, "does not seek to describe but to enact." In an influential essay, "Projective Verse," he rejected the partitioning of reality that separates the human from the natural world. His aim, he wrote, was to get "rid of the lyrical interference of the individual as ego, of the 'subject' and his soul, that peculiar presumption by which western man has interposed himself between what he is as a creature of nature . . . and those other creations of nature." To read Olson is to enter a critical and theoretical force field made up of his essays, lectures, and poems. His ultimate concern was reimagining the world, returning language (as Creeley writes) "to its place in experience." Although this ambition is inconsistently realized in Olson's poems, it directed his lifelong effort. And in this effort he was an extraordinarily influential

2644

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CHARLES

OLSON

figure for a group of poets whose work was beginning to be known in the 1950s, among them Creeley, Denise Levertov, and Robert Duncan. Olson's influence grew out of his years at Black Mountain, an experimental college in North Carolina where he had served as an instructor and then as head or rector, succeeding the artist Josef Albers. In its flourishing years under the direction of Olson, the college included among its teachers and students key figures of the avant-garde: John Cage in music, Merce Cunningham in dance, Franz Kline and Robert Rauschenberg in painting. Just before going to Black Mountain, Olson published a critical study of Herman Melville and Moby-Dick, Call Me hhmael (1947), which declared his new independence of the formal academic systems. (He had been, as he put it, "uneducated" at Wesleyan, Yale, and Harvard, had taught at Clark University in Worcester, Massachusetts, and had taken an advanced degree in American civilization at Harvard.) Call Me hhmael, unlike most literary studies, was fiercely personal and unorthodox—almost a prose poem proclaiming new bearings in American literature, especially the symbolic importance of the Pacific, the "unwarped primal world" that, according to the poet, was the true center of the American experience. Olson claimed that "the substances of history now useful lie outside, under, right here, anywhere but in the direct continuum of society as we have had it." Therefore his own work, as he makes clear in The Kingfishers, sharply cultivates the primitive sources of energy almost buried by civilized responses and instruments. As a sometime archaeologist, Olson "hunted among stones." He studied earlier North American cultures and worked among the Mayan ruins in the Yucatan, trying to recover the living elements of an archaic way of life. For Olson, the imagination of ancient cultures exists in the present as much as does a walk down the street in one's native town. In his lifetime poetic project, the Maximus poems, Olson sought to do for his own life what the anthropologist does for a lost civilization; he aimed at recapturing or reinstating lost links to the unconscious sources of his being. Ezra Pound's Cantos, with their mosaic of disjoined and recurrent images, provided a formal model, but in Olson's eyes, Pound was too devoted to reviving the values of European culture. The Maximus poems were designed to capture the mythical spirit of place—the fishing town of Gloucester, Massachusetts, where Olson grew up in a neighborhood called Dogtown. Maximus is an enlarged version of its author. The facts of Olson's own life in Gloucester (including perhaps even a joking allusion in the name Maximus to the fact that Olson was six foot eight) are used as a point of departure for an ambitious effort to project the entire historical, geological, and social presence of the town. Through the heightened awareness of Maximus, Olson tries to find the hidden energies that shape consciousness, "the primal features of those founders who lie buried in us." These features include the backgrounds and racial inheritance of his own Swedish father and Irish-American mother. They also include the communal dependence on and subjection to the sea around the town. So, for example, the opening Maximus poem, "I, Maximus of Gloucester, to You," renders the emergence of the central character out of the sea ("hot from boiling water"), identifying him with that element, and recalling Homer's identification of Odysseus as seafarer. Beginning from a perspective offshore, the poem moves from sea to land, taking us into the harbor section of Gloucester and connecting the activity and skill of the poet to that of the fishermen, responsive to the natural world. Yet Olson knows that, even in Gloucester, the "mu-sick, mu-sick, mu-sick" of mass culture threatens this way of life. Later in the sequence he confronts his own difficulties in establishing the right relation to the world embodied in the fishermen; in "Maximus, to Himself," he writes, "The sea was not, finally, my trade / But even my trade, at it, I stood estranged / from that which was most familiar." The Maximus poems enact a quest to overcome such estrangement and to attain a wholeness celebrated in "Celestial Evening, October 1967," where the poet feels the "full volume of all which ever was" and the separation between inner and outer worlds dissolves. In Olson's proposed "open form," ordinary lineation, straight left-hand margin, regular meters, and verse forms are to be discarded in favor of a free placement of

M A X I M U S , TO H I M S E L F

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lines and phrases over the page. This "composition by field" would allow, through typographical adjustments, for something like a musical score in which the length of pauses, the degree of emphasis, even changes of speed could be indicated. The unit of poetic expression was not a predetermined metrical foot, but a particular poet's length of breath. The arrangement of words on the page would convey rhythms of thinking, breathing, and gesturing. Olson hoped to get closer to the poet's individuality by making the poem a graph of the process through which it was produced. "A poem is energy transferred from where the poet got it . . . by way of the poem itself to, all the way over to, the reader." The energetic movement of the opening Maximus poem is a fine example of Olson's theory become practice. Like certain techniques of meditation and yoga, Olson's theory seems an effort to bring mental activity (here, writing) in touch with its instinctive physical origins. Although Olson extended many of Pound's notions of poetic immediacy, he transferred the authority for perceiving mythic truth from the mind dependent on European culture to the mind striving to get in touch with the instinctive roots of its own behavior. Throughout his life he sought the origins of things, and in the end, the most memorable and accurate description of Olson is his own: "an archeologist of morning."

From

T H E MAXIMUS POEMS

Maximus, to Himself I have had to learn the simplest things last. W h i c h m a d e for difficulties. Even at s e a I w a s slow, to get the h a n d o u t , or to c r o s s a wet deck. T h e s e a w a s not, finally, my trade. But even my t r a d e , at it, I stood e s t r a n g e d from that which w a s m o s t familiar. 1 W a s delayed, a n d not c o n t e n t with the m a n ' s a r g u m e n t that s u c h p o s t p o n e m e n t is now the n a t u r e of obedience, that we are all late in a slow t i m e , that we grow u p m a n y A n d the single is not easily known It c o u l d b e , t h o u g h the s h a r p n e s s (the I note in o t h e r s , makes more sense t h a n my own d i s t a n c e s . T h e agilities

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achiote ) 2

20

they show daily w h o do the world's 1. An echo of the Greek philosopher Heraclitus: "We are estranged from that with which we are most familiar."

2. T h e seed of the annatto tree, which yields a reddish dye, resembling red (sharp) pepper.

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businesses A n d w h o do nature's a s I have no s e n s e I have d o n e either I have m a d e d i a l o g u e s , have d i s c u s s e d a n c i e n t texts, have thrown what light I c o u l d , offered what p l e a s u r e s d o c e a t 1 allows B u t the k n o w n ? T h i s , I have h a d to b e given, a life, love, a n d from o n e m a n the world. Tokens. B u t sitting h e r e I look out a s a wind a n d water m a n , testing And missing some proof I know the q u a r t e r s of the w e a t h e r , w h e r e it c o m e s from, where it g o e s . B u t the s t e m of m e , this I took from their w e l c o m e , or their rejection, of m e

4S

A n d my a r r o g a n c e w a s neither d i m i n i s h e d nor i n c r e a s e d , by the c o m m u n i c a t i o n

50

It is u n d o n e b u s i n e s s I s p e a k of, this m o r n i n g , with the s e a stretching out from my feet 1953 i

Celestial Evening, October 1967 A d v a n c e d out toward the external f r o m the time I did actually lose s p a c e c o n t r o l , here on the F o r t 1 a n d kept turning left 3. ' T h a t he teach." One of the three functions of a poet, according to medieval theorists. Pound modernized the concept in his essay " M a k e It New."

I. A district in Gloucester. Massachusetts, where Olson settled after leaving Black Mountain in 1957.

CELESTIAL EVENING, OCTOBER

1967

like my s t a r - n o s e d mole b a t t e d on the h e a d , not b e i n g able to get h o m e 5 0 yards a s I w a s from it. T h e r e is a vast internal life, a s e a or o r g a n i s m full of s o u n d s & m e m o r i e d o b j e c t s s w i m m i n g or s u n k in the great fall of it a s , when o n e further ring of the 9 b o u n d i n g Earth & H e a v e n r u n s into the d a u g h t e r of G o d ' s particular p l a c e , c a v e , p a l a c e — a tail of O c e a n w h o s e waters then are test if even a g o d lies will tell & he or s h e s p e n d 9 following years out of the c o m p a n y of their own. T h e s o u n d s a n d o b j e c t s of the great 10th within u s are what we h e a r s e e are motived by d r e a m belief c a r e for d i s c r i m i n a t e our loves & c h o i c e s c a r e s & failures u n l e s s in this forbidding E a r t h & H e a v e n by e n c l o s u r e 9 times r o u n d p l u s all that s t r e a m collecting a s , into her h a n d s it c o m e s : the full v o l u m e of all which ever w a s which we a s s u c h have that which is our part of it, all history existence p l a c e s splits of m o o n & slightest o n c o m i n g s m a l l e s t stars at s u n s e t , fears & horrors, g r a n d p a r e n t s ' lives as m u c h a s we have a l s o f e a t u r e s a n d their f o r m s , whatever g r a c e or ugliness our legs etc p o s s e s s , it all c o m e s in as also o u t w a r d leads u s after itself as t h o u g h then the horn of the nearest m o o n w a s truth. I b e n d my ear, a s , if I were A m o g h a s i d d i 2 a n d , here on this plain where like my m o l e I have b e e n k n o c k e d flat, a t t e n d , to turn & turn within

2. In Tibetan Buddhism, one of the five Dhyana-Buddhas, or Buddhas of contemplation.

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ELIZABETH

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the s t e a d y s t r e a m & collect w h i c h within m e e n d s a s in her hall a n d I h e a r all, the n e w m o o n n e w in all the a n c i e n t sky 1967

50 1975

ELIZABETH

BISHOP

19W-1979 "The enormous power of reticence," the poet Octavio Paz said in a tribute, "—that is the great lesson of Elizabeth Bishop." Bishop's reticence originates in a temperament indistinguishable from her style; her remarkable formal gifts allowed her to create ordered and \ucid structures that hold strong feelings in place. Chief among these feelings was a powerful sense of loss. The crucial events of Bishop's life occurred within her first eight years. Born in Worcester, Massachusetts, in 1911, she was eight months old when her father died. Her mother suffered a series of breakdowns and was permanently institutionalized when her daughter was five. "I've never concealed this," Bishop once wrote, "although I don't like to make too much of it. But of course it is an important fact, to me. I didn't see her again." The understatement in this remark is characteristic. When Bishop wrote about her early life—as she first did in several poems and stories in the 1950s and last did in her extraordinary final book, Geography III (1976)—she resisted sentimentality and self-pity. It was as if she could look at the events of her own life with the same unflinching gaze she turned on the landscapes that so consistently compelled her. The deep feeling in her poems rises up out of direct and particular description, but Bishop does more than simply observe. Whether writing about her childhood landscape of Nova Scotia or her adopted Brazil, she often opens a poem with long perspectives on time, with landscapes that dwarf the merely human, emphasizing the dignified frailty of a human observer and the pervasive mysteries that surround her. Examining her own case, she traces the observer's instinct to early childhood. "In the Waiting Room," a poem written in the early 1970s, probes the sources and motives behind her interest in detail. Using an incident from 1918 when she was seven—a little girl waits for her aunt in the dentist's anteroom—Bishop shows how in the course of the episode she became aware, as if wounded, of the utter strangeness and engulfing power of the world. The spectator in that poem hangs on to details as a kind of lifejacket; she observes because she has to. After her father's death, Bishop and her mother went to live with Bishop's maternal grandparents in Great Village, Nova Scotia. She remained there for several years after her mother was institutionalized, until she was removed ("kidnapped," she describes herself feeling in one of her stories) by her paternal grandparents and taken to live in Worcester, Massachusetts. This experience was followed by a series of illnesses (eczema, bronchitis, and asthma), which plagued her for many years. Bishop later lived with an aunt and attended Walnut Hill School, a private high school. She graduated from Vassar College in 1934, where while a student she had been introduced to Marianne Moore. Moore's meticulous taste for fact was to influence Bishop's poetry, but more immediately, Moore's independent life as a poet made that life seem

THE

UNBELIEVER

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an alternative to Bishop's vaguer intentions to attend medical school. Bishop lived in New York City and in Key West, Florida; a traveling fellowship took her to Brazil, which so appealed to her that she stayed there for more than sixteen years. Exile and travel were at the heart of Bishop's poems from the very start. The title of her very first book, North & South (1946), looks forward to the tropical worlds she was to choose so long as home and backward to the northern seas of Nova Scotia. Her poems are set among these landscapes, where she can stress the sweep and violence of encircling and eroding geological powers or, in the case of Brazil, a bewildering botanical plenty. Questions of Travel (1965), her third volume, constitutes a sequence of poems initiating her, with her botanist-geologist-anthropologist's curiosity, into the life of Brazil and the mysteries of what questions a traveler-exile should ask. In this series with its increasing penetration of a new country, a process is at work similar to one Bishop identifies in the great English naturalist Charles Darwin, of whom Bishop once said: "One admires the beautiful solid case being built up out of his endless, heroic observations, almost unconscious or automatic—and then comes a sudden relaxation, a forgetful phrase, and one feels the strangeness of his undertaking, sees the lonely young man, his eyes fixed on facts and minute details, sinking or sliding giddily off into the unknown." In 1969 Bishop's Complete Poems appeared, an ironic title in light of the fact that she continued to write and publish new poetry. Geography III contains some of her very best work, poems that, from the settled perspective of her return to the United States, look back and evaluate the appetite for exploration apparent in her earlier verse. The influence of her long friendship with the poet Robert Lowell, and their mutual regard for one another's work, may be felt in the way Geography III explores the terrain of memory and autobiography more powerfully and directly than her earlier work. Having left Brazil, Bishop lived in Boston from 1970 and taught at Harvard University until 1977. She received the Pulitzer Prize for the combined volume North & South and A Cold Spring

(19 5 5), the National Book Award for The Complete

Poems,

and in 1976 was the first woman and the first American to receive the Books Abroad Neustadt International Prize for Literature. Since Bishop's death in 1979, most of her published work has been gathered in two volumes: The Complete Poems 1929— 1979

and The Collected

Prose.

The Unbeliever He sleeps on the top of a mast.—Bunyan1 H e sleeps on the top of a mast with his eyes fast c l o s e d . T h e sails fall away below h i m like t h e s h e e t s o f his b e d , leaving o u t in the air of the night t h e sleeper's h e a d .

5

A s l e e p h e w a s t r a n s p o r t e d there, asleep he curled in a gilded ball o n t h e m a s t ' s t o p , or c l i m b e d inside a gilded bird, or blindly s e a t e d h i m s e l f astride.

10

1. John Bunyan ( 1 6 2 8 - 1 6 8 8 ) , English author of Pilgrim's Progress, an allegory of Christian's progress to salvation.

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BISHOP

"I a m f o u n d e d on marble pillars," said a c l o u d . "I never m o v e . S e e the pillars there in the s e a ? " S e c u r e in introspection h e p e e r s at the watery pillars of his reflection. A gull h a d wings u n d e r his a n d r e m a r k e d that the air w a s "like m a r b l e . " H e said: " U p here I tower t h r o u g h the sky for the m a r b l e wings on my tower-top fly." B u t he s l e e p s o n the top of his m a s t with his eyes c l o s e d tight. T h e gull inquired into his d r e a m , which w a s , "I m u s t not fall. T h e s p a n g l e d s e a b e l o w w a n t s m e to fall. It is hard a s d i a m o n d s ; it w a n t s to destroy u s all."

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1946

The Fish I c a u g h t a t r e m e n d o u s fish a n d held him b e s i d e the boat half out of water, with my h o o k fast in a c o r n e r of his m o u t h . H e didn't fight. H e hadn't fought at all. H e h u n g a g r u n t i n g weight, battered and venerable a n d homely. H e r e a n d there his brown skin h u n g in strips like a n c i e n t wallpaper, a n d its pattern of darker brown w a s like wallpaper: s h a p e s like full-blown roses stained a n d lost through a g e . H e w a s speckled with b a r n a c l e s , fine rosettes of lime, a n d infested with tiny white sea-lice, a n d u n d e r n e a t h two or three rags of green w e e d h u n g d o w n . W h i l e his gills were b r e a t h i n g in the terrible oxygen — t h e frightening gills, fresh a n d crisp with b l o o d , that c a n c u t so b a d l y — I thought of the c o a r s e white flesh p a c k e d in like f e a t h e r s ,

THE

FISH

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the big b o n e s a n d the little b o n e s , the d r a m a t i c reds a n d b l a c k s of his shiny entrails, a n d the pink swim-bladder like a big peony. I looked into his eyes which were far larger t h a n m i n e b u t shallower, a n d yellowed, the irises b a c k e d a n d p a c k e d with t a r n i s h e d tinfoil s e e n through the l e n s e s of old s c r a t c h e d i s i n g l a s s . 1 T h e y shifted a little, b u t not to return my stare. — I t w a s m o r e like the tipping of an object toward the light. I a d m i r e d his sullen f a c e , the m e c h a n i s m of his j a w , a n d then I s a w that from his lower lip — i f you c o u l d call it a l i p — grim, wet, a n d w e a p o n l i k e , h u n g five old p i e c e s of fish-line, or four a n d a wire l e a d e r with the swivel still a t t a c h e d , with all their five big h o o k s grown firmly in his m o u t h . A green line, frayed at the e n d w h e r e he broke it, two heavier lines, a n d a fine b l a c k thread still c r i m p e d from the strain a n d s n a p w h e n it broke a n d he got away. Like m e d a l s with their r i b b o n s frayed a n d wavering, a five-haired b e a r d of w i s d o m trailing from his a c h i n g j a w . I stared a n d stared a n d victory filled u p the little rented boat, from the pool of bilge w h e r e oil h a d s p r e a d a rainbow a r o u n d the rusted e n g i n e to the bailer rusted o r a n g e , the s u n - c r a c k e d thwarts, the oarlocks on their strings, the g u n n e l s — u n t i l everything w a s rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! A n d I let the fish go. 1946 . A whitish, semitransparent substance, originally obtained from the swim bladders of some freshwater sh and occasionally used for windows.

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BISHOP

At the Fishhouses Although it is a cold evening, d o w n by o n e of the fishhouses a n old m a n sits netting, his net, in the g l o a m i n g a l m o s t invisible a dark p u r p l e - b r o w n , a n d his shuttle worn a n d p o l i s h e d . T h e air s m e l l s s o strong of codfish it m a k e s one's n o s e run a n d one's eyes water. T h e five fishhouses have steeply p e a k e d roofs a n d narrow, c l e a t e d g a n g p l a n k s slant u p to s t o r e r o o m s in the g a b l e s for the w h e e l b a r r o w s to b e p u s h e d up a n d d o w n on. All is silver: the heavy s u r f a c e of the s e a , swelling slowly a s if c o n s i d e r i n g spilling over, is o p a q u e , but the silver of the b e n c h e s , the lobster p o t s , a n d m a s t s , s c a t t e r e d a m o n g the wild j a g g e d r o c k s , is of an a p p a r e n t t r a n s l u c e n c e like the small old b u i l d i n g s with a n e m e r a l d m o s s growing on their s h o r e w a r d walls. T h e big fish t u b s are c o m p l e t e l y lined with layers of beautiful herring s c a l e s a n d the w h e e l b a r r o w s are similarly p l a s t e r e d with c r e a m y iridescent c o a t s of mail, with s m a l l iridescent flies crawling o n t h e m . U p on the little s l o p e b e h i n d the h o u s e s , set in the s p a r s e bright sprinkle of g r a s s , is a n a n c i e n t w o o d e n c a p s t a n , 1 c r a c k e d , with two long b l e a c h e d h a n d l e s a n d s o m e m e l a n c h o l y s t a i n s , like dried b l o o d , w h e r e the ironwork h a s r u s t e d . T h e old m a n a c c e p t s a L u c k y S t r i k e . 2 H e w a s a friend of my grandfather. W e talk of the d e c l i n e in the p o p u l a t i o n a n d of codfish a n d herring while h e waits for a herring b o a t to c o m e in. T h e r e are s e q u i n s o n his vest a n d on his t h u m b . H e has s c r a p e d the s c a l e s , the principal b e a u t y , from u n n u m b e r e d fish with that b l a c k old knife, the b l a d e of which is a l m o s t worn away. D o w n at the water's e d g e , at the p l a c e w h e r e they h a u l u p the b o a t s , u p the l o n g r a m p d e s c e n d i n g into the water, thin silver tree t r u n k s a r e laid horizontally a c r o s s the gray s t o n e s , d o w n a n d d o w n at intervals of four or five feet. 1. Cylindrical drum around which rope is wound, used for hauling.

2. Brand of cigarettes.

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THE ARMADILLO

C o l d dark d e e p a n d absolutely clear, e l e m e n t b e a r a b l e to no mortal, to fish a n d to s e a l s . . . O n e seal particularly I have s e e n here e v e n i n g after evening. H e w a s c u r i o u s a b o u t m e . H e w a s i n t e r e s t e d in m u s i c ; like m e a believer in total i m m e r s i o n , * so I u s e d to sing him Baptist h y m n s . I also s a n g "A M i g h t y F o r t r e s s Is O u r G o d . " H e s t o o d u p in the water a n d regarded m e steadily, m o v i n g his h e a d a little. T h e n he would d i s a p p e a r , then s u d d e n l y e m e r g e a l m o s t in the s a m e spot, with a sort of s h r u g a s if it were a g a i n s t his better j u d g m e n t . C o l d dark d e e p a n d absolutely clear, the clear gray icy water . . . B a c k , b e h i n d u s , the dignified tall firs begin. B l u i s h , a s s o c i a t i n g with their s h a d o w s , a million C h r i s t m a s trees s t a n d waiting for C h r i s t m a s . T h e water s e e m s s u s p e n d e d a b o v e the r o u n d e d gray a n d blue-gray s t o n e s . I have s e e n it over a n d over, the s a m e s e a , the s a m e , slightly, indifferently swinging a b o v e the s t o n e s , icily free a b o v e the s t o n e s , a b o v e the s t o n e s a n d then the world. If you s h o u l d dip your h a n d in, your wrist would a c h e immediately, your b o n e s w o u l d begin to a c h e a n d your h a n d would b u r n a s if the water were a t r a n s m u t a t i o n of fire that f e e d s on s t o n e s a n d b u r n s with a dark gray f l a m e . If you tasted it, it would first t a s t e bitter, then briny, then surely burn your t o n g u e . It is like what we i m a g i n e k n o w l e d g e to b e : dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free, drawn from the cold hard m o u t h of the world, derived from the rocky b r e a s t s forever, flowing a n d drawn, a n d s i n c e our k n o w l e d g e is historical, flowing, a n d flown.

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1955

The Armadillo for Robert Lowell T h i s is the time of year w h e n a l m o s t every night the frail, illegal fire b a l l o o n s a p p e a r . C l i m b i n g the m o u n t a i n height, . Form of baptism used by Baptists.

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rising toward a saint still h o n o r e d in t h e s e p a r t s , the p a p e r c h a m b e r s flush a n d fill with light that c o m e s a n d g o e s , like h e a r t s . O n c e up a g a i n s t the sky it's hard to tell t h e m from the s t a r s — p l a n e t s , that i s — t h e tinted o n e s : V e n u s g o i n g d o w n , or M a r s ,

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or the pale green o n e . W i t h a wind, they flare a n d falter, w o b b l e a n d t o s s ; but if it's still they steer b e t w e e n the kite sticks of the S o u t h e r n C r o s s , r e c e d i n g , dwindling, s o l e m n l y a n d steadily forsaking u s , or, in the downdraft from a peak, s u d d e n l y turning d a n g e r o u s .

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L a s t night a n o t h e r big o n e fell. It splattered like an e g g of fire a g a i n s t the cliff behind the h o u s e . T h e flame ran d o w n . W e s a w the pair of owls w h o nest there flying u p a n d u p , their whirling black-and-white stained bright pink u n d e r n e a t h , until they shrieked u p out of sight. T h e a n c i e n t owls' nest m u s t have b u r n e d . Hastily, all a l o n e , a glistening a r m a d i l l o left the s c e n e , rose-flecked, h e a d d o w n , tail d o w n ,

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a n d then a baby rabbit j u m p e d o u t , sfoort-eared, to our s u r p r i s e . S o s o f t ! — a handful of intangible a s h with fixed, ignited eyes. Too

pretty,

O falling and

panic,

clenched

dreamlike

fire

and

and

mimicry!

piercing

a weak

ignorant

cry

mailed

against

fist

2

the sky!

w

1965

2. T h e armadillo, curled tight. It is protected against everything but fire.

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Sestina 1 S e p t e m b e r rain falls on the h o u s e . In the failing light, the old g r a n d m o t h e r sits in the kitchen with the child b e s i d e the Little Marvel S t o v e , reading the j o k e s from the a l m a n a c , l a u g h i n g a n d talking to hide her t e a r s . S h e thinks that her e q u i n o c t i a l tears a n d the rain that b e a t s on the roof of the h o u s e were both foretold by the a l m a n a c , but only known to a g r a n d m o t h e r . T h e iron kettle sings on the stove. S h e c u t s s o m e bread a n d says to the child, It's time for tea now; but the child is w a t c h i n g the teakettle's small hard tears d a n c e like m a d on the hot black stove, the way the rain m u s t d a n c e on the h o u s e . Tidying u p , the old g r a n d m o t h e r h a n g s up the clever a l m a n a c o n its string. Birdlike, the a l m a n a c hovers half o p e n a b o v e the child, hovers a b o v e the old g r a n d m o t h e r a n d her t e a c u p full of dark brown t e a r s . S h e shivers a n d says s h e thinks the h o u s e feels chilly, a n d p u t s m o r e wood in the stove. It was to be, says the Marvel S t o v e . / know what I know, says the a l m a n a c . With crayons the child d r a w s a rigid h o u s e a n d a winding pathway. T h e n the child p u t s in a m a n with b u t t o n s like tears a n d shows it proudly to the g r a n d m o t h e r . B u t secretly, while the g r a n d m o t h e r b u s i e s herself a b o u t the stove, the little m o o n s fall down like tears from b e t w e e n the p a g e s of the a l m a n a c into the flower b e d the child h a s carefully p l a c e d in the front of the h o u s e .

5

10

15

20

2s

30

35

Time to plant tears, says the a l m a n a c . T h e g r a n d m o t h e r sings to the marvellous stove a n d the child draws a n o t h e r i n s c r u t a b l e h o u s e . 1965 1. A fixed verse form in which the end words of the first six-line stanza must be used at the ends of the lines in the next stanza in a rotating order; the final three lines must contain all six words.

56

/

ELIZABETH

BISHOP

In the Waiting Room In W o r c e s t e r , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , I went with A u n t C o n s u e l o to k e e p her dentist's a p p o i n t m e n t a n d sat a n d waited for her in the dentist's waiting r o o m . It w a s winter. It got dark early. T h e waiting r o o m w a s full of grown-up p e o p l e , arctics and overcoats, lamps and magazines. M y a u n t w a s inside what s e e m e d like a long time a n d while I waited I read the National

Geographic

(I c o u l d read) a n d carefully studied the p h o t o g r a p h s : the inside of a v o l c a n o , black, a n d full of a s h e s ; then it w a s spilling over in rivulets of fire. Osa and Martin Johnson1 d r e s s e d in riding b r e e c h e s , laced b o o t s , a n d pith h e l m e t s . A d e a d m a n s l u n g o n a pole — " L o n g P i g , " 2 the c a p t i o n said. B a b i e s with p o i n t e d h e a d s w o u n d r o u n d a n d r o u n d with string; black, n a k e d w o m e n with n e c k s w o u n d r o u n d a n d r o u n d with wire like the n e c k s of light b u l b s . T h e i r b r e a s t s were horrifying. I read it right straight t h r o u g h . I w a s too shy to s t o p . A n d then I looked at the cover: the yellow m a r g i n s , the d a t e . S u d d e n l y , from i n s i d e , c a m e an oh! of pain —Aunt Consuelo's voice— not very loud or long. I wasn't at all s u r p r i s e d ; even then I knew s h e w a s a foolish, timid w o m a n . I might have b e e n e m b a r r a s s e d ,

F a m o u s explorers and travel writers. Polynesian cannibals' name for the human carcass.

IN THE WAITING ROOM

but wasn't. W h a t took m e c o m p l e t e l y by surprise w a s that it w a s me: my v o i c e , in my m o u t h . W i t h o u t thinking at all I w a s my foolish a u n t , I — w e — w e r e falling, falling, our eyes g l u e d to the cover of the National

/

2657

45

50

Geographic,

February, 1918. I said to myself: three days a n d you'll be seven years old. I w a s saying it to stop the s e n s a t i o n of falling off the r o u n d , turning world into cold, blue-black s p a c e . B u t I felt: you are a n 1, you a r e a n

60

Elizabeth,

you a r e o n e of

them.

Why s h o u l d you be o n e , too? I scarcely d a r e d to look. to s e e what it w a s I w a s . I gave a s i d e l o n g g l a n c e — I couldn't look any h i g h e r — at s h a d o w y gray k n e e s , t r o u s e r s a n d skirts a n d b o o t s a n d different pairs of h a n d s lying u n d e r the l a m p s . I k n e w that n o t h i n g stranger h a d ever h a p p e n e d , that n o t h i n g stranger c o u l d ever h a p p e n . W h y s h o u l d I b e my a u n t , or m e , or a n y o n e ? What similarities— b o o t s , h a n d s , the family voice I felt in my throat, or even the National

55

65

70

75

Geographic

so

a n d t h o s e awful h a n g i n g b r e a s t s — held u s all together or m a d e u s all j u s t o n e ? H o w — I didn't k n o w any word for i t — h o w "unlikely" . . . H o w h a d I c o m e to be h e r e , like t h e m , a n d overhear a cry of pain that c o u l d have got loud a n d w o r s e but hadn't?

85

T h e waiting r o o m w a s bright a n d too hot. It w a s sliding b e n e a t h a big b l a c k wave, another, a n d a n o t h e r .

90

2658

/

ELIZABETH

BISHOP

T h e n I w a s b a c k in it. T h e W a r w a s on. O u t s i d e , in W o r c e s t e r , M a s s a c h u s e t t s , were night a n d s l u s h a n d cold, a n d it was still the fifth of F e b r u a r y , 1 9 1 8 .

95

1976

The Moose for Grace Bulmer Bowers F r o m narrow p r o v i n c e s of fish a n d b r e a d a n d tea, h o m e of the long tides where the bay leaves the s e a twice a day a n d takes the herrings long rides, w h e r e if the river enters or retreats in a wall of brown f o a m d e p e n d s on if it m e e t s the bay c o m i n g in, the bav not at h o m e ; where, silted red, s o m e t i m e s the s u n sets facing a red s e a , a n d o t h e r s , veins the flats' lavender, rich m u d in b u r n i n g rivulets; on red, gravelly r o a d s , down rows of s u g a r m a p l e s , past clapboard farmhouses and neat, clapboard churches, b l e a c h e d , ridged a s c l a m s h e l l s , p a s t twin silver b i r c h e s , through late afternoon a bus journeys west, the windshield flashing pink, pink g l a n c i n g off of m e t a l , b r u s h i n g the d e n t e d flank of b l u e , b e a t - u p e n a m e l ; d o w n hollows, u p rises, a n d waits, p a t i e n t , while a lone traveller gives

5

10

is

20

2s

30

THE

kisses a n d e m b r a c e s to seven relatives a n d a collie s u p e r v i s e s . G o o d b y e to the e l m s , to the farm, to the dog. T h e b u s starts. T h e light grows richer; the fog, shifting, salty, thin, c o m e s c l o s i n g in.

MOOSE

/

2659

35

41)

Its cold, round crystals form a n d slide a n d settle in the white h e n s ' f e a t h e r s , in gray glazed c a b b a g e s , on the c a b b a g e r o s e s a n d lupins like a p o s t l e s ; the sweet p e a s cling to their wet white string on the w h i t e w a s h e d f e n c e s ; bumblebees creep inside the foxgloves, and evening c o m m e n c e s . O n e s t o p at B a s s River. T h e n the E c o n o m i e s — Lower, M i d d l e , U p p e r ; Five I s l a n d s , Five H o u s e s , 1 w h e r e a w o m a n s h a k e s a tablecloth out after s u p p e r . A pale flickering. G o n e . The Tantramar marshes a n d the smell of salt hay. An iron bridge t r e m b l e s a n d a loose p l a n k rattles but doesn't give way. O n the left, a red light s w i m s through the dark: a ship's port lantern. T w o r u b b e r b o o t s show, illuminated, s o l e m n . A d o g gives o n e bark. A w o m a n c l i m b s in with two market b a g s , brisk, freckled, elderly.

T h e s e are small towns and villages in Nova Scotia, near Halifax.

50

55

2660

/

ELIZABETH

BISHOP

"A g r a n d night. Y e s , sir, all the way to B o s t o n . " She regards us amicably. M o o n l i g h t a s we e n t e r the N e w B r u n s w i c k w o o d s , hairy, scratchy, splintery; moonlight and mist c a u g h t in t h e m like l a m b ' s wool on b u s h e s in a p a s t u r e . T h e p a s s e n g e r s lie b a c k . Snores. S o m e long sighs. A d r e a m y divagation b e g i n s in the night, a gentle, auditory, slow h a l l u c i n a t i o n . . . . In the c r e a k i n g s a n d n o i s e s , an old c o n v e r s a t i o n —not concerning us, but recognizable, somewhere, b a c k in the b u s : G r a n d p a r e n t s ' voices uninterruptedly talking, in Eternity: names being mentioned, things c l e a r e d u p finally; what he said, what s h e said, w h o got p e n s i o n e d ; deaths, deaths and sicknesses; the year h e r e m a r r i e d ; the year ( s o m e t h i n g ) h a p p e n e d . S h e died in childbirth. T h a t w a s the s o n lost w h e n the s c h o o n e r f o u n d e r e d . H e took to drink. Yes. S h e went to the b a d . W h e n A m o s b e g a n to pray even in the store a n d finally the family h a d to put him away. "Yes . . . " that p e c u l i a r affirmative. "Yes . . ." A s h a r p , indrawn b r e a t h , half g r o a n , half a c c e p t a n c e , that m e a n s "Life's like that. W e know it (also d e a t h ) . "

THE

T a l k i n g the way they talked in the old featherbed, peacefully, on a n d o n , d i m lamplight in the hall, d o w n in the kitchen, the d o g t u c k e d in her shawl. N o w , it's all right now even to fall a s l e e p j u s t a s on all t h o s e nights. — S u d d e n l y the b u s driver s t o p s with a jolt, turns off his lights. A m o o s e has c o m e out of the i m p e n e t r a b l e wood a n d s t a n d s there, l o o m s , rather, in the m i d d l e of the r o a d . It a p p r o a c h e s ; it sniffs at the b u s ' s hot h o o d . Towering, antlerless, high a s a c h u r c h , homely a s a h o u s e (or, s a f e a s h o u s e s ) . A m a n ' s voice a s s u r e s u s "Perfectly h a r m l e s s . . ." S o m e of the p a s s e n g e r s exclaim in w h i s p e r s , childishly, softly, " S u r e a r e big c r e a t u r e s . " "It's awful p l a i n . " " L o o k ! It's a s h e ! " T a k i n g her t i m e , she looks the b u s over, g r a n d , otherworldly. Why, why do we feel (we all feel) this sweet s e n s a t i o n of joy Curious creatures, says our quiet driver, rolling his r's. " L o o k at that, would y o u . " T h e n he shifts g e a r s . F o r a m o m e n t longer, by c r a n i n g b a c k w a r d , the m o o s e c a n be s e e n on the moonlit m a c a d a m ;

MOOSE

/

2661

125

bo

13s

140

145

150

iss

160

2662

/

ROBERT HAYDEN

then there's a d i m smell of m o o s e , a n acrid smell of g a s o l i n e . 1976

One Art T h e art of losing isn't hard to m a s t e r ; so m a n y things s e e m filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. L o s e s o m e t h i n g every day. A c c e p t the fluster of lost d o o r keys, the h o u r badly s p e n t . T h e art of losing isn't hard to m a s t e r .

5

T h e n p r a c t i c e losing farther, losing faster: p l a c e s , a n d n a m e s , a n d w h e r e it w a s you m e a n t to travel. N o n e of t h e s e will b r i n g disaster. I lost my mother's w a t c h . A n d look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved h o u s e s went. T h e art of losing isn't hard to m a s t e r . I lost two cities, lovely o n e s . A n d , vaster, s o m e r e a l m s I o w n e d , two rivers, a c o n t i n e n t . I m i s s t h e m , but it wasn't a disaster.

10

is

— E v e n losing you (the j o k i n g voice, a g e s t u r e I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to m a s t e r t h o u g h it may look like (Write it!) like d i s a s t e r .

ROBERT

HAYDEN

1913-1980 "Hayden is by far the best chronicler and rememberer of the African American heritage in these Americas that I know of," the poet Michael Harper, whose own sense of history is indebted to Robert Hayden's work, has said. Hayden's poems save what has vanished, what has been lost to standard histories, like a 1920s prizefighter from the Midwest ("Free Fantasia: Tiger Flowers"), or a miner trapped in Cystal Cave ("Beginnings, V"). He records the loss of what others never noticed as missing, and

ROBERT HAYDEN

/

2663

in their recovery he discovers a significance in the passing moment, the passed-over figure, the inarticulate gesture, which lasts through time. Always, in his words, "opposed to the chauvinistic and the doctrinaire" in art, he cherished the freedom of the poet to write about whatever seized the imagination. But his imagination was in its nature elegiac and historical. As he remembers and re-creates the African American heritage, he speaks to the struggles of the individual spirit for freedom and to painful self-divisions people of many times and places know. But if the circumstances he confronts in his poems are often harsh, his work captures the energy and joyfulness that make survival possible. Born in Detroit, Michigan, Hayden grew up in a poor neighborhood called by its inhabitants, with affectionate irony, "Paradise Valley." His powerful sequence Elegies for Paradise Valley (1978) resurrects the neighborhood in its racial and ethnic mix. Memory for Hayden is an act of love that leads to self-awareness; in this sequence and in poems like "Those Winter Sundays," he writes about his own past, confronts its pain, and preserves its sustaining moments of happiness. Hayden had a deep understanding of conflicts that divide the self. His family history gave him an early acquaintance with such self-division: his parents' marriage ended when he was young, and his mother left him in the care of foster parents (whose surname he adopted) when she left Detroit to look for work. He remained with the Haydens although his mother returned to Detroit when he was a teenager and lived for a period with his foster family until conflict arose between her and his foster mother. "I lived in the midst of so much turmoil all the time 1 didn't know if I loved or hated," he once said. As an African American and as a poet Hayden also lived between worlds. He courageously maintained his sense of vocation through years of critical neglect and amid the demands of full-time teaching at Fisk University from 1946 to 1968. He published his first book, Heart-Shape in the Dust, in 1940, but his mature work did not appear in quantity until his volume Ballad of Remembrance (1962). At the same time, his belief that the poet should not be restricted by any set of themes, racial or otherwise, and the highly formal quality of his work led to criticism on the part of some young African American writers in the 1960s. But Hayden never abandoned his belief in the power of art to speak universally. In an interview conducted in 1974, he told Dennis Gendron of rereading Yeats's poem "Easter 1916" in the wake of the riots in Detroit—"that is the kind of poetry I want to write," he said, in admiration of the ways Yeats conceived a particular historical and political moment so that it speaks across time and place. In fact, Hayden wrote that kind of poetry. His most famous poem, "Middle Passage," demonstrates his transfiguring imagination and the knowledge of historical documents, which began early in his career. In 1936, leaving college because of increasingly difficult economic conditions, Hayden joined the Federal Writers Project of the Works Progress Administration and for two years researched the history of abolition movements and the Underground Railroad in Michigan. "Middle Passage" is a collage of accounts of the slave ships that transported men and women from Africa into slavery in the New World. Through the multiple voices in the poem, Hayden lets the accounts of those who participated in (and profited from) the slave trade reveal the evidence of their own damnation. The blindness that attacks one of the ships becomes a symbol of the devastating suffering of those transported into slavery and of the moral blindness everywhere evident in the traders' accounts. The technique of collage allows Hayden to suggest the fragmentation of the story; the silences in the poem evoke the missing voices of those who suffered and died on the voyages or in the intolerable conditions of slavery. At the heart of the poem is the account of a rebellion led by one of the slaves (Cinquez) on the ship The Amistad. Cinquez is one of several figures in Hayden's poems who dramatize "The deep immortal human wish / the timeless will" ("Middle Passage") that for Hayden is the indomitable struggle for freedom. This "timeless will" and struggle also appear in his poems about Harriet Tubman ("Runagate Runagate"),

2664

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ROBERT HAYDEN

Nat Turner, Frederick Douglass, Phillis Wheatley, and the later figures of Paul Robeson and Bessie Smith. Hayden's experiment with collage technique in "Middle Passage" connects him to modernist poets like T. S. Eliot and William Carlos Williams and to an African American tradition acutely aware of the power of voice. He continued to experiment with poetic form and with the creation of different voices throughout his life, and although some of these poems are not successful, he was always engaged with testing the possibilities of craft, with forging a language to express what he knew and felt. His sequences Beginnings and Elegies for Paradise Valley demonstrate his formal originality, as does his late poem "American Journal," with its long lines and its approximation to prose. Hayden loved language and was unafraid to be lushly descriptive as well as to be precisely imagistic. His work summons us to notice the world as we had not before and offers us candor, clearsightedness, and a transforming gaiety. From 1968 until his death, Hayden was professor of English at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor. In 1976 he became the first African American to be appointed poetry consultant to the Library of Congress.

Middle Passage

1

J Jesus,

Estrella,

Esperanza,

Mercy

2

S a i l s flashing to the wind like w e a p o n s , s h a r k s following the m o a n s the fever a n d the dying; horror the c o r p o s a n t a n d c o m p a s s r o s e . ' Middle Passage: voyage t h r o u g h d e a t h to life u p o n t h e s e s h o r e s .

5

" 1 0 April 1 8 0 0 — B l a c k s rebellious. C r e w u n e a s y . O u r linguist says their m o a n i n g is a prayer for d e a t h , o u r s a n d their own. S o m e try to starve t h e m s e l v e s . L o s t three this m o r n i n g l e a p e d with crazy l a u g h t e r to the waiting s h a r k s , s a n g a s they went u n d e r . "

•

Desire,

Adventure,

Tartar,

Ann:

S t a n d i n g to A m e r i c a , bringing h o m e black gold, b l a c k ivory, b l a c k s e e d . •

Deep

in the festering

of his hones those

New

are altar

hold

England

lights

1. Main route for the slave trade in the Atlantic between Africa and the West Indies. 2. N a m e s of slave ships. "Esperanza": hope (Spanish). 3. Circle printed on a map showing c o m p a s s directions. "Corposant": a fiery luminousness that can appear on the decks of ships during electrical

is

thy father

lies,

pews

made,

that were

are his

eyes*

storms. 4. "Full fathom five thy father lies; / Of his bones are coral made; / T h o s e are pearls that were his eyes" (Shakespeare's Tempest 1.2.400—02). The sprite Ariel is singing about the supposed death by water of the king of Naples.

MIDDLE

Jesus Over

S a v i o u r Pilot M e Life's T e m p e s t u o u s

PASSAGE

/

2665

20 Sea5

W e pray that T h o u wilt grant, O L o r d , safe p a s s a g e to our v e s s e l s bringing h e a t h e n s o u l s unto T h y c h a s t e n i n g . Jesus

Saviour

25

" 8 bells. I c a n n o t s l e e p , for I a m sick with fear, b u t writing e a s e s fear a little s i n c e still my eyes can s e e t h e s e w o r d s take s h a p e u p o n the p a g e & s o I write, a s o n e would turn to e x o r c i s m . 4 days s c u d d i n g , but now the s e a is c a l m a g a i n . M i s f o r t u n e follows in our wake like s h a r k s (our grinning tutelary g o d s ) . W h i c h o n e of u s has killed an a l b a t r o s s ? 6 A p l a g u e a m o n g our b l a c k s — O p h t h a l m i a : b l i n d n e s s — & we have j e t t i s o n e d the blind to no avail. It s p r e a d s , the terrifying s i c k n e s s s p r e a d s . Its c l a w s have s c r a t c h e d sight from the C a p t . ' s eyes & there is b l i n d n e s s in the fo'c'sle 7 & we m u s t sail 3 w e e k s before we c o m e to p o r t . "

30

35

40

-

What

port

awaits

or home?

I've

playthings gone

Thou

Who

of wind

Mind,

crawling

us, Davy

heard

and storm

the jungle

up on

Walked

Jones'

of slavers

drifting, and

chance,

drifting, their

hatred

crews 45

deck.

On

Galilee

" D e p o n e n t further sayeth The Bella J left the G u i n e a C o a s t with c a r g o of five h u n d r e d b l a c k s a n d o d d for the b a r r a c o o n s 8 of Florida: " T h a t there w a s hardly r o o m 'tween-decks for half the sweltering cattle stowed s p o o n - f a s h i o n t h e r e ; that s o m e went m a d of thirst a n d tore their flesh a n d s u c k e d the blood:

so

ss

" T h a t C r e w a n d C a p t a i n lusted with the c o m e l i e s t of the savage girls kept n a k e d in the c a b i n s ; that there w a s o n e they called T h e G u i n e a R o s e a n d they c a s t lots a n d fought to lie with her: 5. A Protestant hymn. 6. A bird of good omen; to kill one is an unlucky and impious act (as in Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner).

7. Short for forecastle, the place in a ship where sailors are quartered. 8. Barracks or enclosures for slaves.

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ROBERT HAYDEN

" T h a t w h e n the Ro's'n p i p e d all h a n d s , 9 the flames s p r e a d i n g from s t a r b o a r d already were b e y o n d control, the n e g r o e s howling a n d their c h a i n s e n t a n g l e d with the f l a m e s : " T h a t the b u r n i n g b l a c k s c o u l d not b e r e a c h e d , that the C r e w a b a n d o n e d s h i p , leaving their shrieking n e g r e s s e s b e h i n d , that the C a p t a i n p e r i s h e d d r u n k e n with the w e n c h e s : " F u r t h e r D e p o n e n t sayeth not." Pilot

Oh

Pilot

Me

17 Aye, lad, a n d I have s e e n t h o s e factories, G a m b i a , Rio P o n g o , C a l a b a r ; 1 have w a t c h e d the artful m o n g o s 2 baiting traps of war wherein the victor a n d the v a n q u i s h e d W e r e c a u g h t a s prizes for our b a r r a c o o n s . H a v e s e e n the nigger kings w h o s e vanity a n d g r e e d t u r n e d wild b l a c k h i d e s of F e l l a t a h , M a n d i n g o , Ibo, K r u 3 to gold for u s . A n d there w a s o n e — K i n g A n t h r a c i t e we n a m e d h i m — fetish f a c e b e n e a t h F r e n c h p a r a s o l s of b r a s s a n d o r a n g e velvet, i m p u d e n t m o u t h w h o s e c u p s were carven skulls of e n e m i e s : H e ' d h o n o r u s with d r u m a n d feast a n d c o n j o 4 a n d palm-oil-glistening w e n c h e s deft in love, a n d for tin c r o w n s that s h o n e with p a s t e , red c a l i c o a n d G e r m a n - s i l v e r trinkets W o u l d have the d r u m s talk war a n d s e n d his warriors to burn the s l e e p i n g villages a n d kill the sick a n d old a n d lead the y o u n g in c o f f l e s 5 to our factories. T w e n t y years a trader, twenty y e a r s , for there w a s wealth aplenty to b e harvested from t h o s e b l a c k fields, a n d I'd b e trading still but for the fevers m e l t i n g d o w n my b o n e s .

9. I.e., when the boatswain (petty officer aboard a ship) signaled to all the crew on deck. 1. A city in southeast Nigeria. G a m b i a is a river and nation in west Africa. Rio Pongo is a watercourse, dry for most of the year, in east Africa.

2. 3. 4. 5.

I.e., Africans, African tribes. Dance. Train of slaves fastened together,

MIDDLE

PASSAGE

/

2667

/// S h u t t l e s in the rocking loom of history, the dark s h i p s m o v e , the dark s h i p s m o v e , their bright ironical n a m e s like j e s t s of k i n d n e s s on a murderer's m o u t h ; p l o u g h through t h r a s h i n g glister toward fata m o r g a n a ' s l u c e n t melting s h o r e , weave toward N e w W o r l d littorals 6 that a r e m i r a g e a n d myth a n d a c t u a l s h o r e .

95

100

Voyage t h r o u g h d e a t h , voyage w h o s e c h a r t i n g s are u n l o v e . A c h a r n e l s t e n c h , effluvium of living d e a t h s p r e a d s o u t w a r d from the hold, w h e r e the living a n d the d e a d , the horribly dying, lie interlocked, lie foul with blood a n d e x c r e m e n t . Deep

in the festering

the corpse

of mercy

rats eat love's

rotten

But,

oh,

look

with

human

whose

hatred

to strike You

you

cannot

or chain and

the living

reaches like stare

the fear

breathes

cannot

eyes whose

kill

the timeless

hold gelid at

hatred

on you its fetid the deep

110

you

through

that stalks

lies,

him,

eyes.

suffering

a leper's that

thy father

rots with

105

accuses the swill

you, of

dark

claw. down the

115 watches

scorching

immortal

human

breath; wish,

will.

" B u t for the storm that flung up barriers senores, of wind a n d wave, The Amistad, would have r e a c h e d the port of Principe in two, three days at m o s t ; but for the storm we s h o u l d have b e e n p r e p a r e d for what befell. Swift a s the p u m a ' s leap it c a m e . T h e r e w a s that interval of m o o n l e s s c a l m filled only with the water's a n d the rigging's u s u a l s o u n d s , then s u d d e n m o v e m e n t , blows a n d snarling cries a n d they h a d fallen o n u s with m a c h e t e a n d m a r l i n s p i k e . It w a s a s t h o u g h the very air, the night itself were striking u s . E x h a u s t e d by the rigors of the s t o r m , we were n o m a t c h for t h e m . O u r m e n went d o w n before the m u r d e r o u s A f r i c a n s . O u r loyal

120

7

Coastal regions. "Fata morgana": mirage. Friendship; a Spanish ship carrying fifty-three

125

130

illegally obtained slaves out of Havana, C u b a , in July 1839.

2668

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ROBERT

HAYDEN

C e l e s t i n o ran from below with gun a n d lantern a n d I saw, before the c a n e knife's w o u n d i n g flash, C i n q u e z , that surly b r u t e who calls himself a p r i n c e , directing, urging on the ghastly w o r k . 8 H e h a c k e d the p o o r m u l a t t o d o w n , a n d then h e t u r n e d o n m e . T h e d e c k s were slippery w h e n daylight finally c a m e . It s i c k e n s m e to think of what I saw, of h o w t h e s e a p e s threw overboard the b u t c h e r e d b o d i e s of our m e n , true C h r i s t i a n s all, like so m u c h j e t s a m . E n o u g h , e n o u g h . T h e rest is quickly told: C i n q u e z w a s forced to s p a r e the two of u s you s e e to steer the ship to Africa, a n d we like p h a n t o m s d o o m e d to rove the s e a voyaged e a s t by day a n d west by night, deceiving t h e m , h o p i n g for r e s c u e , p r i s o n e r s o n our own vessel, till at length we drifted to the s h o r e s of this your land, A m e r i c a , w h e r e we were freed from our u n s p e a k a b l e misery. N o w we d e m a n d , g o o d sirs, the extradition of C i n q u e z a n d his a c c o m p l i c e s to L a H a v a n a . 9 A n d it d i s t r e s s e s u s to know there a r e so m a n y here w h o s e e m inclined to justify the mutiny of t h e s e b l a c k s . W e find it paradoxical i n d e e d that you w h o s e wealth, w h o s e tree of liberty a r e rooted in the labor of your slaves s h o u l d suffer the a u g u s t J o h n Quincy A d a m s to s p e a k with s o m u c h p a s s i o n of the right of chattel slaves to kill their lawful m a s t e r s a n d with his R o m a n rhetoric w e a v e a hero's g a r l a n d for C i n q u e z . 1 I tell you that we a r e d e t e r m i n e d to return to C u b a with our slaves a n d there s e e j u s t i c e d o n e . C i n q u e z — or let u s say 'the P r i n c e ' — C i n q u e z shall d i e . "

HS

140

145

150

15s

160

i6s

170

T h e d e e p i m m o r t a l h u m a n wish, the t i m e l e s s will: C i n q u e z its d e a t h l e s s primaveral i m a g e , life that transfigures m a n y lives.

17s

Voyage through death to life u p o n t h e s e s h o r e s . 1962 8. During the mutiny the Africans, led by a man called Cinque, or Cinquez, killed the captain, his slave Celestino, and the mate, but spared the two slave owners. 9. The Amistad reached L o n g Island S o u n d after two months, where it was detained by the American ship Washington, the slaves were imprisoned,

and the owners were freed. T h e owners began litigation to force the slaves' return to Havana to be tried for murder. 1. T h e case reached the S u p r e m e Court in 1841; the Africans were defended by former president John Quincy Adams, and the court released the thirty-seven survivors to return to Africa.

THOSE WINTER

SUNDAYS

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2669

Homage to the Empress of the Blues' B e c a u s e there w a s a m a n s o m e w h e r e in a c a n d y s t r i p e silk shirt, gracile a n d d a n g e r o u s a s a j a g u a r a n d b e c a u s e a w o m a n m o a n e d for h i m in sixty-watt g l o o m a n d m o u r n e d him F a i t h l e s s L o v e T w o t i m i n g L o v e O h L o v e O h C a r e l e s s Aggravating L o v e , S h e c a m e o u t o n the s t a g e in yards of p e a r l s , e m e r g i n g like a favorite s c e n i c view, flashed her g o l d e n smile a n d s a n g . B e c a u s e grey laths b e g a n s o m e w h e r e to s h o w from u n d e r n e a t h torn hurdygurdy 2 lithographs of dollfaced h e a v e n ; a n d b e c a u s e there were t h o s e w h o feared a l a r m i n g fists of s n o w on the door a n d t h o s e w h o feared the riot-squad of s t a t i s t i c s ,

5

10

S h e c a m e out o n the s t a g e in ostrich f e a t h e r s , b e a d e d satin, a n d s h o n e that smile on u s a n d s a n g . 1962

Those Winter Sundays S u n d a y s too my father got u p early a n d put his clothes on in the b l u e b l a c k cold, then with c r a c k e d h a n d s that a c h e d from labor in the w e e k d a y w e a t h e r m a d e b a n k e d fires blaze. N o o n e ever t h a n k e d h i m .

5

I'd w a k e a n d hear the cold splintering, breaking. W h e n the r o o m s were w a r m , he'd call, a n d slowly I would rise a n d d r e s s , fearing the chronic a n g e r s of that h o u s e , S p e a k i n g indifferently to him, w h o h a d driven out the cold a n d p o l i s h e d my good s h o e s a s well. W h a t did I know, what did I know of love's a u s t e r e a n d lonely offices?

IO

1962 •

1. Bessie Smith ( 1 8 9 5 - 1 9 3 7 ) , one of the greatest American blues singers. Her flamboyant style, which grew out of the black vaudeville tradition,

made her popular in the 1920s. 2. A disreputable kind of dance hall. "Laths": the strips of wood that form a backing for plaster.

RANDALL

JARRELL

1914-1965 "Monstrously knowing and monstrously innocent. . . . A Wordsworth with the obsession of a Lewis Carroll"—so Robert Lowell once described his friend and fellow poet Randall Jarrell. Jarrell was teacher and critic as well as poet, and for many writers of his generation—Lowell, Delmore Schwartz, and John Berryman among them—Jarrell was the critic whose taste was most unerring, who seemed to know instantly what was genuine and what was not. An extraordinary teacher, he loved the activity, both in and out of the classroom; "the gods who had taken away the poet's audience had given him students," he once said. The novelist Peter Taylor recalls that when he came to Vanderbilt University as a freshman in the mid-1930s, Jarrell, then a graduate student, had already turned the literary students into disciples; he held court discussing Chekhov on the sidelines of touch football games. For all his brilliance Jarrell was, at heart, democratic. Believing that poetry belongs to every life, his teaching, his literary criticism, and his poetry aimed to recapture and reeducate a general audience lost to poetry in an age of specialization. Jarrell's interests were democratic as well; his lifelong fascination with popular culture may have originated in a childhood spent in Long Beach, California, and a year spent with grandparents in Hollywood. Witty and incisive, Jarrell could be intimidating; at the same time he remained deeply in touch with childhood's mystery and enchantment. It was as if, Hannah Arendt once said, he "had emerged from the enchanted forests." He loved fairy tales, translated a number of them, and wrote several books for children, among them The Bat-Poet. The childlike quality of the person informs Jarrell's poems as well; he is unembarrassed by the adult heart still in thrall to childhood's wishes. Jarrell was born in Nashville, Tennessee, but spent much of his childhood in California. When his parents divorced, the child, then eleven, remained for a year with his grandparents, then returned to live with his mother in Nashville. He majored in psychology at Vanderbilt and stayed on there to do graduate work in English. In 1937 he left Nashville to teach at Kenyon College (Gambier, Ohio) at the invitation of his old Vanderbilt professor John Crowe Ransom, the New Critic and Fugitive poet. From that time on, Jarrell almost always had some connection with a university: after Kenyon, the University of Texas, Sarah Lawrence College, and from 1947 until his death, the Women's College of the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. But, as his novel Pictures from an Institution (1954) with its mixed satiric and tender views of academic life suggests, he was never satisfied with a cloistered education. As poetry editor of the Nation (1946), and then in a series of essays and reviews collected as Poetry and the Age (1953), he introduced readers to the work of his contemporaries— Elizabeth Bishop, Robert Lowell, John Berryman, the William Carlos Williams of Paterson—and influentially reassessed the reputations of Whitman and Robert Frost. Among the poets who emerged after World War II, Jarrell stands out for his colloquial plainness. While others—Richard Wilbur and the early Robert Lowell, for example—were writing highly structured poems with complicated imagery, Jarrell's work feels and sounds close to what he calls in one poem the "dailiness of life" ("Well Water"). He is master of the heartbreak of everyday and identifies with ordinary forms of loneliness. Jarrell's gift of imaginative sympathy appears in the treatment of soldiers in his war poems, the strongest to come out of World War II. He had been trained as an army air force pilot and after that as a control operator, and he had a sense of the war's special casualties. With their understanding of soldiers as both destructive and innocent at the same time, these poems make his volumes Little Friend, Little Friend (1945) and Losses (1948) powerful and moving. Jarrell also empathized with the dreams, loneliness, and disappointments of women, whose perspective he often adopted, as in the title poem of his collection The Woman at the Washington Zoo (1960) and his poem "Next Day."

SECOND AIR

FORCE

/

2671

Against the blasted or unrealized possibilities of adult life, Jarrell often poised the rich mysteries of childhood. The title poem of his last book, The Lost World (1965), looks back to his Los Angeles playtime, the movie sets and plaster dinosaurs and pterodactyls against whose eternal gay presence he measures his own aging. The poem has Jarrell's characteristic sense of loss but also his capacity for a mysterious happiness, which animates the poem even as he holds "nothing" in his hands. Jarrell suffered a nervous breakdown in February 1965, but returned to teaching that fall. In October he was struck down by a car and died. His Complete Poems were published posthumously (1969), as were a translation of Goethe's Faust, Part I, in preparation at his death, and two books of essays, The Third Book of Criticism (1969) and

Kipling,

Auden

&• Co.

(1980).

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner 1 F r o m my mother's sleep I fell into the S t a t e , A n d I h u n c h e d in its belly till my wet fur froze. Six miles from earth, l o o s e d from its d r e a m of life, I w o k e to black flak 2 a n d the n i g h t m a r e fighters. W h e n I died they w a s h e d m e out of the turret with a h o s e . 1945

Second Air Force F a r off, a b o v e the plain the s u m m e r dries, T h e great loops of the h a n g a r s sway like hills. B u s e s a n d w e a r i n e s s a n d loss, the n o d d i n g soldiers Are wire, the b a r e f r a m e building, a n d a p a s s T o w h a t w a s hers; her h e a d hides his s q u a r e p a t c h A n d s h e thinks heavily: M y son is g r o w n . S h e s e e s a world: s a n d r o a d s , tar-paper b a r r a c k s , T h e b u b b l i n g a s p h a l t of the runways, s a g e , T h e d u n e s rising to the i n t e r m i n a b l e r a n g e s , T h e d i m flights m o v i n g over c l o u d s like c l o u d s . T h e a r m o r e r s in their p a t c h e d f a d e d g r e e n , Sweat-stiffened, b a n d e d with b r a s s c a r t r i d g e s , W a l k to the line; their F o r t r e s s e s , 1 all tail, S t a n d w r o n g a n d flimsy on their skinny legs, A n d the c r e w s c l i m b to t h e m c l u m s i l y a s b e a r s . T h e h e a d withdraws into its h a t c h (a boy's), T h e e n g i n e s rise to their blind laboring roar, A n d the g r e e n , m a d e b e a s t s run h o m e to air. 1. A ball turret was a plexiglass sphere set into the belly of a B-l 7 or B-24 [bomber], and inhabited by two .50 caliber machine-guns and one man, a short, small man. When this gunner tracked with his machine-guns a fighter attacking his bomber from below, he revolved with the turret; hunched upside-down in his little sphere, he looked like the

5

io

15

foetus in the womb. T h e fighters which attacked him were armed with cannon firing explosive shells. T h e hose was a steam hose [Jarrell's note]. 2. Antiaircraft fire. 1. Flying Fortresses, a type of bomber in World War II.

2672

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RANDALL JARRELL

N o w in e a c h a s p e c t d e a t h is p u r e . (At twilight they wink over m e n like stars And h o u r by hour, through the night, s o m e s e e T h e great lights floating i n — f r o m M a r s , from M a r s . ) H o w emptily the w a t c h e r s s e e t h e m g o n e . T h e y g o , there is s i l e n c e ; the w o m a n a n d her s o n S t a n d in the forest of the s h a d o w s , a n d the light W a s h e s t h e m like water. In the l o n g - s u n k e n city O f evening, the sunlight stills like sleep T h e faint w o n d e r of the d r o w n e d ; in the evening, In the last d r e a m i n g light, so fresh, so old, T h e soldiers p a s s like b e a s t s , u n q u e s t i o n i n g , A n d the w a t c h e r for an instant u n d e r s t a n d s W h a t there is then no n e e d to u n d e r s t a n d ; B u t s h e w a k e s from her k n o w l e d g e , a n d her s t a r e , A s h a d o w now, m o v e s emptily a m o n g T h e s h a d o w s learning in their s h a d o w y fields The empty missions. Remembering, Friend! S h e h e a r s the b o m b e r calling, Little T o the fighter h a n g i n g in the hostile sky, A n d s e e s the r a g g e d flame e a t , rib by rib, A l o n g the metal of the w i n g into her heart: T h e lives s t r e a m out, b l o s s o m , a n d float steadily T o the flames of the e a r t h , the flames T h a t burn like stars a b o v e the l a n d s of m e n .

25

io

35

2

S h e saves from the twilight that takes everything A s q u a d r o n s h i p p i n g , in its last p a r a d e — Its d o g s run by it, barking at the b a n d — A g u n n e r walking to his b a r r a c k s , h a l f - a s l e e p , S t a r t i n g at s o m e t h i n g , s t u m b l i n g ( a b o v e , invisible, T h e crews in the steady winter of the sky T r e m b l e in their wired f u r ) ; a n d feels for t h e m T h e love of life for life. T h e hopeful cells Heavy with s o m e o n e else's d e a t h , c o l d carriers O f s o m e o n e else's victory, g r o p e p a s t their lives Into her own b e w i l d e r m e n t : T h e years m e a n t this?

40

45

50

55

B u t for t h e m the b o m b e r s a n s w e r everything. 1945

2. In " S e c o n d Air Force" the woman visiting her son remembers what she has read on the front page of her newspaper the week before, a conversation between a bomber, in flames over Germany, and one of the fighters protecting it: "Then I heard the

bomber call me in: 'Little Friend, Little Friend, I got two engines on fire. C a n you see me. Little Friend?' I said, 'I'm crossing right over you. Let's go home' " [Jarrell's note].

T H I N K I N G OF T H E L O S T W O R L D

/

2673

Well Water W h a t a girl called "the dailiness of l i f e " (Adding a n errand to your e r r a n d . S a y i n g , " S i n c e you're u p . . ." M a k i n g you a m e a n s to A m e a n s to a m e a n s to) is well water P u m p e d from an old well at the b o t t o m of the world. T h e p u m p you p u m p the water from is rusty A n d hard to m o v e a n d a b s u r d , a squirrel-wheel A sick squirrel turns slowly, t h r o u g h the s u n n y Inexorable h o u r s . A n d yet s o m e t i m e s T h e wheel turns of its own weight, the rusty P u m p p u m p s over your s w e a t i n g f a c e the clear W a t e r , cold, s o cold! you c u p your h a n d s A n d g u l p from t h e m the d a i l i n e s s of life.

5

10

1965 •

Thinking of the Lost World T h i s spoonful of c h o c o l a t e t a p i o c a T a s t e s like—like p e a n u t butter, like the vanilla Extract M a m a told m e not to drink. S w a l l o w i n g the s p o o n f u l , I have already traveled T h r o u g h time to my c h i l d h o o d . It puzzles m e T h a t a g e is like it. C o m e b a c k to that c a l m country T h r o u g h which the s t r e a m of my life first m e a n d e r e d , M y wife, our cat, a n d I sit here a n d s e e S q u i r r e l s q u a r r e l i n g in the feeder, a m o c k i n g b i r d C o p y i n g our c h i p m u n k , a s our e n d c o p i e s Its beginning. B a c k in L o s A n g e l e s , we m i s s e d L o s A n g e l e s . T h e s u n s h i n e of the L a n d O f S u n s h i n e is a gray mist now, the a t m o s p h e r e O f s o m e factory planet: w h e n you s t a n d a n d look You s e e a block or two, a n d your eyes water. T h e o r a n g e groves are all c u t d o w n . . . M y bow Is lost, all my arrows are lost or broken, M y knife is s u n k in the e u c a l y p t u s tree T o o far for even P o p to get it out, And the tree's s a w e d d o w n . It a n d the stair-sticks A n d the p l a n k s of the tree h o u s e are all firewood B u r n e d long a g o ; its gray s m o k e s m e l l s of V i c k s . 1 Twenty Years After, thirty-five years after, Is a s g o o d a s e v e r — b e t t e r than ever, 1. A remedy tor colds.

2674

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RANDALL

JARRELL

N o w that D ' A r t a g n a n 2 is no longer o l d — E x c e p t that it is u n b e l i e v a b l e . I say to my old self: "I believe. H e l p t h o u M i n e unbelief." I believe the d i n o s a u r O r pterodactyl's married the pink sphinx A n d lives with t h o s e Indians in the u n d i s c o v e r e d C o u n t r y b e t w e e n C a l i f o r n i a a n d Arizona T h a t the m a d girl told m e s h e w a s p r i n c e s s of— L o o k i n g at m e with the eyes of a lion, Big, g o l d e n , without h u m a n u n d e r s t a n d i n g , As s h e threw p a p e r - w a d s from the b a c k seat O f the car in which I drove her with her m o t h e r F r o m the jail in W a y c r o s s to the hospital In D a y t o n a . If I took my eyes from the r o a d A n d looked b a c k into her e y e s , the c a r w o u l d — I ' d b e — O r if only I c o u l d find a crystal s e t 3 S o m e t i m e s , surely, I c o u l d still h e a r their c h i e f R e a d i n g to t h e m from D u m a s or Amazing Stories; If I c o u l d find in s o m e M u s e u m of C a r s M a m a ' s dark b l u e B u i c k , Lucky's electric, C o u l d n ' t I be driven there? H o l d out to t h e m , T h e paraffin half p i c k e d o u t , T a w n y ' s d e w c l a w — A n d have walk to m e from a m o n g their w i g w a m s M y tall brown a u n t , to w h i s p e r to m e : " D e a d ? T h e y told you I w a s d e a d ? " A s if you c o u l d die! If I never saw you, never again W r o t e to you, even, after a few y e a r s , H o w often you've visited m e , having put o n , As a m e r m a i d p u t s on her s e a l s k i n , a n o t h e r f a c e A n d voice, that don't fool m e for a m i n u t e — T h a t are yours for g o o d . . . All of t h e m a r e g o n e E x c e p t for m e ; a n d for m e n o t h i n g is g o n e — T h e c h i c k e n ' s body is still g o i n g r o u n d A n d r o u n d in w i d e n i n g circles, a satellite F r o m w h i c h , a s the s u n s e t s , the scientist b e n d s A look of evil on the u n s u s p e c t i n g e a r t h . M a m a a n d P o p a n d D a n d e e n are still there In the G a y T w e n t i e s . T h e G a y T w e n t i e s ! You say T h e G a y N i n e t i e s . . . B u t it's all right: they were gay, 0 so gay! A certain n u m b e r of years after, Any time is G a y , to the new o n e s w h o a s k : " W a s that the first W o r l d W a r or the s e c o n d ? " M o v i n g b e t w e e n the first world a n d the s e c o n d , 1 h e a r a boy call, now that my b e a r d ' s gray: " S a n t a C l a u s ! Hi, S a n t a C l a u s ! " It is m i r a c u l o u s 2. Hero of The Three Musketeers ( 1 8 4 4 ) by Alexandre D u m a s pere; its sequel was Twenty Years

After ( 1 8 4 5 ) . 3. Old-fashioned radio receiver.

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T o have the children call you S a n t a C l a u s . 75 I wave b a c k . W h e n my h a n d drops to the wheel, It is brown a n d s p o t t e d , a n d its nails are ridged Like M a m a ' s . W h e r e ' s my own h a n d ? M y s m o o t h W h i t e bitten-fingernailed o n e ? I s e e m to s e e A s h a p e in tennis s h o e s a n d khaki riding-pants so S t a n d i n g there e m p t y - h a n d e d ; I r e a c h o u t to it E m p t y - h a n d e d , my h a n d c o m e s b a c k e m p t y , And yet my e m p t i n e s s is traded for its e m p t i n e s s , I have f o u n d that L o s t W o r l d in the L o s t a n d F o u n d C o l u m n s w h o s e gray illegible a d v e r t i s e m e n t s 85 M y soul h a s m e m o r i z e d world after world: L O S T — N O T H I N G . STRAYED FROM N O W H E R E . NO REWARD. I hold in my own h a n d s , in h a p p i n e s s , N o t h i n g : the nothing for which there's n o reward. 1965

JOHN

BERRYMAN

1914-1972 From a generation whose ideal poem was short, self-contained, and ironic, John Berryman emerged as the author of two extended and passionate works: "Homage to Mistress Bradstreet" and the lyric sequence called The Dream Songs. It was as if Berryman needed more space than the single lyric provided—a larger theater to play out an unrelenting psychic drama. He had written shorter poems—songs and sonnets—but it was his discovery of large-scale dramatic situations and strange new voices that astonished his contemporaries. Berryman seemed fated to intense suffering and self-preoccuption. His father, a banker, shot himself outside his son's window when the boy was twelve. The suicide haunted Berryman to the end of his own life, which also came by suicide. Berryman, who was born John Smith, took a new name from his stepfather, also a banker. His childhood was a series of displacements: ten years near McAlester, Oklahoma, then Tampa, Florida, and after his father's suicide, Gloucester, Massachusetts, and New York City. His mother's second marriage ended in divorce, but his stepfather sent him to private school in Connecticut. Berryman graduated from Columbia College in 1936 and won a fellowship to Clare College, Cambridge, England. He was later to say of himself, "I masquerade as a writer. Actually I am a scholar." However misleading this may be about his poetry, it reminds us that all his life Berryman drew nourishment from teaching—at Wayne State, at Harvard (1940—43), then off and on at Princeton, and from 1955 until his death, at the University of Minnesota. He chose to teach, not creative writing, but literature and the "history of civilization" and claimed that such teaching forced him into areas in which he wouldn't otherwise have done detailed work. A mixture of bookishness and wildness characterizes all his writing: five years of research lay behind the intensities of "Homage to Mistress Bradstreet," while an important constituent of "huffy Henry's" personality in The Dream Songs is his professorial awkwardness and exhibitionism. Berryman seemed drawn to borrowing identities in his poetry. In his first important

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volume, The Dispossessed (1948), he had experimented with various dramatic voices in the short poems "Nervous Songs: The Song of the Demented Priest," "A Professor's Song," "The Song of the Tortured Girl," and "The Song of the Man Forsaken and Obsessed." The dispossession of the book's title had two opposite and urgent meanings for him: "the miserable, put out of one's own, and the relieved, saved, undevilled, despelled." Taking on such roles was for Berryman both a revelation of his cast-out, fatherless state and an exorcism of it. It was perhaps in that spirit that he entered into an imaginary dialogue with what he felt as the kindred nature of the Puritan poet Anne Bradstreet. "Both of our worlds unhanded us." What started out to be a poem of fifty lines emerged as the fifty-seven stanzas of "Homage to Mistress Bradstreet" (1956), a work so absorbing that after completing it Berryman claimed to be "a ruin for two years." It was not Bradstreet's poetry that engaged him. Quite the contrary: he was fascinated by the contrast between her "bald abstract rime" and her life of passionate suffering. The poem explores the kinship between Bradstreet and Berryman as figures of turbulence and rebellion. Berryman took literary encouragement from another American poet of the past, Stephen Crane, about whom he wrote a book-length critical study in 1950. Crane's poems, he said, have "the character of a 'dream,' something seen naively in a new relation." Berryman's attraction to a poetry that accommodated the nightmare antics of the dream world became apparent in his own long work, The Dream Songs. It was modeled, he claimed, on "the greatest American poem," Whitman's "Song of Myself," in which the speaker assumes a fluid, ever-changing persona. 77 Dream Songs was published in 1964. Additional poems, to a total of 385, appeared in His Toy, His Dream, His Rest (1968). (Some uncollected dream songs were published posthumously in Henry's Fate, 1977, and drafts of others remained in manuscript.) There are obvious links between Berryman and other so-called confessional writers such as Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, and Anne Sexton. But the special autobiographical flavor of The Dream Songs is that of a psychic vaudeville; as in dreams, the poet represents himself through a fluid series of alter egos, whose voices often flow into one another in single poems. One of these voices is that of a blackface minstrel, and Berryman's appropriation of this dialect prompted Michael Harper's poem "Tongue-Tied in Black and White." Despite the suffering that these poems enact, Berryman seemed to find a secret strength through the staginess, variety, resourcefulness, and renewals of these poems. The Dream Songs brought Berryman a success that was not entirely beneficial. The collection Love and Fame (1970) shows him beguiled by his own celebrity and wrestling with some of its temptations. In an unfinished, posthumously published novel, Recovery, he portrays himself as increasingly prey to alcoholism. Berryman had been married twice before, and his hospitalization for drinking and for periods of insanity had put a strain on his third marriage. He came to distrust his poetry as a form of exhibitionism and was clearly, in his use of the discipline of prose and in the prayers that crowd his last two volumes of poetry (Delusions, Etc. appeared posthumously), in search of some new and humbling style. Having been raised a strict Catholic and fallen away from the church, he tried to return to it in his last years, speaking of his need for a "God of rescue." On January 7, 1972, Berryman committed suicide by leaping from a Minneapolis bridge.

H o m a g e to Mistress Bradstreet Anne Bradstreet ("Born 1612 Anne Dudley, married at 16 Simon Bradstreet, a Cambridge man, steward to the Countess of Warwick and protege of her father Thomas Dudley secretary to the Earl of Lincoln. Crossed in the Arbella, 1630, under Governor Winthrop" [Berryman's note]) came to the Massachusetts Bay Colony when she was eighteen years old. She was one of the first poets on American soil. Of this poem, Berryman says:

H O M A G E TO M I S T R E S S

BRADSTREET

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An American historian somewhere observes that all colonial settlements are intensely conservative, except in the initial break-off point (whether religious, political, legal, or whatever). Trying to do justice to both parts of this obvious truth—which I came upon only after the poem was finished—I concentrated upon the second and the poem laid itself out in a series of rebellions. I had her rebel first against the new environment and above all against her barrenness (which in fact lasted for years), then against her marriage (which in fact seems to have been brilliantly happy), and finally against her continuing life of illness, loss, and age. These are the three large sections of the poem; they are preceded and followed by an exordium and coda, of four stanzas each, spoken by the "I" of the twentieth-century poet, which modulates into her voice, who speaks most of the poem. Such is the plan. Each rebellion, of course, is succeeded by submission, although even in the moment of the poem's supreme triumph—the presentment, too long to quote now, of the birth of her first child—rebellion survives. Berryman wrote two stanzas of the poem and found himself stalled for five years, during which he gathered material, until he discovered the strategy of dialogue and inserted himself in the poem. "Homage to Mistress Bradstreet" was first published in Partisan Review in 1953, but did not appear as a book until 1956. In his exordium (stanzas 1—4), the poet makes an intense identification between himself and Bradstreet, both of them alienated by hardship or circumstance from those around them: "We are on each other's hands / who care. Both of our worlds unhanded us." The identification is so complete that in the subsequent stanzas he hears her voice recounting the tribulations of life in a new country, her yearnings for the England she left behind, her lonely dedication to her poetry, and the personal suffering in her early barrenness and miscarriages. Stanza 17 continues in Bradstreet's voice.

From Homage to Mistress Bradstreet #

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T h e winters c l o s e , S p r i n g s o p e n , n o child stirs u n d e r my withering heart, O s e a s o n e d heart G o d g r u d g e d his aid. All things else soil like a shirt. S i m o n is m u c h away. M y e x e c u t i v e ' s t a l e s . T h e town c a m e t h r o u g h for the cartway by the p a l e s , 2 but my p a t i e n c e is short, I revolt from, I a m like, t h e s e s a v a g e foresters

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w h o s e p a s s i o n l e s s dicker in the s h a d e , w h o s e g l a n c e i m p a s s i v e & s c a n t , belie their m u r d e r o u s cries w h e n quarry s e e m s to show. A g a i n I m u s t have b e e n w r o n g , t w i c e . 3 Unwell in a n e w way. C a n that b e g i n ? G o d b r a n d i s h e s . O love, O I love. Kin, gather. M y world is s t r a n g e a n d merciful, ingrown m o n t h s , b l e s s i n g a swelling t r a n c e . 4 1. Power to act. 2. Stockade fence. 3. O n e of the several allusions to her failure to

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become pregnant. 4. Her first child was not born until about 1633 [Berryman's note].

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'9 S o s q u e e z e d , w i n c e you I s c r e a m ? I love you & h a t e off with you. A g e s ! Useless. B e l o w my waist he h a s m e in Hell's vise. Stalling. H e let g o . C o m e b a c k : b r a c e m e s o m e w h e r e . N o . N o . Yes! everything d o w n h a r d e n s I p r e s s with horrible joy down my b a c k c r a c k s like a wrist s h a m e I a m voiding oh b e h i n d it is too late •

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hide m e forever I work thrust I m u s t free now I all m u s c l e s & b o n e s c o n c e n t r a t e what is living from dying? S i m o n I m u s t leave you so untidy M o n s t e r you are killing m e B e s u r e I'll have you later W o m e n do e n d u r e I c a n can no longer a n d it p a s s e s the w r e t c h e d trap w h e l m i n g a n d I a m m e

d r e n c h t & powerful, I did it with my body! O n e p r o u d tug g r e e n s H e a v e n . M a r v e l l o u s , unforbidding Majesty. Swell, i m p e r i o u s bells. I fly. M o u n t a i n o u s , w o m a n not b r e a k s a n d will b e n d : sways G o d nearby: a n g u i s h c o m e s to an e n d . Blossomed S a r a h , a n d I b l o s s o m . Is that thing alive? I hear a famisht howl.

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Beloved h o u s e h o l d , I a m S i m o n ' s wife, a n d the m o t h e r of S a m u e l — w h o m greedy yet I m i s s out of his kicking p l a c e . M o r e in s o m e ways I feel at a l o s s , freer. C a n t a b a n k s & m u m m e r s , ' ' n e a r s longing for you. O u r c h o p p i n g 7 s c o r e s my e a r s , our c o s t u m e b o r e s my eyes. S t . G e o r g e " to the g o o d sword, rise! chop-logic's rife

& fever & S a t a n & S a t a n ' s a n c i e n t f e r e . 9 P i o n e e r i n g is not feeling well, not I n d i a n s , b e a s t s . N o t all their riddling c a n forestall o n e leaving. S a m , your u n c l e h a s h a d to go from u s to live with G o d . 'Then A u n t went t o o ? ' 5. Wife of Abraham, barren until old age, when she gave birth to Isaac (Genesis 17.19). 6. Ballad singers and mimes. 7. Chopping: disputing, snapping, haggling: axing

no

i?s

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IBerrvman's note). 8. Patron saint of England, the slayer of dragons. 9. Fere: his friend Death | Berryman's note].

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D e a r , s h e d o e s wait still. Stricken: ' O h . T h e n h e takes u s o n e by o n e . ' M y d e a r .

F o r s w e a r i n g it o t h e r w i s e , they s t a r c h their m i n d s . F o l k m o o t s , & blether, blether. J o h n C o t t o n r a k e s ' to the synod of C a m b r i d g e . 2 D o w n from my body my legs flow, out from it a r m s wave, on it my h e a d s h a k e s . N o w M i s t r e s s H u t c h i n s o n rings forth a c a l l — s h o u l d s h e ? m a n y c r e e p out a broken w a l l — affirming the Holy G h o s t dwells in o n e justified. F a c t i o n i n g p a s s i o n blinds 2 5 all to all her g o o d , a l l — c a n s h e be exiled? Bitter sister, victim! I m i s s you. — I m i s s you, A n n e , * day or night w e a k a s a child, tender & empty, d o o m e d , q u i c k to no tryst. — I h e a r you. B e kind, you who l e a g u e r 4 my i m a g e in the mist. — B e kind you, to o n e u n c h a i n e d e a g e r far & wild

iss

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a n d if, O my love, my heart is breaking, p l e a s e neglect my cries a n d I will s p a r e you. D e e p in T i m e ' s grave, Love's, you lie still. L i e s t i l l . — N o w ? T h a t happy s h a p e my f o r e h e a d h a d u n d e r my m o s t long, rare, ravendark, hidden, soft bodiless hair you a w a r d m e still. You m u s t not love m e , but 1 do not bid you c e a s e . 2 7 Veiled my eyes, a t t e n d i n g . H o w c a n it be I? M o i s t , with p a r t e d lips, I listen, wicked. I s h a k e in the m o r n i n g & retch. B r o o d I do on myself n a k e d . A fading world 1 d u s t , with fingers new. — I have e a r n e d the right to b e a l o n e with y o u . — W h a t right c a n that b e ? C o n v u l s i n g , if you love, e n o u g h , like a sweet lie.

1. "Rakes: inclines, as a mast; bows" [Berryman's note]. "Folkmoots": a town assembly for debate. "Blether": nonsense. 2. In the first synod (a body for religious debate). Cotton agreed to the condemnation and banishment of his follower Anne Hutchinson. Her heresies included a deemphasis of perfect moral conduct as evidence of the justification for Christian salvation. 3. One might say: He [the poet] is enabled to speak, at last, in the fortune of an echo of her—

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and when she is loneliest (her former spiritual adviser [John Cotton] having deserted Anne Hutchinson, and this her [Bradstreet's] closest friend banished), as if she had summoned him; and only thus, perhaps, is she enabled to hear him. This second section of the poem is a dialogue, his voice however ceasing well before it ends at [line] 3 0 7 , and hers continuing for the whole third part until the coda ([stanzas] 54—57) [Berryman's note], 4. Beleaguer, besiege.

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28 N o t that, I know, you c a n . T h i s c r a t e r e d skin, like the c r a b s & shells of my Palissy 1 5 ewer, t o u c h ! O h , you d o , you d o ? F a l l s on m e w h a t I like a witch, for lawless h o l d s , annihilations of law which T i m e a n d h e a n d m a n a b h o r , foresaw: s h a r p e r than w h a t my F r i e n d 6 b r o u g h t m e for my revolt w h e n I m o v e d s m o o t h 8 1 thin,

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29 faintings black, rigour, chilling, brown p a r c h i n g , back, brain b u r n i n g , the grey p o c k s itch, a m a n i c s t e n c h of p u s t u l e s s n a p p i n g , p a i n floods the p a l m , s l e e p l e s s , or a red shaft with a dreadful start rides at the c h a p e l , like a slipping heart. M y soul strains in o n e q u a l m ah b u t this is not to save m e b u t to throw m e d o w n . 3° A n d out of this I lull. It l e s s e n s . K i s s m e . T h a t o n c e . As sings o u t u p in sparkling dark a trail of a star & d i e s , while the b r e a t h flutters, s o u n d i n g , m a r k , so s h o r n o u g h t s u c h c a r e s s e s to u s b e w h o , deserving n o t h i n g , flush a n d flee the d a r k n e s s of that light, a l u r c h i n g frozen from a w a r m d r e a m . T a l k to m e . 3l7 — I t is S p r i n g ' s N e w E n g l a n d . P u s s y willows w e d g e u p in the wet. Milky c r e s t i n g s , fringed yellow, in h e a v e n , eyed by the m e l t i n g h a n d - i n - h a n d or m e r e desirers single, heavy-footed, rapt, m a k e s u r g e p o o r h u m a n h e a r t s . V e n u s is t r a p t — the hefty pike shifts, s h e e r " — in O r i o n blazing. W a r b l i n g s , o d o u r s , n u d g e to a n e d g e — 3* — R a v i s h i n g , h a , what c r o u c h e s o u t s i d e o u g h t , flamboyant, ill, a n g e l i c . O f t e n , now, I a m afraid of y o u . I a m a s o b e r s i d e s ; 1 know. 5. Bernard Palissy ( 1 5 1 0 - 1 5 9 0 ) , French Protestant ceramicist, noted for special glazes and highly ornamented pieces. 6. Alludes to the punishments of God visited on those who rebel against him (cf. Isaiah 1.6). 7. Berryman (in Poets on Poetry) called this speech of the poet to Bradstreet "an only half-subdued

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aria-stanza." 8. Lines 246—47 are opposed images of the bottom of the sea against the summit of the sky (Venus). " S h e e r " in the sense of "invisible" (quoted from c o m m e n t s by Berryman in the Italian translation of "Mistress Bradstreet" by Sergio Perosa).

H O M A G E TO M I S T R E S S B R A D S T R E E T

I want to take you for my l o v e r . — D o . — I h e a r a m a d n e s s . H a r m l e s s I to you a m not, not I ? — N o . — I c a n n o t but b e . S i n g a c o n c o r d of our t h o u g h t .

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33 — W a n dolls in indigo on g o l d : 9 refrain my western lust. I a m drowning in this p a s t . I lose sight of you w h o m i s t r e s s m e from air. U n b r a c e d in delirium of the g r a n d d e p t h s , 1 giving away h a u n t e r s w h a t kept m e , I b r e a t h e solid spray. — I a m losing you! S t r a i t e n m e o n . 2 — I suffered living like a stain:

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34 I trundle the b o d i e s , o n the iron b a r s , over that fire b a c k w a r d & forth; they b u r n ; bits fall. I w o n d e r if J killed t h e m . W o m e n serve my turn. — D r e a m s ! You are g o o d . — N o . — D e n s e with h a r d i h o o d the wicked are d i s l o d g e d , a n d lodged the g o o d . In green s p a c e we are s a f e . G o d awaits u s (but I a m yielding) w h o Hell w a r s .

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35 — I c a n n o t feel myself G o d waits. H e flies n e a r e r a kindly world; or h e is flown. One Saturday's r e s c u e 3 won't show. M a n is entirely a l o n e m a y b e . I a m a m a n of griefs & fits trying to b e my friend. A n d the brown s m o c k splits, down the p a l e flesh a g a s h b r o a d e n s a n d T i m e holds u p your heart a g a i n s t my eyes.

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— H a r d a n d divided heaven! c r e a s e s m e . S h a m e is failing. M y b r e a t h is s c e n t e d , a n d I throw hostile g l a n c e s towards G o d .

9. Cf., on Byzantine icons [here, the impassive Madonnas painted against gold backgrounds in medieval altarpieces of the Eastern church], Frederick Rolfe ("Baron Corvo"): "Who ever dreams of praying (with expectation of response) for the prayer of a Tintoretto or a Titian, or a Bellini, or a Botticelli? But who can refrain from crying 'O Mother!' to these unruffleable wan dolls in indigo on gold?" (quoted from The Desire and Pursuit of the Whole by Graham Greene in The Last Childhood) [Berryman's note]. 1. "Delires des grandes profoundeurs," described by [Jacques] C o u s t e a u and others; a euphoria,

sometimes fatal, in which the hallucinated diver offers passing fish his line, helmet, anything [Berryman's note; he translates the French phrase in line 2 6 2 ] . 2. I.e., tighten your embrace. 3. As of cliffhangers, movie serials wherein each week's episode ends with a train bearing down on the strapped heroine or with the hero dangling over an abyss into which Indians above him peer with satisfaction before they hatchet the rope; rescue: forcible recovery (by the owner) of goods distrained [Berryman's note].

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C r u m p l i n g p l u n g e of a p e s t l e , bray: 4 sin c r o s s & o p p o s i t e , wherein I survive n i g h t m a r e s of E d e n . R e a c h e s foul & live he for m e , this soul to c r u n c h , a m i n u t e tangle of eternal flame.

37 I fear Hell's h a m m e r - w i n d . B u t fear d o e s w a n e . D e a t h ' s b l o s s o m s grain my hair; I c a n n o t live. A b l a c k joy c l a s h e s joy, in twilight. T h e Devil s a i d 'I will deal toward her softly, a n d her e n c h a n t i n g c r i e s 5 will fool the h o r n s of A d a m . ' F a t h e r of lies, a m a l e great pestle s m a s h e s small w o m e n s w a r m i n g towards the mortar's rim in vain.

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38 I s e e the cruel s p r e a d W i n g s b l a c k with s a i n t s ! Silky my b r e a s t s not his, m i n e , m i n e to withhold or tender, tender. I a m sifting, n e r v o u s , a n d bold. T h e light is c h a n g i n g . S u r r e n d e r this loveliness you c a n n o t m a k e m e d o . But I will. Yes. W h a t horror, d o w n stormy air, w a r p s towards m e ? M y t h r e a t e n i n g p r o m i s e faints

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6

39

torture m e , F a t h e r , lest not I be thine! T r i b u n a l terrible & p u r e , my G o d , mercy for h i m a n d m e . F a c e s half-fanged, C h r i s t drives a b r o a d , a n d t h o u g h the crop h o p e s , J a n e 7 is s o s l i p s h o d I cry. Evil dissolves, & love, like f o a m ; that love. Prattle of children p o w e r s m e h o m e , my heart c l a p s like the s w a n ' s u n d e r a frenzy of who love m e & w h o s h i n e . 8

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1953,1956

4. Punning (according to Berryman's notes) on (1) the pulverizing action of a mortar and pestle and (2) the strident noise of a donkey. fied 5. Referring to Satan's temptation of Eve. who was to cat the apple from the Tree of Knowledge and then convince Adam to do so (cf. Genesis 3). 6. T h e stanza is unsettled, like [stanza] 24, by a middle line, signaling a broad transition [Berryman's note].

7. A servant. 8. T h e final stanzas present Bradstreet's intensivision of death and damnation and include the death of her father, blaspheming. But in the last four stanzas the poem modulates back into the poet's voice and his vow to keep Bradstreet alive in his loving memory and in his writing. "Hover, utter, still, a sourcing whom my lost candle like the firefly loves."

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FROM T H E DREAM SONGS 1 ;

29 T h e r e sat d o w n , o n c e , a thing on Henry's heart s o heavy, if he h a d a h u n d r e d years & m o r e , & weeping, s l e e p l e s s , in all t h e m time Henry c o u l d not m a k e g o o d . Starts again always in Henry's e a r s the little c o u g h s o m e w h e r e , a n o d o u r , a c h i m e . A n d there is a n o t h e r thing he h a s in m i n d like a grave S i e n e s e f a c e 2 a t h o u s a n d years would fail to blur the still profiled r e p r o a c h of. G h a s t l y , with o p e n eyes, h e a t t e n d s , blind. All the bells say: too late. T h i s is not for t e a r s ; thinking. B u t never did Henry, as he t h o u g h t h e did, end anyone a n d h a c k s her body u p a n d hide the p i e c e s , w h e r e they m a y b e f o u n d . H e knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's m i s s i n g . Often he r e c k o n s , in the d a w n , t h e m u p . N o b o d y is ever m i s s i n g .

5

10

is

• •

45 H e stared at ruin. Ruin stared straight b a c k . H e t h o u g h t they w a s old friends. H e felt on the stair w h e r e her p a p a f o u n d t h e m b a r e they b e c a m e familiar. W h e n the p a p e r s were lost rich with p a l s ' s e c r e t s , he thought he h a d the k n a c k of ruin. T h e i r p a t h s c r o s s e d a n d o n c e they c r o s s e d in jail; they c r o s s e d in b e d ; a n d over a n u n s i g n e d letter their eyes m e t , a n d in a n Asian city directionless & lurchy at two & three, or trembling to a telephone's fresh threat, a n d when s o m e wired his h e a d 1. T h e s e poems were written over a period of thirteen years. (77 Dream Songs was published in 1964, and the remaining poems appeared in His Toy, His Dream, His Rest in 1968. S o m e uncollected dream songs were included in the volume Henry's Fate, which appeared five years after Berryman committed suicide in 1972.) Berryman placed an introductory note at the head of His Toy, His Dream, His Rest: "The poem then, whatever its wide cast of characters, is essentially about an imaginary character (not the poet, not me) named

5

10

Henry, a white American in early middle age sometimes in blackface, who has suffered an irreversible loss and talks about himself sometimes in the first person, sometimes in the third, sometimes even in the second; he has a friend, never named, who addresses him as Mr. Bones and variants thereof. Requiescant in p a c e . " 2. Alluding to the somber, austere mosaiclike religious portraits by the Italian painters who worked in Siena during the 13th and 14th centuries.

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to r e a c h a w r o n g opinion, 'Epileptic'. B u t h e n o t e d now that: they were not old friends. H e did not k n o w this o n e . T h i s o n e w a s a stranger, c o m e to m a k e a m e n d s for all the i m p o s t e r s , a n d to m a k e it stick. Henry n o d d e d , un-.

15

385 M y d a u g h t e r ' s heavier. Light leaves are flying. Everywhere in e n o r m o u s n u m b e r s turkeys will b e dying a n d other birds, all their wings. T h e y never greatly flew. D i d they wish to? I s h o u l d know. Off away s o m e w h e r e o n c e I k n e w s u c h things. O r g o o d R a l p h H o d g s o n * b a c k then did, or d o e s . T h e m a n is d e a d w h o m E l i o t 4 p r a i s e d . M y p r a i s e follows a n d flows too late. Fall is grievy, brisk. T e a r s b e h i n d the eyes a l m o s t fall. Fall c o m e s to u s a s a prize to r o u s e u s toward our fate. M y h o u s e is m a d e of w o o d a n d it's m a d e well, unlike u s . M y h o u s e is older than Henry; that's fairly old. If there were a m i d d l e g r o u n d b e t w e e n things a n d the soul or if the sky r e s e m b l e d m o r e the s e a , I wouldn't have to s c o l d my heavy d a u g h t e r .

5

10

15

1968 3. English poet ( 1 8 7 1 - 1 9 6 2 ) who wrote balladlike lyrics. Berryman may be alluding to Hodgson's "Hymn to Moloch," in which the poet protests the

ROBERT

slaughter of birds for commercial uses. 4. T. S. Eliot (1888—1965), American poet and critic.

LOWELL

1917-1977 In "North Haven," her poem in memory of Robert Lowell, Elizabeth Bishop translates the song of the birds as Lowell seemed to hear it: "repeat, repeat, repeat, revise, revise, revise." Repeatedly, even obsessively, Lowell returned to certain subjects in his poems. Each return confirmed an existing pattern even as it opened the possibility for revision. In fact, Lowell's life was full of revision. Descended from Protestant New Englanders, he converted to Catholicism, then fell away from it; he married three

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times; and he changed his poetic style more than once. In the later part of his career, Lowell revised even his published poems and did so repeatedly. "Revision is inspiration," he once said, "no reading of the finished work as exciting as writing the last changes." Revision allowed for Lowell's love of stray events, his attraction to the fluidity of life (in this, he resembles Wallace Stevens). But Lowell also wanted to organize life into formal patterns, to locate the random moment in the design of an epic history (his Catholicism can be seen, in part, as an expression of this desire). History offered plot and repetition: just as patterns of his childhood recurred in adult life, the sins of his New England ancestors were reenacted by contemporary America. Lowell's vision of history leaned toward apocalypse, toward the revelation of a prior meaning the poet agonized to determine, and yet he cherished the freedom of "human chances," with all their indeterminacy. His poems had to accommodate these opposing impulses. Concerning the sequence of poems in Notebook 1967-1968, begun as a poetic diary, he said: "Accident threw up the subject and the plot swallowed them— famished for human chances." If Lowell often swallowed up the casual, the random, the ordinary, and the domestic into the forms of his poems, his best plots have a spontaneity whose meanings cannot be fixed. The burden of family history was substantial for Lowell, whose ancestors included members of Boston's patrician families. His grandfather was a well-known Episcopal minister and head of the fashionable St. Mark's School, which the poet was later to attend. His great-grand uncle James Russell Lowell had been a poet and ambassador to England. The family's light note was provided by the poet Amy Lowell, "big and a scandal, as if Mae West were a cousin." In the context of this history, Lowell's father, who fared badly in business after his retirement from service as a naval officer, appeared as a diminished figure. Lowell's first act of revising family history was to leave the east after two years at Harvard (1935—37) to study at Kenyon College with John Crowe Ransom, the poet and critic. The move brought him in closer touch with the New Criticism and its predilections for "formal difficult poems," the wit and irony of English Metaphysical writers such as John Donne. He also, through Ransom and the poet Allen Tate, came into contact with (although never formally joined) the Fugitive movement, whose members were southern agrarians opposed to what they regarded as the corrupting values of northern industrialism. Two of the acts that most decisively separated Lowell from family history were his conversion to Roman Catholicism (1940) and his resistance to American policies in World War II. Although he did try to enlist in the navy, he refused to be drafted into the army. He opposed the saturation bombing of Hamburg and the Allied policy of unconditional surrender and was as a result sentenced to a year's confinement in New York's West Street jail. The presiding judge at his hearing admonished him for "marring" his family traditions. In his first book, Lord Weary's Castle (1946), his Catholicism provided a set of symbols and a distanced platform from which to express his violent antagonism to Protestant mercantile Boston. The stunning, apocalyptic conclusions of these early poems ("the Lord survives the rainbow of his will" or "The blue kingfisher dives on you in fire") render the devastating judgment of the eternal on the fallen history of the individual and the nation. Alongside those poems drawing on Old Testament anger, there were those poems in Lord Weary's Castle such as "Mr. Edwards and the Spider" that explored from within the nervous intensity that underlay Puritan revivalism. Later dramatic narratives with modern settings such as "The Mills of the Kavanaghs" and "Falling Asleep over the Aeneid" reveal his psychological interest in and obsession with ruined New England families. In Life Studies (1959), Lowell changed his style dramatically. His subjects became explicitly autobiographical, and his language more open and direct. In 1957 he gave readings in California, where Allen Ginsberg and the other Beats had just made their strongest impact in San Francisco. By contrast to their candid, breezy writing, Lowell

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felt his own seemed "distant, symbol-ridden, and willfully difficult. . . . I felt my old poems hid what they were really about, and many times offered a stiff, humorless and even impenetrable surface." Although more controlled and severe than Beat writers, he was stimulated by Ginsberg's self-revelations to write more openly than he had about his parents and grandparents, about the mental breakdowns he suffered in the 1950s, and about the difficulties of marriage. (Lowell divorced his first wife, the novelist Jean Stafford, and married the critic Elizabeth Hardwick in 1949). Life Studies, by and large, records his ambivalence toward the New England where he resettled after the war, on Boston's "hardly passionate Marlborough Street." Revising his stance toward New England and family history, he no longer denounces the city of his fathers as if he were a privileged outsider. In complicated psychological portraits of his childhood, his relation to his parents and his wives, he assumes a portion of the weakness and vulnerability for himself. In 1960 Lowell left Boston to live in New York City. For the Union Dead (1964), the book that followed, continued the autobiographical vein of Life Studies. Lowell called it a book about "witheredness . . . lemony, soured and dry, the drouth I had touched with my own hands." These poems seem more carefully controlled than his earlier Life Studies. Often they organize key images from the past into a pattern that illuminates the present. The book includes a number of poems that fuse private and public themes, such as "Fall 1961" and the volume's title poem. In 1969 Lowell published Notebook 1967—1968 and then revised these poems for a second, augmented edition, called simply Notebook (1970). In 1973, in a characteristic act, he once more revised, rearranged, and expanded Notebook's poems and published them in two separate books. The more personal poems, recording the breakup of his second marriage and his separation from his wife and daughter, were published as For Lizzie and Harriet. Those dealing more with public subjects, past and present, were published under the title History. Taken together, these two books show Lowell once again engaged with the relations between the random event, or the moment out of a personal life, and an epic design. In these unrhymed, loosely blank verse revisions of the sonnet Lowell responded to the books he was reading, to the events of his personal life, and to the national issue of the Vietnam War, of which he was an outspoken critic. "Things I felt or saw, or read were drift in the whirlpool." At the same time, a new collection of sonnets, The Dolphin (1973), appeared, recording his marriage to Lady Caroline Blackwood. He divided his time between her home in England and periods of teaching writing and literature at Harvard—a familiar pattern for him in which the old tensions between New England and "elsewhere" were being constantly explored and renewed. His last book, Day by Day (1977), records those stresses as well as new marital difficulties. It also contains some of his most powerful poems about his childhood. For those who cherish the work of the early Lowell, with its manic, rhythmic energy and its enjambed lines building to fierce power or those who admire the passionate engagement of Life Studies or For the Union Dead, the poems of his last four books can be disappointing. At times flat and dispirited, they can seem worked up rather than fully imagined. Yet in poems like the two titled "No Hearing," the later Lowell demonstrates his substantial gifts in a quieter mode. The excitement in these poems lies in the way his language quickens with changing feelings and reveals the heart surprised by an ordinary moment or event. Lowell's career included an interest in the theater, for which he wrote a version of Prometheus Bound, a translation of Racine's Phaedra, and adaptations of Melville and Hawthorne stories gathered as The Old Glory. He also translated from modern European poetry and the classics, often freely as "imitations," which brought important poetic voices into English currency. His Selected Poems (his own choices) appeared in 1976. When he died suddenly at the age of sixty, he was the dominant and most honored poet of his generation—not only for his ten volumes of verse but for his broad activity as a man of letters. He took the role of poet as public figure, sometimes

THE

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at great personal cost. He was with the group of writers who led Vietnam War protesters against the Pentagon in 1 9 6 7 , where Norman Mailer, a fellow protester, observed that "Lowell gave off at times the unwilling haunted saintliness of a man who was repaying the moral debts of ten generations of ancestors."

The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket [For

Warren

Winslow,

1

Dead

at

Sea]

Let man have dominion over the fishes of the sea and the fowls of the air and the beasts of the whole earth, and every creeping creature that moveth upon the earth. 2

I A brackish r e a c h of shoal off M a d a k e t ' — T h e s e a w a s still b r e a k i n g violently a n d night H a d s t e a m e d into our N o r t h Atlantic Fleet, W h e n the d r o w n e d sailor c l u t c h e d the drag-net. Light F l a s h e d from his m a t t e d h e a d a n d m a r b l e feet, H e g r a p p l e d at the net With the coiled, hurdling m u s c l e s of his thighs: T h e c o r p s e was b l o o d l e s s , a b o t c h of reds a n d whites, Its o p e n , staring eyes W e r e lustreless d e a d - l i g h t s 4 O r cabin-windows on a s t r a n d e d hulk Heavy with s a n d . W e weight the body, c l o s e Its eyes a n d heave it s e a w a r d w h e n c e it c a m e , W h e r e the h e e l - h e a d e d dogfish barks its n o s e O n A h a b V void a n d f o r e h e a d ; a n d the n a m e Is blocked in yellow chalk. S a i l o r s , who pitch this portent at the s e a W h e r e d r e a d n a u g h t s shall c o n f e s s Its hell-bent deity, W h e n you are powerless T o s a n d - b a g this Atlantic bulwark, f a c e d By the earth-shaker, g r e e n , u n w e a r i e d , c h a s t e In his steel s c a l e s : a s k for no O r p h e a n lute T o p l u c k life b a c k . 6 T h e g u n s of the steeled fleet Recoil a n d then repeat The hoarse salute.

1. A cousin of Lowell's who died in the sinking of a naval vessel during World War 11. 2. From Genesis 1 . 2 6 , the account of the creation of humankind. 3. On Nantucket Island. 4. Shutters over portholes to keep out water in a storm. T h e images in lines 4 - 1 1 come from "The Shipwreck," the opening chapter of Cape Cod by Henry David Thoreau ( 1 8 1 7 - 1 8 6 2 ) .

5

io

is

2»

5. Protagonist of Herman Melville's Mob)-Dick who drowns as a result of his obsessive hunt for the white whale. Melville uses Ahab's domineering forehead as an emblem of his monomaniac passion. 6. In Greek mythology, Orpheus through his music tried to win the freedom of his bride Eurydice from the Underworld. "Earth-shaker": an epithet for Poseidon, the Greek god of the oceans.

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II W h e n e v e r winds are moving a n d their b r e a t h H e a v e s at the roped-in bulwarks of this pier, T h e terns a n d sea-gulls t r e m b l e at your d e a t h In t h e s e h o m e waters. Sailor, c a n you h e a r T h e P e q u o d ' s 7 s e a wings, b e a t i n g l a n d w a r d , fall H e a d l o n g a n d b r e a k on our Atlantic wall Off ' S c o n s e t , w h e r e the yawing S - b o a t s " s p l a s h T h e bellbuoy, with b a l l o o n i n g s p i n n a k e r s , As the e n t a n g l e d , s c r e e c h i n g m a i n s h e e t c l e a r s T h e blocks: off M a d a k e t , w h e r e l u b b e r s 9 l a s h T h e heavy surf a n d throw their long lead s q u i d s F o r blue-fish? S e a - g u l l s blink their heavy lids S e a w a r d . T h e w i n d s ' wings b e a t u p o n the s t o n e s , C o u s i n , a n d s c r e a m for you a n d the claws rush At the sea's throat a n d wring it in the s l u s h O f this old Quaker graveyard w h e r e the b o n e s C r y out in the long night for the hurt b e a s t B o b b i n g by A h a b ' s w h a l e b o a t s in the E a s t .

30

35

40

in

All you recovered from P o s e i d o n died W i t h you, my c o u s i n , a n d the harrowed brine Is fruitless on the b l u e b e a r d of the g o d , S t r e t c h i n g beyond u s to the c a s t l e s in S p a i n , N a n t u c k e t ' s westward haven. T o C a p e C o d G u n s , c r a d l e d on the tide, B l a s t the e e l g r a s s a b o u t a w a t e r c l o c k O f bilge a n d b a c k w a s h , roil the salt a n d s a n d L a s h i n g earth's scaffold, rock O u r w a r s h i p s in the h a n d O f the great G o d , w h e r e time's contrition b l u e s W h a t e v e r it w a s t h e s e Quaker 1 sailors lost In the m a d s c r a m b l e of their lives. T h e y died W h e n time w a s o p e n - e y e d , W o o d e n a n d c h i l d i s h ; only b o n e s a b i d e T h e r e , in the n o w h e r e , w h e r e their b o a t s were t o s s e d Sky-high, w h e r e m a r i n e r s h a d fabled n e w s O f I S , 2 the whited m o n s t e r . W h a t it c o s t T h e m is their secret. In the s p e r m - w h a l e ' s slick I s e e the Quakers drown a n d h e a r their cry: "If G o d h i m s e l f h a d not b e e n o n our s i d e , If G o d h i m s e l f h a d not b e e n on our s i d e , W h e n the Atlantic rose a g a i n s t u s , why, T h e n it h a d swallowed us u p q u i c k . " 7. Ahab's ship, destroyed by Moby-Dick. 8. Type of large racing sailboats. "Yawing": steering wildly in heavy seas. 9. Sailor's term for an awkward crew member. 1. T h e whaling population of Nantucket included

45

50

55

60

65

many Quakers. 2. T h e white whale is here imagined as a force like the God of Exodus 3.14, who, when asked his name by M o s e s , replies, "l AM THAT I A M . " Also an abbreviation of J e s u s Salvator.

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IV

T h i s is the e n d of the w h a l e r o a d ' a n d the w h a l e W h o s p e w e d N a n t u c k e t b o n e s on the t h r a s h e d swell A n d stirred the troubled w a t e r s to whirlpools T o s e n d the P e q u o d p a c k i n g off to hell: T h i s is the e n d of t h e m , three-quarters fools, S n a t c h i n g at straws to sail S e a w a r d a n d s e a w a r d on the turntail w h a l e , S p o u t i n g out blood a n d water a s it rolls, S i c k as a d o g to t h e s e Atlantic s h o a l s : Clamavimus, O d e p t h s . L e t the sea-gulls wail

70

75

4

F o r water, for the d e e p where the high tide M u t t e r s to its hurt self, m u t t e r s a n d e b b s . W a v e s wallow in their w a s h , go o u t a n d out, L e a v e only the death-rattle of the c r a b s , T h e b e a c h i n c r e a s i n g , its e n o r m o u s s n o u t S u c k i n g the o c e a n ' s s i d e . T h i s is the e n d of r u n n i n g on the w a v e s ; W e a r e p o u r e d o u t like water. W h o will d a n c e T h e m a s t - l a s h e d m a s t e r of L e v i a t h a n s U p from this field of Quakers in their u n s t o n e d graves? V

W h e n the whale's viscera go a n d the roll O f its corruption overruns this world B e y o n d tree-swept N a n t u c k e t a n d W o o d s H o l e 5 A n d M a r t h a ' s Vineyard, Sailor, will your sword Whistle a n d fall a n d sink into the fat? In the great ash-pit of J e h o s h a p h a t 6 T h e b o n e s cry for the blood of the white w h a l e , T h e fat flukes arch a n d w h a c k a b o u t its e a r s , T h e d e a t h - l a n c e c h u r n s into the s a n c t u a r y , t e a r s T h e g u n - b l u e s w i n g l e , 7 heaving like a flail, A n d h a c k s the coiling life out: it works a n d d r a g s A n d rips the s p e r m - w h a l e ' s midriff into r a g s , G o b b e t s of b l u b b e r spill to wind a n d weather, Sailor, a n d gulls go r o u n d the stoven t i m b e r s W h e r e the m o r n i n g stars sing o u t together And t h u n d e r s h a k e s the white surf a n d d i s m e m b e r s T h e red flag h a m m e r e d in the m a s t - h e a d . 8 H i d e , O u r steel, J o n a s M e s s i a s , in T h y s i d e . 9 3. An Anglo-Saxon epithet for the sea. 4. W e have called (Latin). Adapting the opening of Psalm 130: "Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord." 5. On the coast of Massachusetts near the island of Martha's Vineyard. 6. "The day of judgment. T h e world, according to some prophets, will end in fire" [Lowell's note]. In Joel 3, the Last Judgment takes place in the valley of Jehoshaphat.

90

95

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105

7. Knifelike wooden instrument for beating flax. 8. At the end of Moby-Dick, the arm of the American Indian Tashtego appears from the waves and nails Abab's flag to the sinking mast. 9. B e c a u s e he emerged alive from the belly of a whale, the prophet J o n a h is often linked with the messiah as a figure of salvation. Lowell imagines that a harpoon strikes J o n a h inside the whale as the Roman soldier's spear struck J e s u s on the cross.

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LOWELL VI.

O U R LADY O F W A L S I N G H A M '

T h e r e o n c e the p e n i t e n t s took off their s h o e s A n d then walked barefoot the r e m a i n i n g m i l e ; And the small t r e e s , a s t r e a m a n d h e d g e r o w s file Slowly a l o n g the m u n c h i n g E n g l i s h l a n e , Like cows to the old s h r i n e , until you lose T r a c k of your d r a g g i n g p a i n . T h e s t r e a m flows d o w n u n d e r the druid t r e e , S h i l o a h V whirlpools gurgle a n d m a k e glad T h e castle of G o d . Sailor, you were glad A n d whistled S i o n by that s t r e a m . B u t s e e : O u r Lady, too small for her c a n o p y , Sits near the altar. T h e r e ' s n o c o m e l i n e s s At all or c h a r m in that e x p r e s s i o n l e s s F a c e with its heavy eyelids. As before, T h i s f a c e , for c e n t u r i e s a m e m o r y , Non

est species,

neque

no

iis

120

decor,*

E x p r e s s i o n l e s s , e x p r e s s e s G o d : it g o e s P a s t c a s t l e d S i o n . S h e knows what G o d k n o w s , N o t Calvary's C r o s s nor crib at B e t h l e h e m N o w , a n d the world shall c o m e to W a l s i n g h a m .

12s

VII

T h e e m p t y w i n d s a r e c r e a k i n g a n d the o a k S p l a t t e r s a n d splatters on the c e n o t a p h , T h e b o u g h s are t r e m b l i n g a n d a gaff B o b s on the untimely stroke O f the g r e a s e d wash exploding o n a shoal-bell In the old m o u t h of the Atlantic. It's well; Atlantic, you are fouled with the blue sailors, S e a - m o n s t e r s , u p w a r d a n g e l , d o w n w a r d fish: U n m a r r i e d a n d corroding, s p a r e of flesh M a r t o n c e of s u p e r c i l i o u s , wing'd c l i p p e r s , Atlantic, w h e r e your bell-trap g u t s its spoil You c o u l d c u t the brackish winds with a knife H e r e in N a n t u c k e t , a n d c a s t u p the time W h e n the L o r d G o d f o r m e d m a n from the sea's s l i m e And b r e a t h e d into his f a c e the b r e a t h of life, And blue-lung'd c o m b e r s l u m b e r e d to the kill. T h e L o r d survives the r a i n b o w 4 of His will.

no

135

140

1946

1. Lowell took these details from L. 1. Watkin's Catholic Art and Culture, which includes a description of the medieval shrine of the Virgin at Walsingham. 2. The stream that (lows past God's Temple on Mount Sion (Isaiah 8.6). In Isaiah 5 1 . 1 1 , the

redeemed come "singing into Zion." 3 . There is no ostentation or elegance (Latin). 4. Alluding to God's covenant with Noah after the Flood. T h e rainbow symbolized the fact that humanity would never again be destroved bv Hood (Genesis'9. I I ) .

MR.

EDWARDS

AND T H E S P I D E R

/

2691

Mr. Edwards and the Spider 1 I s a w the spiders m a r c h i n g through the air, S w i m m i n g from tree to tree that mildewed day In latter A u g u s t when the hay C a m e creaking to the barn. B u t w h e r e T h e wind is westerly, W h e r e gnarled N o v e m b e r m a k e s the spiders fly Into the apparitions of the sky, T h e y p u r p o s e nothing but their e a s e a n d die Urgently b e a t i n g e a s t to s u n r i s e a n d the s e a ; W h a t are we in the h a n d s of the great G o d ? It w a s in vain you set up thorn a n d briar In battle array a g a i n s t the fire A n d treason crackling in your b l o o d ; F o r the wild thorns grow t a m e And will do nothing to o p p o s e the f l a m e ; Your l a c e r a t i o n s tell the losing g a m e You play a g a i n s t a s i c k n e s s p a s t your c u r e . H o w will the h a n d s be strong? H o w will the heart e n d u r e ? 2

5

to

is

A very little thing, a little w o r m , O r h o u r g l a s s - b l a z o n e d spider,* it is said, C a n kill a tiger. Will the d e a d H o l d u p his mirror and affirm T o the four winds the smell And flash of his authority? It's well If G o d w h o holds you to the pit of hell, M u c h as o n e holds a spider, will destroy, Baffle a n d d i s s i p a t e your soul. As a small boy O n W i n d s o r M a r s h , 4 I saw the spider die W h e n thrown into the bowels of fierce fire: T h e r e ' s no long struggle, no desire T o get u p on its feet a n d fly— It stretches out its feet And dies. T h i s is the sinner's last retreat; Yes, a n d no strength exerted on the heat T h e n sinews the a b o l i s h e d will, w h e n sick And full of burning, it will whistle on a brick.

1. Jonathan Edwards ( 1 7 0 3 - 1 7 5 8 ) , Puritan preacher and theologian. Lowell quotes his writings throughout. The details of the first stanza come from his youthful essay "Of Insects" ("The Habits of Spiders"). 2. This stanza draws on Edwards's sermon "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry G o d , " whose point of departure is Ezekiel 22.14: " C a n thine heart

30

endure or can thine hands be strong in the days that I shall deal with thee" (cf. line 18). 3. T h e poisonous black widow spider has, on the underside of its abdomen, a red marking that resembles an hourglass. 4. East Windsor, Connecticut, Edwards's childhood home.

2692

/

ROBERT

LOWELL

B u t w h o c a n p l u m b the sinking of that s o u l ? J o s i a h H a w l e y , 5 picture yourself c a s t Into a brick-kiln w h e r e the blast F a n s your q u i c k vitals to a c o a l — If m e a s u r e d by a g l a s s , H o w long w o u l d it s e e m b u r n i n g ! Let there p a s s A m i n u t e , ten, ten trillion; but the blaze Is infinite, eternal: this is d e a t h , T o die a n d k n o w it. T h i s is the B l a c k W i d o w , d e a t h .

40

45 1946

Memories of West Street and Lepke 1 Only t e a c h i n g o n T u e s d a y s , b o o k - w o r m i n g in p a j a m a s fresh from the w a s h e r e a c h m o r n i n g , I h o g a w h o l e h o u s e on B o s t o n ' s "hardly p a s s i o n a t e M a r l b o r o u g h S t r e e t , " 2 w h e r e even the m a n s c a v e n g i n g filth in the b a c k alley trash c a n s , h a s two children, a b e a c h w a g o n , a h e l p m a t e , a n d is a " y o u n g R e p u b l i c a n . " I have a nine m o n t h s ' d a u g h t e r , y o u n g e n o u g h to be my g r a n d d a u g h t e r . L i k e the s u n s h e rises in her flame-flamingo i n f a n t s ' wear. Fifties, T h e s e a r e the tranquillized a n d I a m forty. O u g h t I to regret my s e e d t i m e ? I w a s a fire-breathing C a t h o l i c C O . , 3 a n d m a d e my m a n i c s t a t e m e n t , telling off the state a n d p r e s i d e n t , a n d then sat waiting s e n t e n c e in the bull p e n b e s i d e a N e g r o boy with c u r l i c u e s of m a r i j u a n a in his hair. Given a year. I walked on the roof of the W e s t S t r e e t J a i l , a short e n c l o s u r e like my school s o c c e r c o u r t , a n d s a w the H u d s o n River o n c e a day t h r o u g h sooty c l o t h e s l i n e e n t a n g l e m e n t s a n d b l e a c h i n g khaki t e n e m e n t s . Strolling, I y a m m e r e d m e t a p h y s i c s with A b r a m o w i t z , a j a u n d i c e - y e l l o w ("it's really t a n " ) a n d fly-weight pacifist, 5. Edwards's uncle, J o s e p h Hawley. 1. In 1943 Lowell was sentenced to a year in New York's West Street jail for his refusal to serve in the armed forces. Among the prisoners was Lepke Buchalter, head of Murder Incorporated, an organized crime syndicate, who had been convicted of

5

10

15

20

25

murder. 2. William J a m e s ' s phrase for a street in the elegant Back Bay section of Boston, where Lowell lived in the 1950s. 3. Conscientious objector (to war).

SKUNK HOUR

so vegetarian, he wore rope s h o e s a n d preferred fallen fruit. H e tried to convert Bioff a n d B r o w n , the Hollywood p i m p s , to his diet. Hairy, m u s c u l a r , s u b u r b a n , wearing chocolate double-breasted suits, they blew their tops a n d b e a t him b l a c k a n d b l u e . I w a s so out of things, I'd never h e a r d of the J e h o v a h ' s W i t n e s s e s . 4 "Are you a C O . ? " I a s k e d a fellow jailbird. " N o , " h e a n s w e r e d , "I'm a J . W . " H e t a u g h t m e the "hospital t u c k , " 5 a n d p o i n t e d o u t the T-shirted b a c k of Murder Incorporated's Czar Lepke, there piling towels o n a rack, or dawdling off to his little s e g r e g a t e d cell full of things forbidden the c o m m o n m a n : a p o r t a b l e radio, a dresser, two toy A m e r i c a n flags tied together with a ribbon of E a s t e r p a l m . Flabby, b a l d , l o b o t o m i z e d , h e drifted in a s h e e p i s h c a l m , w h e r e n o agonizing reappraisal j a r r e d his c o n c e n t r a t i o n on the electric c h a i r — h a n g i n g like an oasis in his air of lost c o n n e c t i o n s . . . .

/

2693

30

35

40

45

so

1959

Skunk Hour for Elizabeth Bishop

N a u t i l u s Island's 1 hermit heiress still lives t h r o u g h winter in her S p a r t a n c o t t a g e ; her s h e e p still graze a b o v e the s e a . H e r son's a b i s h o p . H e r farmer is first s e l e c t m a n in our village; she's in her d o t a g e . T h i r s t i n g for the hierarchic privacy of Queen Victoria's century, s h e buys u p all the eyesores facing her s h o r e , a n d lets t h e m fall. 4. A Christian revivalist sect strongly opposed to war and denying the power of the state in matters of conscience. 5. T h e authorized, efficient way of making beds in

5

10

a hospital. 1. The poem is set in Castine, Maine, where Low ell had a summer house.

2694

/

ROBERT

LOWELL

T h e s e a s o n ' s ill— we've lost our s u m m e r millionaire, who s e e m e d to leap from an L. L. B e a n c a t a l o g u e . 2 H i s nine-knot yawl was a u c t i o n e d off to l o b s t e r m e n . A red fox stain covers B l u e Hill.

• •

A n d now our fairy d e c o r a t o r brightens his s h o p for fall; his fishnet's filled with o r a n g e cork, o r a n g e , his cobbler's b e n c h a n d awl; there is no m o n e y in his work, he'd rather marry. O n e dark night, my T u d o r F o r d c l i m b e d the hill's skull; I w a t c h e d for love-cars. L i g h t s turned d o w n , they lay together, hull to hull, w h e r e the graveyard shelves on the town. . . M y m i n d ' s not right.

! 30

A c a r radio b l e a t s , "Love, O careless Love. . . . " I hear my ill-spirit sob in e a c h blood cell, as if my h a n d were at its throat. . . . I myself a m hell; 3 nobody's h e r e —

35

only s k u n k s , that s e a r c h in the m o o n l i g h t for a bite to eat. T h e y m a r c h on their s o l e s u p M a i n S t r e e t : white stripes, m o o n s t r u c k eyes' red fire u n d e r the chalk-dry a n d s p a r spire of the Trinitarian C h u r c h . I s t a n d on top of our b a c k s t e p s a n d b r e a t h e the rich a i r — a m o t h e r s k u n k with her c o l u m n of kittens swills the g a r b a g e pail. S h e j a b s her w e d g e - h e a d in a c u p of s o u r c r e a m , d r o p s her ostrich tail, a n d will not s c a r e . 1959

2. A mail-order house in Maine, which deals primarily with sporting and camping goods.

3. "Which way I fly is Hell, myself am Hell" (Satan in Milton's Paradise Lost 4 . 7 5 ) .

FOR THE UNION

DEAD

/

2695

For the Union Dead 1 "Relinquunt Omnia Servare Rem Publicam."2 The in a The The

old S o u t h B o s t o n A q u a r i u m s t a n d s S a h a r a of s n o w now. Its broken windows a r e b o a r d e d . bronze w e a t h e r v a n e c o d has lost half its s c a l e s . airy tanks are dry.

O n c e my n o s e crawled like a snail on the g l a s s ; my h a n d tingled to burst the b u b b l e s drifting from the n o s e s of the c o w e d , c o m p l i a n t

s

fish.

M y h a n d d r a w s b a c k . I often sigh still for the dark d o w n w a r d a n d vegetating k i n g d o m of the fish a n d reptile. O n e m o r n i n g last M a r c h , I p r e s s e d a g a i n s t the new b a r b e d a n d galvanized f e n c e on the B o s t o n C o m m o n . B e h i n d their c a g e , yellow d i n o s a u r s t e a m s h o v e l s were g r u n t i n g a s they c r o p p e d u p tons of m u s h a n d g r a s s to g o u g e their underworld g a r a g e . Parking s p a c e s luxuriate like civic s a n d p i l e s in the heart of B o s t o n . A girdle of o r a n g e , P u r i t a n - p u m p k i n colored girders b r a c e s the tingling S t a t e h o u s e ,

10

15

20

s h a k i n g over the e x c a v a t i o n s , a s it f a c e s C o l o n e l S h a w a n d his bell-cheeked N e g r o infantry on S t . G a u d e n s ' s h a k i n g Civil W a r relief, p r o p p e d by a plank splint a g a i n s t the g a r a g e ' s e a r t h q u a k e . T w o m o n t h s after m a r c h i n g t h r o u g h B o s t o n , half the r e g i m e n t w a s d e a d ; at the d e d i c a t i o n

25

William J a m e s ' c o u l d a l m o s t h e a r the bronze N e g r o e s b r e a t h e . Their m o n u m e n t sticks like a in the city's throat. Its C o l o n e l is a s lean as a compass-needle.

1. First published under the title Colonel Shaw and the Massachusetts' 54th in a paperback edition of Life Studies ( 1 9 6 0 ) . With a change of title, it became the title poem of For the Union Dead (1964). 2. Robert Gould Shaw ( 1 8 3 7 - 1 8 6 3 ) led the first all African American regiment in the North during the Civil War. He was killed in the attack against Fort Wagner, South Carolina. A bronze relief by the sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens ( 1 8 4 8 1897), dedicated in 1897, standing opposite the

fishbone 30

Massachusetts State H o u s e on Boston C o m m o n , commemorates the deaths. A Latin inscription on the monument reads Omnia Reliquil Servare Rem Publicam ("He leaves all behind to serve the Republic"). Lowell's epigraph alters the inscription slightly, changing the third-person singular (he) to the third-person plural: "They give up everything to serve the Republic." 3. Philosopher and psychologist ( 1 8 4 2 - 1 9 1 0 ) who taught at Harvard.

2696

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ROBERT LOWELL

H e has an angry wrenlike vigilance, a greyhound's gentle t a u t n e s s ; he s e e m s to w i n c e at p l e a s u r e , a n d s u f f o c a t e for privacy. H e is out of b o u n d s now. H e rejoices in m a n ' s lovely, p e c u l i a r power to c h o o s e life a n d d i e — w h e n he leads his b l a c k soldiers to d e a t h , he c a n n o t b e n d his b a c k . O n a t h o u s a n d small town N e w E n g l a n d g r e e n s , the old white c h u r c h e s hold their air of s p a r s e , s i n c e r e rebellion; frayed flags quilt the graveyards of the G r a n d Army of the R e p u b l i c . T h e s t o n e s t a t u e s of the a b s t r a c t U n i o n S o l d i e r grow s l i m m e r a n d y o u n g e r e a c h y e a r — w a s p - w a i s t e d , they doze over m u s k e t s a n d m u s e t h r o u g h their s i d e b u r n s . . . S h a w ' s father w a n t e d no m o n u m e n t except the d i t c h , w h e r e his son's body w a s t h r o w n 4 a n d lost with his " n i g g e r s . " T h e ditch is nearer. T h e r e are n o s t a t u e s for the last war*5 h e r e ; on Boylston S t r e e t , 6 a c o m m e r c i a l p h o t o g r a p h s h o w s H i r o s h i m a boiling over a M o s l e r S a f e , the " R o c k of A g e s " that survived the blast. S p a c e is nearer. W h e n I c r o u c h to my television set, the drained f a c e s of N e g r o school-children rise like b a l l o o n s . 7 Colonel Shaw is riding on his b u b b l e , h e waits for the b l e s s e d break. T h e A q u a r i u m is g o n e . Everywhere, giant finned cars n o s e forward like fish; a s a v a g e servility slides by on g r e a s e . 1960,1964

4. By the Confederate soldiers at Fort Wagner. 5. World War II. 6. In Boston, where the poem is set.

7. Probably news photographs connected with contemporary civil rights demoostrations to secure desegregation of schools in the South.

2697

GWENDOLYN

BROOKS

1917-2000 "If there was ever a born poet," Alice Walker once said in an interview, "I think it is Brooks." A passionate sense of language and an often daring use of formal structures are hallmarks of Gwendolyn Brooks's poetry. She used these gifts in a career characterized by dramatic evolution, a career that linked two very different generations of African American poets. "Until 1967," Brooks said, "my own Blackness did not confront me with a shrill spelling of itself." She then grouped herself with militant black writers and defined her work as belonging primarily to the African American community. In her earlier work, however, Brooks followed the example of the older writers of the Harlem Renaissance, Langston Hughes and Countee Cullen among them, who honored the ideal of an integrated society. In that period her work received support largely from white audiences. But Brooks's changing sense of her commitments should not obscure her persistent, underlying concerns. She was never a poet without political awareness, and in remarkably versatile poems, both early and late, she wrote about black experience and black rage, with a particular awareness of the complex lives of black women. Brooks was born in Topeka, Kansas; she grew up in Chicago and is closely identified with the energies and problems of its black community. She went to Chicago's Englewood High School and graduated from Wilson Junior College. Brooks remembered writing poetry from the time she was seven and keeping poetry notebooks from the time she was eleven. She got her education in the moderns—Pound and Eliot—under the guidance of a rich Chicago socialite, Inez Cunningham Stark, who was a reader for Poetry magazine and taught a poetry class at the Southside Community Art Center. Her first book, A Street in Bronzeville (1945), took its title from the name journalists gave to the Chicago black ghetto. Her poems portrayed the waste and loss that are the inevitable result of what Langston Hughes called the blacks' "dream deferred." With her second book of poems, Annie Allen (1949), Brooks became the first African American to receive the Pulitzer Prize for poetry. In Annie

Allen

and in her Bronzeville poems (Bronzeville

Boys and Girls,

1956,

continued the work begun in A Street in Bronzeville), Brooks concentrated on portraits of what Hughes called "the ordinary aspects of black life." In character sketches she stressed the vitality and the often subversive morality of ghetto figures; good girls who want to be bad, the boredom of the children of hardworking pious mothers, the laments of black mothers and women abandoned by their men. Brooks's diction was a combination of the florid biblical speech of black Protestant preachers, street talk, and the main speech patterns of English and American verse. She wrote vigorous, strongly accented, and strongly rhymed lines with a great deal of alliteration. She also cultivated traditional lyric forms; for example, she was one of the few modern poets to write extensively in the sonnet form. A great change in Brooks £ life came with the Second Black Writers' Conference at Fisk University in 1967, in whose charged activist atmosphere she encountered many of the new young black poets. After this, Brooks became interested in writing poetry exclusively for black audiences. She drew closer to militant political groups as a result of conducting poetry workshops for some members of the Blackstone Rangers, a teenage gang in Chicago. In autobiographical writings such as her prose Report from Part One, Brooks became more self-conscious about her own potential role as a leader of black feminists. She left her New York publisher to have her work printed by African American publishers, especially the Broadside Press. Brooks's poetry, too, changed, in both its focus and its technique. Her subjects tend to be more explicitly political and to deal with questions of revolutionary violence and issues of African American identity. In style, too, her work evolved out of the concentrated imagery and narratives of her earlier writing, with its often formal diction, and moved toward an increased use

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GWENDOLYN

BROOKS

of the energetic, improvisatory rhythms of jazz, the combinations of African chants, and an emphatically spoken language. The result is a poetry constantly revising itself and the world, open to change but evocative of history. "How does one convey the influence Gwendolyn Brooks has had on generations—not only writers but people from all walks of life?" Rita Dove has remarked, remembering how, as a young woman, she was "struck by these poems, poems . . . that weren't afraid to take language and swamp it, twist it and engage it so that it shimmered and dashed and lingered."

FROM A STREET IN BRONZEVILLE

•

to David and Keziah Brooks •

kitchenette building

•

W e are things of dry h o u r s a n d the involuntary p l a n , G r a y e d in, a n d gray. " D r e a m " m a k e s a giddy s o u n d , not s t r o n g Like " r e n t , " " f e e d i n g a wife," "satisfying a m a n . " B u t c o u l d a d r e a m s e n d up t h r o u g h onion f u m e s Its white a n d violet, fight with fried p o t a t o e s A n d yesterday's g a r b a g e ripening in the hall, Flutter, or sing an aria d o w n t h e s e r o o m s

•

E v e n if we were willing to let it in, H a d time to w a r m it, k e e p it very c l e a n , A n t i c i p a t e a m e s s a g e , let it b e g i n ?

•

W e w o n d e r . B u t not well! not for a m i n u t e ! S i n c e N u m b e r Five is out of the b a t h r o o m now, W e think of lukewarm water, h o p e to get in it.

1945

the mother

i

.

Abortions will not let you forget. You r e m e m b e r the children you got that you did not get, T h e d a m p small p u l p s with a little or with n o hair, T h e singers a n d workers that never h a n d l e d the air. You will never neglect or b e a t T h e m , or silence or b u y with a sweet. You will never wind u p the s u c k i n g - t h u m b Or s c u t t l e off g h o s t s that c o m e . You will never leave t h e m , controlling your l u s c i o u s sigh, R e t u r n for a s n a c k of t h e m , with g o b b l i n g m o t h e r - e y e .

10

T H E WHITE TROOPS HAD THEIR

ORDERS

/

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my d i m killed children. I have c o n t r a c t e d . I have e a s e d My dim d e a r s at the b r e a s t s they c o u l d never s u c k . I have said, S w e e t s , if I s i n n e d , if I seized Your luck And your lives from your unfinished r e a c h , If I stole your births a n d your n a m e s , Your straight baby tears a n d your g a m e s , Your stilted or lovely loves, your t u m u l t s , your m a r r i a g e s , a c h e s , a n d your d e a t h s , If I p o i s o n e d the b e g i n n i n g s of your b r e a t h s , Believe that even in my d e l i b e r a t e n e s s I w a s not d e l i b e r a t e . T h o u g h why s h o u l d I w h i n e , W h i n e that the c r i m e w a s other than m i n e ? — S i n c e anyhow you are d e a d . O r rather, or i n s t e a d , You were never m a d e .

2699

15

20

2?

B u t that too, I a m afraid, Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said? You were b o r n , you h a d body, you died. It is j u s t that you never giggled or p l a n n e d or cried.

30

Believe m e , I loved you all. Believe m e , I knew you, t h o u g h faintly, a n d I loved, I loved you All. 1945

The White Troops Had Their Orders But the Negroes Looked Like Men T h e y h a d s u p p o s e d their formula w a s fixed. T h e y h a d obeyed instructions to devise A type of cold, a type of h o o d e d g a z e . B u t w h e n the N e g r o e s c a m e they were perplexed. T h e s e N e g r o e s looked like m e n . B e s i d e s , it taxed T i m e a n d the t e m p e r to r e m e m b e r t h o s e C o n g e n i t a l iniquities that c a u s e Disfavor of the d a r k n e s s . S u c h a s b o x e d T h e i r feelings properly, c o m p l e t e to t a g s — A box for dark m e n a n d a box for O t h e r — W o u l d often find the c o n t e n t s h a d b e e n s c r a m b l e d . O r even s w i t c h e d . W h o really gave two figs? N e i t h e r the earth nor heaven ever t r e m b l e d . A n d there w a s nothing startling in the weather.

5

10

2700

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GWENDOLYN

BROOKS

The Bean Eaters T h e y eat b e a n s mostly, this old yellow pair. D i n n e r is a c a s u a l affair. Plain c h i p w a r e on a plain a n d creaking w o o d , Tin flatware. Two who are Mostly Good. T w o w h o have lived their day, B u t keep on p u t t i n g on their clothes A n d p u t t i n g things away.

•

And remembering . . . R e m e m b e r i n g , with twinklings a n d twinges, io As they lean over t h e b e a n s in their rented b a c k r o o m that is full of b e a d s a n d receipts a n d dolls a n d c l o t h s , t o b a c c o c r u m b s , v a s e s a n d fringes. 1960

The Last Quatrain of the Ballad of Emmett Till 1 after t h e m u r d e r , after t h e burial E m m e t t ' s m o t h e r is a pretty-faced thing; the tint of pulled taffy. S h e sits in a red r o o m , drinking black c o f f e e . S h e kisses her killed boy. A n d s h e is sorry. C h a o s in windy grays t h r o u g h a red prairie.

10 1960

T o the Diaspora 1 you

did

not

know

you

were

Afrika

W h e n you set o u t for Afrika you did not know you were going. Because you did not know you were Afrika. You did not know the B l a c k c o n t i n e n t 1. A fourteen-year-old African American boy lynched in Mississippi in 1955 for allegedly "leering" at a white woman.

1. People settled far from their ancestral homelands,

T H E COORA FLOWER

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2701

that h a d to be r e a c h e d was you. I c o u l d not have told you then that s o m e s u n would c o m e , s o m e w h e r e over the road, would c o m e evoking the d i a m o n d s of you, the B l a c k c o n t i n e n t — s o m e w h e r e over the road. You would not have believed my m o u t h .

10

W h e n I told you, m e e t i n g you s o m e w h e r e c l o s e to the heat a n d youth of the road, liking my loyalty, liking belief,

is

you smiled a n d you t h a n k e d m e but very little believed m e . H e r e is s o m e s u n . S o m e . N o w off into the p l a c e s rough to r e a c h . T h o u g h dry, t h o u g h drowsy, all unwillingly a-wobble, into the d i s s o n a n t a n d d a n g e r o u s c r e s c e n d o . Your work, that w a s d o n e , to be d o n e to be d o n e to b e d o n e .

20

1981

The Coora Flower T o d a y I learned the coora flower grows high in the m o u n t a i n s of Itty-go-luba B e s a . Province M e e c h e e . Pop. 39. Now I am coming home. T h i s , at least, is R e a l , a n d what I know. It was restful, learning n o t h i n g n e c e s s a r y . S c h o o l is tiny vacation. At least you can s l e e p . At least you c a n think of love or feeling your boy friend a g a i n s t you (which is not free from grief). B u t now it's Real R u s i n e s s . I am Coming Home. M y m o t h e r will be s c r e a m i n g in a n a l m o s t dirty d r e s s . T h e c r a c k is g o n e . S o a M a n will be in the h o u s e . I m u s t watch myself. I m u s t not dare to s l e e p .

15 1991

2702

/

RICHARD

WILBUR

We Real Cool THE

POOL PLAYERS.

S E V E N AT T H E G O L D E N SHOVEL.

W e real c o o l . W e Left s c h o o l . W e L u r k late. W e Strike straight. W e S i n g sin. W e T h i n gin. W e Jazz June. We Die soon. 1960

RICHARD b.

WILBUR

1921

Richard Wilbur was born in New York City and grew up in the country in New Jersey. His father was a painter, and his mother came from a family prominent in journalism. He was educated at Amherst College, where Robert Frost was a frequent guest and teacher, and Wilbur's remarkable gifts as a prosodist often remind us of the older poet. Of the effects of his college years, Wilbur says: "Most American poets of my generation were taught to admire the English metaphysical poets of the seventeenth century and such contemporary masters of irony as John Crowe Ransom. We were led by our teachers and by the critics whom we read to feel that the most adequate and convincing poetry is that which accommodates mixed feelings, clashing ideas, and incongruous images." Wilbur was to remain true to this preference for the ironic meditative lyric, the single perfect poem, rather than longer narratives or dramatic sequences. After graduation and service in the infantry in Italy and France (1943—45), Wilbur returned to study for an M.A. at Harvard, with a firm notion of what he expected to get out of poetry. "My first poems were written in answer to the inner and outer disorders of the second World War and they helped me . . . to take ahold of raw events and convert them, provisionally, into experience." He reasserted the balance of mind against instinct and violence: "The praiseful, graceful soldier/Shouldn't be fired by his gun." The poised lyrics in The Beautiful Changes (1947), including the lovely title poem of that volume, and Ceremony (1950) also reclaimed the value of pleasure, defined as an interplay of intelligence with sensuous enjoyment. Whether looking at a real French landscape, as in "Grasse: The Olive Trees," or a French landscape painting, as in "Ceremony," the point was to show the witty shaping power of the mind in nature. Wilbur prefers strict stanzaic forms and meters; "limitation makes for power: the strength of the genie comes of his being confined in a bottle." In individual lines and

THE

DEATH OF A TOAD

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2703

the structure of an entire poem, his emphasis is on a civilized balancing of perceptions. "A World without Objects Is a Sensible Emptiness" begins with the "tall camels of the spirit" but qualifies our views of lonely spiritual impulses. The poem summons us back to find visionary truth grasped through sensual experience. "All shining things need to be shaped and borne." Wilbur favors what he has called "a spirituality which is not abstracted, not dissociated and world-renouncing," as is clear from "Love Calls Us to the Things of This World" (Things of This World, 1956), a hymn of praise to clothes hanging on a laundry line ("Oh, let there be nothing on earth but laundry"). "A good part of my work could, I suppose, be understood as a public quarrel with the aesthetics of Edgar Allan Poe"—presumably with Poe's notion that poetry provided indefinite sensations and aspired to the abstract condition of music. Wilbur was among the first of the younger postwar poets to adopt a style of living and working different from the masters of an earlier generation—from Eliot, an ironic priestlike modernist who lived as a publisher-poet in England, or William Carlos Williams, a doctor in New Jersey, or Wallace Stevens, a remote insurance executive in Connecticut. Wilbur was a teacher-poet and gave frequent readings. Instead of thinking of himself as an alienated artist, he came to characterize himself as a "poetcitizen," part of what he judged a widening community of poets addressing themselves to an audience increasingly responsive to poetry. Wilbur's taste for civilized wit and his metrical skill made him an ideal translator of the seventeenth-century satirical comedies of Moliere, Tartuffe (1963) and The Misanthrope (1955). They are frequently played, as is the musical version of Voltaire's Candide for which Wilbur was one of the collaborating lyricists. Wilbur received the Pulitzer Prize for his volume Things of This World (1956) and served as the second Poet Laureate of the United States in 1987-88.

The Death of a Toad A toad the power mower c a u g h t , C h e w e d a n d c l i p p e d of a leg, with a h o b b l i n g h o p h a s got T o the g a r d e n verge, a n d s a n c t u a r i e d h i m U n d e r the cineraria leaves, in the s h a d e O f the a s h e n h e a r t s h a p e d leaves, in a d i m , L o w , a n d a final g l a d e . T h e rare original h e a r t s b l o o d g o e s , S p e n d s on the e a r t h e n h i d e , in the folds a n d wizenings, flows In the gutters of the b a n k e d a n d staring eyes. H e lies As still a s if h e would return to s t o n e , A n d s o u n d l e s s l y attending, dies Toward some deep monotone, T o w a r d m i s t e d a n d ebullient s e a s A n d c o o l i n g s h o r e s , toward lost A m p h i b i a ' s e m p e r i e s . 1 D a y dwindles, drowning, a n d at length is g o n e In the wide a n d a n t i q u e eyes, which still a p p e a r T o w a t c h , a c r o s s the c a s t r a t e lawn, T h e h a g g a r d daylight steer.

5

io

is

1950 1. Archaic for "empires." Amphibia is imagined to be the spiritual ruler of the toad's universe.

2704

/

RICHARD

WILBUR

Ceremony A striped b l o u s e in a clearing by Bazille 1 Is, you m a y say, a p a t r o n e s s of b o u g h s T o o q u e e n l y k i n d 2 toward n a t u r e to b e kin. B u t c e r e m o n y never did c o n c e a l , S a v e to the silly' eye, which all allows, H o w m u c h we are the w o o d s we w a n d e r in. L e t her b e s o m e S a b r i n a 4 fresh from s t r e a m , L u c e n t a s shallows slowed by w a d i n g s u n , B e d d e d on fern, the flowers' c y n o s u r e : 5 T h e n n y m p h a n d wood m u s t n o d a n d strive to d r e a m T h a t s h e is airy earth, the trees, u n d o n e , M u s t a p e her l a n g u o r natural a n d p u r e . H o - h u m . I a m for wit a n d w a k e f u l n e s s , A n d love this feigning lady by Bazille. W h a t ' s lightly hid is d e e p e s t u n d e r s t o o d , A n d w h e n with social smile a n d formal d r e s s S h e t e a c h e s leaves to curtsey a n d q u a d r i l l e , 6 I think there are m o s t tigers in the w o o d .

15

1950

The Beautiful Changes O n e w a d i n g a Fall m e a d o w finds on all s i d e s T h e Q u e e n A n n e ' s L a c e lying like lilies O n water; it glides S o from the walker, it turns Dry g r a s s to a lake, a s the slightest s h a d e of you Valleys my m i n d in f a b u l o u s b l u e L u c e r n e s . 1 T h e beautiful c h a n g e s a s a forest is c h a n g e d By a c h a m e l e o n ' s t u n i n g his skin to it; As a m a n t i s , a r r a n g e d O n a green leaf, grows Into it, m a k e s the leaf leafier, a n d proves Any g r e e n n e s s is d e e p e r than a n y o n e k n o w s . Your h a n d s hold r o s e s always in a way that says T h e y are not only y o u r s ; the beautiful c h a n g e s In s u c h kind w a y s , 1. Jean-Frederic Bazille ( 1 8 4 1 - 1 8 7 1 ) , French painter noted for painting figures in forest landscapes; he was associated with the impressionists. 2. An original meaning of nature was "kind." 3. Innocent, homely. 4. A nymph, the presiding deity of the river Severn in Milton's m a s q u e Comtts ( 1 6 3 4 ) .

15

5. Center of attraction; also from the constellation Ursa Minor, whose center is the Pole Star. 6. A square dance, of French origin, performed by four couples. 1. Lakes having the quality of Switzerland's Lake Lucerne, which is known for its beauty.

LOVE C A L L S

U S TO T H E T H I N G S OF T H I S W O R L D

/

2705

W i s h i n g ever to s u n d e r T h i n g s a n d things' selves for a s e c o n d finding, to l o s e F o r a m o m e n t all that it t o u c h e s b a c k to wonder. 1947

Love Calls Us to the Things of This World T h e eyes o p e n to a cry of pulleys, And spirited from s l e e p , the a s t o u n d e d soul H a n g s for a m o m e n t bodiless a n d s i m p l e As false d a w n . O u t s i d e the o p e n window T h e m o r n i n g air is all a w a s h with a n g e l s . S o m e are in b e d - s h e e t s , s o m e are in b l o u s e s , S o m e are in s m o c k s : but truly there they a r e . N o w they are rising together in c a l m swells O f h a l c y o n 1 feeling, filling whatever they wear With the d e e p joy of their i m p e r s o n a l b r e a t h i n g ; N o w they a r e flying in p l a c e , conveying T h e terrible s p e e d of their o m n i p r e s e n c e , moving A n d staying like white water; a n d now of a s u d d e n T h e y swoon d o w n into so rapt a quiet T h a t n o b o d y s e e m s to be t h e r e . T h e soul shrinks F r o m all that it is a b o u t to r e m e m b e r , F r o m the p u n c t u a l rape of every b l e s s e d day, And cries, " O h , let there be nothing on earth but laundry, N o t h i n g but rosy h a n d s in the rising s t e a m A n d clear d a n c e s d o n e in the sight of h e a v e n . " Yet, a s the s u n a c k n o w l e d g e s With a w a r m look the world's h u n k s a n d c o l o r s , T h e soul d e s c e n d s o n c e m o r e in bitter love T o a c c e p t the waking body, saying now In a c h a n g e d voice a s the m a n yawns a n d rises, " B r i n g t h e m d o w n from their ruddy g a l l o w s ; Let there be c l e a n linen for the b a c k s of thieves; Let lovers g o fresh a n d sweet to be u n d o n e , A n d the heaviest n u n s walk in a p u r e floating O f dark h a b i t s , k e e p i n g their difficult b a l a n c e . "

5

LO

15

20

25

30

1956 1. C a l m , peaceful. T h e word originated as the name of a mythological bird anciently fabled to breed about the time of the winter solstice in a nest

floating on the sea, and then to charm the wind and waves so that the sea became especially calm.

DENISE

LEVERTOV

1923-1997 •

Denise Levertov once wrote of her predecessor, the poet H. D.: "She showed a way to penetrate mystery; which means, not to flood darkness with light so that darkness is destroyed, but to enter into darkness, mystery, so that it is experienced." Along with Robert Duncan, Levertov carried out in her own distinctive way H. D.'s tradition of visionary poetry. More grounded than her predecessor in observing the natural world and in appreciating daily life, Levertov's own work connects the concrete to the invisible, as suggested by the image of The Jacob's Ladder (1961), the title of her fifth book. She desired that a poem be "hard as a floor, sound as a bench" but also that it be "mysterious" ("Illustrious Ancestors"), and in her poems ordinary events open into the unknown. The origins of Levertov's magical sense of the world are not difficult to trace. She was born in England and wrote of her parents: "My mother was descended from the Welsh Tailor and mystic Angel Jones of Mold, my father from the noted Hasid, Schneour Zaiman (d. 1831), the 'Rav of Northern White Russia.' " In "Illustrious Ancestors," Levertov claimed a connection to her forefathers, both mystical and Hasidic: "some line still taut between me and them." Hasidim, a sect of Judaism that emphasizes the soul's communion with God rather than formal religious observance and encourages what Levertov called "a wonder at creation," was an important influence on her father, Paul Philip Levertoff. He had converted to Christianity as a student and later became an Anglican priest, but he retained his interest in Judaism and told Hasidic legends to Levertov and her older sister, Olga, throughout their childhoods. From her mother, Beatrice Spooner-Jones, Levertov learned to look closely at the world around her, and we might say of her work what she said of her mother: "with how much gazing/her life had paid tribute to the world's body" ("The 90th Year"). In 1947, Levertov married an American, Mitchell Goodman (they later divorced), and moved to the United States. She described this move as crucial to her development as a poet; it "necessitated the finding of new rhythms in which to write, in accordance with new rhythms of life and speech." In this discovery of a new idiom, the stylistic influence of William Carlos Williams was especially important to her; without it, she said, "I could not have developed from a British Romantic with an almost Victorian background to an American poet of any vitality." Levertov embraced Williams's interest in an organic poetic form, growing out of the poet's relation to her subject, and like Duncan and Robert Creeley, she actively explored the relations between the line and the unit of breath, as they control rhythm, melody, and stress. But if Levertov became the poet she was by becoming an American poet, her European heritage also enriched her sense of influence. Although her poem "September 1961" acknowledges her link to "the old great ones" (Ezra Pound, Williams, and H. D.), she was as at home with German lyric poet Rilke as with Emerson. And in the United States she discovered the work of Martin Buber, the Jewish theologian and philosopher, which renewed her interest "in the Hasidic ideas with which I was dimly acquainted as a child." Her eclecticism let her move easily between plain and richly descriptive language, between a vivid perception of the "thing itself" and the often radiant mystery that, for Levertov, arose from such seeing. From 1956 to 1959 Levertov lived with her husband and son in Mexico. They were joined there by her mother, who, after her daughter's departure, remained in Mexico for the final eighteen years of her life (she died in 1977). Several moving poems in Levertov's collection Life in the Forest (1978) address her mother's last years, among them "The 90th Year" and "Death in Mexico." In the late 1960s, the political crisis prompted by the Vietnam War turned Levertov's work more directly to public woes, as reflected in her following four books. Not all of the poems in these books explicitly concern political issues ("The Sorrow Dance," for example,

To THE SNAKE

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2707

contains her sequence in memory of her sister, Olga, one of her finest, most powerful poems); nonetheless, many poems originated in a need for public testimony. Her overtly political poems are not often among her best, however; their very explicitness restricted her distinctive strengths as a poet, which included a feeling for the inexplicable, a language lyrical enough to express wish and desire, and a capacity for playfulness. But it is a mistake to separate too rigidly the political concerns in her work from a larger engagement with the world. As she wrote, "If a degree of intimacy is a condition of lyric expression, surely—at times when events make feelings run high—that intimacy between writer and political belief does exist, and is as intense as other emotions." The power of Levertov's poems depends on her capacity to balance, however precariously, her two-sided vision, to keep alive both terms of what one critic called her "magical realism." At its best, her work seems to spring from experience deep within her, stirred into being by a source beyond herself (as "Caedmon" is suddenly "affrighted" by an angel or the poet at sixteen dreams deeply, "sunk in the well"). Her finest poems render the inexplicable nature of our ordinary lives and their capacity for unexpected beauty. But Levertov's capacity for pleasure in the world never strays too far from the knowledge that the very landscapes that delight us contain places "that can pull you/down" ("Zeroing In"), as our inner landscapes also contain places " 'that are bruised forever, that time/never assuages, never.' " Levertov published several collections of prose, including The Poet in the World (1973), Light

Up the Cave

(1981), and New and Selected

published her fifteenth book of poems, Breathing long sequence, The Showings:

Lady Julian

Essays

(1992). In 1987 she

the Water. This book contains a

of Norwich,

1342-1416,

which continues

the link between Levertov's work and a visionary tradition. She published three subsequent collections: A Door in the Hive

(1989), Evening

Train

(1992), and

Tesserae

(1995). Levertov taught widely and from 1982 until her death was professor of English at Stanford University, where she was an important teacher for a younger generation of writers.

T o the Snake G r e e n S n a k e , w h e n I h u n g you r o u n d my n e c k a n d stroked your cold, p u l s i n g throat a s you h i s s e d to m e , glinting arrowy gold s c a l e s , a n d I felt the weight o f you o n m y s h o u l d e r s , a n d t h e w h i s p e r i n g silver o f your dryness s o u n d e d c l o s e at my e a r s — G r e e n S n a k e — I swore to my c o m p a n i o n s that certainly you were h a r m l e s s ! B u t truly I h a d n o certainty, a n d no h o p e , only d e s i r i n g to hold you, for that joy, which left a long w a k e o f p l e a s u r e , a s t h e leaves m o v e d a n d you faded into t h e pattern of g r a s s a n d s h a d o w s , a n d I returned smiling a n d h a u n t e d , to a dark m o r n i n g .

5

io

15

1960

2708

/

DENISE

LEVERTOV

The Jacob's Ladder 1 T h e stairway is not a thing of g l e a m i n g s t r a n d s a radiant e v a n e s c e n c e for a n g e l s ' feet that only g l a n c e in their tread, a n d n e e d not t o u c h the s t o n e . It is of s t o n e . A rosy s t o n e that takes a glowing t o n e of s o f t n e s s only b e c a u s e b e h i n d it the sky is a d o u b t f u l , a d o u b t i n g night gray. A stairway of s h a r p a n g l e s , solidly built. O n e s e e s that the a n g e l s m u s t spring d o w n from o n e step to the next, giving a little lift of the wings: and a man climbing m u s t s c r a p e his k n e e s , a n d bring the grip of his h a n d s into play. T h e c u t s t o n e c o n s o l e s his g r o p i n g feet. W i n g s b r u s h p a s t h i m . The poem ascends.

\

10

i'

20 1961

In Mind T h e r e ' s in my m i n d a w o m a n of i n n o c e n c e , u n a d o r n e d b u t fair-featured, a n d s m e l l i n g of a p p l e s or g r a s s . S h e w e a r s a Utopian s m o c k or shift, her hair is light brown a n d s m o o t h , a n d s h e is kind a n d very c l e a n without ostentation— but s h e h a s no i m a g i n a t i o n . A n d there's a turbulent m o o n - r i d d e n girl

10

or old w o m a n , or b o t h , d r e s s e d in o p a l s a n d rags, f e a t h e r s I . J a c o b dreamed of "a ladder set up on the earth, and the top ol it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it" (Genesis 2 8 . 1 2 ) .

D E A T H IN M E X I C O

a n d torn taffeta, w h o knows s t r a n g e s o n g s —

/

2709

15

but s h e is not kind. 1964

Death in Mexico 1 E v e n two w e e k s after her fall, three w e e k s before s h e died, the g a r d e n b e g a n to v a n i s h . T h e rickety f e n c e gave way a s it h a d t h r e a t e n e d , a n d the children threw broken plastic t o y s — v i c i o u s yellow, u n r e s o n a n t red, onto the p a t h , into the l e m o n t r e e ; or trotted in t h r o u g h the g a p , t r a m p l i n g s m a l l p l a n t s . F o r two w e e k s no o n e watered it, except I did, twice, but then I left. S h e w a s still c o n s c i o u s then a n d t h a n k e d m e . I b e g g e d the others to water i t — but the rains b e g a n ; w h e n I got b a c k there were violent, s u d d e n , battering d o w n p o u r s e a c h a f t e r n o o n . W e e d s flourished, dry topsoil w a s w a s h e d away swiftly into the d r a i n s . O h , there w a s g r e e n , still, but the g a r d e n w a s d i s a p p e a r i n g — e a c h day less sign of the o r d e r e d , thought-out o a s i s , a s q u a r e d circle her m i n d c o n s t r u c t e d for rose a n d lily, b e g o n i a and rosemary-for-remembrance. T w e n t y years in the m a k i n g — less than a m o n t h to u n d o itself; a n d t h o s e w h o h a d s e e n it grow, living a r o u n d it t h o s e d e c a d e s , did nothing to hold it. O h , Alberto did, o n e day, p a t c h u p the f e n c e a bit, w h e n I told him a future t e n a n t w o u l d value having a g a r d e n . B u t no o n e believed the g a r d e n - m a k e r would live (I least of all), so her pain if s h e were to s e e the ruin remained abstract, an incomprehensible concept, impelling no a c t i o n . W h e n they carried her p a s t o n a stretcher, on her way to the sanatorio, failing sight t r a n s f o r m e d itself into a mercy: certainly s h e c o u l d have s e e n no m o r e than a g r e e n i s h blur. B u t to m e the w e e d s , the flowerless r o s e b u s h e s , b r o k e n s t e m s of the c a n n a lilies a n d amaryllis, all a lusterless j u n g l e g r e e n , p r e s e n t e d — even before her dying w a s o v e r — a n o b d u r a t e , blind, all-seeing g a z e : 1. One of a sequence of poems on the death of Levertov's mother.

5

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35

40

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/

A . R. A M M O N S I h a d s e e n it b e f o r e , in t h e m u s e u m s , in s t o n e m a s k s of t h e g o d s a n d v i c t i m s . A g a z e that a d m i t s no t e n d e r n e s s ; if it s m i l e s , it only s m i l e s with s u b l i m e b i t t e r n e s s — n o ,

45

not e v e n bitter: it a d m i t s n o regret, n o s t a l g i a h a s no part in its c o s m o s , b i t t e r n e s s is irrelevant. If it h o l d s a f l o w e r — a n d it d o e s , a d e l i c a t e brilliant silky flower t h a t b l o o m s only

so

a s i n g l e d a y — i t h o l d s it c l e n c h e d between sharp teeth. V i n e s m a y c r a w l , a n d s c o r p i o n s , over its f a c e , but though the centuries blunt eyelid a n d flared nostril, the s t o n e g a z e

55

is utterly still, fixed, a b s o l u t e , s m i r k of d e n i a l f a c i n g eternity. G a r d e n s vanish. S h e was an alien here, as I a m . Her death w a s not M e x i c o ' s b u s i n e s s . T h e g a r d e n t h o u g h

60

was a hostage. Old gods t o o k b a c k their o w n .

1978

A . R.

AMMONS

1926-2001 A. R. A m m o n s wrote that h e " w a s b o r n b i g a n d j a u n d i c e d ( a n d ugly) o n F e b r u a r y 18, 1 9 2 6 , in a f a r m h o u s e 4 m i l e s s o u t h w e s t o f W h i t e v i l l e , N o r t h C a r o l i n a , a n d 2 m i l e s n o r t h w e s t o f N e w H o p e E l e m e n t a r y S c h o o l a n d N e w H o p e B a p t i s t C h u r c h . " It w a s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of A m m o n s to b e l a c o n i c , s e l f - d e p r e c a t i n g , unfailingly local, a n d unfailingly exact. H e b e l o n g s to t h e h o m e m a d e strain o f A m e r i c a n writers rather t h a n t h e E u r o p e a n i z e d or c o s m o p o l i t a n b r e e d . H i s p o e m s a r e filled with t h e l a n d s c a p e s in w h i c h h e h a s lived: N o r t h C a r o l i n a , t h e s o u t h J e r s e y c o a s t , a n d t h e s u r r o u n d i n g s of I t h a c a , N e w York, w h e r e h e lived a n d w a s a m e m b e r o f t h e E n g l i s h d e p a r t m e n t o f C o r n e l l University. A m m o n s ' s c a r e e r d i d n o t start o u t with a traditional literary e d u c a t i o n . At W a k e F o r e s t C o l l e g e in N o r t h C a r o l i n a h e s t u d i e d m o s t l y scientific s u b j e c t s , e s p e c i a l l y biology a n d c h e m i s t r y , a n d that scientific t r a i n i n g h a s strongly c o l o r e d his p o e m s . O n l y later ( 1 9 5 1 — 5 2 ) d i d h e s t u d y E n g l i s h l i t e r a t u r e for t h r e e s e m e s t e r s a t t h e U n i versity o f C a l i f o r n i a at Berkeley. H e h a d w o r k e d briefly a s a h i g h - s c h o o l p r i n c i p a l in N o r t h C a r o l i n a . W h e n he r e t u r n e d from B e r k e l e y h e s p e n t twelve y e a r s a s a n e x e c utive for a firm that m a d e biological g l a s s in s o u t h e r n N e w J e r s e y . In 1 9 5 5 , his thirtieth year, A m m o n s p u b l i s h e d his first b o o k o f p o e m s , Ommateum. T h e title refers to t h e c o m p o u n d s t r u c t u r e o f a n i n s e c t ' s e y e a n d f o r e s h a d o w s a twofold i m p u l s e in A m m o n s ' s work. O n o n e h a n d h e is involved in t h e m i n u t e o b s e r v a t i o n of n a t u r a l p h e n o m e n a ; on the o t h e r h a n d he is f r u s t r a t e d by t h e p h y s i c a l l i m i t a t i o n s a n a l o g o u s to t h o s e o f t h e i n s e c t s ' v i s i o n . W e s e e t h e world, a s i n s e c t s d o , in s m a l l

A. R. A M M O N S

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portions and in impulses that take in but do not totally resolve the many images we receive. "Overall is beyond me," says Ammons in "Corsons Inlet," an important poem in which the shifting details of shoreline and dunes represent a severe challenge to the poet-observer. There are no straight lines. The contours differ every day, every hour, and they teach the poet the endless adjustments he must make to nature's fluidity. "A poem is a walk," Ammons said, and his work is characterized by the motion he found everywhere in nature, a motion answered by the activity of his own mind. Both nearsighted and farsighted, he looks closely at vegetation, small animals, the minute shifts of wind and weather and light, yet over and over again seems drawn to Emerson's visionary aspirations for poetry. "Poetry," Emerson remarked, "was all written before time was, and whenever we are so finely organized that we can penetrate into that region where the air is music, we hear those primal warnings and attempt to write them down." Much of Ammons's poetry tests this farsighted, transcendental promise to see if it yields a glimpse of supernatural order. The self in Ammons's poems is a far more modest presence than in the work of many other American writers. Sometimes he is a "surrendered self among unwelcoming forms" (as he writes in the conclusion of "Gravelly Run"); in many other poems he is at home in a universe, both human and natural, whose variety delights him. He is that rare thing, a contemporary poet of praise, one who says "I can find nothing lowly/in the universe" ("Still") and convinces us he speaks the truth. Ammons began his career writing short lyrics, almost journal entries in an unending career of observation. But the laconic notations—of a landslide, a shift in the shoreline from one day to the next—often bore abstract titles ("Clarity," "Saliences") as if to suggest the connections he feels between concrete experience and speculative thought. Ammons often conducted experiments with poetic form in his effort to make his verse responsive to the engaging but evasive particularity of natural process. This formal inventiveness is part of the appeal of his work. "Stop on any word and language gives way: /the blades of reason, unlightened by motion, sink in," he remarks in his "Essay on Poetics." Preparing Tape for the Turn of the Year (1965) he typed a booklength day-to-day verse diary along an adding machine tape. The poem ended when the tape did. This was his first and most flamboyant attempt to turn his verse into something beyond mere gatherings. He then discovered that the long poem was the form best adapted to his continuing, indeed endless, dialogue between the specific and the general. The appearance in 1993 of his book-length poem Garbage (a National Book Award winner) confirmed Ammons's gift for creating a long, immensely readable, moving and funny poem, full of digressions but structured around a recurring set of images and ideas. The poems tend to make use of the colon—what one critic calls "the most democratic punctuation," suggesting as it does equivalence on both sides. Used in place of the period, it keeps the poem from coming to a halt or stopping the flow in which the mind feverishly suggests analogies among its minutely perceived experiences. Many notable examples of Ammons's extended forms are gathered in The Selected Longer Poems (1980), although that book does not include his remarkable Sphere: The Form of a Motion (1974). A single, book-length poem, with no full stops, 155 sections of four tercets each, it aspires to be what Wallace Stevens called "the poem of the act of the mind." The only unity in Sphere is the mind's power to make analogies between the world's constant "diversifications." As he demonstrates in this poem, Ammons was committed to the provisional, the self-revising, and this commitment kept his poetry fresh over a long career, as the achievement of Garbage demonstrates. Writing of his sense of the world in "The Dwelling," from Sumerian Vistas (1987), Ammons says, "here the plainnest / majesty gave us what it could." The same might be said of his wonderfully generous and witty poems, which constitute a distinctive and invaluable legacy for American poetry.

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S o I Said I Am Ezra S o I said I a m E z r a a n d the wind w h i p p e d my throat g a m i n g for the s o u n d s of my voice I listened to the wind go over my h e a d a n d u p into the night T u r n i n g to the s e a I said I am Ezra but there were no e c h o e s from the w a v e s T h e w o r d s were swallowed u p in the voice of the surf or l e a p i n g over the swells lost t h e m s e l v e s o c e a n w a r d Over the b l e a c h e d a n d b r o k e n fields I m o v e d my feet a n d turning from the wind that ripped s h e e t s of s a n d from the b e a c h a n d threw t h e m like s e a m i s t s a c r o s s the d u n e s swayed a s if the wind were taking m e away a n d said I a m Ezra As a word too m u c h r e p e a t e d falls out of b e i n g s o I E z r a went o u t into the night like a drift of s a n d a n d s p l a s h e d a m o n g the windy oats that c l u t c h the d u n e s of u n r e m e m b e r e d s e a s

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Corsons Inlet I went for a walk over the d u n e s again this m o r n i n g to the s e a , then t u r n e d right a l o n g the surf rounded a naked headland a n d returned

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a l o n g the inlet s h o r e : it w a s m u g g y s u n n y , the wind from the s e a s t e a d y a n d h i g h , crisp in the r u n n i n g s a n d , s o m e b r e a k t h r o u g h s of s u n but after a bit continuous overcast:

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CORSONSINLET

the walk liberating, I w a s r e l e a s e d from f o r m s , from the p e r p e n d i c u l a r s , straight lines, b l o c k s , boxes, b i n d s of thought into the h u e s , s h a d i n g s , rises, flowing b e n d s a n d b l e n d s of sight: I allow myself e d d i e s of m e a n i n g : yield to a direction of significance running like a s t r e a m t h r o u g h the geography of my work: you c a n find in my sayings swerves of action like the inlet's c u t t i n g e d g e : there are d u n e s of m o t i o n , organizations of g r a s s , white sandy p a t h s of r e m e m b r a n c e in the overall w a n d e r i n g of mirroring m i n d : but Overall is beyond m e : is the s u m of t h e s e e v e n t s I c a n n o t draw, the ledger I c a n n o t k e e p , the a c c o u n t i n g beyond the a c c o u n t : in n a t u r e there a r e few s h a r p lines: there are a r e a s of primrose m o r e or less d i s p e r s e d ; disorderly orders of bayberry; b e t w e e n the rows of d u n e s , irregular s w a m p s of r e e d s , t h o u g h not r e e d s a l o n e , b u t g r a s s , bayberry, yarrow, all . . . predominantly reeds:

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I have r e a c h e d no c o n c l u s i o n s , have e r e c t e d no b o u n d a r i e s , s h u t t i n g out a n d s h u t t i n g in, s e p a r a t i n g inside from o u t s i d e : I have d r a w n no lines: as

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manifold events of s a n d c h a n g e the d u n e ' s s h a p e that will not be the s a m e s h a p e tomorrow, •

so I a m willing to go along, to a c c e p t the b e c o m i n g t h o u g h t , to stake off no b e g i n n i n g s or e n d s , e s t a b l i s h no walls: by transitions the land falls from grassy d u n e s to c r e e k to u n d e r c r e e k : but there are no lines, t h o u g h c h a n g e in that transition is clear as any s h a r p n e s s : b u t " s h a r p n e s s " s p r e a d o u t ,

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allowed to o c c u r over a wider range than mental lines c a n keep: the m o o n w a s full last night: today, low tide w a s low: black s h o a l s of m u s s e l s e x p o s e d to the risk of air a n d , earlier, of s u n , waved in a n d out with the waterline, waterline inexact, c a u g h t always in the event of c h a n g e : a y o u n g mottled gull stood free on the s h o a l s a n d ate to vomiting: a n o t h e r gull, s q u a w k i n g p o s s e s s i o n , c r a c k e d a c r a b , p i c k e d o u t the entrails, swallowed the soft-shelled l e g s , a ruddy t u r n s t o n e 1 r u n n i n g in to s n a t c h leftover bits: risk is full: every living thing in siege: the d e m a n d is life, to keep life: the small white blacklegged egret, how beautiful, quietly stalks a n d s p e a r s the shallows, darts to s h o r e to s t a b — w h a t ? I couldn't s e e a g a i n s t the b l a c k m u d f l a t s — a frightened fiddler c r a b ? the news to my left over the d u n e s a n d r e e d s a n d bayberry c l u m p s w a s fall: t h o u s a n d s of tree swallows g a t h e r i n g for flight: a n order held in c o n s t a n t c h a n g e : a c o n g r e g a t i o n rich with entropy: n e v e r t h e l e s s , s e p a r a b l e , n o t i c e a b l e a s o n e event, not c h a o s : p r e p a r a t i o n s for flight from winter, c h e e t , c h e e t , c h e e t , c h e e t , wings rifling the green c l u m p s , beaks at the bayberries a p e r c e p t i o n full of wind, flight, c u r v e , sound: the possibility of rule a s the s u m of r u l e l e s s n e s s : the "field" of action with moving, i n c a l c u l a b l e c e n t e r : in the s m a l l e r view, order tight with s h a p e : blue tiny flowers on a leafless w e e d : c a r a p a c e of c r a b : snail shell: p u l s a t i o n s of order in the bellies of m i n n o w s : o r d e r s swallowed, broken d o w n , transferred t h r o u g h m e m b r a n e s to s t r e n g t h e n larger o r d e r s : but in the large view, no lines or c h a n g e l e s s s h a p e s : the working in a n d out, t o g e t h e r A ploverlike migratory bird.

EASTER MORNING

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a n d a g a i n s t , of millions of e v e n t s : this, so that I m a k e no form of formlessness: orders a s s u m m a r i e s , a s o u t c o m e s of a c t i o n s override or in s o m e way result, not predictably ( s e e i n g m e gain the top of a d u n e , the swallows c o u l d take f l i g h t — s o m e other fields of bayberry c o u l d enter fall berryless) a n d there is serenity: no a r r a n g e d terror: no forcing of i m a g e , plan, or t h o u g h t : no p r o p a g a n d a , no h u m b l i n g of reality to p r e c e p t : terror p e r v a d e s but is not a r r a n g e d , all possibilities of e s c a p e o p e n : no route s h u t , except in the s u d d e n loss of all r o u t e s : I s e e narrow orders, limited t i g h t n e s s , b u t will not run to that easy victory: still a r o u n d the looser, wider f o r c e s work: I will try to fasten into order enlarging g r a s p s of disorder, w i d e n i n g s c o p e , but enjoying the f r e e d o m that S c o p e e l u d e s my g r a s p , that there is no finality of vision, that I have perceived n o t h i n g completely, that tomorrow a new walk is a new walk. 1965

Easter Morning I have a life that did not b e c o m e , that t u r n e d a s i d e a n d s t o p p e d , astonished: I hold it in m e like a p r e g n a n c y or a s on my lap a child not to grow or grow old but dwell on it is to his grave I m o s t frequently return a n d return to a s k what is wrong, what w a s wrong, to s e e it all by the light of a different necessity but the grave will not heal a n d the child, stirring, m u s t s h a r e my grave

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with m e , a n old m a n having gotten by on w h a t w a s left w h e n I go b a c k to my h o m e c o u n t r y in t h e s e fresh far-away days, it's c o n v e n i e n t to visit everybody, a u n t s a n d u n c l e s , t h o s e w h o u s e d to say, look how he's s h o o t i n g u p , a n d the trinket a u n t s who always h a d a little s o m e t h i n g in their p o c k e t b o o k s , c i n n a m o n bark or a p e n n y or nickel, a n d u n c l e s w h o were the r u m o r e d fathers of c o u s i n s w h o w h i s p e r e d of t h e m a s of great, if troubled, p r e s e n c e s , a n d school t e a c h e r s , j u s t a b o u t everybody older (and s o m e y o u n g e r ) c o l l e c t e d in o n e p l a c e waiting, particularly, b u t not for m e , m o t h e r a n d father there, too, a n d o t h e r s close, close as burrowing u n d e r skin, all in the graveyard a s s e m b l e d , d o n e for, the world they u s e d to wield, have trouble a n d j o y in, g o n e the child in m e that c o u l d not b e c o m e w a s not ready for others to g o , to go on into c h a n g e , b l e s s i n g s a n d horrors, b u t s t a n d s there by the r o a d w h e r e the m i s h a p o c c u r r e d , crying o u t for h e l p , c o m e a n d fix this or w e can't get by, b u t the great o n e s w h o were to return, they c o u l d not or did not h e a r a n d went on in a flurry a n d now, I say in the graveyard, here lies the flurry, now it can't c o m e b a c k with help or helpful a s i d e s , now we all buy the bitter i n c o m p l e t i o n s , pick u p the knots of horror, silently raving, a n d go o n c r a s h i n g into e m p t y e n d s not c o m p l e t i o n s , not r o n d u r e s the fullness h a s c o m e into a n d s p e n t itself from I s t a n d o n the s t u m p of a child, w h e t h e r myself or my little brother w h o died, a n d yell a s far a s I c a n , I c a n n o t leave this p l a c e , for for m e it is the d e a r e s t a n d the worst, it is life n e a r e s t to life which is life lost: it is my p l a c e w h e r e I m u s t s t a n d a n d fail, calling attention with tears to the b r a n c h e s not lofting

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b o u g h s into s p a c e , to the b a r r e n air that holds the world that w a s my world t h o u g h the i n c o m p l e t i o n s (& c o m p l e t i o n s ) burn out s t a n d i n g in the flash high-burn m o m e n t a r y s t r u c t u r e of a s h , still it is a picture-book, letter-perfect E a s t e r m o r n i n g : I have b e e n for a walk: the wind is tranquil: the b r o o k works without flashing in an a b u n d a n t tranquility: the birds are lively with voice: I s a w s o m e t h i n g I h a d never s e e n before: two great birds, maybe eagles, blackwinged, whitenecked a n d - h e a d e d , c a m e from the s o u t h oaring the great wings steadily; they went directly over m e , high u p , a n d kept on d u e north: but then o n e bird, the o n e b e h i n d , veered a little to the left a n d the other bird kept on s e e m i n g not to notice for a m i n u t e : the first b e g a n to circle a s if looking for s o m e t h i n g , c o a s t i n g , resting its wings on the d o w n side of s o m e of the circles: the other bird c a m e b a c k a n d they both circled, looking p e r h a p s for a draft; they turned a few m o r e t i m e s , p o s s i b l y r i s i n g — a t least, clearly r e s t i n g — then flew o n falling into d i s t a n c e till they broke a c r o s s the local b u s h a n d trees: it w a s a sight of bountiful m a j e s t y a n d integrity: the having patterns and routes, breaking from t h e m to explore other p a t t e r n s or better way to r o u t e s , a n d then the return: a d a n c e s a c r e d a s the s a p in the t r e e s , p e r m a n e n t in its d e s c r i p t i o n s a s the ripples r o u n d the brook's r i p p l e s t o n e : fresh a s this particular flood of burn b r e a k i n g a c r o s s u s now from the s u n . 1981

From Garbage g a r b a g e has to be the p o e m of our time b e c a u s e g a r b a g e is spiritual, believable e n o u g h

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to get our attention, getting in the way, piling u p , stinking, turning brooks b r o w n i s h a n d c r e a m y white: what else deflects u s from the errors of our illusionary ways, not a t e m p t a t i o n

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to t r a s h l e s s n e s s , that is too far off, a n d , anyway, u n i m a g i n a b l e , unrealistic: I'm a hole p u n c h e r or hole plugger: stick a finger in the d a m e {dam, d a m n , dike), hold b a c k the i s s u e

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of creativity's floor, the f o r t h c o m i n g , futuristic, the origins feeding trash: d o w n by 1-95 in Florida where flatland's o c e a n - a n d gulf-flat, m o u n d s of d i s p o s a l rise (for if you d u g s o m e t h i n g up to m a k e r o o m for s o m e t h i n g to put in, w h a t a b o u t the s o m e t h i n g d u g u p , a s with graves:)

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the g a r b a g e trucks crawl as if in o b e i s a n c e , a s if u p z i g g u r a t s 1 toward the high p l a c e s gulls a n d g a r b a g e keep alive, offerings to the g o d s of g a r b a g e , or retribution, of realistic

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e x p e c t a t i o n , the deities of u n p l e a s a n t n e c e s s i t i e s : refined, y o u n g e a r t h w o r m s , d r o w n e d u p in m a c a d a m p o o l s by spring rains, m o i s t e n out white in a day or so a n d , r o u n d s p o t s , look like s p u t u m or creamy-rich, b r o k e n - u p cold c l a m s : if this is not the b e s t p o e m of the

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century, c a n it be a b o u t the worst p o e m of the century: it c o m e s , at least, toward the e n d , so a long tracing of b a d stuff c a n swell u n d e r its m e a s u r e : but there on the heights

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a small s m o k e wafts the sacrificial b o u n t y day a n d night to layer the sky b r o w n , shut u s in a s into a lidded kettle, the everlasting flame t h e s e a c r e s - d e e p of t e n d a n c e k e e p : a free offering of a crippled plastic chair: a played-out sports outfit: a hill-myna

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I. The temple towers of the Babylonians, which consisted of a lofty pyramidal structure, built in successive stages, with outside staircases and a religious shrine on top.

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print stained with jelly: how to write this p o e m , s h o u l d it be short, a small p o p p i n g of d u p l e x e s , or long, h u n t i n g wide, c o m i n g h o m e late, losing the trail a n d recovering it:

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s h o u l d it act itself out, illustrations, e x a m p l e s , c o l o r s , clothes or intensify reductively into s t a t e m e n t , b o n e s any c o r p u s would do to s u r r o u n d , or s h o u l d it be n o t h i n g at all u n l e s s it finds itself: the p o e m , which is a b o u t the pre-socratic idea of the

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dispositional axis from s t o n e to wind, wind to s t o n e (with my e l a b o r a t i o n s , if any) is c o m p l e t e before it b e g i n s , s o I needn't myself hurry into brevity, t h o u g h a weary r e a d e r

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might briefly be d o n e : the axis will be clear e n o u g h d a u b e d here a n d there with a little ink or fined out into every s h a d e a n d form of its revelation: this is a scientific p o e m , a s s e r t i n g that n a t u r e m o d e l s v a l u e s , that we have invented little ( c o p i e d ) , reflections of

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possibilities already h e r e , this w h e r e we c a m e to a n d how we c a m e : a priestly director b e h i n d the black-chuffing dozer l e a n s the g l e a n i n g s a n d r e a d s the birds, millions of loners circling

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a c o m m o n height, alighting to the meaty streaks a n d puffy muffins (puffins?): there is a m o u n d , too, in the poet's m i n d d e a d l a n g u a g e is h a u l e d off to a n d b u r n e d down o n , the energy held a n d s h a p e d into n e w turns a n d c l u s t e r s , the m i n d s t r e n g t h e n e d by what it s t r e n g t h e n s : for

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where but in the very a s s h o l e of c o m e d o w n is r e d e m p t i o n : as where but brought low, w h e r e but in the grief of failure, loss, error do we d i s c e r n the s a v a g e afflictions that turn u s a r o u n d : where but in the a r r a n g e m e n t s love crawls u s t h r o u g h , not a thing left in our self-display

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u n h u m i l i a t e d , do we find the sweet s e e d of new r o u t e s ; b u t we are n a t u r a l : n a t u r e , not w e , gave rise to u s ; we are not, t h o u g h , t h o u g h n a t u r a l , divorced from higher, finer c o n f i g u r a t i o n s :

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t i s s u e s a n d h o l o g r a m s of energy c i r c u l a t e in us a n d s e e k a n d find r e p r e s e n t a t i o n s of t h e m s e l v e s o u t s i d e u s , s o that we c a n p a r t i c i p a t e in c e l e b r a t i o n s high a n d know r e a c h e s of feeling

so

a n d sight a n d t h o u g h t that p e n e t r a t e (really p e n e t r a t e ) far, far beyond t h e s e our wet cells, right o n u p p a s t our stories, the p l a n e t s , m o o n s , a n d other b o d i e s locally to the other e n d of the pole w h e r e matter's f o r m s diffuse a n d energy l o s e s all m e a n s to e x p r e s s itself except

85

a s spirit, there, o h , yes, in the a b i d i n g w h e r e m i n d b u t n o t h i n g else a b i d e s , the eternal, until it t u r n s into a n o t h e r p e a r or s u n f i s h , that m o m e n t a r y glint in the fisheye h a v i n g

90

b e e n there so long, c o m i n g a n d going, it's eternity's glint: it all w r a p s b a c k r o u n d , into a n d o u t of form, p a l p a b l e a n d i m p a l p a b l e , a n d in o n e p h a s e , the o n e of grief a n d love, we k n o w the other, w h e r e e v e r l a s t i n g n e s s c o m e s to sway, okay a n d s m o o t h : the h e a v e n we mostly

95

w a n t , t h o u g h , is this j e t - h o v e l e d hell b a c k , heaven's d a u n t i n g a s s h o l e : o n e m u s t write a n d rewrite till o n e writes it right: if I'm in t o u c h , she said, then I've got a n e d g e : what

100

the hell kind of talk is that: I can't believe I'm merely a n old p e r s o n : w h o s e m o t h e r is d e a d , w h o s e father is g o n e a n d m a n y of w h o s e friends a n d a s s o c i a t e s have w e n d e d away to the g r o u n d , which is only heavy wind, or to a s h e s , a lighter b r e e z e : but it w a s all q u i t e frankly to be e x p e c t e d a n d not looked forward to: even old trees, I r e m e m b e r s o m e of t h e m , w h e r e they

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JAMES MERRILL

u s e d to s t a n d : p i c t u r e s taken by s o m e of t h e m : a n d old d o g s , specially o n e imperial b l a c k o n e ,

/

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no

q u a d d o g s with their hierarchies (another archie) o n e s u c c e e d i n g another, the barking a n d r o m p i n g sliding away like slides from a projector: what were they then that are what they are now: 1993

JAMES

MERRILL

1926-1995 When James Merrill's First Poems were published in 1950, he was immediately recognized as one of the most gifted and polished poets of his generation. But it was not until Water Street (1962), his third volume of poems, that Merrill began to enlist his brilliant technique and sophisticated tone in developing a poetic autobiography. The book takes its title from the street where he lives in the seaside village of Stonington, Connecticut. The opening poem, "An Urban Convalescence," explores his decision to leave New York, which he sees as a distracting city that destroys its past. He portrays his move as a rededication to his personal past and an attempt through poetry "to make some kind of house / Out of the life lived, out of the love spent." The metaphor of home is an emotional center to which Merrill's writing often returns, as in "Lost in Translation," where the narrator recalls a childhood summer in a home mysteriously without parents. "The Broken Home" similarly recalls elements of Merrill's own experience as the son of parents who divorced when he was young. He had been born to the second marriage of Charles E. Merrill, financier and founder of the best-known brokerage firm in America. "The Broken Home" and "Lost in Translation" show how memory and the act of writing have the power to reshape boyhood pain and conflict so as to achieve "the unstiflement of the entire story." Such an attitude distinguishes Merrill from his contemporaries (Robert Lowell, Anne Sexton, and Sylvia Plath), whose autobiographical impulse expresses itself primarily in the present tense and the use of poems as an urgent journal true to the moment. As an undergraduate at Amherst College, Merrill had written an honors thesis on the French novelist Marcel Proust (1871-1922). His poetry was clearly affected by Proust's notion that the literary exercise of memory slowly discloses the patterns of childhood experience that we are destined to relive. Proust showed in his Remembrance of Things Past how such power over chaotic material of the past is often triggered involuntarily by an object or an episode in the present whose associations reach back into formative childhood encounters. The questions he asked were asked by Freud as well: What animates certain scenes—and not others—for us? It is to answer such questions that some of Merrill's poems are told from the viewpoint of an observant child. In other poems the poet is explicitly present, at his desk, trying to incorporate into his adult understanding of the contours of his life the pain and freshness of childhood memories. The poems are narrative (one of his early books was called Short Stories) as often as lyric, in the hope that dramatic action will reveal the meanings with which certain objects have become charged. As Merrill sees it, "You hardly ever need to state your feelings. The point is to feel and keep the eyes

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open. Then what you feel is expressed, is mimed back at you by the scene. A room, a landscape. I'd go a step further. We don't know what we feel until we see it distanced by this kind of translation." Merrill traveled extensively and presented landscapes from his travels as ways of exploring alternative or buried states of his own mind, the "translations" of which he speaks. Poems such as "Days of 1964" and "After the Fire" reflect his experiences in Greece, where he used to spend a portion of each year. They respectively anticipate and comment on The Fire Screen (1969), a sequence of poems describing the rising and falling curve of a love affair partly in terms of an initiation into Greece with its power to strip away urban sophistication. The books that followed served as initiations into other psychic territories. Problems of family relationships and the erotic entanglements of homosexual love previously seen on an intimate scale were in Braving the Elements (1972) acted out against a wider backdrop: the long landscapes, primitive geological perspectives, and erosions of the American Far West. Here human experience, examined in his earlier work in close-up, is seen as part of a longer process of evolution comprehensible in terms of enduring nonhuman patterns. In Divine Comedies (which received the Pulitzer Prize in 1977) Merrill began his most ambitious work: two-thirds of it is devoted to "The Book of Ephraim," a long narrative. It is not only a recapitulation of his career but also an attempt to locate individual psychic energies as part of a larger series of nourishing influences: friends living and dead, literary predecessors, scientific theories of the growth of the universe and the mind, the life of other periods and even other universes—all conducted through a set of encounters with the "other world" in seances at the Ouija board. It is a witty and original and assured attempt to take the intimate material of the short lyric that has characterized his earlier work and cast it onto an epic scale. The second and third volumes of the trilogy, Mirahell:

Books of Number

and Scripts

for the Pag-

eant, appeared in 1978 and 1980, respectively; the entire work was collected in 1982 under the title The Changing Light at Sandover. By the time of his death in 1995, Merrill had established himself as an American formal master, one whose grace and wit made his remarkable variations on traditional forms seem as easy as casual speech. This mastery is evident in his sequence "Family Week at Oracle Ranch" (from his last book, A Scattering of Salts, 1995), where Merrill's formal daring is matched by an equally remarkable emotional daring.

An Urban Convalescence O u t for a walk, after a w e e k in b e d , I find t h e m tearing u p part o f my block A n d , chilled t h r o u g h , dazed a n d lonely, j o i n t h e d o z e n In m e e k a t t i t u d e s , w a t c h i n g a h u g e c r a n e F u m b l e luxuriously in the filth of years. H e r j a w s dribble r u b b l e . A n old m a n L a u g h s a n d c u r s e s in her brain, Bringing to m i n d t h e c l o s e of The White Goddess.

5

1

As u s u a l in N e w York, everything is torn d o w n B e f o r e you have h a d time to c a r e for it. 1. The book ( 1 9 4 8 ) in which English poet Robert Graves sets forth the impassioned theory that authentic poetry is inspired by a primitive goddess who is both creative and destructive. T h e crane is

io

her sacred bird, which through a pun the poet here associates with the mechanical crane. Its operator s e e m s like a crazed parody poet, committed only to demolition.

AN URBAN C O N V A L E S C E N C E

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H e a d b o w e d , at the shrine of n o i s e , let m e try to recall W h a t building stood h e r e . W a s there a building at all? 1 have lived on this s a m e street for a d e c a d e . Wait. Yes. Vaguely a p r e s e n c e rises S o m e five floors high, of s h a b b y s t o n e — O r a m I c o n f u s i n g it with a n o t h e r o n e In a n o t h e r part of town, or of the w o r l d ? — A n d over its lintel into f o c u s vaguely M i s t e d with blood (my eyes are s h u t ) A single garland sways, s t o n e fruit, s t o n e leaves, W h i c h years of grit h a d e t c h e d until it thrust R o o t s d o w n , even into the p o o r soil of my s e e i n g . W h e n did the garland b e c o m e part of m e ? I a s k myself, a m u s e d a l m o s t , T h e n shiver o n c e from h e a d to toe, Transfixed by a particular c h e a p engraving of g a r l a n d s B o u g h t for a few francs long a g o , All calligraphic tendril a n d c r o s s - h a t c h e d r o n d u r e , T e n years a g o , a n d c r u m p l e d up to s t a n c h B o u g h s dripping, w h o s e white g e s t u r e s filled a c a b , And thought of neither then nor s i n c e . Also, to c l a s p t h e m , the small, red-nailed h a n d O f no o n e I c a n p l a c e . Wait. N o . H e r n a m e , her f e a t u r e s L i e toppled u n d e r n e a t h that year's f a s h i o n s . T h e words s h e m u s t have s p o k e n , setting her f a c e T o fluttering like a veil, I c a n n o t hear now, Let a l o n e u n d e r s t a n d . S o that I a m already on the stair, As it were, of w h e r e I lived, W h e n the whole s t r u c t u r e s h u d d e r s at my tread And s o u n d l e s s l y c o l l a p s e s , filling T h e air with m o t e s of s t o n e . O n t o the still erect building next d o o r Are p r e s s e d levels a n d h u e s — P o c k e d rose, streaked g r e e n s , brown whites. W h o drained the p o u s s e - c a f e ? 2 Wires a n d p i p e s , s n a p p e d off at the roots, quiver. Well, that is what life d o e s . I stare A m o m e n t longer, s o . And presently T h e m a s s i v e v o l u m e of the world C l o s e s again. U p o n that b o o k I swear T o abide by what it t e a c h e s : G o s p e l s of ugliness a n d w a s t e , O f towering voids, of soiled g u s t s , 2. An after-dinner drink made up of layers of different-colored cordials.

is

20

2s

30

35

40

45

so

ss

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MERRILL

O f a shrieking to be f a c e d Full into, eyes a s t r e a m with c o l d With c o l d ? All right t h e n . W i t h self-knowledge. I n d o o r s at last, the p a g e s of T o o p e n , a n d the illustrated Given a g l i m p s e of how a n d T o n o t e yet o n e m o r e h o u s e

Time a r e a p t mayor of N e w York, w h e r e I work, that c a n b e s c r a p p e d .

Unwillingly I p i c t u r e M y walls w e a t h e r i n g in the general view. It is not even a s t h o u g h the n e w B u i l d i n g s did very m u c h for a r c h i t e c t u r e . S u p p o s e they did. T h e s i c k n e s s of our time r e q u i r e s T h a t t h e s e a s well b e b l a s t e d in their p r i m e . You would think the s i m p l e fact of having lasted T h r e a t e n e d our cities like m y s t e r i o u s fires. T h e r e are certain p h r a s e s which to u s e in a p o e m Is like r u b b i n g silver with quicksilver. Bright B u t facile, the g l a m o u r d e a d e n s overnight. F o r i n s t a n c e , h o w "the s i c k n e s s of our t i m e "

60

65

70

75

E n h a n c e s , then d e b a s e s , w h a t I feel. At my d e s k I swallow in a g l a s s of water N o longer cordial, scarcely wet, a pill T h e y h a d told m e not to take until m u c h later. With the result that b a c k into my i m a g i n a t i o n T h e city glides, like cities s e e n from the air, M e r e s m o k e a n d sparkle to the p a s s e n g e r H a v i n g in m i n d a n o t h e r d e s t i n a t i o n W h i c h n o w is not that honey-slow d e s c e n t O f the C h a m p s - E l y s e e s , ' her h a n d in his, B u t the dull n e e d to m a k e s o m e kind of h o u s e O u t of the life lived, o u t of the love s p e n t .

so

85

1962

Family Week at Oracle Ranch 1 The

Brochure

T h e world outstrips u s . In my day, H a d s u c h a p l a c e existed, It w o u l d have b e e n advertised with p h o t o g r a p h s O f d o c t o r s — s i l v e r hair, p i n c e - n e z — 3. A stylish boulevard in Paris.

FAMILY W E E K

AT O R A C L E

RANCH

Above detailed c r e d e n t i a l s , N o t this wide-angle m o o n s c a p e , lawns a n d pool, Patients s h a r i n g pain like fudge from h o m e — As if t h e s e were the e s s e n t i a l s , As if a m o n t h at what it invites u s to think Is little m o r e than a fat farm for Anorexics, S u b s t a n c e A b u s e r s , Love & R e l a t i o n s h i p A d d i c t s C o u l d help you, light of my life, w h e n even your shrink . . . T h e m e s s a g e , t h e n ? T h a t costly folderol, U n d e r w e a r m a d e to order in V i e n n a , W h o n e e d s it! L e t the soul h a n g out At B e n e t t o n 1 — s t o n e - w a s h e d , o n e size fits all. 2

Instead

of

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10

15

Complexes

S i m p l i c i t i e s . J u s t seven w o r d s — A F R A I D , H U R T , L O N E L Y , e t c . — t o say it with. S h a d e s of the first watercolor box (I "felt b l u e , " I " s a w r e d " ) .

20

Also s o m e tips on brushwork. N o t to say "Your s i l e n c e hurt m e , " Rather, " W h e n you said n o t h i n g I felt h u r t . " N o b l a m e , that way. D y s f u n c t i o n a l s like u s fail to distinguish B e t w e e n the two m o d e s at first. While the c o n n o i s s e u r of feeling throws u p his h a n d s : U s e d to d e p i c t i n g personal a n g u i s h W i t h a full p a l e t t e — h u e s , oils, glazes, t h i n n e r — H e stares into t h e s e withered wells a n d feels, W e l l . . . S A D a n d ANGRY? F u t u r e lavender! An infant M o n e t 2 blinks b e n e a t h his skin. 3

The

30

Counsellors

They're in recovery, too, a n d tell u s from what, And that's a s far a s it g o e s . Like the s u n - p r i e s t s ' in The Magic Flute* T h e i r ritualized r e s p o n s e s serve the plot. K e n , for e x a m p l e , blond brows knitted: " W h e n J a m e s told the g r o u p he worried a b o u t dying W i t h o u t his lover b e s i d e him, I felt S A D . " T h a n k you for sharing, K e n , 1. A chain of clothing stores featuring T-shirts, jeans, sweaters. 2. Claude Monet ( 1 8 4 0 - 1 9 2 6 ) , French impressionist painter.

25

35

40

3. One of the most famous of Wollgang Amadeus Mozart's works. Tire Magic Flute is a singsviel— i.e., a combination of songs and dialogue.

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JAMES

MERRILL

I k e e p from saying; it w o u l d c o m e o u t s n i d e . Better to view t h e m a s d e a d p a n p a n e l s S t o r i n g u p sunlight for t h e w o e b e g o n e , P r o m p t i n g from u s lines electrified By b u r i e d s w i t c h e s flipped (after h o w long!) . . . B u t s p e a k in private m e a n w h i l e ? W e m a y not Until a voice within t h e t e m p l e lifts B a n s yet u n f a t h o m e d into s o n g .

4

Gestalt

45

4

Little Aileen is a gray p l u s h b e a r With b u t t o n eyes a n d n o s e . Perky in flowered s m o c k a n d c l e a n white collar, S h e occupies the chair A c r o s s from t h e m i d d l e a g e d B i g Aileen, f a c e hid In h a n d s a n d h a n d s o n k n e e s . H e r s o b s break. In great waves it's c o m i n g b a c k . T h e u n c l e . W h a t h e did. Little Aileen is h e r Inner C h i l d W h o d i d n ' t . . . w h o didn't d e s e r v e . . . . T h e horror kissed a s l e e p , r o u n d B i g Aileen Fairytale t h o r n s grow wild.

50

55

60

S A D N E S S a n d G U I L T e n t i t l e u s to w a t c h

T h e survivor c o m p o s e herself, S m o o t h i n g t h e flowered stuff, which h a s ridden u p , Over a n i n n o c e n t gray c r o t c h .

5

Effects

of Early

"Religious

Abuse"

T h e great recurrent " s i n n e r " f o u n d In D o s t o e v s k y 5 — t w i s t e d m o u t h , S t o r m l i t e y e s — b e f o r e w h o s e irresistible U n w o r t h i n e s s t h e p u r e in h e a r t b o w d o w n . . . C o c k c r o w . B a c k a c r o s s t h e frozen N e v a To samovar and warm, untubercular bed, F a r from t h e d e n s o f v o d k a , m u c u s a n d s e m e n , T h e y d r e a m . I w o k e , t h e fever

65

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D r i p p i n g insight, a spring thaw. You a n d t h e o t h e r s , wrestling with your d e m o n s , 4. A configuration or pattern having specific properties that cannot be derived from the s u m of its component parts; in psychology, the name for a theory that physiological or psychological phenomena do not occur through the summation of indi-

vidual elements but through gestalts functioning separately or interrelatedly. 5. Fyodor Dostoyevsky ( 1 8 2 1 - 1 8 8 1 ) , Russian novelist whose work probes the religious questions of sin and redemption.

FAMILY W E E K

AT O R A C L E

RANCH

C h r i s t s o f self-hatred, L i v i n g s t o n e s 6 o f p a i n , H a d drawn t h e lightning. In a flash I s a w M y future: m e d i c a t s o m e A r m a g e d d o n N e i t h e r side wins. I b u r n e d with S H A M E for t h e years You'd s p e n t a m o n g sufferings u n c h a r t e d — N o t even my barren love to rest your h e a d o n . 6

The

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so

Panic

E x c e p t that O r a c l e h a s m a p s O f all t h o s e b a d l a n d s . J u s t n o w , w h e n you l a s h e d o u t , " T h e r e ' s a lot o f d i s e a s e in this r o o m ! " And w e felt o u r faith in o n e a n o t h e r l a p s e , K e n h a d u s b r e a k t h e circle a n d repair T o " a s a f e p l a c e in t h e r o o m . " F a s t e r than fish W e s c a t t e r e d — R a n d y d u c k i n g a s from a sniper, Aileen, w e d g e d in a corner, cradling her bear. You a n d I stood flanking t h e b l a c k b o a r d , Words as usual between us, B u t b a c k s to t h e s a m e wall, for solidarity. This magical sureness of movement no doubt scored Points for all c o n c e r n e d , yet t h e only C h i l d e a c h h a d b e c o m e t r e m b l e d for you T h u n d e r i n g forth into t h e corridors,

85

90

95

Decibels measuring how HURT, how L O N E L Y —

7

Tunnel

Vision

N e w A g e m u s i c . " C l o s e your eyes now. Y o u Are s t a n d i n g , " says t h e lecturer on Grief, "At a tunnel's m o u t h . T h e r e ' s light at t h e e n d . T h e walls, a s you walk through

100

Are h u n g with i m a g e s : w h o you loved that year, An island holiday, a h i g h s c h o o l friend. Younger a n d younger, step by s t e p — A n d s u d d e n l y you're h e r e , At h o m e . G o in. It's your w h o l e life a g o . " A pink eye-level s u n flows through t h e hall. " S m e l l t h e s m e l l s . It's s u p p e r t i m e . G o to t h e t a b l e . " Years have b e g u n to flow U n h i n d e r e d down my f a c e . W h y ? B e c a u s e nobody's t h e r e . T h e g r o w n - u p s ? S h a d o w s .

105

110

6. Those resembling David Livingstone (1813—1873), a Scottish missionary and explorer in Africa who sought the source of the Nile River.

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T h e m e a l ? A mirror. Reflect u p o n it. B e f o r e R e e n t e r i n g the tunnel say g o o d b y e ,

8

Time

Recaptured

7

G o o d b y e to c h i l d h o o d , that u n h a p p y haven. It's over, w e e p your fill. L e t go O f the d e a d d o g , the lost toy. P r a c t i s e grieving At f u n e r a l s — a n y b o d y ' s . L e t go even i O f t h o s e first ninety s e c o n d s m i s s e d , Fifty-three years a g o , of a third-rate o p e r a N e v e r revived s i n c e then. T h e G U I L T you felt, A d d i n g it all the s a m e to your m a s t e r list!

115

120

W h i c h is why, this last m o r n i n g , w h e n I switch T h e FIVl o n , halfway to O r a c l e , And h e a r the a n n o u n c e r say (Invisibly reweaving the d r o p p e d s t i t c h ) , " W e b r i n g you now the O v e r t u r e To Ambroise Thomas's seldom-heard J o y (word rusty with d i s u s e ) Flashes up, deserved and pure.

9

Leading

the

125 Mignon,""

Blind

Is this y o u — s m i l i n g helplessly? P i n n e d to your c h e s t , A sign: Confront Me if I Take Control. P l u s you m u s t wear (till s u n d o w n ) a b l a c k e y e s h a d e . All day you've b e e n the littlest, the c l u m s i e s t . We're s e a t e d f a c e to f a c e . T a k e off your m a s k , K e n says. N o w look into e a c h other deeply. S p e a k , As far a s you c a n trust, the w o r d s of healing. Your p a r d o n for my own b l i n d n e s s I a s k ; You m i n e , for all you hid from m e . T w o old C r a c k p o t hearts o n c e m o r e a s w i m with color, O u r H i g h e r Power has but to dip his b r u s h — L o a n d behold!

130

135

no

T h e g r o u p a p p r o v e s . T h e b a n lifts. L e t m e g u i d e y o u , H e l p l e s s but voluble, into a dripping m u s i c . T h e rainbow brightens with e a c h s t e p . G o o n , T a k e a p e e k . T h i s o n c e , no o n e will c h i d e y o u . 7. The title evokes Marcel Proust's novel, whose title is sometimes translated as The Past Recaptured.

8. T h e title of an opera by Ambroise T h o m a s (1811 — 1896), a French operatic composer.

F A M I L Y W E E K AT O R A C L E R A N C H

J0

The

Desert

O f c h e c k i n g into the No-Tell M o t e l , T o c h e c k it o u t — o u r brave new dried-out world. Exhibits: crystals that for e o n s glinted Refore the wits did; fossil shells F r o m w h e n this overlook lay safely d r o w n e d ; W h o l e spiny families repelled by sex, W h o m dying m e n have d r u n k from ( R a n d y , frightened, H u g g i n g Little Randy, a red h o u n d ) . . . . At length b e h i n d a wall of g l a s s , in s h a d e , T h e m o u n t a i n lioness too indolent T o train t h e m u p o n u s unlids her g e m s S e t in the s a d d e s t face L o v e ever m a d e .

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— O r , a s the fat, n e a r s i g h t e d kid a h e a d C o n s t r u e s his ticket, " W o w , D e s s e r t M u s e u m ! " I leave tomorrow, so you get a p a s s . S a f e r , both feel, instead

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(a) You are a brave a n d special p e r s o n , (b) T h e r e are far too m a n y p e o p l e in the world F o r this to still m a t t e r for very long. B u t (Ken g o e s on) s i n c e you obviously M a d e the effort to attend Family W e e k , W e h o p e that we have s h o w n you j u s t how m u c h You have in c o m m o n with everybody e l s e . N o t to be "terminally u n i q u e " Will be the c o n s o l a t i o n you take h o m e . R e m e m b e r , O r a c l e is only the first step In your recovery. T h e rest is u p to you A n d the twelve-step p r o g r a m you b e c o m e Involved in. A n a m a z i n g forty p e r c e n t O f our g r a d u a t e s are still c l e a n after two years. T h e rest? Well. . . . Given our society, Sobriety is hard to i m p l e m e n t .

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And if it were all like the m o o n ? Full this evening, bewitchingly G l o w i n g in a dark not yet c o m p l e t e Above the world, explicit r u n e

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O f c h a n g e . C h a n g e is t h e " f e e l i n g " that dilutes T h o s e seven o t h e r s to u n c e r t a i n w a s h e s O f soot a n d silver, inks u n k n o w n in my kit. Change sends out shoots O f F E A R a n d L O N E L I N E S S ; of G U I L T , a s well,

iss

T o w a r d s t h e old, a b a n d o n e d p a t t e r n s ; O f joy eventually, a n d s e l f - f o r g i v e n e s s — C o l o r s few of u s b r o u g h t to O r a c l e . . . A n d if the o l d p a t t e r n s r e c u r ? Ask h o w t h e c o - d e p e n d e n t m o o n , a n o t h e r night, F e e l s w h e n t h e light d r a i n s wholly from h e r f a c e . A s k what that cold c o m f o r t m e a n s to h e r .

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1926-1997 "Hold back the edges of your gowns, Ladies, we are going through hell." William Carlos Williams's introduction to Allen Ginsberg's Howl (1956) was probably the most auspicious public welcome from one poet to another since Emerson had hailed the unknown Whitman in a letter that Whitman prefaced to the second edition of Leaves of Grass one hundred years before. Howl combined apocalyptic criticism of the dull, prosperous Eisenhower years with exuberant celebration of an emerging counterculture. It was the best known and most widely circulated book of poems of its time, and with its appearance Ginsberg became part of the history of publicity as well as the history of poetry. Howl and Jack Kerouac's novel On the Road were the pocket Bibles of the generation whose name Kerouac had coined—"Beat," with its punning overtones of "beaten down" and "beatified." Ginsberg was born in 1926, son of Louis Ginsberg, a schoolteacher in New Jersey, himself a poet, and of Naomi Ginsberg, a Russian emigre, whose madness and eventual death her son memorialized in "Kaddish" (1959). His official education took place at Columbia University, but for him as for Jack Kerouac the presence of William Burroughs in New York was equally influential. Burroughs ( 1 9 1 4 - 1 9 9 7 ) , later the author of Naked Lunch, one of the most inventive experiments in American prose, was at that time a drug addict about to embark on an expatriate life in Mexico and Tangier. He helped Ginsberg discover modern writers: Kafka, Yeats, Celine, Rimbaud. Ginsberg responded to Burroughs's liberated kind of life, to his comic-apocalyptic view of American society, and to his bold literary use of autobiography, as when writing about his own experience with addicts and addiction in Junkie, whose chapters Ginsberg was reading in manuscript form in 1950. Ginsberg's New York career has passed into mythology for a generation of poets and readers. In 1945, his sophomore year, he was expelled from Columbia: he had sketched some obscene drawings and phrases in the dust of his dormitory window to draw the attention of a neglectful cleaning woman to the grimy state of his room. Then, living periodically with Burroughs and Kerouac, he shipped out for short trips

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as a messman on merchant tankers and worked in addition as a welder, a night porter, and a dishwasher. One summer, in a Harlem apartment, Ginsberg underwent what he was always to represent as the central conversion experience of his life. He had an "auditory vision" of the English poet William Blake reciting his poems: first "Ah! Sunflower," and then a few minutes later the same oracular voice intoning "The Sick Rose." It was "like hearing the doom of the whole universe, and at the same time the inevitable beauty of that doom." Ginsberg was convinced that the presence of "this big god over all . . . and that the whole purpose of being born was to wake up to Him." Ginsberg eventually finished Columbia in 1948 with high grades but under a legal cloud. Herbert Huncke, a colorful but irresponsible addict friend, had been using Ginsberg's apartment as a storage depot for the goods he stole to support his drug habit. To avoid prosecution as an accomplice, Ginsberg had to plead insanity and spent eight months in the Columbia Psychiatric Institute. After more odd jobs and a considerable success as a market researcher in San Francisco, Ginsberg left the straight, nine-to-five world for good. He was drawn to San Francisco, he said, by its "long honorable . . . tradition of Bohemian—Buddhist— Wobbly [the I.W.W., an early radical labor movement]—mystical—anarchist social involvement." In the years after 1954 he met San Francisco poets such as Robert Duncan, Kenneth Rexroth, Gary Snyder (who was studying Chinese and Japanese at Berkeley), and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, whose City Lights Bookshop became the publisher of Howl. The night Ginsberg read the new poem aloud at the Six Gallery has been called "the birth trauma of the Beat Generation." The spontaneity of surface in Howl conceals but grows out of Ginsberg's care and self-consciousness about rhythm and meter. Under the influence of William Carlos Williams, who had befriended him in Paterson after he left the mental hospital, Ginsberg had started carrying around a notebook to record the rhythms of voices around him. Kerouac's On the Road gave him further examples of "frank talk" and, in addition, of an "oceanic" prose "sometimes as sublime as epic line." Under Kerouac's influence Ginsberg began the long tumbling lines that were to become his trademark. He carefully explained that all of Howl and Other Poems was an experiment in what could be done with the long line, the longer unit of breath that seemed natural for him. "My feeling is for a big long clanky statement," one that accommodates "not the way you would say it, a thought, but the way you would think it—i.e., we think rapidly, in visual images as well as words, and if each successive thought were transcribed in its confusion . . . you get a slightly different prosody than if you were talking slowly." The long line is something Ginsberg learned as well from biblical rhetoric, from the eighteenth-century English poet Christopher Smart, and above all, from Whitman and Blake. His first book pays tribute to both these latter poets. "A Supermarket in California," with its movement from exclamations to sad questioning, is Ginsberg's melancholy reminder of what has become, after a century, of Whitman's vision of American plenty. In "Sunflower Sutra" he celebrates the battered nobility beneath our industrial "skin of grime." Ginsberg at his best gives a sense of both doom and beauty, whether in the denunciatory impatient prophecies of Howl or in the catalog of suffering in "Kaddish." His disconnected phrases can accumulate as narrative shrieks or, at other moments, can build as a litany of praise. By the end of the 1960s Ginsberg was widely known and widely traveled. For him it was a decade in which he conducted publicly his own pursuit of inner peace during a long stay with Buddhist instructors in India and at home served as a kind of guru himself for many young people disoriented by the Vietnam War. Ginsberg read his poetry and held "office hours" in universities all over America, a presence at everything from "be-ins"—mass outdoor festivals of chanting, costumes, and music—to antiwar protests. He was a gentle and persuasive presence at hearings for many kinds of reform: revision of severe drug laws and laws against homosexuality. Ginsberg himself had lived for years with the poet Peter Orlovsky and wrote frankly about their

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relationship. His poems record his drug experiences as well, and "The Change," written in Japan in 1 9 6 3 , marks his decision to keep away from what he considered the nonhuman domination of drugs and to lay new stress on "living in and inhabiting the human form." In "The Fall of America" ( 1 9 7 2 ) Ginsberg turned to "epic," a poem including history and registering the ups and downs of his travels across the United States. These "transit" poems sometimes seem like tape-recorded random lists of sights, sounds, and names, but at their best they give a sense of how far America has fallen, by measuring the provisional and changing world of nuclear America against the traces of nature still visible in our landscape and place names. With Ginsberg's death, contemporary American poetry lost one of its most definitive and revolutionary figures. Happily, the poems endure.

Howl for Carl Solomon 1

I I s a w the b e s t m i n d s of my g e n e r a t i o n destroyed by m a d n e s s , starving hysterical n a k e d , d r a g g i n g t h e m s e l v e s t h r o u g h the negro streets at d a w n looking for an angry fix, a n g e l h e a d e d hipsters b u r n i n g for the a n c i e n t heavenly c o n n e c t i o n 2 to the starry d y n a m o in the m a c h i n e r y of night, who poverty a n d tatters a n d hollow-eyed a n d high sat u p s m o k i n g in the s u p e r n a t u r a l d a r k n e s s of cold-water flats floating a c r o s s the t o p s of cities c o n t e m p l a t i n g j a z z , w h o b a r e d their b r a i n s to H e a v e n u n d e r the E l 3 a n d s a w M o h a m m e d a n a n g e l s s t a g g e r i n g o n t e n e m e n t roofs i l l u m i n a t e d , 5 w h o p a s s e d t h r o u g h universities with radiant cool eyes h a l l u c i n a t i n g Arkans a s a n d Blake-light" 1 tragedy a m o n g the s c h o l a r s of war, w h o were expelled from the a c a d e m i e s for crazy & p u b l i s h i n g o b s c e n e o d e s o n the windows of the skull, w h o c o w e r e d in u n s h a v e n r o o m s in u n d e r w e a r , b u r n i n g their m o n e y in w a s t e b a s k e t s a n d listening to the T e r r o r t h r o u g h the wall, w h o got b u s t e d in their p u b i c b e a r d s r e t u r n i n g t h r o u g h L a r e d o with a belt of m a r i j u a n a for N e w York, who a t e fire in paint hotels or d r a n k t u r p e n t i n e in P a r a d i s e Alley, s d e a t h , or p u r g a t o r i e d their torsos night after night io with d r e a m s , with d r u g s , with w a k i n g n i g h t m a r e s , a l c o h o l a n d c o c k a n d e n d l e s s balls, 1. Ginsberg met Solomon (b. 1928) while both were patients in the Columbia Psychiatric Institute in 1949 and called him "an intuitive Bronx Dadaist and prose-poet." Many details in "Howl" come from the "apocryphal history" that Solomon told Ginsberg in 1949. In "More M i s h a p s " ( 1 9 6 8 ) , Solomon admits that these adventures were "compounded partly of truth, but for the most [of] raving self-justification, crypto-bohemian boasting

. . . effeminate prancing and esoteric aphorisms." 2. In one sense, a person who can supply drugs. 3. T h e elevated railway in New York City; also, a Hebrew word for G o d . 4. Refers to Ginsberg's apocalyptic vision of the English poet William Blake ( 1 7 5 7 - 1 8 2 7 ) . 5. A tenement courtyard in New York's East Village; setting of Kerouac's The Subterraneans (1958).

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i n c o m p a r a b l e blind streets of s h u d d e r i n g c l o u d a n d lightning in the m i n d l e a p i n g toward poles of C a n a d a & P a t e r s o n , 6 i l l u m i n a t i n g all the m o t i o n l e s s world of T i m e b e t w e e n , Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree c e m e t e r y d a w n s , wine drunke n n e s s over the rooftops, storefront b o r o u g h s of t e a h e a d joyride n e o n blinking traffic light, s u n a n d m o o n a n d tree vibrations in the roaring winter d u s k s of Brooklyn, a s h c a n rantings a n d kind king light of m i n d , w h o c h a i n e d t h e m s e l v e s to s u b w a y s for the e n d l e s s ride from Battery to holy B r o n x 7 on benzedrine until the noise of wheels a n d children b r o u g h t t h e m d o w n s h u d d e r i n g m o u t h - w r a c k e d a n d b a t t e r e d b l e a k of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Z o o , who s a n k all night in s u b m a r i n e light of Bickford's floated out a n d s a t through the stale beer afternoon in d e s o l a t e Fugazzi's, listening to the c r a c k of d o o m on the hydrogen j u k e b o x , 15 w h o talked c o n t i n u o u s l y seventy h o u r s from p a r k to p a d to b a r to B e l l e v u e * to m u s e u m to the Brooklyn B r i d g e , a lost battalion of platonic c o n v e r s a t i o n a l i s t s j u m p i n g d o w n t h e s t o o p s off fire e s c a p e s off windowsills off E m p i r e S t a t e out of the m o o n , yacketayakking s c r e a m i n g vomiting w h i s p e r i n g facts a n d m e m o r i e s a n d a n e c d o t e s a n d eyeball kicks a n d s h o c k s of hospitals a n d jails a n d w a r s , w h o l e intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days a n d nights with brilliant eyes, m e a t for the S y n a g o g u e c a s t on the p a v e m e n t , w h o v a n i s h e d into n o w h e r e Z e n N e w J e r s e y leaving a trail of a m b i g u o u s 20 picture p o s t c a r d s of Atlantic City Hall, suffering E a s t e r n s w e a t s a n d T a n g e r i a n b o n e - g r i n d i n g s a n d m i g r a i n e s of C h i n a 9 u n d e r junk-withdrawal in N e w a r k ' s b l e a k f u r n i s h e d r o o m , who w a n d e r e d a r o u n d a n d a r o u n d at midnight in the railroad yard w o n d e r i n g w h e r e to g o , a n d went, leaving n o broken h e a r t s , w h o lit cigarettes in boxcars b o x c a r s boxcars r a c k e t i n g t h r o u g h s n o w toward l o n e s o m e f a r m s in g r a n d f a t h e r night, who s t u d i e d Plotinus P o e S t . J o h n of the C r o s s 1 telepathy a n d b o p k a b a l l a h 2 b e c a u s e the c o s m o s instinctively vibrated at their feet in K a n s a s , w h o loned it through the streets of I d a h o s e e k i n g visionary indian a n g e l s w h o were visionary indian a n g e l s , 25 who thought they were only m a d w h e n B a l t i m o r e g l e a m e d in s u p e r n a t u r a l ecstasy, who j u m p e d in l i m o u s i n e s with the C h i n a m a n of O k l a h o m a on the i m p u l s e of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, w h o l o u n g e d hungry a n d l o n e s o m e t h r o u g h H o u s t o n s e e k i n g j a z z or sex or s o u p , a n d followed the brilliant S p a n i a r d to c o n v e r s e a b o u t A m e r i c a a n d Eternity, a h o p e l e s s task, a n d so took ship to Africa, w h o d i s a p p e a r e d into the v o l c a n o e s of M e x i c o leaving b e h i n d n o t h i n g but the s h a d o w of d u n g a r e e s a n d the lava a n d a s h of poetry s c a t t e r e d in fireplace C h i c a g o , 6. Ginsberg's hometown, also the town celebrated by William Carlos Williams in his long poem Paterson. 7. Opposite ends of a New York subway line; the Bronx Zoo was the northern terminus. 8. New York public hospital to which psychiatric patients may be committed. 9. African and Asian sources of drugs.

1. Spanish visionary and poet (1542—1591), author of The Dark Night of the Soul. Plotinus (205—270), visionary philosopher. Edgar Allan Poe (1809—1849), American poet and author of supernatural tales. 2. A mystical tradition of interpretation of Hebrew scripture. " B o p " : jazz style of the 1940s.

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w h o r e a p p e a r e d on the W e s t C o a s t investigating the F B I in b e a r d s a n d shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their d a r k skin p a s s i n g o u t i n c o m p r e h e n sible leaflets, 30 who b u r n e d cigarette h o l e s in their a r m s p r o t e s t i n g the n a r c o t i c t o b a c c o haze of C a p i t a l i s m , w h o distributed S u p e r c o m m u n i s t p a m p h l e t s in U n i o n S q u a r e w e e p i n g a n d u n d r e s s i n g while the sirens of L o s A l a m o s ' wailed t h e m d o w n , a n d wailed d o w n W a l l , 4 a n d the S t a t e n Island ferry a l s o w a i l e d , w h o broke d o w n crying in white g y m n a s i u m s n a k e d a n d t r e m b l i n g b e f o r e the m a c h i n e r y of other s k e l e t o n s , who bit detectives in the n e c k a n d shrieked with delight in p o l i c e c a r s for c o m m i t t i n g n o c r i m e but their own wild c o o k i n g p e d e r a s t y a n d intoxication, w h o howled on their k n e e s in the s u b w a y a n d were d r a g g e d off the r o o f waving genitals a n d m a n u s c r i p t s , 35 w h o let t h e m s e l v e s be f u c k e d in the a s s by saintly m o t o r c y c l i s t s , a n d s c r e a m e d with joy, w h o blew a n d were blown by t h o s e h u m a n s e r a p h i m , the sailors, c a r e s s e s of Atlantic a n d C a r i b b e a n love, who balled in the m o r n i n g in the evenings in r o s e g a r d e n s a n d the g r a s s of public p a r k s a n d c e m e t e r i e s s c a t t e r i n g their s e m e n freely to w h o m e v e r c o m e w h o may, w h o h i c c u p p e d endlessly trying to giggle b u t w o u n d u p with a s o b b e h i n d a partition in a T u r k i s h B a t h w h e n the b l o n d e & n a k e d angel c a m e to p i e r c e t h e m with a sword, 1 5 w h o lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of f a t e 6 the o n e eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the o n e eyed s h r e w that winks out of the w o m b a n d the o n e eyed shrew that d o e s n o t h i n g b u t sit o n her a s s a n d snip the intellectual g o l d e n t h r e a d s of the c r a f t s m a n ' s l o o m , 40 w h o c o p u l a t e d e c s t a t i c a n d i n s a t i a t e with a bottle of b e e r a s w e e t h e a r t a p a c k a g e of cigarettes a c a n d l e a n d fell off the b e d , a n d c o n t i n u e d a l o n g the floor a n d d o w n the hall a n d e n d e d fainting o n the wall with a vision of ultimate c u n t a n d c o m e e l u d i n g the last gyzym of c o n s c i o u s n e s s , w h o s w e e t e n e d the s n a t c h e s of a million girls t r e m b l i n g in the s u n s e t , a n d were red eyed in the m o r n i n g b u t p r e p a r e d to s w e e t e n the s n a t c h of the s u n r i s e , flashing b u t t o c k s u n d e r b a r n s a n d n a k e d in the lake, w h o went o u t w h o r i n g t h r o u g h C o l o r a d o in myriad stolen n i g h t c a r s , N . C . , 7 secret hero of t h e s e p o e m s , c o c k s m a n a n d A d o n i s of D e n v e r — j o y to the m e m o r y of his i n n u m e r a b l e lays of girls in e m p t y lots & diner b a c k y a r d s , m o v i e h o u s e s ' rickety rows, on m o u n t a i n t o p s in c a v e s or with g a u n t waitr e s s e s in familiar r o a d s i d e lonely p e t t i c o a t upliftings & e s p e c i a l l y secret g a s - s t a t i o n s o l i p s i s m s of J o h n s , & h o m e t o w n alleys too, w h o faded o u t in vast sordid m o v i e s , were shifted in d r e a m s , woke o n a s u d d e n M a n h a t t a n , a n d p i c k e d t h e m s e l v e s u p o u t of b a s e m e n t s h u n -

3. In New Mexico, a center for the development of the atomic bomb. Union Square was a gathering place for radical speakers in New York in the 1930s. 4. Wall Street, but also alludes to the Wailing Wall, a place of public lamentation in Jerusalem. 5. An allusion to The Ecstasy of St. Teresa, a sculpture by Lorenzo Bernini ( 1 5 9 8 - 1 6 8 0 ) based on St.

Teresa's (1515—1 5 8 2 ) distinctly erotic description of a religious vision. 6. In Greek mythology, g o d d e s s e s who determine a mortal's life by spinning out a length of thread and cutting it at the time of death. 7. Neal Cassady, hip companion of J a c k Kerouac and the original Dean Moriarty, one of the leading figures in On the Road.

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gover with h e a r t l e s s T o k a y 8 a n d horrors of Third A v e n u e iron d r e a m s & s t u m b l e d to u n e m p l o y m e n t offices, w h o walked all night with their s h o e s full of blood on the s n o w b a n k d o c k s waiting for a door in the E a s t River to o p e n to a r o o m full of s t e a m h e a t and opium, 45 w h o c r e a t e d great suicidal d r a m a s on the a p a r t m e n t cliff-banks of the H u d son u n d e r the w a r t i m e blue floodlight of the m o o n & their h e a d s shall be c r o w n e d with laurel in oblivion, w h o ate the l a m b stew of the imagination or d i g e s t e d the c r a b at the m u d d y b o t t o m of the rivers of Bowery, 9 w h o wept at the r o m a n c e of the streets with their p u s h c a r t s full of o n i o n s and bad music, w h o sat in boxes b r e a t h i n g in the d a r k n e s s u n d e r the bridge, a n d r o s e u p to build h a r p s i c h o r d s in their lofts, w h o c o u g h e d on the sixth floor of H a r l e m c r o w n e d with flame u n d e r the t u b e r c u l a r sky s u r r o u n d e d by o r a n g e crates of theology, 50 who scribbled all night rocking a n d rolling over lofty i n c a n t a t i o n s w h i c h in the yellow m o r n i n g were stanzas of g i b b e r i s h , w h o c o o k e d rotten a n i m a l s l u n g heart feet tail b o r s h t & tortillas d r e a m i n g of the p u r e vegetable k i n g d o m , who p l u n g e d t h e m s e l v e s u n d e r m e a t trucks looking for an egg, w h o threw their w a t c h e s off the roof to c a s t their ballot for Eternity o u t s i d e of T i m e , & a l a r m clocks fell on their h e a d s every day for the next d e c a d e , who c u t their wrists three t i m e s s u c c e s s i v e l y u n s u c c e s s f u l l y , gave u p a n d were forced to o p e n a n t i q u e stores w h e r e they t h o u g h t they were growing old a n d cried, 55 who were b u r n e d alive in their i n n o c e n t flannel suits on M a d i s o n A v e n u e 1 a m i d blasts of l e a d e n verse & the t a n k e d - u p clatter of the iron r e g i m e n t s of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the m u s t a r d g a s of sinister intelligent editors, or were run d o w n by the d r u n k e n taxicabs of A b s o l u t e Reality, who j u m p e d off the Brooklyn B r i d g e this actually h a p p e n e d a n d walked away u n k n o w n a n d forgotten into the ghostly d a z e of C h i n a t o w n s o u p alleyways & firetrucks, not even o n e free beer, who s a n g out of their windows in d e s p a i r , fell out of the s u b w a y window, j u m p e d in the filthy P a s s a i c , 2 l e a p e d on n e g r o e s , cried all over the street, d a n c e d on broken w i n e g l a s s e s barefoot s m a s h e d p h o n o g r a p h r e c o r d s of nostalgic E u r o p e a n 1 9 3 0 ' s G e r m a n jazz finished the whiskey a n d threw u p g r o a n i n g into the bloody toilet, m o a n s in their e a r s a n d the blast of colossal s t e a m w h i s t l e s , who barreled d o w n the highways of the past j o u r n e y i n g to e a c h other's hotr o d - G o l g o t h a 3 jail-solitude w a t c h or B i r m i n g h a m jazz i n c a r n a t i o n , w h o drove c r o s s c o u n t r y seventytwo h o u r s to find o u t if I h a d a vision or you h a d a vision or he h a d a vision to find o u t Eternity, 60 w h o j o u r n e y e d to Denver, w h o died in Denver, w h o c a m e b a c k to D e n v e r & waited in vain, w h o w a t c h e d over D e n v e r & b r o o d e d & l o n e d in D e n v e r a n d finally went away to find o u t the T i m e , & now D e n v e r is l o n e s o m e for her h e r o e s , 8. A naturally sweet wine made in Hungary. 9. Southern extension of Third Avenue in New York City; traditional haunt of derelicts and alcoholics. 1. Center of New York advertising agencies.

2. River flowing past Paterson, New Jersey. 3. T h e place in ancient J u d e a where J e s u s was believed to have been crucified; also known as Calvary.

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w h o fell on their knees in h o p e l e s s c a t h e d r a l s praying for e a c h other's salvation a n d light a n d b r e a s t s , until the soul i l l u m i n a t e d its hair for a second, who c r a s h e d t h r o u g h their m i n d s in jail waiting for i m p o s s i b l e c r i m i n a l s with golden h e a d s a n d the c h a r m of reality in their hearts w h o s a n g s w e e t b l u e s to Alcatraz, w h o retired to M e x i c o to cultivate a habit, or Rocky M o u n t to tender B u d d h a or T a n g i e r s to boys or S o u t h e r n Pacific to the b l a c k l o c o m o t i v e or Harvard to N a r c i s s u s to Woodlawn" 1 to the daisychain or grave, w h o d e m a n d e d sanity trials a c c u s i n g the radio of h y p n o t i s m & were left with their insanity & their h a n d s & a h u n g jury, 65 w h o threw p o t a t o s a l a d at C C N Y lecturers on D a d a i s m 5 a n d s u b s e q u e n t l y p r e s e n t e d t h e m s e l v e s on the granite s t e p s of the m a d h o u s e with s h a v e n h e a d s a n d h a r l e q u i n s p e e c h of s u i c i d e , d e m a n d i n g i n s t a n t a n e o u s lobotomy, a n d who were given instead the c o n c r e t e void of insulin m e t r a s o l electricity hydrotherapy p s y c h o t h e r a p y o c c u p a t i o n a l therapy p i n g p o n g & a m n e s i a , w h o in h u m o r l e s s protest overturned only o n e s y p b o l i c p i n g p o n g t a b l e , resting briefly in c a t a t o n i a , returning years later truly b a l d except for a wig of b l o o d , a n d tears a n d fingers, to the visible m a d m a n d o o m of the w a r d s of the m a d t o w n s of the East, Pilgrim S t a t e ' s R o c k l a n d ' s a n d G r e y s t o n e ' s " foetid halls, b i c k e r i n g with the e c h o e s of the s o u l , rocking a n d rolling in the midnight s o l i t u d e - b e n c h d o l m e n - r e a l m s of love, d r e a m of life a n i g h t m a r e , b o d i e s t u r n e d to s t o n e a s heavy a s the m o o n , 70 with m o t h e r finally* * * * * * * , a n d the last fantastic b o o k flung out of the t e n e m e n t window, a n d the last d o o r c l o s e d at 4 AM a n d the last telep h o n e s l a m m e d at the wall in reply a n d the last f u r n i s h e d r o o m e m p t i e d down to the last p i e c e of m e n t a l furniture, a yellow p a p e r r o s e twisted on a wire h a n g e r in the closet, a n d even that imaginary, n o t h i n g b u t a hopeful little bit of h a l l u c i n a t i o n — a h , C a r l , 7 while you are not s a f e I a m not s a f e , a n d now you're really in the total a n i m a l s o u p of t i m e — a n d w h o therefore ran t h r o u g h the icy streets o b s e s s e d with a s u d d e n flash of the a l c h e m y of the u s e of the ellipse the c a t a l o g the m e t e r & the vibrating p l a n e , who d r e a m t a n d m a d e i n c a r n a t e g a p s in T i m e & S p a c e t h r o u g h i m a g e s juxt a p o s e d , a n d t r a p p e d the a r c h a n g e l of the soul b e t w e e n 2 visual i m a g e s a n d j o i n e d the e l e m e n t a l verbs a n d set the n o u n a n d d a s h of c o n s c i o u s n e s s together j u m p i n g with s e n s a t i o n of Pater O m n i p o t e n s A e t e r n a Deus8

4. A cemetery in the Bronx. T h e Southern Pacific is a railroad company. T h e references in this line are to the lives of Kerouac, Cassidy, and William Burroughs (an author and fellow Beat). 5. Artistic cult of absurdity (c. 1 9 1 6 - 1 9 2 0 ) . " C C N Y " : City College of New York. This and the following incidents probably derived from the "apocryphal history of my adventures" related by Solomon to Ginsberg. 6. Three psychiatric hospitals near New York. Solomon was institutionalized at Pilgrim State and Rockland: Ginsberg's mother, Naomi, was

permanently institutionalized at Greystone after years of suffering hallucinations and paranoid attacks. S h e died there in 1956, the year after "Howl" was written. 7. Solomon. 8. All Powerful Father, Eternal God (Latin). An allusion to a phrase used by the French painter Paul C e z a n n e (1839—1906), in a letter describing the effects of nature ( 1 9 0 4 ) . Ginsberg, in an interview, compared his own method of sharply juxtaposed images with Cezanne's foreshortening of perspective in landscape painting.

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to recreate the syntax a n d m e a s u r e of poor h u m a n p r o s e a n d s t a n d before you s p e e c h l e s s a n d intelligent a n d s h a k i n g with s h a m e , rejected yet c o n f e s s i n g out the soul to c o n f o r m to the rhythm of t h o u g h t in his n a k e d and endless head, 75 the m a d m a n b u m a n d angel b e a t in T i m e , u n k n o w n , yet p u t t i n g d o w n here what might be left to say in time c o m e after d e a t h , a n d rose r e i n c a r n a t e in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the g o l d h o r n s h a d o w of the b a n d a n d blew the suffering of A m e r i c a ' s n a k e d m i n d for love into a n eli eli l a m m a l a m m a s a b a c t h a n i 9 s a x o p h o n e cry that shivered the cities d o w n to the last radio with the a b s o l u t e heart of the p o e m of life b u t c h e r e d o u t of their own b o d i e s g o o d to e a t a t h o u s a n d years. II

W h a t sphinx of c e m e n t a n d a l u m i n u m b a s h e d o p e n their skulls a n d a t e up their brains a n d i m a g i n a t i o n ? M o l o c h ! 1 S o l i t u d e ! Filth! U g l i n e s s ! A s h c a n s a n d u n o b t a i n a b l e dollars! Children s c r e a m i n g u n d e r the stairways! B o y s s o b b i n g in a r m i e s ! O l d m e n w e e p i n g in the parks! so M o l o c h ! M o l o c h ! N i g h t m a r e of M o l o c h ! M o l o c h the loveless! M e n t a l M o l o c h ! M o l o c h the heavy j u d g e r of m e n ! M o l o c h the i n c o m p r e h e n s i b l e prison! M o l o c h the c r o s s b o n e s o u l l e s s jailh o u s e a n d C o n g r e s s of sorrows! M o l o c h w h o s e buildings a r e j u d g m e n t ! M o l o c h the vast s t o n e of war! M o l o c h the s t u n n e d g o v e r n m e n t s ! M o l o c h w h o s e m i n d is p u r e m a c h i n e r y ! M o l o c h w h o s e b l o o d is r u n n i n g m o n e y ! M o l o c h w h o s e fingers are ten a r m i e s ! M o l o c h w h o s e breast is a c a n n i b a l d y n a m o ! M o l o c h w h o s e ear is a s m o k i n g t o m b ! M o l o c h w h o s e eyes are a t h o u s a n d blind w i n d o w s ! M o l o c h w h o s e skyscrapers s t a n d in the long streets like e n d l e s s J e h o v a h s ! M o l o c h w h o s e factories d r e a m a n d c r o a k in the fog! M o l o c h w h o s e s m o k e s t a c k s a n d a n t e n n a e crown the cities! M o l o c h w h o s e love is e n d l e s s oil a n d s t o n e ! M o l o c h w h o s e soul is electricity a n d b a n k s ! M o l o c h w h o s e poverty is the s p e c t e r of g e n i u s ! M o l o c h w h o s e fate is a c l o u d of sexless hydrogen! M o l o c h w h o s e n a m e is the Mind! ss M o l o c h in w h o m I sit lonely! M o l o c h in w h o m I d r e a m A n g e l s ! C r a z y in M o l o c h ! C o c k s u c k e r in M o l o c h ! L a c k l o v e a n d m a n l e s s in M o l o c h ! M o l o c h who e n t e r e d my soul early! M o l o c h in w h o m I a m a c o n s c i o u s n e s s without a body! M o l o c h who frightened m e out of my natural e c s t a s y ! M o l o c h w h o m I a b a n d o n ! W a k e up in M o l o c h ! Light s t r e a m i n g out of the sky! M o l o c h ! M o l o c h ! R o b o t a p a r t m e n t s ! invisible s u b u r b s ! skeleton t r e a s u r i e s ! blind capitals! d e m o n i c industries! spectral n a t i o n s ! invincible m a d h o u s e s ! granite c o c k s ! m o n s t r o u s b o m b s ! T h e y broke their b a c k s lifting M o l o c h to H e a v e n ! P a v e m e n t s , t r e e s , radios, t o n s ! lifting the city to H e a v e n which exists a n d is everywhere a b o u t u s ! Visions! o m e n s ! h a l l u c i n a t i o n s ! m i r a c l e s ! e c s t a s i e s ! g o n e d o w n the A m e r i c a n river! 90 9. Christ's last words on the Cross: My God. my God, why have you forsaken me? (Aramaic). 1. Ginsberg's own annotation in the facsimile edition of the poem reads: " 'Moloch': or Molech, the

Canaanite fire god, whose worship was marked by parents' burning their children as proprietary sacrifice. 'And thou shalt not let any of thy seed pass through the fire to Molech' [Leviticus 18:21].' "

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D r e a m s ! a d o r a t i o n s ! illuminations! religions! the w h o l e b o a t l o a d of sensitive bullshit! B r e a k t h r o u g h s ! over the river! flips a n d crucifixions! g o n e d o w n the flood! H i g h s ! E p i p h a n i e s ! D e s p a i r s ! T e n years' a n i m a l s c r e a m s a n d s u i c i d e s ! M i n d s ! N e w loves! M a d g e n e r a t i o n ! d o w n o n the rocks of T i m e ! Real holy l a u g h t e r in the river! T h e y s a w it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! T h e y b a d e farewell! T h e y j u m p e d off the roof! to s o l i t u d e ! waving! carrying flowers! D o w n to the river! into the street! Ill C a r l S o l o m o n ! I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e you're m a d d e r than I a m 95 I'm with you in R o c k l a n d where you m u s t feel very s t r a n g e I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e you imitate the s h a d e of my m o t h e r I'm with you in R o c k l a n d 100 w h e r e you've m u r d e r e d your twelve s e c r e t a r i e s I'm with you in R o c k l a n d where you l a u g h at this invisible h u m o r I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e we are great writers on the s a m e dreadful typewriter 105 I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e your condition has b e c o m e s e r i o u s a n d is reported o n the radio I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e the faculties of the skull n o longer a d m i t the w o r m s of the s e n s e s I'm with you in R o c k l a n d 110 w h e r e you drink the tea of the b r e a s t s of the s p i n s t e r s of U t i c a I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e you p u n on the b o d i e s of your n u r s e s the h a r p i e s of the B r o n x I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e you s c r e a m in a straightjacket that you're losing the g a m e of the a c t u a l p i n g p o n g of the abyss 115 I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e you b a n g on the c a t a t o n i c p i a n o the soul is i n n o c e n t a n d i m m o r tal it s h o u l d never die ungodly in a n a r m e d m a d h o u s e I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e fifty m o r e s h o c k s will never return your soul to its b o d y a g a i n from its pilgrimage to a c r o s s in the void I'm with you in R o c k l a n d 120 w h e r e you a c c u s e your d o c t o r s of insanity a n d plot the H e b r e w socialist revolution a g a i n s t the fascist national G o l g o t h a I'm with you in R o c k l a n d where you will split the h e a v e n s of L o n g Island a n d r e s u r r e c t your living h u m a n J e s u s from the s u p e r h u m a n t o m b I'm with you in R o c k l a n d w h e r e there a r e twenty five t h o u s a n d m a d c o m r a d e s all together singing 125 the final s t a n z a s of the I n t e r n a t i o n a l e 2

2. Former Socialist and C o m m u n i s t song, it was the official Soviet anthem until 1944.

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I'm with you in R o c k l a n d where we h u g a n d kiss the U n i t e d S t a t e s u n d e r our b e d s h e e t s the U n i t e d S t a t e s that c o u g h s all night a n d won't let u s s l e e p I'm with you in R o c k l a n d where we w a k e u p electrified o u t of the c o m a by our own s o u l s ' a i r p l a n e s roaring over the roof they've c o m e to drop angelic b o m b s the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls c o l l a p s e O skinny legions run o u t s i d e O starry-spangled s h o c k of m e r c y the eternal war is here O victory forget your u n d e r w e a r we're free I'm with you in R o c k l a n d 130 in my d r e a m s you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway a c r o s s A m e r i c a in tears to the d o o r of my c o t t a g e in the W e s t e r n night San Francisco, 1 9 5 5 - 5 6

1956

A Supermarket in California W h a t t h o u g h t s I have of you tonight, W a l t W h i t m a n , 1 for I walked d o w n the sidestreets u n d e r the trees with a h e a d a c h e s e l f - c o n s c i o u s looking at the full m o o n . In my hungry f a t i g u e , a n d s h o p p i n g for i m a g e s , I went into the n e o n fruit s u p e r m a r k e t , d r e a m i n g of your e n u m e r a t i o n s ! W h a t p e a c h e s a n d what p e n u m b r a s ! 2 W h o l e families s h o p p i n g at night! Aisles full of h u s b a n d s ! Wives in the a v o c a d o s , b a b i e s in the t o m a t o e s ! — a n d you, G a r c i a L o r c a , 3 what were you doing d o w n by the w a t e r m e l o n s ? I saw you, Walt W h i t m a n , childless, lonely old g r u b b e r , p o k i n g a m o n g the m e a t s in the refrigerator a n d eyeing the grocery boys. I h e a r d you a s k i n g q u e s t i o n s of e a c h : W h o killed the pork c h o p s ? W h a t price b a n a n a s ? Are you my A n g e l ? 5 I w a n d e r e d in a n d out of the brilliant s t a c k s of c a n s following you, a n d followed in my i m a g i n a t i o n by the store detective. W e strode d o w n the o p e n corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, p o s s e s s i n g every frozen delicacy, a n d never p a s s i n g the c a s h i e r . W h e r e are we going, W a l t W h i t m a n ? T h e d o o r s c l o s e in a n hour. W h i c h way d o e s your b e a r d point tonight? (I t o u c h your b o o k a n d d r e a m of our odyssey in the s u p e r m a r k e t a n d feel absurd.) Will we walk all night t h r o u g h solitary streets? T h e trees a d d s h a d e to s h a d e , lights o u t in the h o u s e s , we'll both be lonely. 10 Will we stroll d r e a m i n g of the lost A m e r i c a of love p a s t b l u e a u t o m o b i l e s in driveways, h o m e to our silent c o t t a g e ?

1. of of 2.

American poet (1819—1892), author of Leaves Grass, against whose homosexuality and vision American plenty Ginsberg measures himself. Partial shadows.

3. Spanish poet and dramatist ( 1 8 9 9 - 1 9 3 6 ) , author of "A Poet in New York," whose work is characterized by surrealist and homoerotic inspiration.

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Ah, d e a r father, graybeard, lonely old c o u r a g e - t e a c h e r , what A m e r i c a did you have w h e n C h a r o n quit p o l i n g his ferry a n d you got o u t on a s m o k i n g b a n k a n d s t o o d w a t c h i n g the boat d i s a p p e a r on the b l a c k w a t e r s of L e t h e ? 4 Berkeley, 1 9 5 5

1956

4. Forgctfulness. In Greek mythology, one of the rivers of Hades. Charon was the boatman who ferried the dead to the underworld.

GALWAY b.

KINNELL 1927

In an interview in 1971, Galway Kinnell praised Whitman's Song of Myself: "The final action of the poem where Whitman dissolves into the air and into the ground, is for me one of the great moments of self-transcendence in poetry. In one way or another, consciously or not, all poems try to pass beyond the self." This capacity for selftranscendence is dramatized in Kinnell's own work, where he enters the lives of animals ("The Porcupine" and "The Bear") and experiences himself as part of the natural world, like the flower he speaks for in "Flower f lerding on Mount Monadnock." "Part of poetry's usefulness in the world," he has said, "is that it pays some of our huge unpaid tribute to the things and creatures that share the earth with us." His work moves between a vivid sense of the world's physical actuality and an equally vivid sense of its dissolution, for mortality is Kinnell's great theme. It appears in his work both as extinction and as "the flowing away into the universe which we desire." This theme is worked out at length in his sequence The Book of Nightmares (1978). Kinnell grew up in Providence, Rhode Island, and attended Princeton University, where he and a classmate, W. S. Merwin, sometimes read each other their poems. He has written continuously since that time, combining his life of poetry with political commitments. Among his various activities Kinnell has been director of an adult education program in Chicago, a journalist in Iran, and a field-worker for the Congress of Racial Equality in Louisiana. More recently, he has taught at a large number of colleges and universities. Kinnell's experiences working for voter registration in the South in the 1960s make their way into his long poem "The Last River" from his volume Body Rags (1969). Over the years, Kinnell has frequently written poems that unite personal life with the events of the nation. His work includes powerful war poems such as "Vapor Trail Reflected in the Frog Pond" and "The Dead Shall Be Raised Incorruptible," and in "The Past" (1985) he meditates on, and imagines his way into, the consequences of the dropping of the atom bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki ("The Fundamental Project of Technology"). Elsewhere he has suggested that poetry is an alternative to a technological world in which domination of nature represses the knowledge of death. In 1994 his collection Imperfect Thirst extended his meditation on mortality into the arena of family history and personal memory. In a moving poem, "Neverland," on the death of his sister, Kinnell confronts death's agony and mystery: "Now is when the point of the story changes." Kinnell's earliest work, as seen in What a Kingdom It Was (1960) and First Poems 1946-1954 (1970), is formally intricate. The course of his career has been a movement to a looser line, a more uncluttered diction. His sense of form arises from what he calls the "inner shape" of the poem: "saying in its own music what matters most." Over the years he has come to write poems that maintain musicality and a richness

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of language while never departing too far from the speaking voice. Kinnell's attraction to the nonhuman world, which may remind us of Theodore Roethke and Gary Snyder, gives his work a vivid sense of life's diversity. But he has sometimes elevated the instinctual at the expense of a shaping, conscious awareness and has written as if the very need for poetic form were, in and of itself, repressive. The finest of Kinnell's poems combine self-transcendence with self-awareness in rhythms that convey a powerful physical energy and an empathetic imagination. His description of Whitman can serve as a description of Kinnell's own work at its best: "All his feelings for existence, for himself, for his own place, come out in what he says about them. . . . He rescues these things from death and lets them live in his poems and, in turn, they save him from incoherence and silence."

The Porcupine I Fatted on h e r b s , swollen on c r a b a p p l e s , puffed u p o n bast a n d p h l o e m , 1 b a l l o o n e d on willow flowers, p o p l a r c a t k i n s , first leafs of a s p e n a n d larch, the p o r c u p i n e d r a g s a n d b o u n c e s his last m e a l t h r o u g h ice, m u d , r o s e s a n d g o l d e n r o d , into the stubbly high

fields.

In c h a r a c t e r h e r e s e m b l e s u s in seven ways: h e p u t s his m a r k o n o u t h o u s e s , h e a l c h e m i z e s by m o o n l i g h t , he shits on the r u n , he u s e s his tail for climbing, he c h u c k l e s softly to h i m s e l f when s c a r e d , he's overcrowded if there's m o r e than o n e of him per five a c r e s , his eyes have their own inner r e d n e s s .

Digger of goings a c r o s s floors, of hesitations at t h r e s h o l d s , of h a n d p r i n t s of d r e a d at d o o r p o s t or window j a m b , h e would g o u g e the world e m p t y of u s , h a c k a n d crater it until it is n o t h i n g , if that c o u l d rinse it of all our sweat a n d p a t h o s . •

1. I.e., plant tissues.

20

25

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GALWAY

KINNELL

Adorer of ax h a n d l e s allow with grain, of a r m s of Morris c h a i r s , 2 of h a n d crafted o b j e c t s s t e e p e d in the j u i c e of fingertips, of s u r f a c e s wetted d o w n with fist g r e a s e a n d elbow oil, of c l o t h e s p i n s that have g r a b b e d our body-rags by u n d e r a r m a n d crotch Unimpressed—bored— by the whirl of the s t a r s , by these he's a s t o n i s h e d , ultraR i l k e a n ' angel!

40

for w h o m the true portion of the s w e e t n e s s of earth is o n e of t h o s e bottom-heavy, glittering, s a c c a d i c bits of salt water that s p l a s h d o w n the h a u n t e d ravines of a h u m a n f a c e .

A farmer shot a p o r c u p i n e three times as it dozed on a tree limb. O n the way down it tore o p e n its belly on a broken b r a n c h , hooked its gut, a n d went on falling. O n the g r o u n d it s p r a n g to its feet, a n d paying out gut heaved a n d spartled through a h u n d r e d feet of g o l d e n r o d before the a b r u p t e m p t i n e s s .

45

50

The Avesta4 puts p o r c u p i n e killers into hell for nine g e n e r a t i o n s , s e n t e n c i n g t h e m to g n a w out e a c h other's hearts for the salts of d e s i r e . I roll this way a n d that in the great b e d , u n d e r 2. Easy chairs. 3. Rainer Maria Rilkc ( 1 8 7 5 - 1 9 2 6 ) , G e r m a n poet. He wrote in the letter that "the 'angel' of the |l)uino] Elegies has nothing to tlo with the angel of the Christian heaven. . . . T h e angel of the Ele-

gies is that being which stands lor the idea of recognizing a higher order ol reality in invisibility." 4. Book of the sacred writings oi Zoroastrianism, a Persian religion.

THE

PORCUPINE

the quilt that m i m i c s this country of broken f a r m s a n d w o o d s , the fatty s h e a t h of the m a n melting off, the self-stabbing coil of bristles reversing, b l o s s o m i n g o u t w a r d — a red-eyed, hard-toothed, arrow-stuck urchin tossing up m a t t r e s s feathers, pricking the w o m a n b e s i d e m e until s h e cries.

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70

75

In my time I have c r o u c h e d , quills e r e c t e d , Saint S e b a s t i a n ' of the s c a r e d heart, a n d b e e n beat d e a d with a locust c l u b on the b a r e s n o u t . And fallen from high p l a c e s I have fled, have jogged over fields of g o l d e n r o d , terrified, s e e k i n g h o m e , a n d a m o n g flowers I have c o m e to myself empty, the r o p e s t r u n g out b e h i n d m e in the fall s u n s u d d e n l y glorified with all my blood.

A n d tonight I think I prowl broken skulled or vacant as a s u c k e d e g g in the wintry m e a d o w , softly c h u c k l i n g , b l a n k t e m p l a t e of myself, d r a g g i n g a starved belly t h r o u g h the lichflowered a c r e s , where b u r d o c k looses the ark of its seed a n d thistle holds u p its lost b l o o m s and r o s e b u s h e s in the wind s c r a p e their d e a d limbs for the forced-fire of r o s e s .

95

100

1969

. St. Sebastian (d. 2 8 8 ) , an early Christian saint and martyr. He was shot full of arrows by an execution quad and miraculously suwived, only to be beaten to death later.

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JOHN ASHBERY

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps F o r I c a n s n o r e like a bullhorn or play loud m u s i c or sit u p talking with any r e a s o n a b l y s o b e r I r i s h m a n a n d F e r g u s will only sink d e e p e r into his d r e a m l e s s s l e e p , which g o e s by all in o n e flash, 5 b u t let there be that heavy b r e a t h i n g or a stifled c o m e - c r y anywhere in the h o u s e a n d he will w r e n c h h i m s e l f a w a k e a n d m a k e for it on the r u n — a s now, we lie together, after m a k i n g love, q u i e t , t o u c h i n g a l o n g the length of our b o d i e s , 10 familiar t o u c h of the long-married, a n d h e a p p e a r s — i n his b a s e b a l l p a j a m a s , it h a p p e n s , the neck o p e n i n g s o small h e h a s to screw t h e m o n — a n d flops d o w n b e t w e e n u s a n d h u g s u s a n d s n u g g l e s h i m s e l f to s l e e p , his f a c e g l e a m i n g with satisfaction at b e i n g this very child. is In the half d a r k n e s s we look at e a c h other a n d smile a n d t o u c h a r m s a c r o s s this little, startlingly m u s c l e d b o d y — this o n e w h o m habit of m e m o r y p r o p e l s to the g r o u n d of his m a k i n g , sleeper only the m o r a l s o u n d s c a n s i n g a w a k e , 20 this b l e s s i n g love gives again into our a r m s . 1980

JOHN b.

ASHBERY 1927

John Ashbery has described his writing this way: "I think that any one of my poems might be considered to be a snapshot of whatever is going on in my mind at the time—first of all the desire to write a poem, after that wondering if I've left the oven on or thinking about where I must be in the next hour." Ashbery has developed a style hospitable to quicksilver changes in tone and attention. His work often moves freely between different modes of discourse, between a language of popular culture and commonplace experience and a heightened rhetoric often associated with poetic vision. Ashbery's poems show an awareness of the various linguistic codes (including cliches and conventional public speech) by which we live and through which we define ourselves. This awareness includes an interest in what he has called "prose voices," and he has often written in a way that challenges the boundaries between poetry and prose. Ashbery's poetry was not always so open to contradictory notions and impulses. His early books rejected the mere surfaces of realism and the momentary to get at "remoter areas of consciousness." The protagonist of "Illustration" (from his first book, Some Trees) is a cheerful nun about to leave behind the irrelevancies of the

JOHN ASHBERY

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world by leaping from a skyscraper. Her act implies "Much that is beautiful must be discarded / So that we may resemble a taller / impression of ourselves." To reach the "remoter areas of consciousness," Ashbery tried various technical experiments. He used highly patterned forms such as the sestina in "Some Trees" and "The Tennis Court Oath" (1962) not with any show of mechanical brilliance but to explore: "I once told somebody that writing a sestina was rather like riding downhill on a bicycle and having the pedals push your feet. I wanted my feet to be pushed into places they wouldn't normally have taken." Ashbery was born in Rochester, New York, in 1927. He attended Deerfield Academy and Harvard, graduating in 1949. He received an M.A. in English from Columbia in 1951. In France first as a Fulbright scholar, he returned in 1958 for eight years and was art critic for the European edition of the New York Herald Tribune and reported the European shows and exhibitions for Art News and Arts International. He returned to New York in 1965 to be executive editor of Art News, a position he held until 1972. Since then he has been professor of English in the creative writing program of Brooklyn College and art critic for Newsweek magazine. Ashbery's interest in art played a formative role in his poetry. He is often associated with Frank O'Hara, James Schuyler, and Kenneth Koch as part of the "New York school" of poets. The name refers to their common interest in the New York school of abstract painters of the 1940s and 1950s, some of whose techniques they wished to adapt in poetry. These painters avoided realism to stress the work of art as a representation of the creative act that produced it—as in the action paintings of Jackson Pollock. Ashbery's long poem Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror gives as much attention to the rapidly changing feelings of the poet in the act of writing his poem as it does to the Renaissance painting that inspired him. The poem moves back and forth between the distracted energies that feed a work of art and the completed composition, which the artist feels as both a triumph and a falsification of complex feelings. Ashbery shares with O'Hara a sense of the colloquial brilliance of daily life in New York and sets this in tension with the concentration and stasis of art. Self-Portrait

in a Convex

Mirror

(1975) was followed by Houseboat

Days (1977), As

We Know (1979), Shadow Train (1981), and A Wave (1984). His important booklength poem, Flow Chart, appeared in 1991 followed by collections of shorter poems, And

the Stars

Were Shining

(1995) and Your Name

Here

(2000). His entertaining

and provocative Other Traditions (2000) is a collection of his Norton Lectures on poetry at Harvard. Ashbery's work, especially his earlier, more highly experimental poems, has become particularly influential for a younger generation identified as Language poets, such as Charles Bernstein, Lyn Hejinian, Michael Palmer, and Susan Howe. They have been attracted to the linguistic playfulness of Ashbery's poetry and to its resistance to being read as a single, personal voice. Exposing and sometimes breaking through the dominant uses of language in our world, Ashbery's poems open new possibilities of meaning: "We are all talkers / It is true, but underneath the talk lies / The moving and not wanting to be moved, the loose/Meaning, untidy and simple like the threshing floor" ("Soonest Mended").

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JOHN

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Illustration I

A novice w a s sitting on a c o r n i c e High over the city. Angels 1

C o m b i n e d their prayers with t h o s e O f the p o l i c e , b e g g i n g her to c o m e off it. O n e lady p r o m i s e d to be her friend. "I do not want a friend," she s a i d . A m o t h e r offered her s o m e nylons S t r i p p e d from her very legs. O t h e r s b r o u g h t Little offerings of fruit a n d c a n d y , T h e blind m a n all his flowers. If any C o u l d be called s u c c e s s f u l , t h e s e were, F o r that the s c e n e s h o u l d be a c e r e m o n y W a s what she w a n t e d . "I d e s i r e M o n u m e n t s , " s h e said. "I want to m o v e figuratively, as waves c a r e s s T h e t h o u g h t l e s s s h o r e . You p e o p l e I know

15

Will offer m e every good thing I d o not want. B u t p l e a s e r e m e m b e r I died a c c e p t i n g t h e m . " With that, the wind U n p i n n e d her bulky r o b e s , a n d n a k e d

20

A s a r o c ' s 2 egg, s h e drifted softly d o w n w a r d O u t of the a n g e l s ' t e n d e r n e s s a n d the m i n d s of m e n . II

M u c h that is beautiful m u s t b e d i s c a r d e d S o that we may r e s e m b l e a taller I m p r e s s i o n of o u r s e l v e s . M o t h s c l i m b in the Alas, that wish only to be the flame:

flame,

T h e y do not l e s s e n our s t a t u r e . W e twinkle u n d e r the weight O f indiscretions. B u t how c o u l d w e tell T h a t of the truth we know, s h e w a s 1. Student in the first stage of instruction to be a nun.

2. Legendary bird of prey,

SOONEST MENDED

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2747

T h e s o m b e r v e s t m e n t ? For that night, rockets s i g h e d Elegantly over the city, a n d there w a s f e a s t i n g : T h e r e is s o m u c h in that m o m e n t ! S o m a n y attitudes toward that f l a m e , W e might have s o a r e d from e a r t h , w a t c h i n g her glide Aloft, in her p e p l u m ' of bright leaves.

35

B u t s h e , of c o u r s e , w a s only an effigy O f indifference, a m i r a c l e N o t m e a n t for u s , a s the leaves are not Winter's b e c a u s e it is the e n d .

40

Soonest Mended Barely tolerated, living on the margin In our technological society, we were always having to be r e s c u e d O n the brink of d e s t r u c t i o n , like h e r o i n e s in Orlando Furioso' B e f o r e it was time to start all over a g a i n . T h e r e would be t h u n d e r in the b u s h e s , a rustling of coils, 5 And A n g e l i c a , in the Ingres p a i n t i n g , 2 w a s c o n s i d e r i n g T h e colorful but small m o n s t e r near her toe, a s t h o u g h w o n d e r i n g w h e t h e r forgetting T h e whole thing might not, in the e n d , b e the only s o l u t i o n . And then there always c a m e a time when H a p p y H o o l i g a n 3 in his r u s t e d green a u t o m o b i l e 10 C a m e plowing down the c o u r s e , j u s t to m a k e s u r e everything w a s O . K . , Only by that time we were in a n o t h e r c h a p t e r a n d c o n f u s e d About how to receive this latest p i e c e of information. Was it information? Weren't we rather a c t i n g this o u t For s o m e o n e else's benefit, t h o u g h t s in a m i n d 15 With room e n o u g h a n d to s p a r e for our little p r o b l e m s (so they b e g a n to seem), Our daily q u a n d a r y a b o u t food a n d the rent a n d bills to be p a i d ? T o r e d u c e all this to a small variant, T o step free at last, m i n u s c u l e on the gigantic p l a t e a u — T h i s w a s our a m b i t i o n : to be small a n d clear a n d free. 20 Alas, the s u m m e r ' s energy w a n e s quickly, A m o m e n t a n d it is g o n e . A n d no longer M a y we m a k e the n e c e s s a r y a r r a n g e m e n t s , s i m p l e a s they a r e . O u r star w a s brighter p e r h a p s w h e n it h a d water in it. N o w there is no q u e s t i o n even of that, but only 25 3. In ancient G r e e c e , a drapery about the upper part of the body. I. Fantastic epic poem by Ludovico Ariosto ( 1 4 7 4 - 1 533), whose romantic heroine Angelica is constantly being rescued from imminent perils such as monsters and ogres.

2. Roger Delivering Angelica ( 1 8 1 9 ) , a painting based on a scene from Ariosto, by the French artist Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (1780—1867). 3. T h e good-natured, simple title character of a popular comic strip of the 1920s and 1930s.

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JOHN

ASHBERY

O f holding o n to the hard earth so a s not to get thrown off, W i t h a n o c c a s i o n a l d r e a m , a vision: a robin flies a c r o s s T h e u p p e r c o r n e r of the window, you b r u s h your hair away A n d c a n n o t q u i t e s e e , or a w o u n d will flash A g a i n s t the sweet f a c e s of the o t h e r s , s o m e t h i n g like: T h i s is what you w a n t e d to hear, s o why D i d you think of listening to s o m e t h i n g e l s e ? W e are all talkers It is true, but u n d e r n e a t h the talk lies T h e moving a n d not w a n t i n g to be m o v e d , the l o o s e M e a n i n g , untidy a n d s i m p l e like a t h r e s h i n g floor. 4

30

35

T h e s e then were s o m e h a z a r d s of the c o u r s e , Yet t h o u g h we k n e w the c o u r s e was h a z a r d s a n d n o t h i n g e l s e It w a s still a s h o c k w h e n , a l m o s t a q u a r t e r of a century later, T h e clarity of the rules d a w n e d o n you for the first t i m e . They were the players, a n d we w h o h a d s t r u g g l e d at the g a m e 40 W e r e merely s p e c t a t o r s , t h o u g h s u b j e c t to its v i c i s s i t u d e s A n d moving with it out of the tearful s t a d i u m , b o r n e o n s h o u l d e r s , at last. Night after night this m e s s a g e returns, r e p e a t e d In the flickering b u l b s of the sky, raised p a s t u s , taken away from u s , Yet ours over a n d over until the e n d that is p a s t truth, 45 T h e b e i n g of our s e n t e n c e s , in the c l i m a t e that f o s t e r e d t h e m , N o t o u r s to o w n , like a book, but to b e with, a n d s o m e t i m e s T o b e without, a l o n e a n d d e s p e r a t e . B u t the fantasy m a k e s it o u r s , a kind of fence-sitting R a i s e d to the level of a n e s t h e t i c ideal. T h e s e were m o m e n t s , years, 50 Solid with reality, f a c e s , n a m a b l e events, k i s s e s , heroic a c t s , B u t like the friendly b e g i n n i n g of a g e o m e t r i c a l p r o g r e s s i o n N o t too r e a s s u r i n g , a s t h o u g h m e a n i n g c o u l d be c a s t a s i d e s o m e day W h e n it h a d b e e n o u t g r o w n . Better, you s a i d , to stay c o w e r i n g Like this in the early l e s s o n s , s i n c e the p r o m i s e of l e a r n i n g 55 Is a d e l u s i o n , a n d I a g r e e d , a d d i n g that T o m o r r o w would alter the s e n s e of w h a t h a d already b e e n l e a r n e d , T h a t the learning p r o c e s s is e x t e n d e d in this way, s o that f r o m this standpoint N o n e of u s ever g r a d u a t e s from c o l l e g e , F o r time is an e m u l s i o n , 5 a n d probably thinking not to grow u p 60 Is the brightest kind of maturity for u s , right n o w at any rate. A n d you s e e , both of u s were right, t h o u g h n o t h i n g H a s s o m e h o w c o m e to nothing; the a v a t a r s 6 O f our c o n f o r m i n g to the rules a n d living A r o u n d the h o m e have m a d e — w e l l , in a s e n s e , " g o o d c i t i z e n s " of u s , 65 B r u s h i n g the teeth a n d all that, a n d l e a r n i n g to a c c e p t T h e charity of the hard m o m e n t s a s they are d o l e d o u t , F o r this is a c t i o n , this not b e i n g s u r e , this c a r e l e s s P r e p a r i n g , s o w i n g the s e e d s c r o o k e d in the furrow, M a k i n g ready to forget, a n d always c o m i n g b a c k 70 T o the m o o r i n g of starting out, that day s o long a g o . 1970 4. Used at harvest time to separate the wheat from the chaff, which is to be discarded. 5. A chemical solution in which the particles of

one liquid are suspended in another, 6. Incarnations.

JAMES WRIGHT

i

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2749

Myrtle

H o w funny your n a m e would be if you c o u l d follow it b a c k to w h e r e the first p e r s o n t h o u g h t of saying it, n a m i n g h i m s e l f that, or m a y b e s o m e other p e r s o n s thought of it a n d n a m e d that p e r s o n . It would b e like following a river to its s o u r c e , which would be i m p o s s i b l e . Rivers have n o s o u r c e . T h e y j u s t a u t o m a t i c a l l y a p p e a r at a p l a c e w h e r e they get wider, a n d s o o n a real river c o m e s along, with fish a n d debris, regal a s you p l e a s e , a n d s o m e o n e h a s already given it a n a m e : S t . B e n n o 1 (saints are p o p u l a r for this p u r p o s e ) or, or s o m e other n a m e , the n a m e of his long-lost girlfriend, w h o c o m e s at long last to i m p e r s o n a t e that river, on a s t a g e , her voice clanking like its b e d , her clothing of s a n d a n d p a s t e d p a p e r , a p i e c e of real technology, while all a l o n g s h e is thinking, I c a n do what I w a n t to d o . B u t I want to stay h e r e .

5

10

15

20

1996 1. St. Benno (d. 9 4 0 ) , long venerated, although his cult has never been formally recognized, was born to a noble family and b e c a m e a hermit on Mount Etzel in Switzerland.xp

JAMES

WRIGHT

1927-1980 "My name is James A. Wright, and I was born / Twenty-five miles from this infected grave, / In Martins Ferry, Ohio, where one slave / To Hazel-Atlas Glass became my father"; so James Wright introduced himself in an early poem, "At the Executed Murderer's Grave." The angry assertiveness in these lines suggests his embattled relations with an America he both loves and hates. This America is symbolized for him by the landscape of Ohio, in particular by Martins Ferry, just across the Ohio River from Wheeling, West Virginia, the home of Wheeling Steel and of the glass factory where his father worked for fifty years. In Wright's work this landscape is harsh evidence of the way the social world has contaminated a natural world infinitely more beautiful and self-restoring. The same social world that destroys the landscape also turns its back on those whose lives meet failure or defeat, and Wright's deep knowledge of defeat and his anger at this exclusion lead him to the murderer's grave. It is not simply that Wright sympathizes with social outcasts, but rather, as Robert Hass acutely pointed out, "the suffering of other people, particularly the lost and the derelict, is actually a part of his own emotional life. It is what he writes from, not what he writes about." As a poet who writes out of loss, Wright is elegiac, memorializing a

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JAMES

WRIGHT

vanished beauty and lost hopes. So deep is his sense of loss that he will sometimes identify with anyone and anything that is scarred or wounded ("1 am not a happy man by talent," he once said. "Sometimes I have been very happy, but characteristically I'm a miserable son of a bitch"). Any serious reading of his work has to contend with sorting out those poems in which this identification is unthinking and sentimental, poems where Wright suggests that all forms of suffering and defeat are equal and alike. What remains in some of his best work is a curiously tough-minded tenderness at work in his exploration of despair. He admires, for example, the sumac flourishing in the Ohio landscape, its bark so tough it "will turn aside hatchets and knife blades" ("The Sumac in Ohio"). When Wright finished high school, he joined the army. In 1948 he left the military to attend Kenyon College in Ohio on the GI Bill ("I applied to several schools in Ohio," he once said, "and they all said no except Kenyon College. So I went there"). He was lucky in his teachers; at Kenyon he studied with John Crowe Ransom and, after a Fulbright scholarship to the University of Vienna, he went to the University of Washington, where he studied with the poet Theodore Roethke and also became a close friend of Richard Hugo's. At Washington he wrote a Ph.D. dissertation on Charles Dickens and received the degree in 1959. Thereafter he became a teacher himself, first at the University of Minnesota, Minneapolis ( 1 9 5 7 - 6 4 ) , and later at Hunter College, New York ( 1 9 6 6 - 8 0 ) . From both Ransom and Roethke, Wright learned poetic form. From Ransom in particular he took what he called "the Horatian ideal" of the carefully made, unified poem. Wright would later say that were he to choose a master, he would choose the Latin poet Horace, "who was able to write humorously and kindly in flawless verse." The Horatian impulse in Wright—restrained, formal, sometimes satirical—helps hold in check a deep-seated romanticism that idealizes nature and the unconscious. His first two books, The Green Wall (1957), chosen to appear in the Yale Younger Poets series, and Saint Judas (1959), are formal and literary in style although much of their subject matter (the murderer, the lunatic, a deaf child) might be called romantic. Wright seems in these books closest to Thomas Hardy, Robert Frost, and Edwin Arlington Robinson. But in the 1960s, like a great many other American poets, he moved away from traditional forms, loosened his poetic organization, and began to depend heavily on what his fellow poet Robert Bly called "the deep image." Wright had been translating the work of Spanish poets often associated with surrealism— Pablo Neruda, Cesar Vallejo, and Juan Ramon Jimenez—as well as the German Georg Trakl (whom he translated in collaboration with Robert Bly), and he took from them, in part, a reliance on the power of a poetic image to evoke association deep within the unconscious. He followed his volume The Branch Will Not Break (1963) with two books, Shall We Gather at the River (1968) and Two Citizens (1974), in which he began to overwork certain images ("stone," "dark"), as if repetition were a substitute for clarity. Some of the poems in these books succeed in carrying us into areas of experience that resist the discursive, but the effect of a number of poems is to exclude conscious intelligence, to celebrate "whatever is not mind," as Robert Hass has pointed out. It is as if Wright responded to the scarred landscape outside (and inside) him by fleeing to an inwardness so deep it could not partake of thought or expression. But Wright's love of clarity and form and his ability to see through pretensions (including his own) resurface in Moments

of the Italian

Summer

(1976), To a Blos-

soming Pear Tree (1977), and in his last, posthumous collection, Thisfourney (1982). Restored to a unity of thinking and feeling, many of the poems in these books convey the flawed beauty of the world with a loving and witty tenderness. He often writes with particular feeling about the creatures of the world—finches, lizards, hermit crabs—whose liveliness and fragility touch him (in this and other regards his work has been important to the poet Mary Oliver). In "A Finch Sitting Out a Windstorm," his final portrait of the finch suggests admiration of its stubborness in the face of

To

THE EVENING STAR: CENTRAL MINNESOTA

/

275 1

loss: "But his face is as battered / As Carmen Basilio's. / He never listens / To me." Though the poems of his final book do not abandon the anger he feels thinking of the ruined landscapes of Ohio, the European setting of many of the poems extends his sense of ruin into a knowledge of how time chips away at all human creation, with or without the help of men and women. For a man who claimed to be constitutionally unhappy, the poems of This Journey suggest that before his death from cancer a deep happiness took him by surprise. We turn to Wright's work for its fierce understanding of defeat, for its blend of American speech rhythms with the formal music of poetry, and for the loveliness he finds in the imperfect and neglected. Accustomed to expect the worst, he had an enduring capacity to be astonished by this loveliness, as in this childhood memory of a trip to the icehouse with his father: "We stood and breathed the rising steam of that amazing winter, and carried away in our wagon the immense fifty-pound diamond, while the old man chipped us each a jagged little chunk and then walked behind us, his hands so calm they were trembling for us, trembling with exquisite care" ("The Ice House").

Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio In the Shreve High football s t a d i u m , I think of P o l a c k s n u r s i n g long b e e r s in Tiltonsville, A n d gray f a c e s of N e g r o e s in the blast f u r n a c e at B e n w o o d , 1 And the ruptured night w a t c h m a n of W h e e l i n g S t e e l , D r e a m i n g of h e r o e s .

5

All the p r o u d fathers are a s h a m e d to g o h o m e . T h e i r w o m e n c l u c k like starved p u l l e t s , 2 Dying for love. Therefore, T h e i r s o n s grow suicidally beautiful At the b e g i n n i n g of O c t o b e r , And gallop terribly a g a i n s t e a c h other's b o d i e s .

10

1963

To the Evening Star: Central Minnesota U n d e r the water tower at the e d g e of town A h u g e Airedale p o n d e r s a long ripple In the g r a s s fields beyond. M i l e s off, a whole grove silently Flies up into the d a r k n e s s . O n e light c o m e s on in the sky, O n e l a m p on the prairie. 1. A town south of Martins Ferry, where the Wheeling Steel Works are located. Tiltonsville is a

town in far east Ohio, north of Martins Ferry. 2. Young hens.

5

2752

/

ANNE

SEXTON

Beautiful daylight of the body, your h a n d s carry s e a s h e l l s . W e s t of this wide plain, A n i m a l s wilder than o u r s C o m e down from the green m o u n t a i n s in the d a r k n e s s . N o w they c a n s e e you, they know T h e o p e n m e a d o w s are s a f e . 1963

A Blessing J u s t off the highway to R o c h e s t e r , M i n n e s o t a , Twilight b o u n d s softly forth on the g r a s s . A n d the eyes of t h o s e two Indian p o n i e s D a r k e n with k i n d n e s s . T h e y have c o m e gladly out of the willows T o w e l c o m e my friend a n d m e . W e step over the b a r b e d wire into the p a s t u r e W h e r e they have b e e n grazing all day, a l o n e . T h e y ripple tensely, they c a n hardly c o n t a i n their h a p p i n e s s T h a t we have c o m e . T h e y bow shyly a s wet s w a n s . T h e y love e a c h other. T h e r e is no loneliness like theirs. A

1

At h o m e o n c e m o r e , T h e y begin m u n c h i n g the y o u n g tufts of spring in the d a r k n e s s . I w o u l d like to hold the slenderer o n e in my a r m s , F o r s h e has walked over to m e A n d nuzzled my left h a n d . S h e is b l a c k a n d white, H e r m a n e falls wild on her f o r e h e a d , A n d the light b r e e z e m o v e s m e to c a r e s s her long ear T h a t is d e l i c a t e a s the skin over a girl's wrist. S u d d e n l y I realize T h a t if I s t e p p e d out of my body I would b r e a k Into b l o s s o m . 1963

ANNE

SEXTON

1928-1974 Anne Sexton's first book of poems, To Bedlam and Part Way Back (1960), was published at a time when the label confessional came to be attached to poems more frankly autobiographical than had been usual in American verse. For Sexton the term confessional is particularly apt. Although she had abandoned the Roman Catholicism into which she was born, her poems enact something analogous to preparing for and receiving religious absolution.

THE

STARRY N I G H T

/

2753

Sexton's own confessions were to be made in terms more startling than the traditional Catholic images of her childhood. The purpose of her poems was not to analyze or explain behavior but to make it palpable in all its ferocity of feeling. Poetry "should be a shock to the senses. It should also hurt." This is apparent both in the themes she chooses and the particular ways in which she chooses to exhibit her subjects. Sexton writes about sex, illegitimacy, guilt, madness, and suicide. Her first book portrays her own mental breakdown, her time in a mental hospital, her efforts at reconciliation with her young daughter and husband when she returns. Her second book, All My Pretty Ones (1962), takes its title from Macbeth and refers to the death of both her parents within three months of one another. Later books act out a continuing debate about suicide: Live or Die (1966), The Death Notebooks (1974), and The Awful Rowing toward God (1975—posthumous), titles that prefigure the time when she took her own life (1974). And yet, as the poet's tender address to her daughter in "Little Girl, My String Bean, My Lovely Woman" suggests, the range of Sexton's work is wider than an obsession with death. Sexton spoke of images as "the heart of poetry. Images come from the unconscious. Imagination and the unconscious are one and the same." Powerful images substantiate the strangeness of her own feelings and attempt to redefine experiences so as to gain understanding, absolution, or revenge. These poems poised between, as her titles suggest, life and death or "bedlam and part way back" are efforts at establishing a middle ground of self-assertion, substituting surreal images for the reductive versions of life visible to the exterior eye. Sexton was born in 1928 in Newton, Massachusetts, and attended Garland Junior College. She came to poetry fairly late—when she was twenty-eight, after seeing the critic I. A. Richards lecturing about the sonnet on television. In the late 1950s she attended poetry workshops in the Boston area, including Robert Lowell's poetry seminars at Boston University. One of her fellow students was Sylvia Plath, whose suicide she commemorated in a poem and whose fate she later followed. Sexton claimed that she was less influenced by Lowell's Life Studies than by W. D. Snodgrass's autobiographical Heart's Needle (1959), but certainly Lowell's support and the association with Plath left their mark on her and made it possible for her to publish. Although her career was relatively brief, she received several major literary prizes, including the Pulitzer Prize for Live or Die and an American Academy of Arts and Letters traveling fellowship. Her suicide came after a series of mental breakdowns.

The Starry Night That does not keep me from having a terrible need of—shall I say the word—religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars. —Vincent Van Gogh1 in a letter to his brother T h e town d o e s not exist except w h e r e o n e black-haired tree slips up like a d r o w n e d w o m a n into the hot sky.

I. Dutch painter ( 1 8 5 3 - 1 8 9 0 ) who in his thirties went mad and finally committed suicide. This letter to his brother—his only confidant—was written

in September 1888. H e was painting, at the s a m e time, Starry Night on the Rhone.

2754

/

ANNE

SEXTON

T h e town is silent. T h e night boils with eleven s t a r s . O h starry starry night! T h i s is h o w I want to d i e . It m o v e s . T h e y a r e all alive. Even t h e m o o n b u l g e s in its o r a n g e irons to p u s h children, like a g o d , from its e y e . T h e old u n s e e n s e r p e n t swallows u p t h e s t a r s . O h starry starry night! T h i s is h o w I want to d i e : into that r u s h i n g beast of t h e night, s u c k e d u p by that great d r a g o n , to split from my life with n o flag, no belly, no cry. 1962

•

Sylvia's Death for Sylvia Plath'

O h Sylvia, Sylvia, with a d e a d box of s t o n e s a n d s p o o n s , with two children, two m e t e o r s w a n d e r i n g loose in t h e tiny p l a y r o o m , with your m o u t h into t h e s h e e t , into t h e r o o f b e a m , into t h e d u m b prayer, (Sylvia, Sylvia, w h e r e did you g o after you wrote m e from D e v o n s h i r e a b o u t raising p o t a t o e s and keeping bees?) what did you s t a n d by, j u s t how did you lie down into? Thief!— how did you crawl into, crawl down a l o n e into t h e d e a t h I w a n t e d s o badly a n d for s o long, 1. American poet ( 1 9 3 2 - 1 9 6 3 ) , friend of"Sexton's w ho committed suicide. Plath was living in London with her two small children, having separated from

her husband, the poet Ted Hughes, the previous vear.

SYLVIA'S DEATH

the d e a t h we said we both outgrew, the o n e we wore on our skinny b r e a s t s ,

/

2755

20

the o n e we talked of so often e a c h time we d o w n e d three extra dry martinis in B o s t o n , the d e a t h that talked of analysts a n d c u r e s , the d e a t h that talked like brides with plots, the d e a t h we drank to, the motives a n d then the quiet d e e d ? (In B o s t o n the dying ride in c a b s , yes d e a t h a g a i n , that ride h o m e with our boy.)

25

30

O Sylvia, I r e m e m b e r the sleepy d r u m m e r who beat on our eyes with a n old story, how we w a n t e d to let him c o m e like a sadist or a N e w York fairy

35

to do his j o b , a necessity, a window in a wall or a crib, a n d s i n c e that time he waited u n d e r our heart, our c u p b o a r d , a n d I s e e now that we store him u p year after year, old s u i c i d e s

30

a n d I know at the news of your d e a t h , a terrible taste for it, like salt. (And m e , m e too. And now, Sylvia, you again with d e a t h a g a i n , that ride h o m e with our boy.) And I say only with my a r m s stretched out into that s t o n e p l a c e , what is your d e a t h but an old b e l o n g i n g ,

55

2756

/

ANNE

SEXTON

a m o l e that fell o u t of o n e o f your p o e m s ? ( O friend, while t h e m o o n ' s b a d , a n d t h e king's g o n e , a n d t h e q u e e n ' s at her wit's e n d the b a r fly o u g h t to sing!) O tiny m o t h e r , you t o o ! O funny d u c h e s s ! O b l o n d e thing! February 17, 1963

Little Girl, My String Bean, My Lovely Woman M y d a u g h t e r , at eleven ( a l m o s t twelve), is like a g a r d e n . O h darling! B o r n in that s w e e t birthday suit a n d having o w n e d it a n d known it for s o long, now you m u s t w a t c h high n o o n e n t e r — n o o n , that g h o s t hour. O h , funny little g i r l — t h i s o n e u n d e r a blueberry sky, this o n e ! H o w c a n I say that I've k n o w n j u s t what y o u know a n d j u s t w h e r e y o u are? It's n o t a s t r a n g e p l a c e , this o d d h o m e w h e r e your f a c e sits in m y h a n d so full of d i s t a n c e , so full of its i m m e d i a t e fever. T h e s u m m e r h a s seized y o u , a s w h e n , last m o n t h in Amalfi, 1 I s a w l e m o n s a s large a s your d e s k - s i d e g l o b e — that m i n i a t u r e m a p o f t h e w o r l d — and I could mention, too, the m a r k e t stalls o f m u s h r o o m s a n d garlic b u d s all e n g o r g e d . O r I think even o f t h e o r c h a r d next door, w h e r e t h e berries a r e d o n e a n d t h e a p p l e s a r e b e g i n n i n g to swell. A n d o n c e , with o u r first b a c k y a r d , I r e m e m b e r I p l a n t e d a n a c r e o f yellow b e a n s we couldn't e a t . Oh, my

little

girl,

stringbean,

1. A seaport town in C a m p a n i a , Italy.

LITTLE G I R L , M Y STRING BEAN, MY LOVELY WOMAN how

do you

You grow

2757

grow?

this way.

You are too many

30 to

eat.

I hear a s in a d r e a m the conversation of the old wives s p e a k i n g of womanhood. I r e m e m b e r that I h e a r d nothing myself. I was alone. I waited like a target. Let high n o o n e n t e r — the h o u r of the g h o s t s . O n c e the R o m a n s believed that n o o n w a s the g h o s t hour, a n d I c a n believe it, too, u n d e r that startling s u n , a n d s o m e d a y they will c o m e to y o u , s o m e d a y , m e n b a r e to the waist, y o u n g R o m a n s at n o o n w h e r e they b e l o n g , with ladders a n d h a m m e r s while no o n e s l e e p s . B u t before they enter I will have said, Yowr hones

/

are

35

40

45

so

lovely,

a n d before their s t r a n g e h a n d s there w a s always this h a n d that f o r m e d O h , darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in c o m f o r t . W h a t I want to say, L i n d a , is that w o m e n are born twice.

55

If I c o u l d have w a t c h e d you grow a s a m a g i c a l m o t h e r might, if I c o u l d have s e e n through my m a g i c a l t r a n s p a r e n t belly, there would have b e e n s u c h ripening within: your e m b r y o , the s e e d taking on its o w n , life c l a p p i n g the b e d p o s t , b o n e s from the p o n d , t h u m b s a n d two m y s t e r i o u s eyes, the awfully h u m a n h e a d , the heart j u m p i n g like a p u p p y , the i m p o r t a n t l u n g s , the b e c o m i n g — while it b e c o m e s ! a s it d o e s now,

60

65

70

2758

/

ANNE SEXTON

a world of its o w n , a delicate p l a c e . I say hello to s u c h s h a k e s a n d k n o c k i n g s a n d high j i n k s , such music, such sprouts, s u c h d a n c i n g - m a d - b e a r s of m u s i c , such necessary sugar, s u c h goings-on! •

Oh,

little

my how

stringbean, do you

You grow You

girl,

this

grow? way.

are too many

to

eat.

W h a t I want to say, L i n d a , is that there is n o t h i n g in your body that lies. All that is n e w is telling t h e truth. I'm h e r e , that s o m e b o d y e l s e , an old tree in the b a c k g r o u n d . Darling, s t a n d still at your door, s u r e of yourself, a white s t o n e , a g o o d s t o n e a s exceptional a s l a u g h t e r you will strike fire, that new thing! July 14, 1 9 6 4

95

1966

From The Death of the Fathers' 2.

How

We

Danced

T h e night of m y c o u s i n ' s w e d d i n g I wore b l u e . I was nineteen a n d w e d a n c e d , F a t h e r , w e orbited. W e m o v e d like a n g e l s w a s h i n g t h e m s e l v e s . W e m o v e d like two birds on fire. T h e n we m o v e d like the s e a in a j a r , slower a n d slower. T h e o r c h e s t r a played " O h h o w we d a n c e d on the night w e were w e d . " A n d you waltzed m e like a lazy S u s a n a n d w e were d e a r , very dear. N o w that you a r e laid o u t , u s e l e s s a s a blind d o g , now that you n o longer lurk, 1. Printed here is part 2 of a six-part sequence.

25

30

35

ADRIENNE RICH

the s o n g rings in my h e a d . P u r e oxygen w a s the c h a m p a g n e we d r a n k a n d clicked our g l a s s e s , o n e to o n e . T h e c h a m p a g n e b r e a t h e d like a skin diver a n d the g l a s s e s were crystal a n d the bride a n d g r o o m gripped e a c h other in s l e e p like nineteen-thirty m a r a t h o n d a n c e r s . M o t h e r w a s a belle a n d d a n c e d with twenty m e n . You d a n c e d with m e never saying a word. I n s t e a d the serpent s p o k e a s you held m e c l o s e . T h e s e r p e n t , that m o c k e r , woke u p a n d p r e s s e d a g a i n s t m e like a great g o d a n d we b e n t together like two lonely s w a n s .

/

2759 40

4S

50

1972

ADRIENNE b.

RICH

1929

A childhood of reading and hearing poems taught Adrienne Rich to love the sound of words; her adult life taught her that poetry must "consciously situate itself amid political conditions." Over the years she has conducted a passionate struggle to honor these parts of herself, in her best poems brilliantly mixing what she calls "the poetry of the actual world with the poetry of sound." Extending the dialogue between art and politics she first discovered in W. B. Yeats, whose poems she read as an undergraduate at Radcliffe, her work addresses with particular power the experiences of women, experiences often omitted from history and misrepresented in literature. Our culture, she believes, is "split at the root" (to adapt the title of one of her essays); art is separated from politics and the poet's identity as a woman is separated from her art. Rich's work seeks a language that will expose and integrate these divisions in the self and in the world. To do this she has written "directly and overtly as a woman, out of a woman's body and experience," for "to take women's existence seriously as theme and source for art, was something I had been hungering to do, needing to do, all my writing life." Rich's first book was published in the Yale Younger Poets series, a prize particularly important for poets of her generation (others in the series have included James Wright, John Ashbery, and W. S. Merwin). W. H. Auden, the judge for the series in the 1950s, said of Rich's volume A Change of World (1951) that her poems "were neatly and modestly dressed . . . respect their elders, but are not cowed by them and do not tell fibs." Rich, looking back at that period from the vantage point of 1972, renders a more complicated sense of things. In an influential essay, When We Dead Awaken, she recalls this period as one in which the chief models for poetry were men; it was from those models that she first learned her craft. Even in looking at the poetry of older women writers she found herself "looking . . . for the same things I found in the poetry of men . . . , to be equal was still confused with sounding the same." Twenty years and five volumes after A Change of World she published The Will to Change, taking its title from the opening line of Charles Olson's The Kingfishers: "What does not change / is the will to change." The shift of emphasis in Rich's titles signals an important turn in her work—from acceptance of change as a way of the world to an active sense of change as willed or desired. In 1953 Rich married and in her twenties gave birth to three children within four

2760

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ADRIENNE RICH

years, "a radicalizing experience," she said. It was during this time that Rich experienced most severely that gap between what she calls the "energy of creation" and the "energy of relation. . . . In those early years I always felt the conflict as a failure of love in myself." In her later work Rich came to identify the source of that conflict not as individual but social and, in 1976, published a book of prose, Of Woman Born: Motherhood as Experience and Institution, in which she contrasts the actual experience of bearing and raising children with the myths fostered by our medical, social, and political institutions. With her third and fourth books, Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law (1963) and Necessities of Life (1966), Rich began explicitly to treat problems that have engaged her ever since. The title poem of Snapshots exposes the gap between literary versions of women's experience and the day-to-day truths of their lives. Rich's poems aim at self-definition, at establishing boundaries of the self, but they also fight off the notion that insights remain solitary and unshared. Many of her poems proceed by means of intimate argument, sometimes with externalized parts of herself, as if to dramatize the way identity forms from the self's movement beyond fixed boundaries. In some of her most powerful later poems, she pushes her imagination to recognize the multiple aspects of the self ("My selves," she calls them in her poem "Integrity"); in "Transcendental Etude," she writes: i / am the lover and the loved, home and wanderer, she who splits firewood and she who knocks, a stranger in the storm.

In other important later poems she has carried out a dialogue with lives similar to and different from her own, as in the generous and powerful title poem of her collection An Atlas of the Difficult World. As she writes in "Blood, Bread, and Poetry," in her development as a poet she came to feel "more and more urgently the dynamic between poetry as language and poetry as a kind of action, probing, burning, stripping, placing itself in dialogue with others." When Rich and her husband moved to New York City in 1966 they became increasingly involved in radical politics, especially in the opposition to the Vietnam War. These concerns are reflected in the poems of Leaflets (1969) and The Will to Change (1971). Along with new subject matter came equally important changes in style. Rich's poems throughout the 1960s moved away from formal verse patterns to more jagged utterance. Sentence fragments, lines of varying length, irregular spacing to mark off phrases—all these devices emphasized a voice of greater urgency. Ever since "Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law," Rich had been dating each poem, as if to mark them as provisional, true to the moment but instruments of passage, like entries in a journal in which feelings are subject to continual revision. In the 1970s Rich dedicated herself increasingly to feminism. As poet, as prose writer, and as public speaker her work took on a new unity and intensity. The continuing task was to see herself—as she put it in 1984—neither as "unique nor universal, but a person in history, a woman and not a man, a white and also Jewish inheritor of a particular Western consciousness, from the making of which most women have been excluded." She says in "Planetarium," I am an instrument in the shape of a woman trying to translate pulsations into images for the relief of the body and the reconstruction of the mind. Rich's collections of prose—Of Woman Born; On Lies, Secrets, and Silences: Selected Prose 1966-1978; Blood, Bread, and Poetry: Selected Prose 1979-1985, What Is Found There: Notebooks on Poetry and Politics (1993), and Arts of the Possible

(2001)—provide an important context for her poems. In these works she addresses issues of women's education and their literary traditions, Jewish identity, the relations

STORM WARNINGS

/

2761

between poetry and politics, and what she has called "the erasure of lesbian existence." As a young woman Rich had been stirred by James Baldwin's comment that "any real change implies the breakup of the world as one has always known it, the loss of all that gave one an identity, the end of safety." In many ways her essays, like her poems, track the forces that resist such change and the human conditions that require it. Her essay "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence" is an important example of such an examination. Although Rich's individual poems do not consistently succeed in expressing a political vision without sacrificing "intensity of language," her work is best read as a continuous process. The books have an air of ongoing, pained investigation, almost scientific in intention but with an ardor suggested by their titles: The Dream of a Common Fact

Language

( 1 9 7 7 ) , A Wild Patience

of a Doorframe

recent books, Time's of the Republic:

( 1 9 8 4 ) , and Your Native Power

Poems

Has Taken Land,

( 1 9 8 9 ) , An Atlas of the Difficult

1991-1995

( 1 9 9 5 ) , Midnight

Me Thus

Your Life

Far ( 1 9 8 1 ) , The

( 1 9 8 6 ) . Rich's more

World ( 1 9 9 1 ) , Dark Salvage:

Poems

Fields

1995-J998

( 1 9 9 9 ) , and Fox ( 2 0 0 1 ) , demonstrate an ongoing power of language and deepening poetic vision. Reading through her poems we may sometimes wish for more relaxation and playfulness, for a liberating comic sense of self almost never present in her work. What we find, however, is invaluable—a poet whose imagination confronts and resists the harsh necessities of our times and keeps alive a vision of what is possible: "a whole new poetry beginning here" ("Transcendental Etude").

Storm Warnings T h e g l a s s 1 h a s b e e n falling all t h e a f t e r n o o n , A n d knowing better than t h e i n s t r u m e n t W h a t winds a r e walking o v e r h e a d , what z o n e O f gray u n r e s t is moving a c r o s s t h e land, I leave t h e b o o k u p o n a pillowed c h a i r A n d walk from window to c l o s e d window, w a t c h i n g B o u g h s strain a g a i n s t t h e sky And think a g a i n , a s often w h e n t h e air M o v e s inward toward a silent c o r e of waiting, H o w with a single p u r p o s e time h a s traveled By secret c u r r e n t s of the u n d i s c e r n e d Into this polar realm. W e a t h e r a b r o a d A n d w e a t h e r in t h e heart alike c o m e on R e g a r d l e s s of prediction. B e t w e e n f o r e s e e i n g a n d averting c h a n g e L i e s all t h e m a s t e r y of e l e m e n t s W h i c h c l o c k s a n d w e a t h e r g l a s s e s c a n n o t alter. T i m e in t h e h a n d is not control of t i m e , N o r s h a t t e r e d f r a g m e n t s of a n i n s t r u m e n t A p r o o f a g a i n s t t h e wind; t h e wind will rise, W e c a n only c l o s e t h e s h u t t e r s . I draw t h e c u r t a i n s a s t h e sky g o e s b l a c k A n d set a m a t c h to c a n d l e s s h e a t h e d in g l a s s 1. Barometer.

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A g a i n s t the keyhole d r a u g h t , the insistent w h i n e O f w e a t h e r t h r o u g h the u n s e a l e d a p e r t u r e . T h i s is our sole d e f e n s e a g a i n s t the s e a s o n ; T h e s e are the things that we have learned to do W h o live in troubled regions.

25

1951

Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law You, o n c e a belle in S h r e v e p o r t , with h e n n a - c o l o r e d hair, skin like a p e a c h b u d , still have your d r e s s e s c o p i e d from that t i m e , a n d play a C h o p i n p r e l u d e called by C o r t o t : "Delicious recollections float

like

perfume

through

the

3

memory."'

Your m i n d now, m o l d e r i n g like w e d d i n g - c a k e , heavy with u s e l e s s e x p e r i e n c e , rich with s u s p i c i o n , r u m o r , fantasy, c r u m b l i n g to p i e c e s u n d e r the knife-edge of m e r e fact. In the p r i m e of your life.

10

Nervy, glowering, your d a u g h t e r wipes the t e a s p o o n s , grows a n o t h e r way.

B a n g i n g the coffee-pot into the s i n k s h e h e a r s the a n g e l s chiding, a n d looks out p a s t the raked g a r d e n s to the sloppy sky. patience. Only a w e e k s i n c e T h e y s a i d : Have no T h e next time it w a s : Be T h e n : Save

yourself;

others

insatiable. you cannot

save.

S o m e t i m e s she's let the t a p s t r e a m s c a l d her a r m , a m a t c h b u r n to her t h u m b n a i l , or held her h a n d a b o v e the kettle's s n o u t right in the woolly s t e a m . T h e y a r e probably a n g e l s , s i n c e n o t h i n g h u r t s her a n y m o r e , except e a c h m o r n i n g ' s grit blowing into her eyes.

1. A remark m a d e by Alfred Cortot (1877—1962), a well-known French pianist, in his Chopin: 24 Preludes ( 1 9 3 0 ) ; he is referring specifically to Chopin's Prelude No. 7, Andantino, A Major.

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3 A thinking w o m a n s l e e p s with m o n s t e r s . 2 T h e b e a k that grips her, s h e b e c o m e s . A n d N a t u r e , that s p r u n g - l i d d e d , still c o m m o d i o u s and mores s t e a m e r - t r u n k of temvora gets stuffed with it all: the m i l d e w e d orange-flowers, the f e m a l e pills, the terrible b r e a s t s of B o a d i c e a 4 b e n e a t h flat foxes' h e a d s a n d o r c h i d s . 3

T w o h a n d s o m e w o m e n , g r i p p e d in a r g u m e n t , each proud, acute, subtle, I hear scream a c r o s s the cut g l a s s a n d m a j o l i c a like F u r i e s 5 c o r n e r e d from their prey: all the old knives T h e a r g u m e n t ad feminam, that have r u s t e d in m y b a c k , I drive in y o u r s ,

30

35

h

ma semblable,

ma

soeur!

7

4 K n o w i n g t h e m s e l v e s too well in o n e a n o t h e r : their gifts n o p u r e fruition, b u t a t h o r n , the prick filed s h a r p a g a i n s t a hint of s c o r n . . . R e a d i n g while waiting for the iron to heat,

40

writing, My Life

45

had stood—a

Loaded

Gun*—

in that A m h e r s t pantry while the jellies boil a n d s c u m , or, m o r e often, iron-eyed a n d b e a k e d a n d p u r p o s e d a s a bird, d u s t i n g everything on the w h a t n o t every day of life.

5 Dulce

ridens,

dulce

loquens,

so

9

s h e s h a v e s her legs until they g l e a m like petrified m a m m o t h - t u s k .

2. A reference to W. B. Yeats's "Leda and the Swan," a poem about the rape of a maiden by Zeus in the form of a giant bird. T h e poem ends: "Did she put on his knowledge with his power / Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?" 3. Times and customs (Latin, literal trans.). This alludes perhaps to the Roman orator Cicero's famous phrase, " O Temporal O Mores!" ("Alas for the degeneracy of our times and the low standard of our morals!"). 4. British queen in the time of the Emperor Nero; she led her people in a large, although ultimately unsuccessful, revolt against Roman rule. "Female pills": remedies for menstrual pain. 5. Greek goddesses of vengeance. "Majolica": a kind of earthenware with a richly colored glaze. 6. Feminine version of the Latin phrase ad homi-

nem (literally, "to the m a n " ) , referring to an argument directed not to reason but to personal prejudices and emotions. 7. T h e last line of Charles Baudelaire's French poem "Au Lecteur" addresses "Hypocrite lecteur!— mon semblable—mon frere!" ("Hypocrite reader, like me, my brother!"); Rich here instead addresses "ma soeur" ("my sister"). S e e also T. S. Eliot, "The Waste L a n d " 76. 8. "Emily Dickinson, Complete Poems, ed. T. H. J o h n s o n , 1960, p. 3 6 9 " [Rich's note]; this is the poem numbered 7 5 4 in the J o h n s o n edition. Amherst is the town where Dickinson lived her entire life ( 1 8 3 0 - 1 8 8 6 ) . 9. Sweetly laughing, sweetly speaking (Latin, from Horace, " O d e s , " 2 2 . 2 3 - 2 4 ) .

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W h e n to her lute C o r i n n a s i n g s ' neither w o r d s n o r m u s i c a r e her o w n ; only t h e long hair d i p p i n g over her c h e e k , only t h e s o n g of silk a g a i n s t her k n e e s and these a d j u s t e d in reflections o f a n e y e . P o i s e d , t r e m b l i n g a n d u n s a t i s f i e d , before a n u n l o c k e d door, that c a g e o f c a g e s , tell u s , you bird, you tragical m a c h i n e — is this fertilisante

douleur?

Pinned down

2

by love, for you t h e only natural a c t i o n , are you e d g e d m o r e k e e n to prise t h e s e c r e t s o f t h e vault? h a s N a t u r e s h o w n her h o u s e h o l d b o o k s to you, daughter-in-law, that her s o n s never s a w ?

" T o have which

in this

cannot

of the utmost

uncertain

world

be undermined, consequence.

some

stay

is "

3

T h u s wrote a w o m a n , partly brave a n d partly g o o d , w h o fought with w h a t s h e partly u n d e r s t o o d . F e w m e n a b o u t her would or c o u l d d o m o r e , h e n c e s h e w a s labeled harpy, s h r e w a n d w h o r e . •

8 "You all die a t fifteen," said D i d e r o t , 4 a n d turn part l e g e n d , part c o n v e n t i o n . Still, eyes i n a c c u r a t e l y d r e a m b e h i n d c l o s e d windows b l a n k e n i n g with s t e a m . Deliciously, all that w e might have b e e n , all that w e w e r e — f i r e , t e a r s , wit, t a s t e , martyred a m b i t i o n — stirs like t h e m e m o r y o f r e f u s e d adultery the d r a i n e d a n d flagging b o s o m o f o u r m i d d l e years.

1. First line of a lyric poem of T h o m a s C a m p i o n (1567—1620) about the extent to which a courtier is moved by Corinna's beautiful music. 2. Fertilizing (or life-giving) sorrow (French). 3. "From Mary Wollstonecraft, Thoughts on the Education of Daughters, London, 1 7 8 7 " [Rich's note]. Wollstonecraft ( 1 7 5 9 - 1 7 9 7 ) , one of the first feminist thinkers, is best known for her "Vindica-

tion of the Rights of W o m a n . " 4. Denis Diderot ( 1 7 1 3 - 1 7 8 4 ) : French philosopher, encyclopedist, playwright, and critic. " 'You all die at fifteen': 'Vbiis mourez toutes a quinze ans,' from the Lettres a Sophie Volland, quoted by S i m o n e de Beauvoir in Le Deuxieme Sexe, Vol. II, pp. 1 2 3 - 2 4 " [Rich's note].

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Not

that it is done well, but that it is done at all? Yes, think 5

of the o d d s ! or s h r u g t h e m off forever. T h i s luxury of the p r e c o c i o u s child, Time's precious chronic invalid,— would w e , darlings, resign it if we c o u l d ? O u r blight has b e e n our s i n e c u r e : m e r e talent w a s e n o u g h for u s — glitter in f r a g m e n t s a n d r o u g h drafts. Sigh n o m o r e , ladies.

90

95

T i m e is m a l e a n d in his c u p s drinks to the fair. B e m u s e d by gallantry, we h e a r our mediocrities over-praised, i n d o l e n c e read a s a b n e g a t i o n , slattern thought styled intuition, every l a p s e forgiven, our c r i m e only to c a s t too bold a s h a d o w or s m a s h the m o l d straight off. F o r that, solitary c o n f i n e m e n t , tear g a s , attrition shelling. F e w a p p l i c a n t s for that honor.

100

105

10 Well, she's long a b o u t her c o m i n g , w h o m u s t b e m o r e m e r c i l e s s to herself than history. H e r mind full to the wind, I s e e her p l u n g e b r e a s t e d a n d g l a n c i n g t h r o u g h the c u r r e n t s , taking the light u p o n her at least a s beautiful a s any boy or h e l i c o p t e r , 6 p o i s e d , still c o m i n g , her fine b l a d e s m a k i n g the air w i n c e

110

115

but her c a r g o no p r o m i s e then: delivered palpable 1958-60 5. An allusion to Samuel Johnson's remark to J a m e s Boswell: "Sir, a woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hinder legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all" (July 3 1 , 1763). 6. " S h e comes down from the remoteness of ages, from Thebes, from Crete, from Chichen-ltza; and she is also the totem set deep in the African jungle;

1963 she is a helicopter and she is a bird; and there is this, the greatest wonder of all: under her tinted hair the forest murmur becomes a thought, and words issue from her breasts" (Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex, trans. H. M. Parshley [New York, 1953], 7 2 9 ) . (A translation of the p a s s a g e from Le Deuxieme Sexe, Vol. II, 574, cited in French by Rich.)

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A Valediction Forbidding Mourning 1 M y swirling w a n t s . Your frozen lips. T h e g r a m m a r turned a n d a t t a c k e d m e . T h e m e s , written u n d e r d u r e s s . Emptiness of the notations. T h e y gave m e a d r u g that slowed t h e healing of w o u n d s .

s

I want you to s e e this before I leave: the e x p e r i e n c e of repetition a s d e a t h the failure of criticism to locate t h e p a i n the p o s t e r in t h e b u s that said: my bleeding

is under

10

control.

A red plant in a c e m e t e r y o f plastic w r e a t h s . A last a t t e m p t : t h e l a n g u a g e is a dialect called m e t a p h o r . T h e s e i m a g e s g o u n g l o s s e d : hair, glacier, flashlight. W h e n I think of a l a n d s c a p e I a m thinking o f a t i m e . W h e n I talk o f taking a trip I m e a n forever. I c o u l d say: t h o s e m o u n t a i n s have a m e a n i n g b u t further than that I c o u l d n o t say.

15

T o d o s o m e t h i n g very c o m m o n , in my o w n way. 1970

1971

Diving into the Wreck First having read t h e b o o k of m y t h s , and loaded the camera, a n d c h e c k e d t h e e d g e of t h e knife-blade, I put on the body-armor o f b l a c k r u b b e r the a b s u r d flippers the grave a n d awkward m a s k . I a m having to d o this not like C o u s t e a u 1 with his assiduous team a b o a r d t h e sun-flooded s c h o o n e r but here a l o n e . T h e r e is a ladder. T h e l a d d e r is always there h a n g i n g innocently 1. Title of a famous poem by John Donne ( 1 5 7 2 1631) in which the English poet forbids his wife to lament his departure for a trip to the Continent.

5

10

15 1. Jacques-Yves C o u s t e a u ( 1 9 1 0 - 1 9 9 7 ) , French underwater explorer and author,

D I V I N G INTO T H E W R E C K

c l o s e to the side of the s c h o o n e r . W e know what it is for, we w h o have u s e d it. Otherwise it's a p i e c e of m a r i t i m e floss some sundry equipment. I go d o w n . R u n g after r u n g a n d still the oxygen i m m e r s e s m e the b l u e light the clear a t o m s of our h u m a n air. I go down. M y flippers cripple m e , I crawl like an insect d o w n the ladder a n d there is n o o n e to tell m e w h e n the o c e a n will begin. First the air is b l u e a n d then it is bluer a n d then green a n d then b l a c k I a m b l a c k i n g out a n d yet my m a s k is powerful it p u m p s my blood with p o w e r the s e a is a n o t h e r story the s e a is not a q u e s t i o n of p o w e r I have to learn a l o n e to turn my body without force in the d e e p e l e m e n t . A n d now: it is easy to forget what I c a m e for a m o n g so m a n y w h o have always lived here swaying their crenellated fans b e t w e e n the reefs and besides you b r e a t h e differently down h e r e . I c a m e to explore the wreck. T h e words are p u r p o s e s . T h e words are m a p s . I c a m e to s e e the d a m a g e that w a s d o n e a n d the t r e a s u r e s that prevail. I stroke the b e a m of my l a m p slowly a l o n g the flank of s o m e t h i n g m o r e p e r m a n e n t than fish or w e e d the thing I c a m e for: the wreck a n d not the story of the wreck

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25

30

35

40

45

50

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the thing itself a n d not the myth the d r o w n e d f a c e 2 always s t a r i n g toward the s u n the e v i d e n c e of d a m a g e worn by salt a n d sway into this t h r e a d b a r e b e a u t y the ribs of the d i s a s t e r curving their a s s e r t i o n a m o n g the tentative h a u n t e r s .

65

70

T h i s is the p l a c e . A n d I a m h e r e , the m e r m a i d w h o s e d a r k hair s t r e a m s black, the m e r m a n in his a r m o r e d body W e circle silently a b o u t the wreck we dive into the hold. I am she: I am he w h o s e d r o w n e d f a c e s l e e p s with o p e n eyes w h o s e b r e a s t s still b e a r the s t r e s s w h o s e silver, c o p p e r , vermeil c a r g o lies o b s c u r e l y inside barrels half-wedged a n d left to rot we are the half-destroyed i n s t r u m e n t s that o n c e held to a c o u r s e the w a t e r - e a t e n log the fouled c o m p a s s W e a r e , I a m , you are by c o w a r d i c e or c o u r a g e the o n e w h o find our way b a c k to this s c e n e carrying a knife, a c a m e r a a b o o k of myths in which

75

so

85

90

our n a m e s do not a p p e a r . 1972

1973

Power Living

in the e a r t h - d e p o s i t s

of our history

T o d a y a b a c k h o e divulged out of a c r u m b l i n g flank of earth o n e bottle a m b e r perfect a hundred-year-old c u r e for fever or m e l a n c h o l y a tonic for living on this earth in the winters of this c l i m a t e

5

Today I was reading about Marie Curie:' s h e m u s t have known she suffered from radiation s i c k n e s s 2. Referring to the ornamental female figurehead that formed the prow of many old sailing ships. 1. Physical chemist ( 1 8 6 7 - 1 9 3 4 ) who with her

hushand investigated radioactivity and on her own discovered polonium and radium: she received the Nohel Prize in 1 9 1 1 .

TRANSCENDENTAL ETUDE

her body b o m b a r d e d for years by the e l e m e n t she h a d purified It s e e m s s h e d e n i e d to the e n d the s o u r c e of the c a t a r a c t s on her eyes finger-ends the c r a c k e d a n d s u p p u r a t i n g 2 skin of her till s h e c o u l d no longer hold a test-tube or a pencil S h e died a f a m o u s w o m a n her w o u n d s denying her w o u n d s

came

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10

denying is

from the s a m e s o u r c e a s her power

1974

1978

Transcendental Etude 1 for Michelle Cliff T h i s A u g u s t e v e n i n g I've b e e n driving over b a c k r o a d s fringed with q u e e n a n n e ' s lace my c a r startling y o u n g deer in m e a d o w s — o n e gave a h o a r s e intake of her b r e a t h a n d all four fawns s p r a n g after her into the dark m a p l e s . T h r e e m o n t h s from today they'll be fair g a m e for the hit-and-run h u n t e r s , glorying in a w e e k e n d ' s destructive p o w e r , triggers fingered by d r u n k e n g u n m e n , s o m e t i m e s s o inept a s to leave the s h a t t e r e d a n i m a l s t u n n e d in her blood. B u t this e v e n i n g d e e p in s u m m e r the d e e r are still alive a n d free, nibbling a p p l e s from early-laden b o u g h s s o weighted, so e n g l o b e d with already yellowing fruit they s e e m eternal, H e s p e r i d e a n 2 in the c l e a r - t u n e d , cricket-throbbing air. L a t e r I stood in the dooryard, my nerves s i n g i n g the i m m e n s e fragility of all this s w e e t n e s s , this green world already s e n t i m e n t a l i z e d , p h o t o g r a p h e d , advertised to d e a t h . Yet, it p e r s i s t s stubbornly beyond the fake V e r m o n t of a n t i q u e b a r n b o a r d s glazed into d i s c o t h e q u e s , artificial snow, the sick V e r m o n t of children c o n c e i v e d in apathy, grown to winters of rotgut violence, poverty g n a s h i n g its teeth like a blind c a t at their lives. 2. Discharging pus. 1 . A piece of music played for the practice of a point of technique or a composition built on technique but played for its artistic value.

5

io

is

20

25

2. I.e., like the golden apples of the tree guarded by the Hesperides, daughters of Atlas, in Greek mythology.

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Still, it p e r s i s t s . T u r n i n g off o n t o a dirt r o a d from the raw c u t s bulldozed t h r o u g h a quiet village for the tourist run to C a n a d a , I've sat on a s t o n e f e n c e a b o v e a great, soft, s l o p i n g field of m u s i n g heifers, a f a r m s t e a d slanting its p l a n e s calmly in the c a l m light, a d e a d elm raising b l e a c h e d a r m s a b o v e a green s o d e n s e with life, minute, momentary life—slugs, moles, pheasants, gnats, spiders, moths, hummingbirds, groundhogs, butterflies— a lifetime is too narrow to u n d e r s t a n d it all, b e g i n n i n g with the h u g e rockshelves that underlie all that life.

30

35

40

N o o n e ever told u s we h a d to study o u r lives, m a k e of our lives a study, a s if l e a r n i n g n a t u r a l history or m u s i c , that we s h o u l d begin with the s i m p l e e x e r c i s e s first a n d slowly go on trying the hard o n e s , p r a c t i c i n g till s t r e n g t h a n d a c c u r a c y b e c a m e o n e with the d a r i n g to l e a p into t r a n s c e n d e n c e , take the c h a n c e of b r e a k i n g d o w n in the wild a r p e g g i o or faulting the full s e n t e n c e of the f u g u e . 3 — A n d in fact we can't live like that: w e take on everything at o n c e b e f o r e we've even b e g u n to r e a d or m a r k t i m e , we're f o r c e d to begin in the m i d s t of the h a r d e s t m o v e m e n t , the o n e already s o u n d i n g a s we are born. At m o s t we're allowed a few m o n t h s of simply listening to the s i m p l e line of a w o m a n ' s voice s i n g i n g a child a g a i n s t her heart. Everything e l s e is t o o s o o n , too s u d d e n , the w r e n c h i n g - a p a r t , that w o m a n ' s h e a r t b e a t h e a r d ever after from a d i s t a n c e , the loss of that g r o u n d - n o t e e c h o i n g whenever w e a r e happy, or in d e s p a i r . Everything else s e e m s beyond u s , we aren't ready for it, n o t h i n g that w a s said is true for u s , c a u g h t n a k e d in the a r g u m e n t , the c o u n t e r p o i n t , trying to s i g h t r e a d what our fingers can't k e e p u p with, learn by heart what we can't even r e a d . A n d yet it is this we were born to. W e aren't virtuosi or child p r o d i g i e s , there a r e no prodigies in this r e a l m , only a half-blind, s t u b b o r n cleaving to the t i m b r e , the t o n e s of w h a t we a r e — e v e n w h e n all the texts d e s c r i b e it differently. 3. Musical piece characterized by the interweaving of several voices. "Arpeggio": production of tones of a chord in succession.

TRANSCENDENTAL

ETUDE

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2771

A n d we're not p e r f o r m e r s , like L i s z t , 4 c o m p e t i n g a g a i n s t t h e world for s p e e d a n d brilliance (the 7 9 - y e a r - o l d p i a n i s t s a i d , w h e n I a s k e d h e r What

makes

a

virtuoso?—Competitiveness.)

T h e longer I live t h e m o r e I m i s t r u s t theatricality, t h e false g l a m o u r c a s t by p e r f o r m a n c e , t h e m o r e I know its poverty b e s i d e the truths w e a r e salvaging from the splitting-open o f o u r lives. T h e w o m a n w h o sits w a t c h i n g , listening, eyes m o v i n g in t h e d a r k n e s s in r e h e a r s i n g in her body, hearing-out in her b l o o d a s c o r e t o u c h e d off in her p e r h a p s by s o m e w o r d s , a few c h o r d s , from t h e s t a g e : a tale only s h e c a n tell. B u t there c o m e t i m e s — p e r h a p s this is o n e of t h e m — w h e n w e have to take o u r s e l v e s m o r e seriously o r d i e ; w h e n w e have to pull b a c k from t h e i n c a n t a t i o n s , rhythms we've m o v e d to t h o u g h t l e s s l y , a n d disenthrall o u r s e l v e s , b e s t o w o u r s e l v e s to s i l e n c e , or a severer listening, c l e a n s e d of oratory, f o r m u l a s , c h o r u s e s , l a m e n t s , static c r o w d i n g t h e wires. W e c u t t h e wares, find o u r s e l v e s in free-fall, a s if o u r true h o m e were t h e u n d i m e n s i o n a l s o l i t u d e s , t h e rift in t h e G r e a t N e b u l a . 5 N o o n e w h o survives to s p e a k n e w l a n g u a g e , h a s a v o i d e d this: the cutting-away of a n old force that held her rooted to a n old g r o u n d the p i t c h of utter l o n e l i n e s s w h e r e s h e herself a n d all c r e a t i o n s e e m equally d i s p e r s e d , w e i g h t l e s s , her b e i n g a cry to w h i c h n o e c h o c o m e s or c a n ever c o m e . B u t in fact w e were always like this, r o o t l e s s , d i s m e m b e r e d : k n o w i n g it m a k e s t h e d i f f e r e n c e . Birth stripped o u r birthright from u s , tore u s from a w o m a n , from w o m e n , from o u r s e l v e s so early on a n d t h e w h o l e c h o r u s t h r o b b i n g at o u r e a r s like m i d g e s , told u s nothing, n o t h i n g of origins, n o t h i n g w e n e e d e d to know, n o t h i n g that c o u l d r e - m e m b e r u s .

4. Franz Liszt, 19th-century Hungarian composer and pianist, noted for his virtuoso performances. 5. A nebula is an immense body of rarefied gas or dust in interstellar space. Rich may be referring to

the Great Nebula in the Orion constellation or to a body of dark nebulae, usually called the "Great Rift," which in photographs appears to divide the Milky Way.

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ADRIENNE

RICH

Only: that it is u n n a t u r a l , the h o m e s i c k n e s s for a w o m a n , for o u r s e l v e s , for that a c u t e joy at the s h a d o w her h e a d a n d a r m s c a s t on a wall, her heavy or s l e n d e r thighs on w h i c h we lay, flesh a g a i n s t flesh, eyes s t e a d y on the f a c e of love; s m e l l of her milk, her s w e a t , terror of her d i s a p p e a r a n c e , all f u s e d in this h u n g e r for the e l e m e n t they have called m o s t d a n g e r o u s , to b e lifted b r e a t h t a k e n on her b r e a s t , to rock within her — e v e n if b e a t e n b a c k , s t r a n d e d a g a i n s t , to a p p r e h e n d in a s u d d e n brine-clear t h o u g h t t r e m b l i n g like the tiny, o r b e d , e n d a n g e r e d e g g - s a c of a new world: TTiis is what

she was

is how

I can

love

as only

a woman

to me,

and

this

myself— can

love

me.

Homesick for myself, for her—as, after t h e h e a t w a v e b r e a k s , the c l e a r t o n e s of the world m a n i f e s t : c l o u d , b o u g h , wall, i n s e c t , the very soul of light: homesick a s the fluted vault of d e s i r e a r t i c u l a t e s itself: I am the lover and the loved, home firewood

and

wanderer, and

she who

she who knocks,

splits a

stranger

in the storm, two w o m e n , eye to eye m e a s u r i n g e a c h other's spirit, e a c h other's limitless d e s i r e , a w h o l e new poetry b e g i n n i n g h e r e . Vision b e g i n s to h a p p e n in s u c h a life a s if a w o m a n quietly w a l k e d away from the a r g u m e n t a n d j a r g o n in a r o o m a n d sitting down in the kitchen, b e g a n t u r n i n g in her lap bits of yarn, c a l i c o a n d velvet s c r a p s , laying t h e m out absently on the s c r u b b e d b o a r d s in the l a m p l i g h t , with s m a l l rainbow-colored shells s e n t in cotton-wool from s o m e w h e r e far away, a n d skeins of milkweed from t h e n e a r e s t m e a d o w — original d o m e s t i c silk, the finest findings— a n d the d a r k b l u e petal of the p e t u n i a , a n d the dry darkbrown l a c e of s e a w e e d ; not forgotten either, the s h e d silver whisker of the c a t , t h e spiral of p a p e r - w a s p - n e s t c u r l i n g b e s i d e the finch's yellow feather. S u c h a c o m p o s i t i o n h a s n o t h i n g to do with eternity, the striving for g r e a t n e s s , b r i l l i a n c e — only with the m u s i n g of a m i n d o n e with her body, e x p e r i e n c e d fingers quietly p u s h i n g d a r k a g a i n s t bright, silk a g a i n s t r o u g h n e s s , pulling the tenets of a life t o g e t h e r with n o m e r e will to m a s t e r y ,

GARY SNYDER

/

only c a r e for the many-lived, u n e n d i n g forms in which s h e finds herself, b e c o m i n g now the sherd of broken g l a s s slicing light in a corner, d a n g e r o u s to flesh, now the plentiful, soft leaf that w r a p p e d r o u n d the throbbing finger, s o o t h e s the w o u n d ; a n d now the s t o n e f o u n d a t i o n , rockshelf further forming u n d e r n e a t h everything that grows.

1977

2773

17;

1978

GARY

b.

SNYDER 1930

"I try to hold both history and wildness in my mind, that my poems may approach the true measure of things and stand against the unbalance and ignorance of our time," Gary Snyder has said. Throughout his life Snyder has sought alternatives to this imbalance. His quest has led him to the natural world, to the study of mythology and the discipline of Eastern religions, and to living oral traditions including those of native American societies. Snyder understands the work of poetry as recovery and healing. Like the shaman-poet of primitive cultures whose power to "heal disease and resist death" is "acquired from dreams" (as he writes in "Poetry and the Primitive"), he seeks to restore contact with a vital universe in which all things are interdependent. The journey of Snyder's life and work has taken him back to what he calls "the most archaic values on earth." His poems are acts of cultural criticism, challenges to the dominant values of the contemporary world. The American West Coast is Snyder's native landscape; its forests and mountains have always attracted him, and they inspire many of his poems. He was born in San Francisco, grew up in the state of Washington, and later moved with his family to Portland, Oregon. In 1947, he entered Reed College, where he studied anthropology and developed a special interest in native American cultures (Northwest Coast Indian myths and tales inform his second book, Myths and Tests, 1960). After doing graduate work in linguistics at Indiana University, he returned to the West, where he became associated with Kenneth Rexroth and Philip Whalen and with Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, all of whom participated in what came to be called the San Francisco Renaissance. In this period, Snyder also studied classical Chinese at the University of California at Berkeley and translated some of the Cold Mountain Poems of the Zen poet Han-shan. In the mid 1950s Snyder went to Japan, where he resided, except intermittently, until 1968; in Japan he took formal instruction in Buddhism under Zen masters. The various traditions Snyder has studied come together in his poetic vision quest The Blue Sky, a magical celebration of the overarching heavens. Snyder's poems, like his life, combine reading and formal study with physical activity; he has worked as a timber scaler, a forest fire lookout (one of his lookouts inspired "August at Sourdough"), a logger, and a hand on a tanker in the South Pacific. "My poems follow the rhythms of the physical work I'm doing and the life I'm leading at any given time," he has remarked. The title of his first book, Riprap (1959), is a forester's term; a riprap, he explains, is "a cobble of stone laid on steep slick rock to make a trail for horses in the mountains." Snyder's poems often follow a trail of ascent or descent, as in "Straight-Creek-Great Burn" from his Pulitzer Prize-winning vol-

2774

/

GARY

SNYDER

ume, Turtle Island (1975). Hiking with friends, he experiences the world as dynamic and flowing (running water and "changing clouds"), but the journey brings the walkers to a still point; they lie "resting on dry fern and / watching." From such a stillness the central image of a Snyder poem often rises, like the birds who "arch and loop," then "settle down." The achievement of stillness in a universe of change is, for Snyder, pivotal. The mind empties itself, the individual ego is erased, and the local place reveals the universal. If Snyder's poems contain a Zenlike stillness, they also exhibit an appealing energy, one source of which is his love of wildness. Like the Thoreau of Walden explicitly evoked in sections of Myths and Texts, Snyder finds a tonic wildness in the natural world, but unlike Thoreau, he is an unabashed celebrant of erotic experience (his earlier poems make it clear that he also knows the destructive possibilities in such experience). He renders some of the various faces of Eros in "Beneath My Hand and Eye the Distant Hills. Your Body" (from Tlie Back Country, 1968) and in "Song of the Taste" (from Regarding Wave, 1970). Some of Snyder's numerous essays on politics and ecology are included in his influential Earth House Hold (1969) and The Practice of the Wild (1990). His collections Axe Handles (1983), Left Out in the Rain (1986), and No Nature: New and Selected Poems (1992) confirm that his poems are bound up in the same concerns. Although his didactic impulse sometimes leads him to oversimplification, Snyder's political vision remains one of the strengths of his poetry. The potential in this vision for self-importance and overseriousness is tempered by his sense of humor and the conviction, palpable in his best poems, that his experiences are common and shared. Snyder's poems suggest diverse contexts: his belief in the writer as cultural critic links him to Thoreau and Robert Duncan, his rhythms and strong images recall Ezra Pound, his meticulous attention to the natural world reminds us of Robert Frost and A. R. Ammons. Eclectic yet respectful of ancient traditions, Snyder is an American original who sees his own work as part of a "continual creation," one manifestation of the energy that sustains all life.

Riprap 1 Lay d o w n t h e s e w o r d s Before your mind like rocks. p l a c e d solid, by h a n d s In c h o i c e of p l a c e , set B e f o r e the body of the m i n d in s p a c e a n d time: Solidity of bark, leaf, or wall riprap of things: C o b b l e of milky way, straying p l a n e t s , These poems, people, lost p o n i e s with Dragging saddles— a n d rocky sure-foot trails. T h e worlds like an e n d l e s s four-dimensional G a m e of G o . 2 1. A cobble of stone laid on steep slick rock to make a trail for horses in the mountains [Snyder's note].

5

10

15

2. An ancient J a p a n e s e g a m e played with black and white stones, placed one after the other on a checkered board.

B E N E A T H M Y H A N D AND E Y E

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2775

ants and pebbles In the thin l o a m , e a c h rock a word a creek-washed stone G r a n i t e : ingrained with t o r m e n t of fire a n d weight Crystal a n d s e d i m e n t linked hot all c h a n g e , in t h o u g h t s , As well a s things.

20

25 1959

August on Sourdough, 1 A Visit from Dick Brewer You hitched a t h o u s a n d miles north from S a n F r a n c i s c o Hiked u p the m o u n t a i n s i d e a mile in the air T h e little c a b i n — o n e r o o m — walled in g l a s s M e a d o w s a n d snowfields, h u n d r e d s of p e a k s . W e lay in our s l e e p i n g b a g s talking half the night; W i n d in the guy-cables this s u m m e r m o u n t a i n rain. Next m o r n i n g I went with you as far a s the cliffs, L o a n e d you my p o n c h o — the rain a c r o s s the s h a l e — You down the snowfield flapping in the wind W a v i n g a last g o o d b y e half hidden in the c l o u d s T o go on hitching clear to N e w York; M e b a c k to my m o u n t a i n a n d far, far, west.

5

10

is

1968

Beneath My Hand and Eye the Distant Hills. Your Body W h a t my h a n d follows on your body Is the line. A s t r e a m of love of h e a t , of light, what my eye lascivious licks over, w a t c h i n g far s n o w - d a p p l e d U i n t a h m o u n t a i n s ' Is that s t r e a m . O f power. what my hand curves over, following the line. " h i p " and " g r o i n " . Mountain in Washington State, where Snyder •orked as a fire-watcher during the summer of

1953. 1. In northeastern Utah.

5

10

2776

/

SYLVIA

PLATH

Where " I " follow by h a n d a n d eye the s w i m m i n g limit of your body. As w h e n vision idly dallies o n the hills L o v i n g what it f e e d s on. soft cinder c o n e s a n d c r a t e r s ; — D r u m H a d l e y in the P i n a c a t e 2 took ten m i n u t e s m o r e to look a g a i n — A leap of p o w e r unfurling: left, right—right— M y heart b e a t faster looking at the snowy U i n t a h m o u n t a i n s . As my h a n d f e e d s on you r u n s d o w n your side a n d c u r l s b e n e a t h your hip. oil p o o l ; s t r a t u m ; w a t e r — W h a t " i s " within not known b u t feel it sinking with a breath p u s h t r u t h l e s s , surely, d o w n . B e n e a t h this long c a r e s s of h a n d a n d eye " w e " learn the flower b u r n i n g , o u t w a r d , from " b e l o w " . 1968 2. Town in California.

SYLVIA

PLATH

1932-1963 In an introduction to Sylvia Plath's Ariel (1965), published two years after her suicide in London, Robert Lowell wrote: "In these poems . . . Sylvia Plath becomes herself, becomes something imaginary, newly, wildly, and subtly created— . . . one of those super-real, hypnotic great classical heroines." Lowell had first met Plath in 1958, during her regular visits to his poetry seminar at Boston University, where he remembered her "air of maddening docility." Later, writing his introduction, he recognized her astonishing creation of a poetic self. The poems of Ariel were written at white heat, two or three a day, in the last months of Plath's life, but there is nothing hurried in their language or structure. When they are taken together, with the poems posthumously published in Crossing the Water (1971) and WinterTrees (1972), a coherent persona emerges: larger than life, operatic in feeling. Although this focus on the self often excludes attention to the larger world, it generates the dynamic energy of her work. Plath appropriates a centrally American tradition: the heroic ego confronting the sublime, but she brilliantly revises this tradition by turning Emerson's "great and crescive self" into a heroine instead of a hero. Seizing a mythic power, the Plath of

SYLVIA PLATH

/

2777

the poems transmutes the domestic and the ordinary into the hallucinatory, the utterly strange. Her revision of the romantic ego dramatizes its tendency toward disproportion and excess, and she is fully capable of both using and mocking this heightened sense of self, as she does in her poem "Lady Lazarus." Plath's well-known autobiographical novel, The Bell Jar, has nothing of the brilliance of her poems, but it effectively dramatizes the stereotyping of women's roles in the 1950s and the turmoil of a young woman only partly aware that her gifts and ambitions greatly exceed the options available to her. In the novel, Plath makes use of her experience as a guest editor of a young women's magazine (in real life, Mademoiselle) and then, in an abrupt shift, presents her heroine's attempted suicide and hospitalization. Plath herself had suffered a serious breakdown and attempted suicide between her junior and senior years in college. The popularity of The Bell Jar may be one reason why attention to Plath's life has sometimes obscured the accomplishments of her art. While her poems often begin in autobiography, their success depends on Plath's imaginative transformations of experience into myth, as in a number of her poems (such as "Daddy") where the figure of her Prussian father is transformed into an emblem for masculine authority. Otto Plath was an entomologist and the author of a treatise on bumblebees. His death in 1940 from gangrene (the consequence of a diabetic condition he refused to treat), when Plath was eight, was the crucial event of her childhood. After his death, her mother, Aurelia, while struggling to support two small children, encouraged her daughter's literary ambitions. In many ways Plath embodied the bright, young, middle-class woman of the 1950s. She went to Smith College on a scholarship and graduated summa cum laude. On a Fulbright grant she studied in England at Cambridge University, where she met and married the poet Ted Hughes. On the face of it, her marriage must have seemed the perfect fate for such a young woman; it combined romance, two poets beginning careers together (Plath's first book, The Colossus, appeared in 1960), and, later, two children (Frieda, born in 1960, and Nicholas, born in 1962), with a country house in Devon, England. In her poems, however, we find the strains of such a life; the work is galvanized by suffering, by a terrible constriction against which she unlooses "The lioness, / The shriek in the bath, / The cloak of holes" ("Purdah"). In articulating a dark vision of domestic life, Plath was adopting the license of Robert Lowell and Anne Sexton, a fellow student in Lowell's poetry seminar, to write about "private and taboo subjects." While still living in Devon, Plath wrote most of the poems which were to make up her Ariel volume (by Christmas, 1962, she had gathered them in a black binder and arranged them in a careful sequence). The marriage broke up in the summer of 1962, and at the beginning of the new year, Plath found herself with two small children, living in a London flat in one of the coldest winters in recent British history. There she began new poems, writing furiously until February 1963, when she took her own life. The posthumous Ariel collection, published by Hughes in 1965, does not follow Plath's intended sequence; it omits what Hughes called "some of the more personally aggressive poems from 1962" and includes the dozen or so poems Plath wrote in the months before her death and which she had envisioned as the beginnings of a third book. Nonetheless, the powerful, angry poems of Ariel, mining a limited range of deep feeling, are Plath's best-known work. Fueled by an anger toward her husband and father, she speaks in these poems as one whose feelings are more than her own; it is as if she were the character in George Eliot's Daniel Deronda who appears suddenly before the novel's heroine and says, "I am a woman's life." Other poems, however, demonstrate her ability to render a wider variety of emotion; they include poems about her children (such as "Morning Song," "Child," and "Parliament Hill Fields") and a number of arresting poems about the natural world. In the vastness of natural processes, the romantic ego finds something as large as itself, and Plath's response to nature is intense, often uncanny. Her poems offer an eccentricity of vision where

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PLATH

(as in "Blackberrying") the appearance of the natural world is never separable from the consciousness of the one who sees it. For all her courting of excess, Plath is a remarkably controlled writer; her lucid stanzas, her clear diction, her dazzling alterations of sound are evidence of that control. The imaginative intensity of her poems is her own, triumphant creation out of the difficult circumstances of her life. She once remarked, "I cannot sympathize with those cries from the heart that are informed by nothing except a needle or a knife. . . . I believe that one should be able to control and manipulate experiences, even the most terrifying . . . with an informed and intelligent mind." The influence of her style, and of the persona she created, continues to be felt in the work of a wide variety of contemporary poets. •

Morning Song L o v e set you going like a fat gold w a t c h . T h e midwife s l a p p e d your f o o t s o l e s , a n d your bald cry T o o k its p l a c e a m o n g the e l e m e n t s . O u r voices e c h o , magnifying your arrival. N e w s t a t u e . In a drafty m u s e u m , your n a k e d n e s s S h a d o w s our safety. W e s t a n d r o u n d blankly a s walls.

5

I'm no m o r e your m o t h e r T h a n the c l o u d that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow E f f a c e m e n t at the wind's h a n d . All night your moth-breath Flickers a m o n g the flat pink r o s e s . I w a k e to listen: A far s e a m o v e s in my ear. O n e cry, a n d I s t u m b l e from b e d , cow-heavy a n d floral In my Victorian nightgown. Your m o u t h o p e n s c l e a n as a c a t ' s . T h e window s q u a r e

15

W h i t e n s a n d swallows its dull s t a r s . A n d now you try Your handful of n o t e s ; T h e clear vowels rise like b a l l o o n s . 1961

1966

Lady Lazarus' I have d o n e it a g a i n . O n e year in every ten I manage it— I. Lazarus was raised from the dead by J e s u s (John 1 1.1-45).

LADY L A Z A R U S

A sort of walking m i r a c l e , my skin Bright a s a Nazi l a m p s h a d e , 2 M y right foot

/

2779

5

A paperweight, M y f a c e a f e a t u r e l e s s , fine J e w linen. Peel off the napkin O my e n e m y . D o I terrify? T h e n o s e , the eye pits, the full set of teeth? T h e sour breath Will vanish in a day. S o o n , s o o n the flesh T h e grave c a v e ate will b e At h o m e on m e A n d I a smiling w o m a n . I a m only thirty. A n d like the c a t I have nine t i m e s to die. T h i s is N u m b e r T h r e e . W h a t a trash T o annihilate e a c h d e c a d e . W h a t a million T h e p e a n u t - c r u n c h i n g crowd S h o v e s in to s e e

filaments.

T h e m u n w r a p m e h a n d a n d foot T h e big strip t e a s e . G e n t l e m e n , ladies

25

30

T h e s e are my h a n d s My knees. I may be skin a n d b o n e , N e v e r t h e l e s s , I a m the s a m e , identical w o m a n . T h e first time it h a p p e n e d I w a s ten. It w a s an a c c i d e n t . T h e s e c o n d time I m e a n t T o last it out a n d not c o m e b a c k at all. I rocked shut 2. In the Nazi death camps, the skins of victims were sometimes used to make lampshades.

35

2780

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SYLVIA

PLATH

As a s e a s h e l l . T h e y h a d to call a n d call A n d p i c k the w o r m s off m e like sticky p e a r l s . Dying Is a n art, like everything e l s e . I do it exceptionally well.

4S

I d o it s o it feels like hell. I d o it s o it feels real. I g u e s s you c o u l d say I've a call. It's e a s y e n o u g h to do it in a cell. It's e a s y e n o u g h to d o it a n d stay p u t . It's the theatrical

50

C o m e b a c k in b r o a d day T o the s a m e p l a c e , the s a m e f a c e , the s a m e brute Amused shout: 'A m i r a c l e ! ' T h a t k n o c k s m e out. T h e r e is a c h a r g e F o r the eyeing of my s c a r s , there is a c h a r g e F o r the h e a r i n g of my heart It really g o e s .

55

60

A n d there is a c h a r g e , a very large c h a r g e F o r a word or a t o u c h O r a bit of b l o o d O r a p i e c e of my hair or my c l o t h e s . S o , s o , H e r r ' Doktor. So, Herr Enemy.

65

I a m your o p u s , I a m your v a l u a b l e , T h e p u r e gold b a b y T h a t melts to a shriek. I turn a n d b u r n . D o not think I u n d e r e s t i m a t e your great c o n c e r n . Ash, a s h — You p o k e a n d stir. F l e s h , b o n e , there is n o t h i n g there3. Mr.

70

DADDY

/

2781

A c a k e of s o a p , A w e d d i n g ring, A gold filling. 4 Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware.

80

O u t of the a s h s I rise with my red hair A n d I eat m e n like air. 1966

1962

Daddy You do not d o , you d o not do Any m o r e , black s h o e In which I have lived like a foot F o r thirty years, poor a n d white, Barely daring to b r e a t h e or A c h o o . D a d d y , I have h a d to kill you. You died before I h a d time Marble-heavy, a b a g full of G o d , G h a s t l y s t a t u e with o n e grey t o e 1 Big a s a F r i s c o seal And a h e a d in the freakish Atlantic W h e r e it p o u r s b e a n green over b l u e In the waters of beautiful N a u s e t . 2 I u s e d to pray to recover you. Ach, du.'

15

In the G e r m a n t o n g u e , in the Polish t o w n 4 S c r a p e d flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. B u t the n a m e of the town is c o m m o n . M y P o l a c k friend S a y s there are a dozen or two. S o I never c o u l d tell w h e r e you P u t your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. T h e t o n g u e s t u c k in my j a w . 4. T h e Nazis used human remains in the making of soap and scavenged corpses for jewelry and gold teeth. 5. An allusion to the phoenix, a mythical bird that dies by fire and is reborn out of its own ashes. 1. Plath's father's toe turned black from gangrene,

25

a complication of diabetes. 2. Massachusetts beach. 3. Ah, you: the first of a series of references to her father's German origins. 4. T h e poet's father, although of German descent, was born in Grabow, Poland.

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SYLVIA

PLATH

It s t u c k in a b a r b wire s n a r e . I c h , 5 ich, ich, ich, I c o u l d hardly s p e a k . I thought every G e r m a n w a s you. A n d the l a n g u a g e o b s c e n e An e n g i n e , a n e n g i n e C h u f f i n g m e off like a J e w . A J e w to D a c h a u , A u s c h w i t z , B e l s e n . 6 I b e g a n to talk like a J e w . I think I m a y well b e a J e w . T h e s n o w s of the Tyrol, 7 the clear b e e r of V i e n n a Are not very p u r e or true. W i t h my gypsy a n c e s t r e s s a n d my weird luck A n d my T a r o c 8 p a c k a n d my T a r o c p a c k I m a y be a bit of a J e w . I have always b e e n s c a r e d of you, With your L u f t w a f f e , 9 your g o b b l e d y g o o . A n d your neat m u s t a c h e A n d your Aryan eye, bright b l u e . P a n z e r 1 - m a n , p a n z e r - m a n , O You N o t G o d b u t a swastika S o black n o sky c o u l d s q u e a k t h r o u g h . Every w o m a n a d o r e s a F a s c i s t , T h e boot in the f a c e , the b r u t e B r u t e heart of a brute like you.

50

You s t a n d at the b l a c k b o a r d , daddy, In the p i c t u r e I have of you, A cleft in your chin i n s t e a d of your foot B u t no less a devil for that, n o not A n d less the b l a c k m a n w h o

55

Bit my pretty red heart in two. I w a s ten w h e n they b u r i e d y o u . At twenty I tried to die A n d get back, b a c k , b a c k to you. I t h o u g h t even the b o n e s w o u l d do.

60

B u t they pulled m e o u t of the s a c k , A n d they s t u c k m e together with g l u e . 2 A n d then I knew what to d o .

5. 1. 6. German concentration c a m p s , where millions of Jews were murdered during World War II. 7. Austrian Alpine region. 8. Variation of Tarot, ancient fortune-telling cards. Gypsies, like Jews, were objects of Nazi genocidal ambition; many died in the concentration

camps. 9. T h e G e r m a n air force. 1. Armor ( G e r m a n ) ; refers to the Nazi tank corps io World War U. Hitler preached the superiority of the Aryans—people of G e r m a n stock with blond hair and blue eyes. 2. An allusion to Plath's first suicide attempt.

BLACKBERRYING

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I m a d e a model of you, A m a n in black with a M e i n k a m p P look

65

And a love of the rack a n d the screw. And I said I d o , I d o . S o daddy, I'm finally t h r o u g h . T h e black telephone's off at the root, T h e voices j u s t can't w o r m t h r o u g h .

70

If I've killed o n e m a n , I've killed two T h e v a m p i r e who said h e w a s you A n d drank my blood for a year, S e v e n years, if you want to know. D a d d y , you c a n lie b a c k now.

75

T h e r e ' s a stake in your fat b l a c k heart A n d the villagers never liked you. T h e y are d a n c i n g a n d s t a m p i n g on y o u . T h e y always knew it w a s y o u . D a d d y , daddy, you b a s t a r d , I'm t h r o u g h . 1962

so 1966

Blackberrying N o b o d y in the l a n e , a n d nothing, nothing but b l a c k b e r r i e s , Blackberries on either side, t h o u g h on the right mainly, A blackberry alley, g o i n g d o w n in h o o k s , a n d a s e a S o m e w h e r e at the e n d of it, heaving. B l a c k b e r r i e s Big a s the ball of my t h u m b , a n d d u m b a s eyes E b o n in the h e d g e s , fat With blue-red j u i c e s . T h e s e they s q u a n d e r on my fingers. I h a d not a s k e d for s u c h a blood s i s t e r h o o d ; they m u s t love m e . T h e y a c c o m m o d a t e t h e m s e l v e s to my milkbottle, flattening their s i d e s .

5

O v e r h e a d go the c h o u g h s ' in black, c a c o p h o n o u s f l o c k s — 10 Bits of b u r n t p a p e r w h e e l i n g in a blown sky. Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting. I do not think the s e a will a p p e a r at all. T h e high, green m e a d o w s are glowing, as if lit from within. I c o m e to o n e b u s h of berries so ripe it is a b u s h of flies, 15 H a n g i n g their b l u e g r e e n bellies a n d their w i n g p a n e s in a C h i n e s e s c r e e n . T h e honey-feast of the berries has s t u n n e d t h e m ; they believe in h e a v e n . O n e m o r e hook, a n d the berries a n d b u s h e s e n d . •

T h e only thing to c o m e now is the s e a . F r o m b e t w e e n two hills a s u d d e n wind funnels at m e , 3. A reference to Hitler's political autobiography, Mein Kampf (My struggle), written and published before his rise to power, in which the future dic-

tator outlined his plans for world conquest. 1. Small, chattering birds of the crow family.

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AUDRE

LORDE

S l a p p i n g its p h a n t o m laundry in my f a c e . T h e s e hills are too green a n d sweet to have tasted salt. I follow the s h e e p p a t h b e t w e e n t h e m . A last hook brings m e T o the hills' n o r t h e r n f a c e , a n d the f a c e is o r a n g e rock T h a t looks out o n n o t h i n g , n o t h i n g but a great s p a c e O f white a n d pewter lights, a n d a din like silversmiths B e a t i n g a n d b e a t i n g at a n intractable m e t a l . 1961

1971

Child Your clear eye is the o n e absolutely beautiful thing. I w a n t to fill it with color a n d d u c k s , T h e zoo of the n e w W h o s e n a m e s you m e d i t a t e — April s n o w d r o p , Indian p i p e , Little S t a l k without wrinkle, Pool in which i m a g e s Should be grand and classical N o t this t r o u b l o u s W r i n g i n g of h a n d s , this dark C e i l i n g without a star. 1963

1972

AUDRE

LORDE

1934-1992 Audre Lorde's poetry wages what she called "a war against the tyrannies of silence "; it articulates what has been passed over out of fear or discomfort, what has been kept hidden and secret. Reading her we feel the violence inherent in breaking a silence, perhaps most often as she probes the experience of anger—the anger of black toward white or white toward black, a woman's anger at men and other women, and men's anger toward women (the subject of her powerful poem "Need: A Choral of Black Women's Voices"). "My Black woman's anger," she wrote in her collection of essays, Sister Outsider, "is a molten pond at the core of me, my most fiercely guarded secret." Having admitted this secret into her poems, Lorde transforms our expectations of what is fit subject for the lyric. Her work is often deliberately disturbing, the powerful voice of the poem cutting through denial, politeness, and fear. In the development of this voice, Lorde drew on African resources, especially the matriarchal mythology

AUDRE LORDE

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and history of West Africa. Her seventh book, The Black Unicorn ( 1 9 7 8 ) , reflects the time she spent in Africa studying, in particular, Yoruba mythology and reclaiming her connection to the rich African cultures. The African presence is evident in one of her last books, Our Dead Behind Us ( 1 9 8 6 ) , as well. From the start, Lorde's work suggests that she always connected poetry to the speaking voice, but her study of African materials deepened her connection to oral traditions (like the chant or the call) and taught her the power of voice to cut across time and place. From African writers, she said, she learned that "we live in accordance with, in a kind of correspondence with, the rest of the world as a whole." A powerful voice informed by personal and cultural history creates the possibility, for Lorde, of bridging the differences her work does not seek to erase. "It is not difference that immobilizes us," she wrote, "but silence." Her work both celebrates difference and confounds it. In Adrienne Rich's words, Lorde wrote "as a Black woman, a mother, a daughter, a Lesbian, a feminist, a visionary." Her poem "Coal" affirms an J that is "the total black, being spoken / from the earth's inside." This total blackness was, for her, also associated with Eros and with creativity; she celebrated this source as what she called "woman's place of power within each of us," which is "neither white nor surface; it is dark, it is ancient; and it is deep." Her best work calls on the deepest places of her own life—on the pain she experienced, on her rage (her second book was titled Cables to Rage, 1 9 7 2 ) , on her longing and desire. One of the silences her poems broke concerns love between women, and she wrote a number of poems that are erotic, precise, and true to both the power and delicacy of feeling. Unafraid of anger, she was also capable of tenderness; this is perhaps most clear not only in her love poems but in poems that address a younger generation. Lorde was born in New York City and lived in New York almost all her life. Her parents were West Indian, and her mother was light skinned. "I grew up in a genuine confusion / between grass and weeds and flowers / and what colored meant," Lorde wrote in her poem "Outside." Part of that confusion was the conflict represented by her father's blackness and her mother's desire for whiteness (in "Black Mother Woman" Lorde speaks of the mother as "split with deceitful longings"). Lorde'sunderstanding of identity forged out of conflict began, then, for her in her own family history with its legacy of "conflicting rebellions" ("Black Mother Woman"). In 1 9 6 1 she received a B.A. from Hunter College and later a Master's of Library Science from Columbia University. The following year she married (she divorced in 1 9 7 0 ) , and the marriage produced a daughter and a son. In 1 9 6 8 she became poet-in-residence for a year at Tougaloo College in Mississippi, her first experience in the American South. Thereafter she knew her work to be that of a writer and teacher; she taught at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in New York City and, from 1 9 8 1 , was professor of English at Hunter College. In the last years of her life Lorde traveled extensively, not only to Africa but to Australia (where she met with aborigine women) and Germany. During her last years she lived much of the time in St. Croix. "I have come to believe over and over again," Lorde said, "that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood." This drive toward expression made Lorde a prolific writer and led her to several prose works in which she shared experiences often restricted to privacy: The Cancer Journals ( 1 9 8 0 ) , an account of her struggle with breast cancer, and Zami: A New Spelling

of My Name

( 1 9 8 2 ) , a "biomythography" of her growing

up and her emergent lesbian identity. The urgency Lorde felt to make experience "verbal and shared," however, sometimes overrode a distinction crucial to her work: that between poetry and rhetoric. She preserved this distinction in her best work by listening and responding to other voices in herself and in the world around her. With their combination of pain, anger, and tenderness, her finest poems are poetry as illumination, poetry in which, as she said, "we give name to those ideas which are— until the poem—nameless, formless, about to be birthed, but already felt."

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Coal I is the total black, b e i n g s p o k e n from the earth's i n s i d e . T h e r e are m a n y kinds of o p e n how a d i a m o n d c o m e s into a knot of f l a m e how s o u n d c o m e s into a word, c o l o u r e d by w h o pays w h a t for s p e a k i n g . S o m e words are o p e n like a d i a m o n d on glass w i n d o w s s i n g i n g o u t within the p a s s i n g c r a s h of s u n T h e n there a r e words like s t a p l e d w a g e r s in a p e r f o r a t e d b o o k , — b u y a n d sign a n d tear aparta n d c o m e whatever wills all c h a n c e s the s t u b r e m a i n s a n ill-pulled tooth with a r a g g e d e d g e . S o m e w o r d s live in my throat b r e e d i n g like a d d e r s . O t h e r s know s u n s e e k i n g like gypsies over my t o n g u e to explode t h r o u g h my lips like y o u n g sparrows b u r s t i n g from shell. S o m e words bedevil m e .

10

15

L o v e is a word, a n o t h e r kind of o p e n . As the d i a m o n d c o m e s into a knot of flame I a m B l a c k b e c a u s e I c o m e from the earth's inside now take my word for j e w e l in the o p e n light. 1968 •

The Woman Thing •

T h e h u n t e r s are b a c k from b e a t i n g the winter's f a c e in s e a r c h of a c h a l l e n g e or t a s k in s e a r c h of food m a k i n g fresh tracks for their children's h u n g e r they d o not watch the s u n they c a n n o t wear its heat for a sign of t r i u m p h or f r e e d o m ; T h e h u n t e r s are treading heavily h o m e w a r d through s n o w that is m a r k e d with their own bloody footprints, e m p t y h a n d e d , the h u n t e r s return s n o w - m a d d e n e d , s u s t a i n e d by their r a g e s .

HARRIET

In the night after food they may s e e k y o u n g girls for their a m u s e m e n t . B u t now the h u n t e r s are c o m i n g a n d the u n b a k e d girls flee from their a n g e r s . All this day I have craved food for my child's h u n g e r E m p t y h a n d e d the h u n t e r s c o m e s h o u t i n g injustices drip from their m o u t h s like stale s n o w m e l t e d in sunlight. Meanwhile the w o m a n thing my m o t h e r taught m e b a k e s off its covering of s n o w like a rising b l a c k e n i n g s u n .

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15

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25

1968

Harriet Harriet there w a s always s o m e b o d y calling us crazy or m e a n or s t u c k - u p or evil or b l a c k or b l a c k a n d we were nappy girls q u i c k a s cuttlefish 1 scurrying for cover trying to s p e a k trying to s p e a k trying to s p e a k the pain in e a c h others m o u t h s until we learned on the e d g e of a lash or a t o n g u e on the e d g e of the other's betrayal that r e s p e c t m e a n t k e e p i n g our d i s t a n c e in silence averting our eyes from e a c h other's f a c e in the street from the beautiful dark m o u t h a n d c a u t i o u s familiar eyes passing alone. I r e m e m b e r you Harriet before we were broken apart we d r e a m e d the c r o s s e d swords of warrior q u e e n s while we avoided e a c h other's eyes a n d we learned to know lonely a s the earth learns to know d e a d 1. Ten-armed shellfish. "Nappy": with closely twisted or curled hair.

5

io

is

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BARAKA

Harriet Harriet what n a m e shall we call our selves now our m o t h e r is g o n e ?

30 1978

AMIRI

BARAKA

(LEROI

JONES)

When in 1 9 6 7 LeRoi Jones assumed the Bantuized Muslim name Amiri Baraka (meaning Prince, a Blessed One), he was undergoing one of several changes in his progression as a maker of literature. Born Everett Leroy Jones, he was the child of middle-class African American parents in Newark, New Jersey, where his scholastic abilities took him to the best schools available; as Baraka recalls in his autobiography, his classmates were more often white suburbanites than inner-city children of his own race. The stylizing "LeRoi" was undertaken during his undergraduate years at Howard University (a traditionally African American institution), to which he had transferred from the mostly white campus of Rutgers University (where he had won a scholarship). After leaving Howard in 1 9 5 4 and serving in the U.S. Air Force, from which he was discharged for unapproved political activities, Jones moved to New York City's Greenwich Village and became prominent on the avant-garde poetry scene. His friends were white innovators—Gilbert Sorrentino, Diane DiPrima, and Frank O'Hara among them—with whom he worked on the magazine Kulchur in addition to editing and publishing his own journal, Yugen. Married to Hettie Cohen, he began an interracial family and wrote record reviews for mainstream jazz magazines. Jones was well established in the more intellectually elite quarters of New York's world of poetry, art, and music when his play Dutchman was produced in 1 9 6 4 . That it won an Obie (as one of the year's best Off-Broadway plays) seemed appropriate for a work by someone on the cutting edge of literature. Yet as racial tensions mounted, with the assassination of Medgar Evers; fatal church bombings in Alabama; and the murder of civil rights workers James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner in Mississippi; Jones's life underwent major changes as well. In 1 9 6 5 , following the assassination of Malcolm X, he left his wife and children and moved to Harlem, where as a newly declared black cultural nationalist he founded the Black Arts Repetory Theater, dedicated to taking socially militant drama directly to the people it concerned. At this time his drama itself assumed the spokesmanship role Such works as The Baptism and The expressed by his character Clay in Dutchman. Toilet ( 1 9 6 7 ) are physically assaultive in their dramaturgy; in the latter the stage set is a realistically constructed public lavatory, where among the uncleaned urinals a student is harassed and beaten as a vehicle of the play's narrative exposition. Four Black Revolutionary Plays ( 1 9 6 9 ) collects similarly harsh works and includes as well the author's comments on a play that because of its explosiveness could not be printed in an America only recently disrupted by assassinations and urban rioting (J-E-L-LO, in which Rochester, the comically beloved servant of Jack Benny's popular radio and television show, kills Benny and his family; the Jell-O Food Company, Benny's longtime sponsor, refused to let its name be used). By 1 9 7 0 Amiri Baraka, as he asked to be called, had moved to Newark; married Sylvia Robinson (who became Amina Baraka); and begun work toward electing Kenneth Gibson as the city's first black mayor, a consequence of the author having been convicted of incitement to riot on the evidence of his poetry. The conviction was overturned on appeal. Yet even with

AN AGONY. A S NOW.

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Gibson in control, Baraka was not happy with the quality of African American life in the city and soon parted with both the mayor and black nationalism in favor of third world Marxism. Poetry as a vehicle of popular encouragement remains central to Baraka's belief. He may well have agreed with the originally convicting judge that his poem could motivate people to act (whether such culpability had been proven in legal form is another matter). As opposed to his very first work, which conveyed a personal anguish for which the poet projected no political situation ("I am inside someone / who hates me, I look / out from his eyes") and whose collective title conveys little hope other than in the act of expression (Preface

to a Twenty

Volume

Suicide

Note,

1961), his

later work is replete with exhortations, capitalized imperatives for action, and chantlike repetitions designed to arouse a fury for action and then direct it toward the achievement of specific social goals. Much like his drama, this poetry is overtly presentational, showing what the reader needs to think about and then providing the stimulus to act. Yet all the while the personal nature of Baraka stands behind it, making clear that a deep and complex imagination has been brought to bear on the issues. During the 1980s and 1990s Baraka has taught in the African Studies Department at the State University of New York, Stony Brook. In addition to poetry and drama, he continues to write essays on social subjects and on jazz.

An Agony. As Now. I a m inside s o m e o n e w h o hates m e . I look out from his eyes. S m e l l what fouled t u n e s c o m e in to his b r e a t h . L o v e his wretched women. Slits in t h e m e t a l , for s u n . W h e r e my eyes sit turning, at t h e cool air the g l a n c e of light, or hard flesh rubbed against me, a woman, a man, without s h a d o w , or voice, or m e a n i n g , T h i s is t h e e n c l o s u r e (flesh, where i n n o c e n c e is a w e a p o n . A n abstraction. Touch. (Not mine, O r y o u r s , if you a r e t h e soul I h a d a n d a b a n d o n e d w h e n I w a s blind a n d h a d my e n e m i e s carry m e a s a d e a d m a n (if h e is beautiful, or pitied. It c a n b e p a i n . (As now, a s all his flesh hurts m e . ) It c a n b e that. O r p a i n . A s w h e n s h e r a n from m e into that forest. O r pain, the mind silver spiraled whirled a g a i n s t t h e s u n , higher than even old m e n t h o u g h t G o d would b e . O r p a i n . A n d t h e other. T h e

5

10

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BARAKA

yes. (Inside his b o o k s , his fingers. T h e y are withered yellow flowers a n d were never beautiful.) T h e yes. You will, lost soul, say 'beauty.' B e a u t y , p r a c t i c e d , as the tree. T h e slow river. A white s u n in its wet s e n t e n c e s .

30

Or, the cold m e n in their g a l e . E c s t a s y . F l e s h or soul. T h e yes. (Their robes blown. T h e i r b o w l s empty. T h e y c h a n t at my h e e l s , not at yours.) F l e s h or soul, as corrupt. W h e r e the a n s w e r m o v e s too quickly. W h e r e the G o d is a self, after all.)

35

C o l d air blown t h r o u g h narrow blind eyes. F l e s h , white hot m e t a l . G l o w s a s the day with its s u n . It is a h u m a n love, I live inside. A bony skeleton you recognize as words or s i m p l e feeling. B u t it h a s n o feeling. As the m e t a l , is hot, it is not, given to love.

40

It b u r n s the thing inside it. A n d that thing screams.

4s 1964

A Poem for Willie Best 1 The face sings, alone at the top of the body. All flesh, all s o n g , aligned. F o r hell is silent, at t h o s e c r a c k e d lips flakes of skin a n d m i n d twist a n d whistle softly a s they fall. It w a s your own d e a t h you saw. Your own f a c e , stiff a n d raw. T h i s without s o u n d , or m o v e m e n t . S w e e t afton, the dead beggar bleeds yet. His blood, for a time alive, a n d h u d d l e d in a d o o r way, struggling to sing. R a i n w a s h e s it into c r a c k s . Pits w h o s e b o t t o m s are f a m o u s . W h o s e sides are i n n o c e n t b r o a d c a s t s of a n o t h e r life.

1. "Willie Best was a negro character actor whose Hollywood name was Sleep'n'eat" [Baraka's note].

A P O E M FOR W I L L I E B E S T

2791

;

II At this point, neither front nor back. A point, the d i m e n s i o n l e s s line. T h e top of a h e a d , s e e n from Christ's h e a v e n , stripped of history or desire. Fixed, p e r p e n d i c u l a r to s h a d o w . (Even s p e e c h , vertical, leaves no trace. B o r n in to death held fast to it, w h e r e the lover s p r e a d s his a r m s , the line he m a k e s to threaten G o d s with history. T h e fingers stretch to e m p t i n e s s . At e a c h point, after flesh, even light is s p e c u l a t i o n . B u t a n e n d , his e n d , failing a beginning.

/

•

25

A c r o s s . T h e g e s t u r e , symbol, line a r m s held stiff, nailed stiff, with no sign, of what gave t h e m strength. T h e point, b e c o m e a line, a c r o s s , or the m a n , a n d his material, driven in the g r o u n d . If the h e a d rolls b a c k a n d the m o u t h o p e n s , s c r e a m e d into e x i s t e n c e , there will b e p e r h a p s only the slightest hint of m o v e m e n t a s m e a r ; no help will c o m e . N o o n e will turn to that station again.

Ill At a c r o s s r o a d s , sits the player. N o d r u m , no u m b r e l l a , even t h o u g h it's raining. A g a i n , a n d we are s o m e h o w less m i s e r a b l e b e c a u s e here is a h e r o , u s e d to b e i n g wet. O n e road is w h e r e you are s t a n d i n g now (reading this, the other, c r o s s e s then r u s h e s into a wood. 5 lbs n e c k b o n e s . 5 lbs h o g i n n a r d s . 1 0 bottles c h e a p wine.

50

55

(the c o n t e n t s of a p a p e r b a g , also s h o e s , with holes for the big toe, a n d several rusted knives. T h i s is a literature, of s y m b o l s . And it is his gift, a s the

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BARAKA

b a g is. (The contents a g a i n , holy s a v i o u r s , 3 0 0 m e n on h o r s e b a c k 75 bibles the q u i e t n e s s of a field. A rich m a n , t h o u g h wet t h r o u g h by the rain. I said, 4 7 howitzers 7 polished horse jaws a few trees b e i n g w a v e d softly b a c k u n d e r the b l a c k night All this s h o u l d b e invested.

IV

Where ever, h e h a s g o n e . W h o ever mourns or sits silent to r e m e m b e r T h e r e is n o t h i n g of pity here. Nothing of sympathy.

V

T h i s is the d a n c e of the r a i s e d leg. O f the h a n d on the k n e e quickly. A s a d a n c e it p u n i s h e s speech. 'The house burned. T h e old m a n killed.' A s a d a n c e it is o b s c u r e .

VI T h i s is the s o n g of the highest C . T h e falsetto. An e l e g a n c e that p u n i s h e s s i l e n c e . T h i s is the s o n g of the toes p o i n t e d inward, the a r m s s w u n g , the hips, m o v e d , for fucking, slow, from side to side. H e is q u o t e d

•

A POEM

FOR W I L L I E

BEST

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2793

saying, " M y father w a s never a jockey, but he did t e a c h m e how to r i d e . " VII

The balance. ( R u s h e d in, s w a r m e d of dark, c l o a k s , a n d only red lights p u s h e d a m e s s a g e to the street. R u b . T h i s is the lady, I saw you with. T h i s is your mother. T h i s is the lady I w a n t e d s o m e how to sleep with. A s a d a n c e , or our elegant s o n g . S u n red a n d grown from trees, f e n c e s , m u d roads in dried o u t river b e d s . T h i s is for m e , with no G o d but what is given. Give m e Something more than what is here. I m u s t tell you my body hurts.

115

120

125

The balance. C a n you h e a r ? H e r e I a m a g a i n . Your boy, d y n a m i t e . C a n you hear? M y soul is m o v e d . T h e soul you gave m e . I say, my soul, a n d it is m o v e d . T h a t soul you gave m e . Yes, I'm s u r e this is the lady. You slept with her. W i t n e s s , your boy, here, d y n a m i t e . H e a r ? I mean c a n you? The balance. H e w a s tired of losing. (And his walking b u d d i e s tired of walking. B e n t slightly, at the waist. Left h a n d low, to flick q u i c k showy j a b s ala S u g a r . 2 T h e right c o c k e d , to c o m p l e t e , any c o m b i n a t i o n . He was tired of losing, but he w a s fighting 2. Sugar Ray Robinson, a boxer.

130

135

140

145

150

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/

AMIRI

BARAKA

a big d u m b " f a r m e r . " S u c h a b l u e bright afternoon, a n d only a few h u n d r e d yards from the b e a c h . H e said, I'm tired of losing. "I got ta c u t ' c h a . " VIII

A renegade b e h i n d the m a s k . A n d even the m a s k , a r e n e g a d e d i s g u i s e . B l a c k skin a n d h a n g i n g lip. Lazy Frightened Thieving Very p o t e n t sexually Scars Generally inferior (but natural rhythms. H i s h e a d is at the window. T h e only part that s i n g s . ( T h e word h e u s e d (we are p a s s i n g S t . M a r k ' s p l a c e a n d t h o s e crazy j e w s w h o fuck) to provoke in n e o n , still useful in the rain, to provoke s o m e m e a n i n g , w h e r e before there w a s only hell. I said s i l e n c e , at his h u d d l e d blood. It is a n o b s c e n e invention.

ISO

185

A white sticky d i s c h a r g e . " J i s m , " in white c h a l k on the b a c k of Angel's g a r a g e . R e d j a c k e t s with the h e a d of H o b b e s 3 s t a r i n g into s p a c e . " J a s m " the n a m e the l e a d e r took, h a d it stenciled o n his c h e s t . A n d h e sits 3. T h o m a s Hobbes ( 1 5 8 8 - 1 6 7 9 ) , English philosopher who believed a "social contract" was necessary between rulers and the ruled. Here he represents the Western, white, materialist tradition.

M I C H A E L S. H A R P E R

wet at the c r o s s r o a d s , r e m e m b e r i n g distinctly e a c h weightless f a c e that e a s e s by. ( S u n at the b a c k door, a n d that h i d e o u s m i n d l e s s grin.

/

2795

195 (Hear? 1964

MICHAEL

S.

HARPER

b. 1 9 3 8 "I've been listening to music all my life," Michael S. Harper has said, and his first book of poems, Dear John, Dear Coltrane (1970), took its title from his poem to the great American jazz saxophonist. Recalling Coltrane's life in his prose piece "Don't They Speak Jazz," Harper tells this story: "Trane was searching for a particular tone on his horn; he had what we thought was a perfect embouchure, but his teeth hurt constantly, so he searched for the soft reed which would ease the pain. After searching for a year, each session killing his chops, he gave it up completely; there was no easy way to get that sound: play through the pain to a love supreme." Playing through the pain is a part of what Harper brings to his poetry. Like the great blues singers and jazz musicians, his work celebrates life as song, especially as tragic song, full of losses and griefs, but song nevertheless. Sometimes the pain Harper sings through is personal, like the death of one of his sons in "Deathwatch" (he and his wife lost two of their infant sons shortly after birth), sometimes the pain belongs to family history (as in "Grandfather"). Sometimes it is the pain of history more generally, its violence and oppression. History is Harper's second love as a poet, following right behind music. His poem for Coltrane, while dependent on the techniques of jazz and the blues, reflects Harper's concern with an imaginative recovery of history, especially black history, in an America where (as he once put it) the "amnesia level" is high. "I think the important thing about Americans is that they're not very good historians," Harper has said. "And Americans are really bad historians when it comes to moral ideas because they can't keep them in their heads very long." For Harper, to be a poet is to be a good historian; history identifies and inscribes moral issues that continue to engage us in the present. In college, Harper recalled, he read William Carlos Williams's In the American Grain (1925), in which Williams announces that "History for us begins with murder and enslavement, not with discovery." Like Williams, Harper wants to bring his personal imagination in contact with an American history (black and white) essentially tragic, tragic because, he says, "so many possibilities exist and there's been so much waste." This tragic sense informs Harper's work perhaps most clearly in his volume Nightmare Begins Responsibility (1975)—the title is a variation on one of Yeats's epigraphs— where a personal sense of loss is never separable from the sufferings of black history or of human history more generally. His collections Images of Kin (1977) and Healing Song for the Inner Ear (1985) followed. Honorable Amendments, appeared in 1995, and Songlines in Michaeltree: New and Collected Poems was published in 2000.

Born in Brooklyn, New York, Harper remembers a childhood in which "my parents weren't rich, but they had a good record collection." He grew up hearing the blues

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MICHAEL

S.

HARPER

and jazz, but also reading the work of Langston Hughes and, later, James Baldwin and Ralph Ellison, and his poetic technique owes something to his literary as well as to his musical sensibility. An additional resource was a family tradition of oral storytelling ("My people were good storytellers," he has said), out of which some of his poems have grown. In fact, the jazz techniques of variation on a theme, of improvisation around an existing form, recall traditions of oral storytelling, and both jazz and oral traditions influenced the formal experiments of an Ellison or a Baldwin. After high school, Harper took a B.A. and M.A. at what is now California State University, then went to the University of Iowa for an M.F.A. His travels abroad, first to Mexico and Europe and later ( 1 9 7 7 ) to South Africa, intensified his historical sense both of his own family roots and of their connection with racial history (a connection he probes in his poem "The Militance of a Photograph in the Passbook of a Bantu under Detention"). Since 1 9 7 0 he has been at Brown University, where he is professor of English and director of the writing program. "Most great art is finally testamental," Harper has written; "its technical brilliance never shadows the content of the song." Harper writes poems to remember and to witness, but at times the urgency of the content overpowers his form and his language cannot sustain the urgency the poem asserts. This may be the cost for a poet whose engagement with moral issues, whose deep historical sense, and whose rhythmic inventiveness make him capable of creating powerful and moving poems. His finest work is possessed of what he admires in Coltrane: "the energy and passion with which he approached his instrument and music," resembling the energy it takes "to break oppressive conditions, oppressive musical structures and oppressive societal structures." Harper's inclusive sense of history lets him write (in "Blue Ruth: America') that "history is your own heartbeat" but also lets him hear his own heart beat in time with those who lived in other times, other places. Responsible to memory, Harper also shares the affirmative impulse he finds in the blues: "the blues say 'Yes' to life no matter what it is. That doesn't mean you're going to survive it. But it means you're going to say yes to it."

Dear John, Dear Coltrane a love supreme, a love supreme a love supreme, a love supreme

S e x fingers toes in the m a r k e t p l a c e n e a r your father's c h u r c h in H a m l e t , N o r t h C a r o l i n a 2 — witness to this love in this c a l m fallow of t h e s e m i n d s , there is no s u b s t i t u t e for p a i n : genitals g o n e or going, s e e d b u r n e d out, you t u c k the roots in the earth,

1. John Coltrane (1926—1967), avant-garde jazz musician. T h e epigraph is the title of one of his

songs. 2. Coltrane's birthplace.

5

HI

DEAR JOHN, DEAR COLTRANE

/

2797

turn b a c k , a n d m o v e by river through the s w a m p s , s i n g i n g : a love

supreme,

a love

supreme;

what d o e s it all m e a n ? L o s s , so great e a c h b l a c k w o m a n e x p e c t s your failure in m u t e c h a n g e , the s e e d g o n e . You plod up into the electric city— your s o n g now crystal a n d the b l u e s . You pick up the horn with s o m e will a n d blow into the freezing night: a love

supreme,

a love

Why

you so

cause why

I

you so I

why

black? funky? 35

I

black?

am

you so

cause

30

supreme—

I am

cause why

a love

25

am

you so

cause why

supreme,

20

supreme—

D a w n c o m e s a n d you c o o k u p the thick sin 'tween i m p o t e n c e a n d d e a t h , fuel the tenor sax c a n n i b a l heart, genitals a n d sweat that m a k e s you c l e a n — a love

is

sweet?

am 40

you so black?

cause

I

am

a love

supreme,

a love

supreme:

S o sick you couldn't play Naima, so flat we a c h e d for s o n g you'd c o n c e a l e d with your own blood, your d i s e a s e d liver gave out its purity, the inflated heart p u m p s out, the t e n o r 4 kiss, tenor love: 3

a love

supreme,

a love

supreme—

a love

supreme,

a love

supreme—

45

50

1970

3. Another song that Coltrane made famous. 4. Perhaps an allusion to the tenor saxophone,

Coltrane's instrument.

2798

/

M I C H A E L S.

HARPER

American History for John Callahan T h o s e four b l a c k girls blown u p in that A l a b a m a c h u r c h 1 r e m i n d m e of five h u n d r e d middle passage blacks,2 in a net, u n d e r water in C h a r l e s t o n h a r b o r s o redcoats* wouldn't find t h e m . C a n ' t find what you can't s e e can you?

5

1970

Deathwatch T w i t c h i n g in the c a c t u s hospital g o w n , a loon on hairpin wings, s h e tells m e how her e p i s i o t o m y ' is perfectly s e w n a n d doesn't hurt while s h e sits in a pile of blood which o n c e c l e a n e d the p l a c e n t a my third son s h o u l d b e in. S h e tells m e how early he is, a n d how strong, like his father, a n d long, like a blackstemmed Easter rose in a white h a n d . J u s t u n d e r five p o u n d s you lie there, a c o l l a p s e d balloon doll, burst in your fifteenth hour, with the f a c e of your black father, his fingers, his t o e s , a n d eight v o o d o o adrenalin h o l e s in 1 . By white racists as a reprisal against civil rights demonstrations. 2. Captured and en route from Africa {along the "Middle P a s s a g e . " the usual route for slave ships)

5

10

15

20

25

to be sold as slaves. 3. I.e., British soldiers. 1. Surgical enlargement of the vulval opening at childbirth.

MARTIN'S BLUES

/

2799

your p i n w h e e l e d hair-lined c h e s t ; you witness your p a r e n t s sign t h e a u t o p s y and disposal papers s h r u n k e n to d u p l i c a t e in black ink o n white p a p e r like t h e country you were born in, unreal, asleep, silent, a l m o s t alive. T h i s is a dedication to o u r m e m o r y of three s o n s — two d e a d , o n e a l i v e — a r e m i n d e r of a letter to D u B o i s 2 from a s t u d e n t at C o r n e l l — o n behalf of his w h o l e history c l a s s . T h e c l a s s is confronted with a q u e s t i o n , a n d no o n e — not even the p r o f e s s o r — is s u r e of t h e answer: "Will you p l e a s e tell u s w h e t h e r or not it is true that n e g r o e s a r e not able to c r y ? " A m e r i c a n e e d s a killing. A m e r i c a n e e d s a killing. Survivors

will

be

human.

1970

Martin's 1 Blues H e c a m e apart in the o p e n , the slow m o t i o n c a m e r a s falling quickly neither alive n o r kicking; s t o n e blind d e a d on t h e balcony that old melody e t c h e d his black lips 2. W. E. B. Du Bois ( 1 8 6 8 - 1 9 6 3 ) , African American leader. 1. Martin Luther King Jr.. American civil rights

5

leader, was assassinated in 1968 on a motel balcony.

2800

/

ROBERT

PINSKY

in a p r u n e d e c h o : We shall some

overcome

2

day—

Yes we did! Yes we did! 1971 •

2. Hymn made famous by King's followers.

ROBERT b.

PINSKY 1940

A poet, critic, and translator, Robert Pinsky is a remarkable and influential figure in contemporary poetry. His appointment in 1997 for a two-year term as the ninth Poet Laureate of the United States (among his predecessors in this position are Rita Dove, Robert Penn Warren, and Richard Wilbur, also represented in this anthology) confirms the range and ambition of his work. In his first collection of poetry, Sadness and Happiness (1975), Pinsky staked out a territory neglected by an image-dominated American poetry in the 1970s: the discursiveness poetry shares with prose and speech, including declaration, statement, and abstract definition. A year later, his influential book of criticism, The Situation of Poetry (1976), argued for a poetry with the prose virtues of "Clarity, Flexibility, Efficiency and Cohesiveness." In Pinsky's hands, this "drab, unglamorous group" of virtues produced the winning and pleasurable poems of his first book and two following collections: An Explanation of America (1980) and History of My Heart (1984). Like William Carlos Williams and Elizabeth Bishop before him, Pinsky endows his poems with the casualness of prose inflections; in his hands the result is a wonderfully sociable body of poetry, with a relaxed and familiar sense of middle-class life. Here are poems of tennis and psychiatrists, baseball and daughters in school, high school dances, movies, "the small-town main street" ("History of My Heart"). But Pinsky's own emphasis on the explanatory and the domestic can obscure his of America ambition and his formal virtuosity. The long title poem of An Explanation bespeaks his desire to bring together domestic life (the poem is addressed to his daughter) and the nation, to unite private feeling with "general Happiness and Safety." The poems of History of My Heart call on the personal memories at work in his first book but also introduce another sort of music, more mysterious and—what other word?—poetic. The publication of The Want Bone in 1990 and a book of new and collected poems, The Figured Wheel, in 1996, further demonstrates that the language of Pinsky's best poems is ordinary and yet also mysterious. If one of his strengths is the way he makes poetry a conversation about ideas, increasingly he also summons the power of poetry to sing what is "impossible to say." Pinsky's formal virtuosity lies in his ability to marry variations on traditional poetic rhythms (like the pentameter line at work in "The Want Bone," "At Pleasure Bay," and "Shirt") with American speech rhythms. This ability to shape a poetic line close to ordinary rhythms of speech and prose, and thus to render and deepen the everyday, connects him to Frank Bidart and James McMichael, two contemporary poets he admires. Pinsky is also an American master of the half or slant rhyme (like "twice" and "police" in "At Pleasure Bay," or "bell" and "blue" in "The Want Bone"), which gives his work a sense

ROBERT PINSKY

/

2801

of both formal music and relaxation; there is the repeated echo of sound within and between stanzas, without the closure of full rhyme. The sensuousness of poetry, Pinsky remarks in his collection of essays Poetry and the World (1988), gives "elegance and significance to the sounds that breath makes vibrating in the mouth and throat." In "The Want Bone" (the dried jawbone of a shark, which he saw on a friend's mantle) he renders the sound vibrating in "this scalded toothless harp" as song: "my food my parent my child I want you my own / My flower my fin my life my lightness my O." Reading these lines we might easily forget that this poet has argued for poetry's discursive qualities. At the same time, Pinsky's work continues to include what is sometimes excluded from American poetry, like explanation or the series of back-slapping ethnic jokes told in "Impossible to Tell" (from The Figured Wheel). Pinsky grew up in what he has called a "nominally orthodox" Jewish family in Long Branch, New Jersey. He later attended Rutgers and then Stanford University (where he studied with Yvor Winters). Though he lived in California for several years and now teaches in the graduate writing program at Boston University, Long Branch is Pinsky's middle America, despite its location at the ocean's edge ("bounded on three sides by similar places / and on one side by vast, uncouth houses / A glum boardwalk and, / as we say, the beach"). In Long Branch are his childhood memories and streets, as well as his sense of ethnic experience. With its fading boardwalk and movie houses, it also exemplifies an American popular culture for which Pinsky has unabashed appreciation. "At Pleasure Bay" (from The Want Bone), included here, beautifully commingles childhood memory and a sense of place with a feeling for the larger historical forces shaping the lives of local inhabitants. Though it is unlike Pinsky to move too far afield from everyday life, "At Pleasure Bay" and other poems like it reveal the ways that Pinsky's vision extends itself beyond the personal and local into a deeper past and (in the poem's closing vision) future. The same process of enlarging a sense of community and connection while not straying too far from daily experience unfolds in "Shirt," which works its own variations on the pentameter line and is beautifully shaped by Pinsky's trademark half rhymes, here working within a single line as well as between lines. The pleasures of Pinsky's poetry are also literary; he is a poet unabashed in his references to literary antecedents but in no sense narrowly academic. Instead his work acknowledges and celebrates the way literature shapes his (and our) sense of life and experience, as well as his (and our) use of language. Pinsky's poetry is so distinctively American in its diction and subjects that his important work as a translator can come as a surprise. Among the poets he has translated are Czeslaw Milosz (the two have worked together on the translations) and Paul Celan. In 1994 Pinsky published The Inferno of Dante, recipient of the Academy of American Poets translation award, in which his formal gifts allowed him to recreate an American version of Dante's interlocked rhyme scheme, the terza rima. In a review of this translation in the New York Times, Edward Hirsch described the effect of Pinsky's stanzas as "moving through a series of interpenetrating rooms . . . or going down a set of winding stairs." While his sense of literary tradition is deep and wide-ranging, Pinsky is also engaged with new possibilities for literature created by computer technology. In 1985, in collaboration with computer programmers, he created an interactive text adventure game, Mind-wheel, and currently he serves as the poetry editor of a weekly Internet magazine, Slate. Computer software and poetry, Pinsky has said, "share a great human myth or trope, an image that could be called the secret passage: the discovery of large manifold channels through a small, ordinary-looking or all but invisible aperture . . . this passage to vast complexities is what writing through the machine might become."

2802

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ROBERT

PINSKY

The Street S t r e a k e d a n d fretted with effort, the thick Vine of the world, red nervelets C o i l e d at its tips. All roads lead from it. All night W a i n w r i g h t s a n d u p h o l s t e r e r s work T h e w h e e l e d coffin

finishing

O f the d e a d favorite of the E m p e r o r , T h e child's c o r p s e p r o p p e d s e a t e d O n b r o c a d e , with yellow O i l e d c u r l s , kohl on the stiff lids. S l a v e s throw p e t a l s on the roadway F o r the c o r t e g e , white L a n g u i d flowers s h o o t i n g from d a r k Blisters on the vine, ramifying Into streets. O n m i n e , Rockwell A v e n u e , it w a s e m b a r r a s s i n g : T r o u b l e — f i g h t s , the p o l i c e , s i c k n e s s — S e e m e d never to c o m e F o r a n y o n e w h e n they were fully d r e s s e d . It w a s always u n d e r w e a r or dirty p y j a m a s , Unseemly stretches

20

O f skin s h o w i n g through a torn h o u s e c o a t . O n c e a stranger drove off in a c a r W i t h s o m e b o d y ' s wife, A n d he ran after t h e m in his undershirt A n d threw his s h o e at the car. It b o u n c e d Into the street H a r m l e s s l y , a n d we carried it b a c k to h i m ; B u t the m a n had too m u c h dignity T o put it b a c k o n ,

30

S o he held it a n d s t o o d crying in the street: " H e ' s b r e a k i n g u p my h o m e , " he said, " T h e son of a bitch B a s t a r d is b r e a k i n g u p my h o m e . " T h e street R o s e u n d u l a n t in p a v e m e n t - b r e a k i n g coils A n d the m a n rode it,

35

SHIRT

/

2803

Still holding his s h o e a n d stiffly upright Like a trick rider in the c i r c u s p a r a d e T h a t c a m e d o w n the street E a c h A u g u s t . As the powerful dragonlike H u m p swelled he rose c u r s i n g a n d ready T o throw his s h o e — w o v e n A n g u l a r as a twig into the f a b u l o u s R u g or b r o c a d e with c r o w n s a n d c a m e l s , L e o p a r d s a n d rosettes,

40

45

All riding the vegetable wave of the street F r o m the J o h n F l o c k M o r t u a r y H o m e D o w n to the river. It w a s a small p l a c e , a n d off the c e n t e r , B u t so m u c h a p l a c e to itself, I felt Like a y o u n g prince O r a s p i r a n t s q u i r e . I knew that Ivanhoe W a s a b o u t r a c e . T h e S a x o n s were J e w s , O r even C o l o r e d s ,

so

1

W i t h their low-ceilinged, unbelievably S o u r - s m e l l i n g h o u s e s d o w n by the d o c k s . Everything w a s written O r woven, ivory a n d pink a n d e m e r a l d — N o t h i n g w a s too ugly or petty or terrible T o be weighed in the i m m e n s e

ss

60

Silver s c a l e s of the d e a d : the l o o m i n g B a l a n c e s set right onto the live, d a n g e r o u s G r a y bark of the street. 1984

T h e b a c k , the yoke, the y a r d a g e . L a p p e d s e a m s , 1 T h e nearly invisible stitches a l o n g the collar T u r n e d in a s w e a t s h o p by K o r e a n s or M a l a y s i a n s G o s s i p i n g over tea a n d n o o d l e s on their b r e a k O r talking m o n e y or politics while o n e fitted T h i s a r m p i e c e with its o v e r s e a m to the b a n d 1. The title and hero of Sir Walter Scott's romance novel ( 1 8 1 9 ) , set in 12th-century England, in which the hero wins the Saxon princess Rowena

and champions a Jewish woman, Rebecca. 1. Overlapping seams used to join fabric in interfacings b e c a u s e less bulky.

2804

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ROBERT PINSKY

O f cuff I b u t t o n at my wrist. T h e presser, the cutter, T h e wringer, the m a n g l e . T h e n e e d l e , the u n i o n , T h e treadle, the b o b b i n . T h e c o d e . T h e i n f a m o u s blaze At the T r i a n g l e F a c t o r y 2 in nineteen-eleven O n e h u n d r e d a n d forty-six died in the flames O n the ninth floor, no hydrants, n o fire e s c a p e s — T h e witness in a building a c r o s s the street W h o w a t c h e d h o w a y o u n g m a n h e l p e d a girl to step u p to the windowsill, then held her out

10

15

Away from the m a s o n r y wall a n d let her d r o p . A n d then a n o t h e r . As if h e were h e l p i n g t h e m u p T o enter a streetcar, a n d not eternity. A third before he d r o p p e d her p u t her a r m s A r o u n d his n e c k a n d kissed h i m . T h e n he held H e r into s p a c e , a n d d r o p p e d her. A l m o s t at o n c e

20

H e s t e p p e d to the sill himself, his j a c k e t flared A n d fluttered u p from his shirt a s he c a m e d o w n , Air filling u p the legs of his gray t r o u s e r s — Like H a r t C r a n e ' s B e d l a m i t e , 1 "shrill shirt b a l l o o n i n g . " W o n d e r f u l how the pattern m a t c h e s perfectly A c r o s s the placket a n d over the twin b a r - t a c k e d C o r n e r s of both p o c k e t s , like a strict rhyme O r a m a j o r c h o r d . Prints, p l a i d s , c h e c k s , Houndstooth, Tattersall, M a d r a s . T h e clan tartans

25

30

Invented by mill-owners inspired by the hoax of O s s i a n , 4 T o control their s a v a g e S c o t t i s h workers, t a m e d By a fabricated heraldry: M a c G r e g o r , Bailey, M a c M a r t i n . T h e kilt, devised for workers T o wear a m o n g the dusty clattering l o o m s . W e a v e r s , c a r d e r s , s p i n n e r s . T h e loader,

35

T h e docker, the navvy. 5 T h e planter, the picker, the sorter S w e a t i n g at her m a c h i n e in a litter of c o t t o n As slaves in c a l i c o h e a d r a g s s w e a t e d in fields:

2. T h e Triangle shirtwaist factory in New York City was the scene of a notorious fire in which 146 women who worked in the factory j u m p e d to their deaths to escape the flames. This event marked the beginning of rigorous efforts to enforce workplace safety. 3. A reference to lines from the opening section ("To Brooklyn Bridge") of Hart Crane's poetic sequence The Bridge ( 1 9 3 0 ) : "Out of some subway

scuttle, cell or loft / A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets." A bedlamite is an inmate of a hospital for the mentally ill. 4. In 1 7 6 0 J a m e s Macpherson published Poems of Ossiatiy which falsely claimed to be a translation of a text by the 3rd-century Irish hero of that name. 5. An unskilled laborer, especially one engaged in excavating or construction.

A T P L E A S U R E BAY

G e o r g e Herbert, your d e s c e n d a n t is a B l a c k L a d y in S o u t h C a r o l i n a , her n a m e is Irma And s h e i n s p e c t e d my shirt. Its color a n d fit A n d feel a n d its c l e a n smell have satisfied B o t h her a n d m e . W e have culled its c o s t a n d quality D o w n to the b u t t o n s of s i m u l a t e d b o n e ,

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T h e b u t t o n h o l e s , the sizing, the facing, the c h a r a c t e r s Printed in black on n e c k b a n d a n d tail. T h e s h a p e , T h e label, the labor, the color, the s h a d e . T h e shirt. 1990

At Pleasure Bay In the willows a l o n g the river at P l e a s u r e Bay A catbird singing, never the s a m e p h r a s e twice. H e r e u n d e r the p i n e s a little off the road In 1 9 2 7 the C h i e f of Police And M r s . W . killed t h e m s e l v e s together, Sitting in a roadster. Ancient u n s h a k e n pilings And u n d e r w a t e r c h u n k s of still-mortared brick In s h a p e s like bits of puzzle strew the b o t t o m W h e r e the landing w a s for Price's Hotel a n d T h e a t e r . A n d here's where b o a t s blew two blasts for the k e e p e r T o s h u n t the iron swing-bridge. H e leaned on the g e a r s Like a skipper in the hut that h o u s e d the works A n d the bridge m o a n e d a n d turned on its m i d d l e pier T o let t h e m t h r o u g h . In the m i d d l e of the s u m m e r T w o or three c a r s might wait for the iron trusswork W i n c h i n g a s i d e , with m a y b e a child to notice A n a m e on the stern in black-and-gold on white, Sandpiper,

Patsy Ann,

Do Not

Disturb,

The Idler. If a b o a t was r u n n i n g whiskey, T h e bridge c l a n g e d shut b e h i n d it a s it p a s s e d And o p e n e d u p again for the C o a s t G u a r d cutter Slowly as a s u n d i a l , a n d always j a m m e d halfway. T h e r o a d b e d w h o l e , but o p e n e d like a switch, T h e river pulling a n d c o u r s i n g b e t w e e n the piers. Never the s a m e p h r a s e twice, the catbird filling T h e h u m i d A u g u s t evening near the inlet With borrowed m u s i c that he m e l d s a n d c h a n g e s . Dragonflies a n d sandflies, frogs in the r u s h e s , two b o d i e s N o t moving in the o p e n c a r a m o n g the p i n e s , A sliver of story. T h e tenor at Price's H o t e l , In clown c o s t u m e , unfurls the sorrow g a t h e r e d In ruffles at his throat a n d cuffs, high q u a v e r s T h a t hold like s p l a s h e s of light on the dark water, T h e aria's c l o s i n g p h r a s e s , c h a n g e d a n d fading.

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A n d after a g a p of q u i e t , c h e e r s a n d a p p l a u s e Audible in the h o u s e s a c r o s s the river, S o m e in the a u d i e n c e w e e p i n g a s if they h a d m e l t e d Inside the m u s i c . N e v e r the s a m e . In Rerlin T h e d a u g h t e r of a n E n g l i s h lord, in love W i t h Adolf Hitler, w h o m s h e h a s m e t . S h e is taking P o s s e s s i o n of the a p a r t m e n t of a c o u p l e , Elderly well-off J e w s . T h e y survive the war T o settle here in the Bay, the old lady T e a c h e s p i a n o , but the whole world swivels A n d g a p e s at their feet a s the girl a n d a high-up Nazi E x a m i n e the furniture, the g l a s s , the p i c t u r e s , T h e e l e g a n t story that w a s theirs a n d now Is a part of h e r s . A few m o n t h s later the E n g l i s h E n t e r the war a n d s h e s h o o t s herself in a p a r k , A n a d d l e d , u p p e r - c l a s s girl, her life that p a s s e s Into the lives of others or into a p l a c e . T h e taking of l i v e s — t h e C h i e f a n d M r s . W . T o o k theirs to stay together, a s local g h o s t s . L a s t flurries of k i s s e s , the revolver's barrel, Shivers of a story that a child might hear A n d half r e m e m b e r , voices in the r u s h e s , A s i n g i n g in the willows. F r o m a c r o s s the river, F a i n t q u a v e r s of m u s i c , the s a m e p h r a s e twice a n d a g a i n , R a n g i n g a n d building. Over the high n e w bridge T h e flashing of traffic h o m e w a r d from the r a c e t r a c k , W i t h o n e boat c h u g g i n g u n d e r the a r c h e s , o u t w a r d U n n o t i c e d through P l e a s u r e Bay to the o p e n s e a . Here's w h e r e the p e o p l e s t o o d to w a t c h the t h e a t e r B u r n o n the water. All that night the fireboats Kept playing their s p o u t s of water into the blaze. In the morning, s m o k i n g pilasters a n d b e a m s . B l a c k smell of c h a r for w e e k s , the ruin already S o a k i n g b a c k into the river. After you die You hover near the ceiling a b o v e your body A n d w a t c h the m o u r n e r s awhile. A few days m o r e You float above the h e a d s of the o n e s you knew A n d w a t c h t h e m t h r o u g h a twilight. As it grows darker You w a n d e r off a n d find your way to the river A n d w a d e a c r o s s . O n the other s i d e , night air, Willows, the smell of the river, a n d a m a s s O f s l e e p i n g bodies all a l o n g the b a n k , A kind of singing from a m o n g the r u s h e s C a l l i n g you further forward in the dark. You lie down a n d e m b r a c e o n e body, the l i m b s Heavy with s l e e p r e a c h eagerly u p a r o u n d you A n d you m a k e love until your soul b r i m s u p A n d b u r n s free o u t of you a n d shifts a n d spills D o w n over into that other body, a n d you F o r g e t the life you h a d a n d begin a g a i n O n the s a m e c r o s s i n g — m a y b e a s a child w h o p a s s e s T h r o u g h the s a m e p l a c e . B u t never the s a m e way twice.

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BILLY COLLINS

H e r e in t h e daylight, t h e catbird in t h e willows, T h e n e w c a f e , with a terrace a n d a landing, F r o g s in t h e cattails where t h e swing-bridge w a s — H e r e ' s where you might have slipped a c r o s s t h e water W h e n y o u were only a p r e s e n c e , at P l e a s u r e B a y .

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1990

BILLY

COLLINS

b. 1 9 4 1 The voice in a Billy Collins poem is so intimate and immediate that we feel we are in the same room with the poet. Collins himself imagines poet and reader as if sitting together at a breakfast table: "I will lean forward, / elbows on the table, / with something to tell you / and you will look up, as always, / your spoon dripping with milk, ready to listen" ("A Portrait of the Reader with a Bowl of Cereal"). The colloquial voice in his poems charms us with its air of spontaneous expression, its modesty, its humor. If some of his poems coast on charm alone, Collins's best work takes us on a surprising ride: its strange and unexpected associations deepen the familiar into the mysterious or make the mysterious familiar. Describing the structures of his poetry, Collins says, "We are attempting, all the time, to create a logical, rational path through the day. To the left and right there are an amazing set of distractions that we can't afford to follow. But the poet is willing to stop anywhere." His poems often proceed as accounts of a day and its distractions, as in "Tuesday, June 4 , 1 9 9 1 . " At the same time the formal shapeliness of Collins's work endows ordinary activity with a strange and pleasing formality and turns it, line by measured line and stanza by stanza, into a ritual containing both the pleasures and the pathos of life. There is a humorous self-awareness in these poems about the speaker's dramatizing and obsessive love of distraction—anything, no matter how insignificant, can carry off his attention—and one of the things that is so welcome about Collins's poems is that they are funny. Only on later readings do we realize that they are also sad. When he looks over the edges of domestic life there is blankness; unlike the work of a Jorie Graham or a Charles Wright, a Collins poem evokes no metaphysical structures that might sustain this fragile world. Yet (in Yeats's phrase) Collins loves "what vanishes"—the day in June, the good meal, even the memory of one's own life. This knowledge of how things both large and small disappear is a great equalizer. The humor in Collins's poetry puts this equalizing principle to work; he deflates the grandiose and subjects large statements of truth to the test of the particular. Collins's titles, imaginative and playful, suggest the way he alights on small, usually trivial instances in which life's strangeness and mystery flash out: "Weighing the Dog," "I Chop Some Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey's Version of 'Three Blind Mice.' " Other titles signal the way he grounds the improbable within the everyday: "Taking off Emily Dickinson's Clothes," "Shoveling Snow with Buddha." Collins's collections of poems include Questions about Angels ( 1 9 7 7 ) , The Art of Drowning ( 1 9 9 5 ) , Picnic, Lightning ( 1 9 9 8 ) , and Sailing Alone around the World: New

and Selected Poems ( 2 0 0 1 ) . He was appointed poet laureate of the United States for 2 0 0 1 — 0 2 . Born in New York City (in a hospital where, as he likes to claim, William Carlos Williams worked as a pediatric resident), Collins teaches at Lehman College

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of the City University. Walking the city streets animates him and inflects some of his poems in a way that recalls the work of Frank O'Hara, with whom Collins shares an idiomatic American voice, colloquial and understated, shaped by both jazz and the blues. Collins's work often plays with the melody of a pentameter line as a jazz musician plays on and off the melody of a song; the pentameter is an undertone from which a more idiosyncratic rhythm moves around and away. While the rhythms of Collins's poetry often enforce a slowing-down, a tender lingering over everyday life, their breezy tone and quick humor seem to suggest that nothing too serious is going on. It is as if Collins were fending off the large, prophetic claims made by visionary poets (early in his career he earned a Ph.D. at the University of California at Riverside, specializing in the Romantic period), even as some of his poems are riffs on the Romantic tradition. Such Collins poems as "Keats's Handwriting" and "Lines Composed Over Three Thousand Miles from Tintern Abbey" deflate the romantic sublime and substitute for it a vision self-deprecating and humorous. Thus when we hear nightingales in a Collins poem, they're a group singing on the gospel radio station ("Sunday Morning with the Sensational Nightingales"). Collins's modest claims for poetry and the fact that his work is so appealing and accessible can lead us to underestimate the necessity and reward of rereading him. The best of his poems open up a moment like a series of nested boxes; if we read too quickly, we miss the pleasure and surprise of intricate connections and deepening discoveries. Like jazz or the blues, a Collins poem has a spontaneity that yields immediate pleasure, but it is only when we listen again more attentively that we recognize the art that makes itself look easy.

Forgetfulness T h e n a m e of the a u t h o r is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot, the h e a r t b r e a k i n g c o n c l u s i o n , the entire novel which s u d d e n l y b e c o m e s o n e you have never r e a d , never even h e a r d of, •

as if, o n e by o n e , the m e m o r i e s you u s e d to h a r b o r d e c i d e d to retire to the s o u t h e r n h e m i s p h e r e of the brain, to a little fishing village w h e r e there are n o p h o n e s . L o n g a g o you kissed the n a m e s of the nine M u s e s g o o d b y e , a n d w a t c h e d the q u a d r a t i c e q u a t i o n p a c k its b a g , a n d even now as you m e m o r i z e the order of the p l a n e t s , s o m e t h i n g else is slipping away, a s t a t e flower p e r h a p s , the a d d r e s s of an u n c l e , the capital of P a r a g u a y . W h a t e v e r it is you are struggling to r e m e m b e r it is not p o i s e d on the tip of your t o n g u e , not even lurking in s o m e o b s c u r e c o r n e r of your s p l e e n . It has floated away d o w n a dark mythological river w h o s e n a m e b e g i n s with a n L a s far a s you c a n recall, well on your own way to oblivion w h e r e you will j o i n t h o s e w h o have even forgotten how to swim a n d how to ride a bicycle.

5

TUESDAY, JUNE 4,

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N o w o n d e r you rise in the m i d d l e of the night to look u p the d a t e of a f a m o u s battle in a b o o k on war. N o w o n d e r the m o o n in the window s e e m s to have drifted out of a love p o e m that you u s e d to know by heart. 1991

Tuesday, J u n e 4, 1991 By the time I get myself out of b e d , my wife h a s left the h o u s e to take her botany final a n d the painter has arrived in his van a n d is already p a i n t i n g the c o l u m n s of the front p o r c h white a n d the d e c k i n g gray. It is early J u n e , a breezy a n d sun-riddled T u e s d a y that would quickly be forgotten were it not for my writing t h e s e few things d o w n as I sit here e m p t y - h e a d e d at the typewriter with a c u p of coffee, light a n d sweet. I feel like the secretary to the m o r n i n g w h o s e only responsibility is to take down its bright, airy dictation until it's time to g o to l u n c h with the other girls, all of u s ordering the c o t t a g e c h e e s e with half a p e a r . T h i s is what s t e n o g r a p h e r s do in c o u r t r o o m s , too, alert at their m i n i a t u r e m a c h i n e s taking down every word. W h e n there is a s i l e n c e they sit still a s I d o , waiting a n d listening, fingers resting lightly o n the keys. T h i s is a l s o what S a m u e l P e p y s 1 did, j o t t i n g d o w n in private c i p h e r s minor events that would have otherwise slipped into the d a r k a m n e s i a c waters of the T h a m e s . His vigilance finally paid off w h e n L o n d o n c a u g h t fire

5

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a s m i n e d o e s w h e n the painter c o m e s in for coffee a n d says how m u c h he likes this slow vocal rendition of "You Don't K n o w W h a t L o v e I s " 2 a n d I figure I will m a k e him a t a p e w h e n h e g o e s b a c k to his b r u s h e s a n d pails. U n d e r the m u s i c I c a n hear the r u s h of c a r s a n d trucks on the highway a n d every so often the n e w kitten, Felix, h o p s into my lap a n d w a t c h e s my fingers d r u m m i n g o u t a r u n n i n g record of this particular J u n e T u e s d a y a s it unrolls before my eyes, a long intricate c a r p e t that I a m walking on slowly with my h e a d bowed 1. English writer (1633—1703), primarily of diaries.

2. A song from the jazz repertoire,

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knowing that it is l e a d i n g m e to the q u i e t s h r i n e of the a f t e r n o o n a n d the m e l a n c h o l y c a n d l e s of evening. If I look u p , I s e e o u t the window the white stars of c l e m a t i s c l i m b i n g a ladder of strings, a w o o d p i l e , a s t a c k of faded bricks, a small green g a r d e n of h e r b s , things you would expect to find o u t s i d e a window, all written d o w n n o w a n d p l a c e d in the setting of a stanza a s unalterably a s they a r e s e a t e d in their c h a i r s in the ontological* r o o m s of the world. Yes, this is the kind of j o b I c o u l d s u c c e e d in, an u n p a i d but c o n t e n t e d a m a n u e n s i s 4 w h o s e h a n d s are two birds fluttering on the lettered keys, w h o s e eyes s e e sunlight s p l a s h i n g t h r o u g h the leaves, a n d the bright pink asterisks of h o n e y s u c k l e a n d the p i a n o at the other e n d of this r o o m with its small v a s e of faded flowers a n d its e m p t y b e n c h . S o c o n v i n c e d a m I that I have f o u n d my v o c a t i o n , tomorrow I will begin my c h r o n i c l i n g earlier, at d a w n , a time w h e n h a n g m e n a n d f a r m e r s are u p a n d d o i n g , w h e n m e n holding pistols s t a n d in a field b a c k to b a c k . It is the time the a n c i e n t s i m a g i n e d in r o b e s , a s E o s or A u r o r a , 5 w h o would leave her s l e e p i n g h u s b a n d in b e d , not her her But

to take her botany final, b u t to pull the s u n , brother, over the horizon's brilliant rim, four-horse chariot a i m e d at the zenith of the sky, t o m o r r o w , d a w n will c o m e the way I picture her,

barefoot a n d disheveled, s t a n d i n g o u t s i d e my window in o n e of the fragile c o t t o n d r e s s e s of the poor. S h e will look in at m e with her thin a r m s e x t e n d e d , offering a handful of b i r d s o n g a n d a small c u p of light. 1995

I Chop S o m e Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey's 1 Version of "Three Blind M i c e " And I start w o n d e r i n g how they c a m e to b e blind. If it w a s c o n g e n i t a l , they c o u l d b e b r o t h e r s a n d s i s t e r s , a n d I think of the poor m o t h e r b r o o d i n g over her sightless y o u n g triplets. 3. Having to do with the branch of metaphysics that deals with the nature of being. 4. One employed to write from dictation or to copy manuscripts.

5. N a m e s of the Greek and Roman goddesses of dawn. 1. Jazz drummer and bandleader ( 1 9 1 9 - 1 9 9 0 ) .

THE

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O r w a s it a c o m m o n a c c i d e n t , all three c a u g h t in a s e a r i n g explosion, a fireworks p e r h a p s ? If not, if e a c h c a m e to his or her b l i n d n e s s separately, how did they ever m a n a g e to find o n e a n o t h e r ? W o u l d it not be difficult for a blind m o u s e to locate even o n e fellow m o u s e with vision let a l o n e two other blind o n e s ? And how, in their tiny d a r k n e s s , c o u l d they possibly have run after a farmer's wife or a n y o n e else's wife for that m a t t e r ? N o t to m e n t i o n why. J u s t so s h e c o u l d cut off their tails with a carving knife, is the cynic's answer, b u t the t h o u g h t of t h e m without eyes a n d now without tails to trail through the m o i s t g r a s s or slip a r o u n d the c o r n e r of a b a s e b o a r d has the cynic w h o always l o u n g e s within m e up off his c o u c h a n d at the w i n d o w trying to hide the rising s o f t n e s s that he feels. By now I a m on to d i c i n g an onion which might a c c o u n t for the wet stinging in my own eyes, t h o u g h F r e d d i e H u b b a r d ' s 2 mournful trumpet on " B l u e M o o n , " 3 which h a p p e n s to be the next c u t , c a n n o t b e said to be m a k i n g m a t t e r s any better.

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The Night House Every day the body works in the fields of the world m e n d i n g a s t o n e wall or swinging a sickle t h r o u g h the tall g r a s s — the g r a s s of civics, the g r a s s of m o n e y — a n d every night the body curls a r o u n d itself a n d listens for the soft bells of s l e e p . B u t the heart is restless a n d rises from the body in the m i d d l e of the night, leaves the trapezoidal b e d r o o m with its thick, p i c t u r e l e s s walls 2. jazz musician (b. 1938). member of Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers ( 1 9 6 1 - 6 4 ) .

3. American song.

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to sit by herself at the kitchen table a n d heat s o m e milk in a p a n . A n d the m i n d gets up too, p u t s o n a robe a n d g o e s d o w n s t a i r s , lights a c i g a r e t t e , and opens a book on engineering. E v e n the c o n s c i e n c e a w a k e n s a n d r o a m s from r o o m to r o o m in the dark, darting away from every mirror like a s t r a n g e fish. A n d the soul is u p on the roof in her n i g h t d r e s s , straddling the ridge, singing a s o n g a b o u t the w i l d n e s s of the s e a until the first rip of p i n k a p p e a r s in the sky. T h e n , they all will return to the s l e e p i n g body the way a flock of birds settles b a c k into a tree, r e s u m i n g their daily colloquy, talking to e a c h other or t h e m s e l v e s even through the heat of the long a f t e r n o o n s . W h i c h is why the b o d y — t h a t h o u s e of v o i c e s — s o m e t i m e s p u t s d o w n its metal t o n g s , its n e e d l e , or its p e n to stare into the d i s t a n c e , to listen to all its n a m e s b e i n g called before b e n d i n g a g a i n to its labor. 1998

SIMON b.

J.

ORTIZ

1941

In his poem "A Designated National Park," Simon J . Ortiz tells of visiting Montezuma Castle in Verde Valley, Arizona, where he experiences as present in himself the life of the people there: "Hear / in my cave, sacred song. / Morning feeling, sacred song. / We shall plant today." His connection to that landscape, however, is complicated by the fact that it is now a " D E S I G N A T E D FEDERAL RECREATION F E E AREA": "This morning / I have to buy a permit to get back home." Ortiz's treatment of Verde Valley is characteristic of the way he inhabits a conflicted landscape. He was born and raised in the Acoma Pueblo Community in Albuquerque, New Mexico. One meaning for the name Acoma is "the place that always was," and in this sense, it transcends the poet's personal place of origin and represents for him the native American way of life. Ortiz continually returns to this abiding sense of origin after traveling great distances away from it. Often his poems enact a journey, and as Joseph Bruhac reminds us, in American Indian cultures the theme of traveling implicitly recalls the "tragic epic movements of Native American nations." Many of his poems dramatize Ortiz's dis-

SIMON J . ORTIZ

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orientation as he moves within an America where Indian names are reduced to billboard signs, where rivers burn from industrial wastes and construction fills up the spaces of the earth. His sense of contemporary life, especially its absurdities, is acute. But the America he travels conceals within it an older landscape, one animated by spirit, where the earth is alive with "wind visions" and "The Mountains dream / about pine brothers and friends" ("Vision Shadows"); to travel it is to seek "the center of the center" ("Between Albuquerque and Santa Fe"), the place where the spirits enter the world. Asked in an interview, "Why do you write?" Ortiz once responded, "Because Indians always tell a story. . . . The only way to continue is to tell a story and there is no other way. Your children will not survive unless you tell something about them— how they were born, how they came to this certain place, how they continued." Tellingly, Ortiz chose to reprint these comments at the beginning of his collection A Good Journey ( 1 9 7 7 ) . The stories his poems narrate are evidence that the native American way of life is continuous, despite all the forces that attempt to eradicate it. But his work also tells of the painful costs involved in survival. After receiving his early education at a Bureau of Indian Affairs school on the Acoma Reservation, Ortiz later attended the University of New Mexico, and the University of Iowa, where he received an M.F.A. He has since taught at San Diego State University and the University of New Mexico. "I never decided to become a poet," Ortiz has said, suggesting that his relatives transmitted to him the power of words. "An old-man relative with a humpback used to come to our home when I was a child, and he would carry me on his back. He told me stories. . . . That contact must have contributed the language of myself." His father, a stonemason, carpenter, and woodcarver, would talk and sing as he worked. In "A Story of How a Wall Stands," he remembers his father saying "Underneath / what looks like loose stone, / there is stone woven together." This sense of underlying connection is true of Ortiz's poetry as well, often at its finest when revealing how a moment or event fits into the ongoing cycles celebrated by ritual. His best poems are carefully made, sometimes surprising in the way the apparently loose details suddenly blaze into an arrangement. Characteristically, this happens through powerful repetitions culminating in the last movements of a poem, making Ortiz a writer whose work depends on rereading. His collection Going for Rain appeared in 1 9 7 6 ; its poems sometimes show a writer whose strong feelings have not yet found a distinctive language or rhythm. His next book, The Good fourney, is more assured and its range significantly broader. Since then he has published From Sand Creek, which won the 1 9 8 2 Pushcart Prize; A Poem Is a fourney ( 1 9 8 1 ) ; and an edition that collects earlier volumes together with new work, Woven Stone

( 1 9 9 2 ) . After and Before

the Lightning

was published in 1 9 9 4 ; his short

stories were collected in Men on the Moon ( 1 9 9 9 ) . Ortiz is a poet with a mission— continuance and preservation—and sometimes a didactic impulse shapes his work too rigidly. But his finest poems have a richness of experience and a vital, imaginative sense of the earth that refuses any single conceptual or moral frame. A recurring image in several Ortiz poems is the "Wisconsin horse" he once saw standing "within a fence / / silent in the hot afternoon" while one mile away new construction was going on: "I tell the horse, / 'That's America building something' " ("The Wisconsin Horse"). The spirit of the horse, restrained by the chainlink fence and threatened by the approaching construction, suggests Ortiz's sense of constriction in the VA hospitals (his experience in one of these prompted his sequence Poems from the Veterans Hospital), as well as in small-town bars, in the Salvation Army store, or in the boundaries of the designated National Parks. Something threatens to break loose in these poems; feelings precariously held in check shake the formal structures. Other poems, like "Earth and Rain, the Plants & Sun," have the freedom and buoyancy of the hawk's flight; the words move in a space that seems immense. Instead of explosive anger or despair, the tone of the poem is close to song or prayer. What is so moving in Ortiz's work is that these voices are both his; together they suggest the fracture of identity and the possibility of reintegration.

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SIMON J.

ORTIZ

Earth and Rain, the Plants & Sun O n c e near S a n Ysidro on the way to C o l o r a d o , I s t o p p e d a n d looked. T h e s o u n d of a m e a d o w l a r k t h r o u g h smell of fresh c u t alfalfa.

5

R a h o would say, "Look, D a d . " A hawk sweeping its wings clear through the b l u e of w h o l e a n d p u r e the wind

10

the sky. It is writhing overhead. H e a r . T h e Bringer. The Thunderer.

K

S u n l i g h t falls through cloud curtains, a straight bright shaft. It falls, it falls, down to e a r t h , a green plant.

25

T o d a y , the K a t z i n a ' c o m e . T h e d a n c i n g prayers. M a n y t i m e s , the Katzina. T h e d a n c i n g prayers. It shall not e n d , s o n , it will not e n d , this love.

M>

•

\ , , ,IN a,N,L „ , : , ILL Again n d •again the earth is new a g a i n . T h e y c o m e , listen, listen.

I. Or Kachina; spirits of the invisible life forces of the Pueblo of North America. T h e Kachinas are impersonated by elaborately costumed masked male members of the tribes who visit Pueblo vil-

lages the first half of the year. Although not worshiped, Kachinas are greatly revered, and one of their main purposes is to bring rain for the spring crops.

VISION

SHADOWS

/

2 8 1 5

H o l d o n to your mother's h a n d . They come O great joy, they c o m e . T h e p l a n t s with bells. T h e s t o n e s with voices. L i s t e n , s o n , hold my h a n d .

40

1977

Vision Shadows W i n d visions a r e h o n e s t . E a g l e s clearly soar to t h e craggy p e a k s of t h e m i n d . T h e m i n d is full of s u n p r a y e r a n d childlaughter.

5

The Mountains dream a b o u t pine brothers a n d friends, the mystic r e a l m of b o u l d e r s which shelter rabbits, squirrels, w r e n s . T h e y believe in the power. T h e y a l s o believe in q u i c k eagle d e a t h .

1

5

T h e e a g l e loops into t h e wind power. H e c a n s e e a million miles a n d m o r e b e c a u s e of it. All believe things of origin a n d s o l i t u d e . But

what

has

happened

(I h e a r s t r a n g e news from W y o m i n g of thallium s u l p h a t e . 1 R a n c h e r s b e a r i n g a r m s in helicopters.) to these

25

visions?

I hear foreign t r e m o r s . Breath c o m e s thin a n d s h r e d d e d . I hear t h e s c a b s of s t r a n g e d e a t h s falling off. S n a k e hurries through t h e g r a s s . C o y o t e is befuddled by his o w n tricks. A n d B e a r w h i m p e r s pain into t h e wind. 1. A chemical used by farmers as a rat poison.

30

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SIMON J.

ORTIZ

P o i s o n o u s f u m e s c r o s s our s a c r e d p a t h s . T h e wind is still. O B l u e Sky, O M o u n t a i n , O Spirit, O what h a s s t o p p e d ? E a g l e s t u m b l e d u m b l y into s h a d o w s that swallow t h e m with dull t h u d s . T h e s a g e can't b r e a t h e . J a c k r a b b i t is lonely a n d a l o n e with e a g l e g o n e . It is painful, aiiee, without visions to s o o t h e dry w h i m p e r s or repair the flight of e a g l e , o u r own brother.

35

to

45 1977

From Poems from the Veterans Hospital 8:50

AM

Ft.

Lyons

VAH

T h e W i s c o n s i n H o r s e 1 h e a r s the g e e s e . T h e y wheel from the west. First the u n f a m i l i a r s o u n d s , a n d then the m e m o r y recalls ancient songs.

5

Sky is gray a n d thick. S o m e t i m e s it is the horizon a n d the sky w e i g h s l e s s . The Wisconsin Horse cranes his neck. T h e g e e s e veer o u t of sight

10

p a s t the e d g e of a building. T h e b u i l d i n g is not old, built in 1 9 3 7 . Contains men broken from three A m e r i c a n w a r s . L e s s a n d l e s s , the s o u n d , a n d it b e c o m e s h e i m m e n s e sky.

1. S e e headnote, p. 2 8 1 3 .

15

20

FROM SAND C R E E K

/

2817

Travelling

A m a n h a s b e e n in the V A H Library all day long, looking at the m a p s , the a t l a s , a n d the g l o b e , finding p l a c e s . A c a p u l c o , the Bay of B e n g a l , Antarctica, Madagascar, Rome, Luxembourg, places. H e writes their n a m e s on a letter p a d , hurries to a n o t h e r s o u r c e , asks the librarian for a b o o k b u t it is out a n d h e looks hurt a n d then he r u s h e s b a c k to the g l o b e , turns it a few times a n d finds Y o k o h a m a a n d then the Aleutian I s l a n d s . L a t e r o n , he s t u d i e s C a p e C o d for a m o m e n t , a faraway glee on his f a c e , in his eyes. H e is G a u g u i n , h e is C o y o t e , 1 he is w h o h e is, travelling the known a n d u n k n o w n p l a c e s , travelling, travelling.

5

10

15

1977

From From Sand Creek At the Salvation Army a clerk caught me wandering a m o n g old s p o o n s a n d knives, sweaters and shoes.

5

I couldn't have stolen anything; my life w a s stolen already. In p r o t e s t t h o u g h , I s h o u l d have stolen. M y life. M y life.

10

She caught me; Carson1 caught Indians,

1. T h e trickster figure in southwestern and other Native American tales. Paul Gauguin, 19thcentury French painter, left his home in France for Tahiti and the M a r q u e s a s Islands. 1. Christopher ("Kit") C a r s o n ( 1 8 0 9 - 1 8 6 8 ) , trapper, scout, Indian agent, and soldier, was hired by the government to help control the Navajo. Beginning in 1863 he waged a brutal economic war against the tribe, marching through the heart of

their territory to destroy their crops, orchards, and livestock. In 1864 most Navajo surrendered to Carson, who forced nearly eight thousand Navajo men, women, and children to take what c a m e to be called the " L o n g Walk" of three hundred miles from Arizona to Fort Sumner, New Mexico, where they remained in disease-ridden confinement until 1868.

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JORIE

GRAHAM

s e c u r e d them with his lies. B o u n d t h e m with his belief.

I

5

After winter, our own lives fled. I r e a s s u r e d her what she believed. B o u g h t a sweater.

20

I s h o u l d have s t o l e n . M y life. M y life. 1981 •

JORIE b.

GRAHAM 1950

Jorie Graham's ability to render the disjunctive activity of modern thought, without abandoning the sensuousness of perception, has made her a prominent figure in contemporary poetry. Her poems are sites of self-questioning thinking—about metaphysics, epistemology, or the nature of language itself. A poet whose imagination moves between polarities, she explores the tensions between spirit and matter, thought and sensation, formlessness and form. Rather than resolve these tensions, her poems examine the dependence of each term on the other, as well as the gap between them. This gap is sometimes figured as a literal blank (" "), a space language cannot fill. At other times it appears as the moment when things "scatter, blow away, scatter, recollect" ("The Dream of the Unified Field"), a moment in which form and the undoing of form co-exist. It isn't surprising that Graham's poems often work in liminal spaces between the visible and the invisible, like the scene of the souls at Judgment hurrying to re-enter the flesh in "At Luca Signorelli's Resurrection of the Body": "there is no / entrance, / only entering." She has called poetic form "a vessel for active tension," and the rapid shifts in Graham's poems from past to present, from abstract to particular, make the surface of her work appear to be eddied by verbal and intellectual turbulence. No wonder roil is one of her favorite verbs. Graham was born in New York, but when she was a child her father, a Newsweek correspondent, and her mother, a sculptor, moved to Italy, where Graham grew up in the neighborhood of Trastevere, the old part of Rome. She lived surrounded by Italian churches full of frescoes, and references to Italian art inform many of her poems, among them "San Sepolcro" and "At Luca Signorelli's Resurrection of the Body." In Italy Graham attended a French lycee, and at seventeen she went to Paris to study at the Sorbonne, where she became involved in the student uprisings of 1968. In 1969 she returned to the United States and enrolled in film school at New York University (where she remembers hearing poetry read aloud in English for the first time), and her poetry has, from the start, been influenced by cinema. She went on to enroll in the University of Iowa Writers Workshop, where she later taught for

JORIE GRAHAM

/ 2 8 1 9

a number of years; currently she is on the faculty at Harvard University. The range of reference in Graham's work is wide and suggests her European background and especially her French education, with its emphasis on philosophy. But she is equally preoccupied with American history and the nature of American life, a preoccupation evident in "The Dream of the Unified Field," which closes with her revision of entries from Columbus's journals. It is not surprising that what Graham calls "the calm assurance of the standard English line" has "interested and troubled" her. Although her poems often move in and out of an iambic measure (as in the openings of "The Geese" and "The Dream of the Unified Field"), like many poets she believes contemporary experience requires a more unpredictable music. The poems of her first book, Hybrids of Plants and of Ghosts (1980; the title is taken from Nietzsche), were mostly constructed of short, tightly controlled lines. But in subsequent works, her verse has loosened (a second volume is called Erosion, 1983) and her line grown longer. Many of the poems from The End of Beauty

(1987), The Region

of Unlikeness

(1991), Materialism

(1993), The

Errancy (1994), and Swarm (2000) hurtle across and down the page, sometimes without punctuation. Because she shares a contemporary skepticism of any version of reality that claims to be total, her work characteristically undercuts what it asserts. She works best in a form that supports the pull of co-existing and unreconciled tensions; for example, the short, enjambed lines of "At Luca Signorelli's Resurrection of the Body" separate each distinct detail and gesture while also tugging one perception into the next. The rhythmic structure of that poem holds apart and, at the same time, overlaps the visible and the invisible; the poem ends without resolving or unifying this opposition. When Graham tries to imagine a unity that includes polarities (as in "The Dream of the Unified Field") that unity is a "dream" because she is aware that the drive for order and closure (what she calls "the silky swerve into shapeliness / and then the click shut" in "Region of Unlikeness") risks narrowness and exclusion. Therefore, Graham's work exposes the fractures in experience and in the self (fractures often gendered as male and female). But her poems also work to uncover, through a series of associations, the connections between daily experience (looking up at a flock of geese, bringing her daughter a leotard she had forgotten) and the larger frameworks of history, metaphysics, and myth. At times her drive to find or make analogies between a particular experience and its larger historical contexts can feel false or strained. But Graham is a resolutely self-interrogating poet who sees each new book as a critique of her previous work. She is willing to risk failure in pursuit of a poetry that renders the drama of consciousness unfolding in language and the world; in this she is the heir of Wallace Stevens, with his vision of "the poem of the mind in the act of finding / What will suffice." If the life of thought makes her poems abstract (one is titled "What Is Called Thinking"), the activity of perception, registered sometimes in almost microscopic detail (as in "Opulence"), makes them concrete. Her best and most challenging work combines these two modes in a series of rapid-moving procedures. "The Dream of the Unified Field," for example, explores memory and possession by building layers of association through shifting concrete images. The poem begins with thoughts of a daughter—"On my way to bringing you the leotard / you forgot to include in your overnight bag"—and shifts to a snow storm, then to a vision of starlings "swarming / then settling," then to the leaves of a tree scattering and recollecting, until the poet returns to the thought of her daughter dancing. When the memory of the poet's childhood ballet teacher surfaces, and then dissolves into the historical memory of Columbus's voyage of discovery, we experience an unexpected break in focus, a gap in thought marked out by a series of interruptive dashes. It is characteristic of Graham's poems to include the gaps in thought. Her work is also riddled with questions that implicitly or explicitly address the reader: "Do you think these words are still enough?" and "Are you listening?" ("Manifest Destiny"). Describing her poetic strategies, Graham says she imagines a reader "who has heard

2820

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JORIE

GRAHAM

it all before" (her poem "Imperialism" names this reader: "dear are-you-there"), one who distrusts language as a medium for truth. The difficult surfaces of Graham's poems try to wake us into full attention, so that we may confront, together with the poet, the question of what language can and cannot say. •

The G e e s e T o d a y a s I h a n g out the w a s h I s e e t h e m a g a i n , a c o d e a s urgent a s elegant, tapering with g o a l s . F o r days they have b e e n c r o s s i n g . W e live b e n e a t h t h e s e g e e s e a s if b e n e a t h the p a s s a g e of t i m e , or a m o s t p e r f e c t h e a d i n g . S o m e t i m e s I fear their r e l e v a n c e . C l o s e s t at h a n d , b e t w e e n the lines, the spiders imitate the p a t h s the g e e s e won't stray from, imitate t h e m endlessly to n o avail: things will not r e m a i n c o n n e c t e d , will not heal, a n d the world thickens with texture i n s t e a d of history, texture i n s t e a d of p l a c e . Yet the s m a l l fear of the s p i d e r s binds and binds the pins to the lines, the lines to the e a v e s , to the p i n c u s h i o n b u s h , a s if, at any t i m e , things c o u l d fall further a p a r t a n d n o t h i n g c o u l d help t h e m recover their m e a n i n g . A n d if t h e s e spiders h a d their way, c h a i n l i n k over the visible world, would w e b e in or o u t ? I turn to go b a c k in. T h e r e is a feeling the body gives the m i n d of having m i s s e d s o m e t h i n g , a b e d r o c k poverty, like falling without the s e n s e that you a r e p a s s i n g t h r o u g h o n e world, that you c o u l d r e a c h a n o t h e r a n y t i m e . I n s t e a d the real is c r o s s i n g you,

25

your body a n arrival you know is false b u t can't o u t r u n . A n d s o m e w h e r e in b e t w e e n t h e s e g e e s e forever e n t e r i n g a n d t h e s e s p i d e r s turning b a c k , this a s t o n i s h i n g delay, the everyday, t a k e s p l a c e . 1980

A T L U C A S I G N O R E L L I ' S R E S U R R E C T I O N OF T H E B O D Y

/

2821

At Luca Signorelli's 1 Resurrection of the Body S e e how they hurry to enter their b o d i e s , t h e s e spirits, Is it better, flesh, that they

5

s h o u l d hurry s o ? From above the green-winged a n g e l s blare d o w n t r u m p e t s a n d light. B u t they don't c a r e , they hurry to c o n g r e g a t e , they hurry into s p e e c h , until it's a m a r k e t p l a c e , it is h u m a n i t y . B u t still we w o n d e r in the c h a n c e l 2 of the dark c a t h e d r a l , is it better, b a c k ? T h e artist h a s tried to m a k e it s o : e a c h t e n d o n they p r e s s to re-enter is perfect. B u t is it perfection they're after, pulling t h e m s e l v e s u p through the soil into the w e i g h t e d n e s s , the color, into the eye of the painter? O u t s i d e it is 1 5 0 0 , all r o u n d the c a t h e d r a l streets hurry to o p e n

10

15

20

25

30

35

t h r o u g h the wild silver g r a s s e s . . . . I. Italian painter ( 1 4 5 0 - 1 5 2 3 ) of the Umbrian school, associated with a region in central Italy distinguished in the Renaissance by the talent of its painters. His series on the Last Judgment decorates the Cappella Nuova in the gothic cathedral

in Orvieto, Italy, a town in the Umbrian region. One of the sections of this series is titled Resurrection of the Flesh. 2. S p a c e around a church alter, often enclosed by lattice or railing.

2822

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JORIE

GRAHAM

The men and women o n the c a t h e d r a l wall d o not know how, having c o m e this far, to stop their hurrying. T h e y a m b l e off in g r o u p s , in couples. Soon s o m e are c l o t h e d , there is d i s t a n c e , there is perspective. Standing below them in the c h u r c h in Orvieto, how c a n we tell t h e m to b e stern a n d b r a z e n a n d slow, that there is n o entrance, only entering. T h e y k e e p o n arriving, wanting n a m e s , wanting h a p p i n e s s . In his s t u d i o L u c a Signorelli in the n a m e of G o d and Science a n d the believable broke into the body studying arrival. B u t the wall of the flesh o p e n s endlessly, its v a n i s h i n g point so d e e p and receding we have yet to find it, to have it s t o p u s . S o he c u t deeper, g r a d u a t i n g slowly from the s y m b o l i c to the beautiful. H o w far is t r u e ? W h e n his o n e s o n died violently,

40

45

50

55

60

65

70

75

so

RITA DOVE

/

2823

h e h a d the body brought to him a n d laid it o n the drawing-table, a n d stood at a certain d i s t a n c e awaiting the b e s t p o s s i b l e light, the best d e p t h of day,

85

then with b e a u t y a n d c a r e and technique a n d j u d g m e n t , c u t into shadow, cut into b o n e a n d sinew a n d every pocket in which the cold light pooled. It took him days, that d e e p c a r e s s , cutting, unfastening, until his m i n d c o u l d c l i m b into the o p e n flesh a n d m e n d itself. 1983

RITA b.

DOVE 1952

What she has called the "friction" between the beauty of a poetic form and a difficult or painful subject appeals to Rita Dove. Her own formal control and discipline create a beautiful design and a haunting music in "Parsley," a poem based on a murderous event: in 1957 the dictator of the Dominican Republic, Rafael Trujillo, ordered twenty thousand black Haitians killed because they could not pronounce the letter "r" in the Spanish word for parsley. What compels Dove in this poem is the way a "single, beautiful word" has the power of life and death. More astonishing is that she writes from the perspective of both the Haitians in the cane fields and General Trujillo in his palace. When asked in an interview about her capacity to imagine Trujillo, Dove responded, "I frankly don't believe anyone who says they've never felt any evil, that they cannot understand that process of evil. It was important to me to try to understand that arbitrary quality of his cruelty. . . . Making us get into his head may shock us all into seeing what the human being is capable of, because if we can go that far into his head, we're halfway there ourselves." An ability to enter into different points

2824

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RITA DOVE

of view in a single poem is characteristic of Dove's disinterested imagination. Her method is to avoid commentary, to let the imagined person or object, the suggestive detail, speak for itself. Often her work suggests what Keats called "negative capability," the gift of the poet to become what he or she is not. Born in Akron, Dove attended Miami University of Ohio and, after her graduation, studied modern European literature as a Fulbright/Hays fellow at the University of Tubingen in Germany. When she returned from Europe she took an M.F.A. at the University of Iowa (in 1977). Later she taught creative writing at Arizona State University before joining the University of Virginia, where she is now Commonwealth Professor of English. Since her Fulbright year she has returned frequently to live abroad, in Ireland, Israel, France, and especially Germany. Her travel in Europe and elsewhere suggests part of the imperative she feels as a poet: to range widely through fields of experience, to cross boundaries of space as well as time. Her first book, The Yellow House on the Corner (1980), is notable for its intense jioems about adolescence; her second book, Museum (1983), dramatically extends the range of her work. "When I started Museum," she has said, "I was in Europe, and I had a way of looking back on America and distancing myself from my experience." As well as for several fine poems about her father (a subject that may also have needed distance), the book is remarkable for the way distance allowed Dove to move out of her immediate experience, freed her to imagine widely different lives. As if to show that it is also possible to travel widely while staying at home, Dove's Thomas and Beulah (1986) is an extended sequence based on her grandparents' lives. Her continuing fascination with imagining different perspectives on the same event is evident in this sequence. Dove herself has described the origins of the book this way: My grandmother had told me a story that had happened to my grandfather when he was young, coming up on a riverboat to Akron, Ohio, my hometown. But that was all I had basically. And the story so fascinated me that I tried to write about it. I started off writing stories about my grandfather and soon, because I ran out of real fact, in order to keep going, 1 made up facts for this character, Thomas. . . . then this poem "Dusting" appeared, really out of nowhere. 1 didn't realize this was Thomas's wife saying, "I want to talk. And you can't do his side without my side . . ." This is the story, in part, of a marriage and of a black couple's life in the industrial Midwest in the period from 1900 to 1960. Thomas's point of view controls the poems of the book's first section, while the second part imagines his wife's. The larger framework of the sequence links family history to social history. Thomas's journey from the rural South to the industrial city of Akron (where he finds employment in the Goodyear Zeppelin factory until the Depression puts him out of work) is part of the larger Social movement of southern African Americans into northern industrial cities in the first part of this century. The individual lyrics of Dove's sequence create and sustain the story through distinct and often ordinary moments in which each life is vividly portrayed. It is part of Dove's gift that she can render the apparently unimportant moments that inform a life and set them against a background of larger historical forces, as do Robert Hayden in Elegies for Paradise Valley1 and Robert Lowell in Notebook.

Many of the figures in Dove's poems are displaced, on the border between different worlds: for example, Thomas and Beulah and Benjamin Banneker ("Banneker"). The experience of displacement, of what she has called living in "two different worlds, seeing things with double vision," consistently compels this poet's imagination. It takes both detachment and control to maintain (and to live with) such doubleness. This may be why Dove's rich sense of language and her love of sound are joined to a disciplined formal sense. The form of her poems often holds in place difficult or ambiguous feelings, and keeps the expression of feeling understated. While restraint is one of the strengths of Dove's poems, her work can sometimes seem austere. Such

BANNEKER

/

2825

careful control recalls Elizabeth Bishop's early work, also highly controlled and even, at times, guarded. As Bishop grew to relax her restraints, to open into an extraordinary expressiveness, so Dove has gifts to suggest a similar growth. Her collections Grace Notes (1989) and Mother Love (1995) suggest just such a relaxing of the poet's guard. While On the Bus with Rosa Parks (2000) demonstrates Dove's on-going ability to unite powerful feeling and social conscience with a transformative sense of language and form. With each book she asks something more from herself, and she has now become one of our indispensable poets. Dove was poet laureate of the United States from 1993 to 1995.

Banneker 1 W h a t did h e d o except lie u n d e r a p e a r tree, w r a p p e d in a great cloak, a n d m e d i t a t e on the heavenly b o d i e s ? Venerable, the g o o d p e o p l e of B a l t i m o r e w h i s p e r e d , s h o c k e d a n d m o r e than a little afraid. After all it w a s said h e took to s t r o n g drink. W h y else would he stay out u n d e r the stars all night a n d why hadn't h e m a r r i e d ? B u t w h o would want him! N e i t h e r E t h i o p i a n nor E n g l i s h , neither lucky nor crazy, a c a p a c i o u s bird h u m m i n g a s he p e n n e d in his m i n d a n o t h e r e n f l a m e d letter to P r e s i d e n t J e f f e r s o n 2 — h e i m a g i n e d the reply, polite a n d rhetdrical. T h o s e w h o h a d b e e n to P h i l a d e l p h i a reported the s t a t u e of B e n j a m i n Franklin before the library

his very size a n d likeness. A wife? N o , thank you. At d a w n he milked the c o w s , then went inside a n d put on a pot to stew while h e slept. T h e c l o c k he whittled a s a boy still r a n . ' N e i g h b o r s 1. Benjamin Banneker ( 1 7 3 1 - 1 8 0 6 ) , first black man to devise an almanac and predict a solar eclipse accurately, was also appointed to the commission that surveyed and laid out what is now Washington, D . C . [Dove's note]. 2. After hearing that Jefferson doubted the mental capacity of black people, Banneker wrote him a

s

io

15

20

25

30

letter that invoked ideals of human equality and asked for Jefferson's help in the abolition of slavery. 3. T h e first all-wood clock ever made in America, which Banneker carved as an experiment after studying only a c o m m o n pocketwatch.

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RITA DOVE

w o k e him up with w a r m b r e a d a n d q u i l t s . At nightfall h e took out his rifle—a w h i t e - m a n e d figure stalking the d a r k e n e d b r e a s t of the U n i o n — a n d shot at the s t a r s , a n d by c h a n c e o n e went out. H a d h e killed? I assure

thee,

my dear

Sir!

L o w e r i n g his eyes to fields sweet with the rot of spring, h e c o u l d s e e a g o v e r n m e n t ' s d o m e d city rising from the m o r a s s a n d s p r e a d i n g in a spiral of lights. . . . 1983

Parsley 1 1.

The

Cane

2

Fields

T h e r e is a parrot imitating spring in the p a l a c e , its f e a t h e r s parsley g r e e n . O u t of the s w a m p the c a n e a p p e a r s to h a u n t u s , a n d we c u t it d o w n . El G e n e r a l s e a r c h e s for a w o r d ; he is all the world there is. L i k e a parrot imitating spring,

5

we lie d o w n s c r e a m i n g a s rain p u n c h e s t h r o u g h a n d we c o m e u p g r e e n . W e c a n n o t s p e a k an R — out of the s w a m p , the c a n e a p p e a r s a n d then the m o u n t a i n we call in w h i s p e r s Katalina.* T h e children g n a w their teeth to a r r o w h e a d s . T h e r e is a parrot imitating spring.

10

El G e n e r a l has f o u n d his word: perejil. W h o says it, lives. H e l a u g h s , teeth s h i n i n g out of the s w a m p . T h e c a n e a p p e a r s in our d r e a m s , l a s h e d by wind a n d s t r e a m i n g . A n d we lie down. F o r every d r o p of b l o o d there is a parrot imitating spring. O u t of the s w a m p the c a n e a p p e a r s .

I. On October 2, 1937, Rafael Trujillo ( 1 8 9 1 1961), dictator of the Dominican Republic, ordered 2 0 , 0 0 0 blacks killed b e c a u s e they could not pronounce the letter "r" in perejil, the Spanish

word for parsley [Dove's note], 2. I.e., sugar cane. 3. Katarina (because "we cannot speak an R").

is

PARSLEY

2.

The

pulls on his b o o t s , he s t o m p s t o her r o o m in the p a l a c e , the o n e without c u r t a i n s , the o n e with a parrot in a b r a s s ring. A s h e p a c e s he w o n d e r s W h o c a n I kill today. A n d for a m o m e n t the little knot of s c r e a m s is still. T h e parrot, w h o h a s traveled all the way from Australia in an ivory c a g e , is, c o y a s a widow, p r a c t i s i n g spring. Ever s i n c e the m o r n i n g his m o t h e r c o l l a p s e d in the kitchen while b a k i n g skull-shaped c a n d i e s for the D a y o f the D e a d , 4 the general has h a t e d s w e e t s . H e orders p a s t r i e s b r o u g h t u p for the bird; they arrive d u s t e d with s u g a r on a b e d o f l a c e . T h e knot in his throat starts to twitch; he s e e s his boots the first day in battle s p l a s h e d with m u d a n d urine as a soldier falls at his feet a m a z e d — how stupid he l o o k e d ! — a t the s o u n d thought

2827

Palace

T h e word the general's c h o s e n is parsley. It is fall, w h e n t h o u g h t s turn to love a n d d e a t h ; the general thinks of his m o t h e r , h o w s h e died in the fall a n d he p l a n t e d her walking c a n e at the grave a n d it flowered, e a c h spring stolidly forming four-star b l o s s o m s . T h e general

of artillery. J never

/

it would

20

25

30

35

40

45

sing

the soldier said, a n d died. N o w the general s e e s the fields of s u g a r c a n e , l a s h e d by rain a n d s t r e a m i n g . H e s e e s his m o t h e r ' s s m i l e , the teeth g n a w e d to a r r o w h e a d s . H e h e a r s the H a i t i a n s sing without R's a s they swing the great m a c h e t e s : Katalina, they sing, Katalina,

50

55

G o d knows mi madle, mi amol en muelteS his m o t h e r w a s n o stupid w o m a n ; s h e

4. All Soul's Day, November 2. An Aztec festival for the spirits of the dead that coincides with the Catholic calendar. In Latin America and the Caribbean, people move in processions to cemeteries, bearing candles, flowers, and food, all of which

may be shaped to resemble symbols of death, such as skulls or coffins. 5. I.e., mi madre, mi amor en muerte, "my mother, my love in death."

2828

/

RITA DOVE

c o u l d roll a n R like a q u e e n . E v e n a parrot c a n roll a n R! In the b a r e r o o m the bright f e a t h e r s a r c h in a parody of greenery, a s the last p a l e c r u m b s d i s a p p e a r u n d e r the b l a c k e n e d t o n g u e . S o m e o n e calls out his n a m e in a voice s o like his m o t h e r ' s , a startled tear s p l a s h e s the tip of his right b o o t . My mother,

my love

in

60

65

death.

T h e general r e m e m b e r s the tiny g r e e n sprigs m e n of his village wore in their c a p e s to h o n o r the birth of a s o n . H e will order m a n y , this t i m e , to be killed

70

for a single, beautiful word. 1983

Adolescence—I In water-heavy nights b e h i n d g r a n d m o t h e r ' s p o r c h W e knelt in the tickling g r a s s e s a n d w h i s p e r e d : L i n d a ' s f a c e h u n g before u s , p a l e a s a p e c a n , A n d it grew wise a s s h e s a i d : "A boy's lips a r e soft, As soft as baby's s k i n . " T h e air c l o s e d over her w o r d s . A firefly whirred near my ear, a n d in the d i s t a n c e I c o u l d hear s t r e e t l a m p s p i n g Into m i n i a t u r e s u n s Against a feathery sky.

5

io 1980

Adolescence—II A l t h o u g h it is night, I sit in the b a t h r o o m , waiting. S w e a t prickles b e h i n d my k n e e s , the b a b y - b r e a s t s a r e alert. V e n e t i a n blinds slice u p the m o o n ; the tiles quiver in p a l e strips. T h e n they c o m e , the three seal m e n with eyes a s r o u n d As dinner plates a n d e y e l a s h e s like s h a r p e n e d t i n e s . T h e y bring the s c e n t of licorice. O n e sits in the w a s h b o w l , O n e on the b a t h t u b e d g e ; o n e l e a n s a g a i n s t the door. " C a n you feel it y e t ? " they w h i s p e r . I don't know what to say, a g a i n . T h e y c h u c k l e ,

5

THE

EVENT

Patting their sleek bodies with their h a n d s . "Well, m a y b e next t i m e . " A n d they rise, Glittering like pools of ink u n d e r moonlight,

/

2829

10

A n d vanish. I clutch at the ragged holes T h e y leave b e h i n d , here at the e d g e of d a r k n e s s . Night rests like a ball of fur on my t o n g u e .

15 1980

FROM

THOMAS AND BEULAH 1

The Event Ever s i n c e they'd left the T e n n e s s e e ridge with nothing to b o a s t of but g o o d looks a n d a m a n d o l i n , the two N e g r o e s leaning on the rail of a riverboat were i n s e p a r a b l e : L e m p l u c k e d

5

to T h o m a s ' silver falsetto. B u t the night was hot a n d they were drunk. T h e y s p a t where the wheel c h u r n e d m u d a n d moonlight, they called to the t a r a n t u l a s down a m o n g the b a n a n a s

10

to c o m e out a n d d a n c e . You're so fine and mighty; let's see what you can do, said T h o m a s , pointing to a t r e e - c a p p e d island. L e m stripped, s p o k e easy: Them's I believe. D o v e

chestnuts,

q u i c k a s a g a s p . T h o m a s , dry on deck, saw the g r e e n crown s h a k e a s the island slipped I. The story in this sequence of poems begins with T h o m a s as he makes his way north to Akron, Ohio. He loses his best friend, who, on a drunken dare from T h o m a s , drowns, leaving his mandolin behind. T h o m a s carries the mandolin with him and eventually hangs it on his parlor wall. He and Beulah marry when he is twenty-four and she is twenty; they have four daughters. T h o m a s works

15

20

at the Goodyear Zeppelin factory (a zeppelin is a cylindrical airship kept aloft by gas). T h e Depression puts him out of work, so he sweeps offices for a living until Goodyear rehires him at the advent of World War li. Beulah works in a dress shop and later makes hats. T h o m a s dies at sixty-three from his second heart attack; Beulah dies six years later.

2830

/

RITA

DOVE

u n d e r , dissolved in the thickening s t r e a m . At his feet a stinking circle of r a g s , the half-shell m a n d o l i n . W h e r e the wheel t u r n e d the water

25

gently s h i r r e d . 2

1986

Straw Hat In the city, u n d e r the s a w - t o o t h e d leaves of a n o a k overlooking the tracks, h e sits out the last m i n u t e s b e f o r e d a w n , lucky to s l e e p third shift. Years before he w a s anything, h e lay o n s o m a n y kinds of g r a s s , u n d e r s t a r s , the m o o n ' s bald eye o p p o s i n g . H e u s e d to s l e e p like a g l a s s of water held u p in the h a n d of a very y o u n g girl. T h e n he l e a r n e d h e wasn't perfect, that n o o n e w a s perfect. S o he m a d e his way N o r t h u n d e r the b l a n d roof of a tent too small for even his lean body. T h e m a t t r e s s ticking he s h a r e s in the work b a r r a c k s is brown a n d s m e l l s from the sweat of two other m e n . O n e of t h e m c h e w s snuff: he's never met either. T o h i m , work is a narrow grief a n d the m u s i c afterwards is like a w o m a n r e a c h i n g into his c h e s t to s p r e a d it a r o u n d . W h e n he sings

20

h e c l o s e s his eyes. H e never knows w h e n she'll be c o m i n g b u t w h e n s h e leaves, he always tips his hat.

1986

2. Drew together.

DUSTING

/

2831

Dusting Every day a w i l d e r n e s s — n o s h a d e in sight. B e u l a h 1 patient a m o n g k n i c k n a c k s , the s o l a r i u m a r a g e of light, a g r a i n s t o r m as her gray cloth brings dark w o o d to life. U n d e r her h a n d scrolls and crests gleam darker still. W h a t w a s his n a m e , that silly boy at the fair with the rifle b o o t h ? A n d his kiss a n d the clear bowl with o n e bright fish, rippling wound! Not M i c h a e l s o m e t h i n g finer. E a c h d u s t stroke a d e e p breath a n d the c a n a r y in b l o o m . Wavery m e m o r y : h o m e from a d a n c e , the front door blown o p e n a n d the parlor in snow, s h e r u s h e d the bowl to the stove, w a t c h e d a s the locket of ice dissolved a n d he s w a m free. T h a t w a s years before F a t h e r gave her u p with her n a m e , years before her n a m e grew to m e a n P r o m i s e , then Desert-in-Peace. L o n g before the s h a d o w a n d sun's a c c o m p l i c e , the tree.

5

10

15

20

25

30

35

Maurice. 1986

1. Hebrew for "married o n e " or "possessed." In the Bible it is used to refer to the Promised Land.

RITA

DOVE

Poem in Which I Refuse Contemplation A letter from my m o t h e r w a s waiting: r e a d in s t a n d i n g , o n e a . m . , j u s t arrived at m y G e r m a n mother-in-law six h o u r s from Paris by c a r . O u r d a u g h t e r h o p s on O m a ' s b e d , happy to b e b a c k in a l a n g u a g e s h e k n o w s . Hello,

all! Your

postcard

came on the nineth—familiar misspelled w o r d s , e x c l a m a t i o n s . I wish my body wouldn't c r a m p a n d leak; I w a n t t o — as my d a u g h t e r s a y s , p r e t e n d i n g to b e " P a p a " — p u l l on b o o t s a n d g o for a l o n g walk a l o n e . Your remember

cousin

a few months was

Ronnie

him?—he younger

strangulated

your Aunt

in

D.C.—

was the one than

at some

May is beside

you—

chili

joint,

herself.

M o m skips to t h e g a r d e n w h i c h is •

producing—onions, lettuce,

lettuce,

swiss lettuce,

so far! The roses are

chard, turnip

greens

and more

flurishing.

Haven't I always h a t e d g a r d e n i n g ? A n d G e r m a n , with its p a t i e n t , g r u n t i n g b u i l d i n g b l o c k s , a n d for that m a t t e r , E n g l i s h , t o o , A m e r i c a n e s e ' s chewy t w a n g ? have taken up residence w e w e r e ten in the crawl

space

but I can't feel his h a n d who a n y m o r e how we'll

Raccoons

get them

knows out?

I'm still s t a n d i n g . B a g s to u n p a c k . That's

all for now. Take

care.

lettuce

2833

JOY b.

HARJO 1951

Joy Harjo was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, to a mother of mixed Cherokee, French, and Irish blood. Her father's family, members of the Creek tribe, included "rebels and speakers," among them a Baptist minister (Harjo's paternal grandfather), two painters (her grandmother and aunt) and a great-great-grandfather who led a Creek rebellion against their forced removal from Alabama into Oklahoma in 1832. As Laura Coltelli has pointed out, the work of many contemporary Native American writers (a large number of whom are of mixed blood) enacts a quest to reenvision identity by confronting the historical, cultural, and political realities that shape lives experienced between different worlds. Coming from a family tradition of powerful speaking, Harjo participates in a search to reimagine and repair painful fractures in contemporary experience: between past and present, between person and landscape, and between parts of the self. Thus traveling is a mythic activity in her poems, enacting this search for community and historical connectedness. As in the work of James Welch, Simon J. Ortiz, and Leslie Marmon Silko, the theme of traveling in Harjo's poems resonates with the historical displacements and migrations of native peoples (especially the forced removal of the Creeks). She has called herself the wanderer in her family, and her poems often map her journeys, whether on foot, by car, or in a plane. Perhaps Harjo thinks of herself as the family wanderer because she left Oklahoma to attend high school at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, New Mexico ("in a way it saved my life," she has said). After receiving a B.A. from the University of New Mexico in 1976 and an M.F.A. from the University of Iowa, she has taught at the Institute of American Indian Arts, Arizona State University, the University of Colorado, the University of Arizona, and the University of New Mexico. "Breathe / backwards" she writes in her poem "Call It Fear," and many of Harjo's poems track an inward journey through personal and collective memory, looping forward and back. Especially important in her work is the reconnection of contemporary urban experience with a historical and mythic past. This reconnection seeks to assuage the loneliness and desperation of those on the margin who populate Harjo's work; in her volume She Had Some Horses (1983), a woman raises her mixed-blood children alone, a friend threatens suicide, a woman threatens to let herself drop from a thirteenth-story window. The horses who run through this and other of her books embody, Harjo has said, "very sensitive and finely tuned spirits of the psyche" and are, like the poet herself, on the move. In her collection In Mad Love and War (1990) we find a psyche anguished by global, national, and domestic wars; the journey here often turns from outward to inward. The poems of In Mad Love and War, with their anger at dispossession and violence (as in an elegy for Anna Mae Pictou Aquash, a young Micmac woman shot dead on the Pine Ridge Reservation), recall some of the work of James Wright, Audre Lorde, and Leslie Marmon Silko; they also suggest that the spirit of Harjo's rebel great-great-grandfather is never far from these poems. This poet is a superb reader of her poems, but even without the poet's physical presence, Harjo's best work resonates with the rhythms of the body: the heartbeat, the movement of breath, the ebb and flow of desire. Whether in the sensuous "Summer Night" ("every poem has an electrical force field which is love," Harjo has said) or in the edgy rhythms of "White Bear," her lines have a remarkable physicality. Perhaps because Harjo is also a musician—she plays the tenor saxophone and speaks of the influence jazz, blues, country music, and Creek Stomp Dance songs have had on her work—the sound of her poems is especially important. The poems demand to be read aloud, where their mastery of chant and ceremonial repetition also links them to oral traditions and calls forth the powers of dream and memory. In addition to being a poet and musician, Harjo is a screenwriter. She has also written the text for Stephen Strom's photographs of the southwestern landscape, Secrets from the Center

2834

/

JOY

HARJO

of the World (1989), and has edited an anthology of tribal women's writings from around the world. A collection of interviews, The Spiral of Memory (1996), edited by Laura Coltelli, is a valuable accompaniment to her poems. In The Woman Who Fell from the Sky (1994), Harjo reinterprets present experience through retellings of traditional myths. Various Native American traditions tell the story of a sky woman who falls through the void of space and creates the human universe. In the title poem of this volume, a group of women ("angry at their inattentive husbands") run off with stars; one of these women dares to look back at earth and falls from the sky. In Harjo's hands this myth becomes the story of two lovers, who were children together at an Indian boarding school. Adrift in an urban landscape, they are reunited, a narrative characterized by fracture and repair. In the same collection, "Flood" renders a young girl's sexuality and imaginative power through the myth of the water monster (the Chippewa writer Louise Erdrich makes use of a similar myth in her novel Tracks). Like some of the work of Simon J. Ortiz or Leslie Marmon Silko, the prose poems that form much of this book have connections to oral storytelling, with its use of dream and myth, and to the claims of realism we associate with prose fiction. In Harjo's work, poetry witnesses truths of experience otherwise concealed or invisible and thus communicates a sense of spiritual journey and place. For all Harjo's anguished sense of the warring factions in our world and our selves, her works consistently engage in a process of healing and regeneration, themes that continue in her collection A Map to the Next World (2000). Like the kitchen table in her poem "Perhaps the World Ends Here," Harjo's poems are a space where "we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks."

Call It Fear

•

T h e r e is this e d g e where s h a d o w s a n d b o n e s of s o m e of u s walk backwards. T a l k b a c k w a r d s . T h e r e is this e d g e call it a n o c e a n of fear of the dark. O r n a m e it with other s o n g s . U n d e r o u r ribs our hearts are bloody s t a r s . S h i n e on s h i n e o n , a n d h o r s e s in their g a l l o p i n g flight strike the curve of ribs. Heartbeat a n d b r e a t h e b a c k sharply. B r e a t h backwards. T h e r e is this e d g e within m e I s a w it o n c e a n A u g u s t S u n d a y m o r n i n g w h e n the heat h a d n ' t left this e a r t h . A n d G o o d l u c k sat s l e e p i n g next to m e in the truck. W e h a d never broken t h r o u g h the e d g e of the singing at four a . m . W e h a d only w a n t e d to talk, to h e a r any other voice to stay alive with. A n d there w a s this e d g e — not the drop of s a n d y rock cliff b o n e s of volcanic earth into Albuquerque.

5

io

15

20

25

WHITE BEAR

/

2835

N o t that, but a string of s h a d o w h o r s e s kicking a n d pulling m e o u t of my belly, not into the Rio G r a n d e but into the m u s i c barely c o m i n g t h r o u g h S u n d a y c h u r c h singing from the radio. Battery worn-down but the voices talking b a c k w a r d s .

30

1983

White Bear S h e b e g i n s to b o a r d the flight to A l b u q u e r q u e . L a t e night. B u t s t o p s in the c o r r u g a t e d tunnel, a s p a c e b e t w e e n leaving a n d staying, w h e r e the night sky c a t c h e s

5

her w h o l e life she has felt like a w o m a n b a l a n c i n g on a w o o d e n nickle heart a p p r o a c h i n g herself from here to there, T u l s a or N e w York with knives or corn m e a l . T h e last flight s o m e o n e talked a b o u t how c o m i n g from S e a t t l e the pilot flew a circle over M t . S t . H e l e n s ; 1 s h e sat quiet. ( B u t h a d s e e n the eruption as the earth b e g i n n i n g to c o m e a p a r t , a s in birth out of violence.) S h e w a t c h e s the yellow lights of towns below the airplane flicker, fade a n d fall b a c k w a r d s . S o m e w h e r e , s h e d r e a m e d , there is the white b e a r moving d o w n from the north, m o t i o n i n g her p a w s like a long arctic night, that kind of circle a n d the w h o l e world b a l a n c e d in b e t w e e n carved of e b o n y a n d ice

10

is

20

25

oh s o hard the clear black nights like her d a u g h t e r ' s eyes, a n d the white 1. A volcanic peak in Washington State; it erupted in 1980.

30

2836

/

ALBERTO

RIOS

b e a r m o o n , c u p p e d like a n ivory rocking c r a d l e , tipping b a c k it c o u l d go either way all d a r k n e s s is o p e n to all light.

35 1983

From

She Had Some Horses 1 III.

Drowning

Horses

S h e says s h e is g o i n g to kill herself. I a m a t h o u s a n d miles away. Listening. T o her voice in an o c e a n of t e l e p h o n e s o u n d . G r e y sky a n d nearly s u n d o w n ; I don't a s k her how. I a m already familiar with the w e a p o n s : a r e s t a u r a n t that wouldn't serve her, the thinnest laughter, a n o t h e r drink. A n d even if I weren't c l o s e r to the cliff e d g e of the talking wire, I would still be a n o t h e r mirror, another running horse. H e r e s c a p e is my o w n . I tell her, yes. Yes. W e ride out for b r e a t h over the d i s t a n c e . Night air a p p r o a c h e s , the g a l l o p i n g other-life.

5

io

is

No sound. No sound. 1983 1. A s e q u e n c e of five poems, the third of which is presented here.

ALBERTO b.

RIOS

1952

The poet Rita Dove once recalled in an interview W. E. B. Du Bois's remark on the "second sight that comes from having to live in two different cultures." As a Latino whose heritage includes Spanish and English, Alberto Rios often writes poems possessed of literal second sight. His work gives us magical and poetic ways of understanding the world, like his grandmother's account of the nature of scorpions in "Advice to a First Cousin," where a knowledge inaccessible in books is transmitted. "The way the world works is like this," the poem begins. In Rios's best poems we feel both that anything can happen and that everything has happened before; we hear a

MADRE SOFIA

/

2837

particular voice whose rhythms recall stories passed from generation to generation. Rios has said of his background, "My father, born in southern Mexico, and my mother, born in England, gave me a language-rich, story-fat upbringing." He was born in Nogales, Arizona (on the border of Mexico), and earned an M.F.A. at the University of Arizona. He has worked on the Arizona Commission on the Arts and presently is on the faculty of Arizona State University in Tempe. His first book, Whispering to Fool the Wind (1982), won the Walt Whitman Award. He has since published Five Indiscretions

(1985), The Lime

Orchard

Women

(1989), and Teodora

Luna's

Two

Kisses (1990). Not surprising for a poet with his gifts, he has also published two volumes of fiction, The Iguana

Killer:

Twelve

Stories

of the Heart

(1984) and The

curtain of Trees (1999). Ribs is a talented teller of stories, whose poems often suggest oral traditions, including Spanish ballads. For him, stories are forms of remembering and means of understanding; they honor the claims of dream and fact, past and present. Whether he is writing with humorous self-awareness about a childhood visit to a fortune-teller ("Madre Sofia") or rendering the unbearable reality behind the newspaper accounts of those among the "disappeared" (in Taking Away the Name of a Nephew), the details of his poems accumulate to reveal a startling sense of the world. At times, however, the story the poem tells must overcome too predictable uses of the line. If Rios's magical sense of the world sometimes yields too easily to the surreal, the pleasures of his poems often lie in their fluid movement between layers of reality, their deft integration of the factual and fantastic. Given Rios's sense of the possibilities in language, the epigraph for his first book, taken from the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, is especially fitting: "You see there are in our countries rivers which have no names, trees which nobody knows, and birds which nobody has described. . . . Our duty, then, as we understand it, is to express what is unheard of." Flavored with the music of Spanish and English, Rios's poems create a new landscape: a contemporary America beneath which lives an older way of life and the country of the imagination we discover in genuine poems.

Madre Sofia 1 M y m o t h e r took m e b e c a u s e s h e couldn't wait t h e s e c o n d ten years to know. T h i s w a s t h e lady r u m o r e d to have b e e n r e s p o n s i b l e for t h e box-wrapped b a b y a m o n g t h e p r e s e n t s at that w e d d i n g , b u t w e went in, anyway, t h r o u g h t h e c u r t a i n s . L o o s e j a r - t o p , half t u r n e d a n d not c a u g h t properly in t h e t h r e a d s her h e a d s a t m i m i c k i n g its original intention like t h e smile of a child hitting himself. C e n t r a l in that h e a d grew unfamiliar p o p p i e s from a f a c e m a h o g a n y , eyes half yellow half gray at t h e s a m e t i m e , goat a n d fog, slit eyes o f the devil, his tweed suit, r e d lips, a n d s h e s m e l l e d of s m o k e , c i g a r e t t e s , b u t a d i a m o n d s m o k e , s o m e h o w ; I inhaled

1. Mother Sofia (Spanish). Sofia derives from the Greek word meaning "wisdom."

5

10

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ALBERTO

Rfos

sparkles, I c o u l d feel t h e m , throat, s t o m a c h . S h e did not s p e a k , a n d a s a child I c o u l d only answer, s o that together we were silent, cold a n d w e t , dry a n d hard: from b e h i n d my m o t h e r p u s h e d m e forward. T h e lady p u t her h a n d on t h e face of a thin a n i m a l w r a p , t o s s i n g that h e a d b e h i n d her to b e p r e s s u r e d incredibly as s h e sat b a c k in t h e h u g e chair a n d l e a n e d . And then I saw the b r e a s t s a s large a s her h e a d , folded together, c o m i n g o u t o f her d r e s s a s if it didn't fit, not like my m o t h e r ' s . I c o u l d s e e t h e m , h o w s h e kept t h e m p e n n e d u p , leisurely, in m a r o o n feed b a g s , h o r s e nuzzles of her wide body, but exquisitely p e n n e d u p circled by pearl reins a n d red s c a r v e s . S h e lifted her a r m , b u t only with t h e tips of her fingers m o t i o n e d m e to sit o p p o s i t e . S h e looked at m e b u t s p o k e to my m o t h e r words dark, s m o k y like t h e small r o o m , w o r d s c o m i n g like red a n t s s t e p p i n g o c c a s i o n a l l y from a hole on a s u m m e r day in t h e valley, red ants from her m o u t h , her n o s e , her e a r s , tears from t h e c o r n e r s of her c i n c h e d eyes. A n d s u d d e n l y s h e p u t her h a n d full on my h e a d p i n c h i n g tight again with t h o s e finger tips like a television healer, y o u n g Oral R o b e r t s half s t a n d i n g , quickly, half l e a n i n g t h o s e b r e a s t s swinging toward m e so that I r e a c h with both my h a n d s to my l a p protecting instinctively whatever it is that n e e d s protection w h e n a b a s e b a l l is thrown a n d you're not looking b u t s o m e o n e yells, the h a n d , then t h o s e b r e a s t s c o m i n g toward m e like t h e q u a r t e r - a r m s of t h e a m p u t e e J o a q u i n who c a m e b a c k from t h e w a r to sit in the park, r e a c h i n g always for children until o n e day h e h a d to b e held b a c k . I sat t h e r e , n o b r e a t h , a n d c o u l d s e e only hair a r o u n d her left nipple, like a m a n . H e r c l o t h e s were o l d . A c c e n t e d , in a l a n g u a g e w h o s e s p i n e h a d b e e n s n a p p e d , s h e w h i s p e r e d t h e w o r d s of a city witch, a n d m a d e m e happy, alive like a m a n : The future

will

make

you

tall.

20

io

411

A D V I C E TO A F I R S T C O U S I N

/

2839

Wet C a m p W e have b e e n here before, but we are lost. T h e earth is black a n d the trees are bent a n d broken a n d piled as if the g a m e of pick-up-sticks were ready a n d the children hiding, waiting their u s e l e s s t u r n s . T h e west b a n k of the river is b u r n e d a n d the S a n t a C r u z 1 has p o u r e d onto it. T h e grit brown p o n d s sit like dirty lilies in the black. T h e afternoon is g o n e grazing over the thin m o u n t a i n s . T h e night is colder here without leaves. N o t h i n g holds u p the sky.

s

10

1982

Advice to a First Cousin T h e way the world works is like this: for the bite of s c o r p i o n s , she says, my g r a n d m o t h e r to my first c o u s i n , b e c a u s e I might die a n d s o m e o n e m u s t know, go to the a n i m a l j a r the o n e with the s o u p of green h e r b s mixed with the s c o r p i o n s I have b e e n p u t t i n g in still alive. T a k e o n e out p u t it on the bite. It has had time to think there with the o t h e r s — p u t the lid b a c k t i g h t — a n d knows that a biting is not the way to win a finger or a y o u n g girl's foot. It will take b a c k into itself the hurting the r e d n e s s a n d the itching a n d its m a r k s . B u t the world works like this, too: look out for the next s c o r p i o n you s e e , s h e says, a n d m a k e s a big f a c e to s c a r e m e thereby instructing my c o u s i n , look out! for o n e of the scorpion's m a n y illegitimate a n d u n h a p p y s o n s . It will b e s m a r t e r , m o r e of the devil. It will have lived longer than t h e s e d e a d o n e s . It will know from t h e m s o m e t h i n g m o r e a b o u t the world, in the way m o t h e r s know w h e n s o m e t h i n g h a p p e n s to a child, or how I k n e w from your s a d n e s s you h a d b e e n bitten. 1. River in southern Arizona.

5

II)

15

20

25

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ALBERTO Rios It will learn s o m e t h i n g stronger than biting. L o o k o u t m o s t for that s c o r p i o n , she says, m a k i n g a big f a c e to s c a r e m e again a n d it works I g o — c r y i n g — s h e lets m e g o — t h e y l a u g h , the way you m u s t look o u t for m e n w h o have not yet b r u i s e d you.

30

1985

Domingo Limon In high school I h a d a friend Like you h a d a friend, T h e kind s i n c e first g r a d e , T h e kind you c o u l d c o u n t on N o t o n e way or the other, J u s t always to b e there, O n e m o r e n a m e in the m o r n i n g , S o m e b o d y we would have m i s s e d T h e way we would have b e e n m i s s e d If w e h a d not c o m e . Domingo Limon. Sunday Lemon. You don't forget a n a m e like that. M i n g o rode his f a c e tractor-like D o w n the furrow of years O u r growing u p took. H e kept his f a c e to the g r o u n d , H e kept his eyes to the g r o u n d . H e might have grown taller If h e h a d looked u p . If h e h a d looked u p . T h a t ' s all. After high s c h o o l h e grew the g o a t e e . W e s a w what it m e a n t Even if we couldn't say. In that s t r a p of hair T h e r e w a s a cruel u n d e r s t a n d i n g If o n e looked hard e n o u g h : T h e g o a t e e w a s a s i m p l e rudder. T h a t ' s what high school g a v e h i m . A way to m o v e .

DOMINGO LIMON

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2841

T h a t w a s high school on his chin. T h a t line w a s all of u s . It w a s a small m a p , A g a t h e r i n g of m e r i d i a n s , b r a i d e d , Descriptive of how to stand straight In the s a n d a n d the water, a n d a m o n g the rocks.

35

H e c o u l d not have s p o k e n His r e a s o n s for growing the g o a t e e , T h e s a m e way we c o u l d not u n d e r s t a n d . B u t it s p o k e for itself, T h i s hair h e put first toward the world T h e r e on a putting-out of his c h i n . W h e n h e s m i l e d with his teeth It was the b e g i n n i n g of the voyage e a c h t i m e , H i s teeth like ivory t h u m b s

41)

4S

Hitch-hiking t h e m s e l v e s toward s o m e a d v e n t u r e , H i s teeth the m a n y tusks W o r n off a single e l e p h a n t W h o would not b e s t o p p e d W h o c a m e b a c k to the two holes of the g u n , T h e two holes of his own nostrils,

so

B e c a u s e h o w else d o e s a r u d d e r lead but straight, A n d what a g o o d s o n g of a r u d d e r T h a t hair below his lip w a s , T h a t b l a c k thing T h a t kept him g o i n g B u t w o u l d not let him s t o p . It w a s a r u d d e r a n d a s o n g both A n d together they m a d e a motor. A d d e d to his body it let him be a boat,

55

60

H i s white a n d yellow a n d brown teeth N o w a m o u t h f u l of w o m e n at the prow, T h e s e t e e t h - w o m e n f a c i n g e a c h other In the a n g u l a r , c o m f o r t a b l e way they did, of loose c o n v e r s a t i o n , D a n c i n g a sandunga' T h e hardy rhythm of b l u e risk.

1. An Afro-Cuban dance.

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T h o s e w o m e n w h o were his s m i l e T h e y let him m o v e away from the s h o r e . T h i s s m i l e a n d the g o a t e e that started him T h e y sailed him fully from t h e s h o r e l i n e , T h a t g o a t e e b e c o m i n g a leg T h a t p u s h e d him from the d o c k . It p u s h e d him far a n d it took him farther B u t no o n e knows w h e r e . It w a s not o n o u r m a p .

70

"?

W e don't know the d e a t h T o w a r d w h i c h a r u d d e r like that e a s e s a boy W h o j u s t looked like a m a n , A boy who w a s after all the e l e p h a n t , N o t j u s t the ivory. H e was the e l e p h a n t

so

A n d the b o a t to get u s to t h e e l e p h a n t s , A n d the r u d d e r t o o . T h e boy w h o w a s everything J u s t small. N o t h i n g l o u d . H e w a s the hero And the story itself a s well T h e way in third g r a d e he s a i d he w a s T h o u g h we l a u g h e d b e c a u s e we didn't u n d e r s t a n d W h e n he talked to himself.

ss

so

B u t he w a s t h e hero a n d the story a n d u s . A n d all w e c o u l d do w a s w a t c h . H e h a d no w o r d s to tell u s w h a t w e saw. H e knew we c o u l d not know. It w a s a p l o u g h , finally, T h a t g o a t e e , that b l a d e into the e a r t h .

95

H e k n e w we c o u l d not hold a g a i n s t o u r lips T h e e d g e of the p l o w S t e e l on the h i p - b o n e T e a r i n g u p everything, T h e w h o l e body u n d e r it. I still s e e it, M i n g o .

100

1996

2843

CATHY b.

SONG

1955

In many of Cathy Song's poems, a particular moment or event becomes a window through which we enter a field of vision. "What frames the view," she has written, "is the mind in the diamond pinpoint light of concentration tunneling into memory, Windows, released by the imagination." As the title of her second book, Frameless Squares of Light, suggests, Song's poems capture the way a warm afternoon, a childhood Easter, a picnic in the park, are openings for memory and reflection. The visual quality of her poems can suggest a photograph or painting, and she herself feels a connection between her work and that of the Japanese printmaker Kitagawa Utamaro and the American painter Georgia O'Keeffe. Her first book, Picture Bride (1983), contains a number of poems inspired by the work of these artists. Writing, in "Beauty and Sadness," of the way Utamaro's prints rendered "Teahouse waitresses, actresses, / geishas, courtesans and maids" in "their fleeting loveliness," Song suggests that the artist and poet capture the moment, knowing that it is always dissolving. Song's first book was chosen by Richard Hugo for the Yale Younger Poets series. In the title poem, "Picture Bride," she comes as close as imagination allows to the experience of her grandmother, who, the poem implies, was chosen as a bride from a photograph and summoned from Korea to Hawaii. But Song is also aware of the limits of imaginative identification and the difficulty of knowing the full truth of the past. She respects the mystery of another's identity. The grandmother in "Picture Bride," the woman in "Lost Sister," the mother in "Humble Jar," and the geishas painted by Utamaro possess a privacy that the poet discloses but cannot fully enter. Song's tactful sense of both the power and the limits of imagination is one of her distinctive marks as a poet. She was born in Honolulu, Hawaii, and grew up in Wahiawa, a small town on the island of Oahu. The setting of sugar cane fields, of island life where "the sound of the ocean / could be heard through the ironwoods" ("Waialaua"), and of the rain that comes "even when the sun was shining" ("A Pale Arrangement of Hands"), is central to her work. That landscape belongs to her present but also evokes her childhood and the memory of another, more distant landscape—the Asia of her ancestors. Many of Song's poems render the mysteries of what she has called "familial and personal ties; lives overlapping," and her sense of these ties extends backward to ancestors as well as forward to her own children. She began her college education at the University of Hawaii and then attended Wellesley College. After her graduation from Wellesley, she received an M.A. in creative writing from Boston University and has since taught creative writing at a number of colleges and universities. Her third collection of poems, School Figures, appeared in 1994 and a subsequent volume, The Land of Bliss, in 2001. Song's ability to write about her own or another's experience as an acute observer may have to do with her multicultural background, which often places her on the boundary of what she sees. Her capacity to let the power of observation give rise to feeling recalls at times the work of Elizabeth Bishop and also suggests Song's resemblance to the Utamaro of her poem "Beauty and Sadness," whose "invisible presence / one feels in these prints." At other times Song writes about herself more directly. She has, for example, deftly rendered the erotic nature of her own experience: "But there is this slow arousal. / The small buttons / of my cotton blouse / are pulling away from my body" ("The White Porch"). The careful composition of her poems, with their vivid detail, blend the accidental and spontaneous quality of life with the design of art, like the Japanese floral arrangement she describes in her poem "Ikebana." Although her work can sometimes seem too composed, too removed from the sharp impact of experience, her strongest poems balance a sense of tradition with a feel for contemporary life and catch in the patterns of art the transient instant: "the flicker of a dragonfly's delicate wing."

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The White Porch I wrap the blue towel after w a s h i n g , a r o u n d the d a m p weight of hair, bulky as a sleeping cat, a n d sit o u t o n the p o r c h . Still dripping water, it'll b e dry by s u p p e r , by the time the d u s t settles off your s h o e s , t h o u g h it's only five past noon. Think of the luxury: h o w to u s e the a f t e r n o o n like the stretch of lawn s p r e a d b e f o r e m e . T h e r e ' s the laundry, s u n - w a r m clothes at twilight, a n d the m o u n t a i n of b e a n s in my lap. E a c h o n e , I'll b r e a k a n d s n a p thoughtfully in half. B u t there is this slow a r o u s a l . T h e small b u t t o n s r

l 1

of my c o t t o n b l o u s e are p u l l i n g away from my body. I feel the strain of t h r e a d s , the swollen m a g n o l i a s heavy a s a flock of birds in the tree. Already, the o r a n g e s p o n g e c a k e is rising in the oven. I know you'll say it m a k e s your m o u t h dry a n d I'll w a t c h you d r e n c h your slice of it in c a n n e d p e a c h e s a n d lick the plate c l e a n . S o m u c h hair, my m o t h e r u s e d to say, g r a b b i n g the thick b r a i d e d r o p e in her h a n d s while we w a s h e d the b r e a k f a s t d i s h e s , d i s c u s s i n g dresses and pastries. M y m i n d often e l s e w h e r e a s we did the m o r n i n g c h o r e s together. S o m e t i m e s , a few s t r a n d s w o u l d c a t c h in her gold ring.

I worked hard t h e n , a n t i c i p a t i n g the h o u r w h e n I would let the rope d o w n at night, strips of s h e e t s , knotted a n d tied, while s h e slept in tight b l a n k e t s . M y hair, freshly w a s h e d like a m e a s u r e of wealth, like a bridal veil. C r o u c h i n g in the g r a s s , you would wait for the signal, for the m o v e m e n t of c u r t a i n s before releasing yourself from the s h a d o w of m o t h s . C l o t h , hair a n d h a n d s , s m u g g l i n g you in.

Lost Sister In C h i n a , even the p e a s a n t s n a m e d their first d a u g h t e r s Jade— the s t o n e that in the far fields c o u l d m o i s t e n the dry s e a s o n , could make men move mountains for the h e a l i n g g r e e n of the inner hills glistening like slices of winter m e l o n . And the d a u g h t e r s were grateful: they never left h o m e . T o m o v e freely w a s a luxury stolen from t h e m at birth. I n s t e a d , they g a t h e r e d p a t i e n c e , learning to walk in s h o e s the size of t e a c u p s , without b r e a k i n g — the arc of their m o v e m e n t s as d o r m a n t a s the rooted willow, as r e d u n d a n t a s the farmyard h e n s . B u t they traveled far in surviving, learning to stretch the family rice, to quiet the d e m o n s , the noisy s t o m a c h s .

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SONG

T h e r e is a sister a c r o s s the o c e a n , who r e l i n q u i s h e d her n a m e , diluting j a d e green with the b l u e of the Pacific. Rising with a tide of l o c u s t s , s h e s w a r m e d with others to i n u n d a t e a n o t h e r s h o r e . In A m e r i c a , there are m a n y roads a n d w o m e n c a n stride a l o n g with m e n . B u t in a n o t h e r w i l d e r n e s s , the possibilities, the l o n e l i n e s s , c a n s t r a n g u l a t e like j u n g l e vines. T h e m e a g e r provisions a n d s e n t i m e n t s of o n c e b e l o n g i n g — f e r m e n t e d roots, M a h - J o n g g 1 tiles a n d firecrackers— set but a flimsy h o u s e h o l d in a forest of nightless cities. A giant s n a k e rattles a b o v e , s p e w i n g black c l o u d s into your kitchen. D o u g h - f a c e d landlords slip in a n d out of your keyholes, m a k i n g c l a i m s you don't u n d e r s t a n d , t a p p i n g into your c o m m u n i c a t i o n s y s t e m s of laundry lines a n d r e s t a u r a n t c h a i n s . You find you n e e d C h i n a : your o n e fragile identification, a j a d e link h a n d c u f f e d to your wrist. You r e m e m b e r your m o t h e r w h o walked for c e n t u r i e s , footless— a n d like her, you have left no footprints, but only b e c a u s e there is an o c e a n in b e t w e e n , the u n r e m i t t i n g s p a c e of your rebellion. 1983

I. A game of C h i n e s e origins.

HEAVEN

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2847

Heaven H e thinks w h e n we die we'll go to C h i n a . T h i n k of i t — a C h i n e s e heaven w h e r e , except for his blond hair, the part that b e l o n g s to his father, everyone will look like him. C h i n a , that blue flower on the m a p , bluer than the s e a his h a n d m u s t s p a n like a bridge to r e a c h it. An octave away. I've never s e e n it. It's a s if I can't sing that far. But l o o k on the m a p , this black dot. H e r e is where we live, on the p a n c a k e plains j u s t e a s t of the R o c k i e s , on the other side of the c l o u d s . A mile a b o v e the s e a , the air is s o thin, you c a n starve on it. N o b a m b o o trees but the alpine equivalent, reedy a s p e n with light, fluttering leaves. Did a boy in G u a n g z h o u 1 d r e a m of this a s his last s t o p ? I've h e a r d the trains at night whistling p a s t our yards, what we've c o m e to o w n , the broken f e n c e s , the whiny dog, the rattletrap c a r s . It's still the wild west, m e a n a n d grubby, the s h o o t o u t s a n d fistfights in the b a c k alley. With my son the d r e a m e r a n d my d a u g h t e r , w h o is too y o u n g to walk, I've sat in this spot a n d w o n d e r e d why here? Why in this short life, this town, this c r e e k they call a river? H e had never p l a n n e d to stay, the boy who helped to build the railroads for a dollar a d a y . 2 H e had always m e a n t to go b a c k . W h e n did he finally know 1. Or Canton, seaport city in southeastern China. 2. T h e C h i n e s e provided much of the cheap labor

that laid the tracks of the transcontinental railroads in the 19th century.

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LI-YOUNG L E E

that e a c h m i l e of track led him further away, that he w o u l d die in his s l e e p , dispossessed, having s e e n G o l d M o u n t a i n , the icy wind t u n n e l i n g t h r o u g h it, t h e s e l a n d l o c k e d , makeshift g h o s t t o w n s ? It m u s t b e in the b l o o d , this notion of returning. It s k i p p e d two g e n e r a t i o n s , lay fallow, the g a r d e n a n u n m a r k e d grave. O n a spring s w e a t e r day it's a s if we r e m e m b e r h i m . I call to the children. W e c a n s e e the m o u n t a i n s s h i m m e r i n g b l u e a b o v e the air. If you look really hard says my son the d r e a m e r , l e a n i n g o u t from the laundry's rigging, the work shirts fluttering like sails, you c a n s e e all the way to h e a v e n .

ss

60

1988

LI-YOUNG b.

LEE

1957

In his poem "Persimmons" Li-Young Lee remembers his father saying, "Some things never leave a person." Many of the poems in Lee's two books, Rose (1986) and The City in Which I Love You (1990), testify to a sense of the past, especially his father's past, which never leaves Lee. The figure of the father in Lee's poems is both personal and mythic; it is he who instructs the poet-son in "the art of memory." Lee's father, born in China, served as a personal physician to Mao Tse-tung. He later was jailed for nineteen months, a political prisoner of the Indonesian dictator Sukarno. Lee was born in Jakarta, Indonesia. In 1959 the family fled Indonesia and traveled in the Far East (Hong Kong, Macao, and Japan), finally arriving in America, where Lee's father became a Presbyterian minister in a small town in western Pennsylvania. Many of Lee's poems seek to remember and understand his father's life and to come to terms with Lee's own differences from that powerful figure. Lee's work reminds us of the ancient connections between the arts of memory and poetry. In his work, memory is often sweet; it draws the poet to the past even when, as in "Eating Alone," that sweetness is as dizzying as the juice of a rotten pear in which a hornet spins. But memory can also be a burden, and its pull is countered in Lee's work by a sensuous apprehension of the present. As in his poem "This Room and Everything in It," the erotic immediacy of the moment can disrupt any effort to fix that moment in the orders of memory. Everywhere in Lee's work is the evidence of all the senses: hearing, taste, smell, and touch as much as sight. If the poet's bodily presence in the world recalls Walt Whitman, Lee's fluid motion between the physical

PERSIMMONS

/

2849

world and the domain of memory, dream, or vision also carries out Whitman's visionary strain and links Lee to the work of Theodore Roethke, James Wright, and Denise Levertov, among others. The intensity of Lee's poems, however, is often leavened by a subtle and winning humor and playfulness; such qualities are especially valuable in a poet at times too easily seduced by beauty. Lee studied at the University of Pittsburgh (where one of his teachers was the poet Gerald Stern), the University of Arizona, and the State University of New York College at Brockport. He has since taught at various universities. In 1995 he published a prose memoir, The Winged Seed: A Remembrance. Both Lee's deep sense of connection between an individual life and a powerful past and his ability to move between plain speech and a lushness evocative of biblical language have enriched contemporary American poetry.

Persimmons In sixth g r a d e M r s . W a l k e r s l a p p e d t h e b a c k of m y h e a d a n d m a d e m e s t a n d in t h e c o r n e r for not knowing t h e difference b e t w e e n -persimmon

and

precision.

H o w to c h o o s e p e r s i m m o n s . T h i s is precision. Ripe o n e s a r e soft a n d brown-spotted. Sniff t h e b o t t o m s . T h e sweet o n e will b e fragrant. H o w to e a t : put the knife away, lay d o w n n e w s p a p e r . Peel t h e skin tenderly, not to tear t h e m e a t . C h e w t h e skin, s u c k it, a n d swallow. N o w , e a t the m e a t of t h e fruit, so sweet, all of it, to t h e heart. D o n n a u n d r e s s e s , h e r s t o m a c h is white. In the yard, dewy a n d shivering with crickets, w e lie n a k e d , f a c e - u p , face-down. I teach her Chinese. C r i c k e t s : chiu chiu. D e w : I've forgotten. N a k e d : I've forgotten. Ni, wo: you a n d m e . I part h e r legs, r e m e m b e r to tell h e r s h e is beautiful a s t h e m o o n . Other words that got m e into trouble were fight

a n d fright,

wren

and

yarn.

5

10

5

JO

30

2850

/

LI-YOUNG L E E

F i g h t w a s what I did when I w a s frightened, fright w a s what I felt w h e n I w a s fighting. W r e n s are small, plain birds, yarn is what o n e knits with. W r e n s are soft a s yarn. M y m o t h e r m a d e birds o u t of yarn. I loved to w a t c h h e r tie t h e stuff; a bird, a rabbit, a w e e m a n . M r s . W a l k e r b r o u g h t a p e r s i m m o n to c l a s s a n d c u t it u p s o everyone c o u l d taste a Chinese

apple.

Knowing

it wasn't ripe or sweet, I didn't e a t but I w a t c h e d t h e other f a c e s . M y m o t h e r said every p e r s i m m o n h a s a s u n inside, s o m e t h i n g g o l d e n , glowing, w a r m a s my f a c e . O n c e , in the cellar, I f o u n d two w r a p p e d in n e w s p a p e r , forgotten a n d not yet ripe. I took t h e m a n d s e t both o n my b e d r o o m windowsill, w h e r e e a c h m o r n i n g a cardinal s a n g , The sun, the sun. Finally u n d e r s t a n d i n g h e w a s g o i n g blind, my father sat u p all o n e night waiting for a s o n g , a g h o s t . I gave h i m t h e p e r s i m m o n s , swelled, heavy a s s a d n e s s , a n d sweet a s love. T h i s year, in t h e m u d d y lighting of m y p a r e n t s ' cellar, I r u m m a g e , looking for s o m e t h i n g I lost. M y father sits o n t h e tired, w o o d e n stairs, black c a n e b e t w e e n his k n e e s , h a n d over h a n d , gripping t h e h a n d l e . H e ' s s o h a p p y that I've c o m e h o m e . I a s k how his eyes a r e , a stupid q u e s t i o n . All gone, h e a n s w e r s . U n d e r s o m e b l a n k e t s , I find a box. Inside the box I find three scrolls. I sit b e s i d e h i m a n d untie three p a i n t i n g s by my father: H i b i s c u s leaf a n d a white flower. Two cats preening. T w o p e r s i m m o n s , s o full they want to drop from t h e cloth.

EATING ALONE

/

285 1

H e raises both h a n d s to t o u c h the cloth, a s k s , Which

is

this?

This

is persimmons,

Oh,

the feel

of the wolftail

the strength,

in the

I painted

them

eyes closed. scent

the texture in your

of

palm,

of

times

I painted

never

of the hair

so

wrist. hundreds

These

things

on the silk,

tense

the

precision

Some

Father.

leave

of one

blind.

a person: you

ss

love,

persimmons, the ripe

weight.

1986

Eating Alone I've pulled the last of the year's y o u n g o n i o n s . T h e g a r d e n is bare now. T h e g r o u n d is cold, brown a n d old. W h a t is left of the day flames in the m a p l e s at the corner of my eye. I turn, a cardinal v a n i s h e s . By the cellar door, I w a s h the o n i o n s , then drink from the icy metal spigot. O n c e , years back, I walked b e s i d e my father a m o n g the windfall p e a r s . I can't recall our words. W e may have strolled in s i l e n c e . B u t I still see him b e n d that way—left h a n d b r a c e d on k n e e , c r e a k y — t o lift a n d hold to my eye a rotten pear. In it, a hornet s p u n crazily, glazed in slow, glistening j u i c e . It w a s my father I saw this m o r n i n g waving to m e from the trees. I a l m o s t called to him, until I c a m e c l o s e e n o u g h to s e e the shovel, l e a n i n g w h e r e I h a d left it, in the flickering, d e e p green s h a d e . W h i t e rice s t e a m i n g , a l m o s t d o n e . S w e e t g r e e n p e a s fried in o n i o n s . S h r i m p braised in s e s a m e oil a n d garlic. And my own l o n e l i n e s s . W h a t m o r e could I, a y o u n g m a n , w a n t .

5

10

is

20

1986

2852

/

LI-YOUNG

LEE

Eating Together In the s t e a m e r is the trout s e a s o n e d with slivers of ginger, two sprigs of green o n i o n , a n d s e s a m e oil. W e shall e a t it with rice for l u n c h , b r o t h e r s , sister, my m o t h e r w h o will taste the s w e e t e s t m e a t of the h e a d , holding it b e t w e e n her fingers deftly, the way my father did w e e k s a g o . T h e n h e lay d o w n to s l e e p like a snow-covered r o a d winding t h r o u g h p i n e s older than h i m , without any travelers, a n d lonely for n o o n e . 1986

This Room and Everything in It L i e still n o w while I p r e p a r e for my future, certain hard days a h e a d , w h e n I'll n e e d what I know s o clearly this m o m e n t . I am making use of the o n e thing I learned of all the things my father tried to t e a c h m e : the art of m e m o r y . I a m letting this r o o m a n d everything in it s t a n d for my i d e a s a b o u t love a n d its difficulties. I'll let your love-cries, those spacious notes of a m o m e n t a g o , s t a n d for d i s t a n c e . Your s c e n t , that s c e n t of s p i c e a n d a w o u n d , I'll let s t a n d for mystery. Your s u n k e n belly is the daily c u p of milk I d r a n k a s a boy before m o r n i n g prayer.

5

10

15

20

T H I S R O O M AND E V E R Y T H I N G IN I T

/

T h e s u n on the f a c e of the wall is G o d , the f a c e I can't s e e , my soul, a n d s o o n , e a c h thing s t a n d i n g for a s e p a r a t e i d e a , a n d t h o s e i d e a s f o r m i n g the constellation of my greater idea. A n d o n e day, w h e n I n e e d to tell myself s o m e t h i n g intelligent a b o u t love,

2853

25

30

35

I'll c l o s e my eyes a n d recall this r o o m a n d everything in it: M y body is e s t r a n g e m e n t . T h i s desire, perfection. Your c l o s e d eyes my extinction. N o w I've forgotten my idea. T h e b o o k on the windowsill, riffled by wind . . . the e v e n - n u m b e r e d p a g e s are the p a s t , the oddn u m b e r e d p a g e s , the future. T h e s u n is

40

45

G o d , your body is milk . . . useless, useless . . . your cries are s o n g , my body's not m e . . . n o g o o d . . . my idea h a s e v a p o r a t e d . . . your hair is t i m e , your thighs are s o n g . . . it h a d s o m e t h i n g to do with d e a t h . . . it h a d s o m e t h i n g to do with love.

50

1990 55

Selected Bibliograp hies A v a l u a b l e r e s o u r c e for bibliographical a n d other r e s e a r c h i n f o r m a t i o n a b o u t Guide: A Guide A m e r i c a n literature is J a m e s L. H a r n e r ' s Literary Research to Reference

Sources

for the Study

of Literatures

in English

and Related

Top-

ics, 4 t h e d . ( 1 9 9 3 ) , now u p d a t e d o n l i n e . F o r study o f A m e r i c a n literature to 1 8 2 0 , a n d for t h e 1 8 2 0 - 1 8 6 5 period, t h e b e s t h a n d b o o k is C l a r e n c e G o h d e s a n d S a n f o r d E . M a r o v i t z ' s Bibliographical U . S . A . , 5th e d . ( 1 9 8 4 ) . In American

Guide

Literature:

to the Literature

A Study

and Research

of

the Guide

( 1 9 7 6 ) , L e w i s L e a r y with J o h n A u c h a r d d u p l i c a t e s s o m e of the c a t e g o r i e s in G o h d e s ' s book, b u t t h e pithy e v a l u a t i o n s of the works m e n t i o n e d a r e helpful; Leary also provides a n interesting "History of t h e S t u d y a n d T e a c h i n g o f A m e r i c a n L i t e r a t u r e . " Relatively few i t e m s on t h e s e periods a r e listed in Robert C . S c h w e i k a n d Dieter Riesner's Reference Sources in English and American

Literature:

An Annotated

( 1 9 7 7 ) , b u t t h o s e few a r e

Bibliography

helpfully a n n o t a t e d . T h e 1 9 9 8 Encyclopedia of the Novel, e d i t e d by P a u l S c h e l l i n g e r et al., i n c l u d e s e s s a y s o n t h e novel in colonial A m e r i c a a n d t h e U n i t e d S t a t e s : William J . S c h e i c k on t h e e i g h t e e n t h century, J o s e p h A l k a n a on 1 8 0 0 - 1 8 5 0 , a n d David Kirby on 1 8 5 0 - 1 9 0 0 . T h r e e additional reference works warrant m e n t i o n : J a m e s D . H a r t a n d Phillip L e n i n g e r ' s Oxford J a c k S a l t z m a n ' s The

Companion

Cambridge

to American

Handbook

6th ed. ( 1 9 9 5 ) ;

Literature,

of American

Literature

(1986);

a n d the discursive bibliographical s u p p l e m e n t s to R o b e r t Spiller et al.'s Literary

History

of the United

Clifford N a u l t J r . ' s Annals

States,

4th ed. ( 1 9 7 4 ) . Richard M . Ludwig and

of American

Literature,

1602-1983

( 1 9 8 6 ) is a

useful v o l u m e for locating m a j o r works in their cultural c o n t e x t s . T h e a n n u a l a n d invaluable American Literary Scholarship (also online) provides critical c o m m e n t a r y on a wide range of scholarly books a n d articles ( i n c l u d i n g refe r e n c e works) on A m e r i c a n literature p u b l i s h e d e a c h year in t h e U n i t e d States and abroad. T w o v o l u m e s for which E m o r y Elliott served a s general editor offer c u r r e n t views of A m e r i c a n literary history: The Columbia Literary History of the United

States

( 1 9 8 8 ) a n d The

Columbia

History

of the American

Novel

( 1 9 9 1 ) . J a y Parini's The Columbia History of American Poetry ( 1 9 9 3 ) is a m b i tious b u t i n c o m p l e t e . T h e o n g o i n g , eight-volume Cambridge History of American Literature ( S a c v a n Bercovitch, general editor) a d d r e s s e s n o t only traditional literary g e n r e s a n d p e r i o d s , but is s e l f - c o n s c i o u s l y c o n c e r n e d with literary theory a n d criticism a s well a s recently e m e r g e n t g e n r e s a n d c o n tributors to literature a s a form o f cultural p r o d u c t i o n . A m o n g o n e - v o l u m e reference works a r e t h e Cambridge Guide to American Theatre ( 1 9 6 6 ) , edited by D o n B . W i l m e t h ; t h e Oxford

Companion

e d i t e d by G e r a l d B o r d m a n ; a n d t h e Oxford

to American Companion

Theatre

(1984),

to Women's

Writing

in the United States ( 1 9 9 5 ) , edited by C a t h y N . D a v i d s o n a n d L i n d a W a g n e r of M a r t i n . N e w v o l u m e s regularly a p p e a r to s u p p l e m e n t t h e vast Dictionary 2855

2856

Literary

/

SELECTED

Biography,

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

a n d S c r i b n e r ' s c o n t i n u e s to p u b l i s h s u p p l e m e n t a l vol-

u m e s to its e x c e l l e n t American

Writers:

A Collection

of Literary

Biographies

( 1 9 7 4 — ) . M o r e specialized r e f e r e n c e works d e v o t e d to g e n r e , g e n d e r , ethnicity, r a c e , region, a n d m o v e m e n t s ( a m o n g other t o p i c s ) have b e e n g a m e l y trying to k e e p p a c e with t h e rapid proliferation of what is A m e r i c a n a n d what is literary in A m e r i c a n literature a n d c u l t u r e . S e e , for e x a m p l e , William L. A n d r e w s , F r a n c e s S m i t h F o s t e r , a n d T r u d i e r Harris's excellent Oxford Companion

to African

American

Literature

(1996).

S t u d e n t s o f A m e r i c a n literature s h o u l d b e a w a r e that n e w p a p e r b a c k editions of c a n o n i c a l a n d newly r e c o v e r e d works often c o n t a i n , a s d o N o r t o n Critical E d i t i o n s , useful i n t r o d u c t i o n s , b a c k g r o u n d m a t e r i a l , a n d c r i t i c i s m . A n u m b e r o f p u b l i s h e r s s u c h a s T w a y n e a n d C a m b r i d g e University P r e s s have o n g o i n g series on individual a u t h o r s a n d / o r works. P r o c e e d i n g s of c o n ferences on authors, periods, genre, and specialized topics are frequently p u b l i s h e d . Dissertation

Abstracts

International

a n d the often-invoked

MLA

a n n u a l bibliography will provide i n f o r m a t i o n on u n p u b l i s h e d s c h o l a r s h i p o n different p e r i o d s a n d their a u t h o r s . N e w s l e t t e r s d e v o t e d to s t u d i e s o f m a n y of t h e writers r e p r e s e n t e d here a r e p u b l i s h e d regularly. Finally, s t u d e n t s s h o u l d a l s o i n q u i r e into t h e a b u n d a n t — a n d often very u s e f u l — a u d i o - v i s u a l r e s o u r c e s for t h e study of A m e r i c a n writers, individual works, a n d intellectual c u r r e n t s . Increasingly t h e s e s u p p l e m e n t s a r e available on C D - R O M a n d on t h e W o r l d W i d e W e b a s well a s on a u d i o - a n d v i d e o c a s s e t t e s . A n excellent s o u r c e for video a n d C D - R O M d a t a is w w w . f a c e t s . c o m .

LITERATURE TO 1700 Few major studies address the great body of writings produced in various European languages, or codified in Native American ones, in the century following first contact; those that do concern themselves more with matters of context than With patterns of language. For the basic outline of European expansion westward, Discovery Samuel Eliot Morison's The European of America (1971—74), 2 vols., is useful. For North America, David Beers Quinn's thorough North America from Earliest Discovery to First Settlements (1977) and his England and the Discovery of America, 1481-1620 (1973) give

detailed narrative and analysis, as does Gary Nash's Red, White, and Black:

The People of

Early America (1974). Edmundo O'Gorman's of America (1961) insightful The Invention shifts the discussion away from the geographical discoveries of Renaissance Europe and toward the cultural responses that those discoveries called forth, a theme followed out as well in J. H. Elliot's brief The Old World and the New, 14921650 (1970) and in Stephen Greenblatt's Marvelous Possessions: Tlie Wonder of the New World

(1991). Roy Harvey Pearce's Savagism ilization:

and Civ-

A Study of the Indian and the American

Mind (1953; 1988) goes from 1609 to the midnineteenth-century and serves as an indispensable starting point for the literary impact of the

Native American on "the American mind." In a related vein, Alfred W. Crosby traces the biological exchanges between the hemispheres in his influential The Columbian Exchange: Biological and Cultural Consequences of 1492 (1972),

while Carl O. Sauer takes up the question of how the Caribbean was altered after 1492 in The Early Spanish Main (1966). A similar project is carried out for New England in William Cronon's excellent Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England

(1983); for the South, see Timothy Silver, A New Face on the Countryside: Indians, Colonists, and Slaves in the South Atlantic Forests, 1500-1800

(1990). Among books that deal with the verbal shape of the early documents, William Carlos Williams's In the American Grain (1925) gives brief but evocative guidance. Howard Mumford Jones places early American culture in the context of Renaissance Europe in O Strange New World: American Culture, the Formative Years (1964). In The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America (1964), Leo Marx

offers insightful readings of some Renaissance texts (such as Shakespeare's The Tempest) that reflect on the new lands suddenly opened to the Old World; responses to the New World (and a reading, again, of The Tempest) are considered

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

in Eric Cheyfitz's The Poetics

of

Imperialism:

Translation and Colonization from "The Tempest" to "Tarzan" ( 1 9 9 1 ) . A feminist perspective

guides Annette Kolodny's The Lay of the Land; Metaphor

as Experience

and History in

American

Life and Letters (1975), and the opening chapters of Richard Drinnon's Facing West: The Metaphysics

of

Indian-Hating

and

Empire-

Building (1980) offer a psychohistorical perspective. William C. Spengemann argues for the centrality of early American texts in the transformation of Western writing generally in The Adventurous

Muse: The Poetics of American

Fic-

tion, 1789-1900 (1977), John Seelye offers ingenious readings of many early texts in Pro-

/

2857

ture is provided by Ellis L. Raesly's Portrait of New Netherland (194 5); it can be supplemented by Donna Merwick's case studies Possessing Albany, 1630-1710, The Dutch and English Experiences (1990) and Death of A Notary: Conquest and Change in Colonial New York (1999).

Henry C . Murphy's Anthology of New Netherland (1865) remains the single best source of translated texts (with biographical sketches) of three seventeenth-century writers. German immigrant experience and writings from the seventeenth century are briefly treated in Henry A. Pochmann's German 1900, Philosophical

Culture in America, 1600— and Literary Influences

and Literature (1977), and Wayne Franklin gives attention to sixteenth-century works in

(1957). John J . Stoudt's Pennsylvania German Poetry, 1685-1830 (1955), surveys one form of expression in depth. The texts and introductory materials and notes in the following volumes of

Discoveries,

the Original

phetic Waters: The River in Early American

Explorers,

Settlers:

Writers of Early America

The

Life

Diligent

(1979). Gordon Sayre's

"Les Sauvages Americains": Native Americans in French

Representations of and English Colo-

nial Literature ( 1 9 9 7 ) offers fresh comparative readings of English and French texts and the codes they developed for depicting encounters with Native American peoples. No generally inclusive bibliography of the literary texts of the period is available, although Joseph Sabin's massive Biblioteca Americana: A Dictionary of Books Relating to America, from its Discovery to the

Present Time (1868-1936), 29 vols., is invaluable. Among anthologies, the most useful are David Beers Quinn's New American World: A Documentary

History of North America

Principall Discoveries

Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques, & of the English Nation ( 1 9 0 3 - 0 5 ) , 12

vols., and Samuel Purchas's 1625 sequel to it, Hakluytus

Posthumus

or Purchas

His

Pilgrimes

(1905-07), 20 vols. The Hakluyt volumes also were reprinted in the Everyman's Library, 8 vols. (1907). A companion series to Quinn's is John H. Parry and Robert G. Keith, New Iberian World: A Documentary History of the Discovery and Settlement of Latin America to the Early

17th Century

(1984), 5 vols.

Although we tend to favor recent criticism, some of the best critical writing on early American literature is the earliest. Even though its biographical details are not always reliable, Moses Coit Tyler's monumental study A History of

American

Literature

during

the

Colonial

Period, 1607-1765, (1878; rev. ed. 1897), 2 vols., remains a fundamental document of the field, notable especially for its broadly inclusive definition of literature. It is not attentive, however, to writings in languages other than English. The same point is largely true of Myra Jehlen's useful essay "The Literature of Colonization," in The Cambridge

History of

American

Literature (1994), vol. 1, edited by Sacvan Bercovitch. Some coverage of Dutch colonial cul-

of Early American

Franklin Jameson; Journal

His-

of Jasper

Danckaerts

(1913), edited by Jameson and Bartett Burleigh James; Narratives of Early Pennsylvania, West New Jersey, and Delaware, 1630-1707 (1912),

edited by Albert Cook Myers; The

Spanish

Explorers

1 528—

1543

in the Southern

United

States,

(1907), edited by Frederick W. Hodge;

Spanish

Exploration

in the Southwest,

1542—

1706 (1916), edited by Herbert Eugene Bolton; and Early

Narratives

of the Northwest,

1634—

1699 (1917), edited by Louise P. Kellogg.

to 1612

(1979), 5 vols., and the modern editions of Richard Hakluyt's collection of 1598-1600, The

Narratives

tory series remain useful for non-English (and in some cases English) writers: Narratives of New Netherland, 1609-1664 (1909), edited by J .

The classic study of the Puritans remains Perry Miller's The New England Mind: The Seventeenth Century (1939) and The New England Mind: From Colony to Province (1953). Useful

essays by Miller are included in Errand into the Wilderness ("The Marrow of Puritan Divinity" and "From Edwards to Emerson" are especially important) (1956). Miller and Thomas H. Johnson edited the anthology The Puritans: A Sourcebook of Their Writings

in 1938 (rev. ed., 1963),

which contains useful introductions. A valuable collection

is

Sei'enteenth-Century

American

Poetry (1968), compiled by Harrison T. Meserole. Peter White edited Puritan Poets and Poetics in 1985. Patricia Caldwell discusses Puritan "relations" (accounts of conversions or spiritual autobiographies)

in The Puritan

Conversion

Narrative (1983). Other books of general interest are Edmund S. Morgan's Visible Saints: The History of a Puritan Murdock's Literature

Idea (1963), Kenneth B. and Theology in Colonial

New England

(1949), and Larzer Ziff's

in

New Culture

America:

in a New

Puritans World

(1973). On Puritan historians, see Peter Gay's Loss of Mastery (1966) and David Levin's In Defense

of Historical

Literature

(1967). Sacvan

Bercovich edited a useful collection of essays on the Puritans in The American Puritan Imagination: Essays in Revaluation (1974); it contains a

good

selected

bibliography. Another

useful

2858

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

revaluation of Puritans that brings together some hard-to-come-by essays is Michael Mc-

Account:

Giffert's Puritanism

Fernandez; and Castaways: The Narrative ofAlvar Nuiiez Cabeza de Vaca, ed. Enrique Pupo-

and the American

Experi-

ence (1969). Some of the best accounts of the intellectual and cultural life of the seventeenth century are to be found in the biographies of writers included in this anthology- One important study of a writer not included is Edmund Puritan Morgan's life of Ezra Stiles, The Gentle (1962). Fifteen ographic

American Authors before 1900: BibliEssays on Research and Criticism

(1971, rev. 1984), edited by Robert A. Rees and Earl N. Harbert, contains discursive chapters on the scholarship and criticism that had appeared up to that date on three authors in this period: Prose Edwards, Franklin, and Taylor. American to 1820: A Guide to Information

Sources

(1979),

edited by Donald Yannella and John H. Roch, provides a helpful description of primary works and secondary sources. Writers like Anne Bradstreet and Edward Taylor are included because they wrote prose as well as poetry. William Bradford Samuel Eliot Morison's edition of Of Plymouth (1952) is the standard edition of Plantation Bradford's history, and his life of Bradford in The Dictionary

of American

Biography

(1933) is

useful. For a discussion of Puritan historians, see Kenneth B. Murdock's Literature and Theology

in Colonial

New England

(1949) and

David Levin's "William Bradford: The Value of Puritan Historiography," in E. H. Emerson's Major

Writers

of Early

American

Literature

(1972). Anne Bradstreet The standard edition is nowjeannine Hensley's The

Works of Anne

Bradstreet

(1967), with an

introduction by Adrienne Rich. Students interested in textual variants will want to consult The Complete Works (1981), edited by J. R. McElrath Jr. and Allen P. Robb. Useful critical discussions may be found in Josephine K. Piercy's Anne Bradstreet (1965), Elizabeth W. White's Anne Bradstreet: The Tenth Muse (1971), Ann Stanford's Anne Bradstreet: The Worldly Puritan

(1974), and Rosamond Rosenmeier's Anne (1991). Jeffrey Hammond's Sinful Bradstreet Self, Saintly Self (1993) is useful on Wigglesworth and Taylor as well as Bradstreet. Alvar Nunez C a b e z a d e V a c a

An excellent colloquial translation of La Relacion is Cyclone Covey's Cabeza de Vaca s Adventures in the Unknown Interior of America (1961;

Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca's Relacion (1993), translated by Martin A. Favata and Jose

Walker (1993), translated by Frances M. Lopez-Morillas. Morris Bishop's The Odyssey of Cabeza de Vaca (1933) treats the whole of the life, including the later South American episodes. Cabeza de Vaca's Rio de la Plata narrative, Commentarios (1555), was translated by Luis L. Dominguez in The Conquest of the River Plate (1891). A fictional account of Estevanico, the Moorish slave who was one of the four survivors of the Cabeza de Vaca party, is offered in Daniel Panger's Black Ulysses (1982). Interesting later notes on Cabeza de Vaca and Estevanico are to be found in the various narratives of the Coronado expedition collected in George Parker Winship and Frederick Webb Hodge's The Journey

of Francisco

1540-1542

(1933; 1990).

Vazquez

de

Coronado,

Christopher Columbus Cecil Jane's Select Documents Illustrating the Four Voyages of Columbus ( 1 9 3 0 - 3 3 ; 1988) is

the best bilingual edition of various writings. It does not include the "journal" of the first voyage, which survives only in summaries and unreliable transcriptions by others. The best text of that problematic work is Oliver Dunn and James E. Kelley's bilingual The Diario of Christopher Columbus's

First

Voyage

to America,

1492—93

(1989); on the problems associated with this text (and others), see David Heninge's In Search of Columbus:

The Sources

for the First

Voyage

(1991). Biographies include Samuel Eliot Morof the ison's now somewhat dated Admiral Ocean Sea (1942) and Kirkpatrick Sale's contentious The Conquest of Paradise: Christopher Columbus and the Columbian Legacy (1990).

James Axtell's After Columbus (1988) and Beyond 1492 (1992) offer excellent and broad coverage of key topics. Iroquois Creation Stories First published in 1851, Lewis Henry Morgan's League of the Iroquois (1972, with an introduction by William Fenton) remains useful as an introduction to things Iroquoian. Daniel K. Richter's The Ordeal of the Longhouse: The Peoples of the Iroquois League in the Era of Euro-

pean Colonization (1992) covers the basic elements of Iroquois language, culture, and history and begins with an overview of Iroquois cosmogonic myths that builds on the work of William Fenton, whose "This Island, the World on the Turtle's Back," Journal

of American

Folk-

Cabeza de Vaca: The Journey and Route of the First European to Cross the Continent of North

lore, 75 (1962), is a rich analysis of Iroquois mythology. For the most detailed versions of the stories themselves, consult J . N. B. Hewitt's "Iroquoian Cosmology," part I, Bureau of Amer-

America,

1534-1536

ican

Sauer's

Sixteenth-Century

1983). This relies on studies of Cabeza de Vaca's Nunez itinerary by Cleve Hallenbeck, Alvar

(1940; 1971) and Carl O. North

(1971). Two translations of La Relacion

America

are The

Ethnology, Annual

Report,

1899-1900

(1903) and "Iroquoian Cosmology," part II, Bureau of American Ethnology, Annual Report,

SELECTED

1925—26

(1928) as well as Seneca ethnologist

Arthur C. Parker's Seneca

Myths and Folk

Tales,

Buffalo Historical Society Publications No. 27 (1923). In addition to these scholarly accounts, Edmund Wilson's meditation on the Iroquois, Apologies to the Iroquois (1960), remains fascinating. See also the contemporary Abenaki poet and story-teller Joseph Bruchac's New Voices from the Longhouse: An Anthology of Contemporary Iroquois Writing (1989). W. G. Spittal's Iroquois Women: An Anthology (1992) and Extending the Rafters: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Iroquoian Studies, edited by

Michael Foster, Jack Campisi, and Marianne Mithun (1984) are useful. Recent studies of interest include Scott Michaelsen's "Ely Parker and Amerindian Voices in Ethnography,"American Literary History, 8 (1996); Douglas Boyce's " 'As the Wind Scatters the Smoke': The Tuscaroras in the Eighteenth Century," in Beyond the Covenant Chain: The Iroquois Neighbors in Indian North America,

and Their 1600-1800

(1987), edited by Daniel Richter and James Merrell; David Landy's "Tuscarora among the Iroquois," in Handbook

of North American

Indi-

ans (1978), vol. 15, edited by Bruce Trigger; Russell Judkins's "David Cusick's Ancient History of the Six Nations: A Neglected Classic," in

Essays

on Native

temporary

Translations

ken

and Written

Language:

Exploring

Orality

and Literacy (1982), and Eric Havelock's The Muse Learns to Write (1986). Richard Bauman's Art as Performance (1984) edited Verbal includes contributions from a variety of disciplines, and Barre Toelken's The Dynamics of Folklore (rev. ed. 1996) is an excellent recent survey of oral materials by someone specifically interested in Native American expression. Bruce Rosenberg's Folklore

and Literature:

Rival

Sib-

lings (1991) makes the case for his title. Jay Mil(1991) is also worth ler's Oral Literature consulting. Still indispensable introductions to mythography or ethnopoetics—terms for indicating the questions at issue when attempting to turn an oral performance into a written text—are Dell Hymes's "In Vain 1 Tried to Tell You": Essays in Native American Ethnopoetics (1981) and Dennis Tedlock's The Spoken Word and the Work of

Interpretation Literatures

(1983). Karl Kroeber's of the American

Indians:

Traditional Texts and

Interpretations (1981) contains fine critiques by Dell Hymes, Dennis Tedlock, and Barre Toelken of, respectively, Northwest Coast, Zuni, and

Literatures

(1987),

of the Native

specific cultures are Stories That World: Oral Literature of the Indian

the Inland

Literatures

Northwest

Make the Peoples of

(1995), edited by Rodney

Frey; The White Deer and Other Stories

the Lenape Haa

Kusteeyi,

Told by

(1995), edited by John Bierhorst; Our Culture:

Tlingit

Life

Stories

(1994), edited by Nora Marks Dauenhauer and Richard Dauenhauer; and Haboo: Native American Stories from Puget Sound (1988), edited by

trickster,

ing of the Word (1982), Deborah Tannen's Spo-

American

of North America (1994). Some of the many more recent collections of the oral literature of

Native American Oral Literature As Fr. Walter Ong cogently stated, "Writing is a technology that alters thought." It is therefore useful to consult such texts on orality in general Technologiz-

2859

edited by Brian Swann and Arnold Krupat. of Native Swann's edited On the Translation (1992) contains several American Literatures fine essays. Krupat edited New Voices in Native American Literary Criticism (1993), which contains work on oral narrative both in English and in native languages. A wide range of fine translations from many oral traditions can be found in Brian Swann's edited Coming to Light: Con-

Vi Hilbert.

The

/

Navajo narratives. Kroeber's Artistry in Native American Myths (1998) reprints a wide range of stories with detailed commentaries and notes. Toelken transcribes another tale by the Navajo storyteller Yellowman in "Life and Death in the Navajo Coyote Tales," in Recovering the Word:

his Iroquois Studies: A Guide to Documentary and Ethnographic Resources from Western New York and the Genesee Valley (1987).

as Ong's Orality and Literacy:

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Native American Trickster Tales Daniel G. Brinton was the first to use the term in his Myths of the New World (1868),

and his collection and commentaries are still of some interest. Paul Radin's The Trickster: A Study in American

Indian

Mythology

(1956; rpt.

1972) with commentaries by Karl Kerenyi and C. G. Jung contains much useful information, although Radin's psychological interpretations have not worn well. Mac Linscott Ricketts's "The Native American Indian Trickster," History (1965), and Barbara Babcockof Religions Abraham's " 'A Tolerated Margin of Mess': The Trickster and His Tales Reconsidered," Journal of the Folklore Institute (1975), are learned and theoretically sophisticated. See also Andrew Wiget's "His Life in His Tail: The Native American Trickster and the Literature of Possibility," in Redefining

American

Literary

History (1990),

edited by A. LaVonne Brown Ruoff and Jerry W. Ward. For Hopi Coyote tales see Ekkehart Malotki and Michael Lomatuway'ma's edited Hopi Coyote

Tales I'Instutuwutsi

(1978). For north-

western Coyote tales there are Jarold Ramsey's edited Coyote Was Going There: Indian Literature of the Oregon Country (1977) and William

Bright's A Coyote Reader (1993), an omnibus collection of Coyote tales, poems, and stories that also provides a good deal of information about Canis latrans, "barking dog," or Coyote. Some of Bright's analyses of Karuk (northwestern California) trickster material are "The TravKroeber els of Coyote, a Karok Myth,"

2860

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Anthropological Society Papers (1954); "Coyote's Journey," American Indian Culture and

Research journal (1980); and "Coyote Gives Acorn and Salmon to Humans," in Coyote Stories II (1980), edited by Martha Kendall. Coma traditional mentary—and stories—by storyteller appears in Judy Trejo's "Coyote Tales: of American a Paiute Commentary,'' Journal Folklore (1974). Dennis Tedlock offers translations of some Zuni trickster tales in Finding the Center: Narrative

Poetry

of the Zuni

Indians

(1972; rpt.

1978). For other Navajo Coyote tales see Karl Luckert's edited Coyoteway:

A Navajo

Healing

Ceremony (1979). The most recent version of Barre Toelken's Navajo Coyote story can be found in Coming to Light: Contemporary lations of the Native Literatures of North

TransAmerica

(1994), edited by Brian Swann. Toelken's "Life and Death in the Navajo Coyote Tales," in Recovering

the Word: Essays on Native

American

Literature (1987), edited by Swann and Arnold Krupat, tells of his discovery of a level of meaning in Navajo Coyote tales relating to witchcraft. Thomas Parkhill's " 'Of Glooscap's Birth, and of His Brother Malsum, the Wolf: The Story of Charles Godfrey Leland's 'Purely American Creation,' "

in

American

Indian

Culture

and

Research Journal (1992), is a study of a lesser known trickster tradition. For Koasati and other Southeast cultures, see John R. Swanton's Koasati Texts (1910) and Myths

and Tales

of the Southeastern

Indians

(1929). More recently, there is George Lankford's edited Native American Southeastern ends: Tales from the Natchez, Caddo, Chickasaw and Other Nations (1987).

LegBiloxi,

For Okanagan material there is a new edition of Coyote Stories (1990) edited by Jay Miller. Alanna K. Brown published "The Evolution of Mourning Dove's Coyote Stories," in Studies in American Indian Literatures (1992). For older,

ethnographic material, see Folk-Tales ofSalishan and Sahaptin Tribes (1917), edited by Franz Boas, and Eileen Yanan's edited Coyote and the Colville (1971). Mattina published a prose version of a trickster tale narrated by Peter Seymour, "Bluejay and His Brother-in-Law Wolf," in Coming to Light (1994), edited by Swann. Harry Robinson, a contemporary Okanagan storyteller, narrates some traditional trickster tales in "Red English," which were printed in verse format in Write It on Your Heart: The Epic World of an Okanagan Storyteller (1989) and Nature Power: In the Spirit of an Okanagan Sto-

ryteller (1992), both edited by Wendy Wickwire. A recent overview is William J. Hynes and WilFigures: liam Doty's edited Mythical Trickster Contours,

Contexts,

and Criticisms

(1993). For

edited by Jahner. William Powers's Oglala Religion (1977) is useful for background material. Raymond DeMallie and Douglas Park's Sioux Indian Religion:

Tradition

and Innovation

(1987)

specifically treats the Deloria Ikto story, as does Julian Rice's Lakota Storytelling: Black Elk, Ella Deloria, and Frank Fools Crow (1989). Karl Kroeber's Artistry in Native American Myths (1998)

analyzes a Lakota Stone Boy story, in which it is Stone Boy, the Lakota culture hero, rather than Ikto, who tricks and defeats Iya. Cotton Mather Kenneth Silverman's The Life and Times of Cot-

ton Mather (1984) supersedes earlier biographies like that of Barrett Wendell (1891), but the introduction to Kenneth B. Murdock's Selections

from

Cotton

Mather

(1926) is still

useful. In addition to Silverman's biography, interested students will want to read David Levin's Cotton

Mather:

Lord's Remembrancer

The Young

Life of the

(1978) and Robert Mid-

dlekauff's The Mathers:

Three

Generations

of

Puritan Intellectuals (1971). Sacvan Bercovich has written about Mather in Major Writers of Early

American

Literature

(1972), edited by

E. H. Emerson, and in his influential book The Puritan

Origins

of the American

Self (1975).

Pima Stories of the Beginning of the World Ruth M. Underbill's studies in the 1930s and 1940s of the Akimel O'odham (Pima) (and their close relatives the Tohono O'odham [Papago]) are useful for the student who would like to learn more about the history and culture of these Southwestern desert peoples. Her Singing for Power: The Song Magic of the Papago

of Southern

Arizona

Indians

(1938, 1973, 1993) is still

valuable, as is her Rainhouse and Ocean: Speeches for the Papago Year (1979). Dean Sax-

ton and Lucille Saxton's Legends and Lore of the Papago and Pima Indians (1973) offers some creation stories in both English translation and the original language. Somewhat more specialized, but of great importance, are Donald M. Bahr's Pima and Papago

Ritual

Oratory: A Study

of Three Texts (1975, 1988) and his book (with Juan Smith, William Smith Allison, and Julian Hayden) The Short Swift Time of Gods on Earth:

the Hohokam Chronicles (1994), a collection of thirty-six Pima narratives. Bahr's Oriole Songs (1994) is a collection, with extended commentaries, of one variety of Pima "dream songs" still being sung today. For an individual's view of her people, see Underbill's Maria Chona: The Autobiography of a Papago Woman, which was

reprinted as Papago Woman (1979). A specifically Pima autobiography is that of Anna Moore Shaw, A Pima Past (1974), which details the customs of the Pima.

Ikto, Iya, and other Lakota trickster materials, see James R. Walker's Lakota

Belief and

Ritual

(1980), edited by Elaine Jahner and Raymond DeMallie, and Walker's Lakota Myth (1983),

Mary Rowlandson Richard Slotkin's Regeneration

through

Violence

(1973) contains a useful discussion of Rowland-

SELECTED

son's captivity. See also R. H. Pearce's "The Significance of the Captivity Narrative," American Literature 19 (1947). Neal Salisbury's edition (1997) of the Narrative has a fine introduction. John Smith A definitive edition of Smith's many writings is The

Complete

Works

of Captain

John

Smith

(1986), edited by Philip Barbour in 3 vols. The best single book on Smith is Everett H. Emerson's Captain John Smith (1971), but for a more expansive treatment of Smith's life the student John can turn to Bradford Smith's Captain Smith, His Life and Legend (1953) and Philip L. Barbour's The Three Worlds of Captain John

Smith (1964). A useful descriptive bibliography can be found in American Prose in 1820 (1979), edited by Donald Yanella and John H. Roche. Edward Taylor The standard edition The Poems of Edward

Tay-

lor (1960) is by Donald E. Stanford. Taylor's Diary (1964) was edited by Francis Murphy and his Christograpkia sermons (1962) and Treatise Concerning

the Lord's

Supper

(1966) by Nor-

man S. Grabo, who has also written the best critical biography (1961, rev. 1988). Thomas M. and Virginia L. Davis edited The Minor Poetry with an informative introduction (1981). Thomas Davis also published A Reading of Edward Taylor (1992). Important critical studies include William J . Scheick's The Will and the Word (1974), Karen E. Rowe's Saint and Singer (1986), and Jeffrey Hammond's Sinful Self, Saintly

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

/

2861

Garcilaso d e la Vega Harold V. Livermore translated and edited The Royal Commentaries of the lncas and General History of Peru (1966), 2 vols. The Florida of the

lnca is available in a translation by John Varner and Jeannette Varner (1951) and that of Charmion Shelby, printed as the second volume of The De Soto Chronicles: The Expedition of Hernando de Soto to North America in 1 539—1543

(1993), edited by Lawrence A. Clayton, Vernon James Knight Jr., and Edward C. Moore. John Varner's study El lnca:

The Life and Times of

Garcilaso de la Vega (1968) is useful for biographical and historical backgrounds and for its bibliography. John Winthrop The standard edition of The Journal is that edited by Richard S. Dunn, James Savage, and Laetitia Yeandle (1996). It contains a valuable introduction by Dunn. Dunn and Yeandle prepared an abridged and modernized edition of The

Journal

(1966). The

Winthrop

Papers,

1498-1654 ( 1 9 2 9 - ) is a multivolume series in progress published under the auspices of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston. Richard S. Dunn's Puritans and Yankees: The Winthrop Dynasty of New England (1962) and

Edmund S. Morgan's The Puritan Story of John

Winthrop

Dilemma:

The

(1958) are among the

best critical and biographical studies. For a more sympathetic account of Mrs. Hutchinson see Philip F. Gura's A Glimpse

of Sion's

Glory

(1984).

Self (1993).

AMERICAN LITERATURE 1700-1820 The first volume of Sacvan Bercovitch's The Cambridge

History

of

American

Literature

(1994) offers a rich introduction to the literature of this period. David S. Shields contributes "British-American Belles Lettres," Michael T. Gilmore adds "The Literature of the Revolutionary and Early National Periods," and Robert Ferguson provides an overview to religious and philosophical matters in "The American Enlightenment, 1750—1820" (also issued as a separate volume in 1997). Shields has emerged as the most astute commentator on the complexity of eighteenth-century transatlantic literary relations. See his Civil Tongues

and

Polite

Letters in America (1997), in which, among other topics, he treats the significance of club and manuscript culture, and Oracles of Empire: Poetry, Politics, and Commerce

ica, 1690-1750

in British

Amer-

(1990). Hugh Amory and David

D. Hall's edited A History of the Boook in Amer-

ica Volume 1 (2000) recounts the history of print culture during this period; see especially the contribution of James N. Green on Franklin.

The early American novel is treated fully in Cathy S. Davidson's Revolution and the World (1986); and drama, in Jeffrey H. Richards's Theater Enough (1991), supplemented by WalterJ. (1977). Meserve's An Emerging Entertainment Richards also edited a useful selection in Early America Drama (1997). Michael Warner's Letters of the Republic (1990) discusses the relation of literature to the emergence of the public sphere. Good overviews of the religious history of the period, and particularly of the pervasive influence of the Great Awakening, are Alan Heimert's Religion

and the American

Mind

(1966),

Jon Butler's Awash in a Sea of Faith (1990), and Richard Crawford's Seasons of Grace (1991). The significance of print culture to Edwards and the revivals is detailed in Frank Lambert's Inventing the Great Awakening (1999). Julie Ellison's Cato's Tears and the Making of Anglo-

American Emotion (1999) and Julia A. Stern's The Plight of Feeling (1997) treat the importance of sentiment as a moral and philosophical category. Older but still useful works that pro-

2862

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

vide overviews of literature and the arts in this Revolutionary period include Emory Elliot's Writers (1982), Kenneth Silverman's A Cultural History

of the American

Revolution

(1976),

Michael Kammen's A Season of Youth (1978), and Russel B. Nye's The Cultural Life of the New Nation (1960). Henry F. May's The American (1976) provides a similar service Enlightenment for philosophical issues. Women's evolving roles in the new republic are treated in Mary Beth Norton's Liberty's

Daughters

(1980) and Found-

ing Mothers and Fathers (1996) and Linda Kerbert's Women of the Republic (1980). A good introduction to African American authors of the Unchained Atlantic Rim is Vincent Caretta's Voices (1996). Finally, those who seek to understand the immense significance of republican discourse in the new nation are urged to consult Gordon Wood's magisterial The Creation of the American

Republic

(1969).

J . Hector St. John de Crfcvecoeur Sketches of Eighteenth Century America, More Letters of St. John de Crevecoeur. (1925) was

edited by H. L. Bourdin and co-workers. Eighteenth Century

Travels in Pennsylvania

and New

York (1962) was edited by P. G. Adams. The best biographies are by Thomas Philbrick (1970) and Gay Wilson Allen and Roger Asselineau (1987). Jonathan Edwards Yale University Press is in the process of publishing a complete edition of the works of Jonathan Edwards. Some of the editors of this Reader project have issued A Jonathan Edwards (1995), the best single-volume collection of Edwards's writings. Also useful are two recent collections of essays: Nathan O. Hatch and Harry S. Stout's edited Jonathan Edwards and the American Experience (1988) and Stephen J. Stein's

edited Jonathan

Edwards's

Writings

(1996). David Levin's Jonathan Edwards: A Profile (1969) includes Samuel Hopkins's Life and Character

of the Late Rev. Mr. Jonathan

Edwards

(1765). Perry Miller's Jonathan

Edwards

(1949)

and essays included in Errand

into the Wilder-

ness (1956) are indispensable. Daniel B. Shea NarraJr. includes a discussion of the Personal tive

in his Spiritual

Autobiography

in

Early

America (1968). Richard Bushman's "Jonathan Edwards as a Great Man" appeared in Soundings 52 (1969), and Patricia J. Tracy considers the implications of his career in Jonathan Edwards, Pastor (1980). Barbara B. Oberg and Harry S. Stout edited Benjamin Franklin, Edwards, and the Representation of

Culture

Jonathan American

(1993).

Olaudah Equiano The Interesting Narrative was edited by Werner Sollors in a Norton Critical Edition in 2 0 0 1 . Sidney Kaplan in The Black Presence in the Era of the American Revolution, 1770-1800 (1973)

discusses the American publication of Equiano's

Narrative. Vincent Carretta assembles the evidence concerning Equiano's birth in "Olaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa: New Light on an Eighteenth-Century Question of Identity," Slavery and Abolition (1999). Benjamin Franklin The Papers of Benjamin

Franklin

are being pub-

lished by Yale University Press. A good selection of Franklin's writings may be found in Benjamin Franklin:

Representative

Selection

(1936),

edited by F. L. Mott and C. L. Jorgensen. The standard biography is by Carl Van Doren (1938). Useful critical studies include Bruce I. Granger's Benjamin

of Letters min

Franklin,

an American

Man

(1964), Robert Middlekauff's

Franklin

and His Enemies

Benja-

(1996), and

Alfred O. Aldridge's Benjamin Franklin and Nature's God (1967). See also David Levin's "The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin: The Puritan Experimenter in Life and Art," Yale 53 (1964). A famous unfavorable Review response to Franklin can be found in D. H. Lawrence's Studies

in Classic

American

Litera-

ture (1923). Franklin's early years are discussed in A. B. Tourtellot's Benjamin

Boston

Years

Benjamin

Franklin:

The

(1977). Francis Jennings wrote

Franklin,

Politician

(1996),

and

Nian-Sheng Huang surveys two hundred years of American response to Franklin in Benjamin Franklin

in America

(1994).

Philip Freneau The standard edition of The Poems of Philip

Fre-

neau is that of F. L. Pattee, 3 vols. (1902-07). Lewis Leary, who edited The Last Poems of Philip Freneau (1945), wrote the best biography, That

Rascal

Freneau:

A Study

in

Literary

Failure (1941). A very useful introduction to Freneau can be found in Harry H. Clark's edition of Philip Freneau:

Representative

Selections

(1929). Richard C . Vitzhum offers a study of Freneau's lyrics in Land and Sea (1978). Briton H a m m o n The best discussion of Hammon is John Sekora's in "Red, White, and Black: Indian Captives, Colonial Printers, and the Early AfricanAmerican Narrative," in A Mixed Race (1993), edited by Frank Shuffelton. Also see Vincent Carretta's Unchained Voices (1996). Thomas Jefferson Princeton University Press is currently engaged in publishing the Papers

of Thomas

Jefferson.

The best biography is Dumas Malone's sixvolume Jefferson and His Time (1948—81). Malone's article on Jefferson in The Dictionary (1933) is very helpful. of American Biography Useful critical studies include M. D. Peterson's Thomas Jefferson and the New Nation (1970), Garry Wills's Inventing America: Jefferson's Dec-

laration of Independence (1978), and Pauline Maier's American Scripture (1997). Fawn Brodie published a controversial biography in 1974. Jefferson's Monticello is the subject of a distin-

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

guished study by William Howard Adams (1983). Joseph J . Ellis's American Sphinx: The Character

of Thomas

Jefferson

is an important

addition to Jefferson biography (1997) and Jay Fliegelman's Declaring Independence (1993) to the critical literature. Samson Occom The published writings of Samson Occom are A Short

Narrative

of My Life, composed in 1768

but first published in Berndt Peyer's The Elders Wrote: An Anthology of Early Prose by North American Indians, 1768-1931 (1982); A Sermon Preached at the Execution of Moses Paul, an Indian (1772); and A Choice Collection of Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Intended for the Edification of Sincere Christians of All Denomina-

tions (1774). After his death, Occom's account of the JVlontauks among whom he had lived and worked was published as "An Account o f the M o n t a u k Indians, on Long-Island," Collections of

the

Massachusetts

Historical

Society

10

(1809). Harold Blodgetts Samson Occom, Dartmouth College Manuscript Series N o . 3 (1935), is dated, but full of useful biographical information; Blodgett also reprints most of Occom's extant letters. Preceding Blodgetts study was Leon Burr Richardson's An Indian Preacher in England, Dartmouth College Manuscript Series No. 2 (1933), which offers documents relating to Occom's fund-raising trip to England. Peyer's "Samson Occom, Mohegan Missionary of the 18th Century," American

Indian

Quarterly

6

(1982), offers a brief biographical account of Occom. "Christian Indians: Samson Occom and William Apes," in David Murray's Forked Tongues: Speech, North American

Writing and Representation in Indian Texts (1991) is a fine

consideration of Occom, and Michael Elliott's " 'This Indian Bait': Samson Occom and the Voice of Liminality," Early American

Literature

29 (1994), is a sophisticated study. Laurie Weinstein's "Samson Occom: A Charismatic Eighteenth-Century Mohegan Leader" in her Enduring

Traditions:

England

(1994) is useful, along with Bernd

The Native

Peoples of New

Peyer's The Tutor d Mind: Indian MissionaryWriters in Antebellum America (1997). Laura J. Murray's To Do Good to My Indian Brethren: The Writings of Joseph Johnson, 1751—1776

(1998), an edition of the writing of a Mohegan who also attended Eleazar Wheelock's Indian school and who married Tabitha, the daughter of Samson Occom, has much useful informa-

2863

tion. See Colin Calloway's The World Upside Down:

Indian

Turned

Voices from Early

America

(1994). Thomas Paine Moncure D. Conway, who edited The Writings of Thomas Paine, 4 vols. (1894—96), wrote the best life of Paine (1892). H. H. Clark's Thomas Paine:

Representative

Selections

(1944) contains

a very helpful introduction. Crane Brinton's entry in The Dictionary

of American

Biography

(1933) is justly admired. Cecil Kenyon's "Where Paine Went Wrong," American Political Science Review 45 (1951), is a challenging critical assessment, as is Eric Foner's Tom Paine and Revolutionary America (1976). More recent biographies are by David F. Hawke (1974) and John Keane (1995). Annis Boudinot Stockton Carla Mulford's Only for the Eye of a Friend: The Poems

of Annis

Boudinot

Stockton

(1995) col-

lects all of Stockton's poems and provides a thorough introduction to her life and work. Alfred Hoyt Bill and Constance M. Greiff provide a good account of Stockton's household in A House Called Morven (1978). Another important example of women's writing left in manuscript is Milcah

Martha

Moore's

Book

(1997),

edited by Catherine La Courreye Blecki and Karin A. Wulf. The fullest treatment of manuscript culture in the eighteenth-century colonies is David Shields's ChHl Tongues and Polite Letters in British America (1997). On the place of

women in late-eighteenth-century American society, see Linda Kerber's Women of the Republic (1986) and Mary Beth Norton's Liberty's Daughters (1980). Royall Tyler In Early American Drama (1997), Jeffrey Richards reprints The Contrast as well as several other plays that establish Tyler's context. Marius Peladeau collected The Verse

of Royall

Tyler

(1968). Donald Cook (1970) edited Tyler's novel The Algerine Captive. G. Thomas Tanselle provides his biography in Royall Tyler (1967). Phillis Wheatley The best edition of the poems is that edited by Julian D. Mason (1966, rev. 1989). Shirley Graham's The Story of Phillis

Wheatley

(1969) and

William G. Allen's Wheatley, Banneker, and Horton (1970) are useful critical biographies. William H. Robinson edited Critical Essays (1982).

AMERICAN LITERATURE For basic information on writers and writings of this period, the most accessible handbook is Phillip Leninger's previously mentioned 1995 updating of James D. Hart's Oxford Companion to American Literature, 6th ed. Early users of a

/

1820-1865

competing volume, Steven R. Serafin, ed., Encyclopedia

of American

Literature

(1999), consider

it very good but inferior to the Oxford ion

(see American

Annual,

Literary

Compan-

Scholarship:

An

1999, p. 525). Most college libraries

2864

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

will purchase the very expensive multivolume 1999

American

National

Biography—good,

since many students taking American history and literature courses will want to consult ANB volumes. Each ANB entry on a writer concludes with a terse guide to his or her surviving papers, to major editions, to the most valuable scholarly studies, and to the most reliable biographies. For the authors in this section of The Norton Anthology of American

Literature,

the ANB entries

range, almost without exception, between very good and superb. Gale's multivolume Dictionary of Literary Biography is uneven (see the protestations in ALS 1999, p. 527). For scholarship and criticism on writers in this anthology (including those on whom relatively little work has been done until recently—e.g., Caroline M. Kirkland and Fanny Fern), students should consult American Literary Scholarship. The first volume, published in 1965, covered scholarship and criticism published in 1963; work dated 1999 is discussed in ALS 1999, published in 2001. For the most recent year or two, before the latest ALS comes out, students may consult the articles, reviews, and advertisements in journals such as American Literature teenth-Century Literature.

and

Nine-

History of the United

States

(1948, 1974), edited by Robert E. Spiller et bL, include some still-useful guides to particular writers and topics. Especially for some lessstudied writers, Arthur H. Quinn's "The Establishment of National Literature," in Literature of the American People (1951), may still be very Literary useful. The multiauthored Columbia History of the United

States

(1988), a product of

the New Historicism movement under general editor Emory Elliott, is strongest on previously neglected writers. Sacvan Bercovitch is general editor of the Cambridge

History of American

Lit-

erature, vol. 2: i 8 2 0 - J 8 6 5 (1994), which consists of monograph-length sections by five contributors. Neither of these recent histories reliably incorporates or makes accessible the new historical, biographical, and textual findings published in volumes sponsored by the Center for Editions of American Authors, the Center for Scholarly Editions, the National Historical Publications and Records Commission, and the National Endowment for the Humanities. Two old collections are still of value, especially to students interested in the history of scholarship and criticism: Eight American Authors: A Review of Research

and

Criticism

(rev, ed., 1971), edited by James Woodress, which contains chapters on Poe, Emerson, Hawthorne, Thoreau, Whitman, and Melville to 1969 (the other two authors reviewed are Clemens and James); and Fifteen

1900: Bibliographic

American

Authors

Essays

on

Research

to Mott's American Journalism: A History of Newspapers in the United States . . . 1690-1950

(1950). Every year more full texts of nineteenthcentury American magazines are available online, free of charge, easily searchable, in the Cornell Library of Digital Collections "Making of America" series—all of Harpers New Monthly for example. A computer mogul or Magazine, two could transform the study of American history, politics, economy, culture, and literature (as well as genealogy and local history) by putting dozens of nineteenth-century newspapers on the Internet, free of charge. A guide to work on poetry is Philip K. Jason's Nineteenth

Documentary discoveries and new approaches to literary study of recent decades have rendered all histories of American literature badly out of date, although the chapters on this period in the most ambitious such work, the mammoth Literary

before

and Criticism ( 1 9 7 1 , 1 9 8 4 ) , edited by Robert A. Rees and Earl N. Harbert, which contains chapters on Bryant, Cooper, Dickinson, Irving, Longfellow, and Whittier. Many texts of seldom printed works are in Library of America volumes. For instant saturation in political, economic, and cultural issues, students are directed to two very old and never superseded books: the volumes of Frank Luther Mott's History of American Magazines covering 1741 to 1850 (1938, 1968) and 1850 to 1865 (1938, 1968), and also

liography

Century

Poetry: An Annotated

(1989). Eric L. Haralson,

dia of American

Bib-

Encyclope-

Poetry: The Nineteenth

Century

(1998), is a companion to John Hollander's twovolume anthology, American

Poetry: The Nine-

teenth Century (1993). Guides to drama include to the Gerald Bordman's Oxford Companion American Theatre (1984); Barry B. Witham's 1996 Theatre in the United States: A Documentary History, vol. 1: 1750-1915; and the Cambridge History of American Theatre: Beginnings

to 1870, edited by Don B. Wilmeth and Christopher Bigsby (1998). The Oxford Companion to African

American

Literature

(1997) is edited by

William L. Andrews, Frances Smith Foster, and Trudier Harris, with a foreword by Henry Louis Gates Jr. Other basic works are The History of Southern Literature (1985, 1990) by Louis D. Rubin Jr. et al., and Blyden Jackson's A History of Afro-American

Literature:

The Long

Begin-

nings, 1746-1895 (1989). A good guide to subliterary genres popular in the 1820—65 period is David S. Reynolds's Beneath the American (1988). Two still-useful volumes, Renaissance both edited by Joel Myerson, are The American Renaissance in New England (1978) and Antebellum Writers in New York and the South

(1979). Joel Myerson edited Transcendentalism: A Reader (2000). Lawrence Buell's Literary (1973) is still useful, as is his Transcendentalism New England Literary Culture: From Revolution through Renaissance (1986). Essential are Critical Essays on American Transcendentalism

(1982), edited by Philip F. Gura and Joel Myerson;

The

Research

Transcendentalists:

and Criticism

A

Review

of

(1984), edited by Joel

Myerson; Transient and Permanent: The Transcendentalist Moxement and Its Contexts, edited

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

by Charles Capper and Corirad Edick Wright (1999); and two books by Wesley T. Mott: Encyclopedia of Biographical

Transcendentalism Dictionary of

(1995) and Transcendentalism

(1995). Varyingly useful overviews for Emerson, Stowe, Poe, Thoreau, Douglas, Melville, and Whitman are in Richard Kopiey, ed.. Prospects for

the Study

of American

Literature

(1997).

Since literary histories and general reference books have not always caught up with new work on particular authors, students need to consult recent volumes of American

Literary

Scholarship

as well as current periodicals. Works that have influenced recent studies from a feminist perspective are Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar's The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination (1979)

and Margaret Homans's Women Writers and Poetic Identity (1980). Standard is Nina Baym's Women s Fiction: A Guide to Novels by and about Women in America, 1820-1870 (1978, 1993

with a new preface). Several recent books treat three or more authors in this anthology: Mary Suzanne Schriber's 1997 Writing Home: American Women Abroad, 1830—1920 examines

books by Caroline Kirkland, Catharine Maria Sedgwick, and Harriet Beecher Stowe; Philip Gould's 1995 Covenant and Republic: Historical Romance and the Politics of Puritanism deals

with James Fenimore Cooper, Sedgwick, Lydia Maria Child, and others; and much the same authors are treated in Shirley Samuels's Romances of the Republic: Women, the Family, and Violence in the Literature of the Early Amer-

ican Nation American

(1995). The subject of Nina Baym's Women

Writers and the Work of His-

tory, 1790-1860 (1995) is "the extensive writing about history published by many American women between the founding of the nation and the onset of the Civil War." Denise D. Knight's Nineteenth-Century

American

Women

Writers

(1997) is a good place to start research on lives, works, themes, and reputation of several of the women writers of this period. John P. McWilliam's American

Epic: Transforming

a Genre,

1770-1860 {1989) is best for the earlier part of this period, up to about 1845. Students will find some of the newest books to be both "historicist" (reflecting the current interest in multiculturalism, feminism, and culture, complexly defined) and "historical" (concerned with literary genres, with evidence for.the composition of literary works, with the exigencies of the literary marketplace, and with the relationships between authors' lives and their works). Technological changes, especially improved access to the resources of college libraries as well as to the Internet, mean that many students will be able to obtain paper copies of essays in academic journals (including reviews of recent books) that they have not physically held in their hands. The Library of Congress catalog is now on-line, free, and through col-

/

2865

leges most students have free, access to other great resources such as WorldCat. Students in need of basic texts may find rribre or less reliable texts available on the Internet (but they should be wary: a Poe text said to be scanned from the Broadway Journal may in fact be from a posthumous collection). In the first decade of the twenty-first century, students without access to research libraries may find it simple and inexpensive to buy used scholarly books from any one of several sites on the Internet; the more original the topic of research, the more likely some of the necessary books will be for sale, cheap. Even students with access to good libraries may find buying early biographies or critical studies of writers more convenient and satisfying than photocopying from a library book or borrowing a book through Inter-Library Loan. In contrast to Internet catalog resources and on-line bookstores (almost uniformly excellent), Web sites on individual authors may range from competent and even elegant (like one on Emma Lazarus) to inadequate and long out of date (like some on Edgar Allan Poe aHd Herman Melville), and nothing guarantees that a superb site will remain on line or that an inferior site will ever be upgraded and updated. However, the tendency is clear: the best Web sites on American authors are getting better every year. The author bibliographies that follow emphasize basic tools of research over interpretive studies. Entries include standard editions of the writer's works (including letters and notebooks or diaries) or the best available collections; standard biographies, if any, along with significant specialized studies; convenient guides; records of the writer's library; compilations of contemporary reviews and later criticism; any special research tools; and any secondary bibliographies (lists of commentary on a writer) and bibliographies treating books as physical objects (e.g., Walt

Whitman:

A Descriptive

Bibliography).

Attention is called to biographical-critical volumes designed for use by undergraduates, such as the Twayne series. We list some recent collections of critical essays and the most significant older ones. The concluding sections of the ANB entries start with the locations of the writers' papers, but otherwise the guiding principles are much the same as in the following NAAL entries, so the student should expect duplication even while welcoming individual recommendations. These NAAL bibliographies, however, list works published after the ANB cutoff date and, when updated, will supersede most of the ANB bibliographies on the particular authors included here. William Apess As early as 1928, Ernest Sutherland Bates wrote about Apess for the Dictionary

of American

Biog-

raphy, and in 1983 James D. Hart also noticed Apess in The Oxford

Companion

to

American

2866

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Literature. Kim McQuaid's "William Apess, A Pequot: An Indian Reformer in the Jackson Era," New England Quarterly (1977), 6 0 5 - 2 5 , is probably the first study fully to recognize the potential significance of Apess's work. Arnold Krupat, in The Voice in the Margin: Native American Literature and the Canon (1989) and Ethnocriticism: Ethnography, History, Literature

(1992), has offered readings of Apess's major works. A. Lavonne Brown Ruoff's essay "Three Nineteenth-Century American-Indian Autobiographies," in Ruoff and Jerry Ward Jr.'s Refining

American

Literary

History

(1990),

comments on Apess. David Murray's

also

Forked

Tongues: Speech, Writing, and Representation in North American Indian Texts (1991) has some

informative and sophisticated discussions of Apess. The complete works of Apess have been superbly edited by Barry O'Connell, in a volume called On Our Own Ground: The Writings of William Apess, A Pequot

Complete (1992).

O'Connell's lengthy introduction and notes provide the indispensable starting point for any further study of Apess. Recently the particular role of Methodism in the formation of Apess's thought has begun to be studied. See, for example, Carolyn Haynes, " 'mark for them all to . . . hiss at': The Formation of Methodist and Pequot Identity in the Conversion Narrative of William Apess," Early

American

Literature

31 (1996),

25—44, and Karim Tiro, "Denominated 'SAVAGE': Methodism, Writing, and Identity in the Works of William Apess, a Pequot," American Quarterly 48 (1996), 6 5 3 - 7 9 . Also of interest are Gordon Sayre, "Defying Assimilation, Confounding Authenticity: The Case of William Studies 11 (1996), Apess," a/b:Auto/Biography and Laurence Hauptman and James Wherry, eds., The Pequots in Southern New England: The Fall and Rise of an American Indian Nation

(1990). See also Cheryl Walker's chapters, "The Irony and Mimicry of William Apess" and "Personifying America: Apess's 'Eulogy on King Philip,' " in her Indian Nation: Native American Literature and Nineteenth-Century Nationalisms

(1997).

Cherokee Memorials

The relevant documents relating to the dispute among Georgia, President Andrew Jackson, and the Cherokee Nation can be found in Allen Guttmann and Van R. Halsey's States Rights and Indian

Removal:

The Cherokee

Nation

v. the

State of Georgia (1965). An older resource that remains rich in information is Edward Everett Cavaliers: Dale and Gaston Litton's Cherokee Forty Years of Cherokee History as Told in the Correspondence of the Ridge-Watie-Boudinot

Family (1939). Grace Steele Woodward's The Cherokees (1963) is full of useful information, although rather paternalistic. The Cherokee scholar Rennard Strickland's The Fire and the Spirits (1975) is an excellent introduction to the Cherokee world. Grant Foreman's Indian Removal (1932, 1972) tells the story not only of Cherokee removal but of "the emigration of the Five Civilized Tribes of Indians." A detailed psychohistorical approach to Jackson and the American Indians is Michael Paul Rogin's Fathers and Children: Andrew Jackson Subjugation of the American Indian

and the (1975).

James Mooney's Myths of the Cherokee (1900, 1970) is worth consulting, as is Jack and Anna Kilpatrick's Eastern Cherokee (1970). The only study of the Cherokee Memorials to date is Arnold Krupat's "Figures and the Law: Rhetorical Readings of Congressional and Cherokee Texts," in his Ethnocriticism: tory, Literature (1992).

Ethnography,

His-

Louise Amelia Smith C l a p p e

Thomas C. Russell's edition of The Shirley Letters (1922) contains a biographical sketch by Mary Lawrence, one of Clappe's pupils. Carl I. Wheat published editions of The Shirley Letters twice, in 1933 and 1949. Biographical information is in Rodman Wilson Paul, "In Search of Dame Shirley,' " Pacific

Historical

Review

33

(May 1964), pp. 127—46. An appreciation is in Lawrence Clark Powell's California Classics (1971). A useful paperback edition is Marlene Smith-Baranzini's The Shirley California Mines, 1851-1852

Letters from the (1998). ANB:

Michael Kowalewski. William Cullen Bryant William Cullen Bryant II and Thomas G. Voss edited The Letters

of William

Cullen

Bryant

(1975—92) in six volumes. Earlier biographies are superseded by Charles H. Brown's William Cullen Bryant (1971) and Albert F. McLean's 1989 update of his Twayne William

Cullen

ant. Judith Turner Phair compiled A phy of William

Cullen

Bryant

and His

Bry-

BibliograCritics,

1808-1972 (1975). Bryant's poetry has not been edited according to modern standards, and his newspaper writing had been buried in the files of the New York Evening Post until William Cullen Bryant II republished selected editorials in Power for Sanity (1994). ANB: Albert F. McLean.

James Fenimore Cooper

James Franklin Beard was editor in chief of a long-planned and, after 1979, fast-appearing of Cooper's Writings, collected edition enhanced by reproductions of contemporary illustrations, including many depicting scenes from Cooper's novels. Beard also edited the sixvolume Letters

and Journals

of James

Fenimore

Cooper (1960—1968) but did not live to complete his long-promised biography. Essential background is in Alan Taylor's William Cooper's Town: Power and Persuasion on the Frontier of the Early American Republic

(1995), a biography of the author's father as well as interpretation of The Pioneers. Donald A. Ringe wrote the Twayne volume James Fenimore

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Cooper (1988). Another recent life is Robert Emmet Long's James Fenimore Cooper (1990). Criticism is surveyed in George Dekker and John P. McWilliams's Fenimore Cooper: The

Mossberg's Emily

a Daughter covered

Dickinson:

Continent:

Emily

Dickinson

Fenimore

Cooper: An Annotated

Criticism

(1991). A handy guide is Warren S.

Farr's The Passion Useful are Critical

Walker's Plots and Characters

Fenimore

Cooper

in the Fiction of

to Teaching

essays are in James Fenimore Cooper: The Birth of American Maritime Experience, a special

and Emily

Rebecca Harding Davis Until recently Davis has been best known through writings about her son, the authorcelebrity Richard Harding Davis, including Charles Belmont Davis's The Adventures and Letters of Richard Harding Davis (1917) and Gerald Langford's The Richard Harding Davis

Years (1961). Davis herself published some reminiscences in Bits of Gossip (1904). Recent works include Jane Atteridge Rose's Twayne volume Rebecca Harding Davis (1993), Jean Pfaelzer's A Rebecca Harding Davis Reader (1995), and Pfaelzer's Parlor Radical: Rebecca Harding Davis and the Origins of American Social Real-

ism (1996). ANB: Nancy Craig Simmons. Emily Dickinson Three volumes of The Poems of Emily

Dickinson

(1955) were edited by Thomas H. Johnson, and he and Theodora Ward edited three companion volumes of The Letters

of Emily

Dickinson

(1958). R. W. Franklin's The Manuscript Books of Emily Dickinson (1981) provides, in two volumes, facsimiles of the hand-sewn fascicles of poems Dickinson left behind at her death. Also important is Franklin's The Editing of Emily Dickinson: A Reconsideration Franklin's three-volume Poems

(1967). R. W. of Emily Dick-

inson: Variorum Edition (1998) will supersede Johnson's three-volume Poems. In 1999 Franklin published the one-volume The Poems of Emily

Dickinson:

Reading

Edition.

Franklin's

texts and datings are very close to Johnson's; the words in Johnson's texts are very seldom "wrong"; instead, Franklin sometimes judges that Johnson chose a variant Dickinson did not intend as "final." Jay Leyda's The Years and Hours of Emily Dickinson

(1960) consists of two

and the

Critics

Read

Emily

(1983). Especially valuable is Judith of Emily Dickinson Essays on Emily

(1984), edited by Paul J. Feerlazo;

(1978). Several fine

issue of American Neptune 57 (1997), edited by Robert Foulke. ANB: Donald A. Ringe.

Dickinson

Space of the Mind (1983), and the same author's collection of essays. Feminist

James

When a Writer Is

(1982), Susan Juhasz's The Undis-

Robert Clark. Alan Frank Dyer compiled James of

2867

of inquiry include Barbara Antonina Clarke

Critical Heritage (1973) and in James Fenimore Cooper: New Critical Essays (1985), edited by Bibliography

/

Dickinson's

(1992). Dickinson

Approaches

Poetry (1989), edited by

Robin Riley Fast and Christine Mack Gordon; Dickinson:

A Collection

of

Critical

Essays (1996), edited by Judith Farr. Research tools include Joseph Duchac's The Poems of Emily Dickinson: to Commentary Published

An Annotated in English,

Guide 1890—

1977 (1979) and the continuation (published in 1993) covering 1978-89; Karen Dandurand's Dickinson

Scholarship:

An Annotated

Bibliogra-

phy 1969-1985 (1988); and the treasure trove complied by Willis J. Buckingham (with the help of Mabel Loomis Todd's scrapbooks), Emily Dickinson's Reception in the 1890s (1989). Fordyce R. Bennett's A Reference Guide to the Bible in Emily Dickinson's Poetry (1997) is provocative

but sometimes strained. Essential tools are S. P. Rosenbaum's A Concordance

Emily Dickinson Concordance

to the Poems of

(1964); Cynthia J. MacKenzie's

to the Letters

of Emily

Dickinson

(2000); Joel Myerson's Emily Dickinson: A Descriptive Bibliography (1984); Jane Donahue Eberwein, ed., An Emily Dickinson dia (1998); and The Emily Dickinson

EncyclopeHandbook,

edited by Gudrun Grabher, Roland Hagenbiichle, and Cristanne Miller. The Dickinson Electronic Archives (DEA), directed by Martha Nell Smith, Ellen Louise Hart, Marta Werner, Lara Vetter, and Jarom L. McDonald, will gain in importance as the editors lift restrictions; students should request the password from the editors at emilydickinson.org and check the site to see what riches are available there. ANB: Jane Donahue Eberwein, Frederick Douglass No uniform edition of Douglass's writings is available, but one is under way at Yale University under the editorship of John Blassingame. Five volumes have appeared since 1979. Houston A. Baker Jr. edited and supplied a useful introduction to a reprint of the first edition of Douglass's Narrative

of the Life of Frederick

Douglass,

an

volumes of documents, such as excerpts from family letters. Richard B. Sewall's The Life of Emily Dickinson (1974) is the most ambitious and detailed biography. Tendentious but thorDickinson ough is Cynthia Griffin Wolff"s Emily (1986). Additional documents are in Vivian Pol-

American Slave (1982). The Library of Amerwith notes by Henry Louis ica's Autobiographies,

lak, A Poet's Parents: The Courtship Letters of Emily Norcross and Edward Dickinson (1988), and Polly Longsworth, The World of Emily Dick-

(1893). William L. Andrews's The Oxford Frederick Douglass Reader (1996) offers an excellent selection and a perceptive and detailed introduction. Philip S. Foner edited The Life and

inson (1990). Books that pursue a feminist line

Gates Jr., contains Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave, Written by Himself (1845), My Bondage and My Freedom (1855), and Life and Times of Frederick Douglass

2868

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Writings of Frederick Douglass in five volumes (1950-75). In addition, William L. Andrews and William S. McFeely have edited a Norton Critical Edition of the Narrative. Foner's

Frederick

Douglass:

A

Biography

(1964) has been replaced as the standard biography by William S. McFeely's superb Frederick Douglass (1991), which contains an extensive bibliography. Other biographies of interest Douginclude Charles W. Chesnutt's Frederick lass (1899), Benjamin Quarles's excellent Frederick Douglass (1948), Arna W. Bongemps's Free

at Last:

The Life

of Frederick

Douglass

(1971), and Nathan Irvin Huggins's Slave and Citizen:

The Life of Frederick

Douglass

(1980).

Brilliant historical detective work is contained in Dickson J. Preston's Young Frederick

Douglass

vols. (1959-72). Ronald A. Bosco and Joel Myerson edited The Later Waldo Emerson, 1843-1871

Lectures of Ralph (2001). Ralph H.

Orth is editor in chief of The Topical of Ralph Complete

Notebooks

Waldo Emerson, 3 vols. (1990). The Sermons of Ralph Waldo Emerson

(1989) are available in four volumes, under the chief editorship of Albert J. von Frank. Merton M. Sealts Jr. and Alfred R. Ferguson edited "Nature":

Origin,

Growth,

Meaning

(1969), of

which Sealts prepared a revision (1979). Ralph L. Rusk and Eleanor M. Tilton's ten-volume Letters (1939—95) is supplemented by The Correspondence

of Emerson

and Carlyle (1964), edited

by Joseph Slater. Joel Myerson edited

Selected

Letters of Ralph Waldo Emerson (1997). EricW. Carlson edited Emerson's Literary Criticism

(1980); Waldo E. Martin Jr.'s The Mind of Frederick Douglass (1984), as its title suggests, offers a full-scale intellectual biography.

(1979).

Important pioneering essays dealing with the Narrative are to be found in the collection edited by Robert B. Stepto and Dexter Fisher, Afro-

Less complete are Gay Wilson Allen's Waldo RalphWaldo Emerson (1981), John J. McAller's

American

Literature:

The

Reconstruction

of

Instruction (1978), and in an unusually rich group of original essays in Eric J. Sundquist's Frederick

Douglass:

New Literary

and

Historical

Essays

(1990); William L. Andrews's

Essays

on Frederick

Douglass

Critical

(1991) contains

both early reviews and current views. Volume 1 of Blyden Jackson's A History of Afro-American Literature:

The Long

Beginning,

1746—1895

(1989) puts Douglass in one of his contexts as do Charles T. Davis and Henry Louis Gates Jr.'s The Slave's Narrative (1985), Frances Smith Foster's Witness My Slavery, 2nd ed. (1993), and David W. Blight's Frederick

Douglass's

Civil War

(1989). These volumes will in turn introduce the reader to the rapidly growing scholarship on Douglass, slave narratives, and traditions of writing by black men and women that have begun to be recovered and interpreted. Valuable critical studies can be found in Stephen Butterfield's Black

Autobiography

in America

(1974)

and Houston A. Baker Jr.'s The journey (1980) and Blues,

Literature

Ideology, and

Back

Afro-American

(1984). Eric J. Sundquist's To Wake

the Nations: Race in the Making

of American

Lit-

erature (1993) is especially good on Douglass's autobiographies.

The most detailed biography is still Ralph L. Rusk's The Life of Ralph Waldo Emerson

Emerson: Days of Encounter (1984), Robert D. Richardson's Emerson: The Mind on Fire

(1995), and Carlos Baker's Emerson among the Eccentrics (1996). Emerson's life is partly told in books on his wives, The Letters of Ellen Tucker Emerson (1982), edited by Edith E. W. Gregg, and two books edited by Delores Bird Carpenter: The Life of Lidian Jackson

Emerson

(1980), written by her stepdaughter Ellen Tucker Emerson, and Lidian Jackson Emerson's Selected Letters (1987). Albert J. von Frank compiled An Emerson Chronology (1993). Kenneth W. Cameron prepared Emerson's Workshop: An Analysis

of His Reading

in Periodicals

through

1836 (1964), which should be used along with Library (1967). Walter Harding's Emerson's Cameron's Emerson

among

His

Contemporaries

(1967) includes reviews of Emerson's books and reminiscences from those who knew him. WilReviewers liam J. Sowder edited Emerson's and Commentators: graphical Analysis

odical Criticism Emerson

and

Reviews

(1992).

A Biographical and of Nineteenth-Century

BiblioPeri-

(1968), and Joel Myerson edited Thoreau:

The

Contemporary

Important collections of criticism are Emerson Centenary Essays (1982), edited by Joel Myerson;

Emerson Ralph Waldo Emerson The outstanding achievement in Emerson scholarship is the edition of journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks (1960—77), edited by George P. Clark, Merrell R. Davis, Alfred R. Ferguson, Harrison Hayford, and Mertpn M. Sealts Jr., later joined by Linda Allardt, Ralph H. Orth, J. E. Parsons, A. W. Plumstead, arid Susan Sutton Smith, begun under editor in chief William H. Gilman, and completed under Orth's direction. Stephen E. Whicher, Robert E. Spiller, and Wallace E. Williams edited Early Lectures, 3

(1949).

Critical

Essays

on

Ralph

Waldo

(1983), edited by Robert E. Burkholder

and Joel Myerson; Ralph Waldo Emerson: A Collection of Critical Essays (1993), edited by Lawrence Buell; and Emersonian Circles: Essays

in Honor of Joel Myerson (1997), edited by Wesley T. Mott and Robert E. Burkholder. The best recent guide is Burkholder's Ralph Waldo Emerson:

An Annotated

1980-1991

Bibliography

of

Criticism,

(1994). Myerson prepared

Ralph

Waldo Emerson: A Descriptive Bibliography (1982) and edited A Historical Guide to Ralph

Waldo Emerson (1999). Joel Porte and Saundra Companion Morris edited both the Cambridge

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES to Ralph Waldo Emerson (1999) and the Norton Prose Critical Edition of Ralph Waldo Emerson:

and Poetry (2001). ANB: Joel Myerson. Fanny Fern (Sarah Willis Parton) Serious scholarly and critical work on Fern is just beginning. The fullest selection of Fern's work is Ruth Hall and Other

Writings

(1986),

edited by Joyce W. Warren (1986), who also wrote a biography, Fanny Fern: An

Independent

Woman (1992), fuller than the Twayne volume by Nancy A. Walker, Fanny Fern (1993). Shedding some light on Fanny Fern and her milieu is Thomas N. Baker's 1999 book on her brother, Sentiment and Celebrity: Nathaniel Parker Willis and the Trials of Literary Fame. ANB: Miriam

SahatdJian Gogol.

2869

Hawthorne left unfinished at his death, The American

Claimant

Manuscripts

(1977) and The

Elixir of Life Manuscripts (1977), both edited by Edward H. Davidson, Claude M. Simpson, and L. Neal Smith. Especially welcome is the 1995 Ohio State Miscellaneous Prose and Verse, edited by Thomas Woodson, Simpson, and Smith. The English Notebooks (1941), edited by Randall Stewart, has been reedited by Woodson and Bill Ellis (1996); Smith and Woodson edited The French

and Italian

Notebooks

(1979), previously

known only in the incomplete Passages published in 1872. Norman Holmes Pearson, Smith, and Woodson edited the four volumes of Letters (1984-87) for the Centenary Edition. For the same edition Bill Ellis edited The Consular Letters

Margaret Fuller Scholarship on Fuller began badly with the

/

of Nathaniel

Hawthorne

(1988), 2

vols.

Fuller

Raymona Hull's Nathaniel Hawthorne: The English Experience (1980) is well researched.

Ossoli (1852), prepared by W. H. Channing, James Freeman Clarke, and Ralph Waldo Emerson, friends who casually vandalized the manuscripts they worked with. There are substantial recent collections: Bell Gale Chevigny's The

(1983) is intriguing. Randall Stewart's Nathaniel A Biography (1948), long cited as Hawthorne: standard, lacks richness of detail and sophistication of critical judgment. Arlin Turner's

guarded, sanitized Memoirs

of Margaret

Woman and the Myth: Margaret

Fuller's

Life and

Writings (1976, 1994), a selection of Fuller's writings interspersed with contemporary comFuller: ments on her; Joel Myerson s Margaret Essays on American Life and Letters (1978); Margaret Fuller's New York Journalism: A Biographical Essay and Key Writings (1995), edited by

Catherine C. Mitchell; "These Sad but Glorious Days":

Dispatches

from

Europe

1846-J850

(1992), edited by Larry J . Reynolds and Susan Belasco Smith; and The Essential

Margaret

Ful-

Rita K. Gollin's Portraits of Nathaniel

Nathaniel

Hawthorne:

Hawthorne

A Biography

(1980) is

thin; more readable is James Mellows Nathaniel in His Times (1980). Two recent Hawthorne biographies push controversial sexual theories and interpretations: Edwin Haviland Miller's Salem

Is My Dwelling

Hawthorne Dearest

Place: A Life of

Nathaniel

(1991) and T. Walter Herbert's

Beloved:

The Hawthornes

and the Mak-

ing of the Middle-Class Family (1993). A specialized study is Bryan Homer's An American Liaison:

Leamington

Spa and the

Hawthornes,

ler (1992), edited by Jeffrey Steele. Robert N. Hudspeth's edition of Fuller's Letters is complete in six volumes (1983-94). Larry J. Reynolds edited the Norton Critical Edition of

1855-1864 (1998). Despite all the biographical work on him, Hawthorne stands in need of a new comprehensive study.

Woman in the Nineteenth

thorne:

Century

(1997). Mad-

eleine B. Stern's pioneering The Life of Margaret (1942, 1991) was supplemented by Fuller Joseph J. Deiss's The Roman

Years of

Margaret

Fuller (1969), Laurie James's Men, Women, and Margaret Fuller (1990), and Joan von Mehren's Minerva

and the Muse: A Life of Margaret

(1994); and Eve Kornfeld's Margaret Brief

Biography

with

Documents

Fuller

Fuller: A

(1997). The

standard biography is Charles Capper's, Margaret Fuller: An American Romantic Life, vol. 1: The Private Years. (1994), and vol. 2: The Public

Years (2002). Joel Myerson edited Margaret ler: An Annotated

1983-1995

Bibliography

of

Ful-

Criticism,

(1998). ANB: Joel Athey.

John L. Idol and Buford Jones edited HawThe

Contemporary

Reviews

The

Recognition

of

Nathaniel

Hawthorne

(1969); and J. Donald Crowley's Hawthorne: The Critical Heritage (1970). For critical essays see Nathaniel

icism

Hawthorne:

A Collection

Albert J. von Frank's Critical

thorne's

of Crit-

(1975), edited by J. Donald Crowley; Short

Stories

Essays

on Haw-

(1991); Millicent Bell's

New Essays on Hawthorne's

Major

Tales (1993);

and Claudia D. Johnson's Understanding

"The

Scarlet Letter": A Student Casebook to Issues, Sources, and Historical Documents (1995). Lea

Bertani Vozar Newman's A Reader's Nathaniel Hawthorne The Ohio State University volumes of short stories and romances were controversially edited by Fredson Bowers. Other volumes of the Ohio State Centenary Edition are admirable: Claude NoteM. Simpson's edition of The American books (1972) and the editions of the romances

(1994).

Other books also survey Hawthorne's reputaamong tion: Kenneth W. Cameron's Hawthorne (1968); B. Barnard Cohen's His Contemporaries

Short Stories

of Nathaniel

Hawthorne

Guide to the (1979) is

still useful. An essential resource is Gary Scharnhorst's Nathaniel Hawthorne: An Annotated Bibliography of Comment and Criticism

before 1900 (1988); it deserves to be updated to include recently discovered reviews and comments. C. E. Frazer Clark Jr. prepared Nathaniel

2870

/

Hawthorne:

SELECTED A Descriptive

BIBLIOGRAPHIES Bibliography

(1978)

and Robert L. Gale, A Nathaniel Hawthorne (1991). Larry J. Reynolds wrote A Encyclopedia Historical

Guide

to

Nathaniel

Hawthorne

(2001). ANB: Rita K. Gollin.

Emma Lazarus Lazarus's sisters Mary and Annie edited the twovolume The Poems of Emma

edited Letters to Emma W a s h i n g t o n Irving The Complete Works

of Washington

Irving

(1969— ), organized under the chief editorship of Henry A. Pochmann, was continued by Herbert L. Kleinfield, then by Richard Dilworth Rust. In the introductory essays to this edition the history of Irving's career has been written in detail. The Complete

Works includes the Jour-

nals and Notebooks (1969-70), edited in three volumes by Nathalia Wright and Walter A. Reichart, and the Letters (1978-82), edited in four volumes by Ralph M. Aderman, Herbert L. Kleinfield, and Jenifer S. Banks. The standard biography has been Stanley T. Williams's learned two-volume Life of Washington

Irving

(1935), marred by its disparaging tone. William L. Hedges's Washington

Irving: An

American

Study 1802-1832 (1965) reacts strongly against Williams in exalting Irving's relevance. Two valuable works arc Haskell Springer's Washington

(1976)

and

Andrew B. Myers's A Century of Commentary

Irving:

A Reference

Guide

on

the Works of Washington Irving (1976). Edwin T. Bowden prepared Washington Iwing Bibli-

ography

(1989), and Ralph M. Aderman edited

Critical

Essays

on Washington

Irving

(1990).

Welcome is a reissue in three volumes of Irving's nephew Pierre Munroe Irving's Life and Letters (2001), originally published in 1864. ANB: William L. Hedges.

Jean Fagin Yellin's edition of Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl (1987), with biography, interpretation, and annotation, has been reissued with Harriet's brother John J. Jacobs's narrative included (2000). Frances Smith Foster and Nellie Y. McKay have edited a Norton Critical Edition of Incidents (2001). There are as yet no book-length studies of Jacobs. Rafia Zafar and Deborah M. Garfield have edited Harriet Jacobs and

"Incidents

in the Life of a Slave Girl": New

Critical Essays (1996). Good commentary may be found in Valerie Smith's Self Discovery and Authority

Narrative

(1987),

Elizabeth Fox-Genovese's Within the

Plantation

Household:

South

in Afro-American

Black and White Women in the Old

(1989), Karen Sanchez-Eppler's

ing Liberty: Abolition,

Feminism,

Touch-

and the Politics

of the Body (1993), Frances Smith Foster's Writ-

(1888); the

Lazarus

in the

Columbia

University Library (1939), mainly from American and British writers. Morris U. Schappes edited Tite Letters of Emma Lazarus, (1949) and Emma Lazarus: Selections

1868-1885 from Her

Poetry and Prose (1967). The best biography is Daniel Vogel, Emma Lazarus (1980). In 2002 the Jewish Women's Archive Web site on Lazarus is superb, a model for other Web sites on authors; one hopes this site will be retained and even further improved. ANB: Carole S. Kessner Abraham Lincoln The most comprehensive collection is The Collected Works of Abraham

Lincoln

(1953), 9 vols.,

edited by Roy P. Basler et al. Basler also edited in one volume Abraham

Lincoln:

His

Speeches

and Writings (1946); his introduction is useful both for the critical reflections on Lincoln as a man and as a writer and for information on the history of the texts. Writings on Lincoln constitute a library in themselves. For beginners, Carl Sandburg's detailed, passionate, and adulatory two-volume biography, Abraham

Lincoln:

Tlie Prairie

Years

(1926) and his four-volume Abraham Lincoln: The War Years {1939) were abridged in one volume in 1954. More recent, more dispassionate accounts may be found in Benjamin Thomas's Abraham Lincoln (1952), one of the best short Reconsidered accounts; David Donald's Lincoln (1956); Steven B. Oates's With Malice towards None: The Life of Abraham

Harriet J a c o b s

Lazarus

first volume contains the biographical sketch they wrote for Century Magazine. Ralph L. Rusk

Lincoln

(1977); and

Roger Bruns's Abraham Lincoln (1986). A good specialized examination of Lincoln the Writer: Tlie Dex'elopment

of His Style was published by

Herbert Joseph Edwards and John Erskine Hankins in 1962. Other studies of high quality include Speeches and Writings, 1832—1858: Speeches, Letters, and Miscellaneous Writings, Tlie Lincoln-Douglas Debates (1989), edited and

with notes by Don Fehrenbacher; Dwight C. Anderson's Abraham

Lincoln:

The Quest

for

Immortality (1982); Robert V. Bruce's Lincoln and the Tools of War (1989); James M. McPherson's Abraham

Lincoln

can Rei'olution

(1990); Garry Wills's Lincoln at

Gettysburg:

The Words

and the Second That

Remade

AmeriAmerica

(1992); John H. Rhodenhamel and Thomas F. Schwartz's The Last Best Hope of Earth: Abraham Lincoln and the Promise of America (1993),

with a foreword by McPherson; and Harry V.

ten by Herself: Literary Production by African American Women, 1746—1892, and Carla Kaplan's Trie Erotics of Talk: Women's Writing and

Jaffa's A New Birth of Freedom: Abraham Lincoln and the Coming of the Civil War (2000).

Feminist Child's

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The fullest biography is still the two-volume Life

Paradigms (1996). For Lydia Maria see Carolyn editing of Incidents,

Karcher's Lydia

raphy (1994).

Maria

Child: A Cultural

Biog-

of Henry Wadsworth his Final Memorials

Longfellow (1886-87) and of Henry Wadsworth Long-

SELECTED

fellow (1887), written and edited by the poets brother, Samuel Longfellow. The outstanding modern work on Longfellow is Andrew Hilen's The

Letters

of Henry

Wadsworth

Longfellow

(1966—82); Hilen's texts reveal much that Samuel Longfellow had suppressed. Lawrence Buell edited Selected Poems (1988). Still useful are Lawrence R. Thompson's Young Longfellow (1938, 1969), Edward Wagen(1807-1843) knecht's

Longfellow:

A Full-Length

(1955), Hilen's edition of Clara Diary: A European

1836

Portrait

Crowninshield's

Tour with Longfellow,

1835—

(1956), and Wagenknecht's edition of

Mrs. Longfellow: Selected Letters and Journals of Fanny Appleton Longfellow (1817-1861)

(1956). Important discussions of Longfellow's earnings are in William Charvat's The Profession of Authorship

in America,

1800-1870

(1968).

The best guide to work on Longfellow is Richard American Dilworth Rust's chapter in Fifteen Authors before 1900, edited by Robert A. Rees and Earl N. Harbert (1971). ANB: Edward Wagenknecht.

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

/

2871

(1991). Brian Higgins and Parker compiled Herman

Melville:

The

Contemporary

Reviews

(1995). Of the compilations of modern criticism on Melville's masterpiece, the fullest are in Parker and Hayford's "Moby-Dick"

as

Doubloon

(1970) and Higgins and Parker's Critical on Herman

Melville's

"Moby-Dick''

Essays

(1992). Lea

Bertani Vozar Newman wrote A Reader's

Guide

to the Short Stories of Herman Melville (1986). A Companion to Melville Studies (1986), edited

by John Bryant with chapters by some two dozen Melvillians, is a 906-page guide most notable for a monograph-length essay by G. Thomas Tanselle, "Melville and the World of Books." Visually stunning is Elizabeth A. Schultz's big book Unpainted

to the Last: "Moby-Dick"

and Twen-

tieth-Century American Art (1995). Basic Melville: research tools are Higgins's Herman An Annotated Bibliography, and his Herman Melville:

1931-1960

1846-1930 A Reference

(1979) Guide,

(1987). ANB: Hershel Parker.

Herman Melville The Northwestern-Newberry Edition of The

Edgar Allan Poe The most important recent work of Poe scholarship, and the most useful single reference book on Poe, is The Poe Log: A Documentary'

Writings

Life

of Herman

Melville

(1968-

), edited

by Harrison Hayford, Hershel Parker, and G. Thomas Tanselle, is standard. Clarel appeared in 1989, and the rest of Melville's poetry will appear as the last two volumes of the series. Textual discoveries reported in the Norton Critical Edition of Moby-Dick (1967), edited by Harrison Hayford and Hershel Parker, went into the Northwestern-Newberry edition of Moby-Dick (1988). The best documentary source for studying Melville's masterpiece is now the ParkerHayford 2nd ed., rev., Norton Critical Edition of Moby-Dick (2001), which contains much new information. Jay Leyda's monumental compilation of documents, Tlie Melville Log (1951; repr. 1969, with a supplement), is being expanded by Parker. All other biographies are superseded by Hershel Parker's two-volume Herman Melville: A Biography, 1819-1851 (1996) and Herman Melville: A Biography, 1851-1891 (2002). Stanton Garner's The Civil War World of Herman

Melville (1993) is reliable (except for some characterizations of members of Melville's family) and the later "Historical Notes" in the Northwestern-Newberry volumes, such as that to Clarel, contain essential scholarship available nowhere else. Nineteenth-century biographical accounts are reprinted and analyzed in Merton M. Sealts Jr.'s The Early Lives of Melville

(1974). Sealts's

Melville's Reading (1988), primarily a list of books known to have been in Melville's possession, must be supplemented by Mary K. Bercaw's Melville's Sources (1987). Newly discovered books from Melville's library are discussed in Parker's biography. Kevin Hayes and Parker edited A Checklist

of Melville

Reviews

of Edgar

Allan

Poe, 1809-1849

(1987),

edited by Dwight Thomas and David K. Jackson. There is no complete modern scholarly edition of Poe, although there are a number of facsimile reprints of early editions as well as modern editions of the poems by Floyd Stovall (1965) and by Thomas O. Mabbott (1969). Burton R. Pollin continued Mabbott's long-projected edition of the Collected Writings; the first volume appeared in 1981. G. R. Thompson's Edgar Allan Poe: Essays and Rex'isions, in the Library of

America series, makes many elusive documents readily available. John W. Ostrom edited TTie Letters

of Edgar

Allan

Poe (1948; repr. 1966,

with additional letters). Partly because of forgeries and calumnies by Poe's literary executor Rufus Griswold, Poe biography has remained enmeshed in legends. John Carl Miller's Building Poe Biography (1977) lucidly traces the gradual emergence of documents concerning Poe. Arthur Hobson Quinn's Edgar Allan Poe: A Critical Biography (1941) has not been wholly superseded. Robert D. Jacobs's Poe: Journalist and Critic (1969) is highly detailed and discriminating. The best recent biography is Kenneth Silverman's Edgar A. Poe (1991). Poe's early reputation is traced in Eric Carlson's The Recognition of Edgar Allan Poe (1966) and Jean Alexander's Affidavits of Genius: Edgar Allan Poe and the French Critics, 1847-1924

(1971). Modern collections of criticism, such as I. M. Walker's Edgar

Heritage

Allan

Poe: The

Critical

(1986), are largely superseded by Gra-

ham Clarke's four-volume Edgar Allan Poe: Crit-

ical Assessments Edgar Allan Books and

(1991). Esther F. Hyneman's

Poe: An Annotated Bibliography of Articles in English, 1827—1973

2872

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

(1974) lists a century and a half of criticism. Kenneth Silverman edited New Essays on Poe's Major Tales (1993). Eric W. Carlson edited A Companion to Poe Studies (1996). Fresh information is in Terence Whalen's Edgar Allan Poe and the Masses: The Political Economy of Literatim in Antebellum America (1999). Scott Pee-

ples wrote the very welcome new Twayne guide, Edgar

Allan

Poe Revisited

(1998). Elizabeth

Wiley prepared a Concordance to the Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe (1989). An essential source is the 1997 The Poe Encyclopedia, edited by Frederick S. Frank and Anthony Magistrale. J. Gerald Kennedy edited A Historical

Guide to Edgar

Allan Poe (2001). ANB: Kenneth Silverman. Harriet Beecher Stowe Tlte Writings

of Harriet

Beecher

Stowe

(1896,

1967), in sixteen volumes, though not complete, is comprehensive enough to represent Stowe's literary range. The Library of America's volume contains Uncle Tom's Cabin, The Minister's Wooing, and Oldtown Folks (1982). Elizabeth

Ammons edited a Norton Critical Edition of Uncle Tom's Cabin (1994), and Joan D. Hedrick edited the Oxford Harriet Beecher Stowe

Reader

(1999). Bibliographical resources include MarBeecher garet Holbrook Hildreth's Harriet Stowe: A Bibliography (1976) and Jean Ashton's Harriet

Beecher

Stowe:

A Reference

Guide

(1977). Joan D. Hedrick's Pulitzer Prize-winning Harriet Beecher

Stowe: A Life (1994) is now the

standard biography. Hedrick concentrates on Stowe as a literary professional; two earlier biographies focused on her religious ideas remain useful: Robert Forrest Wilson's Crusader in Crinoline (1941) and Charles H. Foster's The Rungless

Ladder:

Harriet

Beecher

Stowe and

New England Puritanism (1954, 1970). An excellent family biography is Milton Rugoff's The Beechers: An American

Family (1981). Mary

Kelley treats Stowe along with other women writers in Private Woman, Public Stage: Domesticity in Nineteenth-Century

Literary America

(1984). Two good brief general introductions are John R. Adams's Harriet

Beecher

Stowe

(1989, rev. ed.) and Josephine Donovan's Uncle Tom's

Cabin:

Evil, Affliction,

and

Redemptive

Love (1991). Thomas R. Gossett's "Uncle Cabin"

and American

Culture

able. Elizabeth Ammons edited Critical on Harriet Beecher

Tom's

(1985) is invalu-

Local

Color

Literature:

Imagining

Self in Nineteenth-Century

Lives: The Views from the Threshold

Women's

(1999).

Henry David Thoreau The Princeton Edition of Thoreau's work (1971— ) will be standard. Of the volumes published so far, Walden (1971), edited by J. Lyndon Shanley, must be supplemented by Shanley's The Making of "Walden" (1957, 1966). The Princeton Edition is including the journals (1981— ), previously available in an imperfectly transcribed edition (1906, 1962), as well as the Correspondence. For now, Thoreau's letters are mostly available in Carl Bode and Walter Harding's Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau (1958), supplemented by Kento Thoreau's neth W. Cameron's Companion (1964). Raymond R. Borst comCorrespondence piled The Thoreau Log: A Documentary Life of Henry David Thoreau, 1817-1862 (1992). The

most reliable narrative biography is still Walter Harding's The Days of Henry Thoreau:

raphy

A Biog-

(1965). Robert D. Richardson wrote

Henry Thoreau:

A Life of the Mind (1986). Also

valuable is Harding's Thoreau: Man of Concord (1960), recollections by dozens of people who knew Thoreau; Harding's Thoreau's Library (1957); and a 1993 reissue of the pioneering Life by the English enthusiast H. S. Salt, based on his correspondence with Americans who knew Thoreau. Fritz Oehlschlaeger and George Hendrick edited Toward the Making of Thoreau's Modern Reputation: Selected Correspondence of S. A. Jones, A. W. Hosmer, H. S. Salt, H. G. O. Blake,

and D. Ricketson (1979). William L. Howarth Gazeteer edited Robert F. Stowell's A Thoreau (1970), which includes many maps and photographs of places Thoreau knew. Walter Harding's Thoreau Handbook (1959) was revised by Harding and Michael Meyer (1980). Essential is Robert Sattelmeyer's Thoreau's Reading: A Study in Intellectual

Catalogue

History with

Bibliographical

(1988). Gary Scharnhorst compiled

Henry David Thoreau: An Annotated Bibliography of Comment and Criticism before 1900

(1992). Thoreau's reputation is surveyed in Thoreau: A Century

of Criticism

(1954), edited by

Stowe (1980); Ammons and

tion of Henry David Thoreau (1969); Michael Meyer's Several More Lives to Live: Thoreau's Political Reputation in America (1977); Joel Myerson's Emerson and Thoreau: The Contem-

Tom's Cabin"

in

1986.

porary Reviews

Specialized critical studies dealing wholly or in part with Stowe include Edwin Bruce Kirk-

Henry David Thoreau:

of "Uncle

Tom's

(1977), Gayle Kimball's The Religious Beecher

America

(1992), and Carolyn G. Heilbrun's

Walter Harding; Wendell Glick's The Recogni-

edited New Essays on "Uncle

Harriet

Tradition

Individualism:

Essays

Susan Belasco edited Approaches to Teaching "Uncle Tom's Cabin" (2000). Eric Sundquist

ham's The Building

A Woman's

(1983), Gillian Brown's Domestic

Cabin"

Ideas of

Stowe: Her Gospel of Woman-

hood (1982), Josephine Donovan's New

England

zation

(1992); and Gary Scharnhorst's A Case Study in

Canoni-

(1993). Joel Myerson edited

Critical

Essays on Henry1 David Thoreau

(1988), Robert

F. Sayre edited New Essays on Walden (1992), Companion and Myerson edited The Cambridge to Henry David Thoreau (1995). Three critical

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

books related by their interest in compositional process are Stephen Adams and Donald Ross Jr.'s Revising

Thoreau's

Mythologies:

Major

Works

The Composition

of

(1988), Steven Fink's

Prophet in the Marketplace: Thoreau s Development as a Professional Writer (1992), and Robert

Milder's Reimagining Thoreau (1995). Lawrence Buell's The Environmental Imagination (1995) is a classic in a new field of study. Harmon D. Smith wrote My Friend, My Friend: The Story of Thoreau's

Relationship

with

Emer-

son (1999). Raymond R. Borst prepared Henry David Thoreau: A Descriptive Bibliography (1982) and edited Henry David Thoreau: A Reference Guide: 1835-1899 (1987). William E. Cain edited A Historical Guide to Henry David

Thoreau

(2000). ANB: Walter Harding.

Walt Whitman The study of Walt Whitman has been revolutionized

by

the

Walt

Whitman

Hypertext

Archive, directed by Kenneth M. Price and Ed Folsom, a huge and constantly growing resource. Before going to the printed sources listed below, students should work in and out of the sections of this gigantic and superbly ordered archive, which includes a lengthy and reliable biographical essay by Folsom and Price, all the known contemporary reviews, all the known photographs, a current bibliography of scholarship and criticism—a very great treasure trove, nothing short of a blessing to students of American literature and a model for later hypertext archives. The Collected

Writings

of Walt Whitman

was

under the general editorship of Gay Wilson Allen; part of this edition is Walt Whitman: The Correspondence (1961—69), a six-volume set with two supplements (1990—91) edited by Edwin H. Miller. The growth of Leaves of Grass may be studied conveniently in the Comprehensive Reader's Edition (1965, 1968), edited by Harold W. Blodgett and Sculley Bradley. Michael Moon has edited the Norton Critical Edition of Leaves of Grass (2002). Facsimiles have been published of the 1855 and 1860 editions of Leaves of Grass, and Arthur Golden edited Walt Whitman's

Blue Book (1968), a fac-

simile of Whitman's copy of the 1860 edition as marked up for what became the 1867 edition. Essential, in three volumes, is "Leaves of Grass": A Textual

Variorum

of the Printed Poems (1980),

edited by Bradley, Blodgett, Golden, and William White. Garland has printed three volumes containing facsimiles of Whitman manuscripts (1993). Important documents are in Notebooks and

Unpublished

Prose

Manuscripts

(1984),

edited by Edward P. Grier in six volumes. The first volume of Whitman's Journalism, edited by Herbert Bergman, Douglas A. Noverr, and Edward J. Recchia, appeared in 1998. Roger Asselineau's The Evolution of Walt Whitman (1960, 1962), the first biography to

/

2873

deal openly with Whitman's homosexuality, was reissued in 1999 in one volume with a foreword by Ed Folsom. Long the standard biography, essential for its month-by-month story of Whitman's life, is Gay Wilson Allen's The Solitary Singer (1967). More popular in nature is Justin Kaplan's Walt Whitman: A Life (1980). Jerome Loving's knowledgeable Walt Whitman: The Song of Himself(1 999) ought to have been standard, but his long denial that Whitman was a homosexual seems to manifest itself in the pervasive distance Loving keeps from his subject, even though he acknowledges Whitman's sexuality here on the evidence of Live Oak, with Moss. Students may test Loving against Gary Schmidgall's intimate Walt Whitman:

A Gay Life

(1998) or the Folsom-Price hypertext biography. Joann P. Krieg's 1998 A Whitman Chronology is very useful. Contemporary context is emphasized in Ed Folsom's Walt

Whitman's

Native

Representations

(1994) and David S. Reynolds's

Walt Whitman's

America:

A Cultural

Biography

(1995). Allen wrote A Reader's Guide to Walt Whitman (1970) and the valuable New Walt Whitman Handbook (1975). Some other useful books based on documentary evidence are Thomas L. Brasher's Whitman

as Editor

of the

Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1970), Joseph Jay Rubin's The Historic Whitman (1973), Floyd Stovall's The Foreground of "Leaves of Grass" (1974), and Jerome M. Loving's Civil War Letters of George

Washington Whitman (1975), the writer of the letters being Whitman's brother. New documents are also in Dear Brother Walt: The Letters of Thomas

Jefferson

Whitman

(1984), edited by

Dennis Berthold and Kenneth Price. Joel Myerson edited Whitman in His Own Time (1991), from contemporary records. The last of nine volumes of Horace Traubel's With Walt Whitman in Camden, edited by Jeanne Chapman and Robert Macisaac, appeared in 1996; students may start with Gary Schmidgall's Intimate with Walt: Selections from Whitman's with Horace Traubel, 1888-1892

Conversations (2001).

Still a notable reading is Edwin H. Miller's Walt Whitman's

Poetry: A Psychological

(1968). Ezra Greenspan edited The Companion

to Walt

Whitman

Journey

Cambridge

(1995). Some

items are still useful in these older collections of writing on Whitman: Whitman's "Song of Myself: Origin, Growth, Meaning (1964), edited by James E. Miller Jr.; A Century of Whitman Criti-

cism (1969), edited by Edwin H. Miller; Robert K. Martin's The Continuing Presence of Walt Whitman: The Life after the Life (1992) explicitly

highlights

homosexual

readings.

Useful are

Geoffrey M. Sill's Walt Whitman of Mickle Street: A Centennial Collection (1994); Gay Wil-

son Allen and Ed Folsom's Walt Whitman and the World (1995); and Betsy Erkkila and Jay Grossman's Breaking

Cultural

Studies

Bounds:

Whitman

and

American

(1996). Graham Clarke pulled

together the massive Walt

Whitman:

Critical

2874

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Assessments (1996), consisting of four somewhat overlapping volumes, partly chronological, partly thematic in arrangement: vol. 1, The Man and the Myth: Biographical Studies; vol. 2, The Response to the Writing; vol. 3, Writerson Whitman's Writing; and vol. 4, Walt Whitman in the Twentieth Century: A Chronological Overview. Kenneth Price edited Walt Whitman: The Contemporary

Reviews (1996). Indispensable are Scott Giantvalley's Walt Whitman, 1838-1939: A Reference Guide (1981) and Donald D. Kummings's Walt Whitman, 1940-1975: A Reference Guide (1982). Joel Myerson prepared Walt Whitman: A Descriptive Bibliography (1993). Very valuable is the 1998 Walt Whitman: An Encyclopedia,

edited by J. R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings. Walt Whitman:

The Measure

of His

Song,

edited by Jim Perlman, Ed Folsom, and Dan Campion (2nd rev. ed., 1998), quotes other poets on Whitman. David S. Reynolds edited A Historical

Guide to Walt Whitman

(2000). ANB:

Jerome Loving; the denial that Whitman was a homosexual makes many users uneasy about this AJVB entry, obviously written before the last changes to Loving's 1999 biography.

John Greenleaf Whittier Whittier's poetry has been steadily available, but much of his prose, especially his newspaper writings, has never been collected or was collected but is out of print. Samuel T. Pickard's Life

and

Conflicting Stories: American Women Writers at the Turn of the Century (1991); William L. Andrews, To Tell a Free Story: The First Century of Afro-American Autobiography, 1760—1865 (1986); William L. Andrews and Henry Louis Gates Jr., eds., The Civitas Anthology of African American Slave Narratives (1999); Barbara Bardes and Suzanne Gossett, Declarations of Independence: Women and Political Power in Nineteenth Century American Fiction (1990); Phillip Barrish, American Literary Realism, Critical Theory, and Intellectual Prestige 1880-1990 (2001); Jane Missner Barstow, One Hundred Years of American Women Writing, 1848-1948 (1997), which provides biographical summaries and surveys of scholarship on most of the women writers in this section of NAAL; Dale M. Barrer and Philip Gould, eds., Tlie Cambridge Companion to Nineteenth-Century American Women's Writing (2001); Nina Baym, American Women of Letters and the Nineteenth-Century Sciences: Styles of Affiliation (2002) and Women's Fiction: A Guide to Novels By and About Women in America 1820-1870 (1978); Bernard W. Bell, The Afro-American Novel and Its Tradition (1987); Michael Davitt Bell, The Problem of American Realism: Studies in the

of John

Greenleaf

Whittier

Greenleaf Whittier: Friend of Man (1949), John B. Pickard's John Greenleaf Whittier: An Introduction and Interpretation (1961), and John B. Pickard's three-volume Letters of John Greenleaf

Whittier (1975). John B. Pickard also edited an important collection of criticism, Memorabilia of John

Greenleaf

Whittier

(1968), and Donald C.

Freeman, John B. Pickard, and Roland H. Woodwell assembled the illustration-filled W^iittier and Whittierland: Portrait of a Poet and His World (1976). Woodwell also wrote John Greenleaf Wliittier: A Biography (1985). The best guide to work on Whittier is Karl Keller's chapter in Fifteen American Authors before 1900 ( 1 9 7 1 , 1 9 8 4 ) , edited by Robert A. Rees and Earl N. Harbert. AJVB: Randall Cluff.

AMERICAN LITERATURE The titles of the following highly selective list of general historical and critical studies typically suggest their coverage within this period; many pre wide extensive coverage of several writers represented in this section. Elizabeth Ammons,

Letters

(1894), long standard, is superseded by John

1865-1914

Cultural History of a Literary Idea (1993); Sacvan Bercovitch, ed.. Reconstructing American Literary History (1986); William Boelhower, Through a Glass Darkly: Ethnic Semiosis in American Literature (1987); Donna M. Campbell, Resisting Regionalism: Gender and Naturalism in American Fiction, 1885-1915 (1998). John Conder, Naturalism in American Fiction: The Classic Phase (1984); Thomas Cooley, Educated Lives: The Rise of Modern Autobiography in America (1986); Frederick Crews, Tlie Critics Bear It Away (1992); Robert Davidoff, The Genteel Tradition and the Sacred Rage (1992); Josephine Donovan, New England Local Color Literature: A Women's Tradition (1983); Ann Douglas, The Feminization of American Culture (1977); Paul John Eakin, American Autobiography: Retrospect and Prospect (1991); Emory Elliot, ed., Columbia Literary History of the United States (1988) and Columbia History of the American Novel (1991); Robert A. Ferguson, Law and Letters in American Culture (1984); Leslie A. Fiedler, Love and Death in the American Novel (1960); Philip Fisher, Hard Facts: Setting and Form in the American Noi'el (1985); George Frederickson, The Black Image in the White Mind: The Debate on Afro-American Character and Destiny, 1817-1914 (1971); Henry Louis Gates Jr., Figures in Black: Words, Signs, and the "Racial" Self (1987) and The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism (1988); Paul Gilmore, The

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES Genuine Article: Race, Mass Culture, and American Literary Manhood (2002); Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic Modernity and Double Consciousness (1993); Nancy Glazener, Reading for Realism: The History of a Literary Institution (1997); Huck Gutman, ed., As Others Read Us: International Perspectives on American Literature (1991); Alfred Habegger, Gender, Fantasy, and Realism in American Literature (1982); Sharon M. Harris, ed., American Women Prose Writers, 1870-1920 (2000), which includes biographical information; Susan K. Harris, NineteenthCentury American Women's Novels (1990); Charles P. Henry, Culture and African American Politics (1990); and June Howard, Form and History in American Literary Naturalism (1985). Sherrie A. Inness and Diana Royer, eds.. Breaking Boundaries: New Perspectives on Women's Regional Writing (1997), provides fifteen essays on Stowe and Jewett and lesser-known writers, mostly from the nineteenth century. Amy Kaplan, The Social Construction of American Realism (1988); Alfred Kazin, On Native Grounds: An Interpretation of Modern American Prose Literature (1942) and American Procession (1984); Marcus Klein, Foreigners: The Making of American Literature, 1900-1940 (1981); Denise D. Knight and Emmanuel S. Nelson, Nineteenth Century American Women Writers (1997), which offers brief biographical and analytical entries on seventy writers; Annette Kolodny, The Lay of the Land: Metaphor as Experience and History (1975); Paul Lauter, From WaldenPond to Jurassic Park: Activism, Culture, and American Studies (2001); T . J . Jackson Lears, No Place of Grace: Antimodernism and the Transformation of American Culture, 1880—1920 (1981); Brian Lee, American Fiction 18651940 (1987); Angela Leighton, Victorian Women Poets: Writing against the Heart (1992); Lawrence W. Levine, Black Culture and Black Consciousness: Afro-American Folk Tliought from Slavery to Freedom (1977); Amy Ling, Asian American Literature (1982). Glen A. Love, New Americans: The Westerner and the Modern Experience in the American Novel (1982); Richard M. Ludwig and Clifford A. Nault Jr., eds., Annals of American Literature, 1602—1983 (1985); Bonney MacDonald, Updating the Literary West (1997), which brings together essays by one hundred scholars who address a very diverse range of topics from ethnicity and gender to children's literature and the environment; Ronald E. Martin, American Literature and the Universe of Force (1981); and Leo Marx, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America (1964). Todd McGowan's The Feminine "NO!": Psychoanalysis and the New Canon (2001) offers a new perspective on such prominent rediscovered titles as Gilman's "The Yellow Wall-paper," Chesnutt's "Tlie Marrow of Tradition," and Chopin's The Awakening. Janet Holmgrin McKay, Narration and Discourse

/

2875

in American Realistic Fiction (1982); Walter B. Michaels, The Gold Standard and the Logic of Naturalism: American Literature at the Turn of the Century (1987); Ruth Miller, Backgrounds to Black American Literature (1971); Lee Clark Mitchell, Determined Fictions: American Literary Naturalism (1989); Toni Morrison, Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination (1992); Wilson J. Moses, The Golden Age of Black Nationalism, 1850-1925 (1978, reprinted 1988); Elsa Nettels, Language and Gender in American Fiction: Howells, James, Wliarton, and Cather (1997); Orm Overland, Immigrant Minds, American Identities: Making the United States Home, 1870-1930 (2000); Mary E. Papke, Verging on the Abyss: The Social Fiction of Kate Chopin and Edith Wharton (1990); David Perkins, A History of American Poetry-. From the 1890s to the High Modernist Mode (1976); Lewis Perry, Intellectual Life in America (1984); Donald Pizer, ed., Documents of American Realism and Naturalism (1998); Donald Pizer, Realism and Naturalism in Nineteenth-Century American Literature (rev. ed. 1984); Donald Pizer, Twentieth Century American Naturalism (1982); Donald Pizer, ed., The Cambridge Companion to American Realism and Naturalism: Howells to London (1995); Richard Poirier, A World Elsewhere: The Place of Style in American Literature (1966); Manfred Piitz, ed., Nietzsche in American Literature and Thought (1995); Tom Quirk and Gary Scharnhorst, eds., American Realism and the Canon (1994); Russell Reising, The Unusable Past: Theory and the Study of American Literature (1986); Susan L. Roberson, ed., Women, America and Movement: Narratives of Relocation (1998); Constance Rourke, American Humor: A Study of the National Character (1931); John Carlos Rowe, Through the Custom-House: Nineteenth Century American Fiction and Modem Theory (1982); A. LaVonne Brown Ruoff, American Indian Literatures: An Introduction, Bibliographic Review, and Selected Bibliography (1990); A. LaVonne Brown Ruoff and Jerry Ward, eds.. Redefining American Literary History (1990); Shirley Samuels, ed., The Culture of Sentiment: Race, Gender, and Sentimentality in Nineteenth-Century America (1992); David E. Shi, Facing Facts: Realism in American Thought and Culture, 1850-1920 (1995); Alan Shucard, Fred Moramarco, and William Sullivan, Modern American Poetry, 1865—1950 (1989); Robert Shulman, Social Criticism and Nineteenth Century American Poetry, 1865— 7950 (1989); Richard Slotkin, The Fatal Environment: The Myth of the Frontier in the Age of Industrialization, 1800-1890 (1985); Valerie Smith, Self-Discovery and Authority in AfroAmerican Narrative (1987); Carroll SmithRosenberg, Disorderly Conduct: Visions of Gender in Victorian America (1986); Werner Sollers, Beyond Ethnicity: Consent and Descent

2876

/

SELECTED

in American

Culture

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

(1986); Cushing Strout,

fable

(1984). Davidson also edited

Making American Tradition: Visions and Revisions from Ben Franklin to Alice Walker (1990);

Essays

Eric J. Sundquist, ed., American Realism: New Essays (1982); Eric J. Sundquist, To Wake the

An Ambrose

Nations:

Race in the Making

of American

Liter-

ature (1993); Tony Tanner, Scenes of Nature, Signs of Men (1987); Gordon O. Taylor, Chapters of Experience:

American

Studies

in Twentieth

Autobiography

mas, American

Literary

Promise of Contract. The Incorporation

Century

(1983); Brook ThoRealism

and the Failed

(1997); Alan Trachtenberg, of America:

Culture

and Soci-

ety in the Gilded Age (1982); Nancy A. Walker, A Very Serious

American

Thing:

Culture

Women's

Humor

and

(1988); and Kenneth Warren,

Black and White Strangers: Literary Realism (1993).

Race and

American

For guidance to more recent general books on American literature in this period, see the "Key to Abbreviations" herein and the "Themes, Topics, Criticism" and "Nineteenth-Century Literature" chapters in annual volumes of American Annual volumes of the Literary Scholarship. Modem

Language

Association

Bibliography

should also be consulted. Up-to-date bibliographies and reviews may be found in such standard journals as African American Review, American Literature, American Literary History, American Quarterly, American Literary Realism, 1870—1910, College Language Association Jour-

nal, and MELLJS as well as in the publications of societies devoted to individual authors in this period. Ambrose Bierce The fullest edition of Bierce's writings. Collected Works of Ambrose

Bierce

( 1 9 0 9 - 1 2 ) , was edited

by Walter Neale. Ernest Jerome Hopkins's The Complete

Short Stories of Ambrose

Bierce

(1970,

1984) contains his commentary and a perceptive foreword by Cathy N. Davidson. The largest collection of Bierce's letters is available in Bertha C. Pope's edition of The Letters of Ambrose Bierce (1921). A collected edition of Bierce's production as a journalist is still not available, but S. T. Joski and David Schultz's A Sole Survivor: Bits of Autobiography (1999) offers tantalizing bits and pieces. More, but still not enough, are provided in Daniel Lindley's Ambrose Bierce Takes on the Railroad: The Journalist as Muckraker and Cynic (1999).

The standard critical biography is still Paul Fatout's Ambrose

Bierce,

the Devil's

Lexicogra-

pher (1951); Mary Elizabeth Grenander's Ambrose Bierce (1971) is worth consulting. Roy Morris Jr.'s Ambrose

Bierce: Alone in Bad Com-

pany (1996) enriches our understanding of Bierce's Civil War experience and how he converted this experience into a group of fine short stories. By far the best critical study of Bierce's Experimental work is Cathy N. Davidson's The Fictions

of Ambrose

Bierce: Structuring

the Inef-

on Ambrose

Bierce

Critical

(1982). Robert L.

Gale's careful survey of Bierce's life and work, Bierce

Companion

(2001), is a wel-

come addition to a still scanty list of resources for the study of this fascinating author. Abraham Cahan There is no collected edition of Cahan's many writings in English, Russian, and Yiddish. Isaac Metzker edited A Bintel Brief: Sixty Years of Letters from the Lower East Side to the Jewish Daily

Forward

(1971). Moses

Never Lived in America:

Rischin's

Grandma

The New Journalism

of

Abraham Cahan (1985) also features an extensive and informative introduction. Cahan's "The Imported

Bridegroom"

and Other

Stories

of the

New York Ghetto (1898) was reprinted with introduction by Bernard G. Richards in 1970. The Rise of David Levinsky: A Novel (1917) was

reprinted with an introduction by John Higham (1960); it was reprinted again with a superb introduction and notes by Jules Chametzky (1993). No full-scale biography of Cahan has been published, but many of the critical books listed contain accounts of his very long and full life. Irving Howe's World of Our Fathers (1976) is an immensely well-informed cultural history of Jewish immigration and sheds much light on turn of the century Yiddish journalism in New York. Ronald Sanders's brilliant and engaging Tlie Downtown

Jews: Portraits

of an

Immigrant

Generation (1969) focuses on Cahan's generation and provides information through the early 1920s. John Higham's still valuable Strangers in the Laiui: Patterns

of American

Nativism,

1860—

1925 (1955), as its subtitle suggests, calls attention to the mounting opposition to immigration, Jewish and otherwise. Sanford Marovitz's Abraham Cahan (1996) is the best introduction to Cahan's life and work; its evaluations of the fiction is balanced and judicious. Jules Chametsky's From

the Ghetto:

The Fiction

of

Abraham

Cahan {1977) is by far the best critical study of Cahan's English and Yiddish fiction. David Fine's chapter on Cahan in The City of the Immigrant

and American

Fiction,

1880—1920

(1977) provides a good overview. Louis Harap's Creative Awakening: The Jewish Presence in Twentieth Century American Literature: 1900—

1940s (1987) is worth consulting, as is Allen Guttman's groundbreaking The Jewish Writer in America:

Assimilation

and the Crisis

of Identity

(1971). Much good criticism of Cahan has appeared in academic journals in recent years. Charles W. Chesnutt There is no uniform edition of Chesnutt's writings. Sylvia L. Render edited (with an excellent introduction) The Short

Chesnutt

Fiction

of Charles

W.

(1974). Richard H. Brodhead edited

The Journals

of Charles

W. Chesnutt

(1993); his

brilliant introduction to The Conjure

Woman

SELECTED

and Other Conjure Tales (1993) locates Chesnutt's tales within the conventions of local color realism and particularly within the development of black vernacular voice and emerging fictions detailing black folk life. William L. Andrews, among the very best of Chesnutt's critics, brings his deep understanding of Chesnutt to his edition of the Collected

Stories of Charles

W. Ches-

nutt (1992). The first full-length biography was written by his daughter: Helen M. Chesnutt, Charles Waddel Chesnutt:

Pioneer

of the Color Line (1952).

Heermance J. Noel's Charles America's

First Great Black

W.

Novelist

Chesnutt: (1974) is a

useful critical biography. William L. Andrews's The

Literary

Career

of Charles

W.

Chesnutt

(1980) is distinguished by its original scholarship and its judicious interpretations; Sylvia L. Render's Charles W. Chesnutt (1980) is a fine introduction to the man and his work. Robert B. Stepto's perceptive Charles

Julius

Stories

Chesnutt:

The Uncle

appears in Gunter H. Lenz's

(edited) collection History and Tradition

American

Culture

in Afro-

(1984). Marjorie Pryse and

Hortense J. Spillers's Conjuring: Black Women, Fiction, and Literary Tradition (1985) and Jane Campbell's Mythic Black Fiction: The Transfor-

mation of History (1986) contain useful contextual material on Chesnutt. A more specialized study is Ernestine Williams Pickens's Charles W. Chesnutt

and

the Progressive

Movement

(1994). Eric J. Sundquist's To Wake the Nations (1993) treats Chesnutt at length and freshly. Other worthy critical studies: Samira Kawash's Dislocating the Color Line: Identity, and Singularity in African-American

Hybridity, Narrative

(1997) examines critically and historically representations of racial difference; Charles Duncan's The Absent

Man: The Narrative

Craft of

Charles W. Chesnutt (1998) explores sensitively what might be called the "rhetoric of elusiveness" in Chesnutt's career. Henry Wonhams Charles

W. Chesnutt:

A Study of the Short

Fic-

tion (1998) is a good title in a generally highquality series; Critical

Essays

on Charles

W.

Chesnutt (1999) edited by Joseph R. McElrath gathers a variety of helpful essays.

Works of Kate Chopin

(1969) was

edited in two volumes by Per Seyersted, who also wrote the excellent Kate Chopin: A Critical (1969). Emily Toth's landmark Biography Unveiling

Kate

Chopin

(1999)

incorporates

material from Chopin's recently discovered diaries and manuscripts and is now the standard biography. Per Seyersted and Emily Toth edited A Kate Chopin

Miscellany

(1980), and a collec-

tion of unpublished short fiction, poems, letters, etc.; their revealing Kate Chopin's

Private

Papers

appeared in 1998. Barbara C. Ewell's Kate Chopin (1986) is a good introduction to the life and work. Emily Toth's monumental critical biogra-

/

2877

phy Kate Chopin (1990) has established her as perhaps the leading Chopin scholar. Bernard J. Kosloski's Kate Chopin:

A Study of

the Short Fiction (1996) is a good survey of this large subject. Koloski also edited a varied and useful collection, Approaches

to Teaching

Kate

Chopin's "The Awakening" (1988) and a most welcome edition of her two most important col"Bayou lections of short stories in Kate Chopin: Folk" and "A Night in Acadie"

(1999). Lynda S.

Boren and Sara deSaussure Davis edited a fresh collection of essays (with a foreword by Cathy N.

Davidson),

Kate

Chopin

Reconsidered:

Beyond the Bayou (1992). Wendy Martin edited New Essays on The Awakening (1988), Nancy A. Walker edited Kate Chopin: The Complete Authoritative Text with

Awakening, Biographical

and Historical Contexts (1993). Joyce Dyer wrote a closely argued monograph The Awakening: A Novel

of Beginnings

(1993; 2nd ed.,

2000), Donald Kesey edited Contexts for Criticism (1994), and Margo Culley's second edition of the Norton Critical Edition of The Awakening with biographical and historical contexts and criticism was published in 1994. Susan Disheroon Green, David Caudle, and Emily Toth teamed up to produce the indispensable Kate Chopin:

An Annotated

Bibliography

of

Critical

Works (1999); it provides not only annotation but discursive essays by the editors on Chopin's life, work, and reputation. Samuel L. Clemens See Mark Twain. Stephen Crane Fredson Bowers is the textual editor of The Works of Stephen

Crane

(1969—76), a complete

edition that has come in for some criticism despite its endorsement by the Center for Editions of American Authors. Stephen Crane: Letters (1960) was edited by R. W. Stallman and Lillian Gilkes; Joseph Katz edited both The Portable Stephen Crane (1969) and The Poems of Stephen Crane: A Critical Edition (1966). Pat-

rick K. Dooley compiled Stephen Annotated

Bibliography

Crane:

of Secondary

An

Scholar-

ship (1992), an indispensable research tool, though in need of updating. Linda H. Davis's excellent biography Badge

Kate Chopin The Complete

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

of Stephen

Crane

of Courage:

The Life

(1998) is the best we have.

Edwin H. Cady's Stephen Crane (1980) is an excellent critical introduction to Crane's life and work. Marston La France's A Reading of Stephen Crane's Crane (1971), Frank Bergon's Stephen Crane Artistry (1975), James Nagel's Stephen (1980), Chester L. and Literary Impressionism Wolford's The Anger of Stephen

Crane:

Fiction

and the Epic Tradition (1983), James B. Colvert's Stephen Crane (1984), Bettina L. Knapp's Stephen Crane (1987), David Halliburton's The Color

of the Sky: A Study

of Stephen

(1991), Patrick K. Dooley's The Pluralistic losophy of Stephen

Crane

Crane

Phi-

(1993), Michael Rob-

2878

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

ertson's Stephen Crane, Journalism, Making of Modern American Literature

and the (1997),

Bill Brown's intriguing The Material

Uncon-

scious:

American

Amusement,

and the Economics

Stephen

Crane

of Play (1997), and George

E. Monteiro's Stephen

Crane's

Blue

Badge

of

Courage (2000) are among the best of the surprisingly few significant book-length studies. Donald Pizer has edited and introduced Critical Essays

on Stephen

Courage

Cranes

The Red Badge

of

(1990). Claudia Durst Johnson com-

piled Understanding

the Red Badge

of

Courage

(1998), rich in historical documents, collateral readings, and commentary, and Stanley Wertheim compiled the comprehensive A Stephen Crane

Encyclopedia

Speaks:

Speeches

and

Addresses

(1970), Meyer Weinberg's W. E. B. DuBois: A Reader (1970), Andrew G. Paschol, A W. E. B. DuBois Reader (1971), Herbert Lee Moon's The Emerging Thought of W. E. B. DuBois: Essays and Editorials from the "Crisis" (1972), and Dan

S. Green and Edwin D. Driver's W. E. B. DuBois on Sociology

in the Black

Community

(1978),

which includes sixteen articles by Du Bois. Herbert Aptheker edited the three volumes of The Correspondence

DuBois

on Race and Culture:

of W. E. B.

DuBois

(1973—

Philosophy,

Poli-

tics, and Poetics (1996)—is also a distinguished contribution, as is the gathering of essays in W. E. B. DuBois, Race and the City: "The Philadelphia Negro" and Its Legacy (1998) edited by

Michael B. Katz and Thomas J . Sugrue. Manning Marable's W. E. B. DuBois:

Black

Radical

Democrat (1986) is similarly insightful on Du Bois's politics. Adolph L. Reed Jr.'s controversial W. E. B.

Thought

DuBois

and

American

Political

(1995) may also be consulted. William

L. Andrews's Critical

(1997).

W. E. B. Du Bois There is no collected edition of Du Bois's prolific output. Several interesting collections of Du Bois's writings are available: Philip S. Foner's W. E. B. DuBois

Thought ofW. E. B. DuBois (1983) is thorough and helpful on this complex topic; the collection of essays edited by Bernard W. Bell, Emily Grosholz, and James B. Stewart—W. E. B.

Essays on W. E. B.

DuBois

(1985) is the best such collection. Critical works of special interest include Houston A. Baker Jr.'s Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance (1987), Keith E. Byerman's Seizing the World: History, Art, and Self in the Work of W. E. B. DuBois

(1994), Harold Cruse's The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual:

of Black

A Historical

Leadership

Gates Jr.'s Figures

"Racial"

Self

Culture:

National

Analysis

of the

Failure

(1967, 1984), Henry Louis in Black: Words, Signsand

the

(1987), Sterling Stuckey's

Black America

Slave

Tlieory and the Foundations

of

(1987), Eric J. Sundquist's mag-

isterial To Wake the Nations: Race in the Making

of American

Literature

(1993), and Shamoon

Zamir'sW. E. B. DuBois and American

1888-1903

Thought,

(1995).

1978), the four volumes of Writings by W. E. B. DuBois in Periodicals Edited by Others (1982), Selections from Phylon (1980), and Selections

from the Crisis in two volumes (1972). Phil Zuckerman's collection Du Bois on Religion (2000) also contains a perceptive introduction. Eric J. Sundquist's The Oxford W. E. B. DuBois Reader (1996) offers a very substantial selection and features as good a biocritical introduction as any in print. In recent decades several biographies of Du Bois have appeared: Leslie A. Lacey's Cheer the Lonesome

Traveler:

The Life of W. E. B.

(1970), Shirley Graham's His Day Is On: A Memoir

of W. E. B. DuBois

DuBois

Marching

(1971), and

Arnold Rampersad's perceptive critical study The

Art and Imagination

of W. E. B.

DuBois

(1976). David Levering Lewis's two-volume biography W. E. B. DuBois: Biography of a Race, 1868-1919 (1993) and W. E. B. DuBois: The Eight for Equality and the American Century,

1919-1963 (2000) are now deservedly standard. Significant background to Du Bois's place in American intellectual thought may be found in August

1880-1915

Meier's Negro

Thought

in

America,

(1963) and John Hope Franklin's

From Slavery to Freedom:

A History of

American

Negroes, 7th ed. (1994). Jack B. Moore's W. E. B. DuBois (1981) provides a brief critical biography and introductory survey of his writings, while Joseph P. De Marco's The Social

Sui Sin Far (Edith Maud Eaton) The only substantial collection of Sui Sin Far's writing is in "Mrs. Spring Fragrance" and Other (1995), edited by Amy Ling and Writings Annette White-Parks (1995); this volume contains "approximately three-fourths of the original title" published in 1912. Fortunately for scholars interested in the life and writings of this re-emerging author, we now have an exhaustively researched critical biography by Annette White-Parks, Sui Sin Far/Edith

Maude

Eaton:

A Literary Biography (1995). This volume contains a very helpful chronological listing of her writings. Much of the best critical work on Sui Sin Far appears as articles or chapters in books; for an extensive listing, including the many contributions by Amy Ling, see White-Parks. Resources that contextualize Sui Sin Far as a turn-of-thetwentieth-century Eurasian woman writer are, chronologically: Doug Chin and Art Chin, Uphill: The Settlement and Diffusion of the Chinese in Seattle (1974); Elaine Kim, Asian American Literature: An Introduction to the Writings and Their Social Context (1982); William F. Wu, The Yellow Peril: Chinese Americans in American Fiction, 18 50-1940 (1982); Anthony B. Chan, Gold Mountain: The Chinese

in the Northwest (1983); Judy Yung, Chinese (1986); Marv Dearborn, Women of America Pocahontas's

Daughters:

Gender and Ethnicity in

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

/

2879

American Culture (1986); Roger Daniels, Asian America (1988); Ronald Takaki, Strangers from

raphy

edited by Carl Degler; Herland

(1979), edited by

a Different Shore (1989); Amy Ling, Between Worlds: Women Writers of Chinese Ancestry

Ann J. Lane; The Charlotte

Perkins

(1990), which contains a chapter on Sui Sin Far and her novelist sister Winnifred; and Susan

and Selected

Coultrap-McQuin, Doing American Women Writers

Literary in the

Business: Nineteenth

Century (1990). Two books published in 2001 add to the scholarship on Sui Sin Far and her sister Onoto Watanna: Diana Birchall's Onoto Watanna: The Story of Winnifred Eaton and Dominika Ferens's Edith and Winnifred Eaton: Chinatown Missions and Japanese Romances.

Elizabeth American

Ammons's

Women

Conflicting

Writers

Stories:

at the Turn

of the

Twentieth Century (1992) consists of essays on a dozen writers and stories, including a superb one on "Audacious Words: Sui Sin Far's Mrs. Spring Fragrance/' Julie Brown edited Ethnicity and

the American

Short

Story

(1997), which

contains Carol-Roh Spaulding's fine essay " 'Wavering' Images: Mixed-Race Identity in the Stories of Edith Eaton/Sui Sin Far." Mary E. Wilkins Freeman The best collection of Freeman's work is Selected

Stories

of Mary

E. Wilkins

Freeman

(1983), edited and with a perceptive introduction by Marjorie Pryse. Brent L. Kendrick edited and introduced The Infant Letters of Mary E. Wilkins

Sphinx: Freeman

Collected (1985).

Perry D. Westbrook's full-length study, Mary Wilkins Freeman (1988), is a good introduction to Freeman's life and work. Leah Blatt Glasser's In a Closet

Hidden:

The Life and Work of Mary

E. Wilkins Freeman (1996) makes an important contribution to the biographical and critical scholarship. Mary R. Reichard's Mary Wilkins Freeman: A Study of the Short Story (1998) usefully brings together with her close readings of many of Freeman's 250 stories biographical information and a set of readings of "A New England Nun." Reichard has also edited a fine selection of twenty-eight of Freeman's stories: A Mary Wilkins Freeman

Reader

(1997). John Idol

and Melinda Ponder's The Unfortunate Women

and Genteel

Poverty

Fall:

in the Fiction

of

Hawthorne and Freeman {1999) contains essays on Hawthorne and Freeman as well as Stowe, Rebecca Harding Davis, Jewett, Gifman, and other nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century women writers. Abigail Ann Hamblen's Tlie New England

Art of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

Women

Regionalists:

18 5 0 - 1 9 1 0

(1992) helpfully contextualizes Freeman's fiction. Charlotte Perkins Gilman No collected edition of Gilman's writings exists, but the intense interest in her work has resulted in several reprints of such key titles as The Living of Charlotte

Perkins

Gilman:

Reader

and Economics

(1966), Gilman

(1980), edited by Ann J. Lane; Stories by Charlotte

Herland

Perkins

Gilman

(1992), edited by Barbara Solomon. Lane's fullscale critical biography. To Herland and Beyond: The Life and Work of Charlotte

Perkins

Gilman

(1990), is now standard. Mary A. Hill's Cnarlotte Perkins Gilman: The Making of a Radical Feminist (1980) and her Endure: The Diaries of Charles Walter Stetson (1985) illuminate Gil-

man's early years. Hill also edited A Journey Within:

The Love

Letters

of Charlotte

from Perkins

Gilman, 1897-1900 (1995). Denise D. Knight edited the two-volume The Diaries of Charlotte Perkins

Gilman

(1994).

Critical books worthy of note: Gary Scharnhorst's Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1985), Polly Wynn Allen's Building lotte Perkins Gilman's

Domestic Liberty: CharArchitectural Feminism

(1988), Sheryl L. Meyering's Charlotte

Perkins

Gilman: Tlte Woman and Her Work (1989), and Denise Knight's Charlotte Perkins Gilman: A

Study of the Short Fiction

(1997). Carol Farley

Kessler's Charlotte Perkins Giltnan: Her Progress Toward Utopia with Selected Writings (1994)

reprints fourteen selections from Gilman's Utopian writings. A useful companion volume, Charlotte

Perkins

Gilman:

Optimist

Reformer

(1999), brings together essays, many of which address Gilman's reformist impulses as well as blind spots in her thinking. Thomas L. Erskine and Conee L. Richards edited and introduced "lite Yellow Wallpaper" Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1993). Catherine Golden edited The Captive Imagination: A Casebook on "Tlte Yellow Wallpaper" (1991). Julie Bates Dock's The Legend of "Tlte Yellow Wallpaper": A Documentary Casebook (1998) estab-

lishes for the first time a reliable critical edition for this celebrated story and supplies a rich set of contextualizing documents illuminating the genesis, compositional and publication histories of the text as well more than a score of contemporary reviews and other commentary. Dock's " 'But One Expects That': Charlotte Perkins Gilman's T h e Yellow Wallpaper' and the Shifting Light of Scholarship," PMLA (January 1996), should also be consulted. Joanne B. Karpinski eidted Critical

Essays on Charlotte

Perkins

Gil-

man (1992).

{1966)

delivers what its title promises. The introduction to Judith Fetterley and Marjorie Pryse's anthology American

(1975); Women

An Autobiog-

W. D. Howells A Selected

Edition

ofW. D. Howells ( 1 9 6 8 - ) will

provide the first authoritatively edited collection (in thirty or more volumes) of Howells's massive literary production. In the meantime, individual reprints must be sought out and may be supplemented by such collections of his letters as the two volumes edited by Henry Nash Smith and William M. Gibson, Tlte Correspondence of Samuel

L. Clemens

1872-1910(1960),

and William

Dean

Howells,

his daughter Mildred How-

2880

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

ells's edition in two volumes of Life in Letters of William Dean Howells ( 1 9 2 8 ) , George Monteiro and Brenda Murphy's John Hay-Howells

Letters

(1980), and Walter J . Meserve's The Complete Plays of W. D. Howells (1960). Thomas Wortham edited The Early Prose Writings of William

Dean Howells (1990). Three volumes of Selected Criticism (1992) appeared, edited by David Nordloh (general editor), for which Ulrich Halfmann, Donald Pizer, and Ronald Gottesman, respectively, provide introductions. George Arms, Mary Beth Whidden, and Gary Scharnhorst edited Staging Howells: Plays and Correspondence with Laurence Barrett (1994).

Brenda Murphy's A Realist Theatre:

Selected

Drama

in the

Criticism

American of W. D.

Howells (1992) makes a valuable contribution to a neglected aspect of Howells s career. The standard critical biography is Edwin H. Cady's twovolume work, The Road to Realism: The Early Years, 1837-1885 (1956) and The Realist at War: The Mature Years, 1885-1920 (1958). Van Wyck Brooks's Howells: His Life and Work

(1959) reveals Howells in relation to his contemporaries. A more recent biography is Kenneth S. American

Lynn's William Life (1971).

Dean

Howells:

An

In the last four decades critical studies of Howells have appeared regularly. Kenneth Eugene Eble's William Dean Howells (1982) is a comprehensive introductory study. Everett Carter's Howells and the Age of Realism (1954) was one of the first to argue Howell's centrality to his age and its chief literary development. Other general studies of interest are George N. Bennett's The Realism

1889-1920

of William

Dean

Howells,

( 1 9 7 3 ) , George C. Carrington's The

Immense Complex Drama McMurray's The Literary

Dean Howells

(1966), and William Realism of William

(1967). Kermit Vanderbilt's fresh

and illuminating The Achievement Dean Howells: A Reinterpretation

of William (1968) con-

centrates on five of Howells's novels. Other important, more specialized studies are James Woodress's Howells and Italy (1952), Olov W. Fryckstedt's In Quest of America: A Study of Howells's Early Development as a Novelist

(1958), James L. Dean's Howells's Travels Toward Art (1970), Elizabeth Stevens Prioleau's The Circle of Eros: Sexuality

liam Dean Howells

in the Work of Wil-

(1983), John William Crow-

ley's The Black Heart's Truth: The Early Career ofW. D. Howells (1985) and The Mask of Fiction: Essays on W. D. Howells (1989); and Elsa Nettels's Language, Race, and Social Class in

Howells's America (1988). Edwin H. Cady and Louis Budd edited On Howells: The Best Articles from

American

Literature

(1993), and Donald

Pease edited and introduced New Essays on "The Rise of Silas Lapham"

(1991).

Bret H a r t e

The most complete collection is The Works of Bret Harte in twenty-five volumes (1914).

Harte's poetry may be found in The Poetical

Works

of Bret

Harte

Meeker Kozlay edited Stories Other

Uncollected

Writings

Complete

(1899). Charles

and Poems and available in the

Argonaut Edition (1906). Geoffrey Bret Harte edited The Letters of Bret Harte (1926). Joseph B. Harrison edited Bret

Selections

Harte:

Representative

(1941). Gary Scharnhorst edited and

introduced

Bret

Harte's

California

(1990).

Much editorial work remains to be done. Axel Nissen's Bret Harte:

Prince

and

Pauper

(2000) provides a lively account of Harte's life and times. Patrick Morrow's Bret Harte: Literary Critic (1979) is a judicious account of Harte's sometimes injudicious criticism. Morrow's Bret Harte (1972) in the Boise College Western Writers Series provides an adequate brief introduction to the man and his work. The best single book on Harte is Gary Scharnhorst's Bret Harte (1995); it contains a selective but full bibliography. Linda D. Barnett's Bret Harte: A Reference Guide (1980) is the best guide to writings about Harte. Henry James The Novels and Tales of Henry James

(The New

York Edition) in twenty-six volumes, originally published in 1907—17, was reissued 1962—65. Other collections of James's diverse writings are available in Leon Edel's edition of The Complete Plays of Henry James

The Art of the Novel edition of Selected

(1949), R. P. Blackmur's

(1935), Morris Shapiro's Literary

Criticism

(1963),

Morton D. Zabel's edition of James's travel writings, The Art of Travel (1958), F. O. Matthiessen and Kenneth B. Murdoch's The Notebooks of Henry James (1947), F. W. Dupee's edition of the three volumes of Henry James:

Autobiogra-

phy (1956), and in various collections of essays and letters edited by Leon Edel. Edel is also author of the definitive biography of James in five volumes, published between 1953 and 1972. Matthiessen's classic The James Family (1947) reveals Henry's relationship to this extraordinary American family, which included his brother, William, the celebrated psychologist and philosopher, and sister, Alice, whose diary has attracted considerable attention since its publication in 1964. Four recent biographical studies suggest that James and his remarkable family continue to fascinate scholars: Edwin Sill Fussell's The Catholic Side of Henry James (1993), Kenneth Graham's engaging Henry James: A Literary Life (1995), and Carol Holly's Intensely Family: The Inheritance of Family Shame and the Autobiographies of

Henry James

(1995), and Lyndall Gordon's A

Private Life of Henry James:

Two Women and His

Art (1999), which looks freshly at James's relationships with his cousin Minny Temple and Constance Fenimore Woolson. Since the 1940s, critical studies of James have abounded. Among the best of these, in chronological order, are Ruth Bernard Yeazell's Lan-

SELECTED guage and Knowledge in the Late Novels of Henry James (1976), Charles Robert Anderson's Person, Place, and Thing in Henry James's Novels (1977), Strother Purdy's The Hole in the Fabric: Science, Contemporary Literature, and Henry James (1977), Shlomith Rummon's The Concept of Ambiguity: The Example ofJames (1977), Sergio Perosa's Henry James and the Experimental Novel (1978), Daniel J. Schneider's The Crystal Cage: Adventures of the Imagination in the Fiction of Henry James (1978), Mary Doyle Springer's A Rhetoric of Literary Character: Some Women of Henry fames (1978), Edward Wagenknecht's Eve and Henry James: Portraits of Women and Girls in His Fiction (1978), Nicola Bradbury's Henry James: The Later Novels (1979), Susanne Kappeler's Writing and Reading in Henry James (1980), Philip Sicker's Love and the Quest for Identity in the Fiction of Henry James (1980), Alwyn Buland's Culture and Conduct in the Novels of Henry James (1981), Sarah B. Daugherty's The Literary Criticism of Henry James (1981), Daniel Mark Fogel's Henry James and the Structure of the Romantic Imagination (1981), William W. Stowe's Balzac, James, and the Realistic Novel (1983), John Carlos Rowe's The Theoretical Dimensions of Henry James (1984), Edward Wagenknecht's The Novels of Henry James (1983) and The Tales of Henry James (1984), Sharon Cameron's Thinking in Henry James (1989), Alfred Habegger's Henry James and the "Woman Business" (1989), Sarah S. Chapman's Henry James's Portrait of the Writer as Hero (1989), Philip Home's Henry James and Revision (1990), Edwin S. Fussell's The French Side of Henry James (1990), Richard A. Hocks's Henry James: A Study of the Short Fiction (1990), Millicent Bell's Meaning in Henry James (1991), Susan M. Griffin's The Historical Eye: The Texture of the Visual in Late James (1991), Ross Posnock's The Trial of Curiosity: Henry James, William James, and the Challenge of Modernity (1991), Adeline R. Tintner's The Cosmopolitan World of Henry James: An Intertextual Study (1991), Dietmar Schloss's Culture and Criticism in Henry James (1992), Priscilla L. Walton's The Disruption of the Feminine in Henry James (1992), Greg W. Zacharias's Henry James and Morality of Fiction (1993), Daniel Mark Fogel's edited A Companion to Henry James Studies (1993), Tony Tanner's Henry James and the Art ofNonfiction (1995), Sheila Teahan's The Rhetorical Logic of Henry James (1995), Eli BenJoseph's Aesthetic Persuasion: Henry James, the Jews, and Race (1996), Willie Tolliver's A Self Among Others: Henry James as a Biographer (2000), Christopher Greenwood's Adapting to the Stage: Theater and the Work of Henry James (2000), Marc McGurl's The Novel Art: Elevations of American Fiction After Henry James (2001), and Clair Hughes's Henry James and the Art of Dress (2001).

John R. Bradley edited Henry James

on Stage

and Screen Henry James

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

/

2881

(2000) and Susan M. Griffin edited Goes to the Movies

(2001).

There is no shortage of collections of criticism: Graham Clark edited Henry James: Critical Assessment (1991), Kevin J. Hayes edited Henry James: The Contemporary Peter Rawlings edited Critical

Reviews (1996), Essays on Henry James (1993), and Joseph Dewey edited The Finer Thread, The Tighter Weave: New Essays on the Short Fiction (2001). Judith E. Funston complied a very helpful guide to book and periodical publications in Henry James: A Reference Guide, 1975-1987 (1991).

Sarah Orne Jewett There is no collected edition of Jewett's writings. Jewett's Stories and Tales were published in seven volumes in 1910: but a more readily available collection, The Best Stories

of Sarah

Orne

Jewett (1925), was edited in two volumes with a foreword by Willa Cather. Richard Cary edited The Uncollected Short Stories of Sarah Orne Jewett (1971). Cary also edited Sarah Orne Jewett Letters (1967). The Library of America's edition of Jewett's Novels and Stories (1994), selected and with notes by Michael Davitt Bell, provides three novels and some thirty stories and is available in paperback.

A good introductory study is Josephine Donovan's Sarad Orne Jewett (1980). More recently, Perry D. Westbrook's Acres of Flint: Sarah Orne Jewett and Her Contemporaries (1981), Louis A. Renza's "A White Heron" and The Question of Minor Literature, and Sarah Way Sherman's Sarah Ome Jewett: An American Persephone (1989) have both clarified and complicated our understanding of Jewett as have Marilyn Sanders Mobley's Folk Roots and Myihic Wings in Sarah Ome Jewett and Toni Morrison: The Cultural Functions of Narrative (1991), Joseph Church's Transcendent Daughters in Jewett's Country of the Pointed Firs (1995), and Margaret Roman's Sarah Orne Jewett: Reconstructing Gender (1997). Karen L. Kilcup and Thomas S. Edwards edited Jewett and Her Contemporaries: Reshaping the Canon (1999), fourteen essays on Jewett, nineteenth-century women's writing and new canon formation. Gwen L. Nagel's Critical Essays on Sarah Orne Jewett (1984) offers a rich selection, and her introduction is useful. Jack London No standard edition in English of London's voluminous writings is available: the rare (and incomplete) Sonoma edition (1928) printed twenty-eight titles in twenty-one volumes; the British Fitzroy Works reprinted twenty titles in the 1960s. King Hendricks and Irving Shepard's Letters from Jack London (1965) has been replaced by the scholarly The Letters of Jack Lon-

don, in three volumes edited by Earl Labor, Robert C. Leitz III, and I. Milo Shepard (1988). Labor, Leitz, and Shepard edited an "authorized" one-volume edition of Short Stories of Jack

2882

i

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

London (1990) containing about half of the two hundred stories London produced. Labor also wrote a splendid introduction to his edited Portable Jack

London

(1994).

Alex Kershaw's Jack London: A Life (1998) is the leading biography. Jonathan Auerbach's Male Call: Becoming

Jack

London

(1996) exam-

ines London's life and work in relation to the development of an "imperial malehood." Earl Labor and Jeanne Campbell Reesman share London credit for the revised edition of Jack (1994), which effectively combines biography and criticism and is the best introduction to London: Three other biographies are worthy of note: Andrew Sinclair's Jack: A Biography of Jack London (1977), John Perry's Jack London: An American Myth (1981), and Clarice Stasz's American

Dreamers:

Charmian

and Jack

London

(1988). Earl Labor also wrote the foreword to Mark Zamen's Standing Room Only: Jack London's Controversial Career as a Public Speaker

(1990). Specialized studies of merit are Philip S. Foner's Jack London, American Rebel Franklin Walker's Jack London and the

(1947), Klondike

(1966), James I. McClintock's White Logic-Jack London's Short Stories (1975), Joan D. Hedrick's Solitary

Comrade:

Jack

London

and His Work

(1982), Charles N. Watson Jr.'s careful and penetrating Tlie Novels

praisal

of Jack

London:

(1983), James Lundquist's Jack

Adventures,

Ideas and Fiction

A Reap-

London:

(1987), and Jac-

quelin Tavernier-Courbin's Tlie

Call

of the

Wild: A Naturalistic Romance (1994). Tavernier-Courbin's Critical Essays on Jack London

(1983) supplies both older and more recent views of London's writings. Susan M. Nuerenberg's introduction to The Critical Response to Jack London (1995) challenges the conventional wisdom of American critics by contrasting it to the more favorable evaluation of London internationally. Rereading Jack London (1996) edited by Leonard Cassuto and Jeanne Campbell Reesman provides fresh approaches to London's work. Native American Chants and Songs Recognition of the potentially literary value of Native American chants and songs may be dated from the eighteenth century when Lieutenant Henry Timberlake in his 1765 Memoirs included a "Cherokee War Song" that he had translated in rhymed couplets! Henry Rowe Schoolcraft in the mid-nineteenth century worked out a method for the translation of songs that included a "literal" and a "literary" version of them, and this has been carefully examined by Dell Hvmes in his seminal work "In Vain I Tried to Tell You": Essays in Native American

Ethno-

poetics (1981). Less literary but undoubtedly more accurate translations by amateur and government-bureau anthropologists began to appear near the end of the nineteenth century.

Specifically literary collections of these materials may be said to begin with Natalie Curtis Burlin's The Indians' Book (1907, 1968). Although Burlin's collection tends to museum-ize the literature of indigenous people as a priceless relic of the past, it does gather an extensive selection of songs, some of which are transcribed versions of the originals as well as translations. In The Sky

Clears:

Poetry

of the American

Indians

(1951) A. Grove Day also emphasizes the "literary" over the "literal," but ranges widely. Margot Astrov's American

Indian

Prose and Poetry

(1962, originally published as The Winged pent: An Anthology

of American

Indian

Ser-

Poetry,

1946) also is worth consulting. Several of John Bierhorst's compilations are well worth consulting, in particular Cry from

the Earth:

the North American

(1979). Larry Evers

Indians

and Felipe Molina's Yaqui

Deer

Music of

Songs,

Maso

Bwikam (1987) explains Yaqui culture and the song's place in it. Ruth Underbill's Singing for Power:

The Song

Magic

of the Papago

Indians

(1938) remains useful, among older collections, as do Frances Densmore's many collections, e.g., her Pawnee Music (1929, 1972). David 4 McAllester, in "Coyote's Song" {Parabola [1980]: 2 8 - 3 5 ) , presents a fascinating Navajo song attributed to Coyote. Gertrude Kurath and Antonio Garcia's Music

and Dance

of the Tewa

Pueblos (1970) presents songs collected from 1957 to 1965. Leanne Hinton and Lucille Watahomigie's edited collection Spirit Mountain: An Anthology

of Yuman

Story and Song

(1984) is

worth consulting, along with Charlotte Heth's Traditional

Music

of North

American

(1980), and Judith Vander's Songprints: Musical

Experience

of Five

Shoshone

Indians

The Women

(1988), which shows how music is a part of these women's lives, and song a living, changing art form. Brian Swann's recent Wearing Star: Native

American

Song-Poems

the

Morning

(1996) is a

valuable collection of songs. Thomas F. Johnson's Eskimo Music by Region: A Comparative Circumpolar Study (1976) and Paul Zolbrod's Reading the Voice: Native American Oral Poetry

on the Written Page (1995) are useful studies of these materials. The Navajo Night Chant was first described bv Washington Matthews in 1894 and, in a posthumous publication, as late as 1907, with the fullest text dating from 1902. Berard Haile's "Navaho Chantways and Ceremonials" {American Anthropologist 40 (1938): 639-52) remains an important early study. James Faris's The Nightway: mentation

A History and a History of the Docuof a Navajo Ceremonial (1990)

usefully provides what its title promises. Commentary on Densmore's collections of music from many tribes appears in anthropological and ethnomusicological journals, but there is no comprehensive study of her work to date. The contemporary Anishinabe (Chippewa/

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES O j i b w e ) writer G e r a l d Vizenor h a s taken note of D e n s m o r e s C h i p p e w a s o n g s in his People Named the Chippewa: Narrative Histories ( 1 9 8 4 ) a n d in his Summer in the Spring: Ojibwe Lyric Poems and Tribal Stories, edited a n d "ree x p r e s s e d " by Vizenor ( 1 9 8 1 ) , which c o n t a i n s s o n g lyrics a n d tales, a n d a glossary of Anishin a a b e m o w i n — C h i p p e w a — w o r d s . T h e Library of C o n g r e s s , Division of M u s i c , i s s u e d a s o u n d disc of D e n s m o r e s recorded S o n g s of the Chippewa in 1 9 5 0 . T h e first a n d m o s t i n d i s p e n s a b l e s o u r c e o f material for the 1 8 9 0 G h o s t D a n c e is J a m e s M o o n e y ' s Ghost-Dance Religion and the Sioux Outbreak of J 8 9 0 , first p u b l i s h e d in 1 8 9 6 a n d available in an a b r i d g e d edition with an introd u c t i o n by A n t h o n y F. C . W a l l a c e ( 1 9 6 5 ) . M o o ney a l s o p u b l i s h e d " T h e Indian G h o s t D a n c e " [Proceedings and Collections of the Nebraska State Historical Society, vol. 16) later in his life, in 1 9 1 1 . A n informative b i o g r a p h y o f M o o n e y exists in The Indian Man: A Biography of James Mooney ( 1 9 8 4 ) by L. G . M o s e s . S t a n l e y Vestal's New Sources of Indian History, 1850-1891: The Ghost Dance, the Prairie Sioux: A Miscellany ( 1 9 3 8 ) r e m a i n s interesting, a n d L e s l i e Spier's Tlw Prophet Dance of the Northwest and Its Derivatives: The Source of the Ghost Dance ( 1 9 7 9 ) p l a c e s the 1 8 9 0 G h o s t D a n c e in historical context. M i c h a e l H i t t m a n ' s Wovoka and the Ghost Dance, in its e x p a n d e d edition of 1 9 9 7 (the first edition of 1 9 9 0 w a s specifically p r o d u c e d for the Yerington P a i u t e T r i b e ) , is the fullest a c c o u n t of these m a t t e r s , with a p p e n d i c e s a n d bibliographies that are g u i d e s for further study. Russell T h o r n t o n ' s We Shall Live Again: The 1870 and 1890 Ghost Dance Movements as Demographic Revitalization ( 1 9 8 6 ) d i s c u s s e s the i m p o r t a n c e of t h e s e m o v e m e n t s for o n g o i n g Native "revitalization." Native A m e r i c a n Oratory As early a s the s e v e n t e e n t h century, E n g l i s h colonists were interested in the s p e e c h e s of American Indians, at least t h o s e alleged to have b e e n delivered as they expired, as in the m i s s i o n a r y J o h n Eliot's c o l l e c t i o n . The Dying Speeches of Several Indians ( 1 6 8 5 ) . A history of Indian s p e e c h e s to E u r o - A m e r i c a n s exists in L o u i s T h o m a s J o n e s ' s Aboriginal American Oratory: The Traditions of Eloquence among the Indians of the United States ( 1 9 6 5 ) , a l t h o u g h J o n e s d o e s not pay attention to i s s u e s of transcription and translation. David Murray's Forked Tongues: Speech, Writing, and Representation in North American Indian Texts ( 1 9 9 1 ) is, however, attentive to all the m a n y i s s u e s involved in bringing Native A m e r i c a n Oratory to the p a g e . G e n eral c o l l e c t i o n s which may be c o n s u l t e d i n c l u d e Virginia A r m s t r o n g ' s / Have Spoken: American History through the Voices of the Indians ( 1 9 7 1 ) , which i n c l u d e s materials from 1 6 0 9 to 1 9 7 1 ,

/

2883

a l t h o u g h the majority of s p e e c h e s are from the n i n e t e e n t h century; a n d W . C . V a n d e r w e r t h ' s Indian Oratory: Famous Speeches by Noted Indian Chieftains (1971). T h e most accurate c o m p i l a t i o n s c o m e from a n t h r o p o l o g i s t s a n d linguists both native a n d n o n - n a t i v e . S e e , for e x a m p l e , Ruth Underhill, D o n a l d B a h r , B a p t i s t o L o p e z , J o s e P a n c h o , a n d David L o p e z , Rainhouse and Ocean: Speeches for the Papago Year (1979), and Bahr's study, Pima and Papago Ritual Oratory: A Study of Three Texts ( 1 9 7 5 ) . A l s o v a l u a b l e is N o r a M a r k s D a u e n h a u e r a n d Richard D a u e n h a u e r , e d s . , Haa Yuwunnaagu vis, For Healing Our Spirits ( 1 9 9 0 ) . S a r a h M o r g a n Bryan Piatt S i n c e no full edition o f Piatt's work is a v a i l a b l e the following list, a r r a n g e d a l p h a b e t i c a l l y by title a n d c o m p i l e d by P a u l a B e r n a t B e n n e t t , m a y be helpful. Palace-Burner: The Selected Poetry of Sarah Piatt ( 2 0 0 1 ) , the m o s t c o m p l e t e r e c e n t s e l e c t i o n available, w a s edited a n d i n t r o d u c e d by B e n n e t t . A n o t h e r v a l u a b l e s e l e c t i o n with helpful c o m m e n t a r y is Larry R. M i c h a e l s ' s edited That New World: Selected Poems of Sarah Piatt, 1861-1911 ( 1 9 9 9 ) . N o full b i o g r a p h y or edition of Piatt's letters h a s b e e n p u b l i s h e d . The Children Out-of-Doors: A Book of Verses by Two in One House, with J . J . Piatt ( 1 8 8 5 ) , Child's-World Ballads: Tliree Little Emigrants: A Romance of Cork Harbour, 1884, etc. ( 1 8 8 7 ) , Child's World Ballads and Other Poems ( 1 8 9 5 ) , Dramatic Persons atui Moods, with Other New Poems ( 1 8 8 0 ) , An Enchanted Castle and Other Poems: Pictures, Portraits and People in Irelaiid ( 1 8 9 3 ) , The Gift of Tears ( 1 9 0 6 ) , In Primrose Time: A New Irish Garland ( 1 8 8 6 ) , An Irish Garland (1884, reprinted 1885), Am Irish Wildflower, etc. ( 1 8 9 1 , reprinted 1 8 9 4 a n d 1 8 9 6 ) , Mrs. Piatt's Select Poems: A Voyage to the Fortunate Isles and Other Poems ( 1 8 8 6 ) , T h e Nests at Washington and Other Poems, with J o h n J a m e s Piatt ( 1 8 6 4 ) , Poems, in two v o l u m e s ( 1 8 9 4 ) , Poems: In Company with Children ( 1 8 7 7 , reprinted as A Book about Balry and Other Poems in Company with Children in 1 8 8 2 ) , That New World and Other Poems ( 1 8 7 7 ) , A Voyage to the Fortunate Isles, etc. ( 1 8 7 4 , reprinted 1 8 7 7 , 1 8 8 5 , 1 8 8 6 ) , The Witch in the Glass, etc. ( 1 8 8 8 , reprinted 1 8 8 9 , 1 8 9 0 ) , A Woman's Poems ( 1 8 7 1 , reprinted 1 8 7 8 ) . Additional a n t h o l o g i e s that i n c l u d e c o m m e n t a r y a r e listed chronologically. Emily S t i p e s W a t t s , The Poetry of American Women from 1632 to 1943 ( 1 9 7 8 ) , R o l a n d H a g e n b t i c h l e edited American Poetry: Between Tradition and Modernism, 1865-1914 ( 1 9 8 4 ) , John Hollander edited American Poetry: The Nineteenth Century in two volumes ( 1 9 9 3 ) , Angela Leighton and Margaret R e y n o l d s edited Victorian Women Poets: An Anthology ( 1 9 9 5 ) , William C . S p e n g e m a n n with J e s s i c a F. R o b e r t s edited Nineteenth-Century American Poetry ( 1 9 9 6 ) , K a r e n L. K i l c u p edited

2884

/

SELECTED

Nineteenth-Century

An Anthology

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

American

Women

Writers:

(1996), and Janet Gray edited She

Wields a Pen: American

Nineteenth-Century

Women's

Poetry of the

(1997).

Mark Twain The present standard edition of The Writings of Mark Twain (1922—25), thirty-seven volumes, edited by Albert Bigelow Paine, is being superseded by the ongoing editions of The Mark Twain Papers (1967-), under the supervision of Robert Hirst. Four volumes of letters (through 1871) have appeared so far in the Papers, and other Twain letters are available in several scattered volumes, the most interesting of which is The Correspondence of Samuel L. Clemens and William Dean Howells, 1872-1910 {I960),

edited by Henry Nash Smith and William M. Gibson. Altogether some forty volumes have appeared as part of the Mark Twain Project. The Library of America has issued in two volumes Mark Twain: Collected

Tales, Sketches,

Speeches

and Essays (1992) with notes by Louis Budd. A companion volume, with notes by Susan K. Harris, Mark Twain: Historical Romances, The Prince and the Pauper, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Personal Recollections of

Joan of Arc followed in 1993. Tom Quirk edited a fine selection of Mark Twain: Tales,

Essays and Sketches len's Mark

Twain:

Speeches,

(1993). Marlene Boyd ValProtagonist

for the

Popular

Culture (1992) collects sixteen speeches and commentary. Most controversial of new editions of Twain's best-known book is what the publisher promotes as "The Only Comprehensive Edition" of Adventures

of Huckleberry

Finn

(1996); in it Justin Kaplan supplied a brief introduction, and Victor Doyno explains why he interpolated several passages from the entire manuscript now owned by the Buffalo and Erie County Library. It is an understatement to observe that this "comprehensive" edition has not been widely endorsed by Twain scholars or experts in textual studies. Albert Bigelow Paine's Mark Twain, a Biography (1912) is vivid, unreliable, and still indispensable. Justin Kaplan's Mr. Clemens and Mark Twain, a Biography (1966) is a lively, popular account. Van Wyck Brooks's polemical and controversial The Ordeal

of Mark Twain

(1920)

should be read together with Bernard De Voto's corrective Mark Twain's Lancey Ferguson's Mark

America (1932). De Twain: Man and Leg-

end (1943) is still the best full-length critical biography, though Everett Emerson's The Authentic

Mark Twain: A Literary

Biography

of

Samuel L. Clemens (1985) is the best critical study we have within its announced limits; his Mark

Twain:

A Literary

Life (1999) reinforces

Emerson's authority. Jeffrey Steinbrink's Getting

to Be Mark

Twain

(1991) examines the

period 1868-71. The criticism of Twain is enormous in quan-

tity, variety, and quality. Two excellent general Twain: studies are Henry Nash Smith's Mark of a Writer (1962) and WilThe Development liam M. Gibson's The Art of Mark Twain (1976). James M. Cox's perceptive Mark Twain: The Fate of Humor (1966), Edgar M. Branch's The Literary

Apprenticeship

of Mark

Twain

(1950),

and Albert E. Stone's The Innocent

Eye: Child-

hood in Mark

(1961) are

Twain's

Imagination

distinguished early contributions to serious Twain scholarship. More recent studies of permanent interest include Louis J . Budd's Our Mark Twain: The Making

of His Public

Person-

ality (1983), James L. Johnson's Mark and the Limits of Power: Emerson's

Twain

God in Ruins

(1982), Sherwood Cummings's excellent Mark Twain

and

Science:

Adventures

of a

(1989), Susan Gillman's Dark Twins: and

Identity

in Mark

Twain's

Mind

Imposture

America

(1991),

Maria Ornella Marotti's The Duplicating

Imag-

ination: Twain and the Twain Papers (1991), and David E. Sloane's Mark Twain as a Literary

Comedian Famous

(1979). Guest:

Mark

Carl

Dolmetsch's

Twain

in Vienna

Our (1992)

argues against the conventional wisdom concerning the decline of Twain's creativity after the mid-1890s. The title of Shelley Fisher Fishkin's Was Huck

Black?:

Mark

Twain

and Afri-

can-American Voices (1993) suggests its interesting if not compelling argument that Twain's model for Huck was a black boyhood friend of his. Fishkin's Lighting Out for the Territory: Reflections

on Mark Twain and

American

Culture (1996) raises interesting questions about race and the way Twain's writing personas have been appropriated and misappropriated by popular culture. Several volumes take a fresh look at Twain's humor: Don Florence, Persona and

Humor

in Mark

Twain's

Early

Writings

(1995); Stuart Hutchinson, Mark Twain: Humor on the Run (1994); Patricia M. Mandia, Comedic

Pathos:

Black

Humor

in Twain's

Fic-

tion (1991); Bruce Michelson, Mark Twain on the Loose: A Comic Writer and the American Self (1995); and Mark Twain's Humor: Critical

Essays (1992), edited by David Sloan. Several books address Twain's attitudes toward women— in and out of his writings: the best of these is Laura E. Skandera-Trombley's Mark Twain in the Company of Women (1994); other worthwhile studies of this aspect of Twain are J. D. Stahl's Mark Twain, Culture and Gender: Envisioning America Through Europe (1993), Peter Stoneley's Mark Twain and the Feminine Aes-

thetic (1992), and Resa Willis, Mark and Livy: The Love Story of Mark

Twain

and the

Woman

Who Almost Tamed Him (1992). Other studies Sentimental of note include Gregg Camfield's Twain:

Samuel

Philosophy Who

Was Mark

(1991), Mark

Clemens

in the Maze

of Moral

(1994), Guy Cardwell's The Man Randall

Twain

Twain:

Images

and

Knoper's Acting

in the Cidture

of

Ideologies

Naturally: Performance

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

/

2885

(1995), and David R. Sewells Mark Twain's Languages: Discourse, Dialogue, and Linguistic

two volumes The Collected

Variety (1987). Among the many collections of criticism, Robert Sattlemeyer and J. Donald

Edith Wharton: ings (1991).

Crowley's One Hundred Years of "Huckleberry' Finn": The Boy, His Book, and American Culture

revised to incorporate the discovery of the first half of the Huckleberry Finn manuscript.

Lewis, using the extensive Wharton papers at Yale, prepared the definitive Edith Wharton: A Biography (1975). Millicent Bell's Edith Wharton and Henry James: The Story of Their Friendship (1965) is still useful as is the fully illustrated Edith Wliarton: An Extraordinary Life (1999) by Eleanor Dwight.

Among the several recent collections of criticism the following warrant attention: James S. Leonard, Thomas A. Tenney and Thadious M.

Margaret B. McDowell's Edith Wharton (1976) is a solid introductory study. Book-length studies of importance include Gary H. Lind-

Davis's edited Satire or Evasion?: Black Perspectives on Huckleberry Finn (1996), Tom Quirk's Coming to Grips with Huckleberry' Finn: Essays on a Book, a Boy, and a Man (1992), Eric J. Sundquist's Mark Twain: A Collection of Criti-

berg's Edith Wharton and the Novel of Manners

(1985) merits special notice. Victor Doyno's painstaking study Writing "Huck Finn": Mark Twain's Creative Process (1991) will soon be

cal Essays (1994), Laurie Champion's edited The Critical

Finn

Response

to Mark Twain's

Huckleberry

(1991), and Forrest G. Robinson's The

Cambridge

Companion

to Mark Twain

(1995).

J. R. Le Master and James Wilson edited The Mark Twain Encyclopedia (1992), with 180 contributors and 740 entries. R. Kent Rasmussen's claim in the title of his Mark Twain A—Z: The Essential

Reference

to His Life and

Writings

(1996) is justified by its 1,300 factual entries. Booker T. Washington Louis R. Harlan has edited The Booker T. Washington Papers in fourteen volumes (1972—89). William L. Andrews has edited a Norton Critical Edition of Up from Slavery (1996). August Meier's Negro Thought in America, 18SO-1915 (1963) and John Hope Franklin's From Slavery to Freedom: A History of American Negroes (1967) are two early and still useful background books. The standard critical biography is by Louis R. Harlan: Booker T. Washington: The Making of a Black Leader, 1865-1901 (1972), and Booker T. Washington The Wizard of Tttskegee, 1901-1915 (1983). Robert B. Stepto's chapter on Washington's Up From Slavery in his Behind the Veil: A Study of Afro-American Narrative (1979) is a classic analysis. James M. Cox's chapter "Autobiography and Washington" in his Recovering Literature's Lost Ground: Essays in American Autobiography (1989) is especially perceptive. James Olney's essay on Frederick Douglass and Washington in Deborah McDowell and Arnold Rampersad's (eds.) Slavery and the Literary Imagination (1989) is also an important study as is Kevcrn Verney's The Art of the Possible: Booker T. Washington and Black Leadership in the United States, 1881-1925 (2001). Edith Wharton There is no uniform edition of Wharton's writings. Louis Auchincloss edited The Edith Wharton Reader (1965) and R. W. B. Lewis edited in

Wharton

Short Stories of Edith

(1988). Frederick Wegener edited The Uncollected

Critical

Writ-

(1975), Cynthia Griffin Wolffs A Feast

of

Words: The Triumph of Edith Wharton (1977), Richard H. Lawson's Edith Wharton (1977), Elizabeth Ammons's Edith Wharton's Argument with America (1980), Geoffrey Walton's Edith Wliarton, a Critical Interpretation (1982), Wendy Gimbel's Edith Wliarton: Orphaticx and Survival (1984), Carol Wershoven's The Female Intruder in the Novels of Edith Wharton (1983), Catherine M. Rae's Edith Wharton's New York Quartet (1984), Susan Goodman's Edith Wliarton's Women (1990), Janet Goodwyn's Edith Wharton: Traveller in the Land of Letters (1990), Penelope Vita-Finzi's Edith Wharton and the Art of Fiction (1990), Gloria Erdich's Tlie Sexual Education of Edith Wharton (1992), Susan Goodman's Edith Wliarton's Inner Circle (1994), Helen Killoran's Edith Wharton: Art and

Allusion

(1996), and Hildegard Hoeller's pro-

vocative Edith Wharton's Dialogue with Realism and Sentimental Fiction (2000). Alfred Bendixen and Annette Zilversmit edited Edith Wliarton: New Critical Essays (1992); Sarah Bird Wright and Clare Colquit's Edith Wliarton A to

Z (1998) is a cornucopia of information about Wharton's writings, life and times. Constance Fenimore Woolson There is no collected edition of Woolson's work. The following list, alphabetically arranged by title, indicates original date of book publication and recent reprints: Anne (1882, reprinted 1977), Castle Nowhere: Lake Country Sketches (1875, reprinted 1969), Dorothy and Other Italian Stones (1896), East Angels {1886), The Front Yard and Other Italian Stories (1895, reprinted 1969), Horace Chase (1894, reprinted 1970), Jupiter Lights (1889, reprinted 1971), Mentone, Cairo, and Corfu (1895), [Anne March, pseud.) The Old Stone House (1873), Rodman the Keeper: Southern Sketches (1880, reprinted 1969), and Two Women (1877). Rayburn S. Moore, For the Major and Selected Short Stories (1967), and Joan Myers Weimer, Women Artists, Women Exiles: "Miss Grief and Other Stories (1988) are edited collections of her fiction; Weimer's introduction in particular is critically astute. Woolson's niece Clare Benedict com-

2886

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

piled two unique resources for study of the lile and critical response to Woolson: Five Generain three volumes (1929-30, tions (1785-1923) reprinted with additions in 1932) and Appreciations (1941), a compilation of responses to Benedict's distribution of Five Generations to libraries in America and Europe. In addition to general historical and critical titles listed above, the following may be of particular use in establishing contexts: Susan CoultrapMcQuin's Doing Women Writers

Literary Business: in the Nineteenth

American Century

(1990), Shirley Marchalonis's edited

Patrons

and Protegees:

Writing

Gender,

Friendship,

and

in Nineteenth-Century America (1988) with an essay on Woolson and James by Cheryl B. TorsCounney, and Anne E. Rowe's The Enchanted

Zitkala § a ( G e r t r u d e S i m m o n s B o n n i n )

Dexter Fisher's 1986 edition of Zitkala Sa's American

Indian

Stories

(1921) includes an

expert and insightful introduction to this collection of autobiography, fiction, and nonfiction prose. P. Jane Hafen helpfully edited a number of Zitkala Sa's works in Dreams and Thunder: Stories,

Poems

and

"The Sun

Dance

Opera"

(2001). Also of great interest is Zitkala Sa's "Why I Am a Pagan" {Atlantic Monthly 90 [102]: 801-03). Material on Zitkala §a is still scarce, though articles and chapters in part or whole devoted to her are appearing more frequently; Dexter Fisher's Zitkala 5a: The Evolution of a Writer (1979) and Dorothea M. Susag's Zitkala5a (Gertrude

Simmons

Bonnin):

A

Power(full)

son (1963) is a somewhat outdated but generally reliable critical introduction to Woolson's life Fenimore and work; Sharon Dean's Constance

Literary Voice (1993) are among the few critical and biographical studies. Two excellent articles published in books are D. K. Meisenheimer's "Regionalist Bodies/Embodied Regions: Sarah Orne Jewett and Zitkala-Sa," in Sherrie A. Innis Boundaand Diana Rover's collection Breaking

Woolson:

ries:

try: Northern Writers in the South (1978). Rayburn S. Moore's Constance Fenimore Wool-

Homeward

Bound

(1995)

offers

New Perspectives

on Women's

Regional

Artistry (1989) takes a "woman's culture approach" to Woolson's life and letters. Torsney also brought together a fine collection of early reviews, appreciations and critical assessments, and four new essays as editor of Critical Essays

Writing (1997), and Patricia Okker's "Native American Literatures and the Canon" in Tom Quirk and Gary Scharnhost's collection American Realism and the Canon (1995). Two excellent articles published in journals are P. Jane Hafen's "Zitkala Sa: Sentimentality and Sovereignty" {Wicazo Sa Review 12 [1997]: 31-34) and Dexter Fisher's "Zitkala Sa: The Evolution

on

of a Writer" {American

shrewd criticism of the fiction in a rich cultural and literary historical context; Torsney's excellent Constance

Constance

Fenimore

Woolson:

Fenimore

The Grief of

Woolson

(1992).

Another excellent collection of essays is edited by Victoria Brehm: Constance Fenimore Woolson's Nineteenth Century: Essays (2001). One of

the two women discussed in Lyndall Gordon's A Private Life of Henry James:

Two Women and His

Art (1999) is Woolson. Leon Edel's disparaging assessment of Woolson appears in his fivevolume biography The Life

of Henry

James

(1953—72); James's condescending essay "Miss Constance Fenimore Woolson" was first published in Harper's Weekly on February 12, 1887, and then in a slightly cut version in his Partial Portraits (1888).

Indian

Quarterly

5

[1979]: 2 2 9 - 3 8 ) . The best discursive bibliography of Native American literature is A. LaVonne Brown Ruoff's American Indian Literatures: An Introduction, Bibliographic Review, and Selected

Bibliography (1990), a comprehensive and judicious survey of the field. Two other titles may be recommended to anyone interested in Native American autobiography: A. David Brumble Ill's American

Indian

Autobiography

(1988)

and

Arnold Krupat's "Native American Autobiography and the Synecdochic Self" in Paul John Eakin's American

Prospect

Autobiography:

Retrospect

and

(1991).

AMERICAN LITERATURE BETWEEN T H E WARS, 1914-1945 Relevant chapters in the Columbia Literary History of the United States (1988); the Columbia History of the American Novel (1991); the Columbia Histon of American Poetry (1993); The History of Southern Literature (1985),

edited by Louis D. Rubin et al.; A Literary tory of the American

His-

West (1987); and A. La-

Vonne Brown Ruoff's American Indian (1990) may be consulted for useful Literature overviews. The Oxford Compaition

to

American

Theatre

(1984), edited by Gerald Bordman; the

Oxford

Companion

to American

Literature

(1995), 6th edition, edited by James D. Hart and

Phillip W. Leininger; The Oxford Companion Women's

Writings

in the United

States

to

(1995),

edited by Cathy N. Davidson and Linda WagnerMartin; and the Oxford

Companion

to

African

American Literature (1997), edited by William L. Andrews, Frances Smith Foster, and Trudier Harris, are excellent reference books. Study of American literature between 1914 and 1945 began while the writers were still active, and they along with their publicists profoundly influenced scholarly criticism. When modernist literature entered the college curriculum after the end of World War II—in the

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

politically supercharged atmosphere of the McCarthy congressional hearings on political loyalty and the Cold War with the Soviet Union (Russia and its satellite republics)—critics adopted the agenda advanced in the 1930s by T. S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, John Crowe Ransom, and supportive critics like Edmund Wilson and Malcolm Cowley. For Cowley, see Exile's Return (1951), After the Genteel Tradition: American Writers, 1910-1930 (1964), and A Second Flowering: Works and Days of the Lost Generation (1973). For Wilson, see The Shores of Light: A Literary Chronicle of the Twenties and Thirties

(1952). Criticism in the 1950s and 1960s developed aesthetic close readings of the small number of (mostly white male) authors now called the "high modernists." Critics also looked for myths and transhistorical psychological archetypes as the basis of literary unity. The ideas of this literary criticism may be studied in Rene Wellek's A History of Modern Criticism: American Criticism, 1900-1950, Vol. 7 (1987), and Vincent B. Leitch's American Literary Criticism from the

30s to the 80s (1988). Beginning in the 1970s, critics became interested in connecting texts to their cultural contexts—in providing what might be called "close readings of culture." They worked on a much larger number of writers, especially women and African American writers. Recent studies of the period strive to connect high modernists with less mainstream authors and to emphasize the importance of writers across a range of ethnicities. The shaping presence of social identity may have been the leading motif of criticism in the 1990s. Two books written during World War II remain of interest: Alfred Kazin's On Native Grounds: An Interpretation of Modern American Prose Literature (1942) and Maxwell Geismar's Writers in Crisis: The American Novel between Two Wars (1942). A good general survey from the 1950s is Frederick J. Hoffman's The Twenties: American Writing in the Postwar Decade (1955). More specialized useful studies from these decades include Harold Clurman's The Fervent Years: The Story of the Group Theatre and the Thirties (1957), Walter Rideouts The Radical Novel in the United States, 1900-1954 (1956), Joseph Wood Krutch's The American Drama Since 1918 (1957), W. M. Frohock'sTfee Novel of Violence in America (1957), Daniel Aaron's Writers on the Left (1961), Louis D. Rubin's Writers of the Modern South (1963), Howard Taubman's The Making of the American Theater (1965), Joseph Blotner's The Modem American Political Novel (1966), Warren French's The Social Novel at the End of an Era (1966), and Dale Kramer's Chicago Renaissance: The Literary Life in the Midwest, 1910-1930 (1966).

Important general books on literary culture

/

2887

appearing since 1970 include Nathan I. Huggins's Harlem Renaissance (1971), Marcus Klein's Foreigners: The Making of American Literature, 1900-1940 (1981), David Levering Lewis's When Harlem Was in Vogue (1981), Daniel J. Singal's The War Within: From Victorian to Modernist Thought in the South 1919— 1945 (1982), Shari Benstock's Women of the Left Bank: Paris 1900-1940 (1986), Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance (1987) edited by Houston Baker Jr., Cecilia Tichi's Shifting Gears: Technology, Literature, Culture in Modernist America (1981), Lawrence H. Schwartz's Creating Faulkner's Reputation: The Politics of Modern Literary Criticism (1988), Ashadur Eyssteinsson's The Concept of Modernism (1991), Joan Shelley Rubin's The Making of Middlebrow Culture (1992), Steven Brel's Independent Intellectuals in the United States, 1910-1945 (1992), Mary Loeffelholz, Experimental Lives: Women and Literature, 1900-1945 (1992), Michael North's The Dialect of Modernism: Race, Language and Twentieth-Century Literature (1994), Mark Jancovich's The Cultural Politics of the New Criticism (1994), George Hutchinson's Tlte Harlem Renaissance in Blackand White (1995), Cheryl Wall's Women of the Harlem Renaissance (1995), Walter Benn Michaels's Our America (1995), Ann Douglas's Terrible Honesty: Mongrel Manhattan in the 1920s (1995), Ross Posnock's Color and Culture: Black Writers and the Making of the Modem Intellectual, William J. Maxwell's New Negro, Old Left: AfricanAmerican Writing and Communism between the Wars (1999), and Christine Stansell's American Modems: Bohemian New York and the Creation of a New Century (1999). Good studies of drama published since 1970 are Brooks Atkinson's Broadway: Nineteen Hundred to Nineteen Seventy (1970); C. W. E. Bigsby's A Critical Introduction to TwentiethCentury American Drama, Vol. 1, 1900—1940 (1985); Ethan Mordden's The American Theatre

(1981); and Brenda Murphy's American and American

Drama,

1880-1940

Realism

(1987).

Important criticism of poetry published since 1970 includes Hugh Kenner's The Pound Era (1971) and A Homemade World: The American Modernist Writers (1975), Edwin Fussell's Lucifer in Harness (1973), Albert Gelpi's The Tenth Muse: The Psyche of the American Poet (1975) and A Coherent Splendor: The American Poetic Renaissance, 1910-1950 (1987), Donald E. Stanford's Revolution and Convention in Modem Poetry (1983), M. L. Rosenthal and Sally M. Gall's The Modem Poetic Sequence: The Genius of Modem Poetry (1984), William Drake's The First Wave: Women Poets in America, 1914— 1945 (1987), Lisa M. Steinman's Maoe in America: Science, Technology, and American Modernist Poets (1987), Maureen Honey's edited Shadowed Dreams: Women's Poetry of the Harlem Reiutissance (1989), Cary Nelson's Repres-

2888

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SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

sion and Recovery: Modern American the Politics of Cultural Memory,

Poetry and 1910-1945

(1989), Elisa Nevv's Fictions of Form in American Poetry (1993), and Frank Lentricchia's Modernist

Quartet

(1994).

Studies of fiction include Hazel V. Carby's Reconstructing Womanhood: The Emergence of the Afro-American Woman Novelist (1987),

Linda Wagner-Martin's The Modern American Novel, 1914-1945 (1990), J . Gerald Kennedy's Imagining Paris (1993), Barbara Foley's Radical Representations: Politics and Form in U.S. Proletarian Fiction, 1929-41 (1993), David Minter's A Cultural History of the American Novel

(1994), and Laura Hapke's Daughters Great Depression:

the American

of the

Women, Work, and Fiction in

1930s (1995).

Sherwood Anderson There is no collected edition of Anderson's writing. In addition to works mentioned in the author's headnote, Anderson published The Modern Writer (1925); Sherwood Anderson's Notebook (1925); Alice and the Lost Nmvl

(1929); Nearer the Grass American

Roots

(1929); The

Country Fair (1930); and Home Town

(1940). The Norton Critical Edition of Winesburg, Ohio (1996), edited by Charles E. Modlin and Ray Lewis White, includes background materials and critical essays, as does the edition edited by John H. Ferres (1996). White edited a variorum edition of Winesburg, Ohio (1997). The Letters of Sherwood

Anderson

(1953) were

edited by Howard Mumford Jones and Walter Rideout. See also Sherwood

Anderson:

Selected

Letters (1984), edited by Charles E. Modlin and Letters

to Bab: Sherwood

Anderson

to

Marietta

D. Finley, 1 9 / 6 - 1 9 3 3 (1985). Eugene P. Seehy and Kenneth A. Lohf compiled Sherwood Anderson: A Bibliography (1960); Kim Townsend has written

Sherwood

Anderson:

A

(1987). For critical commentary see Anderson:

A Collection

of Critical

Biography

Sherwood

Essays (1974),

edited by Walter Rideout; Critical Essays on Sherwood Anderson (1981), edited by David D. Anderson;

Homage

to

Sherwood

Anderson

(1970), edited by Paul F. Appel; New Essays on Winesburg, Ohio (1990), edited by John W. Crowley; Allen Papinchak's Sherwood Anderson: A Study of the Short Fiction (1992); Judy Jo Small's A Reader's Guide to the Short Stories of

Sherwood

Anderson

White's

Winesburg,

(1994); and Ray Lewis Ohio:

An

Exploration

(1990).

Elk's Teachings

Given to John

Grandfather: Neihardt

(1984) offers the complete texts of the interviews that went into the construction of Black Elk Speaks and provides much useful commentary. Further interviews with Black Elk can be found in Joseph Epes Brown's The Sacred Pipe: Oglala

(1991). Father Michael Stelten-

kamp's Black

Elk:

Its Lak-

Holy Man of the

Lakota

(1993) may be read alongside Clyde Holler's Black

Elk's Religion: The Sun Dance and Lakota

Catholicism, (1995). William Powers's acute essay "When Black Elk Speaks, Everybody Listens" can be found in Christopher Vecsey, ed., Religion

in Native North American

(1990). The

Lakota scholar and activist Vine Deloria Jr. has edited A Sender

of Words: Essays in Memory of

John G. Neihardt (1984), which contributes to a fuller understanding of Neihardt's work on his own in addition to his work with Black Elk. Holler edited an essay collection. The Black Elk Reader (2000); and Esther Black Elk DeSersa's Black

Elk Lives: Conversations

Elk Family

with the

Black

appeared in 2000 as well.

Carlos Bulosan Bulosan's published works include The Voice of Bataan

(1943), The Laughter

of My

Father

(1944), and America Is in the Heart (1946), which was reissued with an introduction by Carey McWilliams in 1973. Compilations drawing on his books, magazine fiction, and manuscripts have been edited and introduced by E. San Juan Jr.; these include The Philippines Is in the Heart (1978), If You Want to Know What We Are: A Carlos Bulosan Reader (1983), On Becoming Filipino: Selected Writings of Carlos Bulosan (1995), and The Cry and the Dedication

(1995). Two biographical treatments are P. C. Morantte's Remembering Carlos Bulosan: His Heart Affair with America (1984) and Susan Evangelista's Carlos Bulosan and His Poetry: A

Biography and Anthology (1985). San Juan has also written a critical study, Carlos Bulosan and the Imagination

of the Class Struggle

(1972).

Willa Cather Cather's volume of verse, April Twilights (1903; rev. 1923; reissued with an introduction by Bernice Slote, 1990), and her collection of essays, Not under Forty (1936), supplement the standard edition of her fiction. The Novels and Stories of Willa Cather ( 1 9 3 7 - 4 1 ) . Her tales and

novels were published in two volumes by the Library of America with notes by Sharon O'Brien (1987, 1990). A scholarly edition of My Antonia (1994), with background materials, was edited by Charles Mignon with Kari Rounig. Other sources include Willa Cather on Writing (1949); Writings from Kingdom

Raymond J. DeMallic's The Sixth

Black

Elk's Story: Distinguishing

Willa Cather's

Campus

Years (1950), edited by James Shively; and The

Black Elk Black

Rice's Black

ota Purpose

Elk's Account

of the Seven Rites of the

Sioux (1953). A valuable study of Julian

of Art: Willa Cather's

First

Principles

and Critical Statements (1967), edited by Bernice Slote. William M. Curtin collected articles and reviews in the two-volunie The World and the Parish (1970). Personal memoirs include Edith Lewis's Willa Cather Living (1953, 2000) and Elizabeth Sergeant's Willa Cather: A Mem-

oir (1953, 1992). Janis P. Stout's A Calendar

of

the Letters of Willa Cather (2002) and the biography Willa Cather: The Writer and Her World

SELECTED (2000) are worthwhile. Willa: The Life

ofWilla

Cather (1982), by Phyllis C. Robinson, is a full-

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

/

2889

Thomas E. Yingling's Hart Crane and the Homosexual Text (1990).

length biography, as is Willa Cather: A Literary

Life

(1987),

by James

Woodress.

Cather:

The Emerging

O'Brien's Willa

Sharon Voice

(1987) concentrates on Cather's early years. Critical studies of Cather are David Stouck's Willa Cather's

ber's Willa

Imagination

Cather

(1975), Philip Ger-

(1975), Marilyn Arnold's

Willa Cather's Short Fiction (1984) and Willa Cather: A Reference Guide (1986), Susan J. Rosowski's The Voyage Perilous: Willa Cather's

Romanticism

(1986), Evelyn Hively's

Sacred

Fire: Willa Cather's Novel Cycle (1994), Sally P. Harvey's Redefining the American Dream: The

Novels of Willa Cather

(1995), Joseph R. Urgo's

Countee Cullen

Cullen's groundbreaking anthology of 1927, Caroling Dusk, was reissued in 1993. His poetry volume, Color, originally published in 1925, was also reissued in 1993. My Soul's

High Song,

a

collection of his writings edited by Gerald Early, appeared in 1991. There is little recent criticism. Earlier work of interest includes Helen J. Dinger's A Study

of Countee

Cullen

(1953),

Margaret Perry's A Bio-Bibliography of Countee P. Cidlen (1969), and Blanche E. Ferguson's Countee

Cullen

and

the Negro

Renaissance

(1966).

Willa Cather and the Myth of American Migration (1995), Guy Reynolds's Willa Cather in

E. E. Cummings

Context (1996), O'Brien's New Essays on My Antonia (1999), and Ann Roninies's Willa

Firmage, was published in 1991. Firmage also

Cather's

Southern

Connection

(2000). Recent

trends in Cather criticism are attacked in Joan Acocella's Willa Cather and the Politics of Crit-

icism (2000). Also useful are Marilyn Arnold's A Reader's

Companion

to the Fiction

Cather

(1993)

and John J.

Antonia:

The Road Home (1989).

of

Willa

Murphy's My

Hart Crane

Marc Simon edited Complete Poems of Hart Crane (1993, 2001), the best current text. Also of use is Brom Weber's The Complete Poems and Selected

Letters and Prose of Hart Crane (1966).

Crane's Collected Poems, edited by his friend Waldo Frank, appeared in 1933. Correspondence

between

Hart

Crane

and Waldo

Frank

(1998) was edited by Steve H. Cook. Other sources of primary and bibliographical material are My Land, My Friends:

of Hart Crane

The Selected

Letters

(1997), edited by Langdon Ham-

mer and Brom Weber; Hart Crane: An Annotated Critical Bibliography (1970), edited by Joseph Schwartz; and Hart Crane: A Descriptive

Bibliography (1972), edited by Joseph Schwartz and Robert C. Schweik. Gary Lane compiled A Concordance

to the Poems of Hart Crane (1972).

Biographies of Crane are John Unterecker's Voyager: A Life of Hart Crane (1969), Paul Mariani's The Broken Tower: A Life of Hart Crane (2000),

and Clive Fisher's Hart Crane: A Life (2002). Useful earlier studies are R. W. B. Lewis's The

Poetry

of Hart

Crane

(1967), Vincent

Quinn's Hart Crane (1963), Samuel Hazo's Hart Crane:

An

Introduction

and

Interpretation

(1963), Monroe K. Spears's Hart Crane

(1965),

R. W. Butterfield's The Broken Arc: A Study of

Hart Crane (1969), and Hunce Voelcker's The Hart Crane Voyages (1967). See also Richard P. Sugg's Hart Crane's "The Bridge" (1976), Samuel Hazo's Smithereened

Apart:

A Critique

of

Hart Crane (1977), Helge Norman Nilsen's Hart Crane's

Divided

Bridge"

(1980), Edward Brunner's Hart

and

the Making

Vision: An Analysis of "The Bridge"

of "The

Crane

(1984), and

Complete

Poems

1904—62, edited by George J.

edited Three Plays and a Ballet

(1967). Cum-

mings's prose fiction includes The Enormous Room (1922) and E/M/ (1933). E. E. Cummings: A Miscellany

Revised

(1965), edited by

Firmage, contains previously uncollected short prose pieces. Six Nonlectures (1953) consists of the talks that Cummings delivered at Harvard in the same year. A gathering of works is Another E. E. Cummings {\ 999), edited by Richard Kostchanetz. Selected Letters of E. E.

Cummings

(1969) was edited by F. W. Dupee and George Stade. George J. Firmage edited E. E. Cummings: A Bibliography (1960). Barry Ahearn edited The Correspondence

E. E. Cummings

of Ezra Pound and

(1996).

Several of Cummings's earlier individual works have been reedited by Firmage in the Cummings Typescript Editions. These include Tulips

& Chimneys

(1976); No Thanks

(1978);

The Enormous Room, including illustrations by Cummings (1978); ViVa (1979); XAIPE (1979); and Etcetera, the unpublished poems (1983). A biography is Dreams in the Mirror (1979, 1994), by Richard S. Kennedy. Four critical books from the 1960s are still useful: Norman The Art of His Friedman's E. E. Cummings: Poetry (1960), Friedman's E. E. Cummings: The Growth of a Writer (1964), Barry A. Marks's E. E. Cummings (1964), and Robert E. Wegner's The Poetry and Prose of E. E.

Cummings

(1965). Bethany K. Dumas's E. £ . Cummings: A Remembrance of Miracles (1974) and RushAn Introducworth Kidder's E. E. Cummings, tion to the Poetry (1979) provide introductions to Cummings's work. See also Cary Lane's I Am: A Study of E. E. Cummings'

Poems (1976) and

Richard S. Kennedy's E. E. Cummings Revisited (1994). Norman Friedman edited E. E. Cummings: A Collection

of Critical

Essays (1972).

Hilda Dooiittle ( H . D.)

The poetry through 1944 has been collected and edited by Louis L. Martz in Collected Poems 1912-1944

(1983). Collected

Poems of H. D.

was published in 1925. Subsequent volumes of

2890

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

poetry i n c l u d e Red Rose for Bronze ( 1 9 3 1 ) ; the trilogy of war p o e m s The Walls Do Not Fall ( 1 9 4 4 ) , Tribute to the Angels ( 1 9 4 5 ) , a n d The Flowering of the Rod ( 1 9 4 6 ) ; the d r a m a t i c m o n o l o g u e Helen in Egypt ( 1 9 6 1 ) ; the m a j o r collection of her late p o e m s , Hermetic Definition ( 1 9 7 2 ) ; a n d the long p o e m Vale Ave ( 1 9 9 2 ) . H . D.'s other b o o k - l e n g t h verse d r a m a s are Hippolytus Temporizes ( 1 9 2 7 ) a n d the translation of E u r i p i d e s ' Ion ( 1 9 3 7 ) . Palimpsest ( 1 9 2 6 ) , Hadylus ( 1 9 2 8 ) , Bid Me to Live ( 1 9 6 1 ) , HERmione ( 1 9 8 1 ) , a n d Asphodel ( 1 9 9 2 ) , edited by R o b e r t S p o o , c o m p o s e her m a j o r p r o s e fiction. By Avon River ( 1 9 4 9 ) c e l e b r a t e s S h a k e s p e a r e in p r o s e a n d verse. Tribute to Freud ( 1 9 5 6 ) is her a c c o u n t of her p s y c h o a n a l y s i s by F r e u d . A l s o i m p o r t a n t a r e two a u t o b i o g r a p h i c a l works: End to Torment ( 1 9 7 9 ) a n d The Gift ( 1 9 8 2 , c o m p l e t e edition 1 9 9 8 ) . M i c h a e l B o u g h n c o m p i l e d H. D . : A Bibliography, 1905-1990 (1993). Richard Aldington and H. D.: The Early Years in Letters ( 1 9 9 2 ) , e d i t e d by C a r o l i n e Zilboorg, c o l l e c t s correspondence. Herself Defined: The Poet H. D. and Her World ( 1 9 8 4 ) , by B a r b a r a G u e s t , is a biography, while H. D.: The Career of That Struggle ( 1 9 8 6 ) , by R a c h e l B l a u D u P l e s s i e , Psyche Reborn: The Emergence of H. D. ( 1 9 8 1 ) , by S u s a n S. Friedm a n , a n d H. D.: The Life and Work of an American Poet ( 1 9 8 2 ) , by J a n i c e S. R o b i n s o n , c o m b i n e b i o g r a p h y a n d literary a n a l y s i s . A m o n g critical b o o k s are G a r y B a r n e t t ' s H. D.: Between Image and Epic, The Mysteries of Her Poetics ( 1 9 9 0 ) , F r i e d m a n ' s Penelope's Web: Gender, Modernity, and H. D.'s Fiction ( 1 9 9 0 ) , E i l e e n Gregory's H. D. and Hellenism (1997), Diana C o l l e c o t t ' s H. D and Sapphic Modernism ( 1 9 9 9 ) , a n d G e o r g i a Taylor's H. D. and the Public Sphere of Modernist Women Writers 19131946 (2001). T . S. Eliot Eliot's poetic works have b e e n c o l l e c t e d in Collected Poems, 1909-1962 ( 1 9 6 3 ) a n d The Complete Poems and Plays of T. S. Eliot ( 1 9 6 9 ) . Inventions of the March Hare: Poems 19091917 ( 1 9 9 7 ) , e d i t e d by C h r i s t o p h e r R i c k s , c o n t a i n s early, previously u n p u b l i s h e d poetry. T h e i n d i s p e n s a b l e m a n u s c r i p t to The Waste Land is in The Waste Land: A Facsimile and Transcript of the Original Drafts Including the Annotations of Ezra Pound ( 1 9 7 1 ) , e d i t e d by Valerie Eliot. M i c h a e l N o r t h edited a N o r t o n Critical Edition of The Waste Land (2001). I m p o r t a n t critical writings i n c l u d e The Use of Poetry and the Use of Criticism ( 1 9 3 3 ) , Poetry and Drama ( 1 9 5 1 ) . The Three Voices of Poetry ( 1 9 5 3 ) , On Poetry and Poets ( 1 9 5 7 ) , a n d T o Criticize the Critic and Other Writings ( 1 9 6 5 ) . T h r e e v o l u m e s of social c o m m e n t a r y are After Strange Gods ( 1 9 3 4 ) , The Idea of a Christian Society ( 1 9 3 9 ) , a n d Notes toward the Definition of Culture ( 1 9 4 8 ) . Valerie Eliot e d i t e d

1898-1922 The Letters of T. S. Eliot, Vol. 1: ( 1 9 8 8 ) . J . L. D a w s o n edited Concordance to the Complete Poems and Plays of T. S. Eliot ( 1 9 9 5 ) . G o o d b i o g r a p h i e s are P e t e r Ackroyd's T. S. Eliot: A Life ( 1 9 8 4 ) a n d L y n d a l l G o r d o n ' s T.S. Eliot: An Imperfect Life ( 1 9 9 8 , 2 0 0 0 ) , an u p d a t i n g of her earlier b i o g r a p h i e s . Influential earlier s t u d i e s of Eliot i n c l u d e F . O . M a t t h i e s s e n ' s The Achievement of T. S. Eliot (rev. 1 9 4 7 ) , H e l e n G a r d n e r ' s The Art of T. S. Eliot ( 1 9 5 0 ) , H u g h K e n n e r ' s The Invisible Poet ( 1 9 5 9 ) , N o r t h r o p Frye's T. S. Eliot ( 1 9 6 3 ) , a n d S t e p h e n S p e n d e r ' s T. S. Eliot (1976). A m o n g n u m e r o u s critical s t u d i e s are J o h n M a r g o l i e s ' s T. S. Eliot's Intellectual Development, 1922-1919 ( 1 9 7 2 ) , H e l e n G a r d n e r ' s The Composition of Four Quartets (1978), Derek Traversi's T. S. Eliot: The Longer Poems ( 1 9 7 6 ) , L o u i s M e n a n d ' s Discovering Modernism: T. S. Eliot and His Context ( 1 9 8 7 ) , Eric Svarny's "The Men of 1914": T. S. Eliot and Early Modernism ( 1 9 8 8 ) , Eric S i g g ' s The American T. S. Eliot: A Study of The Early Writings ( 1 9 8 9 ) , J e w e l S p e a r s B r o o k e r a n d J o s e p h Bentley's Reading "The Waste Land": Modernism and the Limits of Interpretation ( 1 9 9 0 ) , Brooker's Mastery and Escape: T. S. Eliot and the Dialectic of Modernism ( 1 9 9 4 ) , A. David M o o d y ' s Thomas Stearns Eliot, Poet ( 1 9 9 4 ) , A n t h o n y J u l i u s ' s T. S. Eliot, AntiSemitism, and Literary Form ( 1 9 9 6 ) , a n d R o n a l d S c h i c h a r d ' s Eliot's Dark Angel: Intersections of Life and Art ( 2 0 0 1 ) . M o o d y a l s o e d i t e d the u s e ful Cambridge Companion to T. S. Eliot ( 1 9 9 4 ) . F o r c o l l e c t i o n s of critical e s s a y s a b o u t Eliot, s e e T . S . Eliot: A Collection of Criticism (1974), e d i t e d by L i n d a W . W a g n e r ( 1 9 7 4 ) ; T. S. Eliot: The Modernist in History ( 1 9 9 1 ) , e d i t e d by R o n ald B u s h ( 1 9 9 1 ) ; a n d T. S. Eliot, A Voice Descanting: Centenary Essays ( 1 9 9 0 ) , edited by S h y a m a l B a g c h e e . G a r e t h R e e v e s ' s T. S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" ( 1 9 9 4 ) is a c o m p r e h e n s i v e i n t r o d u c t i o n to the p o e m . D o n a l d C . G a l l u p c o m p i l e d the s t a n d a r d bibliography, T. S. Eliot: A Bibliography (rev. 1969). William Faulkner T h e Library of A m e r i c a i s s u e d F a u l k n e r ' s novels in t h r e e v o l u m e s : 1 9 3 0 - 1 9 3 5 ( 1 9 8 5 ) ; 1 9 3 6 J 9 4 0 ( 1 9 9 0 ) ; a n d 1942-1954 ( 1 9 9 4 ) . In addition to v o l u m e s m e n t i o n e d in the a u t h o r ' s headnote are Early Prose and Poetry ( 1 9 6 2 ) , edited by C a r v e l C o l i i n s ( 1 9 6 2 ) ; Dr. Martina and Other Stories ( 1 9 3 4 ) ; Pylon ( 1 9 3 5 ) ; T h e Unvanquished ( 1 9 3 8 ) ; Intruder in the Dust ( 1 9 4 8 ) ; Knight's Gambit ( 1 9 4 9 ) ; Collected Stories of William Faulkner ( 1 9 5 0 ) ; Requiem for a Nun ( 1 9 5 1 ) ; Notes on a Horsethief (1951); Big Woods ( 1 9 5 5 ) ; a n d Essays, Speeches, and Public Letters ( 1 9 6 4 ) , e d i t e d by J a m e s B. M e r i w e t h e r . T r a n s c r i p t s of d i s c u s s i o n s a n d interviews with Faulkner i n c l u d e Faulkner at Nagano ( 1 9 5 6 ) , edited by

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Robert A. Jelliffe; Faulkner in the University (1959), edited by Frederick L. Gwynn and Joseph L. Blotner; Faulkner at West Point (1964), edited by Joseph L. Fant and Robert Ashley (1964); and The Lion in the Garden (1968), edited by Meriwether and Michael Millgate. Letters are collected in The FaulknerCowley File (1961), edited by Malcolm Cowley (1961), and Selected Letters of William Fatdkner (1977), edited by Joseph L. Blotner. Noel Polk has produced editions of several Faulkner novels based on study of the manuscripts. David Minter has published a Norton Critical Edition of The Sound and the Fury (1994). Faulkner: A Biography, 2 vols. (1974), by Blotner has been condensed and updated in Faulkner (1984). Two shorter biographies based on Blotner's work are William Fatdkner: His Life and Work (1980), by David Minter and Faulkner: The Transfiguration of Biography (1979), by

Judith Wittenberg. Comprehensive guides are Faulkner's

World: A Directory of His People and Synopsis of Actions in His Published Works (1988), by Thomas E. Connolly; A William Faulkner Encyclopedia

(1999), edited by Robert W. Hamblin and Charles E. Peek; and William Faulkner A to Z (2001), edited by A. Nichols Fargnoli and Michael Golay. David Dowling's William Faulkner (1989) is a general introduction; another useful introduction is Diane B. Jones's A Reader's

Guide

to the Short Stories of

William

Faulkner (1994). Influential early studies include Michael Millgate's The Achievement of William Faulkner (1966), Cleanth Brooks's William

Faulkner:

The

Yoknapatawpha

(1963), and Hyatt H. Waggoner's Fatdkner:

From Jefferson

Country

William

to the World (1959).

Later studies include John T. Irwin's

Doubling

and Incest, Repetition and Revenge: A Speculative Reading of Faulkner (1975), Thadious M. Davis's Faulkner's "Negro": Art and the Southern Context (1983), Eric J. Sundquist's Faulkner: The House Divided (1983), Robert Dale Parker's Faulkner and the Novelistic Imagination (1985), Warwick Wadlington's Reading Faulknerian Tragedy (1987) and As I Lay Dying: Stories out of Stories (1992), Stephen M. Ross's Fiction Inexhaustible Voice: Speech and Writing in Faulkner (1989), Minrose C. Gwin's The Feminine and Faulkner: Reading (beyond) Sexual

Difference

(1990), Andre Bleikasten's The Ink of

Melancholy: Faulkner's Novels from "The Sound and the Fury" to "Light in 'August* (1990), Richard Moreland's Faulkner and Modernism: Rereading and Rewriting (1990), Joel Williamson's William Faulkner and Southern History (1993), Diane Roberts's Faulkner and Southern Womanhood (1994), and David Minter's Faulkner's Questioning Narratives: Fiction of His Major Phase, 1929-42 (2001).

Edited collections of critical essays include Linda

Wagner's

William

Faulkner:

Four

/

2891

Decades of Criticism (1973), Dean M. Schmitter's edited William Fatdkner: A Collection of Criticism (1973), Doreen Fowler and Ann J. Abadie's Faulkner aiul Race (1987), and Louis J. Budd and Edwin Cady's On Faulkner (1989).

F. Scott Fitzgerald Fitzgerald's novels are This Side of Paradise (1920), The Beautiful and Damned (1922), The Great Gatsby (1925), Tender Is the Night (1934;

rev. 1939; rpt. 1953), and the unfinished The Last Tycoon (1941). His collections of stories are Flappers and Philosophers (1921), Tales of the JazzAge (1922), All the Sad Young Men (1926), and Taps at Reveille (1935). Two recent editions of his fiction are the Library of America's Novels atui Stories 1920-1922 (2000) and Matthew J. Bruccoli and Judith Baughman's Before Gatsby: Tlte First Twenty-Six Stories (2001). A satirical play, The Vegetable, or From Presidents to Postman, was published in 1923. Among collections of Fitzgerald's writings are The Apprentice Fiction ofF. Scott Fitzgerald (1965), edited by John Kuehl; F. Scott Fitzgerald in His Own Time: A Miscellany (1971), edited by Jackson R. Bryer and Bruccoli; and Afternoon of an Author (1957), edited by Arthur Mizener. The CrackUp (1945), edited by Edmund Wilson, collects essays, notebook entries, and letters from the 1930s; youthful work is collected in F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Princeton Years; Selected Writings, 1914-1920 (1966), edited by Chip Defaa.

The fullest collection of letters is dence

of F. Scott

Fitzgerald

Correspon-

(1980), edited by

Bruccoli and Margaret M. Duggan. Other volumes of letters are Dear Scott I Dear Max: The Fitzgerald-Perkins Correspondence (1971),

edited by John Kuehl and Jackson R. Bryer, and As Ever, Scott Fitz (1972), edited by Bruccoli and Jennifer McCabe Atkinson (letters between Fitzgerald and his literary agent, Harold Ober). Fitzgerald's biographies include Bruccoli's Some Sort of Epic Grandeur: The Life of F. Scott Fitzgerald (1981), Scott Donaldson's Fool for Love: F. Scott Fitzgerald, A Biographical Portrait (1983), James Mellows Invented Lives (1984), Jeffrey Myers's Scott Fitzgerald (2000), and Andrew Turnbull's Scott Fitzgerald (2001). Among guides are Mary Jo Tate's F. Scott Fitzgerald AtoZ (1998), Robert Gale's An F. Scott Fitzgerald Encyclopedia (1998), and Linda Pelzer's Student Companion to F. Scott Fitzgerald (2001). Critical studies include Milton R. Stern's The Golden Moment: The Novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald (1970), John F. Callahan's The Illusions of a Nation: Myth and History in the Novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald (1972), Robert Emmet Long's The Achieving of "The Great Gatsby": F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1920-1925 (1979), Brian Way's F. Scott Fitzgerald and the Art of Social Fiction (1980), Andrew Hook's F. Scott Fitzgerald (1992), and John Kuehl's F. Scott

2892 Fitzgerald,

/

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES a Study of the Short

Fiction

(1991).

Among collections of critical essays are The Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald: New Approaches in Criticism (1983), edited by Jackson R. Bryer; New Essays on "The Great Gatshy," edited by Bruccoli; and The Cambridge Companion to F. Scott Fitzgerald (2001).

Plays by Susan Glaspell—including Trifles, The Outside, The Verge, and Inheritors—appeared in 1987. Another collection is "Lifted Masks" and Other Works (1993). Major Novels of Susan

Glaspell, edited by Martha C. Carpenter, was published in 1995. Two biographies are Arthur E. Waterman's Susan Glaspell (1966) and Barbara O. Rajkowska's Susan

Robert Frost The Poetry of Robert Frost (1969) incorporated Complete Poems (1949) and Frost's last volume.

In the Clearing (1962). Eleven early essays on farming, edited by Edward C. Lathem and Lawrance Thompson, appear in Robert Frost: Farm Poidtryman (1963). The Library of America issued Frost's Collected

Susan Glaspell

Poems, Prose, and Plays

(1995). Important collections of letters appear in Selected Letters of Robert Frost (1964), edited by Thompson; The Letters of Robert Frost to Louis Untermeyer (1963); and Margaret Anderson, Robert Frost and John Bartlett: Tlie Record

of a Friendship (1963). His critical essays have been collected in Selected Prose (1966), edited by Hyde Cox and Lathem (1966). Conversations and interviews with Frost include Lathem's Interviews with Robert Frost (1966), Reginald L. Cook's The Dimensions of Robert Frost (1964), Daniel Smythe's Robert Frost Speaks (1954), and Louis Mertin's Robert Frost: Life and TalksWalking (1965).

Lawrance Thompson completed two volumes of the authorized biography: Robert Frost: The Early Years, 1874-1915 (1966) and Robert Frost: The Years of Triumph, 1915-1938 (1970). The third volume, Robert Frost, the Later Years, was completed by Richard Winnick (1976), and Edward C. Lathem produced a shorter version of the biography in Robert Frost: A Biography (1981). Other biographies are Jeffrey Meyers's Robert Frost (1996) and Jay Parini's Robert Frost: A Life (1999). William H. Pritchard in Frost: A Literary Life Reconsidered (1984) is interested in the poet's art, not his personal life. James L. Potter's Robert Frost Handbook (1980) is a useful guide; Latham produced a concordance to Frost's poetry (1994). A brief critical introduction is Mordecai Marcus's The Poems of Robert Frost (1991). Specialized critical studies are Richard Poirier's Robert Frost, The Work of Knowing (1977, reissued with new material in 1990), John C. Kemp's Robert Frost and New England: The Poet as Regionalist (1979), George Monteiro's Robert Frost and the New England Renaissance (1988), Mario D'Avanzo's A Cloud of Other Poets: Robert Frost and the Romantics (1990), Judith Oster's Tmvard Robert Frost (1991), George Bagby's Frost and the Book of Nature (1993), and Mark Richardson's Robert Frost: The Poet and His Poetics (1997). Collections of critical essays include On Frost (1991), edited by Edwin H. Cady and Louis J. Budd, and Robert Faggen's Cambridge Companion to Robert Frost (2001).

Biography

Glaspell:

A

Critical

(2000). Critical studies include Mar-

cia Noe's Susan Glaspell: Voice from the Heartland (1983), Veronica A. Makowsky's Susan Glaspell's Century of American Women: A Critical Interpretation of Her Work (1993), and J. Ellen Gainor's Susan Glaspell in Context: American Theater, Culture, and Politics, 1915—f8

(2001). A collection of critical essays is Susan Glaspell:

Essays

on Her

Theater

and

Fiction

(1995), edited by Linda Ben-Zvi. Ernest Hemingway There is no collected edition of Hemingway's writings. In addition to works mentioned in the author's headnote, his fiction includes Today Is Friday

(1926) and God Rest You Merry

Gentle-

men (1933). His tribute to Spain, The

Spanish

Earth, and his play Tlie Fifth Column appeared in 1938, the latter in a collection The Fifth Column and the First Forty-nine Stories. His journalism has been collected in The Wild Years

(1962), edited by Gene Z. Hanrahan, and ByLine: Ernest Hemingway, Selected Articles and Dispatches of Four Decades (1967), edited by William White. His Complete Poems (1992) has

been edited by Nicholas Gerogiannis. Audre Hanneman's Ernest Hemingway: A Comprehensive Bibliography (1967) is thorough. Scribners published Tlie Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway (1987).

The authorized biography is Carlos Baker's Ernest Hemingway: A Life Story (1969). Jeffrey Meyers's Hemingway: A Biography (1985) and

Kenneth S. Lynn's Hemingway (1987) are important. Michael Reynolds's detailed volumes include The Young Hemingway (1986), Hemingway: The Paris Years (1989), Hemingway: The 1930s (1997), and Hemingway: The Final Years (1999). The Hemingway Women (1983), by

Bernice Kert, tells about Hemingway's mother, wives, and lovers; Fame Became of Him: Hemingway as Public Writer (1984). by John Rae-

burn, compares the life with the public image. A

Reader's

Guide

to

Ernest

Hemingway

(1972), by Arthur Waldhorn, and A Guide

to the Short Stories

of Ernest

Reader's

Hemingway

(1989), by Paul Smith, are useful handbooks; Peter B. Messent's Ernest Hemingway (1992) is a good overview. For collections of critical essays on Hemingway, see Ernest Hemingway: Seven Decades of Criticism (2001), edited by Linda Wagner-Martin; New Critical Approaches to the Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway (1991),

edited by Jackson J. Benson; The

Cambridge

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Companion to Hemingway (1996), edited by Scott Donaldson; and A Historical Guide to Ernest Hemingway (2001), edited by WagnerjVlartin. Specialized studies include Bernard Oldsey's Hemingway's

ing of 'A Farewell

Hidden

Craft:

The Writ-

to Arms" (1979), Wirt Wil-

liams's The Tragic

Art of Ernest

Hemingway

(1982). and Mark Spilka's Hemingway's with Androgyny

Quarrel

(1990).

The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes (1994), including The Wean Blues (1926), Fine Clothes to the Jen' (1927), The Dream Keeper and Other Poems (1932), Scottsboro Limited: Four Poems and a Play in Verse (1932), Montage of a Dream Deferred (1951), and The Panther and the Lash:

Poems of our Times (1967). His short stories were edited by Akiba Sullivan Harper (1996). Faith Berry edited Good Morning Revolution: Uncollected

Social

Protest

Writings

by

Langston

Hughes (1973). Mule Bone (1991), which he coauthored with Zora Neale Hurston, has been edited with contextual materials by George Houston Pope and Henry Louis Gates Jr. Hughes's autobiographical volumes include The Big Sea

(1940) and / Wonder

as 1

Wander

(1956); both were reissued in 1993. Charles H. Nichols edited Arna Bontemps—Langston Hughes, Letters 1925-1967 (1980). Early biographies of Hughes include Milton Meltzer's Langston Hughes: A Biography Charlemae Rollins's Black Troubador:

Hughes

(1968), Langston

(1970), and James S. Haskins's Always

Movin' On: The Life of Langston Hughes (1976). Faith Berry's Langston Hughes: Before and

Beyond Harlem (1983, 1995) contains much about Hughes's life to 1940. Arnold Rampersad's two-volume Life of Langston Hughes—Vol. I, 1902-1941: /, Too, Sing America (1986) and Vol. 11, 1941-1967: I Dream a World (1988)— is definitive. Thomas A. Mikolyzk compiled Langston Hughes: A Bio-Bibliography (1990). Contemporary reviews were collected by Letitia Dace (1997). Full-length critical studies are Onwuchekwa Jemie's Langston

to the Poetry Langston

Hughes:

An

Introduction

(1976), Richard K. Barksdale's

Hughes:

The Poet

and

His

Critics

(1977), Steven C. Tracy's Langston Hughes and the Blues (1988), and R. Baxter Miller's The Art and

Imagination

of Langston

Essay collections Black

edited Hughes:

Genius:

A Critical

by Therman Critical

Hughes

include Langston

(1989).

Hughes,

Evaluation

(1972),

B. O'Daniel;

Langston

Perspectives

Past and

Present

(1993), edited by Henry Louis Gates Jr. and K. A. Appiah; and Langston His Art, and His Continuing

Hughes: The Man, Influence (1995),

edited by C. James Trotman. Peter Mandelik

2893

and Stanley Schatt's A Concordance Poetry of Langston

Hughes

to the

(1975) is useful.

Zora Neale Hurston Robert Hemenway's Zora Neale Hurston, A Literary Biography (1977) initiated the Hurston revival; her work is mostly available in paperback editions. The Library of America published Hurston's writing in two volumes: Novels and Stories (1995) and Folklore,

Langston Hughes A fourteen-volume standard edition of Hughes's complete works appeared in 2001 and 2002. Arnold Rampersad and David Roessel edited

/

Memoirs,

and Other

Writ-

ings (1995). Her letters were edited by Carla Kaplan (2001). Book-length studies include Lillie P. Howard's Zora Neale Hurston (1980), Karla C. F. Holloway's The Character of the Word: The Texts of Zora Neale Hurston (1987), John Lowe's Jump at the Sun: Zora Neale Hurston's Cosmic Comedy (1994), Deborah G. Plant's Every Tub Must Sit on Its Own Bottom: The Philosophy and Politics of Zora Neale Hur-

ston (1995), and Lynda Marion Hill's Social uals and the Verbal

Art of Zora Neale

Rit-

Hurston

(1996). Hurston is linked to other writers in Cheryl A. Wall's Women

of the Harlem

Renais-

sance (1995), Carla Kaplan's The Erotics of Talk: Women's

Writing

and

Feminist

Paradigms

(1996), and Trudier Harris's The P o i e e r of the Porch: The Storyteller's Craft in Zora Neale Hurston, Gloria Naylor, and Randall Kenan (1996).

Collections of essays are New Essays on "Their Eyes

Were

Watching

God" (1990), edited by

Michael Awkward; Zora Neale Hurston: Perspectives

Past and Present

Critical

(1993), edited by

Henry Louis Gates Jr. and K. A. Appiah; and Critical

Essays on Zora Neale

Hurston

(1998),

edited by Gloria L. Cronin. Robinson Jeffers Stanford University Press published Jeffers's complete poetry in five volumes (1998-2001), edited by Tim Hunt. Ann N. Ridgway edited The Selected

Letters of Robinson

Jeffers,

(897-1962

(1968). Among books of critical analysis are Arthur B. Coffin's Robinson

manism

Jeffers,

Poet

oflnhu-

(1970), Robert Brophy's Robinson

fers, Myth, Ritual, and Symbol

in His

Jef-

Narrative

Poems (1973), Marian Beilke's Shining Clarity: God and Man in the Works of Robinson

Jeffers

(1977), and Robert Zaller's The Cliffs of Solitude: A Reading of Robinson Jeffers Books of essays are Critical Essays on

Jeffers

(1983). Robinson

(1990), edited by James Karmen; Centen-

nial Essays for Robinson Jeffers (1991), edited by Zaller; and Robinson Jeffers, Dimensions of a Poet

(1995), edited by Robert Brophy. Amy Lowell Lowell's complete poems were published in 1955. Ferris Greenslet, who was her editor at Houghton Mifflin, has written an excellent family chronicle from the first settler to Amv Lowell, The Lmvells

and Their

Seven

Worlds

(1945).

Additional biographical material may be found in S. Foster Damon's Amy Lowell: A Chronicle, with Extracts

from Her Correspondence

(1935),

2894

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

a n d Florence Ayscongh and Amy Lowell: Correspondence of a Friendship ( 1 9 4 5 ) , edited by Harley F a r n s w o r t h M a c N a i r . Critical e s t i m a t e s of Lowell i n c l u d e J e a n G o u l d ' s Amy: Tlie World of Amy Lowell and the Imagist Movement (1975), G l e n n R i c h a r d Ruihley's The Thorn of a Rose: Amy Lowell Reconsidered ( 1 9 7 5 ) , and Richard B e n v e n u t o ' s Amy Lowell ( 1 9 8 5 ) . M a r y E . G a l vin's Queer Poetics: Five Modernist Women Writers ( 1 9 9 9 ) i n c l u d e s Lowell. Claude McKay V o l u m e s of M c K a y ' s poetry i n c l u d e Songs of Jamaica ( 1 9 1 2 ) , Constab Ballads ( 1 9 1 2 ) , Spring in New Hampshire and Other Poems ( 1 9 2 0 ) — p u b l i s h e d in E n g l a n d — a n d Harlem Shadows ( 1 9 2 2 ) . William J . Maxwell is e d i t i n g the Complete Poems (to be p u b l i s h e d in 2 0 0 3 ) , i n c l u d i n g m a n y p o e m s previously u n c o l l e c t e d . B o o k s of p r o s e p u b l i s h e d in his lifetime i n c l u d e the novels Home to Harlem ( 1 9 2 8 ) , Banjo ( 1 9 2 9 ) , a n d Banana Bottom ( 1 9 3 3 ) ; a short story c o l l e c t i o n , Gingertown ( 1 9 3 2 , 1 9 9 1 ) ; an a u t o b i o g r a p h y , A Long Way from Home ( 1 9 3 7 ) , a n d an e s s a y collection, Harlem: Negro Metropolis ( 1 9 4 0 ) . C o l lections b r o u g h t out after M c K a y ' s d e a t h i n c l u d e Selected Poems ( 1 9 5 3 ) , Tlie Dialect Poetry of Claude McKay ( 1 9 7 2 ) , The Passion of Claude McKay: Selected Poetry and Prose, ( 1 9 7 3 ) ; two b o o k s of short stories, Trial By Lynching ( 1 9 7 7 ) and My Green Hills of Jamaica ( 1 9 7 9 ) ; a n d an e s s a y c o l l e c t i o n , Tlie Negro in America ( 1 9 7 9 ) . T h r e e g o o d b i o g r a p h i e s are J a m e s R. G i l e s ' s Claude McKay ( 1 9 7 6 ) , W a y n e F. C o o p e r ' s Claude McKay: Rebel Sojourner in the Harlem Renaissance ( 1 9 8 7 , 1 9 9 6 ) , a n d T y r o n e Tillery's Claude McKay: A Black Poet's Struggle for Identity ( 1 9 9 2 ) . A collection of interpretive e s s a y s is Claude McKay: Centennial Studies (1992), edited by A. L. M c L e o d . G e n e r a l works with material o n M c K a y i n c l u d e H a r o l d C r u s e ' s still v a l u a b l e The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual ( 1 9 6 7 ) , K e n n e t h R a m c h a n d ' s The West Indian Novel and Its Background ( 1 9 7 0 ) , N a t h a n I. H u g g i n s ' s Harlem Renaissance (1971), Addison G a y l e ' s The Way of the New World: The Black Novel in America ( 1 9 7 5 ) , David L e v e r i n g Lewis's When Harlem Was in Vogue ( 1 9 8 1 ) , B e r n a r d \V. Bell's The Afro-American Novel and Its Tradition ( 1 9 8 7 ) , a n d G e o r g e H u t c h i n s o n ' s The Harlem Renaissance in Black and White (1995). D'Arcy M c N i c k l e A m o n g M c N i c k l e ' s nonfiction a r e Indian Man: A Life of Oliver LaFarge ( 1 9 7 1 ) ; Native American Tribalism: Indian Survwals and Renewals ( 1 9 7 3 ) ; They Came Here First: The Epic of the American Indian ( 1 9 4 9 ) ; a n d (with H a r o l d Fey) Indians and Other Americans: Two Ways of Life Meet ( 1 9 7 0 ) . H i s novels are The Surrounded (originally p u b l i s h e d in 1 9 3 6 ) a n d the p o s t h u m o u s l y p u b l i s h e d Wind from an Enemy Sky

( 1 9 7 8 ) . A collection o f stories, s o m e b a s e d o n u n p u b l i s h e d m a n u s c r i p t m a t e r i a l , is The Hawk Is Hungry and Other Stories, e d i t e d a n d introd u c e d by Birgit H a n s ( 1 9 9 3 ) . T w o b i o g r a p h i e s a r e J a m e s R u p p e r t ' s D'Arcy McNickle (1988) a n d Dorothy R. Parker's Singing and Indian Song: A Biography of D'Arcy McNickle (1992). J o h n L. Purdy p u b l i s h e d Word Ways: The Novels of D'Arcy McNickle ( 1 9 9 0 ) and e d i t e d the e s s a y collection The Legacy of D'Arcy McNickle: Writer, Historian, Activist ( 1 9 9 6 ) . Birgit H a n s c o n t r i b u t e d " B e c a u s e I U n d e r s t a n d the Storytelling Art': T h e Evolution of D'Arcy M c N i c k l e ' s The Surrounded" to H e l e n J a k o s k i ' s Early Natwe American Writing: New Critical Essays ( 1 9 9 6 ) . E d n a St. V i n c e n t Millay Millay's Collected Sonnets ( 1 9 4 1 ) a n d Collected Lyrics (1943) w e r e followed by Collected Poems: Edna St. Vincent Millay ( 1 9 5 6 ) , edited by N o r m a Millay ( 1 9 5 6 ) . H e r p r o s e s k e t c h e s , Distressing Dialogue, p u b l i s h e d u n d e r the p s e u d o nym N a n c y Boyd, a p p e a r e d in 1 9 2 4 . H e r three v e r s e plays {Aria da Capa, 1 9 2 0 ; The Lamp and the Bell, 1 9 2 1 ; a n d Two Slatterns and a King, 1 9 2 1 ) w e r e c o l l e c t e d in Three Plays ( 1 9 2 6 ) . Allan R o s s M a c d o u g a l l edited Letters of Edna St. Vincent Millay in 1 9 5 2 . T h e b i o g r a p h i e s a r e D a n i e l E p s t e i n ' s What Lips My Lips Have Kissed ( 2 0 0 1 ) a n d N a n c y Milford's Savage Beauty: The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay ( 2 0 0 1 ) . E s s a y c o l l e c t i o n s are Critical Essays on Edna St. Vincent Millay ( 1 9 9 3 ) , edited by W i l l i a m B. T h e s ing, a n d Millay at One Hundred ( 1 9 9 5 ) , e d i t e d by D i a n e P. F r e e d m a n . Marianne Moore E a c h collection o f M o o r e ' s v e r s e e x c l u d e d s o m e earlier p o e m s while s u b j e c t i n g o t h e r s to extensive revisions a n d c h a n g e s in f o r m a t . H e r s e p a rate v o l u m e s i n c l u d e Poems ( 1 9 2 1 ) ; Observations ( 1 9 2 4 ) ; The Pangolin and Other Verse ( 1 9 3 6 ) ; What Are Years? ( 1 9 4 1 ) ; Nevertheless ( 1 9 4 4 ) ; Like a Bulwark ( 1 9 5 6 ) ; O to Be a Dragon ( 1 9 5 9 ) ; a n d Tell Me, Tell Me ( 1 9 6 6 ) . C o l l e c tions i n c l u d e Selected Poems ( 1 9 3 5 ) ; Collected Poems ( 1 9 5 1 ) ; a n d The Complete Poems of Marianne Moore ( 1 9 6 7 , repr. 1 9 8 1 , 1 9 8 7 ) , w h i c h i n c l u d e d s e l e c t i o n s from her t r a n s l a t i o n of The Fables of La Fontaine ( 1 9 5 4 ) . Patricia C . Willis h a s b r o u g h t t o g e t h e r M o o r e ' s p u b l i s h e d p r o s e in Tlie Complete Prose of Marianne Moore ( 1 9 8 6 ) . M o o r e ' s c o r r e s p o n d e n c e with Robert Lowell is p u b l i s h e d in Becoming a Poet ( 1 9 9 1 ) , by D a v i d K a l s t o n e ; her relation to W a l l a c e S t e v e n s is c o n sidered by R o b i n G . S c h u l z e in The Web of Friendship ( 1 9 9 5 ) . T h e only b i o g r a p h y is Marianne Moore: A Literary Life ( 1 9 9 0 ) , by C h a r l e s Molesworth. Bonnie Costello edited The Selected Letters of Marianne Moore (1997). B o o k - l e n g t h s t u d i e s i n c l u d e B e r n a r d F. E n g e l ' s Marianne Moore ( 1 9 6 3 , rev. 1 9 8 9 ) , C o s t e l l o ' s Mariatine Moore: Imaginary Possessions ( 1 9 8 2 ) , J o h n M . S l a t i n ' s The Savage's Romance: The

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Poetry of Marianne Moore (1986), Grace Schulman's Marianne Moore: The Poetry of Engagement (1987), Margaret Holley's The Poetry of Marianne Moore: A Study in Voice and Value (1987), Darlene W. Erickson's Illusion Is More Precise Than Precision (1992), Christanne Miller's Questions of Authority (1995), Linda Leanell's Marianne Moore and the Visual Arts (1995), and Elisabeth W. Joyce's Cultural Critique and Abstraction: Marianne Moore and the Avant-Garde (1998). Essay collections include Marianne Moore, Woman and Poet (1990), edited by Patricia Willis, and Marianne Moore: The Art of a Modernist (1990), edited by Joseph Parigi. Eugene P. Sheehy and Kenneth A. Lohf compiled The Achievement of Marianne Moore: A Bibliography, 1907-1957 in 1958, and Craig S. Abbott compiled Marianne Moore: A Descriptive Bibliography in 1977'. Gary Lane's A Concordance to the Poems of Marianne Moore appeared in 1972.

Eugene O'Neill The standard biography of O'Neill is still that of Arthur and Barbara Gelb, O'Neill (1962, rev. 2000). Other biographical treatments are Frederic I. Carpenter's Eugene O'Neill (1964, rev. 1979), L. Schaeffer's O'Neill, Son and Artist (1973, 1990), and Stephen A. Bloch's Eugene O'Neill: Beyond Mourning and Tragedy (1999). The Theatre We Worked For: The Letters of Eugene O'Neill to Kenneth Macgowan (1982),

edited by Jackson R. Bryer, documents O'Neill's attitudes to the theater of his day. Bryer and Travis Bogard edited Selected Letters of Eugene O'Neill

(1994).

Conversations

with

Eugene

O'Nei/i (1990) is edited by Mark W. Estrin. Literary analysis of O'Neill's plays can be found in Bogard's Contour

in Time: The Plays of

Eugene

O'Neill (1972, rev. 1987). L. Chabrower's Ritual and Pathos, The Theater of O'Neill (1976), Michael Manheim's Eugene O'Neill's New Language of Kinship (1982), Judith E. Barlow's Final Acts: The Creation of Three Late O'Neill Plays (1985), Virginia Floyd's The Plays of Eugene O'Neill: A New Assessment (1985), Kurt Eisen's The Inner Strength of Opposites (1994;

on O'Neill's techniques), Joel Pfister's Staging Depth: Eugene O'Neill and the Politics of Psychological Discourse (1995), and Donald Gallup's Eugene O'Neill and His Eleven-Play Cycle (1998).

Essay collections include Eugene O'Neill: A Collection of Criticism (1976), edited by E. Griffin; Eugene O'Neill's Century (1991), edited by Richard F. Moorton Jr.; The Critical Response to Eugene O'Neill (1993), edited by John H. Houchin; and The Cambridge Companion to Eugene O'Neill (1998), edited by Michael Manheim.

Katherine Anne Porter Primary sources include Ship of Fools The Collected

Stories of Katherine

Anne

(1962); Porter

/

2895

(1965); The Collected Essays and Occasional Writings of Katherine Anne Porter (1970); The Never-Ending Wrong (1977), about the Sacco

and Vanzetti case; Letters (1990), edited by Isabel Bayley; "This Strange, Old World" and Other Book Reviews by Katherine

Anne Porter (1991),

edited by Darlene Harbour Unrue; Early

Prose of Katherine

Anne

Uncollected

Porter

(1993),

edited by Ruth M. Alvarez and Thomas F. Walsh; and

Katherine

Anne

Porter's

Poetry

(1996), edited by Unrue. The first full-scale biography is Joan Givner's Katherine Anne Porter, A Life (1982, rev. 1991). Givner also edited Katherine Anne Porter: Conversations (1987). A Bibliography of the Works of Katherine Anne Porter, edited by Louise Waldrip

and Shirley Ann Bauer, appeared in 1969; Katherine Anne Porter: An Annotated

Bibliography

(of criticism) was compiled by Kathryn Hilt and Ruth M. Alvarez (1990). Critical studies include Jane Krause DeMouy's Katherine Anne Porter's Women: The Eye of Her Fiction (1983), Unrue's Truth and Vision in Katherine Anne Porter's Fiction (1985), Willene and George Hendrick's Katherine Anne Porter

(rev. 1988), Clinton Machann and William Bedford Clark's Katherine Anne Porter and Texas: An Uneasy Relationship (1990), Thomas F. Walsh's Katherine Anne Porter and Mexico: The Illusion of Eden (1992), Robert H. Brinkmeyer's Katherine Anne Porter's Artistic Development (1993), and Janis P. Stout's Katherine Anne Porter, A Sense of the Times (1995). Unrue edited Critical Essays on Katherine Anne Porter (1997).

Ezra Pound Pound's early poetry, from A Lume Spento (1908) through Ripostes (1912), is in the authoritative Collected

Early

Poems

of Ezra

Pound

(1976), edited by Michael King. The same volumes, along with later volumes Hugh Selwyn Mauberley and Homage to Sextus Propertius, are collected in Personae: The Collected Shorter Poems (rev. ed. 1949; 2nd rev. ed. 1990). The

New Directions edition of The Cantos (1993) is definitive. The most important of Pound's critical writings are The Spirit of Romance (rev. 1952); Gaudier-Brzeska: A Memoir (1916); Instigations (1920); Make It New (1934); The ABC

of Reading

(1934); Guide

to

Kulchur

(1938); and Patria Mia (1950). His criticism has been collected in Literary Essays of Ezra (1954), edited by T. S. Eliot; Selected

Pound Prose,

1909-1965 (1973), edited by William Cookson (1973); and Ezra Pound's Poetry and Prose Contributions to Periodicals (1991), prefaced and

arranged by Lea Baechler, A. Walton Litz, and James Longenback in eleven volumes. Ezra Pound

Speaking:

Radio Speeches

of World War

II (1978), edited by Leonard W. Doob, collects his wartime radio addresses. D. D. Paige edited The Letters of Ezra Pound, 1907-1941 (1950). Other correspondence is collected in Ezra

2896 Pound

/

SELECTED

and Dorothy

1909-1914

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Shakes-pear:

Tlieir

Letters,

(1984), edited by Omar Pound and

A. Walton Litz; Pound ILewis: Tlie Letters of Ezra Pound and Wyndham Lewis (1985), edited by Timothy Materer; and Ezra Pound and James

Loughlin (1994), edited by David M. Gordon. Reviews of Pound are collected in Eric Homberger's

Ezra

Pound:

The

Critical

Heritage

(1973, 1997). James J. Wilhelm's three-volume biography includes The American Roots of Ezra Pound (1985), Ezra Pound in London and Paris, 19081925 (1990), and Ezra Pound: The Tragic Years,

Bartholomew {1923), The Man Who Died Twice (1924), Cavender's House (1929), The Glory of the Nightingales (1930), Matthias at the Door

(1931), Talifer (1933), Amaranth (1934), and King Jasper (1935). Ridgely Torrence compiled Selected Letters (1940). Denham Sutcliffe edited Untriangulated Stars: Letters of Arlington Robinson to Harry de Forest

1890-1905

(1947). Richard Cary edited Edwin

Arlington

Robinson's

Letters

Haymann's Ezra Pound, The Last Rower: A Polit-

Anderson's Edwin Arlington

(1976), Humphrey Carpenter's A

Brower

There is little recent work on Robinson. Richard Cary documented The Early Reception of Edwin

Profile

to Edith

(1968).

1925-1972 (1994). Also useful are Noel Stock's The Life of Ezra Pound (1970, 1982), C . David ical

Edwin Smith,

Arlington

Robinson

(1974).

Introduc-

tions to Robinson's work include Wallace L. cal Introduction

Robinson:

A Criti-

(1967), Hoyt C. Franchere's

(1988), and Wendy Stallard Flory's The Ameri-

Edwin Arlington Robinson (1968), and Louis O. Coxes Edwin Arlington Robinson: The Life of

can Ezra Pound (1989). The Roots of Treason: Ezra Pound and the Secrets of St. Elizabeth

Arlington

(1984), by E. Fuller Torrey, focuses on Pound's trial and incarceration.

Other collections are Appreciation

of

Arlington

Interpretive

Serious

Character:

The

Life

of Ezra

Pound

Hugh Kenner's The Pound Era (1972) has been influential. Good introductions are Christine Brooke-Rose's A ZBC of Ezra Pound (1971) and James Knapp's Ezra Pound (1972). For Tlie Cantos

see the Annotated

Index to the Cantos of

Ezra Pound (1957) (through Canto LXXXIV), edited by John H. Edwards and William W. Vasse; George Dekker's The Cantos of Ezra Pound (1963); Noel Stock's Reading the Cantos (1967); Ronald Bush's The Genesis of Pound's Cantos

(1976); Wilhelm's The Later Cantos of

Ezra Pound Pound

(1977); Lawrence S. Ramey's Ezra

and the Monument

of Culture

(1991);

Carrol F. Terrill's A Companion to the Cantos of Ezra Pound (1993); George Kearn's Guide to Ezra Pound's Selected Cantos (1980); Anthony Woodward's Ezra Pound and "The Pisan Cantos"

(1980); and William Cookson's updated

Guide

to the Cantos of Ezra Pound (2001). Ezra

Pound

and Italian Fascism (1991), by Tim Redman, addresses the poet's politics; as does Pound in Purgatory:

From

Economic

Realism

to

Anti-

Semitism (1999), by Leon Surette. Cultural approaches to Pound include Michael Coyle's Ezra Pound,

Popular

Genres,

and the

Discourse

of Culture (1995) and Daniel Tiffany's Radio Corpse (1995). Marjorie Perloff's The Dance of the Intellect (1996) studies poetry in the Pound tradition. Andrew Gibson edited Pound in Multiple Perspective:

A Collection

of Critical

(1993) and Ira B. Nadel edited The Companion

to Ezra Pound

Essays

Cambridge

(1999).

Edwin Arlington Robinson Collected

Poems

of Edwin

Arlington

Robinson

(1921) was enlarged periodically through 1937. In addition to shorter verse, Robinson wrote long narrative poems, including the Arthurian trilogy of Merlin (1917), Lancelot (1920), and Tristrum (1927). Other books include Roman

Poetry (1969). Ellsworth Barnard edited Edwin

Essays

Robinson: Robinson:

"How

Essays

Twenty-eight

(1969).

Edwin

(1969), edited by Richard Cary;

Arlington

Essays

Centenary

Robinson:

A Collection

of

Edwin Critical

(1970), edited by Francis Murphy; and Shall

We Tell Each

Other of The Poet?"

(2001), edited by Anne F. Herzog and Janet E. Kaufman. Muriel Rukeyser Rukeyser's poems were collected in 1978. She also published several translations and biographies as well as children's books. Out of Silence: Selected Poems (1992), was edited by Kate Daniels;

A Muriel

Rukeyser

Reader

(1994),

edited by Jan Heller Levi, with an introduction by Adrienne Rich, includes selections of poetry and prose; The Life of Poetry, with a new foreword by Jane Cooper, appeared in 1996. A fulllength study is The Poetic

Rukeyser

Vision

of

Muriel

(1980), by Louise Kertesz.

Carl Sandburg Tlie Complete

Poems of Carl

Sandburg

(1950)

was revised and expanded in 1970. Breathing Tokens (1978), edited by Margaret Sandburg, prints unpublished poems. Billy Sunday and Other Poems (1993), edited by George and Willene Hendrick, contains some of his unpublished, uncollected, and unexpurgated poems. In addition to eight full-length volumes of poetry, Sandburg wrote a Pulitzer Prize—winning study Lincoln: The of Abraham Lincoln: Abraham Prairie

Years, 2 vols. (1926), and Abraham

Lin-

coln: The War Years, 4 vols. (1939), two collections of journalism and social commentary, Rootabaga Stories for children, a novel, and a book of American folk songs. Fables, Foibles and Foobles (1988), edited by George Hendrick, is a selection of unpublished humorous pieces. More Rootabagas (1993), edited by Hendrick, Poems contains stories for children. Selected (1996) was edited by George and Willene Hen-

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES drick. The Letters of Carl Sandburg

(1968, 1988)

was edited by Herbert Mitgang. The Poet and the Dream

Girl: Tlte Love Letters of Lilian

Steichen

and Carl Sandburg (1987, 1999) was edited by Margaret Sandburg. Always the Young Strangers

(1953) and Ever

the Winds of Chance (1983), edited by Margaret Sandburg and George Hendrick, are segments of Sandburg's autobiography. A full-scale biography is Penelope Niven's Carl Sandburg: A Biography (1991). Critical studies include Richard Crowder's Carl Sandburg (1964) and Philip R. Yannella's The Other Carl Sandburg

(1996).

John Steinbeck The Library of America issued three volumes of Steinbeck's work, Novels and Stories 1932— 193 7 (1994), The Grapes of Wrath and Other Writings

(1996), and Novels

1942-1952

(2002). Two

biographies are The True Adventures

of John

Steinbeck, Writer (1984), by Jackson J. Benson, and John Steinbeck (1995), by Jay Parini. Critical studies of Steinbeck include Howard Levant's The Novels of John Steinbeck (1974), Peter Lisca's John Steinbeck, Nature and Myth

(1978), Paul McCarthy's John Steinbeck

(1980),

R. S. Hughes's Beyond the Red Pony: A Reader's Guide to Steinbeck's Complete Short Stories

(1987), John H. Timmerman's The

Dramatic

Landscape of Steinbeck's Short Stories and Warren French's John Steinbeck's

(1990), Fiction

Revisited

(1994). R. David edited John

beck: A Collection

of Critical

Essays

Stein(1972);

other collections are Rediscovering Steinbeck (1989), edited by Cliff Lewis and Carroll Britch; Critical

Essays on Steinbeck's

Grapes of Wrath

(1989), edited by John Ditsky; Short Novels of John Steinbeck (1990), edited by Jackson J. Benson; and John

Steinbeck:

The

Contemporary

Reviews (1996), edited by Joseph R. McElrath Jr., Jesse S. Crisler, and Susan Shillinglaw. Wallace Stevens The

Collected

Poems

of Wallace

Stevens

was

published in 1954. Opus Posthumous (1957, rev. ed. 1989) by Milton J. Bates includes previously uncollected poems, plays, and essays. Another edition, by Holly Stevens, is The Palm at the End of the Mtnd (1971). The Necessary Angel:

Essays

on Reality and the Imagination (1951) is Stevens's prose statement on poetry. The Library of America issued his Collected

Poetry and Prose

(1997). Other resources are Letters of Wallace Stevens (1966, 1996), edited by Holly Stevens; Concordance

to the Poetry of Wallace

Stevens

(1963), edited by Thomas Walsh; and Wallace Stevens: A Descriptive Bibliography (1973), compiled by J. M. Edelstein. Joan Richardson's Wallace Stevens: The Early

Years, 1879-1923

(1986) chronicles the poet's

youth and her Wallace Stevens: The Later Years,

J 9 2 3 - J 955(1988) completes the story. Another biography is Tony Sharpe's Wallace Stevens: A Literary Life (2000). A. Walton Litz's Introspec-

tive Voyager: The Poetic Development

/

2897

of Wallace

Stevens (1972) traces Stevens's thought and style through his early and middle years. Michel Benamou's Wallace

Imagination

Stevens

and the

Symbolist

(1972) and Harold Bloom's Wal-

lace Stevens; The Poems of Our Climate

(1977)

consider intellectual influences on Stevens. Eye: The Joseph N. Riddle's The Clairi'oyant Poetry

and Poetics

of Wallace

Stevens

(1969,

1991) and Merle E. Brown's Wallace Stevens: The Poem as Act (1971) read many individual poems. Other good full-length studies include Frank Doggett's Wallace Stevens: The Making of the Poem (1980), Rajeev S. Patke's The Long Poems of Wallace Stevens: An Interpretive

Study

(1985), Eleanor Cook's Poetry, Word-Play,

and

Word-War in Wallace Stevens (1988), Robert Rehder's The Poetry of Wallace Stevens (1988), James Longenbach's Wallace Stevens: The Plain

Sense

of Tilings

(1991), George S. Lensihg's

Wallace Stevens: A Poet's Growth (1991), Daniel Schwarz's Narrative and Representation in the

Poetry of Wallace Stevens (1993), Alan Filreis's Modernism from Left to Right (1994), and Janet McCann's Wallace Stevens Revisited (1995). Albert Gelpi collects essays on the poet in Wallace Stevens: The Poetics of Modernism (1990); other collections are Critical Essays on Wallace

Stevens (1988), edited by Steven Gould Axelrod and Helen Deese, and Wallace Stevens and the Feminine (1993), edited by Melita Schaum. Jean Toomer Toomer's published works include Cane (1923, repr. 1975, pub. also in a Norton Critical EdiPotential tion, 1988); Essentials (1931), Portage (1932), and an address, "The Flavor of Man" (1949). His Collected Poems, edited by Robert B. Jones and Margery Toomer Latimer, were published

in

1988. A Jean

Toomer

Reader

(1993), containing previously unpublished writings, was edited by Frederik L. Rusch; Robert B. Jones edited Selected Essays and Literary Criticism (1996). Brian Joseph Benson and Mabel Mayle Dillard's Jean Toomer (1980); Nellie Y. McKay's Jean Toomer, Artist: A Study of His Literary Life and Work, 1894-1936 (1984); and

Cynthia Earl Kerman and Richard Eldridge's The Lives of Jean

ness

Toomer: A Hunger for Whole-

(1989) are biographies. Studies include

Jean Toomer and the Terrors of American

History

(1998), by Charles Scruggs and Lee Van De Marr, and Jean Toomer and the Harlem

Renais-

sance (2001), by Genevieve Fabre and Michael Fiche. A collection of essays is Jean Toomer: A Critical Evaluation (1988), edited by Therman B. O'Daniel. William Carlos Williams Williams's poems were first collected in three volumes: Collected Earlier Poems of William Carlos Williams (1951), Collected Later Poems of William Carlos Williams (1950), and Pictures

from Brueghel

(1962). More recent are The Col-

2898

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

lected Poems of William Carlos Williams,

Vol. I,

1909-1939 (1996), edited by A. Walton Litz and Christopher MacGowan, and Vol. 2, 1939— 1962 (1988), edited by MacGowan (1988). Patersons five books, published individually between 1946 and 1958, were issued in one volume in 1963 and reedited by MacGowan (1992). Kora in Hell, Williams's volume of prose poetry, is in the collection Imaginations (1970), edited by Webster Schott, along with essays, fiction, and creative prose. Williams's short stories are collected in Make Light of It (1950) and again, with several additions, in The Farmers' Daughters (1961). His novels are A Voyage to Pagany (1928), White Mule (1937), In the Money (1940), and

The Build

Up (1946). His dramatic pieces were

published together in Many Lovesand

Other Plays

(1961). Important essays are contained in In the American Grain (1925, 1940); Selected Essays of William Carlos Williams (1954); and Imagina-

tions (1970), edited by Webster Schott. Williams's prose also includes The Autobiography of William Carlos Williams (1951); a book of recollections dictated to Edith Heal, / Wanted to Write a Poem (1958); and Yes, Mrs. Williams (1959), a portrait of the poets mother. J . C. Thirlwall edited The Selected Letters of William Carlos Wil-

liams (1957). Selections from the Pound-Williams correspondence, edited by Hugh Witemeyer, appeared in 1996. Letters between Williams and Denise Levertov, edited by MacGowan, appeared in 1998. Emily Mitchell Wallace compiled A Bibliography of William Carlos Williams (1968). Reed Whittemore's William Carlos Williams: Poet from Jersey (1975) is a crit-

ical biography, as is Paul Mariani's more detailed William

Carlos

Williams:

A New World

Naked

(1981). James E. Breslin's William Carlos Williams: An American Artist (1970) is a still-useful overview. Other general introductions are Thomas R. Whitaker's William Carlos Williams (1989) and Kelli A. Larson's Guide to the Poetry of William Carlos Williams (1995). Among specialized studies are Mike Weaver's William Carlos Williams: The American Background (1971), Jerome Mazzaro's William Carlos Williams: The Later Poems (1973), Joseph N. Riddel's The Inverted Bell: Modernism and the CounterPoetics of William Carlos Williams (1974), Charles Doyle's William Carlos Williams and the American Poem (1982), Henry M. Sayre's The Visual Text of William Carlos Williams (1983), Kerry Driscoll's William Carlos Williams and the Maternal Muse (1987), Ann W. Fisher-Wirth's William Carlos Williams and Autobiography: The Woods of His Own Nature (1989), Ron Callan's William Carlos Williams and Transcendentalism (1992), T. Hugh Crawford's Modernism, Medicine, and William Carlos Williams (1993), Brian A. Bremen's William Carlos Williams and the Diagnostics of Culture (1993), Peter Halter's The Revolution in the Visual Arts and the Poetry

of William Carlos Williams (1994), Donald W. Markos's Ideasin Things (1994), Barry Ahearn's William Carlos Williams and Celebrity (1994), Julio Marzan's The Spanish American Roots of William Carlos Williams (1994), and Stanley Koehler's Countries of the Mind: The Poetry of William Carlos Williams (1998). Linda Wagner's The Prose of William Carlos Williams (1970) and Robert Coles's William Carlos Williams: The Knack of Survival in America (1975) discuss Williams's prose. For Paterson, see Joel Conarroe's William Carlos Williams' Paterson: Language and Landscape (1970) and Benjamin Sankey'sA Companion to William Carlos Williams's Paterson (1971). Paul Mariani's William Carlos Williams: The Poet and His Critics (1975) considers Williams's critical reception, as does William Carlos Williams, The Critical Heritage (1980, 1997), edited by Charles Doyle. Critical Essays on Wallace Stevens was edited by Steven Gould Axelrod and Helen Deese (1988).

Richard Wright Wright's fiction includes Uncle Tom's Children (1938), Native Son (1940), The Outsider (1953), and Eight Men (1961). Black Boy (1945) is his autobiography; White Man, Listen! (1957) is an important work of nonfiction. The Library of America has published his writings in two volumes, including an unexpurgated version of Native Son (1991). For a complete bibliography of his writings, see Richard Wright: A Primary Bibliography (1982), compiled by Charles T. Davis and Michel Fabre. A good example of reviews can be found in Richard Wright: The Critical Reception (1978), edited by John M. Reilly; a massive bibliography of Wright criticism around the world has been assembled by Keneth Kinnamon (1988). Kinnamon and Michel Fabre edited Conversations with Richard Wright (1993). The best critical biography is Fabre's The Unfinished Quest of Richard Wright (1993); see also Margaret Walker's Richard Wright, Daemonic Genius (1993) and Hazel Rowley's Richard Wright: The Life and Times (2001). Critical studies include Russell C. Brignano's Richard Wright: An Introduction to the Man and His Works (1970), Kinnamon's The Emergence of Richard Wright (1972), Fabre's Richard Wright: Books and Writers (1990), and Robert Butler's Native Son: The Emergence of a New Black Hero (1991). Collections of criticism are Yoshinobu Hakutani's Critical Essays on Richard Wright (1982); Richard Wright: Critical Perspectives Past and Present (1993), edited by Henry Louis Gates Jr. and K. A. Appiah; The Critical Response to Richard Wright (1995), edited by Robert J . Butler; Richard Wright: A Collection of Critical Essays (1995), edited by Arnold Rampersad; and Kinnamon's Critical Essays on Richard Wright's Native Son (1997).

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

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2899

AMERICAN PROSE SINCE 1945 Because many of the writers anthologized here are still living and productive, scholarship is necessarily fluid. Recognizing this fact, publishers have embraced the idea of an introductory series, each volume of which restricts itself to basic facts and the most general of interpretations. Among these are the Twayne United States Authors Series, the University of South Carolina Understanding . . . volumes, Methuen's Contemporary Writers, the University of Missouri Press Literary Frontiers Editions, and the extended essays published as an ongoing project in the Dictionary of Literary Biography. Editors for the University Press of Mississippi have arranged (and indexed by subject matter) interviews conducted throughout the careers of many of these writers, available with . . . series. Other in the Conversations resources cover authors by means of essays and excerpts from criticism; among these are the Critical Essays books from G. K. Hall PubResponse lishers, the Greenwood Press Critical series, Prentice-Hall's Twentieth Century Views, and the Modern

Critical

Views

collec-

tions edited by Harold Bloom for Chelsea House. Overall trends prompt scholars to organize the period according to specific visions; conservative aesthetic opinions and socially based interests dominate the interpretations offered in relevant sections of The Cambridge History of American Literature (1999) and The Literary History of the United States

Columbia (1988).

Reliable surveys of developments on the stage can be found in Thomas P. Adler's American Drama: 1940-1960 (1994), Ruby Cohn's New American

Dramatists,

1960-1990

(1993),

Thomas S. Hischak's American

Theatre:

Chronicle

1969—2000

of Comedy

and Drama,

(2000), and Robert J . Andreach's Creating Self

in the Contemporary

American

A the

Theatre

(1998). Free of theoretical bias and soundly responsible to literary history is Malcolm Bradbury's The Modern American Novel (1993). In Kathryn Hume's American Dream, American Nightmare: Fiction Since 1960 (2000) and Marc Chenetier's Beyond Suspicion: New American Fiction Since I960 (1996) postmodern

developments are given close examination; James R. Giles's Violence in the Contemporary American Novel (2000) covers both technical and thematic matters. How political implications shape social fictions is explored in Alan Nadel's Containment tives, Postmodernism,

Culture: American Narraand the Atomic Age

(1995), while Wendy Steiner explores the controversy over sexual elements in The Scandal of Pleasure (1995). Two important studies from a feminist per-

spective are Nancy J. Peterson's Against Amnesia; Contemporary

of Historical

Women

Writers and the Crisis

Memory (2001) and Linda S. Kauff-

man's Bad Girls and Sick Boys: Fantasies

temporary

in Con-

Art and Culture (1998). Jeanne

Rosier Smith's Writing Trickers: bols in American Ethnic Literature

Mythic Gam(1997) covers

work by native Americans, Asian Americans, and African Americans. Individual groups are studied in Catherine Rainwater's Dreams of Fiery Stars: The Transformations of Native American Fiction (1999), Louis Owens's Other Destinies: Understanding the American Indian Novel

(1992), David Leiwei Li's Imagining Asian American

Literature

(1998), Jinqi Ling's Narrating ology and Form

the Nation:

and Cultural

in Asian

Consent

Natiotuilisms:

American

Ide-

Literature

(1998), James W. Coleman's Black Male Fiction and the Legacy of Caliban (2001), Bernard W. Bell's The Afro-American Novel (1987), Deborah L. Madsen's Understanding

Contemporary

Chicana Literature (2000), and Ramon Saldivar's Chicano Narrative (1990). That novelists should aim high and work in large dimensions is argued in Tom LeClair's The Art of Excess: Mastery

in

Contemporary

American

Fiction

(1989); how fiction writers can transcend mimesis by writing about themselves is Jerome the Void: The Klinkowitz's project in Structuring Struggle

for Subject

in Contemporary

American

Fiction (1992). War's impact on the literature of this period is studied in Jim Meilson's Warring Fictions:

Narrative

Cultural

Politics and the Vietnam

(1998) and Thomas Myers's

Point: American

Narratives

of Vietnam

War

Walking (1988).

Especially useful for understanding how and why contemporary writers produce their work is the critical interview, the exploratory technique for which was pioneered by Joe David Bellamy in his The New Fiction: tive American Writers

Interviews with Innova(1974) and which has

been perfected by Larry McCaffery, who with various co-editors has produced a series of extensive, insightful, and critically developed dialogues with important authors of the past (1983), four decades: Anything Can Happen Alive and Writing (1987), Across the Wounded Galaxies (1990), and Some Other Frequency

(1996). Rudolfo A. Anaya Anaya's novels are Bless Me, Ultima (1972), Heart ofAztldn (1976), Toriwga (1979), The Legend of La Llorona (1984), Lord of the Dawn (1987), Alburquerque (1992), Zia Summer (1995), Jalamanta (1996), and Shaman

(1996), Rio Grande Fall Winter (1999). The Silence

of the Llano (1982) is short stories; The Adven(1985) is poetry. tures of Juan Chicapatas

2900

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Margarite Fernandez Olmos provides a comprehensive study in Rudolfo

Companion

A. Anaya: A

Critical

(1999). Cesar A. Gonzales has pre-

pared A Sense of Place: Rudoljo A. Anaya, Annotated Bio-Bibliography (1999).

An

Gloria Anzaldua Borderlands ILa frontera (1987) includes memoir, historical analysis, and narrative poetry. Anzaldua has also written several novels: La Prieta (The dark one) (1997), and (for children) Prietita Has a Friend—Prietita tiene un Amigo (1991), Friends from the Other Side—Amigosdel otra lado (1993), and Prietita and the Ghost Woman—Prietita y La Llorona (1996). She is the editor of Making Face, Muking Soldi Haciendo Cams: Creative and Critical Perspectives Iry Feminists of Color (1990), and (with Cherrie Moraga) co-edited This Bridge ('ailed My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color

(1981). Anzaldua's work is studied by Deborah L. Madsen in Understanding Contemporary Chicana Literature (2000) and by Sonia SandivarHull in Feminism on the Border: Chicana Politics and Literature (2000).

James Baldwin Baldwin's novels are Go Tell It on the

Mountain (1953), Giovanni's Room (1956), Another Country (1962), Tell Me How Long the Train's Been Gone (1968), IfBeale Street Could Talk (\974), and Just Above My Head (1979). His other books are a collection of short stories. Going to Meet

the Man (1965); a volume of nonfiction prose. The Price of the Ticket (1985); and two plays. Blues for Mr. Charlie

(1964) and Tlie Amen Cor-

ner (1968). Talking

at the Gates: A Life of James

Baldwin

(1991) by James Campbell is a biographical study. Critical interpretations include Horace Porter's Stealing the Fire: The Art and Protest of James Baldwin (1989) and William J. Weatherby's James Baldwin: Artist on Fire (1989); further essays and a bibliography are found in Fred L. Standley s edited James Baldwin: A Reference Guide (1980).

Toni Cade Bambara Gorilla, My Love (1972) and Tlie Sea Birds Are Still Alive (1977) are collections of Bambara's stories; a posthumous volume. Deep Sightings and Rescue Missions: Fiction, Essays, and Con-

versations (1996), gathers her other short work. Her novel The Salt Eaters was published in 1980; another novel, Those Bones Are Not My Child (1999), was published posthumously. Numerous screenplays by Bambara were produced in the 1970s and 1980s, including an adaption of Toni Morrison's The Tar Baby (1984) and a treatment of writer Zora Neale Hurston, Zora (1971). She edited the antholo-

gies Tlie Black Woman (1970), Tales and Stories for Black Folks (1971, for children), and (with Leah Wise) Southern Black Utterances Today (1975). Deep Sightings and Rescue Missions: Fiction, Essays, and Conversations (1996) is a posthumous collection of Bambara's later work, edited by Toni Morrison.

Critical analyses of Bambara's work are found in Philip Page's Reclaiming Community in Contemporary African American Fiction (1999) and in Elliott Butler-Evans's Race, Gender and Desire: Narrative Strategies in the Fiction of Toni Cade Bambara, Toni Morrison, and Alice Walker

(1989). Saul Bellow Bellow is the author of fourteen novels and novellas: Dangling Man (1944), Tlie Victim (1947), The Adventures of Augie March (1953), Seize the Day (1956), Henderson the Rain King (1959), Herzog (1964), Mr. Sammler's Planet (1970), Humboldt's Gift (1975), The Dean's December (1982), More Die of Heartbreak (1987), A Theft (1989), The Bellarosa Connection (1989), The Actual (1997), and Ravelstein

(2000). His short stories appear in three collections: Mosby's Memoirs (1968), Him with His Foot in His Mouth (1984), and Something to Remember Me By (1991). A play. The Last

Analysis, was given a New York production in 1964 and was published the following year. To Jerusalem and Back (1976) is a personal account of his activities in Israel. It All Adds Up (1994) draws on Bellow's essays dating back to 1948. Bellow: A Biography (2000) by James Atlas is exhaustive yet critically focused. Malcolm Bradbury provides the best concise introduction to this author's major work in Saul Bellow (1982), while in Saul

Bellow:

Drumlin

Woodchuck

(1980) fellow writer Mark Harris offers an insightful portrait of Bellow as a professional figure. John J. Clayton's Said Bellow: In Defense of Man (1979) celebrates the author's stressfully tested humanism, while Ellen Pifer's Saul Bellow: Against

the Grain

(1990) argues for his

culturally atypical belief in the transcendent soul. In Saul Bellow: Vision and Rei'ision

(1984)

Daniel Fuchs examines manuscripts and letters to establish Bellow's Dostoevskian engagement with issues of character. Julia Eichelberger sums up his work in Prophets of Recognition (1999). Raymond Carver Principal collections of Carver's extensive short fiction are Put Yourself in My Shoes (1974), Will You Please Be Quiet, Please? (1976), Furious Seasons (1977), What We Talk About When We Talk About Love (1981), The Pheasant (1982), Cathedral (1983), and W^iere I'm Calling From

(1988). Fires

(1983) is a sampling of essavs.

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

poems, and narratives. Carver's uncollected work has been edited by William L. Stull as No Heroics,

Please

(1991), expanded as Call If You

Need Me (2000). Throughout his career Carver published poetry as well, the bulk of which Klamath appears in several volumes from Near (1968) to A New Path to the Waterfall (1989); All of Us (1998) collects all of his poems. Understanding

Raymond

Carver

(1988) by

Arthur M. Saltzman looks beyond the author's apparent realism, as does Randolph Runyon's Reading

Raymond

Carver

(1992).

Carver's

return to traditionalism is celebrated by Kirk Nesset in The Stories of Raymond

Carver (1995).

Sam Halpert sifts through comments by Carver's associates in Raymond

Carver: An Oral

Biogra-

phy (1995). John Cheever Cheever's seven volumes of short stories appeared between 1943 and 1973, and are assembled in The Stories of John (1978); The Uncollected Stories of John

Cheever Cheever

appeared posthumously in 1988. His novels are The Wapshot Chronicle (1957), The Wapshot Scandal (1964), Btdlet Park (1969), Falconer (1977), and Oh What a Paradise It Seems

(1982). His letters, edited by his son, Benjamin Cheever, were published in 1988 (The Letters of John

Cheever).

The Journals

of John

Cheever

(1991) were edited by Robert Gottlieb. Scott Donaldson's John Cheever (1988) is a full-length biography. Home before Dark (1984), by his daughter, Susan Cheever, is a personal memoir. Francis J. Bosha has edited The Critical Response to John Cheever (1994). Samuel Chase Cheever Coale provides an overview in John (1977), while religious dimensions are explored by George W. Hunt in John Cheever: The Hobgoblin Company of Love (1983). The stories are

given close study by James Eugene O'Hara in John

Cheever:

A Study

of the Short

Fiction

(1989). The House

on Mango

Street

(1984) has been

described as both interrelated short stories and a

novel, whereas

Woman

Hollering

Creek

(1991) collects more evidently independent short stories. Cisneros has published two major collections of poetry, My Wicked Wicked Ways (1987) and Loose Woman (1994). Her Hairs/

Pelitos (1994), written in English and accompanied by a Spanish text translated by Liliana Valenzuela, is a narrative for children. Ramon Saldivar discusses Cisneros's fiction in Chicano Narrative (1990) as do Tey Diana in the S m o u ' Rebolledo in Women Singing (1995) and Sonia Saldivar-Hull in Feminism on the Border (2000). An extensive dialogue with her appears in Interviews

with

Writers

of the

Post-Colonial World (1992), edited by Feroza Jussawalla and Reed Way Dasenbrock.

2901

Ralph Ellison In his lifetime Ellison published three books: a novel, Invisible Man (1952), and two volumes of essays, Shadow and Act (1964) and Going to the Territory (1986). The latter materials are combined with other nonfiction in The Collected Essays of Ralph Ellison (1995), edited by John F. Callahan with a preface by Saul Bellow. Fragments of his novel in progress are noted in the bibliography to Mark Busby's Ralph Ellison (1991) in the Twayne United States Authors Series; Flying

Home

and Other

Stories

(1997)

gathers thirteen short stories written between 1937 and 1954, six of which were previously unpublished. In 1999 Callahan, as Ellison's literary executor, drew on manuscripts to assemble Juneteenth as a posthumous novel. Robert G. O'Meally edited Living with Music: Ralph Ellison's Jazz Writings. Trading Twelves: The Selected Letters of Ralph Ellison and Albert Mur-

ray, edited by Murray and Callahan, appeared in 2000. The centrality of Ellison's first novel to his other work is explained by Edith Shor in Visible Ellison:

A Study

of Ralph

Ellison's

Fiction

(1993). Julia Eichelberger's Prophets of Recognition (1999) considers his larger impact. Jazz Country-.

Ralph

Ellison's

America

(2001) by

Horace A. Porter relates the author's jazz background to his novels and essays. Louise Erdrich Erdrich's novels are Love Medicine

(1984), The

Beet Queen (1986), Tracks (1988), The Bingo Palace (1994), Tales of Burning Love (1996), The Antelope Wife (1998), and The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse (2001). For

children she has written Grandmother's Pigeon (1996) and The Birchbark House (1999). The Blue Jay's

Dance:

A Birth

Year (1995) is her

account of becoming a mother. With Michael Dorris she co-authored The Crown of Columbus (1991), a novel. Her two poetry collections are Jacklight

Sandra Cisneros

/

(1984) and Baptism

of Desire

(1989).

Erdrich's fiction is treated by Louis Owens in Other

Destinies:

Understanding

the

American

Indian Noi'el (1992) and in the essays edited by Allan Chavkin in The Chippewa Landscape of Louise

Erdrich

(1999).

Maxine Hong Kingston The Woman

Warrior

(1976) and China

Men

(1980) were first received as autobiography, though Kingston scholars now recognize imporMonkey: His tant fictive elements. Tripmaster Fake Book (1989) is more obviously a novel. Essays Kingston wrote in 1978 appear as Hawai'i

One Summer

Shirley

Geok-Lim

Teaching

Kingston's

(1999).

edited "The

Approaches

Woman

to

Warrior"

(1991); also helpful is Sidonie Smith's A Poetics of Women's

Fictions

Autobiography:

of Self-Representation

Marginality

and the

(1987). More

2902

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

cognizant of fiction's role in Kingston's writing is Articulate Silences: Hisaye Yamamoto, Maxine Hong Kingston, and Joy Kogawa (1993) by KingKok Cheung and Writing Tricksters (1997) by

Jeanne Rosier Smith.

Brmvn Girl, Brownstones (1959) is Marshall's first novel, followed by The Chosen Place, The Timeless People (1969), Praisesong for the Widow (1983), Daughters (1991), and The Fisher King (2000). Her story collections are Soid Clap Hands and Sing (1961) and Reena and Other Stories (1983). ReconstrucIn The Fiction of Paule Marshall: tions of History, Culture and Gender (1995),

Dorothy Hamer Denniston charts the author's progress toward Pan-Africanism; while Joyce Wlioleness

in Paule

Marshall's

Fiction (1995) studies the complexity of dual cultural heritage. Heather Hathaway examines regional influence in Caribbean

Waves (1999),

while Simone A. James Alexander explores a central theme in Mother Imager) in the Novels of Afro-Caribbean Women (2001).

N. Scott Momaday Momaday's autobiographical works begin with The journey to Tai-me (1967) and continue with The Way to Rainy Mountain (1969) and The Names: A Memoir (1976), supplemented by Tlie Man Made of Words: Essays, Stories, Passages (1997). House Made of Dawn (1968), The Ancient Child (1989), and In the Bear's House

(1999) are novels. His poems appear as Angle of Geese (1974), Before an Old Painting of the Crucifixion, Carmel Mission, June 1960 (1975), and The Gourd Dancer (1976). In the Presence of the Sim: Stories and Poems 1961 — 1991 was pub-

lished in 1992 with illustrations by the author. Momaday has also written books for children, edited editions of writers, and written the commentary for photographer David Muench's Colorado: Summer,

Fall, Winter, Spring

(1973).

A book-length study of Momaday is N. Scott Momaday:

lite

Cultural

of Healing:

A Study of "House

Made

Chance: Postmodern Discourse on Native American Indian Literatures (1989), with three arti-

cles on Momaday. A fine account, focused on

Paule Marshall

Pettis's Toward

Landmarks

of Dawn" (1990) fills in some of the multitribal mythic context. Gerald Vizenor edited Narrative

and

Literary

Back-

House Made of Dawn, is in Louis Owens's Other Destinies: Understanding the American Indian

Novel (1992), supplemented by Scott B. Vickers's work in Native American

Identities

Toni Morrison Morrison's novels are The Bluest

(1998).

Eye (1970),

Sula (1974), Song of Solomon (1977), Tar Baby (1981), Beloved (1987), Jazz (1992), and Paradise (1998). A play, Dreaming Emmett, was pro-

duced in 1986. Morrison is the author of Playing

in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination (1992) and editor of Race-ing Justice, Engendering Power: Essays on Anita Hill, Clarence Thomas, and the Construction of Social Reality (1992). Her Lecture and Speech of Acceptance upon the Award of the Nobel Prize for Literature

was published in 1994. Book-length studies include Trudier Harris's Fictions and Folklore: Tlie Novels of Toni Morrison (1991), Denise Heinze's The Dilemma of "Double-consciousness": Toni Morrison's Novels (1993), Gurleen Grewal's Circles of Sorrow, Lines of Struggle (1998), John N. Duvall's The Identifying Fictions of Toni Morrison (2000), and J . Brooks Bouson's Quiet As It's Kept (2000).

Henry Louis Gates Jr. and K. A. Appiah have

edited Toni Morrison: Critical Perspectives Past and Present (1993). Toni Morrison: An Annotated Bibliography (1987) has been compiled by

David L. Middleton.

Flannery O'Connor O'Connor's novels and stories (edited by Sally Fitzgerald) are a volume in the Library of Amer-

ica series (1988). Her novels are Wise Blood

(1952) and The Violent Bear It Away (1960). Two collections of stories, A Good Man Is Hard to Find (1955) and Everything That Rises Must

Converge

(1965), are included with earlier

uncollected stories in Complete

Stories

(1971).

ground (1985) by Matthias Schubnell. Of the many interviews with Momaday, early and noteworthy is Joseph Bruchac's "The Magic of Words: An Interview with N. Scott Momaday,"

The Letters of Flannery O'Connor (1979). The Presence of Grace, and Other Book Reviews

in Survival This Way: inten'iews with American Indian Poets (1987), edited by Bruchac. Louis

does Mystery and Manners

Owens's "N. Scott Momaday," in 77?is Is about Vision:

Interviews

with

Southwestern

Writers

(1990), edited by William Balassi, John F. Crawford, and Annie O. Fysturoy, also offers quite a good interview. Kenneth M. Roemer edited Approaches to leaching Momaday's "The Way to Rainy Mountain" (1988), which is useful. Arnold Krupat's The Voice in the Margin: Native American Literature and the Canon (1989) com-

pares autobiographical writing of Momaday and Leslie Marmon Silko. Susan Scarberry-Garcia's

Her letters are collected in The Habit of Being:

(1983) collects some of her critical prose, as (1969) edited by Sally

Fitzgerald and Robert Fitzgerald. Studies of O'Connor's fiction include Jon

Lance Bacon's Flannery O'Connor and Cold War Culture (1993), Lorine M. Gertz's Flannery O'Connor, Literary Tlwologian (2000), and Richard Giannone's Flannery O'Connor, Hermit

Novelist (2000). Melvin J. Friedman and Beverly Lyon Clark edited Critical Essays on Flannery O'Connor (1985). Flannery O'Connor: A Descriptive Bibliography (1981) was compiled by

David Farmer.

SELECTED

Grace Paley The Collected Stories (1994) draw on Paley's three major volumes of short fiction: The Little Disturbances of Man (1959), Enormous Changes at the Last Minute (1974), and Later the Same

Day (1985). Other stories and poems appear (with paintings by Vera B. Williams) in Long Walks and Intinuite

Collected

Talks

(1991). Born

Again:

Poems appeared in 2000.

There have been three major studies of Paley's fiction:

Grace

Biography

Paley's

Life

Stories:

A

Literary

(1993) by Judith Arcana, Grace Paley:

A Study of the Short Fiction (1990) by Neil D. Isaacs, and Grace Paley: Illuminating the Dark

Lives (1990) by Jacqueline Taylor. Thomas Pynchon Pynchon's novels are V. (1963), The Crying of Lot 49 (1966), Gravity's Rainbow (1973), Vineland (1990), and Mason & Dixon (1997). Slow

Learner (1984) collects early stories. Book-length studies are William M. Plater's The Grim Phoenix: Reconstructing

Thomas

Pyn-

chon (1978), Thomas H. Schaub's Pynchon, The Voice of Ambiguity (1981), and David Seed's The Fictional

Labyrinths

of Thomas

Pynchon

(1988).

Alan N. Brownlie studies the author's first three novels in Thomas Pynchon's Narrath'es: Subjectivity and the Problems of Knowing (2000), while

the fourth and fifth novels are analyzed in Geoffrey Green, Donald J. Greiner, and Larry McCaffery's edited The Vineland Papers (1993) and Brooke Horvath and Irving Malin's edited Pynchon

and Mason

&• Dixon

(2000), respec-

tively. Philip Roth Roth's fiction consists of Goodbye, Columbus (1959), a novella and five short stories, and the following novels: Letting Go (1962), When She Was Good (1967), Portnoy's Complaint (1969), Our Gang (1971), The Breast {1972), The Great American Novel (1973), My Life as a Man

(1974), The Professor

of Desire

(1977), The

Ghost Writer (1979), Zuckerman Unbound (1981), The Anatomy Lesson (1983), The Counterlife (1987), Deception (1990), Operation Shylock (1993), Sabbath s Theatre (1995), American Pastoral (1997), I Married a Communist (1998), The Human Stain (2000), and The Dying Animal (2001). Reading Myself and Others (1975)

is a collection of essays and interviews. The Facts:

A Novelist's

Autobiography

(1988)

is

Roth's memoir. A memoir of his father. Patrimony, was published in 1991. Philip Roth (1982), by Hermione Lee, is an excellent introduction, as is Understanding Philip Roth (1990) by Murray Baumgarten and Barbara Gottfried. Philip

Roth

and the

Jews

(1996), by Alan Cooper, considers religious and cultural dimensions of the author's work. The broad sweep of Roth's career is covered in James D. Bloom's The Literary Bent (1997).

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Leslie Marmon Silko Silko's novels are Ceremony the

Dead

/

2903

(1977), Almanac

(1991), and Garden

in the

of

Dunes

(1999). Storyteller (1981) includes prose poems Woman and related short stories. Laguna (1974), Voices Under One Sky (1994), and Rain

(1996) are books of poetry. Yellow Woman and a Beauty of the Spirit (1996) consists of Silko's essays on native American life today. Lullaby, co-authored with Frank Chin, was given a San Francisco production in 1976 as a dramatic adaptation of Silko's story. In 1985 The Delicacy and Strength of Lace was published, a collection of letters between Silko and the poet James Wright, edited by Anne Wright. Silko's work also appeared in Yellow Woman (1993), edited by Melody Graulich. Leslie Marmon

Silko (1980), by Per Seyersted,

is an introduction to her work. Four American Indian Literary Masters (1982), by Alan R. Veile, is also relevant, as are Louise K. Barnett and James L. Thorson's edited Leslie Marmon Silko (1999) and Catherine Rainwater's Dreams of Fiery Stars

(1999).

John Updike Updike's novels are The Poorhouse Fair (1959), Rabbit, Run (1960), The Centaur (1963), Of the Farm (1965), Couples (1968), Rabbit Redux (1971), A Month of Sundays (1975), Marry Me

(1976), The Coup (1978), Rabbit Is Rich (1981), The Witches of Eastwick

(1984), Roger's Version

(1986), S. (1988), Rabbit at Rest (1990), Memories of the Ford Administration

(1992),

Brazil

(1994), In the Beauty

of the Lilies

(1996),

Toward

(1997), and

Gertrude

the End of Time

and Claudius

(2000). Collections of short fiction

are The Same Door (1959), Pigeon Feathers (1962), Olinger Stones: A Selection (1964), The Music School (1966), Bech: A Book (1970), Museums and Women (1972). Too Far to Go: The Maples Stories (1979), Problems (1979), Bech Is Back (1982), Trust Me (1987), The Afterlife (1994), Bech at Bay (1998), and Licks

of Love (2000). Updike's poems are gathered in Collected Poems 1953-1993 (1993), drawing on the individual volumes The Carpentered Hen (1958), Telephone Poles (1969), Tossing and Turning Nature (1985); Americana:

(1963), Midpoint (1977), and Facing and Other Poems

(2001) is his new work. Reviews and literary essays appear in Assorted Prose (1965), PickedUp Pieces (1975), Hugging the Shore (1983), Odd Jobs (1991), and More Matter (1999). SelfConsciousness (1989) is a memoir. Just Looking

(1989) is art criticism, and Golf Dreams (1996) collects the author's essays on his favorite sport. Buchanan Dying (1974) is a play meant for reading rather than for stage production. Updike has authored five books for children: The Magic Flute (1962), The Ring (1964), A Child's Calendar (1965), Bottom's Dream (1969), and A Helpful Alphabet of Friendly Objects (1995).

2904

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SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Donald J. Greiner's thorough examination of the early canon appears in his John Updike's Novels (1984) and The Other John Updike: Poems/Short Stones I Prose I Plays (1981). Longer views are taken by James A. Schiff in John Updike Revisited (1998) and by William Pritchard in Updike: America's Man of Letters (2000). Kurt Vonnegut Vonnegut's novels are Player Piano (1952), The Sirens of Titan (1959), Motlter Night (1961), Cat's Cradle (1963), God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater (1965), Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), Breakfast of Champions (1973), Slapstick (1976), Jailbird (1969), Deadeye Dick (1982), Galapagos (1985), Bluebeard (1987), Hocus Poctts (1990), and Timequake (1997). His short stories are collected in Canary in a Cat House (1961), Welcome to the Monkey House (1968), and Bagombo Snuff Box (1999). His essays fill three volumes: Wampeters, Foma and Granfalloons (1974), Palm Sunday (1981), and Fates Worse Than Death (1991). Happy Birthday, Wanda June (1971) is a play, while Between Time and Timbuktu (1972) is a television script, prefaced by Vonnegut, drawing on his fiction. Sun/Moon/Star (1980), with illustrations by Ivan Chermayeff, is a book for children. God Bless You, Dr. Kex'orkian (1999) collects Vonnegut's radio satires; Like Shaking Hands With God (1999) is his dialogue with social activist Lee Stringer. Jerome Klinkowitz surveys Vonnegut's career in Structuring the Void (1992) and studies his essays in Vonnegut in Fact (1998). Specific theses are argued by Leonard Mustazza in Forever Pursuing Genesis: The Myth of Eden in the Novels of Kurt Vonnegut (1990) and Leonard Broer in Sanity Plea: Schizophrenia in the Novels of Kurt Vonnegut (1989, revised 1994). A broad sample of criticism is made by editor Leonard Mustazza in The Critical Response to Kurt Vonnegut (1994), while Vonnegut's later work (including his public spokesmanship) are examined in The Vonnegut Chronicles (1996), edited by Peter J. Reed and Marc Leeds. Asa B. Pieratt Jr., Julie Huffman-KIinkowitz, and Jerome Klinkowitz have compiled Kurt Vonnegut: A Comprehensive Bibliography (1987). Alice Walker Walker's novels are The Third Life of Grange Copeland (1970), Meridian (1976), The Color Purple (1982), The Temple of My Familiar (1989), Possessing the Secret of Joy (1992), and By the Light of My Father's Smile (1998). Her short-story collections are In Love and Trouble (1973), You Can't Keep a Good Woman Down (1981), and The Way Forward Is With a Broken Heart (2000). Poetry collections are Once (1986), Five Poems (1972), Revolutionary Petunias (1973), Good Night, Willie Lee, I'll See You in the Morning (1969), Horses Make a Landscape

Look More Beautiful (1984), and Her Blue Body Everything We Know (1991). Walker's literary essays are collected in In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens (1983), Living by the Word (1988), and Anything We Love Can Be Saved (2000); she has also written Warrior Marks: Female Genital Mutilation and the Sexual Blinding of Women (1987, with Pratibha Parmar) and The Same River Twice: Honoring the Difficult!A Meditation on Life, Spirit, Art, and the Making of the Film The Color Purple Ten Years Later (1996). Her books for children include an illustrated version of To Hell with Dying (1988), Finding the Green Stone (1991), and a biography, Langston Hughes, American Poet (1974).

Good samplings of scholarship on Walker fill two volumes: editors Henry Louis Gates Jr. and K. Anthony Appiah's Alice Walker: Critical Perspectives Past and Present (1993) and editor Lillie P. Howard's Alice Walker and Zora Neale Hursion: The Common Bond (1993). Alice

Walker study.

(2000) is Maria Lauret's book-length

Eudora Welty Welty's novels are The Robber Bridegroom (1942), Delta Wedding (1947), The Ponder Heart (1954), Losing Battles (1970), and The Optimist's Daughter (1972). Her Collected Stories (1980) draw from the volumes A Curtain of Green (1941), The Wide Net (1943), Music from Spain (1948), The Golden Apples (1949), The Bride of Innisfalien (1955), and Thirteen Stories (1965). Later volumes are Moon Lake (1980) and Retreat (1981). A Flock of Guinea Hens Seen from a Car (1970) is poetry; among Welty's many volumes of nonfiction prose are The Eye of the Story: Selected Essays and Reviews (1978), One Writer's Beginnings (1984), and A Writer's Eye: Collected Book Reviews (1994). Ann Waldron published Eudora: A Writer's Life in 1998. Good introductions are available in Gail Mortimer's Daughter of the Swan: Love and Knowledge in Eudora Welty's Fiction (1994), Eudora Welty's Aesthetics of Place

(1994) by Jan Nordby Gretlund, and Ruth D. Weston's Gothic Traditions and Narrative Techniques in the Fiction of Eudora Welty (1994). Eudora Welty: A Bibliography by Noel Polk

appeared in 1994. Tennessee Williams Most of Williams's plays are collected in the seven-volume The Theatre

of Tennessee

Williams

(1971—81). Some later dramas are available in separate editions; a few others are still to be published. Other writings include a novel, The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone (1950); short stories printed in several volumes and finally brought together in Collected Stories (1986), edited by Gore Vidal; a volume of screenplays, Stopped Rocking (1984); and poems collected as In the Winter of Cities (1964) and Androgyne, Mon Amour (1977). Where I Live: Selected

SELECTED

Essays, edited by Christine R. Day and Bob Woods, appeared in 1978. Williams's Memoirs (1975) is interestingly revelatory but is not a reliable biographical guide; neither is Dotson Rader's Tennessee: Cry of the Heart (1985). Donald Spoto's A Kindness of Strangers:

The Life

of Tennessee

Williams

(1985) is workmanlike; a historically sound treatment is Tennesse

Williams:

Everyone

Else Is

an Audience (1993) by Ronald Hayman. More theoretically inclined is Nicholas Pagan's Rethinking

Literary

Biography:

A

Postmodern

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

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2905

Approach (1993). A Jungian reading of the plays is provided by Judith J. Thompson in Tennessee Williams'

Plays:

Memory,

Myth,

and

Symbol

(1987). Time relationships are explored by Patricia Schroeder in The Presence of the Past in Modem American Drama (1989). Philip G.

Kolin edited Tennesse Williams: A Guide to Research and Performance (1998); Matthew C. Rodane prepared TJie Cambridge Companion to Tennesse Williams. George E. Crandell compiled Tennessee

ography

Williams:

A Descriptive

Bibli-

(1995).

AMERICAN POETRY S I N C E 1945 The diversity of postwar American poetry requires diverse works of criticism. Some of the most valuable commentary has occurred when one poet writes about another or meditates on the work of poetry itself. Such essays are available in collections like Charles Bernstein's A Poetics (1992), Robert Creeley's A Quick Graph (1970), Rita Dove's The Poet's World (1995) Louise Gliick's Proofs and Theories (1994), Randall Jarrell's Poetry and the Age (1953), Denise Levertov's The Poet in the World (1973) and Light Up the Cave (1981), Robert Lowell's Collected Prose (1987), Robert Pinsky's Poetry and the World (1988), Charles Wright's Quarternotes (1995), and David St. Johns's Where the Angels

Come

Toward

Us (1995). Among the

many critical books that provide valuable studies of the period and of particular poets are Charles Now (1998), Mutlu Altieri's Postmodernisms Konuk's Politics and Form in Postmodern

Poetry

(1995), James E. B. Breslin's From Modern to Contemporary (1984), Joanne V. Gabbin's edited The Furious

Flowering

of African

Ameri-

can Poetry (1999), Thomas Gardner's Regions of Unlikeness:

Explaining

Contemporary

Poetry

(1999), Lynn Keller's Re-Making It New (1987), Laurence Lieberman's Beyond the Muse of Memory (1995), James Longenbach's Modern Poetry

after

Modernism

(1997), J . D.

Mc-

Clatchey's White Paper (1990), Sherman Paul's The Lost America

of Love (1981), Marjorie Per-

loff's The Poetics of Indeterminacy

(1981), The

Dance of the Intellect (1985), and Radical Artifice: Writing Poetry in the Age of Media (1991),

Peter Quartermain's Disjunctive Peter Stitt's Uncertainty

Poetics (1992),

and Plentitude:

Five

Contemporary Poets (1997), Thomas Travisano's Midcentury Quartet (1999), Helen Vendler's The Music

of What Happens

(1988) and Soul

Says (1995), and Robert von Hallberg's American Poetry and Culture, 1945-1980 (1985). Donald Allen's Poetics of the New American Poetry (1973) collects a number of theoretical pieces from important contemporary poets. Ours is an age of the interview, and interviews with a variety of poets may be found in Bill Moy-

ers's Fooling

with Words: A Celebration

of Poets

and Their Crafts (2000), in the several volumes of Writers at Work: The Paris Review

Intennews,

Women Writers at Work (1998), and current editions of the Pons Review itself. Many other journals and reviews frequently feature interviews with contemporary poets. Collections of individual poets' interviews and prose have also been published in the Poets on Poetry series (University of Michigan). Also valuable are Black

Women

Writers

at

edited by Claudia Tate (1988), Survival Way: Interviews

with American

Indian

Work,

This Poets,

edited by Joseph Bruhac (1987), and Truthtellers of the Times: Interviews

Women ney.

with

Contemporary

Poets (1998), ed. Janet Palmer Mulla-

A considerable amount of material, some of it valuable, can be found on the Internet, including poets's biographies, lists of works published, samples of a poet's work and, in some cases, audio versions of poets reading from their work. The Academy of American Poets at www. poets.org is the best general site and includes an audio component. Links may be found there to other Internet sites on contemporary poetry. A. R. Ammons Collections of Ammons's poetry include a reissue of his Collected Poems 1 9 5 J - J 9 7 J (2001), Really Short Poems of A. R. Ammons (1991), Selected Longer Poems (1980), and The Selected Poems: Expanded Edition (1986). His individual volumes include Sphere: The Form of a Motion (1974), Diversifications (1975), Snow Poems

(1977), A Coast of Trees Country

(1983), Sumerian

(1981), Lake

Effect

Vistas (1987), Gar-

bage (1993), and Brink Road (1996). A collection of Ammons's essays and interviews, Set in Motion, also appeared in 1996. There are useful critical discussions of his work in Richard Howard's Alone with America (1969), in Helen Vendler's, The Music

of What Happens

(1988), in

Robert Kirschten's edited Critical Essays on A. R. Ammons (1997), and in Steven P. Schneiof Motion: New Essays der's edited Complexities

2906

/

SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

on A. R. Ammons' Long Poems (1999). An inter-

view with Ammons appeared in The Paris (Spring 1996).

Review

John Ashbery Ashbery's volumes of poetry include Some

Trees

(1956), The Tennis Court Oath (1962), Rivers and Mountains (1966), The Double Dream of Spring (1970), Three Poems (1972), SelfPortrait in a Convex Mirror (1975), Houseboat Days (1977), As We Know (1979), Shadow Train

(1981), A Wave (1984), Selected

Poems (1985),

April Galleons (1988), Flow Chart (1991), And the Stars Were Shining (1994), Can You Hear, Bird (1995), Girls on the Run (1999), and Your

Name Here (2000). With James Schuyler he is co-author of the comic novel A Nest of Ninnies (1969). Ashbery's Charles Eliot Norton LecTraditions tures on Poetry appear in Other (2000). Among useful critical essays are David (1977); chapters Kalstone's Five Temperaments in Vernon Shetley's After the Death of Poetry: Poet and Audience in Contemporary America

(1993); and John Shoptaw's book-length study of Ashbery's poetry. On the Outside Looking Out (1994). David K. Kermani's John Ashbery: A Comprehensive Bibliography (1975) is indispenAmazement: sable and amusing. See also Beyond New

Essays on John

Ashbery,

edited by David

Lehman (1980) and Charles Altieri's Postmodernisms Now (1998). Amiri Baraka (LeRoi Jones) Dutchman and the Slave (1964) was published as a combined edition, as was The Baptism & The Toilet (1967). Four Black Revolutionary Plays (1969) includes Experimental Death Unit #1, A Black Mass, Great Goodness of Life, and Madheart. The Motion of History and Other Plays

(1978) gathers the title work with Slave

Ship

and S-l. The System of Dante's Hell (1965) is a

novel; Tales (1967) is a collection of short stories. Poetry volumes include Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note (1961), Tlie Dead Lecturer (1964), Black Magic (1969), Hard Facts (1975), Transbluency (1965), and Funk Lore (1996).

Eulogies (1996) uses both poetry and prose to memorialize friends. Baraka has authored three books on music: Blues People (1963), Black Music

(1968), and The Music:

Reflections

on

Jazz and Blues (1987). His essays are collected in Home (1966), Raise Race Rays Raze (1971), and in Selected Plays and Prose of Amiri Baraka

/LeRoi Jones (1979). Baraka has produced three (1963), important anthologies: The Moderns Black Fire (1968, with Larry Neal), and Confirmation:

An Anthology

of African

American

Women (1983), with Amina Baraka. In 1984 he published The Autobiography Amiri Baralia.

of LeRoi

Jones/

Poetry and Poetics of Amiri Baraka: The Jazz Aesthetic (1985) and edited Tlie LeRoi Jones/Amiri

Baraka Reader (1991), supplying introductory literary history and a bibliography. Ross Posnock's Color and Culture (1998) locates the author's thought. Baraka's first wife, Hettie Cohen, has authored a memoir, How I Became Hettie Jones

(1990).

John Berryman Berryman's Collected Poems: appeared in 1991; Homage to Mistress

(1956) and a selection of his Short Poems (1948) were issued together in paperback format in 1968. His other volumes of poetry include 77 Dream

Songs

(1964);

Berryman's

(1967); His Toy, His Dream, Love and Fame

Sonnets

His Rest (1968);

(1970; rev. 1972);

Delusions,

Etc. (1972); and a posthumous volume, Henry's Fate (1977). Berryman's critical biography, Stephen Crane, appeared in 1950, and a collection of his short fiction and literary essays was issued under the title The Freedom of the Poet (1976). Berryman's unfinished novel about his alcoholism. Recovery, appeared in 1973. Valuable critical introductions to Berryman's poetry can be found in Helen Vendler's The Given and the Made (1995), Thomas Travisano's Midcentury Song: Quartet (1999). Paul Mariani's Dream Tlie Life of John

Berryman

(1996) and Eileen

Simpson's Poets in Their Youth (1982) are useful biographical studies. Elizabeth Bishop Bishop's poems are now available in The Complete

Poems

1927-1979.

The Collected

Prose

(1984) includes a number of memoirs and stories, especially In the Village, invaluable for a reading of her poems. A remarkable selection of Bishop's correspondence. One Art (1994) was edited by her friend and publisher, Robert Giroux and reproductions of Bishop's own watercolor paintings appear in Exchanging Hats (1996). Bishop also translated from the Portuguese The Diary of Helena Morley (1957, 1977,

1991), an enchanting memoir of provincial life in Brazil. Anne Stevenson's biographical and critical study, Elizabeth Bishop, appeared in 1966. Useful critical essays on Bishop appear in Seamus Heaneys The Redress of Poetry (1995), Lorrie Glodensohn's Elizabeth

Bishop: The Biog-

raphy of a Poetry (1992), and David Kalstone's Becoming

a Poet (1989). Elizabeth

Bishop and

Her Art, edited by Lloyd Schwartz and Sybil P. Estess (1983), includes two interviews as well. A provocative essay on Bishop also appears in Adrienne Rich's Blood, Bread and Poetry (1986). More recently, critical studies of Bishop's work have proliferated. Among the most valuable of these are Brett C . Miller's important biography,

Early but still useful studies are Baraka: The Renegade and the Mask (1976) by Kimberly W.

Elizabeth Bishop: (1993); Elizabeth

Benston and Amiri Baraka/LeRoi Jones: The Quest for a "Populist Modernism'' (1978) by Wer-

Marilyn Lombardi; Conversations

ner Sollors. William J. Harris has written The

1937-1971 Bradstreet

Gender Bishop

Life and the Memory of It Bishop: The Geography of

(1993), a collection of essays edited by with

Elizabeth

(1996), edited by George Monteiro; and

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Thomas Travisano's Midcentury

Quartet

Candace MacMahon's Elizabeth

liography

(1999).

Bishop: A Bib-

(1980) is indispensable.

Gwendolyn Brooks Brooks's volumes of p o e t r y include A Street in Bronzeville (1945); Annie Allen (1949); In the Time of Detachment, In the Time of Cold (1965); In the Mecca (1968); Rio! (1969); Family Pic-

tures (1970); Aloneness (1972); Aurora (1972); Beckonings (1975); To Disembark (1981); Winnie (1989); and Children

Coming Home (1991).

Many of her poems are collected in Selected Poems (1999). She has also written prose autobiographies. Report from Part One (1972) and

Report from Part Two (1996). Other useful bioDistilled, graphical material appears in A Life edited by M. K. Mootry and oth ers. Valuable discussions of Brooks's poetry appear in Black Women

Writers (1950-1980),

edited by Mari

Evans (1984). Stephen Wright's On Brooks: Reliant Contemplation

Gwendolyn

(1996) and Har-

old Bloom's Gwendolyn Brooks (2000) are recent critical studies. An interview with Brooks appears in Janet Mullaney's Truthtellers of the Tunes:

Interviews

with Contemporary

Women

Poets (1998).

That Astonished Paris (1988), Questions Angels (1991), The Art of Drowning

(1995), Picnic, Lightning Alone Poems

(1998), and Sailing

around the World: New and Selected (2001). Tne Best Cigarette (1997), an

audiobook, provides a chance to hear Collins reading thirty-three of his poems. Critical discussion of Collins's work appears in David Baker's Heresy and the Ideal: On

Contemporary

Poetry (2000). Rita Dove Dove has published six volumes of poetry; The Yellow House

on the Corner

(1983), Thomas and Beulah

(1980),

Museum

(1986), Grace Notes

(1989), Selected Poems (1993), Mother Love (1995), and On the Bus with Rosa Parks (1999).

She has also published Fifth Sunday (1985), a collection of fiction, a novel, Through the Ivory Gate (1992), and a valuable collection of essays, The Poet's World (1995). Useful interviews with Dove have appeared in the journal Contemporary Literature (1999) and in Janet Mullaney's Truthtellers

of the Times: Interviews with

Con-

temporary Women Poets (1998). Therese Steffen's critical study Crossing Color: Transcidtural Space

and Place in Rita Dove's Poetry,

and Drama

2907

unmistakable City Lights paperbacks. They include Howl (1956); Kaddish and Other Poems, 1958-1960 (1961); Reality Sandwiches (1963); Planet News, 1961-1967 (1968); The Fall of America, Poems of These States, 1965-1971 (1973); and Mina" Breaths, Poems 1972-1977

(1977). Cosmopolitan

Greetings

appeared in

1995 and a Selected Poems 1947-1995 in 1996. Deliberate Prose: Selected Essays, 1 9 5 2 - 1 9 9 5

(2000) is a useful complement to the poetrv. Ginsberg published a great number of pages from his journals, dealing with his travels, such as the Indian Journals

(1970). Allen

Verbatim

(1974) includes transcripts of some of his "lectures on poetry." in 1977 he published Letters: Early Fifties Early Sixties (1977) and in 1980 Composed on the Tongue; Literary Conversations

1967-1977, edited by Donald Allen. Ginsberg's Mind: interviews are collected in Spontaneous Selected Interviews, 1958-1996 (2001). Jane Kramer's Allen Ginsberg

in America

(1969) is a

brilliant documentary piece on Ginsberg in the 1960s. On the Poetry of Allen Ginsberg,

edited

by Lewis Hyde (1980), is a collection of essays by different hands. Jorie Graham

Billy Collins Collections of Collins's poetry include The Apple about

/

Fiction,

appeared in 2 0 0 1 .

Allen Ginsberg Ginsberg's Collected Poems, 1947-1980 appeared in 1984, White Shroud: Poems, 19801985 in 1986, and Death and Fame: Poems

1993-1997 in 1999. His individual volumes, with the exception of Empty Mirror (early poems collected in 1961), have been issued in the now

The Dream of the Unified Field: Selected

1974-1994 Hybrids

Poems

(1995) brings together poems from

of Plants and of Ghosts (1980), Erosion

(1983), The End of Beauty (1987), Region of Unlikeness (1991), and Materialism (1993). Graham's more recent collections include The Errancy (1997) and Swarm (2000). She edited Eartfe Took of Earth:

100 Great

Poems of the

English Language (1996). Critical discussion of Graham's work can be found in Helen Vendler's The Given and the Made (1995) and Soul Says (1995), James Longenbach's Modern Poetry after Modernism (1997), and Thomas Gardner's Regions of Unlikeness:

Explaining

Contemporary

Poetry (1999). An extremely useful interview Quarterly with Graham appears in Denver (1992). Joy Harjo Harjo's collections of poetry include two chapbooks. The Last Song (1975) and What

Moon

Drove Me to This (1979), and the volumes She Had Some Horses (1983), In Mad Love and War (1990), The Woman Who fell from the Sky

(1996), and A Map to the Next World (2000). In Secrets from the Center of the World (1989), she

wrote the text to accompany Steven Strom's photographs of the particulars of the southwestern landscape. She has also edited an anthology of native women's writing. Reinventing the Enemy's Language: Contemporary' Native Women's Writing of North America (1997). Furi-

ous Light (1990), a sound recording, provides the opportunity to hear Harjo reading from her poems. Laura Coltelli has edited a valuable collection of interviews with Harjo, The Spiral of Memory (1990). Commentary on the contexts of Harjo's

2908

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SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

work appears in Paula Gunn Allen's The Sacred

Walking

Down the Stairs, edited by Donald Hall

Hoop:

Recovering

(1978).

Critical

Indian

Traditions

The Nature

the Feminine

in

American

(1986) and Norma Wilson's

of Native American

Poetry (2001).

Michael S. Harper Harper's poems appear in Dear John, Dear Coltrane (1970); History Is Your Own Heartbeat (1971); Photographs: Negatives: History as Apple

Tree (1972); Song; / Want a Witness

(1972);

Nightmare Begins Responsibility (1974); Images of Kin: New and Selected Poems (1977); Healing Song for the Inner Ear (1984); and Honorable

Amendments (1995). An edition of new and collected poems, Songlines in Michaeltree appeared in 2000. Harper also edited (with Robert Stepto) a collection of African American literature, art, and scholarship, Chants of Saints (1976) and The Vintage

Book

of African

American

Poetry

(2000). A conversation about Harper's work can be found in Joanne Gabbin's edited The Furious Flowering

of African

American

Poetry (1999).

Robert Hayden Hayden's Collected Poems appeared in 1985; his Collected Prose appeared the previous year. Both were edited by Frederick Glaysher. Fred M. Fetrow's Robert Hayden (1984) is a critical study of Hayden's work. Essays on Hayden's work appear in the journals Antioch Review (1997) and MELUS (1998). Randall Jarrell Jarrell's Complete Poems were published in 1969 and a Selected Poems appeared in 1991. A selection of Jarrell's brilliant critical essays is available in No Other Book (1999), edited by Brad Leithauser. His novel satirizing American academic life, Pictures from an Institution, appeared in 1954. Some of the most valuable commentary on Jarrell's life and work is to be found in a memorial volume of essays edited by Robert Lowell, Peter Taylor, and Robert Penn Warren, Randall Jarrell, 1914-1965 (1967). William Pritchard's fine Randall Jarrell: A Literary Life

(1990) illumines both Jarrell's life and his work Randall as does Mary Randall's Remembering (1999). Critical discussion of Jarrell's work Midcentury appears in Thomas Travisano's Quartet (1999). Galway Kinnell Kinnell's A Neu> Selected Poems appeared in 2000. Earlier collected volumes of his work were (1970), The Avenue First Poems 1946-1954 Bearing the Initial of Christ into the New World: Poems, 1946-1964 (1974), and Selected Poems

(1982). Important individual volumes of Kinnell's poetry are What a Kingdom It Was (1960), The Book of Nightmares (1971), Mortal Acts, Mortal Words (1980), The Past (1985), When One Has Lived a Long Time Alotie (1990), and

Imperfect Thirst (1994). He has also published a collection of criticism, The Poetics of the Physical World (1969), and selected interviews,

Essays

on

Galway

Kinnell

(1996), edited by Nancy Tuten, and David Baker's Heresy and the Ideal: On

Contemporary

Poetry (2000) contain useful critical discussions. Stanley Kunitz Kunitz's Collected

Poems

(2000) gathers work

from Passing Through: The Later Poems, Newand Selected (1995), Next-to-Last Things: New Poems and Essays (1985), The Poems of Stanley Kunitz,

1928-1978 (1979), The Testing Tree (1971), Selected

Poems,

I 9 2 8 - J 9 5 8 (1958), Passport

War (1940), and Intellectual

Things

to

(1930). A

Kind of Order, A Kind of Folly (1975) collects

Kunitz's essays and interviews. An important example of his translations is Poems of Akhmatova (1973). Gregory Orr's Stanley Kunitz: An Introduction to the Poetry (1985) and A Celebration for Stanley Kunitz on His Eightieth Birthday

(1986), a gathering of essays by various hands, offer critical discussion of Kunitz's work. Li-Young Lee Lee's volumes of poetry are Rose (1986), The City in Which I Love You (1990), and A Book of My Nights (2001). A memoir, The Winged Seed,

appeared in 1995. Gerald Stern's foreword to Rose provides useful biographical material about Lee's family. Available on videotape, as part of the series The Power of the Word, is "Voices of Memory," in which Bill Moyers conducts a valuable interview with Lee and Lee reads from and talks about his poetry. An interview with Lee also appears in Words Matter: Conversations with Asian American Writers (2000), edited by

King-Kok Cheung. Denise Levertov Some of Levertov's poems have been collected in Collected

Earlier

Poems

1940-1960

(1979)

and Poems 1960-1967 (1983). Her individual volumes include The Double Image (1946), Here and Now (1957), Overland to the Islands (1958), With Eyes at the Back of Our Heads (1960), The

Jacob's

Ladder

(1962), O Taste and" See (1964),

The Sorrow Dance (1967), Releaming the Alphabet (1970), To Stay Alive (1971), Footprints (1972), The Freedom of the Dust (1973), Life in the Forest (1978), Candles in Babylon (1982), Oblique Prayers (1984), Breathing the

Water (1987), A Door in the Hive (1989), Evening Train (1992), Tesserae (1995), and The Great Unknowing: Last Poems (1999). The Poet in the World (1973) and Light Up the Cave

(1981) include essays on her own work, memoirs, reviews of other poets, and some theoretical essays. A New and Selected Essays appeared in 1992.

Conversations

with

Denise

Levertov

(1998) is a collection of interviews. James E. Breslin's From Modern

to Contemporary:

Amer-

ican Poetry 1945-1965 (1984) contains a useful discussion of Levertov, Linda Wagner-Martin

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES has edited Critical

on Denise

Levertov

(1990), and Anne Little edited Denise New Perspectives (2000).

Essays

Levertov:

Audre Lorde The

Collected

Poems

of Audre

Lorde

(1997)

brings together Lorde's poetry from Cables to Rage (1970), New York Head Shop and

Museum

(1975), The Black Unicorn (1978), and Our Dead Behind Us (1986). A collection of essays and speeches, Sister Outsider (1984), provides a powerful context for reading her work. Her autobiographical writing includes The Cancer Journals

(1980) and Zami: A New Spelling

Name

of My

(1982). Critical studies of Lorde's work

appear in Black

Women

Writers, edited by Man

Evans (1984), and Cassie Steele's We Heal From Memory: Sexton,

Poetry

of Witness

Lorde appears

Lorde, Anzaldua

and the

(2000). An interview with

in Women

Writers

at

Work

(1998), edited by George Plimpton. Robert Lowell In 1976, the year before his death, Robert Lowell prepared his Selected Poems, which drew on all his volumes of poetry except Day by Day, which appeared in 1977. The interested reader will still have to look back to individual volumes, because Lowell frequently revised his poems and could print only a small proportion of his work in Selected Poems. His earlier books of verse include Lord Weary's Castle (1946), The Mills of the Kavanaughs (1951), Life Studies (1959), Imita-

tions (1961), For the Union Dead (1964), Near the Ocean (1967), Notebook (1969; rev. and exp. 1970), The Dolphin

(1973), For Lizzie and Har-

riet (1973), and History (1973). For the stage Lowell prepared adaptations of Racine's Phaedra (1961) and Aeschylus's Prometheus Bound (1969) as well as versions of Hawthorne and Melville stories grouped under the title The Old Glory (1965). His Collected Prose, which appeared in 1987, is an indispensable companion to Lowell's poetry and contains valuable essays on the work of other writers. Among the many useful critical works on Lowell are Stephen Yenser's Circle to Circle (1975), Steven Axelrod's Robert Lowell: Life and Art (1978), and Thomas Travisano's Midcentury Quartet (1999). Robert Lowell: A Collection of Critical Essays, edited by Thomas

Parkinson (1968), includes an important interview with the poet and The Critical Response to Robert Lowell (1999), edited by Steven Gould Axelrod, provides an overview of criticism on the work. A partial bibliography of Lowell's work can be found in Jerome Mazzaro's The Achievement of Robert Lowell, 1939-/959 (1960). Ian Hamilton's biography, Rofoert Lowell, appeared in 1982. James Merrill An edition of Merrill's Collected Poems (2001), edited by J. D. McClatchy and Stephen Yenser, brings together the poems from all of Merrill's

/

2909

books, with the exception of his book-length epic, The Changing

Light at Sandover

{1982). A

collection of his prose, Recitative, appeared in 1986, and a charming memoir, A Different Person, in 1993. Merrill also wrote two novels, The Seraglio

(1957) and The (Diblos)

Notebook

(1965). Among useful critical essays are David (1977), those in Kalstone's Five Temperaments James

Merrill: Essays in Criticism

(1983), edited

by Lehman and Berger, and Critical Essays on James Merrill (1996), edited by Guy Rotella. Stephen Yenser's book-length study of Merrill's Myth (1987), is invaluwork, The Consuming able. More recent critical work includes Timothy Materer's James Merrills and Rachel Hadas's Merrill,

Dreams

Apocalypse (2000) Cavafy, Poems and

(2000).

Charles Olson The best single introduction to Olson is Robert Creeley's Selected

Writings of Charles

Olson

(1967). A complete edition of The Maximus Poems, edited by George F. Butterick, appeared in 1983. The Collected Poems, edited by George Butterick, appeared in 1987. Among Olson's many works of prose are his study of Melville, Call Me Ishmael

(1947); Mayan

Letters

(1953);

and a two-volume collection of his lectures and interviews, Mathologos (1976-79), edited by George F. Butterick. An edition of Olson's Collected Prose, edited by Donald Allen, appeared in 1997. ert

The seven volumes of Charles Creeley: The Complete

Olson and RobCorrespondence

(1980-86), edited by Butterick, provide as extensive a discussion of life and poetry as we are ever likely to see. Among the critical studies of Olson's poetry, some of the most useful are Ed Dorn's What I See in the Maximus

Poems

(1960); Sherman Paul's Olson's Push (1978); Olson: The Robert von Hallberg's Charles Scholar's Art (1978); and Stephen Fredman's The Grounding of American Poetry: Charles Olson and the Emersonian Tradition (1993). For

any reader of the Maximus Guide to the Maximus

Poems,

Butterick's A

Poems (1981) is indispen-

sable. Various "Charles Olson Issues" appeared in the journal Boundary 2 (1973-74). Simon J . Ortiz Ortiz published Naked in the Wind Going for Rain (1976); A Good Journey

(1970); (1977);

Song, Poetry, Language (1978); From Sand Creek: Rising in This Heart Which Is Our Amer-

ica (1981); A Poem Is a Journey After and before Lightning

(1981); and

(1994). His work has

been gathered together in the volume Woven Stone (1992). Three collections of his short stories have also appeared: Howbah Indians (1978), Fightin: New and Collected Stories (1983), and Men on the Moon: Collected Short Stories

(1999). He also edited two collections, These Hearts, These Poems (1984) and Speakingfor the Generations: Native Writers on Writing (1998).

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SELECTED

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

A discussion of Ortiz's poetry appears in Kenneth

Lincoln's Native

American

Renaissance

(1983) and in Lucy Maddox's "Native American Poetry" in The Columbia

History

of

American

Wheel: New and

Collected

Poetry (1993). Robert Pinsky Pinsky's The Figured

Poems

1966-1996

(1996) gathers work from

Sadness and Happiness (1975), An Explanation of America (1980), History of My Heart (1984),

and The Want Bone (1990), as well as presenting new poems and selections from his translations. His collection Jersey Rain appeared in 2000. He has published two book-length translations, the prize-winning The Inferno of Dante: (1994) and, together A New Verse Translation with Robert Hass, a translation of the Polish Notebook poet Czeslaw Milosz's The Separate (1984). Pinsky's work also includes two volumes of criticism that are valuable in illuminating his own work as well as that of the writers he discusses; The Situation of Poetry: Contemporary Poetry and Its Traditions (1975) and Poetry and

the World (1988). He is also the author of The Sounds of Poetry (1998). Pinsky edited the collection America's

Favorite

Poems

(1999).

Sylvia Plath Plath's books of poetry include The Colossus and Other Poems (1962), Ariel (1966), Crossing the Water (1971), and Winter Trees (1972). Her

novel The Bell Jar was first published in England in 1963. Plath's mother, Aurelia Schober Plath, Home: selected and edited the useful Letters 1950-63 (1975). Ted Hughes Correspondence and Frances McCullough edited an abridged version of 7 7 t e Journals

of Sylvia

Plath

and Karen Kukil edited The Unabridged of Sylvia Plath,

1950-1962

(1983)

Journals

(2000). There are a

number of biographical and critical studies of Plath's work. Among them are Judith Kroll's Chapters in a Mythology (1976), Anne Stevenson's Bitter Fame: The Undiscovered

Life of Syl-

via Plath (1988), Linda Wagner-Martin's Sylvia Plath: A Biography (1987), Jacqueline Rose's The

Haunting

of Sylvia

Middlebrook's Sylvia

Plath

Plath

(1993), Diane

(1998), and Chris-

tina Britzolakis's Sylvia Plath and the Theatre of

Mourning

(1999).

Adrienne Rich A convenient starting point is The Fact Doorframe:

Poems Selected

of a

and New 1950-1984

(1984), which draws poems from Rich's earlier books: A Change of World (1951), The Diamond Cutters (1955), Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law (1963), Necessities of Life (1966), Leaflets (1969), The Will to Change (1971), DMng into the Wreck (1973), The Dream of a Common Language (1978), and A Wild Patience Has

Taken Me This Far (1981). Since the publication of this selection. Rich has published Your Native

Land,

Your Life

(1986); Time's

Power:

Poems 1985-1988 (1989); An Atlas of the Difficult World: Poems 1988-1991 (1991); Dark Fields of the Republic: Poems 1991-1995 (1995); Midnight Salvage: Poems 1995-1998

(1999); and Fox: Poems 1998-2000 (2001). Four valuable collections gather together Rich's essays, lectures, and speeches: On Lies, Secrets, and Silence (1979); Blood, Bread, and Poetry (1986); What Is Found There?: Notebooks on Poetry and Politics (1993); and Arts of the Pos-

sible (2001). Rich is also the author of an important study. Of Woman Born: Motherhood Experience and Institution (1976).

as

Valuable critical essays and an interview appear in Adrienne Rich's Poetry (1975), edited by Barbara Charlesworth Gelpi and Albert Rich Gelpi. Other studies are Reading Adrienne (1984), edited by Jane Roberta Cooper; Paula Bennett's My Life, a Loaded Gun: Female Creativity and Feminist Poetics (1986); Margaret Dickie's Stein, Bishop and Rich: Lyrics of Love,

War & Place (1997); and Molly McQuade's By Herself: Women

Reclaim

Poetry (2000).

Alberto Rios Rios has published several collections of poetry: Whispering to Fool the Wind (1982), Five Indiscretions (1985), The Dime Orchard Woman (1988), and Teodora Luna's Two Kisses (1992).

He has also published collections of short stories, The Iguana

Killer (1984) and The

Curtain

of Trees (1999). A memoir titled Capirodata: A Nogales Memoir appeared in 1999. A discussion of Ri'os's work and the larger contexts of Latino poetry appears in Cordelia Candelaria, Chicano Poetry: A Critical

Introduction

(1986). An inter-

view with Rios can be found in Americas (1996).

Review

Theodore Roethke The Collected

Poems

of Theodore

Roethke

was

published in 1966. Useful comments on poetic tradition and his own poetic practice are to be found in several collections of Roethke's prose: On the Poet and His Craft:

Theodore

Roethke

Selected

Prose of

(1965), edited by Ralph J.

Mills Jr.; Straw for the Fire: From the Notebooks of Theodore Roethke, 1948-63 (1972), edited by

David Wagoner; and The Selected Letters of Theodore Roethke (1970), edited by Mills. Among the useful studies of Roethke's work are Theodore

Roethke:

Essays on the Poetry

(1965),

edited by Arnold Stein, and Laurence Lieberman's Beyond

the Muse

of Memory:

Essays on

Contemporary Poets (1995). Allan Seager's The Glass House (1968) contains useful biographical material. Lea Baechler's essay "John Berryman, Theodore Roethke, and the Elegy" appears in The

Cohtmbia

History

of American

Poetry

(1993). Anne Sexton Sexton's books of poems include To Bedlam and Part

Way Back

(1960), All My Pretty

Ones

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES

(1962), Live or Die (1966), Love Poems (1969), Transformations

(1971),

(1973), The Death

The

Book

Notebooks

of

Folly

(1974), and The

Awful Rowing toward God (1975). A Complete Poems appeared in 1981 and a Selected Poems,

edited and introduced by Diane Wood Middlebrook, in 1988. Middlebrook's biography, Anne Sexton

(1991), and A Self Portrait

in Letters

(1977) give useful biographical material. Important interviews and critical essays are to be found in J. D. McClatchy's Anne Sexton: The Artist and Her Critics (1978) and Diane Hume George's Sexton: Selected Criticism (1988). An interview with Sexton appears in Women Writers at Work (1998), edited by George Plimpton. Gary Snyder Snyder's poems have been published by several different presses, often with duplication of poems. Riprap, originally published in 1959, is most easily obtained in Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems (1965, 1991). Myths and Texts first appeared in 1960. The Blue Sky first appeared in 1969 and reappeared in Six Sections of Mountains and Rivers without End plus One (1970).

Other volumes include The Back (1968), Regarding

Wave

Country

(1970), Turtle

Island

(1974), Axe Handles (1983), Left Out in the Rain: New Poems 1947-1985 (1986), and No Nature:

New and Selected

Poems

(1992). In

1996 Snyder published the completion of his Mountains

and Rivers without

End. He has also

published important prose collections dealing with ecology, Earth House Hold (1969) and A Place in Space: Ethics, Aesthetics

and

Watershed

(1995). A gathering of Snyder's prose and poetry appears in The Gary

Snyder

Reader

(1999).

Helpful critical discussion of Synder's work can be found in Sherman Paul's In Search of the Primitive (1986) and Patrick Murphy's A Place for Wayfaring: The Poetry and Prose of Gary Sny-

der (2000). An interview with Snyder appears in Paris Review (141, 1996). Cathy Song Song published Picture Bride (1983), Frameless Windows, Squares of Light (1988), School Figures (1994), and The Land of Bliss (2000). Discussion of Song's work appears in Conversations and Contestations (2000) edited by Ruth Hsu and Cynthia Franklin. Robert Penn Warren An edition of Warren's Collected Poems, edited by John Burt, appeared in 1998. It includes work Incarnations from Warren's individual volumes: (1968), Audubon: A Vision (1969), Or Else: Poem/Poems 1968-1974, Now and Then (1978), Being Here (1980), Rumor Verified (1981), Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce (1983),

and New and Selected Poems 1925-1985 (1985). Burt has also edited a volume of War-

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2 9 1 1

ren's Selected Poems (2001). His best-known novels are All the King's Men (1946) and World Enough and Time (1950). His Thomas Jefferson and Poetry, appeared in lectures. Democracy 1975. Also available is a collection of interviews, Robert

Penn

Warren

Talking

(1980), edited by

Floyd Watkins and John Tiers. The best critical studies of Warren's poetry are Calvin Bedient's In the Heart's Last Kingdom (1986), James H. Justus's The Achievement of Robert Penn War-

ren (1981), and Victor Stranberg's The Poetic Vision of Robert Penn Warren. More recent critical studies include Lesa Carnes Corrigan's Poem of Pure Imagination: and the Romantic Tradition

Robert Penn Warren (1999) and The Leg-

acy of Robert Penn Warren (2000), edited by David Madden, which gathers essays from various hands. Richard Wilbur Wilbur's New and Collected Poems appeared in 1989 and draws from The Beautiful Changes (1947); Ceremony

and Other

Poems

(1950);

Things of This World (1956); Advice to a Prophet (1961); Walking to Sleep (1969); and The MindReader (1976). A collection of new poems and translations. May/lies, appeared in 2000. His translations from Moliere include The Misanthrope (1955); Tartwjffe (1963); and Moliere: Four Comedies (1982). He has also published Song Responses (1976), and The Catbird's (1997), a collection of prose pieces. Critical discussion of his work can be found in Richard Wilburs Creation (1983), edited by Wendy The Salinger, and Ecstasy Within Discipline: Poetry

of Richard

Wilbur

(1995), by John B

Hougen. An essay on Wilbur's new work, by Lee Oser, appears in the journal Literary Imagination (2000). A collection of interviews, Conversations with Richard Wilbur, edited by William Butts, appeared in 1990. James Wright A collection of Wright's complete poems, Above the River, appeared in 1990 and includes the work of his individual volumes: The Green Wall (1956), Saint Judas (1963), SfWl We Gather at the River (1968), the lovely Moments of the Italian Summer

{1976),

To a Blossoming

Pear

Tree

(1977), and This Journey (1982). An edition of his Collected Prose, edited by Anne Wright, appeared in 1983. Some of Wright's translations from the Spanish and German are available in Twenty Poems of Georg Trakl (1963), Twenty Poems of Cesar Vallejo (1964), and Twenty Poems

of Pablo Neruda (with Robert Bly, 1968). The best critical discussions of Wright's work appear in the essays collected in The Pure Clear Word: Essays on the Poetry of James Wright (1982), edited by Dave Smith, and in Laurence Lieberman's Beyond the Muse of Memory

(1995).

PERMISSIONS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A. R. Ammons: "So I Said I Am Ezra," "Corsons Inlet," copyright © 1963 by A. R. Ammons, "Easter Morning," copyright © 1979 by A. R. Ammons, from THE SELECTED POEMS, EXPANDED EDITION by A. R. Ammons. Copyright © 1987, 1977, 1975, 1974, 1972, 1971, 1970, 1966, 1965, 1964, 1955 by A. R. Ammons. "Part 2" from GARBAGE by A. R. Ammons. Copyright © 1993 by A. R. Ammons. Used by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Rudolfa A. Anaya: "The Christmas Play" from THE SILENCE OF THE LLANO. Copyright © 1982 by Rudolfo A. Anaya. Published by TQS Publications a division of Tonatiuh-Quinto Sol International, Inc. Reprinted by permission of Susan Bergholz Literary Services, New York. All rights reserved. Gloria Anazaldua: "How to Tame a Wild Tongue" and "El Sonavabitche" from BORDERLANDS/LA FRONTERA: THE NEW MESTIZA. Copyright © 1987, 1999 by Gloria Anazldiia. Reprinted by permission of Aunt Lute Books. John Ashbery: "Illustration" from SOME TREES by John Ashbery. Copyright © 1956 by John Ashbery. "Soonest Mended" from THE DOUBLE DREAM OF SPRING by John Ashbery. Copyright © 1966, 1967, 1968, 1969, 1970 by John Ashbery. Reprinted by permission of Georges Borchardt, Inc. for the author. "Myrtle" from AND THE STARS WERE SHINING by John Ashbery. Copyright © 1996 by John Ashbery. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC. James Baldwin: "Going to Meet the Man" collected in GOING TO MEET THE MAN by James Baldwin, published by Vintage Books. Copyright © 1965 by James Baldwin. Copyright renewed. Reprinted by permission of the James Baldwin Estate. Toni Cade Bambara: "Medley" from THE SEA BIRDS ARE STILL ALIVE by Toni Cade Bambara. Copyright © 1974, 1976, 1977 by Toni Cade Bambara. Used by permission of Random House, Inc. Amiri Baraka: "An Agony, As Now," "A Poem for Willie Best," copyright © 1964 by Amiri Baraka. Reprinted by permission of Sterling Lord Literistic, Inc. Saul Bellow: "Looking for Mr. Green" from MOSBYS MEMOIRS & OTHER STORIES by Saul Bellow. Copyright 1951, renewed © 1979 by Saul Bellow. Reprinted by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc. John Berryman: Excerpt from "Homage to Mistress Bradstreet" from HOMAGE TO MISTRESS BRADSTREET AND OTHER POEMS by John Berryman. Copyright © 1956 by John Berryman. Copyright renewed © 1984 by Kate Berryman. "Dream Songs" #29 #45, and #385 from THE DREAM SONGS by John Berryman. Copyright © 1969 by John Berryman. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC. John Bierhorst: Excerpts from FOUR MASTERWORKS OF AMERICAN INDIAN LITERATURE: QUETZALCOATL, THE RITUAL OF CONDOLENCE, CUCEV, THE NIGHT CHANT, edited by John Bierhorst (1974, 1984). University of Arizona Press. Reprinted by permission of John Bierhorst. Elizabeth Bishop: "The Unbeliever," "The Fish," "At the Fishhouses," "The Armadillo," "Sestina," "In the Waiting Room," "The Moose," and "One Art" from THE COMPLETE POEMS 1927-1979 by Elizabeth Bishop. Copyright © 1979, 1983 by Alice Helen Methfessel. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC. Black Elk: "The Great Vision" reprinted from BLACK ELK SPEAKS: BEING THE STORY OF A HOLY MAN OF THE OGLALA SIOUX as told through John G. Neihardt (Flaming Rainbow) by Nicholas Black Elk by permission of the University of Nebraska Press. Copyright © 1961 by the John G. Neihardt Trust. Copyright © 2000 by the University of Nebraska Press. William Bradford: From OF PLYMOUTH PLANTATION 1620-1647 by William Bradford, edited by Samuel Eliot Morison. Copyright 1952 by Samuel Eliot Morison and renewed 1980 by Emily M. Beck. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. Gwendolyn Brooks: "kitchenette building," "the mother,""The White Troops Had Their Orders But the Negroes Looked Like Men" from "The Womanhood, II," "The Bean Eaters," "The Last Quatrain of the Ballad of Emmett Till," "To the Diaspora," "we real cool" from BLACKS by Gwendolyn Brooks. Copyright © 1991 (reissued by Third World Press, 1991). "Tinsel Marie: The Coora Flower" from CHILDREN COMING HOME by Gwendolyn Brooks. Copyright © 1991 The David Company, Chicago. Reprinted by permission of The Estate of Gwendolyn Brooks. Bulosan, Carlos: "Be American" from ON BECOMING FILIPINO: SELECTED WRITINGS OF CARLOS BULOSAN is used by permission of Manuscripts, Special Collections, University Archives, University of Washington Libraries, Carlos Bulosan Papers, ACC 0581-011. Raymond Carver: "Cathedral" from CATHEDRAL by Raymond Carver. Copyright © 1983 by Raymond Carver. Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. Willa Cather: "Neighbor Rosicky" from OBSCURE DESTINIES by Willa Cather. Copyright 1930, 1932 by Willa Cather and renewed 1958, 1960 by the Executors of the Estate of Willa Cather. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. John Cheever: "The Swimmer" from THE STORIES OF JOHN CHEEVER by John Cheever. First

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PERMISSIONS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

published in The New Yorker. Copyright © 1978 by John Cheever. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. K a t e C h o p i n : T h e S t o r m " from T H E C O M P L E T E W O R K S O F KATE C H O P I N , edited by Per Seyersted. Copyright © 1997 by Louisiana State University Press. Reprinted by permission. S a n d r a C i s n e r o s : "My Lucy Friend Who Smells Like C o r n " from W O M A N H O L L E R I N G C R E E K . Copyright © 1991 by Sandra Cisneros. Published by Vintage Books, a division of Random H o u s e , Inc., New York, and originally in hardcover by Random House, Inc. Reprinted by permission of S u s a n Bergholz Literary Services, New York. All rights reserved. Billy C o l l i n s : "Forgetfulness" from Q U E S T I O N S A B O U T A N G E L S by Billy Collins, copyright © Reprinted by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press and the author. "Tuesday, J u n e 4, from T H E A R T O F D R O W N I N G by Billy Collins, copyright © 1 9 9 5 . Reprinted by permission University of Pittsburgh Press. "I C h o p S o m e Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey's Version of Blind Mice' " and " T h e Night H o u s e " from P I C N I C , L I G H T N I N G by Billy Collins, copyright © Reprinted by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press.

1991. 1991" of the Three 1998.

C h r i s t o p h e r C o l u m b u s : Letters from S E L E C T D O C U M E N T S I L L U S T R A T I N G T H E F O U R V O Y A G E S O F C O L U M B U S , translated and edited by Cecil J a n e , copyright © by the Hakluyt Society, London, the publisher. Reprinted by permission of David Higham Associates Ltd. Hart C r a n e : " C h a p l i n e s q u e , " "At Melville's T o m b , " and from "The Bridge" from C O M P L E T E P O E M S O F H A R T C R A N E by Hart Crane, ed. by Marc Simon. Copyright 1933, © 1958, 1966 by Liveright Publishing Corporation. Copyright © 1986 by Marc Simon. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. S t e p h e n C r a n e : " T h e Open Boat," "The Blue Hotel," "An Episode of War" from T H E W O R K S O F S T E P H E N C R A N E , Vol. 5, edited by Fredson Bowers ( 1 9 7 0 ) . Reprinted by permission of the University of Virginia Press. C o u n t e e C u l l e n : "Yet Do I Marvel." "Incident," and "Heritage" from C O L O R by Countee Cullen. Copyrights held by the Amistad Research Center administered by Thompson and T h o m p s o n , New York, NY. E . E . C u m m i n g s : "in Just-," " O sweet spontaneous." "Buffalo Bill's," "next to of course god america i,' " "i sing of Olaf glad and big," "somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond," '"anyone lived in a pretty how town," "my father moved through dooms of love" reprinted from C O M P L E T E P O E M S , 1 9 0 4 - 1 9 6 2 , by E. E. C u m m i n g s , ed. by George J . Firmage. Copyright 1 9 2 3 , 1 9 2 5 , 1926, 1 9 3 1 , 1935, 1938, 1 9 3 9 , 1940, 1944, 1945, 1946, 1947, 1948, 1 9 4 9 , 1950, 1 9 5 1 , 1952, 1953, 1954, © 1 9 5 5 , 1956, 1957, 1958, 1959, 1960, 1 9 6 1 , 1 9 6 2 , 1963, 1966, 1967, 1 9 6 8 , 1972, 1973, 1974, 1 9 7 5 , 1976, 1977, 1978, 1979, 1980, 1 9 8 1 , 1982, 1 9 8 3 , 1984, 1985, 1986, 1987, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991 by the Trustees for the E. E. C u m m i n g s Trust. C o p y r i g h t © 1 9 7 3 , 1976, 1978, 1979, 1 9 8 1 , 1983, 1985, 1991 by George J a m e s Firmage. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. Emily D i c k i n s o n : Reprinted by permission of the publishers and the Trustees of Amherst College from T H E P O E M S O F E M I L Y D I C K I N S O N , T h o m a s H. J o h n s o n , e d „ Cambridge, Mass.: T h e Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Copyright © 1 9 5 1 , 1 9 5 5 , 1979 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. Reprinted by permission of the publishers from T H E L E T T E R S O F E M I L Y DICKI N S O N , ed. by Thomas II. Johnson, Cambridge. Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Copyright © 1958, 1986 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. Rita D o v e : "Adolescence—I," "Adolescence—II," from T H E Y E L L O W H O U S E O N T H E C O R N E R © 1980 by Rita Dove. "The Event," "Straw Hat," "Dusting," from T H O M A S A N D B E U L A H , © 1986 by Bita Dove. "Banneker" and "Parsley" from M U S E U M © 1983 by Rita Dove. All originally published by Carnegie-Mellon University Press and reprinted by permission of the author. " P o e m in Which I Refuse Contemplation" from G R A C E N O T E S by Rita Dove. Copyright © 1989 by Rita Dove. Used by permission of the author and W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. J o n a t h a n E d w a r d s : from L E T T E R S A N D P E R S O N A L W R I T I N G S , vol. 16 of T H E W O R K S O F J O N ATHAN E D W A R D S . Copyright © 1998 by Yale University. Reprinted by permission of Yale University Press. T. S . Eliot: "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," "Gerontion," and "The Waste Land," reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber Ltd. "The Hollow M e n , " and "Journey of the Magi" from C O L L E C T E D P O E M S 1 9 0 9 - 1 9 6 2 l>\ I . S . I Mot, copyright 1936 In I larcourt, I n c . C np\ right ! l l )(,4. 1963 In T. S. Eliot. "Burnt Norton" from F O U R Q U A R T E T S , copyright 1943 by T. S. Eliot and renewed 1971 by E s m e Valerie Eliot. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc. and Faber and Faber Ltd. Published in Great Britain in C O L L E C T E D P O E M S 1 9 0 9 - 1 9 6 2 BY T . S . E L I O T . R a l p h E l l i s o n : Chapter 1 from I N V I S I B L E MAN by Ralph Ellison. Copyright 1947, 1948, 1952 by Ralph Ellison. Copyright renewed 1975, 1976, 1980 by Ralph Ellison. Used by permission of Random H o u s e , Inc. L o u i s e E r d r i c h : "Fleur" by Louise Erdrich first appeared in Esquire and later in T R A C K S . Copyright © 1986 by Louise Erdrich. Reprinted with permission of the The Wylie Agency, Inc. William F a u l k n e r : "Barn Burning," "That Evening S u n , " and "A Rose for Emily" from C O L L E C T E D

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STORIES OF WILLIAM FAULKNER by William Faulkner. Copyright © 1950 by Random House, Inc., and renewed 1977 by Jill Faulkner Summers. F. Scott Fitzgerald: "Babylon Revisited" reprinted by permission of Scribner, an imprint of Simon ft Schuster Adult Publishing Group and Harold Ober Associates, Inc., from THE SHORT STORIES OF F. SCOTT FITZGERALD, edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli. Copyright 1931 by The Curtis Publishing Company. Copyright renewed © 1959 by Frances Scott Fitzgerald Lanahan. Robert Frost: "Nothing Gold Can Stay," "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," "Desert Places," "Design," "The Gift Outright," from THE POETRY OF ROBERT FROST, ed. by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1923, © 1969 by Henry Holt and Company, copyright © 1964, 1970 by Lesley Frost Ballantine, copyright 1936, 1942, 195 1 by Robert Frost. Reprinted bv permission of Henry Holt and Company, LLC. Charlotte Perkins Gilman: "The Yellow Wall-paper" from CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN'S THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER" AND THE HISTORY OF ITS PUBLICATION AND RECEPTION: A CRITICAL EDITION AND DOCUMENTARY CASEBOOK edited by Julie Bates Dock (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1998). Copyright © 1998 by The Pennsylvania State University. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. Allen Ginsberg: "Howl" and "A Supermarket in California," copyright © 1955 by Allen Ginsberg. From COLLECTED POEMS 1947-1980 by Allen Ginsberg. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. Jorie Graham: "At Luca Signorellis Resurrection of the Body" and "The Geese" from THE DREAM OF THE UNIFIED FIELD: POEMS 1974-1994 by Jorie Graham. Copyright © 1995 by Jorie Graham. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. H. D. (Hilda Doolittle): "Mid-day," "Oread," "Helen" from COLLECTED POEMS 1912-1944. Copyright © 1982 by The Estate of Hilda Doolittle. "The Walls Do Not Fall" (1-2, 21-24, 41-43 from TRILOGY, copyright © 1944 by Oxford University Press; copyright renewed 1972 by Norman Holmes Pearson). Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp. Joy Harjo: "Call It Fear," "White Bear," and "III. Drowning Horses" from SHE HAD SOME HORSES by Joy Harjo. Copyright © 1983, 1997 Thunder's Mouth Press. Appears by permission of the publisher. Thunder's Mouth Press. Michael S. Harper: "Martin's Blues" from SONGLINES IN MICHAELTREE: NEW AND COLLECTED POEMS by Michael S. Harper. Copyright © 2000 by Michael S. Harper. "Dear John, Dear Coltrane," "American History," and "Deathwatch" from DEAR JOHN, DEAR COLTRANE by Michael S. Harper. Copyright © 1970 by Michael S. Harper. Used with permission of the poet and the University of Illinois Press. Robert Hayden: "Middle Passage," copyright © 1962. 1966 by Robert Hayden, "Homage to the Empress of the Blues," copyright © 1966 by Robert Hayden. "Those Winter Sundays," copyright © 1966 by Robert Hayden, from COLLECTED POEMS OF ROBERT HAYDEN by Robert Hayden, ed. by Frederick Glaysher. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. Ernest Hemingway: "The Snows of Kilimanjaro." Reprinted by permission of Scribner, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Group from THE SHORT STORIES OF ERNEST HEMINGWAY. Copyright 1936 by Ernest Hemingway; copyright renewed © 1964 by Mary Hemingway. Langston Hughes: "The Negro Speaks of Rivers," "Mother to Son," "I, Too," "Mulatto," "Song for a Dark Girl." "Silhouette," "Note on Commercial Theatre," "Democracy," and "Visitors to the Black Belt" from THE COLLECTED POEMS OF LANGSTON HUGHES by Langston Hughes. Copyright © 1994 by The Estate of Langston Hughes. Used by permission of .Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House. Inc. Zora Neale Hurston: "How It Feels to Be Colored Me" from I LOVE MYSELF WHEN I AM LAUGHING . . . AND THEN AGAIN WHEN I AM LOOKING MEAN AND IMPRESSIVE by Zora Neale Hurston. Reprinted by permission of the Estate of Zora Neale Hurston. "The Gilded Six-Bits" as taken from THE COMPLETE STORIES by Zora Neale Hurston. "The Gilded-Six Bits" originally appeared in Story, August 1933. Introduction copyright © 1995 by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and Sieglinde Lemke. Compilation copyright © 1995 by Vivian Bowden, Lois J. Hurston Gaston, Clifford Hurston, Lucy Ann Hurston, Winifred Hurston Clark, Zora Mack Goins, Edgar Hurston, Sr., and Barbara Hurston Lewis. Afterword and Bibliography copyright © 1995 by Henry Louis Gates. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. Randall Jarrell: "The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner," "Second Air Force," "Well Water," and "Thinking of the Lost World" from THE COMPLETE POEMS by Randall Jarrell. Copyright © 1969 by Mrs. Randall Jarrell. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC. Robinson Jeffers: "To the Stone-Cutters" copyright 1924 and renewed 1952 by Robinson Jeffers, "Shine, Perishing Republic" copyright 1934 and renewed 1962 by Donnan Jeffers and Garth Jeffers. "Carmel Point" copyright 1954 by Robinson Jeffers. "Birds & Fishes" copyright © 1963 by Steuben Glass, from SELECTED POETRY OF ROBINSON JEFFERS. Reprinted by permission of Random House, Inc. Thomas Jefferson: from NOTES ON THE STATE OF VIRGINIA by Thomas Jefferson. Edited, with an

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introduction and notes by William Peden. Copyright © 1955 by T h e University of North Carolina Press, renewed 1982 by William Peden. Used by permission of the publisher. M a r i n e H o n g Kingston: " N o N a m e W o m a n " from T H E W O M A N W A R R I O R by Maxine Hong Kingston, copyright © 1975, 1976 by Maxine Hong Kingston. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. G a l w a y Kinnell: "The Porcupine" from BODY R A G S by Galway Kinnell. Copyright © 1965, 1966, 1967 by Galway Kinnell. "After Making Love, W e Hear Footsteps" from T H R E E B O O K S by Galway Kinnell. Copyright © 1993 by Galway Kinnell. Previously published in M O R T A L A C T S , M O R T A L W O R D S ( 1 9 8 0 ) . Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin C o . All rights reserved. Arnold K r u p a t : Native American Trickster Tales, from N E W V O I C E S IN NATIVE A M E R I C A N LITERARY C R I T I C I S M , edited by Arnold Krupat. Copyright © 1993 by the Smithsonian Institution. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. S t a n l e y Kunitz: "Father and S o n , " "After the Last Dynasty," and "The Wellfleet W h a l e " from T H E C O L L E C T E D P O E M S by Stanley Kunitz. Copyright © 2 0 0 0 by Stanley Kunitz. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & C o . , Inc. Li-Young L e e : "Persimmons," "Eating Alone," "Eating Together" from R O S E by Li-Young Lee. Copyright © 1986 by Li-Young Lee. "This Room and Everything in It" from T H E CITY IN W H I C H I L O V E YOU by Li-Young Lee. Copyright © 1990 by Li-Young Lee. Reprinted by permission of B O A Editions Ltd. D e n i s e Levertov: "The Jacob's Ladder" and "In Mind" from P O E M S 1960—1967 by Denise Levertov. Copyright © 1966 by Denise Levertov. "To the S n a k e " from C O L L E C T E D E A R L I E R P O E M S 1 9 4 0 1960 by Denise Levertov. Copyright © 1946, 1956, 1958 by Denise Levertov. "Death in Mexico" from L I F E IN T H E F O R E S T by Denise Levertov. Copyright © 1978 by Denise Levertov. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp. A u d r e L o r d e : " C o a l , " Copyright © 1973, 1970, 1968 by Audre Lorde. "The W o m a n Thing," Copyright © 1973, 1970, 1968 by Audre Lorde. From U N D E R S O N G : C H O S E N P O E M S O L D A N D N E W by Audre Lorde. "Harriet" from T H E B L A C K U N I C O R N by Audre Lorde. Copyright © 1978 by Audre Lorde. Used by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Amy Lowell: "St. L o u i s " from T H E C O M P L E T E P O E T I C A L W O R K S O F AMY L O W E L L . Copyright © 1955 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Copyright © renewed 1983 by Houghton Mifflin Company, Brinton P. Roberts, and G. D'Andelot Belin, Esq. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin C o . All rights reserved. R o b e r t Lowell: "The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket" and "Mr. Edwards and the Spider" from L O R D WEARY'S C A S T L E . Copyright 1946 and renewed 1974 by Robert Lowell. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc. "Memories of West Street and Lepke" and "Skunk Hour" from L I F E S T U D I E S by Robert Lowell. Copyright © 1959 by Robert Lowell. Copyright renewed © 1987 by Harriet Lowell, Sheridan Lowell, and Caroline Lowell "For the Union D e a d " from F O R T H E U N I O N D E A D by Robert Lowell. Copyright © 1959 by Robert Lowell. Copyright renewed © 1987 by Harriet Lowell, Sheridan Lowell, and Caroline Lowell. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, L L C . P a u l e M a r s h a l l : "Reena," from " R E E N A " A N D O T H E R S T O R I E S by Paule Marshall. Copyright © 1983 by Paule Marshall. By permission of the Feminist Press at the City University of New York, www.feministpress.org. D'Arcy M c N i c k l e : "Hard Riding" from T H E HAWK IS H U N G R Y A N D O T H E R S T O R I E S by D'Arcy McNickle, edited by Birgit Hans, published in 1992 by T h e University of Arizona Press. Reprinted by permission of Antoinette McNickle Vogel. J a m e s Merrill: "An Urban Convalescence" from S E L E C T E D P O E M S 1 9 4 6 - 1 9 8 5 by J a m e s Merrill. Copyright © 1992 by J a m e s Merrill. "Family Week at Oracle R a n c h " from C O L L E C T E D P O E M S by J a m e s Merrill and J . D . McClatchy and Stephen Yenser, eds. Copyright © 2001 by the Literary Estate of J a m e s Merrill at Washington University. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. E d n a St. V i n c e n t Millay: "Apostrophe to M a n , " "I too beneath your moon, almighty Sex," "In the Grave No Flower" and "I Forgot for a M o m e n t " by Edna St. Vincent Millay. From C O L L E C T E D P O E M S , HarperCollins. Copyright © 1934, 1939, 1940, 1962, 1967, 1968 by Edna St. Vincent Millay and Norma Millay Ellis. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of Elizabeth Barnett, Literary Executor. N. S c o t t M o m a d a y : "Headwaters," Introduction, IV, XIII, XVII, XXIV, "Epilogue," "Rainy Mountain Cemetery" from T H E WAY T O RAINY M O U N T A I N . Copyright © 1969 by T h e University of New Mexico Press. Reprinted by permission. M a r i a n n e M o o r e : "Poetry," copyright 1935 by Marianne Moore, renewed © 1963 by Marianne Moore and T. S. Eliot. "The Paper Nautilus," copyright 1941 by Marianne Moore and renewed © 1969 by Marianne Moore. "The Mind Is an Enchanting Thing" and "In Distrust of Merits," copyright 1944 by Marianne Moore and renewed © 1972 by Marianne Moore. Reprinted from T H E C O L L E C T E D P O E M S O F M A R I A N N E M O O R E by permission of the publishers Scribner, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Group and Faber & Faber, Ltd. Published in Great Britain in T H E C O M P L E T E P O E M S by Marianne Moore. "O to Be a Dragon," copyright © 1957 by Marianne Moore,

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renewed 1985 by Lawrence E. Brinn and Louise Crane, Executors of the Estate of Marianne Moore, from THE COMPLETE POEMS OF MARIANNE MOORE. Used by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc. Toni Morrison: "Recitatif from CONFIRMATION. Copyright © 1983 by Toni Morrison. Reprinted by permission of International Creative Management, Inc. John G. Neihardt: "The Great Vision" reprinted from BLACK ELK SPEAKS: BEING THE LIFE STORY OF A HOLY MAN OF THE OGLALA SIOUX as told through John G. Neihardt (Flaming Rainbow) by Nicholas Black Elk by permission of the University of Nebraska Press. Copyright © 1961 by the John G. Neihardt Trust. Copyright © 2000 by the University of Nebraska Press. Flannery O'Connor: "Good Country People" copyright © 1955 by Flannery O'Connor and renewed 1983 by Regina O'Connor, from A GOOD MAN IS HARD TO FIND AND OTHER STORIES by Flannery O'Connor. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc. Eugene O'Neill: LONG DAY'S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT, copyright © 1955 by Carlotta Monterey O'Neill. Copyright © renewed 1983 by Oona O'Neill Chaplin and Yale University. Reprinted by permission. Samson Occom: "A Short Narrative of My Life," by Samson Occom, from THE ELDERS WROTE: AN ANTHOLOGY OF EARLY PROSE BY NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS 1768-1931, edited by Berndt Peyer. Copyright © Dietrich Rcimer Verlag, Berlin. Reprinted by permission of Dietrich Reimer Verlag and the Dartmouth College Library. Charles Olson: "Maximus, to Himself" and "Celestial Evening, October 1967" from THE MAXIMUS POEMS by Charles Olson, edited by George Butterick. Copyright © 1983 The Regents of the University of California. Reprinted by permission of the Regents of the University of California and the University of California Press. Simon J . Ortiz: "Earth and Rain, the Plants & Sun," "Vision Shadows," "8:50 AM Ft. Lyons VAH" and "Travelling" from "Poems from the Veterans Hospital" from WOVEN STONE by Simon J. Ortiz and "[At the Salvation Army]" from FROM SAND CREEK by Simon J. Ortiz. Reprinted by permission of the author. Grace Paley: "A Conversation with My Father" from ENORMOUS CHANGES AT THE LAST MINUTE by Grace Paley. Copyright © 1971, 1974 by Grace Paiey. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC. Robert Pinsky: "The Street" from THE FIGURED WHEEL by Robert Pinsky. Copyright © 1996 by Robert Pinsky. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC. "Shirt" and "At Pleasure Bay" from THE WANT BONE by Robert Pinsky. Copyright © 1991 by Robert Pinsky. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers Inc. Sylvia Plath: "Morning Song," copyright © 1961 by Ted Hughes: "Lady Lazarus," copyright © 1963 by Ted Hughes; "Daddy," copyright © 1963 by Ted Hughes; from ARIEL by Sylvia Plath. "Blackberrying" copyright © 1962 by Ted Hughes. This poem originally appeared in UNCOLLECTED POEMS, Turret Books, London and in The Hudson Review. From CROSSING THE WATER by Sylvia Plath. "Child" copyright © 1963 by Ted Hughes. From WINTER TREES by Sylvia Plath. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. and Faber and Faber Ltd. Published in Great Britain in COLLECTED POEMS by Sylvia Plath. Katherine Anne Porter: "Flowering Judas'" from FLOWERING JUDAS AND OTHER STORIES by Katherine Anne Porter, copyright 1930 and renewed 1958 by Katherine Anne Porter. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc. Ezra Pound: "Portrait d'une Femme," "A Pact," "In a Station of the Metro," "'The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter," from PERSONAE, copyright © 1926 by Ezra Pound. "1" and "XLV from THE CANTOS OF EZRA POUND, copyright 1934, 1937, 1940, 1948, 1956, 1959, 1962, 1963, 1966, and 1968 by Ezra Pound. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp. Thomas Pynchon: "Entropy" from SLOW LEARNER by Thomas Pynchon. Copyright © 1984 by Thomas Pynchon. First published in The Kenyon Review. Copyright © 1960, 1988 by Thomas Pynchon. Reprinted by permission of Little, Brown and Company, (Inc.) and Melanie Jackson Agency, LLC. Paul Radin: "The Winnebago Trickster Cycle" from THE TRICKSTER: A STUDY IN AMERICAN INDIAN MYTHOLOGY by Paul Radin, copyright © 1956. Reprinted by permission of the publisher, Routledge & Kegan Paul. Adrienne Rich: "Storm Warnings," "Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law," "A Valediction Forbidding Mourning," "Diving into the Wreck," "Power," "Transcendental Etude" from THE FACT OF A DOORFRAME: POEMS SELECTED AND NEW, 1950-1984 by Adrienne Rich. Copyright © 1984 by Adrienne Rich. Copyright © 1975, 1978 by W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Copyright © 1981 by Adrienne Rich. Used by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Alberto Rios: "Madre Sofia" and "Wet Camp" from WHISPERING TO FOOL THE WIND, copyright © 1982 by Alberto Rios. "Advice to a First Cousin" from FIVE INDISCRETIONS, copyright © 1985 by Alberto Rios. "Domingo Limon" from THE BEST AMERICAN POETRY, 1996. Reprinted by permission of Alberto Rios. Theodore Roethke: "Cuttings" copyright 1948 by Theodore Roethke, "Cuttings (Later)" copyright 1948

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by Theodore Roethke, "My Papa's Waltz" copyright 1942 by Hearst Magazines, Inc. "Night Crow" copyright 1944 by Saturday Review Association, Inc., "I Knew a Woman" copyright 1954 by Theodore Roethke, "Wish for a Young Wife" copyright © 1963 by Beatrice Roethke, Administratrix of the Estate of Theodore Roethke, "In a Dark Time" copyright © 1960 by Beatrice Roethke, Administratrix of the Estate of Theodore Roethke, "The Waking" copyright 1953 by Theodore Roethke. From THE COLLECTED POEMS OF THEODORE ROETHKE by Theodore Roethke. Used by permission of Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc. Philip Roth: "Defender of the Faith" from GOODBYE, COLUMBUS by Philip Roth. Copyright © 1959, renewed 1987 by Philip Roth. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved. Muriel Rukeyser: "Effort at Speech Between Two People," copyright 1935 by Muriel Rukeyser; "Long Enough," copyright © 1958 by Muriel Rukeyser; "Myth" copyright © 1973 by Muriel Rukeyser. From A MURIEL RUKEYSER READER ed. by Jan Heller Levi; copyright © 1994 by Jan Heller Levi and William L. Rukeyser. Used by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Carl Sandburg: "Chicago" and "Fog" from CHICAGO POEMS by Carl Sandburg. Copyright 1916 by Holt, Rinehart and Winston, and renewed 1944 by Carl Sandburg. "Grass" from CORNHUSKERS by Carl Sandburg. Copyright 1918 by Holt, Rinehart and Winston and renewed 1946 by Carl Sandburg. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc. Anne Sexton: "The Starry Night" from ALL MY PRETTY ONES by Anne Sexton. Copyright © 1962 by Anne Sexton, © renewed 1990 by Linda G. Sexton. "Sylvia's Death" and "Little Girl, My Stringbean, My Lovely Woman" from LIVE OR DIE by Anne Sexton. Copyright © 1966 by Anne Sexton. "How We Danced" from "The Death of Fathers" in THE BOOK OF FOLLY by Anne Sexton. Copyright © 1972 by Anne Sexton. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Co. All rights reserved. Leslie Marmon Silko: "Lullaby" copyright © 1981 by Leslie Marmon Silko. Reprinted from STORYTELLER by Leslie Marmon Silko, published by Seaver Books, New York, NY. John Smith: from THE COMPLETE WORKS OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH, 1580-1631, edited by Philip L. Barbour, with a foreword by Thad W. Tate. Copyright © 1986 by The University of North Carolina Press. Used by permission of the publisher. Gary Snyder: "August on Sourdough, A Visit from Dick Brewer" and "Beneath My Hand and Eye the Distant Hills, Your Body" from THE BACK COUNTRY by Gary Snyder. Copyright © 1968 by Gary Snyder. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp. "Riprap" from RIPRAP AND COLD MOUNTAIN POEMS by Gary Snyder. Copyright © 1990 by Gary Snyder. Reprinted by permission of North Point Press, a division of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC and the author. Cathy Song: "The White Porch" and "Lost Sister" from PICTURE BRIDE by Cathy Song. Copyright © 1983 by Yale University Press. Reprinted by permission of Yale University Press. "Heaven" is reprinted from FRAMELESS WINDOWS, SQUARES OF LIGHT: POEMS BY CATHY SONG. Copyright © \9S8 by Cathy Song. Used by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. John Steinbeck: Chapter 11, Chapter 12, and Chapter 15 from THE GRAPES OF WRATH by John Steinbeck, copyright 1939, renewed © 1967 by John Steinbeck. Used by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc* Wallace Stevens: "The Snow Man," "A High-Toned Old Christian Woman," "The Emperor of IceCream," "Disillusionment of Ten O'clock," "Sunday Morning," "Anecdote of the Jar," "Peter Quince at the Clavier," "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird," "The Idea of Order at Key West," "Of Modern Poetry," "The Plain Sense of Things" and "A Quiet Normal Life" from THE COLLECTED POEMS OF WALLACE STEVENS by Wallace Stevens. Copyright 1954 by Wallace Stevens and renewed 1982 by Holly Stevens. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. Edward Taylor: from Preparatory Meditations (Prologue, Meditations #8, #22, #42, First Series); "Upon Wedlock and Death of Children," "Upon a Wasp, Chilled with Cold," and "Huswifery" from THE POEMS OF EDWARD TAYLOR, edited by Donald E. Stanford. Copyright © 1960, renewed 1988 by Donald E. Stanford. Published by Yale University Press in 1960; reissued by University of North Carolina Press in 1989. Reprinted by permission of Don D. Stanford. Jean Toomer: "Georgia Dusk," "Fern," "Portrait in Georgia," and "Seventh Street" from CANE by Jean Toomer. Copyright 1923 by Boni & Liveright. Copyright renewed 1951 by Jean Toomer. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. John Updike: "Separating" from PROBLEMS AND OTHER STORIES by John Updike. Copyright © 1979 by John Updike. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca: excerpts from CABEZA DE VACA'S ADVENTURES IN THE UNKNOWN INTERIOR OF AMERICA trans, by Cyclone Covey. Copyright © 1961 by Macmillan Publishing Company. Reprinted by permission of Scribner, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Group. Garcilaso de la Vega: From "La Florida" by Garcilaso de la Vega, tr. Charmion Shelby, from THE DE SOTO CHRONICLES, v. 2. Copyright © 1993 by The University of Alabama Press. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. The University of Alabama Press.

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Kurt Vonnegut: "Fates Worse Than Death" from F A T E S W O R S E T H A N D E A T H by Kurt Vonnegut. Reprinted by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright © 1991 by Kurt Vonnegut. Alice Walker: "Everyday U s e " from IN L O V E & T R O U B L E : S T O R I E S O F B L A C K W O M E N , copyright © 1973 by Alice Walker. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc. Robert P e n n W a r r e n : " 1 . Was Not the Lost Dauphin," "VI. Love and Knowledge," and "Vll. Tell me a Story" from A U D U B O N : A V I S I O N by Robert Penn Warren. Copyright © 1963 by Robert Penn Warren. "After the Dinner Party" from N E W A N D S E L E C T E D P O E M S : 1 9 2 3 - 1 9 8 5 . Copyright © 1985 by Robert Penn Warren. "Acquaintance with Time in Early Autumn" from B E I N G H E B E : P O E T R Y 1 9 7 7 - 1 9 8 0 by Robert Penn Warren. Copyright © 1980 by Robert Penn Warren. "Bearded O a k s " from S E L E C T E D P O E M S 1 9 2 3 - 1 9 4 3 by Robert Penn Warren. Copyright © 1985 by Robert Penn Warren. All poems reprinted by permission of William Morris Agency, Inc. E u d o r a Welty: "Petrified M a n " from A C U R T A I N O F G R E E N A N D O T H E R S T O R I E S , copyright 1939 and renewed 1967 by Eudora Welty. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt Inc. Phillis Wheatley: From T H E P O E M S O F P H I L L I S W H E A T L E Y , edited and with an introduction by Julian D. Mason, Jr. Copyright © 1966 by T h e University of North Carolina Press, renewed 1989. Used by permission of the publisher. R i c h a r d Wilbur: "Ceremony" and "The Death of a T o a d " from C E R E M O N Y A N D O T H E R P O E M S , copyright 1950 and renewed 1978 by Richard Wilbur. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc. "The Beautiful C h a n g e s " from T H E B E A U T I F U L C H A N G E S A N D O T H E R P O E M S , copyright 1947 and renewed 1975 by Richard Wilbur. "Love Calls Us to the Things of This World" from T H I N G S O F T H I S W O R L D , copyright © 1956 and renewed 1984 by Richard Wilbur. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc. T e n n e s s e e W i l l i a m s : A S T R E E T C A R N A M E D D E S I R E , copyright © 1947 by T e n n e s s e e Williams. C A U T I O N : Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that A S T R E E T C A R N A M E D D E S I R E , being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, the British Empire including the Dominion of C a n a d a , and all other countries of the Copyright Union, is subject to royalty. All rights, including professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio and television broadcasting, and the rights of translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved. Particular emphasis is laid on the question of readings, permission for which must be secured from the author's agent, Luis Sanjurjo, c / o International Creative Management, 4 0 West 57th Street, New York, NY 10019. Inquiries concerning the amateur acting rights of A S T R E E T C A R N A M E D D E S I R E should be directed to T h e Dramatists' Play Service, Inc., 4 4 0 Park Avenue South, New York, NY, 10016, without whose permission in writing no amateur performance may be given. William C a r l o s W i l l i a m s : "Portrait of a Lady," "The Young Housewife," "Queen-Anne's-Lace," "The Widow's Lament in Springtime," "Spring and All," "To Elsie," "The Red Wheelbarrow," "This Is Just to Say," " L a n d s c a p e with the Fall of Icarus," "The Dance (In Brueghel's great picture)," "A Sort of a Song," "Burning the Christmas G r e e n s , " "Lear," "The Dance (When the snow falls)" from T H E C O L L E C T E D P O E M S O F W I L L I A M C A R L O S W I L L I A M S 1 9 0 9 - 1 9 3 9 , volume I. Copyright © 1938 by New Directions Publishing Corporation and from T H E C O L L E C T E D P O E M S O F W I L L I A M CARL O S W I L L I A M S 1 9 3 9 - 1 9 6 2 , volume 11. Copyright © 1944, 1 9 5 3 , 1962 by William Carlos Williams. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp. J o h n W i n t h r o p : from J O U R N A L O F J O H N W I N T H R O P 1 6 3 0 - 1 6 4 9 , edited by Richard S. Dunn, J a m e s Savage, and Laetitia Yeandle, Cambridge, Mass.: T h e Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Copyright © 1996 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. J a m e s Wright: "Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio," "To the Evening Star: Central Minnesota," and "A Blessing" from T H E B R A N C H W I L L N O T BREAK. Copyright © 1963 by J a m e s Wright. Reprinted by permission of Wesleyan University Press. R i c h a r d Wright: "The Man W h o Was Almost a M a n , " copyright © 1961 by Richard Wright from E I G H T M E N by Richard Wright. Reprinted by permission of John Hawkins & Associates, Inc.

A Bird came down the Walk—(328), 1176 Abortions will not let you forget, 2698 A brackish reach of shoal off Madaket—, 2687 A Clock stopped—(287), 1175 According to Brueghel, 1944 'A cold coming we had of it, 1997 Acquaintance

with Time in Early Autumn,

An incident here and there, 1957 Annabel Lee, 703

A noiseless patient spider, 1080 An old man bending 1 come among new faces, 1072 A novice was sitting on a cornice, 2746

2636

Answering a Child. 1472 An Urban Convalescence, 2722

A Curious Knot God made in Paradise, 157 Address Delivered at the Dedication of the Cemetery at Gettysburg, November 19, 1863, 758

Any Chippewa, 1785 anyone lived in a pretty how town, 2117

Adolescence—/, 2828 Adolescence—11, 2828

Anzaldua, Gloria, 2566 Apess, William, 476 Apostrophe to Man, 2110

Advanced out toward the external from, 2646

Apparently with no surprise (1624), 1 187 Apples of gold, in silver pictures shrined, 1 56 Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes, 2084

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, 1244 Adxnce to a First Cousin, 2839

Africa, 2084 After Apple-Picking,

1885

After great pain, a formal feeling comes—(341), 1176

Approach of the Storm, The, 1784

April is the cruellest month, breeding, 1981 Arise, my soul, on wings enraptured, rise, 370 Armadillo, The, 2653

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps, 2744 After the Dinner Party, 2637 After the Last Dynasty, 2626

after the murder, 2700 Ah—/Wakjankaga, 62 Ah! my subject, the rose, I know, 1470 A letter from my mother was waiting, 2830 A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands, 1072 All day long 1 have been working, 1876 All Greece hates, 1956 AH things within this fading world hath end, 124 A loon, 1782 Although, great Queen, thou now in silence lie, 131 Although it is a cold evening, 2652 Although it is night, I sit in the bathroom, waiting, 2828 Although she feeds me bread of bitterness, 2085 A man has been in the VAH Library all day long, 2817 America, 2085 American History, 2798 American Scholar, The, 5 14

1471

A sarcasm against the ladies in a newspaper, 316 Ashbery, John, 2744 A striped blouse in a clearing by Bazille, 2704 Atlantis, 2204 At Luca Signorelli's Resurrection At Melville's Tomb, 2192

of the Body, 2821

At Pleasure Bay, 2805 At ten A.M. the young housewife, 1935 At the Cadian Ball, 1 596

At the Fishkouses, 2652 At the Salvation Army, 28 1 7 A toad the power mower caught, 2703 Audubon, 2634 Attgust on Sourdough,

A Visit from Dick Brewer,

2775 Author to Her Book, The, 124 Autobiography of Thomas Jefferson, The, 336 Autobiography, The, 231 Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio, 2751 Babylon Revisited, 2143

Ammons, A. R., 2710 Among twenty snowy mountains, 1928 An Agony. As Now, 2789 A narrow Fellow in the Grass (986), 1185 Anaya, Rudolfo A., 2514 Anderson, Sherwood, 1903 And I start wondering how they came to be blind, 2810 And then went down to the ship, 1950 Anecdote of the Jar, 1926

Army of Occupation,

Baldwin, James, 2414 Bambara, Toni Cade, 2544 Banneker, 2825 Baraka, Amiri (Leroi Jones), 2788 Barely tolerated, living on the margin, 2747 Barn Burning, 2178 Bartleby, the Scrivener, 1086

Be American,

2266

Bean Eaters, The, 2700 Bearded Oaks, 2633

2921

2922

/

INDEX

Beast in the Jungle, The, 1556 Beat! Beat! Drums!, \07l

Cherokee Memorials, The, 571

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!, 1071

Chicago, 1917 Child, 2784 Children of Adam, 1058

Beautiful

Changes, The, 2704

Be'bani'gani, 1781 Because I could not stop for Death—(712), 1184 Because there was a man somewhere in a candystripe silk shirt, 2669 Before the Birth of One of Her Children, 124

Bellow, Saul, 2384 Beneath My Hand and Eye the Distant Hills. Your Body, 2775 Benito Cereno,

Berryman, John, 2675 Beside the ungathered rice he lay, 669 Bierce, Ambrose, 1453

Chesnutt, Charles W., 1630

Chippewa Songs, 1780 Chopin, Kate, 1594 Christmas Play, The, 2515

Cisneros, Sandra, 2594 Clappe, Louise Amelia Smith, 973 Coal, 2786 Cochise, 1461 Collins, Billy, 2807 Columbus, Christopher, 25 Common

Sense, 321

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late, 1923

Birches, \888 Birds and Fishes, 1966 Birth-Mark, The, 635

Contemplations, 117 Contrast, The, 379

Bishop, Elizabeth, 2648 Blackberrying, 2783 Black Elk, 1823

Cooper, James Fenimore, 460

Black Elk Speaks, 1824 Blessing, A, 2752 Blue Hotel, The, 1738

Bradford, William, 75 Bradstreet, Anne, 114 Bridge, The, 2193

Brooks, Gwendolyn, 2697 Bryant, William Cullen, 469 Buffalo Bill s, 2115

Bulosan, Carlos, 2265 Bungling Host, The, 70 Burning the Christmas Greens, 1941 Burnt Norton, 1998

But if I should ask the king?, 1472 By the Roadside, 1070

By the road to the contagious hospital, 1937 By the time I get myself out of bed, my wife has left, 2809 Cabeza de Vaca, Alvar Nunez, 29 Cahan, Abraham, 1647 Calamus, 1060 California, in 1852, 974 Call It Fear, 2834

Call the roller of big cigars, 1922 Cane, 2\2\ Cantos, The, 1950 Captured Goddess, The, 1874

Car flowing down a lava of highway, 2575 Carmel Point, 1965

Carver, Raymond, 2532 Cask of Amontillado, Cathedral, 2533

The, 743

Cather, Willa, 1841 Cavalry Crossing a Ford, 1072

Celestial choir! enthroned in realms of light, 374 Celestial Evening, October 1967, 2646 Ceremony, 2704 Chaplinescjite, 2\9\

Chariot, 1463 Cheever,John, 2363

Conversation

With My Father, A, 2401

Coora Flower, The, 2701 Corsons Inlet, 2712

Crane, Hart, 2190 Crane, Stephen, 1719 Crevecoeur, J . Hector St. John de, 299 Crisis, No. 1, The, 328 Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, 1061

Cullen, Countee, 2245 Cummings, I . f .. 2 I I 2 Cuttings, 2639 Cuttings (later), 2640 Daddy, 2781 Daisy Miller: A Study, 1501

Dance, The ("In Brueghel's great picture, The Kermess"), 1941 Dance, The ("When the snow falls the flakes"), 1945 Davis, Rebecca Harding, 1189 Dear John, Dear Coltrane, 2796 Death in Mexico, 2709 Death of a Toad, The, 2703 Death of the Ball Turret Gunner, The, 2671 Death of the Fathers, The, 2758 Death of the Hired Man, The, 1881 Deathwatch, 2798 Defender of the Faith, 2481 Democracy, 2231

Democracy will not come, 2231 Description of New England, A, 53 Desert Places, \89\ Design, 1892 Desire's Baby, 1607

Detestable race, continue to expunge yourself, die out, 21 10 Dickinson, Emily, 1167 Disillusionment of Ten O'clock, \922 Divine and Supernatural Light, A, 194 Diving into the Wreck, 2766 Divinity School Address, The, 527

Domingo Limon, 2840 Douglass, Frederick, 939 Dove, Rita, 2823

INDEX Dream Songs, The, 2683 Drum-Taps, 1071

Du Bois, W. E. B., 1702

For the Union Dead, 2695 Four Quartets, 1998

1492, 1220 Franklin, Benjamin, 2 1 9

Earth and Rain, the Plants t> Sun, 2814 Easter Morning, 2715 Eating Alone, 285 1 Eating Together, 2852 Editha, 1443

Freeman, Mary E. U i I k i n s . 1 6 1 1

Freneau, Philip, 3 6 1 "Fresh Leaves, by Fanny Fern," 809

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State, 2671 From narrow provinces, 2658 From Sand Creek, 2817 From the half of the sky, 1784 Frost, Robert, 1 8 7 8 Fuller, Margaret, 7 6 0

Edwards, Jonathan, 182 Effort at Speech Between Two People, 2272 8:50 AM Ft. Lyons VAH, 2816

Eliot, T. S., 1973 Ellison, Ralph, 2373 El sonavabitche, 2575 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 482

Garbage, 2517

The, 1922

Entropy, 2522 Episode of War, An, 1758

Equiano, Olaudah, 350 Erdrich, Louise, 2597 Event, The, 2829 Even two weeks after her fall, 2709 Ever since they'd left the Tennessee ridge, 2829 Everyday Use, 2581

Every day a wilderness—no, 2831 Every day the body works in the fields of the world, 2811 Every October millions of little fish come along the shore, 1966 Experience,

garbage has to be the poem of our time because, 2717 Geese, The, 2820 General History of Virginia, New England, and the Summer Isles, 44 Georgia Dusk, 2121 Gerontion, 1979

Ghost Dance Songs, 1 7 8 6 Gift Outright, The, 1892 Gilded Six-Bits, The, 2100

Gilman, Charlotte Perkins, 1 6 5 8 Ginsberg, Allen, 2 7 3 0

Glaspell, Susan, 1 8 9 3 Going to Meet the Man, 2415 Good Country People, 2428 Goophered Grapevine, The. 1632

556

Facing West from California's

2923

Forgetfidness, 2808 For I can snore like a bullhorn, 2744

Dusting, 2831

Emperor of Ice-Cream,

/

Shores, 1060

Fair rise the Morn that gave our heroe birth, 317 "Faith" is a fine invention (185), 1172

Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,—, 1837 Graham, Jorie, 2 8 1 8 Grapes of Wrath, The, 2233

Fall of the House of Usher, The, 714 Family Week at Oracle Ranch, 2724

Gross, 1918

Far off, above the plain the summer dries, 2671 Far, Sui Sin (Edith Maud Eaton), 1692 Farewell dear babe, my heart's too much content, 126

Green Snake, when I hung you round my neck, 2707

Fates Worse Than Death, 2407

Father and Son, 2625 [Father, have pity on me], 1786

62

Fern, Fanny (Sarah Willis Parton), 806 Fire and Ice, 1890

First having read the book of myths, 2766 Fish, The, 2650 Fitzgerald, F. Scott, 2126 Flat, 1877 Fleur, 2598 Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!, 1061 Florida of the Inca, The, 38 Flowering Judas, 2088

Fog, 1918 For authorities whose hopes, 1969

Hail, happy day, when, smiling like the morn, 375 Hail, happy saint, on thine immortal throne, 368 Hammon, Briton, 4 1 9 Hard Riding, 2250

father says so,] [The, 1788 Fatted, 2741 Faulkner, William, 2157 Felix White Sr.'s Introduction to Watjankaga, Fenimore Coopers Literary Offences, 1432 Fern, 2122

Great Lawsuit, The, 763

Harjo, Joy, 2 8 3 3 Harlem Dancer, The, 2084 Harlem Shadows, 2085 Harper, Michael S., 2 7 9 5

Harriet, 2787 Harriet there was always somebody calling us crazy, 2787 Harte, Bret, 1 4 7 3 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 5 8 1 Hayden, Robert, 2 6 6 2

H. D. (Hilda Doolittle), 1 9 5 4 Heaven, 2847 He came apart in the open, 2799 [He has filled graves with our bones], 1464

He! When I met him approaching—, 1787 Helen, 1956 Helen, thy beauty is to me, 697 Hemingway, Ernest, 2 2 0 6

2924

/

INDEX

Her body is not so white as, 1936 Her Word of Reproach,

1471

Here dock and tare, 2111 Here Follows Some Verses upon the Burning of Our House July 10
Here I am, an old man in a dry mouth, 1979 Here the Frailest Leaves of Me, 1061

Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, 1061 Here, where the noises of the busy town, 1219 Heritage, 2246 He sleeps on the top of a mast, 2649 He stared at ruin. Ruin stared straight back (45), 2683 He thinks when we die we'll go to China, 2847 High-Toned

Old Christian

Woman, A, 1921

His place, as he sat and as he thought, was not, 1932 His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven, 2084 Hog Butcher for the World, 1917 Hollow Men, The, 1994 Homage to Mistress Bradstreet, 2677 Homage to the Empress of the Blues. 2669

Howells, W. D., 1441 How funny your name woidd be. 2749 How It Feels to Be Colored Me, 2097

Howl, 2732 How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest, 2193 How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves, 671 How to Tame a Wild Tongue, 2567

How We Danced, 2758 Hughes, Langston, 2225 Hurston, Zora Neale, 2096

I hear the halting footsteps of a lass, 2085 I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—, 1179 In highschool I had a friend, 2840 1, kenning through Astronomy Divine, 154 / Knew a Woman, 2641

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones, 2641 I like a look of Agony (241), I 174 Illustration, 2746 I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman—, 1949 I'm going out to clean the pasture spring, 1879 Impressions of an Indian Childhood, In a Dark Time, 2642

1794

In a dark time, the eye begins to see, 2642 In a Queens Domain. 1470 In a Station of the Metro, 1949

In China, 2845 Incident, 2246 Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, 81 3 Indian's Looking-Glassfor the White Man, An, 477 In Distrust of Merits, 1971

I never lost as much but twice (49), 1171 In Honor of That High and Mighty Princess Queen Elizabeth of Happy Memory, 131 in Just-, 2113 In Memory of My Dear Grandchild Elizabeth Bradstreet, Who Deceased August, 1665, Being a Year and a Half Old, 126

In Mind, 2708 In silent night when rest I took, 127 In sixth grade Mrs. Walker, 2849 Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavas Vassa, the African, Written by Himself, The, 351

In the city, under the saw-toothed leaves of an oak, 2830

Huswifery, 160

In the Grave No Flower, 2111 In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport,

// am alone], 1462

In the Shreve High footbal stadium, 2751 In the steamer is the trout, 2852

I am inside someone, 2789 I am your son, white man!, 2228 I cannot live with You—(640), 1 182 I caught a tremendous fish, 2650 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, 1003 Ichabodl, 674 / Chop Some Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey's Version of "Three Blind Mice", 2H\0 Idea of Order at Key West, The, 1930

\2\9

In the Waiting Room, 2656

In the willows along the river at Pleasure Bay, 2805 Invisible Man, 2374 In water-heavy nights behind grandmother's porch, 2828 In Worcester, Massachusetts, 2656 I placed u jar in Tennessee, 1926 Iroquois Creation Story, The, 17

I died for Beauty—but was scarce (449), 1179 I doubt not Cod is good, well-meaning, kind, 2245 I dreaded that first Robin, so (348), 1 177 If ever two were one, then surely we, 125 If I, like Solomon 1973

Irving, Washington, 446 is an enchanting thing, 1970 1 saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hys-, 2732 I saw the spiders marching through the air, 2691

/ Forgot for a Moment, 2112

i sing of Olaf glad and big, 2116

I forgot for a moment France; I forgot England; I forgot my care, 2112 I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, 1892 If We Must Die, 2086 If we must die, let it not be like hogs, 2086 I have a life that did not become, 2715 I have done it again, 2778 1 have eaten, 1940 I have had to learn the simplest things, 2645

is the total black, being spoken, 2786 I taste a liquor never brewed—(214), 1 172 / Think I Shotdd Have Loved You Presently, 21 10

/, Too, 2228 / Too beneath Your Moon, Almighty Sex, 2111

1, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all, 1968 I, too, sing America, 2228 I've known rivers, 2227

INDEX

I've pulled the last of the year's young onions, 2851 It was many and many a year ago, 703 It was not Death, for I stood up (510), 1181 I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow, 2643 I went for a walk over the dunes again this morning, 2712 I would not paint—a picture—(505), 1180 I wrap the blue towel, 2844 Jacobs, Harriet, 812 Jacob's Ladder, The, 2708

/

292

Long afterward, Oedipus, old and blinded, walked the, 2274 Long Day's Journey into Night, 2005 "Long Enough," 2273

"Long enough. Long enough,", 2273 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 667 Looking for Mr. Green, 2386

Lord, Can a Crumb of Dust the Earth outweigh, 153 Lorde, Audre, 2784 Lost Sister, 2845 Love Calls Us to the Things of This World, 2705 Lwe-Charm Song, 1783

James, Henry, 1498 Jarrell, Randall, 2670 Jeffers, Robinson, 1963 Jefferson, Thomas, 334

Love set you going like a fat gold watch, 2778 Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, The, 1975

Jesus, Estrella, Esperanza, Mercy, 2664

Jewett, Sarah Orne, 1586 Jewish Cemetery at Newport, The, 671 Journal of John W'mthrop, The, 106 Journey of the Magi, 1997

Just as my fingers on these keys, 1926 Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, 2752 Kingston, Maxine Hong, 2556 Kinnell, Galway, 2740 kitcheonette building, 2698

Lovliest of Women! Could I gain, 316 Lowell, Amy, 1873 Lowell, Robert, 2684 Luke Havergal, 1837 Lullaby, 2588 Lynching, The, 2084 Madonna of the Exerting Flowers, 1876 Madre Sofia, 2837

Maecenas, you, beneath the myrtle shade, 376 Magnalia

Christi Americana,

163

Make me, O Lord, Thy Spinning Wheel complete 160

Koasati, 70 Kunitz, Stanley, 2624

Male Criticism on Ladies' Books, 808 Man Who Was Almost a Man, The, 2257

Lady Lazarus, 2778 Landscape with the Fall of /earns, 1944 Last Quatrain of the Ballad of Em met t Till, The,

Martin's Blues, 2799

Marshall, Paule, 2442

2700 Law More Nice Than Just, A, 810

Lay down these words, 2774 Lazarus, Emma, 1217 Lear, 1943 Lee, Li-Young, 2848 Letters from an American Fanner, 300 Letters to Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1 187 Letter to Ferdinand and Isabella Regarding the Fourth Voyage, 27 Letter to Her Husband, Absent Upon Public

Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table, 1881 Mather, Cotton, 161 Maximus Poems, The, 2645 Maximus, to Himself, 2645 May-Pole of Merry Mount, The, 619

McKay, Claude, 2082 McNickle, D'Arcy, 2249 Meditation 8 (First Series). 154 Meditation 22 (First Series), 155 Meditation 42 (First Series), 1 56 Medley, 2544

Melville, Herman, 1081

Employment, A, 125 Letter to John Adams, 346 Letter to Luis de Santangel Regarding the First

[Memorial of the Cherokee Citizens, December 18,

Voyage, 26 Letter to Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1047

1829/, 574 Memories of President Lincoln, 1074

Let the snake wait under, 1941 Let us go then, you and I, 1975 Levertov, Denise, 2706 Lie still now, 2852 Life in the Iron-Mills, 1191 Ligeia, 704 Little Girl, My String Bean, My Lovely Woman,

2756

Merrill, James, 272 1 Messiah Letter: Cheyenne Version, The, 1791 Messiah Letter: Mooney's Free Rendering, The, Mid-day, 1955 Middle Passage, 2664

Millay, Edna St. Vincent, 2109

Lire Oak, with Moss, 1054

London, Jack, 1761

Memories of West Street and Lepke, 2692 Mending Wall, 1880

1792

Lincoln, Abraham, 757

Living in the earth-deposits 2768

1829], 578 [Memorial of the Cherokee Council, November 5,

of our history,

Mind Is an Enchanting Thing, The, 1970 Minister's Black Veil, The, 626 Miniver Cheexy, 1838

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn, 1838

2926

/

INDEX

Miss Grief, 1483 Model of Christian Charity, A, 95

Momaday, N. Scott, 2503 Moore, Marianne, 1966 Moose, The, 2658 Morning Song, 2778

Morrison, Toni, 2455 Most truly honored, and as truly dear, 1 17 Mother, 1905 Mother, The, 2698 Mother to Son, 2221 Mowing, 1880 Mr. Edwards and the Spider, 2691 Mr. Flood's Party, 1830 Mrs. Spring Fragrance, 1693

Much Madness is divinest Sense—(435), 1178 Mulatto, 2228 My daughter, at eleven, 2756 My daughter's heavier. Light leaves are flying (385), 2684 my father moved through dooms of love, 2118

My head, my heart, mine eyes, my life, nay, more, 125 My Kinsman, Major Molineux,

584

My life closed twice before its close (1732), 1187 My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun—(754), 1184 My lizard, my lively writher, 2642 My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree, 1885 My Love Has Departed, 1782 My Lucy Friend Who Smells Like Corn, 2595

My mother took me because she couldn't, 2837 My Papa's Waltz, 2640 Myrtle, 2749 Myth, 2274 Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, A, 136 Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself, 942 Narrative of the Uncommon Sufferings, and Suprizing Deliverance of Briton Hammon, a Negro Man, 420

Native American Chants and Songs, 1 773 Native American Oratory, 1460 Native American Trickster Tales, 59 Nature,

486

Nature's first green is gold, 1890 Nautilus Island's hermit, 2693 Navajo Night Chant, The, 1773 Negro Speaks of Rivers, The, 2221 Neighbour Rosicky, 1843

Neihardt, John G., 1823 Never—yes, never—before these months just passed, 2636 New Colossus, The, 1221 New England Nun, A, 1612 New England's Trials, 57 'next to of course god america i, 2115 Night Chant, The, 1774 Night Crow, 2641 Night House, The, 2811

Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries, 2783

Noiseless Patient Spider, A, 1080 No Name Woman, 2557 Note on Commercial Theater, 223 1 [Note on the Accompanying Memorials, February IS, 1830], 573 Notes on the State of Virginia, 342 Nothing Gold Can Stay, \890

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, 1221 Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, The,

1240 Not the heat flames up and consumes, 1054 Now in the suburbs and the falling light, 2625 Occom, Samson, 293 Occurrence

at Owl Creek Bridge, An, 1454

O'Connor, Flannery, 2427 Ode on the birth day of the illustrious George Washington, President of the United States, An,

317 Of Modern Poetry, 1931 Of Plymouth Plantation, 76

Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge, 2192 Oh Sylvia, Sylvia, 2754 Old Eben Flood, climbing alone one night, 1839 Olson, Charles, 2643 On Being Brought from Africa to America,

367

Once careless of her children, 1785 Once 1 Pass'd through a Populous City, 1060

Once I pass'd through a populous city imprinting my brain for future use, 1060 Once near San Ysidro, 2814 Once riding in old Baltimore, 2246 Once upon a midnight dreary, while 1 pondered, weak and weary, 698 One Art, 2662 O'Neill, Eugene, 2003 One must have a mind of winter, 1920 One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides, 2704 Only teaching on Tuesdays, book-worming, 2692 On Mr. Paine's Rights of Man, 364 On the Emigration to America of Peopling the Western Country, 362 On the Death of the Rei>. Mr. George Whitefield, 1770, 368 On the Religion of Nature, 365 Open Boat, The, 1721 Oread, 1956

Ortiz, Simon J., 2812 O sweet spontaneous, 2114 O to Be a Dragon, 1973 Outcasts of Poker Flat, The, 1474

Out for a walk, after a week in bed, 2722 Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking, 'Out, Out!—", 1889

1066

Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day, 1886 Oven Bird, The, 1888

Over the housetops, 1874 Pact, A, 1949

Pain—has an Element of Blank—(650), 1183 Paine, Thomas, 320

INDEX Palace-Burner,

The, 1468

/

2927

Road Not Taken, The, 1887

Paley, Grace, 2400 Parsley, 2826

Robinson, Edwin Arlington, 1836 Roethke, Theodore, 2638 Roger MaJvitt's Burial, 597

Pasture, The, 1879

Rose for Emily, A, 2160

Performances, assortments, resumes—, 2201 Permit a sister muse to soar, 317 Persimmons, 2849

Roth, Philip, 2480 Rowlandson, Mary, 135 Rukeyser, Muriel, 2271

Paper Nautilus, The, 1969

Peter Quince at the Clavier, 1926

Petrified Man, 2289 Philosophy of Composition,

The, 748

Piatt, Sarah Morgan Bryan, 1467 Pile the bodies high at Austertitz and Waterloo, 1918 Pinsky, Robert, 2800 Pioneers, The, 462

§a, Zitkala (Gertrude Simmons Bonnin), 1792 Safe in their Alabaster Chambers—(216), 11 73 Sandburg, Carl, 1916 Sarcasm

against the ladies in a newspaper; An

impromptu

answer, A, 316

S C I E N C E ! meet daughter of old Time thou art, 696 Sculptor's Funeral, The, 1863

Pique at Parting, A, 1469

Sea-Drift,

Plain Sense of Things, The, 1932

Second Air Force, 2671

Plath, Sylvia, 2776 Poe, Edgar Allan, 694

Second Inaugural

1066 Address, March 4, 1865, 759

See how they hurry, 2821

Poem for Willie Best, A, 2790

Self-Reliance,

Poem in Which I Refuse Contemplation,

2832

Sensibility[,]

539 an ode, 319

Poems from the Veterans Hospital, 2816

Separating,

2472

Poetry, 1968

September,

1914, 1877

Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame, 1921 Porcupine,

The, 2741

Porter, Katherine Anne, 2086 Portrait d'une Femme,

1948

Portrait of a Lady, 1935

Pound, Ezra, 1946 Power, 2768 Powhatan's

September rain falls on the house, 2655 Sestina, 2655 Sex fingers toes, 2796 Sexton, Anne, 2752 She begins to board the flight, 2835 She Had Some Horses, 2836

Daughter, 2194

Prairies, The, 473 Pre/ace to Leaves of Grass (1855), 989 Preparatory Meditations,

She has been burning palaces. "To see, 1468 She sang beyond the genius of the sea, 1930 She says she is going to kill, 2836 Shine, Perishing Republic,

1965

Shirt, 2803

153

Prologue, The, 1 1 5

Short Narrative

Psalm of Life, A, 668

Silhouette, 2230 Silko, Leslie Marmon, 2587

Purloined

Letter, The, 731

Pynchon, Thomas, 2521

of My Life, A, 294

Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, 207 Sioux Woman Defends Her Children,

Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket,

The, 2687

Queen-Anne's-Lace, 1936 "Queer", 1910

1784 Skunk Hour, 2693 Slave's Dream, The, 669 Smith, John, 42 Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law,

Quiet Normal Life, A, 1932 Rappaccini's

Daughter, 647

Raven, The, 697 Reading in Li Po, 2626

Snow-Bound:

Real Thing, The, 1539

Recitatif, 2457 Reconciliation, Recuerdo,

1074

2109

Red Wheelbarrow,

The, 1940

Reena, 2443 Relation of Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca, The, 30 Remarks Concerning

the Savages of North

America, 227 Resistance

2762

A Winter Idyl, 675

Snow falling and night falling, fast, oh, fast, 1891 Snow Man, The, 1920 Snows of Kilimanjaro, The, 2209 Snyder, Gary, 2773 So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn, 674 So I Said I Am Ezra, 2712 Some say the world will end infire,1890 Something there is that doesn't love a wall, 1880 Some time now past in the autumnal tide, 117 somewhere i have never travelled,gladly

to Civil Government,

837

Rich, Adrienne, 2759 Rios, Alberto, 2836 Riprap, 2774

The, 1785

Sioux Women Gather Up Their Wounded, The,

beyond,

2117 so much depends, 1940 Song, Cathy, 2842 Song for a Dark Girl, 2229

Rip Van Winkle, 448

Song of Myself (1881),

River Merchant's

Song of the Captive Sioux Woman, 1 785 Song of the Crows, 1781

Wife: A Letter, The, 1949

Richard" Cory, 1838

1003

2928

/

INDEX

Songs of the Arapaho, 1786 Songs of the Sioux, 1788 Sonnet—To Science, 696 Soonest Mended, 2747

Sorrow is my own yard, 1936 Sort of Song, A, 1941 Souk Belated, 1673 Souls of Black Folk, The, 1703

Southern gentle lady, 2230 Speak to me. Take my hand. What are you nowr, 2272 Spring and All, 1937 Spontaneous Me, 1058

Spontaneous me. Nature, 1058 Starry Night, The, 2753

Steinbeck, John, 2232 Stevens, Wallace, 1919 Sticks-in-a-drowse droop over sugary loam, 2639 Stick your patent name on a signboard, 2194 St. Louis, 1877

Stockton, Annis Boudinot, 314 Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated, 1964 Stopping by Woods on a Snouy Evening, 1891 Storm, The, 1603 Storm Warnings, 2761 Story of the Creation, The (Pima), 22

Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 771 Straw Hat, 2830 Streaked and fretted with effort, the thick, 2802 Street, The, 2802 Streetcar Named Desire, A, 2301 Street in Bronzeville, A, 2698

Strengthened to live, strengthened to die for, 1971 Success is counted sweetest (67), 1171 Sunday Morning, 1923

Sundays too my father got up early, 2669 Supermarket in California, A, 2739 Sweat-Shop Romance, A, 1649

Sweet Sensibility Celestial power, 319 Swimmer, The, 2365 Sylvia's Death, 2754

Taylor, Edward, 152 Tears of frietuishipl,} Elegy the third.—to a friend just married, and who had promised to write, on parting, hut had neglected it.—, 319

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—(1129), 1186 Tell me, 1875 Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 668 Tell-Tale Heart, The, 727 Thanatopsis, 470 That Evening Sun, 2166

The apparition of these faces in the crowd, 1949 The art of loosing isn't hard to master, 2662 The back, the yoke, the yardage. Lapped seams, 2803

The The The The The The

Bear that breathes the Northern blast, 159 Bustle in a House, 1186 buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard, 1889 extraordinary patience of things!, 1965 eyes open to a cry of pulleys, 2705 face sings, alone, 2790

The father says so—E'yayol, 1788 The first to come, 1781 The fog comes, 1918 The glass has been falling all the afternoon, 2761 The hours are haunted, 1922 The hunters are back from beating the winter's face, 2786 Their time past, pulled down, 1941 The land was ours before we were the land's, 1892 The light beats upon me, 1955 The name of the author is the first to go, 2808 The night of my cousin's wedding, 2758 The oaks, how subtle and marine, 2633 The old South Boston Aquarium stands, 2695 The poem in the mind in the act of finding, 1931 The power, that gives with liberal hand, 365 The pure products of America, 1938 There is a parror imitating spring, 2826 There is a singer everyone has heard, 1888 There is this edge where shadows, 2834 There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart (29), 2683 There was never a sound beside the wood but one, 1880 There's a certain Slant of light (258), 1174 There's in my mind a woman, 2708 These are the days when Birds come back—(130), 1172 These are the Gardens of the Desert, these, 473 The Sioux women, 1784 The sky, lazily disdaining to pursue, 2121 The Soul selects her own Society, 1175 The stairway is not, 2708 The summer blew its little drifts of sound—, 1471 The sun sought thy dim bed and brought forth light, 2084 The sun that brief December day, 677 The town does not exist, 2753 The way the world works is this: 2839 The whiskey on your breath, 2640 The winters close, Springs open, no cn\\d stirs, 2677 The Wisconsin Horse hears the geese, 2816 The world outstrips us. In my day, 2724 They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair, 2700 They had supposed their formula was fixed, 2699 Thinking of the Lost World, 2673 Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,

1928

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight, 1877 This August evening I've been driving, 2769 This is Just to Say, 1940

This This This This This This This

is rhy letter to the World (441), 1 178 is the time of year, 2653 Room and Everything in It, 2852 spoonful of chocolate tapioca, 2673 urge, wrestle, resurrection of dry sticks, 2640 was a Poet—It is That (448), 1178 World is not Conclusion (501), I 180

Thomas and Beulah, 2829

Those four black girls blown up, 2798 Tliose Winter Sundays, 2669

INDEX Thou two-faced year. Mother of Change and Fate, 1220 Thoughts on the Works of Providence,

370

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, 124 Thoreau, Henry David, 834 Through the bound cable strands, the arching

path,

/

2929

Vision Shadows, 2815 Visitors to the Black Belt, 2230

Vonnegut, Kurt, 2405 Waking, The, 2643 Walden, or Life in the Woods, 853

2204 Time present and time past, 1998

Walker, Alice, 2580

To a Waterfowl, 472 To Brooklyn Bridge, 2193 To Build a Fire, 1762

Warren, Robert Penn, 2631 Washington, Booker T., 1621

Today as I hang out the wash 1 see them again, a code, 2820 Today 1 learned the coora flower, 2701

Was not the lost dauphin, though handsome was only, 2634

To Elsie, 1938 To Helen, 697

Way Down South in Dixie, 2229

Walls do not fall, The, 1957

To him who in the love of Nature holds, 470 His Excellency General Washington, Laura—a card.—, 317 Maecenas, 376 my Burissa—, 316 My Dear and Loving Husband, 125 My Dear Children, 128

374

To the Diaspora, 2700 To the Evening Star: Central Minnesota, 275 1 To the Right Honorable William, Earl of Dartmouth, His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for North America, & c , 375

To the Snake, 2707 in New England,

368 To western woods, and lonely plains, 362 To . Ulalume: A Ballad, 701 Transcendental Etude, 2769 Travelling, 2817 Trickle Drops, 1060

Tuesday, June 4, 1991, 2809 Tunnel, The, 2201

We Real Cool, 2702

We real cool. We, 2702 Wet Camp, 2839 We were very tired, we were very merry—, 2109 Wharton, Edith, 1671 What a girl called "the dailiness of life", 2673 What are you saying to me?, 1783 What did he do except lie, 2825 What is Africa to me, 2246 What my hand follows on your body, 2775 What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down, 2739 Wheatley, Phillis, 366 When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer, (When I met him approaching!, 1787

1070

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd, 1074

Twain, Mark (Samuel L. Clemens), 1237 T'was mercy brought me from my pagan land, 367 Twitching in the cactus, 2798 Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 1887 Tyler, Royall, 378 Unbeliever, The, 2649 Uncle Tom's Cabin; or, Life among the Lowly, 774

Under the water tower at the edge of town, 2751 Updike, John, 2470

1875

Well Water, 2673

Welty, Eudora, 2288 We make our meek adjustments, 2191 We must not quarrel, whatever we do, 1471

When I saw that clumsy crow, 2641 When I see birches bend to left and right, 1888

Trifles, 1894

Venus Transiens,

Well, son, I'll tell you:, 2227

Whenever Richard Cory went down town, 1838

Trickle drops! my blue veins leaving!, 1060

Vega, Garcilaso de la, 37

We are the hollow men, 1994 We are things of dry hours and the involuntary

Wellfleet Whale, The, 2627

To S. M., a Young African Painter, on Seeing His Works, 373

Up From Slavery, 1622 Upon a Wasp Chilled with Cold, 159 Upon Wedlock, and Death of Children,

Waste Land, The, 1981

plan, 2698 We have been here before, but we are lost, 2839

Toomer, Jean, 2120 To show the laboring bosom's deep intent, 373 To sing of wars, of captains, and of kings, 115

To the Stone-Cutters, 1964 To the University of Cambridge,

2634

Way to Rainy Mountain, The, 2504 Way to Wealth, The, 221

To Her Father with Some Verses, 117 To To To To To To

Was Not the Lost Dauphin,

I 57

When the snow falls the flakes, 1945 When the world takes over for us, 1941 When Thy Bright Beams, my Lord, do strike mine Eye, 155 When you set out for Afrika, 2700 While an intrinsic ardor prompts to write, 368 While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead, 1949 While this America settles in the mode of its vulgarity, heavily thickening, 1965 Whirl up, sea—, 1956 Whispers of Heavenly Death, 1080 White Bear, 2835 White Porch, The, 2844 White Troops Had Their Orders But the Negroes Looked Like Men, The, 2699

2930

/

INDEX

Whither, 'midst falling dew, 472 Whitman, Walt, 985 White Heron, A, 1587 Whittier, John Greenleaf, 673 Whose woods these are I think I know, 1891 Why has my Anna thus forgot her friend?, 319 Why, sir, as to that 1 did not know it was time for the moon to, 1469 Widow's Lament in Springtime, Wife of His Youth, The, 1639

The, 1936

Wilbur, Richard, 2702 Wild Nights—Wild Nights!, 1174 Williams, Tennessee, 2298 Williams, William Carlos, 1933 Wind visions are honest, 2815 Winesburg, Ohio, 1905

Winnebago, 61 Winnebago Trickster Cycle, The, 65 Winter Dreams, 2127

Winthrop, John, 94 Wish for a Young Wife, 2642 Woman Thing, The, 2786 Wood-Pile, The, 1886

Woolson, Constance Fenimore, 1482 Word over all, beautiful as the sky, 1074 Wound-Dresser, The, 1072

Wovoka, 1789 Wright, James, 2749 Wright, Richard, 2255 Yellow Wall-paper, The, 1659

Yet Do I Marvel, 2245 You can talk about, 2230 You do not do, you do not do, 2781 You have your language too, 2627 You hitched a thousand miles, 2775 Young Goodman Brown, 610 Young Housewife, The, 1935

You, once a belle in Shreveport, 2762 Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing, 2784 Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea, 1948 Your thighs are appletrees, 1935 You two sit at the table late, each, now and then, 2637 You've taken my blues and gone—, 2231

^.A~ ^/Seattle

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Olympiad'

T k e U n i t e d States A Literary View

Places of importance to the authors and works of The Norton Anthology of American

Literature

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L O N G E R

Royall Tyler, The Contrast

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

(1881)

Herman Melville, Benito Cereno Herman Melville, Bartleby. the Scrivener Rebecca Harding Davis, Life in the Iron-Mills Henry James, Daisy Miller: A Study Mark Twain, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Willa Cather, Neighbour Rosicky T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land

Susan Glaspell, Trifles Eugene O'Neill, Long Day's Journey into Night Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire

Ernest Hemingway, The Snows of Kilimanjaro Allen Ginsberg, Howl

N E W

W R I T E R S

Garcilaso d e la V e g a Cotton

Mather

Annis Boudinot Royall

Tyler

Briton

H a m m o n

Stockton

Louisa K n a p p Smith E m m a

Sarah M o r g a n Bryan Bret

Clappe

Lazarus Piat

Harte

Constance Fenimore W o e Abraham

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